Archive of Our Own ^beta

For a long time, there was only pain. Endless, agonizing pain.

Eventually, he heard screaming. Much later, he realized the wails were his own.

There was blackness for a while. When the light came back, the first thing he saw was blood. So much blood.

First, he saw it pooled on the floor. It was collected at the base of a stone altar. His eyes trailed up the stone, flowing backwards up the red rivulets that streaked down the side. When they fell on the shred of once-white robes that hung over the top of the altar, his eyes flicked back down to the floor and a scream rose in his throat once more.

He held it back, and only a sob managed to escape before he locked himself down.

He was lying on the floor, curled into a ball on his side. He shifted and noticed he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Keeping his line of sight trained down, he pushed himself up and sat stiffly before the altar.

His body felt strange. He couldn’t pin down the unsettled feeling, so he looked himself over. When he saw a messy tattoo on his left forearm, he suddenly remembered several things about himself.

He remembered Xie Lian, the man whose name was inked into his skin. Taizi Dianxia was the sole reason he had kept on existing after childhood. He also remembered himself, although that was less important. Even though he was a monster, Dianxia had accepted him, and he had become his most devoted follower.

He actively refused to look up, but the spectre of blood and decimated flesh in the periphery of his vision seemed to be beckoning him: Look. Look at what you did. The image of the scream that had begged to release from that slashed throat was now branded onto his eyes. The boy clapped a hand over his tattoo and scrunched his eyes closed. Guilt and shame overwhelmed him.

Dianxia couldn’t die, yet how could he possibly survive this? Maybe he didn’t physically die, but the boy was sure that some parts of him would never be the same again.

Oh. He remembered another thing. He was dead.

The realization passed easily through his mind. All he felt was slight surprise and quick acceptance. So that’s why his body felt strange. He had no sooner had the thought than he pushed it aside; there were more important things to worry about.

He looked around the room as if for the first time. In a way, it was. Time felt absolutely divided – before, he was trapped and powerless, and now, he was too late. With new eyes and steel in his heart, he looked. There were ashes and charred bits of bone strewn everywhere, spread away from the altar as if by some great force, and all the surfaces of the temple were scorched black. The only unblemished thing there was a set of black robes that were folded on the floor behind him. On top of the robes, there was a simple white mask.

Although the mask was only smiling, it so strongly evoked a certain cry-smiling mask that the boy released his hand from his shameful tattoo and flung the mask across the room with an angry scream. It rebounded off the wall and clattered facedown on the floor. He breathed heavily until it had completely stopped wobbling, then he turned his back on it entirely.

He stood and dressed. He was indifferent to the clothes except for the fact that they covered his forearm. He left his hair loose and wild, uncaring. When he finished fastening his belt, his traitorous eyes took advantage of his distraction and flicked over to the body bleeding on the altar.

Immediately, he screamed and fell to his knees. His mind was white with shock. What fragile sense of self he had managed to recover shattered, and pain numbed him once again.

He didn’t try to recover this time. He knelt and tore at his hair and screamed and cried. He stayed kneeling long after the screaming stopped, arms limp at his sides, eyes wide with private nightmares. The room lightened and darkened over and over, countless tens of times, and he didn’t move at all. He wasn’t waiting; there wasn’t anything to wait for. He was just stuck, and nothing interrupted him, so he stayed stuck.

Then, a single, mocking laugh brought him reeling back to his senses.

In spite of his prolonged inactivity, he sprang easily to his feet, lowered into a defensive stance, and spun around. A white-robed figure in a cry-smiling mask stood in the temple’s doorway, silhouetted by hazy orange light. The boy bared his teeth and an inhuman snarl ripped from his throat.

Bai Wuxiang laughed again, disdainfully, and took a step inside. “Little ghost, you’re still here.”

He snarled again and held his ground. He watched carefully, ready to strike.

“It won’t make Taizi Dianxia recover any faster, you know.”

“Fuck you!”

Bai Wuxiang tilted his head up and said with a smile in his voice, “Such fine anger. You’re shaping up much more nicely than our dear Xie Lian.”

“You DARE say his name?!”

He was so full of hatred that he felt he might explode. Bai Wuxiang ignored him and stepped closer, advancing towards the altar, and the boy lunged at him. Before he could see what happened, he was flying sideways across the room. His shoulder and back collided into a pillar, which splintered, and the wind was knocked from his chest. He crumpled to the floor, yet to his surprise, he was able to quickly recover his breathing and scramble to his feet, almost as if he hadn’t been injured at all.

By then, Bai Wuxiang was already leaning over Xie Lian’s body. He flicked his wrist lazily in the boy’s direction and he was bound in place, unable to free his limbs from the strong forces wrapped around his entire body.

“Stay away from him, you fucking bastard!” He screamed and spat as he struggled to free himself. “Let me go! I’ll fucking kill you if you touch him!!!”

Bai Wuxiang laughed and turned his cry-smiling mask towards him. “Foolish ghost. You think you’re any match for me? You should think twice about making reckless challenges while you are still so vulnerable.”

He cocked his head slightly to the side, angling the smiling side of his mask more prominently. “There is much you don’t understand about this world. Allow me offer you some guidance, little ghost. In three days’ time, a delegation of minor heavenly officials will go to Xianle’s Imperial City. They will clean up the battlefield, which the Yong’an people have neglected for months. They will perform rites and bury the dead.

“Before they do that, I will go there myself. I will find and destroy your corpse. I will scatter your ashes into the wind. There will be no protective rites or burials for you. When I do that, your spirit will disperse, and you will never see your precious Dianxia again.”

“You’re lying!!” The boy felt his stomach clench with fear even as he protested. “Why should I trust a single thing you say? How could a fucking demon like you know anything about the heavens?”

“You foolish ghost. I know what they will do because I will tell them to do it, and they will obey me.”

Bai Wuxiang turned back to Xie Lian and gently touched his face. The boy was even more furious for how loving the gesture was, and struggled even more fiercely to break free.

“Liar!!!”

Without looking at him, Bai Wuxiang continued speaking.

“It is as I said. You have three days to look after yourself, or I will wipe your existence from this world. I do hope you’ll heed my warning. When I finally destroy you, I want Xianle to feel the loss of his only believer, so please, do as you so desire and become close to him first, little ghost.”

He dropped his hand and once again looked towards the boy, who was gritting his teeth and struggling desperately. Bai Wuxiang picked up the smiling mask that had been discarded countless weeks before, approached him steadily, and pressed it over his face.

“It will take you two days. Make your choice. Don’t delay.”

“FUCK YOU!!!”

His voice sounded hollow and muted behind the mask. He yelled wordlessly, raw with anger, but Bai Wuxiang simply turned and walked away. When he disappeared through the doorway, the forces holding the boy back suddenly released. He fell messily forward onto his hands and knees, but within seconds he was sprinting to the temple’s entrance. The sun had set beneath the horizon. Bai Wuxiang was nowhere to be found.

He ripped the mask off in frustration but didn’t throw it this time. There was too much to think about, yet his mind was in tumult and he found it impossible to focus. His first stable thought was about Dianxia. While he had been bound, the boy had inadvertently looked at his body, and he hadn’t been horrified by it. He startled at the realization, and relief melted away some of the icy tension that had been his constant companion since that horrible, bloody night.

He had looked at Xie Lian’s face. He was able to recognize it.

Dianxia really was healing!

He immediately rushed into the temple and over to Xie Lian’s side. He looked at him directly – for the first time in weeks or months, he wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter – and even more of his tension relaxed. Xie Lian’s face was soft, like he was lightly sleeping and could awaken at any moment. His robes were the same tattered, bloody mess as before, but the skin revealed beneath those tears was smooth and unblemished. The bloodstains caked on his throat and chest remained, but there were no wounds hidden within them, not even a single scar. Once Xie Lian changed his robes, it would be impossible to tell that he’d been tortured through a hundred brutal deaths.

At that thought, the boy’s heart twisted with discomfort. How unbelievably cruel it was that Xie Lian would bear this burden alone! The only three who would know the truth were the boy, the demon who had orchestrated everything and forced him to watch, and Xie Lian himself. Unconsciously, he covered the black leather vambrace strapped over his left forearm.

“Dianxia.” He finally, finally spoke to him. “I’m so sorry… I was too late. I couldn’t stop them…” His voice wavered, and he closed his eyes against the pain.

After a few moments, he took a steadying breath and forced his eyes back onto Xie Lian’s face. “Dianxia, I will help you seek your revenge. I have seen your suffering. I will never forget it, not in a hundred lifetimes, not in a thousand! Bai Wuxiang will die. All your enemies will fall before you. I will make it so.”

His voice was strong with determination. He knelt down on one knee, put his left arm behind his back, as far away from Xie Lian as possible, and bowed low with his right hand pressed over his heart. “Please forgive me, Dianxia. I have to go. I have to prepare so that I can help you. I won’t let you face him alone. Please, wait for me. I promise, I will return to your side. There is no force in this world that could keep me from you.”

He rose to his feet and looked once more at Xie Lian’s face. His forearm stayed tucked behind his back. After a long time, he realized that the storm in his chest wasn’t going to settle, and forced himself to turn away. He fastened the mask over his face, tied it over his loose hair, and walked outside with heavy steps.

---

And so, the boy began his journey back to the fallen Imperial City of Xianle. At first, he walked somewhat aimlessly down the mountain path, struggling to sort through his chaotic thoughts and feelings. Leaving Xie Lian’s side was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and he cursed Bai Wuxiang with every step. He couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t being tricked away, but ultimately the consequences would be too serious if he underestimated the situation. He had to go, no matter how cunningly Bai Wuxiang might try to frame it as his choice.

The sun had nearly risen by the time he reached the base of the mountain. It finally occurred to him that he should gather his bearings. He picked out the familiar low peak of Mount Taicang on the horizon and headed towards it decisively.

It was just as Bai Wuxiang had said. Two full days and nights passed before Mount Taicang seemed like anything more than a foggy landmark in the distance, despite the fact that he neither slept nor stopped to rest. Sometime early on the second day, once his thoughts were calmer, he found that rather strange.

He had managed to hold off the discomfort for a long time, but it was no longer something he could ignore. He felt deeply unsettled, like he was constantly crawling around in his skin. Once he acknowledged it, the pieces started coming together.

He wasn’t winded at all. Not after screaming. Not after being thrown practically through a pillar. Not after walking for days. He had developed fairly good endurance from a lifetime of fights and abuse, but even for him, this kind of recovery was unbelievably swift. Then, it hit him. He didn’t actually have to breathe anymore. His body wasn’t alive. With some nervousness, he blew out the air in his lungs, and didn’t draw any back in.

For a few paces, it felt the same as just holding his breath. Sure enough, around the point where he would have expected his lungs to burn and his vision to blur… nothing happened.

Panic threatened at the edges of his mind. He drew two breaths in quick succession and hugged his arms, fighting the clawing feeling in his chest. Unwilling to examine it any further, he told himself aloud, “I am used to breathing, and since it doesn’t matter either way, I’ll just keep doing it. It would be more trouble to try to stop.” He noted that he had to draw breath in order to speak, which was an additional reason to keep doing it. Breathing was practical, even for a ghost.

He pushed his mind away from the topic, and it settled on that clench in his chest. His internal awareness was sharpening, whether he liked it or not, and so he quickly noticed that his heart wasn’t beating. This realization didn’t scare him so much as it intrigued him. He didn’t have a heartbeat, yet he still experienced fear, anxiety, and grief. His body tensed and twisted and stuttered as if in preparation for his heart to activate; it simply never did. Out of curiosity, he tried to see if he could force it in the same way that he could choose to breathe, but it was soon clear that he had no idea how to control his heartbeat.

It seemed that, hidden just below the surface of his awareness, there were in fact some explanations for the discomfort he had been feeling. He had a body again – somehow. It felt different from his living body, yet they were almost physically identical as far as he had been able to tell. He even still had his tattoo.

His hand rose unconsciously to the right side of his mask. What about his eye? He hadn’t actually checked since he got his new body, and in fact couldn’t remember the last time he had purposefully looked at it even in his old one. Immediately, he stepped off the path in search of water.

As he moved through the trees, his breathing quickened in a facsimile of excitement. He felt lightheaded. Could it be possible…? Dare he even hope…? His tattoo had regenerated, yes, but until his failure to protect the man it represented from a fate worse than death, he had felt deeply attached to it. On the other hand, he’d had nothing but lifelong resentment for his demon eye. It was the first thing he ever knew about himself, the part that marked him as a monster and condemned him to a life of suffering and hardship. He had somewhat made his peace with it towards the end of his life, but it was a grim acceptance at best. If there were any chance at all that his preferences would have affected this body…

He heard the unmistakable sounds of running water and started to jog. He came up to the edge of a small, slow-moving stream and knelt on the shoreline. He peeked out over the water and nearly jumped back at the shock-white face with a cut smile that appeared on the surface, then felt quite embarrassed about his mistake. He unfastened the mask with trembling fingers and held it in one hand. Bracing the other on the shore, he took a deep breath and leaned over the edge once more.

For a while, he just stared as his body gradually went numb. When he couldn’t look any longer, he smashed the surface of the water with the mask, scattering that reflection into dozens of little ripples and splashing his knees in the process. He retied the mask, stood, and left.

The rest of that day passed in a blur. He travelled on the road if it was empty and moved away from it when it wasn’t. It was harder to see Mount Taicang from within the dense trees, so it was just a last resort to keep his feet moving. Nighttime travel had been much easier.

The Imperial City appeared on the horizon while the sun was high in the sky. It was close to setting by the time the broken walls loomed before him. Somewhere in the middle, the details of the sprawling battlefield came gradually into focus.

The first thing he saw was the color brown. The grass all around the city had long since died, having been trampled underfoot and drowned in the blood of a hundred battles. From a distance, it looked like death itself had broken out of the shattered walls and was seeping out in every direction, including up the mountain nestled behind the city. Blackened trunks were all that remained of the once-lush maple forest. A heavy stillness seemed to suppress the entire area.

Then, he started seeing bones and tattered clothes in what he had mistaken for rubble. He blinked a few times in disbelief and reevaluated the scene before him. There were bodies strewn all across that dead land. He was shocked. While he’d been alive, the Xianle soldiers had always made an effort to clean up the battlefield and take care of the dead. Once Xianle had been defeated, that Yong’an had shown such blatant disrespect to the fallen soldiers was unbelievable – even to him, an outcast from society with little care for most people. Even he knew: this simply wasn’t done.

He hadn’t quite reached the brown, dead land when the stench finally hit him. It didn’t creep gradually over; it assaulted his senses full-on and without warning. He choked on the overwhelming rot of a sea of sun-bleached bodies and took several steps back, hand covering over his mask as he coughed.

It was then that he realized for the second time that he didn’t have to breathe.

He couldn’t avoid this any longer. The excuse of convenience and habit was no longer enough. He had to stop breathing or he’d be unable to cross this field. If he didn’t make it to his body, then his entire trip, even leaving Xie Lian in the first place, would have all been for nothing, and that was unacceptable.

Stopping was a lot harder to do while he was coughing. His body instinctually gasped after each cough, which flooded more rotten air into his lungs and triggered yet more coughing. With a great deal of focus and effort, he eventually managed to stop himself from breathing.

This time, it took only seconds before panic rushed up and crippled him. He felt familiar hands constricting around his throat, heard that angry voice yelling over the static in his ears, saw flashes of his own blood on the black boots beside his head on the floor. Before he knew it, he was on his knees at the edge of the battlefield holding his head in his hands. His breaths were quick and shallow, and he couldn’t register the smell at all. His face was wet with tears beneath the smiling mask.

Gradually, his hands dropped from where they were scrunched up in his hair and his breathing stabilized. However, he still struggled to banish the thoughts of his long-dead father from his mind. It seemed that he couldn’t go on pretending he was fine, not with his body reacting this way to simply not breathing. He was a ghost! That should be easy! This new body even reacted much better in fights, so it would be even more useful than his old one. Why was he still struggling so much to accept it?!

His feelings were inconvenient and distracting. He had a purpose, and they did not serve it. Yet, he couldn’t ignore them and just hope they would go away. He hugged his arms and tried to find something to focus on. Surprisingly, the least upsetting part of his experience was actually that clench of panic in his chest. It was something familiar in a sea of unfamiliarity, and he latched onto it desperately. Until he could find the courage to let go of his body, to even let go of his own need to exist, this shallow comfort would have to do. He took a breath, blew it out, and stopped. This time, he kept the panic at bay. After a few minutes, he stood and kept on walking.

He stepped over and around the bodies – or more accurately, what little remained of them. He vaguely wondered if he would have been so careful before he learned the importance of physical remains to ghosts. Even though he didn’t know if Bai Wuxiang was telling the truth, he couldn’t help but be a little more cautious. It slowed him down, but he didn’t care.

A quiet thought snuck past the barricades in his mind. He wondered if he was intentionally taking more time than he needed. Of course he knew exactly where he was going. How could anyone ever forget where they had died? For two days, he had been drawn as if automatically to this place, yet now that he was here and it was nearly upon him, he hesitated. He frowned, irritated with himself. Another useless emotion getting in the way. How frustrating.

While he had sat vigil in the broken mountain temple, he hadn’t been very aware of his own existence. Most of the time, he had felt more like a force, a manifestation of sheer will, than a person. Now that he was a mere stone’s throw away from his own dead body, all of the existential terror and unwelcome thoughts he’d been ignoring struggled their way to the surface. Finally, he understood what was happening to him, and with that, he regained some control.

It faltered, slightly, when he reached his body.

Shakily, the boy knelt down beside it. A series of unwelcome thoughts intruded into his mind.

The arrows were still there, stuck between the bones. He didn’t remember there being that many.

The leather armor was there, too. It long outlasted the flesh it had failed to protect. Only the straps had disintegrated, so the leather plates had slipped off and offered up more of the bones to the sunlight.

Was this… really him?

Although the incredulity came more from shock than actual disbelief, he still sought confirmation. He pushed some of the bones gently aside and raked his fingertips through the dirt around where his left shoulder had fallen. Sure enough, he soon pinched a familiar crimson pearl between his thumb and index finger.

It really was him.

His fingers were already in his hair before he realized what they intended to do. With a rush of shame, he dropped that lock of loose hair and pressed his fists down on his knees. How dare he assume he still had any right to wear Dianxia’s things! It was bad enough that he couldn’t get rid of the tattoo, that lasting mark of a naïve young boy who didn’t yet know how undeserving he would be of such a tribute. He pushed the pearl beneath the vambrace covering his left forearm, banishing both reminders of his failure to the same location. He then removed his mask, tied his hair up into a high, severe tail, and swiftly covered his face once more. There would be no further temptations.

After this, he felt extremely tired of his own self-pity. With decisive motions and a steeled heart, he removed his outer tunic and spread it out on the ground. He separated the armor and shreds of fabric from the remains, then carefully collected every bone and bundled them up in the black robe. He glanced down at the long sabre jutting out from beneath the strewn garments and unthinkingly took it up and fastened it at his waist. Taking that bundle into his arms, he stood and passed through the broken gates.

The Imperial City was in ruins. It seemed that whatever great fire had razed the mountainside had also reached the city proper. The outskirts had been leveled, and while the inner city was mostly intact, scorch marks and heavy structural damage were widespread. As he navigated through barely recognizable streets, he sensed that there were some people around, but they were cloaked in shadows and hidden behind walls. He ignored them, and they didn’t bother him.

He pilfered a coffin from a destroyed funerary shop. It had probably been made to hold the body of a small child. He thought it was ideal; his body was already so decayed that the bones didn’t need to lie in a human shape anymore, and a smaller coffin box would be easier to hide. He placed the whole bundle inside.

He didn’t feel comfortable leaving his body within the city. There was enough of a human presence that he couldn’t guarantee his remains wouldn’t be found or tampered with. So instead, he walked out into that field of burnt maples.

At first, he questioned the wisdom of this decision while he walked. Without the usual canopy and underbrush obscuring the area, the whole mountainside felt unusually exposed. Was it really such a good place to hide something so important? The further he advanced into the dead trees, however, the less he worried. This was a haunted place that no longer offered anything to anyone. There was no shade, no beautiful leaves or flowers, no privacy. Through its barrenness and overexposure, the mountainside was actually the perfect choice.

He stopped when he reached a hollow tree. It didn’t seem to be his hollow tree, the one he had covered with carvings before he died, but it was equally suitable for the task at hand. He snapped a piece off of the hollow stump to use as a makeshift shovel and started to dig. A bright moon lit the night sky when he finally opened the coffin, unwrapped the bones, and dusted the remains directly into the wooden box. After a long pause, he withdrew the red pearl from beneath his vambrace and placed it inside, too.

Once the coffin was buried, he refastened his outer robe, lay on his back beside the grave, and closed his eyes. His body may not have needed to rest but his mind begged for it. Within moments, he was deeply asleep.

---

He could feel the sunlight burning on his skin. It wasn’t bright on his eyes, since the mask filtered a lot of it away from his face, but the exposed places around his hands and neck felt inflamed. Wincing slightly, he sat up, crossed his hands over his chest and tucked them beneath his arms, and opened his eyes to the late afternoon light.

Everything was finished. Whether Bai Wuxiang had been lying or not, the precautions had been taken and the boy could finally return to Xie Lian’s side. For the first time, he thought that it was possible Xie Lian might have awoken while he’d been away. Fear gripped around his stomach. Would he be able to find him again if he’d left that temple?

He was on his feet within seconds. He paused only to drive that crude shovel deep into the dirt beside the grave, then rushed back to the Imperial City. There was only one way to know, and it was to return to that misty mountainside temple as quickly as possible.

To his enormous surprise, that was entirely unnecessary. He had no sooner stepped through the city gates before he gasped and froze in place. Standing out on the battlefield, clothed in white funerary robes, was Xie Lian himself.

His back was mostly turned away. His hair was unbound and blowing around in the wind. What little of his profile was visible was obscured with a white mask. A thin white cloth hovered over him, billowing peculiarly as if it were underwater. Xie Lian looked unlike himself in every way, and yet, the boy recognized him effortlessly. In this, he had unshakeable confidence: he would never, never mistake Xie Lian, no matter how he appeared.

He was alive! He was here! The boy vaguely wondered how much time had actually passed while he slept, but it was a distant thought in a mind flooded with relief.

Breaking through his paralysis, he approached carefully. Xie Lian had his arms spread wide, and the cries of agitated spirits harmonized with the howling wind as they converged into his sleeve. The boy felt a slight pull, too, but he was powerful enough to ignore it, unlike the minor spirits and black ghost fires caught in the frenzy. When he was just a few paces behind Xie Lian, he dropped down on one knee, bowed his head, and tucked his left forearm deferentially behind his back.

“Dianxia…”

He watched the hem of his robes twist as Xie Lian turned around. The boy couldn’t help himself and slowly lifted his head. One mask faced another as he took in the unsettling cry-smiling face before him.

“Who were you calling?” Xie Lian’s voice was flat and cold. Wailing spirits continued to flow unceasingly into his sleeve, yet Xie Lian’s timbre was perfectly audible.

“I was calling you, Taizi Dianxia.”

“I’m not him.”

“You are,” the boy insisted calmly. “I will never forget your voice and your form.”

“I told you, I’m not him.” Xie Lian flicked his wrist angrily and that flowing white band struck out suddenly towards him. Moving faster than he thought he was capable of, the boy caught it in his right fist. It snaked around his wrist and pulled, but he held it firmly and suppressed its killing aura with his own strange power. The cloth couldn’t move or escape.

Xie Lian tilted his head slightly and lowered his arm, somehow locking those angry spirits away in his sleeve. “What is your name?”

At that, he hesitated. He would never repeat the slur his father had bestowed upon him, and any variant that he’d given to Xie Lian in the past could betray his identity. Xie Lian’s own words rang in his ears: “If your beloved knew you couldn’t rest in peace because of them, they might feel guilty and troubled.” There was really nothing that he could safely say.

“I don’t have a name,” he finally said, settling for a half-truth.

“Without a name makes one Wu Ming,” Xie Lian accepted, somewhat indifferently.

“You may call me whatever you desire.”

“Are you a soul of a dead soldier from this battlefield?”

“I am.”

Xie Lian released the silk band and the boy opened his fist immediately, allowing it to coil loosely above Xie Lian’s shoulders once more.

“Then, follow me.” The boy’s eyes widened behind his mask as Xie Lian offered out his hand. “I will give you what you want.”

What he wanted? There were many answers to that question when it came to Xie Lian. He decided that it didn’t matter which one Xie Lian meant; regardless, the opportunity he had lived and died for was now extended out in front of him. He took that perfect, soft hand into his own and bowed his forehead against it.

“I swear to die following Dianxia.”

Xie Lian drew back his hand, tucked his arms away in his draping sleeves, and turned his back on him. “You’re already dead,” he said coolly. “Come.”

As the boy, now dubbed ‘Wu Ming’, rose to his feet and started to follow behind him, he swore to himself, ‘I will die as many times as it takes to protect you.’

While they walked away from the battlefield, Wu Ming noticed for the first time that he was slightly taller than Xie Lian now. Perhaps his new body had grown as much as it might have if he’d survived the war, and he simply hadn’t noticed until he stood beside something so familiar. Xie Lian glanced back at him over his shoulder, revealing the smiling side of his mask, then continued walking towards the sunset.

“Dianxia, where do you want to go?”

“The Palace of Yong’an,” Xie Lian answered distantly. Wu Ming nodded silently and kept walking. He finally understood what it was that Xie Lian had promised him. They were going for revenge.

They walked through twilight and deep into the night. The new Yong’an capital wasn’t far from Xianle’s destroyed Imperial City. In Wu Ming’s eyes, it appeared to have leeched all the liveliness away, and it was physically close enough to those ruins that he felt insulted on Xie Lian’s behalf. He cut through the air like a sharp blade as they traversed through the shadows and rooftops, disdainful of everything he saw.

When they reached the outer gate of the palace, Wu Ming sensed a powerful ward emanating from behind the doors. He didn’t really know how he knew that, nor did he understand why he was so certain he could overpower it, yet he stepped in front of Xie Lian, touched the door, and commanded, “Break!”

It was as if the very force of his will had concentrated and struck out from within him. The aura indeed dissipated, and Wu Ming pushed that door open and bowed an invitation towards Xie Lian. “Dianxia.”

Xie Lian crossed the threshold and picked up some burnt talisman ashes from where they’d dropped off the back of the door. He glanced again at Wu Ming, seeming to size him up in his mind. Wu Ming held his head high and immediately shed what remained of those uncertain feelings about his new body. He finally confirmed that becoming a ghost had granted him at least some power he could use to protect his god, and there wasn’t so much as a shadow of regret after that point. Determined to prove himself, Wu Ming broke through the next several wards without needing to speak.

When they finally reached the main hall of the Yong’an Palace, they approached from above. The ghost and his god stood side by side atop the roof in perfect balance with each other, compact shadow and billowing light, yin and yang. Together, they were unstoppable.

Xie Lian chuckled and remarked with derision, “To set so many obstacles to ward off evil within the palace, he’s really scared of something that will come knocking.”

Wu Ming agreed, and thought it was about time that they ‘knocked’. “Dianxia, I will go open the path.”

“No need,” Xie Lian said. “I’ll do it myself.”

Xie Lian leapt down, and the grace and killing intent of his fluid motions made Wu Ming’s chest tighten. He followed a moment later, as Xie Lian kicked the door in.

Wu Ming watched, always a few paces back, as Xie Lian confronted Lang Ying in the empty throne room. His contempt for this man could not be easily described. Lang Ying was the single force which had brought the two nations to war, the man who was ultimately responsible for destroying Xie Lian’s entire life. While Wu Ming very much blamed himself for every horrible thing that had happened to Xie Lian since his exile, that any of those things could have happened in the first place was all due to Lang Ying’s actions.

The presence of the Human Face Disease on Lang Ying’s chest didn’t faze Wu Ming, nor did his calm demeanor. It was good that he accepted his death, for it was absolutely inescapable now. However, when Lang Ying revealed that red pearl earring, the pair of the one now buried with Wu Ming’s body, when Lang Ying’s words suggested it had been a gift from the very man whose goodwill he had so utterly betrayed, Wu Ming went momentarily blind with rage.

How fucking dare he continue to breathe in Xie Lian’s presence! How fucking dare he have a smile on his face! This ungrateful fucker didn’t deserve a single second of peace!!

When Wu Ming’s vision cleared, Lang Ying was limp in Xie Lian’s grasp. Without needing to check his vitals, Wu Ming could already understand the situation.

“Dianxia, he’s dead,” he told Xie Lian.

It was incredibly unjust that such a man would only suffer one death. Wu Ming wanted to kill him hundreds of times, wanted him to know the agony of a thousand cuts through his heart, wanted to cause him as much pain as he had caused Xie Lian. Hatred coursed through him and emanated out from his body like a dark shroud.

Xie Lian dropped Lang Ying and his pearl earring and rose to his feet, his movements chaotic. Wu Ming watched his hand start to wrap around the hilt of that cursed black sword. He immediately dashed forwards and whipped out his sabre. Distantly, he noticed that he was even powerful enough to create a sword glare. Within seconds, the body and those wailing human faces growing upon it were cut into bloody scraps on the ground.

Xie Lian’s voice was frigid. “Who told you to do that?”

“There was no need to dirty Dianxia’s hands,” Wu Ming said, eyeing that pitch-black sword.

Before Xie Lian could respond, a young boy, some relative of Lang Ying, arrived in the hall and made a racket. Wu Ming struck a pressure point on his neck and the boy fell, unconscious, into the pool of blood and flesh. With a meaningful glance, Xie Lian showed Wu Ming his intentions, and Wu Ming leapt into motion. Outside the hall, he slaughtered a dozen guards with a single, powerful slash, then quickly subdued the second wave.

After burning the palace at Xie Lian’s command, Wu Ming accompanied him out from the city and towards Lang-Er Bay. The vengeful aura around his god had only grown stronger since their arrival at the Yong’an Palace, and the spirits Xie Lian kept in his sleeve had become more agitated. Xie Lian didn’t seem to react, but Wu Ming could hear them begging to kill and hurt. It was enough to ascertain that Xie Lian had collected them for a curse, and that the resentful energy would likely increase until those spirits were unleashed.

At daybreak, they settled into a desecrated temple of the Flower Crown Martial God on the outskirts of Lang-Er Bay. After scouting out the area, Wu Ming returned and watched over Xie Lian as he meditated in the center of the room. Behind him, the divine statue was lying in pieces on the altar, which had a great crack down the middle of the stone. Seeing Xie Lian sitting beside such chaotic destruction was somewhat disarming. Wu Ming examined his feelings while his eyes flicked between the man and the statue.

Wu Ming’s head was clear and focused; he was with his god, and he was fulfilling his purpose of being useful to him. His heart, however, was in slightly more turmoil after watching Xie Lian struggle against the spirits in his sleeve. Did he know that the time was limited, that the spirits would grow stronger and break the array? Wu Ming frowned and dropped down on one knee, preparing to speak, when Xie Lian suddenly swatted the air in front of his face.

“Just wait, don’t be impatient,” he muttered. “I will allow all of you to find a release.”

So he could hear them! Wu Ming relaxed. “Dianxia.”

Xie Lian opened his eyes. They were slightly unfocused and his brows were drawn close together. Was it pain? Irritation?

“…Don’t address me by that title,” he finally replied.

“Dianxia will forever be Dianxia.” It really was that simple to Wu Ming. He tried to use a soothing voice, but Xie Lian was too upset to be comforted.

“If you keep calling me by that title, I’ll disperse your soul,” Xie Lian snapped. “Don’t think yourself to actually be that strong.”

Of course, Wu Ming would accept whatever fate Xie Lian thought fitting for him. However, there was no need to tempt him, especially not while those angry spirits were still trapped on Xie Lian’s body and affecting his temperament. Wu Ming bowed his head respectfully and kept his words to himself.

“Go search the area around Lang-Er Bay and find the best location to set up an array to conduct a ritual.” Xie Lian’s command held less ice than before.

“Yes sir,” Wu Ming said. Actually, such a place was already clear to him from the survey he had conducted while Xie Lian was meditating. He didn’t move.

Xie Lian quickly reopened his eyes and narrowed them at Wu Ming. “How come you’re still here?”

“The location is already settled. What about the time?” Wu Ming was cautious, as if he were stepping over broken glass.

“Time?”

“The souls of the dead cannot wait any longer,” Wu Ming said as gently as he could. “We must find a subject to curse soon without delay.”

Thankfully, Xie Lian seemed to accept his counsel. He thought for a while, then said, “Three days.”

In some senses, his reasoning was sound; the spirits would surely be quite agitated, but they should still be within Xie Lian’s control for that long. However, Wu Ming couldn’t help but wonder why he would choose to delay when Lang-Er Bay was already before them, its people vulnerable and unsuspecting.

“Why three days?”

It was immediately clear that he’d crossed a line. Xie Lian’s temper was too wild; Wu Ming kept misjudging his words.

“In three days it will be the full moon. Unleashing the Human Face Disease then will increase the power significantly. You ask too many questions, just go.”

So that was the plan. Wu Ming nodded into a deep bow, then stood and withdrew from the temple. If Xie Lian already had to endure the effects of the spirits, then the least Wu Ming could do was remove himself from the situation and stop himself from making things worse. Perhaps there was something he could do that would even be able to help somehow. For the first time in a long, long while, Wu Ming decided to search for a flower.

As soon as he stepped between the trees behind the temple, Wu Ming felt a surprising amount of relief to be taking up this old habit once more. A youthful exuberance quickened his steps and lightened the heaviness in his chest. In his mind’s eye, as vividly as if it were still happening in front of him, he watched Xie Lian notice the flower Wu Ming had left for him while he supported the Celestial Pagoda during the war. Xie Lian had picked it up, smiled, and pressed it over his heart. Yes, Wu Ming thought again, this really was a good idea. When last Xie Lian was struggling beneath such a heavy burden, Wu Ming’s flower had brought him a moment of comfort and peace. He needed that now more than ever before.

This was an unfamiliar place, however, and Wu Ming soon found himself frowning while he scoured the underbrush. The plants looked feeble, like they had only just returned from the brink of death and lacked the strength to flower. Then, Wu Ming remembered the drought, the catalyst of that devastating war, and looked at those struggling plants with pity and frustration. Perhaps this would be harder than he had thought.

By the time Wu Ming had found a suitable flower, night had fallen over the bay and the city below was hushed and dark. While he walked back to the temple, Wu Ming heard the crashing waves of the ocean for the first time. They were louder and somehow heavier than any water sounds he had ever heard. Curiously, he turned towards the sound, but he couldn’t make anything out through the darkness. Pushing it out of mind, Wu Ming turned back towards the temple and kept walking.

He froze in the doorway when he saw Xie Lian lying on the floor beside the altar. For a horrifying moment, he thought he saw a black sword protruding from his chest and dark blood covering the floor. Then, his vision cleared, and Xie Lian appeared only to be napping. That black sword was lying next to him, unblemished with blood, yet it was cold and somehow loud. He realized that this was where Xie Lian had sealed those resentful spirits. Wu Ming released the breath he hadn’t intended to draw and crossed the room silently. As he drew nearer, he could see that Xie Lian wasn’t sleeping peacefully, if he was even sleeping at all. His hands were drawn up and knotted in his hair and his body was curled defensively. Were the spirits already so restless as that?! It seemed like too great of an escalation for such a short time. If things were already this bad, Wu Ming worried that three days might be too great an estimate after all.

Wu Ming carefully placed the delicate flower in the only remaining hand of the divine statue. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he reached out and brushed his fingertips against the statue’s burnt cheek. Just then, Xie Lian stirred in the corner of his eye, and Wu Ming withdrew in a flash and tucked himself into the shadows by the entrance. He would have gone all the way outside, but he wanted to watch Xie Lian’s reaction.

Xie Lian pushed himself up and looked around the room. His eyes stopped on that iridescent white of the flower, visible even in the low light, and he was still. Then, he rose suddenly to his feet and ripped the flower away from the statue’s grasp.

“What… what is this flower doing here?”

Wu Ming’s heart sank.

“Ghost! Come out!” Xie Lian shouted. Wu Ming had no choice but to obey. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to explain, when Xie Lian interrupted him. “What’s with this flower? Who did this? You did this?”

Wu Ming stared at the crushed flower in Xie Lian’s fist. Panic coursed through him. This wasn’t what he had wanted at all! He was terrified that Xie Lian would send him away, terrified that he wouldn’t be allowed to help him any longer if he knew. His insides twisted with discomfort, but Wu Ming forced himself to lie. “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who could’ve done it??” Xie Lian’s voice was hysterical, completely unlike his reaction at the Celestial Pagoda. Was he not suffering under similar sorts of stress?

“Why does Dianxia become so irritated when seeing this flower?” Wu Ming asked honestly, hoping it wouldn’t trigger another outburst.

Xie Lian threw the crushed flower onto the ground at his feet. “…A prank like this disgusts me,” he said darkly.

That stirred up complicated feelings in Wu Ming. Before he had the chance to examine them, he had already started to speak. “Why does Dianxia think it’s a prank? Perhaps, there truly are believers here who worship you.”

It was a veiled truth; after all, Wu Ming was indeed there, and he was Xie Lian’s most devoted believer. It was a crude compromise between the actual truth and the defensive lie he had spoken in panic. Wu Ming could only be vague without revealing his lie, something he didn’t dare to do while Xie Lian was so upset. When Xie Lian turned his head up towards him, that dark aura around him had intensified.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Wu Ming said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Then don’t say such nonsense! How can there be such a thing?”

Wu Ming was truly backed into a corner. “It’s not impossible,” he said vaguely.

Xie Lian shook his head incredulously. “That’s enough. What are you trying to say? Weren’t you a soldier of Xianle? I didn’t rouse you from the battlefield to listen to you speak for Yong’an, you just need to heed my command!”

Oh. Wu Ming finally understood. Xie Lian was thinking that his words applied to someone of Yong’an. As soon as Wu Ming reconsidered his words, their implication was suddenly obvious to him. He cursed himself for speaking so carelessly while he watched Xie Lian trample that flower underfoot. It would have been better if Wu Ming had never lied in the first place, but those vague words he’d then uttered in his own defense were like rubbing poison into an open wound. Now, Xie Lian thought Wu Ming was supporting Yong’an! The very people who had caused Xie Lian’s exile, who had killed Wu Ming and rendered him powerless, completely unable to stop Bai Wuxiang’s torture! Xie Lian thought Wu Ming was undermining his mission, when nothing could be further from the truth. He burned with shame and clutched his left forearm unconsciously. No matter how uncomfortable it was, Wu Ming would bear it. He would lock away his sentiments and give Xie Lian the support that he wanted. He would be his tool, the ghostly counterpart to that spiritual band. He would obey without question and never, ever lie again.

By the time Xie Lian ran out into the night, Wu Ming had steadied himself and followed calmly behind. Xie Lian faced into the wind for a while, then turned back to Wu Ming.

“You’ve investigated this area. Have you found anywhere that appears unusual?”

“No,” Wu Ming replied. This bay was the perfect target.

“Are you sure?” Xie Lian pushed. “In order to unleash the Human Face Disease, there can’t be anything amiss with time, fortune, or location.”

“I’m sure.” Wu Ming tried to sound reassuring, even though he suspected that variations in those factors Xie Lian was so concerned with wouldn’t make a single bit of difference. Dead souls this frenzied would be effective no matter when they were unleashed. However, Wu Ming didn’t refute him. He had already made his resolution and would not speak a single word against Xie Lian. As long as he still unleashed the curse, then as far as Wu Ming was concerned, Xie Lian could be as particular as he wanted about whatever irrelevant things he chose.

“Dianxia, have you thought of how to unleash the pestilence of the resentful spirits?”

Xie Lian’s eyes dropped from the sky down to the sword at his waist. “I’m still thinking.”

Wu Ming felt his heart twist at the sight of that black sword. That Xie Lian could wear such a thing deeply unsettled him. He would do anything to protect Xie Lian from the pain it must bring him to look at it.

“Dianxia,” he said. “I have a presumptuous request.”

Xie Lian looked back at him. “Speak.” Wu Ming took a deep breath.

“My beloved had sustained grave injuries in this war, suffering a fate worse than death. I could only watch with open eyes as they suffered this torment, struggling in agony.” An echo of helplessness cut off his words for a painful moment.

“And?” Xie Lian prompted.

“And so, I hope I could be the one to wield the sword and avenge them.”

It was the most honest statement that he dared to make without revealing himself. Xie Lian cocked his head inquisitively.

“I find you rather odd.” His voice was cold and suspicious. He started to circle around Wu Ming. “Based on what I’ve seen, you don’t look like an avenger entangled in resentment and hatred. To ask this of me, is it really so you can unleash the Human Face Disease?”

Ah. Perhaps Wu Ming had done too thorough of a job at disguising himself, and had accidentally softened the rage in his heart. He could fix that.

Wu Ming bowed. “Dianxia, I wish for the deaths of Yong’an people more than anyone. Furthermore, I wish it would be in my hands that they perish. If you don’t believe me, I can go prove myself to you right now.”

“How do you plan on proving yourself?”

Another easy answer: the blood would speak for itself. Wu Ming placed his hand on the hilt of his sabre and backed a few respectful steps away before turning on his heels.

“Stop!”

Wu Ming immediately stopped, looking back over his shoulder as he turned around. Xie Lian seemed to be staring at him from behind that mask. After a moment, he shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “I will unleash them myself.”

Wu Ming lowered his head in acknowledgment and to hide his private disappointment. Xie Lian had as much or even more of a right to enact this revenge with his own hand; yet, that his hand would wield the very instrument of his own torture while he did it left Wu Ming feeling strangely unresolved. So be it, he decided. He would simply seek a separate revenge on Bai Wuxiang later.

“However.” Wu Ming looked up in surprise. Xie Lian had turned his back on him and seemed to be looking at the black sword he held in one hand and balanced on his other palm. “Before that, I have something else to do.”

Dread pierced his heart. Something was wrong. “Dianxia, what are you planning?!”

Wu Ming leapt forward, but his first step had hardly landed when an unforgettable, slick sound cut through the night. The tip of that black sword pierced out from Xie Lian’s lower back, and deep red stains spread across the white robes.

“Dianxia!!!”

Xie Lian flicked his wrist out at his side. There was a rustle and a flash of white, and Wu Ming found himself bound up by that spiritual band. His arms were locked at his side. Before he could take another step, the band struck out at the backs of his knees and he crumpled to the floor. He looked up helplessly, tears streaming down his face below the smiling mask, as Xie Lian turned slowly around.

The view was even more gruesome from the front. Xie Lian held the hilt with his right hand, keeping the blade from twisting in his abdomen. His robes were soaked with blood, and the sliver of exposed skin between the cry-smiling mask and the bandages on his neck was paler than snow.

“Wu Ming. I don’t trust you to follow my orders, so I’ll make it harder for you to disobey.” Xie Lian spoke as if he were numb, yet there was a tight strain to his voice that made Wu Ming’s lip tremble as his tears fell. “Don’t get involved. Stay here until the Human Face Disease is released. Only then will I permit you to leave this place. I don’t know what your true motive is, but I won’t have you interfering.”

“I just want to help you!!” Wu Ming sobbed openly, but Xie Lian turned away as if he couldn’t hear a single word. “Dianxia, I just want to protect you!! Please, believe me!!!”

But Xie Lian had already walked past him and disappeared behind his back. Wu Ming twisted his shoulders around to try to watch him, but the silk band suddenly jerked him in the other direction. He fell hard on his shoulder and flopped onto his stomach. No matter how he struggled, the band was unrelenting and vicious. It had taken him completely by surprise, and now he couldn’t gain the upper hand.

This was all his fault. If Wu Ming hadn’t brought that stupid flower, if he’d managed to control his feelings and just serve quietly, but especially if he hadn’t lied and led Xie Lian to suspect his allegiance to Yong’an, then all of this could have been avoided. It had only been an illusion, Wu Ming realized, that control he’d thought he possessed. It didn’t matter what kind of body he had or didn’t have. As long as it was still him, with all his misfortune and undisciplined foolishness, he’d be unable to save Dianxia from anything.

“AHHHHH!!!!”

Wu Ming lay still for a long time, completely tense but no longer struggling. The sun rose and fell. Then, the storm clouds split open with a great crack of thunder and heavy rain pattered against the earth. Lying just paces away from the temple’s entrance, it wasn’t long before Wu Ming was soaked through. Water pooled in the curves of the inside of his mask. He was utterly indifferent to it, instead wondering where Xie Lian was at that moment. He hoped that he had sought shelter, that he had removed that fucking sword, that he had released those spirits and freed himself from their tortured screams. But deep in his heart, Wu Ming knew that there was no way Xie Lian had done any of those things.

“Please… let me go…”

That band constricted defiantly around his chest. Wu Ming was completely wrapped with powerful killing intent, against which he was barely able to defend himself.

“Please… please… please… I want to help him… he’s in danger… please…”

He continued his weak entreaties for hours. The silk band was relentless. Wu Ming had no way of keeping track of the time, as the sun was completely hidden by the dark storm. There had been no sign of a great curse being inflicted, and the third day was surely well on its way to ending. Wu Ming felt panic clawing at his stomach and rising up through his chest.

What if Xie Lian never released those spirits? What if he was too hurt, or too distracted, or his heart wavered? Wu Ming knew that those spirits wouldn’t accept such an outcome. Would they turn on Xie Lian if he tried to hold them back?!

“DIANXIA, PLEASE!!!” He shrieked so fiercely into the storm that his throat burned. “YOU HAVE TO RELEASE THEM!!! PLEASE, YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!!! XIE LIAN, LISTEN TO ME, PLEASE!!!!”

Wu Ming thrashed around violently and even managed to flip onto his back before the silk band suppressed him once again. Looking up into the falling rain, Wu Ming let out a long wail. When he ran out of air, his shoulders shook with silent sobs and he gasped just enough air to moan a few words at a time.

“Xie Lian… please, you can’t… you can’t die… I love you… please, I beg you… please live… I only just… found you again… ahhhhhh…”

As that last heartbroken cry slipped out beneath the thunder and rain, something inexplicable happened. The pressure on his chest seemed to lighten. At first, Wu Ming felt horrified that his body could experience relief at such a time, but he soon realized that the lifted tension had not been his own. Rather, it was that spiritual band which softened its grip for the first time in days.

Wu Ming blinked in disbelief and expanded his chest. The silk band slipped over his wet robes, allowing him to draw a deep breath and stretch his shoulders out from their tight curl. One end of the white cloth lifted from his body and hovered over his chest, as if it were looking at his face.

“…You’re letting me go?” Wu Ming was shocked. “Why… why would you do that?”

The tip of that silk band dipped slowly down and brushed against the mask over his cheek. It was exactly like how Wu Ming had touched the broken statue within the temple. Had this silk band been watching him?

Then, the band wound gently around the back of his neck and lightly squeezed all around him. There was no killing intent behind this action at all; in fact, Wu Ming couldn’t help but think it was giving him a hug. Suddenly, he was blind with tears once again. He brought his arms up around the silk encircling his torso, hugging it desperately back.

“Thank you,” he sobbed, completely overwhelmed. “You love him, too, don’t you? Thank you…”

After Wu Ming’s crying settled, the band unraveled from his body and held itself up above him. When he looked down, he saw that it had braced itself around his left vambrace, starkly white against the black leather. Wu Ming struggled to compose himself and rose unsteadily to his feet. The band billowed outwards entreatingly, and Wu Ming nodded.

“Let’s go.”

---

It didn’t take long to find Xie Lian. As Wu Ming had expected, he was in the same wide square that he had scouted out on their first day. He was unspeakably relieved to see that he still lived. What Wu Ming didn’t expect to see, however, was Bai Wuxiang.

Wu Ming hid around the corner of a building, silk band fluttering over his shoulder. Although he was facing Bai Wuxiang’s back, it was unmistakably him. Xie Lian stood opposite him, clutching his wound and shouting through the storm. Xie Lian had removed his mask and there was a simple bamboo hat shielding his furious face from the rain.

His kick sent Bai Wuxiang flying backwards, nearly right into Wu Ming’s hiding place. He drew back, wild with nervousness, but Bai Wuxiang landed on his feet a few paces away and didn’t notice him at all.

“ARE YOU MAD?!”

Wu Ming had never heard anything but the indifferent sarcasm of a cat playing with a mouse in Bai Wuxiang’s voice before. This emotional quality was entirely unexpected. Xie Lian stuck out his jaw with a small grin, and Wu Ming’s heart seemed to stutter.

“I’m not mad, I’ve just returned!”

Xie Lian charged and slashed the black sword, but no matter how quickly he moved or how precisely he struck, Bai Wuxiang always managed to step aside. They exchanged words that Wu Ming couldn’t hear until Xie Lian’s voice raised once more.

“IT’S NONE OF YOUR SHITTY BUSINESS!!!”

Just as Wu Ming was thinking that it was a relief to see Xie Lian fighting back with such vitality, Bai Wuxiang suddenly caught the tip of the sword in his fist. Blood cascaded down from his hand onto the dirt, yet Xie Lian was unable to push the blade any closer.

Wu Ming watched carefully, desperately trying to find an opening, some way that he could help. Their conversation was too low to pick up, but he didn’t dare move closer until he knew that Bai Wuxiang was completely distracted. He took an unconscious step forward when Xie Lian winced and his stance faltered, barely able to hold himself back. The shrieks of those spirits followed soon after, and Wu Ming understood what had affected him. Xie Lian snapped something at Bai Wuxiang, and a moment later he was flying backwards through the air. Bai Wuxiang appeared above him and struck him harshly down into the ground. The black sword flew from his hand and landed slightly behind Bai Wuxiang, who pressed a boot into Xie Lian’s chest.

Adrenaline flooded through his limbs and sharpened his vision. Was this his opening? The silk band steadied itself and stiffened into a point beside his cheek, ready to strike.

Xie Lian’s voice cut through the white noise. “Stop thinking so highly of yourself! I don’t need you to teach me anything, I can learn on my own. If you represent heaven’s will, then something like heaven’s will should be destroyed!”

That was as much of an invitation as Wu Ming could ever hope to receive. Lightning ripped across the sky, washing the street with blinding light. When the thunder cracked, Wu Ming was crouched beside the black sword.

“I took the utmost care in teaching you,” Bai Wuxiang said, “but you remain obtuse and stubborn. Taizi, I’ve lost my pa–”

Shhhhk.

Wu Ming rammed that sword from the small of Bai Wuxiang’s back up through the center of his chest.

Bai Wuxiang recovered from the shock within moments and started to turn around. Before he could so much as look over his shoulder, however, the spiritual band shot out and collided with his jaw, wrapping swiftly around his neck and torso. Wu Ming kept a firm grip on the hilt of the sword and together, they held him in place.

“…Huh?”

Xie Lian finally reacted, but Wu Ming couldn’t afford to spare any attention. He focused his will in the same way as when he shattered the arrays, he channeled that power into the sword, and he pushed on those thousands of spirits trapped within. Wu Ming knew it was working when Bai Wuxiang started to scream.

The spirits howled and flowed into Bai Wuxiang’s body with the force of a waterfall. Dense, black clouds materialized around the hilt of the sword and pierced through his back like wraith daggers. Bai Wuxiang shook from the forces tearing through his body. His own screams were soon inaudible over the shrieking and wailing of the spirits. Wu Ming concentrated once again, this time drawing up all of the painful rage, resentment, and suffering he’d felt while Bai Wuxiang tortured Xie Lian in the mountainside temple. When he felt like he was about to overflow with grief and pain, Wu Ming directed everything down through that sword and blasted it outwards. The blade shone red beneath the black clouds, and Wu Ming realized he was yelling, too.

At that critical moment, when the surging energy was at its peak, Xie Lian’s spiritual band radiated with killing intent and constricted tightly around Bai Wuxiang. Suddenly, his body collapsed, looking like it folded in on itself, and then exploded in a shroud of grey-black smoke. Wu Ming found himself holding the bloody sword in thin air, and all traces of the powerful ghost gradually dispersed.

“Wu Ming?”

Wu Ming snapped out of his daze, threw the sword aside, and dropped down to Xie Lian’s side.

“Dianxia!”

Xie Lian startled at his sudden approach and defensively threw his palm out to stop him. Surprising both of them, that white spiritual band swept out and pushed Xie Lian’s hand aside before he could make contact with Wu Ming.

“What… is the meaning of this?”

Xie Lian’s brows were furrowed and his eyes were still wide with disbelief. Actually, he looked quite dreadful, and there was blood everywhere. His mouth was red with it, bright against his shock-white skin. The funerary robes were dyed with old and new blood, including Bai Wuxiang’s. He was pressed into a groove in the dirt and his ragged breathing suggested broken ribs. Wu Ming showed his open palms in as nonthreatening a gesture as he could think of.

“Dianxia,” Wu Ming said, slow and soft and soothing. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now.”

“How are you here? I bound you…” Xie Lian’s eyes had gone glassy, like his mind was whirling through too many unbelievable things at once. Truthfully, Wu Ming felt a little bit like that, too.

“Ah…” Wu Ming glanced at the silk band which was still coiled around his left forearm. He nudged it gently and it flew over and wrapped all the way up Xie Lian’s arm over his wide sleeve. Wu Ming didn’t miss the shadow of a smile that flashed across Xie Lian’s face when it rejoined him.

He settled for a simple explanation. “It let me go,” he said.

Xie Lian looked back at Wu Ming as if seeing him for the first time. He was silent for a long while, opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped himself and closed it again. Wu Ming sat very still, hands flat on his knees. The feeling of closeness made his chest wring so tightly it hurt. Some of the tension dispersed when Xie Lian finally spoke.

“Is he dead?”

His voice was small and scared, yet there was hopefulness there, too. Wu Ming lowered his head a little and considered how to answer.

“For now, at least. Dianxia, have you ever heard anything about the remains of ghosts?”

Xie Lian shook his head.

“He might have been lying to me, but Bai Wuxiang once said that powerful ghosts could linger in this world so long as their remains were intact. If that’s true, then it’s possible that he isn’t truly gone.”

Xie Lian’s eyes widened in fear. “…How long?”

“I don’t know,” Wu Ming said honestly. Then, he pressed his hand over his heart and bowed low. “Dianxia, I promise you, I will find whatever Bai Wuxiang has left behind and destroy it. I swear to you, I will rid this world of him, you won’t ever have to worry about him ever again.”

When he looked up again, Xie Lian was watching him with a curious expression. “You…”

Wu Ming didn’t wait for him to finish the thought. “Dianxia, we should move. You need shelter and rest. You’re wounded.”

After hearing that reminder, it seemed as if Xie Lian was suddenly overcome with weariness. When he blinked, his eyes stayed closed too long, and pain intermittently tightened his features. Wu Ming’s chest was fluttering now, fond and light, giddy from the aftershocks of victory and the hesitant trust he saw in Xie Lian’s eyes whenever he managed to keep them open long enough to look at him.

“Rest, Dianxia,” he soothed. “I will protect you.”

“…Thank… you…”

With those words, Xie Lian was asleep.

Wu Ming allowed himself the time it took to draw and release three deep breaths to watch him. Xie Lian looked peaceful for the first time in what must have been years, since Wu Ming spotted him looking out from a stone bridge in the Imperial City during the war. Seeing him relaxed made Wu Ming feel so light that he thought he might float away if he pushed too hard off the ground.

Adding to that lightness, it felt as if some enormous pressure had lifted from the entire world now that Bai Wuxiang was gone from it. Wu Ming knew that this wasn’t over, that he shouldn’t become too comfortable before the matter was truly settled, and yet he couldn’t help but bask a little in the temporary relief. They were safe. Dianxia was safe, at least for now. Surely that was worth appreciating!

After his three breaths were up, he steeled himself and set his mind to more practical matters. Wu Ming picked up the black sword from where he had thrown it and strapped it off his right hip, opposite his own sabre. He ignored the sudden turbulence in his heart as best he could and turned back to Xie Lian. Carefully, he slid his right arm beneath his knees and his left below his shoulders, and slowly drew him off the ground and into his arms. Xie Lian’s head rolled onto his shoulder and nestled against his neck, and it took all of Wu Ming’s concentration not to drop him in shock. He had started panting lightly, although he didn’t realize it.

Wu Ming stood slowly, careful not to jostle Xie Lian unnecessarily. If there really were broken ribs, the pain of even a small misstep could be excruciating. The bamboo hat that had been trapped beneath his head while Bai Wuxiang stood over him now hung around the back of his shoulders from a strap around his neck.

This was the most precious thing Wu Ming had ever carried. There was no suitable analogy to describe how he felt. What could be more precious than god?

It was only once he started walking away that Wu Ming noticed the small crowd of people who had gathered to watch them. Perhaps the spirits’ yelling had drawn them out. No one approached, nor did they do anything more than mutter in surprise when they saw the bloody man in the arms of a masked soldier, so Wu Ming ignored them and set course back to that temple of the Flower Crown Martial God on the edge of the forest.

After setting Xie Lian gently down in a back corner of that temple and resting the hat and the black sword just out of reach behind him, Wu Ming retreated to the center of the room to collect himself. His arms tingled, although surely not from physical exertion. Xie Lian weighed hardly anything at all. In fact, Wu Ming had found himself thinking about ways to steal or prepare food for him while he was walking back. If it wasn’t physical exertion that was making him feel this way, then… he’d best not think about it.

Fortunately, a timely distraction set his thoughts firmly back in line.

Someone had appeared in the doorway!

“Stay back!” Wu Ming’s sabre whistled through the air as he drew it and braced his stance.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to fight.” The man’s voice was smooth and calm. Wu Ming finally looked at him and saw a tall man in glimmering white armor and an elegant hairpiece. His arms were folded behind his back, as far as possible from the sword at his waist in a clear gesture of peace, and Wu Ming indeed didn’t sense any killing intent. However, he didn’t lower his guard at all.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The man chuckled. “You’re a tenacious one, aren’t you? Is that Xianle there?”

Wu Ming narrowed his eyes. “My questions were clear.”

A sigh. “Very well. I am Jun Wu, the Martial God Heavenly Emperor. I am here to investigate a disturbance of spiritual energy.”

Wu Ming scoffed. Guilty. Not only was this man just another fake god who had scorned Xie Lian in his time of greatest need; if this really was the Heavenly Emperor, then he was even more directly responsible for his banishment. It was not lost on Wu Ming that Jun Wu was nowhere to be seen while Xie Lian was sacrificing everything to help Xianle win the war, yet his temples had stood unscathed while Xie Lian’s burned.

Also, there was something unsettling about this false god before him. Wu Ming couldn’t place it. Maybe it was something about what he said, or his sudden appearance at the temple, or the man himself. Wu Ming just knew he didn’t trust a single word Jun Wu said. He lowered his stance.

“What a strange ghost you are,” Jun Wu remarked evenly. “Is Xianle injured? What befell him in the town?”

“None of your fucking business!”

Irritation flashed across that serene face for the first time, but quickly passed. “You try my patience. Very well. I’ll return another time, when Xianle has recovered.”

“Get the fuck out and stay away from him!!” Wu Ming’s teeth were bared in a wolfish snarl. “How dare you show up now?! You could have helped him and you didn’t. Some Heavenly Emperor. You’re a piece of shit just like the rest of them! GET THE FUCK OUT!!!”

Clenching his jaw, Jun Wu turned and left without another word.

After waiting a while and then searching the area, Wu Ming finally relaxed. It seemed he really had left. He returned to Xie Lian’s side to check on him.

Xie Lian was still sleeping soundly and seemed not to have stirred at all, despite the noise. Shyly, Wu Ming reached out and checked his vital points at his wrist and neck. When he realized he wasn’t actually paying attention, he chilled with embarrassment, shook his head, and focused. Even then, he wasn’t able to confirm much besides Xie Lian’s regular heartbeat. Wu Ming mentally noted ‘medicine above a rudimentary level’ as yet another item on his list of skills to learn, along with ‘cooking’ and ‘reading’ and ‘writing’… He sighed and drew back his hand.

As he did so, the spiritual band peeked out from where it was wrapped around Xie Lian’s other arm. Wu Ming smiled at it. “Thanks for watching over him, too.” The band shook and then coiled back around Xie Lian’s wrist, its movements seeming somehow proud and confident.

This time, Wu Ming stayed close by. He lay on his back beside Xie Lian, a safe distance away that was still close enough to reach out and touch – only if something went wrong, of course. His chest fluttered dangerously, but Wu Ming kept himself in check. He was there to protect Xie Lian, who was currently defenseless. Wu Ming’s left hand rested on the sabre beside him, and he was blocking Xie Lian from the entrance. He was doing his sworn duty.

Yet, as much as he might try to ignore it, Wu Ming was also comforted by their closeness. Even as it agitated him, it soothed him, and for the first time since he left Mount Taicang, his eyes grew heavy with tiredness. There was still too much to think about, but Wu Ming couldn’t focus his mind any longer. Clutching his sabre with one hand and the lapels of his robe with the other, he slipped into sleep.

---

When Wu Ming opened his eyes, streaks of morning sunlight were shining into the temple. He felt very, very calm. He stretched his back and turned his gaze over towards Xie Lian, and that calmness shattered into a million pieces.

Xie Lian had turned onto his side during the night. That this hadn’t awoken him was a good sign for his ribs. However, it had also brought his face quite close to the unsuspecting Wu Ming, who was now unable to tear his eyes away. With a storm of butterflies wreaking havoc inside his heart, Wu Ming stared at those downturned eyelashes he could practically count, and the smooth planes of his brow and cheeks, and those perfect, soft lips…

He broke through his paralysis and practically flew across the room, suppressing the inappropriate thoughts with all his might. Wu Ming breathed heavily and scolded himself. He had a purpose here, and it wasn’t to gawk shamelessly at his god while he slept! His closeness with Xie Lian the day before had been an anomaly, something borne of necessity as Xie Lian had been too injured to walk or stay awake or protect himself. That Wu Ming’s imagination had run so far away after such a unique situation was intolerable.

In the past, there had been many times when Wu Ming thought about kissing Xie Lian, and he had never held himself away from those thoughts. He’d even dreamt of this exact situation, of waking up together in a private place, smiling at each other in the soft light and drawing closer… Wu Ming shuddered and pushed his thoughts along. The difference between then and now was simple: now, it was real. If he wanted, he really could lean over and touch Xie Lian’s cheek, he didn’t need to settle for touching desecrated statues of his likeness. He really could lift his mask and confess his feelings and fall into Xie Lian’s arms like they were actors in some festival street performance. But Wu Ming didn’t dare. He would never risk losing this place at Xie Lian’s side; he would never tarnish his trust with such childish fancies. For the first time, Wu Ming had to exercise control over his fantasies, and he found himself woefully underequipped to do so.

He needed some fresh air.

Wu Ming thought it was too soon to bring any more flowers into Xie Lian’s presence, lest he still be upset by them, so he decided to seek out edible things instead. Xie Lian had been so light in his arms, after all, and he could surely use the help while he recovered from his injuries. Although that forest was quite barren and frustrating, within about an hour Wu Ming had a small collection of nuts and berries tucked into his robe.

Xie Lian was still asleep when Wu Ming returned. He had curled up into a loose ball on his side, robes and unbound hair sprawled out behind him. Despite how he had scolded himself only an hour earlier, Wu Ming couldn’t help but think that Xie Lian was beautiful. His eyes went straight past the bloody, tattered robes; all Wu Ming could see was his perfect god.

As Wu Ming approached the altar and emptied his robes of the food he had gathered, Xie Lian finally began to stir. Wu Ming was occupied with trying to watch but not stare when Xie Lian groaned softly. Wu Ming was at his side in an instant.

“Dianxia,” he said, kneeling and leaning forward, hand slightly extended. “Are you in pain?”

“Mmn… it’s alright.”

Xie Lian opened his eyes halfway and pushed himself up into a messy sprawl. Wu Ming reached over as if it were the most natural thing in the world and helped him sit, then immediately returned his hands to his lap.

Xie Lian looked at him. “Wu Ming.”

“Yes, Dianxia.” Wu Ming carefully studied Xie Lian’s expression.

“You… thank you. For what you did. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

Wu Ming blinked in surprise. “Dianxia has nothing to apologize for.”

Xie Lian stared glassily over Wu Ming’s shoulder. “I can’t believe he’s really gone… Truly, I owe you a great debt.”

“Dianxia owes me nothing. My only wish is to stay at your side and protect you,” Wu Ming said quickly.

“Hm.” Xie Lian’s eyes refocused, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Well, the least I can do is call you by a proper name. After your actions, you deserve a better title than Wu Ming. You shouldn’t be nameless.”

His heart tripped and for a moment, Wu Ming struggled to speak. In fact, he was rather fond of ‘Wu Ming’, as it was chosen for him by the person he loved. But he couldn’t explain that, so instead he said, “I’m afraid I really don’t have a name. I was only called with curses.”

A pitiful expression twisted Xie Lian’s face. “Ah. Well, what do you call yourself?”

Those same curses crossed Wu Ming’s mind again. He quickly discarded them and struggled to find something that would satisfy Xie Lian. “If Dianxia wants… I could make up something new.” Xie Lian smiled. Before he could speak, Wu Ming blurted out, “But I like Wu Ming!”

At that, Xie Lian laughed. He actually laughed. Although it was small and surprised, that laugh lifted Wu Ming’s spirits and made his neck tingle.

“That’s good to know. Wu Ming, then.” Xie Lian smiled, and it seemed to light up the room. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Wu Ming’s eyes welled with tears, and he bowed his head. He was too overwhelmed to speak, but his heart was singing. He didn’t see Xie Lian’s gaze flick down to his fists, nor did he realize that he had clenched them around handfuls of his trousers just below his short outer robe. After a short but heavy pause, Xie Lian spoke again, as softly and cautiously as if he were soothing a frightened child.

“So, Wu Ming. I must ask you a few things.”

He tried to compose himself and slowly met his gaze. “Yes, Dianxia.”

“It’s about… Bai Wuxiang.” Xie Lian sighed. “You said he could still return. If there’s any chance of that being true, then I must find and eliminate whatever binds him to this world.”

Wu Ming nodded his acknowledgment. It was precisely how he had felt about protecting his own body.

“I think I know the answer, but I’ll ask you anyways. Do you know where Bai Wuxiang kept his remains?”

“I’m sorry, Dianxia. I don’t.”

Xie Lian waved a hand. “It’s as I expected. I’ll have to investigate this matter thoroughly. Maybe… ah, nevermind for now. Wu Ming, have you…?” He fidgeted and trailed off. “Forgive me, that’s very forward.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Wu Ming thought it was sweet of him to ask. “Yes, I have taken some measures to protect my remains.”

“That’s good.” Xie Lian sounded genuinely relieved, then blinked and straightened his features. “I recall that you have a beloved person who was hurt in the war, but you didn’t say that they died.” He raised an eyebrow, turning it into a question. Wu Ming gave a quick nod. “Do you know where they are now?”

Wu Ming had felt the tension in his chest increasing ever since Xie Lian first mentioned his beloved. At that question, Wu Ming started to panic. “They are… wandering.”

Xie Lian frowned. “So they, too, were displaced. Wu Ming, you should go search for them. You’ve already done so much, I couldn’t exp–”

“No!!”

Eyebrows raised high, Xie Lian closed his mouth without finishing his sentence. Wu Ming stiffened with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. But, I don’t want to go. I can’t go. You aren’t safe from Bai Wuxiang yet.” Wu Ming took a deep breath and thought about how to speak without lying. “Until Dianxia is safe, my beloved can wait.”

As soon as he spoke, Wu Ming felt that his words were heavier with implications than he expected, yet he fully meant them in his heart. His duty to Dianxia would always come before his personal feelings. His priorities were extremely clear.

“Then it will be me who keeps you here, unable to be at rest.” The frown returned to Xie Lian’s face. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to them?”

“It is as I already told Dianxia. I pray to never be at rest.”

Xie Lian was shocked. He blinked several times with his lips slightly parted before he managed to speak. “That spirit on Zhongyuan… that was you? You’ve even become this powerful?”

Wu Ming nodded, but didn’t say more. He needed Xie Lian to understand that he wasn’t going anywhere; it would become unbearable if Xie Lian kept suggesting that he pass on from this world. Surely, this small piece of their shared past would be safe to reveal.

“All of this for that beloved person, and yet you don’t want to go see them?” Xie Lian didn’t seem to expect an answer; he was soft and pensive, and sounded as if he were talking mostly to himself. Wu Ming was eager to move the conversation away from this precarious edge. He stood, startling Xie Lian from his reverie, and gathered the fruit and nuts with cupped hands.

“I’m relieved to see Dianxia recovering well,” Wu Ming said as he knelt back down beside him. “Please, eat.”

Xie Lian raised an eyebrow and gave Wu Ming another look as if he were sizing him up. Wu Ming wished he would stop doing that; his heart was going wild in ways he had not yet experienced in his new body, and the whole thing was incredibly distracting. Finally, Xie Lian took some of the food from Wu Ming’s hands. He went to deposit the small assortment in his lap, but upon seeing the bloody stains all over his robes, he appeared to change his mind and placed them directly on the floor instead. Wu Ming added the rest to that pile as Xie Lian picked up some red berries.

“Wu Ming isn’t going to eat?”

Surprised, Wu Ming looked up at him. Xie Lian seemed to have realized his assumption, but before he could apologize, Wu Ming quickly said, “I haven’t tried yet. I think I might not have to.”

“It was the same for me, once,” Xie Lian mused. “If you’d like to try, please.”

It was a cautious invitation, neither a demand nor an expectation. Wu Ming reached out and picked up one of those red berries. He had to admit he was curious what it would be like to eat in this body. Besides, he thought it might put Xie Lian more at ease if he did so, and that was reason enough to do anything. Shyly, he pulled the bottom of the mask away from his face and slipped the berry into his mouth.

To great surprise, the experience of tasting, chewing, and swallowing was exactly as Wu Ming remembered from the last time he had done it. His reaction must have shown somehow, because Xie Lian suddenly beamed at him and pressed more fruit into his hands. Wu Ming’s internal butterflies migrated back to his heart. Eating normally was a relief, but knowing that Xie Lian could still smile so brightly after everything he had suffered, even if just for a moment, was by far the greater comfort.

They ate in companionable silence. Wu Ming finished what he had been given but left the rest to Xie Lian, who accepted the arrangement with grace. A songbird trilled outside, close to the temple.

“Dianxia,” Wu Ming said after thinking for a while. “What do you want to do next?”

Xie Lian nodded as if he had expected the question. “We need to confirm some things. We’ll need to talk to someone who is knowledgeable about ghosts. Probably, it’s best if we ask one directly.”

Xie Lian hadn’t spoken more than a single word before Wu Ming’s heart did a backflip. He tried to keep his voice calm as he mirrored Xie Lian’s ‘we’, although he was practically cheering internally.

“Where do you think we could find a ghost?” he asked smoothly. “The Imperial City?”

“What spirits remain there probably aren’t old enough to answer our questions.” Xie Lian grimaced, but kept speaking. “However, perhaps the solution does lie in that direction. I passed through a strange town in my travels, many years ago. It seemed normal during the day, but under cover of darkness, all manner of odd things and people were revealed. Many ghosts and spirits had settled in that place, and some of them were even fairly strong.”

“Was this before Dianxia’s ascension?” Wu Ming’s eyes were wide. He didn’t know very much about this part of Xie Lian’s life; only one famous story was told and retold, and the rest were rare.

“That’s right. I’m afraid I don’t know this place well, though. There seemed to be disputes and infighting amongst the residents, but it wasn’t serious enough to stay for longer than a day.”

It made sense to Wu Ming. At that time, Xie Lian was searching for opportunities to grow his strength and ascend. Local politics, whether ghostly or not, were simply not worth his time.

“Where was this ghost city?”

“In a valley by a lake on the far side of Mount Taicang.”

“Then we shouldn’t delay here any longer.” Wu Ming glanced covertly at Xie Lian’s abdomen, where the robes were cut and bloody. “Dianxia, are you able to travel? I can carry you.”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Xie Lian said with faint color on his cheeks. “I can manage, I think.”

Wu Ming stood with his palms facing out and slightly outstretched as Xie Lian slowly climbed to his feet. Before he could straighten his back, Xie Lian winced and stumbled forward. Wu Ming caught him easily, supporting his elbow and opposite shoulder, arm wrapped around his back as he helped him stand and lean against the altar.

“Dianxia,” Wu Ming said as gently and earnestly as possible. “Let me help you. It would be my honor.”

Xie Lian sighed, embarrassment and irritation at war on his face, but finally gave a small nod. Without another word, Wu Ming picked up the black sword and bamboo hat and handed them over. Once they and Wu Ming’s own sabre were strapped over Xie Lian’s shoulder, he turned and dropped to one knee, arms held away from his sides, and Xie Lian climbed onto his back.

The first thing he noticed was how warm Xie Lian was. He was much warmer than when Wu Ming had supported him on Beizi Hill during the war. Or, was it that Wu Ming was just much colder? Actually, he hadn’t thought about it at all until that very moment. He certainly didn’t feel cold, nor was he shivering or experiencing the bodily sensation of coldness, but he supposed it could be yet another thing about his new ghostly body that he would have to accept and adjust to. Wu Ming threaded his forearms through the fold of Xie Lian’s knees, securing him in place, and headed out into the sunny morning.

As he walked down the path leading away from the bay, a very unwelcome thought rose to the surface. Would Xie Lian be repulsed by him?? It was probably too late to change their current physical arrangement, not to mention that it would be impractical to do so, since Xie Lian couldn’t even stand upright without aggravating his wound. Wu Ming had to simply endure his anxiety and keep walking.

They had been travelling in silence for several minutes when Xie Lian interrupted Wu Ming’s anxious spiraling. In a soft voice close to Wu Ming’s ear, he said, “Thank you,” and lightly squeezed around his shoulders.

Grounded once more, Wu Ming smiled. “You are always welcome.”

From there, the atmosphere lightened considerably. Sometimes they were quiet, other times they commented on the things they passed. The conversation was careful but it was neither cold nor forced. After several hours, Mount Taicang was drawing closer, the sunlight was softer, and Wu Ming’s heart was still trembling just as much as ever. He realized at some point that he’d been breathing, but decided to just allow his body to do this particular thing as it pleased. Xie Lian’s radiant warmth and steady heartbeat had seeped into him so deeply that he felt as if they were actually features of his own body. Perhaps his breathing was an extension of that feeling, and if that were true, then Wu Ming had no intention of stopping it.

They had an unspoken agreement not to pass by the Imperial City, so Wu Ming followed beside a stream which circled widely around Mount Taicang in the opposite direction. Scattered trees, while not a forest, did a great deal to obscure whatever view they might have otherwise had. Wu Ming thought Xie Lian must truly want to avoid that place which held such painful memories, so he was careful not to comment on it. When they emerged from the trees on the far side of the mountain, Xie Lian sighed, barely more than a soft rush of air. Even Wu Ming might not have noticed it if the breath hadn’t brushed across his hair and the back of his ear. It took every bit of his willpower to suppress the shiver that wanted to run down his spine.

“Wu Ming, you must be tired after walking all day,” Xie Lian said, breaking the silence.

He wasn’t, but Wu Ming had been wondering how to convince Xie Lian to rest and seized the opportunity. “Let’s settle in somewhere for the evening, Dianxia. We can continue tomorrow.”

They chose a flat patch of grass beneath a willow tree. Wu Ming left to gather food while Xie Lian bathed in the stream. He made sure that Xie Lian was sitting comfortably on the shore before he left and he didn’t go out of earshot. In spite of the hushed fantasies of his traitorous heart, Wu Ming did not need to rush back to rescue a bathing Dianxia from the water. He even managed to trap a rabbit. However, he did momentarily forget how to speak when he returned and found Xie Lian sitting bare-chested below the canopy. His torn, bloody robes were spread across the ground in front of him. It seemed he had attempted to wash the stains out, but there was practically no difference as far as Wu Ming could tell. Xie Lian looked up at him sheepishly.

Wu Ming emptied his hands and started to unfasten his belt and vambraces. Xie Lian frowned but didn’t object, so Wu Ming shrugged out of his outer robe and stretched to pass it over, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

“You have a tattoo?”

Fuck!!!

Wu Ming withdrew his hand and quickly pulled down the sleeve of his inner robe. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Xie Lian immediately waved his hands and added, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, don’t worry! It looks nice!”

To say that so casually, he must not have seen it clearly. If Xie Lian had read what was written there, Wu Ming was certain their acquaintance would come to a swift end. He relaxed a little but refastened the left vambrace first.

“It’s just something from when I was younger,” he said as dismissively as possible while tying his belt over his inner robe. Xie Lian looked like he wanted to ask about it, but he held himself back and simply nodded.

Wu Ming cleared an area outside the draping canopy of the willow tree and started a fire. When he turned back to fetch the rabbit, Xie Lian had finished dressing. Wu Ming completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing and just stared.

Xie Lian was gorgeous in black. Although they weren’t held in place with vambraces, the tapered sleeves accentuated the length and shape of Xie Lian’s strong arms, and the slim and practical fit did the same for his chest. He had belted the sash of his own robes around his waist. It was slightly bloodstained, but that couldn’t be helped. Wu Ming thought that the white-with-red against the black robe lent a particular aura to Xie Lian’s appearance. The white trousers and bandage around his neck added to the contrast. He was breathtaking.

As Wu Ming watched, Xie Lian held out his right hand and the white spiritual band wrapped itself up his forearm. He then shredded a thin strip of his robes and gathered his damp hair into a knot at the crown of his head. While he tied it, he finally noticed Wu Ming watching him through the canopy. Wu Ming lurched into motion, snatching the rabbit so quickly he sent the small pile of apples rolling towards Xie Lian.

“Sorry,” he muttered, rushing to collect them. Xie Lian leaned forward to help, and their hands brushed together as they reached for the same apple. Wu Ming jerked back like he’d been burned by the contact and repeated, “Sorry!” Xie Lian gave him an amused smirk, and Wu Ming decided on the spot that he absolutely could not look at him anymore or he might simply explode. He scurried back to the fireside, sat facing mostly away from Xie Lian, and busied his hands with skinning and dressing the rabbit. He could feel Xie Lian’s eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look over.

Wu Ming’s mind was racing and frantic. What was wrong with him?! Ever since he had decided to compartmentalize his feelings, to look after Dianxia and not let anything else interfere, he’d done nothing but fail to keep that resolution. He’d stared and daydreamed and, worst of all, acted suspiciously. He wore his heart on his sleeve – more specifically, beneath his sleeve – and Xie Lian had seen it. Even if he didn’t understand Wu Ming’s feelings, and Wu Ming truly hoped that he didn’t, Xie Lian had still noticed his strange behavior.

And yet, a weaker, heartsick part of him asked, what else was he to do? His god, the man he loved most in the world, was sitting just a few steps away, wearing Wu Ming’s own outer robe, and casually touching him, and smiling. Wu Ming’s commitment to being nothing more than Xie Lian’s tool had been much easier to keep before he had started smiling again.

Wu Ming had somewhat settled down by the time the rabbit was cooking. When Xie Lian joined him by the fire and passed him an apple, he even managed to look at his face without freezing up or running away. Xie Lian drew him into a shy conversation. Although it was stilted at first, the tension gradually eased by the time they’d eaten all the food. In spite of the tumult in his heart and the anxiety of needing to disguise himself, Wu Ming simply couldn’t help but relax in Xie Lian’s company. It might have been better for him to stay guarded, to resist Xie Lian’s friendly advances, but Wu Ming didn’t have the strength to be unaffected.

To his credit, Xie Lian was truly careful not to overstep, which made it so much harder to resist him. He didn’t ask invasive questions, seeming to have realized that Wu Ming wasn’t comfortable answering them. When Wu Ming tipped up the bottom of his mask to eat, Xie Lian politely looked away. He waited patiently for Wu Ming to speak and encouraged him with small smiles and earnest engagement. What a noble person indeed, Wu Ming thought after receiving yet another one of those smiles.

While they were stamping out the fire and preparing to rest, Wu Ming made another realization. He’d been so focused on himself, on his disguise and his commitment and his usefulness, that he’d completely overlooked Xie Lian. Wu Ming couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t fabricating an excuse to justify his desires, and yet… it seemed that Xie Lian also really enjoyed his company. The frosty edge to his demeanor, which was present since their meeting outside the Imperial City, had melted away since their confrontation with Bai Wuxiang. Maybe the Xie Lian from before who had told him just to quietly follow orders was also a façade. Maybe this Xie Lian would ask for different things, if he weren’t being so careful not to ask anything at all.

As if on cue, Xie Lian called out to him. “Wu Ming, you worked hard today, and carried me very far. I hope you’ll rest.” He gestured unassumingly at the grass to the left of where he sat.

Wu Ming might not have identified the full extent of Xie Lian’s wants and needs, but he didn’t have any trouble understanding such a direct hint. With a swell of elation, Wu Ming sat beside him. It earned him another of those heart-piercing smiles, lit up by shining moonlight and cut across with the thin, dancing shadows of the willow branches.

They lay on their backs at a comfortable and thrilling distance, and Wu Ming let himself soak in everything about this moment. He watched the stars through the swaying canopy, his ears were filled with the stream and the wind and the rustling of fabric each time Xie Lian shifted. He could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. Once Xie Lian had stopped moving and his breathing was deep and slow, Wu Ming finally loosened some of his self-imposed restraints. He succumbed to his imagination, which immediately filled his mind with thoughts of nestling beside Xie Lian and wrapping himself up in that alluring warmth. His own breathing turned ragged, and his insides fluttered crazily. During this stolen time under cover of darkness, Wu Ming wasn’t a ghost or a protector or a tool; he was just a boy, and Xie Lian was just the man he loved with all his heart.

---

It wasn’t quite dawn when Wu Ming’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move, but he could sense that something was wrong. He shifted very slowly and checked that Xie Lian was still sleeping soundly, then turned his gaze down towards the stream. Someone was kneeling by the waterside.

Wu Ming sat up and took his sabre into his hand and looked more closely. She appeared to be a woman in simple, nondescript robes. However, her hair was pinned with jade and pearl hairpieces and an elaborate braid trailed along the visible side of her head, disappearing up into the bun. There was an unshapely bundle in her hands that she appeared to be emptying into the stream, but Wu Ming couldn’t see more than glimpses of it.

He tightened his grip on the sabre. He might not have been able to see much with his eyes, but his senses were on high alert. The woman had a strong aura around her that Wu Ming couldn’t explain. The only other person besides Dianxia whose presence held such power had been Bai Wuxiang. While he didn’t sense any killing intent, Wu Ming was exceptionally wary, ready to spring to his feet at any moment.

Then, she laughed, high and clear over the babbling stream.

“If I had wanted to harm you, I could have done it long ago. You can put that thing down, young ghost.”

Wu Ming blinked, genuinely taken aback. He didn’t let go of his sabre, but he did stand and walk beyond the canopy to avoid waking Xie Lian.

“How did you know I’m a ghost?” he asked, voice thick with suspicion. She laughed again, through her nose this time, and turned to face him.

“When you’ve been around as long as I have, it’s easy to spot new faces,” she said vaguely. “Come, sit. You must have many questions.”

Wu Ming stayed put and didn’t speak. The woman raised an eyebrow. Her smirk was painted a deep red.

“No? Fine, I’ll ask my questions first, then. What’s a ghost like you doing with a heavenly official for a lover?”

He nearly dropped his sabre. After glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure Xie Lian hadn’t heard anything, Wu Ming finally approached her and hissed, “Leave Dianxia out of this!”

“Oho, and royalty, too?” She raised her head to look up at him, then gave him a wide, wicked grin. Wu Ming clenched his fists. “Don’t worry, I won’t cause you any trouble. You have no reason to trust me, but I really do want to help. That’s why you came here looking for the ghost city, isn’t it? Neither of you strike me as the wandering sort.”

She folded the now-empty sack a few times and set it in her lap, completely unfazed by the tip of the sabre which was angled aggressively towards her, then turned her bright eyes back on Wu Ming. In spite of the narrowness of the slits on his mask, it seemed that she was looking directly into his eyes. She smiled again, with much more softness, and with a painful jolt, Wu Ming suddenly saw his mother’s blurry face transposed over hers. He blinked, and it was gone.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” she asked pleasantly. “I’m Lu Xinhui. I run an establishment in the city. You might say I’m… well connected. At least, there are few who would cross me, and many I can persuade.”

Lu Xinhui tilted her head to the side and waited. Curiously, and against all of his better intuitions, Wu Ming felt himself beginning to trust her. It was this unexpected feeling that grounded him once more in suspicion. He tipped his head meaningfully towards the folded sack.

“What are you doing here, Lu Xinhui?”

“Taking care of business,” she said. “No need for you to know more than that unless you’d care to join it. What are you doing here? What’s your name, ghost?”

“Wu Ming?”

The two ghosts whipped their heads towards the willow tree at the same time. Xie Lian seemed to have just sat up, and for a moment, the three stared at each other. Then, Lu Xinhui whistled.

“Wu Ming, is it? You’re a lucky one. He’s even prettier when he’s awake.”

Even though she didn’t speak particularly loudly, Wu Ming was certain that Xie Lian could hear her perfectly. With a sigh, he returned to Xie Lian’s side. Lu Xinhui watched them closely but neither moved nor appeared tense in any way and simply knelt patiently by the shore.

“Dianxia, she is a ghost, and a powerful one,” Wu Ming said. He didn’t bother to whisper, as he suspected it wouldn’t stop her from overhearing. “Her name is Lu Xinhui. She was here when I woke up.”

Xie Lian looked past Wu Ming for a moment, then rose to his feet. Wu Ming was glad to see that he could stand quickly and without appearing to be in pain. Xie Lian parted the draping branches with the back of his hand and addressed the woman.

“What does Lu Xinhui want with these lowly travelers?” he asked. “I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer, but this one will try his best to accommodate you.”

“No need to be so formal, Dianxia,” Lu Xinhui said with a nod that was almost a bow. “I was just trying to explain to your Wu Ming that it is I who would be happy to help you, but he was too suspicious to listen. Quite a stubborn little one you’ve picked up, eh?”

Wu Ming felt the muscles in his face clench and a moment later, through waves of embarrassment, he realized his body was trying to blush. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the ‘your Wu Ming’ or the infantilizing tone, or the fact that he actually did sort of trust her in spite of it all.

“Wu Ming is wise.” Wu Ming’s head whipped around. Although his voice was perfectly level, Xie Lian’s eyebrows were drawn down and there was tension in his jaw. He continued firmly, “He met a stranger and was wary of her. It’s hardly stubbornness.”

Wu Ming’s butterflies were back. Lu Xinhui laughed. “Dianxia is right, of course.”

“And we are equally strangers to you,” Xie Lian said. “Why would you want to help us?”

“Ah, so distrustful! You’ll get nowhere in this world with attitudes like that,” she complained, although her face was full of laughter while she spoke. “I’m an old, old woman with no one to look after. It’s a great offense to me that death robbed me of my future children, so I simply collect the castaways I find and tell my fate to kindly go and bother someone else.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Wu Ming asked.

“You don’t,” Lu Xinhui said. “You never do. It’s up to you whether to do it anyway.”

With that, Lu Xinhui rose to her feet and brushed the grass from the front of her robes. She bowed low towards Xie Lian, smiled at Wu Ming, and walked past the willow tree in a wide arc.

Xie Lian and Wu Ming looked at each other. Lu Xinhui’s voice drifted over; she was singing. With a bemused sigh and a shrug, Xie Lian gathered his soiled robes in his arms and began to follow after her, Wu Ming close in tow. Wu Ming was always ready to rush up and catch him at a moment’s notice.

In a much shorter amount of time than Wu Ming expected, they emerged from sparse trees and crossed the edge of a city. If he hadn’t stayed so close to the willow tree the evening before, he would almost certainly have stumbled upon it while searching for food. The city was modest compared to the Imperial City where Wu Ming had spent all his life, but although it didn’t have any tall buildings or grand temples, it was still remarkable in its own way.

For one thing, the structures that did exist were chaotic. There was no common sense of style from one building to the next, lending the streets a crowded atmosphere as Wu Ming’s eyes were drawn wildly around the competing aesthetics. On top of that atmosphere was a strong presence that Wu Ming was beginning to associate with ghosts. There weren’t many people on the streets, which was also strange for a city in the morning, but by that point Wu Ming had fully accepted that this was no normal city.

Lu Xinhui hadn’t turned to look at them once since they left the waterside, but she seemed confident that they were following. “My place is just ahead,” she called over her shoulder.

Wu Ming froze as soon as that ‘place’ came into view. Xie Lian stopped a moment later and turned towards him with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Lu Xinhui! This is–”

“A brothel, yes,” she interrupted. “Wu Ming, you really must loosen up a little, this is borderline unpleasant.”

With that, Lu Xinhui walked between the red-painted pillars and hanging lanterns and stepped inside. Wu Ming didn’t move until Xie Lian walked back to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “We have to start somewhere. At least she’s friendly.”

Wu Ming nodded tersely and they approached the brothel side-by-side.

It was quiet inside, something Wu Ming was incredibly grateful for. It was also surprisingly bright. The inner courtyard had a small garden and there were red drapes hung across the second-floor balcony railings. Lu Xinhui led them to a tearoom on the left side of the first floor.

“Make yourselves comfortable while I fetch some tea. And give me those robes, Dianxia, there’s no hope for them anymore.” She snatched the bloody bundle from his hands with a smile and darted away.

The two had barely settled in at the low table when Lu Xinhui reappeared. It was impossibly quick. Yet sure enough, the tray she set on the table held a steaming teapot, three cups, and a truly shocking quantity of mantou. Wu Ming glanced up at Lu Xinhui, now sitting opposite them, and found her unbreakable smile shining back at him.

“Eat, eat, you must be hungry! You too, Wu Ming. I know very well what it’s like to be a new ghost.”

That struck a chord. Wu Ming couldn’t explain why, but he felt rather like he might cry. Luckily, Xie Lian reached for a mantou and drew the attention away.

“Thank you for your generosity, Lu Xinhui,” he said with a small bow.

“The pleasure is all mine, seeing such lovely young men in my parlor.” She reached for the teapot and started to fill the cups, her motions fluid and practiced even while her manner was nonchalant. “So, enough prancing about. You two came here looking for something. What do you want?”

Xie Lian took a deep breath. “There is a rumor concerning the nature of ghosts which, if true, is deeply important to me. I was hoping to verify it.”

Lu Xinhui laughed as she passed them each a cup. “Well you certainly came to the right place, we’re overflowing with ghosts here. Which rumor was it, now?”

“It’s about… human remains.” Xie Lian looked a little uncomfortable. Wu Ming supposed it was perhaps an awkward subject to bring up with a ghost, after all.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific, Dianxia. There are many things you could be referring to.”

Wu Ming had been about to lift his mask to sip the tea, but he placed the cup back down on the table and leaned slightly forward.

“Please tell us everything you know!”

Lu Xinhui looked at him with something adjacent to pity and nodded. “Very well. But don’t forget to eat, Wu Ming.”

He blinked, then picked up the teacup once more.

“So let’s start with the basics. A ghost cannot exist in this world unless their remains are intact.”

Beside him, Xie Lian sucked in a sharp breath.

“I see I’m confirming your suspicions rather than dispelling them. My apologies. Nevertheless, it’s true. You could say that ghosts are a distortion of the natural order. Our existences, our desires to cling to this world, are unnatural. We are meant to enter the cycle of reincarnation and pass on, yet we persist. It can only happen because we are stealing time from the existence of our human bodies. We are suspended, neither alive nor moving through the proper cycles of death, and it is our bodies which root us to the earth. You can think of these bodies we sometimes form as manifestations of ourselves, but it’s not quite the real thing.” She nodded at Wu Ming and gestured at herself. “It’s an echo, a shadow with some memories of being alive, some instincts early on which are quite inexplicable, facsimiles of vitality. Yours looks quite thorough, Wu Ming. It’s impressive for someone so newly dead as you. However, there will always be ways to tell it isn’t a human body, no matter how strong the manifestation is.”

Lu Xinhui took a sip of tea, and Xie Lian asked, “What if the body is extremely old? Does that kind of decay affect the ghost?”

“Yes and no. If it’s destroyed and dispersed, then yes. If it disintegrates into dust… probably.” She swirled her cup and leaned an elbow on the table. “That process takes quite a long time, you know. Most ghosts depart this realm for other reasons long before then. Their loved ones die, their cities are levelled by war, they slowly lose what anchors them and fade away. And the ones who really do intend to stay… take other measures to preserve their remains.”

Suddenly, her eyes narrowed on Wu Ming, and Lu Xinhui gestured towards him with her teacup. “I don’t see you eating, Wu Ming.” He quickly grabbed a mantou, broke a small piece off of the bun, and slipped it beneath his mask. He was too full of nervous energy to pay much attention to the food, but Wu Ming knew she wouldn’t continue speaking until he ate something. Sure enough, Lu Xinhui smiled again and settled back in a relaxed stance.

“Better. Now, about those remains. I assume if you’re interested in very old bodies, you must have someone in mind besides your Wu Ming.” Wu Ming paused, mantou halfway to his mouth, and sighed quietly. Another ‘your’. Must she be so obtuse about it?!

With a smirk, Lu Xinhui continued. “I won’t ask you who this other ghost is, it’s clear enough you don’t want to tell. It probably won’t help you, anyway. Those powerful ghosts who transcend the ages have almost always preserved their ashes in a form you wouldn’t easily recognize as human remains, and they’re almost never kept where you would expect them to be.”

Now Xie Lian leaned forward, his face stern and serious. “Oh?”

“Mm. Ashes, so long as they aren’t scattered, can be forged into all manner of things. By far the most common are rings, although some other kinds of jewelry are sometimes chosen. It’s quite sentimental, you see.” She looked casually but meaningfully at Wu Ming. “Some ghosts, once they choose their fated person, hand their remains over into their safekeeping. Actually, it’s something of a cultural phenomenon. The custom started long before my time.”

Wu Ming’s chest clenched, and he felt heavier than just a moment before. He couldn’t escape the image that had been conjured in his mind, of Xie Lian wearing a ring that both literally and figuratively symbolized Wu Ming’s entire existence. He distantly wondered if he should feel repulsed by the notion of giving his actual remains to the person he loved, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable at all to consider. Actually, the sheer intimacy of the thought was too thrilling; he started to worry that he was revealing too much of himself and tried to calm down.

Wu Ming was once again spared, as Xie Lian was too absorbed in the information to notice his reaction. Xie Lian sighed. “I knew better than to hope it would be as simple as finding a grave, but this really is more challenging than I expected.”

Lu Xinhui nodded solemnly. “Whichever ghost you’re trying to track down, I’m afraid you’ll need to know quite a lot about them to figure out what to look for and where you might start looking.”

Although they hadn’t revealed their intentions explicitly, Lu Xinhui had smoothly anticipated their true motives at every turn. Wrenching himself away from the picture in his mind, Wu Ming focused on the conversation’s other contents. He had never questioned that Bai Wuxiang was ancient. There was a lackadaisical authority to his presence which could only be explained by experience and power cultivated over a long time, possibly many centuries. Recalling Lu Xinhui’s words about levelled cities and deceased loved ones, Wu Ming bitterly thought that perhaps everything about Bai Wuxiang’s human past had already been lost to the ages. The scope of what they would have to undertake loomed over him.

Wu Ming spoke up. “In order to understand what he might have done, we might first need to hear some examples. However… Lu Xinhui, is it inappropriate to ask about what other ghosts have done with their remains?”

She nodded. “It’s very uncouth. You’re young, so of course you wouldn’t have known, but I’m still glad you asked me instead of someone else. Not all of us would be so forgiving of such transgressions.”

He bowed his head. “Apologies for my offense.”

Lu Xinhui chuckled. “I take back what I said outside. I think I do understand why your Dianxia keeps you around after all. You can be quite a charming, gallant young man when you want to be.”

As usual, Xie Lian took charge while Wu Ming struggled to compose himself. This time, however, his involvement only discomposed Wu Ming even more.

“Well in that case, could you tell us the method of forging ashes?”

Lu Xinhui and Wu Ming both turned sharply towards him. Lu Xinhui’s eyebrows arched. “Have I misunderstood that Dianxia is a heavenly official? What interest could you have in this thing?”

Xie Lian shook his head. “It’s not about me. Actually, I just thought that Wu Ming might like to know. I owe him a great debt, and perhaps if I can help protect him, or even perhaps bring him closer to his beloved, then I could show my gratitude in some small way.”

Xie Lian kept his gaze carefully trained somewhere around the center of the table while he spoke. Wu Ming wished he could sink through the floor.

“…His beloved?” Lu Xinhui looked back at the unfortunately-still-very-present Wu Ming. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, then her expression collapsed into unveiled pity.

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m keeping him from that beloved person, so helping him with this the least I can do to repay his service.”

Xie Lian was completely oblivious to the silent communication happening above his line of sight. Wu Ming noticed that he was fidgeting with the hem of that black outer robe.

“I’m quite certain he is exactly where he wants to be, Dianxia,” Lu Xinhui said with a sigh. Thankfully, she didn’t elaborate further. “And whatever debt you think you have, I can assure you that you would be returning much more than a small piece of it. There is nothing more intimate to a ghost than their remains.”

At that, Xie Lian finally looked up. He was very serious, like the weight of that statement was sinking him down into the cushion. After a long pause, he nodded.

“Well… I suppose it couldn’t hurt for you both to know,” Lu Xinhui said hesitantly. She looked once more at Wu Ming, who somehow managed to give a tiny nod, and only then did she begin her explanation.

While she spoke, Wu Ming felt as if his soul had escaped from his body and was watching the scene through a thick fog from the corner of the ceiling. All of his thoughts were fuzzy, intermittent, and probably inappropriate. Even while one part of his mind panicked about everything Xie Lian had just said, another was relieved that he was there to listen, because Wu Ming certainly wasn’t retaining anything. Something about a forge fire and maybe an interval of time was said, he couldn’t be sure. He was too busy watching that fidgeting hand from above and longing to take it into his own. In fact, he was so distracted that he didn’t even remember to scold himself for the thought.

Lu Xinhui drew him gently back to his senses by pouring fresh tea into his half-finished cup. Wu Ming blinked a few times and found her smiling softly at him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re in need of some robes,” she said casually, directing the comment between them. Xie Lian coughed awkwardly into his fist.

“Ah, yes…”

Lu Xinhui raised a finger to her temple, then dropped it a few seconds later and smiled. “It’ll be taken care of before you depart. Now, is there anything else you want to know before I leave you to your food?”

Xie Lian frowned pensively. To his surprise, Wu Ming thought of something right away.

“There is something else,” he said quietly, attracting both of their gazes. “If a ghost should die, but his ashes are protected, would he always return?”

“I’m afraid not,” Lu Xinhui said. “Much depends on the strength of the tether, the strength of the ghost. There is never a guarantee.”

From the corner of his eye, Wu Ming glimpsed that Xie Lian was looking at him strangely. He felt a rush of guilt for bringing this up; it was surely even more upsetting for Xie Lian to learn that Bai Wuxiang would almost certainly return. That he possessed the prerequisite strength was unquestionable. Wu Ming didn’t dare look closer at Xie Lian and fixed his gaze on Lu Xinhui instead.

“If he does survive, how long would it take to return with a corporeal body?”

Lu Xinhui was behaving strangely, too. Her eyes flicked between Xie Lian and Wu Ming several times, and when she finally settled them on Wu Ming, that same piteous expression had returned to her face.

“This also depends on those strengths,” she said carefully. “Those who do return take years to do so. Some take a decade. For most, it’s around six years, give or take a year. The fastest I’ve ever heard of was a ghost from the riverlands who held a particularly strong grudge. His body was dispersed, but he returned in just under four years.”

“And how strong was that ghost?”

Lu Xinhui frowned. “Well, he singlehandedly wiped out an entire martial clan and tracked down all the members who fled, even those who had previously defected. He was quite famous in the region at that time and only faded away once every last person was dead. He was certainly among the more vicious of the ghosts I’ve met.”

Wu Ming startled at that. “You met him?”

“I did far more than meet him. I killed him.” A humorless smile cut across her face. “But then he came back and killed me, the week before I was to be wed. Fate has a cruel sense of humor.”

They sat in silence as Lu Xinhui took a long drink, emptying her teacup. At first, Wu Ming was thinking about the tragedy of her story, but then a part of his mind broke off and started drawing comparisons between Bai Wuxiang and that vicious ghost. He couldn’t do anything more than speculate without certainty, yet he felt strangely convinced that Bai Wuxiang could return more quickly than the ghost Lu Xinhui had killed. There was just something exceptionally sinister about Bai Wuxiang. He had orchestrated not only the fall of a clan, but an entire kingdom. What he had done to intimidate and torture Xie Lian far exceeded simple murder and revenge.

There was a tap on the door, which then slid open to reveal a young girl holding a bundle of dark fabric. She deposited the bundle next to the table, bowed, and with a soft “Lu-jiejie,” departed. Lu Xinhui perked up and clapped her hands.

“Some robes for you, Dianxia, and some bandages. Wu Ming, I trust you can tend to him?” Wu Ming blinked, then nodded. “Good. I’ll leave you to change. Please relax and do finish the mantou, both of you. If you need anything, just shout.”

After she closed the door behind her, Wu Ming and Xie Lian both sighed in unison, then glanced at each other in surprise. Xie Lian huffed a small laugh.

“She has quite a powerful presence,” he admitted. “I feel as if I’m fifteen again, getting scolded by Guoshi for something or other.”

Wu Ming smirked. That anyone could make Xie Lian feel childish was truly remarkable. “I like her,” he said, surprising himself. It was actually true. He could count on a single hand the number of people he’d liked in his entire life.

Xie Lian smiled back. “I do, too.”

Then, they began the process of rearranging their robes, which started when Xie Lian’s spiritual band uncoiled from his forearm and recoiled around Wu Ming’s in the same motion. Wu Ming laughed and gave it a fond pat.

Once Xie Lian was again bare-chested – Wu Ming was trying so hard to stay focused – they examined the wound in his abdomen. Although it was healing quickly and didn’t show signs of infection, it wasn’t so far along that it was safe from reopening. The smaller exit wound on Xie Lian’s back was doing much better, although Wu Ming still winced to look at it. With shaking hands, Wu Ming covered them both with the ointment that had been folded in the robes, then wrapped Xie Lian’s torso with bandages.

“You’re quite skilled at this,” Xie Lian remarked. “Even some of the palace healers couldn’t bandage as carefully as you.”

“Ah?” Fuck, must his every action betray his feelings?! “I, um, was a nurse for a while. During the war.” Another half-truth, but at least it spared Wu Ming from admitting that he learned how to tie bandages over his face before he learned how to dress himself.

A shadow passed over Xie Lian’s face, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m very lucky to be in your care.”

Wu Ming helped him slip his arms through the inner and outer robes. They were both very dark, nearly the same deep black as Wu Ming’s own robes. He was privately grateful for this; Dianxia really was stunning in black. They were also a similar cut, falling above the knees and tapering at the sleeves. They were practical robes for training and travelling. Xie Lian replaced the bloodstained sash with a proper belt and bound down his sleeves with long strips of fabric. As soon as they were in place, the white spiritual band rushed back to its place around Xie Lian’s forearm. While Wu Ming replaced his own outer robe and fastenings, pausing only to marvel at the unexpected warmth of the cloth, Xie Lian picked at a mantou and appeared to be deep in thought.

“Wu Ming, how much time do you think we really have?”

Wu Ming frowned. He had been wondering the same thing.

“Less than four years,” he said confidently.

“Mm. How much less?”

“If he were twice as strong as Lu Xinhui’s vicious ghost… that would be remarkable, but I feel even that’s underestimating him.”

“I agree.” Xie Lian’s voice was grave. “I think we could expect a year, although we had best assume it might be even sooner.”

Wu Ming was quiet for a moment. “How should we start?”

“I… don’t know. I’m afraid I can’t do much more than offer incense to the Martial God Heavenly Emperor these days…”

Oh! Wu Ming had completely forgotten! “Dianxia! Jun Wu came to see you while you were sleeping in the temple. He said he would come back, so if you want to speak to him, you can.”

“Ah, that’s too bad…” Xie Lian looked crestfallen. “He probably already returned while we’ve been away. The chance to meet him might be lost.”

Wu Ming blinked in confusion. “Doesn’t he know where you are?”

“I’m afraid I lack the spiritual powers necessary to communicate with him.”

“I knew about the seal on Dianxia’s powers,” Wu Ming said tactfully. “Doesn’t he have some other way of locating you?”

Xie Lian’s eyebrows turned quizzical. “No. There’s nothing else.”

Now that was truly surprising. Wu Ming felt increasingly agitated, and his dislike of Jun Wu came rushing back with force. “Then how could he have found you before? He said he came because of the disturbance in the city, yet he somehow knew to come to the temple. You were asleep the whole time, you couldn’t have told him even if you’d had the spiritual power to do so. Dianxia, isn’t this strange?”

After hearing the content of Wu Ming’s worries, Xie Lian had relaxed. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Jun Wu is incredibly powerful. It seems he has some other method that I don’t know about. I wasn’t a heavenly official for very long, after all.”

Wu Ming couldn’t accept the coincidence so easily. “Dianxia, please be careful. I don’t trust him.”

Xie Lian actually laughed at that. “Wu Ming, I trust Jun Wu with my life. There’s nothing to fear, I assure you.”

He wasn’t convinced at all, but Wu Ming kept his mouth shut. He would just have to be doubly careful from now on if Xie Lian wouldn’t entertain his suspicions yet. Xie Lian was compassionate and loyal; it was only natural that he wouldn’t throw his trust aside at the first strange coincidence.

As Xie Lian finished off the last mantou, Wu Ming asked, “Dianxia, what should we do next?”

“Ah. Yes. About that.” Xie Lian was fidgeting with his hem again. “I think we should go back to the Imperial City.”

“Okay.”

It was certainly a place to start. Wu Ming accepted the plan immediately, yet Xie Lian looked as if he had more to say. He tilted his head inquisitively and Xie Lian cleared his throat.

“There are three reasons.”

Wu Ming was at once amused that Xie Lian thought he would ever need to hear his reasons to be convinced to follow any of Xie Lian’s plans, and also charmed that he was willing to share them at all. It almost felt as though he considered Wu Ming an equal. How ridiculous.

“I’m listening, Dianxia,” he said with a thrill in his heart.

“Since we don’t know where to start, and reaching Jun Wu is unlikely, I thought we could investigate the first place that Ba– he appeared,” Xie Lian corrected himself with a glance over his shoulder. “And that was Beizi Hill.”

Wu Ming hadn’t seen Bai Wuxiang that night, so his defining memories of Beizi Hill were… quite different. He began to unconsciously fidget with the hem of his own robes.

“It’s a less serious reason, but I’ll still be healing for a few days. If we travel too far, you might have to carry me again. If not for the other two reasons, it would be worth the risk.” He chuckled dryly. “I have a thick enough face for that.”

Some traitorous part of Wu Ming’s mind was ready to leap forward and insist that they travel specifically because he might have to carry Xie Lian, but he locked it down immediately. How could he even think to argue against Xie Lian actually looking out for his own wellbeing for once?! Wu Ming really was the most selfish disciple; Dianxia deserved better, he thought bitterly.

“What’s the third thing, Dianxia?” he asked, pushing past the subject.

Xie Lian appeared outright nervous. His eyes avoided Wu Ming’s face, his fidgeting was even more pronounced, and his silence was tense. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Wu Ming, I–”

At that moment, a shrill scream tore through the walls.

Within moments, Xie Lian and Wu Ming were shooting through the doorway, sword and sabre drawn. There was more yelling, muffled this time, coming from somewhere above them. Just as Xie Lian was bending his knees to leap up towards the banister, something flashed along the balcony across from them and, with a great crash, one of the doors was reduced to splintered wood and torn paper. Several other doors opened on both floors and many young women and men in sleeping robes peered out. Based on the familiar aura he sensed, Wu Ming assumed they were probably all ghosts. Then, a body flew out from the broken door and dropped all the way down onto the ground floor. It appeared to be a now-unconscious man.

“Lu-jiejie!”

“Hah, this fucker’s clearly new in town.”

“Serves him right.”

The ghosts emerged fully and crowded around the man or leaned over the balcony to get a closer look. More than a few of them eyed Xie Lian appreciatively, and Wu Ming shot icy daggers at them from behind his mask.

Then, Lu Xinhui emerged from the room with the broken door, stepped over the balustrade, and jumped lightly down beside the fallen man. Grabbing onto his belt with one hand and the back of his collar with the other, Lu Xinhui lifted him easily. His feet dragged along the floor as she walked towards the front door, which several of the ghosts had rushed to open, and threw him over the threshold into the street. There were loud cheers and laughter from the inner courtyard.

Xie Lian sheathed his sword with a chuckle, and Wu Ming followed suit a moment later. Lu Xinhui spoke to a few of the ghosts, shooed the crowd away with a wide smile, and finally turned to address them.

“I assume you’ll want to be on your way, then?” Lu Xinhui asked, sounding like a docile housekeeper who hadn’t just thrown a man bodily from the building. “I was just preparing some food for your journey. A-Song, fetch that travel sack from the kitchen,” she called over Xie Lian’s shoulder.

“Yes, Lu-jiejie.”

Lu Xinhui smiled brightly at each of them in turn. “You know where to find me if you find yourselves in this corner of the world again. Best of luck with your ghost – and, Wu Ming?” She held his gaze with deep, powerful eyes. “Do tell that beloved of yours how you feel sometime.”

Wu Ming choked on his surprised breath and devolved into a messy cough. When he collected himself a few seconds later, Lu Xinhui was pressing a sack into Xie Lian’s arms. Wu Ming immediately took it from him and slung it across his own shoulders, and she then passed Xie Lian the bamboo hat he’d left in the tearoom when they rushed out a few minutes earlier.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Lu Xinhui,” Xie Lian said, bending into a formal and deep bow. “I apologize that I could not return your candor. Should the opportunity arise, I will return and explain myself fully in the future.”

Returning an elegant but more casual bow, Lu Xinhui said, “I look forward to Dianxia’s return. Be sure to bring your gallant Wu Ming with you, ah?” She laughed and gestured towards the front door. “Mind your step on the way out, there’s some trash in the street.”

And so, the two crossed the threshold and set off towards the edge of the strange ghost city, one sporting a contented smile and the other hiding a heart full of agitated butterflies behind a smiling mask.

---

Xie Lian and Wu Ming retraced their steps around Mount Taicang, slowly traversing towards the Imperial City. Although they didn’t discuss it outright, Wu Ming knew that Xie Lian’s injury was somewhat of a reason for their slower pace. He let him walk independently, but he was always ready to catch him should anything unexpected cross his path. Wu Ming only needed to do this once, and only after they had been walking for hours. Xie Lian had turned his head towards him while they were talking, looking out from beneath the brim of his hat, and surprise flashed across his face. Xie Lian had barely stumbled before Wu Ming secured his waist and elbow. As soon as he was steady, Wu Ming immediately backed away. The indecipherable look Xie Lian gave him and the warmth that lingered in his hands for minutes afterwards made it much more difficult to hold a casual conversation. Scouring his mind for something normal to say, Wu Ming suddenly found his way out.

“Dianxia, we were interrupted back in Lu Xinhui’s parlor. You never told me your third reason.”

Xie Lian’s strange expression did indeed shift after hearing that reminder, but it wasn’t any easier to read. “Ah, I suppose I didn’t,” he said vaguely. He turned his head back and stared out along their path. “Wu Ming, I hope I didn’t offend you by asking about those things earlier. It was perhaps inappropriate of me to get involved in something so personal.”

Wu Ming blinked, and rushed to say, “Not at all! I’m not offended!”

Xie Lian relaxed slightly. “Good, that’s good. In that case… the offer that I made, to help you forge your ashes. I meant it.” It seemed that he’d cleared some hurdle, and Xie Lian’s speech sped up. “It’s not only because I’m keeping you from your beloved, although I do worry about that. I also think it’s practical. We don’t know when Bai Wuxiang might return, so one of the best uses of the time we have would be to prepare however we can, so we aren’t taken by surprise later on.”

Wu Ming had absolutely no idea how to respond. Unexpectedly, Xie Lian continued speaking with a muted, pensive tone.

“Although it seems I’m unable to die, I don’t think he would actually want to kill me. I can’t be sure that he wouldn’t kill you, though, and Wu Ming, I d–” He cut himself off, then said carefully, “I think it’s best if you have the strongest possible anchor to this world. So long as Bai Wuxiang could return, and so long as you stay with me, you’re at risk. I couldn’t bear it if you lost your chance to see your beloved because of me.”

Xie Lian seemed to steel himself. Straightening his shoulders, he concluded, “Since we have to rest and plan and investigate this area anyways, we might as well spend that time preparing this thing, too.” Only then did he glance over at Wu Ming. “Wu Ming, would you accept this plan?”

Wu Ming struggled to remember how to speak. “…Yes, Dianxia. I accept it.”

The rest of the tension blew out from Xie Lian’s body with a heavy exhale. He smiled and faced forward again. “There was a renowned blacksmith whose shop was close to the palace. I used to visit there often when I was younger. If it still stands, I think it would be perfect.”

Wu Ming nodded mutely, lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts and feelings. He didn’t think that Xie Lian had continued speaking after that point, but if he had, Wu Ming couldn’t hear him at all. He couldn’t believe that he had fantasized about the intimacy of giving some forged artifact to Xie Lian mere hours ago, only to have Xie Lian himself suggest something even more intimate and completely upend his imagination. Not only was he asking to help create the artifact, Xie Lian was also implying that they would be spending the whole time it was being forged more or less together. Wu Ming wracked his mind in an attempt to remember how long Lu Xinhui had said it would take, but he simply couldn’t recall it with certainty.

It was as if he had been split down the middle. Half of him was ecstatic to spend any amount of time with Xie Lian and was fully prepared to savor every second they would share. The other half of him already felt panicked about the looming end of their time in the Imperial City and was filled with dread at the thought of losing that companionship once their task was completed. Wu Ming was extremely agitated!

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Xie Lian’s soft “Oh…” drew him right back to the present. Wu Ming cleared his vision and felt his own mouth part with surprise, as well.

The Imperial City’s gates had come into view, but the fields stretched out before them were no longer littered with corpses. The grass was still dead and broken, but the atmosphere had lightened considerably in the absence of those dead soldiers. Even the oppressive smell had improved.

Wu Ming was taken aback by this development. Could it just be a coincidence that the fields were finally cleared so shortly after Bai Wuxiang had promised they would be? Was the influence he had claimed to possess truly the explanation for this? Wu Ming couldn’t rule out that Bai Wuxiang had simply overheard some plans and bluffed when he spoke in the broken mountainside temple, yet Wu Ming felt a chill terror sweep through him nonetheless. Whatever the explanation, he was incredibly grateful that Bai Wuxiang was at least temporarily out of the picture. The vastness of his power was an unimaginable threat, and Wu Ming wasn’t sure if he would be able to protect Dianxia from him a second time.

After that surprise, the rest of their trip through the abandoned city was uneventful. Xie Lian led them to the blacksmith’s shop, which was luckily intact despite the many fire-ravaged structures they passed along the way. Xie Lian examined the large forge in the back of the workshop and the scattered tools that hadn’t already been looted, nodded his satisfaction, and then they ascended to the living quarters above the storefront. Wu Ming wiped off the small table and withdrew some of the food from Lu Xinhui’s travel sack while Xie Lian explored the rest of the space. He reappeared, rested his hat against the wall, and then the two settled down to eat. They started with the zongzi, since those would turn from fresh the quickest, and picked at some of the dried fruits.

“What did Dianxia think of the forge?” Wu Ming asked as he unwrapped a zongzi from its bamboo leaf.

“It should be sufficient. We can start tomorrow,” Xie Lian said. Wu Ming nodded.

“I’ll dig up the remains tomorrow morning, then.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Xie Lian spoke again.

“There are two beds, so we can stay here comfortably while we’re waiting.”

“…Ah.” Although Wu Ming hadn’t considered how they might sleep at all until now, he still felt disappointed. He forced himself to smile behind the mask. “That’s good. How is Dianxia’s injury after travelling?”

“I feel fine, actually. It’s surely thanks to your care.” Xie Lian smiled warmly at him, and Wu Ming forgot how to speak for a moment.

“…It’s nothing, Dianxia. Let’s check it again tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

The pockets of silence in their conversation were somehow comfortable and slightly awkward at once. They were adjusting to each other slowly, but Wu Ming couldn’t help but panic and become flustered whenever Xie Lian was too nice to him. Things had been much easier when he was a child who could earnestly show his feelings, or even when Xie Lian had been acting coldly and mainly ordered him around. Having to wear this disguise was much, much harder than simply tying a mask over his face; Wu Ming had to become someone who wasn’t completely infatuated with Xie Lian, and he was realizing more and more that he had absolutely no idea how to imitate that kind of person. His poorly imagined disguise created uncomfortable gaps in their interactions, and although Xie Lian accepted them with grace, Wu Ming was determined to improve his acting and overcome these awkward moments altogether.

After the sun completely set, they naturally progressed to the bedroom. There were indeed two beds spread across the floor, but Wu Ming felt a little jolt of delight when he saw that they were pulled relatively close together.

“I hope this arrangement suits you,” Xie Lian said, lifting his tone into a careful question.

“Of course. It looks very comfortable.” Truly, Wu Ming had never slept on such a fine bed. It was plain, but to him it was a great luxury.

Wu Ming jolted again when he saw that Xie Lian had begun to undress.

Then, he realized that he should have expected this. They were sleeping inside tonight, already protected from the wind and chill. There was no need to keep their outer layers on. Nervously, he started to untie his own belt as Xie Lian sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and socks. He kept Xie Lian in the periphery of his vision as he followed his actions, always one step behind but mirroring his choices exactly. Xie Lian unbound his sleeves; Wu Ming removed his leather vambraces. Xie Lian shrugged off his outer robe and loosened his hair; Wu Ming untied the last knot holding his own closed. Once they were both sitting in just their inner robes and trousers, Xie Lian glanced at Wu Ming with slight surprise on his face.

“Ah, Wu Ming, it must be unpleasant to wear that mask all day. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Then, without prompting, he lay back on the bed and rolled onto his side, facing away from Wu Ming. The meaning of his gesture was extremely clear, and Wu Ming smiled at his thoughtfulness. He untied the mask, set it beside the head of his bed, untied his own hair, and faced away from Xie Lian, too.

For a while, Wu Ming just lay in the dark listening to Xie Lian’s soft breathing. It was hypnotic, and he was just beginning to drift when Xie Lian unexpectedly spoke.

“Wu Ming, are you still awake?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes.”

“…Thank you. For staying.”

Wu Ming found himself speechless once more as his heart tried to beat wildly and fell short. Xie Lian continued speaking, slowly and with many heavy pauses. Wu Ming clutched onto every single word.

“That Bai Wuxiang is gone… of course I’m relieved. I couldn’t kill him, but you somehow managed it. That alone would have been enough, more than enough, more than I could ever repay. But you’re still here.” He let out a sigh and drew a slow breath. “I know he won’t be back for a long time. I know that. Yet, when he found me in that temple in Yong’an while you were away, I was terrified. He’s always haunting me, but I think he’ll actually stay away as long as you’re around. And… that’s a nice feeling.”

Wu Ming blinked back tears and his throat constricted around a swell of emotion. Inside his head, he was chanting ‘I love you, I’ll protect you, you’re safe now, I love you,’ like a prayer, but his mouth couldn’t yet form any words.

“Did you fall asleep? …Sleep well, Wu Ming. Thank you…”

“…You’re welcome.”

Xie Lian drew a sharper breath than usual, but then he released it calmly and a warm atmosphere settled around them. Neither spoke again, nor did they turn to face each other, nor could they see the tears in each other’s eyes, yet there was an undeniable bond forged between them in that moonlit room. Wu Ming drew his knees up and curled his body around his fluttering heart. He fell asleep smiling.

---

The morning brought bright sunshine streaking through the window and a flurry of activity. After dressing, eating, drawing some water from a nearby well, and discussing their plans, Xie Lian and Wu Ming strapped their weapons to their belts and set out towards Mount Taicang. Although Wu Ming had carefully replaced his mask right upon awakening and Xie Lian graciously avoided acknowledging it, it was as if some other barrier once standing between them had fallen. The awkward edges present in their interactions the previous day had smoothed out, and they fell into an easy tandem.

That sense of companionship endured even as they walked through the burnt maple forest and a solemn veil seemed to drop gradually over Wu Ming. He couldn’t identify his emotions, and after a while, he wasn’t even sure if he was feeling anything at all or if he was simply numb. When the makeshift grave appeared before them, Wu Ming paused for a moment, then swiftly compartmentalized the confusion in his mind and set his body into motion. Using the same bamboo shovel he had staked into the earth, Wu Ming dug up the small coffin while Xie Lian stood silently beside him.

Now that he had his emotions under control, it was as if the tables had turned. Wu Ming drew up to his full height, coffin box in hand, and saw a concerned-looking Xie Lian flicking his eyes between the box and Wu Ming’s face. Wu Ming smiled.

“It’s alright, Dianxia.”

Xie Lian seemed to want to say something, or perhaps reach out his hand, but decided against it and simply nodded.

Back at the blacksmith’s workshop, they started to prepare for the cremation. All the room’s many windows were uncovered and thrown wide. Wu Ming carried in armfuls of firewood from outside while Xie Lian stoked the forge fire. It grew hotter and hotter, and to his surprise, Wu Ming was deeply affected by it. He felt an impulse to recoil from the flame, and although he was sweating beneath the mask, he was also grateful that his face and most of his skin was covered. Just after Xie Lian announced that the fire was hot enough and turned back towards the coffin box resting on the table, Wu Ming suddenly lurched towards it.

“Wait!”

Xie Lian froze in place, watching him with wide eyes. Wu Ming slapped himself internally. How could he sneak out that crimson pearl now that he’d made a scene and Xie Lian was staring at him? But just then, it was as if Xie Lian understood that his attention was unwelcome, and he politely turned away. With a small sigh of relief, Wu Ming removed the lid, carefully picked out the red bead, and tucked it back beneath his vambrace, hiding it temporarily until he could find a better place to keep it. When the lid clicked back into place, Xie Lian turned back around.

“Are you ready, Wu Ming?”

He nodded. Xie Lian gestured towards the fire, but Wu Ming hesitated.

“Actually, Dianxia… could you do it?” The thought of moving any closer to the forge made Wu Ming feel sick. Xie Lian looked surprised, then he smoothed his expression.

“Of course.”

Xie Lian carefully picked up the small coffin with a pair of iron tongs. He first dipped the box directly into the flames, alighting it, then placed it on the stone shelf above the main body of the fire. Flames licked up around the front and back of the shelf, and the wooden box started to burn up and gradually collapse. Xie Lian propped the tongs against the wall and returned to Wu Ming’s side.

They leaned against the table, side by side, watching the fire silently. When the coffin box had completely burnt to ash, revealing some of the bones through the flickering flames and heat distortions, Xie Lian leaned his shoulder gently into Wu Ming’s. It was only then that Wu Ming realized how tight his chest was, and he only noticed it through the release of pressure that Xie Lian’s comforting touch brought him. He pressed his shoulder back, and Xie Lian’s lips twitched into the smallest smile. They stood like that until the flames had nearly died out and there was nothing but ash and bits of bone fragments on the stone shelf.

Xie Lian came to his senses first. “Ah, I should’ve been preparing the mold,” he said as he stepped forward, detaching their shoulders. Wu Ming blinked and tried to follow him.

“Let me help you.”

With a reassuring smile, Xie Lian swiveled his torso and placed a firm hand on Wu Ming’s shoulder. “I will do it. Wu Ming, you should rest. Sit down for a while.”

Wu Ming immediately obeyed. After he was seated on a stool by the large, sturdy table, his tiredness began to catch up with him. The fire had truly fatigued him. Was this another symptom of his new body? He rested the side of his forehead against his arm, then shifted it so that the pearl didn’t dig into his skin. It was good to rest, Dianxia was right…

Wu Ming’s eyes blinked open, then his head shot up. The forge fire was reinvigorated, but that stone shelf had been pulled out and placed on the table. The lighting outside didn’t look very different; he must not have been asleep that long. Slightly embarrassed, Wu Ming stood and made himself useful.

He vaguely remembered that Lu Xinhui had mentioned crushing the remains down, so Wu Ming dug around the workshop until he found a mortar and pestle. It was made of heavy stone and it was much larger than necessary, but it would do. He placed it on the table with a thump, gathered up the ashes and bones with his hands, deposited them in the wide basin, and began to grind them into a fine powder.

Across the workshop, Xie Lian was tinkering with bits of metal parts and two flat sheets, darting between the forge fire and an anvil as he shaped the metal to his liking. He had bound his sweat-slicked hair fully up into a knot high on his head. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his collar had been slightly loosened. The strange, spiritual band had fastened itself to the back of his belt and was hovering above his shoulder as if watching him curiously.

Wu Ming felt dizzy, but couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t simply the oppressive heat from the forge fire doing a number on him. He noticed that the ashes were finely ground and much more compact, so he took the opportunity to walk outside and fill a jar with water from the well behind the workshop. After drinking the whole thing in a few gulps, he filled it a second time and went back inside.

Xie Lian was just placing the metal sheets on the table. On one of them, a circular ring of metal and a short cylinder had been fused on. Wu Ming handed him the jar of water and examined the mold more closely.

“It looks great, Dianxia,” he praised. When Xie Lian placed the now-empty jar on the table, he smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“And now, we fill it.”

Wu Ming noticed that Xie Lian didn’t specify who should do this, and some of his body’s tension softened. Xie Lian was so sweet and careful. Signaling that he would take on the task, Wu Ming carried the metal plates over to the basin. Then, he carefully packed the fine ashes down into the mold.

The narrow space between the central cylinder and the outer ring fit a surprising quantity of ash. The dusty powder wasn’t dense at all and, once compacted, was able to condense down quite a lot. In the end, a slightly bulging ring of ashes was then flattened down with the second metal sheet.

Xie Lian had procured a few things while Wu Ming was working. Now, an array of clamps, leather straps, and strong-looking cables were spread across the tabletop. Xie Lian picked up one of the clamps.

“The next thing we need is an enormous amount of pressure, and time.”

Although Wu Ming somewhat remembered hearing that they would need a few weeks, his memory of that conversation was too muddled to be sure. He didn’t dare ask, lest he give himself away, so he simply nodded.

Xie Lian maneuvered the clamps over the center of the metal sheets and started to press down, but quickly winced, dropped the clamp lightly on the table, and clutched his stomach. Wu Ming was at his side in a second.

“Dianxia, please sit, I’ll do it.” Wu Ming guided him to the stool. Once he was settled there, Wu Ming pushed the water jar again in front of him. “Are you alright? Did your wound reopen?”

“I don’t think it’s serious. Thank you, Wu Ming. It’s okay.” Xie Lian smiled, and although his face was a bit pallid, Wu Ming relaxed.

Keeping Xie Lian in his line of vision, Wu Ming walked over to the clamp, still secured around the metal mold. He held the handles and pressed as hard as he could with his palms. The metal plates creaked, and Wu Ming blinked with surprise. Surely he hadn’t been this strong before? He pressed harder. When he didn’t think he could apply much more pressure, he stretched his left hand around both handles and grabbed one of the leather straps with his right. Wu Ming wound it around the handles, slipped it through the sturdy iron buckle, and pulled it tight. Releasing his left hand as well, he then wound the strap several times and tucked the end away.

Once his hands were free again, he picked up one of the cables and was immediately surprised that it felt cool to the touch. After examining it, he realized it was actually woven from several thin strands of metal.

“That one should go around the inner band,” Xie Lian explained from across the table.

Wu Ming turned back to the clamped mold and suddenly connected the purpose of some small details he had overlooked. After winding the cable around the metal band pressed between the plates and pulling it as tightly as he could, Wu Ming squeezed the end of the cable into a small notch cut into the outside corner of one of the plates. It was effectively held in place. Wu Ming placed the whole thing down on the table and returned to Xie Lian’s side.

“Dianxia, let’s take care of your wound,” he insisted. “Is there a tub upstairs? I’ll draw water for a bath.”

“Ah, there’s no need. There should be a bathhouse somewhere around here.”

Wu Ming quickly refilled the water jug, seeing that Xie Lian had emptied it, then held Xie Lian’s shoulder down as he tried to stand.

“I’ll go find it. Please rest, don’t overexert yourself. I won’t be long, and then I’ll take you there directly.”

With bitter resignation written all over his face, Xie Lian nodded. “Alright.”

Wu Ming ventured out in search of the bathhouse, mentally cursing himself that he hadn’t spent much time in this part of the city while he had been alive. While he searched, he took a few detours into shops that were in various states of disarray. By the time he found the bathhouse, his arms were piled with spare robes for both of them, a robe made for a child that he was going to tear up to make bandages, and most importantly, a heavy sack of rice. He left these tucked behind a decorative pot in the foyer and checked the facilities, then changed his mind and moved the spare robes back beside the large pool, and finally ran back to the blacksmith’s shop.

It was unsurprising when Xie Lian turned down the offer to be carried to the bathhouse, but Wu Ming was taken aback when Xie Lian threaded his hand into the crook of Wu Ming’s elbow and clasped onto his arm for support. Wu Ming straightened up unconsciously and guided him through the empty streets, feeling as if he might lift from the ground and float away with every step.

There was a brief, tense moment in the foyer, then Wu Ming quickly blurted out, “Dianxia, you should bathe first, I’ll keep watch out here.”

As soon as the words were out, he scrunched his eyes closed and suppressed a groan. Keep watch – for what?! The city was totally empty! The few people he had sensed last time were nowhere to be found, and might have even been driven out by whoever had cleared the battlefield.

Xie Lian graciously gave him face, as he always did when Wu Ming said something embarrassing, and said, “Alright. Thank you.”

Wu Ming was desperate to redeem himself. After helping Xie Lian into the back room where the bathing pool gently steamed, Wu Ming put on his most confident-yet-casual voice.

“Call for me when you’re ready and I’ll come replace your bandages.” Whew. Nailed it.

“A-ah, of course,” Xie Lian said. He sounded strangely flustered.

“There are fresh robes in that basket. Pick whichever you like best.”

Xie Lian nodded and Wu Ming withdrew from the room, incredibly aware of his gait while he walked. He hoped that it was smooth and un-embarrassing, because he had never once thought about how to simulate that. Vaguely, he thought he ought to practice sometime.

Out in the entrance, he heaved a great sigh. Wu Ming was running impossible calculations in his head, trying to determine the balance of his embarrassing and redeeming moments over the course of the day. He busied his hands with tearing up that child’s robe into bandage strips while his mind spun in circles.

When Xie Lian finally called, Wu Ming found him standing in a pair of light trousers, the rest of the white-and-grey robes from that set draped over a stool behind him. The plain white cloth was already wrapped around his neck. With significantly better self-control than last time, Wu Ming carefully unwrapped the wet bandages from around Xie Lian’s waist while he held his long hair out of the way.

There was a bit of blood on the bandage and, upon closer inspection, it appeared that a corner of the wound had pulled open. But Xie Lian had been right, it wasn’t serious and should mend with proper rest. While he dried and rebound the wound, Wu Ming mulled over a few ways he might try to convince Xie Lian to stay off of his feet for a few days.

He drew to his feet and helped Xie Lian shrug into the robes. The outer robe fell below his knees, lengthening his figure and even making him appear a little older. They weren’t quite the crisp white shade that Wu Ming had often seen on him during the war, nor were they cut in the simple style of the cultivation robes he wore after his banishment, but Wu Ming still thought that these robes suited Xie Lian very well. Or perhaps it was Xie Lian wearing them which actually improved the robes.

Once he was dressed, Wu Ming helped him out to the large entrance chamber. Xie Lian insisted on waiting so Wu Ming wouldn’t have to make the trip a third time, so Wu Ming bathed as quickly as possible and drew on another pair of similarly dark, short robes. He had never worn longer robes before, as they were impractical for life on the streets, and while he was tempted to try, he didn’t want to make Xie Lian wait any longer than necessary. He left the remaining robes in the basket, tied up his hair and mask, hoisted up the whole basket, and emerged from the bath.

About a half hour later, Wu Ming was bent over a pot of rice in the shop’s small kitchen. Xie Lian was resting upstairs, the forge fire had finally died out, and all the windows were now re-shuttered. Wu Ming might have found it surprising that an entire day had passed, but he was too focused on the pot to think about much else.

Rice was a huge luxury to him. He’d eaten it plenty, of course, but it was always stolen or scrounged. Never before had he attempted to cook it himself. That would have required a pot, a place to cook where others wouldn’t bother him, and the rice itself, which was usually bulky and hard to steal. He dug up every fuzzy memory he had left of his shitty stepmother’s cooking and the even fuzzier ones of his mother, and then Wu Ming simply did his best.

To his surprise, the result wasn’t terrible. Hugely relieved, he filled two bowls and brought them upstairs with a huge smile on his face.

The atmosphere over dinner was relaxed and friendly. When Xie Lian turned the conversation to investigating Beizi Hill, Wu Ming took the opportunity to make his suggestion.

“Dianxia, I think you should rest tomorrow,” he said, compromising down to just a single day in the hope that Xie Lian would accept it. “I know it’s very important that we start this investigation, but I can always go by myself tomorrow and bring you to anything that looks suspicious the day after. It’ll let you heal and reduce the time you spend moving around.”

Xie Lian actually nodded! “It’s a reasonable plan,” he said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, it seems I can’t heal as quickly as I used to when my spiritual powers were unsealed.”

As was always the case whenever Wu Ming was reminded of Xie Lian’s cursed collar, Wu Ming felt a fire light within his dantian. He thought that if Jun Wu happened to reappear in that moment, then no matter how Xie Lian felt about him, Wu Ming would be unable to stop himself from attacking him.

“I’m glad that Dianxia accepts,” Wu Ming said with forced calm.

“Wu Ming, may I ask something presumptuous?”

He blinked and looked up at Xie Lian. “Of course.”

“Are you… doing well? It mustn’t have been easy for you, today…”

In an instant, Wu Ming completely forgot his imminent hatred of Jun Wu and all his killing intent softened. “Ah, Dianxia, I’m fine,” he said honestly. “I was very lucky to have your support.”

The corner of Xie Lian’s mouth curled up at that. “Still, you’re very strong to have endured it. I’m not sure that I could have done the same, were I in your place.” His face darkened for an instant, then he gave a somewhat forced smile. “I hope that your beloved person understands how brave you are whenever they see your ring.”

Wu Ming nearly choked on his rice. After he cleared his throat, Xie Lian thankfully changed the topic.

The rest of the evening passed much the same way as the previous one. They undressed to their inner robes, turned away from each other, and listened to the soft wind outside. After tucking the pearl beneath the bedsheets, Wu Ming once again removed his mask. It was incredible to him how he at once reviled it and yet was completely dependent upon it. As soon as it was off, he felt incredibly exposed. Terror and thrill warred within his heart for a few minutes, then he gradually relaxed. Xie Lian couldn’t see him in the dark, and Wu Ming was certain he wouldn’t turn over even if he could. For some strange reason, Xie Lian seemed to respect him.

---

Wu Ming was the first to wake. He slipped out of the room with mask and robes in hand, dressed by the dining table, and fastened his sabre to his belt. Downstairs, he filled the water jar and brought another bowl of rice back to that small dining table. For a brief, wildly sentimental moment, he pictured a white flower lying beside them, then reined in his imagination and forced himself out the door.

He crossed the city ruins as the morning sunlight streamed over the walls. It was still low enough in the sky that Wu Ming’s path was crisscrossed with long shadows. Walking through the deep shadows with such a bright blue sky overhead gave him the feeling of being underwater. He kept an eye out for anything interesting, and while he didn’t come across any other people, he did take note of a few more shops that might not have been completely destroyed.

Outside the city walls, he was once again struck by the mysterious influence of Bai Wuxiang as he passed over the now-empty battlefield. Wu Ming was still vaguely catastrophizing about it when he reached the edge of the forest surrounding Beizi Hill.

The hill was much, much smaller than Mount Taicang, and far enough away that it was unaffected by whatever great fire had razed the mountainside. Wu Ming drew his sabre and entered the forest.

Several hours later, he had scoured through the huge majority of the forest and hillside, but there had been absolutely nothing that seemed useful. He didn’t find any visible graves, sense any wicked presence, or find anything at all that could be linked to Bai Wuxiang. The most noteworthy part of his trip was when he rediscovered the cave where Xie Lian had once battled against the poison of the Land of the Tender, and it was only noteworthy insofar as it made Wu Ming feel confusingly guilty and aroused. He left quickly.

Although he was feeling quite pessimistic, Wu Ming was still determined to survey the entire forest, so he turned to the last remaining area on the far side of the hill and kept searching. The sun was high overhead when he emerged emptyhanded and started walking back to the city.

Wu Ming took a longer route back to the shop. He was irrationally fixated on bringing something back, no matter what it was, whether it helped advance them towards their most important goal or not. Genuine delight lifted his spirits when he scaled a wall around some rich person or other’s grand residence and found a lychee tree in full bloom. Wu Ming picked as many as he could stuff into the folds of his robes. He thought about kicking down the gate so he wouldn’t have to climb the wall again, but he ultimately decided that the possibility of someone else finding his treasure was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. In the process of pulling himself up, a few lychee dropped from his robes to their deaths on the ground below, but luckily none burst within his clothes.

When he reentered the lofted living space, arms cradling around his lumpy robes, Xie Lian was sitting at the table. He smiled peacefully at Wu Ming, who excavated the massive quantity of lychee from his robes and dumped them onto the table. He chased the ones that rolled off while Xie Lian laughed. Wu Ming’s heart was light.

They discussed Wu Ming’s failed investigation while peeling lychee after lychee. The tabletop was soon covered in the thick shells, and Wu Ming’s fingers were stickier and stickier every time he pulled his mask away to pop more fruit into his mouth. It was a strangely casual atmosphere, considering the topic of discussion. Before Wu Ming could worry that Xie Lian would be disappointed, Xie Lian put his mind at ease.

“There are still a few places we could try next,” he said, as if reading Wu Ming’s thoughts. “He was also present in the Buyou Forest, and that’s where the Human Face Disease broke out, too. And there might be something we could learn from written records. It takes time, but we have a few weeks until the ring is done, so it’s fine to search that way.”

Although he filed away the important tactical information, Wu Ming fixated excitedly on the confirmation that they would, in fact, be staying in the city for multiple weeks. He nearly forgot to react.

“Those are good plans. Would you like me to visit the Buyou Forest today?”

“Actually, I’d like to come. I can show you the place where Lang Ying’s child was buried.”

Wu Ming wiped his fingers on his trousers. “Then it should wait until at least tomorrow. Dianxia, how are you feeling today?”

Xie Lian spread his arms and smiled. “I’m fine! I can hardly feel it today.”

Immediately suspicious of Xie Lian’s ‘hardly’, Wu Ming nevertheless nodded his acknowledgement. “I’m glad Dianxia is optimistic. If you’d like, I could search for a library? I might have passed one earlier, I could check. Resting here or there makes no difference, and at least you would be more entertained.”

Xie Lian’s eyes brightened, then he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm. Let’s do that tomorrow, too.”

Now that was surprising. Xie Lian was an active person, and he’d already been trying to claw his way out of the loft all day. Why would he turn down the first chance he had to go outside?

“Wu Ming, I’ve been meaning to mention this,” Xie Lian continued. “You’re quite adept with a sabre. However, I’ve never seen a style quite like yours before. Some of your techniques are recognizably those of the Royal Holy Pavilion, but others are unknown to me. It’s been a long time since I saw a technique I couldn’t recognize. Tell me, with which school did you study?”

Wu Ming blinked. “I didn’t study at a school,” he admitted.

“You didn’t?” Xie Lian’s brows creased in confusion, and he leaned forward. “…You didn’t train yourself, did you?!”

A bit shyly, Wu Ming nodded. “I watched other soldiers, tried to pick up what I could. The things you recognized… they probably came from you. I watched you fight during the war,” he added quickly, trying to draw the implication away from the truth: Dianxia had personally coached him once, years ago on Beizi Hill, and that had formed the foundation of Wu Ming’s subsequent studies. His diversion seemed to work, based on how high Xie Lian’s eyebrows had raised.

“That’s incredible, Wu Ming!” He sounded extremely excited. “You are truly talented to achieve so much on your own! Please, let me teach you!”

Wu Ming had not seen that coming. Xie Lian’s excitement was infectious, so he eagerly accepted. “This lowly person would be honored to learn from such a great master,” he said, bowing low over the table. Strong hands lifted his shoulders out of the bow, and he met Xie Lian’s sparkling eyes through the mask.

“Grab your sabre! Let’s go now!”

He was on his feet within moments. “Where will we go, Dianxia?” Wu Ming asked, strapping the sabre on.

“The streets are wide enough, that’ll do!” Xie Lian grabbed his own sword and slipped his hand back into the crook of Wu Ming’s elbow, seemingly unaware of his actions. They descended the stairs together and walked out into the early summer afternoon.

Wu Ming brought out a stool from the workshop for Xie Lian to sit on. He spread his knees, pushed the tip of the black sword into the ground in front of him, and rested his hands over the pommel. Then the training began.

Xie Lian gave a series of instructions to Wu Ming, efficiently gathering an understanding of his skills and weaknesses after watching him perform those strikes and parries.

The first thing he wanted to fix was Wu Ming’s stance. Despite the fact that he was meant to be resting on the stool, Xie Lian was on his feet within minutes, demonstrating different kinds of footwork and how they flowed into each other based on which kinds of maneuvers were being strung together. It was very intuitive, and Wu Ming felt that his techniques were more stable the next time he tried them. Xie Lian was practically bouncing with delight.

“Yes, yes, you got it! Now, let’s talk about the angle of your shoulders…”

After about an hour of this kind of minutiae, Xie Lian finally declared him ready to learn a sword form. He picked up his own sword, which had been abandoned along with the stool, and dropped his stance into the first few strikes of the form.

He moved like a dancer, all his motions extremely precise and beautiful and strong. All of the subtle physical tells that he was sporting an injury were completely gone. How amazing, Wu Ming marveled. He looks even more natural like this than he does when he walks.

The other incredible thing was the way he held his sword. The black sword was double-edged and balanced evenly down the center, unlike Wu Ming’s curved sabre. Yet, Xie Lian maneuvered it as though he were holding a sabre, and everything he did was perfect – the curves of his wrist, the positions of the blade, even the angles of his shoulders that he’d just demonstrated earlier were exactly right. To control such a different sort of weapon with that amount of ease, Xie Lian truly was a master. Wu Ming thought that if the heavens were watching him performing this basic sabre form right now, Xie Lian would surely ascend on the spot.

Wu Ming practiced the form through the afternoon while Xie Lian provided corrections and enthusiastic praise in surprisingly equal parts. He never sat back down, and Wu Ming never asked him to.

Eventually, they reached a natural stopping point. Wu Ming performed the entire form without interruption, and as soon as he executed the final gesture and sheathed his sabre, Xie Lian rushed over and threw an arm around his shoulders. His other hand squeezed Wu Ming’s arm.

“Fantastic, Wu Ming! You’re performing as well as Mu Qing did after days of practice!” Xie Lian drew his arm back until he could rest his hand on Wu Ming’s shoulder and face him directly. A nostalgic edge crept into his voice. “Ah, if only we had met during the war. I would have appointed you in a heartbeat! There was one other boy who had your same spark of talent, but I lost track of him. It’s a pity… I couldn’t help him back then, and now I have nothing to offer you, either.” He gave a wan smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “At least let me cook dinner tonight?”

Wu Ming was pained by Xie Lian’s sudden turn to the melancholy. He snaked around Xie Lian’s extended arm and clasped his shoulder back, essentially entwining their arms.

“You know I don’t see it that way, Dianxia,” Wu Ming said seriously. “I’m very happy to be at your side. That’s all that I need, more than I have ever hoped for.”

“So you keep saying,” Xie Lian said, frowning. “But wouldn’t it have been better if you didn’t have to die? I could have found you if I’d been paying more attention, I should’ve paid more attention…”

“Dianxia, if it took dying to meet you like this, then that means dying is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I should have died even earlier, so I could be with you sooner!”

Xie Lian’s eyes widened, then a profoundly emotional expression twisted his features. He let out a heavy breath, seemingly unable to find any words. Wu Ming suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be disguising these feelings – oh, how he was scolding himself! – and released Xie Lian’s shoulder. Xie Lian watched Wu Ming’s hand as it dropped to his side, and a moment later he released his grip as well. Wu Ming scrambled to recover the situation.

“If you really want to cook dinner, it’s okay.”

That elicited a soft but much more sincere smile. Xie Lian nodded, then turned to head back inside. Wu Ming drew a breath specifically to let out a great sigh, then he pushed himself into motion, too.

While Xie Lian was hard at work in the kitchen, judging by the clinking and frying sounds, Wu Ming tightened the clamps on the ring mold. The belts had slipped enough that he decided to check them every day and keep reapplying pressure. Once that was finished, he grabbed the basket of spare robes and went to the bathhouse.

He bathed and washed all their dirty clothes. He then hung them from a bamboo pole he’d arranged across a corner of the room by digging the ends between panels on each wall until it stuck in place. Since he was there by himself this time, Wu Ming decided to try the longer robes. Within a few minutes, charcoal-colored robes swished above his ankles, and Wu Ming was turning back and forth to examine as much of his reflection as possible. He felt cool, but did he actually look ridiculous? It was perhaps impossible to tell. Wu Ming was indecisive until he realized that actually, it was fine either way. If he looked cool, then he could impress Xie Lian, but if he looked absurd… at least it would be funny, and that was another kind of victory. Xie Lian had looked so deeply sad when they last spoke, Wu Ming actually found himself hoping that his silly fashion choice would cheer him up.

When he returned to the loft above the blacksmith’s shop, the sun had set. Xie Lian was waiting for him in the candlelit room with a pot of congee simmering in the center of the table. Wu Ming was so deeply impressed by how delicious it looked and smelled that he didn’t notice Xie Lian’s eyes trailing along his new robes. He sat at the table and praised the food wildly between mouthfuls until Xie Lian became so flustered that he giggled. Not only did it reduce the huge majority of Wu Ming’s thoughts to infatuated gibberish, that adorable laugh also lightened his heart considerably.

It was only natural that Xie Lian would have these flashes of deep sadness. Over the past few years since the war started, Wu Ming had watched him suffer through innumerable hardships, traumas, and losses. Xie Lian’s main objective was to destroy Bai Wuxiang, and while that was of course important to Wu Ming, too, his personal goal was just to help Xie Lian remember how to smile from time to time. He felt strong and accomplished today, and it wasn’t because he trained well. His heart was full of Xie Lian’s enthusiasm and laughter, and Wu Ming felt he was invincible.

After talking and laughing for a while, they covered the leftovers, extinguished the candles, and moved into the bedroom to begin their nightly routine. That it now felt like a routine, a repeating pattern of intimacy over many days, made Wu Ming feel even more awestruck. The young boy who picked a flower every day and brought it to that small shrine in order to feel close and useful to his god – that boy would never have believed that Wu Ming was now lying down to sleep beside him, hair unbound and face uncovered, nor would he have believed that he would become Xie Lian’s sole companion for the coming weeks. For the third night in a row, Wu Ming fell asleep with a smile on his face.

---

The next day passed more or less unremarkably. They visited the Buyou Forest together, but aside from digging up old memories of the war, they didn’t accomplish anything useful for their investigation. It was as if Bai Wuxiang had been a spectre in these places, appearing and disappearing without a trace. Eager to prevent the situation from seeming too bleak, Wu Ming brought Xie Lian to the library that he’d passed while traversing the city the previous day. After giving Wu Ming a string of commands of what kinds of texts to look for, then realizing that he was struggling to follow them, and finally learning that Wu Ming could only barely read, Xie Lian promised to spend time practicing that skill with him, too, and then released him to spend his time as he liked.

So, Wu Ming gathered more lychee and stole a fancy pillow from that fancy house for Xie Lian to use. He practiced his sabre techniques and cooked and brought his first attempt at zongzi back to the library. Xie Lian taught him a new sword form, then they bathed, teamed up to cook some vegetables that Xie Lian had found near the bathhouse, and discussed over dinner the day’s second failure to find any leads at the library. With great reluctance painted over his face, Xie Lian announced his plan to visit the Imperial Library on the Xianle Palace grounds. Wu Ming understood his feelings; they had kept a wide berth away from the palace, but Wu Ming had passed by while he was alone and saw that it had been almost fully destroyed. He immediately started thinking of ways he might be able to improve Xie Lian’s mood in case the visit upset him.

He was dislodged from his thoughts right after they entered the bedroom, when Xie Lian unexpectedly addressed him.

“Wu Ming, have you ever heard the story of the merchant’s son and the artisan?”

With one vambrace already loose in his hand, Wu Ming shook his head. He removed the other one for the sake of seeming casual, but he didn’t continue undressing any further.

Xie Lian drew out one of the scrolls from the small sack he’d brought back from the library and sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed. Sheepishly, he gestured an invitation, then pulled Wu Ming’s bed right up against his own. Wu Ming’s chest began to clench and unclench rapidly. He sat close on Xie Lian’s left side, leaving only just enough space that their legs didn’t quite touch. Then, Xie Lian rolled out the scroll over their knees and handed one end to Wu Ming while he held the other.

“This was one of my favorite stories as a child,” Xie Lian explained, sounding much too casual for how wildly Wu Ming’s mind was racing. “Around the time when I was first learning how to read, one of the palace attendants told me this story before bedtime. I loved it so much I couldn’t sleep, and the next day I asked my father to repeat it for me, but he had never heard it before. So, he summoned that maid to the throne room and the court scribe recorded the story while she recited it a second time. After that, it was reproduced many times and grew very popular within the Imperial City.”

Xie Lian laughed. “I didn’t know that at the time, though. I was just excited that I could hear the story as much as I wanted! I used to follow along while my father read. I’m not sure if it actually helped me learn to read or not… but anyways, I thought it might be a good place to start.”

Wu Ming was beyond overwhelmed. Xie Lian wanted to read him a story? He wanted to share something that he loved as a child? With him? Was this really happening?! Wu Ming somehow managed to nod, and Xie Lian smiled and cleared his throat. He brought his index finger to the first line on his side of the scroll and trailed it down the columns of text as he started to read.

---

In a great trading city in the East, many years ago, there lived a wealthy merchant. He had many ships and caravans that transported precious goods all over the world. At first, he thought that his eldest son would inherit his position, and it was true that the boy showed an early interest in the fine goods that the merchant bought and sold. However, it soon became clear that the boy was more passionate about the artefacts than the business itself, especially gemstones, and when he proved to be quite talented at cutting them beautifully, the merchant finally gave up and sent him to apprentice with a prestigious jewelers’ guild in the capital.

In the guild, the merchant’s son was highly regarded for his skill. Even though he was not born into a jewelers’ family like most of the other apprentices, he was still treated well. He was too young and naïve to realize that his father was responsible for selling many of the fine goods that the jewelers made, so the other apprentices didn’t dare to treat him poorly. There was only one other apprentice who didn’t come from a jewelers’ family. This young man was a great artisan of metal filigree, and it was also said that he could carve the most intricate designs into jade ornaments that anyone had ever seen. His skill was truly breathtaking, and he had been apprenticed on the spot when a senior jeweler first saw his work.

However, unlike the merchant’s son, the artisan didn’t come from a family with any status at all. What little money he made through his work was all sent back to his family in the mountains. That he made any money at all was already unusual, as the senior jeweler who apprenticed him had struck up a special deal in order to convince him to leave the mountains. The other apprentices soon learned of the arrangement and grew extremely jealous. Not only was this outsider receiving the favor of the senior guild members, but he was also being paid! To them, it was an unacceptable offense, so they conspired to siphon money off of his payments before he could collect them. He knew exactly what they were doing, but there was nothing he could do to defend himself, so he simply ducked his head down and kept working while they jeered at him.

When the merchant’s son first saw a silver-and-jade hairpin that the artisan had made, he was so moved that he sought the young man out immediately. Late in the evening, he found the artisan in the metalworking workshop surrounded by the other apprentices, then saw that they were hitting and mocking him, and leapt to his defense, pushing the others away and standing between them and the bleeding artisan. “Leave him alone, or I’ll report you to the seniors!” he cried. When they retreated away, the merchant’s son smiled at the artisan.

“Now they won’t bother you again!” he said happily. To his surprise, the artisan looked dismayed. “You shouldn’t have interfered,” he said. “They will only do something even worse next time.” The merchant’s son hadn’t considered this, and he felt uneasy that the artisan’s words might be true.

“Well, anyway, I came because I saw your beautiful hairpin,” the merchant’s son said. “How did you make something so intricate out of metal? I can only cut gemstones, so I can’t even imagine it.” The artisan smiled. “Here, I’ll show you.” Then, the two young men stayed up late into the night until a finely twisted metal pendant was completed.

The next day, the artisan appeared in the workshop where precious gems were crafted and greeted the merchant’s son. “My commission for the royal family is finished,” the artisan explained. “I was wondering how you cut gemstones. I am only skilled at fine metalworking, so I can’t even imagine it.” The merchant’s son smiled. “Here, I’ll show you.” And once again, they stayed up late into the night until a ruby egg was cut with hundreds of perfect facets that dispersed light in every direction.

It wasn’t until the following day that something terrible finally did happen. The merchant’s son was meant to be away on an errand until the evening, but he finished early and returned in the late afternoon instead. When he reentered the dorms, he felt that something was strange, so he concealed his footsteps and crept between the various workshops. Sure enough, he came across the same group of apprentices who had beaten the artisan a few nights earlier. They were whispering secretively and laughing, but the merchant’s son heard enough to understand the grave situation at hand.

He ran all the way to the main hall where the senior guild members held their meetings. To his horror, the artisan was restrained with heavy chains and the imperial executioner had his sword unsheathed! “Wait!” he cried out. “There’s been a misunderstanding!”

One of the seniors scoffed. “There’s no misunderstanding. This ungrateful boy has stolen the king’s pendant!” Another senior added, “This is why I always said we shouldn’t trust an outsider of such low birth. The street rat stole the money to send to his good-for-nothing family!”

The merchant’s son was horrified by their hateful words. “It’s not true! I overheard the other apprentices on my way here. They were the ones who stole the pendant! They’re just trying to frame him because they’re jealous!” But no one was listening to him anymore. The artisan caught his eye and gave a small smile. His eyes said, ‘It’s okay, thank you, goodbye.’

With a roar, the merchant’s son flew across the room and threw himself between the sword and the artisan, wrapping his arms around the young man. There was a flash of blinding light and a great boom, and for a few moments, everything was very confused. Then, the merchant’s son’s vision was gradually restored, and he saw that both he and the artisan in his arms were no longer in that guild hall. In fact, he had never seen this place before. All around them were tall palaces and waterfalls and blooming flowers, despite the fact that all the plants in the capital had withdrawn for winter.

Just then, a tall man in fine armor approached them. With a wave of his hands, the artisan’s chains fell to the floor. The man smiled at them. “Welcome to the heavenly court!” The young men looked at each other in shock. They had ascended to heaven!

After they explained the situation, the man looked deeply troubled. “It is not generally permitted for gods to interact with the common people. However, only one of you is a god.” He addressed the artisan directly. “You may stay here as a subordinate, or you may return to your family. I think this will provide for their needs for many years.” The man removed an ornate ring from his finger and gave it to the artisan. Then, he left them alone.

The merchant’s son was distraught because he already knew what the artisan was going to choose. “I hope you and your family have a happy life from now on,” he said, and embraced his friend one last time. Then, the artisan descended from the heavens, and the merchant’s son, now a god, turned and followed the armored man into the heavens.

Life in the heavenly court was exceptionally grand. The merchant’s son had his own palace with a large workshop and all the fine gemstones he could ever want. However, he became obsessed with creating a metal filigree hairpin within which he would set his finest stone. For a month, he tried and failed to recreate that beautiful pin which had first moved his heart. He became frustrated, and no matter how many other gods came to visit him and praise his gemstones, the merchant’s son felt lonelier and lonelier.

One day, the knocks on the workshop door began as usual. The merchant’s son opened the door bitterly, and then stepped back in surprise. It was the artisan! “What are you doing here?” he asked in disbelief. The artisan smiled. “Everything is settled now. My family has enough money to buy a house in the city, and my father has gotten a job. I found the pendant and presented it to the senior members, and the apprentices were expelled. Once there was nothing left to do, I tried to go back to metalworking, but I couldn’t create anything. I missed you! That’s when the armored god showed up and offered to bring me here.” The merchant’s son was taken aback. “Why would he do that?”

“I brought him because I want to commission you both.” The armored man appeared behind the artisan. “I have seen your discarded hairpins, and they’re truly beautiful. If you discarded them, then the original must be quite a sight to behold. I’d like to have it.” They discussed things for a few more minutes, then the man left them alone once again.

After they were reunited, both the artisan and the merchant’s son were incredibly productive. They made enormous breakthroughs in their crafts, and the other gods and heavenly officials often watched them in awe as they created more and more beautiful items. To be seen wearing one of their pins or pendants was a mark of great prestige in the heavenly court those days. But all those fineries were nothing more than practice for the final piece.

When the hairpin was completed, both young men were extremely satisfied. They presented it with excitement to the armored man, who then revealed himself to be none other than the Heavenly Emperor himself! He was so delighted that he pinned it into his hair on the spot. After that, the handiwork of these two great craftsmen became renowned throughout all three realms. Their most beautiful creation was passed down between Heavenly Emperors, and it is said that the Martial God Heavenly Emperor still wears the hairpiece to this day.

---

When the story finished, Wu Ming released a breath he’d been holding perhaps since the first word. Or perhaps it was since the first time their knees had brushed while they progressed along the length of the scroll. That was the only time that Xie Lian’s voice had faltered. Regardless, by the end of the story, their legs and shoulders were pressed firmly together and the right side of Wu Ming’s body was exceptionally warm. He turned his head to look at Xie Lian, and he suddenly noticed that his neck was wet. A quick touch confirmed that he had been crying.

“What a beautiful story,” Wu Ming finally managed to say while wiping away the tears on his jaw and neck. Xie Lian handed him a bit of fabric he procured from his robes, and Wu Ming pulled his mask away from his chin to dab at his eyes.

“I feel the same way.” Xie Lian leaned into his shoulder comfortingly. “Were you able to follow along? Was it any help?”

“Mm, it was. I started recognizing things after a while. I think I’d do even better if I read it again,” Wu Ming said, keeping his voice carefully casual.

With a huge grin, Xie Lian accepted his subtle request. “Then let’s read it again tomorrow night!”

Xie Lian rolled up the scroll and they went through the rest of their nightly rituals as usual. They undressed, unmasked, extinguished the candles, and lay back-to-back. However, through unspoken agreement, neither of them moved to separate their beds again.

Wu Ming’s mind was turning that story over and over. Not too long after they had lain down, he spoke in a low voice.

“Dianxia?”

“Mm?”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“You’ve met Jun Wu. Does he really have the hairpin?”

There was a long pause. “You know, I decided not to ask him.”

Wu Ming considered those words for a long time. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of the merchant’s son and the artisan laughing in their workshop in heaven.

---

The relaxed, intimate atmosphere lasted through much of the early morning. Among the things Wu Ming had scavenged, Xie Lian had been most excited by the tea leaves, so it was no surprise that a pot of tea brewed alongside their breakfast. Wu Ming then tightened the clamps and straps, Xie Lian fetched the laundry from the bathhouse, and then they were ready to set out for the day.

It was at that point that some tension started bleeding back in. Wu Ming had strong suspicions about what they would find at the Xianle Palace, so he was determined to find an excuse to accompany Xie Lian there, but Xie Lian actually accepted his suggestion immediately. Upon closer observation, Xie Lian seemed ill at ease and, although Wu Ming couldn’t be sure, might have even been relieved when he offered to join him. With this tension lurking below the surface, they walked side-by-side in the direction of the palace.

It was even worse than Wu Ming had feared. As soon as they passed through the crumbling walls, the extent of the devastation was painfully clear. Nearly every building and structure had been burnt, torn down, or some combination of the two. Xie Lian’s mouth drew into a thinner and thinner line the further they advanced into the ruins. Wu Ming would never have been able to identify this particular pile of rubble and charred wood as the imperial library if Xie Lian hadn’t come to a stop in front of it and sighed. They didn’t even bother trying to search the debris; there was clearly nothing left to scavenge.

“Dianxia, let’s go back,” Wu Ming suggested, but Xie Lian shook his head with a clenched jaw. Internally, Wu Ming winced with sympathetic pain. He had fully expected that Xie Lian would insist to search the whole palace grounds and was prepared to support him through it, but still he’d hoped that Xie Lian would spare himself the suffering. If he had to pick at these emotional scabs, at least Wu Ming would be by his side the whole time.

Apart from the week or so when he had watched over Xie Lian as he held up the Celestial Pagoda at the end of the war, Wu Ming had never been inside the palace grounds. Even then, he never ventured further than the central courtyard. As they walked across what remained of the palace, they were stepping over and around things that were completely unfamiliar to Wu Ming and dense with painful memories for Xie Lian. Wu Ming’s heart grew heavier and heavier the paler Xie Lian appeared. When he finally cracked and started to silently cry, Wu Ming took his hand without a second thought and squeezed it. Xie Lian squeezed back and didn’t let go the whole rest of the time they explored.

It was only after they had circled all the way back to the crumbling wall where they’d first entered that Xie Lian finally sighed and nodded that they could depart. With huge relief, and Xie Lian’s hand still firmly clenched in his own, Wu Ming led them out of the palace grounds and back towards the blacksmith’s home.

Xie Lian was in a daze. Wu Ming guided him up to the loft and settled him at the table. He opened the window to let in the summer breeze. He brewed tea and gave it to Xie Lian, who sipped it without seeming to be aware of what he was drinking. The same thing happened to the food that Wu Ming cooked, and the sack of scrolls from the library that he brought. Xie Lian’s eyes were totally immobile and glazed over as he stared through the paper.

It was well into the afternoon when Wu Ming ran out of ideas. Desperate to shake Xie Lian out of the melancholic fog that had settled over him, Wu Ming decided to try speaking directly.

“Dianxia. Do you want to talk about it?”

Xie Lian blinked a few times and managed to focus his gaze on Wu Ming. He frowned and paused for a long time.

“There’s somewhere I should go,” he finally said, his voice flat and numb.

“Okay,” Wu Ming agreed immediately. “Where is it? Would you like to go now? I can take you anytime.”

Xie Lian sighed. “It’s the imperial mausoleum. On Mount Taicang.”

Ah. More painful things. Still, Wu Ming nodded. “Alright, we can go there. No problem. Now?”

A sudden flash of emotion cut across Xie Lian’s flat expression. Before it was tamped down, Wu Ming saw horror, fear, and profound grief. It terrified him.

“I’ve already been putting it off,” Xie Lian admitted with a slight waver in his voice. “I shouldn’t wait any longer.”

Wu Ming began to suspect that there was something even heavier than he had thought weighing on Xie Lian’s heart. However, he didn’t push or question any further. He just helped the muted Xie Lian to his feet and the two set off once again.

They walked in silence, and while they were close, their hands were unclasped this time. Wu Ming kept a careful eye on Xie Lian as they slowly climbed the mountain, watching for signs of exhaustion, injury, panic… anything out of the ordinary, really. He was just incredibly nervous from watching Xie Lian suffer so much, so he busied his mind with looking out for him even though he knew that most reactions were very unlikely to show through the thick emotional blanket that was smothering him.

When they were a little more than halfway up the mountain, Xie Lian suddenly spoke. “Bai Wuxiang told me about it. I don’t know if he was lying.”

Bai Wuxiang had told Xie Lian about the imperial mausoleum? Wu Ming immediately started questioning how Bai Wuxiang could have even known about it, but then another thought occurred to him and hijacked his mind completely: never mind what Bai Wuxiang knew or didn’t know, the people who should have told Xie Lian about such things were his parents, the King and Queen of Xianle. Wu Ming felt his insides drop like rocks as he tensed with dread.

“Would it be better if he had been lying?” Wu Ming asked.

“…I don’t know.”

This time, it was Xie Lian who found Wu Ming’s hand. His was shaking.

“Then whatever lies ahead, it’s okay,” Wu Ming concluded. “You can face it. And I’m right here with you.”

At the top of the mountain, Wu Ming lost his last shred of hope that they would find an undisturbed piece of Xianle’s former glory. The Royal Holy Pavilion had already been somewhat vandalized before his death, but now it was destroyed. All of the grand temples and halls spread across the vast compound were in only slightly better shape than the palace had been, which was to say that they were practically unrecognizable.

They walked through the compound until they reached where the Crown Prince Summit had once stood, then crossed over the broken walls. After reaching a pile of timber and debris that Xie Lian seemed to recognize, their hands reluctantly separated and they started digging through the rubble. Wu Ming didn’t know what he was looking for, but it didn’t matter in the end – out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xie Lian freeze and heard him draw a sharp breath. Wu Ming went over immediately.

He was kneeling before a small well. It appeared to be an ordinary, dried-up well, but Wu Ming sensed a powerful array as soon as he came closer and knew that it surely wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Thinking on his feet, Wu Ming quickly gathered some scraps of cloth and wood from the rubble and fashioned a makeshift torch. Although he had never attempted it conscientiously, and he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t just a nightmare, Wu Ming had a fuzzy memory of starting a fire in the broken mountainside temple after his rebirth, and he wondered if he would be able to command that ability now. He held the torch with one hand and pointed an open palm at it with the other. Focusing his qi like when he broke the arrays in the Yong’an Palace, Wu Ming directed his energy at the torch and willed it to alight. A fire flickered up from the cloth, and soon the torch was burning brightly. He returned to Xie Lian’s side and handed it to him, feeling exceptionally useful.

“Dianxia, would you like me to come with you?”

Xie Lian looked up at him with a pained expression. “…I should go alone.”

Wu Ming accepted easily. “Then I’ll wait here and keep watch.” He glanced down the well, saw through the shimmering false bottom, and frowned. “But first, we’ll need to find a rope.”

He helped Xie Lian to his feet and cast his gaze over the nearby rubble. Before Wu Ming could start to search, however, that spiritual silk band unwound itself from Xie Lian’s forearm and swayed around eagerly. Wu Ming smiled. Of course!

“You want to help, huh? Thanks!”

The band darted over to brush against the side of Wu Ming’s jaw, just beside where the mask sat, then fastened itself firmly around Wu Ming’s arm. The other end of the band stretched out and dropped down into the well. Wu Ming braced himself, then nodded to Xie Lian. He held the torch while Xie Lian descended, then dropped it down to him once he reached the bottom. The spiritual band withdrew from Wu Ming’s arm and disappeared down the well. Within moments, Xie Lian was out of sight completely.

The next several hours seemed to pass at the pace of years. Wu Ming stayed close to the well for a while, then came to suspect that Xie Lian wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon and ventured out a little. He didn’t find anything interesting in the ruins, but his heart caught on a small patch of wildflowers growing around some rubble. An old impulse nearly overcame him, but Wu Ming remembered at the last moment that he would have no use for the flower and drew back his hand. He returned to the well and sat with his back against the short stone wall.

Wu Ming kept thinking about that flower. When he had first decided to stop offering anything to the Flower Crown Martial God, Xie Lian had been extremely volatile and aggressive. He needed support, but he would have driven Wu Ming away if he’d done anything to upset him. But… was it still true that Xie Lian would reject and trample his flowers now? Although it was nearly impossible for Wu Ming to believe, they had grown much closer since their first meeting amidst the vengeful spirits on the battlefield, and within the most recent weeks, Xie Lian’s temperament had completely transformed.

There was still the matter of what Xie Lian had said last Zhongyuan, of course. If he knew that he was, in fact, Wu Ming’s beloved person, then according to his own words, Xie Lian would be troubled by it. Revealing that was completely out of the question. But when Wu Ming thought about it further, he realized that there were actually some useful bits of separation between the versions of himself that Xie Lian had interacted with. If he made the connection that Wu Ming was the same young boy who offered him flowers during the war, it wouldn’t necessarily reveal his feelings. Whether he was thinking about Wu Ming or that young soldier, Xie Lian still wouldn’t know who his beloved person was. Against his better judgment, Wu Ming grew more and more excited, yet no matter his excitement, he didn’t dare to risk anything now. He would keep thinking about it, keep watching Xie Lian, keep trying to figure out whether it was truly safe to change anything. For now, it was the best he could do.

Besides, Wu Ming knew that whatever stability Xie Lian had achieved was very likely to be upset by his visit to this mausoleum. Xie Lian had been shocked to find the well, and he still had yet to return, so Wu Ming was certain that he had found whatever it was that he had dreaded finding. Even if Wu Ming’s present thoughts weren’t based in self-indulgent fantasies about friendship and intimacy – and he strongly suspected that they were – now was not the time to needlessly complicate things between the two of them.

His thoughts twisted and circled around these same considerations over and over until he was thoroughly confused and doubting everything. How could he possibly determine anything about the true nature of their bond without knowing what Xie Lian thought and felt? Yet, how could he possibly know what Xie Lian thought and felt without first asking him? And if he asked him, wouldn’t he just be giving himself away? It was deeply frustrating.

Things continued on like this until the sky turned pink around the horizon, with Wu Ming trying and failing to calm his mind. Then, Xie Lian’s white band appeared above his shoulder and sought purchase on his forearm, and everything inside him stilled. Wu Ming leapt up and held the band taut while Xie Lian climbed to the top of the well, then Wu Ming grasped his arm and pulled him the rest of the way up, bracing his elbows while he stepped over the wall. When Xie Lian was steadying himself, he held onto both of Wu Ming’s arms and lingered longer in their circle than could be considered casual. It was too shy to be called an embrace, but Xie Lian was clearly seeking comfort. For the full span of those breathless moments, Wu Ming felt his body sparking with intention as he imagined closing the slight distance between them and drawing Xie Lian against his chest.

But neither of them moved any closer, and the moment eventually passed. Xie Lian released his arms and stepped back, and Wu Ming followed suit. His heart clenched when he saw Xie Lian’s tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes for the first time, and he deeply regretted that he didn’t embrace him when he’d had the chance.

“Do you want to go back?” Wu Ming asked softly. Xie Lian nodded. He wasn’t sure which of them reached out first, but when they descended the mountain, they did so hand-in-hand.

Xie Lian was muted and withdrawn while they walked, but it was a different shade of quiet this time. Before, Xie Lian was numb and his eyes were skittish. Now, he seemed emotionally raw, like he had cried so much that his entire store of responses had been exhausted until only the echoes of grief remained. Wu Ming didn’t push him, didn’t try to talk, just held his hand tightly and tried to feel as present as he could.

At the loft, Xie Lian picked at his dinner but seemed to forget to bring the food to his mouth most of the time. Wu Ming peeled the last few lychee, cut them with a small knife to remove the cores, and passed them to Xie Lian. When they were presented to him in this way, he was more likely to eat them, so Wu Ming continued until they were all gone.

While they were dressing for bed, Xie Lian spoke for the first time since emerging from the well. He held up the white silk band.

“It’s called Ruoye,” he said. The band swayed in response.

It was a somewhat surprising name, considering how close the two appeared to be, but Ruoye had indeed been quite fierce while Xie Lian sought his revenge. “I think it approves,” Wu Ming said with a small smile.

They finished their preparations in silence, but Wu Ming was relieved to hear Xie Lian speak. Even if it had only been a few words, it meant he wasn’t completely crushed. Wu Ming lay awake until he heard Xie Lian’s breathing deepen and slow. Only then did he allow himself to drift off.

---

He startled unevenly from his sleep sometime deep in the night and struggled to gather his bearings. Someone was moaning and crying – was it Xie Lian?! Without hesitation, Wu Ming half rolled, half threw himself over to face him. As soon as he saw his trembling shoulder, Wu Ming placed his hand there and started shaking him awake.

“Dianxia! Wake up, Dianxia! It’s just a dream, it’s okay!”

With a jolt and a huge gasp of air, Xie Lian finally pulled out of his nightmare. The gasp released as a piteous sob, and Wu Ming couldn’t help but squeeze his shoulder as sympathy clawed at his heart. It seemed to alert Xie Lian to his presence; he twisted around on the bed while continuing to breathe in sharp gasps.

It was only then that Wu Ming remembered his face was uncovered. He had a single moment to worry about this before his entire world was turned upside down.

Xie Lian grasped a fistful of Wu Ming’s inner robe and buried his face into his chest. He was sobbing and gasping in earnest, now. After a single moment of shocked disbelief, Wu Ming came back to his senses. He wrapped his arms around Xie Lian, clutched the small of his back and the nape of his neck, and folded him into a tight embrace.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed. “You’re safe, it was just a dream.”

“Gone… all gone…” Xie Lian sobbed between sharp, panicked breaths. “My mother… parents… not a burden… please… mom…”

Wu Ming held him while violent sobs wracked his body. He breathed assurances just above his ear and threaded his fingers into his hair. His left hand rubbed against Xie Lian’s back.

“I’m still here, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Xie Lian squeezed his arm out from between their torsos and grabbed desperately at his back. “You too… you’ll leave… everyone always leaves me…”

Hearing that was more shocking than everything else combined. “Dianxia, that’s not true! I’ll be right here with you, always. You don’t ever have to worry about that, I swear!”

Xie Lian’s sobs overwhelmed him and for a while he could only cry while Wu Ming did his best to comfort and ground him. Eventually, his breathing levelled out and he only sometimes hiccupped sudden sobs. Wu Ming started to think that Xie Lian might have cried himself to sleep, when suddenly the grip on the back of his robes tensed again.

“Wu Ming,” Xie Lian said, voice muffled against his chest. “Please… I don’t want you to leave… please don’t leave… please stay…” His body tried to sob but he was too tired, too drained.

Wu Ming felt his heart shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. Unable to hold himself back, he pressed his lips into the side of Xie Lian’s head, which elicited another empty sob from Xie Lian.

“I swear it, Dianxia,” Wu Ming said with absolute conviction. “I’m going to stay. I want to stay with you. Xie Lian, I will never leave you. I swear it.”

“Wu Ming…” Xie Lian’s voice sounded even more strained than before.

“Xie Lian, it’s okay. You can relax. Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

With unending patience, Wu Ming shushed and hummed into Xie Lian’s hair until his grip loosened and the tension started to dissipate from his trembling body. Even after that, he still continued. Wu Ming only quieted once Xie Lian was deeply asleep. The fragility of this moment was completely unbelievable to him. He stayed extremely still, matched his breathing to Xie Lian’s, and focused on the feeling of his heartbeat against his own chest until he could almost believe it was his own heart beating there. Wu Ming didn’t bother trying to sleep; he simply held this person he loved with his entire being, and watched over him until the sun rose.

Gradually, Xie Lian started to stir. At first he nuzzled into Wu Ming’s embrace, but then he seemed to suddenly notice what was happening and jolted back. Wu Ming was prepared for this and caught him firmly in his arms before he could pull away.

“It’s alright, Dianxia,” he said softly. “You had a nightmare, but you slept peacefully after that.”

“A-ah…” Xie Lian was still quite tense, but he stopped trying to pull back. “Sorry…”

“Don’t worry. It’s really okay.” Silently, Wu Ming added, ‘I’m so happy, thank you for trusting me, I love you.’ But it was more than enough to have had a chance to say such things with his actions, so his heart was at peace.

Xie Lian was quiet for a moment, but his racing thoughts were very loud. Although Wu Ming wished he could put them to rest, he knew there was little he could do besides show that he was completely at ease. He had been fortunate enough to have several hours for his nerves to dissipate; for Xie Lian, it had only been less than a minute.

Something seemed to click for Xie Lian. “Ah, Wu Ming, you’re not… your mask… here, I’ll turn around…”

Slowly and deliberately, he rolled out of Wu Ming’s arms. Wu Ming saw that his eyes were scrunched closed, and he smiled. Even though he felt suddenly cold and as if some vital part of his body had been cut away, Wu Ming accepted that this fairytale night was over. He turned away, too, and reluctantly tied up his hair and replaced the mask on his face. After facing Xie Lian without it for so long, it chafed at him to wear it again.

“I’m done, Dianxia,” he said. Only then did Xie Lian sit up and glance over at him. He only looked for a moment before nervously averting his gaze, but his cheeks were undeniably flushed.

While they dressed and had tea and breakfast, their conversation was minimal and very cautious. If they spoke at all, it was only to say safe things, like, “I’ll get the leftovers,” and “Could you please pass that cup?” Everything else was given a wide berth. Wu Ming was prepared to never discuss that night, in fact. To him, it was very simple. Xie Lian had, for a brief moment, needed a more emotional kind of support, and Wu Ming had been nearby to provide it. That he was beyond thrilled to have done so was beside the point.

The thing that had stuck in his mind, however, was Xie Lian’s huge misunderstanding that there was any risk of Wu Ming leaving his side. To Wu Ming, his devotion to Xie Lian was the centermost pillar of himself, his defining trait, something impossible to take for granted. It deeply unsettled him that Xie Lian had doubted him, and he’d been thinking constantly about how he might be able to put that worry to rest ever since. When Xie Lian expressed that he’d like to try visiting the public library again and insisted that it was alright if he went by himself, all of Wu Ming’s latent, half-formed plans came rising back to the surface of his mind. He distantly noted that Xie Lian wore his bamboo hat for the first time since arriving at the city.

After Xie Lian left, Wu Ming tended to a few household chores while his thoughts raced. By the time the clamps were readjusted and the bowls were washed, he had more or less made up his mind.

If Xie Lian couldn’t believe that Wu Ming was really going to stay, then the only thing he could do to prove him wrong was to never leave. But who knew how long it would take before Xie Lian actually accepted it, or if he ever would? It certainly wasn’t enough to banish his current distress, the deep loneliness that had caused such a terrible nightmare.

Wu Ming was bitterly aware that Mu Qing had abandoned Xie Lian. He couldn’t so much as recall the man’s two-faced behavior during Xie Lian’s conflict with that group of heavenly officials before Wu Ming was blinded with white rage. At the time, it had seemed that Xie Lian still had Feng Xin and his parents with him, but their absence now spoke volumes about how that had turned out. Wu Ming had never considered the fates of the King and Queen before he had found himself sitting outside the imperial mausoleum, but his worst suspicions started to seem more credible after hearing Xie Lian sob about them in the middle of the night. He didn’t dare to ask, so Wu Ming could only hope that Feng Xin had still been around to discover their bodies…

It was no wonder that Xie Lian’s heart was so fragile. Truly, everyone had left, and some might have done so in the worst possible way. Wu Ming suspected that Bai Wuxiang had been more involved in this than was immediately clear, but there was no way to confirm anything now that he was temporarily dead. Even if he could, it wouldn’t diminish the losses that Xie Lian had suffered. If Xie Lian needed to believe that someone would really stand by him, then the best thing that Wu Ming could do was show that someone already had.

As he headed out into the city scanning his surroundings like a falcon, Wu Ming turned over the calculations once again. It all came back to that separation that he’d become aware of the day before. It was possible for Xie Lian to know more about him while still disguising the most dangerous parts of his feelings. Now that he knew Xie Lian really did need more than just a useful tool at his side, it might be safe for him to recognize Wu Ming as his most devoted believer from all those years ago. It would take too long to build a future that Xie Lian would believe in, so why not uncover the past instead?

It was then that he found what he was looking for. With a smile, Wu Ming turned in the direction of the library.

In spite of his determination, nervous butterflies were still trapped in Wu Ming’s heart, struggling harder and harder to break free the closer he came to the library. When he finally arrived, his hands were shaking. Wu Ming peered through a window on the side of the mostly-unburnt building, and his heart tripped over itself when he caught sight of Xie Lian.

He was sitting at a low desk with a scroll opened up in front of him. However, Xie Lian didn’t appear to be paying it any attention at all. He had propped his chin up on the palm of his hand and was gazing as if sightlessly into the distance. Xie Lian was wearing the black robes from the ghost city today, and Ruoye’s white silk was clearly visible against his forearm.

Wu Ming withdrew to the front entrance before he could be spotted. He ascended the few steps, dropped down to one knee, and placed a white flower in front of the double doors. The wind was calm so there was little risk it would blow away, but Wu Ming pinned the stem down with a smooth stone just in case. Feeling as if he were on the brink of bursting into flames, Wu Ming practically ran all the way back to the shop.

The nervous anticipation didn’t fade at all. Wu Ming busied himself with whatever he could find to do. He washed the robes even though they weren’t that dirty yet. He picked more vegetables and cooked soup, which he then covered. He swept the ashes out of the forge in the workshop, then swept the whole room, then organized all the tools. At this point, it was far past noon, and Wu Ming didn’t dare to leave because Xie Lian might return at any time, so he went upstairs and looked for something to occupy him. He pulled out the scroll that Xie Lian had read from a few nights earlier and opened it up to look at the characters. However, Wu Ming ended up like a reflection of Xie Lian in the library, with his head in his hand and a distant gaze which ignored the scroll completely.

When he finally heard footsteps on the stairs, Wu Ming’s nerves spiked. This was the moment when he would know whether he had gravely miscalculated. He leapt up from the table and drew a deep breath.

Xie Lian appeared at the top of the stairs and looked over at him. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

“Dianxia…”

Just then, Xie Lian smiled at him, so warm and bright that Wu Ming felt its impact like a blow. Xie Lian turned to face him, and only then did Wu Ming spot the white flower in his hand. All of the tension in Wu Ming’s body evaporated on the spot, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I could smell your food from outside,” Xie Lian said as he walked across the room. His voice was cheerful. “It smells great! And, I’m sorry, I think I lost track of time… I’m actually very hungry, hahaha.” He took one of the teacups and placed it in the center of the table, beside the scroll that Wu Ming had been ignoring, and placed that white flower inside. “I’ll go bring it up, just wait here!” He returned his hat to its resting place against the wall and with another bright smile, Xie Lian departed.

Although no words were directly exchanged on the subject, Wu Ming felt that a profound understanding had been reached between them. They passed the next several days in peaceful companionship. On the surface, their speech and interactions were respectfully distant, and they busied themselves with household tasks and research and sabre training. They bathed separately and slept back-to-back. However, their actions told another story altogether.

For one thing, Wu Ming left a flower outside the library every morning while Xie Lian read inside, and every afternoon Xie Lian carried it back and placed it in the teacup. Every time Wu Ming saw the flower in his hand and the smile on his face, he felt an indescribable sort of resonance in his dantian. It was as if his qi was singing as it flowed through his meridians.

Their distant speech was further undermined by the physical contact they sought from one another. Xie Lian took up reading that story to Wu Ming every night before they went to sleep, and they no longer waited for an excuse to press their shoulders and knees together. When they practiced swordplay, Xie Lian didn’t hesitate to touch Wu Ming’s arms and shoulders when he wanted to make subtle adjustments. Wu Ming found himself making some intentional mistakes from time to time… and if Xie Lian noticed, he didn’t say a word.

Perhaps the most intimate thing of all was after Wu Ming had undressed Xie Lian’s wound for the last time and declared it healed enough to keep unbandaged. The very first thing that Xie Lian had done was smile and express his relief that he could finally help to maintain the pressure on the ring. From then on, they took turns adjusting the clamps and helped each other secure the straps, often brushing their hands together in the process. No matter how many days passed like this, Wu Ming always felt his throat tighten with emotion whenever Xie Lian interacted with his ashes. He deeply understood why this had become such a widespread custom amongst ghosts. It was thrilling.

Xie Lian and Wu Ming had entered into a kind of dance with one another. The steps quickly became familiar, and they could easily understand exactly what to do and what would happen next. It wasn’t until about a week had passed that the first deviation from the routine took place, and the rhythm of their dance syncopated.

It happened while they were undressing after a particularly long day of training. Xie Lian had recovered enough for some light sparring, so after their usual practice, they held a few rounds out in the street. Wu Ming was soundly defeated each time, but never in the same way twice; Xie Lian was practically glowing with pride when they finally stopped and went to bathe. After dinner, the last thing left was to read the story together and sleep.

When it came time to read, the order of events was fixed. They would enter the bedroom, undress, and sit closely on their beds. Xie Lian would unbind his hair while Wu Ming opened up the scroll. After the story was finished, Xie Lian would arrange himself first on his bed, then Wu Ming would remove the mask and let down his own hair.

This night, however, that pattern was completely abandoned. The two were still standing and undressing when Xie Lian spoke.

“Wu Ming?”

He looked over as he shrugged out of his robe. “Yes, Dianxia?” Wu Ming folded the robe and placed it beside his bed, piled the belt and vambraces on top, and straightened back up.

Xie Lian had already removed his robe and stood with a thoughtful expression. “I’d like to ask you something, but it might be a little too forward.”

Wu Ming blinked, unsure what to expect. “You can ask me anything,” he assured, ignoring the slight pressure in his chest.

Having received that confirmation, Xie Lian still looked somewhat reluctant, then seemed to steel himself.

“There is something I want to ask you, but first, I have a request.” He took a deep breath. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to see your face.”

Completely surprised, Wu Ming froze while his thoughts raced.

In theory, one of the largest reasons he’d had for keeping the mask had already nullified when Wu Ming decided it would be safe to reveal his identity during the war. If that had been the only factor, he would have agreed immediately and without hesitation.

But there was still another matter that was much harder to assess. The nearly two weeks they had spent together since returning to the Imperial City had been the longest continuous time that Wu Ming had gone without thinking about his appearance. Once the mask was on, he could completely forget that he had a face hiding beneath it. But in that instant, faced with the prospect of removing that protective layer, Wu Ming suddenly remembered that he was hideous. How could he have forgotten that demon eye?! Wu Ming’s appearance was so horrible that every single person who had ever laid eyes on him had proceeded to beat and abuse him. He doubted that Xie Lian would strike him, but once he saw Wu Ming’s face, he would surely reject him, and this precious escape from reality would come crashing to a close.

“Wu Ming, it’s alright if you don’t want to,” Xie Lian interjected into the silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Wu Ming sighed deep within his heart. It was unrealistic to expect that he could hide his face from Xie Lian forever. And if he was going to keep Wu Ming around, then he deserved better than Wu Ming’s lies by omission. Whether or not he had accepted living with a ghost, Xie Lian deserved to know that he was also living with a monster.

“…I’ll show you,” Wu Ming said numbly. “I should have shown you a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

With an impossibly heavy heart, Wu Ming shut his eyes. He reached behind his head and unfastened the knot. Slowly, he drew the mask away from his face and dropped his hand down at his side. Xie Lian didn’t gasp as he’d expected – he truly was gracious to withhold his disgust for Wu Ming’s sake. It wouldn’t last.

Wu Ming opened his eyes. He looked first at the floor, and then forced himself to meet Xie Lian’s eyes. For the first time ever, they looked at each other directly. There were no masks or bandages obscuring anything. Wu Ming felt like he had been stripped completely bare until only his shame and embarrassment was visible. He wanted nothing more than to snap his eyes shut and never open them again, but somehow he held Xie Lian’s gaze and only furrowed his brows nervously.

Still, Xie Lian didn’t gasp. His eyes did widen, but instead of recoiling in abject horror, for some strange reason, he actually leaned forward. His mouth parted and he looked… excited? No, that couldn’t be right; Wu Ming’s sanity must have snapped under the pressure.

“Thank you for showing me. You’re very handsome, Wu Ming.”

…Well, now Wu Ming was certain that he’d lost his mind. Xie Lian looked even more excited, too. These hallucinations were shockingly vivid.

“Your right eye, was it always red like this? Or did it happen after you died?”

“…Always…”

Xie Lian’s breathing halted for a moment. “When I was in the Imperial City during the war, I met a young soldier with an impressive martial skill. I think I mentioned to you that I had wanted to appoint him. However, our paths diverged, and I never saw him again.”

Wu Ming nodded. He had thought often and enviously of that young soldier. His own interactions with the Flower Crown Martial God during that period hadn’t left such an impact on Xie Lian.

“Well, there’s something I didn’t tell you about him. But before I tell you, I’d like to ask you a question.” Xie Lian’s serious gaze paralyzed Wu Ming. “When you were alive… did you ever wear bandages to cover your eye?”

“…Yes.”

Xie Lian suddenly looked very agitated. “Wu Ming, have we met before?”

“…Yes.”

“Did you accompany me on Beizi Hill?”

“…” Unable to answer directly, Wu Ming dropped down on his knee and bowed low. “I’m sorry, Dianxia,” he said, frozen over with dread. “I’m so sorry…”

Suddenly, there were hands just above his elbows drawing him back up to his feet. Wu Ming lifted his head and found himself face-to-face with Xie Lian. To his surprise, there was a small smile on his lips and his eyes glistened with tears.

“So it was you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “Wu Ming… it was you!”

Wu Ming had absolutely no explanation for what happened next. One moment, he was staring at Xie Lian’s face and awaiting his furious rejection. Then, Xie Lian threw his arms around him and buried his face into Wu Ming’s shoulder.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Xie Lian said. “I thought I’d never see you again. And you were with me all this time!” He laughed, then sniffled and squeezed him tightly. “Since I saw your flowers, I’ve been wondering… but I didn’t dare to hope… you weren’t lying back then, you really didn’t forget me!”

Wu Ming was in deep shock. Could it truly be that Xie Lian wasn’t going to reject him after all? Was this actually real, and not some elaborate hallucination? Xie Lian… was okay with this?!

An overwhelming feeling of love and relief swelled in his heart. Wu Ming dropped the mask, which clattered onto the ground, and wrapped his arms desperately around Xie Lian’s back. Xie Lian laughed again. His shoulders were shaking, and Wu Ming’s shoulder was wet with his tears, but his laughter was bright and untroubled.

“Dianxia… You aren’t upset?”

“How could I be upset?” Xie Lian asked with another laugh. “I’m so happy!”

There were too many feelings and echoes of feelings for Wu Ming to identify and sort them all, so he just held Xie Lian tightly and ignored everything else. It could all wait.

Eventually, Xie Lian calmed down and drew back, but only just far enough that he could wipe his eyes and look up at Wu Ming. Xie Lian clutched Wu Ming’s arm with his right hand and brought his left up to touch his cheek.

“I really like your eye, Wu Ming,” he announced with a smile. Wu Ming blinked rapidly in surprise, and Xie Lian laughed. “I’m serious! It’s mesmerizing.” Xie Lian’s hand dropped down to his shoulder, and he backed a little further away. “Please don’t wear that mask anymore?”

Too overwhelmed to speak, Wu Ming simply nodded. Then, Xie Lian withdrew both his hands and, a little awkwardly, said, “Let’s sleep. I’m tired.”

Wu Ming nodded again. “Okay.”

He took his hair down and climbed into bed. Xie Lian was already lying down, but this time he was facing the center of their combined beds. Wu Ming followed his lead and turned towards him. For a while, they stared at each other. Wu Ming wished he could climb inside Xie Lian’s head and listen to his thoughts; his face was unreadable.

The first expression he recognized was ‘surprise’, when Xie Lian suddenly said “Oh, I forgot the candle!” He started to rise but Wu Ming reached out a hand and held his shoulder gently down.

“I’ll get it.”

Wu Ming focused on the candle across the room. With a wave of his hand and a burst of qi, the flame extinguished. The vague outlines of Xie Lian’s face were still visible in the soft moonlight, but details were no longer clear.

“…Goodnight, Wu Ming.”

His heart swelled. “Goodnight, Dianxia.”

Banishing all of his anxious thoughts and disbeliefs until the morning, Wu Ming closed his eyes.

---

In most every way, things were the same, yet Wu Ming felt like everything had changed.

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was Xie Lian. He was staring at him.

When they ate breakfast, Wu Ming instinctively raised his hand to pull the mask away from his face, only to touch skin instead and remember that it wasn’t there. Xie Lian tried to disguise his laugh as a cough, and Wu Ming smirked below his hand.

When they moved around the house preparing for the day, Wu Ming often caught Xie Lian looking at him, then quickly looking away. It was incredibly distracting and he dropped things more than once.

As soon as Xie Lian left to read in the library, Wu Ming sprinted to the bathhouse. He didn’t stop running until he was standing before the tall mirror in the dressing room. For the first time since that stream on the way to the Imperial City, and probably the first time ever in such a clear surface, Wu Ming took a long look at his own face.

What he saw there was completely unexpected.

It had been a long, long time since he had last been beaten up, so there was no swelling on his face. Wu Ming was also several years older than the last time he remembered seeing his reflection, and what little of the youthful padding he’d had on his cheeks must have disappeared during one of his phenomenal growth spurts. If he saw this face on a stranger in the street, he would never have recognized it as his own.

“You’re very handsome, Wu Ming.”

His cheekbones were high and sharp, and his jaw had a pleasant definition that came to a soft point at the tip of his chin. Although he was certain that his nose had been broken in the past, it wasn’t crooked or unsightly. Thick eyebrows swept over his eyes and tapered into sharp tails towards his temples. And those eyes…

They were like shadow and flame, both lighting up and darkening his face at the same time. Wu Ming instinctively cringed when he first caught sight of that crimson eye, but he stuck through the reaction and looked again.

“I really like your eye.”

Wu Ming’s chest started doing strange things, and he parted his lips to start breathing. It was true that his features were striking, fully unlike those of any other person he’d ever seen, but to say they were absolutely repugnant… He was beginning to wonder whether that was really true. Maybe his was the kind of striking that could draw a person in instead of pushing them away. Xie Lian had been staring more than usual that morning…

He shook his head to clear it. No, best not to jump to conclusions. It was probably just that Wu Ming’s face was something new, so Xie Lian was naturally curious about it. And yes, he’d complimented his looks, but Wu Ming had been nervous and Xie Lian was kind, so of course he would say something nice. He might have only meant that Wu Ming was more handsome than he had expected – and honestly, looking at his reflection now, Wu Ming felt the same way. This was not the ugly monster he was certain he’d find.

Curiously, Wu Ming reached up and unbound his hair from the high ponytail. When the long black hair dropped around his shoulders and chin, Wu Ming’s eyes widened and he drew a shocked breath.

There was no denying it. The young man staring back at him was quite good-looking! It didn’t make any sense, and Wu Ming wondered if his body actually had changed more than he’d thought after it was reformed. He suddenly wondered what it would look like to stand beside Xie Lian in the mirror. The vision his imagination immediately supplied seemed to hover next to him, and he couldn’t help but think that their features would complement each other…

Wu Ming clapped his hands over his cheeks. What was he doing, thinking like that?! He quickly retied his hair and glared at himself. This sudden, unexpected taste of vanity had Wu Ming thinking about all sorts of forbidden scenarios, and he needed to get that under control as soon as possible. Just because he didn’t look like a monster, it didn’t mean that he suddenly had any chance at a serious relationship with Xie Lian!! All these thoughts of sweeping him off his feet with his good looks were utterly ridiculous. They were friends! Unlikely companions in troubled times. And that was already enough, so why was Wu Ming still thinking about kissing him?! He didn’t even know the first thing about how to be charming!!

Wu Ming turned away from the mirror with an exasperated “Argh!” and left the bathhouse. The feeling of the breeze brushing against his face was strange. He found a red flower in an overgrown garden and brought it to the library as usual, then went about his day while stamping down his stray thoughts.

While they were running through sabre training in the afternoon, Xie Lian suddenly laughed, high and bright. Wu Ming stopped in the middle of the form he was practicing and looked over at his teacher. Xie Lian was doubled over and waving his hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s nothing!” he said as he collected himself. “It’s just that… well, you project quite a lot onto your face. Of course I never noticed it before, and it makes sense, I was just surprised!”

Wu Ming covered the bottom half of his face with a shy hand. “Ah…”

“We’ll practice it, don’t worry,” Xie Lian insisted with a smile. “Controlling one’s face is an important skill. In combat,” he added with emphasis.

They went through the rest of their training, and then they sparred to close out the day’s practice. Wu Ming was very self-conscious of his face, desperately trying to keep it as blank as possible, but he must have been failing because Xie Lian was staring at it instead of fixing his gaze on his solar plexus as usual. While they parried blows, Wu Ming was thinking about how strange that actually was; Xie Lian had specifically instructed him to only watch the solar plexus in a fight because it’s easier to respond to all four extremities and predict someone’s motions from that spot. Of course, Wu Ming had quickly given up on this and simply learned to spar while watching Xie Lian’s face, but that particular failure had usually been hidden behind a mask. Xie Lian had always followed his own advice – until now.

It was so surprisingly endearing to catch Xie Lian breaking his own rules that Wu Ming couldn’t help but smile. And then, a moment later, he broke through Xie Lian’s defenses for the very first time and held the curve of his blade above his chest.

Wu Ming’s smile turned victorious and he leapt back with an elated cry. “I did it! Dianxia, I did it!!” He twirled the sabre with his wrist and then smoothly sheathed it at his waist.

Xie Lian smiled, but he looked a little embarrassed as he sheathed his own sword. His cheeks were redder than usual, and he crossed his arms and tugged sheepishly at a lock of hair on the side of his face.

“Ah, you did, good job, good job…”

For the rest of the afternoon, Xie Lian was a little subdued. Wu Ming gave him space, figuring he must be having trouble accepting his loss of the match, and busied himself with cooking dinner. While they ate, Wu Ming tried to imitate the way Xie Lian had drawn him out of his shell in the past, with careful questions and light conversation. Within a few minutes, Xie Lian actually seemed much more at ease, and their conversation livened. To Wu Ming’s surprise, Xie Lian actually brought up the match himself while they were cleaning up after dinner and preparing to go to bed. All of his embarrassment seemed to have been forgotten; he spoke with enthusiasm about Wu Ming’s improvement and insisted that he had fairly earned that victory through his hard work. By the time they were undressing for bed, Wu Ming was practically glowing from all the praise.

Then, something occurred to Wu Ming, and his thoughts took a very different turn. There had already been many subtle changes to adjust to over the course of the day, now that Wu Ming was no longer wearing a mask. He had thought that they were all in the past now, but he’d forgotten about this particular detail.

Ordinarily, Wu Ming wore his mask while they read together. It wasn’t until right before lying down that Wu Ming removed it, and usually the candle had already been extinguished. That also meant that Xie Lian had never clearly seen Wu Ming with his hair down. Uninvited memories of the alluring young man in the mirror came flooding back like a tidal wave, and although Wu Ming tried very hard to suppress them, the delusional voice in his head that believed he could somehow woo Xie Lian was simply too loud to ignore.

Xie Lian has been staring at you all day, the voice teased. What if it wasn’t your victory that so threw him, but just you? Don’t you want to try and figure that out?

Wu Ming sighed softly and gave in. If he had to take his hair down either way, he might as well… So, he waited until Xie Lian was looking at him, untied the knot holding his hair up, and let it fall around his face just like he had done in the bathhouse that morning. Xie Lian’s eyes went wide. For reasons Wu Ming couldn’t explain, he was suddenly compelled to thread his fingers into the hair above his forehead and brush it back over the crown of his head. At that, Xie Lian’s mouth parted into a small ‘oh’. He blinked, then turned quickly away and sat down, shuffling around in his things.

Wu Ming’s chest was fluttering madly. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that. What had come over him?! And Xie Lian really had reacted… There was no way, no way! That stupid voice in his head couldn’t be right! It was impossible!! While his mind flailed in disbelief, his body automatically followed their routine, and before he knew it, Wu Ming was pressed close beside Xie Lian at the edge of the bed. He groaned internally. This was too bold, he should have left some space!! Or, would that have seemed suspicious? Maybe it was for the best that he–

All of his thoughts came crashing to a halt as soon as he realized that Xie Lian’s heart was pounding.

He shouldn’t have been able to feel it without touching his pulse points, but Wu Ming had long since accepted that he was more sensitive to noticing Xie Lian’s heartbeat now that he didn’t have one of his own to interfere. Just pressing close was enough to tune into it. Usually, that was a completely unconscious habit, simply another hue in the living painting of Xie Lian that Wu Ming soaked in while they sat together every night to read, along with his breathing and the rhythm of his words and the fingertip that trailed down the lines of writing. It was like entering a trance, something truly meditative.

However, this time, Xie Lian’s heart wasn’t a smooth lake, it was a roaring river in a storm! Wu Ming felt his own agitation increasing, and although Xie Lian did roll the scroll out and start to read, his heart never settled and Wu Ming barely registered a single word of what he said.

It was only after the scroll was put away and it was finally a time when Wu Ming wouldn’t be expected to speak or respond normally that he finally began to relax. His nerves felt springy and overstimulated. Despite the clear agitation they had both been experiencing, for some reason, Xie Lian and Wu Ming still lay facing each other, just like the previous night – and despite the fact that it made it objectively more difficult to calm down, Wu Ming was still incredibly happy that he could steal glances at Xie Lian’s face in the dark.

---

The next few days were mostly calmer. Xie Lian still watched him often but he was more casual about it, and defying all his own expectations, Wu Ming gradually became used to the attention.

They adjusted their training regimen to spend more time sparring, which left them both exhilarated and exhausted as they trekked to the bathhouse each day. Xie Lian also started teaching him how to control and manipulate his sword glare. Wu Ming couldn’t produce it consistently yet, but just like everything else, after just a short time under Xie Lian’s tutelage, he felt that he was improving considerably.

After Wu Ming casually corrected Xie Lian on a small misreading one night, Xie Lian went from surprised to suspicious and asked him to try reading the story by himself. To both of their astonishment, Wu Ming could recite it close to perfectly. Xie Lian was delighted. He laughed and said they should practice writing some of the passages instead, and sure enough, instead of going to the library by himself the next morning, Xie Lian dragged Wu Ming along with him and set him up at a writing desk for his first calligraphy lesson. They made it just in time to escape the start of a rare summer shower, which pattered outside the window for most of the morning.

About an hour into that, Xie Lian had his head buried in his hands and Wu Ming was feeling extremely embarrassed.

“Dianxia, it’s really okay, you don’t have to teach me… I don’t need to write anything, just reading is enough, really…”

Xie Lian sighed and dropped his hands, revealing a wan smile. “Ah, Wu Ming, I have to admit that it’s a strange relief to find something you don’t naturally excel at. Now I can believe you’re human after all, not some prodigious rogue god who slipped into my company!”

He laughed brightly, but Wu Ming frowned. “I’m neither of those things, Dianxia. I’m a ghost.”

Xie Lian stopped laughing and turned serious, watching Wu Ming’s face more carefully. “You’re still human, Wu Ming,” he insisted. Wu Ming stared at him, confused, and Xie Lian continued speaking.

“When I was younger, I was a disciple of the Guoshi of Xianle. He was a very wise and patient man. I should have listened to him more than I did.” Xie Lian smiled nostalgically. “But there was one thing above all others in which he was absolutely correct, and the more I’ve experienced, the more I believe it. He said that humans who ascend are still human, and humans who fall are also still human.

“I first learned that he was right when I ascended. The heavenly officials I met were grand and powerful, but also just as vain and petty as normal people. When I descended… it was even more clear,” he said through gritted teeth. Wu Ming thought of the heavenly bullies who forced Xie Lian out of the spiritual spring in the mountains, and found himself agreeing in spite of himself. Those men were no gods.

“Until recently, I’d never had any way to validate whether Guoshi was also right about ghosts. But then I met you, and Lu Xinhui, and now I know he was correct on both counts. Even Bai Wuxiang…” Xie Lian sighed. “Although his actions were unthinkable, he didn’t do a single thing which any human with enough hatred and power couldn’t also have done.”

Xie Lian shook his head lightly and smiled. “I digress. The point I wanted to make is that you’re human, Wu Ming, regardless of whether your body is fully alive, no matter how many times you die.” Then, he furrowed his brows and squirmed a little on his cushion. “But, please don’t die again!!”

Wu Ming was suddenly overcome with the urge to laugh. He tried to hold it back at first, but within a few moments he was rocking with full-bodied laughter. When he finally settled down and wiped his eyes, he saw that Xie Lian was also smirking even while he looked playfully offended.

“I’ll try to avoid that, Dianxia,” he said between lingering giggles.

Still smirking, Xie Lian began to gather up the writing tools and the paper that Wu Ming had defaced. “So, my dear human ghost friend, just reading it is, then. One thing at a time.” He meaningfully folded that paper to disguise the terrible calligraphy, and it was then Wu Ming’s turn to narrow his eyes in mock upset. They both snickered.

“Besides my hopelessness at writing, it’s actually best if I learn to read,” Wu Ming said. “Then, I can help you search for clues instead of running around uselessly every morning.”

“It isn’t useless, I like your flowers,” Xie Lian said casually, and Wu Ming’s heart did a backflip. “And anyways, I’m not sure that there are very many clues to find. It’s been weeks, but the closest thing I’ve found to a credible hint was an airheaded poet who wrote about a volcano with ‘demonic sensibilities’ that he passed on his travels. I’ve tracked it down on a map in the last few days, just in case, but…” Xie Lian sighed. “A few poems later, there was a verse which suggests he was more or less constantly drunk, and while that does somewhat explain the strange metrical choices, I can’t help but doubt his perceptive abilities.”

If Xie Lian had been any more like his arrogant asshole of an advisor from the past, he might have rolled his eyes, but for Xie Lian, this measured insult was more or less the equivalent. Wu Ming grinned.

“Well, at least we have something to start with whenever we leave this place,” he said. “It’s better than nothing!”

Xie Lian turned pensive and seemed to be turning something over in his head. Wu Ming waited patiently and tried not to distract him. After a few moments, Xie Lian looked back at him.

“Wu Ming, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. It’s possible that your ring will be finished soon, maybe within a matter of days. I know you’ve said that you’ll stay, but I want you to know… if you want to seek out your beloved instead, that that’s okay.”

He looked sadder than Wu Ming had seen him since they visited the mausoleum, yet Xie Lian forced a small, pitiful smile onto his face. Wu Ming shook his head resolutely.

“I absolutely must see this through, Dianxia. Until Bai Wuxiang is truly gone from this world, I’m afraid my beloved will never truly be safe. I told you I want to protect them. That matters more to me than anything.” He paused to consider what he could safely say. “Even if I’m apart from them in some ways, I’m still protecting them by taking on this mission, and that’s more important.”

Xie Lian still looked a bit melancholic, but there was some relief on his face, too. He frowned. “I wish you could do both.”

Wu Ming was silent, but in his heart, he was screaming, ‘I am doing both! I am!’ He wished he could say so aloud and wipe all the worry from Xie Lian’s face.

It wasn’t until they had packed up and left the library together that Wu Ming finally had a chance to put Xie Lian more at ease. While they walked through the humid streets, Xie Lian was pensive and quiet. Between sneaking glances at him, Wu Ming’s eyes were suddenly drawn to a flash of color low to the ground at his side. He stopped Xie Lian with a light hand on his shoulder, knelt down to pick a yellow flower that was still wet with raindrops, and then he stood and held the flower out directly to his god.

Xie Lian accepted that flower and stared at it for a while. When he turned his intense gaze back up at Wu Ming, for the briefest of moments, Wu Ming was able to pretend that Xie Lian loved him.

For the rest of the day, Wu Ming felt warm, which was something he hadn’t often experienced since he started inhabiting this body. Whenever he had, it was always related to Xie Lian, and this was no exception. He was filled with warm, fluffy clouds, and he didn’t even bother trying to disguise it. Wu Ming floated his way through the evening and was halfway asleep when Xie Lian’s excited whisper dragged him groggily back.

“Wu Ming, look!”

“Mmm? ‘sgoinon?” he slurred. He saw Xie Lian’s eyes shining high above him and slowly worked out that he had propped himself up on one elbow. Wu Ming rolled over to follow his gaze, but as soon as he caught sight of the window, he sprang up, suddenly invigorated.

“Dianxia, the stars!!”

Xie Lian was already on his feet and holding out a hand to help Wu Ming up. “Let’s go outside, quickly!”

They slipped their boots on and raced down the stairs and out the front door of the shop. Neither had wasted any time with outer layers. The open sky above the street was alit with stars, and every few seconds, a few of them dashed across the heavens. Wu Ming’s eyes were wide and his mouth gaped. Never before had he seen anything like this.

“Over here!”

Reluctantly, he turned away and saw Xie Lian beginning to scale the walls of the blacksmith’s shop. Wu Ming followed him and accepted his hand when he climbed onto the rooftop. Immediately, he understood why Xie Lian had chosen this; even though it was only two floors, the roof of the shop placed them up higher enough that more of the sky was visible than from the street. Xie Lian guided the thoroughly distracted Wu Ming around until they were lying shoulder-to-shoulder along the gentle slope with their heads next to the central beam of the roof.

Wu Ming was speechless with wonder. He vaguely felt Xie Lian’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t tear his own away from the sky for long enough to check.

“So this is the first time you’ve seen falling stars,” Xie Lian assessed. “I knew I should wake you!”

“They’re falling?” Wu Ming asked.

“Mm. It’s believed that whenever a star falls, some important person has passed from this world. Some people even think they’re unlucky.”

Wu Ming shook his head slightly after watching a particularly bright star streak across the sky and burn a thin line into his retinas. “They’re just beautiful.”

Xie Lian paused, then laughed softly. “You’re truly wise, Wu Ming.”

They lay in silence and watched the stars. Wu Ming kept trying to predict which star from the tapestry would be next, but he never quite managed to spot the first moment that any of them began to fall. At some point, he was drawn quickly back down from the sky when the back of his hand brushed against the back of Xie Lian’s. Neither of them flinched away, nor did they draw any closer. It was a neutral touch, even though to Wu Ming, it was incredibly charged. He thought Xie Lian might be holding his breath. Then, Xie Lian’s index finger extended back and looped around Wu Ming’s, and he gently pressed into the back of Wu Ming’s hand. Wu Ming’s eyes fluttered happily closed for a moment, before the starfall beckoned them back open, and he pushed back with a smile. He heard Xie Lian’s breath shudder out softly and return to normal.

They stayed there through the peak of the celestial activity, as well as the slower period where only a few late stars intermittently dropped. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary for a long time when Xie Lian finally stirred and suggested they go back inside. It was with great reluctance that Wu Ming parted their hands and pushed himself up on the hard tiles.

When they were back in bed, Wu Ming smiled at Xie Lian. Although it was dark, their eyes had adjusted and could see more clearly than usual, so Xie Lian smiled back.

“Thank you,” Wu Ming said simply.

“I’m glad I saw them with you,” Xie Lian replied quietly. “It was much more beautiful for your response.”

Maybe it was that Xie Lian’s sweet words had gone to his head. Maybe he was still reeling from their hours on the rooftop. Maybe he was just more tired than he realized.

Wu Ming reached out over the seam between their beds and took Xie Lian’s hand deliberately into his own. It had been resting beside his face, loose and open, as if beckoning him, and Wu Ming couldn’t resist. Before he even had a chance to be nervous about it, Xie Lian threaded their fingers together and squeezed. Wu Ming felt like they’d entered some private, glass world. If they spoke even a single word, it would shatter and they would have to face the reality of what they were doing – so they just stared wordlessly into each other’s eyes and let the radiant tension wash over and between them. Wu Ming distantly felt like they were both stealing from each other, but the thought couldn’t find any purchase in his mind and was soon washed away.

At some point, the constant, tense energy started wearing them down. Wu Ming caught Xie Lian’s eyes trying to shut, and felt his own eyelids growing heavier and heavier. They both resisted it in a silent battle, but eventually, Wu Ming’s eyes closed and didn’t reopen until well after daybreak.

---

A surprise awaited Wu Ming the next morning. He’d awoken groggily and out-of-sorts. After reluctantly disentangling from Xie Lian’s hand, Wu Ming walked out into the loft without dressing and looked around blankly. When he descended to the workshop, a majority of the sleepiness dissipated on the spot. The leather straps holding the clamps together had snapped!

Wu Ming rushed over to inspect the damage. With the pressure released, the two metal plates had begun to separate and expand. Since they were already so malfunctioned, Wu Ming lifted the top plate entirely to check the contents.

To his enormous surprise, there was a proper ring in the mold! He left the plates on the workshop table and ran back upstairs.

“Dianxia! The ring is done!” he said as he peeked into the bedroom. Xie Lian sat up in bed, blinked slowly, then seemed to understand.

“Oh!”

He rose quickly but did stop to dress, so Wu Ming did the same. He had reached that long, charcoal-colored robe in the cycle. A glance turned into a stare once it revealed that Xie Lian was wearing white-and-gray over a black inner robe, a combination which Wu Ming found incredibly striking. After Xie Lian tied all of his hair back into a high tail, he turned around with fire in his eyes.

“Let’s go!”

In the workshop, Wu Ming let Xie Lian handle the process of releasing the ring from the mold. Actually, he paid shamefully little attention to what Xie Lian was doing; he was too busy trying to watch his face and his beautiful hands at the same time to comprehend the method behind Xie Lian’s gestures. It wasn’t until Xie Lian caught him staring, again, that Wu Ming finally snapped out of it. His ring lay in Xie Lian’s outstretched hand.

Wu Ming picked it up delicately and turned it around in his hands. The crystal was smooth and looked like foggy glass. The shape was very close to correct, as the walls of the mold had bulged outward under the pressure, which created a pleasant curve on the outside of the ring.

“It’s beautiful,” Wu Ming said, a little emotionally. Xie Lian squeezed his shoulder and smiled.

“It is.” He pointed to the seams that jutted out from each side of the ring. “These are luckily very small, so if you want, we can smooth them down, or we can leave them.”

Wu Ming considered it and quickly found he had a strong preference. He wanted the ring to be absolutely perfect. “How can we smooth it?”

“Allow me.”

Xie Lian fished around in one of the rows of tools and picked out a large grindstone. He carried it effortlessly, yet when he placed it on the table, the wood creaked under its weight. Then, Xie Lian took the ring and focused intently on the stone.

This time, Wu Ming watched him more carefully. Xie Lian was truly masterful at this, his gestures even and confident. There was no risk that the crystal would crack from too much force in those careful hands. Wu Ming wondered whether his skill had come from years of practice looking after fine weapons. Not for the first time, Wu Ming was incredibly grateful that Xie Lian had been so involved in this process. If he had been by himself, he would have stumbled around and made many mistakes, but with Xie Lian’s help, everything had been seamless.

It only took a few minutes before Xie Lian ran a finger over the surface of the ring, smiled, and offered it back to Wu Ming. He slipped it onto his finger for safekeeping and held his hand up in front of the window, admiring the way light passed through the crystal. Satisfied, he turned to smile at Xie Lian and found him staring at him fondly. After a few moments, one or both of them broke their gaze.

That morning’s surprise development signaled the imminent close of their time living in the abandoned city. Wu Ming and Xie Lian shuffled around the loft and the bathhouse and the library, checking and double-checking that they’d separated the essential things from what they could afford to leave behind. Taken by a sudden hunch, Wu Ming detoured towards the palace ruins and searched until he found a looted jeweler’s store. He found a fine, silver chain that had been dropped and kicked beneath a table, and threaded it through his ring. After tying it around his neck and tucking it beneath his lapels, Wu Ming felt that it was much more secure and relaxed the worry he’d unconsciously been carrying. The majority of the fineries were long stolen, but Wu Ming was able to find a few broken pieces and even a sparkling blue stone beneath some rubble. He tucked them away in a small pouch, grabbed a second pouch, and returned to the loft.

There, Xie Lian sat with his bamboo hat hanging off the back of his shoulders. He was packing a selection of things into the sack which had once been filled with scrolls. Most of those were piled neatly on the table, but one familiar scroll protruded out from the bag. Wu Ming smiled, then ducked into the bedroom while Xie Lian was occupied. Wu Ming slipped that red pearl out from its hiding place beneath the bedsheets, added it onto the silver chain around his neck, and tucked it and that translucent ring back under the lapels of his robes. He went back out to sit at the table with Xie Lian.

“I found some things we could sell,” he said, presenting the pouch. “It should be enough to keep us off the streets for a while.”

Xie Lian took the pouch, examined the contents, then tucked it into his robes. “That’s a good idea. We can stop in at the nearest town, and maybe get something to eat after.”

Once the sack was fully packed, Wu Ming found himself suddenly wistful. He looked around the loft, down at his hands, and finally up at Xie Lian.

“I’ll miss it here,” he admitted. Wu Ming had never missed a place before. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling.

Xie Lian smiled sadly. “I will, too.”

There was nothing left to do. With a final, fond look, they set out from the loft for the last time.

---

It took a few hours of walking before they reached the next city. They passed a small village, but it was little more than a few houses and some farms. There was no inn, nor anywhere they could sell their jewelry, so they kept walking. When the road started filling with more and more people, it was clear they were heading towards somewhere more promising.

However, the greater number of people on the road also drew Wu Ming’s attention to another thing: many of those people stared openly and some even looked fearful as soon as they noticed him. It took him a surprising amount of time to make the connection. As soon as he did, he ducked his head and turned to Xie Lian.

“Dianxia, I forgot to cover my eye! I left the mask behind. Do you have any cloth? I could wrap it for now and try to find something better later.”

Xie Lian made a sharp sound through his nostrils. “I’d like to see anyone try to give you any trouble. I’ll make sure they regret it for the rest of their miserable life.”

Wu Ming blinked, then felt the butterflies awaken in his chest. A smirk cut across his face at Xie Lian’s bold threat. He sounded so fierce! That Xie Lian could be so protective of him was enough for Wu Ming to lift his head and walk with his shoulders confidently back. The next person who stared at him received a toothy snarl in return; they scampered past without so much as a second glance.

When they passed through the city gates, it was a little bit like walking through a hole that connected them to the past. After spending so many weeks in an abandoned city, it was genuinely strange to hear street vendors calling out to people walking past, even to see those passersby at all. There was noise and motion and bustle in every direction, and Wu Ming found his nerves firing constantly as he scoured the crowds for – what? Threats, danger? He knew there was little that a common person could do to cause either Xie Lian or himself any harm, yet he couldn’t stop himself from looking anyways.

Seemingly at random, Xie Lian suddenly stopped walking with a small, “Oh.”

Wu Ming followed his gaze and saw a temple, clearly something that had been newly constructed. It wasn’t a Flower Crown Martial God temple, so Wu Ming didn’t recognize it.

“Do you know this god, Dianxia?” he asked. Xie Lian nodded, but his brows were furrowed.

“This temple… supposedly belongs to Mu Qing.”

Oh. No wonder Xie Lian was tense. Immediately, Wu Ming’s hatred of Xie Lian’s former advisor increased tenfold. So, Mu Qing had abandoned him as soon as Xie Lian was banished so he could become a god himself within a year? And Xie Lian was still left to fend for himself in the mortal realm? Heaven help Mu Qing the next time Wu Ming crossed his path.

Wu Ming grabbed Xie Lian’s hand and pulled him away. “Let’s go,” he said tersely while yelling unutterable profanities at Mu Qing in his mind.

Numbly, Xie Lian followed, but shortly thereafter he tugged on Wu Ming’s hand and stopped a second time. Another new temple. This time, Wu Ming knew without having to ask.

“It’s Feng Xin?”

Xie Lian nodded. This time, his reaction was completely different. He still looked tense, but he had a small smile and was even leaning towards the building. By silent agreement, they entered the temple.

Inside was a fine statue of an armored man nocking an arrow into a drawn bow. Wu Ming didn’t recognize the statue’s face, as had so often been the case with the Flower Crown Martial God’s divine statues. The altar was full of offerings and there were a fair few people in the temple. They were all kneeling and muttering prayers, but as soon as Wu Ming noticed that there were no cushions laid out for them, Feng Xin rose slightly in his estimation.

Xie Lian lit a stick of incense at the altar and took a few steps back. He smiled up at the statue.

“Ju Yang Zhenjun! What a fine title, Feng Xin. I hope the heavens are treating you kindly. May you and your followers be blessed with good fortune.” He paused, then added, “Congratulations.”

With that said, Xie Lian seemed satisfied, and they went back out onto the street.

A little further along, Wu Ming spotted a shop with some thin marks slashed seemingly at random into the top of the wooden sign. He couldn’t read the sign itself, but in this case, that hardly mattered.

“Dianxia, we can sell things here,” he said. Xie Lian looked quizzically at the sign, then back at him.

“This is shop for funerary goods,” Xie Lian said with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah, that’s just a front. The real business is disguised beneath it.” Wu Ming pointed at those slashes. “Let’s try our luck. Just tell the clerk you like the sign, they’ll handle it from there.”

Xie Lian looked skeptical but nodded and led the way inside.

The shop was indeed full of funerary goods, and Wu Ming didn’t doubt that this part of the business was active enough on its own. But the shop owner was dressed much too finely for a simple merchant. Xie Lian approached the counter while Wu Ming hung slightly back, angling his right eye away to seem less suspicious. The owner eyed them up and down, lingering on their swords, then smiled and opened his arms.

“How might I be of service to you fine young gentlemen today?”

Xie Lian gestured back towards the front of the shop. “We were just passing by and couldn’t help but admire your sign.”

The man grinned and nodded his head in private acknowledgement, but his voice didn’t modulate at all. “Splendid, isn’t it? My father carved it himself, finest woodworker in the kingdom, loved traveling and collecting interesting things. Speaking of, you look like travelers, with your packs and your weapons. You must have come across some fine things during your travels, ah?”

Xie Lian glanced back at Wu Ming, then smirked at the shop owner. “Indeed, we have. Would you like to see them?”

“I insist!”

Xie Lian drew out the pouch and spread the contents out across the table. There were a few pendants with missing gemstones, a golden bracelet, a single jade earring, and that shimmering blue stone. The man’s eyes went wide and he picked up that stone, turning it around in the light.

“Lovely, just lovely,” he cooed, then made a piteous expression. “Ah, my dear father would love to see such treasures! Alas, his health is poor and he can’t leave his bed. What a pity, he’s unendingly fascinated by the things people leave behind in war.”

“Perhaps we could come to some agreement, then,” Xie Lian said evenly. “As you noticed, we’re travelers, and while such fineries are indeed lovely, they aren’t much use on the road. And besides, they’re rather heavy, you’ll notice the weight of this golden pendant, for instance…” Xie Lian placed it in his hands and the man weighed it appreciatively. “So you see, I’d be very happy if your father could have something to admire while he recovers, and you’d be sparing us the trouble of carrying them around from town to town.”

“Say no more, young man! I was thinking just the very same thing.” The man swept the jewelry fragments to the side and drew out a silver piece and some smaller coins. “I think you’ll agree this is a more than fair trade for the goods, ah? After all, medicine is expensive…”

At that, Xie Lian’s brows furrowed and he didn’t reply immediately. He gave a small sigh and seemed to be about to nod his agreement when Wu Ming suddenly slammed his fist on the table. The two men and all the small things on the table jumped.

Wu Ming leaned over the table and slowly raised his head to look directly at the shop owner. The man took an unconscious step back when he saw his face. Wu Ming allowed his anger to slip past the boundaries of his body, creating a faint aura of darkness that turned the shop owner’s face very pale. Then, Wu Ming smiled, and that hammered the final nail into the coffin he’d built around the terrified man.

“I disagree,” he said pleasantly, even while the man practically cowered before him. “In fact, I can’t help but wonder whether you mean to insult my friend. He carried these a long way to your shop. Your father would be very disappointed if you didn’t pay him their full worth, don’t you think? Let’s not disrespect our ancestors, ah?”

A few short minutes later, they departed the shop with a small but heavy money pouch. Wu Ming grinned at Xie Lian.

“You did well!” he praised. “In the future, you should never accept the first price. They like to play games.”

“Ah…” Xie Lian’s cheeks were a soft pink and he busied himself with putting away the pouch.

They stopped at the next inn, paid for a room and a meal, and were lead upstairs by a young girl. She set a tray of tea on the table and bowed out of their room.

Wu Ming was in an inexplicably good mood. After placing his sabre on the sword stand, he walked across the spacious room with his arms spread wide and spun around to face Xie Lian.

“This is great! I’ve never stayed at an inn before! Are they always this big?”

Xie Lian looked very amused as he set down his things and sat on a thick cushion. “Not always,” he chuckled. While Wu Ming explored the room’s many decorations and small details, he heard shuffling and the clink of porcelain at the table.

“I think the blacksmith must have really loved his work,” Wu Ming said as he joined Xie Lian for tea.

“Oh? What makes you say that?” Xie Lian asked, handing him a cup. Wu Ming swirled the tea lightly and took a small sip.

“When we first arrived, I thought that his loft was a really nice place. It was clean and dry and practical. But it was nothing like this.” Wu Ming gestured around, indicating the painted folding screen, and the bedframe with twisting patterns carved into the wood, and the thick curtains pulled back from the window. “I’d bet he hardly spent any time at all in that loft. Everything in the workshop looked like it was handled often, and it was probably never clean. That’s where he really lived.”

“Hm. I think you’re right.” Xie Lian smiled. “I suppose we lived in it for him.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door, sparing Wu Ming the need to reply. The same young staff member brought in their dinner, and an older woman appeared behind her with some buckets of hot water for the bath. Wu Ming was glad for the extra time to collect himself. As soon as the food was in front of them, all other things were immediately forgotten.

They ate indecorously and with many sighs of approval. It was the first time either of them had eaten any meat since Lu Xinhui’s mantou platter in the ghost city, and they savored the chicken and eggs like they were something truly precious. Too soon, it was finished. Wu Ming lay back with his arms crossed beneath his head and his legs stretched beneath the table while Xie Lian disappeared behind the screen to bathe.

“I wish we could keep chickens in our bags,” Wu Ming mused. Xie Lian laughed while seeming to step into the tub.

“Me too.” There was some splashing of water as Xie Lian washed himself. “We can carry swords, though. I’ve just remembered we missed training today.”

“Oh, you’re right. I’ll just practice harder tomorrow to make up for it.”

“Mm, that’s a deal.”

When it was Wu Ming’s turn to bathe, he was doubly glad for the privacy screen. For one thing, his tattoo couldn’t be covered, and the thin chain holding his ring and Xie Lian’s crimson pearl were also on full display. They were both part of a past that Wu Ming had yet to reveal to Xie Lian; if he were being honest with himself, he wondered whether he ever would. He laughed under his breath when he suddenly realized that Xie Lian probably wouldn’t be able to read his tattoo even if he did see it, based on how appalled he’d been by Wu Ming’s writing back in the Imperial City.

But the other reason Wu Ming darted behind the screen as quickly as possible was that he’d been completely unprepared for Xie Lian to walk out from behind it in only loosely tied inner robes, toweling his damp hair over one shoulder. He’d even had the nerve to smile at Wu Ming, like he hadn’t already shocked him enough! Around the sudden ringing in his ears, Wu Ming thought he heard Xie Lian muffle a laugh, but he was far from certain that his hearing wasn’t just playing tricks on him.

When Wu Ming emerged, he followed suit and put on only his inner robes. Unlike Xie Lian, however, he tied them properly, as he had to cover his necklace. This didn’t stop the vain voice in his head, now fully established, from insinuating that Xie Lian was disappointed to see him so thoroughly dressed. Wu Ming fractionally shook his head and reminded himself that no matter what, he was still in a private room with Xie Lian while in his inner robes with his hair down. That was plenty intimate enough! With a sigh, he followed Xie Lian over to the bed.

It surely wasn’t lost on either of them that there was only one bed this time, and it was quite a bit smaller than their combined beds in the blacksmith’s loft, but neither remarked upon it. Instead, Wu Ming blurted out a question as soon as the thought materialized in his mind.

“Dianxia, could I comb your hair?”

Oh, that was too intimate. Why did he say that?!

Wu Ming was several seconds into deep panic while Xie Lian looked at him, and the tension didn’t release until Xie Lian smiled and said, “I’d like that.”

He rose to dig around in the bag while Wu Ming sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting and trying to compose himself. Too soon, Xie Lian returned and passed him a simple wooden comb, then curled up on the bed beside him with his arms around his knees. Wu Ming silently prayed for steady hands, then finally brought them to Xie Lian’s hair.

Wu Ming hooked around the still-damp hair that fell in front of Xie Lian’s shoulders and pulled it gently over them until it all tumbled down his back. It was long enough that the tips pooled on the bed. Wu Ming shifted forward and rested the hair in his lap, then began brushing through it from the bottom and slowly working his way up. Xie Lian’s breathing had deepened as if he were relaxing, yet the tense set of his shoulders didn’t appear relaxed at all. Wu Ming was even more careful after he noticed that; maybe he had been pulling uncomfortably at Xie Lian’s hair without realizing it. He was distracted enough by his own racing thoughts, it wasn’t impossible.

When Wu Ming reached the roots, he combed his fingertips through the hair along the side of Xie Lian’s head to pull it back. There was the unmistakable sound of Xie Lian’s lips parting to release a soft sigh. Wu Ming was relieved – he wasn’t being painful after all! He repeated the gesture on the other side, then again over the top of his head. When he lightly dragged the comb along his scalp, Xie Lian actually shuddered, quickly and uncontrollably.

“Sorry,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. Without slowing his hands, Wu Ming leaned forward towards the back of Xie Lian’s left ear.

“Don’t apologize for feeling good, Dianxia,” Wu Ming whispered back. Immediately, Xie Lian shivered again, and his breathing took a turn towards ragged.

For a thrilling moment, Wu Ming imagined pressing his lips to Xie Lian’s neck and pushing his hands along his sides, slipping them inside his loose robe… He was drunk off the power he wielded over Xie Lian. But he stopped himself before he did any of those things, straightened his back, and conscientiously deescalated. After a few minutes of gentle, tame combing, Xie Lian’s breathing settled, and eventually even his tense shoulders finally relaxed. Only then did Wu Ming set the comb down on the bedsheets.

Xie Lian groaned happily, releasing his knees and gliding into a lithe stretch. He shuffled around until he was facing Wu Ming with a smile and half-lidded eyes.

“Ahh, thank you, I haven’t felt this calm in a long time,” he said.

“I’ll comb it for you whenever you want, Dianxia.” Wu Ming picked up the comb and made to rise from the bed, when Xie Lian caught his forearm.

“Wait,” he said. “…May I?”

Wu Ming’s eyes widened. No way… He somehow managed to nod, then added, “I’d like that.”

Xie Lian grinned, took the comb from Wu Ming’s hand, and guided him around by the shoulders until he was facing away.

The next several minutes were among the most pleasurable that Wu Ming had ever experienced. It was almost better than when he’d been making Xie Lian shiver. Almost.

Then, Wu Ming suddenly lost the ability to form his thoughts into words. Once Xie Lian had completely combed through his hair, he placed the comb down and used both his hands at once to rake along Wu Ming’s scalp and pull through the whole length. The semi-dry tendrils cascaded down from between his fingers and brushed against Wu Ming’s back. It was a genuinely indescribable experience.

After doing that a few times, Xie Lian separated his hair into parts and began to twist them into a loose braid down his back. He tied it off with his own hair ribbon, and then it was finished.

Xie Lian touched his shoulder. “Wu Ming?”

Wu Ming tried to reply, he really did, but the sounds that came out definitely weren’t words. Xie Lian laughed and gave a light squeeze. “I know exactly what you mean. Come, lie down, don’t try to wake up…”

Wu Ming let himself be guided down onto a pillow near the inside of the bedframe. Xie Lian briefly left to extinguish all the candles, then slipped back into bed beside him. They faced each other as usual. Although the size of the bed meant that they were lying much closer together than when they had slept in the loft, they were very careful not to touch. Wu Ming didn’t need to touch; he already felt echoes of Xie Lian’s fingertips running up and down his entire body. He wondered if Xie Lian could feel him, too.

---

They were awoken by a series of loud, angry sounds from somewhere else in the inn. As Wu Ming rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he focused his hearing out and tried to figure out what was going on. It was too late for this to be some drunken brawl, but too early for it to be a reasonable daytime conflict. Xie Lian groaned beside him as Wu Ming sat up.

There were two voices, a man’s and a woman’s. When the woman spoke, Wu Ming could only hear excerpts of what she said; she must be making an effort to be quiet.

“…can’t… guests… they’re sleeping!”

“What the hell do you mean, they?? Let me see him! I need to see him!”

“Please, sir, you can’t!”

There was shuffling on the stairs and Wu Ming was immediately on edge. He leapt over Xie Lian, effectively waking him, and dashed across the room. He grabbed his sabre from the sword stand and dropped into a defensive stance in front of the door. Moments later, the door was thrown open and a tall man appeared in the doorframe.

“Dianxia, are you here?!” The man cocked his head at Wu Ming. “Who the hell are you?”

Wu Ming blinked. This was…

“Feng Xin?” Xie Lian’s voice was thick with sleep.

“Dianxia!! Oh, thank the gods, I found you!”

Feng Xin rushed over to where Xie Lian was sitting on the bed. Wu Ming didn’t try to stop him; instead, he stood normally and replaced his sabre on the stand. Then, the young girl who worked at the inn appeared in the doorframe, bowing low and apologizing repeatedly.

“It’s alright, he’s fine, they’re… friends,” Wu Ming assured. “Apologies for the noise. Could we, uh, have some tea?”

“Of course, of course, right away…”

She reappeared around the same time that Feng Xin came back across the room while Xie Lian dressed. He eyed Wu Ming suspiciously as the tea was placed on the table, then dropped onto one of the cushions with a great sigh. He unstrapped a bow and a quiver of arrows from his back and leaned them against the wall.

Wu Ming went to Xie Lian’s side as he was pinning his hair up with a spare tie and whispered, “Dianxia, is this okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine, just surprising,” he replied with a smile. “Don’t worry, he’s not as angry as he looks.”

With a “Hmph,” Wu Ming quickly donned his own outer robe, belt, and vambraces, and then returned to the table and sat at Xie Lian’s side, across from Feng Xin. Xie Lian moved to pour the tea and Feng Xin practically leapt out of his seat.

“Dianxia, I’ll do it, just sit!” He took the pot from his hands and quickly filled three cups.

“Feng Xin, although I’m of course very happy to see you… why are you here?” Xie Lian asked.

“I heard your prayer, that’s why!” Feng Xin huffed through his nostrils. “Took me all night to track you down. I was beginning to think I’d lost you when I happened to find a man who recognized your description, said you had a terrifying companion.” He eyed Wu Ming again. “Seriously, who are you?”

“He’s my friend,” Xie Lian said firmly, and Feng Xin shut up.

“Anyways, I’ve been trying to find you ever since I, uh, ascended…” He coughed awkwardly, but Xie Lian only smiled.

“I’m truly happy for you. And Mu Qing, too. How did it happen?”

“Ah, it was nothing, just some brawl that caught someone or other’s eye in heaven,” Feng Xin said while waving his hand dismissively. “Mu Qing, though, he thinks he’s heaven’s goddamn savior, the pompous prick. Just because he cleaned up some corpses – the whole lot of them ascended for it, he isn’t special at all. And now he’s building temples right next to me like some kind of fucking leech!”

“Oh, was he the one who cleaned up the Imperial City?” Xie Lian asked. Feng Xin nodded, and Wu Ming’s heart suddenly iced over.

“It was a whole delegation, don’t let him take all the credit just because he wants it all to himself! Anyways, Dianxia, how have you–”

“Who sent the delegation?” Wu Ming interrupted. Xie Lian and Feng Xin looked at him in surprise, then Feng Xin looked back at Xie Lian with confusion all over his face.

“Seriously, Dianxia, who is this guy? Are you sure we can trust him? He slept on the floor last night, right? I only see one b–”

“Just tell me!” Wu Ming said sharply. “Who sent the delegation?”

“It was the Martial God Heavenly Emperor himself,” Feng Xin finally said. “And actually, speaking of Jun Wu. Dianxia, he specifically asked me and Mu Qing to tell him if we ever came in contact with you. I don’t know what he wants, but he’s clearly looking for you, and I just thought – maybe he wants to rescind your banishment!!”

Xie Lian’s eyes brightened, but Wu Ming didn’t believe that for a second. As soon as he heard it was Jun Wu behind that operation to clean and purify the battlefield, his mind raced to connect all the threads together.

Bai Wuxiang had told him he would give the order. The one who actually gave it was Jun Wu.

Bai Wuxiang had seemed to always know exactly where Xie Lian was at any time, and had found him in the abandoned temple overlooking Lang-Er Bay without difficulty. Jun Wu couldn’t track Xie Lian because he was relying on his old advisors to find him. Yet, he had mysteriously appeared in that same temple, despite the fact that what supposedly drew him down from the heavens was the activity down in the city.

And while it was less conclusive evidence to be sure, Wu Ming just didn’t trust Jun Wu at all. Every second he had spent in his presence while Xie Lian was sleeping had had every nerve in his body standing on edge.

He was all but convinced that Jun Wu was connected to Bai Wuxiang, and if that were the case, then his interest in Xie Lian could not possibly be so magnanimous as Feng Xin believed. Wu Ming needed to think of some way to persuade Xie Lian to be more careful.

“…so just don’t leave, I’ll pay the staff for another night, stay put!” Feng Xin stood from the table, grabbed his things, and ran out the door.

“Dianxia, where is he going?” Wu Ming asked.

“Ah, you didn’t hear? He’s going to report to Jun Wu and bring him back here. He can’t connect by communication array, so the best way is to just go in person.”

Wu Ming was completely panicked, but he had no idea how to convey that urgency to Xie Lian. He grabbed him by the arm and looked at him with as much seriousness as he could muster.

“Dianxia, you must be careful. Please, you mustn’t trust him so easily, I think he means to hurt you.”

Xie Lian laughed. “I know you don’t trust Jun Wu for some reason, but I’ve already told you, I trust him with my life.”

“Dianxia, I think Jun Wu and Bai Wuxiang are working together. Jun Wu isn’t the man you think he is.”

At that, all the laughter drained from Xie Lian’s face. “Why would you say that?”

Wu Ming took a breath. “I can explain, but…” He sighed and dropped his hand from Xie Lian’s arm. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I have no choice. Dianxia, I was with you in the mountainside temple. I was trapped by Bai Wuxiang and forced to watch… while he tortured you.”

A complicated series of emotions colored Xie Lian’s face. His eyes went wide and his breathing was upset. Wu Ming took his hand into both of his own.

“I failed you, Dianxia. I couldn’t materialize until it was already too late. I’m so, so sorry… I hated seeing you suffering like that… I’m so sorry!!”

Wu Ming bowed down until his forehead pressed against the back of Xie Lian’s hand. Although he wanted to grieve and repent, the circumstances were too dire to allow it, so Wu Ming compartmentalized his guilt and sadness and tried to focus. He pressed a kiss to Xie Lian’s knuckles, quickly explained his suspicions, then raised his head to face him once more.

“I won’t let anything happen to you ever again,” he swore. “I’m here now, and I’ve seen through Jun Wu’s secret. I absolutely will not let him or Bai Wuxiang hurt you ever again. Dianxia, please believe me!”

Xie Lian’s eyes were glassy. In a small voice, he said, “I do believe you.”

Wu Ming blinked in surprise. “You… do?”

“I just remembered that it was Jun Wu who designed my cursed shackle.” Xie Lian’s free hand rose unconsciously to the bandages around his neck. “He was the only reason I couldn’t die… not in the temple, not after I found my parents… and Bai Wuxiang knew that. How could he have known that?”

Wu Ming felt tears welling in his eyes. It truly had been too much to hope that Feng Xin had discovered their bodies, after all. He wanted to draw Xie Lian into his embrace, to cry with him and brush his hair for hours. But there was no time. Jun Wu was coming. Wu Ming settled for squeezing his hand, hoping some of the vastness of his sympathy would be transferred through their hands.

“Dianxia, we should leave. We might still have time, if we go now, we could disappear again.”

Xie Lian shook his head. “No, he will just keep following us. I need to meet him, he has to believe that I’m under his control. And besides, maybe we can learn something from him.”

It wasn’t ideal, but at least Xie Lian was taking the threat seriously. Wu Ming dropped his hand and walked towards the door to pick up his sabre.

“I’ll hide. It will be easier for you to assuage him if I’m not here. If anything happens, I’ll come out.” Wu Ming looked back at the sword stand. “Dianxia, maybe you should carry that.”

“No, it would be too suspicious.”

Wu Ming sighed, knowing he was right. Without another word, he darted around the room looking for a suitable place to hide. Under the bed? Possible, but it would be too difficult to emerge quickly. Behind the screen? Too exposed. That left only the long, thick curtains, or physically hanging onto the outside of the window. Wu Ming slipped behind the curtains and held them down to stop them shaking. It didn’t work, so he threw open the window and let the morning breeze blow into the room. That should explain the rustling, he hoped.

It didn’t take long before there was a knock at the door. It opened, and Wu Ming heard the footsteps of multiple people.

“Xianle. What a great relief it is to find you well.” It was that unforgettable voice from the temple near Lang-Er Bay. Wu Ming was burning with rage and icy with fear.

“My Lord,” Xie Lian acknowledged.

“Dianxia, what happened to the kid?” That was Feng Xin’s voice.

“Ah, he went out on an errand, never mind that,” Xie Lian said casually.

“Xianle has a companion?” Jun Wu asked. “Could it be that rude young ghost from Yong’an?”

“What? A ghost?!”

“My apologies for his rudeness, My Lord, I’m sure he meant no offense.”

“Dianxia, he’s a ghost? Wait a minute, you slept with a ghost?!”

“Feng Xin, that’s enough!”

Jun Wu chuckled. Wu Ming screwed his eyes shut and stifled the impulse to cover his face with his hands. He was enormously grateful for the curtains.

“Please, sit, let’s have tea.”

There was shuffling and the sounds of weapons being removed. Tea was poured.

“Xianle, is this your sword?”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid I had to give up Hongjing. I’m truly sorry.”

Feng Xin coughed awkwardly, but Jun Wu didn’t seem upset. “There’s no need. Xianle, I must ask you what happened in Lang-Er Bay. You were unconscious when I found you.”

“Ah…” Xie Lian paused. “I was having some trouble with Bai Wuxiang, and I nearly committed a great sin. But then he died, and I passed out from exhaustion.”

“Bai Wuxiang?” Feng Xin sounded horrified. “The same one from the Imperial City?”

“The very same.”

“So, all that time… he really was following you…?” Feng Xin’s voice was very small.

“Feng Xin, don’t worry, you couldn’t have known. I would have doubted me if I had been in your place, too.”

“How did the White-Clothed Calamity die?” Jun Wu asked. “Did you kill him?”

“No, I was unable to match him. I didn’t see the attacker. They struck from behind and I passed out too quickly to see their face.”

“Hm.”

“However, I’m very grateful to that person. What a relief it has been, knowing that such a monstrous being was eliminated from this world.”

“Hear, hear!” Feng Xin echoed. “That thing creeped me out. Good riddance!”

“A relief, indeed,” Jun Wu agreed. “Xianle, if you are in need of a new sword, you need only ask and I would provide one for you.”

“I could never impose upon My Lord for such a thing. I’m banished, the Martial God Heavenly Emperor shouldn’t give me favors. Besides, this one is just fine.”

There was silence for a moment. Wu Ming imagined the look on Feng Xin’s face as he regarded the black sword with its icy aura. He couldn’t help but smile when he thought that he was the only one in the room who truly understood the whole of Xie Lian’s personality and supported him absolutely. Feng Xin might have known him longer, but Wu Ming would never be surprised by any of Xie Lian’s choices, no matter how others might judge them. And Jun Wu threw him out of heaven for trying to help the people of Xianle. Whether he turned out to be Bai Wuxiang’s accomplice or not, he would never recover any standing in Wu Ming’s estimation. Even if it had been unintentional, his actions had enabled Xie Lian’s acutest suffering and despair.

“Was there anything else My Lord wanted to ask me?” Xie Lian inquired.

“Nothing,” he replied.

After a moment of silence, Feng Xin spoke. He sounded disappointed. “Dianxia, if ever there is anything you need, please call on me anytime. My temples are always open for you. If anyone tries to give you trouble…”

“Thank you, Feng Xin. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t hesitate, alright?”

“I won’t.”

By silent agreement, the meeting was deemed finished. The three seemed to rise to their feet and walk towards the door.

“Xianle.”

“My Lord.”

“Dianxia…”

“Ju Yang Zhenjun. Take care.”

“You too…”

The door clicked shut. Xie Lian stood in place by the door, and Wu Ming didn’t move at all. After several minutes had passed, Xie Lian opened the door again, quietly. He closed it a second time, and only then did he walk over to the window.

Wu Ming stepped out from behind the curtains. “Dianxia,” he said, voice thick with relief. To his surprise, Xie Lian looked incredibly serious.

“You were right.”

“Huh?” Wu Ming frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They’re working together.”

“…How do you know?”

“All the while that I was a part of the upper court, and through nearly all of my banishment, Feng Xin was with me. I didn’t know about the ashes of ghosts until I met you, and Feng Xin ascended too recently, it’s not likely he would have learned since then. But Jun Wu? He’s the oldest god in heaven. There’s absolutely no way he wouldn’t have known.”

“But he didn’t correct you,” Wu Ming realized, eyes widening. “You said that on purpose!”

Xie Lian nodded. “He should have corrected me. We’re very lucky he was unable to track us while we were preparing your ashes, or he would never have walked into such an obvious trap.”

“He must also think that I didn’t tell you. It was Bai Wuxiang who told me, after all, so we have to assume Jun Wu knew I’d know about it, too. Maybe that’s why he was wondering if I was the same ghost from before, the one he knew Bai Wuxiang had met.” Wu Ming let out a tense breath. “It’s very good I was hiding, Dianxia.”

Xie Lian took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then sighed. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. “There’s something else.”

Wu Ming stared at him intently. “What is it?”

“Did you notice how much attention he was paying to that sword?”

Suddenly, Wu Ming’s chest twisted with horror. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be that.

“Dianxia… did Bai Wuxiang give you that sword?”

Xie Lian nodded, and Wu Ming’s heart sank through the floor.

It was the sword. He’d forged his ashes into that sword!!

It was too much to process. Wu Ming felt dizzy and nearly lost his balance, but Xie Lian caught his elbow and steadied him. When Wu Ming looked up at him, his eyes looked just as destabilized as Wu Ming felt.

“How could anyone… the things he did to you… and it was that sword… Dianxia…”

Xie Lian clenched his jaw. “Wu Ming. Let’s destroy it.”

Finally, Wu Ming felt that he had solid ground beneath his feet once more. “Yes. Yes. Right away, before Jun Wu has a chance to catch on or steal it away.” Wu Ming shook his head to clear it, then straightened his shoulders. “Dianxia, do you know how to destroy such a powerful weapon?”

At that, Xie Lian smirked, his mouth a sharp line against his humorless face. “I think maybe that volcano with ‘demonic sensibilities’ might do the trick.”

Wu Ming huffed a short laugh. “So the drunken poet was able to help us, after all.”

Although the underlying wound was in no way treated, the existence of a plan had at least done something to stop the worst of the bleeding. Perhaps it was also helpful that they now understood each other more openly. Xie Lian’s suffering wasn’t invisible, and Wu Ming grasped onto the hope that that meant something to him. They scrambled around the room packing as quickly as possible, then ran downstairs.

Xie Lian approached the staff with impatient resolve. “I need a horse,” he announced. “A reliable one, and quickly. I am prepared to pay. Where should I go?”

The young girl blinked at him, and then the older woman gently pushed her aside. “You don’t have to go anywhere. We have one. But she’s not cheap.”

Xie Lian dropped the coin purse onto the counter, which made a meaningful thunk. The woman’s eyebrow raised. She counted out the contents, separated the majority aside, and returned the rest to the purse. Passing it back to Xie Lian, she nodded her head at the door.

“Follow me.”

Tucked behind the inn was a stable that Wu Ming hadn’t noticed from the road. They were brought before a brown horse with white socks and a single white spot over one eye. Wu Ming couldn’t assess horses at all, but Xie Lian immediately walked up, soothed the animal, and then began efficiently laying his hands along its neck and legs. After a short time, he stood and nodded to the innkeeper.

“Is there a saddle?”

“Of course.”

She left the stall, reappearing with an armful of blankets and leather. She passed the majority of this to Wu Ming, then she and Xie Lian dressed the horse for riding. When they were finished, Xie Lian packed his sack into the saddlebag and the woman brought over a stool.

“Her name is Baiyan,” she said while stuffing some oats and apples into another saddlebag. “She leans a little to the left, but she’s quick and bright. She’ll get you wherever you need to go.”

Xie Lian climbed onto Baiyan’s back and held his hand out to Wu Ming. He took it, stepped onto the stool, and swung his leg over the horse, settling in behind Xie Lian. The bamboo hat was transferred around his shoulders, instead. Xie Lian nodded a small bow at the innkeeper.

“Thank you for not wasting our time. Heaven’s blessings to you and your establishment.” Xie Lian spoke ardently, and Wu Ming heard a promise in his words that he doubted the innkeeper would understand.

The woman bowed back. “May you have nothing but tailwinds and clear skies during your journey.”

With a click and a flick of the reins, Xie Lian set them into motion. Wu Ming immediately grabbed onto Xie Lian’s waist and clenched his legs around Baiyan’s body. By the time they passed through the city gates, he was feeling slightly more stable, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Xie Lian at all.

Outside the city, Xie Lian brought them up to a much faster speed. For Wu Ming, this was much more pleasant; the slow trot they’d maintained until that point bounced him around uncomfortably, but this was completely smooth. The only trouble was simply that Xie Lian’s hair blew all over his face in the wind, although if he were being honest with himself, Wu Ming didn’t really mind it.

They took a break sometime around noon, stopping beneath some shady trees to hide from the high sun and eat from the saddlebags. Xie Lian pointed to a peak in the distance while Wu Ming bit into an apple.

“That’s where we’re going,” he said. Then, he pulled all of his hair up into a tall bun and tied it securely. Wu Ming hid his smirk in his apple.

The mountain looked far away, and it truly was. The sun was setting by the time they were anywhere near it. Without needing to speak, they agreed to press on. Xie Lian chose a spot by a stream to dismount, then emptied the packs, scratched Baiyan behind the ears, and left her with an open bag of oats.

Climbing the volcano and then descending down into it was slow, determined work. When the sun completely set, Wu Ming prepared and lit a torch just like he had done on Mount Taicang. Wisps of hair had been pulled free from Xie Lian’s bun during the ride and now whipped around his face and neck. Wu Ming’s braid had seen better days, too.

At first, it appeared to be impossible to scale down into the volcano. The drop was far too high to jump, and they didn’t have any rope. But then, Wu Ming spotted a series of steps cut into the rocky walls. They were small, uneven, and cleverly disguised, but they seemed to spiral all the way down. That descent was among the more terrifying things Wu Ming had ever done.

Once they reached the bottom, it was Xie Lian who spotted a small tunnel on the far side of the cavern. They walked into the recesses of the volcano and gradually descended more and more. The path twisted around and obscured itself, so Wu Ming wasn’t sure exactly how much deeper they had gone. He did notice, however, that the air was warming.

“I think we’re getting closer,” he said.

“Good.” Xie Lian’s eyes were fierce in the firelight. “I want to put an end to this.”

“Me too, Dianxia.”

Within half an hour, they came across the first thin stream of lava. From there, it was a simple thing to follow that stream until it became a river, and finally a great pool at the bottom of a cliff. The molten river was so hot that the air distorted around it.

“Here,” Xie Lian announced. Wu Ming wiped the sweat from his brow, then nodded.

Without fanfare, Xie Lian walked up to the cliff’s edge and drew the sword. He looked at it for a long time, turning it over in his hand. Wu Ming couldn’t help but wonder about it, too. Apart from the strange aura, there was nothing special about it at all, nothing to suggest it was the tether holding such a powerful being to this world.

Xie Lian held the sword out over the drop. The sound of pouring lava roared. Then, Xie Lian opened his hand, and that black blade dropped.

They stood for a while, Xie Lian at the cliff’s edge and Wu Ming slightly behind him. Then, Xie Lian turned and looked at Wu Ming.

Nothing had happened!

It was the first time Wu Ming had even thought about whether something would happen. He realized he’d assumed that something would, but what? That some shrieking spirit would be released from the broken sword and dissipate before their eyes? It was of course unrealistic, yet Wu Ming had never considered that absolutely nothing would happen. How would they even know whether it had worked?!

It seemed Xie Lian was thinking more or less the same things. He stepped away from the edge with a sigh.

“Well, at least we – huh?”

Xie Lian brought his hands up to his neck, looking suddenly unbalanced. Wu Ming threw the torch away, grabbed his waist and elbow, and guided him well away from the flowing lava.

“Dianxia? What’s wrong?”

Xie Lian clawed messily at the bandages wrapping around his neck. Finally, they came loose, and a fine, black powder shook out from the unraveling cloth. Other than a faint mark encircling it, Xie Lian’s neck was bare.

Wu Ming’s eyes widened. “The collar is gone!!”

Touching his skin in disbelief, Xie Lian shook his head. “That… doesn’t make sense. I didn’t ascend again, I’m still here. So why would it disappear?”

Wu Ming’s mind was racing. “The collar… it came from Jun Wu, right? Is there anyone else who could have released it?”

“No, it’s only him.”

“But why would he do that now, and not when he was with you in the inn?”

“I don’t know… I have no idea…”

“He wouldn’t suddenly be able to track you, would he? Once your spiritual powers return?”

Xie Lian’s face paled. “I’ve never heard such a thing… but I was only in heaven for a few years, and I didn’t know any banished gods. It’s not impossible.”

Wu Ming frowned, trying to connect all the pieces. “There must be some connection to the sword. The timing is too strange. Maybe Jun Wu realized something happened, somehow… and then decided to track you down. Maybe he knew you had something to do with it.”

He desperately wanted to be wrong, but with all the gaps in their information, there was no way to rule it out. They had to prepare for the worst.

“Dianxia, if you prayed to Feng Xin here, would your voice reach him?”

“Hm. If we can mock up a small shrine, then perhaps.”

Wu Ming started walking over to the nearest wall before he finished speaking. He drew his sabre, picked up a rock, and began chiseling into the wall. Within a few minutes, an extremely crude depiction of a man in armor with a bow began to take shape. It had been years since Wu Ming had last carved anything, and it had been into soft wood with a much smaller tool. This looked worse than the very first attempt he had ever made. However, he was entirely unembarrassed. As long as it worked, that was good enough. They were the first and last people who would ever make use of this ‘shrine’ to Ju Yang Zhenjun.

When it was recognizable enough, Wu Ming stepped back from the wall. Xie Lian held his palm out and Wu Ming passed him the sabre, then he wrote four characters into the rock above the image and passed it back. Wu Ming dug out the last apple from their travel sack and placed it on the floor.

It was a humiliating shrine, really. Even Wu Ming, who hardly cared to look twice at any temple not belonging to the Flower Crown Martial God, felt a little embarrassed by it. Humiliating or not, they couldn’t do any better under such desperate circumstances. Reluctantly, Wu Ming resolved to burn a stick of incense for Ju Yang Zhenjun in a proper temple to apologize later. If they survived this.

“Ju Yang Zhenjun. Feng Xin. It’s Xie Lian.” His hands were clasped and his eyes cast down at the crude image. “This is very important. You mustn’t tell anyone that I’ve contacted you, or where I am. Especially not Jun Wu. If you do, my life could be at risk. Something serious has happened, and I need your help. You can find me at the bottom of a dormant volcano to the west of Xianle’s Imperial City. Please, come quickly.”

With that, Xie Lian dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Well, now we wait. I wish we had a more failsafe method than simple prayers. If there are too many, he might not even hear it…”

“It’s the best we can do, Dianxia. If it’s the return of your spiritual powers which might be a problem, then it rules out waiting to use a communication array.” Wu Ming frowned. “That does need spiritual powers, right?”

Xie Lian smiled. “I sometimes forget how new to all this you are. You’re really incredible, Wu Ming.”

Wu Ming squirmed, unprepared for the sudden praise. “Ah… we should go back to the entrance, Dianxia…” he fumbled awkwardly. Looking very amused, Xie Lian picked up the dropped torch, and they headed back the way they had come.

When they finally emerged from the maze of tunnels into that large chamber, Wu Ming was surprised to see a bright blue sky through the opening high above their heads. Much more time had passed than he’d realized!

“Oh, that’s good, it’s already daytime. If Feng Xin is awake, he’s more likely to respond quickly.” Xie Lian sat heavily against a large boulder, leaned his head back with a great sigh, and closed his eyes beneath furrowed brows. Wu Ming sat beside him.

“Dianxia, you can sleep, I’ll keep watch.” Wu Ming was about to offer his lap as a pillow when Xie Lian shook his head, still with his eyes closed.

“No, no, I’ll be alright. My eyes only ache a little, it’s nothing serious.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own messy thoughts and worries. Wu Ming found himself thinking about something he’d been fairly successful at banishing from his mind during the past few weeks – Xie Lian’s torture in the broken temple on the mountainside. He’d been so focused on trying to keep Xie Lian feeling cheerful and carefree that Wu Ming had nearly forgotten how severely he had been scarred by it all, as well.

Helping Xie Lian had helped him, too, of course. It made Wu Ming feel like he existed, like he had agency, whenever he could make Xie Lian smile or laugh. Even neutral expressions felt like victories to him. But now, Wu Ming was realizing that he’d just been delaying the inevitable. He’d built a house of cards around the pain and helplessness, but in the first breeze, everything threatened to come crashing down.

At the bottom of it all, Wu Ming really was helpless, no different than the formless wisp he’d been when Bai Wuxiang had trapped him and forced him to watch as Xie Lian was stabbed over and over and over… So he had a body now; so what? All he’d been able to do with it was escape to some fantasy for a few weeks where they could pretend that none of their problems existed. Wu Ming hadn’t actually eliminated the dangers that threatened Xie Lian. Sure, Bai Wuxiang was gone, but even now they couldn’t be sure he’d stay gone, and their best efforts had possibly just brought another enemy bearing down upon them. What good were those weeks of peace if Jun Wu was coming, and there was nothing Wu Ming could do to stop him?

A hand suddenly squeezed around his fist. Wu Ming turned and saw Xie Lian staring at him with concern.

“Wu Ming? You seem upset; are you alright?”

He forced himself to take a deep breath and push some of the tension out of his shoulders. He unclenched his fist and turned his palm around to clasp Xie Lian’s hand. “I’m…” Wu Ming paused, then said firmly, “Even if it’s not what we thought, I’m still glad you destroyed that sword.”

Xie Lian sighed. “I am, too.”

“Dianxia, back at the inn, when you were speaking to Feng Xin. I don’t know what happened during that time, I wasn’t always able to follow you. But it seemed like he didn’t believe you about Bai Wuxiang. Is that why he left?”

“Ah, it feels like a lifetime ago,” Xie Lian said, then gave a dry laugh. “I suppose in many ways, it was. You guessed correctly. Bai Wuxiang always knew where I was, and he haunted me. No one believed it. I can’t blame them.”

Wu Ming was quiet, considering what to say. Then, he squeezed Xie Lian’s hand.

“Dianxia. I know better than anyone how difficult that time was for you. If you ever want to talk… about anything… I’ll always listen to you.”

Xie Lian’s eyes went soft. “Thank you,” he said with deep sincerity. “But, right now, I want to think about something happy.”

Wu Ming nodded his agreement. Xie Lian looked thoughtful for a moment, then averted his gaze down to their clasped hands.

“Wu Ming, you haven’t told me very much about your beloved,” he said softly. “You must truly care for them, to have endured so much.”

“It’s nothing compared to what they have endured,” Wu Ming said immediately. “It’s my beloved who is brave. I only borrow from their strength.”

“Mm.” Xie Lian traced his thumb along Wu Ming’s hand as if unconsciously; it sent a chill down Wu Ming’s spine. “How did you meet them?”

Wu Ming smiled. “I was very young. I was about to be seriously hurt, and they appeared out of nowhere and saved me. I’ll never forget how beautiful they looked, not until the moment my spirit leaves this world.” His thumb mimicked Xie Lian’s, and they fell into a sort of rhythm – Wu Ming would trace up and down the side of Xie Lian’s hand, then Xie Lian would do the same. Wu Ming still wasn’t sure whether Xie Lian was actually aware of the exchange or if he was just deliberately ignoring it.

“You once told me that they didn’t know who you are.” Xie Lian finally met Wu Ming’s gaze. His eyes held a hint of sadness. “I think that’s a shame. It’s wonderful, knowing you.”

It was Wu Ming’s turn to look quickly away, desperate to stem the flood of emotions which threatened to overwhelm his expression. “Thanks,” he managed to squeak out. “Dianxia, what about you? Do you have a beloved person?”

Wu Ming couldn’t see it because he was still resolutely not looking at him, but Xie Lian’s face turned utterly fond as he watched Wu Ming’s profile. “Perhaps I do,” he said with a smile. “But I’m afraid they have their heart set on another.”

“What?! How could they igno–”

“Dianxia!! Are you down there?!”

A sudden voice from above cut between Wu Ming and Xie Lian, and the conversation and their clasped hands fell apart. Xie Lian sprang to his feet.

“Feng Xin! I’m here!”

“Oh, thank the gods. We’re coming down!”

Wu Ming stood and watched as not one but two people leapt off the summit high above their heads and dropped down to the floor. The rock cracked beneath the impact, but the two men rose unharmed. The first, with a bow on his back and his hair in a bun, was obviously Feng Xin. The second had a high ponytail and a sour expression. To Wu Ming’s shock, it was none other than Mu Qing!

His hand was on his sabre before he had time to put a single thought together in his mind. He took a threatening step towards Mu Qing, catching the man’s attention. His eyes flashed, then Mu Qing simply said, “It’s you.”

Wu Ming froze in his tracks, his blade drawn by just a finger’s width. Xie Lian placed his hand over Wu Ming’s and guided his sabre back into its scabbard, then rested it on his shoulder. It was a warning and a comfort. Mu Qing’s narrowed eyes never left Xie Lian’s hand.

“Dianxia, I didn’t tell him anything!” Feng Xin looked entreatingly at Xie Lian, then glared at Mu Qing. “Everything was so chaotic, I tried to come away quietly but he followed me and demanded to come along. But he didn’t know anything, I didn’t say a word!”

“Chaotic?” Xie Lian tilted his head to the side. “What was chaotic?”

“Oh, it’s a fucking mess!! Jun Wu is dead.”

Xie Lian gaped, and Wu Ming felt the grip on his shoulder tighten. He half-stepped closer so Xie Lian could lean on him.

“…What?!”

Mu Qing cleared his throat. “The upper court opened session, the Heavenly Emperor collapsed on his throne, and then he disintegrated into ashes.”

“It happened just a few hours ago,” Feng Xin added. “I received your prayer not long after, and I tried to slip away while everyone was distracted, but this fucker apparently watches me and cornered me outside and deman–”

“You are a suspect!” Mu Qing snarled. “You were the last person that Jun Wu was seen with, and there’s absolutely no reason why such a low-ranking official should have been alone with the Hea–”

“Oh, you fucking liar, you’re just jealous and trying to cover it up with some bullshit investigation. I’ve got plenty of alibis, we were just going to–”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!!”

All eyes turned to Xie Lian, who was pressing his fingertips between tense brows. At that moment, Feng Xin gasped.

“Dianxia, your collar came off?!” He frowned. “Wait, you said there was an emergency. What’s going on? How did this happen? Why are you here?”

Xie Lian sighed. “There was an emergency, but perhaps it has resolved itself.” He glanced at Wu Ming. It contained a warning: ‘Don’t say anything.’ That was easy enough to heed.

“As for this,” Xie Lian gestured at his neck, “I don’t understand it. If Jun Wu really died, perhaps the collar couldn’t exist any longer?”

Mu Qing lifted two fingers to his temple, listened for a few seconds, then said, “There are two exiled gods in the communication array. They say their collars suddenly broke and their spiritual power has begun to return.”

Feng Xin hurried to listen in as well, and Xie Lian lowered his head thoughtfully. “How strange…”

Feng Xin’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Dianxia, they are sending officials down to bring those gods back to the upper court! That means you can come back!”

“There will be an investigation,” Mu Qing said drily. “They want all officials to be present.”

“That’s for the best,” Xie Lian said with a nod towards Wu Ming. “We have an investigation of our own, too, and it seems our next step might lead us to the heavens.”

At that, Mu Qing’s thin endurance finally snapped. “Don’t trust him, Dianxia. He’s tricking you.”

Wu Ming glared at him, but his heart was shaking. Mu Qing held all the power in this situation. Besides Lu Xinhui, Mu Qing was the only person who knew the truth of Wu Ming’s feelings. Mu Qing had put the pieces together when he found Wu Ming in the cave after seeing the flowers on Beizi Hill, and had even openly berated him for it when he kicked Wu Ming out of the imperial army. Xie Lian may have already known that Wu Ming was that same soldier, but it was only Mu Qing who truly understood what that meant.

“He already knows he’s a ghost,” Feng Xin quipped at Mu Qing. Despite his anxiety, Wu Ming had to suppress a bitter laugh. Just a day earlier, Feng Xin had been shocked to learn this, yet he now wielded the information with utter nonchalance just to irritate Mu Qing.

It indirectly worked. Mu Qing’s eyes widened.

“He’s a ghost?”

“Of course he is, what else could you mean by ‘he’s tricking him’?”

“We’re wasting time,” Xie Lian interrupted sternly. “Let’s just go back and we can sort out the rest later.”

“Ah, Dianxia, wait, you can’t–”

“He can’t come with us.” Mu Qing cast his most disdainful look in Wu Ming’s direction. “You can’t bring a ghost to heaven.”

All of a sudden, Wu Ming felt as though he were sinking through the floor. As he held Wu Ming’s gaze, Mu Qing’s eyes grew haughtier and a small, triumphant smirk cut across his lips. Wu Ming tore his eyes away.

“…Oh…” Xie Lian’s voice was very soft.

Feng Xin grabbed Mu Qing by the elbow and started pulling him away. “We’ll let you say goodbye. We really must go.” They walked a short distance away, turned their shoulders aside, and started bickering beneath their breaths almost immediately.

Xie Lian turned to face Wu Ming directly. He took both of Wu Ming’s shoulders in his hands. His eyes were wild.

“Wu Ming, I–”

“Dianxia, it’s alright.” He forced himself to smile, even as he felt like he was a single step from breaking into pieces. “You were right, the investigation leads directly to heaven. You have to go there, or you’ll never learn the truth about all of this. And… I can’t go.”

Xie Lian was quiet for a long moment. “Wu Ming, will you look for your beloved now?”

Wu Ming didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“I know you want to protect them, and you need the answers as much as I do,” Xie Lian added to cover the silence. Then, he perked up. “Ah, I’ll come find you after everything settles! I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered, and then you can finally watch over your beloved in peace.”

Wu Ming’s spirits raised and then plummeted. Xie Lian would come back, but he would just leave again. ‘Come back and stay. I’ll miss you.’ The words were half-formed in his mouth, but Wu Ming couldn’t utter them. There were too many things he should have said first, too many times that he’d simply taken what he wanted from Xie Lian when he should have spoken. And now, it was too late; there was no foundation beneath Wu Ming’s feet, all because he had been too much of a coward to lay one when he’d had the chance.

So instead, he said, “That’s kind of you,” pushing a polite distance into his speech and preparing himself for the inevitable. Hearing his tone, Xie Lian’s face began to wall off, and he slowly dropped his hands. “Dianxia will be very busy, I’m sure. It’s wonderful that you can go back. Their investigation will surely turn up nothing, and then you can live properly as a god again. You must be happy.”

Xie Lian averted his gaze. “…”

“Dianxia,” Feng Xin called tentatively. “We should be on our way.”

Wu Ming’s total collapse was imminent. He pushed even harder, suddenly desperate to say goodbye before he fell apart in front of Xie Lian.

“You deserve this, Dianxia. I’m happy people will recognize you again.”

“Just one–” Xie Lian scrunched his eyes shut and cut himself off. Then he resolutely opened them, clasped Wu Ming’s arm, and said, “Be well, Wu Ming. I’ll come back as soon as I can. I swear.”

Xie Lian dropped his hand for the last time and turned away. He glanced back only once, and his expression was brokenhearted. Or maybe it was just Wu Ming’s heart which had broken so thoroughly that it was all he could see. Feng Xin glanced back at him once, too, but Wu Ming’s vision had already started to cut out by then. Before he could so much as draw a panicked breath, he was alone.

---

Wu Ming didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t remember lying down, either. Had he fallen? He looked up at the clear blue sky and wondered, had it been minutes or days since Xie Lian left?

He pushed himself up, then rose to shaky feet. His heart jolted when he realized he was still wearing Xie Lian’s bamboo hat around his shoulders. Wu Ming picked up the pack that Xie Lian had left behind, slung it over his shoulder, and walked to the base of the precarious staircase carved into the stone walls.

As he climbed, Wu Ming’s heart seemed to sink lower and lower in his chest, as if it were pinioned to the floor of the volcano and actively resisted his efforts to move away. By the time he reached the summit, Wu Ming’s heart had gone completely numb.

At the base of the mountain, he spent a while looking for Baiyan, but she wasn’t anywhere near the place they’d released her. Wu Ming had just about give up and was walking back the way they’d came when he caught sight of her grazing in the distance. He approached her slowly, but she thankfully didn’t startle, and Wu Ming was finally able to stroke her mane and pack the saddlebags.

He didn’t try to ride her, however. He told himself it was because he had no confidence in his abilities, since he’d only ridden once in his life and only as a passenger, and stubbornly refused to think about it further. So, reins in hand, Wu Ming walked back to that city, focusing as much of his attention as he possibly could on the rhythm of his feet.

It took multiple days this time, both because of the slow pace and the stops they took for Baiyan to rest. Wu Ming never slept, though. Those nights were the hardest, as he didn’t have his footsteps to blur his restless thoughts. When the mornings finally came, his nerves were so frayed that it was hard to stand, and each night it got worse.

Reaching the city was an enormous relief. Wu Ming hurried the last stretch to that inn, brought Baiyan back to the hidden stable and emptied the saddlebags, then went inside to find the innkeeper. She glanced over his shoulder more than once while she counted out the money, Wu Ming could practically see the question on her lips, but she thankfully never asked him directly.

He had nearly reached the city gates when Wu Ming suddenly recalled that he’d promised to visit Feng Xin’s temple. The thought stung. What should Wu Ming thank him for, taking Xie Lian away? He felt his lips curl into a snarl. But then he reluctantly acknowledged that it was thanks to Feng Xin’s swift arrival that Xie Lian had been able to relax, since he confirmed that Jun Wu wouldn’t be chasing him down as they had so feared. Teeming with bitterness, Wu Ming spun on his heels and walked back to the Ju Yang Zhenjun Temple.

It was much busier this time of day than it had been when he and… than last time. Wu Ming lit a stick of incense like he’d promised and stepped back from the altar. He clasped his hands automatically, but he had no idea what to say. After a long silence, he simply said, “Thank you for your help,” and left as quickly as he could.

Now that Wu Ming had returned Baiyan and fulfilled his promise, his travels were much easier. He didn’t have to stop walking for any reason, so his thoughts were always stamped down. Wu Ming existed in a dull fog, and everything he decided and did felt unreal, even dreamlike. He was vaguely aware that he was giving the Imperial City a wide berth, so it was something of a surprise when his feet led him to a strangely familiar front door.

That door opened, and a very familiar woman stood before him. However, there was no recognition on her face when her eyes flicked over to Wu Ming’s crimson one.

“Welcome, young sir,” she said cordially. “You’re here a little earlier than most customers, but I can–”

“Lu Xinhui,” Wu Ming interrupted. Her eyes widened, then darted over his features again.

“Wu Ming?! Is this your face? You didn’t tell me you were also this handsome!” She grabbed his shoulders and began to smile, but then her expression froze and she looked over his shoulders. “Where’s your Dianxia?”

Suddenly, Wu Ming’s vision went blurry. Lu Xinhui made a soft sound, then he found himself wrapped in a gentle hug.

“Ah,” she said simply, and Wu Ming felt sobs beginning to brew in the back of his throat. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s alright. You’re here now, it’ll be alright.”

Wu Ming lost track of everything after that. All of the sadness and loneliness and guilt that he’d been avoiding had finally caught up with him, and his senses were overloaded.

He knew that he was crying, and that at some point, someone was holding him.

When he finally calmed down and the numb detachment started to recede, Wu Ming found himself lying on a bed in a small room. He was fully clothed and lying over the blankets, but his boots had been removed and the bamboo hat rested on a desk against the far wall. The room was dark except for a single candle. He was alone.

Wu Ming sat up and slipped back into his boots. He crossed the room and opened the door, revealing that covered courtyard in the center of the building. His room was on the ground level. A tall woman standing by the front door nodded at him when he emerged. There were all manner of sounds coming from behind the many closed doors, but Wu Ming tuned them out. He walked over to the tearoom and tapped lightly on the doorframe.

“Enter,” a voice called from within.

When he opened the door, he saw Lu Xinhui bent over the table. A scroll and several loose pieces of paper covered the surface, and when she first looked up, her eyes were tired. They brightened considerably once she saw him, however.

“Ah, Wu Ming, I was hoping you’d come around. Come in, come in.”

She beckoned him over, then swept up the papers and deposited them on the floor beside her. Wu Ming closed the door behind him, then settled across from her. Lu Xinhui had procured a jar and two cups from somewhere and set them on the table. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, and after a moment’s hesitation, Wu Ming took the jar and resolutely filled the cups.

They drank the first cups without ceremony. The alcohol burned down Wu Ming’s throat. While he coughed a little, Lu Xinhui immediately refilled them, then raised her cup in a salute.

“To Dianxia,” she said solemnly. “May his ascension be a blessed one.”

Wu Ming stung again as he drank, but he didn’t think it was entirely the alcohol this time.

The third round, they sipped. Lu Xinhui swirled her cup, then gestured at Wu Ming.

“So, did you forge it?” Wu Ming nodded and took a drink, finishing his cup. Lu Xinhui refilled it before asking, “Did you give it to him?”

He didn’t answer, but he emptied the cup immediately. Lu Xinhui sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

When the jar was emptied, Lu Xinhui brought back another. Somewhere around the beginning of the third jar, Wu Ming found that he was suddenly able to speak. The heaviness that had nearly muted him for days was still there, but it was as if he’d scaled some wall in his heart.

While his mind was considering what to say with this newfound freedom, his mouth was already blurting out, “I love him.”

Lu Xinhui snorted an indelicate laugh. “Yes, dear, you do.”

“He doesn’t need me.” Wu Ming slumped over the table. “He left me. He has those advisors… doesn’t need me…”

“I wouldn’t be so su–”

Wu Ming bolted upright, nearly upending the table and shaking the cups dangerously. “Fuck!!”

Lu Xinhui reacted with great delay, flinching back in surprise. “What is it?!”

Wu Ming covered his face with his hands. “He knows! The shitty one knows! He’s gonna tell him!” He groaned and slumped back down again, letting his hands drop. “Dianxia’s never gonna come back now…”

“Eh? He’s coming back? Wu Ming, you didn’t say that!” Lu Xinhui looked affronted, but he just shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter, he’s just gonna leave again. And now he isn’t gonna come. Doesn’t matter.”

Lu Xinhui sighed and shook her head, then made a pained expression and pressed her fingertips to her temple, steadying herself with a hand on the table. After a moment, her eyes opened and she frowned at Wu Ming.

“You’re a fool.”

“…Huh?”

She pointed at him. “You. Are. A. Fool.” Her finger pressed into his chest. “He loves you.”

Wu Ming was briefly shocked, then broke out into uncontrollable laughter. He laughed and wept and fell off his knees, nearly tipping all the way over. Clutching his side, he lifted his other hand to wipe his eyes and then properly fell over, as he’d forgotten that hand was supporting most of his weight. From the floor, he giggled and shook his head.

“Good joke,” he finally managed.

“If you’re so sure it’s a joke, then why don’t you ask him?” Lu Xinhui snapped.

Wu Ming gestured emptily around him. “Not here.”

“Call him!”

He giggled. “You’re drunk. He’s not here.”

“You’re drunk,” she retorted. “He’s a god! Pray to him!”

Wu Ming paused at that, and his laughter subsided. Huh. His head hurt and his thoughts lagged, but he couldn’t see any reason why that wouldn’t work. There was another problem, though… what was that problem…? Ah.

“No temple,” he said seriously.

Lu Xinhui waved a hand. “No problem. Hang a picture in the abandoned one down the street. Bam. Temple.”

Wu Ming felt slightly panicked. That was too easy, too fast. He scrambled around desperately in his disorganized thoughts.

“Have to… renovate,” he insisted. “Takes time. Starts tomorrow.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn.” Lu Xinhui sighed, sounding suddenly sober. She tried to drink, realized the cup was empty, and went to refill it. But the jar was empty, too. She tried every jar on the table, then set her cup forcefully down.

“Fine!” she conceded, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Stall all you want! Build the whole damn thing from the ground up! Make him wait. He’s just gonna miss you more.”

Wu Ming didn’t respond. Actually, he closed his eyes and pretended that he’d fallen asleep. Lu Xinhui snorted at him.

“Stubborn! I’m right, and you know it. I’d be right today, I’ll be right tomorrow. He loves you.” She snorted again. “Look at you, hiding a face like that, yet you’ve no face at all.”

Forgetting his ruse, Wu Ming frowned with his eyes still closed. “I have face.”

“Uh-huh, sure you do.”

Wu Ming heard Lu Xinhui flop down onto the floor with a great sigh. The air seemed to bend above him, and then the candlelight was extinguished. The pressure on Wu Ming’s eyes released immediately, and he sighed, too.

“G’night, Wu Ming,” Lu Xinhui said, sounding suddenly exhausted. Wu Ming realized that his eyelids were too heavy to lift.

“Mmm… ‘night…”

“…stubborn…”

---

He groaned.

The light was going to cleave his head in two, Wu Ming was certain of it. He threw his arm over his eyes and pressed his other hand against his throbbing skull.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Lu Xinhui’s voice was steady and sober. It sounded like she was sitting at the table once more. “Come, have some tea, it’ll help.”

Wu Ming groaned again and didn’t move.

“Trust me, it’ll pass more quickly this way. It’s just a headache for us, you can sit just fine.”

Reluctantly, Wu Ming pushed himself up, but to his surprise, he wasn’t dizzy at all. The splitting headache endured, but it was better overall than he had expected. He peeked through his eyelids, winced at the light, then slowly forced his eyes open. Lu Xinhui was pushing a teacup across the table and smiling at him.

“Now drink up.”

The tea was powerfully flavored. Ginger, lemon, and other unidentifiable spices filled his mouth and nostrils. After a long sip, Wu Ming had to admit that he did, in fact, feel somewhat better.

Lu Xinhui’s papers were back in front of her and she had been marking things into a ledger before Wu Ming woke up. Now, she ignored them completely.

“So, I imagine you’d like to see that temple,” she offered with a smirk. Wu Ming emptied his teacup and nodded.

“Great. Let’s go.”

They walked out onto the street as Wu Ming shielded his eyes from the bright sun. Lu Xinhui led him deeper into the city than he’d ever been. They ended up on a street even larger than the one where the brothel was located, and although it was quiet at this time of day, the signs of a nightly bustle were unmistakable. Wu Ming was curious to see it at the peak of its activity.

Not long after turning onto that street, they stopped before an old temple. It was clearly abandoned, even blocked off by vendors’ carts as if it were a blank stretch of wall. They stepped around the carts and Wu Ming pushed the creaky doors open.

It was definitely old, but the inside of the building was in better shape than Wu Ming had hoped. Now, he didn’t really have an excuse to tear it down and start over. He wandered around the large room making a detailed list of all the things he could do – replace the door hinges, sweep and dust, repaint the flaking walls and pillars, patch the hole in the roof that was letting in a streak of that awful sunlight. Of course, Wu Ming had to replace the iconography, too. He didn’t recognize what remained of the divine statue. Suddenly he wondered if he could extend the renovation time by teaching himself how to carve stone.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lu Xinhui said, “I think a painting will do the trick. You strike me as an artistic type. Can you draw?”

Wu Ming shrugged. He wasn’t great, but he certainly had more experience than with carving stone. All of his carvings had been simple reliefs etched into trees.

“Well, good, you can practice. You shouldn’t spend all your time here, anyway.”

Wu Ming felt chastised even though he hadn’t even started the renovations. He frowned.

“Do you want help with this, or are you going to stubbornly insist on working alone?” Lu Xinhui’s voice was even and pleasant, but her words made her opinion clear enough. Wu Ming couldn’t help but give her a small smile.

“A little help is okay,” he said. Lu Xinhui nodded her approval.

“Good. Alright, so how do you want to do this?”

An hour later, they emerged from the temple. Lu Xinhui carried an extensive list of notes and went to call on other people in the city, leaving Wu Ming to his own devices. He went back to his small room but felt immediately restless, so he grabbed his sabre from atop the desk and walked beyond the city’s outer edge. Once he found a large enough grassy field tucked between some trees and a large lake, Wu Ming fell smoothly into his training regimen. He was rusty after days – a week? more? he wasn’t sure – of not practicing, but his body felt better after he finished.

In the process of trying to track down Lu Xinhui to ask where the bathhouse was, Wu Ming discovered that the brothel had its own small baths tucked in the back. He returned to his room to retrieve his spare robes from his bag, but his heart jolted when he opened it for the first time and saw Xie Lian’s robes folded right on top. After carefully removing them, the ache in his chest intensified when he saw the well-worn scroll poking out from the bottom of the bag. It was too much. Wu Ming grabbed his robes, stuffed Xie Lian’s back into the bag and pushed it into a corner, and left to go bathe. He tried his best to turn his thoughts off when he unwound his braided hair and, once it was clean, Wu Ming tied it all back up in that severe tail high on his head and pretended that he was fine with it.

Lu Xinhui reappeared at dinnertime, and so did the majority of the residents of the brothel, who were clearly just waking up. Some still wore loose sleeping robes with hair only messily pinned up when they all gathered in a parlor even larger than the tearoom to eat. He sensed that people were watching him with interest, but Wu Ming kept to himself and didn’t make much eye contact. From time to time, Lu Xinhui passed by and asked something or made some small remark. He knew they were invitations, but, while he appreciated her efforts, he couldn’t bring himself to take them, so he just nodded or said a few words until she went away.

When he escaped back to his room and customers began to arrive at the brothel, Wu Ming found a stack of paper and a set of writing tools waiting on his desk. Before the night was in full force, he was lost in the ritual of grinding ink and carefully drawing the lines of the Flower Crown Martial God.

At the bottom of the pile of paper, Wu Ming admitted that he had slightly improved. He stretched his shoulders back, then realized that the sun had risen and the brothel was quiet again. Bypassing the bed, Wu Ming instead went out to visit the temple.

He found a small collection of tools and materials there. Lu Xinhui’s efficiency was truly incredible. That morning, he ignored almost everything except the broom, and at the end of several hours, the temple was dust- and dirt-free, and Wu Ming was sweating profusely.

In the afternoon, he went out to train in the same small field, then returned to bathe. When he found himself with extra time before dinner, Wu Ming had a short moment of panic when he couldn’t think of anything to fill that time. He kept on his feet just to feel like he was still in motion and ended up in the doorway to the kitchens. The head chef eyed him up and down, turned away, and started barking instructions. Within moments, Wu Ming was covered with an apron and pushed in front of a cutting board. With enormous relief, Wu Ming chopped onions and listened to the brief explanations of the other ghosts. They didn’t try to make small-talk or fraternize beyond the scope of their work, so Wu Ming found it much easier to relax than he had expected. He even asked a few questions without feeling uncomfortable.

Wu Ming helped serve the food at dinner, then ate his own serving. Lu Xinhui eyed him with concern, but he merely nodded at her across the room and kept eating. Before leaving, he approached her.

“Do you have more paper?” he asked.

“You’ve used it all already?” Lu Xinhui furrowed her brows. “Wu Ming, have you slept?”

“A bit,” he lied.

She sighed. “I’ll bring some more, just wait a minute.” When she returned with another stack of paper, she added, “You really should sleep. Your mind is tired. Let it rest.”

Wu Ming just nodded so he wouldn’t have to lie again, then retired to his room.

That night and the following day passed much the same way. In the temple, he removed the remnants of the divine statue and repainted the altar and part of one of the walls. Lu Xinhui appeared while he practiced his sabre techniques, but merely stood on the side and watched silently, then walked back with him once Wu Ming had finished. He bathed, helped prepare food, and dodged people at dinner until he could close himself up in his room again.

This time, he found a pot of tea beside the new stack of paper. Wu Ming poured out a cup and sipped it as he ground up fresh ink. He filled a few pages with the Flower Crown Martial God’s likeness, then found himself yawning. Maybe he really was tired. He decided to draw one more page, and then he would lie down for the first time in days.

Suddenly, his eyes sprang open. It was daytime, and he was collapsed across his desk. His brush had rolled out of his grip, leaving a splatter of ink along the side of the paper. Wu Ming sat up and looked at the page. At first, he didn’t recognize the image drawn there. It looked nothing like the one he’d been practicing repeatedly. Wu Ming was almost amused with himself for drawing so sloppily while he was falling asleep, but then he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye and he refocused on it with a new perspective. He gasped.

On the page before him was a messy but unmistakable rendering of Xie Lian’s face, just as it had looked while he slept beside him, alit by the hazy morning sun peeking through the window of the loft.

At first, he didn’t know how to react. He sat up straight and looked away, as if that would make some sort of difference. Of course it was still there when he looked back. This time, Wu Ming couldn’t seem to avert his gaze; he just stared and stared even as his fragile mind begged him to look away. It wasn’t until there was a knock on his door that he startled into motion and quickly shoved it beneath some of the other drawings.

It was one of the ghosts who lived and worked at the brothel, delivering a message that Lu Xinhui had arranged for a carpenter to meet Wu Ming at the temple in an hour. As soon as he departed, Wu Ming breathed a sigh and unearthed that drawing again. No matter how much it stung him to view such an image or to even think about that time at all, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it for kindling like the rest of his discarded sketches. For the first time since shoving it into a corner, Wu Ming returned to that pack and dug out the well-worn scroll. He spread it across the table, tucked his drawing inside, and rolled it back up, returning it carefully to its place inside the pack.

The meeting with the carpenter was an exciting development for Wu Ming. They discussed how to reveal and mend the roof damage, and the carpenter also identified structural damage in one of the pillars that Wu Ming had completely overlooked. He was glad he hadn’t begun to repaint them yet. The man promised to return the next morning with materials and an assistant, then left.

After finishing the first coat of paint on the back wall, Wu Ming went to training later than usual. He seemed to have overslept quite a lot. When he arrived in the field, Lu Xinhui was already there – except this time, she had her own sword in hand and was running through a form that Wu Ming had never seen before. He stood and watched, the mirror of her own position the day before, until she finished. Then, Lu Xinhui called out over her shoulder.

“Well, I’m not going to wait around all day, I’ve got plenty to do besides train you. Hurry up, now, come stretch.”

With a smirk, he walked over to her side and began his second tenure with a proper teacher.

The days bled into each other like this. Wu Ming quickly figured out that his evening tea was spiked, but drank it anyways and forced himself to sleep at least a few hours each night. Gradually, his sketches improved enough that some of the better ones weren’t taken away with the rest of his scraps. Gradually, the temple started taking shape in Wu Ming’s vision for it, especially once the carpenter and his assistant became involved. Gradually, his body grew accustomed to Lu Xinhui’s strange, fluid style, and she started nodding more than she frowned during their afternoon training sessions. Gradually, he was considered competent enough in the kitchen to oversee small tasks and, to the enormous delight of the whole house, the head chef even personally taught him how to make dousha bao.

After that particularly festive night, Wu Ming started finding small gifts on his desk in addition to fresh paper. Sometimes it was a treat, sometimes a small trinket from the market. For all his previous excitement to see the city’s nightlife, Wu Ming had never actually gone out, so these trinkets were mysterious and interesting for him. However, his favorite gifts by far were whenever someone tried to copy his illustrations of the Flower Crown Martial God. Usually, he found those on the altar in the mornings, and he pinned them all along the back wall regardless of their quality. By the time the renovations were approaching completion, the mural of drawings was quite vast.

In those last few days before the temple would be completed, Wu Ming experienced another major shift. He was running out of time, and he didn’t have any more excuses left to draw things out, so one night, he skipped his sketching and the tea and lay in bed and listened to his thoughts for the first time since he and Xie Lian had parted back in the dormant volcano.

Wu Ming didn’t know exactly how much time had passed. There were a few places where he’d lost time, but based on what he remembered of the position of the moon and the deepening of summer, it had been roughly a month. It was long enough that, while it was painful, handling those memories no longer cut him quite so deeply.

So, he thought about Xie Lian, about their time together in the ruined and abandoned Imperial City, and about their parting. He faced the enormous wave of guilt head-on when he realized that he’d been secretly hoping Xie Lian would never get to ascend again. If he were stuck on earth, Wu Ming could stay beside him, and even more insidiously than that, Xie Lian would need him. Watching him walk away with Feng Xin and Mu Qing, it had been undeniable that the gap which Wu Ming had happily filled no longer existed. Wu Ming had always told himself that he would be content to be Xie Lian’s tool that he used and discarded at his leisure, that if he could do even one small thing right by him, it would be enough, but he’d betrayed his own resolution by falling in love and believing that Xie Lian might have been able to love him back. He deserved all of the consequences he was now facing.

Wu Ming also thought about Xie Lian’s parting promise to return and deliver his news. He forced himself to articulate with words what his heart had known since he had tried to dodge Lu Xinhui’s drunken challenge: the sooner Xie Lian came to see him, the sooner he would leave again, and then Wu Ming would be left without even the promise of another meeting. He was further ashamed that the splendor of the renovated temple was as much for his own sake as it was to honor the Flower Crown Martial God.

He rose after a long, sleepless night and moved through his day with grim determination. He was going to see this through and stop delaying the inevitable.

---

Two days later, Wu Ming hung his own painting in the middle of the mural and brought his renovations to a close.

He went to training as usual. Although he didn’t say anything, while they walked back to the brothel, Lu Xinhui casually asked, “So, you finished?”

Wu Ming nodded. Lu Xinhui clasped his shoulder for a moment but didn’t add anything.

After cooking and eating, where he accepted the congratulations of a surprising number of people, Wu Ming walked past his room and out of the brothel. The streets were practically unrecognizable. There were merchants and food vendors in every direction, and the storefronts he was accustomed to seeing dark and deserted during the day were now bustling with light and activity.

He also noticed that the rope lines which had been stretched between rooftops over the streets were now hung with lanterns and colorful streamers. They were unlit, and later on in his walk he spotted some ghosts who were still putting up the decorations, so Wu Ming guessed that they were preparing for some kind of event. He wondered if it was a ghost-specific festival and made a note to ask Lu Xinhui about it.

When he reached the temple, Wu Ming went around the hall and lit all of the many candles he’d prepared. Once the room was glowing with flickering light, he approached the altar and lit a stick of incense. He did not step back, but simply clasped his hands right beside the altar and fixed his gaze on his depiction of the Flower Crown Martial God. He took a deep breath.

“Dianxia,” Wu Ming said softly. “I’m sorry it took me so long to reach you. I was just scared. It’s not really an excuse.

“I, uh, built you a temple. Well, I restored it. With some help. Lu Xinhui was really helpful, and the other ghosts, too.” He took a steadying breath to calm himself. “Anyways, I hope you like it.

“Have you completed your investigation yet? I really hope so. I’d love it if you were able to spend this time with a light heart. I don’t want those things to trouble you ever again. I just want you to be safe and well, always.

“I also hope that you were quickly reinstated in heaven. But no matter what the heavens say, you’ll always be my only god. Please believe that. There is nothing you could do that would drive me away. You don’t have anything to prove; I will follow you anywhere.

“But… I have to say something else.” Wu Ming lowered his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Everything I did for you, it was because I wanted to do it. I’ll always treasure the time we spent together, and I’ll keep supporting you forever. I know you said you would come back, but… you don’t have to. You’ve probably talked to Mu Qing by now.”

Wu Ming released a shaky breath. “Ah, what am I saying? You definitely have. And it’s just… I’d rather not know how you reacted. I want to imagine that you still feel good about that time, too. I know it’s foolish, but I want to pretend that we’re still friends. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you myself.

“I meant what I said before, though. Even if you hate me, I would still love you. If you told me to disappear, I would be gone in a heartbeat. If I never see you again, I will still light incense for you every day and build you more and more temples. However long or short my life is, I’ll live with our stolen time in my heart.”

Wu Ming finally raised his head and looked directly at the Flower Crown Martial God’s face. “Dianxia, thank you. For everything. It meant more than I can say that you treated me with kindness, over and over, when no one else would. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I’m not waiting for you, I have no expectations. Just do whatever you want, and I’ll support you no matter what. And please, Dianxia, be well.”

He stood in silence for a while, hands still clasped in front of his chest. When the incense burned out, he lit another and simply watched it crumble into ashes. Only then did he turn to leave.

The streets were even busier than before, but Wu Ming could barely hear the noise. It was like a thick cloud had wrapped itself around his head, making everything else seem dull and flat. He went straight back to his room, took the lid off of the teapot, and drank the whole thing at once. Within minutes of collapsing on the bed, he was deeply asleep.

---

“Wu Ming? Wu Ming, wake up.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. There was someone next to his bed.

“You really drank that whole thing, huh? You know, that’s not what you’re supposed to do.” Lu Xinhui sighed. “Did it really go that badly? Did you meet him yet?”

Wu Ming took a few deep breaths and struggled to stop the room from spinning wildly around him. “…Didn’t meet…”

Lu Xinhui raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Did you tell him not to come, then? You know, it’s against the spirit of our wager if you sweep your own legs out from beneath you.”

The room wasn’t spinning so much anymore. Wu Ming gave her a grim smile. “It wasn’t a real wager, anyways. We didn’t even have anything on the line.”

“Hm. That’s only true for one of us.” Lu Xinhui helped Wu Ming sit up and only released his shoulder when his eyes unscrunched. “You’ve slept almost all day. At least come have some dinner before the festival starts.”

“Festival?”

“Haven’t you seen the decorations? It’s Qixi. And the skies have been crystal clear all day, the whole city is in an uproar.”

Oh. That did explain the lanterns. Over his last few years in the Imperial City, Wu Ming had always been aware of the festival specifically because it was the single night of summer when he couldn’t sleep in the Flower Crown Martial God’s small shrine. Despite the fact that Xie Lian was a martial god, there were so many women and girls who came each year to pray for good fortune in marriage that Wu Ming was driven out all night and often well into the morning. He wasn’t ever upset about it, though. He just sat on a rooftop nearby and watched the endless queue of followers shuffling in and out of the shrine in their nicest gowns.

He didn’t remember last year’s Qixi Festival, though. The war was at its worst point, and Wu Ming supposed that no one in the city had felt like celebrating anything. He was strangely apprehensive about tonight’s festivities, but he couldn’t quite place why. Maybe it was just nostalgia.

Wu Ming put it out of mind and followed Lu Xinhui to dinner, where a great fuss was being made over the spread of dumplings, carved melons, and qiaoguo on the central table. When he was able to get a little closer, Wu Ming understood the commotion. He was especially fascinated by the large watermelon which had been carved to look like roses in a bowl, and made a note to express his awe to the head chef the next time he saw him.

Even at dinner, some of the ghosts were already dressed in fine robes and gowns. The atmosphere was incredibly animated as people ate and helped each other affix elaborate pins and decorations to their hair. Wu Ming smiled but stayed back and watched the excitement before him, just like he had done in the Imperial City years ago.

To his surprise, melding into the shadows didn’t work this time. Wu Ming looked up from his qiaoguo to see a trio of women standing in front of him.

“Wu Ming, may we do your hair for the festival?”

“Yeah, let us help you!”

“You’ll want something nicer than that plain old tail, right?”

Blinking rapidly, Wu Ming opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, “…Alright.”

The women converged on him with great enthusiasm, and in seconds his hair was loose. A small crowd had begun to gather, and when several people gasped, even more curious ghosts came over.

“Wow, he should just wear his hair down!”

“A-Fan, are you seeing this?”

The women behind him were busy drawing his long hair through their hands.

“Unbelievable! It looks so real and it even feels this soft?”

“Wow, Wu Ming, you must be really powerful!”

“I wish my hair were half as soft as this! What I’d give…”

“How’re his palms?”

Wu Ming’s right hand was lifted up and closely examined by the women and several of the onlookers. They held their palms up, too, and took turns comparing them. Curiously, Wu Ming looked at his left hand. To his surprise, apart from the large palm lines formed by the folding of his hand, his skin was more or less smooth. The fine prints that he expected to find were totally absent. It had taken him so long to notice, he was almost tempted to laugh at himself.

“Is this a ghost thing?” he asked. Many people nodded at once, and a man from the crowd of onlookers held his hand out for Wu Ming to see.

“Yeah, it is. See how I barely have any lines at all? Most of us are like that. It’s really hard to build a realistic human body. Before you showed up, A-Song had the best hair and Lu-jiejie had the best palm lines. But you might’ve just stolen both titles!”

There were many appreciative murmurs, and Wu Ming felt strangely embarrassed. “Ah,” he said awkwardly.

Thankfully, the attention was turned quickly back to his hair. After a lively debate about what to do with it, the women settled on a loose braid that tapered down Wu Ming’s back. They explained that it gave the illusion of loose hair around his face while still being appropriately tied enough for a festival. He wasn’t sure if he believed their insistence that it was completely ‘appropriate’, but Wu Ming was far too amused to contest them. Actually, the braid was a suitably nostalgic thing for a nostalgic night, and his thoughts were full of Xie Lian’s hands in his hair while the women fussed over him. The memory didn’t hurt as much as it would have just a day earlier; Wu Ming had made his peace that memories were all he had now, so he might as well try to enjoy them between the swells of pain.

When the braid was finished, the ghosts dragged him up and over to the nearest mirror, which happened to be in that same A-Song’s room. Wu Ming was pushed before the mirror as ghosts peered around the doorframe trying to get a better view.

The braid did, in fact, frame his face quite well. Wu Ming pulled it over his shoulder to admire the women’s handiwork, and his face lit up when he saw that someone had tucked a small white flower into the knotted black tie at the bottom. He looked around at the ghosts who had piled into the room and smiled brightly at them.

“It looks great. Thank you.”

Before anyone had a chance to respond, a small voice somewhere in the back said, “You look great…” and the room erupted into laughter.

“Yeah, Wu Ming, you’re really a sight for sore eyes!”

“If you need any help taking that braid out later, you just call me anytime, ah?”

“Aiya, leave him be, he’s going to start blushing if you all keep this up!”

“If any ghost could, it’d be him…”

“Hush, you!!”

Wu Ming was desperately fighting the urge to hide his face in his hands, but his heart was full. Despite his aloofness over the past month, these people chose to be kind to him, and include him, and reach out to him over and over. It was genuinely sweet, and Wu Ming was deeply moved. He wondered if the sudden influx of kindness he had been receiving since he died was actually proof that he’d moved on and was now living in some constructed fantasy, but Wu Ming dismissed it when he realized that he would never have imagined a situation where anyone was kind to him, let alone so many people. Strangely enough, it had to be real.

Soon, the excitement transferred away from Wu Ming and onto the ghosts’ own festival preparations, and the crowd dispersed, leaving Wu Ming to his own devices once more. He was in a much better mood than before and decided to head out into the late twilight.

The lanterns were just being lit, and Wu Ming dodged around many ghosts on ladders or carefully wielding long poles. The street vendors were also preparing for the start of the festival at nightfall, and the sounds and smells of sizzling food and sweets overwhelmed Wu Ming’s senses. A few streets away, a drum and a flute were practicing a lively song that had a few ghosts dancing even this far away.

Wu Ming decided to visit the temple to pass time before the festival started. While he approached it, he realized for the first time that it had no establishment plaque! Wu Ming brought a hand to his cheek and sighed. How could he overlook such a thing? He was turning possible names over in his head while he entered and automatically lit an incense stick. His thoughts wandered while he watched the orange ring descend slowly down the stick, and he became quite distracted with waiting for the ashes to fall. In the periphery of his vision, one of the paintings fluttered.

Wu Ming’s eyes sprang up and his body surged with sudden adrenaline. It was his own drawing that had moved, no others!

“…Dianxia?”

One moment, he was alone. The next, Xie Lian stood on the side of the altar. He was smiling.

“Hello, Wu Ming.”

He was utterly shocked. His body had stopped responding. All he could do was stare, mouth agape, and be swept away by the chaos in his head.

Why was he smiling? Nothing made sense. He shouldn’t be here at all, Wu Ming told him not to come. Even if Wu Ming could accept that Xie Lian was, in fact, here anyway, his face should still be painted with anger and disgust. What’s this smile?

“You came,” Wu Ming finally managed to say. Xie Lian’s smile broadened.

“Of course,” he said easily. “I promised I would, didn’t I? I don’t make promises lightly.”

Finally, something that made sense! Xie Lian was here out of obligation. The smile still didn’t quite fit, but maybe he was just being nice–

“And besides that, I missed you,” Xie Lian added, shattering Wu Ming’s thoughts completely. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you for a long time. We separated so abruptly, I didn’t say any of the things I meant to say to you. It’s so good to see you again. Are you well, Wu Ming?”

He had no idea what to say. He nodded.

“Good.”

Xie Lian leaned against the altar, towards where Wu Ming was fixed to the ground. Only then did he notice that Xie Lian’s clothes were very fine, all white silks with golden embroidery and a red sash layered into his belts. Of course Wu Ming thought he was beautiful, but he was also relieved to see this mark of his status.

“There’s much to discuss,” Xie Lian said seriously. “For the sake of somewhere to start, I’ll tell you about the investigations. Or, perhaps it’s better to say ‘investigation’.”

Wu Ming frantically compartmentalized his three-or-so separate emotional crises and tried to clear his focus. With only slight delay, he tilted his head questioningly. “They’re connected?”

Xie Lian nodded. “Much moreso than we thought. There might not be a way to completely confirm this now that they’re both dead, but we believe that Jun Wu and Bai Wuxiang were fundamentally the same person, and the Jun Wu who died a month ago was actually a clone.”

“…What?!” Whatever emotional disturbances Wu Ming had still been struggling to quell immediately quieted.

“I felt the same way. But the evidence is very sound. Some of the literature gods tried to cross-reference Jun Wu’s history between libraries and found inexplicable contradictions. Further investigation suggested that the person he claimed to be before he ascended may have never even existed. Then, we found the ruins.

“They were right around that volcano, actually. You and I were in such a hurry that I barely paid them any attention. It turns out that there was a very ancient kingdom there, and the depictions of its crown prince look just like Jun Wu. But even more than the ruins, the best help we found in that region actually came from my old teacher, the Guoshi of Xianle. He’s from this same fallen kingdom, Wuyong, and he knew that crown prince.”

Xie Lian stopped himself, shook his head slightly, and laughed. “There’s so much to say, I’m afraid I’ll never arrive at the point. I’ll tell you all about this story another time. Just know that Jun Wu was absolutely that same prince. He fell from the heavens once, became the monster we knew as Bai Wuxiang, and tricked and murdered his way back until no one remembered anything about him or the Kingdom of Wuyong. We found mass graves beneath the heavens, too.”

Wu Ming’s mind was reeling from all of this information. He had never expected to uncover such a deeply rooted conspiracy. “How do you know which one was the clone and which one was the real person?” Wu Ming asked.

“It’s not possible to know,” Xie Lian admitted. “However… I strongly suspect that he wouldn’t have sent a clone to meet me in Lang-Er Bay. Not when he thought he’d almost won.”

Wu Ming nodded. That made sense to him. Bai Wuxiang had completely upended Xie Lian’s life in order to manipulate him to some twisted end. He wouldn’t miss something as critical as what Xie Lian had planned to do in Yong’an.

“And we know Jun Wu is a clone instead of a subordinate because of the sword and the shackle?”

“Yes. The timing matches perfectly. Bai Wuxiang’s clone couldn’t survive once his ashes were destroyed, and neither could the cursed shackle he’d given me.” Xie Lian grimaced and his eyes went hazy. “I probably never even met his clone. I suspect he was always swapping out around me all this time, appearing as the god and the ghost whenever he pleased and whipping me around.”

“Dianxia, he’ll never touch you again,” Wu Ming said passionately. “You made sure of that. He was nothing but a scourge on your life, and you eliminated him.”

“Mm, it wasn’t all bad. He did bury my parents. And although what he did to you was just as cruel as what he did to me, it’s thanks to him that you’re standing in front of me now.”

Xie Lian’s eyes were still slightly out of focus and he spoke casually, yet Wu Ming’s heart twisted in his chest. “All we can do is move forward, Dianxia.”

At that, the fog lifted from his eyes and Xie Lian looked directly at Wu Ming. “…You’re right,” he said. “I want to know about you, Wu Ming. How have you spent this time? The temple is really lovely, thank you.” The bright smile returned to his face, and Wu Ming grabbed the altar for support when his legs felt weak.

“I… I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Um, I’ve just been here, helping Lu Xinhui. And training. And cooking.” A nagging thought finally broke through the surface of his mind, and Wu Ming frowned. “Dianxia, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you here?”

Xie Lian looked confused. “Didn’t I already say? I missed you.”

Wu Ming ignored his traitorous heart and pressed on. “Yes, but… didn’t you speak to Mu Qing?”

“Ah.” Xie Lian smiled again. “No. He tried to tell me something once, but I persuaded him not to. If there was anything you didn’t want me to know, then he had no right to overrule you.”

Relief flooded through Wu Ming’s entire body, and he leaned heavily against the altar. “…Ah,” he said. At least Xie Lian didn’t despise him yet. He’d been given a little more time. Just enough to leave on good terms. He hoped.

“Wu Ming, may I ask you something?”

He nodded. Xie Lian drew a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

“Have you sought out your beloved?”

Wu Ming blinked and looked away. “…No.”

“Do you want to?”

The inside of Wu Ming’s heart was a mess of emotions. Relief was the newest and brightest one, but there were still lingering traces of loneliness and stringent sadness. Wu Ming sighed and gave a sad smile towards the surface of the altar.

“I think it maybe doesn’t matter what I want,” Wu Ming said quietly. “It’s as you said, Dianxia. If they knew that I’m still here, that I won’t rest because of them, then they’d only be troubled and hurt by it. Everything else is just a dream. We weren’t ever supposed to meet, and even death can’t change that.”

Xie Lian shifted, then walked around the corner of the altar to stand beside Wu Ming. A tentative hand rested on his shoulder, and Wu Ming looked back up at his beautiful, caring face.

“Ah, Wu Ming,” he said in a sigh. “I’m afraid I may have led you astray. When I said those things to you, I wasn’t well. I’m not sure that I agree with myself any longer.” He smiled, shyly this time. “Since I met you, wounds that I thought were unhealable have begun to mend, weight I thought I would carry forever has lightened. You said that you were pretending we were friends; Wu Ming, it wasn’t pretend. You’re my precious friend, and you were there for me when no one else was.”

The grip on his shoulder lightened, then released, and Xie Lian seemed to collect himself. “I say this because I want you to know how important you are to me, and I’ve only been by your side for a short time. Your devotion is incredibly meaningful, Wu Ming. When I think about your beloved person, and how much you’ve done for them that they never even knew about… I just think that if I were in their place, it might actually be a kind of honor to be loved like that. I think, I would want to know how you felt.”

The walls around Wu Ming were spinning, but the ground beneath his and Xie Lian’s feet had somehow never been so stable. Nervous butterflies filled his chest and threatened to lift him up with their force.

“Dianxia.” Wu Ming spoke with urgency in his voice and his eyes. “Are you really sure about that?”

Xie Lian nodded, but never broke their eye contact. “I’m absolutely sure.”

Wu Ming clutched at the necklace hidden beneath his robes, feeling the rough shapes of the ring and the pearl. “What if… they also learn something they’d forgotten about? Something from a long time ago. Do you think they would be disturbed by that?”

Xie Lian gave him his softest smile yet. “It’s okay, Wu Ming.”

This was the most surreal moment he had ever experienced. He couldn’t believe it. Every alarm in his mind was wailing for him to stop, to remember his convictions, to not throw away his second chance at a friendship with Xie Lian. And yet, his heart acted without hesitation.

Wu Ming reached around his neck and removed the necklace, pulling his braid over his shoulder to release the silver chain. Then, he held it up between them. The translucent crystal and bright pearl were stunning in the candlelight. He looked past them at Xie Lian’s face.

Xie Lian’s eyes were wide and brimming with emotion and recognition as he stared at that red pearl. They flicked up to meet Wu Ming’s gaze. His mouth parted and he drew a shaky breath.

Wu Ming lifted his hands slightly, both an invitation and a request. Xie Lian’s lips twitched into a tiny, shocked smile, and he bowed his head. With surprisingly steady hands, Wu Ming placed the chain around Xie Lian’s neck, then threaded his hands below the curtain of his hair to free it from beneath the necklace. While he drew Xie Lian’s long hair out, Xie Lian suddenly darted forward, collided with Wu Ming’s chest, and wrapped his arms tightly around his back.

After a shocked pause that lasted only a fraction of a heartbeat, Wu Ming folded around him and drew Xie Lian into an even tighter embrace.

Xie Lian’s shoulders shook with quiet sobs, but his body was loose and relaxed. Wu Ming rested a hand on the back of his neck, only to notice that he was crying, too, when he felt his own tears falling from where he was buried in Xie Lian’s hair. Wu Ming smiled, then laughed. At first it was soft, just an exhale of nervous tension, but then the disbelief and joy blended in. Before long, he was laughing breathlessly and leaning into Xie Lian for support as his body tried to buckle in half. Xie Lian was laughing, too, and crying and sniffling. They held each other desperately, relieved that there was no reason to let go.

---

Several hours later, the tears had more or less stopped flowing and only smiles and soft voices remained. Xie Lian and Wu Ming sat with their backs against the altar, hands tightly clasped, and talked deep into the night. The things they spoke about were calculatedly calm, even serious. Xie Lian told the rest of the Guoshi’s story, Wu Ming asked a hundred questions about the heavenly court, and they danced around the wildness of Xie Lian’s heart, so strong it seemed to beat for both of them. Wu Ming’s own chest was in disarray, too; those butterflies had long since escaped from their confines in his heart and now seemed to fill his entire body. Every once in a while, his lip or fingertip would twitch, and he would just smile and squeeze Xie Lian’s hand tighter.

All the while, the noise of the festival was distant and completely invisible to Wu Ming. It wasn’t until what must have been a great procession of ghosts passed directly by the temple that he finally noticed them.

“Ah, Dianxia, it’s Qixi,” he said over the loud music and laughter. Xie Lian smiled.

“Mm, so it is. Would you like to go watch?”

Oh, this was too unbelievable. Wu Ming’s heart surged. It would have been almost painful, except that loving Xie Lian could never be painful to him. Xie Lian laughed lightly, as if reading his thoughts from his face, and leaned into his shoulder.

“I’d like that,” Wu Ming finally managed to say.

They exited the temple hand-in-hand, and Wu Ming was soon overwhelmed by the scene playing out on the street before them. It was a large parade, full of musicians and dancers and puppeteers. At the front of the line, a masked actor in dark blue robes led a dance over the steady rhythm of drums and flutes. He carried a staff and wore a bamboo hat on his back. Wu Ming realized that he was playing the part of Niulang, the cowherd. The puppets lifted over the parade on bamboo poles were mostly cattle, and there were even a few proud-looking cattle spirits in the crowd as well. The lanterns high overhead glittered and gave the feeling that the parade was actually processing beneath a river of stars.

Xie Lian and Wu Ming walked alongside the parade as it twisted through the city streets. They were in a part of the city that Wu Ming had never explored. Then, the street suddenly opened up into a wide square. In the center, a bridge had been constructed and covered with flowers and ribbons. Beneath the bridge and extending in both directions, hundreds and hundreds of small candles had been laid along the stone road. Wu Ming changed his mind: this was the real river of stars! The square was packed with onlookers who cheered as the parade drew nearer.

“Oh, look!” Xie Lian pointed across the square. There was a second parade!

They hurried around the outskirts of the square to get a closer look, ducking around people and laughing, never letting go of the other’s hand. When they reached the far street, Wu Ming saw that this parade was helmed by Zhinü, the weaver. She wore a gown in a lighter shade of blue and danced with a fan that was painted to look like a starry sky. Her procession was exceptionally beautiful, and long silk banners dyed in vibrant colors were flown over the parade. The silk was so fine that it seemed to ripple through the air as if it were underwater. It reminded him of Ruoye’s fluid motions, but on a much larger scale.

“Wow,” he said softly. Somehow, Xie Lian heard him and squeezed his hand.

When those parades both reached the square, only Zhinü and Niulang continued forward towards the bridge. They danced in synchrony as the music picked up its pace. When they reached the base of the bridge, they knelt and placed down their fan and staff, and the music suddenly stopped. They rose, and a single drum beat once. They placed a foot onto either side of the bridge. Another beat, another step, and again and again, faster and faster. Finally, Zhinü and Niulang rushed into each other’s embrace at the highest point, right over that river of candlelight. Joyous music erupted from both sides of the square, and the crowd cheered. Wu Ming found himself cheering, too. Within a short time from the beginning of their embrace, a few fireworks were sent up from the roof of some nearby building, and the sky lit up with colorful sparks.

The rest of the crowd surged forward to pick up the celestial lovers and process them through the streets once again. Wu Ming cheered and laughed. His heart had never before felt so light. He turned to look at Xie Lian, some remark about the festival half-formed in his mouth. But those words were quickly forgotten.

Xie Lian had eyes only for him, and his face was so soft with love that Wu Ming momentarily forgot how to breathe, then needed to breathe very rapidly. Xie Lian stepped towards him and disentangled their hands for the first time in hours. He brought his hands to Wu Ming’s face, resting them gently on his cheeks and threading his fingers into the hair behind his ears. Heart fluttering, Wu Ming placed his own hands on Xie Lian’s waist. He felt Xie Lian tip up onto his toes. Their lips brushed, then pressed together. Suddenly, it seemed to Wu Ming that the cheers and jubilation of the crowd were actually all for them.

---

They returned to the brothel at daybreak. Wu Ming was hoping to sneak back to his room unnoticed so he could curl up in bed with Xie Lian and forget about the rest of the world, but it seemed that his luck had run out. Not that he would ever complain about that. He could have the worst possible luck for the rest of his life and it would absolutely have been worth this unimaginably perfect night.

But in that moment, he couldn’t help but wince when he heard Lu Xinhui’s “Oho!” from the other side of the courtyard. Reluctantly, he turned to face her.

“…Good morning,” he said lamely. Even Xie Lian laughed at that.

“Indeed,” Lu Xinhui said meaningfully as she walked over to them. She very conspicuously took in their linked hands and Xie Lian’s soft blush. She raised an eyebrow first at Xie Lian, then at Wu Ming.

“So you are the Flower Crown Martial God after all. Ah, Wu Ming, you really aimed for the stars.” Lu Xinhui patted his shoulder and gave him a wicked grin. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m always right.”

While Wu Ming’s body tried to force an impossible blush onto his face, Xie Lian stepped in and took the attention away. He bowed respectfully. “Lu Xinhui, it’s an honor to meet you again. There is much to thank you for. Also, I can finally tell you the explanation that I’ve owed you since our last meeting.”

She waved her hand. “And I’d love to hear it. Later.” Lu Xinhui smirked at them. “It can wait a little longer. Get some rest, spend your time well. I’ll keep the others away.”

Wu Ming wished he could disappear on the spot, and Xie Lian didn’t seem to be doing much better. Laughing, Lu Xinhui backed off.

“Aiya, young love is really something! Off you go, your radiance will kill my plants!”

Wu Ming didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran into his room and closed the door as soon as Xie Lian had passed through it. Only then did he release the tense breath he’d drawn in at some point.

Xie Lian smiled at him sheepishly. “Are you tired?”

“…I don’t know,” Wu Ming admitted. His feelings were all scrambled up, and he couldn’t tell.

“Ah, I think I know what you mean.” Xie Lian laughed and the nervous edge seemed to draw back. “How about I read to you? It’s been so long… I’ve really missed that.”

“Yes!” Wu Ming said automatically. “I mean, that sounds really nice,” he hedged. “I’ve… missed it, too.”

He felt an urge to hug Xie Lian and was about to repress it when he suddenly realized – he didn’t have to. With an elated smile, he swept Xie Lian into his arms. It was quick, and Xie Lian barely had time to react before Wu Ming released him. He felt like he was glowing.

It was almost like nothing had changed. Although a month had passed, and they were in a completely different space, and it was the sun that shone through a paper-shaded window instead of moonlight, Wu Ming and Xie Lian slipped right back into their routine. They undressed to their inner robes and sat side-by-side on the bed.

But there were subtle changes. Xie Lian had more layers to remove this time, and the inner robe he revealed was a bright red, as vibrant as the crimson pearl which rested atop it. The sight of the ring and the pearl on Xie Lian’s body made Wu Ming wonder, yet again, if he was dreaming. When Xie Lian went to place his folded robes on the desk, he drew a sharp breath at the sight of his hat against the wall and stared at it with a faint smile.

Before Wu Ming could reach for his braid, Xie Lian stopped him and asked to undo it himself. He placed the white flower on the desk and gently unwove the pleats until Wu Ming’s hair fell in loose waves around his shoulders.

When Xie Lian reached for the scroll he’d brought out from the pack in the corner, his wide sleeve drew back to reveal a familiar white band wrapped up his forearm. Wu Ming brushed his fingers over it and Ruoye stirred, then excitedly shot out towards him. It brushed against his face, encircled his back, and finally wrapped around his own wrist and crisscrossed up his forearm, directly over his tighter sleeve. Wu Ming laughed.

“I’m glad Ruoye likes you so much,” Xie Lian said with a wide smile. “I think it must have missed you nearly as much as I did.”

Wu Ming threaded their hands back together instead of speaking, and they coordinated their free hands to open the scroll.

When a loose piece of paper fluttered open, Wu Ming was far too late to snatch it away or cover it up. On full display, lying between their laps, was his drawing of Xie Lian’s sleeping face. Although his chest clenched with worry, before Wu Ming could properly panic, Xie Lian had already picked up the drawing and begun to praise it.

“I didn’t get to say this earlier, but I was admiring your art for a while before you arrived in the temple last night. You’re truly talented. I knew right away which one was yours. And this, too.” Xie Lian smiled at the drawing in his hands, then looked up at him. “You have an incredible eye for detail. If you keep practicing, I think you could be truly great.”

He listened attentively to every word, but Wu Ming’s nervousness wasn’t quelled. “You don’t think it’s…?” He tapered out as his ears filled with echoes of disgusted voices, his father’s and Mu Qing’s and even his own, criticizing his obsession, calling it an aberration, calling him sick.

Xie Lian’s free hand reached across to his jaw and guided Wu Ming to face him. “Wu Ming, listen carefully to me.” Xie Lian’s eyes were fierce. “You told me that there was nothing I could do to drive you away. I promise you, I feel the same way. Whatever reaction you’re worried I’ll have, I really won’t. It’s an honor to be loved like this,” he recited meaningfully.

Just like that, the tension was gone as quickly as it had come. Wu Ming closed his eyes and leaned into Xie Lian’s touch, letting his body catch up from the emotional whiplash. He was crazily tempted to roll up his sleeve and explain his tattoo on the spot, just to get it over with as soon as possible, but ultimately decided to save that conversation for another day.

“I believe you, Dianxia,” Wu Ming said after taking a few breaths. He opened his eyes and straightened his neck, but Xie Lian didn’t drop his hand yet.

“Are you okay?”

Wu Ming nodded, and meant it. Only then did Xie Lian’s hand leave his face. He rested his head against Wu Ming’s shoulder and angled the scroll. Once Wu Ming leaned against him, too, Xie Lian began to read.

Like so many things, it was both familiar and unfamiliar to listen to the story in such a way. By the time it was over, Wu Ming was identifiably exhausted; his heart had felt more joy in the past day than he’d thought it was capable of feeling in a lifetime, and he was eager to rest. Xie Lian rolled the sketch back into the scroll and placed it on the desk. Then, by silent agreement, they lay down on the small bed.

They faced each other, lying very close and holding each other’s hand. It immediately transported Wu Ming back to their last night in the loft, and he felt a shadow of that intense current that had existed between them at that time. Wu Ming suspected that Xie Lian’s mind was focused in a similar way. He didn’t feel like a thief this time, and that made him smile. But how had Xie Lian felt? All the signs suggested that he had wanted this just as much as Wu Ming had, yet he found it very difficult to accept that Xie Lian had come to love him all on his own.

“Dianxia,” he whispered over the short distance.

“Mm?” Xie Lian had a faint, contented smile on his lips.

“Did you know since then?” Wu Ming didn’t have to say more; Xie Lian’s eyes were full of understanding.

“I should have,” he said thoughtfully.

Wu Ming smiled, then closed his eyes. He had just enough time to marvel at how good it felt to rest them before he slipped smoothly into sleep.

He came gradually to his senses as Xie Lian shifted beside him. Sunlight still shone through the window, but it was a much warmer, deeper shade.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

Wu Ming slowly focused his gaze and looked up at Xie Lian’s excited face. “Mm.”

“Wu Ming, I received a prayer!”

At that, much of his lingering tiredness faded into the background. “Oh, that’s great!”

Xie Lian beamed. “She’s close by, actually, I think she must have gone to your temple. I’m going to go find her.”

Wu Ming pushed himself up and sat against the backboard. “Do you want me to come?”

“No need, it’s just something small. I’ll be back in no time.”

Wu Ming grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m so happy for you, Dianxia. If it really was that temple, then I’ll build them everywhere. There won’t be a town in this entire world that lacks one!”

Xie Lian laughed, and Wu Ming felt that he was practically glowing with happiness. “Ah, Wu Ming, I think you really would do that.”

“Of course I would!”

Xie Lian leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Wait for me,” he said into Wu Ming’s skin.

“Yes,” Wu Ming answered simply.

---

The next several days passed surprisingly quickly. Xie Lian was busier each day as more and more ghosts visited his temple. Sometimes Wu Ming accompanied him and helped water plants or mend broken things, but usually Xie Lian went alone and disguised himself. Wu Ming’s appearance was too easily recognizable for settling disputes or persuading people, and even the slight variety he had once had in his hairstyle was erased after he allowed Xie Lian to braid his hair each morning. Even though Xie Lian had taken to wearing his bamboo hat during his outings, his different appearances were enough to conceal him.

During those periods of time when Xie Lian was off by himself, Wu Ming kept himself busy. He met with the same carpenter who had helped him before, and together they set their sights on a small house not far from the temple. While there were many abandoned homes in the ghost city, he chose this one because the layout of the second level was very similar to the blacksmith’s loft in the Imperial City. Wu Ming tried to keep his work a secret, but Xie Lian discovered him within a few days, and then he eagerly joined in on the renovation between answering prayers.

That wasn’t the only thing he’d discovered that day, however. When Xie Lian found Wu Ming hard at work lifting heavy pieces of wood and furniture, Wu Ming’s outer robe hung from his belt and his sleeves were rolled up against the heat, and Xie Lian got his first proper look at the tattoo on his left forearm. With considerable nervousness, Wu Ming told the story of how he’d tattooed himself, but all his embarrassment swept away after Xie Lian kissed him passionately and praised his courage and determination.

Xie Lian also started tagging along to Wu Ming’s training, after he procured a tree branch that was more or less sword-shaped. It was slightly overwhelming to have two teachers present, but the way Xie Lian and Lu Xinhui excited and encouraged each other was itself a great kind of instruction. After a particularly grueling practice, they flopped down onto the grass, rolled up their trousers and dipped their bare feet into the lake, and chatted for several hours. Xie Lian told Lu Xinhui about Bai Wuxiang and Wu Ming interjected with colorful profanity to keep things from growing too maudlin. Even though Lu Xinhui didn’t know what Bai Wuxiang had done to Xie Lian with that black sword, she was horrified just to learn that he had given his ashes to Xie Lian secretly, and after such extreme manipulation. Lu Xinhui didn’t need to be told about the fall of Xianle – she lived close enough to have heard all about the White-Faced Calamity who plagued the war directly from the spirits of both Yong’an and Xianle soldiers. Lu Xinhui insisted that she would help Xie Lian find a replacement sword “that’s actually what it looks like,” and refused to take no for an answer.

The first time Xie Lian followed him to the kitchens to help prepare dinner, Wu Ming finally began to accept that he really was here to stay. A lingering tendril of nervousness that he hadn’t even been aware of loosened its grip around his heart. Xie Lian was also quite the sensation during dinner. It took a couple of days, but gradually, curious people began approaching them in that large parlor to ask questions and strike up conversations. Perhaps this was the origin of the rumor that a god had moved into the ghost city which Wu Ming began to overhear in the streets over the following days. The number of prayers to Xie Lian’s still-unmarked temple soon doubled, then doubled again, and Xie Lian said with amusement that some people had even started calling him ‘Dianxia’.

One night, Wu Ming was sketching while Xie Lian read from a poetry collection that Lu Xinhui had lent him, when Xie Lian suddenly rose from the bed.

“I have to go out for a little while,” he said. Wu Ming looked up in surprise.

“They’re calling you even this late?” he asked. “Can’t it wait until the morning?”

“It’s just something quick, it’s no trouble,” Xie Lian said with a smile.

Wu Ming frowned, but nodded. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Once Xie Lian left, Wu Ming sketched for a few more minutes, but the empty room was oddly distracting and he soon gave it up. He decided to go for a walk and check on the temple.

Another byproduct of Xie Lian’s rising popularity in the city were the many new sketches that he found on the altar each day. Some of the people who left new images at the temple had begun to draw a familiar hat on the Flower Crown Martial God, as well. The first time Xie Lian had spotted one of those drawings on the wall, he smiled so brightly that Wu Ming couldn’t help but kiss him on the spot. As he walked, Wu Ming thought that it was only a matter of time before those sketches would completely fill the back wall, and wondered where he’d start putting them next.

To his surprise, there were voices coming from inside the temple when he arrived. Wu Ming was about to drop his hand from the door and leave when he suddenly recognized them. He rushed inside and Xie Lian and Feng Xin turned to face him.

“Ah, Wu Ming, you came,” Xie Lian greeted him. Feng Xin’s eyes widened, then he turned back to Xie Lian.

“You didn’t tell me he was here!” Feng Xin’s scowl was even harsher than usual. “Is that the real reason you said no?”

“I didn’t lie,” Xie Lian said coolly, and Feng Xin quickly backtracked.

“Of course not, I didn’t mean–”

“Said no to what?” Wu Ming asked as he walked up to them.

“It’s just some business in the heavenly court, that’s all,” Xie Lian said in a much warmer voice.

“‘Some business’?!” Feng Xin huffed in disbelief. “Dianxia, you have a chance to become the next Heavenly Emperor, and that’s just ‘some business’ to you?!”

“What?!” Wu Ming’s eyes widened, and his chest began to tighten. “Dianxia, is that true?”

“It is,” Xie Lian said. “And I’ve refused, so the matter is settled, yet Ju Yang Zhenjun continues to repeat himself.”

Feng Xin made an animated gesture with his arms. “Dianxia, I just–”

“Feng Xin, you overstep yourself.” Xie Lian spoke with absolution and his eyes were hard. “Please remember that you are no longer my advisor. You are a god in your own right.” He sighed, and much of the harshness receded. “Don’t throw away your reputation just to recommend me for a position that I do not want.”

Feng Xin winced at the reminder that he, too, had once abandoned Xie Lian. Wu Ming privately relished his expression. No matter how much Feng Xin tried to help Xie Lian now, or even how much Xie Lian might warm up to him in the future, Wu Ming would never be able to completely forgive him.

Then, at the end of Xie Lian’s speech, Feng Xin’s expression shifted. “I understand what you say, Dianxia,” he said. “But it wasn’t me who recommended you.”

Xie Lian blinked, surprise wiping the lines from his face. Wu Ming arrived at the answer just as Feng Xin added, “You know, that fucker never told me what he did to you back then, and I’ve no love for the company he keeps in the upper court, but I told him if he wanted to apologize to you that he should just do it directly. I don’t think you owe him… either of us, your forgiveness. If this is his way of acknowledging that he was a complete asshole, I still don’t think it’s nearly enough, but I’m at least glad he feels fucking guilty about it.”

After a pause, Xie Lian let out a heavy sigh. “Well, be that as it may, my point still stands. You have your own affairs to look after now. You both do. I’m sure your star can rise in the heavens, so please don’t ruin that by affiliating with the laughingstock of Xianle.”

Feng Xin’s eyes went fierce again. “Dianxia, don’t say such things. You’re free to make your own decisions, even to turn down the highest position in heaven if you want to – and I’m also free to do what I want. I don’t think that leaving was entirely the wrong choice, but I still regret it. Now that I’ve found you again, it’s my damn choice whether I stay away or not. If I rise any higher in the heavenly court, I won’t have it be because I climbed over your back to get there.”

For the first time since Wu Ming had entered the temple, Xie Lian’s expression truly softened. He gripped Feng Xin’s shoulder, and Feng Xin brought his other hand up to grip Xie Lian’s arm. For a moment, they just watched each other, then they both released their hands.

“Thank you, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian said quietly. “I don’t need an attendant, but I think I could welcome the company of an old friend.”

Feng Xin smiled, then nodded. “So I’ll tell them you said no, then?” Xie Lian nodded back, and Feng Xin sighed his acceptance. “Very well then. Will you come back for the coronation?”

“Of course.” Xie Lian smiled. “Especially if the new Heavenly Emperor is willing to allow ghosts to visit the heavenly court.”

Wu Ming went very, very still, but Feng Xin still glanced over at him. His eyes were both suspicious and amused. “I’ll look into that, Dianxia,” he said with a smirk. Then, he straightened his shoulders and gave Xie Lian a formal bow. “Taizi Dianxia. Wu Ming.” A smaller but still polite bow. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

Xie Lian returned his bow. “Ju Yang Zhenjun.”

Wu Ming found it surprisingly easy to bow to him. “Ju Yang Zhenjun,” he mirrored automatically while he considered his new feelings about the man.

After Feng Xin left, Xie Lian gestured to the altar. “Look, there are new drawings today.”

Sure enough, there was a pile of paper beside the dusty incense tray. Wu Ming and Xie Lian each took half and added them to the mural on the back wall. Wu Ming brought up his question about where to pin them next, and they discussed it while they walked back to the brothel.

Thankfully, their room was fairly quiet – so much so that Wu Ming had often wondered whether Lu Xinhui had set some kind of array, even though he’d never been able to sense one – but at this hour of night, the courtyard was anything but quiet. In the short time that it took to close the door behind them, Wu Ming and Xie Lian were both fidgeting awkwardly. As he undressed for bed, Wu Ming was attempting to calculate how much longer it would take before the house was restored enough to move in. He resolved, somewhat reluctantly, to extricate himself from bed slightly earlier than he usually wanted to in order to speed things up.

They read the story of the merchant’s son and the artisan as usual, and Wu Ming had calmed down considerably by the time Xie Lian put away the scroll. As they were settling into bed, his thoughts turned back to their encounter with Feng Xin.

“Dianxia?”

Xie Lian looked over at him. They were sitting beneath the blanket, not quite lying down yet.

“Yes?”

“Why did you refuse Feng Xin’s offer?” That small knot of worry twisted around in his dantian, but Xie Lian just smiled.

“Because I don’t want it,” he said simply. Wu Ming didn’t say anything, but he must have looked worried. Xie Lian continued, “There are many reasons. I have a different perspective now, and different things are important to me.”

He frowned. “Well, maybe the same things are important and it’s just me that’s changed. I wanted to protect the common people. I tried to help them and I failed. Later, I tried to hurt them, and I also failed. You know, I’ve felt more useful in the last week just tending to Qi Yu’s garden than I did during the whole war.” He chuckled. “I’ve never tried to help this way before, by just being here, among my believers. It’s not permitted. But I think the heavens might have been wrong about that, too.”

He took Wu Ming’s hand. “Of course I want to stay with you, too. I just don’t want you to think that’s the only reason. If it were, I think you wouldn’t accept it.”

That… was probably true. Wu Ming gave a small smile. “I would try,” he said honestly. “But even if you don’t become the Heavenly Emperor, you could still go back to the heavens from time to time, and that would be alright. You don’t have to stay here all the time. I would understand, and I’d always wait for you, and the people here would, too.”

“I know that,” Xie Lian said. “But there’s really nothing for me there, now that the investigation has finished. Just unfriendly faces and bad memories. All my believers are here, and that’s more important to me than heavenly politics.”

Wu Ming suddenly realized. “Dianxia, those officials from the mountain… are they still…?” Xie Lian’s expression was as much of a confirmation as he needed. Wu Ming’s jaw clenched. “Those fuckers have no right to call themselves gods. I’ll burn down all their fucking temples and scare away their believers. The way they treated you is unforgivable.”

Xie Lian blinked, then laughed in surprise. “Wu Ming, there’s no need to do that. I appreciate the sentiment, but I promise, I’d be much happier if you spent that time by my side.”

The flames died down as Wu Ming’s heart went soft. “Ah, Dianxia…” He leaned forward and nestled his head into the crook of Xie Lian’s neck and shoulder, and Xie Lian wrapped an arm around the small of his back. “Alright, I won’t go out of my way. But if we pass by one of their temples together and my hand happens to slip, I apologize in advance.”

They both laughed, and then Wu Ming drew his head up and looked directly into Xie Lian’s shining eyes. His hand still rested on Wu Ming’s waist.

“Whatever the future holds, let’s face it together.”

Xie Lian’s face lit up like the sun.

“I’d like that.”