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Chapter Text

There are Four Famous Tales, told far and wide, of mortals whose actions brought them glory and bid them ascend to the heavens to live on eternal. A Crown Prince that Pleased the Gods, a Young Lord who Poured Wine, a General who Broke His Own Sword and a Princess who Slit Her Throat. Four ascended gods, though the stories do not all still have names attached in mortal minds. But this story is not about those stories.

The world loves poetry, and mortals love it far more, so in a mirror one can find a morbid list. The Four Great Calamities, four ghosts whose notoriety earns them this acknowledgement. Their names are known in the heavens, their appearances warned of to new disciples in cultivation sects, their stories are shared with friends over campfires and evening meals.

The problem with reality, is that it doesn't always neatly fit into nice poetic conventions, and so the need to have a matching number of ghost stories to gods’ stories led to confusion over which ghosts are counted in the list, only cleared up long after the first few writings of these tales had been carefully put away in libraries. It goes like this:

The White-Clothed Calamity. A spotty tale of a kingdom laid to waste in the midst of plague and war, whose name is lost to all but the most dedicated scholars, but whose death bought this soul a name among the number.

Crimson Rain Sought Flower. A ghost with a thousand origin myths spread by the fearful and his followers alike, with just as many faces to wear. Scourge of the heavens, the Lord of Ghost City. His name from a single small act amongst his own bloodshed - some call it compassion, some call it romantic, some say they don't understand why that's what he was named for. Feared, reviled and revered, the name Hua Cheng is known far and wide.

Black Water Sinking Ships. A name known at every port by every sailor worth his salt. Wildly mysterious and incredibly simple; nobody knows what he looks like, when he lived, what he is called, why he remains, but everyone who knows him knows what he does, where he does it and who not to make offerings to if their ships must stray near his territory. Weak ghosts know not to stray too far lest they fall victim to his bottomless hunger. He keeps to himself, he has power in the seas and he loathes the Heavens’ Water Master.

It is The Fourth Great Calamity that people far and wide disagree on. Once, because there was nobody who fit. Then because the power of the one suggested nowhere near matched the other three. Now, they argue the nature of what a Calamity is, and which of the two widest spread candidates closer fits.

Many mortals, cultivators and even gods argue that the Calamities are the ghosts causing chaos and destruction - ghosts to be wary of - and these people all proclaim the final Calamity to be the Night-Touring Green Lantern. Slaughterer who creates gory forests of hanging corpses. Leader of countless lesser ghosts he gets to don a verdant light and corral humans to collect and cook up for dinner. His savagery is not matched by his creativity, as he is known to imitate others with more power - his corpse-forests made to copy Hua Cheng's rain of blood, his human-eating habits an imitation of Black Water devouring other ghosts. Qi Rong is counted among the number of the Four Great Calamities by those who fear him and loathe him, just as they fear and loathe all the other three.

Some cultivators, the few mortals who have witnessed his ire and still live - and nearly all ghosts after a certain occurrence - consider the spot taken by someone far more elusive.

There is a ghost of whom whispers have been spread far before the Green Ghost established his name. A ghost who leaves unintentional disaster and ruin and little ripples of kindness in his wake, though rarely do any mortals come to harm where he is said to have appeared, and the vast majority of animosity he draws is based on seemingly unintended property damage - a fact which makes the idea of considering him a Calamity laughable to most.

Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder.

They say he wears a black veil hung from a bamboo hat so burnt it should be in pieces. His arm is sometimes bound up with a ribbon that burns so bright with qi it gleams the same glaring gold as the sun when he uses it to attack - though it is a rare few who ever lay eyes on this sight, as this ghost moves on quick like the migration of birds. Some say the weapon is a fanciful invention based on the sight of the gold ribbons that hang from his hat and swing in the wind, the gold stripes that adorn the hems of his simple black robes, for everyone who knows of this ghost know he flees far too quickly for things to come to blows more often than once in a century.

The origin of his tale is well-known, because it is forever ongoing. It goes like this: A strange youth in black visits a town alone. He wanders, seems to revel in the opportunity for conversation in any form, speaking to labourers on the job, young masters ditching their lessons, old beggars and wretched orphans on the streets. He sometimes passes out slightly stale buns to the hungry. Sometimes it ends there, and he disappears into the night without note. (Save the few shrewd enough to notice unfortunate accidents that happen to shrines and temples to the Heavenly Emperor, though only one makes a connection between the events and he's got far more pressing things to search for.)

Sometimes though, he stays a little too long. The first time it happened, the town's residents thought they were witnessing an ascension; golden lightning poured down from the sky to strike at a single figure in the streets. But instead of disappearing in a pillar of heavenly light, the man screamed as pure qi lit up his veins, visible for all to see, swept straight through his body as though pushed to the ground. When it cleared, a huge, gaping crevice was left through the road as a body shrouded in harsh light limped inhumanly quickly away, shrieking pained apologies.

A similar sight doesn't happen again for a decade, just as all the witnesses have written it off as a freak event. Then it happens again and the wall of a town has a brand new hole, wide enough for an army to fit through, again and a huge city's market is disrupted by a bizarre mystical sight which is when people make the connection.

Sometimes people claim to have been visited by a travelling cultivator in black and gold. He came, heard their problems, solved them swiftly, and demanded no payment. If stories hadn't already been spreading about the ghost, it would have been a while before anyone realised he was a ghost; he looked alive enough to those he met, though the strange red scars mapping over his skin in the pattern of tree-branches were striking and bizarre enough for him to stick in their memory long enough to make the connection.

The event which cements him as the Fourth Calamity to all ghosts save the ones who wear a green light - which humans never even hear of or understand - is this: As is expected, ghosts flock to the mountain known as Tonglu. They attack, claw, devour in droves for years and years as occurs every time this pilgrimage is compelled of them. When the Kiln finally opens up after being sealed for weeks, the peak lights up with strike after angry, golden strike. Hours pass and the air around the mountain crackles with waves and waves of dispersed qi. A glowing flash darts down the snowy mountaintop between the spirits present like a hummingbird, black and gold, carrying all the energy of a devastating storm. The fourth Ghost King is crowned.

Mortals have no idea of this occurrence, but from that day forth when that gold lightning strikes a settlement the air is charged and the surroundings go undamaged. Nothing but the ghost himself gritting his teeth behind the light shows any sign of harm.

Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder changes little of his typical behaviour: Still flitting across the landscape in similar hurried travels to before, appearing and disappearing in a faster, distinctly less human manner. Occasionally his name becomes attached to some gallant deed or deliverance of justice, though no feat that would be of huge fame were it not for the one accomplishing it.

Temples to the Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu keep mysteriously being felled, a freak fire here, a toppled wall there. Hua Cheng grows more and more curious what grudge this elusive ghost has towards the king of the trash heap now that he's joined his company as Tonglu-spawn. Not curious enough to divert energy from his search when somehow this ghost manages to be more elusive than news of His Highness, though every lead he finds is a neat, cold, dead end.

Still, when he has to disperse what feels like the qi of three separate heavenly calamities from the shielding array he keeps over Ghost City in as many days - an easy enough feat, but mildly annoying - Hua Cheng feels obligated to seek out the visitor. If only to make certain there's as little hostility as the tales hope to suggest. (Not to say that he will treat this new element as anything but a potential threat until proven otherwise.)

The bustling streets of the city quiet around him like usual as he strides. He doesn't normally go checking around the city like this, entering shops door to door, and some of the citydwellers are wary at the new behaviour.

Hua Cheng steps into the next building along. His smile sharpens when his eye falls on the worker; a young man with braided, brown hair and an almost-definitely deliberately unremarkable face. He wears a simple, honey-coloured golden-brown tunic. The young man's eyes widen when he looks up, though instead of the panic that'd be expected if Hua Cheng wasn't already correct about his identity, his face easily slackens into something too relaxed to be a practised customer-service smile.

“Ah, welcome Hua Chengzhu,” he says as he bows speedily, grinning as he looks up. Hua Cheng raises his brow.

“And what do you sell here?” He asks sharply. Hua Cheng has been generally passing off his actions as examining the merchandise of the vendors for whatever reason the rabble want to assume.

The youth doesn't even blink at the question. “Answering Hua Chengzhu, this lowly one is only hired help. Master Gong brews alcoholic beverages and liquids and this one is hired to sell those goods here.”

A brow raises at the excessively formal tone - well it's appropriate in theory, but nobody in his city bothers with that tedious crap, and he does nothing whatsoever to encourage it. Hua Cheng hums a vague acknowledgement. “Master Gong?”

“Mn,” the youth nods in a perfect facsimile of placid obedience. “Gong Chun is the owner of this establishment, and has decided recently to pull away from working the storefront so often. Hence this one's employment.”

“And might I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the one I am speaking to?”

Lips twist into a wry, tired smile as the youth replies “This one is named Po Yue, Po for break, Yue for joy.”^[1]

Hua Cheng smiles minutely. It's far from the most unusual name he's heard of a ghost taking on after their death, but it's a name he is aware enough to know is attributed to a certain peer of his. He wonders if it's an intentional pun - perhaps a hint at whatever grudge he seems to have towards the Heavenly Emperor. That specific heap of trash does seem like the kind that would break a promise easily. A pleasant satisfaction sweeps over Hua Cheng at the near enough confirmation of who he's speaking to. Additionally, something about him rings far closer to ‘ally’ in his instincts than the ghost is used to. “Hmm. Will Po Yue tell me which of the drinks here is his favourite?” As he speaks, he adopts a slightly lighter, more casual tone. It's only half an intentional change.

“Ah, this one hasn't had the occasion to drink alcohol often in his time…” When Hua Cheng keeps quiet, looking at him with expectant apathy, Po Yue coughs into his sleeve and moves to pick up a wine jar. He speaks quickly. “There's this lychee wine. I sampled it with Master Gong the other day and it was decent enough by my amateur taste.”

Hua Cheng nods. “My thanks for the recommendation, then.” The other ghost seems surprised when the lord of the city actually decides to buy the drink. As he walks towards the door, Hua Cheng turns as though he's just remembered something. “Perhaps Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder would care to enjoy this selection with me tonight over a dinner?” He asks over his shoulder with a sharp smile.

Po Yue blinks, once, twice. Then his cheeks turn red of all things. Is he embarrassed at being discovered so easily, or… Hmm. Hua Cheng runs over his words in his mind. They did sound unintentionally solicitous. He suppresses an embarrassed grimace and the other ghost seems to recover quickly. Actually, he doesn't seem at all surprised or wary about his identity being known. Instead, he just nods with an equally wry grin, showing his teeth. “I would be honoured, of course. Does Hua Cheng mind if I show my true form this evening? It's nothing gorey, only it's too recognisable and extravagant to be seen in so casually somewhere like here.”

“I don't mind,” he answers. In return, he's given a radiant smile that ruins the intentional impression of blandness curated by the face it's on. Hua Cheng turns away, scolding himself internally for reasons he only vaguely comprehends.

“Ah, thank you. Where will we be eating?”

“I will have someone come fetch you to bring you when it's time.”

“All right.” Po Yue agrees surprisingly easily. Hua Cheng doesn't know why it's annoying him so much that the other ghost doesn't seem the slightest bit wary of him. He nods - still without turning back around - and walks out. Once back on the street, he summons a subordinate in his communication array and hands off the wine to be taken away.

He clicks his tongue and heads to Qiandeng Temple, feeling an intense urge to pray right this second.

Chapter Text

Hua Cheng walks into the dining room and takes a seat after being alerted that Yin Yu is on the way with his guest. In the meantime, he eyes the food set out. It's nothing extravagant, the type of simple seafood meal that would have Black Water asking for seconds and thirds and piling on more and more debt. He could've made a show of it, some opulent banquet that demonstrated his power to a potential new enemy or ally. But the ghost decided against that when he realised how much his mind was dwelling on the meeting and got inexplicably annoyed at himself for it earlier.

He soon hears footsteps and Yin Yu enters, shadowed by a figure. Just as described, the enigmatic Ghost King wears simple black robes with gold decoration. The black veil of the weimao obscures his face. Hua Cheng wants to see beneath it sometime.

“Greetings, Hua Cheng,” says his guest, and it makes him stare; Po Yue's voice comes out simultaneously gravelled and breathy. It makes the actual tone of his words harder to read. Is he doing that on purpose, to obscure his true emotions? His identity? It's a bizarre choice. It sounds like it's being caused not by an array or anything, but by some actual physical obstacle in his throat.

“Hello Po Yue. Please, sit,” he says and indicates the spot opposite him. Yin Yu exits the room as Po Yue approaches. “It took a long time for us to meet, considering how long you've been around,” Hua Cheng adds when his guest is seated.

“Oh, I'm sorry if that seemed rude. I wasn't avoiding you, I just didn't know you'd be interested in speaking to me.” And even through the unusual crackliness of his voice, Hua Cheng is struck by the earnestness of Po Yue's words. If it is meant to obscure his emotions, it isn't working very well.

“I make a point to know of my peers. But I only became ‘interested’ when such an unknown element came to my city.” His voice flattens as he levels the other with a calculated stare.

“Ah, I guess that makes sense…” Po Yue clears his throat a couple times. “So how did you know I was here?”

Hua Cheng deadpans. “Having to divert several odd heavenly calamities from my city gets my attention pretty quickly.”

Po Yue winces. “Oh! I'm sorry, I thought they had stopped because he- because I was more hidden away here, that's one of the reasons I came here. I didn't think any would hit, my apologies for causing you trouble.” The shambling apologetics on display are amusing to Hua Cheng, to a ridiculous degree. Normally he would just find this kind of behaviour pathetic, write it off as shameless grovelling, but something rings sincere in the other ghost's words. Maybe because the other has shown himself to seemingly be absolutely unafraid, for whatever reason.

“Hmm. Maybe as recompense for the inconvenience, Po Yue could explain those reasons for coming here,” he suggests with bared teeth. Hua Cheng won't allow an erroneous drip of interest in this stranger's mysteries to blunt his smile.

“Ah, well, haha, that would only be fair.” The veiled man moves his hand up to his face, coughs a strange, hacked cough into his fist - very unsuccessfully trying to clear his throat again apparently. “Well… As is probably obvious, the lightning from which I got my name is not controlled or wanted by me. Nor is it ever a true, authentic heavenly calamity, though it might seem to be - and were I to let it, it would drag me up to the heavens in the same way.” Hua Cheng mulls this interesting new tidbit. Well, it seems his acquaintance has enemies in high places. Not that Hua Cheng disapproves, the scum-filled realm that rejected his god, tossed him to the wolves, is always deserving of more opposition.

“And you thought being in Ghost City would hide you enough to stop them from reaching you?”

“Yes. I was given reason to believe that Crimson Rain Sought Flower does not hold the heavens in high regard, so it would stand to reason for his city to be protected from heavenly influence to a certain degree.”

It's only now that Hua Cheng realises neither of them have taken a bite of their meals. He does so, chewing slowly and contemplatively - partially to think over how he's going to make sure the fourth Ghost King leaves this conversation in his debt, partially to keep Po Yue in suspense and make him squirm a little. After swallowing, he looks at the other silently for a second then simply asks: “Why hide?”

“Because I found out the truth about somebody with a lot of power. And I need space to finally get strong enough to take them down before they get bored of toying with me,” says the veiled ghost flatly, the crackle in his voice harsh like rocks being scraped against one another.

Hua Cheng leans back in his chair, crossing his legs and arching a brow at the other. “I wonder what exactly Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder found out about the Heavenly Emperor.” He says it airily, as casual as if he were musing nonchalantly about a poem or a musical arrangement. Po Yue visibly tenses up but says nothing to correct his assumption. Hua Cheng laughs, loud and performative. He won't be explaining how he knows, even if it's obvious. “I have nothing but disdain for those disgraces parading themselves as being worthy of godhood in heaven, but I won't be doing favours for nothing. You can stay in my city, make use of its shelter to build power for your revenge - and I may even assist you depending on the specifics, but you will be in my debt.”

He expects the other Ghost King to start being more wary of his intent after that statement, at the very least he thinks the strange warmth in his manner will dissipate. That is not what happens. “Ah, really? That's perfect, if there's anything you need me to do right now I'd be happy to get to it after I let Gong Chun know I'll be gone for a while,” Po Yue responds in an agreeable manner.

He feels the bemused grin barge onto his cheeks. Is this ghost truly unshakeable? Hua Cheng is only getting more and more interested in what Po Yue could have found out about the Heavenly Emperor that apparently sat so poorly with him as to become his reason to remain in this world. He doubts he'll be able to actually get the Fourth Calamity to reveal his secrets right away, but that's okay. The time investment needed to build enough rapport to determine whether this man is safe to bring into the fold in Hua Cheng's search for his god will, more likely than not, help encourage Po Yue to share the details of his revenge. If for no other reason than realising that through building comradery, Hua Cheng's level of power could be an asset to said revenge.

In the meantime though, he does have some errands in mind: “Hmm, well since you're offering. Are you aware of that pest Qi Rong, the Green Ghost?”

Po Yue shrugs. “Sort of. He's one of the Four Calamities, isn't he? I know people compare me to him for some reason.”

One brow migrates northward as Hua Cheng stares in stunned silence for a few seconds. Didn't he answer to his title as a Calamity before? “Near all ghosts consider you to be the true Fourth Calamity.” He wonders if Po Yue was simply feigning ignorance to have Hua Cheng declare his stance on the issue outright.

“Ah, they were serious about that? I thought the nickname was a joke.” The surprise in his tone is palpable, though clearly not enough to have thrown him off. “Why, though?”

“Likely because of your escape from the Kiln and becoming a Supreme. That level of power is something a little cowardly pest like Qi Rong just couldn't hold an obnoxious green candle to, no matter how much of an annoyance he makes himself.” The explanation slips out easily, like drops of water rolling off oiled skin. He didn't even plan to say so much before he found himself already speaking.

“Oh, so most ghosts see the title of being a Calamity as being based on power? That's quite interesting.” The gravelly voice seems easy-going enough, though as he continues Po Yue's words gain a barely perceptible harsh edge. “Does that mean all of the Calamities are Supremes born of the mountain? Or is there some other way to get to that level?” And it could just be him making conversation, but those questions seem pointed. At what, Hua Cheng can't yet tell.

“All four are Devastations. All known Devastations have been born from the mountain as far as I'm aware. There could be an alternative path, but I've never heard of one.” The other ghost's body wilts ever so slightly at the words, though he straightens up quickly as though nothing had happened.

“So what do you want me to do, relating to the Green Ghost?” Po Yue asks bluntly. Hua Cheng almost feels disappointed at the return to pure business. Nonetheless, the other ghost is here for a reason, and Hua Cheng isn't going to pass up on securing more useful resources.

“Him and his little drones have built one of their nests in the human realm, too near to the entrance of Ghost City very recently. My assumption is that he's testing me, encroaching on my territory to see what he can get away with. I haven't looked into it yet; I and most of my people already have duties and to attend to and problems to solve. If you clear out that den of vermin for me, I'll consider it a proper beginning to out agreement.” It's a task he avoided carrying out immediately, because for however easy he knows it's going to be, Hua Cheng just cannot fucking stand Qi Rong. He probably would have gone to deal with it by the end of today anyway, but now he's got a convenient helping hand to test.

Po Yue nods, his veil rippling. The sound of silk shifting seeps into the silence as the gold ribbons swing. It hangs for a few seconds, then he speaks. “Then if that's all, I might as well go look into that now.”

“Very efficient,” Hua Cheng comments, smiling slightly and the other ghost's body blossoms into motion. He stands, nods again and turns to leave, veil and ribbons wafting in his wake.

The blank, bright blue wash of the ghost realm's morning sky stokes the warmth in Hua Cheng's chest as his brush glides along the paper. The fae figure in white slowly appears, blooming into place at the centre of a bridge. Beams of heavenly gold surround him, drawing him skyward for his feats.

Weren't you saying something?

Hua Cheng scowls minutely - though the annoyance is swiftly soothed by the balm of worshipping his highness by letting the pigments pirouette across the paper and tell the tale of when his god was finally recognised as such by the rest of this wretched world. He finishes the stroke before he deigns to give Black Water a response.

I met Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder.

Oh?

Mm. Apparently he has a similar motive to you. A much more ambitious target though.

Black Water's exasperation is practically dripping through the communication array, slicing Hua Cheng's mouth open in tooth-baring mirth.

Stop dancing around. Say what you want to say.

Why should I bother? You have to listen to me either way.

A disdainful scoff slides down the array. Hua Cheng pointedly sends an acid chuckle before the words.

Apparently the Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu is the recipient of his vengeance.

So is his debt bigger?

You wish. He hasn't requested my help capturing an immortal, taking his place and infiltrating Heaven undetected. So far his biggest ask is being allowed to continue to stay in my city.

Hm? Sounds arrogant. Even I knew not to against heaven to such a degree totally alone.

No, I wouldn't say he's arrogant. He's definitely odd though; he didn't seem wary of me in the slightest.

Tch. He just hasn't gotten to know you yet.

With an eye-roll, Hua Cheng goes to mix some more colours for the scenery.

Hm. Report?

The other ghost king huffs at the subject change, but starts talking.

Nothing directly related came up that I could find.

And the mouthful of bitter disappointment at that answer is just as nauseating the thousandth time as the first. Not that it will dissuade Hua Cheng - he won't let it.

Hm. What of the heavens?

Everything is as usual. That Jun Wu is off in secluded cultivation somewhere, and those two generals you hate are still fighting any chance they're offered. Even more often than normal somehow.

The rough brick of the bridge grows more detailed beneath his hand, suitably sturdy as being the stage of such a glory demands.

Any strange goings on?

Some sect had one of their most respected elders outed - she was secretly practising demonic cultivation the whole time. There's this weird pair of ghosts said to be travelling town to town, poorly disguising themselves just to frequent the theatres and music halls until found out. A fairly notorious warrior holed up in some village turned out to be a famed lordling who faked his death to flee his own father.

It's just more of the same sort of scandalous or mysterious tales, just intriguing enough that they tend to spread as gossip. Nothing jumps out to him, but he doesn't know any of the full situations yet.

Hmm. Look into it all and bring me more details next time. What of weapons?

If he still can't bring his god to safety yet, at least he can make sure to have plenty of worthy treasures sitting ready for his highness to take. It doesn't make up for his failure, but at least he's doing a miserable, inadequate something.

The Heart Devil Blade remains elusive, as ever. If it exists, it isn't anywhere reachable. I convinced that young woman in possession of the Knight's Capital War-Fans to try her luck at your gambling house, so the rest is on you there.

A flat noise of acknowledgement is all Hua Cheng offers as he thinks for a moment.

Did you hear of any interesting ones that I haven't already been seeking or acquired?

Mostly the typical ‘I heard so and so legendary sword is in so and so place’ rumours that have already turned out as lies. Though, there is one thing.

Mn?

Supposedly some young master is claiming his sword was a gift from the heavens, but others whisper that the thing is drenched in resentful energy. He says he just came across this sword - a blade dark as night and colder than death - discarded on the side of a road only weeks ago.

His back straightens minutely. That description is soul-wrenchingly familiar. It's the slimmest of hopes, but it catches firmly in his mind.

Find out where it is. Buy the sword from him, find out exactly where he found it and show me what it looks like.

There's a beat of incredulous silence where Black Water is no doubt trying to guess which part of his description caught Hua Cheng's focus so.

Sure. He might not be willing to part with it though.

Fine. All I need to know is where it is so I can see it for myself.

And with that, the two ghosts say their perfunctory goodbyes. Black Water heads off, with no doubt countless complaints already boiling within to come back with, and Hua Cheng turns back to his painting - determined to get the details perfect - ‘til the afternoon.

It does indeed take him all morning to finish painting. He's not entirely satisfied with what he's made, but then he never is - nothing can truly come close to his god's majesty, all Hua Cheng can strive for is to do better and honour the missing prince as well as he can.

He's at a desk reading through some newly acquired documents and scrolls in search of a sign - to no avail. Just as he's considering going down to the Gambler's Den to vent some of his frustrations by pulling the floor from beneath the scummiest of patrons, his right-hand man contacts him. Yin Yu informs him that Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder has arrived to speak with him. It hasn't even been a full day since. Hua Cheng tells him to send the other Ghost King in.

“Hua Cheng,” says Po Yue, standing in the door. His voice and face are the same plain construction as the first time they spoke - though the smile he's wearing is flatter than Hua Cheng remembers.

“Back to the disguise?” Hua Cheng asks with a playful veneer of mournfulness.

“Yes. The likelihood of someone recognising me is tiny, but if it did happen it would probably happen in this city, and would be almost guaranteed to turn out bad for me.” Hua Cheng can't imagine who'd be foolish enough to recognise a Ghost King and decide to make trouble for him. “Besides, I doubt you've shown me your true face,” which Hua Cheng can't exactly argue against - because it's true - so he moves on to the main matter.

“What of the pests?” His brow raises, half expecting some excuse for why he's come back - whether it's a reasonable one or not is his decision.

“Oh, they're gone like you asked,” says Po Yue, shrugging.

“All of them?” He asks, just to confirm. The other nods, blasé in a way that makes Hua Cheng reconsider some of his initial impressions. “Hmm, it looks like your reputation hid your true power then.” Though that, Hua Cheng had expected.

“I guess. But it's not as if I fought all of them. A few seemed like they were there unwillingly - they ran without fighting the second I dealt with Qi Rong's clone.” There's a twitch of his upper lip as he speaks the fraud's name. Even someone this agreeable can't entirely escape the cloud of contempt that ghost generates in others. “The ones left after were no trouble at all.”

“That was dealt with quickly. Impressive.” Hua Cheng isn't normally one to give compliments so easily, but this time is different; he's testing something. Sure enough, the smile Po Yue gives him rings hollow. If he had to guess, Hua Cheng would say the other ghost saw something horrifically offputting in Qi Rong's nest. It's more than likely, with how the Green Ghost is. Hua Cheng feels a weight on his chest for some reason. “You're trying to build power, right?” The question slips out.

“Yes?” Po Yue's tone is tilted with confusion - better than the discordantly flat grimness of the previous moment.

“I have some books and scrolls collected about the differences of spiritual energy in ghosts and living cultivators.” Hua Cheng declares, leaving out that he wrote most of them himself.

“...”

“They might make cultivating more strength for yourself easier.” He says, reluctant to state the offer outright for some reason.

“Ah, that does sound helpful. I've had to try and adjust on my own, without even having the ability to cultivate undisturbed properly all this time. Thank you!” And with the thanks, Hua Cheng is gifted with the sight of another of his glowing grins blossoming, the ones that utterly betray the plain visage Po Yue has crafted.

Wordlessly, Hua Cheng stands. He indicates for the other ghost to follow, and leads to the room in which he stores those offered materials.

Arms loaded up, Po Yue piles too much praise and gratitude onto him and it makes Hua Cheng's words stick in his throat. He instead offers a silent, stoic nod as the other Calamity leaves to make use of those borrowed books and scrolls.

Hua Cheng immediately decides to spend more time with the other ghost and practice talking to him; what good will he be to his god if he can't even hold up his end of a conversation?

Chapter Text

A dangerous grin contorts the Lord's face, even as he sits where none of the rabble can see it to feel its intended effect. The hand of cards placed on the other end of the table below is a losing one. The spectating ghosts shriek and crow his never-ending victory.

To her credit, the young woman is a gracious loser. The gold leaves of metal glint as she places the prize on the table with a gentle clink. Her painted face could be a real mask for how little emotion it betrays. She nods, turns away and walks with straight-backed composure out of the establishment, as one of Hua Cheng's workers moves to collect her forfeited fans on his command.

The sheet of red silk before him flutters as the rapturous mob jumps around on the other side. His lips involuntarily curl at the simplicity of their joy. Hua Cheng is thinking of calling forth another gambler who dares to try their luck against him when another of his attendants moves to call his attention. The ghost timidly lets him know that there's some human claiming to be his acquaintance asking to speak with him.

He's about to scoff and say to send him away when she mentions that he brought a gift - apparently an artisan brew of ale. Po Yue is working for (and possibly staying with) the only brewing master Hua Cheng knows of in his city. And he's repeatedly demonstrated his ability to create the perfect picture of a still breathing person to wear around. Hua Cheng instructs her to lead him into one of the siderooms to wait for him.

He means to leave his visitor waiting for a little longer, but the crowd's shouts grow more and more grating with every passing moment. Eventually, Hua Cheng sighs and stands from his chair, the building tension becoming unbearable. Rowdy cheers and speculations ring out as countless pairs of eyes follow his silhouette until they can't anymore.

As the room where the other Calamity is situated draws nearer, Hua Cheng wonders what he could be visiting for. A question about something? He hadn't seemed hugely knowledgeable about ghosts in general, despite being one for so long. Or perhaps he's thought of some way he could request the Lord of Ghost City's aid in his revenge. Hua Cheng might give it, at a reasonably steep price. The absurd notion pops into his head that Po Yue just came to talk to him. A little smile curves his mouth, because that actually does seem almost in character for what little he knows of the odd man.

Hua Cheng struts into the sideroom, curiosity masked by his typical veneer of brash indifference. Po Yue is sitting with his legs up, cross-legged on a low stool. The visitor is slouched and humming gently, head bobbing side to side in time with the tune. Steps loud and sharp, Hua Cheng has no need to announce himself. His guest looks up, the stem of his form straightening up as he offers a smile in greeting.

“Hua Cheng!” Says the other ghost, voice laced with gentle hints of sunshine.

“Po Yue,” replies Hua Cheng, brow raising in an unspoken question.

A hand reaches for a sleeve and pulls out a familiar stack of literature. “I, ah, came to bring these back. They were very useful, I've managed to do a good amount of ghost cultivation already thanks to the help. Thank you!” Hua Cheng signals for the attendant who followed him in to take the returned goods.

“That was very quick,” he remarks neutrally. Po Yue blinks, face stuck in his gratitude for a moment before spinning into a more bashful smile.

“Ah, I did have quite a lot of trouble reading the handwriting for some of them, but some helpful person decided to rewrite a lot of parts more legibly beside the original text. After I got used to deciphering that odd hand, it got much easier to get through the other texts written by the same unfortunate scholar. Perhaps Hua Cheng could consider having somebody make clearer copies of those texts… Not that I'm ungrateful, whoever that person is, their work was probably the most helpful - and the most interesting - of it all!” Po Yue looks incredibly abashed, posture wilting. The internal flailing is written across his face as Po Yue obviously realises how backhanded he sounded for a moment. Hua Cheng has to smother a laugh imagining how much more hilariously wrongfooted the man would look if he knew it's almost definitely the Crimson Rain Sought Flower's handwriting he's criticising. While he muses on his mirth, the other ghost appears to land on a plan of action.

Po Yue stands and holds out a jar of ale, decorated with a clumsily tied ribbon. “Here, Gong Chun asked me to bring this along as a gift.” His mouth holds a pleased little twist as Hua Cheng takes it and hands it off to another attendant to put into storage. “I haven't tried that one for myself, but Gong Chun is a master brewer and he has very good taste.”

“Hmm. Give him my thanks.” Hua Cheng amuses himself by going quiet just long enough for Po Yue to start fidgeting again before he speaks once more. “You managed well enough with those writings then? Despite the troublesome handwriting?”

Po Yue clears his throat. “... Mn. I did. It helped a lot with finally re- it really helped a lot. I really do appreciate it.”

Hua Cheng eyes him for a moment, internally debating. He decides to ask the other ghost one of the questions hanging in his mind directly. “I wonder if Po Yue is aware of what benefits a ghost can reap by entering the Kiln of Mount Tonglu more than once?”

Gaze shifting away, Po Yue shrugs. “Yes, I know that is a way to build strength more quickly, but…” All traces of his smile wither into a flat, macabre look directed at nothing in particular. “I have reason to be wary of that place.” His words carry the weight of some significant secret swinging from his neck.

Well that is certainly interesting. Is there perhaps some link between the hellfire forge of Ghost Kings and the wretched, perfidious emperor of Heaven? One that Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder unravelled as his everything was melted down, fashioned and tempered into something harsher. Hua Cheng wonders what those weeks sealed inside were like for the ghost sitting before him. Some aspect of reminiscing on his experience has any small hint of that typically sunshiny disposition seeping somewhere far away.

He shakes the strange curiosity off; if Hua Cheng really wants to know more he needs to insinuate himself into the other Calamity’s confidence. “Hmm. If it’s power you need on your side… I could assist, in exchange for a second Ghost King swearing his debt and service to my own cause.”

The other levels him with a lifeless stare. One brow climbs and his tongue clicks. “If Hua Cheng is really willing to attack, capture, interrogate, imprison and possibly kill the Heavenly Emperor, I could only be grateful for his assistance.” The fragrance of Po Yue’s doubt is overpowering.

It’s certainly an ambitious aim. Hua Cheng is well aware that the only person widely believed to come close to rivalling Jun Wu’s martial power is the very same incandescent character the ghost has been burning to follow since long before the malignant, ostentatious worm shackled and sent him away. Hua Cheng isn’t arrogant or sacreligious enough to put himself above his god, but the trash that chained him? The only reason he hasn’t struck before now and emptied the throne of Heaven is that the effort to do so alone would grind his search for the only one worthy to sit in that throne to a total halt. Three Ghost Kings working in parallel would expedite the act significantly.

Hua Cheng taps his right index finger against his bottom lip once, twice, three times, eye turned to the ceiling. If he really is going to throw his - and Black Water’s - horse into this race he needs to know more about Po Yue’s motive, to ensure Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder is under his thumb, rather than the other way around. “If Po Yue is willing to answer some of my questions in the future, I might offer that assistance.” He glances back at Po Yue, catching the exact moment the shock flourishes. It tastes gratifyingly sweet. “I don’t expect you to lay everything out right now, but eventually.” By now he knows better than to assume the other ghost will be visibly wary of the implicit expectation that he will have to bare his full story at some point - and sure enough, the emotion flourishing on his face is something simply joyful. “Before that time comes though, would Po Yue care to practise fighting together? I'd prefer to know how you do before fighting such an opponent alongside you.”

“Oh, I would absolutely care to,” he immediately chirps, head bobbing up and down with a near unhinged amount of enthusiasm. “It's been too long since I've properly had the chance.”

Metal shrieks as the opponent’s blade meets his own yet again, pushing so hard he’s forced on the back foot. The amount of force has his sight sharpening.

Hua Cheng jumps back and out of the sword’s arc, swings around and strikes back, forcing the other to twist on the spot to catch the blow. Po Yue’s eye ignites with a white-hot glare and a blistering grin. He quicksteps back and the pair of ghosts circle each other once before Hua Cheng attempts another swipe - easily deflected off to the right.

E’ming rattles in it’s sheath and he only barely resists the urge to smack it and throw off his defence, fingers tightening on the grip of his chosen sword.

The other ghost sends a harsh, precise thrust that Hua Cheng barely manages to parry, followed by a wide swing. He catches Po Yue’s sword, only for the other ghost to dive beneath his blade and come at him from the back, extorting a hasty pivot from him. The undeniable fire burning in Po Yue has Hua Cheng breathless. Before he knows it, he finds himself running through the rare, exquisite swords in the armoury; something finer would suit Po Yue far better than the subpar - presumably rented - blade he’s carrying. That thought sends a quick backlash of repulsion and confusion through his body; those blades belong to his highness, his god. The idea of lending them out to any old person shouldn’t even occur to him. It has him shaking his head to try and shake the notion out.

The momentary distraction costs him when he steps wrong. Hua Cheng is bombarded with a barrage of stabs, strikes, swipes from what feels like all angles. None of them slip past his defences, but the surge of strikes tell him it’s time to end this.

Rolling his body into another stance, he darts forth and returns Po Yue’s volley of blows - fast as though he’s giving as good as he got but restraining the qi he puts behind it. Finally, when Po Yue’s the one pushed onto his back foot, Hua Cheng sends a twisting finishing strike reinforced with tenfold the energy of the ones before.

With a clink, the upper third of Po Yue’s blade chips clean away, swinging into a wall. They stand still panting. Internally, Hua Cheng is absolutely convinced it wouldn’t have ended there if the other ghost had wielded a sword of equal quality. Po Yue doesn’t seem bitter for the result, a flood of fervent laughs of sharp elation spilling forth as he goes to pick up the metal shard.

“I should’ve expected that to happen, using some old sword from the junkheap in the back of Gong Chun’s cellar. Ah, at least he said he wouldn’t miss it when he let me take it.” He strides over, that knife-grin glistening an ever-rising exhilarated aura. “That was brilliant. I could tell that you favour fighting with a sabre, but you’re really incredible - it’s easy to see where your reputation stems from!” The complimentary words seem borderline sycophantic, but Po Yue delivers them with such earnestness, alongside such a winning smile that they drive through Hua Cheng with a spear of stunning sincerity. His cheeks warm slightly in reaction to the critical hit - Hua Cheng turns away to hide it.

“... You have a lot of skill.” Hua Cheng states simply. “With a proper sword, I get the impression you would equal, if not outright surpass me.” Trying to think of more to say, he glances over to meet with the sight of Po Yue poorly suppressing fidgets - he can practically see the other ghost’s fingers itching. “What?”

“Oh, well, I was just wondering…” Po Yue coughs and looks away briefly. “I've heard tales about Crimson Rain Sought Flower's cursed scimitar… Can I see it?” His stare is so intent Hua Cheng almost feels unnerved.

Before he can even answer, E'ming shudders again. Odd. Hua Cheng shrugs and moves one hand to the blade's hilt. He's hardly proud of possessing it - sometimes he wants to dig a giant pit, to cast it away, bury it and leave that loathsome thing to fester - but such weakness shouldn't be seen. Nobody less than his god deserves Hua Cheng's effort in shielding their eyes from the worthless and the heinous - and if they think that of him, all the better when he drags them down beneath him.

Crimson Rain Sought Flower draws scimitar from it's sheath, as though a peerless lord flaunting his might and not a lowly wretch baring something vile of himself. He steels his skin - this can't be counted as true vulnerability, Hua Cheng reminds himself, for the only one whose judgement he values above all others’ is his god's, and it's not like he can see him right now.

Po Yue gasps. “Oh, hello.” He beams sunnily at E'ming. The eye of the scimitar blinks and stares up at him - apparently finding the glowing look just as strangely striking as it's wielder does. A slight squint forms, as though the phantom of a face the eye still half thinks it’s a part of is smiling back. “What a beautiful blade!” E’ming shudders and blinks delightedly at the words. Po Yue’s appraising stare roves hungrily back and forth across the weapon. It shamelessly revels in the attention, which has Hua Cheng scoffing near-silently and shoving the thing back in the sheath. Before anything to say comes to mind, somebody else’s voice does.

I found it.

Hua Cheng’s brow creases as he raises a finger to his head - a gesture which Po Yue interestingly almost seems to instantly understand as indicating him having another conversation to focus on.

Found what?

That black sword. You won't be able to buy it, but it won't be any trouble to get; the one who has it has been challenging anyone to beat him in a fight and he'll hand it over, only all the semi-skilled fighters find the thing too ominous to want it.

Hua Cheng grins. He was prepared to take the thing by force if necessary anyway, this just makes it easier. A giddy wave washes over him.

“Po Yue,” he says on some strange impulse. “How would you like to accompany me for a small errand?”

A pair of ghosts walk down the dirt road in human disguise side-by-side - Hua Cheng striding brazenly, Po Yue gliding like a knife through water. The town they’re approaching is mostly quieting down for the evening, save the lively sounds emanating from inside a tavern further along the street.

“So, what are we retrieving?” Po Yue asks as they advance.

He considers not answering - Po Yue has already proven weirdly willing to assist without being told much at all - but decides against it on instinct. “I collect unique and mysterious weapons. We're here for a sword.”

“Ah really? You also have an interest in rare arms?” Po Yue’s eyes dart towards him and hold the look. “Hmm… Have you come across, say, the sword Hong Jing?”

Hua Cheng shakes his head. He'd tried quite a bit to retrieve that particular lost treasure for his highness, but the blade had been cloistered away somewhere an age ago.

As they step up to the door of the bustling establishment, he glances at Po Yue - the very same sword that Hua Cheng had wielded earlier now sheathed and strapped to the other ghost's waist. He'd lent it to Po Yue more to give the other ghost the illusion of being more on a level with him than for any real safety reasons.

“-And he really believed he'd get away with it! Maybe his typical patrons are ignorant enough to settle for such things, but of course I'm used to ones with real quality,” rants a young man sitting at one of the room’s tables, voice obnoxiously loud and slightly slurred. “It's almost quaint that so many of you were willing to put up with it, it's a good thing my father owns the house that peasant was renting. Ha, he'll have to find some other suckers to peddle to!” He seems entirely oblivious to the caustic expressions and eyerolls being shot at him from across the room - perhaps blinded by the blatant brownnosers all sitting beside him and nodding along. It’s obvious to apparently everybody but the man himself that they’re only tolerating him in the hope that some of his fortune will find its way into their own coffers.

Hua Cheng easily singles this smug young master out as none other than Zheng Haitao, the arrogant fool who has the sword. Second son of the first wife of the wealthiest man in the town, he’s notorious for being almost as arrogant as he is belligerent. People living here avoid him unless they have a strong motivation not to. Even some of the sycophants at his side are having visible trouble sowing their flattery without gritting their teeth.

“Zheng Haitao!” Hua Cheng calls across the bar. Though slightly delayed, the young master does indeed turn his head in response to the name. “I heard you have a sword that you’ll hand over to the one who beats you in a duel.”

He stares gormlessly for a moment or two. Then Zheng Haitao’s face twists into a nasty, snarling grin as he starts letting out noisy, hacking laughter. “PahahaHA, I would if anyone could! None of you plebs could lay a hand on me!”

“Of course, nobody could lay a hand on the young master!” cries hanger-on number one from his right.

“Only a fool would even try!” simpers hanger-on number two from his left.

The man nods snootily along to the praise as though it’s just to be expected, before turning back to look at Hua Cheng. A vacant little smirk adorns his face as he speaks. “Why’re you asking?”

With an answering quirk of the lips, Hua Cheng says: “To try my own hand at it, of course.” Half a second of silence passes. Then Zheng Haitao’s genial (if still horribly haughty) manner melts away. He tries to twist his annoyance into a sort of good-humoured smile, but the young master’s ire is clearly ignited.

“And what makes you think I’d deign to cross swords with you?” he spits acidly. “Why should I waste my time on some lowly stranger?”

“Oh, if Zheng-xiansheng^[1] feels he would be unable to fight me, I understand of course; being challenged like this can be very daunting.”

Zheng Haitao’s entire being is slowly engulfed in fire. “Daunting?” He growls and readies himself to stand up. Wow, he’s even easier to provoke than Hua Cheng had anticipated. “Hah! I could grind you to dust in my sleep!” As he walks over, Zheng Haitao spits on the ground.

“Are you agreeing to a fight, then?” Po Yue cuts in almost amicably.

“Your dog of a friend clearly won’t be much of a fight, so why not?” Zheng Haitao responds, stalking towards the pair.

“Take it outside,” calls the barkeep from across the room. She’s had her wary eye on the young master this whole time. Hua Cheng nods at her and turns to step outside. Po Yue and Zheng Haitao follow, the latter spitting on the ground as he walks.

Once outside, Zheng Haitao immediately attempts to menace him, despite them being practically the same height. Hua Cheng indicates for Po Yue to step further back and he does. “Is Zheng-xiansheng still certain he wants to fight? There’s no shame in backing out.” Indignant anger simmers beneath Zheng Haitao’s every motion and Hua Cheng takes more than a little joy in the fact.

“I’ll show you certain, you mutt! You pick a fight with me, you disrespect me like that? You’ll see no mercy from me!” As he spits the words, Zheng Haitao squares up to him.

A short breath taken in and out and he slowly draws E’ming - a gentle glamour invoked to give it the appearance of a thoroughly mundane blade. When he notices Zheng Haitao’s hand reaching towards his own waist, Hua Cheng fully unsheathes his blade, using the ‘sching’ of the metal to prepare himself for what may happen - for what he’s here for.

The young master mirrors his motion, drawing his weapon and unleashing a torrent of resentful energy across the area. In an instant, Hua Cheng’s field of view tightens to the sight of that sword. He dimly registers a small, sharp gasp from Po Yue - probably in reaction to the thing’s aura - in between the thunderous drumming in his head. It’s a blade he could never mistake. It’s the tool of foul tortures against the most worthy, most righteous, most kind person to ever exist - the stuff of countless, reiterating nightmares that have haunted his soul. Dull, throbbing rage trickles across his body.

Hua Cheng allows himself a brief instant to fathom the magnitude of this hateful thing. Then, he clenches his fist around E’ming’s hilt and draws closer to the sour man in front of him, a preemptive victorious smirk forming.

It takes Hua Cheng less than three minutes to have Zheng Haitao on the ground near-sobbing.

The young master bellows and wails about unfairness, about being misled and cheated. He’s not exactly wrong, but neither is he undeserving of the treatment in Hua Cheng’s opinion. When asked if he would like a rematch as the victorious ghost pools all the jarring, inhuman thunder behind his glare, Zheng Haitao’s complaints are abruptly quashed.

It’s easy to shake the sword out of the pathetic man’s grip. He takes the sheath too, since apparently the fool at least had enough brains to get himself one with some inbuilt sealing talismans for the thing’s nastiness - or he had a more intelligent benefactor quietly gift it to him after all his bragging. Po Yue stays very quiet for some reason, just staring down at the ground

“Where did you get this?” asks Hua Cheng.

“Damn swindler, I don’t know where it’s from or whose it is, I found it abandoned on the ground!” Zheng Haitao protests.

“Where. Did. You. Find. It?” he repeats, emphasising each word with a tiny jab of E’ming in the air, closer and closer to piercing the man’s body.

“On the ground, on the ground! Just abandoned at the side of the road, that way!” He wails and points along the road that heads east out of the town. Hua Cheng nods, sheaths his own blade and turns, ready to walk away. Once Po Yue is back safely stored away in Ghost City, Hua Cheng will come back and comb the area thoroughly for something, anything of his god. He’s not going to use his dice where the man can see and give him the solace of knowing that at least his opponent was somebody powerful - humbling that kind of person is less satisfying when it doesn’t stick.

Po Yue still seems strangely listless, blinking when Hua Cheng taps his shoulder. His brows crease a little, but he follows next to Hua Cheng when he starts walking. As they start to leave, the sound of Zheng Haitao scrambling in the dirt can be heard.

“Who even are you, rat? What’s your name?” As Hua Cheng expected, he seeks relief in knowing that his loss was inevitable.

Hua Cheng looks over his shoulder. “I have no name to tell you,”^[2] he says, smiling. Po Yue’s head turns sharply towards him - disapproving of the low parting shot, or the thorough mockery? - but he says nothing.

A pair of ghosts leave the town in a silence quite similar to the one they walked in with. The only difference is the crushing heft of contemplation hanging from their heads.

Chapter Text

Squawking fills the area; birds desperately flee as Hua Cheng’s furious, panicked, despairing aura suffocates the air. He wants to rip something apart, to scream so loud his voice ravages every realm, to fall to his knees sobbing and raging and tearing out his hair.

Seven solid days. Day and night, no breaks, not even for a second has he stopped scraping over the area, praying for any sign. He doesn't want to face it - this can't be a dead end. Not like the last time. Not like the last ten, fifty, the last hundred times, he has to have hope dangling before him over and over only to wither like a rotting carcass in his hands the instant he reaches forth and grasps. Hua Cheng claws at the dirt, breathing sharp and unsteady.

It crashes through his skull, shattering him again. Nothing changes. This isn't working.

Despite that realisation, it takes the Ghost King another day to stop dashing through the area. He lays prone on the dirt, energy sapping away. Both emotionally and also literally as he sets a colossal rabble of butterflies flitting forth from his form to surge out and sweep the surroundings for miles and months.

His body stays sprawled in that same spot until the sun is out of sight, when he finally gathers the will to get up, throw down his dice and go back to his wretched city, empty-handed with his tail between his legs and his god’s safety not secured yet again.

The aftermath of such a failure is familiar at this point; he throws himself into the city’s upkeep with a noticeably blunted edge to his showboating, relentless attitude - meanwhile the majority of his mind’s space is spent skipping around the eyes of his insectile surveillance force. On the outside, he seems callously diligent towards his territory, in reality he could not possibly be more checked out.

Some days later - he isn’t quite sure how many - Hua Cheng is informed of an arrival. His newest acquaintance comes knocking on Paradise Manor’s door in the early evening asking another audience with him - private this time - with some not insignificant pool of insistence, while he is sat alone, tackling the sort of logistical work that makes it impossible to think for a brief time. Serious consideration is put to simply ordering for the man to be sent away, but the thought of talking to Po Yue is like a strange, sweet, soothing scent. The way the mere idea of his presence seems to mute Hua Cheng’s distress is as baffling as it is tantalising. He asks for the other ghost to be sent in to wait to be seen.

It takes him a while between issuing that command and actually mustering the resolve to go and speak to the other ghost - most of which is spent trying to drain his ever-burning impotent frustration into the work, eventually leaving Hua Cheng emptied out enough for his insides to feel adequately still. He absently notes that one of his butterflies seems to be accompanying Po Yue - how long has it been with the other ghost? It hasn’t alerted him of anything, so he doesn’t bother taking a peek right now; he’s already outside the door.

Stepping into the room, Hua Cheng is greeted with the sight of Po Yue on the floor against one of the walls, scrambling into a more upright seating position. The words bubbling up behind his mouth are abruptly dragged back by the look on Po Yue’s face. Mouth twisted up tiny, gaze darting erratically between up at him and down on the floor, wringing his hands together. It looks like he has some heavy topic of his own weighing him down, but despite the mood hanging over them Hua Cheng’s thoughts drift- between the damp lashes fluttering, that solemn little pout, those dewy, pinked, pitiful eyes… Cute. Hua Cheng’s butterfly starts flittering wildly as the mad want to pick up Po Yue and coddle him and keep him forever suddenly coils around him and squeezes his breath away. Before Hua Cheng gets to think about that though, the other ghost speaks.

“That sword,” Po Yue starts, fingers twining together in a coiling grasp. “Why would you want something like that?” There’s a strange, choked note to his words. Does the question hold some significance to him? Hua Cheng would say that perhaps he has some experience with similar resentment-slathered items - they say Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder sometimes fronts as an ordinary travelling cultivator after all. Still, he almost automatically weighs the possibility that perhaps Po Yue has some history with this sword specifically. It makes him equal parts wary and hopeful but he quickly shakes that idea away, focusing as he decides to give up a truth kept imprecise.

“The weapons… I collect any noteworthy ones I hear of. Even vile ones like that thing, just in case. They’re a gift for someone important.” He refuses to let his voice thicken. “The reason I remain in this world. I’ve been looking for him.” Even speaking the vague words aloud eases the pressure inside his still heart - if only slightly.

The aggrieved expression on Po Yue’s face softens into something tentative. Something seems to have clicked into place in his mind. His gaze still darts around even as that shine seems to turn to something semi-sweet. Hua Cheng can’t do anything but watch as those lips open as if eager to speak, stutter and shut again several times. Finally, Po Yue jumps whatever hurdle is making him hesitate. He nods a little, decisive nod and speaks: “I think… I want to tell you. As much as I can.” A moment passes before he recalls it: The depth, breadth and reason for Po Yue’s desired revenge - and also presumably his continued existence - was part of the price Hua Cheng had given for his assistance in it. He wants to know more, to understand Po Yue a little deeper. So that he can determine how best to safely make use of the other ghost’s skills.

“Then perhaps Po Yue could start with explaining what he discovered about Jun Wu, and how.” As he makes the suggestion, Hua Cheng takes a seat alongside, watches as words struggle to form behind Po Yue’s lips once more. The air grows dense, sharp. Dull pain shines in those downcast, teary eyes.

“When I was still. Alive. I think… He was fixated on me - something I said? Something I did? I’m not sure but I must have gotten his attention somehow. Things started going wrong. I don’t think- don’t know if every last part was his doing, but he orchestrated some terrible things. A lot of people died. He wanted me to- I don’t know, he wanted to prove something. To make me like him somehow.” Breaths stutter behind those lips. Po Yue shudders. He shakes his hands and grits his teeth. Those eyes darken. “I… wasn’t strong enough - I was terrible. Somebody else paid the price for my failings. Once I was truly alone, Jun Wu slipped up - the tiniest error that I almost didn’t notice - and unintentionally displayed that he was the one manipulating me.

“I expect you already realised, but… The heavenly calamities are his doing. I don’t know if he sends every one consciously, or if it’s a force he unleashed on me that now won’t cease until it’s purpose is complete, but he definitely started them. He wants me up there, under his thumb. After… I discovered what he was, I nearly ascended - I don’t know if that time was legitimate but I refused it. I didn’t earn it, after what I almost did. Nobody could be less deserving of ascending to godhood. Ascending off the back of somebody else’s actions when they took the fall for me finally recognising I was committing something evil. And I didn’t want to go to his domain of course.

“That’s what killed me. When the qi of the calamity tried to drag me up to heaven, it didn’t listen when I tried to reject it. It just kept bearing down on me. I channelled it in a different direction, forced it to spill out of my spirit veins into my body. It burned through my flesh like I think real lightning would, overflowing onto the surroundings too. That ended me. It shouldn’t have been able to but it did. I felt it happening, it burning me away trying to bring me to him and all I could think or feel was that I was so angry. People suffered and died and were utterly destroyed and it was all for some twisted satisfaction he got out of it.

“Even as I felt more power than I’d ever known rushing through me, I knew I could never defeat him in that state. I ran. One day, I’m going to let it take me up. I’m going to reveal what he did and what he is to all of heaven, and if they refuse to enact justice, to punish him for his lies and evils - I’ll just need to have the power to do it myself.” His eyes burn coldly and decisively.

The endless details dance discordantly in Hua Cheng’s mind, melodies harmonising to create a clamouring song he refuses to listen to. He hones in on an odd word choice, a single phrase out of the other ghost’s speech: “‘What’ he is?”

Po Yue looks at Hua Cheng with a sad, sad smile. “Jun Wu is White No-Face.”

What? Is this some sort of joke? Hua Cheng can’t restrain the edge of disbelief and fury in his voice as he blurts: “How do you know?” And Po Yue’s demeanour perplexingly seems to perk up slightly. Though it could’ve been a mirage, that errant droplet of joy dribbles away quick as he answers. Hua Cheng continues to shout down the desperate voice inside him as the other ghost speaks.

“Ah, I was fighting him, when I. I happened to notice - it was barely anything, but something in the way he spoke gave me an off feeling- reminded me- and I was out of my head because… I accused him, half-hysterically, just throwing whatever mad thoughts came to my head at him. Only he froze still, for a fraction of a moment, when I brought up the Heavenly Emperor’s name. Then I said it again, more directly. And he didn’t even bother to deny it. He just laughed and it was a laugh I’ve heard before. It broke something in my mind I think, and I just started running. Partly to lead him away, partly to escape him, partly to just escape everything.

“After a while of chasing me, he started yelling strange things about me, my actions. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but the calamity came. I didn’t truly die straight away.” He chuckles and reaches a hand up to his throat. “Jun Wu had placed a cursed shackle on me, holding my qi unusable and holding my body to life. It also conducted the qi of the heavenly calamity - or calamities really, every few hours - growing hotter and hotter, burning at my throat between bolts. I think Jun Wu must have gone up to heaven to wait for me to succumb - either to give up and ascend to escape the pain, or to pass out and be unable to resist. Thinking since I was shackled he need only wait on my arrival I suppose.

“After days I came up with … a rudimentary plan. I don’t think I was intentionally trying to- I wasn’t really thinking much of anything by the end. I just wanted to be free. So I deliberately channelled more of the invading qi into the shackle and held it there every time it struck me. Eventually it must’ve been too much and the thing shattered. And like I said, the shackle was holding my body to life.”

As he speaks, his form morphs. Hua Cheng’s mad gaze stays trained on Po Yue’s neck, where a furl of gnarled, charred and reddened flesh is revealed to encircle. Dendritic red lines creep along his skin - burgeoning both down towards his covered collarbone, and up in jarringly gentle strokes across the very face Hua Cheng has been carving and painting and longing to look upon for centuries, and all those little details he has refused to even properly perceive as hints finally tear their roots into his core.

The dead Crown Prince Xie Lian scratches his nose and blinks at Hua Cheng.

He stares. Those familiar eyes blink warm syrup back at him but all he feels is cold. That skin, some segments seeming as soft and petal-light as a glorious divine prince ever could be, being broken up over and over with grief and damage and pain. Hands that have wrought more benevolence on this world than it ever deserved are maimed with scar tissue and no less beautiful for it. Those little endearing motions and mannerisms Hua Cheng had noticed when he’d seen Po Yue fidgeting, amusing because they were so dissonantly flourishing with life. Dissonant because he is dead.

Hua Cheng clutches a cold hand to his cold chest. Icewater drenches him; how terribly has he failed this kind, great, suffering man before him?

The wretched ghost falls, forehead crushed against the ground, words scraping their way out: “Your highness!” His very being retreats into itself, little earthquakes trembling their way back and forth through the bones of this worthless body as it turns to stone. What use is all this power in the hands of such a person? “This lowly one has failed you.”

“No, no, you haven’t failed anyone! You’re the reason- I didn’t-” Xie Lian scrambles, pulling at Hua Cheng to try and put him back upright - and what else would he do but cooperate? Gentle hands fret back and forth between them. The prince repeatedly reaches for him before halting himself. Then, in a small voice, he speaks: “Is it really you, Wu Ming?”

Hua Cheng’s words fail him as a bolt of shock swiftly lances through him. “... You remember me?”

“Yes, yes, of course I do! How awful must you think me to- no, it makes sense, I treated you horribly before. I’m sorry.”

“Your highness don’t apologise! You were suffering and nobody helped!” Hua Cheng protests, finally looking Xie Lian in the eye as he thoughtlessly dares to reach for the prince in return, clasping his hands, the thought of his highness being burdened by such a thing wholly unbearable.

“At that point I wouldn’t have let anyone help - you surely know, you tried. Thank you for that.” He straightens his back and levels a serious look. “No matter the circumstance, I was cruel. Those actions were all my own in the end.” Xie Lian states simply and the knowledge buds in Hua Cheng that he won’t be able to convince the prince with his words. Thus, he decides he’ll simply have to make originally intended use of all his resources - however horrifically late he is - to ease Xie Lian’s heart. Determination sets upon him - the god shall be free of suffering from this point onwards, no matter what, Hue Cheng will insist on anything necessary to ensure Xie Lian will live an easier lif- Life. Hua Cheng finally remembers the sword hanging over his neck.

Xie Lian remains in this world for a reason. “... Your highness. I will do everything possible to bring that scumbag Heavenly Emperor to justice,” he declares. A treacherous voice inside whispers the selfsame thoughts he had often mockingly held towards Black Water’s intentions: What will he be when his reason to exist is no more? Will the god simply cease to be? Go back into the cycle of reincarnation?

… Hua Cheng’s feelings on the subject don’t matter. Didn’t this same prince once long ago suggest to a lowly little ghost fire that being unable to rest in peace was an awful fate? If anybody in this world deserves peace, it is surely the man before him.

Xie Lian seems momentarily befuddled - his declaration was rather abrupt - but coughs and quickly composes. “Ah, thank you but there’s no need, really! Not to say that I don’t welcome your help, but I don’t want you to just drop everything to help me!” His mouth twists ever so slightly. “You’re still searching for your beloved: I don’t want to impede your goal.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head. “His highness doesn’t need to worry about that. I will help you,” he declares in a tone that brooks no argument.

“... If you’re certain it won’t be a bother,” the prince says reluctantly. “You aren’t just offering because you think you ‘failed me’ are you?

“Your highness, Jun Wu clearly needs to face the truth and severity of his actions being known and punished,” answers Hua Cheng sincerely (if evasively). Of course he isn’t only giving his help to atone for not being there when his god needed him most - Hua Cheng would offer himself up no matter what. He knows that, while true, this information probably won’t lend itself to the goal of having Xie Lian accept his help.

“Hmm, that’s good. Of course I’m grateful for the help, but I don’t want you doing it because you owe me some sort of ‘penance,’ because I happened to die after you’d borne the brunt of countless vengeful spirits’ rage. If anything, I’m thankful for you. Not giving up on me even when I’d certainly have deserved it. More than that, you took the weight of my misdeeds on yourself!” Hua Cheng is about to cut in, to insist that Xie Lian doesn’t need to be so grateful for one person treating him the way he deserves, the way nobody in this wretched world bothers, but sees something in the other ghost’s eye that has him pause to hear what more Xie Lian is going to say. “After all that happened, I … I lost myself. You still believed in me anyway. It's strange to say out loud but I think I wanted to make sure that I, that whatever good you’d seen in me, seen me putting into the world, still existed. You sacrificed for me, I didn’t want that to end up being for nothing - it feels odd, but I suppose … this is my best way of appreciating and honouring that sacrifice,” Xie Lian trails off, scratching his nose sheepishly.

Meanwhile, Hua Cheng sucks in a quick breath and stares. Xie Lian can’t be implying what Hua Cheng thinks, can he? That Xie Lian, Xie Lian is remaining in this world because of- it’s surely too arrogant a thought to entertain! “I … am glad my actions at least gave you that.” Whichever ‘that’ the prince was referring to.

A moment passes where the god stares at him in silence, slow and wavering.“Ah,” a small smile unfurls Xie Lian’s lips, eyelids lazily blinking closed and open again, “ I’m really happy you weren’t dispersed forever.” Xie Lian takes a deep breath, moving one hand to cover his mouth as the inhale morphs into a slow, kitten-like yawn and Hua Cheng has a brilliant, brash, burning thought.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Xie Lian springs upright, blinking in what seems a half-successful attempt to dispel his drowsiness, “I don’t mean to overstay!”

“Nonsense, your highness could never,” he says sincerely.

“... You know you don’t have to keep on calling me ‘your highness’,” the prince says, averting his eyes as a slight pink blossoms on his cheeks, and isn’t that interesting?

“Hmm.” Will Hua Cheng dare have the same audacity he’s fantasised about before? “Then, would Gege be willing to stay the night? Paradise Manor has many spare rooms, and how could a good host make you go walk across the city at this hour?” Hua Cheng smiles, asking the question with a teasing tone.

Xie Lian flusters at the familiar address but doesn’t seem to have any protest against it. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Gege needn’t think of that. It certainly would be more of a bother sending you off and worrying whether you made it home safe,” he says with a grin as though he’s joking, as though his core isn’t on fire with the need to keep his highness as close and safe as he possibly can, as though that same blaze hasn’t been growing more and more since it sparked off as he first got to know Po Yue, as though it hadn’t become a barely containable inferno when he learnt his god is dead.

“Ah, of course I wouldn’t want you to worry,” Xie Lian replies with an amused little smile and a nod.

The two of them unhurriedly get to their feet, and Hua Cheng steals glances as he boldly takes Xie Lian’s hand and leads his god to a bedroom - the best bedroom in the manor of course, it already belongs to Xie Lian after all. When they reach the door, another idea occurs to him.

“Since Gege doesn’t have a weapon at the moment, perhaps tomorrow he’d like to look through my collection and borrow a blade?” Hua Cheng asks - of course he will absolutely make it a mission that Xie Lian never needs to use the blade to protect himself, but the immediate burst of subtle enthusiasm that erupts from Xie Lian's face is a visceral delight.

Seconds later, that look takes on an odd, pensive quality - but Xie Lian nods energetically anyway. “It would be wonderful.” He gives Hua Cheng an almost knowing smile

The second the door closes, Hua Cheng falls to his knees in the middle of the hallway.

For as long as (almost) all could remember, there had only ever been one Emperor of the Heavenly Realm. Jun Wu, the oldest of gods, who has long had worshippers far across the Earthly Realm. Lords, generals, kings and even lowly footsoldiers have tried to mimic his might. From farmowners to powerful cultivators to even emperors, many mortals looked to his divine image to emulate his authority. Widespread was his name and everlasting was his rule thought.

Then the winds started to change. Words, carried on a breeze, small and quiet at first, whispered back and forth under the dark of night, the evening glow of taverns, the sweltering sun over the crop fields. The doubts and stories of lies and torment, seeded by eccentrics who gather in secret, spread and distorted under the people’s breath. They say he’s a tyrant, a scumbag, a fraud who plays sadistic games with mortal lives for his own amusement.

Most, especially those elevated to the heavens, however, paid absolutely no mind to the stories of mortals until after the martial gods of the south-east and -west disappeared.

Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen stopped appearing for Jun Wu’s heavenly council, for reasons unknown but easily assumed; every heavenly official knew those two shared an animosity beyond compare, making them prone to violent ‘disagreements’ which seemed to take priority over any other possible endeavor. One person suggested the pair had probably gone to investigate some troubles in their territories and everyone assumed they thus got distracted avoiding or attacking each other.

When their absence didn’t end though, when nobody at all made mention of some shouting match witnessed, the worry started.

Of course, these gods told nobody outside the Heavenly Realm about the disappearance. Why should mortals be privy to divine matters? Why would they trust immortal cultivators to look into the matter properly? No, the word did not spread across the Earthly Realm so directly.

Some in the south started to take heed of the rumours, little by little. Young women who prayed in old temples to Ju Yang quietly took down their old relatives’ shrines to the Heavenly Emperor. Followers of General Xuan Zhen started to scoff at the mention of the ruler god’s name and followers of General Nan Yang nodded along. People started to get pulled aside and whispered to before entering a temple to Jun Wu in the south. Many of those temples in that region began being dismantled - some were even bold enough to tear out all the spiritual iconography and turn them into rowdy alehouses!

The simple audacity of mortals is not where this tale ends, for this long-sown tension and dissent - spanning several human generations at that point - finally started to reap reward when Crimson Rain Sought Flower sought to make a mockery of the gods once more. He made wagers with several of those heavenly officials ascended too late to have witnessed the carnage that beset those 33 before, though this time the wager was not nearly so severe. He demanded that anybody who he should defeat must send a dream to their followers from him. When he did indeed trounce every last fool to take him up, he simply said: “You will know when the time comes.”

Paranoia started to spread across the Heavenly Realm as ghosts seemed to be in motion more frequently. Sightings and scares were reported to sects en masse, though the number of attacks did not increase to match. The ghost realm was on the move and the heavens were growing tense. Though if there was one positive to be seen, it was that the emperor, out of caution, took a more active role in keeping track of the state of things, forgoing his typical long periods of seclusion.

It came to a head when a pair of Calamities marched on heaven. They brought no army, no vast horde of ghosts ready to attack. No, the two appeared in a sudden burst of pure qi lightning and walked through the streets of the realm with only their swords and each other. Crimson Rain strutted along, cursed blade brandished flagrantly, the raging glare of a thousand burning temples swinging towards any official who seemed they might dare approach. At Hua Cheng’s side, a radiant, veiled figure carried a shining sword before him, another sheathed and tied to his belt. This elegant one draped in black and gold must be that elusive Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder, finally come to the realm which had been calling for him.

They arrived at last to the Palace of Divine Might and the red-clad phantom cleaved those monumental doors to pieces with a single strike of his infernal scimitar - and from this point onwards, sleeping mortals far and wide were witness to the most outrageous spectacle seen in the heavenly realm. It was like some climactic scene from a play.

The ghostly pair stepped forth into the hall where, as though they had a previously discussed appointment, stood the Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu.

Before the god could speak, Crimson Rain Sought Flower loudly declared him a vile fraud. The emperor chuckled, wondering aloud if the ghost was so arrogant he believed the two of them alone could take on every last god - and Hua Cheng only shook his head and turned to his companion.

“The Heavenly Emperor,” said the shrouded shade in a gentle yet firm tone, “has been lying to you all.”

The very air itself seemed to hold it’s breath as the ghost laid out his accusations, the hidden identity of the accused and the heinous acts he had perpetrated under it - of cruelty, power and disease. All these charges seemed to roll off the emperor’s back like water on a duck’s as he calmly cast doubt on the truth of these words. It was hard to tell, the weimao covering his entire face, but the ghost seemed not to falter at being met with such nonchalance.

A beat, and Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder drew the second blade at his hip with his empty hand, as simultaneously a vast swathe of butterflies became visible and wreathed the emperor tight with thin red cords in the blink of an eye - immortal binding cables! Several gods drew their own blades in a panic, rushing forth quickly and retreating equally as quickly when rapid swipes of a cursed scimitar knocked all their weapons from their hands and they, like the less hasty onlookers, noticed that the other ghost was not making to attack, but holding the blade he had drawn upright as if to show it off.

Curiously, the metal of the blade had turned blood red - even more so, the reflection it showed of the one bearing it was not one of an obscured figure but a face. Most were not close enough to make out the features properly, and many of those who were near enough didn’t recognise them, but a scant few were enough for whispers of crown princes and long banished gods to start making their way through the crowd.

“This is the blade Hong Jing. Its reflection reveals your true face.”

“Ridiculous,” yelled one onlooking official who’d mustered the guts to pipe up. “It’s a fake; Hong Jing is in the possession of General Nan Yang!”

Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder looked towards a random spot in the crowd and said “who else would I have gotten it from?” And as he spoke from that part of the crowd sprang forth two familiar figures: The martial gods of the south-east and -west!

With the two gods seeming to throw their support behind the ghost, the whispers of his true identity turned to confident murmurs, and the wary onlookers heeded his words more seriously. The dead god walked up to stand right before the heavenly emperor, Crimson Rain went with him, muttering fond, inaudible but clearly irreverent asides to the other ghost, whose soft, out-of-place chuckles in reaction barely rang across the vigorous chatting of the bystanders.

He stopped, removed his weimao entirely displaying a small, sad, scarred smile directed at the one he was accusing. Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder waited for nobody as he held up Hong Jing to the Jun Wu’s face, revealing in its reflection to every spectator - heavenly officials right there in the palace and mortals witnessing the events in dreams sent by their gods alike - the face-like marks, characteristic of human face disease and visible on the Heavenly Emperor’s cheeks, alongside the slight cold luster of the skin characteristic in those dead but still walking and talking, the same strange quality seen on the pair of ghosts standing before him.

Indeed, before anybody could cry out and proclaim that it could still be an illusion, several more silver butterflies appeared, encircling the bound ruler of the gods in more and more immortal binding cables until it seemed his spiritual power was fully restrained and the illusion on his face and body fully melted away.

Here was where the dream ended, and the mortals’ view into the heavens’ conflict. They did not witness several gods moving the bound emperor to somewhere more secure, couldn’t hear the panic and confusion, didn’t see one tired ghost’s hand taken in the other’s as they both went back to their home to finally rest after decades of working up to this event.

It wasn’t the end of everything, but it was the start of the resolution. Escapes were made, battles fought and the eventual peace was hard-won, but the pair of ghosts were together throughout it all - indeed they were delighted to hope that they would never be alone again.

Years later, tales of the other calamities were far eclipsed by Crimson Rain Sought Flower and Gold Ribbon Preceding Thunder. The people far and wide knew of the Lord of Ghost City and his 'houseguest', of the truth they brought to the heavens, and the legendary, calamitous love that grew between them, blossoming brighter every year in the wake of the fight they started together.