Chapter Text
Where The Seas Meet The Skies
Watching as ships sailed far into the seas and disappeared into the horizon has been one of Honghong-er’s frequent pastimes ever since he first started spending his days at the docks, looking for odd jobs that might earn him some coin. There’s something about the sight that speaks to him; a grace to the wooden vessels’ movements as they flew with the wind. It touched upon nearly forgotten memories of drifting with those same currents, of the breeze pressing against his face as he cut through the skies.
There’s nothing gentle in the way the boat that Honghong-er had talked his way into is moving now. He’s swung about from side to side, struggling to hold on to something, anything, as his feet slip on the soaked deck. The ship sways violently as a storm rages above them, threatening to send Honghong-er overboard if he’s not careful enough.
His heart is racing in his chest as he struggles to stay standing, and even though his wings are tucked away beneath his skin, his back feels heavy, having been soaked by the rain. Yet Honghong-er can’t bring himself to regret boarding this ship. He’s certain there’s no risk that could make him regret it. How could it, when even dying here would be preferable to returning home?
No, not home. His father’s house didn’t deserve the title. That place hadn’t been home since his mother died, taking all the warmth his family might have spared for him with her. At ten years old, Honghong-er has more memories of his father and older brothers’ cruelty than he has of the brief time in which they seemed to tolerate him when he was little.
The ship sways again and someone yells for him to take cover, saying that he’s too young to weather this storm. It’s so surreal that if Honghong-er wasn’t so busy trying to remain standing he would’ve started laughing. How ironic that, in this ship full of lawless men and women, there’s an adult concerned about him.
Honghong-er might have preferred death to remaining in his father’s house, but freedom is what he sought out when he took to sea, so he listens to the order. Well, he attempts to listen at least. He holds onto the nearest wall and urges his legs to move, to stay upright even as brutal waves crash against them, spilling on the deck and making his path even more difficult.
He makes it halfway there, close enough to the door that he’s started being hopeful that he’ll be able to endure the wrath of the raging sea from the inside. It probably won’t be much better to be flung from side to side, and there’d be different risks there, too, but even the smallest comfort sounds better than being directly within the storm.
Yet his struggle is fruitless in the end. Honghong-er is small, and though he’s stronger than any child his age he’s ever met, his little arms are nothing against the combined strength of sky and sea.
He’s readying himself to sprint toward the door when they’re hit by an enormous wave that sends Honghong-er flying toward the other end of the ship. He attempts to hold on, hanging desperately from the rigging. But his cries for help are muffled by the wind and the wet rope is too difficult to grasp.
It’s hard to tell if anybody even notices when Honghong-er is thrown out to sea.
The first thing he registers after the world swirls around him is that he’s cold – so very cold. The second thing is that it’s dark. The freezing temperature makes his entire body ache, almost like a burn, but not quite as biting, and the darkness makes it difficult to tell in which direction he should go as he tries to stay afloat. Honghong-er thinks he can see the ship, just barely, sailing out of his reach with every passing second he’s struggling.
He doesn’t know how long he spends there, hoping for something to happen, for a miracle that’ll save him from becoming a forgotten body at the bottom of the sea.
But life has never been that kind to Honghong-er.
It could have been seconds, minutes or hours, he wouldn’t know. The only thing he knows is the cold calm that washes over him, a certainty that this is it, this is where his life ends. It has been short, and not very happy, and still… somehow he doesn’t want to let go of it.
He’d hoped he would have at least been able to experience something a little better before the end, just a bit.
His father would laugh, he thinks. He’d tell him that this is what he gets, for trying to run away. That this is the end that a brat like him deserves. But that man will never know what happened to him, likely won’t even try to find out.
It’s a good thing, at least then Honghong-er can keep his dignity. He will forever be the boy who got away, who fought for his freedom and won, rather than a tragic warning tale used to make other little boys like him stay put.
Despite his best efforts, Honghong-er beginss to sink. He’s too tired to continue fighting, his eyes are closing all on their own, and his limbs feel weak.
It’s then that something impossible happens: he feels arms wrapping themselves around him from below him. They gently guide his head to lean against a naked chest that feels oddly smooth, then make sure his arms and legs are secure before swimming upwards with him.
Even stranger, the man starts to hum something under his breath, a low song that Honghong-er can somehow hear perfectly in spite of the water around them. It’s soothing, somehow, he feels as if he’s being told “hold your breath just a little while longer. Soon, you’ll be safe.”
They resurface smoothly; the man swims with ease, drifting with the waves as if he knows where to go even before they come. Honghong-er isn’t so graceful. He furiously coughs up water, gasping for breath with a desperation he never has before.
He feels impossibly young as he wraps his arms around the man’s shoulders and his legs around his waist. How long has it been since an adult has held him like this, supporting his legs with one hand and his back with the other? The best answer he has is that it’s been long enough for him to have no memory of it.
After brushing against something light and fragile that he can’t begin to guess what it could be, his fingers end up tangled in long, glossy hair, while his face is buried in the crook of the man’s neck, hidden from the rain.
“Easy, little one,” the man says, and his voice is melodious, like a song. “You are safe.”
Honghong-er’s heart is nearly beating out of his chest, having yet to recover from the fright. There is no way this is real, that a man somehow came from the ocean to save him from drowning. The mere thought is so ridiculous that he finds himself wondering if somehow, somewhen, he missed his own passing and somehow entered into the afterlife.
That’s the kind of miracle that happens in bedtime stories, not to unlucky boys like Honghong-er.
And yet–
He knows better than to simply deny the existence of the impossible. After all Honghong-er himself is an existence like this, carrying on his back and in his legs his own fantastical tale.
The man takes his hand from Honghong-er’s back for a brief moment, but it’s back before he can question why it left in the first place. Then he starts to hum again, louder than he had before. It’s a light and gentle song, not quite happy, no, but there’s something about it that’s comforting.
Then, as if in response, light blooms around them, coming not from above, but from below. A beautiful and warm yellow glow forms around the two of them in a circle, lighting up the surface of the sea.
Honghong-er gasps in surprise, blinking to adjust after having been in the darkness for so long. There’s nothing but open sea around them, no sign of land. It should have been a hopeless sight, yet all Honghong-er can feel is wonder as he drifts securely in the man’s arms, staring at the lit sea. Happiness bubbles just beneath his throat, threatening to send him into laughter out of sheer emotion. Relief, wonder and fear war in his heart, unsure if this is salvation or a dying dream.
He turns to his rescuer, ready to thank him, only to have his breath catch in his throat. The man, if he can be even called that, is not… Well, he’s not human.
He’s unlike any creature Honghong-er has ever seen. In the gentle glow, Honghong-er can see that while he looks outwardly human, there’s too many details that are just a little to the left of what they should have been. His tan skin looks soft in the gentle glow, but it has a firm and smooth quality to it that strikes him as odd; the same can be said of the hair that falls behind his back, curling fluidly like the waves that surround them. There are also wings behind his back, which, unlike Honghong-er’s, are more rigid to the touch, made to glide and flow with the tide, not with the wind.
The boy, because if Honghong-er can be a boy, then he isn't sure why this creature can't be, smiles at him, and his golden eyes are kinder than any Honghong-er has ever seen.
He's beautiful, Honghong-er can't look away.
"I see you like Ruoye," the boy says once he's done with his song. He points to the circle of light, leaving no doubt as to what he's referring to. "He'll make sure no one interrupts us while we find somewhere safe to leave you."
"Oh."
It's only a small noise, but it's somehow enough to make the boy's smile even warmer. "So he does speak," he teases. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
Honghong-er can't bring himself to say anything just yet, he’s too mesmerized for words, so he shakes his head no. His body still hurts from the impact, but he doesn't think he has any injuries.
"Then I need you to hold on tight, alright?"
He nods. It's hardly something Honghong-er needs to be asked to do, he wants to continue holding onto him, to stay within this kind stranger’s embrace. Despite the freezing water surrounding them, it’s the warmest he’s ever felt.
They fall into silence as the boy starts swimming in earnest. There are times when he’ll sing under his breath again, and Honghong-er is certain there’s a purpose for it, though he can’t discern what it is. He wants to ask, but it’s hard to find the courage to disrupt him. He doesn’t want to risk upsetting the first person who’s treated him so gently since his mother’s passing.
He distracts himself from that particular anxiety by looking at their surroundings, committing the journey to mind. Initially Honghong-er had thought that there wouldn’t have been much to see, but the ocean around them is far from quiet. While nothing touches the circle within the glowing light, more than a few curious fish approach them to investigate, and a few of them even light up too! The boy notices Honghong-er looking at them and hums something that must’ve been a request, because they swim with them for a little while, making fun patterns in the water.
They come to a halt when they see a ship into the distance. The boy commands the lights away and stops swimming, placing a hand on Honghong-er’s hair. “I’m sorry I can’t take you to them,” he says. “It would be bad if they saw me.”
There’s no need to worry about being heard from where they are, especially with a storm raging around them, yet Honghong-er keeps his tone low when he replies, feeling it’s appropriate. “It’s alright, gege, I understand.” Because he does understand, better than he can put into words.
The last time a normal human saw him in his element, they didn’t take kindly to it either.
He can no longer see him, but something tells him the older boy is smiling at him. “You seem like a good kid,” he says. “What’s your name?”
Now his voice is quiet for an entirely different reason. “I… I don’t have one.”
He doesn’t know what to make of the way the boy’s hand tightens in the back of his shirt. “Did your mother not give you one?”
Honghong-er shakes his head. It’s possible that she’d given him one, but if she did, he can’t remember it and his father never cared to tell him. He only remembers his mother as the vague memory of comfort, of being in someone’s arms, and a gentle hand caressing his wings. He doesn’t remember what her voice sounded like, nor many of the words she’d said to him. “My mother died when I was little.”
“Did she not have anything she used to call you?”
There is a nickname, but Honghong-er hesitates, wondering if he should share it. For all that he uses it in his mind, he hasn’t given it to anyone since her passing, content in being referred to as boy or whatever else people decided to call him. His brothers had been the only ones to use it on occasion, though they only did so when they were in the mood to be charitable toward him.
Then he remembers that he wouldn’t have even been alive were it not for this kind stranger, and that in their brief acquaintance he’d managed to be gentler with Honghong-er than everyone else he’d met, so he stops hesitating. “Honghong-er.”
“That’s a cute nickname,” he says, giving the distinct impression of a smile once again. “I’ll call you that from now on.”
Emboldened by the boy’s interest in him, he decides it shouldn’t be too bad to ask a question of his own – although he still hides his face on the boy’s shoulder when he says, “What about gege?”
“Oh, how impolite of me, I should have introduced myself first, hm? My name is Xie Lian.” He sounds a little sheepish, but Honghong-er can tell that besides that, he doesn’t mind the question at all. It makes his heart feel a little tight for some reason, even though it makes him feel warm.
They continue talking as they wait, and even after they can’t see the ship and Xie Lian resumes swimming. Mostly, the older boy is the one to maintain the conversation, asking questions about Honghong-er’s life and how he feels about being left on an island nearby; there’s only a few times where Honghong-er dares to ask his own questions about Xie Lian’s life despite having many of them.
The light returns once they’re alone again, and Xie Lian tells him that the one causing it is Ruoye, his friend. Honghong-er isn’t sure he understands just what Ruoye is, but when he compliments them on the pretty lights, they shimmer even more brightly and circle around Honghong-er and Xie Lian in a spiral, so he thinks Ruoye might like him too.
It’s surprisingly comfortable, traveling with Xie Lian. So much so that Honghong-er wishes there was a way he could stay with him in the sea, even though it’s cold and dark and uncomfortable to his wings. It might be foolish, but he wants more of his songs and soft conversation and kind hands ruffling his hair and making sure he won’t get hurt. Honghong-er knows, is certain down to his bones, that he won’t ever find someone like Xie Lian again, yet there’s nothing he can do when he belongs to the sky, and Xie Lian belongs to the sea.
He half expects them to turn a different way again when a lighthouse comes into view and Ruoye hides themself – or itself? – again. Xie Lian surprises him by actually going further in the direction of the rhythmically moving light.
"Gege?"
“I think that’ll be a safe town to leave you,” Xie Lian says in what is meant to be a reassuring one, though Honghong-er only feels dismay at the announcement.
"Won't the lighthouse keeper see you?" he asks, worried and half hoping he might be able to steal some more time with this person.
“There’s no need to worry,” he says, comfortingly brushing a hand against Honghong-er’s hair. "I'll be gone long before they arrive."
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbles, dejectedly laying his head on Xie Lian’s shoulder. For all that he’s attempted to be on his best behavior he can’t resist the temptation to cling to him just a little harder now, saddened by their approaching goodbye. "Will we ever meet again?"
“I’m not sure.” Xie Lian sounds sad, too, but it’s clear to Honghong-er that he doesn’t understand how much this meeting has meant to him. “The sea is a big place, but you never know what will happen; we might.”
Although that doesn’t make him feel much better, it succeeds in giving him hope. Honghong-er won’t be able to search the seas for Xie Lian, yet perhaps… he might just be able to keep an eye out from above if he stays in this place.
Xie Lian takes him as close to shore as he can without having to stand on his tail. It’s differing seeing him from the flickering beam of the light house, though he is just as beautiful as he’d been under Ruoye’s light; he looks kindly at Honghong-er, his bright, gentle eyes full of hope for him. “Do you think you can swim the rest of the way? Ruoye will help if you need.”
“I… I can do it.” It’s raining still, but not as strongly as before, and this close to the beach the water is calm.
“Then this is where we part,” Xie Lian says softly, putting down Honghong-er for the first time since he’d taken him into his arms. He doesn’t go far, holding onto his hands while he settles into the water. “Be safe, Honghong-er. I hope you’ll have a good life here or wherever you end up traveling to.”
“Goodbye, gege,” he whispers back. “Be safe too.”
Xie Lian smiles; Honghong-er’s heart flutters. “I will be.”
With a final, encouraging squeeze to his hand, Xie Lian lets go. He swims to shore clumsily, but as quickly as he can, and he climbs into the bluff with the same haste, carelessly crushing red flowers in his eagerness to look back and meet Xie Lian’s eyes once again.
They look at each other for one last time and under the lighthouse’s beam Honghong-er is able to see Xie Lian’s full body for the first time as he sinks into the water, at once a beautiful and mournful sight.
Honghong-er sits there for a long time, watching the ocean. Long enough for the rain to turn into a gentle drizzle and for shades of pink, orange and purple to color the clearing sky as dawn approaches from the horizon. He stays there, unmoving, until a man makes his way toward him, calling for him with concern. He looks and looks and looks at the ocean, in a daze, wishing helplessly that he could see Xie Lian again.
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As Xie Lian fights against the sea to move forwards, pushing against the currents threatening to pull him the opposite way, he thinks he will have to do something very nice for Ruoye if they survive this. It's only because of the silk band’s protection that he’s been able to get this far without his powers. If he hadn’t had Ruoye’s help… Xie Lian doesn’t want to imagine it.
His sword is just about useless without his powers, too. He keeps it close to himself, because he knows he can hold his own with his skill against most adversaries. Pity, then, that he’s fighting against the wrath of the ocean itself. Or at least that’s what Jun Wu makes it seem like as the water around Ruoye and Xie Lian is folded in the vague outline of countless types of sea creatures, all attacking angrily at them, threatening to pull them deeper, back into the Wuyong king’s clutches.
Xie Lian thinks his heart hurts more than the wound on his shoulder. He can still hear Jun Wu’s voice, cold yet gentle, a disturbing combination that had sent shivers down his spine. “You’ll understand soon enough, Xianle,” he’d said. “When they turn against one another, when they turn against you, you’ll understand why this was necessary.”
The words he’d said to him before his attempt to imprison him might never leave Xie Lian, they’d been engraved inside his heart, as was the speech he’d given beforehand about his motives. How the very same words he’d said to him so long ago that made Xie Lian think he’d found a kindred soul in him had been twisted beyond recognition, made into a poor justification for the death and suffering of Xie Lian’s people.
“Thinking about what’s best for all that inhabit these seas, Xianle, that is the duty of a king.”
Shaking his head as though that’ll wash away his thoughts, Xie Lian focuses on the battle at hand, if it can even be called that. In truth, the shackle around his neck that prevents him from using his siren song ensures that he is too small to push against the self proclaimed king of these seas.
Failure isn’t something Xie Lian allows himself to consider. He isn’t afraid for his life, not quite, Jun Wu had made it clear that he wants him alive. What Xie Lian needs to ensure is his freedom, else there’ll be no one to warn his people of the real culprit behind Xianle’s plague, nor to save them from it.
He swims upwards with all his might, hoping that the lesser water Jun Wu can use to pull him down will make his escape easier. It’s frowned upon among their kind to swim so close to where they can be seen, even more so to go on land; it’s a good thing then that Xie Lian has always had little care for superstition, and knows how to break such rules without bringing danger to himself or his people.
Xie Lian strongly doubts that Jun Wu, for all his newly revealed lack of scruples, would have dared to visit the surface. Despite all the lies he told him, Jun Wu never hid his love for power. Xie Lian had thought it was an enthusiasm they’d shared, as he, too, is passionate about honing his magic and martial arts, yet…
In light of recent discoveries, he makes an educated guess that the king of Wuyong wouldn’t have been too amused at the vulnerability their kind faces on land. It is by no means a certainty, but he can be comforted that at least if Jun Wu does follow him, they would be on a level playing field.
The idea gives him hope, as does the light coming from above, glowing ever brighter the closer he is to it. He’s still nowhere near safe shelter, too far from land or underwater caves that might offer him refuge, but it’s a relief in itself to get some small respite from the pressure pulling him down.
Dread pools in his stomach even as he's able to swim unrestrained. Xie Lian doesn't know the full extent of Jun Wu's powers, but he's seen enough to suspect that he's yet to outrun them. Being this close to the water surface also poses a different danger; Xie Lian now needs to watch for ships and other possibilities of discovery by landwalkers.
However, even as he waits for possible attacks from all directions, treasonous hope sneaks into his heart the greater a distance he's able to put between himself and Wuyong Kingdom.
He tentatively relaxes further when he takes notice of a shoal of fish in the near distance. Jun Wu’s onslaught had moved the very oceans against Xie Lian, so those who hadn’t been caught up into it had swam away toward safety. It’d been quite some time since Xie Lian had seen any signs of life anywhere close to him, having no one but Ruoye for company; this tentative return to normalcy feels like a good indication that they’ve perhaps made it past Jun Wu’s grasp.
However, it doesn’t take long for those comforting signs of normalcy to turn into an ill omen of what is to come for him. Xie Lian’s attemption is split between the water surface and the world underneath him, watching out for possible dangers on both sides, thus it’s during one of the moments he’s glancing down that he catches sight of a couple groups of fish quickly swimming away.
Xie Lian understands it in seconds, feeling it before he sees it. The water pressure rises from under him, violently pushing him forward. It’s nothing like how Jun Wu’s magic had been – no, this is clearly been caused by the movements of something heavy and strong enough to make waves in the water as it moves.
At first glance, it looks like a shadow, as though the very depths of the ocean were reaching upward for him. He struggles against the sudden violent current as long tentacles reach up from the dark waters below to ensnare him. It’s again with the help of Ruoye that he narrowly avoids being caught, as the silk band shields him from the attack, allowing him to break free of the monster’s grasp.
The eddies whirl around him as he’s thrown to the surface, he shivers as the biting cold air touches his skin, barely catching a glance at a ship in the distance as he falls back into the water with a painful slap. His whole body aches, his back in particular, but fortunately nothing feels broken from the impact. Somehow, Xie Lian manages to keep a grip on his sword through the whole tumultuous event, but he’s too winded to use it.
He struggles to recover his breath, rapidly cycling water through his gills. However, he isn’t given any time before grasping tentacles reach up and envelop him. Because of Ruoye’s continued intervention, he avoids being entirely crushed by the fell beast. His arms are kept free, though they can’t escape being dragged down in the process.
Xie Lian comes face to face with a great, glowing eye, larger than his whole body. It faintly illuminates the dark seas around them, allowing him to make out the vague silhouette of a monster worthy of his nightmares. Its skin is mottled, and shifts through patterns as it stares up at him, leaving Xie Lian at a loss of what to do.
Because he recognizes this creature. He’s seen it in the great mural at Wuyong’s palace and in his own library, in stone tablets depicting tales of kingdoms vanquished in a single night by the Calamity before him. Ruoye quivers around him, wrapping itself closer around Xie Lian, both protective and afraid of the monster in front of them.
Even if they had an army with them, it would have been a harsh, unforgiving battle against a Calamity such as this. By himself, Xie Lian has no hope to survive a fight. But he has no intention of losing his life either, so he frantically races through all possible means of escape; however few there may be. Besides, Xie Lian’s martial prowess isn’t entirely diminished, even if his magic is gone. He has cultivated his body too, he can fight, at least a little.
“Ruoye!” Xie Lian calls. The silken band startles and flares like a serpent, as Xie Lian raises his sword, ready to strike alongside him, his most steadfast ally even against the most insurmountable odds.
There has to be a way to come out ahead against this creature, or at least to distract it and leave. There’s always a way. He has to believe that.
The red flowers that Hua Cheng had climbed through to come into shore have remained close companions to him over the years. He enjoys visiting them and sitting by the ocean, oftentimes laying loose petals in the sea in hopes that with them, his thoughts will reach Xie Lian. It’s wishful thinking, he knows, but the small gesture brings him peace of mind. To this day, Hua Cheng wishes he could show the boy who saved him proper gratitude.
There likely isn’t much he can offer a mermaid. Still, he hopes. When he’s feeling greedy, he years for a little more than that. He allows his mind to wander into musings of how it might be to speak to Xie Lian again, to befriend him, perhaps, or even more. They’re no more than idle daydreams, yet Hua Cheng couldn’t rid himself of them even if he was inclined to try.
He doesn’t feel too much shame over his attachment to the memory of the person who changed his life. Xie Lian might be more a mystery than a friend, yet if it were not for him, Hua Cheng would never have lived to be eighteen years old, nor would he have found it in himself to grow up as well as he’s done. It is no wonder then, Hua Cheng thinks, that he can’t help but be fond of the boy he’d met during that stormy night a lifetime ago.
Hua Cheng holds Xie Lian dear to his heart like no other; he thinks he always will. That is why, when he arrives at the bed of flowers that morning, expecting to sit with his thoughts before starting his day only to find the very person whom that place always reminded him of lying there among red blossoms, Hua Cheng recognizes him immediately. Although it takes him a moment longer to accept his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.
Even with his skin softened and his wings and tail nowhere to be seen, he would have recognized Xie Lian anywhere. However he could never have guessed that this is how their reunion would be, with Xie Lian laid unconscious on the very same bed of flowers he’d left him all those years ago, painting them an even deeper red with his blood.
He moves as soon as he notices that detail, hastily crossing the distance between them and kneeling by Xie Lian’s side. Past a quick glance in order to check for injuries, Hua Cheng disregards the bare lower half of his body, focusing on the wound on his shoulder half hidden behind what seems to have been some type of cape or short robe made to fit his mermaid body and the blood soaking through the silk band wrapped around his torso.
What he’d thought was a silk band at least. The moment he reaches out to gather Xie Lian in his arms, part of the silk band uncoils itself from Xie Lian and lunges at him, one end threateningly sharpened as though a snake ready to attack. It’s certainly a unique spiritual weapon, unlike any that Hua Cheng has seen before. He isn’t intimidated, however; if anything he’s put to rest a curiosity that has followed him since his childhood.
With calm he does not feel in the face of the urgency of this situation, Hua Cheng raises his hands in front of himself. While he doesn’t know how much of his movements the silk band can capture, he still thinks it better to attempt to convey he doesn’t mean any harm. “Ruoye,” he says, thinking back to the name Xie Lian had called the odd protective light that’d circled around the two of them.
He doesn’t know what kind of reaction he’s hoping for; regardless, it’s still surprising when the silk band pauses, as if uncertain what to make of Hua Cheng’s knowledge of its name.
“We’ve met before, do you remember?” he says slowly, maintaining his composure despite the urgency he feels faced with Xie Lian’s blood dripping from Ruoye. “You and Xie Lian-gege brought me here back then. I introduced myself as Honghong-er.”
For an excruciating moment Ruoye hovers in the air, uncertain of whether or not to trust him, then it tugs insistently at Hua Cheng’s sleeve, staining it in Xie Lian’s blood as it attempts to request his help.
Hua Cheng doesn’t need to be told twice. He gathers Xie Lian in his arms and rushes back to his home. Thankfully, the building isn’t so far from where they are; Hua Cheng doesn’t want to leave Xie Lian’s wounds unattended for a second longer than necessary.
It’s a good thing that Hua Cheng has never had a weak stomach. Although he’s helped injured sailors before, he’s never had to dress wounds quite this bad. Still, he maintains his calm in the face of Xie Lian’s pained whimpers.
Most of his medical knowledge may have been acquired from reading books rather than any substantial experience, but he doesn’t hesitate to investigate Xie Lian’s wounds. While the lighthouse is not entirely removed from the nearby town, the time it’d take him to get a proper doctor is more than he’s comfortable with wasting when so much blood is being spilled on his hands.
After lying him on the couch, he cleans the wounds with clean water first, absently making note of how his skin soaks in the water, briefly returning to that which Hua Cheng had first seen. He can tell then, just from the look of the gash in his stomach, that it’ll be fatal if he doesn’t do something. As it is, Ruoye’s attempt to stop the bleeding seems to be the only thing keeping alive.
There is only one recourse Hua Cheng has available to him that might save Xie Lian’s life, and it’s one he’s never had cause to try on anyone but himself before. Ruoye’s free scrap hovers in confusion when he takes a seat beside Xie Lian and places his head on his lap, running a hand through Xie Lian’s hair. It’s not strictly necessary an action, he doesn’t think, merely what he remembers his mother doing when he was feeling unwell.
Like his mother had then, and to some extent like Xie Lian had shown him all those years ago, Hua Cheng started to sing a song whose complete meaning had long been lost to him.
He knows the most important parts: the feeling of comfort and safety the sounds had evoked on him, the care with which his mother imbued it, and how to weave magic in the notes of his birdsong to compel the body to heal. guiding wounds into knitting themselves back together.
Nevertheless, he is but a lone student; not a master of this craft. Regardless of his determination to help, Hua Cheng can’t be certain of how much he will be able to do.
The uncertainty makes it difficult to keep his eyes on Xie Lian as he heals him, yet at the same time Hua Cheng can’t take his eyes away. His gaze remains fixed on Xie Lian as the blood slowly stops flowing so freely from his stomach wound, and completely from his shoulder.
He sings and sings and sings, until he’s certain his voice will be hoarse later. Stopping isn’t an option for him before the danger has passed. What he lacks in knowledge about the abilities he inherited from his mother, he is determined to make up with his will.
Hua Cheng wishes more than ever that he knew more, that he was more powerful than he is. He’s accumulated a lot of knowledge over the years, having studied both for the sake of it and in hopes to understand himself and the boy who saved him better, but none of that feels like enough under the threat of Xie Lian dying in his arms.
Only as Xie Lian’s breathing calms, his body relaxing into uneasy sleep rather than the tormented half-waken state he’d been in before, whimpering from pain, that Hua Cheng allows himself to let go. Ruoye, too, settles then, resting on top of Xie Lian’s torso rather than clinging to him and hovering anxiously in the air.
The two of them sit in silence for a second, no more than a couple of heartbeats, before Hua Cheng forces himself to continue moving. His work isn't yet done, and he won't be able to rest until Xie Lian is truly safe and sound.
Ruoye startles when he stands up, hovering once again as though it wishes to follow him.
“I will be back soon,” he tells it. “I need to retrieve a few things for gege.”
Learning that he'll need to leave the room, Ruoye stays in place, unwilling to leave Xie Lian outside of its reach. It's a choice Hua Cheng wholeheartedly agrees with. If he had the choice on the matter, he'd rather not leave Xie Lian’s side either, but there are supplies he needs and none of them are in this room.
He stops quickly by the bathroom, where he collects medicine and clean bandages and an unused towel, then to his room for a change of clothes, and lastly to the kitchen, where he fills a container with water. Neither of these tasks last long; still, they feel too slow to Hua Cheng. He's restless as he returns to Xie Lian’s side, anxious despite himself that his condition might have worsened in the brief time he's been away.
The only change he finds is that Xie Lian has moved slightly to his side, almost curling up in on himself. He must be cold , Hua Cheng thinks, and uncomfortable. He doesn’t waste time in returning to his side, placing his supplies on the table, kneeling by Xie Lian and getting to work.
Hua Cheng is methodical as he cleans Xie Lian of the blood, starting with his shoulder since Ruoye is still clinging to his stomach, acting like a bandage. It's useful, so he doesn't complain, only turning to after he's finished cleaning and bandaging Xie Lian’s shoulder.
“I'll need you to move now.” Hua Cheng announces, gently nudging Ruoye with his hand.
The silk band raises one of its ends and shakes it in refusal, hovering protectively on top of Xie Lian as though it will attack if his next answer isn’t satisfactory. Hua Cheng is not intimidated.
“Gege’s wounds need to be bandaged,” he explains, firmly but not unkindly. “His wound is closed, but it still needs to be cleaned, and he’ll need clothes, else he’ll be cold.” Ruoye doesn’t move, neither does Hua Cheng. “And you need to be cleaned up too, or do you want Xie Lian-gege to wake up to you covered in his blood?”
Their little standoff lasts for another few seconds, until reluctantly, Ruoye complies. It hovers anxiously next to him, dripping blood on the floor. Hua Cheng ignores it, feeling somewhat thankful to his covered eye for ensuring that he can’t see it well from the angle they’re in.
He keeps his focus solely on Xie Lian as he uncovers the scar on his stomach, wiping it from the blood. Whoever has done this, Hua Cheng hopes that they’ve paid their price; if they haven’t already he’ll ensure they pay it tenfold. He swears as much to himself, it’s the least he can do for Xie Lian, to ensure the seas are safe for him to return. Hua Cheng will find a way, even if he has to fight his nature to do it.
Only once he’s done dressing Xie Lian’s wounds and dressing him in robes too big for him does he look back to the silk band. “I will take him to bed, where he’ll rest more comfortably.”
Ruoye moves in a way that could pass by a nod and sets out to follow him as he gathers Xie Lian in his arms and walks toward his room. It doesn’t rejoin him yet, so Hua Cheng thinks it’s remembered its current blood soaked state.
He doesn’t allow himself to linger for long after he lays Xie Lian on his bed. It’s difficult to put into words the feeling he gets from seeing him there, sleeping soundly atop Hua Cheng’s bedsheets. The man he searched for during the past few years, delivered to him nearly dead by the sea.
Hua Cheng carefully tucks him in underneath the blankets, making sure he’ll be as comfortable as possible, then he stands up to leave. Later, he’ll clean up his old room for himself, fully intending to relinquish the more comfortable quarters to Xie Lian during his recovery. But right now there is still more to do.
He turns to Ruoye first. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned from all that blood.”
The silk band wavers in the air, glancing back at Xie Lian worriedly;
“He’s only sleeping now,” Hua Cheng reassures – though saying it aloud is a comforting reminder to him as well. “We must let him rest.”
With one last anxious hover, Ruoye acquiesces and follows him, leaving Xie Lian to sleep.
The first thing Xie Lian notices when he wakes is how oddly heavy he feels. His body is enveloped by something soft – definitely far softer than the sand on the ocean floor, and entirely unlike even the most comfortable resting places in the palace. Yet even so, he feels weighed down in a way he’s hardly ever experienced, not only that but he’s also too warm, and the water around him feels… thin, the wrong texture against his skin.
It’s then that his memories come back to him, making his heart race in his chest as he recalls just what happened before he lost consciousness. The Calamity he fought, how he was forced to seek asylum on land… Jun Wu.
Xie Lian startles into wakefulness, opening his eyes and attempting to sit up in a haste only to end up lying back down after being hit with a sharp pain in his abdomen. In his panic, he’d forgotten about the wounds he received in battle. though he’s startled to realize he hadn’t felt any pain previous to moving his body.
It’s hard to tell, but as he takes deep breaths to calm himself down, he thinks he can notice more improvement to his injuries than he’d have expected. Enough that it makes him wonder how long he’s been asleep.
He doesn’t get much time to mull over those thoughts, since before he can so much as move his head again, Xie Lian feels the familiar sensation of smooth fabric squirming away from his arm. In a matter of seconds, Ruoye is partially hovering on top of him, still linked to his arm, but having freed part of itself to excitedly curl up to his face.
“Hello there,” he smiles, running a hand through white silk. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”
With Ruoye’s help, Xie Lian manages to sit up so that he can properly take in the space he’s in. While he’s never seen one before, it’s easy to tell that he’s been brought to one of the landwalker’s homes. Despite it being from far away, he’s seen walls like these from the outside, and while he has little experience with the inside of their places of residence, he can at least take a guess at the use of most of the objects he’s surrounding him.
In fact, he’s surprised to find that there are more similarities than there are differences between what he finds in this room and what he’d see in any common room in his kingdom. While they seem to be made of the same material as the flora outside instead of carved in stone, there are shelves, a chest and another structure he guesses is meant for storage lining the room’s walls.
The place where he’s been laid upon is made of that as well, though there’s also a soft but sturdy material he doesn’t think he’s seen before between himself and that structure. He’s covered in soft fabric too, not quite as much as Ruoye, and way more vibrant than his silk companion, yet comfortable to his dry skin.
There are a lot of smaller, miscellaneous items he hesitates to name. The colorful rectangles in the shelves could perhaps be tablets with carved texts, but he isn’t too certain given what he can see of their fronts. He recognizes a collection of seashells, displayed throughout the shelves, despite not being common to Xie Lian’s kingdom, they’re still an unexpectedly familiar find.
On the walls, he’s enraptured by a series of drawings, all displaying vibrant colors unlike any he’s able to find in the sea. There’s also, to his delight, a sword! And a few knives displayed alongside it. They’re different from the weapons Xie Lian uses himself, though not entirely unfamiliar. He’s fought the resentful spirits of sailors who drowned before, some of them had weapons much like these, only they’d been in worse condition after being left uncared for at the bottom of the sea.
His old teacher had told him before that their worlds weren’t so different, but hearing about it paled in comparison to seeing it for himself. Sat in this foreign room which contained so many similarities to his own disciple quarters back in his sect, he can truly believe his teacher’s words about their people having once been one.
A world where those who roamed the seas and the skies could traverse through land whenever they wished had seemed like a mere fairy tale to a young Xie Lian, told by a sentimental teacher during an idle moment; now he had his doubts about the veracity of the story. He wonders if there are hints to that knowledge here, on the surface. Xie Lian had always suspected his teacher wandered them before settling in Xianle, perhaps this unexpected adventure will give him a chance to find out.
Ruoye takes him out of his thoughts by tugging slightly at his wrist as it detaches itself from him, moving to hover in front of him rather than nuzzling his face. It’s curious, Xie Lian needs to watch it for a moment as it motions between him and the room's door.
“Do you want me to go?” Xie Lian takes a guess.
The subsequent distressed wavering is more than enough to tell him that hadn’t been Ruoye’s intent.
It seems to Xie Lian then, that his more unlikely guess might be the right one. “Are you leaving by yourself?” he asks, a trace of concern on his voice.
Xie Lian doesn't know how common spiritual weapons are on the surface, nor can he guess at the reaction his rescuer will have to seeing Ruoye if they haven't already. But Ruoye gives him a reassuring pat on the back of his hand, so he doesn't protest again, trusting that the silk band will know better having been awake while Xie Lian was rescued.
While he's left alone he distracts himself by glancing around the room some more. It's clear that whoever owns this home loves the ocean, since on a closer look, Xie Lian notices that most of the pictures in the wall depict it in some way; one displays the shore at night, from the point of view of someone in the water, another was of the ocean at night during a storm, with what Xie Lian guessed was a misshapen image of the moon reflected on the water surface, yet another one depicted the view of boats in the distant horizon, and so on it went.
There are other pictures, too. There is one in particular which captures Xie Lian’s attention, of a bird flying toward the sun, its wings a vibrant red. Something about it seems sad to him, but Xie Lian can’t quite describe why. He’s thinking about it when the sound of light footsteps brings him back to the moment at hand.
Xie Lian turns his head toward the door just in time to see Ruoye return, followed by a handsome youth of around eighteen or nineteen years old. He wears fabric as red as the bird’s wings in the picture Xie Lian had been looking at and his skin is clear as the clouds on a sunny day. One of his eyes is covered, but the visible one is full of warmth, as is his smile.
“It’s good to see you awake,” he says, his voice deep and gentle.
He can’t quite pinpoint why, but Xie Lian feels there’s a hint of wilderness hidden behind the young man’s charming looks. However, it doesn’t deter him in the least. Xie Lian isn’t quite sure what to make of his instincts regarding people's characters given recent developments, but he wants to trust that this might be a good person.
Besides, Ruoye has one of its ends firmly wrapped around one of the youth’s wrists, guiding him to take a seat near Xie Lian. He’ll trust that his spiritual weapon’s judgment is sound, too.
“Thank you,” he smiles. “Were you the one who rescued me?”
“Indeed.” Once he’s sat down, Ruoye returns to Xie Lian’s side without haste, draping itself around his neck. The young man seems amused by the sight, though he makes no comment on it. “There’s no need for gege to thank me, it’s my duty as the lighthouse keeper to watch out for those at sea.”
It’s a relief to hear that he seems to have been confused by a sailor, rather than seen for what he is. For all the good things his teacher has said about the surface, Xie Lian hasn’t forgotten the warnings he’s been given about the landwalkers. Still, he says, “I’m thankful regardless.”
Ruoye makes a happy motion in agreement, and Xie Lian is struck once again about how at ease the silk band is around this young man. “I see you’ve met Ruoye,” he says sheepishly. “I hope it didn’t cause you any trouble.”
"Not at all,” the man waves off his concerns, the perfect picture of nonchalance. ”You'd be surprised with the kinds of things you learn in this line of work. Ruoye isn't the first spiritual weapon I've seen, and it’s been good company.”
While Xie Lian smiles, Ruoye preens at the compliment, swaying excitedly around Xie Lian’s neck. “I’m glad to hear that,” he sighs. Brief as their interaction has been, everything so far points to this young man being genuine in having helped him if his friendly demeanor toward Ruoye is to say anything; it’s a relief. “May I know your name, my friend?”
The youth leans back on his seat slightly, balancing his weight on one of his hands. It gives Xie Lian a better view of his face, and in turn places him more within view of the man’s uncovered eye. “I’m Hua Cheng, but since I’m the third in my family, gege can call me San Lang.”
“I’m Xie Lian,” he offers in turn.
It feels unexpectedly good to be able to say his name without it bearing any weight to it. Here he isn’t the prince of Xianle, but a mere traveler who’d gotten lost at sea. There is no need for formalities, nor for him to worry that Hua Cheng might want something from him. It’s a freedom he never expected to possess.
Hua Cheng moves on to inquire about his health, asking a couple of questions Xie Lian has to fumble through. His understanding of what his body is meant to be doing isn’t entirely lacking, this is yet another place where their knowledge overlaps despite their differences, though there are things he isn’t certain how to answer. For all that he can tell Hua Cheng about his pain and how his wounds feel, he doesn’t know if he feels strong enough to walk - he doesn’t know if he can walk at all - and he can’t tell if his body feels unwell if landwalkers are supposed to feel this heavy, confined in their own environment.
He also finds himself intrigued by what his treatment was, given that Hua Cheng tells him he’s only been asleep for a day when Xie Lian would have expected much longer to have passed given the severity of his wounds. There’s the possibility that the surface’s healers have developed different techniques to deal with such things, so he doesn’t comment on it. It wouldn’t do to shine light to his lack of knowledge about this world right now.
There is still so much he doesn’t know; about this person, this place where he ended up, what could be happening back home. He wants to seek the answers to all these questions, but by the time Hua Cheng is done with his questions, Xie Lian is too tired to pursue them.
Although he hasn’t been awake for long, his injuries have taken a toll on his body, making it difficult to handle the exertion. His host seems to notice that as well, because, with an understanding smile, Hua Cheng leaves him to his own devices, telling him to rest.
Xie Lian tries to stay up for a little longer, looking around the room and contemplating the situation he’s in, but a mere few minutes after he lays back, he falls gently into sleep.