Chapter Text
Yin Yu looks up at the haphazard signs in front of the large military-style tent camp before him, the half-light of the ghost world shimmering.
The signs are written in beautiful calligraphy on torn, old paper in various languages and images, some clearly drawn by children (all at a lower height, accompanied by fanciful animals and demons).
Maybe not so fanciful, he amends, looking around at the ghosts and demons alike, some chatting quietly or walking between tents. There were fires at designated places, soft strums of music, a child's quiet laughter.
It all makes him smile and frown, somehow, sad but happy.
Cold, but warm.
He takes a deep breath and walks in.
𖠿 𖠿 𖠿 ⋆｡°✩
"Sir?"
The masked calamity looks up from planting, dark eyes dead inside. Silence.
Yin Yu shivered. "Sir, I would like to signup to help. If I may?"
The calamity points to a larger tent, colourful streamers overhead.
Yin Yu bows, trying not to look flustered, and keeps walking.
He feels the calamity's eyes on his shackle, eyes burning through skin and soul.
𖠿 𖠿 𖠿 ⋆｡°✩
"Why?"
"Sir?"
"Why did you come to Ghost City? Why did you stay?" The voice was scratchy, unused. Yin Yu realised it was the first time he’d heard the ghost speak.
He’d been here six months.
"Not much else to do, sir."
"You were bored?"
"Yessir."
Bored, scared, and terrified I didn't mean anything, sir.
The calamity's eyes tore into him, the frowning mask staring back at him.
The calamity shrugged, looking away, returning to planting and weeding, pale hands digging into soft soil. He wondered what kind of plants grew in the light here, what plants thrived under kind hands but no sun.
𖠿 𖠿 𖠿 ⋆｡°✩
"Sir? I wondered if we could -"
"Just do it, Yin Yu."
"Yessir."
𖠿 𖠿 𖠿 ⋆｡°✩
"Don't make me do this."
Yin Yu and the other organisers of their (rapidly growing) city look around at each other.
"You can do as little as you want, sir, we just - "
"Please, Yin Yu. All of you. Don’t make me lead.” The ghost's dark eyes behind his mask look panicked, the white clothe around his neck rippling and tightening.
"Sir," another ghost said, an older farmer from last century if her clothes were anything to go by. Her soft, clear voice made them all focus and settle. "Keep planting. The people just want to see you sometimes. Just like now. It makes them feel safe. You don't have to be king.
Just please - stay here with us. Protect us when you can. Don't leave."
The calamity crumpled, his hands resting against his white mask, the simple frown sticking out behind his hands.
“I’ll curse you,” he said softly, muffled behind the painted frown.
Ghostly hands touched his arms in comfort.
“We’re already cursed, sir.”