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It takes a long time for him to come back home. Or well, he thinks where home is supposed to be. All his life he’s been used to golden palaces and pretty gardens that even the road on the way back to where his parents are hiding is an unfamiliar sight to him. He’s gotten plenty of time getting used to the mud on his boots, or dirt underneath his nails. He’s familiar with long hikes, and the stabbing of a hundred swords. But what he’s not familiar with is seeing his parents with Feng Xin by the river where their small hut stands.
Instead, what he’s familiar with is his mother standing alongside his father with a lit incense in both of their hands. Before he was a god, Xie Lian used to watch his parents light up incense for the Heavenly Emperor. When became a god, his parents lit incense along with their people to pray to him. When war hit their land, his parents lit incense in his temple for the dead, for help, for him to descend.
Xie Lian is no stranger to his parents worshipping, and yet, something about them makes Xie Lian falter in his tracks.
His mother, whose elegant youthfulness used to light up the room, seems to have aged twice her age with her gaunt face and hollow cheekbones. Gone is the pride that accompanied her beauty as the former Queen of Xianle places the incense in the holder situated in front of what looks to be a small shrine made out of rocks.
His father, a man who used to be stout and full of wisdom, who used to command the room with his presence, looks worse than his mother. His pallor glows sickly pale and his eyes are sunken as he places his own incense onto the simple shrine.
They stand there together with Feng Xin standing behind them, hiding from Xie Lian’s view with an expression that he wasn’t sure if it was reverent or mournful.
As Xie Lian nears where they are, his mother turns to Feng Xin, with teary eyes.
“I’m thankful for this,” He hears his mother say in a tired voice. Xie Lian stops in his tracks completely and watches the three of them. “But it’s– it’s so hard…”
“H-How do you…” His mother lets out a choked sob as she speaks again. “How do you mourn a death with no body? How do you worshsip a god who has no godhood? How do you stay here when your prince is gone ?”
No.
No, no, no, no.
No, he wants to say. Your son is alive.
Xie Lian could only start running towards them as his mother lets the tears flow from her eyes. They don’t turn to look at him when he’s a few feet away from them, and Xie Lian doesn’t even realize he goes straight past Feng Xin as he reaches out to his mother.
“I’m here!” Xie Lian shouts, trying to get their attention. “Mother, I—”
He cuts himself off as his hands come up empty when he tries to grab his mother’s robe.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
“Mother, Father…” He calls out, trying to touch them — to wipe their tears, to hold them and tell them everything’s okay— but nothing happens. He turns to Feng Xin, who only looks ahead of him. “Feng Xin…”
But Feng Xin doesn’t see him.
Instead, Feng Xin leads his parents away from the shrine and back to the hut.
Xie Lian stares at the smoke wafting from the incense and sits down on the ground.
Xie Lian doesn’t know how long he waits until he sees Feng Xin again walking back to the shrine.
Xie Lian watches, frozen in disbelief, as Feng Xin steps forward, his movements deliberate yet weighted with grief. Before the shrine, he bows his head lightly in reverence — and Xie Lian thinks for a moment that there might be a sword embedded in his heart that has been forgotten. He watches Feng Xin’s broad shoulders tremble with the weight of unspoken sorrow.
His voice is distant as he speaks, his gaze fixed on the makeshift shrine. “Dianxia…” he murmurs, so softly that Xie Lian almost thinks he imagined it. Almost.
“Dianxia,” Feng Xin says, this time a little louder. Xie Lian takes the time to look at him and the shadows on his face. “I never thought I would pray to you…but this time, I…uh, ran out of options. I’m desperate. We’re desperate. We just want to know if you’re doing alright.”
As he watches, a knot forms in Xie Lian’s chest, a painful realization dawning upon him. He is here, yet he is not. He exists in a liminal space, neither fully mortal nor fully divine. He is neither a ghost nor a god. He is unable to touch or be touched, to comfort those he loves in their hour of need.
Still, Xie Lian tries his best to reach out.
Nothing.
“Dianxia,” Feng Xin whispers, but no voice comes out. Xie Lian realizes that the words on his lips is a silent prayer. “I’m sorry I can’t protect you. I hope you like the shrine.”
And in that moment, Xie Lian realizes — truly realizes — what Feng Xin has been doing all this time.
Taking care of his parents. Building a shrine. Praying to a god who no longer answers.
Feng Xin’s devotion, his loyalty, it’s all there, laid bare in the simple arrangement of stones and the whispered prayers that fall from his lips like petals drifting on the wind. And Xie Lian, who has witnessed countless acts of faith and devotion in his existence, finds himself humbled by the depth of Feng Xin’s loyalty.
A sense of guilt gnaws at Xie Lian's heart. He cannot bear to see Feng Xin suffer, cannot stand the thought of his loyal companion praying to a god who cannot answer. He cannot stand his parents mourning for him. He cannot stand being this , unable to return home.
Xie Lian leaves hurriedly, running as far away. Like the wind, fleeting.
When Xie Lian returns after a few days, a small storm has passed by their village. His mother is by the river washing clothes while his father sits down by the door. Feng Xin is hacking away wood, and Xie Lian wonders how long has passed since he left. How long did his mother endure suffering like a commoner? How long did his father endure being taken care of someone lower than him? How long did Feng Xin endure his father looking down at him? How long did they endure without his presence?
Nevertheless, they have stayed here, enduring.
Xie Lian lies against the pile of rocks— his shrine.
He stays there, watching them. Enduring.
And this, grief in his heart that Xie Lian cannot name, too, he will endure.
There are two things that Xie Lian figure out that day. One, his parents treat the shrine like a grave, mourning. They pour their sorrow over missing their only son, and leaves when the sun is about to sun. The second thing that Xie Lian finds out is that Feng Xin goes to the shrine at night, after his parents have long retired.
“Sorry,” Feng Xin rubs the back of his neck as he approaches the shrine. The moon shines on his face and in the dim light, Xie Lian could see how much Feng Xin has become older. To Xie Lian, he is no longer the boy he met at fourteen, so gangly like meat without bones. Now, his broad shoulders remind of Xie Lian of the long nights before his cultivation. He kneels down momentarily, and Xie Lian has half a mind to lecture him why he shouldnt’t when he sees the piece of rock that Feng Xin has picked up. “The storm must have damaged you.”
Why was he acting like this? Xie Lian doesn’t deserve this. Feng Xin has all the reasons in the world to be angry at him — after all, hadn’t he disappointed Feng Xin before he left?
“Why?” Xie Lian asks. “Why are you still here?”
“I guess…I miss you,” Feng Xin says into the empty night, as if it was enough of an answer for Xie Lian’s question. “When I took my oath to be the shield to your sword, I swore to serve his highness no matter what.”
“No, you—” Xie Lian wishes with everything that Feng Xin could hear him. “...I don’t deserve your loyalty.”
Feng Xin could only place the rock he was holding in its original position. He only smiles, and Xie Lian feels as if he’s looking at a memory.
“You’re forever my prince, and I, your guard.” Feng Xin whispers, like a prayer, before standing up to leave. Xie Lian is helpless in watching him go.
That night, Xie Lian doesn’t leave the shrine.
Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. Xie Lian finds himself drawn to the shrine. He watches his mother and father mourn, and he watches as they go on with surviving. He watches their grief as a palpable presence in the form of deepening lines etched into their with each passing day. He watches Feng Xin worship, and he watches as he stays with his parents. He watches Feng Xin’s loyalty as slumped shoulders and the way his hands tremble on the rare times he lights incense. He watches Feng Xin tend to the shrine with a meticulous care – how the term changing of the guard becomes literal and watches as Feng Xin morphs from guard to caretaker, from boy to man, from grief to desperation.
With each passing day, Xie Lian's heart grows heavier with the weight of his own silence. He morphs from god to ghost, from living to dead, from hoping to losing hope. He is not alive in the way it matters, and he is not dead in the way it ends. But Xie Lian lingers in the way one grieves.
He stays and watch as one day Feng Xin walks in the moonlight in the way that stirs Xie Lian’s soul.
“Hi,” Feng Xin greets like how an old friend would. “How have you been? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to watch you today.”
Feng Xin sits in front of the shrine, his posture relaxed, like how he did in the past when Xie Lian shared a table with both him and Mu Qing.
“I found a job as a guard for an establishment in Yong’an. It’s near, and it pays well.” Feng Xin continues, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness.“I might not be able to stay here as often.”
With trembling hands, Xie Lian reaches out, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the shrine. There’s a few moments of silence between them.
“You should leave,” Xie Lian whispers, his voice barely audible above the gentle breeze. “Pray to other gods for luck and prosperity.”
Feng Xin jolts as if he hears a ghost. He jolts in a way that he's torn whether or not he should believe that it might be Xie Lian he's talking to. Like he's more afraid of the fact that it might be Xie Lian, than not. Like he cannot hope that it’s Xie Lian. “Dianxia?”
The sound of that name hangs in the air as if both a prayer and a curse. For a moment, Xie Lian is frozen in place and his heart races at the weight of Feng Xin's gaze upon him, like it threatens to crush him under its scrutiny.
“...” Xie Lian hesitates. “You can hear me?”
Feng Xin’s voice trembles with uncertainty. Xie Lian doesn’t miss the flicker of hope dancing in his eyes, the flicker of hope that comes with fear in daring to believe in something that may never come to pass. “Your highness, is that you?”
Xie Lian refuses to respond.
The intensity of Feng Xin’s gaze threatens to pierce through the veil of his indifference and Feng Xin tries again, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and confusion. “Your highness?”
“You shouldn’t pray to a god that has left you.” Xie Lian finally replies, his tone admonishing. Feng Xin shouldn’t stay. Wouldn’t it be easier for all of them if he left? Wouldn’t he resent Xie Lian less in the future if leaves now? Wouldn’t it be kinder to Xie Lian, that he goes instead of letting him get used to a loyalty that might not last forever?
Feng Xin scoffs, his disbelief evident in the way his lips curl with skepticism. “Who are you?” he demands, his voice edged with frustration and confusion.
Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did he not recognize Xie Lian now? After all the years they spent together, after all they’ve faced side by side, Feng Xin doesn’t recognize him?
Xie Lian feels a wave of bitter resignation wash over him, a deep ache settling in his heart like a heavy stone. He’d always harbored a silent fear, a nagging suspicion, that both Mu Qing and Feng Xin would eventually drift away from him, leaving him to navigate the lonely expanse of eternity on his own. That one day, when it came to recognize him or shun him, they would choose the latter. Mu Qing had done it, and the matter with Feng Xin…well it wasn’t the same case now, but it gnawed on his fear that to Xie Lian, it wasn’t a matter of if it happens, but when it happens. A cruel inevitability that lashed at him, relentless and unforgiving.
But amidst that ugly emotion that settled in his bones, Xie Lian is relieved— the unanswered questions between them that he’s not prepared to answer will stay that way. Perhaps it is better this way , he thinks, a small voice of self-preservation whispering in the recesses of his mind.
Xie Lian remains silent. He doesn’t know what to say, how to answer the question that hangs between them like a heavy cloud.
Feng Xin shakes his head in frustration, his brows furrowing with confusion and disappointment. “If you’re not his highness, then who are you?”
Please, go . Xie Lian pleads silently. The more Feng Xin stays, the more he gets convinced of answering in a way that might only hurt them both.
After a while of no answer, Feng Xin tries again: “What god are you?”
“I…” Xie Lian starts, but cuts himself off, the words catching in his throat like shards of glass. It was always a losing battle with Feng Xin, wasn't it? Even in their youth, when their dreams knew no bounds and their laughter echoed through the halls of the palace, there was an invisible barrier that Xie Lian could never breach.
He swallows hard, the bitter taste of regret lingering on his tongue. How many times had he wished for things to be different? How many nights had he spent in that altar wishing that Feng Xin didn’t know what he did to survive? How many nights has he spent lost in the enormity of desire when he had yet to take his cultivation vows? He’s always lost to battles when it comes to Feng Xin, as if the world was telling him he brought nothing but suffering to one of the people that shouldn’t even be suffering with him.
Xie Lian's hand twitches, an instinctual urge to reach out, to bridge the gap that separates them, but he stops himself. The ache in his chest intensifies, but he doesn’t want to tell Feng Xin the whole truth. What was one more lie between them?
“I am the god of this shrine.”
Feng Xin is quiet at Xie Lian’s words, thinking. And Xie Lian gets it. Not everyone has the luxury of hope turning out to be true, and Feng Xin is nothing if not cautious of the hope stirring within him. Xie Lian gets it. Bai Wuxiang has shown him the depth of despair required to lose faith in hope, to shed it away like second skin, to discard it in order to protect yourself from something that can be shattered easily.
Feng Xin doesn’t say anything explosive or dramatic. It’s as if he only acknowledges Xie Lian’s words, and nothing more. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Xie Lian stays, watching his figure leave. Somehow the pain in his chest is uglier than the pain of being stabbed multiple times.
Feng Xin stays true to his promise. Xie Lian doesn’t see Feng Xin much in the morning, so he spends his time watching his parents trying to set up a vegetable garden. His parents don’t eat lunch, and by the time dinner arrives, Feng Xin brings home some dishes from what Xie Lian could only guess he works at. When his parents retire for the night, Feng Xin walks back to the shrine with a cold mantou in hand.
Xie Lian stiffens. Had he not eaten much? Did he not eat with his parents? Had Feng Xin foregone his own meal to bring food here instead?
“Here,” Feng Xin places the mantou on top of the rocks. “I’m not here to worship you, but I know Dianxia would like the idea of a god finding solace in his simple shrine.”
“I think…I’m right where I should be.” Xie Lian replies quietly. He's forgotten how easy it is to confide in Feng Xin, to share his burdens and fears without fear of judgment. And yet, a sense of unease gnaws at him, a nagging doubt that lingers in the back of his mind. If Feng Xin stays, what future awaits him? What right does Xie Lian have to hold onto someone who deserves so much more than him?
“You’re not Dianxia,” Feng Xin says. His tone isn’t bitter, but rather longing.
For a moment, Xie Lian is tempted to confess everything. How selfish would that be of him?
The silence hangs heavy between them. Xie Lian watches as Feng Xin sits down, his gaze fixed on the twinkling stars above. He can't help but wonder what future awaits them if he were to ask Feng Xin to tell the truth. Would it be fair to keep him tethered to a god who can offer nothing but a hollow existence?
Bai Wuxiang was right. He was not enough — Xie Lian is nothing but a rotten being inside. He isn’t even pure of heart. He’d allow himself to steal, to kill, to hate. Would Feng Xin even stay when he knows how far the light in him has strayed?
“Why do you pray to a god who doesn’t answer you?” Xie Lian decides to ask. His question cuts through the tense silence like a blade, and Feng Xin’s shoulder stiffen visibly upon hearing it.
Feng Xin's brow furrows in contemplation. “I’ll tell you if you tell me who you are.”
Xie Lian's contemplates Feng Xin’s offer, his heart hammering against his chest. The weight of Feng Xin's gaze bears down on him, even if Feng Xin couldn’t see him. He always looked so serious when he had his focus set on something. It’s the same expression he has when aiming a precise target, or when Mu Qing eggs him on. Xie Lian kind of wishes that he paid more attention when he did.
Before Xie Lian could answer, Feng Xin speaks again. “You don’t have to tell me your name — just… tell me what kind of god you are.”
“I’m…” Xie Lian pauses, thinking of an answer. “I don’t know what kind of god I am.”
“I guess that’s what mortals and gods have in common.” Feng Xin turns back to look at the sky. His golden eyes twinkle with morose sadness.
“The prince I serve is different,” Feng Xin says fondly. He closes his eyes, the breeze sweeping his hair slightly. “He always knew what he wanted to be.”
Xie Lian sits down beside him, both his palms on the ground as he turns to stare at Feng Xin. “What did he want to be?”
“He wanted to save the common people.”
Xie Lian tries his best not to let the dread in his stomach swallow him whole. “And did he?”
“No,” Feng Xin admits. “We failed.”
As Feng Xin rises to his feet, Xie Lian can’t help but feel a pang of guilt gnawing at him. Despite that, Feng Xin's smile doesn’t leave his face. He pats dirt away from his robes, preparing to leave. “—but he did his best.”
The next day, Feng Xin brings an apple to the shrine. He’s earlier than usual and he settles into his usual spot, sitting in silence for a long period of time with Xie Lian’s presence unnoticed beside him. They used to sit in silence like this after sword practice, watching the sun set from the peak of Mt. Taicang. It’s not the same view, but Xie Lian lets himself sit cross legged beside Feng Xin, hands folded on his lap.
“I still don’t know what I want to be.” Xie Lian confesses, breaking the silence. “But all I know is I want to be kind.”
Feng Xin snorts. “The other day you told me to pray to other gods because mine does not answer.”
Xie Lian lets himself laugh. “I’m being kind to you. You always look sad when you come here.”
“Well that’s what happens when you actually miss someone.”
Feng Xin joins his laughter, the sound echoing through the stillness of the shrine, and for a fleeting moment, Xie Lian catches a glimpse of who they were when he was seventeen. And then, as quickly as it came, the laughter fades, leaving behind a quiet so profound it seems to stretch into eternity.
“I miss someone, too.” Xie Lian says, his words hanging in the silence between them.
“Why don’t you go visit them instead of staying here?” Feng Xin’s curiosity gets the better of him as he watches the rising moon.
“I can’t.” Xie Lian admits, the words heavy on his tongue. “But… I think they’re doing alright.”
Feng Xin hums in agreement, placing his head behind his arms. “I hope mine’s doing alright.”
I am, Xie Lian finds himself smiling against the great expanse of the night sky. I think I’ll be alright.
The stars never shined brighter that night.
The two of them settle into a routine. Every night Feng Xin comes. They talk about the past, about his parents, about Feng Xin’s meager job as a guard. Xie Lian comes up in their conversations a lot, in which he tries to change the subject easily. Sometimes, when Feng Xin doesn’t come back home, Xie Lian stays inside the hut with his parents, hearing about the changes in the world that has moved on without him. Without Feng Xin's presence, the place feels eerily quiet, and Xie Lian finds himself watching his parents less, instead opting to explore the nearby area. Yet, no matter where he goes, he always finds himself drawn back to the shrine, waiting for Feng Xin's return.
It's a strange feeling, how easy Xie Lian has gotten used to the routine they have. There’s a hole in the bottom of his stomach that gnaws on this feeling, of the fear that one day it can be lost so easily.
Xie Lian remembers the golden palaces he loved to play with, how easy they crumble under one wrong move. The feeling stays dormant in his stomach, sometimes momentarily being remembered in the middle of their conversations. Sometimes, Xie Lian forgets it’s even there.
When Feng Xin arrives, all his worries melt away. He sits beside Feng Xin, who’s taken a liking to lying down on the soft grass as he speaks with Xie Lian, and Xie Lian does his best not to try and card his fingers through the stray locks from Feng Xin’s ponytail.
“I met a girl in the establishment today,” Feng Xin tells Xie Lian in an annoyed voice as they both sit underneath the stars. “She reminded me so much of Mu Qing.”
“It’s nice to have a new friend.”
Feng Xin only shrugs. “I already have you don’t I?”
Xie Lian laughs softly, warmth spreading through his cheeks at Feng Xin’s words. How silly of him, to think he would lose this.
Something changes with Feng Xin after that conversation. From then on, Xie Lian catches Jian Lan’s name more and more. Xie Lian watches Feng Xin’s lips curl from annoyance to affection. He watches Feng Xin’s smile lingering a little longer, his voice just a little bit gentler tone, and his gaze softer when he talked about Jian Lan. Something rotten curls inside Xie Lian’s stomach – something he doesn’t quite understand. When Feng Xin leaves at dawn, Xie Lian can’t help but compare himself to Jian Lan, wondering what it was about her that had captured Feng Xin's heart so completely. Was it her laughter, her kindness, her beauty? Or was it simply that she could offer him something that Xie Lian never could?
It wasn’t as if Feng Xin was being taken away from him, the rational part of Xie Lian’s mind supplied. Yet, it feels so unfair.
For all his life, Xie Lian had grappled with the weight of a secret he had kept buried for years — a truth that had shaped the choices he made and the path he walked. He had learned to suppress his own yearnings, to deny himself the chance of sparing a single thought to how he’d once wished to be swept of his feet by a heavenly emperor, or how his mouth felt dry when he saw the guards training shirtless under Feng Xin’s command, or how his heart raced when Feng Xin’s attention orbitted around him. He’d wanted and wanted, until the shame of wanting caught up to him. He had chosen a path of abstinence, not out of devotion to faith or duty, but out of necessity. A necessity to stop the shame pooling inside of him when his parents had told him of his future as the prince of Xianle.
“You’re awfully unresponsive today.” Feng Xin remarks, a slight frown creasing his brow.
Xie Lian places a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. “I’m always unresponsive because I’m listening to you talking.”
“Do you want me to stop talking?” Feng Xin clicks his tongue, tone teasing. “This shrine would be boring if I stay quiet.”
“You, talking about the same woman over and over again is boring.” Xie Lian jokes.
Feng Xin crosses his arm. Xie Lian would have thought that he offended him, but Feng Xin lets out a snort. “Cut me some slack. That’s to be expected from someone in love.”
Xie Lian freezes on the spot, his laughter dying in his throat. He replays Feng Xin’s words in his head, a flicker of realization dawning.
“You’re in love?” Xie Lian asks, his voice hesitant, as if he wasn't quite ready for the truth. “With Jian Lan?”
Feng Xin nods slowly, a soft smile playing on his lips. Even with the confirmation, Xie Lian couldn't help but notice the subtle furrow in Feng Xin's brow, the way his gaze seemed to drift to some distant, unattainable horizon. “It’s better like this.”
Xie Lian only looks more confused. “Why?”
“Jian Lan is here, and my first love…well, they’re not here anymore. I don’t think his highness would mind me choosing to finally move forward, wouldn’t he?”
Xie Lian stays silent, not knowing what to reply. After a few minutes, he pries his eyes away from Feng Xin.
“For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you.” Xie Lian finally manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper.
Feng Xin only smiles in return and Xie Lian’s heart shatter in return.
Seasons change, and like the number of leaves on the trees dwindle, so does Feng Xin’s visits to the shrine. At first it was a day, until one day turned into two days, and two days turned into one week. One week turns into a few weeks, until Xie Lian finds a month passing before Feng Xin’s eventual return.
When Feng Xin finally returns, Xie Lian almost stumbles on his way to his parents’ hut.
Xie Lian watches from the shadows as Feng Xin approaches his parents, a sense of apprehension gnawing at his gut.
Feng Xin approaches his parents, his posture resolute, but a flicker of uncertainty betrays his facade. The air in the room turns suffocating, heavy with tension, as Feng Xin speaks.
“I wish to marry Jian Lan.” Feng Xin declares, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of nervousness.
For a moment, both of Xie Lian’s parents are speechless, their expressions frozen in shock and disbelief.
“How ungrateful,” Xie Lian's father interjects, his words laced with bitterness.
“Don’t be like that, dear,” Xie Lian's mother chides her husband, her expression a mixture of concern and disapproval. She turns to Feng Xin, her gaze searching. “Are you sure of this decision, Feng Xin?”
Feng Xin nods, but the resolve in his eyes is tempered by a shadow of doubt. “Yes,” he replies, his voice wavering slightly. “I've already saved up enough to move—”
“You’re leaving us to marry some whore you met at where you worked?” Xie Lian’s father interrupts incredulously. It's the first time Xie Lian has seen his father speak with such disdain, and it shakes him to his core. He had always held his father in high regard, but now, witnessing this side of him, he can't help but question everything he thought he knew.
The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating, leaving a bitter taste in Xie Lian's mouth. He wonders if this is part of the reason why Mu Qing left, if there's a darkness lurking beneath the surface of his family that he's been blind to all this time. After all, his cousin was horrible, and Xie Lian feels as rotten.
“Don’t…please don’t say that.” Feng Xin pleads, his voice tinged with hurt and indignation. “I’ve given enough to the royal family. I only stayed here because I respected your son enough to know he would do his best to take care of you both.”
“Don’t bring up Lian-er into this,” Xie Lian’s father retorts in a grave tone. “It was in your misgivings as his guard that he’s no longer with us. You failed him and yet you live your happy life.”
Feng Xin’s shoulders slump with the weight of their accusations, his wounded pride laid bare for all to see. Xie Lian’s parents cut deep in all the way that matters, leaving Feng Xin visibly shaken and wounded.
As Xie Lian watches the scene unfold before him, he feels a sense of helplessness wash over him like a tidal wave. He wants to intervene, to defend Feng Xin against his parents, but the moment he tries to step inside the hut, the scene in front of him melts away. Xie Lian finds himself transported back to the shrine, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, unable to do anything about the fallout of his parents' harsh words and Feng Xin's wounded pride.
However, it only takes a few minutes before Feng Xin comes running up to the shrine. Xie Lian takes this time to study the changes in Feng Xin's face, the dimple on his cheeks, the little wrinkle on his forehead, the way his features become more defined and angular with each passing moment.
Xie Lian desperately wants to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that everything will be fine, but he knows that he can't.
“I’m sorry this has to be quick,” Feng Xin stammers, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “I’m leaving. I’m marrying Jian Lan, and it’ll probably be a while since you see me again…or if you ever see me again. I doubt I’ll still be welcome here.”
Xie Lian feels a sharp pang of sadness in his chest at the thought of never seeing Feng Xin again, of never hearing his laughter or feeling his warmth beside him. How could he be unwelcome here? How could he when he was the one to build Xie Lian a home to stay at?
“Feng Xin,” Xie Lian calls out, his voice trembling with emotion as he wills himself not to cry. “Will you be happy with her?”
“I’ll try my best,” Feng Xin replies softly.
“Go be happy,” Xie Lian urges, forcing a smile onto his face despite the tears that threaten to spill over.
“But what about you?” Feng Xin asks, his voice filled with concern.
Xie Lian's smile falters, and he places a hand over Feng Xin’s cheek, hoping that somehow against all odds, he might be able to touch his friend one last time.
“I don’t even know if I can follow you.” Xie Lian admits. “But I am thankful for this. You have given me a home, Feng Xin. I’ll always be here waiting.”
“I’ll come back,” Feng Xin promises, his hand brushing over a rock of the shrine. “I have to go, but I promise I’ll come back.”
When Feng Xin is almost away from view, Xie Lian watches him cast one last glance over his shoulder. Xie Lian tries to walk over and follow, but just like how he couldn’t step foot in his parents’ hut, Xie Lian finds himself relegated to watch Feng Xin’s back, retreating away from him, like a cloud over his fingertips, out of reach.
In the first month of Feng Xin’s absence, Xie Lian comes to learn of a few things. One, he can’t step foot inside his parents’ hut anymore. It’s a slow realization, and an even slower punishment. As days pass, some areas outside their hut are completely inaccessible to Xie Lian, only leaving him the garden to visit. Two, whatever Xie Lian has is temporary. It’s both something literal and metaphoric. There are days Xie Lian feels worse than Bai Wuxiang when all he does is ruin everything he ever loved – his godhood, his kingdom, his best friend, all of it crumbles at his presence. It’s like he’s a kid again, toppling the golden palace that he worked hard on.
The last thing Xie Lian comes to learn about is this: Xie Lian is irrevocably in love with Feng Xin.
It’s not an overwhelming feeling, no fireworks or butterflies in his stomach. It's just a quiet realization that sinks into his soul.
These days, Xie Lian learns to live without Feng Xin’s presence. It's not easy, and there are days when he feels like he's drowning in loneliness and longing for his friend. Everyday, when his parents are tending to their garden, he sits next to them and talks about everything and nothing.His parents never see or hear him when they work on their gardens, but Xie Lian talks anyway. It’s almost therapeutic being able to talk about what he couldn’t even say when he was younger.
“I miss Feng Xin.” Xie Lian confesses quietly. “I never imagined a day where we would be separated like this. It's hard to think of loss when you're young, until you experience it.”
“I think…this is better,” The sun beats down on Xie Lian's back as he watches his mother toil the land, the dirt clinging to her fingers and sweat covering her brows. “I don’t know how I would have reacted if he was still my guard and I was still his prince. I think I would’ve been so selfish and I would’ve made stupid decisions to push him away. He’s supposed to be at my side until the end of times right?”
“If only I was braver to have told him…” Xie Lian trails off, lost in thought. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “But I guess I can start here.”
“Mother, I–” Xie Lian stops himself for a moment, before shaking his head. “I like Feng Xin in a way men shouldn’t.”
And just like that, the weight in his shoulders feels lighter.
Xie Lian watches in interest as his mother digs through the small plot of land.
Today, his mother is planting radishes. Today, Xie Lian is planting forgiveness for himself.
When the first frost of winter visits, Feng Xin comes along with it. Xie Lian wouldn’t have know he visited if he didn’t see him walking to the steps of the rock shrine, a hot baozi in hand. He’s changed so much in their time apart that Xie Lian’s heart flutter from seeing him walk up to him, a few inches taller. For a moment, the grief that outlines Feng Xin’s face as he places the offering on top of the shrine makes Xie Lian’s breath stop.
“The king and queen are dead,” Feng Xin says with a heavy voice, his words hanging heavily in the air like a dense fog. Xie Lian feels like his world has shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
Xie Lian desperate shakes his head no. Why? Why are they dead? He couldn’t even tell them goodbye.
“W-What happened?” Xie Lian’s voice trembles as he tries to hold onto Feng Xin's arm. The way his hands grasp nothing but empty hair strikes him like a lightning storm, suddenly all too aware that —
Oh gods, he’s all alone.
Tears well up in Xie Lian's eyes, cascading down his cheeks unchecked. The weight of his loss presses down on him like a mountain, threatening to crush him under its unfathomable burden. He brings a hand up to his mouth to stifle the sobs threatening to escape, the taste of bile rising from his throat.
“The king was ill, and the queen couldn’t bear the grief of losing him.” Feng Xin's gaze is a mix of sympathy and pain as he stares at the hut standing in the distance. “You're a god aren't you? Can I pray for their souls to rest in peace?”
Xie Lian remains silent, his eyes fixed on the offering Feng Xin placed atop the shrine, his heart heavy with sorrow.
Feng Xin prepares to bow respectfully to the ground, but Xie Lian's voice cracks with emotion as he looks up at him. “Don’t do that,” he pleads, desperation lacing his tone. “Just don’t leave, please .”
Feng Xin nods silently, his eyes mirroring the pain etched in Xie Lian's features as he takes a seat beside him. The morning light filters through the surrounding trees, casting intricate patterns on the ground around them. As Xie Lian gazes at the sunlight dancing over Feng Xin’s face, a fleeting sense of peace washes over him, if only for a moment.
And suddenly, Xie Lian feels like he can swallow his grief whole.
Feng Xin starts to visit the shrine everyday. Mostly they sit in silence, watching snow fall to the ground. Some days, the grief in Xie Lian’s heart feels too much, and he finds himself sobbing quietly beside Feng Xin’s warmth. Some days, the grief isn’t there at all, and instead Xie Lian looks at the boy he he loves. Those days, it feels like part of the story where everyone is happy and all is forgiven, even if nobody deserves it. Those days, Xie Lian feels like praying, to know worship because what has he done for Feng Xin to stay? Someone always have to leave first, Xie Lian knows. It is how the story ends.
And yet, Feng Xin is sitting beside him, cold wind in his face.
“Jian Lan left,” Feng Xin murmurs, his voice barely audible above the whispering wind.
“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian says softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Are you...alright?”
Feng Xin offers a small, sad smile in response, but it fails to reach his eyes. “I will be,” he replies, his tone tinged with resignation. “Everyone seems to leave.”
I’m still here, Xie Lian wants to say. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he brushes his hands over Feng Xin, mouthing the words he wants to say. We haven’t left each other.
Winter turns to spring, and spring turns to the summer heat. The sun climbs high in the sky, casting its warm rays over the land. Feng Xin arrives at the shrine, his brow glistening with sweat as he places a basket of ripe loquats onto the shrine. His usual dark robes were replaced with light armor that glinted in the sunlight, and he carried a black longbow and a snow-white quiver on his back.
“I've come to a decision,” he announces as he approaches Xie Lian, his voice filled with determination. “I'm enlisting in the Yong'an military.”
Xie Lian's heart skips a beat at the news, his stomach knotting with worry at the possibility of Feng Xin leaving him. There are many loves but only one war. Xie Lian fears that Feng Xin can't trace out a trail away from doom. Where would all this love amount to, when Feng Xin leaves him?
“Why?” Xie Lian asks, his voice barely above a whisper as birds chirp and leaves rustle around them.
“There’s a famine in Yong’an.” Feng Xin explains. “The people of Yong’an and Xianle are once again at odds.”
Xie Lian's heart aches at the sincerity in Feng Xin's words, the weight of the world on his shoulders, knowing that the ending is inevitable, and Xie Lian cannot do anything to change it. Feng Xin will leave, and Xie Lian will stay. Isn’t that how it goes?
“Maintaining this shrine will only burden you,” Xie Lian only says. He cannot ask Feng Xin to stay without having to confess anything, without having to say that he is in love with him. He cannot be selfish, because all he does is ruin everything he ever loved – his godhood, his kingdom, his best friend, all of it crumbles at his presence. “You don’t have to go here anymore.”
Feng Xin's gaze softens, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I like the arrangement that we have.”
Xie Lian shakes his head, a pang of guilt tugging at his heartstrings. “There will be worse to come,” he warns, his voice trembling with emotion. “And I won't be able to protect you.”
But Feng Xin shakes his head, his eyes blazing with determination. “It's fine,” he insists, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I didn't get to protect my prince either.”
The scorching days of summer seem to pass in mere seconds as the fire consumes everything in the path of Yong’an. Xie Lian quickly becomes acquainted to the sky being set ablaze in ominous red light. Everyday, Feng Xin visits even when his body went rugged, and his eyes went tired. Xie Lian’s heart settles when he sees Feng Xin in the way intense hunger ebbs away at the sight of food. Most days, Xie Lian finds himself clinging to the hope that burns brightly to his heart, in the hopes that no one will trample and exhaust it. He lets himself believe that each tomorrow, Feng Xin is going to come back.
And he does. Until he doesn’t.
Smoke from the flames reaches the shrine, the more Xie Lian looks at it, the more he feels like he is looking into his own head. He waits, and waits, for Feng Xin to appear, and his heart almost instantly feel relief when Feng Xin stumbless through the clearing. Except, Xie Lian’s heart thumps loudly in his ribcage as Feng Xin appears through the haze, staggered and injured with torn clothes and a deep gash on his chest.
Xie Lian's heart seizes with horror at the sight of Feng Xin’s injuries, a sense of helplessness washing over him like a tidal wave as Feng Xin manages to lean and lie down on the shrine.
“I'm sorry,” Xie Lian whispers, his voice choked with tears as he kneels beside Feng Xin's prone form, his hands trembling with anguish. “I should have been able to do something…”
“Shh,” Feng Xin croaks out, trying to soothe Xie Lian. He smiles weakly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Will you finally tell me who you are? What kind of god you are?”
This time, Xie Lian has an answer. “I am the god of this shrine,” he replies, as the sobs escape his throat. “I am any god you choose to be.” His voice falters as he desperately takes hold of Feng Xin’s hands. This time, he feels Feng Xin’s calloused fingers against his, cold.
“You’re cold,” Xie Lian laughs through his tears, feeling the chill in Feng Xin's touch. How cruel is it to finally be able touch him but feel no warmth? “Your hands are cold.”
“I see you now,” Feng Xin murmurs, his smile soft and serene. He reaches to brush the strands of hair falling onto Xie Lian’s face. His hand cups Xie Lian’s cheeks, as he stare directly into his eyes. “Dianxia…in your eyes, I have found eternity.”.
The ground beneath Xie Lian's knees is rough and uneven, the stones and pebbles digging into his skin. He barely notices the discomfort, his hands still holding onto the memory of Feng Xin's cold fingers.
As the ash falls and settle onto both of their skins, Feng Xin finally leaves, and Xie Lian stays cradling his body.
The funeral is just Xie Lian alone. He doesn’t remember much, except wrapping Feng Xin’s body in cloth and burying his body underneath the shrine. Xie Lian kneels to the earth and bows, until he feels the dirt from the ground touch his lips.
Xie Lian realizes that maybe, this is the last act of loving someone. It will never end. He gets to do this, to translate this last act of love into a grief so heavy. The worst part: Xie Lian remembers it. He walks around aimlessly until the days bleed through altogether. In Feng Xin’s absence, Xie Lian is finally able to leave the shrine. It is a cruel irony, he thinks, to give him the ability to leave, when all he wants is to stay by Feng Xin’s side.
The ash from war slowly recedes, and winter douses the flames that had been lit. Seasons change without Feng Xin's presence. In his absence, a Yong'an prince comes to visits the shrine briefly, desperate for peace between two sides in a war ravaged land. He does not see Xie Lian, but he speaks to him. Xie Lian entertains him and watches him lose his kingdom. Seasons change, and the prince never comes back. Instead, Xie Lian is accompanied by silver butterflies that frantically passes by the shrine as if they're looking for something they lost. And then, Xie Lian is all alone again.
Seasons change, but the world goes on without Feng Xin and Xie Lian.
Not before long, winter comes around the shrine. There sounds of birds singing or crickets chirping are replaced with an eerie silence. Xie Lian sits idly on the shrine, catching a snowflake falling on the ground with his palm. On the horizon, he can see an outline of a figure in dark robes. For a moment, Xie Lian thinks it’s Feng Xin. But then, the figure approaches, and Xie Lian’s breath is knocked off from his lungs. Feng Xin visits the shrine in a radiant display of divinity. His godly aura surrounds him, casting a silver glow that illuminates his every feature. Xie Lian's heart flutters at the sight, and he takes a moment to admire Feng Xin, committing every detail of his appearance to memory.
He looks better now, as if the world has been kind to him. His cheeks have filled out in the right places, and his smile carries no burden anymore.
“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian exclaims joyfully. “You’re a god now?”
“Surprising, isn't it?” Feng Xin replies with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“You must be busy then,” Xie Lian remarks. Internally he winces, why does he sound like a jealous lover?
“I have time to spare. I am here to pay respects,” Feng Xin explains, his voice sincere. “—and to apologize for not being able to protect you. For leaving you.”
Xie Lian only shakes his head and smiles.
“You don't have to protect me anymore. You're a god now,” Xie Lian reassures him, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and affection. “How have you been?”
“I've been good. And you?” Feng Xin inquires, his gaze searching Xie Lian's face for any signs of distress or longing.
“I've missed you,” Xie Lian confesses, his voice soft and filled with yearning.
Feng Xin's smile softens, a warmth reflecting in his eyes. “I've missed you too. Even when we were talking.”
“You must be busy as a god. I’ll see you around.” Xie Lian say, and he’s trying to choke down the grief in his throat, and he’s trembling. but Feng xin reaches over and catches his wrist, his warmth touching him, like a prayer for no words exist.
“Wait,” Feng Xin calls out, urgency lacing his voice in a way that catches Xie Lian off guard. “Dianxia, may I kiss you?”
As Feng Xin's request hangs in the air, a surge of warmth floods through Xie Lian, igniting a fire within him that he can't contain. His cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, but there's no hesitation in his response. With a soft, affectionate smile gracing his lips, he leans in, meeting Feng Xin halfway in a tender kiss.
Xie Lian barely registers snow falling as he wraps his arms around Feng Xin's neck, deepening their kiss. It feels like coming home, like all the years apart have melted away into nothingness. The kiss is hungry but also gentle that Xie Lian can’t help but smile against it.
They break apart eventually, gasping for air as they rest their foreheads against each other. Xie Lian's eyes are shining with tears and his smile is radiant.
“I've always wanted to do that,” Feng Xin admits with a sheepish grin, his cheeks a faint shade of pink.
“Me too,” Xie Lian whispers, brushing his thumb over Feng Xin's cheekbone. “I'm just glad you're here now.”
“Can I kiss you again?” Feng Xin asks, and Xie Lian lets out a small giggle. He nods and Feng Xin leans in for another kiss, this one softer and more tender.
“Please don't ask for permission anymore,” Xie Lian murmurs after they pull away, his voice barely above a whisper and their breaths mingling in the crisp winter air. “We've waited long enough.”
“We could have skipped a few steps if you’ve told me who you are.” Feng Xin chuckles, the sound warm and familiar as he wraps his arms around Xie Lian, drawing him close. Snow falls onto their hair, and Xie Lian can’t help but smile against Feng Xin’s warmth.
They stay like that for a long time.