Chapter Text
There is a tale of an abandoned kingdom with one inhabitant—a ghost king.
He is known as Hua Cheng, or Crimson Rain Sought Flower.
Among all of the tales spread about this demon, one remains the most well-known.
They say that he was once a poor, cursed child who sought death from a cliff, longing to toss himself into the depths of the ocean. From the cliff, he spotted the glimpse of a god and slipped on a pebble, hurtling into the sea. The god, taking pity on the poor child, gave him a second chance at life and saved him from his fate.
But, the child didn’t want this life.
Instead of thanking the god, he told him this:
“What is the point of life? I have nothing to live for.”
The god, young and foolish, replied in earnest.
“If you have nothing left to live for, then live on for me.”
The child, taken by the god’s words, swore to devote his life to the god, vowing to be his one devoted believer.
Anyone else would have laughed—how could an impoverished child devote himself to a god who had known nothing but the grace of the heavens?
But the god was different, instead he smiled at the child, offering him a warm steamed bun and a small, white peach blossom before disappearing into the skies.
That child lived on, growing into a young man.
But when that happened, the god fell.
The god’s domain became cursed by a demon, turning his once-happy domain into a disease-ridden wasteland. The heavens turned on him, and he descended in hopes of helping his people. Instead, his people raged and blamed him for their misfortunes, swearing to destroy him.
When the god descended from the heavens, he lost his immortality and only retained a small fragment of the power he once wielded. Knowing this, the god’s people stabbed and mangled his body, leaving his body nearly unrecognizable. The god didn’t fight back; he loved his people too much to fight them. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the life bleed from his mortal body.
The young man, in a feeble attempt at protecting the god, cradled the god’s broken body in his arms. And the god opened his eyes in surprise. His gentle eyes seemed to ask:
Who is foolish enough to still want a dying god?
The young man, despite reading his incredulous stare, held him all the same, holding him like a lifeline.
“What do I live for now?” the young man whispered to the god.
The god merely smiled at him, his eyes closing before he could answer.
With that, the young man let out an agonizing scream—one that made even the fiercest beasts run in fear. He clutched the god’s limp body, protecting the last sliver of his honor, the last fragment of his grace from the god’s people.
In their rampage, the young man let out his last breath, a soft sob of despair and grief.
His anguish transformed him from a mere human into a fierce ghost—one that consumed the lives of those who harmed his god.
All that was left was an empty kingdom, left with one inhabitant.
It is said that when he slaughtered the god’s people, the skies drenched the land in blood and, in its wake, left a tree—one with soft, white blossoms, ones reminiscent of the blossom that the god once gifted the child.
They say that he commands a horde of silver butterflies, each of which will guide the god to the ghost.
They say that he wears crimson, his clothes permanently drenched in the blood that once poured from the skies.
Most of all, they say that he awaits the god, from now until forever.