Chapter Text
It's a cold day in hell. Or, whatever. A cold day just outside the Imperial Capital. The fog crowds the streets and the rain is…well, it's only misty (but it's still annoying and his sleeves are soaked) as His Gruesomeness, He Xuan, Black Water Sinking Ships, Lord of the Seas, Master of the Tides, and Undisputed Ruler of His Domain returns to Blackwater Manor.
Of all the Blackwater Manors (and there have been several throughout the years), this newest incarnation is the smallest. Some might argue that it's not quite a "manor" in the truest sense of the word, and they may have a point. From the outside, it looks more like a hut, made of rammed earth with a thatched straw roof. There's some battered wood that's been nailed together in the semblance of a door and a handful of unframed windows, but apart from that there isn't much to it.
Which is…fine. It keeps the rabble out. Nearly as well as the barrier array, in fact, which saves a lot of energy.
Anyway, it's inside where the magic happens.
It's bigger on the inside, though not by much, and he hasn't bothered separating it into more than one room. The walls are covered in the finest dark woods and draped with black and silver silks to evoke the feeling of losing oneself amongst the waves. Sinking, then flailing, swallowed deeper and deeper. And once one hits rock bottom, there is a divan at the center of the room waiting to catch whatever remains. Facing the divan is a tiered altar cabinet. Four chipped and fading urns are prominently displayed here, but the real crown jewel of the display is something decidedly less ancient. Its skin is ghastly pale and its hair is beginning to tatter where it's been tied to a ceiling rafter, but overall, it remains remarkably…fresh.
It's possible that the dewey skin and rosey cheeks of the divine are maintained even in death. More likely, though, it's the spell he's cast to keep the rot away and (most importantly) ensure blood continues to drip from the ragged, torn skin at the end of the neck. It splatters so pleasantly against the floor boards, after all.
Plip. Plip. Plop.
"Good evening, Water Master," Blackwater sneers as he walks past the free-hanging, severed head. He allows his fingers to dance through the steady drips of blood as he walks past and grins.
"Tell me you don't expect it to answer back."
It's a small miracle He Xuan doesn't trip over his own feet. What fool has dared to enter his domain? And undetected at that! Surely it must be a foe, and a foul one at that. Insanely powerful. They would have to be—
"It's you," He Xuan grumbles at the startlingly red ghost fire hovering over his divan, draped over the cushions like it owns the place. Without waiting for a response, he squeezes the water from one soaked sleeve directly over it. There's no flicker as it pelts the flames, no steam, not even a little fizzle.
Damn.
The ghost fire flares a little brighter and makes a sound like it's clucking a tongue it doesn't have. "That was unnecessary," it chides.
He Xuan sighs and heaves himself onto the divan. That would have been too easy. "Heard you'd dissipated," he says, snorting incredulously.
"And you believed it?"
He Xuan shrugs. He'd wanted to. Probably. Even if he doesn't particularly mind Crimson Rain Sought Flower, there is a certain appeal to claiming title of the strongest remaining calamity. Especially if he doesn't have to lift a finger to do it. Another hopeless dream, smashed against the rocks.
"What do you want?"
"I've come to collect on your debt," Hua Cheng answers, with a smugness completely unbefitting a pitiful little ghost fire.
He Xuan considers dumping the rest of his sleeves out. Even if it doesn't score any damage points, it might still be satisfying.
"I'm a bit short on funds," he drolls. It's true enough, and probably the answer Hua Cheng is expecting. Which means he's come for something else.
"Surely any idiot can dredge up a little hospitality." The ghost fire rotates on the divan, giving the impression of surveying the room. "Especially when hospitality is the only thing of value they possess."
This fucking guy.
"You want to stay here?" He Xuan balks.
"Hopefully it's not too great an imposition."
"It is."
"Even better."
"Even be—" He Xuan sputters. Who does this bastard think he is? He is Demon Xuan! Blackwater Sinking Ships, Lord of the Seas, Master of the Tides, and Undisputed Ruler of His Domain Even if His Domain is Currently Very Small! It would be nothing to him to crush this useless ball of flame! Nothing! In fact, he conjures a raging vortex of water in his hands and shuffles it between his palms just to prove it to himself. "I could disperse you now," he growls.
It should be a devastating threat to a little ball of fire, but Hua Cheng only cackles and cranks up the size of his flames. He Xuan watches in frustrated silence as white-hot rage burns across his face.
Or, no…that's…
Somehow this little shit ghost fire is burning hot enough to singe the divan! And his hair! And — He Xuan realizes with growing horror — it's beginning to curl the hairs suspending Shi Wudu's head from the ceiling above them!
Blast after blast of raging water fly from He Xuan's palms. He drops to the floor and rolls away from the divan for better aim. They land perfectly each time, dead center against the heart of the flames, but even still they have no effect. Hua Cheng only cackles louder and sends tendrils of flame out toward the altar cabinet.
He Xuan scoffs. "Fine. I can't disperse you now." He lowers his hands and frowns at the sodden divan. What the actual fuck? Ghost fires aren't supposed to be hot! But then, they aren't supposed to be red either, so maybe he should have heeded that as a warning.
Hua Cheng reigns in his larger licks of flame and turns down the heat. "Smart."
Whatever. He could eat him. Consume him entirely. Send his miserable soul to join the countless others roiling inside He Xuan's noisy insides and make a slave of his—
Well, he didn't really have a body at the moment.
Or enough power to make it worth the the indigestion that he'd inevitably suffer from swallowing the ghost realm's most acerbic king.
"Hah, heh heh."
He'd probably also have to listen to that horrid cackling day in and day out, ringing like a bell from darkest recesses of his tortured insides. And honestly, there's enough chatter in there to drive him mad most days already.
The cackling continues as He Xuan storms away toward his back pantry. He wants hospitality, does he? Well, He Xuan can be hospitable. He rifles through the contents of his shelves, tossing jars and sacks of grain to the floor without a second thought, until he finds what he's looking for.
"What is that?" Hua Cheng demands when He Xuan triumphantly slams his find down in front of him.
"Hospitality," He Xuan scoffs.
The little fire floats toward the small metal bucket, tentatively fanning its flames out over the slatted lid. "No really, what is it?"
"It's clearly a brazier! Put your flaming carcass on it and burn yourself to death!"
The fire burns a deeper shade of red. "A brazier. For me?"
"Of course it's for you! Now get off my furniture! Before you complete ruin the embroidery!" He Xuan snarls, smacking his fist against the grill cover for emphasis.
"Then I shall accept your offering." And without any further argument, the ghost fire floats with all the sauntering prissiness He Xuan has come to expect from Crimson Rain Sought Flower and lands against the braizer's grate with a loud PONG.
"Accept? No, it's not…" He Xuan's eyes narrow, "Did you just get bigger?"
The fire seems to shrug in response, at least as much as a fire can shrug. "It's possible. You did just gift me a fine offering."
He Xuan can practically see Hua Cheng's irritating, smug smile dancing in the flames. "I did no such thing!" he insists. He grabs at the brazier and tries to shake the ghost fire loose, but it's a useless endeavor, and he only ends up fanning the flames higher. "Don't get comfortable," he seethes.
"Too late."
Oh for…
"You have a whole city to hide in," He Xuan says, giving the brazier a good kick, "Are you afraid your little minions won't respect you this way? Go light up a lantern in an alley until you're better. I won't tell anyone."
"This is much better."
Of course that line of reasoning won't work, He Xuan berates himself silently. Crimson Rain is as vain as his powers are vast. He'd probably disperse from the shame of being seen by his ridiculous followers in this form.
Which brings up the rather uncomfortable question of why, exactly, he seems so comfortable here, shamelessly parading his patheticness in front of He Xuan.
…
But he won't think about that for now.
"How long?" He Xuan asks after a protracted silence.
"How long what?"
"How long are you planning to hide out here?"
"Who said anything about hiding out?" Hua Cheng asks, incredulous, "I just want to be somewhere comfortable, and while your decorating taste leaves something to be desired, you always have snacks."
"…" He Xuan scoffs. Why bother with the word games? Hiding out is obviously what he'd doing. It's what He Xuan is doing. The Blackwater Manor is nothing if not a magnificent place to hide out. "Fine," he says instead, "How much of my debt?"
"…half?"
"Three quarters."
"Two thirds."
"Done. " He Xuan claps his hands on his knees. It's not the best deal he's ever made, but it's far from the worst, and at the very least might finally have someone to play wei qi with again. It's been awhile. He sinks back onto the divan with a small huff of satisfaction.
The cushion has absorbed enough water from his earlier attacks to squish uncomfortably between his butt cheeks as he settles. Ugh. He heaves a great sigh as he fishes one hand into the opposite sleeve to rummage around, eventually pulling out a still-wriggling herring and a pointed stick.
Well, if he's going to be soggy, he's at least going to be well-fed at the same time.
He jams the fish onto the stick, then nudges a foot against the brazier. "Get hot again."
The ghost fire snakes one tendril up and around the impaled herring, the cocks it back as if it's looking incredulously at He Xuan. "Set yourself on fire if you're looking for something to cook on."
He Xuan laughs and raps the herring against the grate of the brazier, sending the ghost fire scattering out to either side to avoid it. "Come now, I thought you wanted snacks."
"I want an offering."
"Will it get you out of here faster?"
"I…" the fire wavers uncertainly. "It can't hurt."
"Burn it yourself, then." He Xuan taps the herring impatiently against the brazier. For a long, deafeningly silent moment he wonders if maybe he's pushed it too far, if maybe a dripping, twitching fish to the face is too much for Crimson Rain's overdeveloped sense of self-grandiosity to take, but then the fire flares bright again and within minutes the skin of the fish is crackling and filling the air with the pleasing aroma of an impending meal.
Once it's blackened and sizzing, He Xuan tears into the meat with nothing but his teeth, leaving the juices to drip onto the brazier. The flames flare high enough to tickle his fingers, and he reluctantly relents, allowing a half-chewed wad to fall from his mouth and into the fire.
The ghost fire, despite lacking the requisite appendages, nonetheless manages to make an obscene gesture in his direction.
That is as much as it manages, though, as the next few seconds see the bolus of fish catch fire and quickly smolder into a blood-red coal. From this center, the fire grows brighter until He Xuan is blinded and has to pinch his eyes closed against the light.
When he opens them again, the ghost fire has been replaced with a small red flower, quickly wilting from the brazier's heat.
He Xuan sighs and hauls himself to his feet.
"I'll go find a pot…"