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Auburn. Persimmon. Red. Maple flitted in and out of his vision.

In and out.

Dizzying, deciduous, dream-like.

"Xian Le?" A familiar voice asked. But its authority made it feel more like a command than a request. Xie Lian knew that voice, knew exactly who called him by that heavenly title.

Who was it again? Who was it...

"Medicine." The voice told him, when something cold pressed against his lips. "Drink."

Vermilion. Carmine. Blood.

He smiled. Of course there was no blood. There had been no blood for a very, very long time. He couldn't even recall the last time he had seen blood. Life had been kind to him, life had been good. And here was another kind stranger, helping him, proving how lucky he was.

Life had always been so kind to Xie Lian.

A familiar thrum of energy buzzed under his skin, coursing through his veins like liquid gold, powerful enough to kill even the strongest mortal.

But Xie Lian was no mortal. Xie Lian was a God.

Spiritual essence flooded through him once again, rightfully his. His mind swam against chatter as the heavenly array popped and fizzled with static of old, missed communications. He was full of it, filled to the brim with heavenly power after so long without—it left him scrambling against the dirt, writhing and struggling to please slow it all down.

When Xie Lian raised a trembling hand to press against his temple to will it all to stop, one clear voice rang above the rest.

A prayer.

'Please, God,' it came, reedy.

He knew the words by feeling alone. Prayers had always washed over him like a melodic hum more than their tangible words, and this one was no different. Hot, wet, desperation—'please'. A thrum of gold energy like divine power—'God'.

The prayer said little else for a moment, hung back in submission.

How long had it been since he'd last heard a prayer? It was a strange realisation—why had it been so long ago? Laying in the dirt, surrounded by an absence, the bitter taste of medicine on his tongue.

Xie Lian drew blank.

'Where…' A house—location, '…you?' Xie Lian.

More hot, wet desperation. Not 'please', but tears. It trickled through his mind's eye and down his parched throat. A welcome relief. Xie Lian was a butterfly drawn to the tears.

"Shh, don't cry," he heard himself croak out to the barren air around him before he even registered saying the words. Why was his believer crying? Why did they wish to find him? "I'm right here."

The sky above him was cloudy and overcast once his eyes adjusted to the muted afternoon sunlight. He lay in a ditch in what seemed like an abandoned paddy field, alone.

"I'm here," he repeated.

There was no kind stranger to thank, no frantic servant fretting over him. No soul in sight.

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Xie Lian nearly jumped out of his skin when something moved against his ankle. Was he wearing... plain Daoist robes? His nose wrinkled. Mu Qing wouldn't approve of that.

Speaking of Mu Qing—?

His thoughts were scattered errant in the breeze, unable to continue one line of questioning before getting distracted by a hundred others. It was like trying to skip stones across a thick, muddy swamp; frustratingly impossible.

No matter—he dusted himself off as best as he could—he had a prayer to help with.

There was a bamboo hat tied around his neck. Though he didn't recognise it in its details, it felt as though it belonged to him. It had to, given it was on his person. It helped against the soft drizzle of rain as he walked.

And walked and walked…

Where was this temple of his located anyway?

He walked and walked.

Where in the world had he woken up?

He walked and walked.

The night came and went, and came and…

Vermilion. Carmine.

…and came and went and…

Auburn. Persimmon.

…and came and... stayed. The day stayed with him this time.

A boy in red regarded him curiously with a tilt of his head, and Xie Lian blinked owlishly back at him in reply.

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"But Gege can call me 'San Lang'," the youth had said, hours ago when they'd serendipitously bumped into one another at a well Xie Lian was drinking from.

He was thirsty and hungry, and the taste of medicine lingered like tar on his tongue. He wasn't supposed to feel any of these things, though. Xie Lian hadn't felt them in decades, maybe centuries.

San Lang, being the mortal that he was, drinks greedily. He doesn't look away from Xie Lian all the while.

"I'm looking for Xianle," Xie Lian had said, straightening out the knots at the ends of his hair. He'd have to have the servants tend to it when he got home, it must be unsightly.

"Xianle?" San Lang echoed.

"Mn. Does San Lang know which direction it's in?"

A complicated expression crossed his face, the handsome curve of his teasing smile faltered. "Xianle is… very far from here, Gege."

Xie Lian had expected as much. He sighed.

"But if Gege is willing to travel with this one, I can… I can guide you there."

The rain has left them now with nothing but murky puddles to avoid on their path here and there. Unused to his cultivator(?) robes, Xie Lian inelegantly bunches it up in both arms each time they meet one and gingerly steps over. By the third puddle obstacle, San Lang is offering a steady hand to Xie Lian's elbow to help.

Though the day stays, it doesn't stay for very long. And the nonstop days of travelling suddenly hit Xie Lian with a staggering vengeance as they finally, finally reach civilisation.

There's candlelight flickering in the houses they pass, there's a familiar humming glow with the fireflies in the paddy fields afar. The small village is warmed by a rose golden glow of chatter around the dinner table, a log fire in the fireplace, and a safe place to rest each head at night.

Transfixed by the sight of a family breaking bread through an open window, something in Xie Lian aches incomprehensibly.

"Gege?" San Lang breaks him out of his reverie, following his gaze. "Shall we find somewhere to rest for the night?"

"…Yeah," he clears his throat, "Yes, that sounds good."

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They find a teahouse in the village that doubles as an inn. There's a strange moment where Xie Lian makes no move to pay and San Lang leaps at the chance to do so, making even the innkeeper's eyes widen at his unbridled eagerness.

"How did Gege sleep?" San Lang asks cheerily the next morning. Not having caught a lick of sleep himself.

It had been rickety and cold, creaking with each breeze through the cracks of the walls. Xie Lian may still not know how money worked, but he knew better than to be ungrateful for a room paid for. "Mn, well."

Persimmon, deciduous auburn. They trek on through a stunning pathway of maple that day.

"Does San Lang also have business in Xianle?" Xie Lian asks. It is kinder than asking whether he has nothing better to do than trek halfway across the land to bring Xie Lian home. Gift horse, mouth, he thinks wryly.

Something tickles his ankle at the mention of Xianle. Again. It's been days and he still wasn't used to the scratchy robes, it seems. They pause for a moment for Xie Lian to tuck the edges of it into his shoes.

"Something like that." San Lang says vaguely with a tight smile.

Xie Lian decides some things weren't worth prying about.

San Lang, however, doesn't get the same memo.

"And Gege? Does he have business in Xianle?"

Another tickle. Well, it was a good question, but one that Xie Lian unfortunately couldn't answer without revealing too many of his cards.

He settles on the unassuming joker of the bunch: looking for a shrine to the ascended Crowned Prince—nevermind his family. Or the fact that the royal court are most likely in panicked disarray from his sudden disappearance.

"Are there no shrines of his outside of Xianle?" San Lang inquires and the damned fabric twists around his leg uncomfortably.

"Sorry, a moment please," Xie Lian abruptly kneels down and tugs harshly at the tucked-in hem and kicks off his shoe. Damned thing. He inelegantly hikes up the robe past his knee and examines the strange bandage around his ankle.

Curious, San Lang is beside him in an instant. Not quite touching, but ready to help if Xie Lian asked. "Is everything al—"

Xie Lian yelps in surprise when the bandage suddenly untwists itself and latches onto Xie Lian's wrist.

"Ah! What is this?!—" he instinctively seeks some sort of weapon on his back, recalling the memory of a blade, but there is no such thing on him. Panicked, he shouts, "San— San Lang!"

In an instant, the cursed, sentient bandage is caught in San Lang's tight fist. It goes from slithering like a snake to hanging limply between his long fingers, as though dejected.

"Gege… this is full of resentment." San Lang observes, and Xie Lian is stunned into silence by not only the fact that San Lang must also be a successful cultivator, but also how Xie Lian hadn't noticed such a horrific entity on his person.

"Is it… Did San Lang disperse it?"

"No, would Gege like me to?" At this, the bandage sparks back to life, squirming and jerking uncontrollably. Had it been in anyone else's grip, it might have escaped, but not San Lang's it seems.

There is no reason to hesitate at the question, there is no reason whatsoever and yet Xie Lian does.

Because there was something about it.

Something.

Tentatively, Xie Lian whispers, "Xianle?" And the white demon flutters like a kite in the wind. "Is that your name?"

"Gege, don't—" Xie Lian is reaching out by instinct, close enough to reach out and stroke where one end has perked up like the head of a snake. It's… cute, in the same strange way that ghost fires were cute.

Ghost fires. Had Xie Lian ever seen one before?

"Gently," Xie Lian warns the bandage naturally as it makes a home around his wrist, as though they had done it hundreds, thousands of times before.

There's a moment of light in Xie Lian's eyes. When it fades, his eyes are fractionally duller than before. The name comes easily to him then. "Ruoye, sorry."

San Lang watches the interaction warily.

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Just before the forest thicket, there is one last inn with one last room. They decide to stop for the day to rest up for what seemed like a harder journey to come.

"…and Madame Cai owns a noodle shop just down the main road, if you two daozhangs would like something hot to eat. We only have cold food in tonight, but our Hair-Thin Fire Cucumbers are very popular with the locals with a bowl of dipping noodles. Ahh, but I know, I know, 'the weather is rather cold recently, we couldn't possibly'—"

"Thank you." Xie Lian politely smiles at the laoban, who hasn’t stopped blabbing since their arrival. The inn is quiet, sombre, despite how filled out the rooms are. The contrast between the owner and the quiet patrons is unnerving. "Come, San Lang."

San Lang buys them a generous spread of the popular noodles and dumplings. "This is a port town, the last one we'll see for a few days," he relays what history Madame Cai had told him about the area, "Hand-pulled beef noodles are popular among the travelling merchants."

They sit by the open pergola that overlooks the main street… if it could even be called that. It was a dusty dirt path, formed by hundreds upon hundreds of travelling wagons, merchants, and livestock.

"It's delicious," Xie Lian says after politely trying a mouthful of broth. It scalded his tongue and burnt the roof of his mouth, but his stomach felt warm and that sensation alone made him feel rich. What a good life it was to have hot food after a day of trekking through the autumnal cold.

…Not that he'd ever had less than that luxury.

"I'm glad you like it." San Lang's smile is as radiant as the dawning moon. Cool and composed, yet illuminating all around him. He nudges the plate of dumplings towards Xie Lian, hardly touched. "Please, eat up, Gege."

Xie Lian's chopsticks pinch into the soft, thick skin of one. Accidentally tearing its overcooked wrapping. In an effort to save it, he quickly stuffs it in his mouth and just about gags.

A flash of surprise crosses San Lang's face, but he quickly regains himself and passes Xie Lian a spare plate to spit out onto. "Here, here."

"My apologies…. Is this lamb?"

"Yes, it's another one popular among the locals. Does Gege not like it?"

No, Xie Lian stares at the full plate of them; he doesn't like them in the slightest.

"…I don't eat lamb." But it felt wrong not to eat something perfectly edible in front of him, regardless of how it tasted. He's just about to pick up another despite San Lang's protests when a strange sound tolls from the street.

They peek curiously over the wooden railing and see a large procession walking down the road. Despite the sheer number of people in the crowd, there is hardly a murmur among them. At its head is what must be the Daoist in white funeral garb, interrupting the mourning silence with the occasional chiming of bells.

For some reason the sight chills Xie Lian to the bone.

He jerks back from the railing as though burned, nearly tumbling out of the stool with the ferocity of the movement.

"Gege?"

"I'm fine!" Xie Lian says quickly, returning to his bowl of noodles. "I'm fine."

For some reason or another, San Lang's expression hardens, but he doesn't pry.

Neither of them makes a fuss when it comes to returning to one shared inn room that evening. Despite his ornamented upbringing, Xie Lian was very quickly beginning to understand how to be grateful for the little things: hot food, a warm bed, and a roof over his head. It felt almost virtuous just how much gratitude he was already capable of.

"Gege finds something funny?" San Lang smiles over to Xie Lian from where he'd sat down at the cushioned windowsill. The room was spacious despite its singular bed, it was really quite decadent despite the humble patrons.

"Hmm," Xie Lian tried to tuck his pleased smile away. He'd never been particularly good at concealing his thoughts, though. "Nothing of importance. I'm just… grateful for how nice this room is, it's a shame we have to share."

"Yes." San Lang replies so quickly that his teeth click. When Xie Lian looks at him, he's wearing a strained smile. He's seen it enough now to wonder if it was strained with artifice, if it was an indication of San Lang lying.

"But I'm grateful to spend the time with Gege anyway." Strangely, San Lang's strained smile melts into something more genuine, despite what ought to be such a blatant lie.

San Lang is small enough that he tucks into the cushioned windowsill for the night, and Xie Lian doesn't argue about it. They're at far enough ends of the room that they can hardly hear each other's breathing. With his eyes closed, Xie Lian could easily pretend he had the privacy of being alone.

When he wakes up in a dream, however, he is not.

There is a procession of people below him, but it's nothing like the sombre quiet he'd seen that day. It's charged with palpable resentment, the crowd twitches with anxiety and sporadic shouting. At the head of the procession, he can see a Daoist in funeral garb, holding down a sacrificial lamb to the altar.

Except it's not a lamb, he realises.

It's him.

Xie Lian isn't certain at first; the unfamiliar white robes saturated in the unending stream of blood and spilling innards make him hard to identify. He looks so small, he thinks. Head pulled back to expose the soft skin of his throat, his jaw clenched in the Daoist's grip.

Altar Xie Lian doesn't say anything. It doesn't seem like he can make any noise beyond a wet sort of gurgling. Dream Xie Lian watches from above, horrified. Detached as the scene below him plays out.

And plays out and plays out and plays out.

Morning doesn't come quickly enough.

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