Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chengzhu and His Highness had stopped checking in via the communication array, so Yin Yu slid his mask on, tossed some dice and stepped to the edge of town, where they had been investigating the string of memory curses.

“Waning Moon!” Some random citizen cried. “Waning Moon, Chengzhu and Granduncle are NOT OKAY.”

He looked, and there was a widely expanding circle of Ghost City denizens, backing away from … from Ruoye and E-ming. The saber was darting around menacing everyone, but its eye, instead of narrowed in rage or spinning with glee, was blinking in utter confusion. The silk, of course, did not have an expression, but the end kept doubling back towards the two figures in the middle of the circle, as if trying to check about something.

And those figures… well, the lanky teenage soldier whose silent gestures matched E-ming’s movements had to be Chengzhu, but he wore a plain wooden mask with the sketch of a smile on it.

His Highness, far less inclined toward shapeshifting, had the same frame and clothes as always, except he was feeling his face in semi-desperation, as if looking for a mask. Seeing such distress, Yin Yu instinctively expected Chengzhu to offer his own to his god immediately, but he seemed more focused on wondering if he should kill everyone staring. 

…oh dear, there was no eyepatch under that mask, was there? And perhaps Chengzhu had forgotten how to make false-skin eyes.

This was an emergency. No one was seriously harmed yet, but that could change in half a second. The edges of the circle parted for the Waning Moon Officer.

Yin Yu took a breath. He knew what he needed to do. What made sense to do. It’s not like it would actually put him in any danger now; the ‘news’ that the Waning Moon Officer was ‘that guy, whatsisname, Yin Yu’ had been out since they’d taken down Bai Wuxiang. Yizhen knew where he lived. He could take off the mask.

But he really didn’t want to.

But he really, /really/ wanted to do something before Chengzhu stabbed somebody for looking at His Highness funny. Or maybe His Highness would kill people personally, since this was /not/ the awkwardly-chuckling prince Yin Yu knew.

He peeled the Waning Moon mask off his face and offered it with a bow. “If Your Highness would prefer to borrow this?”

“I’m not him!” His Highness snarled, before taking the mask and studying it, as if checking something for poison.

The energy rolling off of both of them made it difficult for Yin Yu to stay on his feet. If .. if Yizhen had made him any less strong, he’d be shoved back without Rouye’s or E-ming’s help. “Then please allow this one to help … you gentlemen out of the street? I have keys to several buildings.” He was going to start by listing Qiandeng Temple, but a vague memory of midnight orders Chengzhu hadn’t wanted to discuss gave the instinct that altars did not calm His Highness down when he was dealing with bad memories. “Such as that manor over there?”

“Someone who thinks he recognizes me wants to take me to a secondary location." The tone was cold and dry, but His Highness’s hands were shaking. “I don’t think so.”

“Sir,” Yin Yu had never, ever, heard Chengzhu call His Highness something as simple as ‘Sir.’ “We could get inside, away from all this trash, then simply kill him when he tries something.”

His Highness had put the Waning Moon mask on. He stood there, breathing heavily for a moment. “…Very well.”

Chapter Text

Wu Ming sat against the door of some lavish guest suite in some fancy manor, ready to kill anything that tried to break in, and watched his god try to breathe. His Highness had removed the borrowed mask once they were alone, and he sat against the wall, perfect amber eyes darting around.

Wu Ming had nothing useful to say, so he remained silent. He didn’t understand where they were, or whether their ‘host’ told the truth when he mentioned a rash of memory curses before hurrying away. The implication, obviously, was that the reason they didn’t know where they were was because they had been exposed to the curse. At present, no one had tried to blame His Highness for the curse — not to their faces, anyway. They were presumably, if the story was true at all, just being quartered as any victims would be. Wu Ming wondered how many days they were supposed to have lost.

His Highness might figure it out. His experiences had made him … different… than in Wu Ming’s regularly-breathing days, but he was still clever.

The saber rattled at his side, the inexplicable spiritual weapon with the eye that matched his right one. It responded to his commands, but he had no recollection of forging it. His right eye was now apparently no more covered than his left, but he still couldn’t see out of it. He smacked it slightly to shut it up. 

“Careful with your equipment, especially when you don’t understand it,” His Highness said coldly, finally speaking, almost with a tone of relief about having something to snap about, perhaps?

“Yes, Y— Sir.” They couldn’t know for sure they were alone anymore. What if someone heard Wu Ming use the true form of address, and thought His Highness’s orders could just be ignored? He had to be careful.

The silence broken, His Highness spoke further. “One more mark in favor of our ‘host’s’ potential truthfulness,” he said quietly. “…The gathered resentful spirits… aren’t here. And I still am.” Wu Ming stayed attentive as his god paused, drawing in another long breath. “This implies the task was already accomplished, and we left the region of the bay.” 

He fell silent again, looking like he was struggling to breathe. Wu Ming had feared that his Highness might have a negative reaction once the curse was unleashed upon Yong’An, that the weight of having done it would chafe at his beautiful soul. “Does Y— does my lord have any injuries?” The fear of His Highness’s turning some of the curse on himself had not escaped Wu Ming, either.

“No,” came the flat answer. Then another breath. “But there is… the spirits are gone, but there is still a great deal of wicked power inside me. Just … different. Controlled.”  The last word stilled Wu Ming’s growing panic, but it still took everything not to try to examine His Highness for the disease or anything else.

Suddenly, His Highness rose and walked toward a mirror on the wall. Then he reached for the bandages that covered the curse shackle on his neck. He carefully, deliberately unwound them, watching as skin was revealed.

The only mark on His Highness’s neck was one small bruise. The shackle was gone.

“… So it really,” his god muttered. “…I thought I … did I ascend again?”

A long pause.  Wu Ming managed to make himself speak up. “…If … If my lord had ascended again, would he, when traveling outside of the heavens, still accept this ghost’s service?” Would he really? Could Wu Ming have possibly been that useful?

His Highness looked away from the mirror and sneered. “Returning to godhood would not necessarily mean that anyone else wanted my company."

Behind his mask, Wu Ming winced. But the discomfort wasn't over. His god continued. "What else intrigues me is why /you/ are still here, Wu Ming. If the vengeance is done, why are you not at rest."

Oh no. "... Vengeance was ... likely not enough. This one is ... greedy..." And then Wu Ming was very grateful to be interrupted by sounds of shouting, and His Highness was intrigued.

Chapter Text

Feng Xin wasn’t an expert on emotions, but the twitch on Yin Yu’s inexplicably-unmasked, abnormally normal face when Mu Qing made his (kind of underhanded, honestly) threat was visible in a way his reaction to the shouting so far hadn’t been.

But the god-ghost-whatever held his ground, standing there in the front atrium of Paradise Manor, and kept his voice flat. “Whether the General of the West is invited to not, Chengzhu and His Highness /remain indisposed/.”

“Then tell them to /put their clothes on/ and let Xie Lian come talk!”

Feng Xin winced. “Mu Qing, I’m sure His Highness wouldn’t be doing … /that/ at a time like this.” He thought he might be flushing from the awkwardness of the thought, but then he realized there was something else heating him up.

“Feng Xin, you’ve ‘done significant-pause that,’ so why are you such a prude when we know Xie Lian’s sexually — WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The sheer intensity of the black-clad ghost that leapt out snarling hit before the ghost itself reached Mu Qing. It was like the ghost was ignorant of its own energy levels, utterly sporadic in its control.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” The ghost snarled behind a creepily simplistic mask.

Mu Qing was on his knees just from the spiritual pressure. Before Feng Xin could defend him, they were hit by another wave of inconsistently-controlled presence. 

The figure following behind the ghost was also masked. But everything besides the Waning Moon mask — the hair, the clothes, and yes, that was Ruoye — was definitely Xie Lian.

Before Feng Xin could speak, there were two words in what was only Xie Lian’s voice in the most absolutely technical sense. “Wu Ming.” The god in the borrowed mask snapped his fingers and pointed down.

The ghost in black, dead smile still turned toward Mu Qing, darted backwards with a growl and /heeled/.

Feng Xin would never, /ever/ make another joke about His Highness’s having to ‘call off his attack dog’ again. Not after seeing that.

Eventually, he managed. “Is Your Highness Okay?” As he looked, Feng Xin realized that Xie Lian wasn’t wearing his neck-bandages, even though there was a bruise. Moreover, he wasn’t wearing the necklace, the one with the ring of Crimson Rain’s ashes. “What… what happened to the necklace?” Xie Lian /never/ let that thing leave his person.

“… do you mean the shackle, or do you mean this?” His Highness asked, taking the necklace out of his robes. His voice was tighter, addressing Feng Xin, than it had been addressing the ghost.

Mu Qing, still not able to stand, was able to roll his eyes. “Of course he means that! What else could he mean when first, a shackle is not a necklace, second, we all know what happened to the shackle and good riddance.” A heavy breath. “Now WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The ghost in black bristled. “..you shouldn’t even be /speaking/ in His Highness’s presence, much less slandering—“

“Wu Ming,” His Highness said again. The ghost fell silent, head bowed. The prince turned the Waning Moon mask towards Feng Xin and Mu Qing, but instead of saying anything, simply turned it right back toward the obedient ghost. “I’ve told you not to call me that. Don’t test my patience. Now, what slander?” Despite the snappish words, his voice was once more less tense.

“…the traitor made vile implications about … about things outside my lord’s cultivation path." This nameless ghost's voice was starting to sound familiar to Feng Xin.

“Wow. It really is a memory curse,” Mu Qing said, but Feng Xin couldn’t see how that could be all it was, how things could ever have been so bad that Xie Lian, of all people, would be... like this. He just watched Mu Qing look to His Highness. “You changed cultivation paths a few years ago. Now it’s..." And, hypocrite that he was, Mu Qing grimaced. "...mostly dual cultivation. With Crimson Rain.”

Finally, Feng Xin heard a rattling and spotted E-Ming on the hip of the black-clad ghost. “Why do you have Crimson Rain’s saber?”

The ghost said nothing. But his voice /had been/ annoyingly deep, however young and raw-sounding.

Yin Yu sighed. “It belongs to him.” Oh “Please, Generals…  perhaps come back tomorrow?”

Feng Xin helped Mu Qing up, and off they went.

Chapter Text

“I have to get back to the investigation,” said the mask-lender, whom Wu Ming was beginning to suspect he might not have to kill. The man had at least not wanted the traitors in the building either. No way of knowing for sure, though. Anyone could be working for Bai Wuxiang. And this was especially important to remember, because it meant Wu Ming put aside the information and/or lies that had just been spoken.

But their ‘host’ had one last thing to ask. “I’ll send food and drinks. Will my lords be needing anything else?”

His Highness’s voice was quiet and flat. “A dual cultivation manual.”

Behind his mask, Wu Ming’s eyes widened. He silently followed His Highness back to the suite. His Highness looked at Wu Ming until the ghost dropped to one knee.

“I have left my cultivation path,” His Highness said quietly. “Understandable. I can… See why recitation of the Ethics Sutra might have lost some appeal. What is purity, after what has happened?”

Wu Ming remained silent, head bowed. He looked toward the saber.

His Highness made an affirming sniff. “My cultivation partner is apparently named Crimson Rain. That saber belongs to Crimson Rain. That saber belongs to you.”

“Only if we believe the traitor, Highness. When we were brought in, the staff called me Hua-Chengzhu.”

“People can have multiple titles. Mu Qing rarely lies.” A pause. “Years. A name or two. And still you are here.” A knock at the door, dinner and book provided.

They eat in silence. Finally, “Wu Ming … does your apparent future self’s decision to be my cultivation partner repulse you?”

“No!” Wu Ming isn’t sure how to /begin/ to address that. “It would … it /must/ be an honor beyond words to serve in that way.”

“Then take off your clothes,” His Highness said as he began to look at the dual cultivation manual.

Wu Ming’s heart didn’t need to beat, so it had no business fluttering. “…now?”

“We’re stronger than we used to be. But we need to be as strong as possible. Someone might seek revenge for …the things I have done. Whatever emergency situation resulted in my ascending again may come into play at any moment, whether that is … the individual I suspect … or something else. So we should do this.”

Wu Ming could tell his Highness didn’t even want to say the name of Bai Wuxiang, so he didn’t either. And if this was His Highness’s cultivation path now, the logic of the command made a certain sense. But… but… “This servant is filthy.”

“So am I. So is what we will be doing.” His Highness reached into his own robes again, but rather than undo anything, only took out the necklace again. “Do you know why I have this, Wu Ming?”

Looking at it again, there was no denying it. While Wu Ming had no idea how it had come to be in that form or in his highness’s possession, he could feel what the ring on the necklace was. “Because it belongs to Your Highness.”

“You believe you gave it to me?”

A small affirming sound. He applauded this maybe-Crimson-Rain’s decision. The power to destroy him /should/ be in the hands of his beloved god.

“What else will you give me?”

“… anything your highness wants,” he said, voice tight. There was no point trying not to say it anymore.

“Wu Ming, Strip.”

Wu Ming shuddered at the words, then, hands trembling, obeyed, revealing his ridiculous, disgusting ghost body, but leaving the mask on. He knew his erection was already painfully obvious by the time he was undid his trousers, so he returned to his half-kneeling position. 

His god looked down at him. “…These matters are easy for you, then?” His Highness asked coldly, and humiliation burned somewhere in Wu Ming’s lower dantian.  He lowered his head further, only to have the book put before his face, showing an illustration of a figures legs spread and three fingers placed on the perineum. “Should you find yourself in danger of …finishing, press your hand there as indicated.”

Wu Ming managed an affirming whimper.

And His Highness continued. “As to your position, for the exercise we will be doing, your … approximate current position would be of use, but with more stability.” A pause. “This is not a theological matter, Wu Ming. A foolish boy’s opinion that a person should worship on their feet is irrelevant to one who is no longer a figure of worship.” Before Wu Ming could protest that His Highness has apparently re-ascended in this new future, or that his beloved was always a figure of worship even shackled, or that the ‘foolish boy’ in question was worth worlds, another order came.

“Kneel entirely.”

Chapter Text

Yin Yu collated the witness statements and hoped that his employers did not do anything worse than burn the entire manor down again. They were so much more powerful than they knew themselves to be, and trying to explain that to them in their disturbed, paranoid state was something for which he did not have time. So he left them to their … explorations of their emotionally reassumed adolescence, and chose not to think about it further.

Even as he ascertained more about what they were dealing with, Yin Yu it would still need to be tracked down and destroyed. He should call Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen again, but they might try to barge in again, and the young Chengzhu — ‘Wu Ming,’ which was a philosophy exam in and of itself — might want them dead again. Moreover, Yin Yu wasn’t exactly feeling cordial toward the Generals of the South himself. They had threatened him.

People did not often threaten the Waning Moon Officer. Not with anything meaningful (violence didn’t count). The Waning Moon Officer didn’t have a past to be threatened with. 

Just a few years ago, however, he’d been exposed. The Waning Moon Officer was … That Guy, Y’know? Ex-God of the West? That Guy Who Tried To Kill His Stupid Shidi? Can’t Recall His Name, Not That It Matters.

So now the handful of gods who had bothered to notice at all knew that the Waning Moon Officer’s insides could be twisted up by the mention of bringing the General of the West to Paradise Manor. Xuan Zhen, of all people, could threaten Yin Yu about it. And Yin Yu was supposed to keep Xuan Zhen in the loop because he needed —

Yin Yu closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Losing a pent-up temper leads to mistakes. Terrible mistakes. He had work to do. And since his employers were indisposed and Black Water was in seclusion, that work required a god.

…but he didn’t have to just leave a weakness out there to the Generals of the South. Chengzhu and his Highness could know that Yin Yu would never, ever be okay about his stupid, stupid shidi. He was already at their mercy all the time anyway. Those other two… should be shown a little defiance.

He needed a god? Well, he had a solution. Yin Yu turned over a sheet of paper he was working with and drew a very particular picture on the back. He lit an incense stick beside the picture. “Yizhen, I … I need your help again,” he prayed before getting up and walking straight from his office to the front gate.

Because fuck Xuan Zhen, that’s why. There were worse answers to one’s personal philosophy exams.

“SHIXIONG!” His stupid shidi shouted in delight, having clearly run to the gate from outside the city the moment he heard the prayer. “Is the world ending again? Does shixiong need to hide a body?”

Yin Yu blinked. “What?”

Quan Yizhen canted his head, stupid curls that he didn’t take care of getting in his face. “Last time we talked, Shixiong said ‘I need some space. Don’t call me unless the world is ending again or you really need to hide a body.’”

“Oh, right. No, this isn’t just about me, Yizhen. His Highness Xie Lian is your friend too, right?”

“Right. Xie Lian’s my only friend who isn’t shixiong. Is he going to come outside, too?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Well, that was already easier than His Highness’s smarter friends. “Want to go camping?”

“No, I need you to track down something for His Highness and annihilate it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Chapter Text

Wu Ming had his mask slid up just enough to let his tongue work. He started low, licking the day’s sweat from delicate skin. Just that taste has him reaching between his own legs to press as ordered, just in case.

He kept at it, leaning further between those perfect muscular legs than he should ever have been allowed. When His Highness grabbed him by the ponytail and pulled him away, Wu Ming at first thought his god had realized the mistake in thinking the ghost’s uses would be worth such soiling.

Holding Wu Ming by the hair like that, keeping the tension in his scalp, the other hand grabbing the edge of the mask, His Highness spoke. “That thing is inconvenient. If you’re my cultivation partner, then you’re /mine/. You’ll not guard yourself from me.” The mask was ripped off, and Wu Ming was grateful to have his own hand still in position to press again. He mustn’t disrupt the cultivation by becoming overwhelmed by His Highness’s words, His Highness’s roughness, the realization that he’d been bared — more so than the nudity — before His Highness’s eyes.

Wu Ming kept his own eyes closed as he was pulled back in, soon groaning against, around, /into/ hot divine flesh. His Highness’ breath hitched; the remaining white robes were slid further from his waist; his hips pressed forward into the worshipful eagerness of Wu Ming’s mouth.

Wu Ming knew this was all just practical, building their defenses in this confusing, dangerous time. That was the only thing that made the fact this was happening make any sense. But it felt good, so good, to hear His Highness start to groan, to know that the only god that mattered was enjoying him, /enjoying Wu Ming/. 

He was as nothing as his name implied, and yet not only could he be a useful tool, he could maybe, /maybe/ make His Highness happy. Wu Ming let his mind fill with that thought as his senses were filled with his god. A ghost didn’t have to breathe, and Wu Ming would take full advantage of that as his lips and tongue slid further and further, until a living man of such inexperience would choke.

Eventually, just as the tight, compact muscles of His Highness’s abdomen started to tense against Wu Ming’s face, he was pulled off again. “It works better if we initially do not finish,” His Highness reminded hoarsely. “Even if our cultivation is impressive now, best to be careful."

Wu Ming whimpered affirmingly, eyes still closed. He reached to try to find his mask. 

There was the sound of movement, and of something wooden being kicked across the floor, perhaps under the bed with the spiritual tools.

“Years, they say,” His Highness whispered. “Years. Plagues. Change. And still you’re here, Wu Ming.” The ponytail was tugged again, dragging the ghost to his feet. “Still in this world. Still at my side. Why do you think that is so?”

It was a struggle to make himself speak. “Because Your Highness allowed it. If… if your Highness is dissatisfied, please crush the ri—”

“/Don’t/ tell me how to be satisfied.” Wu Ming felt himself being lead by the hair across the room, then bent over the huge soft bed. “And why the mask, Wu Ming? It wasn’t important to me whether you were a recognizable figure or a victim of the disease, but now I see that you’re neither. So why bother?”

Wu Ming struggled to get his mind together. “This one is ugly —“

A SMACK rang out as he felt the heat rise on his backside, felt what would likely become a bruise from such strong hands. 

“No lies,” His Highness said as Wu Ming savored the sting in his skin.

“Noliesir,” Wu Ming moaned in reply. 

“Hmph. Doesn’t sound like it’s much of a correction.” His Highness’s hands drew away from him. “Stay.” There were sounds of cloth rustling, likely the god putting his trousers back on. “You’re very confusing, Wu Ming. You always listen, except when you don’t.”

“This worthless one apolo—”

“Don’t.” And His HIghness flipped Wu Ming over, pressing his back to the bed now, pressing a light pair of callused fingers here and there on the ghost’s painfully hard erection, then working the hand up the stomach. “…I wonder, do I threaten you? Bind you? How do you suppose I keep you?” Wu Ming couldn’t even begin to answer that, and His Highness didn’t wait all too long before grabbing at his chest, pinching and twisting. “There are silver chains across the dresser, Wu Ming. Would anyone stop me if I pierced you here —” His Highness’s nails dug in. “—and here, then strung the silver through?”

“No, Highness,” Wu Ming groaned, sure that it was true. Wu Ming had apparently woken in the future with more power pulsing in him than he’d ever had before, and wouldn’t let anyone stop his beloved. Ever.

Chapter Text

“So that was Crimson Rain.”

“…I guess? If it’s his saber, then I guess it’s yet another form. Well, not the first time he’s wanted us dead.” Feng Xin studied the path they’d come down to, based on what little information they’d managed to get about the memory curse investigation.

 Mu Qing snorted. “He really will never get over being kicked out of the army when he was a /kid/. I guess with memory problems, the ‘wound’ was fresher.”

“He seemed upset about your bringing up the … sexuality part.”

“Which is rich, since we know the guy’s had absolute lust in his heart since was /fourteen/.”

Feng Xin’s face flushed, trying /not/ to remember various … vegetation and … art that had broadcast Crimson Rain’s obsession with His Highness. Before he blushed anymore, at least, there was a vaguely angry voice down the path. “How many of these things /are/ there?”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing looked at each other, then hurried up the path. “Quan Yizhen?”

The fluffy-haired General of the West was examining trails. He didn’t say anything at first.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you managed to walk into woods without destroying them. These are within /our/ territory, by the way. Are you lost?”

“I’m not going to destroy a path when I’m hunting. And I don’t care where the hunt goes. This is for Shixiong and Xie Lian. If you want to fight about it, we can do that later.”

“We’ve worked together for His Highness before,” Feng Xin assured. More closely than any of them wanted to think about, really. Still, as terrible as Quan Yizhen was at his job, he was very, very good at his job as long as he didn’t have to account for other people. The man-child could hunt monsters. “We can do it again. You’re after a memory monster?”

“That’s the problem. It’s not /a/ memory monster. There’s more than one.”

“And you don’t know which one has the energy signature signaling it attacked His Highness?”

“They /all/ do.”

Mu Qing groaned. “So taking down one monster won’t be enough to restore all the memories.”

Quan Yizhen’s nostrils flared. “With them divvied up, too bad we can’t leave the ones that ate the bad memories alone. Xie Lian helped me out with some bad memories once. Wish I didn’t have to give him his back.”

“From what we saw of His Highness,” Feng Xin said. “He still has all the bad memories.”

Quan Yizhen suddenly seemed to pick up on the part of the subject they’d been avoiding. “And we have to fix Crimson Rain, too. Shixiong went back to his job when he’d recovered, even though I said he could stay with me. He likes his job a lot. So he and Xie Lian’ll both want Crimson Rain to be Crimson Rain again. And you’ll want to do it, too, for Xie Lian. He’s your shixiong, after all.”

Feng Xin bit his tongue at all of that.

Mu Qing didn’t. “Don’t even make a comparison. And don’t think getting away from you again first chance he got means he just /loves/ working for Crimson Fucking Rain. Remember when your ‘shixiong’ tried to kill you?”

Quan Yizhen whirled with a snarl. “That was an accident!”

“And just a few years back, he hit you with that shovel.”

“I was fine!” Fists were clenched. Feng Xin was very, very aware that aside from seeing his benefactor-turned-one-sided-nemesis, there was /nothing/ that Quan Yizhen would rather do than fight.

Mu Qing just sneered more. “I know /thinking/ isn’t Your Excellency’s strongest suit, but /most/ of us can figure out when a man /regrets/ having demanded some impoverished urchin get an education with the young masters, /regrets/ covering for him when he could have let him fail, /regrets/ taking him up to the heavens, and no matter what amends—”

“You shut up about Shi—”

Feng Xin stepped between them. “Please! Don’t worry.” He glanced at Mu Qing’s twisted, angry … /hurt/ face, then back to Quan Yizhen’s less complicated version, and said. “He wasn’t actually talking about Yin Yu. Just a bit of a mix-up.”

As the three walked down the path in tense silence, Mu Qing met Feng Xin’s eyes and mouthed ‘fuck you,’ which confirmed that the whole Xie Lian thing was indeed getting to him.

Chapter Text

Wu Ming was still laying naked on the bed before his beloved, skin still seared with an almost claiming hand, and he couldn’t open his eyes for fear of revealing the heterochromatic horror to his god. The touches continued like little brands as his ridiculous body was studied.

“Still can’t look at me, hmm? I don’t blame you. Never meeting eyes might make it easier to warm a bed for a genocidal maniac.”

Wu Ming gasped in a way that actually didn’t have to do with his beloved’s hand so near his death-scars. “Your Highness is Not—!”

“Am I not?” His Highness’s hands drew away, and Wu Ming wanted to groan at the loss, but this was too important to interrupt with his disgusting desire. “I unleashed the very horror intertwined with my suffering onto more people,” that beautiful voice said. “And to what purpose?”

“Your Highness was in pain.” Wu Ming hadn’t been able to stop it. He’d never been able to stop it. Apparently /would/ never be able to stop it.

“And so I created more. What good did that do? What point was there in earning the mantle of misfortune assigned to me? How did I even benefit from making the world worse?”

“It was understandable for Your Highness to need vengeance!”

“Vengeance is only useful to make sure the perpetrators won’t or can’t do it again! It’s like I told Guoshi…” His Highness’s laugh, even when borne of pain and madness, was still beautiful, like a shattered vase. “It’s like I told Guoshi when he wanted to punish either me or the kid I saved; punishment shouldn’t be about making some random statement to the Heavens, but about what we want to see in the world.”

‘He wanted to punish either me or the kid I saved’ echoed in Wu Ming’s mind, and his dead heart twisted. Hong Hong-er hadn’t been in the room for that conversation. They’d tried to punish His Highness, over him. And even if he thought he’d avoided it … His Highness had been punished, hadn’t he? So many times over. The Guoshi had said the monstrous little boy would bring disaster. And as they were told Hong-er would taint all who touched him, His Highness had only held the crying child closer.

His Highness was still talking. Wu Ming had to pay attention when His Highness was talking. “Their king was already dead! What future harm was prevented by cursing and infecting the common people?” A pause, then, softer. “I became everything I ever feared my cousin would grow up to be, but a thousand times worse.”

The mention of the monstrous brat who’d broken so many of his bones — well, Hong Hong-er’s. It would take a lot more than that to break Wu Ming’s, unless His Highness did the damage himself —made Wu Ming cringe. That His Highness would see himself in that twisted mirror of trash was unthinkable.

“Perhaps Your Highness didn’t unleash the curse!” Wu Ming said, feeling the same struggling desperation he did when lying to His Highness earlier — apparently years earlier. “Perhaps this one did. I was considering asking Your Highness to let me do it.” It was the truth, at least. Wu Ming had been about to ask, the last he remembered. Mostly in the hope of avoiding this very conversation.

There’s a pause, and Wu Ming squinted his left eye open carefully to see His Highness’s unimpressed face. “…Are you really trying to argue away my responsibility with /that/, Wu Ming? Then is… is Bai Wuxiang blameless for … for what happened in the temple, since he had other people hold the sword?”

Wu Ming had not assuaged anything. He had made it so, so much worse. He could smell His Highness’s blood. He could hear His Highness’s screams. “That monster is just as much to blame as they are, but … but that’s different!”

“The real difference is that I have the added shame of having /given Bai Wuxiang what he wanted./ He wanted me broken, Wu Ming, and I /broke/. I was going to check, to see if I could find some shred of hope for humanity, but I must not have, because I’m still here.”

Wu Ming, cold and dead though he already was, now felt as if he had been stabbed in the stomach with an icicle. If His Highness’s seeking hope also meant seeking death, what was the point of Wu Ming? Had  he really been saved over and over by his beloved only to provide nothing in return?

“Get your clothes on, Wu Ming. We shouldn’t linger here longer. Not if our host has ill intentions, not if our host has good intentions that will change if he learns what I’ve done —”

“Perhaps no one blames Your Highness, because nothing was Your Highness’s fault!” Wu Ming dares to interrupt. Because he can hear the memory in his head, those perfect, princely arms holding him close. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.’ 

His Highness’s voice, as it has been so many times since the day he named Wu Ming, is cold.“Even if that were true of any of the rest, in the end, at the end of our memories, I made a choice.” The voice takes on more air, becomes more heated. “I chose vengeance, and the purpose of that vengeance was what? To get to feel /smug?/” A hand grips Wu Ming’s face. “Do I /look/ like I feel smug to you, Wu Ming?”

The grip forces Wu Ming’s eyes open. His Highness’s perfect golden eyes were nothing but pain, beautiful pain. A beauty that made Wu Ming want to reach and crush the ring himself, but it didn’t belong to him.

And then, within an instant, those eyes were filled with surprise, as they took in Wu Ming’s. And His Highness’s hand let go, and Wu Ming scrambled for his mask.

His Highness took in a few breaths. “Returning to what I was saying, if our host’s intentions will remain good regardless, our staying would still make this city a target for Bai Wuxiang. No tormentor is truly appeased by knowing their methods work to get them what they want. They always come back for more.”

Chapter Text

They’d tracked down what Quan Yizhen said was the smallest of the memory monsters.

“You’ve been surprisingly on top of this,” Feng Xin heard Mu Qing whisper to the General of the West. “So if you’re not a complete idiot, why don’t you answer more prayers?”

“You wouldn’t get it,” Quan Yizhen said. Feng Xin definitely didn’t get it, though it probably had something to do with the brat’s tendency to start fistfights with his own worshippers.

Then the man-child-god threw himself at the monster, slaughtering it single-handedly in a burst of violence. Just after it died, there was a pair of screams at the edge of the woods.

The screams were agonizing. They reminded Feng Xin of the agony in the makeshift hospital camps 800 years ago. But one of the voices was His Highness’s. And that was the voice that was screaming what might be words.

That was the voice that kept going when the other stopped, and so the three of them ran towards the sound of absolute suffering wrapped around a name-that-wasn’t-a-name. “WU MING!”

They found His Highness, still in the Waning Moon mask, cradling what had to be Crimson Rain but was, at the moment, just a constantly-shapeshifting bundle of resentful energy that occasionally coalesced into hundreds of butterflies and oh no, not this again. Apparently, the time they’d seen was not Crimson Rain’s first OR second ‘die for His Highness’ incident.

As usual, Mu Qing was a bit more vocal. “Fuck. Crimson Rain, you’d better not, you motherfucking—!”

“Don’t yell at him!” His Highness cried hoarsely. “You don’t know what he’s been through! Wu Ming… Wu Ming.”

“Its just a /memory/,” Mu Qing insisted. “He needs to /walk it off/ before he disperses himself. You do /not/ handle mourning well, Xie Lian, and I’m not waiting through that again.”

“How the fuck do you know how I handle mourning?” His Highness was definitely talking to Mu Qing, but he didn’t look away from Crimson Rain’s slowly-forming body. “You weren’t there when I found Mom and Dad.”

Even Mu Qing fell silent at that, looking to Feng Xin, whose stomach turned cold. Obviously, Their Majesties hadn’t been in the best of conditions when Feng Xin had followed His Highness’s instructions to get out, but the Queen, at least, was healthy, and Mu Qing had left enough food that even she couldn’t have managed to screw up /too/ badly. She should have lasted years after the King succumbed to his illness. But His Highness sounded like … “Wait… they … passed together? When? How?”

The broken, hysterical giggles started as His Highness clutched the finally solid form, blood oozing from under the creepy smile mask. “When? I don’t know, Feng Xin, how many years has it been since you didn’t believe me about Bai Wuxiang? Oh don’t worry, they didn’t understand me either. They just had…” A wheezing sob. “… a different way of trying to unburden me. Ruoye.” He made a casual twirled hand gesture to the silk band. “Show them.”

And Ruoye shifted its wrappings around His Highness’s neck, one end trailing up toward the sky in an obvious noose. Then it slumped, an end patting His Highness’s head. “Not your fault, Ruoye; not your fault,” His Highness whispered. “Not your fault I couldn’t go with them. And now we’re here for Wu Ming.”

Feng Xin was trying to remember to breathe. How could His Highness not have told them? That his parents… that he’d tried to … even if he thought he couldn’t go to them at the time, they’d now been on speaking terms again for nearly twenty years! Sure, 8 centuries was a lot to catch up on but … but …

“Highness?” Crimson Rain hissed, voice like some kind of feral creature.

“Wu Ming!” His Highness cried with relief. “You’re alive… well … you exist. You still exist. Bai Wuxiang was lying.” The ghost in his arms tensed. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. Bai Wuxiang’s gone, now. Dead for good.”

“Oh, right,” Feng Xin said, unthinkingly aloud. “You used to think he was destroyed.”

“Yes, obviously I just got my memory back of thinking Wu Ming was destroyed,” His Highness muttered. Then he paused, pulled the Waning Moon mask off his tear-soaked face, and blinked at Feng Xin. “Wait… did you mean…? Does Bai Wuxiang come back too?”

“He’s sealed up and imprisoned, Xie Lian,” Quan Yizhen finally piped up. His Highness blinked in confusion at the god he had no memory of ever meeting, and Feng Xin was guiltily relieved to have those bloodshot eyes off of him. “You kicked his ass after what he did to Shixiong. We all helped.”

Trust the little fool to frame the downfall of the most horrific conspiracy of madness at the very highest levels of the heavens as if it revolved around the the temporary murder of a fallen mediocrity. Still, at least he’d said something to ward off panic from His Highness, who went back to focusing on his …husband-whom-he-didn’t-remember-marrying-yet.

“Highness…” was still all that Crimson Rain could manage.

The gears were clearly turning in His Highness’s mind, his investigation brain more in order than it had seemed at the manor. “Okay… okay, so we haven’t gotten /all/ our memories back, because I don’t recall sealing Bai Wuxiang, or, for that matter, Wu Ming and I first becoming cultivation partners.”  And then His Highness’s eyes widened in horror again. “Oh no. I hadn’t gotten that memory back yet when… Wu Ming’s in love!”

Mu Qing had apparently recovered enough from learning about the royal suicides to snort at that. “‘Love’ is one way to put it. Could have told you that when the sick brat was alive.”

And then His Highnes’s face turned, still wet but all emotion drained, voice suddenly cold like it was back at the manor. “Oh, could you have?”

Chapter Text

It was hard to integrate memories of dying for the second time with memories of serving his beloved in the lavish future house. Memories of seeing His Highness change his mind and throw off Bai Wuxiang’s plan juxtaposed with memories of His Highness being stricken by the now-incorrect responsibility in the yesterday-that-happened-before-he-remembered-years-ago. And now, memories of nonexistence (paradoxical) and of years of  making blood-sacrifice to his god of every other monster in Mt. Tong’lu played through Wu Ming’s mind even as he heard His Highness call his not-name-name with anxious joy.

And now His Highness was looking at the traitor. Well, they were both traitors, of course, trusted with His Highness’s safety and comfort only to toss those responsibilities aside. But the boy-of-all-work … oh, he had separated the lanky soldier-boy, the one that had been Hong Hong-er and would be Wu Ming, from His Highness. He had stood by and watched His Highness humiliated. And now he’d said something Wu Ming was having a hard time following, in the feral, blood-soaked haze of memories, but it seemed to have bothered His Highness.

“Mu Qing, did you do something to my Wu Ming, when he was alive?”

Wu Ming couldn’t puzzle out what the argument was about, because now the phrase ‘my Wu Ming’ was echoing in his mind. It’s so good to hear that it was finally understood, after all they’d gone through, that he belonged to His Highness. Wu Ming had certainly been praying hard in recent years, in his own special, ferocious way.

“He lied about his age,” the traitor said. “And he had a sick obsession with you.”

“…A teenager who never laid a hand on me had a ‘sick obsession’ with me,” His Highness said drily, looking from one traitor to the other. “But /Bai Wuxiang/ was just my ‘paranoia.’”

Wu Ming followed his gaze, followed the second traitor’s expression, and realized what it meant. “… you were warned.” He struggled to get up. “/Bodyguard/,” he hissed, word soaked with irony. “He warned you about That Creature. And you had your hands and feet, and you used them to walk away.

Wu Ming had taken no notice, these past several minutes, of how his body had shifted to cover his face in blood, the open wound of his right eye just as he last remembered it. The smell of his own blood had been nothing to him for many years now. All he could smell in the moment was His Highness’s. All he could see were the sword and the altar. All he could hear were the screams. He’d had no hands, no feet, no way to stop it.

Wu Ming was about to throw himself at the traitor, but His Highness spoke, precisely, clearly. “Wu Ming, no.” Despite the firmness, there was a warmth somewhere in the voice. Wu Ming would have obeyed regardless, but he savored that scrap of warmth around his name.

His Highness looked to the dumbstruck traitors. “But we need to get back to the issue of whether I’ve pressed Wu Ming into adultery.”

“What?” three voices asked in unison. Wu Ming didn’t understand. His Highness had never been married. Even if anything he’d wanted from Wu Ming had been anything less than his right (preposterous), how could it be adultery?

“What you need to get back to is Shixiong,” the stranger standing off to the side said. “I can’t hunt like this, and he’ll worry.”

“In just a moment, please.  Wu Ming,” His Highness said, the concern in those golden eyes almost, but not quite, matching the innocent kindness of Wu Ming’s breathing days. “Your beloved. The one who was tortured. Would they feel betrayed?”

Wu Ming’s hands still remembered the ache from carving yet another statue of his beloved and sacrificing yet another violent ghost before it. His feet still twinge from his jump down after his unwilling ascent to the heavens that had rejected his beloved. “… didn’t… mean to … blaspheme…” he muttered.

But he was soon interrupted by the traitor, the boy-of-all-work. “Xie Lian, you were /tortured/?”

“What?” His Highness asked. 

Off to the side, the stranger was placing fingers to his temple and yelling “SHIXIONG!”

Chapter Text

“This one thanks Your Highness,” Yin Yu said, slipping his mask back on before facing Security. “Now, I want to be entirely clear that Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen — along with their very obvious assumed identities — are not allowed in Ghost City until they can stop arguing. With each other, with His Highness, with Chengzhu. Until they stop creating disturbances, they stay out.”

“Understood, Waning Moon.” And Yin Yu could then try to settle His Highness and Hua Chengzhu — who had apparently /almost dispersed/ — back into the manor.

Seriously, /Yizhen/ was being more mature than those two. So there’d been new information revealed. They should try working for Chenghzu for centuries. Now /that/ was a series of confusing, ominous, never-complete revelations.

When Chengzhu was resting to ensure the cohesion had really worked, His Highness looked to Yin Yu. “Waning Moon? Is Wu Ming — rather, is your employer, who is apparently my cultivation partner, in a relationship with anyone else?”

Yes. More absurd thoughts were definitely necessary today. That wasn't Xie Lian's fault, though. “No one but Your Highness. Fidelity is one of Chengzhu’s stronger suits.” And understatement was one of Yin Yu’s.

His Highness looked very, very thoughtful for a moment. “Loyal to a fault, isn’t he?” His Highness said quietly in a way Yin Yu took as rhetorical. “So easy for someone to take advantage.” And even with this version of His Highness who didn’t know him, Yin Yu could spot the gesture of reaching into his robes to check that the necklace was there.

“No one takes advantage of Hua-chengzhu,” Yin Yu said simply. “The only one who could, doesn’t.”

“But doesn’t he have the right to rest? Really rest, in a way where his soul isn’t…?” His Highness seemed to lose his words. Then he reached into his robes and took out the ring of ashes, hanging from its necklace. “What would crushing this do?”

“It would destroy Chengzhu,” Yin Yu said evenly. Chengzhu would never stand for His Highness's being told what to do, so best to just stick to the facts. He was grateful to have been given his mask back. "Not like the other times, but truly permanently.”

His Highness looked pained, but unsurprised. He took a breath. “When he gave me this, did he hope I would shatter it, or hope I wouldn’t?”

Why was this Yin Yu’s existence? At least this was a bit closer to typical worrying from His Highness. “I suspect hope had nothing to do with Chengzhu’s thoughts when he gave Your Highness that.”

Chapter Text

His Highness was there when the ghost who had been Wu Ming woke again. “Highness,” was once more all he could manage. He wasn’t sure how much he’d been exposed by the traitors. Combined with the fact that His Highness had looked into Wu Ming’s abhorrent eyes after their dual cultivation session, there was every reason to think he’d disgusted his beloved. 

But His Highness smiled at him gently. “Wu Ming. How are you feeling?”

Wu Ming knew that ‘how does Your Highness want me to feel?’ was probably a stupid question. Instead, he went with, “…very honored to see Your Highness once again.”

“Likewise,” His Highness said softly. “I didn’t think I would ever be able to, after you … didn’t listen to me.” The slightest frown. “My actions should have resulted in my consequences, Wu Ming.”

Wu Ming took a moment with that. “This lowly one is deeply sorry that his disobedience was upsetting to his god.”

His Highness looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but the look came from His Highness’s own face, not a mask, and thus, Wu Ming was grateful. “What a careful way to avoid the issue of whether you’re sorry for doing it,” His Highness said with gentle amusement.

“This servant cannot regret finally accomplishing something for Your Highness’s benefit.”

His Highness looked away. “…Perhaps we can do something with more pleasant benefit, after Wu Ming has a bath.”

Wu Ming realized he was lying in the only bed in the room, filthy and blood-soaked. “…what was our host thinking, letting this one rest here like this?”

“That he’d have the linens changed while Wu Ming washed up,” said His Highness. “Which he will. The bath is all drawn now. Please go and provide me with a clean cultivation partner shortly.”

So Wu Ming was still allowed to serve his beloved in that way. He scurried behind the partition, bathed efficiently but thoroughly, washed the mask as well, and scurried back to kneel naked at His Highness’s feet. 

“Not that,” His Highness said with an ‘up’ gesture. Wu Ming scrambled to his feet. “Let’s start where we should have started before,” his beloved said, not quite looking at Wu Ming. “With a simpler energy exchange. Get the mask out of the way, and kiss me.”

Wu Ming’s mind had barely settled from its absolutely monstrous state in Mt. Tong’lu, and now here he was, closing his eyes, sliding up the mask to cover only his eye-and-socket, kissing his god. Some would try to describe such an experience as ‘the nearest thing to heaven,’ but Wu Ming had been to Heaven. It had nothing on this.

Wu Ming remained pressed against his beloved, kissing clumsily, utterly caught up in pride and pleasure, for some time. Ghosts didn’t need to breathe, but gods eventually became very uncomfortable if they didn’t, so at some point, His Highness pulled away.

“Wu Ming does so well,” he said breathlessly, face flushed, hands stroking down Wu Ming’s bare back. “And has such a lovely mouth. My Wu Ming is so good.”  

Wu Ming had to remind himself that His Highness had apparently not liked it when Wu Ming was disintegrating earlier. “Your Highness is too kind to this lowly servant.”

“A man should be kind to his cultivation partner,” His Highness said almost sternly. “Kinder than I was … yesterday.”

“Your Highness treated this one far better than he deserved yesterday,” Wu Ming insisted, sliding his mask back in place to avoid risk of exposing his scarred eye socket. “Does Your Highness still wish to dual cultivate? Even if the danger is past?” He’d heard something about His Highness kicking Bai Wuxiang’s ass. As was proper.

“They say Bai Wuxiang is alive, but sealed,” His Highness said gravely. “But that seems unreliable. Here I am, brimming with power, and I was sealed, and sealed /again/ after I lost you.”

“Again?” Wu Ming asked. “Why?”

“…Because I’d done wrong. You, especially, deserved justice, for the way I’d treated you.”

Every monstrous ghost Wu Ming had devoured in Mt. Tong’lu could have come to life, right then, inside him, and Wu Ming’s insides would not have twisted more than they did.

“… highness… no … please.” His beloved had been punished. Because of him. /Again/. Wu Ming started shaking. His beloved draped a robe over him and held him tight.

“I decided I couldn’t be trusted with with power or good fortune. Judging by my neck, someone keeps disagreeing.”

“Your Highness should have all the good fortune there is.”

His Highness smiled. “And it’s turned out that I do need ...want power after all. I have this necklace to protect.” His fingers curled around the ring of ashes.

“That’s not impor—”

“It’s very important.” Then his beloved blushed. “Now be a good cultivation partner, Wu Ming, and look at the manual.” His Highness lay back on the bed, which did indeed have fresh linens. “You’ll be Figure A.”

Wu Ming reminded himself yet again that it would not be good to disintegrate.

Chapter Text

Within second’s of being notified that Yizhen was taking down the next memory monster, Yin Yu heard the screaming, then the explosion.

Half of the relevant wing was wrecked from the sheer force of… not killing intent. Yin Yu almost wanted to call it ‘struggling intent,’ the spiritual energy had pushed into the walls so desperately.

He found them in the ruins as if there wasn’t even anything around them, of course. His Highness was hyperventilating in Chengzhu’s arms. And it was, in fact, Chengzhu, hair wild, a patch over his right eye. 

“Highness, please. Please be okay. What should I do? Whom should I kill?”

“His Highness must be recovering a lot of memories,” Yin Yu pointed out before killing became too fixated a thought. “I ask that you both please remember you have been in what was, to you, the future.”

“…future…” Xie Lian said, disoriented. “I remember the future… like a dream to slip in and out of. Dreaming about whether I could love my Wu Ming enough to give him peace. … Peace…I wish I could rest in peace.”

Oh. Oh, that had implications. That had implications that Chengzhu might not take well at all. “Chengzhu, how much do you remember?” Yin Yu asked. He could hope that those memories would include their wedding — and thus calm any thoughts of Xie Lian’s suicidal ideations or that he was only interested in love as a ghost pacification — but all things considered, that seemed unlikely.

“I remember a whole lot of Not Finding His Highness, so who cares?” Chengzhu sneers. "If this is the future again, Yin Yu, then why weren’t you prepared for this to happen?!”

“No one has ever told me about what His Highness is processing right now,” Yin Yu explained as he watched Ruoye wind its way to trying to stroke Xie Lian’s cheek comfortingly.

The god himself was trying, between clutching of his chest, to gather his breathing enough to speak again. “This is a much more pleasant hallucination than most of the recent ones,” he said. “I hope it lasts a while before the next asphyxiation.”

“Asphyxiation?” Chengzhu’s voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. “Why is your Highness asphyxiating?”

“Coffin ran out of air years ago,” His Highness said absently. “The hallucinations never felt this real before. This /is/ like those old future dreams. But where’s my …” And then Xie Lian’s eyes focused more carefully on Chengzhu’s face. “Oh. Wu Ming? So good to dream of you again without the … screaming. I didn’t think I would dream of your getting older.”

“It is always an honor to see Your Highness, in dreams or waking,” Chengzhu whispered hoarsely. “But… what coffin?”

“Qianqiu stuck a dowel through my chest to pin me in and buried me,” His Highness explained, though he did seem to be getting a hold of himself almost unnervingly well for someone processing memories of ‘years’ of /that/.

“I don’t know who Qianqiu is, Highness, but I swear he will die for this,” Chengzhu said, the waves of killing intent coming off of him strongly.

Yin Yu was not certain how to interrupt this exchange to explain about Lang Qianqiu. Mentioning that he was a god now would probably not be helpful.

“No, no, Wu Ming. It was bad enough I had to kill his father. Let’s just see if we can avoid any more people from Yong’an and Xian Le killing each other, okay?”

“Yong’an? Your Highness was in Yong’an? I … I haven’t looked there in years.” And there it was: the official Crimson Rain Seeks Flower jaw-clench of self-recrimination. How fortunate that His Highness was here, so Chengzhu couldn't run off and wallow in misery. "I didn't... I was wasting my time, and that Yong'an trash --"

“Wu Ming, can’t we just skip to the part of the dream where you kiss me?”

Chengzhu froze, then whispered, “… Of course, Highness. Forgive this servant,” and pressed his lips to Xie Lian’s chastely.

“Oh good,” the god said when they parted again. “But…” His eyelids fluttered heavily. “I’m afraid it’s ending already.”

Yin Yu spoke up again, before Chengzhu could panic further. “I suspect Your Highness just needs a few more minutes of sleep, to integrate the memories.” And indeed, with a polite acknowledgement, Xie Lian fell asleep. Chengzhu gingerly lifted him up and carried him towards an intact part of the manor.

As they walked, he hissed at Yin Yu. “Why is that idiot shidi of yours restoring the memories so haphazardly? Why haven’t you gotten Black Water on this? He at least can be methodical.”

“Lord Black Water is in seclusion, a frequent occurrence in recent years. The fruition of his revenge had … drawbacks.”

“Drawbacks? What drawbacks?”

“Well, for one thing,” Yin Yu said delicately as they found another suite. “His Highness didn’t much care for how it was done.” He hoped that would avoid having to explain the complexities of the issue.

And sure enough… “Oh. Okay then. Not Black Water.” Chengzhu laid his husband (whom he didn’t remember marrying) on the bed and went on one knee as if in vigil. Because of course he did.

Chapter Text

Hua Cheng waited for His Highness to wake up.

His Highness. Right here. Sleeping in Crimson Rain’s own residence. It was so much to deal with so suddenly, all the more with the bizarrely-interwoven memories of the past few days.

The past few days.

His Highness, so guilt-stricken over Wu Ming that he’d /punished himself/, had tried to show the worthless ghost enough love to lay him to rest. Hua Cheng’s secret presumption had been exposed, and it had been as much of a problem as His Highness had once warned a useless ghost fire it might be. The god could have just crushed the ring, but of course His Highness would choose the gentler way, more in keeping with the cycle of reincarnation, even if it meant offering his own body to be defiled. Wasn’t that exactly how His Highness operated?

Hua Cheng saw his own hand reaching for the necklace and made himself draw it back. He couldn’t break what wasn’t his.

Besides, there was still the chance that His Highness might have need of him. 

His Highness stirred. “…the dream again?”

“This lowly one doesn’t think these are dreams, Highness,” Hua Cheng said softly.

His Highness smiled indulgently. “Then how did I get out of the coffin, Wu Ming?”

Hua Cheng winced and lowered his head. “This worthless servant doesn’t know, and would beg Your Highness’s forgiveness for his ignorance and neglect if he merited any mercy at all.” He couldn’t even take action /now/, since apparently, they were just processing memories. The fact that His Highness would eventually remember /more/ agony froze Hua Cheng’s insides.

“No, no, none of that, Wu Ming,” His Highness said. “Or, by the look of you, you’re probably Crimson Rain now?”

Hua Cheng nodded, still not raising his eye. “Among other things.”

“Good. That’s good. You deserve proper names, instead of the casual cruelty I came up with.”

“Your Highness did nothing wrong and can call this servant anything.”

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Wu Ming,” His Highness said. “And if these aren’t dreams, then I … fear I must have greatly damaged this fine building recently.”

“Your Highness may burn this one’s residence to the ground if he likes,” Hua Cheng assured. “It can all be rebuilt.”

A nervous laugh. “Later, if this really is real,” His Highness managed. “I would like to find my hat.”

Hua Cheng’s memory, once integrated, was precise enough to recall the brief appearance of a hat in His Highness’s possession during the last moment’s of Wu Ming’s original existence. He had no idea where it was acquired or why it would be a priority, but His Highness didn’t ask him to understand. “Of course.” He let his eye stray to his beloved’s face again, only to see it … blushing.

“Can we talk? It’s been … well, it /feels like/ so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to besides Ruoye.” The silk perked up, then seemed to realize it wasn’t needed and rewound itself. Hua Cheng had deliberately /not/ brought E-Ming into the room. It would have been agitated and insufferable. “But you need to talk, too, or I’ll forget I’m not … not hallucinating.”

Hua Cheng did his best to hold back a wince. “Of course. Where would Your Highness like to start?”

“Do you forgive me?”

“This servant does not understand what Your Highness is asking about, but in any case, the answer is that there has never been the merest instant where I did not. This lowly ghost is the one who has transgressed, who has failed…”

“Don’t speak so poorly of my cultivation partner.” His Highness’s words made Hua Cheng double over as the shame rose in his throat.

Eventually, he managed. “Your Highness should choose a cultivation partner based on interest or … or /desire/.” He nearly tore the word from his throat, just the thought of it in his beloved’s presence getting him worked up against his will. “Not pity. If… if Your Highness only wishes this ghost …dealt with, please … crush the ring. ”

Silence. Long breaths as His Highness sat up, his legs shifting out of the bed. More silence.

Then, “Wu— Hua-Chengzhu. You think I have no interest in… in what we’ve done. That it was strictly a decision I made based on criteria you don’t approve of.”

Hua Cheng couldn’t manage to answer.

“Well, let me inform you that the last thing I remember before being sealed in soon-airless darkness with a dowel through my heart—“ How could he just say it like that, like it was just a simple fact instead of a horror. “—was /letting it happen/. I chose to commit murder, then chose to take the fall both for it and for the murders committed by others, because I decided that would get results. Now, even /if/ your understanding of the situation was correct, even /if/ you weren’t … weren’t the first person I ever … wanted in my life, it’s /preposterous/ to think you could just convince someone as stubborn as me to change my mind.”

Hua Cheng didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Chapter Text

"He was tortured by Bai Wuxiang," Feng Xin said.

"Yes." Mu Qing replied.

"After I dismissed his concerns as a paranoid breakdown." The ghost's hiss of the word 'bodyguard' echoed in his brain.

"Apparently."

"And then His Highness found his parents alone after ... their suicide and ... "

"Tried to join them. No other way of reading what he said there."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"...Whenever Crimson Rain attacked us over the centuries, he always said he just didn't like us."

"He's allergic to communicating with anyone but Xie Lian."

"Who never told us."

"Well..." Mu Qing wasn't looking at him. "He did spend centuries... particularly not expecting me to do anything about his problems."

"Yes, but we've all been ... f-friends again--" Feng Xin reached for the mockery like a salve, but he suspected it wouldn't give a lasting distraction.

"Fuck you."

It indeed did not last. Feng Xin wasn't the best at wit anyway. He needed Mu Qing to sustain their. fights, and Mu Qing was not providing much.

They sat in silence a few more moments. "So what happens now?"

"Well, rumor has it that a wing of Paradise Manor exploded, but the Ghost City security crackdown against us means we can't go check. We can look in on Quan Yizhen --"

"No, I mean afterwards. When this whole memory curse thing is done."

"...When it's done, it'll be done. What's changed? Do you want to go ask Guoshi if you can give Jun Wu an extra scolding? We didn't know Bai Wuxiang tortured Xie Lian, but we did know, these past few years, that he was a genocidal maniac who orchestrated the downfall of our country just to fuck with His Highness. Didn't we already reach the maximum limit for how sustainedly upset we can be about him?"

"I mean for His Highness."

"He's spent the past 20 years not telling us anything we learned this week. I'm fairly certain that means he doesn't want to talk about it."

"So you just want to play along with that? Forget we know?"'

"Well, I'm not going to feed the memory to a monster, but there's no need to rehash everyone's humiliation."

"That still doesn't feel right."

"Do you want him yelling for you to go again? We're already being condescended to by /Yin Yu/ and /Quan Yizhen/. When this is over, it'll be over."

Chapter Text

His Highness was still scolding Hua Cheng, and by this point, there were other visceral emotional expressions besides laughter or tears warring within him.

“I cannot stress enough, Hua-chengzhu, that after years trapped alone in the darkness, I am absolutely not going to get rid of /any/ company I have, much less …” His Highness took deep breaths, and Hua Cheng stayed frozen at his side.

“It was completely inappropriate,” His Highness continued sternly, “To even /suggest/ crushing the ring when we don’t possess all the relevant facts. We still have more memories to recover and process.”

Hua Cheng tensed at the idea of having to watch His Highness deal with /more/ memories of suffering and suffocation. But what was the alternative? Leaving him to forever rely on others for information?

“And even then, I am very grateful to whichever version of you gave me this…” His Highness clutched the necklace with the ring. “Because to be entirely frank, I don’t think you can be trusted with it right now!”

Hua Cheng had to finally look away, seizing a hand and pressing his forehead to it. “…Your… Your Highness wanted this one laid to rest.”

“Not like that. Not your soul ripped apart. Yes, I thought, recently — I guess it’s recently? It’s hundreds of years ago to me — that I could give you what you needed and that would give you peace. That no one should be stuck, bound to someone like me, when all I ever do is get you killed …over and over.” His Highness shuddered, and Hua Cheng gripped his hand more firmly, his insides twisted at the memory they’re both trying not to imagine, of death over and over again.

“We have … a lot to address,” His Highness said. “But I’m just … I’m just still so glad to see you. To see anyone, but that it’s my Wu Ming… well, of course, I don’t know much about the man you are now … and I’m still trying to sort out things that were said ‘recently’, since I couldn’t exactly think them over during the old memories…”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know what to say. His Highness shared his bed, has learned a little of his feelings, has /seen his face/ and has not sent him away. Of course, it was just made clear he would not send /anyone/ away right now. Moreover, Hua Cheng is still very aware that His Highness burdened himself with guilt and consequences over one stupid nameless ghost.

“Hua-chengzhu, are you listening to me?” His Highness asked.

“Always, Highness, but please don’t address me like you’re one of the staff.

“I suppose that isn’t a very appropriate way to address one’s cultivation partner, but I must point out that you’re using /my/ title, and I was never very good at thinking of such things.” Another pause, another flash of pain in his eyes. “I should have treated my Wu Ming better.”

“To be Your Highness’s Nameless ghost is better than a thousand real names.”

His Highness laughed awkwardly. "How can my Wu Ming say such things and not kiss me?”

Unworthy or not, Hua Cheng wasn’t going to deny him. The kiss was long, slow, and thorough, but gentle. Eventually, they parted for air … for one of them, anyway. “I’m not crowding Your Highness?” With that ordeal still so fresh…

“You’re not crowding me. You’re proving you’re here.”

Chapter Text

Shixiong, Yin Yu heard, privileged to that rarest of occasions: Quan Yizhen using a communication array. The last monster has gone to ground. Taking out the biggest one must have spooked it. But don’t worry; I’ll get it! 

Yin Yu sighed. Thank you, Yizhen. Please keep in touch. What a thing to be asking him. He closed the array and made his way through the ruins of half of Paradise Manor to the suite where the his employers were staying.

He knocked, but only as a precursor to calling through the door. “Chengzhu? Highness? This one merely wanted to let you both know that the final memory restoration may take longer than the others. 

“Thank you, Yin Yu!” His Highness called back, somewhat breathlessly. Not like Yin Yu hadn’t heard worse, in terms of guessing what his employers had been doing lately. “Are repairs on the building going okay?”

Yin Yu said nothing, letting Chengzhu reply. “There won’t be any until Your Highness is fully recovered.”

An awkward, absentminded laugh, actually sounding more like His Highness’s everyday manner than Yin Yu had heard in the course of this ordeal. “I suppose there is the risk that this one’d mess it all up again and waste everyone’s effort.”

The energy spike that followed, which Yin Yu could sense across a room and through a door, resembled Chengzhu’s aura of menace in some ways while being utterly different, more of an aura of mortification. “No, Highness, not at all! So that the rebuilding can best suit Your Highness’s most up-to-date inclinations. Yin Yu, has His Highness ever felt the need to destroy a wing of the manor?”

“This one cannot speak to the matter of feelings, but His Highness was a catalyst in burning down much of Paradise Manor slightly more than 20 years ago, yes.”

“What?!”

Chengzhu chuckled. “This one is sure Your Highness had good reason.”

Yin Yu couldn’t help it. “Apparently, the fire was an unfortunate byproduct of His Highness’s disruption of a fight between Chengzhu and His Highness Tai Hua, also known as Lang Qianqiu.”

A pause, and then Chengzhu’s voice grumbled. “I didn’t say I was sure to agree with the reason.”

“Well, then how were you sure it was a good one?”

“It was Your Highness’s.”

They really were coming so much closer to getting back to normal.

His Highness sighed. “Yin Yu, just go ahead and come in, please.” And when he did, they were fortunately fully clothed, although His Highness did look flustered. “His Highness Tai Hua? Is that a divine name?”

Yin Yu nodded. “The Young King of Yong’An ascended after a reign of several years.”

And there was a wry, distant smile from the strongest martial god, though he likely didn’t understand that yet. “Oh. Good for him.”

Chengzhu looked almost on the verge of rolling his eye but would never let himself imitate Xuan Zhen in that regard. And soon, of course, his attention was once more fixated.

His Highness had resumed speaking. “What’s more, I’ve recovered remarkably quickly, probably because my body did so long ago. It might be nice to get some fresh air, though….considering. Is it safe to go for a walk in the city?”

“For Your Highness and Chengzhu? Always.”

Chengzhu first looked excited, then frowned. “But when the last bunch of memories arrive — how much has happened to both of us since … well, since the ascension just mentioned? Is it conceivable we could both be temporarily incapacitated at the same time?”

Yin Yu’s Waning Moon Face was slid aside at the moment, but the grimace almost matched. “Quite conceivable, Chengzhu.” And Yin Yu clearly couldn’t speak for all of it. Not even the parts wherein he hadn’t been dead at the time.

Chapter Text

Everything felt so out of order. Hua Cheng had been dual-cultivating with his god — the impossible dream — before they even got the chance to get to know each other again — also an impossible dream, but a different one.

Obviously, the sex had been a tool, a defensive measure, but it had become so gentle, so sweet. His Highness was everything Hua Cheng had ever known and everything he’d ever wanted and so much more to be discovered.

“Wu — I mean, Hua Cheng,” His Highness asked, and even without the honorific, it still didn’t sound quite right to the Ghost King’s ears. Not from his beloved. “If we did go out into the city, what would we see? I didn’t take it in properly before, to my shame.”

Hua Cheng frowned, taking his hand. “Know no shame, Highness. But it’s just a city, nothing special.”

“I am not going to remain unimpressed when my cultivation partner has built an entire city. So where do you usually work?”

“I have an office and a meeting-hall here at the manor —” assuming they were still extant at the moment, not that Hua Cheng truly cared. “And a dais at the Gambler’s Den.”

“Gambler’s Den? It seems it really is a good thing that I changed my cultivation path!” His Highness laughed, and it was music.

Still… “Your Highness needn’t associate with that trash.”

His Highness looked to Yin Yu. “Do I associate with people in his workplace?”

Yin Yu nodded, smart enough not even to look for Hua Cheng’s opinion as to whether he should answer the question. “Your Highness is adored throughout Ghost City.”

Hua Cheng was proud to hear that his citizenry were a better class of trash than so many.

“Oh my.” His Highness sounded incredulous. Hua Cheng would have to continue working at fixing that. “Do I gamble now? I should think I’d be terrible at it, with my luck.”

Hua Cheng did not want to think about His Highness’s luck, of how His Highness had deliberately made it worse —

His thought was interrupted by Yin Yu’s answer. “Occasionally. Chengzhu was quite intent about giving Your Highness ‘dice-rolling lessons.’ On Your Highness’s first day in the Den you each won something from each other.”

Hua Cheng grinned. “What did I win?”

Yin Yu maintained a blank and boring expression. “A stale, half-eaten bun. Chengzhu immediately took a bite, right over His Highness’s bite marks.”

His Highness actually blushed at that, as if they hadn’t been doing far more shameless things. The god cleared his throat. “What did I win?”

“His Highness Tai Hua’s release from the ceiling of the Den.”

Hua Cheng sneered, then sighed. His Highness really did want his torturer to prosper, and Hua Cheng had clearly decided not to upset him too much.

And then Yin Yu’s hand went to his temple. “Highness. Chengzhu. Please sit down.”

And just as they did so, it hit. Memories of 250 years: power and anguish and hope, some wrath, power and anguish and hope, occasional creation, further power and anguish and hope, then …joy, nerves, contentment, falling in love all over again, fear, play, pain, pride, joy, rage, devotion, triumph — and nonexistence. Then life/unlife/whatever, joy, ecstasy, joy, bliss, contentment, love, love, love —

“SAN LANG!”

“GEGE!”

They fell into each other’s arms once more.

Chapter Text

They had to make Yin Yu a lot of promises before they were allowed back into Ghost City, much less into Paradise Manor itself. No bickering. None. Feng Xin hoped some potential disagreements wouldn’t qualify as bickering.

His Highness and his husband — whom he apparently again remembered marrying — were even more absurdly cuddly than usual. Even Xie Lian stood to greet them, Crimson Rain was pulled up alongside him, as if they couldn’t bear to stop touching.

“Feng Xin! Mu Qing! Good to see you both. Sorry it’s been such a very weird week around here.”

“Gege has nothing to apologize for,” Hua Cheng said, probably by reflex.

Nevertheless… “He’s right, Highness,” Feng Xin said. He then bowed very low. “But I do have a reason to. I apparently have for a long time.”

“…Feng Xin,” His Highness sighed. “Don’t. I told you to leave.”

“Not about that,” Feng Xin said, not straightening yet. He still stayed off the floor. He respected His Highness’s preferences that well, at least, and besides, ever having to kowtow to Qi Rong when they were all still mortal, doing so to Xie Lian would have felt extra weird.

“Oh… I was hoping we weren’t going to talk about this.”

There was a staccato exhalation of vindication from Mu Qing, but Feng Xin didn’t care. 

Crimson Rain Seeks Flower was, paradoxically yet unsurprisingly, in agreement with Feng Xin. “This husband would be most grateful if Your Highness’s ex-bodyguard were allowed to finish apologizing.”

His Highness said nothing, so Feng Xin resumed talking. “I’m sorry that I focused on worrying about your mental health and not on keeping you safe.”

“Bai Wuxian orchestrated it to seem like I was crazy.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for playing into his hands. And I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Feng Xin, you literally broke your own arm once, because of my father’s rules and my mother’s worries; I never, maybe not even at my worst, really thought you didn’t care about them. You can’t take responsibility for what happened.”

“I can still be sorry about what happened whether I’m responsible or not.”

Mu Qing cleared his throat. “As can I.”

The next sound distinctly gave the impression that His Highness was scratching at his face awkwardly. “Guys, this was centuries ago,” he said softly.

“Still needed saying,” Feng Xin insisted.

“Okay… okay. Apology and condolences accepted.”

Only then did Feng Xin straighten. He vaguely caught sight of Hua Cheng nodding at him politely in a way that almost looked like he meant it.

“So,” the Ghost King said. “I hear you two were so insufferable during our curse that Yin Yu voluntarily called in Quan Yizhen, of all people.”

Okay, things were getting back to normal, yeah. Just … with that little extra out in the open, like a splinter dug out from under a scar.