Archive of Our Own

The sun was low on the horizon as Xie Lian made his way up the grassy hill. Dusk was beginning to paint the sky behind him in rosy shades, and this was reflected upon the distant surface of Lang-er bay.

Some ways down below him stood the heavy silhouette of the fishing town, but even now, thirty-two years later, Xie Lian didn’t have the stomach to enter that place. Even if he could, he didn’t think he’d be able to recall where the exact spot was. Cities had a way of shifting over the years, and Yong’an’s growth had been explosive over these past decades.

He could see the top of the tree canopy now, and he rushed slightly in his climb, as if he were keeping someone waiting. His face fell as he crested the hill and came to a stop. His heart ached. The wind blew. There wasn’t even a bird around to keep him company. Only the crickets.

He walked over to stand in the shade of this very old, tall, red bean tree. Despite the cool air, he wiped sweat from his brow as he sat down in front of it. This spot was always the same, year after year, and Xie Lian always came here on this day.

He pulled a stick of pilfered incense out of his sleeve and used a hand flint to light it, sticking it into a sandy little spot between the roots where 31 stubs from previous years remained.

He did wish he had something more substantial to keep here, like a grave marker, but of course Xie Lian had never known that young man’s real name. He’d never even seen his face. All he had was a simple carving of the face that had been on his mask, deftly chiseled into the trunk of the tree. Three simple shapes.

He was quiet for a long moment as he stared at it. He tried to imagine the eyes behind it. It killed him not to know what had ever truly become of his final believer. He wondered if this day would ever get easier. Even after all this time, it hurt. The guilt was still so fresh.

“It’s been thirty-two years now,” he said softly. “Is it silly that I still come here? Surely you’ve moved on to your next life by now?”

Xie Lian reached up, gently brushing a finger over the bark of the face, tracing the lines of those crescent eyes. He had never stopped hoping they would meet again. If that spirit yet remained, could he see through that mask right now?

Back then, Xie Lian couldn’t have cared less about who this was, but year after year, he regretted more that he hadn’t tried to learn anything about him. He hadn’t cared to know anything. He’d accepted his help but assumed he was just another vengeful spirit out for blood.

Xie Lian had been so cruel—utterly oblivious to something miraculous standing right in front of him. Truly miraculous. A kind of loyalty he’d never find again.

He swallowed thickly.

“Well, in case you haven’t moved on, I came to wish you well and tell you I’m… okay. I’m still here. I still remember you and I… I really, really hope that whatever was left of you found its way back to that beloved of yours.”

Xie Lian’s throat was already beginning to feel tight, so he stopped talking. The sound of crickets soaked up that miserable silence instead. He watched the incense burn while he pushed back against so many old sorrows and regrets. That period of time at rock bottom was short, only a matter of days, and yet it had changed him so profoundly as a person. He heaved out a shaky sigh as he reached back into his sleeve.

“I don’t have anything but incense to burn for you this time, but I guess you can share my dinner, too.”

Xie Lian pulled out an old, hard steamed bun. He’d found it on the ground this morning and was holding off eating it all day so he could eat it here. He split it in half with his fingers and laid the other side at the base of the incense stick.

His lower lip quivered slightly before he took a bite. It was hard to make himself chew, but he did, and with effort, he swallowed. His stomach growled, but he honestly had no urge to eat more.

“It’s so strange to miss someone I hardly knew,” he whispered. “But I do miss you. I wish I could know you.”

The wind picked up and stirred his hair. It blew on the incense stick, making the little ember glow brightly. He knew it was only the wind, but nevertheless, he smiled through the tears now blurring his vision. He forced himself to take another bite and closed his eyes as he chewed.

He tried to picture that young man sitting here with him at his side, eating his half of the bun.

His image of the ghost had gone all fuzzy over these years, and all Xie Lian could accurately recall was his simple white mask. Vague, dark armor, and a long black ponytail. He did his best, and he let himself imagine he wasn’t here all alone. If he wanted, he could just reach over and touch him.

He waited a good long time.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found that he was still all alone, and one of those tears finally escaped him. Despite this, he chuckled slightly at himself for hoping. Though he had the fresh face of a seventeen-year-old, Xie Lian was old enough to be someone’s grandfather. He should probably know better.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely as he brushed that tear away. “You were with me for only a brief time, but I owe you for so much. Thank you, and I’m so sorry. I can only pray you’re now at peace.”

He watched the incense slowly burn down to nothing. The usual silence pressed on.

Xie Lian sighed and finally forced down the last bite of his bun. He stood up, and as he did, the sun set over the horizon. Xie Lian shivered a little. It would be a cold night.

As he turned to leave, he glanced back at that smiling face on the tree one last time.

“I promise I will come back. I’ll keep coming here every single year. If you’re still out there, this is how you can find me. If you don’t want to come, that’s okay, too,” he said softly.

He cringed a little, knowing how childish he was being, but he couldn’t let go. He had managed to move on from the loss of his kingdom and godhood. He’d accepted the loss of his friends and family. But this? He just couldn’t fully accept it, even now. It was pathetic. Wuming was almost certainly long gone.

Even if it was childish, it didn’t hurt to try. It gave him something to look forward to. He really didn’t have much else.

Maybe next year…

He turned from the tree to head back down the hill but was suddenly blinded by something very bright right in front of his face. Bright enough to make him take a couple steps back.

It was a butterfly.

It was not a normal butterfly. Its wings were like a fine lace of silver filigree, and they glowed with spectral light. The delicate creature floated and fluttered energetically in one spot, and Xie Lian couldn’t decide if the poor thing was troubled or happy.

“Hello,” Xie Lian said, his woes temporarily forgotten.

Is this a little spirit?

He hesitated slightly and, despite all the warning bells in his head telling him that this was perfectly trap-shaped, reached out a hand.

It landed just briefly on the very tip of his finger before lifting right back up, and then it flew in a circle around him, curious and interested.

Xie Lian couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Do you need something?” he asked, tucking his arms into his sleeves as he watched it make lap after lap around him. A soft laugh found its way from his throat. “I’m not a flower, you know.”

After a few more circles the creature finally came to a stop on the trunk of the red bean tree, causing Xie Lian to turn back around in order to face it. The creature slowly made its way down and settled over the carving of Wuming’s mask. There it stayed, contentedly and slowly flapping its wings.

All of a sudden, Xie Lian felt a bit lightheaded.

No. There’s no way this is…

Xie Lian fell to his knees and scrambled closer, staring at the butterfly.

Was he stupid enough to believe it? It was absurd, right? And yet, hadn’t stranger things happened in this world? Stories of ghosts coming back after being dispersed were basically myths. A theoretical possibility. But all myths had to come from somewhere. Wasn’t that the hope he’d been gripping onto for decades?

Wuming had been a very powerful wrath—one of the strongest Xie Lian had ever encountered, even now. If a ghost were to somehow pull itself back together, wouldn’t it make sense for it to start off with a lesser, weaker form?

He would kind of expect it to be a ghost fire, but there was no reason this thing couldn’t be Wuming. If there were even the slightest chance, Xie Lian would not dare ignore it. This spirit was clearly intelligent, and it was lingering right here by the closest thing Wuming had to a grave.

“Is that you?” Xie Lian asked in a trembling voice.

The butterfly fluttered its wings for a second, breaking its slow rhythm.

Xie Lian had no idea if that could mean a yes or a no. It could be a random happenstance, but that was awfully good timing. It felt like an answer.

“Did that mean yes or no?” Xie Lian asked. Again, the creature responded to his voice and fluttered its wings just the same way.

He grinned but then realized he still had no way to know if that was a yes or no!

Xie Lian’s heart was pounding in his chest by now. If this little guy was his final believer, now returned to his version of life, then it was Xie Lian’s responsibility to help. He didn’t know a whole lot about ghosts or how to nurture a soul and help it cultivate, but he could certainly find out. He had nothing but time.

Xie Lian licked his lips nervously.

“If that’s you, Wuming, will you come along with me?” he asked.

Without hesitation the creature lifted up off the tree and came to settle on his shoulder.

Some things were happenstance, but this was not. That was a perfectly rational response to what he’d asked, and even though he had no way to know this was really Wuming, at the very least it might make for a fun new companion. The road was long and lonely. Talking to a butterfly had to be better than talking to himself all the time.

Xie Lian stood up carefully, trying not to spook the little thing into flying away.

“Thank you, little friend,” he huffed. “Even if you aren’t actually Wuming, I appreciate the company.”

The butterfly fluttered its wings, and Xie Lian wondered if maybe it just did that anytime he spoke any words at all. It was still far more intelligent than any other bug he’d ever met.

“Why don’t we find somewhere to sleep?” he mused. “I’d rather not go into that town, but we can find a nice spot to camp where we’re sheltered from the wind.”

On his way back down the hill, Xie Lian felt happier than he had been in ages. He was sad his butterfly friend had no way to speak back to him, but it had honestly been a long time since he had any other traveling companion. Well, other than Ruoye, anyhow.

And of course, the possibility that this was Wuming?

Words couldn’t describe the warmth filling Xie Lian’s chest right now. The hope. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry, but he would hold onto this feeling like his life depended on it. He hadn’t had anything to live for in many decades, but suddenly he had a purpose and a drive. 

“I hope I can help you cultivate a way to speak,” Xie Lian said brightly, allowing himself to peek over at the butterfly still perched on his shoulder.

It crawled a little ways forward, like it was trying to get a better view of Xie Lian’s face.

“If you are Wuming, I have so many questions. I know practically nothing! Most of all, though, I’d really love something to call you other than Wuming. I hate that I did that to you,” Xie Lian confessed.

The silvery wings, which had been very leisurely moving up and down, came to a sudden stop.

Xie Lian rolled his eyes at the creature. “Oh, don’t go and say it was fine. That’s an awful thing to call a person. I should have waited for you to come up with a name for yourself. That’s what ghosts do, right? They throw away their mortal name and come up with a new one?”

The butterfly tapped its little feet, but Xie Lian had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so he chose to believe it agreed with everything he’d said.

“Ah, this looks like a nice spot,” Xie Lian said, coming to a stop just a bit away from the nearest road. The grass here was flattened down by previous campers, and there was even an ashy place where travelers had built fires in the past. It was sheltered from the wind but still had a pretty nice view of the water.

Xie Lian sighed and sat down with his back to a large boulder. This area didn’t have a lot of trees, being so close to the desert, and as such, Xie Lian wasn’t sure if he could even build a fire for tonight. He sat back and gazed up at the stars.

It was going to be a cold one.

“I know, you’re probably wondering,” Xie Lian began absentmindedly, “where all my things must be. They were actually stolen this morning from the place I’d stashed them. It’s okay, though. I didn’t have much anyhow. I will miss my blanket tonight though.”

Xie Lian tugged his robes a little tighter around himself.

"But I still have my favorite hat and my favorite robes. It could be worse. At least I have a nice little night light now,” he praised.

The butterfly fluttered around him with agitation, flying from one knee to his shoulder to up to somewhere on top of his head.

Experimentally, Xie Lian held out his hand for it.

It took the cue at once and settled right there on his palm, bringing a wide grin of delight to Xie Lian’s face.

“Stop fussing. I’m alright. I’ve spent many, many nights like this. I’m always on the move, you see. I’m very used to it by now. The chilly air won’t kill me.”

The creature batted its little wings in a frenzy, nearly lifting up from his hand, like it was very upset, and Xie Lian laughed.

“Really, I hardly notice the cold anymore,” he tried to reassure it.

Just then, there was a whistle through the air—a whistle Xie Lian, who had spent plenty of time on the battlefield, would normally recognize at once and react to. However, he thought he was alone out here, and he was distracted by his silly one-sided conversation.

That split-second delay in his reaction was all it took.

An arrow shot right through the silver butterfly perched on his hands, in through one wing and out the other. In an instant, the creature burst into a little cloud of silver dust. Those glowing embers of spirit quickly died and Xie Lian was plunged into darkness.

“You idiot!” shouted a voice a few feet away. “Don’t you know not to touch unnatural things? Are you trying to get yourself cursed?!”

Xie Lian stared at his palm blankly, now covered in the glittery remains of what might have been Wuming. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t accept that this had just happened.

He turned his head slowly to the group of men who’d arrived at this camping spot. It was a mixture of travelers, merchants, and a couple of cultivators. The man with a bow and arrow looked to be a hunter.

“... what have you done?” Xie Lian said faintly.

Wuming… Wuming… that can’t… there’s no way that just…

What if it had taken him thirty-two years to come back? What if that was thirty-two whole years of tireless effort to return, now just shot to pieces?! More years than this man had even lived!

Xie Lian jumped up, a hot rage that nearly rivaled what he’d felt as the White-Clothed Calamity pumping in his blood.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” he shouted, his fists clenched.

“That was an evil spirit, you stupid child,” said the hunter walking up, a man clearly only in his mid-twenties, if that.

“IT WASN’T!” Xie Lian cried as he stormed over. “IT WAS MY FRIEND! AND YOU–”

“Now, just calm down,” said the man, full of condescension as he reached forward to hold him at bay.

Xie Lian snapped.

“You just killed my friend!”

Completely overwhelmed by fury and grief, and without even realizing what he was doing, Xie Lian threw a punch, hitting him squarely in the chest.

The man went flying, slamming into one of the travelers who also went flying. The cracks of broken bones resounded in the air. The two of them landed hard and skidded into the dirt. They lay there in a crumpled, unmoving heap some twenty feet away.

The group of people stared at him with horror, and Xie Lian suddenly had a visceral flashback of the last time he used violence against an unsuspecting mortal. No matter how justified it seemed in the moment, he'd just made a terrible mistake.

Have I lost my mind again? thought Xie Lian as he stared at his own outstretched fist.

There was a roar of furious cries at once from this small crowd.

“What the hell is he?”

“Is that a ghost?”

“He’s an evil cultivator!”

“Communing with ghosts, no less!”

“Someone go get help from town!”

“Let these cultivators handle this!”

Though Xie Lian’s heart was still pumping with latent outrage and a pain far too deep to comprehend, there was one thing in him that could always eclipse all else, and that was shame. It was clear that they were about to attack and try to subdue him, so Xie Lian spun on his heel and fled the scene before he could do more damage than he already had.

It was a familiar situation by now, though usually he was run out of towns for being outed as the God of Misfortune. People still had not entirely forgotten the face that had once graced so many golden statues.

The cultivators among them chased him for most of the night, but in the end, no one could match Xie Lian in stamina, even without an ounce of spiritual power.

When he was finally certain he was alone again, Xie Lian collapsed to his knees in the middle of a field. He had run blindly and no longer had any idea where he was. It was nearly dawn, so he knew the general direction of east, but that was it.

Not that it mattered. Where he went didn’t matter. What he did or didn’t do didn’t really matter either. His life was already over. It ended many years ago.

For all of that run, Xie Lian’s mind had been completely empty. In order to survive, he allowed not a single thought to enter his head other than ‘Run, run, run, run, run!’. Now that he was no longer being pursued, what had actually occurred back there finally caught up with him.

Xie Lian bellowed in inexhaustible anguish and bent over double, holding his head in his hands as he sobbed loudly. There was no reason to hold back way out here, after all. There was no one to hear his cries.

Over and over again, in his mind, he watched that little butterfly explode. Just inches from his nose. Such a sweet, pretty, caring little thing. All because he didn’t notice them approach. Because he couldn’t catch a simple arrow.

What if that was him? What if that was really him?!

Deep down, he was absolutely certain of it, and yet, in order to maintain even a shred of his sanity, he had to let himself think that it was only a maybe. Even this didn’t slow or stem the flow of tears from his eyes.

Even if that wasn’t Wuming, that butterfly had been his little friend. The only friend he let himself make, probably in at least a decade. Friendships with him rarely lasted, and this had lasted, what? An incense time in his presence before it was destroyed?

Xie Lian suddenly rolled onto his butt and pulled his pant leg up to shrug off his boot. He was breathing harshly, staring at the brand around his ankle.

“Is this your fault?” he choked. “I’m only wearing you to repent for Wuming! If he was alive all this time, then I…”

Suddenly Xie Lian was tearing at that shackle as if he were desperate to somehow pull it off. He knew from experience this was impossible, but his heart was breaking, and this physical pain was nothing in comparison. If this object of penance he’d asked for just got Wuming killed again, Xie Lian would never heal from it.

The skin around the shackle began to tear and bleed profusely, and yet Xie Lian still clawed at that terrible brand.

Your fault… your fault… your fault!

Of course, it was really Xie Lian’s fault, just like every other terrible thing in his life. Jun Wu had warned him his life without any luck would be difficult and embarrassing. Still, he’d never imagined the full consequences until now. He didn’t really care if bad things happened to him. He was even okay with being alone most of the time.

But this… it was too much, even for him.

Eventually Xie Lian stopped pulling on and worsening the gory mess of his ankle. He was just staring at it as the tears finally dried on his face. Heartsick and exhausted, Xie Lian fell back into the tall grass.

He was frozen to the bone now that he was no longer running, and the grass was very itchy, but he just didn’t care. He peered over at the moon, plotting its egress near the horizon, and let out a long, shaky breath.

Sometimes he was selfish enough to regret the shackles. Thirty two years had been a long time, and no time at all. He was still learning how to stomach this life that he'd chosen.

“Maybe next year…” he mumbled to himself.

It was the refrain he used every year when he visited the red bean tree, waiting and hoping to see Wuming there. When Wuming didn’t show, he’d always whisper it to the wind, like a prayer to whatever unknown god might take pity upon him.

He had a horrible, horrible feeling those words would never hold any real hope in them again. Not unless Wuming managed to scrape his soul back together a second time. Even if his final worshiper was that incredible, it meant Xie Lian would be waiting for another thirty years and probably more this time.

Xie Lian was willing, of course, but that was a whole new level of praying against all the odds. 

“If that was you, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, eyes glazed over as the stars faded. “I'm afraid you really… worshiped the wrong god.”

I really do only bring misfortune now…

***

Xie Lian continued to wander, and slowly the seasons passed him by.

Little in his life changed. He walked. He camped. He collected scraps. He bought things. He lost those things. Sometimes he was able to help someone. Often it backfired. Rinse and repeat.

The first month after the butterfly died was terrible. Every regular white butterfly he saw reminded him of Wuming. Every errant glow of something in the night drew his attention, and he would have an instance of hope that just maybe it was back. Not knowing for certain if it was Wuming made it all the worse.

Thankfully, each new day brought new experiences and new things to ponder about. Xie Lian was able to keep moving. He stopped falling apart every time he was reminded of that day, and the wound in his mind eventually built up a callus. Whenever he dared to think back, he found ways of coping.

That definitely wasn’t Wuming. What was I thinking?

I was definitely just seeing what I wanted to see in its behavior.

Did I really have a breakdown over that?

That was probably just a clingy little spirit that latched onto the first person who was nice to it. Maybe it was a child’s spirit.

I sure hope I didn’t kill those people… And all over a butterfly demon.

Though these explanations lessened the persistent ache in his chest, and they did help him sleep at night, he didn’t fully believe them. He knew this because they didn’t lessen the dread building up in him as that same date rolled back around. Time was the one thing in this world that was truly impossible to escape. Sometimes, this was a kindness, and sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it felt like a curse.

He wasn’t ready.

On the thirty-third year since Wuming’s dispersal, Xie Lian struggled for the first time to make it to the top of the hill. Every year prior, he had gone rushing up, heart pounding with anticipation and possibility.

“Maybe this year!”

But right now Xie Lian was dragging dead weight up this incline. He moved slowly, like every step took immense effort. The callus wasn’t really a callus, as it turned out. It was a scab, and being back here was the same as ripping it off and letting an ignored wound bleed again. He had no real expectations. If anything, he was just going here to punish himself.

The weather was matching Xie Lian's mood. It was raining softly, the sky overhead heavy and gray with portents of even worse weather on the way. Because of the wind, he was already drenched, and he had been for hours, so it was all the same to him.

I probably won’t even be able to get the incense to light, he realized mournfully. He had no food to offer. He hadn’t had an appetite for the past two days. He hadn’t really slept, either.

Xie Lian finally trudged up the last few feet of this steep hill, watching his feet squelch in the grass in front of him. He didn’t even bother to look up. He was afraid to face the red bean tree.

He closed his eyes tightly as he crested the hill and let out a long, low sigh as he steeled himself for it.

It was nearly silent up here, other than the howling wind. No crickets. However, after a moment, he realized there was another sound of something up here. A strange pitter patter, like water drops hitting silk.

Xie Lian opened his eyes.

For the first time ever, he was not alone up here.

Xie Lian blinked a few times, like he was trying to clear away a hallucination.

There was a young man here leaning nonchalantly against the tree with a red umbrella in his hand. He looked to be maybe sixteen or seventeen, with very fair skin and dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. He was dressed well in red robes and fine pelt boots, and there was a smile on his face.

He was probably just sheltering from the storm under this tree, and yet he gave off the impression that he was waiting for Xie Lian. The youth’s two coal-dark eyes pierced right into his own, steady and unblinking.

As Xie Lian took a few curious steps forward, the young man pushed himself away from the tree and held out his umbrella.

“Want to get out of this rain?” he asked.

His voice was velvety and much deeper than expected. Very pleasant on the ears.

Xie Lian hesitated a moment. Even now, all these years later, it wasn’t easy for him to trust other people. He had trusted people to his own detriment many times those first few years on his own and learned it was better to let trust be earned.

Despite this new philosophy of his, just in the way he’d immediately trusted that butterfly, Xie Lian’s legs began to move him forward. He shoved his bamboo hat off and stepped under the umbrella.

This person was nearly a head taller than him, and he was strikingly handsome—so much so that Xie Lian felt it was strangely inappropriate to stand so close.

“Thanks…” he murmured, only barely managing to look up at him.

The youth smiled warmly at him, and then his gaze slid down the trunk of the tree toward the carving at the bottom.

Xie Lian glanced down too and was relieved to see nothing had happened to this sacred place. He didn’t like the idea of others coming here and potentially disrespecting Wuming’s memory. It was pretty far off the beaten track, so he hadn’t expected this to be found by anyone.

“Here to pay your respects to the dead?” asked the young man, sounding a little amused.

“Ah… yes, I am. I do this every year. Can I ask what you’re doing way out here?”

“Well, I suppose I’m here to be respected,” the youth replied lightly.

Xie Lian frowned.

Was that supposed to be a terrible joke, or was this a ghost standing here?

Xie Lian leaned away and gave him a sharp scan, but other than the paler-than-average color of his skin, he appeared perfectly human. His hair was flawless, and up this close, Xie Lian could even see the tiny pores of his skin. The little creases on his knuckles. This was no ghost.

The boy had an arrogant and careless air about him, as if completely oblivious to the nature of the grief and mourning that was taking place here. Considering Xie Lian’s current state, that sly grin of his was hard to look at.

Sometimes, good looks truly are wasted on people.

Xie Lian huffed and peeled his eyes away.

“You shouldn’t make jokes at someone's grave. This person was very dear to me,” Xie Lian chided as he stepped out from under the umbrella to kneel down. He pulled out his stick of incense and stuck it with the others before letting out a low groan.

“There’s no way this is going to light,” he grumbled under his breath.

“You don’t have to light it,” said that deep voice from above. This time, it was a little softer. The bystander stepped closer and held out his umbrella to block the rain falling on Xie Lian’s head again.

Tears were already trying to poke at the corners of his eyes, but Xie Lian really didn’t want to cry right now. He wished this person would just move along. He didn’t want his sympathy or empty words about loss. This rich little lord probably knew nothing about it.

Right now, Xie Lian would be more than happy to be all alone. He didn’t need a witness to his misery.

The smiling face on the tree stared back at him, expectant.

Xie Lian fumbled round in the sleeve of his robes, searching for his flint. This year, he just needed to get this over with.

Wuming wasn’t listening anyway.

Wuming was gone. Wuming had died bloody on the battlefield in Xie Lian’s name, and he’d died screaming in agony to save Xie Lian, and he’d probably died in a puff of silvery dust, just for the crime of being in Xie Lian’s presence.

He struck the flint once. Twice. The sparks died instantly.

The witness stood in silence, watching, but Xie Lian wouldn’t turn back to him.

He struck it again, and again, and again, almost frantically.

The incense, which was already growing damp, just wouldn’t catch.

His numb hands were trembling. Hot tears were carving paths down his face again, and he’d hardly ever felt so miserable and pathetic in his entire life. Would tears be the only real thing he ever had to offer here?

They were completely worthless!

“Come on,” he whimpered, almost too quiet to hear. “Please…”

Strike, strike, strike.

Just light so I can get the hell out of here!

He couldn’t face this! He couldn’t face the fact that he might have had a chance to meet him again and lost it! He couldn’t protect his one and only believer! He couldn’t do anything right!

Now he was just growing embarrassed by his failures. He threw the flint against the trunk of the tree in frustration, his breathing slightly ragged. He turned his head back to the youth and said rather coldly, “Can you spare me a moment of privacy? I have a hat, you know. I don’t need you to stay here and shield me.”

Xie Lian had reached behind himself to grab the hat and pull it back on, but he froze.

The man’s comportment had changed quite a bit since the last time Xie Lian had dared look at him. He was no longer grinning, nor did he appear languid or smug. He was staring down at Xie Lian with a deeply shocked and crestfallen expression. As he caught sight of Xie Lian’s tears, his eyes widened further and his mouth fell open.

Instead of leaving, as Xie Lian desperately wished he would, the young man crouched down next to him.

“Here, let me—” he began.

Xie Lian cut him off and pushed him away.

“Please go. Can you let me grieve here in peace? If you don’t, I promise you’ll be sorry. I’m dangerous to be around.”

He didn’t mean this as a threat. He more so meant that anyone who stuck around the God of Misfortune would eventually regret it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” the young man said quietly. His dark eyes were roiling like the storm above, and Xie Lian knew at once he was facing a uniquely stubborn individual.

“Why not?” Xie Lian asked brokenly.

This is none of your business!

“I shouldn’t have answered the way I did earlier. That was very stupid of me. Sometimes I try to be funny, and I screw things up,“ the boy said, the shame naked on his face.

Some of that grating irritation Xie Lian felt toward him softened at his obvious remorse, and Xie Lian stared defeatedly at his damp incense instead.

“No, I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I’m just… having a hard time this year.”

He reached over and gently let his fingertips trace along the lines of the smiling mask carving, showing silent affection for this one person who had never given up on him.

Some years, he really, really hated himself.

“This person only ever tried to help me, and I only ever hurt him," he explained, "And now I can’t even…”

He sighed and glumly reached for the flint, but this time he didn’t try to strike it.

“You don’t have to burn that,” the youth repeated.

It was kind of an odd thing to say once, but twice was twice as odd, and Xie Lian frowned as he glanced back at his pretty face. Under the umbrella, it was swimming in a red shadow of reflected light. His eyes were dark and shining. He was utterly serious.

“But I don’t… have anything else to give him,” Xie Lian stammered woefully.

“You don’t need to give anything more. You asked me why I was here, and I answered wrong. Instead of playing around, I should have just said, ‘because you invited me.’ You said this is where I could find you.”

Xie Lian stared at him, unable to parse his words at all. “What are you…” he began but trailed off.

For a second, he thought this person had him confused with someone else. His mind was unwilling to take that next leap in logic. It was too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous! Crouched down on his toes like this, he nearly swayed and fell over.

The youth carefully reached out a hand, placing it on Xie Lian’s shoulder to steady him.

“Last year, before we were so rudely separated, you said you’d love to have something else to call me. If that’s so, please call me San Lang.”

“Separated…?”

He nodded, and his grip tightened slightly.

“I didn’t die. That wasn’t my body. It was one of my… helpers, keeping an eye on you.”

A flash in Xie Lian’s mind—the scene he’d replayed again and again. A beautiful glowing butterfly, dispersed by a rogue arrow. His eyes grew wide as he finally began to understand what he was being told. Who this person was claiming to be.

Here to pay your respects to the dead?

Well, I suppose I’m here to be respected.

Xie Lian’s chest suddenly ached as if he’d been stabbed through a hundred times. He could hardly take in a breath.

Wuming? This is Wuming? My Wuming?

As if he could read his mind, the young man leaned in and spoke with gravity.

“It’s me, Your Highness."

Xie Lian flinched at the use of his old title. No one had called him that in a very long time, and certainly not without a thick tone of mockery. Though this voice was deeper, he could still recognize the inflection. Xie Lian's head was spinning and he slowly let himself fall all the way down onto his knees.

"How...?" was all he could manage to spit out. This one word could not convey the chaos of confusion in Xie Lian's head. This was too much. It was a trick. A dream. An illusion. A trap. Maybe he'd finally gone completely mad from his grief and guilt.

The young man, sensing his delicate state, spoke carefully and calmly. His hand remained firmly on Xie Lian's shoulder, grounding him.

"Last year, I was heading over here to meet you when my butterfly helper was destroyed. By the time I arrived in person, you’d run off, and I had no idea what direction you went. I searched for a long time and finally realized I’d just have to wait here for you. I’m so sorry.”

His hand pulled away, his fingers curling back, like he'd realized he was being too familiar.

“Y-you’re sorry?” Xie Lian asked incredulously.

“I took too long. I was nervous to see you again, I suppose. I was… It’s my fault we had to wait another year to meet,” he replied, now unable to look Xie Lian in the eye.

Wuming opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut off as Xie Lian suddenly threw himself at him. The ghost wasn’t expecting it, and the two of them toppled over into the wet grass, the umbrella thrown off to the side.

Xie Lian was half lying on top of him, his arms clasped firmly around the ghost’s neck, holding him in a desperate hug. He probably didn’t deserve to hug Wuming after all he’d done, but he was too overwhelmed to care about right and wrong.

After a moment, a pair of lithe arms gently folded around his back.

“Your Highness…” he whispered into Xie Lian’s ear, “It's okay. I’m right here.”

Xie Lian’s chest was pressed against his, and he could detect no heartbeat, nor the rise and fall of breathing. This really was a ghost. As that last little bit of doubt blew away, Xie Lian fell apart. He buried his face into Wuming's shoulder.

“I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” he sobbed into it.

Again and again, he repeated the words that had been echoing in his heart for so many years. More than anything else, Xie Lian had ached for the chance to say this. He had never moved on because he was unable to accept that Wuming died without ever knowing the slightest bit of acknowledgement or appreciation from the one he had followed so faithfully even after death.

This was the year. 

Wuming didn’t reply as Xie Lian unburdened himself. He simply held his god and gently ran a hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him like one might a child.

After the initial shock wore off and he came back to reality, Xie Lian slowly unwound his arms and pushed himself up, staring down into the bare, unmasked face of Wuming.

It really was a good face. His features were sharp and angular without appearing gaunt or harsh, his lips neither too thin nor too thick. His eyes were lined in red, his lashes and brows as dark as ink against his porcelain skin. Just a truly beautiful young man in every sense of the word. Why would he ever hide away a face like this?

Back then, Xie Lian assumed the mask hid something unsightly or monstrous. He also didn’t expect someone so young. Did this boy sneak into the army or something? The thought made Xie Lian slightly nauseous. He really hoped he just had a case of baby-face.

Despite his awe, he also had to admit this ghost’s appearance was uncanny. He really was indistinguishable from a human, and that just didn’t happen. Every stand of hair was immaculate. Even his eyebrows! Most ghosts had eyebrows that looked painted on. There was no rot or discoloration. His eyes were clear and shining brighter than stars.

It really was confounding. Maybe there were imperfections under his clothes?

Either way, incredibly impressive.

“So, this is you,” Xie Lian whispered, more to himself than anything. He'd spent so many nights wondering. Imagining. He'd never even come close.

Wuming gazed back up at him with a tender expression. Tentatively, he reached up and wiped what could have been tears or rain from one of Xie Lian’s cheeks. It was such a sweet and personal gesture, and Xie Lian had no idea how to react.

“And this is you,” Wuming replied in a daze, also drinking in the sight of him.

“I really am so sorry,” Xie Lian said, as if he hadn’t just chanted those same words about thirty times.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Wuming replied, “Nothing at all. You did nothing wrong.”

Despite everything, a watery smile tugged at Xie Lian’s lips. He knew it wasn’t true, but it was so very gracious of him to say. Once again, he found himself struggling to react properly. This was too surreal— like something from one of his embarrassing dreams of a kinder world. Even if that was the case, Xie Lian didn’t dare waste it.

“I’m relieved I didn’t disperse you a third time,” he said wryly.

The ghost grinned back, showing his pointed canines. “I’m much stronger than a little butterfly wraith.”

Xie Lian could see that. He was probably even stronger than he was back when he was still following Xie Lian around. Maybe that smiling mask had hid his ghostly imperfections? Nowadays he was utterly unrecognizable other than the black ponytail. The armor was gone, and he’d clearly found a calling beyond being a soldier or devotee. He appeared confident and his clothing looked very expensive.

Xie Lian suddenly realized they were still lying here in the rain and mud, quite uncivilized.

“My apologies!” he cried as he jumped off of him and reached over to grab the handle of the red umbrella. Wuming sat up as he did, and now they were sitting under it together beneath the red bean tree. 

“I’m glad you were so happy to see me, so don't apologize,” said the ghost with a chuckle. The warmth and affection in his voice was almost alien to Xie Lian these days, and yet he greedily yearned to hear more of it.

“If I’d known you survived, I would have searched for you,” Xie Lian replied somberly. “I thought you must be gone.”

“Almost. It did take me a while to come back. About a decade. I’ve been searching for you all this time so I could let you know, but I just couldn’t find you,” he said seriously. Real pain flickered behind his eyes.

Xie Lian suffered inwardly as he connected the dots.

“That one's my fault. I didn’t want to be found, so I’ve stayed on the move. I thought the only ones looking for me would be people who still hate my guts,” Xie Lian admitted sheepishly.

Though his face was warm, his limbs, he realized, were ice cold. He tucked his hands in his sleeves.

Wuming noticed this, and he suddenly reached over and took one of Xie Lian’s hands, pulling it over and sandwiching it between his own.

It was absurdly intimate and shameless, and yet Xie Lian just let him do it. He glanced down at Wuming’s pale hands.

It was a very fine pair of hands. Slender but strong-looking and bigger than his own. This was the hand that had taken his so long ago before pressing it to his forehead and vowing to die following him.

The memory of that out of nowhere was like a knife, and Xie Lian almost flinched from its sudden and ruthless return. Wuming had died following him, after all. Twice. Xie Lian could not fathom where such devotion even came from. He did not know this person at all. At the time, he just assumed the ghost was fueled by anger and vengeance, but it was clearly more than that.

Before he could say anything, something he hadn’t experienced in decades suddenly rushed into him.

Spiritual power.

It coursed through his meridians like a strong and endless river current, circulating through his body and warming him up at once. One pale hand then pulled away from his and took his sleeve. In an instant, all the water in his robes evaporated in a cloud of steam, leaving them perfectly dry and comfortable.

Xie Lian blinked and patted himself in wonder.

He really is one powerful ghost. But just how powerful…?

“Th-thank you, Wu—”

He cut himself off. He couldn’t very well keep calling him that. He shouldn’t even be thinking of him like that anymore!

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked awkwardly.

The ghost gave him an impish smile. “It’s San Lang, though I go by a few different names these days.”

That smile was a lot like that carving on the tree and it made Xie Lian feel strange. His heart began to beat hard, banging his ribcage like a drum, and suddenly his face felt very thin. He had the rogue thought that, if Wuming hadn’t worn a mask back then, maybe he would have tried to get to know him better.

He was a real mess right now, so he tried to compose himself a little, wiping the rest of the rain and tears from his face with his dry sleeve.

“San Lang…” he said, testing the name on his tongue. “Thanks for coming to meet me here. I really do have so many questions after all these years.”

San Lang smiled and squeezed his hand gently. Reverent, like Xie Lian was made of glass. Though all this time had passed, Xie Lian had no doubts that this man still worshiped him. It was touching, but it was also concerning.

How can I be his god now? I can’t do anything for him. I can’t even hear his prayers…

“We have a lot to talk about, Your Highness, but let's find a warm, dry place first. And don’t worry about the incense,” San Lang said with a smirk as he nodded at the place near the tree with thirty-two stubs. "Though of course I appreciate the thought."

Xie Lian coughed lightly into one hand, feeling complicated about the deep-seated grief he’d been smothered by—all that grief over a man who wasn’t dead.

Well. Dead dead.

“S-sure. That sounds nice. But you really don’t need to call me that. Xianle is long gone, after all.”

“Your Highness will always be Your Highness,” San Lang said sternly.

Again, that feeling, like a cold sword run through the chest. Suddenly Xie Lian could hardly think straight. He was so happy and yet… Oh, it was all mixed up with so many other things. Such horrible memories. His face felt pulled between laughter and tears.

San Lang seemed to notice his distress.

“If that really upsets you, could I just call you gege?” he asked softly.

For some reason, an unexpected laugh bubbled out of Xie Lian. He just wasn’t prepared for it. San Lang could have used his actual name, or gongzi, or daozhang, or even ge. Out of all those things, he wanted to use gege?

“Gege... gege is fine. Where should we go to talk, San Lang?” Xie Lian asked, now smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. It was a relief. He was very tired of crying.

San Lang seemed to consider it seriously, and it was then that Xie Lian’s stomach made a loud, pronounced growl.

Xie Lian flushed in response, but didn't know what to say. He certainly didn't want to admit he hadn't eaten in days.

“Want to come to my place?” San Lang asked. “How about a nice, hot lunch? My treat.”

Xie Lian rubbed at his forehead but nodded.

“ Sure… alright.”

He wondered briefly where on earth a rich ghost like this would live.

San Lang reached into one sleeve and pulled out a pair of dice. He held them between two fingers, a slightly pompous expression painting his face.

Xie Lian raised his brows.

Did you want to play a game first or...?

“This is a new invention of mine. I made it after I missed you last year,” San Lang explained. “It acts like a distance-shortening array."

"Really?" Xie Lian asked, now gaping at him. If true, that was no small feat of enchantment.

"Mmhmm. I'll show you. Please bear in mind my current residence is a work in progress. It’s really just a place to stash my things while I work on bigger projects.”

“Projects…?” Xie Lian repeated, beyond confused and beyond curious.

What has my old believer been up to the past twenty years? Inventing things? Building his own house? Is it for that beloved of his?

“Well. Project. A gambling den. Once it’s done, I’ll move on to the next. For now, let me just show you where I live.”

San Lang suddenly jumped up to his feet, pulling Xie Lian up along with him as if he weighed nothing at all. Xie Lian was too flustered to respond. He normally hated to be touched by anyone else and for any reason. He sometimes still had a knee-jerk response to retaliate if he was grabbed.

He decided maybe he didn’t mind San Lang grabbing him. As such, he didn't pull away when San Lang kept ahold of his hand.

Some part of Xie Lian still suspected all of this was just a really long, bizarre dream he was having. If someone were to wake him right now, he might never forgive them. He was so excited to finally learn all about his mysterious remaining believer. So eager to pay him back for his sacrifices.

The ghost threw his dice up in the air, and as the spell within them activated, Xie Lian only had time to glimpse that smiling mask carved into the red bean tree. Somehow he knew this was the last time he would ever behold it.

It was a good thing.

San Lang’s real smile was much, much nicer.