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Chapter Text

It had always been undeniable that there was something wrong with Hong'er.

Anyone, even if they were unable to pinpoint precisely where this je-ne-sais-quoi came from, knew at first glance that this child only meant bad news. And the fact that the only person who had decided to love him despite the curse had been dead and buried for ages was irrefutable proof that this curse was contagious .

It was for this exact reason that Hong'er feared for the prince. The only one who, apart from his mother, had given him a gentle, reassuring look, and had put his hands on him not with the intention to punish, but simply to hold him. Even more ridiculous, to protect him. For the first time, Hong'er had been seen as worth protecting rather than a thing to be protected from. But time had already proven that loving Hong'er was a crime punishable by death, and the child had not wanted to find out if it could be proven a second time. So he had left. Despite his primal instincts, despite the selfish urges that screamed at him to stay with the prince no matter the consequences, he had left.

And leaving the prince’s embrace, the tenderness of his voice and his words behind to return to the house where his father and his father’s other children lived had been torture . It was as if he’d escaped a desert only to fall into the crater of a volcano after being granted a few drops of cool water. If “unpleasant” was already a light word to describe his life before the Shangyuan Festival, it was only a euphemism to describe his life after. How could one bear the beatings, the insults, the hunger and thirst after holding in their hands the possibility of a better life which they were only able to vaguely imagine until now?

It had always been undeniable that there was something wrong with Hong'er. But after the Shangyuan Festival, a line had been crossed.

Hong'er himself could not say what this exact trigger was, which argument, which act of violence, which slightly too morbid thought it was that shattered the last of his already fractured psyche, giving the final blow to a vase that a careless person would have dropped without putting the pieces back together. The thing was, if its cause remained uncertain, its consequences did not take long to appear. 

Because one evening, while Hong'er lay curled up on the ground, his head in his hands, his throat tight and his body racked with sobs, in the time it took to blink away a stubborn tear, the crown prince of Xianle appeared before him.

The young man looked straight out of Hong'er's memories, the sword he used to slay the demon during the parade at his hip, still draped in his ceremonial robes. And if the mere presence of the prince in such a place was not enough of a warning signal, the way those robes’ shine, the luxurious thickness of the fabric and the clear sound of his jewels clashed so horribly with their surroundings and the smell of tears and blood in the room only reinforced the gut feeling that something rang false.

“Your Highness? What are you doing here?” Hong'er muttered, unsure of how to react.

“Shh.” the prince said in response, his smile partly masked by the index finger he pressed against his lips.

And without warning, he knelt down at Hong'er’s level. The latter could not suppress a groan of protest; someone of the prince's nobility should never lower themself before someone like Hong'er. And no matter the reason or the miracle that justified his presence, it was imperative that the prince left before the poverty of the place—or worse, the living curse that was Hong'er—could sully him.

But the warning never came, the words stuck in Hong'er's throat despite himself. The tears that had barely stopped flowing in the grip of surprise began to fall again, their stream a little heavier with each vain attempt to speak. Because Hong'er, weak creature that he was, did not want the prince to leave. He did not want to see the only good thing that had happened to him since the death of his mother disappear so soon. He did not want to see the prince's serene face become distorted by the same grimace of disgust everyone gave him. So he did not say anything. He remained on the ground without having the strength to move away nor daring to approach. His eye stared at the prince through the tears, hoping that his gaze would be enough to communicate what his lips could not. Which of his prayers would be answered between “leave, before I ruin you too” and “stay, I'm begging you, stay” , Hong'er did not know. Did not even know which of the two he wanted the prince to grant.

The prince moved towards him. Miraculously, his robes remained immaculate, even as his knees scraped the dirt-covered floor. Perhaps, although he was technically not a god yet, the pure and utter goodness that radiated through every pore of his skin protected him from the filth and baseness of common mortals.

His divine face ended up right above Hong'er’s. The prince opened his mouth, as if about to say something, when footsteps echoed in the house. Footsteps approaching towards them.

Hong'er’s breathing quickened. Not because he feared for his own fate, but because the idea of ​​seeing the spell broken, the prince fleeing from the nuisance that Hong'er truly was, gave rise to a whole new kind of  distress in his chest. I don't want him to leave. I don't want him to leave. The footsteps were getting closer, and the voice that came with them became distinguishable. Hong'er tried to grip the prince's robes, pleading, but his fingers closed on nothing. I don't want him to leave. I don't want him to leave. I don't want him to-

“Shh…” the prince repeated as the door flew open. "Everything is going to be alright.” 

And because the prince had never lied to him, Hong'er believed him. He had known worse. The prince was still there. Everything would be alright.

What had upset his father this time was not clear. It rarely was, but it never needed to be, because any excuse was good enough, and nothing Hong'er could do would spare him. So he ignored the nonsense that came out of the man's mouth, instead dedicating all his attention to the only one who truly mattered. Because there was no universe, no situation in which Hong'er would look at anything other than the prince if given the choice. The prince never took his eyes off him either, and it was overwhelming in the best sense of the word; the weight of an armor that made you invincible, that of a friend who had fallen asleep on top of you and kept you warm in their embrace. He whispered to Hong'er an uninterrupted litany of reassuring words as he had done during the festival, and as during the festival, his voice, even when not rising above a whisper, effortlessly overcame any din.

At no time did his father show any signs that one would expect to see in someone who would come face to face with the crown prince of their kingdom in the bedroom of their cursed son, confirming what Hong'er had already guessed. His father, for that matter, did not seem to enjoy his offspring’s impassiveness to his bullshit. Even less so that said offspring allowed himself to be shaken without a word, not offering him the usual angry response the man used to justify his violent outbursts. More and more disturbed by the way the child persisted in ignoring him, his crazed gaze not leaving a specific point near him, the man ended up raising his head, scanning the room. But there was absolutely nothing to see here. Just the two of them, four bare walls and a dusty floor.

“Fucking psycho…” he swore under his breath, suddenly much less confident. His grip on the child's collar loosened, and he backed away without another word, as if leaving the cage of a wild animal.

And maybe Hong'er should have been scared too. Should have wondered what was wrong with him that made his brain produce this kind of apparition. Perhaps his family was right to consider him a demon. What else but an evil creature would use the image of a saint, the most sacred thing in this world, and twist it to fulfill their own selfish and ungodly desires?

But he couldn't help but find euphoria in the fact that no one else could see what he saw. He was usually given little, and that little had to be shared. A few crumbs scattered here and there, which life always ended up taking back. Nothing had ever belonged to him. But that, the prince’s smile above him, that was his. And no one could steal it from him.

Like this, Hong'er could see the prince, savor his presence, his comfort, and the prince, the real one, was in no danger, would not have to inflict the sight of Hong'er on his eyes. The perfect balance. A rare mercy, the only mercy that life had ever granted him. And for the second time in just a few days, Xie Lian was the one who embodied everything positive about him, in him.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” said Hong'er, starstruck.

This time the prince said nothing, but his hand came up to the child's cheek, as if to brush a lock of hair away from his face. The lock did not move, of course, but Hong'er felt a series of shivers where the prince's fingers should have brushed. The caresses, the silence, the darkness and the end of his adrenaline rush lulled Hong'er against his will, his eyelids growing heavy.

“Will you still be here tomorrow?” If he had to be alone again the next time he opened his eyes, the child intended to make the most of every moment, staying awake as long as his body would allow him.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need me,” the prince replied, which meant everything and nothing at the same time. “Sleep,” he ordered, managing to combine the authority of the future king with the benevolence of the future god.

A pernicious voice in the corner of his mind, the one that kept wanting to find the good things’ limit, the catch, because they always had one, couldn't help but wonder; if Hong'er asked too many questions or disobeyed, would the illusion get angry?

But Hong'er looked at the prince one last time, and the worry died as quickly as it was born. All good things had a limit, a catch, but not this one. Everything would be alright.

If he positioned himself correctly, if he wrapped his arms tightly enough around his torso, then the numbness caused by the bad blood circulation almost felt like a real hug. Hong'er just had to close his eyes and let his memory take over, let him be snuggled against the prince's chest again. The safest place in the world.

Chapter Text

One step forward. Everything was blending together: blades clashing, arrows whistling, soldiers shouting — shouts of rage, pain, fear. One step forward. Hong'er swung his sword to his left and hit an enemy square in the throat. The soldier fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Hong'er didn't spare him a glance. One step forward. Despite his gauntlets, his left hand was burning, covered in blisters from his sweat and the rough leather of his weapon's hilt. His whole body burned, but there was nothing he could do. One step forward, one step forward, one step forward.

Hong'er moved forward with a blank mind, head held high, fraying himself a path with his sword if it was an enemy, and with his shoulder if it was an ally. He followed where the prince went, like a moth drawn to light. An unattainable light, which retreated a step each time Hong'er took one. He had to move faster.

One step, then another, and another, and another. The prince's blurry figure was becoming a little clearer. One, two, three, four, five steps. Hong'er was almost knocked over by a man collapsing on him, but he now could distinguish every part of the prince's body from one another. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten steps. The prince was frowning, his ponytail swaying with his movements. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. From this distance, his divine aura was palpable, and Hong'er felt its weight in his guts. One step, one step, one step, one step, one step, one step—

Hong'er was on the ground. One moment he was waving the pathetic sword the army had given him in all directions, as fast as he could, and the next he was on the ground, his body sinking into the blood-soaked earth as if it were trying to bury him. This shouldn’t have been a problem. Hong'er had already fallen several times since joining the army. As long as he got back up before he could get trampled or pinned to the ground with a blade to the abdomen, then it wasn't a problem.

But Hong'er couldn't get up. He couldn't sit up, or lift his head. He could only stare at the sky above him in shock, watching it blur more and more with every blink. Even breathing had suddenly become impossible, his ribcage rising and falling in an irregular rhythm, a little weaker with each attempt. Nothing in his body was responding anymore. The limbs he could still feel only spasmed sporadically. His throat, however, was becoming harder and harder to ignore, pulsing with a dull ache that resonated all the way to his skull, and Hong'er wondered if the blow he'd apparently received had managed to force his heart to lodge itself up his windpipe. And when, at his wits' end, he tried to call for help, to urge any idiot nearby to do something before it was too late , and all that came out of his mouth was a drowning gurgle, Hong'er knew it was already too late to do anything. He was dying. He hadn't even seen the arrow coming.

Just as the realization dawned on him, Hong'er burst into uncontrollable laughter. A series of muffled, wet sounds from his  wide-open mouth, convulsions ripping through his entire body. A soldier passing by gave him a horrified look before quickening his pace.

Hong'er had always fantasized about his death. He had always enjoyed imagining its details, listing his options. Had always enjoyed watching his reflection in a dirty stream or a piece of rusty metal and visualize his blood flowing, his bones breaking, his entrails breathing in the open air. But he waited for the perfect moment. He relished knowing that despite his near-total helplessness, he still had this. That despite a miserable life spent enduring, he could make something of his death. Before being saved by the prince, it was his revenge. He wanted the sight of his split skull to be branded on the retinas of the other children who martyrized him. He wanted his rotten flesh to spoil the food of the neighborhood merchants who watched him starve to death in front of them. He wanted the smell of putrefaction to infiltrate the walls of his father's room and make him sick. And Hong'er had never felt more powerful than when he clung to a railing and looked down at the crowds gathered for the Shangyuan Festival, knowing that despite their numbers, despite their rank and wealth, he only had to let himself fall to bring ruin to them all.

After meeting the prince, l’appel du vide had not left him, and the urges had never stopped either. Hong'er would die, wanted to die, had to die, but after meeting the prince, he intended to make his death a gift. An offering to his god. He wanted to die after turning the tide of the war, by protecting the prince, by saving one of his temples from destruction, by killing Lang Ying. He wasn't fighting for Xianle. He was fighting because the prince wanted the war to end, and what the prince wanted was what Hong'er wanted.

And Hong'er was laughing because, no matter how much he wished his death had the slightest impact, the slightest significance, it was stupid to have hoped that his existence could make the slightest difference. He had never been anything, had never meant anything to anyone, and he was going to die as he had lived. Put to death like an animal, shot with an arrow, a body like any other, ready to be thrown into a mass grave that very evening, with no name, no honor, nothing.

And he was still laughing when the prince appeared above him, his features perfectly sharp and his voice perfectly clear even as Hong'er's senses were becoming increasingly distorted.

"Shh..." he said. "Don't laugh so hard, you'll make your injury worse." And he looked so concerned that Hong'er didn't have the heart to point out that it wouldn't make much difference whether he stopped laughing or not.

Dying while looking at the prince should have been a dream come true. The greatest honor Hong'er could have had. But if his body had still been capable of it, he surely would have started crying from shame. This wasn't a service. This wasn't an offering. This was pointless. The worst of the war was still ahead of them, and the prince had to fight with fewer and fewer allies against more and more enemies, and Hong'er hadn’t done anything yet, hadn't been able to help the prince even once.

Hong'er wondered if his prince thought the same thing and had come to finish him off, to put an end to the joke that Hong’er was. What could possibly be going through his mind, seeing Hong’er looking so disgusting, on the ground, pathetic, dying without ever having accomplished anything? Did he regret saving Hong'er? Interrupting the parade that was supposed to guarantee the prosperity of their kingdom to save someone who was so useless? Hong'er felt ashamed. He wanted to apologize. Not for the kingdom's misfortune, but for the prince's. For the harm that Hong'er caused, wherever he went.

"I'm sorry," Hong'er managed to pant, forcing the tendons and flesh of his throat to mend themselves back together. The prince deserved that much. "I'm so sorry."

The prince's expression turned bittersweet, and he lowered himself to Hong'er's level, as he had done years ago, when the soldier still lived with his father.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I know you did the best you could."

"But that's not enough!" Hong'er cried, his frustration making him forget all notion of etiquette. "You asked me to live for you, and I couldn't even do that. I failed to fulfill the only order you gave me."

"Doing your best is never a loss," the prince replied, his voice soft. "But if Hong'er truly wants to make it up to me, death doesn't have to be the end. If you can't rest in peace now, then stay."

His words hit him like a slap in the face. Yes. It could be that simple. Hong'er had always been called a parasite, people horrified to see him survive everything when some children died of their first cold. He had survived the frostbite of winters spent on the doorstep, constant hunger, blows to the ribs, to the head, mouthfuls of muddy water that the other children delighted plunging him into. Hell, his body had even survived all his self-inflicted injuries, had forced itself to breathe in and out despite his best efforts to stop it, had struggled to get out of the river he had thrown himself in with stones in his pockets. He wasn't going to let himself be killed by a Yong'an dog when he had just found a reason to cling to life. While this very reason was still on the battlefield, defending a people who was burning his temples and destroying his statues when he should have been worshipped as an idol in heaven.

Fate wanted Hong'er to die before adulthood, and so what? The prince had defied fate once by saving him; Hong'er would do it a second time to obey the order he had given him.

"You’re right," Hong'er said, awestruck. He spoke the words like an oath, and liquid fire spread throughout his body, as if a dam somewhere in his ribcage had burst, making the blood that was still inside his veins pump in his temples, creating sparks in his fingertips. "I will come back. I swear." He didn't know how yet, but he would. If ghosts were born from the power of their will, then he would become the most powerful of them all.

"I don't doubt it for a second. And I'll still be here when you return. In the meantime, get some rest, hm?"

Hong'er nodded. His body left him no other choice : he felt what was left of his life slipping through his fingers, leaving only a strange sensation in his chest that grew as his heart slowed. Death was a matter of minutes now, maybe even seconds. Hong'er kept his eyes wide open, the one not covered in bandages fixed on the prince, his image blurred. If the god thought having a corpse staring at him was disturbing he did not show it, simply smiling gently, with the same gracious expression he wore on his finest statues.

"See you soon, Hong-hong'er."

See you soon.

But his body was dead before Hong'er could reply.