Chapter Text
The inexistence was something… interesting, to say the least. It was what had happened, wasn't it? His soul was dispersed, he was almost sure. Although he couldn’t remember why.
He — not confident that was really a he at the moment, but it sounded right — also didn’t remember to have existed at one point. Does he have a name? Is there someone out there waiting for him? Does someone miss him? Who is he?
The inexistence was loud, concluded, if the huge amount of screams around him meant something.
Screams…
Whose?
He forced what he thought was once his mind to remember his past life.
A young boy covered in bandages.
Two mismatching eyes.
Red. Tons of red.
Red from his eye, red from the clothes his mother stitched herself for him, red from the soldiers' blood, red from the war.
Red from his own blood when he died in battle.
Red from His blood.
His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of XianLe.
Xie Lian.
He remembered.
His Highness was left alone.
His mind — what was left of it — started to scream louder and louder. He had to come back. There was a way, it had to be a way. He knew he wasn’t really dispersed, there would be no way for him to have a single thought if it was the case.
It should be impossible, there should be no hope for him to go back or ever reincarnate again, but, being honest, he couldn’t think of one single thing in his life — or death — that had been normal.
Maybe having been born under the solitary star gave him a kind of malediction of not being able to continue dead? Or maybe it’s just his soul that knows he can’t leave until he’s sure His Highness is safe.
And how could he? What kind of believer would he be by leaving his god by himself in such a state of mind when that crap Bai Wuxiang was somewhere around His Highness? Certainly not a better believer than the ones that branded that sword in the temple.
And Bai Wuxiang… oh the little ghost swore that one day, no matter how much time it takes, he would take his revenge against the calamity for every single moment he breathed near His Highness.
But first, he had to reconstruct himself, so he clung to the rage, that’s how ghosts are born, after all, by strong feelings. He couldn't feel them at the moment, his existence wasn’t enough for that, but he knew they were there, he knew they were real.
The anger for the people he grew up with.
The disgust for himself.
The sadness of his mother’s death.
The hate for Bai Wuxiang.
The pain of taking all the devastated souls.
And the principal, the strongest feeling he ever felt: the pure love for His Highness. More than just a guard’s loyalty, a believer’s faith, or a subject’s adoration. He loved the man His Highness was. Strong, brave, fair and so beautiful.
And the truth was that since the first time he put his eyes on the prince, no matter what, he would do absolutely anything for him. The one that saved him when he was just a small child falling on his way to destroy a parade. The one that treated him so kindly, taking that ugly thing in his arms so softly, not even caring that his expensive and chic robes were getting all dirty.
The ghost didn't have a good life and he had all the reasons to have revenge as his reason to stay, it was true, but, sometimes, the only thing you need is a sign of humanity, a good soul that extends a hand to help. One single person can be enough.
His Highness was enough.
And the ghost would never hesitate on that though, but it got so hard to keep himself together when he started to get a form again. Because it hurts .
For a few seconds, he had forgotten why he dispersed in first hand, but it all returned to him as quickly as it left.
All those souls hurt him so bad he was sure he would be screaming and crying if he could.
Every inch of him that became corporeal felt like burning, he wanted to scratch it, take his skin out so maybe it would stop making him feel like dying was a better option.
He felt so tired, it was way too much, he wasn’t strong enough, and it hurt so bad he barely felt the ground under his knees when his body was finally stable again.
How much time it took? A day? A week? A year? Maybe more, maybe a decade…
Wu Ming — now he remembered his name — he is Wu Ming, His Highness's loyal server.
And His Highness… he had to find His Highness. That was his first clear thought, the first one that wasn’t drowned in his pain. A pain so strong that, for a moment, he forgot how it was not feeling pain.
Wu Ming tried his best to get up, his body shaking so much he wasn’t even sure if it was just him or an earthquake.
He was so hot and that was so weird because ghosts should never feel warm, not without a heartbeat and proper blood circulation.
His form was still trembling with occasional lacks of spiritual power, he wasn’t sure how much time he would last before the need for stop and rest came to him again.
The answer, however, came really fast. It happens that Wu Ming only got one hesitant step before starting screaming in pain again. Real screams this time, coming from deep inside him, scratching his throat and making him dizzy like when his stepfather used to strike his head with the kitchen pans — the mere memorie of that disgusting man almost made Wu Ming’s face hit the ground if his body wasn’t so tense for the pain.
Every muscle under his skin was contracting in a way that made him wonder if he wasn’t being actually dismembered alive this time.
Oh what a shitty way to dye…
And with all that amount of suffering, almost lost, it was a weak call. Not a voice, not a touch either. Just a feeling that he needed to go in that direction. The feeling that something was waiting for him on the other side of that invisible string.
But how could that thing expect Wu Ming to go when the simple act of a step was so excruciating? Who could be so evil in calling him in such a state?
Only an enemy would do that.
Wu Ming knew that he wasn’t entirely a revenge ghost, but that didn’t mean that others could take advantage of him. He had a whole life being the weakest and that was something he could never accept again.
He had to become stronger.
Stronger than the ones that hurted him.
Stronger that those fucking minor gods.
Stronger than His Highness’s worthless subordinates.
Stronger than Bai Wuxiang.
He would become so strong that the entire world would be in the palm of his hand, only waiting for his god’s word to be destroyed and remodeled in the way He wanted.
And then he would never be scared and His Highness go through pain again.
But first, there was this one useless trash calling him, and Wu Ming decided that, no matter who they were, they had just assigned their own death certificate.
He would cross all the bridges, climb all the mountains, devour all the spirits in his path.
And so he did it.
For weeks, all that Wu Ming knew was that there was more blood on his vests than water in a whole ocean, and even though he was consuming all the spiritual energy from other ghosts, he was getting more tired every couple hours.
It was interesting being the powerful one for the first time after all, he knew his aura was getting stronger and it made lots of ghosts run from him, but it didn’t mean that he could act frivolously, especially since his body was starting to shake again.
The cave wasn’t the best option, but Wu Ming didn’t have much of an option once a group of wraiths surrounded him and broke the sword he was using — one that he had stolen from another ghost a few days before.
And then the real problem started.
Through all his time as a ghost, he never felt the urge to attack living humans, like some kind of etic code installed in his brain, but he wasn’t feeling himself at that moment.
Wu Ming smelled them before seeing them. A group of around ten people, some of them older and one child. He could say that a few then were hurt.
For a second, he wanted to jump over them. Wu Ming knew he could beat them up without much problem. His red eye shining in the dark with his thirst for blood.
But then…
Then a woman stepped ahead. Putting his body in front of the child, protecting him.
She screamed for him, begging to let them in peace, that they weren’t doing anything and just wanted to leave.
The kid sneaked through the woman’s vests to look at Wu Ming, his little eyes showing a fear so intense that he only saw once. On himself as a kid, when his stepfather pulled him by the hair and threw him out of their house after his mother’s death, leaving him to die of hunger or cold.
He remembered being so so so scared…
And then… there was His Highness, catching him and keeping him safe. Because one person was enough.
And Wu Ming could be enough for those people.
And he could be good for his god.
It wasn’t really rational, Wu Ming knew he needed a good weapon to win those ghosts out there to give the humans a chance to run away. A sword so powerful that the three realms would create tales about it. A cursed blade created by a blood sacrifice, just like the stories he heard on the streets as a kid.
And what would be a better sacrifice then a part of him that carried his fate as a cursed child?
Wu Ming really thought that he was already so drowned in pain for so much time that he would barely feel it. He was wrong.
He felt every inch of his fingers craving his skin, putting though nerves and muscle to grab his eye. Falling over his knees the second his hand touched his right eyeball.
It was so much blood, so much pain, everything was hurting and the world was spinning.
He was going to disperse again.
It was too much, he underestimated the intensity of his action.
Somehow, he knew that he wouldn't be able to come back this time. But it all stopped a second later.
All the pain was gone, but not only that.
When he looked down, he saw a long, shining scimitar with a tenebrous aura, vibrating with the intensity of its spiritual powers.
And then an eye opened, a completely red eye, looking straight at him. Wu Ming could feel part of his conscience linked to the scimitar.
Wu Ming ran his hand along the flat part of the blade, marveling at the beauty of the demon he created.
He wanted to do something strong, but a sentient being? He didn't even know that was possible.
“Hello?” he whispered “Ugh… I know I kinda just made you, but we have work to do”.
With the tremor of the scimitar as his only reaction, he took it as animation and got up, leaving the cave after giving the humans a last look — all pale and scared, good thing Wu Ming remembered to turn to the other side before his little show, otherwise some of them could have really passed away.
His veins were pulsing with desire to kill, the scimitar was almost screaming and Wu Ming knew that if he waited a minute more, it would fly from his hand and fight by itself.
Good thing Wu Ming learned to fight by watching the best one in the topic. He could not be smooth or strong as His Highness, but he saw enough demonstrations to memorize the theory.
The battle didn't last long, he had to admit that it was way easy with an appropriate blade. And again, His Highness was right when he said to Hong-er he would fight better with a saber than a sword.
And Wu Ming kept going in the direction of that weird calling, knowing he was near the destination.
He was almost starting to get fun, fights could be really interesting once you were able to fight on equal — or at least similar — terms.
Obviously, with the incredible luck he always had. It wouldn’t last long. Wu Ming was approaching the top of the mountain when a powerful golden light enveloped him.
Once, the ghost thought he had met the world's brightest light, a simple smile capable of competing with the sun itself.
Now he knew he was wrong: there was a brighter light.
A glare so intense that it blinded his vision and made his skin burn while trails of blood ran down his face and his knees hit the floor.
The nameless ghost felt like dying a third time, although there was nothing glorious about death other than in his god’s name.
“Welcome to the Heavenly Court, I’m Jun Wu.” said a deep voice coming from above him
And suddenly, when he raised his head, Wu Ming was facing White-Clothed Calamity again.