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Chapter Text

There are some memories that will stick with you. Moments that shape you, change you, ones you revisit over and over in your mind, examining from every angle. Xuē Yáng wasn’t much one for introspection, he’d be the first to admit that, but he recognised that he had had many such moments over the years, moments he could feel something shift in his understanding of the world, his place in it, his purpose.

Losing his finger.

Holding a knife for the first time.

Manipulating the qi in his body for the first time.

Discovering demonic cultivation.

Meeting Xiǎo Xīngchén.

It was funny, really, because Xuē Yáng was damn certain this moment was going to join those others, immortalised, white and red and iron scent and the way the sobs cut off and why the fuck was Xuē Yáng still standing still, watching, musing on how it was going to replay behind his eyes over and over and over and over when he could be moving, why the fuck wasn’t he moving, doing something, that was too much red, there shouldn’t be red, it would stain his robes, red red red red Dàozhǎng wasn’t breathing—

Xuē Yáng was kneeling beside him, skin was too pale, too cold already under unsteady fingertips, and still more red, this wasn’t meant to happen, heart still warm and beating because it didn’t realise the body was dead already, squeezing the last of the life from his chest, not much longer—

No! Fuck that! Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t—he couldn’t—he wasn’t allowed to just—just leave! No! This wasn’t—they’d been having fun! They didn’t work like this, Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t give up, he didn’t stop—

This wasn’t allowed.

The wound was too long. Blood was too quick. It pushed between his fingers, escaping, all the heat that should be under Xiǎo Xīngchén’s skin burning his hands instead.

Why did he have to make things so difficult? Why didn’t he understand? Why didn’t he argue? Why this, why red, why red , why red, why couldn’t he just act like Xuē Yáng wanted him to! They liked each other! It was so simple! They could have kept playing for years and years but—it would serve him right if Xuē Yáng made him into a fierce corpse. Sòng Lán and Xiǎo Xīngchén, a matching pair, obedient twin weapons that didn’t get to just choose to leave him and bleed—

No, no, then Xiǎo Xīngchén would never be warm again, he should always be warm and laughing and teasing and—and—and if the edges came together again the heat would stay inside and his heart would grow strong again and warm and Xuē Yáng could fix him! Make him better!

It wasn’t working. Qi too slow too weak, he never used it for healing other people, didn’t know how to direct it to stitch the flesh closed, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s own spirit greedily drawing the qi in like a drowning thing gasping air, but the wound wasn’t fixed, it was all just flowing free again—Wound Transfer Curse! That would work, if he could find someone nearby to curse. Someone living. Someone in a town full of puppet corpses. The curse didn’t work on the undead, a big flaw really, it would be so useful for assassination otherwise—

Oh! Someone living!

Xuē Yáng giggled, tracing the sigils to cast the curse in the air. Immediately he felt lightheaded, his free hand flying to his own throat to stem the blood. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck was flawless now, sticky, stained red but whole, he was breathing again, yes! Xuē Yáng had won! He’d beaten him! Xiǎo Xīngchén wasn’t allowed to die.

When had he laid down? Everything was fuzzy.

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s heartbeat was still too fluttery beneath his fingertips. Vessel sealed but close to drained and empty. He needed more energy. Xuē Yáng let more pour through his fingers, and everything went black and loud for a few seconds, and oh… oh, he didn’t feel well. It was… cold… hot? He was forgetting something important… mouth tasted like blood, his neck was still bleeding... that wasn’t right, was it? Xuē Yáng may not know how to heal other people but he’d always been great at healing his own wounds with qi... it was a simple wound, it shouldn’t be so difficult...

Oh. Xiǎo Xīngchén had stabbed him, hadn’t he? Was that why he couldn’t feel his legs?

Xiǎo Xīngchén was very pretty, even with the bloody tears staining his cheeks… he wanted to lick them away. Xiǎo Xīngchén shouldn’t cry. He should smile. He had a good smile.

Huh. Xuē Yáng was dying. He was going to die. Weird. He’d never really thought he could die... Not like those other weak people, but here he was... Dying. Qi quickly growing exhausted, ignoring two mortal wounds because why bother with them when he could make Xiǎo Xīngchén’s heartbeat grow stronger? Xiǎo Xīngchén would live. He had to. Xuē Yáng wanted it to be so.

He didn't want to die... he still had to make Xiǎo Xīngchén laugh again...

It was cold.

Ice encased his limbs, holding him still, slowing his thoughts. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t focus on anything other than the sunlight burning his neck, the only warmth he’d ever felt. Needed it. If it stopped he would freeze. Greedy for it, clawing at it, dragging it closer, into his veins. Flowing through him and setting everything on fire to melt away the ice. Maybe he could move. Maybe he could free himself. Fire was easier to maintain, easier to keep feeding it now—

Xiǎo Xīngchén frowned. This wasn’t right. His last memory had been Chéngměi—no, wait, metal under his fingertips carved with a name as familiar as his own—no, it had been Xuē Yáng, not Chéngměi, Chéngměi had been Xuē Yáng all along—no, no, please, no, that had to be a fever dream, right? Zǐchēn couldn’t be—Xuē Yáng couldn’t be so cruel as to—

Hadn’t he cut his own neck? Yes, he remembered that—

There were shallow gasping breaths coming from just in front of his face. Weak fingers resting on his neck, a strong scent of blood. Qi very nearby, but erratic and fading quickly, like someone dying, what had Xuē Yáng done? Who else had he hurt? What was going on?

Xiǎo Xīngchén reached forward—but that didn’t make sense, he recognised the feel of that tunic, why would he be—his hand found Xuē Yáng’s neck, gently tracing across the edges of the open wound, a mirror for the one Xiǎo Xīngchén had opened on his own neck, a wound now healed—

What had Xuē Yáng done?

Why?

Without waiting for his mind to catch up, Xiǎo Xīngchén felt his hands moving in the familiar patterns used for healing, pinning the wound closed with qi. Had that been the warmth that had pushed away the ice? An attempt at healing? But why, why give so much? Why take on such a deadly wound? What sort of—it couldn’t be from selflessness, only minutes before Xuē Yáng had bragged about how little worth the lives of others held for him, but what sort of scheme would risk death like this?

A wave of dizziness swept over him and Xiǎo Xīngchén nearly fell forward, catching himself on shaking arms. Right. Even if Xuē Yáng had somehow healed him, he had recently lost a great deal of blood and qi. His reserves were struggling to keep himself awake, let alone heal someone else, and it was no small injury Xuē Yáng was suffering from. Two mortal injuries. Neck and gut. He definitely couldn’t heal two mortal injuries right now. Could he even heal one?

Perhaps… it would be better this way… Xuē Yáng had done so many terrible things, hurt so many people, and Xiǎo Xīngchén had always tried to subdue rather than kill when they were in combat but sometimes enemies fought to the death, if he had been mortally wounded—

What in the world was he thinking? No, he couldn’t just leave someone to die, not even someone like Xuē Yáng. Choosing not to help, not to try, that would be a more thorough abandonment of his principles than any cruel trick Xuē Yáng had managed to play on him. It didn’t matter what sort of person needed his help, only whether or not he chose to give it.

...and if Xuē Yáng died now, Xiǎo Xīngchén would never discover why he would do something so selfless as to transfer a mortal wound onto himself to save another’s life.

None of this changed the fact that he was still too weak to actually heal anyone, but there was still one option left. Quick as he could, he drew several sigils through the air, wobbling as the charm took most of what little qi he had left. Xuē Yáng’s weak breathing slowed further, then stopped completely, his heartbeat frozen. But he didn’t grow cold, his spiritual cognition falling into a deep sleep. The stasis spell would hold for a few days, if they were lucky. The wounds wouldn’t heal, but they wouldn’t get any worse, and that was good enough for now.

Chapter Text

Several days passed before Xiǎo Xīngchén felt recovered enough to attempt to heal Xuē Yáng. Even small tasks exhausted him easily, a constant reminder of exactly how close he’d come to losing his life.

Ā-Qìng barely left his side, and seemed determined to help him with everything. There was an odd shake to her voice now, and her hands held tight to the sleeves of his robes like she was scared he would disappear. She wasn’t truly blind—he had suspected it before, but in sharing Xuē Yáng’s secret she had admitted it openly. Xiǎo Xīngchén couldn’t help but wonder what horrors she had witnessed to make her voice shake so. Had she seen as Xiǎo Xīngchén gave into despair and attempted to end his own life?

That first evening, after they had moved Chéngm—Xuē Yáng’s unconscious body to somewhere more sheltered, as they sat exhausted by the fire, Xiǎo Xīngchén had heard the sounds of muffled crying. He had called her closer, wrapping his arms around her, and that was when her crying had grown loud. Xiǎo Xīngchén had lost count of how many times he whispered apologies to her that night.

Regret weighed like a boulder in his gut. What would have happened to Ā-Qìng had his attempt to end his own life been successful? Bright and cheery as she was, she had almost no one in the whole world she could rely on, and a tendency to pick mischief with the wrong people. Not to mention, Xuē Yáng would have likely realised she was the one who had revealed his secret to Xiǎo Xīngchén. What would he have done to her to fulfil his twisted sense of justice, without Xiǎo Xīngchén there to defend her?

A whole clan massacred, all for a broken finger…

Eventually, Xiǎo Xīngchén felt ready to attempt the healing. The first few moments would be intensely draining, he knew, as he fought to stabilise the two mortal wounds Xuē Yáng suffered under. But if he could manage them both during those first few minutes, the rest of the process would be a simple matter.

Xiǎo Xīngchén took a shaky breath, his thoughts turning to Zǐchēn and the—the thing Xuē Yáng had turned him into. It was still standing where they had left it days ago, a corpse puppet with no will, no spiritual cognition, soul missing—Xiǎo Xīngchén let out a sob, one hand covering his mouth while the other felt for the wall. In an instant, Ā-Qìng was by his side, her arms around his waist, and Xiǎo Xīngchén held her close as he shook.

“You should let him die,” Ā-Qìng muttered. Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head, wiping at the tears he could feel running down his cheeks. Ā-Qìng was a firm advocate for simply letting Xuē Yáng die of his wounds. But oddly, the more she insisted that they should, the more Xiǎo Xīngchén resisted. He had made his decision regarding Xuē Yáng the moment he chose to place him in a coma instead of letting him bleed out. Xuē Yáng was his patient now, and Xiǎo Xīngchén would do his best to revive him.

“No, he has to live, Ā-Qìng. A quick death was too kind a fate for the horrors he has inflicted. I will personally deliver him to Jīnlín Tái to face justice. He won’t escape a second time.”

That said, Xiǎo Xīngchén straightened, fortifying himself, and stepped through the doorway, leaving Ā-Qìng behind. It was going to be a difficult few hours.

Xuē Yáng couldn’t stop laughing.

He could tell Xiǎo Xīngchén was growing frustrated, but he couldn’t help it.

They were both alive! It had worked! Xiǎo Xīngchén was alive and as pure as he ever was and righteously angry and glowing like the moon fallen to earth, and he’d healed Xuē Yáng too! Oh, he wanted to touch. Wanted to lunge forwards and trace fingers across the faint pink scar on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck. Wanted to remove the stained robes and burn them and replace them with new ones that shone like bright moonlight. Wanted to feel the way blood was moving beneath his skin, where it belonged, unseen and hot. Xiǎo Xīngchén was alive and Xuē Yáng had made him that way.

Another laugh slipped past his lips.

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t seem to share his delight. He’d bound Xuē Yáng’s hands—as if Xuē Yáng would use them to hurt him!—and he kept a hand on Shuānghuá, to defend himself should Xuē Yáng make any sudden moves. Oh, now that was tempting. They hadn’t crossed blades in over three years, not even to spar—there had been too great a risk that Xiǎo Xīngchén would recognise Xuē Yáng through their combat. But Xiǎo Xīngchén knew his identity now! They could play again!

“Xuē Yáng.”

“Hmm? Yes, Dàozhǎng?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything further. Xuē Yáng watched him, and felt his laughter began to fade away along with his initial delight at seeing that Xiǎo Xīngchén had survived. Looking closer, the exhaustion in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s frame was clear to see. His skin was still too pale, and there was a slight tremble to his hands.

“Hey, you should be resting, Dàozhǎng. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

For some reason, that show of concern seemed to make Xiǎo Xīngchén angry.

“You dare to speak to me in such a familiar way after what you’ve done?”

“Is Dàozhǎng such a sore loser? I won! You should respect my victory.”

“Victory! You—” Xiǎo Xīngchén cut himself off as his voice grew loud. Xuē Yáng’s heartbeat was racing at seeing him so uncontrolled, the gentle breeze whipped up into a furious gale. To think, he’d nearly lost this! No fierce corpse could hope to match such righteous energy.

Xiǎo Xīngchén visibly swallowed back his anger and when he next spoke, his voice was level and calm.

“Your victory . You manipulated me into destroying dozens of lives, including that of my dearest friend—what is it?”

Xuē Yáng was giggling again.

“Oh Dàozhǎng, you misunderstand! That was all simply for fun! My victory isn’t over them! It’s over you!”

“Over me?”

“Yes! Over your desire to steal your death from me!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t speak for several seconds.

“Your victory was in making sure I didn’t die?”

“Yes, so I don’t understand why you would be so bitter about it. You’re alive.”

“Why?”

“Eh? Why what?”

“Why would that be of any value to you? You already destroyed—” he cut himself off, biting at his lip. The bandage over his eyes was beginning to grow red again, and suddenly Xuē Yáng’s heart was racing for a whole different reason. Red on white. Bad bad bad!

“Hey, Xiǎo Xīngchén, you think I don’t value you?”

“Why did you save me? Answer directly.”

“I already told you. You’re not allowed to steal your death from me.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head. “I don’t belong to you. My death doesn’t belong to you.”

“Of course it does! It did since the moment we met! You think I would let any other being or monster kill you!? No one but I, Xuē Yáng, would be allowed to kill you!” Xuē Yáng chuckled, his head falling back against the wall as he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “Ahh, I used to dream of it, Dàozhǎng! Imagine the various ways I could end your life! It was hard to choose the best way. It had to be special, for you. And when it was done, I would raise you as a fierce corpse. You would be my most powerful weapon, Dàozhǎng; I would honour you like I do Jiàngzāi, keep you by my side at all times.”

Xuē Yáng sighed, and let his gaze fall from the ceiling back down to Xiǎo Xīngchén, who looked even paler than before, as if he felt like throwing up. Xuē Yáng blinked, shifting forwards, but he froze still when Xiǎo Xīngchén flinched, half-drawing Shuānghuá. The red began to creep past the bandages as bloody tears.

“I understand,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. There was something horrible about his tone. Xuē Yáng felt the air around them disappear.

“Dàozhǎng?”

“I don’t know why I expected any different, I—” His voice broke, and he was trembling more obviously now, and this was just like before, just like—Dàozhǎng wouldn’t do it again, would he, he wouldn’t! No more red! He couldn’t! No no no, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s body wasn’t strong right now, how would he survive—Xuē Yáng twisted against the ropes binding his wrists, he had to get a hand free, Xiǎo Xīngchén already had Shuānghuá drawn—

“Do not approach me,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. Xuē Yáng blinked, staring at the way light glinted off Shuānghuá’s blade. It was nowhere near Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck, instead aimed right at Xuē Yáng’s heart.

The air returned. Xuē Yáng let it fill his lungs as he retreated as best he could, shuffling on his knees with hands bound. Xiǎo Xīngchén could point Shuānghuá in Xuē Yáng’s direction all he liked, as long as it went nowhere near his own neck. It wasn’t like he could ever actually kill Xuē Yáng. Even if he ever found the determination to strike a killing blow, Xuē Yáng was more than his equal at combat. He would simply evade it.

“Dàozhǎng, when you're fully recovered we should spar. I can make you vegetable stew afterwards.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s mouth fell open, the hand holding Shuānghuá faltering until the blade was pointing at the floor.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. “I—I’m too tired to speak with you right now.” He sheathed Shuānghuá and turned to the doorway.

Xuē Yáng pulled at his wrists again, and this time one slipped free of the ropes. He rolled his shoulders to try and rid them of the ache, and moved to stand—

“I’ll return in a few hours with something for you to eat. You should rest in the meantime,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said over his shoulder. Xuē Yáng considered it, considered the aches throughout his body and the exhaustion nipping at the back of his mind and the emptiness of his stomach.

“Return quickly, Dàozhǎng, or I’ll come find you,” he said. Xiǎo Xīngchén pursed his lips, but nodded and stepped through the doorway. Xuē Yáng sighed, and let his eyes fall shut.

Chapter Text

Ā-Qìng was waiting for him in the other room.

“He made you cry again,” she said. Xiǎo Xīngchén grimaced.

“I made myself cry. He simply acted true to himself, while I held on to some false impression of him,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. Ā-Qìng huffed, which he took to mean that she didn’t see the difference.

“You are always too kind to him,” she said as they headed outside to where the fire pit was. “He is the one who pretended to be your friend, so he is the one responsible.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén smiled, and didn’t say another word. Ā-Qìng was still so young, how could he explain the complexities of the heart to her? The fact that Chéngměi—Xuē Yáng had taken advantage of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s trust, that he was solely responsible for the destruction he had crafted… it did nothing to ease the guilty ache in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s chest, or the irrational hope that the past few years had held more truth than lies, that maybe Xuē Yáng had changed, that maybe Chéngměi wasn’t a complete fiction.

It was exhausting to think about.

The scent of woodsmoke drew him closer until he could feel the heat burning into his skin. He sat before the fire, and imagined he could still see the golden light.

Of all the things in the world he could no longer see, the dancing flames of a well-built campfire were one of the things he missed the most. There was almost something meditative in watching fire, and it calmed him like nothing else. Fire, a force that when unrestrained could wreak such terrible destruction, but when carefully nurtured could provide comfort, protection, even save a life.

A good fire was a home in the wilderness. Since leaving the mountain to travel the world, it had been the only home he could find, the only constant, until—

He shook his head. Too exhausting.

Ā-Qìng settled beside him.

“Here, I chopped up the vegetables while you were talking to him! Did I make them small enough?” she asked, grabbing Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand to guide it to the vegetables. He gave a more genuine smile.

“You’ve done well, Ā-Qìng. These are very evenly sized pieces.”

“Thank you! Can I add them to the soup?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén nodded, and she made a delighted little noise as she placed the vegetables into the pan.

The skin on his cheeks had grown tacky as the moisture dried off in the heat of the fire. It made his skin itch. Beneath the bandages, his eyes were still hurting, though he was glad that there were no new tears. Chéngměi would have cleaned the blood away, with gentle hands and a teasing remark. But Chéngměi was a lie.

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, and in his mind’s eye he pictured the flames before him. The fire was low but hot, the glowing coals ready for cooking upon. The scent of the smoke told him the wood had been a little green. The water in the cooking pot had begun to simmer, a soft bubbling that mixed with the crackle of the fire.

He couldn’t meditate, couldn’t focus for long enough on anything, really. Couldn’t calm his mind when his thoughts were constantly whirling, and wasn’t this what meditation was for? To re-centre yourself when things unsettle you? Every feeling was too much, too strong, or else he felt void of any feeling at all. He wanted to sleep forever, to drift away from it all, to find some semblance of balance again. But how could he, when Ā-Qìng still needed him?

Zǐchēn was gone.

Chéngměi was a lie.

Xuē Yáng… he was all that was left.

Why, of all the people in the world to find unconscious by the side of the road, had it been Xuē Yáng? How much of it had been planned? Certainly Xuē Yáng couldn’t have predicted that it would be Xiǎo Xīngchén who rescued him, but he must have recognised Xiǎo Xīngchén immediately—was that why he’d never accepted Xiǎo Xīngchén’s invitations to spar? Jiàngzāi was a very distinctive blade.

How long would Xuē Yáng have let the deception go on? Until he decided to end Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life? To make one of those many violent fantasies true?

Xiǎo Xīngchén frowned.

Why wouldn’t Xuē Yáng have acted sooner? They had been living together for years, and Xiǎo Xīngchén had never gotten any sense of malevolence or ill will from Xuē Yáng in that time. He couldn’t be that great an actor, right? Or was it Xiǎo Xīngchén’s intuition that was lacking? Ā-Qìng had accused Xuē Yáng several times of being an evil person, and Xuē Yáng had never denied it, but even then Xiǎo Xīngchén hadn’t sensed anything bad from him.

Had Xuē Yáng really been plotting to kill them both, all that time? When Xuē Yáng had taken over organising the repair of the leaking roof, when he had stabilised the ladder as Xiǎo Xīngchén climbed, had he been thinking of pushing Xiǎo Xīngchén off the edge? When he had volunteered to the markets for their food so that the vendors didn’t try to take advantage of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s blindness, had he been imagining adding poison to their meal?

Xiǎo Xīngchén had trusted Chéngměi completely. At any moment, Xuē Yáng could have taken advantage of that trust to end Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life. But he just… hadn’t. Instead he had laughed and teased and read books out loud for Xiǎo Xīngchén. Xuē Yáng had carefully described the world around them—all the changing colours of the trees, the glowing of lanterns at night, the little details carved into the eaves of houses—all so Xiǎo Xīngchén could imagine what the world looked like. On the days where his missing eyes would ache and burn, Xuē Yáng had gently chided Xiǎo Xīngchén for staining the bandages and washed away the blood on his cheeks, careful not to let the rough cloth scratch against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s skin.

What sort of murderer would do laundry for their enemy?

Had Chéngměi been a lie? Perhaps he wasn’t a complete fiction, maybe only a lie of omission, half of a truth. There had to be something Xiǎo Xīngchén had overlooked—

Or was Xiǎo Xīngchén still trying to hold tight to a false impression?

Xuē Yáng’s breathing rate had changed. Back in the other room, when Xiǎo Xīngchén had been weeping, Xuē Yáng’s breathing had sped up. Grown just harsh enough to hear. And when he had begun to draw Shuānghuá, Xuē Yáng had sounded panicked, struggling within his bonds. Xiǎo Xīngchén had assumed it was because Xuē Yáng feared being injured, but… his breathing had grown relaxed the moment Xiǎo Xīngchén had pointed the blade at his heart. He’d even let out a soft chuckle.

Was it bravado in the face of danger? Xiǎo Xīngchén had fought Xuē Yáng many times while attempting to bring him to justice for the massacre of the Yuèyáng Cháng, and never once had he reacted like that when confronted with danger. If anything, he was the opposite. Xuē Yáng had never looked so delighted as when they were mid-combat, and he had complained constantly of boredom while they transported him to face trial.

So what had panicked him so about Shuānghuá?

Somehow, despite his racing thoughts, Xiǎo Xīngchén drifted into sleep between one breath and the next.

Xuē Yáng awoke to the smell of food.

He sat up, glancing around the room. It was much darker than before, probably close to dusk. Xiǎo Xīngchén had yet to return, it seemed. Xuē Yáng smirked. It was like Xiǎo Xīngchén was asking for him to seek him out!

Silently, he snuck through the building, avoiding the floorboards that creaked and the coffin beds that obstructed the way. Coffin House was his home. Even in the dim light, he knew it well.

In the shadow of the doorway, he paused, partially hidden. Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng were both sat before the firepit—Xuē Yáng grinned. Xiǎo Xīngchén appeared to have fallen asleep, slumped back against one of the coffins. That was good. He needed sleep.

The fire painted Xiǎo Xīngchén’s fine features golden in the evening light. Again, Xuē Yáng was struck by the urge to touch, to trace his fingers over the pulse in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck, to let the heat of his body bleed into Xuē Yáng’s hands. But Xiǎo Xīngchén was a light sleeper, any touch would surely wake him. And if not a touch, then Ā-Qìng’s whining would.

Xuē Yáng slid down the wall, content to sit in the shadows and watch and wait for his friend to wake. There would be time in the future to touch. There would be time to talk.

Ignoring his hunger only seemed to make his other injuries grow more irritating. The aches in his neck and his gut were familiar. The ones around his wrists were new. Xuē Yáng grimaced as he examined them in the half-light. Pulling free of the rope restraints had rubbed the skin raw, and in one or two places he was even bleeding sluggishly. It was an annoying place to be injured. Every move of his hands seemed to pull on the damaged skin, causing small pinpricks of blood to well to the surface.

No matter. Skin would heal. It was a small sacrifice, gladly given, for such a rare treasure to be admired another day. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life would never be snuffed out while Xuē Yáng still breathed. Never.

Chapter Text

Dark had fallen completely and the moon had risen by the time Xiǎo Xīngchén stirred. Xuē Yáng focused on the slight movement in an instant. Laughing silently, he sprang to his feet and snuck back to the room Xiǎo Xīngchén had left him in, dutifully arranging himself on the same thin mattress he’d awoken on. Within a few minutes, he heard Xiǎo Xīngchén’s careful steps following him in.

“Hey Dàozhǎng, is that you?” Xuē Yáng called out. “Dàozhǎng, you left me all alone here in the dark! I cannot see!”

He heard Xiǎo Xīngchén sigh, but the man didn’t slow.

“That would be why I brought the lantern with me, Xuē Yáng,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, holding the warm light in one hand and a bowl in the other. Even without the lantern, the moonlight streaming through the bare window was more than bright enough to see by. It gave Xiǎo Xīngchén’s robes an otherworldly glow.

“How considerate of you! I was about to come looking for you.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t respond, but he left the lantern by the doorway and moved to kneel before Xuē Yáng, placing the bowl of soup on the floor between them. That done, he stood, turning to leave.

Xuē Yáng gasped theatrically.

“Dàozhǎng, Dàozhǎng, you are so cruel! Did you forget you bound my hands behind my back? How shall I eat like this?” Xuē Yáng said. Xiǎo Xīngchén paused, his lips twisting, and Xuē Yáng burst into laughter. “You did forget! Oh Dàozhǎng, you are too funny!”

Of course, Xiǎo Xīngchén returned to sit before him. Xuē Yáng watched him, resting his chin on one hand as he said— “Dàozhǎng, you’ll have to feed me yourself, or I shall surely starve.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. I’m blind. I would miss your mouth.”

“Well then you have to untie my hands so I can feed myself!” Xuē Yáng said.

“I will not.”

“Ahh, so you would starve me! You would bring me a meal I can’t consume purely to tease me! I shall die of hunger!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén snorted at the overdramatics, mouth nearly twitching to a smile, before he forced himself still once more.

“I half-expected that you would free yourself while I rested.”

“How would I?” Xuē Yáng asked. “I have no blade to saw through the rope.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén still seemed suspicious, but he nodded. Still so trusting, even now. Still so kind, even now. What were the limits of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s goodwill? Xuē Yáng had wondered that nearly from the moment he’d awoken under Xiǎo Xīngchén’s care.

True selflessness wasn’t real—no person ever helped another for no reason. It was all an exchange of power, of favours owed and repaid. Either that, or a display of strength, bragging to the world that you were so sure in your position you could afford to waste energy on another. Some people were just better at hiding their true motives than others.

Xiǎo Xīngchén might be the very best actor Xuē Yáng had ever met, because in all of the years they had lived together Xuē Yáng had never been able to uncover the truth behind Xiǎo Xīngchén’s selflessness.

“If I hold the spoon out to you, maybe you could lean forward and eat it that way.”

“A solution already! You are too clever, Dàozhǎng!”

Neither of them spoke much during the meal, except for Xuē Yáng’s directions when Xiǎo Xīngchén held the soup out of reach. Xuē Yáng felt like laughing the entire time. There was a delight in simple mischief, misleading Xiǎo Xīngchén into feeding him when he was well capable of the act himself. Xiǎo Xīngchén was just too serious about it! Careful, the way he made sure not to spill a drop!

Eventually the bowl was empty and Xiǎo Xīngchén placed it aside.

“I feel there is still more we need to discuss,” he said, and Xuē Yáng quirked an eyebrow, curious.

“Oh?”

“Why do you grow alarmed whenever I reach for Shuānghuá?”

Xuē Yáng’s smile froze, his eyes drawn to the scar on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck again. Why had Xiǎo Xīngchén—why that? He glared at the blind man, quite aware he’d never see it, but maybe if Xuē Yáng glared extra strongly he would feel it anyway.

“Boring! Why would you ask such an obvious question!?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén pursed his lips and crossed his arms, and he still looked so pretty, his cheeks flushed beneath the patina of dried blood that apparently Ā-Qìng had been too stupid to wipe away—didn’t she know how irritating dried blood was on skin? Xuē Yáng’s fingers twitched.

“If the answer were obvious, I wouldn’t have asked—”

Xuē Yáng touched Xiǎo Xīngchén’s cheek.

Xiǎo Xīngchén flinched back violently, throwing himself halfway across the room and drawing Shuānghuá. The blade was, once more, pointed in his direction. Xuē Yáng’s fingers curled in the empty air.

Xiǎo Xīngchén swallowed. He was trembling again.

“Your hands are free.”

“Yes.”

“You lied.”

“I’m a liar. I do that. It was funny, though, wasn’t it? You were so surprised!”

Xuē Yáng’s throat felt full of sharp things, tumbling down into his lungs. He held his smile in place, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. It wasn’t like Xiǎo Xīngchén would notice if it dropped away. And—and it was funny! Really, it was! Such an overreaction to such a little touch.

“Why haven’t you escaped?”

“Escaped? I’m not trapped here Dàozhǎng. I’m where I want to be.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén was shaking his head.

“We are not friends, Xuē Yáng. I will deliver you to the Lánlíng Jīn—”

Xuē Yáng laughed, falling back. Lánlíng Jīn? Currently being ruled by Jīn Guāngyáo until the Jīn kid was old enough to take over? Right, yes, Xuē Yáng would definitely face “justice” there.

“Do you take nothing seriously?”

“We are friends, though,” Xuē Yáng said instead of explaining. “Hey, Dàozhǎng, we are! You can’t deny it—”

“No, we are not. You are the reason Zǐchēn is dead. Any camaraderie that existed between us died along with him.”

Xuē Yáng was silent for several long moments after that proclamation.

“No. You’re wrong.”

“Xuē Yáng—”

“Probably just confused, because you still need more rest—”

“Shut up!”

Oddly, Xuē Yáng did. Xiǎo Xīngchén stormed forwards, and finally—finally!—Shuānghuá was steady in his hand. His aim was true.

“Xuē Yáng! Listen to my words. We are not friends. If I could wash my hands of you right now, I would. I would kill you, except I think you’d prefer death to imprisonment.” Xiǎo Xīngchén felt strangely reckless. Anger burned through him, a furious energy. “It’s… it’s wrong of me, but I want more than justice. I want you to hurt. I want you to suffer, like they all did. Like Zǐchēn did. But there’s nothing you care about that I can take, except your freedom and your entertainment. It was fun, tricking me? Manipulating me like a toy? Your favourite plaything?”

“Xiǎo Xīngchén—”

“I told you to shut up!” Xiǎo Xīngchén was grinning now, the anger twisting to laughter in his chest. Was this how Xuē Yáng felt all the time? “That’s why Shuānghuá alarms you, isn’t it! If I die, so does your fun! Is that the best way to hurt you, Xuē Yáng? For me to take my blade to my neck—”

“Don't you dare!” Xuē Yáng snarled, tackling Xiǎo Xīngchén’s legs. He fell to the ground. Xiǎo Xīngchén kicked him, struggling free, but Xuē Yáng scrambled after.

“I can do as I like! My life is my own!”

“You can’t! You can’t steal that from me!”

Somehow, Shuānghuá wasn’t in his grip anymore. Xuē Yáng grabbed at his wrist, and Xiǎo Xīngchén hissed, shoving him away.

“You disgust me! The most selfish, the cruelest, the most destructive person I’ve ever met!”

“Hypocrite! You would destroy yourself out of some pathetic guilt—”

Xiǎo Xīngchén screeched, springing towards Xuē Yáng. He felt like some animal thing. He felt like a resentful spirit. He clawed at Xuē Yáng, scrambled to trap him, pin him, make him be still, be silent! Xuē Yáng wasn’t silent. Xuē Yáng laughed and snarled back, and bit Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arm through the fabric of his robes. Xiǎo Xīngchén tugged sharply at his hair.

“You have no right! You have no input in my life! You forfeited that the moment you tricked me into hurting innocent people!”

“There’s no such fucking thing as innocent, Dàozhǎng!”

Somehow Xuē Yáng had found an advantage, had flipped them so Xiǎo Xīngchén was on his back and Xuē Yáng was pinning him with his body weight—

“What’s left! There’s nothing left! You destroyed everything!”

Like falling into a lake, the heat of rage was washed away in an instant and Xiǎo Xīngchén’s throat felt choked by icy despair. He took another breath but it came out as a sob, and then another.

“Dàozhǎng?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén only shook his head, no longer struggling, what was the point? Xuē Yáng had won.

“Dàozhǎng, you—you need to calm down—”

“Why? There’s nothing left at all.”

“Xīngchén—”

“My dream. My principles. My dearest friend. You destroyed them all.” Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a wet laugh. “What else is left? Why should I live? What’s the point?”

Chapter Text

Xiǎo Xīngchén had stopped fighting—he had stopped—

Xuē Yáng shook his head, staring at the fresh blood on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s cheeks, nearly black in the moonlight. The choked sobs harsh and loud in the night. Xiǎo Xīngchén was shaking, and he’d stopped fighting—

Xuē Yáng glanced to the side where Shuānghuá lay abandoned.

“You can’t try again. I won’t let you.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t respond. He just kept sobbing, new tears replacing all the ones Xuē Yáng wiped away. He didn’t flinch anymore at the touch, barely reacted at all, and somehow that was a lot more alarming than his overreactions from before.

A noise at the doorway caught his attention. Ā-Qìng, glaring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused, holding her cane like a weapon. She must have been drawn by the noise. Although, if she was still playing at blind, that meant she couldn’t comment on how Xuē Yáng was sitting straddling Xiǎo Xīngchén’s waist. Xuē Yáng smirked at her.

“Come to save our Dàozhǎng’s life from the evil killer, Little Blind?”

She swallowed, but took a step into the room.

“You need to leave him alone.” Her voice shook.

“Hah! What’s a little blind girl going to do that two powerful cultivators couldn’t?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Xuē Yáng chuckled, turning back to Xiǎo Xīngchén. He was still crying, softly now, breathing rough and uneven. It made Xuē Yáng’s chest ache.

“How about instead of that, Little Blind, you run off and fetch some water? And some clean bandages,” Xuē Yáng said rather than admit he had no fucking clue how to get Xiǎo Xīngchén to stop crying.

“I won’t leave you alone with him—”

Xuē Yáng groaned loudly, glaring at the ceiling.

“You think I’m going to hurt him, you little brat? After the trouble I just went to to keep him alive?” he said, springing to his feet. In two quick steps, he’d swept Shuānghuá from the ground and deposited it in the startled kid’s arms. “Be useful for once! Water! Bandages! And keep this out of his reach!”

Xuē Yáng immediately resettled beside Xiǎo Xīngchén and undid the bandage over his eyes, ignoring her, and after a moment she left.

Using the spoiled bandage, Xuē Yáng dabbed at the blood as best he could.

“Are you… you really should stop crying. It’s bad to lose so much blood while you’re healing.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén still didn’t respond. Xuē Yáng grimaced.

“You’ll run out of breath, eventually.”

Still no response.

“Is he really worth all this crying?” Xuē Yáng muttered—that got a half-hearted shove. “Hey I’m serious! He left you alone for no reason! And you’re so—weird and naive, it’s a wonder you weren’t killed by bandits immediately! All they’d need to do is invent some sob story and you’d be gāolǐng clay in their hands! And he just left you!”

“You don’t understand…” Xiǎo Xīngchén’s voice was low and broken.

“Aha! So you can still speak!”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh Dàozhǎng, don’t go silent now! Come on!”

“I hate you.”

Xuē Yáng paused. That…those words hurt a lot more than he was expecting, considering all of the other hurtful stuff Xiǎo Xīngchén had been saying lately. It didn’t sound like an emotional outburst. The words were quiet, steady. It sounded true.

“Well…” Xuē Yáng swallowed. “Well, you still haven’t answered me, Sòng Lán abandoned you, how is he still worth—”

“He’s my friend.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s friend. Dearest friend, even with them parted and at odds, even though there really shouldn’t be anything left owed between them—

Maybe Xuē Yáng was looking at it all wrong. Sòng Lán had once belonged to Xiǎo Xīngchén in much the same way Xiǎo Xīngchén now belonged to Xuē Yáng, that was easy enough to understand. And none of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s messy objections or hurtful words had really changed that bond, he was still Xuē Yáng’s. So. For whatever reason, Xiǎo Xīngchén had decided to keep Sòng Lán, despite his unpleasant behaviour. He had gotten rightfully upset when Xuē Yáng broke his Sòng Lán, and decided to seek revenge against Xuē Yáng for the insult, and in all the confusion had decided that the best vengeance was stealing his death from Xuē Yáng.

Again, a complete overreaction. Sòng Lán’s death was not worth Xiǎo Xīngchén’s, their lives were not of an equivalent value. Taking his life from Xuē Yáng hurt a lot more than whatever Xiǎo Xīngchén was feeling at the loss of Sòng Lán—

Oh, maybe...

Yes, that made sense. Losing Sòng Lán did hurt Xiǎo Xīngchén this much, that was what he’d been trying to communicate.

It wasn’t like Xuē Yáng was unaware of Sòng Lán's importance to Xiǎo Xīngchén. If he had been a nobody, hurting Sòng Lán would have made for a poor vengeance against Xiǎo Xīngchén all those years ago. Taking Sòng Lán’s eyes, slaughtering Báixuě Temple, all to hurt Xiǎo Xīngchén. Punish him for his part in Xuē Yáng’s imprisonment.

But that had been years ago. Xuē Yáng hadn’t known Sòng Lán was still worth so much.

“I understand,” Xuē Yáng said. Xiǎo Xīngchén made a disbelieving noise. It made Xuē Yáng smile. “If I’d known he was still worth so much, I would have been more careful not to damage him.”

Possibly. Xuē Yáng hadn't intended to kill Sòng Lán. He hadn’t sought him out, he hadn’t even attacked him first! It was Sòng Lán’s fault, really, poking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Of course Xiǎo Xīngchén would come to Chéngměi’s rescue, and well… if it worked out that Sòng Lán was killed, that was his own fault. Sòng Lán should have been civil instead of attacking.

Still it did leave a new problem, and one without a clear solution. If Xiǎo Xīngchén’s despair really was so deep, then this would definitely not be the last attempt he made on his own life, whether it was driven by the urge to hurt Xuē Yáng in vengeance or simply out of some false hope that his spirit might find Sòng Lán’s in the next life. Xuē Yáng could provide distractions, drive Xiǎo Xīngchén into a righteous fury, ensure his every thought was on bringing Xuē Yáng to justice, and maybe that would be enough to drive him for a while, but… well… Xiǎo Xīngchén had already discovered the path that would hurt Xuē Yáng the most. The temptation to gain vengeance that way would always be there, and there was too great a chance that Xuē Yáng would be unable to prevent it. Xiǎo Xīngchén was a clever man, he’d find a way.

So the only option was to find some way to reduce Xiǎo Xīngchén’s despair to a manageable level. Then, once that particular path to vengeance was no longer under consideration, Xiǎo Xīngchén could take whatever else he felt he was owed for Sòng Lán’s death, and everything between them would be settled. And then, things could return to normal.

Xiǎo Xīngchén had begun to breathe normally again, finally, though he didn’t move to get up. Didn’t move to wipe away the tears. That was fine. Xuē Yáng would clear them away—

“Please don’t touch me.”

“Xīngchén—”

“Don’t use my name, either.”

Xuē Yáng’s hand hovered. Retreated.

“Why not? Dàozhǎng, why not? You’ve still got—”

“Your touch makes my skin crawl.”

What could he say in response to that?

After a few moments, Dàozhǎng levered himself to a seated position, shifting until his back was against the wall opposite. Xuē Yáng watched, but made no move to help. No move to touch. Dàozhǎng had asked him not to.

Xuē Yáng still hadn’t thought of anything to say when Ā-Qìng returned, her arms full.

She glanced around the room—subtly, he’d admit—and accidentally made eye contact. Xuē Yáng smirked, quirking an eyebrow. She swallowed, her face all twisted up in a sneer, but she let her eyes fall unfocused and drift away. She moved into the room like normal, cane tapping.

“Báiyī-gēgē?”

“Here, Ā-Qìng.”

Slowly, she made her way to Dàozhǎng’s side, and offered him the water flask.

“Dàozhǎng still has blood on his cheeks, Little Blind. I thought you would have cleaned it away while you were sitting at the fire together. He looks a terrifying sight.”

“Idiot! I can’t see that!”

“Of course not… you’ll just have to clear it away for him now, then—”

“Xuē Yáng, do not—”

“Dàozhǎng! This needs doing! Her hands aren’t mine. And you’ll just leave marks if you do it yourself.”

“Hmm.”

After a moment, Dàozhǎng relaxed back against the wall. Xuē Yáng grinned.

“Well? Get started, Little Blind.”

“I can’t see what I’m doing!”

“Use your fingertips, brat. Dried blood feels different than bare skin.”

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, but she did take some of the water and soak the edge of one of the clean bandages. Xuē Yáng watched as she worked, watched the way Dàozhǎng sighed and tilted his head under her ministrations.

Xuē Yáng forcibly unclenched his hands when he felt his nails pierce skin.

What to do, regarding Dàozhǎng’s despair? What could fix things, bind the shattered parts of his heart long enough to heal again? What could Xuē Yáng do?

Ā-Qìng’s touch was nothing like Xuē Yáng’s. Sometimes too soft, sometimes too firm, and Xiǎo Xīngchén could feel the blood growing tacky again, the way it smeared while she tried to clear it away. Her inexperience in cleaning away the macabre was evident.

Apart from his initial instructions, Xuē Yáng was remaining remarkably quiet. Occasionally, he would take a breath and hold it, as if he was about to speak, but he never said a word.

Xiǎo Xīngchén wasn’t sure how he felt anymore. Yelling had felt good. Crying had felt awful. Now he was something else. Calm, but a different sort of calm. Washed out.

He missed Chéngměi. Wasn’t that an awful thing to think? He wanted Chéngměi to return, to sit beside him and tease and chatter, a solid presence to focus on until Xiǎo Xīngchén was out of his head and felt real again. His friend, his companion… Xuē Yáng may be the one sat across from him, but all Xiǎo Xīngchén’s senses told him it was Chéngměi. His breathing pattern, his scent, the cadence of his voice. The familiarity of his touch.

It was only a half truth. Xuē Yáng’s touch did make his skin crawl.

Chéngměi’s didn’t.

Unfortunately, since both men occupied the same skin, Xiǎo Xīngchén's instincts were swinging wildly between horror and comfort with every touch Xuē Yáng gave. It was leaving him a little sick.

How could they be the same person? How could any of the kindness Chéngměi had shown exist within the same soul as Xuē Yáng?

“Dàozhǎng.”

Even that. All he’d done was ask, and Xuē Yáng had backed away. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t demanded the same level of familiarity they were used to exchanging.

“Yes?”

Xuē Yáng took a deep breath, and Xiǎo Xīngchén could hear him fidgeting.

“If…if I can return Sòng Lán to you… would that be enough?”

Chapter Text

Xiǎo Xīngchén must have misheard him.

“Could you repeat that? Please?”

Xuē Yáng took an unsteady breath.

“Your dream, your principles, and Sòng Lán. The things you hold dearest. If I can return Sòng Lán, will you stop trying to steal from me?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén slowly shook his head, the movement growing more frantic. “No… no, he’s dead, you can’t—”

“Well, obviously not! Shuānghuá pierced his heart! He’s dead! He’s a fierce corpse! But his spiritual cognition hasn’t been lost.”

“…what?”

Xuē Yáng was silent for a moment.

“You don’t know much about demonic cultivation. Not all fierce corpses are raised equal. Most are no better than simple puppets, but their bodies hold the same strength they had in life. Cultivator corpses make for more powerful puppets. And then there’s the Yílíng Lǎozǔ’s Ghost General Wēn Níng, who was far more powerful in death than he was in life. Why?”

“I… don’t know.”

Xuē Yáng hummed. “It’s the spiritual cognition. Resentful spirits have no body. Puppet corpses have no spirit. Combine them both, that’s the secret. It only really works—it’s only stable—if the body and the spirit were one being in life.”

“How do you know this?”

“The Yílíng Lǎozǔ’s notes, a few experiments…what did you think my job with the Wēn clan was? They had plenty of killers. I was there as their expert in demonic cultivation. I did research!”

Xuē Yáng’s voice was bright and proud, and it made Xiǎo Xīngchén feel like throwing up.

“How many people are dead because of you?”

“…you already knew that I’ve killed people before.”

“You’re a cultivator who I discovered badly injured by the roadside with wounds consistent with sword fighting. A few years before that, most of the cultivation world was at war with itself. It would be astounding if you’d somehow managed to avoid mortally injuring someone. This is different.”

“Is it different? Or was I simply assisting Qíshān Wēn’s war effort? They were very official experiments.”

“Yuèyáng Cháng. Báixuě Temple. The people living here. Senseless killings.”

“Hardly senseless—”

“Yes, I’m sure you have a very good reason for all of it in your head.”

“Killing is killing, Dàozhǎng. Why are some deaths acceptable and some aren’t?”

“There’s right and there’s wrong! Even a child could tell the difference!”

“Well, who can keep this morality bullshit straight, with the sects changing their minds every few years—”

“It’s beyond sect politics, Xuē Yáng—”

“Then how do you know! How do you know if it’s wrong! Dàozhǎng, have you killed anyone before?”

“No—”

“Yet you were happy to advocate for my execution! My death would be on your hands. Would that be right? Acceptable?”

“I never suggested execution, I simply stated the facts—”

“Yet even a child would know it would lead to my execution! Hah! What makes a kill righteous, Dàozhǎng? Lánlíng Jīn slaughtered the Wēn remnants, women, children, the elderly, all righteous kills—”

“They were not—that wasn’t right—”

“But Lánlíng Jīn said it was, so it must be!”

“There is nothing righteous about killing the defenceless!”

“Ah, so they aren’t righteous, they do evil acts, yet you’d bring me to them to face justice? Good and evil are decided by our illustrious leaders’ whims—”

“That’s wrong!” Ā-Qìng’s voice cut sharp through the debate, startled silence ringing out after her words.

“Oh? You have something to add, Little Blind?” Xuē Yáng asked, dark amusement evident in his voice.

“Báiyī-gēgē knows what he’s talking about, you’re just an idiot!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s simple. Good people help other people. Evil people hurt others.”

“I suppose that works, for toddlers—”

“Hey—”

“—but unfortunately, real life is more complex—”

“It’s not, though! Báiyī-gēgē tries to help people, all the time! Even when it’s inconvenient! But you just want to hurt people all the time! That’s evil!”

“That’s—”

“Ā-Qìng is correct,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, cutting off whatever retort Xuē Yáng had ready.

Xuē Yáng made a frustrated noise.

“But what if you try to help someone by hurting someone else? Is that good or evil?”

“Evil.”

“But what if the one you hurt was about to attack the one you help?”

“Then it would be a good action.”

“But what if the one you defend has hurt others, and the one about to attack was seeking justice?”

“I’d think you already know the answer to that one.”

“I don’t! Is it good or evil?”

“Interfering with the course of justice is evil.”

“But it’s all the same thing! Attacking one person for someone else, it’s the same action, why would—how is it so obvious to you?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén paused, frowning. Xuē Yáng sounded genuinely frustrated. As if Xiǎo Xīngchén was speaking in riddles just to confuse him.

“See! Idiot!” Ā-Qìng said with a sense of finality.

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer. Xiǎo Xīngchén was fairly certain the other man was glaring at them both.

“Is it really so difficult to understand?”

“…we’ve gotten off-topic.”

“Xuē Yáng—”

“Sòng Lán’s corpse still contains his spiritual cognition, to make him a more formidable weapon.”

Right. Excellent. The topic that made Xiǎo Xīngchén feel like he was simultaneously being eviscerated by a red-hot blade and drowned in a frozen lake. How had it even slipped his mind for a single second? He’d just been chatting again like it was any other conversation with Chéngměi—how did Xuē Yáng manage to do that? They’d been talking about demonic cultivation! Literally about death and murder and with only a few words Xuē Yáng had distracted him from the ache—

Xiǎo Xīngchén was a terrible friend. Zǐchēn deserved better.

“Zǐchēn is no one’s weapon.”

“We're all weapons, Daozhang, some are just more willful than others. The trouble with ones like your Sòng Lán is they’re so loyal to their old owners—”

“Do you purposely choose to phrase things in the most aggravating way?” Xiǎo Xīngchén found himself asking. 

“What purpose would that serve?” Xuē Yáng answered, and Xiǎo Xīngchén could hear the smirk in his voice. What purpose indeed. Funny how easily Xuē Yáng could ignite anger, a flame to curl in Xiǎo Xīngchén's chest. Terrible that Xiǎo Xīngchén felt grateful for the anger, the way it burned away the urge to weep, to lie down and let the earth consume him.

"I don't like you." Maybe if he said it often enough, the words would become true.

Xuē Yáng remained silent for a few seconds too long to actually sound casual when he continued, “Whatever...As I was saying, things like Sòng Lán, they’re so loyal, it makes them difficult to control. Such strong-willed puppets! I discovered a way to make them more obedient.”

“Tell me what you’ve done.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Xuē Yáng!”

“There are iron pins in the back of his skull, where the flesh of his neck meets bone.” Xuē Yáng was right. Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t want to know. “The pins suppress the will of the spirit, make it more malleable. Easier to control. But if you remove them…”

This was a stupid idea. Fucking terrible idea. In the top three worst ideas he’d ever had.

Sòng Lán stood, mindless and obedient, while Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hands explored along his hairline, searching for the pins. Shuānghuá was strapped to his back once more, Ā-Qìng having returned the blade the moment they aproached the fierce corpse. Xuē Yáng's heart was only a little unsteady at the sight of the sword back with its owner. It was fine. Xiǎo Xīngchén wouldn't attempt anything until he finished investigating Sòng Lán. Probably.

Xiǎo Xīngchén found the first pin and pulled it free. Xuē Yáng tensed, his hand on Jiàngzāi.

Sòng Lán didn’t react or make any sudden movements though, and he relaxed somewhat.

Xuē Yáng hadn’t lied. The iron pins did make Sòng Lán more malleable and easier to control. However, removing them…he really had no idea what state Sòng Lán would be in. It was just as likely that he would turn into a vicious fierce corpse as it was that he would regain his mind. With Xiǎo Xīngchén directly in front of Sòng Lán, all that resentful energy, all that mindless rage and power would be focused solely on him—

Xiǎo Xīngchén pulled the second pin free—

Xuē Yáng grabbed Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arm, hauling him backwards and out of reach as the fierce corpse twitched, Jiàngzāi held ready in his other hand. Xiǎo Xīngchén stumbled but quickly steadied himself, wrenching his arm from Xuē Yáng’s grasp. Over to the side, Ā-Qìng was whining again but she was easy enough to ignore. Xuē Yáng kept his eyes on the fierce corpse.

“Xuē Yáng—”

“There's a possibility that his mind has shattered and been consumed by resentful energy. He may simply attack us now.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén gasped, drawing Shuānghuá and turning back to focus on the corpse.

“That seems like a rather crucial detail to neglect.”

“You’d be taking the pins out of his head even if I mentioned it.”

“Yes but I could have laid out a protection array!”

“Oh, that’s true... well to be fair to me, I did lose a lot of blood recently. You should be kind to me, I’m still healing.”

“You’re lying to me! Again!”

“Hey, it’s no lie! Just not the whole truth! And anyway, Dàozhǎng, it isn’t like I promised you I would speak only truths or anything!”

Sòng Lán groaned before Xiǎo Xīngchén could reply, stumbling forwards a step. Xuē Yáng kept Jiàngzāi ready, searching the corpse for any signs of sentience—yep. Sòng Lán was staring at them, and he definitely recognised them both if the harsh glare he aimed at Xuē Yáng was any indication. Xuē Yáng grinned and gave a little wave.

“Xuē Yáng, is he…” Xiǎo Xīngchén couldn’t get the words out, and Sòng Lán focused on him, expression melting into something soft and longing and full of remorse. It turned Xuē Yáng’s stomach.

For a second he considered lying. Xiǎo Xīngchén would dispatch the corpse of his “mad” friend, send the spirit free, and by all likelihood he’d be feeling warmer to Xuē Yáng for having provided a chance, however small, that Sòng Lán would “live”—except letting Sòng Lán be destroyed negated the whole fucking point of restoring his sentience, namely to get Xiǎo Xīngchén to stop trying to fucking kill himself, not to mention Ā-Qìng was right there, pretending to be blind but ready to act as a witness if Xuē Yáng lied—

“Yep. He’s back. Awake. Whatever.”

Xuē Yáng took a step back, sheathing Jiàngzāi. He had a moment to process the startled look Sòng Lán shot him before Xiǎo Xīngchén cried out, springing forwards to embrace the fierce corpse. Xuē Yáng turned away from their reunion with a grimace.

It was unfair. Sòng Lán hadn’t even been a very good friend to Dàozhǎng! Blaming him for Xuē Yáng’s actions, blinding him and abandoning him—Sòng Lán was nothing! His only importance, his only use, was in his value to Xiǎo Xīngchén! And then he’d betrayed that! Why did Xiǎo Xīngchén still want him? Why was Sòng Lán worth so much, even now?

He glanced back. They were both crying now, holding each other close. Ā-Qìng was distracted.

Xuē Yáng took another few steps backward, quiet as he could. None of them looked in his direction.

Sòng Lán had sought Dàozhǎng out, presumably because he’d realised what an idiot he’d been and wanted forgiveness, which Dàozhǎng was bound to give. Kind-hearted fool. Sòng Lán would stay by Dàozhǎng’s side and defend him during night hunts with all of the fury and power of a fierce corpse. If he was worth as much as Xiǎo Xīngchén thought he was, then Sòng Lán wouldn’t allow Xiǎo Xīngchén to harm himself again. By Dàozhǎng’s own admission, that urge would be lower now that Sòng Lán was restored to him.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was fairly safe.

Which meant Xuē Yáng had to get the fuck out of here while they were distracted. Sòng Lán had hated him long before Xuē Yáng had turned him into a fierce corpse, there was no way the man wouldn't be out for revenge.

Fucking damn everything to hell, this had been such a stupid fucking idea.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng cut across another field, sticking to the shadows best he could. Dawn was still a few hours off, but the moon hadn’t set yet, which was really interfering with his efforts to escape unseen. Sòng Lán and Xiǎo Xīngchén would definitely have noticed his absence by now, and there was no way that they weren’t after him. He needed to get at least a few more miles before the sun rose, find somewhere to lay low—

Xuē Yáng tripped, stumbling into a ditch.

Fuck. Everything.

Why hadn’t they waited a few more days? Fucking hell, he’d only woken from a medical coma a few hours ago! Why had he immediately proposed this whole stupid idea to Xiǎo Xīngchén? Just because Xiǎo Xīngchén had been all weepy and broken and—Sòng Lán was about as alive as he could be! It wouldn’t have hurt anyone to wait a few days. And maybe Xuē Yáng could have had a second bowl of soup or like, an actual meal or something! A few more days of Xiǎo Xīngchén weeping and shaking and acting like a dead thing and his blood staining the bandages again and no no no that was bad—

Xuē Yáng had fixed things, though. Xiǎo Xīngchén had smiled. That had been nice, even if Xiǎo Xīngchén had still been a bit weepy, and the smile had been directed at Sòng Lán. It had still been a good smile.

Now Xuē Yáng was going to get murdered in a ditch by a fierce corpse with a grudge because he’d been impatient to see that smile again.

“Why the fuck was that worth it?” Xuē Yáng hissed at himself, staggering to his feet and nearly falling right back over. The wound to his gut was suddenly aching a lot more than before. Xuē Yáng ran a hand across it, wincing at the sharp pain and—the fabric of his inner robe was sticking, was he bleeding again?

Well, this was just excellent fucking news! A partially healed wound that could be torn open by mild exertion—exactly what every person on the run wanted!

“I’m going to fucking die here,” he sang under his breath and giggled. Wow, that hurt! Blood flowed faster from the wound, and he pressed a hand firmly against it. “Die to see my Dàozhǎng smile!”

Xuē Yáng kept moving.

Ā-Qìng had been the first to notice Xuē Yáng was missing.

Zǐchēn was instantly on the offensive, snarling wordlessly as he left Xiǎo Xīngchén’s embrace and surveyed their surroundings.

Xiǎo Xīngchén felt oddly vulnerable when Zǐchēn moved out of touching distance. Zǐchēn’s body was cold, there was no heartbeat beneath his skin, but he was here, he was still living (for a certain definition of living), he was still Zǐchēn—but the moment he was out of touching distance, Xiǎo Xīngchén couldn’t quite make himself believe this was real. How could it be real? Who had ever heard of a fierce corpse that still had their mind? The dead couldn’t be brought back in any meaningful way. And Xuē Yáng had spent years tricking him, who was to say that this wasn’t just another trick?

It wasn’t a trick. Ā-Qìng would have seen if it were a trick. The fierce corpse would have attacked if it had been a trick. Zǐchēn wouldn’t have hugged back if it were a trick.

But Xiǎo Xīngchén found he couldn’t trust his senses.

And Xuē Yáng—Chéngměi—

Xiǎo Xīngchén was even more mixed up about him than before. Xuē Yáng, the criminal. Chéngměi, his friend and companion. Two seemingly contradictory personalities existing within the same body—but they weren’t that contradictory, were they? Chéngměi delighted in teasing and silly tricks, revelled in fighting difficult enemies, abhorred boredom. And it wasn’t like Xiǎo Xīngchén had had much opportunity to observe Xuē Yáng in a more domestic environment while he chased the criminal across the countryside.

By design, Xiǎo Xīngchén had only ever seen half of what Xuē Yáng was. The smiling teen who vandalised a merchant’s cart and used his youth to escape punishment. The manic murderer who killed dozens because it was fun. It was common knowledge that Xuē Yáng was mad, violent like a feral dog, and Xuē Yáng had never done anything to dissuade anyone of that opinion. Never volunteered the reasoning behind his kills. Hadn’t seemed to care that he was due to be executed. Hadn’t seemed to fear a thing.

And yet, even after the reveal of Xuē Yáng’s identity, even after admitting to killing innocents, to manipulating Xiǎo Xīngchén for years, even with no reason to continue the charade, Xuē Yáng had sacrificed his life to save Xiǎo Xīngchén’s. It was only by chance that Xiǎo Xīngchén had regained consciousness quickly enough to prevent him from dying. Xuē Yáng had been so terrified of even the implication that Xiǎo Xīngchén might try again that he’d stolen Shuānghuá away and physically restrained Xiǎo Xīngchén. Xuē Yáng had even offered to restore Zǐchēn in some effort to undo the damage he’d caused, and followed through! Restoring an enemy Xuē Yáng had always loathed, one of the few who’d ever beaten him in combat!

There was no doubt that Xuē Yáng wanted Xiǎo Xīngchén to live.

What was Xiǎo Xīngchén meant to do with that? Was that devotion to his well being out of genuine care, or out of cruel obsession? Xuē Yáng’s actions didn’t match his words, his so-called truth. How much was deliberate, needling at people to make them angry, or bluntly horrifying people so they wouldn’t examine him any closer? I own your death. Such an unnerving way to say you didn’t want someone to die. But Xuē Yáng liked pulling silly tricks, didn’t he?

“Sòng-dàozhǎng’s found his trail! He’s not even flying on his sword!” Ā-Qìng exclaimed, taking Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand and pulling him forwards. Xiǎo Xīngchén kept a hand on Shuānghuá—through the blade he could still sense Zǐchēn’s presence as easy as by sight.

They set off in pursuit.

Xuē Yáng had made it to a small thicket of trees. They would have been a great place to wait out the night if they weren’t such an obvious hiding place. Even so, Xuē Yáng found himself slowing.

Instinct dropped him to the floor.

The blade flew through air instead of his chest.

The next few minutes were something of a blur, Xuē Yáng’s mind empty of everything except evadedeflectescapeparryrunlunge—

His head was spinning—

When Xuē Yáng’s vision cleared, he found himself on his back in the leaf litter. Nausea pressed against his throat. The wound to his gut was definitely bleeding, scar tissue torn open.

Also there was a sword pointed at his heart.

He blinked, eyes following the blade up. Sòng Lán stood above him, staring down at Xuē Yáng with vicious satisfaction.

Well.

At least his last few years had been fun. Shame about the ending.

Xuē Yáng closed his eyes and giggled.

Going to fucking die today!

Zǐchēn had stopped moving. Xiǎo Xīngchén could only guess that meant he’d found Xuē Yáng, and hurried to catch up to them. But as he neared, there was no sounds of combat, no taunts or swords clashing—he wasn’t too late, was he? Zǐchēn was well within his rights to kill Xuē Yáng, was more than capable of it—

Xiǎo Xīngchén ran faster, leaving Ā-Qìng behind.

“Zǐchēn?”

There were trees ahead, difficult to navigate when you could only vaguely sense their positions by their qi. Did nothing to tell you where branches were hanging down or where something might tangle your feet. Still, Xiǎo Xīngchén ran forwards, probably a lot faster than was wise. Zǐchēn was directly ahead.

“Zǐchēn! You found him?”

The other man grunted, and Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, moving to stand beside him. Xuē Yáng’s qi still felt stable, still living, and it was absurd how relieving that fact was.

“Xuē Yáng.”

“…hey, Dàozhǎng. Feeling better?”

“You said you wouldn’t run.”

“Yeah, but I’m a liar, right?”

He sounded exhausted. It wasn’t surprising. Considering the severity of the injuries he’d had, Xiǎo Xīngchén had been planning on at least another week of convalescence for them both before they began their journey to Jīnlín Tái. Not that Xuē Yáng knew that. Xiǎo Xīngchén had been a little out of sorts, and each conversation with Xuē Yáng had ended in an argument of some kind before he was able to share his plans, and then—

Xiǎo Xīngchén bit his lip, focusing on Zǐchēn. The swirl of the resentful energy animating his body was already becoming familiar, subtly different from every other spirit and fierce corpse. He was breathing, probably out of habit than any physical need, and standing this close Xiǎo Xīngchén could feel the cold radiating off him.

When Xiǎo Xīngchén had spoken of despair, Xuē Yáng had proposed a solution, and apparently that solution was one Xuē Yáng was personally very uncomfortable with. Understandable, really. Not many people were comfortable with being vulnerable while in the presence of their enemies.

The small, selfish part of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s mind that he liked to pretend didn’t exist was rather vindictively pleased.

“It wasn’t a lie when you said it, but then again, Zǐchēn wasn’t a threat to you then. It’s not so pleasant, is it, being vulnerable around someone you don’t trust.”

“Different circumstances, Dàozhǎng. You and I are just having an argument. Sòng Lán wants me dead.”

“You betrayed my trust and manipulated me.”

“Yes but I didn’t harm you. Wouldn’t ever harm you.”

“You think that because you haven’t taken a weapon to my skin, I’m unharmed?”

Xuē Yáng was silent, a moody sort of silence that Xiǎo Xīngchén had long since learnt to read, the kind that Xuē Yáng wore when Xiǎo Xīngchén had won an argument. It nearly made him want to laugh, or it would have if circumstances weren’t currently so grim.

“So, Sòng Lán… are you going to kill me now or do you want me to sit up first?”

Zǐchēn scoffed, and Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head.

“You’re so certain you’re about to die?”

“Of course I am, Dàozhǎng! Why the fuck do you think I ran? I wanted to see the dawn again before I died.” Xuē Yáng chuckled. “And here you are! How fortunate am I, Dàozhǎng?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s cheeks flushed but he ignored it.

“You’re injured, aren’t you.”

“I’m not.”

“You winced when you laughed just then. You’ve re-opened your wound.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén huffed, sheathing Shuānghuá and dropping to his knees beside Xuē Yáng. As if reading his mind, Zǐchēn circled around to make space, though he kept Fúxuě aimed at Xuē Yáng. Reaching forward, Xiǎo Xīngchén began to palpate the injury, perhaps a little more firmly than necessary. Xuē Yáng hissed. Zǐchēn gave a muffled laugh.

“Well, it seems like this isn’t going to be what kills you tonight,” Xiǎo Xīngchén announced after examining the injury. “No serious damage. It just needs re-closing and a bandage.”

“Oh, what a relief.”

“I can patch it now temporarily, but we’ll need to properly stitch it closed when we return to Coffin House.”

“Why waste your energy?

“Shut up. I told you, you don’t have any input on what I do with my life. It’s my choice to use my qi to heal my patient, you don’t get a say.”

Xuē Yáng laughed, winced, and didn’t say anything further as Xiǎo Xīngchén worked on sealing the wound. An odd peace fell over the group.

“You’re right about one thing, Dàozhǎng, I do prefer to die than be imprisoned again. Even if your dear Sòng Lán can be persuaded not to run me through right now, well… accidents happen when you’re transporting prisoners. I’ll make sure of it. And better to die here than to be executed at Jīnlín Tái. You’ll bury me, won’t you, Dàozhǎng?”

After a few beats, Xiǎo Xīngchén nodded, and Xuē Yáng hummed in satisfaction.

“Though, it isn’t like you to just accept things you find inconvenient,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said as he finished up the patch job.

“And how would you know?”

“For a liar, you’re a very honest person.”

Xuē Yáng giggled, then hissed in pain.

“Escaping would be ideal, of course… I really hate being imprisoned, though, it’s so fucking boring! Worst month of my life!”

“Month? They only kept you a month?”

“It’s funny that you still have faith in their sense of justice.”

“Chéngmě—Xuē Yáng—”

“You can still call me Chéngměi if you prefer. It is my name.”

“What?”

“It’s my name. Xuē Yáng, courtesy Chéngměi.”

Xuē Yáng. Xue Chéngměi.

A silly little trick wrapped around half a truth.

Xiǎo Xīngchén felt like laughing. His hands were steady. His mind was calm.

In one sweeping movement, Xiǎo Xīngchén deflected Zǐchēn’s sword away from Xuē Yáng and stepped into the space between them.

Xuē Yáng could only watch the man in silence, only half-certain he was still alive. Because the scene before him didn’t make a whole lot of sense. So it had to be a hallucination. Some vision as his mind died.

“I’m really quite sorry, Zǐchēn, but I have to intervene. I beg your forgiveness this once.”

“Báiyī-gēgē?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén stood between them, Shuānghuá drawn, a blind guardian. Except—except his back was to Xuē Yáng. Guarding Xuē Yáng.

He had deflected Sòng Lán’s sword!

He was defending Xuē Yáng!

Xuē Yáng propped himself up, eyes roaming across the white robes.

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a soft huff that could nearly be mistaken for a laugh.

“It’s been an unpleasant week. For all of us, I think. Never have I felt so turbulent. I don’t know how much of the past years was truth and how much was lies. I don’t know if you are truly Zǐchēn returned to me or just another deception. I don’t know that I can trust my own senses. And yet… the only thing I can say with absolute certainty is that I want Xuē Chéngměi to live.”

“Dàozhǎng…” Xuē Yáng breathed, in helpless wonder. Xiǎo Xīngchén half turned to him, and Xuē Yáng could see his smile.

“I suggest you make your escape. I’ll do my best to ensure we won’t chase after you—ah, Zǐchēn, I am quite serious,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, intervening again as Sòng Lán made to step around him. “Xuē Yáng, make no mistake, this is the last favour that will pass between us, out of the friendship we forged. When next we meet, I will treat you as my enemy. I expect you’ll behave as such?”

Xuē Yáng—who had been scrambling to his feet as best he could with his injury—had to pause for a second to laugh. Oh, it hurt, but he just couldn’t help it!

“Dàozhǎng, I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would make me consider you an enemy anymore. But we can clash swords like the old days, since you asked so nicely.”

“Chéngměi…” Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, but he seemed more fond than frustrated.

Xuē Yáng laughed again, quickly putting some distance between himself and the odd trio. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand had dropped, Shuānghuá pointed to the ground instead of held out like a barrier. Ā-Qìng looked annoyed, and Sòng Lán was glaring after him, but didn’t make another move to follow.

“Dàozhǎng! We’re going to laugh together again one day! I promise you!”

“We’re enemies, Xuē Yáng!”

Xuē Yáng just shook his head, still grinning, and took off into what remained of the night.

Chapter Text

So it had started while Xuē Yáng was wandering through a marketplace. Bored. Craving something sweet. The usual.

He’d picked a pocket or two—it wasn’t a skill you forgot—and perused the stands. Looking for something interesting. Looking for a snack. Listening to the crowd gossip for any rumours about blind taoist priests. Nothing substantial—apparently a village about a day’s ride away had recently had some ghosts put to rest, one of the vendors had a cousin who lived there.

Xuē Yáng had been wandering aimlessly, debating whether to chase after his Dàozhǎng’s group or make a ruckus so they would find him, when his eyes had caught—

White.

Red on white.

Red on white on red on white on—

Bad bad bad bad—

Xuē Yáng had stepped closer, unable to look away.

Red on white, not quite bright like blood, irregular blooms—

Bad bad bad—

Fine white threads caught the light, high quality white silk interrupted by red red red—

“You like it?”

Xuē Yáng looked to the vendor. Back to the scarf. It was just a plain white thing now, embroidered with large red flowers.

“Azaleas?”

“My apprentice made that one,” the vendor said, disapproval evident in her voice. “These ones are more beautiful. You should get one for your wife!”

Xuē Yáng didn’t bother glancing at whatever trash she was gesturing at. Azaleas: that had to be fucking fate, right? A poisonous flower that somehow represented love from afar, a longing for home and family? Whoever had invented flower meanings had a weird sense of humour.

“Sir?”

“I want this.”

Xuē Yáng didn’t remember the next few moments very clearly. He'd argued with vendor when she tried to charge full price for an apprentice’s work. He didn't remember paying for the silk. Her screeching voice had made him laugh as he ran. He didn’t remember where he’d gotten the wine from. He didn’t remember climbing onto the roof.

Xuē Yáng wasn’t much for introspection, he’d be the first to admit—but sometimes you found a slip of white silk covered in messy red blooms. Everything was all mixed up, red and white and red and white endlessly bleeding into each other and making his head spin. Dàozhǎng was too far away.

Introspection wasn’t his thing—except sometimes you got drunk and maudlin, sprawled out on a rooftop.

Two of the pots were already empty.

Introspection was for people who had regrets, which Xuē Yáng didn’t—and now he was staring up at the stars and all he could think of was Xiǎo Xīngchén.

It had been a month. Running around, doing whatever he wished, just like before Yi City, before Dàozhǎng.

He missed him. It was boring. It was dreary.

It was lonely.

Xuē Yáng had achieved his life’s ambition years ago. Revenge against the Chang clan, the goal that had driven him since he was a child. A violent fantasy that kept him warm in the winter before he’d had the power to do so himself.

With them all dead, vindictive satisfaction curling deep inside his chest, everything had been perfect. And then between one moment and the next it had all melted away, because what had been left? Would anything ever be as fun? Would anything ever be as satisfying? Decades of purposeless wandering stretched ahead of him, taking what he wanted, hurting who he wanted, but no challenge. No goal to aim for.

And then Xiǎo Xīngchén had captured him, and given him a new goal. A new target to wreak vengeance on, for daring to think himself better than Xuē Yáng. For daring to capture him, imprison him.

It hadn’t been the same as his feud with the Chang. Hadn’t held the same bitterness. Hadn’t held an old helplessness. And Xiǎo Xīngchén was always so much fun to fight! Glowing like something celestial fallen to earth, his words bright and naive and earnest. Xuē Yáng had been half inclined to forgive Xiǎo Xīngchén for capturing him, if only he would keep being so interesting!

But a promise was a promise, and Xiǎo Xīngchén had still deserved to be punished for his actions. He needed to hurt, to understand exactly how he’d hurt Xuē Yáng.

So Xuē Yáng had taken Sòng Lán’s eyes, and slaughtered the temple.

And Xiǎo Xīngchén had disappeared.

Xuē Yáng had looked. Searched for him in the places rogue cultivators with a righteous side would be found, all the little towns along the borders of the sect provinces, the places too small to be worth protecting. But Xiǎo Xīngchén couldn’t be found. Gone like the moon’s reflection on a pool, ripples scattering the image when you tried to grasp it. Never truly there.

Meng Yao had provided distractions. Challenges. Enemies both political and personal that needed destroying. Notes from the Yílíng Lǎozǔ that needed decoding. It was fine.

It was boring.

It was better than nothing.

And then Jīn Guāngyáo had sent him on a mission where everything went wrong. And then Xuē Yáng had scrambled away with his life and collapsed by the roadside. And then Xuē Yáng had awoken to Xiǎo Xīngchén, of all the people in the world! Hovering over him, healing and caring without a single care as to who Xuē Yáng was.

Xiǎo Xīngchén saved his life without even knowing his name. Xiǎo Xīngchén offered healing, simply because Xuē Yáng was injured. Simply because he needed the help.

Returning to Jīn Guāngyáo never even crossed his mind.

Xuē Yáng blinked up at the stars, and they winked back. He took another drink.

Why was Xiǎo Xīngchén so fucking pure, anyway? Always so good. Helping people for no reason—he wasn’t meant to give away his eyes! Sòng Lán was meant to be the blind one, Xiǎo Xīngchén was meant to always see Xuē Yáng, always watch him, and—

People didn’t help each other for no reason!

They didn’t rescue strangers, they didn’t—

Yi City felt like years ago, even if the scars hadn’t yet finished healing. They had been happy like that, it had been fun! And Xuē Yáng had never mentioned his true identity, but he’d never lied when Xiǎo Xīngchén asked. Xiǎo Xīngchén knew that Chéngměi had killed; he knew Chéngměi had—and he hadn’t, Dàozhǎng had never—

Why was Chéngměi acceptable but Xuē Yáng wasn’t? They were both him!

Why did Sòng Lán have to show up and ruin everything? Why did the little brat have to tell Xiǎo Xīngchén the truth? As if she had no concept of the impact that would have!

Xuē Yáng wasn’t an idiot. He knew Xiǎo Xīngchén would be upset if he had ever discovered he’d killed innocents, that had been the whole point! That was what had made it fun! But then—then—Dàozhǎng just kept on being so good, and people were always taking advantage and he never defended himself, and—what the hell did Xīngchén ever get out of it, anyway? Sòng Lán, his so-called dearest friend, abandoning him, idiot civilians who never properly compensated him for his help, those fucking merchants—Xiǎo Xīngchén was better than any of them!

Xuē Yáng didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to make him smile.

For fuck’s sake, it had been half a year since he last tricked Dàozhǎng into making another puppet! Xuē Yáng had destroyed the other fierce corpses! They could have had decades together!

Instead…

Xuē Yáng ran his fingers over the red and white silk.

Instead the brat had run her mouth and—

He took another drink.

This wasn’t his fault. Xuē Yáng had taken precautions. He defended Xiǎo Xīngchén, made sure he didn’t get hurt by shit, that was Xuē Yáng’s role, he couldn’t be responsible for—

It wasn’t his fault. Xiǎo Xīngchén could blame him if he liked, it wasn’t his fault.

Was it his fault?

Fuck. What the fuck else could he have done? Wasn’t like he could un-kill those other guys—well, he could raise them as resentful spirits, but that wasn’t the same as not killing them—this was just fucking unfair! Dàozhǎng’s opinion hadn’t mattered back then! Of course Xuē Yáng hadn’t followed it!

It. Was. Not. His. Fault.

The red azalea silk was mocking him. Xuē Yáng glared at it and held it tight.

The three things Xiǎo Xīngchén held dearest.

His dream. His principles. Sòng Lán.

Out of those, really the only thing Xuē Yáng could be held accountable for destroying was Sòng Lán, and that hadn’t even been premeditated. Doing evil acts because someone tricked you, well, that hardly counted as a violation of principles. And it was Sòng Lán that had destroyed Dàozhǎng’s dream by abandoning him!

And now—!

And now…now Xiǎo Xīngchén had declared that they were to be enemies. That his bond to Chéngměi was severed. What a fucking joke! Three years together! Three years and—and—and how the hell had Xīngchén made so much boring stuff fascinating? Three years of playing house together, and laughing together, rebuilding Coffin House to make it livable in the winter, finding candies left on his bed—

Was it because he was a criminal? Before Yi City, Xiǎo Xīngchén had always been going on about taking Xuē Yáng to face justice. Was that the reason? He couldn’t help what he’d done in the past, he wasn’t like Xiǎo Xīngchén, he didn’t go about doing selfless things for no reason, their principles weren’t the same—

Xuē Yáng sat up.

Their principles weren’t the same. But maybe they could be.

Xuē Yáng swallowed, staring down at the silk in his hands. Blooms of bright red, staining the white. It made his heart race, made his breath catch, just to look at it. Red on white. What had almost happened. What could still happen again for a myriad of reasons. Far away and without Xuē Yáng even knowing or being able to stop it.

Xiǎo Xīngchén had called Xuē Yáng disgusting. Lashing out with fragments of his shattered heart, Xuē Yáng knew. The same fear and pain and horror Xuē Yáng had painted on a dozen other people or more. That had been from Xiǎo Xīngchén committing only a fraction of the destruction Xuē Yáng once revelled in. He was so fragile.

Xuē Yáng wasn’t fragile. Fragile things didn’t survive long without a family name to protect them. You had to endure and adapt and be ruthless when the opportunity presented itself. Xuē Yáng was a master of it. He could adapt. If he—if he followed Dàozhǎng’s principles—helped people for no reason, saved lives without payment—if he did that, would Xiǎo Xīngchén admit they were still friends? Would he smile? Would he let Xuē Yáng change his bandages again and share a meal together and—

Of course he would! Xiǎo Xīngchén was a good person, he would! He had to…

He had to.

Xuē Yáng woke up in a ditch with a splitting headache, a string of swear words, and a plan.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng was sitting in a teahouse, eating sweet pasties and fending off a hangover. The red azalea silk was tied around his wrist and tucked beneath his arm guard, just enough of the red and white silk peeking out to make his breathing stutter whenever he saw it.

The thing was, Xuē Yáng didn’t really have much of a clue about where to begin when it came to being good. Not in the way that Dàozhǎng was good. Honestly, it seemed like the kind of lifestyle that would get you murdered by the first opportunistic asshole to cross your path. And as far as Xuē Yáng had seen, it had never led Xiǎo Xīngchén to any prosperity.

Didn’t stop Xiǎo Xīngchén from keeping at it, the stubborn fool.

Xiǎo Xīngchén had said Ā-Qìng was correct, that Good was all about helping, and Evil was about hurting. Xuē Yáng knew it had to be more complex than that—how quickly had he thought of examples to dismantle that simple binary!—but he wasn’t sure how the complexities would work. He didn’t know how Xiǎo Xīngchén was so easily able to assign an action as Good or Evil. He didn’t know why doing the same thing within a slightly different context would completely change its meaning.

In their years living together, they’d never talked in depth about morality issues or the principles Xiǎo Xīngchén lived his life by. All Xuē Yáng had to go on was the kinds of actions he’d watched Xiǎo Xīngchén take during their years together.

Xuē Yáng knew that when confronted with an injured person, Xiǎo Xīngchén would stop to render assistance. He was protective of his patients when they were in his care.

When he heard someone screaming, Xiǎo Xīngchén would run to save them.

When a civilian asked for his help with simple chores, Xiǎo Xīngchén had complied with a smile.

Several times a week, Xiǎo Xīngchén would pace the lands around the town at night, even without any rumours of monsters to hunt, just in case a new monster had appeared.

He gave food away, even when they were running low.

Whenever there was a death, Xiǎo Xīngchén had been there, ready to perform the funeral rites and offer comfort to their families.

He gave little gifts to both Xuē Yáng and Ā-Qìng all the time, for no reason.

Xuē Yáng frowned, playing with his empty teacup. It all sounded obscenely boring, or just plain annoying to do. Watching Xiǎo Xīngchén do it had been fun, but that was because watching Xiǎo Xīngchén was always fun. Maybe he should just do that instead, track their group down and get Xiǎo Xīngchén to play with him again. It had been a month! Xiǎo Xīngchén had to be missing him by now, Xuē Yáng missed him!

Yes, that was a much better plan!

The red azalea silk was glaring at him. Xuē Yáng tucked it under his arm guard where he couldn’t see it.

It was maybe an hour later. Xuē Yáng was out on the road to the next town. More precisely, he was pacing the width of the road while steadfastly ignoring the red azalea silk that he couldn’t even see because it was tucked away and hidden, so it should really stop glaring at him!

With a groan, he threw himself down beneath a tree.

Nothing Xiǎo Xīngchén could do would make Xuē Yáng consider him an enemy, but…

Dàozhǎng had said he hated Xuē Yáng. That his touch made Xiǎo Xīngchén’s skin crawl. Even though he’d guarded Xuē Yáng from Sòng Lán and healed him again and let him escape, Xiǎo Xīngchén was probably still annoyed at him. It wasn’t the truth, right? Dàozhǎng didn’t hate him? They were friends, Dàozhǎng couldn't hate him.

Sòng Lán was going to try and kill him on sight. Obviously. What would that be like, fighting a fierce corpse who could actually use a sword and strategise? Something that could shake off mortal injuries as easily as breathing… he’d need to come up with some sort of talisman or spell to give himself an advantage. Or maybe—yes! Hah! The iron nails might be gone but a talisman for control powered by resentful energy, employed at the right time—this could work!

And then with Sòng Lán out of the way he could actually talk to Xīngchén again! Not Xīngchén, he wasn’t allowed to call him Xīngchén, Dàozhǎng had asked him not to…

Xuē Yáng sighed, pulling the red azalea silk free from where it was hidden.

This wasn’t going to work, was it? Doing the same thing as before. Not when they weren’t the same people they had been before Yi City.

Red on white. That’s where that path led. Xuē Yáng didn’t like that destination.

The alternative, though…

Xuē Yáng didn’t know much about healing or medicine, only the basics he’d been taught as a Jin guest disciple. He could splint bones and bandage a wound and knew which herbs had painkiller effects. He knew a lot more about poisons, like how many azalea petals would keep someone violently sick for days. But he had no clue how to use qi in healing or how to treat injuries to the spirit, and he didn’t know what to do with an injured person after they were bandaged. Dump them with a doctor or something?

Xiao Xīngchén helped people with petty, everyday things. Well, Xuē Yáng was definitely not going to try that: even the thought of it was boring him to tears! Those random people should get their own friends to help them instead, Xuē Yáng had more interesting things to do.

Helping Xiǎo Xīngchén was different, of course. Everyday chores and tasks with Xiǎo Xīngchén, that was building a home together. That was taking care of each other.

Right, and that wasn’t going to happen so long as Xiǎo Xīngchén claimed they were enemies. Sòng Lán would attack like an overzealous guard-dog, but if Xiǎo Xīngchén claimed Xuē Yáng as his friend, then Sòng Lán wouldn’t be able to attack! Not if he valued Xiǎo Xīngchén’s company. And then maybe when Xiǎo Xīngchén knew how healthy and powerful Xuē Yáng was, he'd have no further need for Sòng Lán and he'd send Sòng Lán away. It could be Xuē Yáng who travelled with him instead! After all, Xiǎo Xīngchén was well aware of how talented Xuē Yáng was at caring for him, he'd done a much better job than Sòng Lán.

What would travelling with him be like? Always finding new towns to explore and new monsters to hunt, enemies to slay? Making camp in the wild and sleeping beside each other under the stars each night? Xīngchén was always more comfortable away from large crowds, in places he could hear birdsong and trees whispering.

There was always night hunting. That would work. Regular civilians couldn’t do anything about ghosts or demons or ghouls other than pray and ask for help. They were so weak. Honestly, was there even a point in helping them? Sure, they’d survive a ghost attack but then like a month later they’d get an infection from a farming injury and die or something. And it wasn’t like helping them would actually get you anything. What sect cared that you helped some random farmers?

Xiǎo Xīngchén would care. He would help. Would he be impressed?

Xuē Yáng bit his lip, smiling as he played with the red azalea silk. Helping people made Xiǎo Xīngchén happy, it made him smile bright and satisfied, even when it was difficult or frustrating. Xiǎo Xīngchén would care that Xuē Yáng saved random nameless farmers from what was terrorising them. He’d be pleased that they were no longer in supernatural danger.

Xuē Yáng stood, re-tying the red azalea silk around his wrist. Night hunting was the answer. It was the best path. Something that utilised Xuē Yáng’s significant combat skills and was technically helpful.

Good people help others. Evil people harm others.

Oh yes, real simple, Ā-Qìng! Night hunting by its nature was harmful to something! It was right there in the name: it was a hunt! And what did you do at the end of a hunt? You killed your quarry! Did it not count as killing just because their prey was already technically dead? Xuē Yáng was certain that from the perspective of a resentful spirit, it very much did count as killing. More weird double standards. Killing was killing.

Wasn’t that just nature, anyway? Powerful things killed weaker things. Powerful people used weaker people. Xuē Yáng had been a weak thing as a child, but he’d made himself strong— so why didn’t other people just do that? Why did they go around being helpless, waiting for some powerful person to take pity on them? Why didn’t they try to become stronger?

Dàozhǎng probably knew the answer. He was smart that way. Xuē Yáng would ask him when they saw each other again.

Yes, maybe Xuē Yáng couldn’t un-kill the people he had killed, but if he saved other people from something that would surely kill them, that was nearly as good, right? It equalled out. So as long as he didn’t kill any other new people—

Fuck. He couldn’t kill anyone. Never again. That was one of the strictest of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s principles. No killing. No maiming, even, not if it could be avoided. And in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s opinion, it could always be avoided.

Xuē Yáng laughed, shaking his head. This might actually be a bit of a challenge. About half of Xuē Yáng’s people skills were dependent on threats of violence, and threats were only semi-effective if you never followed them up with action. Although…no one had to know that Xuē Yáng wasn’t allowed to actually harm anyone. A menacing aura alone was often enough for his purposes.

This might be fun!

Chapter Text

How exactly did a rogue cultivator go about finding a night hunt? It had been a week and Xuē Yáng was no closer to working it out. People were dying every day! Didn’t any of them have a resentment or two, some unfinished business that held them back as a ghost?

Maybe he needed to go to a smaller town, somewhere that none of the major sects would bother with.

For a cultivator, Xuē Yáng hadn’t actually done very much night hunting. Most of it had been back when he was still a junior guest disciple of Lánlíng Jīn, and that was literally half his lifetime ago. Back then, he hadn’t needed to track down his own night hunts; Lánlíng Jīn got requests for aid near daily, and sent disciples out to deal with them.

Later, when he had been working for Qíshān Wēn, he hadn’t participated in night hunts at all. His time had been split between research and collecting new subjects for experiments—mostly civilians due to be executed and cultivators who had personally offended Wēn Cháo or Wēn Xù.

After the war was over, Xuē Yáng had settled into a position as a special guest of Jīn Guāngyáo, which in practical terms meant Xuē Yáng wandered Lánlíng doing whatever he liked, while occasionally stopping by Jīnlín Tái to work with the Yílíng Lǎozǔ’s notes or going to kill one of Jīn Guāngyáo’s enemies.

Not to say that he was inexperienced at dealing with ghosts, ghouls and monsters. After all, demonic cultivation by its very nature utilised the resentful energy of the dead. And if you were strong enough to kill other experienced cultivators, you were strong enough to defeat a resentful spirit.

Did Dàozhǎng’s “No killing, no maiming” rule apply to the undead as well, or was it living-human specific? Was Xuē Yáng meant to try and subdue the spirits and calm the dead things down first, and then destroy them when that didn’t work? Or could he skip straight to fighting?

Of course, all of this was nothing more than useless speculation until he actually found a night hunt! Seriously! There had to be something, somewhere that was terrorising someone!

“Every night, it takes a new victim. Please, sir! Too many have died already!”

“How many?”

“Sir?”

“How many have died?”

“Nearly six.”

“How is six too many? That’s barely anything,” Xuē Yáng muttered, before freezing, glancing at… was his name Li Hua? Hua Ming? Something floral. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he had heard Xuē Yáng’s comment. “Ah, nearly six? Why not just say five?”

The man made a whining, sobbing noise that grated against Xuē Yáng’s ears. Xuē Yáng took a deep breath, and ran his fingers over the red azalea silk instead of the grip of the dagger hidden in his sleeve.

“My niece, Little Méi, the ghost caught her and placed her in a deep sleep. She hasn’t woken in days!”

“Uh huh.”

“They say cultivators are well versed in the healing arts, perhaps you could examine her?”

“Oh, um.” Xiǎo Xīngchén would say yes. “Sure?”

The man began bobbing his head again and talking about how grateful he was. Xuē Yáng hummed, and tuned out the babbling. Whatever his name was, he was boring and repetitive, and no amount of sympathetic nods or hums or reassurance on Xuē Yáng’s part seemed to shut the guy up. Xuē Yáng had already told him he’d deal with the ghost. What more did the guy need to hear?

The girl looked very small. Very young. Her skin was too pale. If it wasn’t for the faint movement of her breathing, she’d look dead.

Xuē Yáng placed two fingers on her forehead and cautiously opened his awareness to her spiritual energy. It could be dangerous to play with the qi of non-cultivators, whether giving or taking. The strain could burn out their qi meridians and give them spiritual injuries. And that was even if you knew what the fuck you were doing, which Xuē Yáng decidedly did not. But he could do this much.

Her spiritual energy was strong, despite the weakness of her body. Flickering and vibrant and alive, and as far as he could tell, there was no foreign spellwork or curses keeping her unconscious. Absently, he realised he was smiling.

“Are you able to save her?”

Xuē Yáng looked up, blinking. Ah, yes. The other people in the room.

“Does she have any injuries?” he asked instead of answering. “Strange marks? Anything odd?”

“There is this,” the mother said, lifting the girl’s arm and pulling back the sleeve. “The marks appeared when the ghost caught her.”

Bruises, shaped like a large hand had gripped her arm. Xuē Yáng raised an eyebrow.

"Any others?"

There were. Further bruises scattered across her torso and back, all in places easily concealed by her clothing.

“When did you say the ghost attacked her?”

“The night before last. We found her at dawn, in front of the shrine.”

“Huh.”

All of the bruises were a week old, at least, yellowed and healing.

“All the other victims, they’re adults, yes? And they all died?”

“Yes.”

Xuē Yáng hummed, and stood, moving to leave the room. He had a suspicion as to what this ghost might be—

“Wait, sir! Can she be saved? Please!”

Xuē Yáng had no clue if she could be saved. He didn’t even know why she was asleep instead of up and running about.

“This is a classic case of ghost sleep,” Xuē Yáng said. “The ghost has poisoned her. I will deal with the spirit, but the rest is up to her. If she is strong, she’ll wake up within three days. If the ghost was too strong, she will die.” Of dehydration, probably. “Keep her warm, and sing to her. The sound will bolster her strength.”

He left before they could ask him any more questions.

This particular ghost left its victims with all their bones broken and their heads caved in. This particular ghost had only killed adults, and had left a child unharmed. This particular ghost had only been attacking people during the past week, since Little Méi had been injured. Before that first attack, it had been years since the last death in this tiny village.

Xuē Yáng circled the old well. Apparently, it had been the main water source for the village for decades, until the water was poisoned by a body. A little boy who had fallen in. A terrible accident. He would have been Little Méi’s older brother. She had been an infant when he died.

Funny, how many years it had been before this particular ghost began to make a fuss.

Xuē Yáng ran his fingers across the stones of the well wall. He could feel eyes watching him from deep within the darkness. The spirit wasn’t quite brave enough to come out in the sunlight.

“The quickest way to settle you would be to throw your killer down with you,” Xuē Yáng murmured. “None of them noticed, did they? The bruises on your arms and body. You must be so angry.”

The spirit shifted, climbing higher, its energy growing agitated.

“They would have thought Little Méi’s death was an accident too… oh, how tragic! Such a young mother, both her children lost! So many children die young, even when you warn them not to play near wells.”

Xuē Yáng leaned forwards, staring into the darkness.

“I’m not allowed to kill anymore,” he whispered. “Do you think that includes allowing others to die by my inaction? If I stand back while you chase down your killer, does that make us both responsible for their death? If I destroy you and your sister dies in an ‘accident’, am I responsible for her death?”

The spirit didn’t answer.

“I can’t steal her away. What would I even do with a child? I’m not the nurturing sort—I wouldn’t keep her. Her family lives here. Your killer, too. Can you even recognise people? Five victims dead, surely one of them was your murderer.”

Ghosts couldn’t speak. Not without the assistance of a spiritual tool of some kind or a spell, like the Gūsū Lán’s Inquiry. Despite the limits in their communication, this child’s ghost seemed a lot like they were smirking.

“Ah… so one of the dead was your killer. What were the others, a way to hide your motives? Or… maybe some people did notice, is that it? They noticed what was happening to you and did nothing.”

The spirit’s energy flared in sudden fury.

“More than doing nothing. They helped hide the evidence. Covered up for their friend. They let you die.” Xuē Yáng grinned. “I think I like you. Did you get them all? You kept her safe?”

Within the well, the spirit began to calm, slowly drifting down into the dark, and practically radiating satisfaction. Xuē Yáng laughed, shifting to sit with his back against the well. The sun would be setting in a few hours, but Xuē Yáng was fairly certain that this particular ghost wasn’t going to make another vengeful appearance.

“So why are you still awake, then?” he mused. “Your enemies are dead, she’s safe… are you just waiting for her to wake up? Is that it?”

There was no response, because of course there wasn’t.

“I can’t fix her, you know. She’ll either wake up of her own accord, or she’ll die. I’m fairly certain she’ll live, though. She seems like a survivor. Her energy is strong.”

From within the well, there was only mournful silence.

Xuē Yáng stayed by the well until night had fully fallen. He watched as the spirit crept out of its watery grave, and followed it into the village. The place was quiet, everyone cowering inside while the cultivator rid them of the deadly ghost. Xuē Yáng obliged their expectations, throwing out charms and talismans that made loud noises and bright lights.

All the while, the kid’s spirit was hiding in the eaves of the house he’d once lived in, watching over the sister he’d barely known. There was singing coming from inside the house, even amidst all the noise Xuē Yáng was making.

Morning came. Little Méi had some colour back in her cheeks, her eyes twitching in her sleep. She woke up a little before noon, and within a few hours she was chattering excitedly with the other village kids, who had all dropped by to visit her.

The village adults were all very happy too, heaping praise on Xuē Yáng for his part in ridding them of the vicious ghost. Xuē Yáng grinned, and gracefully accepted their adoration. Some of them even gave him gifts—absolutely worthless little trinkets that he accepted, nonetheless.

When Xuē Yáng left, he wandered past the old well and paused a moment to stare into its depths.

“This was a very boring hunt, you know. I didn’t even get to do anything.”

There was no answer. He hadn’t really expected one, though. The well was empty.

Chapter Text

By the third night hunt, Xuē Yáng had the hang of tracking down new hunts via the rumours in taverns, inns, and teahouses. By the seventh hunt, he’d worked out the quickest set of questions to get all the important details from the locals without them getting distracted and hysterical.

Unlike that first one, his other hunts all ended with the destruction of a resentful spirit. Angry, aggressive things. Honestly, after having to play nice and sympathetic for so long with all the civilians, it was a relief to be able to just fight something. Even if the fights were… less exciting than he’d hoped.

The thing was, as a demonic cultivator, Xuē Yáng knew exactly which charms and talismans would take control of a resentful spirit. During every fight, with every attack he evaded and with every sweep of Jiàngzāi’s blades, he knew a simple effort of will would turn these dead things from enemies to servants.

It made the danger feel a little manufactured.

Xuē Yáng wasn’t going to stop. Not yet, at least. But there really was no substitute for fighting a living, breathing, strategising enemy. And Xuē Yáng had never dealt well with boredom.

This would make the tenth night hunt he’d been on since he last saw Xiǎo Xīngchén. The spirit had been more aggressive than usual, having killed a dozen people before Xuē Yáng arrived. Xuē Yáng had destroyed it hours ago. Now, he lounged on the roof of the manor, watching as down in the courtyard below, the corpses of the victims were fighting among themselves.

Twelve of them in vicious combat. Clawing at each other, mostly, since only two had swords. Xuē Yáng favoured the corpse of the little girl. She was faster than the others, and it was funny making her climb onto their shoulders and leap away right before she was attacked.

Xuē Yáng sighed, lying back to stare up into the sky. With a click of his fingers, the enchantment ended, and the puppets all dropped. It just wasn’t fun.

On his wrist, as it always was, the red azalea silk was whispering to him, but Xuē Yáng couldn’t bring himself to care. What did any of this matter, anyway? It was all just disappointing hunt after disappointing hunt, frustrating people and mediocre rewards.

Did any of them know how close Xuē Yáng came to stabbing them? Did any of them appreciate all the times Xuē Yáng had held his temper? The time and effort he put into presenting a friendly facade? If he’d killed each time he’d felt the impulse, he could have an army of puppets by now. He could have been a new horror unleashed on the cultivation world, a name whispered behind closed doors with terrified reverence.

As futures went, it didn’t sound too much better than what he was currently doing—what would you even do with an army? Rule the land? No thanks—but at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with people. People were awful.

Why was he bothering with this stupid plan, anyway? Just because Xiǎo Xīngchén had been upset, and thought killing was disgusting?

Xuē Yáng wasn’t a killer.

Well.

Technically speaking, yes, he was a killer. He killed people. And he had killed a lot of people. But it wasn’t like killing was his personality, or anything. It wasn’t a craving, or a drive. Certainly, there were a lot of people he’d wanted to kill. But he hadn’t. And that had been even before this self-imposed rule of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s. He didn’t kill people for no reason. It wasn’t his fault if other people were too dumb to work out what those reasons were, or if they thought the reason wasn't worth killing for.

Xuē Yáng just… he didn’t get caught up in all this emotional stuff that people said you were meant to feel about killing. He didn’t care that someone he killed might have had a family—odds were, they did! Most people did! He didn’t care that their lover might be distraught, he didn’t care that a clan no longer had an heir now, he didn’t care that the kids didn’t have parents anymore.

He didn’t know why it didn’t bother him. It just didn’t.

The red azalea silk was getting rather loud now, but Xuē Yáng still couldn’t make out what it was trying to say. He ran his fingers across the fabric, familiar threads slippery and soft.

Xiǎo Xīngchén would care. He would be emotional, and he would connect with those other people, the ones left behind. That was because Xiǎo Xīngchén was a Good Person. It came with the territory of being Good.

So why didn’t it bother Xuē Yáng? He was doing Good things now; why were all these deaths still meaningless to him? Why did it not matter that people had died? Why did he still want to stab them when they were annoying?

Why was it all so boring?

Xuē Yáng ignored the next few hunts he caught rumours of. Kept away from the small towns as much as he could, hiding in the anonymity of crowded places. Cities were always so busy that no one would notice you.

He didn’t bother with talking, except what was necessary to eat. Didn’t bother with finding rooms at an inn. There were always empty spaces in big cities, abandoned buildings most people ignored. The only kinds of people who visited these sorts of places knew better than to aggravate someone like Xuē Yáng for intruding—well-fed, well-dressed, carrying a sword and a dark energy wrapped around his shoulders.

Not worth the risk.

Hidden in the shadows of a high window, he watched the people walking by. Picked out the ones that would make good marks, out of habit mostly. Anyone dressed affluently, the people who weren’t paying attention, the people who were concerned with appearing “kind”. Beggar children were playing the same game from the alleyways. Xuē Yáng watched them pull on heartstrings—bright, charming, smiling little things—before they disappeared, melting back into the shadows, hungry eyes watching the crowds.

Most of them were going to die before they were adults. The cold would get them, or the hunger, or the dogs, or each other. Little, pointless deaths, staining the streets long after the bodies were cleared away.

Sometimes, Xuē Yáng wondered how normal people could do it. Ignore the dead things hiding in the corners. Cities like this, they were soaked in it, from the slums right up to the glistening gilded manors. Even other cultivators seemed able to ignore it, the energy from all that death. People wondered how the great and terrible Yílíng Lǎozǔ had gained so much power so quickly. Couldn’t they see how many dead things surrounded them? How much untapped power there was? The dead souls far outnumbered the living. It was a simple thing to summon them forth.

Was it because not all the dead things were resentful? A lot of them didn’t even know they were dead, didn’t notice as their minds and spirits decayed. Many of the dead children still played, unaware of their fates, just glad that the hunger wasn’t bothering them anymore. They joined the shadows, a chattering cacophony of singsong voices.

Maybe Xuē Yáng had always been more sensitive to dead things. Maybe it was something about having grown up among them. Wèi Wúxiàn had spent his childhood living among the dogs, too, or so they said. Maybe the slums bred powerful demonic cultivators.

There was movement below. All the beggar children focusing on one man—young and dressed in expensive robes, accompanied by a beautiful maiden. Behind them, their chaperones were keeping quiet, providing the illusion of privacy.

The beggar children were glancing at each other, hissing and planning. Xuē Yáng grinned. He recognised this play.

Of the dozen or so children, only two walked forwards, the ones with brightest smiles and the cleanest features. An older girl and a younger boy, nominated to be siblings. He ran out ahead, stumbling and falling into the path of the young couple. She ran after, a perfect older sister, fussing over her reckless younger brother. How wholesome! To be so poor but show such strong family values! Oh, what dear children, all alone in the world!

The rich young man took the opportunity, because of course he did. Impressing his lady friend with his generosity. What a fine father he’d make! So caring!

All around them, the other children were wandering the crowd, using the distraction to pick pockets and sneak food from stalls. By the time Brother and Sister had made their respectful thanks to the generous young man, all the others had disappeared back into the shadows, running off to some safer place to split their spoils.

Just another day in the city.

Would Xiǎo Xīngchén have been a mark or an ally? As a blind man, he’d be seen as an easy target, and as a charitable man he’d be seen as a foolish one. But Xiǎo Xīngchén was a clever man, and a kind one. He wouldn’t be so easy to pickpocket, but he’d probably give you his money pouch and tell you to keep it. Then he’d be back the next day to gift you another.

Xuē Yáng’s smile faded, and he drew his knees up, hugging them to his chest.

It had been too long since he’d last spoken with Xiǎo Xīngchén. Months and months, all alone. Nothing but boring, frustrating hunts, and boring, frustrating people.

Xuē Yáng hadn’t meant for it to be so long. It had only been the immediate threat of Sòng Lán that had persuaded him to leave at all; he’d always meant to return as soon as he had healed. But Xiǎo Xīngchén had sounded so certain when he said he hated Xuē Yáng, so earnest when he called Xuē Yáng’s actions disgusting.

Going on one night hunt was hardly proof of anything. Going on three: that was the start of a pattern. He’d nearly visited them then. Xiǎo Xīngchén had been so nearby! Only half a day’s travel! But three successful night hunts wasn’t much. Xiǎo Xīngchén would be far more impressed by five. Xuē Yáng had left without contacting him.

Xuē Yáng had needed more proof. More lives still living due to his actions. It had to be a big number, something that would instantly be impressive to Xiǎo Xīngchén and make him forget all about the corpse puppets in Yi City.

It wasn’t working, though. The plan. It was taking too long, and it was too—he hated it! Hated all of this! Pretending he gave a damn about all those idiots! So many of them were being haunted by resentful spirits bent on revenge; didn’t they understand that it was their fault in the first place that a ghost had appeared? And why did he have to save the lives of these stupid people anyway!? The ghosts would settle on their own once the idiots were dead!

He didn’t want to do this anymore. The plan was a failure. It was bad, and Xuē Yáng wasn’t any good at this shit anyway, and he didn’t understand why it was worth trying things this way. He’d been much better suited as Jīn Guāngyáo’s assassin.

Why was Xiǎo Xīngchén so far away? Why wasn’t he here? Why hadn’t he come chasing after Xuē Yáng at any point? Not even to check if he was still alive?

It wasn’t true. Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t hate him, they weren’t enemies, they were still friends. Xiǎo Xīngchén was just busy, or probably Sòng Lán had been telling lies about Xuē Yáng to trick Xiǎo Xīngchén into hating him, which was very rude of him, considering Xuē Yáng wasn’t even there to defend himself. Xiǎo Xīngchén should know better than to believe Sòng Lán’s lies.

Why couldn’t things go back to before? It would be better this time. Now that Xiǎo Xīngchén knew his identity, they didn’t have to lie to each other anymore. They could just run away together and burrow into the side of a mountain far away from everything and everyone and just be. Ā-Qìng could come too, he supposed. Not Sòng Lán, though. Sòng Lán could go burn on a pyre.

Xuē Yáng pulled the red azalea silk free and glared at it. This was Xiǎo Xīngchén’s fault anyway. He’d infected Xuē Yáng with all these stupid ideas. If he was really so good and forgiving like he kept acting, then he would have understood why Xuē Yáng had to kill all the Chang clan! They were meant to be friends! Jīn Guāngyáo had understood.

Enough of this.

Curling up in a corner never got anything done. Xuē Yáng stood, swiping angrily at his eyes and throwing the red azalea silk to the side. Xiǎo Xīngchén had no idea of the kind of ally he’d just lost. Xuē Yáng would have done anything for him, but he was too ungrateful. Jīn Guāngyáo appreciated Xuē Yáng’s talents and knew how to use them.

Xuē Yáng stormed over to the stairs and stared down into the shadows. Three of them stared back at him, roused by his anger. Waiting in the wings, laughing little things, ready and eager to act as his weapons—automatically he reached for the red azalea silk, but there was only bare skin—

Xuē Yáng blinked, pulling his sleeve away. Pale scar tissue nearly encircled his wrist, a strange and shiny texture against the normal skin. A rough, irregular scar, left by a rope carving skin raw.

Even without the silk, he was marked. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s importance embedded into his skin. Blood freely given. If Sòng Lán had allowed Xiǎo Xīngchén to come to any harm—

Something soft brushed against his knuckles. Xuē Yáng glanced down, startling into a laugh. One of the playful shadows from the stairs had fetched the red azalea silk. Xuē Yáng took it. The shadow gave off a sensation almost like a purr and coiled around his wrist, over his hand, weaving between his fingers. More of them were appearing now, slipping out from the gaps between the floorboards and the walls. Childish little things, all laughter. Asking if he knew any good games to play.

“Not today,” he murmured, heedless of the disappointed groans all around. “Next time, maybe. I have to go see my friend now.”

But which friend?

Xiǎo Xīngchén, or Jīn Guāngyáo?

Chapter Text

For Xiǎo Xīngchén, the past few months had been hard. Not to say they hadn't also very happy, but it was difficult settling into this new walk of life.

Zǐchēn was mute. His tongue had been removed. Luckily, he was still able to communicate via the written word. Unluckily, Xiǎo Xīngchén was blind, and Ā-Qìng was illiterate, so the fact that Zǐchēn could write his thoughts down was of very little use.

Xiǎo Xīngchén missed Zǐchēn’s voice like a physical ache. To know that Zǐchēn was so close, after all their years apart, but that they were unable to share a single conversation—it was nearly unbearable!

He tried his best to focus on the positives. The fact that they were reunited, and that despite everything they were both still living. That they were still able to manage the simplest forms of communication. That they still shared the same ideals. How easily they fell back into a partnership during combat, despite their disadvantages.

Zǐchēn was still the person Xiǎo Xīngchén had known, all those years ago.

But it was difficult.

They didn’t discuss what had happened that night. They didn’t speak of Xuē Yáng. Pretending as if the man didn’t exist, as if Xiǎo Xīngchén hadn’t spent three years living beside him happily, as if he hadn’t chosen Xuē Yáng’s freedom over Zǐchēn’s right to justice.

Xiǎo Xīngchén couldn’t forget it so easily. He couldn’t push it aside. Even now, half a year later, Xiǎo Xīngchén was still certain he had made the right choice. And even if that choice was proven to be wrong, if it turned out that he had been ruled more by high emotion rather than rationality, it was far too late to dwell upon regrets. Xuē Yáng was free, and Xiǎo Xīngchén would take on the responsibility of that choice when the time came.

Strange, then, that it had been half a year and no one had heard a whisper of any atrocities linked to Xuē Yáng’s name. Stranger still, that Xuē Yáng had never returned and challenged either Xiǎo Xīngchén or Zǐchēn to a fight.

It was unproductive to worry. The best-case scenario regarding the lack of news was that Xuē Yáng had settled down in some anonymous place, where he would live out the rest of his life quietly and without further violence. Xiǎo Xīngchén thought it was unlikely—he did know Xuē Yáng—but it was still possible. And it was a far more palatable scenario than the idea that Xuē Yáng could be disguising his violent actions so effectively that they weren’t linked back to his name. Or that he’d died shortly after they had parted.

Either way, Xiǎo Xīngchén was almost certain that Xuē Yáng would track them down at some point. It was the sort of person he was. And it was worrying that he hadn’t yet reappeared.

Xiǎo Xīngchén wondered, some days, if he’d be able to keep his promise to treat Xuē Yáng as an enemy. Time had given him some distance from the situation, and objectively it was easy to call Xuē Yáng evil. Hundreds of people had met their ends by his hand, either directly or through the yin iron, and most for little reason besides caprice. Xuē Yáng’s methods of killing were cruel, and as a demonic cultivator, his actions were an insult to the natural order of things, interfering with the cycle of reincarnation. But it was still difficult to accept that those actions had been taken by Xuē Chéngměi.

Xiǎo Xīngchén had liked Chéngměi a great deal—that was part of why it had hurt so much to discover the lie—and those feelings didn’t dissipate simply because Xiǎo Xīngchén wanted them to. A part of him rebelled at the very idea of Xuē Yáng in chains, due for execution. The idea of Xuē Yáng gone from this life entirely…

There was no way around it; Xiǎo Xīngchén’s judgement was impaired when it came to Xuē Yáng. Zǐchēn and Ā-Qìng both knew it. Xiǎo Xīngchén was just glad the matter hadn’t come up yet. He dreaded the day that it would.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was brought away from his thoughts when he sensed a presence standing by his table. Smiling politely, he turned to them.

“Honourable Dàozhǎng, may I sit at your table? I am in search of spiritual advice.” The voice was rough, and carried the local accent. Xiǎo Xīngchén wasn’t quite sure why it put him on edge.

“You may sit with me, friend, though the usefulness of any advice I might offer depends entirely on what you’re seeking. I’ve been told that my knowledge of everyday practicalities is lacking.”

With a laugh, his companion settled at the place across the table. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s veins turned to ice.

“Now, now, Dàozhǎng! You shouldn’t go around talking down your own wisdom even as you offer it—no one will trust your advice!”

“Xuē Yáng.”

“It’s been far too long! You look well!”

Without his awareness, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand had found Shuānghuá’s hilt. His ears were ringing so loudly he could barely hear himself as he spoke, “We did not part friends, Xuē Yáng. I swore that the next time we met, I would bring you to justice.”

“And that means we can’t share a meal? Or are you going to start a fight in a teahouse and destroy this family’s livelihood with our combat?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén grimaced, but didn’t draw Shuānghuá. He remained tense as Xuē Yáng selected a tea cup and served himself.

“Eugh! This is disgusting, Dàozhǎng, they’ve served you burnt tea!”

“Simply because this tea is a bitter variety—”

“It isn’t, though! The pot they brought me was far better, you could actually taste the flavour! This stuff is shit.”

“Don’t drink it then,” Xiǎo Xīngchén snapped, taking a sip of his own tea. The tea did taste a little burnt, but it wasn't in Xiǎo Xīngchén's nature to complain, and he certainly wasn’t going to now that Xuē Yáng had brought it up.

“You’re very hospitable, Dàozhǎng, it’s such a lovely quality,” Xuē Yáng said, and Xiǎo Xīngchén could hear his smile. “Sharing your table and your burnt, bitter tea, and those little sweet pastries too—”

Xiǎo Xīngchén grabbed his wrist before Xuē Yáng could take one. Xuē Yáng laughed.

“Aw, Dàozhǎng, don’t be mean! I’ll leave you one or two!”

“Why are you here, Xuē Yáng?”

“To see you, obviously. That one has candied peel, you don’t even like that! Can’t I have it? Dàozhǎng, please?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén frowned, and kept silent. After a moment Xuē Yáng sighed, sitting back, and Xiǎo Xīngchén released his arm. The silence stretched, and against his will, Xiǎo Xīngchén felt himself relaxing in the familiar company. Rather predictably, this made him feel horrible, because he really wasn’t supposed to feel comfortable in the presence of a man like Xuē Yáng, especially not given their recent history.

Xuē Yáng was a murderer. He had been consistently cruel, and he’d made Xiǎo Xīngchén complicit in his crimes. Xiǎo Xīngchén should have made a move to capture him, dragging him from the teahouse if necessary. That’s what Zǐchēn would have done. That’s what any good cultivator would do.

“We aren’t going to return to how we were before, you know. It can’t ever be the same again.” Xiǎo Xīngchén really wasn’t sure if the words were meant for Xuē Yáng or for himself.

“And why not? We are both still living.”

“I know the truth now. I know just what you were doing, exactly how you were exploiting my blindness for your own cruel entertainment. You orchestrated the death of my dearest friend. My feelings haven’t changed, Xuē Yáng, I find your actions disgusting.”

“You don’t know my actions of the past few months.”

“Do they matter? There is no action you could take that could make up for the horrors you’ve inflicted.”

Xuē Yáng closed his eyes and held his breath. Why were things going wrong already? Was it always going to be like this now, every conversation between them full of sharp words and bitter things?

He almost hadn’t returned. Nearly a dozen times on the journey, he’d turned and started towards Jīnlín Tái, but each time, the idea of seeing Xiǎo Xīngchén again had won out. And then Xuē Yáng had heard his voice through the crowd and it had swept away any thoughts of Jīn Guāngyáo.

Xuē Yáng had followed them throughout the day, watching as they bartered for travel supplies, and simple books for Ā-Qìng. Sòng Lán had been at his side, smiling and staring at Xiǎo Xīngchén like he was something holy—and yes, Xuē Yáng understood that feeling, because Xiǎo Xīngchén was truly the most beautiful person in the world, but that didn’t mean it was okay for Sòng Lán to keep staring like that! He wasn’t worthy of looking upon Xiǎo Xīngchén!

And then Xuē Yáng had gotten lucky, because Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng had wandered off together for some reason while Xīngchén entered a teahouse alone. Xuē Yáng had followed, and watched him from across the room. There was a newly-repaired tear in one of his sleeves, and a heaviness to his shoulders, like he was exhausted, but the hint of a smile too. A good exhaustion. The kind that followed a successful hunt.

Xuē Yáng hadn’t planned on approaching, not so soon. He wanted their reunion to be a little more dramatic, something that would really capture Xiǎo Xīngchén’s attention—it had to be something good, since it would end with Sòng Lán chasing him away. But Sòng Lán was gone. No one could stop Xuē Yáng or interfere, and really, Xīngchén had been so close! Xuē Yáng could touch him, speak with him—

And then they’d been talking! And maybe it hurt a little that Xiǎo Xīngchén had looked so ready to run when he’d realised it was Xuē Yáng sitting across from him, but then he’d begun to relax and tease back and—

Xuē Yáng’s lungs were burning when he opened his eyes, slowly letting the air flow from his lungs, and with it the urge to lash out and let his words cut the vulnerable places his Dàozhǎng didn’t know how to protect. The last time he’d followed that urge, the world had nearly ended in red.

“You say hurtful things, Dàozhǎng. Do you really desire my anger so much? With so many innocent people nearby?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén grew tense again, his hand returning to Shuānghuá, and inexplicably that made Xuē Yáng furious.

“What, Dàozhǎng, you don’t trust me?” he hissed.

“No.”

Xuē Yáng scoffed and his eyes were burning, and his throat was full, and his face felt hot.

“I’ve been night hunting these past months. Like you do. I came to tell you that.”

“You’ve been night hunting?”

“Yes. Is that so surprising?”

“Perhaps a little. Why are you here to tell me that?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén still looked tense, ready to spring into action to defend all these nobodies from the great and terrible Xuē Yáng, who obviously couldn't be trusted not to murder a whole room of people for a single conversation. Fucking hell, they only lived together for three fucking years! Xiǎo Xīngchén knew him better than that!

“I’ve been night hunting, the way you night hunt,” Xuē Yáng repeated, slowly, like he was trying to explain the concept to a child.

“The way I night hunt—you mean without using demonic cultivation, without a monetary reward?”

“The second bit. Nearly. Xīngch—Dàozhǎng, you really are a fool for not asking even a little in exchange. You have no sect to support you! You can’t eat gratitude.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t look impressed.

“I didn’t charge any of them unfairly.”

He still didn’t look impressed.

“I didn’t kill any living person since we last met. Even when they underpaid me or gave me terrible bitter candies.”

That got an arched eyebrow.

“For most people, that would not be a noteworthy thing. I still don’t understand why you came here to tell me this.”

“To show you that I can do what you do!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t respond. But after a moment, he pushed the plate of sweets closer to Xuē Yáng. All at once, the bad feelings fell away and Xuē Yáng felt like laughing.

“Dàozhǎng, so generous!” Xuē Yáng took a moment to look them over, before picking the sweetest-looking, stickiest one. He ate it quickly, and began picking over the others.

“Explain it to me, Xuē Yáng, because I still do not understand.”

“We are still friends.” Xuē Yáng said, picking out another pastry. “But our principles are not similar, and dirtying yours—even if it was through me tricking you instead of you deliberately harming people—it hurt your heart too greatly. I am more resilient. I can stand to let my principles grow closer to yours. And then you will have to admit that we are still friends! And then, we can share more meals together!”

Xuē Yáng looked up to grin at Xiǎo Xīngchén and found his mouth open slightly in surprise.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Xuē Yáng laughed. Ate another pastry.

“I thought it was rather obvious.”

“You’re trying to help people? So that we can be friends?”

“So that you’ll admit we’re already friends. We still are. Even though you keep on saying mean things to me. I’ll forgive you that, once you admit we’re friends, though.”

“You’ll forgive me?”

Xuē Yáng paused. He had a feeling he might have said something wrong.

“Dàozhǎng?”

“Okay. You’ve visited me. You’ve told me you’re night hunting. Now, go away.”

“What, no—”

“Then I’m leaving.”

“Dàozhǎng—” Xuē Yáng grabbed his hand then dropped the bare skin as if it were scalding.

Xiǎo Xīngchén paused, thrown off by the odd reaction. Xuē Yáng was a tactile person, always pulling and grabbing and touching, and unafraid of sitting close, rubbing shoulders. More than once, he’d fallen asleep leaning against Xiǎo Xīngchén. He used touch like a physical claim on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s attention. Why would he flinch away now?

“If you leave, I’ll follow you.”

Well, that was definitely something he would do. He was an incredibly tenacious person, particularly when it came to things he thought would be fun or entertaining.

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed heavily, and sat back down.

“Why would I want to remain friends with you, Xuē Yáng? I can’t ignore the things you’ve done simply because you wish I would, or because you’ve been on a few night hunts. Every one of the worst events of my life can be traced back to your actions to some degree, and you don’t appear even the slightest bit remorseful about that.”

Xuē Yáng was silent for a moment.

“So seek your vengeance. What’s your pain worth? I’ll give that to you—I’ll let you take it!”

“Vengeance doesn’t interest me.”

“Justice, then. Same thing, different name.”

“It really isn’t—” Xiǎo Xīngchén paused, focusing on the streets outside. When he’d resettled at the table, he had kept Shuānghuá in his hand. Which meant he was fully able to sense the strong resentful energy that was drawing nearer the teahouse. “You’re not currently injured at all, are you?”

“Why? Do you want to strip me and play healer again, Dàozhǎng? Get your hands all over my body?”

“You were my patient. It’s only right that I enquire after your health,” Xiǎo Xīngchén replied, ignoring the way his cheeks grew warm. “Last time we spoke, you were still recovering from a serious injury.”

“No need to worry yourself any longer, I am in very good health.”

“Well, that’s very good to hear. Are there any sweets left or have you eaten them all?”

Xuē Yáng laughed, and slid the plate back to Xiǎo Xīngchén. Fingers hovering, he found only one sweet left on the plate. He caught the scent just before biting into it.

“Lychee?”

“I left it for you,” Xuē Yáng said, tapping his fingers against the table. “Not that this isn’t very pleasant, Dàozhǎng, but this is an abrupt change in attitude.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t answer quickly, savouring the sweet. Smiling, he stretched the moment longer by refilling Xuē Yáng’s teacup and his own.

“Perhaps I’m measuring the benefits of a friendship with you against the disadvantages, and seeing which side lacks. Perhaps I’m simply pleased to hear you’re in good health. Or, perhaps I simply wanted the last sweet.”

Xuē Yáng laughed again, a sound full of delight, and Xiǎo Xīngchén felt a momentary twinge of doubt. It was… unkind, to use Xuē Yáng’s desire to restore their friendship like this.

“Dàozhǎng, Dàozhǎng! Allow me to elaborate on those benefits!”

“Oh? Are you sure that what you consider a benefit matches what I consider one?”

“Of course they match.”

“You’re so certain—”

“Dàozhǎng, I know you,” Xuē Yáng said, his voice suddenly softer. “I know what you consider a benefit and what unnerves you.”

The words died in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s throat, struck dead by the quiet certainty in Xuē Yáng’s voice. Luckily, he was saved from having to think up a response by a commotion at the door.

Chapter Text

“Xuē Yáng!”

Xuē Yáng turned at the cry, as did half the teahouse. At the doorway, Ā-Qìng was glaring, and beside her Sòng Lán was already drawing his sword, lips pulled back in a stupid-looking snarl—

“Shit!” Xuē Yáng said, glancing back to Xiǎo Xīngchén, who was wearing a small smile, his hand on Shuānghuá— “You knew!”

“Knew what?” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, his smile growing wider. Crafty Dàozhǎng!

Xuē Yáng might have responded, but it suddenly became incredibly important that he jump out the nearby window. Sòng Lán followed him out seconds later, roaring a wordless challenge.

Xuē Yáng was running across rooftops, identifying escape routes. Always handy to have. Not enough wilderness nearby to hide. Crowds dispersing. Dozens of alleyways, but this town was too small to hide among them for long.

The hum of a blade—duck!

Xuē Yáng giggled, spinning, evading.

Now, this! This was what he’d been missing!

No time for a mistake!

Dodge! Strike! React!

Heartbeat loud, lungs aching, qi singing in his veins!

Sòng Lán was aggressive, and death had only made him stronger. Xuē Yáng’s arms shook as he deflected a flurry of blows.

Nearly enough to make Xuē Yáng worry. Time to fight dirty.

Resentful energy gathered along Jiàngzāi’s blades, summoned by Xuē Yáng’s glee. Leaping backwards, he shaped the energy, gave it purpose, this was all about timing—

Sòng Lán attacked—the sword grazed Xuē Yáng’s arm as he danced out of reach, swinging Jiàngzāi in two quick strikes, spilling the dark ichor from Sòng Lán’s veins—

Sòng Lán roared. Xuē Yáng nearly tripped, scrambling back, as the fierce corpse screamed at the sky, his resentful energy pulsing outward in waves. Sòng Lán charged, and the difference was obvious immediately.  All fury and strength and speed—within seconds, it was all Xuē Yáng could do to defend himself! One swing nearly lost his head! Barely kept an arm! Only the qi reinforcing his bones kept them from shattering under the assault!

Too intense for now!

With an effort of will, Xuē Yáng activated his spell.

Instantly, chains made of shadows erupted from beneath Sòng Lán’s skin, snaking around his wrists and sharply pulling him to his knees. Xuē Yáng moved to the opposite end of the roof, breathing harshly as he surveyed his work. Sòng Lán was snarling, glaring in his direction, struggling within the bonds as if he hadn’t even noticed them.

Xuē Yáng grinned. Carefully, he moved closer, circling the fierce corpse. Sòng Lán was definitely Xuē Yáng’s best work! The most powerful thing he'd ever created. Such a shame Sòng Lán was unsuitable as a weapon, although acting as a loyal guardian to Xiǎo Xīngchén was likely what Xuē Yáng would have ordered a weapon to do anyway. And Sòng Lán did provide an interesting challenge to overcome.

This spell, Xuē Yáng had designed it specifically for using on fierce corpses and the undead. Specifically for this fierce corpse, although it would be just as effective on Wēn Níng, he imagined. It didn’t take much resentful energy, which was a plus. Best applied by a sword blade, the spell sinking through the wounds into the resentful energy of the host undetected—undetected by an undead thing, at least, anyone with a golden core would sense the foreign energy beneath their skin—

Sòng Lán lurched forwards, shattering several roof tiles as one of the shadow chains snapped.

Xuē Yáng darted away, swearing. More chains next time! The remaining one was already growing weaker!

Sòng Lán snarled, trying to pull his arm free. Xuē Yáng, the coward, had fled to the opposite end of the roof, grinning like a maniac. Of course he’d resorted to dirty tricks, in any honest fight Sòng Lán would beat him soundly.

Sòng Lán threw Fúxuě forwards, aimed straight at Xuē Yáng’s chest—Xuē Yáng gasped, dodging backwards and off the edge of the roof—Sòng Lán broke the chain, directed Fúxuě to stab down into the pool of resentful energy in the alleyway below—darted to the edge of the roof in time to see the sword disappear into a mass of swirling shadows, which scattered at the touch of the spiritual sword, revealing—

Nothing. Xuē Yáng was gone. He couldn't be gone, where was he hiding? Was he watching? No, there were no other strong qi signatures nearby, except—

“Zǐchēn?”

Sòng Lán turned at his name, forcing his anger away as he summoned Fúxuě back to his hand. He wandered to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side, gripping Xiǎo Xīngchén’s forearm in greeting. Xingchen smiled briefly.

“Xuē Yáng escaped?”

Why don’t you sound bothered by that? Sòng Lán wished to ask. Why was he seated across from you? Did you know who you were sharing tea with? Have you forgotten the atrocities he committed? Why didn’t you fight him with me?

“Mn,” Sòng Lán said instead, and cursed his missing tongue.

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

Are you?

“Mn.”

They jumped down from the roof together and began to walk back towards the inn they were staying at. People began to appear in the streets once more, many of them staring at Sòng Lán and even more terrified than normal. It always happened this way, if any civilians saw him fight, but he couldn't blame them. They might not be able to work with spiritual energy or sense it properly, but instinct told them to fear of things like Sòng Lán.

He walked faster, Xiǎo Xīngchén matching his pace.

“Do you think we can risk a few more days here, or will they run us out of town tonight?” Xiǎo Xīngchén murmured. Sòng Lán grimaced, assessing the mood of the crowd. Wary, but not hostile yet.

He took Xiǎo Xīngchén’s wrist and squeezed briefly, before tapping his fingers against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s palm. Three bursts of three beats: the signal for All Is Well. Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“I’m glad. Ā-Qìng has missed sleeping under a roof.”

So have I.

Technically, Sòng Lán didn’t need sleep anymore, but he still preferred to rest indoors, and he enjoyed the feeling of security that four walls provided. And it was nice to have enough light that he could fill the early hours with reading. It always grew difficult when campfires burned low.

It was an unfortunate fact that Sòng Lán was an undead thing, and his appearance reflected that. The pale skin, the black veins, the resentful energy flowing through his body. More than once, frightened villagers had accused him of being a ghost or monster and refused to allow him within their borders. The three of them had been turned away from inns, and on occasion, even chased from the town. Some days, it was easier just to set up camp in the wilderness and avoid the towns altogether. The worst time had been when a cultivator dressed in Lánlíng gold had accused Sòng Lán of being the Ghost General Wēn Níng. That time had resulted in a small scuffle, but Xiǎo Xīngchén had somehow convinced the Jīn cultivator to part ways without further violence.

Sòng Lán glanced at his companion as they arrived at the inn, quickly making their way through the public hallways to their room. There was a pensive twist to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s mouth, something nearly wistful that fell away as he stepped past the threshold of their room and greeted Ā-Qìng. A mask of congeniality, one that Sòng Lán had seen him wear with difficult clients and hostile innkeepers, and apparently, with Ā-Qìng too. Had he worn a similar facade with Sòng Lán? Was this something Xiǎo Xīngchén had always done, something Sòng Lán had only learned the truth of after they were reunited?

How well did Sòng Lán actually know him? This new Xiǎo Xīngchén, who was able to smooth things over with hostile villagers using gentle words, stern reassurance, and the occasional lie. Little falsehoods that told a story, some pleasant explanation for Sòng Lán’s frightening appearance, rather than the grim truth. It was alarming, how easily the lies slipped from Xiǎo Xīngchén’s mouth, and the sincerity with which he spoke. He was unremorseful too. Sensing Sòng Lán’s unease, Xiǎo Xīngchén had spoken of how experience had taught him the usefulness of small lies: to soothe, to avoid unnecessary conflict, even to encourage healthier behaviour! Sòng Lán couldn’t question him, couldn't give his opinion on the subject—not with the limitations on their communication, they didn't have the vocabulary for it. Xiǎo Xīngchén knew of Sòng Lán's discomfort with the lying, and to his credit, he only lied rarely. But Sòng Lán had a feeling that Xiǎo Xīngchén lied more often whenever he was out of Sòng Lán's company.

It wasn't the only change: this Xiǎo Xīngchén was simply not the same person Sòng Lán had parted from, all those years ago. He laughed more freely and with a darker, dirtier humour. He was slower to pass judgement on others, insisting on hearing the reasoning that each criminal used to justify their actions. He volunteered his assistance with all sorts of things beyond the scope of a rogue cultivator's duties; not only with night-hunting, healing, and the arbitration of justice, but little things like helping civilians with their daily chores. Just in general, he was far better than Sòng Lán remembered when it came to people. Talking, bartering, lying, building a rapport. And there a melancholy about him that Sòng Lán didn't recognise, something well-hidden but present all the same.

Sòng Lán wasn’t yet sure what to make of this version of Xiǎo Xīngchén. He was sure he'd grow accustomed to the changes in his friend: he'd have to. Time only ever moved in one direction, after all, and it had been years since they'd last known each other. Sòng Lán wished he could simply be happy to be in Xiǎo Xīngchén's company again, but a part of him couldn’t help mourning for the friend he’d had before.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng let himself fall backwards, grinning as the shadows reached up to catch him. He closed his eyes as the world spiralled into darkness, holding his breath until the noise and the spinning stopped, and then he was lying on his back somewhere completely different.

It was quiet here. The air thick with dust. Dark enough it took his eyes a few minutes to adjust. Bare earth beneath him, wood above him, too low to sit up. The crawlspace beneath the floorboards of some building.

Controlling his breathing, Xuē Yáng explored the place with his qi sense. Nothing living down here larger than a rat. Most of it too tight a space to move comfortably through. Unusually crowded with death echoes, watching and curious, excited to meet a new friend. Xuē Yáng laughed softly, lifted a finger to his lips.

“Shh. I’m playing hide and seek.”

Whispers of stifled laughter all around, and undead energy wrapping closer, who are we hiding from who who who—

“An angry fierce corpse dressed all in black. Can you see him?” Xuē Yáng asked, stretching his senses beyond the edges of the building. Careful, careful, keep within the shadows, concealed where Sòng Lán couldn’t sense Xuē Yáng’s presence.

The world looked different through the eyes of the dead. Unfocused, lacking all colour and form. Living things like beacons that burned the eyes and left you ravenous. All dead things hungered for something—attention or vengeance or kindness or warmth, light, a game to play, an answer of some kind. They were starved for it, driven to madness without it, until they were twisted into bizarre and monstrous forms. 

Xuē Yáng swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, digging his fingers into the dirt. He focused through their hunger.

Sòng Lán was easy to find, like this. The strongest concentration of resentful energy in the city, a walking, “talking” corpse. Little death echoes hounded Sòng Lán’s footsteps, attracted by the sense of identity and purpose he carried, so much stronger than their own. And beside Sòng Lán… ohhh… such bright and gleaming energy… was this how all dead things saw Xiǎo Xīngchén? How could they bear it?

Xuē Yáng forced his eyes open with a gasp. Earth beneath him. Floorboards above. Shadows all around. Dust in the air, on his tongue, in his lungs. Heartbeat in his ears. Gentle aches all over his body letting themselves be known, now that the fighting was over.

Still living. Still here. Under a house.

Sòng Lán would never find him here, not surrounded by so many shadows. They giggled as Sòng Lán wandered further away, excited that Xuē Yáng was “winning”. Xuē Yáng laughed with them.

Ah, fighting fierce corpses was tiring. This would make a good place for a nap. Sheltered from the weather, out of the way where no one would think to look for him… a good place. Not too cold.

Xuē Yáng turned his head to one side.

“Hello. What did you in?”

The skeleton was too small, a child’s skull, bones scattered. Too dark to see any details at all, but the spirit inhabiting the remains remembered teeth.

“Dogs… unpleasant way to go. Is that why there’s more of you left? Spiritually speaking?”

Silence.

“Was this your space? Where you lived?”

The spirit didn’t answer, but the fact that Xuē Yáng’s sanctuary spell had led here was answer enough. This had been a safe place, before the dogs came. Of course this was where they had brought Xuē Yáng when he’d asked about safe places to hide.

“Do you know why you’re still here instead of in the other place?”

The spirit shrugged. They seemed sad. Xuē Yáng clicked his tongue, reaching forwards to tap on the skull.

“You must have some idea. Look at you! You’re no echo, no mere shadow of a past death, soul long passed on. You’ve got substance! Something’s keeping you here. What is it? Revenge? Some last desire, unfulfilled?”

The spirit seemed to curl inwards, and Xuē Yáng frowned.

Stretching out his qi, Xuē Yáng plucked each of the little bones from where they were scattered, dragging them back close to the skull. Some were still missing, some shattered. Idly, he began to pick through them, rearranging them into something like the shape they’d have been in during life.

“Did you ever eat dragon’s breath candies?”

Xuē Yáng kept up the one-sided conversation for the best part of an hour, describing and ranking the various types of sweet foods he’d had, and the various festivals many of them were associated with. Gūsū had some of the best of all, which was rather funny considering how bland the diet at Cloud Recesses was said to be. That’s what you got, though, when a monk started a cultivation sect: a whole sect devoted to abstinence and the “simple life”. 

Lánlíng tended to have the greatest variety all year around. Every single sweet-maker in the vicinity of Jīnlín Tái hoped to one day receive the patronage of the Lánlíng Jīn, so they were constantly competing, creating new and wondrous things. The downside was that they tended to follow whatever flavour was currently fashionable, so it was difficult to find the same sweet twice. 

Qíshān Wen had been horrible for sweet things, the sulphur smell from the volcanics got into all the food, and even the stronger flavours they favoured there weren’t enough to counter it. 

Yúnmèng tended to celebrate the natural sweet flavours of the fruit and flowers, although they also liked working chili and other stronger spices into their sweets, and that was annoying to discover when you weren’t expecting it. 

Qīnghé was different than the others, tending towards foods that took a long time to spoil, but also foods that left you feeling warm after eating them. Candied ginger was a popular flavour there. It wasn’t Xuē Yáng’s favourite flavour, but they did also have a tasty and rather strong fruit wine in Qīnghé and it went very well with all the ginger flavoured stuff.

All throughout, the spirit was listening attentively. Xuē Yáng watched it back, tracing the way wistfulness and longing spread through its energy like ink in water. Something similar to happiness too, at having someone to talk to. No one came to visit here anymore. Well, of course they wouldn’t, considering they were under a house. Most people wouldn’t think to explore down here. Even the other street kids would likely avoid a place so strongly stained by death.

“You must remember your name, at least,” Xuē Yáng said after a short silence. “Even if you can’t work out why you’re still here.”

The spirit curled up again, retreating into its skull, all morose.

“Oh. Is that why? You don’t know who you were?”

Xuē Yáng sighed.

“You should try to remember, if you can. I’m going to take a nap.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng were fighting again.

They tried not to make it obvious, but Ā-Qìng could always tell. For one thing, both of them seemed to forget that she wasn’t actually blind, and definitely wasn’t deaf. And while until recently she had been completely illiterate, she had always been very skilled at reading people.

Of course, because they were both weirdos, they didn’t fight like normal people. Ā-Qìng had a feeling that even if they’d been able to communicate properly, their fights still would have been like this, all weirdly formal measured talk and very calm arguments.

The biggest clue that they were fighting, of course, was the fact that they were refusing to sit near each other. Or at least, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was refusing to remain anywhere within arm’s reach of Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, and that was making Xīngchén-dàozhǎng all sad. And Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was wearing that tight-lipped, lost expression, as if he was trying to hold in a heap of bad words that wanted to vomit out of his mouth.

Ā-Qìng focused on her writing practice, and pretended she hadn’t noticed a thing.

Tap tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

“I wasn’t in any danger.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“I’ve told you before, Xuē Yáng is of little danger to me personally. If all he requires in order to stay non-violent is conversation, then it is an easy choice. And I was aware that you were nearby, in any case.”

Taptaptap! Tap-tap-tap-tap—

“Oh, I apologise, I can’t quite work out what that one was meant to mean.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng sighed.

Ā-Qìng rolled her eyes, glaring as Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng began tapping his fingers on the table again. It wasn’t the best way to communicate, and they only had a few set phrases, but it was usually enough for everyday things. Usually, though, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng would tap his fingers on Xīngchén-dàozhǎng’s wrist and not on a table, where the noise would annoy everyone in the room. Yet another reason to learn this reading and writing stuff as quickly as possible—then she could simply read out whatever was bothering Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng could get to fixing it, and she wouldn’t have to listen to increasingly frantic tapping noises every time they had a small argument and couldn’t work out how to talk to each other.

She turned her glare onto Xīngchén-dàozhǎng. In this particular argument, she was fairly certain she and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng felt exactly the same.

“Why were you even hanging around with that creep?” Ā-Qìng asked, abandoning her work. It was getting too dark to write by, anyway. “Why didn’t you just stab him again?”

“Ā-Qìng, I wouldn’t stab someone for no reason—”

“He deserves it, though, right?” she asked, glancing to Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, who nodded vigorously. “He’s a bad person, and he hurt you, and a lot of other people too. He probably deserves execution or something. And you said that you’d be enemies with him next time you met him, anyway.”

“One shouldn’t resort to violence as a first course of action. Xuē Yáng wasn’t behaving in a threatening manner and so neither was I.”

“But why was he even sitting at your table?”

“Well, at first he disguised his voice—”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng scoffed, and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng grimaced.

“So he was trying to trick you again.”

“No, he revealed his identity almost immediately.”

Ā-Qìng was about to ask why the fuck Xīngchén-dàozhǎng had continued to sit with Xuē Yáng after that, but before she could, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng growled, leaping to his feet and stormed to the door.

“Zichen! Please!”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng paused, but didn’t turn from the door.

“Zichen… I truly am sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng marched out the door a second later without a backwards look. Xīngchén-dàozhǎng seemed smaller, somehow, with him gone. After a second, he turned to face Ā-Qìng with a gentle smile.

“Ā-Qìng, I owe you an apology too.”

“What for? If you want to keep hanging around with that bastard and he kills you, that’s your choice,” Ā-Qìng muttered. “I don’t care.”

Xīngchén-dàozhǎng’s smile grew warmer. “Let me apologise for disrupting you with our argument, at least.”

“Yes, you should. That was annoying.”

Xīngchén-dàozhǎng laughed softly, and after a moment so did Ā-Qìng. She got up, moving to sit beside him. After a moment, he gave her a hug, and Ā-Qìng leaned heavily into it.

“I didn’t mean that. I do care if you die.”

“I know, Ā-Qìng. I’m sorry.”

“It’s scary, seeing him near you again.”

She felt his chest move as he swallowed.

“It’s scary for me too, him being here. But you remember how he was, when I—back then. And he said he’s only here to talk. I don’t think we’re in any danger from him.”

“If he makes you cry again, I’ll stab him.”

Xīngchén-dàozhǎng laughed again, and Ā-Qìng grinned.

“You know, I think if he made me cry, he might let you stab him.”

“It’s no fun that way.”

“Oh, of course. Silly me.”

Ā-Qìng giggled, and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng squeezed her briefly.

“I’m glad we met, Ā-Qìng.”

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

Xiǎo Xīngchén slept poorly that night, and woke with the first hints of morning birdsong. The air was cold, and the village wasn’t awake yet, though it wouldn’t be long before the streets grew busy. Ā-Qìng’s quiet breathing was the only noise in the room.

Sòng Lán hadn’t returned in the night. Xiǎo Xīngchén lay still, and examined the ache that realization left in his chest, the shape of it, poisonous and sharp, and then he wrapped it up, folding that ache smaller and smaller until he could put it away.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He sat up. He prepared for the day.

The walls were too close. There was no wind here, no growing things. Too many people, too close. Didn’t matter that they were in different rooms, different buildings. The ache in his chest was twisting around, corners scratching the insides of his ribs. He squashed it small again. Aches and pains were like that; they always grew bigger when you weren’t watching them.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He shouldn’t leave Ā-Qìng alone. She didn’t like it when she woke up without him or Sòng Lán present. It made her worry. It reminded her of—he didn't like letting her wake alone.

There was movement in the streets outside. The first early risers, going about their days.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Xiǎo Xīngchén had become rather good at managing aches like this, since leaving Baoshan-sanren’s side and the mountain that had been his home. He’d been collecting aches for years now, kept them all lined up neatly beside his heart.

There was the ache of knowing he could never return to his old home, an ache so constant that Xiǎo Xīngchén could easily ignore it most days. There was the ache of finding himself alone in the world, and finding the world was a lot bigger and a lot more cruel than he had thought. There was the ache he felt for the injustices he encountered, some of them great but so many more of them mundane. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Most days, all those little aches were quiet. They stayed silent and still, folded small and tucked somewhere they wouldn’t get in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s way. There were many days that he couldn’t feel them at all, though they still lurked.

Some days, they were loud. Some days, there was nothing to do, no action to take, except to let the aches move through you. Play themselves out to exhaustion.

Chéngměi had made them quiet. Chéngměi was a lie. It was Xuē Yáng who had made things quiet.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Xuē Yáng made things worse. Xuē Yáng needled sores until they were bleeding wounds, recklessly bruising the people around him. Xuē Yáng had carved out some of the greatest aches Xiǎo Xīngchén had ever experienced: the slaughter of Báixuě Temple; the theft of Sòng Lán's eyes; the innocents dead by Xiǎo Xīngchén's hand. Xiǎo Xīngchén had learned about a new kind of pain from Sòng Lán’s harsh words.

Xuē Yáng had made breathing easier. Xuē Yáng lanced the wound and drained the infection. Xuē Yáng teased out laughter and fire that distracted from the way healing itched. He didn’t allow self-pity to take root.

Had the room grown smaller? No, of course it hadn’t.

In the distance, beyond the edges of town, the birdsong was getting louder, more melodies joining the chorus as dawn approached. Too far away. Too many people.

“Xīngchén-dàozhǎng?”

He gasped, startled by Ā-Qìng’s sleep-heavy voice. He hadn’t even heard her wake.

“Good morning, Ā-Qìng.”

She yawned, shifting on her bed. “It’s too early,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “Go for a walk or something, I can’t sleep when you’re full of nerves.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a tight smile. “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep.”

“You apologise too much. Go on your walk.”

He stood, perhaps a little too quickly.

“I’ll bring you a snack from the market when I return.”

Ā-Qìng made a pleased, sleepy noise.

Xiǎo Xīngchén stepped from the room. His feet carried him quickly to the street outside, drawn forwards like a puppet with a string through its chest, nearly stumbling in his haste. He swallowed, forcibly slowing his movements, taking on a more relaxed stride. Control was important.

Most days, Xiǎo Xīngchén found walks like this enjoyable. The streets weren’t as crowded in the early hours, and the air was cool, and all around there were houses filled with people, warm and at home, preparing for their days. In some cases still sleeping, or even heading to bed after working all night.

Today, it felt suffocating.

Xiǎo Xīngchén noticed immediately when someone fell into step beside him, quietly humming a tune he couldn’t quite place. Idly, he wondered why he wasn’t reaching for Shuānghuá.

“I thought Zǐchēn had chased you off.”

“I’m in no hurry to leave. We still haven’t finished our conversation.”

Xuē Yáng didn’t keep talking, though, simply keeping pace as Xiǎo Xīngchén walked. He was glad for the silence—it was hard enough to keep a steady pace instead of sprinting for the trees beyond the borders of the town. He couldn’t concentrate on conversation. Xuē Yáng’s breathing was quiet, even and regular, and not at all like the way Xiǎo Xīngchén’s breaths kept catching in his throat. His lungs felt too small, compressed by the little aches in his chest that just wouldn’t stay folded and small and pushed out of the way.

What did it matter that Xuē Yáng had been the cause of one of the largest ones? That Xiǎo Xīngchén shouldn’t feel comfortable around this man? He was a familiar presence, something steady.

Sòng Lán wouldn’t approve.

Well, fuck Sòng Lán! Sòng Lán wasn't here! Sòng Lán was never present! He kept avoiding and growling and storming away without warning whenever they had a moderately difficult conversation, and everything was too loud and—

"Breathe in. Breathe out."

Xiǎo Xīngchén followed the murmured instruction, matching his breathing to Xuē Yáng's. Xuē Yáng was present. Something real. Something solid. Something to focus on.

Xuē Yáng's reappearance yesterday had torn away the scabs on old wounds and left Xiǎo Xīngchén raw and bleeding. Ironic that Xiǎo Xīngchén could draw comfort from him too. But he had long since resigned himself to the fact that emotions were rarely rational.

Birdsong was getting louder. The sharp edges of human habitation falling away to the vibrant qi of living trees and insects. It eased the tension in his frame enough that he could walk at a normal speed again. Xuē Yáng kept pace, humming that simple melody over and over.

Xuē Yáng was watching Xiǎo Xīngchén rather closely, so he noticed the very second Xiǎo Xīngchén began to relax. The way his breathing grew softer, mimicking Xuē Yáng's. The brief smiles that lasted longer since passing the edge of the town. Grace returned to Xiǎo Xīngchén's movements as they left the beaten track and wandered between the trees.

The fates had been favouring Xuē Yáng, it seemed. He’d only just crawled out from his nap under the house, was stretching the kinks from his shoulders, when who should walk by but Xiǎo Xīngchén! “Walk” wasn’t quite accurate. His Dàozhǎng had walked by like someone who was desperately pretending they didn't need to throw up by moving as slow and dignified as they could possibly manage, even as that soon-to-vomit problem was grew increasingly urgent. He'd been breathing like someone with a pierced lung.

This happened sometimes. Xuē Yáng had never worked out why, exactly. It was something in his Dàozhǎng's mind that twisted him into this panicked frenzy. Trees helped. Birdsong helped. Getting away from crowds helped.

What had caused it this time? Was it too many people? The death of a patient? Didn’t matter really, either way it was probably Sòng Lán’s fault. Where was he, anyway? Xuē Yáng had been talking with Xiǎo Xīngchén only yesterday, surely Sòng Lán should be stuck to his side like glue. This was terrible bodyguard work.

“You must be terribly impatient to speak, considering where we left our conversation last,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said at last.

“Words seem to keep going wrong. Too much truth or not enough. Only an idiot runs headfirst towards a wall,” Xuē Yáng said.

“An idiot, or someone blind.”

“Or that,” Xuē Yáng agreed, grinning. “That conversation was part of your trick anyway, it wasn’t real.”

“Xuē Yáng, I apologise for misleading you—”

“Fuck, really? You’re feeling all guilty over that?” Xuē Yáng laughed, and after a moment Xiǎo Xīngchén began to smile too. “Dàozhǎng, it was a great trick! I didn’t suspect a thing! And don’t pretend like you would have gone through with the trick if I had claimed I was injured, you wanted to make sure I had a fair chance. We’re friends, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Xuē Yáng…”

“If you say we’re not, I won’t believe you. I know all your tells when you lie.”

“Obviously not all of them, if I was able to trick you yesterday.”

“That was misdirection! Using a desire of mine to cloud my judgement!”

“I suppose you’d know best, with all your years of practice—”

Xiǎo Xīngchén grimaced, the tension returning to his frame. Xuē Yáng mirrored his expression. This time they had managed to go a few minutes before things went wrong and the mood turned sour, so… that was progress, right?

Xiǎo Xīngchén cleared his throat.

"If I wanted to stab you, you'd let me, wouldn't you?"

Xuē Yáng was startled into laughter.

"Such a violent question!”

“Something Ā-Qìng said made me think about it.” 

“She’s a violent child.”

“You’d know best.” 

“That I would,” Xuē Yáng said with a grin. “I meant what I told you yesterday. Whatever your pain’s worth, I’ll let you take it. So first stab's free. Second, I'll put up a fight."

"Why?”

“Well, I still have self-preservation—

“Not that. I meant, one stab in the wrong place could kill you.” 

“Would you try to kill me though, Dàozhǎng? I don’t think you would.”

“So you magnanimously allow a violent act, while certain that I would never follow through on it?”

“I wouldn’t say never. You stabbed me in the gut that one time.” 

“But you are fairly sure I would not mortally injure you? With one attack I could pierce you in a lung. The heart. A major artery. You'd let me?"

"I promise, if you stab me in the heart, I’ll spend the rest of my life surprised.”

Xiǎo Xīngchénn laughed, a weak little noise.

"I wouldn’t. Want that, I mean. I wouldn't stab you without a reason."

"Revenge is a reason."

"It isn't, for me."

"I know. Things would be a lot simpler between us if it was. Although, if you were the sort of person who would take it, I probably wouldn’t like you enough to offer it," Xuē Yáng said. “I thought you’d be happy I was night-hunting, at least. I helped people.” 

Xuē Yáng cursed the way his words came out all soft and unsure. He bit his lip, crossing his arms to hug Jiàngzāi to his chest.

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed. “I am glad that those people received assistance. Of course I am.”

“I went on ten night hunts. It was for you.”

“So that I might accept you again, yes, you said.”

Silence stretched for a few beats.

“So, ten isn’t enough?”

“Enough for what?”

“To impress you.”

“Night-hunting isn’t about impressing other people.”

Xuē Yáng snorted. “Not to you, maybe. Do you really think the clan disciples give a fuck about helping people? It’s all power and prestige again. At least I admit that’s what I want.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén made a non-committal noise. “I don’t make friends based on the number of night-hunts they go on. Zǐchēn and I are friends because we have shared ideals and we like each other, not because we are of a similar level as far as cultivation.”

“And we’re still friends because we like each other.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén was silent for several steps. 

“Do you actually believe we’re friends, or is it just what you wish was true?”

Chapter Text

“Of course I believe it, it’s the truth. We are friends.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén quirked an eyebrow. “You sound unconvinced.”

“Fuck off.”

“Very well,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, spinning on a heel—

“Wait!”

Xuē Yáng blocked his path, yet again without grabbing at an arm or a shoulder or even Xiǎo Xīngchén’s sleeve, and this was getting bizarre now—

“What’s wrong with you right now?” Xiǎo Xīngchén demanded, rather bluntly.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?! I’m just walking through town minding my business when you appear out of nowhere, sprinting for the treeline!”

“Don’t be melodramatic, I wasn’t sprinting.”

“You wanted to.”

“You don’t know my mind.”

“Yes I fucking do, Dàozhǎng, certainly better than your Sòng Lán does. Where the fuck is he, anyway? Why isn’t he here fighting for your honour?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén backed away a step. Xuē Yáng matched it, then took another, closing the distance even further but still there was no contact, no touching at all—

“He’s busy somewhere.”

“Twice in two days! He thinks I’m going to murder you or something, and I’ve still been able to get this close to you twice in two days!”

“I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

“That isn’t the point!”

“Then what is?”

“If I knew he was going to be this useless, I would have just beheaded him and burned his corpse!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén flinched.

Across from him, Xuē Yáng had frozen, wasn’t even breathing.

“Xuē Yáng—”

“I didn’t mean that,” Xuē Yáng said at the same moment.

Xiǎo Xīngchén swallowed, nodded jerkily. Xuē Yáng sighed, swearing under his breath, and Xiǎo Xīngchén picked out a quiet noise as if he was running his hand through his hair.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t kill him. I know he’s yours.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén swallowed again, wet his lips, and said, “That’s not nearly as reassuring as you seem to think it is.”

“Well. I’m a good person now, like you are, and good people don’t kill other people, so I couldn’t kill him even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Because he’s yours.”

“That’s…” Xiǎo Xīngchén trailed off, completely unsure where to begin with unravelling that. “Okay.”

“You believe me this time?”

“No, but I’ve been awake for less than an hour so far today and already had a panic attack. We can argue some other time.”

“You promise?” Xuē Yáng said in a familiar teasing tone that was always accompanied by a surprise hug or a pull on his sleeve or a playful shove or grabbing Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand to drag him somewhere—

The seconds stretched, Xiǎo Xīngchén braced for a touch that never came. He grimaced.

“Dàozhǎng?”

“Twice in two days, you’ve gotten close enough I could feel your breath on my skin, and the only time you touched me in that time, you acted like it burned… why?”

“You asked me not to touch.”

Xuē Yáng spoke the words like they were simple, like they were some fundamental truth in the nature of reality. As if Xiǎo Xīngchén was questioning why gravity made things fall down.

“And my name? You haven’t used that either.”

“You said I couldn’t, anymore.”

Right. Of course he’d said something like that. Why were these the boundaries Xuē Yáng took seriously instead of the ones about murder? What sort of logic was that?

“Xuē Yáng, it’s been… well, the word “nice” doesn’t quite fit, but it’s certainly been an experience, meeting you again. I’m glad to know you’re doing well. And I’m thankful for your support this morning… As far as treating you like an enemy, I don’t think I’m doing particularly well.”

“That’s because we’re friends.”

“We’re not friends. No, don’t interrupt me—” he cut Xuē Yáng off as the other man tried to speak. “We aren’t. I can’t be friends with you. Your actions have caused Zǐchēn and myself a great deal of misery, and I don’t trust you. You betrayed me, and took advantage of my trust.”

It was probably a bad thing that Xuē Yáng couldn’t immediately tell exactly which betrayal it was that Xiǎo Xīngchén was referring to.

“You mean about how I didn’t tell you who I was?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a smile, a soft laugh, and Xuē Yáng was transfixed by the way his mouth moved as he spoke.

“I wonder, if I had discovered your identity earlier, would anything have been different? I would have taken you as my patient even knowing who you were.”

“The moment I was healed, you would have handed me over to the closest large sect.”

“Maybe, maybe not. People aren’t static, Xuē Yáng; it’s conceivable that someone who once revelled in killing could repent and actively try to bring good into the world. They could become a better person.”

Xuē Yáng grinned. The plan had merit, then! Xiǎo Xīngchén knew all about this morality bullshit and how to be good! If he believed bad people could become good, then it had to be possible! Xuē Yáng must have been going about it the wrong way, that was all. That was why the plan was going too slow and too boring!

“Then, that means one day I could be acceptable to you again,” Xuē Yáng said.

“Stubborn.” It was said with a smile.

“Anyone who has basked in the glory of your good favour would work for it again.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed, then covered his mouth with a hand and turned away, as if he was embarrassed or something. Xuē Yáng thought it was a bit odd. Why be embarrassed, anyway? It was the truth. Xiǎo Xīngchén could have raised an army of loyal followers with only his smile, each of them eager to prove their worth to him. Not that the man would ever think to do so. He wasn’t the type. And Xuē Yáng alone would be a more useful weapon for his Dàozhǎng than dozens of warriors would be. Probably for the best, then, that so few people had recognised Xiǎo Xīngchén’s true importance.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was looking serious again.

“I won’t raise a sword to you, Xuē Yáng, so long as you remain non-aggressive towards me and any innocents. But I won’t intervene, if Zǐchēn attacks you. He has his right to justice. If he captures you, I will support his claim.”

“Dàozhǎng, if he captures me, he’ll kill me. Or see me executed.”

“I know,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, his voice shaking.

“You let me run last time.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have.”

“What, you’re regretting it now—”

“Never! Xuē Yáng, I—”

“Certainly sounds like you’re regretting it! Admit it! You think it would be better if I’d been killed years ago, just you and your dear Zǐchēn travelling the world—”

“You murdered an entire clan, Xuē Yáng! Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t have deserved it?”

“Kill me yourself, then, if you’re so fucking sure it’s the righteous thing to do!” Xuē Yáng spat. Xiǎo Xīngchén flinched, shaking his head. “Afraid to get your hands dirty? Don’t want to get any of my disgusting blood on Shuānghuá?”

“I—”

“Here, I’ll let you use Jiàngzāi, wouldn’t that be fitting? A murderer killed by his own blade!”

“Stop.”

The word was barely a whisper, but Xuē Yáng bit his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. Well, this was a fucking amazing turn of events! Decades spent learning where to strike to break someone, finally coming in use! Efficiently carving Xiǎo Xīngchén into tiny little pieces until he was a trembling bloody mess! Sure! That was a great use of his talents!

Xiǎo Xīngchén let out an unsteady breath, and Xuē Yáng opened his eyes to see Xiǎo Xīngchén had fortified himself, his expression blank and exuding a false serenity.

“Xuē Yáng, I don’t regret it. Letting you run. Living beside you. I meant what I said that night; I don’t want to see you dead. So please, please don’t let Zǐchēn catch you.”

Xuē Yáng felt abruptly off-balance.

“Dàozhǎng, I didn’t—I mean—really?”

“Do not let Zǐchēn catch you.”

“I won’t. Of course I won’t.”

“Good,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a decisive nod, as if that settled the matter and everything made sense in the world again. “I don’t regret it, but… there is no simple way to make things right between us, Xuē Yáng. Your actions left me wounded.”

Automatically, Xuē Yáng scanned him for injuries before realising he was speaking metaphorically.

“Dàozhǎng—”

“Do you know, I can’t fight against fierce corpses anymore? I hesitate before I strike. I cannot trust that what I perceive is true. What if it is another innocent, suffering corpse poisoning? It never is, of course…”

Something resonated painfully in Xuē Yáng’s chest at those words. Xiǎo Xīngchén couldn’t hunt anymore?

“No words this time?”

“Dàozhǎng, I…”

“You… what? You’d guard me on hunts? You’d guide my blade true?”

“Of course!”

“Just like in Yi City, I suppose? Are you even sorry for what you did to me? How many lives did you have me destroy?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Xuē Yáng!”

“I don’t want to tell you!”

“Answer my question or we’ll never speak again. How many people did you have me kill!?”

“Sixty-seven.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén stumbled back like the words were a physical blow. He looked like he was going to be ill again—why the fuck had Xīngchén made that stupid rule about not touching?! How was Xuē Yáng meant to keep his Dàozhǎng stable and unshattered and upright if he wasn’t allowed to touch?

“We—when we searched Yi City, we only found evidence for ten at the most—”

“I destroyed most of them so you wouldn’t find them by accident. Any spirits that lingered, I had you settle them, too.”

“Right. Of course. That makes sense,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said calmly, his lips white, before he very steadily turned, collapsed very gracefully onto his knees, and threw up.

There wasn’t much in his stomach to empty. Xuē Yáng was at his side, swearing and making other wordless noises of frustration, close enough that Xiǎo Xīngchén could feel his body heat, but still not touching. Never touching.

It took several minutes before the dry heaves receded. Xiǎo Xīngchén sat back, wiping at his mouth.

“Sixty-seven lives.” So many people, ones he’ll never know, all snuffed out. Would he ever learn the details? Did he want to? Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed unhappily. Xuē Yáng made a disgruntled noise, and then offered him a water flask. Xiǎo Xīngchén took it, rinsing out his mouth. “Maybe we are similar, as you said. I’ve destroyed so many—”

“Bullshit. We’re not that similar, Dàozhǎng.”

“There’s blood on my hands—”

“Don’t try to take responsibility for my hard work! I killed sixty-seven people, you were just my blade.”

“Xuē Yáng—”

“You’re a good person. Why would you even question that, has Sòng Lán drained your intelligence? What could mess you up so badly that you need me, of all people, to remind you of that?”

"Yes, I'm sure if we work together we can work out exactly which recent horrific event it was that might be messing me up!"

Xuē Yáng was silent for a few seconds, and then, "If you ever get the impulse to just cut out my tongue, know that I am in full support of that action."

"Having one mute friend is enough, thanks. Do not—"

"I knew it!"

"Shut up. Sixty-seven people, Xuē Yáng. You don't get to say we're friends."

"I didn't, you did—"

"I'm reconsidering leaving you mute," Xiǎo Xīngchén said, shaking his head. Xuē Yáng didn't answer, practically vibrating with excitement at Xiǎo Xīngchén's side. But as the silence stretched, the solemnity of their previous topic began to sink back in.

“Dàozhǎng, you're a good person," Xuē Yáng said. "You're not responsible for other people's evil acts, least of all mine."

"I could have done something."

"You understand that I was actively working to prevent you from discovering the truth, right? You care that they’re dead. I don’t.”

“You don’t care?”

“Nope.”

“They were people!”

“So what? We’re all people, why would that matter?”

“They had families! Loved ones!”

“What part of I don’t care are you not understanding, here? Having loved ones doesn’t make them special. And anyway, even if I didn’t kill them, something else would have.”

“Xuē Yáng!”

“That makes you angry, right? Me not caring? Because to you, they're all important. Your heart bleeds for them, regardless of rank or profession or privilage. You’d care whether they died by my hand or yours or by some freak accident, and you don’t like that I don’t care. You’re a good person.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén wishes that he had his eyes back, if only so that he’d be able to glare.

“Blades don’t feel guilt about the people they slay.”

“You’d feel guilty about people dying in a rockslide.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén grit his teeth, rubbing at his face with both hands. Well, at least now he was more irritated than distraught. Xuē Yáng tended to have that effect.

“How the fuck did I spent three years with you and not realise who you were? It’s in literally everything you say and do.”

Xuē Yáng gasped.

“What?”

“Dàozhǎng… you said a bad word!”

“I’m an adult! I swear sometimes!”

“No you fucking don’t.”

“Yes I fucking do!”

Xuē Yáng laughed, and Xiǎo Xīngchén turned away to hide his own reluctant grin. The air was easy between them, and Xuē Yáng began humming again, and quite suddenly Xiǎo Xīngchén knew the shape of the future. 

This interaction was going to happen again. Wasn’t that a terrifying thought? Xuē Yáng would seek his company, and Xiǎo Xīngchén would allow it and pretend like non-action was the same as staying neutral. Xiǎo Xīngchén knew exactly the depths of the horrors Xuē Yáng had inflicted, and he was still going to choose to enjoy Xuē Yáng's company again and again. Xuē Yáng could talk all he liked about how Xiǎo Xīngchén's heart bled for others, when it came down to it he was too selfish to ever allow Xuē Yáng to come to harm, even in the name of justice.

When exactly had Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life become so utterly fucked up? Xuē Yáng had the audacity to be a likeable person, and Xiǎo Xīngchén was weak. It was far too easy to enjoy his company, even with Xuē Yáng repeatedly saying the wrong thing. Even though he hadn’t really apologised at all.

Okay. So. Xiǎo Xīngchén was definitely not as good a person as he’d thought himself to be, or even as good as Xuē Yáng apparently saw him to be, but that was fine. He could… work with this. Being selfish in this one area wasn’t a complete disaster. And Xuē Yáng himself was claiming that he was trying to become a good person, so there was that.

It was fine. This was fine.

And just because Xiǎo Xīngchén was definitely going to allow Xuē Yáng to seek him out in the future and going to enjoy his company, there was no reason to let Xuē Yáng know, especially when he was so unrepentant. If Xuē Yáng had even the slightest clue about Xiǎo Xīngchén’s weakness, he would exploit it mercilessly, and Xiǎo Xīngchén would probably let him, too.

Xuē Yáng’s actions were unforgivable. Nothing could change that. But Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t really need to forgive him to be fond of him.

“I need to return before it gets much later. Ā-Qìng will be expecting me back.” Xiǎo Xīngchén winced at his own words. It sounded like he was leaving after some sort of illicit affair. He stood, rolling his shoulders.

“I’ll find you later, then,” Xuē Yáng purred, remaining seated.

“Not ready to finish our conversation yet?”

“Not while your heart still beats. And I have business in town, anyway.”

“Oh? And here I thought you were in town to visit me.”

“How self-centred! My life doesn’t revolve entirely around you, Dàozhǎng.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Xuē Yáng’s breathing was quicker than normal. After a few seconds, he laughed. It didn’t quite sound natural.

Xiǎo Xīngchén turned on the spot, quickly making his way back to town rather than letting himself be drawn into conversation again. See? He could do self-restraint. This was all going to be fine.

Xuē Yáng remained seated in the leaf-litter under the trees long after Xiǎo Xīngchén disappeared into the morning light, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s teasing parting words and the smirk he’d worn as he spoke them echoing back and forth in Xuē Yáng’s mind.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng scrambled back into the crawlspace under the house around midday. Flat on his belly and using his elbows to propel himself forwards, he unerringly headed for the skeleton, the little spirit inhabiting it already perking up.

“I told you I’d be back,” Xuē Yáng said, flopping down beside it. “And I have news, too. I asked around and I have some suggestions about what your name might have been. Stop me if I say something familiar.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén was feeling odd after his dawn talk with Xuē Yáng. Lighter, somehow, yet at the same time, more… he supposed the closest word would be real. Grounded in reality. In the living system that was his own body, flesh and bone and blood and breath. Walking through the busy market, hustle and bustle all around, people living. They were all living, all alive.

Half a year ago, Xiǎo Xīngchén had tried to end his own life, yet here he was. Breathing. Blood pumping. Alive.

It seemed absurd now, surrounded by so much noise and life, that he could have done that. Taken Shuānghuá to his own neck. How was that something he could have done? That he could be that sort of person?

It was still there, the scar. Xiǎo Xīngchén wasn’t sure it would ever fade. Wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

It was a reminder, he supposed. That things that seemed absurd, impossible when under the warm sun and surrounded by people, could suddenly seem sensible and inevitable under the right circumstances. That, as much as he was disturbed by his actions now, there was still some part of him that had chosen to do that.

Despair was dangerous; Xiǎo Xīngchén had long known this. But he’d never anticipated that it could take over your mind so thoroughly, and twist the world into something so sickening. The way it whispered that the only possible way to regain honour, to show respect to the dead, to give them their retribution for their unjust ends was the edge of a blade. It made it seem reasonable, the best option, all things considered.

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t want that to happen again. Didn’t want to die. Even if somehow his life was destroyed once more, if Zǐchēn and Ā-Qìng and Xuē Yáng were all taken from him and the world as he knew it was inverted again, he didn’t want to die. But the poison that had consumed him that day has come from within him—it was still present, somewhere inside. He didn’t know how to draw it out permanently. Could you do that, when it came from within?

Half a year ago, Xuē Yáng had saved his life, and here they were. Both alive, still living. Moving forwards. But not unmarked.

How had that day affected Xuē Yáng? Were his memories of it vivid? Xiǎo Xīngchén’s were unclear, the details murkier than they should have been and all out of order. There had been arguing, and fighting, and so much fury and pain and terror and unsteady joy, all in such a  short time.

Xuē Yáng had apparently been so shaken by Xiǎo Xīngchén’s actions that he’d decided to uproot his entire personal philosophy and redesign it. It would be interesting to see how that played out—

Something was wrong.

Xiǎo Xīngchén quickly scanned his surroundings, identifying all the surrounding noises, picking out Ā-Qìng where she was chatting with another girl, the bartering villagers, the gossip all around. He stretched his senses further—

A large source of resentful energy, rapidly approaching—

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, the tension flowing from his frame. It always took a second to identify Sòng Lán. No battle ahead, no need to devise some strategy to get all the civilians to safety.

Sòng Lán stopped an arm’s length away.

“Zǐchēn. It's nice to see you again," Xiǎo Xīngchén said, keeping a straight face. Sòng Lán grunted, unimpressed. Xiǎo Xīngchén chuckled anyway. "Where have you been all night, my friend?"

Sòng Lán sighed, then after a moment began tapping his fingers against Fuxue's sheath, tapping out three words.

Patrol. Xuē Yáng. Danger.

"You were patrolling for him? Just in the town or in the surrounding lands too?" How had Xuē Yáng and Sòng Lán not run into each other?

Sòng Lán didn't answer, but he did make a frustrated noise. Xiǎo Xīngchén grimaced. Another question with an answer too complex to convey easily.Well, he'd been meaning to bring this up, might as well do it now.

"Zǐchēn. We need to talk.”

They wandered from the market to an empty alley. Better to talk somewhere less likely to be overheard.

“Shall I start?”

Sòng Lán just huffed; it brought a brief smile to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s lips. He lifted one arm, palm flat—they’d had some limited success in the past tracing words into Xiǎo Xīngchén’s palm, but it had proven a slow and frustrating way to read, hence the tap-talking. This time, Xiǎo Xīngchén expected, they’d need phrases more sophisticated than Yes, No, Danger Nearby and All Is Well.

Sòng Lán’s hand closed around his wrist, squeezing briefly, two cold fingers resting on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s palm.

“There was once a time that I would have called you the one who knows me best, and I was proud to say I knew you just as well. But at some point, with time and distance, we lost that understanding, I think. Would you agree?”

Tap-tap-tap. Yes.

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a tight smile.

“Okay. I have three things I wish to discuss, and I hope that—I think if we talk through them, we might begin to rebuild things as they were. Or, if not that, then into some new understanding of each other.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“The first… and I’m sure you agree with this, I think we need to establish a wider vocabulary of tap-talk. Maybe something based on brush strokes, or just a shorthand like we use already. Patterns of dots and empty space, unique ones for common words. And honestly, I would find it useful if we made a few that could be used to convey emotions and moods, because it is very difficult to judge without being able to see your expression or hear your voice. I can’t tell if you’re feeling frustrated until you leave the room.”

Tap-tap-tap. Pause. Sòng Lán sighed, and leaned sideways until their shoulders touched. Xiǎo Xīngchén pressed back.

“So we are in agreement? That’s good to know, especially because I think the second topic I wish to discuss is one you’ll find unpleasant: my eyes. Well, they’re your eyes now,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a laugh. Sòng Lán squeezed his wrist briefly, and made a disgruntled noise. “Sorry. Still, I think we should talk about it. Maybe not to any great depth right now, but… you know, I have never regretted restoring your sight. But learning to live while blind has been a difficult transition, and I’ve had to change a lot about how I approach life. And that really leads into my third topic, the one I think you’ll be least eager to discuss: Xuē Yáng.”

Sòng Lán dropped his wrist, resentful energy flaring, but he didn’t leave. And after a few moments he tapped his fingers against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arm, a silent request. Xiǎo Xīngchén held out his hand again. Sòng Lán took his wrist again.

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, his shoulders relaxing.

“Thank you." His voice came out sounding small. Sòng Lán grunted, and shifted closer. “Xuē Yáng is… I’m not sure what he is anymore. He’s hurt hundreds of people, but Zǐchēn… you were blind for a short while, you know how difficult it is to navigate the world like that, but I was blind and travelling alone for years. There are so many little things you never think about when you’re sighted that suddenly become impossibly challenging. The way people treat you changes immensely, and—it’s fine, truly, I never regretted it, but… living beside Chéngměi, he never treated me with pity or as if I was made of glass. Quite the opposite, actually…” he trailed off into a dark laugh, his thoughts lingering on the dead.

“We were happy, despite how it ended. Chéngměi helped make a difficult time easier. He saved my life, and returned you to me, and even before that—he has this unerring talent for inspiring irritation, and used it rather mercilessly to draw me out of my misery and self-pity. No matter his past crimes, I can tell you with certainty that Xuē Yáng cares for my wellbeing, and despite knowing the truth of him, I still care for him too.”

Sòng Lán’s frame was bristling with tension now. Xiǎo Xīngchén bit his lip and faced the ground. After a moment, Sòng Lán tapped out a short message.

Xiǎo Xīngchén. Caution. Danger. Fierce corpse. Xuē Yáng.

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, and leaned against Sòng Lán.

“Zǐchēn, it makes me happy that you care for my wellbeing too. Let me share with you the details of our encounter yesterday, and… I should let you know, Xuē Yáng and I spoke again this morning—”

Sòng Lán froze.

“Please don’t leave again.” 

Maybe there was something odd in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s voice, because at those words Sòng Lán seemed to force himself to relax again. 

“I… Xuē Yáng and I still have unfinished business. Things left unsaid. We were talking, and while I am certainly not going to trust him any time soon, and I will definitely not attack anything that he claims is a monster… I lived with him for three years. I really am very certain that he just wants to talk. He told me yesterday that he’s been going on night hunts in some attempt to prove his better nature to me. Perhaps also to make up for the numbers that died by my hand in Yi City.”

It was astounding how a silence could sound disbelieving.

“I don’t think his nature has changed, exactly, just his focus… it is possible for bad people to do good deeds on occasion. Zǐchēn, you should know that if you capture Xuē Yáng, I will support you in whatever form of justice you see fit to enact,” Xiǎo Xīngchén’s voice wobbled at the idea of Xuē Yáng’s execution. “But I will not participate in his capture, not unless either an innocent or myself is threatened by Xuē Yáng’s actions. I can’t… not against him.”

Sòng Lán didn’t answer. But he also didn’t leave. 

Cold fingertips traced across Xiǎo Xīngchén cheek, and he gasped. Was he crying? He lifted a hand, catching some of the blood, hot and metallic-scented.

“Ah.” Sick this morning, bloody tears at noon. “I am definitely going to order a hot bath at the inn this evening, this is getting ridiculous.”

“It would be too much to hope that you remember the characters you used as well?”

The spirit didn’t answer, though Xuē Yáng could feel its attention, a sharp focus.

“It’s probably one of the common ones, anyway,” Xuē Yáng murmured, tracing a few into the earth. “Any of these look familiar?”

It didn’t take long to find characters that did. Xuē Yáng grinned, flipping onto his back. Reaching upwards, he scratched at the wooden floorboards, examining the way they felt under his hand, clearing the space of cobwebs and dirt.

With a quick application of qi and a brief flicker of golden light, he carved into the wood.

“Look, here. This part’s your name. And this part says you’re dead, and that this is where you died. Anyone who comes down here will read it and remember.”

The spirit traced over the letters.

Xuē Yáng reached into his pockets, retrieving a stick of incense, some paper money, and a handful of candies. It didn’t take long to set everything up.

“Not exactly orthodox, but then again neither am I. And you don’t mind, do you?”

The spirit giggled, and all around the little shadows echoed it.

“So, this one is lychee flavoured—that’s Dàozhǎng’s favourite—and my favourite changes all the time, but these ones are pretty good—that’s white olive, this one’s plum, and this one’s jasmine. And these ones are just lumps of cane sugar, but they make them into animal shapes, see?”

He kept talking as the spirit’s presence gradually began to fade. The other little death echoes all drifted away, losing interest as the kid’s spirit grew sleepier. Eventually, when the incense had burned low, the last of the resentful energy dissipated completely. And Xue yang fell silent.

Ā-Qìng only saw it by accident. Xīngchén-dàozhǎng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng had been distracted, trying their best to work through their Argument: Part 2 and she had been bored. It made sense to take a walk.

And then she spotted Xuē Yáng crawling out from under a house.

Ā-Qìng had hid, ready to scream, ready to run, but Xuē Yáng hadn’t looked her way at all, and disappeared down the opposite end of the alleyway. She waited a few minutes, just to be sure, but he didn’t reappear.

The sensible thing to do was to run back to the marketplace and alert both dàozhǎngs that Xuē Yáng was still in town. He had to be up to something, right? Why would anyone just be under a house? Maybe he was planning on killing the people who lived there, or maybe he’d set up a curse or something.

Really, Ā-Qìng should go check it out. It would probably save time if the dàozhǎngs were prepared for whatever Xuē Yáng had set up.

It was nearly completely dark under the house, the air cool. The space had a very low ceiling, but it stretched out fairly extensively. This would have been a pretty great place to hole up in winter, actually, as long as you kept the entrance clear of snow. Just grab a friend or two to cuddle with, some blankets too, and their shared body heat would warm the air up pretty quickly. 

At the fair end, near one of the support struts… was that a candle?

Ā-Qìng crawled closer, catching the scent of incense mingling with the dust. The small pool of light wasn’t enough to really see by, but the light was catching on some sticks and a few odd shapes, little objects wrapped in wax paper—Ā-Qìng’s breath caught. That was a skeleton.

Ā-Qìng swallowed. She had never been a squeamish girl. Dead bodies weren’t that scary, not if you’d ever seen a fierce corpse. Why bother being afraid of a stupid, non-moving corpse? And Xīngchén-dàozhǎng had taught her years ago how to sense when there were restless dead things nearby, just out of safety. She wasn’t very good at it yet but she could say with certainty that there were no dead spirits here.

This wasn’t a trap, was it? No plan of Xuē Yáng’s to kill her? She glanced over a shoulder to the entrance—still clear—and back to the skeleton. Heart racing, she crept closer.

It was… incense, paper ash, a candle, the candies, all laid out neatly near the corpse… was this a shrine? Had Xuē Yáng set this up? That would be even more bizarre than him using this place as a trap.

Still, Xīngchén-dàozhǎng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng both said that you had to pay respects to the dead. Ā-Qìng gave a bow, or the best she could manage in the small space, and turned around to wriggle her way back into the sunlight.

There was no one waiting in the alleyway. Xuē Yáng hadn’t returned to kill or trap her. No people watched as she brushed the dirt from her clothes, and no one looked her way as she walked to the marketplace, cane tapping the ground ahead of her.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng were sitting close and speaking quietly when she returned. Their fight was obviously over, which was great! It did make her hesitate to bring up Xuē Yáng again, though. Technically, if she spotted Xuē Yáng, she was meant to immediately seek out one of the dàozhǎngs and not leave his side until Xuē Yáng was dealt with. The man was a dangerous criminal, and while he’d never actually harmed Ā-Qìng, he had threatened plenty of people who inconvenienced Xiǎo Xīngchén. Killed some of them too.

But… well, Xīngchén-dàozhǎng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng had to know Xuē Yáng was still nearby, right? They were cultivators. And they always got into fights whenever Xuē Yáng’s name was mentioned…

Better not to bring it up, then. It wasn’t like Xuē Yáng had been doing anything dangerous, as far as Ā-Qìng could tell. Making a shrine under a house was just sort of weird.

She could always tell them tomorrow morning, anyway.

Chapter Text

Rooftops were a lot more comfortable than most people thought. Especially at night, on top of high buildings. The stars and sky stretching above, it was like you were the only real person in the world. Tiles still warm, the air cool. Muffled voices from the rooms below.

It had been incredibly easy to track down the inn his Dàozhǎng was staying in. There was only one in town with a huge source of resentful energy hanging about. That was a security risk, actually; maybe Xuē Yáng could design a talisman of some kind to conceal Sòng Lán’s presence.

In the room below, Ā-Qìng was being taught to read. Xīngchén was reciting poetry, Sòng Lán writing the characters for Ā-Qìng to copy. If Xuē Yáng closed his eyes, he could nearly imagine he was in the room below. That it was some quiet summer night, back in the Coffin House, Xingchen and Ā-Qìng playing games by the fire, laughter in his voice. That in the morning they’d wander the markets, and Xuē Yáng would find little candies on his pillow. That in the evening, they’d hunt monsters, and Xuē Yáng would read stories to Xingchen.

Xuē Yáng ran his fingers slowly over the red azalea silk. Pulled it free from where it was hidden. The flowers looked black under the starlight. Not nearly as alarming as the normal red. The silk had led him well so far.

Down below, Xīngchén was smiling. Xuē Yáng could hear it in his voice. He shivered.

Xīngchén still cared. He wanted Xuē Yáng safe. He wanted Xuē Yáng free. And Xīngchén thought the plan had a chance of working.

This distance was temporary. Some time soon, they’d last a day without an argument. Xīngchén would allow Xuē Yáng to speak his name, and they’d invade each other’s space again, and things would be good.

Xuē Yáng watched from a distance the following morning as Xiǎo Xīngchén and his group left the town, and wondered whether or not to follow. He had spoken with Xiǎo Xīngchén, had fought against Sòng Lán. There were more night-hunts to find, souls that needed saving. On the other hand, it had been a day since he'd last spoken to Xiǎo Xīngchén and that was already too long.

Whenever possible, Xiǎo Xīngchén preferred to walk. It was slower than flying, but it wasn’t like any of them were in any rush to get anywhere. Walking meant exploring. Walking meant meeting people. And in all honesty, flying was a lot more hazardous now that Xīngchén was blind. Walking was relaxing.

The week following his reunion with Xuē Yáng was less relaxing.

Zǐchēn was still tense, still searching for Xuē Yáng in the shadows. He hadn’t left Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side for more than a few minutes in days—not always keeping within arm’s reach, but always within qi sense. It was sweet, if a little stifling. As he’d explained numerous times, Xuē Yáng was not a danger—not to Xiǎo Xīngchén, at least. It was understandable that Zǐchēn wouldn’t trust Xuē Yáng’s intentions, but he could do to trust Xiǎo Xīngchén’s judgement a little more. As it was, Xiǎo Xīngchén allowed him to act as he wanted, and only objected when Zǐchēn’s protectiveness grew overbearing. 

They did make some progress designing new words for their tap-talking, mostly focusing on emotion words for now. Working out the grammar was proving a little difficult, considering the limits of their vocabulary, but the results were satisfying. 

Eight days after leaving the town, they stopped for lunch by the roadside in the middle of the woods. After eating, Zǐchēn had offered to guide Ā-Qìng through a meditation session. She still had trouble keeping her focus for longer than a few minutes, but after explaining to her how essential meditation was for developing a golden core, she had thrown herself into the training with a fervour. She still found the entire practice horrendously boring though, and never failed to tell them so. It always made Zǐchēn laugh. How lovely was it that Zǐchēn still had his laugh?

It had been more than a week since Zǐchēn had last seen any evidence of Xuē Yáng. The woods were quiet, no resentful energy present. Xiǎo Xīngchén hadn’t sensed Xuē Yáng’s presence since their dawntime chat, and thanks to Zǐchēn’s efforts, it had been nearly as long since he’d last been alone.

He stood. There was a suspicion he wanted to test.

“I’m going to take a walk, before we move on. Alone.” 

 Xiǎo Xīngchén could almost see the way Zǐchēn turned that over in his head, worry warring with the desire to not be too overbearing. Zǐchēn sighed, and tapped out, “Caution. Danger. Worry. Xiǎo Xīngchén. Speak. Nearby.”

Be cautious, I worry for you, stay within calling distance.

Xiǎo Xīngchén smiled, and nodded, promising to return soon.

He followed his ears to the riverside. The bank was wide and gently sloped, covered in uneven pebbles and rocks. Walking across them was an interesting challenge, but his qi sense did help in that respect. He still stumbled occasionally, but not nearly as often as a blind man should.

There was a presence behind him—something golden and flickering like fire. A human soul, someone living, watching Xiǎo Xīngchén’s movements. He ignored their attention, wandering closer to the water. After a moment, they approached.

“It’s dangerous to wander the world alone. Who knows what sort of monsters you’ll meet in the woods?”

“I think I have some idea,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. “You’re rather relentless, aren’t you?”

“No one ever got what they wanted by sitting around and waiting for it to happen.”

“So what is it that you want?”

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer immediately, moving forwards until he was at Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side. “Many things. Good food. Good company. Something challenging to work at. You, just in general.”

“Do you see me as the challenge or as the company?”

“Don’t be silly, Dàozhǎng, you’re the food!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén snorted, shaking his head.

“If you keep following us, Zǐchēn will notice your presence.”

“He hasn’t so far.”

“He doesn’t know you well enough to look for it. But if you keep following us like this, he’ll learn.”

Silence.

“Can I spar against you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to spar against you. Sòng Lán can do that whenever he likes now, but you and I, we haven’t crossed blades in years! And you’re a much better swordsman than Sòng Lán is. And it’s so boring wandering alone, hunts are easy compared to combat.”

“Some hunts are certainly easier than others, but I don’t know that any cultivator would call them boring.”

“Most cultivators don’t know how to control the undead and turn them into servants.”

“Xuē Yáng—”

“I don’t do it anymore, I just know how. Well. Sometimes I do it, but mostly just so the victimised dead can fight their killer. It’s a very effective way to destroy a ghost. More cultivators should do it.”

“It disturbs the rest of the dead, prevents them from finding peace. It interferes with the cycle of reincarnation.”

“And getting slaughtered by an angry ghost wouldn’t? Believe me, Dàozhǎng, if a spirit was murdered by a night-creature, they’re not going to rest easy. My method settles two spirits at once, and takes a dangerous monster out of the equation.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed.

“You asked if we could spar?”

They stood several paces apart with swords drawn. Xuē Yáng grinned, taking in every detail he could manage. Xīngchén was a magnificent figure, ethereal and deadly.

“Until either of us submits, or disarms the other. You’ll keep your promise when we’re done?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll avoid you and yours for two months. Can we begin?”

“We start in five seconds, then.”

Neither of them counted the time out loud, and then—

Xiǎo Xīngchén lunged forwards—aggressive first move!—but Xuē Yáng had already dodged to one side in anticipation. He laughed, uncaring that it signalled his position, or that he immediately had to evade again.

Fighting his Dàozhǎng was a different experience than fighting Sòng Lán. It wasn’t simple flattery to call Xiǎo Xīngchén the better swordsman—Sòng Lán’s technique had always relied more on brute strength and speed, but he was prone to emotional outbursts, and then he’d start making mistakes. Simple enough if you had the endurance to outlast him and knew just how to goad him into blind rages. Xiǎo Xīngchén, on the other hand—

Xuē Yáng ducked one blow, swiping at Xīngchén’s feet, but the other man leapt high, flipping to land behind Xuē Yáng and stab again—

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s technical skill was exquisite, flowing through complicated movesets with an easy grace that defied imitation. The way his robes danced worked to conceal and distract from Shuānghuá’s movements, a spin and a twist turning an evasion into a new attack. Like with Jiàngzāi’s twin blades, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s technique relied on redirection, turning his enemy’s strength against them—

Xuē Yáng leapt forwards, pressing the advantage. Xiǎo Xīngchén retreated, still looking utterly composed; Xuē Yáng might have said he was bored if not for the small smile he was wearing—

Xiǎo Xīngchén stumbled—

Didn’t deflect—

Red, that was red, that was—

Red on white too much red there should never be red it was red red red—

Xiǎo Xīngchén paused as he heard Jiàngzāi clatter on the rocks. He frowned, lowering Shuānghuá as he stepped forwards.

“Xuē Yáng?”

Xuē Yáng wasn’t moving. Didn’t appear to be breathing. He moved closer, sheathing Shuānghuá as he did. The spar was over, anyway. Dropping your sword had to count as disarming or surrendering or something—either way, Xiǎo Xīngchén had won.

“Xuē Yáng, what’s wrong?”

“Red.”

“It’s not serious, you just grazed my arm.”

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer, though he made a whimpering noise. As Xiǎo Xīngchén stepped closer, he staggered back, feet catching on the uneven ground—Xiǎo Xīngchén sprang forwards, catching his wrist before he tripped.

“Careful.”

Xuē Yáng whined, half-heartedly trying to pull his hand free. His breathing was erratic, and he kept making low, distressed noises, muttering the word red over and over. Xiǎo Xīngchén grimaced, sliding his hand down to tangle with Xuē Yáng’s. Cautiously, he drew the man closer.

“Xuē Yáng, it’s fine. Just a scratch.”

“It’s red.”

“Yes, it is, but it’s okay. Nothing serious, just a little graze.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén dropped Shuānghuá to one side—it was too difficult to replace the blade in it’s shoulder sling one handed, and he had a feeling that the moment he released Xuē Yáng, the man would bolt. Reaching forwards, he found Xuē Yáng’s other arm and ran his hand up to take hold of his shoulder.

“Xuē Yáng, everything’s fine.”

“I—you’re all red—” He was trembling under Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hands.

“I’m not. It’s a minor scratch—”

“You’re dead,” Xuē Yáng whispered.

“I’m really not.”

“Of course you’d say that, loads of dead things don’t know they’re dead.”

“Close your eyes and breathe slowly,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, one hand finding Xuē Yáng’s cheek. “Are your eyes closed?”

After a second, Xuē Yáng nodded.

“Xuē Yáng, I didn’t die. You saved my life, and then I saved yours. We’re both alive.”

“Or I failed and went mad and everything since then has been a fever dream of my dying mind as I bleed out.”

“That’s creative. Do you believe it?”

Xuē Yáng took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

“I would have felt it if you died,” he murmured. “The echo.”

“Well, there you go. Your qi sense says I’m still living, you can hear me speak. Here—” Xiǎo Xīngchén brought Xuē Yáng’s hand up to rest over his heart. Xuē Yáng gasped, flattening his palm over the fabric. “You can feel that?”

Xuē Yáng nodded, murmuring, “Your heart’s beating.”

“It is,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. “And so is yours. We’re both alive.”

Stepping forward, he wrapped an arm around Xuē Yáng’s shoulders, pulling him forwards into an embrace. Xuē Yáng froze where he was, forehead resting against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulder, palm still flat over his heart.

“You made a rule about not touching.”

“I don’t like that rule anymore. I’m getting rid of it.”

At those words, Xuē Yáng shuddered, and suddenly there was no distance between them at all.

This had to be some kind of trickery, Xuē Yáng mused. Somehow with just words and touch, Xiǎo Xīngchén had hypnotised him and made him absolutely boneless. Beneath one hand, he could feel his Dàozhǎng’s heartbeat, steady, strong.

A hand ran through Xuē Yáng’s hair before coming to rest on the back of his head, and Xuē Yáng shivered, sinking deeper. 

Xiǎo Xīngchén was alive. The bellows of his lungs expanding, contracting, breathe in, breathe out. Xuē Yáng matched the pattern.

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s preferred perfume was jasmine-scented, sweet and floral. Strangely complementary to the metal-scent of blood, but that part was easy to ignore now. Red didn’t matter if you couldn’t see it. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Jasmine. Sweet. 

Would he taste sweet, too? Xuē Yáng’s eyes fluttered, open enough to make out the pale column of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck, mere inches away. If he licked Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck, would the man laugh at the tickle or push Xuē Yáng away?

His eyes closed. He was too warm to move even those few inches forwards.

It was funny: they’d never really done this when they were living at Coffin House, no contact that lingered like this. It was like being at the eye of a typhoon. The world in all directions was a dizzying array of cold and wind and raging energy, but here was calm and still and filled with stars.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was humming. It took Xuē Yáng a great deal of effort to make his mouth form words.

“That’s the song I was humming the other day.”

“It was catchy.”

“A ghost taught me it,” Xuē Yáng sighed. “You’re not allowed to die.”

“Neither are you,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

“Mmnn. I’m too clever to get killed.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén made a disbelieving noise, which would have been somewhat insulting, but Xuē Yáng found he didn’t really care at that moment. Xiǎo Xīngchén was warm and alive and Xuē Yáng felt a lot like he could just fall asleep where they were standing. 

“You’re warm,” Xuē Yáng murmured. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s chest began to shake. Xuē Yáng grinned. “You laughing at me?”

“I would never.”

Xuē Yáng sniggered, and Xiǎo Xīngchén just held him tighter.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng insisted on treating the scratch. Xiǎo Xīngchén thought it was probably just faster to allow him to work, no matter that the wound was minor enough it would heal completely in a few days.

They sat among the rocks, Xuē Yáng by his side and angled so that one of his legs extended behind Xiǎo Xīngchén’s back, his other shin pressed against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s thigh, a position that meant the skirt of Xuē Yáng’s robes was pushed halfway up his legs. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s cheeks had warmed, expecting a salacious comment at any moment, but either Xuē Yáng hadn’t noticed the intimacy of their seating arrangements, or… Xiǎo Xīngchén wasn’t sure what the alternative could be, surely he had to have noticed! Xuē Yáng didn’t say a word about it, though, focused intently on cleaning the wound of blood and dirt and frayed silk threads. He pulled at the edges of the fabric.

“This would be easier to access if you undid your robes a little.”

Ah. There it was.

“I’m not going to strip so that you can bind a minor cut.”

“What dirty things are you thinking, Dàozhǎng?! My interest is solely in your health!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén hummed, and didn’t answer.

Xuē Yáng didn’t release him once the wound was bandaged. He hadn’t broken contact for more than a few seconds since the moment Xiǎo Xīngchén had first allowed it—even when he needed both hands free, he’d shifted the way he was sitting so that his calf was pressed against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s back. Now he was playing with Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand, and it didn’t appear that he intended to release it any time soon.

“I don’t want to go away again.”

“Two months. You promised.”

Xuē Yáng just groaned, slumping forwards so his head rested on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing interesting to do, though. Can’t I just follow you again?”

“You’re an intelligent person, I’m sure I don’t need to dignify that with an answer.”

“It would be fun, though,” Xuē Yáng sighed. “Sòng Lán is easy enough to avoid, I can just come visit you whenever he’s distracted. And if he does notice I’m there, he and I can fight again and I can keep testing my talismans on him.”

“I don’t enjoy the idea of you and Zǐchēn harming each other.”

“It’s just playing.”

“Rather violent playing.”

“That’s the best kind of game!”

“Don’t risk your life unnecessarily.”

“I assure you, Dàozhǎng, fun is absolutely necessary. Otherwise, what’s the point of being alive?”

“There’s more to life than having fun.”

“But nothing else so entertaining.”

“What one finds entertaining isn’t the same as what one needs for a fulfilling life. Sugary things are enjoyable but to live on them alone would leave you malnourished.”

“Sweet things aren’t nearly so easy to find as you think they are.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén paused at the odd tone in Xuē Yáng’s voice. He’d sounded almost bitter just then, and bitterness was not a thing Xiǎo Xīngchén readily associated with Xuē Yáng.

“Xuē Yáng?”

“I don’t think you know very much about being hungry, Dàozhǎng.”

That was true. Money had been tight sometimes while he was wandering alone or during their years at Coffin House, but never so much that they couldn’t eat. And in the more metaphorical sense, Xiǎo Xīngchén had rarely felt starved for either company or purpose. In many ways, his life was a good one.

He didn’t know too much about Xuē Yáng’s life from before they’d met in Yi City, but the way Chéngměi had spoken about things like food and shelter was very similar to the way Ā-Qìng did, and Xiǎo Xīngchén knew for a fact that she had lived as a beggar for years. Chéngměi had never spoken of any friends or family, no one who might miss him. And despite being a cultivator, he’d never made mention of any goal or aspiration greater than making the Coffin House liveable. 

It all seemed rather aimless.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know hunger?” 

Xuē Yáng hummed. “Hunger and I are old friends, Dàozhǎng.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck for? It isn’t like you could have done anything about any of it.”

“Regardless, I’m still sorry that you had to experience that.” 

“How are you real?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re too kind, Dàozhǎng. The world’s gonna tear you into little pieces and eat you up.”

“Like you did?”

“I only took what was offered,” Xuē Yáng grumbled. “You shouldn’t have trusted me so easily.”

“You gave me no reason not to trust you.”

“I could do it again. Any stranger or monster wearing a human skin could approach you and claim to need your help, draw you close so they could trap you. They could kill you for your trust.”

“If I am injured because I trusted the wrong person, it is a reflection on the person who betrayed my trust, not on me for giving it,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, his voice level and calm. “It would be worse to let suspicions about strangers rule me than to avoid giving aid to someone who needed it. If I approached everyone with distrust, I would never have saved you.”

“And look how that turned out!”

“My duty was in saving your life and making sure you were healthy enough to travel onwards. Living with us in Yi City in the Coffin House, that was your choice. I did my best, with the resources available to me, to determine if you were safe and trustworthy. Tricking me was your choice, not a karmic punishment.” Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, turning his face to the sun, letting it warm his skin. “You had the advantage back then, Xuē Yáng. We didn’t know each other well. Why didn’t you kill me the moment you were healed?”

Xuē Yáng sighed.

“You keep choosing questions with bad answers.”

“Will any of them be as bad as sixty-seven? Or discovering Zǐchēn’s death?”

“Those two are the ones you’d hate the most.”

“Then I don’t mind more bad answers. Ignorance is a poison I don’t wish to fall to again.”

Xuē Yáng was silent, intertwining their hands, holding tight.

“Xuē Yáng, tell me?”

“Will you stop talking to me if I don’t?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén considered it a moment, and shook his head. “I just want to understand. Xuē Yáng, you stayed with us for two months before we first night-hunted together. I assume that was the first time you tricked me into killing. That still leaves two months during which you knew my identity and I didn’t know yours. Several weeks when you were strong enough to leave and travel alone, you hardly needed my care then. Yet you didn’t attack, didn’t press the advantage. Why not?”

The silence stretched long enough that Xiǎo Xīngchén was sure Xuē Yáng didn’t plan to answer, and then—

“People don’t help each other for no reason, Dàozhǎng. It’s all debts and reputation. Save a life and it belongs to you, to use as you wish. You never named your price, for my life. I never worked it out. What did saving me earn you? What does saving any of them earn you?”

Xuē Yáng watched as his Dàozhǎng processed the words, the confusion and bafflement crossing his features.

“What does it earn me—Xuē Yáng, that’s not how it works. I helped you because you needed help, not out of some ulterior motive.”

“You're wrong, Dàozhǎng, that's exactly how the world works. Everything's driven by ulterior motives and greed," Xuē Yáng said, smiling as his heart raced. "But not to you. You’re a rare thing, Dàozhǎng, a good thing, and for some fucking reason you think other people are good too. You act like if you believe it strongly enough, reality will shift around you and make it true.”

“Xuē Yáng?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I dreamed of different ways to kill you.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén froze, then after a moment he seemed to relax, lowering his shoulders and forcing the tension from his body. The grimace remained, though.

“I see.” 

“Do you? You know how many different ways there are of killing someone, Dàozhǎng? It takes skill to tailor the perfect death, the right balance of pain and terror. For people like you, killing you isn’t even the best way to hurt you. Your weakness is your heart; it’s beyond easy to harm you just by harming those around you. You don’t even need to know them to feel pain for them! Do you know how perfect a death that would have been? Shattering you into all those tiny pieces as you discovered the damage you caused to everyone around you? I wanted that! I worked for that! Dàozhǎng, you saved my life! I had to make sure your death was perfect! And once you were dead, I would raise you as my weapon and we would be together for decades, doing whatever the fuck we wanted. Do you understand what your kindness earned?"

Xiǎo Xīngchén was looking a little sick again, so Xuē Yáng swallowed back the rest. How could he explain that the idea was still so dreadfully appealing? That as much as he loathed the very idea of Xiǎo Xīngchén being harmed and felt sick at the sight of his blood, Xuē Yáng still thought he'd be beautiful as a fierce corpse? Xiǎo Xīngchén would have no choice but to stay by his side that way. Who else but Xuē Yáng would accept him and keep him when he was cold and dead instead of warm and bright? But why should Xuē Yáng have to settle for cold and dead? Why couldn't he keep Xiǎo Xīngchén like this, all warm and bright and laughing and lovely?

Better to keep those visions to himself. It was true that no single detail would be as destructive to Xiǎo Xīngchén as sixty-seven or Zǐchēn, but it was still possible to die of a thousand cuts. Xuē Yáng would know.

“Dàozhǎng—”

“No, it’s alright. I asked.”

“Is it, though?”

“I want to understand how you think. This is part of that.” He let out a shuddering breath. “It hurts, but so does antiseptic.”

“No need to do it all at once, though.” 

At that, Xiǎo Xīngchén grinned, and turned his hand in Xuē Yáng’s grip to tangle their fingers together. Xuē Yáng stared, examining the contrast between them. Xiǎo Xīngchén was still paler than him, but only just barely. There were calluses there too, ones that hadn’t been present when Xuē Yáng had first woken under his care. Little scars, nicks from blades and tiny burns, dozens of stories contained in his skin, and Xuē Yáng knew the details of nearly all of them. 

“You know I searched for you when you were gone, Dàozhǎng. After Báixuě Temple. I searched for so long and I couldn’t find you anywhere, and then you found me! I wasn’t just gonna slit your throat and run.”

“Is your mind always such a violent place?”

“Sometimes I’m thinking about candies.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed, covered his mouth, then laughed again. After a second, Xuē Yáng was laughing too. It was kind of absurd, wasn’t it? The upright and honourable Xīngchén-dàozhǎng saving the life of his worst enemy, the infamous murderer Xuē Yáng. That somehow they’d lived together, and liked each other, and even now with the truth between them they liked each other. How was that true? Xiǎo Xīngchén was far better than Xuē Yáng had known a person could be, brighter still than his already shining reputation, and he still… he knew the violent truth of Xuē Yáng’s character and he was still here.

Xuē Yáng shifted, pressing closer and hugging Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arm to his chest. “Dàozhǎng, Dàozhǎng, listen. I don’t care that they’re dead, but I care that they died by your hand. I don’t like that I tricked you, I don’t like watching your heart bleed. I decided I wasn't going to tell you about them, that way you could stay whole and shining forever, but then you found out anyway and you went all red. And I tried to fix you but I can't undo any of it, they’re still dead and you’re bleeding and I—Dàozhǎng, I can’t fix it.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén was biting his lip. He squeezed Xuē Yáng’s hand so tightly it ached. After a few seconds, he nodded.

“I don’t know that there’s anything that you could do that would fix this, Xuē Yáng, short of time travel. The damage has already been done, all we can do is triage… try to work out if there’s anything worth salvaging between us, or if it would be better just to go our separate ways.”

Xuē Yáng held tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. They couldn’t break apart, he wouldn’t ever let that stick. If Dàozhǎng suggested it, he’d just kidnap the man or something until he saw the error of his ways. Xiǎo Xīngchén would thank him in the end, he didn’t want to be parted with Xuē Yáng either, not really. It was just his morality stuff and Sòng Lán that said he should.

It would be easy. Xiǎo Xīngchén was already separated from the others right now, all Xuē Yáng had to do was knock him unconscious and make his escape. He didn’t have any safe place ready yet, but if he kept his Dàozhǎng disorientated enough, he could make his way to Jīnlín Tái—Jīn Guāngyáo would help out with warding a secret room as long as Xuē Yáng offered more research into demonic cultivation. Those new disciples he’d brought in to study it were all so young, most of them hadn’t even taken a life before. They just didn’t have the kind of experience you needed to be good at demonic cultivation, let alone to invent new techniques.

So, that was a plan, then! Steal Xiǎo Xīngchén, get him to Jīnlín Tái, do more demonic cultivation, convince Xiǎo Xīngchén that they were best friends destined to spend their lives orbiting one another to the exclusion of all else—

“Xuē Yáng?”

“Yes?”

“If you attempt to kidnap me to force me to be friends with you, I’ll teach myself how to hate you out of spite. I’m not very good at spite, but I’m sure I’ll learn pretty fast.”

Xuē Yáng stared up at him in shock.

“I didn’t say any of that stuff out loud.”

“I know you fairly well, Xuē Yáng. It wasn’t a difficult guess,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a rueful grin, wiggling his arm where it was still held tightly in Xuē Yáng’s grasp.

Xuē Yáng blushed. “I probably wouldn’t have actually done it.”

“As long as I said the right thing.”

Xuē Yáng didn’t say anything, but Xiǎo Xīngchén seemed to read an answer out of the silence.

“Xuē Yáng, do you remember about a week ago when I said we couldn’t be friends because I couldn’t trust you? This is the kind of thing I was referring to. Wanting me to live isn’t enough. You spent a lot of time manipulating my perception of the world, and you’re still very ready to do it again if you think it would have a pleasing result.”

“You’d be happy, too, though.”

“I’d be broken and resentful, and any appearance of happiness on my part would be illusionary—something I adopted to make what was left of my life bearable. True trust and friendship aren’t things you can force, and it would be harmful to both of us if you tried.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Good.”

“I don’t need to, you already like me,” Xuē Yáng mumbled into the fabric of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s robe.

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, but when Xuē Yáng glanced at him he was smiling.

“And anyway, wouldn’t you find it so much more pleasing if I chose you of my own free will? Knowing you, the real you instead of the gentler version you chose to show me as Chéngměi, knowing the destruction and the harm you can cause and the delights you could provide... wouldn't you enjoy it so much more if I chose you like that? Eyes wide open, so to speak? If I found that the benefits of your friendship were so alluring that I would take the danger too? Wouldn’t that taste sweeter?”

Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck, why was he good at talking, now? Xiǎo Xīngchén never used to be this good at talking—he was smirking! He knew exactly what he was saying! Xiǎo Xīngchén was warm, and good, and smirking, and jasmine-scented, and Xuē Yáng was dizzy.

He swallowed, turning to look at the water. It didn’t help. 

“Two months, Xuē Yáng, you promised me that long. Give me the space to think and I’ll give you an honest answer. Please?”

“I… two months is a long time.”

“You knew that when we agreed to spar.” Xiǎo Xīngchén’s free hand found Xuē Yáng’s cheek, gently turning him until they were facing each other again. “Please, Xuē Yáng? Two short months, and we’ll speak again, won’t we? You’ll visit me again?”

“Yes, always.”

“Two months, Xuē Yáng.”

“Okay.” And Xiǎo Xīngchén was grinning all bright with delight, and suddenly two months sounded longer than years. “Fuck. It’s not fair when you do that to me.”

“You don’t like playing fair games,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said on a laugh, tapping Xuē Yáng’s nose. Xuē Yáng idly considered biting his fingers. “I have to get back to Zǐchēn and Ā-Qìng before they assume I’ve been murdered by passing bandits or fell down a ravine. Can you release my arm?”

Xuē Yáng did, but kept hold of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand and stood, helping the other man up. The blood on his sleeve was an aberration against the white, but not nearly so alarming now.

“You should wear colours other than white. Blood stains it so easily.”

“Oh? What would you suggest?”

“Black and gold!” Xuē Yáng said. Although, if it was silk instead of blood, red would suit him quite well. Something bright, like vermilion. Gold threads to catch the light, a golden hairpiece, vermilion silk wrapped around his eyes, soft against his skin.

“I think I’ll stick to white,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a smile. “What will you do to entertain yourself for two months?”

Xuē Yáng sighed heavily. “Boring stuff. More night hunts, probably.”

“Why do it if you think it’s so boring?”

“I told you! To prove that I can do what you do! But you’ll have to tell me the secret to making it not boring one day—”

Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed, then smothered it immediately.

“What? What?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Dàozhǎng, tell me! You’re laughing! Tell me!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed again, shaking his head before turning to face Xuē Yáng with a grin.

“Xuē Yáng, what exactly did you think helping other people would be like? There's no secret trick to make it fun. It doesn't earn you anything beyond the satisfaction of helping another person. This is the job! It’s hard work, and frustrating, and often boring, and the people that need your help the most urgently are rarely in a position to be their most polite and considerate selves. Many of them will never show you any gratitude for your assistance, and they’ll demand your help even when you’re exhausted. Sometimes they'll even attack you. You may have been the patient whose betrayal hurt the most, but you were by no means the first! I’ve been stabbed, I’ve been robbed, I’ve been cursed, all by people I’ve spent days healing!”

Xuē Yáng was feeling a little lost and confused.

“Why would you bother with it, then?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed again. “Because, that’s the job. Regardless of how they act or how polite they are, they still need help. And I can provide it. So I will.”

“You’re mad.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén grinned widely.

“So, Xuē Yáng, you say you can do what I do? You’ve had barely a taste of it! You night-hunt, but do you offer healing? Do you listen when someone just needs to talk? Do you arbitrate justice? Do you offer your labour to people who could use assistance? How about the hungry, do you provide them meals? Shelter? Night-hunting is the smallest fraction of my duty to others, and even that is boring and frustrating to you. Will you do it anyway? Will you work to save people who are insulting you? Will you put their needs and safety above your comfort? Will you help people, even if there is no promise of a reward? Even if I never forgive you, never again accept you as my friend? Are you capable of that? Can you do. What. I. Do?”

Xuē Yáng wanted to answer. He really did! But Xiǎo Xīngchén was grinning and laughing and he kept gently mocking and this was even more unfair, because Xiǎo Xīngchén was beautiful normally but now Xuē Yáng couldn’t look away long enough to remember how to make his mouth work. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s words were echoing through his head, each one like a hammer, and still Xuē Yáng could barely hear them over the passion in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s voice.

But this was a challenge, and he wasn’t going to back down and cower.

“Fuck you! I can do what you do and I will be fucking fantastic at it! I am Xuē Yáng, and I am the most powerful demonic cultivator alive, you think this challenge is anything to me?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén stepped forwards, still grinning, until there were only inches of space left between them and Xuē Yáng could barely breathe—

“Prove it.”

Chapter Text

Xiǎo Xīngchén had been gone for a while longer than Sòng Lán had thought he might be, long enough that the shadows had begun to shift. They still had to find a suitable place to camp overnight, or if they were lucky, a roadside inn or a house with a friendly owner. Ā-Qìng had long since grown bored of meditation practice; she was as antsy to get moving as he was.

Everything was fine. Xiǎo Xīngchén would have called out if he’d encountered anyone dangerous. It was likely he had simply lost track of time, and would not appreciate it if Sòng Lán decided to seek him out. He didn’t need to seek Xīngchén out. Xīngchén was fine; just a little late. He’d return any minute now and prove that Sòng Lán’s worries were unfounded. 

And even if Xīngchén had encountered something dangerous, he was a talented warrior and more than capable of defending himself. Sòng Lán knew that, and he could admit to himself that he had been acting a little overprotective over the past week in ways Xīngchén didn’t require—the man might have been blind but he was a fully trained cultivator, one with an acute qi sense and an illustrious history of vanquished enemies. Even now, Xīngchén was able to best him in the majority of their spars. 

Also, he was clearly growing frustrated with Sòng Lán, though so far he'd been too polite to bring it up. 

Xīngchén was so strong, in so many ways. Sòng Lán had known that from their very first meeting, all those years ago. The mortal dust of the world just never seemed to dirty Xīngchén; instead he cleansed the world all around him, carrying the fears and worries and pains of others, and all the while he wore a gentle smile. Being blinded hadn’t shaken him for more than a moment. Even when Sòng Lán had been hurling vitriol in his direction, he had taken everything with grace. He deserved so much better than to carry Sòng Lán’s anxieties too.

The first thing he noticed was white silk, someone approaching through the trees, quickly recognisable as Xiao Xīngchén. Sòng Lán relaxed as he approached, smiling at the way Xīngchén was humming to himself. The man was obviously in a good mood. 

The second thing he noticed was the blood. 

Sòng Lán was by his side in an instant.

“Zǐchēn! Sorry to keep you waiting,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with an easy grin. Impatient, Sòng Lán began to tap out enquiries on Fúxuě ’s sheath.

“Danger. Injury. Why?”

“Oh. Yes, that.”

“Xiao Xīngchén.”

“I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss, it’s a minor scratch, nothing more, and it’s all bound up now anyway.”

“Why? How?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén pressed his lips like he was trying to force away a smile.

“Okay, before I say, let me remind you that I am currently standing before you, alive and well and unharmed besides this small scratch.”

Sòng Lán frowned. That made it likely Xīngchén had acquired the scratch doing something he thought Sòng Lán would disapprove of. Or maybe that he was embarrassed, having gotten the scratch in an unusual or silly way—

“When I went to the river, Xuē Yáng was there.”

Sòng Lán was not currently in possession of a heartbeat, his pulse long since ended by the business end of a rather beautiful sword and its misguided owner. Nevertheless, at those words, his heart stopped.

“He’s still here?!” The incredulity in Ā-Qìng’s voice matched Sòng Lán’s feelings exactly. At that, Xiǎo Xīngchén did look a little abashed.

“I had a suspicion he might have been following us, but I knew he wouldn’t approach so long as Zǐchēn and I were within arms’ length of each other."

“Xuē Yáng. Danger. Injury. Xiao Xīngchén."

“Are you asking if he injured me? I suppose, in the technical sense, the answer to that would be yes, however! However, it wasn’t the result of an attack. He and I were sparring. Everything worked out rather well, though. In return for sparring with him, he’s promised to avoid contact with us for a minimum of two months.”

“You believe that?" Ā-Qìng snapped. "Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, he was lying to you for years!”

“I do believe him, yes.”

“Why?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t answer immediately.

“Intuition?”

Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng shared a look. Clearly they were on the same page regarding Xiǎo Xīngchén’s intuition, and that page was that Xiǎo Xīngchén was an idiot. Good-natured, yes, but an idiot all the same.

“Xīngchén-dàozhǎng—”

“Shall we start moving? This was a lovely spot to stop for lunch, but I’d prefer to find somewhere a little more sheltered for tonight.”

Sòng Lán grabbed his wrist, forcing the man to stop. After a second, Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed.

“Zǐchēn, I’m sorry for not sharing my suspicions with you.”

“Why?”

“I just thought it would be easier to settle things if I spoke with him alone. He wasn’t following us: he was following me, specifically. There was no need to get you and Ā-Qìng involved.”

No need? How about the fact that they were meant to be a team!? They were meant to trust each other! How could Sòng Lán know when to step in to help and when to stay back if Xīngchén was keeping things like this a secret? And why keep the secret, anyway? To protect Xuē Yáng? 

It was too reckless!

“Danger. Help. No. Caution.”

“Zǐchēn… he really is no danger to me. He and I met, spoke a little, and sparred. His sword Jiàngzāi clipped my arm but it isn’t a serious injury, and it’s already been treated. And in return for indulging his request to spar, Xuē Yáng promised to keep distant from us for two months. So everything is fine.”

Everything was not fine. Xuē Yáng was a live viper, his very nature was venomous, and Xīngchén was acting like he was simply misunderstood! The man had murdered dozens, maybe hundreds of people! He had spent years deceiving Xiǎo Xīngchén. What exactly was there left to trust? Where was his intuition then!

A promise from a viper was meaningless.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén. No. Caution.”

“I’m not being reckless.”

“Yes.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, and turned to keep walking. Sòng Lán fell into step with him, Ā-Qìng a few steps behind them both.

“I’m not denying that he’s a dangerous individual, or that he’s done horrible things. I know him, and with that knowledge is understanding. The reason Xuē Yáng isn’t a danger to me isn’t because he’s suddenly become a righteous person: it’s because he considers me to be his.”

That was a lot worse. A crazed murderer was obsessed with Xiǎo Xīngchén and considered the man his. Why didn’t Xīngchén understand that that was worse?

“He used to threaten the market sellers whenever they tried to overcharge Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, or refused to sell to him,” Ā-Qìng added.

Better and better! What were the chances that some of the people Xuē Yáng had tricked Xīngchén into killing were market vendors who had irritated him?

"Xiǎo Xīngchén—"

“Zǐchēn. I am not the person I was when we met. I am not nearly so naive as I was then, and I don’t require your supervision, nor your approval. I am able to make my own choices, independent of you or anyone else! What trust I have left in Xuē Yáng is based on his pattern of behaviour, not on the blind assumption that he’s telling me the truth. He’ll keep his promise because he enjoys a challenge, and that’s what I made it into. Zǐchēn, I know him.”

Sòng Lán squeezed his eyes shut tight for a few seconds, then stormed ahead. Behind him, he heard Xīngchén sigh, then quiet footsteps following.

“In the future, if I suspect he’s nearby, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you,” Sòng Lán tapped.

“But I’ll also warn him if you’re approaching. That keeps things fair.”

Yes, of course, Xuē Yáng was the one who needed fair consideration in this mess. Wouldn't want Xuē Yáng to be uncomfortable while he tried to destroy Xīngchén's life yet again.

“Zǐchēn?”

Sòng Lán spun to face him, standing directly before him in the road. Xiǎo Xīngchén stopped an arm’s length away, frowning slightly, as if this was an argument about whether to eat soup or rice for dinner and not—

There was a world of difference between refusing to participate in Xuē Yáng’s capture and actively seeking the man out! Xiǎo Xīngchén’s knowledge of Xuē Yáng hadn’t prevented the man from manipulating him—it was frankly astounding that Xīngchén had managed to find anything good in Xuē Yáng at all! Besides which, Sòng Lán was absolutely certain that whatever Xīngchén had taken as evidence of Xuē Yáng’s better nature was simply another part of Xuē Yáng’s trickery. It was the kind of illusion that was well-tailored to take advantage of a heart like Xīngchén’s.

How could someone so smart be so stupid as to fall for this again and again? What guarantees did Xiǎo Xīngchén have about any of this? Why would he run headfirst into an inferno like this?! Xuē Yáng was a possessive, murderous criminal with a long history of violence and Xiǎo Xīngchén was lying in order to meet with him secretly—

“No vocabulary,” Sòng Lán tapped out. Not that Xiǎo Xīngchén would show any more caution even if Sòng Lán had been able to lay out his thoughts eloquently.

“I just wish you’d trust me in this.”

And that was why the conversation was never going to get anywhere, wasn’t it? For whatever absurd reason, Xiǎo Xīngchén still trusted Xuē Yáng, even though he claimed otherwise. He still liked the man enough to seek him out, and trusted that Xuē Yáng meant him no harm, so all of Sòng Lán’s warnings and worry were taken as criticisms of Xīngchén's abilities instead of legitimate objections to welcoming a murderer into their lives. It just wasn’t in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s nature to approach people with distrust, even when he really should. Even when the evidence said he should.

Sòng Lán turned away and kept walking. Either Xīngchén would one day shake off the last remnants of Xuē Yáng’s trickery, or Xuē Yáng himself would prove that Xīngchén was mistaken. Until that day, Sòng Lán would guard him, even if Xīngchén ended up resenting him for it.

Sometimes Ā-Qìng wondered if she had made the right choice, leading Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng to meet Xīngchén-dàozhǎng. Obviously it was a good thing that Xuē Yáng wasn’t here tricking Xīngchén-dàozhǎng anymore, and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was a good person who always treated Ā-Qìng nicely, but she’d never known that two people who loved each other could argue so often.

Then again, before meeting Xīngchén-dàozhǎng it had been a long time since she had lived with two people at all, not since A-Yu disappeared and Ajie got taken away by that rich lady in the fancy carriage. Ā-Qìng hadn’t heard from either girl in a very long time. Most days, she tried not to think about them. The memories were nice, but she always got caught up wondering what had happened to them, worried that something terrible might have happened. Or what if one of them had escaped from a terrible fate, only to run back home and find Ā-Qìng was gone? What then? No, it was better just not to think about them.

Most of the arguments were started by something Xīngchén-dàozhǎng did that Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng didn’t like, thinking about it. He would mention Xuē Yáng’s name, or he’d make a joke about his not-eyes, or he’d lie to get rid of some annoying person and then Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng would look all hurt and shocked and sad, and then they’d be arguing, and then Xīngchén-dàozhǎng would also look all hurt and sad… Ā-Qìng didn’t know why Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was so easily upset. The past was the past, it wasn’t like Xīngchén-dàozhǎng could change it.

Ā-Qìng knew it had been the right choice, to lead Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng to meet Xīngchén-dàozhǎng and finally reveal Xuē Yáng as the evildoer he’d been all along. But she missed how freely Xīngchén-dàozhǎng used to laugh.

It took until late that evening before the two dàozhǎngs started talking again. Ā-Qìng pretended that she wasn’t listening intently.

“Zǐchēn. May I sit with you?”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng stared up at him, his expression guarded, before tapping out the word “Yes”. Xīngchén-dàozhǎng grinned briefly, before settling next to the man, making sure to keep a small gap between them. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng didn’t like being touched much, not even by Xīngchén-dàozhǎng.

“Zǐchēn, it occurs to me that I’ve been very rude to you, and I owe you an apology.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng looked surprised. Xīngchén-dàozhǎng folded his hands in his lap.

“My experience of Xuē Yáng as a person and your experience of him have been very different, and I’m aware that it has impacted my view of him… I’ve been letting my subjective experience of him overrule the objective facts of the matter. I’m sorry for being so dismissive of your worries.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng frowned, and Ā-Qìng gave up any attempt to pretend she wasn’t watching.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén. Caution. Xuē Yáng. Danger.”

“I still believe that he is no danger to me personally, but… you are right. The fact that I believe Xuē Yáng is no danger to me doesn't actually make it true. Regardless of my feelings on the matter… Xuē Yáng has done unforgivable things, and he still holds the potential to do terribly violent things again. I'm certain that barring his own death or horrific injury, he is going to continue to seek me out in the future. I have little way of predicting where or when he will show up, nor can I prevent it, but if I suspect he’s nearby I will inform you, and I will avoid wandering alone. I’m sorry that I didn’t bring up my suspicions that he was following us. I… Zǐchēn, if you and Xuē Yáng meet, you’ll attempt to harm each other, and I suppose I thought that if I warned Xuē Yáng away, that wouldn’t happen…”

Xīngchén-dàozhǎng trailed off, grimacing at the fire.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng watched him, wearing a complicated expression, then he reached over, tapping a finger against the back of Xīngchén-dàozhǎng’s hand. Xīngchén-dàozhǎng allowed Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng to take his hand, and Ā-Qìng missed the next part of the conversation, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng writing directly on Xīngchén-dàozhǎng’s palm. Whatever it was, the serious expressions both of them were wearing were replaced by smiles, and then suddenly Xīngchén-dàozhǎng shifted so that they were leaning against each other.

“I wasn’t that bad,” Xīngchén-dàozhǎng said, stifling a grin, and then Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng wrote some other word and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng started giggling. “I forgot about that!”

“What is it? What’s funny?” Ā-Qìng asked.

Both dàozhǎngs turned to her, and that was definitely the widest she’d ever seen Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng grin!

“Ā-Qìng! Ah, I’ve told you before, I grew up on a distant mountain under Baoshan-sanren’s teaching? When I first began wandering the world, I had some… incorrect ideas about what the world was like, and Zǐchēn spent quite a bit of time keeping me from trouble. Some of my misunderstandings were rather funny, in retrospect.”

“Oh now you have to tell me! What did you do?”

Xīngchén-dàozhǎng bit his tongue, and turned over Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng’s hand to trace some words. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng replied the same way, and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng nodded, turning back to face Ā-Qìng.

“Do you know what a brothel is, Ā-Qìng?”

“I’m thirteen, of course I do!”

“Well, I was seventeen and I had no idea. I thought it was a seamstress’s shop.”

“What!? You didn’t!”

“I did. In fact, I was halfway through negotiating a repair on my hanfu when Zǐchēn tracked me down. At least the proprietor seemed to find it more amusing than irritating,” Xīngchén-dàozhǎng said around a giggle. Ā-Qìng snorted, shaking her head as the other two started laughing again.

“Oh! And there was that time in Qīn Village!”

The rest of the night was filled with more stories, and laughter too.

Chapter Text

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t end up telling Zǐchēn the details of his deal with Xuē Yáng. Zǐchēn didn’t need to hear anything about the way Xuē Yáng had panicked, nor the details of how Xiǎo Xīngchén had chosen to calm him—they were Xuē Yáng’s secrets, something that should be kept solely between the two of them. It would be wrong to share those things with someone Xuē Yáng considered an enemy. Maybe sharing those details would have strengthened Xiǎo Xīngchén’s argument to trust in Xuē Yáng’s actions. At the very least it might help explain things!

Though, Xiǎo Xīngchén didn't think anything could convince Zǐchēn of Xuē Yáng's sincerity at this point.

Perhaps Xiǎo Xīngchén was unwise for believing Xuē Yáng. He was a liar, after all, and as Xuē Yáng himself had stated, he’d never promised that what he told was the truth. It was simply that Xuē Yáng seemed to derive more pleasure from telling a lie that was nearly the truth, using wordplay to twist true things into unrecognisable forms. Or else, he whispered heartfelt sentiments all wrapped up in violent imagery, as if he had no other framework to speak about meaningful things. 

Your death belongs to me. 

I would keep you as my weapon and we would be together for decades.

I had to make sure your death was perfect.

Clearly Xuē Yáng desired companionship, in whatever form he could have it. But was that something Xiǎo Xīngchén could offer him? 

Was a friendship with Xuē Yáng possible? Were the remnants of what they had had back in Yi City worth fighting for, or was it better to burn away what was left? Yes? No? It felt complex.

Two months. Was it too long, or too short? How much debate was necessary before a decision could be made? The facts were simple, obvious. Surely the answer was, too.

Xuē Yáng was a murderer. Xuē Yáng claimed to be a good person now.

Xuē Yáng was violent and manipulative. Xuē Yáng had been a caring and supportive presence in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life.

Xuē Yáng was cruel and jealous. Xuē Yáng was playful and could be oddly generous, quick to share whatever had made him laugh or brought him joy.

Xuē Yáng had caused misery in many people's lives. Xuē Yáng had made Xiǎo Xīngchén happy.

How was it that every time Xiǎo Xīngchén came to a definitive answer to this debate, he’d talk himself out of it only ten minutes later? Two months was more than enough time to argue with yourself from one side to the other and back a dozen times. Two months was not nearly long enough to consider every aspect of the dilemma.

Xiǎo Xīngchén hadn’t told Zǐchēn about his internal debate, although he was fairly sure Zǐchēn would have wanted to know. He’d take it as more evidence that Xiǎo Xīngchén’s judgement was impaired, and would interfere, arguing against Xuē Yáng instead of letting Xiǎo Xīngchén come to his own conclusions.

Only one of the two choices was really anything to do with Zǐchēn, anyway. If Xiǎo Xīngchén decided against restoring a friendship with Xuē Yáng, would anything really change at all? Xiǎo Xīngchén and Zǐchēn would continue to travel together with Ā-Qìng, and Xuē Yáng would continue to visit until either Zǐchēn captured him or Xuē Yáng grew bored of them. 

On the other hand, if Xiǎo Xīngchén decided it was worth it to try and become friends with Xuē Yáng again… the chaos that would cause. Zǐchēn would definitely need to be informed—how would it work? Obviously Zǐchēn had a right to justice, but there was no way to remain friends with two people intent on killing each other. Which meant either Xiǎo Xīngchén would need to make a choice between them, or find some way to resolve the issues they had with each other. The fact that Xuē Yáng claimed he was doing good things would help in that regard.

Rumours about heroes and villains spread quickly. Knowing what to listen for, there were actually several tales circulating already about a righteous cultivator called Xuē Chéngměi. Although, the fact that there were rumours didn’t necessarily mean there was any truth to them. Zǐchēn dismissed them easily, but Xiǎo Xīngchén wasn't sure. Xuē Yáng had certainly never cared for reputation before, and he wasn’t particularly inclined towards spinning vast fantasies. And it wasn't like Xuē Yáng was incapable of doing the things he was rumoured to have done, and most of the rumours did comment on Xuē Chéngměi’s charming smile and penchant for sweet foods.

“Maybe we should investigate further,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. “There may be some truth to these stories, at least the parts about the monsters and hauntings, and if that’s the case, there may be a need for our help.”

Zǐchēn agreed easily enough. They weren't travelling with any destination in mind, so they had the time to chase rumours.

Remarkably, the first few they investigated had turned out to be largely accurate accounts of events as they had happened. The cultivator Xuē Chéngměi had arrived in the town or village, quickly sought out details of the haunting, and dispatched the violent ghosts with ease. Xiǎo Xīngchén found it particularly interesting how these strangers described Xuē Yáng.

“He was a quiet one, very calm. There was a great wisdom behind his eyes.”

“The young master immortal is very talented! He found the ghost in the time it takes to eat a meal!”

“Such a polite young man! I wanted to set him up with my second granddaughter, you know it would be no bad thing to gain some cultivator blood in our family.”

“You could tell he was a good man by his smile. No delinquent or con-man would wear a smile so bright!”

Personally, Xiǎo Xīngchén felt these outsider impressions matched very well to a bored, antisocial cultivator who was trying to avoid talking to or spending any time with civilians. Zǐchēn didn’t believe these accounts in the slightest. 

“Stealing. Night-hunt. Cultivator. No. Xuē Yáng.”

Xuē Yáng must be stealing credit for other night-hunts.

“Honestly, that sounds more difficult to do than simply going on the night-hunts himself. Xuē Yáng is a cultivator, he can complete a night-hunt.”

“Stealing.”

They had agreed to disagree on the subject.

The thing was, Xiǎo Xīngchén knew already which option he wanted. He’d known nearly from the first moment they’d been united back in that teahouse many weeks ago. Despite himself, despite his own fear and uneasiness and frustration with Xuē Yáng, he had still missed the man dearly. It had been so easy to fall back into their old patterns: the teasing, the caregiving, even the… the flirting. 

Xuē Yáng never meant anything by it. He flirted with everyone, but particularly anyone who showed any discomfort at his flirting, or anyone who had something he wanted. The merchants at the candy stalls had only ever experienced Xuē Yáng at his most charming. Xiǎo Xīngchén, on the other hand, had been surprised to discover exactly how effective flirting could be when Chéngměi was acting stubborn about something. The right words, a light touch… it lit a flame of delight inside Xiǎo Xīngchén’s chest every time it worked, one only equalled by the warmth he felt whenever Chéngměi had flirted back. It was sort of lovely, being at the centre of his attention that way. Xiǎo Xīngchén could admit to himself that some of his affections for Chéngměi had shifted to a more romantic nature, and the fact that Chéngměi was Xuē Yáng hadn’t seemed to disrupt those feelings in any permanent manner.

The selfish part of him would not relinquish Xuē Yáng. He’d already accepted that, and moved on to unrealistic little daydreams of some perfect world where Zǐchēn and Xuē Yáng liked each other and Xiǎo Xīngchén had both of them by his side each day, and maybe one of them actually returned his affections, too. 

But the decision of whether or not to reestablish his friendship with Xuē Yáng was not as simple as wants and desires alone.

Was a friendship with Xuē Yáng the right thing to do? Would pursuing a friendship with Xuē Yáng mean abandoning the justice owed to Xuē Yáng’s victims? Wouldn’t it be disrespectful to Zǐchēn? By that measure, a friendship with Xuē Yáng would be the wrong thing to do.

But what was wrong for some could be right for others. Xuē Yáng was a very solitary person with very few connections to anyone at all. Xiǎo Xīngchén hesitated to describe him as lonely, but not once in their stay together had the man spoken of friends or family, past or present. A strong friendship would likely do Xuē Yáng a great deal of good. For him, it was the right thing. And arguably, their past friendship had been the right thing for Xiǎo Xīngchén too.

Yes or no?

His days to make a decision were fast running out. Xuē Yáng would track their group down soon, if he wasn’t already.

And then, ten days before the deadline, they heard of a night-hunt just one town over.

Ā-Qìng was bored. They’d been in this town three days already, and Xīngchén-dàozhǎng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng were no closer to finishing the hunt. Apparently this time, instead of a ghost, it was some kind of monster living on the mountain that would come down in the night to harass the surrounding farmers.

So Ā-Qìng had a lot of free time.

At first, she had tried to fill the empty days with her strength-training or agility exercises—even meditation!—but it was boring to do them without company. She didn’t even have a practice sword yet!

So, instead, Ā-Qìng had gone to wander the village, tapping her cane ahead of her just like the old days.

Okay.

So “wandering the village” may not be accurate. She had gone to the market to practice pickpocketing. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was many good things, but he did not approve of theft, and it meant Ā-Qìng was getting out of practice. Not that Xīngchén-dàozhǎng approved of pickpocketing, he didn’t, but they’d never had much money back in Yi City, and Ā-Qìng had liked helping out. He usually just went along with whatever excuse Ā-Qìng made for where she’d found silver or copper pieces, though he would obliquely ask about her “foraging” to make sure she was being careful. He was also happy to act as an alibi when necessary, which pretty much always worked. No one who met Xiǎo Xīngchén believed he might lie about anything.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng just didn’t like it at all. Sometimes he even made her give stuff back! Really it was easier just not to do it at all when he was around.

The first few lifts went smoothly. It wasn’t a skill you ever really forgot, and with her excuse as a “blind” girl, she could get close enough to even stumble into people without drawing suspicion.

Then everything went wrong.

The man was tall. The man was loud. He was sneering, and his grip was so strong on her wrist she could feel it bruising.

“You wretched little thing!” he snarled, yanking her off-balance. “You’re the one who stole my gold hairpin last week!”

“Please, sir, I’m blind—I can’t—”

“Thief! That hairpin was for my wife!”

“I—I wasn’t even here last week, I’m a traveller, please, you’re hurting me—”

All around, the crowd was watching. Ā-Qìng kept her watering eyes unfocused and blind, didn’t brace when she saw the man about to pull again. They were all just watching, shaking their heads—

“Thieves like you don’t deserve their hands,” he said, slamming her wrist against a tabletop and drawing a knife from his belt—

“Please, sir, please let go! What are you going to do to me, sir, please, I’m blind—”

“I have a great big knife here, blind girl, tell me where the hairpin is, and I’ll let you keep your hand.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Ā-Qìng squealed, dropping to her knees and trying desperately to break free. “Sir, I don’t know, I’m blind, I’m no thief!”

Why were they all just watching!?

“Shut your mouth, lying bitch!”

Ā-Qìng’s ears were ringing, her vision gone white, throat burning, and it took a moment to realise the pain in her shoulder and across her face. He—the man had backhanded her, hadn’t released her wrist—

“Please, sir, I’m blind!”

“Let’s see if losing a few fingers will make you any more honest.”

She couldn’t even move her arm anymore without it shrieking—where was her cane, any weapon would do—he raised the knife—

In a single smooth movement, someone grabbed the man’s hand, twisted the grip free, and stabbed right through the flesh and into the table.

The man screamed.

Ā-Qìng fell to the ground with a yelp, closing her eyes against the pain as she tried to cradle her arm close. It hurt so much! Was it broken?

All around, she could hear the crowd getting unruly while the man kept screaming.

Who had stepped forwards?

Surreptitiously she glanced towards her saviour, and promptly forgot she was meant to be blind, because that was Xuē Yáng!

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng was wearing a gentle smile, which was entirely at odds with the way the man was screaming, struggling with the knife through his palm. For a second their eyes met—Ā-Qìng couldn’t breathe, that wasn’t a smile—before Xuē Yáng turned that not-smile back towards the screaming man.

“What sort of monster would accuse the blind of stealing!? What a cruel man! What a miserly soul—look! He even destroyed the poor child’s cane! What an unpleasant person I’ve just met!”

“And who are you!?” called out a member of the crowd. Xuē Yáng spun around to face them.

“The Cultivator Xue Chéngměi, of course! I belong to no sect but instead follow the path of justice.” Xuē Yáng bowed, and all around Ā-Qìng could hear the crowd murmuring, uneasy. No one liked to interfere with cultivators, especially not after witnessing one stab someone through the hand. “As a cultivator devoted to justice, I could not simply stand by and watch while this evil man attacked a blind child.”

No one was going to interfere with Xuē Yáng, none of them bothered to help before when it was just an angry man, no reason they’d intervene now—

Xuē Yáng crouched by her side. Ā-Qìng kept her eyes unfocused, leaning away from him.

“Such a cruel hand to cause such damage! Don’t worry, little miss, I’ll make sure you get all fixed up.”

“I don’t know you!”

“No need to be frightened.”

Ā-Qìng closed her eyes and tried to calm her heart enough to plan. She couldn’t run—it would reveal she wasn’t blind, and she didn’t think the crowd was that sympathetic—and there was no way she could outrun Xuē Yáng anyway. No one here would help her if she screamed. She had no idea when Xīngchén-dàozhǎng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng would be back but it probably wouldn’t be for hours yet.

She was alone.

“Why don’t we get you somewhere away from all these eyes, little miss?”

Ā-Qìng opened her eyes. Xuē Yáng was still wearing that not-smile.

“My c-cane,” she said.

“I’m sorry to say your assailant has destroyed it.” His voice was gentle, and Ā-Qìng was sure that to the crowd he seemed entirely sincere. Would any of them even know how to read the vicious delight in his eyes? He was enjoying this. “I’ll help you up—here, my hands are by your shoulders, you hold your injured arm to your chest and we’ll move to your knees, then shift to standing. Okay?”

Ā-Qìng sniffed, nodding. What else could she do? It was a little odd, though, the way he was speaking... that was almost how Xīngchén-dàozhǎng would talk when he was trying to keep someone calm.

Sitting up hurt. Moving to kneel hurt. Shifting to stand hurt. Her shoulder was throbbing, now, and her whole arm felt hot and bad. Xuē Yáng’s hands miraculously avoided the worst part of the injury, keeping her steady. By the time she had her feet beneath her, she definitely needed the support, her head spinning. Running from Xuē Yáng wasn’t an option anymore, she couldn't run anywhere with her head messed up like this. It was hard enough to remember to act blind.

“There we go, perfect! Now, which inn are you staying at? I’ll escort you there,” Xuē Yáng said. Ā-Qìng suppressed the urge to rip herself out of his reach. There was no way she was going to reveal where Xīngchén-dàozhǎng slept to this maniac.

“I don’t have a room yet, I only got here this morning.”

“You can come with me, then!” Xuē Yáng flashed her a grin, before turning back to the man. His not-smile returned, as well as a terrible intensity around his eyes. “As for you… perhaps in the future you should think twice before you harass others, especially those with no way to defend themselves.”

Xuē Yáng reached over to grab the handle of the knife, and yanked it free with a twisting motion that made the man shriek. Ā-Qìng shivered. That had definitely been intentional. Designed to hurt.

“Shall we go?”

The crowd parted for them easily enough. No one wanted to get close to a dangerous cultivator. He kept a hand between her shoulder blades, guiding her forwards, and they quickly left everyone behind.

“I’m expected back any minute.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

“Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng is going to come searching for me.”

“He didn’t help you keep your hand, though, did he?”

They turned down an alleyway, and then another, away from people’s eyes. Ā-Qìng scanned their surroundings, but nothing stood out as useful to her. No place to hide that Xuē Yáng couldn’t immediately drag her away from. No item she could use as a weapon. No witnesses.

“Running would be a very foolish thing to do,” he murmured, gripping the back of her collar.

“Running is what you should be doing. If you start now, you might be able to get away before Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng kills you.”

Xuē Yáng snorted. “Sòng Lán isn’t capable of killing me, and believe me, he’s tried. Brace yourself, we’re going up.”

That was all the warning she got before Xuē Yáng swept her up into his arms and jumped to a high windowsill, ducking inside—Ā-Qìng yelped as the motion jostled her injured arm—and then he was setting her back on her feet, as if this was some fucking normal thing they did every day—

“They’ll be looking for me already!” Ā-Qìng said, breathing fast, backing away until her back hit a wall. It was dark in here, dusty, looked abandoned, when was the last time anyone else had been in this building—

“Little Blind. Sit down.”

She bit her lip, considered it. Isolated and alone with a dangerous man, better to comply and look for an opening to escape, right?

Xuē Yáng crossed his arms, quirking an eyebrow.

“Or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me. It will be easier to relocate your shoulder if you’re sitting down though.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Whatever do you mean? The Cultivator Xuē Chéngměi follows the path of justice, it is only natural that I would help someone in need.”

“You stabbed that man.”

“Remarkable restraint on my part, I know.”

Ā-Qìng took a deep breath and held it. Her face felt hot, swelling on one side, her arm was screaming, and she felt like she could collapse at any moment. For whatever reason, Xuē Yáng wanted to help instead of making things worse. She could work with this.

“Okay. You may help me,” Ā-Qìng said, sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the floor.

He was by her side immediately.

“Just your arm and face, right? You didn’t do something stupid like break your ankle or anything falling over?”

“No. We walked here, my ankles are fine, idiot."

“You'd be surprised by how much damage a person can take and keep moving through when they're properly motivated. No other injuries, then? We’re gonna extend that arm, now. It’s gonna hurt.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Xuē Yáng trembled like he was trying not to laugh. He reached for her arm, slowly moving it down until it rested across her knee. Flicking the sleeve back, he tutted, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna get some pretty impressive bruising here. Picking fights with merchants over gold hairpins, what would Dàozhǎng say?”

“I didn’t steal it!”

“Of course not, you’re an upstanding young lady who would never do anything morally reprehensible, especially not stealing.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Charming as always, Little Blind.”

“Are you actually going to do anything to help me or are you just going to jab at my injuries—motherfucker !”

Xuē Yáng had abruptly jerked her arm straight up, and something in her shoulder had popped. Now he sat back, smirking.

“Any better?”

“Fuck off! Why the fuck would you do that?”

He just laughed, shifting to sit beside her, his back against the wall. The worst part was that it actually had helped—already the pain was going down, and she could move her arm again.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?”

She sniffed. “I’m sure a cultivator as righteous as Xuē Chéngměi doesn’t need my thanks. The thrill he gets from doing good things is enough for him.”

“Do you think Dàozhǎng would still consider it a good action if I went and cut off that man’s hand? The answer’s no, right?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“It’s your hand he tried to take. You get a say in how much he bleeds for it.”

Ā-Qìng glanced at him. His voice was still light and cheery, a joking tone, but he was wearing that not-smile again, the one that promised blood. On her behalf?

“Why? We don’t even like each other.”

“Dàozhǎng is mine, and you belong to him. So by proxy, you are also mine. And I don’t like when people damage my things,” he said, glaring at her arm.

“Oh.”

“Yes, so, killing the fucker’s completely out, Dàozhǎng has a rule against killing, but maiming is allowable if it is to defend the weak from harm! Dàozhǎng said so himself! Here, this will keep the swelling down somewhat.” In his hand was a pot with a medicinal scent to it, and a small pill. Ā-Qìng frowned, reaching for them. "I'm fairly certain Dàozhǎng and I have different ideas about appropriate retribution, though.

“You already stabbed him.”

“True, but imagine this: I could stab him again.”

“I don’t think Xīngchén-dàozhǎng would approve of that. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng probably would, though.”

Xuē Yáng made a disgusted noise, crossing his arms to glare at the opposite wall. Reluctantly, Ā-Qìng could feel herself smiling.

“Where did you say your group was staying?”

Ā-Qìng didn’t answer. After a moment Xuē Yáng laughed.

“See? There’s another good reason! Dàozhǎng trusts too easily, and Sòng Lán bends to whatever he asks. You have better sense than either of them.”

That was true. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was a lovely person and he may have a better instinct than Xīngchén-dàozhǎng for whether someone was dangerous or not, but Ā-Qìng had seen him get scammed by random strangers like six times, and they hadn't even been travelling together for a whole year yet.

Xuē Yáng was distracted, fiddling with some red and white silk wrapped around his wrist. She focused on the door, only three steps away—

“The stairs are broken. Collapsed, no easy way down. You could try, of course, but it would put unnecessary stress on your shoulder. Stay a while," he said, offering her a candy—he didn’t announce it, just waved it in her direction. A blind girl wouldn’t know it was there.

She took it. Xuē Yáng grinned.

“I’m still annoyed that you told him.”

She snorted, placing the candy in her mouth. “You shouldn’t have been tricking him.”

“You didn’t tell with the merchants.”

“That was actually helpful, though, not just a mean trick.”

Xuē Yáng hummed, and offered her another candy, eating one himself.

“Why are you picking the crowds anyway? Dàozhǎng wouldn’t have left you without food or money.”

“Waiting is boring.”

He laughed.

Ā-Qìng spent the rest of the afternoon there, alternately resting and throwing insults at Xuē Yáng when she got too bored. He spent a little bit of time cleaning the knife of blood and honing the tip of the blade again. "You have to take good care of your weapons, Little Blind. Always check the edges after a fight." After that, Xuē Yáng had closed his eyes and sat back like he settling in for a nap or something, his head tilted back against the wall. His eyes shifted beneath their lids as if he was dreaming, but he was obviously faking given how quickly he always responded. Sometimes the shadows around him would shift in funny ways, but Ā-Qìng couldn’t feel anything Dead about them, so that had to be a trick of the light.

Near sunset, he suddenly sat up, eyes still closed.

“What’s up with you?”

Xuē Yáng grinned at her, then danced over to the window, leaning to look out and down the street. Ā-Qìng idly considered pushing him out. Nah. It would just make him act all grumpy. Like a cat that got caught in the rain.

He was staring at her again all assessing, as if he’d heard her last thought. Ā-Qìng schooled her features into her best mask of innocence.

“Here.”

She stared at his hands. Resting across his palm, handle facing her, was the knife.

“You stabbed that man with this.”

“It’s seen a lot of blood, most more interesting than his. It doesn’t have much of a spirit to it yet, but with a little nurturing, you could make something of it.” He was watching her, smiling absently again. “What’s wrong? You’re happy enough to take a gift from me if it tastes sweet, why not this?”

Ā-Qìng huffed, and reached for the blade—his hand clamped down on hers, pressing the sheath into her palm. She gasped, eyes meeting his.

“Ā-Qìng, listen. Every one of your enemies is bigger and stronger than you. If you use this, you probably won’t get a second attack in. So learn to use it. Make the first hit count. Don’t let them see it coming.” He smirked. “You’ll be good at it.”

Ā-Qìng jerked her hand from his, holding the dagger tightly. Shakily, she nodded.

Xuē Yáng had to pick her up again to get back to the street level, and that was much more embarrassing to endure now that she was clear-headed and knew it was coming. He just seemed amused, and dodged out of the way easily when she swung the dagger in his direction.

“What’d I say about learning first?”

“I’ve used a knife before.”

“Not well.”

“I’m going to stab you with this one day.”

“Not any time soon, brat,” he snorted, glancing down the alleyway. “Tell Dàozhǎng I said hi!”

With that, he leapt to the rooftops and disappeared, leaving Ā-Qìng alone.

Chapter Text

It had taken several days and exploring over half the mountain before Xiǎo Xīngchén and Sòng Lán had tracked down, identified, and defeated the monster. It had been a tricky thing, a fox yao that had been stalking the hills and stealing hens. They were lucky that the yao had shown little interest in attacking humans so far. Two farmers had tried to protect over their animals, keeping a watch into the night to scare off any foxes, but had been deeply terrified when they encountered a yao instead of a simple beast. But apart from their fear, both were largely unharmed. 

The real problem with the yao’s activities was that it had visited every single farm in the local region. More than half the hens and roosters had been killed all at once, so everyone nearby was struggling a little without their eggs and meat, and things would only get more difficult as winter approached. It would take months before enough laying hens matured to make up for the loss. 

On the way back to the town, Xīngchén shared his thoughts aloud, trying to work out some way to assist them: money wouldn’t help much if no one had any produce to sell, but if they went a little farther afield, somewhere out of the fox’s range… well, many farmers could spare a single hen or two, and even a handful of laying hens would help.

Sòng Lán agreed, but he also wasn’t sure that it was the best use of their resources for them to physically travel and collect the hens, or even to send out the requests. It wasn’t like they could easily fly on their swords, not with Xīngchén being blind and Ā-Qìng in tow, so it wouldn’t be any faster for them to travel than it would be for the townsfolk and farmers themselves.

He was trying to work out the best way to explain his thoughts, Xīngchén patiently waiting for his response, when Ā-Qìng appeared from a side-street.

Half her face was a violet bruise.

“Zǐchēn? Is something wrong?”

“Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, is that you?”

“Oh, Ā-Qìng! Nice to run into you again, I trust you weren’t too bored while we were gone?”

She bit her lip, meeting Sòng Lán’s eyes for just a second before she fell back into her blind act, her hands outstretched before her, and it was only then that Sòng Lán realised she was missing her walking stick.

“Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, I want to go home.”

“Oh? Well, we were just headed that way ourselves—”

“Ā-Qìng. Injured,” Sòng Lán tapped out, interrupting.

“You’re hurt? Oh, Ā-Qìng! Let me see!” Xīngchén said, immediately by her side. She grasped at his hanfu, sniffling as he fussed over her. Sòng Lán closed his eyes, focusing on getting his resentful energy back under control.

That had been an interesting thing to grow used to, now that he was a fierce corpse. Where before, resentful energy had been a destructive force to him, now it seemed to serve the same functions as his qi had in life. It flowed through him at all times, animating his limbs and strengthening his body, and he could use it for the same spells and talismans that would require qi. However, it did come with risks, primarily that any negative emotions at all—any rage, any grief—would cause his energy to surge in odd ways, much more difficult to control.

Times like this, hearing the details of what had been done to Ā-Qìng—arm dislocated, fingers nearly chopped off, struck across the face when she objected—it was easy to slip into anger. But anger made it difficult to see sense clearly. Anger had been what drove him to lash out at Xīngchén all those years ago, even though it really hadn’t been his fault in the slightest. Anger wasn’t something Sòng Lán could afford to let control him.

“—and then Xuē Yáng was there—”

Sòng Lán hissed, eyes flying open.

“Xuē Yáng. Here?”

Ā-Qìng flinched away from Sòng Lán, but she nodded.

“He saved me, fixed my shoulder. Also he gave me these—I didn’t use them, I wanted to make sure they were safe first,” she explained, holding out a small jar with a medicinal scent to it and what looked like a power pill of some sort. “Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, he stabbed that man right through his hand and into the table. He was screaming. Everyone watched.”

Sòng Lán glanced at him, but Xīngchén didn’t appear surprised at all, his lips pressed together tightly. He reached for the medicines Ā-Qìng was offering, and Sòng Lán saw a flicker of golden light as he examined them using his qi.

“Zǐchēn and I will look over your injuries again when we return to our room. For now, those are both safe to use. Take the pill first, it has a mild painkiller component and it will help restore your energy.”

Ā-Qìng nodded, following his directions.

And it was just about then that a man ran up to them.

“Honorable dàozhǎngs! We request your help! My brother—he was attacked by a mad man! Our doctor says he may lose the use of his hand! We need the skill of an expert in the healing arts! Will you help us?”

Xīngchén went still, one hand resting on Ā-Qìng’s head. His smile grew wider, but somehow much less inviting as Xīngchén slowly turned to face the stranger.

“Of course! I would be happy to offer any assistance I can! You wouldn’t mind if I bring my daughter along with us, would you? She’s currently in training as a healer herself.”

The man glanced at her and blanched.

“Oh, I—surely we should not inconvenience the young miss dàozhǎng—”

"No, I want to help!" Ā-Qìng said with a bright smile that made the bruising across her face look even more macabre. Xīngchén smiled as if he was terribly proud of her.

“See? It’s no imposition at all. Actually, if the damage is as dire as you say, I shall need her as my assistant. Nerve damage can be very difficult to treat.”

“Ah, um—very well, it shall be as you say, dàozhǎng—please follow me—”

“I’m afraid that may prove a little difficult, friend. Both my daughter and I are blind.”

“Of course, of course! So sorry, I didn’t mean—shall I take your sleeve or—of course not, how improper! Maybe I could guide you with my voice!”

Xīngchén’s smile grew a little gentler. “Don’t worry yourself too deeply. Sòng-dàozhǎng will be my guide. Please, lead the way.”

For the first time in their entire interaction, the stranger turned to look at Sòng Lán, who did absolutely nothing to make his expression open or friendly. This man was the brother of the one who had harmed Ā-Qìng, and not once had he offered an apology for the attack. Sòng Lán was happy to follow Xīngchén’s example during their interaction.

The man swallowed, nodded, and began to walk.

Xuē Yáng watched the man through a window. He smiled as the man wept and raged, laughed when the doctor mentioned nerve damage. Untreatable, unless you were an expert at using qi to heal. Not something a small-town doctor could do.

Excellent. He’d been hoping to sever a tendon or three, but nerve damage!

Ā-Qìng had said she didn’t want to have the bastard’s hand. That was fine. Xuē Yáng could take it anyway, and that way if she changed her mind, he’d have it ready as a gift. It was the least the man deserved, not nearly equivalent to the damage he’d done.

Xuē Yáng’s fingers found the red azalea silk, wrapped around his wrist like always. He was fairly certain that equal retribution would directly go against Dàozhǎng’s rules.

It would start like this.

The man had two children—one a daughter only a few years younger than Ā-Qìng, the other a son around five years old. Pitiful things, they had the misfortune to be related to that man. Xuē Yáng would kill them quick, a blade stabbing the point where the neck meets the back of the head. Sever the nervous system, destroy the brain before they were able to register what’s going on. They wouldn’t know they had been killed until it was already over—if they lingered, Xuē Yáng could keep them company until they were able to move on. And then, that’s when the fun would begin.

Most people had this stupid habit where they assumed the mortal shell was the same thing as the soul that it housed. They were related, yes, but the body was simply a vessel—the part which people knew, the personality, the memories, the golden core, all of that was part of the soul. Even cultivators forgot it sometimes.

Xuē Yáng didn’t forget.

The next part, the fun part: Xuē Yáng would turn their empty little bodies to puppets. Mimic their voices, their actions. Make them weep and scream at their father, mutilate them and have him watch. Chop bits away, slice off skin—maybe they could attack each other! Claw at their father with bloody fingertips! Ohhh yes that would work, and then! And then the wife! Stupid woman, she wouldn’t get any mercy. She chose him! She wouldn’t get to die before he made her bleed.

How long could he stretch it before the man broke? Hours? Days, maybe, if he timed it right. If he started it slow, maybe even introduced the dead kids by pretending they were merely sick. That this was something treatable. Increase the bizarre behaviour, have them say unnatural things, scream at odd hours, gently work on the terror of it all until both parents were distraught.

If he played it right, the man might try to take his own life. A perfect ending. Not that Xuē Yáng would allow it, of course, he couldn’t get out of this punishment so easily.

Xuē Yáng ripped the red azalea silk away and bit the back of his wrist.

None of that could happen.

None of that was going to happen.

Dàozhǎng would hate it. Dàozhǎng would hate him for causing it. He’d never speak to Xuē Yáng again, he’d say mean things again, he’d—he’d take their side, defending that fucking scumbag—

Xuē Yáng bit down harder—

Was taking the fucker’s hand against Dàozhǎng’s principles too? A hand for a hand, that was equal, wasn’t it? Except that Xuē Yáng had saved Ā-Qìng’s hand—maybe to break his arm? Dislocate his shoulder, give him a fucking concussion—was any of this allowed?

He could taste blood.

Movement down the street shook him from his thoughts. Resentful energy and bright qi moving closer—Xiǎo Xīngchén was here! He was here, he was coming here—ha! To visit the fucker! Ā-Qìng was with him and Sòng Lán too, he knew what had happened, he knew! Oh, this was going to be so much fun!

Keeping to the shadows, Xuē Yáng circled the house. He couldn’t let himself be discovered too quickly, Sòng Lán would chase him away and he’d miss everything! He had to hear this!

Xīngchén was perfectly polite. Unflinchingly polite.

He smiled as he undid the man’s bandages, tutted as he examined the wound. His fingers moved with a doctor's efficiency as they explored the edges of the injury. The man flinched at the touch, staring at Ā-Qìng with wide eyes and a pale face.

“You know, it’s funny. Only earlier today, my treasured daughter Ā-Qìng was injured by a man at the market. I wonder if it was the same one who stabbed you.”

“Yes, that must be it," he said, his voice shaking. Xīngchén hummed, but didn’t answer, focused on sending threads of qi into the injury to guide the severed nerves back together.

Sòng Lán glanced about the room. Standing about the room was the man's wife, his brother, the doctor watching closely—occasionally Xīngchén would give out advice, explaining what exactly he was doing and how these nerve repair techniques could be performed by someone without strong qi control, as long as they had a careful hand, needles and thread. It seemed unnecessary to include the local seamstress or the butcher in their audience, and especially unecessary to include several quiet bystanders who had nothing better to do with an evening, but Xīngchén had insisted they all attend. With their respective skills, the butcher and the seamstress were the best people besides a doctor to perform this kind of procedure, and it was always advantageous for people besides doctors to have some knowldge of medicine. Xīngchén gave no explanation for the random bystanders.

Sòng Lán wondered how many of them had been present when Ā-Qìng was attacked. Had any of them considered intervening? Each of them had reacted with surprise upon seeing Ā-Qìng acting as Xīngchén's assistant.

She was playing blind, still, acting like she didn't recognise the man they were treating. Whenever Xīngchén asked for a bandage, a tincture, a washcloth, she already had one ready. A perfectly efficient team. Perfectly polite.

"Your heart is beating very fast. Are you perhaps nervous, for some reason? There is no need to worry. Though treating nerve damage is a dangerous procedure, and there is a high chance of making a mistake that would leave you in constant pain or losing all sensation in your arm or even worse, I assure you, I'm very good at what I do. You're in safe hands."

The man looked close to throwing up. Xīngchén stitched the wound closed, pinching the man’s fingertips to check that everything was working correctly.

“I wouldna hurt her if I’d known!”

“I see.”

“You understand?”

“I do. It is merely her rank as my daughter that would stay your hand. Otherwise, you would gladly mutilate a child.”

“No, that isn’t—”

“Oh? Have I misunderstood? That happens sometimes. Would you explain it to me? The exact circumstances that would have made it allowable?”

The man seemed to have realised it would be smarter not to answer. Xīngchén kept smiling. His hands were gentle, perfectly competent as he wrapped the injury.

All around them, Sòng Lán could feel the gossip forming. He thought perhaps he understood now why Xīngchén had insisted on bringing witnesses. Demanding money would threaten the wellbeing of the man's wife and his children. Leaving him injured would similarly risk them. Attacking his reputation, however...

Sòng Lán hadn't known Xīngchén could act so aggressively.

The streets were empty when they finally left, everyone inside for their evening meal. Xīngchén was still wearing that sharp smile, the one that left Sòng Lán uneasy.

They turned down a smaller street and didn’t get more than a few steps before someone stepped out before them. And suddenly, Sòng Lán recognised where he’d seen Xīngchén’s sharp smile before. An identical one was currently residing on Xuē Yáng’s mouth.

Xīngchén grabbed at Sòng Lán’s wrist in the instant before he leapt forwards. Xuē Yáng glanced at him for half a second before affixing his gaze once more on Xīngchén’s face. Sòng Lán scowled at him.

Xuē Yáng didn’t notice, of course. He was staring at Xīngchén with ravenous eyes, just slightly out of breath, shifting on the spot like the only thing keeping him still was the promise of Fúxuě running him through if he took a step closer. There was blood dripping sluggishly down the back of one of his hands, unnoticed. In the other, he was grasping a piece of white and red cloth.

“Dàozhǎng. Even when you're being ruthless, you're merciful.”

“It’s as I told you; I will provide aid regardless of my personal convictions or any musings about whether the person I help deserves it. My duty is to assist.”

“You’re furious, dàozhǎng. I can taste it on you.”

Xīngchén didn’t answer.

“I could do it.”

“No.”

“Dàozhǎng, I won’t kill any of them! I promise! I can make them hurt without that!”

“Don’t harm any of them.”

“They deserve it, all of them should burn. Rip the whole family up by the roots and destroy them all—dàozhǎng, he damaged her! They all stood by and watched!” Xuē Yáng snarled, stepping closer.

“No. You’re biased. Stay away from them. Stabbing one of them is enough.”

“It isn’t,” Xuē Yáng muttered, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a second, and when they opened them, he seemed calmer. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Dàozhǎng, I anticipated your answer would be something like this. I haven’t harmed any of them yet, other than that first time."

"Good."

Xuē Yáng nodded decisively, looking away from Xīngchén to stare at the back of his bleeding hand. He frowned, as if only just noticing the injury.

"It's okay if I think about hurting them, though? As long as I don't act and make them bleed?"

"Violent thoughts aren't the same thing as violent actions," Xīngchén said with a grimace. "You think about hurting people a lot?"

"My main job before you found me was as an assassin, Dàozhǎng. I was the one they sent in when they wanted no survivors. When they wanted it to look like the work of resentful spirits or monsters ripping people to shreds. So yes, you could say I think about hurting people a lot."

"But you don't act on those thoughts?"

"Not usually, no."

Xīngchén's lips were pressed into a thin line, but he nodded.

“What matters isn’t our thoughts so much as the way we react to them. Our actions. Someone can have violent thoughts and still act with compassion for others. Equally, someone can have compassionate thoughts and still choose to cause harm. The world won’t see your thoughts or your reasoning, only the actions you’ve taken.”

"I bet you don't think about how to make strangers bleed when you're bored."

"No, I don't... do you find it difficult? Restraining yourself?"

"Sometimes. When they're annoying. Or they try to touch me. Or they're too loud."

"I heard someone attempted to marry their daughter to you."

"Mad old woman," Xuē Yáng said with a grimace. Sòng Lán couldn't help but agree. "She wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't hurt her, though!"

"I know."

"It's against the rules! No killing, no maiming."

"You're doing a good job," Xīngchén said, smiling gently.

Xuē Yáng lit up, grinning widely, and he skipped forwards a step or two before throwing a glance at Sòng Lán and freezing again.

"Dàozhǎng, you think so? I told you I could do it!"

"I remember!" Xīngchén said with a laugh. "Well done!"

Xuē Yáng giggled. He actually giggled, playing with one strand of hair like a flirtaceous young lady recieving a gift from her betrothed. This wasn't actually happening, was it?

Sòng Lán glanced to Ā-Qìng, but she didn't seem at all surprised or disturbed by seeing Xuē Yáng giggling.

You're going to get blood in your hair.

An idle thought, no doubt brought on by how absurd this whole situation was. Oddly, about the same moment the thought crossed Sòng Lán's mind, Xuē Yáng released the lock of hair, grimacing at the blood on his fingers.

“I’m a week early,” Xuē Yáng said, turning back to face Xīngchén.

“You are. I’m glad you were around to assist Ā-Qìng.”

“People aren’t allowed to damage her.”

“No one except you, am I correct?”

“I don’t break my things.”

“Yes you do.”

“I fix them again, though!”

“You could simply say you like her.”

Xuē Yáng pouted, but didn’t answer, and Xīngchén began to laugh. By his side, Ā-Qìng looked smug.

“Do you have an answer yet? Or do you need the final week?” Xuē Yáng asked.

Xīngchén bit his lip, calming his laughter. Sòng Lán frowned. An answer for what?

“I… I think there’s potential.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, it is.”

Xuē Yáng laughed. It was a bright sound, startlingly so. Sòng Lán blinked, and in that half a second, Xuē Yáng lunged forwards. Sòng Lán spun, drawing Fúxuě and ready to intervene—

They were hugging. Xuē Yáng had thrown his arms over Xīngchén’s shoulders, burying his face in the crook of Xīngchén’s neck—Xīngchén was hugging him back instead of pushing him away, he’d snaked an arm around Xuē Yáng’s waist, the other around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair, still grinning, as if he’d expected this—

Xuē Yáng was murmuring something in Xīngchén’s ear, too low to hear clearly, but it made Xīngchén laugh—

“That’s not necessary—”

“—but it would make you happy if I did,” Xuē Yáng said, pulling pack enough to stare at Xīngchén’s features, his eyes filled with madness and delight. “That’s worth the effort.”

What the fuck was going on? Why was Xīngchén still allowing this? Allowing his touch? More trickery on Xuē Yáng’s part? What answer? What was the question?

Xuē Yáng darted away before Sòng Lán could sort through his thoughts, leaping to the roof of a nearby building and out of sight, his laughter still echoing back.

Xiǎo Xīngchén followed Xuē Yáng’s golden presence with his qi sense until the man disappeared. He could still feel the heat of Xuē Yáng’s breath against his ear, those whispered words still spiralling through his head.

“I’ll craft Xuē Chéngměi a reputation as bright as yours; I’ll make you proud to know me.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén shivered, then refocused on the present. He could feel another long and difficult conversation with Zǐchēn coming up.

How exactly was he to explain he still wanted to be friends with Xuē Yáng?

Chapter Text

It was just as difficult to leave Dàozhǎng this time as it had been two months ago. Xuē Yáng managed about a day before he broke and had to turn back. It had really been so little time spent together! Barely a conversation! Xuē Yáng had spent hours more than that just babysitting Ā-Qìng! So what if Sòng Lán was there? Why the fuck would it matter that he wanted Xuē Yáng dead? Xuē Yáng was a talented cultivator, he could avoid a fierce corpse easy enough.

Dàozhǎng had said yes.

Xuē Yáng had to stop walking, giddy joy making him unsteady on his feet.

Dàozhǎng had said yes! He wanted to be friends still! He wanted to—he wanted Xuē Yáng! He wanted—

Xuē Yáng unwrapped the red azalea silk and tangled it in his fingers.

Xiǎo Xīngchén wanted to keep him.

He had to go back!

Xuē Yáng ran. Too much energy in his limbs to fly, he needed to move! He needed his lungs to burn with the effort! Needed the ache in his muscles to clear his thoughts.

Xīngchén liked him!

Xuē Yáng laughed, spinning on a heel and throwing himself to the ground to stare at the sky. There was starlight running through his blood and it burned like ice!

His Dàozhǎng, his Dàozhǎng, so sweet! A rare thing, delicious.

There should be a whole sect devoted to him, a temple with his likeness carved upon the walls. It would be nothing but some pale imitation compared to the real Xiǎo Xīngchén, but it was the best those pitiable worshippers would ever see because the real Xiǎo Xīngchén belonged to Xuē Yáng. They could run away together, abandon Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng at the temple where they could regale the worshippers with tales of Xiǎo Xīngchén.

But Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t like abandoning his things any more than Xuē Yáng did. What would it take for him to send Sòng Lán away? Xīngchén had already forgiven Sòng Lán so much, he’d smiled so wide to have his Sòng Lán back.

Maybe if Xuē Yáng was injured by Sòng Lán, his Dàozhǎng would send Sòng Lán away. He’d already said he worried for Xuē Yáng’s health, and that was even before he claimed Xuē Yáng as his friend! Except, Sòng Lán hadn’t attacked last time. Why not? Was it simply bewilderment that Xiǎo Xīngchén was allowing Xuē Yáng close? Leftover satisfaction at knowing Xuē Yáng had stabbed the man who had been mean to Ā-Qìng? Next time he probably wouldn’t stand by without attacking.

Would Sòng Lán attack Xuē Yáng again? If he valued Xiǎo Xīngchén’s good opinion, he better fucking not! His Dàozhǎng had claimed Xuē Yáng as his friend, right there in front of everyone, so Sòng Lán could fuck right off! If he was smart, he’d let Xuē Yáng walk right up and speak with Xiǎo Xīngchén, play with him, spar with him—they were friends! Xiǎo Xīngchén had said they were! Sòng Lán couldn’t actually object and hope to avoid Xīngchén’s ire! And if he was stupid enough to try and attack Xuē Yáng, his Dàozhǎng would send the man away for hurting his friend! It was perfect! Either way, Xuē Yáng was victorious!

Xiǎo Xīngchén hated seeing his friends in pain, he’d be angry! The fury over Ā-Qìng! Would his Dàozhǎng react like that if Xuē Yáng was injured? For Xuē Yáng?

Why the fuck had he even left?! Xīngchén had been brilliant, burning—the chaos of a storm, winds howling and ready to slice into their enemies! Yet still so tightly controlled, his principles paper-thin and binding him more solidly than iron chains. How was he capable of it?

Would he ever channel his fury through Xuē Yáng? Use him as a blade to decimate their enemies? That would be a good life.

A gift! He had to get his Dàozhǎng a gift! Something good, something useful—he never cared much for trinkets. A new hair ornament? White jade, or something made of metal, to match his hanfu, something with interesting shapes and carvings that Xiǎo Xīngchén could explore with his fingertips.

Maybe something even better! Lychee candies! He could find a whole heap of them! Though, Xīngchén never got as excited about sweet food as Xuē Yáng did; it was one of his only failings as a man. He’d get some anyway.

There was always the talisman. Xuē Yáng had yet to test it properly, but so far it had worked to conceal small pockets of resentful energy. It could probably work to hide Sòng Lán from casual detection, as long as the man kept his undead qi steady. The only problem was, Xuē Yáng hadn’t been able to work out a way to leave an exception in the concealment charm. If Xīngchén used it on Sòng Lán, the fierce corpse would be hidden from Xuē Yáng too, and that could actually prove a hazard to Xuē Yáng’s health.

Although, having Sòng Lán as he was was a hazard to Xīngchén’s health.

The talisman, then! Xuē Yáng just had to fix it, make it work properly! And to find some lychee candies. And follow Xīngchén. And burrow into his arms. And make him smile. His smile was so pretty! What would it feel like under his fingers? Would he bite? His teeth looked so sharp against the soft pink of his lips. Xīngchén was like that, all soft and smooth like silk while underneath was hard, sharp steel. Still fragile, if you knew how to shatter a sword, but Xuē Yáng would never allow that to happen again. 

No one else would dare.

Xīngchén had decided he was going to try and remain friends with Xuē Yáng. It was not the way Sòng Lán would have preferred things to progress, to put it lightly. Sadly, though, it was unsurprising, given the way Xīngchén smiled whenever he said that name.

Had Xīngchén ever viewed Xuē Yáng as his enemy? He had let Xuē Yáng run free, refused to fight him again and again—when Xīngchén had treated the reopened injury to Xuē Yáng’s gut, had it been because Xīngchén was driven to give aid to the wounded, or had it been because Xīngchén was driven to give aid to Xuē Yáng? How deeply had that man embedded his fangs, how strong was the venom Sòng Lán had to combat?

There was something good that came out of it: Xīngchén had actually admitted to things, instead of lying and sneaking around. He trusted Sòng Lán that much, at least.

It had been a difficult thing to hear. Made the energy of his body fluctuate in odd, unruly ways while fibre of his being hissed for him to track Xuē Yáng down and slaughter the man. Sòng Lán had paced the room, not wanting to leave Xīngchén alone again so soon—what if Xuē Yáng was simply waiting for him to leave, watching for a chance to sneak in and attack?—and after several minutes, he had calmed enough to return to Xīngchén’s side.

“You want this?” You want him?

Xiǎo Xīngchén had bowed his head slightly, nervous, and then he nodded. Sòng Lán studied his friend’s face, the stubbornness in the twist of his mouth, the anxiety in the tilt of his head, the way he was bracing himself for Sòng Lán to react negatively. To rage, to scream, to turn violent.

When had this happened? At one time, they had been the closest of confidants, sharing secrets as easily as breathing, but now... reunited after years, it would make sense that they'd be distant, that it would take time to regain that sort of intimacy again. But how had things gotten so twisted that Xīngchén avoided sharing his thoughts for fear of Sòng Lán's reaction? He closed his eyes against the phantom ache in his chest, a sword piercing his heart. It wasn't real, even if it felt like it was. Nothing but a memory.

“I won’t fight,” Sòng Lán said.

“You won’t?” The surprise in his voice only twisted the knife.

“If you're happy, I’m happy.” Generally speaking, at least. Xīngchén had grinned, laughing free and delighted at his words, and it relieved the ache a little.

Xīngchén was sleeping now, Ā-Qìng tucked into his arms. Really, she was getting too old for it to be entirely proper that she sleep in a man’s bed, but they had been through an unpleasant ordeal today, so it was to be expected.

Sòng Lán sat in the dark and watched over them both.

Xuē Yáng. The name had haunted him for over a decade now, the serial killer who turned his attention on destroying Sòng Lán and everyone he loved. Baixue temple had never been rebuilt. Sòng Lán was the only one who had survived the slaughter, and it had only been because Xuē Yáng thought it crueler to leave him blind and alone. Crueler still, to turn Sòng Lán against the only person he had left in the world; hissing about how all that horror, all those deaths had been aimed at terrorising Xiǎo Xīngchén. Xuē Yáng spoke poison, planting the seeds that Sòng Lán had cultivated into fury. Designed to wedge them apart so that Xuē Yáng could better work his nefarious plans.

It had nearly worked. Sòng Lán had pushed Xīngchén away and left him vulnerable. By the time Sòng Lán had realised the error of his ways, Xīngchén had been long gone, and Xuē Yáng had swept in at the first opportunity, twisting Xīngchén’s need for support into something obscene and carving out a place for himself beside Xīngchén’s heart. Now his roots were so deep that Xīngchén couldn’t even sense the way they were damaging him anymore, and ripping them free would leave Xīngchén bruised and bloody. Continuing to argue with Xīngchén about this wouldn't go anywhere. The man had made up his mind that Xuē Yáng was his friend, and if anything was true it was that Xīngchén was loyal to his friends. It wasn't his fault that Xuē Yáng sought to take advantage of his kind heart.

Báixuě Temple was gone. The Chang Clan was dead. Sòng Lán was a walking corpse, and the only one left to remember and seek justice on their behalf. But Xīngchén was still living. There was still more that could be taken from him, and Sòng Lán knew Xuē Yáng wouldn't hesitate, given the chance. Protecting Xīngchén had to come first. If this was what Xīngchén needed to feel safe and happy, Sòng Lán would push aside his own emotions—his grief, his anger, his fear. He would become someone that Xīngchén could confide in again. Even if it was Xuē Yáng that Xīngchén wished to speak about. Maybe especially if it was Xuē Yáng that Xīngchén wished to speak about.

If Sòng Lán was to remove Xuē Yáng’s presence from their lives, he had to do it right, coax the roots loose slowly so no new poison would flow free. He needed proof that Xuē Yáng was the same person he’d always been—just as violent, just as cruel—something so utterly undeniable that Xīngchén couldn’t explain it away or make excuses. And he needed Xīngchén to trust Sòng Lán would support him while they excised the viper from their midst.

Xuē Yáng would not succeed here a second time. Sòng Lán would not let himself be driven from Xiǎo Xīngchén ever again.

Chapter Text

It was a peaceful day, bright and abnormally warm for late Autumn. Sòng Lán and Xīngchén were wandering the markets with Ā-Qìng—she was still nervous about leaving their sides and understandably so after last week's... events.

Of course Xuē Yáng had to ruin things, it was practically in his nature. He melted out of the crowd ahead of them, calling out to Xīngchén. Sòng Lán bristled at his smirk, bracing to attack, but Xīngchén was smiling, calling back, stepping forwards to greet Xuē Yáng.

Sòng Lán hesitated. If Xīngchén truly considered Xuē Yáng to be his friend, he wouldn’t appreciate Sòng Lán interfering or attacking the man, even if Xuē Yáng did deserve it—

Xuē Yáng darted forwards, grabbing Xīngchén—

Sòng Lán lunged for them but caught only swirling shadows. He spun around, searching—the whole exchange had taken mere seconds—neither of them were in sight, the crowd hadn’t noticed—

They were gone.

It was an exciting day!

Even with Sòng Lán present, today was a day for good things!

Xuē Yáng had worked out the last kinks in the talisman the day before. He was confident it would completely conceal Sòng Lán’s presence for as long as it was supplied with energy—no more attracting random cultivators intent on killing a powerful fierce corpse! Dàozhǎng would be so pleased!

It had taken all night to track Xiǎo Xīngchén down again—they'd moved on to the next town while he was busy—and all morning to set everything up. He had found them in the markets, grinning when he spotted his Dàozhǎng, stepped forwards to call out to him and Xiǎo Xīngchén had smiled back! They were friends! And it turned out Sòng Lán was less of an idiot than Xuē Yáng had supposed—he hadn’t immediately moved to attack, instead glancing to Xiǎo Xīngchén for his orders like a good dog.

His loss.

Xuē Yáng leapt forwards, taking Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arms, calling up the shadows—

After a few seconds of dizzying darkness, they were somewhere completely new. Xuē Yáng laughed, looking over the room—everything was just as he’d prepared, but now there was no Sòng Lán, no Ā-Qìng to interrupt, just Xuē Yáng and his Dàozhǎng, and they could finally talk again—

There was a whimper.

Xuē Yáng blinked, spinning to face his Dàozhǎng—why was he so pale? Trembling? Gasping at air like a landed fish—Xuē Yáng moved closer, eyes wide, but Xīngchén stumbled back—what was this—what caused this—

Xiǎo Xīngchén shrieked.

It happened quickly.

Xiǎo Xīngchén noticed Xuē Yáng’s golden qi in the same moment the man called out, flickering bright like fire among the soft glow of the civilian lives, and then Xuē Yáng was running forwards, taking his arms, and the world shifted sideways—

This was—this wasn’t where—

The walls were unfamiliar, shapes, people—everything different—where—

Sòng Lán gone—golden fire—air, just air out the window, where—

Noise was different, quiet—

It was all—this wasn’t—

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t know where he was.

Lost.

Nothing familiar, he was lost—

Where was everyone—lost, he was lost, no no no—

Air, where did the air go—

“Dàozhǎng?”

Fire, fire, fire—

Too loud, all too loud—

Iron bands across his lungs—he couldn’t breathe—

“Dàozhǎng! Breathe!”

He couldn’t! He couldn’t!

He was lost!

It was all space, empty space in all directions, floating, falling, wind roaring—

Something across his mouth, couldn’t breath!

He bit it—blood taste—

“Fucking—!”

Hand across his mouth, another around the back of his head, pressing firm—

“Breathe through your nose, Dàozhǎng, you’ll hurt your lungs if you keep gasping like that.”

Blood, there was blood in his mouth—

“Breathe in! Do it! Now!”

He did.

Dàozhǎng still wasn’t breathing right.

He had folded to the floor the moment Xuē Yáng deemed him calm enough to release, and now he was curled forwards, forehead pressed to the floor like he was kowtowing and still breathing too roughly. Xuē Yáng knelt beside him, rubbing circles into his back, leaning over him to try and shield him from whatever was going on. He clenched his injured hand into a fist, pressing the wound closed.

Dàozhǎng wasn’t getting any better. He wasn't gasping, but he was still shaking, and resistant to any attempt to get him to sit up. This wasn’t working. What had even caused it? Xīngchén had been smiling, happy, and then in an instant it all changed, just seconds after Xuē Yáng had teleported them…

Was it something about that? The resentful energy? Some bad scent in the room? Had the motions made him feel sick?

Was this Xuē Yáng’s fault?

“Dàozhǎng, can you speak?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head, then after a beat, he nodded. Still curled up, his face near the floor. His fingers scrambled across the wood.

“I…” Xīngchén’s breathing sped up. Xuē Yáng swore, leaning forwards to hug across the back of his Dàozhǎng’s shoulders, pressing his forehead to the back of his Dàozhǎng’s neck. He hummed, rocking them both slightly, until Xīngchén’s breathing slowed again—still not enough, what the fuck had caused this—

“I’m lost,” Xīngchén whimpered, one of his hands grasping the back of Xuē Yáng’s.

“You’re not lost, you’re here with me.” Xīngchén let out a whine— “It’s fine! We’re just away from the town centre! We’re in the same place as before.”

“I can’t see it.”

“You can’t see a fucking thing on the best of days—”

“I don’t know where I am.”

“I just told you—”

“I don’t know!” he wailed, shaking Xuē Yáng off. “Everything disappeared!”

Disappeared—the teleport? Dàozhǎng’s breathing was speeding up again, he kept letting out these little whimpering noises—

“Dàozhǎng, we’ll go back! It’s really nearby! Nothing disappeared!”

Xuē Yáng grabbed both of Xīngchén’s wrists—

“NO! Don’t—I can’t—”

“We’ll walk! We’ll walk there, no shadows, no teleport, can you walk? We can walk, it’ll be like two minutes! Let’s go! Can you stand?”

His Dàozhǎng was panting and—fucking hell, was he crying? Still, Xīngchén nodded, and as Xuē Yáng stood, he shakily made his way to his feet as well. There was still blood on his Dàozhǎng’s lips—Xuē Yáng’s blood, on his lips, in his mouth—and that was making Xuē Yáng feel all kinds of things he didn’t have time for right now. Instead, he wiped at it with his sleeve. No need to share that sight with anyone else. It was for Xuē Yáng’s eyes only.

They made their way to the doorway slowly, Xīngchén leaning heavily against him. Xuē Yáng gave the room one last glance, his eyes alighting on the table, the tea and everything else set out upon it. What a waste of good candies!

“Come on,” Xuē Yáng said.

Xīngchén seemed to regain his balance sometime as they walked down the stairs, so they crossed the lower floor quickly, Xuē Yáng dragging him forwards by a wrist. The inn-keeper approached as they went past.

“Was there something not to your liking, young master? I’ll arrange to have it fixed—”

“Fuck off.”

“Ah—yes, very well, sir,” the man said, bowing his head to back away, and Xīngchén was still breathing a little too fast and walking like he was drunk but suddenly he was resistant to moving—

“I’m sorry, my friend is quite rude—”

“Dàozhǎng, not now. Come on,” Xuē Yáng said, rolling his eyes. Of course Xīngchén stopped to apologise to the innkeeper.

Outside, they turned straight for the market, Xuē Yáng leading the way quickly down the street. Xīngchén kept close, clinging to his arm, and Xuē Yáng found he quite liked the feeling, walking around in full view of everyone while tangled up with each other. They should definitely do this again on a day when the circumstances weren't quite so worrying. During all the time Xuē Yáng had known him, Xīngchén had never acted this dependent on anyone and he was fucking blind—

“Did I bite you?”

“Yep. Didn’t know you were the type!”

“Is it bad? I can taste blood.”

Xuē Yáng glanced at his left hand. The bleeding had slowed a little, but really it still needed bandaging.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Dàozhǎng, it’s fine. I’ve had worse, some of it at your hand. This is nothing.”

Xīngchén seemed like he might object, but suddenly he twitched, and then he was speeding ahead, fast enough Xuē Yáng had to jog to keep up with his strides.

“Familiar yet?”

“The market…” he sighed, spinning around as if to take in the sights. A few people were staring at them oddly, though it only took a glare from Xuē Yáng and they were back to minding their own fucking business. Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng were nowhere to be seen, probably off searching for his Dàozhǎng.

“Yeah. Told you, only a few minutes away.”

Xīngchén gave a shaky sigh, swaying slightly as the tension drained from his body.

And then he scowled, grabbing Xuē Yáng’s wrist.

“We need to talk.”

“Well yeah! That’s why I came to visit you—”

Xīngchén turned, pulling Xuē Yáng off balance, dragging him in the direction of an empty side alley and crowding him against a wall, where they were somewhat concealed from observation. Normally Xuē Yáng would have been thrilled being so close to him, away from the eyes of others, but Xīngchén was carrying a furious sort of energy about him that made Xuē Yáng think this probably wasn’t going to be an intimate, friendly sort of chat.

“Xuē Yáng—”

“So I noticed Ā-Qìng was on the mend!”

“Don’t you—”

“I should have gutted that mother—”

“Xuē Yáng! Don’t you say another word! How could you do that to me?! What were you trying to achieve!?”

“Dàozhǎng—”

“Zǐchēn kept warning me about this, and I kept arguing with him, and then you actually go and prove him right—”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Oh yes, and you’d know all about what’s right and what’s wrong—”

“Just because you had a fucking breakdown—”

“That you caused!”

“I didn’t! It’s not my fault every single time you freak out—”

“Baixue temple! Zǐchēn’s eyes! Sixty-seven!”

“Not this shit again—”

“Yes, ‘this shit again’, it’s this shit forever! I didn’t have attacks like this until I met you!”

Xuē Yáng flinched, blinking rapidly.

“Is that it, then?” Xuē Yáng muttered.

“Is this what?”

“You’re just gonna string me along like this, forever? Was anything you promised real or were you just waiting for a better moment to stick a knife in my neck!?”

“What right do you have to be angry right now?!”

“I have every right! You’re the one turning this into an argument!”

“You attacked me! You did this to me!”

“Oh, so I do just one little thing and suddenly I’m attacking you? Was any of that real, or were you just faking?!”

“Why would I fake that!?”

“Why would a teleport make you break down!?”

“I don’t know!”

There were a few seconds of silence, filled only by the noise of their breathing.

“Well, that’s a fucking lie.”

“Why!? Why would I lie about that!?”

“Because you want to control me? Make me some obedient little weapon? Really, the subterfuge was unnecessary, I already offered to kill whoever you wanted killed—”

“This isn’t about you!”

“Then why the fuck are you blaming me for it!?”

“Because it’s your fault! You hurt me!”

“Seems a lot like you’re just looking for someone convenient to blame your own issues on—”

“You were abducting me!”

That gave Xuē Yáng pause.

“I wasn’t.”

“You grabbed me and teleported me somewhere I didn’t know!”

“That wasn’t what was happening—”

“What was happening, then!?”

“I wanted to have lunch with you! Is that a fucking crime, now?”

Xīngchén gaped for a few seconds, before pressing his lips together tightly. He didn’t answer.

“Fuck this,” Xuē Yáng said, turning to leave.

Xīngchén didn’t release his wrist.

“Don’t walk away from this.”

“Why not? That’s what you’re hoping for, right? You and Zǐchēn just want me completely gone from your cheery boring fucking life so you can get back to screwing each other and solving world peace—”

“That is not what’s happening!”

“Why not? Sòng Lán gone frigid on you?”

“Xuē Yáng!”

“Dàozhǎng!”

Xīngchén’s grip tightened, and Xuē Yáng turned to him, stepping into his space. There was an ugly twist to Xīngchén’s lips.

“You need to accept responsibility for the way your actions hurt others,” Xīngchén snapped.

“It isn’t my fault if someone else gets their feelings in a mess.”

“The least you owe me is an apology—”

“For what? I don’t regret anything.”

Xīngchén flinched, releasing Xuē Yáng’s wrist. Xuē Yáng glared down at their hands, then up at his Dàozhǎng as the man stumbled back another step. He looked—

“Oh. I see,” Xīngchén murmured, wrapping his arms across his chest. “You should leave, then. That’s my mistake.”

Xuē Yáng didn’t want to leave. He wanted Xīngchén to be all smiling laughter again, or else the righteous storm. But instead Xīngchén’s head was ducked down, folding himself small and shaking like he was about to cry again. Xuē Yáng’s gaze drifted to Shuānghuá, still strapped across Xīngchén’s back.

“Dàozhǎng…”

“There’s no reason for you to stay here, Xuē Yáng.”

“I don’t like it when you’re sad.”

Xīngchén made a disbelieving noise, leaning back against the wall.

“Stop making me feel sad, then.”

“I didn—” Xuē Yáng cut himself off. “It wasn’t supposed to, it was… I didn’t know it would make you upset.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Is that everything?” his Dàozhǎng asked eventually. He didn’t sound any better, arms still crossed, an angry twist to his mouth. “I’m going to go find Zǐchēn, then.”

“Dàozhǎng!”

“Look! Xuē Yáng, it is not my job to teach you basic adult manners! I shouldn't have to stay calm and just endure it when you do things that hurt me! And it is not my responsibility to helpfully walk you through every single reconciliation we have!”

“I’ll say it, then! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t say the words just because you think I want to hear them.”

“Do you want me to apologise or not!?”

“Not if it’s empty of all sentiment! Only say the words if you mean them!”

“I do mean it!”

“Fine! Why are you sorry? What specific things are you sorry about?”

“I…”

Xīngchén snorted, turning away—

“Wait! Just—give me a second—everything’s muddled up right now…”

Xīngchén didn’t look particularly convinced, but he didn’t leave. Xuē Yáng sighed, closing his eyes to think for a few seconds.

“Okay. Dàozhǎng, I am sorry that teleporting scared you. I didn’t want to scare you, we were meant to have fun together... so the teleport was a mistake. Also, I'm sorry for saying things to make you more upset, I... I don’t know why I said that stuff, I knew it would make you angry, but I hate when you're angry at me, but angry is still better than sad... and I’m sorry for… for back when—in Yi City, when—that stuff. Sixty-seven. And Sòng Lán. I hate how it makes you sad. And I hate how I can't undo those things and fix it properly."

He opened his eyes. Xīngchén still had his arms crossed, but some of the tension across his shoulders had relaxed.

“Thank you.”

Xīngchén didn’t say anything further. But he didn’t leave. And as the silence stretched, he seemed to regain his usual calm demeanor. Xue yang stood there and waited, fiddling with his hair.

Eventually Xīngchén let out a long sigh, his lips quirking into a half-hearted smile. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. And for biting you,” Xīngchén said. “Can I examine the wound for you?”

Xuē Yáng let him, watching as his Dàozhǎng ran gentle fingertips across the skin of his palm. The actual injury was to the fleshy part at the base of his thumb and it had begun to coagulate, but opening his hand had encouraged the blood to flow free again, adding to the mess across his palm. After a second, golden energy began to flow, pouring from within his Dàozhǎng’s skin to settle under his own, repairing everything that had been damaged.

It itched like a dozen ant bites. Healing was never a pleasant sensation.

“A bandage would have been enough,” Xuē Yáng murmured.

“What have I told you about arguing with your doctor? I wanted to do it this way. Besides, you have enough issues with this particular hand, you don't need me leaving another scar across it."

"Maybe I wanted another scar."

Xīngchén laughed softly, thumbs rubbing into the flesh of Xuē Yáng's palm in a massage.

"That feels nice," Xuē Yáng murmured, swaying closer. Xīngchén hummed.

"Does it give you trouble, this hand?"

"What do you mean, trouble?"

"Crushed under the wheel of a cart and injured badly enough that you lost a finger... pains, aches, and cramps would all be normal to experience, even after it healed. I realise I never asked about it, after you told me how it was injured."

"You were distracted that day."

"That's true."

They were both quiet for a few seconds, Xuē Yáng watching the hypnotic movement of Xīngchén's fingers moving across his skin.

"It must have been quite painful and scary to experience something like that."

Xuē Yáng took a deep breath, his eyes falling closed.

"Maybe it was a lie to gain your sympathy."

"Xuē Yáng, I can feel the places where the bones healed poorly, they're slightly misaligned. The damage was obviously quite extensive."

"Yes, but it could have happened different to how I said."

"Did it?"

"If I was lying earlier, why would I tell the truth now?"

"Were you lying?"

"No."

"Well, then! Stop avoiding your doctor's questions."

"You're very pushy," Xuē Yáng said with a laugh, letting his head fall against Xīngchén's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Xīngchén’s waist.

Xīngchén froze.

For a second, Xuē Yáng worried he had miscalculated—were hugs something only Xīngchén could start?—but then Xīngchén’s arms were around his shoulders, holding close and tight. Xuē Yáng hummed, and breathed him in.

“I really didn’t mean to scare you,” Xuē Yáng mumbled against his chest.

“Why did you do it?”

“So we could have lunch together, without Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng there.”

“No, I mean, why jump straight to teleporting instead of just asking me if I wanted to have lunch with you?”

“Sòng Lán would have interfered. Or you might have said no.”

“Xuē Yáng.” There was an admonishment in his tone. Xuē Yáng bit his lip, drawing back enough to watch Xiǎo Xīngchén’s face.

“Do you still want to be friends with me?”

“What?” Xīngchén said softly.

“You keep on—we keep on yelling, and I say things that hurt your feelings and make you cry. You’d tell me if you changed your mind, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I’d tell you if I changed my mind… I still want to be friends with you. Was that worrying you?”

“I made you all angry and sad, like before.”

Xīngchén sighed. “I considered things very thoroughly before answering you; I’m not going to change my answer just because of an argument. Xuē Yáng, I like you. I want to keep you as my friend.”

Xuē Yáng felt his cheeks grow warm. He hid his face against Xīngchén’s shoulder.

“I like you too. I like you so much.”

“I’ve gathered that much. I’m sorry for making you worry about that. Please, just, try to consider how your actions might harm others before you go through with them. Today was unpleasant to experience.”

Xuē Yáng nodded.

“It was meant to be nice. I got some of your favourite candies and they have this fancy floral tea I found—I don’t know if you ever had it before but they used to serve it in Jīnlín Tái. Also I have this new talisman you should use, it’ll help conceal Sòng Lán’s resentful energy so that he won’t attract passing cultivator attention anymore.”

“You noticed that?”

“Dàozhǎng, how do you think I track you down so quickly? His presence is like black smoke against a blue sky! Here, it goes like this.”

Xuē Yáng took Xīngchén’s hand, flattening his palm and fingers, and then he began to trace the seal script across his hand.

“This version is one you can use on him, it will be a small drain on your qi as long as it’s active. But if you change this part here like that—” Xuē Yáng retraced the seal, with one minor modification, “—then it will be powered by resentful energy instead of qi, and Sòng Lán can cast it on himself.”

Xīngchén tangled their fingers once Xuē Yáng was done.

“Did you design this?”

“I needed to give you a gift.”

“Thank you.” He sighed. “I do hope our next meeting goes more smoothly.”

“Is that your way of telling me it’s time for me to leave?”

“Zǐchēn will be fairly frantic by now, after the way you greeted us. I need to find him. And I don’t think he’ll be in any mood to be merciful towards you right now.”

“I suppose…”

Xīngchén hugged him again before they parted, a quick yet firm embrace.

“Keep yourself safe,” Xīngchén murmured against his ear.

“Always, Dàozhǎng.”

Xuē Yáng leaned back against the wall, watching long after Xīngchén disappeared into the crowd. That could have gone a lot better.

He frowned, his eyes shifting to examine his newly healed hand. It hurt about as much as it ever did; so, that meant enough that it was noticeable, but still easy enough to ignore. The fresh scar caught the light, and Xuē Yáng found he was smiling. Things could have gone a lot worse, too.

Xīngchén still wanted to be friends. That was all that was important.

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán had had a terrible day, only made slightly less awful by the fact that when he returned to their room in the late afternoon, Xiǎo Xīngchén was sitting there waiting, apparently unharmed and no worse for the experience. He turned to the doorway when Sòng Lán entered, and gave a tired little smile, and Sòng Lán was already moving, lunging forwards to drop to his knees by Xīngchén’s side.

“It’s okay. Everything’s fine,” Xīngchén murmured, and Sòng Lán took up his hands—warm and strong and living—and brought those fingers to his lips, kissing briefly across Xīngchén’s knuckles before resting his forehead against the same place, letting the proof of Xīngchén’s life calm the frantic ache in his chest.

“Zǐchēn?”

Sòng Lán opened his eyes and stared, taking in every beloved detail of this utterly foolish man. He really did appear to be fine. Whatever spell Xuē Yáng had used had left no visible trace.

“He got back about half an hour ago,” Ā-Qìng said, and Sòng Lán blinked, finally registering her presence in the room. Of course she was in the room. This was where he’d left her to wait in relative safety while he searched. “We didn’t know how to signal you, so we thought it was best just to wait until you got back.”

Sòng Lán nodded slowly, and turned back to Xīngchén.

“What happened?”

Xīngchén gave another smile, although it looked more like a grimace.

“It was a misunderstanding, that’s all. Xuē Yáng just wanted to visit and invite me to lunch. I declined. And so I came back here.”

Sòng Lán could only stare in disbelief at that masterful use of understatement. Xīngchén may have been unharmed but he was clearly exhausted, and there were red marks on the bandage across his eyes like he’d been crying, and the man still couldn’t manage to actually smile without trembling.

“Please tell me,” Sòng Lán asked, and tried not to feel hurt when Xīngchén remained silent. It was... well, it wasn't fine but it was understandable. It had been Sòng Lán's harsh words and years spent wandering separately that had crafted this distance between them. It made sense that Xīngchén would to endure each new difficulty alone rather than rely on Sòng Lán to support him. Xīngchén’s forgiveness was freely given, but his trust was slow to return.

So what did that say about his trust in Xuē Yáng?

“If you wish to talk, I will listen,” Sòng Lán said eventually, brushing his thumbs across the backs of Xīngchén’s hands, before moving to stand.

Xīngchén held him still.

Sòng Lán blinked, staring down at him.

“Zǐchēn, I… would you sit with me for a little while?”

“Of course.”

Sòng Lán settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, and still Xīngchén didn’t release his hands.

“You don’t mind, do you? The touching? I know it bothers you sometimes.”

Not when it’s you doing it.

Sòng Lán just shifted closer, and Xīngchén took that as the invitation it was intended to be, leaning heavily against him. Ā-Qìng darted over, taking up a position at Xīngchén’s other side and hugging him tightly.

“I’m just… I feel tired,” Xīngchén said, and he let out a deep sigh. “It’s difficult, sometimes… if someone hurts me, it’s okay if I get angry, isn’t it? I don’t like how I am when I’m angry, but—why do I have to be the one to talk him through how to apologise to me for something he did to me ? I even said I wouldn’t, and then I did it anyway… I know he’s trying and it was a mistake, but I’m the one he hurt, it shouldn’t be my job to teach him to be better! I’ve a right to that, don’t I?”

Are you sure Xuē Yáng only hurt you by mistake?

Sòng Lán caught that snide little thought and smothered it. Now was not the time.

The memory of that hug sprang into his mind, unbidden. The raw joy that painted across Xuē Yáng’s face, the way his eyes shone when he grinned, his laughter. All of it so different than anything Sòng Lán had seen from him before—Xuē Yáng was rarely found without a smile on his face, but those had all been mocking, boastful, or eager for blood. That smile for Xīngchén, it had been different… and there was the way both of them had grown calmer in each other’s presence, switching from talk of murder and blood to friendly conversation—

Foolish thoughts. It was obviously part of Xuē Yáng’s deception. Sòng Lán could see the way a cruel game like this would play out: Xuē Yáng claiming to be a good person, acting heroically enough that Xīngchén invested his hope in the man, then using that connection to break Xīngchén's heart over and over. Presenting himself as a corrupted individual who could be healed and made pure if only Xīngchén tried a little harder, gave a little more of himself. Was Xuē Yáng laughing, wherever he was? Delighted by the hurt he’d caused today?

Sòng Lán kept his musings to himself. Xīngchén wouldn’t want to hear them right now. Instead he shifted slightly, stretching his arm across Xīngchén’s shoulders in a one-sided hug, and Xīngchén sighed as he settled closer.

“The spell he used, it was a teleport. We reappeared in a room near the edges of town. I don’t really remember much of it after that… something about it, it terrified me. It’s like, walking around, I can keep a map in my head of where everything is and where I am, I can track the qi of any living thing or undead thing moving around, but the teleport—suddenly everything was new and I didn’t know where anything was or—”

Xīngchén cut himself off as his voice grew frantic. He swallowed, and after a few seconds, spoke again.

“It felt like falling from a sword in the middle of the night sky, nothing but void in all directions.”

Xīngchén fell silent, and Sòng Lán glanced to Ā-Qìng. She grimaced and gave a shrug.

“You should have just let him bleed out,” Ā-Qìng said.

“You don’t mean that,” Xīngchén was quick to snap back.

“Maybe I do.”

“Ā-Qìng!”

“Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, I know you want us to be like one big happy family or something, but he’s creepy! He gave me a knife he stabbed someone with!”

“You love that knife. You've been playing with it all week."

“It’s really pretty and sharp. It’s still weird he gave it to me, though.”

Xīngchén sighed, but he seemed a little happier regardless. Sòng Lán smiled.

“He’s trying. He’s just not that practiced with, well… normal human interaction, I suppose. When he grabbed me and teleported, I think he intended it to be playful. Didn’t cross his mind to maybe greet me first, or ask if I wanted to leave with him, he just assumed that I did and acted. Sorry, Zǐchēn, I know you don’t like hearing about him at such length.”

Sòng Lán grunted, rolling his eyes. Turning Xīngchén’s hand over, he wrote, “Stop apologising. I like hearing you speak. Even if it’s about him.”

Xīngchén smiled as he traced the words, turning to hide his face against Sòng Lán’s shoulder.

“I like talking with you again, too! Zǐchēn, you’re one of my favourite people in the world. I feel so happy just being near you,” he said, and Sòng Lán felt like he’d be blushing if he still could. He didn’t need to look to Ā-Qìng to know she was smirking at him. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Any time.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Xīngchén said, shifting to sit upright. “I have a talisman that could help hide your resentful energy signature! Isn’t that useful?”

Sòng Lán paused, blinking. It did sound like a useful thing. But the timing…

“Did Xuē Yáng give you the talisman?”

Xīngchén gave a sheepish smile.

“Ā-Qìng, could you fetch me some ink and paper from the side table? If it looks innocuous, would you be willing to try it, Zǐchēn?”

Sòng Lán frowned and didn’t answer. Obviously anything Xuē Yáng suggested was suspicious, but the man was a specialist at manipulating resentful energy. And it was completely possible that an evildoer could use tools that were not inherently dangerous or evil.

Xīngchén took the inkstone from Ā-Qìng, grinding the pigment against it in a familiar motion. Xīngchén’s calligraphy had suffered greatly as a result of his blindness. He could still write well enough for someone to read, but when it came to drawing talismans, accuracy was vital. Explosions weren’t uncommon when using poorly drawn talismans. Luckily, Xīngchén had come up with a solution. 

Xīngchén dipped a fingertip into the ink, before holding his hand above the paper, tracing the pattern in the air. His qi flowed through his fingers to carry the ink onto the paper. Sòng Lán smiled, watching him work. 

When he’d first seen Xīngchén use this technique, he’d had to ask why Xīngchén didn’t use it for all his written correspondence, since it left “brushstrokes” as beautiful as any handwritten calligraphy. Xīngchén had simply smiled, and explained that he saw no point in using qi to do something he could achieve with a little effort. As long as his handwriting was legible, beauty was unnecessary.

It was an unusual attitude among the cultivation world these days, to value practicality over aesthetics. Lánlíng Jīn’s influence, no doubt.

Xīngchén completed the talisman with a final stroke, and passed the paper over to Sòng Lán. It… didn’t look evil. The design wasn’t for a shield or anything similar. Instead it appeared to be a form of camouflage, drawing on nearby qi signals—animals, plants, humans—and mimicking them. Sòng Lán traced over the energy input, the targeting sigil, the scattering array. It was actually rather elegant.

“There was also this alternative form,” Xīngchén said, handing over a near identical pattern. In fact, comparing the two, the only differences were around the energy input. “The first pattern can be powered by qi, the second by resentful energy.”

Xuē Yáng could not have created these. The work was too elegant, there was no way!—he must have stolen the designs from somewhere. But who else except a demonic cultivator would have a use for a talisman that concealed resentful energy?

“Would you like to try them?”

Sòng Lán frowned. They really would be very useful, if they actually worked. He couldn’t actually find anything suspicious about the design, and apparently neither could Xīngchén.

Sòng Lán sighed, and sent a little energy into the second pattern. It glowed briefly, and settled back onto the ground. Had it worked? He didn’t feel any different—

“Zǐchēn? Are… you’re still here?”

Xīngchén’s lips were pressed into a tight smile. Sòng Lán placed a hand on his arm and Xīngchén flinched as if surprised.

“Oh! Well, it’s effective, at least. Wait, let me see if I… it’s strange. If I focus, I know you’re there, and I can nearly sense the shape of you, the edges, but apart from that it’s like there’s nothing notable at all about your presence. You’re blending into the environment. I wonder if it works with Shuānghuá too.”

The talisman didn’t fool the sword, but again and again it worked against Xīngchén’s senses, no matter if he cast it or Sòng Lán did. Eventually they stopped the tests.

All three of them remained in the room for the rest of the day. Xīngchén seemed calmer and happier than earlier, but Sòng Lán thought he was probably still a little frazzled from everything. When one of the inn-workers came by to drop off their dinner, Xīngchén held still, half-hidden in one corner of the room like he didn’t want to be seen or noticed. 

Sòng Lán decided against using the concealment talisman that evening, keeping close to Xīngchén’s side. That seemed to help. Xīngchén would reach for him in random moments, grasp his hand, or his arm, as if to reassure himself Sòng Lán was still near, that his senses weren’t deceiving him. The touches never lasted long, only a few seconds, but Xīngchén would smile, tension draining from his shoulders.

When they turned the lights out to sleep, Sòng Lán sat on the floor by Xīngchén's bed, his back against the bedframe. After a few minutes, warm fingertips began to brush across his shoulders, searching... and then Xīngchén's palm was pressed flat against his back. He heard Xīngchén sigh, heard him shifting closer.

"Thank you for staying, Zǐchēn," Xīngchén whispered into the dark.

Sòng Lán smiled. He tapped his fingers against the ground, quietly enough it wouldn't disturb Ā-Qìng. Xīngchén laughed softly, and repeated the pattern against Sòng Lán's back.

Three sets of three beats; the signal for All is well.

Xiǎo Xīngchén awoke that morning with an odd melancholy. The events of yesterday seemed no more than a bad dream, but one he couldn’t quite shake. He breathed slowly, mapping the room in his head. Familiar walls, familiar floors. The scent of candles burning. The quiet sound of a brush on paper.

Zǐchēn was here, resentful energy moving in gentle waves while he focused. Was it really accurate to call it resentful energy? That was almost like calling qi joyful energy. Resentment may be what bound most dead things to the plane of the living, but it was hardly the whole picture. Undead qi, perhaps.

What did Xuē Yáng think about this? Working with resentful energy so often, he must have some kind of opinion on the subject.

Xiǎo Xīngchén had never woken peacefully in a room with Ā-Qìng, Zǐchēn and Xuē Yáng all present; they had never all travelled together as friends. It was odd how that was feeling more and more like an aberration, instead of the norm. Even after yesterday's events, he missed Xuē Yáng.

Ā-Qìng complained about the morning chill from the moment she awoke. Xīngchén let her borrow his outer coat while they ate breakfast.

“How’s your arm today, Ā-Qìng?”

“It still hurts a bit when I just wake up, but it’s mostly alright, now.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “Your strength-building exercises should help with the recovery too, but please don’t push yourself too hard. If it hurts, rest for a while.”

“I’m not the one who pushes myself when I’m hurting, Xīngchén-dàozhǎng.”

Zǐchēn grunted in agreement. Xīngchén smiled, and focused on eating.

“Um, Xīngchén-dàozhǎng…” Ā-Qìng trailed off. “It’s not important, actually.”

“Please, Ā-Qìng, if something is on your mind, share it.”

She didn’t answer, so Xiǎo Xīngchén turned back to their tea and breakfast. Best to give her space to think.

“You called me your daughter. Last week. When that—you said daughter.”

Xīngchén grew still, and then he placed his teacup down.

“I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I? My goal was to push them off balance, and the quickest way to do that was to claim we were family.”

“No, I get that part, it was a good play, but… do you think it’s true? Do you see me like that?”

“As my daughter?”

“As family.”

Xīngchén gave a smile and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Ā-Qìng laughed, shifting over to sit by his side. “You’re my family too, Xīngchén-dàozhǎng! But there’s no way you’re my father! I swear, I'm always getting you out of trouble. You’d have gotten mugged a dozen times if it wasn’t for me! Or robbed blind!”

“Oh no, not blind,” Xīngchén said, and Ā-Qìng snorted in a distinctly unladylike manner. 

“Admit it, Xīngchén-dàozhǎng, you’d be lost without me.”

“I think you’re quite correct, Ā-Qìng. Would you do me the honour of allowing me to call you my little sister?” 

“It seems appropriate to me! I’ll have to call you my dàgē! Because you’re my first big brother!” she said, hugging his arm with a laugh. After a few moments though, she sighed, and when she spoke again her playfulness had fallen away. “I used to have sisters, did I ever tell you that, Dàgē?”

“No… would you like to talk about them?”

She was quiet for a long moment.

“It was before you ever arrived, a long time ago. It was me and A-yu and A-jiě... A-jiě looked after us. We all helped each other. But I don’t know where they are, now. They disappeared. It happens a lot.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Xīngchén said with a frown. “We could look for them, if you want—”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

“Even still.”

Ā-Qìng sighed, leaning heavily against his side.

“You’re very sweet, Dàgē, but I think it’s probably long too late to find them again. Whatever happened to them. It’s better to focus on the future.”

Xīngchén nodded, shifting his arm around her shoulders. He wouldn’t push, not if she didn’t want to share anything further. But if there was even the slightest chance that Ā-Qìng’s sisters were out there and alive, Xīngchén would make sure they had the opportunity to meet again.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng didn’t really mind travelling alone. In fact, he preferred it most days.

People were loud, annoying, and for the most part they were completely boring. Only interested in whatever tiny dramas were playing out in their mundane little lives, and screaming at each other, and scheming at each other, and Xuē Yáng wanted no part in any of it. They always tried to get you involved, too, forming their silly little alliances over absolutely nothing and turning to stab each other in the back the moment it was convenient.

Travelling alone, you never had to worry about any of that crap.

Xuē Yáng was not travelling alone.

“If you’re a cultivator, how come you don’t have a sword?”

He closed his eyes for a second, counting up to ten, and then twenty, and then thirty when that wasn’t enough.

“I’ve told you several times already that I keep my sword in a qiánkūn sleeve.”

“Yeah, but is that a real thing though? Because Jiějiě says you’re a liar and probably a bandit.”

“Your Jiějiě is nine, she hasn’t got a fucking clue what she’s talking about.”

The kid seemed to consider this for a few seconds, before saying, “Mama says you have to wash your mouth out with soap if you say words like that.”

“You should go say that word in front of your mama and see what happens.”

“But I don’t want to eat soap!” the kid said, aghast.

“We’re in the middle of the fucking wilderness, does it look like she has any soap? No. This may be your only chance.”

“But Mama would remember! And when we get to Auntie’s house, then Auntie will give her soap!”

“You’re probably already doomed, then.”

“Yeah,” the kid said in such a sad, resigned way that Xuē Yáng had to hold back a laugh.

There were four kids travelling in the group, all of them under the age of ten. Among the adults, there was Mama, Papa and Uncle; and two siblings of marriageable age, a brother and sister, who both worked as house servants. Uncle had overheard Xuē Yáng introducing himself to an innkeeper, and sidled over to request Xuē Chéngměi’s assistance in protecting the group from monsters and actual bandits while they embarked on this arduous journey to the town where Auntie lived. And while Xuē Yáng could think of half a dozen reasons why Uncle should just fuck off, Xuē Chéngměi had been unable to think of any legitimate reason to turn them down.

And so here they were: walking along a wide, well-travelled road towards a mountain pass, with Xuē Yáng present to provide protection from bandits, because as much as he wished otherwise, whatever stupid noble good thing Xuē Chéngměi tried to do, it was Xuē Yáng who had to put in the work.

It would have been an hour’s journey, by sword flight. With the kids present, it was gonna be a three day walk.

“Are you sure you actually have a sword, though?”

Xuē Yáng sighed.

The first night, there was no trouble. And as they moved further into the hills, Xuē Yáng could understand why they might fear bandits on this stretch of road. There were so many blind corners and switchbacks, any slow-moving target would be incredibly vulnerable. The unease spread through the group pretty quickly, and even the kids were acting quiet and keeping close.

Xuē Yáng wasn’t worried. The hills and this road had seen enough death that there was plenty of resentful energy to draw from. Even the occasional corpse buried under scree. He had lots to work with. Not that the group would feel very comforted by that fact. It was a funny thing: for some reason most people were horrified by reminders of their own mortality and the omnipresence of death in their lives. Who’d have guessed?

Kids were different. They had an amazing capacity to be disturbingly morbid, and it was delightful. They’d run around pointing at various buildings asking if someone had died there and stare all wide-eyed if he said yes. Then they’d start asking for details, the grosser the better, and they’d squeal and cackle and chase each other around while yelling about how they were going to dismember each other. Silly little things.

Xuē Yáng glanced over the group, locating three of them—the smallest one was taking a nap, sat on top of the donkey, the other two playing a game that seemed to involve naming different kinds of bird—where was the fourth one? The younger boy? He couldn’t have wandered off, Xuē Yáng had seen him just a moment before, had he tripped? Fallen off the path?

“Have you fought monsters before?”

Xuē Yáng flinched. He turned a narrow-eyed glare over his shoulder at where the kid was standing directly behind him. The kid stared up at him, completely unfazed.

“Don’t walk behind me like that. If you do that again, I’ll stab you, and then you’d be dead and unable to ask me inane questions.”

The kid blinked.

“Mama would hit you on the head if you stabbed me, I think.”

Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes rather than debate how absurd that statement was. He was certain there was not a thing he could say that could counter such unshakable faith. Grabbing the kid’s collar, he gave him a gentle shove back in the direction of the others.

“It’s like herding chickens,” he muttered. Mama gave him a sympathetic glance.

“You’re very patient with them,” she said, and that comment nearly made Xuē Yáng trip over his own feet. He’d been described as many different things over the years, but patient? She must have read something in his expression, because she began to laugh. Xuē Yáng narrowed his eyes and stormed forwards until he was several paces ahead of the group, leading the way.

Within a few minutes, the kid was back at his side.

“Jiějiě said that monsters aren’t real, they’re just made up so cultivators can get free stuff.”

“I’ve fought monsters before. Most of them would eat you before you knew they were there. And then your Jiějiě would get all your stuff for free because she wouldn’t have a tiny little brother she had to share with anymore.”

The kid considered this.

“Jiějiě said that if monsters were real, she’d throw rocks at them until they go away.”

“Your Jiějiě is welcome to try.”

The path was flatter in the high hills. Most of the surroundings were grass and rock, slopes covered in pebbles and stretching up to sharper cliffs. Wherever it was even slightly sheltered, trees were growing. Scraggly things, battered by the wind and twisted into odd shapes. 

There were many points where the children would stop to stare at the view looking out across the valleys, chattering about what it would be like to be birds flying over the land. Xuē Yáng found he minded the interruptions less than he thought he might. The children needed the rest; their stamina couldn’t handle “long” journeys yet, though you wouldn’t know it by the way they ran around playing at every opportunity. The views were pretty, anyway.

They stopped for the second evening near a large pond fed by a waterfall. Xuē Yáng sat near the water, observing everything he could, memorising it. By dinnertime, all of the children were sitting near him, even the sceptical little Jiějiě. Xuē Yáng pretended he hadn’t noticed she was also here.

“Is it true that you can fly on a sword?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t listen to him, it doesn’t even make sense! A sword doesn’t give you wings!”

“Oh. So Xuē-gēgē is lying again, Jiějiě?”

“He’s definitely lying.”

Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes.

"Can we see your sword?"

“Are you a monster, yao, ghost, or demon?”

“No.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Are you bandits? Thieves? Miscreants?” 

“What’s a miscr--a miscreenant?”

“Fancy word for bad guy,” Xuē Yáng added.

“We’re not bad guys!” 

“Well, if you’re not bad guys or monsters, why should I get out my sword?”

Little Jiějiě sniffed, shaking her head like a disappointed teacher. 

“He probably doesn’t even have a sword,” she said, turning away. After a few seconds, she glanced back, then sniffed haughtily when she saw Xuē Yáng had still failed to produce a sword.

On the morning of their third day, two men strode out onto the path before them, wielding weapons and demanding money. All the adults crowded closer, shifting to protect the kids as more bandits appeared at the sides of the road.

And then little Jiějiě threw a rock at the lead bandit, clipping the side of his head.

“You can’t steal from us! Xue-gēgē is a cultivator! He’ll beat you all up!” she called out. Xuē Yáng raised an eyebrow at the unexpected show of faith, but stepped forwards nonetheless, a pleasant smile on his face. The lead bandit turned to face him and scoffed.

“This kid? A cultivator? You’ve been conned!” the bandit said with a cackle. “Sit down, brat, no one believes you’re dangerous just because you wear black!”

The rest of the bandits were all laughing, jeering among themselves. Xuē Yáng’s smile didn’t fade.

Moving forwards, he grabbed the leader by the neck, lifting him off the ground with one hand. The man struggled for a second or two, until he realised Jiàngzāi was pressed against his guts.

“You’re just regular people, what makes you think you have a chance against someone like me?” Xuē Yáng glanced around the group, staring at each of the bandits in turn. “I don’t need spells or magic to defeat you all. I am physically stronger and faster than any of you could hope to be, with the endurance to match. None of you could scratch me if you tried.”

Almost carelessly, he threw the lead bandit to one side. He went flying through the air, slamming into a tree. The rest were still frozen on the spot, watching.

“Stay out of our way. We’re just passing through.”

There was a scream from one of the kids as a bandit tried to stab Xuē Yáng in the back. Xuē Yáng side-stepped it easily, grabbing the thug’s wrist and throwing him into two other bandits.

“Anyone else? It’s been a very long time since my Jiàngzāi tasted blood. Please, make my day,” he said, grinning widely. 

The remaining bandits were wiser than they appeared. None of them attacked, and Xuē Yáng’s group quickly moved forwards, heading down the mountain.

“Okay, so there are four main kinds of creatures cultivators deal with: ghosts, demons, yao, and monsters. Do you know what makes them all different?”

“Um… they’re, um…”

“Demons are evil…”

“Last year, I remember, there was this festival and we all got to wear masks and also, some of the masks looked like they were monsters, and also, I found this one that had a lion face but then we couldn’t get it because, because I went and found Mama but then the lion mask was already bought by some other uncle.”

Xuē Yáng hummed, resting his chin on one hand. “That’s a fun story.”

“Mama let me get a mask and it had, um, it had all these red bits on it.”

“What’s a yao?”

“A yao is a non-human living thing that has learned how to cultivate spiritual energy,” Xuē Yáng said. When they'd stopped for lunch, all four of the kids had gathered to sit before him, asking questions and telling him stories and staring at him with their weird giant eyes. Nearby, he could sense the other adults were watching. They kept smiling when he glanced their way. Weird.

“Demons are evil, though, right?”

“Sometimes they can be. A demon is a living human who has been corrupted or possessed by resentful energy.”

“It sounds evil.”

Xuē Yáng shrugged. “Sounding like it’s evil doesn’t make it evil.”

“Once, there was this time once when my friend stole my wooden marble, and actually he’s not my friend anymore.”

“Okay. I’ve never met your ex-friend. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“He’s, um, my friend’s papa is the one who makes hats.”

“I see.”

“And anyway, my wooden marble, it has these pretty carvings on it and they are, um, mama said they’re, um, a charm. And also if I keep my wooden marble, then demons can’t see me.”

“Uh huh. Can I see the wooden marble?”

“Don’t give it to him, he’ll steal it!”

The kid, who had been searching inside his sleeves for the marble, looked up at Xuē Yáng with an expression of horror. Xuē Yáng pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t laugh.

“I won’t steal the marble, I promise,” Xuē Yáng said. “I just want to look at how pretty it is.”

The kid looked at his sister, then back to Xuē Yáng. He straightened his shoulders, and with a dignity belonging to a Sect leader, he bestowed the wooden marble on Xuē Yáng’s palm.

“Thank you.”

“I bet he won’t give it back.”

“But I swore I would! Don’t you trust my integrity, little miss?” Xuē Yáng said with feigned dismay, rolling the marble around in his fingers. It was a cheap thing, the kind of useless trinket they sold in markets everywhere, carved with nonsense seal script. But if he just made a few adjustments…

The kids shrieked when the marble began to glow, the girl screaming about him setting the thing on fire. Xuē Yáng ignored them, focused on shaping the qi around the marble. With his other hand, he drew up a few shadows and spun them in rings around the glowing core.

Then it was done.

“It’s a powerful talisman, this marble. Your Mama is right, as long as you keep this with you, demons won’t notice you, or anyone you’re hugging. You will be invisible to them.”

Xuē Yáng offered the marble back, and the boy reached for it with wide eyes.

The spellwork hadn’t been that difficult. It was basically the same talisman he’d designed for Sòng Lán, but closer to the original magic Xuē Yáng used to hide himself among shadows. Of course, the way Xuē Yáng did it was more powerful than either version of the talisman—convincing undead things to willingly help you always was. But the new talisman would serve its purpose well enough. It would draw on ambient resentful energy to hide a human’s qi, and as such, would be permanently active. As long as the kid kept the marble around, he would be invisible to demons, ghosts, and anything that relied on qi instead of sight to sense their surroundings.

The hardest part had actually been hiding the real script within the marble, so that it wouldn’t alter the outside appearance.

“I bet that was just a magic trick.”

Children were so ungrateful.

They invited him to dinner as a thank you for his help. Xuē Yáng agreed—a free meal was always worth checking out!—before excusing himself to run an errand or two now that they were back in civilization.

He wandered the streets slowly, headed for somewhere away from the busy areas, greeting some of the more powerful ghosts and shadows, and otherwise just memorising the scenery.

Sneaking up on the two bandits who were stalking him was piss-easy.

“Boo.”

Xuē Yáng grinned as the pair of bandits shrieked, spinning to face him. One of them tried to lash out using a crudely made club, but he tripped over his own feet before he managed it. The other actually dropped his weapon altogether.

Xuē Yáng shook his head.

“You two might be the worst criminals I’ve ever seen. Why the fuck did you follow us here? I thought I made myself clear—”

“You did! You did, young master cultivator sir!”

“Yes, we’re not here to steal from the family!”

“If you’re going to try and steal from me instead, wait for me to sleep or something first. You know, so you have even a slight advantage? This is just pathetic.”

The two bandits glanced at each other. They looked on the verge of tears. And then, for some reason, both of them dropped to their knees in deep bows.

“Please, young master cultivator, can you help us?”

Chapter Text

“What?”

The two bandits—one of them looked like a teenager, the other was old enough to be the teen’s father—both bowed deeper. The teenager was actually crying now.

“Will you help us, sir?”

“Why—what? You were trying to rob that family just a few hours ago, why would I help you?”

“I know, we’re sorry!”

“So sorry!”

“We just had no other choice!”

“We needed the money!”

Xuē Yáng crossed his arms, staring down at them both.

“This is getting boring. You have twenty seconds. Tell me why you need me, or I’m going to leave. That makes fifteen seconds now, by the way.”

Both bandits immediately began babbling.

“Sorry? What was that? I can’t hear you,” Xuē Yáng said, spinning on one heel to walk away. “You know, let’s not bother with your remaining seconds. I have places to be, things to do—”

“They have my wife!” the man called out on a sob.

Xuē Yáng paused.

“Who?”

“My mother! They took her!” whined the teenager. Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I got that part—who took her? And what does that have to do with anything?”

So, the story as the older of the two terrible bandits told it went something like this. They’d been living normal, boring, happy lives until one day, his wife had been kidnapped by a well-known criminal, the leader of a local band of bandits. Apparently she was pretty or something, he’d taken a liking to her—whatever. And now the crime lord was holding her for ransom, and would only accept a truly astounding weight in gold for her safe return. Old Man Bandit had quickly worked out that he was never going to earn enough to win her back through honest means, and had turned to dishonest ones, talking his way into a different bandit group.

Or, well, his son had already been chatting with a few people from a rival group of bandits, because Teen Bandit wanted to get into crime himself for far more selfish reasons. Upon hearing that his mother had been kidnapped, he had appealed to his new criminal friends for help getting her back. They had refused, of course. The kinds of people who would kill to steal from a moderately poor family with young children were not typically known for their generosity. They weren’t gonna start a fight with their rivals just to help out some random teen. But they’d been happy to welcome Teen Bandit and Old Man Bandit into the group as extra muscle while they harassed travellers.

Idiots, both of them.

Probably the exact kind of idiot Xiǎo Xīngchén would try and help, though. And at least, for this mission, he might get to stab someone.

Honestly, it made a lot of sense that Sòng Lán was obsessed with this justice stuff, if the only people he was allowed to get into serious combat with were criminals and evildoers. He must be so bored without Xuē Yáng around.

“So what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“Well, um…” Old Man Bandit glanced at his kid, then back to Xuē Yáng. “It’s said that cultivators are rich beyond mortal means…”

“Do I look like I’m from Lánlíng Jīn? I don’t carry around spare gold on the off-chance I can pay a ransom for someone else’s wife.”

“What about the Qin family? They’re rich! Father and I can’t get into their storerooms, there are too many guards, but maybe you—”

“Are you suggesting that I, the cultivator Xuē Chéngměi, known throughout the lands for his righteous behaviour, would steal gold?”

“Uh…”

“Well, no…”

Xuē Yáng gave them both an aloof, disdainful look, and mentally added the Qin family storerooms to his list of places to visit.

“Hm. So, I’ll ask again, what exactly do you want me to do?”

Old Man Bandit frowned down at his hands, then looked up with a determined glint in his eyes. “Rescue my wife from the clutches of this villain, whatever way you can.”

Xuē Yáng smirked.

“Now that, I can do.”

Old Man Bandit and Teen Bandit weren’t of much more use as a source of information. All they really knew was that the group that had stolen Lady Bandit was known to haunt the roads north-east of the city, and apparently they had ties with local law enforcement.

Xuē Yáng thought it through over dinner, planning a strategy. Tracking humans wasn’t quite as easy as tracking undead things, but it was pretty damn close. Most people didn’t like straying far from civilisation, and they left trails of evidence whenever they did. And as bandits, this group would have a vested interest in staying close to roads and pathways, places that travellers were likely to walk.

So finding them would be easy. And unless they were actually a small sect of rogue cultivators, collecting Lady Bandit from their midst would prove pretty easy. He could easily do that and leave town.

Xuē Yáng frowned down at the red azalea silk on his wrist. Consequences… this particular setup was bound to have unexpected consequences. There were things he didn’t know that could prove important.

What exactly was the nature of those ties with law enforcement? If Lady Bandit was rescued and brought home by him, would those in law enforcement simply hand her back over to their “enemies” the moment Xuē Yáng was out of town? Would they punish Old Man Bandit and his son?

And what about Lady Bandit? That ransom seemed absurdly high for a woman from this little city, no matter how beloved she was. Why was she the one who was stolen? Was she actually allied with the crime lord who stole her? Was this an attempt for her to legitimately start her life over again as a criminal’s wife?

“What’s that?” the kid said, reaching a sticky hand for the red azalea silk. Xuē Yáng quickly hid it behind his back, grinning down.

“None of your business.”

“I bet that’s a token from Xuē-gēgē’s betrothed,” Jiějiě added helpfully.

“I don’t have a betrothed,” Xuē Yáng said.

“Oh? Why not?” Mama asked, her tone light, but there was something odd in the look she shared with Auntie.

“I don’t need any help finding a betrothed, either,” Xuē Yáng added, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t want a betrothed either,” Jiějiě announced with a sharp nod. “Boys are stupid and I don’t need one at all. I can just run a business like Auntie does, and then I’ll never have to marry.”

“Planning ahead, that’s good,” Xuē Yáng said, levelling one last glare at Mama and Auntie, who both seemed completely unintimidated. Stupid Chéngměi, ruining Xuē Yáng’s infamous reputation. What happened to the days when a glare would make people freeze in terror?

Although, the fact that the littlest kid was currently trying to climb into his lap probably did nothing to increase Xuē Yáng’s intimidation factor.

Xuē Yáng helped the kid settle in, looping an arm around his waist to keep him steady, and the kid grinned up at him.

“So, young master… do you think the princess was in love with the prince, or with the evil thief who stole her away?”

Xuē Yáng found the bandit headquarters in the early hours of the morning, only a little past dawn. Most of them were asleep, and it was easy to avoid the ones that were keeping watch.

Their building was an abandoned Wēn way-station, somewhere that Wēn cultivators would have stopped to rest and recover, back when the war effort was at full vitality. You wouldn’t know it from the way the place looked now. The building was run-down, and parts of the outer wall were damaged, one side burned badly. There was greenery all around but it did little to hide the scars on the landscape, the signs of a fierce battle here.

Wēn ghosts greeted him as he explored the place. Xuē Yáng nodded to them, and walked straight to the private quarters where the station captain would reside. Sure enough, it was the boss’s room. He lay sprawled across a bed with a naked woman curled asleep at his side.

She looked middle-aged. Pretty enough, Xuē Yáng supposed, but no one who had ever seen his Dàozhǎng would be impressed. And there was a passing similarity to Teen Bandit in her features.

Xuē Yáng drew a talisman in the air, and suddenly the room was filled with the noise of firecrackers. Both people startled awake, and Lady Bandit began shrieking. Boss Bandit immediately grabbed her close, hiding her body beneath his own as he yelled out sleep-addled threats to the room. Beyond the walls, Xuē Yáng picked up the sounds of swearing and running feet, a handful of bandits running over to fight off the attack.

Chaos, all around.

Xuē Yáng smirked, leaning back against a wall, waiting for them to notice his presence.

“Who the fuck are you!?”

Didn’t take long. Boss Bandit was trying to scramble to his feet, but Lady Bandit was still shrieking, pulling at the bedcovers to hide her naked form, and everything ended up a bit tangled. Seconds later, about six new people charged into the room, weapons ready.

“Get him! Get him! Kill that guy!” Boss Bandit snarled, gesturing in Xuē Yáng’s direction.

Less than a minute later, six bandits were disarmed and lying half-conscious on the floor. Xuē Yáng grinned, and turned back to Boss Bandit.

“I’m here to talk. You got a moment?”

Boss Bandit was looking a little pale. He stared down at his henchmen, then up at Xuē Yáng. He gave a shaky nod.

“Excellent! So, I was contacted by a distraught husband who requested my help retrieving his recently abducted wife. That’s you, isn’t it?” he said, gesturing at the woman, who had the blankets so high all he could see of her was her eyes. She nodded.

“I won’t go back with you,” she said.

“Sure you will!”

“No! I refuse!”

“Listen, I don’t really need your permission.”

“Please, don’t!”

Xuē Yáng hummed, turning to Boss Bandit.

“You’ve been rather quiet. Won’t you speak up to keep your stolen prize?”

“Jing-mei belongs to herself, she isn’t something I could steal!” Boss Bandit said, staring at the lady with something like awe.

“I’m here by choice! I hated living in that village. Boss-gēgē, he loves me and I love him! You can’t take me back!”

“But your dear and loving husband is running himself ragged trying to raise enough money to ransom you. How can I possibly show my face to such a noble, steadfast man if I cannot bring you back?” Xuē Yáng said, with a trembling voice.

“He’s actually trying to raise the gold?!” Lady Bandit gasped. “Sir, you have to tell me! He loves me that much? Even now?”

Boss Bandit threw a worried look her way.

Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes, looking around the room.

"You hate the village, but you still care if your husband loves you?"

"Of course I do! He—we were partners! It was a love match between us, he was a second son—"

"I don't give a flying fuck about the details, so you can save your breath. Just tell me why you're in this fucker's bed instead."

"I..." Lady Bandit hesitated, looking between Xuē Yáng and Boss Bandit. "I fell in love with him too, and—well, I still love my husband too, it's just—"

"You hate the lifestyle, you want danger and adventure" Xuē Yáng said, shaking his head. Fucking relationship drama. Why couldn’t they work out this shit themselves without getting him involved for no reason? "If I take you back you're just going to run off with him again the moment I'm out of town, right?"

Lady Bandit nodded.

"Can you get a message back to my husband?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'm no one's messenger, lady, it's not my job to carry fucking love-notes back and forth between estranged spouses. Get one of your lover’s henchmen to do it. I’m not involved in this.”

"You came here to collect me, and knocked out many of my lover's henchmen. I'd say you're fairly involved in this."

Xuē Yáng shrugged, glancing at the men on the floor. It was a fair point.

"Send him. He's faking, I never even touched him," Xuē Yáng said, pointing at one of the bandits. Boss Bandit and Lady Bandit both turned to the henchman he'd singled out, who was pretending twice as hard that he was completely unconcious.

"Qu Yuan! Get up!" Lady Bandit snapped.

"Uh, yes my lady! Right away!"

Xuē Yáng smirked, watching as the skittish bandit tried to show respect for Lady Bandit while avoiding even glancing in her direction. She still wasn't wearing anything to cover her chest besides a blanket.

“I should mention, your husband went and joined your boyfriend’s rivals. Your kid too; they’re trying to shake down random travellers for gold, and honestly they are fucking awful at it."

"Oh my... yes, he would be bad at it, he can't even haggle at the markets properly because he worries that the produce sellers need the money."

"You should go collect them before they get murdered trying to win you back from your comfortable new life. Last they told me, they were making plans to raid the Qin family storerooms."

"If they try that, they really will get murdered," she said, a complicated expression on her face. "What's your name, cultivator? Your sect?"

"Xuē Chéngměi. I belong to no sect."

"Thank you, Xuē Chéngměi-sanren. Boss-gēgē, will you make sure our guest is properly compensated for this vaulable information? I have to write a letter." With that, she stood, wrapping the blankets around her as she left the room. Xuē Yáng watched her leave, then turned back to Boss Bandit, who was still lying naked on the bed.

"Oh don't glare at me like that, I am not even a little bit interested in your Jing-mei. Let's talk compensation! Now, I accept gold, silver, and high quality jade, but any recommendation for a sweet-maker who I haven't visited before is also worth a lot."

As it turned out, Boss Bandit did have a recommendation for a sweet-maker, one who had recently set up in a small town just inside the borders of Lánlíng Province. So after graciously accepting his compensation for bringing Lady Jing vital information about her idiot husband, Xuē Yáng set off for Lánlíng.

Chapter Text

The sweet-maker's shop in Lánlíng was located in a small town surrounded by fruit orchards. It was actually one of a number of small shops, stalls and teahouses making sweets and candies, and they just so happened to be plagued by walking corpses too, so Xuē Yáng quickly offered his services to help. It was a simple hunt, one that Xuē Yáng could use to build some gratitude among the shopkeepers, maybe earn a free treat or two, and then he could spend the next few weeks exploring the town and trying everything he could find.

Unfortunately, instead of that, Xuē Yáng was currently jumping from rooftop to rooftop while dodging arrows. Down in the streets below, they were screaming obscenities his way. Snarling, he ran for the edge of town. Past the walls, through the orchards—they may be mundane humans, but the number of them chasing him was a real problem. For every person he outran, another stepped forwards on the path ahead. Even so, he made it out of their reach, pausing to turn back and face them.

All around, the shadows were waking up, laughing, creeping forwards, hissing in his ears— yes, let’s play, we’ll rip them to pieces, kill them, make them bleed —and Xuē Yáng smirked, stepping forwards. It would be easy. Not a single cultivator among them. None of them knew what sort of death awaited them. He’d make them sorry! He needed to hurt them, make an example of one or two, let the rest see the cruel fate they had earned! The shadows knew! They understood! They’d help Xuē Yáng take what he needed—he needed—

He swallowed.

He needed Xiǎo Xīngchén.

Xuē Yáng leapt into the air, flying on Jiàngzāi into the night.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was sitting alone by a fire not too far from the edge of town when Xuē Yáng dropped down from the sky like a falling star, all golden flickering qi.

“Xuē Yáng?”

“Dàozhǎng. Where’s your dog and the brat gone?”

“My dog? I don’t—”

“Tall, mute and handsome?”

“You mean Zǐchēn?”

“Mhmm.”

“Don’t call him a dog,” Xīngchén said, a little coldly.

“What, now you’re getting snippy with me too?”

“Don’t call Zǐchēn a dog. Xuē Yáng, you sound like you’re upset, but do not insult my friends.”

“Fucking—fine!” Xuē Yáng snarled. “Sorry, okay? I won’t call him a fucking dog, can you answer my fucking question now?”

“I’m not deliberately trying to antagonise you, Xuē Yáng—”

“I know!” 

“—and i’m aware that the relationship between you and Zǐchēn is less than peaceful—”

“I said I’m sorry, can you fucking drop it?! I won’t call him a dog again!”

There were a few tense seconds. 

“Thank you,” Xīngchén said. Xuē Yáng snorted, and began pacing before the fire with angry, sharp steps. He didn’t say another word, and as the silence stretched and Xuē Yáng kept pacing, Xīngchén began to wonder if maybe he’d hurt Xuē Yáng’s feelings. 

“Are you upset with me as well, now?” Xīngchén asked, keeping his voice level.

“No,” Xuē Yáng bit out immediately. “Maybe. Why do you always take his side? He’s not even here.”

“I don’t like hearing my friends be insulted. I tell him off when he insults you too.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fair, then.”

“To answer your question, they’re both staying in town. It’s been too cold to camp out recently, but I was missing the trees.”

“It’s not that cold,” Xuē Yáng muttered, and Xīngchén smiled. If Xuē Yáng ever said it was cold, he was already halfway to frostbite. 

“They’re not here right now. But you are, and I am. Would you like to talk? What’s been making you so angry?”

Xuē Yáng laughed harshly.

“Tell me, Dàozhǎng, how easy is it for people to obey simple orders like “Don’t touch the spirit attraction flags”? Pretty fucking easy, right? All they had to do was just sleep through the night, ignore whatever shit I was doing outside, and then they’d wake up to a ghost-free village! I even told them! I told them if they touched those flags, they’d get hunted down by fierce corpses! But no! Apparently just sitting back and letting me work would have been too fucking easy!”

“Oh.”

“What the fuck is wrong with normal people!? Do they think we make this shit up just to scam them out of money?! To intimidate them!? They have a village full of walking corpses, several people dead already from corpse poisoning, and they think I’m some kind of common servant trying to scare them for a free meal!? I warned them! I told them! And what the fuck do you think they go and do?”

“Xuē Yáng, what happened?”

“That motherfucking shitstain stole my fucking spirit attraction flag and got himself ripped into tiny little pieces by fierce corpses! And he didn’t even have the fucking decency to hide all alone to die! Three people! Three of them, dead! Bodies missing pieces! That arrogant fucking cunt! What the fuck did he think was going to happen!?”

“Oh, I’m sorry that happened,” Xīngchén said reflexively. It did happen occasionally, when night-hunts entered more urban environments. There were always non-cultivator folk who didn’t believe or trust a cultivator’s word and interfered in a hunt. They were lucky to escape with their lives, most times. Night-hunts were no place for those without golden cores, and it was always distressing when a civilian was killed during a hunt.

But Xīngchén knew Xuē Yáng, and he was not sure that they were upset about the same thing.

“Twenty-two hunts since Yi City! Twenty-two! And every single hunt, not a single person died once I arrived in the area! Every single monster, ghost and yao defeated without any additional deaths! That fucker broke my record! If he wasn’t dead, I’d murder him!”

Ah.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Xuē Yáng made a wordless snarling sound, still pacing rapidly. Xīngchén pressed his lips together tightly so he wouldn’t smile, unexpectedly filled with fondness for his unconventional friend. Was that inappropriate? People had died.

“They were treating me like a servant! Like some kind of lowlife ratcatcher! They had fierce corpses wandering about—their lives were in literal peril!—and they still treated me like I should be paying them for the experience of basking in their splendour! Motherfuckers! They were being hunted alive! Idiots! And you know, I figured it was fine! I could just sneak into their storerooms, steal a couple taels of silver and smash up a prize vase or something! And then that fucker got himself killed, and they all blamed me! Accused me of running a scam on them! Dàozhǎng, they ran me out of town like a common criminal! They didn’t even pay me!”

With a frustrated groan, Xuē Yáng threw himself down to sit beside Xīngchén, close enough that their shoulders were brushing. Invading Xīngchén’s space like it was his own, knowing he’d be welcome. It was almost enough to distract Xīngchén from the content of Xuē Yáng’s ranting.

“That sounds very annoying to experience… any violent thoughts about it?”

Xuē Yáng snorted.

“Plenty! Fucking hell, they had a mob chasing me! After I saved their fucking hides, too! Is it too much to ask for a little respect? I could have slaughtered that whole town, easy as breathing! The shadows were hissing at me to do it, too, they would have been fucking delighted to have a new game to play! Oh, the way they would have screamed!” Xuē Yáng heaved a sigh. “But you wouldn’t do any of that. So I didn’t. I came here, instead. And you know what? I am glad you’re getting a use out of that concealment talisman, but it took me three days to find you, and that is just far too long.”

“You came to me to… to calm down?”

Xuē Yáng hummed, leaning heavily into his side.

“It works, too… I knew it would, if I could find you. Punishing them doesn’t matter anymore when I’m near you. Makes all the buzzing noise go away.” He took a deep sigh, the tension draining from his body. “So, what have you been up to lately? Any good hunts?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén would much rather keep talking about the fact that Xuē Yáng apparently found Xīngchén’s presence soothing enough to calm him from a murderous rage. Was this a recent thing, or…? On occasion, Chéngměi had seemed quiet, upset for no reason he would name. During their first few months living together, he would furiously rebuff any attempt Xiǎo Xīngchén made to improve his mood, swinging wildly between sugary, venomous words and moody silence.

By the end of their years together, things had been quite different. Chéngměi appeared to trust that Xiǎo Xīngchén’s efforts to cheer him up were sincere; he had even sought Xīngchén out some days just to sit in silence.

Xīngchén swallowed. Nodded. Xuē Yáng wanted to be distracted from his disastrous hunt, now that he’d complained about every aspect that had gone wrong. Xīngchén could provide that.

“Mostly, we’ve been travelling. Helping wherever we can. Not many hunts that you’d find interesting, I think. They were simple, straightforward matters.”

“Tell me! It’s interesting, because you’re the one doing it,” Xuē Yáng said. “I want to hear you talk. I like hearing you talk.”

Xīngchén could feel himself blushing. Such simple words, said so earnestly, as if to Xuē Yáng this was an unquestionable truth.

“Very well.”

Xīngchén talked. He told Xuē Yáng about hunting the fox yao. He told him about the maiden’s ghost they’d settled several weeks before. He spoke about the small mountain village they’d visited, and the death rites Xīngchén had led for the recently deceased village matriarch. He told Xuē Yáng of the strange illness that had been infecting a village, and how it had been the result of a new seasoning herb that many of the villagers had found irritating to the skin.

Xuē Yáng listened attentively, and when Xīngchén fell silent, he began to describe things he’d noticed on his own travels. Natural wonders, mostly—the way the sky shifted in pinks and purples and brilliant orange and made the land look like everything was carved of gold; the view from a mountaintop, a vista of hills and valleys and tiny trees all wrapped in mist, the distant lights of towns and villages like stars fallen to earth; a mountain waterfall surrounded by scraggly pines twisted into cloudlike shapes.

“Here, I collected these while I was there,” Xuē Yáng said, placing a collection of small objects in his hands. “The rocks there were all a dark blue and shattered in layers, like this piece. There were entire hillsides covered in them.”

Xīngchén turned the stone over in his hands, fingertips tracing along the edges, picking out the layers. He crushed a section of the dried pine needles between his fingers, taking in the scent. A piece of bark. A small pine cone. A bird’s skull. All things with interesting shapes, or textures, or scents.

“You collected these for me?”

“Who else would I give them to?”

Xīngchén smiled, and didn’t answer.

“Have you been teaching Little Blind how to use that knife? Her technique’s awful,” Xuē Yáng said around a yawn.

“Zǐchēn and I have been working through core-building exercises with her, mostly.”

Xuē Yáng hummed, his head falling against Xīngchén’s shoulder. “How’s that going? She doesn’t seem patient enough for meditation.”

“Well, neither do you.”

“True… I think more practical lessons would suit her at first… she likes being active.”

“Are you tired?”

“No. Keep talking. I’m… I’m listening,” Xuē Yáng said, yawning again.

“It must have been quite a journey, if it took you three days to reach here.”

“Haven’t slept in a few days, that’s all.”

“What?”

“Haven’t slept in—”

“I heard you. Xuē Yáng, when did you last sleep?”

“Huh… um… night before the night hunt.”

“You haven’t slept in four days!?”

“I’ve got a strong core… it’s fine…” Xuē Yáng mumbled, leaning heavily against Xīngchén. “I’ll sleep later.”

Xīngchén clicked his tongue, shifting to place both hands on Xuē Yáng’s shoulders. Xuē Yáng wobbled slightly.

“You need to rest. Even if only for an hour or two.”

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer, but after a moment he wiggled from Xīngchén’s hold, and then a second later his head was resting in Xīngchén’s lap. He gave a happy sigh, and relaxed, which was more than Xīngchén could do. He was still trying to catch up with the fact that Xuē Yáng was using him as a pillow.

“I’ll sleep here, then. Happy?”

“…alright,” Xīngchén said, his hand finding Xuē Yáng’s shoulder again. “Is that even comfortable?”

Xuē Yáng hummed. “Dàozhǎng is the best pillow.”

“Now, that’s not true at all.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you can use yourself as a pillow.”

“I suppose I’ll have to trust your word, then,” Xīngchén said with a laugh. “Why haven’t you rested, Xuē Yáng? Why go four days without sleep?”

It took Xuē Yáng several long moments to answer, and when he did, his voice was already softer, mumbling.

“Wasn’t safe. Nowhere safe to sleep. And, mmn… if I’d stopped I would have gone back. Needed to find you, or I would have gone back.”

“Oh.”

Gone back to the site of that disastrous hunt. Back to the people Xuē Yáng wanted to hurt. But he wanted to keep to his self-imposed rules of good behaviour more than he wanted to hurt them. By his own admission, rules that he only followed because he thought it would please Xīngchén.

Xuē Yáng had drifted to sleep already, his breathing steady and even. His qi was shifting slowly too, flickering golden against Xīngchén’s senses like a flame. Like fire. It was difficult to turn away. He’d always liked watching fire.

Xīngchén ran his hand through Xuē Yáng’s hair, tracing the sharp points of Xuē Yáng’s favourite hair ornament. If Xuē Yáng was fire, he was the kind that burned wildly, destroying everything he encountered with little discrimination—or at least, he had been. Now, instead, he was the bright light that kept away the monsters in the night. Still dangerous, still able to burn if left unchecked, but with careful attention… frequent attention…

Xīngchén’s cheeks felt warm and he wasn’t quite sure why.

Sòng Lán wandered up the hill, Ā-Qìng at his side. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s camp was only a little further ahead.

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán stopped walking the moment Xīngchén’s little camp became visible through the trees. It was a simple setup, just a small temporary shelter made from sticks and canvas to keep out the cold, and a fire for warmth. Xīngchén was sitting there, smiling in the way he always did when he was having pleasant thoughts. There was colour to his cheeks, brought on by the heat of the fire.

Or perhaps from the heat of the body sleeping in his lap.

Black silk and leathers, accented by gold threads; a sharp contrast to the white of Xīngchén’s hanfu. Xīngchén’s fingers were idly brushing wisps of hair away from tickling Xuē Yáng’s face.

Xuē Yáng’s sword was discarded to one side, Shuānghuá beside it. Because Xīngchén felt safe in Xuē Yáng’s company. Because he considered Xuē Yáng to be his friend.

Sòng Lán forced his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, his hands in fists. He felt sick, dizzy like ice water was flowing through his body and chasing out all the heat, draining from the wound to his chest. Another phantom sensation, an uncomfortable memory. The world felt loud.

Ā-Qìng still didn’t look surprised. Why did she never look surprised, no matter how intimate Xuē Yáng and Xīngchén acted? How often had they acted like this, back then? How much of this was normal to the three of them?

Sòng Lán stepped out from between the trees, dismissing the concealment charm with a wave of his hand.

Xīngchén gasped, Shuānghuá flying into his hand as he threw a protective arm across Xuē Yáng’s chest. He faced Sòng Lán with a grim expression, chin tilted high and stubborn, Shuānghuá still sheathed but held between them. As if Sòng Lán was an enemy. A threat.

“Zǐchēn. You’re here,” he said, his tone flat and unreadable. Soft, so as not to disturb Xuē Yáng’s rest. One of Xuē Yáng’s hands grasped loosely and Xīngchén’s wide sleeve, as if it was a blanket. Odd, how innocent Xuē Yáng seemed when he was asleep. He still looked young enough to be mistaken for a teen.

Sòng Lán blinked slowly, took another deep breath, and moved forwards to sit across the fire from Xīngchén. He ignored the way Xīngchén stayed tense, and kept Shuānghuá between them, ready to defend his friend.

Xīngchén had been saying this all along, hadn’t he? Xuē Yáng was his friend. Had been his companion. Xuē Yáng was someone who could bring a smile to Xīngchén’s face, someone Xīngchén would defend fiercely, even after… after everything. But it was different, hearing the words and seeing the evidence.

Xīngchén’s happiness, his health and wellbeing: those were the most important things, weren’t they? Those were the things Sòng Lán had sworn to himself to protect, but—how could he remove Xuē Yáng from their life if Xīngchén would smile like that for him? If Xuē Yáng was executed, if Xuē Yáng revealed himself to be evil, would the loss leave Xīngchén shattered? Xīngchén had traded his eyes to restore Sòng Lán’s sight; what recklessness would he drive himself to if Xuē Yáng was in danger?

“Are you going to capture him, Dàgē? Take him to Jīnlín Tái?” Ā-Qìng asked, and Xīngchén startled like he’d only just realised she was here too.

“No.”

“Why not? You said you would, back when you revived him.”

“Well, things have changed.”

That was putting it mildly. Sòng Lán glanced to Ā-Qìng and she met his gaze, giving a shrug.

“Are we keeping him, then?” she asked, her tone not particularly interested.

Xīngchén didn’t answer, except to hold Xuē Yáng closer.

“Three days ago, Xuē Yáng was chased out of town after a night hunt, without payment or acknowledgement for his actions in saving their lives. He told me he came here instead of inflicting vengeance against them.”

Sòng Lán made a disbelieving noise, and Xīngchén grimaced.

“It is… difficult… determining the truth of his words. So far, rumours about his actions seem to support his claims, but if you wish, we could visit there to check. If it is true… Zǐchēn, the Xuē Yáng of years ago would never have left a situation like that without violence. Do you understand what sort of progress that is, for someone like him?”

Someone like Xuē Yáng. A murderer who had destroyed clans for petty reasons… Báixuě Temple had been out of vengeance, but had there even been a reason for the Chang Clan massacre? How terrible must someone be if ‘not killing’ was seen as progress?

“Zǐchēn, he’s saved people. He chose to try and follow the path we walk. No matter his motivation for doing so, he is putting good out into the world, where before he was a force for destruction. With further guidance and diligence, he may continue to follow our path for the rest of his life. He may even one day find it rewarding. It makes me wonder—if we had delivered him to Jīnlín Tái a year ago, where would he be now? Either executed, or imprisoned and bitterly angry, perhaps even roaming the world again after being freed by someone treacherous. He certainly wouldn’t have improved as a person, and the good he’s put into the world since then would not exist.”

Xīngchén swallowed, rubbing his hand over Xuē Yáng’s shoulder. The man sighed in his sleep, turning to bury his nose in the fabric of Xīngchén’s hanfu. It seemed to relax him even deeper into sleep.

“Xuē Yáng came here, to me, instead of indulging in petty violence. He trusts that I won’t take advantage of his resting here. I don’t want to betray that.”

Sòng Lán closed his eyes, crossing his arms. Even this close to the fire, he didn’t feel warm.

Why did Xīngchén always choose Xuē Yáng, and never… he chose to save Xuē Yáng’s life from bleeding out. Chose to protect Xuē Yáng rather than bring him to justice. Refused to fight Xuē Yáng alongside Sòng Lán. Promised to support Sòng Lán’s claim to justice, then changed his mind to befriend Xuē Yáng instead. Xīngchén lied for Xuē Yáng. Kept his secrets. Kept him safe.

Xīngchén chose Xuē Yáng instead of Sòng Lán. Did he like him better? Was that it? Did he prefer someone with a heartbeat? Someone warm? Even before, back years ago, Sòng Lán had struggled to be as warm and open with Xīngchén as he wanted to be. Xuē Yáng just ignored all those rules of propriety—why should he pay them any attention? He was a fucking murderer!

Better a murderer for a friend than a fierce corpse, right?

Sòng Lán glared at the gentle way Xīngchén held Xuē Yáng. Intimate. Affectionate. That was the worst part of seeing them together. It was one thing to hear the love in Xīngchén’s voice, another to watch it in the way he held another close. The way he was so ready to keep Xuē Yáng safe.

Xuē Yáng lay sleeping, safe from the world because Xīngchén loved him.

Xīngchén loved him.

Losing him will break your heart, won’t it, Xīngchén?

“I won’t fight,” Sòng Lán tapped against Fúxuě’s sheath. Xīngchén gasped, and slowly began to smile, and Sòng Lán had to look away.

“Zǐchēn, thank you,” Xīngchén breathed, and even turned away, Sòng Lán could still hear the fucking delight in his voice. Why did Xuē Yáng always win?

“All is well,” Sòng Lán added, and bit his lip to stifle the way he wanted to howl.

“So, we are keeping him, then,” Ā-Qìng said, her voice flat.

“Ā-Qìng—”

“Dàgē, I don’t mind,” she said, staring straight at Sòng Lán. “I’m not scared of him or anything, he’s your pet delinquent.”

“People aren’t pets, Ā-Qìng. They don’t own each other.”

Ā-Qìng rolled her eyes, before getting up and wandering casually around the fire to sit at Sòng Lán’s side. She gave him a smile, and rocked their shoulders together. With a stick, she began tracing in the dirt, writing words.

Are you okay with this?

Sòng Lán blinked, staring at the words. He turned to Ā-Qìng, who was watching him expectantly. Glanced to the murderer sleeping in Xīngchén’s lap. Back to Ā-Qìng.

He shook his head.

Ā-Qìng grimaced.

Why say yes?

Sòng Lán gestured for the stick, and traced out his answer.

For Xīngchén. He’s happy.

Ā-Qìng frowned, glancing between Sòng Lán and Xīngchén. As the silence stretched, Xīngchén turned back to face the fire, his arms still surrounding Xuē Yáng.

Ā-Qìng ran her fingers through the dirt, scattering their words, and began writing something new.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng is a good friend.

Sòng Lán swallowed, looking away. He didn’t feel like a good friend. A good friend wouldn’t have yelled at Xīngchén for things that weren’t his fault. A good friend would have helped Xīngchén adapt to being blind. A good friend wouldn’t be feeling jealous of the intimate position Xuē Yáng and Xīngchén were lying in, or of the way Xīngchén laughed when Xuē Yáng was near, or of—

Xuē Yáng groaned, his face scrunching up as he fought away sleep.

“Xīngchén? Fuck, wait, Dàozhǎng. I meant Dàozhǎng,” Xuē Yáng mumbled. “You’re still here? I heard someone crying. Thought you’d run off to help them.”

“Must have been something in your dreams. I didn’t hear anything,” Xīngchén said with a smile, one that Xuē Yáng imitated even with eyes closed. Relaxed and easy.

Xuē Yáng turned to sleepily squint up at Xīngchén.

“You’re sweet, Dàozhǎng. I like you.”

“I know. I like you too.”

Xuē Yáng laughed, and then his eyes fell on Sòng Lán.

In the time it took to blink, there was a sword pointed at Sòng Lán’s chest.

Sòng Lán held still, watching Xuē Yáng’s face, the way his features shifted from fear to confusion, then recognition, before finally sliding back into his usual smirk. There were deep shadows beneath Xuē Yáng’s eyes, and a slight tremble to his hand. Signs of exhaustion, difficult to fake.

Most important, Sòng Lán noticed the way Xuē Yáng had placed himself entirely between Xīngchén and the “threat”.

“That isn’t your sword,” Ā-Qìng cut in just as Xuē Yáng opened his mouth. Xuē Yáng frowned, glancing at the blade in his hand.

Ā-Qìng was right. Xuē Yáng had grabbed Shuānghuá instead of his own blade. His hand should have been chopped off for daring to touch such a pure spiritual weapon, the very embodiment of Xīngchén’s golden core, but the blade didn’t reject him. Didn’t send shards of cold energy to freeze Xuē Yáng’s fingers, didn’t bite like a cold and bitter wind.

Did Xuē Yáng even understand the significance of that? The demonstration of how deep Xīngchén’s trust in him ran? When Sòng Lán had first met Xīngchén, it had taken months before Shuānghuá would allow Sòng Lán’s touch.

Still frowning, Xuē Yáng squinted at Sòng Lán.

“Thought you were staying in the village.”

“We came up to share dinner with Dàgē,” Ā-Qìng said, and Xuē Yáng turned to focus on her.

“Dàgē? You call him Dàgē now?” Xuē Yáng glanced over a shoulder to Xīngchén. “Can I call you Dàozhǎng-gēgē?”

“Are you pointing a sword at my friend, Xuē Yáng?” Xīngchén said in a flat tone. Immediately, Xuē Yáng threw the blade to one side.

“No.”

“Good,” Xīngchén said, sliding a hand across Xuē Yáng’s back. And then he pushed Xuē Yáng off balance. Ā-Qìng snort-laughed as Xuē Yáng fell with a yelp, and the last of his dangerous image fell with him.

“Dàozhǎng! So mean to me!”

“Go back to sleep, Xuē Yáng, you need more rest.”

“I didn’t wake up on purpose or anything.”

“Rest now, argue later.”

“You promise?” Xuē Yáng said with a wink, utterly wasted on a blind Xīngchén. After a second, his eyes flitted back to Sòng Lán and his smile faded a little. Sòng Lán glowered back at him.

“Sòng Lán looks like he wants to stab me.”

“Xuē Yáng, if you attempt to run away or fly on a sword while you’re exhausted, I will knock you out of the sky myself. Go to sleep,” Xīngchén said, and Xuē Yáng giggled, leaning into Xīngchén’s space.

“Your Zǐchēn will kill me if he catches me,” Xuē Yáng said, still eyeing Sòng Lán. Xīngchén’s hand wandered up Xuē Yáng’s arm, to his shoulder, then found his chin, forcibly turning Xuē Yáng back to face him.

“Xuē Yáng, would you allow anything to harm me as I sleep?”

“What—no!”

“So why would you think I’d allow anything to harm you while you rest?”

Xuē Yáng blinked, his cheeks pink and smiling in a way Sòng Lán would have described as shy on any other face. Sòng Lán turned his attention to Xīngchén. Somehow, despite the effect those words had had on Xuē Yáng, Sòng Lán had the feeling they’d been aimed at him. A warning and declaration in one. Xīngchén wouldn’t hesitate to fight, should Sòng Lán change his mind.

It was Xīngchén who encouraged Xuē Yáng to move closer. Xīngchén who guided Xuē Yáng into the same position as before, resting sprawled across his lap. Xuē Yáng was the one staring at Xīngchén in wonder, the one throwing cautious glances at Sòng Lán.

“You’re safe here,” Xīngchén murmured, and Xuē Yáng’s eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. Already half asleep just from Xīngchén’s light touches and reassurance.

Sòng Lán frowned, staring at them both. Xīngchén had compelled obedience from Xuē Yáng using nothing more than the tone of his voice. Xuē Yáng lay sleeping, even after expressing his discomfort at Sòng Lán being near while he was vulnerable. It was different than he’d imagined their relationship working. Was this why Xīngchén had never seemed too alarmed at having Xuē Yáng near, even after Xuē Yáng abducted him? Was Xīngchén the one in control?

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng woke up briefly sometime late that night. The fire had burned down low. At some point, his Dàozhǎng had shifted to lie beside him rather than be his pillow. Xuē Yáng could feel Xīngchén’s breaths against the back of his neck, warm and regular in sleep. One of his arms was slung across Xuē Yáng’s waist, the heat of his body keeping away the cold of the night air. Already, Xuē Yáng could feel himself drifting off again.

“Hey, don’t just ignore me,” hissed a voice as someone jabbed his side. Xuē Yáng didn’t answer except to hide his face under an arm.

“I’m going to keep annoying you until you answer me,” Ā-Qìng said, jabbing him again for good measure.

“Fuck off,” Xuē Yáng muttered.

“No. I’m cold.”

“Not my problem.”

Ā-Qìng huffed, and for a second Xuē Yáng thought she might have given up, but then icy fingertips pressed against the side of his neck. Xuē Yáng hissed, batting her away.

“Go grab Dàozhǎng’s blankets or something, stop bothering me.”

“I did. I’m still cold.”

Xuē Yáng opened one eye to glare up at her. Ā-Qìng remained undisturbed.

“Fine.”

She grinned, settling down at his side and throwing the blanket over them both. Xuē Yáng sighed, focusing on his qi. There was a reason cultivators were rarely bothered by things like the cold or the rain. With proper qi control, it was easy to keep yourself warm even on the coldest nights. It was one of the earliest skills Xuē Yáng had taught himself, back when he was being evaluated as a potential Jin sect apprentice. He’d already been kicked out once at that point; if it was going to happen again he was going to leave with a new skill.

Beneath the blanket it grew warm very quickly. Ā-Qìng sighed happily and tried to get closer without actually getting any closer. Xuē Yáng smiled, and closed his eyes again.

“If you wake me again for something stupid like this, I’ll stab you,” Xuē Yáng muttered.

“You won’t stab me, you like me.”

“Brat.”

“Dickhead.”

Xuē Yáng grunted and didn’t answer. Nearby, he could sense Sòng Lán’s presence, a large well of resentful energy mostly concealed behind a talisman. Xīngchén’s silent guardian, protecting them throughout the night. A constant companion at his Dàozhǎng’s side.

Xuē Yáng’s last thought before he fell asleep was to wonder why Sòng Lán felt lonely, when they were all sharing the same fire.

Xiǎo Xīngchén woke up a little before dawn, as was usual for him.

Waking up with a warm body held close to his chest was not usual for him. It took a few warm, dazed moments to remember why.

Xuē Yáng.

This was Xuē Yáng. His friend, his golden fire… he was so comfortable to sleep beside. They had rarely done this—sleeping beside each other. Only during the coldest nights, back in the Coffin House, when it was better to sleep close than to suffer alone.

It had been a surprise, that first winter, to find Chéngměi and Ā-Qìng sleeping under a shared blanket. Neither of them had seemed to remotely enjoy each other’s company, and during all their waking hours they did their best to avoid each other, but when the nights grew bitter, Chéngměi had always allowed Ā-Qìng close. Huddling for warmth.

Xīngchén was aware that for regular people, keeping warm in the winter could be the difference between life or death. It was especially difficult without a proper home, and Xīngchén had made sure to check over the beggars and street urchins of Yi City every morning, offering paper talismans to keep their sleeping places warm. It was a commonly-accepted wisdom among them that sharing a corner with your worst enemy was still better than freezing.

Xīngchén had expected it from Ā-Qìng, considering how she had lived before they had met. It was intriguing that Xuē Yáng would follow the same wisdom. An odd similarity, one that only added to Xīngchén’s curiosity about Xuē Yáng’s past.

Finding Chéngměi and Ā-Qìng asleep beside each other, Xīngchén had smiled and refrained from commenting—at least until the day that Chéngměi had sleepily invited Xīngchén to join them. Apparently Xīngchén had been grimacing from the cold in a way Chéngměi found offensive, and it had been a bitter night, and Xīngchén had seen no reason not to. While the cold wouldn’t normally pose any mortal danger to Xīngchén—his cultivation was strong enough to tolerate extremes of temperature, so long as he was in good health—there was an awful lot of discomfort one could suffer through before one was in any danger of dying. Sharing a bed and sharing warmth had been a relief, and Chéngměi had seemed almost impossibly warm, radiating heat.

Golden fire indeed.

Xīngchén hid a smile against the back of Xuē Yáng’s neck, before reluctantly moving to get up. Warm and lost in nostalgia or not, the day had to begin.

They had slept all cuddled up, the three of them. Xuē Yáng curled protectively around Ā-Qìng, Xiǎo Xīngchén pressed against his back. Guarding him even in sleep.

It made Sòng Lán feel odd, seeing them like that. Sleeping close like family—of course it was absurd, Xuē Yáng was no one’s family, and yet, here he was, flanked on both sides in his sleep by Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng, keeping the cold away. It was like they all shared some secret understanding that Sòng Lán could never be a part of.

Sòng Lán stared blankly into the dying fire until the light of dawn. When Xīngchén awoke, Sòng Lán replied to his morning greeting and helped as Xīngchén prepared for the morning, heating water for tea and making breakfast for Ā-Qìng. She roused with the scent of food, and took the blanket with her, which woke Xuē Yáng.

The criminal had grumbled, curling up smaller and hiding his face and otherwise looking unfairly innocent. After a few moments, he had risen and wandered back to Xīngchén’s side, where he promptly settled, resting his head against Xīngchén’s shoulder. Xīngchén had been meditating, but seemed undisturbed by his clingy friend and did nothing to indicate Xuē Yáng had overstepped.

Sòng Lán wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Xuē Yáng was following Xīngchén like a feral dog offered scraps, and Xīngchén had leashed him, taken him in, and taught him tricks. Xuē Yáng was still a danger—a feral dog could lick your hand one day and bite it the next—but Xīngchén was confident in his control of the beast.

What was Sòng Lán supposed to do? Xīngchén’s last encounter with Xuē Yáng had left Xīngchén shaking and near tears, and yet Xīngchén had defended Xuē Yáng from Sòng Lán without question. He snapped at Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng if they ever insulted Xuē Yáng too greatly.

How many of the changes Sòng Lán had noticed in Xīngchén were a direct result of Xuē Yáng’s influence? The lying, the smiles, the things that made him laugh, that uncharacteristic ruthlessness when they had encountered the man who hurt Ā-Qìng…

Sòng Lán shivered, then mentally cursed. Why the fuck was he still feeling cold? He had spent the second half of his childhood in Báixuě temple, a place named for the snow and cold! He was a cultivator! He was a fucking walking corpse, why would cold even be an issue anymore!? It hadn’t bothered him in months, why were his senses playing up now?

“Just use your qi to warm yourself up, it’s not like it’s fucking hard.”

Sòng Lán blinked, turning to Xuē Yáng. He still had his eyes closed, his head still resting on Xīngchén’s shoulder. Had Sòng Lán missed something in the conversation?

Xuē Yáng opened an eye, staring at Sòng Lán with a blank expression. Sòng Lán glared back out of habit. Oddly, Xuē Yáng smiled.

“You sound cold. Resentful energy works like qi. Warm yourself up instead of complaining about it.”

Sòng Lán hadn’t exactly been complaining, and he certainly hadn’t been looking for advice. He said as much with a sharper glare. Xuē Yáng just snorted and turned to Xīngchén.

“Dàozhǎng, can I travel with you now that we’re friends?”

Sòng Lán froze, sending Xīngchén an alarmed look, which of course he didn’t notice. Xīngchén was smiling, his fingers running over the back of Xuē Yáng’s hand—he was going to say yes. Fuck, he was going to say yes, and then Xuē Yáng was going to travel beside them every day, and Sòng Lán would have to watch while the viper hung off Xīngchén’s arms and whispered in his ear and giggled and made Xīngchén laugh—

“Dàgē, I changed my mind. I don’t trust him. I don’t want him with us.”

Sòng Lán had been glaring at Xuē Yáng, so he caught the brief flash of surprise as it darted across Xuē Yáng’s features. He saw the way Xuē Yáng’s expression went cold, unreadable as he glanced at Ā-Qìng. Sòng Lán saw the exact moment Xuē Yáng slipped an aggressive smirk across his features as easily as a wooden mask.

“What’s wrong, Little Blind? Are your lessons in edge weaponry not going well? I’d be glad to demonstrate blade techniques for you,” Xuē Yáng said, all very polite, but the tone spoke of blood.

Xīngchén, who had looked about to reprimand Ā-Qìng, swiftly turned back on Xuē Yáng.

“Don’t say things like that to my sister.”

“What, offer to teach her?” Xuē Yáng said in a falsely sweet voice.

“We both know that isn’t what I was referring to.”

“Her technique is abysmal, Dàozhǎng. Didn’t I tell you, Little Blind, if you’re going to stab your enemies, make sure the blow is lethal?”

Ā-Qìng was looking pale, but she held her chin high. The little blade Xuē Yáng had given her was held tightly in her hands, her knuckles white.

“I just don’t think he should travel with us,” Ā-Qìng said. Xuē Yáng’s smirk grew wider, and less friendly—

“Xīngchén,” Sòng Lán tapped out. “Ā-Qìng spoke for me. I’m not happy.”

Sòng Lán wouldn’t allow Ā-Qìng to become a target of Xuē Yáng’s ire, simply because Sòng Lán didn’t share his real feelings on the matter.

“Zǐchēn-Dàozhǎng—”

With a glance, Sòng Lán silenced her. As much as he appreciated her willingness to stand up for him, she was still a child. This was not her responsibility, and this was not her argument to interfere with. Sòng Lán would not have her destroy whatever fragile peace she’d achieved with the viper, simply to protect his own bruised feelings.

“Zǐchēn, you’re unhappy?” Xīngchén said, reaching towards him with an upturned palm, an invitation to talk.

“Little Blind was the one who…” Xuē Yáng murmured, glancing around in confusion, before settling in to glare at Sòng Lán as he moved closer.

It took a moment before Sòng Lán remembered Xuē Yáng couldn’t understand tap-talking. Somehow, knowing that Xuē Yáng was the only one present who couldn’t understand their code made him feel a little better.

Ā-Qìng frowned to herself, poking at the remnants of the fire. They were going to stamp out the coals soon and pull down Dàgē’s camp, and wander back to the town. There was no night-hunt here, but Dàgē wanted to check in with the local doctors and offer any assistance if needed.

Off to one side, Dàgē and Zǐchēn-Dàozhǎng were still arguing quietly. Xuē Yáng was silent, ignoring them both by lying on his back to stare blankly at the sky. Ā-Qìng watched him for a moment, then tore her eyes away.

This was her fault. Everything had been fine until she had spoken up.

Xuē Yáng was still staring at the sky.

Ā-Qìng bit her lip, playing with the knife he’d given her.

For a while, it had been like being back at the Coffin House. Dàgē, and Xuē Yáng, and Ā-Qìng, looking out for each other. Xuē Yáng had protected them both, scared off dangerous people and terrifying the merchants. Dàgē had hunted the monsters, and healed everyone he encountered with even the slightest injury. Ā-Qìng had stolen money for them both, and… it had been a happy time, even if Xuē Yáng had been lying to Dàgē.

There were no more lies now, and Dàgē wanted to keep Xuē Yáng again, and he’d given Ā-Qìng a knife and stabbed that man who tried to hurt her, and Zǐchēn-Dàozhǎng still hated Xuē Yáng, she could tell, but—

Ā-Qìng glanced at Xuē Yáng again and froze. He was staring back this time. He stood, moving to her side. Ā-Qìng fell back into her blind act without a thought, keeping her eyes unfocused and curling in on herself.

Xuē Yáng didn’t say anything, so Ā-Qìng didn’t either. She fiddled with her knife. Xuē Yáng was picking at a loose thread in his hanfu.

“Are you angry with me?” Ā-Qìng asked, not looking his way.

“I threatened you, didn’t I? What do you think?”

She flinched. He sighed, crossing his arms.

“Do you know what I think?” he continued, staring into the distance. “I think I need to stop making threats I never plan on following up.”

Ā-Qìng blinked, dropping her blind act as she turned to face him. He met her eyes for a second, then glanced away.

“Never?”

“I gave you a knife, didn’t I?”

Ā-Qìng nodded, turning the blade over in her hands.

“I didn’t mean what I said before,” she said.

“Sòng Lán’s words, not yours.”

“Sort of.”

Nearby, Xīngchén’s voice was growing sharper as the argument continued. It was hard to tell what was happening from here, considering they could only hear half of the conversation.

Xuē Yáng watched them for a second, then sighed. Fiddling with his sleeve, he pulled out two candies and handed one to her. Hesitantly, she accepted it.

“Don’t ever pretend his words are yours,” Xuē Yáng said, meeting her eyes. “If he has a problem with me or Dàozhǎng then he can let us know himself.”

“I didn’t want Dàgē to be upset with him. I don’t like it when they argue.”

“They argue? What about?”

“You, mostly.”

Xuē Yáng hummed, turning a considering look in their direction. “It’s not your job to stop us from arguing or getting upset with each other. You’re like six.”

“I’m thirteen, you prick.”

“Exactly, you’re a baby.”

Ā-Qìng drew her knife and slashed in Xuē Yáng’s direction. He caught her wrist with a laugh.

“Attacking me during a simple conversation! How rude!”

“You deserve it.”

“Probably,” he said, releasing her. Ā-Qìng put the knife away again. “You’re getting faster.”

“Not fast enough.”

“Speed comes with experience. If you try to rush it, you’ll make mistakes and break your wrist.”

“Did you do that?”

“No, I was always a genius at using knives,” he said, smirking. Ā-Qìng was tempted to stab him again, no matter that it wouldn’t work.

As the quiet settled between them, it became easier to hear the argument that is still going on nearby. Ā-Qìng watches them both, glares at them both. The smoke from the fire was making her eyes water.

“It really isn’t anything to do with you at all,” Xuē Yáng said after a second.

“I didn’t think it was. I’m not stupid.”

“There’s a lot of history between the three of us, from long before you showed up. That kind of stuff doesn’t burn out overnight, even if all of us belong to Dàozhǎng now.”

“I just don’t like it when they argue.”

Xuē Yáng gave her a considering look, then turned back to the Dàozhǎngs. Standing, he wandered to Dàgē’s side and pulled at his sleeve.

“Dàozhǎng, this is getting boring now, so you can cut the argument short. I’m going to leave.”

Xuē Yáng could really have done without the stares of disbelief. He was already feeling horrible and a little bit sick at the prospect of leaving; the stares didn’t help at all.

“It’s going to end with you deciding I should leave anyway, so we might as well cut things short,” Xuē Yáng added, glancing at Sòng Lán. The fierce corpse was glaring back, no surprises there.

“Xuē Yáng, no, that’s not—” Xīngchén said.

“It’s exactly what’s going to happen, Dàozhǎng. So I’m leaving before you send me away. No point in arguing any further.”

“Xuē Yáng, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Dàozhǎng, you know I’ll be back to see you again,” Xuē Yáng said, turning to glare at Sòng Lán. “I will be back. I’m going to keep coming back. So stop arguing with Dàozhǎng about it and work out whatever you need to work out in your head to make yourself okay with it, because this is only going to end one of two ways: with both of us at Dàozhǎng’s side, or with one of us dead.”

Sòng Lán didn’t do anything interesting at those words, so Xuē Yáng turned back to Xīngchén. He looked paler than normal, lips pressed in an unhappy line.

“It’s a statement of fact, Dàozhǎng, not a threat.”

Xīngchén nodded, but he didn’t look any happier about it. He twisted his arm out of Xuē Yáng’s grasp, then tangled their fingers together.

“You’re welcome to visit me again, Xuē Yáng. If you have any trouble sticking to your rules, please come find me again. Even if you just need a break for a few days… I know it can be difficult and frustrating, trying to help people.”

“It’s not so bad, most of the time,” Xuē Yáng murmured, and bizarrely, that made Xīngchén grin.

“Then you’re welcome to visit just for fun.”

Xuē Yáng laughed, and let himself be drawn into a hug. Something quick and lovely. Xuē Yáng closed his eyes, memorising the feel of Xīngchén’s arms. Who knew when this might happen again?

Breaking apart, he kept his eyes closed as he turned and leapt onto Jiàngzāi. Easier to leave if he couldn’t see what he was leaving behind. That was the logic, anyway—nevermind that it didn’t actually work at all, and leaving his Dàozhǎng always felt like getting stabbed in the guts again.

It was getting easier to endure with each parting, especially now that they were friends. Now that he could return just for fun. To talk, to play, to duel, to use his Dàozhǎng as a pillow. Xuē Yáng grinned, glancing over a shoulder. They were already so far away that he could only just make out the white of Xīngchén’s robes.

Xuē Yáng would be back to visit him soon.

Chapter Text

Day one was a test of his impulse control.

(don’t go back to Dàozhǎng, don’t go back to Dàozhǎng, don’t go back to Dàozhǎng)

Day two, Xuē Yáng became the favourite customer at a teahouse after buying one of every single sweet and candy they offered. He spent the entire time dreading the appearance of anything made with lychees, and then was oddly disappointed when none of their sweets used it.

(don’t think about him, don’t think about him, don’t think about him)

Day three, and Xuē Yáng had gotten tired of sleeping on rooftops and in shadowy places under houses. He found a room in an inn and heavily warded the entire space, then curled under the blankets for the entire day, making a servant fetch meals and leave them by his room.

The bed was comfy and soft. The fabrics weren’t of a very high quality, not like back at Jīnlín Tái, but at Jīnlín Tái he’d had to share a room with a dozen other disciples, so this was still superior.

It would have been better if there had been a second body in the bed. Few things were as relaxing as the weight of another body, or the way they would sleep half-sprawled across Xuē Yáng and press him into the mattress. It just felt nice in this way he could never quite describe. Xuē Yáng liked to give himself nice things.

Sadly, this was one nice thing he had to go without more often than not. Candies, good food, good clothes, good weapons; those were all easy to acquire if you had money. Someone to sleep beside who didn't expect sex was a lot more difficult to find. Most days it wasn't worth bothering with. It wasn't like Xuē Yáng would be able to fall asleep if there was a stranger in his bed anyway, that would be a stupid thing to do. This day, it definitely wasn’t worth finding a stranger. The memory of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s presence sleeping beside him was still too strong to dismiss; any other body would be a pale imitation.

But Xuē Yáng wasn’t going to think about him anymore or miss him, because it was only day three and Xuē Yáng was in control of himself and it wasn’t like he needed Xiǎo Xīngchén or anything.

The afternoon sun made the room bright. Xuē Yáng hid his face beneath the blanket.

Why were people so obsessed with sex anyway? Sure, it felt good for about two minutes but apart from that it was messy and boring and uncomfortable. It wasn't something worth killing for, or risking power for, but inexplicably, everyone in the world seemed to be chasing it. That had been pretty useful to Xuē Yáng on more than one occasion, but it still didn't make much sense to him why everyone became idiots for it.

Did Xiǎo Xīngchén like sex? He didn't always get Xuē Yáng's jokes but he always blushed so prettily when he did. Xuē Yáng had never seen him wander into a brothel or flirting with anyone, and Xiǎo Xīngchén had never returned to the Coffin House smelling of sex or looking ruffled, but he was a dàozhǎng. Maybe Xiǎo Xīngchén's path included practicing celibacy...

(stop thinking about him)

Day four, Xuē Yáng went in search of a night hunt. It wasn’t the best distraction, since it mainly involved talking to other people, and talking to people who weren’t Xiǎo Xīngchén only served to remind Xuē Yáng about how great talking with Xiǎo Xīngchén was. And there was also the fact that hunts weren’t exactly common things. They weren’t rare by any means, but it was unlikely to just find one the moment you began to look. If he was lucky, Xuē Yáng would uncover evidence of a haunting sometime in the next few days, and then he could spend a little longer on actually completing the hunt, fill the days up.

Two weeks, Xuē Yáng had decided. He would go two weeks wandering like normal, hunting things and helping whoever he felt inclined to help, and then when the two weeks were up, he was allowed to track down Xiǎo Xīngchén again and run back to his side. Two weeks was reasonable, wasn’t it?

On day seven, Xuē Yáng was hunting. It was a simple mission, unfortunately, which gave him plenty of time to think about other things. Like how Xiǎo Xīngchén obviously still gave preference to Sòng Lán over Xuē Yáng, and how smug Sòng Lán must be feeling about that. But Xiǎo Xīngchén had said Xuē Yáng was welcome to return just for fun, so Sòng Lán would just have to sit and seethe.

Why was Sòng Lán being so stubborn anyway? They all belonged to Dàozhǎng now, so how long was he going to keep objecting to Xuē Yáng’s presence?

Xuē Yáng dodged an attack a little slower than normal and decided maybe he should focus on the fight for a little bit. A few minutes later and everything that needed killing was dead. Two or three little ghosts wandered closer, their minds no longer corrupted by the resentful spirit among them. He nodded to them, and their energies began to dissipate into nothing as they moved on.

The real issue with Sòng Lán was that Xuē Yáng knew very little about him. There was Sòng Lán’s reputation, of course, all tangled up with Xiǎo Xīngchén’s. He had handsome features, usually held in a cold, unapproachable expression, and a furious devotion to justice. Powerful and skilled enough to make a formidable opponent, idiotic enough to break Xiǎo Xīngchén’s heart. He looked much more comfortable when wearing black than when he was wearing gold. He used his mother’s name instead of his father’s.

None of that said much about what sort of person he was or how long he might persist in stubbornly objecting to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s choice in friends. Really, he should be the one who left for a little while to sort out his thoughts, not Xuē Yáng. Sòng Lán was the one causing arguments.

Had Sòng Lán found their home in Yi City by chance, or had he been purposely seeking Xiǎo Xīngchén? If Sòng Lán had been haunted by his poor choices for years and driven to make things right by searching the entire world for Xiǎo Xīngchén in the hope of finding forgiveness, well at least that would show that Sòng Lán both understood the nature of his mistake and had the devotion required to earn a place at Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side once more. It would be a good thing to have another person who knew Xiǎo Xīngchén was the most important person in the world, and prized him as such. But Sòng Lán would also have to be rather stubborn to stick to a search like that, and Xuē Yáng didn’t have the patience to deal with that kind of stubbornness for long. A few months, maybe, and then he would ask his Dàozhǎng about travelling alongside him again. More than enough time for Sòng Lán to grow used to the idea—if he still objected, it would be utterly clear to Xiǎo Xīngchén that Sòng Lán was just being petty and unreasonable, and then Xuē Yáng would be the one Xiǎo Xīngchén favoured above everyone else.

On day ten, Xuē Yáng broke. He asked for rumours about Xiǎo Xīngchén. Flew from town to town, only staying long enough to ask about his Dàozhǎng, and when that didn’t help, he flew back to the place they’d last met.

Of course the campsite had been pulled down. Nothing was left except some scattered ashes and soot. The town below, though, had a few people with an idea about where his Dàozhǎng was going.

Xuē Yáng sighed, and decided he could wait another day.

Day eleven was mostly spent in another inn, meditating and pacing and trying to talk himself into waiting until the two weeks were entirely finished.

Day twelve, Xuē Yáng landed in the town said to be his Dàozhǎng’s next destination, right as the sun was rising. A quick investigation revealed Dàozhǎng was no longer here either. It took a frustratingly long time to find anyone who knew where his Dàozhǎng might be headed, so it was already mid-morning by the time Xuē Yáng set off for the next village. It wasn’t far to travel, only a few hours’ walk. Faster, the way Xuē Yáng moved.

The villagers were friendly enough, and happy to share details of the blind Dàozhǎng in white that had arrived several days before. There had been a fierce demon preying on the village for several months, one that had taken many lives. The two Dàozhǎngs and their young apprentice had tracked the beast, cornered it, and defeated it after a long battle. Unfortunately, there had been casualties among the peasants during that final fight. 

(why had the death of a nobleman’s son led to Xuē Yáng being chased from the town, while the deaths of three beggars sheltering in an abandoned building were considered a necessary sacrifice?)

Xuē Yáng listened closely, nodded, and didn’t asked for the details of where Xiǎo Xīngchén was staying. Instead, he set off for the closest forest. Anywhere with thickly growing trees.

On day twelve, he found his Dàozhǎng camping in a bamboo thicket.

The worst part, in Sòng Lán’s opinion, was that Xuē Yáng had been right about the resentful energy thing. As long as he kept his emotions in control, he could manipulate it almost exactly like qi. So why was it still so difficult to keep warm?

No, the worst part had been Xuē Yáng’s parting words, that snide little tirade about how he was always going to return to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side and the tone that implied Sòng Lán was being childish for objecting. That command to stop arguing.

Xiǎo Xīngchén hadn’t spoken of Xuē Yáng from that moment on and had acted wilfully deaf whenever Sòng Lán mentioned anything related to the man, as if any discussion would devolve into another argument. It left an uncomfortable tension hanging between them, Xiǎo Xīngchén radiating wistful disappointment.

That was probably the worst part, actually. The way Xiǎo Xīngchén was pulling away again, obviously hurt after their last argument. Ā-Qìng was frowning a lot too, watching them both whenever she thought Sòng Lán wasn’t paying attention. The longer the tension stretched between Sòng Lán and Xiǎo Xīngchén, the quieter she seemed to become. Sòng Lán wasn’t sure what to do about that. He didn’t know how to fix things with Xiǎo Xīngchén in a way that left them both happy. He didn’t know if it was even possible, when it came to this particular subject.

Xiǎo Xīngchén could talk all he liked about how Xuē Yáng was doing good things these days; Sòng Lán’s thoughts were filled with the dozens of dead faces from Báixuě. Whatever obedience or control or cheap redemption Xiǎo Xīngchén had managed to coax out of Xuē Yáng, it didn’t mean Sòng Lán was required to befriend the man. And really, what was stopping Xuē Yáng from turning back to his old ways? What, other than curiosity, was holding him to this new path? If Xiǎo Xīngchén said the wrong word, did the wrong thing, would Xuē Yáng’s obsession with him flip back into violence?

There were hundreds of murderers in the world, and Xiǎo Xīngchén could have picked any one of them for this experiment in redemption. Why did it have to be this particular murderer? The one they had history with?

After a few days, they had fallen back into a stilted version of their normal routine. Xiǎo Xīngchén was far quieter than normal, barely speaking as they walked from village to village, except for his part in Ā-Qìng’s training.

And then, three people had been killed while they hunted a demon. Xiǎo Xīngchén had remained calm, smiling as the villagers thanked them for their assistance. Ā-Qìng had watched blankly, keeping up her blind act as the town fell into celebration. No one stepped forwards to claim the bodies, and when Sòng Lán and Xiǎo Xīngchén had performed their death rites and lay the bodies in the ground, no one had attended.

Xiǎo Xīngchén kept smiling, and refused to stay in the town, telling the villagers they were urgently required elsewhere, which Sòng Lán knew wasn't true. Instead of travelling, Xiǎo Xīngchén had led him and Ā-Qìng to the nearest thicket of dense trees they could find, set up a camp, and warded the space so no random villager could wander in. Ā-Qìng hadn't said a single word to object, even though Sòng Lán knew the nights were still too cold for her.

Once the firepit had been set up, Xiǎo Xīngchén had gathered Ā-Qìng close, and hugged her to him for a long time while she wept. Smiling gently, he'd murmured things to her that Sòng Lán did his best not to overhear. It took Sòng Lán far too long to remember that Ā-Qìng had been a beggar child once. Would anyone have cared if she had died during those days before Xiǎo Xīngchén had adopted her as his sister?

Sòng Lán didn't know what to do. Xiǎo Xīngchén had always been far better at offering comfort; Sòng Lán's features were generally regarded as too cold, too scary, and his aversion to touch mistaken for disgust or disdain. Reassuring words fell easily from Xiǎo Xīngchén's lips, whereas they had always felt unnatural on Sòng Lán's tongue. Not that he had a tongue anymore. Shit. Maybe it was better that he just focused on keeping the fire high and warm.

Maybe there was something wrong with Sòng Lán. More than the walking corpse thing. Normal people knew how to comfort each other and help each other feel better. Half the time, Sòng Lán didn't even notice his closest companions needed comforting. Or, like in Xiǎo Xīngchén's case, Sòng Lán just yelled and made things worse.

After two days of rest, Ā-Qìng was visibly in a better mood, and Xiǎo Xīngchén was still smiling. Sòng Lán didn't understand it. It had to be a fake smile, right? Ceramic and false, a painted mask. Xiǎo Xīngchén was never this unshaken by deaths during a hunt, but here he was, smiling serenely while caring for Ā-Qìng. Sòng Lán had asked, but somehow Xiǎo Xīngchén had turned the conversation around to inquire if Sòng Lán was feeling alright after their hunt, and never offered his own feelings on the matter. When Sòng Lán had offered to listen as Xiǎo Xīngchén talked of his anxieties, like after the teleportation incident, Xiǎo Xīngchén had smiled and thanked him, and never taken him up on the offer. Sòng Lán couldn’t read Xiǎo Xīngchén well enough to tell if it was because Xiǎo Xīngchén was genuinely unaffected, or if he simply didn’t trust Sòng Lán enough to open up that way again.

Of course Xuē Yáng had to choose that moment to make a bad day worse, wandering out from between the bamboo to their little camp.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was the first to realise he was there. Sòng Lán saw him pause, saw him turn to the trees in the same moment Sòng Lán sensed an approaching cultivator.

“Hiding behind all these wards, you'll hurt my feelings, Dàozhǎng! Didn't you invite me to visit you whenever I wished?”

“I wasn’t hiding. Not from you, at least,” Xīngchén replied.

"Who from, the villagers?"

Xīngchén shrugged, and didn't answer. Xuē Yáng laughed, moving closer. When he looked in Sòng Lán’s direction, he gave a wide, smug grin. Sòng Lán replied with a glare.

“What brings you to visit, Xuē Yáng?” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, and Xuē Yáng switched back to focus on him, striding forwards as if he’d completely dismissed Sòng Lán’s presence.

“Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Nearly two weeks since you last saw me!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s mouth twitched.

“Xuē Yáng, this may come as a shock to you, but it’s been a lot longer than two weeks since I last saw you.”

Xuē Yáng giggled and skipped closer, nodding to Ā-Qìng as he approached and still ignoring Sòng Lán.

Xīngchén sighed.

“This may not be the best time to entertain you,” Xīngchén said.

“Yes, I heard. Rumour has it, a whole building was destroyed in the battle, three dead.” Xuē Yáng moved closer until he was within arm’s reach of Xiǎo Xīngchén, then sat down facing him. “Have you cried over it yet?”

“Why do you care? Are you here to gloat?” Ā-Qìng hissed.

Xuē Yáng smirked at her.

“I don’t think anyone here believes that I care that some random people are dead,” he said, turning back to Xīngchén. “But Dàozhǎng, I know you. A night-hunt goes wrong and you’ll smile and keep working even while your heart is bleeding. Everyone’s important to you. So. Have you cried yet, or have you been spending this whole time looking after other people again and pretending you’re unharmed?”

There were a few beats of silence between them all.

“That’s why you’re visiting?” Xīngchén said, and somehow his voice sounded small.

“Of course,” Xuē Yáng said, as if any other option was absurd. Sòng Lán blinked, glancing between them. Xīngchén was laughing softly, but his smile was shaky. Xuē Yáng shuffled closer, until there was less than a hand’s width between them. Sòng Lán tensed, ready to intervene—

“Dàgē!” Ā-Qìng cried out, darting to his side and grabbing at his sleeve. Xīngchén was shaking, red tears creeping past the white of his bandage. He took a sharp breath, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. Xuē Yáng grimaced, grabbing Xīngchén’s shoulder.

“Dàozhǎng, at least take your bandages off first! It’s so annoying to get blood out of white!”

Xīngchén snorted, before nodding and moving to remove the bandage as he kept crying. Xuē Yáng took it from his hands, his expression soft.

It put sharp stones into Sòng Lán’s throat. Xīngchén was weeping blood and it was still the most relaxed Sòng Lán had seen him in weeks. Xīngchén had dropped that awful ceramic smile, one he’d been wearing for days, after exchanging a handful of words with Xuē Yáng. Xīngchén was leaning into Xuē Yáng’s touch as the murderer fussed over him and made inappropriate jokes.

Ā-Qìng was dampening another bandage, ready to help clean away the blood, and Xuē Yáng gave her a smirk which she steadily ignored. Xīngchén murmured his thanks to her, and all the while Sòng Lán remained where he was. Useless. Obsolete.

Xīngchén preferred Xuē Yáng’s presence, his company, his sense of humour, whatever comforts Xuē Yáng could offer—and apparently he was actually good at offering comfort! All of Sòng Lán’s efforts, at best they’d had no effect and at worst they’d been actively harmful to Xīngchén, while Xuē Yáng drew Xīngchén’s grief out like poison from a wound—

Why had Xīngchén chosen to travel with him when he obviously found Xuē Yáng’s company more agreeable? Was it out of pity? Nostalgia? Poor Sòng Lán, left dead and walking, finally his body was as cold as his heart and expression—no, Xīngchén wasn’t like that, he—Xīngchén was kind but he didn’t, he wouldn’t allow Sòng Lán to travel beside him out of pity alone—

Sòng Lán stood. Froze.

He couldn’t be here anymore. Needed to run. Didn’t want to watch this. Couldn’t leave. Xīngchén was crying. Xuē Yáng was here. Xīngchén was in danger. They were laughing together. Run. Stay. 

Sòng Lán wasn’t sure what expression he was currently wearing, but Xuē Yáng was staring at him. Smirking, resting his head on Xīngchén’s shoulder. Usurper. Viper. Feral beast with fangs ready to rip through Xīngchén’s neck if Sòng Lán turned away.

He didn’t know what to do. His head hurt. The cold burned, his skin frozen and fracturing, shattering to icy pieces and leaving nothing but smokey shadows. Xīngchén was glowing white, getting brighter, drowning out the two other lights, golden and soft blue—what was this, why—it looked nice, it looked warm, that pulsing core of energy, that was what he needed to be warm, if he could just dig that out of the surrounding flesh—

Something slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling backwards. Sòng Lán snarled, swiping forwards with Fúxuě—another sword blocked it—why was everything so hazy?—Sòng Lán tried to move forwards and nearly tripped, his feet were tangled in something—

The golden glowing thing was getting closer. It wasn't as nice as the white glow, but it had a core too, it would work, if Sòng Lán could catch it—the golden glow paused a little out of reach, as if it sensed Sòng Lán was about to lunge—the golden glowing thing flickered, shifted sideways—

Everything jolted, sending painful static across his skin. Sòng Lán swore, blinked, and the golden glow shimmered, before turning into Xuē Yáng. What the fuck was happening?

Xuē Yáng smirked, tilting his head to one side. Shadows were swarming around his feet, whispering things too quiet to hear properly.

Sòng Lán glanced down at his own feet. Shadow chains bound his ankles. Snarling, he sent a surge of energy down to shatter them. Things went hazy again for a few seconds, colours strange and fuzzy and that beacon of white light off to one side—

“Sòng Lán!” Xuē Yáng called out, lifting his sword to point at Sòng Lán’s chest. Golden sparks flickered down his arm and across the blade. “Fight me.”

Chapter Text

Something weird was going on with Sòng Lán. Xuē Yáng had been happily ignoring the man, speaking with Xīngchén, and then Sòng Lán had made a strange noise, springing to his feet. Xuē Yáng turned to watch as the resentful energy in Sòng Lán’s body surged in odd ways, spiralling inwards. Unstable.

“Zǐchēn? Is something wrong?” Xīngchén asked. Sòng Lán didn’t respond. His eyes were turning completely black. Shadows were shifting all around them, little bits of smoke darting out from among the leaf litter to merge with the ones swirling around Sòng Lán. There was something hungry in the way he tilted his head, the sudden predatory focus on Xiǎo Xīngchén.

Xuē Yáng sighed. There were better moments for a qi deviation; did Sòng Lán have to choose now?

“Dàozhǎng, you trust me, right?”

“I do—”

Xuē Yáng stood and slammed his palm into Sòng Lán’s chest to send him stumbling backwards, away from Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng. Xuē Yáng winced, shaking out his wrist. Even using his qi to reinforce the blow, it was hard to shift Sòng Lán when he didn’t want to move.

“Xuē Yáng! What are you—”

“I know what I’m doing, Dàozhǎng, he won’t be damaged. Nothing he can’t recover from, at least. Keep Little Blind out of the way.”

Sòng Lán was already moving to attack, slower and much clumsier than normal. Xuē Yáng deflected it easily, and with a gesture, he tangled shadow chains around Sòng Lán’s feet.

He risked a glance back to Xiǎo Xīngchén, who was standing with Shuānghuá drawn and looked about two seconds from jumping into the fight.

“Trust in me, Dàozhǎng.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén bit his lip, looking torn, but Xuē Yáng couldn’t spare him any more attention, Sòng Lán was trying to attack again, his teeth bared in a snarl, dark veins creeping to cover more of his flesh—

Xuē Yáng took in all the details, then let his eyes unfocus, watching the push/pull of resentful energy moving in the air and under Sòng Lán’s skin. There was a large tangle right around where Sòng Lán’s heart was, another in his throat, and a third where his core would have been. Strange flares of shadow surged from the tangles, filling the bamboo forest with an oppressive atmosphere.

Energy instabilities like this, they were the kind of thing that turned peaceful dead spirits into fierce ghosts, trapping them in a cycle of anger and resentment and removing all rationality. It wasn’t difficult to solve—well, maybe it was more difficult if you couldn’t directly manipulate resentful energy, but even regular cultivators knew the theory. Find the energy blockage, fix the blockage, encourage the energy to flow normally again. Soothe away the resentment.

Xuē Yáng grinned, and drew a talisman in the air.

Sòng Lán grunted, flinching back as two of the tangles were forcefully unravelled, flowing back into their normal patterns. The black veins retreated slightly, and his eyes returned to normal. He blinked, then caught sight of Xuē Yáng and immediately fell back into his signature glare.

Much better! A mindless walking corpse was boring, the kind of mundane ghost found on every other street corner. Sòng Lán was different. Special. He wasn’t allowed to destroy himself in some implosion of unstable resentful energy.

How long had this been building up? Tangles like that didn’t form overnight, not without some kind of earth-shattering event to cause it. Most often, blockages formed when emotional or mental imbalances caused the qi to pool and stagnate instead of flowing freely throughout the body. Even now with the tangles unravelled, Sòng Lán’s qi was flowing sluggishly. 

Xuē Yáng knew the best way to fix that, though.

“Sòng Lán! Fight me!” Xuē Yáng yelled, and he could feel the disapproval radiating from Xiǎo Xīngchén, but Xīngchén didn’t actually try to interfere—

Xuē Yáng laughed, dodging backwards as Sòng Lán attacked.

Ā-Qìng watched as they fought. Apart from that scary moment at the beginning, it didn’t seem all that different from whenever Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng and Dàgē would spar. Maybe a little fiercer. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng didn’t usually get that snarly when he was fighting Dàgē. And Dàgē didn’t usually spend every free breath taunting him. Dàgē also didn’t usually use dirty tricks to gain the upper hand, and Xuē Yáng seemed to have an endless supply of them.

She glanced to Xiǎo Xīngchén. He was smiling slightly, but it looked forced, and Shuānghuá was still in his hand.

Sòng Lán launched a particularly aggressive attack. Xuē Yáng avoided most of it but was left with a small scratch on one arm. Beside Ā-Qìng, Xiǎo Xīngchén flinched.

“Can you see what’s happening as they fight?” Ā-Qìng asked. It took a moment for him to answer, his blind gaze following the motions of the fight with eerie accuracy.

“I can sense their qi. It’s not the same as true sight, but—hmm. Just there, when Xuē Yáng jumped up into the air? The qi in his body surged, reinforcing the bones and muscles in his legs and back, as well as manipulating the air currents around him. And see as Zǐchēn threw Fúxuě forwards? His qi—ah, resentful energy—is carrying the blade,” he explained. “Actually, this is a good opportunity for you to practice your qi sensing.”

“I don’t want to close my eyes, I’ll miss something.”

“You don’t need to. Just remember the same steps we used before. Focus on your breathing, and then identify the qi within your body, then expand that awareness to your environment. Except this time, instead of passive awareness of everything around you, try narrowing your focus to either Xuē Yáng or Zǐchēn. See if you can sense their qi.”

Ā-Qìng did as she was told, controlling her breathing, but it was difficult to focus on anything else when there was a battle going on right in front of her. The way they moved, it was nearly too fast to make out. The sounds of blades clashing would reach her before her eyes knew what was happening.

“Do you think I could move that quick one day?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén hummed, nodding. “Sooner than you’d think, too. Once your core condenses, moving this fast becomes easy, though it takes a little while to become accustomed to it.”

There was another violent flurry of attacks, and Xiǎo Xīngchén trembled, holding Shuānghuá tightly.

“Are you alright, Dàgē?”

“I… yes, I’m fine.” He pressed his mouth closed in a firm line, tension across his shoulders. “Perhaps a little anxious. I don’t want either of them to come to harm.”

“Why aren’t you trying to make them stop, then?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén swallowed.

“I am almost entirely certain that neither of my friends is planning on murdering or seriously wounding the other, which is progress, I suppose. I’ve seen them in real combat; this fight isn’t quite as vicious.”

Xuē Yáng was thrown through the air and smacked into a tree, then scrambled out of the way of Fúxuě’s strike. The poor tree was shattered apart by the force of the attack.

“Between cultivators, this is more of, uh… an intense spar,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, a little weakly.

Sòng Lán was floating. Sòng Lán was fighting.

He was in a bamboo clearing lit up by the afternoon sun. He was in a strange shadowy world with three glowing things that made his mouth water. 

The golden light was Xuē Yáng. If Sòng Lán squinted his eyes right, he could see that the golden light was shifting under Xuē Yáng’s skin, sparks of energy running down Xuē Yáng’s blade. Every time he drew a talisman in the air, sparks would gather, mixing with the heavy black smoke and transforming into something else…

The world was moving slow, like everything was wrapped in honey. Sòng Lán caught sight of his own hands, the pale skin, the black veins, the smoke beneath. Tiny golden sparks mixed within.

Xuē Yáng’s qi. It burned.

Sòng Lán snarled, moving forwards to attack. Xuē Yáng wanted a fight; Sòng Lán would destroy him. 

Xuē Yáng dodged, and Sòng Lán spun, following his laughter—Xiǎo Xīngchén’s bright white light caught his attention. Right. Xīngchén liked this bastard. Maybe Sòng Lán would simply sever Xuē Yáng’s arm and be done with it. The shadows were growing deeper—

Xuē Yáng slammed a palm against Sòng Lán’s shoulder and Sòng Lán shrieked, spinning to slice him in half—Xuē Yáng was already gone and Sòng Lán’s shoulder was on fire. He hissed, batting at the flames, but they just licked around his fingertips and dove beneath Sòng Lán’s skin, trailing heat behind.

Sòng Lán blinked and the colours were brighter, the smoke fading from sight, he could see faces again instead of just the glow—

Xuē Yáng’s eyes were trailing over Sòng Lán like he was checking for something, and then he smirked. Fucking prick. Sòng Lán should cut out his eyes and gift them to Xīngchén. 

“Feeling warmer, Sòng-dàozhǎng?” Xuē Yáng called out. He evaded Sòng Lán’s lunge. 

Fighting a cultivator was different from hunting. Fighting Xuē Yáng was different from sparring with Xīngchén. His fighting was rough, messy; there were elements that looked like Lanling Jin’s style but generally Xuē Yáng fought like he was self-taught, relying on tricks and minor illusions to make up for where he lacked strength and speed. It made the fight more difficult than it should be. In a fair match, Sòng Lán would have already won.

Sòng Lán spun around and caught Xuē Yáng’s wrist before his golden glowing palm made contact with Sòng Lán's back. Xuē Yáng swore, struggling to break free while Sòng Lán brought Fúxuě around—

The qi flashed blindingly bright; Sòng Lán hissed, looking away, and Xuē Yáng laughed as he escaped, leaving that burning sunlight to linger in Sòng Lán’s hand. The fire sank into his skin again, Xuē Yáng’s qi under his skin again —

“Is your blood hot, Sòng Lán?” Xuē Yáng mocked, attacking while Sòng Lán was still blinded. Sòng Lán deflected it, mostly by instinct, and launched his own attack. He managed to clip Xuē Yáng’s arm with Fúxuě but Xuē Yáng acted like he didn't notice, laughed as he ducked out of reach.

Sòng Lán snarled and leapt into an attack, his heart pounding. Whatever Xuē Yáng’s plan was, it wasn’t going to work. Sòng Lán was going to destroy him—Xīngchén was standing there, looking worried—Sòng Lán was going to defeat Xuē Yáng, and tie him up, and throw him at Xīngchén’s feet.

Xuē Yáng's smile only grew wider as Sòng Lán’s attacks grew more powerful and dangerous. When Sòng Lán caught him and threw him against a tree, Xuē Yáng giggled, clumsily rolling away from Sòng Lán’s next attack. He was clearly growing exhausted, and that was where Sòng Lán’s advantage lay. Xuē Yáng couldn’t fight forever; soon he’d make a mistake.

Xuē Yáng didn’t seem to care. He was still grinning like he had already won. Like he was having fun, despite the fact that he was losing. His laughter sounded like wild delight spilling free. It was almost infectious.

“It’s fun, right?” Xuē Yáng panted when their blades locked. Sòng Lán’s breathing was also coming short. Xuē Yáng grinned, something made of raw exhilaration displayed with bared teeth, and Sòng Lán mirrored it, grinning back.

Sòng Lán froze. Xuē Yáng took advantage of his hesitation to break away, but instead of attacking, he disappeared within a swarm of shadows.

Sòng Lán blinked, staring blankly forwards. He had been grinning too? As if… as if this had been a sparring session with a friend or something. Sòng Lán’s pulse was still racing, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath—

Wait, no, that wasn’t—Sòng Lán didn’t have a heartbeat, he didn’t need to breathe. All at once, the sensations stopped. Sòng Lán blinked, staring at his hands. He focused, examining the resentful energy within, but there wasn’t a trace of Xuē Yáng’s qi left. No more golden sparks.

He felt warm.

Xuē Yáng’s qi reappeared and Sòng Lán spun around to face him—he was hiding behind Xīngchén.

“Dàozhǎng, protect me!” Xuē Yáng said with a laugh, peeking over one of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulders. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s lips quivered like he was forcing away a smile. Sòng Lán stormed closer—

“Zǐchēn,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said softly, tilting Shuānghuá so that the blade caught the light.

Sòng Lán paused, and then he sheathed Fúxuě with a huff. Xīngchén smiled and placed Shuānghuá away. Behind him, Xuē Yáng let out another laugh, before flopping onto his back and closing his eyes.

Sòng Lán stared at him, frowning. Why was Xuē Yáng still grinning like that? He had lost, hadn’t he? What spell had he intended to cast with that qi? 

“Zǐchēn, can you help me put on some tea?” 

Sòng Lán startled slightly at Xīngchén’s words, then moved to help him. When their fingers brushed as Sòng Lán handed him the teapot, Xīngchén smiled and let the touch linger.

“Are you feeling any better?” Xīngchén asked. Sòng Lán blinked, glancing to Xuē Yáng—still stretched out and catching his breath—and then back to Xīngchén. That couldn’t be it, right? The strange surreal sensations from earlier had all been burnt away, leaving only the pleasant hum throughout his body that followed a good fight. That persistent chill from the past few weeks was gone.

Why exactly had Xuē Yáng demanded that they fight? 

Sòng Lán caught Xīngchén’s hand, tapping a finger against it until Xīngchén held his palm flat.

“I’m fine,” Sòng Lán traced out. Xīngchén took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Instead of replying verbally, he flipped their hands so he could trace a reply on Sòng Lán’s palm.

“It looked like you were on the edge of a qi deviation. I was worried.”

Sòng Lán frowned. His resentful energy was flowing normally now, as obedient as qi. The anger and frustration was quieter, pushed away to the back of his mind. But earlier…

“I’m okay now. Calm. Not unstable.”

Xīngchén bit his lip, then nodded. His fingers hesitated a moment before tracing out something new on Sòng Lán’s palm. 

“Was it because of Xuē Yáng? The instability?”

Yes. No. Partially? Xuē Yáng’s presence had triggered it but Sòng Lán had already been feeling unsteady. And Xuē Yáng had—why had he helped?

“I won’t harm him, so long as you call him your friend,” Sòng Lán traced out, rather than answer directly. Xīngchén seemed to read his meaning anyway, 

“My friendship with him distresses you greatly,” Xīngchén wrote. Sòng Lán sighed.

“It does. But his company soothes you.”

“He’s relentless that way.”

Sòng Lán glanced at Xuē Yáng again.

“Xīngchén, can we talk later? Will you let me?”

Xīngchén paused for a long moment, then he nodded. 

“We’ll talk later,” he traced on Sòng Lán’s palm, then moved away, sitting between Xuē Yáng and the fire. Sòng Lán sat nearby.

Relentless. The word fit Xuē Yáng well, but relentlessly soothing sounded odd in Sòng Lán’s head. Was relentlessness something Xīngchén valued, when it came to this? Xuē Yáng had been rude and presumptuous, intruding on Xīngchén’s space, demanding to know if Xīngchén had cried—but it had worked, hadn’t it? After two days of Xīngchén smiling and silent, Xuē Yáng had coaxed Xīngchén to express his grief in mere minutes.

Was that it? Sòng Lán had offered to help, but it had been a passive offer, waiting for Xīngchén to accept. Nothing had come of it. Xuē Yáng had demanded and pushed closer, and it had worked.

Sòng Lán frowned, staring down at his hands. If Xuē Yáng’s challenge to a fight earlier could be interpreted as helpful—and by outcome alone, it had been—then it fit the same pattern. Xuē Yáng had seen a problem and relentlessly attacked it, doing something to Sòng Lán’s resentful energy that left him level-headed and calm again. Why, though? Surely it made more sense that Xuē Yáng would feed into Sòng Lán’s “qi deviation” and make things worse? It would have been easy to let Sòng Lán die like that, would have made it easier for Xuē Yáng to spend time with Xiǎo Xīngchén. Xuē Yáng would have been blameless. But instead, Xuē Yáng intervened.

Sòng Lán was missing something here.

“Are either of you injured?” Xīngchén asked aloud.

“Nah,” Xuē Yáng said. Sòng Lán raised an eyebrow, staring at the blood on Xuē Yáng’s arm. He turned to Ā-Qìng. She rolled her eyes and said “Xuē Yáng’s arm is bleeding.”

“No it’s not—huh.”

“Did you not notice?” Xīngchén asked.

“It’s not like it hurts,” Xuē Yáng said, poking the cut, then glaring at the blood on his fingertips as if it had personally offended him. Strange man.

“Come here,” Xīngchén said, reaching for him. Xuē Yáng sat up and shifted to kneel, placing his wrist in Xīngchén’s hand. Sòng Lán saw a wisp of qi drift from Xīngchén’s hand to sink into Xuē Yáng’s skin. Xuē Yáng grabbed a discarded bandage from earlier and cleaned away the remaining blood. When Xīngchén released him a minute later, Xuē Yáng slid his arms around Xīngchén’s shoulders, draping himself over Xīngchén’s back with a happy sigh.

Sòng Lán frowned, his heart hurting at the sight—and then Sòng Lán moved to sit by Xīngchén’s side. Still with a respectful hand’s-width of space between them, of course. Ā-Qìng moved to Xīngchén’s opposite side, not wanting to be left out. She was Xīngchén’s family, after all. 

Xuē Yáng glanced at them both, eyes narrowed, before settling to stare at Sòng Lán, his chin resting on Xīngchén’s shoulder. Sòng Lán glared at him. Bracing himself for the contact, Sòng Lán very deliberately closed the last of that space, so that his thigh touched Xīngchén’s.

“Zǐchēn? Is something the matter?” Xīngchén asked, offering his hand again.

“No,” Sòng Lán traced out. “I just want to sit here.”

He pressed closer. Xīngchén grinned widely, tangling their fingers together. Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes, and hugged Xīngchén tightly.

“Did you see what I did, Dàozhǎng? Are you glad? I fixed your Zǐchēn,” Xuē Yáng said, smirking at Sòng Lán. Sòng Lán bristled for a second at the implication that he’d somehow been broken, and then he registered the last two words Xuē Yáng had said.

Your Zǐchēn.  

Was that how Xuē Yáng saw things? In his head, did Sòng Lán belong with Xīngchén?

“Thank you for your help, Xuē Yáng,” Xīngchén said, leaning into Xuē Yáng’s hold. “You’ve done good work.”

Xuē Yáng made a pleased noise. His eyes fell shut at the praise, his cheeks flushed and mouth parted. After a second, he turned to press his nose into Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair, and made a needy noise, nuzzling closer like a cat.

“Dàozhǎng, are you still hurting?” Xuē Yáng murmured. “I got distracted.”

Xīngchén didn’t reply immediately. His thumb rubbed small circles into the side of Sòng Lán’s hand.

“Xuē Yáng, I’ve found myself missing the way you say my name,” Xīngchén said in a strange, deliberate tone. Xuē Yáng took a sharp breath.

“You said I wasn’t allowed to use it, Dàozhǎng. You can’t have it both ways!” Xuē Yáng said, but there was a wobble to his voice. Sòng Lán glanced at Ā-Qìng, but she didn’t seem to understand what was going on either.

“You can use my name, if you wish.”

Xuē Yáng laughed like sunlight melting frost, and then with the reverence most men reserved for prayer, he said “Xiǎo Xīngchén.”

Chapter Text

Dàozhǎng let Xuē Yáng play with his hair. Xuē Yáng ran his fingers through the silky black locks, teasing them loose from the ties.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén, pass me the comb,” Xuē Yáng said, and even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel Xīngchén’s smile. He was so lovely. Xuē Yáng wanted to bury his face in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair. He wanted to climb into Xīngchén’s arms and drown in his scent. He wanted to crack Xīngchén’s ribs open and crawl inside his chest and live inside him and forget the rest of the world existed. Let Xiǎo Xīngchén’s heartbeat be the day and the night, let the pulse of his qi be the air in Xuē Yáng’s lungs, let Xīngchén’s laughter be the water on his lips.

Xuē Yáng swallowed, and took the comb from Xīngchén’s hand. Their fingers brushed for a second and left stars behind in Xuē Yáng’s blood. He could nearly see their light even through his skin.

Xuē Yáng closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Would Xiǎo Xīngchén find it scary, the kinds of thoughts Xuē Yáng had about him? He asked to hear when Xuē Yáng had violent thoughts, but they still left him pale and uneasy. Were these thoughts violent? Xuē Yáng didn’t actually want Xiǎo Xīngchén to be harmed. Xīngchén wasn’t allowed to break again. But touch wasn’t close enough. Xiǎo Xīngchén’s soul could surround him and burn him to ash and Xuē Yáng still wouldn’t be close enough to him.

But this was no time to let Xiǎo Xīngchén’s brilliance overwhelm him. Xuē Yáng was here for a reason. His Dàozhǎng was still sad and hurt from seeing those people die. Xuē Yáng was playing with Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair because Xiǎo Xīngchén found it relaxing, not because Xuē Yáng wanted to touch him. Although he really definitely wanted to touch him.

Xuē Yáng breathed out, and opened his eyes. He ran the comb through Xīngchén’s hair, careful of the little tangles.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was subtle when showing his pleasure for things like this. He didn’t use words, didn’t really make sounds. It was all in the way the tension drained from his shoulders, the way his breathing would catch, the way he would lean into the contact.

Xuē Yáng watched, he listened, and he let those signs guide him. He placed the comb aside, and split Xīngchén’s hair into sections, braiding it together. It wasn’t a pretty braid, not like the neat ones Xīngchén could make. The strands were uneven, and tufts of hair were sticking out of it. Ā-Qìng said something mocking, and Xuē Yáng scoffed, but he didn’t look her way. Truthfully, he could barely hear what she said, the words meaningless. It didn’t matter if the braid was pretty or not; its purpose was to make Xiǎo Xīngchén shiver and sigh.

Xuē Yáng unravelled it, using his fingers to comb through Xīngchén’s hair, briefly massaging his scalp, and then began the braid again.

How long would Xuē Yáng be allowed to stay this time? How much longer before he’d be allowed to stay at Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side? It wouldn’t be this time, he knew. The writhing mass of resentful energy called Sòng Lán had seen to that, flipping into the equivalent of a qi deviation. The moment he and Xiǎo Xīngchén would talk, Xuē Yáng was certain Sòng Lán was going to place the blame on him. As if he had any control over Sòng Lán’s issues! Would it even matter that Xuē Yáng had fixed him again?

It would matter. Xiǎo Xīngchén cared. He had said Xuē Yáng had done well. He’d done good. Xiǎo Xīngchén was happy. Xiǎo Xīngchén trusted him. Xiǎo Xīngchén wanted him here. Xiǎo Xīngchén let Xuē Yáng touch him and play with his hair and sleep beside him and he would hold Xuē Yáng close and protect Xuē Yáng from enemies—

Sòng Lán was the problem.

Xuē Yáng glanced at him, then back to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair. Sòng Lán kept making messes of everything Xuē Yáng tried to build. It was really rather rude of him. Showing up in Yi City to kill Xuē Yáng and steal Xiǎo Xīngchén away. Demanding Xiǎo Xīngchén’s attention and saying things to make Xiǎo Xīngchén hate him. Chasing Xuē Yáng away, making Xiǎo Xīngchén send Xuē Yáng away.

Xiǎo Xīngchén wanted to keep them both. He did! Xuē Yáng knew he did. For some reason, Sòng Lán’s presence made Xiǎo Xīngchén happier. Xiǎo Xīngchén should have what he wanted. He wanted them both.

Xuē Yáng didn’t want to leave again.

“Xuē Yáng, are you alright?”

Xuē Yáng opened his eyes with a sharp gasp. At some point, his hands had fallen still, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair still tangled through his fingers. Xuē Yáng swallowed, and started the braid again.

“Fine, Xiǎo Xīngchén. I’m fine,” Xuē Yáng said. He could feel Sòng Lán’s attention, Ā-Qìng’s staring.

“Are you certain?”

Xuē Yáng laughed a little. “Xiǎo Xīngchén! You doubt the honest words of the honorable cultivator Xuē Chéngměi!?”

“Of course not. I doubt the word of Xuē Yáng, who has bragged to me on several occasions about his skill at lying.”

“Ah, so you finally learn not to trust people so blindly!”

“Mmm. How else am I supposed to trust?”

Xuē Yáng snorted, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against the back of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s head, his fingers toying with the end of the braid.

“I haven’t even left yet and I already miss you,” Xuē Yáng whispered into his hair.

“Xuē Yáng…”

Abruptly, Xuē Yáng felt surrounded. Sòng Lán was staring. Ā-Qìng was staring. Xuē Yáng could feel them picking apart his words, searching for weak points. Bad bad bad, no, they weren’t Xiǎo Xīngchén, they weren’t allowed to see—not allowed to know—fuck, why were they still watching—

Xuē Yáng shifted forwards, wrapping his arms around Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulders and hiding his face properly. He held his breath for several seconds, letting it out slowly, steadily, and ignored the burning in his throat. The burning in his eyes.

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand came up to cover Xuē Yáng’s. Xuē Yáng trembled.

It was nearly a minute later before he could lift his face, his grin back in place, breathing under control.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén, did I tell you about the idiot bandits who asked for my help? One of them said a different, more accomplished bandit had kidnapped his wife.”

Xuē Yáng kept playing with his hair until Xiǎo Xīngchén was left in a daze. Zǐchēn was sat beside him, close enough that their legs were touching. Zǐchēn’s hand rested over the back of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s, slightly cooler to the touch, a constant grounding weight. On his other side was Ā-Qìng, currently poking holes in Xuē Yáng’s stories. At some point, she’d pushed Xuē Yáng’s hands aside and claimed her own section of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair to braid. She proudly mocked Xuē Yáng’s efforts.

Zǐchēn. Ā-Qìng. Xuē Yáng.

His family. They were all here. And so was Xiǎo Xīngchén. All of them alive (in a manner of speaking). Safe from harm. Somehow able to exist in peace together, even considering their earlier hostilities.

Xuē Yáng and Zǐchēn had fought fiercely, but they hadn’t injured each other. They had stopped fighting without fuss. They were sitting here, in easy arm’s reach of each other and not attacking each other! Instead, here they were, both focused on Xiǎo Xīngchén and trying to provide comfort.

Xuē Yáng had sought him out specifically to make sure Xiǎo Xīngchén was feeling alright after the deaths during his last hunt. Xuē Yáng cared because he knew Xiǎo Xīngchén cared. Because he knew Xiǎo Xīngchén was feeling hurt.

Three lives had been lost. Beggars sheltering in an abandoned building near the edge of the village. The demon had attempted to hide in the structure, and the ensuing battle had caused part of the roof to collapse.

It had been Xiǎo Xīngchén’s negligence. He hadn’t noticed the other presences within until the building was already falling, too focused on the demon. If he’d been paying attention properly, he would have noticed them, he would have restrained his attacks, he would have prioritised getting them outside and away from the demon, if he’d been able to see them instead of relying on qi sense—

Three lives had been lost because of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s negligence. And hardly anyone had seemed to care. It was a stark contrast to the situation Xuē Yáng had found himself in several weeks ago. Those three lives had been worth an entire village’s wrath; why did these three inspire nothing but vague pity?

Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed. He knew why. Everyone knew why. The blood of the rich, the powerful, those with strong family names and good connections, it was always valued more highly than the blood of those without.

When Ā-Qìng was wandering a market alone in rough clothing, a man felt comfortable trying to slice off her hand without provocation. The onlookers had felt no need to interfere. When she was a cultivator’s daughter, suddenly she was worthy of respect.

“What are you thinking of? You’re tensing up again,” Xuē Yáng murmured, his fingers teasing out another braid to massage Xiǎo Xīngchén’s head.

“Sorry.”

“Xiǎo Xīngchén.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén smiled at the mild reprimand.

“Just the same as before. The three who died. They had no family, no rank or prestige; no one cared enough for them to be shaken by their deaths.”

“You say that like it’s some kind of great revelation,” Xuē Yáng muttered.

“It’s not that I find their attitudes surprising. That’s actually what makes it so upsetting, the fact that it isn’t an unusual attitude.”

Xuē Yáng was silent for a few seconds, and then he said, “You’re the unusual one, Xiǎo Xīngchén. You know most people don’t even notice the beggars, right? Not until their bodies start to stink.”

“Well, more people should! We have the ability to help, we have a duty to help each other!”

“Are you going to save the world, Dàozhǎng? Rescue everyone from destitution?” Xuē Yáng snorted. “You don’t even keep enough money for yourself.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén frowned. “Saving the world is the kind of goal that gods and emperors aspire to. It’s too big. I can help those individuals I come into contact with, though.”

“And what would that matter, in the grand scheme of things?”

“Not much,” Xiǎo Xīngchén admitted. “But I think it might matter quite a lot in the lives of the people I help. I’ve made a difference in Ā-Qìng’s life. I’ve made a difference in yours. I can be satisfied with that.”

Xuē Yáng’s fingers hesitated, then fell back into the rhythm of braiding. He was quiet for several long moments.

“I think that if there were more people like you, there would be fewer people like me,” Xuē Yáng said in a quiet voice. Zǐchēn snorted, and after a second Xuē Yáng laughed loudly. “That’s just simple arithmetic! There can only be so many people in the world, right? So of course if there were more that were like Xiǎo Xīngchén, there would be fewer like me! Ah, and it would be so much easier to steal from you all if more people had your foolish heart! The ones like me, we’re too suspicious for that, we’d fight each other until only one was left living…”

Xuē Yáng laughed again, and the sound made Xiǎo Xīngchén smile. Xuē Yáng changed the subject to less serious matters, beginning another funny story, but Xiǎo Xīngchén kept turning Xuē Yáng’s words over and over in his mind. Something about the tone Xuē Yáng had used caught his attention, something almost like wistfulness. What was it that had resonated with Xuē Yáng?

A child without parents to buy him sweet things. A child with a hand crushed under a cart’s wheel. A child without the means to get medical care, his broken bones healing crooked. A street child, dismissed from the minds of the crowd the moment his agony was hidden from sight, ignored when he was attacked by someone of the gentry, with no guardians or family to provide regular food or shelter, let alone sweet things.

Would Xuē Yáng have grown quite so violent and bitter had someone stepped forward to defend him? It was impossible to say for certain, but…

Well, there wasn’t much that could be done about it now. The scars were old, even if some days they still ached. What Xuē Yáng needed now was companionship and support. A safe place to sleep. Xiǎo Xīngchén could offer that.

For the next hour or so, Xiǎo Xīngchén let Xuē Yáng distract him with touch and with stories. When Xuē Yáng deemed Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hair sufficiently played with, he shifted his attention to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s back and began tracing out swirling patterns. Some of them felt like talismans. Most were drawings of flowers and plants and animals. One or two were the kind of crude thing someone might carve into the wall of a brothel. Xuē Yáng would giggle to himself when he drew those. Xiǎo Xīngchén raised his eyebrows and didn’t comment.

The late afternoon was growing cold and the birds were singing the evening chorus when suddenly Xuē Yáng stood up and moved away. Xiǎo Xīngchén followed without a thought—why was Xuē Yáng moving away? He was saying something, and it took a moment to process Xuē Yáng’s words, they were all so falsely bright—Xuē Yáng was leaving?

“Xiao Xīngchén?”

“I…”

Xiǎo Xīngchén had grabbed Xuē Yáng’s wrist.

“You’ve barely been here a few hours,” Xiǎo Xīngchén found himself saying, a strange shake to his voice. Xuē Yáng’s wrist was warm beneath his hand. On Xiǎo Xīngchén’s other side, he could feel Zǐchēn’s presence, cool resentful energy.

Xuē Yáng took in a deep breath then let it out slowly. He made no move to break Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hold.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén, if you ask me to stay, I will stay. Nothing could convince me to leave your side.”

“Xuē Yáng, I—” want you to stay. Xiǎo Xīngchén bit the words back. He could feel Zǐchēn watching. “I can’t.”

Xuē Yáng stepped closer. “But you want to. You want to tell me to stay with you, to travel with you, sleep at your side.”

“I can’t,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said again, but it sounded weaker.

“You want to,” Xuē Yáng murmured, and took another step closer. “You want me.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t answer. He didn’t release Xuē Yáng’s wrist either. The silence stretched until suddenly Xuē Yáng laughed.

“Ah, Xīngchén, all you have to do is ask. Ask and I’ll stay with you,” Xuē Yáng said, his fingers trailing over Xīngchén’s hand and fiddling with his sleeve. “But Xīngchén, if you’re not going to ask, you should release me so I don’t get the wrong idea.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén frowned. Xuē Yáng’s voice was light, teasing, but there was something darker and utterly serious underneath. If Xiǎo Xīngchén held on, if he asked Xuē Yáng to stay, he would stay. Even if it left Ā-Qìng uneasy. Even if it caused Zǐchēn another qi deviation. Xuē Yáng would stay.

Slowly, Xiǎo Xīngchén released his grip. Immediately after, Xuē Yáng tangled their fingers together, swinging their joined hands.

“Shame,” Xuē Yáng said with a sigh. “Well, it’s what we both knew would happen. But don’t worry, Dàozhǎng, I’ll return to you soon.”

“Perhaps when we meet again, it will be under more pleasant circumstances,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

“I don’t know, I’ve grown used to looking for you wherever the situation for peasant-folk is dire.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a grim smile.

“I’ll see you soon,” Xuē Yáng said as he disappeared. Xīngchén waited a second or two, but his qi didn’t reappear. Xuē Yáng was gone.

Chapter Text

Xīngchén looked like a soldier’s wife left forlorn, staring into the distance as her husband marched to war. Sòng Lán immediately wished that a spell existed that would burn a thought into ash; unfortunately, such a spell failed to spontaneously manifest.

With a shaky sigh, Xīngchén turned away from the trees. Before he could take more than a step, Sòng Lán caught his hand.

“You still want him here. I can go fetch him if you’d prefer,” Sòng Lán traced out. Sòng Lán’s personal discomfort aside, Xuē Yáng had been a soothing influence on Xīngchén, something Xīngchén had sorely needed over the past two days. “It’s not been long. He’s probably still within tracking distance.”

Xīngchén smiled sadly, and shook his head.

“I won’t invite him to stay with us unless you’re comfortable with the idea, Zǐchēn, especially since his presence contributed to your qi deviation.”

“I don’t think he was the sole cause of that disturbance,” Sòng Lán traced out before mentally hissing at himself. Why exactly was he arguing in favour of Xuē Yáng? Xīngchén had provided perfectly sound reasoning for Sòng Lán to keep Xuē Yáng out of their lives, and now Sòng Lán was going around and poking holes?!

“Ā-Qìng, you have a say too, of course. I know you and Xuē Yáng haven’t always been on the best of terms. If you’d prefer he stay away, then I’ll tell him to keep his distance from us,” Xīngchén said. Ā-Qìng looked a little startled to be addressed directly.

“I… he’s still a bad person, Dàgē. I’m not sure, I’m sorry,” Ā-Qìng said.

“There’s no need to apologise,” Xīngchén replied, his expression blank.

“But you want to keep him! I should—”

“Ā-Qìng, you are my little sister. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe and comfortable, not the other way around.”

Ā-Qìng’s cheeks grew pink, and she stared at the ground for a few seconds.

“I don’t mind him that much,” she murmured, throwing a worried glance at Sòng Lán. “He’s just scary sometimes. But he gives me candies too.”

Xīngchén nodded, then he moved towards the fire, dropping Sòng Lán’s hand.

“We can discuss it again later,” Xīngchén said. “I’m going to start on our meal.”

Night fell quickly, bringing a bitter chill to the air. Together, they all fell into their evening routine: Sòng Lán lit lanterns and renewed the warming charms around Ā-Qìng’s tent, and checked on the warding charms surrounding their campsite, Xīngchén set about preparing an evening meal, and Ā-Qìng went through the simple martial forms they had taught her.

Sòng Lán kept an eye on her forms as she practiced. She was doing well, her movements smooth and sure. He’d have to see if they could pick up a practice blade for her soon; the simple unarmed forms were good for practicing footwork but she needed to grow used to the weight of a sword.

Strangely, despite the fact that the air was cold, Sòng Lán still felt warm. Weeks and weeks of feeling like his blood had frozen, and now he felt warm, and it was undeniably something that Xuē Yáng had caused.

Had the cold been more than simple discomfort? Some kind of symptom, warning of the instability? Why had that fight left Sòng Lán feeling like his blood was pumping? His blood didn’t move—why would it? His heart was damaged and dead, blood dried in his veins and gone dark. But during that fight, for a few minutes, that hadn’t mattered at all.

It had felt like being alive.

Sòng Lán frowned, glancing between Ā-Qìng and Xīngchén. They were both still busy, and would be for many minutes more. A good time for a short meditation, then.

Sòng Lán settled down near Xīngchén, focusing on the noise of the fire. No, maybe… Xīngchén preferred to use fire to focus his meditation but Sòng Lán had always preferred controlled breathing as his focus. He’d forced himself out of the habit of breathing soon after waking up as a walking corpse—for a while it had only served to remind him of the fact that breathing was unnecessary for him now that he was dead—but perhaps that had been a mistake.

Sòng Lán breathed in slowly, examining the sensations of it as the air travelled through his body to settle into his lungs. Hold it for eight counts, release slowly. His lungs were supposed to ache slightly. They didn’t—it didn’t feel like much of anything—but Sòng Lán knew what it was meant to feel like. He breathed in again, held it, let it out slowly, and threw away the fact that it didn’t feel like it should.

Counting his breaths, Sòng Lán let himself slip into that familiar meditative state and turned his awareness inward.

First, to his body. Heat along his front from the fire, cold night air across his back. Bare earth under him, bamboo leaves cleared away. Legs crossed, shoulders relaxed. No hunger, no thirst, well, that was because he was fucking dead—no, let the thought pass by, keep breathing—no other bodily discomforts. If he was living, he’d still be feeling mild aches from the fight earlier. Strange. He’d felt them earlier, just afterwards. Phantom sensations of being alive. Had they disappeared during the same moment Sòng Lán remembered he didn’t need to breathe? 

What did a heartbeat at rest feel like, anyway? Something completely unnoticeable until it was absent, leaving only a pervasive feeling of wrongness behind.

Second, his qi. Resentful energy. Whichever. It worked like qi, and qi was part of everything that existed. The only difference was that this qi held the corruption of death, overflowing with yin with nothing to balance it. Spirits often targeted the living because they needed more yang energy to stabilise their excessive yin. Sòng Lán had suffered an imbalance, but now his qi was moving fluidly throughout his body the way it normally should. Nothing seemed out of place, and none of Xuē Yáng’s qi was left in his veins.

Was that it? Had that been the purpose of the qi strikes Xuē Yáng had used?

That was a possibility to explore later. For now, Sòng Lán focused on his own emotional state.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Calm, or something approaching it. Anger was never far away these days, grief and regret following like smoke. What was the cause, though? Why didn’t the anger ever really leave? 

The noise of the fire intruded on Sòng Lán’s thoughts. A crackling hiss as Xīngchén adjusted the coals, trying to keep the temperature of the flames steady. 

Anger was the flame, hot and bright and obvious. But smothering a single flame wouldn’t stop a fire spreading if the coals were still burning and sending out sparks. Why was he still so angry, even now that he’d found Xiǎo Xīngchén? Why couldn’t he be satisfied with knowing he’d made Xīngchén smile? Of course it was frustrating that Xīngchén might find Xuē Yáng a more comforting presence than Sòng Lán—frustration was too mild a term. It hurt, rather badly. But it wasn’t Xuē Yáng that had inflicted that wound, it was—

What did it matter anyway? Sòng Lán had never been good at comforting others, not like Xīngchén was. Xiǎo Xīngchén made things look easy. He noticed other people’s distress, he knew the best words to keep them calm, he found the best way to solve their problems, and he nearly glowed with satisfaction at having done so. So why—

Why did Xiǎo Xīngchén never notice that Sòng Lán was hurting too? Why was Xuē Yáng more important? Had Xīngchén somehow forgotten or pushed aside all the wrongs that Xuē Yáng had done? How could he, when Sòng Lán was the semi-living proof of Xuē Yáng’s evil actions? 

Sòng Lán hadn’t wanted to be brought back. He hadn’t wanted to die, but kneeling there, bleeding out and staring up at the uncomprehending blind features of his best friend, Sòng Lán had accepted his death. He had accepted Xuē Yáng’s victory. Sòng Lán had let his hand drop, he’d let Xiǎo Xīngchén walk away to live in happy ignorance. What would the truth have brought Xīngchén other than misery? In those last moments, as his vision faded, Sòng Lán had hoped Xīngchén would never learn the truth. 

Sòng Lán had never expected to open his eyes again. When he did wake, he’d thought his death had been a nightmare. It wasn’t until after Xuē Yáng had escaped that Sòng Lán realised he was no longer among the living. Transformed into this monstrous thing, the kind of creature they hunted. Xiǎo Xīngchén celebrated it like it was a blessing instead of a curse. 

Sòng Lán took a deep breath and opened his eyes, turning to watch as Xīngchén cooked. Looking at him hurt. Thinking about how Xīngchén acted with Xuē Yáng hurt. Apparently Xīngchén wanted Sòng Lán and Xuē Yáng both at his side, no matter that Xuē Yáng was Sòng Lán’s enemy still. Xīngchén tried to be kind to them both, friendly to them both, and didn’t seem to understand that any kindness he offered to Xuē Yáng was a cruelty against Sòng Lán. 

For all their efforts at communicating with each other, it felt very one sided. Xiǎo Xīngchén describing his difficulties and arguing that Xuē Yáng made things easier to deal with, trying to talk Sòng Lán away from more violent actions. Xīngchén never asked if Sòng Lán was finding things difficult living as a walking corpse. He only rarely asked if Sòng Lán was feeling okay, and most of those times were during the aftermath of a battle. Why did Xīngchén assume that if he was uninjured, all was well?  Why did he act like Sòng Lán's anger towards Xuē Yáng was simply a difference of opinion?

Perhaps that was Sòng Lán’s fault. He could have objected sooner instead of pretending he didn't mind Xuē Yáng's presense. He could have made it clear to Xīngchén exactly why he could never forgive Xuē Yáng. He could have explained how difficult it was to feel yourself die and wake up as a monster, to watch his murderer hug and laugh and fuss over his best friend as if they were lovers. But Xīngchén was always so pleased when he met with Xuē Yáng, always so thankful that Sòng Lán had been brought back. How could Sòng Lán tell him the truth? Shatter that happy ignorance? 

Later that evening, as Ā-Qìng practiced her writing under the light of a lantern, Xīngchén turned to Sòng Lán and said, “We should talk.” Sòng Lán hummed in agreement, moving to Xīngchén’s side.

Neither of them said a thing for several long minutes. It was difficult to know where to begin or what to say.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Xīngchén murmured eventually. Sòng Lán glanced at him, then to the fire. Taking Xīngchén’s hand, he tangled their fingers and squeezed briefly, before moving to trace words on Xīngchén’s palm.

“I’m glad that you and Ā-Qìng were not injured.”

“Zǐchēn, I never worried that you would hurt us.”

“You should have,” Sòng Lán wrote, wishing that tracing words could carry the same kind of chiding tone as a voice could. “Qi deviations are dangerous, you know this. I might have killed you. I would have, given the chance.”

“I trust you.”

Utterly foolish! Sòng Lán shook his head, but he found his lips had curled into a smile.

“Xīngchén, are you really so reckless?”

“I wouldn’t leave you to be lost in rage and despair. I’d find some way to fix it.”

“Like how?”

“I… well, I’m sure I’d work it out.”

“This wasn’t a regular qi deviation, Xīngchén. I’m… a fierce corpse. For a few minutes, I forgot I used to be human. I was just hunger, and all I could see was qi—yours and Ā-Qìng’s and Xuē Yáng’s—and I wanted to eat it. Xīngchén, if I had caught you or Ā-Qìng then, I wouldn’t have just attacked—I would have tried to eat you.”

Xīngchén was silent for a long moment.

“Well, it’s good that Xuē Yáng was around to help, then,” he said in a bright tone. Sòng Lán snorted, but found he agreed.

“He confuses me,” Sòng Lán wrote after a moment.

“In what way?”

“He’s strange. Does contradictory things, unpredictable things. I don’t understand his motivations, or why it matters to him that he has your approval.”

“Would the context of his actions change their meaning?”

“Maybe.”

“Would it change what kind of justice he deserves?”

Sòng Lán went to answer but paused as he registered the strange tone in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s voice.

“I don’t like him,” Sòng Lán traced out. “I don’t want to like him or know him better or develop a bond with him. I still think he should be captured and bound in chains, and then probably executed for his crimes. But I told you I would not harm him so long as you called him your friend, so I will not. Nonetheless, it would be reassuring if I understood enough of him to know if I can trust him with your safety and wellbeing.”

“Oh, that is one thing you can definitely trust him with.”

Sòng Lán snorted. “I don’t intend to offend, Xīngchén, but your opinion is hopelessly biased on the matter. You are far too forgiving.”

“You have such a high opinion of me,” Xīngchén said with a laugh. “Zǐchēn, I haven’t forgiven Xuē Yáng. I’m not sure I ever will. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be kind to him or befriend him again, or that he’s incapable of doing good things for others. Are you aware that I never asked him to change? I never requested that he earn my forgiveness through charity for others or anything similar. Actually I insisted that the opposite was true, that none of his actions would make me wish to restore our friendship or forgive him. The night-hunting, the work escorting travellers, acting as a mediator in disputes, all of it was his own choices. He chose to act as a decent person. Admittedly, only so that his actions would be more acceptable according to my ideas of what’s right and what’s wrong, but still, it was his choice. It was always his choice, and he chose this instead of more violence. Again and again, he chose this.”

“So what was stopping him from choosing this before? If he could do this, why didn’t he? Why would he kill anyone at all?”

Xīngchén frowned.

“I think… the more you know of him, the more obvious the answers to that question become. I’m not going to share any of Xuē Yáng’s secrets with you, but you’re very observant, Zǐchēn. Xuē Yáng doesn’t do much to hide who he is if you know how to look. Ignore the history you share with him for a few minutes and analyse him the same way you would any other stranger. See what things you notice.”

Ignore the history— Sòng Lán dropped Xīngchén’s hand, springing to his feet. There was a sharp pain in his chest, and no amount of pacing their camp would clear it.

“Zǐchēn?” Xīngchén’s voice was soft, uncertain. Sòng Lán spun around to face him, breathing heavy.

Sòng Lán’s eyes should be watery and blurred. They were not.

Sòng Lán’s throat should be scratchy and rough. It was not.

Xīngchén looked small. All surprised and lost and confused, like he didn’t understand what could possibly have led to this—

Sòng Lán let out a shaky sigh, and moved back to Xīngchén’s side, taking his hand the moment Xīngchén offered it.

“You’re not leaving?” Xīngchén asked.

“I’m not leaving,” Sòng Lán wrote. “Xīngchén, I am not going to leave you again, not unless you ask me to.”

“Oh,” Xīngchén said, and after a second he gave a small smile. Sòng Lán watched him, and it made the wound to his heart grow sharper. Cold was tangling around the edges of it. This was how it started. Little wounds like this, they grew, they festered, turning into resentment and rage.

Sòng Lán bit his lip, and braced himself.

“Xīngchén, some of the things you ask of me are very cruel.”

Xīngchén stopped breathing for a second.

“…what?” Xīngchén said softly.

“It’s cruel to ask me to forget what Xuē Yáng has done. To ignore his actions. It’s cruel to say you would help me capture him and then change your mind and protect him instead. It’s cruel to ask me to be pleased with his good actions, or to suggest that I should befriend him. Xīngchén, it hurts.”

“You feel I’ve been cruel to you?” Xīngchén asked, his voice wobbly. “I—Zǐchēn, I’m so sorry, I swear I’d never intentionally—”

Sòng Lán huffed a laugh, leaning into Xīngchén to rest his forehead on Xīngchén’s shoulder for a second. Xīngchén fell silent at the contact, shifting like he wanted to draw Sòng Lán into a hug but wasn’t sure it would be accepted.

“I know it wasn’t intentional,” Sòng Lán wrote. “I wouldn’t have continued to travel by your side if you were being intentionally cruel.”

“Zǐchēn, please, I—explain it to me so I understand how I've hurt you."

Sòng Lán blinked, wondering where to begin. There was no gentle way to put it.

“Xīngchén… Xuē Yáng murdered every person in my life except for you. Everyone at Báixuě Temple, my family… I can see their dead faces in my mind, the mangled bodies… every uncle, every auntie, every teacher, all my brothers and sisters… and no one at the larger sects would help me. None of them cared enough to help me get justice for them. Lánlíng Jīn told me that Xuē Yáng was proven innocent of the Chang massacre and suggested I was accusing him out of bitterness. Xīngchén, I can’t—I told you that I won’t harm him, and I won’t, because it’s you who asked me not to—but I can’t ignore the history I share with him. I won’t try to befriend him, and I don’t feel pleased when I hear he’s done good things. I feel cheated. Xīngchén, if he was always capable of doing good things, then why wasn’t he doing good things before? Why did my family have to die? Why did I have to die? Why wasn’t my spirit allowed to move on to the next realm?”

“Zǐchēn,” Xīngchén mumbled, his free hand grabbing at Sòng Lán’s wrist. Xīngchén was trembling so much Sòng Lán half expected to see red tears trailing down his cheeks again.

With a wordless noise, Xīngchén threw himself forwards, hugging Sòng Lán tight.

“You’re not fighting again, are you?”

Sòng Lán flinched, turning to Ā-Qìng. Blank-faced, he shook his head, and at that answer her shoulders relaxed. Abandoning her writing, she took a few steps closer, a strange expression on her face.

“I’ve never seen you cry before, Zǐchēn-Dàozhǎng.”

What?

He touched his face—it was true. There were tears across his cheeks. That wasn’t right. That didn’t make sense but—but it was true, he was crying, there were tears—

Sòng Lán’s arms looped around Xīngchén’s shoulders, holding him closer. It was nice, for a little bit.

It was many minutes later when Sòng Lán’s skin began to crawl at the touch. He grimaced, gently trying to push Xīngchén away—he resisted for a moment before letting go.

“Zǐchēn, I’m sorry, there must be some way I could make this better.”

The last time Xīngchén had tried to make something better, Sòng Lán had woken up with Xīngchén’s eyes and no idea what had happened. 

“Xīngchén, it’s fine.”

“Really, you must tell me—”

Sòng Lán placed a hand over his mouth, and Xīngchén fell silent.

“Xīngchén, everyone else important to me is gone, but I still have you. I want to make your life happy. I want to support you. I want to look after you. But I’ve found I’m not good at caring for you.”

“Zǐchēn—”

Sòng Lán covered Xīngchén’s mouth again.

“Please. Don’t interrupt, you can speak faster than I can write.”

“Sorry. Please continue.”

“I don’t know how to care for you, or make you smile when you’re sad, or even to recognise that you need support. But somehow, Xuē Yáng is capable of all of that. For that service, I can accept his company. But only once I am certain he intends you no harm.”

Xīngchén bit his lip, then nodded.

“That’s very kind of you, Zǐchēn, but what about you? I want to support you, to look after you, to care for you too. You’re my friend. Please, tell me how I can help you. I don’t want to harm you, even unintentionally.”

Sòng Lán thought about how to answer, and then finally wrote, “Ask me how I’m feeling more often. Respect the fact that I don't want to know Xuē Yáng and still consider him my enemy. And never sacrifice a piece of your body for me ever again. I didn’t ask to have your eyes, you shouldn’t have given them to me. Especially not while I was unconscious and unable to object.”

“But it was my fault you were blinded, I had to fix it. I didn’t know the cost would be my eyes until I had already approached Shizun to ask her help, and by then it didn’t seem like too steep a price to help you.”

“I didn’t want this, Xīngchén. I didn’t want to blind you. You should have asked me instead of assuming you knew what was best.”

Xīngchén’s head was bowed under the reprimand. Sòng Lán smiled softly, placing a hand on the back of Xīngchén’s neck to guide him into a brief hug. Xīngchén sighed against him, relaxing into the hold. 

“Okay. I’ll follow your guidance, Zǐchēn. I want to make your life happy, too. I’m sorry I’ve not been doing that as well as I should.”

Still hugging him close, Sòng Lán tapped on the back of Xīngchén’s hand until he turned it over.

“Xuē Yáng is right in one respect,” Sòng Lán wrote on Xīngchén’s palm. 

“Oh?”

“You apologise too often.”

Xīngchén snorted as Sòng Lán wrote the characters, turning to hide his face against Sòng Lán’s shoulder. Even so, Sòng Lán knew he was smiling.

Chapter Text

Some days, some weeks, it wasn’t as difficult to be away from Xiǎo Xīngchén. Some days, Xuē Yáng could be patient. It had taken ten years of patience before Xuē Yáng was able to take his vengeance on the Cháng clan. Ten years of waiting and building his strength and skill, ten years of fantasising about their deaths, of crafting the perfect plot to kill them all.

Some people might say that it was because Xuē Yáng had been too weak to hurt them. Too young, too stupid. That wasn’t true. He had been young, but he had been strong, and clever too. He had taken any resource available to him. He had killed. He had stolen. Some people might called him cruel. Xuē Yáng thought those people should maybe have their hands crushed and then wander the streets without shelter for two months, beg for food while dizzy from a recurring fever, and cut away pieces of their own flesh to try to stop the infection that was slowly necrotising their fingers. How kind would they feel after that?

By the time he was ten years old, Xuē Yáng had known enough about poisons to kill, even if the victims were people with constitutions as strong as a cultivator’s. He could have done it then. He could have run away from Jīnlín Tái and broken into Yuèyáng Cháng’s compound, poisoned their meals. Dozens of them would have died before anyone realised what was happening.

But Xuē Yáng hadn’t rushed things. This wasn’t a fight; hesitating to think of a better move wasn’t going to end with Xuē Yáng losing his head. This was art. With patience, he could craft something beautiful.

Curses were a fascinating field of study. Xuē Yáng had nearly chosen that route. But none of them felt personal enough, not to mention that even the more obscure curses tended to work slowly enough that they could be cured, the effects rebounding onto the curse-maker. Too much risk for an unsatisfying result.

And then Xuē Yáng learned about demonic cultivation and fell in love…

Quite suddenly, the shadowy things from the corners of his vision became tools instead of distractions: useful instead of just loud. Most of them loved the attention, throwing themselves and their power under Xuē Yáng’s hand. They had simple desires, hungering for vengeance or a last wish or for someone to hear them speak. The shadows became his best weapons, his strongest shields. The Cháng clan had no idea of the horrors they were to face.

If he focused, he could still hear their screams.

Xuē Yáng’s smile faded. Xiǎo Xīngchén wouldn’t be happy if he knew Xuē Yáng still thought about those screams, still enjoyed the memory. Those kinds of actions were against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s rules. Xiǎo Xīngchén said violent thoughts were okay. Violent memories? It wasn’t like Xuē Yáng could change anything about those events, even if he had the desire to. That was an interesting thought: if the Cháng clan were still living, would it be more important to destroy them or to follow Xiǎo Xīngchén’s rules?

Xuē Yáng bit his lip, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. It was hard to say. Maybe he could have argued Xiǎo Xīngchén into allowing this one exception. Better yet, what if Xiǎo Xīngchén helped!? Xuē Yáng could demonstrate each talisman, teach Xiǎo Xīngchén the way to shape them so that the ghosts would only bother their enemies and ignore Xiǎo Xīngchén. He didn’t have the same natural rapport with dead things that Xuē Yáng had; he’d need extra protection to hide from their attention. Xiǎo Xīngchén would look so good wearing a vicious smirk and other people’s blood!

Of course, the chances that Xuē Yáng would ever see such a sight were growing slimmer with each passing day. Even when he’d had no idea of the lives he was taking, Xiǎo Xīngchén had remained remarkably pristine, the only blood he ever wore was—

Xuē Yáng flinched badly, knocking the table and sending everything on it rattling. Ignoring the curious glances from nearby, Xuē Yáng pulled the red azalea silk free from his wrist and wrapped both his hands in it, staring at the flowers.

Everything was fine. Xuē Yáng had seen Xiǎo Xīngchén only the other week! Dàozhǎng was safe and alive and glowing and not red at all. There was no need to run and check on him right now, no matter that Xuē Yáng’s breathing was coming a little short. Wasn’t he just thinking about how he could be patient? He was being patient.

Dàozhǎng liked him. Dàozhǎng wanted him. Even after a whole year travelling by his side, Sòng Lán hadn’t managed to corrupt Dàozhǎng and make him hate Xuē Yáng; there was no urgency to gain Dàozhǎng’s attention before he was stolen away anymore. Xuē Yáng could be patient, he could wait until his Dàozhǎng welcomed him enthusiastically instead of hesitating for Sòng Lán’s sake. There was no need to rush when waiting would make things taste so much better.

The conversation at a nearby table caught his attention. Something about a haunting? No, the details didn’t sound right, not that these peasants would know the difference—

“Orchid Cliffs? The ghost is haunting Orchid Cliffs?” Xuē Yáng cut in. The group startled a little, but the speaker grinned and nodded.

“Over at Orchid Cliffs, yes! My cousin had to take a delivery there, he’s the one who told me about the ghost—sir? Don’t you want to hear—”

Xuē Yáng ignored him, already heading for the exit. Orchid Cliffs was near to the town Xiǎo Xīngchén had been headed for. Most likely, he’d have heard the same rumours—he’d be headed to stop the “ghost”. Xuē Yáng would have to move quickly if he was going to head them off.

Sòng Lán estimated they were maybe three hours away from the walls of Orchid Cliffs when Xuē Yáng materialised on the road ahead. Quite literally, he appeared out of nothing—there was no approaching qi, nothing to hide behind. One moment the road was empty and clear, and the next, Xuē Yáng was there.

So Sòng Lán could be forgiven for immediately drawing Fúxuě and moving to attack.

Xuē Yáng hissed, dodging backwards. Sòng Lán arched an eyebrow, but didn’t follow him. A quick glance back at Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng confirmed things—they’d been startled too.

“Do you greet all the people you meet on the road like this?” Xuē Yáng muttered with a sneer. Xuē Yáng rolled one shoulder, straightening up again. With a smirk, he displayed both empty palms, as if that meant he was unarmed and not a threat. “You know, I think I approve.”

“Xuē Yáng?”

“Xiǎo Xīngchén!” Xuē Yáng said, his whole demeanor flipping into something Sòng Lán might describe as an excited child seeing his favourite toy. Sòng Lán sighed, moving back to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side, doing his best to ignore the presence following him over.

Xiǎo Xīngchén was grinning.

“I wasn’t expecting you again so soon!”

“You’re right, I was planning on waiting a few more days before I found you again. But then I heard rumours of what’s happening at Orchid Cliffs, and I decided I should probably intervene before you did something monumentally stupid and ended up dead,” Xuē Yáng said, keeping up a bright smile even as his tone grew sharper.

“What?” Xīngchén said, his grin slipping. Sòng Lán frowned, glancing between them. Xuē Yáng let out a harsh bark of a laugh that really didn’t fit him.

“You know, I thought I might have been mistaken, that I was worrying over nothing, but no! Here you are, mere hours away from that town and wandering closer like this is any other hunt! Don’t you have a single ounce of self preservation!? Why the fuck would you—aaghh!” he cut himself off with a snarl, quickly moving to pace the width of the road back and forth.

“A hunt is a hunt, Xuē Yáng. I can defend myself fine. And besides, it isn’t like I’d be hunting alone,” Xīngchén said with a hint of reproach. Sòng Lán tapped his agreement for Xīngchén to hear, moving to stand by his side. Xuē Yáng didn’t react other than to laugh again.

“And what were the rumours that drew you here?” Xuē Yáng snapped. “A report of dozens of walking corpses—”

“Rumours often exaggerate numbers—”

“A dozen ghosts working together intent on a single goal—”

“It’s not that unusual—”

“The attacks are all against a particular family—”

“It can happen—”

“Xiǎo Xīngchén! Don’t be a fucking idiot! There’s a demonic cultivator in Orchid Cliffs! If you go there, you’ll die!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén’s lips were twisted in an angry pout. “There’s not enough evidence to say that with any certainty.”

“Why the fuck would that matter!? You should be avoiding any place with even a risk of a demonic cultivator!”

“Zǐchēn and I are very capable warriors—”

“You two are literally the worst pair I could imagine to face up against a demonic cultivator,” Xuē Yáng spat.

“We’ve done well enough against you!” Xiǎo Xīngchén snapped. Sòng Lán blinked, startled by the genuine anger in his tone.

Xuē Yáng was glowering at Xiǎo Xīngchén, but somehow he seemed small. Xuē Yáng’s hands were in tight fists by his sides, knuckles white. After a moment, he swallowed, glancing away.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén,” Xuē Yáng said, and his voice was level again. “What do you think the main weapons a demonic cultivator uses are?”

“…the undead, I suppose.”

“Fierce corpses, Dàozhǎng. But they aren’t like the random corpses you’d normally encounter. These ones aren’t mindless things seeking yang energy—they’re tools, operated by a single person with a single strategy. You can’t afford to flinch while you fight them, you can’t hesitate—Dàozhǎng, if you hesitate for even a second—” Xuē Yáng cut himself off, staring at his hands. Sòng Lán followed their movement as he fiddled with a piece of red and white silk. Was that the same silk from months ago?

“Oh,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, and his voice was soft again. “Okay, I’ll acknowledge that I might have difficulty with that, but why would Zǐchēn face any trouble?”

Xuē Yáng snorted, his eyes darting to Sòng Lán, then away.

“You’re a reasonably intelligent person, Xiǎo Xīngchén, do I really need to explain that to you?”

“Um.”

“Little Blind, you’ve worked it out, right?” Xuē Yáng said, rolling his eyes.

Ā-Qìng’s lips were pressed in a tight line as she glared at Xuē Yáng, but she nodded.

“Excellent! At least one of you isn’t a total idiot—”

“Xuē Yáng!”

“It’s fucking obvious as all shit, Dàozhǎng! Come on, I’ll even demonstrate for you!” Xuē Yáng turned to Sòng Lán. “We fought the other week. You know my strategies, my techniques, you probably have a good estimate of my strength, speed, and endurance too. Fight me again.”

“Xuē Yáng, is this really necessary?”

“Easier to demonstrate than explain. Well? Are you just going to stand there and admire my glorious figure? Come on, Sòng Lán, I thought you hated me, and here you are, looking me over like I’m some kind of common whore you want to try your luck with—”

Do you ever shut up!?

Sòng Lán lunged forwards, sweeping into an attack that Xuē Yáng dodged rather easily. Remarkably easily, actually, considering how their last few fights had gone.

“What’s wrong, Sòng-dàozhǎng? Old age finally getting to you?” Xuē Yáng laughed, flipping out of the way of another attack. It was a stupid insult. Xuē Yáng and Sòng Lán were of the same generation.

“Yes but you’re always so grumpy you might as well be an old man.”

Sòng Lán was about to attack again, but instinct told him to drop to the ground.

And then Xuē Yáng’s sword was pressed against his throat. Sòng Lán blinked, very careful not to move.

“Tch! Look at you, a mighty warrior laid low!” Xuē Yáng said, and then he leapt back, leaving Sòng Lán sprawled on the ground. “Again! Fight me again!”

Sòng Lán needed no encouragement.

Their next bout went much the same as before: Xuē Yáng teased and mocked and somehow grew faster, and Sòng Lán snarled, trying to hit him, and then abruptly Sòng Lán was certain that Xuē Yáng had circled around to attack him from behind, and the figure ahead was an illusion. Sòng Lán spun to deflect Xuē Yáng’s actual attack—

There was no one there. And the figure he’d dismissed as an illusion was holding a sword to Sòng Lán’s neck again.

“Do you get it now, or do we need another demonstration?” Xuē Yáng hissed, pushing him away. “I can go again if you need it that badly.”

Sòng Lán snarled, jumping into the fight again.

None of this made sense. How could Xuē Yáng be this much faster? How could he be winning? How could he—he was going to attack Xiǎo Xīngchén! Treacherous bastard! Sòng Lán had to intercept, jump to the left—

No, wait, that didn’t make sense—

Sòng Lán blinked, holding his ground instead of following the instinct.

Jump to the left, jump to the left, defend Xiǎo Xīngchén—

Xuē Yáng was standing still, watching him. After a second, the instinct to move faded. Xuē Yáng’s lips quirked into a grim smile.

“Ah. You noticed. I was wondering how many more fights I could win with that trick.”

“Xuē Yáng, what was that?” Xīngchén asked, obviously still confused. Xuē Yáng let out a heavy sigh, sheathing his sword.

“Little Blind, could you explain for our dear Dàozhǎng exactly what just happened?”

Sòng Lán frowned, glancing over one shoulder back at her as she swallowed, and said, “Demonic cultivators manipulate resentful energy. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng uses resentful energy instead of qi. A demonic cultivator could manipulate Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng’s resentful energy, and use him as a weapon if they wanted.”

Xuē Yáng hummed.

“At least she’s intelligent. The pair of you, a cultivator who can’t fight fierce corpses and a living corpse vulnerable to being weaponised. What the fuck do you think either of you could do to defeat a demonic cultivator? Are you going to heroically bleed on them or something?”

Chapter Text

There were several seconds of silence after Xuē Yáng spoke. Sòng Lán glanced to Xiǎo Xīngchén, who was frowning in Xuē Yáng’s general direction. Standing by his side, Ā-Qìng still looked uncomfortable, but she had her chin tilted high.

“Zǐchēn, are you alright? Xuē Yáng hasn’t injured you, has he? No bleeding cuts?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked in a strange bright tone.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén—”

“If heroically bleeding on someone is all we can do, we better practice!”

“Dàozhǎng!”

“What exactly would you have me do, Xuē Yáng? There are people dying—”

“Let them die! It’s what people do!”

The qi surrounding Xiǎo Xīngchén whipped around like a furious gust. Xuē Yáng froze, his eyes going wide.

“I am not going to do that,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said in a heavy, measured tone.

“I wasn’t saying you should.”

“Yes, you were. Let them die, your exact words.”

“That wasn’t what I meant!”

“What did you mean, then?”

Xuē Yáng glanced around, looking a little wild. Xiǎo Xīngchén took a step forwards, and Xuē Yáng jerked, like he had tried to back away and aborted the movement at the last second. Xuē Yáng blinked, then drew himself up, something like fury slipping across his face.

“What if I did mean it?”

“What?”

“What if I meant it, Xiǎo Xīngchén!? They’re random strangers, nobodies from some tiny village! Why should I give a fuck if they live or die!? Let the whole place burn to the ground, I’ll dance through the ashes! It would certainly solve the haunting, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re talking about slaughtering a whole town! Leaving them to die like they don’t matter! They’re people!”

“So are you!” Xuē Yáng snarled, striding forwards to intrude on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s space. Xīngchén didn’t back down. “You’re mine, you can’t—Xiǎo Xīngchén, you’ll die if you go there—”

“I can’t stand back and let them be attacked—”

“There are other cultivators! Someone else could help them!”

“And how long could that take? Weeks?”

“If you die there tomorrow it will still be weeks before anyone arrives to help them! What would be the fucking point in dying like that?”

“I can die for whatever cause I want; it’s not your choice.”

“It isn’t my choice what you try to die for,” Xuē Yáng muttered, glaring at Xiǎo Xīngchén’s chest. “But if you choose that, then I will choose to make sure you never step foot in Orchid Cliffs. I know how to stop you, I’ll—I’ll teleport you strange places and make you all mixed up so you can’t find anything. I don’t care if it makes you hate me. I don’t care about what you think of me.”

Now that was just so blatantly untrue that Sòng Lán had to smother a laugh. Whether or not Xuē Yáng was genuine in his attempts to become a better person, Xuē Yáng was clearly desperate to have Xiǎo Xīngchén believe he was trying to be good.

Xuē Yáng must have heard him because he sent Sòng Lán a glare as sharp as Fúxuě. Sòng Lán only quirked an eyebrow in response, crossing his arms. While Sòng Lán technically was in agreement with Xuē Yáng, he also had no intentions of cutting such a lovely argument short.

Xiǎo Xīngchén made a distressed noise, and Xuē Yáng refocused on him like a compass finding north.

“You’d do that to me again? Even after last time?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“You’re not allowed to die,” Xuē Yáng said firmly. “You hated me, and then you liked me, and then you hated me again. Now you like me again. Even if you grow spiteful and bitter, I’m confident that you’ll treat me as your friend again, even if it takes a hundred years. But you’re not allowed to die.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, and then Xīngchén sighed, the fight draining from him.

“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. Xuē Yáng grabbed Xīngchén’s sleeve, still glaring at his chest.

“You’ll stay away?”

“I’ll stay away. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Xuē Yáng’s eyes fell closed and he swayed on the spot like he might fall against Xiǎo Xīngchén. Xīngchén caught his shoulder, holding him steady.

“Are you still angry at me?” Xuē Yáng murmured, and Xiǎo Xīngchén clicked his tongue, sliding his hand from Xuē Yáng’s shoulder up to cradle the back of Xuē Yáng’s neck. Xuē Yáng arched into the contact.

“I wasn’t angry with you. I’m sorry for that as well. You could certainly have delivered your warnings in a less aggravating way, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you like I did.”

“I do mean it, though, I don’t care if they all die, as long as you—” Xuē Yáng cut himself off. Strangely, it made Xiǎo Xīngchén smile.

“I already knew that. Those lives aren’t yours, they belong to other people. You’ve been rather vocal on that matter. But I escalated things into an argument. I’m sorry.”

“Who are you angry with, then? Don’t pretend you’re not, Dàozhǎng.”

“I’m not angry, I’m… ah, frustrated with myself, I suppose. For not realising the danger ahead, and for being ill-equipped to deal with it. People are going to suffer because of my weakness. It’s a difficult thing to accept.”

“I’ll go there instead,” Xuē Yáng murmured.

Xiǎo Xīngchén let out a soft laugh.

“Weren’t you just warning us both of the dangers of facing a demonic cultivator? Would you be alright?”

“Don’t insult me, Dàozhǎng,” Xuē Yáng scoffed. “Xuē Chéngměi might be a righteous cultivator, but Xuē Yáng is the most powerful demonic cultivator still alive. I could destroy this idiot in my sleep.”

Sòng Lán frowned. He didn’t like this situation; the idea of Xuē Yáng traveling to confront a demonic cultivator… what if they made an alliance instead? Xuē Yáng could continue to act in ways that pleased Xiǎo Xīngchén while using that other demonic cultivator to enact his vile wishes, keeping his hands clean.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén,” Sòng Lán tapped out. “I don’t trust this. Too much danger. I’ll go investigate.”

Xīngchén turned to him, looking conflicted, and he had opened his mouth to reply when Xuē Yáng cut in—

“Did you miss the part where I defeated you, Sòng Lán? You think any demonic cultivator is going to go any easier on you once they realise an effort of will would transform you into their loyal servant?”

Sòng Lán glared, taking a step closer—

“Hey, wait! How’d you know what Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng said?” Ā-Qìng asked.

Xiǎo Xīngchén gasped, and Sòng Lán was frozen where he stood. How had Xuē Yáng understood? He didn’t know their tap-talk code, did he? When would he possibly have learned it?!

Xiǎo Xīngchén took a step back, his hands dropping away from Xuē Yáng. For a second, Xuē Yáng swayed after him, but he didn’t make any moves to get closer as Xiǎo Xīngchén increased the distance between them.

“Xīngchén?”

“Just a little test, Xuē Yáng,” Xīngchén said, giving a smile as he tapped out the alarm code for a dangerous ghost ahead. Xuē Yáng frowned, watching Xīngchén’s fingers tapping out the code, but he still looked bewildered. “What would you respond, Xuē Yáng?”

Xuē Yáng blinked, glancing between the three of them.

“This is a strange joke, Xiǎo Xīngchén,” Xuē Yáng said, copying the same pattern Xiǎo Xīngchén had tapped out.

“Hmm. Anything to add, Ā-Qìng?”

She grinned something vicious in Xuē Yáng’s direction, then tapped out her own answer. “Danger acknowledged. On alert. On defense. Hiding now.”

“Acknowledged. Stay safe,” Xīngchén responded, before adding, “Zǐchēn. Strategy?”

Xuē Yáng watched them both with narrow eyes, but didn’t try to imitate them again.

“It’s a code. You’re using a code,” Xuē Yáng said after a second.

Xīngchén smiled but didn’t answer, instead repeating his request to Sòng Lán.

“Danger acknowledged. I’ll engage. You secure the area. You banish the ghost,” Sòng Lán tapped out, and Xuē Yáng swung around to face him.

“That’s your strategy? Just jump right in and confront the ghost until Xiǎo Xīngchén can banish it? I always knew you were a brute—”

“Xuē Yáng! Don’t insult my friend like that,” Xiǎo Xīngchén interrupted, and though Xuē Yáng still looked a little mulish, he fell quiet. “Why is it that you only understood what the code meant when Zǐchēn answered?”

“He was practically yelling out his answer, it wasn’t hard to pick up.”

“Yelling out his—but you didn’t understand what Ā-Qìng or I were trying to say—”

“Of course not, you’re both alive.”

Silence fell across the group for several seconds.

“Could you… clarify that, Xuē Yáng?”

Xuē Yáng blinked, glancing to Sòng Lán and then back to Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“Sòng Lán’s dead. I always know what dead things are trying to say.”

“You can hear what Sòng Lán says even when he doesn’t speak?”

“I didn’t say that. I can’t hear words, I just understand what dead things want to say. It’s… it’s like there’s something different in their qi? A different scent or taste or sound, I… something like that. I just know what they mean.”

“But you can have a conversation with a ghost, without a spell?”

“You could too, if you tried,” Xuē Yáng muttered, rolling his eyes. “Come on, it’s not that unusual a skill.”

“Have you ever met anyone else who could?”

Xuē Yáng opened his mouth, but seemed to lose his words.

“Well, it’s just a qi skill, someone else has to be able to do it.”

“Who taught you?”

“I just… Xīngchén, can’t you hear them? I thought they were why you don’t like cities. They’re noisy.”

“Xuē Yáng, other than Zǐchēn I’ve never had a conversation with a ghost. I’ve never heard one speak.” Xīngchén grimaced. “To be honest, I thought most ghosts were mindless things.”

“No more so than most other people. Being dead doesn’t change that,” Xuē Yáng said. “Actually, some of the better conversationalists I’ve met were already dead.”

“Really? Wait, no, we’re getting off topic. The demonic cultivator at Orchid Cliffs—you both want to investigate?” Xīngchén asked.

Xuē Yáng glanced to Sòng Lán, his mouth twisted in a grimace. For once, Sòng Lán was sure they were on the same page.

“I don’t want to work with him. Can you imagine how terribly that would work out for me? Sòng Lán already wants to cut my throat, all our enemy would need to do is nudge him and I’d be dead.”

Sòng Lán narrowed his eyes in a sneer. They didn’t have the tap talk code to say “I don’t trust Xuē Yáng, and I think the moment we’re out of Xīngchén’s sense range Xuē Yáng will try and take control of me and use me to do horrible things to innocent people” so Sòng Lán made do with the much simpler “No Xuē Yáng, I’m unhappy”.

“There you go! Neither of us trust the other, and rightly so! I’ll go deal with this cultivator, alone, and you should turn back down the road and leave,” Xuē Yáng said.

Xīngchén didn’t move.

“You were able to manipulate Sòng Lán’s perception and his actions through manipulating resentful energy, yes?”

“It’s really not that difficult a concept to grasp—”

“And you’re concerned that a rival demonic cultivator could do the same?”

“Manipulating dead things through willpower alone is the very first thing a demonic cultivator learns—”

“But you know how to prevent a rival from taking control of a ghost?”

“Of course I do. Wait—” Xuē Yáng blinked rapidly, staring at the way Xīngchén was grinning. “I, it’s not—it’s more theoretical—”

“Xuē Yáng, do you know a way to prevent other people from taking control of Zǐchēn and manipulating him the way you did earlier?”

“Yes, but it won’t work in this case,” Xuē Yáng said.

“Why not?”

Xuē Yáng glanced back and forth between Xīngchén and Sòng Lán, before eventually settling to stare at Sòng Lán, his expression curiously pensive.

“Because the only way to prevent a demonic cultivator from taking control of him and manipulating him would be if a demonic cultivator was already ‘in control’ of him. It would require that Sòng Lán trust me to protect his mind.”

Chapter Text

Even as he said the words, Xuē Yáng could feel that Sòng Lán’s answer was a vehement no. He grinned, which only seemed to make Sòng Lán even more grumpy, then turned back to Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“There you go, he said no,” Xuē Yáng said, and Sòng Lán—who had been in the middle of tapping out some response—sent him another glare. Seriously, did the man have any other emotions?

“Are there any other options? Anything that could help Sòng Lán resist that kind of manipulation?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“Nothing I can think of,” Xuē Yáng said. Xiǎo Xīngchén made a distressed sound, and Xuē Yáng grimaced, glancing at Sòng Lán again. “Look, the fact that he actually has spiritual cognition already gives him an advantage over other dead things. It’s no immunity, but it would be difficult to make him do anything he’s absolutely opposed to.”

“Then how’d you beat Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng?” Ā-Qìng asked. Xuē Yáng turned to her with a smirk.

“I bet these two have been teaching you all sorts of bad habits when it comes to fighting.”

“They’re better fighters than you,” she said snidely. Xuē Yáng snorted and shook his head.

“You’ve seen—what, three fights between me and Sòng Lán? None of which were all that serious—” Sòng Lán made a noise to object and Xuē Yáng grinned in his direction. “—none of which I was taking seriously. Your dear Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng , on the other hand, got all flustered and angry. I won all three fights, and he knows it.”

“You ran away and hid behind dage” Ā-Qìng said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin.

“So? Victory isn’t just who kills who, Little Blind, or who bleeds first. It’s about who succeeds and who fails at obtaining their goals. For example, if someone really, really, really wants to capture you, the easiest way to win would be to kill them. If they’re dead, they’ve failed, so you’ve won. But, the most fun kind of victory would be to run and have them chase after you for months. Watch them fail over and over, always just a whisker ahead of their reach… but then these two cheated by bringing in other people to capture me.”

“We didn’t bring other people in. Wèi Wúxiàn and his companions were there by coincidence, and wanted to help,” Xiǎo Xīngchén cut in.

“The point being, they didn’t win until they cheated.”

“Teamwork isn’t the same thing as cheating,” Xiǎo Xīngchén added.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén, you’re disrupting my lesson!”

“This isn’t a lesson, idiot, you’re just pretending you’re better than Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng because you’re too embarrassed to admit he’d beat you in a fair fight!” Ā-Qìng said.

“Oh Little Blind, you’re so cruel, you’ll break my heart! Don’t you trust that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to backstabbing, cheating, and trickery?” Xuē Yáng said in an exaggerated hurt tone. “I thought you wanted to know how I defeated Sòng Lán, brat.”

“You’re a dick. Dage, let’s just leave,” Ā-Qìng said, taking Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand.

“Ā-Qìng, don’t let Xuē Yáng’s bad manners distract you from what you want to know,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, sending a brief smile to her. “He’ll try to annoy you so he can get away without telling you anything substantial.”

“Right,” Ā-Qìng said with a decisive nod, turning back to face Xuē Yáng.

Xuē Yáng blinked, then frowned slightly.

“Dàozhǎng, you’re so mean!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén just gave a bright smile in response. Xuē Yáng pouted and pretended he didn’t want to laugh.

“Tell the truth. What kind of cheat did you use to defeat Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng?” Ā-Qìng asked. Xuē Yáng turned to her with a satisfied smirk.

“You already said part of it. I manipulated his resentful energy, changed the way he perceived things, made suggestions about where to move. Most of the enemies you’ll face won’t bother with subtlety like that; they’ll assume Sòng Lán is a creature of mindless, irrational instinct, like a beast. Their attacks and attempts to control him will be brute force. Actually, another demonstration might be best,” Xuē Yáng said, turning back to face Sòng Lán. The man did not look happy at the idea, shifting to brace himself as if Xuē Yáng was going to attack.

“Is that really necessary, Xuē Yáng?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked. Sweet man.

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer, instead focusing entirely on Sòng Lán. Silently, he designed a command, shaped it into something made of iron chains, and then forced those chains beneath Sòng Lán’s skin.

Sòng Lán jerked forwards with a gasp, his eyes blown wide, and then he snarled, digging his heels into the ground. He didn’t move again, and his resentful energy grew unruly as the seconds stretched, straining against the iron chains of the command.

“Now really, Sòng Lán, who would have thought you’d be opposed to kneeling at my feet? I take good care of my weapons; you’d live a life sharp and deadly under my hand,” Xuē Yáng murmured. At his words, Sòng Lán’s energy exploded outwards, and the chains turned to smoke. Sòng Lán immediately lunged forwards to attack, and Xuē Yáng dodged out of the way—Sòng Lán was attacking again—

“STOP!” Xuē Yáng barked, snapping his fingers to freeze the resentful energy in Sòng Lán’s limbs. Sòng Lán stopped. He blinked rapidly, shaking slightly as he tried to throw Xuē Yáng’s control, but he remained as still as any statue.

“It’s rude to attack people when they’re talking,” Xuē Yáng said.

“Zǐchēn? Are you alright?”

“He’s fine, Xiǎo Xīngchén. I’m fine too, thank you for asking,” Xuē Yáng said, turning back to Sòng Lán. “Don’t attack me.”

Xuē Yáng clicked his fingers again, letting his control fall away. Sòng Lán straightened up, glaring fiercely in his direction, but didn’t move to attack.

“Do you understand?” Xuē Yáng asked.

“I’m not sure how this made anything clearer—”

“Xiǎo Xīngchén, I’d be happy to teach you all sorts of intricacies of demonic cultivation and address your every curiosity; I’m sure you’d be a capable student. But this demonstration wasn’t intended for you or Little Blind,” Xuē Yáng said, staring at Sòng Lán. “You’re not the ones who’ll be fighting off enemies trying to control your mind. He is.”

Sòng Lán blinked, unsure what to think. Xuē Yáng was trying to help?

Xuē Yáng snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not helping you, moron, I’m helping Xiǎo Xīngchén. Your weakness is a vulnerability someone else could exploit and use against Dàozhǎng.”

Well yes, obviously! Sòng Lán hadn’t thought Xuē Yáng was being helpful just out of the goodness of his non-existent heart! Everything Xuē Yáng did which could be labeled helpful was something directly intended to endear him to Xiǎo Xīngchén! The surprise was that Xuē Yáng’s demands to fight had held an actual purpose instead of just to indulge his love of petty violence.

“A fight can have two purposes!”

How the fuck had Sòng Lán not noticed this communication thing before?

“Because you’re a fucking idiot.”

Shut up!

“You’re so noisy—”

“Xuē Yáng? Are you, um—are you and Zǐchēn speaking?”

“Why else would I be talking to him?”

“Oh,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, looking thoughtful. “It’s odd only hearing one half of a conversation.”

“You get used to it,” Ā-Qìng said in a world-weary voice. Sòng Lán smiled as he was abruptly reminded of a dozen different conversations he’d had with Xiǎo Xīngchén in Ā-Qìng’s presence, writing on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s palm only for Xiǎo Xīngchén to answer verbally.

Xuē Yáng snorted, then paused, wearing a look of mild confusion. His eyes darted to Sòng Lán for a second. Had he heard that thought? Seen the memories as Sòng Lán had? Felt the amusement Sòng Lán had? He said he didn’t hear words, but what did he hear? How much did he hear?

It was strange. Xuē Yáng’s expression was blank, but Sòng Lán knew he was feeling wary.

After a second, Xuē Yáng seemed to shake it off, looking as he usually did, but there was still something about him that seemed nervous.

“You felt it. When I was controlling your resentful energy, you felt the difference, yes?” Xuē Yáng asked.

Sòng Lán nodded. The first few times, it had felt like an instinct coming from within, but one with someone else’s voice. The more forceful commands had fastened puppet strings of iron wire all over his body, nearly strong enough to pull him off-balance, but easy enough to snap.

“Knowing the sensation will make it easier to identify and fight off the next time it happens,” Xuē Yáng said. “It’s easier to resist commands you’re already opposed to, and the fact that you hate me makes it even easier. Anger, hate and resentment literally make you stronger, make it easier to throw off my control.”

If that was the case, then Xuē Yáng must have been exaggerating the risks posed by a demonic cultivator. Throwing off Xuē Yáng’s control hadn’t taken more than a few seconds—

Xuē Yáng snorted and shook his head.

“You’re missing the point. During those seconds you’re fighting off foreign control, you’re immobilized.” Xuē Yáng’s eyes flicked to Xiǎo Xīngchén, then back. “A few seconds can make all the difference. Not to mention the fact that during a fight, you won’t be focused on defending your mind. Little suggestions can sneak in before you realise it’s not you.”

The instincts from before.

Xuē Yáng nodded.

“Add to that, the commands that you’re not vehemently opposed to? You’ll have a much harder time shaking those off. You hate the idea of kneeling at my feet, but you’re neutral when it comes to just standing still.”

“You tried to make him kneel to you?” Ā-Qìng interjected. “You really are obsessed with trying to prove you’re better than him.”

Xuē Yáng spun to face her with a glare and no doubt a sharp retort, but Xiǎo Xīngchén distracted him before he could speak, simply by placing a hand on Xuē Yáng’s arm and smiling. Xuē Yáng blinked, fixated on Xiǎo Xīngchén, his own features shifting into an easy grin.

Sòng Lán had to admit, it was impressive how quickly and how easily Xiǎo Xīngchén could sway Xuē Yáng. A simple touch, a small change of expression, the tone of his voice—even a hint of displeasure put Xuē Yáng on alert, searching for some kind of solution, while any positive attention seemed to make Xuē Yáng melt.

“You should leave here, Dàozhǎng. It will be dark soon,” Xuē Yáng murmured, his eyes falling shut. He appeared to be trying to breathe Xiǎo Xīngchén in. “The roads around here are dangerous at night.”

“I can hold my own against most things.”

“I know. But I’ve got an enemy to kill, and you’re very distracting.”

“Xuē Yáng—”

“I suppose I could just maim them instead of killing—”

Xiǎo Xīngchén placed a hand on Xuē Yáng’s shoulder, and Xuē Yáng fell silent.

“Be safe. Return soon.”

Xuē Yáng’s eyes went wide and his cheeks turned pink as he smiled.

“I’ll always return to you.”

Sòng Lán snorted, taking a few steps away from them and turning to stare into the trees. He would really prefer not to be a constant witness to their… whatever this was. A few minutes more and he could be rid of that bad company.

Although, there was something still bothering him, something Xuē Yáng had said… That really didn’t narrow it down in the least! Every time he spoke, Xuē Yáng said something irritating. It hadn’t been an insult or a poorly made joke, though.

Manipulating resentful energy. It was certainly an advantage in a fight, one that Sòng Lán had almost no defense against. As obnoxious as he was, Xuē Yáng’s “demonstrations” had proven helpful, revealing the trick behind it—

Sòng Lán paused.

Xuē Yáng didn’t fight fair if he could help it; he needed his tricks and his cheats in order to survive. And Xuē Yáng had just revealed one of his tricks—a major trick, by the sound of it—and it hadn’t been to gain an advantage over Sòng Lán in battle or escape a heated fight. Sòng Lán would be able to recognise his influence now, even if fighting his control was difficult. He’d given up an advantage in any future fight between them, apparently out of the vague possibility that this particular weakness might one day be exploited and used to harm Xiǎo Xīngchén.

Sòng Lán turned back to face them, watching Xuē Yáng. A cruel man, who refrained from violence to please Xiǎo Xīngchén. A man who murdered entire families but was devoted to keeping Xiǎo Xīngchén safe.

Sòng Lán made a decision and stepped forward.

“Xiǎo Xīngchén. I’ll scout with Xuē Yáng.”

Everyone looked very surprised. 

Xuē Yáng was the first to recover.

“No. No, I already said, this won’t work—we don’t trust each other, and—”

Sòng Lán gave Xuē Yáng a serious, steady look. Xuē Yáng was right, they didn’t trust each other, but… Sòng Lán’s eyes flicked to Xiǎo Xīngchén and then back. Xuē Yáng followed his gaze.

“I… well…”

There were different kinds of trust. Sòng Lán didn’t trust Xuē Yáng to do the good or moral thing when he sought out Orchid Cliffs demonic cultivator, and he certainly didn’t trust Xuē Yáng with his life. It was clear Xuē Yáng didn’t trust Sòng Lán with his life either. But defeating whatever horror was haunting Orchid Cliffs was something Xiǎo Xīngchén desired. Sòng Lán thought maybe he could risk trusting Xuē Yáng to try and fulfill that desire. And maybe Xuē Yáng could trust that Sòng Lán wanted the same goal.

Xuē Yáng’s face twisted, and he crossed his arms, tapping his fingers in agitation. He frowned down at the dirt for a few seconds, then looked to Xiǎo Xīngchén, then back to Sòng Lán.

“You’re weird. Alright. Swear on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life that you won’t try to kill me, capture me, or deliver me to Lotus Pier.”

“Swear on what?” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

Sòng Lán raised an eyebrow.

For the duration of this hunt, until we’re reunited with Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng, I won’t try to kill you. So I swear. Now you swear on Xiǎo Xīngchén not to weaponize me, use iron pins to control me, or try to kill me.

Xuē Yáng grinned.

“So formal! Fine. I agree to return you to Dàozhǎng in the exact state you’re currently in, mentally and physically whole. But I'll only work with you if you let me reinforce your mental defences.”

Sòng Lán narrowed his eyes, mentally jabbing at the way Xuē Yáng’s phrasing didn’t actually specify he wouldn’t try any of those things, just that whatever he’d attempt and any harm he’d cause would be reversible.

Don’t make loopholes.

Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes.

“Fine! You’re so fussy. For the duration of this hunt, until we’re reunited with Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng, I won’t try to kill you, weaponise you, or control you with iron pins. Are you satisfied?”

Sòng Lán grunted, then turned to Xiǎo Xīngchén, who still looked confused.

“So now you are working together?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“Seems that way, yes,” Xuē Yáng said. Sòng Lán tapped out an agreement.

…It was unfair how lovely Xīngchén’s smile was at hearing they were working together. Maybe Xuē Yáng wasn’t the only one Xīngchén could sway with a smile.

Chapter Text

Ā-Qìng sighed, staring at the sky. The clouds were beginning to take on the pink and orange hue of early evening, and it was very pretty to watch. Far more interesting than what Dàgē, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng and Xuē Yáng were doing.

Testing the limits of mind control sounded like it should be interesting to watch, but it was actually incredibly boring. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng stood in the middle, Xuē Yáng would stare at him, and then at his signal, Dàgē would whistle out a melody infused with qi. Sometimes Zǐchēn would sigh and gracefully drop to his knees, smiling softly. Other times, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng would suddenly be surrounded by shadows, resentful energy would flare out, and Xuē Yáng would swear. And then they’d start all over.

It felt like it had been going on for an hour at least.

Maybe Xuē Yáng was stalling so that he could spend more time with Xiǎo Xīngchén. Or maybe it was actually an elaborate way to get out of having to work with Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng made a frustrated noise, and when Ā-Qìng looked over, she saw he was storming away from the other two. Dàgē’s face was twisted in a mild grimace, while Xuē Yáng looked slightly amused.

“Are we making any progress at all?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“Getting there,” Xuē Yáng said. “Once Sòng Lán is finished with his little tantrum, we can try again.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng turned to glare at Xuē Yáng, and without breaking eye contact, punched sideways and destroyed a small boulder. The intimidating display only made Xuē Yáng laugh.

“We could have left already if you weren’t so insistent on keeping your free will,” Xuē Yáng added.

“Xuē Yáng,” Xiǎo Xīngchén chided.

“It’s true, though! None of my other puppets demand their free will; they’re happy for me to use them as weapons. This is delicate work, finding the balance between a strong enough control to actually reinforce his mental defences and light enough to be acceptable to Sòng Lán. I already promised I won’t allow him to come to excessive harm and I’d return him to you in peak condition; if he just trusted that and let me control him properly—” Xuē Yáng cut himself off, spinning to face Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng. “Such vulgar language to use in front of a child!”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng sneered at him, stepping closer. Xuē Yáng grinned and didn’t back down.

“Your insults still need work, though,” Xuē Yáng added. They stared at each other for another few seconds, then both turned to Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“Let’s go again,” Xuē Yáng said. “Whistle the Lán melody. We’re ready.”

Ā-Qìng watched, and wondered if this was the time it would finally work—nope. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was kneeling again as the calming song worked its magic. Xuē Yáng swore. Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed.

Ā-Qìng rolled her eyes, and went back to cloud watching.

Sòng Lán was frustrated. It was getting later, and even Xuē Yáng was starting to look annoyed. Was this ever going to work? Every time they tried, something went wrong. Xuē Yáng’s control felt smothering now that Sòng Lán knew it was there, and whenever it was light enough to just be a whisper, it was too light to prevent the Lán melody from affecting him. Sometimes it worked for a second, and then failed anyway.

Xuē Yáng was about to signal to go again, and then he paused. His whole body fell still for a second or two, and then suddenly he was moving with erratic energy.

“I worked it out!” Xuē Yáng announced, clapping his hands and doing a little spin. “We were approaching it the wrong way! Let me try—”

Wearing an expression of manic enthusiasm, he turned to focus on Sòng Lán, and Sòng Lán braced himself for the next attempt. Except… this time it felt different. Very different.

“Xīngchén! Xīngchén, whistle the melody!” Xuē Yáng said, repeatedly patting his hand against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arm. Xiǎo Xīngchén looked intrigued, and obediently whistled out the simple melody.

It didn’t do a thing.

Sòng Lán blinked, glancing between them while Xuē Yáng cackled like a mad thing. The music was the same as before; a fragment of Gūsū Lán’s Rest song that Xuē Yáng had apparently overheard and memorised. The melody was still infused with qi. But this time, it was simply music. Sòng Lán didn’t feel that bone-deep unnatural peace. He didn’t feel like a puppet on wire strings either.

Strangely, Sòng Lán was even more aware of Xuē Yáng; the binding control was gone, replaced instead by a living presence hovering on the edges of his mind and a sensation almost like—well it wasn’t a physical sensation, but Sòng Lán wasn’t sure how else to describe it. It was like being surrounded by a vortex of flames but without any of the heat. Or maybe like what it felt like to touch autumn sunlight. Sòng Lán stared at his hand, flexed his fingers. The strange golden sensation followed the movement of his hand, some invisible barrier over his skin.

“Did it work?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“I am a fucking genius!” Xuē Yáng crowed as Sòng Lán tried to answer Xīngchén. Sòng Lán shot him a look but Xuē Yáng didn’t seem to notice.

“I wouldn’t go bragging about it, it took an hour before you made any progress,” Ā-Qìng said bitingly.

Xuē Yáng aimed a manic grin in her direction.

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, brat! This is demonic cultivation! It’s a new cultivation path! Do you understand that!? Brand new! This isn’t like learning in school or a sect, there are no lectures about it! Only a handful of techniques have been discovered in the entire history of cultivation! Hundreds more are still to be discovered! We haven’t even begun to push the limits of this path yet! Do you know who invented demonic cultivation? Who made up what techniques we do have? Xuē Chònghài, Wèi Wúxiàn, and me! This—” Xuē Yáng said, gesturing between himself and Sòng Lán. “This is symbiosis! This is the first time a technique like this has been used, ever! I’ve made something new!”

There was silence for several seconds after Xuē Yáng’s proclamation. Ā-Qìng looked a little startled at the ferocity of his words. Sòng Lán was a little startled himself over how passionate Xuē Yáng could sound talking about something that wasn’t murder. Even then, Xuē Yáng’s passion over cruelty had a calculating, mocking edge to it, his words and smiles chosen to infuriate and horrify. This was something more like raw, uncontrolled delight. Like Xuē Yáng’s joy in a fight. Like the pleasure of having Xiǎo Xīngchén’s attention.

Xuē Yáng was staring at Xiǎo Xīngchén now as if he was about to pounce on the man.

“I suppose congratulations would be the correct sentiment, then?” Xiǎo Xīngchén said eventually. Xuē Yáng laughed, and Sòng Lán felt it resonate across their bond.

He blinked. Symbiosis, Xuē Yáng had said. Did this bond go only in one direction or…

Sòng Lán focused on the presence at the back of his mind and dragged it closer, trailed mental fingertips over it, trying to find weak points, and pulled it open. Xuē Yáng didn’t react at all, chatting happily with Xiǎo Xīngchén. Apparently it hadn’t felt like much from his side.

To Sòng Lán it felt like clearing condensation off a bronze mirror and finally seeing a clear image within it. With absolute certainty, Sòng Lán knew Xuē Yáng was buzzing with delight right down to his blood. Each smile aimed at Xiǎo Xīngchén was natural, free of pretense.

An image flickered across Sòng Lán’s thoughts. Xiǎo Xīngchén but different, unnaturally beautiful and almost glowing from within. Sòng Lán blinked, his mouth fallen open in a silent gasp. Was that how Xuē Yáng saw him? The image of Xiǎo Xīngchén had all the same flaws as the real version did—a little travel-worn, a little tired—but somehow they seemed to enhance his beauty, as if the world was conspiring to always show him in the best possible light.

Was this a trick somehow? Some manipulation?

Xuē Yáng had fallen silent, his cheeks a little pink as he continued to stare at Xiǎo Xīngchén, who was laughing softly. Sòng Lán was abruptly aware of two things: the first was that Xuē Yáng had forgotten that Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng were still present, his focus was so intent on Xiǎo Xīngchén; the second was that Xuē Yáng had also completely forgotten his own train of thought the moment he heard Xiǎo Xīngchén’s laughter, and was currently not quite sure how to make words with his mouth.

Sòng Lán brought a hand up to smother a laugh. That seemed a little too embarrassing for something Xuē Yáng would willingly share, even in an attempt to pull a trick. Was he aware that Sòng Lán could see this? Surely he wouldn’t be so fucking happy about this new discovery if he had any clue Sòng Lán could use it like this—

Red. Xiǎo Xīngchén was red, dripping with it, still smiling as his throat poured blood, soaking his robes—

Xuē Yáng snarled, a sword in one hand—

“Zǐchēn?”

“What the fuck’s wrong with you this time?”

Sòng Lán blinked, staring at them both. Xiǎo Xīngchén was fine, completely uninjured. Xuē Yáng’s hands were both empty. Everything was exactly as it had been seconds before. Sòng Lán swallowed, forcing his resentful energy back under full control.

What had that been? Some kind of violent fantasy? Of course Xuē Yáng would be the sort to fantasise about killing people he loved. Except, this didn’t… Xuē Yáng’s expression was still mild, unconcerned, but across their bond he felt alarmed, nearly nauseated. Xuē Yáng turned back to Xiǎo Xīngchén and the last of the vision in red began to fade.

Sòng Lán’s eyes were drawn to Xuē Yáng’s hands and the piece of red and white silk he was fiddling with.

“We should part ways now,” Xuē Yáng said. “There are still some things I want to prepare before I lose the sunlight.”

“And Ā-Qìng and I should try to find a room for the night, or at the very least a good place to set up a camp,” Xiǎo Xīngchén added.

Neither of them made a move to leave.

Ā-Qìng sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. She moved to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side and took his hand.

Xuē Yáng glanced at her and smirked in a way that was deliberately intended to irritate her, to great success, apparently. Beneath that impulse to annoy, Xuē Yáng felt something like fondness and pride looking in her direction.

And then.

Sòng Lán didn’t react to the vision this time, didn’t let his energy do more than swirl a little in agitation. In the vision, Xuē Yáng was kneeling on her chest, a deliberate tactic to leave her short of breath, a knife in one hand and aimed at her eyes. Her mouth already dripped blood, a punishment for running her tongue.

Xuē Yáng didn’t outwardly react to this vision either. Inwardly, he seemed almost irritated by it, swiping it away like a buzzing fly. It was immediately replaced by some imagined scenario of offering her a candy? Xuē Yáng seemed far more pleased with that thought, letting it linger in his mind.

“Dàgē, let’s go already. I’m hungry,” Ā-Qìng said.

“Right! Right, yes, of course. Okay,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, nodding. “Xuē Yáng? How long do you think your hunt will take?”

“A few days, at the most. We’ll find you, wherever you are.”

“And if it takes longer—”

“You are absolutely not going to visit Orchid Cliffs, even if you think I’m late. Get some other cultivator to check. Someone from Gūsū Lán if you can manage it; their musical techniques are useful in these kinds of hunts. And they probably won’t immediately try to kill or capture me or Sòng Lán.”

“Noted,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, looking a little pale. “We’ll meet again in a few days, then.”

“In a few days.”

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán had imagined that he and Xuē Yáng would be traveling via flying sword, and arrive in Orchid Cliffs with some time before nightfall to begin investigating.

They did travel by swords. But only for about a minute. Orchid Cliffs was still in the distance when Xuē Yáng suddenly plunged back down to the ground in a steep dive. Sòng Lán followed closely, searching the road for the enemy he must have spotted, but nothing caught his attention.

After another ten minutes, Sòng Lán was convinced Xuē Yáng had no clue what he was doing.

Sòng Lán watched, arms crossed, as Xuē Yáng explored erratically. One moment, Xuē Yáng would be pacing the road, and the next he’d skip ahead a dozen steps and stare into the trees. Xuē Yáng climbed into a ditch and walked along it for a bit, then spent a minute searching the underbrush for something, then came back to the centre of the road.

The entire time, Xuē Yáng acted as if Sòng Lán wasn’t there, never giving a word of explanation or even a throwaway insult. Sòng Lán might have thought Xuē Yáng had forgotten him, or was ignoring him, if not for one very curious thing.

Sòng Lán could still feel Xuē Yáng’s presence within his mind, still had mental fingers tangled deeply enough to pick up the occasional thought or image from Xuē Yáng’s mind. Which meant he noticed the way Xuē Yáng’s attention would focus on him every time Sòng Lán moved a little too quick or his hand would brush against Fúxuě’s hilt.

Xuē Yáng never physically reacted. He didn’t look over, or stop what he was doing. But Sòng Lán could feel the tension in him, coiled muscle, preparing to dodge some attack. Sòng Lán could see the way Xuē Yáng’s casual glances around assessed the environment for advantages to help him escape. There were flashes, too, violent images that Sòng Lán caught from him, but they flickered by too fast to make out any details.

Once more, Sòng Lán wondered how much Xuē Yáng was able to pick up from his thoughts. Xuē Yáng had answered Sòng Lán’s musings about being cold, insults and fragments of speech directed his way, but he didn’t comment now on Sòng Lán’s thoughts or the bloody scenes Sòng Lán could read from his mind. 

If Xuē Yáng couldn’t pick up thoughts that were about him, could he pick up thoughts that were directed at him? How did one direct their thoughts at another person? What was the mental equivalent of addressing a thought like a letter with someone’s name?

They should leave here, and head for Orchid Cliffs.

Xuē Yáng didn’t react. Sòng Lán arched an eyebrow, and imagined speaking aloud. The sound of his voice, the shapes his mouth would make, the way the air would feel passing his lips.

Enough of this. At this rate we won’t reach Orchid Cliffs until after nightfall.

“If you’re bored, you can leave,” Xuē Yáng muttered. “You’re the one who wanted to follow me.”

Sòng Lán blinked. It worked?

Xuē Yáng turned to him, half crouched, one of his hands filled with crumbly dirt.

“You have such little faith in my skills!” Xuē Yáng said. “I understood you because I am incredibly perceptive and you’re dead.”

Right, sure. Why wasn’t Xuē Yáng reacting more often, then? He’d reacted to idle thoughts before and Sòng Lán hadn’t put in nearly the same effort to make those be heard. Xuē Yáng didn’t seem like the type to ignore an insult. 

We need to leave. Whatever distractions you’re playing with can wait.

“I’m not leaving until I’m done.”

Stop being pointlessly contrary. We are on a hunt, not here to play in the mud and the ditchwater.

Xuē Yáng sneered at that, standing with a dramatic sweep of his skirts. He was still carrying a handful of dirt.

“Fuck you. If you’re not smart enough to work out the purpose for my actions here, I see no reason to tell you.”

Sòng Lán took a step forwards, glaring at this infuriating creature—

Xuē Yáng had a sword through his chest.

Sòng Lán froze, transfixed by the blood—that blade, how could it be Fúxuě—

“I didn’t think you’d betray your word so quickly,” Xuē Yáng said, his voice calm and steady, uninjured. He was uninjured. They were both still standing, staring at each other, Fúxuě still sheathed, Xuē Yáng’s chin tilted high and proud. Another violent vision from Xuē Yáng’s imagination?

Sòng Lán frowned, shifting his weight as if to lunge forwards. Xuē Yáng didn’t physically react, but his thoughts were flooded with blood, image after image of his own death. Blade to the heart. Beheading. Losing both arms and being left to bleed out. Evisceration. All of it at Sòng Lán’s hand. There were escape strategies too, three routes already identified. The tree nearby with the large storm-weakened branch, something that could possibly be weaponised. Dust from the road, temporary blinding. The steep drop from the side of the path and down the hillside could make a good distraction.

All of it passed through Xuē Yáng’s mind in a single second.

Sòng Lán shifted his hold on Fúxuě, letting his shoulders drop.

I’m not breaking my word.

Xuē Yáng stared at him for an extra few seconds, then nodded. The escape strategies faded from Xuē Yáng’s thoughts, though the violent images of his own death lingered a little longer. Unlike the ones about Ā-Qìng or Xiǎo Xīngchén, Xuē Yáng didn’t seem bothered by the images.

Curious. What sort of person was that comfortable with the idea of their own death?

Not that Sòng Lán held any interest in Xuē Yáng’s behaviour or motivations. This was simply a more efficient way to study an enemy—and Xuē Yáng was certainly still his enemy, even if Sòng Lán would not allow him to be grievously harmed or killed. As long as Xiǎo Xīngchén loved this man, as long as losing Xuē Yáng would break Xiǎo Xīngchén’s heart, Sòng Lán would tolerate him. But if there came a day that Xuē Yáng betrayed Xiǎo Xīngchén’s trust, if he became their enemy again… well it was rather convenient to have the insight Sòng Lán could steal like this.

Xuē Yáng suddenly knelt in the middle of the road, facing away from Sòng Lán. After a second, a little spirit made of smoky shadows approached out of nowhere and began to hover before his face.

“Hello. I was looking for someone like you,” Xuē Yáng said with a grin. Sòng Lán blinked, staring at the little ghost. Where had it come from? There were no dead people nearby. There was no resentful energy pooling anywhere along the path.

“I see,” Xuē Yáng said, moving to stand. The spirit trailed after him as Xuē Yáng wandered off the road again. “Well, I’m afraid that town was burned down about a decade ago. You could travel with me if you want? We go on all sorts of adventures! Also I make it a point to try a new candy or sweet at every new town I visit, I’m sure we can find one to suit your refined palette.”

Xuē Yáng’s voice was oddly gentle, and so was the smile he aimed down at the spirit. It must have responded in some way that Sòng Lán couldn’t recognise, because Xuē Yáng hummed and nodded.

“I can do that.”

Xuē Yáng then proceeded to spend the next however long collecting large rocks and carrying them to the roadside, where he then began to stack them. He outright ignored any attempts Sòng Lán made to hurry him, instead chatting with the ghost and the other handful of spirits that appeared from the undergrowth. Xuē Yáng laughed, and sang little childish songs, and the smoky shadows danced around him as he worked.

It took Sòng Lán entirely too long to recognise Xuē Yáng was building a crude shrine.

“There we go,” Xuē Yáng said, arranging a large flat stone on top of the stack. Sòng Lán moved to stand by his side, watching as Xuē Yáng arranged another flat stone so it stood vertically behind the little platform.

“Hold this up.”

It took a moment for Sòng Lán to realise Xuē Yáng was talking to him instead of the spirits. He reached forward to hold the stone in place, and Xuē Yáng began filling in the gaps between the larger stones with smaller pebbles until the structure was more stable. Xuē Yáng nodded, answering a question only he could hear, and then moved around to the front of the shrine. Golden qi began to gather in his palms and then he reached forwards, carving words into the rock. No, not words… they were names…

These are the ghosts of Wēns.

Xuē Yáng glanced at him a second, then back to the names. He nodded.

“Some Wēns and a few servants. They were running from Niè soldiers.”

Did they fight back? Try to defend themselves?

Xuē Yáng gave him an odd look.

“I don’t think fighting back would have done these Wēns any good.”

Why not?

“So you’re blind as well as loud,” Xuē Yáng muttered, rather than answer. 

Xuē Yáng placed his palms flat on the stone, and with one last burst of qi, something about the nature of the stones changed, though they looked the same. Sòng Lán was suddenly certain that not even a hurricane could tumble the stack of stones. Several of the little shadows began to dance around the shrine in quick excitable circles, while several others began to hide among the rocks.

Sòng Lán watched, and wasn’t sure what to feel.

Why did you make this?

Xuē Yáng glanced at him, then back to the shrine, then back to Sòng Lán.

“I wanted to,” he said eventually. “Travelers can leave gifts and ask for their protection on the roads. Acting as guardians could be fun for them, give them something to do.”

Did Xiǎo Xīngchén tell you to make a shrine?

“What? No, why would—you were there for our entire conversation, he didn’t tell me to do this,” Xuē Yáng said, with a frown. “Why would this matter to Xiǎo Xīngchén?”

Sòng Lán wasn’t sure how to answer that. Xiǎo Xīngchén was clearly interested in any attempts Xuē Yáng made to act like a good person. Was this also part of Xuē Yáng’s arrangement with Xiǎo Xīngchén? To set up shrines for the dead? It wasn’t something that Xiǎo Xīngchén had ever voiced an interest in—he would recite prayers for the dead and assist in funerals, but generally banished ghosts with the edge of his blade. It made more sense than the alternative, though, that Xuē Yáng was doing this of his volition. 

What would Xuē Yáng get out of this? He seemed genuinely perplexed about how the shrine could hold any importance to Xiǎo Xīngchén—

The evening sun broke out from between two hills, painting everything golden and making the shadows long, and suddenly they weren’t alone on the road. Sòng Lán wasn’t sure if it was the lighting, or another vision of Xuē Yáng’s, but every single little spirit was wearing the shape they’d held in life.

They looked young. Children, the eldest maybe ten years, the youngest around four. Wēn children, laughing and chasing each other around the little shrine. By Xuē Yáng’s side was a little girl, holding Xuē Yáng’s hand as she watched the others and smiled. Her mouth was moving like she was talking, but unlike Xuē Yáng, Sòng Lán couldn’t hear her words.

Fragments of information drifted across the bond from Xuē Yáng. The ashes of a town burned to the ground. The aches of walking day and night, hiding from any adult they saw. Soldiers shaped like monsters, huge looming creatures made of darkness and terror. Waking up refreshed, all the pain and the cold gone away, but still searching for a safe place to hide, a better place to be home.

Not all of them knew they were dead, Sòng Lán realised. They didn’t understand why they were bound to this stretch of road or why some people couldn’t see them. They just wanted to play.

The sun disappeared behind a hill, and as the golden light disappeared, so did the vision of the ghost children. Xuē Yáng moved to stand before the shrine, and withdrew from his sleeves a few candles, some incense, and around a dozen small candies wrapped in wax paper. He placed the offerings down, humming some little song, and soon, the presence of the little ghosts began to fade away. To sleep or to the next realm, Sòng Lán wasn’t sure.

Xuē Yáng stepped away.

“We’re going to be late,” Xuē Yáng said, moving to stand on his sword. “I still have an errand to run, but it won’t take as long as this one.”

Sòng Lán stared at the shrine for a long moment.

Why did you do this now, of all times?

Xuē Yáng gave him a look as if what Sòng Lán had asked was absurd.

“Because I wanted to. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Sòng Lán supposed that made a sort of sense. Xuē Yáng nodded, and flew into the sky, and after a second Sòng Lán moved to follow him.

That still left one question, though; why would a cruel, willfully malicious person like Xuē Yáng want to make a shrine for a group of ghost children without a home?

Chapter Text

The last of the daylight was rapidly disappearing when Xuē Yáng finally picked out the bend in the road the dead girl had mentioned. Diving back down to the road level, Xuē Yáng stretched his senses out, examining the ambient resentful energy of the place. Definitely stronger than average. 

This part of the road was formed as a series of switchbacks, the only path up the steep hillside that could be better described as a cliff. The precipice was more than high enough to be dangerous. The road looked newer, abruptly changing direction, as if something in the landscape was different than when the path had first been carved out. And up above the road, that would make a good place to lie in wait, mostly hidden but with a good view of the road downhill.

Behind him, Xuē Yáng could feel Sòng Lán’s vague impatience growing stronger, but he paid the man no mind. This was Xuē Yáng’s hunt; if Sòng Lán had a problem he could leave. It wasn’t like Xuē Yáng actually required the help or supervision. No matter what mischief this demonic cultivator was up to, there was no way their skills could compare to Xuē Yáng’s. And no new artifact could ever be as powerful as the Stygian Tiger Amulet or the Yin Iron.

Xuē Yáng walked to the edge of the road and stared down to the base of the cliff with a frown. As far as he was aware, Jīn Guāngyáo was still in possession of the rebuilt Stygian Tiger Amulet. Xuē Yáng had spent many long months rebuilding it out of scraps and what was left of Wèi Wúxiàn’s notes.  And then, after years of friendship, years of working together to kill irritating people, suddenly Xuē Yáng was too much of a liability to be left alive. 

Honestly, it hadn’t been surprising to find Jīn Guāngyáo had sent a team of assassins after him to steal the amulet. Jīn Guāngyáo was a paranoid fucker at the best of times, and that manic edge he hid so well had only grown sharper after the deaths of Nie Mingjue and his own kid. What had been surprising was that the assassins had nearly succeeded. If Xuē Yáng had been any less talented at escaping danger, if Xiǎo Xīngchén hadn’t found him...

Xuē Yáng had considered killing Jīn Guāngyáo. It was only fair. But Xiǎo Xīngchén had been more interesting to mess with, and Xuē Yáng hadn’t wanted to leave. It wasn’t like Xuē Yáng felt any urgency when it came to retrieving the Stygian Tiger Amulet. He was powerful enough on his own, and the amulet was an unruly, willful thing; it took a strong will to wield it without falling to corruption. That did mean that the majority of Jīn Guāngyáo’s little trainee demonic cultivators were generally unable to use it. Having a sadistic streak was not enough.

If Jīn Guāngyáo was going around letting his inexperienced little trainees handle that amulet, that was going to lead to accidents. Like entire towns being turned into walking corpses. And those kinds of accidents tended to draw the attention of the Qīnghé Niè Gūsū Lán, and Yúnmèng Jiāng. If the Stygian Tiger Amulet was collected by another major clan as a cursed artifact because of Jīn Guāngyáo’s bloodlust… Xuē Yáng would not be happy.

It had been years since Xuē Yáng had visited Jīn Guāngyáo, anyway. They weren’t really friends anymore; the attempted murder soured things a little. But the again, Jīn Guāngyáo hadn't sent another assassin when he learned Xuē Yáng had survived, so Xuē Yáng wasn’t sure they were enemies either. Perhaps he should visit soon to ask. 

Xuē Yáng definitely needed to have another conversation with Xiǎo Xīngchén about acceptable forms of retribution, though. Killing was still probably off the table, and he had seemed upset at the idea of cutting off body parts last time, but there had to be some kind of pain and terror that was acceptable as a punishment for those that needed one. Jīn Guāngyáo needed one. 

But those were thoughts for later. Xuē Yáng shook them from his mind, and stepped forwards, off the road and over the edge of the cliff.

Sòng Lán absolutely did not lunge forwards when Xuē Yáng fell off the cliff. If he did, it was only to prevent Xuē Yáng from using the moment to escape his supervision. He did not reach out to try and catch Xuē Yáng’s wrist.

Xuē Yáng’s laughter echoed up as he fell. Sòng Lán peered over the edge of the cliff, watching as Xuē Yáng landed softly far below.

“Were you worried for me, Sòng-dàozhǎng?” Xuē Yáng called out. Sòng Lán glared down at him. “Are you coming down or are you just going to wait up there? I thought you were trying to monitor me for suspicious behaviour! You definitely won’t want to miss this next bit!”

Xuē Yáng turned and began to wander away. Sòng Lán swore inwardly, and followed him off the cliff. Even without seeing Xuē Yáng’s face, Sòng Lán knew the prick was smirking.

Xuē Yáng didn’t walk far before pausing to glance around, staring at the dirt. He raised one hand, and clicked his fingers.

The dirt began to writhe.

Sòng Lán took in a sharp breath as resentful energy surged all around them. After a few seconds, the first corpses broke through the surface, pulling themselves free of the dirt. There were nearly a dozen of them, all old bodies, more skeletal than anything, their flesh mostly rotted away. Some were dressed in mismatched armour and bearing swords, others in rotten silks and linens.

Xuē Yáng surveyed them all with a satisfied air. He began to wander among them, pausing by each one in turn and exchanging a few words.

Sòng Lán watched, somewhat bemused, as three of the corpses climbed back into their graves. Another one, Xuē Yáng killed immediately. The corpse burned into ash as Xuē Yáng’s qi consumed it. None of the others made a move to intervene.

One corpse in particular seemed to draw Xuē Yáng’s attention. It was dressed in silks that still looked reddish despite the rot, and was adorned with gold jewelry. As if they had been on their way to being married when they died. It was also the corpse with the strongest resentful energy of them all. Xuē Yáng paused before it for several long seconds, then nodded.

“I know the place,” Xuē Yáng said. “I’ll make it a priority.”

The corpse nodded, then bowed. Xuē Yáng mirrored the gesture, then turned away, leaping onto his sword. Sòng Lán scrambled to follow him into the air. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the remaining corpses had turned in the direction of the village, and were slowly ambling their way over. 

The whole process repeated several times as true night began to fall. Xuē Yáng would fly around, focusing on the roads surrounding Orchid Cliffs. Each time he landed, he’d find more dead bodies and lost spirits. With each dead creature, Xuē Yáng would spend a few moments talking, come to some kind of agreement, and then either they would be destroyed, or crawl back into their graves, or start moving towards Orchid Cliffs.

You’re recruiting other dead things, Sòng Lán thought in Xuē Yáng’s general direction.

“What gave it away?” Xuē Yáng drawled, rolling his eyes. They were walking now, since it had gotten too dark to see the roads from the air and the moon wouldn’t rise for several hours yet.

A lot of effort for someone who claimed he could destroy our enemy in his sleep.

“You’re very judgemental for someone who still has trouble controlling his own resentful energy.”

Sòng Lán sent a glare in his direction, and they walked in silence for several minutes. Up ahead, the lights of Orchid Cliffs were visible.

How were you able to find so many dead in such a short amount of time? Orchid Cliffs was one small village, not particularly close to any major trade routes.

“There’s dead people everywhere, Sòng Lán,” Xuē Yáng said in an odd tone. “Cities, small towns, roads, fields. Anywhere people have ever been, there are corpses in the dirt and death echos staining the land.”

Sòng Lán’s thoughts strayed to the Sunshot Campaign.

“That’s part of it, the wars. There are villages in Qíshān that were burned to the ground, people and all. But most of these people died mundane deaths. Illness, infection, murder by shady travelers. The bride back there, her whole bridal party were attacked by bandits. They weren’t what killed her though. It was bad luck, mostly. Mudslide swept them all away.”

Terrible luck, really. It was bad enough to hear of a bride who died on the way to her wedding—she belonged to neither her original family nor her husband’s family, her soul lost and wandering between two families—but the mudslide had apparently hidden her body and the bodies of the others from discovery. None of them had received proper death rites or been honoured. Her family likely had no idea what had happened to her. Her resentment had to be very strong.

You promised her something, Sòng Lán prompted. You promised them all something in return for their assistance.

“It’s not important that you know the details,” Xuē Yáng said.

Sòng Lán frowned, but didn’t push. The details of the promises weren’t interesting to him. What was interesting was the fact that Xuē Yáng was negotiating at all, and the fact that Sòng Lán could feel that Xuē Yáng fully intended to keep each promise.

It was with those thoughts on his mind that they finally walked through the gates of Orchid Cliffs.

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán found public eateries to be frustrating, distracting places at the best of times, often filled with loud chatter, odd smells, and cheap tea. They also weren’t generally as clean as Sòng Lán preferred. They weren’t dirty, but… Sòng Lán simply preferred to take his tea in private. Using his own tea set. With only Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng as company.

Xuē Yáng appeared to prefer flaunting his wealth and his status as a cultivator, having the servants bring out one of every dish they offered, and chatting with every curious person who looked their way.

“Don’t look so gloomy, you’ll scare away our admirers,” Xuē Yáng said under his breath while he gave the aunties at a nearby table a salacious smirk. The women all smiled back, looking a little flushed, and then they were all whispering among themselves and giggling.

I’m not being gloomy. This is my normal expression.

“Yes, but you could try looking tranquilly neutral instead of depressed neutral,” Xuē Yáng said, glancing at him. “And you should feign drinking your tea. You don’t want to be an ungracious guest, do you?”

I can’t eat or drink.

“Yes, that’s why I said feign ,” Xuē Yáng muttered, rolling his eyes and turning back to survey the room. Sòng Lán sighed but did as Xuē Yáng suggested. They were here to gather information, after all, and even if Xuē Yáng’s posturing grated against Sòng Lán’s nerves, it was ultimately helpful to their goal.

So far, they had learned that the richest family in the region were the Zhen, who made their wealth by cultivating a particular variety of rare medicinal orchid. Most of the town’s industry was built around the orchid trade and entertaining couriers, but the recent fierce corpse attacks had scared away business. Some of the dried orchid stocks had been destroyed too, and now there were whispers that the Zhen family had done something terrible to draw down misfortune on them all.

Sòng Lán lifted his tea cup to “drink”, spent a second mourning the loss of his sense of taste, and then gathered resentful energy in his mouth to unmake the hot liquid, converting it from matter to pure qi.

“Creative,” Xuē Yáng murmured without looking his way, and while the word still carried Xuē Yáng’s normal bite, his smile looked a little more genuine. And then one of the waitstaff came back, bringing a plate of little pastries and an over-attentive attitude. Xuē Yáng immediately began questioning the man on local sites of interest and scary stories, idly playing with a piece of silver.

It was unnerving, the way Xuē Yáng could smile all friendly like that while still imagining smashing the teapot over the waitstaff’s head. Apparently Xuē Yáng found the intrusion on his personal space very uncomfortable. Poor him.

Xuē Yáng sent a flicker of irritation in Sòng Lán’s direction, and then said, “My companion may not speak much, but he has greatly appreciated the hospitality of this establishment, particularly the orchid tea. Now he is curious about what other young blossoms may be available to sample.”

The man’s eyes went wide, but he turned to Sòng Lán with a knowing smile.

“I would be happy to direct the dàozhǎng! Orchid Cliffs receives many travelers all around the year, and we know how long journeys can leave a man weary for good company!”

Sòng Lán stared blankly at the man, who grew visibly uncomfortable after a few seconds. Xuē Yáng, as always, was unperturbed.

“No need to be modest, shidi! I’m sure they’ll cater to your unique tastes! Though perhaps you should wait until after our hunt is over to indulge yourself,” Xuē Yáng said with an earnest smile.

Sòng Lán wanted to kill him.

Xuē Yáng blinked, and his smile didn’t waver, though his mental landscape grew alarmed. Sòng Lán calmly folded his arms, hiding his fists in his sleeves, pulling the errant wisps of resentful energy back under control.

Do not call me your shidi .

Xuē Yáng’s lips parted, his brow furrowed just slightly, and for a second, a ferocious curiosity overwhelmed every other thought in Xuē Yáng’s mind, even those that were filled with blood. Abruptly, Xuē Yáng turned away, asking the waitstaff about the haunting.

Sòng Lán took a deep breath, and tried to refocus.

Shidi. As if they were martial brothers. As if they were family.

There was a chill creeping through his fingertips and spreading up his arms. Sòng Lán closed his eyes, pushing away the cold. He was in control. This hunt would only last a day or two longer and then Sòng Lán would be rid of Xuē Yáng.

Something golden drifted over his skin.

Sòng Lán looked up. Xuē Yáng was still in conversation, still sat across the table and not looking in his direction, but that sensation was unmistakably Xuē Yáng’s qi, warm and living and ready for Sòng Lán to draw on if the cold kept building.

It wasn’t an apology. Xuē Yáng wasn’t the type. But there was something, some odd feeling that Sòng Lán couldn’t quite label…

Sòng Lán pondered it for a few seconds, then caught the golden qi with his own, letting it restore the warmth to his hands. It would be foolish to refuse assistance just because Sòng Lán loathed the person offering it. He could work out Xuē Yáng's motivations later.

Xuē Yáng wandered through the darkness between buildings. Sòng Lán followed at his heels, projecting a strong sensation of suspicion and general discontent. Excellent. Xuē Yáng had always longed for a hyper-critical shadow to judge his every action.

So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The death echoes lingering in dark corners were the usual kinds, none of them from particularly traumatic or painful ends. The town was laid out well, designed to prevent pooling energies. Many of the buildings had protective arrays in unobtrusive places, near invisible in the dark except for the gentle qi that radiated from them.

Nothing waiting in the dark to attack foolish townsfolk. No walking corpses except for the one following Xuē Yáng. And Xuē Yáng didn’t need to be searching for resentful energy to sense his presence.

Did Sòng Lán have to be so fucking loud?! It wasn’t just that he was broadcasting his emotions to anyone who cared to listen; he also appeared completely inept at being stealthy. It was like his every footstep found a rock or a creaky floorboard! His clothes rustled with every movement! Even his breathing was too loud!

This hadn’t been a thing when they met years ago, had it? Xuē Yáng would have noticed if Sòng Lán was this noisy—it would have made evading him a lot easier! Admittedly, he was still quiet enough that normal people wouldn’t hear him unless they were listening for someone sneaking around, but to anyone with a cultivator’s training he was practically advertising his position with his every move!

Xuē Yáng frowned, glancing around for a sheltered place—that building looked good. Sòng Lán followed as Xuē Yáng climbed through an upper window, still exuding disapproval. Xuē Yáng walked to the centre of the dark room, then turned to face him.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around?” Xuē Yáng hissed.

Sòng Lán quirked an eyebrow, seeming almost amused at Xuē Yáng’s irritation, and then his thoughts grew sharp and dark. Xuē Yáng sneered.

“You’d really enjoy seeing me fail, wouldn’t you? Even if it was at the expense of this village.”

At those words, Sòng Lán seemed mildly shocked, and a little confused. Xuē Yáng frowned.

“Speak more clearly, then.”

Sòng Lán watched him with a mild expression, but hidden behind it was a distinct, mocking amusement that made Xuē Yáng want to hiss. Why did Sòng Lán always act like he was so fucking superior? As if he was above things like anger and violence! As if he cared more for justice than for having noble blood! But Sòng Lán was no Xiǎo Xīngchén! Sòng Lán was nothing but empty words and promises! Black ink could hide the way gold shone, but scratch it away and it was still cold, hard metal underneath.

“Fuck off and leave me alone,” Xuē Yáng spat.

More silent, derisive laughter.

Fuck! Xuē Yáng turned, quickly pacing the small space. He could feel Sòng Lán’s eyes on him—stolen eyes, Xiǎo Xīngchén’s eyes. He could feel Sòng Lán’s satisfaction at riling him up, the curiosity too, as if Sòng Lán had no clue how annoying he could be. Maybe Xuē Yáng should wring his neck. That was the good thing about fierce corpses, you could kill them a dozen times over and they wouldn’t fucking die!

Sòng Lán wasn’t allowed to die. Xiǎo Xīngchén would cry.

Xuē Yáng fell still, his eyes closed, as he pulled the red azalea silk free from his wrist. This was to make Xiǎo Xīngchén happy. Xiǎo Xīngchén liked the idea of them working together, because Xiǎo Xīngchén wanted to keep both of them. If Sòng Lán was damaged, Xiǎo Xīngchén would cry.

Xuē Yáng turned to Sòng Lán, the silk still in his hands.

“I don’t care what you think about how I work. But if you’re going to follow me, attempt to move with some stealth! I can hear your every footstep! How are your robes noisy?!”

At that, Sòng Lán seemed genuinely surprised and maybe a little offended. Much better! That was the way things were supposed to be.

“We’re hunting a cultivator, idiot! Move silently! All the black helps with blending into the shadows, at least, although something with a muted pattern would work better. Like those robes you have with the swirling grey pattern on the sleeves. They look good on you,” Xuē Yáng added. Sòng Lán felt even more off-balance at the compliment, and after a second that uneasiness morphed into a flustered kind of anger and denial.

Xuē Yáng smirked. What an interesting reaction.

“Are you going to burn those robes now? Does my appreciation make them dirty?” Xuē Yáng purred, moving closer. That seemed to actually alarm Sòng Lán, who almost moved to take a step back before remembering he wasn’t supposed to lose face in front of scary evil demonic cultivators like Xuē Yáng.

Sòng Lán’s brows furrowed, and he straightened his shoulders, his grip on his sword tight.

In close quarters like this, Sòng Lán would likely be able to strike before Xuē Yáng could evade. Even with the blade still sheathed, it could crush Xuē Yáng’s throat. Shadow walking would be the best escape: jump down the stairs as they whisked him away.

Sòng Lán had given his word he wouldn’t attack. He swore on Xiǎo Xīngchén.

Xuē Yáng’s eyes flicked to the red azalea silk. They were here to make sure Xiǎo Xīngchén never turned red. Sòng Lán wasn't going to attack. He swore.

“Is it for Xiǎo Xīngchén? The noise? Since he can’t sense you properly if you use the masking charm?” Xuē Yáng asked, still staring at the silk.

Sòng Lán didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, his thoughts spiraling through confusion, defensiveness, and his baseline disgruntlement.

Xuē Yáng sighed, and wandered back to the window.

“He’s not here now, so you can afford to be as silent as possible,” Xuē Yáng said, leaping back down into the shadowy alleyway. A moment later, Xuē Yáng sensed Sòng Lán follow, moving as silently as any good assassin.

Xuē Yáng smiled, and began to lead the search for pockets of resentful energy once more. If they were lucky, they could finish this whole hunt before dawn.

Chapter Text

The problem with her Dàgē, Ā-Qìng mused, was that he was terrible at waiting. Usually it wasn’t so obvious. Usually Dàgē had other things to do to distract himself from the waiting. Like fixing the roof of Coffin House. Or weaving a basket. Or repairing a tear in their hanfu. Or visiting villagers to check on their health and have a chat.

Things hadn’t changed much now that their lives were more nomadic. From the time they woke until the time they went to bed, Dàgē kept himself busy one way or another, always flitting from one task to the next. As soon as he considered everything to be done, the hunts over and the people healed, he was already itching to move on to the next town or village.

But now, they had to return to the same village they’d already finished helping, and Xiǎo Xīngchén had nothing to do.

Yesterday hadn’t been too bad, since all they had done was find lodgings for the night. Dàgē had spent some of the evening teaching, guiding Ā-Qìng’s qi control and testing her memory on the weaknesses of various night-creatures. Ā-Qìng had practiced reading aloud from a collection of poetry Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng had given her. Each time she paused, staring intently at a character with no idea how to read it, Dàgē had volunteered the word. Apparently he had memorised these poems years ago, knowing they were some of Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng’s favourites.

They had spent most of the morning wandering the village, and that’s really where the problems began. There was no monster here that needed hunting. No person who needed medical attention. No one who needed Xiǎo Xīngchén’s help.

“Do you think they’d mind terribly if I went to join them on the hunt?”

“Dàgē.”

“Perhaps they need the help.”

“Dàgē, you promised not to.”

“I know, but—”

“No. You’ll either get hurt or distract them.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a heavy sigh, and nodded. “I hate being useless.”

Ā-Qìng huffed.

“You’re not useless, Dàgē.”

“Rationally, I know that’s true. Emotionally, that doesn’t seem to matter,” he muttered, heaving another deep sigh. “Maybe if I ask again, someone here will allow me to assist with their chores. Mending things or chopping vegetables or something.”

Ā-Qìng grimaced, and shook her head. That had been awkward enough to watch the first time.

“Dàgē, you’re a dàozhǎng. No one dares ask your help with mundane things.”

“But I’m offering it.”

“It makes people uncomfortable. It’s not like in Yi City, these people don’t know you.”

Dàgē gave another sigh, and didn’t answer.

“I want to go swimming,” Ā-Qìng announced. “Dàgē, let’s go swimming.”

“It’s winter, Ā-Qìng. The water will be very cold.”

“Then you could teach me how to use qi to stay warm! Or we could just sit by the riverside and listen! Or something. Let’s go, we can decide when we get there.”

“Alright,” Dàgē said with a small smile. “Let’s go to the river.”

The water was cold, enough that it made Ā-Qìng’s hands ache after only a few seconds. But the scenery was pretty, and when she climbed onto a large boulder, Ā-Qìng could see fish in the deeper waters. Further downstream, there were a few fishing traps set up in the shallows.

“Do you know how to catch fish, Dàgē?”

“It’s not something I have much experience with, really,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, with an odd twist to his mouth. “On Shìzūn’s mountain, we used to go fishing in the streams for fun, catching them by hand, but it involves sight so much, I… well, flowing water makes it hard to sense the qi of fish, and I never learned the other ways to catch them, with lines and traps. It was easier just to buy them from the markets.”

“I only ever caught a fish with my hands twice, and they were so slippery they got away anyway,” Ā-Qìng said. “Do you think fishing with a string is hard?”

“I have string, but we’d need some kind of hook,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

“A thorn might work.”

It wasn’t that difficult to find a plant with thorns, but it took a while longer to work out how to tie them to the string without the thorn breaking. Still, together they managed to make a number of fishing lines, and cast them out into the river. The fish didn’t seem very interested in them, though.

“This kind of fishing is boring,” Ā-Qìng announced after a short time. Her Dàgē didn’t respond. Actually, he seemed to be meditating, sitting with crossed legs, five fishing strings held within his hands.

Ā-Qìng rolled her eyes, but she smiled. If it made waiting easier for Dàgē, then she supposed this kind of fishing had its benefits.

Now, if only she could find something to keep away her own boredom.

They did not finish the hunt by dawn. Not even once did they encounter a monster or a ghost, or even find a suspiciously large build-up of resentful energy. So when the dawn came and the threat of attack began to dwindle even further, Xuē Yáng announced that they could better spend their time at the morning market among all the local residents. Sòng Lán couldn’t find any fault in that logic, much as he tried. It would be a good opportunity to gather more information and perhaps work out why all these attacks were targeting the Zhēn family.

Xuē Yáng took the lead, of course, since Sòng Lán’s communication skills were hampered by his inability to speak. Sòng Lán didn’t really mind that too much; speaking with strangers was one of the least comfortable aspects of a night hunt, and something Sòng Lán had never had much talent for. He was always polite, but often strangers seemed to feel uneasy in his presence, and being turned into a walking corpse hadn’t exactly helped matters.

The way Xuē Yáng spoke seemed to have the opposite effect. He strode through the crowds with the easy arrogance of a young lord, grinning and flirting with nearly every woman they encountered but always on the right side of impropriety. His favourite targets seemed to be women of older generations, who mostly seemed amused by the attention. He paused before every vendor, looking over their wares, and bought something from each.

Before long, half the market began to approach him and call him closer, many of them volunteering details about the ghost rumours or sharing their own suspicions about why they were happening now. Xuē Yáng would smile and thank them for helping his investigation, and taels would change hands, even though most of the information was completely useless or a repeat of the things they’d heard the night before.

It was rather unnerving, the contrast between Xuē Yáng’s friendly smile and the dark directions his thoughts were headed. There was a tension in his shoulders, slowly building. His fingers were fiddling with a corner of that red and white piece of silk, the action nearly hidden from sight.

At one point, a man grasped Xuē Yáng’s shoulder in a friendly manner, leaning in close to share his own ideas about the ghosts.

Xuē Yáng froze.

It was only for a second, barely noticeable, and he was still talking with the man, still smiling, but Sòng Lán knew better than to trust that porcelain smile. Internally, Xuē Yáng’s awareness had narrowed down to that point of contact, the hand on his shoulder, and Sòng Lán was bombarded with nearly a dozen of Xuē Yáng’s fantasies, all of which involved cutting off the offending limb, blood, and fire.

At this point, it was growing routine to merely brush away whichever of Xuē Yáng’s violent thoughts Sòng Lán caught. It didn’t seem like Xuē Yáng intended to act on any of them, for now at least. But these ones felt different somehow—frantic, like a bird trapped in a net—and when they stepped away from the man, Sòng Lán noticed Xuē Yáng’s knuckles were white.

Only a few minutes later, Xuē Yáng excused himself from a conversation and retreated to a side alley. Sòng Lán followed at a sedate pace and wasn’t surprised when he turned the corner to find Xuē Yáng had disappeared from sight. He kept walking, tracking the golden thread of energy between them.

Sòng Lán followed Xuē Yáng's qi toward the outskirts of town, down several roads and alleys that were all devoid of people. Xuē Yáng was leaning back against a wall, his eyes shut, with both hands twisted in his red and white silk. He didn’t move to acknowledge Sòng Lán’s presence as he approached, though Sòng Lán knew Xuē Yáng was aware he was there.

His hands were trembling.

Sòng Lán gave a deep sigh, and turned away, watching for any approaching villager.

You have a flair for the dramatic.

“Natural talent,” Xuē Yáng muttered. “Why are you here?”

Sòng Lán rolled his eyes, and glancing over one shoulder to catch Xuē Yáng’s gaze, he gestured to his mouth.

I have difficulties communicating.

Xuē Yáng snorted, hiding a smile behind the red and white silk.

“Ah, we weren’t really getting any new information anyway. Why is everyone so quick to praise the Zhēn family anyway? Rich pricks are rich pricks, no matter where they’re from.”

Their business keeps the town prosperous even through winter; the people are thankful.

“Well, something they did offended someone. Did you notice the pattern of attacks?”

All in the vicinity of the Zhēn family compound, all against people important in the orchid trade.

“Mmm, and their sick daughter. That could be a curse.”

Speculation.

“The timing’s suspicious. And a curse wouldn’t be beyond the capabilities of a demonic cultivator.”

Sòng Lán considered it, then nodded.

We need to talk with the Zhēn family.

Xuē Yáng made a sour expression.

“You can go do that, but I have better things to do.”

Like what?

“Like searching for resentful energy.”

You already did that and found nothing.

“I have more information now.”

Investigating this lead will be a more efficient way to spend our time than wandering aimlessly.

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer, glaring at the wall. Sòng Lán rolled his eyes, turning back to watching for any approaching villagers.

We don’t need to leave immediately if you still need time to recover from such an arduous morning of small talk.

“Fuck off.”

Does it physically pain you to act polite?

“Do you think if I chop off your hand and sew it back on, it will still work right? We should experiment with that.”

Always so quick to turn to violence.

“Maybe if people kept their hands to themselves…” Xuē Yáng trailed off, his thoughts full of dozens of unwanted touches and overfamiliar attention, all of them blending into a general feeling of repulsion. Only one scene was distinct enough for Sòng Lán to catch the details; Ā-Qìng kneeling in the centre of a crowd, her wrist held tight by a cruel man waving a knife in her direction. “Dàozhǎng says it’s against the rules,” Xuē Yáng added.

Sòng Lán made to respond, but paused as a blood-covered Xiǎo Xīngchén crossed Xuē Yáng’s thoughts.

Xuē Yáng took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.

“Alright. I’ll accompany you to visit the Zhēn family so that you won’t cause alarm with your terrible manners. But not yet,” Xuē Yáng said, and Sòng Lán felt resentful energy begin to build. Turning back to Xuē Yáng, he found that shadows had begun to gather at Xuē Yáng’s heels. Dark smoky shapes were licking at his wrists, and Xuē Yáng seemed to relax further, twirling his fingers through the ethereal forms. Xuē Yáng’s eyes were closed, but behind that, his eyes were flickering from side to side, and his thoughts felt just as abrupt.

After a few seconds, he grinned.

“Found you.”

As evening began to fall, they left the riverside and headed back to the village. Neither of them had had much luck fishing; during their entire afternoon, only a few fish had nibbled at the hooks, and the singular one they had caught had been so small Ā-Qìng saw no point in trying to eat it, so she had thrown it back. Otherwise, it had been a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

Halfway back, they passed someone on the path. A lady, wearing simple clothes with one or two fancier flourishes. Her hairpin looked like real jade, and she looked clean, well-kept. The kind of lady who would probably give a blind girl an apple or a treat, but wouldn’t be worth pickpocketing.

A-qing kept her expression blank and unseeing. It was lucky she had brought her cane with her. It was always easier to convince a mark she was blind if she had the cane.

“Excuse me, Dàozhǎng?” said the woman with a nervous expression.

Her Dàgē turned to the voice with a smile. Ā-Qìng took his hand as if she was nervous.

“Is there anything I can assist you with?”

“This lowly one doesn’t mean to bother, but the protection charms around my house have begun to fail. This one would be very grateful if the honorable Dàozhǎng would renew them.”

“I would be happy to help!” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, with perhaps a little too much eagerness. “My name is Xiǎo Xīngchén, and this is my sister Ā-Qìng.”

“Ah! Thank you, Xiǎo-dàozhǎng! This one’s name is Jiāo Chán,” she said. “I don’t actually live in the village, away from a road. Xiǎo-dàozhǎng, can you follow me with your eyes bound like that?”

“It is within my capabilities, yes,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a good humour. “Please, lead the way!”

Ā-Qìng grinned. This would be an even better distraction for her Dàgē than fishing!

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng followed the dead through the streets, their nonsensical whispers drowning out the sounds of the living. He paid no mind to the peasants who ducked out of his way, or Sòng Lán at his side.

There had been eight deaths across the town in the past four months, all in suspicious circumstances or terrible accidents. That kind of resentment and fear should have left death echoes behind. But Xuē Yáng had visited each of those sites last night and discovered nothing.

Death echoes didn’t disappear on their own. Only a cultivator could remove them, and in Xuē Yáng’s experience, most cultivators lacked the capacity to even sense the stains were present. This confirmed it if nothing else could: there was definitely a demonic cultivator here somewhere.

Xuē Yáng paused at a fork in the road. He closed his eyes for a moment, and let himself sink back into the minds of the spirits. Starving things following a scent on the metaphorical wind, so eager to tear into whatever it was that they barely noticed the living souls all around them.

It was a good thing Xuē Yáng had already eaten. It would be easy to get lost in this if he hadn’t.

Xuē Yáng took a step forward, then another, blindly following the gentle river current of resentful energy as it pulled at his feet. Why waste energy fighting to stay still? This was easier, this was better, there was a feast ahead, living qi they could eat and eat and eat—

Xuē Yáng opened his eyes. Daylight. Living people. Earth under his feet. The smell of food from the market. He took a deep breath. Alive. Living qi beneath his skin, burning hot and melting off the thoughts of the dead. 

He glanced to Sòng Lán.

“Can you feel it? Anything unusual?”

Sòng Lán’s frown deepened, confused.

“Nothing at all?” Xuē Yáng prompted. “What if I—”

Xuē Yáng pulled away the mental shielding he’d built around Sòng Lán. Sòng Lán gasped, eyes wide, and stumbled forwards in the same direction as all the others, and then with a snarl, he held himself still. He turned to Xuē Yáng with a grim expression, his body still tense trying to shrug off the allure.

“Yeah, we should have done this from the start. We could have found them within minutes,” Xuē Yáng murmured. He slid the mental shielding back in place, and Sòng Lán relaxed slightly, giving a small nod.

Xuē Yáng blinked.

Why was Sòng Lán feeling thankful? Had Xuē Yáng imagined it? Already the feeling had faded, replaced by grim focus and a question about their next move.

He must have misinterpreted something. It wasn’t important.

“It’s probably better this way,” Xuē Yáng said as he started walking again. “Whatever ritual or artifact is pulling dead things in, it seems to be doing them damage too. Making their sense of self decay quicker than normal. Destroy that, and they’re nothing but vengeful energy ready to be directed by anyone with a strong will. Nothing left of them to fight back.”

Sòng Lán sent a bitter thought his way, and Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need to use a spell to break the will of dead things; most of them don’t put up much of a fight anyway once they know I’m looking for new weapons. They like being used as attack dogs! They want to give up control, forget all the horrors of their boring little deaths. But the strong ones? The ones with so much resentment that you need to fight to stay in control? That kind of spirit makes a very unique weapon! Why would I want to destroy that just to turn them into energy!?”

That earned a judgemental glare, and Xuē Yáng nearly laughed.

“It’s good you’re taking such an active interest in learning new things. Your core is a well of resentful energy now, and on a basic level it may work like qi, but there are so many techniques unique to my path of cultivation! Some of the most basic ones, you’ve been using already.”

Sòng Lán scoffed, and Xuē Yáng glanced at him with a smirk.

“Did you not notice? When your emotions are high, the smoke that gathers by your feet and hands, those are decayed spirits. All the little ghosts with no strong sense of purpose, they get drawn in by strong wills and focused intent. It’s not actually that different to whatever’s pulling these ghosts in.”

Judging by Sòng Lán’s sudden confused, sad feelings, this was not welcome news. Well, at least it provided some variety from Sòng Lán’s grumpiness.

Xuē Yáng paused, examining one building. It didn’t look any different from the houses on either side. There wasn’t any strong resentful energy radiating from the place. But this was definitely it.

“Don’t act hostile. Let me do the talking,” Xuē Yáng said. Sòng Lán sent back an obscene word, and Xuē Yáng grinned. Quickly he re-examined the mental shieldings he’d left around Sòng Lán. This was not the time to make a careless mistake.

A woman answered the door and glanced nervously between them both. Sòng Lán did his best to appear calm and unthreatening, though he wasn’t sure how effective that was.

“Um—hello! You’re the rogue cultivators everyone’s talking about.”

“Yes, we are,” Xuē Yáng said. “May we come in?”

“Right now?”

“That won’t be a problem, will it, Miss?”

“Oh! Um, my name! That’s—this one is called Yán Líng.”

“It’s pleasant to meet you, Miss Yán Líng. May we come in?”

“My home is not appropriately prestigious enough to host two rogue cultivators such as yourselves,” Yán Líng said, darting a worried glance in Sòng Lán’s direction.

“Not to worry. We are here as part of an investigation; neither of us care about how elegant your house is,” Xuē Yáng said, moving to step past her. Yán Líng squeaked and ducked away from the doorway. Sòng Lán followed him in, sending a brief wordless jab in Xuē Yáng’s direction for his rudeness. The reprimand mostly seemed to amuse him.

The inside of the house was fairly average, the furnishings worn but well-made. Dried orchids and other plants hung from strings, and in one corner was a work desk with a few tools for preparing medicines.

“We don’t get guests often,” Yán Líng fretted. “I’ll get you water—no, tea! Wait, did I use it up? Oh, there’s the fancy leaves from Lánlíng, I’ll get those!”

“You do that,” Xuē Yáng murmured, wandering over to get a closer look at the work desk.

“Please don’t touch anything there! Some of those herbs are toxic if not handled correctly!”

“I’m aware,” Xuē Yáng replied, not looking her way.

Yán Líng looked Sòng Lán’s way with an anxious twist to her lips. Sòng Lán gave a smile that he hoped conveyed “I will not allow Xuē Yáng to poison himself or others, or otherwise destroy the contents of this room” but it didn’t seem to make Yán Líng any less anxious. Even so, she turned and collected a kettle from a side cabinet, before disappearing to the next room.

Sòng Lán turned to Xuē Yáng.

She doesn’t seem like a demonic cultivator.

“What, you think we all look this good?” Xuē Yáng said, turning to face Sòng Lán, one hand falling away from the opposing sleeve. The same one Xuē Yáng liked to pull his sword from.

Did you just steal something from the desk?

“No. Stealing is wrong,” Xuē Yáng said with an innocent smile, before wandering the room, his hands hovering near the drawers and cabinets. When he spoke again, Xuē Yáng’s voice was much quieter. “She might be our culprit, or she might be hiding them. Acting anxious and polite is no guarantee of innocence.”

Sòng Lán supposed that was true.

Can you sense any resentful energy?

“Nothing distinct,” Xuē Yáng said after a moment. “But that might be a masking charm.”

Yán Líng walked back in, and Xuē Yáng turned to her with a snake’s smile.

“Have you lived in this town all your life, Miss Yán Líng?” he said.

“As long as I can remember,” Yán Líng said as she lay out a tea set at the small dining table and lit a small burner of incense.

“Do you like the Zhēn family?”

Her face lit up.

“Oh, they are truly wonderful people! When I was little my mother worked as a wet nurse for the family, and I spent some years training in their household as a servant for their middle daughter. She is a year younger than me, and sometimes when we were children, we would sneak away to play in the gardens. Of course I wouldn’t do anything so improper now.”

“Why not?” Xuē Yáng said. “All the fun things in life are improper.”

“I would never disrespect my lady like that! Zhēn-er-guniang is beautiful and kind and gentle! Her grace is beyond compare!”

“You must be very worried to hear she’s so sick, then.”

Yán Líng blinked, and she lowered her gaze to stare at the table.

“Yes, it’s very sad,” she said in a measured tone. “No one has seen her in nearly four months.”

“But you’re her servant. Surely you’ve visited to attend her.”

“There is a fear the illness is contagious. Her rooms were completely closed off, and no one may leave or enter. It is… difficult. Knowing she is nearly alone.” Yán Líng gave a heavy sigh, then lifted her gaze. “But that is why I’ve been working so hard to make her medicines, so I may be of some use.”

“You know medicine.”

She shook her head.

“My wife has the training. I just assist her. Excuse me, I think the water is boiling,” she said, briefly leaving the room to collect the kettle. Xuē Yáng watched her leave, his smile lingering and turning darker, but she returned too quickly for Xuē Yáng and Sòng Lán to do more than share a glance.

Yán Líng prepared the tea with nervous hands. Sòng Lán suspected the silence didn’t help, but Xuē Yáng seemed to revel in it. He was acting as a young lord again, lounging in a deliberately rude manner on the opposite side of the table to her, as if this was his own house.

Does aggravating our host serve any purpose or are you just bored?

Xuē Yáng’s brow twitched. He reached for his tea, but instead of lifting it to drink, he traced a finger along the edge of the cup.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Miss Yán Líng. We are only interested in finding the evil harassing the Zhēn family’s trade. That’s a goal you’d agree with, isn’t it?”

Warily, she nodded. “I only wish the best for Zhēn-er-guniang, and hope that her health improves soon.”

“Such a long-lasting ailment may need an unorthodox solution.”

“If it heals her, I would consider it a blessing.”

Xuē Yáng hummed, and moved to take a drink. He paused. Stared down into the cup. He sniffed it once, then placed it down.

“Is there something wrong?” Yán Líng asked, biting her lip. Her own cup was untouched before her.

Sòng Lán blinked, turning to Xuē Yáng. Xuē Yáng was still staring into the tea, a small smile across his lips. His thoughts were the quietest they had ever been, but they didn’t feel peaceful or meditative.

Slowly, Xuē Yáng raised his eyes to hers.

“Yán Líng, ah, Yán Líng. How long did you think you could hide like this?”

“I don’t under—”

“We know, Yán Líng. You left evidence of your crimes out in the open. Finding you was easy.”

“I’m not—”

“Not what?”

Yán Líng pressed her lips together tightly. Xuē Yáng grinned, leaning forwards.

“Does your wife know? What would she think if she learned that you turned to evil? Or perhaps… maybe she is the one using monstrous methods.”

“You’re speaking nonsense,” Yan Ling said sharply.

“I already said, you don’t need to be nervous, Yán Líng. You’re a demonic cultivator…”

Xuē Yáng smirked, and clicked his fingers.

Dark energy burst from Xuē Yáng’s body, shadows peeling off from his clothes and flying in from the corners of the room to dance around them all.

“So are we.”

Chapter Text

Xiǎo Xīngchén was aware that among those who knew him well—which at this point was a rather short list comprised of Zǐchēn, Xuē Yáng, and Ā-Qìng—he had a reputation for being a little naive. Kind-hearted to the point of idiocy. The fool that scoundrels took advantage of.

He didn’t really feel any need to argue against it. Even he could admit he’d done some foolish, perhaps idiotic things in order to help other people. But he felt like the label of “naive” was… incorrect. At least, it was certainly incorrect these days, even if he’d been a little naive as a teenager. Then again, which teen wasn’t?

The word “naive” implied that Xiǎo Xīngchén had no idea of the dangers before him. That he couldn’t read the cruelty in another’s voice. That his blindness meant he was equally blind to the horrors of human nature.

In some ways, Xiǎo Xīngchén thought it was better to let them believe he was naive. It was a lot harder, after all, to explain that he knew enough to sense these dangers and still chose to offer his assistance. Xuē Yáng would certainly have something to say about it, and while Zǐchēn appreciated that it was important to help others regardless of their rank and wealth, he could be rather single-minded when it came to punishing those accused of criminal acts, let alone helping them.

But kindness could ripple outwards. Choosing to help someone would improve their life in some small way, and if they were feeling happier, more satisfied, more secure… well, that would sometimes be all a person needed to inspire them to offer kindness to another. For every time Xiǎo Xīngchén had been betrayed, attacked or robbed by someone he chose to help, there were a dozen other times that a dangerous or cruel individual would give a careful thanks, and part ways peacefully. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how many of those people would help another person in need of it. Perhaps none of them did. Perhaps this was some silly dream. But it was hard not to notice that those most often accused of theft were also those least able to feed themselves.

These were his thoughts as he followed Jiāo Chán to her house among the trees.

By Xiǎo Xīngchén’s estimation, she was hiding something. It was somewhat suspicious, the way she had so conveniently intercepted them on a path far from any witness. Her entreaty for help was simple, and matched exactly the kind of task he’d been asking around the village for all morning.

Still, someone acting suspicious was not enough alone to refuse them help. He had yet to meet any person who had no secrets or hidden motivations.

The real question was whether Jiāo Chán was acting too suspiciously for Xiǎo Xīngchén to allow Ā-Qìng to accompany them. Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t mind suffering the odd injury in order to help another person. He absolutely refused to expose Ā-Qìng to the same sorts of risks.

Renewing protection charms could be a good training experience for Ā-Qìng, and she seemed to be in a good mood since their time spent at the river. It was a good opportunity.

But how much of a threat was Jiāo Chán?

“It’s not far now, Xiǎo-dàozhǎng,” Jiāo Chán said, a smile in her voice.

“This is certainly remote,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. “Do you ever worry about night-creatures or bandits out here?”

“Well, with strong enough protection charms, most yao and ghosts and monsters won’t bother me, and my home is too humble to be of interest to human monsters. It can get a little lonely at times, but it’s worth it, for the trees and the views.”

“I feel much the same,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a warm smile.

Jiāo Chán didn’t feel dangerous, at least. Her qi was the same soft light as most other non-cultivators’, and Xiǎo Xīngchén could read no malice in her voice. In fact, the only thing that really seemed suspicious about her was the timing of her request.

Perhaps Xuē Yáng’s paranoia had infected him.

“Dàgē? Is something wrong?” Ā-Qìng murmured.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m simply a little distracted, that’s all.”

“I’m sure Xuē Yáng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng are doing fine. They’re probably nearly done already.”

“You have such faith in their ability to work together.”

Ā-Qìng snorted.

“I have faith that they’ll annoy each other so badly they’ll finish the hunt quickly to escape having to play nice.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed. “They agreed to work together so quickly, I’m still not entirely certain it really happened!”

“I think protecting you is the only thing they could have agreed on.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén smiled, but didn’t say another word. It felt nice, knowing his two dearest friends cared deeply enough to put aside their differences for his sake, even if it was just a single hunt.

“Xiǎo-dàozhǎng, we’re here,” Jiāo Chán called out.

“Excellent. Can you show me which charms need renewing?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“The ones along the fence here need the most attention, but the ones in the eaves of the roof should be checked too.”

“I understand. Ā-Qìng? Let me show you how to check the state of an old charm.”

“Yes, Dàgē.”

“Thank you so much for your assistance,” Jiāo Chán said. Xiǎo Xīngchén offered a smile in her direction.

“It’s no trouble. It won’t take too long.”

Yán Líng went white. She mouthed at the air like she was trying to speak, but no words passed her lips.

Xuē Yáng laughed, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the table, his chin on his hands.

Sòng Lán wanted to smack him. What sort of plan was this!? Terrify the poor woman until she fainted? What if she screamed or ran outside asking for help? Sòng Lán was not here to watch Xuē Yáng scare innocent people in order to feel powerful!

Xuē Yáng glanced at him with a smirk.

“What’s wrong, Yán Líng? We’re all monsters here.”

“P-please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you? Why would I hurt you?” Xuē Yáng said with a gentle tone. “Ah, Yán Líng, we’re here to save you! Can you imagine the mess you’d be in if Yúnmèng Jiāng found you? No one would ever hear from you again, disappeared into Lotus Pier to enjoy Sect Leader Jiāng’s tender care.”

Yán Líng let out a whimper, covering her mouth with a hand. She looked like she might cry.

Xuē Yáng laughed again, but the shadows all around had begun to calm, sinking away from sight.

“Yán Líng, I want to protect you. Train you. You’re actually very lucky I found you.”

“I’m not a bad person,” she murmured, her eyes on the table.

“Neither am I! We’re innovators, forging a new path. But that scares the big sects; they think that we want to challenge them, and they’d destroy us because we’re not their loyal soldiers. Those in power have no tolerance for people with vision.”

Sòng Lán blinked, watching carefully. Yán Líng actually seemed to be calming down as Xuē Yáng spoke.

Is she actually a demonic cultivator?

Xuē Yáng’s gentle expression didn’t falter, but across their bond Sòng Lán could hear Xuē Yáng's smirk. He seemed very impressed with himself—did Xuē Yáng start congratulating himself like this for every little victory? It was kind of obnoxious, but also kind of... Sòng Lán forced away a smile. There was a kind of joy there too, the thrill of a hunt going well, the satisfaction at solving a frustrating puzzle. It was interesting. Unexpected.

On the other hand, it seemed that Sòng Lán’s instincts had proven accurate when it came to Xuē Yáng’s reaction to finding another demonic cultivator. The moment he’d had the chance, Xuē Yáng had tried to recruit her rather than capture her, a transparent attempt to corrupt an innocent woman in over her head.

Xuē Yáng’s mood turned a little sour, and he sent over the image of a crude hand gesture. Sòng Lán was unmoved.

“Let me introduce ourselves properly, Yán Líng. My name is Shuānghuá, and this is my pet, Bīng Kuài,” Xuē Yáng said, gesturing to Sòng Lán. “He has no mind, and cannot speak. A brute of a creature, really, but he serves his purpose.”

Bīng Kuài? Ice cubes!? That was the stupidest fake name Sòng Lán had ever heard!

The corner of Xuē Yáng’s mouth twitched up.

“How can I possibly trust you?” Yán Líng whispered, staring into her tea.

“You can’t. But it’s not like you have any other options. You think anyone else will be as generous as I am?”

She was silent for a long moment, and then she said, “There’s always another option.”

With one smooth motion, she drank the tea.

“Shit!” Xuē Yáng lunged forward, slapping the cup from her hand, but it was too late. It was already empty.

“Fuck! Why would you drink that!?” he snapped, springing to his feet and over to the medicine workbench, tearing through the drawers.

“Don’t mess those up! My wife will be upset!”

“She’ll be more upset if you’re dead from Moon Violet Toxin,” Xuē Yáng said, clicking his tongue. “Why the fuck don’t you have any Cassia Bark here?”

“We used the last of it in a tincture last week,” Yán Líng said in a remarkably calm voice. “Are you trying to save me, Shuānghuá-sanren?”

“Obviously. And after you served us poisoned tea, too. I’m a fucking saint!” Xuē Yáng hissed.

Yán Líng giggled.

“Maybe you should seat yourself, Shuānghuá-sanren, and drink long and deep too,” she said, then turned to Sòng Lán. “You as well, Bīng Kuài.”

“I have no desire to die tonight,” Xuē Yáng muttered.

“Then I strongly suggest you drink your tea.”

Xuē Yáng paused, staring at her with a strange blank expression. He took a deep breath, his eyes falling closed.

And then he barked out a laugh.

“Oh, you clever bitch. The incense.”

“It’s very expensive. I expect you to repay me for what I wasted on you both,” she said, smothering the incense before it could burn any further. Xuē Yáng resettled across from her, and drank the poisoned tea.

Belatedly, Sòng Lán realised that his own mouth was hanging open, his eyes wide from watching this strange drama. Quickly, he forced himself to look blank once more. A mindless puppet, as Xuē Yáng had labelled him.

“What about him?” Yán Líng said.

Xuē Yáng shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s already dead. Poisoned incense isn’t going to do him any harm.”

“He’s a walking corpse?!”

“Can’t you tell?”

Yán Líng shook her head.

“He looks a little sickly, but I couldn’t pick up any resentful energy from him. Are you certain he’s dead?”

“Well, not many people live through getting stabbed in the heart. And anyone who somehow managed that would find the puppet-raising ritual fairly lethal too.”

“You made him?”

“Of course.”

“Huh. It’s very fine work.”

“I know. Like I said, you’re lucky to have gained my attention. Yán Líng, you are talking to one of the geniuses of the demonic cultivation world. Only the Yílíng Lǎozǔ himself knows more than me, and unfortunately he’s very dead.”

“I’m not sure that’s any great loss,” Yán Líng said, and Xuē Yáng’s expression froze. “The Yílíng Lǎozǔ slaughtered thousands of people. He was a true monster.”

“It was war.”

“War is no excuse for inflicting terror on others. Good people don’t do that kind of thing.”

“Do you consider yourself good, Yán Líng? Playing with corpses and dead things?”

“Only to try and advance medicine further! Shuānghuá-sanren, medicine is all about utilising poisons in exact measures so that they have a beneficial effect on others! I believe the same is true of demonic cultivation! With the correct application, manipulation of resentful energy could be used to prolong the lives of those with deadly diseases and infections, and allow us the time to work on true cures! I want to save lives, Shuānghuá-sanren! Tell me, what can you possibly teach me about that?”

Xuē Yáng was silent for a moment. His fingers teased free a corner of the red and white floral silk.

“I know that curses, with the correct application, can be used to prolong a life,” Xuē Yáng said eventually. “So I believe in the concept. What I can offer you, Yán Líng, is control. Ways to mask your energy to hide from enemies, finer puppetry skills. You admire my work on Bīng Kuài; I can teach you to create similar high-quality puppets. Useful for defending yourself from those people without vision, at least.”

Yán Líng nodded, turning to stare at Sòng Lán with a critical eye. Sòng Lán stared past her and tried very hard not to move.

“What about a trade?” she said. “An exchange of knowledge? I’ll share any breakthroughs I make when applying demonic cultivation to medicine, and you teach me to make things like this.”

“I think that would work very nicely,” Xuē Yáng said. “Do you have any wine? Let’s seal this agreement.”

Yán Líng hummed.

“I want to keep this one. How much will you sell him for?”

Xuē Yáng froze. And then his thoughts turned so bloody, Sòng Lán was surprised to find Xuē Yáng hadn’t lunged across the table to carve away at Yán Líng’s face.

“Not for sale,” Xuē Yáng said with a polite, firm smile.

“A shame,” Yán Líng said. “In that case you still owe me for the incense.”

“You’ll be paid, but not with him.”

She shrugged, moving to a side cabinet to retrieve a small jar of wine and two cups.

Sòng Lán risked a glance at Xuē Yáng, who was still seething.

Why are you so upset? he prompted. You name yourself after Xiǎo Xīngchén’s sword, here to destroy his enemies, yet you nearly attack a woman after a simple inquiry?

Xuē Yáng’s face twisted into a brief sneer, but it did nothing to hide the way his thoughts screamed ‘mine!’ .

And then Yán Líng returned to the table, and they had no further opportunities to talk.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng was contemplating cutting off Yán Líng’s head. The funny thing was, he couldn’t really work out why. None of the annoying things she was doing really seemed worth a beheading. Honestly, listening to her was more refreshing than any conversation Xuē Yáng had had recently. Yán Líng was still a novice but she was smart enough, and she had the right kind of fascination to explore demonic cultivation. She asked good questions and was visibly excited to learn what Xuē Yáng could tell her.

And yet, with each passing moment, the urge to attack her grew stronger. It was bizarre! Xuē Yáng never dedicated this much thought to attacking anyone without knowing why he wanted to hurt them. He wasn’t even bored. So why?

Yes, Yán Líng had terrible opinions about the Yílíng Lǎozǔ, but that was only worth losing a finger or two. Yes, Yán Líng had tried to poison Xuē Yáng, but by nightfall Yán Líng was going to be captured, subdued and waiting for whatever punishment Xiǎo Xīngchén deemed worthy a serial murderer. Yes, Yán Líng had attempted to buy Sòng Lán—

Xuē Yáng realised he was gritting his teeth, and forced his jaw to relax. Yán Líng didn’t notice, as she was mid-way through an explanation of her first experiments turning dead animals into puppets.

It would be funny to see her try to talk with her tongue cut out.

Off to one side, Bīng Kuài was sitting still and staring at nothing, his expression blank even as he simmered with growly impatience. Would he snap his teeth if Xuē Yáng prodded him? Sòng Lán couldn’t act right now without giving away their act; if Xuē Yáng started complimenting his appearance again, Sòng Lán would have to sit there blank-faced and inwardly squirm.

Xuē Yáng found his gaze lingering on Sòng Lán. It was easy to appreciate his appearance when he was away from Xiǎo Xīngchén’s distracting ethereal beauty. Sòng Lán was good-looking. A nice view to take in while having a meal. The dark robes Sòng Lán preferred had an understated elegance to them, the kind of simplicity you’d expect from a dàozhǎng. They made him look powerful. Cool and serious and always above worldly matters.

Sòng Lán needed to be disheveled. Throw water over his head. Get blood on his mouth. Dirt on those clean black robes. Twist his face up in all sorts of snarls and grins and pouts, all those things he kept pretending he was too good to feel.

Xuē Yáng ran his tongue over one of his canine teeth, pressing against the sharp point. What would Sòng Lán do if Xuē Yáng bit him?

Yán Líng was still talking. 

Xuē Yáng turned back to her, blinking several times as he realised he had no idea what she had said over the last few minutes. Ah, it probably didn’t matter much. All Xuē Yáng needed to do was convince her to reveal whatever artifact or ritual she was using to draw in dead things. He had a feeling it was an artifact; a variation on a spirit lure talisman maybe? Yán Líng had no formal cultivation training and hadn’t been meddling with demonic cultivation long either. She didn’t have the experience necessary to have a fine control over resentful energy without some kind of spiritual tool.

Xuē Yáng was about to interrupt whatever she was blathering on about when there was a noise at the door. Yán Líng fell silent as the door opened, but she ran to the doorway wearing a wild grin when she saw the woman walking in.

“Yán Líng, I didn’t know you had guests over,” the new woman said with a reserved smile. Yán Líng laughed, then leaned in to kiss her cheek.

There was something strange about Yán Líng’s wife. Her clothes were plain enough but she moved with a cultured grace, like a high-born maiden.

“They’re cultivators! Shuānghuá-sànrén and Bīng Kuài!”

“What interesting names!” Yán Líng’s wife said, but something in her eyes was cold and sharp. She bowed to Xuē Yáng and Sòng Lán the way a fellow cultivator might. “Yán Líng, have you shown them the mirror?”

“Not yet,” Yán Líng said, her smile falling. “You think I should?”

“It’s for the best, yes.”

There was a sword on her back wrapped in white cloth. Xuē Yáng’s blood turned to ice.

Xuē Yáng lunged for her—

Jiàngzāi struck the wood of the doorway, the woman had dodged with a cultivator’s speed—

He spun—

Sòng Lán had caught her by one arm—

“Jiāo Chán!” Yán Líng cried.

“Why the fuck do you have his sword on your back?!” Xuē Yáng snarled, striding forwards, calling up shadows all around.

“Yán Líng, the mirror!” Jiāo Chán called, her free hand pulsing with dark energy—

Sòng Lán twisted her around, trying to grab her other hand—

There was a surge in resentful energy behind him—

Yán Líng was fumbling with some kind of bāguà mirror with strange markings painted over the symbols around the edge; this was definitely the spiritual tool she was using to control the dead—

“Yán Líng, drop the mirror,” Xuē Yáng said, leveling Jiàngzāi at her throat. “Miss Jiāo Chán, you will tell me what you’re doing with Xiǎo Xīngchén’s sword or I will cut Yán Líng’s head off.”

“Yán Líng—”

“Don’t talk to her. You talk to me. What have you done to Xiǎo Xīngchén!?”

“Shuānghuá-sànrén,” Yán Líng mumbled, sounding close to tears. Xuē Yáng flicked an irritated gaze in her direction, and the mirror—

The mirror…

Where was Xiǎo Xīngchén?

Why would he—he wasn’t meant to be—no, red was bad, red was bad bad bad bad —that wasn’t right, Xiǎo Xīngchén was fine—had to find him—take Shuānghuá away from him, he couldn’t have sharp things—why was the sect leader angry? Didn’t he like the letter?—Xiǎo Xīngchén— fuck —but he promised more candy— it hurt, it hurt, it hurt —running, dogs snarling— Xīngchén was red —no, he couldn’t throw up, couldn’t waste food like that—loud, too loud, screaming all around—stop, no!—all of them watching, doing nothing—please stop—red and white and red red red red red—

Yán Líng turned the mirror on Xuē Yáng, and Xuē Yáng collapsed.

Sòng Lán froze.

How had that happened so quickly!? Xuē Yáng had been fine! Then from one second to the next, his mind had become a noisy mess of terror and screaming before abruptly cutting off as he fell, eyes still open and unseeing, body limp.

Even the golden presence in the back of Sòng Lán’s mind had gone quiet and grey.

“The other one too!”

“Right!”

Yán Líng turned the mirror on him—

It was a dark thing, giving off a poisonous energy, but strangely appealing, like staring off the edge of an abyss. Sòng Lán blinked. By their feet, Xuē Yáng spasmed and gave a low moan.

“Why hasn’t he fallen?”

“Shuānghuá said he was a walking corpse.”

“Ah. Well, make him let go of my arms, then. This is getting uncomfortable.”

There was a whisper across Sòng Lán’s thoughts, a command to release Jiāo Chán spoken in Yán Líng’s voice, but…

Where was the power behind it? The compulsion?

Bemused, Sòng Lán let go of Jiāo Chán’s arms, shifting to stand up straight like a soldier waiting for orders. A mindless puppet, just like Xuē Yáng said he was.

Yán Líng and Jiāo Chán immediately flew into a hug.

“Jiāo Chán I’m so sorry! I didn’t know they were bad people! I thought—”

“It’s not your fault, Yán Líng. You know I trust your judgement.”

“I tried—I served them Moon Violet Toxin in the tea—”

“—and burned the Fox’s Delight incense, I know. I can still smell it in the air. Ā-Líng, it’s not your fault. They passed your test, and you decided to take a chance on them. It’s not your fault if they misled you,” Jiāo Chán said, taking Yán Líng’s face between her hands and kissing her.

“Shuānghuá could have killed you,” Yán Líng murmured, her eyes downcast.

“But he didn’t. I’m fine, and you’re alive, and he’s being tested by the mirror. Everything’s fine, Ā-Líng.”

Yán Líng took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“How did you know he was lying?” Yán Líng asked.

Jiāo Chán smiled.

“I met another cultivator today, a rogue. His sword is carved with the name Shuānghuá. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“He said he was a demonic cultivator and he wanted to help protect us,” Yán Líng said.

“Maybe he does. The mirror will reveal the truth, though. You remember how it was when you looked into the mirror. If he’s a good person, he’ll wake up and we’ll know beyond a doubt that we can trust him. If he was planning us harm, he’ll be trapped until the mirror purifies him, and then we can trust him. It’s okay.”

“You’re right,” Yán Líng said, placing a kiss on her cheek. “I have such a clever wife!”

“Surely not as clever and sweet as my wife,” Jiāo Chán replied. “Come! You should see the cultivator I met today. I left him at the forest house.”

“Is that really his sword?”

“Yes, it’s a fine piece,” she said, placing it on the table.  “Don’t unwrap it yet; the qi may freeze your hand if you try to touch it. If Shuānghuá’s wielder turns out to be a bad man, perhaps you could wield this sword in a few years once your core forms.”

“You are so good to me,” Yán Líng sighed.

“It’s what you deserve, Ā-Líng!” Jiāo Chán said, before turning to Sòng Lán. “You. Take that—” she pointed at Xuē Yáng, “—and move it to the upstairs room. It’s ugly to look at.”

Sòng Lán blinked, startled by the stronger compulsion that accompanied her words, a compulsion that was still bizarrely easy to shrug away. He crouched by Xuē Yáng’s side, and Jiāo Chán was already looking away, confident her command would be followed.

Xuē Yáng?

Xuē Yáng didn’t respond, tears slowly falling from unseeing glassy eyes. His side of the bond was still grey, still far too silent. But the bond was still there. Was it acting the same way? Helping shield Sòng Lán’s mind? Was that why the mirror hadn’t worked on him?

He glanced at the two women, who were still talking. He could take them both out easily right now, neither was expecting an attack. Jiāo Chán had more training than Yán Líng, but she still wasn’t a very strong cultivator.

But a cultivator didn’t need a strong core to be an expert at poisons.

Xiǎo Xīngchén wouldn’t have given up Shuānghuá willingly, and Jiāo Chán couldn’t have bested him in combat without some kind of trick. If Sòng Lán attacked, Jiāo Chán might just let Xiǎo Xīngchén die, refusing to reveal the cure to whatever poison she had used.

Sòng Lán swallowed hard, and then moved to lift Xuē Yáng from the floor. Subterfuge was the best course for now. Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng felt in control, and they thought Sòng Lán was a mindless thing. The best thing to do was to play along, observe what he could, and wait for a better moment to act.

“Bīng Kuài,” Yán Líng called, aiming the mirror at Sòng Lán again. In his arms, Xuē Yáng twitched. “Make sure to confiscate any weapons he’s wearing and bind him so he can’t escape. We’ll return in the morning. If he wakes up before then, keep him from leaving but don’t kill him.”

Sòng Lán blinked, and nodded, and then moved up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng wouldn’t wake up.

Waving a hand in front of his eyes didn’t work. Shaking him didn’t work. Pinching his hand didn’t work. None of Sòng Lán’s attempts to talk to him worked. All the while, Xuē Yáng was as lifeless as a doll. He kept weeping. It was getting dark outside, Yán Líng and Jiāo Chán had already left for wherever they were keeping Xiǎo Xīngchén, and Xuē Yáng just kept weeping.

Sòng Lán didn’t know what to do.

He shouldn’t still be here. He should have left, he should be following Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng to track down where they were hiding Xiǎo Xīngchén. He shouldn’t be wasting his time trying to wake a person he hated from a cursed sleep that apparently purified evil.

Xuē Yáng started shivering violently, his breath coming in gasps.

Sòng Lán swore, looking around for something to use as a pillow to protect his head from hitting the ground before just leaning in to use his hands.

The dark bāguà mirror had done this much harm in mere seconds. It wasn’t something Sòng Lán wanted to face alone, especially if one attack could incapacitate someone for hours. Apparently when used on fierce corpses, the mirror could be used to compel obedience, and it was only Xuē Yáng’s shielding that had spared Sòng Lán that fate. Would Xuē Yáng’s shields even stay in place if Sòng Lán left his side now to chase after them?

Xuē Yáng’s fit began to subside, his breathing returning to normal, and Sòng Lán sat back with a sigh.

Even if the mirror worked as Jiāo Chán said, testing someone’s innate goodness and purifying evil, this was cruel. It hadn’t escaped Sòng Lán’s notice, the callous way Jiāo Chán had spoken about Xuē Yáng. As if he was an unsightly object, something unclean on her floor.

Eight people had died here in four months. Dozens of attacks and scares, interfering with the town’s main trade. A young woman from the most prominent family in the region was under some kind of sickness that could be a curse.

Was her sickness anything like this? Staring blankly, weeping, unable to wake?

Sòng Lán leaned in, lifting Xuē Yáng’s arm to pull free the silk he kept playing with. White with red flowers. Azaleas? The stitching seemed a little messy in places, and one or two threads were coming loose in one corner. A well-loved little scrap. Sòng Lán waved it in front of Xuē Yáng’s face, hoping that the colours would catch his attention better than just waving a hand. The silk seemed like some kind of token to keep Xuē Yáng focused and calm. Maybe it would work here.

Still no reaction.

Fuck, what was it going to take!?

Okay. The mirror seemed to attack the mind, so maybe the solution had to be something within the mind too, not the physical world. Sòng Lán could do something there.

Sòng Lán breathed in and held it until his lungs were supposed to ache, then released his breath slowly. He was about as calm as he could be under the circumstances. No rogue resentful energy going cold in his veins, nothing but the worry for Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng that he couldn’t pay attention to right now.

He took another slow breath, and then reached for Xuē Yáng’s side of the mental bond and dragged him as close as possible.

It felt like trying to breathe in corpse dust.

Sòng Lán shuddered, swallowing back his instinctive disgust. It wasn’t real. It was Xuē Yáng’s mind that was being choked by noxious ash, not his lungs. The golden light from before was completely smothered by it, and Sòng Lán didn’t have a clue how to clean it away. But pushing through it…

There was screaming. A child's scream, the same scream, over and over, layered like birdsong and still half muffled by the dust.

Shadowy giants with menacing faces, dozens and dozens of eyes all around, watching, indifferent. Flashes of white and red and Xiǎo Xīngchén.

A scent like blood and viscera and acrid smoke. Jīnlín Tái's incense. 

The taste of something rotten, still better than an empty stomach.

Sòng Lán took a shaky breath, and tried to ignore it all. Xuē Yáng was trapped in all of this somehow, unable to see past it, and Sòng Lán didn’t know where to find him or how to make him golden again. But maybe if he just gave him something to pull himself free of the muck…

Gritting his teeth, Sòng Lán constructed an image of the red azalea silk and thrust it into the centre of Xuē Yáng’s mind.

Xuē Yáng shrieked.

The bond exploded with golden light, pushing Sòng Lán from Xuē Yáng’s mind.

Pain flared in Sòng Lán’s gut and then something slammed into his chest, knocking him onto his back.

Everything fell silent except for Xuē Yáng’s heavy breathing. Sòng Lán blinked, staring up at the ceiling, then down to his stomach. There was a knife in his stomach. Sòng Lán reached for it, tapping the end of the handle. This was not nearly as painful as a knife to the stomach should be. A perk of being dead? At least the blade hadn’t been charged with qi. That probably would have burned.

Sòng Lán tried to sit up and winced. Okay. Less painful was still painful.

Xuē Yáng was in the corner of the room furthest away, crouched low and tense like a wild animal. Even his face was contorted into a snarl, though his eyes were still teary. He kept cradling his hand with the weird pinky to his chest.

But he was awake, and the mind bond felt golden instead of grey.

This is a bad way to repay me after the effort I went to to wake you up, Sòng Lán said, pointing at the knife. Xuē Yáng’s eyes followed the gesture, minutely creasing in confusion, but instead of replying Xuē Yáng turned to one side and threw up.

Sòng Lán flinched back.

Are you alright?

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer except to retch again. Sòng Lán grimaced. Obviously not.

Well, it was still progress from Xuē Yáng being in a coma of indeterminate length.

Everything hurt.

Head was splitting. Bad hand screaming like it just got freshly crushed. Felt like he’d been repeatedly stabbed in the guts.

Shit—

Xuē Yáng retched again, coughing up bile this time. The arm holding him above the puddle of sick began to shake. Perfect. Fuck.

Sòng Lán was watching. Always fucking watching, judgemental piece of shit! Bet he was having fun.

There was something—

Xiǎo Xīngchén. Bitch had Shuānghuá, Xiǎo Xīngchén needed—

Xuē Yáng tried to stand but didn’t even sit up properly before his arm gave out—

Something caught him before he face-planted in vomit. Xuē Yáng hissed as two hands pushed him upright, helping him sit up.

“Don’t touch me,” Xuē Yáng muttered, squeezing his eyes tight. “I’ll fuck you up.”

Sòng Lán mostly seemed grimly amused by Xuē Yáng’s very legitimate threat. Cold fingers brushed against his forehead and Xuē Yáng let out a whimper, pressing into the contact. Motherfucking—

“Don’t touch me!” Xuē Yáng said, kicking out. Sòng Lán evaded easily, smug fucking bastard.

Feverish…

Xuē Yáng blinked, glaring at him. “I’m not, s’just hot in here. Fuck off.”

He shifted to stand again, pushing himself up against the wall. Xiǎo Xīngchén was in danger. Probably got poisoned too. Ā-Qìng would have—what if she was dead? Demonic cultivator had no use for a blind kid except as a new puppet. Not the time for just waiting around.

Xuē Yáng’s stomach objected before he even fully stood up. He froze, waiting for the nausea to pass.

What the fuck had that mirror done, anyway?

Sòng Lán remained kneeling, watching as Xuē Yáng straightened up and tried to take a step.

Xuē Yáng’s legs gave out before he could lift his feet. Sòng Lán caught him again, guiding him back down.

“Shit! Told you stop touching!” Xuē Yáng snarled, kicking out again.

You’d prefer landing on your face?

“Should have bled you dry with the rest of Báixuě! Leave you fucking dead on the ground with the rest of them!”

Sòng Lán went still. Xuē Yáng started laughing, never mind that it made his head throb.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it!? Your secret wish, to die with the rest of them! That way Xiǎo Xīngchén would still have his eyes and you wouldn’t be living some cursed life as a half dead thing!”

Sòng Lán closed his eyes and took a long deep breath. And then he drew his sword and pointed it at Xuē Yáng’s chest.

Neither of them moved for a long moment.

“Well? You gonna kill me or is this more empty posturing—” the blade pressed hard against his chest, not quite breaking skin. Xuē Yáng swallowed.

Sòng Lán watched with cold eyes.

If I was willing to lie, I could break my promise now and tell Xiǎo Xīngchén you died on this hunt. I could get justice for every one of the people you slaughtered and break Xiǎo Xīngchén’s heart in one moment.

“Fucking do it, then.”

Sòng Lán shook his head, face twisted into disgust.

I loathe you.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

The sword withdrew. Xuē Yáng sniffed, and then his stomach twisted again and he leaned to one side, coughing. When he sat up again, Sòng Lán had moved closer. Still glowering, he held out a cup of water.

Xuē Yáng blinked, staring at the innocuous little thing.

“I’ve already been poisoned twice tonight.”

Stop lashing out and just let me help you.

“I can quite literally feel how much you want me dead.”

I’m not breaking a promise to Xiǎo Xīngchén. Drink. Rest a few minutes. We can go rescue Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng once you can stand without falling.

Xuē Yáng snorted. Stared at the cup a moment longer, then reached to take it.

The first mouthful of water he used to rinse his mouth clean, spitting it out to one side. Sòng Lán made a sound of disgust, but held a flask out to refill the cup.

“Why is there a knife covered in black ichor on the floor?”

You stabbed me.

“I did?”

Sòng Lán nodded, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“Huh. Well, that does sound like something I’d do. Not recently, obviously, because of Xīngchén’s rules, but—” Xuē Yáng blinked, staring down at his bare wrist. “Where’s the red azalea silk?”

Sòng Lán snorted, flicking the scrap of fabric in his direction.

“What the fuck were you doing with my silk!?” Xuē Yáng snapped, snatching it from the air.

Stop. Lashing. Out. Sòng Lán said with a glare. Xuē Yáng sneered, then went about tucking the silk back where it belonged.

The dark bāguà mirror. It did something to you, you wouldn’t wake up. Couldn’t see the world around you. I had to reach across the bond to wake you up, into your head.

Xuē Yáng swallowed, nodding. A bāguà mirror, meant for self-reflection and protection from evil, but somehow corrupted to reflect bad things inwards.

“So what did you do to evade the mirror?”

I didn’t. They aimed it at me and I was fine.

Of course he fucking was—

I think the effects were transferred to you.

“What?”

Sòng Lán frowned, reaching forwards with one hand which hovered near Xuē Yáng’s face.

May I?

Xuē Yáng eyed the offending limb, but nodded. Sòng Lán’s fingertips pressed against Xuē Yáng’s forehead, still delightfully cool.

Still a little warm, but better than before. Do you have a headache at all?

“No,” Xuē Yáng lied. Sòng Lán raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue.

The way you shield me from other demonic cultivators, how does that work? What is the difference between symbiosis and puppetry?

“One’s made of strings of willpower, the other’s made of shields—fuck!”

What?

“Me. The shields are made of me,” Xuē Yáng groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Shit.”

So any time something attacks my mind—

“It slides off and hits me instead. That’s what it’s designed to do! I’m immune to demonic puppetry! I can’t—” he cut himself off, face still hidden.  He couldn’t go through another attack like that last one. He couldn’t even remember what bad things he’d seen but the idea alone—his breath was coming too quick—

Sòng Lán’s hands were hovering over his shoulders—Xuē Yáng grabbed his wrist, just holding tightly, feeling the way resentful energy flowed under Sòng Lán’s skin. Cool shadows and smoke.

Xuē Yáng. You’re not alone.

Xuē Yáng blinked, looking up to meet Sòng Lán’s eyes.

You don’t have to do this alone. I can pull you from whatever spiral the mirror sends you into. I know how to do that now. I can catch you. It’s a symbiosis. You shield me, I shield you. We’ll work together and we’ll save Xiǎo Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng.

Xuē Yáng gave a shaky nod, and added, “And then I’ll destroy those fucking bitches.”

Sòng Lán gave him a dark look. He shook off Xuē Yáng’s hold on his wrist, shifting to take Xuē Yáng’s hand.

We’ll destroy them.

Xuē Yáng grinned.

Chapter Text

Ā-Qìng woke up in a dark room, which was strange because the last thing she could really remember clearly was her Dàgē showing her the correct way to reinforce an old protective charm. Her wrists were tied together and she was lying on the floor and this was bad. This was really bad.

Ā-Qìng swallowed, trying to keep her breathing steady as if she was still asleep. Keeping very still, she explored the room with her senses.

There was someone breathing rough and uneven nearby, but no other noises like distant people, so she was probably still in the house in the forest.

The dark was the kind of pitch black you could only get at night. Last she remembered, the sun had still been up, so she must have lost a few hours somewhere. Qi sense next, then.

Ā-Qìng went through the steps in her head like Dàgē taught her; the controlled breathing, the inward focus, then stretching that awareness past her own skin.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Ā-Qìng frowned. Usually it wasn’t this difficult to find her own qi. It was like trying to listen to your own heartbeat. Hard to pick out at first and easy to overlook when everything else was so loud and colourful, but once you knew the trick to it, it was easy.

Why couldn’t she find it?

The person with the heavy breathing nearby gave a shuddering gasp that ended in a sniffling noise like they were crying. Ā-Qìng bit her lip. The crying person probably wasn’t Jiāo Chán or another enemy or a monster. If Jiāo Chán was here, there’d be a candle lit. No one bothers leaving lights for the blind.

“Dàgē?” Ā-Qìng whispered.

The crying stopped immediately.

“Ā-Qìng? You’re here?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“Yes Dàgē, I’m here. Are you alright?”

Her Dàgē took a sharp breath in, and then Ā-Qìng heard him shuffling closer.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Just a little sore from sleeping weird. Dàgē, I know something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice,” Ā-Qìng said, attempting to leverage herself upright. He didn’t answer her.

Ā-Qìng pulled at the binding on her wrists. Bringing them up to her face she bit at the ropes, trying to find a way to loosen them. That was another weird thing; why not tie her hands behind her back?  Why would Jiāo Chán have left Ā-Qìng tied up in a way that was so easy to undo? Already the rope was loosening.

The sounds of her Dàgē moving closer had stopped. His breathing was beginning to come in quick pants.

“Dàgē?”

He gasped.

“You’re still here?” he whispered.

“Of course I am,” Ā-Qìng said, pulling her wrists free before crawling towards him. “Dàgē, what’s wrong?”

“I—I can’t—Ā-Qìng, could you—could you keep speaking, please?”

“Of course. I’m right here,” she said, just as her hands found his chest. He yelped, flinching back from the touch. “Sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s—I’m not hurt,” he murmured as she reached for him again. Why was he still lying down? “I didn’t mean to—don’t be scared, Ā-Qìng.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Good, that’s—it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”

His voice was high and thin, and his chest kept heaving. His heart was like a drum beneath her hand. His shoulders pulled back—so at least with her Dàgē, Jiāo Chán had tied him up securely.

“Don’t worry, Dàgē, I’m going to untie you,” she said, shifting around to find his wrists. The knots in his bindings were a lot more difficult, pulled tight by her Dàgē straining against them.

“Ā-Qìng?”

“Yes?”

“It’s—it’s still you?”

“Who else would I be?”

“Oh.”

What was wrong with him? Had Jiāo Chán drugged him or something? A fully trained cultivator could easily break free from something like this. Why was her Dàgē so on edge?

Finally, the ropes loosened. But her Dàgē didn’t move, didn’t shift to sit up, just curling forward. Still blind in the dark, Ā-Qìng kept a hand on her Dàgē’s shoulder as she shifted around in front of him. He was still crying, shaking under her hands.

“It’s okay, Dàgē. I undid the ropes. We can escape. We should start moving before Jiāo Chán returns.”

He let out a loud whine, and she felt him shake his head, and suddenly he was rocking back and forth. His hands came up to grasp the sides of his head, knocking her touch aside.

“Ā-Qìng, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m useless, sorry—I can’t—so sorry, I’m blind and useless, pathetic—” he broke off into a loud sob, muttering those awful things again and again on a loop.

Ā-Qìng was frozen. What had happened to her Dàgē? What could have hurt him so badly? He was a cultivator, he was strong! This wasn’t like when Xuē Yáng had tricked him—Xiǎo Xīngchén was not going to hurt himself! This was not like then!

“Ā-Qìng? Ā-Qìng, where are you!? Come back!”

“Dàgē, I never left,” she said, reaching for him in the dark and finding his wrist. “I’m right here, Dàgē.”

He twisted in her hold, pulling her against his chest in a tight embrace.

“Ā-Qìng, I can’t see you. I can’t see you. You’re still here?”

“I’m still here. Dàgē, what did she do to you?”

She felt him swallow.

“I—I can’t—she was going to hurt you, Ā-Qìng, so I—” Xiǎo Xīngchén broke off into a sob, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry—”

“What did she do?”

He shook his head and didn’t answer, muttering more apologies and the word “useless” again and again. It was getting kind of scary.

“Dàgē… can you sense any qi right now?”

His breath caught for a few long seconds, and then he shook his head, squeezing her close. Ā-Qìng wriggled in his hold.

“Ā-Qìng, it’s—it’s like the world stopped existing, there’s nothing—” he broke off for a few deep breaths. “I couldn’t even tell you were in the room until you spoke.”

“Dàgē, you’re holding me too tight.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I keep getting this wrong—”

“No, it’s fine, this is Jiāo Chán’s fault—”

“I thought she was safe! I thought she was—I was worrying over nothing and—she had a knife to your throat, I had no choice—”

“I don’t remember that,” Ā-Qìng said, reaching to wipe at her Dàgē’s cheeks. They were sticky with tears and blood.

“It was a trap, the charm—a sleep pollen—she took you from me—”

“It’s okay, Dàgē. We can leave now, we can escape.”

“No, I’m useless, I couldn’t even—Ā-Qìng, you’re right here, I can feel your heartbeat, hear your breathing, and still whenever you stop speaking it’s like you’re an illusion. Or you’re dead. You’re not real, I can’t—I can’t sense your qi—”

“Why do you need qi to know I’m really here?”

“I—I don’t—”

“Listen! You hear that? There’s a fox in the distance screaming. There are night birds calling. I can hear the wind through the trees, that’s all real.”

“I can’t…”

“What about the wooden floor? Can you feel that? The cool breeze in the air? There must be an open window nearby, or a doorway.”

“I… the floor’s smooth. Polished.”

“Yeah. What about scent? What can you smell?”

Her Dàgē took a few measured breaths, and the tension began to drain from his frame. Ā-Qìng smiled.

“Dried herbs. Spices too. Cinnamon. Aniseed. Faded incense. Burnt out candles.”

“Well, that’s more than I could smell,” Ā-Qìng said. Her Dàgē gave a shaky laugh.

“It smells like an apothecary,” he said, sitting back. “Or a doctor’s workshop.”

“Do you think there’s something here that could help with your qi sense?”

“Maybe… I, she demanded that I seal my qi myself, but it should have, it should unseal with time, I—how long have we been here?”

“A few hours at least. It’s after dark.”

“I should—it should have unsealed by now. She must have—if Jiāo Chán has knowledge of medicine—”

“She drugged you.”

“I think so. I can’t really remember—I sealed my qi and everything went fuzzy and—the world was gone—Ā-Qìng?”

“I’m still here.”

“You’re still here,” her Dàgē breathed out a long sigh. “I’m not sure what she used, a—a poison or maybe needles at the right places on my qi meridians, it’s… each method requires a different solution.”

“Well, how do we find out!?” Ā-Qìng asked, a little sharply. Her Dàgē gave a weak laugh, squeezing her hand.

“I can’t.”

“Dàgē, not more—”

“I really mean it, I can’t. I need someone else to check my meridians and see what’s blocking them. Maybe even to use their qi to unblock them. I can’t do anything myself except wait in case the suppression wears off.”

“Shit.”

Her Dàgē sighed. “I can’t help you escape, Ā-Qìng. I can’t get you to safety.”

“Well I’m not just going to wait here in case someone comes by to rescue us,” she huffed. “You said you could smell candles? I’ll find them and light them and then we can see what we have to work with to fix your qi.”

“Unsuppress my qi.”

“Whichever.” Ā-Qìng made to stand up but Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t release her hand. “Dàgē. Let go.”

“Sorry.”

Exploring the room was slow going, not only because Ā-Qìng still could barely see a thing and had to half crawl to move around, but also because she couldn’t move more than a step or two without her Dàgē beginning to worry she had disappeared. Eventually they found a balance: Ā-Qìng would move at her own pace while Xiǎo Xīngchén held tightly to the hem of her robe.

Despite their caution, Ā-Qìng still found the table by tripping over it. This, of course, meant that her robe was ripped from her Dàgē’s hand, which sent him into a panic. It took several minutes of soothing words and hugs before he could be convinced that she hadn’t been snatched away by some monster.

“I’m sorry. I’m being weak,” he murmured against her hair.

“No you’re not.”

“I am. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in danger right now. If it wasn’t for my weakness, I could help you escape. It’s my fault.”

“Dàgē, it’s Jiāo Chán’s fault. She’s the one who did this.”

He gave a deep sigh and she felt him nod.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Ā-Qìng bit her lip rather than tell him to quit apologising. The words were really beginning to grate against her ears.

She reached for the table, and apparently luck was on her side. Candles and a firestarter. It took a few attempts to get a good spark—her Dàgē preferred using qi or talismans to start their fires, so she was very out of practice doing things the mundane way—but the technique came back to her quickly. Soon she had several candles lit.

Ā-Qìng stood, one candle in hand and surveyed the room as her eyes adjusted.

“You were right, Dàgē, it looks just like an apothecary—” She cut herself off, eyes wide.

“Ā-Qìng? What is it?”

“D-Dàgē, quiet.”

“What—”

Ā-Qìng knelt down, covering her Dàgē’s mouth with a hand. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “This room is full of walking corpses, and all of them are staring right at us.”

Chapter Text

“Dàgē, what should we do?” Ā-Qìng whispered.

“How many are there?” he whispered back.

Ā-Qìng’s eyes flicked around the room. The undead all watched her, but none of them made any movements at all, standing as still as statues.

“Fifteen. They’re—Dàgē, some of them are dressed like cultivators. They’re all—they look new. Like Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, there’s no—” Ā-Qìng swallowed. “There’s no rot, just dark veins.”

“None of them are breathing. They’re not living people with corpse poisoning. Real corpse puppets.” Her Dàgē took a shuddering breath. “No rot means these were probably not corpses she found or dug up. They’re—”

“She killed them.”

Dàgē nodded. “And she’ll likely kill us when she returns.”

Ā-Qìng bit her lip. Ignoring the undead, she looked over the rest of the room, dimly illuminated by the candles. There was the desk by their side, several sets of small drawers for keeping herbs, shelves with scrolls and books. Curtains on one wall were drifting slowly in the light breeze—that must have been the window. And over there, looking between two of the corpses, a doorway…

“There’s a window nearby but I can’t see how big it is or how high up we are. The door on the far side of the room is open, but there are two corpses standing right in front of it. Do you think they’ll try and stop us from leaving?”

“That’s probably why Jiāo Chán left them here, “ Dàgē murmured, shifting onto his feet. Ā-Qìng helped him stand, holding tight to his hand. “I don’t have Shuānghuá with me, or any other weapon. I—I can’t help you escape from here.”

“Maybe they won’t even fight us. Maybe we can just walk past,” Ā-Qìng said. “Dàgē, put your hands on my shoulders, I’ll lead you forward.”

“Ā-Qìng, I can’t let you lead! What if they attack?”

Then we'll both die!

Ā-Qìng bit her tongue rather than share that little insight. Dàgē was already feeling on edge, he didn’t need her to undermine what little confidence he had left.

“Hold my hand, then. Walk at my side.”

“Really, I should take the lead—”

“Dàgē, you can’t even see the door. Just let me help you.”

Her Dàgē was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was as steady and confident as when he was leading a hunt.

“Ā-Qìng. At the first moment you see the opportunity, you need to run for the exit.”

“Dàgē, don’t say stupid things, you’re not thinking clearly—”

“That’s exactly why you need to leave.”

“No! I won’t!”

“Ā-Qìng, you can see, you can run, you have a clear head. You can escape this place, try to find Zǐchēn and Xuē Yáng. They’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not leaving you, Dàgē, so you can shut up right now!”

“We don’t know how much longer we have before Jiāo Chán returns, this may be your only chance—”

“Our only chance! Dàgē, I won’t let you do some stupid self-sacrificial thing just because you’re feeling sad—”

“Ā-Qìng! You listen to me right now!” her Dàgē snapped. Ā-Qìng flinched back at the harsh tone, watching him with wide eyes. “It is my job to look after you, not the other way around. Neither of us are well equipped to fight off fifteen walking corpses, let alone a demonic cultivator who is possibly a serial murderer. If you give up your opportunity to escape, I swear I will not forgive you. We will not both die here.”

“Dàgē, please,” Ā-Qìng murmured, her eyes watering. Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, his stern expression fading to an unhappy smile. His hand found her shoulder, and then her cheek.

“Ā-Qìng, I wouldn’t suggest this if it wasn’t necessary. And I’m not saying that I want you to leave me here to die—on the contrary, I would greatly appreciate it if you were able to find someone to help. But as things are, I’m far too much of a liability. I can barely take a step on my own. I can’t run. You’re pragmatic enough to realise that.”

“But—but maybe if you held my shoulders—”

“You know that wouldn’t work.”

“We could try anyway—”

Ā-Qìng fell silent as he pulled her into a hug, and after a second she squeezed him back.

“This isn’t fair,” she murmured against his shoulder.

“I know.”

“You promised you wouldn’t—after Xuē Yáng saved you, you promised!”

“I’m sorry, Ā-Qìng.” Her Dàgē shifted, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I’m very happy to have known you.”

“No, don’t—you don’t talk like that. I’m going to come back, we’re going—we’ll save you. You’re not going to die!”

“I hope not,” he said with a soft laugh.

They stayed like that for several long moments, hugging tight, her Dàgē’s chin resting on her head. Ā-Qìng closed her eyes tight, trying to force away the tears. Her Dàgē’s heartbeat was fast under her ear, and there was still a slight hitch to his breathing. Still on the edge of a panic, but pretending he was in control to make her feel more comfortable leaving him alone.

Far too soon, Dàgē’s arms loosened. Ā-Qìng sniffed, taking a step back.

“I won’t be gone long,” she promised. Her Dàgē smiled.

“Thank you, Ā-Qìng. Stay safe.”

“Don’t die.”

With a fortifying breath, Ā-Qìng turned towards the door, guiding her Dàgē forwards by one hand. As they got closer, the walking corpses began to shift, moving to block the doorway. A few let out low gurgling growls.

“Where are they standing?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked.

“Most around the edge of the room. Two to our left, one on the right. They’re all watching us. They look angry,” Ā-Qìng added, pressing closer to her Dàgē. With each step forward, the undead grew even more agitated, more of them moving towards them.

“Two behind us now, three directly ahead.”

“Do you have a clear shot to the door?”

“No, they’re in the way.”

“When we’re one pace away from them, move behind me. Run the first chance you get.”

Ā-Qìng swallowed, stepping closer and closer. The snarling grew louder. Three paces. Two. One.

Ā-Qìng let go of his wrist.

Her Dàgē lunged forwards, slamming a fist against an undead chest. Even without qi behind the blow, the monster staggered back—

Already Xiǎo Xīngchén was moving, shoving his shoulder against another corpse. The two of them stumbled into the wall—

The third corpse leapt towards her Dàgē, biting at the flesh of his shoulder—

The doorway was clear—

Ā-Qìng was running, ducking grasping hands—stairs!—she half-tripped forwards, holding tight to the banisters, leapt for the floor—

There was something large chasing behind her, Xiǎo Xīngchén shrieked above—Ā-Qìng didn’t look back, running through the dark room—a door, where was the door!?

A window!

Ā-Qìng hopped through it, landing heavily. Running again. Trees, a forest, no moonlight. Her eyes were too blurry, couldn’t stop running, not yet, her Dàgē was still screaming far behind, a monster still on her tail—

Ā-Qìng kept running into the dark.

Sòng Lán kept within arm’s reach of Xuē Yáng as they moved towards the edge of town. Xuē Yáng was still unsteady on his feet, their progress agonisingly slow. The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on them both, and had driven them to leave as soon as Xuē Yáng was able to stand. But it was obvious he hadn’t yet recovered.

Xuē Yáng’s mental presence was still golden and strong, although he was almost… clingy, if such a term could be used. It was an odd sensation, especially the way his mental clinginess contradicted his physical actions. Xuē Yáng refused any physical touch, even if it was to help keep him upright as he walked or check his temperature. Even reaching in his general direction caused Xuē Yáng to flinch away, nothing like his cool and unconcerned act from the day before.

After each flinch, he’d send a furious glare in Sòng Lán’s direction that promised death, or at the very least, an attempt to bite his fingers off. The threat was massively undercut by the fact that Xuē Yáng was still far too pale and looked halfway to fainting. But Xuē Yáng never stopped trying to move forward.

It was still too slow.

We need to fly, Sòng Lán said.

Xuē Yáng paused, leaning heavily against the side of a building.

“It’s faster,” Xuē Yáng conceded. His eyes were drifting shut, his breathing fast and shallow.

Sòng Lán grimaced.

We need to fly using the same sword.

“What?! No! If we’re flying I’m using Jiàngzāi—”

You can barely keep your balance on flat ground, you think you can fly on your own?

“No, we’re not flying together—who the fuck do you think you are, suggesting something so—hah, I knew it, you’re just looking for an excuse to feel me up—”

Do you honestly think I’d suggest something like this if the situation were any less urgent?

Xuē Yáng’s fragile smirk twisted into a snarl.

“Think you’re too good to touch someone as sordid as me? Think it’ll make you unclean or—”

Sòng Lán took several quick steps towards him and Xuē Yáng fell silent, pressing himself flat against the wall.

This isn’t the time for your bullshit, Xuē Yáng. At the rate you’re moving, we won’t get there until dawn—if you haven’t collapsed from exhaustion before then! I don’t want to touch you, I don’t want to fly with you, but we currently share the same goal. For Ā-Qìng and Xiǎo Xīngchén, will you fly on Fúxuě with me?

Xuē Yáng was still poised like a snake waiting to strike, but after a second he gave a sharp nod.

Good, Sòng Lán said with a huff, stepping back and away from Xuē Yáng, who had apparently drawn a small knife at some point during that short discussion. It was aimed somewhere around Sòng Lán’s abdomen.

Sòng Lán arched an eyebrow. The blade was bare and looked well cared for, but like with that earlier knife, it wasn’t charged with qi. A strange oversight on Xuē Yáng’s part, but even more bizarre that it happened twice in so short a time.

“Xīngchén said no stabbing,” Xuē Yáng murmured, staring at the blade in his hand as if he was surprised. His knuckles around the handle were white.

We need to fly, Sòng Lán repeated, stepping onto Fúxuě. He offered a hand in Xuē Yáng’s direction. Come here.

Xuē Yáng took a shuddering breath and moved closer, the little knife disappearing into one of his sleeves.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Xuē Yáng said, pausing by his side. “Have you ever actually flown with two people? What if you fall out of the sky—”

I swear, if you keep delaying, I am going to knock you unconscious and carry you like a sack of vegetables.

Xuē Yáng snorted, looking away with a small smile. He took Sòng Lán’s hand and stepped up onto Fúxuě.

Xuē Yáng immediately overbalanced.

Sòng Lán caught him around the waist. Xuē Yáng fell against his chest.

They both froze.

“If you keep your hand where it is another few seconds, I expect you to pay fair market price. Groping isn’t free.”

As if I’d want that from you. Turn around.

“So many mixed messages! First you’re playing cold, now you’re demanding particular positions—”

Are you aware that not talking is an option?

“There’s nothing to be ashamed about, Sòng Lán! Desire is desire, and I am devastatingly desirable—”

Someone screamed.

Xuē Yáng twisted in Sòng Lán’s grip, nearly overbalancing them both. Sòng Lán swore, shifting to keep them both stable, but Xuē Yáng didn’t seem to notice, staring in the direction of the screaming.

“Let go, I need—”

It’s faster to fly, Sòng Lán said, pulling him closer as Fúxuě darted higher than the rooftops. Xuē Yáng’s grip on Sòng Lán’s arms got a lot tighter, and he pressed back against Sòng Lán’s chest. Sòng Lán flinched, then gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the unwanted touch. He’d known this was coming—it wasn’t like there was a lot of space when flying on a sword with another adult!

There was a mess of people at the border of Orchid Cliffs, some running from the disturbance, others running towards it to see what was going on. A small crowd hung around at what the non-cultivators must have assumed was a safe distance from the danger, but was still clearly within a qi-powered leap. And standing at the centre of the attention was—

“Shit.”

A walking corpse dressed in red and gold stood in the centre of the chaos, staring up at them both. Her undead bridal party stood by her side.

Your undead recruits—

“They’re all gonna be converging on Orchid Cliffs and the enemy isn’t even here.” Xuē Yáng let out a short, angry laugh. “Let me down.”

You sure you can walk?

“Shut up!”

To Xuē Yáng’s credit, he did manage to leap from Fúxuě with the grace befitting a cultivator and strode towards the undead bride through the throng of people. He stopped a few paces away and gave a small nod, before speaking quietly.

Sòng Lán landed and followed, watching the crowd. Those that remained nearby were watching Xuē Yáng with starry-eyed anticipation. Would any of them stare with the same kind of wonder if they knew Xuē Yáng was greeting a corpse like a friend?

After a moment, Xuē Yáng drew a small bag from somewhere and opened the top. Instantly, the bride and her entourage were swept into a whirlwind of qi and drawn into the bag, which Xuē Yáng closed firmly. All around, the crowd started cheering. Xuē Yáng turned to them with a smirk, soaking up the praise.

Sòng Lán moved to Xuē Yáng’s side, letting their shoulders touch, and Xuē Yáng discreetly leaned against him.

You about to throw up again?

“No! Shut up,” Xuē Yáng hissed, though Sòng Lán was certain he was still feeling nauseous.

“Sànrén!”

“Thank you, Sànrén!”

“Dàozhǎng, please come share a meal with my family—”

“We must celebrate—”

“Dear residents of Orchid Cliffs!” Xuē Yáng called out above their voices. “Please return to your homes and bar your doors! We may have defeated one treacherous monster and her dark servants, but our hunt will last all night and take us into the surrounding lands! Who knows what evils will stalk your streets before dawn?”

That seemed to suitably change the mood from one of celebration to fear. The bystanders began to drift away, though it was clear many were still very curious about watching a cultivator fight.

There’s a dozen other small groups of undead closing in on this village.

“No time to collect them all. Xīngchén can’t wait any longer,” Xuē Yáng said. Sòng Lán grasped his arm and leapt into the air, expertly landing on Fúxuě. Xuē Yáng was a little less sure on his feet.

“Fuck! A little warning, next time!?”

It amuses me to watch you struggle.

“You’re a prick,” Xuē Yáng muttered, relaxing into Sòng Lán’s hold. “Just don’t drop me.”

I won’t let you fall.

There was a light moving between the trees. Ā-Qìng crept closer as quietly as she could, flinching with each broken twig under her feet. 

Every large rustle made her freeze, glancing around, but no walking corpses lumbered out of the shadows. Maybe she had outrun the shambling thing. Maybe it was only instructed to guard the house and hadn’t even left the garden. She didn’t know. 

There were two people carrying lights. Two women, laughing and chatting. One sounded like Jiāo Chán. Ā-Qìng peeked around a tree and tried to get closer. 

The forest was too dark and confusing to walk through without a light. Ā-Qìng didn’t know what direction Orchid Cliffs was in, and even if she did, she wouldn’t go there. It would take too long to walk there, her Dàgē could be killed before she ever found her way out of the trees. And that was beside the fact that Ā-Qìng was starving, her throat was parched, and her body exhausted. She’d probably collapse on one of the mountain roads. 

Following Jiāo Chán and her wife, Ā-Qìng kept close enough to hear their words clearly. Maybe if she was lucky, Jiāo Chán would mention what exactly she had done to block Dàgē’s qi, and what it would take to restore it.

And maybe, if Ā-Qìng was very lucky, she’d find a chance to slit Jiāo Chán’s throat. 

Chapter Text

Ā-Qìng didn’t remember much about her mother. Warm arms to hide within, a smile and a little song. She couldn’t remember her mother’s face or her name, but she remembered the fires they lit in the evenings, and she remembered curling up together in the shadowy places between buildings to sleep.

Ā-Qìng couldn’t remember what had happened to her mother. One day, they had been together, and the next, her mother was gone. A-Jiě would only give a shaky smile whenever Ā-Qìng asked, and kiss Ā-Qìng’s forehead, and tell her to be patient. But Ā-Qìng’s mother never returned from wherever she had gone.

A-Jiě had been the one to raise her after that. A-Jiě had stolen food for them both, and for A-Yǔ too when they found her. A-Jiě had taught Ā-Qìng how to charm strangers for food and money, and how to find the best places to sleep. A-Jiě had taught Ā-Qìng how to pick pockets, and how to turn scraps of fabric into good clothes.

Together they had been a family, three sisters looking after each other and keeping each other safe. They had played games and done fun things too, swimming and climbing trees, swinging sticks about and pretending they were cultivators.

A-Jiě was gone now. A-Yǔ too, both of them stolen and disappeared someplace that Ā-Qìng could never find. Ā-Qìng hoped that wherever they were, they were both alive and happy. She thought it was more likely that they were both dead.

Ā-Qìng was not going to let anyone take Xiǎo Xīngchén from her. He was not going to die, not tonight, not at the hands of some demonic cultivator bitch who manipulated his good nature! Ā-Qìng would not allow it to happen!

Ā-Qìng crept closer, keeping to the shadows as she followed Jiāo Chán and her companion. Ā-Qìng gave a grim smile. It was the most important thing her A-Jiě had ever taught her; how to go unnoticed.

Jiāo Chán had been quiet for several minutes now while the other lady hanging off her arm spoke about things they could do together during the spring. Jiāo Chán nodded, and Ā-Qìng saw her smile the same silly smile that Xuē Yáng always aimed at Xiǎo Xīngchén. But as the smile faded, Jiāo Chán slowed to a stop.

“Jiāo Chán? Is something wrong? I’m sorry, I’ve been babbling on—”

“No, Ā-Líng, I like hearing you speak. It’s just… I’ve been keeping something from you.” Jiāo Chán looked away from her, and Ā-Qìng crouched lower behind the greenery to hide, watching them through the leaves. “I want to tell you, but I’m… I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

“How do you mean?” 

“I don’t want you to hate me.” 

Yán Líng laughed. “Jiāo Chán, in what world could I possibly hate you!?” 

“Ā-Líng, I’m serious! I’ve done bad things, and people ended up hurt. I’ve been trying to fix things but I think it might be too late. They might be too far gone to save,” Jiāo Chán sighed, her eyes falling closed.

“You’re trying, though, and that matters, Jiāo Chán. Even if you’re unsuccessful, that matters,” Yán Líng said. “Is that why you wanted to perfect demonic medicine? To save the ones you harmed?” 

Jiāo Chán bit her lip, then nodded. “You’re too kind to me, Yán Líng.”

Yán Líng gave her a soft smile, slowly shaking her head. 

“Jiāo Chán, I have loved you from the moment we met. You make my life so bright. I will always show you kindness, even when you find it difficult to be kind to yourself.”

“How can you promise such things? We’ve not even known each other a year!”

“I only needed a few weeks to know I wanted you as my wife.”

“That’s hardly the same as knowing the true me. How can you say nothing would change the way you love me?” 

“I know enough of you to know you would never intentionally harm another, and that you carry the guilt of that mistake with you.” 

Jiāo Chán was silent for a few moments. 

“It was when I was making the mirror,” Jiāo Chán said quietly. “Someone surprised me and the energies grew unstable, lashing out. I was uninjured, but the others, they’re still unconscious, and look and feel as if they died. Yet, their bodies don’t rot, instead growing older by several years every few days. I know the solution lies in demonic medicine, but I fear they don’t have long enough left for me to develop a true cure.”

“We’ll find the way.” 

“I sincerely hope so. If not for them, then for your lady.” 

Ā-Qìng frowned. There was a strange tone to Jiāo Chán’s voice. Yán Líng seemed to notice the strangeness, too. 

“Jiāo Chán, was that the entire truth that you wished to share with me?” 

Jiāo Chán blinked, then turned back down the road and started walking again. Yán Líng overtook her with a few quick steps, moving into her path. 

“You said you feared I might hate you. Why would I ever hate you for a mistake? Jiāo Chán? Is there more? Is it about the second daughter of Zhen?” 

“I… yes. It involves your lady, and her sickness too.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. 

“There are things I haven't told you,” Jiāo Chán whispered, so quietly Ā-Qìng could barely make out the words. 

“Did you have something to do with the sickness my lady suffers under?” 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I am so deeply sorry. I know how much you adore her. I’ll understand if you wish to distance yourself—” Jiāo Chán cut herself off as yan ling took her hand. 

“I don’t want there to be any distance between us at all,” Yán Líng murmured, bringing Jiāo Chán’s hand up to kiss the back. 

“Ā-Líng?”

“Jiāo Chán, I trust that your heart is kind, and that’s enough. I know you wouldn’t harm another person. I don’t fear for my lady, knowing you are at my side.”

Jiāo Chán shook her head. “How could you forgive me that?”

“There’s nothing that needs forgiving.”

“Ā-Líng!”

“Jiāo Chán, my lady is clever and kind and very talented. She was trained in medical cultivation, as is tradition for the Zhen family, and the orchids that grew under her hand were always so beautiful. My lady is always eager to learn new techniques for healing. But sometimes, she can be incredibly foolish.”

“What?”

“Jiāo Chán, I have known my lady since we were children. Until her sickness, I spent every day at her side. I know her voice, her mannerisms, her habits, her preferences. If my lady were to turn up on my doorstep dressed in peasant’s clothing, disguising her face and using a new name, I would still know her.”

“Oh.”

Yán Líng nodded. 

“You never said a word,” Jiāo Chán said. 

“You were safe and well instead of laid out on a sickbed. I was rather overcome with relief. And it was hardly my place to question your choices, my lady.”

“Oh, none of that, Ā-Líng! I am your wife now, not your lady!” Jiāo Chán laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Yán Líng grinned, returning the gesture.  They hugged, resting their foreheads together.

Ā-Qìng watched from the shadows, and was nearly angry enough to spring from her hiding place. How dare these women talk so lovingly when Jiāo Chán had murdered so many people!? Ā-Qìng’s Dàgē was trapped and in pain, tortured by darkness and probably badly hurt by walking corpses, and Jiāo Chán was here, exchanging soft kisses!

It was a shame that Ā-Qìng’s knife had been stolen from her while she was unconscious. This would have been a great moment to strike.

Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng parted, and began walking again. Ā-Qìng closed her eyes, forcing her anger away. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake now and be noticed. Xiǎo Xīngchén was depending on her.

Ā-Qìng would not fail him.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

Jiāo Chán mentioned a forest house. There are only three thickets nearby large enough to hide a house.

“Right, and you wait this long to tell me—”

Does it actually matter? It’s not like you could get there on your own.

“I’ve stabbed you once tonight, I’ll stab you again.”

Why stab me when you could stab Jiāo Chán?

“Don’t be silly. I’m going to turn her into a human stick and make her watch as I flay her wife.”

Sòng Lán nearly fell out of the sky as his mind was flooded with images of exactly that. Xuē Yáng, on the other hand, relaxed at the bloody fantasy, the tension flowing from his small frame. 

“I’ll do it slowly. Maybe cut out Yán Líng’s tongue so she can only scream. Maybe give Jiāo Chán choices about what kind of punishment to inflict next. She’ll refuse at first, of course, but once she sees the agony in Yán Líng’s eyes—”

I don’t need you to go through your process with me.

“Feeling queasy, Sòng-dàozhǎng?”

Sòng Lán squeezed his eyes shut, his skin prickling like it was swarming with ants. The viper in his arms laughed, leaning back against him.

“You’re so delicate,” Xuē Yáng murmured. “You’ll feel better when they’re both torn to bloody ribbons.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén wouldn’t approve of you skinning someone or turning them into a human stick.

“That’s why I wouldn’t ask his permission.”

And yet, you’re telling me right now? As if I won’t immediately let Xiǎo Xīngchén know of your vicious intentions? 

“I have a feeling that you and I have a similar understanding of what retribution involves.”

I’m no sadist! I don’t want to torture anyone or hear about your favourite ways to inflict agony on others. As long as Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng are punished proportionately to their crimes, I’ll be satisfied they’ve faced justice. If that means they should be executed, I’ll kill them both myself.

“Greedy. How about instead, you can have whatever’s left of them when I’m done?”

Sòng Lán swallowed, forcing away the impulse to throw Xuē Yáng into the sky and let him fall. The creature Sòng Lán was assisting deserved death. At least two clans had been slaughtered at Xuē Yáng’s hand, dozens others murdered. The violent fantasies that so often filled his mind, had they been realities once? Before Xiao Xingchen had wrapped a leash around Xuē Yáng’s neck, had Xuē Yáng acted on every minor violent thought? Stabbing men for leaning in too close? Smashing pottery over peoples’ heads for being too familiar?

Right now, Xuē Yáng was vulnerable. Temperature high and still weak on his feet, leaning more heavily on Sòng Lán by the minute. Trusting Sòng Lán to keep him steady because they shared a goal. But a monster was still a monster, even if it was injured, and Xuē Yáng’s fangs were eager for blood.

“You gonna throw me from the sky, Sòng Lán?” He seemed oddly relaxed at the prospect, his head lolling on Sòng Lán’s shoulder, eyes closed.

I’m not going to drop you. You’re still useful.

Xuē Yáng hummed.

“A shield, a knife, a monster. Things that are useful are worth keeping around. Useless things are thrown to the dogs,” he muttered, though it was clear his thoughts were beginning to drift. He looked sickly.

Sòng Lán frowned.

Tell me about the poisons Yán Líng used, Sòng Lán prompted. Xuē Yáng made a disapproving noise, turning to press his forehead against Sòng Lán’s neck.

Stop that!

“You’re so cold.”

The poisons, Xuē Yáng.

“Mmnn. Moon Violets, Fox’s Delight. Mundane plants infused with qi as they grow. Expensive. Uncommon. Cultivator needs to grow the plant themselves, most don’t bother.”

Fascinating. But could you get to the part a little more relevant to our current situation?

Xuē Yáng snorted. “Relevant how?”

You were poisoned—

“Poisons cancel out.”

But you threw up the antidote—

“’m’not gonna die, sorry to disappoint.”

Below them were dark trees. Sòng Lán shifted his hold on Xuē Yáng to better stare down into the forest. There wasn’t anything that looked like a roof, although the moon wasn’t yet high enough to shine between the trees.

That is very disappointing, but how are you certain?

“Fox’s Delight is quick. I’d already be dead.”

Tell me the poison’s effects.

Xuē Yáng just made a mumbling noise, sighing as if he was falling asleep.

Sòng Lán narrowed his eyes.

He let go of Xuē Yáng.

“Hey, wait—!”

Xuē Yáng clawed at Sòng Lán’s arms as his feet slipped from Fúxuě, his eyes wide open.

Sòng Lán grabbed his wrist.

“What the fuck!?” Xuē Yáng screeched, slapping at Sòng Lán’s face with his free hand. It was easy enough to avoid.

Are you awake?

“Of course I’m fucking awake you dog-fucking prick! Motherfucker—”

You want me to pull you up?

“No I’d much rather be impaled on a motherfucking tree! Yes! Pull me up!”

That’s a bit of a mixed message—

Xuē Yáng snarled wordlessly up at him and Sòng Lán fought away a grin as he pulled Xuē Yáng back up. The smaller man seemed caught between clinging tightly to Sòng Lán’s arms and trying to push him away.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Xuē Yáng muttered, apparently deciding that clinginess was the safer option.

And here I thought you bragged about your creative use of insults.

“Eat shit and die.”

I’ve already tried dying, not sure I like it much.

“Fuck off.”

Sòng Lán rolled his eyes but kept flying. The next thicket of trees wasn’t too far ahead.

The poisons, Xuē Yáng. Fox’s Delight and Moon Violets. What are their effects?

Xuē Yáng was refusing to look in his direction.

“Fox’s Delight causes hallucinations, racing heart and a high temperature. Can mimic a fever, known to trigger qi deviations. In raw form, it causes death in minutes. Burned as incense, it’s slower to take effect.”

Your temperature is still high.

“I’m not gonna die—not from that, at least!” Xuē Yáng snapped. Sòng Lán hid a smile. “Moon Violets counter Fox’s Delight’s effects. On its own, it slows the heart until it stops. Victim’s breathing slows, they feel cold, they fall asleep, never wake up again. Slower acting than Fox’s Delight but still deadly in the right dose.”

So what, you take two poisons of equal but opposite effect and walk around unhindered?

“Fuck no! Taking both means neither is lethal but they’ll still make you sick! Poisons work by fucking up a body on the inside. Everyone acts like poison is some kind of quick and easy, painless thing—a knife to the throat would be kinder.” Xuē Yáng gave a shuddering breath. “Doesn’t help that I threw up a lot of the Moon Violets. But I won’t die.”

Sòng Lán nodded, oddly relieved.

Xiǎo Xīngchén would be sad if you died.

Even turned away from him, Sòng Lán could feel Xuē Yáng smile. 

“Dàozhǎng likes me,” Xuē Yáng murmured to himself, sounding very pleased. A few moments passed in silence as they surveyed the forest below, and when Xuē Yáng spoke again, his voice was a lot flatter. Unreadable. “You promised you wouldn’t drop me.”

Sòng Lán frowned at the back of Xuē Yáng’s head. 

We’re enemies united by a common goal. 

Xuē Yáng went oddly still at those words. 

“Right,” he said quietly. “So we’re on the same page.”

Sòng Lán stared at him another moment, then turned back to surveying the trees below. There wasn’t time right now to dissect every strange thing Xuē Yáng said and cater to his ego. 

Even minutes later as Xuē Yáng relaxed, he kept a tight grip on Sòng Lán’s wrist.

Chapter Text

One. Gasp. Where was—no! Two. Three. Four.

Breathe in.

Fuck, it hurt, blood scent—

Two.

Pain was real, bleeding was real—three. Four.

Breathe out.

One. Two.

Nothing, just nothing in all directions, falling, spinning—no, the floor was— smoothpolishedwoodenpresent —floor under his back—

Breathe in.

Blood, hot, sticky, still flowing from his shoulder. Real. This was real. Still alive. Ā-Qìng was safe—

Two. Three. Four.

Breathe out.

One. Two. Three. Noises outside, night animals. Four.

Breathe in.

Real, this was real, a house in the forest, here, fierce corpses, bleeding, the world was still there. Cool breeze from the window. Hard floor under his back. Ā-Qìng was gone. Safe. Escaped. Not dead. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t—

Three. Four.

Breathe out.

Don’t move. Slow the heartbeat. Treat the bleeding. A bite from a fierce corpse. Don’t move. Don’t let the poison flow through the blood. Don’t let it get to the heart.

Breathe in.

Two. Three. Four.

Noises. Footsteps. Fierce corpses walking—

“You tried to escape, didn’t you. I told you it was a foolish thing to do.”

Talking. Someone alive. Not Ā-Qìng. Jiāo Chán?

Three. Four.

Xiǎo Xīngchén yelped as a hand pressed firmly on the bite wound to his shoulder.

“You’re lucky you haven’t bled out yet. This looks nasty.”

Qi pouring from her hand, burning his skin, sealing the wound. No more blood.

“Where’s the girl?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head, biting his lip.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Her qi’s too weak, I already know it won’t work if I use her.”

One. Two. Three. Four.

“What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you speak?”

He shook his head again.

“I’m not your enemy, Xiǎo Xīngchén. Not yet, at least. I didn’t harm the girl, I didn’t even harm you! I told you if you were patient, I’d bring back a way to establish real trust between us, and I have! I’ve even thought of a way to make it work around your blindness! But you tried to escape and got yourself hurt. I don’t want you hurt.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén swallowed, and folded his arms across his chest like a corpse laid to rest.

“Come on, everything’s going to be fine! You just need to come downstairs and take the test, and if you pass, then we can be allies! I’ll heal you properly! Cleanse the corpse poison from your veins too! I swear it!”

Xiǎo Xīngchén didn’t move to stand. After a few moments, Jiāo Chán sighed, and he felt her stand up.

“You two. Pick him up and bring him downstairs, then out to the garden.”

Two pairs of hands grasped Xiǎo Xīngchén’s body. He gasped as they lifted him into the air—no floor, no floor, floating—

“Stop struggling! You’ll make your poisoning worse! You! Grab him, keep him still!”

More hands, large, cold, dead, holding him still—

“Fuck it, let’s just go. Move quickly! I need him alive for this to work.”

Gasping for air. It hurt. Where—floating—there wasn’t—

Three. Four.

Breathe.

Breathe.

One.

Jiāo Chán left the building, and behind her were three corpses carrying Xiǎo Xīngchén between them.

Ā-Qìng covered her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out. Her Dàgē was covered in blood. At least he was still struggling, or she would have thought him dead.

They laid him on the ground, and immediately Dàgē curled on one side, digging his fingers into the dirt as he took wheezing breaths.

Yán Líng looked a little sick, watching him.

“Jiāo Chán? What happened to him?”

“He tried to escape, even though I warned him not to. I think perhaps he was afraid of the test.”

“Foolish man,” Yán Líng sighed, leaning into Jiāo Chán’s touch, her eyes still on Xiǎo Xīngchén. “The mirror won’t harm anyone who’s truly good, can’t he trust that?”

“Maybe he knows he is evil at heart, and his guilt drove him to run.”

They were both silent a moment, staring down at Xiǎo Xīngchén’s whimpering form. Ā-Qìng turned her gaze to the starry sky and wished for a lightning bolt to strike them both down.

“Do you think he knows medicine, Jiāo Chán?”

“He was offering his services as a healer, so I sincerely hope so.”

“I hope he’s a good person. He could help us refine the demonic healing techniques.”

“If he’s good, it might be difficult to convince him to even touch demonic cultivation.”

“I’m sure you can explain it to him. You’re very persuasive.”

Jiāo Chán made a non-commital noise, still frowning down at Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“The moon will be visible in a moment, and then we can try the new talisman. Do you have the mirror ready?”

“Right here,” Yán Líng said, pulling a small bāguà mirror from a bag. “It will work, won’t it? When you said he was blind, I didn’t think you meant his eyes were missing.”

“If the talisman works like I’ve designed it to, then we’ll no longer need a person to look into the mirror for it to take effect. Anyone touched by moonlight will be vulnerable to it; simply direct it with your will.”

“And if the talisman doesn’t work?”

“Then I will modify it until it does.”

Flying high above the trees, Xuē Yáng gasped, twisting in Sòng Lán’s hold.

What are you—

“The mirror! She’s using the mirror, I can feel it! That way!”

They darted off in the new direction.

Ā-Qìng snuck as close as she dared as they set up some strange array together. She reached for the ground, selecting several good-sized pebbles. A knife would still be better, but with the right timing, a well-aimed rock could make a big difference. Ā-Qìng was a good shot. Maybe she could knock someone’s eye out—

Screaming like a furious yao, Xuē Yáng came careening out of the sky, swinging his sword right at Yán Líng—

There was a blur of movement Ā-Qìng could barely follow, Jiāo Chán shrieking, blood flew through the air—

Xuē Yáng stumbled, falling to his knees and Jiāo Chán was swinging a knife—

Another dark blur and then everything was still. Ā-Qìng blinked, taking in the scene.

On one side, Jiāo Chán had an arm in front of Yán Líng, pushing her back. Jiāo Chán’s face was twisted into a snarl, and blood dripped down from her shoulder. Yán Líng looked fine.

On the other side, Xuē Yáng had his sword drawn and he was grinning wide and bloodthirsty. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was with him, an arm around Xuē Yáng’s waist like he was holding him back from attacking. Shuānghuá was strapped to Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng’s back.

Ā-Qìng smirked. Jiāo Chán was going to die tonight.

Dàozhǎng was red.

Curled on his side in the dirt and whimpering and red so much red too much red but he was alive!

Dàozhǎng was alive!

Red on white but alive and still here—

Jiāo Chán made Dàozhǎng red.

“I’m going to murder you,” Xuē Yáng told Jiāo Chán, and it was true! He was going to crush her throat! Pluck out her eyes! Rip out her tongue! Watch as she drowned in her own blood—

“How are you awake?” Jiāo Chán demanded, pointing a knife at him. Behind her, Yán Líng was fiddling with that fucking mirror. Yán Líng should die too. Eaten alive by wild dogs, maybe.

Xuē Yáng's balance was still a little off, his head still ached, but he grinned as he stepped away from Sòng Lán. Lovely, powerful Sòng Lán, the best puppet Xuē Yáng had ever made, and not nearly so squeamish and delicate once he saw how red Dàozhǎng was—

“X-Xuē Yáng?” Dàozhǎng called. “You’re here?”

“Mnn. Your Zǐchēn too,” Xuē Yáng said, still staring at the two women. Sòng Lán shifted to stand beside him, sword in hand. Shadows were beginning to gather around them both. “I can taste his fury, Dàozhǎng. You’re all red. We don’t like seeing you red.”

“I’m sorry,” Dàozhǎng said. 

“Kill them,” Jiāo Chán said, and the fierce corpses turned to them, lumbering forward. Xuē Yáng laughed, springing into action.

Slice one across the chest—Sòng Lán by his side, dismembering the enemy—

Spin on a heel, stab another one through the heart—Sòng Lán sliced off the head—

“All of you! Kill them!”

More corpses appearing, running from the building, some clawing their way from the ground. The air was thick with resentful energy and corpse dust. Xuē Yáng giggled, breathing in the wretched fumes, dancing bewteen the blades—

His legs gave out.

“Shit!”

He rolled out of the way of an attack—was that corpse a cultivator?—and another lunged for him wielding a sword—

Xuē Yáng snarled, sending out the command to freeze them all—

Nothing happened.

The corpse was still attacking, nothing happened, how could this—

Something grabbed him, pulling him against a familiar chest as they leapt into the air and out of range, landing gently away from the battle.

Xuē Yáng blinked, glancing down at Sòng Lán’s arm, wrapped firmly around his waist yet again.

You good?

“Fine,” Xuē Yáng said, a little lightheaded. “You still feeling stable?”

Sòng Lán nodded without looking his way, moving past him.

Be more careful. You’re still recovering.

Sòng Lán jumped into battle again, quickly dispatching another two corpses. Xuē Yáng watched for a long moment before shaking himself. Not the time.

Xuē Yáng took two steps towards the battle and stumbled, slamming Jiàngzāi's point into the dirt to keep himself upright. Fuck, that wasn't good—a dead thing was running his way—

Xuē Yáng pulled a bag from his sleeve, throwing it at the corpse—clicked his fingers and qi exploded from the bag—the dead thing flinched back with a roar, one hand disintegrated by the swirling energies, but then the angry thing sprinted forward, determined to attack—

Three corpses attacked it from behind. Xuē Yáng grinned at the undead bride, directing her against their enemies with a thought. She sent back a single complaint about the indignity of being carried in a bag, and Xuē Yáng laughed, watching as she and her servants leapt into the fight alongside Sòng Lán. All of them screaming and snarling, a beautiful mess.

A mess that Xuē Yáng should be at the centre of.

Xuē Yáng grimaced, staring down at the tremor shaking his hands. Stupid. Why couldn’t he catch his breath? He’d rested! Kind of! Leaning back against Sòng Lán. His body was meant to be stronger than this.

A power pill, maybe, and another purification candy for the corpse poisoning, just in case—

Xuē Yáng shrieked, falling to his knees—knives piercing his chest, long thin iron slowly driven into the back of his skull —red and white, red flowers on white—

The pain disappeared. Xuē Yáng looked up to find Sòng Lán already staring in his direction.

Thanks. I’ll try to bring you out quicker next time.

That was—they’d aimed the mirror at Sòng Lán?

“I guard you, you guard me,” Xuē Yáng murmured. He laughed softly, picking himself up—fuck, it still hurt. Xuē Yáng could deal with it, though. He was good at managing pain.

His Dàozhǎng still needed him.

Ā-Qìng crept around the fight, crawling to her Dàgē’s side. He looked confused, frightened by the screams and snarls. Fresh bloody tears marked his cheeks.

“Dàgē?”

“Ā-Qìng!?” he gasped, twisting towards her. “You found them? You came back?”

“Yes, I came back,” Ā-Qìng said, taking his hand. He held on tightly. “Come here, let’s get away for the fighting.”

“You’re safe,” he sighed, then shook his head. “I should help them.”

Ā-Qìng snorted, shaking her head. “This time you have to listen to me, Dàgē. You’re injured, covered in blood, and your qi is still suppressed. The best thing you can do is move out of the way so your friends can fight for you.”

Her Dàgē bit his lip, but nodded. Together, they moved away from the fight.

And then suddenly everything was flooded with moonlight, and the array Jiāo Chán had been making began to glow and—

“Yán Líng! Now!”

The mirror exploded with smoky spirits, and all around the battlefield, the dead stopped moving. Even Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was frozen. Ā-Qìng swallowed, looking from Jiāo Chán to Xuē Yáng. He didn’t look too good, leaning heavily on his sword, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Now you’ll see the truth of your own evil,” Jiāo Chán said, and every undead thing turned in unison to attack Xuē Yáng. But before a single one could touch him, he had already begun to scream.

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán blinked slowly, turning on a heel to face the enemy. Xuē Yáng. Viper. Destroyer. Murderer.  

Strike him down! Kill him!

Sòng Lán braced himself to leap and attack, cut Xuē Yáng down, he deserved it—

No, this wasn’t right.

He deserves it! Kill him!

Not the point! It didn’t matter that Xuē Yáng deserved to be killed! They were allies right now. They both wanted Xiǎo Xīngchén safe!

He’s evil!

So?

Sòng Lán blinked, grimacing. His body was already moving, but this wasn’t right, that voice in his head sounded like Jiāo Chán—

Xuē Yáng was screaming. Golden light being smothered with corpse dust again—

Sòng Lán snarled, twisting in mid-air to knock another fierce corpse off-trajectory. He threw Fúxuě into the air as he landed heavily on his side, directing the blade with his qi to defend Xuē Yáng. Springing to his feet, he knocked another enemy away as he tried to form the image of the red azalea silk—

“Why is that one still fighting back?”

“I don’t know—”

Sòng Lán bared his teeth in their direction, walking backward until he was right above Xuē Yáng. Fúxuě returned to his hand, covered in black ichor. Behind him, Xuē Yáng was still conscious but just barely, whimpering as his mind held tight to the scrap of fabric Sòng Lán offered. Sòng Lán strengthened the mental connection as best he could, keeping the enemies away as Xuē Yáng shook and endured the attack.

A few moments later, Xuē Yáng sighed, golden light burning away the last of the smothering corpse dust. Sòng Lán risked a glance over one shoulder—Xuē Yáng was already looking up at him, his cheeks wet and mouth twisted into something that was nearly a smile.

“What is going on?” Jiāo Chán demanded from across the battlefield, and Sòng Lán turned back to them with a glare. “How did you shake off the mirror’s effects? I know it was working on you!”

Xuē Yáng’s head was full of rocks, heavy sharp edges scraping the insides of his skull, clacking together every time he moved. Too hot. Bad hand throbbing.  Stomach twisting. Fuck.

Sòng Lán was near, though. Cool dark shadows to hide from the moon.

Xuē Yáng blinked up at him. Very tall. Keeping enemies away.

Guardian dressed in shadows.

His ears were ringing so loudly he could barely hear Jiāo Chán’s screeching. The corpses had stopped trying to attack, though, so she obviously wanted an answer.

“Are you scared, bitch?” Xuē Yáng sneered, using his sword to push himself to his feet. “You have no idea who you’re pissing off right now.”

“I don’t care who you are! The mirror always works! It’s a mirror! It reflects your own evil back onto you! No matter how powerful you are, it reflects! That’s how I designed it!”

“Well you did a piss-poor job, then,” Xuē Yáng said, stretching and rolling a shoulder like he’d just woken from a nap. He felt Sòng Lán hide a smile at the casual act, and laughed softly.  “Aren’t you evil too, Jiāo Chán? You didn’t just find all these corpses, did you?”

“How dare you insult my lady!” Yán Líng snapped. “Jiāo Chán is the kindest soul in the entire world!”

“She made Dàozhǎng red!” Xuē Yáng roared.

“I’m not responsible for Xiǎo Xīngchén’s choices! I warned him that trying to leave would end in him being hurt!” Jiāo Chán said.

“You bitch!”

“I warned him! I said we were bringing back a way to test if he was evil but he resisted, he knew he’d be found evil—”

Xuē Yáng started laughing loudly, and Jiāo Chán faltered, exchanging a look with Yán Líng.

“What the fuck!?” Xuē Yáng wheezed out between laughs. “How could—it’s Xiǎo Xīngchén! The bright moon and gentle breeze! How could you possibly think he’s evil!?! What, did he offer to heal you too many times?”

Jiāo Chán sniffed, drawing herself up like a highborn lady. “A bad person can do good things sometimes, but it doesn’t change their evil nature. My mirror sees past reputation and deceit and forces you to confront your true inner nature—”

“Bullshit! You think a novice cultivator like you could design something so complex!?”

“It works! I’ve tested it dozens of times—”

“On who!? These fuckers?!” Xuē Yáng said, gesturing at the surrounding corpses.

“None of them deserve pity. Every one of them was evil to their core,” Jiāo Chán said, her head held high. “I am a good person! I am determined to twist demonic cultivation to serve a noble purpose! I am going to save lives with new medicines! These villains, after the evil they’ve done in their lives, the least they can do is help me in my righteous pursuit.”

Xuē Yáng opened his mouth to respond—

How is she certain that what her mirror detects is inner evil?

Xuē Yáng glanced to Sòng Lán, who met his gaze.

What exactly is that mirror measuring? Evil actions? Dark fantasies? Painful memories? Regrets? Can a mirror tell the difference? How many people has that mirror declared good? Is it measuring what she thinks she’s measuring?

Xuē Yáng blinked. It was a fair point.

“How do you know that mirror measures evil?” Xuē Yáng called to her.

“Because I designed it to!”

“Yeah, but, are you sure that’s what it’s measuring?”

Jiāo Chán paused, looking momentaily unsettled. Xuē Yáng smirked, and tried to subtly steal control of the corpse puppets as he said, “How many people did the mirror declare evil? It was a higher number than you thought, right? People you didn’t suspect at all.”

“Shut up. You don’t know a thing about what we’ve been through!” Jiāo Chán said as she strode forward. All around her the dead grew agitated, snarling and snapping their teeth like hunting dogs straining against their leashes. Even the undead bride and her entourage were standing at Jiāo Chán’s side instead of Xuē Yáng’s.

Yán Líng looked nervous.

“What if he’s right—”

“He’s not!” Jiāo Chán whined, glancing back at Yán Líng, her face all twisted up in despair. “He’s not right, he’s just trying to sow doubt between us—”

“We’re the only two who passed the mirror test. The only two, out of dozens of people! What if—”

“No! Evil’s just more common than we thought—”

"Or you made a mistake!" Xuē Yáng called out. Jiāo Chán spun to face him wearing a snarl. "How convenient that only you and your wife passed your test for evil—"

"Shut up!"

"What's your worst memory, Jiāo Chán? Orchid Cliffs is rather remote; did the war ever come here? Did you fight?" Xuē Yáng was having a lot of difficulty taking control of the puppets. His attempts kept sliding off, even though Jiāo Chán’s control should have been fluctuating with her focus and emotions. Co-ordinatinating over a dozen different puppets wasn't an easy thing to do. The mirror must have been amplifying her abilities, no matter that Yán Líng was the one holding it.

"My lady is the most honourable of people! She healed others! Even criminals like the Wēns!" Yán Líng cut in, her voice ringing with pride.

"Yán Líng, don't tell him that! He's the enemy!" Jiāo Chán said.

"I won't have him look down on you," Yán Líng said, pouting. "You'd never harm innocent people."

“Exactly! I’m a good person! I know it, and my mirror confirmed it!" Jiāo Chán said, turning back to face Xuē Yáng and Sòng Lán. "I've never killed someone who didn’t deserve it!”

"You're a fucking self-righteous hypocrite!" Xuē Yáng said with a laugh. "Oh, I loathe you! You don't really care about other people, you're just pretending because it makes you feel good to think you're better than them. Embrace your true nature, Jiāo Chán! You like having power over who lives and who dies! You like the thrill of fighting for your life! All these pointless mental gymnastics just to justify your crimes to yourself when deep down you already know the truth. You're more important than them! They're lucky to die at your hand!"

Jiāo Chán didn't respond, but her eyes were wide and her face was pale. Her hands were balled up in tight fists, and she glanced to Yán Líng for a second.

With one gesture, all her puppets attacked once more. But Xuē Yáng had a new plan ready.

Sòng Lán braced to lunge forward—

“Keep me safe while I focus,” Xuē Yáng murmured instead of attacking the enemy—

Sòng Lán snarled, jumping between Xuē Yáng and a corpse, throwing it back.

This isn’t the time for meditation!

Xuē Yáng laughed, his eyes closed, leaning heavily on his sword. Without looking, he threw a small bag over, and Sòng Lán nearly dropped it because he was mid-battle! Really!?

“I’ll make the opening,” Xuē Yáng said, wearing a smile, and suddenly Sòng Lán could see fragments of Xuē Yáng’s plan—

I’ll keep you safe.

Xuē Yáng didn’t answer, already deeply focused on his part of the plan. Jiāo Chán noticed his vulnerability, and suddenly all of the corpse puppets and smokey spirits were targeting Xuē Yáng alone, it was all Sòng Lán could do to keep them away! He couldn’t risk another powerful attack, the corpses couldn’t be dismembered or destroyed—

Ā-Qìng wasn’t sure what Sòng Lán and Xuē Yáng were doing, but they had to have a plan, right? Why else would Xuē Yáng be standing like that with his eyes closed?

Maybe Ā-Qìng could help. Everyone had been largely ignoring her and her Dàgē as the battle went on, too focused on attacking each other and yelling stupid things back and forth.

“What’s going on?” her Dàgē asked.

“More fighting,” Ā-Qìng said. “This time Xuē Yáng is standing still and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng is defending him from the puppets.”

“Is Xuē Yáng hurt?”

“I can’t tell. I don’t think so.”

Ā-Qìng rolled a pebble between her fingers. She chose her target, swung her arm, and threw.

It happened quickly.

Yán Líng cried out, stumbling to the side, clutching the side of her head. Jiāo Chán turned to check on her as Yán Líng’s fingers came away bloody.

And every undead thing on the battlefield froze.

Sòng Lán didn’t waste a single moment, running past all the twitching, undead statues. Jiāo Chán screeched, leaping to intercept him, yelling orders, but none of the corpses moved a muscle—

Sòng Lán dodged her, darting to Yán Líng’s side—

Yán Líng’s eyes were wide with terror--

The moonlight caught on Fúxuě’s blade as he swung through the air—

“YÁN LÍNG!”

—Sòng Lán kept moving, ignoring both of their screams as he knocked Yán Líng’s severed hand and the mirror further away, beyond their reach, and then Sòng Lán was running to Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side. Behind him, the women were both screaming—

Sòng Lán fell to his knees at Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side, pulling open the bag Xuē Yáng had thrown to him, the one with the purification candies. Ā-Qìng grinned, snuggled against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s side—

“Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng got rid of the evil mirror, Dàgē! They’re winning! He’s on your right, he has medicines in his hand for you—”

“Zǐchēn, you’re here,” Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, a grin stretching his features. “Zǐchēn, you’re safe, thank heavens.”

Sòng Lán smiled, reaching for Xiǎo Xīngchén’s arm. Xīngchén flinched at the touch, but relaxed after a second, turning his palm up. Sòng Lán placed the candy in his hand, glancing back at the battlefield—

The place looked bizarre, all the dozens of corpses and spirits completely motionless, as if they were figures in a painting. Xuē Yáng was still where Sòng Lán had left him, a little unsteady-looking but standing upright, his eyes closed as he fought to keep control of all the dead. Across from him, Yán Líng was screaming, Jiāo Chán kneeling at her side, both of them trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Zǐchēn? What is this pill for?”

It’s a purification candy, to cure any corpse poisoning you have from the battle, Sòng Lán said, turning back to Xiǎo Xīngchén—

Who was still looking confused.

Oh.

Sòng Lán removed the candy from Xīngchén’s palm, and traced out the words there, before offering the candy again, and another for Ā-Qìng. They both ate them quickly.

“This was definitely made by Xuē Yáng,” Xīngchén said, licking his lips.

“Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, can you help fix Xīngchén’s qi?” Ā-Qìng asked. Sòng Lán turned to her—

Something was wrong. 

Sòng Lán stood, ready to leap back into action—

Xuē Yáng fell forwards, barely catching himself on all fours. He was coughing up blood—

All around the battlefield, all the dead sprang into motion as Xuē Yáng’s control slipped, Jiāo Chán’s puppets and Xuē Yáng’s puppets too, all uncontrolled, screaming snarling delight as they moved to attack! Sòng Lán shifted into a defensive position in front of Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng—

But none of the dead were moving in their direction. Instead they were all converging on Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng. It didn’t make sense, why would the dead ignore other sources of living qi?

Jiāo Chán noticed the horde. She shoved Yán Líng from her side, scrambled to her feet—the undead were chasing her, not Yán Líng. But she had acted too late. Even with her cultivator’s speed, the first of the mob caught her, a corpse dressed in cultivator’s robes biting into the flesh of her shoulder, the rest of them swarming her as she screamed—

“What’s happening?” Xīngchén asked. “The screams—”

“All the puppets are attacking Jiāo Chán,” Ā-Qìng said, sounding darkly satisfied.

“Xuē Yáng took control of them?”

“He’s going to rip them to pieces for hurting you, Dàgē.”

Sòng Lán shook his head, gripping Fúxuě tightly. It wasn’t true. Xuē Yáng wasn’t directing the puppets. Xuē Yáng could barely keep himself awake. He was still on his hands and knees, blood on his lips, and watching the frenzy with a wide grin, laughing weakly as Yán Líng tried to claw her way through to Jiāo Chán’s side. 

“Where’s Xuē Yáng? Xuē Yáng!? Please don’t attack! Hold the puppets still!” Xiǎo Xīngchén called out.  “Please! This is too brutal!”

Xuē Yáng frowned, turning to Xīngchén as he begged for mercy for the two women. Sòng Lán snorted. It was a pointless exercise. Even if Xuē Yáng felt inclined to follow Xīngchén’s request, he was too exhausted to go through with it. It made a perfect excuse to see the kind of bloodbath Xuē Yáng had been fantasising about on the way over.

So where did that leave Sòng Lán? He didn’t like the idea of others suffering, he wasn’t like Xuē Yáng. But instead of acting, he was hesitating. 

Why didn’t he want to intervene? He should intervene. He had the strength to save the two women. He could push back the dead, or offer Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng quicker, easier deaths. With every second, the choice grew more urgent, already Jiāo Chán had stopped crying out, but—Sòng Lán bit his lip. 

It was a grim way to die, but it felt poetic that Jiāo Chán’s death came at the hands of her own victims.The rage of a dozen dead—unfairly killed and forced into servitude—all focused on their murderer. 

It felt like justice. 

It looked like blood and agony. 

Sòng Lán closed his eyes, turning away. Was this justice or was this revenge? Did it matter? What right did Sòng Lán have to interfere anyway? These people had lost far more to Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng than he had. Their right to retribution outweighed Sòng Lán’s. But what if being dead had changed them? The craving for living qi driving them to more extreme violence than they would consider in life—

Even with the mind link, Sòng Lán only sensed what was happening during the same moment Xuē Yáng acted. He gasped, spinning back—

Xuē Yáng’s qi, thrown out like a net, spiderwebs of golden energy catching every undead thing, binding them tighter as they struggled—why would Xuē Yáng try something so reckless!? He was already exhausted! He could seriously injure himself from the strain!

Without thinking about it, Sòng Lán dived back into Xuē Yáng’s thoughts—of course it was all about Xiǎo Xīngchén. Did Xiǎo Xīngchén notice? Will Xiǎo Xīngchén be pleased? Dear softhearted Xiǎo Xīngchén, who could be petty sometimes but abhorred suffering —Sòng Lán pulled away with a grimace. 

“Dàgē, he froze them all!” Ā-Qìng reported, and Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed in relief. 

Yán Líng whimpered, squirming between the statue-like dead to find the bloody mess that was her wife. She didn’t try to escape or drag Jiāo Chán free, instead folding Jiāo Chán in an embrace, holding her tight. Xuē Yáng watched them both, his vicious grin faded into a strange, pensive expression.

“Is it too late to help them?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked in a subdued voice. 

“They both look so bloody, I’m not sure. Dàgē, do we have to?” Ā-Qìng asked.

“I want to try,” Xīngchén said. “I—Zǐchēn, can you help me unsuppress my qi?”

Sòng Lán stared down at this beautiful, kind man, and back to the two dying women, who absolutely did not deserve such care. He bit his lip. Knelt at Xīngchén’s side, reached for his wrist to take a qi reading—

Xuē Yáng collapsed into the dirt. The mob of corpses sprang into motion in an instant. Sòng Lán flinched at the scream, but it quickly cut out, and then there was no other noises except for ripping, tearing, the snarls of fierce corpses, a strange wheezing sound that was almost like laughter—

“Are they…”

“They’re dead, Dàgē. I’m sorry,” Ā-Qìng said. Sòng Lán glanced at her. She hardly looked upset at the idea. Truthfully, Sòng Lán wasn’t particularly upset either. It was only what Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng deserved. But it was horrid to see the grief on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s face. 

Sòng Lán could have prevented this. He should have intervened. From the moment Xiǎo Xīngchén called out to Xuē Yáng asking him to be merciful, Sòng Lán should have tried to intervene, to protect the two women. From before that, even. Was Sòng Lán really no better than Xuē Yáng? Standing back and allowing them to die in such a brutal fashion simply because it felt satisfying to see them punished? 

Except, Xuē Yáng hadn’t simply allowed them to die. Despite his own exhaustion, Xuē Yáng had acted. Xuē Yáng, who had spent the better part of their flight over imagining various tortures for Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng, all in the name of retribution.

Sòng Lán felt cold. 

“Xuē Yáng?” Xiǎo Xīngchén called out. Of course the man didn’t answer, lying still in the dirt. 

“Dàgē, I think he fainted,” Ā-Qìng said, glancing questioningly at Sòng Lán. He nodded. Xuē Yáng was out cold, a golden but subdued presence in the back of Sòng Lán’s mind.

“He fainted? I need to—Ā-Qìng, can you see if he’s hurt?”

“Just wait here, Dàgē, I’ll go check him over.”

Sòng Lán took Xiǎo Xīngchén’s hand and began to write. If Xiǎo Xīngchén was determined to heal someone tonight, he’d need to know about the poisons in Xuē Yáng’s system.

Chapter Text

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Everything was fine. It was fine. Everyone was—they were safe.

Ā-Qìng was safe.

Zǐchēn was safe.

Xuē Yáng was—

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Everything was going to be okay. The ache in Xīngchén’s shoulder didn’t matter. He was safe. Zǐchēn was here. Zǐchēn would protect him. The women were—

Xīngchén flinched at the sound of bones snapping. Death at the hands of fierce corpses. How many of Xuē Yáng’s enemies had had a similar end? Maybe fewer than expected: Xuē Yáng liked a personal touch, blood on his own hands or on Xiǎo Xīngchén’s.

Jiāo Chán said every person she had killed was evil at heart, but her senses were unreliable, how could a mirror detect true evil? It—Xīngchén hadn’t meant to—if he’d been able to see them, he never would have hurt any of them! They were meant to be fierce corpses, not poisoned people—

No. Not this, not right now.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It was too late to save the sixty-seven. Too late to save Jiāo Chán. Too late to save Yán Líng. Xiǎo Xīngchén had heard as their cries faded away, he could smell the blood on the air. Jiāo Chán would never have the chance to make up for the innocent lives she had taken. Xiǎo Xīngchén still had the opportunity.

It was fine.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The world didn’t exist beyond what Xīngchén could touch and smell and hear. A great big void in all directions, waiting just beyond his senses to swallow him whole.

It was easier to believe the world was real with Zǐchēn at his side. It was easier to breathe smoothly with Ā-Qìng narrating the events around them. It was easier to stay calm when he could hear Xuē Yáng yelling insults as he fought.

But Xiǎo Xīngchén was very ready to regain his qi sense.

Zǐchēn’s cold fingers rested against his wrist.

Xiǎo Xīngchén waited.

And waited.

“Zǐchēn?”

Zǐchēn’s fingers tapped against his skin—it felt more like agitation than an attempt at tap-talk—and then Zǐchēn took his hand and began writing instead.

“I’m worried,” Zǐchēn said. “I’ve not done this since before I died. I have resentful energy instead of qi.”

“I’m sure it works the same way. It does for everything else.”

“No, I’m worried the resentful energy might harm you.”

“Oh.” Xīngchén frowned. “Well, Xuē Yáng uses resentful energy without it harming him.”

“He’s a demonic cultivator, he’s used to it running through his veins. You’re not. And besides, it drove the Yílíng Lǎozǔ mad. Who’s to say it hasn’t harmed Xuē Yáng? Perhaps if he had never used demonic cultivation, he’d be a normal person and not a criminal.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a rueful smile as Zǐchēn traced those words out. He had a feeling that Xuē Yáng would have been a delinquent even if he’d never touched demonic cultivation.

“I’m sure just once won’t hurt me. And really, who else is here that could unsuppress my qi? Ā-Qìng doesn’t know how to, and anyway, her qi is suppressed too. Xuē Yáng is unconscious. Zǐchēn, I really need your assistance.”

Xīngchén heard Zǐchēn take a deep breath, and then those cold fingertips moved back to his wrist, and—

Xīngchén gasped, flinching away.

“Sorry! Don’t worry, it was just colder than I expected,” Xīngchén said, offering his wrist again. “Like ice water pouring into my veins.”

Zǐchēn’s touch was gentle, rubbing small circles into Xīngchén’s wrist in apology. And then the cold began to sink through Xīngchén’s skin again, spreading up his arm. Xīngchén held his breath, resisting the urge to pull away. It wasn’t painful, just cold. Very cold.

The chill spread quickly, moving across his chest, down to his fingertips and toes and up to his ears. And maybe Xīngchén had spoken too soon about it not being painful, his arm had begun to ache, the hand on that side going numb. Strange prickling sensations chased across his skin, and very quickly he started to shiver. Xīngchén could endure it, though. This was Zǐchēn’s qi. The resentful energy that powered Zǐchēn’s unlife.

The cold was sinking inward now. Xīngchén forced himself not to squirm or flinch away. It—fuck, it hurt, it—Xīngchén didn’t want this energy touching his core, it was—what if he froze solid? What if his core turned to ice? What if—

The cold touched his core—

Xīngchén turned to fire.

Sòng Lán backed up quickly when Xīngchén started glowing. He’d already been stabbed by Xuē Yáng tonight, he didn’t want to be burned by Xiǎo Xīngchén’s qi as well. His fingertips were already a little scorched.

After the initial surge in power, Xiǎo Xīngchén seemed to relax, slowly falling onto his back, the discomfort from before easing from his expression.

“Oh, that’s much better,” Xiǎo Xīngchén murmured, sounding drunk, his head rolling to one side. “Everything’s back.”

Sòng Lán smiled, cautiously moving closer as the glow began to recede.

“I hadn’t really realised, you know, how much I rely on my qi sense. Being without it was…” Xīngchén shuddered, and then he sighed, pushing himself upright. “Never mind. There’s things to be done. Would you help me up, Zǐchēn?”

They quickly made their way to Xuē Yáng’s side. Ā-Qìng had rolled him onto his back and placed his sword to one side. She grinned up at them as they approached.

“Feeling better, Dàgē?”

“You wouldn’t believe how much!” he said, kneeling at Xuē Yáng’s side. “Here, pass me your wrist—”

Ā-Qìng did, and Xīngchén held onto her for a few seconds, and then—

“Oh!”

“You notice the difference?”

“It’s like when the clouds are gone and the sky’s clear,” Ā-Qìng said, staring at her hand and flexing it in wonder.

Xīngchén smiled, but the expression faded as he reached forward and found Xuē Yáng’s chest.

“He’s not injured, Dàgē. Not that I could see at least.”

“Zǐchēn said he’s been poisoned.”

“Well, that would explain why he’s so warm.”

Sòng Lán remained on his feet, surveying the battlefield. It was quiet now. Nearly half of the puppets were lying lifeless on the ground near the bloody mess that had recently been two women, the energy that had powered them gone from their bodies. Had killing their murderer brought them peace?

Of the remaining dead, some had begun to wander almost aimlessly. Others had retreated to their graves, climbing back into the dirt and burying their legs. The bride and her servants had gathered nearby, uncannily staring in Xuē Yáng’s direction despite the lack of eyes in their sockets. Waiting for Xuē Yáng to wake up and give them whatever he’d promised.

Sòng Lán frowned. He didn’t remember that corpse as having been part of her retinue—another one of the aimless dead joined her group, standing and waiting for Xuē Yáng. Sòng Lán knew for a fact that that corpse had been one of Jiao Chan’s puppets.

Xiǎo Xīngchén gave a deep sigh.

“The poisons haven’t been easy on him, but he isn’t in any immediate danger,” Xīngchén said. His hands were glowing softly, hovering above Xuē Yáng’s stomach. “His qi will be able to neutralise the toxins if he rests for a few days, but I can make something rich in water energy to help combat the Fox’s Delight. We’ll need somewhere secure to rest.”

“We could use the house,” Ā-Qìng said.

Sòng Lán grimaced, eying up the building. He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend a few days resting inside a house belonging to their enemy.

“I suppose it’s practical,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, distaste clear in his voice.

It wasn’t the only option, though. Orchid Cliffs wasn’t too far away, and technically Xuē Yáng had reserved a room at one of the inns, though they hadn’t used it. Kneeling at Xuē Yáng’s side, Sòng Lán reached for Xiǎo Xīngchén’s wrist—

Sòng Lán paused, staring at Xuē Yáng’s neck. The way the moonlight caught on his skin, that almost looked like—

“Zǐchēn?”

Sòng Lán turned to Xīngchén and the identical scar on his neck—straight clean edges, like a blade had sliced through his flesh—

“Is something wrong, Zǐchēn?” Xīngchén asked, holding out his hand. Sòng Lán took it.

“Why does Xuē Yáng have a scar on his neck that matches the one on yours?” Sòng Lán wrote.

Xīngchén went still.

“You were there. You saw what happened,” Xīngchén murmured, folding in on himself.

“You told me you hurt yourself and Xuē Yáng saved your life. But why does Xuē Yáng have a matching scar?” Sòng Lán wrote on his palm. Xīngchén’s hand twitched like he wanted to pull away.

“I made a mistake, that’s all. Xuē Yáng helped me fix it. It’s not that important.”

“What’s not important?” Ā-Qìng cut in, glancing between the two of them.

“Nothing. It’s fine now, anyway.”

Sòng Lán caught Ā-Qìng’s eye, then drew his finger halfway across his own neck before gesturing at Xuē Yáng and Xiǎo Xīngchén. She frowned, looking between the two of them.

“The neck scars?” she asked. Sòng Lán nodded. “But Dàgē’s right, you were there when that happened, you should remember—wait, you still had the pins in your head, right?”

Sòng Lán shrugged.

“So you didn’t see?”

“Ā-Qìng, please, it really isn’t a big deal—”

“Dàgē tried to kill himself when he realised he’d killed you,” Ā-Qìng said bluntly. Sòng Lán flinched, but he pushed away the sick feeling in his stomach. He already knew this part. “Xuē Yáng tried to save him, but…”

She trailed off, biting her lip as she stared down at Xuē Yáng’s unconscious face.

“The first few seconds, he just stood there watching as my Dàgē bled. It was like he’d forgotten how to move. And then he was trying to stop the bleeding with his hands, he kept yelling at Dàgē to wake up. I couldn’t keep watching,” Ā-Qìng said, her voice catching. “But then he started laughing and I—fuck, it made me so angry! There he was, my Dàgē’s blood all over his hands and he was laughing! I had to do something! He was so distracted, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, I probably could have stabbed him through and he wouldn’t have turned my way. But I hadn’t even taken a step when suddenly his hands were glowing all gold, and then his neck started bleeding instead! And he fell to the ground but his hands were still glowing, still trying to fix my Dàgē.”

Ā-Qìng turned to him, her eyes wet.

“Somehow, he took the wound away from my Dàgē’s neck and put it on his own, so that he’d die and my Dàgē would live. The only reason he survived is because Dàgē has such a kind heart. That’s why the scars match. It’s the same wound shared between two.”

Sòng Lán blinked, glancing to Xiǎo Xīngchén. He didn’t say a word to disagree, instead tangling his fingers with Xuē Yáng’s.

“It took a while to understand what had happened,” Xīngchén said. “I knew he wanted me to live, that he would risk his own life for mine, but I didn’t know why. Simply to keep me as some kind of pet? Prolong my suffering at his betrayal? He isn’t very good at explaining himself, you know. All he would say was that he owned my death.”

Xīngchén chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

“Probably the scariest way that anyone has ever told me they care for me and didn’t want me dead,” Xīngchén said softly, reaching up to brush his fingertips across Xuē Yáng’s cheek. “I know he would do reckless things to save my life. I want to protect him from harm. We’re still working through the smaller details about how to be friends with each other—he has such a different view of the world than I do, and I know that some of the things important to me completely baffle him. But we both care, and we both want to try.”

Sòng Lán frowned, staring at the dirt. It was strange—a week ago, he wouldn’t have believed any of this. At the very least, it would have been obvious to him that Xuē Yáng was trying to manipulate Xīngchén to break his heart again.

But Sòng Lán had seen into Xuē Yáng’s mind. He knew the glowing adoration Xuē Yáng felt for Xiǎo Xīngchén; he knew what was bubbling beneath Xuē Yáng’s careless facade. The fixation on his own death, the repulsion at touching strangers, the way he found joy in silly jokes. That fierce curiosity. Those bizarre moments of kindness.

A little over a year ago, Xuē Yáng saved Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life by impulsively throwing his own away. Tonight, Xuē Yáng had pushed himself through exhaustion to save Xiǎo Xīngchén’s life, and pushed himself further until he fainted, trying to fulfill Xiǎo Xīngchén’s wishes.

It was completely reckless. But it eased some deep worry in Sòng Lán’s chest.

With a huff, Sòng Lán pushed it from his mind. Right now, they needed to focus on rest and recovery. There were corpses to be laid to rest, civilians in Orchid Cliffs to reassure. Xuē Yáng’s other undead recruits needed collecting too.

Sòng Lán tapped on Xīngchén’s arm and began writing on his palm, telling him about the room waiting for them in Orchid Cliffs. Maybe, if they set off now, Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng could get a few hours of sleep before dawn.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng woke up in a bed, which was odd because the last thing he remembered had been passing out on the ground in the middle of the woods. It was more comfortable here though, enough to ignore the way everything hurt. He could feel Sòng Lán's presence nearby. Two sets of breathing, slow and calm like sleep. No screams. No resentful energy in the air. Safe enough. How had the fight ended?

Xuē Yáng forced his eyes open. Everything was washed in the soft light of oncoming dawn, deep shadows in every corner of the room, not yet bright enough to make out colour but enough to recognize Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shape lying in the bed next to him.

“Dàozhǎng,” Xuē Yáng murmured, shifting closer.

Xiǎo Xīngchén gasped.

“Ah! You’re awake. I thought you’d sleep for several more hours at least.”

A hand brushed across the side of Xuē Yáng’s face, and he pressed into the contact.

“Dàozhǎng, you’re safe?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Xiǎo Xīngchén murmured.

“You were red.”

“A few bites from fierce corpses but nothing more serious. The wounds are all treated now. Zǐchēn gave me some of your purification candies too, so no corpse poisoning.”

Xuē Yáng sighed, snuggling closer until his face was buried in Xiǎo Xīngchén’s neck.

“You don’t smell like blood anymore,” Xuē Yáng whispered. Xiǎo Xīngchén shivered, and his arms snaked around Xuē Yáng to keep him close.

“I’m alright,” he said. “Really, it’s you who we were worried about. The poisons, the mirror. How are you feeling?”

Xuē Yáng thought about it. Still a little nauseated, his head was still aching, but his hand didn’t hurt much more that usual.

“Just tired,” Xuē Yáng said. “A bit like a piece of laundry: all beaten, wrung out and left to dry.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén ran a hand through Xuē Yáng’s hair and down his back, coming to rest between his shoulder blades. A wave of calm radiated out from the contact, and Xuē Yáng slumped boneless against his Dàozhǎng.

“I’ve mixed up a medicinal tea for you to take, it should help with neutralising what’s left of the poisons, and helping you rebuild your strength.”

“Dàozhǎng is so sweet to me,” Xuē Yáng murmured, already half asleep. Nearby, Xuē Yáng could feel Sòng Lán roll his eyes as he went to fetch a kettle and teapot. A very obedient creature, anticipating his master’s needs.

Fuck you.

Xuē Yáng muffled a laugh against Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Dàozhǎng, do you know about your Zǐchēn’s dirty tongue? He always uses such shocking language.”

From across the room, Sòng Lán clicked his fingers, activating a small flame charm, seemingly only to illuminate the glare he aimed Xuē Yáng’s way. Xiǎo Xīngchén laughed softly.

“What, you think because we’re dàozhǎngs, we can’t use foul language?”

“Dàozhǎng, I’ve known you for years and only ever heard you say ‘fuck’ twice,” Xuē Yáng said. “And one of those times was to prove that you could say it.”

“Well, sometimes I think it and then don’t say it.”

Xuē Yáng sniggered.

“Ah, Dàozhǎng, what did you do with Yán Líng and Jiāo Chán?”

The mirth faded from the air. Oddly, a strange guilty feeling echoed across the bond from Sòng Lán.

“Dàozhǎng?” Xuē Yáng said, pulling back until he could face Xiǎo Xīngchén across the pillow.

“I, um… they both died. The puppet corpses.”

“Oh,” Xuē Yáng said. He could barely make out Xiǎo Xīngchén’s expression through the dim light, but he was clearly upset. Yet more deaths that Xiǎo Xīngchén was unfairly deciding he was responsible for. Honestly, it was far too easy to hurt him like this.

“I suppose I should have expected it,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a quiet smile. “You did declare you would murder them both.”

“Yes, but—that’s against the killing rule, isn’t it? Letting someone die when you could stop it, that’s almost like killing, isn’t it? I realized that when you yelled out,” Xuē Yáng said, and he couldn’t hide the pride in his voice. “I’m working out all your rules.”

“What are you talking about? What part of killing two people with fierce corpses could be termed ‘letting someone die’?”

Xuē Yáng frowned. There was something odd in his Dàozhǎng’s tone, rough and angry. Maybe Xiǎo Xīngchén had missed part of the fight and didn’t understand what had happened. He was bad at picking up what the dead were trying to say, after all.

“The fierce corpses, Dàozhǎng. They wanted to rip Jiāo Chán apart so badly! It really was a stupid idea for her to make servants out of people she tortured and murdered. All their resentment was focused on her! All I needed to do was snap her control and they would turn on her! It’s clever, right?” Xuē Yáng said with a grin, but the expression faded as he took in his Dàozhǎng’s mood. “But that’s why you called out, isn’t it? Your killing rule, the way you follow it, it’s not just that you resist killing people. You try to stop people nearby from dying too. So… I could stop the puppets for a little bit and Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng could get free, and then… did they get free? Yán Líng was weeping.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén looked like he was about to start weeping too. He hugged Xuē Yáng tightly.

“You tried to stop them,” Xiǎo Xīngchén murmured. “Thank you! I’m so—thank you for doing that.”

“You asked me to stop them, of course I…” Xuē Yáng said, somewhat bemused. “Dàozhǎng?”

“Sorry—”

“No apologies.”

“I’m—okay, no apologies. It’s just a bit…”

Xuē Yáng clicked his tongue, patting Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulder.

“You never like it when they die.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén shook his head, and held Xuē Yáng tighter.

“But Dàozhǎng,” Xuē Yáng started, a little cautiously. “It is a bit—well, it’s convenient, isn’t it?”

Xiǎo Xīngchén froze. Slowly, he unwrapped himself from around Xuē Yáng, putting distance between them, and Xuē Yáng’s eyes went wide with alarm. He glanced to Sòng Lán—Sòng Lán quickly turned away, the traitor! Acting like he couldn’t hear a word they said!

“Convenient? What exactly do you mean by two deaths being convenient, Xuē Yáng?” Xiǎo Xīngchén said in a dangerous tone.

Shit.

“Don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You seem a bit angry.”

“Xuē Yáng, answer my question.”

“It’s just… Dàozhǎng, what exactly were you planning on doing to Miss Jiāo Chán and Miss Yán Líng to punish them? I was just wondering if you had a plan for that,” Xuē Yáng said.

Whatever Xiǎo Xīngchén was expecting, apparently it wasn’t that.  

“The plan was to catch them, and make sure they face justice,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

“Yes, but justice how? Between them, they murdered dozens of people. Were you just gonna catch them, tie them up, and dump them at the closest major sect to await punishment? Because let me tell you, that is a shit plan and I am living proof.”

“I… well… why wouldn’t that work? Just because you escaped doesn’t mean Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng would.”

“Dàozhǎng, I didn’t need to escape, I was set free. I keep telling you, the major sects are corrupt as all hell. They do whatever serves their interests and call that Good, and target whoever they like and call them Evil. If Jiāo Chán showed enough talent in demonic cultivation, I can assure you, every sect would try to secretly recruit her, not execute her. They’d probably let her wife live too, to keep her sweet.”

“The major sects have more honour than that.”

Xuē Yáng laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Really? Between the two of us, who has actually spent time in Jīnlín Tái? The Unclean Realm? Nightless City? Fuck, I’ve snuck around Lotus Pier once or twice too, just to see if the rumours about Sect Leader Jiāng are true. All the sects have secrets. All the sects want to get ahead. All of them want the next Wèi Wúxiàn, as long as he’s content to stay on his leash and serve.

“And what do you think would happen anyway, if the sects were as honourable as their word? Those women were known murderers playing with the monstrous path. The best they could have hoped for was a quick execution. Take them to Yúnmèng Jiāng and they would have faced tortures for months until they broke. Lánlíng Jīn prefers burning at the stake. Over a dozen people were killed, including other cultivators. Someone could have called for Yán Líng or Jiāo Chán’s entire family to be extinguished and that would be justice. So yes, Dàozhǎng, I do think it’s convenient that they both died of their wounds in battle. Life wouldn’t have been any kinder to them if they had survived.”

Xiǎo Xīngchén took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. One of his hands returned to Xuē Yáng’s shoulder, his fingers tracing small circles. Xuē Yáng relaxed, shuffling closer again. Dàozhǎng wasn’t that angry.

“I’ll admit, I hadn’t thought everything quite that far ahead. Most of my hunts end in vanquishing a monster, not capturing an evil human,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. “Justice is… a difficult concept. It doesn’t always seem fair, and I think it’s hard to tell the difference between justice and vengeance. But I know there is a difference. I’m certain of it.”

“Maybe you should think more about it, then,” Xuē Yáng murmured, shuffling closer. “Fuck knows I can’t help you decide moral stuff. I’m asking you for direction here, I can’t be the one telling you how to do this stuff.”

“I’ll try and find some better answers for you,” Xiǎo Xīngchén murmured. “I just… as long as Yán Líng and Jiāo Chán had lived, they had the chance to choose good. They could become better than they were before, grow as people. With them dead, they’re simply dead.”

“Yes, but their deaths would soothe the resentments of most of their puppets and let the fuckers move on to the next world. Two people dying for a dozen souls at peace is pretty fair, isn’t it? If they hadn’t died, their puppets would have been destroyed by other cultivators, the souls shattered and unable to move on.”

“It’s more important to prioritise the living over the wishes of the dead.”

“More important to whom? The dead feel pretty strongly about their last wishes.”

“I… is that something you care about?”

“What?”

“The wishes of the dead. You keep arguing in their favour.”

“I don’t care about anyone’s wishes. I do what I want and what feels good.”

“You care about my wishes.”

“Yes, because having your good favour feels good,” Xuē Yáng said. “Don’t get me wrong, Dàozhǎng, following your rules is an interesting challenge, but the only reason I’m night hunting for peasants is because it might make you like me more.”

“You incorrigible man,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said with a grin, shaking his head. “You know I still liked you even when you were the ex-criminal Chéngměi, who never did a thing that could be called charitable but never to my awareness harmed anyone either? There is a difference between helping anyone who needs it, and simply refraining from doing harm.”

Xuē Yáng started to answer, but Sòng Lán called his attention. The medicinal tea was ready to drink. Sòng Lán gestured to the little table where the tea had been set up.

Xuē Yáng narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not leaving the bed.”

“Xuē Yáng?”

“Just a moment, Dàozhǎng—”

Sòng Lán crossed his arms. Xuē Yáng ducked behind Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“Not leaving,” he said.

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Sòng Lán sighed.

Sit up properly, at least. You don’t want to spill any on Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“I know how to drink tea, idiot,” Xuē Yáng said, peeking over Xiǎo Xīngchén’s shoulder. Sòng Lán was gathering all the tea things onto a tray. Xuē Yáng smirked. “Dàozhǎng, you’ve trained him so well.”

Is it really smart to antagonise the person preparing your medicine? It would be very easy to get the doses wrong and kill you.

“Yeah but you won’t today, will you?” Xuē Yáng said, shifting to sit cross-legged beside his Dàozhǎng. From here, he could spot Ā-Qìng’s sleeping form, lying on the bed behind Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“What are you talking about together?” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, tangling his fingers with Xuē Yáng’s.

“Just teasing each other, Dàozhǎng, nothing special,” Xuē Yáng said, smiling down at him. No need to worry him by bringing up talk of murdering each other. Xuē Yáng was an expert at keeping friendships with people who intended to kill him once he was no longer useful.

Sòng Lán stumbled. Xuē Yáng blinked up at him, but Sòng Lán didn’t offer any explanation, staring down and looking very conflicted. After a moment, he knelt and offered a cup of the tea. Xuē Yáng took it without hesitation. Sòng Lán would never try to kill him in front of Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“Dàozhǎng, this tastes disgusting.”

“It’s medicine, not a treat.” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, smiling. “I don’t really mind the bitter or sour tastes, to be honest.”

“You’re special, though. Everyone else likes sweeter things better.”

“Drink your medicine, Xuē Yáng.”

Xuē Yáng snorted, but did as he was told.

Sòng Lán watched the way Xuē Yáng grinned down at Xiǎo Xīngchén, drinking the tea quickly despite all his complaints. The signs of exhaustion were still there, the redness in his eyes and the shadows beneath them. The way even sitting up strained his breathing. The careful way he moved, as if the wrong motion would cause him pain.

Was he really still unaware that Sòng Lán could catch some of his thoughts? Or had that been a bizarre taunt? Some jab about the lack of trust between them?

If Xuē Yáng truly believed Sòng Lán intended to kill him one day, then how could he possibly consider them to be friends?

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán jumped from the rooftop, sending a burst of energy to knock the dead back. The villagers screamed and ran off, and Sòng Lán rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the two corpses now staring up at him in something like bewilderment. They were objectively scary, he supposed, most of their flesh rotted away to leave aged bone and tattered rags, but neither of them were powerful enough to be a threat to anyone older than an infant. Or perhaps an unlucky cat.

Even now, the more skittish of the two was shifting to hide behind the other. Sòng Lán really had no idea how these two could have been of use to Xuē Yáng in combat. Perhaps just a distraction on the field?

It had been like this since the first light of dawn. After taking the medicine Xīngchén had made him, Xuē Yáng had only managed to stay awake a little while longer, leaving Sòng Lán to go deal with his undead recruits and prevent them from terrorising the village, despite the fact that Sòng Lán still had no idea what any of them were promised or what to do once he found them.

You’re looking for Xuē Yáng, correct? Sòng Lán asked, directing his thoughts at them. They both stared up blankly, and Sòng Lán held back a sigh.

Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a qiankun pouch.

He’s indisposed right now. I can bring you to him if you are willing to be carried in a qiankun pouch. If this is unacceptable, you must turn around and leave, head back to your graves. We will find you in a few days. Either way, you can’t be in the village like this. It’s scaring people.

The corpses didn’t answer, but after a few long seconds they turned and hobbled away. Sòng Lán watched as they left, then leapt back onto a rooftop, spreading his senses to search for any other approaching dead.

Really, he wasn’t completely sure they understood him. Perhaps they just recognised how much stronger he was than them and decided to cut their losses. Most dead were barely powerful enough to move their bodies. But it did seem to get results, stating things openly like that. And it wasn’t like anyone nearby could hear the cordial way Sòng Lán greeted monsters.

It seemed like that had been the last of the dead. Sòng Lán dropped from the rooftops to patrol the streets just in case. Already the village was getting busier, setting up market stalls with produce and street food. Sòng Lán paused, watching as the owners of a stall selling meat on skewers tended their oven. Maybe he should grab one for Ā-Qìng as a treat.

“Ah, Dàozhǎng! How goes your hunt?”

Sòng Lán blinked, turning to the villager. He hadn’t thought to carry paper and ink—how the fuck could he even answer that question!?

“Mm,” Sòng Lán said, giving a restrained smile and a small nod. The man, who appeared to be one of the vendors Xuē Yáng had charmed the day before, gave a confused smile but apparently the answer was satisfactory.

“I’ve seen your work this morning, Dàozhǎng; you are truly talented to turn the dead away with a mere glare! But listen, where is your companion from yesterday? I wish to speak with him.”

Shit.

Sòng Lán narrowed his eyes, trying to work out how to convey that Xuē Yáng was injured but going to be fine using only grunts and gestures—

“Oh, ah, sorry to interrupt, Dàozhǎng. I’ll leave you to your business.”

Sòng Lán frowned harder. Why was the man so pale? Actually, looking around, everyone seemed reluctant to make anything close to eye contact—

Oh, right.

Sòng Lán ignored the sting of the realization and cleared his expression, quickly heading back to the inn. It was unfair! Anything less than an expression of absolute peace made Sòng Lán look scary, but Xuē Yáng could get away with imagining graphic murders while charming everyone around him.

Ā-Qìng was awake when he entered the room. On the bed, Xīngchén sat cross-legged in meditation, Xuē Yáng still clinging to him in sleep.  

“Good morning, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng,” Ā-Qìng said with a grin. He nodded to her, and her grin faltered. “Is anything wrong?”

“Zǐchēn?” Xīngchén shifted as if to get up, but Xuē Yáng grumbled, holding tighter. Xīngchén grimaced, resting a hand on Xuē Yáng’s side, but reached towards Sòng Lán, palm up.

Sòng Lán looked between them both, and his blank expression melted away. What did it matter that strangers were sometimes frightened of his expressions? The important people were here, and they could all read him well.

He took Xīngchén’s hand, fought away the impulse to kiss the inside of Xīngchén’s wrist, and tapped out “all is well”. Glancing to Ā-Qìng, he gestured to his throat, then his lips, then hid his mouth with his hand.

“Ah. Difficulty talking,” she said for Xīngchén’s benefit.

“I should have come with you,” Xīngchén said. Sòng Lán smiled down at him, shaking his head.

“You needed the rest,” Sòng Lán wrote.

“That’s hardly true. My injuries were only minor.”

“We both know terror can injure the soul. Please, rest,” Sòng Lán wrote as he moved to sit on the bed beside Xīngchén. Xīngchén sighed, and leaned over so their shoulders touched.

“I feel like I’ve done nothing lately but be a burden on everyone,” Xīngchén murmured.

“Dàgē, I keep telling you that’s not true,” Ā-Qìng said, bouncing onto the bed in front of Xīngchén. The movement disturbed Xuē Yáng, but he didn’t wake. “You don’t think I’m a burden when you look after me, do you?”

“Of course not!” Xīngchén said, aghast.

“Then how the hell do you think you’re a burden on us when we look after you?”

Xīngchén didn’t answer for a few seconds, and then he said quietly, “It’s different if it’s me. I’m not meant to be weak like this.”

“Do you think Zǐchēn-Dàozhǎng is weak for needing your help to talk with strangers?”

“No! Zǐchēn, I would never think that!”

Zǐchēn smiled, squeezing Xīngchén’s hand.

“The rules aren’t different for you, Dàgē. We want to look after you. We’re your family.”

“She’s right,” Sòng Lán wrote.

Xīngchén took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

“I’ll try harder to believe that,” he whispered. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“Thank you for letting us care for you,” Sòng Lán wrote.

“Of course, Dàgē!” Ā-Qìng said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Xīngchén laughed, turning to hide his face against Sòng Lán’s shoulder, and Sòng Lán grinned, holding him closer.

It was a gentle dawn, and Sòng Lán planned to savour it.

Close to midday, Xiǎo Xīngchén accompanied Zǐchēn to the Zhēn family’s compound to offer their services healing the second daughter of Zhēn from her curse. They were turned away at first—the Zhēn family cultivated a specialty in medicine, after all—but Xiǎo Xīngchén smiled and played up his own experience in curse-breaking and healing, trading on his own reputation. They were let in soon after, and led to a room to wait for Zhēn-lǎozǔ and Zhēn-fūrén.

Beside him, he could feel Zǐchēn’s anxiety in the air. Formal settings like these had been nerve-wracking for him for as long as Xīngchén had known him, and losing the ability to speak definitely hadn’t helped. Not to mention the encounter this morning. He was bound to be a little rattled.

Xiǎo Xīngchén moved a hand to rest between them, and after a second felt Zǐchēn’s knuckles brush against his own. Slowly, Xīngchén shifted his grip, tangling their fingers together loosely.

At his side, he heard Zǐchēn take a deep breath and let it out slowly, briefly squeezing Xīngchén’s hand. Xīngchén smiled, and squeezed back.

When Zǐchēn released his hand, he did it slowly, cool fingers tracing across the skin of Xiǎo Xīngchén’s palm then back down again, an almost ponderous motion. Xīngchén’s breath caught as those fingers began to explore, each featherlight caress making him shiver. Soon they trailed higher towards his wrist, and Xīngchén wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or disappointed when Zǐchēn’s fingers found the edge of Xīngchén’s armguard instead of bare skin.

With that, the touch withdrew completely. Xīngchén let out a shaky breath, and Zǐchēn huffed, a near silent laugh. Oh, his smile would be so pretty right now, his eyes sparkling with that hint of mischief he usually kept well-hidden. The little twist to his lips while he tried to keep up a serious act.

The mood was interrupted by the entrance of the Zhēns. Xīngchén folded his hands, and wore his most polite smile as the pleasantries began.

The sensation of Zǐchēn’s touch lingered under his skin for many minutes longer.

“So how does demonic cultivation even work, anyway?”

“Go away, brat. I’m sleeping.”

“You’re not, though. Come on, I’m bored! Tell me how it works.”

“No. Leave me alone.”

“I’ve been practicing my qi control but it’s so slow! Is demonic cultivation faster to learn?”

“Yep. Much faster. And then you get swarmed by angry ghosts and die.”

“But that wouldn’t happen if you taught me instead.”

“You’d think so, but..” Xuē Yáng trailed off, thinking of the many Jīn disciples who’d met that very fate.

“Come on, I’ll even say please!”

Xuē Yáng snorted and sat up in the bed, twisting to face Ā-Qìng.

“While it might be amusing to see you finally show me the proper respect I’m owed, I’m not gonna be your teacher, Little Blind. I don’t like children, and I have far better things to do with my time than voluntarily babysitting you. I’m not gonna walk you through cultivation basics just because you’re bored!”

Ā-Qìng glared at him, crossing her arms.

“Why do you even want to learn, anyway? Demonic cultivation is evil, right?” he muttered, adjusting his robe as he moved to stand. It had come a little loose during his sleep, the v at the neck now gaping to show most of his chest.

“If I know how to use demonic cultivation, then I can protect Dàgē,” Ā-Qìng said, and Xuē Yáng froze. Slowly he turned to face her, staring silently. Ā-Qìng shifted under his gaze, and after a second she continued, “When we were at the house in the forest, with all of those corpses—if I had known demonic cultivation I probably could have helped Dàgē. I could have protected him, and we would have escaped together.”

Xuē Yáng blinked.

“The answer’s still no.”

“Oh come on! Why not?”

“You think I was kidding about death by swarm of corpses? Demonic cultivation isn’t a nice, safe path. Most everyone who I’ve ever met who used it died when it backfired somehow: either the energy grew too unstable and ripped them apart, or their control slipped and they were torn apart, but either way it was a stupid mistake. This is not a path for a novice like you who hasn’t even learned full qi control yet. Don’t ask me again until you at least have a golden core formed. The answer’s a blanket no.”

Ā-Qìng pouted and turned away, and Xuē Yáng rolled his eyes.

And that’s when Xiǎo Xīngchén and Sòng Lán got back.

“Dàozhǎng!”

“Oh! You’re awake!” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, quickly moving closer. Behind him, Sòng Lán’s eyes dropped to Xuē Yáng’s chest, still mostly exposed. Xuē Yáng smirked, raising an eyebrow as Sòng Lán realised he’d been caught. He glared at Xuē Yáng, storming towards the other end of the room.

“How are you feeling, Xuē Yáng?” Xiǎo Xīngchén asked, one of his hands catching Xuē Yáng’s arm, and Xuē Yáng turned back to him with a smile. “Any aches or pains?”

Yes. Always. Especially in his left hand.

“Nothing worse than normal, Dàozhǎng.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“With such an attentive healer as I have, would you expect anything else?”

Xīngchén laughed and Xuē Yáng drank in the sound. How was it possible that Xīngchén could always be so beautiful? The afternoon light danced around him, gentle and reverent as it lit his smile, soaking into the white robes until they nearly seemed to glow. Almost too bright to look at.

What would Xiǎo Xīngchén look like wrapped in black and gold? Shadows concealing his deadly form except for where the light caught burnished threads? Or vermillion silk! Wide sheer sleeves that caught the slightest breeze, so much better than white stained red—

Xuē Yáng threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around his Dàozhǎng.

“Why do you keep going red?” he muttered, and Xīngchén sighed, returning the embrace.

“It wasn’t intentional this time,” Xiǎo Xīngchén murmured.

“It better not have been! Ah, Dàozhǎng, how is it that I warned you away from Orchid Cliffs and you still ended up captured by our enemy? Your luck is really atrocious.”

Xīngchén laughed quietly and held him tighter without speaking a word. Eventually though, they had to part, and sooner than Xuē Yáng wanted to. But Ā-Qìng and Sòng Lán were demanding attention. It was really very rude. Couldn’t they see Dàozhǎng was busy!?

“The visit was quite informative, actually,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said in answer to whatever unimportant thing Ā-Qìng had asked. “Though I think it’s unlikely I can find any way to cure the curse the Lady Zhēn Yuè and her servants are under.”

“Oh? You visited the Zhēn?” Xuē Yáng asked. “What was the curse like? Its effects?”

“It was strange. Every one of the cursed seemed frail with old age, and yet they’re all young. The eldest of them is no more than thirty years,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said, moving towards the little table. Xuē Yáng followed at his heel.

“Oh! I heard Jiāo Chán talk about a curse like that!” Ā-Qìng cut in, sitting across from Xuē Yáng. Sòng Lán took the final space at the table. “She was confessing to Yán Líng that it happened during the creation of the mirror.”

“Really? That could help explain what I discovered when I examined Lady Zhēn Yuè. Did you overhear anything else?”

“Just that Jiāo Chán had a secret, and that Yán Líng had apparently worked it out from the day they met. She kept calling Jiāo Chán her lady,” Ā-Qìng added. “What did you discover, Dàgē?”

Xuē Yáng gasped as everything began to click together.

“The woman lying cursed and dying in Zhēn Yuè’s bed was an imposter. An older woman, hidden by an illusion,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said. “Right now it’s my belief that Zhēn Yuè and Jiāo Chán were the same person.”

Chapter Text

Sòng Lán felt it; the second before Xiǎo Xīngchén spoke, Xuē Yáng’s thoughts turned to chattering crystal, bending light into dozens of new forms and colours until all the pieces fell into place.

The poise of Jiāo Chán’s movements.

Yán Líng’s fierce defence of Zhēn Yuè and Jiāo Chán’s good character.

Jiāo Chán’s medical knowledge.

The quality of her robes.

Her cultivation training.

Creating a dark mirror.

Inexperienced experimentation.

Energy backlash.

A terrible curse.

What does Xiǎo Xīngchén want?

“Right now it’s my belief that Zhēn Yuè and Jiāo Chán were the same person,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

“I’ll examine the mirror,” Xuē Yáng said immediately.

“I think—oh, yes, that would be helpful! Thank you, Xuē Yáng!” Xīngchén said. Sòng Lán blinked, still mildly dazzled, then retrieved the heavily-warded qiankun pouch and passed it across the table. Xuē Yáng took the mirror out and began unwrapping the warded cloths suppressing the dark energy, making sure not to touch it with his bare skin.

“Why would Zhēn Yuè pretend to be a rogue cultivator if she was from a proper family, Dàgē?” Ā-Qìng asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but perhaps so her dabbling in demonic cultivation wouldn’t impact her reputation?”

“Or for love,” Xuē Yáng interjected, not looking up from the mirror. “Yán Líng was a servant in the Zhēn household, and a woman too. The match would never have been approved.”

“So it was a forbidden romance!” Ā-Qìng said.

“Wives who murder together,” Xuē Yáng murmured, idly tracing one of the symbols from the mirror in the air. “Once upon a time, there was a girl born to a noble family who dabbled in cultivation. Her favourite playmate was a servant’s daughter. But as they grew older, they fell into the roles of their birthright—the second daughter learned to cultivate, and the servant girl was taught to serve. But the Zhēn are no sect—they cultivate only to increase the potency of their medicinal herbs, imbuing the plants with qi each day. It’s boring and repetitive, and the girl wished for something exciting to do instead. She wished for her old playmate back, but there’s only so much a servant and her lady can do together before tongues begin to wag. It’s far too improper! Instead, she asked her parents for combat training and aimed to cultivate the sword path. Zhēn-lǎozǔ and Zhēn-fūrén saw no reason to object—with a strong base in cultivation, Miss Zhēn Yuè would make a fine bride to a cultivator from a larger sect. Qinghe Nie, perhaps.”

Xuē Yáng frowned down at the mirror, flipping it over to examine the back.

“Xīngchén, this mirror is very poorly designed.”

“What happened next?” Ā-Qìng cut in before Xiǎo Xīngchén could say a word. “She learned demonic cultivation, right?”

Sòng Lán had to admit he was a little invested too. Xuē Yáng’s gaze flicked from Ā-Qìng to meet Sòng Lán’s eyes and he smirked.

“Jiāo Chán had a cultivator’s speed, and was skilled at wielding blades. She must have been training for many years before she began to meddle with this,” Xuē Yáng said, poking at the mirror. “It’s arrogant, meddling with things you don’t understand. This mirror was originally an average spiritual tool, suitable for protecting a home from malicious forces. But all the old markings have been carved through and overprinted with new ones in the most haphazard way—they’re not specific enough to be useful. Reflect bad mind? That could mean anything! Bad actions, bad intentions, bad memories…”

Sòng Lán frowned, watching Xuē Yáng carefully.

Bad memories would make sense. Things people regret, things that cause them pain.

“Yeah, there was a war recently too, so almost everyone has something like that they don’t want to think about. It would explain why everyone but Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng were harmed by it,” Xuē Yáng said. “Of course that still leaves the puzzle of why I could be affected by it. I don’t have any bad memories at all.”

Sòng Lán raised an eyebrow, sharing a skeptical look with Ā-Qìng.

“What?”

“Are you sure about that, dickhead? You don’t have any regrets or bad memories?” Ā-Qìng asked.

“Nope. None at all,” Xuē Yáng said with an infuriating grin.

“Xuē Yáng…” Xīngchén sighed, and Xuē Yáng refocused on him, frowning slightly. Sòng Lán’s gaze fell to Xuē Yáng’s hands, which had dropped the mirror in favour of playing with that little scrap of red and white cloth.

“I don’t, Dàozhǎng. No bad memories at all. My life is sweet.”

Xuē Yáng’s thoughts were full of Xiǎo Xīngchén bleeding out.

Silence stretched around the table. Sòng Lán sighed, tapping the table for attention.

The mirror, Xuē Yáng?

Xuē Yáng blinked slowly and nodded, looking a little pale as he pushed away the vision of Xiǎo Xīngchén in red.

“The mirror—Jiāo Chán’s purpose was to eliminate evil people, right? Well, there’s no spellwork on the mirror for detecting anything, evil or otherwise.  Most likely, the mirror would affect anyone Jiāo Chán directed it to harm—possibly by reflecting their own bad memories onto them, or just by inflicting psychic damage in general.”

“So it can’t be used to heal anyone?” Xīngchén asked.

“Unlikely. It’s a volatile weapon now. Look at this,” Xuē Yáng said, gathering qi in one hand. The energy began to drift down to the mirror, drawn down in a spiral.

Sòng Lán frowned, staring at the surface. He couldn’t sense any of Xuē Yáng’s qi coming from within the mirror, just more dark energy. Curious, he gathered a few wisps of resentful energy in one hand and left them floating in the air. Almost immediately, they were drawn into the mirror too.

“Do you feel that, Dàozhǎng?”

“It’s drawing in energy,” Xiǎo Xīngchén said.

“There’s a spiral carved onto the back so that the mirror absorbs malicious energy instead of repelling it, but there’s nothing here which would release the energy again. Did I tell you? There is hardly any resentful energy in this entire town, no death echoes or little spirits or anything, they’re all being drawn in by this thing and trapped inside. That might have been a useful thing for a cultivator’s tool, but with all the damage along the edges here, the mirror can’t differentiate properly between resentful energy and qi. It just absorbs, slowly feeding on the life-force of everyone nearby.”

Xīngchén was wearing a grim expression.

“The cursed people. The mirror is leeching their qi,” Xīngchén said.

“That’s my theory, yeah.”

“Would destroying the mirror save them?”

“Possibly? It would stop the mirror feeding on them any further, but it wouldn’t do anything to restore their life-force. They’d spend the rest of their days frail and old, if they wake up at all.”

“Alright. We’ll do that, then,” Xīngchén said, reaching for Shuānghuá.

“Give me a few more moments to examine it, Dàozhǎng, we don’t want to cause another energy backlash.”

Xīngchén nodded.

“So, that just leaves the cleanup at Jiāo Chán’s house in the forest left to do,” Xīngchén said. “Ah, and I’ll have to inform Zhēn-lǎozǔ and Zhēn-fūrén that the woman in their daughter’s sickbed is an impostor.”

“You didn’t tell them!?” Ā-Qìng blurted out.

Sòng Lán winced, glancing at Xiǎo Xīngchén.

“Zǐchēn and I agreed that it would be best to make sure we had all the relevant information available to us before we told them. Currently we have no proof that Jiāo Chán and Zhēn Yuè are the same person, and it seemed like a painful topic to bring up, especially considering that Jiāo Chán is both a criminal and dead.” Xīngchén grimaced, folding his hands together on the table. “Hopefully we can find something at the forest house that could help confirm they were the same person.”

“Or we could just ask Jiāo Chán,” Xuē Yáng said, his fingertips glowing gold as he poked at the mirror. There was silence for a moment or two and he looked up, glancing around the table. “What?”

“I forgot that was an option available to us,” Xīngchén said with a smile. Xuē Yáng grinned back.

“So when are we leaving?”

The flight was…

Xīngchén let out a shaky breath. At least his feet were on solid ground now. Trees and earth and little insects and birds all around.

“Dàozhǎng?” Xuē Yáng murmured, still wrapped within his arms and apparently content to stay there.

“It’s fine,” Xīngchén got out. “The winds carry their own qi, so it wasn’t—I could still sense—it wasn’t a void. And I had you to direct my flight,” Xīngchén added, burying his face in Xuē Yáng’s hair, careful of his spikey hairpin.

As a group, they had decided the best way to resolve things was to fly to the forest house, Zǐchēn and Ā-Qìng on Fúxuě, and Xīngchén and Xuē Yáng on Shuānghuá. Xuē Yáng was still recovering, so Xīngchén refused to let him fly even such a short distance.

Having someone warm and solid in his arms to concentrate on had certainly helped Xīngchén stay calm while he was flying, too.

“I like this, Dàozhǎng,” Xuē Yáng said, making no attempt to leave Xīngchén’s embrace despite the fact that they had already landed. “It makes breathing easier.”

Xīngchén shook his head.

“That can’t be true. With the way I’ve been clinging to you, I can hear your ribs creaking,” Xīngchén said. Slowly, he relaxed his hold, moving to let go.

Xuē Yáng grabbed his arms, keeping them in place.

“You could snap my ribs in a hug and I’ll still want you even closer,” Xuē Yáng said.

“That’s mildly disturbing.”

“Only mildly?”

Xīngchén grinned, slipping his arms free. Xuē Yáng immediately tangled their fingers together.

“Thank you for letting me keep you close like this, Xuē Yáng. Touching like this, it’s a comfort, after being in the void.”

“Dàozhǎng, you can touch me however you like. Anywhere. Anytime,” Xuē Yáng purred, bumping their shoulders together. Xīngchén laughed as his cheeks grew warm. However he liked, huh? Did that include—

“Dàgē!”

“Ah—Ā-Qìng! Yes, hello,” Xīngchén said, dropping Xuē Yáng’s hand as he attempted to refocus on the actual purpose for their mission.

“What do we do first, Dàgē?” Ā-Qìng said while Xuē Yáng grumbled behind them.

“The first thing is always to assess the site for danger. Stretch your senses, Ā-Qìng, see if what you can sense through your qi matches what your eyes and ears tell you. As we approach the centre of the battlefield, it’s important to stay aware of our surroundings like this.”

“But the battle’s over.”

“Yes, but there may be creatures or hostile ghosts waiting to attack any careless visitor. Places like this can attract scavengers.”

Xuē Yáng stretched his shoulders out as Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng walked off through the battlefield. The place looked unremarkable by day. No scars were left in the earth by powerful weapons, no mud churned up by dozens of feet, barely any blood or ichor either apart from where Jiāo Chán had met her end. A handful of corpses were sprawled around hers, slowly beginning to rot.

“What did you do with the others? The bride and the rest?” Xuē Yáng asked, glancing at Sòng Lán.

They were here when we left, Sòng Lán said. Xuē Yáng hummed, his eyes landing on the house.

“You never have any difficulty moving in sunlight, do you?”

No.

“Most other corpses like you get melted in the sun, Bīng Kuài.”

That is not my name!

“Why do you answer to it, then?”

Sòng Lán glared at him, then stalked away. Xuē Yáng chuckled, making his way towards the house. As he predicted, his puppets were all cowering inside.

The bride immediately demanded his attention.

Xuē Yáng listened, then shook his head.

“I’ll get to that in a few days.”

She was insistent.

“You’re already the first priority, despite the fact that you turned against me during a crucial moment in battle.”

She gave him a glare that could rival Sòng Lán’s.

“You’re dead, what does it matter that you have to wait a few more days?” Xuē Yáng said, rolling his eyes as he turned for the door. “I’ll do it, just not now.”

Outside, the other three had gathered around Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng’s remains. Xuē Yáng wandered over.

“Oi Dàozhǎng, don’t calm their spirits until after I’ve spoken with them. It makes my job harder.”

“Stop lazing about, then!” Ā-Qìng said. “We’re all waiting on you!”

“No need to yell, brat,” Xuē Yáng said.

Standing over the bodies of his vanquished enemies, Xuē Yáng smirked. He clicked his fingers, and all at once the shadows began to shift, two twisting forms pouring into the air like ink into water. They seemed to recognise him, both of them spitting angry.

“Jiāo Chán. Yán Líng. Let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

Ā-Qìng couldn’t stop staring at the corpses. She knew Xuē Yáng was talking to the spirits, but she could barely hear his one-sided conversation with the dead.  She couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen dead people. Even before meeting her Dàgē, she had seen dead people. Some of them killed by monsters. Most of them killed by sickness. Occasionally even by murder. And ever since she had started helping her Dàgē with his healing work, she had seen a lot more dead and dying people. She had even helped with the death rites for some people.

Somehow this was different.

Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng… their bodies barely looked real anymore. Pieces scattered and broken, like meat in a butcher’s shop. The blood had dried, staining the earth and grass beneath them. Ragged pieces of silk still caught the light.

Ā-Qìng couldn’t tell which parts belonged to whom.

Xuē Yáng was laughing, speaking in that superior tone he got whenever he wanted to mock someone. Her Dàgē was moving the bodies of the old puppets, laying them out ready to bury. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was watching Xuē Yáng and the spirits, frowning as if he was trying to work out what they were saying.

Was she the only one bothered by the bodies? This wasn’t—she couldn’t become a proper cultivator if she got squeamish about this kind of thing. And they had been enemies!

Wandering in the woods together, Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng had been teasing each other and laughing together and in love. Yesterday they had been fighting and screaming and they had nearly killed Xuē Yáng and her Dàgē. They had hurt her Dàgē so much.

They deserved to be dead like this. Evil people like them deserved to die, even if they had been in love. They had killed all these other people and made them into corpse puppets. This was justice, right? Xuē Yáng had made the corpses turn on their creator.

Ā-Qìng closed her eyes tightly, hugging herself.

She felt sick.

“Dàozhǎng! You were right! She was Zhēn Yuè!”

Ā-Qìng took a deep breath. She was a cultivator, or she would be one day. She could—it was like what her Dàgē did. She could put away her feelings for a bit, just until the work was done. That was a cultivator’s job, to be the centre of calm when everyone was panicking and wailing with grief.

She could do this.

Ā-Qìng opened her eyes.

Dried blood and bodies like twisted meat.

She swallowed, and looked away.

“Dàgē, let me help.”

It took most of the afternoon to finish clearing the battlefield near the forest house. The bodies were buried, grave markers placed, the souls all calmed. Gradually, the lingering resentful energy began to dissipate, until the only ones left to attend were the bodies of Yán Líng and Jiāo Chán.

This was when Xīngchén realised they might have a problem.

“It will be a horrid shock to the Zhēn family, to learn that the person they’ve been caring for was an impostor and their real daughter was a demonic cultivator,” Xīngchén said. “We’ll have to break it carefully to them.”

“Why bother telling them?” Xuē Yáng asked with a yawn, leaning over until his shoulder brushed against Xīngchén’s. 

Xīngchén was abruptly overcome with irritation. Why did Xuē Yáng always have to be so callous? Two people were dead! Ripped to pieces! And now Xīngchén had to be the one to inform their families, and Xuē Yáng was playing games offering these absolutely useless suggestions—Xīngchén was the one who’d have to carry the weight of the Zhen family’s grief! And what if the Zhēns could tell it was Xīngchén’s fault their daughter was dead? Yes, corpses had been the weapon that killed them, but if Xīngchén hadn’t been fucking stupid and gotten himself caught, then the battle wouldn’t—maybe they would—

Xīngchén stepped away, breaking the contact with Xuē Yáng. Somehow the touch felt like acid, and Xīngchén wasn’t sure if it was himself or Xuē Yáng who would be burned by it.

“Of course we have to tell them. This isn’t something we should hide. They have a right to know what happened to their daughter.”

“Ah, of course, and then the Zhēn family will put a bounty on our heads for murdering their daughter.”

“We didn’t murder her!”

“Dàozhǎng, do you really think they care about the details?”

“Oh, so you’re an expert on the Zhēn clan as well as all those other sects?”

“Are you sure you aren’t angry—”

“I’m not angry! Stop asking me that!”

There was silence for a few seconds, filled with the sound of heavy breathing. Xīngchén took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Dàgē? Are you alright?” Ā-Qìng asked.

“I’m not angry!” Xīngchén snapped.

“That isn’t what she asked,” Xuē Yáng said, and Xīngchén nearly snapped again. He bit his lip instead, folding his arms. Maybe Zǐchēn was right, maybe the terror from the day before had left deeper wounds in Xīngchén’s soul.

This wasn’t the void. It was safe. The world was real, earth solid beneath his feet. Dirt on his fingers from covering graves. Standing by his side was the soft glow of Ā-Qìng’s qi, the golden fire of Xuē Yáng’s, and the dense smoke of Zǐchēn’s resentful energy. There was no reason to be upset. He was among his friends. His family. No reason to feel anxious. It was fine.

“I think I should spend some time in meditation,” Xīngchén said. “I… I don’t know why I’m… I’m sorry, both of you. Xuē Yáng, if you have any thoughts about what our approach should be, please share them.”

It felt like everyone was watching him. Xīngchén tried not to fidget or snap at any of them. Whatever was going on in Xīngchén’s head, it wasn’t their fault.

“Well… you said the cursed people were close to death already, yeah? So the Zhēn are already preparing for the death of their daughter. Letting them know the whole truth seems a little pointless,” Xuē Yáng said. He yawned again, and stumbled a little. Xīngchén caught his arm.

“Xuē Yáng?”

“Just tired, Dàozhǎng. Anyway. Telling the Zhēn everything would just make them feel worse and possibly put a target on our backs. They won’t want to remember a demonic cultivator for a daughter who died ripped to pieces by corpses,” Xuē Yáng said. “And Jiāo Chán doesn’t want her body taken back to them anyway, for whatever that’s worth. She wants to be buried here, wrapped up with Yán Líng. Also, she wants all of us dead, but I think that’s not on offer today.”

Xīngchén frowned.

“That would only work as a solution if the cursed people did die. There’s still a chance they can be saved, and if they survive and wake up then the Zhēn will know part of the truth anyway. Not to mention it would be unfair to that poor woman, to be buried in someone else’s grave, her family always wondering what happened to her or if she abandoned her service.”

“Do as you wish, then,” Xuē Yáng said around another yawn. “Mmm. Bury them here, maybe, tell the truth if the others get better. Make a choice and we’ll do that.”

Xuē Yáng shrugged off Xīngchén’s hold, and began to wander away. Xīngchén flexed his hand, oddly bereft. After a second, he felt Zǐchēn leave too, following after Xuē Yáng.

Xīngchén forced away the absurd sting of hurt at that, and refocused on the problem before him. Xuē Yáng’s suggestion was probably the best course of action for now. Stepping forward, he began to prepare their bodies.

Xuē Yáng looked almost dead on his feet, swaying like a drunkard. Sòng Lán grimaced, following at a short distance.

“Piss off,” Xuē Yáng mumbled.

You’re exhausted. You should stop wandering about like this, you’ll fall into a ditch or something.

“Worked out last time. Don’t you have something better to do?”

Yes, actually.

Xuē Yáng paused, turning to blink at him in confusion.

“Well, go do that, then! Your face bores me so much it nearly puts me to sleep. Leave me alone.”

I want to destroy the mirror.

Xuē Yáng frowned, and Sòng Lán could feel how sluggishly his thoughts were moving, nothing like the crystal light of hours earlier. Before Xuē Yáng could work out how to phrase the question, Sòng Lán answered.

I would appreciate your assistance with the mirror. Come help me with it.

“What if I’m already busy?”

Doing what? Face-planting in the dirt?

“That’s unfair, I haven’t even done that once.”

Xuē Yáng followed easily enough, still muttering insults and complaints, which Sòng Lán largely ignored. He sat nearby as Sòng Lán set up a ritual circle, occasionally interjecting with advice, but mostly just drifting and half asleep. At one point Sòng Lán looked up to find Xuē Yáng slumped to one side with his eyes closed, resting his head on his hand.

Sòng Lán went back to marking out the circle. It wasn’t anything complex; after Xuē Yáng had decoded the construction of the mirror, it was a simple thing to draw up an elemental reversal circle to neutralise the energies from within it, which would hopefully prevent any backlash. It reminded Sòng Lán of the kinds of things he’d been taught as a junior—

Sòng Lán flinched, pushing away the memory. This wasn’t a time to reminisce on Báixuě.

It took several long moments for Xuē Yáng to open his eyes once Sòng Lán finished the circle. He shifted to sit more upright, rubbing at his face as he inspected the circle.

“This is surprisingly well made. You got all the elements correct,” Xuē Yáng said.

Now that’s just insulting.

“What? It was a compliment!”

Elemental reversal circles are one of the most basic kinds of curse-breaking tools—

“And you drew this one without making any mistakes! Well done!” Xuē Yáng said, clapping his hands. “You’re all grown up now! You’ll be ready to go on solo night hunts any day now—”

I will stab you.

Xuē Yáng laughed, falling onto his back. Sòng Lán decided to ignore the little goblin, withdrawing the mirror to place it at the centre of the circle. He stood.

Are you ready to destroy this thing?

“I wish it could bleed,” Xuē Yáng muttered, his laughter fading as he aimed a sharp glare at the mirror. He was slow to stand, and still a little unsteady on his feet, but he wore a vicious grin.

Let’s get started, then.

Sòng Lán sent a pulse of resentful energy down into the circle. It began to glow with red light, and smoke gathered around the mirror. Xuē Yáng reached forward, sending his own golden qi into the circle, somehow weaving it alongside Sòng Lán’s resentful energy instead of obliterating it. The red and gold energy flickered like firelight.

The mirror shook and began to spin. Sòng Lán narrowed his eyes and pushed more energy into the circle. There was a whistling noise in the air, and Xuē Yáng was breathing heavily, baring his teeth at the mirror.

Perfectly synchronised, they both drew their swords and plunged them into the earth.

The mirror shattered.

Chapter Text

It had been a year, and Sòng Lán still wasn’t used to the fact he could no longer sleep. Meditation was much the same as before and did offer some relief, but since the moment those nails had been removed from his head, Sòng Lán had been awake and aware. Physical exhaustion just didn’t affect him in the same way anymore. He was never short of breath, his heart never beat so of course it never raced, there was rarely any discomfort at all. Even injuries were a lot less painful than they should be.

It made Sòng Lán uneasy to think about for too long. His body felt like an alien thing, separate from him, something he was merely directing like a paperman talisman. Sometimes, late at night, when Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng were both asleep, it was hard to believe he was real. Sòng Lán would spend hours repeatedly making fists and digging his nails into his palms just to feel the sensation, see the little crescent marks they left behind.

On the better nights, Sòng Lán would spend the late hours reading, or composing poetry in his head, or he would lose himself in the contemplation of the great mysteries of life.

Some nights while watching over Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng, Sòng Lán was swept up in gratitude at having them in his life. Was he worthy of them? Was he strong enough to keep them safe?

This night and the previous night, things had felt different. Xuē Yáng had never broken the connection between them, and apparently sleep did nothing to disrupt it either. Sòng Lán could still feel that subdued golden presence trailing over his skin, late afternoon sunlight catching on motes of dust in the air and drifting with Xuē Yáng’s heartbeat.

It made it harder to feel alone.

Xīngchén, Ā-Qìng, and Xuē Yáng all lay sleeping in the same bed once again. Despite any bickering or arguments they got into, it was obvious the three of them found comfort in the intimacy—something especially pertinent after their past few days. Sòng Lán was glad for it, even if it meant prolonging Xuē Yáng’s stay in their group.

What was going to happen after these days spent recovering? Each time Xuē Yáng visited, Xīngchén was finding it harder and harder to let him leave. It was obvious that if it wasn’t for Sòng Lán’s presence, they would already be travelling together—perhaps even romantically involved, if Xuē Yáng’s thoughts were any indication. Would Xīngchén willingly let Xuē Yáng go again? Would Xuē Yáng even attempt to leave, after nearly seeing his Dàozhǎng die?

Sòng Lán flexed his hand, feeling the invisible golden flames trail through the air. Did he want Xuē Yáng to leave? Yes. No? He didn’t want to face the empty night again.

Xuē Yáng was a criminal. This much was true. He had done evil things, cruel things, as Sòng Lán knew better than most. He closed his eyes, breathing through the ache. Every face, every name, all the people from Báixuě. The family Sòng Lán had made after his mother’s death. Báixuě Temple had been a cold place, but the people had been warm, and so much more welcoming than the golden halls Sòng Lán had grown up walking.

All of them were gone now, their blood staining the same hands that would fuss over Xīngchén.

What sort of punishment would bring justice for Báixuě? Xuē Yáng deserved death a dozen times over, any cultivator would agree, but what would that really achieve?

Sòng Lán thought back on that quiet conversation from this morning, Xuē Yáng and Xīngchén discussing the sorry fates of the two women. Was execution fair? They had murdered so many people, it only made sense that their own lives were forfeit. Perhaps the means of their deaths could have been kinder, but as Xuē Yáng had pointed out, there were still more painful fates they could have faced.

If Jiāo Chán had revealed herself to be Zhēn Yuè, she might have been allowed to live. The Zhēn were in good standing with Qīnghé Niè and traded goods with Lánlíng Jīn, and from what Sòng Lán had seen of the corpse puppets, none of the dead cultivators had been from particularly prestigious sects. Yán Líng would almost certainly have been killed, however, as both a warning and a punishment for Zhēn Yuè’s misdeeds.

Sòng Lán frowned. It would have been a very ineffective warning. Losing Yán Líng like that would likely have hurt Zhēn Yuè a lot more than simply losing her life. It would likely have driven Zhēn Yuè into a grief-fueled vengeful rage. Not the first time a blood feud had started with the death of a loved one.

Xīngchén had said he was certain that there was a difference between justice and vengeance. Sòng Lán agreed, but he wasn’t certain they agreed on what that difference was. If one person did another harm, it was only natural that the person harmed should seek some kind of retribution, whether it was as simple as extracting a promise to be more careful to avoid harming each other in the future, or as destructive as the extinguishing of an entire clan. But pain made it difficult to see reality clearly, and could drive even the calmest person into a bloodlust. What was to stop them from demanding wildly excessive punishments for even the smallest wrongs?

Justice and vengeance were nearly one and the same thing, as Sòng Lán saw it. Both addressed the need to make things right, to correct an injustice and punish a wrongdoer. Both could be incredibly satisfying, or leave the wronged one feeling a need for more. The difference was in regulation.

Justice was a scale, weighing the crimes of the guilty, their motivations, the threat they posed to others, and balancing it against a proportionate punishment. Vengeance demanded more and more and until it hurt more people than the original crime itself.

If a man destroyed another man’s shop, he should have to pay whatever gold it took to rebuild the place and to compensate the business the shop owner lost. If he had no gold, he should volunteer his own labour, or that of his family. That would be justice.

The shop owner sneaking into the guilty man’s home to kill him and all his family would be vengeance.

Of course, Sòng Lán was aware it was never so simple in reality. Wealth and prestige and connections in high places did a lot to circumvent the proper course of justice. It didn’t make sense to Sòng Lán that a Jīn disciple could kill a beggar and face no consequence, but if a beggar injured a Jīn disciple, his life was forfeit. And it wasn’t right that a wealthy man could cause destruction as he liked simply because he could afford to compensate the people he harmed, but a poor man who caused some kind of destruction to someone’s property could spend the rest of his life in servitude or imprisoned.

But Sòng Lán was only one person, and someone without a strong family name anymore. He could offer his help and a voice of reason in any dispute he encountered, but there was little he could do to enact any greater change.

And it still didn’t really address what a fair punishment would be to a serial murderer like Xuē Yáng or Jiāo Chán.

Execution was the standard punishment for murder. It was fair. A life for a life. It removed a dangerous criminal from the world, calmed the bloodlust of the living relatives, and as Xuē Yáng pointed out, it often soothed the resentment of any lingering dead. For the slaughter of Báixuě, Xuē Yáng deserved death.

But Sòng Lán couldn’t kill him. Xīngchén loved Xuē Yáng, and it would shatter his heart to lose the man. And then there was the fact that Xuē Yáng had saved Xīngchén’s life. Xīngchén had saved him right back, so there was no debt between the two of them, but Sòng Lán couldn’t help feeling a thread of gratitude for it, something that had to be repaid.

If a murderer saved a life, did it balance out? If Sòng Lán had been Xuē Yáng’s one and only victim, he might have thought so. Abandoning his own search for justice was well worth Xīngchén’s life. But Sòng Lán wasn’t the only victim, not by far, and Xīngchén’s near-death had been largely Xuē Yáng’s fault too, driven by Xīngchén’s grief and despair at Xuē Yáng’s manipulations. Saving a life he had tried to destroy because he changed his mind when he saw the result of his actions could hardly be counted the same as simply saving a life.

But Xuē Yáng had saved other lives too, during his quest to regain Xīngchén’s good favour. How many lives saved was worth one killed? It felt like the wrong question. Even if Xuē Yáng saved someone for every life lost at Báixuě, it would not restore a single life that he had taken. The loss would stay the same.

Xīngchén said it was more important to prioritise the living over the wishes of the dead, but Xuē Yáng was right too. It was important to honour the wishes of the dead, to respect their memory. The people of Báixuě and countless others were owed Xuē Yáng’s death. Xīngchén’s desire to keep him alive shouldn’t outweigh that.

But it did.

Sòng Lán felt cold even admitting that, but it was true. Xīngchén and Ā-Qìng were the last people living that he considered family. They were still part of the world. Sòng Lán couldn’t harm them, even if it meant soothing the souls of the dead.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Why was justice never easy?

“Zǐchēn?” came a soft voice. Sòng Lán blinked, looking to the bed.

“Listening,” Sòng Lán tapped out.

Xīngchén didn’t speak for many long moments. Sòng Lán moved over to the bedside, and touched Xīngchén’s shoulder. Xīngchén covered his hand with his own, then he sighed, rolling onto his back.

“It’s difficult falling asleep,” Xīngchén murmured. “I keep wondering if I’ll wake up and find that this was all a dream, something I hallucinated to escape the void.”

“All is well,” Sòng Lán tapped.

Xīngchén gave an unconvincing smile.

“I know,” he said. “I can sense you, and Xuē Yáng and Ā-Qìng. There’s a bird outside sleeping in the eaves of the roof. Mice in the walls. A cat hunting downstairs. Eight other people are in the building. If I concentrate, I can sense even more people, even more lives. But—” his voice caught, stifling a sob, “—but what if none of it’s real? What if it all goes away again?”

Sòng Lán grimaced, finding Xīngchén’s hand and squeezing it tight.

“I’m trying,” Xīngchén murmured. “I know it’s real. I know we’re safe. But each time I get close to sleep, I panic. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Sòng Lán wrote out. “You’re hurting.”

Xīngchén took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, nodding.

“My mood keeps swinging too. First I’m happy, and then the smallest things make me furious, and then—it’s like there’s a voice in my head whispering that it’s all fake, I’m still in that room, bleeding and surrounded by puppet corpses and alone. I know I’m not. I can feel the bed. I can hear Ā-Qìng and Xuē Yáng’s breathing. I can sense you. But my mind keeps going back there. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Sòng Lán wasn’t sure how to help either. How do you fight an enemy from within your own head? One that wouldn’t listen to reason and liked to steal your senses and turn them against you?

Sòng Lán frowned, examining the bed—there was enough space, right?—then perched on the side of the mattress, slightly closer to Xīngchén.

“We’re here now. We will stay by your side as you heal,” Sòng Lán wrote, running his other hand over Xīngchén’s shoulder. Xīngchén was breathing a little fast, but he nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

Sòng Lán wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Long enough that Xīngchén’s breathing grew calm again. Long enough that he stopped shaking. Sòng Lán would have thought him asleep except for the small circles he kept tracing on Sòng Lán’s hands, mindless patterns—

Something changed.

Sòng Lán looked around, staring into the shadows—it was something off in the energy around them, something felt off—

Xuē Yáng’s breathing sped up.

Sòng Lán glanced down at him as the golden energy turned darker—but Xuē Yáng was still asleep. A nightmare? He was curling in on himself in his sleep.

“Xuē Yáng?” Xīngchén asked, reaching for him. Xuē Yáng flinched, and his breathing was coming in shorter gasps, the occasional whimper escaping his mouth. “Xuē Yáng, wake up.”

The energy wasn’t golden anymore, but it wasn’t the choking corpse dust from before either. Curious, Sòng Lán pressed closer, diving into Xuē Yáng’s mind.

Wind was whistling by.

Somewhere high up, flying by sword?

Dark red clouds? An inky black forest below.

Xuē Yáng was falling.

Reaching up, spinning through the air and falling falling falling—

Far above, someone was hovering—

The trees were too close—

Xuē Yáng wheezed, coughing up blood, a tree branch protruding from his chest—

Back in the real world, Xuē Yáng flinched again, letting out a low moan. Sòng Lán could see him lying there, Sòng Lán could hear Xīngchén’s gentle attempts to wake him, but at the same time, they were hovering in the sky again—

A cultivator, faceless and dressed in black, was standing on a sword, holding Xuē Yáng by the throat. Xuē Yáng was grinning, laughing, and his eyes were wide with terror. Why wasn’t he using his qi? Where was his sword? The man let go—

Sòng Lán aborted an attempt to lunge forward—this was a dream, not reality—but Xuē Yáng had caught himself anyway, holding tight to the blade of the sword even as it cut into his hands. The cultivator dressed in black watched, and made no attempt to help Xuē Yáng up. After a moment, he stood on Xuē Yáng’s fingers, crushing them against the blade.

Xuē Yáng sneered, freeing one hand to grab at the man’s ankles, and the man made a frustrated noise, reaching down to grab Xuē Yáng’s wrists.

Xuē Yáng’s sneer faded, and suddenly he looked lost.

“You? I thought—”

The man let go.

Xuē Yáng tumbled through the sky.

Spinning, falling, his arms flailing out to catch at something, anything—

Tracing talismans through the air but no qi ever appeared—

He had no sword—

The trees were too close—

Coughing up blood again—

Sòng Lán flinching at the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Hovering in the sky again—

Sòng Lán tore himself away from the bed, forcing the nightmare away. After another second or two, Xuē Yáng flinched again, shaking in his sleep.

What was that!? How—that hadn’t—that wasn’t what had happened! Sòng Lán had never dropped him! Not in any real sense!

Of all the horrid things they had seen in the past few days, that was what Xuē Yáng had nightmares about!? He had to have experienced worse things! He was a murderer, he—

Xuē Yáng woke with a gasp, scrambling away from Xīngchén. He fell off the side of the bed.

“Xuē Yáng!”

Still breathing quick, his eyes wide, Xuē Yáng was already on his feet, grabbing his sword, running for a window—

“Xuē Yáng, stop!”

Xuē Yáng froze, perched on the windowsill.

“It was just a nightmare, it’s okay,” Xīngchén said, sitting up in the bed. Xuē Yáng slowly turned to face him wearing an unreadable expression. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t move to leave.

“Stay here, please. It’s okay,” Xīngchén said. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

Xuē Yáng’s gaze flicked to Sòng Lán, then back. Still blank-faced, he stepped back into the room. Sòng Lán held still, watching Xuē Yáng move across the room. With each step, some of his natural ease returned, his expression slipping into a casual smirk.

“Are you worried for me, Xīngchén?” Xuē Yáng said as he knelt on the bed.

“You had a nightmare. I tried to wake you, but it didn’t work right away,” Xīngchén said. “Are you alright?”

“What are you talking about, Xīngchén? I just wanted to go for a midnight stroll,” Xuē Yáng purred. Sòng Lán noticed he made no moves to get any closer to Xīngchén, his body held rigid.

“Xuē Yáng, I was already awake. I felt you fall into a nightmare. You don’t need to hide that from me, I already know,” Xīngchén chided, reaching uncannily for Xuē Yáng’s cheek. At the contact, Xuē Yáng’s eyes fell closed, and he gave a deep sigh.

“Why were you already awake, Dàozhǎng? It’s the middle of the night,” Xuē Yáng murmured.

“I couldn’t fall asleep,” Xīngchén answered easily. “Zǐchēn was keeping me company.”

Xuē Yáng glanced over, and behind his eyes Sòng Lán could still see the nightmare, the man in black throwing Xuē Yáng from the sky over and over again, each time ending in a bloody impact. This wasn’t deliberate, was it? Some kind of targeted attack designed to make Sòng Lán feel guilty? Sòng Lán wasn’t sure how Xuē Yáng could have done that in his sleep, but he was a demonic cultivator, maybe it was possible.

Xuē Yáng turned away, resting his forehead against Xīngchén’s shoulder. One of his hands grasped at Xīngchén’s sleep clothes, and Xīngchén’s arms came up to wrap around him. Xuē Yáng gave a deep sigh and folded against him.

“Why couldn’t you fall asleep, Dàozhǎng? You need to rest,” Xuē Yáng murmured.

“It’s not important—”

“Xīngchén.”

“Just bad memories, nothing more,” Xīngchén said. “My mind was too noisy.”

Xuē Yáng was silent for a moment, then he began humming, the same tune over and over. Threads of qi floated in the sound. The tension began to drain from Xīngchén’s form, and after a short time, they both shifted to lie down again, and all the time, Xuē Yáng was humming.

It was a remarkably soothing sound.

Is that a Lán melody?

Xuē Yáng nodded, shifting just enough to make eye contact. Sòng Lán moved closer, sitting beside the bed.

Show me how to sing it?

Xuē Yáng paused, a barely noticeable break in the song, and then the melody flooded Sòng Lán’s mind. An image of the song written down. The way it sounded on a guqin, on a flute. Someone in golden robes, a friend not to be trusted—be certain it’s the right melody, not the corrupted one—

It felt nice, the sound carrying qi, calming the mind…

Sòng Lán added his voice, humming the melody alongside Xuē Yáng, and Xiǎo Xīngchén sighed, wrapping his arms more tightly around Xuē Yáng as his breathing slowed, steady and even.

Sòng Lán kept singing it long after Xuē Yáng’s voice faded into sleep.

Chapter Text

Time was moving strangely, too fast and too slow.

The mornings were spent in their little shared room, pretending the outside world didn’t exist. Dàozhǎng or Sòng Lán would make something to eat, and Xuē Yáng would take the medicine Dàozhǎng had prepared. For some reason, Xuē Yáng was always starving; he’d eat twice as much as Xīngchén would at each meal.

They spent the days running errands. Xīngchén and Sòng Lán would visit the Zhēns daily to check on the health of the cursed people, while Xuē Yáng would work on his promises to the dead. Despite having told the bride he’d address her problem first, it would take several days of travel into Lánlíng to find her village, and nearly every other corpse who was owed a favour lived locally, so Xuē Yáng chose to focus on them instead. It was easy work for the most part; the dead wanted to know that their living relatives had good lives or they wanted their bodies returned to their family graves.

The most annoying ghost to deal with was an uncle who was furious that his great granddaughter had married the tanner’s son instead of the woodworker’s, because apparently the two families had been rivals a century ago. That particular corpse had requested that Xuē Yáng sabotage the wedding and set the granddaughter up with a proper husband. It had taken a long time and far more effort than it was worth to explain that the wedding had happened years ago and the family had three children.

Xuē Yáng had returned from that particular chat and fallen face down onto the bed to take a nap.

That was the other annoying thing. Even though he was barely using his qi, Xuē Yáng was getting exhausted at the smallest things now! He’d chat with one ghost, and suddenly he had to lie down! What the hell!? And his head would start spinning if he was standing for too long, and yesterday he’d felt nauseated all day! It didn’t make sense!

Xīngchén said it was some aftereffect of the poisons. Xuē Yáng didn’t like it. He should be better by now! It had been days since the poison! Xuē Yáng was stronger than this! He had endured worse than this without feeling exhausted or actually falling asleep! Why was he constantly falling asleep?

It was nice being held by Xīngchén, he supposed. Very relaxing. And Xīngchén had promised to fight any enemies who appeared while Xuē Yáng was asleep.

And Sòng Lán was always nearby too, and he was very good at defending things that belonged to Xīngchén. Shadows to hide within. Safe from sight. 

Xuē Yáng bit his lip, keeping his eyes closed and his face pressed against the pillow. It smelled nice, like Xīngchén.

Xuē Yáng opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps and realised the mid-morning light had shifted into late afternoon. A meal was set out on a tray under a warming charm, Xuē Yáng’s medicine beside it. Another unintended nap!

The sound of footsteps had been caused by Ā-Qìng, who was practicing sword stances while wielding her little dagger. Xuē Yáng watched for a few moments. Her movements were fluid and practiced, smoothly shifting from stance to stance.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said.

Ā-Qìng gave him a sharp glare.

“I’m not,” she snapped back.

“You are.”

“Am not! Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng taught me this especially! I practice the steps every day!”

“He taught you wrong, then.”

“No he didn’t!”

“He did.”

“Shut up, prick!”

“Your funeral,” Xuē Yáng said, turning his back to her and closing his eyes. Sòng Lán should really know better than to let Ā-Qìng  practice sword stances while wielding a short blade. Sword stances assumed that both combatants were using full length swords or sabres. Knife fighting had its own patterns and stances, including ones about how to attack sword-wielding enemies. All this training was going to do was throw Ā-Qìng’s balance off the moment she held a practice sword. 

She kept moving through the set over and over, and then he heard her pause.

“What part do you think I’m not doing right?” Ā-Qìng asked quietly.

Xuē Yáng smirked.

“Are you asking me for advice?”

“Shut up!”

“How can I answer your question if I’m silent?”

“I don’t care! I didn’t ask you anything! It doesn’t matter!”

Silence stretched between them for several moments.

“Xuē Yáng?”

Xuē Yáng blinked, glancing over his shoulder at her. Ā-Qìng rarely used his name when an insult would suffice. She was wearing an odd expression, sort of confused and angry and not looking in his direction.

“You’ve killed people before, right?” she asked.

“Yes. Many people.”

Ā-Qìng bit her lip, and then she moved closer, sitting on the floor near the head of the bed. Xuē Yáng shifted around so he was lying on his chest, his arms folded around the pillow and chin resting on top of it. Ā-Qìng still wasn’t meeting his eyes—in fact she seemed to have fallen back into her blind act.

“During the fight, did you kill Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng?”

Xuē Yáng raised an eyebrow.

“Killing is against Dàozhǎng’s rule.”

“But they were bad people. Evil people.”

“Killing is killing. It’s always against Dàozhǎng’s rule.”

“They died, though. I saw you killing them.”

“Did you?”

Ā-Qìng took in a slow breath, then shook her head.

“I saw the corpse puppets killing them,” Ā-Qìng said. “They ripped them apart. And the puppets would have done that to me and Dàgē too, if we hadn’t won.”

“Maybe. I think those women were planning on making Dàozhǎng into a puppet,” Xuē Yáng added. Ā-Qìng winced.

“So why did the puppets attack them?” Ā-Qìng asked.

“Revenge for their own murders, mostly,” Xuē Yáng said. “They all wanted to hurt Jiāo Chán already, I just broke the control she had over them, and she didn’t have the time to focus on enforcing her will on a dozen puppets again. Simple enough.”

Ā-Qìng was silent for a few moments, and Xuē Yáng frowned.

“You’re acting weird, brat. The only time you get this close to me is when you’re trying to pull Dàozhǎng away from my side—”

“During the fight, I threw a rock to distract them, and then all the puppets turned to attack them instead. Did that—did I help you steal control of them?”

“I would have gained the upper hand eventually,” Xuē Yáng said, and Ā-Qìng snorted. “What?”

“You were seconds away from passing out.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“You literally passed out seconds after breaking Jiāo Chán’s control. You’d probably have died if I hadn’t thrown that rock,” she said smugly, but after a moment the smirk faded. “So, in a way, it’s my fault they’re dead. I killed them.”

“Nope. Not even slightly. The puppets killed them, you just happened to be there,” Xuē Yáng said, yawning.

“No, but I helped break her focus—”

“Which would have done nothing if she wasn’t surrounded by angry ghosts that hated her—”

“But she was!” Ā-Qìng snapped, glaring at Xuē Yáng. “She was and now she’s dead and they were—their bodies—” she cut herself off, ducking her head to wipe at her eyes.

Xuē Yáng blinked, taking in her trembling, distraught form. If Dàozhǎng was here, he’d already be hugging her and whispering sweet nonsense. It didn’t really make sense why this would upset her, though. Wasn’t she proud?

“Dàozhǎng might have died if Jiāo Chán had lived,” Xuē Yáng said carefully.

“I know. They were evil. They deserved to die!” Ā-Qìng said, and then she sniffed.

“Are you sad because Xīngchén wanted to save them and they died?”

“No! Fuck no!” Ā-Qìng said with a wet laugh. “Dàgē wasn’t thinking clearly, they were too dangerous to keep alive.”

“Then why are you upset?”

Ā-Qìng shook her head, and didn’t answer. Xuē Yáng watched her a few moments longer.

“Are you sick or something?” he asked eventually.

“What—no, I’m—” Ā-Qìng shook her head and looked away. She took a deep breath and forced a smile onto her face. “This makes me a murderer, doesn’t it.”

Xuē Yáng raised his eyebrows but didn’t say a word, and after a few more moments Ā-Qìng kept talking.

“I suppose all cultivators end up killing someone eventually, right? At least it was for a good reason. And Jiāo Chán really did deserve it—she killed so many people and hurt all those others and—and really, that should matter more but I mostly care because she made Dàgē panic and cry—”

“By the time I was your age, I had killed three people.”

Ā-Qìng’s eyes went wide.

“Really?”

“Two I know for certain, the third is a maybe,” Xuē Yáng said. “I stabbed him in the guts repeatedly, so I’m pretty sure he’s dead, but I never saw his corpse. It was very messy. Blood all up my arms and on my face. There’s a smell as well, I couldn’t get it out of my nose for days. That’s a murder.”

Ā-Qìng swallowed.

“You killed someone like that before you were thirteen?”

Xuē Yáng nodded.

“It was before I was taught any cultivation.”

“You told Dàgē you started learning to cultivate when you were seven.”

Xuē Yáng froze, then sent her a narrow-eyed glare. She gave a weak smile and shrugged.

“How many of our conversations did you eavesdrop on?”

“Not every single one?” she said, but after a moment her smile faded. “That has to be a lie, though, you couldn’t have killed someone when you were just a kid like that.”

Xuē Yáng huffed, closing his eyes.

“He was a teenager, taller than me, bigger. He tried to take my food from me while I was eating. I spent two days stealing enough money to get that food, I wasn’t going to let him take it. I had a knife, he wasn’t expecting me to fight back. Should have picked a weaker target.”

“Was it before or after your hand got all fucked up?”

Xuē Yáng opened his eyes, frowning at her.

“After.”

Something changed in the way Ā-Qìng was staring at him, some miniscule expression shift. Xuē Yáng’s frown grew deeper. What was she thinking?

“You overheard that story too. About Cháng Cian.”

She nodded. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Brat.”

“You killed them all as vengeance, right? For nearly killing you?”

“I didn’t nearly die—”

“I would only have killed Cháng Cian.”

“He died before I could get to him!” Xuē Yáng snapped. “And that’s a stupid plan! You can’t just murder a sect leader and leave the others alive!”

“But they didn’t hurt you—”

“Everyone with the Cháng name was my enemy! Any one of them left alive would seek to kill me! The entire clan has to be extinguished!”

“Fine! But why kill other people, then? Don’t you feel bad about it? Doesn’t it feel wrong?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Why should I care that someone else is dead? They’re not me.”

“You freaked out when Dàgē nearly died—”

“Because he’s mine!”

Ā-Qìng was glaring at him. Xuē Yáng rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes to ignore her.

“I don’t know why I even tried to talk about this with you,” Ā-Qìng muttered, standing and moving away.

“The other two I killed before the Cháng clan, they were both Jīn disciples. We shared a class,” Xuē Yáng said. He could feel Ā-Qìng’s attention on him. “I’d already killed one person and was planning to murder a clan. It didn’t matter if two other people died at my hands. It would make good practice.”

“You killed your sect siblings?”

Xuē Yáng snorted. “Rivals, not brothers. Only ten of us would be chosen and made into real disciples, the rest of us sent home.”

The word "home" hung in the air between them, and for a moment they shared an unspoken understanding of the true horror it contained.

“How did you kill them?” Ā-Qìng asked.

“Poison for one, I slit the other’s throat. They never discovered it was me,” he murmured. “Distracting someone during combat isn’t murder. You’ll need to try harder than that if you want your hands to be bloody.”

Ā-Qìng was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “Thank you for saving Dàgē. This time and a year ago too.”

Xuē Yáng opened one eye.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know. Thank you anyway.”

Xuē Yáng gave her a confused smile.

“You know I hold you responsible for Dàozhǎng cutting himself open?”

Ā-Qìng stopped breathing, her eyes going wide. Xuē Yáng laughed a little, shaking his head.

“You told him those horrible things that made him doubt me and confront me. If I hadn’t been able to keep him alive, you would have been the first person to die for it. I would have made it painful. Broken you into more pieces than Jiāo Chán is in. You really should not be thanking me, Little Blind.”

Ā-Qìng was very pale. She swallowed, looking down at her hands, and then she shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “That didn’t happen, so it doesn’t matter. Dàgē is alive, and it’s because of you, and you promised you wouldn’t try to hurt me again. So if you’re feeling uncomfortable because I thanked you, you can just suck it up.”

Xuē Yáng was startled into a laugh, and turned to hide his grin against the pillow. He was glad they weren’t in that other timeline too.

"You're still getting the combat stances wrong, brat."

"Shut up!"

Chapter Text

Ten days after the mirror was shattered, the cursed people began to die.

Xīngchén tried his best. Every day he visited the Zhēn family to check on their health. Without the mirror leeching their qi, there had been small improvements—more colour in their cheeks, easier breathing—but none of them woke up. Zǐchēn did his best to help, but there was very little he could do. His resentful energy was too corrosive to be used for healing, and as apothecaries, the Zhēn family knew more about the applications of medicine than either Xīngchén or Zǐchēn.

The damage the mirror had caused was too great. All Xīngchén could do was help keep the cursed people comfortable as their hearts began to fail, one after another.

It hurt, but the ache that accompanied losing a patient was calming in some kind of macabre way. A familiar pain, something Xīngchén could use to recentre himself after spending so long in the void.

Xīngchén had done the best he could with the resources available to him. He had spent evenings thinking of new things to try, he had invested his qi and his time in trying to heal these people, but all healers knew that sometimes their best just wasn’t enough. Xīngchén knew exactly what his next step should be. Preparing the dead for a funeral was always easier if you didn’t know them personally.

Thankfully, Xīngchén’s other patient was recovering very nicely. Xuē Yáng still tired easily, and he occasionally felt dizzy when walking around, but it had been days since his last bout of nausea and he no longer felt feverish in the evenings. The entire time, Xuē Yáng claimed he was absolutely fine and fully healed, either unaware of or ignoring the fact that Xīngchén could sense the true condition of Xuē Yáng’s health by taking a qi reading from his wrist.

At least Xuē Yáng was a much better patient this time around than the first time Xīngchén had nursed him back to health. Those first months in the coffin house, Xuē Yáng had re-opened his worst injuries three separate times after ignoring Xīngchén’s advice to be cautious, and Xīngchén suspected Xuē Yáng had also avoided taking the medicines Xīngchén had made for him, pouring the teas out the window and keeping the pills in his cheek to spit out later. This time around, Xuē Yáng actually trusted that Xīngchén wanted to help him heal, even if he wouldn’t admit how badly he had been harmed.

It did concern Xīngchén, the way that Xuē Yáng would ignore or play down his own pain and exhaustion. He seemed constantly bewildered by his own body’s reaction to qi exhaustion, confused as to why he might need to eat more energy-rich food or rest for longer than normal.

What would Xuē Yáng have done if Xīngchén hadn’t been there to mix up his medicines and insist that he rest? Would he have kept pushing himself until he collapsed again?

Xīngchén smiled down at the warm weight in his lap. Xuē Yáng had taken to sleeping curled up against Xīngchén whenever they were in the same room for more than a few minutes. He didn’t seem to care in the slightest if it meant laying on hard wooden floors or sitting mostly upright, Xuē Yáng simply wanted to be in Xīngchén’s personal space when he napped. Xīngchén understood: he found it easier to sleep beside another body too.

Xīngchén liked it. The last time he had cuddled with anyone so frequently had been before leaving his Shizun’s mountain. It was nice.

What was going to happen when they left Orchid Cliffs?

“Dàgē, would you like me to get you some tea?” Ā-Qìng said quietly.

“Yes, that would be nice, thank you,” Xīngchén replied, smiling. Everything was quiet for a few moments except for the sound of Ā-Qìng fiddling with the tea set and heating the water. Xīngchén began playing with Xuē Yáng’s hair, twirling one lock around his finger.

“Ā-Qìng, you’ve been acting differently around Xuē Yáng this past week. Did something happen?” Xīngchén asked. He heard Ā-Qìng pause, and then go back to preparing the tea.

“We were talking about stuff, nothing that important,” she said. “I don’t mind if he stays with us, if that’s what you’re really asking. He’s annoying, but I can take him.”

Xīngchén laughed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t… well, I might have been working up to asking that, but I’ve just noticed you two seem friendlier. It’s been days since either of you threatened to kill the other and sounded like you meant it. Xuē Yáng even bought you a honeyed apple yesterday.”

“He was hoping I’d say I didn’t want it so he could eat two.”

“Ā-Qìng, he’s known you long enough to know you’d never say no to a honeyed apple. It was a gift.”

Ā-Qìng didn’t answer, and after a few moments she returned to his side, offering a tea cup. Xīngchén nodded to her as he took it.

“The stuff we were talking about… I’m just trying to figure something out in my head and he tried to help. At least I think it was trying to help. He might have just been bragging,” Ā-Qìng said.

“Can I help you figure it out?” Xīngchén asked.

“Maybe… I’m not sure. I think I already know what you think about it. I’d prefer not to talk about it right now.”

“Well, I’m always here to listen if you need it,” Xīngchén said, smiling.

“I know. Thank you, Dàgē,” Ā-Qìng said, taking a sip of her own tea.

Soon, Xīngchén would need to leave again, to join the preparations for the funerals and assist where he could with the death rites. It was going to be a long day. So it was nice to take a few moments to rest, and be thankful that his little family was still all in one piece, even if they were a little bruised.

Perhaps it was selfish to think that, knowing how many people had died and how many people were mourning. Maybe it made Xīngchén a bad person, to be here relaxing in Ā-Qìng and Xuē Yáng’s company and feeling thrilled to have them with him. It was definitely an unkind thought to be relieved that the people who had died were all strangers to him. People were still dead. People were still mourning.

But Xīngchén had nearly lost his family too. Xuē Yáng could have died from the poison. He could have destroyed his golden core in his exhaustion, or driven himself into a qi deviation. Ā-Qìng could have been caught by the puppets, or her neck slit by Jiāo Chán. Zǐchēn could have been turned into a puppet and used to destroy countless other lives.

None of that had happened. They had all escaped, and they were all healing. He was allowed to feel happy that his family had all survived.

Xīngchén could allow himself to be selfish sometimes.

*

The imposter Zhēn Yuè died late in the evening on the tenth day after the real Zhēn Yuè died. All of Orchid Cliffs fell into mourning at her passing.

By morning, the last of the cursed people had also died. Sòng Lán, Xīngchén, and Ā-Qìng wandered the town, offering their assistance wherever they could. At Xīngchén’s request, Xuē Yáng remained in their room. It was probably for the best—Xuē Yáng was already rolling his eyes at the idea of a town-wide funeral, and while Sòng Lán was certain that Xuē Yáng would be able to fake concern and sympathy, it seemed kinder on all sides to not force him to pretend he cared. And honestly, despite Xuē Yáng’s efforts setting up a shrine for the roadside ghosts, Sòng Lán wasn’t convinced Xuē Yáng knew what to do during a funeral.

Sòng Lán did run into some minor trouble when the Zhēn family activated several charms and talismans to banish ghosts and calm the dead. He was certain the charms weren’t working on him as they were intended, but they left him a little lightheaded and nauseated and made his skin prickle like it was crawling with ants. Xuē Yáng’s shield helped momentarily, but the bad sensations kept returning over and over. Eventually, Sòng Lán had to go outside and wander the streets until he felt normal again.

Sòng Lán spent the time letting his thoughts wander, and as they so often did these days, they settled on Xuē Yáng. It was nearly two weeks ago that Xuē Yáng had created the shield and linked them together, far more time than Sòng Lán had imagined he’d ever spend in Xuē Yáng’s presence. It was proving rather… enlightening was the wrong word. Interesting? Noteworthy? It wasn’t a particularly pleasant or comfortable learning experience, but there were moments.

Xuē Yáng and Xīngchén had fallen into domesticity within a day, working together to prepare meals, telling each other funny stories. They spent every night cuddled together, and if they were in the same room, it was only a matter of minutes before Xuē Yáng invaded Xīngchén’s space.

Even knowing Xuē Yáng’s thoughts, feeling and seeing that obsessive devotion from within and knowing Xuē Yáng would do anything to save Xīngchén from harm, it still hurt to see them together like that. Xīngchén always welcomed the touch, leaning into the contact with an eagerness Sòng Lán had rarely seen from him. Had Sòng Lán been failing him so greatly, unable to provide that kind of contact as deeply or frequently as Xīngchén needed it? It soothed Xīngchén like nothing else when he was hurting.

And Xīngchén was certainly hurting.

Each night, he struggled to fall asleep, and despite his daily meditation, Xīngchén was still suffering mood swings, suddenly snapping at anyone nearby for seemingly innocuous reasons. Sometimes in the course of a few minutes, Xīngchén would go from laughing and happy to hyperventilating, bloody tears running down his cheeks.

Xuē Yáng was surprisingly patient, talking Xīngchén through the panic attacks. More gentle than Sòng Lán had thought he could be, and acting with the confidence that only came from experience. How often had they shared similar moments back in Yi City? How difficult had it been for Xīngchén, wandering the world blind and alone for so many years?

Guilt gnawed at his ribs, but this wasn’t the time to focus on that. Sòng Lán had a decision to make: could he accept that Xuē Yáng was going to travel with them from now on?

Sòng Lán could say no, of course. He could request that Xīngchén send Xuē Yáng away, and Xīngchén would probably do it. Xuē Yáng would probably listen, and even if he decided to stalk them during their travels, he’d keep a distance so long as Xīngchén asked it of him.

Sòng Lán heaved a heavy sigh.

He hated the idea of depriving Xīngchén like that. He didn’t want to see that brave and lonely smile on Xīngchén’s lips again, especially not so soon after Xīngchén’s recent pain.

It was late at night when Xīngchén, Sòng Lán and Ā-Qìng finally returned to their room. Sòng Lán could smell food from down the hall, and Ā-Qìng perked up as they approached, quickly throwing open the door. Inside, Xuē Yáng was checking over and oiling around a dozen knives, and he glanced their way with a smirk.

“You’re late for dinner, Xīngchén,” Xuē Yáng said, gesturing to the dishes set out on the table. Ā-Qìng attacked the food immediately, and Xuē Yáng stood, stretching out his shoulders before taking Xīngchén’s hand and guiding him to the table.

“I’m not really that hungry, Xuē Yáng, but thank you for cooking,” Xīngchén said in an apologetic tone.

Xuē Yáng hummed, nodded, and said, “Dinner isn’t optional.”

Xīngchén opened his mouth, a dozen different objections on the tip of his tongue—Sòng Lán had heard them all before—but then Xīngchén shook his head with a laugh.

“You’re going to argue with me until I agree to eat, aren’t you?”

Xuē Yáng grinned.

“It’s like you can see the future!”

Xīngchén laughed again, and then they were sitting at the table, and Xuē Yáng was filling a bowl for Xīngchén, and Sòng Lán knew what his decision was going to be.

Now he just needed some opportunity to tell Xīngchén.

Chapter Text

They had run out of reasons to stay in Orchid Cliffs.

Xuē Yáng was mostly better, certainly well enough to travel as long as he was in no intense combat for the next few weeks. Every one of the cursed patients had died. The people of the town were still in mourning, and Xīngchén could stay another few weeks just to be of assistance, but it seemed that they had overstayed their welcome. The Zhēn may not have known the whole truth regarding the death of their daughter, but Xīngchén was still a curse-breaker who had failed to break her curse.

Xīngchén and Zǐchēn had gone out together that morning, collecting little things to use on their travels. Dried fruits and herbs. Some more thread and needles. Paper, for talismans and for writing. They were headed back to their room now to finish packing.

What was going to happen with Xuē Yáng? Could he travel with them? Would Zǐchēn allow that? Xīngchén didn’t want to ask—either Zǐchēn would say yes as some kind gesture for Xīngchén’s sake, or he’d say no and Xīngchén would have to face parting ways with Xuē Yáng all the sooner. Perhaps Xuē Yáng could walk by their side as they left the village—

Zǐchēn tapped Xīngchén’s arm for attention. Offering his palm was almost a reflexive gesture by now.

“Xīngchén,” Zǐchēn wrote. “Tell Xuē Yáng to come with us.”

Xīngchén gasped, stumbling to a stop.

“Zǐchēn? Did—did I read your words right?”

Zǐchēn huffed, a quiet laugh, and reached for Xīngchén’s hand again.

“Yes. Tell Xuē Yáng to travel with us.”

“Are you sure?”

Zǐchēn tapped out yes and Xīngchén still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Really? You haven’t changed your mind about him, have you? Do you like him now? I know he’s still a little violent and he’s not good at explaining himself, but—”

Zǐchēn covered Xīngchén’s mouth with his other hand, and Xīngchén bit his tongue. He heard Zǐchēn sigh, and then the hand across his mouth moved to caress his cheek. Xīngchén took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Zǐchēn, Xuē Yáng harmed you. I’ve not forgotten what you told me; I should never have even needed the reminder. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Zǐchēn rubbed his thumb in small circles across the palm of Xīngchén’s hand, and then he began to write.

“That viper and I have found a way to co-exist. It’s enough, for now. He and I can work out further details later, if we ever need to. And if it’s ever too painful for me, I can always take a break from his presence until we find an understanding again. I can see you love him. As long as I can endure his presence, I won’t demand that you send him away.”

Xīngchén felt like weeping.

“Zǐchēn,” he breathed, leaning forward to hug the other man tightly. Zǐchēn hugged him back, one cold hand settling on the back of Xīngchén’s neck, solid and safe. “Thank you.”

Xīngchén felt Zǐchēn smile.

Of course, telling Xīngchén was only the first step. As they entered the room, Sòng Lán braced himself for Xuē Yáng’s obnoxiousness.

Xuē Yáng reacted before Xīngchén could speak, staring at Sòng Lán with wide eyes, his mouth fallen open.

The gormless idiot look suits you, Sòng Lán said, and Xuē Yáng twitched like he wanted to object, but Xīngchén was already speaking and drawing his attention.

“It’s true? I can come with you?” Xuē Yáng asked, gazing at Xīngchén now, who grinned widely, nodding his head.

“Yes! Come with us! Travel with us!”

Xuē Yáng blinked, and then in the next second he lunged across the room, tackling Xīngchén in a hug. Xīngchén laughed and caught him, and Xuē Yáng was giggling, burying his face in the crook of Xīngchén’s neck, and then suddenly he pulled back to hold Xīngchén’s face, and Sòng Lán nearly expected Xuē Yáng to pull him into a kiss.

It didn’t happen.

Oddly, the thought never crossed Xuē Yáng’s mind, at least not what Sòng Lán could catch of his thoughts. Instead, Xuē Yáng was now babbling about every good thing he’d ever do to look after Xīngchén and make Xīngchén happy, and Xīngchén was nodding, his arms around Xuē Yáng’s waist.

They really did look like a couple. Xuē Yáng’s delight at their intimacy was spilling out into his qi, and his voice rang with joy. His thoughts were full of Xīngchén’s beauty, and the occasional flash of Xīngchén covered in blood (Sòng Lán didn’t know what was more concerning, the fact that Xuē Yáng could still think of such dark things even if they disturbed him, or the fact that Sòng Lán was getting used to the visions and trusted that Xuē Yáng would never act on them). There was even a brief fantasy of Xīngchén in what looked like wedding robes, which was nearly enough to make Sòng Lán take back his decision. But still, none of Xuē Yáng’s thoughts involved a kiss.

Why wouldn’t Xuē Yáng think of things like kissing Xīngchén? Sòng Lán thought of kissing Xīngchén nearly every day. He might even have acted if he’d ever gotten the impression that Xīngchén wanted that from him. Perhaps that could have been their life if they had never met Xuē Yáng and never broken apart. But now, with his body cold and dead, Sòng Lán was certain whatever romantic feelings Xīngchén had felt for him were long since faded.

But Xuē Yáng wasn’t undead, and Xīngchén clearly welcomed his company, and might even be open to the idea of being kissed by Xuē Yáng. Why didn’t Xuē Yáng pick up on that? Why wasn’t he thinking of kissing Xīngchén?

Xuē Yáng was blinking, his smile fading into a frown, and Sòng Lán froze. Xuē Yáng hadn’t picked up on those thoughts, had he? If Xuē Yáng didn’t see Xīngchén in that way, Sòng Lán certainly didn’t want to encourage him to! But no, Xuē Yáng’s frown was growing deeper, and suddenly he was shaking his head, stepping away from Xīngchén.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Ā-Qìng interrupted before Xīngchén could speak. “After stalking us for a year trying to impress Dàgē, he tells you to travel with us and suddenly you can’t?”

“Shut up!” Xuē Yáng snarled at her, sounding genuinely upset. “I want to! I can’t!”

“Xuē Yáng, why not?” Xīngchén asked softly, and Xuē Yáng turned to him with a stricken expression.

“It’s the bride. Her promise is the only one left I owe.”

“Oh!” Xīngchén said, his face brightening. “Well, we don’t have any plans, we could accompany you—”

“No, you can’t. Her village is in Lánlíng.”

“I don’t understand why that would be an issue. I’ve been to Lánlíng before.”

“You can’t go there!”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t!”

“Why?”

“I…” Xuē Yáng trailed off, meeting Sòng Lán’s eyes, and then glancing at Ā-Qìng. “No, I have to go there alone. You can’t go there.”

Xīngchén was silent for a long moment, and then he gave a small, sad smile.

“Alright. I won’t ask again.”

“Dàozhǎng—”

“I won’t force you to tell me, Xuē Yáng.”

“Dàozhǎng, I do want to travel with you—”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s dangerous!”

Xīngchén paused. Xuē Yáng was staring at him with wide and hectic eyes. He glanced Sòng Lán’s way again, then back to Xīngchén.

“Xuē Yáng, we’re cultivators,” Xīngchén said slowly. “Lánlíng is a cultivator’s territory. What could be so dangerous as to be a threat to us in civilized cultivator territory?”

Xuē Yáng frowned, fidgeting with his robes in agitation. He glanced Sòng Lán’s way a third time, and this time he didn’t look away.

“If you want to keep your Zǐchēn, never go to Lánlíng. Avoid their watchtowers too,” Xuē Yáng said. He wet his lips, shook his head. “You can’t come with me to Lánlíng, not until I—well, even then, you’d still lose—you can’t come to Lánlíng. Never go to Lánlíng.”

“Xuē Yáng?”

“There are people in Lánlíng who can recognise what Sòng Lán is,” Xuē Yáng said. “People who want to study things like him. If they know he exists, they’ll hunt you all down, and they won’t care if you end up dead while they capture him.”

Xīngchén stepped forward, catching Xuē Yáng’s hand.

“You want to keep Zǐchēn safe,” Xīngchén said.

“What—no!” Xuē Yáng retorted, face twisting in a grimace. “I just said! They’ll hunt you down and kill you and Ā-Qìng just to capture him! The best-case scenario is they’ll steal him from you! And then he’ll be dragged away and imprisoned in some secret laboratory—and it doesn’t matter! Don’t go to Lánlíng!”

“Okay. We won’t go to Lánlíng,” Xīngchén said with a sigh. He shook his head, smiling. “Are you sure you can’t travel with us for even a little bit? Maybe you could postpone fulfilling the bride’s promise. I would really love to have you by my side a little longer.”

Xuē Yáng made a whining noise, leaning forward into Xīngchén’s space. But he shook his head.

“Xīngchén, look at you, demanding I break a promise! I’ve been a bad influence on you!”

Xīngchén grinned.

“You said I should be more selfish.”

“Why choose now, though?” Xuē Yáng said on a laugh, and after a second they stepped into another embrace, holding each other tightly. “This errand won’t take too long, I think. I’ll come find you again before the moon is new. Then I’ll never leave your side again.”

“I look forward to it,” Xīngchén said.

Ā-Qìng caught Sòng Lán’s attention and rolled her eyes at their drama. Sòng Lán grimaced, but he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. One month to get used to the idea that Xuē Yáng was going to travel with them. Not a bad deal, even if it was accompanied by ominous warnings of enemy forces in Lánlíng. One month without Xuē Yáng by their side! Sòng Lán’s last month to enjoy the peace before Xuē Yáng joined their travels!

It actually sounded really good!

“We don’t need to part ways right now anyway! We can still have lunch together!” Xuē Yáng said brightly.

Sòng Lán sighed.

One more lunch, and then they could part ways with Xuē Yáng.

Chapter Text

Xuē Yáng glared down the dusty road to where it disappeared in the distance. It was silent all around except for the sounds of nature, and the weak midday sun did little to lift the chill from his skin.

If Xuē Yáng followed that road over the hills and through the forests, eventually it would lead to Jīnlín Tái, that enormous gilded complex towering over the local villages. Jīn Guāngyáo’s territory.

Xuē Yáng’s glare intensified.

If it hadn’t been for Jīn Guāngyáo, Xuē Yáng wouldn’t have had to leave Xīngchén’s side! Xīngchén had said he could stay! Xīngchén wanted him! And Jīn Guāngyáo had to ruin all of that!

Xuē Yáng forced himself to a stop, blinking down at his untrustworthy feet. He glanced over his shoulder at the other fork in the road, the one that would lead to the corpse bride’s village. That was where he was meant to go right now. If he went there, he could wrap everything up quickly and head back to Xīngchén. It had been days already since they parted.

Xuē Yáng shook his head and turned back to the road to Jīnlín Tái. His hands were in fists by his side.

Could Xuē Yáng return to Xīngchén? For the last year, that had been his only goal, and now it was right within his grasp, but was it the right thing to do?

Jīn Guāngyáo was most dangerous when you didn’t know what he was doing. His spies and informants were planted all through Lánlíng—every watchtower reported to him. Mèng Yáo had been the one to give Xuē Yáng his courtesy name, there was no doubt in his mind that Jīn Guāngyáo had heard of Xuē Chéngměi’s recent actions; he knew Xuē Yáng had survived his assassins.

Why had Jīn Guāngyáo never sent another assassin after Xuē Yáng? He knew all of Jīn Guāngyáo’s secrets, every murder, every detail. Xuē Yáng had helped with half of it. Mèng Yáo knew most of Xuē Yáng’s secrets too. He knew how much Xuē Yáng had wanted to destroy Xiǎo Xīngchén and Song Zǐchēn. He was one of the only people alive who knew for certain that Xuē Yáng was the one who had slaughtered Báixuě Temple.

They had met when they were still children. Before Mèng Yáo had learned to hide behind a polite smile, before Xuē Yáng had understood how little he mattered in the eyes of the cultivation world. For a long time, they had been each other’s only allies. But Mèng Yáo didn’t exist anymore, not really. Jīn Guāngyáo was ruthless in a way Mèng Yáo had never managed.

What would Jīn Guāngyáo do if he heard Xuē Yáng’s name alongside Xīngchén’s? When the next team of assassins came, would they aim for Xuē Yáng and kill Xīngchén when Xīngchén tried to defend him? Or would they aim for Xīngchén to try and keep Xuē Yáng under control? Ā-Qìng wasn’t good enough to defend herself in combat against a measuring snake, she definitely couldn’t survive a team of assassins.

Xuē Yáng took a shaky breath, pulling out the red azalea cloth to fiddle with.

Did Jīn Guāngyáo still want him dead or were they friends again? Were they nothing to each other now?

If he learned that Zǐchēn was now a corpse puppet, Jīn Guāngyáo would stop at nothing to capture him. They’d never made any progress experimenting on the Ghost General; Jīn Guāngyáo would want another subject. It would be too easy to make them disappear. The whole world knew of the antipathy between Xuē Yáng and Song Zǐchēn and Xiǎo Xīngchén; just add another verse to the song and turn it into a tragedy, two dàozhǎngs murdered by their destined enemy.

Xuē Yáng swallowed hard, burying his face in the red azalea silk.

After a few minutes, his breathing began to slow again. Xīngchén was fine. Still alive. It had only been a few days. He wasn’t red.

Things would be so much easier if Xuē Yáng had simply murdered Jīn Guāngyáo the moment he was certain Jīn Guāngyáo was thinking of killing him! Ah, but that would have ended their friendship years earlier than it did. Maybe it had been worth it.

Xuē Yáng should go talk to him. Work out if Jīn Guāngyáo was still planning to murder him.

He bit his lip, staring back at the other fork in the road. He had promised the bride…

Xuē Yáng started walking, headed for her village. Instantly, breathing felt easier. Of course this was the right decision! Jīn Guāngyáo had probably forgotten all about Xuē Yáng, so it would be a bad idea to show up and remind him that Xuē Yáng still needed to be murdered. As soon as this errand was done, Xuē Yáng could head back to Xīngchén! Maybe then his head wouldn’t feel so full of angry swarming insects.

It was an abnormally warm day for early spring. All around, the plants and trees were coming back to life, so her Dàgē had said they should stop to take in the good weather. He’d wandered off through the trees sometime earlier, while Ā-Qìng and Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng stayed behind to do some painting.

It was so fun! Usually they didn’t have the paper or ink to waste on something like this. Ā-Qìng liked it, painting bold strokes across the page. It did look messy, and nothing like the bird she had been trying to paint, but it was fun anyway.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was much better at it than she was, he could get all sorts of fine details with his brush, and his picture actually looked like the landscape they were looking at. Under his instruction, Ā-Qìng managed to draw a tree that really looked like a tree!

Once their artworks were done, they placed them in the sun so they would dry more quickly, and sat down together, listening to the birds.

Ā-Qìng blinked. That was a hawk over there, hovering above the trees—oh! It was diving!

If she could be a bird, a hawk would be a good bird to be. They were so quick and deadly. Once or twice, Ā-Qìng had seen one up close—some of the big sects used hawks as messenger birds—but there had been a boy she knew when she was young, a rich merchant’s son. He’d had a hawk too, one used for hunting. He’d always treated that hawk far better than he treated any person, always giving it attention and praise, and feeding it fresh meat—

Ā-Qìng’s stomach lurched.

She forced her eyes shut, pushing those mangled corpses from her head. It didn’t really work.

“Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, can I ask you something?” Ā-Qìng asked, turning to him.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng glanced at her with kind eyes, and that sick feeling rose in her gut again.

“It’s about Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng…” Ā-Qìng trailed off, biting her lip. “They were bad, right? So it’s good they’re dead.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng’s expression grew serious, and he nodded once, then went back to watching her, silent and gentle. For some reason, it made Ā-Qìng’s eyes fill with tears.

“I—I think it’s my fault they died. I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to help! And you and Xuē Yáng were trying so hard to save us and Jiāo Chán kept attacking—it was just a pebble! But—but Dàgē didn’t want them to die. And you don’t kill people, and even Xuē Yáng tried to catch them alive and—” Ā-Qìng cut herself off with a sob and hid her face.

After a moment, she felt a cold presence beside her and looked up to find Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng offering her a washcloth for her tears. She nodded to him and took it, trying to keep herself under control.

“I don’t even care,” Ā-Qìng said. “I think it’s good that they’re dead and not hurting other people. But I just feel so sick and bad about it all the time. They were ripped to pieces!”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng nodded, and offered her his hand. She reached for him automatically, then noticed the black stain on her palm from the ink and paused. He gave her a brief smile, and reached to take her hand anyway, giving it a squeeze.

Then he picked up a brush and began writing.

“Reading practice already?” Ā-Qìng said with a shaky smile. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng grinned, and kept writing, and a few moments later he gave her the paper.

Ā-Qìng, it is normal to feel shaken after witnessing a death, especially deaths as grim as the ones Jiāo Chán and Yán Líng suffered. Even the most experienced cultivators are still unsettled by it—

“Xuē Yáng wasn’t bothered by it,” Ā-Qìng said. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng gave her a look, and Ā-Qìng rolled her eyes. “Okay, yeah, he’s not exactly normal about death.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng shook his head, then gestured back to the paper. Ā-Qìng kept reading.

Even the most experienced cultivators are still unsettled by it. It’s not uncommon to feel guilt, horror, sadness and anger over a death for months, sometimes even years afterward. The feelings aren’t always logical. You can hate a person and still mourn their death.

But you aren’t responsible for their deaths, Ā-Qìng. It’s not your fault they’re dead.

Ā-Qìng pressed her lips together in a tight line as she read those last words.

“Xuē Yáng said that too. That I’m not a killer.” She glanced up at Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, and for the first time, he seemed surprised. Ā-Qìng forced a smile onto her face. “I asked him about it, if he ever felt bad about killing or anything. He said he didn’t. And he said that I’m not a murderer, and that throwing that rock didn’t make a difference, he would have won either way. I know he was lying for that second bit—either that or he’s delusional.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng was frowning, his gaze drifting into the distance. After a second, he turned back to her, holding his hand out for the paper. He began writing again.

I hate to agree with him, but he’s right that you’re not a murderer. I will admit that the distraction you provided was vital to our success that day, but that does not make you a murderer.

“They died, and it was at least a little bit my fault. How does that not make me a killer?” Ā-Qìng muttered, bringing her knees up to her chest to hug. Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng grimaced, then went back to writing on a second piece of paper. This time it was something longer, and he would occasionally pause, thinking through his words. By the time he’d handed it over to her, Ā-Qìng’s eyes were already dry, and she was done feeling sorry for herself.

“It’s okay, I’m feeling better now. Thank you, Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng,” she said, placing the paper aside without a glance.

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng clapped, the sharp sound startling her. Ā-Qìng blinked at him and he frowned, pointing at the paper. Pouting, she reached for it and began reading.

Ā-Qìng, there are many paths to cultivate immortality, and among all of them, Xīngchén’s is one of the rarest and most bizarre: a path of pacifism. None of us can move through the world without impacting on one another in both good and bad ways. On an isolated mountain his path makes more sense, but in the wider world, sometimes it just doesn’t work.

Every cultivator in every sect and clan is taught that one day, they may take a life. Not simply fail to save someone, but take action to end another’s life. Whether through war, or while arbitrating justice, or simply while fighting an enemy, most cultivators you ever meet will have taken a life at some point.

Ā-Qìng looked up at Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng, her eyes wide.

“Is it true? Cultivators kill people?”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng held her gaze and nodded. Ā-Qìng swallowed, then went back to reading.

I’m sorry that your first experience of this happened so young. Usually a cultivator will have years of training to prepare them for this moment. The guilt and the pain will come and they will go, but time will help them fade.

Different people deal with it in different ways. Some will distract themselves from the bad memories, some will embrace a reckless, violent path. Xīngchén does his best to never cause another harm, and refuses to take a life directly. I do my best to exhaust all other options first before considering killing my opponent. Sometimes talking with an enemy can be enough to subdue them, sometimes they can be overpowered without harming them. And if an execution is necessary, that should be determined through a trial, calmly considering the crimes of the guilty, and a proper punishment should be assigned to them.

I think that it is a good thing that you still feel so shaken by death, even if it’s a death you think is deserved. It means you still see them as people with their own lives, and not simply obstacles or enemies to be destroyed and forgotten. We should never be hasty when it comes to life and death. We can’t restore the dead once they’re dead.

Ā-Qìng, I’m sorry that you’re carrying this pain. I hope you will never have to experience this again. If it ever gets too much, come to me and I will listen. I will help you in any way I can.

Ā-Qìng sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. They’d gotten all watery again.

“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t tell Dàgē? I don’t want him to worry.”

Zǐchēn-dàozhǎng nodded, and Ā-Qìng smiled.

Chapter Text

The undead bride had belonged to a wealthy family. They owned a mulberry orchard, and supplied high quality silk to the gentry of Lánlíng, including the Jīn. Fifty years ago, the bride had left her family’s land accompanied by an entourage of various servants and headed towards Orchid Cliffs where she would marry the then-current young master of the Zhēn family.

But then a storm came. Howling winds and a torrential downpour forced everyone to take shelter. The poor bride and her party had been on the road when it hit, and they desperately forged onward, hoping to make it to the town. Tragically, they were only a few short miles from safety when a mudslide swept them all away and buried them in the earth.

Fifty years after their deaths, Xuē Yáng brought them home.

If Xuē Yáng had done things his way, he would have just broken into the bride’s family tomb and let the corpses bury themselves there—problem solved! But the bride insisted that Xuē Yáng deliver her remains directly to her living family, so she could be properly interred.

In Xuē Yáng’s opinion it was a waste of time, but he was bored enough he went along with it anyway. First he stole a cart from a nearby field, and then a donkey to pull the cart. After that, he made all of the undead climb into the cart and pretend to be really dead. Most of them were fading anyway, so close to their goal. The bride was watching him, though, glaring at him through the cloth he covered the bodies in as if daring Xuē Yáng to set a foot out of line. As if she could actually harm him!

It was fun thinking up various stories for how Xuē Yáng could have discovered a heap of bodies that were lost for fifty years, but in the end he went for something close to the truth: that Xuē Chéngměi was a cultivator who had discovered them during his travels and he’d been driven by the kindness in his heart to return these poor lost souls to their home.

The bride’s family believed every word he said, and then they thanked him!  They told him he could stay in their fancy manor house that night and whenever he returned to town in the future! They even offered him free silks! Of course Xuē Yáng took them up on that particular offer; it had been ages since he’d gotten any new clothes. He spent at least an hour browsing through their fabric bolts looking for the best patterns, and another hour going through their pre-made clothing.

Their cooks were mediocre, and the sweet pastries they made weren’t the best, but it was acceptable lodgings for a few nights, especially after Xuē Yáng coated the walls of his rooms in warding charms and talismans. He had rooms! Multiple rooms! And he could come back whenever he wanted! He could stay here next winter! What would they think of Xiǎo Xīngchén? They’d probably be charmed by him, even if his formal manners were a bit rough. Ā-Qìng would have to be taught how to behave properly though.

That night, Xuē Yáng went exploring the town, sneaking from rooftop to rooftop and shadow to shadow. The centre of the town was full of restaurants and taverns and teahouses, and there were several places that looked like high end shops to cater to rich people’s fashion. There were many large houses—most of them belonging to merchants, Xuē Yáng would guess—but his undead bride’s house was still the biggest, and even if her family weren’t technically the rulers of this town, they were definitely the richest. This was the best!

She was gone now, the bride. Xuē Yáng had felt her awareness fade not long after they arrived, as her remains were taken to their family tomb. The rest of her servants had been returned too. Xuē Yáng’s promises were complete!

He should really help out rich people more often, they gave the best rewards for the smallest effort.

The next morning, Xuē Yáng woke up in the softest bedding he’d slept on in years, in a room nearly as luxurious as some of the ones in Jīnlín Tái. Fuck, it was so much better than waking up in a ditch by the side of the road. 

Speaking of fucking...

Xuē Yáng couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but apparently it had been very pleasant. He was still half hard. He traced a finger down his chest to part his sleep robe, closer and closer to where he really wanted to touch. It had been a few weeks since he’d jerked off, not since before Orchid Cliffs. Far too long in his opinion! Maybe he could make this a slow intense session, really drive himself crazy. He was already getting harder at the thought.

Maybe he could jerk off now and find someone to fuck later today. There was always someone up for it, no matter where he traveled. Just wandering through town yesterday evening, he had noticed six different people eyeing him up.

Xuē Yáng grimaced. He didn’t really want a stranger touching him, not when he was in such a good mood. Women were good for having a fun time with, they always adored having someone who knew what to do with a clit, but Xuē Yáng hated the idea of accidentally knocking one of them up. It was much more difficult to get a man pregnant, which was a plus, but men always wanted to be the one doing the fucking, and Xuē Yáng hated it. He’d never once gotten close to cumming while getting fucked, and most of the time just ended up bored out of his mind waiting for them to grunt and spill inside him. It was gross, the way it leaked out and dripped down his thighs afterward. Really, the only good thing was that sometimes men would fall asleep still half-sprawled across Xuē Yáng’s body, and that weight pressing him into the bed was always so relaxing, even if Xuē Yáng would never risk falling properly asleep next to a stranger.

In either case, no stranger knew how to touch Xuē Yáng properly. They needed to be trained, taught where all of his most sensitive places were, and told what words they needed to say. It was so much effort, and it was never as good as what Xuē Yáng could do to himself anyway.  

Xuē Yáng trailed one finger over his silk-covered cock—a light, teasing touch—and bit his lip. He could already tell this was gonna be good.

Sitting up, Xuē Yáng leaned over the side of the bed to grab his clothes, fumbling until he found the qiankun sleeve, and from there he drew out a small bag. Inside the bag was a small collection of books; Xuē Yáng quickly picked out his favourite, grinning as he flicked through the pages.

This one was a very special book, a very rare piece, the prize of his collection! An illustrated erotic novel!

Xuē Yáng parted the silk of his robe to take his hard cock in one hand as he found the best page, the best artwork, a cultivator dressed in black and a cultivator dressed in white fucking on the floor of a forest clearing.

This particular novel was about the Yílíng Lǎozǔ and Hánguāng-jūn.

As always, Xuē Yáng found his eyes trailing over Wèi Wúxiàn and his mouth began to water. He looked so powerful, so in control. Demon spirits floated by in the background of the sex scene, but Wèi Wúxiàn himself looked young, handsome, and almost exactly like he had all those years ago when Xuē Yáng had met him. If he closed his eyes, sometimes he could still feel those firm hands exploring his body, searching for hidden trinkets.

Xuē Yáng shifted to lounge across the bed, still staring at the picture, his hand moving slowly, working himself to full hardness. Wèi Wúxiàn was so clever, so cheeky. If Xuē Yáng hadn’t had vengeance to enact on Sòng Lán and Xiǎo Xīngchén, Wèi Wúxiàn would have been the man he stalked. He seemed like he knew how to have fun.

What would it be like to be pinned down and used for pleasure by the Yílíng Lǎozǔ? Judging by the expression on Hánguāng-jūn’s face, it was a very fun experience indeed.

Xuē Yáng would make him work for it, of course. The Yílíng Lǎozǔ’s tricks with demonic cultivation and clever talismans weren’t enough to trap him, not at first at least. But Wèi Wúxiàn was sneaky, he’d stalk Xuē Yáng through the forest to catch him. Or maybe—

Xuē Yáng reached to the side, grabbed the little jar of lube and slicked up his hand. He closed his eyes, lying back, and his free hand came up to play across his chest, nails catching on his nipples—

Maybe Xuē Yáng was stalking the Yílíng Lǎozǔ, searching for him to steal his secret magics, and then he found a scene in the woods. The noble Hánguāng-jūn, glowing white and pure and glowering at the evil Yílíng Lǎozǔ, but behind his eyes, there was still so much longing. Wèi Wúxiàn stalked forward, his eyes glowing red, the shadows dancing all around him, and the battle began!

They were evenly matched, white light against black smoke, their swords clashing and sparks flying. The man in white spoke, begging his opponent to stop fighting: they had been friends once, lovers, didn’t that mean anything to him? Black faltered and white got the upper hand, but that only made black more furious than ever.

Xuē Yáng was breathing heavily by the time black pinned white to the ground, chains made of shadows sinking into white’s skin. Black straddled him, leaning down to kiss him harshly, biting at his lips and white gasped, arching up—

Xuē Yáng pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth, kissing and nipping at the flesh of his palm—

White was begging, “Please, let me help you,” because white knew the only way to calm black’s writhing resentful energy was through dual cultivation. Black snarled down at him; there was no recognition there, black veins crawling up his pale skin, but white arched his neck and black trailed a reverent hand down white’s throat, tracing the scar on his neck—

Xuē Yáng groaned, his hand moving faster, thumbing that sensitive spot near the head of his cock—

White gasped, and said “Take what you need,” and suddenly he was glowing, wisps of light floating from his skin and pushing back the shadows. Black’s eyes were wide, the resentful energy sinking back but not disappearing, never truly gone, and he leaned down, kissing white again and again—

Black wasn’t tamed yet, though, he still needed more, and with a flick of his fingers the shadow chains grew tighter, spreading white’s legs. Gold qi burned through the robes and black ripped them away, exposing all that bare skin, pale as jade and unmarked, and then black was naked too and lining himself up—

Xuē Yáng thrust up into his hand, biting at his lip, he reached down, sliding his fingertips across his rim—fuck, he needed more lube—

Black thrust inside and white arched up, moaning loudly, begging for more as black fucked him hard, fuck, white was feeling so good, so full—

Xuē Yáng held back a whimper, slipping his finger inside—

White felt so tight around his cock, so slick and hot, the way he strained against the chains, wanting to get closer but he couldn’t do anything except toss his head back and forth, the blindfold coming loose as he cried out—

Fuck! Why could he never reach the best spot!?

“Please, I need—!” white gasped out, but black was too far gone to hear his words, strong cold hands gripping white’s thighs, pulling his smaller body against black’s cock, all that beautiful living qi flowing across the contact, draining white completely, and suddenly the shadows plunged twisting into Xīngchén’s veins, replacing everything that was taken, a perfect balance, the feel of each thrust echoing back and forth across their minds and qi, the pleasure doubling, tripling—

White’s hips snapped up and he came with a silent scream, spilling across his chest, and black’s eyes rolled back feeling the echo, he was so close too—

Xuē Yáng came hard, two fingers in his ass and tugging at his rim as he milked every last drop of cum from his cock. He collapsed back, sinking into the bedding and panting hard, his whole body ringing with the aftershocks.

Fuck.

As his breathing slowed, Xuē Yáng grinned, blinking up at the ceiling. That had been a good one. His head was still spinning. As he licked the cum off his fingers, he knew he’d made the right decision—he definitely wouldn’t have cum like that if he’d involved someone else. They would have just gotten in the way.

After relaxing there for a few minutes longer, he sat up and stretched, then moved to the nearby washing basin to clean up a little. Did this rich family have proper baths too? Xuē Yáng hadn’t smelt anything like a hot spring nearby, no sulphur in the air, but maybe he could get a servant to prepare him a hot bath. And maybe some breakfast, too.

Walking through the town that afternoon, Xuē Yáng caught a flash of white through the crowd. He spun around, Xīngchén’s name on his tongue—

No, those robes were different, patterned with Gūsū Lán’s clouds. It was a handful of children around Ā-Qìng’s age, all of them in Lán robes and forehead ribbons, little lost ducklings probably out on their first ever mission. Just passing through? Xuē Yáng hadn’t heard anything about a haunting here last night.

He supposed it didn’t matter. Even if there was a haunting here, obviously the Lans would take care of it, so he could just get back to Xīngchén—

“Hánguāng-jūn!”

Xuē Yáng froze, glancing over his shoulder at the little lans and the tall man standing among them, that serious, blank expression, staring in his direction—

Swearing, Xuē Yáng ducked into an alley.

What were the fucking chances!? This was bad! Had he been spotted? Lán Wàngjī was one of the only people who knew Xuē Yáng’s face! Not to mention—

Xuē Yáng’s cheeks grew a little warm as he smirked, staring back at the main street. Maybe Hánguāng-jūn had sensed Xuē Yáng was thinking of him. Was the Second Jade of Gūsū aware that he was a popular figure in niche porn? Oh! Maybe he wrote some of it! That’s what Xuē Yáng would do if he was famous.

The smart thing for Xuē Yáng to do would be to bolt from this town and head straight for Xīngchén.

Instead, Xuē Yáng bought a wooden mask, and started stalking the little Láns and their stoic leader. 

Chapter Text

There was something wrong with this town. Xuē Yáng hadn’t noticed at first, but wandering the market while slowly following the Láns, he began to feel it. It was the middle of the day but something was missing, and it left him uneasy. Maybe there was a hunt here after all.

The shadows were always the best place to check first. Death echoes and little ghosts could tell secrets that the living wished to hide.

Xuē Yáng frowned, standing still in the middle of the street, his arms crossed. A few people grumbled before moving around him but he paid them no mind, focusing on the shadows. His eyes fell closed.

There was crying. The soft, quiet weeping of children who knew no one cared.  Fear among them, bloody last moments. Lonely and cold and in pain.

Xuē Yáng grimaced, taking a deep breath. Usually dead children forgot they weren’t alive—in most cases, the memory of their death faded quickly, but sometimes it twisted and became the core of their resentment.

This didn’t feel like ghosts turning vicious. This felt like recent deaths, ones that hadn’t had a chance to forget yet.

Xuē Yáng opened his eyes, striding towards a street vendor. He needed more information.

It didn’t take long to build a picture of what was going on. The Wú family—one of the more prosperous families in this town of rich fucks—had lost their son. The boy was only about six, and he had gone missing a week before. Everyone assumed it was the work of one of the servants, that someone had stolen the boy, but no amount of threats or bribes had produced him, and now the Wú were feeling desperate.