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Chapter Text

“Can you do it? If not, then whatever, I’ll help you throw the hundred thousand merits to drop the curtains,” Shi Qingxuan offered.

“No, no, a cup shouldn’t be a problem,” Xie Lian hastily replied, worried she would actually go through with paying the merits. He emptied the goblet, and the crowd turned its attention eagerly to see what play would feature the Crown Prince.

“Long ago, there was a kingdom called Xianle,” the voice of a young man spoke. Lights rose on the stage to show a crowd lined up along a city street and across the walls, cheering excitedly as a procession made its way down the road. “This kingdom had four treasures: beautiful women,” a group of dancers leaped and twirled alongside the procession, “music,” the background music crescendoed for a moment before fading back to allow the narrator to continue, “riches,” a man on one of the floats threw a handful of gold coins into the crowd, “and their crown prince.”

The music swelled again, and an actor jumped in from a high point offstage dressed in a stunning set of white and gold robes and an ornate mask. A set of ropes lowered him down to one of the floats where an actor in dark clothes with a mask painted to look like a ghost was waiting, and the two began a choreographed fight.

“The God-Pleasing Parade,” the real Xie Lian commented mostly to himself. “I didn’t think there were still any plays about that.”

Overhearing him, Shi Qingxuan perked up. “Oh! The Crown Prince who Pleased the Gods!” In a strange turn of luck, it didn’t seem like this play was going to be too embarrassing for the god, likely because there weren’t many stories still told in the mortal realm about him other than his inclusion in the Four Famous Tales. Most other gods seemed to come to this same realization, and turned away from the show in disappointment. Ling Wen checked a scroll and hummed quietly, considering what was written there.

Sure enough, the onstage fight only continued for a short time before a shout arose from the wall and a young boy dressed in ragged, dark red clothes tumbled over the edge. Instantly, the Prince abandoned the fight and jumped up to catch the falling child in his arms, losing his mask in the process.

Mu Qing was frowning. Feng Xin noticed and elbowed him in the ribs. “The fuck is that face for? So sorry you didn’t get to see Dianxia making a fool of himself— would it kill you to be supportive for once!?”

“Doesn’t it seem a little too detailed?”

“Huh? It’s a pretty good rendition, I guess?”

“No, it’s not just ‘pretty good.’ It’s almost spot on. The way he jumped down at the beginning, the look of the street, even the costume is almost identical to what he was actually wearing!”

Feng Xin studied the scene, trying to see what Mu Qing saw. He shook his head. “So they got lucky on a few details, I don’t see the big deal. Besides, how can you really be sure all that stuff is the same, it’s been 800 years-”

“It’s the same!” Mu Qing insisted. “I- It’s- Whatever.” He gave up, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. Whatever.” Feng Xin crossed his own arms and turned his attention back to the play, figuring it would be ending soon.

Indeed, the procession on stage was moving away, the Child still tucked safely in the Prince’s arms, clutching the front of his robes and staring up at him with a wide eye.

“What a cutie!” Shi Qingxuan cooed. “What was his name? Do you know?” she turned to Xie Lian, clasping her hands together around her fan and pulling it towards her like she was giving the child a hug.

Xie Lian hesitated, wracking his memory. Faintly it came back to him as he took in the color of the clothes the child on stage was wearing. “...Hong. I think he said his mother called him Hong Hong'er.”

The procession moved off stage, and the curtains closed. Most figured the play was over, and a wave of murmurs arose as anticipation for the next round of wine passing began, but then the narrator spoke again. “Soon after, the Crown Prince ascended to become the Flower Crowned Martial God, and the young boy he saved was his devoted believer.

The curtains rose again to show the inside of a shrine. A statue of the Flower Crowned Martial God stood with a simple altar in front of it. On the ground, asleep on a small patchwork blanket was the Child from the parade. A loud crack of thunder and the pitter-patter of rain was heard.

Ling Wen began glancing around the room, scanning the faces of the other gods.

“Something wrong?” Shi Wudu picked up on his unease.

“Does he look familiar to either of you?” Ling Wen asked his fellow tumors.

“The kid? No. Why?” Pei Ming responded, though it was somewhat muffled by the food he was still chewing. Shi Wudu smacked him, but also shook his head in response to the question. Ling Wen ignored Pei Ming’s poor manners and instead leaned over to show the other two tumors the scroll he had been looking at earlier.

“Dance of the Lost Gods?” Pei Ming read off the scroll.

“It’s the title of the play.” Ling Wen nodded towards the stage where the boy was beginning to wake.

“‘Gods’ plural… So you think the kid ascended?” Shi Wudu studied the onstage child closer.

“Maybe. I don’t think I have records of anyone like him in the Heavenly Court, though.” Shi Wudu hummed in consideration and resolved to pay more attention to the rest of the play.

Once awake, the Child immediately set to taking care of the temple. His blanket was rolled up and stored away, he swept the floor, and cleaned off the altar. Then he walked over to the door and stared out at the rainy exterior. He took in a breath and was about to step out into the rain when suddenly a figure dressed entirely in black ran across the stage and left a red umbrella leaning up against the altar.

Seeing it, Xie Lian couldn’t help but notice how similar it was to the one he had seen Hua Cheng carrying a few times now. What a strange coincidence!

Seeming to hear something, the Child whirled around and saw the umbrella. He glanced around, but nobody else was there. Cautiously, he walked over and picked it up. When nobody appeared to yell at him for doing so, he went back to the door, opened it, and walked out into the rain.

He was only gone from the stage for a few moments, before he returned, something cradled in his hands. He placed the umbrella back where he found it, and placed the object on the altar where it was revealed to be a small white flower.

The sight tugged at Xie Lian’s memory, and he couldn’t help the small gasp that left him. Shi Qingxuan gave him a look, but thankfully was too invested in the play to question him.

Satisfied with the placement of his offering, the Child stepped back, clasped his hands together in front of him, and bowed his head.

“Taizi Dianxia, this humble believer once again apologizes for his meager offering, but he is unable to offer anything else.”

“He isn’t kneeling,” Shi Wudu commented, disapproving.

“Ah, no, at the time I actually preferred my followers not to kneel.” Xie Lian laughed somewhat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hm.”

Onstage, the boy continued to pray.

“This one continues to thank Taizi Dianxia for the shelter his temple provides and hopes his service in cleaning can help to make up for darkening the space with his presence.”

Xie Lian frowns, suddenly remembering bringing Hong'er to the temple at the top of Mount Taicang and the way his Guoshi had proclaimed the boy to be a curse. ‘You’re not, it’s ok,’ he wanted to tell the child, but of course this happened a long time ago and his words wouldn’t be able to reach him. Still, his heart ached for the young boy who had clung so fiercely to him and cried that he wasn’t a curse, that he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Maybe that won’t be an issue much longer, though,” he adds quietly, more to himself than as a part of his prayer. He pauses for a long time, breathing shakily, before falling to his knees in front of the statue.

“Dianxia, I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a burden, but my life is constant suffering! Every day I wake up and wish to die! What should I live for in this world? What does it mean to live?” He looked up at the statue and reached out, begging for answers that it did not seem like he would receive as his desperate questions were met with silence.

Xie Lian suddenly realized why this scene seemed so familiar and groaned with embarrassment.

“Your highness?” Shi Qingxuan asked in alarm as he dropped his head and buried it in his hands.

A bell sounded from the stage, and a voice rang out. “If you do not know how to live on anymore, then live for me.” The figure of the Flower Crowned Martial God lowered down from the top of the stage to land sitting on the altar in front of the child.

The real Xie Lian groaned again and hid his face further in his hands while his counterpart continued speaking.

“I have no answer to the question you asked. However, if you do not know the meaning of your life, then make me that meaning, and use me as your reason to live.” The Child looked up at the God, eyes wide in amazement.

“Hey wait, I think I sort of remember this,” Feng Xin realized. “Was that really the same kid from the parade?”

Mu Qing shrugged, too lost digging through his own memories to pay much attention to the question.

“Dianxia…” the Child shook off his shock after a moment and bowed deeply. “I promise, I will! I am your most devoted follower, I swear it!”

“There’s no need for that,” the God said, reaching down to lift his follower up out of the bow. He reached next to him and grabbed a piece of fruit from the offering tray on the altar. “Take care of yourself, my most devoted follower.” The Child mutely nodded, accepting the food.

Another bell rang out, and the God stood. “I have to go now. Thank you for all the flowers! They’re beautiful, and I like them very much!” And with that, he ascended out of the scene, leaving the boy alone in the temple once again.

Xie Lian was still hiding his face in his hands. He was embarrassed enough repeating those words to Hua Cheng recently, so of course it was just his luck that now the entire Heavenly Court was hearing them.

“I think that was really nice of you to do for him, your highness. That poor kid…” Next to Shi Qingxuan, Ming Yi looked like he was about to say something, but he was cut off when Mu Qing made a realization.

“Bandages!” He drew several looks. “Both the kid from the parade and the kid in the temple had bandages over one of their eyes.”

“So it probably really was the same kid,” Feng Xin concluded.

Xie Lian cast his own memories back. It was blurry, and he couldn’t really summon either of the faces in question, but the mention of bandages did trigger something else in his memory.

“That soldier,” he realized, looking over to where his former attendants were sitting. “The one who was with me on Beizi Hill that I wanted to promote. I think his eye was bandaged as well.”

As if his words had activated something, the curtains rose on the next scene of the play, and the voice of the Narrator spoke again.

“The years passed. The young boy grew into a young man, but tensions with nearby Yong’an were growing as a drought swept the land, and eventually, the kingdom of Xianle fell into war.” Two armies met on stage and began to fight. Among the soldiers of Xianle, one soldier stood out. He was older, but dressed similarly enough with enough focus on his actions to make it clear he was the same boy as earlier, grown up and fighting in the army.

Two more figures emerged. Each dressed in white, the two faced down from either side of the conflict. The Narrator continued.

“On the side of Xianle was its Crown Prince. The laws of heaven forbid interference with mortal affairs, but the prince couldn’t bear to see his people suffering when he had the ability to help, so he defied the heavens and fought alongside his countrymen.”

Most of the room was staring at Xie Lian. He did his best to ignore the stares.

“I always thought it was very noble of you, your highness,” Pei Ming said, uncharacteristically serious. Xie Lian nodded in appreciation of his words, but didn’t reply.

“Yong’an, on the other hand, had the support of the White-Clothed Calamity. Bai Wuxiang.” The other figure turned his head to fully reveal to the audience the half-laughing, half-crying mask.

Xie Lian gripped his chopstick so hard it snapped. Most of the people around him didn’t notice, too invested in the story now that a calamity had appeared, but Ming Yi saw and leaned over.

“You alright, your highness?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” He mustered up something that probably wasn’t all that close to a smile, but Ming Yi didn’t push further and went back to his food. Across the room, both Feng Xin and Mu Qing noticed as well, but neither wanted to draw attention to their prince’s discomfort so they let the moment pass.

The God and the Calamity rushed at each other. Their blades crashed together, and they began an elegant dance across the stage.

“Their performance with the swords isn’t all that bad,” Xie Lian commented. He was finding if he focused on the technique of the actors, the emotions that gripped him as he watched his own past play out lessened.

After a few more blows, the God and the Calamity came to a standstill, swords locked together but slowly getting pushed towards the former as he clearly struggled to match the strength of a supreme.

“Poor little prince,” Bai Wuxiang said. “Tried so hard but he just couldn’t keep up.”

“Shut up!” The God ducked out of the position and the two exchanged a few more blows before Bai Wuxiang managed to pin him again.

“You know you can’t save them all. Especially not when you insist on wasting your spiritual power making rain in Yong’an.”

A wave of surprised mutters crossed the room. It seemed that particular detail hadn’t made its way around in the heavens.

“It’s not a waste,” the God insisted. “Those people are innocent, it’s my duty to help them if I’m able.”

Bai Wuxiang laughed uproariously at the declaration. “Oh, Xie Lian, you have so much to learn. It’s a good thing you have me here to teach you.”

There was a crash as Feng Xin shot to his feet, spilling his dinner in the process. “Fuck off! As if!” he shouted at the figure on stage. For once, Mu Qing seemed to be in agreement with him. He stared at the onstage Bai Wuxiang with just as much hatred, and didn’t yell at Feng Xin for shouting or even for nearly hitting him with the spilled food. A warm, fuzzy feeling made itself known in Xie Lian’s chest.

“Get lost!” The God on stage mustered enough strength to push Bai Wuxiang back. He sent another furious swipe at the Calamity, but he leapt back, out of the way, still laughing.

“You may have won this battle, your highness, but you will lose the war.” With that, he disappears offstage.

Sure enough, behind where the two had been having their fight, the battle between the two armies had continued, and although their side had suffered heavy losses, the remaining soldiers of Xianle were making a final push to drive away Yong’an. Fighting on the frontlines was the same soldier from earlier.

Shi Qingxuan sighed in relief to see him still alive, having grown attached to him earlier. Xie Lian also smiled at the sight of the boy, though he didn’t expect a happy ending for anyone involved in the war and internally apologized to him.

“Good work,” the God told the soldiers, hiding his exhaustion and frustration after the fight with Bai Wuxiang. “Let’s go back to the capital.”

The curtains closed to transition the scene.

“The crown prince was being pulled in multiple directions,” the Narrator spoke up. “Not only was he fighting alongside the soldiers of Xianle, he was also spending hours and significant power each day to create rain over the areas of Yong’an most affected by the drought.”

“How exactly were you able to do that, your highness?” Ming Yi asked curiously.

“The Rain Master was actually kind enough to lend me her spiritual device,” Xie Lian replied.

“Furthermore, the kingdom of Xianle was facing a strange plague, the likes of which had never been seen before,” the Narrator continued.

All three Xianle residents winced.

“So is it any wonder that things truly began to fall apart when the earthquake hit?”

The curtains opened up to show a precariously leaning building supported by a giant golden statue. Sitting at the base of the statue in a meditative pose was the Flower Crowned Martial God. Though the scene itself was relatively peaceful, the surroundings were in a state of disaster. Buildings were crumbling, the street where the beautiful parade from earlier had taken place was cracked, and the effect of smoke had been created and was drifting across the stage.

Creeping across the rubble towards the meditating god was the Soldier. He reached a spot close to the God but not too close, and slowly bent down and placed something on the ground near him. He turned to leave, and revealed to the viewers a small white flower. He took a few steps away, but was stopped by a voice calling out to him.

“Wait.” The Soldier stopped and turned around. “Are you the one who’s been leaving those flowers for the past few days?”

“I am, your highness.” The Soldier bowed.

“In that case, thank you. They’re very nice, but I have to ask… why?”

“Your highness has spent days here holding up the pagoda,” he nods towards the statue, “and he has given so much to protect the people of this kingdom, yet almost no one still worships.”

“Yes, well,” the God sighs and slumps back slightly against the leg of the statue, “maybe they’ve got the right idea. I’m not much of a god these days. You should probably just forget about me.”

“Never.” The declaration is quiet, but powerful as it rings across the banquet hall.

Something twinges in Xie Lian’s memory. A young man, swearing to never forget him right around the decline of his power. Did he have bandages on his face too? He couldn’t say for certain. As he shook himself out of his thoughts, he caught Mu Qing’s eye.

‘You remember this, don’t you.’ Xie Lian was surprised to hear Mu Qing’s voice ring out in his communication array, but he kept his expression neutral and nodded in response.

‘This entire show, it’s too accurate. Not everything, obviously, but there’s way too many details for it to be a coincidence.’

‘I agree,’ Xie Lian responded. ‘Watch closely, there may be some explanation in the way the show is performed or written. If not, we can talk to Ling Wen after and-’

“You were the soldier leading the charge on Beizi Hill recently, were you not?” the God asked after a moment of contemplating the young soldier.

Xie Lian abruptly cut off his message to Mu Qing as he remembered what actually happened on Beizi Hill and turned bright red. At least the show didn’t get that particular detail correct!

Mu Qing quietly snorted at Xie Lian’s reaction, getting a strange look from Feng Xin.

“I was,” the Soldier confirmed.

“You’re very good,” the God praised. The Soldier began to protest, but he was cut off. “I mean it! Though I wanted to ask, have you ever tried using a saber?”

The Soldier shook his head. “No, your highness.”

“You should! From what I saw, your style seems as though you’d be particularly suited to it.”

“If Dianxia says so then I’ll have to try it. Thank you for the suggestion.” He bows again.

“Why don’t you come sit?” The God gestures to a larger piece of rubble. “That is, if you’re not busy. I’ve been curious as to what’s been going on in the city while I’ve been here, there hasn’t been much time for updates.”

The Soldier hesitates before moving closer and sitting where he was indicated to.

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

“Hm,” the God considered. “First thing, how about your name?”

“Oh.” The Soldier fidgeted slightly. “I don’t have one,” he finally admitted.

“I thought you said his name was Hong’er?” Shi Qingxuan asked.

“I got the impression it was a nickname at the time,” Xie Lian mused. “I don’t think he ever told me an actual name, so I suppose it’s possible he didn’t have one. I don’t think his family was all that pleasant towards him.”

“Poor thing.”

“You don’t have a name?” the God asked.

“The only person who would’ve given me one is my mother, and she died not too long after I was born. The rest of my family couldn’t be bothered, so I guess that just makes me Wuming.”

Xie Lian choked.

“Your highness? Is everything alright?” Shi Qingxuan asked as she rushed over and began patting Xie Lian on the back as he coughed.

“I’m alright,” he croaked. Mu Qing’s voice entered his communication array again.

‘You recognized that too.’ Xie Lian bit his bottom lip, but eventually he answered.

‘Wuming was… someone I briefly knew a long time ago. I want to say it’s just a coincidence, but…’

There was a moment before Mu Qing replied again.

‘You… knew him?’

‘He’s gone. I don’t want to talk about it.’ Mu Qing backed off at Xie Lian’s brusk tone.

“Well then… Wuming, tell me about what’s been happening lately. How are evacuation efforts?”

Wuming’s posture straightened and he launched into a report. “Most of the most dangerous parts of the city have been cleared. The outskirts weren’t hit as hard by the earthquake, so camps have been set up, though overcrowding has become somewhat of an issue, especially with trying to keep the spread of Human Face Disease contained.”

“And how is the situation with the disease?”

“Not good.” Wuming looked down. “Cases are still appearing all over, and there’s still no idea of how to cure it. Some have resorted to burning it away or cutting off the infected areas, but it still spreads.”

“I see. What about Yong’an? Any changes?”

Wuming shook his head. “We’re still managing to hold them back for the most part, but with resources divided like this, and without, well…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but it’s clear what he was about to say. Without a god’s presence on the battlefield, Xianle was struggling.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sure you have something you should be doing, but if you wouldn’t mind… would you return sometime and keep me updated on what’s happening in the city?”

“Of course, Dianxia. It would be my honor.” Wuming stood and bowed one more time before turning to leave.

“To die in battle for you is my greatest honor.” The cursed shackles around Xie Lian’s neck and ankle seemed to tighten as the voice drifted across his mind.

‘It was my fault,’ he confessed to Mu Qing. Mu Qing sent him a cautious look across the room but otherwise didn’t comment on Xie Lian’s change of mind. ‘I only knew him a few days, but he sacrificed himself to save me from my own stupid decisions. I was horrible to him.’ A pause. ‘I was horrible to a lot of people back then.’

For a moment Mu Qing stayed silent. Then, hesitantly, he replied. ‘I think we were all kind of horrible to each other back then.’ It wasn’t an apology, not exactly, but something shifted between the two of them.

On stage, the Flower Crowned Martial God and Wuming were talking again.

“I found it just at the edge of the forest,” Wuming was explaining, showing off a bright purple flower before placing it down in a small pile that had collected at the God’s feet.

“It’s beautiful, Wuming. Thank you.” The God was sitting down, leaning back against the legs of the statue he was still powering. His voice sounded exhausted.

“Are- Is everything alright, Dianxia?”

Before he could reply, a voice called from out of sight and suddenly a crowd of people swarmed the God.

Gasps arose from the onlookers, and all three former Xianle residents shared a grim expression. The people who had arrived onstage all had prosthetics and makeup done and were covered in small faces.

“So this is Human Face Disease,” Shi Wudu commented mostly to himself.

“What are you all doing here? Did something happen at the camp?” Instead of replying to the God’s questions, the crowd continued to surround him, shoving Wuming out of the way as they did so. The pile of flowers ended up trampled beneath their feet.

“You really shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangero-”

“So! The crown prince wants to hide away his shame, huh?” someone in the crowd shouts, practically spitting out the title.

“What? No, but the disease is conta-”

“The disease didn’t show up until you broke heaven’s rules and showed up here!” someone else shouts. “It’s probably because of your actions! Don’t preach at us when it’s your fault we’re sick in the first place!”

Xie Lian winced. He quickly glanced over to Jun Wu, but the heavenly emperor wasn’t looking back, seemingly invested in the play. Several gods shot their own glances at the prince, but no one said anything, too invested in the moment.

“That’s not-” the God tried again.

“I can’t believe I used to worship him! All he brings is misfortune!”

“Stop it! Leave him alone!” Wuming attempted to push past the crowd to defend his prince, but he was stopped when an arm wrapped around him, covering his mouth. He struggled, but couldn’t escape the hold.

“What a loyal, foolish little soldier,” the owner of the arm chuckled. He stepped out of the crowd, revealing the half laughing half crying mask on his face. Wuming struggled harder, but still couldn’t pull away from the ghost. “Watch this.”

Bai Wuxiang pulled off his mask and blended back into the crowd.

“It’s his fault we’re all sick, right?” he called out. “So, maybe there’s a way to make it stop if we take away his power… or kill him.”

Silence. For a long moment, everything was still. Then, without warning, someone at the front of the group drove a sword into the God’s stomach. He gasped, and a trickle of blood leaked down the corner of his mouth.

Xie Lian’s breath caught. His hands clenched into fists. It hurts.

Someone else walked up. “You missed!” Another sword drove through the God’s chest. He cried out.

Xie Lian’s breathing grew even more rapid. It hurts.

The crowd swarmed. Soon the God was concealed from sight, though his cries of pain could still be heard over the angry shouts of the mob.

It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS!

On the edge of the crowd Bai Wuxiang had replaced his mask. He was still holding onto Wuming, despite the soldier’s frantic efforts to escape.

“All it took was a few words and they turned on him. So much for his beloved common people.”

Feng Xin was standing, hands clenched, wanting to attack or intervene or something to make it stop, but there was nothing he could do. His gaze was locked on the stage. Mu Qing’s, on the other hand, turned to Xie Lian.

Xie Lian pressed his hands to his face. His eyes squeezed shut. IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS-

“Dianxia?” A soft voice spoke in his ear. A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away, curling tighter into himself.

“Hey, Dianxia, Xie Lian, I need you to look at me, okay?” Hearing his name snapped Xie Lian out of it. Cautiously, he lowered his hands and turned his head up to meet the gaze of the person talking to him.

“Mu Qing?” he croaked.

“I’m here, Dianxia.” he soothed.

“We both are,” Feng Xin spoke up from slightly behind him. He had rushed over as soon as Mu Qing did.

Nearby, Shi Qingxuan was watching with her hands clasped over her mouth and tears in her eyes. Even Ming Yi looked sickened and was no longer eating.

“Do you think it’s real?” Pei Ming asked his two fellow tumors in a low voice.

“Based on the crown prince’s reaction it seems likely,” Ling Wen replied solemnly.

“Fuck,” Pei Ming whispered.

A loud rumbling arose from the stage. The statue that had been infused with the power of a god cracked and began to collapse, bringing the pagoda with it. Screams rang out from the crowd as large chunks of rubble fell down on top of them.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Bai Wuxiang told Wuming. He released him and vanished offstage.

“Dianxia!” Wuming screamed, immediately running into the fray and pushing his way through to where the body of the God was slumped on the ground. Delicately, he lifted him into his arms and made his escape from the chaos, leaving the mob of tormentors to be crushed below the falling rubble.

Xie Lian had calmed down somewhat. He was sitting on the ground with Mu Qing and Feng Xin to either side of him, leaning up against him like they used to do when he had nightmares as a child.

“...That was real too,” Mu Qing eventually said. It wasn’t a question, but Xie Lian nodded anyway.

“Close enough,” he confirmed. Feng Xin whirled on the two of them.

“You don’t have to talk about it! Why the fuck would you ask him that?”

“Because!” Mu Qing took a breath so he wasn’t yelling in Xie Lian’s ear. “Whoever wrote this play knows way too much about his highness’s past. I assume not that many people could have known about this?”

Feng Xin opened his mouth, probably to yell at Mu Qing for asking more, but Xie Lian shook his head. “It’s alright Feng Xin. The only ones would have been me, Bai Wuxiang, a- and Wuming.” His voice wavered as he said the last name. “In fact, the same list applies to who even knew about Wuming to begin with.”

“And…” Mu Qing hesitated. “You’re sure Wuming is gone? He could’ve become a ghost-”

“No,” Xie Lian stated firmly. “He was already a ghost when I met him. His spirit was dispersed. He’s- he’s gone.”

Before Mu Qing could question him more, the curtains rose on a new scene.

The God stirred awake on a bedroll in a familiar crown prince temple. A small white flower was sitting on the altar. He shifted, attempting to sit up. The nose drew the attention of Wuming, who was nearby sweeping the floor in the same way he had when he was younger.

“Dianxia! You’re awake!” Wuming dropped the broom and rushed over to the prince’s side, helping him to sit up.

“Where-” he broke off into coughs.

“We’re at a Flower Crowned Martial God temple just outside the city,” Wuming told him once the coughing subsided. “I don’t know if we can stay here long, though.”

“Why?”

Wuming hesitated to respond. “A lot of your temples- People are burning them down.”

“I see.” No other reaction came from the God. Wuming fidgeted with his hands. “What.”

“Dianxia, you’ve been unconscious for a few days, and, well, during that time…”

“Out with it.”

“Yong’an launched another attack, and Xianle fell.” Even that news didn’t draw much reaction from the God. He remained sat on the bedroll, staring blankly ahead.

“My parents?” he eventually asked.

“Dianxia…”

Finally the God looked over at Wuming, his expression hard. “Wuming. What happened to them?” he demanded.

“They were killed in the attack. I’m sorry, Dianxia.”

The God was silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke again. “Don’t call me that. I’m no prince. Not anymore.”

Xie Lian clutched on to Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s robes at the mention of his parents. Feng Xin gently placed his own hand on top of Xie Lian’s, drawing a surprised but grateful look from him. After a moment, Mu Qing did the same, though he steadfastly refused to look at the other two as he did so.

“I… don’t think Bai Wuxiang wrote this.” Xie Lian hesitantly whispered, confused.

“Didn’t you just say he’s the only one who could have known about some of this though?” Mu Qing asked.

“I thought so, but… He knew how my parents- how they died. He wouldn’t have left that out.” Mu Qing and Feng Xin desperately wanted to know, but they both refrained from asking.

A knock sounded at the temple door. After receiving a nod, Wuming grabbed his saber and walked over to answer.

Behind the door, to both of their surprise, was the Heavenly Emperor. Wordlessly, Wuming stepped aside and let him enter.

“Xianle Taizi Dianxia,” the Emperor greeted. The God didn’t stand to greet him, but he bowed from where he was still sitting on the bedroll. “Do you know why I’ve come?”

Still with his head bowed, the God replied, “I do.”

“Then, though it pains me to do so, Xianle you have broken the laws of heaven and are hereby stripped of your spiritual powers and banished. You may reascend on your own merits, but until then…” The Emperor wrapped his hands around the God’s wrist, and when he pulled away a black band sat there.

Xie Lian scratched at his neck where his cursed shackle sat.

“Hey, I’ve been wondering, why didn’t that get removed when you reascended?” Feng Xin asked.

“Ah, that’s…” Xie Lian trailed off awkwardly. Feng Xin and Mu Qing both looked at him, but he didn’t continue, and they didn’t press.

The Emperor didn’t stay much longer than necessary. Once he left, Wuming turned to the Former God.

“Dianxia? Are you alright?”

“I told you not to call me that,” he snapped.

“Sorry, di- sir.” Wuming lowered his head in apology.

“Just- go. I want to be alone.” Wuming hesitated, but eventually gave in to the Former God’s wishes.

“I’ll go find something to eat then. I’ll return soon.”

“Whatever.” The Former God watched warily as Wuming crossed the room and left. Once he was alone, he pulled his knees up to his chest and the sound of sobs rang throughout the empty shrine.

Shi Qingxuan glanced worriedly over to Xie Lian. He offered her a reassuring smile, though internally he was wincing over the way his onstage counterpart spoke to Wuming.

The scene transitioned to follow Wuming outside of the shrine. He was walking down the path through the woods, when a noise behind him caused him to stop and whirl around, hand on the hilt of his saber.

“Is someone there?” He called, scanning the trees. “Show yourself!”

Another noise sounded behind him, and he spun back around only to come face to face with a half-laughing, half-crying mask.

“You!” He drew his saber and swung aggressively at the figure, but Bai Wuxiang dodged and easily overpowered the young soldier, knocking the weapon to the ground.

“Hello again, foolish little soldier.”

“Let me go! I’ll kill you!” Wuming shouted and fought against the hold of the calamity, but was yet again unable to escape.

“Poor, deluded little soldier,” Bai Wuxiang tsked as though he were a parent scolding a rebellious child. “Why do you continue to follow him? He has nothing to offer you anymore, you know. It really would be best if you just forget him like everyone else.”

‘It really would have been. You stubborn ghost,’ Xie Lian thought sadly.

“Never! I’ll never leave him! I swear it on everything I am!” Wuming continued to struggle against Bai Wuxiang.

Bai Wuxiang sighed and shook his head. “So stubborn. It’s a shame, but you can’t say I didn’t give you a choice.” Then, before Wuming had time to react, he whipped his sword up and sliced the soldier’s throat.

Gasps rang out across the crowd.

“Your highness,” Shi Qingxuan whispered, on the verge of tears. Ming Yi patted her on the shoulder in something close to reassurance.

To his surprise, Xie Lian felt a telltale tightening in his throat and a slight sting behind his eyes. He had thought he was prepared, he had been bracing for the inevitable loss of Wuming since he appeared, but it was one thing to know it happened and another to watch it occur at the hands of the one who tormented him for so long.

It was my fault. Xie Lian’s voice from earlier rang through Mu Qing’s mind. Hesitantly, he reached out and began to rub small circles on the prince’s back, much like how he remembered seeing the queen comfort him when they were kids. He pretended not to see the grateful look Xie Lian gave him.

Wuming choked and fell to the ground, clutching at the wound on his throat.

“Di- an- xia-” he rasped. Growing nearby was a small white flower. In his last moments, Wuming reached out to it, leaving a bloody streak against the petals.

Bai Wuxiang watched the entire time with a cool detachment. Once there was no more life left in the young soldier, he turned to leave, only to be interrupted as a ball of green fire smacked into his back.

“How very interesting…” he chuckled, amused. “Not very strong, though.” He gripped the ghost fire in one hand, inspecting it. “I won’t disperse you quite yet, I think. I can’t have you returning to Xie Lian, however, so…” He pulled out a lantern, and trapped the ghost fire inside. Then, seemingly satisfied, he continued up the path towards the shrine, leaving the body of Wuming behind him.

The room was silent. Any amusement at watching the fall of the crown prince of Xianle had completely faded by this point, as instead of watching the prince make a fool of himself, they had been shown a country torn apart by war and a god whose believers turned on him. Though no one said it out loud, the thought in most people’s minds was ‘Was he really so wrong?’

The scene transitioned back to the inside of the shrine where the Former God was asleep on the bedroll. The lighting indicated several hours had passed. After a moment, he stirred awake, looking around the empty shrine.

“Wuming?”

No response. He tried again.

“Wuming? Are you back yet?”

“He’s not coming.” The now familiar voice of Bai Wuxiang spoke to the Former God from out of sight.

“You-!” the Former God leapt to his feet. “What do you want?! Show yourself!”

The figure of Bai Wuxiang appeared in the doorway to the shrine, slowly walking toward him. As soon as he was in reach, the Former God struck, but his attack was easily countered. Bai Wuxiang’s counterattack forced him to his knees. The Former God tensed as a hand landed on his head, but instead of attacking further, the viewers watched in shock as Bai Wuxiang pulled him into an embrace.

Every muscle in Xie Lian’s body froze at the memory of that touch. “No one-” he choked out after a moment. “No one was there except me and him. I’m certain of it.”

The implications were grim. More and more it seemed that whoever wrote this play had some kind of connection to the White-Clothed Calamity, despite his apparent demise 800 years ago at the hands of Jun Wu.

“So sad,” Bai Wuxiang murmured to the Former God. “Your highness, look at what they’ve done to you.” From the angle of the viewers, the half-laughing part of the mask was blocked by the head of the Former God, leaving only the half-crying side as if the Calamity was actually grieving.

The Former God shook in the arms of Bai Wuxiang. Attached to the belt of the Calamity, the spirit-trapping lantern pulsed with green light as the soul of Wuming reacted to being near his prince. The Former God, unfortunately, did not notice.

“There, there,” Bai Wuxiang soothed, rubbing circles on the Former God’s back. “I told you, didn’t I? You can’t save everyone, and they’ll only hate you more for trying. Come to my side.”

Something had been building in Feng Xin for quite some time now, and at this point he couldn’t contain it any longer. Turning to Xie Lian next to him, he bent into a deep bow.

“Dianxia… I’m so sorry I never fully believed you back then. I should have- I could have-”

“Feng Xin,” Xie Lian cut him off gently, pulling him up out of the bow, “I don’t blame you. I can’t say I never did, because I was very bitter for a while, but I can say now that I don’t blame you, either of you for anything.”

The sudden inclusion of Mu Qing startled him. Both he and Feng Xin stared blankly at Xie Lian, unsure how to respond. Luckily, they were saved from having to come up with anything as a flurry of movement on stage caught everyone’s attention.

The Former God pushed Bai Wuxiang away from him, getting back to his feet and backing up to create even more distance. “Who would ever go to your side, monster!”

This only provoked a harsh laugh from the Calamity. “Oh, but you will, your highness. After all, no one in this world will ever truly understand you and stay by your side forever- except me.”

“Get out of here! That’s not true!”

“Oh, but your highness, look around! Who is here except for me?” The question stopped the Former God in his tracks. He took a shaky breath and went to retort, but Bai Wuxiang continued, not allowing him to get a word in. “Your country is in shambles, and your believers are burning your temples as we speak. Your parents are dead, your attendants left long ago, and even your devoted little soldier ran off the moment you couldn’t be the god he believed in anymore!”

“No!” Even the Former God himself looked surprised at the force of the denial. “No, he’s- he’s coming back. He didn’t leave me!” The manic laughter of Bai Wuxiang only increased.

“Then where is he, hmm? It’s already been hours.”

“He’s coming back. He wouldn't leave- he promised-”

“Shh, shh, there, there.” Bai Wuxiang patted the Former God’s head as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. “If you truly believe so, then wait here. And when he doesn’t return, I’ll be waiting for you.” He leaves.

Once again, the Former God is alone in the dark, abandoned shrine.

Time passed. The lighting brightened and darkened in cycles, indicating several days passing with no change other than the Former God slumping further and further down against the altar. Once a week had gone by with no sign of Wuming, Bai Wuxiang returned.

His arrival was met with a loud “Fuck off!” from Shi Qingxuan that inspired a round of booing to arise from various other gods in the crowd, much to Xie Lian’s surprise. He hid a grin when Feng Xin joined in. Mu Qing rolled his eyes but was smiling as well.

“Well? Where is your precious believer?” Bai Wuxiang taunted.

“Fuck off,” the Former God slurred. Bai Wuxiang knelt down next to him.

“Your highness, look at you. Sitting here alone, drowning in self pity. Nothing is going to change if you stay hiding away here. Meanwhile, out there…” He gestured to the outside of the shrine, where suddenly joyous music could be heard.

“What is that.”

“It’s a parade. Come, see.” Bai Wuxiang guided the Former God outside. The music swelled as the scene transitioned. When Bai Wuxiang and the Former God stepped back onstage, they appeared in the crowd in a scene that looked very similar to the first scene of the show. A procession traveled down a city street to cheers.

“Do you see them?” Bai Wuxiang asked, gesturing to the crowd. “They’re celebrating the end of the war, and the creation of the new Imperial Palace of Yong’an, right in the center of the city where your own family’s imperial palace used to stand.”

“Wait a minute, wasn’t there something about that?” Feng Xin asked. “We all thought Yong’an was going to take over the Imperial City because it was more centralized and defensible but I thought they stuck with their original palace instead of building a new one.”

“No, they built a new one,” Xie Lian informed him awkwardly, “but it, uh, burned down.” Both of his former retainers turned to look at him incredulously. He shrugged.

“My palace?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was burnt when the armies of Yong’an breached the city. There were no survivors.”

The Former God went silent, staring out at the celebrating crowd. His hands clenched into fists.

Bai Wuxiang leaned down close to his ear. “You hate them, don’t you. See how they dance in the ashes of your home, your believers, your parents. Xie Lian, tell me, do you hate?”

“Yes,” the Former God whispered. “Yes.” Louder. “I hate them. I hate them. I hate them!”

“Then,” Bai Wuxiang asked, pulling something from his sleeve and handing it to the Former God, “what are you going to do about it?”

The Former God turned around, tying something to his face. When he turned back, the audience was stunned to see an identical half-laughing, half-crying mask fixed to his face.

“I’m going to the palace of Yong’an,” the Calamity declared.

“...well shit.” In just two words Feng Xin had managed to capture the general feeling in the room. Xie Lian remained staring ahead at the play, refusing to make eye contact with any of the several gods that had turned to stare incredulously at him.

A pair of ornate doors burst open as the Calamity entered a throne room. Across from him, the King of Yong’an sat on a throne.

“LANG YING,” the Calamity thundered.

Xie Lian found he was very glad Lang Qianqiu had chosen to skip this year’s banquet.

The King, Lang Ying, looked up at the call, seemingly unbothered by the entrance. “You’ve come? I’ve been searching for you.”

“You’ve been searching for me?” the Calamity asked, striding forward. “Why?” At the sound of his voice, however, Lang Ying looked confused.

“It’s you?” he asked after a moment. “Xie Lian?”

“It is I.” The Calamity did not pause in his approach.

“You see,” the Narrator spoke up, “this was not the first meeting between the former prince of Xianle and the current king of Yong’an. The two had faced off several times as opposing leaders in their countries’ armies, of course, but their actual first meeting occurred before the war ever began. Lang Ying had brought his ill son to the capital city, hoping to find medical help, only for his son to die on the road. Xie Lian discovered the man burying his child outside one of his temples, and upon hearing of his troubles during the drought, offered him a coral pearl to assist. A pearl that, if rumor is to be believed, still remains in the hands of Lang Ying’s descendants to this day.”

“Huh. I wonder if that’s true,” Xie Lian mused. “Though I suppose that would mean Qianqiu has it…”

“I see.” Lang Ying regarded the Calamity calmly. “Have you come to kill me?”

Instead of answering, the Calamity ran forward and grabbed the King, throwing him down to the ground and standing over him.

On either side of Xie Lian, Feng Xin and Mu Qing were giving him wary glances as they watched the scene play out. Neither one would have expected this from the prince they served as children, and yet nothing on his face indicated any shock at the portrayal of his actions on stage. Instead, they only saw resignation and regret.

“Huh,” Ming Yi muttered mostly to himself, “I didn’t think he had it in him.” Shi Qingxuan glanced over to him momentarily, because he almost sounded… impressed. She didn’t have long to ponder this, however, as the play quickly grabbed her attention again.

The wail of a child suddenly rang out in the large hall.

“What’s that sound?” the Calamity demanded.

“It’s my son.”

“Your son is dead.” The wail sounded again. “What-!” Tracking the sound, the Calamity reached forward and yanked at the seam of Lang Ying’s robes, pulling them apart to reveal two faces growing out of his chest!

“Fuck!” Feng Xin exclaimed, shocked and disgusted.

“You have Human Face Disease?!” The Calamity recoiled from the sight.

“No!” Lang Ying insisted. “It’s my wife and son! Where’s Bai Wuxiang? He said they would return if I did this, but it’s been so long now. What’s going on? Tell him to come find me, quick!”

“What kind of joke is this?” the Calamity asked angrily, grabbing the King of Yong’an and shaking him. He didn’t receive an answer, however. Instead, Lang Ying’s head rolled back limp in the Calamity’s grip. The wail rose again. Disgusted, the Calamity dropped him, and he immediately slumped to the ground, dead.

“...Dead?” The Calamity stared blankly down at the body. “How is he just… dead?”

“How disappointing,” a voice spoke from out of sight. “All that and in the end he just gets to die?” Bai Wuxiang appeared on stage, standing behind the Calamity. “Though…” he moved closer, hovering over the Calamity’s shoulder, “would your need for revenge really have been satisfied by killing him, hmm? After all, he’s just one person, and in the end they all turned on you. Those common people you swore you would save didn’t hesitate to turn their swords on you the moment things went wrong, remember? Don’t you hate them?”

“Yes,” the Calamity said, almost as if he were in a trance.

“Then I think you know where to go next.”

“Yes. I do.” The Calamity turned to leave, grabbing a torch off the wall and throwing it down as he did. The lighting flared a red orange.

“That night the palace of Yong’an burnt to the ground, much as the palace of Xianle had only a few weeks earlier,” the Narrator informed the audience.

“...it burned down,” Mu Qing repeated Xie Lian’s earlier words.

“Haha, well… it did?” Xie Lian rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Xie Lian gathered the resentful spirits of fallen Xianle soldiers and traveled to Lang-Er Bay, one of the places in Yong’an that had been hit the hardest by the drought. It was there he was planning to release the spirits and unleash their resentment on the people of Yong’an.”

Once again, many heads turned to stare incredulously at Xie Lian when they heard the narrator’s words. Once again, he ignored them, and was very grateful Lang Qianqiu was not present.

“However, instead of releasing the spirits when he arrived, Xie Lian did something Bai Wuxiang had not been expecting.”

Nor were the onlookers expecting to see the Calamity remove his mask and plunge his sword into his own stomach, falling down onto the street. The Narrator continued.

“Even after losing everything, His Highness never truly gave up his faith in people. He decided to give them one last chance. In three days he would release the spirits, but if even one person saw his suffering and chose to help, he would give up his revenge. Just one person would be enough.”

Yet they watched as he lay there, obviously wounded, and the crowds of villagers ignored or ran from him.

“He’s the Misfortune God, stay away,” they whispered, pulling family members and friends away if they even thought about approaching. The light rose and fell until the third day arrived.

It was raining. The Calamity remained lying in the street. Bai Wuxiang entered and sat next to him.

“No one is coming, your highness. I thought you had realized this by now.” The lantern at his waist flashed angrily, unnoticed by the two. When no response came, Bai Wuxiang continued. “If you don’t release those souls by sunset they will curse you instead, you know.” The Calamity did not move. “Let me help you, since they won’t.” Bai Wuxiang yanked the sword free from his chest, but still the Calamity did not move. “Just as well, silly child. It makes no difference whether you wish to lay around here for a few more hours or not.” Saying that, he got up and left the Calamity to his own devices.

After a moment, the splashing sounds of someone approaching were heard. A man rushed down the street through the rain, and in his hurry didn’t see the Calamity lying in the road and tripped over him. Rice spilled out over the road as he tumbled to the ground.

“Hey! What the hell are you lying in the road for? Do you know how long I worked to earn all this rice? Are you asking for death?” Then he saw the empty look in the Calamity’s eyes, and at once knew the answer was yes. “Shit! Are you nuts?! I only cursed at you a little, it’s not worth all that!” For the first time, the Calamity reacted, sitting up and looking incredulously at him.

“What are you looking at me like that for? Quit that!” The man continued. “Are you a man or not? What are you doing just laying around here waiting for someone else to fix it for you?” He and the Calamity stared at each other for a moment, one exasperated, the other confused. Finally, the man sighed.

“Alright, look.” He removed his own bamboo hat and placed it on the Calamity’s head, blocking the rain from hitting his face. “I was a little harsh, I know. But really, that’s no reason to get all worked up and end it like that! Get up!”

“Oh!” Shi Qingxuan realized. “Your hat! So that’s where it came from?”

“Mn,” Xie Lian agreed, watching the scene fondly.

“You kept it all these years?” Mu Qing asked, inspecting the worn hat.

“It’s a good reminder,” Xie Lian said.

“Reminder of what?” Ming Yi spoke up, surprising even himself. Xie Lian turned to make eye contact with him, and somehow it felt as if he saw through to his soul when he answered.

“A reminder that it’s never hopeless, and that even one small kindness can change someone’s life.”

The man helped Xie Lian to his feet before heading on his way, needing to get home. Xie Lian watched him go, then turned to leave as well, but he was stopped by a white clothed figure in his way.

“What are you doing?” When Xie Lian didn’t answer, he stepped forward and spoke in a dark tone. “The sun is about to set. Take up your sword. You know what will happen if you don’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes!” The cheer involuntarily left Shi Qingxuan’s mouth, and she blushed as several people turned to look at her after the outburst.

“What did you say?” Bai Wuxiang loomed over Xie Lian, but he didn’t back down.

“You didn’t hear me? Well, then, I’ll say it again. Fuck! You!” WIth that he lashed out, catching Bai Wuxiang off guard and throwing him down to the ground. The lantern that had been hanging from his belt fell off and landed on the ground nearby, unnoticed by the two.

Bai Wuxiang climbed back to his feet, dodging as Xie Lian grabbed his sword and rushed to attack him again. “Are you mad?! Have you forgotten?! How your family is gone, how your people turned on you, how your friends and believers abandoned you?! All because of that one insignificant man you just forgot?!”

“I didn’t forget, and I’m not mad!” Xie Lian didn’t let up on his attacks despite Bai Wuxiang continuing to dodge and shout accusations at him. “I just came back around and realized that it’s none of your shitty business!”

Bai Wuxiang was enraged. “Useless trash! I put in all this effort to teach you, but it seems you still haven’t learned your lesson!” Then the ghost stopped merely dodging and started to fight back. Despite being caught off guard earlier, he was still a devastation level ghost and though Xie Lian had incredible martial skills, his spiritual power was sealed. It didn’t take long for Bai Wuxiang to gain the upper hand. He struck out, a blow that would seriously injure Xie Lian. Before it could connect, however, a loud cry resonated across the street.

“NO!”

A bright green flash emanated from the place where the lantern had been dropped. When it cleared, a figure was revealed standing between Xie Lian and Bai Wuxiang, blocking the strike from connecting with the saber in his hands.

“Wuming!” Shi Qingxuan gasped excitedly, tugging on Ming Yi’s sleeve and pointing.

“I can see that,” the Earth Master deadpanned.

“Wuming, no, don’t…” Xie Lian whispered, watching sadly. He knew how this ended for the ghost, and he wasn’t looking forward to seeing it play out.

“W-Wuming?” Xie Lian gasped.

“Dianxia! I’m so, so sorry! Please believe me, I would never have left you willingly, I promise!”

“Wuming… You’re a ghost,” Xie Lian noticed sadly.

“How clever of you to notice,” Bai Wuxiang cut in, dripping sarcasm. He swung at the pair, and they quickly leapt back, the fight beginning again. This time, however, it was two against one. The addition of Wuming to the fight swung the odds closer to even, though Bai Wuxiang still had the power of a supreme and was an incredibly difficult opponent.

The energy in the room skyrocketed as the tides began to turn and the fight grew more intense. Shouts and cries of excitement or worry rang out as the figures on stage clashed. Some martial gods even shouted out praise or advice as if the combatants could hear them. Ling Wen rolled his eyes as Pei Ming joined in, but even he was relieved by the more upbeat mood after everything they had watched His Highness suffer through.

It soon became clear, however, that Xie Lian and Wuming could not keep up with Bai Wuxiang forever. If they didn’t take him down quickly, his seemingly limitless energy would overwhelm their limited abilities. Seeing this, Wuming threw himself out in an intentionally open position. Taking the opportunity, Bai Wuxiang struck, gravely wounding the ghost, but also leaving himself open to an attack from Xie Lian who didn’t hesitate to take the opportunity. His sword plunged through the chest of the supreme, pinning him down to the ground where he remained.

Cheers rang throughout the room. Heaps of praise were thrown in Xie Lian’s direction, but he heard none of it. All his focus was trained on the dark-clothed figure on stage.

Similarly, the Xie Lian in the play paid no attention to the supreme beyond confirming that he wasn’t about to get back up and continue attacking. Instead, he ran to Wuming’s side, pulling him into his arms.

“Wuming! Why would you do that?!” he cried, inspecting the ghost’s wound.

“I’m alright,” Wuming was quick to reassure. “Dianxia needed the opening. Besides, it’s not like getting stabbed can exactly kill me, considering…”

“Oh. Right…” Xie Lian inspected the newly formed body of the ghost. “I’m sorry you aren’t able to Rest In Peace. Is there anything I can do?”

“No!” Wuming shouted. Xie Lian blinked, taken aback. “Apologies for shouting, Dianxia, but I don’t want to Rest In Peace. I pray to never Rest In Peace!”

Xie Lian can’t help the tear that slides down his cheek. I’m so sorry, Wuming.

“You don’t want to Rest In Peace?” Xie Lian was surprised. “Why not?”

Despite his conviction, Wuming seemed to grow shy. Still, he did not refuse to answer his god.

“How can I Rest In Peace when… when my beloved remains in this world? I could never leave them.” Wuming met Xie Lian’s eyes for a second but quickly looked away, blushing.

“Your… beloved?” Xie Lian asked hesitantly. Wuming blushed deeper and turned his head farther away. “You don’t mean… me?!”

“What?” Xie Lian blinked in shock and confusion. He couldn’t help the outburst. It just didn’t make sense! Wuming’s beloved couldn’t have been him… could it? Still, he remembered the ghost fire that had become Wuming declaring he would remain in this world to protect his beloved, swearing to never let them know they were the reason he stayed. He remembered a stubborn unnamed soldier insisting he remain by his side, rushing in to aleve even the smallest discomfort, continuing to use his title respectfully despite his insistence otherwise.

He remembered a small white flower placed reverently on an altar.

“Oh,” Xie Lian realized. “Oh you foolish ghost. Why-?” Something touched his hand. He looked down to see Mu Qing grabbing his hand and squeezing it comfortingly. He squeezed back, silently thanking him.

Wuming nodded, finally summoning the courage to make eye contact. “Ever since this one was falling and Your Highness caught him,” he admitted.

“It’s you!” Xie Lian realized. Then, more softly, tenderly, “You stayed.”

“I’ll always stay by your side, Dianxia,” Wuming swore.

Xie Lian didn’t realize he was crying until the water dripped from his face to the floor. Mu Qing squeezed his hand tighter. Feng Xin rubbed comforting circles on his back.

“You know I think I might have loved him back if I had the chance,” he confessed to his two earliest friends. Helplessly, Feng Xin and Mu Qing made eye contact, wishing there was something more they could do to offer comfort to the prince.

“Wuming,” Xie Lian breathed, and then they were kissing. It didn’t last long, however, as the pair was cut off by a rattling laugh. Breaking away from each other, they turned to see Bai Wuxiang, still impaled on the sword, wheezing.

“Shut the fuck up!” Wuming shouted, but he was ignored.

“Your Highness, did you so quickly forget what I told you? You’ve awakened all this resentment, it needs to go somewhere.” The sky darkened. A cloud of black smoke began to drift across the area. “Either it is released… or it is absorbed.” An ominous clap of thunder punctuated Bai Wuxiang’s threat. As the black smoke grew thicker, his laughter grew louder and stronger, and he rose to his feet, pulling the sword from his chest and throwing it to the ground.

“So? What will you do, Xie Lian?” he taunted. “After all, you can’t stop both the curse and me.” The commotion had drawn a crowd of onlookers. Bai Wuxiang launched himself at one of them, forcing Xie Lian to intervene and block the attack to protect the mortal.

The two exchanged blows for a moment, when another loud crash accompanied by a blinding light startled them. The light cleared to reveal none other than the Heavenly Emperor himself!

“He may not be able to, but what about me?” the Emperor asked, before charging in to attack the ghost.

Many gods cheered loudly at the appearance of their emperor. Jun Wu smiled politely and nodded, accepting the praise.

The fight was fierce, but quickly faded into the background as Xie Lian ran over to where Bai Wuxiang had been lying earlier.

“The sword! Where did-?!” He looked around frantically, only to stop dead seeing it in the hands of Wuming. “Good! You have it! Quick, give it to me!”

Wuming didn’t move. “The resentment is either released or absorbed,” he quoted.

Xie Lian froze. “Wuming?”

“Dianxia is intending to absorb it himself then.”

“Wuming,” Xie Lian took a step forward, “give me the sword.”

“No!” Shi Qingxuan realized with a gasp. Xie Lian squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into Feng Xin’s shoulder. Mu Qing’s hand was trapped in a death grip.

“I’m sorry, Dianxia.” Wuming stepped back. “I can’t.” He turned and thrust the blade into the sky, calling out to the clouds of circling resentment. “COME TO ME!”

“Wuming, put the sword down, now!” Xie Lian cried out, fighting against the sudden strong winds to reach the ghost. “You’ll be destroyed!”

Wuming turned back to face his savior, his prince, his god, his beloved. He smiled. “It is an honor to die serving You.”

A choked noise left Xie Lian. Feng Xin’s shoulder grew noticeably wetter, though he didn’t comment on it.

The black clouds swarmed Wuming until he was completely obscured. When they cleared away, he was gone.

“WUMING!” Letting out a grieved, raging scream, Xie Lian leapt forward, picking up the sword where it had been dropped by the ghost and charging in to join the fight against Bai Wuxiang. To the dismay of many watching, however, focus did not remain on the fight for long, instead fading to black as the Heavenly Emperor and Xie Lian fought together against the world’s first Devastation.

“Your Highness… that’s so sad!” Shi Qingxuan felt tears wetting her face and reached out to Ming Yi for something to hold onto for comfort. Uncharacteristically, he remained still and allowed her to hug his arm as much as she wanted.

“Your Highness, that… wasn’t your fault. You have to know that, right?” Mu Qing asked. Xie Lian pulled away from Feng Xin, shaking his head. His eyes were rimmed slightly red and when he spoke his voice was a little choked, the only signs he had recently been crying.

“How could it not be?” he asked with a regretful smile.

“His choices were his own,” Mu Qing tried, but Xie Lian cut him off.

“Mu Qing, I don’t really want to argue about this now.”

“But-” He was cut off yet again, however, as the lights rose on the stage once again.

The scene depicted a young man dressed in red sitting in a circle with a group of children, animatedly telling them a story. When he speaks, it is with the voice of the Narrator.

“-and so Xie Lian joined the fight and together, he and the Heavenly Emperor took down the fearsome Bai Wuxiang!” He mimed a fight to cheering from his gathered crowd. “When it was over, there was a bright light and the ground shook, and for the second time, Xie Lian ascended to heaven. But! In his grief and rage at the loss of his beloved, he attacked the Heavenly Emperor and was banished again in less than an incense time.”

Several heads turned between Xie Lian and Jun Wu. Instead of the anger or disappointment most expected at the reminder, Jun Wu seemed amused.

“We should spar again sometime, Xianle. It’s been some time since I’ve faced an opponent who gave me as much trouble as you did during that fight.”

Xie Lian bowed his head. “Xianle would be honored, though he worries his skills may not live up to my lord’s expectations.”

“I wonder. You’ve always managed to surprise me, Xianle.”

“What the prince didn’t know,” the Narrator continued, “is that Wuming survived.”

“Huh?” Shi Qingxuan gasped. “Is that even possible?”

“Technically it would be as long as his ashes were preserved,” Ling Wen said. “Though, the amount of willpower it would take… Well, there’s a reason no one’s ever heard of it happening before.”

Xie Lian gripped Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s hands so hard they heard their bones creak.

“After all, he had a promise to keep. He swore to never leave his god’s side. There was just one problem: once he finally managed to put himself back together, it had been several years, and he had no idea where his god was!”

“Oh no!” One of the kids shouted.

“Indeed. He wanted to rush off to look for him immediately, but he was still so weak. Instead, he decided it was pointless to go looking for his god if he wasn’t going to be able to protect him when he found him, so he focused on cultivating his own power. It took several years, but by the time he was done he was one of the most powerful ghosts in the world!”

“The most powerful ghosts… wait a minute…” Mu Qing pondered. He wasn’t the only one. The gods took in the words, and the red robes worn by the one speaking them, and found it wasn’t very difficult to connect the dots.

“Fuck,” Feng Xin whispered. “It can’t be…”

“Then he went and found his god, right?” one of the kids asked. The Narrator sighed and shook his head.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. Though not for lack of trying. They say there’s nowhere Wuming hasn’t searched. In fact, if the rumors are true, he even ascended to heaven himself, only to jump down when he learned Xie Lian wasn’t there!”

“Some stories even say he ascended and became a god only to jump back down to become a ghost king,” Xie Lian had been told about Hua Cheng.

“No matter where he searched, it seemed he was always one step behind.”

“That kid! You said he always had bandages over one eye, yeah?” Feng Xin asked frantically.

“His right eye was always covered,” Mu Qing confirmed robotically, staring incredulously at the stage.

“Isn’t Hua Cheng supposed to have carved one of his eyes out or something?”

“He’s blind in one eye,” San Lang had said, pointing to his right eye. “This one.”

“It’s like they’re dancing, but Xie Lian is always one step ahead,” the Narrator said, an edge of frustration entering his voice.

“That’s so sad!” a kid shouted.

“It is, but don’t worry. Wuming won’t give up. It’s like this: if Xie Lian is the sun, then Wuming is the moon, chasing after it, shining only through its light. If Xie Lian is the sword, then Wuming is the sheath, unknowing of the horrors he currently endures, but willing still to hold him at the end of the day. If Xie Lian is a flower, then Wuming is the butterfly that seeks it, allowing it to sustain its life and granting it future prospects in return.”

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower evokes quite the imagery. Do you know where it came from?”

“He saw a flower was getting battered by the bloody rain, so he tilted his umbrella and shielded it.” An umbrella that even Xie Lian had noticed bore a striking resemblance to the one he gave Hong-er in his shrine. A thought occurred to him then, and he turned to Mu Qing.

“The earring I lost after the Shangyuan parade, do you remember what it looked like?”

“Huh?” The question was enough to snap Mu Qing out of the trance he was in. “It- it was a red coral pearl. Why?” But Xie Lian was already deep in thought again. The bead in Hua Cheng’s hair, his umbrella, his eye, his use of a scimitar, the list went on! Everything seemed to point to Hua Cheng and the boy from the play who was Hong-er and the young soldier and Wuming being one and the same. Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the realization.

“Will he ever find him?” a child asked, wide eyed.

“One day,” the Narrator said wistfully. “Until then, all he can do is ensure his god isn’t forgotten.”

“How?”

“By telling his story, of course, and ensuring that it’s passed on to others that will share it too. Can I count on you all to help?”

“Yeah!” the group shouted. The Narrator laughed and stood up.

“Good! Then, I release you all to go and spread the word!” The group of kids excitedly ran off in various directions, until only one remained on stage with the Narrator.

“Mister?” the kid asked.

“Hm?”

“I hope you find him soon.” A moment passed. Then, Wuming smiled.

“Me too.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small object. “If you hear anything that might help, just tell the butterfly, ok?” He placed the small, silvery butterfly token into the child’s hands and turned to leave. The curtains closed for the final time on the sight of that silvery butterfly, a symbol associated for so long with the death of 33 gods, cradled in the hands of a hopeful child.

Stunned silence filled the room as everyone tried to process the information contained in the last few minutes of the play.

Xie Lian’s mind was racing. Every interaction with Hong’er, with Wuming, with Hua Cheng was playing on repeat in his brain. At the end of it, however, there was only one thought in his mind, echoing with such force that he couldn’t help but speak it out loud.

“I need to talk to San Lang.”