Chapter Text
Xie Lian never imagined anyone would actually pass the wine cup to him.
Unfortunately, he reacted too fast and took the cup without thinking, and the moment he did, he froze. However, when he looked to see who had handed him the cup, the other party was also dumbfounded—it was Ming Yi.
As it turned out, when the wine cup previously found itself in Shi Qingxuan's hand, Shi Qingxuan had thought it'd be funny to give it to Ming Yi. However, Ming Yi had been quite busy stuffing his face and drinking his own wine, and hadn't even bothered to look up before passing the wine cup in a random direction. Only after the cup had been delivered did he realise what had happened and was struck speechless. At that exact moment, the thunder stopped rumbling, leaving Xie Lian and Ming Yi staring blankly at each other.
Although the one who received the wine cup was Xie Lian, everyone's gaze moved to Feng Xin and Mu Qing. It wasn't hard to understand why; Xie Lian had not been mentioned or heard of for eight hundred years. Eight hundred years ago, there naturally would have been plenty of plays depicting his heroism, but those plays had long since been lost to time. Besides, no one would pick such an auspicious day to set up a stage and perform just for Xie Lian. And so, it followed that if they had to find a play with a role for the "Crown Prince of Xianle," it would have to be one starring either Feng Xin or Mu Qing.
In Mortal Realm plays written for those two heavenly officials, at times the story would involve Xie Lian—usually as a foil or an extra, or for the sake of making the play even more exciting. Some would rewrite Xie Lian as the villain, spinning stories depicting the lonely, abandoned Mu Qing being bullied, or Xie Lian robbing Feng Xin of his beloved, and so on. If such plays were shown at the Mid-Autumn Banquet, whether the officials in question would be pleased was hardly a concern, since the rest of the audience would definitely enjoy it. Xie Lian held that small jade cup in his hand, and some heavenly officials were already urging him:
"Your Highness, come, come, come, down the cup!"
A few joined in the pestering, and Feng Xin spoke from his spot, mentally far away.
"His Highness can't drink."
"Just one cup! It won't do anything," the crowd urged.
Jun Wu had not said a word throughout the performances, simply sitting with his hand supporting his temple. Now he also straightened as if to speak.
Beside Xie Lian, Shi Qingxuan asked, "Can you do it? If not, then whatever, I'll help you throw the hundred thousand merits to drop the curtains."
“…”
Xie Lian was afraid she really would throw away a hundred thousand merits on impulse. No matter how generous she was, that wasn't the way to go about things. Besides, he'd seen pretty much every play there was, and there wasn't anything worth paying attention to.
He hastily replied, "No, no, a cup shouldn't be a problem."
Then Xie Lian emptied the cup. Fine brew flowed down his throat, leaving in its wake a path that was first cool, then hot. He felt a little dizzy, but the taste of that refined drink pushed down the dizziness, yet only slightly. The curtains around the pavilion slowly lifted, and the crowd moved their attention there, ready to focus on the play. They were amazed by what they saw.
Two figures stood onstage. One was dressed in white with a bamboo hat on his back, looking windswept and dusty, with a face as fair as powder—this was no doubt Xie Lian. The other was dressed in red, his ebony hair as black as ink. He had a handsome face and a lithe form, and his eyes were bright and charming. A snake was wrapped around his arm, which "Xie Lian" stripped away—however, that red-robed man snatched the snake back in a flash before tossing it aside. He then clutched "Xie Lian's" hand with no intent of letting go. This scene made Xie Lian feel like he'd been violently stabbed by a knife to the heart.
The heavenly officials had been eager to watch a good show, and they were astonished. Of course, Xie Lian himself was also flabbergasted. Jun Wu chuckled from his spot at the head of the banquet.
"What play is this? Seems it has never been performed before."
Ling Wen immediately sent for someone to investigate, then gave his report. "It appears this play is called Adventures in the Kingdom of Banyue. It's newly written, so it's indeed never been shown before. Tonight is its debut performance in the Mortal Realm."
Shi Qingxuan turned to Xie Lian. "It was probably written by those merchants we met, after they returned from the Kingdom of Banyue, There'll be no need to pull the curtains. We’ve saved ourselves some merits."
Xie Lian didn't comment. Those merchants were the only mortals who knew of the incident in the Kingdom of Banyue, so only they could be behind this play. He recalled a boy named Tian Sheng in that caravan, who had indeed said something along the lines of worshipping Xie Lian as thanks—perhaps he had commissioned this play? However, Xie Lian hadn't told Tian Sheng his name, and a young boy couldn't have arranged something like this.
Although the heavenly officials weren't watching the play they expected, the performance before them was even more exciting. After all, if the rumours were true, then the role that red-robed man was playing was none other than Hua Cheng!
There were plenty of plays about Crimson Rain Sought Flower in the Mortal Realm, but they were usually titled something like The Red Demon Torched the Temples of Thirty-Three Gods and the Heavens Could Do Fuck-all About It, or Crimson Rain Sought Flower Strung Up the Martial and Civil Gods and Slapped Them Around With But One Hand, and so on—the kind of stories that would make those in the heavens cry silent tears, with zero desire to find out how they ended. In any case, the protagonist this time was Xie Lian. The officials present felt like he'd never fit in and could hardly be truly counted as one of their own, so watching this play did no harm. Besides, the staging was intricate, the production exquisite, the actors extremely well made-up —truly, it was a great piece of painstaking effort. Many secretly enjoyed the show in all sincerity, and they provided running commentary as they watched.
"Is that true? That must be made up; Hua Cheng would never talk like that to anyone!"
"Nonsense! Pure nonsense!"
"Who does this play take Hua Cheng for?! Wake up! This isn't a romantic drama — goodness, how daring!"
As this was, in the end, a play written just for Xie Lian, he watched it attentively. 'There wasn’t anything worth paying attention to’, he remembered the words he’d thought only a few moments ago, and as he silently took back the thought, Xie Lian chuckled humourlessly.
As they watched, Shi Wudu suddenly spoke up, "Who are those two servant boys in the back?"
At the words "servant boys" both Feng Xin and Mu Qing imperceptibly froze for a moment.
"They're not servant boys," Ling Wen replied. "Those should be two junior martial officials from the Middle Court. They were appointed by the Palaces of Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen to assist in His Highness' emergency request."
That the Palaces of Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen had actually sent people to assist Xie Lian was truly extraordinary news, as impossible to imagine as Pei Ming courteously rejecting the advances of a peerless beauty, and all the heavenly officials turned to look.
Ling Wen added, "They went voluntarily."
Shi Qingxuan yelped as she felt a cool hand pat her shoulder. Whipping around, she faced Xie Lian, who had been trying to quietly blend into the enthusiastic background noise—especially uncharacteristic since he had a tendency for being inconspicuous, no matter how accidental. His eyes were filled with something Shi Qingxuan could only describe as determination, yet his cheeks were slightly flushed with what the Lady Wind Master guessed was shame, and his lips subjected to relentless biting with what she assumed was uncertainty.
It was clear to see that Xie Lian was arguing with himself in his own head—inner conflict was written all over his face!
Blinking, cogs turned in her mind. Shi Qingxuan’s mouth turned into an ‘o’ as she realised that Xie Lian’s change in behaviour began at the start of the dazzling play. If she were to give her opinion on it, as somebody who witnessed the pair’s antics first-hand, it came as a shock to her how painstakingly accurate the performance was. She didn’t realise mortals were so well versed in his and Hua Cheng’s relationship.
Ruby red liquid sloshed as she picked up a cup and held it out to the other, beaming in such a way that could rival the Sun, “More wine? It will help with whatever dilemma you’re fighting in here,” she tapped her temple.
As if snapped out of a trance by her bold request, Xie Lian shook his head as he muttered, “No, I’m quite alright. My cultivation forbids indulgence.” A beat passed before he felt it was necessary to add: “Excessive indulgence.”
“Well, okay,” she replied, placing the wine down. “If you ever change your mind, I’ll keep it in front of you.” Elbowing his side, she cheekily whispered, “Loosen up a little.”
Xie Lian’s face was burning hot and he was sure that it wasn’t completely from the wine. He wasn’t that much of a lightweight, was he? He could only manage a quiet, strangled noise as he nodded to Shi Qingxuan. If he had to provide an earnest review of the play, it wasn’t bad. The actors looked good, the story was good… Just, as one of the characters being portrayed, he had a teeny tiny piece of criticism: wasn’t the actor of “Xie Lian” being overly familiar with “San Lang”?
Really thinking about it, he noticed that the unsettling tone from which “Xie Lian” would call out to “San Lang” really was identical to the tone he always used. It felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest, constricting his breathing. All those intimate gestures he watched the performers act out with an almost yearning undertone really did seem faithful to the source material. Watching himself and Hua Cheng from an outside perspective really made it seem as if they were much closer than the normal pair of friends, or even sworn brothers.
It was at that moment he wondered whether Hua Cheng really was a third son.
Xie Lian’s ears rang with every “San Lang!” and it became more painful each time the white clad actor whined it to the tables of heavenly officials. When he had turned to Shi Qingxuan a couple of dragged out moments ago, he had reached his limit: he was going to ask for her help in getting the curtains to draw (without wasting a ridiculous amount of merits). That was when he realised how much everybody else was enjoying themselves. After all, Shi Qingxuan didn’t seem to mind what was unfurling in front of her one bit. She even offered him alcohol, wanting him to “enjoy himself”. He was so distracted that he’d forgotten to ask Feng Xin and Mu Qing about Fu Yao and Nan Feng!
His stomach felt uncomfortably warm, and sort of queasy. He could feel his inner robe stick to his sweat-matted skin. Ruoye, as if mirroring his nerves, tightened and quite literally made his chest tight. It was comforting, but didn’t help the nausea. Travelling back onto the stage, his eyes made their way onto “San Lang”. Xie Lian couldn’t help but frown. The likeness between him and Hua Cheng was unbelievable, was what he thought at first, the production truly was amazing!
But, as time ticked passed, the slight differences between the character and his company became immensely more apparent, like night and day. They were things that couldn’t be changed easily: posture, facial mannerisms, even the slight twitching of the crimson man’s hands that would never occur with the real deal. Said real deal was confident in everything he did, always standing tall with an uncaring, easy grin on his face.
A picture of San Lang, teasing Xie Lian with a grin on his enchanting face, flashed in his mind.
He reprimanded himself, how could he memorise such small things about a friend? Xie Lian sweatdropped. He wasn’t a stranger to unkind names but the image of Hua Cheng calling him anything along the lines of “weird”, or worse yet: “stalker” was already cultivating in his head. Something unpleasant bubbled in his gut: something horrible and twisting and sickening. Something that resurfaced unsavoury memories that were better left forgotten to the ancient grasps of time. He tried to push back the acidic taste at the back of his throat. Unsuccessful, he shut his eyes tightly.
Nothing was working.
The images were already being painted behind his eyelids, every stroke of his mind’s rusty and overworked brush was another stab to his already shattered heart. All of them were centuries old illustrations smeared with blood, painted by swords and blotted with tears.
Soon enough, like the comforting muscle memory of unsheathing a sword to a soldier, he found the cup in his hand. It was cool to the touch, a soothing sensation to Xie Lian’s burning skin. Before he—or anybody—could stop himself, or even realise what he was doing, he gulped down all the contents at once.
His swift movement was made with a touch of grace, unfit for his less than graceful action.
His eyelids were heavy, as if weighed down by his racing thoughts. It took great effort to crack his eyes open slightly. The cup in his hand got heavier, and Xie Lian could only assume someone had filled it up again.
“Shi Qing…?” he slurred, only barely managing to squeak out half the name. Shame burned across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, realising his limbs were working against him. His head pounded as he heard a final “San Lang”, and the drawing of the curtains across the pavilion, pulling his attention away from the embarrassment. As the curtains dropped on that exhilarating play, the crowd cheered and applauded despite almost all present determining that it had been written by an ignorant believer with indecent fantasies. Pei Ming rolled his eyes, reminding everyone to be mindful of the exile of Pei Xiu.
Something was wrong with him. Not sure what, he slowly pulled his free hand to his heart, as if trying to find out what the error was in his very being. He fought against the ache of sleep in his muscles. He was confused by the hammering in his chest when Hua Cheng’s name was mentioned. He was confused by his body’s strange reaction to Hua Cheng’s close proximity when he teased. He was confused by Hua Cheng’s familiarity with him: as if they’d known each other their whole lives, or undead life, in the ghost’s case. He wanted San Lang near him. He wanted to protect San Lang with all his might. He wanted… San Lang… to himself?
Shaking his head, he knew what he wanted. And it wasn’t a man who was tall and handsome and generous and a heart possibly big enough to fit Xie Lian. It wasn’t! What he really wanted was to give in to the alcohol and let it take over him like it used to. To find comfort in it like an old, toxic friend he regretted leaving all those years ago. It should, no, it would help. It wouldn’t get rid of it, not at all. But, it would conceal those tragic illustrations carved into the depths of his mind with a thick fog, too thick to see through, to remember what was even there in the first place. It would make him forget how confused his San Lang made him feel.
It only took him three gulps to finish the wine.
Somewhere beside him, he heard a feminine voice—Shi Qingxuan, probably—yelling angrily. He couldn’t make out words and a feeling like drowning overtook his senses, unable to call nor flail out for help, far, far away from Shi Qingxuan, Pei Ming, Ling Wen, and Hua Cheng.
“Are you serious? What are you doing?!” she spat in a fit of rage, out of her seat.
Pei Ming looked up at Shi Qingxuan disdainfully, “‘Loosening him up’, like you said for him to.”
“That was when he was lucid. He’s clearly not in the right state of mind to decide for himself, and definitely not aware enough for you to be making that decision for him!”
Ling Wen watched, sitting across from the fuming goddess and the shut-eyed Xie Lian. As always, a neutral expression was plastered across the civil god’s face and Shi Qingxuan didn’t hang around him enough to be able to discern any of his micro-expressions like she could with Ming-xiong. Shi Wudu, sitting prim and proper and straight in his seat, was evidently displeased with the argument. He shot Pei Ming, who’d just jumped out of his chair like Water Master Wudu’s sister, an exasperated look.
To see a disagreement between the God of Love and Lady Wind Master was not an uncommon sight to heavenly officials. But, because the performance had reached its final pieces of dialogue, the dispute was instantaneously the next most exciting thing.
Wary of the eyes they were attracting, Shi Qingxuan snapped back in her seat, adamantly refusing to give somebody unworthy her time. Or, maybe, just maybe, she had gotten intimidated by the glare her brother was giving her. If Xie Lian was paying any sort of attention, he might’ve thought the Wind Master says she’s not afraid of her older brother, but that doesn’t seem to be entirely true. But he didn’t. His mind was focused on what his heart thought to be the most pressing matter at the moment: the Crimson Rain Sought Flower.
Shi Qingxuan, on the other hand, poured all her focus on his well-being. She looked over him, with something of a maternal look in her eyes. His eyes were closed and his eyebrows were tightly knitted together, creasing the skin on his forehead—akin to the molded jade material of his drinking cup. Earlier, he began to drink more.
He was quite the anxious drunk! Just how much was on his mind? What kind of battles was he fighting in there, that he, a (once) martial god, couldn’t defeat? She bit her tongue. She remembered an old title of his, when he was shiny and new and heroic: “The Strongest Martial God”. Did being the strongest have no effect on mental struggle? Assuming it was from newfound confidence, or a yearning to indulge for just one day, Shi Qingxuan cheered him on! Until…
Amongst her racing thoughts, which were impossibly faster than her usual excited speech whenever she could rant to Ming-xiong about any new interest she had, she caught Pei Ming refilling the wine twice more. Clocking how he’d practically coerced Xie Lian to drink three more cups of the strong alcohol, Qingxuan narrowed her eyes.
She didn’t know how much he’d drank throughout his mortal and divine lifetime, but she wasn’t completely ignorant of his life’s timeline. So, she could sketch out some sort of idea in her head. For one, she knew of his cultivation path of abstinence. On the other hand, she knew of the stories concerning Xie Lian about his actions before his second ascension…and second banishment. How he’d swore like a sailor and drunk like a fish, which she couldn’t imagine no matter how hard she tried. Other than that, she couldn’t think of anything else about him. She tutted, looking over his hunched figure: she didn’t know much about him, she realised.
Most of his past was a mystery! Worst of all, the person she wanted to know more about was the infamous “God of Misfortune”. People of all walks of life, like the gods that pretended to busy themselves in work, more so prioritised thrilling, short, shocking fables rather than less than engaging, drawn-out truths. This meant that no matter how much she tried to rack her brains in order to find even a speck of information about him, she just couldn’t. In place of what she wanted were fuzzy, unclear tales about him! How annoying.
She didn’t doubt that there wasn’t at least a bit of truehood in what she’d heard here and there, but she also didn’t doubt that his bad reputation was a bit of a stretch. He wasn’t so bad! But, to Qingxuan, everybody had at least a little bit of good in them — even that good-for-nothing Pei Ming.
Maybe it was best to get him out of here, she couldn’t help but think. It made her heart sadden deeply to know that Xie Lian wouldn’t get to witness the first Battle of the Lanterns since his third ascension. It made her pout even further to know that Xie Lian probably wouldn’t even get a single Blessing Lantern. She looked over at Feng Xin and Mu Qing absentmindedly. Then, over to the pavilion, hidden by curtains. For some reason, she felt as if she was wrong in thinking that he wouldn’t get any. For once, it made her happy to feel as if she’d be incorrect. Why was she so sure? Shi Qingxuan didn’t know, but a giddy feeling in her gut bubbled in anticipation, as if she was the one almost black out drunk.
“Your Highness,” came a voice. Xie Lian felt more like crying than laughing.
“Yes?” not intending to, his own voice came out as a fragile whisper. He felt a wash of red hot, boiling anger wash over him. Anger at this person—who was definitely Feng Xin, how could he forget the sound of his deep, calloused voice? Anger at the people around them. There were so many people. He felt like his head had been forcibly held underwater, for the nth time that night. There were bodies upon bodies beside him, and even though he wasn’t even brushing shoulders with the two gods on his left (Feng Xin, which he deduced) and right (Shi Qingxuan, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t want to look.). Oh, and there were definitely tears pricking the edge of his eyes. All he could hear was speech coming from every possible direction. They piled and piled upon Xie Lian until he could feel himself crumble and slouch under the weight of masked friendly conversation. A voice not unsimilar to his own whispered in his head, and he sighed in the familiarity of it: “You should know better than to actually believe that any of these people liked each—" he silenced it with a grit of his teeth. There it was again, the anger. Instead, it was anger pointed at himself. He knew that the offhanded comment was untrue, take Shi Qingxuan for example. She's stuck by his side, metaphorically and literally. When he glanced to his right, he saw her looking up at him, with a face that blew off dust in the corners of his mind. With a face that reminded him a lot of his mother.
He looked away quickly, feeling Ruoye shift under his old robes. His throat was tight, but that wasn't because of the bandage that concealed his cursed shackles. They’d loosened since the end of the play. Instead, the culprit was a build up of unspoken words that lodged itself in his throat.
Xie Lian’s left shoulder tensed. It was a reflex derived from centuries worth of cultivation and sparring, being able to just know when something is approaching you. It was that, yes, but also that Xie Lian had spent those first years of cultivation and sparring with Feng Xin. He knew him. And his mannerisms. And that he was about to place his hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to return to your p–” Ruoye shot out, gripping Feng Xin’s wrist.
“Leave me be, you…” he trailed off, catching Feng Xin’s gaze. His sight was too foggy to be able to deduce anything other than the quite obvious surprise etched into his features. It didn’t matter anyway, Feng Xin wore his heart on his sleeve. He was straightforward like that. For some reason, even that made his skin itch. It made his veins want to pop. How could somebody like Feng Xin afford to live in a way like that? When Xie Lian had done so, all he was met with was blood, both his and other’s. Forced to be kind when he wanted to protect himself. (But that wasn’t really true. In this world, only his kindness was truly ever his — and he wouldn’t trade it for anything else.)
Xianle’s throat bit back an almost snarl. Why had he stopped his sentence? He deserved to voice his opinion! His voice should be heard, no, it had to be heard. “Who,” the word came out wrong, like a lost man, insecure of everything and anything. Like a man who’d been able to get his hands on alcohol for the very first time, not knowing his limit, drinking his insecurities away. He bit his lip, feeling the sickly emotion he knew too well as rage start to overflow.
He’s not insecure and the fact that he most definitely just heard his voice crack like a prepubescent boy was completely fine. He just got it wrong the first time, Xie Lian told himself. He just had to try again. “Who…” he said carefully, as if testing to see if he would speak the way he desired. And he did: the words came out low, prickly, with a hint of a predatory growl. Good, he gulped, better this than falling apart in front of them. Shi Qingxuan bit her fingertips in shock. “Who do you think,” but that was as far as he could get, because the rest of the sentence had been spoken directly into Lady Wind Master’s hand.
The dangerous conversation was quiet, and only heard by its participants. Shi Qingxuan felt the pain of a headache coming on. The whole situation was starting to gear towards something like a starving lion eyeing the only piece of meat in its vicinity, the only piece of meat being a tiny, injured puppy in the form of Feng Xin.
She settled by saying, “Just, leave this to me, okay?” and he nodded, grimacing at Xie Lian.
Knowing Xie Lian’s nature, he tries not to draw attention to himself, but does so anyway. She was sure he’d greatly appreciate it if she was able to get him out of there without attracting any eyes, but it was safe to say that such a situation would be a miracle for him. And her, it seemed. Shi Wudu was already glaring daggers at them both! Ah, what to do?
“Ouch, Your Highness, I’m trying to help you right now!” she whisper-wailed, ripping her hand off his mouth and shaking it. She scolded him, “No biting!”
He didn’t look happy at that, “Do not tell me what to do, do you know who I am?” his accent was all off. Shi Qingxuan’s eyebrows shot up, thinking that his speech sounded quite outdated. She grabbed his hand. He recoiled, but couldn’t escape her tight grip. “What’re you doing…?”
“Your hands are shaking. C’mon, let’s get you out of here before—”
Amongst the ruckus of tables, the feasting was already over. Amidst the clinking cups, it came time at last for the final act of the night. Shi Qingxuan bit the inside of her cheek, relieved, what great luck!
Every candle and lamp within the Heavenly Capital was swiftly extinguished, and all was dim except for the light of the moon. The banquet was set up near a lake, and when the clouds and mist on the surface were waved away, the deep darkness of the Mortal Realm could be seen through the clear waters.
The Battle of the Lanterns was a competition to see which heavenly official was offered the greatest number of Blessings Lanterns from their largest, most renowned temple. One Blessing Lantern of Everlasting Light was hard to buy even with a thousand gold, and they could not easily be extinguished. The order of the Battle of the Lanterns was called from the lowest to highest, and when it was an official’s turn, the lanterns offered by their worshippers floated past the heavenly banquet to brighten the long, dark night in an incomparably enchanting display.
Xie Lian scoffed by Shi Qingxuan’s side, arms crossed over his chest. The latter wanted to use the chaos of setting up as a cover and escape the event, but the former was firm in his footing, and didn’t let her drag him away by words nor physical measures. Shi Qingxuan did try to pull him away, quite literally, but he was as sturdy as a tree! It was like he had roots in the ground, gluing him in place. He didn’t look like he was going to enjoy watching the show with that rain cloud of an expression, but Shi Qingxuan let him have autonomy over where he wanted to be. Even if she knew that he wasn’t completely conscious of his own decisions at that moment.
There was a thump. Xie Lian had sat down on the grass.
Surrounding heavenly officials jumped away like Xie Lian’s bad luck was contagious, and Lady Wind Master just sweatdropped, at a loss for what to do. In the end, she sat down beside him, offering a smile that he hiccuped at. It offered a strange sight, with many officials littered quite closely together, yet a circle of a 10 metre radius around the two sitting gods was completely free of people.
The Palace of Divine Might had nine-hundred and sixty-one lanterns that year—a count close to a thousand, and a number that had never before been reached in heavenly history. The heavenly officials felt that next year, the count would surely break a thousand, but that wasn’t the point. If first place was always first place, then first place lost meaning, so the Palace of Divine Might was automatically discounted from the running when it came to the battle.
The moment the Battle of the Lanterns began, the first one up was the Rain Master, and the lantern tally was both funny and embarrassing. When Xie Lian squinted, and caught sight of that one little errant Blessings Lantern floating leisurely to the sky and heard, “The Palace of the Rain Master, one lantern!”
In his surprise, he let out a small hic! He racked through his memory. Even if he was sober, doing so was like trying to find a singular document in a library of hundreds of thousands of pages. While under the influence, just imagine that the library was dusty and unkempt and that all the books were on the floor, rather than shelves.
But, at last, he was able to find what he was looking for. It was amongst the paintings of things that he wished would’ve never been painted in the first place. The Rain Master had helped him before, during his first ascension! Such a god should be deserving of more lanterns. His hands curled into fists and his nails dug painfully into his palms.
“The Lord Rain Master has always told them it’s better to work the fields than to use money for offerings,” Xie Lian listened to her words without looking at her, “so those followers always offer fresh fruits and vegetables instead.”
Xie Lian was extremely envious when he heard this. What a marvelous thing, he thought. He dragged his knees up, slowly hugging them. From Shi Qingxuan’s perspective, he was almost like a small child, trying to console themself. “Then, later, the Lord Rain Master also said not to waste anything, so usually after a couple days, the worshippers take home the offerings to eat themselves.” Xie Lian’s heart slowed at her soft words. He felt remorseful for biting her as hard as he could.
This whole time had been acting before thinking, he admitted in a moment of clarity. Closing his eyes, relishing in the soft breeze on his burning skin. Being able to do things without worrying about consequences was an example of a blessing that he hadn’t had in a long time; he wanted to continue to give in to his instincts. Maybe, for now, he’d shut off his brain just for a little while.
Maybe, for now, he’d let his mouth run off with whatever he thought first.
Maybe, for now, he’d let himself act as he’d always wanted to—carefree.