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Xie Lian saves the crown prince in Yong'an. He stays, but every year he leaves, just for a few weeks to take care of personal matters. It was a condition of his employment. He leaves in secrecy, in silence, in plain undyed robes.
He finds it nice, being so reliably close. Close enough to visit, close enough to work, close enough to make something more lasting. His flowers have spread across nearly the whole field now.
Not that it doesn't hurt of course, but it's almost supposed to do that.
He would rather keep hurting than forget his last believer after all.
Hua Cheng has been hearing rumors, but he always does, searching for his god.
The current rumors of concern all surround a man in white. This is quite usual. The way the current rumors of concern all surround Lang'er Bay is distinctly not usual. Also outside the scope of his extensive library of possibly dianxia related rumors, these stories are about a spirit, or a ghost, or an immortal cultivator. All right. He has plenty of rumors of immortal cultivators in his collection. None of his dianxia rumors regard spirits as possible identities for dianxia though.
The rumors are wrong of course. His god cannot die. Dianxia cannot be a ghost. Hua Cheng cannot have failed so completely. Such a thing is impossible in a world where he exists.
If investigating these rumors proves him wrong, well. It won't be for long.
Hua Cheng has been hearing rumors. Rumors of a spirit who visits a field full of little white flowers. Rumors that never quite match the details in his memory, but graze achingly close. What he does learn only grows his future disappointment when it will all turn out for naught. The field is near Lang'er bay. The season the spirit visits, though not consistent, is usually the last one he saw with his highness. The spirit dresses in mourning white.
When he finds the place, the field is blooming, an unnatural abundance of a single kind of flower. The last he offered to his god.
Hua Cheng has been hearing rumors, but he always does, they never bear out his hope.
Somehow, between visits, Xie Lian's meadow memorial to Wu Ming has acquired a building.
It appears to be a shrine.
The puzzling thing is that it's not a rickety little shack, not some misguided thanks for the wandering cultivator who keeps returning here erected by a local. The closer he gets, the more obvious that fact is. The building is small, just large enough there might be more than one room inside, though he thinks it unlikely. The building is sturdy and well crafted, not ornate but precise. Wooden beams are smooth without a patch of roughness, much less a splinter. The seams are hardly visible where the wood joins, gapless change in wood grain the only sign that the building didn't just grow itself into shape where it stands. The building is a shrine.
The only thing missing is an establishment plaque.
Xie Lian knocks and receives no reply. The door is unlocked and opens soundlessly. He ventures inside.
The inside is nearly empty. The floor is neatly swept. A single table, covered in fine cloth, with offerings and incense. There is no icon, no statue, no painting. There is no god in the place of honor. The only thing that rests on the pedestal where a statue should stand is a single flower with a single butterfly resting on it.
The insect is silver and beautiful. Xie Lian won't disturb anyone if he coos over it. He lets his thoughts stream out. The butterfly is such a gorgeous thing, shimmering in the low light so it almost seems to glow. It couldn't possibly be the real god of this shrine, could it?
Xie Lian had been certain he was the only one to whom this place still mattered. What had once been the main street through a town is now pathless grass. He did not intend to speak to anyone, to stop at any temples. He has brought no offering. No intended offering, in his sleeve though, he should have something...
The light changes. The door was unlocked and opened soundlessly.
His hand is still awkwardly fishing in his sleeve when he turns. There's a man standing in the doorway. Xie Lian freezes while he waits for some cue for how this interaction is going to go.
It's a young man, dressed in crimson, hair tied back. Even in the backlighting, the man's gaze is dark and wide.
There's a breathless quality to the air, stagnating as he realizes this man isn't going to break the silence.
Well, Xie Lian has coped with even worse situations and he survived. Socially speaking this is nothing.
"Ah." He retrieves his hand from his sleeve, empty of any suitable offerings. "Hello young master, don't let me keep you. You must be here for the shrine yes? Do you know who it's dedicated to? It's only that I travel through here every so often and I've never seen this place before."
The man doesn't waver, there's no weakness, no actual movement, but for a second he thinks the man is going to fall to his knees in front of Xie Lian. Instead, the man walks in, letting the door shut behind him.
"I'm here for my god, and yes." The voice is surprisingly deep, rich, and warm and filling the wooden quiet.
With an awkward bow he moves aside and tries to busy himself checking his sleeves again for an offering, anything halfway suitable. The young man strides forward smoothly, only looking away from him to make his prayers and offerings. Something about the act, seeing an offering given in the last place he was paid devotion, thrums deep within him.
The only halfway suitable thing he finds is Yong'an coin. He had lost the last of his travel rations two days before, and no one lives here now to purchase more from. The Yong'an denomination grates at old memories, but silver is silver. Hastily, he places the coins on the offering table and bows shallowly before the young man raises his head. He turns to leave and—
"Daozhang, do you have a moment?"
—stops.
"Ah." He chuckles, scratches at his cheek. "Of course. What does the young master need?"
"Does the honorable daozhang know any stories about this place?" The eyes on him are steady and intent, but the focus is warm, not cutting.
"I'm afraid I don't."
The man nods, decisive. "I came here because of the stories, would you like to know why?"
He finds himself nodding back. Strange though the man and meeting are, nothing feels wrong, just like a memory long forgotten.
"There are stories about a spirit who appears in this field."
"Is that who the shrine is for?"
"Perhaps."
He wants to test, to push, but the thought of pushing away is too much. A risk he doesn't want to take.
"I'm afraid I've never seen a spirit here. Not for a long time."
"Oh? Daozhang comes often?" Those eyes lighten, a hint of mischief he thinks. "They say the spirit disguises itself. It comes as a humble cultivator in white. It's only the fact that the stories stretch back for centuries that gives this spirit's nature away. It likes to help people who have lost things."
Well. Maybe there's more danger here than he feels. Still, the man is being polite enough, and he wants to see more of that wicked edge of humor. Xie Lian will survive even the worst of luck, so it's no matter either way.
"So daozhang isn't here to ask a boon of the spirit?"
"No. Is that what the young master is here for?"
"No." San Lang's smile is bright and pure. " Not quite. I already found what I lost." The man's head tips, reminding him of nothing so much as a wild fox catching the sound of a mouse. "Daozhang should call this one San Lang."
"Then San Lang shouldn't call this one daozhang."
"All right gege."
The young man, San Lang, keeps talking, keeps him engaged and entertained, talking circles and cross purposes until he realizes the sun is setting outside the shrine. Xie Lian smiles when he thinks how perfectly this would fit a cautionary tale, with all the strangeness of the day. Still, he cannot shake a growing sense of familiarity, or something just sideways of it.
"Whoever built this shrine, whatever god it is dedicated to, won't mind us sheltering in it for the night." San Lang paces the perimeter of the shrine, eyes roaming as if checking for leaks.
"San Lang speaks very confidently."
Said San Lang gives him a skeptical look. "I did say I know who it's dedicated to."
"Ah, but San Lang refuses to say, am I to trust so much in the words of a handsome stranger?"
"So gege thinks I'm handsome? How flattering." San Lang takes a piece of fruit off the alter and tosses it to Xie Lian. "You should eat."
The unease is back. Xie Lian hesitates until San Lang half chuckles and takes another piece for himself.
"I don't want to be impolite, but—"
"Don't worry. It's fine."
That smile stirs up something in his belly, in his chest. He is surely blushing, but perhaps the dim light of the candle on the alter will save him from San Lang seeing it. He quiets and eats.
"Should I stop asking questions of San Lang?"
"I will answer any question you ask." San Lang sits down beside him. "But not until the morning." San Lang takes off his outer layer, folding it for a pillow. "Goodnight dianxia." And San Lang lays down without giving another word or chance to react.
Xie Lian is left to decide whether to leave, or stay and sleep by an even bigger mystery than he knew.
He has said too much, revealed too much. Any moment, dianxia is going to stand and leave the paltry shrine he has made for his god. If his highness leaves now, Hua Cheng will not follow. He will take the silent rejection for what it is and— Eight hundred years and a petulant moment of impatience condemns him.
Only...
Dianxia doesn't leave. His highness sits, upright, awake, until the candle burns out.
Beside him, his god lays carefully down.
Eventually, dianxia's breaths even out to the slow cadence of sleep.
Morning comes and Xie Lian wakes to find San Lang sitting just outside the shrine, looking at the flowers in the predawn light. He stretches, the usual alarming number of joints popping, before coming to sit by San Lang under the eves. Birds chirp and the earliest insects can be seen among the dewy flowers. The sun rises slowly, dying the flowers gold.
"What do you come here for, dianxia?"
The words sound like they're only barely meant to be spoken instead of wondered in silence. He is no louder when he speaks. "... Memories."
Xie Lian stands. He brushes off his robes, though it makes no difference to their state. He picks a single flower. He brings it back, to sit by San Lang again.
"Someone very important used to give me flowers like these." The little white flower, such a common thing, he places tentatively on San Lang's knee. He settles back, lets the distance seep into being between them. "I wasn't very nice at the time but he never left me." Xie Lian is glad he isn't holding the flower anymore. He never wants to crush another one of these in his hands. "He saved me... and died for it."
He almost expects the silence to continue unbroken, so long does it last.
"... are you sure?"
If he was younger, if he was still the boy who cursed the world, he would not have reacted well to that question. As it is, Xie Lian snorts and curls in on himself. His head sinks down between his arms, covering his face. "I saw it." Saw him. His ghost's smile never fades from his mind.
Cloth rustles beside him.
"Dianxia."
It's been so long since— Since anyone even spoke that word to him, much less with such—
If Xie Lian wasn't already sitting down he would fall.
The boy, not a boy, kneels beside him, offering him the flower.
"You," He nearly chokes on the word. He feels frozen, unsure if this is real or him finally going mad. It is only when the confident face, the smiling mask, cracks before him that he breaks into life again. "Is it really you?"
San Lang, Wu Ming, his last believer, nods.
He isn't sure which happens first, the sob that wracks him or his arms around San Lang. His breath catches quick and he pulls back before San Lang's arms can close around him.
Xie Lian takes his flower.
He can't manage much before his lungs shudder again. "Thank you." He lets himself curl over the flower with the force of his crying.
Arms come around him, feather light and soft until he throws himself forward. San Lang catches him.
"Your highness, if you want, I will give you a whole city of flowers." says Hua Cheng.