Work Text:
Hua Cheng has never been one for self pity, not even when he couldn't bear to live. It's not self pity that guides his steps now. No. This is grief.
White robes and a face that doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
It's the anniversary, or rather, as near as he can count. They weren't very concerned about the calendar back then. The sky over him is heavy, though the rain has broken and twilight pinks streak the distance. Hua Cheng bears an offering of flowers and seeks a grave that doesn't hold the one he is looking for.
"I will never forget you." he had said once. He hasn't. He won't.
Weak sun cuts across the grass. A breeze ruffles the stalks. The air is as cold as a ghost fire. The ground was long ago filled in, the deep, deep, pit of memory become some ordinary and nameless grave. The cemetery now full of people long forgotten. Hua Cheng is not here for the remains buried under his feet, but for the echo of a memory. Now as then all his efforts are in vain and he is helpless to reach his god. He can provide no warmth nor succor, no common comfort of touch. For this, Hua Cheng mourns.
His god is not dead for his god cannot die. Hua Cheng knows this too well.
Sodden hems are long since greyed with wet when he finds it. Hua Cheng sits on the grave and lets the water on the plants and the mud of the ground seep into his clothes and stain the white purity of grief. He shouldn't really be wearing this white. Shouldn't indulge this sadness when the time could be spent searching for his god. Hua Cheng turns his face to the clouds. No one here still makes that sort of alcohol.
He has made so many promises to himself, but he cannot fulfill them yet.
The sun is gone now, and even the lingering lilac clouds fade to darkness. Not even the chill light of stars breaks the cold ground here. His wishes are powerless, the pains he knows long since become past, Xie Lian's present unknown.
To his god, Hua Cheng prays. Safety, warmth, comfort. To himself, Hua Cheng promises that he will give all these things to Xie Lian.
Dark robes a perpetual unseen red, dyed in fresh blood with every unfailing beat of his heart, Xie Lian lies in a space so small and still and full of the scent that he can't smell the rot anymore.
He had promised himself he would do better, and this time, he did. He finally managed to take responsibility for his own actions and save all the people of Xianle and Yong'an from his own failure.
He lies in a deep, deep, grave and knows nothing lasts forever.
He cannot bring himself to pray.