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Chapter Text

Revenge of the Furnace Master was the most popular revenge-driven fantasy novel with a male lead to grace the internet since Dan Heng had started reading web novels, even beating out the scores of revenge-driven fantasy novels with scorned female leads and the revenge-driven fantasy novels with harems. It was a story set in a fantasy ancient China called the Xianzhou Luofu, and it followed the life of a renowned craftsman who would, after living a life of suffering and triumph, eventually succumb to a downfall orchestrated by someone he considered a close friend.

Instead of taking his fate lying down, however, the protagonist would become the deadly embodiment of the very weapons he once made with his own two hands and descend the Xianzhou Luofu into chaos with the sheer violence of his vengeance.  

The novel had amassed countless fans domestically and abroad; the author was apparently in talks with a film studio to approve a live-action adaptation; and book review sites and social media accounts everywhere dubbed it the “love story of the century” and the “modern-day Romeo and Juliet.”

Dan Heng, an avid fan of the web novel since its early days who had diligently kept paying for a high-quality VPN to access its original chapters before it had gotten an official translation, figured it was because the protagonist was so likeable: there was something for everyone, from those who liked a good-boy-turned-bad dynamic to others who enjoyed watching a once-earnest man triumph over his enemies.

Yingxing, the charming main character, was a classic example of a charismatic and compassionate protagonist who, after enduring hardship after hardship and misery after misery, had broken and chosen to pursue a bloodstained path of revenge against his oppressors and to avenge his dead lover. His life began in tragedy: his parents were cruelly slaughtered before his eyes by the denizens of Abundance, and as a young orphan, he drifted from town to town, begging for scraps and getting bullied by the older street kids. When he was old enough, he took on odd jobs just to fill his stomach, quickly developing a variety of skills that would eventually be the key to his success.

Finally, when Yingxing reached the age of majority, a kind weaponsmith passing by the town Yingxing was helping at saw his potential and took him in as an apprentice — and this was where his story, the story of a furnace master cultivating to his prime and then driven to the brink of insanity, really began.

Upon discovering the web novel in its infancy, Dan Heng, who considered himself a seasoned reader of internet writings, had felt vindicated in his decision to stick by the rocky first few chapters of backstory and exposition. With a to-read list that reached the hundreds, Dan Heng normally did not give novels a chance if they failed to grab his attention in the first five chapters; if the story happened to get better later, he would go back to it after reading other novels instead of wasting his time waiting for something that might never come.

But something about Revenge of the Furnace Master, despite its cheesy name and vaguely boring start, drew Dan Heng in. The plot itself was rather good; the protagonist, of course, was the star of the narrative.

After Yingxing started his new job as the weaponsmith’s apprentice, his life began to improve by leaps and bounds. He had enough food to eat, proper clothes to wear, and a roof over his head. He made friends quickly and easily with his charismatic demeanor, and once given proper teaching, his craftmanship skills improved drastically. It wasn’t long before he surpassed his master in terms of creativity, skill, and popularity. 

Yingxing was a prodigy, so naturally he caught the eye of influential figures throughout the region. Among the high-ranking officials who flocked to his forge to commission weapons was Baiheng, a well-renowned military pilot with an infectious grin, sparkling eyes, and a soft beauty that was at odds with the way she chased adventure with almost reckless abandon.

She was a girl. He was a boy. Did Dan Heng have to make it any more obvious?

The prodigy craftsman and one of the Xianzhou Luofu’s most decorated military pilots — they were a romantic match made by the heavens.  

So, of course, fate had to break them apart.

Now, Dan Heng normally didn’t read novels with romance in them. He had never been too interested in romance himself, having felt no particular attraction or draw to anyone in his life, and he likely would have never picked up Revenge of the Furnace Master if he knew it would have romance. He wasn’t a hater and never left negative comments, of course, and by the time the romance was introduced he had already been too invested in the storyline to stop reading, but he had to admit to himself that something about the romance plotline between Yingxing and Baiheng bothered him.

Maybe it was the way their meeting at the Sky-Faring Commission felt overly cliché: Yingxing had bumped into Baiheng, literally, while personally delivering a crafted sword. Maybe it was the way Baiheng’s accomplishments as an individual seemed to be forgotten in the narrative in favor of highlighting how sweetly she treated Yingxing as their romantic relationship progressed. Maybe it was the way Yingxing’s arrogant personality and crafty intelligence — traits Dan Heng quite liked in the man — seemed to disappear completely when he was romancing the foxian pilot.

Whatever it was, Dan Heng simply didn’t like Yingxing and Baiheng together. Technically, they were fine; personally, he felt that they added nothing to the story.

However, Dan Heng’s personal grievances with Yingxing and Baiheng’s love story were rather unpopular. Once the romance was introduced, the novel soared even higher in viewership numbers, topping charts on several novel hosting websites and propelling the novel even further into mainstream popularity. Dan Heng chalked it up to his own personal aversion to romance and tried not to let the waves of Yingxing and Baiheng fanart populating the forums and the near-constant reminders of Yingxing’s romantic endeavors bother him.

Still, even with the book-perfect couple, people quickly grew bored. The protagonist had gone from an impoverished orphan to a successful craftsman, and he had even gotten a beautiful lover to boot — what was left of his life for the story to tell?

And that was where the High Cloud Quintet, and more specifically Dan Feng, came in.

Death hurt.

As soon as he opened his eyes to what could only be the misty mountains and flowing rivers of the afterlife, he was filled with the unshakeable knowledge that he was dead. Considering how excruciating the process of his soul separating from his body had been, he knew that he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

Anyone else, perhaps, would have likely freaked out. Going from the cozy, familiar surroundings of one’s bedroom to a hazy, cold natural landscape was so far out of the realm of normal, and the act of dying itself was bound to scare anyone.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, Dan Heng had long been prepared to die.

The reality of Dan Heng’s life had never been something he liked, but it was one that he had accepted; he had grown up hearing from his parents and doctors and specialists of all kinds that whatever strange illness he suffered from had been with him since birth. Something had gone awry while he was developing in his mother’s womb, perhaps, but no matter when the ailment began, Dan Heng had always suffered from what he had privately dubbed a body that didn’t know how to hold onto its soul. It was the only explanation he had for the frequent fainting spells, seizures, loss of motor control, nightmares, and bouts of dissociation he had to contend with daily. Even the famous medical professionals his parents consulted could find no diagnosis for his symptoms, since the tests they ran were always inconclusive and no existing illness perfectly fit with everything he experienced.  

So, Dan Heng had spent his childhood and his early adulthood expecting his body to simply give up one day. Miraculously, he had made it through his adolescence and even through university, and his parents had taken that as a sign that he would no longer be cursed to die young; Dan Heng had known better, and, evidently, it had taken roughly 24 years for his body to finally let his soul roam free.  

The exact cause of his death was still unknown to him, but Dan Heng figured that didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

Once Dan Heng had fully regained his bearings, he shakily pulled himself up to standing. Being dead wasn’t too different from how he experienced life, in some ways; the lack of physical sensation coming from his limbs was no different than how he felt while in a particularly bad dissociation.

Ahead of him, amidst the foggy pathways, stood a person enshrouded in shadows. Dan Heng drew closer, cautious — though, what did he have to be cautious of if he was already dead? — and was startled to realize it was a boyish young man with gray-white hair, a soft-cheeked face, and piercing blue eyes. It was hard to make out his clothes; Dan Heng knew, intellectually, that the young man was wearing them, but his mind could not quite agree on what exactly they looked like, the cloudy air clinging to the other man’s body like a cloak.

“Why, hello there,” the young man greeted in a lilting voice that seemed to both come from within him and echo from the surrounding areas. “You arrived just in time, as I expected you to.”

Dan Heng furrowed his brows and asked, “Are you a guardian of the underworld?”

The young man laughed, his eyes not once closing even as his shoulders shook gently. “I’m no guardian, least of all of the underworld,” he replied. “I guess you could call me a…guide, of sorts?”

“Are you going to guide my soul to get judged?”

The young man shook his head, a small yet vaguely unnerving smile playing across his lips. “It’s not yet your time to enter into the realm of the dead, drink the soup prepared by Meng Po, or return to the cycle of reincarnation.”

Frowning, Dan Heng crossed his arms. “But aren’t I dead? Isn’t that what the dead are supposed to do?”

“You’ll only be in this realm for a few moments longer.” The young man gestured for Dan Heng to follow him as he turned and walked further into the mist. “I’ll be guiding you toward a new chance.”

Dan Heng was deeply suspicious of this young man. He didn’t fit the description of any of the deities of the afterlife that Dan Heng had read about, and though dead, Dan Heng was still wary of trusting strangers indiscriminately.

And what was this new chance the young man was talking about if not reincarnation? Was Dan Heng meant to reincarnate into his next life without first ridding himself of the memories of this one? Was this young man actually a malicious spirit trying to trick Dan Heng into ignoring the natural cycles of life, death, and rebirth?

As subtly as he could, Dan Heng chanced a peek behind himself, hoping to look for an escape route, and found himself face-to-face with the all-seeing stare of the young man.

“No matter what path one chooses, our destinies await at the end of every road,” the young man said, tilting his head to the side without taking his eyes off of Dan Heng. The young man made no further moves, yet his presence seemed to loom ever closer, making Dan Heng feel inexplicably small. “You can choose to follow me or run away, but if there is only one thing you can trust me on, it’s this: for you, for your soul, there is nowhere else to run.”

Dan Heng curled his fists and felt sorely tempted to attempt at swing at the strange young man; by the amused glint in the young man’s eerie eyes, he was aware of what Dan Heng was thinking, even as he turned around and walked forward once more.

Logically, Dan Heng knew that he had no choice but to follow the young man. The landscape around him, with its sloping mountains and free-flowing rivers, was foreign, and Dan Heng got the sense that stepping even a foot out of line here would spell trouble. And though Dan Heng had gone throughout his life prepared for the death of his body, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the death of his soul.

Gritting his teeth, Dan Heng finally moved to fall into step behind the young man. “What should I call you, then, if I am to follow you?”

Even without seeing his face, the amusement in the young man’s voice was clear. “Not asking for my name, are you? Clever. You can just call me System.”

Dan Heng only had enough time to register that a system was a hallmark of transmigration stories — those were real? What kind of terrible fate did he have, dying and being transmigrated instead of getting to reincarnate peacefully? — before his consciousness faded instantly to black.

“The preceptors are going to be so mad… What were those guys even thinking? How did he — oh, oh! Jingliu, come quick! Dan Feng is waking up!”

For the second time in however many hours, Dan Heng came back into consciousness with a pounding in his head and a deep sense of confusion over his surroundings. He hadn’t died, thankfully, but, with the unfamiliar sensations of silken bedding beneath his hands and long hair tickling his nape, wherever the strange System had taken him was certainly not back to his apartment home.

“Dan Feng? Dan Feng, High Elder, can you hear me?”

Dan Feng? Not Dan Heng? Wasn’t that the name of…?

Fighting valiantly against the nausea gripping at his throat and the dizziness taking over his head, Dan Heng forced open his eyes.

Before him was a face he had seen many times before in art pieces posted in forums and social media: shining, green-yellow eyes framed by dark lashes; smooth, clear skin; lavender strands of hair curling around softened cheeks that suggested the owner smiled often; and two fluffy fox ears that matched the head of hair they protruded from.

The evidence, as much as Dan Heng wanted it to be false, a dream, a made-up form of torture he was being subjected to, pointed to one thing:

Before Dan Heng stood Baiheng, the female lead of Revenge of the Furnace Master.

Baiheng’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together. “Dan Feng! You’re finally awake!”

And Dan Heng had transmigrated into the story as Dan Feng, the High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu vidyadhara — and the villain who had orchestrated Yingxing’s eventual downfall and was destined to die horrifically and painfully by Yingxing's hands.

Chapter Text

[Welcome to your new chance at life.] The voice of the young man — System, as he had wanted to be called — resonated within Dan Heng’s mind. [From henceforth, you will embrace the name Dan Feng and live life as the High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu Vidyadhara.]

Dan Heng stared blankly up at Baiheng’s face, then let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the sliding wooden doors behind her, the low table full of ceramic jars in a corner of the room, and the neatly folded pile of robes set on a chair just a foot away. The setting he was in seemed real enough, but Dan Heng still felt a bit detached to it all.

You brought me back to life just to kill me, Dan Heng thought. You know how this story ends, don’t you?

[I know how this story ended for Dan Feng.] Dan Heng could picture the System’s smirk in his mind’s eye. [But will it end the same for you?]

Aren’t there rules I need to follow or events that will happen no matter what changes due to the demands of the narrative?

[In life, we all follow the same script. But our individual lines can be improvised.]

Dan Heng sighed internally. Trust the System to avoid answering his question fully. (And what script did the System have to follow, anyway?)

The System continued explaining without answering Dan Heng’s question. [I have brought you here, but you will be the one living this life. In a few moments, my voice will fade from your mind, and you alone will be responsible.]

Although Dan Heng was relieved that he apparently wouldn’t have someone else occupying the space in his mind, the lack of guidance from the System meant that Dan Heng had to figure out how to pretend to be Dan Feng himself. Dan Heng hoped he wouldn’t give himself away too much — he was quiet and introverted, yes, but he didn’t think he was untouchable like Dan Feng had been described in the book.

It had also been a long time since Dan Heng had read the earlier chapters of Revenge of the Furnace Master. However, he realized that, if the characters in the story were real in this universe, then naturally not all their actions would be written in the story. Because he couldn’t remember any time in which Dan Feng fainted or had to be confined to a recovery room, he figured this incident of Dan Feng collapsing was something that hadn’t been written about in the book. Therefore, Dan Heng technically had the freedom to act however he wished.

“Hello, Baiheng,” Dan Heng said, moving up into a sitting position and doing his best to imitate how he thought the arrogant and cold villain Dan Feng might have acted. “I appreciate your worry for me, but there is no need to be so loud about it.”

Instead of acting offended, though, Baiheng simply laughed it off — as expected of the perfect, bubbly female lead. “Dan Feng, you’re always so silly. I didn’t believe Yingxing when he said you were funny, but what do you know? You can joke around!”

Dan Heng frowned slightly; he hadn’t been joking. He genuinely hadn’t wanted Baiheng to worry about him or disturb anyone outside the room. What part of what he had said was funny?

And why was Baiheng by his bedside? From what Dan Heng could remember, Baiheng had been one of the few members of the High Cloud Quintet who had been suspicious of him, warning Yingxing against spending time with him. It didn’t make sense for her to act so kindly to him, as if they were friends.

Undeterred by his silence, Baiheng barreled on. “Imagine our surprise when Yingxing told us you had collapsed randomly while on a walk with him. Good thing I was free to look after you! Yingxing wanted to stay himself, but he had to make sure nobody alerted the Preceptors that you were out, so don’t you worry; he didn’t abandon you.”

Before Dan Heng could even formulate a reply, Baiheng continued, “Are you getting enough rest these days? Are the Preceptors working you too hard? I know I’m not Yingxing, but you can come to me if you ever want to vent, you know!”

Dan Heng opened his mouth to say something to the effect that he was perfectly fine, but right as he started to speak, the door to the room burst open and —

And Yingxing, who had hurriedly slid the door open and was breathing heavily while leaning against the frame, was even more stunning in person that Dan Heng could have ever imagined.

None of the fanarts Dan Heng had painstakingly saved to a folder on his laptop or browsed through online did Yingxing justice. None of them could truly capture the handsome shape of his face or the endearing charm the light wrinkles under his eyes and around his mouth gave him. None of them got his physique, like his broad chest, quite right — either they made him too muscular or too lean, failing to consider how a life as a craftsman handling both heavy tools and delicate materials would show itself on Yingxing’s perfect body.

Above all, none of them could perfectly capture how it felt to be on the receiving end of one of Yingxing’s concerned gazes, the blue-purple of his eyes like twinkling pools of liquid mercury in the light of the infirmary.

Dan Heng felt his heart stutter, and he wondered briefly if whatever strange ailment he had suffered in his past life had followed him into Dan Feng’s body.

“A-Feng,” Yingxing breathed, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Dan Feng. You’re awake.”

Dan Heng nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. Surely staying silent in the face of the great protagonist, the person who would one day kill him — Dan Feng, really — was appropriate?

Yingxing closed the sliding door much more quietly than he had forced it open and came to stand by his bedside. As Yingxing drew closer, Dan Heng noticed the streaks of black scattered throughout his hair, prominent against the glossy whiteness of his long locks.

The head of mostly white hair was quite flattering on Yingxing, but it also helped Dan Heng establish a rough timeline; since his hair was not completely white yet, Yingxing was likely in his mid-50s, and he and Dan Feng had been “friends” for at least 30 years now.

That also meant that Dan Feng had been digging his manipulative claws in Yingxing’s unsuspecting heart for just as long, and Dan Heng had roughly 10 years before he was set to be killed by Yingxing while chained up in the Xianzhou Luofu Shackling Prison. Dan Heng’s heart clenched at the thought; he would do his best to change the course of the story and ensure Yingxing had no reason to murder him this time.

“The lofty High Elder, confined to the infirmary,” Yingxing eventually said once he caught his breath, a hint of teasing in his voice. “You really should be sleeping when I tell you to, A-Feng.”

Steeling himself, Dan Heng glared as best as he could at Yingxing. “I know the limits of my own body.”

Yingxing raised an eyebrow challengingly and crossed his arms. “Really? Then, tell me, High Elder, why did you collapse as we were sampling the street foods of Aurum Alley? You gave the vendors quite a fright, you know.”

Puzzled, Dan Heng wondered briefly why Yingxing and Dan Feng were walking through Aurum Alley — the original novel always emphasized how much Dan Feng stayed inside his own quarters and forced Yingxing to spend time with him in appropriate places for his station — before responding. “Whatever the cause of my sudden bouts of…weakness…does not matter. I am awake now, and I am fine.”

Yingxing snorted and uncrossed his arms, striding closer to Dan Heng’s side and reaching a hand toward Dan Heng.

Dan Heng watched, transfixed, as Yingxing’s hand drew closer. However, just as it was about to reach Dan Heng’s forehead, Yingxing’s fingers twitched, and he jerked his hand back as if scalded.

“Yingxing…?”

Hearing Baiheng’s confused voice startled Dan Heng from his thoughts; guiltily, he realized he had completely forgotten that she was still in the room. In the novel, Yingxing had been a friendly and charismatic man, but he had still only reserved his full care and affection for Baiheng. Baiheng must have felt ignored, especially with Yingxing focusing on Dan Heng so much; and seeing Yingxing act so familiarly with someone who wasn’t her — especially someone she didn’t trust — without even sparing her a greeting must have made Baiheng upset.

Yingxing drew away, stepping backwards about a foot away from the bed and clearing his throat. “It’s good that you’re okay,” he said gruffly.

“Thank you for your concern,” Dan Heng said, at a loss.

With no more words to exchange between the two of them, the room fell silent. Baiheng clearly wanted to ask more questions, as her head swiveled between looking at Yingxing and Dan Heng, but as soon as she made eye contact with Yingxing, she settled down.

Ah. The main couple of Revenge of the Furnace Master truly were a match paired together by the heavens; they could communicate with only a few short glances.

No matter how contrived their pairing seemed in the novel, seeing them interact was a whole different beast.

Dan Heng swallowed past the lump in his throat and made to stand up from the bed but was quickly stopped by Yingxing almost lunging forward to keep him in bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the grip of Yingxing’s hand was almost painful on Dan Heng’s shoulder. “You just fainted not even an hour ago.”

“And we Vidyadhara are descended from the all-powerful dragons themselves,” Dan Heng responded frostily. “I assure you; I can stand up on my own now.”

Dan Heng held Yingxing’s glare, outwardly calm but inwardly freaking out. The confusion swirling through his mind was almost enough to send him reeling; Yingxing was not acting how Dan Heng expected him to. Sure, Yingxing was supposed to consider Dan Feng a close friend of his, but the book had never given Dan Heng the impression that Yingxing cared this much.

And Yingxing, in the novel, had never, ever tried to exert his will over Dan Feng, especially not physically.

Yingxing wasn’t acting wildly out of character, but Dan Heng felt that he could not rely solely on the novel to tell him what was going to happen next. Logically, it made sense, but Dan Heng was floundering without a concrete guide on how to handle Yingxing.

The growing tension between Yingxing and Dan Heng was broken when the door to the infirmary slid open again.

“What are you doing to the High Elder?”

Dan Heng and Yingxing both turned toward the source of the accusatory voice. Ah, there was Jing Yuan, the youngest member of the High Cloud Quintet, standing closely by his master, the great swordswoman Jingliu.

Yingxing looked down at his hand as if it had moved on its own accord and loosened his hold on Dan Heng’s shoulder. “I am simply ensuring that he does not overexert himself, Jingliu.”

Scoffing, Jingliu strode over by Baiheng and peered down at Dan Heng. “Aren’t you the reason he overexerted himself this time?”

Jing Yuan carefully slid the door closed once more and stood by the door, catching Dan Heng’s eye and giving him a respectful nod. “I’m glad to see you’re awake and well, High Elder.”

“Thank you,” Dan Heng replied evenly. Frankly, he was feeling quite overwhelmed with all the people surrounding him, what with Yingxing’s hand still on his shoulder, Baiheng and Jingliu standing at the other end of his bed, and Jing Yuan subtly blocking the easiest exit. It had only been roughly an hour or so since he had died as Dan Heng, and he was still grappling with the fact that he was now technically fulfilling the role of Dan Feng in the world of his favorite fictional novel where all the characters he had read about were actually real people.

It was a lot to take in, honestly, and Dan Heng felt himself losing sensation in his arms as the world swam around him, forcing him to concede defeat and settle back down against the bed.

“I knew you weren’t fully recovered,” Yingxing murmured, finally withdrawing his hand from Dan Heng’s shoulder. “Jing Yuan, go get a healer.”

Jing Yuan frowned. “And you can’t get a healer yourself? You’re here more often than I am.”

Baiheng giggled and Jingliu rolled her eyes. “Brat, just go get the healer. You don’t need to talk back to us all the time. Don’t you want to show off and be helpful?”

Strangely, a bright red blush crept onto Jing Yuan’s cheeks before he dipped his head down in a stiff bow. “Of course, Master,” he said, then left the room.

A healer. That would be nice. Maybe they could get Dan Feng something to ease his symptoms a bit; the strain of being the High Elder in charge of keeping his people safe and upholding a certain image was taking its toll on him, loathe as Dan Feng was to admit it, and perhaps a rare moment of weakness surrounded by the people he trusted most in the world would not be too terrible.

Dan Heng didn’t even realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them once more to a markedly emptier room: Baiheng, Jingliu, and Jing Yuan were gone and the natural sunshine that had been lighting the room was much dimmer, leaving only Yingxing sitting in the shadows by Dan Heng’s bedside with a bowl of dark brown liquid clasped in his hands.

Yingxing shifted, and the glow of the setting sun coming through the window cast a warm and hazy hue around his person, and his eyes reflected the amber light briefly in a way that stunned Dan Heng, almost convincing him that he was still dreaming.

But no, Dan Heng was fully awake, and he was still fully living as Dan Feng in a completely new world.

When Yingxing noticed Dan Heng was awake, he straightened his posture and held out the bowl of medicine for Dan Heng to take. “Huanxi prepared this for you,” he explained. “She said that it will relieve you of your fatigue, but that you should not return to your duties until next week.”

Dan Heng took the bowl from Yingxing and drank the medicine slowly, noting that the overwhelmingly bitter liquid had been sweetened with what was likely honey. “Have… Have the Preceptors been notified?”

Yingxing was silent for several long moments before replying, “They are aware that you will be taking a short leave, yes.”

It was an acceptable answer to his question, yet Yingxing seemed to be hiding something; still, Dan Heng was too wrung out to try and figure out what it could be. “Thank you for handling that, then.”

And so, Dan Heng sipped his medicine in silence as Yingxing sat beside him; although the atmosphere was quiet, Dan Heng felt a strange sense of comfort having the other man sit beside him, and with each sip of medicine he took he felt his shoulders untense and the ache in his bones melt away.

Once Dan Heng was done and before he could ask Yingxing to take the bowl away, Yingxing took the bowl gently from his hands and stood up. The bowl and the spoon clattered as they were passed into Yingxing’s hands before they stilled, leaving the room quiet once more.

“Get more rest, A-Feng,” Yingxing said softly, though Dan Heng could not see what expression he was making as Yingxing had already turned around and walked toward the door. As Yingxing slid the door open with his back still facing Dan Heng, he said, “I’ll be here tomorrow to pick you up.”

And with that, Yingxing exited through the doorway, quiet steps like thuds against the wood flooring. The door slid shut, the sun finished setting, and Dan Heng was left alone in the dark. 

Chapter Text

Baiheng was dead.

Across the battlefield, the soldiers that had accompanied the High Cloud Quintet on this violent campaign continued to fight, cutting away sprawling vines of golden leaves and stepping in sticky, viscous puddles of gold-tainted blood as they pushed back against their enemies. Even with the deaths of their comrades and the absence of their leader, this faction of the Denizens of Abundance continued to fight on; all semblance of higher thought had left them, and their mangled bodies knew nothing but violence — they would not rest until they could no longer move, until they could no longer revive themselves, until they had taken as many lives down with them.

At another corner of the fray, Jingliu was mercilessly slicing down any Denizens of Abundance that came her way. Jing Yuan supported her from behind, sweeping up waves of the lesser Denizens with his guandao while Jingliu cleaned up the more powerful ones that managed to break through Jing Yuan’s defenses; the two of them fought seamlessly with each other, master and disciple forming a tightknit team on the battlefield. Frost and lightning worked together in tandem, the air crackling with a frostbitten chill that promised a swift end for all who dared to cross their path.

Yingxing registered all of this with an all-consuming sense of detachment — nothing on the battlefield escaped his senses, each sound and sight and smell assaulting his ears and eyes and nose, but all of it paled in comparison to the knowledge that Baiheng was dead.

“You failed to protect her.”

Yingxing looked up from where he was staring at Baiheng and stared listlessly at Dan Feng, whose face was twisted in a scowl.

“You failed to protect her,” Dan Feng hissed, “yet you’re refusing to do everything you can to bring her back?”

Purple hair. Green-yellow eyes. A face that looked peaceful, even in such a gruesome and painful death.

“She deserves rest,” Yingxing heard himself reply, as if he didn’t quite believe the words he was forcing from his mouth. “It would be selfish to disturb that.”

Smack! Yingxing vaguely registered that Dan Feng had slapped him, yet he couldn’t quite feel it.

“You’re giving up, just like that?” Dan Feng kneeled to the ground, his hair and robes pooling around him. The High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu wasn’t meant to kneel, but he here was anyway. “What have our years of research been for? Look around… Look at the blood of the Denizens! Their blood has been spilled, over and over and over… What a waste to let Baiheng die when you can do something about it!”

Cold, clawed fingers gripped Yingxing’s chin and forced him to stare at the rest of the battlefield; a soldier he had known in passing, had shared friendly words with, crumpled to his knees before his eyes at the hands of the rampaging Denizens of Abundance. Yingxing wasn’t sure how he could face that soldier’s husband and kids ever again.

“Is it fair that they can live?” Dan Feng’s claws dug into the flesh of Yingxing’s cheeks. “Is it fair that they can never die, when Baiheng… the woman you swore your life to… the woman you… the woman you swore to love forever…”

Dan Feng narrowed his eyes further, the glare of them sharp as steel. “Is it fair that she must stay gone forever?”

A flash of a smile. The briefest of touches against his hand. The sweetest of murmurs against his ear.

A never-ending war with never-ending deaths and never-ending grief and never-ending pain, where people were forced to die and die and die while the enemy always got to live.

That wasn’t what Yingxing wanted.

Yingxing… Yingxing wanted Baiheng to live.

As soon as the resolve cemented itself in Yingxing’s heart, he knew what to do. What he had to do.

Searing, burning pain erupted from Dan Feng’s chest.

“Yingxing…?”

Yingxing smirked, his eyes glowing red like fire, red like the sun, red like the warm blood spreading quickly across Dan Feng’s robes. “You’re right. It’s not fair.”

Against the beating pulse of one of Dan Feng’s hearts, the callouses of Yingxing’s fingers pressed like hot, fiery brands; Dan Feng felt Yingxing’s fingers give a harsh squeeze before —

“A-Feng!”

Dan Feng’s eyes shot open, sweat pouring in rivulets down his face. Golden blood stained his hands, which trembled with a complicated tangle of anxiety and fear and grief he couldn’t even begin to unpack; the scent of violence and bloodshed filled the air, highlighted by the sounds of screaming and snarling and sobbing; and Yingxing was, Yingxing was…

“A-Feng!”

Suddenly and viscerally aware of the hearts, whole and intact and mercifully beating, in his chest, Dan Heng snapped his eyes over to Yingxing.

Yingxing, who was dressed normally, whose eyes were blissfully purple, and whose eyebrows were knitted in concern. Yingxing, just as he had promised, was there to wake Dan Heng up. 

Dan Heng took a moment to take in his surroundings: he was still in the same infirmary room he had been the day before, laid out atop the bed with the silk sheets beneath his head and the cotton blankets tangled around his legs. Natural light shone through the nearby window, but the dim quality to it suggested that the sun had only recently come up. Dan Heng hurriedly placed a hand against his chest, felt soft robes and unmarred skin beneath his palms, and let out the breath that had been stuck in his throat since he had awoken.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Yingxing asked, pulling a small cloth from his sleeve and reaching for Dan Heng.

Dan Heng couldn’t help it; once Yingxing’s hand drew close to him, he flinched, shoulders drawing up to ears and body leaning abruptly away.

Once he realized what he had done, Dan Heng scrambled to apologize. “Yingxing, I —”

Shaking his head, Yingxing withdrew his hand and placed the cloth on Dan Heng’s lap. “Here, wipe yourself off,” he said, tone unreadable. “I’ll get you a bowl of the congee I made.”

Dan Heng nodded, plucking the blue cloth up and gratefully using it to mop up the sweat sticking to his skin while Yingxing turned around and spooned steaming congee from the ceramic bowl resting atop a small table nearby. Dan Heng hadn’t noticed any of that setup before and felt a twinge of guilt and appreciation knowing that Yingxing had woken up early to not only wake him up but also cook him breakfast.

After the cloth was sufficiently soaked through and Dan Heng had gotten a better grip on his consciousness, he closed his eyes and tried to recall the nightmare as best as he could.

The nightmare had been of Baiheng’s death, a critical turning point in Revenge of the Furnace Master. Dan Heng remembered reading that chapter in the original novel as clearly as if it had only been yesterday. That chapter followed the High Cloud Quintet’s final campaign against the Denizens of Abundance, a conquest-minded group that was defined by their rituals of human experimentation and artificial methods of prolonging their lifespans. Their goal was to force the almighty Xianzhou Luofu empire to submit to their whims; though they had not been very successful on a large scale, they had managed to win over several villages scattered throughout the country, and groups of the Denizens were getting bolder and even encroaching closer to the larger cities of the Xianzhou Luofu.

Of course, the High Cloud Quintet had to be dispatched to take care of them swiftly.

However, the Denizens had led the Xianzhou Luofu military into what was, essentially, a trap, overwhelming the High Cloud Quintet and their forces. The worst part of it all, though, was that Dan Feng, as the High Elder of the Vidyadhara and thus privy to more military intelligence than the rest of the Quintet, had probably known what was awaiting them — and authorized the order to mobilize anyway.

The chapter had been much more than the death of the beloved female lead; it had been the crucial plot twist in the novel’s plot, revealing Dan Feng as a selfish traitor.

According to everything Dan Heng could remember, his dream had played out the scene in the novel word for word, from Yingxing’s detached despair to Dan Feng’s harsh manipulation. And yet, even though the dream had been mostly accurate, Dan Heng had gotten the sense that it still wasn’t quite right. Plus, the dream had taken a sharp turn at the end.

In fact, the ending of the dream hadn’t happened in the book at all.

Yingxing hadn’t tried to kill Dan Feng on the battlefield; it had been far afterward, after the two of them had failed to revive Baiheng and brought back an undead abomination that wore Baiheng’s face. Yingxing had, in his grief, been forced to kill Baiheng for good — all while Dan Feng fled the battlefield, only to be captured and sent to the Xianzhou Luofu’s highest security prison for leading the High Cloud Quintet and hundreds of the nation’s best soldiers on a campaign he had known would likely end in their deaths.

Only then, once Dan Feng had been stripped of his title and left to rot in the Shackling Prison, did Yingxing finally find him and give him the death he so deserved.

But in his dream, Yingxing had reached into Dan Feng’s chest… grabbed onto his heart…

Was Dan Heng’s mind just playing tricks on him? Was Dan Heng so afraid of dying a second time that his mind was engineering a million different scenarios that he had to do his best to avoid? Was Dan Heng just getting the events of the novel mixed up?

“Here you go, High Elder, a bowl of congee just how you like it.”

Dan Heng pulled his mind away from the jumble of his thoughts and focused back on Yingxing and food being offered to him. The white, fluffy porridge smelled divine, and the finely chopped spring onions added a splash of enticing color to the dish.

Dan Heng hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until his stomach growled, and with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, he reached out and accepted the bowl.

“And here’s your spoon, and a serving of vegetarian meat floss,” Yingxing added, setting the spoon and small condiment bowl beside Dan Heng on his bed.

Vegetarian meat floss? Dan Heng couldn’t remember if Dan Feng had been described as a vegetarian in the book, though, granted, the novel had never described each individual character’s eating habits too closely. Dan Heng vaguely remembered Dan Feng having eaten very little when invited to extravagant feasts celebrating the High Cloud Quintet, but it had been passed off as Dan Feng having picky and discriminating tastes, not any dietary restrictions.

Well, whatever. Dan Heng was vegetarian as well, since the doctors in his previous life had determined in his youth that eating too much meat often made Dan Heng’s symptoms worse, and having Dan Feng also be vegetarian meant it was easier to pass himself off as the character; he wasn’t about to take this for granted, even if knowing that Dan Feng had harbored distinctive dietary choices made it all the more real that Dan Heng had taken his life and replaced him in his body.

If Dan Feng was a real person, and not just a character in a novel, where had his soul gone when Dan Heng took over?

It was an uncomfortable thought.

At least the congee was a comforting taste on Dan Heng’s tongue and warm weight in his belly, serving as a sufficient distraction from the existential dread that was trying to worm its way into his mind. Who cared where Dan Feng went or if Dan Heng was reborn into a different world or if the people around him were actually characters in a webnovel he had read using a pricey VPN? The congee was some of the best Dan Heng had ever tasted, and the vegetarian meat floss was perfectly sweet and salty!

“You’re still being prescribed plenty of rest and no paperwork for a week,” Yingxing said as he ate from his own bowl. “So, for today, I was thinking I would take you to my forge for a little bit, then we can meet up with Jingliu and her snot-nosed kid afterward.”

Feeling a bit better after a few bites, Dan Heng scrunched up his nose and bit his lip to hide his huff of laughter, choosing instead to reprimand Yingxing as Dan Feng might have done. “You shouldn’t be calling Jing Yuan a snot-nosed kid.”

Scoffing, Yingxing cleaned the last bites of congee from his bowl, shaking his head all the while. “He’s still a little kid to me,” he said, the edges of his mouth curled up in a small smile. “Ah, but time has flown so fast, hasn’t it, A-Feng? You’re right. He’s all grown up now. I can’t believe we’ve watched him grow up together.”

Ah.

The contents of Dan Heng’s stomach threatened to rebel against him, and he found that, despite the deliciousness of the food Yingxing had made him, he was no longer hungry. “Yes, time does fly,” he said, averting his gaze as he swirled the spoon through the congee.

Perhaps sensing that Dan Heng didn’t want to talk much — or maybe this was just par for the course for them — Yingxing shifted the conversation to a different topic. “So, after you finish eating, I was thinking we could stop by your residence quickly just to get you a change of clothes, since you must feel quite gross in those, and then we’ll head over to my forge. Does that sound acceptable?”

Dan Heng nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic of the bowl in his lap.

Yingxing glanced down at the half-finished bowl of congee, and his gaze softened. “If you’re still feeling tired, you need to let me know,” Yingxing said, placing his own bowl to the side and reaching out to gently take the bowl from Dan Heng’s hands. “We don’t need to go outside today if you’re not fully recovered.”

Before Dan Heng could reply, Yingxing brushed a strand of hair gently away from his face, tucking it away behind his pointed ear. “You don’t need to be the untouchable, cold High Elder in front of me, A-Feng.”

All thoughts promptly fled Dan Heng’s mind at brush of Yingxing’s calloused fingers against his skin.

Why… Why was Yingxing touching him so familiarly?!

Dan Heng stared blankly at Yingxing, blinking slowly, before his hearts kickstarted into gear and fluttered furiously in his chest. A bright blush crept its way up his neck, onto his cheeks, and to his ears. He felt almost as if he was suffering from a fever, but logically he knew it was simply embarrassment.

The charisma and charm of a novel protagonist wasn’t something to be underestimated.

Dan Heng cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine. I want to go to the furnace with you… Yingxing.”

Yingxing beamed, and Dan Heng did his best to ignore how faint it made him feel.

As soon as Dan Heng felt well enough to stand on his own, Yingxing whisked him away from the Xianzhou Luofu Vidyadhara compound’s infirmary and toward his own personal room.

The compound itself was bustling with people, from lower-ranked Vidyadhara employees to regular Xianzhou Luofu citizens. The compound was a hub for political collaboration, especially concerning the matters of the Vidyadhara and their contributions to the Xianzhou Luofu’s war against the Denizens of Abundance.

While leaning against Yingxing for support and following him toward Dan Feng’s room, Dan Heng discreetly marveled at the varied draconic traits that showed themselves in the Vidyadhara; only he, as the High Elder, had prominent horns and could manifest a tail, but it was intriguing to see how different Vidyadhara had smatterings of scales on their faces or differently angled ears.

The clusters of people suggested that the compound was usually a loud, vibrant place. Yet, wherever Dan Heng walked, the people milling around would immediately quiet down and bow, offering their greetings to the High Elder, even if he looked worse for wear after spending quite some time in the recovery room.

It was what Dan Heng expected, given Dan Feng’s position, but he couldn’t help but hate it. He may not have been especially good at interacting with others in his past life, but having others look at him as if he were someone to be held apart from everyone else… It reminded him too much of the doctors’ stares.

Even if they revered him instead of pitied him, the end result was still the same.

Thankfully, Yingxing led him quickly enough through the courtyards and hallways, finally coming to a stop in front of a pair of gilded doors decorated with beautifully crafted dragons toward the very back of the compound.

“Here you are, High Elder,” Yingxing said, gesturing to the doors. “Will you be requiring my help to get in and get dressed as well?”

Dan Heng flushed and hastily detached himself from Yingxing. “That will not be necessary.” Dan Heng pressed his right hand over the door and felt his magic thrum through the wood, unlocking and opening for him as it recognized his energy. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Yingxing smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I shall wait for you outside. Feel free to take your time, High Elder, but don’t keep me waiting too long.”

“Of course.” Dan Heng stopped himself from slamming the door on Yingxing in embarrassment, but it was a near thing.

Once the door was firmly closed behind him, Dan Heng exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again.

For a few moments, Dan Heng just stood in the entrance of Dan Feng’s room, centering his mind and trying to figure out a mental schedule for himself. If things progressed just as they did in the books, he probably had roughly 10 years before the disastrous battle against the Denizens of Abundance. With any luck, Dan Heng should be able prevent it from ever happening at all; he had 10 entire years, and with him now occupying Dan Feng’s body without any obvious OOC restrictions from the strangely absent System, the rules of the butterfly effect dictated that it was likely the events of the novel would not progress just as they would have without his outside interference.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of the novel’s original events, prompting Dan Heng to take a cautionary sweep around Dan Feng’s — now his — room. For all that it was a lavish and spacious residence, it was surprisingly impersonal: the plain, mahogany drawers were left tightly shut and undecorated; the plush bed was laden with silken sheets and partially obscured by gauzy blue curtains, but by the way the bed was immaculately made, it looked as if Dan Feng had hardly slept in it; and the work desk placed in the corner of the room was the only furnishing that had the slightest hint of personality to it, filled as it was with books and scrolls.

Curious, Dan Heng kneeled down at the desk and picked up the topmost scroll, which turned out to be a simple census report of the population of Vidyadhara living in the Xianzhou Luofu. The rest of the scrolls and papers on his desk were similarly impersonal, from official reports on inter-city trade agreements to a few selections of high-brow poetry.

Dan Feng, it seemed, had lived a relatively simple life for a powerful political figure.

What in the world could have driven him to pursue immortality and necromancy research…and needlessly involve Yingxing in the process?

Anxiety formed a knot in Dan Heng’s chest, and he rubbed at it, self-conscious about the newfound organs thrumming underneath his skin. Now that Dan Heng was aware that he had more than one heart — nine, most likely, since the High Elder of the Xianzhou Luofu Vidyadhara always had nine hearts, it was mentioned in the novel, how could Dan Heng have forgotten? — the way they beat in tandem was overwhelming. Feeling them pulse in his chest made him incredibly aware of his inhabitance in Dan Feng’s physical body and his connection to the world around him, as well as how out of place he, Dan Heng, actually was.

Despite the physical body he was using, he was Dan Heng. Not Dan Feng. He was — or, had been, before his death — a twenty-four-year-old, second-generation Chinese man living in the diaspora abroad, not a near-immortal High Elder of a fantastical species descended from the mythological dragons. He had grown up mostly isolated on account of his chronic illness and had few relationships with others outside of his over-protective but emotionally absent parents; he wasn’t really friends with the members of the High Cloud Quintet, and he hadn’t watched Jing Yuan grow up alongside Yingxing.

Sure, he had read about Yingxing’s life, but even all the imagination in the world couldn’t fully capture how it felt like to see Yingxing in the flesh and know that there were years of memories Dan Heng didn’t have about Yingxing’s time with Dan Feng.

Mentally, Dan Heng shook away the spiral of doubt and nerves that was threatening to pull him in. He had to trust that he was taking Dan Feng’s place for a reason…

Perhaps, since Dan Feng had never even been a good friend to Yingxing, Dan Heng being unceremoniously placed into his body was for the sake of fixing everything. Dan Feng had only befriended Yingxing to manipulate him and force him to complete forbidden research on immortality and necromancy. Dan Feng had never cared about Yingxing as a person…he had only been using Yingxing for his own benefit.

It shouldn’t matter that Dan Heng was living his life now. It shouldn’t matter that Dan Heng didn’t have the same memories with Yingxing as Dan Feng did; he would put a stop to the terrible research and do his best to make new, better memories, and be an actual friend to Yingxing.

Then, Yingxing would have absolutely no reason to go berserk and kill him.

Revenge of the Furnace Master? Dan Heng was going to turn the novel into The Furnace Master’s Peaceful Life!

Or something. The title was a work in progress, but the heart and drive were there.

Dan Heng cleaned up the scrolls, stood up, and walked toward the clothes drawers. He was still wearing the wrinkled robes he had worn while in the infirmary, and he needed to get dressed in something presentable for the public eye quickly.

After all, he had promised not to keep Yingxing waiting.  

Chapter Text

“You don’t wear those robes too often,” Yingxing said as soon as Dan Heng stepped out of Dan Feng’s room.

Dan Heng looked down at himself and tugged at the fabric of his sleeves, unsure how these particular robes were any different from the others residing in Dan Feng’s closet. They were simple, sea green robes with silvery embroidery on the sleeves and tied at the waist with a darker blue belt, paired with a white inner robe and black billowy pants. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary about them…

“And you so rarely go without an outer robe,” Yingxing continued, his eyes roam from Dan Heng’s neck to his cloth-covered arms. “Are you feeling a little adventurous today, High Elder?”

“Perhaps you are the one who is feeling daring today, talking the way you are,” Dan Heng shot back, closing the door behind him and hastily heading down the hallway to where he thought the exit was.

A gloved hand wrapped around the crook of Dan Heng’s elbow, and he abruptly found himself pulled against a warm and firm chest.

“Are you still feeling sick, A-Feng?” Yingxing’s distractingly husky voice sent shivers racing down Dan Heng’s spine. “You’re walking the wrong way. Do you really want an excuse for me to guide you around?”

As if he had been burned, Dan Heng yanked his arm out of Yingxing’s grasp and clutched it to his chest like an aggrieved damsel in distress.

Dan Heng had to get at least five feet between him and Yingxing now. Everything was too much! Why was Yingxing so touchy and…and…brazen?! Was this how friends acted with each other? Dan Heng had heard that people in other countries had different levels of acceptable skinship, but this…

For someone who had grown up with only his parents and medical doctors touching him — his classmates had never gotten too close, mainly because his parents had been afraid that his illness would be worsened by unnecessary exposure to others — this was really too much! Yingxing was acting more like the flirtatious main lead going after his love interest rather than a platonic companion teasing his friend… Even Dan Heng, who had never felt any attraction to anyone, let alone been in a romantic relationship, could tell that Yingxing was not acting strictly like a completely platonic friend with Dan Feng.

Had Dan Heng really landed in the world of Revenge of the Furnace Master? The System had never explicitly told him, after all, that he had been transmigrated into that specific novel. It seemed reasonable that, perhaps, Dan Heng had ended up in an alternate version of the story, or perhaps a universe that took inspiration from the novel’s characters. Or perhaps the novel had taken inspiration from this universe’s characters — er, well, people?

Dan Heng’s head hurt. It was one thing to grapple with transmigrating into his favorite novel; it was another thing to grapple with transmigrating into something that was like his favorite novel but also very different.

Instead of being offended by Dan Heng distancing himself, Yingxing just threw his head back and laughed, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.

“You’re too easy to tease,” Yingxing chuckled, shaking his head and looking at Dan Heng with a twinkle in his eyes. “You really aren’t acting like the untouchable High Elder.”

Sharp, icy fear pierced Dan Heng’s heart. What did Yingxing mean by that?

Dan Heng sniffed and turned his face away, trying valiantly to hide how much the statement had affected him, before responding with the only thing he could think to say. “I’m not sure what you mean. I am acting as I always do,” Dan Heng said, willing his voice not to waver. “I was merely disoriented from my earlier…health predicament.”

Logically, Dan Heng knew that Yingxing was only teasing him for acting flustered and letting go of his lofty High Elder persona, not accusing him of being an imposter wearing Dan Feng’s skin. If Yingxing truly believed that he wasn’t talking to the real Dan Feng, he wouldn’t be laughing about it — he would probably be drawing his sword and alerting the guards, or maybe even staying silent and waiting for the right time to interrogate or get rid of the imposter. Yingxing was incredibly smart; he wouldn’t outright tell the imposter that he was onto him… Would he?

No, he wouldn’t. Even with all the strange behaviors Dan Heng wouldn’t have expected from Yingxing after reading the novel about his life, nobody with any semblance of rational thought — least of all, Yingxing — would openly call out an imposter unless they had a plan to somehow confront and get rid of the imposter. To do so would be a risky gamble, and most people operated in terms of absolutes and certainties.

Still, that logic didn’t stop Dan Heng from worrying. Even if the System didn’t seem interested in enforcing any protocols or punishments for acting OOC… surely the rest of the people in Dan Feng’s life would notice and make his life hell.

Instead of accusing Dan Heng of possessing Dan Feng’s body or any other scenario that Dan Heng’s irrational fears could conjure up, Yingxing simply snorted and walked closer to Dan Heng with a relaxed gait that suggested he was not unfamiliar with Dan Feng’s eccentricities.

“You really should be more careful, High Elder,” Yingxing teased, easily catching up to where Dan Heng had scurried away. “If you keep acting this way, you’ll give me the wrong idea.”

What wrong idea?! What kind of cheesy lines…?!

Dan Heng cleared his throat and did his best to channel Dan Feng as he spoke. “You’re the one giving yourself foolish ideas, Yingxing,” he said, furrowing his brows and straightening his robes. “Now, are you going to keep playing around or will we finally visit your forge? I’m sure your customers are not happy to be kept waiting.”

Around them, the employees and residents of the Xianzhou Luofu Vidyadhara compound bustled about, going through their daily routines and stopping only briefly to offer respectful bows to Dan Heng before hurrying along to their destinations. Dan Heng paid them no mind; he was too busy watching Yingxing. A smile spread across Yingxing’s face, which was full of an unbearable and deep-rooted fondness, and, with a pang, Dan Heng realized that that affection was not truly directed at him.

“Of course, A-Feng,” Yingxing said, graciously leading the two of them toward the correct hallway. “How could I ever refuse you?”

Dan Heng sniffed, glancing to the side away from Yingxing. It was easier to run through his mental catalogue of the novel’s dialogue and think of what to say when he wasn’t looking directly at his companion. “Why would you have reason to refuse me when you were the one to suggest this trip?”

“Right you are, High Elder.” The teasing tone in Yingxing’s voice was especially palpable, but he thankfully said nothing more and simply continued subtly directing Dan Feng out of the confusing hallway, through the courtyard, and out of the compound.

Once the two of them were on the streets, Dan Heng felt as if he could breathe easier. Although the other Vidyadhara were not overbearing, there was a certain pressure in the air that made Dan Heng acutely aware that he was someone in a position of great power. Here, on the outside streets of the Xianzhou Luofu leading to Yingxing’s forge in the Aurum Alley district, Dan Heng felt more anonymous — people still recognized him as the High Elder of the Vidyadhara, of course, but he was no longer their ruler.

Dan Heng should have hated crowds, but, instead, he was was reveling in the busy streets; barely anyone paid him any attention amidst the hustle and bustle, too worried about their own lives to care about his own.

Yingxing, meanwhile, proved his popularity by greeting nearly every vendor on the street. From the food stall aunties to the tea house uncles, everyone wanted to chat with the forge master about their latest gossip and offer him samples of their wares.

Content to watch, Dan Heng did not mind when they had to pause in their walking to finish a conversation with a particularly enthusiastic merchant.

“High Elder! High Elder, would you like to take a look over here?”

Dan Heng turned away from Yingxing and made eye contact with a middle-aged woman selling a variety of handcrafted pieces of jewelry.

Once Dan Heng was closer, the woman smiled and gestured to her wares. “Is there anything you see that you like, High Elder? These pieces of jewelry are only made of the finest of materials.”

Although Dan Heng didn’t really care for jewelry or other ostentatious adornments, to be polite, he looked over the woman’s offerings anyway. He kind of wished that he had simply stayed by Yingxing’s side rather than listening to her call out to him, but now that he was there in front of her stall, he was forced to play nice. He knew nothing about jewelry and could not tell whether the necklaces, bracelets, and earrings she had laid out really were made of the finest materials like she claimed, and he felt a tad foolish simply staring at them as if the particular shine of the metal or luster of the stones would tell him their quality in spoken words so long as he kept looking at them for long enough.

One particular jade pendant caught his eye, though. It was carved into the shape of a guardian lion, and though Dan Heng couldn’t tell if the jade was pure, the shape of it was interesting. Could Yingxing craft something more intricate and beautiful? Probably. The novel had described Yingxing spending hours in his workshop crafting beautiful, yet practical, gift pieces for Baiheng — from bracelets and hair ornaments to flasks and jewelry dishes — in order to woo her.

Suddenly, the jade pendant wasn’t as interesting as it had been.

“Don’t glare a hole through the wares, High Elder,” Yingxing’s voice came from behind Dan Heng, “or else you’ll need to pay for everything yourself.”

“You seem to love telling me what to do,” Dan Heng snarked back, crossing his arms. “Did I miss the part where you became my retainer as well as the local furnace master?”

“It’s a self-appointed role,” Yingxing replied, smirking. “Unless you are truly shopping for someone here? Don’t let me stop you.”

Dan Heng glanced at the ground, embarrassed, and huffed. “I was simply browsing, since you were otherwise occupied.”

“Then, now that I am unoccupied, let me lead you to our original destination.”

Gently, but not without a touch of mirth in his eyes, Yingxing led Dan Heng away from the vendor — inwardly, Dan Heng sighed in relief, glad that he didn’t need to extricate himself from the awkward social situation on his own — and toward where Dan Heng could vaguely recognize as what was likely Yingxing’s workshop. This time, Yingxing kept a slightly larger distance between the two of them, but he was still close enough to make it obvious that the two of them were traveling together.

So focused as he was on examining the architecture of the building, with its simple warm-red accents and the smoke billowing from the opening in the rooftop (did Yingxing keep the fire burning all day long, or had he started it in the morning before fetching Dan Heng? Either way, leaving it going while he was away from his forge was pretty dangerous; Dan Heng needed to reprimand him for his carelessness), Dan Heng failed to notice a small creature barreling towards him until it had crashed into his legs, tangling his robes around his ankles and sending him tumbling onto the ground.

It turned out that even Vidyadhara powers could not prevent making direct contact with the hard dirt any less painful; the palms of Dan Heng’s hands and the knobs of his knees smarted with the contact, sharp bits of rock leaving imprints in his skin.

In seconds, Yingxing was kneeling by his side and carefully hoisting him up.

“Are you okay?” Yingxing asked, his brows furrowed together in worry. “What happened? Did your legs give out? Do you need to go back to the infirmary?”

“Something tripped me.” Dan Heng brushed off the dirt that clung to his robes as best as he could while looking toward the distance; the thing that had caused him to fall over seemed to have run off. “It looked like an animal of some sort? I don’t see it anymore.”

Yingxing’s jaw clenched. “An animal…?”

Dan Heng nodded. “Likely a stray, or perhaps a pet that escaped its owner.”

Clenching his fist, Yingxing turned and glared in the same direction Dan Heng had just been looking in. “The audacity someone would have to let their animal run loose like that!”

Confused, Dan Heng tilted his head and frowned. “I don’t think anyone would have allowed their pet to escape just for the sake of tripping me, Yingxing.”

“…You’re right.” Yingxing loosened his fist and shook his head. “I’m being silly. Sorry, A-Feng. I just don’t want to see you collapse again…especially so soon after you fainted a few days ago.”

Dan Heng nodded awkwardly, unsure of what to say considering he hadn’t really been the one to faint, and cleared his throat. “Well, we’re mere steps from your forge. Let’s finally get there before anything else can get in the way.”

“Of course.”

Once they were standing right in front of the entrance to Yingxing’s forge, the talisman sealing the door to unwanted guests fell away and Yingxing escorted Dan Heng inside. Dan Heng felt the temperature difference immediately; where the outdoor air had been mildly cool, the atmosphere inside the forge was hot and smoky, enveloping him in its warmth as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Although the outside of the forge was simple, the inside was covered from head to toe with items: shelves of metals lined the walls, scrolls and blueprints decorated the tables, and various tools were stacked in a corner. It was an organized chaos — though the area was not necessarily bare or clean, it was clearly neat, betraying the meticulous nature of its owner.

“You really need to put out the fire when you’re not in here,” Dan Heng said, acting as if this was not his first time visiting Yingxing in his workspace. “One day, you’ll return and find everything in cinders.”

Yingxing laughed while pulling out a chair for Dan Heng to sit down on. “As long as nobody is in my forge, that is fine with me. It’s easier to keep the fire going, anyway, since I am usually not gone from my work for long. Finding new logs to start the fire and waiting for it to get hot enough is inconvenient.”

“You don’t care about harm coming to all the priceless weapons you’ve painstakingly crafted?” Dan Heng gestured to the racks of swords, spears, and lances set aside in the corners of the furnace. “Obviously, you don’t want anyone to be caught in the fire… but what about your hard work?”

“Mm, perhaps, though the heat of the fire would not be enough to melt them down.” Yingxing picked up a sturdy, black sword with an undecorated hilt and tilted it just so that the fire reflected off its dark blade. “That which is tempered in flames will not burn so easily, High Elder.”

The way Yingxing spoke the words tugged at Dan Heng’s mind, as if there were a double meaning waiting beneath the obvious. However, try as he might to parse it out, Dan Heng could not understand what else Yingxing could be implying. Was Yingxing making a statement about how he had persevered despite all the hardships he had faced in his childhood? That was possible, of course, but it didn’t seem quite right.

It was a perfectly cheesy line fitting of a revenge novel, though, so Dan Heng had to give Yingxing props for spouting such quotable, protagonist-worthy lines so effortlessly.

(Never mind the fact that Dan Heng still wasn’t sure if he really was living in the world of Revenge of the Furnace Master anymore — that was still a problem to be figured out at another time, or never, honestly, since the System didn’t seem to be bothering him about it.)

Eventually, Yingxing put the sword back onto the rack and, after confirming that Dan Heng was willing to simply sit and wait while he worked, took out an unfinished guandao and set it straight into the fire.

“I promised that brat I would finish a special weapon for him before he was sent out on his first official battle on the field,” Yingxing explained as he worked, adjusting the position of the guandao and taking out a hammer as the metal began to glow red.

Dan Heng quirked one eyebrow up. “Isn’t he currently training with a sword? Has Jingliu trained him to use a guandao at all?”

“He had better be grateful that he is getting anything at all.” In spite of the acerbic words, Yingxing’s facial expression betrayed the fondness he felt for Jing Yuan. “I already talked to Jingliu about this, too — she thinks it’s a good idea for him to expand his knowledge of weapons beyond a regular sword. Baiheng agreed.”

Seeing these little moments of connection between all the members of the High Cloud Quintet, Dan Heng couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of jealousy and endearment in his heart. He envied them and their natural closeness; he wanted to understand and be part of their effortless friendship.

Well, in a way, his wishes were granted. He was part of their group — but only he, as Dan Feng, not Dan Heng.

How did other people who had to transmigrate into the bodies of others deal with the strangeness of occupying a space you originally were never meant to be in? In his previous life, Dan Heng had read plenty of transmigration novels where the main character was able to leave their old world behind and take on the new name without looking back — and yet, despite Dan Feng and Dan Heng being only one character apart from each other, Dan Heng still could not imagine himself as Dan Feng. He was Dan Heng wearing Dan Feng’s skin — he was Dan Heng where other people looked at him and saw Dan Feng — he was Dan Heng when he was supposed to be Dan Feng.

Dan Feng was part of the High Cloud Quintet. Dan Heng was not, but now he had to try.

Apart from Dan Heng’s inner turmoil, though, spending time in Yingxing’s forge was pleasant. The methodical way in which Yingxing hammered out the imperfections in the guandao’s metal blade was hypnotizing; the steady thunk, thunk, thunk accompanied by the crackle of the fire was surprisingly peaceful, lulling Dan Heng’s mind to calm down and drift back down to a more meditative state.

Dan Heng wasn’t sure how long they passed the time like this before a knock on the door interrupted the peacefulness of the moment.

“Right when I’m about to get some good progress in, I’m interrupted,” Yingxing grumbled, but he still wiped the sweat off his brow, took the guandao out of the fire, and set it off to the side to cool.

Dan Heng made no move to open the door, and Yingxing didn’t look as if he expected him to, so Dan Heng simply stayed sitting while Yingxing went to greet their unexpected visitor.

“Jing Yuan wanted to know when you were bringing the High Elder over to visit,” Baiheng’s cheerful voice drifted through the open doorway. “It’s quite late into the afternoon now, and none of us have seen either of you all day.”

From the way Yingxing was leaning against the doorframe, Dan Heng couldn’t see his facial expression, but he guessed it was a slightly lopsided grin based on the amused tone Yingxing’s words had taken on. “If you don’t see either of us for an entire day, perhaps it is because we don’t want to be found.”

Baiheng giggled, the sounds like chimes in the wind, and placed a hand on her hip. “I think, if anything, you’re kidnapping the High Elder.”

Yingxing snorted. “Me? Kidnap the High Elder? Please. He is more likely to kidnap me.”

“We’ll see about that.” Baiheng craned her neck over Yingxing’s shoulders and made eye contact with Dan Heng, who was startled to find himself included suddenly in the conversation. “Dan Feng, did Yingxing take you to his forge against your will? Blink twice if you need help.”

Surprised and unsure of what to say, Dan Heng blinked.

“That was one blink!” Baiheng cried, clutching a hand to her chest and opening her eyes comically wide. “Dan Feng, quickly — if you need to blink a second time, do it now!”

Dan Heng almost blinked again but stopped himself just in time.

Yingxing sighed and jerked his head in the direction of the streets outside the forge. “I suppose I did say we would be visiting Jingliu later,” he said, gesturing for Dan Heng to stand up and follow him. “Let’s head out, A-Feng. It might be nice for them to see with their own eyes how you’re recovering.”

As soon as Dan Heng rose from his chair and joined the two of them outside, Baiheng clapped her hands together and cheered. “Outside of Yingxing, we rarely ever get to see you outside of official settings. I’m so glad you’re spending more time with us, Dan Feng!”

Dan Heng looked down at her earnest eyes and bright smile and managed to muster up a small smile of his own. “As am I,” he replied, and he found himself even believing it.

Chapter Text

“You’ve grown rusty, High Elder.”

Dan Heng wiped the sweat off his brow as delicately as he could and tried not to grimace; his arms and legs were trembling, which was mostly hidden by his robes, but not from exhaustion, as he found that Dan Feng’s muscle memory did a decent job — instead, he had to count to 10 in his head and tell his anxious mind that he was in a perfectly healthy body that would not collapse after physically exerting it. “Perhaps it is you who has improved, Jingliu.”

Across from him on the practice field, Jingliu shook her head and sheathed her sword, the glare of the metal extra bright in the afternoon sunlight. “We should not have sparred right after you only just finished recovering.”

 “I thought I could handle it,” Dan Heng said, truthfully, because although he had no prior experience fighting anyone before, he had mistakenly underestimated the toll it would take on his mind to control powers and brandish a weapon. Even if Dan Feng’s body remembered how to use those skills, Dan Heng’s mind had not been prepared for the burden.

He knew better now, though. He would need to practice using Dan Feng’s powers a bit more before he agreed to a spar or was forced onto the battlefield — otherwise, at best, he would risk looking like a fool, and at worst, he would risk losing his life yet again.

Dan Heng internally sighed. Who knew transmigration would require so much extra work to keep up appearances? He was grateful to be alive in a body that didn’t have to deal with chronic illness, but at the same time, it might have been nicer had he been reincarnated normally.

“You’re not usually so clumsy with a sword,” Yingxing said to Dan Heng as he walked up to greet the two of them, nodding to Jingliu before guiding Dan Heng away from the field. Jingliu nodded back and gestured for Jing Yuan to join her instead. Jing Yuan grumbled a bit but, after a quick glance at Dan Heng, acquiesced silently and stepped onto the field with his sword at the ready.

It would be interesting to watch them spar in person; Dan Heng was looking forward to staying on the sidelines for a bit while he caught his breath.

“You know I do not consider myself an expert in swordsmanship,” Dan Heng replied, which was true. In the entire novel, Dan Feng had only ever been described using his Vidyadhara magic on the battlefield. As the High Elder, Dan Feng was supposedly adept at using all sorts of weapons, from swords and spears to bows and arrows, but in serious battles he never used anything but his own qi.

“We do have a swords master already, so there’s no need to be the second.  Perhaps you could consider becoming an expert in other weapons?” Yingxing asked, raising his eyebrows and smirking. “It wouldn’t do to have the High Elder be so helpless on the battlefield.”

“Who are you calling helpless?” Dan Feng snapped, then blushed, startled at his irritation. Naturally, as Dan Feng, he wouldn’t be helpless — but he was Dan Heng! He had no fighting abilities to speak of, having lived most his life as a shut-in due to his illness, and his parents likely would have sooner locked him in his room forever than send him to martial arts classes. If a monster looked at him funny, he would probably keel over.

Yingxing chuckled and crossed his arms. “I am just worried for you, High Elder. As powerful as you are, there are plenty of methods to block one’s qi. Perhaps it would be beneficial to pick up a weapon and truly master it?”

“Whether it is a sword or a bow, I will still prefer to use my own qi,” Dan Heng replied, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders back. “It is easier to be in control when it feels like an extension of my own body.”

“An extension of your own body…” Yingxing hummed, his eyes sparkling. “Is that a challenge for me, A-Feng?”

“You don’t need to create anything for me,” Dan Heng hurried to say. He couldn’t recall any moment in which Yingxing had crafted a weapon for Dan Feng in the original novel, and although it was clear that the world he was living in was not sticking to the original novel quite as closely as he would’ve expected, he still felt awkward accepting such a nicety from Yingxing himself.

“Oh no, High Elder, I insist.” Yingxing gestured to where Jing Yuan was still sparring with Jingliu — he was holding his own, but it was also clear that Jingliu was also not putting all of her strength into the fight. “I’m already creating a weapon for that brat over there. How could I live with myself if I did not try to craft something for you, too?”

Yingxing turned away from the master and disciple duo and focused his oddly intense gaze on Dan Heng. “So, won’t you let me make you something to protect yourself?” Yingxing smiled, then, but his expression was largely unreadable. “It would be my biggest regret if I did not do everything I could to keep you safe.”

Taken aback, Dan Heng had to take a few moments to process Yingxing’s words in order to come up with a proper response. “We are all soldiers in this war against the Denizens of Abundance,” he said, furrowing his brows and shifting his stance nervously. “I… I appreciate you worrying about me, Yingxing, but you alone are not responsible for my safety.”

The metallic clangs and clashes of Jingliu’s sword against Jing Yuan’s own rang out just behind them, but for all Dan Heng was paying attention, they could have been transported to a different dimension entirely — for Yingxing had reached out to cup his cheek. The warmth of Yingxing’s gloved palm was incredibly distracting, and Dan Heng, who had only just managed to convince his body that he was okay, was trying desperately not to faint. Dan Heng needed to develop an immunity to Yingxing’s casual touches, and quickly, or else he wouldn’t survive this second life for long.

“Aren’t I?” Yingxing murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as if Dan Feng was never meant to hear those words. “What is the worth of a weaponsmith who can only make beautiful things destined to gather dust?”

Overwhelmed and thoroughly about to mentally combust, Dan Heng stepped back and put a healthy amount of distance between himself and Yingxing. Being in close proximity of Yingxing — especially when he decided to be a flirtatious male lead — was decidedly not good for Dan Heng’s health.

“I am the High Elder,” Dan Heng stated as firmly as he could muster with his eyes fixated on a spot over Yingxing’s shoulder; he was doing this half to convince Yingxing and half to convince himself. “The waters are mine to control, and I can protect myself.”

The false bravado in Dan Heng’s chest deflated completely when he refocused his gaze at Yingxing’s face. “But if you truly wish to make a weapon for me, then I cannot force you not to.”

“Will you be making weapons for all of us, then, or are you paying special attention to the High Elder as you always do?”

Dan Heng snapped his attention away from Yingxing toward Jing Yuan, who had left the training field and was standing right beside them. He had been so preoccupied with Yingxing that he hadn’t even noticed that his spar with Jingliu had ended.

Yingxing snorted and walked over to reach up and ruffle Jing Yuan’s hair.  “I promised you a weapon already, brat. Hasn’t your master taught you the value of patience?”

“Maybe once you stop calling him a brat, he’ll stop acting like one.” Baiheng came bouncing over from where she had been standing under the shade just a few paces away. “And don’t pretend like you don’t play favorites!”

Yingxing placed his hand on his hip and wagged one finger playfully. “I don’t play favorites. I take them quite seriously.”

Giggling, Baiheng elbowed Yingxing in the ribs. “And you’re so obvious about it, too.”

“Are they really? I’m not sure if my so-called favorites can tell.”

A strange, twisting emotion welled up in Dan Heng’s chest, and he fiddled with his fingers to try and rid himself of the discomfort. It couldn’t be his past life’s illness acting up, but it made him nervous all the same, and he found himself wishing he could be alone.

“Here is some water if you need it, High Elder.” Jing Yuan, who had only finished wiping off his sword and sheathing it away, offered Dan Heng a terracotta-colored flask while keeping his eyes downcast.

Dan Heng accepted the flask gratefully and enjoyed a few sips, the coolness of the water soothing his nerves. “Thank you,” Dan Heng said once he was finished, wiping the rim off delicately with the fabric of his robe and handing it back to Jing Yuan.

Jing Yuan nodded, his fluffy white bangs hiding his face as he hooked the flask back onto his belt. “I am glad to see you came to visit us, High Elder. However, and pardon my overstepping, your strength does not seem to have fully returned.”

“I will be leaving to rest soon,” Dan Heng reassured Jing Yuan, and it was the truth. He was happy to have spent the morning with Yingxing and appreciated the time he had with the rest of the High Cloud Quintent; he was glad Yingxing had the opportunity to chat with the rest of their group and joke around with Baiheng, but… suddenly the sun’s rays were too hot on top of his head, the air was too dry against his skin, and the collar of his robes were too itchy. Dan Heng just wanted to go home.

Jingliu, who had followed closely behind Jing Yuan, eyed Dan Heng warily, as if she could read his thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be taking Dan Feng back to his rooms?” Jingliu asked pointedly, interrupting Yingxing and Baiheng’s chatting. “The High Elder is looking quite…green around the edges.”

“I can escort you home if you’d like,” Jing Yuan said, concern evident in his voice. “My training is done for the day, and your quarters are not far from the barracks.”

Dan Heng couldn’t help but feel endeared by his earnest offer. “That —”

“Will not be necessary,” Yingxing smoothly cut in, stepping neatly in between Jing Yuan and Dan Heng. “We wouldn’t want to trouble you or interfere with your training. I escorted Dan Feng this morning, so I will be the one to accompany him back.”

Jing Yuan’s eyebrows furrowed. “My training for the day is complete,” he repeated himself, a challenging edge to his words, “and it is no trouble to escort the High Elder. If you wish to spend more time with the others, I will gladly help the High Elder return to the Vidyadhara compound.”

“Then I will trouble you to extend your training,” Yingxing shot back, the smile on his face looking more like a threat than anything. “I’m sure Jingliu wouldn’t mind teaching you a few more tricks.”

Jingliu scoffed. “Are you speaking for me now? Just so you can escort Dan Feng instead of letting Jing Yuan do it?”

It was probably time for Dan Heng to interrupt the strangely heated discussion about who would escort him home, but he felt wrong-footed and wasn’t sure what to do. He could tell them all that he would be heading back home alone — but would that prompt them to argue about that? Or, even if it felt wrong to do so, maybe he could just choose one of them to accompany him home. He was sure Yingxing still had things to work on in his forge, not to mention his conversation with Baiheng, so it wouldn’t do to have Yingxing walk with him just out of obligation; Jing Yuan had offered, so it would make sense for everyone for Dan Heng to accept.

“I’m sure the brat has plenty of things to improve upon still.”

“Whether or not he does is irrelevant. If you want to be the sole person allowed to accompany Dan Feng everywhere, then so be it, but do not involve me.”

“Well, I would not have to involve you if —”

“I’ll take Dan Feng home!”

Shocked to hear another voice added to the mix, Dan Heng shifted his focus to Baiheng, who was standing by Jingliu and Yingxing with a sheepish grin on her face.

“Let’s stop our arguing. We’re all friends, yes?” Baiheng clapped her hands together cheerily, but the way her ears twitched on top of her head betrayed her irritation at the situation. “If you’re so worried about Jing Yuan’s training, Yingxing, why don’t you oversee it with Jingliu? I can get Dan Feng home safely. I haven’t spent time with him on his own for a while, anyway, so it’ll be fun!”

Yingxing looked as if he were about to protest, but one strong glare from Baiheng shut him down. “If that’s all right with A-Feng.”

Baiheng turned to Dan Heng with a smile. “Are you okay with that?”

Well. Even if Dan Heng’s head hurt from the whiplash of everything, at least Baiheng’s interference had solved the problem. Leave it to Baiheng to smooth over the High Cloud Quintet’s conflicts. “Of course. After your lead.”

With a spring to her step, Baiheng led Dan Heng away from the training grounds, turning around briefly to wave at the three left behind once they were a good distance away. Dan Heng didn’t bother turning around; he wasn’t sure what he would see, really, and he figured keeping his eyes trained forward and his head held high made him look more like Dan Feng was supposed to, anyway.

The sun was quite low in the sky now, turning the atmosphere a lovely golden orange. Evening had already begun to set in, and the street vendors had switched from peddling trinkets to aromatic snacks, from tantalizing sticks of tanghulu to glossy and fluffy buns. The savory smell of one vendor’s scallion pancakes made Dan Heng realize that he had not eaten anything since the congee Yingxing had made him that morning; he hoped that he could find some food or ask a worker to bring him something once he returned to the compound.  

“I’m sorry you had to deal with their fighting,” Baiheng sighed, her ears drooping slightly as she walked. “It must have been stressful for you.”

“Yingxing is…headstrong,” Dan Heng allowed, still a bit confused about the earlier debacle himself. “Of course, he would feel obligated to escort me back to my rooms when he had been the one to fetch me this morning.”

Baiheng snorted. “Headstrong? More like he’s been insanely protective since you collapsed a few days ago.” She paused, then, her lips dipping briefly into a frown before continuing. “He’s been acting strange, actually. He’s always been worried for you, naturally, but I’ve never seen him so…”

Awkwardly, Dan Heng adjusted his robes for lack of anything better to do with his hands. “I apologize if his behavior is interfering with…group activities. I did not mean to monopolize his time.”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Baiheng hastily assured him, waving her hand to emphasize it.

Baiheng looked as if she wanted to say more, but the two of them walked in silence for most of the journey back. Dan Heng felt bad for whatever he had done to keep Baiheng from speaking, but he also didn’t know what to say to fill in the quiet. He was used to not speaking much, but that didn’t make him oblivious to the slight tension that came with a silent walk with someone else.

Finally, once they were only a street away from the Vidyadhara compound, Baiheng spoke again. “If there’s anything big troubling you, I hope you know that any of us in the Quintet will listen. The same goes for Yingxing, as well.”

“…Of course,” Dan Heng replied. He very much wasn’t going to reveal his status as a transmigrator, but it was nice of Baiheng to offer a listening ear.

Baiheng likely wasn’t convinced if her slight frown was anything to go by, but Dan Heng didn’t know what to say to fix that.

After several moments, they reached the entrance of the compound, where Baiheng abruptly stopped walking.

“I don’t have permission to enter, so I hope you’re okay with me leaving you here,” Baiheng said, some of her usual cheer returning to her face.

“You’ve already done me a great favor by accompanying me this far.” Dan Heng inclined his head in a small bow. “I hope you have a good rest of your evening.”

Baiheng cooed and waved her hands at him as if to dismiss his bow. “Formal as always,” she sighed, but it sounded more fond than exasperated. “I’m sure Yingxing will be back here tomorrow to drag you outside again. See you soon!”

And with that, Baiheng headed off, leaving Dan Heng to enter the compound by himself.

As the story went, Dan Feng first coveted immortality not for himself, but for others.

The Vidyadhara species, descended from the almighty dragons, were functionally immortal due to their connection to the immortal celestial beings. Vidyadhara went through endless rebirths, returning to the form of an egg once their current incarnation was ready to pass on; after some time, they would be born anew, similar to a regular reincarnation but completely bypassing the need for soul judgment in the afterlife. Therefore, they did not have to worry about the same cycles of birth, death, and reincarnation in the same way other species did; in fact, some of them, especially the Vidyadhara Preceptors, a group of Vidyadhara who were tasked with advising the High Elder on political matters, even viewed themselves as above those mortal species.

However, Dan Feng, upon becoming closer with the High Cloud Quintet, and notably Yingxing, had revealed a unique compassion for the plights of other species. He mourned for the soldiers they lost on the battlefield, and he worried for his companions, so he was determined to find a way to give them immortality without corrupting them.

During his first readthrough of the novel, Dan Heng had believed Dan Feng’s motivations for researching immortality were sympathetic. After all, Dan Feng didn’t need to research immortality for his own sake, since he had the key to it all right in his chest.

That was the secret almost no one — except for the high-ranking political elite, like the Vidyadhara Preceptors — knew: the High Elder had the power to bestow immortality onto anyone they wished.

In revealing this piece of worldbuilding, the novel had broken from its typical limited point of view; instead of following fictional Yingxing’s thoughts closely, the novel had changed briefly to an omniscient approach to provide readers with this fact. Dan Heng had found the choice strange, given that the information seemed out of place, but it did give more much needed insight into Dan Feng’s character and helped explain a few of his actions toward the end of the novel.

This ability, though, also made the High Elder the most vulnerable of the Vidyadhara.

With nine hearts beating in his chest, Dan Feng was technically less susceptible to death than the average one-heart species and his fellow Vidyadhara, who also only had one heart per body. However, long ago, before the nine-hearted Vidyadhara had been established as the High Elder, someone to be revered and protected, there were tales of species throughout the world hunting down this special Vidyadhara — for anyone who could transfer one of that Vidyadhara’s hearts into their own chest would be granted immortality.

In those dark, ancient times, those nine hearts were a curse. That Vidyadhara — Dan Feng’s past incarnations from eons prior —could not escape whenever one of their hearts was forcefully taken, since all nine needed to cease beating before the Vidyadhara could die and return to egg form. Greedy groups, upon managing to capture that special Vidyadhara, would often keep them confined for as long as possible, simply harvesting hearts when they were ready and selling immortality to the highest bidder.

Eventually, one of Dan Feng’s past incarnations managed to murder a group of their captors and everyone who had bid on them and escape. They established themselves as a powerful leader to be respected among the Vidyadhara and appointed a group of Preceptors to advise and protect them.

The first High Elder, Yubie, would go down in history as the powerful leader who had united the scattered Vidyadhara throughout the Xianzhou Luofu and established a strong societal order within their species, as well as a peaceful collaboration with the other species of the country. Once Yubie came into rule, though, these tales of the nine-hearted Vidyadhara’s special properties were quickly sealed away and never to be spoken of again; after all, if the world at large knew of the power the Vidyadhara High Elder held in their hearts, then, as history had demonstrated, there would be no shortage of people trying to claim a heart for themselves.

Except, for some insane reason, the restricted tomes containing the stories of the Vidyadhara High Elder’s greatest vulnerability were currently sitting unguarded in Dan Feng’s room.

Granted, it wasn’t like the books were lying out in the open since Dan Feng’s room was inherently protected, what with its inner position in the main compound and the qi-activated locks on the doors that would only respond to Dan Feng’s energy. Still, it was a great shock to Dan Heng to find them there.

At least it makes my research a little easier, Dan Heng thought as he pulled the books out from underneath the drawer where they had been hidden. Among the ancient legends were other books on spiritual methods to improve lifespan, which were innocuous on their own, but clearly pointed to someone looking into longevity and immortality research when paired with the Vidyadhara historical records. But why did he have these out…? He couldn’t have been planning to experiment on himself to find the secret to giving others immortality, could he…?

Given what he knew of Dan Feng’s character according to the novel, Dan Feng would never have gone so far for his research. Although Dan Feng had been the one to approach Yingxing about the subject of immortality, Dan Feng was cold and untouchable, and a lot of his dialogue with Yingxing while the two of them were completing such forbidden research seemed to paint him as someone who was simply satisfying an illicit curiosity, rather than someone who was trying to discover immortality to help his people.

In the end, the research Yingxing and Dan Feng had done regarding immortality had never been conclusive — perhaps because Dan Feng had been hiding such a vital piece of information from his research partner.

And in the fateful battle in which Baiheng had died, Dan Feng suggested that Yingxing use the blood from the Denizens of Abundance to revive Baiheng right then and there… but with Dan Feng’s knowledge of his own immortality, he should’ve known that using the blood of a Denizen would only lead to a corrupt immortality.

If Dan Feng had truly wanted Yingxing to revive Baiheng, then he would have offered some of his own blood, or even one of his own hearts.

Tricking Yingxing into turning Baiheng into an undead abomination almost identical to the Denizens?

Now, that was a true display of Dan Feng’s cruelty.

But… even though it had only been a handful of days since Dan Heng had taken over Dan Feng’s life, Dan Heng was doubting how accurate the novel was to Dan Feng’s real character, or, at least, the Dan Feng of the world Dan Heng was in.

Dan Heng didn’t think Dan Feng was a completely selfless person, but, based on how the rest of the High Cloud Quintet — and especially Yingxing — had been acting around him, it was also unlikely that Dan Feng had only befriended Yingxing to manipulate him. Jingliu had spoken  formally, but familiarly with him; Baiheng did not seem to have any reservations being around him; Jing Yuan had appeared to even admire him; and Yingxing…

Well, Yingxing was acting like the besotted male lead — but to him.

Dan Heng wasn’t quite ready to unpack that, so he pushed that thought away to be addressed…later.

Overall, this world’s Dan Feng was relatively well-liked, and he seemed to have developed genuine relationships with the people ein his life. While Dan Feng still seemed to be researching immortality just as he had been in Revenge of the Furnace Master, it was highly likely that he really was looking into it for the sake of his friends.

Even if it came with the fear of getting killed at the end of it all, it was easier to accept his role as the new Dan Feng when he was still convinced of Dan Feng’s villainy.

Dan Heng sighed loudly through his nose and rubbed at his eyes. Whatever. There was nothing to it — It wasn’t his fault that he had taken over Dan Feng’s life; it had been the System’s, and no amount of guilt could bring Dan Feng back.

(That didn’t stop Dan Heng from feeling guilty, of course, but it was ultimately a useless emotion. He would do his best to bear with it.)

Dan Heng just had to live as Dan Feng as best as he can by spending time with his…friends, lead the Vidyadhara to prosperity, and help the Xianzhou Luofu to victory in the war against the conquering Denizens of Abundance.

And most importantly, never, ever involve Yingxing in his immortality research and keep both Baiheng and Yingxing alive on the battlefield.

Easy, right?

…Maybe staying dead in the afterlife wouldn’t have been so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Aside from the occasional existential angst, Dan Heng’s days as Dan Feng passed by in relative peace.

A week after he had been released from the infirmary, Dan Heng found his calendar filled with the duties of the High Elder once more.

His newfound responsibilities were overwhelming at first, and a definite departure from the more carefree moments he got to share with Yingxing and the rest of the High Cloud Quintet during his time off, but thankfully his nature as a bookworm and the time he had spent recovering and reading as much material as he could had prepared him; he played the part of a reserved, but thoughtful, leader rather masterfully with his own knowledge of general politics, immense experience reading webnovels, and burgeoning understanding of the world he was living in.

And, as it turned out, most of the meetings he was required to attend very rarely ended with concrete decisions being made. Such was the nature of bureaucratic systems led by self-important old men, Dan Heng supposed — and the Vidyadhara Preceptors were nothing but.

Sometimes, Dan Heng thought they only scheduled meetings together so they could hear themselves speak (and, unfortunately, subject him to their inane conversations) rather than actually devise new trade routes with local merchants and plan the best partnerships with the Xianzhou Luofu military. Some of the Preceptors were clearly detached from reality — or didn’t care enough about the citizens of the Xianzhou Luofu to factor them into their suggestions.

Dan Heng was glad that he, like Dan Feng, was not a naturally fidgety or talkative person. His silence in these meetings was not seen as disrespectful or strange, and to be quite frank, each of the Preceptors talked enough for three people. The High Elder could have been replaced with a wooden plank and the Preceptors likely wouldn’t notice for at least the first hour, if not longer.

Still, that didn’t mean that Dan Heng didn’t interject when he thought it was necessary.

“It would behoove us all to raise the prices for the bioluminescent algae harvested from the banks of the Scalegorge Waterscape,” one preceptor, Taoran, said in one of their weekly trade meetings. “The non-Vidyadhara citizenry of the Xianzhou Luofu have been buying our stock steadily for the past year and raising prices will bring us all prosperity; even a slight increase will exponentially grow our profits with each order we deliver.”

The other Preceptors gathered around the table murmured in interest and agreement, but quickly stopped speaking when Dan Heng raised his hand to silence them.

“The algae grows abundantly along the coast, is almost perfectly replenishable after harvests, and is used in a number of experimental medicines to treat chronic illnesses,” Dan Feng said, keeping his tone and voice level, “and yet you wish to raise prices just to pad your own personal coffers?”

A cacophony of titters and gossiping filled the room as the Preceptors protested, clearly not expecting Dan Feng to criticize one of them of greed so blatantly. Taoran sputtered, his face turning ruddy. “You would dare — High Elder, do you not see the benefits this would have on our economy?”

“It would be a momentary gain in exchange for the trust of the Xianzhou Luofu healers and the long-term prosperity of the Vidyadhara fishers,” Dan Heng replied smoothly, taking a sip from his tea. It was a touch too sweet; he much preferred the milder flavor of the tea Yingxing brewed for him whenever he visited. “The Xianzhou Luofu healers trade exclusively with our Vidyadhara fishers because we offer them the best deals for the algae in bulk, and in exchange, they share their research on the medicines they create using the algae. If we were to raise prices on them, they could easily find replacements, and our fishermen would lose a large part of their income — you know that the algae are their top-grossing product.”

“But where else can the healers find this same algae?” Taoran argued, the mustache above his lips twitching. “Only the Vidyadhara are allowed to fish in the coastal waters by the Scalegorge Waterscape — no other species can take the resources of our hometown, our birthplace!”

“The Xianzhou Luofu healers do not need to use this specific algae our fishermen supply them with.” Dan Heng sighed and resisted the urge to rub his temples. A headache was brewing in between his eyes, and he sorely wished he was anywhere but there. “It is just the most convenient and easily obtainable — however, should we raise the prices, the healers could just as easily strike a trade deal with the merchants of Thalassa.”

The skin of Taoran’s face had steadily darkened with every word Dan Heng spoke, and by the time he opened his mouth again, he was a startling shade of puce. “That’s — that’s absurd! The merchants of Thalassa could never provide them with algae as quickly as we could!”

“That’s true,” Dan Heng conceded, if only to get Taoran’s skin to a healthier shade, “but the Thalassa merchants have already settled on a deal to supply the healers with rock salt crystals for their infusion technologies. It would not be a stretch for them to devise a larger agreement to supply both rock salt crystals and algae, and even if we could provide faster delivery, the Xianzhou Luofu healers would likely prefer a steady yet affordable supply of algae and only turn to our fishermen should they need more on short notice.”

“The Xianzhou Luofu would not be where they are today without the support of the Vidyadhara,” Taoran protested, scrambling for anything that could salvage his argument. “They have an obligation to maintain good trade relations with our people!”

“And do we not have the same obligation?” Dan Feng raised one eyebrow and tapped his fingers on the polished wood of the desk, impatience clear from the tense set to his shoulders and the downturn to his lips. “Our algae trade deal with the healers has proven beneficial for both them and our fishermen, and the prices we charge are both fair to the healers and plenty for the fishermen to live comfortably.”

Dan Feng turned the cold glare of his eyes around the table, daring any of the Preceptors to speak up. None of them did. “Nothing has happened to warrant a price increase; and yet you want to risk a good trade relationship just for the possibility of extra profits? The price increase would be from increased taxes, I assume, and not from any desire to give the fishermen a higher cut of the payments — and if they are from increased taxes, what do we plan to do with this extra revenue? Did you have a plan for that, Preceptor Taoran, or did you see the potential for bigger numbers and forget your logic?”

Taoran was positively steaming by the time Dan Feng finished scolding him, but with barely concealed anger, he responded, “Although you are wise as always, High Elder, it is…unfair to accuse me of wishing to do this only for personal gain. Naturally, I only have the continued wellbeing of the Vidyadhara people in my heart.”

Dan Heng blinked and shook his head, feeling inexplicably drained. “Naturally, as do I.” Abruptly, he stood from his seat, ready to leave behind the tedious political games the Preceptors liked to play behind. “Therefore, if we are both in agreement, then the matter of the algae trade deal is to be closed — and this meeting has run for long enough.”

Before he could turn around and leave through the door, though, Taoran’s grating voice made itself known once more.

“Thank you for your wisdom as always, High Elder,” Taoran said; his words were, naturally, not genuine. “Please allow us to enjoy your presence in the military planning meeting tomorrow morning as well, so that we may hear your knowledgeable suggestions.”

Dan Heng wasn’t necessarily a fan of being rude, but Taoran’s passive aggressive attitude warranted it. “I will be there,” he said, not bothering to turn around to face Taoran before simply walking out.

Once the door to the meeting room was completely shut and Dan Heng had put a safe distance between himself and the Preceptors, he sat himself down on a stone bench in a secluded garden near his personal quarters. He had discovered the garden during his recovery week and treated it as a refuge away from his rooms, sitting on the lone stone bench to admire the rustling leaves of the trees, the koi fish swimming in the pond, and the gentle way the blades of grass swayed in the wind.

Dan Heng liked being busy — preferred it, really, since in his old life his main pastimes were schoolwork and webnovels, since other extracurriculars weren’t very compatible with his illness — but arguing with the Preceptors was a special kind of torture.

It’s all for the sake of the everyday people, Dan Heng thought, playing idly with the hem of his robes. I can’t sit idly by and let the greed of the Preceptors run amok.

Even if he wasn’t truly the High Elder, Dan Heng was determined to play the part well. He also wasn’t being out of character in doing so, either; in all the meetings he had been in, none of the Preceptors had been surprised to hear him challenge their suggestions, and many of them had even made snarky comments about Dan Heng “setting his guard animal on them again” in reference to Yingxing having advocated for his week-long break.

Dan Feng, it seemed, had always had a contentious relationship with the Preceptors.

Out there in the garden, sitting by himself and reviewing all the meetings he had been forced to attend in his head, Dan Heng wondered how many people in the Vidyadhara compound were truly on his side.

Perhaps he had read one too many revenge webnovels with palace harem drama plot points, but he was worried that the Preceptors were planning on getting him overthrown. He didn’t think they would do such a thing, as the High Elder position had been firmly established since the time of Yubie, but none of the Preceptors seemed to outwardly support him; instead, many of them supported Taoran, who was the most vocal about his distaste.

Dan Heng may not have liked the heavy pressure that came with being the High Elder, who had the voting power of two Preceptors — a useful way to break ties, given that there were 12 preceptors, including the High Elder — but he also couldn’t bear becoming a neglectful and indifferent leader or letting the Preceptors run wild with their lofty plans.

If they were left unchecked, or somehow overthrew him, the people of the Xianzhou Luofu and the lower-ranked Vidyadhara would surely suffer.

“I see the High Elder does not cease in his duties, even when he is taking a break.”

Dan Heng let his thoughts fade away with the winds and refocused his gaze on Yingxing, who had made his way into the private garden without him noticing. Apparently, Yingxing had been granted unlimited access to the Vidyadhara compound — something Dan Feng had given him, surely — and Dan Heng would frequently find him coming to visit.

“Even when I am alone, I am the High Elder.”

“Well, when you are with me, you are simply A-Feng,” Yingxing teased, the fond tone to his voice doing dangerous things to Dan Heng’s heart.

Like always when Yingxing acted flirtatiously with him, Dan Heng wasn’t sure what to respond.

He must have hesitated for a moment too long, though, because Yingxing quickly continued speaking. “And if you are amenable to it, A-Feng, we are long overdue for a night spend sharing drinks under the moonlight.”

Although Dan Heng had stopped trying to figure out why Yingxing’s actions were so different from how they were described in the novel, since it was likely he would never get his answers (the System had refused to speak in his head again, no matter how many times he had called for help), his hearts still fluttered at the idea of sharing drinks under the moonlight with the man. “Tonight?”

“That may be a bit too soon,” Yingxing said, shaking his head. “Perhaps you can wait until the end of this week?”

“You were the one to suggest this,” Dan Heng huffed, though he wasn’t actually upset. “The end of this week will do fine.”

As desperately as he wanted to spend more time with Yingxing, he knew that he didn’t actually have much energy for socializing that night, especially after the back-to-back meetings he had been subjected to throughout the day. It was never a burden or a chore to talk to Yingxing, nor did Yingxing make Dan Feng feel like he had to talk, but at the same time, Dan Feng wanted to be able to devote his full attention to him.

Yingxing’s answering smile was fond, too fond for Dan Heng’s conflicted feelings. Overwhelmed, Dan Heng had to look away.

“Then, I will leave you be until the end of this week,” Yingxing said, and when he turned and left the garden, walking past the koi pond and flowering trees with his salt-and-pepper hair fluttering in the wind, Dan Heng had to fight back the sudden urge to call him back.

By the time the week was over, Dan Heng was more than ready to collapse and sleep for the rest of eternity.

But…getting to spend time with Yingxing was probably just as nice.

When Dan Heng stepped outside the compound, dressed in three layers of robes for extra warmth, Yingxing was already standing nearby waiting for him with a satchel in his hands and a loose dark blue outer robe tossed over his shoulders.

“Let’s get going, shall we, High Elder?”

Dan Heng didn’t ask Yingxing where they were going and simply followed him. Once they were a few paces away from the compound, Dan Heng felt the week’s stresses melt off his shoulders, and it was easier to breathe without worrying one of the Preceptors might be waiting around the corner to invite him into another meeting.

The night was still technically young, but the sky had turned dark, and the streets were illuminated by the moon, the stars, and the lanterns held aloft by evening vendors. The Xianzhou Luofu was quieter at night, with only a few people milling about and mostly minding their own business.

As the two of them walked leisurely through the streets to a destination Dan Heng trusted would be relatively secluded, Yingxing naturally took the lead since he knew exactly where they were going. They didn’t speak, but Dan Heng was okay with that.

Following behind Yingxing, Dan Heng couldn’t help but notice how his companion’s hair reflected the light around them: when they walked past a lantern, Yingxing’s hair was tinted yellow, and when they walked solely under the light of the celestial bodies high above, his hair was tinted blue.

Distracted as Dan Heng was by the beauty of Yingxing’s hair, he almost missed a dark blur darting in front of his legs before it was almost too late. Thankfully, before he could tumble over whatever furry creature had run across his feet again, he swiftly righted himself.

Still, Yingxing noticed his stumble.

“Are you okay?” Yingxing asked frantically, immediately hurrying to hold Dan Heng by his elbow.

“I’m fine,” Dan Heng replied, brushing off the nonexistent dirt from his robes and ignoring the déjà vu he was experiencing. “It was just another animal running a bit too fast before I could notice.”

Yingxing sneered as he scanned the streets for any sign of the stray. “The Xianzhou Luofu certainly needs to do more to ensure that pests aren’t allowed to run amok where they aren’t welcome.”

“Likely just a lost pet,” Dan Heng said uncomfortably, taken aback by the vitriol dripping from Yingxing’s voice. It really had likely been just a street animal that had run past him — sure, it was strange that it happened twice after the fall from two weeks prior, but it wasn’t like there was a conspiracy or a plot to harm Dan Heng using running animals.

Anyone who wanted him dead would likely use much more efficient methods, anyway.

However, when Dan Heng told Yingxing that, Yingxing only looked more upset. That was understandable, too, considering Dan Heng didn’t really want to think about having assassins after his head, but… well. It was only logical, wasn’t it?

“Let’s just continue on.” Dan Heng pushed his thoughts about death, dying, and being killed far away from the forefront of his mind and instead focused on the satchel in Yingxing’s hand. “I assume you’ve brought the wine?”

Yingxing’s shoulders visibly untensed, and he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I have. Follow me, High Elder.”

And Dan Heng was glad to.

After a few more blocks of walking in vaguely tense silence, Dan Heng and Yingxing stood in front of Yingxing’s workshop.

“I thought this trip was to encourage us both to take breaks,” Dan Heng remarked, turning a critical eye on Yingxing.

Yingxing chuckled and shook the bag in his grip. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that, High Elder. I fully plan to take a break tonight. Perhaps you have forgotten, but the rooftop of my workshop is particularly nice for watching the sky.”

Dan Heng hurried to cover up his blunder. Of course, the two of them couldn’t just sit on any random rooftops! That would be trespassing, or something. “When it is not still smoking from your latest project, that is.”

“I can assure you that I cleared the smoke out quite a while before I went to fetch you.” Yingxing turned to Dan Heng fully and offered him a hand. “Shall we head up, A-Feng?”

Dan Heng prayed that the blush he felt warming up his cheeks wasn’t too visible and placed his hand in Yingxing’s.

Together, they pushed small amounts of qi through the soles of their feet and leapt onto the rooftop. Yingxing helped Dan Heng settle himself down in a sitting position before joining him, their knees just barely brushing from underneath their layers of robes.

The gentle nighttime breeze cooled Dan Heng’s skin, if only marginally, but the moment was so beautiful and tender that Dan Heng found he didn’t mind feeling a bit embarrassed.

As soon as Yingxing was properly seated, he undid the ties on the satchel, procured a jar of wine and two porcelain cups, and opened the jar to pour them both their drinks.

Once they were both served, Yingxing raised his cup and tilted it slightly toward Dan Heng, who raised his own cup and clinked it in his first ever “cheers” in his life.

“It seems the week of rest I requested for you was for naught, since you look just as stressed now as you did before you collapsed,” Yingxing joked, the shine in his eyes a touch brighter after a swallow of alcohol.

Dan Heng shook his head and took a small sip from the cup of wine. “The week was plenty,” he said, his nose scrunching a bit at the burning sensation in his throat. “The rest was nice, but I cannot simply sit in bed all day, reading books and acting like a spoiled young lord.”

“You could, if that was in your nature — you are a technically a young lord.”

“Even so, no matter how much the other young lords of other estates may dawdle, I cannot leave behind the duties of the High Elder indefinitely.”

Yingxing hummed, thoughtful, and looked away from Dan Heng to gaze at the moon and the stars. “Maybe one day.”

Perhaps it was meant to be a reassurance, but, realistically, Dan Heng would be free from the High Elder duties the day he died — and, abruptly, Dan Heng realized something: if he died as Dan Feng, would he go through the typical Vidyadhara rebirth process and be born again as the next generation’s High Elder, or would his soul enter the normal cycle of reincarnation?

And if he was reborn as the next generation’s High Elder, would he remember any of his true life as Dan Heng?

It was a terrifying thought.

Realistically, Dan Heng knew that, in living as Dan Heng, he had already forgotten his previous lives in the reincarnation cycle — after all, everyone had to drink Meng Po’s soup before leaving the afterlife and returning to the living world, and he highly doubted his life as Dan Heng was the first time his soul had been in a physical body — but something about losing all traces of his previous identity as Dan Heng frightened him.

It didn’t matter that, by dying, Dan Heng would’ve had to drink Meng Po’s soup and forget his life as Dan Heng anyway, had the mysterious blue-eyed System not taken him on a detour to the Revenge of the Furnace Master adjacent universe and into Dan Feng’s life. He had been allowed to keep his memories of and identity as Dan Heng, so, now, faced with the possibility of losing it forever, he felt conflicted and afraid.

Dan Heng had been prepared his entire life to one day die, but he realized then that he hadn’t been prepared to lose his sense of self.

It had only been roughly two weeks since he had taken on Dan Feng’s life, but Dan Heng could already feel the firm boundaries he had regarding his own identity as Dan Heng, one separate from Dan Feng, slipping away.

The longer he thought of himself as the Vidyadhara High Elder, the more time he considered himself a part of the High Cloud Quintet and Yingxing’s closest confidant, he was slowly but surely forgetting how it was like to live as just Dan Heng.

“Don’t even speak of it,” Dan Heng spat, all his fear and despair and suppressed longing for a life that hadn’t been all that great but had still been his shining through in those five words, then immediately regretted it.

Yingxing’s expression clouded over, a stark contrast to the clear and beautiful night sky behind him. “Is thinking of a life where you are not… where you are free of the High Elder duties that bind you so terrible?”

Dan Heng breathed in, and breathed out, and breathed in again, counting in his head several groups of ten and acquainting himself with the grooves of the rooftop tiles underneath his palms before he felt calm enough to respond. “It is not so terrible,” he admitted quietly and truthfully, because he really did know a life before it all, “but it is…better to not even speak of it.”

Impulsively, Dan Heng downed the rest of the wine in his cup, if only to allow the sharp burn to overtake his senses and force his mind to just. Stop. Thinking. “Why talk about what we cannot have? What use does it have?” Dan Heng shifted his gaze away from Yingxing and toward the horizon, which appeared to stretch on forever. He wondered if it did; the rules of this universe were still a mystery to him. “What good does it do for us?”

Yingxing’s answering laugh was bitter, almost drowning out the aftertaste of the alcohol still lingering on Dan Heng’s tongue. “You’ve scolded me about having lofty dreams before, High Elder, but I had always assumed you were fine with me having them.”

Dan Heng kept his eyes trained on the sky and mentally scolded himself for losing his cool. If Yingxing and Dan Feng had already talked about their dreams and ambitions and Dan Feng had really said something about wanting to escape the duties he had as a High Elder, then Dan Heng had to be careful not to obviously contradict what was said — which was easier said than done, considering Dan Heng had absolutely no clue what Dan Feng might’ve said, since Revenge of the Furnace Master didn’t bother to describe his friendship with Yingxing in detail outside of their immortality research.

“I apologize for…speaking harshly to you,” Dan Heng said, each word carefully enunciated, “and lofty dreams are fine to have.”

Dan Heng twisted the porcelain cup in his hands and watched the last droplet of wine chase itself around the cup’s bottom.

“I have realized that escaping the life of the High Elder is not just a lofty dream, but an impossible and…ill-advised delusion. Without me, the Preceptors…” Dan Heng trailed off, unwilling to give voice to his criticisms and doubts about the Preceptors out loud, too wary of the potential repercussions of being overheard.

Yingxing was silent, too silent for a moment too long, and Dan Heng finally gave into the nagging feeling of unease in his chest and returned his focus to his companion.

Dan Heng, for all he stared, couldn’t puzzle out Yingxing’s expression. His eyes were curiously blank, but his lips were flattened in a tense line. His eyebrows held no hint to his true feelings, either, as they were held carefully neutral.

“You’re right,” Yingxing eventually said, sounding as if it was physically paining him to say each word. “It was blasphemous of me to even suggest it.”

Although Dan Heng wasn’t sure he’d go so far as to say it was blasphemous — though, if any of the Preceptors caught wind of him wanting to ditch his High Elder duties, then maybe — he appreciated Yingxing being willing to leave the topic alone.

To break up the tension between the two of them, Dan Heng asked, “May I have more drink?” and lifted his empty cup to Yingxing.

Yingxing’s face softened, the wrinkles around his eyes relaxing. In response, he lifted the jar and shook it a few times to emphasize the heavy sloshing of wine within. “There is plenty for you and me, A-Feng.”

“I hope there’s plenty for us, too!”

Dan Heng jolted and nearly dropped his cup in his haste to stand up and assume a defensive stance.

Baiheng’s face popped up from behind the roof, quickly followed by Jingliu’s and Jing Yuan’s faces. When Dan Heng registered in his mind who exactly had taken him by surprise, he relaxed and sheepishly sat back down next to Yingxing.

“Sorry for startling you!” Baiheng said, hoisting herself over the roof. “But we hope you two weren’t planning to polish off an entire jar of wine by yourselves, were you?”

Yingxing, who had stayed sitting perfectly calmly, only turned to give their friends all a mean stink-eye. “Maybe we were. How did you know we would be here?”

“A little birdie told me that you two were spotted walking this way, all by yourselves,” Baiheng sing-songed as she settled in on a spot on the other side of Yingxing and started digging into Yingxing’s satchel to pull out a few more cups.

Yingxing turned his glare at Jing Yuan, who Dan Heng remembered likely had been on patrol for the night. “So, you all decided to follow us instead of leaving us be?” However, it was clear from his tone that he was not truly angry about the group’s impromptu appearance, just annoyed.

“’You all’ is a sweeping accusation,” Jingliu said, crossing her arms and placing herself gracefully beside Baiheng. “I saw the brat slacking off on his duties and decided I needed to intervene.”

“I wasn’t slacking,” Jing Yuan protested, choosing to sit down far away from his master and next to Dan Heng. The group of them now formed a half-circle, all gathered on the rooftop in a way that ensured they could all look at each other face-to-face.

“Then why did I catch you following these two through the streets instead of standing guard at your post?”

“I was dismissed from patrol for the rest of the night by the time you found me, Master.”

“Hm.” Jingliu leveled an unimpressed stare at Jing Yuan. “I will verify that information with your squad leader tomorrow.”

It was hard to tell under the low light of the moon, but Dan Heng thought he saw Jing Yuan pale. “O-Of course, Master.”

“Ahh, lighten up on him a bit, won’t you, A-Liu?” Baiheng handed Jingliu and Jing Yuan each their own cups, filled to the brim with wine, then moved to refill Yingxing’s and Dan Heng’s own cups. “We’re surrounded by good company, the wine is free courtesy of one of our own, and the moon and stars are bright in the sky — the conditions are perfect for a bit of drinking and relaxing!”

“That was our precise thought process, before you all interrupted us,” Yingxing snarked. “Is the meaning of privacy lost these days?”

“If you truly did not want to be interrupted, perhaps you should have traveled to some private rooms. I am sure one of you could afford to do so.” Jingliu gave Yingxing a meaningful look and raised the cup to her lips to take a small sip. “At least the wine you’ve brought is of high quality.”

“Ah ah, A-Liu! Don’t drink just yet!” Baiheng placed her hand on Jingliu’s wrist to stop her companion from taking another sip. “We must do a celebratory toast first!”

“What for?” Dan Heng finally asked, furrowing his brows. Had they recently accomplished something that he didn’t remember or wasn’t around for?

“For so much,” Baiheng replied as she topped off Jingliu’s cup with more wine to make up for the amount Jingliu had sipped. “We should toast to your swift recovery after you fainted, and to Jing Yuan having officially been promoted to a high enough rank to join us on the battlefield. And, we should just toast to having the privilege and honor to all gather here, together, today — sharing wine with your closest companions is the greatest gift in the world.”

A warmth unrelated to the alcohol still settling itself in his veins suffused through Dan Heng’s chest, prompting him to be the first to lift his cup in the air. “A toast, then, to everything we are so grateful to have.”

Yingxing was the next person to lift his cup in toast. “A toast to the life we have been blessed to live.”

Jingliu, Jing Yuan, and Baiheng followed suit, raising their cups toward the sky and toasting together. Once everyone had said their piece, they all tipped their heads back and drank from their cups in unison.

Perhaps it was just Dan Heng’s imagination, but the wine tasted sweeter this time around.

Within moments, the group settled into an easy, comfortable cadence. Baiheng cheerfully kept the wine flowing, their cups filled, and the conversation light; Jingliu hummed and made a few quips here and there; Jing Yuan, with his surprisingly low tolerance for alcohol, stumbled over his words while his eyelids drooped occasionally in sleepiness.

Yingxing, meanwhile, shot Dan Heng a secretive smile after they had finished a few more cups — Dan Heng had lost count, and he had never had the opportunity to drink in his previous life, so it made sense that he was being affected so quickly — and moved closer to press his shoulder against Dan Heng’s own.

The point of contact between Yingxing and himself was a reassuring weight against his side, tethering him to the rooftop while his head wanted to float off into the sky.

With a few cups of wine nestled warmly in his system, and surrounded by people he had grown to care for in the short few weeks and people who evidently still cared for him back, Dan Heng, with the edges of his thoughts hazy, wondered: Would it really be so bad to live as just Dan Feng?

Chapter Text

Five months after Dan Heng had woken up in a completely new world after dying in his previous one and being forced to assimilate into the role of Dan Feng, Yingxing came to pick him up at the Xianzhou Luofu Vidyadhara compound looking nervous.

Yingxing came to pick up Dan Heng most days, a routine Dan Heng had gotten used to after living it for quite some time now, so that aspect was nothing out of the ordinary, but the slightly pinched look to Yingxing’s face and the anxious air around the man was very new.

“Is there something the matter, Yingxing?” Dan Heng asked, looking around the streets around the compound in response to Yingxing’s fidgeting. The vendors were the same as always, simply selling an assortment of wares and freshly cooked street foods; the sky was a cloudless blue, and the sun was about the same height in the sky as it was on any other midday approaching the evening; and, as far as Dan Heng knew, it was not the date of any major holidays or events, nor did he or Yingxing have any predetermined plans.

Shaking his head, Yingxing brought his arms from behind his back to clasp them in front of his torso in a rare display of nerves then cleared his throat. “Nothing at all, High Elder. Are you free from your responsibilities for the day?”

Dan Heng mentally reviewed his calendar and was relieved to note that he had, indeed, just left his last meeting of the day. Yingxing probably knew that, considering how often he dropped by the compound, so it was strange for him to ask. “I am done for the day, yes. Did you have something you wanted to do?”

“Then, if I may be so bold…”

“You are always bold,” Dan Feng said, hiding a small smile behind his sleeve. “You’ve never had to ask me if I would come with you before; usually you simply come to the compound after my my meetings are done and whisk me off for a stroll somewhere, no questions asked. What’s different today?”

Yingxing gestured for Dan Heng to follow him, which Dan Heng did, naturally.

Only once Dan Heng was out of the compound and they were a few paces from the entrance did Yingxing speak again. “I may have something a little special to show you, so we will be foregoing our usual trip around Aurum Alley today.”

“Oh?” Dan Heng tilted his head in curiosity. “You’ve prepared something to show me?”

“You act surprised, yet you must know that showing you something special is the least I would do for you,” Yingxing said, casually and matter-of-factly, as if he were simply commenting on the weather.

And, for as casual as Yingxing seemed to make it, those words were anything but casual in Dan Heng’s eyes.

In the months since Dan Heng had transmigrated into Dan Feng’s life, he had mostly come to terms with several things.

Firstly, he was okay with living life as Dan Feng — even if he didn’t see himself as just Dan Feng. He wasn’t Dan Feng in the sense that he didn’t have Dan Feng’s precise memories or his exact same personality, but he had taken on Dan Feng’s name, position, and life. Currently, for all intents and purposes, he was Dan Feng, even if he hadn’t always been Dan Feng nor was he solely Dan Feng.

He sometimes caught himself thinking of himself using the name Dan Feng, and he had long grown used to responding to a name that wasn’t truly his own, but, for the most part, Dan Heng still retained his sense of self.

Although Dan Heng did occasionally find it exhausting to try and keep their names separate in his mind, but he tried, anyway, to maintain at least an illusion of separation. For the most part, he couldn’t really listen to Shakespeare: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet,” and all that still felt distinctly wrong to him.

Secondly…

Dan Heng had come to terms with the feelings Yingxing had for Dan Feng.

While he had grown up sheltered, coming in and out of hospital rooms and typically spending afternoons and weekends at home by himself — his parents almost never spent time with him outside of escorting him to his medical appointments, saying they were too busy working hard and had sacrificed enough of their time to pay for his expensive treatments and doctors’ visits — Dan Heng had had plenty of time to read webnovels. Though he didn’t tend to read romance-focused ones, he had seen enough to come to an evidence-based conclusion about Yingxing’s overly familiar behavior and general touchiness.

Friends could be touchy with one another, and friends could want to spend lots of time together, and friends could love each other as deeply as romantic partners did. It was a silly notion that friendships could not be as all-encompassing and important as romantic relationships, and Dan Heng, as someone who had little interest in romance in his previous life but craved the affection of platonic companionship, was always a bit upset when people claimed otherwise.

However, what Yingxing felt for Dan Feng was most likely not purely friendship.

For whatever reason, this world’s Yingxing had no interest — romantically, at least — in Baiheng. Instead, the full force of his affections were directed toward Dan Feng.

Whenever Yingxing led him through the alleyways on their weekly walks, or whenever Yingxing carefully poured a generous serving of wine into his cup during their occasional moonlit conversations, or whenever Yingxing turned to him with a gleam in his eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips both in public and private, there was a certain heat behind his gaze that made the hairs on the back of Dan Heng’s neck stand on end. Over time, Dan Heng grew used to the not-unpleasant prickling he felt underneath the intensity of Yingxing’s stare, and with a clearer head he was able to detach himself from the situation and make an educated guess on Yingxing’s feelings.

Dan Heng turned his face slightly away from Yingxing, willing himself not to let the other man know how much Yingxing’s intense and emotionally charged words affected him. “Even as casually as you are able to do all of these things, I can still be surprised — and appreciative.” Dan Heng kept his eyes fixated on some point beyond them on the road. “I do not want to take anything you do for me for granted.”

Yingxing threw his head back and laughed, and despite the force of his joy, he did not slow his stride. “Fair enough, fair enough. Maybe I should keep you on your toes more if you’re going to be so nice to me, A-Feng.”

Which brought Dan Heng to the third thing he had come to terms with: although he was technically Dan Feng, he was not the person Yingxing was in love with.

 The romantic feelings Yingxing held for Dan Feng clearly had not started when Dan Heng had transmigrated into Dan Feng’s body — so Dan Heng had no right to pretend they were for him.

It might have been different had Yingxing began to take a liking to Dan Feng only after Dan Heng had taken over his body, but, as it was, Dan Heng was simply an interloper in their romance.

A part of him mourned for Yingxing and apologized for taking away the person Yingxing’s affections were truly directed at, no matter how unintentional Dan Heng’s transmigration had been.

Another part of him — a part of him he desperately and vehemently ignored — mourned for himself.

In the dead of night, when all he had for company was the moon in the sky shining through the talisman-protected window in his bedroom, he wondered: How would it sound if Yingxing called him “A-Heng” instead of “A-Feng”?

It was a selfish thought that wasn’t worth thinking about, really. Dan Heng had already stolen Dan Feng’s life, so who was he to steal feelings that clearly belonged to Dan Feng? Still, despite the guilt he felt, Dan Heng sometimes was too weak to resist wondering.

How ironic that it took him literally dying to find the first person he had ever experienced romantic attraction toward…only for said person to not really like him, but a version of him that was largely built on a lie he could not be honest about.

“Ah, it seems I’ve already lost you to your own head.”

Dan Heng snapped himself out of his silent spiral of thoughts — getting stuck in his mind was a bad habit of his, born from too many hours spent in solitude, that he still had not gotten rid of, despite how many times he found himself in the company of others — and turned his attention back to Yingxing.

“I apologize,” Dan Heng said, tucking his hands together in front of his torso. “I was just…thinking over some of what was discussed in today’s meetings.”

“You’ve already left your work at the compound, but work has not left you, I see,” Yingxing sighed, then clapped his hands together. “Have you heard about that brat lately? Jingliu told me that he’s started training others now.”

Recognizing that Yingxing was changing the subject to distract him, Dan Heng played along gratefully. “Jing Yuan has taken on disciples of his own?”

“No, no. He’s still too young for that. But he is teaching some of the younger recruits basic sword forms on his own, without having Jingliu supervise.”

“And how does Jingliu know that?”

“…She’s been having Baiheng watch after his tutoring sessions from afar.”

Dan Heng chuckled, imagining the bright-eyed and bubbly foxian spying on the trainees from the bushes or trees near the training ground. “Jing Yuan definitely knows that Jingliu is still keeping watch over him, then.”

The two of them continued to chat idly about everything and anything, catching each other up about what they had missed throughout the week as they walked. Dan Heng soon recognized the familiar path, and as Yingxing’s forge appeared in the distance, Dan Heng wondered briefly whether the special thing Yingxing wanted to show him was a newly crafted weapon.

Once they were both at the entrance to the workshop, Yingxing ushered Dan Heng inside and immediately pulled out a chair — the same one Dan Heng usually occupied on the days he spent time there.

Surrounded by the workshop’s warmth, which came from from the furnace’s ever-burning fire, Dan Heng shifted to make himself more comfortable in his seat before asking, “I know the renowned Furnace Master of the Xianzhou Luofu must always stay on top of his work, but I thought you were done for the day as well?”

“I’m not working more today. Do not worry, A-Feng,” Yingxing said, chuckling as he chose to stand in front of Dan Heng instead of sitting. “I brought you here just to show you something, remember?”

Dan Heng snuck a glance around the workshop: it looked just as it usually did, with its controlled chaos and the shadows from the fire flickering on the walls, and offered no clues as to what the surprise could be, despite his best attempts at figuring out what Yingxing was planning.

He was fairly certain that the surprise was a weapon, since they were at the forge, but what could it be? Yingxing hadn’t mentioned working on any particularly special commissions as of late. Perhaps it was Jing Yuan’s guandao?

“You’re thinking too hard.” Yingxing gently tapped Dan Feng’s forehead, a teasing twinkle in his violet eyes. All traces of nervousness that had been present in the set of his jaw and the tensing of his shoulders were gone, replaced by Yingxing’s typical confidence — he was truly in his element at the forge.

The Furnace Master he was, indeed.

“I am trying to figure out what you want to show me,” Dan Feng replied, wrinkling his nose but otherwise not protesting Yingxing’s overly familiar actions. “You have not given me much information to work off, besides the fact that is special.”

“A-Feng, have you not heard that surprises are meant to stay surprises? Speaking of which…” Yingxing procured a length of red ribbon and held it out to Dan Feng. “If you would be so willing…?”

A brilliant flush, nearly the color of the ribbon, lit itself across Dan Heng’s face as he registered what Yingxing was asking of him. “I… You…”

Snorting, Yingxing pressed the ribbon into Dan Heng’s hands. “Your mind goes to wild places, High Elder.”

If it were possible, Dan Heng’s blush only got worse. “That’s not…! Anyone would think that with you acting so…”

Yingxing threw his head back and laughed, the sound especially loud even past the rushing of blood in Dan Heng’s ears. “I tease, I tease. But will you indulge me just this one —”

“I indulge you plenty,” Dan Feng sputtered, but his hands tightened around the ribbon all the same.

“— indulge me again, then, A-Feng. I need to get the surprise, but I’d prefer if you didn’t see it before I can hand it to you myself.”

“…Is it really that important to you?” Dan Heng asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Yingxing said, his voice so earnest and firm in its conviction that Dan Heng couldn’t help but be swayed.

“Fine, then,” Dan Heng sighed and gulped once before fastening the red ribbon around his eyes, effectively obscuring his vision.

With one of his senses cut off, his others heightened to make up for the lack; at Yingxing’s sharp intake of breath, Dan Heng’s ears twitched, and he felt a strange, anticipatory heat curl in his gut.

Dan Heng didn’t know how long Yingxing stood before him, presumably staring, potentially stalling — it was hard to tell the time with his mind racing and his thoughts jumbled. Eventually, though, Dan Heng registered the steady thuds of Yingxing’s footsteps growing farther away from him, then, after a few moments, the proud thumps of Yingxing walking back.

“I apologize for the delay, High Elder, but I wanted to take my time with this one,” Yingxing said, his voice as warm and smoky as the fire he kept burning in his workshop. “I would love to be the one to untie the ribbon, but my hands are a bit occupied.”

Thankfully, Dan Heng’s hands did not tremble too obviously as he worked quickly to undo the blindfold around his eyes.

The ribbon fell away, the world was revealed to him once more, and before him was Yingxing, kneeling on the ground with his head hanging down while holding an elegantly crafted spear up to him — as if Yingxing were a devoted follower begging for his offerings to be accepted and he an unreachable god.

“What — what is this?” Dan Heng exclaimed, hurrying to kneel down himself and join Yingxing on the floor. “What are you kneeling for?”

Yingxing huffed a small laugh and shook his head, finally lifting it up to face Dan Heng properly. “I should have known you wouldn’t let me stay kneeling by myself for too long.”

Dan Feng scowled. “Why would you even kneel down in the first place?!”

“Are you not used to it, High Elder?”

Dan Heng shifted from side to side and crossed his arms. “That’s not the point.”

“You’re right.” Delicately, Yingxing pressed the spear in his hands into Dan Heng’s and fixed him with a stare that seemed to look right into his very being. “The point is, I believe I have finally made a weapon worthy of you, A-Feng. Won’t you take a look?”

Though it took him all of his strength to look away from Yingxing, Dan Heng finally did to acquiesce to Yingxing’s request, focusing his gaze downward to bask in the beauty of the spear’s craftsmanship. It was a nice weight in his hands, not too light and not too heavy, and the main staff of the spear was a brilliant shade of jade green; the upper half of the spear featured its gleaming, artfully crafted blade, a gorgeous piece of metalwork that shone even in the low light of the workshop; and a sphere bearing a striking resemblance to the symbols of the balance between yin and yang energies was embedded below the blade, serving as both a stunning aesthetic piece and a brilliant way to help regulate and channel the qi of its user.

The most striking part of the spear, though, was the carefully engraved character for Dan (丹) carved into the metal just above the sphere and below the blade.

Just Dan.

Yingxing must have noticed him staring for particularly long time, because Yingxing cleared his throat to get his attention. “Does what you see please you, A-Feng?”

Dan Heng ran his hands along the spear, reverently tracing the edges of the first character in his name with his fingers. “Only Dan? Not Dan Feng?”

“Ah, of course you would notice that instead of the other details of my craft.” Yingxing chuckled.

“I —” Dan Heng hurried to correct the assumption, but quickly realized Yingxing was likely joking. “It goes without saying that the entirety of the spear, when crafted with your knowledgeable hands, is without compare.”

“You flatter me so.” Yingxing moved his hand up to trace the Dan character as well, his calloused fingers brushing against Dan Heng’s own. “But, of course, I only wrote the first character of your name — my life may be short lived, but I want my creations to last beyond my death… and I want you, and any future reincarnations of you, to hold this spear close and remember me as I was for the rest of time.”

Dan Heng’s breaths stuttered and stopped in his chest.

“I have named it Cloud-Piercer,” Yingxing continued, “to represent the way your strength extends beyond what we mortals can see of the heavens. The Vidyadhara may be the descendants of the celestial dragons, but you alone are the closest to their power — and nothing will ever change my belief in that. Nobody can ever take what is rightfully yours away from you.”

The intensity of Yingxing’s gaze, the conviction in his words, the sheer worship in his voice — it was all too much for Dan Heng to process.

Even though he had already held suspicions regarding the nature of Yingxing’s feelings for him, he still felt almost blindsided by the force of Yingxing’s emotions.

Dan Feng felt as if he were the very waters that made up the natural homeland of his people, and Yingxing was the sun, the moon, and the stars overhead; he was helpless to the natural gravitational pull Yingxing had on his soul — and he wanted nothing more than to give into the way of the tides and crash relentlessly onto the shore and up the rocky mountains, each wave bringing him closer and closer to where Yingxing stood in all his brilliance.

Yingxing’s other hand, the one not tracing the Dan engraving, snuck up and placed itself upon Dan Feng’s own, which was clasped loosely atop the shaft of the weapon. “And if you would do me the honor of accepting this weapon as yours…”

Finally, Yingxing appeared to have reached the end of his speech, but his last line was no less powerful than the rest.

The world had long since faded away from Dan Heng’s eyes. Before him was only Yingxing, and in his hands, the weapon Yingxing had so adoringly created to be his.

The world did not exist beyond this small point in time, this small pocket of warmth that encompassed only Yingxing and Dan Feng.

Yingxing and Dan Heng.

Gingerly, Dan Heng lifted Cloud-Piercer completely from Yingxing’s hands and settled it more securely on his lap. Distantly, he registered that his knees were aching from how long they had been kneeling on the cold, hard floor of the forge, but the slight twinge in his bones was nothing compared to the roaring of blood in his ears and the overwhelming joy suffusing throughout his chest.

“The honor is all mine,” Dan Heng said, and impossibly, seeing Yingxing smile at him with such unbridled pride in his eyes made him feel even happier.

The Xianzhou Luofu’s ongoing war against the Denizens of Abundance was a longstanding military effort that, while it most often did not affect the daily lives of the everyday people, was a constant looming presence that the High Elder had to always be cognizant of.

For the most part, the Xianzhou Luofu did not send groups of their soldiers against the Denizens without prompting. The country endeavored to keep military presence to a minimum as to put their populace at ease, focusing instead on promoting their flourishing trade, and the Denizens of Abundance were more of a guerilla force than a centrally located enemy, so the Xianzhou Luofu’s troops were only mobilized if intelligence had good evidence that the Denizens had plans to invade certain areas.

The Xianzhou Luofu military also could not move without the approval of the Vidyadhara Preceptors. The Xianzhou Luofu had their own group of healers, but the Vidyadhara people, with their more natural connection to the revered five elements, often made up the majority of the healers dispatched onto the battlefield; additionally, since Vidyadhara could return to egg form and be reborn, they were often placed on the frontlines of battles to protect the normal mortal soldiers from more fatal wounds — though it was not ideal for Vidyadhara to die from unnatural causes like battles, should they be hurt badly enough to warrant a rebirth, at least it was possible.

These were the sorts of considerations that Dan Heng had to be cognizant, now, as the High Elder of the Vidyadhara.

It made him queasy to think about making decisions regarding when to send people off to battle and who exactly was to be part of those forces. He was happy, albeit nervous, to offer his thoughts and advice regarding matters of trade, culture, arts, and the like, but military planning meetings were a completely different level of stress.

Thankfully, since there had not been much movement on the part of the Denizens of Abundance, most of the meetings he attended just involved coordinating training plans for their doctors and reserve soldiers.

This illusion of peace, of course, could not and did not last — and it was only a handful of weeks after Dan Heng had been gifted Cloud-Piercer that the Preceptors announced, during a meeting, that the Denizens of Abundance had been spotted starting small skirmishes along smaller agricultural towns in the countryside.

“They’re planning on sending us on a military campaign?” Jing Yuan asked, surprised, as he stood in the relative privacy of Jingliu’s personal training grounds surrounded by the rest of the High Cloud Quintet.

Upon Jingliu receiving the news of an impending mission from her informants and Dan Heng discussing similar plans with his Preceptors, the two of them had contacted Yingxing, Jing Yuan, and Baiheng respectively to meet and discuss their plans. Now, they were all gathered together on Jingliu’s training grounds, standing in a circle while they spoke and laid out the details. They had little time to plan their method of attack, considering how important it was to get to those towns in the countryside before the Denizens could conduct their human sacrifice rituals, so they had to finish drafting a rough strategy before they were set to head out the next day.

Although large groups of soldiers would come with the High Cloud Quintet during each of these pursuits, as the most renowned group in the country, it was their responsibility to lead the charge. If they stepped forward, the soldiers they brought with them followed; if they retreated, so would the troops.

“Both the Xianzhou Luofu military officials and the Vidyadhara Preceptors are in agreeance; we must mobilize by tomorrow, or else those villages risk being completely taken over,” Dan Heng said, hiding his hands in the sleeves of his robes. “Thus far, the Denizens have only been spotted fighting with merchants on the roads to those towns and stealing livestock from the villagers, but the frequency of the attacks on the merchants have increased, so we must act swiftly.”

However, since the majority of the High Cloud Quintet had gone out to battle before — excluding Jing Yuan, who had, previously, been too young to technically be considered part of their group, and Dan Heng, who had transmigrated into Dan Feng’s body during a time of relative peace — the plans were largely the same as they usually would be.

For all Dan Heng was anxious about what the battle would bring, it was standard procedure for the rest of them.

“All of you should know what to do, yes?” Jingliu addressed the rest of the Quintet, her eyes sweeping across them all before landing on Jing Yuan. “Well, except you. Instead of fighting amongst the rest of the regular soldiers, I expect you to join me in the frontlines.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, Master? Would I not be more helpful guarding the mid and backlines with the High Elder, Baiheng, and Yingxing?”

“Our power must be better spread out than that,” Jingliu said, placing a hand on her hip. “Baiheng and Yingxing are both more than enough to keep the long range attacks strong, and Dan Feng offering both healing and offense gives them and advantage. If I am alone in the frontlines, it will be much more difficult to prevent craftier Denizens from escaping. You’ll be in charge of making sure none manage to escape while I and the other soldiers are fighting. Understood?”

“Understood.” Jing Yuan shifted subtly on his feet and, after nodding to his master, looked downward, likely nervous for his first time on the battlefield as an official member of the High Cloud Quintet instead of simply Jingliu’s apprentice.

Dan Heng sympathized with him, but, for obvious reasons, couldn’t say so.

“It will be the perfect time for you to put Starfall Reverie in action,” Yingxing said, clapping Jing Yuan good-naturedly on his back. “A guandao will serve you much better against any opportunistic stragglers than a sword could.”

“I will still bring my sword with me,” Jing Yuan replied, shaking his head and frowning. “I am not as proficient with the guandao as I’d like.”

Yingxing crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “You have practiced with it, haven’t you? What better time than now to put it to use?”

“You gifted it to me last week.” Jing Yuan huffed. “How am I expected to master it well enough to be confident with it in battle?”

“The best way to get good at using it is to use it in high-stress situations. If you rely too much on your sword in battle and default to using it, how will you ever know how to use Starfall Reverie? I didn’t make that for you just for it to sit prettily on the sidelines.”

“Yingxing,” Dan Heng cut in, his tone betraying how tired he was. “Perhaps you should leave Jing Yuan’s battle decisions to his actual master?”

At seeing the Dan Heng defend him, Jing Yuan’s eyes lit up, but then quickly dimmed just as Dan Heng placed a hand on Yingxing’s shoulder. Dan Heng was far too exhausted and anxious about the upcoming battle with the Denizens of Abundance to even consider what that could mean.

After receiving the news from the Preceptors during the meeting the day before, Dan Heng had tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep.

Would this be the fateful battle where Baiheng died, and Dan Feng convinced Yingxing to go against everything they stood for and use the techniques of their enemy bring her back to life? It couldn’t be — besides everyone’s ages being far too young to match up with how that battle had gone in the novel, Dan Heng had completely stopped his and Yingxing’s research into immortality as soon as he had been forced into Dan Feng’s body. And, knowing what he did, Dan Heng would never suggest they try to revive anyone, least of all using the blood of the Denizens of Abundance.

Even if Baiheng died…

Dan Heng glanced at Baiheng, who had been silent for the better part of the meeting. Now, she was whispering back and forth Jingliu. The two of them, after Jingliu had given her strategy recommendation to Jing Yuan, had evidently stepped away from the rest of the group to speak privately.

The discussion they were sharing amongst themselves appeared to be heated, but quiet; Dan Heng could only make out the suggestion of words and phrases but could not parse out what they were talking about, but from the furrow of Baiheng’s brows and the slightly less stoic set to Jingliu’s mouth, they were both unhappy and had completely tuned the rest of them out.

Feeling a bit guilty for trying to eavesdrop on them, Dan Heng looked back at Yingxing and Jing Yuan, who, in the absence of Dan Heng mediating, had gone back to passive aggressively arguing back and forth about the merits of using Starfall Reverie in battle without extensive training.

Particularly, Dan Heng watched Yingxing, who, despite the looming threat of battle coming tomorrow, appeared relatively relaxed.

What would that face look like contorted in sorrow, hope, then horror?

What would that face look like twisted in anger, hatred, and loathing?

Even if Baiheng died, as heartbroken as he would be, Dan Heng would not — could not — convince Yingxing to bring her back to life. It would simply be too cruel for all of them to dishonor their friend and get their hopes up all for naught.

No matter how ironic it was of him to do so, Dan Heng would let the dead stay dead.

Chapter Text

The village they arrived at looked nothing like the battlefield from Dan Heng’s dream.

Granted, since Dan Heng had experienced that dream of Baiheng dying so long ago, an unfamiliar looking location was hardly an accurate indication of anything. Still, every single detail that Dan Heng could find that pointed toward everything not crumbling to pieces far earlier than expected calmed him down.

The night before the campaign, Dan Heng had lied awake in bed, fighting back an intense downward spiral by being logical about everything. Even during their trek to the village, he had hardly spoken more than a few sentences, mainly speaking when spoken to as he was too keyed up to hold any kind of meaningful conversation.

Yingxing appeared to understand his need for solitude, likely recognizing that even positive platitudes would be overstimulating, and thus did not try to talk to him; seeing the normally reticent High Elder withdraw even further into himself, the other members of the High Cloud Quintet discussed amongst themselves. The foot soldiers they brought along also did not dare to address Dan Feng directly, leaving Dan Heng to stew in his thoughts without interruption.

The baseline anxiety Dan Heng was feeling about entering a combat situation for the first time was easily ignored, but the worry surrounding the outcome of the battle still ate at him. As they approached the village, Dan Heng took the time to remind himself that Yingxing was still too young, where in the novel his hair had been fully silver and wrinkles had already dug themselves deeply onto his face; Jing Yuan had just been promoted and was walking into his first battle as an official part of the High Cloud Quintet, while at that point in the novel, he had already begun to rival Jingliu in notoriety; and, most importantly, Baiheng had been ordered to stay in the back with Dan Feng and Yingxing, rather than go off on her own like she had in the novel’s fateful battle where she had died alone with nobody close enough to protect her.

Each fact helped to calm him down considerably, but, as one last effort to settle his nerves, Dan Heng reached out to System to further assuage his fears.

System, he thought, looking out at the swathes of soldiers that had followed the High Cloud Quintet into battle, This battle is not where Baiheng dies, is it?

He didn’t really expect an answer, considering how silent the System had chosen to be before — in fact, Dan Heng often forgot that there was a metaphysical being that had access to his mind — but he found himself feeling relieved when he sensed a strange pressure in his head after asking the question.

[Nothing is ever fully set in stone.] The System replied, and Dan Heng resisted the urge to roll his eyes. [But… for the sake of your and my own sanity, I can assure you that Baiheng will not be dying today.]

Your own sanity? Dan Heng wondered, furrowing his brows. Are you always listening in on my thoughts? Are you affected by my anxiety?

[Yes and no. I can sense what you are feeling if I reach out for it, but as I told you before, you are largely alone. I have no interest in hearing your thoughts constantly. That would be too much, even for someone like me.] In his mind’s eye, Dan Heng could clearly visualize the System shaking his head. [I have brought you here for a purpose. Whether you fulfill it or not does not matter much to me; however, I still must ensure you make it to that moment, so you can decide for yourself how your story will conclude.]

The System’s words made sense on a surface level, but the mention of some outside purpose to Dan Heng being in this world set off alarm bells in his head. He figured the System wouldn’t tell him what said purpose was, so he settled for asking, And how does you telling me Baiheng won’t die help that purpose?

[If you stay distracted wondering whether this particular battle is the one you need to worry about, there is a high chance certain… unfavorable events will come to pass. For the sake of the story, I cannot allow that to happen.] Dan Heng could almost see the System’s eerily bright blue eyes peering at him, despite the fact that he knew that the young man was not physically standing in front of him. [Are you satisfied by that answer?]

Dan Heng tilted his head consideringly. If I were not, would you care?

The System’s smile was not mocking, but it also was not kind, either. [I will leave you alone again, now. Do not count on me to come running whenever you call; remember, you are the sole playwright and actor in your own life.]

And with those final, infuriatingly cryptic words, the System completely faded from Dan Heng’s mind.

While it was annoying to have an unhelpful System, it was just as well that the System had chosen to leave when he did — as soon as Dan Heng forced his focus back onto reality, he noticed frenzied movement from the trees surrounding the village.

Adrenaline surged through his veins. Dan Heng turned to Yingxing, intending to signal with his eyes what he had seen, but Yingxing had placed a hand on the sword hanging from his hips and was already looking at Dan Heng with a steely glint in his gaze.

Ah. The battle was about to start, then. Dan Heng gulped, steadied his breathing, and materialized Cloud-Piercer.

All around the two of them, everyone else was also silently preparing themselves for the confrontation. The soldiers who had been tasked with evacuating the villagers were walking quickly but quietly toward the doors of each home, while the others were rearranging themselves into a defensive and offensive formations.

Once several groups of villagers were escorted from their homes, Jingliu nodded to Jing Yuan and signaled for him to follow her as she strode through the main square of the village, each step announcing her arrival and issuing an open challenge to the Denizens of Abundance hiding in the shadows.

It did not take long for the Denizens to answer Jingliu’s challenge. For everything that could be said about the Denizens and their underhanded methods of targeting civilian villages, when they were faced with those willing to put up a fight, they did not back away.

Armored soldiers covered from head to toe in suffocating golden leaves — an unmistakable mark of the immortality experiments the Denizens partook in — steadily revealed themselves, their heavy footsteps crunching against the coarse dirt and their weapons clanking together in a threatening cacophony.

Jingliu unsheathed her sword. Several paces behind her, Jing Yuan readied his own. The soldiers standing in the front of the offensive formation slid neatly into position.

With her bow and arrow, Baiheng took aim into the crowd of Denizens and fired.

Fighting broke out immediately. The Denizens leapt forward, brandishing their swords and spears, while others without weaponry got on their hands and knees like feral dogs, foam dribbling from their mouths, and charged. Even from his position in the backline, Dan Heng felt horrified at the clear insanity in these Denizens’ eyes; the ones not given weapons and instead fighting like animals likely had not reacted well to the immortality experimentation their group had conducted on them and were being used in their combat forces as a last-ditch effort to make them useful.

It was no wonder that using the blood of the Denizens to revive Baiheng had gone so disastrously. Dan Heng found himself wondering, again, why Dan Feng had suggested to Yingxing at all. In the novel, it was easy to write it off as another act of villainy — but in living Dan Feng’s life, Dan Heng wondered, had it been desperation that forced Dan Feng to act? Outside influences?

…Had Dan Feng been the one to suggest it at all?

Dan Heng had no more time to ponder as the battle intensified. Jingliu and Jing Yuan, along with the soldiers accompanying, were doing a wonderful job holding down the frontlines, but several of the Denizens had swarmed in from the sides and taken the mid and backlines by surprise.

Being a long-range fighter, Baiheng swiftly jumped away from the advancing Denizens, unleashing a spray of arrows as she strategically retreated. Yingxing stayed by Dan Heng’s side, slashing down a few that tried to chase after Baiheng or knock Dan Heng down by his knees.

With a sweep of his spear, Dan Feng flung away two Denizens coming from the front and spun around to intercept three more rushing in to catch him unaware. In the next moment, Dan Feng flipped to avoid a low jump from a feral Denizen and unleashed a blast of water to send the Denizen flying.

“Glad to see my craftsmanship is serving you well, High Elder,” Yingxing commented as he knocked a sword out of one Denizen’s hands. “Isn’t it nice to have both the waters and Cloud-Piercer to protect you?”

“It’s always wiser to have more tools in battle,” Dan Feng acquiesced, spinning and slamming the blunt end of Cloud-Piercer against the head of a Denizen that had been sneaking up behind him, knocking the Denizen down. “But there seem to be more Denizens today than in previous battles.”

No matter how many the two of them fought, the Denizens kept replacing themselves; if one went down, two popped up in their place. Given the amount of soldiers the Xianzhou sent out to quell the threat, it was a wonder that the Denizens, a seemingly small group of rogue cultists, could still have enough manpower to meet them eye for eye.

Yingxing grunted in agreement. “I’ve heard that activity from the Endless Abyss has worsened as of late. Some of my customers have taken on commissions to hunt the monsters coming from its depths and have found groups of Denizens there as well — I think they may be increasing the intensity of their experiments and sacrifices there.”

Ah, yes. The Endless Abyss.

For such a threatening name, its existence had been little more than a small mention in the novel, as if the author had wanted the reader to know that monsters and threatening forces outside of the Denizens of Abundance were present in the world but had failed to adequately weave its relevance into the main plot. Dan Heng had always been intrigued by the Endless Abyss and the monsters that supposedly lurked in its depths, but with so little information from the author it had been impossible to theorize what lived there.

This was yet another way Dan Heng’s current life differed from the novel. And in his months living as Dan Feng, Dan Heng had neglected to conduct research into the Endless Abyss, too caught up in the politics the Preceptors liked to play and, foolishly, still trusting the novel too much in ways he knew he shouldn’t have.

As far as Dan Heng could remember, nobody had made any mention of the Endless Abyss in relation to the Denizens of Abundance in the story, but after everything he had been through, Dan Heng should have known better that the novel was not the end all, be all of his life. Now, with the possibility that the Denizens and the Abyss were related…

A bright flash of metal near his eyes brought Dan Heng back into focus. After blasting the Denizen attacking him away with a strong burst of water, Dan Heng’s parries and attacks flowed from one to the other, slashing and stabbing with Cloud-Piercer and dodging the onslaught of attacks from the Denizens, each movement coming to him naturally as the call of the tides.

When the Denizens leapt, Dan Heng ducked; when the Denizens charged, Dan Heng jumped; when the Denizens advanced on him with their own weapons, he met each move with his own and disarmed them quickly. Distantly, he was aware that Jingliu and Jing Yuan were clearing out hordes of Denizens while Baiheng, using her precise arrows, prevented the ones still hiding in the forest around the village from joining the fray.

One person was missing from Dan Feng’s periphery: Yingxing.

Dan Heng had just been talking to him. Where was Yingxing?

That small moment of distraction was all it took for a nearby, particularly lucid Denizen to strike. One moment, Dan Heng was half-heartedly defending himself from the uncoordinated attacks of the more frenzied Denizens and scanning the crowds for a familiar head of grey-black hair; in the next, searing pain erupted from his abdomen.

Huh. That was… a lot of blood.

“A-Feng!”

Dan Heng looked up from the spear sticking out from his stomach just in time to see Yingxing leap into the air, like a man possessed, behind the smirking Denizen standing before Dan Heng.  

Frantically pushing past the blinding pain, Dan Heng yanked himself backward, the spear dislodging itself from his stomach and clattering to the ground, his own red blood mingling with the spilled golden ichor of the felled Denizens.

Yingxing’s hair billowed in the wind as he raised his sword above his head, readying himself to bring the sword down in a devastating strike. Before the Denizen even registered Yingxing’s presence, Yingxing unleashed a powerful slash, the qi infused in the blade shattering the metal into a multitude of smaller pieces and killing the Denizen and dozens of others hoping to take advantage of the opening in a blink.

Once Yingxing landed on his feet in front of Dan Feng, Dan Heng found himself being gathered and lifted in Yingxing’s strong arms. The warmth was a welcome comfort; Dan Heng hadn’t even registered how abruptly cold he had gotten as his body scrambled to divert energy into healing his wound and away from regulating his internal temperature.

“Baiheng, the High Elder’s been injured!” Yingxing shouted in the general direction of where Baiheng was still firing off her arrows. “I’m trusting you to command the backline soldiers; I’ll be retreating for now to tend to his wounds!”

From above Yingxing’s broad shoulders, Dan Heng could barely make out what looked like Baiheng nodding before Yingxing was rushing away from the battlefield.

Even as they drew farther away from the fighting, Dan Heng heard Baiheng command, “Soldiers, stop fighting defensively — switch to the same offensive formation as the frontline!”

The sounds of fighting faded away as Yingxing carried Dan Heng back to where they had come from. Dan Feng opened his mouth to protest, insisting he just needed a light patch up and could return to the fighting once his wound was closed with some healing qi, but the grim set to Yingxing’s jaw and the fury shining in his eyes made Dan Heng reconsider.

Once they were a reasonable distance from the main battle, Yingxing gently set Dan Heng down by a tree began to stem the flow of blood with his hands.

“The spear didn’t go through to the other side, Yingxing,” Dan Feng said, placing his own hands atop Yingxing’s and channeling healing qi through to his wound. Already, he could feel the skin of his stomach knitting itself back together, albeit sluggishly due to how much blood he had already lost. “And besides, you know that I am…hardier than most.”

“I know. I know,” Yingxing sighed, gritting his teeth. “But can you blame for worrying about you, A-Feng? That attack… that attack should have never been able to hit you!”

And it really shouldn’t have. It was a dumb mistake, a moment of distraction, that had led to Dan Feng being injured. Yingxing was just as highly trained as the rest of the soldiers and the Quintet — Yingxing disappearing briefly from his line of sight shouldn’t have mattered so much.

And yet, how could he help being worried about Yingxing?

As if he already knew exactly why Dan Feng had allowed himself to get so distracted as to get injured by an easily avoidable attack, Yingxing cursed softly and pressed harder down onto Dan Feng’s wound.

Dan Heng flinched, but Yingxing did not let up. “Your qi is likely already depleted,” Yingxing said, “and putting more pressure on the wound will ensure you exert less energy repairing the flesh. Bear with it just a little longer, A-Feng.”

And bear with it he did, until he felt within himself that the wound had completely healed. Dan Heng shakily lifted his hands from where they had been resting atop Yingxing’s own, but in a matter of seconds Yingxing snatched Dan Heng’s wrists in a vice-like grip.

Blood — the blood from Dan Heng’s injury — had smeared all over Yingxing’s fingers and palms, and Dan Heng could feel the sticky red liquid pressing against his skin.  

“You know that injuries are expected in the course of battle,” Dan Feng sniffed, looking at anywhere aside from Yingxing’s face. “I… appreciate you helping me and staying here while I healed myself, but you didn’t need to completely remove yourself from the battlefield.”

“Baiheng has the soldiers handled. Why can’t I devote some time to making sure you really are safe?” Yingxing replied so earnestly that even without looking at him, Dan Heng could feel the weight of his stare. “I know you could have avoided that attack.”

Dan Heng sighed and slumped his shoulders, still refusing to look directly at Yingxing and instead focusing his eyes on the ground. “So, you know why I couldn’t, then.”

“I was out of your sight for only a minute at most,” Yingxing said, his fingers tightening against Dan Heng’s wrists. “Your worry for…others will get you in trouble one of these days, A-Feng.”

Both Yingxing and he knew that Dan Feng’s worry was, typically, confined to one person — the mention of “others” was just a cover for who that other person was: Yingxing himself.

Dan Feng cared deeply for the High Cloud Quintet, and if anything terrible were to happen to any of them, he would mourn and grieve… but he also did not need to worry about them nearly as much.

Unlike Jingliu and Jing Yuan, who had grown up cultivating and practicing sword forms and had subsequently developed strong constitutions that allowed them to live longer than regular mortals, and Baiheng, who was of the foxian species descended from the immortal fox spirits and thus had a naturally lengthened life span, Yingxing was a normal human.

Once Yingxing had been offered his apprenticeship to forge weapons and gained notoriety for his craftsmanship, he had learned how to fight and channel his qi — but by then, it had been too late to develop a strong enough cultivational base to delay aging and extend his lifespan. By cultivating, Yingxing could maintain a strong constitution and was not as susceptible to falling ill and had some resistance to injuries that a non-cultivator might fall prey to, but, at the end of the day, Yingxing was the most mortal of them all.

And Dan Feng despised that.

“I will do better to be more careful in the future,” Dan Heng said, clenching and unclenching his fists.  

When Yingxing released his grip on Dan Heng, the blood that had covered his hands left behind messy red brands that encircled the pale skin of Dan Heng’s wrists. Dan Heng had barely a moment to admire the bloody fingerprints before Yingxing’s hand slid to cup his chin and force him to finally look up.

Yingxing’s eyes were always mesmerizing to look at. In certain lights they appeared blue, while in others, they were closer to a silvery purple, and they always looked at Dan Feng with such warmth, as if he were staring directly into the sun.

No, no — not the sun. The sun burned if looked at for too long; it was a celestial being meant to be admired and worshipped, but never touched. Yingxing’s eyes were the twinkling stars that gave the night sky its cheer, bright spots of light amidst the world’s natural darkness.

It would be overwhelmingly sad, Dan Heng thought, to be forced to live in a world where you could look up at the sky and see no stars.

“You have to promise me,” Yingxing whispered, each word sending a light breath of air against the skin of Dan Heng’s cheeks, “that you will never, ever do anything reckless for my sake in the future. Ever.”

Perhaps it was the blood loss or perhaps, more likely, it was the proximity between the two of them, but Dan Heng felt so lightheaded that he could barely find the strength within him to speak.

When Dan Heng did not reply, Yingxing’s hold on his chin tightened and his words grew pleading. “A-Feng. Please, promise me.”

Dan Feng’s eyes fluttered closed. “I promise.”

Yingxing exhaled, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against Dan Heng’s lips like an invitation, a beckon.

Impossibly, Dan Heng felt himself leaning in.

Only to be met with cold, empty air.

Dan Heng’s eyes snapped open as shame flooded his senses. What had come over him? Hadn’t he already acknowledged that any romantic feelings Yingxing might have had were only for the original Dan Feng, not him?

And now he had gone ahead and tried to…

Already, Yingxing had released his hold on Dan Heng’s chin and was kneeling a few paces away, clutching at his head.

Before Dan Heng could open his mouth to say something, anything, maybe spout out an excuse about acting improperly, though, Yingxing beat him to the chase. “I apologize for my impudence, High Elder,” Yingxing said, his gaze cast downward. “If you will excuse me, I am needed back on the battlefield.”

“Wait…”

“There is no rush for you to return,” Yingxing continued, standing up and turning his back to Dan Heng. “Rest here and regain some of your strength, High Elder, before stepping onto the battlefield again. I am glad to see that you have healed yourself in full.”

“Yingxing —”

But Yingxing was already well on his way toward the battlefield without a single glance back.

And, even if Yingxing had heard Dan Heng call out, Dan Heng had a heavy suspicion that the outcome would have been the same.

In the weeks after their awkward… split on the battlefield, Yingxing failed to come by the Vidyadhara compound.

In the end, even with Dan Heng only returning to the battlefield at the very end, the High Cloud Quintet and their forces had driven the Denizens of Abundance out of the village. The fighting had gone so well that the troops had even had time after stopping to rest, heal, and eat to assist the villagers in rebuilding the parts of their homes that had been caught in the crossfire. The injuries had been minimal, and none of the soldiers that had participated in the campaign had been killed.

All in all, the battle had been a resounding success.

And yet, while Dan Heng had returned home without any evidence of a wound on his flesh, the aching hurt in his heart almost made up for the lack of any physical pain.

Dan Heng told himself repeatedly that, following a battle such as that, it was only natural that Yingxing would be busy repairing weapons for the soldiers and crafting new ones for those who had lost theirs or needed upgrades. It was an empty platitude that he knew was little more than an excuse, but it was a platitude all the same, and it gave Dan Heng enough strength to get through the countless meetings with the Preceptors he was forced to endure without a reprieve in sight.

Dan Heng hadn’t realized how much he had grown to depend on Yingxing showing up outside the compound to drag him away from the mind-numbing politics riddled with greedy interests and egotistical posturing, but when another day ended Yingxing stepping into the compound to invite Dan Heng out for a drink on the rooftops or even just a short stroll through Aurum Alley, Dan Heng was forced to consider the merits of going to Yingxing’s workshop to confront the man himself.

In the end, Dan Heng did not. Even though he missed Yingxing terribly, he couldn’t bring himself to intrude on the other man’s space. Yingxing failing to show up at the compound was a clear sign that he was avoiding Dan Heng for whatever reason; if he truly was busy, then it was better for Dan Heng to let him work, and he did not want to see Dan Heng, then.

Well.

Despite the hurt he felt, Dan Heng could oblige.

Even though Dan Heng’s mind was riddled with complicated trade proposals and new policy considerations, he still found time at night while he was lying awake in bed to ponder the situation, and each time he replayed his memories, he only grew more confused.

Had he misinterpreted Yingxing’s affections? He had been so sure that Yingxing was in love with Dan Feng. Embarrassment had prevented him from thinking clearly in the moment, but looking back, Dan Heng could not understand why Yingxing had so suddenly pulled away.

For all intents and purposes, Dan Heng was Dan Feng. All the conflict Dan Heng had about almost kissing Yingxing were internal.

(Each night, without fail, Dan Heng had to fight back the feeling of butterflies that would well up in his chest thinking about what might have happened had Yingxing not pulled away. Dan Heng had never put much stock into romantic “milestones” and didn’t care that he hadn’t had his first kiss yet, but the thought of sharing such an act of intimacy with Yingxing…)

So, unless Yingxing had also been caught up in the moment and didn’t truly love Dan Feng enough to kiss him, then what had possessed him to act so coldly afterward?

Dan Heng asked himself that question now as he started listlessly at several scattered pieces of paperwork placed before him. Working in his office at least gave him a small reprieve from the spiraling thoughts that liked to visit him in his bedroom, but the distraction came in the form of stress. Though it had already been three weeks since the conclusion of their previous battle, the paperwork that ensued from the conflict was enough to give Dan Heng a headache. He was glad to do some of it, certainly, like signing off on orders to send soldiers to the affected village to continue assisting in their rebuilding efforts and bringing more food to make up for the crops that had been destroyed by the Denizens, but other tasks were…not so engaging.

Some preceptors, Dan Heng could tell, were not-so-subtly trying to pad their own coffers with their requests for increased funding for the Vidyadhara healers. Other preceptors, on the opposite side, had written in requests to divert some of the military-focused healers into specialized research work, which was wholly unnecessary since all of the battle-trained healers devoted most of their time to normal medical research anyway.

Frowning, Dan Heng picked up a scroll penned by Taoran and squinted down at the words. He was potentially just tired, but he couldn’t understand in the slightest why Taoran had drafted a proposal to raise prices on the bioluminescent algae again.

Hadn’t Dan Heng thoroughly shut down that idea when it was first introduced? What benefits could such a price raise bring except to line Taoran’s own pockets, and did Taoran truly believe Dan Heng to be so weak in his convictions that he would change his mind or negligent in his duties that he would sign off on any piece of paperwork that passed his desk without reading it thoroughly?

Dan Heng scoffed, quickly wrote a bold “denied,” and signed his name underneath at the end of the scroll. The petty part of him wished he could see Taoran’s face when he unfurled the scroll, but the larger, more exhausted part of him was simply glad to move onto a different piece of paperwork.

“I am not sure if I should feel sorry for that preceptor for incurring the wrath of the High Elder or think him stupid for doing anything to displease you.”

Startled by the addition of a second person in his previously solitary office, Dan Heng dropped his brush with an ink-stained splatter.

There, in the open doorway to Dan Heng’s office, stood Yingxing.

An out-of-breath worker came running in shortly after and hurried to bow before Dan Heng’s desk. “I apologize, High Elder, for not warning you of his arrival ahead of time,” the Vidyadhara said, her words punctuated by small gulps of air. “Since esteemed Furnace Master Yingxing has unequivocal permissions to enter and exit the compound as he pleases, I thought nothing of his arrival until I noticed he was hurrying to your office and remembered that you had told us to ensure you were undisturbed until you left for dinner…”

Dan Heng took in a quick breath to steel himself and shook his head. “It is of no consequence. Even if you did try to stop him, I am sure that he would not have listened. Please rise, Huanxi. Thank you for trying to ensure that I could work peacefully, but it seems that I may have to rearrange my schedule for the day.”

Yingxing raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorway. “Only if you have time to see me today, High Elder.”

Massaging his temples, Dan Heng closed his eyes and nodded. “I must give you the same courtesy if your schedule is finally free enough to make time to see me.”

Dan Heng had tried not to sound too passive aggressive but judging by the heavy silence that followed his words, he had failed. Sighing, Dan Heng opened his eyes wearily and nodded his head in acknowledgement to Huanxi. “Thank you again for your service. You may leave us.”

“As you wish, High Elder.” Huanxi quickly got to her feet and bowed once more to Dan Heng, then to Yingxing as she hurried out the door. “And to you, Furnace Master Yingxing.”

Yingxing stepped further inside Dan Heng’s office, allowing Huanxi to close the door behind him.

As soon as Huanxi’s footsteps faded into the distance, Yingxing fell immediately to his knees and bowed with his forehead touching the ground.

“Yingxing!” Dan Heng shot to his feet and rushed to pull Yingxing up from his kowtow. “What the — what are you doing?”

“I am here to apologize, High Elder,” Yingxing said, his words slightly muffled from how he was still slumped over the floor. “You were injured in the line of duty. I should not have left you alone while Denizens of Abundance could have taken you by surprise while you were recovering.”

While Dan Heng had been confused and vaguely saddened by Yingxing’s departure, it hadn’t even occurred to him that the Denizens of Abundance could have ambushed him while he had been alone. Besides, as foolish as it was to think this, Dan Heng didn’t really care that Yingxing had left him alone to go back into battle — he cared more that Yingxing had left him alone after they had almost kissed and then proceeded to ignore him for weeks afterward.

“I can handle myself,” Dan Heng replied, miffed, “and I would much rather have this conversation while looking at your face, Yingxing.”

Slowly, as if getting up was a great effort for him, Yingxing rose from his bow but stayed kneeling on the floor. Dan Heng knelt down beside him.

“I can handle myself,” Dan Heng repeated himself, fiddling with his sleeves and summoning all of his strength to verbalize what he really wanted to say. “I do not blame you for wanting to return to the battle when…when you had left the rest of the Quintet to fight on their own. Our loyalty is to the Xianzhou, first and foremost, and it is our duty to ensure the Denizens do not achieve victory under any circumstances.”

Yingxing frowned, but Dan Heng ignored it in favor of continuing. If he stopped speaking now, he wasn’t sure if he could summon the courage again. “However, what I do not understand is why you did not visit me once in the weeks that came afterward. I… I understand that we both have likely been busy, but that has never stopped you before.”

In the end, Dan Heng still did not have the confidence to ask why Yingxing had only pulled away so abruptly after it seemed like they were both about to share a kiss. That was veering on the edge of too much vulnerability for his liking, and, besides, even if Yingxing did have feelings for Dan Feng, that didn’t mean he owed it to Dan Feng to kiss him. A person could have feelings they never wanted to act on, just like how a person could act in certain ways without feeling anything in particular.

And, on the off chance that Dan Heng’s suspicions about Yingxing’s feelings were incorrect, then asking such a question was just inviting disaster.

It was much safer to ask only the most relevant of questions.

Yingxing’s answering smile was tinged with sadness. “I apologize again for that, High Elder,” he said, and the regret lining the wrinkles underneath his eyes placated Dan Heng. “I truly have been inordinately busy these past few weeks, but you’re right, I have been avoiding you.”

Dan Heng clenched his fists underneath the long fabric of his robes and fixed his gaze on the floor, his eyes tracing the patterns in the wood of the flooring. “I see.”

“It was nothing you did,” Yingxing added hastily, “but rather a…personal issue of my own. I was ashamed of my rash actions during that battle, and I needed time to myself to reflect. I had not planned to avoid seeing you for so long, but, before I knew it, weeks had passed.”

Yingxing’s sigh echoed throughout the largely empty office. “I know this is hypocritical of me to ask, but… A-Feng, won’t you look at me now as I speak and say if you forgive me?”

Weak to Yingxing’s words, Dan Heng lifted his head to look at Yingxing, who appeared so genuinely apologetic that any remaining traces of hurt and anger Dan Heng was feeling faded away.

“I forgive you,” Dan Heng replied, “just don’t ignore me again — or, if you must, tell me why in advance.”

“I will take care to do that,” Yingxing said, his eyes softening in a way that made Dan Heng simply melt. “After all, you’ve already promised me the one thing I want most, above anything else in this world; and, as you’ve said, I must give you the same courtesy.”

Chapter Text

Before Dan Heng was even aware of it, years had passed.

On account of their high cultivation, Jingliu looked just as young as she had been when Dan Heng had first met her, and Jing Yuan, though he grew to be visibly taller and older, eventually stopped aging once he reached his mid-20s. Baiheng, too, looked essentially the same, and acted just as spritely and energetic as ever.

The only person who showed any signs of aging was Yingxing, and while he looked especially attractive with a head full of white hair and smile lines every time he grinned, every new wrinkle that creased the skin of his face filled Dan Heng with an ever-mounting dread.

Having been previously born a human, Dan Heng was no stranger to aging. He knew that aging was a privilege that not everyone had the luck to experience.

But still, every time Dan Heng looked in the mirror and saw Dan Feng’s face — a face that, after so many years living with it, he could no longer tell if it looked like his previous life’s face or he had just grown accustomed to seeing it — had not changed in all the years that had passed, yet Yingxing’s continued to grow different by the day, a deep-seated anxiety took root in his heart.

Considering his previous life’s health problems, Dan Heng had always expected his parents to outlive him, as morbid a reality as it was. He had been prepared to die early — had, in fact, actually died early.

He had never been prepared to face the reality that someone he cared about would die before him.

Even so, Dan Heng did his best to take every day as it came.

One thing that surprised, yet filled him with a (shamefully large) amount of relief, was that Yingxing and Baiheng never, ever came close to emerging as a romantic couple.

Though Yingxing and Baiheng remained close friends, as did the rest of the High Cloud Quintet, their relationship never progressed like it had in the novel. In fact, there were many times in which Dan Heng suspected that Baiheng and Jingliu were involved, but they did not make any announcements and he, similarly, did not ask. He was happy for them if they were, but he did not want to make either of them uncomfortable with his prying.

And yet, even with Yingxing not taken by Baiheng, even with that lingering sense of something burning between the Yingxing and Dan Feng, neither did Yingxing make any more moves to clarify his affection for Dan Feng.

Despite Dan Heng’s original hypothesis that Yingxing had romantic feelings for Dan Feng, nothing concrete came out of that attraction — if it even existed at all.

Perhaps Yingxing was too afraid to take their friendship further, and Dan Heng wasn’t going to be the one to do anything, too afraid after he had seemingly misread the situation so many years ago in the forest during his first battle; or perhaps Dan Heng had been wrong all along, and he had misinterpreted Yingxing’s actions, and Yingxing was just being exceedingly friendly and jokingly flirtatious with Dan Feng.

Even though his heart ached for more, Dan Heng accepted the lack of change in their relationship. He told himself, time and time again, that Yingxing’s feelings were not for him and that starting any sort of relationship with him would be unfair, since he was not really the person Yingxing thought he was.

Did it matter that Dan Heng and Dan Feng were nearly interchangeable with how many years Dan Heng had lived Dan Feng’s life?

Not really.

Even if Yingxing had grown to know Dan Heng, the lack of honesty made an uncomfortable guilt curl in Dan Heng’s throat.

Thankfully, Yingxing and Dan Heng remained close.

They continued to stroll along Aurum Alley together, and Dan Heng would pretend not to notice that some vendors were replaced by their children; they continued to share drinks on the rooftop of Yingxing’s workshop, and Dan Heng would pretend not to be disappointed every time Yingxing had to excuse himself a little earlier than before to go to sleep; they continued to be the closest pair among the High Cloud Quintet, often telling each other inside jokes that had the rest of the group rolling their eyes, and Dan Heng would pretend not to see how Yingxing’s back stood slightly curved in relation to the others’.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Dan Heng felt safer and more at ease than ever, and even though the passing of time was forcing him to confront a number of disquieting truths, it was also bringing him an equal number of beautiful realizations.

…Like the realization that the Vidyadhara — or, at least, some of them — could manifest tails.

Specifically, Dan Heng himself had manifested a tail while watching Yingxing forge.

“You finally trust me enough to bring that out, High Elder?” Yingxing had teased him, a twinkle in his eye that was even more distracting than the extra weight along Dan Heng’s back.

“I’ve always trusted you,” Dan Heng had replied back, too busy panicking at how handsome Yingxing looked and then panicking about how in the world he had managed to manifest a tail when he had been under the impression that the Vidyadhara didn’t have tails. Yeah, they were descended from the almighty dragons, so the concept of a tail was relatively normal, but none of the other Vidyadhara around him seemed to have a tail — and there had been nothing in the novel about it! How was he supposed to know?

“Oh, I know.” Yingxing had smirked and wiped the soot off his hands before running his fingers along the length of the tail. “But to manifest a tail like this? You must really be comfortable here.”

Dan Heng had blushed and sputtered a bit uncharacteristically, ignoring the goosebumps that had erupted along his skin at the gentle pressure against the extra appendage, and the tail had disappeared soon afterward, but that had been one of many moments in which Dan Heng wondered if Yingxing would do… something.

Not that Dan Heng wanted Yingxing to do something, of course.

Of course.

But, of course, just like all those other times Dan Heng had wondered, Yingxing did nothing.

Yingxing never gave voice to the simmer tension between their gazes, never bridged that distance between their lips.

And Dan Heng was fine with it.

He was.

Getting to stay in by Yingxing’s side and being his closest friend was already more than Dan Heng could have dreamed of. And, again, Yingxing’s feelings for him would be founded on half-truths, something Yingxing did not deserve to deal with.

Having the close companionship of someone was so different from the life of medical tests and looming dates and isolation that defined Dan Heng’s first life, and he had to be content with that.

“You really love looking at those cheap jade trinkets, don’t you, High Elder?”

Dan Heng tore his eyes away from the street vendor just a few paces away and shook his head, pointedly ignoring the teasing tilt to Yingxing’s mouth.

“I am only looking. They shine quite nicely in the sunlight,” he said, tugging his sleeves over his hands and turning up his nose. “And don’t let the vendors hear, Yingxing; calling them cheap trinkets is quite an insult.”

Yingxing scoffed. “I am not insulting them if I’m stating a fact, no?”

Dan Heng had nothing to say to that, so he simply did not reply.

The day had been a long one. By the time Dan Heng had left his meetings with the Preceptors, the afternoon had long since passed; Yingxing and he left for their semi-regular stroll around Aurum Alley just as the sky had begun to take on a few darker hues.

Every time they passed the vendors selling jewelry, something about their sheen and design attracted Dan Heng; he knew that he was unlikely to buy any of them, but as the two of them walked through the streets, he would always turn to look. He was never searching for anything in particular, especially since he knew nothing about jewelry or carvings, but each time he browsed, he never found quite what he wanted — each curve or corner didn’t quite meet whatever impossible, unknown standards he had set for the jade pieces.

“Do you want one for yourself?” Yingxing asked, crossing his arms. “I am not too old now to carve you something delicate.”

Sighing, Dan Heng shook his head again. “Use your skills to forge what you truly like,” he said, ignoring Yingxing’s comment about his age. “Aren’t you trying to make a weapon to outdo all other weapons? A blade that is truly unmatched in everything?”

Yingxing threw his head back and laughed, pausing in their walk to catch his breath.

“I’ve already created my magnum opus with Cloud-Piercer,” Yingxing said, as matter-of-fact as if he were simply stating the weather, “so there is little use to keep chasing a dream I’ve attained long ago. And besides, a weapon is only as good as its wielder — there will be no weapon that is truly unmatched in everything unless its wielder can also claim the same.”

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, inviting the smudges of pink and purple to expand and wash the street in a warm, dreamy light. A few paces from Dan Heng and Yingxing, the afternoon vendors were packing up their wares while the night vendors rolled their own carts down the street to set up. The jade trinkets Dan Heng had been curiously inspecting were neatly placed away in a box, yet he could not spare them any mind when the sun’s fading rays made Yingxing’s eyes seem to glow.

“I’ve already accomplished most of what I’ve wanted to accomplish in my life.” Yingxing looked right at Dan Heng as he spoke. “I have come from nothing and gained everything. I have met wonderful people, accomplished amazing things, and fought back against the very Denizens of Abundance who took away my parents. All that’s left is…”

There, Yingxing hesitated. Dan Heng was sorely tempted to prompt him further, to ask him what he thought he had left to accomplish, but the words caught in his throat before they could be properly verbalized.

“And besides, I’ve already used my skills to forge what I want to,” Yingxing finally continued, fishing out a silk pouch from his sleeve.

Warm, calloused fingers grabbed Dan Heng’s hands from where they were hidden underneath his billowy sleeves.

“Take it.”

Dan Heng blinked, feeling the weight and shape of the silk pouch in his palm.

“It’s a gift for you, High Elder.” Yingxing clapped his hands together with a small smile. “I know customs dictate that presents should be opened away from the one giving the gift, but you can break propriety just this once.”

“I…” Cupping the bag in his hands, Dan Heng stared down at the gift with a quizzical tilt to his brows. “Is there a special occasion I forgot?”

“Does there need to be a special occasion? Can I not give you gifts without any other reason beside my own desire to?”

“I cannot tell you what to do,” Dan Heng replied, still staring at the pouch as if it would open its mouth and reveal its own secrets, “but please know that you are not under any obligation to gift me anything.”

Yingxing snorted and raised an eyebrow. “I know I never have any obligation to do anything, High Elder, but obligations are not the only things we follow in life, are they?”

The tone in which Yingxing spoke gave Dan Heng pause, but he simply sighed and tugged on the string holding the pouch closed.

“What…?” Dan Heng peered inside the silk bag, stunned at its contents and unsure if he was even ready to reach inside.

“I suppose you weren’t lying when you said you only look at them,” Yingxing sighed good-naturedly, reaching out with gentle fingers to coax the silk pouch from Dan Heng’s hands. “Here. Why don’t I do the hard part of unwrapping the present, and you can do me the honor of wearing it?”

Before Dan Heng could protest, Yingxing had already taken the gift out, revealing what Dan Heng had been previously too nervous to hold with his own bare fingers: a gleaming jade pendant carved in the shape of a phoenix curling around itself to show off its flowing tail feathers.

The phoenix’s eyes seemed to look up at Dan Heng, and the flow of its body conveyed a sense of movement that almost tricked his mind into thinking it really was flying through the skies. Though the main color of the pendant was a brilliant, deep green, each of the individually carved feathers reflected the orange-purple light, creating a fiery illusion not unlike what Dan Heng imagined a real phoenix would look like. The phoenix pendant was strung onto a simple red cord, which was knotted together smartly to allow for ease of wear and adjustment.

It was breathtaking.

It was terrifying.

Or, well, it wasn’t terror in any typical way — but the curdling anxiety and fear that weighed down Dan Heng’s stomach made him hesitant to reach out and touch it with his own two hands. The craftsmanship was so beautiful, so delicate, so purely Yingxing, and he was afraid his bare skin would leave sweaty smudges on the shimmering stone.

It was so unlike Yingxing’s last gift to him. Cloud-Piercer was a gorgeous weapon, a stunning showcase of Yingxing’s talent in the forge and ability to combine aesthetics with functionality; it was also a practical gift that, ultimately, was not isolated to Dan Heng alone. Yingxing made countless weapons for plenty of people and had even made jaw-dropping weapons for Jingliu, Baiheng, and Jing Yuan — though Cloud-Piercer was special, Dan Heng himself wasn’t the only one to be offered the privilege of Yingxing’s weapon craftsmanship.

This jade pendant, though…

“Well, what do you think?” Yingxing’s voice broke Dan Heng out of his stupor. “I may not be a jeweler by trade, but I would like to say that my carving experience has served me well. It took quite a bit of practicing to create one I thought worthy of your eyes, High Elder.”

Instead of saying something more reasonable or polite, like, “Thank you for your efforts,” or, “This is beautiful,” Dan Heng blurted out, “You’ve never made something like this before?”

Thankfully, Yingxing acted like he expected Dan Heng to fumble with his words. “I’m the Furnace Master, not the Jewelry Master,” he said, the lightness of his voice betraying no other discernable emotions, “so naturally, I have not tried my hand at carving jewelry before.”

“And yet you tried for this.”

“There’s a first time for everything, High Elder.” Yingxing looked at Dan Heng with such intensity in his eyes that Dan Heng hardly dared to breathe. “Although I may have never made a jade pendant before, there is no time like the present.”

“Was there anything that motivated you to pursue this new skill?” Dan Heng asked, as if he didn’t already blatantly know the answer.

He just, selfishly, impossibly, unwisely, wanted to hear Yingxing say it.

“You don’t need to act so coy, High Elder,” Yingxing said, turning his gaze away from Dan Heng and busying himself with loosening the knot in the red necklace cord. “Now, why don’t you lower your head for me, and I will help you wear this pendant?”

“So confident that I will be wearing this?” Dan Heng asked, doing his best to channel his inner lofty High Elder persona. “I am the Vidyadhara High Elder — a symbol of my people, who are descended from the celestial dragons. Would wearing this symbol not cause some… discourse amongst my people?”

Naturally, such a façade would not and did not work on Yingxing. “I know some of your finest robes have cranes embroidered in the sleeves. The Preceptors are not so controlling as to restrict you from wearing any symbols besides those of the dragon, are they? You can take this phoenix as a symbol of the harmony and peace you work so hard to maintain each day.”

Ah.

So Yingxing was not going to address the more… romantic associations of a dragon and a phoenix, was he?

Without waiting for Dan Heng to comply, Yingxing lifted the cord of the pendant above his head and gently pulled it past his horns and ears. Dan Heng suppressed a shiver and stood stock still, forcing himself to ignore the ghost of Yingxing’s touch as the cord finally came to rest against his collarbones and as Yingxing tugged on the knots to tighten the necklace.

Dan Heng touched the pendant, which rested snugly against his robes, the coolness of the jade a welcome balm against his sweaty fingers. “Thank you,” he whispered, unsure if he had the strength to speak any louder.

“Thank you for going along with my selfish wants,” Yingxing said, his voice equally as quiet. “Now, instead of looking at all those jade pieces on the street, you can just look down and remember what I’ve made for you.”

“I’ll need to hide it underneath my robes,” Dan Heng said, but made no move to make good on his threat.

Snorting, Yingxing stepped away — Dan Heng immediately missed his warmth, which always radiated from his body even if they weren’t even directly touching — and returned to a more socially acceptable distance away.

“As long as you never take it off, that’s fine by me.” Yingxing put the silk pouch back in his pocket and turned toward the road ahead of them. “Now, where were we? You were telling me about how busy your schedule has been as of late…”

Dan Heng cleared his throat, tucked the pendant into his robes, and desperately tried not to betray the storm of emotions brewing in his chest.

None of the vendors nearby paid them any mind, already likely too used to seeing the Vidyadhara High Elder and the Furnace Master walking side by side through Aurum Alley, but Dan Heng was fighting back a fiery blush anyway, wondering if anyone had watched closely enough to notice the exact celestial being that had been carved into the jade pendant Yingxing had strung around his neck.

Not that the phoenix symbolism seemed to matter, anyway. Yingxing hadn’t revealed or even hinted that he had crafted a matching jade pendant carved in the likeness of a dragon, so for all it was worth, the phoenix was meant to symbolize peace and prosperity and nothing else.

For as much as Yingxing liked to test Dan Heng’s boundaries and play with his understanding of what counted as platonic between two friends… Yingxing was always careful to only toe the line, never stepping over that boundary.

 “The Preceptors are a fan of going over every single possible detail, as always,” Dan Heng replied, holding himself back from saying a less diplomatic gripe about the Preceptors loving the sound of their own voices. “Many of them are quite eager to go over every single detail about the campaign we’ll be going on the day after next. In fact, I have a day-long meeting with them about it tomorrow…”

Dan Heng lifted a hand up to stifle a yawn against the fabric of his sleeve, resisting the urge to close and rub at his eyes until imaginary starburst appeared against the black of his eyelids.

The past few months had been nothing but a whirlwind of meeting after meeting, with all the Preceptors in a frenzy to get their word in about such and such trade deal, research grant, military campaign, whatever — if it was something they could add their input to, they wanted to do it.

And, naturally, as much as Dan Heng hated it, he also understood their reasoning. Many of them were old enough that they were due to die and return to their egg forms within the coming years. He didn’t like them essentially forcing their influence in their last few years of life before they were due to be reborn and replaced by other Preceptors until the cycle continued, but for people as concerned with their political standing and power as they were, it all made complete sense.

Still, just because Dan Heng could see the logic behind their actions, didn’t mean he had to like it. Thankfully, Yingxing had given him the jade pendant just the day before and touching it through his robes gave him a sense of peace that he desperately clung onto in the face of the day-long meeting he was about to walk into.

Dan Heng would have to do his best to pay attention throughout the entire meeting, since the day after would be when the High Cloud Quintet and several different groups of Xianzhou Luofu soldiers would head out on their most important military campaign yet since Dan Heng came into this world.

The Denizens of Abundance had grown bold as of late, moving closer to towns bordering the Xianzhou Luofu capital and even stealing resources from the people living in the main cities. Although their operations made fighting them marginally easier, since the Xianzhou military did not need to deploy forces on long trips out to rural communities, the presence of the Denizens so close to the stronghold of the Xianzhou Luofu made citizens incredibly nervous.

Naturally, it was time to drive the Denizens of Abundance back into hiding, once and for all.

Dan Heng sighed, rolled his neck, and straightened his shoulders. The meeting was set to begin soon, so there was no more use in standing outside nearby and bracing himself for the headache that was about to come.

Steeling himself, Dan Heng took one step forward and promptly stumbled over something blocking his path.

Embarrassed, Dan Heng picked himself up and hastily looked down, sure he hadn’t seen anything on the pathway before he had tried to walk. Had he just been so caught up in his own mind that he didn’t notice…?

Ah, it was only a cat.

Cats were notorious for being quick on their feet and relatively silent; one appearing and tripping him accidentally was hardly something to be concerned about, and Dan Heng felt foolish for being so clumsy. The lack of sleep must have really been getting to him.

The black-coated feline stared up at him with glassy yellow eyes, blinking slowly as if confused about why he was standing in its way.

“I’m sorry,” Dan Heng said, crouching down to pet its back. “I failed to see you earlier. Did I hurt you?”

The cat arched into his touch, and Dan Heng amused himself by continuing to talk to it. He preferred the company of soft, unassuming animals far more than that of the Preceptors with their own shoddily hidden agendas.

“Are you a pet of one of the workers in the compound? The Preceptors, perhaps?” Dan Heng asked, scratching idly behind its ears. “I was unaware that any of them were fond of taking care of animals.”

The cat’s tail swung lazily back and forth, its face the picture of contentment as Dan Heng continued to shower it with pets and scritches.

The heavy thuds of footsteps nearby signaled the end of Dan Heng’s short reprieve. If the Preceptors were beginning to arrive to the meeting room, then Dan Heng had no more time to spend outside.

“I’m sorry again for tripping over you.” Dan Heng gave the cat one last goodbye scratch under the chin before standing to his full height and dusting off his robes. “Don’t get yourself in trouble.”

The cat opened its mouth to offer a small meow and butted its head against his legs. Dan Heng huffed, amused at the cat’s antics, and quickly walked away toward the meeting room, careful to avoid any more mishaps that the Preceptors could witness.

How nice it must be to live as a cat, Dan Heng thought as he walked into the meeting room and took his seat at the head of the table. Why did the people of the mortal realm ever decide to go beyond living simply and basking in the sun, like a lazy cat on a warm afternoon? Why did celestial beings throughout time descend from the heavens to live among mortals?

Thoughts along that vein continued to occupy Dan Heng’s mind as the meeting began. The Preceptors were largely stroking their own egos as they gave their opening remarks, repeating the same information and plans that had already been established in the meetings about the military campaign in the weeks prior.

Certain that everything they were saying was readily available and already written down, Dan Heng scanned through the new meeting brief while half-listening to the Preceptors. Livestock was still going missing from the border towns… A mortal healer had been accosted on his way to work and had his elixirs and medicines stolen from him… A mid-rank military lieutenant had found traces of the Denizens’ experiments on one of her daily patrols…

Frowning, Dan Heng squinted at one of the updates toward the end of the scroll, written in a dark blue ink different from the rest of the scroll’s stark black almost like the words had been added as an afterthought.

“Ah, yes, I am grateful that the High Elder has finally noticed the additional task the High Cloud Quintet and the military forces must undertake tomorrow.”

Dan Heng mentally bristled at Taoran’s haughty tone. “If this additional matter had been so important for me to review, then perhaps it should have been written at the very beginning of the meeting brief — unless, of course, the format in which missives are to be written has changed in the time between yesterday and today?”

Taoran huffed and crossed his arms. “Well, High Elder, I apologize for not completing the missive up to your standards. The report that a portal into the Abyss has opened only came to us late last evening, while you were already…out with that mortal.”

Shock bled quickly into Dan Heng’s facial features before he could even hope to school them. “The Endless Abyss? My scroll says nothing about the Abyss — just that a Denizen stronghold has been discovered, and that after we clear the Denizens from the towns and cities that we must attack them at their base. Preceptor Taoran, why have I not been informed that we may be dealing with forces from the Endless Abyss?”

“Yes, you are correct about attacking the Denizens at their base,” Taoran said, “which we have discovered to be a portal into the Abyss. Apologies, High Elder, for the scribe who wrote your missive must have run out of room to include that information.”

“Run out of room,” Dan Heng said, equal parts disbelieving and furious. “Run out of room, like the fact that I will be marching our people and the majority of the Xianzhou Luofu’s military forces right into a downright suicidal and foolish situation is nothing but a footnote unworthy of the extra paper it would take to include it!”

Distantly, Dan Heng registered that he had gone from sitting down to standing up, and his nails had elongated into talons and his hair was standing on end from the amount of qi he was subconsciously channeling. The other Preceptors had abruptly stopped speaking, but he could see out of his peripheral vision that they were all looking at him with judgmental, hawk-like eyes, as if his emotional outburst was too improper and not fitting for the situation.

As if he were the crazy one for not wanting to take such an unnecessary risk — as if he were the crazy one for caring about the potential hundreds, if not thousands of lives that could be lost for walking straight into what would essentially be a free-for-all slaughter for the Denizens.

Dan Heng was confident in the High Cloud Quintet and the Xianzhou Luofu military’s ability to subdue large groups of Denizens — even when they were outnumbered.

But when the Denizens were basing their operations at a portal to the Endless Abyss, where they could theoretically summon a never-ending number of reinforcements, or even unearth the monsters and demons that called the Abyss their home, heedless of whether those monsters would listen to their commands…

“Calm down, High Elder,” one of the other Preceptors said, a hint of nervousness to his voice. “This is hardly a…suicidal situation, as you have expressed in exaggeration. It is an important military operation, yes, but our forces are strong enough to take care of it all.”

“Our forces?” Dan Heng grit out, digging his talons into the soft wood of the table and trying valiantly to rein in his qi. “I was unaware that you had ever set foot on a battleground, Suguang. Tell me, are you familiar with the forces you are so ready to send to their deaths? I know that none of you have done much reading into the Endless Abyss and instead prefer to occupy yourself with the latest trade reports and trendiest fashions —”

“You speak out of line, High Elder!” Shaoying snapped, slamming her fan against the table.

“Do I?” Dan Heng turned his chilling gaze to Shaoying, satisfied to see her mouth click shut. “Tell me, have any of you read the ancient scripts about the horrors of the Endless Abyss? The demons that dwell there with a craving for human flesh? The monsters who leech off a person’s qi until they are nothing more than a soulless husk? The ones whose saliva is an acid, blood a poison, and breath a tranquilizer?”

“Of course, we have,” Taoran replied, infuriatingly calm for how angry Dan Heng himself felt. “But the Endless Abyss is no longer a threat compared to the danger it presented in the times of the ancients. Cultivation and weaponry have improved tremendously since then, back when Vidyadhara and mortals alike could only fend off the Abyssal monsters with shoddily built sticks and primitive cultivation techniques.”

“I refuse.” Dan Heng retracted his talons from where they had clawed indents into the table’s surface. “If we are to seal off this Abyssal portal, it will be on a new campaign, where all of our soldiers and healers are well-rested and prepared — not at the tail end of what will, no doubt, be an exhausting battle. No matter how confident you all are in the abilities of our soldiers, their energy stores are not boundless, and all it would take is for the Denizens to overpower us at the portal for everything to fall to shambles.”

Taoran sighed and continued as if Dan Heng’s words meant nothing, as if he were speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. “This added task is hardly worth planning a campaign all on its own; we simply need the portal sealed off. We are not asking you to jump into the Abyss yourself.”

“Oh, so you are still asking me?” Dan Heng scoffed, still too annoyed to bother with pretending to adhere to propriety. “And here I was under the impression that you were demanding this of me.”

“Make no mistake, High Elder.” Taoran stood up slowly, shook out his robes, and finally met Dan Heng’s furious gaze with his own unbothered stare. “We are asking you out of courtesy. You may be the High Elder, but this missive is signed and approved by all 12 Preceptors, excluding yourself. Even with your weighted vote, you are outnumbered, and these orders have already been sent out to the Vidyadhara healers and soldiers joining the campaign tomorrow.”

How dare he…!

“We are used to your…emotional way of looking at the world. We know that you hate to listen to us, and that if you had your way, your vote would constitute an automatic veto.”

Dan Heng bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes blazing a fiery azure, as he struggled to contain himself.

“Whether you choose to do your duty as the leader of the Vidyadhara, command the charge, and go in to seal the portal with our people tomorrow matters little,” Taoran continued, “but know that if you choose to abandon your post, you will be the one leading our people to their deaths.”

Chapter Text

“Behind you, High Elder!”

Whipping his head around, Dan Heng swung Cloud-Piercer around just in time to intercept dripping, metal-sharp talons aiming directly for the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Dan Heng said, hoping Yingxing could hear him even with the sounds of clashing metal and snarling Denizens filling the air.

“No need to mention it,” Yingxing replied, gracefully jumping back into the fray, his long white locks billowing in the wind and his sword landing a precise and deadly slash against a retaliating Denizen.

Watching Yingxing fight, even for just a moment, filled Dan Heng with a sense of pride he couldn’t tamper down. Still, the protective part of Dan Heng couldn’t help but wonder if it was simply his imagination, or if Yingxing’s battle moves weren’t quite as sharp and fast as they used to be.

Despite how much he might have wanted to, Dan Heng couldn’t afford to keep his eyes trained on Yingxing at all times. Even if he hadn’t even wanted to embark on such a dangerous mission, especially knowing what he would still have to do after they finished the main battle, Dan Heng couldn’t afford to let his guard down for a moment.

Ultimately, even with all of his threatening and arguing and, eventually, more logically sound reasoning, the Preceptors had refused to budge on their plans. And as the meeting wore on, Dan Heng had to face the facts: no matter what he tried to do, there was no way that he alone could stop the Xianzhou troops from advancing the next day. Even if he could convince the Vidyadhara members of the forces to listen to him, the other warriors under command of the Xianzhou military separate from the Vidyadhara were under no obligation to heed his word; they would press on, with or without him.

Maybe he could’ve convinced the rest of the High Cloud Quintet to abandon post with him, but he doubted it. Jingliu, Baiheng, and Jing Yuan were all too duty bound. And Yingxing, for all the dissatisfied sentiments he had expressed, would not leave the rest of their friends to fight alone.

Ultimately, too, Dan Heng also couldn’t turn his back on the Preceptor’s plans alone. Knowing what he did now about the Abyssal portal they were fighting near, Dan Heng knew that he couldn’t leave any of them to fight without himself helping with his own powers.

…And his own knowledge of the universe.

Though the circumstances of the fateful battle in which Baiheng had died and Yingxing had begun his revenge arc had been rather unclear in the web novel — especially given the years since Dan Heng had last read the story — Dan Heng was reasonably sure that, if she were to die, it would be at a battle where an Abyssal portal was just a stone’s throw away. The webnovel’s author had only ever said that the battle was an important one where the Xianzhou had sent the majority of their troops, and, well, if Dan Heng was correct, the one they were currently embroiled in definitely fit the bill.

I know roughly how Baiheng dies, Dan Heng thought to himself as he risked a quick glance to the foxian, who was unleashing arrow after arrow from her elevated position in the back of the formation, and everyone else should be fine. All I need to do is make sure she lives, and everything else should fall into place.

Dan Heng’s gaze shifted away from Baiheng and flung a blast of pressurized water at another Denizen trying to sneak up on him. Easier said than done, but that’s all I need to do.

Across the battlefield and all around Dan Heng, the soldiers fought efficiently and tirelessly, not a single one of them showing any signs of weariness or weakness. They cut away sprawling vines of golden leaves and neatly avoided the sticky, viscous puddles of the Denizens’ gold-tainted blood and their fallen bodies, which were already starting to reanimate, the Denizens relentless in their pursuit of dominance — their philosophies immortal even if their souls had already fled their physical forms.

Behind Dan Heng, the Vidyadhara and human healers were working as quickly as they could. The Vidyadhara knit together skin with their healing techniques, and the human healers wrapped wounds in bandages and splints. Soldiers too injured to continue were moved, while others deemed well enough to fight returned to the battlefield.

 In that way, the mortal soldiers were not unlike the Denizens: it was their dedication to the cause, to the Xianzhou, that motivated them to return to the fighting despite their injuries.

But, unlike the Denizens…

“Vidyadhara,” a Denizen rasped, the sound muffled through the saliva gurgling between its lips as its webbed fingers clutched at Dan Heng’s ankle, “Attack… the Vidyadhara… High… Elder…”

With one clean swipe of his spear, Dan Heng sent the Denizen flying, hopefully managing to kill it in the process.

It.

The Denizens of Abundance had been people once, too, people who had laughed at their friend’s jokes and went back home to their families, and yet as he fought valiantly to keep them from destroying his people, he couldn’t help but only see their sickly golden eyes, the corpse-like gray of their skin, the claws and branches and leaves and sprouts and fangs.

Most of them fighting on the frontlines of their conflicts had long since lost any semblance of higher thought, having given up their mental capabilities in the pursuit of undying physical bodies, so Dan Heng — and the other people of the Xianzhou — usually found it easy to think of any Denizens they came across as an “it.”

But why had that one spoken about him specifically…?

A shard of ice whizzed past his face, nearly slicing a thin cut on Dan Heng’s cheek, and the dying wail of a Denizen alerted him to the fact that one had managed to sneak up on him when he had been preoccupied.

“You’re distracted.” Jingliu’s voice snapped him out of his reverie — when had she gotten so close to him? As far as he could remember, she had stationed herself in the front with Jing Yuan — commanding and powerful despite her only speaking with her usual volume. “We can’t afford any distractions on the battlefield, High Elder.”

Dan Heng nodded, trying his best not to reveal how much he had been in his own head. “Right as always, Jingliu.”

“We can’t afford any needless casualties,” Jingliu continued, turning around and readying herself to return to her previous position on the frontlines. “I know the Vidyadhara are more durable than us cultivating humans, but you still must pay attention and get rid of threats.”

“Wait!”

Though she did not turn back to acknowledge him, Jingliu paused, her knees still crouched in preparation of a jump.

“If Jing Yuan is doing all right by himself at the front, then why don’t you stay in the back with us?” Dan Heng asked, hoping his suggestion didn’t sound too suspicious.

“And what good reason could there be for me to do that?” Jingliu asked, not unkindly.

“It would do Jing Yuan good to have some experience guiding the soldiers on his own,” Dan Heng said, throwing out an arch of water to ward away the Denizens trying to insert themselves into their conversation. Some still tried to brave the attack, but the highly pressurized, qi-infused water was enough to send them flying. “And… Baiheng could use more coverage from where she’s stationed.”

Jingliu’s stance changed subtly; if Dan Heng hadn’t been watching her closely, he would’ve missed it, but the way her shoulders tensed ever so slightly told him all he needed to know.

“Yingxing and I are doing our best to keep Denizens from advancing on the archers, but I need to supervise the Vidyadhara, and he is helping soldiers replace their weapons. Neither of us can devote enough attention to the task,” Dan Heng added, though it was mostly for show than to convince her at that point. “If you guard her from up there, you’ll have a better vantage point of the battlefield.”

“I will inform Jing Yuan of this change of battle formations,” Jingliu replied without looking at Dan Heng, then leapt away to presumably do as she said she was.

Dan Heng released a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding in for quite so long and shifted his focus back on the battle. If Jingliu stayed near Baiheng for most of the fighting, then Baiheng would be safe.

And if Baiheng stayed safe, then the rest of the battle should proceed normally. Everyone else could take care of themselves.

All Dan Heng would have to worry about was Yingxing — and, as always, he was more than ready to keep Yingxing safe.

Dan Heng wiped his brow, careful not to get the gold ichor staining his sleeves onto his skin — the effort was futile, however, since he knew he had likely gotten a few splatters on his cheeks already.

Though, truly, a few splatters were much better than covering himself head-to-toe in the blood of the Denizens, so it was the small wins that mattered.

“Is that the last of them?” Yingxing asked, retying his hair as he surveyed the area with sharp eyes.

Nodding, Dan Heng joined Yingxing in looking out at the remains of the battlefield. The bodies of the Denizens they had defeated were scattered throughout the clearing, flowing golden blood staining the grass below. The heavily injured soldiers were off to the side receiving treatment from the healers, while the soldiers who were in better shape helped their wounded brethren or worked with Jingliu to retrieve the bodies of the fallen. Jing Yuan had gone deeper into the other side of the battlefield with a group of the higher ranked Xianzhou soldiers to ensure that there were no more Denizens waiting in the shadows to ambush them. The healers who had qi to spare were using it to heal the most egregious of wounds, while the more exhausted healers helped with tasks that required little to no cultivational prowess.

The battle had been long, too long, and the aftermath had been destructive, but the Xianzhou had emerged victorious — and while the casualties were painful, Dan Heng was relieved to learn that most of the soldiers and healers that had come with them into battle were alive.

And, against the odds Dan Heng had been afraid of, Baiheng was right there with Jingliu, directing the post-battle efforts and rallying the remaining soldiers standing to stay motivated.

Baiheng was a spot of light in the dreary aftermath, a stark contrast to the lifeless eyes that had haunted those final few chapters of the Revenge of the Furnace Master novel.

Those who were felled in battle were to be mourned properly once everyone was all back in the safety of the Xianzhou. For now, Dan Heng had to continue looking on the bright side and assist with the post-battle efforts.

(Dan Heng could deal with the immense guilt eating at his insides over his constant failure to protect every single soldier who came along to these battle efforts later.)

“That should be the last of them,” Dan Heng finally responded to Yingxing, reaching out to touch Yingxing’s arm and forcing the other man to stay still so he could inspect for wounds. “Were you hurt at all, Yingxing?”

Yingxing shook his head and wiped away some of the spots on Dan Heng’s face with his thumb. “Nothing that won’t heal with plenty of rest. I could sleep for a year, truly.”

Dan Heng huffed a restrained laugh, self-conscious about appearing too light-hearted in the aftermath of a bloody battle. “A year is far too long. Wouldn’t you miss being awake?”

“Mm…” The corners of Yingxing’s mouth crinkled as an unreadable sorrow took over his eyes. “You could say that being awake is a form of suffering, especially seeing the destruction left behind today. May all the soldiers lost in this battle find rest in the afterlife.”

Dan Heng nodded solemnly. “May all the soldiers lost in this battle find rest in the afterlife, and peace in their next life.”

“How are you faring, High Elder?” Yingxing asked, his hand falling from Dan Heng’s face and settling on Dan Heng’s shoulder.

Sighing, Dan Heng allowed his eyes to close briefly. “As well as anyone, really. I will be glad to return to the Xianzhou once everything is in order.”

“But of course.” Yingxing’s hand remained a comforting weight on his shoulder, and Dan Heng subconsciously leaned into its warmth, grateful that he was afforded this. “Once Jingliu has finished making arrangements for the proper transport of the dead, and the wounded are well enough to travel, then we can return to the Xianzhou.”

“Ah…” Dan Heng straightened his posture and cleared his throat, abruptly reminded that the battle was not truly the end of their campaign. “Well —”

“High Elder.” one of the higher ranked Vidyadhara soldiers came up to greet him before bowing at the waist to both Dan Heng and Yingxing. “We are to head to the site of the Denizens of Abundance’s base now, correct?”

Dan Heng bit his lip and clenched his fist, resisting the urge in his hearts to pretend he hadn’t the slightest idea what they were talking about and herd the group away by force. “Perhaps in a few moments; let the healers regain their bearings first before we proceed.”

The Vidyadhara soldier nodded, looked at Yingxing’s face, paled, and hastily backed away.

“A-Feng?” Yingxing’s grip grew tighter on Dan Heng’s shoulder. “What Denizen base?”

Keeping his contempt for the Preceptors was going to be even more difficult around Yingxing, who seemed to know him better than he knew himself at times, but Dan Heng managed by the skin of his teeth. “The Preceptors’ informants found a Denizen stronghold the day before this campaign was set to leave and included plans to attack the Denizen base as a…last-minute addition.”

“A last-minute addition,” Yingxing said, incredulous. “A last minute-addition to attack a Denizen base after a long, drawn-out battle? Where is the base located?”

“A short trip from here,” Dan Heng replied, hesitant to reveal much more information.

“A short trip from here,” Yingxing repeated, a dry laugh completely devoid of humor escaping his mouth. “Evasive for such a simple question. Tell me, High Elder, why are you hiding the location of the base from me?”

Stepping away from Yingxing and allowing Yingxing’s hand to fall from his shoulder, Dan Heng crossed his arms and steeled his gaze. “You won’t need to know the location of the base because you won’t be coming with us, Yingxing.”

Yingxing scoffed. “And why is that, High Elder? Think I don’t have what it takes anymore to take down a few enemies?”

Yes. Yes, that’s exactly why, Dan Heng thought, his eyes cataloguing each wrinkle deeply set on Yingxing’s forehead, every line that no longer left the corners of Yingxing’s eyes and mouth even when his face was at rest. Yingxing was strong — but he wasn’t infallible.

And, seeing how much their lives had already deviated from the plot of the novel Dan Heng was quite certain he hadn’t actually transmigrated into, Dan Heng wasn’t willing to find out whether Yingxing had a protagonist halo or plot armor to keep him from meeting an untimely demise.

In his heart, Dan Heng knew he had to keep Yingxing away from the Abyssal portal at all costs.

“I need you to stay back with the others,” Dan Heng said instead of the multitudes of other things he wished he could voice. “It’ll be a relatively quick operation if we can take the Denizens at their stronghold by surprise. The less people who accompany me on this mission, the better.”

The less people I can put at risk, the better.

Irritation and anger, the likes of which Dan Heng had rarely seen before, lit up across Yingxing’s face. “If you think I’m going to let you go alone to an Abyssal portal, then —”

“High Elder! High Elder! Please, come quickly! Miss Baiheng has collapsed!”

Fear sent an ice-cold jolt through Dan Heng’s heart. “Take us there, immediately!”

Dan Heng and Yingxing followed the panicking Vidyadhara soldier through a crowd of people still cleaning up the battlefield.

How could Baiheng have gotten hurt? Hadn’t all the Denizens on the battlefield been wiped out? What had Dan Heng gotten wrong…?

Eventually, they came across a small, shaded area where Baiheng was resting against Jingliu and being fussed over by a couple of healers.

“I’m fine! I already said I’m fine!” Baiheng waved away the healers dabbing the sweat from her face.

“People who are fine don’t collapse,” Jingliu said, her face neutral but the slight furrow to her brows betraying her worry.

“What happened?” Dan Heng asked as soon as they were within distance.

Baiheng sighed and closed her eyes. “Does the entire High Cloud Quintet need to know that I’m dehydrated? I hope nobody was sent to get Jing Yuan, too!”

“He was too far away to risk sending individual soldiers to,” Jingliu replied, carding her fingers delicately through Baiheng’s bangs and pushing them to the side. “Aside from that, having the High Elder here is more important for healing purposes.”

“Of course.” Dan Heng knelt down beside Baiheng and carefully assessed her for any obvious symptoms or signs of injury, but it was mostly a formality; he figured that the healers tending to her would have already mentioned something if it were obvious. As it were, even after checking Baiheng’s flow of qi against his own, Dan Heng found that it was just as she said — she had likely collapsed from exhaustion and not much else. Sure, she had a few superficial wounds here and there spread across her arms and legs, but they had already been treated by the healers and would likely heal in no time, especially with as a foxian, once she got some proper rest.

Still, Baiheng being too weak to stand up could prove to be a good thing…

“Could you stay back with Baiheng and Jingliu?” Dan Heng requested of Yingxing once he was done double-checking that Baiheng truly was fine. To Jingliu and Baiheng, he said, “Though Baiheng is likely just suffering from the effects of intense exhaustion, more people checking on her and ensuring nothing about her condition changes would be helpful. I must go with my people to conduct a covert mission into a recently discovered base of the Denizens, though I will be back shortly.”

Yingxing stood up before Dan Heng could, his tall form towering over Dan Heng, almost as if Yingxing were trying to intimidate him into listening. It was a silly thought, but Dan Heng found himself gulping anyway.

“And as I said earlier, there is no way I will be letting you go alone to the base,” Yingxing said, his tone offering no room for argument. “You like to act as if you are infallible or indestructible, High Elder, but you are not.”

“Yingxing, please.” Dan Heng looked up at Yingxing before slowing standing up as well, feeling unnerved by the distance between the two of them while he was kneeling on the ground. It simply felt wrong, somehow, to talk to Yingxing that way; even if Yingxing really was taller than Dan Heng and he had to look up slightly during their normal interactions, it was still better to talk about serious conversations on relatively equal footing. “I know it seems foolish of me to go alone, but the element of surprise is crucial to the success of this operation. I will be able to handle myself.”

When it looked like Yingxing was about to argue again, perhaps insisting that adding just one extra person would hardly compromise the mission’s element of surprise, Dan Heng spoke before Yingxing could get a chance to.

“Yingxing, please — you are no doubt a capable warrior, but I…” Dan Heng gulped and pushed past the embarrassment threatening to set his cheeks aflame. It was a bit mortifying to say something so vulnerable in front of his friends and the random healers tending to Baiheng, but it couldn’t be helped. “I worry too much for you. It would…calm me greatly if I could trust that you would stay here instead.”

From the way the hard set of his jaw and the slant of his brows relaxed, Yingxing appeared at least open to hearing Dan Heng out now. Still, it was apparent that he was not going down without a fight.

“Then, can you understand that worry is how I feel for you going off on your own?” Yingxing countered, clenching his fists. “At least, if I were to go with you, we could protect each other — leaving me behind to protect Baiheng makes little sense with Jingliu here. Jing Yuan will also soon return from his small excursion ahead. And where will you be? Alone, entering the den of the enemy.”

“I will hardly be alone.” Dan Heng gestured to the Vidyadhara that had followed him to Baiheng’s location; they had already grouped themselves into a ready formation, simply awaiting Dan Heng’s lead before they advanced toward the location of the Denizen base. “I have plenty of my people supporting me in this effort.”

“Ah yes, the support of your people,” Yingxing said, a touch of scorn coloring his words. “The very people who neglected to inform you that you would need to risk your life, and the lives of the tired and worn-out soldiers, until the last minute?”

“Be careful about what you say.” Dan Heng glanced nervously around at the people around them, trying to gauge whether anyone had heard Yingxing speak ill of the Preceptors. He was reasonably sure that all of them were simply politely pretending as if they weren’t listening in; neither he nor Yingxing were making much of an effort to keep their conversation quiet.

Even if Dan Heng’s and Yingxing’s sentiments were one and the same, he could not have Yingxing risking the ire of the Preceptors, too.

Yingxing snorted and clapped his hands together. “If I am more careful about what I say, then will you be more careful about your own life and let me accompany you?”

“Yingxing,” Dan Heng said, on the verge of pleading. “Please… Understand me when I say that I must do this alone. I — I have my reasons, and I would only be able to focus on my mission if I knew you were left here, safe.”

Every fiber of his being was telling him that he could not let Yingxing go to the base with him. Logically, he knew there really were better odds should the two of them go together… But the illogical, emotional, and overpowering part of him refused to even entertain the thought. He had no reason to be so worried, so adamant, and yet he knew it was the only choice he could bear to make.

Yingxing would not be accompanying him to the Abyssal Portal.

Dan Feng simply wouldn’t — couldn’t — allow it.

Silence stretched between the two of them, so tense and heavy that Dan Heng was on the verge of suffocating on it. Though the healers treating Baiheng and the soldiers around them made small noises shifting their feet and adjusting their weapons, those sounds were the backdrop to the overwhelming quiet.

Dan Heng risked looking right into Yingxing’s eyes, and the unfathomable sorrow that filled his gaze made a pang shoot through Dan Heng’s chest.

Finally, Yingxing shook his head. “You’ve made your choice, then.” The resigned tone of his voice, which was at odds with the small smile adorning his lips, shook Dan Heng to the core. “High Elder… A-Feng…”

Dan Heng shifted his weight from one foot to another, inexplicably shy about Yingxing’s affectionate address for him after they had just finished arguing.

Yingxing sighed and, with delicate fingers, tucked an errant strand of hair behind Dan Heng’s ear, the light touch against the pointed tip eliciting a short shiver from Dan Heng.

“For both your sake and mine,” Yingxing said, stepping away and positioning himself a respectful distance from Dan Heng, “I hope this choice is the right one.”

The Denizens of Abundance stronghold would have been eerily, unnatural silent if not for the roaring flames and screeching monsters coming from within the hastily constructed walls of the base.

The Endless Abyss boasted sounds that could instantly incapacitate a normal mortal without any cultivation training, from the eardrum-splitting shrieks of airborne monsters to the seductive songs of human-like demons. Even the Vidyadhara, who both had more sensitive hearing and a stronger resistance to any auditory traps and magics, would struggle to listen to the sounds coming from the Endless Abyss for long without feeling adverse effects.

The Denizens of Abundance, it seemed, had found a way to survive, even with a door to the Endless Abyss right in the middle of their base — or, more likely, they had found a way to draw power from it and had formed their stronghold around the Abyssal portal.

“How should we proceed, High Elder?” one of the soldiers asked quietly, gesturing to the sealed walls of the base.

“We do not have the manpower to storm their stronghold,” Dan Heng replied, “nor do I want to take such an unnecessary risk. I will scope out the area; you all will follow only at my signal. For now, ensure you are out of sight, but keep a vigilant watch for any Denizens who may not be inside the building. Understood?”

All the soldiers — Dan Heng had counted 50 of them and hoped he would not be missing any at the end of this short mission — at his command nodded, then dispersed through the greenery surrounding the stronghold to find appropriate hiding spots.

Once he confirmed that none of the soldiers were in sight, Dan Heng steeled his nerves and approached the base on quick and quiet steps. As he drew closer, he sensed some shuffling from within the walls of the building; likely, that was the sound of the Denizens of Abundance that had stayed behind at their base while the others waged the violent offensive against the Xianzhou Luofu troops.

Dan Heng placed a hand against the building’s wall and sent a small pulse of qi through the thick stone, hoping to get a more accurate reading on how many Denizens were inside. Unfortunately, he was only able to determine that there were Denizens of Abundance in the building, not how many there were… The demonic qi pouring from the Abyssal Portal must have been blocking his own qi’s ability to discern between the Denizens and the portal itself.

Well, there was nothing for it — Dan Heng would have to go in himself.

If Yingxing were there with him, Dan Heng would’ve gotten scolded for being reckless.

But Yingxing wasn’t there with him, so with a carefully aimed blast of qi, Dan Heng destroyed the reinforced door leading into the Denizen base and brandished Cloud-Piercer in front of him defensively.

…Only to realize that his precautions were largely unnecessary.

Though there were Denizens of Abundance within the base, noen of those posed a threat to Dan Heng — as they all lay decimated on the ground in a circle around the pulsing, seething Abyssal Portal.

Black smoke billowed from their wounds, the same smoke that came from the portal, and the familiar golden hue of their blood was tainted with an inky black. Their wounds were horrific to look at, like someone had poked holes into their flesh, and while the injuries sustained were in different places for every felled Denizen, one thing remained consistent between all of their corpses: a chunk of their chest, right where a human heart would normally rest, had been mercilessly ripped away.

Dan Heng was going to be sick. He had just left a battlefield filled with the bodies of dead Denizens, but this… This carnage was too much.

Even if the Denizens themselves terrorized the people of the Xianzhou and exacted horrible experiments on other humans, they still deserved to die swiftly and humanely.

Whatever had done this…

Dan Heng stared warily at the portal. Whatever had done this to the Denizens had surely come from within the Endless Abyss, which made it even more pertinent to seal the portal.

But that begged the question: where was the thing that had escaped the Endless Abyss and killed the Denizens?

A collapsed part of the stronghold’s ceiling, unnoticeable from the outside but clear as day now that Dan Heng was inside, revealed all that he needed to know.

Dan Heng rushed outside and called out to the trees, “Soldiers! Report to me! From your vantage point up in the air, did you spot any other Denizens patrolling these grounds? Any Denizens found alive?”

Although Dan Heng was asking in earnest, he had a sinking feeling that he already knew what the answer would be.

Several soldiers dropped to the ground and hurried to bow to him, shaking their heads all the while.

“No, High Elder, we did not,” one soldier said, her eyes downcast. “Though we did spot several Denizen corpses along the perimeter of the base…”

Even though it was just as Dan Heng had suspected, he hated hearing it: the possibility that whatever had ruthlessly murdered the Denizens of Abundance left behind at their stronghold had managed to escape.

“Were we led into a trap, High Elder?” another soldier asked, his eyes wide in fear.

“Not a trap,” Dan Heng replied grimly, fighting against the horror, stronger than it had ever been before, threatening to invade his senses. It would do no good to panic, no matter how much he couldn’t stop thinking about the wounded soldiers getting treatment from the healers, the less-injured assisting with the cleanup efforts, Baiheng resting against Jingliu’s lap, Yingxing — “Soldiers, stay vigilant and remain here; the Abyssal portal remains a threat that must be sealed. Anyone who has enough qi to spare, start drawing sealing arrays and preparing the area for a large-scale sealing ritual.”

Loathe as he was to leave them alone in a potentially dangerous area, Dan Heng knew that letting the Abyssal demon roam free was the worst possible option. With his hearts beating thunderously in his chest and his mouth inexplicably dry, Dan Heng turned away from the soldiers and toward the direction of the original battlefield. “I must return to warn the others — now!”

Revenge of the Furnace Master was the most popular revenge-driven fantasy novel with a male lead to grace the internet since Dan Heng had started reading web novels all those years ago in his past life, even beating out the scores of revenge-driven fantasy novels with scorned female leads and the revenge-driven fantasy novels with harems. It was a story set in a fantasy ancient China called the Xianzhou Luofu, a lovely place filled with earnest and friendly citizens, and it followed the life of a renowned craftsman who would, after living a life of suffering and triumph, eventually succumb to a downfall orchestrated by someone he considered a close friend.

Yingxing, who was supposed to be the protagonist — but Dan Heng knew as surely as the sun rose in the east and the moon hung in the sky with the stars, that Yingxing was much more than a character in a novel — had never seemed destined to any sort of downfall.

Maybe in the novel, his downfall was a predetermined thing. That was how most hero-centric plotlines worked, how the hero’s journey was fated to play out, after all: what goes up, must go down, and the life of a hero could not continue on uninterrupted without strife and suffering.

But Yingxing, the person, the person Dan Heng loved with his entire being, was not a storybook hero.

Yingxing was a real, living, breathing person. He was prideful, and stubborn, and headstrong, and sweet and thoughtful and caring. He overworked himself and was a perfectionist to a fault, refusing to allow even one of his crafted weapons to drop below his impossibly high standards. He enjoyed earthier, more full-bodied alcohols, much like his preference for tea that steeped on the side of too-long, but loved spending time with his friends and drinking himself silly with all manner of wines. His fingers were calloused from years of being the Xianzhou Luofu’s Furnace Master, yet he never treated Dan Heng with a rough touch.

As it stood, as much as Dan Heng had worried about the inevitable nature of Yingxing’s death as evidenced through his apparent aging through the years, Dan Heng had assumed that Yingxing would most likely pass away peacefully. That was the fate of a person who had lived a good life, was it not?

Surely, Yingxing — the Yingxing Dan Heng knew personally, and not the Yingxing told inaccurately by the author of Revenge of the Furnace Master — was not destined to meet an early downfall.

Least of all one orchestrated by Dan Heng himself.

And yet —

“Yingxing!”

Panic coursed through Dan Heng’s blood, his hearts racing even faster than his legs were moving.

No…

That couldn’t be…

Where were the others…?

“Yingxing,” Dan Heng almost sobbed, skittering to a stop by the other man’s side and falling to his knees.

There, lying alone in the middle of the battlefield still littered with the bodies of the Denizens of Abundance, was Yingxing.

Blood dripped from Yingxing’s mouth — his hair, his chin, his neck, they were all coated with slick redness — and his normally bright eyes were glossy, unfocused. His coat was torn beyond repair, revealing a sickening wound in the middle of his torso, just slightly off-center toward the right of his upper chest, that looked as if someone — no, something — had reached out and tried to tear his chest apart. Black smoke, the same smoke that had plagued the wounds of the Denizens of Abundance earlier, rose from the curling edges of Yingxing’s injured flesh.

Already, Dan Heng’s robes were soaked in Yingxing’s blood, and from the corners of his vision, Dan Heng realized that he was practically kneeling in a steadily growing puddle of it.

Were humans supposed to bleed that much? Did humans even have that much blood to lose?

“Yingxing,” Dan Heng croaked, already directing qi to his palms and attempting to knit the skin of Yingxing’s torso back together. “Yingxing, wake up. Answer me.”

Yingxing’s eyelids fluttered, and Dan Heng’s hearts skipped several beats.

“A-Feng,” Yingxing said softly before coughing wetly. “You finished your mission quickly.”

A sudden burst of annoyance, completely undeserved, prompted Dan Heng to snap, “Where are the others? What happened?”

The corners of Yingxing’s lips quirked up as his eyes slid closed. “You don’t see the others? Good. That means they listened to me.”

“Yingxing.” Dan Heng resisted the urge to slap Yingxing awake and instead put more force behind his words. “Where are the others? Where are Jingliu and Baiheng? Jing Yuan?”

“Asking for other people when I already right here, A-Feng?” Yingxing sighed. “I am wounded.”

“Please stop joking around with me, Yingxing,” Dan Heng nearly begged, his patience growing thinner by the second as the large, gaping hole in Yingxing’s chest refused to close. “What do you mean they listened to you?”

“Shortly after you left, a monstrous demon resembling a corrupted tree burst through the forest and began to devour the soldiers,” Yingxing replied, finally taking the hint and acting seriously. “Its energy… The pure yin energy was devastating. Many of the wounded soldiers close to it had no time to escape before it...”

Yingxing drifted off momentarily, and only a jolt of frantic qi from Dan Heng managed to urge him awake.

“I told Jingliu to take Baiheng and evacuate all the soldiers and healers they could,” Yingxing continued. “Jingliu wanted to stay behind at first, help me fight back the demon, but I told her that once Jing Yuan came back, he would be my backup. She really did not want to leave, but…”

“And where is Jing Yuan?” Dan Heng prompted, still desperately trying to get the chest wound to stop bleeding, at least. “Did he come to back you up?”

“Ah, I did not need help from that brat,” Yingxing chuckled, though it was weak, threadbare, closer to a wheeze than an actual laugh. “I figure he ran into his own problems up ahead. I took care of the demon well enough.”

Yingxing lifted his arm weakly, and, with a trembling hand, pointed to a charred lump just a few paces away that Dan Heng had failed to notice in his panic. “Please remember to dispose of that demon’s corpse properly for me later, A-Feng.”

“You can do that yourself.” Dan Heng could hardly see the color of his own hands beneath the blood still bursting forth from Yingxing’s wound and coating his skin. “Once I finish healing you, Yingxing, I…"

“A-Feng.” Yingxing’s voice was barely a whisper, yet to Dan Heng, it was louder than anything he had ever heard in the entirety of his two lives. “Dan Feng. My love.”

Dan Heng bit his lip, tears burning in the corners of his eyes. “No. Stop. Whatever you are about to say next, don’t you dare —"

“You need to let me go.”

“No,” Dan Heng replied immediately. “I am not letting you go anywhere, Yingxing.”

Yingxing’s eyes slid closed. “Of course, A-Feng.”

“Yingxing.” Dan Feng finally tore his hands away from the wound, which had not gotten any smaller despite the strands of his qi still clinging to the flesh and grabbed the sides of Yingxing’s face with his sticky hands. “Do you hear me?”

Yingxing did not reply.

Dizzy with panic bordering on hysteria, Dan Feng gripped the soft, bloodied skin of Yingxing’s face tighter. “Yingxing! Answer me!”

And again, Yingxing did not reply.

With a raving sort of desperation clawing at his mind, Dan Heng pressed his ear against the flat of Yingxing’s chest, uncaring of the viscous blood smearing onto his hair and skin. Yingxing’s heartbeat was faint and rapid, like the incessant flapping of a butterfly’s wings, but it was there, and that was all Dan Heng needed to know.

As far as he knew, nobody had ever attempted what he would be after the time of Yubie. As far as he knew, those tales were nothing more than fantastical legends, and the Vidyadhara had simply created those horror stories to scare the children into behaving.

And yet, each of the nine fabled hearts beat frantically in his chest, every single one of them belonging to the man who was dying right before his very eyes.

Searing, burning pain erupted from Dan Heng’s chest.

Dan Heng valiantly tried to swallow his own blood trying to climb its way up his throat, but it was hard to focus on anything else besides the sensation of his own, clawed hand digging into the cavern he had torn out of his chest, uncaring of trying to find a neater, cleaner, safer way to complete the transfer.

In the end, it did not matter which of his hearts he would be giving Yingxing, nor did it matter how he got one of the hearts, so once he managed to squeeze his hand over one, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled.

Hm. Perhaps Dan Heng should have taken care to carve out a bigger hole; the heart was struggling as he pulled, straining against his grip, resistant to his attempts to yank it free — and it was even harder still with the restrictive presence of his ribs, which he had broken in his haste. Still, Dan Heng continued to pull, the pain so great that he had become numb to it all, and finally the struggling thing in his hands was free of its prison.

It was the work of a few moments to force the still-beating heart into the unhealed wound in Yingxing’s chest, and a work of a few more moments to ensure that it stayed beating as it found a place amongst the rest of Yingxing’s internal organs. Once the heart was safely within the embrace of Yingxing’s flesh, the black smoke curling up from the injury faded, swept away with the wind.

With the last dregs of his qi, Dan Heng willed the skin to sew itself back together, black spots dancing before his eyes and droplets of his own blood adding to the mess on Yingxing’s torso.

Dan Heng ran a shaking hand across the skin of Yingxing’s chest, relief flooding his veins once he confirmed that there was nothing but smooth flesh beneath his hands.

Please, Dan Heng begged in the sluggishness of his own mind. Please, Yingxing, wake up.

With a gasp, Yingxing shuddered back to life.

“What…?” Yingxing slurred through the blood that had collected in his mouth during his brief period of unconsciousness. “What did you…?”

As soon as he spotted the steadily bleeding hole in Dan Heng’s chest, Yingxing shot to immediate attention. “Dan Feng. What did you do?”

“What I had to,” Dan Heng replied.

Tears streamed down Yingxing’s face, carving paths through the blood that stained his mouth and chin. Dan Heng wanted to reach out and wipe them away, wanted to ask, “Why are you crying? You’re alive,” but found that his limbs refused to listen.

Well. At least they had been working when he had healed Yingxing earlier.

“Elio gave you a second chance,” Yingxing rasped, the sorrowful lavender of his eyes giving way to fiery crimson, the same color as the blood still staining his chest where he had just been torn open and repaired anew. Yingxing's eyes reminded Dan Heng of the burning coals of his furnace; even different, they were still breathtakingly beautiful. “You had a different choice this time.”

Dan Heng, whose hearts were still beating against the chill of the open air, whose nerves were finally catching up to the torturous pain he had forced them to endure, whose mind was only capable of really registering that Yingxing was no longer bleeding, and alive, and healthy, and alive, could only stare.

“You promised me you would never do this again!” Yingxing screamed, the sharp edges of his words dragging against the raw skin of his throat as his calloused fingers dug themselves into the rapidly bruising flesh of Dan Heng’s shoulders. “You promised!”

“You have to promise me,” Yingxing whispered, each word sending a light breath of air against the skin of Dan Heng’s cheeks, “that you will never, ever do anything reckless for my sake in the future. Ever.”

When Dan Heng did not reply, Yingxing’s hold on his chin tightened and his words grew pleading. “A-Feng. Please, promise me.”

Dan Feng’s eyes fluttered closed. “I promise.”

Dan Heng’s eyes fluttered closed. “I did not promise you that.”

“You had a second chance,” Yingxing continued, ignoring Dan Heng. Yingxing’s voice grew louder with each word he spoke, yet inexplicably faded in and out as Dan Heng struggled against the fog taking over his mind.

“You… Dan Feng!”

Dan Heng felt himself being harshly pulled toward Yingxing, and he couldn’t help but grunt in pain as the broken ribs in his chest jostled against the delicate skin of his hearts.

Still, Yingxing was radiating heat, and Dan Heng leaned further into his hold, the warmth of his arms a welcome reassurance.

Since Yingxing was alive…

Since Yingxing was alive, now, then perhaps…

“Why…” Yingxing’s voice cracked, the last thing Dan Heng would hear before he fell backward into the darkness of the unknown. “Why couldn’t you leave me to die this time?”

Chapter Text

Dan Feng came back into consciousness after the horrific battle at the Abyssal portal with a pounding in his head and a deep sense of confusion over his surroundings.

The first thing Dan Feng truly saw was Preceptor Taoran, which, all things considered, was not an amazing sight to wake up to.

For a moment, Dan Feng wondered if the battle at the Abyssal portal had simply been a rage-induced nightmare; perhaps he was still in the pre-battle meeting with the Preceptors, arguing against their truly suicidal plan to seal off the Abyssal portal after a long battle, and he hadn’t truly led an entire battalion of soldiers to their untimely deaths.

Then, Taoran smirked, and Dan Feng remembered the half-mauled bodies laid about the Denizens of Abundance base. Baiheng’s unmoving form. Yingxing’s unseeing gaze.

The gaping maw in Dan Feng’s own chest where he had attempted to bring his lover back to life.

Dan Feng remembered his eyes sliding half-shut as the Preceptors had arrived on the scene as the reinforcements that had supposedly been summoned hours before they had managed to arrive. The reinforcements that had been summoned, but had arrived too late to do anything.

As Dan Feng’s senses returned to him, he realized that the weakness in his body was not just a lingering effect of the battle he had just fought hours — perhaps days or longer, he wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious — but rather a deliberate sealing off of his qi.

Dan Feng desperately wished he hadn’t opened his eyes. He had tried to bring Yingxing back to life, but now he wished he could have joined Yingxing in death, silently praying that the afterlife could call on his soul a little early.

But of course, the afterlife had no obligation to grant him any mercy.

“Tell us, High Elder,” Taoran spat, the reverent address more of an insult than a show of respect, “Where is your filthy mortal lover now?”

Dan Feng did not even dignify the taunt with any sort of reply or acknowledgement, simply choosing to stare down at the ground.

While Dan Feng could not quite tell where exactly the Preceptors had taken him after the disastrous battle — the room’s architecture reminded him of the Vidyadhara compound, but he did not recognize any of its contents to determine where he was being held — it was clear that they had “rescued” him from the remnants of the Denizens of Abundance base not to heal him, but to interrogate and punish him. Even if Taoran had not opened his mouth and spoken such vile words, Dan Feng would have known.

The Preceptors would not go out of their way to rescue him unless it was for their own personal gain.

The prideful, spiteful part of him that had not quite been quelled wanted to look up and stare right in their eyes, show them that even with his arms tied up and his qi cut off that they couldn’t manage to break his spirit, but it turned out that prolonged blood loss made it hard to lift one’s head up.

And, well.

The Preceptors themselves might not have managed to break his spirit, but…

“Dead, isn’t that right?” Taoran laughed, high and taunting, so aggravating that Dan Feng wanted nothing more than to tear his throat to shreds. “Pity. Two of the members of the renowned High Cloud Quintet, perished in a single battle — a battle that was doomed from the start, a battle that the High Elder Dan Feng should have known would end in disaster.”

Taoran’s insults meant little to Dan Feng. If Dan Feng could, he would have laughed; he was grateful, then, that he was too weak to manage even that.

Yingxing was dead.

Nothing mattered beyond that.

His heart had only just stopped by the time Dan Feng had managed to rip one of his own out, and when Yingxing had failed to wake up, even with the sure and steady beating of a dragon heart in his chest…

Yingxing had been nowhere to be found when Dan Feng had shaken himself from his rage and sorrow induced unconsciousness, when the Preceptors had finally arrived at the carnage around the Abyssal portal.

Dan Feng had been near catatonic when they had arrested him on the spot for leading the Xianzhou soldiers to certain death, despite the Preceptors themselves being the ones to order the attack on the Denizens’ base.

“I know you want to blame us for everything that happened…” Taoran shook his head and sighed, the fake pity in his voice even worse to listen to than the boastful taunts. “We ordered the attack on the Denizens of Abundance base, you could say! And that we did. But how were we supposed to know that a tree demon would come out of the portal?”

Just as you knew the exact time to come stage a “rescue mission” once everyone who could possibly defend me was already dead, Dan Feng thought.

How had the Preceptors known when to arrive at the Denizen base at a time where they, as non-combatants, would escape the wrath of the Abyssal monsters and the violence of the Denizens of Abundance?

Had it been lucky timing, or…

Dan Feng’s head hurt. He couldn’t focus on one singular line of thought for too long, and when he attempted to recall the battle in clearer detail, all he could see in his mind’s eye was Baiheng’s unseeing stare and Yingxing’s eyes, closed forevermore.  

Dan Feng blamed the Preceptors, but he also blamed himself — not that he was ever going to give them the satisfaction of knowing how deeply rooted his guilt was. They should have been the ones to perish on the battlefield, for all that he cared.

Still, they were right about one thing: although they were the ones who planned the doomed assault, Dan Feng should have chosen go gone alone into the Denizens’ base rather than risking the lives of every single soldier he brought with him.

Baiheng had died trying to keep the terrified foot soldiers from dying at the hands of the deadly tree demon practically bubbling over with nasty yin energy; evidently, the Preceptors had summoned the demon from the portal, invited it into their base, and had been feeding it their own qi before it had grown too hungry to subsist on just what they willingly gave it.

Jing Yuan, young as he was and so, so terribly inexperienced despite how much he had grown up, had nearly suffered the same fate as all the other lower ranked soldiers strewn across the ground of the base had Jingliu not forced him to escape.

Jingliu had managed to kill the tree demon then, fueled by pure sorrow and anger that nearly burned her out completely of all her remaining qi.

Yingxing — Dan Feng hadn’t even seen how Yingxing had died. He had been too focused on…too focused on…

It did not matter anymore, anyway.

If Baiheng had not already grown cold by the time Dan Feng had managed to free himself from the suffocating grip of the tree demon’s roots, he would have gladly sacrificed one of his hearts to her, too, and maybe, at least, Baiheng would have been alive.

What use was having nine hearts in his chest if he could not save even one of the people he cared about most?

With nothing to show for it besides a dead friend and a dead love of his life, Dan Feng was down to eight hearts beating in his chest, and it was clear that the Preceptors had plans for the rest of them.

“It was hardly any fault of our own that you chose to bring a weak human with an undeveloped cultivational base with you to the Abyssal portal,” Taoran continued. Did that man even know about the concept of keeping his mouth shut? Were they already commencing with his torture? “The Xianzhou Luofu generals, though upset, can at least agree on that. It is a pity that the foxian archer and all the other Vidyadhara we sent along with you did not make it, but at least some of the Vidyadhara returned…”

Taoran paused then for a blessed several seconds, then continued speaking, much to Dan Feng’s displeasure. “…Intact! They have a chance yet to be reborn. Is that not lovely?”

A small part of Dan Feng that still cared about his people felt a spark of relief in hearing that at least some of them had a chance at rebirth.

Another part of him, a much larger part of him that was battling with grief and anger and distrust, wondering if the Vidyadhara who had accompanied him to the Abyssal portal had been on the side of the Preceptors, could not muster the energy to care.

Shaoying, who had been standing behind Taoran for the better half of his air-wasting monologue, finally stepped up and sneered.

“You always had so much to say in our meetings, High Elder,” she said, crossing her arms and turning her nose up at him. “Why are you so quiet now, hm?”

Dan Feng had even less desire to reply to her than he did to Taoran, which was truly saying a lot. At least, when they had been on somewhat equal footing, Taoran had never had any problems challenging Dan Feng at their meetings; Shaoying liked to talk big, but she rarely if ever spoke out if Taoran had not spoken first and stopped speaking if she were pressed.

Closing his eyes, Dan Feng resigned himself to being talked to and resolved to force himself into an early death to try and join Yingxing sooner, but a sharp slap across his face forced him to open his eyes.

The slap was not particularly painful, though Dan Feng suspected that had more to do with the wizened Preceptor who had stepped up to inflict it rather than any sense of mercy.

Or, perhaps, Dan Feng had finally gone completely numb to the sensations of the outside world. It was a pleasant thought, though he doubted that the universe would be so kind to him.

Dan Feng, finally forced to look up, stared into the pleased eyes of one of the older Preceptors, a man who was surely about to reach the end of this life’s cycle and turn into an egg at any moment. Even though Dan Feng had seen that man almost every single day of his life, he could not recall his name, and he supposed he did not even want to waste the energy it would take to try.

“Always speaking back to us, never listening to our advice…” The elderly Preceptor rubbed his hands together, his palms likely smarting from the slap, before scoffing. “Going behind our back and taking a mortal lover! Unheard of!”

Shaoying added on, apparently eager to get her words in now that Dan Feng was doing nothing to intimidate her, “How shameful of the High Elder to debase himself like so and not expect any consequences.”

If Dan Feng cared to, he could have laughed.

If only they knew. 

Yingxing and he had never been lovers, at least not officially — but not because Dan Feng had not tried.

Dan Feng loved Yingxing, and he was sure Yingxing loved him back, but Yingxing, having grown up without the support of others, had been hesitant to go against the Preceptors’ wishes — or, more accurately, Yingxing had been hesitant to create any rifts between Dan Feng and the Preceptors, worried that Dan Feng would be giving up the support and community of his fellow Vidyadhara just for the sake of a romantic relationship that had no guarantees of ending well.

Yingxing’s reasoning had been sound, but it had still upset Dan Feng greatly, causing a near endless number of arguments to sprout between the two of them; every time they devolved into heated words and passive aggressive conversations, Yingxing would look for Baiheng and ask for her advice, a fact Dan Feng knew about mainly because Jingliu had come to him and subtly demanded he fix the issue so Yingxing would stop bothering Baiheng.

Dan Feng hated it when Yingxing went to Baiheng. Even knowing that Baiheng saw Yingxing as nothing more than a friend, a brother even, he could not understand why Yingxing was so insistent on giving Dan Feng "space."

Well.

There no longer would be any more of that.

For as jealous as Dan Feng had been of Yingxing spending time with Baiheng, he would give anything he had to bring those moments back.

It seemed stupid now that Dan Feng had been so insistent on the two of them making their feelings official. Although they had never shared a kiss, never going beyond lingering touches against wrists and palms that were a hair inappropriate for platonic friends, never spending the night together despite the longing glances seen from across clinking wine cups…

Did any of that truly matter when Dan Feng had the privilege of being in Yingxing’s presence, of being by Yingxing’s side?

Dan Feng would happily live a thousand lives without being Yingxing’s lover, as long as Yingxing could still be in his life.

“Still… even if you were unsuccessful in bringing your…lover back,” Taoran spat as Dan Feng tuned back into the sound around him, “it is absolutely unacceptable of you to risk revealing the secrets of the Vidyadhara. What would have happened if you had been successful in transplanting a heart? Then everyone would want a piece of it all.”

Taoran sighed, a long-suffering sound that made it appear that he was all too used to Dan Feng’s antics. “It’s a good thing we were there to clean up after your mess, High Elder.”

Ah.

The Preceptors must have taken Yingxing’s body, then. They must have found him, found the hole in his chest where Dan Feng had attempted to give him a dragon heart. They must have taken the dragon heart back, robbed Yingxing of the one thing Dan Feng had wanted him to take into the afterlife if Dan Feng could not have him back in the realm of the living.

“Could you imagine the chaos if the Xianzhou found out what the hearts beating in your chest could do?” Taoran walked closer to Dan Feng, carefully directing the elderly Preceptor who had slapped him to the side. “Could you imagine?”

Bending down to speak more closely in Dan Feng’s face, Taoran’s eyes gleamed with a strange sort of manic hunger. “Those nine hearts of yours belong solely to the Vidyadhara, High Elder.”

Dan Feng refused to give Taoran the satisfaction of seeing any hint of his fear, so he closed his eyes as the first sharp blade of qi sliced against the barely healed skin of his chest.

So, that’s how it was…

In between the unnervingly precise incisions — almost as if the Preceptors had planned this, had prepared in advance for this very moment, had wanted to do this from the beginning — the rest of Dan Feng’s consciousness slipped away, bit by bit.

If I were a better man, I would hope for you to live a happy life free of me. I would wish for you to reincarnate and live well — far, far away from the Preceptors, the curse of knowing the Vidyadhara High Elder… Far, far away from me.

Searing lines of pure agony burned through Dan Feng’s chest, cutting through flesh and muscle and bone. He could barely feel any of it.

But Yingxing, I’ve never been a good man.

“Wait! He only has eight hearts — did he actually…?”

So, in my next life… If I am allowed to have a next life…

“Shaoying! Go find that filthy mortal of his immediately! He must have —”

Yingxing, will you search for me?

“Can you hear me?”

Yes, he could hear. But he wasn’t sure who was talking to him, and he wasn’t sure why he would be inclined to answer.

He couldn’t recognize the voice at all. It certainly wasn’t Yingxing’s voice.

“I’m your doctor, and I’m taking care of you right now.”

Oh, a doctor. That was nice.

He did ache all over, and it was common practice to see a healer after battles. It was nice of a doctor to be looking after him. He hoped someone was looking after Yingxing, too.

And Baiheng, of course. She had collapsed. And Jingliu, who had been taking care of Baiheng, and Jing Yuan, who had gone up ahead to scope out the battlefield and ensure it was completely empty, and all the other soldiers and healers that had followed.

“Are you strong enough to open your eyes?”

He supposed he was.

[Welcome back. You arrived just in time, as I expected you to.]

Dan Heng came back into consciousness after the horrific battle at the Abyssal portal with a pounding in his head and a deep sense of confusion over his surroundings.

Blinking the crust blearily from his eyes, Dan Heng turned toward the source of the noise, doing his best to ignore the wave of dizziness that threatened to overtake his senses. The back of his neck prickled, and the top of his forehead itched, and his throat was unbearably dry. The blanket covering his body was thinner than he was used to, and the bed he was resting against was bent in a way that almost seemed like the frame of it was broken. The lights all around him were too bright — had the sun gotten stronger or had someone cast a glowing talisman? — and the smell of the room was odd, missing the comforting scent of herbs and oils that typically carried around the infirmary.

Dan Heng tried to answer, but only managed a short cough.

Once Dan Heng managed to pry both of his eyes, the doctor came into view, his dark hair cropped in a short and blunt style that shocked Dan Heng. His robes were of a strange cut unlike the ones the healers typically favored; the robes were vaguely familiar, but Dan Heng couldn’t quite place why he recognized them.

Still, Dan Heng nodded once to indicate that, yes, he was strong enough to open his eyes and was currently doing so.

“It’s good to see you awake,” the doctor said. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Dan Feng,” Dan Heng replied, hardly pausing to think about it.

The corners of the doctor’s mouth twitched downward, and he cleared his throat before asking, “Could you repeat that one more time?”

“Dan Feng,” Dan Heng said. Had he not spoken loud enough earlier? Was the doctor playing tricks on him? “What is the use of these questions? Surely my name is not necessary for proper treatment.”

The doctor blinked and adjusted his glasses, shock plain to see in his features. “Huh. Er, well…”

Fighting through the overwhelming heaviness weighing down his head, Dan Heng struggled to sit up on the bed, shocked at how weak his arms were. “In any case, where is Ying…”

A sharp sting in the inner crook of his elbow startled Dan Heng as he was repositioning himself. When he looked down, he saw the pale skin of his forearms, bare and startlingly exposed — why did his robes end far above his elbows? — and a gleaming needle sticking from and taped to his skin.

A needle that was connected to…

A clear, hanging bag attached to an upright metal pole.

No, that’s not what it was — it was an IV drip.

An IV drip.

Now that Dan Heng was looking, he realized that he was surrounded by machines. The room was stark white with a single rectangular window, unlike the large and dreamy rounded windows that marked the infirmary in the Vidyadhara compound. Instead of jars of ingredients and herbal remedies lining the shelves, a blood pressure and heartrate monitoring machine was beeping away at his side, and a nasogastric tube (Dan Heng inwardly shuddered upon seeing it) was hung up not too far away.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest and panic beginning to simmer in his veins, Dan Heng tore his gaze away from the machinery and focused back on the doctor, whose calm façade could not quite hide the concerned furrow to his brows. “Where am I?”

Appearing reluctant to say much more, the doctor said, “You’re in a hospital.”

And so Dan Heng was.

It had been at least a decade or more since Dan Heng had been in a hospital. During his frequent visits, back when his constitution had been weak and his health unstable, he had thought that he would never, ever forget the isolating, suffocating feeling of being trapped in the soulless white walls of a hospital room.

And yet, miraculously, he had.

Dan Heng had been in the infirmary of the Vidyadhara compound, of course, and even with his own healing abilities, had to seek the help of healers if he had used too much qi in battle. He was no stranger to being treated for his ailments, but when his mysterious illness stopped over 10 years ago, he had no longer needed to go quite as often.

A light breeze tickled the back of his neck, and abruptly, Dan Heng realized that his hair was cut short — much shorter than it should have been, and yet it was also much longer than it should have been, dark black locks curling strangely around his shoulders.

“Let’s try this one more time, then, since you seem more lucid now. Can you repeat your name for me, please?” the doctor asked once again. “You have been unconscious for…quite some time. I just need to ask you these questions to assess your condition.”

He was certain he now knew how he was expected to answer.

“Dan Heng,” he said.

The doctor nodded and scribbled something on his clipboard. “Good. I suppose you were a bit confused when you woke up earlier, which is understandable.”

Confused.

Dan Heng supposed he was confused.

Dan Heng. Not Dan Feng.

Heng was not so different from Feng.

Sure, the tones were different, and written down as characters they were obviously not the same, but truly, Dan Heng was just as much of his name as Dan Feng was.

Yet saying Dan Heng out loud made his throat itch, his voice crack, his breath tremble. He was glad to have his name back, Dan Heng’s name back, but why did getting to say it again feel so wrong?

He hadn’t…

He hadn’t felt safe saying the name Dan Heng in years.

Nobody had known Dan Heng was his name for years. It was always Dan Feng, or High Elder, or A-Feng.

…Was Dan Heng truly his name, though? But, in that same vein, what had made Dan Feng his name, too?

It was easier to ponder those things instead of facing the looming beast that was everything that had transpired in the past decade in the Xianzhou Luofu, everything that Yingxing not being by his side entailed, everything that being called Dan Heng instead of Dan Feng meant. 

Or, if the doctor were to be believed, then —

“You say I have been unconscious for quite some time,” Dan Heng said, slowly, carefully, his mouth no longer used to the everyday task of forming syllables and sentences. “How long have I been out?”

The doctor hesitated, shifting back and forth on his seat, and cleared his throat. “That may be potentially distressing to hear. I am not sure it would be in your best interest to know.”

Dan Heng clenched his fists, digging his nails into the overly thin mattress of the hospital bed beneath him.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“It is more upsetting to wake up and not know how long I’ve been in the infirm — hospital,” Dan Heng said, pouring all of his effort into keeping his voice steady and calm. He was ready to hear whatever it was the doctor had to say. He had died once before — or, he had thought that he had — and here he was again, in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar face staring back at him. “I would like to be told how long I have been unconscious for. Please.”

The doctor sighed, set his clipboard down, and leaned forward in his rolling chair. Dan Heng hadn’t seen those in a while. “You’ve been in a coma for five years.”

Five years.

Five years?

That explained the hair at his shoulders, then.

“Your parents paid for the best care for you while you were unconscious, of course,” the doctor hurried to add, taking Dan Heng’s silence as a bad sign. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it wasn’t. “You began showing signs of waking up yesterday, and they were informed immediately.”

When Dan Heng still failed to answer, the doctor, who had seemed so reluctant to speak before, continued to blabber on. “But, ah, they’re… a bit preoccupied. They might not be able to fly back to visit you for a month or so.”

Dan Heng nodded slowly, unsurprised by what he was hearing. His parents had always been more concerned about keeping him alive than making sure he was living, and it did not bother him as much as it should have to hear that he would be left in the hospital room by himself for longer yet. He had spent plenty of nights alone in hospital rooms growing up, after all.

Which meant he knew how to grit his teeth and ask the hard questions.

“What happened?” Dan Heng asked. It was time that he finally got some answers.

The doctor sighed and rubbed his temples tiredly. “Well, the cleaning services that came to your apartment on a monthly basis discovered you collapsed in your bedroom…”

The meals Dan Heng was served at the hospital were bland.

Well. Actually, it was hard to say that they were bland.

The meals Dan Heng was served at the hospital were flavorless.

But that was the same thing as bland, wasn’t it?

Bland and flavorless. Flavorless and bland.

…Hm. Dan Heng supposed they were the same thing.

He didn’t really taste much from them, which of course would have common sense saying they were bland, but he wasn’t sure if the meals themselves were bland and flavorless or if he simply had lost his sense of taste.

At least the meals weren’t filled with meat, though.

The doctor had tried to get Dan Heng to eat some meat back when he had first woken up, insisting that the extra source of iron and nutrients would be helpful. Dan Heng had tried to refuse, but the nurse had listened to the doctor anyway.

Despite the doctor’s orders, it was all for naught. The smell of the meaty stew that had been brought in for Dan Heng’s consumption had been so pungent and nauseating — shaking Dan Heng out of his stupor, if only temporarily — that they had quickly brought in vegetarian meals for him.

It was no use in forcing him to eat meat dishes for nutrition if said nutrition only resulted in him throwing it all back up. Any supposed deficiencies that the doctor claimed he had were instead handled by supplementing his meals with a variety of vitamins and pills. Those he took quickly and without complaint, sometimes swallowing them dry when his hands shook too hard holding a cup of water.

“Here you go, A-Feng, a bowl of congee just how you like it.” Warm hands, calloused and large and all-encompassing. “And I made the vegetarian meat floss for you, too. Give it a try and tell me how you like it.”

Some of the nurses who tended to him would ask him questions, and he would respond, coherent and measured and clear, but they would furrow their brows, leave the room, and come back with someone else. That someone else was occasionally the doctor, but other times it was simply someone wearing a pantsuit carrying around a notebook. Dan Heng sometimes caught snatches of their whispered conversations, something about Glad we always have an interpreter on hand and He’s speaking only Mandarin, I thought he grew up speaking English too? and We should get his brain scanned to make sure he hasn’t lost memories of anything else.

Dan Heng ignored them for the most part. He felt vaguely bad about it, since some of them had helped him hobble over to the showers and clean himself up and he was pretty sure they had been the ones to make sure he hadn’t completely rotted away when he had apparently spent five years in a coma, but at the same time, it was hard to pay much attention to them when they felt more like extras in a webnovel than real people in his everyday life.

But that wasn’t right, was it?

The nurses, the doctors, the patients that Dan Heng sometimes saw through the open door of his room… None of them were extras in a webnovel. None of them were characters that weren’t meant to exist. They were real people — real, breathing, living people who existed in the same world Dan Heng did, the same world Dan Heng had been born into and had always meant to live in.

Unlike the world Dan Heng had just spend 10 years in.

Or, unlike the world Dan Heng had just conjured up in his mind.

Unlike Yingxing. Unlike Baiheng. Unlike Jingliu. Unlike Jing Yuan.

Dan Heng placed a hand against his chest. His heart, his one, singular heart, beat weakly underneath.

The nurses, the doctors, the patients, they were real, breathing, living people who existed in the same world Dan Heng did, unlike Yingxing, unlike Baiheng, unlike Jingliu, unlike Jing Yuan, unlike Yingxing, Yingxing, Yingxing —

The doctor came into Dan Heng’s room, sometimes.

He always asked Dan Heng how he was doing, and Dan Heng always nodded and said he was fine.

It was true. Dan Heng was fine. His head had stopped hurting, and while it was still hard to stand up on his own, he was getting stronger by the day. For someone who had been unconscious for so long, he was doing just fine.

“Take it easy, A-Feng.” A gentle touch against his elbow. “You should rest more when you can. It wouldn’t do for you to collapse on the battlefield.”

Perhaps the doctor felt guilty that Dan Heng had no visitors. Dan Heng didn’t mind, after all; he had spent 10 years in a made-up world based on a webnovel that, although his favorite, had been riddled with plot holes common to a story written piece by piece — all without really giving his parents much thought. It didn’t matter to him that they had gone back to China to live with extended family after he had been in the hospital for a year and showed no signs of waking up. It didn’t matter to him that his parents likely weren’t going to come back and visit him for a while, something about visas and flight expenses and elderly relatives and whatnot. It didn’t hurt very much.

Dan Heng didn’t let it hurt much.

Or, perhaps and most likely, the doctor was just doing his job. Dan Heng’s parents may not be visiting him any time soon, but they were still paying for his hospital bills, and it wouldn’t do for the doctor to neglect that and let Dan Heng wither away.

The doctor brought him books, one time, to keep him occupied. He said something about Dan Heng surely being bored stuck in the hospital room.

Dan Heng had accepted the books, but he hadn’t mentioned how he hadn’t felt bored at all; the doctors and nurses visited him too often for him to be bored, and he could hardly remember the moments when they weren’t there.

Sometimes Dan Heng would blink and the hands of the analog clock on the wall would have moved far more than they should have, or the sun would start high in the sky but end up dipping below the horizon in the time it took for Dan Heng to turn over in bed, but, well, it didn’t really matter in the end.

“Care to join me for a drink, A-Feng?” A teasing voice, a fond smirk. “The sun has finally gone down, and the moon and the stars will soon take over the sky. That’s the best time for wine to be savored, wouldn’t you say?”

The books the doctor brought for Dan Heng were stacked on the desk by his bed, and some of them were heavy in his hands. They were interesting. Or, they were supposed to be. Dan Heng turned one page, then the next, then the next, until the book was closed shut and Dan Heng still wasn’t sure who the characters were or if there was a plot or if the book was even fiction at all.

Time passed as it willed, and Dan Heng had no control over that.

Days bled into nights, and nights bled into days, and Dan Heng bled all over his hospital gown, his chest ripped open and raw, his hearts beating against the biting air and fighting against the cruel, unyielding grip of a hand tearing him apart —

Dan Heng stirred awake, eyelashes fluttering as he struggled against the last tendrils of sleep clinging to his consciousness.

Even before his eyes were fully open, he knew that it must have been the middle of the night: the usual humdrum outside of his room was quiet, a nurse hadn’t yet come in to wake him up with his morning medications, and the slight breeze from his cracked-open window was chilly against the sweat gathering atop his forehead.

Clenching the thin fabric of his blanket, Dan Heng focused on breathing in, then breathing out. A nightmare. That was all it was, and that was all it would ever be. Dan Heng had been in a coma for five years; he hadn’t been living in the Xianzhou Luofu for a decade, he hadn’t met the System in the afterlife, he hadn’t been part of the High Cloud Quintet, he hadn’t ripped out one of his hearts with his bare hands at a blasphemous attempt to bring Yingxing back to life.

Dan Heng was Dan Heng, not Dan Feng.

“It’s you.”

Dan Heng snapped his eyes over to where a dark figure shrouded in shadow stood near his bed, just out of reach of the gentle light of the moon. Still, even with the figure mostly obscured, Dan Heng could make out the outline of a tall man, the sliver of a sharp jaw, a glint of crimson eyes peering at him through the darkness.

Like a prey caught in the steely gaze of a predator, Dan Heng froze.

The door to his hospital room was shut for his privacy, and given his improving physical condition, no nurses or doctors would be coming by to check on Dan Heng’s vitals until the sun came up. It was possible that the rapid beating of his heart, reflected by the machinery that surrounded his bed, would alert someone, and Dan Heng could easily reach over and press the emergency button to summon someone to his room, but as the man stepped toward Dan Heng’s bed, revealing first his dark-colored shoes and then his gray slacks, Dan Heng found that he could not bring himself to move.

The man’s voice was quiet, yet Dan Heng felt as if it were echoing through his skull, the tone of it overwhelmingly pained and warm and familiar. “I’ve finally found you. Forgive me for taking too long, yet again.”

No. It couldn’t be.

And yet —

“Yingxing…?” Dan Heng croaked, his throat scratchy from disuse and his lips dry from dehydration.

The man before him laughed, dry and tired; the sound of it made Dan Heng’s heart hurt, reminiscent of late nights spent sipping cups of wine to keep the knowledge of the inevitable morning at bay.

A pale beam of moonlight sliced across the room from outside the window, and the man’s eyes seemed to glow. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

A thousand questions filled Dan Heng’s mind, but none of them managed to claw past the complicated tangle of emotions taking root in his throat, hope and fear and disbelief coiling into knots in his chest.

Yingxing wasn’t real. Dan Heng had dreamed him up. Dan Heng was still, currently, presently, dreaming him up.

“You may not have the jade pendant, Cloud-Piercer, or anything I gave you to make sure we met again…” The man — Yingxing, Yingxing, it had to be Yingxing, but Yingxing wasn’t real — leaned in and pressed his forehead against Dan Heng’s own, his dark bangs pressing against the tip of Dan Heng’s nose and tickling the sensitive skin there.

Dan Heng was too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe, too afraid that he’d blink and open his eyes and find that the man had never existed in the first place.  

“But your eyes,” Yingxing’s voice broke. “I’d recognize your eyes in every lifetime.”

Chapter Text

It had been a miracle that Yingxing had managed to live — had managed to be saved — after the battle against the Abyssal demon.

It had been a miracle that Yingxing had managed to drag his burning, blistered, and broken body from the depths of the cremator he had been carelessly tossed into and get himself back onto the streets of the Xianzhou.

It had been a miracle that he had managed to sneak into the Vidyadhara compound unnoticed, and it was currently a miracle that he had managed to get so close to the bastards that had left his body to burn and taken Dan Feng away from him.

“Please, calm yourself.” Yingxing overheard Shaoying say to one of the other Preceptors, a worthless one whose name Yingxing could not remember, in a vague and unconvincing attempt at comfort. “I assure you, once another one regenerates, you will be first in line to receive it. It should not be more than a week, at most. We have waited years for this moment; can you not wait any longer?”

Yingxing tightened his already white-knuckled grip on the sword at his hip, using it as an anchor to hold himself back from acting rashly. The urge to tear the Preceptors limb from limb threatened to consume him, but it was pertinent that he stay hidden behind a corner, out of sight of the Preceptors while they talked casually about something so horrifically vile as if they were simply commenting on the weather.

“That is easy for you to say, Shaoying!” the elderly Preceptor huffed, his voice wobbling as if he was on the verge of crying. Yingxing wished he would start crying. It would be a far better sound than what was currently coming out of his mouth. “Tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now — I do not know how much time I have left before I must undergo rebirth! How unfair that you and Taoran got first pick of them.”

Shaoying chuckled. “Naturally, as the ones most wronged by him…”

Red-hot rage, an anger that had been on the verge of boiling over for days at that point, had been simmering since Yingxing had woken up alive without Dan Feng by his side, finally overtook Yingxing’s senses.

When Yingxing came to, the bodies of the two Preceptors who had been talking just moments before lay at his feet, barely recognizable, and blood was splattered across his clothes and sword.

Yingxing contemplated wiping his sword off on his robes before the fabric was completely saturated in red but thought better of it — even if he cleaned it off now, it was going to get dirty in a matter of minutes, anyway.

Staring down at the unmoving Preceptors eviscerated on the floor, Yingxing also wondered if it would be useful to clean up his mess and hide their bodies. He did not care much for it, not interested in touching them for any longer than he had to, but if someone were to come across them, it might make his plans more difficult.

Then, his heart seized, a pulse of pain so great that it rivaled the pain of dying for the first time traveling like a current through his body, and Yingxing knew he was almost out of time.

It wasn’t too hard to find where they were keeping him after that. For as arrogant as the Preceptors were to dare kidnap and… and…

For as arrogant as the Preceptors were, they had to have known that the Vidyadhara were not a monolith. While some may have sided with the Preceptors and were calling for the High Elder to be punished for his crimes (the rational side of Yingxing knew that they were being deceived; the irrational side of Yingxing wanted to cut them down where they stood), there were still plenty more who were skeptical of the situation and demanded a public trial to ensure justice was being met.

Despite himself, Yingxing felt a spark of joy ignite within him, knowing that justice would soon be met by his own doing. There was no need for a judge to determine the exact situation and appropriate punishment when Yingxing was already a willing executioner.

When Yingxing’s eyes began closing after he had gotten impaled through by the rampaging Abyssal tree demon, he had fully expected his life to end right then and there. Baiheng had already died; it stood to reason that he, the most fragile of the High Cloud Quintet, would be next.

Upon awakening, Yingxing had at first been consumed by grief when he realized that Dan Feng was not beside him. Had he been abandoned?

But then Yingxing had noticed the embers underneath his prone body and the dark smoke curling around his head, and only after escaping did he realize he had been tossed haphazardly into a cremator.

While Yingxing knew Dan Feng to be callous at times, he knew Dan Feng would have never allowed for such disrespectful treatment of a corpse, especially if it were Yingxing’s.

And, of course Yingxing should have known that Dan Feng would do anything to save him — Yingxing didn’t think he was worth the hassle, but Dan Feng did, and Yingxing had awoken after the battle had evidently long been over feeling more powerful than he ever had in a long, long time.

The new heart beating in Yingxing’s chest was the only reason he had been able to live through what his body had been subjected to after the transplant, the addition of Dan Feng’s qi in his body rapidly repairing his wounds and making his body effectively immortal.

After going through all that strife, tearing his own heart from his body, there was no conceivable way that Dan Feng had just…left.

Rather than abandoning Yingxing, Dan Feng must have been taken, or worse, hurt, in the time Yingxing had been unconscious.

The days between Yingxing’s awakening and the discovery of where Dan Feng was likely being kept passed by in a haze, but as soon as Yingxing had caught wind of the Preceptors declaring the High Elder guilty of leading his entire military battalion to their deaths, Yingxing knew exactly where to look.

The heavily reinforced doors to the main Vidyadhara council meeting room slammed open, recognizing the qi signature of the High Elder circulating through Yingxing’s veins, and Yingxing sliced the head off the closest Preceptor inside before he even knew what he was doing.

All the Preceptors inside — minus the two…no, three, counting the one who had just finished falling to the ground, that Yingxing had already taken care of — startled, staring up at Yingxing with fear in their cowardly eyes. Some of them were even visibly trembling, looking as if he they were staring at a ghost or a demon; neglecting to clean himself up in his haste to find Dan Feng was serving a good purpose, then — though killing one of their brethren as soon as he had stepped into the room couldn’t have hurt, either.

“Take me to where you are keeping Dan Feng, and I promise to show you miserable old fools mercy,” Yingxing said, a facsimile of a smile twisting across his face.

“Please don’t kill us,” a Preceptor with one foot already on the way to the afterlife begged, her voice wavering.

Hm. Perhaps Yingxing should have made that promise to show them mercy before he started taking heads.

“As I said before, I have no plans to kill you if you simply cooperate.” Yingxing neglected to say that he was still debating whether he should stick to his promise, but the Preceptors didn’t need to know that. He figured they already didn’t believe him, anyway.  

“Dan Feng is not here,” one particularly foolish Preceptor said, sounding a great deal more confident than he had any right to be. “Whatever your issue is with the Vidyadhara, we the Preceptors can surely handle your grievances.”

“That is not an acceptable answer.” If Yingxing still had the capacity to, he would have laughed. “I can clearly see that Dan Feng is not here. I did not ask if you have him; I know you have him. I asked you to take me to where you are keeping Dan Feng.”

The Preceptors were silent once more, not counting the fearful whimpers escaping their closed mouths, and Yingxing felt what little patience had had dwindle to ash.

“Is there something about my words that is hard to understand?” Yingxing snarled, brandishing his sword. “I said, take me to where you are keeping Dan Feng. Then, and only then, will I show you any semblance of mercy. Shall I start counting down with your heads?”

“Taoran has him!” a Preceptor finally cried, falling to his knees in a desperate kowtow. “H-He moved the High Elder back to his room earlier.”

“What are you doing?” hissed another, grabbing the Preceptor who had fallen to the floor. “Betraying your fellow Preceptor…!”

“Does it matter now?” the Preceptor on the ground hissed back, his words further muffled by how he still faced downward. “We do not need Taoran any longer. We are among the few who Taoran has already given a h—"

Their conversation was cut short as Yingxing sliced both of their heads clean off. They may have answered his question, but hearing that they had been an accomplice in the torture of Dan Feng…

With that explicit confirmation that Yingxing had no intentions of showing any of them mercy, the remaining Preceptors shot to their feet and attempted to fight back. Their lack of real combat experience showed in their movements, the lucky few still capable of controlling their qi sending uncontrolled and sloppy blasts careening his way while the others threw whatever was in their reach. Yingxing dodged all of their attacks easily as he jumped from one Preceptor to another, leaving nothing but pools of blood and unseeing eyes in his wake, ensuring that none of their bodies were capable of regenerating.

A few of them attempted to run and hide, but Yingxing caught up to them near instantly.

At the end of his rampage, Yingxing was surrounded by a collection of silent Preceptors, none of them capable of landing even a single scratch on his body — the most they had done was further stain his robes and blade.

On principle, Yingxing was not a violent person.

Even having grown up on the streets as an orphan after his parents had been cruelly slaughtered before his very eyes, Yingxing had never truly developed a cruel spirit. He was only human, of course, so he felt violent impulses when bullied by the other street kids or spat on by the haughty merchants who refused to give him scraps. But when he was young, he had never had the power necessary to win in the fights he got pulled into, and when he was older and start cultivating, he found satisfaction proving that he was better than those who had wronged him by living well, making a name for himself as a craftsman and as part of the High Cloud Quintet, and enjoying his limited time in the realm of the living as a happy man.

But now, having attained a second chance at life, Yingxing was filled with an inexplicable urge to take revenge.

But not for himself. He couldn’t have cared less about the childhood bullies and nasty merchants who had made his early life miserable.

But for Dan Feng, Yingxing would do anything.

That conviction was immediately tested when Yingxing made his way into Dan Feng’s rooms; Taoran had, perhaps arrogantly, perhaps ignorantly, failed to change the protections and talismans on the doors, so they reacted positively to Dan Feng’s qi in Yingxing’s body once more and opened easily for him.

Instead of finding both Taoran and Dan Feng in the largely untouched space of Dan Feng’s room, Yingxing only saw Dan Feng splayed out on his bed, his arms and legs shackled by reinforced chains and qi restraints. Dan Feng looked haggard, his horns dull and dirtied, his robes torn and tattered, and his skin so gray and sallow that Yingxing could have easily mistaken him for a corpse.

The worst of it, though, was how Dan Feng’s chest had been sliced open, his skin peeled back by enchanted nails to prevent it from fully healing. Within the bloody, fleshy cavern of the surgically opened hole in his chest, a great emptiness stared up at Yingxing, filled only by one lonely, sluggishly beating heart.

“Yingxing,” Dan Feng said, his voice barely audible, yet every bit of relief and happiness and love clearly shone through that one word. Yingxing startled from the dark spiral of his thoughts and threw himself against Dan Feng’s side, clutching Dan Feng’s hand like a lifeline.

“A-Feng,” Yingxing replied, the corners of his eyes stinging. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Dan Feng huffed, quiet and raspy, but so undeniably Dan Feng that Yingxing could have cried.

“That is what I said when I thought you had died for good,” Dan Feng confessed. “When I thought my heart had failed you. I believed the Preceptors when they said you had passed…”

“Your heart didn’t fail me,” Yingxing said, unwilling to explain that the Preceptors had assuredly thought he was dead when tossing him away and instead standing up and forcing himself to focus on examining the bindings around Dan Feng’s limbs. “Your heart would never fail me, A-Feng.”

“Always an expert in flowery words.” Dan Feng was looking at Yingxing with such fondness that Yingxing, momentarily, had no idea how to react besides look away, the force of the emotions he felt for Dan Feng threatening to overwhelm him, distract him. “Why won’t you look at me, Yingxing?”

“I need to break these restraints,” Yingxing responded as he touched the cuff holding Dan Feng’s wrist, only to be met with a jolt of hostile qi burning his fingers. What enchantment had Taoran cast on the thing…? “Once you are freed from your chains, we can escape this wretched place and allow you time to heal.”

Dan Feng sighed and closed his eyes. “Yingxing…”

“Do you know the process by which Taoran managed to bind you? These chains and cuffs are made out of a regular steel as far as I can tell, but —”

“Yingxing.”

“I’m sorry to make you recall such terrible memories, A-Feng, but I only need this information to free you. Once we’re out of here, I will ensure you never need to think of the Preceptors ever again for the rest of your —”

“Yingxing. You need to kill me.”

Yingxing stopped speaking. “A-Feng, I do not think I heard you correctly.”

“Taoran caught wind of your approach and escaped earlier,” Dan Feng continued, his face pulled into an expression of careful neutrality. “He will be back with reinforcements, and you will be captured, if not killed.”

“Then let them try,” Yingxing said fiercely, but as soon as Dan Feng opened his eyes and peered at him with grief shining in his gaze, Yingxing faltered. “We will escape before they return, A-Feng.”

“Perhaps you can.” Dan Feng smiled ruefully. “I will only slow you down, and if my senses are correct, Taoran will be back within minutes — hardly enough time to free me from my restraints.”

“I would never leave you behind.” Yingxing clenched his fists in the dirtied fabric of Dan Feng’s sleeve. “Don’t you dare ask me to.”

Dan Feng choked out a small, weak laugh. “I am not asking you to leave me behind, Yingxing.”

“You are asking me to kill you, which is most assuredly worse.”

Dan Feng did not reply to that immediately, so Yingxing went back to work examining the restraints, unable to control the trembling in his hands.

“I will not be reborn in the way of the Vidyadhara,” Dan Feng said eventually, pausing briefly to cough up blood. Yingxing stopped in his tracks and held Dan Feng’s head in his arms until the coughs subsided. “As you know, many of the Preceptors are reaching the end of their life cycles. Many of them were unable to grapple with the reality that their time in power would soon come to an end and did not want to return to the natural Vidyadhara cycle of rebirth. They coveted true immortality — immortality that only one of my hearts could provide them. Taoran, as the one who has always hated me the most, naturally developed a brilliant idea for them all to get a piece of the immortality they so craved.”

Yingxing wanted to open his mouth and curse Taoran, curse the Preceptors, curse each and every one of their incarnations to an eternity in hell and beg the heavens to smite them where they stood, but stayed silent, sensing that Dan Feng had more to say.

“The battle at the Abyssal portal, I realize now, had been planned from the start as the perfect opportunity for them to enact their plans,” Dan Feng said, a self-deprecating smile flickering across his face. “Why else would they be so adamant that I lead the charge in sealing the Abyssal portal? How could they have known the exact time to arrive to the battlefield in order to avoid the fighting, yet still arrive while I was unconscious?”

Yingxing continued to hold Dan Feng, trying valiantly to ignore the anger and grief rising rapidly in his chest at the knowledge that the Preceptors had been the cause of the deaths of countless soldiers, Baiheng, even himself had Dan Feng not interfered in time…

“Few people know this, but the nine-hearted Vidyadhara has one final failsafe, a small protection granted to them by their celestial ancestors to ensure that anyone greedy enough to cause irreparable harm to satisfy their desires will pay greatly.”

A terrible feeling washed over Yingxing, afraid to hear what Dan Feng was about to say next.

“As I only have one heart left in my body…” Dan Feng’s eyes fluttered closed once more, his long speech clearly costing him valuable energy. Yingxing wished he could force Dan Feng to stop speaking, but he feared that, if he stopped Dan Feng now, he would never get the chance to hear him again. “If I am killed now, I will return to the cycle of rebirth like a regular mortal would, and the Vidyadhara with nine hearts and the power to bestow immortality to others will cease to exist. Taoran, and the rest of the Preceptors, will no longer be able to harvest my hearts for their gain, and I will die a free man.”

Choking back a sob, Yingxing tightened his hold on Dan Feng’s head, his fingers curling in the sweaty and damp strands of Dan Feng’s hair.

“If… If you love me just as I love you,” Dan Feng said, damp spots spreading across Yingxing’s chest where Dan Feng’s face was hidden, “then you will kill me now, and release my soul from the torture of this life.”

“You’re unfair,” Yingxing spat out. “You brought me back to life and gave me immortality just to ask me to abandon you? Ask me to live on without you? I might as well kill myself the same time I kill you.”

Dan Feng inhaled sharply and tore himself away as best as he could while still tied down to the bed. “You must continue living!”

“And you don’t?” Yingxing replied hotly, furious at himself for getting angry at Dan Feng but too overwhelmed with emotion to control it. “We both can die here, or we both can escape and live if you would just help me free you from your restraints —”

“Taoran is almost back,” Dan Feng cut in. “Don’t you feel it? He was the first to take one of my hearts for himself. Can’t you feel how the heart he has stolen calls out to yours?”

And loathe as he was to admit it, Yingxing could. Just as how the nauseating pull of Dan Feng’s hearts beating in the unworthy Preceptors’ chests had enabled him to find them easily, a similar feeling of unease bordering on madness tugged at Yingxing’s consciousness, alerting him to the imminent arrival of the wretched man he wanted nothing more than to destroy.

“You can’t ask this of me,” Yingxing protested weakly, although he already knew what he was about to do.

Dan Feng’s answering smile was unbearably sad. Yingxing had never seen any look like it on Dan Feng’s face. “Can’t I?”

With anguish and anger and love waging a war in his heart, Yingxing surged downward and kissed Dan Feng desperately.

Weakly, Dan Feng responded in kind, his lips bloody and chapped but just as soft as Yingxing could have hoped. Yingxing thought himself a fool for denying himself such simple happiness for so long, all for the sake of a group of people who couldn’t have cared less for Dan Feng’s life — who treated Dan Feng as nothing more than a means to an end.

“Promise to find me in my next life,” Dan Feng whispered when they both separated briefly for air, and Yingxing, too choked up for words, only kissed Dan Feng harder as he plunged his sword into Dan Feng’s last remaining heart.

Dan Feng smiled against Yingxing’s lips before mouthing out a silent, “Thank you,” and exhaling one final time.

Only once Yingxing could feel that Dan Feng’s heart had stopped beating did Yingxing pull away, his sword sliding messily out of Dan Feng’s chest.

With Dan Feng dead, the qi restraints fell away, likely having fed off of Dan Feng’s own life energy to keep his restrained. Cutting off the steel shackles and removing the nails in Dan Feng’s chest took Yingxing hardly any time at all, and he did each task with a carefully detached precision. Once Dan Feng was free of each cuff and chain, all the physical things that kept him tied down to the mortal realm, Yingxing adjusted his robes to cover the still gaping wound in his chest, gently shut his eyes, and knelt down on the bed to hold Dan Feng in his arms, content to keep his rapidly cooling body warm for just a little longer.  

Until the door to Dan Feng’s room — Dan Feng’s final resting place — burst open and a familiar voice shook Yingxing straight to his core.

“Yingxing…?”

Yingxing whirled around and came face to face with a terrified Jing Yuan. Vaguely, Yingxing registered that Taoran was right beside Jing Yuan, but all he could focus on was the horror reflected in Jing Yuan’s gaze as his eyes slid over Yingxing to Dan Feng’s prone form.

Yingxing knew what he looked like, covered head to toe in blood as he cradled Dan Feng’s lifeless body, his sword still slick with Dan Feng’s blood laid at his feet. He knew that Jing Yuan had left the battlefield thinking that he had died.

He knew that Taoran had gone to grab reinforcements, and Jing Yuan was a part of them.

“Soldiers!” Taoran screamed, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as a vein throbbed clearly in his neck. “That — that beast is the one who murdered the Preceptors in cold blood! And he’s already slain the High Elder! Draw your weapons, immediately!”

“Yingxing,” Jing Yuan said again, making no move to draw his guandao, and the sheer disbelief in his voice would have broken Yingxing’s heart if he had any capacity left to process his pain.

Even though Jing Yuan had likely been deceived by Taoran, had likely not even been of high enough rank to disobey the orders of his superiors in the Xianzhou military, Yingxing found that he couldn’t quite muster up any strength to feel much beyond numb resentment toward the boy.

Already, Yingxing could hear the thuds of hundreds of soldiers’ footsteps rapidly approaching, summoned by Taoran’s hysterical shouts. As much as he wanted to kill Taoran and tell Jing Yuan the truth, Yingxing had no time to if he wanted to escape the compound with Dan Feng’s body and his own life.

As much as it hurt to let Jing Yuan continue living with this tarnished image of Yingxing, as much as it made Yingxing’s blood boil to let Taoran continue living at all…

Yingxing sheathed his sword, gathered Dan Feng more securely in his arms, and ran.

After narrowly avoiding capture by the soldiers throughout the country and running as far as his legs would allow, Yingxing took Dan Feng to be buried far, far away from the Xianzhou.

Digging the grave was a tiresome, tedious affair. His bloodied hands could not do much more than unearth fistfuls of dirt, and his sword was, similarly, of little use.

Even still, Yingxing dug, and dug, and dug. He refused to give Dan Feng anything less than a proper resting place, even if his funeral lacked the normal ceremony and decorations that would have typically accompanied a Xianzhou native of high rank, and he most assuredly did not want to leave Dan Feng out to be discovered by Taoran, or any other disgusting, greedy people.

Yingxing figured Dan Feng wouldn’t have wanted any of that fanfare, anyway.

How sad it was for Yingxing to be the one to bury Dan Feng.

Was this how Dan Feng had felt when he had stared down at Yingxing’s unmoving form?

Was this how Dan Feng had felt when he had tangled his fingers in the white strands of Yingxing’s hair while combing it out for knots? Was this how Dan Feng had felt when he had traced Yingxing’s wrinkles with gentle hands after a long day spent at the forge?

Once the grave was dug and Dan Feng was lowered inside and the dirt settled and the flowers Yingxing gathered wilted and Yingxing got over the shock and grief and horror it all — a lie, Yingxing hadn’t gotten over anything, had only gotten sick of staring down at an unmarked gravesite — Yingxing left the Xianzhou, the one place he had once called home, behind.

Dan Feng was dead. Jing Yuan likely thought he had been the one to do it (and he had, Yingxing had, Yingxing had been the one to kill Dan Feng, but he had not been the one to end Dan Feng’s life).

Baiheng was dead. Jingliu… Even with Jingliu alive, Yingxing couldn’t bring himself to contact her. How cruel would it be to taunt her with the fact that he had been revived, but Baiheng had not?

And so Yingxing wandered.

Yingxing left the borders of the Xianzhou Luofu behind, determined to scout out a place to welcome Dan Feng’s reincarnation back into the world. It would likely take at least three years, if not more, for Dan Feng to move on from the realm of the dead, and Yingxing had to be prepared to find him, to hide him away from anyone who would seek to hurt him, to ensure the Preceptors could never get their hands on Dan Feng again.

However, Yingxing quickly lost track of time. Wandering from place to place, most of which was made up of dense forests and looming mountains without the presence of people, meant Yingxing had to count the days himself… and with Dan Feng gone, he couldn’t find the energy to bother.

After some time passed, Yingxing realized that his hair was growing out black.

He hadn’t noticed at first, hardly ever spending enough time at rivers to examine his reflection, and he only kept his hair up and out of his face, uncaring about whether the style was visually appealing. But one day, he looked over his shoulder and noticed that he had dark strands framing his face, and a hasty trip to the nearby lake revealed to him his new visage: one that resembled how he looked in his youthful years, around the same time he had met Dan Feng.

By the time his hair had grown out long enough to where he was forced to cut off the last remaining strands of white, Yingxing knelt on the ground of whatever mountainous region he had found himself in and cried.

Over the centuries following Dan Feng’s death, or millennia, or — time was a fickle thing, and Yingxing had long lost track, uncaring of the days that passed, seeing no point in it all — empires fell and rose. Thrones were usurped, new nations were established, and the mythical beings of Yingxing’s time hid themselves from mortals as cultivators began to hunt them. He figured that Jing Yuan and Jingliu had long since passed, since even their advanced cultivational bases could not keep them alive for quite so long, and he wondered whether Taoran was still out there, somewhere, living on because of the heart he had stolen beating in his chest.

During a particularly involved hallucination in which Yingxing envisioned chasing Taoran down, killing him, and unearthing Dan Feng from his grave, a man approached him.

Yingxing’s first instinct was to lash out. Who would dare come close to him? He had taken care to avoid civilization for so long, lacking any desire to interact with other people when he could sense that Dan Feng’s soul was not among them. It had gotten harder and harder as the years passed and as humans expanded their settlements, but Yingxing had managed to avoid anyone finding him directly thus far.

But something about the man made Yingxing pause. The man appeared young, boyish even, but the aura around him was otherworldly, suggesting that he was either an experienced cultivator, a celestial being, or something else entirely. His eyes were a bright, glowing blue, and his hair was so white that it almost seemed to be made of mist. If pressed, Yingxing would describe the young man’s as some shade of purple, perhaps, but the fabric seemed almost as if it were made out of shadows rather than any mortal textile.

“You arrived just in time, as I expected you to,” the young man said, his voice youthful yet aged all at once, the sound seeming to come from within him and all around him. “I am sorry to have let you wander for so long, but it is finally time for me to guide you.”

Yingxing simply stared blanky at the man, unsure if it was worth it to open his mouth and speak.

The young man simply smiled. “You are searching for Dan Feng’s soul, yes?”

Before he was fully cognizant of what he was doing, Yingxing had lunged for the boy and grabbed him by the collar of his robes.

“What do you know of A-Feng?” he demanded, voice raspy and barely audible due to years of disuse. “Don’t souls typically reincarnate within a few decades, if not years, after they die? Where is he? What have you done to him?”

The young man was infuriatingly calm as he stared up into Yingxing’s wild, crazed eyes. “I did not do anything to him. I do not have that power.”

“Then how do you know what I am searching for?” Yingxing tightened his grip on the young man’s robes. “And who are you?”

“You may call me Elio.” A petite hand came up to rest on Yingxing’s own. “If you would let me down for just a moment, I can explain further. It is a bit rude to simply hold me hostage like this, wouldn’t you say?”

Reluctantly, Yingxing let Elio go. Elio, for his part, did not look the least bit ruffled, and simply peered at Yingxing was those eerie eyes.

“A sword without its master is even less dangerous than a basket of medicine in the hands of an inexperienced healer,” Elio said. “And you are clearly a blade without a purpose.”

“I thought you were going to explain.”

Elio sighed. “You have waited millenia at this point. Surely you can wait several more seconds?”

Yingxing moved to take out his sword, which had long rusted over but still served as a good weapon.

“Now, now, there is no need for any of that.” Elio shook his head. “But I suppose I should taunt you no more. You see, Dan Feng’s reincarnation cycle is…fickle.”

Cold fear, an emotion Yingxing had long since forgotten the feeling of, gripped his heart.

“He was never supposed to enter the cycle of reincarnation so early; as a Vidyadhara, he should have undergone his species’ natural cycle of instant rebirth, rather than visit the realm of the dead.” Elio tilted his head to the side. “It may be another several millennia before his soul makes its way back to the realm of the living.”

Yingxing did not fall to his knees, but it was a close thing. “I… I do not know if I will make it that long.”

And, as much as he hated saying such words out loud, as much as he hated admitted that he was not strong enough to wait for his beloved to be reborn, Yingxing knew he was telling the truth.

Yingxing was ready to follow Dan Feng to the ends of the world, through all the realms, and across lifetimes, just for a chance to make up for the mistakes he had made and stay by Dan Feng’s side.

But Yingxing was also just a man, and though his body was immortal, he could feel his sanity slipping away with every breath he took, every day and night and day and night and day and night and night and day he spent by himself.

Yingxing had promised to find Dan Feng in his next life. But when Dan Feng eventually came back, would he like what he found?

Before Yingxing could get lost in the dark spiral of his tortured mind — an easy and regular pastime of his — Elio cleared his throat.

“But there is one thing I can do to help you find him sooner.”

Yingxing grabbed the collar of Elio’s robes again. “Tell me. Do it. Whatever it is, do it.”

Elio chuckled. “It really is so amusing that the path you are choosing now is exactly the one I predicted you would.”

Yingxing didn’t care to parse out whatever that meant. “I mean it. Do it. Whatever needs to happen, do it. I am not afraid to kill to get what I want.”

“And that is what I am counting on,” Elio said, and something about the look in his eyes unnerved Yingxing to his core. “An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Will you carry out the script of destiny for me, and I will ensure your soul reunites with Dan Feng’s once more?”

“You need to tell me what you plan to do first,” Yingxing snarled. “I will not be making a deal with a demon unless you can promise to bring Dan Feng back.”

“A demon? I am no demon. Merely a guide.” Elio laughed. “But, yes, if you want, I can send you back in time.”

Yingxing froze.

“I cannot promise you that things will change,” Elio continued, choosing to ignore the death stare Yingxing was boring into his face. “And, more likely than not, things will not change. Deaths are some of the few things that Fate will not tamper with, too afraid to invoke the ire of Death.”

“Then what is the point of going back in time if it would result in the same results?” Yingxing spat out. He was starting to see red on the edges of his vision. He wondered, briefly, the consequences of tearing Elio down where he stood, even if a small part of him told him that he would be the loser in a clash between the two of them.

Elio smirked. “In life, though we may be forced to follow the same road, the paths we take may diverge. The script remains untouched, but our individual lines may be changed, and that, in the end, is what changes the entire meaning of the play. Do you not agree?”

Yingxing thought the offer over in his head. It seemed almost too ludicrous, the offer to be sent back in time. What sort of being, celestial or not, had that kind of power over the natural flow of life and death?

Yet, Yingxing was also a mortal man who had long overstayed his welcome in the realm of the living, kept upright past his fate-ordained date of expiry only through the benevolence of a man he had killed and buried with his own two hands. Yingxing was proof that there existed anomalies that dared defy the whims of Death and Fate.

And, for the past millennia, Yingxing had done little but wander the world. Would it not make more sense to go back in time? Perhaps… Perhaps spend more time with Dan Feng? Encourage him to leave his duties as High Elder behind and forsake the Preceptors? Treat him the way Yingxing had always been too afraid to follow through with?

Convince Dan Feng that Yingxing was better off dead than alive without him?

“What’s the catch?” Yingxing asked.

Based on the glint in Elio’s eyes, Elio had already known what Yingxing was going to say. “Be my blade.”

“I told you that I could not promise that things would change,” Elio said to Blade as he cradled Dan Feng’s unconscious body.

Blade had long since grown used to Elio’s uncanny ability to appear at will, hardly caring that Elio had chosen to reveal himself just after the battle at the Abyssal portal had concluded and Dan Feng had already given Yingxing a fresh heart.

“But things did change. Baiheng is alive. I am alive, and so is he, and the Preceptors cannot get to him now.”

“Deaths are set in stone,” Elio continued, as if ignoring Blade, “and even with the meddling of fate, you cannot have Dan Feng back as you once knew him. You cannot have Dan Feng as he is, in this lifetime.”

Blade — no, Yingxing — held Dan Feng tighter. “You are wrong. I will run away with him, and the Preceptors will never know where to find us. They will never lay a hand on his hearts ever again.”

Elio smiled, and in all the years Blade had known him, he had never quite seen a smile with such sadness at its corners. “Can’t you see? Dan Feng’s soul is already trying to escape his body.”

Panicked, Blade looked down at the man he held in his arms, whose breaths were beginning to taper out, and almost as if it were a trick of the light, Dan Feng’s body almost seemed to flicker before his very eyes, the weight tucked against his side disappearing momentarily.

“I don’t — I don’t understand.” Blade’s voice cracked.

“Due to the strange, cyclical nature of time and fate and the universe itself, Dan Feng’s soul had already chosen to reincarnate into a new body by the time I sent your soul back in time,” Elio explained. “I had to borrow his soul from his new body to ensure you were returning to a time where he was alive.”

None of what Elio was saying made any sense to Blade. All he heard was that Blade had technically been too late to find Dan Feng again, or that he had just missed his chance to find Dan Feng again, or…

“You tricked me,” Blade growled, holding Dan Feng’s body closer to his chest. “You promised that you could help me find him sooner. You promised that you could help me bring him back —”

“I did not promise to help you bring him back. And did I not help you find him sooner than you would have?” Elio asked, tucking his hands in his sleeves. “Blade, I do care for you. You have served me well when I asked you to. Believe me when I say that I did not mean to deceive you.”

And Blade wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that Elio really had been telling the truth, but there was something so achingly horrible about holding the love of your life in your arms while he faded away from your grasp a second time that made Blade markedly less forgiving.

“I warned you before that more likely than not, things will not change,” Elio continued gently. “And so, in the grand scheme of things, they haven’t. In the eyes of Fate, you have always been destined to go back and see this truth for yourself.”

So, Blade had been destined to go back in time and try to save Dan Feng in vain?

“But even as the script remains the same, have your individual lines not changed?”

Before Blade could do something reckless, like abandon Dan Feng’s fading body — he looked almost translucent, as if he were a ghost, as if he were not meant to exist on this realm, and even with how hard Blade was clutching onto his robes, he could feel Dan Feng was not quite in his grasp — in favor of beating Elio to the ground, Elio quickly added, “But no matter. Yours and Dan Feng’s destinies are meant to intertwine, and the paths of your souls will meet again…”

The feeling in Blade’s limbs went slowly, steadily, then gave out on him all at once. Limply, Blade fell over, his arms no longer cooperating with his mind and his vision steadily overtaken by inky black spots.

The last thing Blade heard before succumbing to darkness was Elio’s voice:

 “…As soon as I return you both to your proper time.”

Blade knew that standing in the corner of a hospital room, shrouded in shadow and making no sound, was not the most socially appropriate behavior to engage in. He may have spent thousands upon thousands of years by himself without the company of another person, but even he could remember that spying on someone was not the most acceptable of acts.

But who could blame him for his inability to move? For his desire to simply stand and stare, look his fill?

Blade had found Dan Feng’s reincarnation at last.

Yes, Blade had technically found Dan Feng’s reincarnation long ago, back when Elio had made good on his promise to send Blade back in time — and had also sent a new, different version of Dan Feng’s soul back in time as well.

Blade should have known that there had been much more than one catch to being granted the blessing of going back in time.

Wherever Elio had gotten Dan Feng’s soul from, it had been clear that the Dan Feng that Yingxing had opened the door to the infirmary to all those years ago was a different Dan Feng than the one Yingxing had buried.

Different, yes, but undeniably and inexplicably still the same.

Different, yes, but undeniably and inexplicably still the same — like how the both of them going back in time had changed some things, had saved Baiheng and countless other soldiers from death, but ultimately had not changed the most important thing of all.

But that didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s you.”

It didn’t matter that Dan Feng had chosen to revive Yingxing again.

“I’ve finally found you. Forgive me for taking too long, yet again.”

It didn’t matter that Yingxing couldn’t be with Dan Feng in their first lifetimes together…

“Yingxing…?”

Because Blade could finally be with Dan Heng now.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Yingxing was gone.

Dan Heng could barely spare the energy to feel any sort of way about it besides numb.

It was only natural, really. Yingxing actually being a part of Dan Heng’s lived world, and not just a figment of his coma-induced imagination, was far too good that Dan Heng wouldn’t have known what to do with it all if it had been real.

Of course, Yingxing’s calloused fingers carding softly through Dan Heng’s hair the previous night had been fake, a product of Dan Heng’s addled mind and tired spirit. The illusion had been nice for the entire time it had lasted, at least, looking at him with Yingxing’s face and comforting him until he had fallen into a sleep far more restful than any he had had since waking up in the real world again.

But illusions that came to visit in the dead of night were never meant to last, destined to be chased away by the harsh revelation of the sun’s rays and forgotten once the eyes adjusted to the influx of light.

The sunlight streaming through the windows was bright, and the walls boxing Dan Heng in were white as they always were, and the day was young yet not close enough to being over.

Dan Heng didn’t notice that the doctor had come into the room until the man cleared his throat and tapped on his clipboard, rousing Dan Heng from his thoughts.

“You seem to be doing better today,” the doctor said, writing quickly as he pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “A good night’s sleep, perhaps?”

Shrugging, Dan Heng turned his eyes away from the doctor and toward the window to his right. Was the sun always so bright? Maybe if the day went away again, Yingxing might come back — even if Dan Heng knew he was fake, knew he was nothing more than a shadow given face and voice, it might be better than dealing with anyone else trying to speak with him.

“Well, it’s good that you’re feeling better today,” the doctor continued, ignoring Dan Heng’s silence. After that first day Dan Heng had woken up, Dan Heng had taken to silence, only answering when fully necessary for his medical care. “You have a visitor that’s wanting to see you.”

A visitor? That was new. “My parents?”

“Ah, no.” The doctor cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to his clipboard. “I’ve been told that they’re still in China. They are still paying for your hospital stay, though, not to worry.”

Dan Heng nodded, confusion seeping through the haze that had settled in his mind. Who would visit him, if not his parents? He hadn’t made many friends in school, let alone any that would bother visiting him in the hospital after years of not being awake. And as far as he knew, he had no cousins, aunts, uncles, or other distant relatives that would want to see him — they were all in China, too.

“The visitor is a man by the name of Blade,” the doctor said. “Would you like to allow him in? You are well enough now where visitors won’t be much of a threat to your immune system.”

The name tugged at Dan Heng’s mind, but he truly could not remember meeting anyone with such an eclectic name before, ever in his life. It, honestly, sounded more like the name that would be given to a character in a webnovel; one of those webnovels where the protagonist had to adopt a false identity and answer to a codename to complete their assassin work.

…Was Dan Heng about to get murdered?

Still, something in Dan Heng’s heart told him that, whoever it was waiting to see him, he should allow them entry.

“I am fine with him visiting,” Dan Heng said.

The doctor nodded and left the room, likely to fetch whoever was visiting.

Perhaps it was some poor kid who had to visit a hospital patient for extra credit, or some volunteer opportunity, or something. Maybe it was someone who had actually meant to visit a different patient, and they had gotten the room numbers mixed up. Maybe the doctor was pulling a prank on Dan Heng to see how he’d react and planned to record the findings on his little clipboard.

Because there was no reason why anyone would possibly want to visit Dan Heng.

And yet, there Yingxing was, striding through the doorway of the room with the doctor in tow.

Dan Heng blinked. Blinked again. Blinked a third time for good measure, and yet the dream never went away — Yingxing stood before his bed, similar to the shadow that had loomed above him the night prior, except this time his figure was bathed in ample light, allowing his dark hair and red-gold eyes to shine starkly against the suffocating white of the hospital room.

“This is Blade,” Dan Heng heard the doctor say, but Dan Heng hardly heard him, too occupied with the coming to terms with his reality being shattered yet again.

But was this truly his reality…?

Even Yingxing reaching out to touch his shoulder with calloused fingers couldn’t convince Dan Heng that it wasn’t just a very elaborate and realistic dream.

Still, the doctor acknowledging Yingxing did help with assuage his worries, but only just slightly.

A small part of him still whispered, wondering if, perhaps, the doctor was part of his dream as well; perhaps Dan Heng had never woken up from a coma, and the doctor was fake, too, and that’s how he was able to talk to Yingxing, and nobody really existed in this world, and—

Dan Heng had, aftr all, just spend five years of his life unconscious, thinking he was living in the world of Revenge of the Furnace Master. Perhaps he had fallen back into his coma, except this time, he was dreaming about days in the hospital, and the characters of Revenge of the Furnace Master were bleeding into those thoughts as his mind was well and truly breaking.

Dan Heng was happy to see Yingxing, really, he was, but he couldn’t help but feel the curl of anxiety in his gut when he blinked, convinced that if he kept his eyes closed for too long that Yingxing would disappear in much the same way he had come.

Even if Yingxing was a dream, it was still a much welcome addition to the blur that defined his other days in the hospital.

Once the doctor finished with his daily checkup and left them to their own devices, Dan Heng turned to Yingxing, a multitude of words fighting to be voiced, all of his thoughts too important to be ignored.

“Yingxing,” Dan Heng said finally, weakly, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Amusement tinged with pain flashed across Yingxing’s face, his eyebrows contorting and the edges of his lips twitching, before his features settled into an expression of forced neutrality.

“I haven’t heard the name Yingxing in a long time,” Yingxing said, settling more firmly onto the plastic visitor chair, his actions a touch too stiff. “Or, I suppose I have heard it recently. The flow of time is a strange thing, isn’t it?”

Dan Heng, too tired to think properly, wasn’t even sure where to begin trying to understand everything, let alone Yingxing’s response to his own name, so he opted to pivot the conversation to something safer. Probably. “How are you here?”

Yingxing snorted, clearly expecting the question. “You — Dan Feng, if we want to be specific about it — made me immortal.”

Dan Heng didn’t know what to make of that. Did Yingxing mean that he knew that Dan Heng had been acting as Dan Feng when he had transmigrated into the novel? Or did he mean something else entirely?

“Then you, as Dan Heng, made me immortal once again.”

Well, that answered Dan Heng’s initial question, but it introduced a million more. Why did Yingxing seem so convinced that Dan Feng and Dan Heng were the same person?

“That’s how I’m here: you,” Yingxing said, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. “It’s truly not a hard question to answer when you think about it for more than a few moments.”

Snark. Yingxing was snarking him.

Dan Heng was taken aback by the dry tone of Yingxing’s words, and yet it was strangely comforting to hear it.

The Yingxing of Dan Heng’s memories had his sarcastic moments, but his speech was typically full of bravado, not barbs, and more often than not his words were honeyed and doting, especially when addressing Dan Feng.

Surely, if Yingxing were merely a figment of Dan Heng’s imagination, he wouldn’t have been so acidic.

And surely, if Yingxing were merely a figment of Dan Heng’s imagination, he wouldn’t have been answering Dan Heng’s questions with things that made Dan Heng even more confused than before?

“I… I understand that.” Dan Heng fiddled with the edge of the thin blanket and glanced up at Yingxing before quickly looking away, unused to the crimson hue of his eyes in place of what had once been a calming lavender. Yet another inconsistency that made it all the more real that the person standing before him was most likely a part of reality; there was no way that Dan Heng would’ve forgotten the exact shade of Yingxing’s eyes. “But here… the Xianzhou Luofu doesn’t exist. You shouldn’t exist.”

Yingxing rolled his eyes. As much as the motion made Dan Heng bristle, he found himself reveling in it, enjoying how it was such a refreshing show of emotion compared to the careful sterility of the hospital and its staff.

Enjoying how it contrasted with the way the Yingxing of his memories sometimes seemed to be holding himself back, at times too cautious to reveal his true thoughts.

“Things that are lost to time still exist, even if scarcely anyone remembers them. Cultures and empires lost to time have still made their mark on this world, even if they are not recorded in history books. A tree that falls in a forest still lies dying on the ground, even if there is no one there to help him up,” Yingxing laughed, sharp and biting. “And as for me? You made it so that I do exist…A-Feng.”

Dan Heng’s heart skipped a beat, a strange emotion existing somewhere between right and wrong dropping like a lead weight in his chest at being called A-Feng, before dread began to overtake it. “Did Dan Feng…” Dan Heng swallowed to fight against the dryness in his throat. “Did I create you?”

“Did you create Yingxing the person? Did you create my soul? Did you create my existence? No.” Huffing, Yingxing crossed his arms and shook his head; Dan Heng couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused. “But as I am now, you could say yes. I am not meant to exist in Yingxing’s body like this.”

“My mortal lifespan was meant to have ended long ago during that battle by the Abyssal portal.” Yingxing’s expression was hard to read, but it made Dan Heng’s heart clench all the same. “I should have died that day… both days. I should have returned to the cycle of reincarnation and come back to you completely new, instead of a broken man held together by a selfless sacrifice and a new name.”

Dan Heng’s head hurt, and his vision swam, and his limbs tingled.

Yingxing looked away from Dan Heng and down at the ground; losing the weight of his fiery gaze was akin to a flame being snuffed out.

“If you’d let me die naturally,” Yingxing said, his eyes trained firmly on the floor, “I could have waited in the afterlife with you.”

Yingxing’s hands tightened into fists, the knuckles white from how hard his fingers were gripping onto his knees. “I wouldn’t have had to watch the life drain from your eyes, or feel the give of your flesh beneath my sword and the warmth of your blood spill over my hands, or carry your lifeless body to an undignified patch of dirt—"

Dan Heng didn’t have any words to say to that — any of that, any of what Yingxing was saying, any of the pain Yingxing was experiencing.

How could he when he couldn’t remember any of it? How could he, when he knew deep within himself that he — or some version of himself, as Dan Feng as Yingxing claimed — had to have been the cause of the haunted look in Yingxing’s eyes, and yet he had nothing to say for it?

I’m sorry. If I had known, I wouldn’t have done it, Dan Heng could say, and yet a part of him knew that it wouldn’t be the truth.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” Dan Heng said instead.

Yingxing huffed a laugh, a touch of congestion muffling the edges of his voice. “Oh, we do. Where do you want to start?”

“Dan Feng? Dan Feng — er, uh, shoot… That’s not your name anymore, is it? …Dan Heng? — can you hear me?”

That…didn’t sound like Yingxing — Blade, Dan Heng really had to remember that he mainly went by Blade these days, something about getting used to the name after Elio had given him when sending him on a mission to find three women around the world — or the doctor, or any of the few nurses Dan Heng could recall.

Dan Heng scrunched his eyes closed tighter. He typically woke up relatively early, unable to sleep through the sounds of other people for too long, but the poor sleep he had been getting was finally catching up to him.

Thankfully, with Ying — Blade being a near constant companion by his side (and disobeying hospital visiting hours to keep Dan Heng company at night), Dan Heng had started to get some proper rest again. Still, that didn’t mean he was recovered enough to be waking up so early…

“Is he alive?” that same feminine voice asked.

“He is,” came Blade’s answer. “He’s just being grumpy right now and doesn’t want to wake up.”

Dan Heng couldn’t hide the way his mouth twitched. He still wasn’t quite used to how Blade acted: almost exactly like Yingxing, except for his sharper edges and his propensity for teasing. Was this how Blade had felt when he had watched, through Yingxing’s eyes, Dan Heng settle into Dan Feng’s body?

And was the Blade that Dan Heng interacted with a Yingxing who was unafraid to speak his mind, or a Yingxing who had grown so used to solitude that he had long lost his filter? Or, perhaps, a Yingxing who no longer had to worry about putting on airs and appearing like a respected member of the High Cloud Quintet?

It was hard to tell.

In any case, it was strange for Blade to be talking to anyone else; even when the doctor came in to check up on Dan Heng while Yingxing was there, Blade preferred to stand off to the side, silently scrutinizing the man as he took note of Dan Heng’s vitals and did his best to draw the two of them into awkward conversations.

Dan Heng peeked one eye open and immediately bolted upright.

“Baiheng?!”

Baiheng laughed and waved at him, her smile as bright as ever. “Long time no see, Dan F — Heng.”

“Did you…” Dan Heng gulped and stared guiltily at his blankets, a habit Blade had tried to get him out of doing. “Did you also have to live long years by yourself…?”

“Live long years by myself? Oh, no, thank the heavens.” Baiheng smiled again, though this time a touch sadder, and shook her head. “No. I don’t know what Yingxing —”

“Blade.”

“— here told you, but I died like normal and reincarnated like normal. I didn’t even get my memories back of my past life as a foxian until relatively recently. Hell, I’m technically not even named Baiheng, now!”

“Oh.” Dan Heng felt even more guilt at hearing that, knowing how much names meant to a person. And it made sense, really, that she hadn’t actually lived until the dawn of the modern era; foxians lived a long time, but typically not quite as long as true immortals. Plus, given the lack of ears on the top of Baiheng’s head, she had reincarnated as only a human. “What should I call you?”

Baiheng chuckled and patted Dan Heng’s head, not unlike an older sister might treat her silly younger brother. “Don’t worry about it, Dan Heng. I’m Baiheng to you, and that’s what matters.”

Dan Heng still felt awkward about not knowing Baiheng’s new name, the name that truly belonged to her in this time, but if she didn’t want to reveal it, then she must have had her reasons. It was best that he respected them.

“How did you know anything about your past life, then?” Dan Heng asked, reaching for his bedside table where a tray of food was waiting for him. Yingxing stood up hurriedly and passed the cooled bowl of congee into Dan Heng’s hands before settling back down into his chair once Dan Heng took his first sip of the broth.

Baiheng watched the two of them a twinkle in her eyes. “It’s a funny story, actually,” Baiheng said, crossing her legs and leaning against the back of the uncomfortable plastic visitor chair. “I was living my life pretty normally up until seven years ago. Then, I started getting dreams of dying horrifically at the hands of some malformed tree thing. I thought I was going crazy, but when I told my partner what was going on…”

Yingxing raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “You have a partner? You didn’t mention this at all.”

Was that a twinge of envy in Blade’s voice…?

“I literally got here 10 minutes ago,” Baiheng retorted. “That’s not enough time to tell you my life story.”

10 minutes. Huh. Dan Heng hadn’t realized she had been in his room for that long.

“You should’ve mentioned it,” Yingxing said again, furrowing his brows. “Your partner knows about the dreams?”

“Well, of course she does,” Baiheng replied, pulling out her phone. “My partner is Jingliu!”

Dan Heng and Blade both stared at the photo proudly displayed as Baiheng’s lockscreen: an obviously candid shot of a woman that had to be Jingliu, or at least her reincarnation, cradling a small kitten to her chest, appearing especially unguarded with a soft look in her eyes and the tiniest of smiles on her lips.

“Where is Jingliu?” Dan Heng asked, setting the spoon to his congee down.

Baiheng’s entire demeanor brightened, as she was clearly happy to have an excuse to keep talking about Jingliu and avoid the topic of her vivid nightmares involving her gruesome death. “Oh, she had to stay home with the baby.”

Dan Heng choked on air and just barely avoided spilling the food on his lap. “The baby?!”

Blade looked like he wanted to say something but ended up looking more like a fish gasping for air than anything else. Dan Heng would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been too busy trying to wrap his head around everything.

“Yeah,” Baiheng laughed heartily, her mouth curved up in a smirk, “Baobao doesn’t like being alone right now.”

“So, you two…” Dan Heng hesitated before continuing, “…adopted…?”

“Of course, we did!” Baiheng clapped her hands together and tilted her head to the side, the smile never leaving her face. Dan Heng felt like the smile was saying something; if only he could understand it. “Adopt, don’t shop.”

…What?

Shop?

What did Baiheng mean by “shop”? As far as Dan Heng knew, you couldn’t exactly buy a baby in a specialized store — unless that had become a thing during the years he had been unconscious…?

“Baobao’s mother abandoned her as a baby because she was just too small,” Baiheng said. “As soon as saw her, we knew we had to take her in. Poor thing!”

“That’s really noble of you,” Blade said, the words coming out muffled through the screen of his hand.

Baiheng shared a look with Blade, then looked at Dan Heng with humor in her eyes. “Want to see pictures?”

“Sure.” Dan Heng liked babies enough, and it was only polite…

“Here she is,” Baiheng said, pointing to her lock screen again before unlocking the device and navigating to an album full of the cat lying around or playing in what was, presumably, Baiheng and Jingliu’s shared apartment. “Meet Baobao, our lovely little baby.”

Dan Heng blinked, then squinted, then felt incredibly foolish.

“That’s a cat,” he said, even though he knew that there was really no point in arguing the point.

“Baobao is a cat,” Baiheng replied, looking all too pleased.

“You said you and Jingliu had a baby.”

“Baobao is our baby.”

Dan Heng was speechless.

“She’s a baby cat,” Baiheng giggled, pocketing her phone and pinching Dan Heng’s cheek. “I was just joking around, Hengheng.”

The familiar address was strange, considering Baiheng, even with her friendly and bubbly personality, had never been quite so casual with Dan Feng, and this Baiheng was technically a stranger — but Dan Heng did not mind it.

“It’s good that you and Jingliu are happy together,” Yingxing said, voice quiet. “You two didn’t get the chance, before.”

The room was quiet for several moments before Baiheng unlocked her phone and opened her photo albums, scrolling through various photos of Jingliu — Jingliu with smears of flour on her cheeks and a deadpan glare at the camera, Jingliu holding out a toy for Baobao to play with, Jingliu and Baiheng at what was presumably their university graduate ceremony — before speaking again.

“She started getting dreams of the exact same thing, except from her perspective,” Baiheng explained, swiping from a photo of Jingliu practicing martial arts forms to another photo, this time of Baobao curled up against a fox plush toy thrice her size.

“And as the days went on, we had dreams of other things besides the…” Baiheng grimaced. “…yeah.”

Yingxing closed his eyes. Although Dan Heng himself could not access any of Dan Feng’s memories of that original battle where Baiheng had perished and all their soldiers had been slaughtered, his heart ached with sympathy.

“We started remembering other people, like you two,” Baiheng continued, finally putting her phone away and looking at Dan Heng and Blade again. “At first, we thought we were both going kind of crazy, but the more we talked to each other, the more we realized how much our memories matched up.”

“And this all happened seven years ago?” Blade asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Seven years ago,” Baiheng confirmed. “Then, five years ago, we both started getting dreams of that same life, but slightly different. You and Dan Feng were acting differently, and I didn’t die in these dreams.”

“According to the doctor, five years ago was about the time I fell into a coma,” Dan Heng said. “That’s when I thought I died and transmigrated into a made-up xianxia world. The time lines up for when my soul would’ve been…transported into the past?”

“When Elio borrowed your soul to try and fulfill my request, thereby creating an alternate, ‘what-if’ timeline that exists but is not our main continuum,” Blade corrected.

Baiheng nodded sagely, looking far too calm considering Dan Heng and Blade sounded verifiably insane. “Is that what happened? Cool, that explains a lot.”

Considering how Baiheng had apparently come to visit a guy she could only remember meeting in her past life, though, Dan Heng figured she had a higher tolerance for strange things than the average person.

Still, the sudden appearance of new memories five years ago made sense, but what had happened seven years ago?

Seven years ago. Seven years ago…

“What could have happened seven years ago to be the catalyst for your memories?” Dan Heng thought out loud, biting his lip. “It seems strange that you would live your life normally, without any recollection of your past life — as it should be, if you’ve gone through the cycle of reincarnation — and then suddenly remember it all.”

Baiheng leaned forward in her seat, her eyes shining the exact same way they used to whenever she had a brilliant idea (or was planning to play a prank on Jing Yuan). “Jingliu and I wondered the same thing,” she said, “so we decided to look into it. We still weren’t convinced that we were both actually dreaming of memories; we could’ve just read or watched something and had the exact same dreams about it, as unlikely as it sounds. And you know what we found?”

Dan Heng almost felt compelled to lean in, too, but his back protested and he found that he was much more comfortable leaning against the pillows Yingxing had so helpfully propped up for him.

“Cut out the dramatics,” Blade said, though by the tone of his voice, Dan Heng could tell that he was less annoyed and more amused.

“If you could just wait one second,” Baiheng huffed, unlocking her phone and tapping the screen before once again thrusting the screen in front of Blade and Dan Heng’s faces.

Dan Heng stared at Baiheng’s phone, and the cover of a very familiar webnovel stared back at him.

“What,” Blade’s voice trembled, “is that?”

“It’s a webnovel,” Baiheng responded before Dan Heng could open his mouth. “Jingliu and I found it when trying to find out if our dreams were just really elaborate memories of some movie we’d watched or something. But we found this!”

“Revenge of the Furnace Master,” Dan Heng said, hardly louder than a whisper. “Revenge of the Furnace Master, the story of a revenge-driven protagonist named Yingxing who brings the Xianzhou Luofu to ruin after the love of his life Baiheng dies in battle, began publication seven years ago.”

Blade stared at Dan Heng blankly before his face settled into something bordering on murderous. “I didn’t write any of that shit.”

“And I didn’t write any of it, and I can tell you for sure that Jingliu would never have written anything like that,” Baiheng added, then turned to Dan Heng. “And I don’t think you did either, right?”

Shaking his head, Dan Heng shakily took Baiheng’s phone from her hands to get a closer look at the webnovel that had taken over his life in more ways than one.

Revenge of the Furnace Master looked exactly as Dan Heng remembered it, from its 188 chapters and 333k word count to the simple cover artwork depicting little more than a lone sword surrounded by a field of crimson spider lilies.

Everything about it seemed the same.

Except now, having lived in the real world of it, Dan Heng felt nauseous, vulnerable, exposed.

The webnovel that had gotten Dan Heng through some of his worst hospital stays and most of his more stressful nights after classes felt more like a sick joke, a twisted parody of his life — a life that someone had stolen from him.

But who?

Chapter Text

Once Dan Heng was healthy enough to walk around mostly unassisted, he and Blade spent more time in the hospital gardens.

It had taken a bit of time for the doctor to give Dan Heng the clear to walk around without staff supervision, but as soon as Dan Heng had been able to fully eat his full meals, he was deemed strong enough to manage — so long as he stayed in the hospital for further monitoring, of course — and so the nurses handed Blade and him a map and let them explore the grounds, all while they cleared all his bowls, plates, and other cutlery away.

Though the gardens themselves weren’t too impressive, they were much nicer to look at than the same blank walls and white sheets. It was nice as well to lean against Blade as he was led to the gardens; Dan Heng could walk on his own, but with how much his muscles had atrophied in the years his body had spent in a coma, it was simply…safer to rely on Blade to help him walk longer distances.

Not to mention how much Dan Heng enjoyed Blade’s warmth against his side, of course. Sometimes a man just got cold, okay?

(And not to mention how much Dan Heng enjoyed curling his fingers over the swell of Blade’s bicep.)

(…Sometimes a man just needed to hold a really well defined bicep, okay?)

Plus, Blade had confessed, with stilted words, that he hated seeing Dan Heng confined to the hospital bed — and as Dan Heng recovered, he too hated being stuck in bed, reminded too much of the unfeeling doctor’s visits that had defined his first life.

Or was it his current life? Wasn’t his first life technically his life as Dan Feng, the one he couldn’t properly remember?

But then Dan Feng had technically come from a long line of nine-hearted Vidyadhara too…

Ah, well. Sometimes, Dan Heng spend too much time thinking, and being trapped in a hospital bed made it all too easy to stick himself in a maze of his own despair.

More outdoor air would do him good.

Both Blade and Dan Heng had their reasons for wanting to explore the outdoor areas the hospital had to offer, so they made it a routine of theirs to wander outside to the gardens after breakfast.

It was on one such day where, as Dan Heng stared out at the well-maintained shrubbery and trees scattered about, he couldn’t help but compare these gardens to the ones in the Vidyadhara compound that he often visited when he was Dan Feng.

Nothing could compare to the pure splendor of those gardens, of course, considering they were crafted to be the private gardens of the High Elder. But those peaceful memories were now tainted by Dan Heng’s knowledge of the Preceptors’ betrayal.

What Blade had told him… That Yingxing had been the one to kill Dan Feng in his original life, but not out of hatred but out of mercy…

Dan Heng still couldn’t fully wrap his head around everything.

Sure, Dan Heng had gotten used to living Dan Feng, and to some extent, being Dan Feng. But to know that he actually shared a soul with Dan Feng? He believed it on a surface level, and yet he found it hard to fully understand.

Dan Heng inhaled deeply, then exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. It wasn’t worth thinking about too deeply; anymore, and he would spiral into an existential crisis. Believing in reincarnation and actually going through it were two completely different things, and if he had ever questioned why it was important for humans to cleanse their minds with the help of Meng Po,  then he truly no longer wondered.

At Dan Heng’s side, Blade shifted, crossing one ankle over the other.

For how lonely it had been in his modern life and how much he enjoyed getting to spend time as Dan Feng with his friends, it was nice to be back and enjoying the world he had grown up in as Dan Heng — but with Ying…Blade by his side.

Hanging out in the gardens was different, now, compared to when Dan Feng and Yingxing would spend time in the Vidyadhara compound’s gardens.

Blade was markedly less talkative than Yingxing ever was. Dan Heng’s head and heart hurt thinking about it, but it stood to reason that whatever Blade had gone through to prefer using the name Blade over Yingxing must’ve made him less outgoing, too. He supposed that wandering the world for thousands of years, watching civilizations rise and fall, and waiting for the lover whom you killed with your own two hands to reincarnate would make just about anyone reluctant to speak much. Perhaps Blade had just gotten used to the silence.

Though, that begged the question: when Blade had been sent back in time to live out his life as Yingxing again, had he been forcing himself to act like the Yingxing he remembered used to behave? He must have been.

Dan Heng figured that, for as much as he wasn’t a people-person, it would be fine to initiate the conversation here. “So, Yingxing—”

“I am not Yingxing. I was Yingxing when I was with Dan Feng,” Blade said, not unkindly, but with a tired edge to his voice that made Dan Heng feel guilty for constantly mixing up his name.

Jokingly, Dan Heng replied, “Well, based on what you’ve been telling me, I am Dan Feng, too, so aren’t you still with him?”

“You may share his soul, but he is gone.”

Dan Heng gulped, and he clenched his fists tighter to fight against the pang in his heart. He had so many things he wanted to say, like If he’s really gone, then why did you wait for so long for him? Why did you come to find me? But he couldn’t find the strength to give voice to any of his thoughts.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Blade shifted his position on the bench to face Dan Heng more fully. “You’re misunderstanding me.”

“Not sure how else that could be understood,” Dan Heng said, refusing to meet Blade’s gaze.

When Blade was silent for a moment too long, though, Dan Heng’s curiosity got the better of him, and he looked up — only to discover Blade looking quite uncomfortable, his mouth pulled back into a scowl as if he had just taken a giant bite from a lemon.

“You’re not…” Blade ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. “You’re not Dan Feng, and I’m not Yingxing, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s…”

Instead of trying to cut in, Dan Heng waited patiently for what Blade was going to say next. It was evident that, when the man had gone back to be Yingxing, he really had been forcing himself to act like how he remembered Yingxing used to act; here, when faced with Dan Heng’s potential upset, Blade was clearly struggling to articulate his thoughts.

In all the conversations Dan Heng had had with Blade previously, Blade had been shorter, drier and more sarcastic than Yingxing had acted, but he had never faltered in his words. Until now.

It was endearing.

Finally, Blade shook his head and continued, softly, as if he did not want to risk the chance of anyone else besides the two of them hearing, “We’re not the same people we used to be. In spirit, yes, but as individuals, no. But that doesn’t change the way I feel about—"

“Wow, I can’t believe you both really exist!”

That voice…

Blade’s eyebrow scrunched up, and Dan Heng watched as his face slowly morphed into one shrouded in annoyance.

If Baiheng and Jingliu had reincarnated, then this had to be—

Blade scoffed in disgust and turned around, facing his back toward Dan Heng, but if Dan Heng had to guess, he’d imagine Blade’s face was pulled back into a snarl. “You brat! You’re the one who wrote that filth?”

Dan Heng blinked.

Wrote that filth…?

Jing Yuan chuckled, shrugging and looking as if he weren’t bothered in the slightest by the aura of murder emanating from Blade. “It’s not my proudest work, I’ll say, but calling it filth is a bit too much, isn’t it?”

“I am calling it like it is,” Blade spat. “If you’re going to write something, why would you change the details so much? What, you had to pair Yingxing off quickly for fear that the imaginary Dan Feng in your head wouldn’t li—"

“And here I was,” Jing Yuan hurriedly cut in, the corners of his smile tighter than before, “planning to ask you both if you’d like to star in the live action movie I’m still working through the contract of.”

Dan Heng felt a war waging itself in his chest, confusion fighting with relief and annoyance and a whole conflicting concoction of emotions that he didn’t have the vocabulary to explain.

The author of the series Dan Heng had once loved so much was… Jing Yuan?

Of all the people who couldn’t done it…

“You wrote fanfiction of your own past life?” Dan Heng finally exclaimed, hardly daring to believe it.

There was a moment where it was all silent, Jing Yuan’s mouth falling shut slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and Blade’s general penchant for not speaking, before Jing Yuan burst into a mix of tears and belly-shaking laughter.

“I really can’t believe you two are alive, and real,” Jing Yuan said, his eyes misty. “I thought you were all people that I had made up in my head. When I got that message from some user named Hacker Bunny who’d managed to bypass all my blocks and security controls to prevent fans and haters from messaging me directly on the webnovel site, I thought I was getting played.”

“Hacker Bunny?” Dan Heng asked, turning to Blade since the name was tugging at his memory. “Is she…?”

“An alias of one of The Three I was tasked to find years ago,” Blade confirmed, nodding and looking pleased that Dan Heng had remembered. “She owed me a favor, so I simply reached out to her to make good on her word.”

“I almost didn’t come today,” Jing Yuan admitted, sitting tentatively on the bench just across from the one Blade and Dan Heng were settled on. “But…something told me that it was the right thing to do. That I had to be here.”

“That I had to see that you, Dan Feng,” Jing Yuan continued, his voice oddly quiet, “and you, Yingxing, were alive… and real people, after all.”

In Dan Heng’s first life, the life that wasn’t technically his first but was the life he had led before taking on the mantle of Dan Feng, he had never been an overly superstitious person. He believed in an afterlife, because it had never felt right to not believe in one, and he had avoided doing anything that invited tragedy, like climbing onto rooftops at midnight given his condition, even though it was supposedly a tradition for everyone graduating at his university to do so.

But Dan Heng had never prayed, and he had never really thought too much about the role of fate, and the universe, and any omniscient powers looking after him. He figured that, if such gods and beings existed, they couldn’t be bothered to trouble themselves with his little life.

And yet, something about this meeting… Something was incredibly special about sitting next to Blade and across from Jing Yuan, about knowing that Baiheng existed and had visited them just a week prior, promising to drag Jingliu out of the apartment too, all of them fundamentally the same yet so radically different, that Dan Heng couldn’t help but wonder if fate existed just to ensure that everything in his life was meant to go well in the end.

“Start from the beginning,” Dan Heng said, unsure how to respond to Jing Yuan’s overwhelming earnestness. “Why did you decide to write Revenge of the Furnance Master?”

“Ah,” Jing Yuan said, his face once again schooling itself back into something more closely resembling careful neutrality. “A few years ago, I started having dreams of a man looming over a corpse. I do my best to not make a noise, so scared to alert the man to my presence, but every time, without fail, the man looks up right at me.”

Blade shifted in his seat and clenched his fists, and Dan Heng crossed his arms, uncomfortable with what Jing Yuan’s words were implying.  

“At first, I couldn’t see the man’s face,” Jing Yuan admitted, “and I know that whatever I’m seeing isn’t right, that there must be more to the story. But… he terrified me anyway.”

“My therapist told me to write down my dreams,” Jing Yuan continued, “which seemed like as good of a place to start as any. Then, as I was reading some of my dreams back, I thought, hey, this would make a really cool webnovel! And if anyone recognized any of the dreams I was having as memories, too, then that would help me feel like I wasn’t going crazy.”

“So you decided to publicize your nightmares,” Blade said, the expression on his face verging on murderous. “And make me the bad guy?”

The amicable, open aura around Jing Yuan dissipated, gone in an instant by the way Jing Yuan’s face steeled itself into something cold, bitter. “As far as I still know, you are the bad guy,” Jing Yuan said, the calmness of his voice still betraying his true feelings. “You didn’t kill Dan Feng in your do-over — at least, not that I can remember — and you haven’t killed his reincarnation yet. I never did find out why you killed Dan Feng all those years ago, Yingxing—”

Blade quickly stood and in two strides, loomed over Jing Yuan with hatred in his eyes. “You think I wanted to kill Dan Feng?” he hissed, the rage rolling off of him in waves. “You think it’s something I planned to do? Something I want to do again, instead of the worst fucking moment of my worthless, empty life?”

Above them, the sky darkened, the sun ducking behind a thick cover of gray as storm clouds rolled in. Dan Heng hadn’t been paying any attention to the weather or the changing of the seasons, but he was fairly certain that there hadn’t been any talk of rain in the forecast; otherwise, the nurses probably wouldn’t have let him go outside, too worried that he would get caught in the downpour and become weak from the cold.

“What else am I supposed to think?” Jing Yuan asked, tone still just as biting as before but with a touch of fear to it now, too. “I—from what I remember, Taoran got me and the rest of the military for backup to face a feral cultivator. Then I came to Dan Feng’s room, and you were alive again after I saw you die with my own eyes, and he was limp in your arms, even though I had always trusted you to keep him safe, and—”

“Let’s stop talking about this,” Dan Heng interjected before Blade could pounce; he had seen the way Blade’s hands had trembled in anger, and Dan Heng knew firsthand just how strong they were from all the times he had accidentally dented the metal bars of the walker placed in Dan Heng’s room for him to use. He didn’t want to see what would happen if Blade put those same hands to use against someone who, for as far as Dan Heng was aware, no longer possessed any cultivational prowess to fight back. And, quite honestly, Dan Heng did not feel that his previous death warranted such drama; he was alive now, and that was what truly mattered, wasn’t it? “All of this happened thousands upon thousands of years ago.”

Dan Heng’s words were clearly not enough for either of them to completely drop the animosity they held toward each other, but it at least motivated Blade to untense his shoulders just a smidge and for Jing Yuan to soften his expression.

“You’re right, Dan Feng,” Jing Yuan said, and Dan Heng bit back the strange feeling of wrongness that came from hearing Jing Yuan call him by that name — it was still his name, after all, but something about hearing this Jing Yuan say it made Dan Heng feel uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

Beside Dan Heng, Blade huffed out a snort that was more derisive than humorous, but Dan Heng let it slide. “It’s nothing,” Dan Heng replied, “though… I am wondering, if Yingxing was the true ‘bad guy’ for you, then why did you make him the protagonist and Dan Feng the villain in the narrative?”

Jing Yuan looked a tiny bit embarrassed at the question; he hadn’t had any shame looking Blade in the eyes and calling him a murderer but apparently felt bad for portraying Dan Feng negatively. Strange.

“When I first started publishing my writing online, I didn’t have all my memories back.” Jing Yuan patted his knees, looking a bit awkward and out of place. “I… I didn’t start out the story planning to make Dan Feng the villain. It was only after I started workshopping the plot with some other internet writers where I even got the idea.”

Blade perked up at that, the traces of anger in his eyes replaced by suspicion. “Other internet writers?”

Jing Yuan nodded, and though he appeared reluctant to speak directly to Blade, he elaborated, talking about how the people on the writing forums he frequented had been interested in the concept of his story when he had first started it. With nothing more than just a vague idea of how he wanted the story to go, Jing Yuan had welcomed the help and feedback with open arms; and wasn’t writing just more fun with people cheering you on?

As time passed and his webnovel grew in popularity, he had chosen to stick with two different beta readers who had been with him since the beginning. Their suggestions about worldbuilding and characterization were rather helpful, and their encouraging words kept Jing Yuan motivated, especially when he told his parents that he was planning to take a year-long break from university to pursue his writing full time. Jing Yuan had even become especially close with one of his beta readers and exchanged personal social media accounts with the beta, though Jing Yuan was quite tight-lipped about just who exactly said beta reader was.

“It’s not like you’ll know him, anyway,” Jing Yuan had protested when Blade tried to pry.

“So this beta reader you’ve been talking to every day is a ‘him,’ huh?” Blade had retorted, and Jing Yuan had quickly changed the subject after that.

Before Dan Heng knew it, the tense atmosphere that had surrounded them all melted away. Hanging out with Jing Yuan wasn’t as effortless as hanging out with Baiheng had been — she just had the superhuman ability to get along with almost everyone she met, apparently — but Dan Heng appreciated the opportunity to catch up (in a sense, considering the Jing Yuan that stood before him was not the same Jing Yuan he knew), even if Blade never fully relaxed beside him. Blade was responding to Jing Yuan at least, and he stopped looking as if one wrong move from the other man would set him off on a violent rampage.

They talked for a long while, so lost in their own worlds that they hardly noticed the other patients and hospital staff entering and leaving the gardens, wandering around on their breaks or as part of their physical therapy exercises. None of those staff members had come outside to bring Dan Heng back to his room, so he paid them little mind, simply listening to Jing Yuan chat until a timer on his watch went off.

“It never did end up raining,” Dan Heng commented just as Jing Yuan excused himself and waved them both goodbye, promising to visit more often in between his busy class schedule.

Blade turned to him, and Dan Heng marveled at the difference in how he held himself around Jing Yuan and how he held himself with just the two of them. “Hm?”

“The sky was gray and cloudy earlier,” Dan Heng said. “Around the time when you and Jing Yuan were…arguing. It looked like it was going to start raining.”

Blade lifted his eyes toward the sky, the brightness of the slowly setting evening sun making the crimson in his eyes glow amber. Dan Heng, impossibly, stupidly, wanted to make Blade turn toward his gaze toward him again. “Ah. I’m glad, then, that we didn’t have to go back inside.”

“That reminds me — what did you want to tell me earlier?” Dan Heng asked, tilting slightly to the side as he stood from the bench, his legs having grown numb from spending too much time in one position.

Blade caught him quickly before he could lurch too far. “I’ll tell you when you’re not about to pass out.”

“I’m not about to pass out,” Dan Heng protested, but it was weak, and Blade knew it, especially with how heavily Dan Heng was leaning his weight on him.

Sighing and shaking his head, Blade led Dan Heng back into the hospital and into the elevators, where they would take both of them to Dan Heng’s private room on the topmost floors. “You overexerted yourself today. I don’t want to tell you something when you’re just going to fall asleep on me.”

“I’m not…going to fall asleep on you.” Dan Heng blinked slowly, his limbs suddenly resembling lead weights as soon as he crossed the threshold into his room. The room was completely clean, the sheets freshly replaced and made, and the chair Blade used to sit by Dan Heng’s side was pushed back against the wall. Dan Heng spared a tiny bit of energy to mentally grumble at that, wondering why the nurses insisted on moving the chair each time they visited even when they knew Blade would pull it back by Dan Heng’s bed anyway. And where was that book he had been reading? They must’ve put it away in one of the cabinets around the room…

With all the care in the world held between his hands, Blade gently led Dan Heng to his bed, helping pull back the sheets and settling him against the pillows. “I just… need to lie down… for a bit, that’s all.”

The last thing Dan Heng saw before his eyes slid shut — he was only resting his eyes for a minute, he swore! — was the soft upturn of Blade’s lips.

Before sleep completely overtook him, Dan Heng found himself wishing he could see Blade smile more.

Sometimes, the Yingxing in Dan Heng’s dreams taunted him.

The smile that stretched across his lips was all wrong, too stiff at the edges and with a touch too many teeth. It was the facsimile of a smile, the facial expression of someone who knew that pulling their lips upward made others like them more but didn’t quite understand that it wasn’t just the shape of the action, but the open emotion that was supposed to pair with it that made smiles so special.

Words crafted from barbed wire would fall from that Yingxing’s lips, each syllable sharp and cutting, distracting Dan Heng from the sword the mirage would hold to his throat. In truth, Dan Heng could never quite remember the things the Yingxing in his mind would say; as soon as he heard them, they dissipated in the air, nothing more than fleeting thoughts, and as soon as the sword sliced through his throat, Dan Heng would wake up hardly remembering anything about the nightmare at all.

Other times, the Yingxing in Dan Heng’s dreams was silent.

Those were the worst nights.

Dan Heng would sit beside him, or stand in front of him, or — on the worst of the worst nights — lie in bed beside him.

The first time Yingxing’s hand burst through Dan Heng’s chest, Dan Heng had screamed.

The second time Yingxing’s hand burst through Dan Heng’s chest and squeezed and pulled, Dan Heng woke up.

Dan Heng usually slept, for lack of a better descriptor, like the dead. He would lie in bed perfectly still on his back, hardly moving side to side throughout the night. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, he would resemble someone who had long departed the realm of the living; Blade had complained about it, once, when he had first started his nightly vigils by Dan Heng’s side, and Dan Heng had been both flattered and vaguely creeped out that Blade spent his nights standing in a corner watching him sleep, so he invited Blade to, instead, sit on a chair by his side and simply hide whenever he sensed a night-shift nurse come by to check up on him since visiting hours ended at 9:00 pm.

On the second time Dan Heng’s chest had been burst open by Yingxing’s hand, Dan Heng woke up in a pool of his own sweat, a gasp trapped in his throat. He nearly jumped out of his own skin when he had opened his eyes and saw Blade’s luminous red eyes staring back at him.

“Nightmare?” Blade asked, so quiet that Dan Heng could barely hear him over the roaring in his own ears.  

Swallowing thickly, Dan Heng nodded. In some ways, Blade’s unnervingly red eyes, so reminiscent of the blood that would burst forth from Dan Heng’s chest in his dreams, were calming: the Yingxing in his dreams always had the violet eyes Dan Heng remembered, a façade of calm that betrayed nothing of the sinister, all-consuming greed underneath.

Those eyes reminded Dan Heng that his nightmares were really just that: nightmares.

Blade’s gaze slid over to the door; the hallway beyond was quiet, and a quick glance at the digital clock flashing on his bedside table told Dan Heng that the first shift nurses had likely already done their rounds. Another nurse wouldn’t come in to check on him until closer to dawn.

“Are you strong enough to stand?” Blade asked.

Dan Heng assessed his body, flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes and feeling the air filling his lungs. “Stand, yes,” Dan Heng replied, debated with himself internally for a few moments, then continued, “I am not sure if I could walk, though.”

“Hm.” Blade stood up from his chair, adjusted his coat, and cracked his knuckles. “Don’t make a noise.”

“Wh—Blade!” Dan Heng sputtered as Blade scooped him up, warm hands settling in the crook of his knees and around his shoulders like hot brands. “What are you doing?”

“I said to not make a noise,” was the only thing Blade said before he effortlessly opened the window with only one hand and jumped out of the hospital room and up onto the rooftop above.

Hastily, Dan Heng threw his arms around Blade’s neck, clinging on for dear life. He knew, logically, that Blade had kept his control over his qi and even improved his strength in the thousands of years he had spent immortal, but a part of Dan Heng’s mind saw the modern concrete buildings all around him as wholly separate from mythical beings and cultivation and simply felt terrified.

Still, before that part of his brain could fully devolve the jolt of surprise into full-blown panic, they were settled firmly on the roof.

“Do you remember when we used to drink on the rooftop of Yingxing’s workshop?” Blade asked, as he sat down and settled Dan Heng on his lap.

“I remember,” Dan Heng said, doing his best not to think about how he could feel the warmth of Blade’s thighs through the thin fabric of his hospital-issued sleep pants and instead focusing on how gorgeous the moon was. It was full and high in the sky, almost as bright as the sun was during the day. “We were never quite as high up as we are now, though. And we’re missing a few drinks.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking while you’re still weak.”

“I know that,” Dan Heng huffed, a bit miffed that his efforts at teasing had been rebuffed.

If Blade realized that Dan Heng was a bit embarrassed, Blade didn’t show it, simply nodding and continuing, “But when we were on that rooftop, your troubles…”

Sensing that Blade was once again having a bit of trouble voicing his thoughts, Dan Heng did his best to complete them. “The troubles of being High Elder always felt far away.”

“So let your nightmares…and any other troubles you have…” Blade said, his eyes downcast, his scarred and calloused fingers thumbing at a stray thread sticking out from his jeans. “…feel just as far away here.”

Dan Heng nodded, almost afraid to turn away from the sky and look at Blade. What would he see on Blade’s face? Was it something he was ready to face, something to come to terms with, something to look at and face unwaveringly?

“We’re not the same people we used to be.”

Oh.

Oh.

Dan Heng’s heart was beating an unrelenting rhythm, and his mouth was feeling a little dry, but he stayed where he was, rooted to the spot, too nervous to even consider shifting where he sat.

“We’re not the same people we used to be,” Dan Heng agreed, his fingers tightening in the back collar of Blade’s shirt. “And I’m grateful for that.”

Blade hummed, and Dan Heng let himself relax, let himself lean his back onto Blade’s chest, comforted by the familiarity of just him and Blade and the moon and the stars and the added beauty of the twinkling city lights so far down below.  

Chapter Text

“Would you ever want to make me immortal, A-Feng?”

Dan Feng set down his wine cup and smacked Yingxing on the chest. “If you say such brash things out loud for all to hear, then do not go blaming me when someone does hear and reports you to the authorities.”

Yingxing threw his head back and laughed, and despite the flare of annoyance that had overtaken Dan Feng for a moment, he couldn’t help but admire Yingxing’s silhouette against the half-moon behind him.

It had been a long, long week for the two of them. Just a few days prior, they and the rest of the Quintet had led a relatively unsuccessful campaign against the Denizens of Abundance; unsuccessful because they had only managed to take out a small group of the Denizens before they had managed to scamper away, but altogether there had been no casualties and extremely minor injuries on the Xianzhou’s side, so at least they had that.

Still, the mountains of paperwork that had landed on Dan Feng’s desk in the days following were enough to make Dan Feng regret going out at all.

Still, at least Yingxing had dragged him away for a relaxing night drink before Dan Feng could work himself into another stress-induced headache.

“I am not saying anything for all to hear,” Yingxing replied, pouring a bit more drink into Dan Feng’s cup, “as I am simply posing a hypothetical question to you. Unless you think yourself to be the ‘all’ in this scenario?”

“Hypothetical, hm?” Huffing, Dan Feng took his cup back into his hands. “With how loudly you speak, it’s a wonder you have yet to alert the entire neighborhood of your whereabouts atop this roof. You may be directing your words only to me, but everyone in the homes below are the unwitting listeners.”

In truth, Yingxing was not actually talking all that loudly. He could be, at times, but whenever he and Dan Feng sat on top of the workshop’s roof and passed a jar of wine in between the two of them, his voice could only be heard by the man at his side.

Yingxing made sure of it, and Dan Feng knew it. Dan Feng was just deflecting, buying time so that he could avoid answering the question — and Yingxing knew that, too.

Yingxing allowed Dan Feng his silence. In the end, it really was a passing curiosity; Yingxing knew that talks of immortality were near taboo in the Xianzhou, especially with how much they were fighting against the Denizens of Abundance. And any other ways to make someone immortal were meant to be secrets, so even musing about making someone else immortal could invite scrutiny from the military.

Instead of pushing Dan Feng to talk, Yingxing simply continued pouring wine for the both of them.

“If I am to be frank with you,” Dan Feng said finally after they had downed several more cups, the wine in his stomach evidently loosening his tongue, “I have thought about whether it would be…worth it, to make you immortal.”

Yingxing paused in his drinking then, his hands far too shaky to reliably bring the cup up to his lips. “Is that so?”

“I would not force it on you,” Dan Feng said, a touch too quickly, as if he were doing it simply to reassure Yingxing instead of any long-held conviction of his own. “But I have thought about it.”

“Have you thought about making any of the other members of the Quintet immortal as well?” Yingxing asked, sounding more curious than anything.

“…They wouldn’t need my help,” Dan Feng said, looking away from Yingxing and turning his gaze up toward the sky. “Their cultivational bases are strong. If they worked hard at it, I’m sure they could come close to immortality, if they wanted to.”

“How would they know they were truly immortal, though?” Yingxing continued his line of questioning. “Instead of simply enjoying a longer lifespan than most of their speices, or just being close to immortal but still able to die.”

“Does anyone really know what immortality is?” Dan Feng countered. “How long must one live in order to be considered immortal? Until civilizations crumble to dust, other species cease to exist, and you witness the universe as we know it eat itself away? How long does one even want to live, realistically?”

How long does one even want to live, truly? At what point does living simply become existence, and at what point does existence become living?

“If you are still wondering if it would be worth it,” Yingxing said, staring down at the drops of wine still left in his cup, “then I will tell you now that I would not stop you, if you really thought it were.”

Dan Feng sighed and looked away from the moon and the stars, but he said nothing in response.

No more talks of immortality came up for the rest of the night. It wasn’t worth speaking about, not when they could have their fingertips brush when both reaching for the wine jar, anyway.

Yingxing and Dan Feng finished their drinks in silence, accompanied only by the weight of things they would never find the courage to say to one another.

(Until the very end.)

Dan Heng could tell that Blade truly did not want to leave, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a twinge of fear and even anger at hearing that Blade was.

“Hacker Bunny is cashing in the favor I owe her,” Blade said, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “I tried to ask her if it could be delayed, but apparently whatever it is just cannot wait. I’ll be back in three, maybe two days’ time.”

“That’s good to hear,” Dan Heng replied, trying not to show how much the thought of being left alone in the hospital was affecting him.

Before he had lived again as Dan Feng, Dan Heng had grown used to being alone. Despite what most people might think, Dan Heng did like being alone; it was peaceful, and Dan Heng found himself craving the quiet more than not.

But often times, while lying by himself in a hospital room after the doctors told him it was better to keep him under supervision, Dan Heng would find himself wishing that his solitary lifestyle had been a choice had made out of an abundance of options, rather than the easiest reality forced upon him by his chronic illness.

Yes, Dan Heng did like being alone. But, as he learned more and more from his second life as Dan Feng, being alone and being lonely were vastly different things.

…and even though they were different things, and being alone without Blade for two or three days wasn’t a a long time to be lonely, Dan Heng still felt uneasy to be separated for so long.

“Maybe you can invite Baiheng, Jingliu, or…” Blade’s lip curled in disgust, to Dan Heng’s internal amusement. “…that hack author to spend time with you for a bit. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Dan Heng was sure they wouldn’t mind — Baiheng probably would be overjoyed, considering she had only seen them once that first time she had decided to stop by — and yet he still didn’t want to be the first to reach out.

“Hm,” Dan Heng said instead of an outright refusal.

Blade could clearly tell what Dan Heng was really thinking, but he didn’t push the matter. “Rest and recover. Then, when I come back, we can finally move you out of the hospital and find an apartment…”

Ah, yes.

The future that was sure to come.

Honestly, as much as Dan Heng wanted to leave the hospital, it was strange to think of that reality coming true. The reality that the chronic illness he had dealt with all of his life was now gone — his soul settled firmly in the body it was meant to inhabit, with no more detours — and once he fully regained his strength from the five-year long coma he had been put into, he would be just…free to leave.

He wouldn’t need to schedule in any more hospital visits. Well, technically he had to continue with his physical therapy sessions, but those didn’t have to happen at the hospital, and even then the physical therapy sessions were less like stays in a hospital and more like exercise with a licensed trainer.

He wouldn’t have to worry about randomly collapsing while trying to cross the street. And even if he did, he could reasonably expect Blade to be there for him, rather than be forced to rely on the kindness of strangers stopping to drag his limp body off the pavement and onto the sidewalk.

Dan Heng could expect Blade to be right by his side, because Dan Heng was leaving the hospital and going home, and…

And Blade would be coming with him.

Blade would be coming with him.

“I’ll see you in three days,” Dan Heng said, valiantly ignoring the whirlwind of thoughts that he knew he had to gather and unpack at some point.

With a small, barely noticeable upward quirk of his mouth, Blade cupped Dan Heng’s cheek, a burst of warmth against the chilled skin of Dan Heng’s face that quickly disappeared as Blade pulled his hand away.

“I will try to make it two days,” Blade said, looking at Dan Heng with his captivating gold-red eyes for a touch longer than socially acceptable before turning away, pushing open the door, and leaving.

Dan Heng sighed and walked to his bedside table, looking through a few of the books stacked on top.

It looked like it was time to catch up on some reading…

On the first day without Blade waiting for him when he woke up, Dan Heng opened his eyes to a curious nurse, one he didn’t recall seeing before (and he would have remembered her, considering her hair was a light green), dropping breakfast off in his room.

“G-Good morning,” the nurse said, taking care to offer Dan Heng a handful of napkins to go with his meal. “H-How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

Dan Heng hadn’t really, especially without Blade’s comforting presence at his side, but there wasn’t much use in complaining about it. “I feel fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” The nurse stood by his bedside awkwardly for a few moments, long enough for Dan Heng to shift uncomfortably from where he was sitting up in the hospital bed.

“I’m sorry that I’m not your usual nurse,” the nurse said, twisting her fingers together. “Your assigned nurses and doctor both fell ill overnight and called out. I’ll be here taking care of you for the morning shift, and my other colleagues will take over for the other shifts.”

Dan Heng nodded. Admittedly, as much as he was grateful for the other medical staff looking after him, he hadn’t formed any level of emotional attachments with any of them. During the early days right after he had awoken, he had been too…in his head to really pay attention to anything they did, and even now he barely saw much of them. There was always evidence that they had been in his room when he was out in the gardens with Blade or attending physical therapy sessions (also with Blade supervising while staying hidden), like the chair that always got moved, the way his bedsheets were always tidied up when he came back (even though they knew he would just be ruining them again), and the new water bottles that would populate his bedside table (although Dan Heng had specifically requested that they stop that, since often times, they would clean up bottles that still had plenty of water in them to drink).

They were more like ghosts to him that left their mark on the room he also haunted rather than people he interacted with, and Dan Heng felt a bit bad about that.

So, in an effort to connect with other people besides Blade, Dan Heng asked, “What’s your name?”

The nurse perked up, looking genuinely excited that someone had asked for her name. Dan Heng felt a bit guilty that he hadn’t asked for his other nurses’ names. “A-Ah, my name is Huohuo.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Huohuo,” Dan Heng replied, and though their conversation did not continue much after that — Huohuo excused herself to continue the rest of her rounds — Dan Heng felt a bit lighter.

In the afternoon, another nurse came to check on him, her demeanor much calmer than Huohuo’s had been, and the fragrance that followed her was calmingly herbal.

“I’m Lingsha, and I’ll be your second shift nurse,” she explained as she went through the process of giving him a short checkup. She took his blood pressure, checked his breathing, and asked him to run through a series of mobility tasks that Dan Heng could do in his sleep from how many times he had been asked to do them before.

Throughout the checkup, Lingsha’s face betrayed nothing of what she was thinking, but as soon as it was concluded, she asked, “Why are you still being kept here?”

Dan Heng blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I apologize. That was a bad way to say it,” Lingsha said, then she glanced behind her at the still-open door to his room and stood up to close it, looking around the hallway as discreetly as possible all the while. Who was she looking out for? Had Dan Heng inadvertently gotten a paranoid nurse?

With dread pooling in his gut, Dan Heng did not like the way the conversation seemed to be headed, but he waited for Lingsha to return to his bedside rather than getting up and bolting. He figured he wouldn’t get very far, anyway, but judging by her height, he still had a good half a foot on her height; if push came to shove, he probably could rely on adrenaline and instincts to get him out of a bad situation.

“What I meant to say is, although you are still relatively weak, you are definitely not too weak to go home,” Lingsha explained, turning her clipboard around so he could see the notes she had written down. He couldn’t understand what the chart was saying, of course, but he relaxed minutely; he appreciated that she was trying to communicate and keep him in the loop, and her paranoia seemed to mostly stem from allowing other people to overhear her. “I see that you were given a walker to aid with your mobility. That, along with regular visits to your physical therapist, should be enough for you at this point — the IV drips and extra machinery are nice to have, certainly, but it’s not a requirement. And I’d imagine that the consecutive years you’ve stayed in this hospital have to be…expensive.”

Dan Heng imagined the same. He hadn’t been thinking too hard about the likely exorbitant bill that he was racking up by staying in the hospital for so long, but he imagined that it was enough to bury him in debt if he didn’t have Blade’s reassurance that it would be taken care of.

“And this room could absolutely be used for someone who is in a more dire situation than you are,” Lingsha continued, her eyebrows furrowed, “which is why I am curious: have they talked to you at all about the possibility of being discharged yet?”

That question made Dan Heng realize that…none of the staff had, actually. He had just assumed that they would let him know when the time was right for him to leave, and, as much as he didn’t like staying the hospital alone, whenever he was with Blade…

Well, anyway. They hadn’t questioned it too much, since Dan Feng might have been a healer but ancient cultivational healing was much different from modern-day Western medicine. It was true that Dan Heng was walking with very little assistance these days, choosing to lean on Blade more for the comfort of it all than any physical need to, and Dan Heng was finishing most of his meals without the need for too many additional supplements and vitamins, but again, it was hard to know for sure whether Dan Heng was truly better or if he was just getting better.

Besides, Blade and Dan Heng had both needed some time to look for apartments in the area that they wanted to move into, once Dan Heng was discharged.

(Again, Blade had assured Dan Heng that money was no obstacle — after all, what did an immortal man do with the wealth he had amassed while working under a near-omniscient spiritual being? — but neither of them wanted to live extravagantly, either.)

But now, Dan Heng was thinking that they really should have questioned everything more. How could he have gotten so careless?

If Dan Heng truly cared about leaving the hospital, then why hadn’t he stood up for himself and asked to go?

But even then, even though he hadn’t asked when he could leave, why were they not discharging him yet? Was it just to squeeze out more money from him — or more realistically, from his parents, who had been paying for the hospital bills before Blade had come along?

And speaking of which, why hadn’t his parents come to visit him yet?

“They have not talked to me about my eventual leave,” Dan Heng said once he realized he had gone too long without answering. “Is there a reason you had to close the door to my room before telling me this, Miss Lingsha?”

Lingsha tapped her nails against the wood of the clipboard, the rapid clack clack clack giving Dan Heng something else to focus on rather than the footsteps passing by outside in the hallway. “I only transferred here from another hospital last month. I’m not looking to be heard questioning the decisions of more senior staff just yet.”

That was fair. Dan Heng appreciated her honesty, regardless. “But would you be willing to reach out to any senior staff to see if any would discharge me?”

“It might take a day, and at that point your regular doctor and nurse may come back and clear you to be discharged anyway,” Lingsha replied, but she offered Dan Heng a small smile. “Still, I’ll see what I can do.”

“I don’t need to be discharged that quickly,” Dan Heng replied. Blade wouldn’t be back for another two days, anyway, and he didn’t want to discharge himself and burden Baiheng, Jingliu, or Jing Yuan with having to stay with them in the interim. “I just want to get the process started. I’m sure it’s a bit more complicated when I’ve effectively lived in the hospital for the past half decade of my life.”

Lingsha laughed and shook your head. “You would be right about that, Mr. Dan Heng. I will let my supervisors know that you’re interested in checking out within this week and share with them what I’ve found during my examination today, and hopefully you’ll hear back soon.”

Right as she stood up, Dan Heng blurted out, “Do you think you can also find out why my parents haven’t come to visit yet?”

Dan Heng braced himself for pity, but instead, Lingsha’s eyes simply filled with understanding. “Of course, I will. I might be working into the night shift today, so if I hear anything, I will stop by your room and let you know.”

Grateful, Dan Heng thanked Lingsha one more time before she left.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Dan Heng got up out of his bed and began to pack.

Dan Heng really didn’t have much. A few changes of clothes that Blade had gotten him, mostly. Maybe a few books that the nurses had left on his bedside table. His outdated, nearly expired government ID. A worn-out wallet with a few old credit cards and a few folded bills of cash. A phone that was no longer supported by the latest software updates but was just enough to text and call the people he needed to contact and a number that was still in service.

Everything fit easily into the plastic bag that lined the small trash bin in the corner of the room.

Dan Heng wasn’t lying when he told Lingsha that he didn’t need to be discharged that quickly.

Even if he wanted to, if he left, he would have nowhere to go; he hated feeling like a damsel in distress.

Although Baiheng had been texting him semi-regularly to remind him that if he needed anything, anything at all, that she was just a message away, he didn’t want to put her out by asking to stay with her; he had seen photos of the apartment she shared with Jingliu and their precious cat baby, and it was perfect for a couple — but three people would undoubtedly overcrowd the place, even if he chose to sleep on the floor (and he knew, in his heart, that Baiheng wouldn’t allow that).

Staying with Jing Yuan was always an option, too, but again, Dan Heng didn’t want to make any of his friends house him unless it was absolutely necessary.

And, ultimately, even if Dan Heng did choose to stay with one of his friends, he had no way of contacting Blade to tell him where he had gone. From what Dan Heng could gather, Hacker Bunny — and the two other mystical women he was still somewhat in touch with — existed in a space that was both reality and not, which made it both incredibly easy to get to her if you knew exactly how to do it. The nerdy part of Dan Heng found that fact so cool, but the practical part of him was annoyed that he couldn’t just send her a text to tell Blade to charge and check his phone.

Whatever. It didn’t matter that Dan Heng wouldn’t be leaving the hospital until Blade came to pick him up.

Packing was being prepared, and Dan Heng didn’t want to sit around feeling useless.

Just a few more days.

Just a few more days.

Just a few more days.

Dan Heng jolted awake in bed as soon as he felt the needle pierce his skin.

“You’re awake?” a vaguely familiar voice asked, but it was hard to place it through the haze of sleep and a new, sudden drowsiness clawing at his consciousness. “It would have been much easier on the both of us if only you had remained unconscious, but no matter. You will be asleep again soon enough.”

Alarm bells blared in Dan Heng’s head, and any lingering sleepiness Dan Heng felt disappeared in an instant. With as much strength as he could conjure up, he ripped the needle out of his arm and tackled the person looming over his bedside, sending them both tumbling to the floor below.

As they landed, Dan Heng caught sight of a face that made his blood run cold.

“Taoran,” he hissed, his tongue starting to tingle and numb in his mouth. “You—”

“Me,” Taoran said back gleefully. “You’re right, it is me!”

And so it was. Except, the more Dan Heng’s eyes adjusted to the dark, the more he could that the Taoran underneath him was…different. Wrong, somehow, as if someone had taken his facial features and shifted them ever so slightly to one side.

And as Dan Heng’s eyes trailed lower, he began to notice other eerie details: the sallowness of his skin, the gray pallor of his cheeks, the black veins bulging out clearly from his neck.

It was Taoran, all right. But it was a Taoran who had spent far too long living in a world that he no longer was meant to occupy.

“I knew I couldn’t rely on mortals to keep you in here for too long,” Taoran said without any prompting. Trust the guy to continue talking without being asked; some old dogs really could not be taught new tricks. “The Denizens had found many ways to influence people to do their bidding, but ultimately each and every one of them died. How tragic it is to die, isn’t it?”

Dan Heng couldn’t even begin to process exactly what Taoran was saying.

How long had this man — or whatever he was, at this point — been alive? Was this the same Taoran that had stolen Dan Feng’s hearts in his first life…?

“High Elder, High Elder,” Taoran said in a tauntingly sing-songy voice, “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?”

If this really was the original Taoran and not some reincarnation, then, yes, Dan Heng had an idea of how long Taoran had been waiting to do this.

The hospital room around Dan Heng spun. The strength had not yet left his limbs, but he could feel a weakness forcing itself into his body, a weakness that he knew was not natural. He started to roll off of Taoran and sprint for the door of his hospital room, run out and get the closest person to help him, but Taoran must’ve seen the way his shoulders had tensed because in the next moment, Taoran had knocked him down to the ground, his head colliding painfully with the linoleum flooring.

“Do you know how it feels like to live every single second of your day, hearing your heart beating through your ears and in your lungs and under your skin?” Taoran grit out. “Do you know how it feels like to have your heart want to escape your chest? Do you know how it feels, High Elder? Do you?”

Of course, Dan Heng didn’t. The heart in his chest was rightfully his.

“But no matter. You still have one heart left, don’t you?”

Dan Heng did. It was the only one he had, now.

“You and your stupid, unworthy Yingxing — why did he get immortality with no consequences attached, but I had to deal with this?” Taoran spat, tearing at his own hair, chunks of black falling to the floor and leaving bald spots in their wake.

Was this how Yingxing could have turned out? Dan Heng couldn’t help but wonder. Was this how Yingxing acted in those years he wandered around all alone?

And if that was how Yingxing could have turned out, if this was how Yingxing could have stayed, would Dan Feng — would Dan Heng — still have given him his heart anyway?

Whatever had been in the IV needle was working through Dan Heng’s bloodstream earnestly now, and he fought every fiber in his being to move his arms and legs, but it felt as if he were fighting his way through a sticky syrup, his limbs leaden and his eyelids fluttering. It felt like his body was becoming a prison for his mind, and try as he might, he couldn’t win against the heaviness pressing against his chest.

“Do you know how long it took for me to wait for you to wake up?” Taoran cackled, the black lines of his veins crawling up his arms and the tensed lines of his neck. “If I’d had my way, I would’ve just taken your heart right on the spot! But no, I did that the first time around, and look what it got me, huh?”

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Dan Heng thought, his fingers twitching to find purchase against the too-smooth surface of the floor beneath him.

“You had to have known what it would do to me,” Taoran continued without paying any attention to where Dan Heng was fighting to stand up on the floor. As it was, Taoran likely didn’t need to pay attention; Dan Heng could barely muster enough energy in his body to so much as cradle his throbbing head in his hands. “As soon as you killed yourself in your first life, you were probably laughing. Probably laughing at me. Probably laughing knowing that you had gotten one over me, one last time.”

Dan Feng hadn’t been laughing. Dan Feng hadn’t been laughing at all, hadn’t been thinking of Taoran at all.

“It felt like torture, waiting every day for years and years and years for you to finally open your eyes,” Taoran said, his voice coming through as if Dan Heng was slowly drowning in water, “but now I’m putting you back to sleep. Funny, right?”

It wasn’t funny, and even if it was, Dan Heng wouldn’t have been able to laugh.

Maybe he really should’ve just texted Baiheng. Meeting Baobao would’ve been a nice way to pass the time.

Dan Heng hoped Blade wouldn’t blame himself.

“…But it shall only be for a moment. Good night, High Elder.”

Chapter Text

A mortal body could not typically handle the weight of immortality.

It simply went against the laws of the universe. A soul was immortal, but a body — unless it was a body created by the heavens to withstand the eventual corrosion that would come about from existing on the mortal plane, a body had its limits.

Even the less-mortal among the mortals — such as the foxians or the Vidyadhara — had to accept that their spirits would one day leave their bodies.

Though the Vidyadhara had an ancestry that traced back to the celestial dragons, and the blood flowing through their veins was much more suited to the wonders and hardships of immortality than other earthly beings, the Vidyadhara were still mortal. Their souls were simply tied to the same general vicinity, unlike other mortals who could be reincarnated into bodies found in completely different parts of the world.

The closest the Vidyadhara could ever come to true immortality was through the nine-hearted one…and even then, its existence may have only proven why mortals were not meant to be immortal.

The tales of the nine-hearted Vidyadhara that had been passed down from High Elder to High Elder and within each generation of the Preceptors were full of horrifying stories wherein the nine-hearted Vidyadhara was hunted down by species found all throughout the world; the hearts in that special Vidyadhara’s chest, after all, were seen as more valuable than any sense of morality or compassion. The nine-hearted Vidyadhara was a danger to their species, as normal Vidyadhara were needlessly massacred, too. After all, how could an outsider truly look at a Vidyadhara and identify which of them had the secret to immortality hidden in their very being?

And when the nine-hearted Vidyadhara was accurately identified and caught…

Even when the nine-hearted Vidyadhara could bear the pain of having their chest flayed open and their hearts laid bare no longer, forcing their body into rebirth, most hunters simply kept track of the reincarnation until they were ready to start the harvest once more.

Until Yubie, the legends said, the nine-hearted Vidyadhara could only leave their captors’ control if they were sold to the new highest bidder or if they managed to escape by force — but even then, most of them would be found quickly once they reincarnated and their memories reset.

However, the High Elders and the Preceptors did not know — because the knowledge had been lost to both time and greed — that the nine-hearted Vidyadhara had once been a true heavenly being, one that had chosen to descend to the mortal realm to bestow immortality upon those deemed worthy to bear its burden and reap its rewards.

Once upon a time, the nine-hearted Vidyadhara had originally been a dragon — a true dragon, one with a trailing tail and four legs and breath that could summons the healing rains from high above in the heavens down to the barren lands of the world.

Most of the celestial beings lived lives of contentment; far above the ground below, up where the cries of the common people could not reach them, they enjoyed lives of ease, meditation, and peace. Though some celestial beings had come down to the mortal realm on the basis of love, begetting children with humans and creating species such as the foxians and Vidyadhara, many still had no reason to turn their gazes downward.

But this dragon chose to peer down to the earth and was distraught by what it saw: the sufferings of the people there as they were forced to endure the relentless cycles of birth, sickness, old age, and death, then reincarnation. Although the dragon could easily look away and return to its comfortable days, it took pity on the people and took on the form of its closest relative on the earth: a Vidyadhara.

A true celestial being had no need for a heart, as the citizens of heaven were sustained on the strength of their souls alone. However, this dragon, before stepping onto the earthen soil with its newly made corporeal form, split its soul into nine parts — nine hearts, one to keep its body alive and eight to award to mortals who they believed responsible enough to accept the blessing and burden of immortality.

The nine-hearted Vidyadhara thought that eight hearts would not be enough, believing that there would be plenty of mortals who deserved to live evermore, but had faith that their physical body’s regeneration would help alleviate that issue and people would be patient. The nine-hearted Vidyadhara envisioned that, over time, they would be able to create an ideal society of caring and compassionate mortals and the mortal realm would be just like the celestial realm, peaceful and easy.

At first, the mortals worshipped the nine-hearted Vidyadhara, leaving offerings at their feet and praying to them for longevity, prosperity, happiness. Those that were gifted hearts treated the blessings with the reverence and weight they deserved, and they went on to become pillars of their community, the wisdom and love they had for their people inspiring them to guide their fellow man to enlightenment.

But, just as a still pool of water is disturbed by one single ripple, some greedy mortals decided they couldn’t wait for the nine-hearted Vidyadhara to hand out their hearts. Other mortals who were not so greedy but equally as desperate decided the same.

Why did this strange being with no true understanding of the plights of the mortal man get to decide who lived forever, they wondered? Why did some get to enjoy a life free of sickness and suffering while others, likely equally as deserving, had to contend with the pain and horrors of loss?

What right did that nine-hearted Vidyadhara have to play god?

Dan Heng had to admit that he wasn’t the biggest fan of being abducted right from his hospital room by the same man who had essentially caused his death in his previous life. There were, quite frankly, many better uses of his time, like staring at the wall, watching paint dry, chewing his fingernails to the quick…

“You can’t pretend you’re asleep with me,” Taoran sing-songed from somewhere nearby. “I know you’re awake, High Elder. I was the one to administer the sedative, after all. I know how it works. Why won’t you open your eyes and look at me?”

Nope. Nope.

No matter what Taoran said, Dan Heng still didn’t want to open his eyes and look at that man’s disgusting face again.

Besides, even though Dan Heng was now awake, whatever drug Taoran had given him was still quite present in his system, making even the relatively simple task of lifting his eyelids one that Dan Heng could tell would take a great deal of effort. He may have been technically conscious, but what was the point of opening his eyes if he was just going to close them again?

A small part of Dan Heng’s brain, the part that had spent the better part of 10 years as Dan Feng the seasoned fighter, begged him to open his eyes and stay on high alert. How could he respond to a threat if he couldn’t even see what was coming for him?

But the larger part of Dan Heng, the one that, though mostly healthy, was still recovering from a body that had spent five years on the brink of collapse and even longer suffering from a soul that didn’t want to stay in the mortal realm, could only muster up the strength to survey his location through the use of his other senses. It would have to do for now.

“I tried to get to you in the hospital, but someone was always watching over you — I see that your pathetic dog of a man followed you all the way here, too, hm?”

Dan Heng bristled at Blade being called a dog, but kept his mouth shut, still trying to appear asleep. Maybe Taoran would let his guard down?

“Good thing mortals are so easily manipulated…”

Judging by the acoustics of Taoran’s voice, wherever they were was likely a largely empty room. It was cold, almost too cold to the point where Dan Heng wondered if they were in some empty warehouse in the middle of nowhere, or if Taoran just had shelled out a little extra money to get the air conditioning running so high in the autumn.

As feeling slowly began returning to Dan Heng’s limbs, he registered that he was sitting in a chair of some sort, probably made of wood judging by how tough it was, his back reclined about a quarter of the way down. For the most part, his clothes had remained intact, but there was a glaring spot of intense cold right in the middle of his chest that made a chill of dread run down Dan Heng’s spine.

Was Taoran really going to…?

“The heart I took from you long, long ago, is defective, High Elder. Won’t you let me borrow a new one?”

That shocked a laugh out of Dan Heng, who was realizing that he felt quite lightheaded — likely from his body not faring well in the cold and also from the absurdity of the situation. Transmigrating into a redo of his previous life even seemed less strange in comparison to being kidnapped by the guy who had antagonized him through two lives and apparently had stuck around for more.

“Borrow?” Dan Heng scoffed, everything sounding quite far away to his ears. “Borrowing implies that you plan to give the thing you took back. Are you going to rip the heart you took from Dan Feng all those years ago out of your chest and give it back?”

Dan Heng felt a cold, clammy hand press against his chest, and his eyes shot open to see Taoran grinning creepily down at him.

“Not quite.”

“I can’t always protect you, you know.”

For the second time in his life (that he could actually remember), Dan Heng opened his eyes to the misty mountains and flowing rivers of the afterlife.

Instead of the blank and almost unnatural stillness that had greeted him the first time around, though, Dan Feng — and, wow, it sure was strange to see what essentially had been, and still sort of was, Dan Heng as well — stood before him, staring off into the distance as if someone was standing just beyond Dan Heng’s line of sight.

“You’re essentially mortal.” Dan Feng continued speaking to that invisible person, his voice growing more pained with each word that passed through his lips. “You may be strong, but you need to be careful with your life. You only have this one.”

Ah.

Dan Feng was probably talking to Yingxing, then, and Dan Heng was seeing memories from his true previous life.

“There’s only so much I can do to save you,” Dan Feng said, shaking his head and sighing.

Dan Heng had to smile at the plain concern and care shown on Dan Feng’s face. To anyone that didn’t know how to read Dan Feng well, then perhaps it would not be as obvious; but to Dan Heng, who was basically looking into a mirror, he could tell exactly how much Dan Feng was affected by Yingxing’s recklessness.

It was one thing to know through his own lived experience that Dan Feng and Yingxing truly cared for each other and that almost everything written in Revenge of the Furnace Master was fake; it was another thing to see it as a third-party observer.

Until Dan Feng turned his head and stared directly at Dan Heng. “Why are you ignoring me? I’ve been talking to you.”

Before the nails digging into the skin of Dan Heng’s pecs could draw blood, Taoran was sent flying away from him by a force that was too fast for Dan Heng’s eyes to capture.

“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Blade snarled before turning away from where Taoran was lying face down on the floor toward Dan Heng. With clear concern in his eyes, Blade’s bloodied hands came up to rub along Dan Heng’s arms as if to warm him up. “Dan Heng, he didn’t do — I swear, if he did anything—”

“Just sedated me,” Dan Heng replied quickly, reaching out with shaky hands to feel for himself that Blade was real and truly in front of him and not some hallucination caused by whatever he had been injected with. It was reassuring to feel Blade’s warmth underneath his fingers, chasing away the frigidness of Taoran’s touch that had sent panic racing through Dan Heng’s veins and pinpricks of disgust along his skin.

Perhaps Taoran’s actions had affected him more than he cared to admit.

Dan Heng didn’t really want to talk about it, though, so he simply asked, “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another two days?”

Blade’s grip on Dan Heng’s arms turned bruising for a few seconds before he abruptly let go, likely realizing that he was still holding onto Dan Heng. “I’m never fucking leaving you alone for this long again,” he said lowly. “Hacker Bunny was keeping an eye on you while I was doing the extraction by hacking into the hospital security cameras and —”

Blade took a shuddering breath in and moved one of his hands up to cup Dan Heng’s face. “When she called me to cut the mission short, I knew something was wrong.”

It both unnerved Dan Heng and made him feel a bit more assured that, even while being physically away, Blade had managed to look out for him.

“Where are we?” Dan Heng asked. His eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness of the place where he was being held, and now that he was actually looking around and taking in all the details that his sight had to offer, he realized that his earlier assumption that they were in an abandoned warehouse of some sort could not be farther from the truth, and he had not been seated on a chair at all, but propped up on some slab of stone.

Though it was evidently empty, the walls around them were not made of metal or concrete, but appeared to be stone; it was too dark to see much of the details, still, but there was a faint light that seemed to emanate from the walls from what Dan Heng supposed could be writing. Dan Heng couldn’t quite make out of any of it, but the shape of the words reminded him of the ancient texts he had seen in the library of the Xianzhou Luofu Vidyadhara compound…

Blade shook his head.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, “though I think it must be some sort of cave, or underground dwelling. After I found out what was happening with you, I called in a favor with Arachne to get me here as quickly as she could, and she basically teleported me in here before I said another word.”

Before Dan Heng could open his mouth and say something like, “You’ll have to introduce me to all these friends you’ve made,” (he was, admittedly, very curious about the three women Blade had been tasked with gathering in exchange for Elio’s help), Blade whipped his head around, materialized a crimson sword in his hands, and stalked confidently toward Taoran — who had, in the scant few minutes Blade and Dan Heng had been talking, managed to drag himself up to standing. Blood dripped from his face, which was partially caved in, and he was obviously staggering — but he was, miraculously, alive.

“Vermin like you really don’t know how to stay down.” Blade pointed the sharp tip of the sword in Taoran’s direction, a clear threat that was further emphasized by the murderous glare in his eyes. “If there’s anything I loathe Yingxing for, it is his failure to ensure you met the same fate as your peers.”

With a frightening speed, the skin around Taoran’s mouth regenerated, crawling up around the bones of his jaw with blood and flesh and sinew all sewing themselves together in a macabre dance.

“You would have killed me in front of a friend?” Taoran spread his arms out in the air in a façade of an open invitation. “In front of a child you had watched grow up?”

“Everyone would have been better for it.” Blade’s grip on his weapon tightened. “Instead, I had to find out that the history books made the Preceptors out to be some sort of twisted martyrs, and you the pitiable sole survivor of the massacre. The Xianzhou Luofu is lucky that its records have since been lost to time, otherwise I would have destroyed them all myself.”

“We’ve all made mistakes in the past.” Not yet fully formed lips pulled back in a smile as the owner of the half-formed face clapped his hands together. “I knew you would bring trouble to the Vidyadhara from the start. We all saw how you cozied up to the High Elder, like a leech or a stray dog taken off the streets. I should have had you killed earlier, too.”

Blade scoffed and stepped forward, his sword gleaming underneath the strange light of the cavern. “As if you would have been able to. I was mortal, not defenseless.”

Taoran continued on as if he hadn’t heard Blade at all, and his words were clearer now that his face had mostly reconstructed itself — the black veins Dan Heng had noticed bulging from his neck before now more prominent than ever and spreading steadily up his skin. “But there’s no sense in dwelling on regrets, is there?” Taoran shook his head and chuckled, his shoulders shaking in an uncannily artificial way. “We can only move forward and make plans to rectify our mistakes. Isn’t that right?”

And with that out of the way, Taoran charged headfirst toward Blade.

It seemed like a death wish. But the heart Taoran had stolen from Dan Feng all those years ago apparently still beat quite strongly within his chest, because even with Blade’s sword running him through, he continued, a manic grin on his face as his clawed hand reached toward Blade’s face and the sword continued its journey clean through his chest and out the other side.

Blade pulled his sword from Taoran’s flesh and jumped back, his sword slick with viscous, smoky blood.

“You and I are both the same,” Taoran taunted, not even bothering to clutch at the wound in his torso. It was as if he couldn’t even feel any of it as he ran forward, raising both of his hands as qi began to gather in his hands.

Blade did not bother dignifying Taoran’s words with any sort of response or indication that he heard them. With a swift backward leap, Blade grabbed Dan Heng around his waist and jumped, just narrowly avoiding the crackling whip of qi that had been headed his way.

Taoran had never been a fighter as far as Dan Heng could remember, but it seemed that the many years he had been on Earth had given him enough time to learn a few tricks.

The qi that Taoran had deployed quickly sputtered out, though, and Dan Heng found himself being set back down on the ground and against the stone wall to prop him up. Blade returned to standing in front of him, guarding him; but knowing that Taoran had a bit of range with his attacks, Blade, too, stood a bit farther than he had earlier.

“You and I are the same!” Taoran repeated again, his eyes wide and his mouth pulled back in a grimace. “You and I — we both have one of Dan Feng’s hearts. You like to pretend you’re so moral and superior, but in truth, we are both the same. I could have easily been you, and you could have easily been me.”

“A heart taken and a heart gifted are not the same,” Blade bit out, his grip on his sword tightening even further and turning his knuckles white. “I never asked for this. You ripped it out of his still-bleeding chest and didn’t bother waiting for his wounds to close before sticking your hands back in to steal another.”

“But you’re the one who dealt the killing blow.” Taoran smirked, the last bit of skin that had been missing at the bottom his jawline finally fusing back to cover the red muscle underneath. “Does that not haunt you? How could Dan Feng have thought death to be a better ending than escaping with you and living?”

Blade grit his teeth and, with one swift motion, leaped up in the air and slashed his sword clean across Taoran’s body in the downstroke.

Taoran crumpled to the ground.

But Taoran was quite clearly not dead, if the way his body twitched was any indication. Dan Heng could only watch in horror as a dark, demonic qi rose from Taoran’s wounds and aided his body in stitching itself back together, like ghostly hands weaving the threads of his flesh in a gruesome tapestry until he was mostly whole.

Except — well, it was also clear that Taoran wasn’t really whole.

It made sense, truly, that whatever strange forces Taoran was using to heal himself so rapidly would not be able to return him to his original state. Any bits of skin or blood that had been lost — either stuck to Blade’s sword or flung too far away from Taoran’s body — were replaced by this demonic qi, causing cracks of inky blackness to cover the length of his injuries. It explained the way his veins were black bulges straining against the confines of his skin, as if they were imprisoned within his muscles and tissue and fighting desperately to get out.

“The Denizens had found many ways to influence people to do their bidding, but ultimately each and every one of them died. How tragic it is to die, isn’t it?”

“You were working with the Denizens of Abundance,” Dan Heng said, standing shakily from her position on the ground. He stayed a safe distance behind Blade, knowing that he would be worse than useless in his weakened state (and not like he had any cultivational training in his current body, anyway) if he managed to get caught by Taoran again. It was unlikely, given how diligently Blade was cutting Taoran down, but one could never be too careful. “You were working with the Denizens of Abundance this entire time.”

Even face down in a pool of his own blood, Taoran managed to speak. “I would not say that I was working with them. They were useful for different things, certainly, but I would never stoop so low as to work with them.”

“That’s how you knew Dan Feng would be weakened enough to capture him that day at the Abyssal portal,” Dan Heng continued, faint impressions of fear rage hurt sorrow rage fear overlaying themselves in his mind, old memories that were not truly his but were not really anyone else’s. “That’s how you and the rest of your wretched Preceptors knew when to arrive at the battlefield to look as if you helped, but you were really...”

“We had to arrive when the goods were fresh, of course.” Taoran’s arm twitched as if he were making to lift himself up, but Blade swiftly stabbed his sword through it, and it fell back to the ground. “Who could have known what would have happened to you if we had waited even a second too long? The Abyssal demons are always hungry, you know, and the taste of a Vidyadhara is hard to come by. They wouldn’t know anything about how special you would be, though, and that would be such a waste.”

Dan Heng was good at keeping a stoic face, but he felt anger rush into his head so quickly that he could have thrown up from the force of it. “You threw Yingxing into an incinerator.”

“Nothing that would not have happened to him had he really been dead,” Taoran replied nonchalantly, as if Dan Heng were overreacting to him tossing out some moldy food found in the pantry. “Don’t many mortals like to be cremated upon their death so that their ashes can be blown away by the wind and taken closer to the heavens? I was simply doing him a favor.”

Blade strode forward a few steps and dug the heel of his shoe into the top of Taoran’s head, a sickening crunch ringing throughout the cavern. “What would you know about what mortals want? You have long passed the point of humanity.”

A muffled, gurgled laugh, barely audible with how hard Taoran’s face was being forced into the ground, still rose up from Taoran’s mangled body. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn a few things. Mortals are so simple.”

Blade pressed down harder, blood seeping out of Taoran’s head and staining his shoes. Shadows rose like a fire’s smoke, almost disappearing amongst the darkness without much light to reveal them.

Despite the gore, Dan Heng found it hard to look away.

“Bold words from a monster who already had everything he wanted and still couldn’t stay away,” Blade hissed, his eyes glowing like candlelight in the cavern’s darkness.

Based on his years of experience reading all sorts of action and revenge novels, Dan Heng knew that talking to Taoran and letting him get under their skin was a bad idea. Even if Taoran apparently was incapable of dying as a result of the heart he had stolen and what was likely a mix of Abyssal demon qi and experiments or concoctions created by the Denizens of Abundance, it would be in their best interests to heavily incapacitate him and find a way to rid of him quickly, rather than try to communicate with him at all.

But Dan Heng had too much bottled up anger…and so many questions he needed answers to. If Taoran had truly gotten what he wanted all those years ago in the form of Dan Feng’s heart and a truly perfect immortality, then why would he be working with Abyssal demons who would corrupt his body? Or the Denizens of Abundance for anything beyond their information? The advanced healing was nice, sure, but unless Taoran was facing life or death situations on the battlefield, then it would be unlikely to be worth the risk.

An immortal had all the time in the world, after all, to rest and recuperate from their injuries if they chose to fight. And Taoran had never liked getting his hands dirty. Why make such a big scene and transfer Dan Heng out of the hospital room when he could have easily gotten what he wanted and left without another word?

What had Taoran said earlier? Something about Dan Feng’s heart being defective…?

With a jolt, Dan Heng realized: had Taoran really been going after him?

“Blade, move—!”

Taoran’s hand shot out and buried the needle of a syringe deep into the meat of Blade’s exposed ankle before surging up and, bathed in nightmarish shadow, thrusting his hand right into Blade’s chest.

But, just as a still pool of water is disturbed by one single ripple, some greedy mortals decided they couldn’t wait for the nine-hearted Vidyadhara to hand out their hearts. Other mortals who were not so greedy but equally as desperate decided the same.

Patience is a virtue. And its opposite is not, and never has been, impatience — but greed.

You see, the nine-hearted Vidyadhara had intended to gift immortality to those they deemed worthy. The hearts themselves were not the true sources of immortality; instead, it was the nine-hearted Vidyadhara themselves using their infinite life force as a celestial being to sustain the lives of all the mortals who had been gifted with a heart. The hearts themselves were simply conduits.

So, a heart that was taken by force…

The community that worshipped the nine-hearted Vidyadhara attempted to fight back against the intruders trying to harm their leader, but they had long grown used to peace and had not developed the fighting instincts necessary to defend themselves properly, and the nine-hearted Vidyadhara had grown weak from shielding them for long enough to allow each and every one of them to escape.

In the end, the greed of the envious won, and the nine-hearted Vidyadhara was captured.  

Well, the people who had conspired to catch the nine-hearted Vidyadhara by surprise and steal the hearts right from their bodiy did succeed.

They wanted immortality, and immortality… was what they got.

Dan Heng had never felt more helpless than when he watched Blade crumple to the ground before him.

With all the strength he could muster, Dan Heng ran to catch Blade and drag him as far away from Taoran as he could. Blade was mostly muscle, which made him heavier than he looked; but with the last of the sedative finally making its way out of Dan Heng’s system, a fresh wave of adrenaline circulating through his veins, and Taoran having collapsed once more, Dan Heng managed to drag Blade’s limp body away.

As soon as he determined that they were far enough away — for the moment, at least, since it was hard to predict exactly when Taoran would be up and moving again — he set Blade gently down on the ground to assess the damage.

A small part of Dan Heng wished he hadn’t.

No. I can’t look away.

Dan Heng grit his teeth and attempted to distance himself from the situation, forcing himself to assume a clinical façade that he had developed himself while living as Dan Feng and surveying the wounded after every battle against the Denizens.

The wound itself was bloody, as wounds tended to be. As Dan Heng stared down at Blade, another, almost identical scene — with almost the exact same man — flashed in his mind.

Blood dripped from Blade’s mouth, slow and steady and streaming down his chin and onto his neck and hair. His crimson eyes showed awareness, but they were rapidly clouding over, like flames flickering in and out before being snuffed out. His coat was mostly intact, but the tear in the middle of it was uneven, burnt and ashy at the edges, fabric curling up and away from the charred flesh underneath.

Unlike the wound that the tree demon had once left on Yingxing, this wound was obviously in the shape of a humanoid hand, and thin, black lines spread out from the main wound like electrical brands. But just like the wound that had almost killed Yingxing during that second try at Dan Feng’s life, black smoke, the same smoke that had plagued the wounds of the Denizens of Abundance and that now plagued Taoran, rose from the bloodied and seared edges of Blade’s injured flesh.

And within the deep cavern of Blade’s chest, past his muscle and his ribs…

Nausea rose quickly in Dan Heng’s chest, but he steadfastly beat it down.

A clinical viewpoint. That was what Dan Heng needed. It was near impossible with how much he cared for Blade, but he needed to stay calm.

Blade was still breathing. His eyes were scrunched shut in obvious pain, but he was still breathing, his chest rising and falling with the force of it.

Distantly, Dan Heng registered the sound of Taoran dragging himself upright. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan Heng saw Taoran hold his hand out, a pulsing red mass in his hands.

It took an even greater effort for Dan Heng not to be sick all over the floor.

“All that effort, and I only managed to grab half the heart?” Taoran shook his head, spat on the ground, and squeezed.

Blade flinched and screamed.

“Oh, sorry!” Taoran said, obviously not sorry in the slightest. “How curious — you’re still alive and can feel that pain, even when it’s not connected to any of your…what are they called… nerve endings? Is this heart not the only thing keeping your soul tethered to this body?”

Madness flashed in Taoran’s eyes, and he licked his lips as he stared almost longingly at the mangled half of Blade’s heart in his hands. “Perhaps… Is this the real key…?”

Taoran lifted the heart higher up in the air reverently, his mouth stretched wide in what might have been the first genuine smile Dan Heng had ever seen from him.

An explosion of blood burst forth as Taoran’s chest opened up to the world.

Gaping, Dan Heng glanced down at the empty space on the ground where Blade had just been, then back up at where Blade had thurst his entire arm through Taoran’s chest to rip out the blackened and corrupted heart right from his chest.

Taoran, that damned smile still on his face, the last expression he would ever make, fell to the ground. Blade squeezed the heart until it burst, and Taoran’s body began disintegrating, flesh and blood melting in black tar and seeping into the ground.

Blade watched the man who had tormented them through both lifetimes start to disappear, then abruptly turned his gaze to Dan Heng.

Dan Heng’s hair stood on end, and for the first time in a long time, he looked at Blade and felt raw, unaltered fear. Blade stood before him, gold-crimson eyes staring unflinchingly at his face as tendrils of black seeped into the whites.

The skin of Blade’s chest was rapidly repairing itself, but even then, Dan Heng could still clearly see in its depths one half of a heart and a beating black shadow taking up the rest of the space within.

Blade smiled. “Dan Feng, will you not give me your heart?”

Dan Heng tried not to let his shock appear on his face, but by the look on Dan Feng’s own face, it was clear that he was not very successful. It figured. They had the same face, after all; if Dan Feng couldn’t read him, then who could?

“What do you mean by ‘save me’?” Dan Heng asked instead of admitting that he had thought Dan Feng had simply been a figment of his imagination, or a recollection from his buried memories. “I know you are a manifestation of my past life, but surely you don’t have the power to pull me back in time again?”

Scoffing, Dan Feng shook his head and raised one eyebrow. “I do not need the ability to pull you back in time to save you. Frankly, you should have been more careful and known that Taoran was coming for you and avoided that.”

Dan Heng’s eye twitched.

After a few moments of tense silence, Dan Feng sighed and his shoulders slumped ever-so minutely. “That is unfair of me. I am projecting my own regrets at having not seen the extent of how far Taoran and the other Preceptors would go for their obsession with immortality more clearly sooner.”

“Then you are the original Dan Feng, then, the one who died after…” Dan Heng couldn’t finish his sentence. “But how am I speaking with you, if I’m really your reincarnation?”

“We may share one soul,” Dan Feng said, “but we do not share the same mind or consciousness. Dan Feng is long dead, and once I fade away, he will truly be gone forever. He had hope that having Yingxing kill him outright would ensure that his next incarnation — you — would be purely mortal, unburdened by the thousands of lives and minds that came before, but…”

The figure of Dan Feng gestured to himself. “By the fact that I exist, it is clear that he was unable to completely sever you from himself. There exists within you a modicum of power that likely acts as a failsafe, should he have needed it. Should you need it.”

A failsafe…

So, in my next life… If I am allowed to have a next life…

Yingxing, will you search for me?

Dan Feng gave Dan Heng a considering look, tilting his head to the side and staring right through Dan Heng with his piercing, icy gaze. “Do you need it now?”

Perhaps Taoran had disrupted the natural processes of Blade’s body in reaching in and wrenching out the heart.

Perhaps he had used Abyssal demonic qi and its traces had embedded themselves in Blade, taken advantage of the void left behind by the stolen half of Blade’s heart.

Perhaps this had been a long time coming. It was still unclear to Dan Heng why Blade had managed to hang onto his sanity for so long, even through all those years of solitude, while Taoran had evidently turned to insanity. Had that been something Taoran had doomed himself to, or was it an inevitability of giving a mortal immortality?

Whatever it was, it was not something Dan Heng knew how to fix.

Just as Blade took a step toward Dan Heng, his eyes murky and his mind clearly muddled, the ground beneath them trembled, and the entire cavern shook. Before Dan Heng could even blink, Blade tackled him out of the way of flying rubble that had fallen from the ceiling just as the cavern collapsed in on itself, burying the still disintegrating Taoran in a shower of boulders.

The cavern must have been created using Taoran’s own qi, Dan Heng realized. Now that he’s gone, it’s reacting in response.

Dan Heng had barely any time to even ponder that, wonder if the two of them would meet the same fate as Taoran underneath layers of unforgiving earth, before he was forced to refocus on Blade.

Smoky tendrils crept across his face from his chest, and where the wound had once left a gaping hole, instead there was a festering black mark in the shape of a handprint. The blood that had been smeared across his skin mingled with the black veins starting to cover the expanse of his skin.

Dan Heng looked at the signs of spiritual rot all over Blade’s body and placed a tentative hand on his chest.

How hard can re-learning how to channel qi be?

Turns out, very hard. Try as Dan Heng might, he could not call upon the healing that had once flowed plentifully through his fingertips.

“Dan Feng?” Blade muttered, his eyes twin pinpricks of light in the nearly absolute darkness.

“Not quite,” Dan Heng replied. Perhaps he should’ve said yes.

“You’re lying,” Blade said simply, a full-body shudder shaking him momentarily. “You’re refusing to take responsibility.”

Responsibility for what? Dan Heng didn’t ask, but Blade didn’t need him to.

“Do you know how long you forced me to wait for you?” Blade snarled through clenched teeth, his entire body quivering as the smoky shadows crawled their way outward from his half-heart. “How selfish of you.”

“Selfish,” Dan Heng murmured in agreeance. He sympathized with Dan Feng in many ways, but if there was one thing he had wished his previous incarnation had not done… “But we found each other again, didn’t we?”

“I found you.” Blade grit out, his eyes growing unfocused once more. Dan Heng could feel Blade’s rough hand sliding up his chest to rest threateningly at his throat. “I found you. Why didn’t you try to find me?”

If I had known, Dan Heng thought, pain lancing through his chest as air suddenly became harder to come by, If I had known, I wouldn’t have stopped searching.

And wasn’t that true? Hadn’t Dan Heng found out about Yingxing through a poorly written novel authored by their mutual friend from a previous life and inexplicably felt drawn to the character within its pages — even if said character had only been a poor caricature of the real man that Yingxing had been in life?

Yingxing was so much more than words on a page, a protagonist on a screen. And Dan Heng had known that.

Blade was a real, living, breathing person, proof that Yingxing was and had always been real, too. He had been mortal but had been made immortal through the force of Dan Feng’s love, and Dan Heng was grateful for it even if he still wished that it never would have happened.

He was prideful, and stubborn, and headstrong, and sweet and thoughtful and caring, even if he was markedly more reserved and sarcastic and acidic than he had been as Yingxing. He overworked himself, even more so now that he was immortal and technically had no need to care for the demands of his physical body like sleep, refusing to allow Dan Heng out of his sight even during the night. He did not drink alcohol much anymore, at least not while spending time with Dan Heng in the hospital room, but Dan Heng had caught him savoring the taste of the canned black coffees that could be bought down the hallway from the vending machine. He no longer was a craftsman, but sometimes, when Dan Heng had read a book sitting with him in the hospital gardens, Blade had taken out a few bits of scrap paper and folded them delicately into cranes, and flowers, and dragons, and allowed Dan Heng to admire their beauty for a scant few moments before unfolding them out of life and tucking the papers back into his pockets.

Blade’s fingers were calloused, and scars ran up and down his arms and across his chest from battles and neglect of years long ago, yet despite his gruff words and colder personality and penchant for silence, he still had never treated Dan Heng with a rough touch.

Dan Heng sputtered at the increased pressure against his throat, gasping desperately out of pure reflex.

“Are you going to ask me to kill you again now, High Elder?” Blade taunted. “Or will you let me have your heart without all the extra burden?”

Having only half of a heart would kill any normal human. Sure, Dan Heng had read about surgeries that made it technically possible — the doctors who had treated him had originally ascribed his random symptoms to a heart defect — but under these circumstances, Dan Heng doubted that he would get the chance to stage such a medical intervention.

The thought of calling the emergency line for this situation made an unexpected chuckle bubble out from Dan Heng’s lips, coming out more as a wheeze than anything from his airflow being partially cut off.

No. There was no way that Dan Heng would be getting help from anyone else besides himself.

Dan Feng may have been the one to originally give Yingxing immortality, but even in his do-over, Dan Heng had made the exact same choice.

“No matter what path one chooses, our destinies await at the end of every road. For you, for your soul, there is nowhere else to run.”

Having no heart at all would most definitely kill any normal human.

Dan Heng placed a hand on his chest.

How hard can re-learning how to harness my qi be, anyway? Dan Heng thought again, and he closed his eyes to focus, summoning the strength within him to ignore the pain of Blade’s unrelenting grip on his throat and the dull ache radiating from his back at having been tackled and abducted and manhandled for the past day.

“You may be strong, but you need to be careful with your life. You only have this one.”

And Dan Heng only just needed this one.

Dan Heng’s eyes shot open, a flash of blue light illuminating Blade’s face.

Even with the demonic qi tugging at Blade like tar, encasing his body with vicious hands and threatening to drag him down to its original depths, Dan Heng could clearly see the fear reflected in the glow of Blade’s irises, clarity suddenly returning to him as his hold on Dan Heng’s throat slackened.

I love you, Dan Heng thought but did not say, and surged up to meet Blade’s lips with his own.

Dan Heng took a deep breath in through his nose unburdened by the weight of Blade’s hand, mentally reached within himself to map out the lines of veins and qi leading to his heart, and tugged.

You must know, dear reader, that the mortal body is not meant to withstand the pressure that immortality would place upon it. Mortals may fear death, pray and beg to avoid sickness, and grieve the loss of their loved ones, but time heals all wounds, and the cyclical nature of the world repeats evermore.

However, when immortality is given away freely as a gift, instead of taken by force, and those blessed with immortality have someone to hold their hand through every hardship and every sorrow, every celebration and every smile…

Was Yingxing the most kind-hearted, compassionate, morally righteous man in all the land?

Perhaps not.

But in the end, Dan Feng had loved him.

Was Blade the same man that had been given immortality all those years ago — and did he still deserve it?

Perhaps not.

But in the end, Dan Heng still loved him.

And, perhaps, that is what the nine-hearted Vidyadhara had meant to do all along; they did not mean to become a figure to be worshiped, a god to be envied — they simply wanted to share their love for others in the only way they knew how.

The mortal body is not meant to withstand the pressure that immortality would place upon it. Mortals may fear death and grieve the loss of their loved ones, but time heals all wounds, and the cyclical nature of the world repeats evermore. A mortal that disrupts this cycle, based on all the cycles that came before it, seems to be destined for a horrible downfall.

…

Oh, what about Blade and Dan Heng, you ask? Are they both immortal after all of that, or are they returning to the normal cycle of reincarnation?

…

Hah.

Only time will tell, but I have a feeling they’ll be all right.

[System booting down…]

Chapter Text

Dan Heng really, really needed to stop waking up in hospital rooms after being put through terribly harrowing and life-threatening situations.

Unlike the previous times he had found himself suddenly in the care of medical professionals, though, the syrupy haze of unconsciousness did not cling to him; instead, as soon as Dan Heng was fully aware that he was alive, and breathing, and could feel and hear and so many other things that alive people did, his eyes shot open and he lurched upward, scrambling with his weak arms to push himself into a proper sitting position.

“Oh, Dan Heng’s awake!” someone cried, and Dan Heng didn’t need to even look to recognize the speaker as Baiheng.

Yep. The walls were white, the bedsheets were thin and plastic-y, and the air was stale and sterile — Dan Heng had, once again, landed himself in the hospital.

Except this time, he knew that what had transpired hadn’t just been a dream.

Dan Heng reached out with trembling hands and grabbed Baiheng by the shoulders, desperation clear in his voice. “Where’s Blade?”

Baiheng opened her mouth to answer. “He’s—”

“He’s dead!”

Faster than a whip, Dan Heng turned his head to look at Jing Yuan, whose face was covered in the shadows cast by his long bangs and the relatively dim lighting of the corner of the room he was standing in.

“Dead…?”

Before Dan Heng could really process what the word meant through the immediate rush of panic diggings its claws into his head, through the pleading and begging of No no no no no he can’t be dead, he can’t be dead, HE CAN’T BE DEAD that lay ready on his tongue, Jingliu — Dan Heng hadn’t even noticed her earlier — crossed the room in a few short steps and smacked Jing Yuan upside the head.

“What did you do that for?” Jingliu asked Jing Yuan coldly, crossing her arms and staring down at him as if she physically towered above him. “Look at what you’ve done. Do you think you’re funny?”

Jing Yuan, at least, had the decency to appear chastised. “N-no…”

Baiheng sighed before reaching out to place a comforting hand on Dan Heng’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, a small frown on her face. “I don’t know why he did that.”

“I don’t know why I did that either,” Jing Yuan replied, still staring pleadingly at Jingliu. “I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind…”

Dan Heng’s heartrate — and wow, was he a bit surprised to feel that so strongly in his chest — had begun to slow down. “So, he’s not…”

“Blade is not dead,” Jingliu said simply, straightforward and to the point and so plainly deadpan that Dan Heng knew that she was telling the truth. “He was more heavily injured than you were, so he is in a different area of the hospital where visitors are kept to a minimum, but he is alive and should be awake soon.”

Dan Heng breathed a sigh of relief, though he didn’t relax fully, couldn’t relax fully. “How did you all find us?”

“All of us got texts from an unknown number at the same time,” Baiheng explained, taking out her phone and showing the screen to Dan Heng. Though the text itself was unfamiliar to Dan Heng, it did remind him of the stories he had heard from Blade about Hacker Bunny. If she really had been watching over him through the hospital security cameras, then was it possible that she had somehow gotten a bad feeling about sending Blade in alone, too? “I thought it might have been a scam, or a stalker, but when we came to the hospital and you had apparently gone missing…”

Jingliu added on to Baiheng’s story, the two of them explaining everything that had happened in the past 24 hours in seamless and complementary coordination. Where Jingliu’s explanations were blunter, more succinct — telling Dan Heng that he and Blade had been found in a collapsing cave thanks to that anonymous text that had also alerted several emergency medical services to their location — Baiheng filled in with extra details and observations that she had noticed, like the way Dan Heng and Blade had been clinging onto one another so tightly that the paramedics had to carry them out on the same stretcher lest they react badly to being separated and injured themselves further.

“It was really romantic,” Baiheng gushed, tilting her head endearingly and chuckling to herself. “It was like you two were the main characters in some tragic romance story, like Romeo and Juliet or something!”

“Probably really inconvenient,” Dan Heng thought he heard Jing Yuan mutter from where he was still standing against the wall. Which, to be fair to Jing Yuan, it probably was a bit inconvenient for the paramedics to deal with.

Jingliu turned around and glared at Jing Yuan. “Why are you acting like that? Did I teach you to be so disrespectful?”

“You didn’t teach me at all this life,” Jing Yuan snapped back, clearly annoyed that his joke didn’t land quite the way he wanted it to.

And though Dan Heng had felt panic like no other when Jing Yuan had said that Blade was dead, now that he was feeling a bit calmer (thank goodness for Baiheng and Jingliu), he couldn’t help but feel a bit…bad for Jing Yuan.

Sure, Dan Heng was still annoyed. If the “joke” had gone on any longer, then he probably would have lost it on Jing Yuan. But it had been stopped within minutes, and while he did not understand Jing Yuan’s need to lash out in such a way, he also understood that sometimes people said and did things they didn’t mean in times of stress.

And, perhaps, Dan Heng still was extra relaxed from the heavy painkillers that the hospital had put him under; he wasn’t mentally aware of this, of course, but it certainly affected how he felt about Jing Yuan’s bout of childishness. It was hard to hold onto negative feelings for long when the medicine that had been — and still was, albeit in a small dose — pumping through his veins was meant to distract him from the large incision and stitches running across the skin of his chest.

In fact, it was only through Dan Heng subconsciously running his hand over his chest when he discovered that the stitches were there at all.

“What…?” Dan Heng looked down and peeked under the loose fabric of his hospital gown, shocked to see physical, visible evidence of something that he thought he had been doing spiritually. The skin around the incision was red and purpling, and the stitches stood out starkly against the pale, sickly pallor of his skin.

Looking back on everything, Dan Heng had committed to reaching into his chest and giving Blade his tangible, beating heart — it followed then that there would be some actual implications on his physical body, even if he was trying to channel his qi to do it rather than physically caving in his chest like he had done as Dan Feng. Still, if Dan Heng thought about it, the most he figured it would do was leave his chest empty but seemingly untouched from the outside.

“I don’t how you did it either,” Jingliu said matter-of-factly as she walked over to join Baiheng right by his bed, pulling up a chair right next to her partner. “If I didn’t already know that you two were not quite human based on all the past life things we’ve discussed before, I would’ve thought you two would be dead for sure.”

“There’s only so much I can do to save you.”

“Dan Feng,” Dan Heng said, clutching tighter onto the front of his hospital gown and looking down. “When he died, he planned to leave completely to the cycle of reincarnation, but…somehow, he left with me some of his consciousness, his qi…”

“A failsafe,” Jingliu said.

“A failsafe,” Dan Heng repeated, remembering the words that Dan Feng’s apparition had said himself. A dying man’s last attempt to ensure that the love of his life could live well, and would one day find him again. “Dan Feng saved me.”

“You saved yourself, then,” Baiheng said, “and you saved Blade, too.”

But did he really?

“I need to see Blade.” Dan Heng swung his legs over the side of his hospital bed, uncaring of how Baiheng protested. “I know you said he’s in a different wing of the hospital, but I need to see him. Now.”

“You’ll see him as soon as he’s awake!” Baiheng tried to stop Dan Heng by gently laying her hands on his knees, as if daring him to kick her to get her out of his way. “I know you really want to see him — I would too if Jingliu were the one in the hospital — but you just had a brush with death yourself! You can’t go there yet!”

“I need to see if he’s okay,” Dan Heng replied, not kicking Baiheng but seriously contemplating trying to make a run for it. He was under no illusions that she was likely faster and stronger than him as he currently was, but surely if he had the element of surprise on his side...

Finally, Jing Yuan spoke up. “If you can get a nurse to agree, then we’ll all accompany you to see him.”

Mutual surprise flitted across Baiheng and Jingliu’s faces, while Dan Heng felt a seed of hope take root in his chest.

“Trying to make up for your joke earlier, I see,” Jingliu said, crossing her arms and turning her head to look at Jing Yuan with a critical eye.

Jing Yuan sighed and, as if he had been reluctant or nervous before, finally made his way over to where Baiheng and Jingliu were gathered near Dan Heng’s bed, standing there a tad awkwardly since the Baiheng and Jingliu were already occupying the available chairs.

“I’m sorry again for saying that,” Jing Yuan said, clearly referring to his ill-timed response to Dan Heng’s inquiries about Blade’s life. “I don’t know what came over me. But if you really do want to see him, even though he’s probably not awake yet, I’m sure we can find a nurse who understands.”

Dan Heng nodded and offered a tiny, grateful smile to Jing Yuan. “Thank you. Maybe you can ask if Nurse Lingsha is working today?”

“I’ll go ask around,” Jing Yuan replied, and within moments, he had slid out the door to the room.

The three remaining in the hospital room watched him go for a bit, before Baiheng turned away from the door and shook her head, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “If I remember correctly,
Jing Yuan has always really admired you.”

Jingliu sighed and shook her head, but made no move to leave the room and stop Jing Yuan. “Admires you a lot to try to talk to the nurses, who explicitly told us that Blade wasn’t going to be receiving visitors for a while.”

That was something Dan Heng had always sensed a bit as well, especially when he was reliving his life as Dan Feng. He didn’t know how to be a good, proper role model for Jing Yuan, so he wasn’t too sure if he was a worthy person to be admired, but he was glad for his friendship and appreciated that Jing Yuan was willing to help Dan Heng see Blade, even if Baiheng and Jingliu disagreed.

Baiheng and Jingliu eventually started chatting about mundane things, asking Dan Heng about if he wanted to eat anything aside from hospital food — he found that he wasn’t too hungry, but he would enjoy some hot soy milk and some youtiao, if they had the time to find a restaurant nearby that would serve it — and showing him pictures and videos of Baobao to pass the time (which were mainly on Baiheng’s phone, though Jingliu did have a few absolutely hilarious candid shots of Baobao that made Dan Heng have to crack a smile).

Blade was constantly at the back of Dan Heng’s mind, of course, but he did appreciate the normalcy that Baiheng and Jingliu were trying to pass off, distracting him from the horrors that had been the past few days.

Dan Heng was watching a particularly long video of Baobao chasing after a fake snake toy, the door to the hospital room slid open, Lingsha wheeling a wheelchair confidently through the doorway with Jing Yuan in tow.

Dan Heng was glad that he wasn’t hooked up to a heart monitor or anything, because the way his heart jumped into his throat when he saw them arrive would’ve been embarrassing. He just nearly stopped himself from asking immediately if he was allowed to visit Blade, since he sensed that Lingsha was going to answer that question anyway without any prompting from him.

And sure enough, Lingsha looked right at Dan Heng said, “You can visit him for a few minutes, but be prepared — he isn’t awake yet, and he doesn’t look the healthiest.”

Dan Heng nodded, then said, for good measure, “I understand. I just want to see him for myself.”

“Well then, let’s get you up and over there,” Lingsha said as she moved the wheelchair over to the side of Dan Heng’s bed and offered him an arm of support as he eased his way out of the hospital bed into the chair. He was grateful that Lingsha had thought to bring the wheelchair; though Dan Heng could probably walk, it would be faster to traverse the hospital that way than try to navigate on shaky legs with a walker.

Once Dan Heng was settled, Lingsha offered him a thin blanket to keep his legs warm, and once everyone was ready, pushed Dan Heng out of his hospital room and toward the elevators. Baiheng, Jingliu, and Jing Yuan followed closely behind, and Dan Heng felt touched that the three of them wanted to accompany him on his trip to visit Blade.

As they piled into the elevator and watched Lingsha scan her keycard to access the special floor Blade was being held in, Dan Heng found himself feeling nervous, his stomach a mess of butterflies and knots and everything in between.

Dan Heng had already seen Blade, Yingxing, really, dead, chest torn open and bleeding so profusely that it was a wonder that his soul hadn’t already moved on and the Vidyadhara heart could even revive him — so what realistically could be worse than that?

Yet, Dan Heng couldn’t help but worry. He’d already given Yingxing one of his hearts (twice over), and now he had probably given Blade his real, human heart. (He still wasn’t sure if what he had done had been successful, but given that they were both alive, it must’ve done something.) If Blade wasn’t healthy and capable of life after all that, then what did Dan Heng have left to give?

The nerves only intensified as the elevator opened and Lingsha wheeled Dan Heng out and down a long hallway full of closed doors — and yet, as soon as Lingsha led them all into a room at the end of the hallway, all the anxiety and worries Dan Heng had been grappling with melted away.

Although Blade was hooked up to several different machines and his skin almost looked paper-white against the stark darkness of his hair and the bruising around his eyes, Dan Heng could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beep, beep, beep of his heart monitor — and oh, wow, was it good to know for sure that Blade really did still have a heart and a heartbeat.

The last time Dan Heng had seen Blade, after all, the man’s chest had been wide open and his heart had been halved, and it was hard to get the haunting image and its accompanying harsh words out of his mind…

“Thank you,” Dan Heng said through the lump in his throat, and he blinked rapidly to clear the moisture that was steadily building behind his eyes. “Thank you.”

Thank you for taking me to see him.

Thank you for finding us, and saving us.

Thank you, world, universe, whoever is listening — thank you for not taking him away from me.

Baiheng gave Dan Heng’s hand a squeeze. Jing Yuan patted Dan Heng’s shoulder. Jingliu offered to move Dan Heng’s wheelchair for Lingsha while the nurse excused herself to ensure none of her supervisors were on the floor, explaining that they could have a few moments to themselves before she came back to collect them all.

And so, they simply stayed together, and while the other three had not technically been through everything he and Blade had together, Dan Heng was grateful for their presence anyway.

Although Dan Heng had been able to quell his fears through that brief visit to see Blade, it wasn’t until later that night, long after visiting hours had technically concluded, that Dan Heng was able to actually talk to him.

“H-He needed a little more surgery than you did when he was brought in,” the nervous nurse from a few days ago — Huohuo, Dan Heng had learned her name was — said as he asked her again when he would be permitted to see him as she brought in his dinner. “He’s being taken off of the general anesthesia, though, so once he’s awake and lucid you’ll be allowed to visit.”

Dan Heng said nothing about how Lingsha had taken him and his friends to visit Blade while he was unconscious, knowing that the other nurse might have circumvented a few hospital rules to make the visit happen, so he simply thanked Huohuo and slowly ate his dinner.

So, as soon as Lingsha appeared again that night, Dan Heng was already waiting in his wheelchair.

“I’m sure your boyfriend will be happy that you’re visiting him as much as he visited you,” Lingsha said as she took them both onto the elevator again. “I didn’t work in this wing of the hospital that much when you were recovering from that coma, but every time I passed by your room, I would see him in there with you. You two must have been dating for a long time.”

Dan Heng ducked his head slightly and tried to ignore how pleased he was to hear Blade being referred to as his boyfriend. It wasn’t technically correct, since they had never put words to whatever strange push and pull, will they or won’t they relationship they had, but it surprisingly nice to hear such a mundane term like “dating” being ascribed to the two of them.

After all the excitement of his past 10 years, Dan Heng would be glad to finally enjoy a little of the mundane.

“It has been a long time,” Dan Heng said.

Lingsha chuckled and directed the wheelchair out of the elevator. “Are you two going to get married soon, then?”

“Hm.” Dan Heng hadn’t even thought of that. Quite frankly, before he had gone back in time to relive Dan Feng’s life, he never thought he would live long enough or find anyone he liked enough to get married to. He’d never given it much thought before. Could he even marry Blade? Did Blade have any legal paperwork proving that he existed as a person in the eyes of the government? “Well…”

Lingsha simply shook her head. “I’m just teasing. And curious, of course, but it’s none of my business. I think you two are sweet, no matter how you choose to live your lives.”

Dan Heng didn’t really know what to say to that, and a thank you felt strange to reply with, so he simply allowed them to exist in silence once more.

When Dan Heng arrived at Blade’s room, Blade was already sitting up and awake, though he was blinking blearily at the two of them, as if he was still coming off of the medications the medical staff had put him under. He did look a little healthier than he had just hours earlier, though, even under the unforgiving lighting that washed everyone in an unflatteringly gray-hued yellow.

“He is still a little loopy,” Lingsha said, once again answering Dan Heng’s unspoken question. “But it should wear off shortly. From what I could tell from the notes, they had to give him more anesthesia than usual for a man of his build because his body processed it faster than expected.”

Huh. Dan Heng wondered if that was a side effect of the Vidyadhara heart, or if it was because Blade still circulated qi through his body and his cultivation had seen the anesthesia as a poison to get rid of…?

“You’ll be okay if I leave you two alone for a bit, right?” Lingsha asked, though judging by how she was already halfway out the door, it was clear that she knew what the answer would be.

Dan Heng nodded, and the door slid shut, leaving just him and Blade in that room.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I’m really grateful that you’re still here,” Dan Heng said. He was never one for many words, and Blade wasn’t, either — they had spent many days in comfortable silence together, both as Yingxing and Dan Feng and as Blade and Dan Heng — but something compelled Dan Heng to open his mouth and speak, even if everything was mostly mindless babble. “What did you say when we first met? When my soul was first taken from this body to relive life as Dan Feng? ‘The lofty High Elder, confined to the infirmary?’”

It was a miracle that Dan Heng could even remember what had happened 10 years prior, but that moment still stood out starkly in mind, paired with the way Yingxing had looked absolutely stunning with a head full of white hair, eyes that looked like the dusk in a bottle, and a mouth that made a habit out of smiling.

“I didn’t think I would see you confined to the infirmary like this, in this life,” Dan Heng said, his hands shaking as he pushed his wheelchair right up to Blade’s bed. Blade watched him throughout with red-gold eyes that were beginning, slowly but surely, to clear as they tracked his every movement. “You were mortal as Yingxing. But you seemed larger than life here, compared to the dreary concrete jungle of the city. Dan Feng made you immortal, and you lived through countless wars and the fall of the Xianzhou Luofu, the rewriting of the world’s history… How could I have almost lost you again in just a blink?”

Dan Heng clutched the handrails on the side of Blade’s bed, too afraid to reach out and hold Blade’s hands in his own.

“How could you have almost left me again, after only just finding me?” Dan Heng asked, quiet, unsteady, cracking — three lives’ and two minds’ worth of longing and love and agony all condensed in to one small, small soul.

A sigh. A hand a little larger than his, cold and clammy, slid atop his own.

“I need to apologize to you,” Blade said, his voice raspy. He grasped at Dan Heng’s hand lightly, loosely, as if he were too afraid — or too weak — to hold onto it any tighter. “I… What I said back in the cave.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that.”

Blade continued as if he hadn’t heard Dan Heng. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to you.”

You’re refusing to take responsibility.

“But those words you said…” Dan Heng forced himself to look at Blade. “Those are things you actually feel?”

Do you know how long you forced me to wait for you? How selfish of you.

“But they weren’t words for you,” Blade said. “Not really. They were for Dan Feng.”

I found you. Why didn’t you try to find me?

“I am Dan Feng,” Dan Heng said. It was the truth, but it also was not. “And you do feel that way.”

Blade broke eye contact and looked away. “Yes. I can’t control that I feel that way, but I will apologize for not hiding them better.”

Dan Heng shook his head. “Thousands of years naturally will breed resentment.”

“Unfounded resentment,” Blade said simply, his grip on Dan Heng’s hand tightening slightly. “It is no fault of Dan Feng’s that he was unable to complete his part in a promise that was made on his death bed.”

Unfounded resentment was still something Yingxing, Blade, anyone deserved to feel. You could love someone with all your heart, but how could you not grow to resent them if they gave you all of their own but left nothing else of themself in the process?

But Dan Heng didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he said, “Dan Feng resented himself, too.” And it was the truth.

“He resented him for letting you die first,” Dan Heng continued. “And then he resented himself for actually being the first one to die.”

“He should’ve resented me for that.” Blade’s other hand, the one that wasn’t already holding onto Dan Heng’s, dug divots into the thin mattress of the hospital bed. “Not himself.”

Hah. As if.

“He could never resent you.” Dan Heng reached across the bed to gently disentangle Blade’s fingers from the bedding, rubbing his thumb across the tense lines of Blade’s knuckles. “I could never resent you.”

Blade was silent for several more moments before he barked out a short laugh, more an expression of disbelief.

“In those years between your death and you returning as Dan Feng,” Blade began, “I wondered what life would have been like, if you had not been the High Elder. If I had not died that day by the Abyssal portal.”

With a surprisingly gentle touch, Blade reached out and ran a light hand over the top of the scar that was peeking out from above the hemline of Dan Heng’s hospital gown. “And now, if only I had killed Taoran when I had the chance. Killing him now was satisfying, yes, but could I have torn the stolen heart out of his chest and given it back to Dan Feng instead?”

But would I exist the way I do if you had done that? Dan Heng thought, and then felt bad for thinking it. Of course he would have existed. Maybe not as he was now, sure, but he would have existed, and it would have saved them all a lot of pain.

“But when you came back into Dan Feng’s body, I thought that everything I had suffered was worth it.” Blade traced the rest of the scar through the thin fabric. “But then you told me, ‘Why talk about what we cannot have? What use does it have? What good does it do for us?’”

Dan Heng vaguely remembered that conversation; it had been the first time he had sort of snapped in earnest at Yingxing, so afraid at Yingxing hinting that Dan Feng would want to live a life apart from his duties as the High Elder — so afraid that he had been found out — that he hadn’t thought, simply reacting and saying whatever came to mind first.

“You were right. Things happen for a reason. I might not agree with the reasons, and I think the person in charge of messing with time and space is an incorrigible prankster, but…” Blade leaned in then, his eyes like magma. Dan Heng, even if he wanted to, couldn’t look away. “…but in the end, we both did what we had to.”

And they both had, every single version of them.

Neither of them had made much sense with what they had said, meandering thoughts without any clear lessons or themes to be conveyed. Communicating without a goal in mind, but talking to exchange ideas anyway. Still, each word felt important to say — felt needed — and so they were said.

But, perhaps…

Well. They had already lived and died for each other several times over.

What other words of their devotion could be said that they hadn’t already exchanged?

Dan Heng tilted his head upward, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted ever so slightly.

Dan Heng was Dan Feng, and Dan Feng was Dan Heng, and Dan Feng was Dan Feng, and Dan Heng was Dan Heng. It had all been so confusing back then, and it still was a bit confusing now, but whatever it was, the one constant was that no matter who he was, what time he lived in, he was deeply and madly and truly in love with Yingxing, and Blade, and whoever he would be.

Wherever Dan Feng went, Yingxing would follow. Wherever Blade went, Dan Heng would follow.

“We did what we had to,” Dan Heng said, “so now, I’m doing what I want to.”

The space between their lips disappeared, and their lips met, dry and chapped and nothing at all like the few descriptions Dan Heng had read in the romances he could find in the webnovels he used to love to read.

It was awkward, and a little painful when their noses jammed together, and Dan Heng really didn’t know if he was supposed to keep his mouth closed or —

And yet, it was everything.

Dan Heng felt like he was soaring, like his heart was leaping and flying free from the bounds of his skin. Perhaps it wasn’t the best thing to be putting so much stress on an organ that had already seen its fair share of undeserved stress, but in all honesty, if the heart in his chest couldn’t handle the force of the feelings he had for Blade, then what good was it to have it?

Dan Heng tilted his head and craned his neck as Blade hunched down, their elbows clacking against the handles of the hospital bed, the pain a distant sensation so far removed from the happiness born from their connection. One of Blade’s hands came to rest at the junction of Dan Heng’s neck and shoulder, his thumb rubbing softly at the skin there, as if to apologize for the scattered and small bruises dotting up and down Dan Heng’s throat. Dan Heng’s hand, the one that was still holding onto the railing, was a tad slippery as he tried to readjust his grip to be more secure, offering him more leverage to meet Blade in the middle.

In what felt like forever but was realistically only a few seconds, Dan Heng had to pull away for air.

Blade smirked, but the slight menacing effect that it usually had was a tad bit lessened by the redness of his lips. “We should stop making a habit out of kissing while one or both of us are on our deathbeds.”

Furrowing his brows, Dan Heng lightly smacked Blade’s shoulder. “Neither of us are on our deathbeds now.”

“You’re right,” Blade said, “but we’re in the hospital after a death-defying battle. Even though we are technically recovering from nearly dying, our record isn’t the greatest.”

“Well,” Dan Heng replied, placing a short and sweet peck on Blade’s lips, “you’re just going to need to get better faster so we can both leave and break that streak.”

Because that’s what they had talked about before, wasn’t it? Moving in together? Starting a new life together?

Blade snorted, the hand he had placed near Dan Heng’s neck drifting downward to follow the curve of Dan Heng’s spine. “I waited thousands of years for you to get reborn, and I’ve waited even longer for you to recover from your coma, and now you’re the one asking me to get better faster?”

When Blade put it that way, Dan Heng seemed terribly selfish. But Blade was clearly joking, and Dan Heng couldn’t fathom any way his love for Blade could be selfish.

“I am.”

“You can’t ask this of me,” Blade sighed as if he was terribly put-upon, but the small upturn of his lips said otherwise.

Dan Heng used the little leverage he had to hoist himself onto Blade’s hospital bed, mindful of the IV drip and other wires still stuck on Blade’s arms. Blade’s hand on his back was like an anchor, and Blade, weak as he was, helped Dan Heng settle himself more comfortably on the bed.

Once Dan Heng was fully pulled into Blade’s side, he curled himself into Blade’s warmth, his ear pressed against Blade’s chest.

“Can’t I?” Dan Heng asked as he listened to the steady, reassuring thump, thump, thump of Blade’s heart.

Blade dropped a butterfly kiss atop his head. “Just this once…” Blade’s sigh rustled the top of Dan Heng’s hair, and Dan Heng had to closed his eyes. “Just this once, you can.”

“Did you ever get a chance to read Revenge of the Furnace Master?”

Dan Heng wanted to laugh out loud at how quickly Blade’s face had morphed into a scowl.

“No. Why would I read that trash?” Blade asked, peering above the laptop screen with a disgusted face. “I’m the real Yingxing. I have no interest in knowing about how that brat butchered my name.”

“But it could be entertaining.” Dan Heng shrugged, looking through the pile of mail on their kitchen table before tossing all of it in the recycling bin.

“I’ve been alive for longer than most of modern civilization and beyond that,” Blade spat, “and I still wouldn’t waste my time reading that.”

Dan Heng did laugh then, shaking his head and joining Blade on their couch, the cushions dipping underneath his weight as he scooted over to rest his chin on Blade’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

“A heated blanket,” Blade replied, squinting at the screen of his laptop, which was proudly on the website of a furniture shop. “Your toes are always too cold at night. I’m going to fix that.”

“My feet are still going to be cold, even if you get this blanket,” Dan Heng said with a deadpan stare. “The only thing this is going to accomplish is making you overheat. Didn’t you wait thousands of years for me to be reborn? And now you can’t handle my cold feet?”

Blade sighed, but he did not say anything to refute it, which meant Dan Heng had won the argument.

“Then help me shop for more chairs for our dining table,” Blade said, shifting the laptop over to Dan Heng and rubbing his eyes. “We can’t keep pulling out our desk chairs when we have guests over.”

Dan Heng reached out and smoothed over the line between Blade’s brows. “We should get you some blue light glasses, too. You’re going to strain your eyes with how much time you spend looking at screens.”

“It won’t do anything permanent.” Blade shrugged and, despite his words, rubbed at his temples. Even with his eyes closed, though, the teasing tilt to his mouth was clear for Dan Heng to see. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you want to see me wear glasses? All you had to do was ask.”

“Jingliu likes using your gaming chair, though,” Dan Heng said hastily, resettling the laptop more securely on his lap and starting to browse through the selection of dining chairs. Even after so many months of furniture shopping, he still didn’t fully understand what all the different wood options were.

“That’s because she has back pain and the chair is ergonomic.” Blade leaned back on their sofa and spread his arms out all along the back.

Dan Heng snorted. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll have your head.”

“And leave Baiheng a widow and single parent to Baobao when I get her back?” Blade snuck his arm around Dan Heng’s shoulders. “She wouldn’t.”

“So confident that you would win. You can’t cheat by using cultivation techniques against her, you know.”

“Who made up that rule?”

“Your honor and pride,” Dan Heng replied, clicking on a dining chair that looked tall enough to be comfortable yet still short enough to allow for their more vertically challenged guests to touch the ground with their feet. “And Jing Yuan would immediately call you out for cheating.”

“Jing Yuan would call me out for cheating even if I didn’t cheat.” Blade opened one eye and peeked at the dining table chair that Dan Heng was inspecting. “Close out of that tab.”

“Why?” Dan Heng asked, a note of petulance creeping into his tone. The chair wasn’t bad to look at or anything! It’s not like he was just looking at throw pillows or something! He knew they needed chairs to sit on!

(Sue him that he had suggested to Blade that they could save money and energy by simply sleeping on a mattress, no bed frame. Dan Heng thought that a mattress straight on the floor was much easier to navigate — sure, it looked a bit odd, but wasn’t the whole point of getting an apartment with your partner that you could decorate the place however you wanted?)

(Ultimately, the two of them had gotten a bedframe, but sometimes Dan Heng liked to pull the blankets off their bed and sleep on the floor anyway.

It was comfortable to sleep on the wooden floor; it was grounding. After spending so much time in hospitals, it felt like a reminder that Dan Heng was free, that he could sleep without being elevated above the ground at an odd angle. Maybe that didn’t make any sense at all, but it made sense to Dan Heng.

Whenever that happened, Blade would simply shake his head and grumble, then pull down pillows for the two of them and settle in right behind Dan Heng.)

“It’s a nice chair, but it would completely clash with the wood of the table we have,” Blade replied, moving his hand to card his fingers through Dan Heng’s hair. “When your parents visit next month, we should look more like we’re normal adults who have our lives together.”

Even Dan Heng couldn’t find anything wrong with that statement, although he found it sad that he couldn’t just choose whatever dining table chairs he wanted, so he got to work choosing a few chairs that he thought his parents might like.

It was still hard to believe that this was their life now, but they had settled into mundanity with all the gusto and enthusiasm that only two people who had lived far too many lives could have.

A year ago, when Dan Heng and Blade had both checked out of the hospital, Dan Heng had realized as he was signing his name to release himself that he had forgotten about his parents.

It had been a bit of a sad, albeit not surprising, thing to realize. He had lived an entirely separate life away from them, after all, as Dan Feng, and they almost seemed like strangers. Even when he had been dependent on them for his survival, he still had not known his parents well.

After having lived apart from them for 10 years as Dan Feng, then having them not visit him even once after he had awoken from his coma… it was just natural, easy, even, to forget that they were supposed to be part of his life.

But still, when Dan Heng had asked receptionist how to contact his parents, and he had answered that they hadn’t been able to contact his parents in months, Dan Heng had felt a wave of paranoia wash over him, knowing something was wrong.

Dan Heng’s parents had done the best they could for a son that was too sickly to live like all his able-bodied peers. They had been emotionally distant and too busy working to give him much time and attention, but the parents Dan Heng could remember would have never abandoned him.

So, with Blade’s help (and Hacker Bunny’s, because Blade had gotten her to agree that she owed Blade an infinite number of favors), they had discovered Dan Heng’s parents were still alive, and had gone to China shortly before Dan Heng awoke from his coma to seek out holistic medicinal options.

The hospital staff had promised to alert Dan Heng’s parents as soon as anything changed, so they could rush back and see their son. But with what was likely Taoran’s interference as he had started to set into motion his plan to steal that last heart from Dan Heng’s chest, no message that Dan Heng had awoken had reached his parents at all.

It had been short work to contact them then, and let them know that he was awake and would be moving into a new apartment with his boyfriend.

Dan Heng’s parents had jumped on the next flight back.

There had been tears, and fights, and guilt, and plenty of moments where Dan Heng wondered if it was worth getting back in touch with his parents at all, given how little he had thought of them when he had relived his life as Dan Feng.

But in the end, it had all been worth it. As tempted as Dan Heng had been to simply live the rest of his life with Blade, needing nobody else in his corner, he knew that it was always better to have a community of people who cared — hell, their continued friendship with Baiheng, Jingliu, and Jing Yuan, and Blade’s semi-regular missions to help Hacker Bunny or Arachne or AR-26710 were prime examples of that.

So. It had taken a long time, and it had caused a lot of stress, but now Dan Heng and Blade got to do mundane couple things like shop for furniture, plan dinner parties with their friends, and worry about looking like responsible 30-year-old adults when Dan Heng’s parents came over.

Sometimes, Dan Heng missed the wonder and intrigue of life in the Xianzhou Luofu, but nothing could compare to the pure comfort and contentment that came with knowing that Blade would always be waiting at home for him, or being able to wait at home for Blade in turn.

Dan Heng leaned further into the comforting way Blade was scratching his head. “You’re always so concerned about what they think. You know they really like you now, right?”

Blade scratched a bit behind Dan Heng’s ear, and Dan Heng melted. “You can never be too careful around the in-laws. Look at all the shit I got into by making the Preceptors mad.”

Where such a comment made earlier might have made sorrow pang in Dan Heng’s heart, now Dan Heng only snorted, moved the laptop to a different spot on the sofa, and turned around to pinch at Blade’s side playfully. “You can’t compare my parents to the Preceptors. They are not the same.”

“They’re not the same, but I should be careful anyway.”

Dan Heng was about to retort again when a spot on Blade’s head caught his eye.

Could it be…?

“…A-Heng?”

With a single-minded focus, Dan Heng got on his knees on the sofa to give himself a better vantage point and peered down at the top of Blade’s head.

“A-Heng.” Blade’s hands gripped the sides of Dan Heng’s hips. “I appreciate the view, but what are you doing?”

“A gray hair,” Dan Heng replied, carding through the individual strands growing from Blade’s scalp. “I swear I saw — there.”

And there it was, a strand of pure white hidden amidst the sea of inky black.

“You’re growing a white hair,” Dan Heng said, his voice full of wonder. “I — you’re…”

Dan Heng had known that he was mortal in this life. He could see the beginnings of faint fine lines around his eyes in the past year, and if the last remains of Dan Feng’s consciousness had really faded away, then Dan Heng was just a human, and would live as a mortal and die as a mortal.

But Blade’s mortality had been a lingering question in both of their minds. Blade could still use his cultivation, and he looked just as young as he had in his prime as Yingxing.

If Dan Heng could help it, he did not want to make Blade live past his death again.

And now…

“Ah.” With gentle hands, Blade coaxed Dan Heng back to sitting. “You really saw a gray hair?”

“I did.” With a watery grin, Dan Heng cupped Blade’s cheeks. “I saw it there plainly. I thought it was a trick of the light at first, but it was right there.”

Blade smiled, a small, real smile, his eyes misty. His hands moved from Dan Heng’s hips up to his waist, pulling Dan Heng ever closer, and Dan Heng’s hands fell away from Blade’s face to rest loosely atop his shoulders as their foreheads met.

“What a privilege it is,” Blade whispered, “that I finally get to grow old with you.”

[And, truly…]

[Who could have asked for a better happily ever after for their story than that?]