Archive of Our Own ^beta

The waters are surprisingly calm for such a turbulent night, the once black waters now tainted with red gently lapping at the rocks by the shore, swaying to the beat of the wind. He Xuan sinks down into a corner, the stench of blood infiltrating his senses. It doesn’t bother him, not really, but it is irritating. An annoyance, a house fly that is too blind to fly out of the window wide open. 

Exhaustion settles deep into his bones, but his eyes never leave the lone white figure still kneeling, still unmoving. He Xuan did not plan on staying here for much longer, deciding to simply take Shi Wudu’s head and go back into hiding, but then Shi Qingxuan will be alone, left to die with not even a full rotting corpse, an easy target for the ocean to swallow when it is hungry once more. 

Then again, who is he to care about this god? One who isn’t even a god anymore? He Xuan closes his eyes and inhales sharply, holding it in for a good few seconds before exhaling. He will take Shi Qingxuan with him, he decides. Throw him out onto the streets somewhere far away, and let him fend for himself for the rest of his mortal days. It will be for the best – then, at least, Shi Qingxuan can live without the constant reminder of a life snatched from him in one night. 

Something ugly twists inside of He Xuan at that thought – Shi Qingxuan had stolen his life, all those years ago. Tonight was merely just him taking back what he owned, what was originally his, so why should He Xuan show any mercy? Even now, Shi Qingxuan does not recognise He Xuan, and does not acknowledge him as a friend. The one Shi Qingxuan liked was simply a facade, so by that reasoning, He Xuan and Shi Qingxuan have no feelings of goodwill between them. 

He will leave Shi Qingxuan on a street far away from any temple of the old Wind Master. Then, they will both forget about each other, erase the other from the narratives of their lives. Tonight, one of the four great calamities Black Water Sinking Ships, sliced the head of Water Master Shi Wudu off, leaving nothing but a rotten body for spoils. 

Shi Qingxuan is sure he is shaking. He can see his vision wavering, the stone ground on which he is kneeling turning into a picture of the water taken from above. Tears might be running down his face, ugly streaks of salt water, but for once, he does not care. His hands are placed in front of him, planted firmly onto the ground, his fingernails digging into the stone as if he could rewind time if he tried hard enough. Surprisingly, his arms have not yet given up on him, still straight and holding up all his body weight as he hunches over. There is a body in front of him, in what was once handsome blue robes but is now covered in dirt and grime and blood – 

An earth-shaking, ear-piercing shriek sounds out, reverberating throughout the cave, ringing in Shi Qingxuan’s ears loudly even as blood rushes past like a waterfall. Who is that? Shi Qingxuan wonders, thinking that the pain and anguish they feel now must be equal to his frustration and helplessness, that they must be feeling this heavy, unbearable weight on their chest, the memory of the night flashing through their mind quickly and vividly, each frame highly detailed in full colour. They must be hearing the same words over and over again, in that cold, unfamiliar voice with the equally icy, piercing gaze, one that Shi Qingxuan never would have imagined would be directed to him. That person, they must be shaking now, sobbing their heart out for a lost loved one. Shi Qingxuan thinks, I need to give them a hug. 

A moment passes, and then that cold, unfeeling voice tells him, “Get up. We’re leaving.”

Oh, Shi Qingxuan thinks stupidly. I am that person.

…How pathetic. 

“Get up, before the crows come to feed on you and your brother.”
The audacity of that man to even mention his older brother. But Shi Qingxuan has no will left in him to fight, so he only presses his nails deeper into the ground, praying to any god that they could shatter the earth and let them fall.

But, ah, wasn’t He Xuan… Ming-xiong too? The Earth Master that was always so cold and aloof, the god that Shi Qingxuan would be happy to spend ten thousand lifetimes with, isn’t he also this same man? 

It is at this moment that Shi Qingxuan’s body gives up entirely, perhaps due to the overwhelming emotions that his newly mortal body cannot comprehend and digest, and Shi Qingxuan collapses into a state no better than his dead brother. 

He Xuan stares. Then, in the same tone, “Fine.” 

Crassly, he picks up Shi Wudu’s head by the hair, draws an teleportation array back to the Nether Water Manor. If Shi Qingxuan is going to stay there and melt into the surroundings, then so be it. One less problem to worry about, and one more death under his name. 

Indeed, Shi Qingxuan remains kneeling. Or, well, crumpled up on the ground, but he was kneeling before he went into that state. The sun sets and the moon rises, letting the tiniest bit of silver light into the cave, illuminating the former Wind Master’s luscious locks. He still looks as beautiful as ever, but there is no one here to admire. The moon sighs, and the wind settles by Shi Qingxuan’s side. A kind deed for an old friend, one last one, and nothing more. As if symbolising a new beginning, the sun rises.

Shi Qingxuan, however, never does. 

The sound of ocean waves crashing into each other relentlessly blend in with the harsh waterfalls of late spring, the wind howling as the moon sits in silence, the epitome of grace and beauty. Rain pours down mercilessly, every drop of with the intent of flooding nations with the tears of nature. Nature, or a god? Nature, or a calamity? 

Shi Qingxuan’s body is cold, washed once in the acid rain. His legs are still tucked in, his body hunched over with his hands in a perfunctory bowing position, as if begging for forgiveness eternally. It is as pathetic as it looks, made even more so by the way the rain has made his robes cling to his skin, his hair falling all over messily, the white headpiece that once held his beautiful hair together unravelled and lying in dirt. 

There is no saving what was once the Wind Master, much less the old Water Master. They are both gone now, travelling deep into the recesses of an unknown realm.

The light from the moon dims slightly, as if in mourning. Far away, in the Nether Water Manor, He Xuan goes back into the shadows of black waters, where no light can reach him. His heart is heavy, as if weighed by a hundred pounds of gold – if only he had that much money! – but his mind is foggy, unclear. 

It shouldn’t be. He just got his revenge, so where is the sweet taste of victory? The one that was promised to him all those years ago when he hatched this plan, the one that he held close to his heart only in imagination all those times he endured whatever was thrown at him? 

It should have come, but it did not. Revenge was a dish best served cold, they said, and cold dishes took away the sweetness that came with it. 

He Xuan tucks his head into his chest, curling up into a ball like a little child, the way he did when his family died. He feels exactly the same way as he did back then – helpless, angry, frustrated. Unimaginable sorrow and grief that once consumed him now settles around him tentatively, but he welcomes them all the same. If he only has negative feelings in him now, what is a few more? 

He shouldn’t feel this way. The head of the man that has made him what he is today sits proudly on an ornate shelf, the eyes closed in shame, the hair wetly sticking to any surface near it, the slice at his neck brutally clean. 

He Xuan should be happy, he knows. As close as happy he can get to, anyway, with his inanimate heart uselessly sitting in his body. 

Still, there seems to be a gaping hole – not within him, but in his soul, something he does not remember ever seeing. In the space beside him, in every memory. 

Painfully, he recalls the way Shi Qingxuan lay on the ground, pitifully like a dog waiting for its master to come back, not knowing that its master had already passed away. 

Shi Qingxuan, Shi Qingxuan, Shi Qingxuan. 

It was always about Shi Qingxuan, in the end, wasn’t it? 

The name should taste bitter, but instead, it tastes like ashes. Sandy, but otherwise plain. A blank canvas begging to be used again. 

He Xuan clutches at the hem of his robes, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he fears they will never open again. At the end of the road, Shi Qingxuan stands there. Not his family – whom he still loves dearly, of course, but the passage of time has chipped away at He Xuan’s memories of them – or food, or any possessions of his that he ever called precious, but instead Shi Qingxuan. Happy-go-lucky, carefree Shi Qingxuan, who once commanded the winds, who constantly smiled at him even when he never returned it, who looks ethereal and graceful under the sunlight and moonlight, who took him for a true friend, even if it was never really He Xuan, who continues to kneel unconscious by his brother’s side – Shi Qingxuan. 

Just the thought of him makes He Xuan’s chest burst with an overwhelming blend of emotions he has never learnt to grapple with, a thousand tiny needles pricking at the skin that covers his still heart. From within, it is as if a fire has been ignited, burning low yet passionately, slowly licking its way through He Xuan’s body, determined to consume everything until there is nothing but want and desire, and that strange concoction of feelings he refuses to unpack. 

For now, though, He Xuan channels all of his energy into hatred. It is the easiest thing he can put a name to… whatever he is feeling. And why shouldn’t he be hateful? It is, after all, Shi Qingxuan’s life that was swapped with his all those years ago, never mind that he already got his revenge on the man behind all of that. 

Hate is good, hate is easy. He Xuan can say he hates Shi Qingxuan, and that will be that. 

The ocean that favours stability will hate the fickle wind; a suitable story. 

-

Shi Qingxuan can feel the remnants of filth stuck on his body, all over like leeches. His hands are sore, his legs have given way, his eyelids can barely hold themselves up. His heart, however, is still beating. After all the rain, and after all the wind, all that is left is that damned rhythmic pulse. 

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

Shi Qingxuan does not take a deep breath — the smell of decomposition is starting to invade his senses, and mixed with that of dried blood and tears soaked in the rain that had passed, it does not make for a very good smell — but he does take stock of his surroundings. 

His brother’s body is headless, the stench so thick and so bad it is almost visible. Shi Qingxuan himself is in a terrible state, with his robes torn and his skin covered in grime. 

On second thought, maybe he should have taken Black Water’s orders and followed him. Now, he is left with no strength or energy and a body to bury. 

Shi Qingxuan, however, is not one to give up. Determination courses through his veins now, with a singular goal to get out of here, and get his brother into a grave of sorts. If anything, he owes his brother that, at least. Eight hundred years and counting of protecting Shi Qingxuan is not an easy feat, and now that he is gone, Shi Qingxuan cannot help but miss the shadow that once followed him around, keeping an eye on him always. It used to annoy him, how his brother always treated him as a child that just learnt how to walk, and it still does, except he can understand where his brother came from. He can empathise with it, too. So Shi Qingxuan puts on a smile, for no one except his brother’s ghost that hopefully can cross over to a better place, grips lapels of his brother’s robes, and slowly drags it along. 

Somehow, one way or another, Shi Qingxuan manages to crawl out of that hellhole with his brother in tow. The streets are relatively empty, and anyone still wandering about immediately retreats the moment they see a dirty youth and a headless figure trudging down the roads. 

Shi Qingxuan isn’t quite familiar with cemeteries and graveyards, but all he hopes for is a small place his brother can rest peacefully in. If there’s nothing to cover his brother’s body in, he will beg the merchants by the street in the morning for a rug, a straw mat, anything. And if they still decline, then Shi Qingxuan will use his own robes to cover his brother’s body in. 

Such is the way of siblings. In life and in death, you would sacrifice everything for them. Even if, once, you might have thought of them as unnecessary, annoying, or even wished them dead, at the end of the day, you were still siblings born from the same womb, of the same blood. The sacrifices that one makes in their life will be repaid by the other in death. With that, Shi Qingxuan finally reaches an empty patch of grass, one that disappears into the horizon, swallowed up by the night sky. This will have to do. 

It is not the prettiest, an abandoned land in the middle of god-knows-where, but Shi Qingxuan feels like his body is about to collapse on itself into a pile of broken bones. He sets his brother’s body down, and follows soon after, gasping for breath. 

Walking with a dead body in tow while one’s body is barely alive wasn’t painful; in fact, at that moment, everything turned numb. Every step Shi Qingxuan took spurred him on to take just one more. Force his foot to put itself in front of the other, like a little competition. But when all is done, the exhaustion starts to wear in. A weight drops itself on Shi Qingxuan mercilessly. Sweat rolls down the sides of his head, and his neck, down his chest and back, making his inner robe stick to his skin uncomfortably. 

The sun will rise soon. Merchants will start to set up their stalls – he can ask them then, if they have a piece of cloth to spare. For now, he will just have to focus on digging a hole deep enough for his brother to rest comfortably…

The warmth from the rays of sunlight hits Shi Qingxuan’s back. Clothes still damp from the rain and sweat from the previous night, the sun feels like mercy, a hard-earned reprieve. His back creaks in protest when he sits up from the awkward position he was in – half bent over while still sitting, his arms resting on his brother’s body. 

Except, his brother is no longer underneath his arms, and instead–

A flare of panic rises in Shi Qingxuan’s chest, a sudden moment of clarity breaking through the early morning haze. He reaches around blindly, frantically, for a dead body. The smell is still in the air, but by now he has gotten used to it. He just needs his brother.

Then, he sees it. Settled deep into the ground, in a human-shaped hole that surely wasn’t there last night, lies a headless Shi Wudu. There is a thin sheet covering the body, but still translucent enough that Shi Qingxuan can make out the details of his brother’s robes, however ruined they are. The sheet falls in after the stump of his neck, and while it is unsightly, there really is nothing to be done about it. 

Shi Qingxuan kneels there for a long, long time, paying his last respects to his brother before he slowly shovels dirt over the body, holding back salt water that stings his eyes whenever he blinks. 

Silently, he thanks whoever it was that helped to bury his brother, even managing to procure a respectable, clean white sheet to cover his body with.

One day, Shi Qingxuan swears, he will surely repay the person tenfold.

-

He Xuan’s eyes settle on the cripple’s back. Their robes must have once been white, but are now covered in dirt and grime. Their hair must have once been luscious and silky, well-maintained, but is now a tangled mess of curls that tumble awkwardly down their back, dirty and matted. The hair piece that tries to hold it all together at the top must have once been as pure white as snow, but now almost blends in with dark brown locks. 

The scene seems so familiar, yet so foreign. The shape of the figure, the colour palette, they all seem to scream that person’s name – the one He Xuan can never seem to erase from his life. Moreover, as He Xuan stares, he notices the way in which the cripple interacts with others. They are in a more rundown area of a small village, where most everyone here is either poor or unable to work. Hence, while many could empathise with the cripple, they are, ultimately, unable to help. 

Still, it is rare that the villagers see such a young lad hobbling around, so most stay and entertain him for a while. The way in which the cripple seems to engage them reminds He Xuan painfully of an old friend. The same friendly demeanour, the never ending rambles, the little laughs sprinkled into the conversation that always seem too loud, but helps soothe the initial tension. 

The empty space beside him in the shadow gets quieter as the wind floats away, leaving He Xuan to stand there by himself, looking after a mortal who resembles too closely a god he once knew. 

How pathetic he is, He Xuan thinks, turning away. Shi Qingxuan’s business is none of his; if he’s dead or alive, doing well or not, nothing matters now. If the slightest mention of Shi Qingxuan can make his dead heart twist itself into knots, then it is he himself who is weak. 

Still, He Xuan cannot bear to walk away. The cripple really does resemble Shi Qingxuan, if he could just see the youth’s eyes, then He Xuan can be rest assured.

With that in mind, He Xuan stealthily weaves in and out of shadows, tailing the crippled youth. The voice does sound a little hoarse, like he is just recovering from a bad bout of illness, but He Xuan’s imagination keeps bringing up the fair-faced, affectionately obnoxious old Wind Master and his enthusiasm-injected voice. 

“...Young man ah, you know I can feel you following me,” the cripple says when they are alone, a tinge of amusement coloured into the words. He turns around, trying to catch a glimpse of his stalker, and there–

He Xuan sees it. The eyes, brighter than the sun itself, sparkling and kind despite his current state. How could He Xuan ever mistake these eyes for anyone else’s? 

On that ageing, mortal face, is a wry smile, a simple quirk of the lips upwards, and yet it is so painfully Shi Qingxuan that He Xuan stutters for a moment, whole body frozen stiff. He thought that he’d set away all the complicated feelings entangled with this man, yet now, when standing face to face with him, those emotions surge forward hungrily as if they were ghosts freed from the gates of hell during the seventh month. 

Wanting to get into the cover of the shadows, He Xuan shuffles back a few steps, letting his hair fall over his face ungracefully. The wind is especially turbulent tonight, blowing this way and that, yet Shi Qingxuan still manages to look perfectly pieced together, despite being crippled. 

“If you are going to follow someone, at least let your face be known. What can a cripple like me do to you?” Shi Qingxuan jokes, but He Xuan feels his guts twist. Something about Shi Qingxuan being so accepting of his current state makes him feel like the little, petty child that throws a tantrum every time something doesn’t go his way. 

He pushes the feelings of guilt down – that, at least, he can identify. Even if it leaves an acrid taste in his mouth, he can bottle it up and lock it somewhere, never to be seen again. That cannot be said for the other concoction of strange sentiments, still lingering in parts of his body he never knew could possess such intensity. 

“I’ve got the wrong person,” He Xuan says dumbly, wincing at the way the words tumble out like a newborn baby. Clumsy, awkwardly, with no finesse whatsoever. For someone who has lived for so long, dead and alive, this is certainly not the kind of speech he should be making. 

And yet, they are here. 

“Wrong person, you say?” Shi Qingxuan asks knowingly, a playful smile making its way to his features. He taps a finger against his cheek, the movement natural in the way the tip of a fan would lightly touch his cheek when deep in thought. 

Even when hidden by the comfort of the darkness, He Xuan cannot stop shame from gripping him by the throat, vice-like. Heat finds its way to his normally cool skin, leeching onto the pale thing like a clingy lover. 

“If you don’t mind, young man, you could find shelter in my humble abode for just the night. It’s about to rain, you see,” Shi Qingxuan says, looking up at the night sky, where clouds have gathered in clumps. An ominous boom of thunder sounds right then, and Shi Qingxuan offers up a smile – genuine in the sense that He Xuan cannot sense any animosity from it, in a sense that he has seen that smile countless times in public and in private. (Since when has he thought of himself as Ming Yi? Since when has he claimed an identity that does not belong to him, and desperately wishes it was? He Xuan cannot dwell on it for too long, but the thought is always there.)

He Xuan finds his mouth dry as he replies quietly, “That would be fine, thank you.” After a pause, he adds, “And you don’t have to call me young man. I am far from that.”

Shi Qingxuan laughs, clear and melodious, as if he has never seen a day of hardship before. “Is that so? You look young, younger than some of the newest army recruits! Let’s hurry now, before the rain starts pouring.” 

He Xuan does not find the heart to tell the crippled, ex-god that the rain will never pour as long as Shi Qingxuan stands under the sky in the open, but lets himself be dragged along, the warmth of Shi Qingxuan’s rougher hands soothing him in a way that the gnarled claws of embarrassment cannot. 

When Shi Qingxuan gets a hold of the stranger’s arm, the first thing that registers in his mind is cold. It is as cold and frigid as a winter solstice’s night, the stiffness of the arm a degree only a corpse could possess. Shi Qingxuan has an idea of who this stranger might be, but he doesn’t want to scare his guest off just yet. 

The moon hides tonight, behind the safety of grey clouds. Only the tiniest sliver of silver light streams through, but it falls in front of Shi Qingxuan, guiding his every step. With his useless arm and leg, he can only shuffle awkwardly, slowly, while the stranger follows. So far, though, there has been no complaint, and Shi Qingxuan cannot bear to turn around to check. 

What if the eyes he looks into are not the one he wants? What if, when he turns back, the stranger is gone, and he is dragging dead air, stupidly, blindly. Foolishly. 

So, no, Shi Qingxuan will not look back to check on the stranger, and will rather bear the humiliation of limping around with a perfectly able-bodied man behind. 

His little shack is tucked away in a corner of a row of similar houses. It is not in the best condition, but it is what he can afford. It is more than what he was fated to have, and so, Shi Qingxuan cannot complain. He doesn’t want to, either – it takes up too much time, too much effort. 

“We’re here,” Shi Qingxuan says, subconsciously pulling the stranger a little closer. “Don’t worry about taking your shoes off, it’s not that clean.” 

The stranger stands outside the door even as Shi Qingxuan steps over the threshold, flittering about like a busy bee, trying to make it more welcoming for his guest. “Do you want some wine? I’ve got a stash… ah, someone gave it to me. It’s probably not what you’re used to, but…” He goes on rambling for a bit, a habit of his that he cannot seem to shake no matter the timeline. Seeing his guest still on edge, Shi Qingxuan takes it upon himself to pull the man in. “Come in before the rain starts…look! The first drops of rain are starting to fall now,” he says, pointing out of the still-open door. True enough, fat droplets of water pelt down from the sky, slow at first, then steadily picking up the pace, until individual droplets blur into long, thin, continuous lines, making little splashes as it hits the muddy ground. 

The stranger comes in, almost grudgingly, as if he didn’t voluntarily agree to following Shi Qingxuan. He finds it almost cute, a behaviour that reminds Shi Qingxuan heavily of an old friend.

…The old friend that might be the one standing in front of him now, too awkward to say a word. 

Shi Qingxuan doesn’t yet want to spoil the fun – he knows his current look is nothing like how people would expect him to look; even Xie Lian hadn’t recognised him in this form, so why would Ming… He Xuan? 

Shi Qingxuan pulls out the bottle of liquor from the only cabinet, and two wine glasses. He sets them on the small coffee table, one that was left by his doorstep one day. It still had the warmth of the sun it was soaking under before Shi Qingxuan adopted it, perfect for the chilly night. 

“Won’t you sit down and have a drink?” Shi Qingxuan asks, flashing a grin. His guest hesitates for only a second, before nodding and sliding into a seat by the small table, accepting the glass offered. 

“Thank you,” he says, cupping the glass between his palms. They aren’t large, but sizable; with slender fingers attached, Shi Qingxuan cannot help but be in awe of their beauty. Now, under the dim candlelight, Shi Qingxuan can make out features of the stranger’s face that the moon refused to hand over so easily. 

Shi Qingxuan first notices his eyes – his brows are thin and neat, if a little cutting, their lashes unfairly long. Dark eyeliner lines his bottom eyelid, tapering off into a seemingly effortless wing. The smidge of dark eye shadow below his eyes only serves to accentuate his ice cold gaze – and its beauty. That look seems familiar, yet it is as though something is missing, as if it is merely just an empty vessel that used to hold the most valuable of stones. His lips are stained black, which would look edgy and off-putting on anyone else, yet when paired with this ice-cold beauty, the sharpness of his face and features, the lips painted black is simply another statement unsaid. 

Shi Qingxuan quite likes it, actually, even if it reminds him too much of the turbulent waters. 

They chat for a bit; well, it is mostly Shi Qingxuan blabbering on, but his guest seems to not mind it, nodding with some interest even though his eyes never look directly into Shi Qingxuan’s, occasionally sipping on the wine, and using body language to persuade Shi Qingxuan into continuing. 

“Are you hungry?” Shi Qingxuan asks suddenly, as his stomach makes a noise of protest. “I don’t have much, but some leftover pancakes. Red bean filling.”

With that, he gets up to pull out the carefully wrapped piece of pancake, the paper packet already soaked with oil. Shi Qingxuan sets it on the table, tearing it into an even half. He pushes one side into his guest’s hands. 

That, even his guest is hesitant to take, but Shi Qingxuan insists, and watches as the other’s eyes linger on the soggy pancake a little too long before tentatively taking a bite out of it. It doesn’t taste good, Shi Qingxuan knows – he’s kept it for far too long. But with his current situation, he couldn’t possibly bring out a feast from god knows where. 

Shi Qingxuan lets the wine slide down his throat, savouring the sweet aftertaste on his tongue for a while before biting into the pancake. The red bean filling is still pasty and sweet, smooth without any chunks of beans inside. It’s not bad, for something that has been idling away in his cabinet. 

When Shi Qingxuan looks up again, his guest is done, now tending to his wine. A small smile plays on Shi Qingxuan’s lips, watching as a strand of hair falls over his guest’s face just as he brings the cup to his lips. With an annoyed huff, the other man tucks it hastily behind his ear, revealing his sharp jawline. 

With wine-coated lips, he looks more pliant, softer. Less harsh, less angular. Shi Qingxuan notes, rather unwillingly, that his friend really never did change. In mannerisms and in posture, in beauty and in grace, Ming Yi – no, He Xuan – has remained the same in everything outwardly. 

Surprisingly, it does not make him hate the man even more.

He has never hated He Xuan.

Though, those are feelings on uncharted territory, so Shi Qingxuan only casts them aside and plasters the cheerful smile on, watching closely as the guest inhales the remaining bit of pancake. 

He didn’t have much time left. A mortal’s body is weak, unable to sustain life for very long. Shi Qingxuan has already long overstayed his welcome in the waking world, and thus, his body would also begin to show signs of failure in an attempt to push him into the next realm. 

But, if having a simple, peaceful meal with an old friend masquerading as a stranger is to be one of his last moments, Shi Qingxuan thinks that this life might not be so bad after all. 

He Xuan does not miss the way Shi Qingxuan’s eyes linger on him, a faithful devotee tracing their beloved god’s every move. Ironic, considering the positions were once reversed. It was He Xuan, under the clothes of the humble Earth Master Ming Yi, who followed every shape that the revered Lord Wind Master created with the easy sweeps of his fan, tracing every line the tip of that intricate fan led. It was He Xuan, hiding behind Ming Yi’s face, who traced every scar that lay beneath those pure white and green robes, who saw them at their rawest forms and when they no longer existed, who never flinched even when the wounds swallowed the Wind Master’s beauty. 

It was He Xuan who, in the end, begged for the Wind Master’s acknowledgement, even if it went unsaid. 

Now, in a tattered little house, He Xuan finds that Shi Qingxuan’s kindness has not changed, though he might now be mortal. Granted, he probably didn’t know who exactly he’s hosting, but even in such disastrous conditions, after such a humiliating fall from grace, Shi Qingxuan is still Shi Qingxuan. Still the good-spirited, carefree and giving person, with eyes that would never dim, an eternal lighthouse. 

He Xuan cannot bear to look him in the eye – if Shi Qingxuan stares into his for too long, who knows what he might find? A bottomless abyss with no soul in sight, perhaps, or an ocean under the moonless sky, dark red tendrils swirling within the tumultuous waters, even though no one can see it. It is safer to simply hide away, and focus on eating, the one thing he’s always been good at. 

The pancake is soggy, evidently a product kept for longer than it should, the taste a little sour, and the red bean filling is now crumbling, stiff and nearly hardened. Still, none of this matters much to He Xuan – edible food is still edible. It will only be disastrous when there is absolutely no food, a mortal reduced to begging for even a taste of human flesh. 

The wine is sweet; a luxury, He Xuan knows, for Shi Qingxuan. And for him, in a previous life, his mind unhelpfully supplies, but he pushes it back, taping the voices’ metaphorical mouth. It washes down all the bitterness gathering in his mouth, and the motion of picking the cup up, taking a sip or two out of it, and lowering it back down is comforting, repetitive, space-filling. 

Shi Qingxuan is still looking, but He Xuan doesn’t mind it. It doesn’t feel predatory, but something softer, something He Xuan cannot yet allow himself to believe in. 

“You inhaled it all, huh?” Shi Qingxuan teases, noticing He Xuan’s now empty hands. “Before you leave, I’ll bring you to the market. It’s some distance away, by foot, but it’s worth it. Ah, my treat, of course!” 

He Xuan subtly looks around – there is not much in this small space. No doubt, Shi Qingxuan’s finances are probably farther into hell than the ten courts. So, why is he still so generous? Does he think he can just spend what little he has on a stranger he barely knows? How ridiculous, how naive. 

“You have already done much for me,” He Xuan says instead. “Take it as an apology from me to you, for scaring you in the middle of the night.” 

Shi Qingxuan’s eyes widen for a split second before composing himself with a nervous laugh. “Ahaha, how could I do that? It was really no trouble…”

He Xuan brought the cup to his lips, letting the sweetness of the wine gently bathe his tongue. He swirls it in his mouth for a beat, then swallows the warm liquid. It slides down so, so easily, and a traitorous voice that escaped his mind prison whispers, What if it’s something else…?

“...”

“Say, I still don’t know your name, after all this time. Ah…wait, I haven’t introduced myself yet either, have I? Sorry, sorry! I’m Shi Qingxuan, qing for youthful and xuan for black! What’s your name?” 

“...”

“Is that too personal? Sorry, sorry, you don’t have to give me your name! Just a pseudonym will do. You know, you could give yourself one of those saccharine names that’s quite trendy now… ah, I know, there’s a popular girl on the streets by the name of Silky Flower, I don’t know if you’ve heard of her, or seen her, but she’s really quite pretty. Or, or! Something mysterious, like the calamities. Uh, what’s a good one, white… white sky seeking crane…? No, no, that sounds really bad…” 

He Xuan sighs, fighting a smile that threatens to play on his lips. He already knew that this is Shi Qingxuan, that he never changed, and still, it is the little rambles like these that really nail it into his head that this is Shi Qingxuan , that they are here, against all odds, sitting at a table and drinking wine and living in some semblance of peace. 

Tonight, the waters are calm, and the wind is lively. 

“You said your name is Shi Qingxuan?” He Xuan breaks in. 

Shi Qingxuan stops mid-babble, his cheeks a little flushed. From the wine or from the talking, who can truly say? “Yeah.”

“What a coincidence,” He Xuan says, keeping his voice even. “My name is also Xuan.” 

It was a night of festivities. The new year was approaching, which was enough to warrant a huge banquet in the heavenly realm. Despite one of the strongest and revered martial gods banished to the mortal realm just recently, no one seemed to care much. Gods were strange creatures – as immortal beings, their sense of time was really too warped. They could hold a grudge for eight hundred years, and say that it was only a heartbeat, but a friend could slip through their fingers and a mere week later, they would have forgotten that person’s name and face. 

Shi Qingxuan stepped out of her palace, now faced with Ming Yi. She had done up her hair into a more elaborate style than usual, having curled it the previous night. Her signature white hairpiece was traded for a shimmery, silver hair stick, which slotted through the bun she had so carefully tied up nicely. Then, like a veil, the remainder of her brown hair cascaded down her back in even curls, swaying this way and that each time she took a step. Shi Qingxuan discarded her usual white and green set of robes for a lovely, light green set, with pink undertones and highlights. It was in the same style as the set of robes she normally wore in her female form, only that this one had white flowers sewn down the sides of the skirt, all in various sizes, giving the illusion of real flowers catching on her skirt. 

Still, none of those would look as good if not for Shi Qingxuan’s naturally youthful glow, the mischievous glint in her bright eyes, the sweep of blush across her fair face, injecting life into her, and those rosy lips that captivated even the stoic Earth Master. 

Ming Yi had been waiting outside the Wind Master’s palace, in her simple, black robes, tighter fitting as if they were a general’s armour. She knew the importance of heavenly festivals (which was, essentially, as important as a single, infertile ant in an ocean), but tagged along with Shi Qingxuan, if only for the food. Everyone else hardly ever approached her, and besides, with Shi Qingxuan there, who would want to entertain her? 

It was easy to slip into the background with Shi Qingxuan around. It was easy being around Shi Qingxuan. 

At least, if she wasn’t wearing something so… ludicrously stunning. 

It must be said that Ming Yi had seen Shi Qingxuan in various states of dress and undress, most privy only to her eyes. It had been fine, then – weren’t these what friends did? As much as she refused to admit it, she had started to consider Shi Qingxuan a friend of sorts. The first, real friend, not just a pet skeletal fish, or the passing, faceless ghosts of Ghost City. Tangible in every way that Ming Yi is not, real and alive and warm, so, so warm. 

Now, seeing Shi Qingxuan so dazzling, as if she were the sun, made Ming Yi feel strangely bitter. It wasn’t that she was jealous that her friend looked more beautiful than her, or that Shi Qingxuan outshone her. In fact, it was rather the opposite. 

That Shi Qingxuan was a great beauty was no secret to Ming Yi, and yet, when faced with temptation herself, how could one resist the pull of desires? She wanted to keep Shi Qingxuan for herself, selfishly, even though she didn’t quite understand what that entailed. She wanted to pocket Shi Qingxuan’s smiles and laughs for herself, like the little girl who wanted to keep the moon. She wanted to be able to fall into Shi Qingxuan so freely, from the highest building in heaven she wanted to fall, and let the wind catch her. 

That night, Shi Qingxuan asked Ming Yi, outside the Wind Master’s palace: “How do I look, Ming-jie?” 

Shi Qingxuan’s eyes never left Ming Yi, eagerly waiting for a response. 

Ming Yi’s eyes never left Shi Qingxuan, too enamoured to look anywhere else. A lump formed in her throat, and her mouth turned drier than the desert. How should she answer this question? A “good” or “pretty” would not suffice, yet she hadn’t any other words that could accurately capture Shi Qingxuan in all her glory. Even the finest poets who could steal hearts in seven steps and a cup of wine could not complete such a task. 

Shi Qingxuan was easily appeased, a few flattering words and she would light up. Her eyes, her smile, all of it would brighten, and her face would be tinged in a light shade of pink. But Ming Yi was never one to hand out compliments so easily and so freely, and thus, she was rather unsure of what to say. She’d heard people praising Shi Qingxuan before, of course – what “forever youthful and beautiful” and “never aged a day since they ascended” – but it would feel too insincere. 

It didn’t feel enough. 

At last, Ming Yi only nodded, a small sound of assurance escaping her lips. 

She’d thought Shi Qingxuan would tease her for her lack of response, joking that she was too cold-hearted and needed to loosen up, something along those lines, but Shi Qingxuan’s eyes widened with surprise, the sparkles in them clear as day. 

Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but the words never came out. Eventually, Ming Yi said with a light cough, “We should get going.” 

“Ahaha, of course, of course!” Shi Qingxuan said happily, her hands moving to hold onto Ming Yi’s sleeves, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

That night, when Ming Yi had eaten her fill and Shi Qingxuan had drunk hers, the two women decided to head back to the Wind Master’s palace. It was a habit of Ming Yi’s, to accompany Shi Qingxuan back whenever she’d drunk a little too much. 

Overtime, this habit slowly bled into their daily lives – Ming Yi would accompany Shi Qingxuan back to their quarters, even if it was still bright outside. 

Alcohol tended to make people a little more loose-lipped. Shi Qingxuan said, her words slurring together, “You’re my best friend, Ming-xiong.” A hiccup interrupted her, and she held onto Ming Yi’s sleeves a little tighter. “So don’t leave me, okay? I have my brother, but he’s too used to seeing me as a kid. You’re my best friend… so stay by my side, okay? I won’t… I won’t leave you too.” 

In the end, the one Shi Qingxuan considered their best friend was always Ming Yi, and never He Xuan. Even if they might be the same person, there was a very big difference. Though both were by their side throughout their life, one was a symbol of terror, the other a lighthouse in a stormy sea. One was real, and the other was just a mask. 

How unfortunate, that Shi Qingxuan ended up liking the fake. 

How unfortunate, that He Xuan could never become the fake again. 

The small hut is silent, save for the pitter-patter of the rain outside. Since when did it start to rain? It is picking up, too… 

It’s cold; the wind’s blowing. 

The rain is pouring.

Sitting across each other, each nursing a cup of liquor – natural enemies, and fated soulmates. 

A former god and powerful calamity.

Shi Qingxuan smiles – it is small, but genuine. His eyes soften, his posture now relaxed. “I’m sorry, He Xuan,” he says, but it’s useless. Those words Shi Qingxuan should have said that night hang in the air between them now, each syllable echoing in the small little house. He begged so many times that night, repeated it over and over and over, but look where he ended up. 

Still, it feels right to apologise now, when things are quiet between them. When they are nothing but Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan, no roles to play and no titles attached. Stripped bare, they are but people who suffered too cruel a fate. All those years ago, when He Xuan suffered as a mortal – Shi Qingxuan can never repay those years. What’s past has passed, and all he can afford now are mere words. 

“Actually, that night, you were the one who helped bury my brother, weren’t you?” Shi Qingxuan laughs, but there is no mirth behind it. It sounds almost sad. “I’m really stupid, and useless. I said I’d help my brother rest in peace, but in the end, this body of mine gave up. You had to be there to help me again. Then I swore I’d pay the person who helped me back tenfold, but now, I can’t even give you a proper meal.” He pauses, unsure of how to continue. There is so much he wants to say, but how much of it will He Xuan understand to be genuine? Still, he has not much time left. Now, Shi Qingxuan understands what it is like to be mortal, to have sudden urges. The words spill out, a continuous stream of heartfelt garbage: “That night, I really… I can’t say I wasn’t hurt, that your betrayal meant nothing. I know my brother and I hurt you, but still… ah, whatever, forget about that. But at the same time, you’re truly the only person I can confidently call a friend. The one closest to me, the one who knows me the best. I know now that you and Ming-xiong cannot be the same person, but in my head, you really are. Even if it was all an act, you don’t know how much ‘Ming-xiong’ helped me. And now, now that I know that he is you, I want to try again. Ah… I don’t mean that you have to be him! Please don’t misunderstand, but ahh… sorry, sorry, I’m really dumb, and bad with words, but could we try again? I really think that we could be something…” 

Too many words that come out in such a hurry should feel suffocating; in such a small house, there surely is not enough space for all those words and feelings to live. Yet, strangely enough, when Shi Qingxuan stops to catch his breath, it does not feel cramped. He realises then, that it never has. It feels comfortable, and soothing; it feels like home. 

He Xuan’s eyes lift to meet his. Shi Qingxuan thinks the wine must have gone to his head, because when he looks into He Xuan’s eyes, he swears he sees a glimmer of hope, shining through those dark eyes. 

It is a look that suits him, Shi Qingxuan thinks. He dare not let himself think that He Xuan could have this shine in that pair of lovely eyes directed towards him though, so he simply treasures it, thinking of it as a gift from the liquor. 

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness again. But I don’t have much time left, so…” Shi Qingxuan smiles, a brilliant, radiant smile, his eyes turning into crescents, his face lighting up entirely. “He-xiong, can you stay by my side? Just tonight…”

“...”

Did he overstep again? It slipped out so easily, the name; he really should start watching his mouth, especially when under the influence of alcohol. Ah, how is he going to save himself now? He only has this worthless life left, no father or mother, no brother…

“Just tonight,” He Xuan says at last, in a low voice. Shi Qingxuan almost doesn’t catch it. His eyes are now lowered, so Shi Qingxuan cannot see what emotions hide beneath those beautiful pools of black, but it is enough. “Go and sleep, Qingxuan.” 

His name is said carefully, cautiously, as if the speaker was just testing waters. It feels so good, like a warm, weighted blanket gently covering him on a cold, wintry night. Shi Qingxuan wants to hear it again, to feel the way He Xuan’s mouth wraps over his name, every syllable handled with care, but his consciousness is slowly slipping away from his grasp now. It has been a long day, after all. 

A long, long day. 

The rain slows down, letting only the tiniest drops fall to the ground, a puddle ready to catch them gently. The ocean quietens down, no longer thrashing about, instead lazily lapping at the rocks at shore while the wind curls up against it, content as a cat. 

There’s too much I want to tell you, but we don’t have time. It’s okay, though, I’ll see you again. But Shi Qingxuan ah, you’re still so stupid even after all these years. If I wanted your repayment, wouldn’t I just have sliced your head off too? You were a heavenly official before, weren’t you? You should know how ghosts die. I’ve lived for revenge ever since I first died; since I’ve already taken your brother’s head, I should be dead. Gone, you understand? How, then, could we have so peacefully sat down in your small home, and eaten red bean pancakes and drank wine? 

…Shi Qingxuan, you are really cruel, you know. 

You are the person tying me to this world. 

“...But it’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

Then, softly, “Good night, Qingxuan.”