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From the Imperial City to the outskirts of Young’An, smoke consumes the sky, painting it a dusty gray as the last remnants of Xianle fall.
The temples, palaces, and people are gone. Nothing but corpses and soot remains.
It’s a while before Xie Lian turns away.
Failure is heavy.
In the center of his chest, it fractures his bones like twigs.
If he could cry, he would.
God, he wants to fucking cry.
He wants to mourn.
Scream.
Beg.
But there’s no more tears or air in his lungs— only the cold embrace of catatonic regret.
It clings to him like a ghost all the way to Crown Prince Temple, where the air smells of rust.
A blood trail stretches towards the entrance and based on the amount, the person inside is long dead, but Xie Lian can’t turn back.
After all, he must know…
What poor soul used their final moments to come here? Were they so furious they couldn’t die without cursing him first?
Intent to make his sanctuary their grave.
Death hits Xie Lian the moment he enters. Putrid and sickly sweet, it lodges in his nose until he’s gagging and pressing a sleeve to his mouth.
His eyes water as he swallows bile. After a few close calls, his breath steadies and only then does he lower his hand.
Slowly, he looks to the alter.
A fallen god stands upon it, sword in hand and a smile cracked down its golden center.
Evil qi seeps from the young soldier at its feet— a shredded mess of entrails and gore.
It can’t be…
But the scimitar in the boy’s lifeless hand confirms it.
Xie Lian buckles at the knee. There’s no use checking for a pulse, no one can live in the state he’s in, but Xie Lian scrambles to his side and clutches his wrist.
His fingers punch through rotten flesh.
“No…no,” Frantic, Xie Lian shoves the mess of organs and bone back inside the boy. Sleeves dark with carnage, he pleads, “Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave, please don’t leave!”
But the wounds are too deep and the body too cold. It’s futile.
Collapsing under the weight of his grief, Xie Lian finally cries.
“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know—” Tears stream down ash-stained cheeks as he cradles the corpse’s hand. “I’m sorry. Honger, I’m sorry, please,
…forgive me.”
But there’s no answer from the soldier.
He’s nothing more than a dead man.
-
Xie Lian retches over the side of the bed the moment his eyes open.
Every breath is tinged with rot, horrid and thick in his lungs. His stomach spasms at the taste but nothing comes up.
He can’t breathe.
The harder he tries, the more it burns, like his throat’s scorched by flames.
“Gege?” Lanterns illuminate the bedroom.
Someone grabs him, but it’s too sudden and Xie Lian can’t.
“Gege, breathe.”
Xie Lian pushes them away. Shallow gasps interrupt anguishing sobs. He’s shaking, trembling so hard he doesn’t even recognize the man’s voice.
But it’s unrelenting and it whispers to him again, “You’re okay, don’t be scared.”
“N-No…”
He’s going to die. Xie Lian knows he’s going to die.
Arms wrap around Xie Lian, pulling him in. The voice is closer now, inches from his ear. “Don’t be scared, Your Highness.”
But it’s too late. Xie Lian’s already in the abyss. Down there, in the dark, where phantoms tear off his flesh and smother his screams, no one can reach him.
A sharp pain radiates from his chest. He claws at it, gasping a broken, “It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not,” a calm voice soothes. “Your Highness, I know it’s not.”
But it is.
Honger’s dead and it’s all Xie Lian’s fault.
Cool lips brush Xie Lian’s temple, whispering something sweet. As gentle as the man’s voice is, his grip is anything but as he restrains Xie Lian’s wrists.
Xie Lian fights it.
There’s so much evil—so much death. It’s in him, pooling in his lungs and drowning him.
He should have listened—oh god, why didn’t he listen?
He was just a child. Too young to die.
Somewhere in the distance, there’s singing—a soft lullaby in a foreign tongue that conjures a painful memory.
Of a masked youth in the middle of the night, unaware of the broken man hanging on every note.
Guilt sears through Xie Lian—only monsters hurt children.
Is that what he is?
“Xie Lian—stop!” Hua Cheng growls with a sharp hiss.
Xie Lian’s eyes snap open. Bloody claw marks mar the backs of Hua Cheng’s hands and only now is it clear.
Hua Cheng’s keeping him from ripping his own heart out.
In a flash, Xie Lian’s pinned. “San Lan—”
“Shh.” Hua Cheng cradles him, wrapping his legs over Xie Lian’s to subdue him—a familiar dance they both know too well. “It was a dream, Your Highness.”
“No,” Xie Lian cries.
“Yes.” Hua Cheng kisses his hair. “Gege is safe in San Lang’s arms.”
When Xie Lian looks down, Hua Cheng’s wounds are healed and the humming resumes. He shrinks in his husband’s arms, burying his face in Hua Cheng’s chest and any other night, it would melt his sorrows, but tonight, it only amplifies them.
It’s nothing more than a cruel reminder that the one holding him is dead.
Everyone Xie Lian loves is dead.
And he’s the harbinger.
God of misfortune. God of plagues. God of death.
Leaving corpses in his wake.
The next three nights are the same.
X
Nightmares aren’t new; if anything, they’re one of the few constants in Xie Lian’s life. Some are worse than others, like suffocating inside a coffin or his second ascension.
But this one…this one’s different. It’s in his bones. Malignant and cold like a tumor invading the marrow.
On the third morning, when Xie Lian’s too exhausted for their normal marital affairs, Hua Cheng finally brings it up.
“Gege…talk to me,” he says with a frown.
Xie Lian sits and straightens his robe before answering in a controlled tone, “About what?”
“It’s getting worse.”
“Oh.” Xie Lian looks away. “Is it?”
It is. Last night, it took Hua Cheng paralyzing him to keep Xie Lian from hurting himself.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng warns.
“I’m fine, San Lang. I’m just tired, is all.”
Though he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s more than not sleeping. But it’s not like he can tell Hua Cheng he can’t bear seeing him naked anymore.
How can he when all he sees is a soldier ripped open at the seams?
Behind him, Hua Cheng shifts. “Then look at me.”
No, please, god, anything but that.
Xie Lian rubs his wrists and forces a laugh. “If I do, we’ll never make it out of bed.”
“Is that so?”
Xie Lian’s stomach twists as the bed lightens.
Hua Cheng kneels in front of him with a somber expression. “What are the dreams about, Your Highness?”
His crimson robe stands in stark contrast to his pale skin, and it’s too similar a shade for Xie Lian to hide anymore. Nausea swells in his throat, forcing him to look away.
“Oh, n-nothing…the normal things.”
“You’ve barely slept or eaten in three days. How is that the normal things? And last night—” Hua Cheng stops himself.
Last night was bad. Really bad.
Fang Xin through Honger’s chest bad.
Hua Cheng’s voice lightens, void of its confident air. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Is it something I’ve done?”
“No—” Xie Lian’s heart sinks, turning to Hua Cheng in a panic. “No, you didn’t do anything…really, I don’t know why it’s resurfacing now.”
The look on Hua Cheng’s face is heartbreaking. “Your Highness, whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
It’s not himself Xie Lian worries about, it never has been.
As if Hua Cheng can sense that Xie Lian’s close to caving, he adds, “Believe me, Your Highness.”
And that breaks Xie Lian. His throat tightens as his brows knit together and he knows he’s going to cry if he opens his mouth, but he forces out a soft, “I know…”
Hua Cheng doesn’t respond. He waits—like he always does when Xie Lian’s this close to a breakdown. More than anything, Xie Lian wishes he wouldn’t do this—not today. Not for this.
It’s easier when he can latch on to whatever wonderful thing his husband is saying and shove the darkness away before it swallows him.
Silence is the worst. It reminds Xie Lian of too many painful things.
With a sharp breath, he draws his knees to his chest, burying his face in them. He tries to suppress the quiet sniffs and hitches of breath but there’s no escaping Hua Cheng’s gaze.
Bells jingle before, once again, there’s weight beside Xie Lian.
“Tell me how to make it better…” Hua Cheng whispers against his temple.
“Can’t,” Xie Lian mumbles as he folds into him. With slow, controlled breaths, Hua Cheng’s scent fills his lungs and he’s almost back to center when his husband knocks him off balance again.
“Please, Your Highness, I can’t see you go through this another night.” Hua Cheng hugs him tighter. “I’ll do anything.”
“After what I did to you…” Xie Lian’s voice quivers. “How can you be so kind?”
“Gege…what are you—”
Pulling back, Xie Lian blinks through tear-streaked vision. “I left you to die.”
Hua Cheng reaches for him, brows furrowed. “Left me where? Your Highness, I don’t—”
“San Lang, how did you die?”
There’s a moment of hesitation before Hua Cheng looks past him and says with a measured tone, “With honor, fighting for His Highness.”
In the past, Xie Lian gladly took that answer because the truth was too painful. But there was no honor in those waning days—only slaughter and fear.
In the end, there were indeed three paths in Xianle.
Famine, pestilence, and war.
Xie Lian lifts his head. “I didn’t ask why; I asked how.”
Hua Cheng stiffens but his smile doesn’t waver. “Your Highness, that’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Tell me.”
“Too boring, Gege. Why don’t we go into the city today and stop by the trade market?”
It won’t work. Xie Lian won’t allow himself to be swept away by some shiny new toy. “San Lang, don’t—don’t change the subject.”
Hua Cheng adjusts his vambraces, his lips curling into a visibly fake smile. “Why does His Highness want to know?”
Why? Because Xie Lian saw the other two. He was with Hua Cheng the other two. But the first death, the one that mattered most…
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been on the battlefield in the first place,” Xie Lian replies.
“Your Highness, I wanted to be there.”
Xie Lian’s chest constricts, his pulse thundering in his ears. “Because of me!”
He doesn’t mean to yell, but he’s lost control of his emotions, too exhausted to hold them in any longer. “I was wrong. You shouldn’t have been out there. You should have gone to the refugee camp with the other children.”
Hua Cheng’s jaw tightens. He stands, not facing Xie Lian, as he crosses his arms.
“Where, in Young’ An?” There’s a noticeable shift in his tone, a callousness resentment he struggles to mask. “After watching those ungrateful beasts destroy your statues and burn your temples, you think I could bear seeing them happy?”
“You could’ve lived.”
In a low voice, Hua Cheng replies, “I don’t regret dying for you.”
That does it. Xie Lian snaps. “San Lang, how can you say that! You could have lived a long, happy life.”
“Without you?” A hint of frustration surfaces veiled before it boils over. Hua Cheng turns to Xie Lian, pleading, “Your Highness…you are my happiness. A meaningless mortal life could never compare to eternity with you.”
Eternity. It’s easy to say that now, but Xie Lian’s no stranger to how cruel eternity can be. He looks to Hua Cheng and asks his final question—the one he dreads the most.
“Where you alone?”
No answer.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian repeats, “were you alone?”
Hua Cheng smiles. “Gege should rest. Let me make you some tea.”
“San Lang!”
“Your Highness, enough.” The decisiveness in his tone blindsides Xie Lian. Only once has Hua Cheng spoken to him like this, back in that armory on Mt. Tonglu.
“I—”
Hua Cheng cuts him off. “No, no more. I won’t let you torture yourself over this.”
Xie Lian hangs his head and nods.
There’s a sigh and though Xie Lian doesn’t dare look, he knows Hua Cheng’s eyes are rimmed with red and when he speaks again, there’s an evident strain in his voice. “Gege, please…let the past be.”
He kisses the top of Xie Lian’s head, muttering, “Let me fix you some congee and then we can go to Puqi shrine for the day, okay?”
“Mm.” Xie Lian nods before lifting his head to kiss Hua Cheng’s nose. “I’m sorry, San Lang.”
And Xie Lian is sorry because he can’t.
He can’t not know anymore.
XX
Black Water Manor is, as Xie Lian remembers it—abysmal.
He Xuan emerges from the hall and though Xie Lian’s seen his true power, it’s hard to imagine it now. With Hua Cheng, it’s easy to forget he’s dead, but there’s no question with He Xuan.
He is death—cold, hollow, and ground to the bone. A ghost among ghosts drifting in an endless black sea.
“Why are you here?” He Xuan asks.
“There’s something I want to know.”
He Xuan narrows his eyes. “Did he send you here?”
Xie Lian shakes his head. “I came on my own.”
“Then leave before he realizes you’re gone.”
But there’s no one else. He Xuan shares a bond with Hua Cheng that Xie Lian never will—no matter how many times Xie Lian’s heart has stopped. Even after a thousand deaths, his feet remained firmly on this side.
He Xuan knows what it’s like to cross over.
“It’s only a question,” Xie Lian says. “One, and then I’ll go.”
The silence stretches on painfully as if He Xuan has eternity to wait. He’s accustomed to it, and at one point, Xie Lian was too, but somewhere along the lines, Xie Lian softened.
With a note of irritation, He Xuan grumbles, “Fine.”
“Do all ghosts retain evidence of their death?”
The question seems to catch He Xuan off guard as his blank expression cracks with an arched brow. “So that’s what this is about. He won’t tell you how he died, so you’ve come to me.”
Xie Lian bites his lip—when put like that it really does sound bad. “I—”
“We do.” He Xuan leans against the damp stone, crossing his arms. “Your Highness, haven’t you seen his true form?”
“Yes, of course, I—” Xie Lian pauses. No, Hua Cheng had shown his real face the night Xie Lian went to Ghost City, hadn’t he?
His gaze drops to He Xuan’s collar, where the harsh contours of his clavicles jut out.
Oh.
His real face.
“Hm,” He Xuan hums. “So, you haven’t. He must want to spare you the guilt.”
Xie Lian flinches at the last word. Three times. Hua Cheng died for him three times…no, not for him, because of him. And even if Hua Cheng would gladly do it again, it doesn’t change the truth.
If their stars hadn’t collided on that faithful day, what would have happened? If Xie Lian hadn’t been blind to the reality beyond the imperial gates, would Honger have been on that wall in the first place?
“Have you seen it?” Xie Lian asks. He feels small, like a naive child who’s seen the world for the first time—as it is without the wool.
He Xuan laughs a mechanical, harsh sound. “Of course not. Your Crimson Rain is too proud to show his failures off so carelessly. But is it really that hard to guess? There’s only so many ways a soldier can die.”
“Failure?” The pit in his stomach deepens. “Is that what he sees it as?”
“If you want to know so bad, see for yourself.” There’s an edge to He Xuan’s answer and it’s hard to tell whether it’s disgust or envy.
“But I wasn’t there…” Xie Lian whispers. A shameful confession that has him absently touching the ring beneath his robes.
But they were.
Some say ghosts retain their worst memories in their ashes, but he thought it was just more hearsay. Then again, he used to think the same about ghosts giving their ashes away.
“He Xuan,” Xie Lian looks up. “Are blood memories real?”
“No.” He Xuan’s demeanor changes, grimacing as if overcome by a sudden headache. “I answered your question. Now leave.”
Xie Lian knows his begging is lost on He Xuan, but he’s helpless to not. His time is running up. “I won’t tell him you told me. I won’t even mention I came here. Please, I have to know…”
“Your Highness, go home.” With that, he turns back to the dimly lit hall he came from and faintly, under his breath, he says, “It’s better to not know.”
The words come out before Xie Lian can stop them. “Is that why you still watch over him?”
He Xuan freezes.
“So, the drifter that’s been visiting the homeless camp…it really is you,” Xie Lian says.
“It’s not.”
“He asks about you.”
There’s a pause, then a curt, “Tell him I’m dead.”
“He understands why you…” Xie Lian hesitates. It’s not his place and he’s already overstayed his welcome, but it feels wrong to keep it in. “You should make amends while you can. It’s not right to leave things the way they are.”
Living in ignorance only begets grief, Xie Lian would know.
He Xuan glances over his shoulder with a sullen glare. “And what good will that do?”
“I don’t know,” Xie Lian answers honestly. “But what else is left to do?”
XXX
Xie Lian finds Mei Nianqing exactly where he expects, sitting before three empty chairs with a handful of cards.
“Your Highness, you’re just in time for another round.”
“Take me to him,” Xie Lian demands.
Mei Nianqing folds his cards with a composed sigh. “What matter brings you here, child? Perhaps it’s something I can assist you with.”
After all these years, he still feels the need to protect Xie Lian from himself, but after three sleepless nights, the nightmares of youth have lost their hold.
“It’s a question only he can answer.”
His State Preceptor stands and busies himself with shuffling his deck. “Your Highness, His Highness is unpredictable. Some days he’s the old him and others…”
And others, he’s a monster.
Xie Lian clasps his hands behind his back, quelling the ever-so-subtle tremor coursing through them. “Whichever version of him he is, is fine.”
“If this is something you’ve made your mind up about, I know there’s no changing it.” Mei Nianqing motions to him. “Come then, follow me.”
It’s often said that the buildup to the jump is the worst part and fear dissipates once your feet leave the ground. But with one step into the cave, Xie Lian decides that is unequivocally not true.
In the shadows, a white-clothed figure sits with a bamboo hat rejected at his side.
“How are you, Your Highness?” It asks.
Fear creeps up Xie Lian’s spine. It’s Jun Wu’s voice, patient and composed, but there’s a bitter undercurrent that makes it clear which face he wears.
“I need your help.”
“Mm,” Jun Wu hums. “I thought you didn’t want that.”
A subtle throb seeds itself in the back of Xie Lian’s skull. “It’s really just a question.”
As Jun Wu turns to meet his gaze, it’s clear how much he’s fallen. Dark circles rim his eyes and though the three faces have scared over, Jun Wu’s has aged a lifetime.
“Is it about your Crimson Rain Sought Flower?”
The silver chain around Xie Lian’s neck grows heavier. Though he tries, he can’t help the way his face cracks.
“Why so guilty, Xianle…” Jun Wu says, “What have you done?”
Beneath his sleeve, Xie Lian digs his nails into his palm. “How did he die?”
Jun Wu chuckles. “His Highness will have to be more specific.”
His words sink like claws into Xie Lian’s skin. “The battlefield.”
“You really do ache for him, don’t you?” Jun Wu’s lips curl with a cruel twist. “Seems we’re more alike than Xianle cares to admit. I too, know the pain of hurting those I tried to save.”
“My Lor—” Xie Lian clenches a fist. “Your Highness, we may have walked similar paths, but we’re not the same.”
“Now, but what about then? What good is now if our kingdoms are both dead?”
Rage surges in Xie Lian’s blood, spilling out before he can contain it. “I was a child!”
“And I wasn’t?” Jun Wu’s response comes fast and harsh like he’s been waiting to cut into Xie Lian from the moment he walked in.
His eyes widen in delight as if tasting something sweet. “And he was too, wasn’t he? How old was he when you asked Mu Qing to recruit him? Thirteen, fourteen? Rather young for a solider, isn’t it?”
Tears brim in Xie Lian’s eyes, but isn’t this what he wanted?
After all, monsters in the mirror aren’t as easy to fight as ones in the dark.
Jun Wu settles back into the shadows. “He was a talented fighter but reckless and unruly. Yet you…he would have done anything for you, and you were more than happy to pull his strings, weren’t you, Your Highness?”
“You… It’s—it wasn’t like that. I never—we’re, we’re not....”
“Then why do you still ache?” Jun Wu’s tone shifts, a barely perceivable smirk forming on his pale lips. “After all, if the dip in Xianle’s cultivation is anything to judge by, it seems Crimson Rain Sought Flower has forgiven you many times over.”
Xie Lian hardens his expression. “And what business is that to you?”
“It’s just sad that after all this time…I’m no longer the ghost haunting you.”
After a pause, Xie Lian utters, “Why must you be this way?”
Never changing. Stagnant and festering with larva— parasites that eat his soul.
Jun Wu inspects the bamboo hat before placing it lazily onto his head. “Is Xianle finally willing to tell me why he came here?”
There’s no use lying. Xie Lian’s too tired to even try.
“How do I see blood memories?”
“So, that ring… I see.” Jun Wu rises, only allowed a few steps before the chain around his ankle stops him. “Every second of pain, every twist of fear, you’ll feel it all. Is that truly what you want?”
Whatever it is, Xie Lian’s had worse. Because even if he didn’t feel the blade, he’d lived Hua Cheng’s death for three nights straight. Three gruesome deaths, all equally terrifying; he really can’t take a fourth.
“It is.”
“Memories born from blood and sorrow, yearn for it,” Jun Wu replies. “But it’s quite an arduous task. Crimson Rain has many blood memories. You’ll need enough spiritual energy to find the right one."
Blood, sorrow, and spiritual energy, is it really that simple?
“Of course, you’ll have to be careful,” Jun Wu continues. “Should you gain entry to such memories and run out of power, they’ll lock you inside.”
“I understand. Thank you, Your Highness.” Conflicted, Xie Lian turns to leave before that haunting voice calls once more.
“Do you?” Chains whine. “Then you know were that to happen, in order for him to pull you out…his ashes must be destroyed.”
Xie Lian’s stomach drops. Jun Wu doesn’t need to say the rest. It goes unsaid what Hua Cheng would do in such a scenario.
A fourth and final death at Xie Lian’s hand.
By fate, Hua Cheng should have died that day on the wall, but Xie Lian intervened. If, in the end, Hua Cheng crushed his own ashes to save him, then what good did Xie Lian really do?
When Xie Lian emerges from the cave, Hua Cheng is waiting.
Under the maple trees at the foot of Mount Tonglu, he stands with his arms folded and an unreadable expression on his face. His right eye burns with an intensity Xie Lian’s never seen before, at least, never directed at him.
Xie Lian walks with his head bowed, each step expanding the cavernous pull in his core.
It’s futile to hold back tears.
He rubs his eyes with his sleeve, gaze fixed on Hua Cheng’s boots. “I’m sorry.”
Hua Cheng extends his hand. “The ring, Your Highness.”
A sinking feeling settles in Xie Lian’s stomach. The world’s too big, tipped on its axis and spinning as he unclasps the necklace and places it in Hua Cheng’s palm.
Before he can process what to say, a single raindrop falls onto the ring.
Blood.
Xie Lian looks to Hua Cheng as he links their hands, encasing the ring. Thousands of silver butterflies engulf them, and then Xie Lian’s floating, drifting, falling—somewhere strange, somewhere dark. Somewhere that sucks the deep seeded dread from his heart, leaving him empty and numb.
Swords clash nearby.
When Xie Lian opens his eyes, he’s no longer on Mt. Tonglu.
He’s in Xianle, or rather, what’s left of it.
A dozen or so Young’An soldiers surround the Imperial gates, focused on the lone youth standing guard.
No. Xie Lian’s running. “It’s not worth it. Let it fall!” he screams. But the second he reaches the battlefield, it’s clear no one can hear him.
With a flash of silver, three of the twelve men fall. Two more rush the black-clad teen.
“You seek death.” Honger swings his blade wildly, fatally wounding one and incapacitating the other.
It’s not without consequence. Honger clutches his side, staggering back as blood oozes from between his fingers.
The remaining group attacks.
Honger whips around, cutting down the closest before pivoting to defend an incoming blade, but the ground is too saturated with blood.
His foot slips.
A sword pierces his abdomen and it’s over.
Honger falls.
XXXX
The air inside Puqi shrine is humid with the swell of summer. Only the cool brush of Hua Cheng refastening the necklace around his neck keeps Xie Lian grounded.
The memory replays on a loop behind his closed lids, but he’s too afraid to open them.
“It was my fault,” Hua Cheng says, his voice so low and somber that it forces Xie Lian to open his eyes and confirm that it really is his husband speaking.
Hua Cheng’s hair veils his face, his blood-red robes undone, revealing a thin sliver of skin.
A faint scar cuts through the pale canvas—a clean, lethal sweep from navel to sternum.
“San Lang…” As Xie Lian reaches for him, Hua Cheng flinches.
He turns away before Xie Lian can say anything else.
And so, it’s true. Hua Cheng’s refusal earlier wasn’t just protectiveness but something deeper. Something Xie Lian, of all people, should have recognized.
Shame.
It’s in Hua Cheng’s voice and the slump of his normally proud shoulders. He’s ashamed of his death.
“Dying for you in battle was my greatest honor, but my death is my fault alone.” Hua Cheng grips his sleeve, his back tensing. “I failed you, Your Highness, not the other way around. I fucked up, I was—”
“Human,” Xie Lian replies. “You were human.”
E-Ming quivers at Hua Cheng’s side, looking to Xie Lian like a lost child who’s finally been found.
Hua Cheng smacks it, uttering a cruel, “Pathetic.”
Before he can get another hit in, Xie Lian sweeps in. He wraps his arms tight around Hua Cheng, hugging him from behind and blocking E-Ming from the strike.
“Be nice to him.” Xie Lian finds Hua Cheng’s wrists and locks hold of them. “He’s scared, so San Lang, you have to…” His throat tightens as tears prick in his eyes, “you have to be nice to him, okay?”
He’d spent nearly 800 years mourning Wu Ming and twelve painful months awaiting Hua Cheng’s return, but Honger? Had Xie Lian truly mourned the child who laid his life down for him?
To think Hua Cheng trekked back to that battlefield with nothing but hate and disdain for himself to dig up his own ashes. Ashes which found their final resting place around Xie Lian’s neck.
A diamond forged not from the body of the feared Crimson Rain Sought Flower but from that lone soldier.
It’s Honger Xie Lian carries.
The tears welling in Xie Lian’s eyes finally spill over. “I should have been there. I should have protected you, and I’m so sorry I didn’t.”
“Your Highness.,” Hua Cheng spins around to embrace him. “No, you have nothing to apologize for—”
“But I do,” Xie Lian chokes out. “San Lang, all the pain you’ve endured because of me….” His knees weaken, crumbling under 800 years of grief. “I told you to make me your reason to live and I failed you. How is that okay? How can you not resent me?”
“Your Highness, you saved me.” Hua Cheng cradles Xie Lian’s face in his hands. “I hated everything about life until you showed me grace. To me, there is no one better. So, even if no one else does, I forgive you, Your Highness. I will always forgive you because I know your heart and I see your pain, but what’s done is done, so please…”
His voice cracks as he presses their foreheads together. “Forgive yourself.”
And isn’t it true?
No matter how many tears one cries, a thousand sorrows can’t fill a well if it’s riddled with faults.
After all, the hardest amends are with oneself.
But after centuries of mourning, perhaps it really is time…
Tears flow like rivers down Xie Lian’s cheeks as cracks form in his shell and it feels good—like the light of day after a lifetime of night.
He can breathe. Even if he’s choking on sobs, Xie Lian can breathe.
The evening sun crests through the windows, casting them in a soft, warm glow. Hua Cheng holds him until Xie Lian’s lids grow heavy with the gentle lull of sleep, and only then does Hua Cheng take him to bed.
Xie Lian lays his head on Hua Cheng’s chest and kisses the faint scar. His eyes close as a familiar hum fills the air, and a loving hand works the last knots from his shoulders.
Forgiveness is a long road, winding through oceans and wrapping around peaks.
But the fourth night at Puqi Shrine, it’s a seed.
Sprouting its tiny leaves.