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Time is no joke to mortals, but to the gods it passes completely unnoticed. It's as routine as breathing: one day you're rescuing villagers from a fire-breathing demon, and the next you're granting blessings for a new marriage in your region. It was so easy for time to remain static, never slipping through their fingers like sand. Their lives could make sense at any moment- after all, they had all the time they could ask for.
Xie Lian believed some of that sentiment accompanied him. Time never ended, but sometimes it seemed more like a curse than a blessing from the heavens. He had remained on Earth for more than three centuries, had seen the passage of time and the decay of things. He had seen kingdoms destroyed and cities reborn from their foundations. He had seen his kingdom fall into ruin and a new one rise, with different (better, perhaps) rulers and different cultures.
The Yong An kings were compassionate and kind. They raised their son with the greatest care they could bestow upon him and exemplified the pillars that should hold a nation together. They had taken him into their arms and respected all the necessary requirements for his stay in the palace. They had replaced the dirty bandages covering his face with a golden mask and didn't ask too many questions about his true identity. They were friendly but a little distant, a perfect match for someone like Xie Lian, who wouldn't regret waiting a few weeks before leaving again. Once again, before his bad luck stained the ground with blood again.
But perhaps they were too warm, and perhaps not as distant as Xie Lian would have liked to imagine at first.
Weeks turned into months, and Xie Lian remained in the palace like a bird with broken wings trapped in a cage: even though the door was open and freedom was at his disposal, it was as if he lacked the ability to take the first step towards it.
He became Lang Qianqiu's teacher and taught him everything he knew: drawing, poetry, dance, calligraphy, cultivation, and the art of sword. He made it his mission to let Lang Qianqiu know that the world was a cruel place, but that he shouldn't lose hope in those who might be the exception. Lang Qianqiu looked up to him, as his tutor and likely as part of his family. And Xie Lian did the same, even if the distance between them was as wide as an entire sea, because Xie Lian had managed to find a small part of himself inside Lang Qianqiu, and that comforted him as much as it terrified him: following in his footsteps could be the beginning of a tragedy. He himself was capable of attracting tragedy, and for a soul as pure as Lang Qianqiu to experience misfortune on the surface was not a plan that pleased him.
The royal family did not detest the people of Xianle. Unlike their ancestors, the rulers of Yong An proclaimed a law protecting the former victims of the catastrophe, whose skin had already withered and their descendants had lost the pure line of their blood, mixed with the blood of Yong'an. Even if there was no one but Xie Lian to admit it, they were different from his parents. They were different from him.
Their hearts hadn't drunk from the hatred that dripped from their guts, and their hearts hadn't been poisoned. They were clean.
Xie Lian admired them.
He admired Xie Lian's ability to forgive, because at almost six hundred years old, he was not able to do so completely, neither with others nor with himself.
He thought about it for years and still thinks about it now.
All he has left is a place where they give him warm food and water to drink, where he uses a mask and a pseudonym to hide his identity. He's been alone for years, and although he hates himself for staying longer than he should, he can't escape. He clings to this place until his nails peel back and blood spurts out in scarlet waterfalls.
Time is no joke to mortals, but to the gods it passes completely unnoticed. A week turns into months, and months into years. By the time he feels time slipping through his fingers, the prince has already turned twelve.
The clock is ticking.
"Father has decided to erect a statue to a god," Lang Qianqiu interrupts his morning chastisement and lifts his head from the half-painted scrolls. A drop of ink drips from his brush and stains the paper. It's ruined, "he says Guoshi and this prince could go pay our respects when it's finished."
Xie Lian says nothing. He continues grinding the ink and looks at the stained scroll. This is the third scroll they've had to fold and throw away due to their inability to focus on one thing. It's a waste of paper.
Lang Qianqiu doesn't seem to notice and continues, "The royal temple will become my birthday present. I'm sure of it. Then, my parents, Guoshi and this prince could go there from time to time."
"Praying to the gods is not an activity that can be done for fun."
Lang Qianqiu paused for a moment. It still felt strange to hear him speak. Even for Xie Lian, whose voice had dropped to a soft but stern murmur, it was strange to feel the words coming from his throat.
"Your Highness, I admire your ability to think of a gift that will not only be useful to you, but allow me to remind you that temples are sacred places and cannot be turned into a place of escape from the duties assigned by your master." He gave him a look through the mask. The prince's face paled and then flushed, his secret becoming clear in the light of day.
Lang Qianqiu blushed and said nothing more. He closed his lips and sank into silence, lowering his head. When he did, he discovered the mess he had made with the ink dripping onto the parchment and groaned in despair, for this was the third time he had to copy Chapter 2 of the ethics book, and his hand was completely exhausted.
"Guoshi... Where are the sword tricks and action? I'll forget all my learning if I get locked up writing like a scholar."
“Knowledge isn’t acquired just through practice, Your Highness.” Xie Lian stood up, taking the initiative to lift his heavy dark robe with him. He couldn’t get used to the weight and feel of the fabric displayed by the currently fashionable attire. Even if he didn’t wear so many layers of clothing, they were still a bit cumbersome to wear. “Furthermore, this is your punishment for skipping the lessons with sword tricks and action two days ago. You must endure a little longer. Perseverance is a virtue in warriors.”
Lang Qianqiu didn't complain again, but Xie Lian could see his furrowed brow and red ears. For a rebellious child, he didn't put up much resistance to his master's reprimands. It was as if he had calmed his own nature and forced himself to obey, regardless of his own objections.
"I'll go report to His Majesty on next week's progress," he said, leaving an angry Lang Qianqiu rolling up his own scroll with a pout on his lips.
Before leaving, he could hear his voice.
"Guoshi, the training..."
"When the sun sets."
Xie Lian could sense Lang Qiangqiu's expression, determined not to show a trace of positive emotions beyond the determined glint in his eyes.
"Okay."
Secretly, Xie Lian shook his head and smiled.
That kind of attitude felt strangely familiar to him.
The temple had in fact been a birthday present for the Crown Prince.
The floor was so clean that the details of Xie Lian's mask were reflected in it. And, despite his initial reluctance, Xie Lian had to accompany the prince to his first ceremony to commemorate the deities. It was his royal duty as a priest, so he gathered his materials and sent one of his personal servants to warn the prince that he had to be there just as the sun rose past the clouds. He had taken the time to advance the invitation about three days in advance, to ensure that Lang Qiangqiu would remember it and be able to prepare.
But an hour had passed since the appointed time and the prince had still not appeared to meet.
Xie Lian pursed his lips. The twelfth birthday wasn't a very special day, but the prince was spoiled by his parents, who maintained a national celebration that went on indefinitely. The prince was allowed to be late to his meetings, and rude punishments were delayed out of mere politeness. Xie Lian knew it would be in poor taste to reprimand the Crown Prince on his birthday, so he was determined to appease his wild instincts and maintain peace between them.
It wasn't that Xie Lian enjoyed punishing his disciple; if that happened, it was because of the bad habits Lang Qianqiu had acquired from being overindulged by his parents.
Anyway, even if Xie Lian wanted to retrace his steps and detour to the prince's room to wake him up himself, there was nothing he could do but wait.
There were a pair of guards watching the entrance to the temple. Xie Lian sat in the garden planted right where the temple was erected. It had pretty, colorful flowers, and the grass was slightly damp from being tended. When Xie Lian sat down, he instantly regretted it. His robes were probably stained green from that action.
Sigh. There was nothing else to do.
He crossed his legs and carefully recounted the materials he had brought: incense sticks, a ceremonial robe, pillows for prostrating himself (because the gods were very particular about how they were worshipped) and a cloth bag filled with offerings. There were fresh fruits and small golden objects that Lang Qiangqiu had asked him to set aside for that day.
He stood up again.
Opportunely, a nervous servant came out to greet him, his face red with fatigue.
“Fang Xin Guoshi,” he bowed deeply, “His Royal Highness asks that you begin the ceremony without him. He feels overwhelmed today and doesn’t think he can attend in time.”
"He hasn't even woken up, has he?"
The servant remained silent, but he didn't raise his head or undo his bow. Xie Lian blew a breath through his nose, hoping the sound of frustration would catch in his throat and not come out.
"Alright. I'll begin the ceremony," Xie Lian didn't want to be dismissive, so he resisted the urge to wave his hand in dismissal. Guoshi's personality was supposed to be cold and distant, not demeaning. He couldn't behave as if he were royalty, because he was far from having a special place in that world again, "You don't need to kneel next time."
He turned around and didn't pause, heading straight for the temple. The two guards, who had plain faces and wore casual robes, were unfazed by his presence. Xie Lian bowed his head in a friendly greeting and entered the structure.
The temple's architecture stands out for its modern design and imposing appearance. The columns are slender yet robust, there are gilded details on all the walls, and the floor is made of perfectly polished reddish stone. The roof is a circular structure that rises to the sky. The entire construction has been executed with a precision and beauty that is remarkable throughout the region.
And as he moves towards the entrance, he notices a statue wrought from a material Xie Lian can't quite make out, but which is remarkably luxurious. The statue was tall and gave off a familiar aura. He discerned the appearance of a delicate and majestic man: he wore generic armor, typical of high-ranking generals, but there were a few technical inconsistencies—nothing out of the ordinary, but noticeable to the practiced eyes of a warrior.
The man was noticeably youthful, and his pose had an air of relaxation. Beside him was a sword engraved with the words 'Zhan Madao.' The only detail Xie Lian could criticize was the taste with which the face was sculpted. It contrasted markedly with the young man's delicate, relaxed aura: he had a fierce, unattractive face. A wrinkled furrow hollowed his forehead, and two harsh eyes stared straight ahead with a hostile expression. If Xie Lian saw the piece elsewhere, he would think they had made a mistake. But at this point, it would not be surprising to have a god who possessed such peculiar characteristics.
He didn't dwell on these matters for long, concentrating on his mission. He placed the prostration pad and knelt in the place prepared for the ceremony.
He lit three incense sticks, and the scent stung his nose. He bowed six times: three kneeling on the ground and three standing. To the last bow, he added a loud apology for his disciple's absence and then bowed seventhly to offer the fruit and the gold.
"It's embarrassing to admit, because it shows my poor teaching skills," he said, unsure why he was expressing his thoughts aloud. He collected the offerings from the bag and arranged them neatly on the small wooden table. "My disciple is brilliant, but lazy. I suppose that's something I'll have to correct in the future."
In the first place, he shouldn't have taught him, but they were already there, and it was too late to escape. Consequently, he had very little preparation other than the memories of the discipline his own Guoshi had inflicted on him- the memories of his teachings were reflected in the orthodox method Xie Lian used. It was the only method he recognized, after all.
He allowed himself to smile for a moment. Then, he continued sorting the offerings until time betrayed him and the sun began to set over the horizon. Noticing it was time to leave, he began sorting each item and stood up, brushing off the nonexistent dust on the prostration mat and stretching his own legs because of the discomfort in his knees.
For a moment before he left, he could see the bright flash of a golden artifact and then a metallic clang echoed within the structure. A ring made its way from its place on the table until it collided with Xie Lian's feet and fell against his weight. A metallic sound was heard as it slid across the stone floor, catching his attention.
Xie Lian bent down and picked it up between his fingers, detailing the engraving that proclaimed "Xie."
He put it back in its place immediately.
Before retiring, he bowed eight times.
Parties weren't his thing. There was a time when they were, but that time is over.
...
No, when he thought about it, he'd never enjoyed a party so much. His people were wasteful and fun-loving, but his prince could only last so many hours before needing an excuse to lock himself away and take a break from the real world. Every now and then, he'd use Feng Xin to sneak into the palace corridors and then drag Mu Qing into his plan. The parties were filled with nobles and ladies his parents would offer as suitors the next day. And Xie Lian wasn't particularly interested in getting married or falling to mortals' temptations
At that moment, his need to retreat hadn't changed. This time, his resistance had lasted even less.
Maybe it was because he was getting old and bitter, but he couldn't project his happiness if he had thousands of prying eyes or young nobles surrounding him like a herd of animals.
Out of inertia, he adjusted the golden mask again. Just to be sure.
He took a sip of a strange drink that had been offered to him and spat it back into his cup when he felt the sting of the alcohol on his tongue. He made a gesture with his mouth, and the servant who offered it to him stripped to death. Xie Lian told him he wasn't going to cause a fuss about it, but he still received another pair of bows.
"Guoshi, is something wrong?" A gentle hand grasped his wrist, and a feminine face appeared before his eyes. At just under thirty, Queen Lang's face was the most beautiful in the kingdom. Even past her conventional age, she looked radiant in her golden headdress and robes patterned with clouds and flowers. She spoke softly and was feminine, yet firm in her authority. At that moment, she only kept her velvety tone to a murmur.
Xie Lian felt a little dizzy, but attributed it to the liquor.
"Your Majesty, I think I should withdraw," he said in the same softened tone.
“Isn’t it a bit early? Ah-Qiu hasn’t opened his presents.” Xie Lian flicked his wrist, and the contact between the two disappeared as quickly as it had begun. The queen seemed to find it inappropriate and withdrew her gloved hand, looking with almost maternal concern at a man twenty times her age. Though that knowledge was reserved only for Xie Lian himself.
"I don't feel well," he insisted, hiding his hands behind his sleeves and lowering his voice. "I think I should rest. Enjoy the party, Your Majesty."
The queen gave in with a gesture.
"Well, if it's a rest you need, I can't stop you." She gave him a tight smile. "I'll let Ah-Qiu know."
"Please wish His Royal Highness a happy birthday for me."
.
Once he'd removed the layers of clothing and mask, he sent Ruoye to bandage the exposed wounds on his face and fell asleep. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel only the exhaustion running through his veins.
A dream begins to form in his head. Walls begin to build around him, and others rise above his head. Xie Lian no longer feels the weight of the ceremonial robe, but when he looks down, he finds the same masked reflection of Fang Xin Guoshi. His sword also lies at his side, hidden in its silver scabbard—a scabbard the kings gave him when they noticed there was nothing to cover the sinister darkness of his weapon. The scene returns to the same one it was hours ago, the details so vivid it's breathtaking.
Then, instead of the stone statue that stood in the center of the temple belonging to Lang Qianqiu, a god gracefully moved. The material (which Xie Lian suspected was some kind of marble) shattered like an eggshell and exploded into millions of pieces around him. The divine aura revealed itself before his eyes, shining like the sun.
Xie Lian feels that it is a somewhat exaggerated show, even for his own dreams.
The god brushes off the dust that has fallen on his armor and whips his ponytail, his movement so swift it's almost imperceptible. A jade crown secures his hair, which is incredibly long. Even tied up, it reaches down to his lower back.
His back is covered in metal. His entire body, if Xie Lian was specific. He wore armor similar to the destroyed statue, only retaining more modern details, like the shape of some pieces and the wine-colored cape that billows in the wind (nonexistent wind, because they're in an enclosed space).
Another detail Xie Lian can notice is the nine-foot-long saber he holds in his hands, covered by fingerless gloves. It's a weapon he can easily recognize because the blade is a shiny silver color that darkens at the base, giving it an air of danger.
Xie Lian has a bad feeling when the god turns around and the two come face to face.
It must have been decades since he last saw those eyes.
Inevitably, Xie Lian takes a step back, and the movement catches Mu Qing's attention. He gives him a quick once-over, and Xie Lian takes a moment to touch his own face, meeting the cold, rough surface of his mask. He'd seen his reflection before, but he needed to be sure. The mask only covers half of his face, so it wouldn't be difficult to deduce what's behind it either, but there's a less sinister feeling in his chest when he thinks about the possibility of not being recognized.
He kneels and asks, “How can this man honor the presence of a god?”
He places both knees on the ground and assumes a comfortable position to remain there while the god continues to explore the place. Mu Qing pauses to look at the offerings, stirs the fruit, and takes the golden material between his fingers. Xie Lian's gleaming ring returns to its original place.
It's made of pure gold and has a red gem in the center. It's not a luxurious item, but it's quite valuable, as it's rare among other trinkets.
"Is this ring...?" Mu Qing looked at it again and changed the direction of her question, "...it's an ancient relic."
Xie Lian doesn't know what he's referring to. Mu Qing, in recent years, had been behaving unpredictably and at the same time, was rude. His attitude took strange and unfamiliar paths for Xie Lian, as he only knew the helpful and polite side, without going beyond that. Mu Qing was a dedicated servant and if Xie Lian had had to bet his life in the past to fully understand his personality, he would have done so without hesitation.
But now he wasn't so sure it was a safe bet. Years of separation had chained him to ignorance: the only act of kindness he'd retained in his mind over the years was that day a sack of coins saved him from death. And it wasn't exactly a memory that came back to him frequently.
Noticing there was no response, Mu Qing gave up. He turned the ring between his fingers and returned it to the offering table without asking any further questions. Instead, he decided to move on to another topic.
"Are you the head priest of this temple?"
There were no other priests in the entire palace. The royal family wasn't particularly keen on spirituality and worship, so one seemed more than enough. Consequently, Xie Lian became not only the head priest of that temple, but the royal family's priest par excellence. This explanation was more than enough to give him a certain rank among other employees, but it didn't make him the best. In reality, Xie Lian was ignorant of everything that his position encompassed. He was a master and a saint. That was all for now.
Still, he nodded: "That's correct."
"Then I can assume that you oversaw the construction of the temple on your own."
Xie Lian had done it. He had overseen some activities and corrected a few technical details, but he hadn't thought about which god it would be dedicated to.
"His name is General Xuan Zhen," Lang Qianqiu had told him one day. "My father says he was the greatest warrior of his time and a great master of the sword. He said that if I offered him a tribute, I could obtain his blessing to become a warrior like him."
"A prince shouldn't enter the battlefield, Your Highness," Xie Lian said softly, "the lessons are for your personal protection. I couldn't allow you to be in such a dangerous place."
Lang Qianqiu shouldn't have been thinking about war in the first place. He was just a child, and he shouldn't have been filled with conflicts caused by incompetent rulers or bloody fights that ended in death.
The only thought he had about it was the feeling that it was an inappropriate gift for a boy his age. Lang Qianqiu wanted a temple to worship a god of war, but he saw the undercurrent of it all under a veil that clouded his judgment: he was a prince, with the promising aura of a king who had the protection of the heavens upon him. He didn't need to become a warrior, because that protection would become part of his destiny, and if he abandoned his post... he could become the same catastrophe his ancestors had become.
"I did it," he replied softly.
"Then let me ask you: Who was the artist you hired to erect the statue?" Mu Qing picked up a piece of carved stone that was on the ground and looked at it.
Xie Lian had no idea. He blinked a few times before asking a question that wouldn't reveal his ignorance.
"Is there something wrong with it, My General?" Of course there was. It had been destroyed upon arrival, the pieces flying carelessly in all directions. And the god didn't bother to look at it twice, letting the remains fall to the ground.
"He doesn't qualify to be in this place."
Qualify?
Suddenly, the statue's grotesque and angry face appeared in his head, and Xie Lian had to suppress an involuntary smile. After all these years, Mu Qing's face was still so weak?
"I can't allow it to be in this place any longer."
If Xie Lian were more informed about what was happening in the heavens, he would know that General Xuan Zhen was a god who prized attention to detail and had a reputation for breaking statues that weren't carved to his exacting standards. He couldn't stand the poor taste of amateur artists and was particularly offended when they portrayed him in such a crude manner, even if no one in the mortal world was willing to see the face of a deity in reality.
He felt a little conflicted.
He had acknowledged that the artist was... unconventional, but he didn't think it was a bad statue. Of course, he'd never had to worry about his face being poorly detailed: the temples and statues erected in his name had exquisite taste and were known for portraying celestial beauty with a smiling face. Women would come to his temple to pray because his statue was beautiful and attracted the attention of curious eyes, and it was frequently carved from gold. Xie Lian had never been this fussy, though he could attribute that to the scant attention he paid to inanimate versions of himself.
"I understand," he cleared his throat, forcing the traces of his smile to disappear. "I'll send this information to the artists in the capital."
Mu Qing nodded but didn't leave. Xie Lian remained kneeling this entire time, but he didn't signal to him that he could get up either. It wasn't as if Mu Qing was a cynical creature: if he had recognized him, Xie Lian didn't think he would be able to knock him down like that. Although... his attitude was still unpredictable, so he couldn't jump to conclusions. He himself had changed so much over the years that he was almost unrecognizable.
He couldn't expect anything from him, even though he had helped him on other occasions and shown him that he held no grudges. He knew (he wanted to convince himself) that Mu Qing still held a small sympathetic regard for their past friendship.
"I...?"
“I expect a decent job, Guoshi,” he said finally. Xie Lian didn’t dare raise his head; the title escaped his lips and sent a shock down his spine. Xie Lian couldn’t help but feel a little exposed by his deep gaze, but he didn’t say anything else.
Mu Qing didn't either. Instead, he averted his gaze and turned around, retracing his steps toward the central area of the temple and disappearing in a blazing light.
When Xie Lian suddenly woke up, the party was over and the sky was covered in a completely dark layer.
He couldn't go back to sleep.
The next time he visit the Mortal World, there is a new statue.
Mu Qing descends from the heavens at dusk and slips between the recesses of the gates in his invisible form. It's been almost two months, but he can't determine how long it actually takes to remake a statue. It always varies: sometimes a week, sometimes half a year. Artists were unstable creatures.
He returns to the temple and contemplates the work built in his name. It's objectively better than the previous one, so Mu Qing silences any excuse to complain. The material is cast gold, and the features retain the naturalness of a young face. Not too resembling his current self, but with a similar energy to the face of his youth. A few years younger, when his face hadn't yet fully matured.
In the royal chambers, the Yong An kings sleep peacefully and Lang Qianqiu prepares to take a bath, completely oblivious to all other concerns outside.
Across the palace, Xie Lian leans back in a plush armchair and sighs solemnly. Part of his room is tidy, but another area is completely covered in discarded scrolls, spilled ink, and a sword resting on the floor, as if it were of no importance. Mu Qing's hands start to itch when he sees the mess that is the former Prince of Xianle's room, but he reminds himself that times have changed. They have changed.
Xie Lian rose and fell. Now he has a new life far from the heavens.
He wonders if he is satisfied.
"Today was a hectic day," the noise startles him, and he turns to look at Xie Lian. He's not sure if he's talking to anyone. He used to have a bad habit of talking for hours on end, regardless of whether anyone was actually listening, but he can make out the rustling of fabric moving quickly around him. "Lang Qianqiu is an exhausting kid."
The white cloth rubs the exposed cheek beneath the mask and pulls it back slightly. Xie Lian laughs and discovers the tired face that Mu Qing has been thinking about for the past two months.
Xie Lian could never deceive him.
Even if he tried not to be recognized, it would be almost impossible. Mu Qing could recognize Xie Lian in any form, anywhere. In another time.
After all, the centuries that passed like a hurricane couldn't erase the familiar face Mu Qing had known since childhood. It was one of the things that comes with immortality.
This time only a hundred years had passed, but Xie Lian's lifestyle had changed.
The heavens would go crazy if they discovered that there was someone capable of following Xie Lian's trail up until now. Following a trail that he hadn't even bothered to notice. Fortunately or unfortunately, their paths intersected at this point.
He wants to believe their encounters are due to chance, not to plots plotted against their fates. After the troubles they've been embroiled in, their relationship might be nothing more than an irreparable crack in the porcelain. Previous encounters only reminded him of the distance between them: Xie Lian doesn't want to see him again. He wouldn't want to replace his lifestyle to forgive Mu Qing for things from the past. He's already left him behind, erased the footprints in the sand, and started a new life.
There was no reason to meet again.
It would be years before their souls were fully intertwined again and their destinies unified. Mu Qing could no longer escape, but for now she would limit herself to a silent farewell.
He puts away the ring, which belonged to the Crown Prince of Xianle's trinkets, covered in gold plating and the crimson reflection of an embedded jewel. He tucks it into his robes and disappears.
The next day, when Xie Lian returned to the temple, he found it exactly as he had left it since its renovation, including the offerings and incense turned to ash. There were no scandals or unexpected visitors. And he never met Mu Qing directly again after that.
Years later, both would recall that last meeting, which remained a secret to them until the end.