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It was dark in the caves.

No one brought lights in with them when they came. Strong cultivators could see in the dark just fine, and no one weak would dare enter. But Shen Qingqiu’s spiritual energy had been exhausted, and so he couldn’t see at all. The walls pressed in around him, enveloping him in a deeper darkness than he’d ever found on the surface. He was consumed by it, and yet he dreaded the light he’d meet outside; in the dark, the body in his arms almost seemed like it could be alive.

But it wasn’t, of course. Liu Qingge was dead.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Shen Qingqiu’s steps were only as slow as he dared. The Lingxi Caves were a maze at the best of times, and the wound in Shen Qingqiu’s side throbbed with the weight of a death sentence should he dare to get lost now, alone and empty where no one would look for him. Still, he did not surrender the corpse, feeling his way along the walls with his shoulder, desperately hoping to turn the corner into that familiar blood-soaked chamber which had watched over him for so many months, from which he knew the route back.

They would not be buried here together. Shen Qingqiu trudged on.

Yue Qingyuan’s eyes had always been dark in color, but there had always been a peculiar light that seemed to shine from within them. Even back when they’d had nothing, Shen Qingqiu had had the way Yue Qingyuan looked at him.

They were only dark now. They stared at Shen Qingqiu’s corpse. Shen Qingqiu’s fingers curled, clutching it close to him.

Yue Qingyuan’s gaze rose to meet him.

“Liu Qingge had a qi deviation,” Shen Qingqiu said. He did not say more.

Yue Qingyuan looked at him, eyes like the caves, dark and blood-stained. Familiar, but they would not lead him home. He nodded, slowly, gravely. He did not speak.

It wasn’t his fault.

The words in his head did not reach the air. The silence stretched.

Yue Qingyuan stepped forward, reaching out to take the corpse from Shen Qingqiu.

Instinctively, Shen Qingqiu’s body tensed to step away, to keep what he held close. His tired muscles betrayed him. He did not move. Liu Qingge was taken from him.

He had not seen him clearly until that point. In Yue Qingyuan’s arms, he looked like an artist’s last masterpiece. A portrait of devastation, a shattered porcelain doll. His face was pale, bloodless.

Yue Qingyuan took him away. Shen Qingqiu turned toward Qing Jing Peak and led his trail of blood somewhere else.

-=-

Shen Qingqiu was cleaning the blood out from underneath his fingernails. This was not the first time he’d done it since that day, but he’d found himself returning here again and again, retracing his steps as always.

His hands had never been clean. They would never be clean again.

The news had spread. The facts, first, then the fictions. The trappings were different in each story, but the foundation was the same. Liu Qingge, killed. Shen Qingqiu, the cold-blooded murderer.

The first part was new. Everything else was the same as always, so why was he still here, scrubbing uselessly at his hands in the clean, freezing water?

Shen Qingqiu knew what he was, so why, why was this—

But it wasn’t his fault, it really wasn’t his fault this time—

Liu Mingyan had to be dragged away from him. She raged and clawed, screaming bloody murder. She’d avenge her brother, Shen Qingqiu would face justice by her sword. She’d never resembled him more.

Most of his martial siblings refused to speak to him. He was the reason one of their martial siblings was dead, after all.

But it wasn’t—

It was—

Mu Qingfang had come to his defense. In a manner of speaking. “There’s not enough evidence,” he’d said, regretfully. As though he’d failed them by being unable to find anything damning on Shen Qingqiu, as though there must have been more, he must have missed something. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Liu Qingge was dead either way.

Shen Qingqiu scrubbed and scrubbed. The water turned red.

“—heard he took advantage of the deviation to finally kill Liu-shishu like he swore to.”

“Do you really think he’s not the one who caused it to begin with? Liu-shishu had never deviated before.”

A gaggle of disciples from different peaks had gathered to gossip, not paying attention to those passing by. Confident in their distance from the path, hidden amongst the trees, oblivious to the hearing range of high-level cultivators.

“So much for Cang Qiong’s unity,” one disciple muttered. “If I’d known it would be like this, I might’ve joined Huan Hua instead.”

“There’s no need to be broad. It’s only Shen Qingqiu who’s acting against everyone else.”

Calling his name directly… what a slight.

Disrespectful! Aren’t they asking to have sense beaten into them?

Shen Qingqiu had no grounds to discipline the disciples of others at the moment. He’d only face censor himself.

They thought he was a murderer.

He was.

It wasn’t his fault.

People would think what they wanted no matter what, just as they always did. It didn’t matter.

Didn’t it?

It didn’t.

Shen Qingqiu walked on.

The halls of the Qiu manor were aflame. Qiu Jianluo pinned him to the floor by the neck. The fire had come too early, threatening to consume them both. Shen Jiu uselessly called for the sword on the wall, begging it to obey him.

It didn’t. He couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t get away.

Another hand closed around the hilt. Blood fell from Liu Qingge’s eyes. He turned the sword on himself and thrust—

Shen Qingqiu shot up in bed with a cry.

The room was dark. It was only a dream.

He breathed deeply, willing his heart to settle.

He wasn’t really surprised with this outcome. How could he sleep soundly, confined to the mountain as he was for his crimes against Liu Qingge? Naturally, he would have the usual nightmares.

The usual, except for one thing.

Shen Qingqiu rubbed his shaking hands across his face and couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. So Liu Qingge was now in the same category as that person? What an honor for him. With his last, tragic act, he’d seared himself in Shen Qingqiu’s brain forever, another shackle Shen Qingqiu would never be free of.

“Curse you, Liu Qingge!” He whispered into the still night. “You couldn’t get enough of tormenting me in life? You simply had to do it in death, too?”

I wasn’t ‘tormenting’ him.

Shen Qingqiu froze.

That thought was not his own.

Rather, it didn’t seem like his own. It was in the same place, the voice that gave structure to the very thoughts in his own head. Only, this one spoke as Liu Qingge did. On his behalf, in response to Shen Qingqiu’s own words.

...So, he was going mad.

Deliberately, he thought to himself, it isn’t real. I’m not hearing—

I’m right here! Can you actually hear me?

There, again, like Liu Qingge was speaking into his skull!

…

Gone mad, then. Shen Qingqiu’s only peerless weapon, gone between one moment and the next. It was only fair, he supposed; that was Liu Qingge’s fate, as well. What a time for life to suddenly care about fairness.

Shen Qingqiu!

It both was and wasn’t like Liu Qingge’s voice. It didn’t sound like him, per se, but it felt like him. Such a nonsensical feeling… what was he supposed to do with it?

You can clearly hear me, right? Will you quit ignoring me!?

A demonic artifact could have externally mimicked the voice. But projecting thoughts directly into someone’s head… Shen Qingqiu had never heard of such a thing.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t miss Liu Qingge at all. This could be called the worst of both worlds—those who actually wanted his company for some reason would never get it again, but Shen Qingqiu was getting delusional hallucinations of him.

Maybe he’d just been sleep-deprived; he hadn’t rested well since before.

There was nothing he could do about it tonight either way; sleep was clearly a lost cause. For lack of anything better to do, he sat down at his desk and started going through the last of the correspondence that had built up during his seclusion. He’d already gotten through most of it—the death of someone he hadn’t even liked would obviously not affect someone like him much.

Hey!

He’d figure something out tomorrow.

The voice remained. It chimed in less frequently as Shen Qingqiu worked, apparently bored, but continued to reside in Shen Qingqiu’s head, unbidden.

In a way, it almost felt freeing, being mad. It felt like the end of something. Like he’d already crossed the horizon of far-too-late-to-fix, so there was no point in even being disappointed about it. There was no reason to even mourn Liu Qingge—not that he had reason to in the first place—because he’d surely follow him before long, chasing hallucinations or some such off a cliff.

Don’t think things like that. I’m not a hallucination!

Shen Qingqiu snorted. He certainly remembered Liu Qingge’s debate skills well enough.

What am I supposed to say?! You won’t listen to me!

“I can hardly teach you how to convince me I’m wrong.” Would Yue Qingyuan make the same face he’d made before if he saw Shen Qingqiu talking to the air like this?

What if I tell you things about myself that you didn’t know?

Hm. Like what? Shen Qingqiu thought.

The tassel on my sword was given to me by my sister.

I already knew that.

You did?

Yes.

How?

This was already exhausting. “I’m going to speak out loud. Cease responding to my thoughts.”

Fine, whatever. How would you know where I got my sword tassel?

“I pay attention. The tassel has your clan’s symbol attached to it. It’s made with materials that would be available to Xian Su peak disciples.”

…

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan open, hiding his face from no one. “Tapped for evidence already? I’m sure there’s more I could guess about Liu-shidi.”

How about personal things? I like spicy food, and I don’t really care for sweets.

Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “Just how many banquets have we attended together? Of course I knew that too. Liu-shidi fights— fought— Wei-shidi for the hottest dishes, but never ate dessert. And he never checked his food for poison.”

What? Of course I don’t! Do you?

Shen Qingqiu’s mood, already poor, darkened further. “Of course someone like Liu-shidi has never for a moment been worried about his own survival. Fat lot of good it did him in the end.”

How does one relate to the other! My death wasn’t sabotage, right?

Shen Qingqiu had already been considering that. The possibility couldn’t be ruled out entirely, not with a likely traitor on the peaks, but he would have noticed if anyone else had been in the caves. Moreover, they’d both been in the caves for a while before Liu Qingge had deviated, so it was unlikely that he could have been compromised before even entering.

…it wasn’t, right?

“No. I can’t figure out any window of opportunity that could have been used. Liu-shidi died of his own arrogance.”

…I acknowledge my mistake.

See, it couldn’t possibly be Liu Qingge.

Hey!

“Do you have any other shallow proof you’d like to present or are you done wasting my time?” Shen Qingqiu snapped, well aware that he was the one wasting his own time with this nonsense.

When I was a little kid, I fell out of a tree and broke my leg. I was just upset I’d have to stay off of it for so long, but when my mom found out, she was so worried about me she cried. I was extra careful after that, and I stayed indoors a month longer than I had to because I didn’t want to cause her any more trouble.

What a lovely childhood. It must have been nice. “You’re certainly causing her trouble now. If only your resolution had lasted longer than a single month.”

...

Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t apologize to a voice in his head. He didn’t owe any apologies to Liu Qingge, either; he’d deserved what he’d gotten.

You’re right. I’ve troubled them.

“You’re lucky— he’s lucky he never saw their faces when they got the news.” He’s lucky he has people who care about him enough to have such a reaction.

You do too, don’t you? Even you must have a family.

The simmering resentment in Shen Qingqiu flared into white-hot rage in an instant. Fuck you.

What was that— 

No, fuck you, fuck you, you noble, dog-fucking, son of a bitch.

He was unwilling to sit here and be taunted by a phantom of his own imagination. But there was no way to escape what came from within. He drowned the voice in unrestrained, uncoordinated insults, hoping to stifle it completely, letting nothing else through.

The voice was silent for the rest of the day.

You have to explain to her what happened.

“I do not have to do anything.”

Please. She shouldn’t spend her life like this.

“She won’t listen to me. She thinks I killed you, you think she wants to hear what I have to say?”

You can figure something out. Aren’t you supposed to be good with words?

“Very clever, insult the person you’re asking a favor of.”

I didn’t mean it like that. You can do it, can’t you?

“It may be possible for me to pass on the message to someone she’ll listen to. I’ll consider it.”

…You’re not exactly like I thought. I wish I’d spent more time with you. With everyone.

“It’s far too late for that now.”

I know.

Hey.

The annoying thing about having a voice in your head was that it was sometimes very difficult not to respond.

What? I’m trying to sleep.

I just realized how I can prove that I’m really Liu Qingge.

This again. Shen Qingqiu had a high standard for proof, which the little voice would of course know. Liu Qingge wouldn’t know just how high, though, which Shen Qingqiu knew perfectly well, so it was entirely possible that whatever proof it tried—

Can you at least let me show it to you before you start trying to discredit it?!

Shen Qingqiu clicked his tongue, reluctantly sitting up. “Fine. What is it?”

You’ll have to dig it up.

Shen Qingqiu blinked.

“Here, really?” Shen Qingqiu hissed. They’d—he’d—gone to Bai Zhan peak, around a horrid landscape of mud and rocks to find a specific tree that had been split down the middle and half-collapsed. There was nothing around that suggested anything had been buried here, but the voice nonetheless insisted,

It’s by the base. No, not— it’s to the left, around there. Back a bit. Yes, there.

If there’s nothing here, this is the last time I listen to you about anything! Just doing this much was already insane. He was out in the middle of the night with a shovel like a graverobber, digging a hole to— some end. It hadn’t even told him what was down here. A body? Liu Qingge’s body, stolen from the crypt?

Like I said, it’s easier to explain once you see it.

So Shen Qingqiu dug, and dug, thinking, I’ll stop if I don’t find anything in a few more shovelfuls, and hearing, it’s deeper than that, you know I wouldn’t put half-effort into anything!

It is with great shock that he hears his shovel make harsh contact with something.

I told you.

Unbelievable. How was a voice in Shen Qingqiu’s head smug at him?

Because I’m not something you made up!

A strange feeling spread through Shen Qingqiu’s chest.

Liu Qingge was gone. He must be. Even if his soul had lingered, it wouldn’t be following Shen Qingqiu around for anything other than revenge. But here, this was, wasn't this...?

Why would I want revenge? You tried to save me. Why do you keep pretending you killed me?

What’s the difference between this and that? I was there and no one else was. We fought, and you died. That’s what happened, shidi.

But it wasn’t your—

Just. Stop. What is all this?

Shen Qingqiu had managed to uncover enough of what was below to get a good look. There was a tarp overtop that he unwrapped to reveal a selection of baubles, trinkets, and other goods that were utterly unsuited to Liu Qingge. High-quality robes in green and white, beautifully-painted paper fans and other art, fine guans more delicate than Liu Qingge had ever worn in his life. Aside from the preserved beast parts, Shen Qingqiu might’ve made a good guess as to the theme even without the bamboo motif on many items in the bizarre collection.

…You know it’s for you. It’s obvious, right?

“Nothing about this is obvious. Why is it buried?”

In halting sentences, the story came out.

Liu Qingge had liked him, even if he hadn’t liked him. He’d had a crush. A silly, involuntary thing—Liu Qingge knew Shen Qingqiu would hardly be a good match for him. But sometimes, Shen Qingqiu would do something “not so bad,” trying to trick Liu Qingge into thinking he had sincere feelings for Shen Qingqiu. So, he’d buy a courting gift and bury it instead of doing anything stupid like presenting it to Shen Qingqiu.

It wasn’t intentional. I never planned on confessing or anything. It was just a crush.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t reply. He couldn’t even wrap his head around the thought. He’d been digging through the pile, examining every object that had reminded Liu Qingge of him, learning by feel the depth of Liu Qingge’s insincere feelings.

…I didn’t realize how much there was by now…

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes caught on a book, so he picked it up to page through it.

Wait, don’t look in that—!

Each page was dated, and completely filled with insults. Cruel, lecherous, faithless, underhanded—

Was this a courting gift too? Shen Qingqiu thought he might laugh. Some emotion was surely about to bubble out of him involuntarily.

No, of course not! None of this was ever actually supposed to get to you! It was just… to remind me why I shouldn’t. Why I thought I shouldn’t. When I was a kid, I was. Impulsive. My parents made me write this sort of thing all the time to try and temper me. If I wanted to go hunt, they’d make me write that I could get hurt, and all the consequences of that. That sort of thing.

Shen Qingqiu’s thumb moved over the word scum, written in Liu Qingge’s thin, hasty calligraphy.

…I wouldn’t write the same things now.

There was no point arguing with a dead man.

Shen Qingqiu sighed, picking up a fan. Put it down, reached for another. Thumbed it open, closed, open. They sat there. Almost companionable, if not for the fact that Shen Qingqiu sat there completely alone. A phantom sensation touched his hand. Shen Qingqiu didn’t think about it.

“You’re an impulsive adult, too.” Shen Qingqiu broke the silence abruptly. A heavy sense of loss panged through him; he closed his eyes as though it could hide him from it. “You were, I mean.”

Not anymore. Not anything anymore.

He’d thought it over and over, but it didn’t quite sink in until just then. Liu Qingge was really, truly dead. No matter that he hung around now, the dead could never return to the living. He could not remain.

Why was it that he felt more alone only now that he knew he wasn’t? Why was it worse to know he would leave than to know he’d never been there at all?

Why had he stayed with Shen Qingqiu?

His face twisted, unbidden. “I hate you,” Shen Qingqiu snarled. “Liu Qingge, there’s no one I hate more than you! I really—”

A hiccup escaped his throat to interrupt him. A sob tore free next.

Shen Qingqiu had faked tears many times in his youth, appearing pitiful for a little more coin. His real tears were ugly, painful things. He hadn’t shed either in around the same number of years.

He hunched over, letting the tears fall onto the unsent gifts. They felt like they should be blood, like Liu Qingge's were. They landed clear, staining nothing. His breath hitched harshly, his voice leaving in a high keen.

Liu Qingge caused no end of strife for him with no remorse, constantly looking down on him and belittling him. There wasn’t a single reason he’d ever willingly spend time with Liu Qingge. Shen Qingqiu hated him.

He hated, he hated. He hated Liu Qingge and Liu Qingge hated him! Shen Qingqiu was glad he was dead.

The tears continued to fall.

The voice that was all that remained of Liu Qingge was silent as Shen Qingqiu continued to humiliate himself. Shen Qingqiu imagined him standing at the edge, still looking down on him, watching as he wept like a fool over him.

But of course, there was nothing. No one was there.

Shen Qingqiu felt cracked open, everything flowing out of him with no restraint. He cried until he was empty, nothing inside but dull pain. The hollow thing that was Shen Qingqiu attempted to regain his composure.

A feeling that might have been the wind brushed against his back. It patted twice, and remained as a cool pressure. The actions of someone who had no idea how to comfort anyone.

Shen Qingqiu ignored it. He sat there, doing nothing but breathing, for a very long time. His thoughts were quiet, emptied out with everything else.

“Liu Qingge, I really…” Shen Qingqiu’s voice broke, and he cut himself off with a harsh cough. He sighed instead. He leaned back, lying down amongst the strange collection of mostly fine items. The sensation on his back disappeared.

In the morning, Shen Qingqiu would have to deal with the implications. He’d have to contend with being responsible for making sure Liu Qingge moved on properly. He’d have to convince Liu Mingyan, somehow, to give up on vengeance. He’d have to face everyone again. He’d have to grieve alone.

In that moment, Shen Qingqiu just felt tired.

He murmured, voice nearly inaudible, “I really didn’t want you to die.”

He’d rest there for a while, he decided. Liu Qingge could rest there too, if he wanted. In the grave he had dug for himself, for Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes.

His head was silent. He dreamt of nothing.