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The Wind Master has never had to make a serious decision about anything. He’s like a warm spring breeze that danced how it liked. Or the sweet and sparkling juice of fresh green apples. Truthfully, he prefers to leave most things to his dour brother or that unsmiling Ling Wen.
Anything that involves more than deciding what wine to enjoy at a banquet is just too much for Shi Qingxuan. Besides, it’s not like anyone ever asks for his opinion anyhow.
In this moment, living how he has been strikes him as the most foolish thing in the world. What happens when a problem must be solved and he doesn’t have his brother to rely on? Like the wind, he wants simply to float away.
Xie Lian lays crumpled in front of him, his tears falling fast and long. He clutches at his chest like his heart is about to burst within, gasping all the while. His curious silk band is limp at his side, as though it were well and truly dead.
Dammit! Shi Qingxuan had been staring at the distant horizon, watching how sparkling blue waves washed over crystal sand when he was suddenly shoved forward. He caught himself before he could pitch over onto the rocks below and spun around to see Xie Lian on all fours.
Hovering over him was that wretched demon, its tongue sweeping across its fangs. Beneath the fading sun, its skin that was like old and dried leather appeared especially horrid. Gnarled bones protruded sharply along its spine, like it was a log that had been left in the fire for far too long. Its eyes looked as though they had been simply clawed out of its skull, thick and ugly scars.
As Shi Qingxuan drew his fans and quickly dispatched it, he noted the peaceful look upon its face. Perhaps for whatever had become of its foul life, at least it was over with.
Shi Qingxuan’s slow mind was finally able to work through what had happened. He’d nearly been a victim of the vile demon, but Xie Lian had pushed him out of the way and subsequently gotten caught within the spell’s radius.
Now, Shi Qingxuan can just make out the flickering fireflies that have melted forth from the surrounding trees. The ocean is black behind them, a yawning cave that wants to swallow them both whole. His immediate thought is to get them back to Puqi Shrine. Back to Crimson Rain. The rest will surely work itself out.
He tries to crouch down in front of Xie Lian who only shrinks away from him like a beaten dog. “Come, Your Highness! We can’t stay here.”
Xie Lian claps his hands over his ears, quivering in the same way a spring leaf would. His eyes are wide and watery, red-rimmed. He rips out of Shi Qingxuan’s grasp.
“Mother?” he asks like a child. “Did you finish preparing dinner?”
Shi Qingxuan tries again, feeling well and truly frightened. “Please!” he cries.
“I want to eat with you,” says Xie Lian, his soft words pouring together like a stream. “Let’s enjoy a nice meal out in the sun.”
Out of options, Shi Qingxuan summons the image of stark red and shining silver, dancing butterflies, and deep, hot blood. He’s not sure if it worked; his veins sing like liquid magma is threading through them and his own panic is only making the feeling worse. He won’t know for sure until he tries to speak.
“Gege?” he says, his voice like draped velvet.
Xie Lian freezes and looks up. “My San Lang?”
Shi Qingxuan always knew the two were soft for each other, but there’s a dreamy quality to the way Xie Lian is gazing at him. He nearly looks away, suddenly uncomfortable, as though he is intruding on something tender and private. Which is silly because they are the only two souls in these forsaken woods.
“Yes, I’m here,” says Shi Qingxuan, running a gentle hand through Xie Lian’s hair. “It’s me and–”
“You have to leave,” says Xie Lian, a whisper of his usual self. Beside him, his odd silk band seems to shake and stir.
“Yes, Your Highness,” repeats Shi Qingxuan, “we both need to leave right now.”
But Xie Lian draws his knees up to his chest. “No, you have to leave me. I’m no good.” His voice catches again. “I’m just no good for anyone. You’ll get hurt and I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.”
Shi Qingxuan responds at once, his tone sweet but his conviction surprising. “Impossible. There is no safer place in this world than with you.”
He blinks, more than a little self-conscious. But it just seemed like the right thing to say. Xie Lian stares up at him and Shi Qingxuan can imagine why the wicked Crimson Rain is so bound to him. Why his ancient kingdom truly believed that the sun rose and fell with him.
Even now, in this pitiful state, there’s a clear beauty to him. If the Heavenly Emperor ever were to be stricken down, then Xie Lian would stand next in line as his successor. The gods can only see his dusty robes, but Shi Qingxuan can only see golden, brilliant white.
Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath and extends a hand out to Shi Qingxuan. “Alright, San Lang. Let’s go home.”
His fingers are delicate and warm. His balance is not yet steady so Shi Qingxuan neatly swings him into his arms to carry.
The dilapidated Puqi Shrine has never been such a wondrous sight. But then, the thunderous Crimson Rain swings the front door open and Shi Qingxuan is certain that he’s about to be blown to bits. Well, he’s always joked with his brother that he was here for a good time and not a long time.
“Wait–!” he tries to yell. The world blacks out and Shi Qingxuan is just a little current swimming in a void. When he comes to, his body aches all over. From the transformation spell or from Crimson Rain bashing him into the ground, he cannot tell.
At least the moon is pretty and full above him. Once the ringing in his head subsides, Shi Qingxuan can just make out the hurried words of Xie Lian and Crimson Rain barking something back like some great, big guard dog.
“San Lang, Wind Master was only helping me. I was completely out of it earlier. Be calm, okay?” says Xie Lian as though he were soothing a newly born pup. He turns back to Shi Qingxuan who is still pathetically sprawled on the dirt and says, “I’ll grab something for your head.”
Crimson Rain stares hard at Shi Qingxuan, murder glowing in his eye. Really, it wouldn’t take much for him to slice him up into neat cubes to roast over a fire later. Finally, he says, “I don’t know what happened and I don’t care, either. Don’t you ever transform into me again, got it?”
“Yep, you got it,” the Wind Master weakly says.
Indeed, for all the years he has yet to live, that is his first and last time impersonating the wicked Crimson Rain.