Work Text:
The ocean was an unforgiving mirror. Its surface gleamed with reflections of the heavens, stars skittering across its liquid plane like spilled shards of light. But beneath, in the depths where He Xuan resided, it was an infinite void, a reminder of the nothingness that had once consumed him.
He floated in his realm, limbs loose and aimless, as the weight of immortality pressed down on him. There were days when he longed to dissipate into the water entirely, to let his form dissolve and become one with the tides. But even that felt like a luxury he didn’t deserve. Not after the countless cycles of vengeance, the years of being consumed by hatred so potent that it had defined his very existence.
Hatred had a way of hollowing you out. It left its residue behind, an acrid taste on the soul. And now, with that hatred spent, He Xuan found himself drifting aimlessly, untethered from the purpose that had kept him alive.
The peace that had settled over the heavens, after Hua Cheng was back and Xie Lian took charge, only served to deepen his restlessness. Everyone had found their way—if not to redemption, then to some semblance of closure. And yet here he was, the Black Water Sinking Ships, caught between currents, unsure whether he was drifting toward clarity or further into obscurity.
---
He became aware of Shi Qingxuan long before the other god even entered his domain. Although, god wasn't true anymore. He was a mortal now. His presence was like a ripple breaking the glassy surface, his distinct energy impossible to miss. It carried with it a blend of brightness and warmth, so incongruous with the muted desolation of his underwater realm.
He didn't bother summoning him. If he was coming here, it was for a reason. And if he was foolish enough to enter uninvited, then he deserved to experience the crushing pressure of the ocean's depths.
But Shi Qingxuan, it seemed, was anything but foolish.
“Hey, He Xuan.” His voice reached him before he did, muffled by the water but unmistakably cheerful. “I brought some wine. You know, to lighten the mood!”
The mood? He Xuan glanced around at the oppressive darkness, the shifting shadows of sea creatures that dared not come too close. What mood did he think needed lightening? At least he got the name right this time.
Shi Qingxuan appeared moments later, his robes shimmering like quicksilver in the dim light. His hair was tied back casually, his easy grin unfazed by the crushing depths surrounding them. A clay jug was tucked under his arm, its neck sealed with a wax stopper.
“I don’t drink,” He Xuan said flatly.
Shi Qingxuan rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated. “Of course, you don’t. That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the effort. It’s not every day I risk my life lugging fine wine all the way down here.”
He Xuan raised a brow. “Risk your life?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, fine. It’s not that dangerous. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”
He didn’t respond, instead watched him as he seated himself on a nearby rock formation. He looked absurdly out of place in his realm, his brightness a defiant spark against the void.
“What do you want, Shi Qingxuan?”
He didn’t flinch at his bluntness. “Can’t I visit an old friend?”
He Xuan’s gaze darkened. “Friend?”
Shi Qingxuan faltered, his easy grin slipping for just a moment. He toyed with the stopper on the wine jug, his fingers restless. “Okay, maybe not ‘friend,’ exactly. But we’ve... been through things together. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
He Xuan said nothing, the weight of his stare pressing down on him like the ocean itself.
Shi Qingxuan sighed, setting the jug down between them. “Fine. If you must know, I’ve been... thinking. About the past. About you.”
He bristled at that. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pity me.”
He laughed, the sound sharp and unexpected. “Pity you? Believe me, He Xuan, pity is the last thing I feel for you. You’d probably drown me just for the thought.”
He Xuan didn’t deny it.
The conversation shifted like the tides, ebbing and flowing between awkward silences and hesitant admissions. Shi Qingxuan spoke of the mortal realm, of trivialities that seemed almost insulting in their lightness. But He Xuan listened, his silence less of a rebuke and more of a quiet acceptance.
It wasn’t until he mentioned Xie Lian and Hua Cheng that something in him stirred.
“They seem happy,” he said, his tone wistful. “I guess it’s nice to know that someone got a happy ending.”
He Xuan scoffed. “Happy endings are illusions.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But isn’t it worth chasing, anyway? Even if it’s fleeting?”
He didn’t answer. How could he? Happiness was a concept so foreign to him now that it might as well have been a myth.
But Shi Qingxuan wasn’t finished. “You know, I think you deserve one too.”
He stared at him, the words striking him like a physical blow. Deserve? What could he possibly deserve after everything he’d done? How could Shi Qingxuan say that after everything He Xuan did to him. After the torture he put him through.
His gaze was steady, uncharacteristically serious. “You’ve suffered enough, He Xuan. Don’t you think it’s time to let go?”
Let go.
The words echoed in his mind, a whisper carried on the currents.
Could it really be that simple?
---
Over the following weeks, Shi Qingxuan’s visits became more frequent. He brought with him fragments of the world above—bottles of wine, snatches of gossip, even a small lantern that glowed with a gentle golden light. Slowly, against his better judgment, He Xuan began to tolerate his presence. At least that's what he made himself believe, because the truth was different. The truth was that Shi Qingxuan's presence was always welcome. Then and now.
He was like a stubborn tide, wearing away at the jagged edges of his solitude. And for the first time in centuries, He Xuan found himself wondering if there was more to existence than vengeance and emptiness.
But the past was not so easily forgotten. Nor was it forgiven.
One day, as Shi Qingxuan chattered on about some trivial celestial matter, He Xuan interrupted him.
“Why do you keep coming here?” he demanded.
He blinked, startled by his sudden intensity. “I told you. I think you deserve—”
“No.” His voice was cold, cutting. “Why you? Why now?”
Shi Qingxuan hesitated, his easy demeanor faltering. For a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. “Because I owe you,” he said finally.
He Xuan’s gaze sharpened. “Owe me?”
“For everything,” he admitted. “For what happened to your family. For the choices that led us here. For... surviving when you shouldn’t have had to.”
He stared at him, his expression unreadable. “And that debt you think you owe me can be repaid by visiting me? By bringing me wine and lanterns?”
He met his gaze, his own steady despite the weight of his anger. “No. I just thought... maybe we could both use some company.”
His words hung between them, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm of their shared past.
He Xuan didn’t respond to his confession, nor did he send him away. Shi Qingxuan stayed a while longer, chatting about mundane things that he didn’t bother to follow. He pretended not to notice how his voice softened whenever the conversation lulled, or how his gaze would flit to him as if searching for signs of something—maybe anger, maybe understanding.
He left eventually, with a cheery wave and the promise of bringing something “even better” next time. When he was gone, the silence returned, as it always did, but this time it felt different.
For centuries, silence had been He Xuan’s ally, the sanctuary he retreated into when the weight of his existence grew unbearable. But now, it felt hollow. Uneasy. Shi Qingxuan’s words lingered like the faint trace of light that followed him wherever he went.
He floated in the dark for a long time, letting the stillness press against him.
Why?
That single question looped in his mind, louder than the crashing waves above his head.
Why did he care?
Why did he keep coming back?
Why did he do this for him—the man who had killed his brother?
---
The next time he visited, He Xuan confronted him, once again.
He appeared as he always did, uninvited but undeniably welcome, carrying some ridiculous trinket he claimed to have found in the mortal realm. This time, it was a wooden box filled with tiny, carved animals.
“Look at this one,” he said, holding up a miniature fish. “It’s you!”
He Xuan didn’t react. “Why do you keep coming here?”
Shi Qingxuan paused, lowering the fish. “I already told you—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I want the real reason."
The levity drained from his face. He set the box down carefully, his fingers lingering on the edge as if it were an anchor. “I’ve told you the truth,” he said quietly. “But if you want me to say it again, I will.”
He crossed his arms, waiting.
“I come here because I feel responsible,” he said, meeting his gaze. “Because I was too blind to see the truth back then, and you suffered for it.”
He Xuan’s jaw tightened. “You think your visits can make up for that?”
“No,” he said, his voice steady. “But I’m not trying to make up for it. I’m just... trying to do something. Anything. Because if I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of eternity wondering if I could have made things even a little better.”
He stared at him, his emotions roiling like a storm beneath the surface. “You think you can make things better for me? After what I did to your brother?”
He flinched, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “Yes,” he said, his voice softer now. “I do.”
The sheer audacity of his answer left him momentarily speechless. “You loved him,” he said finally, his tone accusatory. “He was your brother.”
“Yes,” he said again, with no hesitation. “And I miss him every day.”
“Then why?” His voice rose, sharp and unyielding. “Why are you here, with me?”
“Because this is something I need to do. For myself and you.”, he said, his voice breaking just enough to reveal the depth of his conviction. “Because no one deserves to suffer forever, not even you, He Xuan.”
He turned away from him, his chest heaving with an anger he couldn’t quite place.
“You don’t understand,” he said finally. “I killed him. I made him suffer. I made you suffer. I—”
“You were hurting,” he interrupted.
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “But it’s the truth. And if you can’t forgive yourself, then at least let me try.”
He Xuan didn’t respond. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.
Shi Qingxuan didn’t push him. He sat quietly, his presence as steady as the tides. For once, he didn’t try to fill the space with idle chatter or distractions. He simply waited.
After what felt like an eternity, He Xuan spoke.
“I don’t deserve this.”
His smile was faint and sad,but genuine. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”
Shi Qingxuan stayed longer than usual that day, though neither of them spoke much. When he finally left, he paused at the edge of his domain, turning back to look at him.
“I’ll see you again soon,” he said, his tone light but his expression thoughtful. “If that’s okay.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to need him to.
When he disappeared into the depths, He Xuan found himself staring at the spot where he'd been, the faint glow of his presence lingering in the water.
He was still angry—at him,at Shi Wudu, at himself, at the endless cycle of pain that had brought them to this point. But beneath the anger, there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite name.
For the first time in centuries, he wondered if it was possible to feel something other than hatred.
And for the first time, he didn’t immediately dismiss the thought.
---
Long after Shi Qingxuan had left, He Xuan remained where he'd left him, motionless and silent. His words echoed in the emptiness around him, drifting like the ghostly remnants of a shipwreck, haunting in their persistence.
"No one deserves to suffer forever, not even you, He Xuan."
He clenched his fists, the water swirling faintly around him in response to the motion. Suffering—wasn’t that what defined him? What he had earned?
He had once been a scholar, a man of quiet ambition, with a family who loved him and a future that seemed promising. But the world had taken all of that away. The cruelty of humanity had burned everything he valued to ash, leaving behind a man who was no longer just He Xuan but also the Black Water Sinking Ships.
That name meant something. It meant vengeance. It meant power. It meant that the world would fear him as much as he had once feared it.
But now, vengeance was over. Shi Wudu was dead. The ashes had settled. And what remained of He Xuan beneath the Black Water was hollow.
Shi Qingxuan’s visits stirred something in him he didn’t understand. His presence made him aware of the vastness of the void inside him, like a sudden beam of sunlight illuminating the ocean floor. He dredged up feelings he thought he’d long since buried: confusion, anger, affection and something dangerously close to hope.
---
He drifted through his domain, the dark waters stretching endlessly around him. For centuries, this solitude had been his solace, his sanctuary. But now, it felt like a prison.
Why did he come here? Why did he keep returning to him, despite everything he’d done?
He spoke of responsibility, of guilt, of debts that needed repaying. But He Xuan couldn’t reconcile those reasons with the warmth in his voice when he talked to him, or the way he looked at him as if he weren’t a monster.
That, more than anything, unsettled him. He was a monster. He had killed his brother in front of him in such a cruel way. He had destroyed lives, left a trail of devastation in his wake. He had destroyed Shi Qingxuan's life.
How could he see past that? How could he forgive him, when he couldn’t even forgive himself?
The thought gnawed at him, a relentless tide wearing away at the edges of his mind.
---
Time passed, though He Xuan barely noticed its flow. Shi Qingxuan came and went, always uninvited, always unbothered by his hostility. He didn’t know why he let him stay, why he tolerated his presence when every instinct screamed at him to drive him away.
But there was something about the way he sat with him, unafraid of the darkness that surrounded them, that kept him silent.
One day, as he chattered on about some celestial banquet he'd attended, courtesy of Xie Lian,He Xuan finally voiced the question that had been festering in his mind.
“Why did you forgive me?”
He stopped mid-sentence, his expression startled. “What?”
“You said no one deserves to suffer forever,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But I made you suffer. I made your brother suffer. Why did you forgive me for that?”
Shi Qingxuan’s gaze softened, and for once, he didn’t deflect with humor or a change of subject. He seemed to weigh his question carefully before answering.
“I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you,” he admitted. “Not completely. I still miss him. And sometimes, when I think about what happened, it hurts.”
His honesty was unexpected, and it struck He Xuan like a blow.
“But,” he continued, “holding on to anger won’t bring him back. And it won’t change the past. All I can do is move forward. And maybe... maybe I see a part of him in you.”
He Xuan’s recoiled. “What?”
Shi Qingxuan smiled faintly. “You both carry so much. Too much. He carried the burden of our family’s expectations, and you...” ,he hesitated, his voice growing softer. “You carry everything that was taken from you.”
He turned away, hus words cutting deeper than any blade.
“I don’t want your pity,” he said harshly.
“It’s not pity,” he said firmly. “It’s understanding.”
After he left, He Xuan tried to bury himself in the silence, but it didn’t help. His words echoed in his mind, stirring memories he had long since tried to suppress.
His family’s laughter. The warmth of their home. The sound of his fiance's voice, bright with excitement as she shared some trivial detail of her day.
He had been a good fiance, hadn’t he? A good son? A good man?
But none of that had mattered. The world had taken everything from him, stripped him of his humanity until all that remained was rage and grief. He had become something unrecognizable, a force of destruction driven by a single, unrelenting purpose.
And now? Now he was nothing.
---
Shi Qingxuan’s visits became less frequent, though he didn’t know if it was by design or coincidence. He found himself waiting for him, though he would never admit it.
His absence was a strange thing, leaving behind a void he hadn’t noticed before. It made him restless, his thoughts circling back to him over and over.
What did it mean to move forward? What did it mean to forgive?
Could he ever forgive himself?
---
When he returned, it was as if no time had passed. He brought a string of paper lanterns, their soft light glowing warmly against the darkness.
“I thought your place could use a little decorating,” he said with a grin, stringing the lanterns between the jagged rocks that jutted from the ocean floor.
He watched him silently, his expression unreadable. When he finished, he turned to him, his smile faltering slightly at his intense gaze.
“What?” he asked.
“You said you’re not sure you’ve forgiven me,” he said. “But you keep coming back. Why?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Because I don’t think forgiveness is about forgetting what happened or pretending it didn’t hurt. It’s about choosing to see someone for who they are now, not who they were then.”
“And who am I now?” he asked, his voice low.
Shi Qingxuan smiled softly. “That’s up to you to decide.”
His words stayed with him long after he left, a flickering light in the vast darkness of his thoughts.
For the first time in centuries, He Xuan wondered if it was possible to choose something other than the pain that had defined him for so long.