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Wu Ming was a tool. A means to assassinate Bai Wuxiang easier, something to make victory a little more certain. Whenever Xie Lian looked at him, he did not see anything but a naive follower that still insisted on offering him white peonies on one knee. A mockery to Xie Lian’s failure. A foolish reminder that he had failed his kingdom and his parents and his friends in every reverent dianxia uttered beneath a smiling mask. Wu Ming was an enigma, a ghost soldier suddenly appearing out of nowhere to provide his continued services to his fallen god—but he was an enigma Xie Lian could care no less about unraveling. His name, not a name at all, declared carelessly by Xie Lian, is proof of that.

And yet he’d cried. He’d cried and sobbed and torn at his own robes that his hands could only slightly reach when tied by Ruoye until no excessive movement had been allowed anymore. He’d cried, wriggling like a madman against the tight white rope around his form, falling pathetically on the cold, hard ground as he desperately begged and begged for Xie Lian to let him go. To let him help. To let him hurt instead of Xie Lian, to let him get destroyed instead, uncaring of the fact that there is no barrier between danger and his soul, now, and were Xie Lian to let him go, he’d have been forsaking his chance at reincarnation in all lifetimes. He’d cried and shouted so loud that his despairing voice still echoed in Xie Lian’s ears long after he’d left, a grating sound that made his heart hurt.

And yet Wu Ming had cried, one day later, as he miraculously appeared above the hole on the ground Xie Lian had made himself via the force of the impact he’d willingly thrown himself onto the ground. Ruoye was shaking around the ghost’s neck, a perfect echo of the black-clad man’s trembling form. Wu Ming had cried and cried and cried, sobbing unbidden, horrified mumbling unhidden, hands a tremor on the sword’s hilt as he tried to pull the sword out of Xie Lian’s stomach without hurting him, to no avail. With Xie Lian’s pained grunt came Wu Ming’s trembling breath from the mask, and he’d cried as he teared at his own robes, and he’d cried as he wrapped Xie Lian’s bleeding torso with it, and he’d cried as he carried Xie Lian in his arms far, far, far away from Yong’an, far, far, far away from pitiful stares that took pity but did not think to help.

The only thing Xie Lian had been able to think back then was that Wu Ming had cried, and then, Why look for kindness elsewhere, when it had been in front of me this whole time?, before collapsing into a deep, deep slumber.

When Xie Lian woke up, Wu Ming had been at his beck and call once more. It did not take long for Xie Lian to recover, his cultivation more than enough to heal his wounds almost immediately, but all the while, Wu Ming did not let him take any unnecessary actions if the ghost could do it for him instead. It went on like that for a whole week until Xie Lian had… laughed.

Actual, unbridled laughter. He couldn’t help it. Before the fall of Xian Le, he was as coddled as the sole son of a king and queen could be, but after everything turned upside down, it was only all hardship. It was so, so, so miserable that even his closest friends could not take it anymore and decided to leave him alone. It was so miserable that his parents could not take it anymore and decided to leave him alone. It was just so miserable, and right then, right at that moment, under the roof Wu Ming had found miraculously still standing within the ruins of Xian Le, on the tens of quilts Wu Ming had scavenged and piled up top each other to provide Xie Lian comfort, right at that moment in the tiny little space they’d been cramping themselves in for a whole week, right then—suddenly it was not miserable anymore. It was not miserable at all.

The crushing wave of lightness he’d felt at the sudden realization was too much that—Xie Lian could not help but laugh.

By the moment he was done, Wu Ming had gone stock-still, frozen from where he’s knelt beside Xie Lian’s makeshift bed. Xie Lian could almost discern his expression behind the mask though he is not with a specific face in mind. His eyes were widened into shocked little orbs, probably. His lips were slightly agape, perhaps. Xie Lian could only smile at the still form of the ghost after his sudden bout of laughter. Light. Glowing. Genuine, unlike the way his smiles had been for so long.

“Excuse me for… scaring you,” Xie Lian had said, voice still containing a hint of giddy laughter. Wu Ming flinched at the shock of being addressed. “Wu Ming should not worry so much. I’m really fine now. The wound is gone, no soreness whatsoever. In fact, if you don’t allow me to move anytime soon, it is this stillness that will make me sick again.”

Wu Ming straightened up, then, and Xie Lian could almost see his eyes widening in realization even more. And then he’d apologized and apologized and apologized until Xie Lian had scooped him up from his low bow himself, holding his shoulders straight and patting his disheveled hair. 

“Relax, Wu Ming.” He had whispered then, the soldier looking up at him through the mask. He looked to be in awe. His nod was dazed when he moved his head, hair brushing against Xie Lian’s palm. Light, feathery. Ticklish.

Right then, Xie Lian had wanted nothing more than to lift Wu Ming’s mask up and see his dazed expression underneath.

What does his savior look like, he wondered. How pale would his skin be? Would his eyebrows arch high up and give him a dignified air, or would they stretch straight and make him look inherently innocent? Would his cheeks be round, or would they have sculpted cheekbones that made the ghost look like a master sculpture? Would his lips be as pale as the sliver of skin Xie Lian could see on his uncovered neck? Would there be a flush of red, somewhere, even without a beating heart? What does his voice sound like, not muffled by the mask?

Xie Lian had not looked at him closer upon first meeting. He had not cared at all then, because to him, Wu Ming was a tool, a means to assassinate Bai Wuxiang easier, something to make victory a little more certain. A naive follower that still insisted on offering him white peonies on one knee. An enigma Xie Lian could care no less about unraveling.

But at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to care about—care for the little follower that did not doubt him in the slightest, for the little follower that stayed despite everything. 

Good thing, he’d thought, an unfamiliar kind of fondness unfurling from within his chest, That I have all the time, now, to do just that.

Wu Ming had expressed his utter distaste for staying in the ruins of Xian Le and anywhere near Yong’an when they’d stumbled upon the topic of where they would stay next. Xie Lian had heartily agreed. In the end, after days and weeks of trudging along cities and wastelands and deserts, they’d decided to stay in a dilapidated wooden hut in a village far away from the bustling crowd and prying eyes. The villagers had all been kind, Xie Lian and Wu Ming even having been offered a ride on an ox cart by an old man with weary lines on his face and yet still too kind a smile on his lips. 

They’d given them space and offered help if they so needed—too kind to two complete strangers, one wearing a sketchy mask and one in majestic funeral garbs. Xie Lian and Wu Ming had been much too skeptical at first. If anyone would know how deadly it is to trust so easily, it would be them. But they were not people weak enough to be trampled if they were really being played, so they’d stayed. 

Thinking about it now, many months into their stay in Puqi village, Xie Lian is thankful they’d decided to stay. The villagers’ kindness turned out to not only be for show. It still makes him wonder how they could care for two strange people like their own children. They are so easy to be taken advantage of. It was a good thing that Xie Lian and Wu Ming are here, now, to stop any deception towards them, were it to happen.

“What is gege thinking?” Wu Ming quipped, suddenly appearing beside him on the daybed they’d built and erected themselves in front of their hut, just by its wall. It is highly effective in dragging Xie Lian out of his wandering thoughts.

The ghost slipped naturally into the space beside Xie Lian, plopping down on the wood with a soft thud. He rested his back on the hut’s outside walls, tilting his masked face to the side as he regarded Xie Lian a look. 

In truth, it took weeks before Xie Lian could convince that there was no need to act so cautiously and carefully around him, and took even more weeks to coax him into being comfortable with regarding Xie Lian as a friend rather than a god and prince he had to put on a high pedestal every time. 

Before, Wu Ming would not even dare sit so close to him. No—instead, he would stand a good meter away, or kneel on one knee in front of Xie Lian if he had a question to ask. Dianxia, he would say, voice both meek and firm. 

But, now…

Xie Lian blinks at Wu Ming’s question and smiles. 

Now, Xie Lian looks at his relaxed stance on the daybed, shoulder brushing against Xie Lian’s lightly, the cute little endearment he had come up with one day still reverberating in his ears. The monicker had been created when Xie Lian had asked him to call him something other than the title that makes things seem much more distant between them than they really are. Wu Ming had been rendered silent then, and Xie Lian had no way of knowing what was going on in his mind. But later that day, he’d falteringly approached Xie Lian, whispering something under his breath Xie Lian could not hear at first.

“Gege,” Came Wu Ming’s soft voice when asked to repeat. 

Until now, Xie Lian’s heart still melts in fondness every time he is addressed like so, in the kindest voice he had ever had the grace of hearing his whole life.

“Hm,” He hums, pressing his shoulder more snugly against Wu Ming’s, “I was just thinking about… our home.”

And—ah, there it is. Xie Lian had wondered before if Wu Ming could flush, if he had ever flushed beneath his mask. He was a ghost, so his organs had long stopped working, heart unable to pump blood into his veins anymore. But Wu Ming blushes. Even now, he goes silent, looking away from Xie Lian briefly in a fluster, the tips of his ears flushing a deep shade of red. When Xie Lian had offhandedly asked him about it before, he’d admitted to making his organs work on purpose, unused to not breathing and feeling cold all over all the time. He’d said he would slowly let himself get used to being dead, to which Xie Lian had pinched his then-blushing ears gently, telling him to do what made him the most comfortable.

Xie Lian chuckles, poking the tip of Wu Ming’s ear and grinning when the other quickly looked back at him. “Ever since we renovated it, our home had started to become so comfortable to live in. Don’t you think so?”

The skin beneath his finger goes even hotter. Xie Lian bites the inside of his cheeks, utterly endeared, especially when Wu Ming released a breath and slowly nodded, skin brushing against Xie Lian’s index finger, “Our… our home—“ He echoed, voice soft, as though he treasured what he was saying so deeply he didn’t want to speak too loud and possibly sully its name, which was ridiculous, but also so utterly charming that Xie Lian could not help but slightly lean even closer, observing what little of Wu Ming’s flushed skin he could see. “—is… it had certainly improved. However, if gege so wished, I could make it better.”

“We,” Xie Lian corrected, moving his hand so it’s brushing through Wu Ming’s ponytailed hair. He absently twirls the black strands along his fingers, small knots coming undone under the softest of tugs. “We could make it better.”

Wu Ming had not removed his mask in front of Xie Lian. Not ever. They shared a little bed, but Wu Ming would face away from Xie Lian during the dark nights, removing his mask quietly. Those were the only times Xie Lian would have the joy of hearing his unmuffled voice—it was low, silky. Smooth. It caressed Xie Lian’s ears like little feathers. 

Every night, they would go to bed facing away from each other, and Wu Ming would wish him good night, and Xie Lian would listen until the ghost’s breathing evens out, until his side of the bed gets heavier as his body gets laxer with sleep. Every night, Xie Lian would shift so that he is laid facing Wu Ming’s broad back and small waist. Every night, he would be seized by an overwhelming urge to peek, to look, to see, he wouldn’t know, he wouldn’t have to know, you just have to look and go back to sleep, it is no big deal—except it was. 

It was, and it goes to show just how much of a big deal it is with the way Wu Ming still has not shown Xie Lian his face even after months of getting comfortable with each other’s presence. Xie Lian knows that if he’d asked, Wu Ming would show him his face, ever the willing servant to his dianxia’s needs and wants, but it would be a very big deal to him, and it is what stops Xie Lian every time. 

Wu Ming had been very patient to him, for him. Even if it takes years, or even longer, Xie Lian would wait until he is comfortable enough to give Xie Lian the gift of seeing his face.

The ghost looks back at him. Xie Lian thinks he’s smiling. His voice is light when he speaks next, “Mhm,” he hums, “We could make it better, gege.”

Xie Lian’s heart skips a beat.

It is too common an occurrence nowadays that he does not even dare question it anymore.

At first, he had thought it was just a sense of responsibility. A sense of gratitude, perhaps. A sense of wanting to repay all the good Wu Ming had done for him. Xie Lian wanted to protect him in the way he was able to protect Xie Lian as well. Wu Ming had been there right at the brink of Xie Lian’s madness, and he is not sure he would have gone back to being able to live without the weight of the world on his shoulders, were Wu Ming not there to stop him from doing the worst. Were Wu Ming not there to show him kindness he had thought had fully dissipated from the common people’s hearts.

Wu Ming is my savior, he’d thought, Now, it is time for me to save him, were harm to come his way.

But he knew better than to draw the line at that.

He had thought of Wu Ming as a lone soldier that chose to remain by his side, no matter what, no matter the reason. He had thought of a mystery that was too interesting, a mystery that he wanted to solve because of gratefulness and curiosity. He’d wanted to know what his savior looked like, wanted to know if the loyal soldier looked as young as he sounds, wanted to know the masked ghost’s reasons for helping him. But the lines were so easily blurred, after all, especially when faced with a boy so endearing and charming it left Xie Lian at a loss of what to do most of the time.

Wu Ming liked to look put together. To all the other people that see them on a daily basis, he sure does, but to Xie Lian who sees almost all of his slip-ups, who had seen him break down and sob and beg for Xie Lian’s safety, to Xie Lian who had seen him navigate so clumsily around their hut upon their arrival and sometimes to this day as well—well, Xie Lian knows Wu Ming could be the most put together person you’d ever meet, but he also knows that under all that bravado is someone as human and silly as all people are, too.

And somehow, Wu Ming’s stumbles are what opened Xie Lian’s eyes to the fact that he wants—more.

He wants more. He wants to know more. About Wu Ming, about this soldier he’d failed, about this ghost that remained. He wants to see more of his clumsiness, wants to see more of his braveness, wants to see more of his rigidness. He longs to see what all his blushes entailed. He yearns to see the secrecy he hides behind his mask, the minuscule twitch of his features when he is feeling disgusted or scandalized or delighted. He craves to be a major reason for most of those expressions. Imagine all the sides he has yet to show Xie Lian. Imagine all the facets of him Xie Lian has not yet uncovered. 

Wu Ming is a whole universe, and Xie Lian wanted so, so badly to explore all of him.

Xie Lian thinks he, out of everybody that existed in the world, had the briefest feel of what desire truly is. When asked when he was a child what he desired for, his answer would undoubtedly be the too-familiar phrase he didn’t shy away from saying over and over again back then—

“I want to save the common people!”

And yet, with Wu Ming, he desires. He desires so much. The feeling was very new to him, but when he’d fully realized what his feelings implied, he had accepted it without much fuss. 

Could he really complain, when he knew he had fallen for the best person to fall for?

It had happened without any preamble.

One second, Xie Lian had still been laughing heartily at Wu Ming’s very unkind joke about the flat-faced, rude man that kicked a child by the stomach just outside of Puqi shrine (Xie Lian had made sure to talk the man down and help the child up afterwards), and in the next moment, Wu Ming had been nowhere to be found.

“Wu Ming?” He’d called, thinking that the other was playing another harmless prank on him. An amused smile lit his face up, “Are you sure you want to play this game again, when you’d lost so miserably last time?”

Gone was the smile on his lips and the amused glint in his eyes a few minutes later, however, because when he’d reached his energy out, no matter how much he probed, he could not feel Wu Ming. Not his spiritual energy, not the aura that clung to him all the time. No matter where Xie Lian had looked, he had not been able to see neither hide nor hair of the ghost, the trail of his hair and the flap of the simple blue robes he’d substituted for his black ones not appearing within Xie Lian’s eyesight at all. 

There was a deep, overwhelming fear threatening to consume him whole at the realization that Wu Ming was gone. That Wu Ming was probably in danger. That he was at a risk of leaving for good, of leaving Xie Lian alone. Xie Lian was at a risk of not seeing him anymore, not ever. He had not even told him his feelings yet. He had not even seen what his beloved looked like yet. He had not even traced the ghost’s features with his very own hands, was not even able to praise him for every single thing he had done for Xie Lian, for every single thing Xie Lian had grown to love him for.

Along with the fear was an all-consuming fire of hatred and rage.

Who dared take Wu Ming from him?

He does not exactly remember the minute details of what he did to track Wu Ming down. He does not know exactly where he went, exactly whom he’d coerced, exactly what he’d broken. All he remembers is the hyper-focus he had as he looked straight ahead and searched for clues—Wu Ming had been taken right beside him, which was his fault, but it also means that whatever took him was near. All he remembers is finally stumbling upon the clues he’d been looking for, some footprints or broken fragments of bones or something else, and storming right into the vast forest of Puqi village. It was as though everything else was a blur to him aside from the road he was storming through which was so much sharper than anything else, it was kind of dizzying, but Xie Lian could care less. 

He remembers stopping somewhere in the forest. Remembers the stench of blood. Remembers his heart beating so fast it threatened to jump out of his chest, remembers his jaw aching as he clenched it so hard in an attempt to ground himself from the spiraling panic within him as he searched desperately for the array—for the one holding all this illusion together, for something to break to have Wu Ming by his side once more.

He’d found the array on a tree, probably. Or on the wall of a ruined, lone house in the forest. He does not know. but he sees intricate writings and he kicks the structure down, uncaring that the impact of his actions sent dozens of the trees around them down as well. He could not care at all—no, how could he? With the breaking of the array came the breaking of the illusion, and with the breaking of the illusion came the sight of Wu Ming with a broken mask, panting hard as he fought with bare hands a gnarled monster with eight limbs.

Sweat beaded at Wu Ming’s exposed face, his robes torn and shredded in various areas. Pale, almost paper white skin was exposed to the air, along with wounds big and small and light and mangled across his body. He had still not gotten used to not having his organs function perfectly, so thick, gushing blood flowed from his wounds, coating his blue robes a dark, crimson color.

Xie Lian saw red.

The moment he came to, he was making a beeline for Puqi shrine that was already visible to the both of them, Wu Ming carried in his arms.

Now, he sets Wu Ming down on their bed, ignoring his protests that he will get the sheets dirty. Nothing about Wu Ming is dirty. Not even the blood on his clothes. Not even the mud on his feet. Not even the grime on his robes. 

He moves perfunctorily, letting his body make the decision for him. He grabs a wooden bucket from the kitchen and fills it with warm water, coming back to Wu Ming with both the bucket and a newly-procured clean rag on hand. He sets the bucket down and kneels on the floor beside the bed, pretending not to hear Wu Ming’s sound of protest again, and sets to slowly, carefully peel Wu Ming’s robes off his body. 

He stiffens when Wu Ming flinches. His heart gives a painful lurch when Wu Ming groans lightly. He tries to work quickly but gently, scrubbing lightly at the parts of his pale skin that do not contain the more painful of wounds, and dabs softly, feathery light on the gaping patches of skin.

He only notices he’s trembling when Wu Ming catches his hand from where it was wiping dried blood on his collarbone. Xie Lian swallows, releasing a shaky breath. He meets Wu Ming’s exposed eye. The ghost’s face had been half-exposed all this time since he’d been retrieved from danger, but Xie Lian could not even dare to pay attention to it, could not even marvel at the treat he was granted. Because it was not a treat at all. If it was at the expense of Wu Ming’s safety, it was not a treat at all. 

Wu Ming must have seen something in Xie Lian’s expression because Xie Lian hears him take a soft intake of breath, cold hands tightening slightly around where it’s clasped around Xie Lian’s. From there, Wu Ming stops trying to stop Xie Lian from cleaning him, letting himself go pliant under the god’s hands. Seeing Wu Ming lift an arm without being prompted to let Xie Lian wipe the side of his body makes the former god relax a little, shoulders letting out some of their tension at last.

After wiping off the worst of the dirt on Wu Ming’s body, Xie Lian draws a bath for him. He carries Wu Ming to the bath again, heart slowly calming down upon feeling the ghost lean on his shoulder instead of protesting again. He carefully set Wu Ming inside the tub, carefully unwinded his miraculously still-tied hair, carefully took the remaining half of his mask off. He did that from behind, so he would not be able to see the whole of Wu Ming’s face, and all along Wu Ming’s bath, Xie Lian stayed behind. Jumbled as his thoughts are, he is still aware of Wu Ming’s hesitance to reveal his face to him, and he will not disrespect that after having respected it for this long.

He washes Wu Ming’s hair, rubs oil on it, brushes his fingers through silky black locks tenderly. The medicinal bath obviously helped to relax Wu Ming as well, as by the end of Xie Lian’s ministrations, he was leaning heavily on the tub and on Xie Lian’s chest, head lolling to the side. Xie Lian smiled—genuine but tired, and brushed Wu Ming’s hair away from his face, looking away abruptly at the flash of white skin. He washes the mask by the side and wipes it dry, covering Wu Ming’s face with it once more.

He leaves Wu Ming to soak in the bath for a little longer while he goes to clean the sheets of the bed they made themselves. He strips the cover off the bed, trying his best to ignore the blood that had pooled on it while he was wiping Wu Ming down a while ago. He also picks up the blue robes Wu Ming had worn, although right now they look more magenta than blue, soaked as they are because of Wu Ming’s wounds. They could also not be called robes anymore. The torn patches are much too big and much too many to be solved by mere stitches. Heart heavy, he burns all of them with a swish of his hand, their mangled forms disintegrating into thin air.

He scrubs at the bed frame, wiping off the evidence of Wu Ming’s pain. With every scrub is the ever-present pain in his heart, doubling by the minute. It’s as though he could see Wu Ming’s bloody image in his mind all over again. If he so much as blinked, Wu Ming dripping scarlet in his arms would flash behind his eyelids. By the time he finished cleaning the bed free of any blood and dirt and changed the sheets into new ones, he’s already striding quickly towards the bath, desperate to see Wu Ming alive and moving once more.

“Gege,” Wu Ming says, voice quiet and soft. He smiles upon seeing Xie Lian, the side of his uncovered lips quirking up prettily. The sight brings Xie Lian’s heart peace all at once. He lets out a breath, two or three, and then closes the distance between him and the tub to brush through Wu Ming’s hair. Just to touch. Just to feel Wu Ming underneath his palm, to know he’s real. Wu Ming sighs contentedly and leans against Xie Lian’s hand, looking relaxed. A smile, unbidden and natural as it always is with Wu Ming, stretches out his lips, and he moves his hand to Wu Ming’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Lets go, you’ll catch a cold if you stay in the water any longer,” He says, helping Wu Ming up when the ghost nodded. 

This time, he lets Wu Ming stand on his own two legs, if only to be able to wipe him down and rub a soothing salve on his wounds before dressing him up in clean robes. He adds layer after layer, only stopping at the fourth when Wu Ming chuckled, the sound low and pleasant in his throat, in Xie Lian’s ears. Xie Lian narrowed his eyes at him, though there is a steadily forming sheepish smile on his lips.

“This Wu Ming is enjoying gege’s attention very much and would gladly wear a hundred layers if gege deemed it necessary, but if gege is doing this because he is worried I might catch a cold or be cold, he does not need to worry at all. This Wu Ming is fine,” Wu Ming says, voice light and airy and happy. 

Happy. 

Even after such an encounter during the day, he still sounds and looks so happy, if the quirk of his lips and the gentle crescent of his eyes are anything to go by. Xie Lian is not so stupid and dense that he cannot come to the conclusion that Wu Ming is able to smile like this because of him, that he put that smile on Wu Ming’s face—the ghost said it himself. But for the many times he’d thought of wanting to be the greatest reason for Wu Ming’s happiness, for all the times he’d marveled at the satisfaction he’d felt every time he managed to make Wu Ming laugh until he was clutching his stomach—right now, he can’t just…

He can’t just claim the smile as his doing, claim the smile for himself, because Wu Ming would not be in this position, in this condition at all, if Xie Lian were just a little bit more observant. If he’d been just a little more vigilant. If he’d paid enough attention and didn’t let himself feel too lenient with the freedom and easy life he’d managed to live with Wu Ming all this while. 

Xie Lian is a bringer of misfortune. This, he already knew. He’d thrown his kingdom into chaos and then into inevitable ruin, held his two best friends’ lives in a vice grip so that they stayed with Xie Lian longer even though they could have had much better lives earlier, Pushed his parents too far that they killed themselves, unable to see Xie Lian trash his life any more than he’d already done.

Now, he had fallen in love with this pure, pure boy, and this boy was taken right under his nose, sliced until he was gushing out a flood of his own blood.

Wu Ming’s smile—Xie Lian does not deserve it.

He smiles bitterly, pretending not to have noticed the worried sound Wu Ming made at the sight. He knows the ghost had learned to set apart each and every one of his expressions and actions, knowing what every single one meant at first glance. He decisively ties the fourth layer of Wu Ming’s robes instead, guiding him to the bed by the elbow right after. Wu Ming is staring at him. Xie Lian ignores it, just this time, and turns to put the light of the candle off, stripping his outer robes and cleaning his own body with spiritual energy. Only when he’s sure he’s fully free of dirt does he climb in beside Wu Ming, laying flat on his back, just like the ghost is. 

The silence hangs heavy between them. It’s not the kind of silence that stems from the both of them, from the kind of awkwardness they’d felt when they’d just started navigating their way around each other during the first days of their living together—they’ve long since passed that stage. It’s the kind of silence that suffocates Xie Lian, quietly, softly, like an axe hanging above his head, like a soft, coaxing voice whispering the most atrocious of things in his ears. 

He feels like if he stops paying attention, Wu Ming would disappear once more.

He wants to say something, anything. He wants to apologize for being worthless. He’d vowed to protect Wu Ming, vowed to not let any harm come to him, but the moment danger appears, he lets it. He could not do anything to stop it. He could only watch as Wu Ming bled in front of him, unable to turn back time. He wants to kneel in front of Wu Ming and beg for forgiveness, beg for pardon, apologize and apologize and plead—

Plead for Wu Ming not to leave him, even after this. Plead for Wu Ming to—to perhaps be more vigilant next time, be more cautious, be more alert, so he would not be taken like that ever again. So he would not disappear all of a sudden, so he would not be hurt like that again, as though he was on the verge of another death.

Plead for Wu Ming to stay.

But when he parts his lips, no sound comes out. He ends up closing them again, his hands balling into fists beside him.

He’s brought out of his rapidly declining thoughts when Wu Ming shifts, turning his body so that he’s facing Xie Lian. No more than a second later, a cold, gentle hand drapes itself over Xie Lian’s balled one situated between the both of them, squeezing lightly. 

Xie Lian’s lower lip trembles.

“Gege,” Wu Ming whispers, voice so achingly soft. Xie Lian shakes his head. Wu Ming makes a pained sound, and then there are arms around Xie Lian, pulling him closer so that he’s facing Wu Ming, too, head buried in the ghost’s chest. Wu Ming shifts, one arm around Xie Lian’s waist and the other hand cradling the back of his head gently, hugging him tightly. There’s barely any space left between the two of them, and Xie Lian is pressed so, so close to Wu Ming that he’s able to smell the scent of the medicinal bath and salve on his body along with the distinct smell of Wu Ming, a kind, sweet smell Xie Lian greedily takes in. 

Quivering, Xie Lian’s hands reach out to hug Wu Ming back. Tentative at first—scared, so scared to hurt his already bad wounds, until he finds that Wu Ming is not flinching away or taking in distressed breaths or letting out little pained groans, and his greedy desperation takes over, pulling Wu Ming even more flush against him, tucking him in his arms snugly. This way, feeling Wu Ming all over him, his cold skin an ever-present feeling against Xie Lian’s own, a part of Xie Lian’s fear gets sated, even for just a little bit. 

Wu Ming is here. Wu Ming is real. Wu Ming is not gone. He is alive and existing in Xie Lian’s arms.

“Shh,” Wu Ming’s voice floats to his ears. Xie Lian feels the ghost rest his cheek against the top of his head, Wu Ming’s hand on the back of his head, slowly patting him, “Gege, I’m here. Wu Ming is here, see? I’m alive. I won’t go. I’m never going, gege, until you’re here, you can’t ever wish to get rid of me. Does gege understand?”

“Wu Ming,” He whispers, only slightly shocked at the shake of his voice, at the feeling of tears flowing from his eyes. He plasters his face onto Wu Ming’s chest, ignoring the shameful little sob he let out, “I’m sorry.”

“Gege, gege,” Wu Ming says, voice pained. He leans his cheek more insistently on Xie Lian’s head, like he does not know what else to do, “Gege. if you’re apologizing because I was hurt, please don’t. Stop. Gege is not the reason why this happened. You couldn’t have known that I would step into an array set up by a vicious monster only waiting idly for his prey. That monster, if compared to a ghost, is almost a savage, gege, he’s powerful enough to take me and hide me forever. It’s only thanks to gege that I was able to come out of his domain at all,” He sighs, stroking Xie Lian’s hair, “Gege should not punish himself for this ghost’s carelessness.”

At that, Xie Lian lets out an indignant sound, “Wu Ming is not careless. It is my fault for not being observant enough, I should have been able to sense the array with my level of cultivation—“

“Gege,” Wu Ming interrupts, pulling back slightly to be able to meet his eyes. He is still wearing his half-mask, so Xie Lian only sees half of the furrow of his brows, half of the sadness in his eyes, half of the downturn of his lips. Xie Lian’s hands itch to reach out and smooth out his expression. He palms Wu Ming’s waist instead. Wu Ming’s expression softens slightly at that, though he continues to remain looking firm and serious. “We both feel bad. We both feel like it’s our fault. I, personally, think that you did nothing wrong and it was my fault I got into that situation in the first place, but you obviously think otherwise.”

Xie Lian blinks at him, not saying anything. He could listen to Wu Ming talk for a whole day and he would still ask for more right after. For how close they are, Xie Lian is able to feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. He places a palm on the said chest, wanting to feel more.

Wu Ming’s gaze softens altogether, and a small, endearing smile lifts the corner of his lips up, “But I don’t want gege to pin the blame on himself, when he has done nothing wrong. I want gege to focus on the fact that he was able to save me from the monster. I want gege to focus on the way he literally pulverized that monster with just one kick, all for this Wu Ming! Ah, truly, remembering that scene… I am truly in awe of gege’s skills…” He chuckles when Xie Lian pinches his waist in faux rebuttal, “But, really, gege. You should stop feeling bad, okay? I’m here now. You saved me. Again. If gege is going to blame someone, he should blame that ugly monster. Which gege pulverized. With just one kick. Gege was really so—“

“Wu Ming,” Xie Lian interrupts, unable to stop the giggle rising up from his chest. He finds that it’s easier to laugh even more when Wu Ming looked positively radiant at the sight of him smiling, so he laughs, leaning his forehead on Wu Ming’s collarbones. He still blames himself for everything that happened, because why wouldn’t he? It was so obviously his fault. But, Wu Ming… this boy, his boy, his beloved—Wu Ming is just too wonderful, too funny, too perfect, and Xie Lian can’t just continue spoiling his smiles with his own worries, not when Wu Ming is so readily beside him, not when Wu Ming so readily stays. 

He really does not deserve Wu Ming’s smile. His trust, his sincerity, his devotion. But Wu Ming is giving all of those to him, and not to anyone else. The only thing Xie Lian could do now is to take care of those and hold them dear and close to his heart. 

The whole of Wu Ming is a glittering treasure amidst the darkest of the nights, and Xie Lian had always been the greediest of hoarders.

They stay like that for a long, long while, tucked close against each other, the only accompaniment of their little chitchats the cicadas outside their hut. Xie Lian is not sure how long they stayed up and how much they talked, but sometime in the night, Xie Lian yawned, actually feeling sleepy. It was odd, considering his cultivation level, but it just means that he really needs rest. He thinks it has something to do with the events prior, but Wu Ming insisted it was because he’d kept Xue Lian up longer than necessary, apologizing all the while. Xie Lian had to pinch his exposed cheek to stop him from apologizing, effectively shutting him up.

Even through blurry, sleepy eyes and the deep night, the exposed side of Wu Ming’s face still looks impossibly beauteous and lovely to Xie Lian.

Now that he’s looking closely, he’s able to take in the exposed parts of Wu Ming’s features. He’s able to register that half of his face had been exposed to Xie Lian since a while ago—the face Xie Lian had always longed to see. The realization makes Xie Lian’s heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he releases the pinch he’d dropped on Wu Ming’s cheek to move his hand and cup it around Wu Ming’s exposed jaw.

Arched brows. Upturned eyes. Deep, deep black orbs. Pointed nose. Sharp cheekbones. A pretty cupid’s bow, Thin lips. Slightly pointed chin. If Xie Lian imagined better, put his beloved’s features together, he thinks he could see the whole of his face.

It’s even more charming than he’d ever imagined it would be.

His heart beats, and beats, and beats. It stumbles upon a beat when Wu Ming’s breath hitches upon feeling Xie Lian’s thumb brushing across his cheekbones, just below his eye. Gentle, soft—Xie Lian touches Wu Ming like he thinks he should be treated. Gently, softly. Wu Ming almost absently presses back into Xie Lian’s touch, lips slightly agape. 

Xie Lian braves forward and presses their foreheads together. Wu Ming blinks widely at him.

“I want to see Wu Ming,” He declares, putting out this selfish desire for the past months all for the object of his affections to see. Wu Ming flinches. Xie Lian smiles, rubbing Wu Ming’s waist, “But not now, not if you’re not ready. I will wait, Wu Ming. No matter how long it takes, I will be here, and I will always wait for you. So—one day, Wu Ming,” He whispers, tilting his head up to kiss the exposed part of Wu Ming’s forehead lightly, “One day, will you show me?”

Wu Ming nods, almost absently. It’s more than enough. Xie Lian grins sleepily, tucking Wu Ming’s face into his neck and burying his nose in the other’s jasmine oil-scented hair. He breathes the scent in slowly, arms wrapped around Wu Ming firmly.

He falls asleep to the calming feel of Wu Ming’s hot breath on his skin.

He wakes up to a steady weight in his arms, cradled close to his chest. He blinks blearily at the surroundings, yawning widely. The weight in his hold shifts, and he looks toward it, being greeted by a mop of black hair. He blinks and blinks, and then suddenly he remembers the events of the day prior. The crux of yesterday sours his mood, but before his mood completely plummets, he remembers falling asleep to his beloved in his arms, falling asleep to Wu Ming’s steady breath against him. He smiles, heart jumping happily.

When he pulls away a little to be able to look at the other’s half-uncovered face, he freezes.

Wu Ming isn’t wearing a mask.

Wu Ming’s face is bare, all for Xie Lian to see.

Too many thoughts and emotions coursing through his body, Xie Lian finds a hard time focusing on a single one. After many tries, he rounds in on one thing--had Wu Ming been thinking about this all along, too?

Xie Lian had told him yesterday night with the kind of bravery he did not know where he had mustered, “One day, Wu Ming, will you show me?", and Wu Ming had nodded in a daze, as though he did not fully take in what Xie Lian had meant, what he was implying. Even so, even with an uncertain lilt to Wu Ming’s promise, Xie Lian had still been more than satisfied, settling in close to his beloved and sleeping with a light heart. He had gotten Wu Ming’s promise, and that was all that mattered, in that moment.

He had not expected the one day to be right now. Had Wu Ming been thinking about this all along, too?

When he removes his mask when they sleep together at night, does he consider turning around to meet Xie Lian’s seeking eyes? When he cleans his face in the company of no one but himself, face bare and uncovered for no one else to see, does he think of the revelation his appearance would bring Xie Lian? Does he think about stripping off the smiling block of hard wood and introducing himself to Xie Lian all over again, face to face, facades forgotten?

When Xie Lian thinks of taking his mask and cradling him close to map out the little universes contained in his eyes, does he think of tilting his head up to let his god do as he pleases, to let his dianxia memorize each and every detail on him there ever is?

Xie Lian draws in a shaky breath. With an unsteady hand, he reaches out to cup Wu Ming’s cheek just like he had done the night prior. This time, though, he touches the skin on the covered cheek before, reveling at the unobstructed feel of cold skin against his palm.

To Wu Ming, to his beloved, Xie Lian is deserving of such trust.

As if hearing his thoughts, like Wu Ming seemed to always do, thick, long eyelashes tremble on pale, high cheekbones before separating, revealing two bleary, shiny orbs staring right back at Xie Lian’s enamored ones.

One a deep black. 

One a bloody, bloody red.

Xie Lian’s breath hitches.

“A-ah," Wu Ming croaks out after a minute, apparently realizing their position. The transition from his confused sleepiness and his now fumbling horror is too jarring, Xie Lian could not do anything for a few moments. Wu Ming suddenly looks all too scared, all too embarrassed, and his already pale lips seemed to turn even paler. He is frantic as he squirms inside Xie Lian’s arms, as he fumbles out a hand and thrusts it towards his right eye, hasty to cover the glowing ruby in the darkness.

Realization dawns on Xie Lian, and he grabs hold of Wu Ming’s wrist before he could slap a hand on his face to cover his eye. Wu Ming tries to struggle once, twice, until he meets Xie Lian’s eyes again and realizes just who it is that's holding him. He then deflates, fight leaving him all at once.

Xie Lian immediately lets go of his wrist, re-cupping his jaw instead. This time, he brushes his thumb on the skin just below the fascinating red, staring at it in awe. He feels more than sees the way Wu Ming’s adam's apple bobbed with a swallow.

“Dianxia should not force himself to look at this unlucky eye," Wu Ming says in a low, low, low voice, agonized and shy altogether. Xie Lian’s heart twinges in pain inside his chest. “I forgot to keep the disguise up, I’m sorry. Asking dianxia to give this one a moment. The eye will turn black in no time."

No, Xie Lian thinks vehemently. he frowns, hurt and scolding, and he shifts so that Wu Ming is lying flat on his back, Xie Lian propped up on his elbow to tower over him. Wu Ming’s self-deprecating look diminishes all at once, shocked eyes fixated on the god above him.

“No,” Xie Lian says vehemently, because he can. because he should. Because he wants. “No.”

“No?” Wu Ming echoes, voice soft, voice meek. He looks genuinely confused. At the same time, he looks awed. He looks abashed.

He looks beautiful.

Xie Lian had put his face together in his mind during the night, allowing himself a selfish desire once more. The Wu Ming in his mind had been pretty, too, prettier than anything and anyone Xie Lian had ever seen. Now, the face he had imagined is right in front of him, within reach, within sight. Now, the face he had imagined is right in front of him, but it all ways better than what Xie Lian’s mind could have ever conjured.

Wu Ming’s hair is a little disheveled from sleep, fanning out on the white sheets beneath them. Nevertheless, it does not dampen his beauty. With the setting moonlight casting a vibrant glow on the pale of his skin, his lips agape, apparently still in a daze because of their sudden position, his ruffled hair only adds to the almost suffocating allure he already possesses. If anything, it makes him look a little bullied—that, coupled with the blush high on his cheeks, makes Xie Lian flush in turn. 

Releasing a breath, the god moves a palm to cradle Wu Ming’s cheek. Conscious or not, the ghost leans on the warm palm, snuggling against it familiarly. Xie Lian’s heart stutters in his chest. Wu Ming’s mismatched eyes are so very bright in the darkness, and Xie Lian’s gaze cannot help but be drawn back to them, no matter how much his eyes fight to stray along Wu Ming’s other features, as well. As expected, Wu Ming’s eyelashes are black and long. When he closes his eyes, they fan the top of his cheeks like a quivering feather quilt amidst the wind. His cheekbones are high, making him look almost lofty. The pointed tip of his nose spikes an urge within Xie Lian to bite, just to see how it scrunches up in surprise, just to see how Wu Ming would react.

And his lips.

Looking back down from Wu Ming’s eyes once more, Xie Lian stares at the parted lips. Its pinkish, pale luster is eye catching, as much as how all the other things about Wu Ming are. Wu Ming, almost distractedly, darts out the tip of a wet, pink tongue to hydrate the skin of his lips, and Xie Lian’s eyes zero in on the movement, breath catching in his throat. As though noticing what Xie Lian’s dark gaze implied, Wu Ming’s breath stutters, as well, and Xie Lian looks back up to meet his half-lidded eyes.

Fuck.

Xie Lian has not even done anything yet. His gaze had only lingered, albeit longer than necessary, on each of Wu Ming’s features, trying to imprint them in his mind. Unwilling to part with the image, were Wu Ming to ever choose to wear the mask around him once again.

And yet Wu Ming already looks so unkempt.

What will he look like, were Xie Lian to actually do something? 

Heart racing uncontrollably in his chest, he leans closer, closer until their noses are touching, until he could feel the fan of Wu Ming’s hot breath against his lips. As though at a loss of what to do, Wu Ming’s hands slowly travel to each hold Xie Lian’s shoulders, gentle and unsure. Xie Lian revels in the feeling, and encourages Wu Ming by rubbing the tips of their noses together playfully. A spark of delight shows up in Wu Ming’s orbs amidst all the daze and wonder, and not even a few seconds later, Xie Lian already feels Wu Ming’s hands trailing away from his shoulders to hook around his neck.

Xie Lian gulps, whispering quietly, his words a secret only for the two of them to hear. “Wu Ming is so beautiful,” He admits, not an ounce of lie in his voice. It seemed that his sincerity reached Wu Ming because the latter’s eyes immediately sparkled mutely, but it was apparent that he did not believe Xie Lian’s claim himself. 

And that just won’t do, would it? 

Xie Lian drops a soft, lingering kiss on Wu Ming’s forehead, staring straight at Wu Ming’s mismatched eyes—now even more delighted and shy all at once—“You’re beautiful,” He repeats, and then moves to kiss Wu Ming’s eyelids, the ghost closing his eyes in turn, “Your eyes. They’re the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. Are you hiding your face because of your right eye? Wu Ming,” He calls gently, “It looks so, so lovely. Like a ruby. Like a little jewel.” He smiles breathlessly when Wu Ming opens his eyes to look at him again, “It is just one of the many things that make Wu Ming, and I love it, just like I love the rest of him.”

Xie Lian continues to pepper kisses on Wu Ming’s face to divert Wu Ming’s and his attention from his pseudo confession, butterflies swirling in his stomach all the while. And all the while, Wu Ming lets him, hands hooked idly around Xie Lian’s neck, fingers toying with xie lian’s hair. When Xie Lian presses one last kiss to Wu Ming’s cheek and pulls away to look at him, he sees him with narrowed, contented eyes, cheeks flushed and lips slightly agape. He smiles like a sated fox upon meeting Xie Lian’s eyes, utterly and completely happy.

Even though Xie Lian is being so greedy, so selfish right now. Even though he did not stop himself from wanting to be this close to the man he loves. Even though he’s quite obviously stepping over what little boundaries they have left between each other.

Xie Lian thinks he might go crazy.

He closes his eyes, breath shuddering. He rests his forehead against Wu Ming’s, hand hot against the ghost’s jaw. Still, Wu Ming doesn’t pull away.

When he speaks next, his words are spoken a mere breadth away from Wu Ming’s lips. 

“Wu Ming,” He whispers, apprehensive, determined—wanting, wanting, wanting. He takes comfort in the feeling of Wu Ming against his hands. He takes comfort in the feeling of Wu Ming’s skin still lingering on his lips. Wu Ming is everything and Xie Lian is nothing, but Wu Ming is still here, even after everything, Wu Ming still stays, so—so—“Is this okay?”

A gasp, a whimper. The hand carding through Xie Lian’s hair tugs lightly, as though surprised.

“D-Dianxia,” Wu Ming whines, voice breathy and awed and hoarse, and Xie Lian is gone.

Neither of them particularly knew what to do, Xie Lian having adopted a cultivation that did not warrant for such activities and Wu Ming having been robbed of the chance to find someone to enjoy such activities with. And yet, when their lips met in a mess of urgency and desire, Xie Lian couldn’t think of anything else but the fact that this is everything he had ever wanted and much, much more.

Xie Lian groaned, pressing his lips more firmly onto Wu Ming’s. Tilting his head to the side, he deepened the kiss, pulling Wu Ming even closer. For all of Wu Ming’s bashfulness, his lips were maddeningly insistent against Xie Lian’s own. He meets the flick of Xie Lian’s tongue on his bottom lip with a willing gasp, meets the probing gland in his mouth with utter yearning, their tongues dancing against each other in a heated passion. Xie Lian could feel Wu Ming’s desperation in the way the ghost’s hands had tangled themselves with Xie Lian’s hair, pulling whenever Xie Lian sucks on his lips, the god moaning around the force. Xie Lian kisses, and kisses, and kisses, until he has to pull away to breathe.

And—and, by gods, Wu Ming looks like sin incarnate, with his damp eyes and wet lips and the little trail of saliva that escaped the corner of his mouth. Xie Lian absently reaches out to wipe the trail with a thumb, and nearly collapses when Wu Ming turns his head to take his thumb in his hot, hot mouth. Xie Lian’s pupils dilate, Wu Ming looking back at him with what could possibly the sultriest look Xie Lian could have ever imagined in his entire life. 

Mine, his mind claims, a startling, consuming desire that makes his heart beat faster. Mine. Mine. Wu Ming is utterly, completely at his mercy, so very trusting of whatever Xie Lian plans to do. Not even one question raised, not even the slightest bit of hesitance posed. He had already known that Wu Ming was ready to go to the hell and back for him, but being reminded of that and knowing that he is allowed to share those sentiments with Wu Ming, knowing that his trust is so obviously reciprocated and treasured, knowing that Wu Ming kissed him back, he kissed him back, he feels the same way for Xie Lian all along—

The world had taken everything Xie Lian ever had the grace of loving. His kingdom, his people, his parents, his friends, and Xie Lian was but helpless to do anything about it.

Now, though, he thinks, a deep, blood red resolve that resonated with Wu Ming’s right eye unfurling from within him. He claims Wu Ming’s lips again, greedy, greedy as ever for whatever Wu Ming is willing to give, for whatever Wu Ming is willing to let him have. When Xie Lian’s hands traveled to palm Wu Ming’s waist and the ghost arched his back off the bed with a shiver, Xie Lian’s mind short-circuits, the bone-deep resolve in him solidifying into something untouchable, something unbreakable. He swallows Wu Ming’s moan and presses him fully into the bed, unable to get enough.

Try all you can, fate. His eye glints, almost manic, No one can take Wu Ming away from me.

A month later, Bai Wuxiang finds them.

In hindsight, they should have known he was coming, all this while. Bai Wuxiang was a virus that longed to stick onto Xie Lian no matter what the latter did, no matter where he went or who he associated with. Bai Wuxiang was an acid that corroded everything he touched, and it was just Xie Lian’s luck that the man was so hellbent on touching his life. That Xie Lian and Wu Ming could spend their time with each other in peace and silence for so long was also probably Bai Wuxiang’s own choice, his calculations coming to play. 

It was this certain thing that toyed with Xie Lian’s mind. He had been at a stalemate with Bai Wuxiang’s twisted intentions for so long, unable to understand why the man is so hellbent on destroying his life. On taking everything away from him. It was this certain thing that made Xie Lian an unknowing puppet that danced in the palms of Bai Wuxiang’s hands, that made him almost release an incurable curse that would have destroyed a whole country, all in the name of some twisted revenge Bai Wuxiang had worked into his mind. 

In hindsight, they should have known.

But it still took them by surprise. And who was Bai Wuxiang, if not someone that reveled in shock and terror?

“What do you fucking want from me?!”

Xie Lian’s voice is hoarse when he screams, parrying yet another ground-shaking blow from the white-clothed ghost, his half-crying, half-smiling mask a mocking reminder of what Xie Lian had almost become. As though to mimic its other half, an amused, teasing laugh reverberates from the inside of the mask, muffled and yet grating to the ears all at once. Bai Wuxiang jumps away from Xie Lian, standing straight and twirling his sword playfully with one hand. Even though his eyes are not visible, his stare is still much too piercing, making Xie Lian’s skin prickle in disgust.

“I was gone for so long,” Bai Wuxiang drawls, head tilted slightly to the side, “Your little vacation—was it still not enough?”

“Fuck you!” Wu Ming shrieks from the side, bound arms struggling against the tight chains Bai Wuxiang had caged them in. Upon ambushing Xie Lian in the middle of nowhere, the god having just finished exorcising a barren land for the common folks, what Bai Wuxiang did first was pin Wu Ming to the nearby wall that was conveniently just within sight. Unfortunately, for as much ire Wu Ming was able to put into struggling to get free, Bai Wuxiang was a very, very powerful ghost, after all—much powerful than Wu Ming, and Wu Ming was a ghost, as well, which made him susceptible to the white-clothed ghost’s manipulation of resentful energy. 

Within a second, he was rendered limp and useless, pinned shamefully onto the wall that just won’t give in, no matter how much he moved.

“Ah, ah, dogs shouldn’t bark at their master’s visitor,” Bai Wuxiang taunts, laughing louder at Wu Ming’s snarl, “Crown Prince of Xian Le, have you been too lenient to your pet?”

Xie Lian’s gaze clouds with rage. Without a word, he propels forward, black sword pointed decisively towards Bai Wuxiang’s throat. 

Bai Wuxiang is slippery. This, Xie Lian knows. He dances along the swing of sword towards him as though he was doing just that—dancing, having fun, as though he were not in a life or death situation right now. The smile on his face is as grating to the eyes as his mocking laughter is grating to the ears, and Xie Lian longs to make it stop, to strip his smile off with the sword itself, to make his voice incoherent above anything but a wheeze with his own hands. 

Die, he thinks, as Bai Wuxiang dodges another strike. He’s not even breaking a sweat, a carefree look on his face, and it sets a fire inside Xie Lian’s heart. Die, he thinks, gripping the hilt of the black sword as he runs towards Bai Wuxiang with cold fury in his eyes, intending to do nothing but to hurt. This man had been the one that took everything from him. His kingdom, his parents, his friends. And now that Xie Lian had found all of those and more in one person, Bai Wuxiang is content to try and steal, once again, as though Xie Lian is nothing but an amusing doll for him to toy with when he feels like it.

Die, die, die, he thinks, and he swings harder and runs faster and manages to graze at the skin of Bai Wuxiang’s arm—hardly lethal, hardly enough compared to anything that the snake had done to him so far, but it sets off a blood-curdling satisfaction within him, nonetheless, watching as red, red liquid blooms along Bai Wuxiang’s pearly white robes. A dry, incredulous chuckle escapes his lips when he manages to stab at another patch of skin yet again because of Bai Wuxiang’s momentary lag, brought about by his surprise at Xie Lian having managed to hurt him at all.

All too suddenly, Xie Lian was overcome with an even stronger desire to kill. 

Why isn’t he giving in?

Bai Wuxiang had thought—no, he’d been certain that he’d be able to make Xie Lian give in this time again, just like all the other times he’d been able to. He was certain that this would have been the last straw, his new plaything endangered because of him and him only. Bai Wuxiang had tasted the sweet nectar of victory, envisioned finally passing down all his suffering onto this child that was more similar to him than he’d acknowledge or admit. Victory, victory. Finally, he will not be alone in this pedestal anymore. Finally, he would look back at all that he experienced and not want to burn the whole world because of the unfairness and incredulity of it all—finally, someone had been just as miserable as him and accepted it, at the end. Xie Lian was finally going to accept his destiny, the hatred and the obsession and the anger, and Bai Wuxiang was not going to be alone, not anymore, not—

But Xie Lian is still holding his ground, even after a while of fighting. Xie Lian is still holding his ground, no matter how much Bai Wuxiang pushed, no matter how much he resisted.

A sudden, gnawing horror dawns upon him.

Xie Lian is as strong as him. 

He jumps a few meters away from Xie Lian, trying hard not to let his shock show on his face.

What if Bai Wuxiang did not have the strength brought about by his being a calamity? Then, then is Xie Lian stronger than him, despite being so dormant for months and months, despite being banished from heaven, despite—everything? Is Xie Lian stronger than him, without anything else to aide him but his own strength and the odd, murderous glint in his eyes that had not left since a while ago? As soon as Bai Wuxiang saw the difference in the usually gentle kid that he’d watched grow up since that fated encounter on the bridge when the former prince was younger, as soon as Bai Wuxiang didn’t see the inherent kindness in his eyes that had always refused to go even when Xie Lian had stared at him in the middle of war back then—should Bai Wuxiang had not reveled in it, as much as he did?

Clenching his jaw, Bai Wuxiang steps firmer on the ground.

This can’t be.

Xie Lian will be his successor, and he will make it that way no matter what needs to be done.

When Bai Wuxiang waves his hand next, it’s with renewed strength, allowing himself to get some of his energy back from the clone he’d positioned quietly in the heavens.

Soon, he finds himself gritting his teeth, brows furrowed in annoyed little arches, though he’s sure part of his measly, stupid fear veiled in layers upon layers of frustration and anger must have shown on his face, somehow, because a sickening smile makes its way onto Xie Lian’s face at some point before he’s being attacked harder, more insistent. No matter what he does, no matter how much energy he gets and gets and gets from Jun Wu, form the persona he’d painstakingly built within centuries of hard work—Xie Lian is just not giving in. 

Fuck, he thinks with a slight panic, parrying Xie Lian’s attacks in utter fury and vexation. Their fight sends all forms of life that can move fleeing, sends those that cannot trembling. The wind swishes as they move—it roars and bites and destroys, some weaker trees that could not hold their ground flying, the ground breaking, dust a dark cloud mass that rises in their wake. Bai Wuxiang had been focused on reducing Xie Lian to weakness, and yet he hadn’t planned nor wanted to kill him at all, wanting to only give him a lesson, something he’d remember over and over when he dares disobey Bai Wuxiang again. But right now, the two blurry figures clashing with inhumane speed show nothing but the want to tear, wound, the want to slaughter.

However, no matter what Bai Wuxiang does, no matter how he—how he punches, how he slices, how he pushes, no matter how much he borrows his divinity from the heavens—more and more and more until the clone he’d left of himself as Jun Wu has long gone, most probably having alarmed several heavenly officials by now—he cannot shake Xie Lian off, cannot get rid of him, cannot. In fact, he knows, with blood-freezing, absolute certainty that if he let himself relax the way he was when he’d first approached them—he knows that if he dared to take even a little breath out of place, that Xie Lian will completely, utterly pummel him to the ground. He swallows, an unfamiliar sense of terror encasing the whole of him, and he pushes further into Xie Lian’s blade, grunting to try and mask all that he’s feeling inside.

Just as he was thinking about what he could possibly do to salvage the situation, Xie Lian manages to swipe at his feet, leaving no room for him to rise once more as he’s brought to the ground with the force of his—his own sword. The black blade glared at him with a shine that ought to terrorize, all the light it seemed to consume reflected back at its opponent’s very form. Bai Wuxiang’s breath hitches. Xian Le’s towering form is panting, eyes blown wide with anger and rage, an urge to kill, kill, kill, teeth bared in a snarl that would have been so out of place on his face, were this encounter to have happened any earlier. He wraps a hand around Bai Wuxiang’s throat, eyes dilating in concentrated rage, lets go of Fang Xin in order to wrap that hand around the vulnerable neck, too. He could have easily killed Bai Wuxiang using the sword, but—it was as though he wanted no more than to feel the ghost’s death under his very hands, greedy for slaughter.

And then, the calamity realizes, gaze clearing in the midst of the sudden fear that consumed the whole of him—for once in his life, he has no escape. 

He does not have a physical form in the heavens, not anymore. Nor does he have one anywhere else. Right now, he’s utterly, truly alone, his form the strongest he could ever be, his power the highest it could ever reach—and yet, Xie Lian has him in a chokehold, has backed him into a corner he has no escape from, no escape, no—

He’s going to die.

His successor, the very person that was supposed to inherit his twisted success and all that entailed it—heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak—Xie Lian is going to kill him.

Suddenly, Bai Wuxiang smiles. And laughs. And laughs and laughs and laughs, an obsessive glint to his eyes. Xie Lian tightens his hold around his neck. Bai Wuxiang smiles wide, wider and wider, a crazed look in his eyes, and then he’s stretching out a hand to the side, far away, towards something, towards—

Towards Wu Ming.

Xie Lian’s pupils constrict.

In the blink of an eye, dark, dark energy shoots from the palm of Bai Wuxiang’s hand, the smoke rising from it whispering resentment into the air around them. It travels at lightning speed and strikes the frozen form of Wu Ming still bound to a wall, striking right at his chest, where his dead heart is. Wu Ming chokes, eyes widening in pain and agony, before he’s releasing a shrill, deafening scream, limbs struggling against the binds that just won’t let him move.

Before he can even register what he’s doing, Xie Lian is breaking Bai Wuxiang’s neck, getting off of him after the resounding crack that signals the light disappearing from his eyes. He kicks Bai Wuxiang out of the way, sending him flying and crashing onto a nearby tree that had miraculously stayed standing even amidst the force of their fight. Whatever commotion it made, Xie Lian could only care less as he rushes towards Wu Ming trembling form, heart beating almost painfully fast in his chest. 

Xie Lian frees him, cradles him close and pales horrendously at the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, the vigorous pants he’s letting out, the unfocused gaze he throws Xie Lian. The former god has to hug him tight and rock him for a few minutes, trembling in fright himself, not knowing what else to do but hold his beloved close. He feels so hot, so, so hot, and Xie Lian had never felt so afraid of warmth coming from a person before. If Wu Ming was unbearably cold, then that was alright, because he’s a ghost and that would mean that everything’s fine, everything will be okay, but he’s scaldingly hot and it’s—that’s not normal, the way the younger shakes in his hold is not normal, the way he whimpers isn’t—!

When Wu Ming manages to grasp at his robes, Xie Lian has tears falling from his eyes, a sob tearing through his throat. 

“My—my love,” Xie Lian calls, almost desperately, “I—what should I do? What should I do to make it stop hurting? I want to help you, please let—please let me, just—just say—“

“D—Dianxia,” Wu Ming says, voice hoarse. “It’s—all so suffocating, it… something… something is calling me. It’s urging me to… to go, I feel so hot, I don’t know what’s happening, dianxia, I do not want to leave you,” He whimpers, gripping at Xie Lian’s robes, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to!”

“Love, my love, Wu Ming,” Xie Lian sniffles, trying to remain calm for the both of them, “Where? Where is it calling you? You won’t leave me. We’ll go together. We’ll figure it out. We’ll always be together, Wu Ming.”

Wu Ming shakes and quivers in his hold. After a while, the ghost manages to raise his hand to point towards a certain direction. Xie Lian turns to it, not seeing anything.

“There,” Wu Ming whispers, “It’s over there. I don’t know where, but it’s there. It’s there.”

Xie Lian’s lower lip wobbles. He plants a kiss on Wu Ming’s forehead, hoisting the ghost up in his arms. Looking ahead, he jumps on Fang Xin, beginning a steady travel to the far place Wu Ming is pointing towards. 

He forgets Bai Wuxiang’s supposed ashes altogether.

But—that is fine.

The body they left remain cold and unmoving in the midst of the barren lands, only disturbed by the swish of the winds pawing at his black hair, all signs of life long gone. 

A few days later, Xie Lian stands in front of Mount Tonglu. Wu Ming stands beside him, having recovered from whatever curse Bai Wuxiang had casted on him the more they came close to the mountain. Its opening is dark, no light to be seen, but even from outside, the resentment from deep within cannot be hidden. It continues to whisper incoherency into Xie Lian and Wu Ming’s ears, enticing them to come in, enticing them to what could only be their possible doom.

Xie Lian grasps at Wu Ming’s hand. The other grips his hand back, giving him a tired, but genuine, smile.

They look back at the huge crack that is the opening, steeling themselves.

Together, they enter.

A year later, two new gods simultaneously ascend together.

Well—not really. One of them, the curious heavenly officials who came to the ascending platform specifically because of the continuous waves of disturbance that raked the heavens so suddenly noted—one of them, they knew. 

“Hah?” A martial god says, incredulous, “Isn’t that the Crown Prince of Xian Le?”

“Ai,” Someone echoes, “You’re right, ah. He ascended again?”

Some people were looking at the shocked form of the lower heavenly official Mu Qing already, the glint of gossip and drama in their eyes. However, those that do not care much for those matters remain squinted at the two forms on the ascending platform. The Crown Prince of Xian Le, they knew, but what of the other one? Even after looking closer, they did not recognize him at all. However, judging by the way the unfamiliar newly-ascended god fussed over the former crown prince and vice versa, the two of them seemingly looking at each other for any kind of injuries—then the two of them weren’t unfamiliar to each other at all.

And then, as if a spell was broken, someone exclaimed from one of the rows closest to the ascending platform, “A ghost!”

“Huh?”

“Ghost? Where?!”

“What?“

“Th-th-the other one,” Someone pointed at the unfamiliar figure on the platform, “He reeks of too much resentful energy! A ghost, indeed! In fact, he’s—“

Gasps, chaos.

“A Supreme!”

“What—what is that cursed thing doing here?!”

“Why is there a Supreme here! Did he raid the heavens? He did, didn’t he? Else, how would he—“

“But I saw it clearly! He appeared on the platform with the Crown Prince of Xian Le! I saw it clearly!”

“What monstrosity is this?!”

Everything was chaotic for a while. It was only when Ling Wen had walked towards the two gods on the platform that the crowd quieted down, looking on with bated breaths.

“Taizi Dianxia,” Ling Wen bowed, “It’s nice to see you back.”

“Ah,” Xie Lian says, and the gods noted how his gaze sharpened as soon as he looked away from the… apparent ghost beside him. All of them watched in silence as he turned to Ling Wen, but not before sliding a hand to clasp one of the ghost’s in a secure grip. “It’s nice to see you, too, Ling Wen. I’m sorry for springing this onto you so suddenly, but may we have a bit of space? We are truly exhausted.” 

“Of course,” Ling Wen easily acquiesced, but then, she threw a quick look at the crown prince’s companion, “But, if I may ask…?”

They all collectively stopped breathing when Xie Lian’s expression completely froze over, an undeniable chill covering their hearts. They watched with unblinking eyes the unmoving crown prince, what little politeness he’d managed to muster up in his face long gone. The gods swallow, not used to seeing the once banished god this way. They’d always viewed him as this overly-kind god that was more naive than a god needed to be, and had always silently laughed at him about it. However, right now, none of that naivety could be seen. Right now, as though someone had ruffled his feathers, he regards Ling Wen with a cold, cold gaze, taking a step forward and placing himself in between the ghost and the civil god.

Their gazes simultaneously turn to the ghost when the latter stepped up beside Xie Lian, the god’s cold gaze melting in favor of looking at him in alarm. The ghost laughed lightly at the crown prince’s reaction, shaking his head.

“I’m no one important,” He said, “But we just came from the Kiln, we’re really exhausted. can the introductions go on later?”

The—the Kiln?!

And so, the hundreds of gods are only left to gape at the forms of the three as Ling Wen finally guides them somewhere else, the ghost steadily dragging the crown prince along. They were almost about to watch the whole ordeal without anything happening, until Xie Lian stopped dead in his tracks, as though uneasy, and abruptly turned to the hoard of gods they were leaving. They vaguely heard a ‘Gege?’ come from the ghost before they were being treated to a sharp, sharp glare, making them fear for their lives.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed what he is,” Xie Lian glares at them, “And if that knowledge makes you want to act funny, think twice.” His eyes glint, gaze piercing, “He’s my person. Okay?” After a prolonged silence that was enough to send all the gods quaking in their feet, Xie Lian nods, seemingly satisfied, “Good.“

“Gege, really, you—“ The ghost—Xie Lian’s person, apparently, sighs, before grabbing Xie Lian by the waist and dragging him away again, his voice getting smaller and smaller the more they walked away, “While I truly enjoy it when gege is like this and will continue to enjoy it over and over and over again, still, right now, gege is tired, he must rest…”

…

The shocked gods could only gape at their retreating backs in absolute shock and confusion.