Chapter Text
It was an unexpected turn of good luck which led to their little group finding the abandoned house in the desert. So lucky, Xie Lian mused, that it must not have been his own fortune at play, but one of his companions’. He knew from past experience that had it been him alone, he could spend entire days or weeks wandering in search of a suitable enough place to take shelter.
And wasn’t that a novelty, to travel with company again! The last time he’d had a friend on the road – well, he wasn’t sure when that had been, actually. The Reverend, maybe, though the demon had only lasted a few months before growing depressed at its inability to feed from Xie Lian and leaving in search of better prey. He had missed it – it was nice to have someone to talk to – but couldn't really blame it for taking off in the end.
Xie Lian’s present company was, of course, better than that of the jinx monster by several degrees of magnitude, and he was feeling quite optimistic about this whole outing.
As San Lang ran ahead to investigate, Xie Lian’s two reluctant assistants immediately turned to him and started voicing their concerns.
“Your Highness, you do realize that something’s not right with that guy? No mortal would behave like that! I’ve never seen anyone more suspicious,” said a frowning Nan Feng.
“Your Highness, let me test him,“ the Middle Court Official insisted. For once, it seemed like he and Fu Yao were in agreement, a truly momentous feat from what he’d observed. To think that even after centuries, the two generals of the south were still at each other’s throats…
Xie Lian appreciated their concern, he really did. But he thought it was a bit unnecessary. After all, San Lang had already had plenty of opportunities to harm him, both on the road and during the time they’d spent together in the dilapidated shack Xie Lian had decided to call his Puqi Shrine.
That night after their chance meeting on the ox cart, Xie Lian slept surprisingly soundly, and woke up better rested than he could remember being in a long time. In the morning, San Lang had even helped with household chores, not to mention making a painting for his altar.
He’d never sensed even a hint of malicious intent from him. If the youth truly meant any harm, why wait this long to make a move?
Although …
I wonder who sent that puppet to my shrine, Xie Lian thought with a glance in the direction his red-robed friend had run to. Could it be –
But he dismissed this line of thought again. Somehow, San Lang didn’t strike him as a roundabout sort of person, even though he’d only known him for a few days.
Chances were, San Lang really was just a teenaged boy, if an odd one.
“Just because he’s a little strange, it doesn’t mean that he’s dangerous,” Xie Lian said with a smile, “after all, I’m a bit strange myself. Now would you say that I’m dangerous?”
His two assistants said nothing in response; he chose to interpret this as agreement, and went on with his chastisement. “As for testing him, alright, but remember to be gentle,” he cautioned.
“He’s just a mortal, he isn’t as durable as we are. Please don’t just start throwing spiritual power around again blindly,” he said, thinking of the damages they’d done to his poor shrine upon meeting San Lang.
“He wants something from you, that’s why he’s gotten so close. There’s got to be some reason he’s attached himself to you like a leech,” Fu Yao warned him this time with a disapproving expression.
Well, it’s funny you should say that, Xie Lian thought, but didn’t say out loud out of politeness.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t have anything that could be taken advantage of,” Xie Lian instead told them bluntly, changing tactics. “What could San Lang possibly be after? My hat? My collection of scraps?”
“Besides,” he went on, “I’ve tested him already. Palm lines, hair, even ghost-repelling talismans, they all turned up nothing.”
The young man’s form was flawless. He also didn’t seem put out by Xie Lian’s probing tests, playing along to the point of still wearing the crooked ponytail he’d given him while inspecting his hair.
Still, his companions didn’t seem convinced. Their dubious faces said that while he couldn’t think of anything the young man could possibly want, they had a few ideas themselves.
“That doesn’t mean he’s human, there’s one other option. None of those tests would work on a Calamity level ghost.” Fu Yao warned darkly.
This amused the Thrice-Ascended Immortal greatly, and he laughed even as he turned away from them to start his trek down the sand dune they stood on.
“A Ghost King, collecting scraps with me? Don’t you think such an esteemed person would have something better to do with their time?”
Heart light with good humor, the god made his way towards the abandoned house downhill, white robes and veil swaying in the gentle breeze.
“Any left?” asked San Lang, though he’d just had a drink himself, voice saturated with gentle mischief. He was sitting casually in his rickety wooden chair, head propped up by a red-sleeved hand and eyes fixed intently upon Xie Lian.
Xie Lian smiled as he drank his fill, hopelessly endeared. Really, this young man! Already asking for more…
Ah, but our journey through the desert has been hard on him.
Despite stubbornly refusing to borrow his hat earlier, the youth really did seem to have a low tolerance for the harsh sunlight and persistent heat. Xie Lian studiously danced around any thoughts of just why that might be, and made to pass over his waterskin again.
Before he could, however, Fu Yao interrupted them with a cry. ”Wait! Take mine!”
The Middle Court official slammed a bottle down in front of San Lang. As soon as Xie Lian saw the ornate designs decorating it, he blinked. That bottle is filled with True Shape Serum, he thought.
“Help yourself,” Fu Yao instructed.
San Lang smiled at him falsely. “I’m fine sharing with Xie Lian.”
“He’s already low on water.” Fu Yao laughed smugly.
“I’ll have some after you two, then.”
“You’re a guest, you go first!”
“I couldn’t, but thank you, you’re too kind!”
“Got something to hide?”
On and on they went, passing the porcelain bottle back and forth, each time more forcefully than the last until Xie Lian was sure the poor thing would break.
“You’re so adamant! Let me guess, it’s poisoned?” San Lang finally accused.
“Ask him then, he’ll tell you if it’s poisoned,” Nan Feng cut into their bickering to point at Xie Lian. Surprisingly, San Lang actually turned to look at him expectantly.
“Ah, well, it isn't poisoned exactly, but –” Xie Lian hedged, put on the spot and growing uncomfortable.
San Lang smiled at him fondly. “Alright. If gege says it’s safe, I trust him,” he declared before uncapping the bottle and raising it to his mouth to take a deep gulp.
The two deputy officials were stunned into silence, tensely observing to see the result. Though Nan Feng had told the youth to confirm with Xie Lian if the drink was safe, he obviously hadn’t expected him to actually follow through, and the young man going along with his scheme just like that made him nervous.
Even Xie Lian couldn’t help but stare in shock at this show of faith. He could also admit to being a little curious to see what would happen next.
The answer, it appeared, was nothing.
San Lang finished drinking the whole bottle in one go, before setting it back down on the table with a playful flourish.
“Tastes bad,” he shrugged irreverently.
Fu Yao took a while to recover from his surprise at the potion’s failure. “It’s water, doesn’t it all taste the same?”
“Of course it’s different. This one tastes much better.” San Lang replied smugly and reached for the waterskin they’d shared before, ignoring all of their stares.
It was a truly impressive feat. For the potion to stand even the slightest chance of revealing a Calamity’s true form, it had to have been strong stuff indeed. To be so completely unaffected by it was staggering – Xie Lian thought even gods of the Upper Court would have some trouble reigning in their divine aura after drinking such a large dose of True Shape Serum.
He couldn’t help but smile. After such a thorough rebuffal, Xie Lian thought that would be the end of it. His red-robed friend obviously didn’t care about the challenges being thrown his way, which made these power plays useless. Surely, the others would realize this too.
His thoughts proved too optimistic, as not a moment later, Nan Feng slammed a sword down on the table with a heavy clang.
“We might run into danger on our journey. This is my gift for our little friend, for self-defense.” Nan Feng stated this so darkly that it would sound supremely unconvincing to just about anyone’s ears. He was also glowering at San Lang in such a way that even a deaf person would recognize the threat.
The sword’s sheath looked truly ancient in design, and bore the wear and tear of ages – this was no ordinary weapon. Xie Lian suppressed a surprised gasp as he recognized Hongjing, the sacred Red Mirror, which would reveal a ghost’s true form when drawn.
Xie Lian put his hand over his forehead and turned away from the sight. He really was beginning to regret giving those two his permission to test San Lang with their own methods. Where did Nan Feng even get that? As far as he knew, Hongjing had been lost among mortals centuries ago.
Xie Lian’s eyes found his young friend to see his reaction to this new provocation, only to widen in alarm.
San Lang looked unwell.
The youth was staring into space in an unfocused way, face pale. His dark eyes lacked their usual spark. Instead, they held the fevered, faraway glint of someone who was moments away from fainting.
“San Lang?” Xie Lian cried out in concern.
The youth pushed his chair away from the table with a jarring screech of wood against stone.
“I’m alright, gege,” San Lang said listlessly, setting down his borrowed waterskin with all the care of someone who was drunk, but concentrating very hard to make their movement precise.
As he stood up and started to back away, he couldn't seem to meet Xie Lian’s gaze.
The Scrap Immortal shot to his feet, barely aware of the two deputy gods doing the same across the table.
“San Lang! What’s going on?” he hovered uselessly.
The youth gave no answer. He kept walking and then stumbling backwards until his back hit the outer wall of the inn, and he stayed there leaning against it. Already naturally fair-skinned, San Lang had turned a deathly pale color, and when he leaned down to cough into his sleeve, the white underlayer came away speckled with spots of blood.
“Did you put poison in the bottle?” Xie Lian asked his assistants in horror.
“I did not!” Fu Yao defended himself indignantly.
Xie Lian swiftly picked up the potion bottle the deputies had used and brought it to his nose to smell it. Nothing stood out about the scent – but he knew there were some poisons which left little to no trace –
“We told you there was something off about him!” Nan Feng yelled. ”It’s the True Shape Serum taking effect!”
Xie Lian ignored the deputies’ shouts and tried to think quickly. He’d never witnessed the potion’s use during his eight hundred years of travels in the mortal realm, but from what he remembered of his cultivation studies, it was not supposed to have anything remotely close to this effect on the user.
“San Lang, tell me what’s happening to you,” he called out again, but got no answer. It was distressing to see in someone who was usually so eloquent. His young friend was holding his face in his hands and looked to be in a great deal of pain.
Xie Lian looked around the room, increasingly alarmed at this turn of events, but there was nothing to work with and nothing that could have caused this reaction.
His thoughts raced almost too fast to follow. If it wasn’t poison, then the symptoms San Lang showed were almost like –
Like a qi deviation.
Xie Lian’s eyes widened in realization and he started forward. He hadn’t sensed any qi while testing the young man earlier, but there were ways to conceal it. If that was the case, perhaps he could be of some help, even though he had no spiritual power of his own.
Nan Feng and Fu Yao reached Xie Lian before he could take more than two steps across the room. They caught one of his shoulders each and held him back.
“He’s dangerous!” Fu Yao snapped in his ear. “Don’t get any closer to him.”
“Let me go!” Xie Lian cried out and attempted to shrug them off, his stomach twisting with guilt. He couldn’t see clearly from this distance – San Lang’s hands were obscuring his face.
He had to solve this, somehow. Truthfully, he hadn’t anticipated any of the Middle Court Officials’ tests actually causing trouble for his companion, or he never would have allowed them to try. It was unthinkable to harm the youth, whatever secrets he might be hiding, when all he’d done so far was provide his help and tag along.
The situation was dangerous like fireworks set atop a powder keg, for San Lang as well as for the two officials who had forced him to reveal himself in such a manner.
As they struggled, qi began to gather around the room.
Power danced around San Lang like an evil wind, seeming to be at war with both itself and everything around. It was utter mayhem, like a typhoon had suddenly appeared, furniture flying around wildly and breaking apart. Despite the fact that they stood in the middle of a desert, the inn now felt as cold as a grave.
Xie Lian finally managed to dislodge himself from the restraining grip, unhearing of his assistant’s curses. Taking several steps forward, he ran through his options. He was no healer, but he did retain the knowledge to help circulate and stabilize qi from Guoshi's teachings. Depending on the youth’s reaction to his attempt to help, there were several different things he could try.
He approached slowly, cajoling. “San Lang, let me see.”
The god braced himself for an attack – certainly, his companions were having trouble even staying on their feet, so intense was the spiritual power stifling the room, and someone whose inner state was unsettled might react unpredictably.
Slowly, San Lang’s hands dropped away from his face, expression resigned. The sight sent a renewed jolt of distress running through Xie Lian. Even though there was no visible injury, thin rivulets of blood ran from San Lang’s right eye and down his chin.
Doing his best to telegraph the movement, he reached for the youth’s arm with the intention of taking his pulse and checking the state of his meridians.
‘Dianxia,” the youth gasped, finally locking eyes with him.
Then, gaze fixed firmly on Xie Lian, San Lang finally seemed to lose his battle against unconsciousness, and with a fluttering of red sleeves, dropped like a stone to the ground.
The god rushed to catch him.
He lowered the youth to the ground. It didn’t look to be over – San Lang’s form had taken on a bright silver glow. Before long, he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid being blinded.
The qi converged and converged, until finally, with a bright flash of light, it dispersed, fluttering strangely around the room.
It took several long moments for Xie Lian’s eyes to adjust. Long enough for the energies in the room to settle somewhat, long enough for his two assistants to recover and hover behind them.
When he could finally see again, Xie Lian reeled back in shock.
San Lang’s red-robed form had been replaced by a figure in black, lying senseless in the middle of the destruction which had been wrought by his qi deviation.
He was still a youth, and very obviously, a ghost. Where his previous skin had seemed the image of a wealthy young master, well-fed and glowing with health, this one was the very opposite.
He had the lean but muscular look which came from lack of food and gruelling physical labor, just this side of too skinny. The plain clothes and armor were those of a soldier, teeming black with resentful energy.
“Who the hell is this guy?” said a confused Nan Feng. It was clear he and Fu Yao had been expecting someone else.
Xie Lian also hadn’t expected this. He had thought it would be – he had thought –
There was a mask sitting on the ghost’s face. Smooth, bone-white wood, a theater grimace carved into an eternal smile. It was cracked and scratched up and so very familiar.
“Your Highness, let us deal with it. I don’t know what the fuck that was, but we should tie him up before he wakes up.”
Nan Feng had produced a twining of immortal binding cables from somewhere, readying them in his hands. He was remarkably well-supplied, for a deputy god.
“Stop.” Xie Lian said, frozen in place and forgetting to even breathe.
Ruoye stirred at his side, slowly at first, then disentangled from his forearm eagerly. It flew through the air sinuously, brushing against the ghost’s unbreathing chest like a curious snake, nuzzling up against the white mask.
No, no, no, no, it can’t be, Xie Lian gasped for breath. After all this time, it can’t be him.
He stumbled away as if in a daze, thoughts running in circles. It had to be some sort of trick. Yet who would know to use this person’s image to hurt him? In all three realms, who else would remember this ghost, other than the wretched god who had destroyed him?
The only other being who would know to twist this particular knife was long dead, defeated by the Heavenly Emperor himself. Xie Lian had seen it. So it couldn’t be –
“I told you he was suspicious – good thinking, to bring the serum,” Nan Feng said to his companion begrudgingly.
“What an odd little ghost. He must have been the one who sent the puppet to lure His Highness here.”
“It could still be Crimson Rain.”
In silent agreement with his fellow Middle Court Official, Fu Yao unsheathed his sword.
The deputy god’s approach shocked Xie Lian right out of his growing hysteria. The sight of a naked blade held up to the currently-defenseless ghost’s throat instead made him blindingly angry.
He leapt without thinking, and within moments, Hongjing was clutched firmly in his hand.
“Ruoye!”
The silk band had looped itself almost completely around the ghost’s torso, and was patting at him questioningly as if trying to rouse him. At its master’s command, it shot into the air again and flew straight at the troublesome officials, snatching at their offending hands to furious cries of protest, and began dragging them away.
Xie Lian hadn’t carried a sword in many years, and Hongjing was a ceremonial weapon, not meant for battle. Neither of those facts mattered.
Moving with a long-unused brutal efficiency, it didn't take the martial god long to disarm the two heavenly officials at all. In the aftermath of their brief skirmish, Xie Lian stood still, torn between laughing or crying.
To think, he’d been so optimistic about this trip!
Ignoring Nan Feng and Fu Yao’s outraged exclamations as they struggled to free themselves from an enthusiastic Ruoye, his attention was drawn to the open doorway of the inn.
The wind was picking up outside.
Methodically, he picked up Hongjing’s sheath from where it lay discarded on the ground, tucking the sword away and securing it to his belt. He snatched up the potion bottle for good measure, then did the same with his bag of scraps, and finally, his bamboo hat.
The god turned and rushed to his Ghost General’s side.
“Wu Ming?” he gasped, dropping to his knees. His eyes felt suspiciously wet.
The ghost soldier was solid under his touch, but completely unresponsive when Xie Lian shook him by the shoulders, still and cold in the way of the undead. But he wasn’t gone, and he would wake up, Xie Lian told himself with desperate hope, like clouds parting to reveal the sun when he felt the unsettled qi in the ghost’s spiritual veins.
He couldn’t be the reason Wu Ming died again.
It really was him, same as the day he’d seen him last, he thought wonderingly. How, was the question, but that could be answered later.
Right now, they had bigger problems, Xie Lian thought with a glance in the direction of his trapped assistants. So far, they had made little progress in their attempts at regaining freedom. But that could change, he considered, cradling Wu Ming close.
They could’ve called for reinforcements.
The realization brought a chill down his spine. Bound as they were, there was nothing stopping either of them from reaching out to Heaven’s common spiritual array – or even to their own palaces.
That decided it.
He could keep Wu Ming safe from these two heavenly officials. But with his cursed luck, it would be best to be far away from here before the hosts of Heaven appeared. The ghost had given his life for him. Protecting him now was the least he could do.
“What are you doing? Are you insane?!” Fu Yao accused as Xie Lian drew near, spitting mad himself.
“Your Highness!” cried a horrified Nan Feng.
He didn’t let himself doubt. With a series of precise strikes to their pressure points, Xie Lian knocked them both out, then made use of Nan Feng’s immortal binding cables to tie them up.
“Sorry,” he apologised, waiting for Ruoye to return to him.
He lifted Wu Ming’s still body into his arms, and clutching him tight, left the inn to brave the storm.