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1
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Shuanghua fell to the ground with a clatter.
Xiao Xingchen, the once bright moon, the gentle breeze, had fallen to his knees. In completion of his surrender, his head bowed to the ground, his long hair sliding down his shoulders and over his face.
Xue Yang had won.
And Xiao Xingchen had lost, his will having faltered then shattered, his existence only held by a lone thread of hope amidst despair. The return of Song Lan’s life.
Could it even be done?
A meaningless question.
It no longer mattered what could and could not be done—what should and should not be done. The promise of it alone was sufficient.
For Song Lan, Xiao Xingchen had carved out his own pair of eyes. For Song Lan, Xiao Xingchen had broken his vows, pleading to Baoshan Sanren to take his blood, his qi, to take anything that would help make his friend whole again.
He had all but offered his life before, and he was just as willing to make the trade now. For the life he had taken was incomparable. And the one he possessed, worthless.
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2
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Xue Yang maintained his maddening smile, his eyes shining from malicious glee and a thin film of tears.
“That’s better.”
Hatred had scorched the edges of his voice, soothed only by a coat of derision. He inhaled.
“Much better.”
He forced Xiao Xingchen’s head up with his shoe. The blood on Xiao Xingchen’s face dripped off his chin, splattering his impeccably white robes. Xue Yang thought of kicking him and seeing him fall back onto the ground, more dirt on his robes and more blood in the dirt.
A stream of cruel thoughts flashed across his mind. Behold! The virtuous Xiao Xingchen, reduced to a groveling dog. Where is your righteousness now? Why not use your righteousness to bring your friend back? Why are you begging me? I disgust you, don’t I, and yet you want to kiss my feet?
So many thoughts. Xue Yang just needed to pick the sharpest one, the best knife to plunge in and twist. The words that almost came out— you’ve dirtied yourself horribly, Daozhang —would have made for a good striking blow, if not for the thought that followed it:
Come, let’s get you cleaned up.
Let me wash your clothes, before the stains settle and become permanent.
Xue Yang lowered his foot.
He stared at Xiao Xingchen’s prone form.
“Go back inside,” he finally said.
There was no response.
Xue Yang tensed. The confrontation had already spiraled out of control. Emotions raged through him like a storm, unstable and eager to strike. All the words he had meant to guard, he had unleashed. All the secrets he had meant to hide, he had confessed.
Don’t make this any worse, he pleaded bitterly. Don’t you understand, Xiao Xingchen, you can’t beat me. Hurt me, and I will hurt you a hundred times over. Resist me, and I will kick you down. Don’t make me kick you down.
To Xue Yang’s relief and slight astonishment, Xiao Xingchen obeyed.
Xiao Xingchen unsteadily rose to his feet and walked back to the house. In his weakened state, his direction was off—Xue Yang opened his mouth—and Xiao Xingchen stumbled on the extra step before the entryway. His reflexes saved him from a full collapse, his hand braced against the door frame.
Once he had disappeared inside, all went to silence.
Xue Yang was still numb.
Ignoring his open stomach, he bent down to pick up the fallen vegetables and placed them back in the basket.
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3
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Xiao Xingchen didn’t know why Xue Yang didn’t behead him immediately. He didn’t understand anything of Xue Yang, of the nameless companion living by his side all these years, or even of himself.
No one spoke inside the house. There were no taunts and no violence, just a tension thick enough to suffocate. Hopefully A-Qing had listened and run far away, never looking back.
Xue Yang moved around in the kitchen. The pattern in his footsteps was painfully familiar, almost routine, and in his faded mind, Xiao Xingchen wondered if he was simply drifting inside a nightmare. That at any moment he would hear his companion’s friendly voice calling him for dinner, maybe calling him twice with an added hint of confusion, and Xiao Xingchen would snap awake.
It didn’t happen.
At last the footsteps veered off their usual path. Xue Yang stepped toward him, then past him, settling at the foot of the bed. From the sounds, he was addressing his wound—the wound Xiao Xingchen had dealt.
Just deep enough for Xingchen to have stabbed himself.
Just shallow enough to have stabbed himself twice.
Xiao Xingchen did not know how to deal with the new wave of emotions bursting within him. They were the wrong emotions.
Something was wrong with him. Something must have been wrong with him since the beginning, when he first noticed his hand falter, when he let Xue Yang escape once, twice… twenty times, allowing one massacre after the next.
After Baixue Temple, Xiao Xingchen had given up altogether. He no longer attempted to seek justice. He accepted his failure and his shame, forfeiting his dreams, relinquishing his name. He had let Xue Yang have his freedom, his revenge, and thought… that would be the end. That should be enough.
Hadn’t that been enough?
Something wet touched Xiao Xingchen’s cheek.
Xue Yang ignored his flinch, continuing to clean the blood off his face with the rag, almost gentle.
Xiao Xingchen couldn’t understand the action. He couldn’t understand any of it. Overflowing, emotions bled down from under his blindfold, undoing Xue Yang’s careful work, his work of… what? What was the point of this?
Xiao Xingchen’s heart trembled, his lungs filled with a desperate need to scream, to cry.
Why do this?
Why do any of this?
Why doesn’t he just go?
Xiao Xingchen had let him go, hadn’t he? So why instead of going, instead of enjoying his freedom, had Xue Yang remained by his side? Why had he stayed, and stayed, and stayed, refusing to go even after Xiao Xingchen learned the truth and pointed his sword at him?
Refusing to go, and now, refusing to let Xiao Xingchen go either.
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4
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Xiao Xingchen wasn’t eating.
Xue Yang expected that; his own appetite had been ruined. But it was the third day, and he thought the meticulous meal he had made would at least get some… if not appreciation —he was not that blindly optimistic—then at least acknowledgement.
Everything was now fucked up. It was all Song Lan’s fault. For showing up when he wasn’t supposed to. Why had he shown up? He had already abandoned Xiao Xingchen, hadn’t he? Leaving him to roam blind and alone? The tremor in Xiao Xingchen’s hands, the pained voice whenever he spoke of his so-called friend, had told Xue Yang everything. Xue Yang only took what Song Lan had already thrown away.
And it was Xiao Xingchen’s fault for being so pitifully naïve. Couldn’t he have at least pretended? Played along? Or, if he was truly intent on ending Xue Yang, then at least followed through! Xue Yang didn’t even need to use his sword; words alone had won him that fight.
And maybe part of it was his own fault. Fine. He had fucked up. He’d take all the blame then, he was used to taking it, he felt nothing taking it. Better he than Xiao Xingchen, who fractured under even the slightest suggestion of wrongdoing.
Xue Yang desperately wanted some spell, some incantation, that would allow him to wipe Xiao Xingchen’s memories and start anew. He might just go seek it out, if he weren’t so sick of pretense. Keeping a mask was one thing. But after finally taking it off, putting it back on was like eating food he had already spat out.
"The soup is getting cold," he said, unable to tolerate the silence. "Will you eat or not?"
Winter melon soup was one of Xiao Xingchen's favorites. He always had that pleasant smile when bringing up a spoonful and realizing what it was.
It used to be so easy to make him smile.
Xiao Xingchen did not move; hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor since their fight.
“No need to waste food,” he said quietly, flatly. “What hunger will I have after you kill me?”
Xue Yang ruffled. “Kill you?” he repeated in disbelief. He laughed. “Xiao Xingchen, if I wanted to kill you, do you think you’d be here? Did you think I was waiting for permission? I could have slit your throat any time I pleased. I didn’t even need to slit your throat; I could have led you into unknown parts of the forest and let the elements claim you. A cliff could have done me the favor and you’d walk to your own death for me!”
Did the truth break his brain? Xue Yang wondered. Did it make him stupid?
He reheated the rice, slamming the bowl down next to the soup, so Xiao Xingchen would have no mistake of where the food was.
“Only one of us can be petulant. Did you forget our deal? If you starve to death, then you condemn your poor Song Lan to death too.”
The name brought Xiao Xingchen back, pushing all the breath out of him.
“Why?” Xiao Xingchen whispered.
“Why what?”
“Why not just kill me.”
Xue Yang stared at him.
“Because I don’t want to,” he answered.
“So you’d rather keep me alive… for what?” Xiao Xingchen lifted his head. He sounded confused, and frustrated, and maybe even angry from the way his voice shook. “What is it you want, if not my death? My suffering? Is that it? Is that why you targeted Song Lan, killed everyone in Baixue Temple? Just to see my reaction?”
Xue Yang didn’t blink.
“Yes.”
Xiao Xingchen bowed over, looking as if he was going to scream or weep or both.
“Killing you would have been a waste,” Xue Yang continued calmly, feeling he should stop there but finding himself unable to. “I took a hell of a beating in that prison cell, you know. Everything that happened, I kept tally and thought how sweet it was going to be when I repaid you. Every night, I did nothing but think of your pretty face and the best way to fuck it up. And then I got out, and I saw you with him, and I knew.” He paused, staring at the blindfold. “I didn’t think you would do that, though. That’s extra. But I liked it. It was fun messing with you more.”
“Fun,” Xiao Xingchen echoed.
Yes.
Fun. Turning Xiao Xingchen into the antithesis of himself. Watching him slaughter all those innocent people. The glorious irony, the hilarity. Xue Yang believed he had outdone himself, sauntering the entire way home.
And that was the truth of it.
Of course, Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t be able to understand the truth. Xiao Xingchen, who grew up on his mountain of goodness and purity, who lived in devotion to benevolence and altruism.
Xue Yang didn’t know why he tried. It was the lies that worked, that had the right effect, that made Xiao Xingchen smile.
“Will Song Lan still be part of your fun?” Xiao Xingchen asked tightly.
Xue Yang didn’t understand.
Xiao Xingchen clenched his hand, knuckles hard against the floor. “Bring him back. Then let him go. Swear he will have no part in your fun. Do that,” he said, inhaling, “and I’m yours.”
Slowly, Xue Yang softened, just a little. He picked up the bowl of soup to reheat it, his footstep almost regaining a bounce.
“Deal.”
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5
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Before Xue Yang, Xiao Xingchen had never chased after a person. He cleansed negative energy. He eliminated the dead. In human dealings, he corrected minor slights and disputes, but never tangled himself in clan politics or their greater moral creeds. He was uneducated in justice, only knowing the difference between healthy and harmful, what was growing right and what was growing wrong.
Xue Yang’s first few offenses had been small enough that Xiao Xingchen thought whatever harm Xue Yang had left behind, Xiao Xingchen could mend and let be. Some naughtiness was natural, he had thought. In his homesickness, Xiao Xingchen recalled his younger martial siblings, and Xue Yang had a deceptively innocent smile, the words rolling off his tongue remarkably sweet.
The next offenses were not small. Then Xue Yang killed someone. Then he killed some more. And Xiao Xingchen realized that behind Xue Yang’s innocent exterior was something that had grown horribly, horribly wrong.
Fun.
The word made him shiver, made worse by Xue Yang’s unconcerned tone.
Toying with an adversary, torturing them, murdering them, was his concept of fun.
And now, Xue Yang was cleaning him, feeding him, preparing him for more fun. And Xiao Xingchen was letting him.
The morning light was nauseatingly warm. Xiao Xingchen assumed it was morning, his hand finding the edges of the bed. He did not dare move too far, needing to first know where Xue Yang was and what he was doing.
The peace unsettled him even more than the light.
If Xue Yang wanted, he had the skill to conceal his breath. Was he watching him right now? How close was he?
Unable to tolerate the uncertainty, he gave a small call. “Xue Yang?”
Silence. It slowly dawned on him that Xue Yang might not be present, that he could be alone.
“Xue Yang?”
Xiao Xingchen did not understand the drop of panic in his stomach, as he removed himself from the bed. Maybe Xue Yang was present. Maybe he was holding back laughter right now, watching him fret.
Xiao Xingchen let himself calm. He touched his palms again, feeling for the cut of Fuxue, in vain hopes of waking from a nightmare still. His hands stung, stiff from the bandages Xue Yang had wrapped around them.
As he crossed the space, he sensed something was not right, the warm light turning to shadow and back to light again. There was someone in the house after all.
“Xue Yang,” he tried again.
It wasn’t Xue Yang. Xiao Xingchen already knew it wasn’t him.
“Zichen?" he asked softly.
Song Lan did not reply. He did not move from his position by the door. He did not pull away when Xiao Xingchen’s hand found his sleeve, and then with more courage, his arm.
“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen croaked, finding the wound in his chest, from where Shuanghua pierced through him, right through the heart. Blood had made the fabric stiff, the threads coming undone.
Song Lan remained unnaturally still, as if turned to a statue, despite the feeling of flesh and bone against Xiao Xingchen's palm.
Xiao Xingchen could not see what Song Lan had become. Was he dead? Was he alive? Could he see him, hear him? Was he in pain? Was his soul suffering?
Xiao Xingchen collapsed gracelessly to the floor. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around himself, curling inwards. “I’m sorry.”
This had to be undone. Dead or alive, Song Lan would not be a part of this. Xiao Xingchen would not allow Song Lan’s body to be used as a weapon of slaughter. Xiao Xingchen had accepted his own role. Knowingly or not, he had already been living as a puppet for years. But Song Lan would not join him.
Xiao Xingchen swore to that, swore to it in each of his wretched apologies, clutching his arms so tight that his nails dug into his skin, all of his wounds reopening.
The light shifted.
Then came the touch, hesitant at first, then firmly, the touch of a human hand upon his shoulder.
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6
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Xue Yang wrung out the water. Done, he threw the last of the wet laundry into the basket and gave his back a small stretch, careful to not tear his stitchings.
It was a pleasant day, the sun strong and persistent. Several townsfolk greeted him on his trip back from the river. He made sure to flash his usual jovial smile but stopped short of engaging in their small talk, returning any extra warmth with coldness, not caring if his rudeness showed. He had already stayed out longer than he wanted and was anxious to return to the house. He had left breakfast on the table, but knowing Xiao Xingchen, it was likely untouched.
As soon as he entered the courtyard, he froze.
He slowly lowered the basket, his eyes locked on the missing sword by the house’s front. Impossible. He had left Song Lan to guard the door—
His eyes flickered to the side of the house, to the loose hinge of an open window.
Xue Yang all but slammed open the door, shoving Song Lan’s body aside.
He breathed again when he saw Xiao Xingchen sitting on the bed, right where he left him. It looked like he had only just gotten up, his hair loose and uncombed. The sudden noise startled him, his head snapping up in Xue Yang’s direction.
Seeing him tense like captured prey, Xue Yang felt all his anger disperse. Shoulders lowering, he closed the door, quietly locking it.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d still be asleep. Did I wake you?”
He left a hint of guilt in his question, and despite all circumstances, Xiao Xingchen had not changed at all, foolishly falling for it.
“No, I was awake.”
His stupid, blind fool, never wanting to place anyone in a position of worry, of discontent, probably not even realizing what he had just said and what it meant. Xue Yang couldn't help but smile, knowing Xiao Xingchen would not see.
Xiao Xingchen was certainly not hiding Shuanghua beneath the covers, ready to cut his throat. Xue Yang was beginning to believe Xiao Xingchen did not have the capacity to kill any living soul at all, at least not knowingly. Willingly.
“Breakfast is here,” Xue Yang said, loudly pulling out a chair. “Come sit down.”
A pause. Xue Yang caught it but said nothing, watching Xiao Xingchen struggle with indecision.
Defeated, Xiao Xingchen left the bed. Still smiling, Xue Yang stepped in.
As they crossed paths, Xiao Xingchen whipped around. “Don’t!”
Xue Yang had already pulled her out from under the bed, taking back Shuanghua as it fell. He stopped short of killing her there, not wanting to ruin the bedsheets and give himself more laundry.
"You shouldn't have come back, Little Blind," he taunted, humorless. He frowned at the sword, then at her. "Or not so blind after all."
He was impressed by her deception. She was more crafty than he gave her credit for, though she had lost her one trump card and her one chance. Xue Yang had no intention of giving her another one.
Knowing she was in her last moments, A-Qing begged, not to him but to Xiao Xingchen.
"He's tricking you! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s too late, the other daozhang is dead, he can’t bring him back, he’s lying, you have to save yourself, you have to kill him, please!”
Xue Yang paled, his grip on A-Qing’s wrist turning deadly, transforming her words into screams, but she was resilient, still begging in between her screams, her sobs, unable to see what her words were doing to Xiao Xingchen, how they mercilessly whipped him, fractured him to pieces.
Dead.
Too late.
Can’t bring him back.
Can’t —
Xue Yang struck her across the face.
“You know nothing of what I am capable of.”
A-Qing glared, spitting blood back at him. “Not even immortals can revive the dead, much less scum like you.”
Xue Yang laughed. “Of course immortals can’t. They’re so far stuck in their ass, they’ve forgotten what death even is. It’s scum like me who aren’t afraid to touch it, understand it, and I can guarantee you…” He dragged her toward the door. “It’s pitifully cheap. Just like life.”
Expecting interference, Xue Yang already had Song Lan silently behind Xiao Xingchen, ready to restrain his arms.
Xiao Xingchen did not move.
“A-Qing.”
The calmness in Xiao Xingchen’s voice made them both stop. A-Qing looked up, wide-eyed.
"You said you will do anything for me?"
Her face lit with hope, hope that her words had reached Xiao Xingchen’s heart, that he had snapped out of whatever spell that was binding him. "I will, Daozhang, I will!" she yelled, struggling with renewed might, not caring for her broken bones, not caring if all her bones broke, beyond the fear of death. She was the type to come back as a ghost, to do anything that would save her daozhang from the clutches of the evil Xue Yang.
“Promise me you will not harm Xue Yang.”
All her hopes shattered. A-Qing couldn’t speak.
Xue Yang’s own mind emptied.
“D-Daozhang?”
It couldn't be that they both heard wrong.
Xiao Xingchen faked a smile—he was bad at faking, it was too tight and pained and just an overall abominable imitation—and said gently, “For me. That is all I want from A-Qing right now.”
Tears fell down A-Qing cheeks. Thoroughly broken, she went limp, making a loud ugly noise.
“Is that a yes?” he asked softly.
Head bowed, A-Qing made more of the same ugly noise, more of a cry of defeat than of confirmation.
But it was enough, and the tremor in Xiao Xingchen’s hand stilled.
“Xue Yang.”
Xue Yang stared.
“It’s settled. A-Qing won’t harm you, so you have no more reason to kill her. You can let her go now.”
Xue Yang found himself obeying on habit, only regaining his grip last second. His mind was still reeling from astonishment. He hadn’t had the chance to process one emotion when it was already replaced by another.
Settled?
Did Xiao Xingchen truly expect that two liars, who had been hostile since the day they set eyes on one another, would respect anything as stupid as a promise? That they would not exploit the first opportunity that presented itself just because of meaningless words they have once spewed from their mouths? Was he that breathtakingly naive?
“I don’t need a reason to kill her,” Xue Yang said, just to hear how Xiao Xingchen would respond.
“You have reason to not kill her.”
“And what’s that?” Xue Yang demanded, suddenly annoyed by Xiao Xingchen’s regained composure.
“I do not know.”
Xiao Xingchen left a pause, as if Xue Yang would fill it. When he didn’t, Xiao Xingchen tried his best guess. It was genuine and honest and far worse than if he had been contemptuous because at least with contempt Xue Yang would know how to react.
“Maybe killing her is a waste. Maybe it’s fun with her around. Whatever your reason, if you wanted to kill her, she wouldn’t be here.”
After calmly tossing Xue Yang’s words back in his face, Xiao Xingchen walked past Song Lan, stepping in the perfect place such that their robes never brush. He collected the breakfast for reheating.
And just like that, it was settled.
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7
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If Xue Yang believed that A-Qing did not threaten his existence, then A-Qing could live. For Xue Yang to believe that, A-Qing too needed to believe. She needed to believe that she would never harm Xue Yang, that she could not afford to even entertain the possibility, something that Xiao Xingchen waxed into her mind everyday.
“I cannot handle more death,” was the safest thing he could say.
If he needed to be more powerful, “I want him alive.”
Xiao Xingchen had no practice with lies. That was the most convincing statement he could make, because it was the closest to the truth. He tried not to linger on what that said of himself, how broken it made him.
On the bed, Xiao Xingchen carefully touched A-Qing’s arm. “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
He moved his fingers up and felt her tense. Immediately, he loosened his already light grip. Her wrist had been snapped.
He helped her nurse it.
He kept her close, letting her sleep by his side, keeping her shielded from Xue Yang and Xue Yang shielded from her.
A precarious balance, their lives had become. But also the most he could do, having failed to convince A-Qing to leave. A-Qing simply would not leave, just like how Xue Yang would not leave.
Still, Xiao Xingchen tried, in vain hopes that after A-Qing had healed, after she had been fed, after her mind had cleared, she would go. She had to go.
She had no more place with him, who had already been dealt a fatal wound, slowly bleeding out. She needed to understand that he wasn’t all there anymore, and that there was less of him with every passing day.
A-Qing didn’t want to listen.
“But there’s no place for me to go,” she whispered back one night, head buried into his chest. “You’re my only family.”
“You’ll find a new family.”
She said nothing.
“Just like how you found me.” He smiled softly. “It took less than a minute for you to attach to me.”
His chest became wet. She clutched onto him harder, gripping his robes with her good hand.
“And over a decade until that minute,” she croaked, shrinking into the covers.
He said nothing.
“Daozhang, if you die, then I’ll die with you. At least then I’ll die warmly.”
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8
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Xue Yang sat at the table, eyes flickering over to the bed. He ignored the unhappy discomfort in his stomach, returning his attention to the papers before him. He dug his head harder into his fist, his eyes straining in the candlelight. He dragged another stroke of the brush before pausing.
He can’t bring him back, he’s lying, you have to save yourself.
His hand tensed.
Not even immortals can revive the dead, much less scum like you.
Behind his eyelids, he could see Xiao Xingchen fracturing, one crack from shattering completely to the floor.
Bring him back...
… and I’m yours.
Xue Yang pressed harder into his fist, staring blankly through a thin film of tears. The honorable and virtuous Xiao Xingchen would never go back on his word. This was Xue Yang’s chance to have him fairly. Win him over honestly. They could rebuild over the wreck. In time, all the wounds would scar over and be nothing more than a faded memory.
And then, life—
He choked.
Life would be good again.
He was almost willing to believe in cosmic justice, if this was his one blessing amidst all the shit, if this was how everything balanced.
Breathing, he lowered the brush again. He wasn’t going to fuck this up.
He was no Yiling Patriarch, but out of everyone in the world, he came pretty damn close.
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9
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The day came when Xue Yang wanted to go on a night hunt.
Earlier in the week, he had unwrapped the bandages around Xiao Xingchen’s hands for the last time. Xue Yang had rubbed the skin of his palm and said the wounds looked healed. After a pause, he asked Xiao Xingchen if he felt any pain.
When he shook his head, Xue Yang bounced to his feet and declared the wounds healed.
Xiao Xingchen said nothing. He touched the scars left by Fuxue. He stopped short of scratching himself back open.
When Xue Yang approached him at night, Xiao Xingchen put up no resistance, only checking that A-Qing was sound asleep before leaving the bed.
He barely heard Xue Yang’s explanation, which was already bone bare. No story of strange sightings, no market gossip, just that tonight felt like the right night. What he did hear was the barely concealed enthusiasm in Xue Yang’s voice, the anticipation in each of his steps.
“Ah, before I forget!”
Xue Yang pulled free something from his person. Xiao Xingchen immediately knew what it was when it landed in his hands. Only out of reflex did he not drop Shuanghua, though he wished he had. He wished it had been his hands that had been crushed under the wheels of the ox cart.
Maybe there had been some truth in Xue Yang’s words, maybe if the world had been less cruel to its children, monsters like Xue Yang wouldn’t exist, and in his place would be the nameless companion. For such a world, Xiao Xingchen would gladly give up both his hands.
He didn’t want his hands. Someone please take away his hands.
Xiao Xingchen thought he could do this, but his heart was already weeping for Song Lan’s forgiveness.
“Use me differently.”
Xue Yang stopped midstep.
“Hurt me differently.”
Xiao Xingchen stood, shaking violently, the hold of Shuanghua like the hold of a hot iron tip, the blood of the innocent and the wronged seeping into his flesh, dripping off his fingers.
“Please,” he begged quietly.
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10
.
Xue Yang stared for a long time.
When he finally understood, he burst out laughing, inadvertently making Xiao Xingchen recoil.
“I’m an idiot,” Xue Yang said. He jumped before Xiao Xingchen, looking at him up close, studying his face. His expression softened. “You’re an idiot too.”
Xiao Xingchen couldn’t speak.
Xue Yang sighed.
“Xiao Xingchen,” he said in mock annoyance, “it’s been two years since I pulled that trick on you. I’m not so lame as to use the same old methods.” He lowered his shoulders. “Rest assured, no one will be involved in this trip. You’ve been in the house all this time, I figured you’d enjoy a peaceful walk outside.”
Xiao Xingchen’s expression changed, and then changed again, his lips sealed tight.
“With a sword?”
“You’d rather we stroll unarmed?”
Xiao Xingchen believed him less and less.
“Why give it to me? Why not arm yourself?”
“I am armed. Of course I’m armed,” Xue Yang said, knitting his brows. “But if something does come at us, better you defend yourself. Besides, who knows what I’ll do. If it’s something you don’t approve of, you’ll need something to stop me, won’t you?”
Xue Yang waited. It was good they were clearing the air. Xue Yang had intended to do that as part of their walk, now that his temper had calmed and he had the time to rehearse.
Whatever Xiao Xingchen was struggling to say, it never came out. Finally, he whispered, “Why at night?”
“So Not Blind can’t come,” he said bluntly.
Xiao Xingchen asked no more.
Xue Yang straightened, pleased by his own honest answers. He had passed the first test and it wasn’t even hard. It encouraged him to go all the way.
“Let’s set the record straight. I’m not trying to hurt you.” I haven’t tried to hurt you in years, he wanted to point out, but Xue Yang reminded himself Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t know that; Xiao Xingchen wasn’t even aware when he was being hurt. “That’s not what I want anymore. The things I liked to do before, I don’t care about those things either. I know you’ll never accept them, and that’s fine. I don’t need you to change your mind. I’ll change. I’ll only do the things you accept from now on. You just tell me, and if I start fucking up, then you just stop me. Since I’m not deceiving you anymore, you can do that now. I’ll let you set me right. Don’t you want to set me right?”
There was no immediate response. Xue Yang kept patient, intensely searching Xiao Xingchen’s expression for an answer, eyes wide and dilated in the dark. His fingers curled.
A heartbeat later, his hand loosened and he breathed, laughing like a child, blinking hard because he had made the right bet to go all-in. Now that he heard it, it was impossible to imagine Xiao Xingchen answering any differently.
That there could have been any other possible answer except, “I do.”
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11
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Whatever game Xue Yang was playing, Xiao Xingchen knew he was already losing miserably.
But what choice did he have but to play?
Between this and slaughtering innocent people, this was mercy. Xiao Xingchen should be on his knees in gratitude.
He would play. He would accept all the burden and blame Xue Yang had casually thrown upon him, all the responsibility for Xue Yang’s actions. After all, Xiao Xingchen had his sword, so whose fault would it be but his if Xue Yang did something horrible? Xiao Xingchen had the truth, so whose fault would it be but his if Xue Yang wasn’t redeemed?
It was a challenge. It was a slap to Xiao Xingchen’s face, a spit on all his beliefs.
If a man asked to be saved, claimed to want to be saved, no matter how disingenuous, how could Xiao Xingchen refuse? How could he not try, even if it was futile as growing an orchid in frost or scooping the moon from a river’s surface.
Let him be the fool then. Xiao Xingchen had acknowledged the possibility when he first descended the mountain, when the opposition between wisdom and desire could no longer be reconciled. He followed his nature as thoughtlessly as Xue Yang followed his own, and a part of him remained stupidly willing to help, the part of him that had wanted to pull Xue Yang aside the first time he saw him vandalizing the streets.
With the fake power Xue Yang had assigned him, at least he could buy A-Qing nicer treatment. He polished Xue Yang’s mask, encouraging him toward acts of such kindness that even the most suspicious, hostile villagers had dropped their guards.
In the bitterness of winter, Xue Yang fetched firewood for the weak and elderly. When their crops wilted, he hunted on the rougher landscapes and brought back game. He fixed broken roofs and insulated homes. His generosity sometimes earned him a few coins of gratitude, which he spent on simple sweets for himself and, without Xiao Xingchen’s prompting, A-Qing.
There was no need to ask whether or not his newfound kindness would ever counterbalance his former cruelty. That answer was apparent even if you didn’t question why the families could not find warmth and food in the first place, how their husbands and sons had died. Or what caused their homes to be so decrepit, from whence the beasts that once attacked them had come.
This was not about justice but about survival, about maintaining Xue Yang’s alternative reality, about accepting his revisionary tale, a tale of redemption for the poor and misunderstood, a tale with a happy ending in the place of a tragic one.
His illusions were masterful. Meals at the table. Trips to the market. Small bickers. Over time, even A-Qing dropped her guard, sharp with her insults once more. It became increasingly difficult to distinguish Xue Yang from the nameless companion, two separate figures once again blurring into one.
Another night, another bicker, fast to erupt and even faster to dissipate.
“Why the fuck would I steal it?”
“Because he called you cheap!”
“So? I am cheap. I’m petty, not sensitive. Learn the difference!”
They stopped at the same time, presumably to look at Xiao Xingchen across the campfire. Xiao Xingchen brought his hand to his lips, as if to confirm that something had indeed escaped his lungs.
Perhaps most terrifying of all was the realization that within their paper-thin imitation of life, not everything was fake.
.
12
.
They took respite by the riverbank. The night breeze was cool, the nature around them mild and serene. It was too early in the season for bugs. Xue Yang skipped stones, watching them break apart the reflection of the moon above.
His mind drifted to the campfire again, when he caught Xiao Xingchen laughing. It had been short, barely a breath. He would have thought he imagined it, had Not Blind not looked up at the same time.
Xiao Xingchen never laughed anymore. He could barely smile, like all the light within him had been emptied out.
It used to be so easy to make him happy. Xue Yang hadn’t needed to do anything but breathe. Now nothing seemed to be able to bring him joy.
If he had known the smiles would disappear, he would have gotten more out while he had the chance, teased and pushed until Xiao Xingchen had to recover his breath. He would have stared at Xiao Xingchen’s face at every possible moment.
Currently only Not Blind had been able to get a good reaction, the closest to extracting some semblance of the old Xiao Xingchen. Xue Yang was too depressed to even be jealous.
He threw another stone and watched it sink.
He told himself to be patient. He would have Xiao Xingchen completely back when he had Song Lan back. Fixing Song Lan would fix everything.
Xue Yang had been stuck the past winter, but all those weeks fixing roofs and patting straws had given him a new perspective. Sometimes patching holes is not enough to make a place hospitable. You need warmth. You need insulation.
The mind is more fragile than the body. Too cold and empty a home, and thoughts will echo and deflect, or spiral into madness. For Song Lan’s consciousness to settle, it needed something to latch onto, then something else to serve as a blanket.
Xue Yang would have to look into memory spells after all.
“I need ingredients. They’ll be expensive, so I’m going to need a little more time.”
Xiao Xingchen lifted his hands from the river, his sleeves wet and his skin covered by sediment. Xue Yang noticed the small pile of stones by Xiao Xingchen’s side, almost as many as Xue Yang had thrown in.
“You don’t have to,” Xiao Xingchen whispered, as if he had given this a lot of thought. “Lay him to rest. Let me give him a proper burial.”
Xue Yang stiffened. Immediately he was crouched before Xiao Xingchen’s face.
“You aren’t going back on our deal.”
Xiao Xingchen didn’t pull away, unfazed by their proximity. “I won’t. I’m yours. I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
But are you really? When you’re like this, can you belong to anyone?
Xue Yang relaxed slightly. “Then I’m not going back on my side of the deal either. If I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.”
Without asking, he took one of Xiao Xingchen’s stones. He stopped short of throwing it, instead tidying the pile.
“Look, I’m more used to breaking things than fixing them. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do it. And once I fix him, it’ll be like none of this ever happened, okay?”
Xiao Xingchen said nothing. Then:
“But it did happen. Broken and repaired is not the same as never broken. The scars will always remain. It’s not the same.”
“What’s wrong with scars,” Xue Yang scoffed. “Doesn’t look any worse to me.”
He flipped some of the stones so that the smooth edges stacked.
“Why does everything need to be pristine?” he continued. “Perfect annoys me. As long as it works, then good enough.”
Xue Yang frowned. He studied Xiao Xingchen again. Suddenly he was angry, his hands holding shakingly onto Xiao Xingchen’s stupid stone tower.
“Stop looking like that. You need more confidence in me when I say I’ll bring him back. I have been truthful everywhere else, haven’t I?”
He braced himself for an accusation, noticing he had set himself up.
Xiao Xingchen’s mind drifted elsewhere.
“You looked happy the way you were,” Xiao Xingchen said absently, dipping his hand back into the water, feeling the current. “You didn’t seem troubled. Free of guilt, free of sorrow, free of all the things that force people to seek change. Why do you want to change now?”
“One of us has to, if we’re to be together.”
Xue Yang supposed Xiao Xingchen could be the one to change. He tried to picture what that might be like, if Xiao Xingchen were to be pulled down into the rogue lifestyle, the two of them gathering a reputation of infamy. The world would shiver. It could be fun.
But then he remembered Xiao Xingchen trembling before him, holding Shuanghua like a curse. He remembered him prone on the ground, his voice falling around him like shattered glass.
“I’m okay with the way you are,” Xue Yang said. “I don’t mind living your way.”
Xiao Xingchen was quiet. He placed another wet stone on top of their pagoda.
“I like the way you are,” Xue Yang said, his gaze trailing from Xiao Xingchen’s hand back to his face. “I like you.”
Xue Yang stared. He had already memorized every detail of Xiao Xingchen’s face. It was beautiful to look at, delicate and gentle just like the rest of him. After looking at Xiao Xingchen, looking at anything else felt like a waste of time.
Xue Yang brought their lips together.
“I like you.”
It was a different type of sweet. Xue Yang brought lips together again and tried different words.
“I love you.”
That tasted good.
.
13
.
Xiao Xingchen let Xue Yang kiss him.
He kept his body still, unresistant and pliable.
Sometimes he leaned in and left his mouth open wider. Sometimes he responded. Xue Yang liked it when he was responsive, when Xiao Xingchen felt more like a person and less like a doll.
Xiao Xingchen didn’t think Xue Yang was lying about love. For better or worse, Xiao Xingchen hadn’t thought Xue Yang had been lying to him about anything. Maybe it was the tone. Maybe it was the matching actions. Maybe Xiao Xingchen was just that hopelessly naïve.
At least with love, it was something Xiao Xingchen understood, something he was familiar with. But like everything else from Xue Yang, his love was warped. His kisses could be as brutal as they could be sweet, always leaving Xiao Xingchen bleeding and bruised, if not on the outside then on the inside.
Xiao Xingchen did everything he could to hide their trysts from A-Qing, and Xue Yang had the decency to respect his wish, only revealing his true colors on their night walks together, only touching him once they were far away from the house. Despite their caution, A-Qing must have sensed something amiss, as her hostility came back full force. She furiously clung to Xiao Xingchen’s side. She went so far as to threaten to venture into the night alone if they abandoned her for another night hunt.
Only one time had Xue Yang been successful in breaking her away, when he dropped a basket in her lap and asked her to buy some ingredients. Anticipating her outrage, he said it was for a spell. His tone left no doubt what the spell was for.
A-Qing left under the assumption nightly activities were only performed at night. In her innocence, she thought she had plenty of time until dusk.
Xue Yang wasted no time crawling on top of Xiao Xingchen, pinning him down on the bed. During their last grocery trip, they had heard two lovers behind a local teahouse, which had undoubtedly given Xue Yang ideas.
Xiao Xingchen kept still as Xue Yang removed his sash and opened his robes. He kept still as Xue Yang’s hand crept lower and lower, four fingers trailing up his thigh. He thought he had been prepared for this moment.
But day was not the same as night, and the bed was not the same as the woods or the riverbank.
Xiao Xingchen could feel Song Lan’s presence in the house. He could envision him standing by the door, facing their direction.
And the shame he had been numb to before suddenly burned him all at once. For what he had allowed to happen. For participating in this vulgar imitation.
“Not here."
Not near Song Lan.
Xue Yang misunderstood him. “Don’t worry, it’ll take Not Blind at least half a day.” He laughed, voice light and clear. “We’ll take it slow, but not that slow. Wouldn’t want to be too greedy the first time, now would we?”
First time. Meaning, there would be more times.
Xue Yang pulled him down, his breath directly above him. “I can tell you’ve never done this before. Trust me, we’ll want a soft surface.”
“Not here,” Xiao Xingchen repeated brokenly. He didn’t want soft, didn’t want comfort. Comfort made it worse. Xue Yang could fuck him anywhere but here. In the dirt. In the alleyway. Just not here, where Song Lan could witness the extent of his degradation.
Silence.
If his rejection enraged Xue Yang, it didn’t come out through his touch. Nor his voice.
“Okay.”
There was nothing in Xue Yang’s voice but earnestness, trusting and honest and open, like a child promised something good in the future if only he was patient.
It broke Xiao Xingchen all over again. When had he become the deceiver?
Xue Yang let him go, before coming back in for a last kiss.
“I don’t love you.”
The words came out before Xiao Xingchen could stop himself, words that once given could never be taken back.
Xue Yang stopped.
Xiao Xingchen imagined the fracture in Xue Yang’s mask, the cruelty slowly exposed underneath layers of newfound decency. He braced himself for accusation and blame and punishment, the consequences of shattering their carefully crafted illusion. Everything had been fine, Xue Yang had been behaving so well, why did Xiao Xingchen have to ruin the moment with such cruel words?
Xiao Xingchen expected a storm, but there came no anger, not even the frozen kind.
Xue Yang’s reaction was much worse.
“So?”
.
14
.
“I don’t love you.”
Xue Yang’s mind blanked.
“So?”
He got no answer back, only a violent tremor, and Xiao Xingchen looking as if he were going to die in his arms. Xue Yang tightened his hold so Xiao Xingchen would not fall apart.
Xue Yang frowned. What was the problem this time? He looked closer and found no problem at all. He concluded this was yet another ghost that existed purely in Xiao Xingchen’s mind, restraining him, binding him, complicating things that did not need to be complicated.
“I want you. I love you.” Xue Yang liked saying those words more and more, sweet like candy as they rolled off his tongue. He broke into a teasing smile, leaning back into Xiao Xingchen’s neck. “I don’t care if you don’t love me back.”
It never crossed his mind that Xiao Xingchen might love him back. Did the moon love him back? Did the stars love him back? It was a strange thought, and Xue Yang found himself hit by strange feelings to match.
He searched within himself to see if he would like it or not, the idea of Xiao Xingchen feeling the same affections. Just as he thought it might be satisfying, might be flattering, resurfacing the shadow of a child once starved of compliments, starved of many things, another thought had him retracting as if sharply and viciously cut.
His eyes darkened. No, better that Xiao Xingchen did not love him.
It was becoming clear Xiao Xingchen was not in the mood for sex, despite kissing Xue Yang so honestly earlier, too honest to be a front. Very likely he was simply confused, part of being as virginal as untrodden snow, making him bring up all these irrelevant statements and confusing himself even more.
He noticed Xiao Xingchen was still distressed.
“Are you still torturing yourself? I told you, I don’t care. You can stop pretending. You’re so bad at it anyway.” His voice lightened, and his hand on Xiao Xingchen lifted.
After a thought, he brought it down as a pat, the way the nameless companion gave friendly pats. Xiao Xingchen had once welcomed those types of contact; he had been at ease with those types of contact. Xue Yang had done it right the first time. He could go back to that. He could last an entire lifetime on just that.
Xue Yang’s smile returned.
“Just be with me. Just be yourself.”
.
15
.
Just be with me. Just be yourself.
Did Xue Yang even realize the paradox in his statements?
To be with Xue Yang, Xiao Xingchen had destroyed every part of himself. Already he had been bent and twisted beyond recognition, molded into another one of Xue Yang’s perverse possessions, his plaything, his weapon, his shield, his savior. And now, a receptacle of his love.
His sickeningly sweet love that Xue Yang fed into his mouth, spoonful after spoonful of honey-coated poison.
Just earnest enough for Xiao Xingchen to swallow, just toxic enough to make him heave. Worse, Xiao Xingchen had grown to like the taste, had grown to want it, miss it, fearful of life without it, a life of desolation and loneliness, without light and without touch.
He was unwanted by who he did love and loved by who he didn’t want.
I don’t love you.
I don’t love you.
I don’t love you.
How much further down this path until those words eventually ceased to be true?
The truth was, he liked the feeling of hands upon his face. He knew he liked it as soon as it happened. The flow of the river, the cool breeze, the soft chirping of crickets, all coming together like a forgotten paradise. When he felt the lips upon his, he had only the thought of Song Lan, whose face he knew better than anyone’s.
But Song Lan did not speak enough, and his voice was lost to memory. It was Xue Yang’s voice he was most familiar with, intimate with; it was his voice telling him, “I love you.”
It was impossible to imagine those words from Song Lan’s mouth. It burned Xiao Xingchen with shame to even try imagining it.
Xiao Xingchen wanted to laugh at his situation. What was the purpose of his falling in love, when one didn’t want it and the other didn’t know what to do with it.
It was better he didn’t.
After all, Xue Yang didn’t care. You can’t care for what you never had. You can’t be jealous of what you didn’t know existed.
Xue Yang’s love was his own, while others’ feelings were theirs. Xue Yang did not feel their love, or hate, or pain. Only his feelings did he concern himself with, only his did he protect and nurture, the emotions of the people around him nothing but a tool to satisfy his own.
Xiao Xingchen’s hand went to his chest.
Xue Yang wasn’t asking him to rip out his heart. Xue Yang was content where he was. He had even stopped touching him, settling back into routine, acting as if they never kissed by the riverbed, their fingers never interlaced atop the stone pagoda.
For once, Xue Yang was innocent.
And if Xiao Xingchen tore himself open, he had no one but himself to blame.
.
16
.
Candle.
Incense.
Beads of wood. Bells of prayer.
Ivory from the summits, white as the untrodden snow.
A cup of tea and a bowl of hot rice porridge, the humblest of meals.
The smell of food stirred him from his deep slumber.
How long had it been since he had eaten? Was the fast finally over?
He asked this of his master and received a wrinkled smile.
The fast had been over ages ago, was the reply. Your own discipline had long exceeded the demands of the fast.
Your skill had long risen above the teachings of our modest school—a horsetail whisk sweeping an arc, leaving the air as clear and serene as a winter night—the time had come you ventured out into the greater world.
Maybe somewhere in your travels you would finally come across an equal.
In mind.
In body.
In spirit.
A sword met by another sword, clashing in perfect harmony. It wasn’t a fight, but a dance, he understood.
But who was he dancing with?
He couldn’t see their face. He had been so careful to not look. Even more careful to not touch, the only contact the clash of two swords, so often they recognized each other through blades alone.
That was fine. There was no need to look, when he already had secured in his heart deep knowledge of the other, the one constant in his life across the changing lands and through the cycling seasons. Free as the tides, they were separate, then together, then separate again, independent but never alone, distant but never far.
Their most recent separation felt unusually long—but had time really been so long or had eagerness simply altered his perception of it? Regardless, he decided it was time for a reunion, already feeling the pull of their presence, so close, so very close that he felt if he spoke, they would turn around, if he reached out, they would reach back.
Yes.
That’s it. Come back. Come back to him.
The smell of rice became stronger, the memories more vivid. Soundless steps and fluid gestures, hair in the wind. Quiet exhales turned to indulgent smiles.
They were in a place of heavy background clammer and strong smells, the shouts characteristic of a crowded marketplace.
“You shouldn’t be late. I can take care of the trouble here.” A small smile but a joyous one, almost glowing, as they revealed a small gift from their sleeve. “I’ve never done this before. Is this a good enough offering?”
No.
Don’t take it.
Don’t say yes.
Don’t leave him, don’t let him go.
You’re being fooled. It’s just a ploy, don’t you see, to separate you two, don’t you see the shadow laughing on the roof, laughing at how boringly predictable you both are.
But he didn’t change course, already ascending the old stone steps of the temple, two gifts in hand, only thinking of the best way to make the introduction of his…
Companion? Partner? Friend.
Friend. An apt enough word, his hand pushing open the temple door.
Fuck.
But was friend what you called the mirror of your soul?
Fuckfuckfuck—
Was cutting away a friend the same as severing your own arm?
How do you stop—!
And as he bled, still touched despite yelling to be untouched, still held despite demanding to be released.
“I will right this wrong.”
“You can right nothing!”
“I will right this wrong.” A raw promise, repeated brokenly, until the voice had faded to silence, then disappeared forever.
Wait.
Come back.
Wait.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—Yi City—I’m sorry, please, it wasn't your fault—what does he look like, Daozh a n g?—I’m s o r r y— I’m s—Xiao Xingchen what—n o t—f a u l t, to you, Xingchen? fault—orry—fault is—
He could see the figure staring back.
You.
Xue Yang screamed.
.
17
.
In the mountains, foreign seed would often blow in. Weeds would take root and if not carefully removed early on, they would invade the land, suffocating and crushing all the life around it. Without intervention, the other plantlife very often stood no chance of survival.
“What do you see?” he asked A-Qing, who trembled behind him.
“Black. Black wisps coming out, like in between fire and smoke. No Daozhang—!”
Xiao Xingchen had already knelt down, feeling the ground until he touched fabric. Without hesitation, he pulled Xue Yang into his arms, ignoring the hot chill of resentment energy against his skin. He brought him inside.
The fever was bad. The dark arts had backfired, leaving Xue Yang in delirium. When Xiao Xingchen asked A-Qing again what she saw, she did not want to answer, too terrified by the sight, too terrified by Xiao Xingchen’s lack of terror, a calmness that could not be attributed to blindness alone.
Silently, Xiao Xingchen cared for Xue Yang's health, sometimes staying all night to do so, controlling the fever. Opening Xue Yang’s robes, he cleaned him, gentle across the hot cracks in his flesh. Resentment energy tried crawling up Xiao Xingchen’s fingers before dying in a hiss.
Resentment had no effect on Xiao Xingchen. A-Qing would not have known, and Xiao Xingchen himself had forgotten.
It seemed a lifetime since he lived on the mountains, the esteemed pupil of Baoshan Sanren, capable of clearing storms and calming oceans, his spirit so powerful and unmoved the people had believed him celestial. A few human mistakes, no matter how painful, had not destroyed him—could not destroy him.
What match was resentment against a man healing his worst enemy, a man who tried to right someone who wronged him like no other, a man whose capacity for love stretched infinitely further than hate.
Xue Yang had been mistaken. Xiao Xingchen hadn’t needed blindness to save his life. The deception had made it easier to break in, but it was not what had let him stay.
And Xiao Xingchen had been mistaken. He was no longer pristine. But he was not broken, his spiritual energy having found victory, scattering the resentment energy binding Xue Yang to the four winds.
Xue Yang still did not wake.
“Have I already bored you?”
Xiao Xingchen bent over.
“If I said I love you, would you come back?”
A hand seized his wrist.
“Cute of you to assume I’d leave,” Xue Yang rasped, giving a weak laugh.
In the mountains, foreign seed would often blow in. Once rooted, a weed could be persistent, surviving where no other plant could.
The inhabitants of the mountain never interfered with the ways of nature. The mint is a weed. The dandelion is a weed. Even wildflowers bloom beautifully.
Who were they to judge what had a greater right to life?
.
18
.
Something had happened while Xue Yang was unconscious. At first he thought it was due to his weakened state, but discovered quickly that no, it was indeed Xiao Xingchen who had strengthened, stronger than he was before Song Lan’s death, even stronger than he was before his blindness, when he had been praised as their bright moon, their gentle breeze. As if all the grief and all the torment had reached the end of its purpose, leaving behind a diamond for the world.
Even with her limited senses, Not Blind seemed to have realized Xiao Xingchen no longer needed her protection, able to wield Shuanghua again without falter, without fear.
Overjoyed, Not Blind pleaded with Xiao Xingchen to teach her how to wield a sword too. She practiced with her bamboo stick. In one bout of confidence, she looked at Xue Yang lazing on the roof and exclaimed one day she’d be good enough to strike him down.
Xue Yang rolled his eyes.
Her bamboo stick clattered on the ground, as Xue Yang lifted her by the ankle. She had not even the time to be surprised.
“Train a hundred years, and the difference between us will still be heaven and earth. You’re better off resorting to dirty tricks, Not Blind. You’ll never beat me in a sword fight.”
“How would you know!” she spat back. “I never grew up under cultivator training.”
“You think I did? I picked it up from watching passerby cultivators. You, on the other hand, have been living under the house of one for years. Have you not observed any of his techniques in all this time?” He released her. “Catch up. Don’t you know I’ve moved past pickpocketing since I was eight? Or had my first kill when I was ten?”
“All that shows is how you evil are!” Not Blind accused.
“Of a monster,” he growled. “What if I said it was also one that had been kidnapping and terrorizing people?”
That shut her up. Xue Yang hadn't had the opportunity to kill a man until six months later, not that he would divulge such information with Xiao Xingchen coming into earshot.
Xue Yang flipped out his sword.
“Xiao Xingchen!” he announced. “Let’s put on a proper fight! Show her what it looks like.”
“You still need rest,” Xiao Xingchen said calmly.
“I need exercise!”
What hesitation Xiao Xingchen had, Xue Yang slashed it away fast, charging at full speed.
It was the first time Xue Yang had ever clashed swords with Xiao Xingchen without killing intent.
He did not expect to lose so badly.
Not Blind was howling on the floor in laughter. “Look who needs the dirty tricks now!”
She was not wrong.
Xue Yang didn’t know why he thought he stood a chance at a fair fight. Even at his peak, battling underhanded with reckless suicide stunts, he only matched Xiao Xingchen, who had held back at every strike.
Unlike Song Lan, Xue Yang was not his equal. Xue Yang would never rise to be his equal, the difference between them that of heaven and earth. The dance of swords was not their dance.
Xiao Xingchen stood above him, Shuanghua gleaming bright white in the light.
He extended a hand. “Are you okay?”
Xue Yang softened.
“I have something to show you,” Xue Yang found himself saying.
Xue Yang had something to show Xiao Xingchen for a while now. For all his determination in the past seasons, recklessly pushing the boundaries of the dangerous and the possible, wanting to get it done as fast as possible, wanting to have Xiao Xingchen as soon as possible, to earn him, to secure him…
He faltered, after already completing the last step.
He watched Xiao Xingchen withdraw his hand from the coffin, having felt for himself the breathing, the heartbeat.
“What will he remember?” Xiao Xingchen whispered.
“Whatever I want him to.”
Xue Yang endured the silence, waiting for Xiao Xingchen to make his request.
And afterward…
Had Xiao Xingchen’s hand stopped faltering? Was he finally able to pull out Shuanghua and cut Xue Yang down where he stood? The ice of Shuanghua would be too cold for its victims to feel pain, too fast for them to even realize they had already been purged from the world. Xue Yang was too drained of qi to resist.
“A-Qing.”
Not Blind straightened.
“I want to introduce you to someone,” Xiao Xingchen said softly. “This is Song Zichen. He is a good man, noble and loyal and strong. If you explain to him your situation, he will undoubtedly take you in.”
He did not let A-Qing interrupt, continuing, “His dream is to found his own sect, unconnected by blood or status. He only seeks to bring good into the world. A strong, clever girl like you will make an excellent first disciple.”
Xiao Xingchen smiled, his hands kept close to his body, not needing to reach back into the coffin, trusting Xue Yang to have accomplished what he claimed to have accomplished.
Xue Yang found Xiao Xingchen later in the night, alone, thoughtlessly tracing his palm with his thumb.
Without reacting, he told Xue Yang, “His memories. Erase me.”
“Okay.”
Xue Yang couldn’t go back inside yet.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Xue Yang echoed. Xiao Xingchen’s thumb stopped. “He’s sorry.” Xue Yang couldn’t tell where the rise of emotions was coming from, whether it was from him or…
“I’m—”
Xiao Xingchen had brought him down, sealing their lips.
.
19
.
The days passed quietly without A-Qing.
Xiao Xingchen sat by the small furnace, a blanket around his shoulders. Xue Yang placed a bowl in his hands. Curious, Xiao Xingchen found the spoon.
He gave a small smile and brought the winter melon soup to his lips.
“Tell me another story.”
“Why? You never like them.”
Xue Yang was confused by his recent fixation on stories. Xiao Xingchen was confused as well, wondering why he was inviting trouble into their peaceful coexistence. And it was indeed peaceful, remarkably so.
A sigh. “Fine. What do you want to hear?”
“Your first kiss.”
Not expecting that, Xue Yang burst out laughing. He stopped when he saw Xiao Xingchen was serious. Slowly he became serious too.
“You don't want to know.”
Xue Yang was probably right. Xiao Xingchen probably didn't want to know. Many things in his life would be better off never knowing.
“Tell me anyway.”
Xue Yang sat back.
“Okay,” he said. After some thought, he decided to plunge straight in. “So there was this nobleman who really pissed me off…”
Xiao Xingchen paused. He clutched onto his bowl.
“... don’t remember the exact details,” Xue Yang casually dismissed, “just that he had shit attitude and dared call me a lowlife or a dog or something. I wanted to get back at him. Turns out, he has only one child, a daughter…”
Xiao Xingchen could no longer taste. Yet, he found himself unable to tell Xue Yang to stop. After all, it was he who insisted on the story. The least he could do was give Xue Yang the courtesy of letting him finish.
"So I seduced her!” Xue Yang blurted, causing Xiao Xingchen to nearly spill his soup. “Ha, didn’t have to try very hard. She fell for me so fast, she practically ripped my clothes off. Guess she saw something she liked.”
Xiao Xingchen could feel Xue Yang smile, his voice having grown fond. Xue Yang was fully engaged in his own story now, lost in the memory. “She'd sneak me in her room and we fucked the whole summer. We spent entire days just fucking. We’d fuck into the next night. One time she screamed so hard, she lost it and kicked me in the eye. The house servants barged in and almost caught us. Thankfully she was a hell of a liar and immediately screamed for help, crying that a demon had possessed her.
“Whole thing turned into a fiasco. A minor cultivation sect got called in—too bad they couldn’t tell the difference between demons and paper mannequins. She helped me paint the faces. She thought they weren’t scary enough, as if more teeth would make it scary.” Xue Yang laughed. “Of course we then fucked some more. With everyone thinking the estate was haunted, we could be as loud as we wanted. She would suck and kiss my come into my mouth, and I’d spit it back into her pussy, then massage it in deep with my fingers until her toes curled. She was loud.”
Xue Yang caught himself. He must have noticed Xiao Xingchen had turned his head away. He leaned in, his tone teasing.
“Sorry, wrong type of kiss? That type of kiss, Xiao Xingchen, you were the first. I don’t have any stories of that that you wouldn’t already know. But if you want the other type, I’ve got hundreds. Whorehouses loved me, you know. Just be sweet with your tongue, loose with the money, and know how to have a good time. I was so good, the madams begged to hire me.” His voice swelled with pride and self-satisfaction. “If you want, I can show you a good time too, ha!”
Xiao Xingchen couldn’t reply.
He felt Xue Yang’s gaze.
“You’ve stopped eating,” Xue Yang said, his voice empty. “Did I disgust you again?”
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have told you the story.”
“It doesn’t disgust me.”
“I won’t—”
Xue Yang finally heard him.
Xiao Xingchen had lost his place for judgment. Xue Yang’s past wasn’t a weapon to be used against him. It wasn’t a lesson for the textbooks, an example to teach younger generations.
Xiao Xingchen had asked because he wanted to know more about the man who made his soup. Xiao Xingchen had asked because he wanted a good story to accompany the moment, and Xue Yang was a good storyteller with many good stories. Funny ones. Painful ones.
“What about the nobleman?” he asked.
Xue Yang seemed to have forgotten about him.
“Oh. I visited the estate a year later. His life revolved around his new grandson. Buying him all these toys. Dressing him up in ridiculous clothes. Spoiling him rotten.”
Xue Yang’s tone changed into something unfamiliar.
“I thought my revenge was pretty good.”
Smiling, Xiao Xingchen brought the soup to his lips. Suddenly an image entered his mind, of a flying foot and doors slammed open, of disheveled hair and unconvincing pillow arrangements. And he needed to lower his spoon before the soup spilled.
It took a while before his hand steadied.
.
20
.
Once there existed a child with no father, no mother, and no money, a child of humble origins and humbler dreams.
No one would notice his suffering. No one would care whether he lived or died.
Who would have thought that in such a cruel world, the child would find a way to not only survive, but thrive. Who would have thought he’d find a way to rob the very sky of its moon and stars, greedily holding them hostage until his very last breath.
Or that when it was all over, anyone would come to weep his death.
.
21
.
“Guan Jingzai, give that back now!”
Song Lan stopped, letting the boy loop around him then sprint through the garden. Hot on his trail was young Guan Meiqin, screaming in outrage.
“Dump him!”
“The only person about to be dumped…” Guan Meiqin took off her shoe and threw it. “Is my stupid brother!”
Laughing, Guan Jingzai avoided her attack with the dexterity of a cat. He looked back with a sharp grin before flipping over the wall.
Song Lan noticed A-Qing staring hard at where the eldest Guan son disappeared, her expression unreadable. It was not the first time she had reacted bizarrely in his presence.
Before he could raise the question, the door slid open again.
Hands over their swords, they bowed to the Guan patriarch, who closed his fan and bowed back. His retainer stepped up, showing them their payment for their assistance in the past weeks.
“It has been a great honor, Song-daozhang. Is it true that you intend to leave already?”
“Our duty here is done, whereas calamities elsewhere still require our services. We are not unappreciative of your hospitality.”
“In that case, we insist you at least stop for rest in Liping. We will assure you have the best inn in town.”
For the sake of politeness, Song Lan did not disagree. His party could benefit from an additional night of proper shelter before setting out on the long road.
The inn was crowded, filled with drunken laughter and rowdy children.
Before Song Lan could change his mind, the innkeeper noticed them and beckoned them to the desk. “We’ve been informed of your arrival. Would you like the same room as the other daozhang?”
“The other daozhang?” Song Lan asked.
The innkeeper was too busy looking for the keys, only gesturing to the loud crowd, easily mistaken for a bunch of hooligans if not for the spiritual weapons at their side. “Aren’t they the other half of your party?”
Just as Song Lan wondered what kind of master would allow such undisciplined behavior, the other daozhang descended from the steps, elegant as to walk on air, white robes flowing behind him.
Their spiritual energies immediately recognized an equal, as they made eye contact at the same time.
Song Lan bowed. As if remembering his manners, the other daozhang returned the greeting. The other daozhang had a gentle smile and an even gentler demeanor, up until the moment he looked up and Song Lan was met with piercing eyes, gleaming with brightness and ingenuity.
“Song Zichen,” he introduced.
The other daozhang opened his mouth.
“Xiao Xingchen-daozhang,” said A-Qing, frozen in place.
Xiao Xingchen closed his mouth back into a smile, bowing to A-Qing. “You’ve heard of me. I’m humbled.”
As Song Lan would come to learn, many people had heard of Xiao Xingchen, the bright moon, the gentle breeze. At some point Song Lan probably had too. He might have remembered, had he listened better and cared for reputations. The locals informed him that for a while Xiao Xingchen had disappeared from the world, only to finally come back last month.
“Disappeared?” he echoed.
“He’s had bad luck,” explained the waiter. “Tragedy befell him one night hunt. Lost his first disciple. Lost his memory. Lost himself. In grief, he went into seclusion for a year.”
Hearing this left Song Lan aching with deep sympathy. He could not imagine the pain of such a loss as a first disciple. By his side, the usually fearless A-Qing, who casually leapt off cliffs and lunged head-first into the jaws of beasts, had tears falling silently down her face.
The next morning, there was a knock on Song Lan’s door. It was the other cultivation party, but the messenger was not one of the disciples but the master himself.
“I wanted to apologize for my abruptness yesterday, Song Zichen-daozhang. I have been rude and very ignorant,” Xiao Xingchen said, rising from his bow. He smiled. “Would you like to join our parties in a meal? I feel we might perhaps have some things in common.”
Song Lan was not given a chance to respond.
A-Qing had already answered for him, for the both of them.
.
22
.
Xiao Xingchen reached up into the darkness, brushing Xue Yang’s face, fingers tracing his cheek, his jaw.
“Tell me another story.”
“Okay.” Xue Yang’s lips brushed his. “Do you want a happy end or a just end?”
“Choose for me.”