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Control.
Throughout his mortal life, control was always out of reach, his fate predetermined by the meddling of a god. He could not control the deaths of his parents, his sister, his fiancée, himself. He could not control their suffering, or his.
Even in death, he had no control. How he wanted so badly to exhale all of that resentment, that pain away. To scatter his ashes and join his family, wherever they were, apologise to them and collapse into their welcoming arms again.
But no matter how terribly he wanted it, no matter how many nights he spent at the altar begging for release, it would not come. His mind wished for peace but his body would not allow it until he had his vengeance. He existed only to exact revenge on a matter he only wanted to put behind him. The Wind and Water Masters surely meant no harm. They were so happy as they were, it reminded him of his own life in the mortal world, his heart full and hopes high for ascension. If fate was kinder to him in death than in life, they would receive their karma on their own and he could lay his lifeless body down to rest. But his still heart would not let him.
It was all out of his control.
Which was why, when He Xuan emerged from the Kiln, he began to feast and gorge on whatever was thrown in his direction despite not needing food to survive. Whether it be banquet dishes, stale rations, or even other ghosts, he devoured it all without a second thought.
Because in this life and afterlife of futility and helplessness, eating was the one thing he could control. He could choose to eat until he passed out. He could choose to abstain from sustenance until the illusion of starvation overwhelmed him, a phantom sensation from his human life. It had been going on for centuries because he was not afraid anymore. He could no longer succumb to death by gluttony or starvation. He Xuan was already dead. Long dead. He was the Ship-Sinking Black Water, ghost king and ruler of the seven seas. And he would not let anybody take away the last fragment of control he still had.
Until after the Mid-Autumn Banquet.
He had eaten everything put in front of him, along with second and third and fourth servings. He’d cleaned off both his and the Wind Master’s plates. Yet when he came back to the Black Water Demon Lair, he did not feel in control.
He felt disgusting.
Being a ghost, He Xuan couldn’t become ill, but he would have given everything he had to be rid of that sick, sick feeling. Not within his stomach, but within his mind.
You call yourself a ghost king, and yet you cannot even control your appetite?
How is it that you are this weak from a mere meal? Is this the person who is supposed to avenge mother and father? No wonder your family is dead. You were too weak in life, and you are too weak in death.
He Xuan suddenly felt nauseous. He collapsed onto the cold obsidian floors, the walls of his manor spinning in circles around him. His vision blurred, and his cheeks suddenly felt wet. Still, that voice persisted.
What the hell are you doing!? Is this what the Ship-Sinking Black Water has become? Stop crying. Get up!
He Xuan pounded his fist against the wall to silence the voice, but it was futile as it was his own soul talking to him.
Mother, Father, what do I do? I don't know anymore. Please help me.
Who will listen to me?
Shi Qingxuan? No. The Wind Master was up in the Heavens, partaking in the festivities. He cursed himself for even thinking of it. Come to the source of all his problems for help? Besides, he did not want to be in disguise in his moment of weakness. This was He Xuan’s problem, not Ming Yi’s.
Then who did that leave? Did he have anyone else in this world? Who else would listen to him with open ears and open arms? Who else wouldn’t judge him for his decisions? Who else understood?
He took a shaky breath as he raised two fingers to his temple.
He hadn’t the chance to even lower his hand before a silver butterfly perched on his shoulder, its master’s silver jewellery tinkling softly as he slowly made his way to where He Xuan was kneeling on the floor.
“Lord Black Water, how urgent is this matter that you called me so desperately without any explanation? Please tell me this is important, I—”
Hua Cheng abruptly stopped when he saw He Xuan look up. His hair and clothes dishevelled, his eyes bloodshot and face streaked with tears. He couldn’t stop the sob that escaped his lips.
Hua Cheng immediately dropped to the ground beside him and wrapped him in an embrace.
“Oh, A-Xuan…”
The pet name was unusual coming from him, but it brought forth old, bittersweet memories of warm arms and a soft voice.
Mother used to call me that.
He Xuan couldn’t take it anymore and quit trying to hold back. He let his waterworks flow freely, loud, painful cries muffled by crimson cloth. Hua Cheng whispered sweet nonsense in his ear as he stroked his back, carding his fingers through his unkempt hair.
When he finally managed to calm down enough to realise what he was doing, he immediately pulled back.
“Lord Crimson Rain, I apologise—”
Hua Cheng cupped his cheek softly with his ice-cold hands. He looked at him with an expression he’d never seen before—not once in their centuries of companionship.
Tenderness.
“Shh, A-Xuan. Enough with the formalities.” He pulled He Xuan into his lap. “Tell me everything. I’m listening.”
And so, he did. He told him about his family, life, death, and time in the Kiln—he paused for a minute. Then he told him about his lack of control over everything around him. His hundreds of years of unhealthy eating habits. Hua Cheng furrowed his brows at this, but said nothing. Finally, he told him about the Mid Autumn Banquet feast and that sick feeling of hopelessness as his body and mind fought each other for control over his own existence. He was so, so tired. He talked about wanting it all to end, to scatter his ashes at the bottom of the ocean and be free at last.
When he finished, his shoulders shook once more as he sobbed into his companion’s chest.
Hua Cheng was stunned. How long had He Xuan been keeping all of this to himself? How had he not noticed it sooner— the way he avoided personal topics, the way he ate like a starving child, the way he hid behind a jaded expression? Had he been in so much pain this whole time that he was even considering—!
The thought engulfed Hua Cheng in guilt—something he was not used to—and he held onto He Xuan as tight as he could. He couldn’t let another person so dear to him disappear from this world. Not again.
He firmly grasped He Xuan’s shoulders and pushed him so they were facing each other.
“A-Xuan, listen to me. You cannot change the past, nor could you control it. But the present—your present, is entirely up to you. You’re in control, no matter what that voice tells you. You can choose to take revenge or not. You can choose to continue to be Earth Master or not. You do not have to eat so much or starve yourself to be in control. You already are.”
He Xuan’s eyes went glassy again, and he turned his head away.
“Then what's the point? I’ve already died once, and it’s still not enough. If I don’t have revenge, there’s nothing else to live for.”
Those words sent a wave of nostalgia over Hua Cheng.
Gently turning He Xuan’s chin to face him, he brushed the tears from his eyes and kept his hand on his cheek.
“A-Xuan, we are all we have left in this world. We are the only ones who understand what the other has been through. You’ve been by my side since the moment you left Mt. Tong’lu. Don’t leave me now.”
He remembered something. A phrase that brought him hope at his lowest point in time, spoken by someone who was no longer here. He repeated those twelve words to someone else who needed to hear them as much as he needed to say them.
“If you don’t know how to live anymore, then live for me.”
Their lips touched, and though neither of them was alive anymore, there was a heat between them, like a flame being ignited for the first time in years. They leaned deeper into the kiss, and that flame became a wildfire, spreading through their bodies and reminding them both what life felt like.
It was sweet with hope and longing. It was bitter with salt and sorrow. It was imperfect and messy.
And it was worth staying for.