Chapter Text
There are four great calamities, they say.
Bai Wuxiang, the White-Clothed Calamity, destroyer of Xianle. But he is long gone, and so is the suffering he caused. And yet, in his wake?
Three follow behind.
Black Ink Staining Brocade, killed by her own lover, driven by only revenge.
Sapphire Waves Drowning Stars, is still searching for someone. But it’s never clear who.
Gilded Sword Toppling Tyrants, always jealous, always watching.
Everyone knows them.
No one knows them.
-
Shi Wudu sits on a throne, laden with a full manor and an empty heart.
The patrons of the Gambling Den swirl around below him, voices overlapping. The plush elegance, everything in rich shades of cobalt, is in sharp contrast with their crass language and arguments.
Still, it’s meant to be this way.
He just observes for a while, until the crowd parts, seemingly caused by a commotion near the door. Shi Wudu leans forward behind misty blue curtains to look, and upon seeing the sight, he rolls his eyes where no one can see.
Pei Ming is pushing his way through the crowd, a crooked grin affixed to his face. Pei Ming is an annoyingly regular attendee of the establishment, but Shi Wudu can’t complain, since he’s never told Pei Ming to stop coming.
“Shi Chengzhu,” one of his attendants says from the base of the stairs. “Gilded Sword Toppling Tyrants is here.”
Don’t worry, I’m aware, Shi Wudu thinks, but doesn’t say. He just lifts a hand in acknowledgement, and the attendant beckons Pei Ming towards the throne.
Pei Ming ascends the steps, his chin tilted up for the entire walk, something few would dare to do. Pei Ming pushes the curtains aside to step into Shi Wudu’s sectioned-off seat.
“What do you want?” Shi Wudu says, rolling his eyes again.
“I don’t always want something,” Pei Ming says. “Can’t I just come to say hi?”
Shi Wudu pushes himself to stand. “Don’t be bitchy about it. I know you want something.”
Pei Ming sighs dramatically, but nods. “I do, actually.”
“Called it.”
“The Wind Master is causing trouble in my territory again,” Pei Ming says.
“What do you want me to do, drown him?” Shi Wudu asks.
“Something like that. Though, I’d prefer more of a minor setback.”
That seems relatively below Shi Wudu’s paygrade, so he knows that’s clearly not the main issue. “And?”
“Do you know where Ling Wen is?” The way Pei Ming says it makes Shi Wudu know that this also isn’t the real ask.
“No, I don’t,” Shi Wudu says. “She’s probably off toppling some kingdom somewhere.”
Pei Ming grins. “Actually, that’s my job. Gilded Sword Toppling Tyrants , and all.”
He jokes about it, but Shi Wudu knows enough of the story not to laugh. Shi Wudu tries hard not to instinctively glance at the broken half-sword hanging from Pei Ming’s belt.
The Mingguang sword could practically write a novel on the crap it’s been through.
Suddenly, from somewhere behind them, someone yells out, “CHEATER!!”
“I didn’t cheat! Count your damn cards!”
Two ghosts, who were previously sitting calmly at a table, were now standing atop said table, throwing punches at each other.
A young female ghost runs up to the foot of the dais. “Sapphire Waves, Gilded Sword, please do something!” She’s nearly in tears.
Pei Ming steps out from behind the curtains, and descends the steps. He places his arm around the girl’s shoulder, which prompts an annoyed huff from Shi Wudu. Shi Wudu stays on the other side of the curtains, separated from the crowds.
Shi Wudu enters his communication array with the Gambling Den’s ghostly staff. Please remove them. From the corners of the room, guards appears, ghosts of drowned sailors and trampled soldiers who have pledged themselves to his service.
“Uncultured behavior will not be tolerated at this establishment,” one of the guards addresses the crowd.
The rest of the ghosts dip their heads in acknowledgement. “Yes, Shi Chengzhu. Sorry, Shi Chengzhu.” They turn back to their own games. Shi Wudu’s guards collect the unconscious ghosts and carry them outside.
Pei Ming steps away from the woman, and walks back up the stairs to Shi Wudu. “Was he actually cheating?” Pei Ming asks.
“No,” Shi Wudu says. He closely monitors the energies flowing throughout the room. He would be able to tell if someone was cheating.
Only one person has successfully cheated in his den in the last 500 years: Ling Wen, who had somehow acquired every cent in the building within minutes. That was one of the only times she’d ever come to the Gambling Den.
Pei Ming, on the other hand, comes here way too much. But Shi Wudu doesn’t mind.
“So, back to the actual topic at hand,” Pei Ming says.
“No, I don't know where Ling Wen is, and seriously, what do you want?” Shi Wudu crosses his arms and sits back down in his chair.
“It’s not a conversation for here,” Pei Ming says, nodding towards the chattering patrons below. “And Ling Wen should be present, too. So, can I come to the Palace of Depths tonight?”
“Smooth,” Shi Wudu says, grinning. They both know Pei Ming harbors no romantic intentions toward him, which makes everything a whole lot funnier. “If that is what you want, why does Ling Wen-”
“No. It’s not that ,” Pei Ming says, cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s an actual important thing.”
“Are you saying I’m not important?” Shi Wudu asks.
“Yeah.” Pei Ming says, turning on his heel. “Maybe I am.” Pei Ming pushes the curtains aside and walks down the steps. “See you tonight!” He calls back in a way that prompts murmurs from the crowd below.
Shi Wudu watches him leave, then resumes looking over the patrons. After all, there’s always more money to be made.
Shi Wudu, after a while, gets bored of the Gambling Den. It’s hard to say exactly how long he’s sitting there. He stares at the curtains until they blur together. He eavesdrops on the patrons until all their voices merge into one.
Gege!
No. He’s not doing this today. Shi Wudu plants his hands down on the seat and pushes himself to stand.
On the wall behind him, there’s a part that dissolves if he presses his palm to it, so he does so, and a dark, arched, doorway forms.
He can feel the weight of Ghost City’s eyes on his back, but he pays the ghosts no mind as he steps through the doorway, and disappears from public view. The door leads to a tunnel that will take him back to Ghost City, and he relishes the darkness and the quiet. Still, he finds it strange that he enjoys the quiet after so much of it.
He’s lived alone, in a silent, empty manor for several centuries.
But it’s easier to savor the silence than to think about what he once had.
So he steps into his manor alone. He has servants, but they’re only present when he wants them to be present, and usually, that’s not the case. Each footstep echoes as he makes his way to the back rooms.
As Shi Wudu walks through his Palace of Depths, the rooms get sparser as he gets further along, from the opulent entryways and water gardens to the simple hallways in the back. He only has three bedrooms; a guest bedroom, his own bedroom, and the one he’s entering now.
He keeps this room perfectly clean.
No one sleeps in the bed.
No one opens the books on the shelves or looks at their reflection in the mirror or tiptoes across the rug.
The only change in this room from Shi Wudu’s mortal life to now is the white-and-blue urn that rests on the bookshelf, beside a book of Shi Qingxuan’s favorite fairy-tales.
Shi Wudu sinks to his knees in the center of the room, facing the urn, his back to the window.
“I’m sorry, Qingxuan. I hope I’ll see you again.”
He’s lost count of how many times he’s said those words.
-
Ling Wen wipes her blade on her robes. What a bitch , she thinks, frowning disapprovingly at the corpse in front of her.
“You deserve it,” she says to the corpse.
The corpse stares back at her, dead-eyed.
“You do.”
So do the thousands of others she’s killed in the last century. Being a Calamity associated with fragile femininity comes with a certain kind of rage, a kind that can only cause harm to those who deeply deserve it.
Ling Wen looks up, putting the knife away. The door opens, and a woman steps into the room. Ling Wen doesn’t flinch. When the woman sees the body on the floor, her face turns pale. “Is- Is he-“
“He’s dead,” Ling Wen says, in a practiced monotone.
“Oh,” the woman says. She’s less of a woman and more of a girl. “I-“
“You need to leave,” Ling Wen says. “If they see you here, they will blame you.”
The girl ignores her, eyes shining with a horrible, self-sacrificing light. “Who are you? What do you have against our king?”
“I’m nobody.”
“And why is he dead? Why did you kill him? He didn’t deserve it,” this girl is shockingly brave, and maybe a bit stupid. If you walk into a room with a corpse and a murderer, you should run, not have a conversation.
“You mean to tell me that this man has issued perfect care to all of his subjects over the course of his reign?” Ling Wen asks the girl. “You mean to tell me that he has treated you perfectly?”
“What would you know about it?” The girl says. Something dark and fearful flashes in her eyes. Ling Wen could sympathize, but she doesn’t.
Nangong Jie would have sympathized with her, but Nangong Jie is long gone.
“Leave,” Ling Wen says harshly, putting much more force into the word than before.
The girl looks at her one more time, then flees.
Ling Wen takes a deep breath, shifting her form into her more terrifying and campy calamity getup, exchanging her simple blue robes for flowing ebony. Pei Ming calls her extra sometimes, but who is he to talk?
Ling Wen reaches out her hand, sweeping all the porcelain vases from the wall to land on the floor, breaking into a million tiny shards at her feet.
Then, she waits.
Eventually, politicians, wives, servants flood into the room, gasping in horror at the king’s body on the floor, then at the Calamity standing before them.
“How could you? You monster!” One of the king’s wives shrieks.
Ling Wen addresses them calmly, without emotion. “Think of his sins. Has he not wronged you? Has he not brought this all upon himself?”
The people don’t respond this time. Ling Wen watches them, meeting the eyes of each one. She knows the fear that will burn down their spine. She likes that kind of fear. She knows it will make them remember.
“Think of his actions. Hold his funeral. Appoint a new king, a good one. Or I will return.”
With that, Ling Wen departs. Behind her, she hears someone whisper, Black Ink Staining Brocade. The ever-vengeful lover.
That isn’t who she is.
Ling Wen concentrates, for a moment, then snaps her fingers and she’s somewhere else. A garden, in the house of the ruling family of a small village. Their son is reported to have been harassing the servant girls, and making inappropriate comments.
Ling Wen knows the servants could never get away with making such claims. But she can.
You monster .
It’s ironic. The one person who ever had the right to call her any name at all never did. And every single other person she meets seems to be waiting for the chance.
But Bai Jing was different.
That’s what Nangong Jie, at least, told herself.
But Nangong Jie is gone.
-
Pei Ming can’t keep his hands still. It’s not anxiety, not adrenaline, it’s simply just how he is—he can never keep his hands still.
He toys with the beads hanging from his belt, touches the hilt of his half of Mingguang, runs his fingers through his hair. It’s never enough for him to feel busy , though.
It just makes him feel something other than useless.
What the actual emotion is, he couldn’t tell you.
Pei Ming walks through the Ghost City market, crowds parting around him. His arrival is heralded by whispers and chatter, and also some mentions of Shi Chengzhu . Pei Ming could laugh, but he doesn’t.
The rumors about him and Shi Wudu are constant and omnipresent. They’re just so horribly wrong.
Pei Ming closes his eyes, concentrating, and suddenly, he’s surrounded by a golden light that causes nearby ghosts to cover their eyes for fear of being blinded. Pei Ming feels the light carry him away, to his own home.
It’s funny. The golden light almost mocks the light of ascension, and yet he uses it every day to accomplish mundane tasks.
Pei Ming has to shield his eyes from the harsh mountain light. He can’t entirely remember why he chose to build his home close to the summit of a mountain. It’s not that he regrets it, he just doesn’t feel a particular affinity to mountains. It’s just where he happens to be.
Unlike Shi Wudu in Ghost City, Pei Ming’s domain is much more relaxed. He took up his residence in the crumbling buildings of an old cultivation sect that has been long forgotten, and repaired everything himself. His home is small, but it’s everything it needs to be.
Pei Ming looks up at the sun. It’s just vaguely past midday, which means he still has plenty of time.
The news he learned today shook him to the core. He hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did.
Pei Ming touches Mingguang again. “I know you miss your other half,” he whispers. “Don’t worry, we’ll get her.”
He steps past the threshold of his door, and takes off his outermost layer of armor. Everything except for the sheath that holds Mingguang. Half of her, anyway.
Then, Pei Ming changes out of his everyday wear into simpler cotton pants, and goes outside to the training ground. He stops briefly by his armory (which is barely more than a wooden shed full of swords) and selects a plain practice sword with a sharp blade.
As he steps out on to the grass, beginning to move through warmup sword forms, he’s struck by the same deja vu that training sword forms always causes.
Rong Guang could be just meters away, with messy hair and a sweaty grin.
But he isn’t, and Pei Ming is alone with the sun and the crisp mountain wind.
Not before long, the sun is aching away, and sweat is streaking down his back, so Pei Ming simply just wills the sweat away, because he can, and goes inside to change back into his normal clothes. The sun is threatening to retreat below the horizon by then, so Pei Ming presses two fingers to his forehead. Ling Wen?
What, Ling Wen says, sounding bored.
Come to the Palace of Depths. I’ve got something important.
Are you there right now ? Ling Wen asks. She sounds skeptical.
Pei Ming glances around, as if he’s hoping for his surroundings to morph into Shi Wudu’s elegantly decorated house. No, I’m not.
Then why are you just inviting me over to someone else’s—
We talked about it earlier, Pei Ming promises. Please just come .
Fine, Ling Wen says.
Pei Ming leaves the array, and smiles to himself, before dissolving into golden light again, and reforming at the steps of the Palace of Depths.
Ling Wen, somehow, is already there waiting for him, a fact he finds somewhat startling. Well. He would find it startling if it was anyone other than the perpetually punctual Ling Wen. “What’s the ‘big news’?” Ling Wen asks, crossing her arms.
“Inside,” Pei Ming says, pointing up the steps.
“You’re being pretty dramatic about this, you know,” Ling Wen says.
“No, I’m not,” Pei Ming argues.
A third voice calls out from the doorway. “Yes, you are!” Shi Wudu yells down the stairs.
Pei Ming throws his hands up, defeated, as he and Ling Wen make their way up to join Shi Wudu. Once the three of them have stepped through the doorway, Pei Ming scans the room to make sure no one else is present. If he had a heartbeat, it would be accelerating aggressively.
Shi Wudu leads them to a room just off the entryway. It’s a room Pei Ming knows very well, because it’s the room Shi Wudu usually leads them two whenever they come over. Pei Ming has seldom ventured into the farther reaches of the Palace of Depths. He’s just never had any reason to.
Shi Wudu pours tea for the three of them. Ling Wen settles herself in an armchair. Pei Ming sits at the foot of the divan that he knows Shi Wudu will end up sitting on, once he’s done pouring tea.
Pei Ming prefers to sit on the ground, anyway.
“So?” Shi Wudu says, settling himself, predictably, on the very place Pei Ming figured he would sit. “What’s the problem?”
“I found the other half of Mingguang,” Pei Ming says.
“ What ?” Shi Wudu says.
“ Where ?” Ling Wen says, asking the more pertinent question.
“Rong Guang has it,” Pei Ming says.
“Yeah, we’d puzzled out at least that much—“ Shi Wudu starts.
“He keeps it locked up. In his palace. In heaven.”
For years, the three of them had been trying to deduce just where Rong Guang would have his half of Mingguang stashed away, but it was really no use; Rong Guang had clearly never told anyone about it. In fact, after the day of Pei Ming’s death, no one had seen Rong Guang’s piece of the Mingguang sword again.
Pei Ming’s piece of Mingguang, however, is on constant display. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t have it by his side. So, to finally have the whole sword again…
Ling Wen smiles. “Heist?”
Shi Wudu matches her grin. “I think it’s heist time.”