Chapter Text
“Oh look Ruoye, the heavens finally answered someone's plea for help! Of course it’s for a rich man.”
Black Sword Burning Flowers holds his infamous blade against the mortal’s neck, a line of blood dripping across the metal. Flowers burn and flutter in the air, surreal and beautiful in the empty temple to Luck.
Hua Cheng has never seen anything quite so hot.
“Well, god? Care to fight for your believer?”
Hua Cheng is speechless for the first time in 800 years, the calamity's white mask, black frown, burning into the god's skin.
"Well?"
"...Black Sword Burning Flowers, I believe?" Hua Cheng bows and lounges beside his altar. "The stories do you no justice. This one apologises for interrupting your afternoon." He picks out an ancient Xianle bracelet from the treasures piled on the altar moments ago, the mortal's eyes going wide with hope. "It seems he left an amusing goodbye trinket for us.
Please continue at your leisure, gege."
The ghost lets out a bitter laugh. "My luck shines in the abyss, afterall."
He cuts the man's throat. The body falls the floor, blood slowly pooling.
If he had survived, would dianxia have been like you, Lord Calamity?
“Mantou?”
The calamity pauses cleaning his sword, a small splatter of blood now staining his white mask and robes. Hua Cheng resists the urge to smudge them away and whisper sweet nothings on his knees.
“I’m sorry?”
“Would you like mantou? Do you need the body? I can just -" Hua Cheng waves, gesturing vaguely at his temple around them.
The calamity shakes his head.
Hua Cheng waves with power, body and blood disappearing as he stands straighter, flexing slightly. (It's important to make good impressions to enemies, friends, lovers, and whatever delightful mix this calamity will be.)
“My lord, this one is Hua Cheng, martial God of Luck. Murder my followers whenever you please. They are trash.”
The calamity stands still, dark eyes watching closely behind his mask.
“If we misuse luck, we most certainly deserve a healthy evening of being murdered.”
The calamity snorts. Hua Cheng holds in a secret grin of success.
“Lord Luck is shameless. Fresh mantou sounds acceptable. Ghost City mantou can taste…musty.”
Hua Cheng blinks slowly, the only reflection of inner joy and surprised laughter.
–He Xuan, best mantou place in Xuli. Now, he calls in his private array. It's important.
There was a pause, a laugh, and the water master sends him his favourite.
–Grab some for me, too.
–No.
The water master laughs and Hua Cheng returns his focus to the quiet ghost before him, soft white robes with small splatters of red that managed to be elegant, simple, and grounding. Hua Cheng's fingers itched to draw, to sew, to build red and white robes for the man before him as the floating, burning flowers he was renown for began to fade away.
The ghost's chest remained still in the way only the dead know, Hua Cheng eyes politely inspecting the pulse-less neck and collarbones beneath mask and robe.
“The citizens of Xuli might notice a handsome ghost dabbling into their mantou wares, Lord Calamity. Would he mind if this one uses an illusion?”
The calamity cocks his head, then shakes his head, an image of high-ranking merchants falling softly over their skin. Was the mask chosen as a descendent to the ancient White No-Face mask? Do all calamities share a penchant for dramatically simple masks? What gorgeous face lay beneath such quiet, sad eyes?
Strange, as always, how little we know about them.
The calamity looks around the busy street as they exit and Hua Cheng prays to his long-departed dianxia for gifting him such a food-obssessed friend as He Xuan. I wonder what you would say to this ghost, gege.
“Were you protecting your city today, Lord Calamity?”
The ghost nods, matching the god's slow walk. “My city accepts all who come to us, as long as they care for each other, but many arrive broken and abused. Every story they share has experiences of greed, power abuse. Their cities and managers refusing to listen, to take care, to plan ahead.
So we settled on a few targets that matched the stories. Abuse and ghost prevention, if you will.
He was 28 of 33," He pauses, eyeing the god. "For now, at least."
Hua Cheng nods, walking in silence, stopping to look up at their destination. He, He Xuan, and Shi Qingxuan had often wondered why the Heavens were so… violently passive about such matters.
“Care to join us, Lord Luck?”
“Join Ghost City? I prefer keeping my beating heart for now, gege, but I thank you for thinking of it." It's certainly pounding with how you're looking at me right now.
“No, join our hunt. Help us remove violent, powerful people so mortals can build something better, something new. Something deserving of their lives and souls.
We can negotiate pay. As the god of luck, you know the richest families, yes? Tell us about them. How they became rich, how they use or abuse their power."
Hua Cheng finds himself speechless for the second time that day, his mind spinning with possibilities over Ghost City and revenge, change and opportunity and new homes for all. A new reality for all.
"You might even enjoy yourself, Lord Luck." The ghost's eyes glitter beneath a layer of illusion and mask. "Join us.”
–He Xuan, update, I'm in love. If this mantou sucks, I'm killing you myself
He Xuan laughs, sharp and warm, and sends an indexed list of food requests for the wedding.
-Who the fuck did you fall in love with?
Hua Cheng grins.
“Of course, gege. This lowly one offers his beating heart and all his luck to you. I wasn't really using them, anyway.”
***
Xie Lian, Lord of Ghost City, is cold.
He hates it.
His people gather today to discuss their city's food safety and signage, what mortals, demons, and ghosts might need. Even gods, he supposed. Not that they ever visit.
He looks over at Yin Yu. He seems to be having a fantastic time behind his mask, his small army of scribes and experts nodding along, weighing in when asked - a mortal doctor clarifying various poison impacts on children vs adults, an elder ghost sharing experiences on eating food prepared in culturally (and era) appropriate ways, a child explaining what makes food fun and easy when you're little, alone, or lost.
Xie Lian almost smiles. His city was so beautiful across its death and life. It soothed him to hear his people debate how to make their city kind for all ages, languages, and tether to mortality.
The presentation wraps up, Yin Yu summarises and provides a timeline on the new policy draft, and the room melts into smiles, chatter, frowns, and general contentment across various languages. Xie Lian's shoulders collapse in relief. Another day done.
His chest (and stomach) ache.
Maybe I'm taking care of my city correctly this time.
He almost laughs.
“My lord? Anything you need?”
Xie Lian shakes his head to Yin Yu.
“There's food in your chambers if you change your mind, sir.”
“Thank you, Yin Yu. All set?”
“Yes sir. I'll get you notes from this meeting tomorrow, and the first draft of the policy end of the week.”
Xie Lian smiles.
At least my terrible luck allows me Yin Yu.
“Remember to eat too, Yin Yu.”
The administrator bows and leaves with the last of his scribes, sharing soft words of praise with his coworkers.
***
Xie Lian's practice room is cold, empty, and eternally drafty. Well-loved weapons glint off the wall as they watch him draw Fangxin, the sword's darkness glowing in the dim room.
He begins his forms, core perfectly balanced with the sword that felt lighter than it had in centuries.
He suspects the sword enjoyed killing for the people - killing the right people - as much as he did.
The murders had already seen an impact across the continent. Fewer ghosts showing up on their doorstep in a dazed, abused haze, more mortals organising more strikes, more reluctant change as the mortal rich started to respect the people's demands. The continent had even started using 33: you're next to whoever they were protesting. Ghost City worked with each community to build plans and choose a target, but otherwise kept the names of the 33 secret. (32, really - the last had been left open as they collected information and watched the continent change).
Next week was number 29.
Perhaps Lord Luck will join me?
The ghost's cheeks turn a soft pink, shooing the thought away, and his eyes catch on his ankle shackle mid-form. It moved lethargically like always, a dark stain against dead skin, a void of luck in an already luckless life and death. Were the shackles weaker from his death, from his second ascension, from Tonglu, from becoming a revered city leader again?
It didn't seem it.
His city's singular gambling hall - inexplicably named Paradise Manor, which alone made him laugh and cry - continued to be the city's beloved and luckless hole, a strange gathering place to lose things, bets, and partners alike. The ghosts recommended it to tourists, if they were being particularly annoying. It remained a shining beacon of his abysmal luck.
But without the draw of gambling (and the addiction that often whispered beneath), the city had built itself around languages and libraries, hospices and hospitals, music and stories, quiet gardens and multi-multi generational housing full to bursting with ghosts and demons of all ages.
It gave the city a warm, bustling life that Xie Lian could never have expected when he started a quiet refuge for war victims so long ago.
He could almost smile some days.
But his luck, regardless of his people's warmth, refused to budge.
Does my luck make Lord Luck and I natural enemies somehow? Did I recruit some magic-fueled, fate-ordained catastrophe waiting to happen?
The general in him remained practical. A good ally balances our weakness. Test it. What does our luck do when faced with his?
He mulls that as he finishes his form, muscles distantly aching, and pulled out the two dice the god gifted him at the end of their (surprisingly long) day together last week. He inspected each side. The ones were red butterflies, the sixes - small flowers, hand painted with the tiniest details. Strange.
He drops the dice and their clatter echoes across the room.
The weapons eye him, silently waiting.
Snake eyes.
Xie Lian suppresses a sigh, as well a spike of rage and claustrophia.
I'll never be free.
I will never have luck.
This is fucking impossible.
I can't let this god anywhere near my city.
He grit his teeth.
He forces his chest to breathe, beginning a new form.
At least this city might thrive. At least Xianle has their revenge against me. That has to be enough.
His stomach growls.
“Hungry, Lord Calamity?”
Xie Lian's eyes flash and nearly takes the head off the smirking god.
Hua Cheng's eye flashes dark as he raises his hands in surrender, his voice rough against the sword resting on his neck.
“Apologies dianxia, your dice called for luck and I was unable to answer. This one came in person to apologise.”
Dianxia?
Xie Lian’s face burns.
My face!
His eyes widen, quickly summoning his mask.
Hua Cheng looks away, realising his overstep.
“This one apologises again my lord, this worthless one did not mean to intrude - “
When was the last time a god other than Yin Yu saw my face? Was even here, in my city?
“Go. Now.”
The voice was sharp and clear as his sword.
Hua Cheng bows carefully against the sword and disappears. In the emptiness, a golden platter embossed with burning flowers and butterflies is left behind, holding two mantou.
He squats to pick up the note left on the platter, squinting at the horrendous calligraphy that said (he thought): "Happy hunting, gege. My apologies for intruding once again."
Xie Lian wasn't sure to laugh or frown, taking off his mask and letting his adrenaline settle as he picks up the food.
At least he doesn't hate me yet.
The mantou's warmth seeps into his bones and fingers, then melts across his tongue.
Our luck can't be that bad together, right?
Right.
He almost laughs.
He's going to have to talk to Yin Yu about this.