Chapter Text
San Lang looks so sad. It's all he can think as the Wind Masters wind carries them up and away from the burning of Paradise Manor. The building is burning, all of that beautiful architecture, San Lang’s house, his armory, all those unique powerful weapons he took so much pride in, it's all burning, all being destroyed, and San Lang looks so sad and…
He can't take it. He just can’t.
San Lang is… San Lang is special somehow. He's the first person who Xie Lian has felt this comfortable with in 800 years. It's not that he's the only person Xie Lian’s had in all that time, once he was happy looking after Ban Yue, once he even had Lang Qianqiu, and even in their brief acquaintance wind master is already proving to be a wonderful friend, but still… San Lang is special somehow. San Lang makes him feel at home and safe and at peace and like he can be himself in a way that he hasn't felt since he was a young naïve Prince studying in the Royal Holy Pavilion.
And now.
Now San Lang looks so sad.
And his home is burning.
And…
And he just can't take it anymore.
So he jumps.
He has no doubt that there will be consequences once wind master and the others get back and report what happened and that he decided to stay behind but he’ll handle that when it comes to it and besides, even if he is accused of conspiring with Hua Cheng, it's not like his punishment can be anything he hasn't been through before.
Disappointing heaven is something he's good at.
Of course he doesn't land directly back in Paradise Manor, not with the speed they were moving away from it at, and of course, with his luck, he doesn't land anywhere convenient either. He lands, in fact, in a trash pile, because where else would he land?
Still it's not that bad. At least he didn't impale himself on anything on the way down.
It doesn't take long to brush the scraps and mud off of his clothes. There stained because of course they are, white is good for that, but he can wash them later properly. For now he ignores the few startled looks he's getting from nearby ghosts and starts moving toward the reason that a heavenly official falling from the sky didn't draw more of a crowd.
Paradise Manor is still burning.
Well, at least this way he can't get lost.
The crowd around the Manor only gets bigger the closer he gets to it but he pushes his way through. There's no Waning Moon Officer to ease his path this time but, just as when he fell, the ghosts are too distracted by the flames to really bother with him.
“Hey what are you doing!” One of them finally calls after him as he passes the edge of the crowd and steps into the burning building.
“You get back here! We’re not allowed in there!”
One of them actually does try to grab him but before he can even do anything about it another ghost stopped her. “Wait hold on! Isn't that the Lord’s special guest from before?”
“Is it? Is it?” Several ghosts are asking the question. He just glances back to incline his head politely in their direction before continuing into the flames.
His arm hurts.
Pain is… It's a feeling he's used to, a feeling that lurks at the back of his mind, never truly gone but never truly they are either, he can ignore it so well he almost thinks it isn’t there, but this time, even if he's ignoring it, he does have to admit at least to himself, …. His arm hurts.
So this is the work of the dreaded scimitar the heavens fear. He's not afraid of it, not when he was first told about it and certainly not now. E’ming is far too cute for that. He doesn't blame the blade or the one who wielded it. Taking the strike himself was his own idea after all. Besides, maybe it's fitting, a just punishment for burning so much that San Lang treasured, and after everything the ghost king did to help him fix his own house too…
The building is hot and the smoke is stifling but, somehow, nothing seems to be collapsing and, for once, despite his bad luck, his hair doesn't catch fire. That's a pleasant surprise. His robes singe a little but it's nothing a good wash and a few patches won't fix up. The whole place is filled with rolling waves of spiritual energy and he guesses that San Lang’s power must be doing something to hold the building together. Honestly it's a little bit awe-inspiring, so much power.
Maybe the armory won't be a total loss?
Still… None of that guarantees that San Lang will ever forgive him.
Xie Lian is honestly surprised how easily he finds the armory, despite the burning and the stench of smoke in the way clouds his vision, maybe some of San Lang’s luck still clings to him? It's useful but the practice makes him feel even more guilty.
When he first steps through the door of the burning room the smoke and the heat haze mean that, at first he thinks San Lang isn’t there at all. He's about to turn in search elsewhere when a slight movement catches his eye, something shifts deep in one of the darkest corners.
Carefully, using a Martial God's agility to move silently even over treacherous ground, Xie Lian approaches that corner. Then another flame flares up, illuminating the figure standing against the wall and Xie Lian freezes, eyes going wide and heart hammering in his chest.
San Lang is standing against the wall, head bowed, shoulder silently shaking, and for once it seems that he really hasn't sensed XIe Lian’s approach, too lost in whatever thoughts are consuming him …And in what he's doing.
In one hand Hua Cheng clutches his deadly scimitar, and in the other… The other is holding it too, but the blade not the hilt, his fingers tightening and tightening around it until blood runs down his wrist and arm.
“San Lang!”
He can't watch this. He can’t. At the sound of Xie Lian’s voice, Hua Cheng’s head snaps up, eye going wide with shock. Xie Lian doesn't hesitate. For a moment all of his trepidation about seeing Hua Cheng again, all of his fear of standing in the ruined remains of their friendship, evaporates into the need to stop …whatever this is.
He hurries to stand before Hua Cheng, ignoring the pain in his own arm as he places one hand over each of Hua Cheng’s wrists, fingers moving to cup the back of that bleeding hand.
“…Your Highness?” Hua Cheng’s voice is raw with more than the smoke in the air. There is shock and it, and pain and disbelief and he flinches under Xie Lian’s touch. “What are you doing here?”
“I came back to apologize I… San Lang I'm so sorry, your lovely Manor and all of your swords and it's all my fault. I'll pay you back for it. I swear I will. Even if I have to get a job and work for the next hundred years, I promise….”
He's babbling, of course he is, he just can't help himself sometimes, and he needs to get the words out and… He's not sure if he should be letting go or not and San Lang is still bleeding, his hand still on the blade, and Xie Lian knows exactly how sharp E’Ming is…
“Your Highness is apologizing to me?” The shock is still in Hua Cheng’s voice, but now there's something else there too, anger, so much anger.
It's what he was afraid of.
But it still hurts.
Xie Lian bows his head, his hands finally sliding off of San Lang’s.
“I'm sorry.” He says it again more weakly. His eyes on the soot stained ground even as he feels tears pooling at the corners of them. “I know my apology isn't worth much compared to everything I've ruined, but I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you, anything I can, if you want me to serve you or…” Xie Lian tries to drop to his knees, to kneel, apologize properly.
A quiet gasp from above him and the sound of a sword clattering against stone and then there are arms around him, tight and firm and cool in a way that, surrounded by fire as they are, is more comforting than body heat could ever be.
“Your Highness, please stop…” Hua Cheng’s voice is a raw broken whisper in his ear and then his head is buried against XIe Lian’s shoulder and the god can feel something cool and wet against the side of his neck …Tears.
“S-San Lang?”
“Please…” San Lang sounds absolutely destroyed, his voice hoarse and cracked and full of endless agony that Xie Lian can't begin to understand, he just knows he wants to make it stop. “Please don't, don't ever bow to me, or kneel before me, not you, not when I… Never you.”
“San Lang?” He's not sure where this is coming from at all but his friend is obviously distressed and needs comfort and so Xie Lian wraps his arms around the ghost king too. It's the least he can do, pulling Hua Cheng closer and holding him tightly, offering whatever comfort he can. Apparently it has some effect, because instead of flinching away this time, the ghost King burrows into him, positively clinging to Xie Lian --rather like it lost child the god thinks-- and sobs against his neck.
Unsure what else to do Xie Lian holds him tightly, he strokes his back with one hand and runs his fingers gently through the ghost Kings hair with the other and makes whatever soothing sounds come to mind, and tells San Lang, “it’s alright, I’m here.”
The creaking of a beam above them breaks the tableau, reminding Xie Lian that they are still in a burning armory after all. He looks up, prepared to unleash Rouya and take them to safety should look like the roof is about to collapse on but Hua Cheng moves faster. He starts upright, one armed releasing Xie Lian as he throws his hand out just like he did when he fought Lang Qianqiu in the gamblers den, and, just like back then, the wood above them shatters, raining down around them in thin splinters that, much to Xie Lian’s shock, actually miss him completely.
San Lang looks back down at him, one arm still tight around Xie Lian’s waist, and his expression darkens. For a moment Xie Lian isn't sure exactly what to expect, renewed rage? More tears?
But when Hua Cheng speaks this time his voice is soft.
“I'm sorry.”
Xie Lian blinks up at him, surprised.
“What dose San Lang have to apologize for?”
Hua Cheng’s expression darkens further, his gaze falling to rest on Xie Lian’s right arm.
“I hurt you.”
He says it quietly and from the floor comes with it almost an answering echo, a rattling, the helpless tremors of E’Ming, as though it too is sobbing.
Xie Lian glances at it then back down at his arm.
“Huh? Oh that’s nothing, that’s nothing. San Lang doesn't need to worry about something like that.”
Hua Cheng’s eye narrows.
“It's not nothing. It's…” He swallows. “It hurts, doesn't it.”
Quickly Xie Lian shakes his head but Hua Cheng doesn't even look slightly mollified.
“Please don't lie to me, your highness.”
“I'm not lying, it's really not so bad, so please don't be troubled about.”
“Your Highness…” Hua Cheng sighs softly, and there is pain and that sound. “I'm the one who created E’Ming. I know what it's powers can do. I know it's wounds are painful and that they don't heal easily…”
Unbidden, Xie Lian’s own eyes flicked to San Lang’s still bleeding hand, a flurry of questions and worries running through his mind. Noticing his gaze the ghost king tenses and Xie Lian quickly looks away, nodding slightly.
“All right, I'm sorry. You're right, it does hurt, but just a bit, and I’m used to this sort of thing, so it really is nothing.”
“You shouldn't be.” For a moment that fury is back, fierce and raging like the fires all around them, “and I shouldn't have been the one to… Fuck!” Hua Cheng shakes his head, “And here I have been crying all over you while you're hurt. Forgive this worthless one, Gege.”
Xie Lian looks up at him again, startled. “You're not worthless, San Lang. You shouldn't talk like that about yourself.”
“Mmm…” Hua Cheng just makes a noncommittal sound and reaches for Xie Lian with his free hand, then stops, hesitating before actually touching him. Honestly Xie Lian thinks distractedly that it seems a little silly to hesitate now, with San Lang’s right arm still so tight around his waist.
“Will you permit this one to take you somewhere better and treat your injuries?”
Xie Lian still doesn't think it's a big deal but it seems to be what Hua Cheng needs right now. “Alright.”
He expects Hua Cheng to take his hand or to use the arm around his waist to guide him in the direction of the door but instead the Ghost King slides his right arm up the small of Xie Lian’s back and, still cupping him tightly there, bends to wrap his left arm around the god’s knees, lifting Xie Lian in his arms.
The god is so startled that he automatically reaches for the front of Hua Cheng’s robes, clinging to them for balance as he protests.
“S-San Lang? What are you..? I can walk.”
Hua Cheng just smiles at him, it's a pained smile, but it’s something.
“I know, but I think Gege is less likely to get hurt or singed this way. Will you indulge me?”
Not sure what he can say to that Xie Lian just nods and leans into Hua Cheng, allowing himself to be carried from the armory.