Vessel of Malicious Energy

by LoveSometimesB

Summary:

Zhuo Yichen has never accepted Zhao Yuan Zhou, never understood him, never forgiven him.

He's never loved him.

It's all a farce, a mask.

Zhuo Yichen has been waiting for the opportunity to kill Zhao Yuan Zhou.

now that he is at his weakest, Zhuo Yichen will fulfil his oath, exact his revenge.

Chapter 1: You made me a Monster

 

 

 

 

Finally.

 

Zhuo Yichen savors the rush of energy that courses through his body as he grabs the handle of the re-forged Cloud Light Sword.

 

Power.

It’s exhilarating. Intoxicating.

 

He does absolutely nothing to prevent a wide grin from appearing on his face.

He’s turned away from Zhao Yuan Zhou and Lord Bai Yan.

There’s no need to pretend.

 

He hears Zhao Yuan Zhou spit up a mouthful of blood; terribly weakened after having used up nearly all of his energy to repair his sword.

 

The sound of his pained wheezing is music to Zhuo Yichen’s ears.

Glee, unrestrained, unbridled, blooms in his chest.

 

Finally, he’s got that annoying Da Yao exactly where he wants him.

Under his thumb.

 

He rolls his eyes one last time before biting the inside of his cheek to make his eyes tear up.

 

He’s always found it easy to cry. To soften his midnight blue doe eyes with grief and innocence.

 

 

Nobody, especially not Zhao Yuan Zhou, has ever realized that it’s all a farce. A mask, just like the one the Great Demon likes to don.

 

He transforms his grin into an expression of guilt and regret.

 

He turns around, presenting gratitude on a silver platter as he’s supposed to.

As he’s expected to.

 

 

He turns the blade downwards as he grasps Zhao Yuan Zhou’s shaking shoulder.

 

Unconsciously, he puts his hand atop the sacred boulder.

 

“Promise me, you’ll protect the Wilderness and the mortal world with me from now on.”

 

“Promise me, you’ll spare Li Lun’s life.”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen is nothing short of revolted as Zhao Yuan Zhou’s burnt hand covers his.

 

He wishes nothing more than to pull his hand away and push that useless old demon as far as he possibly can. Which would be quite far, given the power that’s surging through his meridians right now.

Courtesy of said demon.

 

He does neither. Merely puts on his usual sincere frown and nods obediently.

 

Really, does the Monkey have nothing better to do than force him to make oaths?

 

He’s not planning to keep any of them.

 

Except the first.

 

Wen Zongyu’s words resonate with him now:

 

“Give me Zhao Yuan Zhou’s neidan. He’s the evil demon who killed your family. Why protect him? Wouldn’t it be more fitting to extract his inner core and avenge your father and brother?”

 

 

Looking at Zhao Yuan Zhou’s fathomless black eyes, Zhuo Yichen finds himself agreeing with the leader of the Chongwu camp.

There’s nothing but evil in those eyes.

Evil that he will eradicate.

Forever.

 

 

He catches Zhao Yuan Zhou, who’s nearly unconscious from the pain of the Ever-Burning Wood.

 

Holds him and lowers him onto the floor in his arms as the Demon looks into his eyes naively, unquestioningly;

 

“I’ll have to ask Xiao Zhuo-Daren to protect me well till then.”

 

 

Protect him? The most repulsive Demon in the world? The one who brutally murdered his last remaining family?

 

Zhuo Yichen is so furious that he wants to laugh.

 

But he says nothing.

 

Just wraps his arm around Zhao Yuan Zhou as he waits for Lord Bai Yan to leave.

 

He smiles at her reassuringly, telling her he’ll take care of Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 

 

 

Her retreating footsteps seem agonizingly slow to Yichen, who’s itching to move his arm from around the Great Demon’s chest to his throat.

 

His fingers twitch: it would easy, so easy; to wrap his hand around the Demon’s pale neck and strangle him.

 

He wouldn’t die. No, even though he’s at the nadir of his atrocious existence, he would not die from a mere chokehold.

 

But oh, it would be so satisfying to watch him struggle for breath.

 

Zhuo Yichen breathes in deeply, curbing his rage.

 

 

Two nights.

 

That’s how long he has to wait before he can finally do the deed.

 

He’s waited for eight years.

Two nights should go by in the blink of an eye.

 

 

He’s brought back to reality from his thoughts by the faint voice of Zhao Yuan Zhou is his arms.

 

“Xiao Zhuo-”

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen snaps. All the self-control he’s been practicing evaporate with those two words.

 

Faster than thought, he flips the two of them around bodily.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou’s body slams into the cold stone floor, with Zhuo Yichen practically on top of him.

 

 

He’s exalted by the sharp gasp of pain Zhao Yuan Zhou lets out.

 

 

“Don’t you dare. You have no right-”

He closes his eyes briefly to let his anger subside a little before he finds his voice again.

 

It comes out a choked whisper instead of the growl he had been aiming for.

 

“How dare you call me that name? Do you really think that you deserve to say my name with such familiarity? As if we’re friends?”

 

If thoughts could blaze as bright as fire, Zhuo Yichen is sure, Zhao Yuan Zhou would be burning right now: and the agony would be nothing compared to what he had endured from the Ever-burning wood.

 

 

“What’s wrong with you?”

 

Zhuo Yichen cannot believe the look on Zhao Yuan Zhou’s face as he says those words.

As if he’s confused.

As if he’s worried, concerned about Yichen.

As if he doesn’t know.

 

Another wave of anger, of hatred, of loathing gushes through Yichen.

 

Before he knows it, he’s slammed the trembling Demon against the trunk of the Jianmu tree.

 

He ignores the red stain that splatters on his sleeve as Zhao Yuan Zhou throws up more blood.

 

 

 

“There is nothing wrong with me, Zhao Yuan Zhou. Don’t you recognize me? This is who I am.”

 

“What did you ask me to promise you? Protect the wilderness? Spare Li Lun’s life?”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen lets out the laugh that he’d been holding back.

 

“Did the Wilderness spare my father, my brother? Did Li Lun spare my life?

 

This is what you and Li Lun have made me, Zhao Yuan Zhou. A monster.

 

Look at me. Am I not your mirror-image, Zhu Yan?”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen watches in pleasure, as Zhao Yuan Zhou’s eyes widen in pain, in fright.

 

Yichen has never called him Zhu Yan before. But now he does. Because that is who he sees. The evil demon who destroyed his life.

 

He draws the newly re-forged Cloud Light Sword.

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou stiffens as the blade against his neck draws blood.

 

Yichen crouches before him, eyes red yet hand steady.

 

His voice is softer than silk, colder than ice.

 

“I told you I would come to kill you once you repaid your debt and atoned for your sins.”

 

 

He shoves his face in closer to the barely breathing Demon,

 

“You can never repay the debt of blood, Zhu Yan. But I’ll accept this as well. You shattered my Sword, took away my humanity. Now you’ve broken yourself to re-forge it. The cycle of karma has come a full round.”

 

His voice turns into a hiss,

 

“I asked you whether you wanted to live. But you told me yourself: that you’re happy to be the anomaly, a great demon wishing for death.”

 

“So, come; let me take you to your death.”

 

 

Without waiting for an answer, Zhuo Yichen sweeps the nearly unconscious demon into his arms.

 

He holds him, gentle as a lover carrying his sleeping beloved.

 

But it is not love but hate that powers his muscles; makes the feeble demon in his arms feel so light.

 

He moves with resolute feet toward the darkest annex he could find in the temple at Kunlun.

 

Dark, damp, devoid of life.

Just like Zhu Yan.

 

Even as he moves through the dimly lit hallways, Zhuo Yichen can’t understand what annoys him more:

 

The unconscious Demon’s head that falls on his shoulder or his own heartbeat, that for some inscrutable reason, beats in sync with Zhu Yan’s.

 

And unbeknownst to the world, two demons move, slipping quietly into the darkness.

 

Chapter 2: You Meant Nothing to Me

Summary:

But Zhuo Yichen is no incarnation of mercy.

He hates with resolve, burns with all his being and will stop at nothing to exact his revenge.

The blood that flows in his veins is as cold as the energy that runs in his meridians.

And there is nobody to blame for his heartlessness except Zhu Yan.

Zhuo Yichen walks through the halls silently.

 

Moonlight filters through the metallic grills.

 

The soft rays falling on Zhao Yuan Zhou’s face illuminate his pale features, accentuating the fragility of his beauty.

 

Zhuo Yichen does not look. He glides through the darkness as if he’s made of shadow itself.

 

He shoulders open the door of the cellar he had selected earlier.

 

 It opens without a noise, oiled by Yichen himself.

 

He barely lowers to his knees, letting Zhao Yuan Zhou fall onto the cot with a thud.

 

The Demon is still unconscious, the minuscule movement of his chest, the only proof of life.

 

Zhuo Yichen wrings out the water from the washcloth he had already prepared and scrubs the sweat off Zhao Yuan Zhou’s face harshly, unforgivingly.

 

It leaves his bloodstained cheeks gleaming.

 

 

 

But no amount of scrubbing will ever be enough to wipe away the sins that stain his hands.

 

The blood of his family.

 

 

He stares at the thin line of blood that still oozes from the cut on the Demon’s neck.

Wounds inflicted by the Cloud Light Sword are never quick to heal.

 

Zhuo Yichen clenches his fists: he wants to claw at the clotted blood and let the wound bleed all over again.

 

But he desists.

 

Not yet. Wen Zongyu will not accept damaged goods.

 

Grudgingly, he pushes a tiny sliver of his own energy to heal the cut.

 

It takes all his self-restraint to not use his Bingyi force to freeze the immortal blood flowing in Zhao Yuan Zhou’s veins once and for all.

 

 

 

Instead, he forces himself to focus on the burn wounds all over the great Demon’s arms.

 

He’s irate, as he tears the sleeve of the latter’s robes and begins to apply healing salve.

 

He’s so deep in thought about why Wen Zongyu wants Zhu Yan delivered to him hale and hearty, that he doesn’t notice when he’s finished bandaging the gashes left by the Ever-Burning wood.

 

 

And now, the final step.

 

He lets his fingers bruise Zhao Yuan Zhou’s jaw as he force-feeds him medicine.

 

 

The indignity of it stings.

 

To push life-saving medicine down the throat of the one he’s sworn to kill is nothing short of mortifying.

 

Half the liquid spills down the older Demon’s front.

 

Zhuo Yichen doesn’t condescend to wipe it.

 

And through it all, Zhu Yan sleeps.

 

 

 

Before he knows it, the dark night has made way for dawn.

There is no light in this cellar, the prison Zhuo Yichen has chosen for Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 

But Yichen’s body can feel the slight chill the morning air of the mountains carries.

 

He doesn’t look back at the shivering Demon as he leaves.

 

He doesn’t even bolt the door, let alone lock it.

 

He knows, that there is nowhere that Zhao Yuan Zhou can go.

 

 

 

…………………………………………………

 

Zhuo Yichen fumes, as he stomps towards the prison where the Demon lies half dead.

 

A whole day and night have passed, yet the Demon hasn’t woken from his coma.

 

 

It had taken all his cajoling and coaxing; all his skill in the art of manipulation and perhaps a whole bucket full of tears to prevent Wen Xiao and the others from reaching Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 

He can’t believe the excuses he made with a glib tongue: about Zhao Yuan Zhou not wanting to scare Wen Xiao, about needing to rest and recuperate, promises to return healthy.

 

He swallows the bile that rises in his throat, as he strides to the prison.

 

 

Wen Xiao loves him; even the little mountain god and the archer respect the Da Yao.

 

He just cannot understand how Wen Xiao can love, can forgive, the person who murdered her Master so ruthlessly.

 

Perhaps that is why she is the Baize Goddess: the embodiment of purity, charity and kindness.

 

 

But Zhuo Yichen is no incarnation of mercy.

 

He hates with resolve, burns with all his being and will stop at nothing to exact his revenge.

 

The blood that flows in his veins is as cold as the energy that runs in his meridians.

 

And there is nobody to blame for his heartlessness except Zhu Yan.

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen bangs the metal door open and strides to the cot.

 

The chamber feels uncomfortably warm in his fitted robes.

 

“Get up. I know you’re awake.”

 

His voice is sharp as he yanks away the blankets from Zhao Yuan Zhou’s body.

 

The older opens his eyes blearily and Zhuo Yichen’s blood boils.

 

Oh, what would he not give, to end this monstrosity, here and now, once and for all.

 

 

 

Patience. He calls for it like a parched man begs for water.

 

 

 

He works in silence, body radiating waves of derision.

 

It’s only partially satisfying, to watch Zhu Yan wince in pain from the corner of his eyes, as he jerks off the blood-soaked bandages from the previous night.

 

 

He has no qualms, as he intentionally digs in deeper, pushing his fingers crudely inside raw wounds as he applies ointment.

 

It is meagre repayment for the times Zhao Yuan Zhou’s mere presence had rubbed salt into his own unhealed sores.

 

Zhuo Yichen only regrets that he cannot recompense in full measure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Zhuo-Daren…what are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

 

The Demon’s coarse breathing and choked voice vibrate like the notes of the qin.

 

The most beautiful music he has heard.

 

He lets himself drink in the melody of Zhao Yuan Zhou’s agony before he replies.

 

 

He takes on a lilting tone, a mockery of the great demons’ usual charismatic voice.

 

“Zhao Yuan Zhou, you’ve lived among mortals for so long, begging to be a part of their lives. Surely, you know what I’m doing.”

 

Sarcasm drips like spoilt honey from his tongue.

 

“I truly apologize if this is not what you fantasized. What did you think I would do? Accept you as my friend and absolve you from the blood feud we have? Pour you a drink to celebrate your life-saving grace? Pledge you my undying loyalty?

 

He continues, heart singing, as the older flinches from his jeers;

 

“When mortals send gifts, we wrap them up in the most beautiful silk and tie them up with the prettiest ribbons. As we truss up the animals we offer as sacrifices.

I will let you decide which one you want to be- gift or sacrifice.”

 

 

Despite his cruel words, Zhao Yuan Zhou just smiles tiredly.

 

“I will become whatever Zhuo-Daren wishes me to become.”

 

 

Rage erupts like a volcano within Yichen.

 

It is intolerable, the nonchalance, the lack of sense of betrayal, the absence of worry, on Zhao Yuan Zhou’s face.

 

He cannot control himself any further.

 

He pulls the Demon up by the front of his robes and whispers into his face, voice a thousand venoms.

 

“This is not a game Zhu Yan. I am going to surrender you to Wen Zongyu, let him do whatever he wants. You deserve to die, after ruining all our lives.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou still watches quietly as Zhuo Yichen’s livid tirade comes to an end.

 

 

And Zhou Yichen hates that look of placidity on his face.

 

And so, he takes out the last arrow from his armory. A thorn he knows will dig deep.

 

 

“I don’t know what kind of delusion you made yourself believe in, when you called me a close friend.

Did you really believe all my nonsense back then? When I begged you not to die, when I said we would move forward together as friends? As family?”

 

“I will never understand you, Zhu Yan, and I will never lower my sword.”

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen convinces himself that it is pleasure that makes him giddy, as he watches the veneer of complacency on Zhao Yuan Zhou’s haggard face crack.

 

His heart races with excitement as he watches the tears glimmer in the other’s eyes.

 

He shoves the Demon back on the bed, as he drives in the arrow to its intended place,

 

 

“You mean nothing; nothing to me.”

 

 

…………………………………………

 

 

Zhuo Yichen chooses to ignore the sorrowful silence that falls after his poisonous outburst.

 

He’s not interested in meeting Zhao Yuan Zhou’s eyes, who keeps looking at him, a tiny ember of hope still alive.

 

That Yichen is lying. That this is all a plan.

 

But Yichen makes sure he rips through that hope as completely as he tears Zhao Yuan Zhou’s plain, thin black robes.

 

He forces the other into a lavish, fur-lined, set of clothes: a bribe dressed as a bride.

 

 

 

Night has already fallen outside as he tells Zhao Yuan Zhou to get to his feet.

 

It is time.

 

But the Demon is still too weak to stand on his own.

 

 

As Zhao Yuan Zhou falls back on the cot, Zhuo Yichen just laughs.

 

 

 

“You, a Great Demon? You’re nothing but a powerless old beast.”

 

He revels in Zhao Yuan Zhou’s humiliation, as he scoops the latter into his arms again.

 

Zhu Yan’s shame is Yichen’s exaltation.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen is too impatient to wait for the Demon to recover enough to walk.

 

Soon, it will be time.

 

And thus, the waxing moon finds two demons moving as one.

 

One towards death; the other towards doom.

 

Notes:

ohhhh..he's so mean.
come scream at him in the comments!

Chapter 3: Unrecognisable

Summary:

Hitting hardest where it hurts the most.

Zhuo Yichen stands at the top of the stairs in the courtyard of the sanctuary.

 

Allows himself to enjoy the cold night breeze, crisp with the scent of an approaching snowstorm.

 

His eyes flick towards the sky: the darkness only emphasizes the brightness of the moon.

 

The Orb glows in all its glory, golden light reflects off the snow, each flake shimmering like diamonds.

 

 

They had stood here together once before.

 

Zhuo Yichen had thrown his cloak over Zhao Yuan Zhou, a show of mercy that he never deserved.

 

But then, that was all it had ever been: a show.

 

Zhuo Yichen doesn’t even remember where he’d buried the ashes of that cloak, returned to him by the demon the next morning.

 

He’d watched the silk curl in the flames, the embers of his bitterness.

 

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou lies still in his arms.

 

The demon had tried to move once, as if ashamed to be carried like some fragile damsel.

 

But his pitiable squirming had done nothing to soften Yichen’s death grip, except earning him an impatient growl:

 

“Do not make this more disgusting than it already is, Zhu Yan”

 

Yichen had hissed into his ear, incensed by all the futile wriggling.

 

“I swear, I will not hesitate to drag you by your hair all the way to Chongwu camp.”

 

 

Yichen had ignored the look of stunned disbelief in Zhao Yuan Zhou’s eyes.

 

It was Zhu Yan who had been a fool, to have been taken in by his feigned innocence, a brilliant performance of forgiveness and sympathy.

 

He has no intention of keeping up the act anymore.

 

 

He squeezes Zhao Yuan Zhou’s burnt arm that lies loosely against his own.

 

He grins in pleasure, sure of drawing blood.

 

He forces the exhausted Demon to raise his head and look at the pristine snow between stone pillars.

 

It’s not just physical wounds he wishes to scrape raw tonight.

 

 

“Look, Great Demon. Do you remember what you did here?”

 

He holds Zhao Yuan Zhou closer as he whispers in his ear;

 

“Remember how you butchered my family? Remember how you killed one Mountain God, turned another to stone and orphaned a third?”

 

His taunt turns to rage, as Zhao Yuan Zhou closes his eyes:

 

“Open your eyes Zhu Yan, I will not let you pretend that your actions were controlled by malicious energy any longer. You are not just the Vessel of malicious energy; you are the source of evil itself, harbinger of misery and death. And today, I promise to end your existence forever.”

 

 

He moves forward, unbothered by the bloodstain that begins to bloom on Zhao Yuan Zhou’s robes.

 

He’s quite certain Wen Zongyu wouldn’t mind much. After all, there are worse horrors that he is about to inflict.

 

Zhuo Yichen wonders idly if should ask Wen Zongyu to let him watch; maybe even participate.

 

 

He’s already imagining what tortures he could inflict, when he hears them.

 

His qi flares in annoyance.

 

And it is maddening, the way his energy finds Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 He ignores the way his icy power begins to heal the wounds he had reopened not so long ago.

 

He’s halfway to the huge doors, when Wen Xiao, Pei Sijing and Ying Lei run towards him, blocking the way out.

 

 

“Xiao Zhuo, what are you doing? Where are you taking Zhao Yuan Zhou? What’s wrong with him?”

 

Wen Xiao’s frantic voice finds no sympathy in his cold heart.

 

 

“You’re carrying Da Yao?”

 

Zhuo Yichen shoots his nastiest glare at Ying Lei, who’s ears are turning red.

 

The insinuation of the Mountain God’s tone hits him like a jab of malicious energy:

 

 

Surely, the half-god, half-demon must be out of his mind if he believes there is something tender, something intimate about this.

 

As if he and Zhu Yan could ever be-

 

Zhuo Yichen shivers; nauseated by the very thought.

 

 

“I am taking him to Wen Zongyu.”

 

There’s no hesitation in his voice.

 

It’s long past the time that bitter truths could be coated in sweet honey.

 

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Wen Xiao finds her voice.

 

Unconsciously, Yichen steps back, even as the Goddess moves forward.

 

Not towards him.

 

Towards her beloved.

 

 

 

“What are you saying, Xiao Zhuo?”

 

 

 

“I am telling you exactly what I mean, Wen Xiao. Wen Zongyu promised me a cure for your poison if I give him Zhao Yuan Zhou’s neidan.”

 

 

He watches her mouth drop open, even as the others gasp.

 

 

“Zhuo-daren, you can’t have been deceived that easily. You know he’s lying, don’t you? He’s never going to give us the antidote.”

 

It’s Pei Sijing who counters immediately.

 

“I don’t care if he’s lying. If there’s even the barest chance of getting that cure, I will take it.”

 

He decides not to hide his resentment any further,

 

“Besides, it’s time to put an end to this ancient White Ape now.”

 

 

The shock that follows his words drags heavier than gravity.

 

But it’s not enough to push Zhuo Yichen to his knees.

 

 

He leans back involuntarily as Ying Lei steps closer and sniffs him.

 

 

“That’s not Ao Yin. It really is Zhuo-Daren.”

 

Ying Lei falls back in surprise.

 

 

Yichen merely sneers.

 

How long could delusions last?

 

 

“Xiao Zhuo… what’s wrong with you?”

 

Again. Those words.

 

 

 

 

“He’s your best friend…. You can’t-”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen doesn’t let Wen Xiao finish.

 

“Best friend? Him? He’s nothing but a murderer. And always will be.”

 

Zhuo Yichen thunders through their disbelief, rage and grief fueling his voice and his muscles;

 the weight of the Demon in his arms as heavy as the emptiness left by his loss.

 

“I don’t understand how you can forget, how you can forgive. What he has taken from me, from all of us… can it ever be brought back?”

 

 

He glares at each of them in turn, forcing his hatred upon their bruised hearts.

 

“Little Mountain God, the incense from your Grandfather’s funeral still burns, does it not? Or have you forgotten the sacrifice of Lord Ying Zhao so soon? Are you certain, you want to defend the one who has left your heart scarred for life?”

 

His voice booms louder as he turns away from Ying Lei’s grief-stricken face.

 

“Pei-Daren,”

 

He targets the archer next.

 

“Don’t tell me you are so indebted to him for pouring his magic into a wooden doll that you’ve forgotten the reason your brother died in the first place?

 

It was nothing but a Demon’s greed that took advantage of your brothers’ earnestness.

 

Do you think Zhu Yan is benevolent? That he returns to you the vestiges of your brother’s undying loyalty?”

 

He continues, bitterness breaking his voice,

 

“I thought you might have understood me, Pei-Daren. You, like me, lost your only sibling to Demonic energy.  But, it seems, you do not.

 Or maybe, you choose not to.”

 

 

He feels tears prick his eyes, as he turns to Wen Xiao last of all.

 

He’s not sure if its sorrow or anger that rises within, as he watches her stagger backwards, as if afraid of what cruel words he would throw at her.

 

“Who are you?  You’re not the one I know. You’re not my Xiao Zhuo.”

 

Her broken whisper leaving him aching in places he thought he had erased long ago.

 

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

 

“No, Wen Xiao, I am not the one you knew. I am not your Xiao Zhuo.”

 

An echo of his broken heart.

 

“The way you were never mine.”

 

 

 

Even as he watches her expression freeze, Zhuo Yichen rejoices.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou’s tears dampen his robes, but the void in his heart absorbs it all.

 

He swallows the sob that mirrors the Great Demon’s own.

 

There are no more tears that he will shed for Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 

He could drain Zhu Yan dry, but it would not be enough to fill the hollowness in his chest; carved by the grief and rage that the Demon had left him with eight years ago.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen refuses to waste any more time on petty sentiment.

 

He is not the white-robed boy who lay on the cold snow, awaiting a brother who would never return.

 

He has sworn to exact revenge, and that day has ultimately arrived.

 

Zhuo Yichen closes his eyes; and with a burst of power, a shimmering blue wall of energy appears around him.

 

“Let us go.”

 

 

He begins to walk towards the gate, even as Pei Sijing and Ying Lei draw their weapons.

 

He cannot help but laugh at the irony of the situation.

 

The ones who had drawn their weapons to sacrifice the Great Demon mere days ago, now drew them to defend him.

 

He repeats his own words: trying to forget how wrong it had felt when he said it the last time:

 

“Whoever wants to take Zhao Yuan Zhou’s neidan today, will have to defeat me first.”

 

 

 

The very air seems to hold its breath, as he inches forward; bearing his own doom in his arms.

 

The sky darkens; clouds of malevolence dimming the stars.

 

An omen of the darkness that he has chosen to walk into.

 

 

 

Chapter 4: The darkness that swallowed the sun

Summary:

Is this the end?

The night deepens above him, like an inkstand that has toppled over blank parchment, besmirching its purity.

 

The clouds do not drift gently.

They march: the inevitability of death rushes towards Zhuo Yichen, licks at his feet, plays with his hair like a fiend in the guise of a friend.

 

The sound of snow crunching underfoot is eclipsed by the silence that surrounds him. Each step forward feels like an act of cowardice cloaked in bravery.

 

Zhuo Yichen does not walk, he battles through a quagmire; the rotten remains of his grief, rage and betrayal.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou’s faint heartbeat against his chest echoes louder than his own in his ears.

The slow, steady rhythm a reflection of the Demon’s resignation, his acceptance of Zhuo Yichen’s infidelity.

 

 

Somewhere along this short journey, Zhao Yuan Zhou has wrapped his arm across Yichen’s chest, hand lying gently over his shoulder.

The steady pressure of his warm palm burns through his robes, but Zhuo Yichen doesn’t shrug it off.

He’ll fulfil this last dying wish of the Great Demon.

 

The mini tornado of snow he has conjured around them, whirls erratically. The halo of ice around him is chaotic, unsteady.

 

Zhuo Yichen focuses, drawing from the snow that blankets the temple grounds. The howl of the whirlwind the only sound that breaks through the tense silence enveloping the pair.

 

The fragile mirage of stillness is broken when Pei Sijing nocks an arrow, pointing straight at his chest.

 

“I thought I did understand you, Commander Zhuo. But I don’t think I do anymore”

 

Her sharp voice pierces his heart before her arrows do.

 

“You’re right. I am indebted to Zhao Yuan Zhou for pouring a thousand years of his cultivation to bring back my brother. This journey helped me find myself, forgive myself and begin again without hatred in my heart.”

 

“But what about you, Zhuo-daren? Are you not indebted to him, too? Yes, you lost your family, but how can you forget that you are alive right now because of him?”

 

Zhuo Yichen ignores her, her words are wounds that he has no time to tend to.

 

 

 

“Zhuo-daren…Bai Jiu…think about Bai Jiu.”

 

Yichen glares at Ying Lei. How dare he use his little brothers’ name to blackmail him?

 

 

He keeps his bloodshot eyes pinned on Ying Lei as the Little Mountain God continues, voice trembling with emotions that Zhuo Yichen refuses to understand.

 

“My grandfather sacrificed himself because he trusts Da Yao. He trusted you, Zhuo-Daren; to understand him, to forgive him, to help him. Have you really forgotten everything?”

 

Zhuo Yichen lets his voice fade into nothingness, lets the words be swallowed into an abyss of denial he has created himself.

 

The snow around him rises higher, crystals of ice flying like needles, obscuring them from the others.

It is nothing but armor against Ying Lei’s desperate plea,

 

“Zhuo-Daren, stop! You can’t do this. He’s saved you every time. Threw himself in danger to protect us, to protect you. Don’t you see how much he cares? Don’t you realize how much he loves-”

 

 

With a loud thud, Ying Lei slams into a stone pillar, sinking down with a grunt of pain.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen closes his eyes. He never meant to harm anybody else. He hates himself for it.

But he cannot, will not hear what Ying Lei wishes to tell him.

 

 

He can hear the whistle on the wind even before he opens his eyes. His barrier crackles with power, as Pei Sijing’s arrows break on impact.

 

Zhuo Yichen’s eyes snap open, their bright blue glow an eerie contrast to the inky darkness that gathers around him like a miasma of malevolence.

 

He looks at each of the valiant defenders in turn: once family now foe.

 

Disbelief barely veils the resentment in their eyes, the aura of fury and disappointment a palpable force.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou’s fingers curl around his arm; a silent warning, a desperate plea.

 

 

But Zhuo Yichen is made of ice and indifference.

 

It’s too late to turn back. He’s strayed too far from the path of righteousness his brother had taught him to walk.

 

Not even a whisper of his conscience remains; subdued completely by the rage that Zhu Yan’s rampage had left him with.

 

He will not stop.

He cannot be stopped.

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen gasps.

The hurricane of his unassailable power shatters like glass hurled against steel; powerless in the face of something infinitely stronger.

 

The notes of the Baize token resound with a haunting melody doused in power and purpose.

Zhuo Yichen drops to his knees, the tune an assault to each of his senses.

 

He’s forced to relinquish his hold on Zhao Yuan Zhou as the golden threads of the Baize Goddesses’ power unspool like divine gossamers, reaching for him like flames over spilt oil.

 

The anguished whimper that leaves his lips is unconscious, disgraceful.

And Zhou Yichen understands what it really means to burn, as golden ropes lash against his arms and wrist, whips of fire branding his very skin.

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou had backed away from him the moment Zhuo Yichen fell to his knees.

 

He kneels between them now, the indecision in his eyes grates against Zhuo Yichen’s soul more than the agony of the blazing ropes against his body.

 

He stares at Wen Xiao, whose nose has begun to bleed with the strain of using the poisoned instrument.

He wonders how it had come to this.

Was this how their kinship, and his life would end?

In the hands of the one he had loved but failed to protect?

 

He closes his eyes, hissing in rage against the bonds that tether him to the snow.

 

 

 

He inhales deeply, concentrating his power, even as Zhao Yuan Zhou crawls away towards Wen Xiao. He can feel the bonds weakening: he knows the Goddess will not be able to sustain the magic too long.

Soon, he will break through them.

 

He feels the ropes loosen slightly as his neidan begins to hum with power; Bingyi’s icy strength rushes through his meridians.

 

“Wen Xiao, let him go.”

 

Zhuo Yichen freezes, as Zhao Yuan Zhou’s soft voice cuts through the flute’s ending melody.

 

Wen Xiao gasps, as Zhao Yuan Zhou lowers the Baize instrument from her lips, wiping the blood off her face with his sleeve.

 

He smiles, even as she shakes her head in horror.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen pants, eyes blazing, as he sees Zhao Yuan Zhou caress her hair, kiss her hand.

 

“No. No, Zhao Yuan Zhou, you can’t defend him. You can’t sacrifice yourself. I won’t let you.”

 

 

Wen Xiao begs the Demon in front of her, who just smiles tenderly.

 

“I promised you, didn’t I? That I would always protect you. I can’t break it now.”

 

 

He turns his head to Zhou Yichen,

 

“I promised Zhou-daren my life. And he swore to lead me to my death. It seems, that day has ultimately arrived.”

 

Zhuo Yichen snarls at him, angered by the implication of his words.

 

“You think you’re doing a wonderful deed, by surrendering yourself? Do not offer your death like a favor. I told you before, I will personally settle the debt between us; you need not pretend to be the sacrifice that saves the world.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou gives him a watery smile, before turning away.

 

The clouds of malevolence that had been gathering inexorably seem to halt, as if faced by a mountain they cannot cross.

And just for a moment, the world seems to pause, as the moon bursts through the darkness.

 

The unforgiving wind ceases to blow, as the Great Demon places a gentle kiss on the forehead of his beloved, a parting gift, a love that transcends lifetimes.

 

“Sleep.”

 

The spell washes over Zhuo Yichen, even as the others slump senseless to the ground.

 

 

He watches, furious, as the demon gently pillows Wen Xiao’s head against his woolen cloak before lowering her unconscious frame to the snowy floor. He gazes at her lovingly, as the dying rays of silvery moonlight illuminate her tear-streaked face.

 

The embers of his hatred flare again.

That the Demon would do this, that he would be allowed to do this, to be so gentle and loving, burns him from the inside.

 

He chokes out a strangled laugh, the high-pitched sound a mirror of his madness.

 

“Oh?”

Zhuo Yichen taunts the Great Demon, who’s swaying as he clambers to his feet.

 

“How nice of you to offer mercy after drowning us all in the river of Death. You truly are too kind.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou doesn’t answer.

 

Yichen watches with narrowed eyes as he staggers towards him.

 

He struggles to breathe, as Zhao Yuan Zhou offers him a hand, inviting his own death.

 

Tears fall from both their eyes: but Yichen’s eyes burn with loathing, even as he watches the mischievous sparkle in the other’s eyes dim.

 

The acceptance of a life about to come to an end.

 

So be it.

 

In a swift motion, Zhuo Yichen grabs the hand that was offered to him and slices through it with his sword.

Even as Zhao Yuan Zhou stumbles backward with a gasp; Zhuo Yichen slices his own palm.

 

He grins, as the Sword blazes to life.

 

“Your blood,” he drawls as both their blood bloom like blossoms in the snow, “truly is powerful. Too bad it won’t save your life, Zhu Yan.”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen inches closer to Zhao Yuan Zhou, who stands frozen, the pain in his eyes enough to drown any other being.

 

He breathes heavily.

He’s dreamed of killing the murderer of his family for eight years.

If not in his sleep, then in every agonizing waking hour.

 

The stillness that envelops them speaks not of peace. The stench of approaching Death hovers in the air that smells of a thunderstorm.

The clouds gather relentlessly; the glow of the Cloud Light Sword, reflecting an ending that looms in Yichen’s eyes.

 

And yet, Zhuo Yichen hesitates.

 

Not from fear. Not from indecision.

 

His resolve has never faltered, his choice has never wavered.

 

It matters not whether Ying Long’s words are curse or prophecy.

 

He has sworn to kill, and if destiny stands by his side, then what more could he ask for.

 

The words that have been stuck in his throat rush out with a ferocity and desperation that he had not expected.

 

As if his heart is afraid that his hand will act before everything is laid bare before both of them.

 

“You broke everything, Zhu Yan.”

 

Zhuo Yichen watches Zhao Yuan Zhou’s tear-filled eyes widen in surprise as he drops the broken pieces of Nüwa’s stone; the last heirloom of the Zhuo family, in the snow.

 

He forces the other to look into his eyes, even as the stone glitters; its greenish hue shimmering golden and silver as it greedily absorbs the blood that stains the snow.

 

“You took everything- my family, my friends, my life.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou’s lips tremble, but not a sound escapes them even as Zhuo Yichen’s fury burns whatever bridges they had built along this journey.

 

“Did you think you saved me, when you rescued me from Ran Yi’s dream? No, you did not.”

 

“Do you know what a nightmare is, Da Yao?”

 

Zhuo Yichen moves backward, the tip of his sword pointing at Zhao Yuan Zhou’s neidan, a mere inch from where his heart still beats.

 

“A nightmare is something that has just begun, when you think it has ended. Do you think, my nightmare will end, when you’re gone?”

 

“NO!”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou flinches at Zhuo Yichen’s shrill tone: the words piercing his heart before the trembling Sword penetrates his chest.

 

“The dream might end, Zhu Yan, but my heart will always remember. It will remember my pain, my grief, my anger. It will remember this journey I walked with you. This journey that made me realize that fate cannot be changed and oaths cannot be broken.”

 

Neither of them breathes, as Zhuo Yichen’s words fade with the wind that has begun to howl once more.

 

And yet, Zhuo Yichen continues.

 

“You said that dying by my Sword would end the cycle of malicious energy, that it would free you from this burden of being the Vessel.”

 

“But tell me Zhu Yan, why should I grant you freedom? Why should I allow you to leave this world in peace, when all I would be left with, is grief and loneliness?”

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou freezes, a horrified gasp finally leaving his lips.

 

“Xiao Zhuo…please.”

 

The demon’s pained whisper melts not even an inch of Zhuo Yichen’s ice.

 

He lowers his sword, the steel in his eyes more unrelenting and crueler than the bite of any blade.

 

“You said you would take it out yourself. You said you would sacrifice your neidan if it meant saving us all. Then, do it Zhao Yuan Zhou. Take out your neidan yourself and burn in hell, the way that you made me burn when you took my life.”

 

Zhuo Yichen steps closer, malevolence radiating in waves from his person.

 

“You said dead demons can become the sun, the moon and the stars. You said you would become the rain, Zhu Yan.”

 

His words become a snarl:

 

“Become the rain, Zhao Yuan Zhou, and I will become the blaze that razes you to the ground. Become the moon and the stars, and I will become the sun that eclipses your worthless light.

Become the sun, and I will become the darkness that swallows you whole.”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen exhales quietly, as the stony countenance of Zhao Yuan Zhou cracks.

And he sees what he has been yearning to see in the other’s eyes for way too long.

 

The anguish that emerges from acceptance.

The fury that fractures through the facade of tranquility.

The anger and resentment that bursts through the veil of kindness.

 

 

The grief of a Great Demon.

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen doesn’t hesitate.

 

With a twisted smile, he mirrors Zhao Yuan Zhou’s action.

 

He stifles a gasp, as both their inner cores are wrenched from their bodies in unintended synchrony.

 

Azure and crimson energies mix in haunting harmony as thunder rumbles.

 

Zhuo Yichen throws himself against Zhao Yuan Zhou, muffling his horrified scream.

 

He slams his palm against the spot that held the Great Demon’s core, bodies pressed against each other.

 

He rolls both of them sideways as lightning strikes and the world turns white.

Chapter 5: Obsidian Shore

Summary:

Entwined in death if not in life.

Grey.

It permeates through this space as if it belongs to it and the space belongs to none other than itself.

It creeps into corners that do not exist, sneaks into spaces that have yet to take shape.

 

Grey.

It is neither color nor hue. Yet it shines with a vitality that is impossible to ignore.

It lives with every inhale and it dies with every breath that becomes air.

 

Grey.

It treads lightly, dances delicately the balance between life and death.

It stands tall upon a precipice: just out of reach of light; shearing shy of darkness.

 

Grey.

Where does it begin? And where does it end?

 

 

The beach has stood the test of time. The rocks are cloaked in darkness, the obsidian stone gleams with ancient strength.

The rough chips that cover the dark sand are smooth yet sharp.

The ocean dampens its flaws, but they remain true to their volcanic nature: warm enough to burn and sharp enough to cut through flesh and regret.

 

The boulders that jut out farther away are the last remains of what was once majestic, feared.

Soldiers of a forgotten realm, broken yet steadfast. Unwaveringly loyal till the day they meet the Sea.

 

At the coastline, the water stretches further than what can be fathomed: vast, still, immeasurable.

Its brilliance never dims.

The wide expanse of liquid silver cares not for sun or shade.

Because the sky that mirrors it is devoid of both.

It has never known day or night.

It recognizes neither dawn nor dusk.

 

It is uncertain, what holds up the sky. Whether it is smoke or mist that swirls endlessly; or melancholy and memories that wander aimlessly.

 

There are two orbs that hang from that wide cosmos.

The older burns bleak, slowly consumes itself to brighten a scene that cannot escape the ashes of despair.

The younger; small, shy, curious; reflects the wisdom of the ancient sphere.

 

And yet, it glimmers with something carefully hidden, some secret stolen away from the all-encompassing gaze of the Sun.

Neither fights for dominance: both too wise to wage a war that can never be won.

 

But the Moon still loves to play with the Sea.

Their endless tug of war births the tides; rhythmic, constant but transient.

 

The sound of the waves pounding the surf breaks the stillness that threatens to engulf this place that exists in a universe yet to be discovered.

 

The tang of salt cuts through the atmosphere: the smell of memories drenched in tears.

 

And it is here, at the shoreline, that grey comes into being.

It soaks in the blackness of the obsidian and bleeds itself into the silver: undecided on the path it must walk, yet certain about its place between them.

 

It answers to none, yet belongs to them all.

 

It weeps with the stones of death and laughs with the water of life.

It is the lullaby of the Sea and also the sigh that falls from the Sky.

 

 

And it is in this heavy nothingness that a being appears. It cannot be ascertained whether he is man or demon.

The sky exhales, too weary to care about another, in the countless stream of others that have found this shore, only to leave once again.

 

The person, if the creature can be called as such bears the silhouette of a man; tall, slender yet muscular. His long dark hair fans out behind him as he lies on his stomach, senseless of his surroundings.

The waves come to meet him, covering his body with foam that dissolves as soon as it is formed.

Smoke and vapor swirl around his unconscious frame, curious about the newcomer.

 

The moon tugs a little harder on the sea, enchanted by the face that seems to glow even in the sorry excuse that is sunlight.

 

Even with his eyes closed, his sculpted features draw one’s gaze. The eyelids that flutter over almond-shaped eyes give rise to long eyelashes that cast frail shadows over pale cheeks.

Prominent cheekbones melt flawlessly into a jaw that hints at stubbornness.

 

The mist ghosts over his pouty lips, imagining a deep rose-bud color even in the greyscale that clothes this world.

 

Even the stony boulders seem to glint a little darker; the long, elegant fingers that clutch the rough chips, enough to melt through their indifference.

 

The Moon, demure, collected, graceful, quivers with excitement, waiting impatiently for him to awaken.

 

The universe stills as the creature regains consciousness.

As sudden and as passionate as a flame coming into existence.

 

When he opens his eyes, even the Moon questions her own beauty.

 

The Sun, ancient and weary, gazes awestruck at the tiny orbs that light up his face.

It is with a heart full of regret that he remembers color.

 

The icy blue of the man’s eyes blaze with life, with passion, with beauty.

But it doesn’t last.

 

Even the Sky heaves a sigh, as the grey seeps into his very being, sucks out what was once alive and fiery and leaves nothing but shadows behind.

 

And yet again, the world is left devoid of color.

 

The man, rather demon, as established by the fine markings on his neck that look like fractured glaciers, rises to his feet slowly and look around him.

 

And the entire cosmos wonders what he sees.

 

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen awakens alone.

The lack of color in his surroundings is disconcerting. As if an artist had begun to paint a beautiful coastline and then forgotten every color but grey, black and silver.

 

He’s never been here before. But it feels familiar.

As if this place is a memory of his soul.

 

Zhuo Yichen spends a long time looking out at the ocean, or what he believes is the ocean.

The silvery stillness is as frightening as it is awe-inspiring.

 

His gaze roams aimlessly over the boulders, the colorless sky which holds both moon and sun, and the grey sand under his bare feet.

 

In another lifetime, the Commander of the Demon Hunting Bureau would have straightened his spine, adopted a defensive stance, looking for dangers that might lurk in the shadows.

 

The present Zhuo Yichen stands limply; as if a part of himself knows that there is nothing that can hurt him anymore.

 

 

 

A flicker of shame burns through his spine as he ponders at the state of his robes.

He raises his arms, frowning at the shimmering black material that barely covers his body.

 

The thin fabric feels indecent, bare.

He grimaces, as he traces the imprints on his arms and wrists left by the flaming whips of the Baize power.

 

His hair hangs loose, undone, unrestrained, the silky strands falling over his face and shoulders.

 

He’s quite indifferent to the fact that the sharp stones he stands upon are cutting his bare feet open.

He observes with faint curiosity as his blood, also molten platinum, mixes with the foam from the waves.

It doesn’t hurt.

 

It’s strange how long it takes him to realize.

He stills; the susurration of the waves fading into the background as he remembers the sound that should have been present, but is not.

 

His heartbeat.

 

 

 

But it is not fear of the unknown that clutches his non-existent heart.

 

Zhuo Yichen is horrified as the thought solidifies:

 

Has he failed?

Is he dead?

 And if he is, does that mean that Zhu Yan is also…?

 

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen gasps, as lightning strikes stone and sea.

 

He blinks, as salty spray drenches him from head to toe; smoke and mist obscure his vision.

 

And then he sees it.

 

 

 

Him.

 

It is as if Zhuo Yichen’s mere thoughts have spun him into existence.

 

 

Did he arise from the stone? Or was he shaped from the very mist that clings to him like a touch-starved lover?

 

Zhu Yan.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen stumbles backwards into the water, a soundless sob on his lips.

 

 

No. no, no. he cannot be here. He should not be here. Not after everything Zhuo Yichen has done.

 

 

The cry that rips through his chest resounds not with rage but something deeper, something yet unnamed.

 

 

He closes his eyes, refusing to believe what they show him.

 

 The black robed figure reposes on a flat boulder with eyes closed. His thin robes flap in the breeze, his bare feet folded under him even as his unbound hair streams across his lean face.

 

His frail silhouette mirrors Yichen’s own in this grey tinged universe. And yet, it is the only source of color too.

The crimson demon marks on his gaunt cheekbones are not superficial.

 They seem to have been carved into his very being, an agonizing reminder of his identity.

The red drips onto his cheeks like blood and flame: alive but dead.

His eyes are closed, his expression placid, as if he sleeps without nightmares.

The fog teases his frame, as if asking him to awaken soon, as if it welcomes him home.

 

 

Before Zhou Yichen can sink deeper into the water, he feels himself being pulled forward.

 

Resistance is an exercise in futility.

The sharp pebbles cut his palms into ribbons as he’s dragged towards the only other being in this space.

 

As if he is a loose kite on the wind or a tiny metal nail facing a powerful magnet: powerless and inconsequential.

 

But it is neither magnet nor wind that draws him in.

 

 

He’s already at Zhao Yuan Zhou’s feet when he sees the string that trails from his wrist to the other’s wrist: azure and crimson silk plaited so close that it feels impossible to separate.

 

Zhuo Yichen freezes, head bowed low, unable to reach out.

He whimpers as the thread stretches taught over his pulse point.

 

Fear and wonder fill his heart as he hears something that had been absent for so long:

 

A heartbeat.

Not two, but one.

As if the two of them have become entwined-if not in life, then in death.

And Zhuo Yichen knows instinctively that this thread connects them in more than just a physical sense.

As if the gods have made them two halves of a whole.

 

 

Before Zhuo Yichen can scream to the gods about the unfairness of it all, the sky above splinters.

 

He watches, horrified, as the grey disperses and brings forth an image bathed in soft silvery light, as colorless as the fog that covered it not moments ago.

 

It feels as he’s wiped his hand over a window covered with winter frost and can now see the scenery that had been hiding from view.

 

His eyes widen, as he watches a much younger Zhu Yan wander happily in the markets of Tiandu.

His curly white hair braided with pom-poms swishes like a tail, swinging happily after its smiling master.

The Demon smiles as he chooses the crispiest walnuts from a shopkeeper, making sure each shell is paper-thin before adding them to the jute bag in his arms.

 

Zhuo Yichen cannot help but smile through his tears, as the Ape Demon teases his grandpa, the old mountain god before handing him the bag of walnuts that he has brought so lovingly.

Ying Zhao berates him for leaving the mountain without mastering his malicious energy, before drawing the younger into a warm embrace.

There’s a fierce protectiveness in his eyes, that Zhu Yan doesn’t see. As if the mountain god would go to any length to protect this wayward Ape that he calls his own.

 

 

The scene shifts, and Zhuo Yichen observes Zhu Yan struggle to control the malicious energy.

 

He gasps, clutching his head, as a loud incessant clanging fills his ears: the noise of anger, resentment, injustice, greed and lust overpowering his senses.

 

There is but little relief as Zhu Yan masters the malevolence with sheer willpower.

He drowns the uproar into a barely perceptible low buzzing that remains with him like a shadow, an essential part of his being.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen is awed by Zhao Yuan Zhou’s self-control. He had never thought that this was how the other existed, how he controlled energy that seems too chaotic to be contained by a single person or demon.

 

His reverence is short lived.

 

 

 

In a daring show of impunity, the Moon shows her true colors.

She disrobes with a liberty that shatters, not crosses, the border of decorum.

Her silvery garments were merely a cover for the scarlet of her indecent attire.

She holds no secrets to her breast.

 

And with the Blood Moon arrives another.

 

 

Malicious energy does not ask permission to enter.

 

It claims.

 

Zhuo Yichen struggles to breathe as he feels the power of Evil enter Zhu Yan’s and therefore his own body with a viciousness that leaves no room for defense.

It is crimson and also cherry-red.

It is fire but also blood: unassailable, intoxicating, destructive.

 

Zhuo Yichen moans as panic gives way to emptiness.

Thoughts cease to exist as Zhu Yan closes his eyes.

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen is pulled to his feet abruptly as the figure in front of him stumbles to the water.

But this Zhao Yuan Zhou is indifferent to the person tied to him: unaware that Zhuo Yichen is right beside him.

 

Or is it that Zhao Yuan Zhou is beside Yichen?

 

 

 

Faded ichor trails from their feet as they stumble to the water.

Both their hands are soaked with a silvery liquid that Zhuo Yichen assumes is blood.

The tears that fall from his eyes are as invisible to Zhao Yuan Zhou as he himself is.

 

The older scrubs his hands in the water, low keening sobs falling from his eyes like an endless river.

But the stains remain.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen is stuck on the shore, legs encased in sand, as Zhao Yuan Zhou sloshes into the ocean blindly.

The string cuts into his wrist, yet he cannot move as Zhao Yuan Zhou sinks deeper into the sea.

 

Zhuo Yichen staggers to his knees as the other emerges from the water; lungs filled with water, yet still alive.

The pain nearly breaks him as Zhao Yuan Zhou’s death wish blossoms into existence like a poisonous flower.

Deadly but beautiful.

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen is uncertain how many times this cycle repeats.

And endless progression of rage and relief.

 

 

 

The tide is as timeless as Zhu Yan’s grief.

Zhuo Yichen settles behind him, wishing nothing more than to disappear, for his soul to be scattered in the wind.

 

He lives; grieves through centuries that he has never experienced.

His eight years of loss incomparable to the three millennia of agony that Zhao Yuan Zhou carries on his shoulders.

 

 

 

The sky tears open again.

Zhao Yuan Zhou enters the Demon Hunting Bureau, spars with Zhuo Yichen, confirms the awakening of the Cloud Light Sword.

He has searched the ends of the earth for this blade, the only weapon that can deliver him and the world from evil.

 

It leaves Zhuo Yichen breathless, as he feels how earnestly Zhao Yuan Zhou anticipated his own death.

Zhuo Yichen’s oath is Zhao Yuan Zhou’s salvation.

As if he can finally sleep soundly after living in an endless nightmare.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen’s unrelenting hatred bruises Zhao Yuan Zhou’s broken heart, yet he cloaks it in melodrama and mischief.

And yet, the Demon Hunters’ innocence heals.

 

 

Fear chains Zhao Yuan Zhou’s heart as Zhuo Yichen slowly comes to trust him, smiles at him shyly while his ears turn that adorable shade of red.

As much as he loves staring into those deep blue eyes, he dreads the understanding and warmth that is building in them too.

 

 

But the warmth doesn’t last.

The beauty of the Blood Moon unveils her cruelty.

In the blink of an eye, his mentor, his grandfather, his only family is stolen from him.

 

 

Zhuo Yichen curls in on himself, as Zhao Yuan Zhou cries alone in the darkness.

Grips the cloak that Zhuo Yichen has thrown over his scarred back.

Clutches it over his chest, as if it is not fabric but Yichen’s warm, steady soldier that he can lean on.

 

 

When dawn returns, Zhao Yuan Zhou brushes his grief from the cloth as easily as he dries the tears on it with his magic.

Returns it to the Demon Hunter with a quiet smile of thanks: as if it meant nothing more than passing warmth.

And with the dawn, returns Zhao Yuan Zhou’s death wish; now stronger than ever before.

 

 

 

 

Zhuo Yichen gasps: the lingering echo of pain flooding his limbs as he sees his own broken body in the sky next.

The battle with Zhao Yuan Zhou and Li Lun had left him bruised, bloodied, battered; more ghost than human.

 

Zhuo Yichen shivers, as he watches Zhao Yuan Zhou carry his broken body to the Demon Hunting Bureau.

The Demon sits at his bedside for hours: rage overwhelming his grief.

He cannot forgive himself for what he has done to Zhuo Yichen.

He brushes a gentle hand over Yichen’s pain-furrowed brow and then springs away.

As if he doesn’t deserve to touch something he has destroyed with his own hands.

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou drowns in his remorse and Zhuo Yichen drowns with him.

 

And for the first time, Zhuo Yichen understands why Zhao Yuan Zhou wished for death so fervently.

Because the pain that he has borne is as timeless as it is suffocating.

 

 

He ingrains the bone-deep sadness that colors Zhao Yuan Zhou’s soul in his own; like a broken song: vast, distant, desolate.

 

 

And this time, as Zhao Yuan Zhou steps towards the sea once more; Zhuo Yichen follows him: regret seeping through his bones like the blood that soaks the stones under his feet.

 

Because what he has done is unforgiveable.

 

The Great Demon had never asked for respect, understanding, friendship or love.

 

But Zhuo Yichen had refused him everything he never asked for.

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou had asked only one thing of him: freedom, peace, death.

 

But in his blinded cruelty, he had denied the great demon that as well.

 

 

But now, Yichen follows the one he has wronged; tears streaming down his face.

 

He wrenches his feet from the sand that tries to restrain him once more.

 

Bleeds his throat raw, as he calls for Zhao Yuan Zhou: reaches out for something that he has lost due to his own foolishness.

 

But he doesn’t stop.

His soaked robes hinder his movement, the waves push him away.

Yet, he moves on.

Even death cannot stop him now.

 

The figure in front of him moves quietly, unhearing, unknowing of someone who desperately yearns for him to turn back just once.

 

 

The sky darkens, and sighs its farewell.

 

 

Had Zhuo Yichen been less delirious, he would have noticed the discrepancy immediately.

But he does not.

His tear-filled eyes do not see how the wraith before him sinks no deeper even as he walks farther out to sea.

His floor length hair floats around him airily, robes as dry as before.

 

The clouds gather rapidly as thunder rumbles; foreshadowing doom.

 

And suddenly, grey deepens to black as the thread snaps:

Zhuo Yichen lets out a strangled scream as something; rather someone, drags him back by the front of his robes.

 

His eyes widen in panic as the creature hauls him to the shore.

 

Zhuo Yichen doesn’t understand whether what he is seeing is real or specter; memory or dream.

 

“Zhu Yan”

 

He lets out a choked whisper as the Demon grabs him by the throat, fangs bared in a snarl. Scarlet eyes blaze with fury, burning their way into his very soul.

But Zhuo Yichen does not fight; there is nothing left to fight for.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He stills in the chokehold: the apology on his last breath too late to matter.

 

As he closes his eyes, what Yichen fails to see are the tears that fall from those familiar crimson eyes.

Notes:

Torturing Zhuo Yichen because he really was too cruel to Zhao Yuan Zhou.
Let me know your thoughts!

Chapter 6: Unraveling

Summary:

Only when I became you, did I begin to understand.

PREFACE: For context,
1. Neither of them is dead (obviously).
2. Chapters 5 & 6 take place simultaneously. chapter 5 from Zhuo Yichen's POV and chapter 6 from Zhu Yan's POV.
3. They are both stuck in dreamworlds-a limbo between life and death. And they experience each others' memories.
4. For Yichen, the experience is painful-laced with anguish, guilt and remorse. He can't interact with Zhu Yan who is right beside him.
5. I wanted something gentler for Zhao Yuan Zhou, because the poor demon has suffered too much. Zhu Yan can see, hear and feel Yichen who appears to him as child and comforts him.
6. The commonality? The red and blue string that binds them. Whereas, it is something painful for Yichen, who can see the string; ZYZ does not see it.

Notes:

Hello, hello!
let me start with an apology, if I may. I'm so sorry for leaving this story hanging.
Got busy, then came up with another idea and left this poor piece to be forgotten.
Hopefully, I'll be able to update faster now that I'm back to it.

 

I realize this chapter and the previous one might be quite confusing. but it all has a purpose.
I beg you to trust the process🙏

“Master, who is a friend?”
Zhu Yan remembers asking Lord Ying Zhao.
The white-haired Ape Demon was curious about everything, having just transformed into his human form after centuries of cultivation.
Being the Vessel of malicious energy was an abstract concept that he had not yet grasped, despite his Master’s constant admonitions.
The unforgiving shadow of sorrow had not found him yet, his soul a beacon of curiosity, mischief and unadulterated joy.

His grandfather had smiled, patting the young demons’ head lovingly,
“Xiao Yan, a friend is a person who plays with you, laughs with you, one who wanders the world with you in happiness. Also-”

Zhu Yan had interrupted cheerily, quick to understand and even quicker to speak.
“So, Li Lun is my friend? Because he plays with me and roams all of Dahuang with me, even though he likes staying still so much better.”

Ying Zhao had nodded, his tone becoming somber as he continued.

“Xiao Yan, a friend does not only play with you. A friend, a real friend; will stand by you when you are upset and tired, will protect you when you’re scared, and will scold you when you are wrong and tell you how to be a better person.”

Zhu Yan nods thoughtfully, not fully understanding his grandfather, untouched as he was by weariness, grief or misunderstanding.”

“Will I ever find a friend like that?” the White Ape asks hesitantly.

The Mountain god gathers his little protegee into his arms, wisdom of what awaits this kindhearted Ape breaking his heart.

“Xiao Yan, I pray you will find a friend who will understand you for who you truly are and choose to stay at your side no matter what storms destiny throws your way.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou regains consciousness, face wet with tears he had shed unknowingly, as his Grandfather’s words fade into nothingness, leaving behind the deep but gentle ache of loss.

Where am I?

The Great Demon wonders, blinking past his tears. He breathes in deeply, the scent of fresh snow tingling in his nostrils. Despite the icy ground he’s lying on, the Demon finds himself warm, wrapped in a thick white cloak lined in beige fur. The warmth and comfort more profound than physical.
As if the bone-deep weariness he has accepted as part of his existence had evaporated when he stepped into oblivion.

But contentment is short-lived.

 

It has been too long since Zhao Yuan Zhou has cursed the immortals, having made peace with his accursed fate of being the Vessel of malicious energy.
But right now, he curses them. The immortals, the divinity and even the keepers of Hell.
Because what they have done, where they have left him, is beyond cruelty.

Zhao Yuan Zhou thinks it is nothing short of eternal torment to find himself here, in Death.

 

At the Demon Hunting Bureau.

 

The place he had unintentionally destroyed.
The place where he had signed a pact with Death and therefore freedom.
The place he had surprisingly found himself laughing in; surrounded by family.
The place he had found someone to walk forward with.
The place where he had felt understood, after bearing millennia of misunderstanding.

 

The place where he had found a friendship deeper than love.
The place where he had been betrayed.

Grief crashes over Zhao Yuan Zhou like an avalanche.
He could drown in the light blanket of snow he lies upon, crushed not by anger but by betrayal.
Trust, once lost, is nearly impossible to rebuild. 

 

And Zhuo Yichen, the one he had come to trust-unwaveringly, deeply, completely-had broken it.
The Demon thinks it is his own fault after all, as he climbs shakily to his feet.
He had been foolish, reckless, soft-hearted.
He had taken a leap of faith, heart aching to rest peacefully in the quiet depths of Zhuo Yichen’s oceanic eyes.
But, once again, like always, he had found himself drowning instead.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou squeezes his eyes shut as Yichen’s words echo in his mind, an anchor he had found himself grasping unintentionally.

The sea of suffering is endless, but if you return to the boat in time, you will find a brilliant sunset awaiting you.

 

He had believed he had found his boat in time, believed that Zhuo Yichen would lead him to the shore, through his endless sea of suffering; towards a shore where pain did not exist.

But he had been wrong. Yichen had not been the boat, but the boulder tied to his exhausted body as he tried desperately to reach it.
Ultimately, the Demon had failed and let Zhuo Yichen drag him into the depths of the Sea that promised nothing but an eternity of anguish.

The erstwhile Great Demon curses his destiny, which seems to be in collusion with Zhuo Yichen. He had hoped, that at least in Death, he would be able to forget-not just his painful existence but the one who had brought that existence to an end: not kindly, but brutally.

It is not merely rage that engulfs Zhao Yuan Zhou, but the pain of betrayal. 
The actions of one he had trusted entirely, the one he had come to respect, to admire, to cherish.

 

I understand you now.
Yichen’s words grate against his mind, his flesh, his very soul.
The betrayal behind those soft words harder to accept than death itself.

Zhao Yuan Zhou does not stop the flow of hot tears against his icy face, letting his grief soak the demonic runes on his cheeks.
He lets his foolish heart break; having nobody to blame, nobody to seek comfort from.
Zhuo Yichen had taken something beautiful, destroyed it and left nothing but ugliness in his wake.

There is a fine line between love and hate, and Zhao Yuan Zhou finds himself walking that precarious tightrope with no end in sight.

………………………………………………………………………

 

“Mamma, who is a friend?”

Zhao Yuan Zhou stills as he turns around. So deeply lost had he been in his own turmoil, that he had failed to realize that he was not alone here.

 

The Demon finally looks around, hands clenching in his robes as he realizes where he really is.
At the Zhuo Mansion.
Not just the Demon Hunting Bureau.
But the place that had been Zhuo Yichen’s home before the Blood Moon had painted it crimson.

The Demon understands that he is in a memory-Zhuo Yichen’s memory.
His heart stutters in his chest-
Does that mean Zhuo Yichen is here too?

Is he also dead?

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, as the thought crosses his mind.
The turmoil in his mind has left no room for rationality.
The tears streaming down his face have squeezed the shattered pieces of his heart till there is nothing left to give.

He listens to the child, barely five years old, as he plays comfortably in his mother’s lap.

 

The deceased Lady of the Zhuo family is beautiful, her gentle frame and delicate features hold her youngest child tenderly.
The boy’s eyes are a mirror of his mothers’: soft, innocent, warm, yet filled with a fierce passion that gives a glimpse into the kind but stubborn soul within.

“Xiao Chen, a friend is someone who stays with you in both joy and sorrow. Someone who plays with you and protects you too.”

“Like Yixuan-ge!”
Baby Yichen squeals excitedly, bouncing happily on his mother’s lap.
He slumps into her embrace suddenly.

“But mother, my other friends aren’t like that. They always leave me behind when there’s trouble. They don’t protect me.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou feels his heart clench through his anger, his hatred.
He hates Zhuo Yichen.
But hates himself even more. Hates that he still cares about the one who has betrayed him so thoroughly.

 

Yichen’s mother holds him close, caressing his hair.

 

“Xiao Chen, we cannot control what others say or do or who they are. The only thing we can do is become the best version of ourselves. I want you to become a good friend, regardless of others.”

Zhuo Yichen tilts his head curiously,

“Who is a good friend, mamma?”

“A good friend is one who stands by his friends, no matter what challenges or storms destiny throws at them. A good friend stays when the other is upset and tired. A good friend isn’t afraid to scold his friends when they are wrong; but also tells them how to correct their mistakes. A good friend is one who truly understands the other and chooses to stay. Do you understand, my child?”

Zhuo Yichen’s eyes are huge as he drinks in his mother’s words, absorbs them like sacred scripture.

 

He scrambles from her lap, kneeling before her, his tiny fingers forming a seal: thumb and little finger folded, as the others straighten with resolve.

“Xiao Chen promises he will be a good friend. He will truly understand and choose to stay, no matter what storms they face. Xiao Chen promises he will face it together.”

He prances away with a laugh as his mother smiles at him proudly.

 

Tears blur Zhao Yuan Zhou’s eyes, the whip of betrayal cutting even deeper.

You did not keep your promise, Xiao Zhuo. You failed your mother, the way you failed me.

 

His head spins, his exhausted body wishes it could vanish and become nothing more than mist and memory.

He gasps suddenly, as something small barrels into his shins.
He crouches immediately, seeing the child topple backwards into the snow.
Zhao Yuan Zhou stills.

 

How is this possible? How can a memory feel so real? Is it a memory after all? Or is he stuck somewhere in another universe?

 

Before he can think further, the child gets to his feet, rubbing his sore back.
Yet, when he finally sees Zhao Yuan Zhou, he bows immediately in apology.
Zhao Yuan Zhou remains frozen-loathe to come face to face with this innocent child, yet unable to simply walk away.

 

It is the child who approaches, Zhuo Yichen’s characteristic curiosity a gift from his childhood.
Yichen reaches out, his tiny fingers carefully wiping away Zhao Yuan Zhou’s tears; unafraid of the demon marks carved onto the latter’s cheeks.

 

“Are you sad?”
The child talks to him as if they have known each other forever.
Zhao Yuan Zhou swallows, the childish concern striking somewhere deep inside his soul.

Perhaps an eternity has passed, as the Demon stares into oceanic eyes that hold kindness not yet besmirched by grief.
The warmth of a tiny hand lingers, not on his tear-streaked face, but on his broken heart.

The child answers his own question, not having received any response. 

 

“Do you want to be friends? My mother says that a friend stays with his friend when they’re sad. I’ll stay with you. Then you won’t be sad anymore.”
He smiles broadly, his childlike logic and faith in his mother unshakeable.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou doesn’t resist, as the little one takes his hand. His tiny fingers barely wrap around the Demon’s thumb. But the grasp is as gentle as it is firm, as if nothing will convince him to let go.

 

The Demon lets the child lead him outside, not noticing the soft red and blue braided string that binds their wrists.

 

.......................................................................

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou finds himself sitting beside the boy at the edge of the pool, the huge pond that graces the Hall of the Demon Hunting Bureau.

Night has fallen softly in this universe; frozen somewhere between life and death.
The stars twinkle brightly, the colors as vivid as life itself.

 

The boy had fallen asleep some time ago, happily exhausted after having shown his new friend all around his home. 
Zhao Yuan Zhou had seen nobody in the enormous estate, making him wonder if both he and the child were nothing but specters in this land of memory and imagination.

 

The child is snuggled comfortably in Zhao Yuan Zhou’s embrace, wrapped in the Demon’s cloak. He had been unable to refuse when the other had climbed into his lap with a familiarity and trust that he has never seen on the older Yichen’s countenance. A tiny hand stubbornly clenched around the Demon’s thumb.

 

As Zhao Yuan Zhou gazes at the peace on the sleeping child’s face, he remembers the only time he had seen Zhuo Yichen sleep.
Rather, the nightmare that Yichen had been trapped in after the Cloud Light Sword broke: a misfortune of Zhao Yuan Zhou’s creation.

 

The tears, so carefully wiped away by small hands, return in a flood as the Great Demon remembers the recent past.
He gasps noiselessly, as the first of his tears fall into the clear water of the pool.

And the water ripples-magically, malevolently.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou hugs the child closer, ready to spring to safety if required.

He’s astonished as the ripples give way to an image; like pictures buried deep under the ocean.

 

………………………………………………………………..

 

 

He watches an older Zhuo Yichen bow in respect before an alcove in his room.
It holds three plaques now: the only tangible remnants of his family.
Hatred and despair blossoms equally in the teenager’s heart: a desperate and lonely quest for revenge and justice.

“I will definitely kill you and take my revenge for the murders of my father and brother, Zhu Yan.”
Zhuo Yichen, now older, comes face to face with his biggest nightmare. Ready to end the evil monster that had torn apart his childhood, his happiness, his life.

“And I want to die; and I must die by your Sword.”
Zhuo Yichen is conflicted, doubt creeping into his revenge-blackened heart as Zhu Yan makes him swear the oath.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou feels Zhuo Yichen’s inner turmoil grow, as Li Lun reveals half-truths: that Zhao Yuan Zhou had not been in control of his actions on that fateful night of the massacre.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou watches the young Demon Hunter twist and turn, now free from Ran Yi’s dream magic. His nightmares are colored in unrest: the seed of doubt Li Lun had planted thriving despite his furious attempts to suppress it.

 

As they move forward on this journey, solving cases, defeating demons, growing closer unwillingly; Zhuo Yichen begins to truly wonder:

Had he misjudged Zhao Yuan Zhou?

 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou watches Zhuo Yichen sit statue-still in his dark room after having saved Sinan from Fei and Qing Geng. 

He stares at his own hands, horrified.
He had been overwhelmed by Qing Geng’s malicious energy, forced to fight Zhao Yuan Zhou, unable to control his limbs as thought fled, replaced by blind hatred and rage.

Was this how Zhao Yuan Zhou lived? Controlled by malicious energy? 

 

It is only when Yichen sees how the Blood Moon turns Zhao Yuan Zhou into something unrecognizable that he begins to understand: the one who had murdered his family is not the one who has saved him, again and again as they walk this dangerous path.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou cannot control the flood of tears; as Zhou Yichen finally begins to understand, to forgive.

 

 

“Do you think your death will bring back my father and brother, Wen Xiao’s Shifu, Ying Lei’s Yeye? Do you think your death will change the past? No, it will not. If you really regret your actions, then you must atone for your sins. Only when you have paid the price, will I come to kill you.”

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou watches as Yichen throws his own cloak over Zhao Yuan Zhou’s scarred back; walking away as his tears mirror those on the Demon’s face.

 

But he does not leave. 

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou’s breath hitches as he sees the young man sink into the snow just behind the huge doors of the sanctuary. Watches as he grieves-not just for himself, but for Wen Xiao, for Ying Lei and also for Zhao Yuan Zhou. The Demon he has hated and misunderstood where the other had deserved nothing but kindness.

The Zhao Yuan Zhou on the stairs does not hear the soft apology that drops from Yichen’s lips; drowning in his own grief.

 

“This journey we walked together, made me feel that fate can be changed and oaths can be broken.”
Zhao Yuan Zhou watches Zhuo Yichen enter the Peach Blossom House, two jugs of wine in hand.
They had never had the opportunity to share that wine; the only fluid that remained on Yichen’s lips was his own blood. Blood that Zhao Yuan Zhou had drawn, unknowing of how earnestly the younger had tried to save him.

 

“Even if the Sword is repaired, please don’t die.”
Zhao Yuan Zhou sobs quietly, as a broken, battered, unwillingly demonized Yichen pleads him: desperately trying to hold on to the one person he cannot lose.

 

The water in the pond ripples with his tears, showing him a different scene.

 

Zhuo Yichen carries Zhao Yuan Zhou, who had fainted after repairing the Cloud Light Sword, the Ever-burning wood burning through his very neidan.
But that is not what hurt the most.
What came next, was what had truly broken Zhao Yuan Zhou’s heart.
Yichen had never felt colder, never felt so unreadable, so unreachable.

 

Almost unconsciously, Zhao Yuan Zhou hugs the child in his arms closer, as if the warmth of this dreamlike embrace might shield him from the harsh reality he had experienced before death.

Zhuo Yichen’s betrayal.

 

But what is real and what is false? The Zhuo Yichen he had come to love over the past two months or the Zhuo Yichen he had begun to hate in the two days before his death?

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou watches, entranced, as the truth is finally revealed.

 

Watches, equal parts horrified and heartbroken, as Zhuo Yichen carries him into the cellar.
The young demon hunter, now turned demon, heals the cut he had made with his own sword not moments ago-declaring his undying loathing for Zhu Yan.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou cries with him; as he tries and fails, and tries and fails again, to heal the ugly burns that cover Zhao Yuan Zhou’s arms.
Frustrated, he resorts to human aides: wrapping the demon’s burnt flesh in layers of ointment and bandages.

Yichen trembles as he lifts Zhao Yuan Zhou to feed him human medicine and jade-water: not knowing what would lessen the pain.
Half of it spills across the Demon’s robes, Yichen’s strength crumbling under his remorse.

 

Zhuo Yichen does not leave that night.
Soundlessly, he tucks Zhao Yuan Zhou in blankets, lighting a brazier full of coals to keep him warm.
Yichen himself slinks into the darkest, coldest corner of the so-called prison: a self-inflected punishment.

And through it all, Zhao Yuan Zhou had slept.

 

The slap Zhuo Yichen leaves across his face stings on Zhao Yuan Zhou’s own cheek.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Zhuo Yichen steels himself thus, before hurling curses at a barely conscious Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou gasps audibly: rage and confusion overwhelming his disbelief.
Had it all been a lie?
The cursing, the cruelty, the sudden determination to hand Zhao Yuan Zhou over to Wen Zongyu?

But why?

Zhao Yuan Zhou does not understand, perhaps he does not want to understand anymore.
Because he’s afraid that what it might reveal, would be too painful to accept.

 

Zhao Yuan Zhou doesn’t hear as the child in his arms awakens, calls him softly, urgently.
He can only stare at the water, where the older Zhuo Yichen points his blade at Zhao Yuan Zhou-taunting him;

 

“Become the rain, Zhao Yuan Zhou, and I will become the blaze that razes you to the ground. Become the moon and the stars, and I will become the sun that eclipses your worthless light.
Become the sun, and I will become the darkness that swallows you whole.”

He’s too late, as he sees not only his own, but also Zhuo Yichen’s demonic core float into the air, both of them having removed them willingly.

“No! Xiao Zhuo!”

 

The scream that tears from his throat is muffled, as he throws himself into the water when the child in his arms finally releases his hand, falling into the pond with a smile.

Notes:

So, How was it?
Is it too confusing?
do let me know if you cried with Yuan Zhou...
and whether you are ready to forgive Yichen yet.
But then, how can we forgive when we do not understand.
Zhao Yuan Zhou does not understand yet.
but will he understand, when he finds out the truth? Will he forgive Yichen?
Stay Tuned to find out!
your thoughts and opinions are highly appreciated 🙏🩵

Chapter 7: The love we hid, the lies we spoke

Summary:

‘If I had one more breath to take,
I’d bare my heart to you.

If I had one more moment to live,
I’d spend it loving you.’

-Zhu Yan

Zhu Yan heaves as he regains consciousness, barely catching his breath after being submerged.
His eyes widen as looks around frantically.
He’s not at the Demon Hunting Bureau any longer.

The magical pool into which he’d jumped had transported him into another world.
He knows not the veracity of his surroundings.
He knows not whether he should slumber peacefully in a dream or wake, trapped in cruel reality.

The Demon pushes himself to his feet, palms nearly cut open upon sharp obsidian rocks.
Silvery water, embellished with grey-white foam laps at the corners of his cloak.
He stands facing land shrouded in mist and melancholy.
The Sea at his back is lackluster, the faint light of both Sun and Moon incapable of illuminating its dreaded depths.

He shivers unconsciously; the grey-scale, though hauntingly beautiful, is ominous.
A striking contrast to the vivid dreamland he had been wrenched from.

Unease churns in his belly, the susurration of the waves, usually soothing, now scares him.
The sound a melody of uncertainty- each note woven between life and death.

 

Panic; sudden and inescapable, grips him as he finds his bearings.
Not for himself.
For the child.
Zhuo Yichen.

 

The child had fallen into the water and Zhao Yuan Zhou had leaped in after him without a second thought.
But the boy had disappeared, leaving Zhu Yan craving for the warmth he had brought, the innocent affection that had comforted his broken heart.

He inhales a lungful of salt-soaked air, wishing to call out, hoping that the boy might still be here, might hear him, might run into his arms with that tiny heart that held all the love in the world.

 

“Zhao Yuan Zhou”

Zhu Yan feels the air ripped from his lungs as the desperate cry pierces his eardrums.
He spins on his heel at the shore, turning towards the sound that screams of a throat bled raw.

What he sees makes him wish his senses were sealed all over again, blind and deaf to the devastating scene before him.
Fright clutches his shattered, non-existent neidan in a death-grip as he looks out to sea.
Where a slender human figure, robes torn, hair unbound; splashes farther and farther into the molten silver ocean, screaming his heart out.

“Zhao Yuan Zhou! Come back! Please!”

Zhu Yan gasps, the tears he had been trying to keep at bay, finally breaking through the dam of his defenses.

 

Zhuo Yichen.
He has recognized that silhouette, although the sound that tears from his throat is unrecognizable.
In no universe, real or imagined, has Zhu Yan ever dreamed that Zhuo Yichen would call for him like his life depends on it.

And Zhu Yan, despite the rage simmering in his chest, the confusion churning through his mind and the brittle hatred blossoming in his soul, rushes after him into deeper waters.

 

He growls in frustration, jerking the heavy cloak off his body, fighting against sand and sea.
It is not love that powers his limbs.
Hatred, bewilderment, rage; the agony of betrayal energizes his muscles.
He will not let Zhuo Yichen slip into oblivion.
Not before he answers Zhu Yan, looks him in the eye and tells him he hates the Demon.
Hates him enough to die with him.

 

He has already seized the Demon Hunter turned Demon, dragging him back to the rocky shore before his fury has abated.
He grabs the younger by the throat, the chokehold tight against his pulse.
His eyes glow scarlet, the demonic runes on his cheeks, engraved into his soul.
Fangs bared in a snarl, he uses a clawed hand to pull the other towards him by the waist.

 

“Zhu Yan”
“I’m sorry.”
The Great Demon trembles in rage, loosening the chokehold, as Zhuo Yichen begins to go limp in his arms.
He releases the young demon-not out of pity, but out of exasperation laced with anger.

 

Zhuo Yichen is not allowed to say those words. He is not allowed to die before he answers Zhu Yan.
Death will not be granted so easily to the one who had refused him freedom so heartlessly.

“Zhuo Yichen, wake up.”

Zhu Yan snarls, shaking him.
Shakes him, again and again, fear bleeding through his rage, as the younger sags lifelessly against him.
Tears escape past his lashes, past the crimson of his irises.
Zhu Yan tells himself, they are tears of anger. But his heart is adamant: he’s scared.
So scared that he’s lost Zhuo Yichen.

When sound does not move his heart, Zhu Yan resorts to touch.

 

The slap across Yichen’s face is personal.
The pain visceral.  Zhu Yan’s claws split his lip, painting his cheek red even in this dismal grey landscape.
Even the tides halt, the magnetism of the moon a force incomparable to Zhu Yan’s grief-stricken wrath.

Zhu Yan closes his eyes briefly, as the blow lands, pulling Yichen out of his delirium.
His blue eyes, now dulled to mirror the grey panorama, snap into focus, finally seeing the Demon who stands before him in flesh and blood.
His presence as enigmatic in death as it was in life.

“You’re here?”
Zhuo Yichen’s broken whisper smashes into his soul, the pain behind those few words as enormous in their intensity as they are quiet in volume.

But Zhu Yan refuses to listen.
He shakes him again, his own body quivering with barely repressed rage.

“What have you done, Zhuo Yichen? Tell me!”

The query is simple, the answer less so.

Zhuo Yichen shakes his head, frantically trying to escape Zhu Yan’s fearsome grip.
“No. No, you can’t be here. You can’t be here.”

 

Zhu Yan inhales sharply, as Yichen’s arms, glazed with burn marks from the Baize power, curl around his own, trying to push him away.

The Great Demon, pained by the sight, loses focus briefly, and Yichen overpowers him, shoving him into the water.

They grapple silently, tears streaming down their faces, neither willing to let go.
The cosmos observes mutely, dark clouds gather like their emotions, foreshadowing a storm of painful revelation.

Zhu Yan; powerful, experienced, desperate; overpowers him, slamming him against a boulder near the water.

Both pant with the effort, tears and breaths mingling in the still air.

 

Zhu Yan freezes as Yichen gives up abruptly, arms falling from where he had been clenching the older demons’ robes.

“Why are you here? You can’t be here, Zhu Yan. You have to leave. Please.”

 

Where else would I be, Xiao Zhuo; when you are here?

The great demon stares aghast, as Yichen’s tears begin to fall in earnest, each sob ripping through his soul.

He grasps the younger, unable to speak even as his fluttering heart screams for release.
Cries out silently to the person before him, willing him to understand the rage and the immeasurable longing reflected in scarlet eyes.

 

Because Zhu Yan loves Zhuo Yichen.

 

The White-Ape Demon has loved before.

Loved Ying Zhao and Zhao Wan’er with reverence.
Loved Li Lun with passion.
Loved Wen Xiao with tenderness and adoration infinite.

 

But Zhuo Yichen?

His love for the Demon Hunter, the bearer of the Cloud Light Sword transcends understanding, surpasses things as immaterial as mortality, defies the cruel fate that destiny has decreed.

He does not know when he had begun to love Zhuo Yichen.
Affection for the human destined to kill him had not asked permission to enter, had not burst through his defenses indecently.

It had blossomed, bloomed from the ashes of misery he had strewn in the others’ life unwillingly.

He had thought it was simply remorse, even assumed it was nothing more than pity.

 

But it was not. Never had been. Never would be.

The illusions he had tried to delude his mind into, the barriers he had tried so hard to create, willing himself to believe that he did not love Zhuo Yichen; had shattered the moment the human had fallen into danger, plunged into his greatest nightmare.

The Great Demon had always believed love was a gentle thing, something to adore, something to cherish.

 

But the second Zhuo Yichen had walked into Bingyi’s cave, intent on sacrificing himself to Ying Long; Zhu Yan had known.
That his love for Zhuo Yichen was not gentle, was not fickle.
It was fire and passion and protection.
Armour not a weapon.

 

Zhu Yan loves Zhuo Yichen; not merely with his heart.
But with the entirety of his soul.

 

And it is all the stronger because it could never be named, never be accepted, never be returned.

But Zhu Yan chose to love, despite it all, despite the inevitability and futility of it all.

Even now, when betrayal stabs his heart, scrapes raw against his soul, Zhu Yan cannot stop loving.
He never will.

 

He’s brought back to the present when Zhuo Yichen, huddled against the rock, shakes him from his stupor.

“I hate you, Zhao Yuan Zhou! Can’t you see? Can’t you understand?”

“YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!”

 

The howl, drenched in agony, bathed in lies, cracks something inside the Demon.

He grabs Yichen’s hand, claws scratching his pale skin.

“You say you hate me, Zhuo Yichen?”

He hauls the younger to his feet, clutching his wrist, the other hand curled protectively against his waist.

“Then what is this?”

Zhu Yan tugs at the neck of his robes, exposing unblemished skin; skin where a blade had drawn blood.

“What is this, Zhuo Yichen, if you hate me?”

He pulls back his sleeves, arms covered in bandages, tenderly wrapped around his burnt flesh by the man who claimed to hate him.

He pulls the younger closer, placing Yichen’s palm against his own chest: where his heart beats- rapid but steady.

Zhuo Yichen whimpers, closing his eyes as Zhu Yan’s heart pulses vividly under his palm.

 

“If you truly hated me, Xiao Zhuo; would I be alive?”
Zhu Yan’s voice is low, dangerous. Every syllable cloaked in confusion, consumed by adoration.

 

Zhuo Yichen looks at him, eyes bloodshot, lip bloodied by Zhu Yan’s slap.

 

“You’re alive?” Disbelief cracks through his voice, as if he hadn’t even regarded this as a possibility.

Zhu Yan corrects him, “We’re both alive, Xiao Zhuo.”

The latter crumbles again, clutching Zhu Yan’s robes to keep himself upright.

“I’m sorry. I failed. I failed, Zhu Yan. It didn’t work.”

 

Zhu Yan stares at him through his own tears, unable to understand him.

What had he failed at? What didn’t work?

But before he can ask, before he can demand an explanation, Zhuo Yichen shrieks; head turned to the sky,

“You said it would work. You told me I could do this.”

 

 

What?

 

Zhu Yan’s eyes roam all over Yichen’s face, covered in blood and tears, misery and defeat painted in every inch of pale skin.

“You lied!”
As the shout echoes across the water, the sky darkens.

Zhu Yan winces as lightning resounds in the atmosphere, wind howling excruciatingly.

Both demons still as a voice; effeminate, powerful, ancient, speaks softly.
Rather, the sound resonates through every stone, through every drop of water in the silvery sea.

“Foolish child, did you think you could defy destiny so easily?”

“You wish to challenge your fate? Then let him see the choice you made.”

 

 

Zhuo Yichen gasps, eyes widening in fear. Zhu Yan turns his head, dread rising in his chest as a tidal wave builds in the ocean-headed straight for them.

But the Great Demon doesn’t hesitate.
He turns the two of them around gently; coming to stand before Zhuo Yichen; between him and Death or whatever peril the voice in the sky promises.

Because he has promised himself: 
He will not let Zhuo Yichen die before him.

They stand an arm-width apart, Zhu Yan holding the younger demon by the waist, another hand lying gently on his shoulder.

He will wait calmly for the end, as he looks into Xiao Zhuo’s eyes.
If this is the end of his existence, then there is nowhere else he would rather be, nowhere else he would rather look.

 

 

The White Ape Demon has always awaited Death. For oblivion to claim him as an old friend.

But at this moment, when the void is closer than life, Zhu Yan wishes that death would wait.
Would pause, even if just for a moment longer.

He doesn’t ask for a lifetime.
All he begs for is one infinitesimal moment more as Zhuo Yichen pulls him close.

Zhu Yan shivers as Yichen’s slender, sturdy arms encircle his chest, and he rests his head on the Great Demon’s shoulder.

Surrender- too sweet, too late.

And Zhu Yan finds himself praying desperately to Heaven, to Hell, to every universe that exists; to grant him a moment longer to hear Zhuo Yichen’s words one more time, the last breath that falls tenderly against his cheek.

“Zhu Yan, I love you.”

 

 

 

Notes:

I am sorry if these last chapters are giving anybody emotional whiplash-with the sudden transition from hate to love.

But it is not sudden.
As you will see in the next chapter.

This story IS emotionally intense, at least I hope to write it that way.
Not least because these two are stuck between life and death. But because that is how their love is-passionate, intense, fierce.

 

Comments and criticisms always welcome!
Praying the intensity comes through🙏
Let me know🙏🙏

Chapter 8: Love is deep, fate is shallow

Summary:

There are thousands of laws in this world,
But none is greater than a word of willingness.

If fate has predetermined us to be enemies,
Let us be enemies with heaven instead.

-Little verses

Notes:

Preface 2: for context

in the last chapter, Yichen and Zhu Yan came face to face (nearly) with whoever is controlling this mind-blowing rollercoaster of events, the dreamworld between life and death they are stuck in.
As the tidal wave envelops them, they are drawn into Yichen's memory this time.

This chapter is told from Yichen and Ying Long's POV.
The present Zhu Yan and Yichen are merely spectators in Yichen's memory.

PS: the title is from the OST of the drama, "Plants do not Grieve" by Hao Meimei.

I am a thousand-year-old Great Demon. Do you think I won’t be able to break your heartless ice with my power and all the malicious energy in the world?

Zhuo Yichen feels his annoyance surge. He can’t believe that old Demon had tried to follow Yichen into Ying Long’s realm.
Did Zhao Yuan Zhou think he was doing something noble, something useful, by trying to stop Yichen from sacrificing himself?
He wasn’t.

Because what Zhuo Yichen was doing wasn’t sacrifice.
It was cowardice.
He feels tears prick his eyes as the icy aura he had created around him shatters.
He wasn’t giving himself up because he wanted the others to survive.
He was doing this because he didn’t want to live.
Not anymore. 
Not like this- forced to turn into the very thing he hated and feared the most: a demon.
And especially not alone.
Not without him.

He had pleaded Zhao Yuan Zhou not to die, even if they managed to repair the Cloud Light Sword. 
“I can’t promise you that, Zhuo-daren. All I can promise you is that I won’t seek my death, anymore. After all, my life is in your hands.”

Liar.
The Demon had broken his promise the moment he followed Yichen into whatever trap Ying Long had set for them.

Zhuo Yichen looks around helplessly, dense white fog surrounds him.
The immense sense of nothingness overwhelms him, fear of the unknown making his heart flutter rapidly.

He’s stands alone, the impenetrable mist making it hard to see anything at all.
And Zhuo Yichen hates that he feels so lost without Zhao Yuan Zhou beside him.

His eyes widen as the fog dissipates, bringing two people into focus.

 

……………………………………………………..

 

 

Ying Long, robed in shimmering silver, hair bound by dragon-shaped clips, strides across the bridge to the Pavilion in the garden of Nüwa’s palace.
The dragon markings on his forehead and chin glitter darkly, exuding the immeasurable power of the Black Dragon.
The Goddess, petite yet powerful, green and golden gown draped artfully over her human form, sits on the stairs, her reptilian tail glimmering with emerald scales.

Ying Long kneels before her quietly, observing her morose expression as she twirls a Five-colored Stone in her hands.
His heart clenches with fear at her mournful expression, he’s never seen the Goddess of Creation so despondent.

His only solace is Bingyi.
He can see the Blue Dragon sitting at the Sea Shore, reflected in the lake around the Pavilion.
The water is a mirror: allowing Nüwa to see what goes on in the mortal world as she protects Heaven from the peak of Mount Kunlun.

Ying Long tears his gaze from the image of the Sea Dragon reluctantly.
It is difficult, nearly impossible, to stop looking at someone so beautiful, yet so brave and kind.
Bingyi sits silent, a familiar frown on his face, oceanic blue eyes vacant as he stares out to Sea.
The Black Dragon itches to fly down to him at once, to smoothen that furrow upon his brow.
His only comfort is in knowing that the one Bing Yi awaits is him.

And once again, Ying Long marvels at the twist of fate.
They had met as enemies, but destiny had decided the nature and depth of their bond long ago.
They were never meant to be adversaries, but comrades-in-arms, protectors of the world, close friends.

 

But to Ying Long, Bing Yi was more, so much more.
Love unspoken but given quietly was the deepest.

And so, Ying Long loved Bing Yi quietly, rejoicing in the fact that the icy, taciturn Sea Dragon allowed him to remain close, if not close enough.
Perhaps, this would have to enough in this lifetime.

He looks away as Nüwa sighs.
“Ying Long, the world is ending.”

The Black Dragon is chilled at her words. Never has he heard the ancient Goddess; creator, protector, healer; sound so hopeless.

“Why do you say so, Nüwa?”
Ying Long has never been one to waste words on idle sympathy.

Nüwa holds her chin in her hands, looking at him askance. She waves her hand and another image appears on the left side of the bridge in the water.

Dahuang, or what is left of it, burns. The sky covered in ash, the ground drenched in the blood of those who were once family, now facing each other as foes.

The sky, once brilliant and bright, is covered in smoke and despair, torn through like fine fabric.
Not a single star lights up the all-consuming darkness.

Ying Long hates it.
Hates to see the world he loves in tatters, fallen to greed and malevolence.

He gestures at the Five-colored stone in Nüwa’s hands;

“Can’t you repair the sky with that?”

Nüwa’s stones are just as powerful as her: the fragile rocks hide their ability to mend anything and everything in the universe.

The Goddess just stares at him mournfully.

“There’s too much chaos in the world, Black Dragon; I cannot repair the Sky when disorder reigns supreme.”

Ying Long does not understand.
He holds the power to create, but has never understood completely the fine balance between order and chaos, life and death.

 And yet, as he looks into her emerald hued eyes, Ying Long feels his gut clench: a foreboding of sacrifice, a premonition of doom.

But he does not hesitate: the only thing he loves more than the world is Bing Yi. 
And if he can gift the peace-loving warrior dragon a world devoid of strife, then Ying Long would be more than glad to sacrifice his life, if needed.

“What can I do, Nüwa, to save the world?”
 Ying Long holds the Goddesses’ gaze, his fortitude a palpable force.

Nüwa gazes back just as steadily: immortals do not have the freedom to falter in the face of sacrifice.

“This world cannot afford the whims of chaos and malevolence, Ying Long. Neither can I use my Stone when chaos foils every attempt to mend the sky.”

She leans forward, eyes steady, 
“You ask how you can help, Ying Long? What if I say that you are the only one who can save this world from ruin? What will you do, Black Dragon?”

 

“Anything.”
Dragons do not dither in the face of danger.

Nüwa stares at him for a long moment, testing his resolve.
When he doesn’t waver, she sighs, 

“And if I ask not only for your life, but for your sanity, for your flesh and bone, for your friendship?”

She looks at the image of Bing Yi in the reflection on her right;
“If I ask for your love?”

It is only then that Ying Long falters; he can give anything.
Everything.
But not Bing Yi.
His soulmate must live, even if he has to die.

The strained silence is broken by Nüwa, her eyes fixed on Ying Long who cannot look away from Bing Yi.

 

“Will he die?”
Ying Long’s voice is soft, broken; immortal spirit afraid: not of death, but fearful of losing the one he loves more than anything in the world.
Perhaps more than world itself.

“It is not his death, but his wrath, that I fear, Ying Long.”
Nüwa gazes unhappily at Bing Yi as well.

“You misjudge him Goddess. He loves the world just as much I do. Why would he be angry if he can save it?”

“But what if saving the world means losing the one he cherishes most? What will he do, if he has to kill you, to protect Dahuang?”

Ying Long stills, his belief wavering transiently.
He does not doubt Bing Yi’s courage.
No. 
What hurts is the knowledge that if Bing Yi is forced to kill Ying Long, he would carry that guilt for a lifetime, bear the burden of something that had never been his choice to make.

 

But Ying Long will not let him bear that burden.

One should follow one’s heart, but forcing his dearest friend to kill him is really too cruel.
He will bear this burden; the remorse is not something he will let his soft-hearted Bingyi carry.

 

The Black Dragon smiles at Nüwa, at peace with his fate.

“You need not fear Bing Yi’s fury, Nüwa. It is I, he must hate, if so needed. Command me: how do I save the world?”

 

Nüwa rises, approaching the Black Dragon: his determination is absolute; his resolve unwavering.

“You must become the carrier of chaos, the vessel of malevolent energy. Only when all the malicious energy is absorbed, can peace prevail and the sky be mended. Only when you transform the chaos within you to creation, can the world be saved.”

Ying Long breathes heavily; the immensity of the sacrifice restricting his breath.

“You want me to absorb all the malicious energy in the world?”

He starts shakily, not understanding how that would help her.

“Yes, Ying Long. You must contain all the evil energy in the world. And having the power of creation, you must, then release pure energy to the universe, which will ultimately be the foundation of a new world.”

“But,”
 Ying Long struggles to find words;

“How can I create order from chaos?”

Nüwa sighs, drawing closer.

“That is why I need both you and Bing Yi. He is the only one who can transform the chaos within you to creation. He holds power over water, the symbol of transformation. Like he freezes water to ice; his blood, his power can change chaos to creation.”

Ying Long inhales sharply, awe fueling his words,
“Bing Yi can do that? Turn chaos to creation?”

 

Ying Long has watched the Sea Dragon turn water to ice countless times, creating both ruthless weapons and also softest snow.
But he had never known Bing Yi holds such awesome, life-giving power in those slender fingers of his.

Nüwa smiles slightly at his love-struck expression.
“It is you who hold power, Ying Long. You can carry both chaos and creation, breathing life into the dying world.”

Ying Long shakes his head. He may be able to carry both mayhem and stability; but it ultimately Bing Yi who can transform that energy to something useful, to bring life from death.

“I am willing to become the Vessel of malicious energy, Nüwa. I will do as you say, to save this world. If only I can leave a beautiful universe for Bing Yi, then all this pain would have been worth it.”

Nüwa caresses his long hair tenderly.

“I know you are willing, Ying Long. But be warned, by absorbing so much evil, you will lose your sanity, your reason. You will be branded as the harbinger of death and destruction. And ultimately, you will lose your life at the hands of your dearest friend to save the world.”

 

Ying Long’s heart hurts at the thought.
Not for himself, but for Bing Yi.
Bingyi, who will never allow him to sacrifice himself.
Bingyi, who will ask him for a way out, will ask him to live, even at the cost of the world.

Ying Long knows he cannot live.
But he does not mind.
As long as Bing Yi can be safe and happy, he will gladly gift his flesh and blood, his bones, his sanity to Nüwa. 

 

The Black dragon bows before the Goddess, his meaning as clear and love as deep as the lake that surrounds them.

“I am willing, Nüwa. I only have one request.”

As deep scarlet smoke surrounds him, his neidan changing to hold both chaos and creation, Ying Long murmurs his dearest wish,

“Just let me be the first star, Nüwa; so that I can always see my Bing Yi, even if it is from far away.”

 

………………………………………………

 

 

Yichen’s eyes blur with tears as the memory fades, and magical fog envelops him once again.
And yet again, he misses Zhao Yuan Zhou, yearns for that stupid Ape-Demon who had held him through the worst night of his life.

 

He blinks as the mist dissipates once more.
Ying Long and Bingyi face each other, a familiar silver sword grasped in trembling hands.

Yichen cries with Bingyi, the tip of the sword an inch away from Ying Long’s heart, the neidan that holds both life and death.

But Ying Long smiles; gripping the tip of the blade with his hand.

This is my choice, Bingyi, you do not have to bear any blame.

Yichen whimpers as he draws the blade into his chest, Bingyi’s grief and disbelief washing over him like a tidal wave.

As the Black Dragon disappears in a plume of golden dust, leaving Bingyi to mourn; Yichen finds himself at the hall of the Demon Hunting Bureau.

 

The Cloud Light Sword is clutched in his hands now, with Zhao Yuan Zhou standing at the other end.
Zhuo Yichen gasps, as Zhao Yuan Zhou moves closer, the tip of the blade grazing his robes.

“Xiao Zhuo-daren, don’t miss this time. This is the only way to end this cycle of malicious energy. Remember, this is my choice, not yours. And I will bear the burden. You need not carry this guilt.”

But Yichen cannot strike, cannot push that blade into his chest, knowing what he knows now.
The Great Demon’s death will not end the vicious cycle of malicious energy.

Ying Long had sacrificed his flesh and bone to forge the Cloud Light Sword, contained chaos in his neidan to bring peace to the world.

But evil had risen again; this time choosing Zhu Yan as its victim.
The White Ape Demon had become the new vessel of malicious energy, containing all the chaos in the world; losing control when it overwhelmed his immeasurable willpower.

And Yichen, like the ignorant world, had hated him for it. Blamed him for something that was never his fault in the first place.

But it is too late to apologize, too late to understand.
The world crumbles around them, but Zhao Yuan Zhou smiles through his tears.

He moves even closer, now drawing blood.
“Xiao-Zhuo…”

But Zhuo Yichen does not hear, he will not accept this ending.
He pulls away, throwing the sword on the stone floor.

He falls to his knees as Tiandu sinks into disorder; ears ringing with the screams of the people overtaken by greed, injustice and resentment.

But Yichen cannot, will not kill Zhao Yuan Zhou, even if the universe falls into ruin.

 

The gruesome images fade, leaving him curled into himself on a dark, rocky shore.
Without Zhao Yuan Zhou.

 

………………………………………

 

 

“You failed the test, Zhuo Yichen.”

Yichen raises his head, clambering to his feet as he looks at Ying Long before him.
He doesn’t understand whether what he is seeing now is real or dream.
Memory or presentiment.
Past or future.

“Now, you must stay her with me, forever. You failed to save what matters most.”

Yichen glares at the Black Dragon, the gears in his head turning.

Had all of what he had seen been a test? Was he shown both past and future?
And if so, what had Zhao Yuan Zhou seen?
Had he seen the past and also the future?

 

“What did you show him?”
Zhuo Yichen does not mince his words. His voice is rough, as he glares at the ancient Demon who had sacrificed himself to save the world.

Ying Long blinks at him serenely, oddly at peace.

“I showed him the past, Zhuo Yichen. And he chose the same. To sacrifice himself, if the world needed it.”

Zhuo Yichen clenches his fists in frustration. 
Of course, Zhao Yuan Zhou would choose to sacrifice himself if it meant saving the world.
For all his pretense, he cared too much about this world; even if that same world hated and despised him.

“Let him go, then. I will stay here with you, since I failed your test and he passed it.”

Yichen is glad he failed this test. This way, he will not have to kill Zhao Yuan Zhou.

Ying Long stares at him glumly.

 

“He won’t leave.”

Yichen freezes, as Ying Long waves his hand, an image appearing in the starless sky of the illusion.
Zhao Yuan Zhou sits calmly on a boulder, eyes closed in meditation.

The young demon hunter blinks the tears out of his eyes.
He knows why the older demon does not leave.
He will never leave Zhuo Yichen behind.
He will wait, even if he must wait for a lifetime.

Zhuo Yichen shakes his head in anger.
Zhao Yuan Zhou really is a stupid monkey.

He turns to Ying Long instead. There has to be a way to convince the Black Dragon to get Zhao Yuan Zhou out of here, even if it must be done forcefully.

 

Curiosity gets the better of him.
“Why does Zhao Yuan Zhou think that his death will end the cycle of malicious energy? You were the original Vessel of malicious energy. Your death saved the world, but evil arose again. So why does he think that his death will end it?”

His anger overwhelms his usually respectful nature,

“Why does he want to die, if he knows that his death will be in vain? Why does he want to sacrifice himself for a world that only misunderstands him? Why do you let him do this?”

His voice breaks,
“How could you both think that we could ever be happy to sacrifice you to save the world?”

Yichen’s misery is both for himself and for Bingyi.
Bingyi, who carried the weight of remorse all his life, and died knowing that he had killed his best friend to save a world that only wronged him.

“Your words truly are a curse, Ying Long.”

 

Ying Long stares at him, mouth agape.

“You saw my memories from that long ago? You know I was the original Vessel?”

Yichen stares back quizzically.

“Yes, I saw the sacrifice you made, how Nüwa created the Vessel of malicious energy for you to carry.”

 

His eyes widen as he realizes the truth.

“Zhao Yuan Zhou hasn’t seen this? He doesn’t know?”

Ying Long shakes his head, covering his eyes with his hands.

“You weren’t supposed to see that, Zhuo Yichen. Even Bingyi did not know exactly why I had to die. Why I lost control and killed so many people. Why he was the only one who could kill me.”

Yichen gasps in surprise; Bingyi’s confusion and guilt nearly overwhelming him again.
“You never told him?”

Ying Long lowers his head in shame; but Yichen is too incensed to care.
“How could you be so selfish, Ying Long? Why couldn’t you tell him? Why must you carry this alone?”

The Black Dragon looks away, unable to answer Yichen, unable to look into the eyes that look so much like Bingyi’s.

He cannot reach out, as Yichen’s tears flood his face, his helplessness bleeds into the stillness of the air.

 

“Why do you always choose to die? Why does he wish to die, to become the sacrifice that will save the world? A world that will never thank him for it?”

Ying Long stares at him dolefully, Yichen’s tearful face reminding him of Bingyi’s misery.

“Zhuo Yichen, do you really not understand why Zhu Yan wishes for death do eagerly?
Ask yourself, is it merely because he believes his death will benefit the world?”

 

Yichen stares at the Black Dragon, unable to stem the flow of his tears.

His breath hitches as the image of Zhao Yuan Zhou’s scar-riddled back flashes in his mind; the Demon’s abyssal eyes that reflected a sorrow far deeper than his understanding.

Zhu Yan didn’t want to die to save the world. He wanted to end his existence because he feared himself. 
Feared the senseless monster he became when he lost control over the malicious energy residing in his neidan; killed with abandon, destroyed without restraint.

And he has lived under the shadow of that guilt with nowhere to hide.

 

Because the burden of malicious energy is too heavy to carry alone.

 

But what if he didn’t need to carry it alone?

 

Zhuo Yichen lets out a strangled laugh as an idea seizes him.
Strangely impossible; dangerously alluring.

“What if he didn’t lose control? What if the malicious energy could be contained without destroying oneself or the world?”

Yichen lets the desperate idea linger, the enormity of the tiny thought heavier than the stifling atmosphere in the illusion.

 

He gazes into Ying Long’s incredulous eyes,

“Will he still want to die, if he’s not alone?”

 

“Zhuo Yichen…”
Ying Long’s sonorous voice is now a whisper- skeptical, hopeful.

Yichen swallows his fear, the thought warming his frozen heart.

“You said Bingyi’s blood can transform chaos to creation. You said you lost control because your body was not enough to contain all that malicious energy.”

He whispers brokenly, Zhao Yuan Zhou’s eons of pain, Bingyi’s lifetime of guilt nearly breaking him apart.

“What if we could split the vessel of malicious energy? What if we merge my blood, Bingyi’s blood with his neidan?”

Ying Long’s eyes widen, as he begins to understand Yichen’s incredible plan.

“You want to transform chaos to creation, carry the burden of malicious energy together, so that he doesn’t lose control?”

 

“Zhuo Yichen, are you insane? Why-”

The Black Dragon falters as Yichen stares longingly at the image of Zhao Yuan Zhou sitting peacefully at the shore.

His eyes glimmer with tears as he turns to Ying Long.
“You know why.”

Ying Long draws closer to the young demon, his body more specter than solid in this illusionary realm where Bingyi has saved a part of his soul.

“You…you would do that?”

Yichen’s midnight blue eyes do not stray from deep black ones, golden irises that hold all the love and also all the darkness in the world.

 

His voice trembles, but his heart is true.

“Yes. I am willing to do that. For him. With him.”

“So, please, Ying Long, help me.”

His voice holds a prayer, his soul embraces fire.
Bingyi’s ice and courage flow through his veins.

The ancient demon, protector of the world, soulmate to the Sea dragon, looks at him with pride, with so much love.

 

“I will help you, Zhuo Yichen. I will give you my last dragon bone to forge a core. I will give you the power of creation; and Bingyi’s blood will help you transform chaos to order.”

But how do you break a vessel? How do you merge two extraordinary powers?

 

“Nüwa.”

Ying Long and Yichen’s voices are in sync, as they realize they need the Goddess of Creation, the one with the power to mend anything in the world to achieve the unthinkable, to fight a predetermined destiny.

 The Black dragon steps closer, leaning his forehead against Yichen’s; transferring his knowledge.

“Do you understand, little one? Will you be able to call upon the Goddess, now?”

Yichen trembles, as Ying Long’s memories flood his mind.
But he nods resolutely.
He does not know if it is possible, if it is doable.

But he will not admit defeat without trying.

He will not let Zhao Yuan Zhou die so easily.

 

He closes his eyes as Ying Long caresses his hair, leaves a ghostly kiss upon his brow: the last blessing of the Black Dragon.

“Go, Zhuo Yichen. Don’t ask him not to die.”

As Yichen opens his eyes, he finds himself next to Zhao Yuan Zhou, who smiles at him immediately.

Ying Long’s warm voice resonates in his heart, as he smiles back slowly.

Give him a reason to live.

 

 

 

Notes:

So, here we are.
For everyone who was asking what Yichen is trying to do:
He isn't merely asking Zhao Yuan Zhou not to die.
He is giving him a reason to live.

Does it seem highly improbable? Does it scream of agony and danger?
Yes.
But is it also very Zhuo Yichen?
I think, yes.

Even in canon, Zhuo Yichen promised to find Zhao Yuan Zhou's soul and bring him back from death.
But what if he could have prevented his death in the first place?

In the show, they never really showed what Yichen saw in Ying Long's illusion. Why Ying Long had to die.
And there lay my inspiration for this story.
To explain it simply,
"Energy can neither be created nor be destroyed. It can only be transformed."

 

Let me know your thoughts!

Chapter 9: Your heartache, a flower in the palm of my hand

Summary:

Because that is the thing about hope.
Sometimes, it is the wings that help you soar; but it can also be the weight that drags you down.
Sometimes hope carries you; and sometimes you carry it.

Zhu Yan, I love you.

The soft whisper echoes in Zhu Yan’s soul past the thundering in his ears.
Like the flickering flame of a candle that refuses to be snuffed out in the face of an indomitable storm.

 

Go, Zhuo Yichen, give him a reason to live.

 

Anger coils within him like a beast; unassailable, unreasonable.
His fury is a blaze that consumes his flesh as kindling.
Leaving burning embers on the fragile landscape of his soul.

His thoughts are but noise-irrational, incomprehensible.
The sound of his agony is the screech of vultures, the cawing of crows loud enough to tear him apart.
And beneath it all, like an ancient song, like a melody never forgotten, only one refrain keeps him grounded.
Zhuo Yichen’s heartbeat.

Yichen had pulled the Ape-Demon into a desperate embrace as the tidal-wave had crashed over them, submerging them into a memory-Ying Long’s realm.
And throughout that harrowing nightmare, Yichen had held onto the dazed Demon, anchoring both of them in this vividly terrifying vision.

Zhu Yan stands frozen, Zhuo Yichen curled around him like a warm blanket in a snowstorm, his steady breaths turning the skin on the back of his neck to gooseflesh.

 

Never has he felt so sheltered.
Never has he felt so suffocated.

 

The Great Demon wrenches himself from the younger’s grasp with an infuriated howl.
His heart flutters like a caged bird, each breath is a punishment.

 

He shoves Zhuo Yichen away with as much force as his trembling arms can muster; the sudden loss of warmth an inescapable vacuum.

 

His vision swims, he knows not what illusion they have been pulled into this time.
But it matters not.
Because the only one he can see before him is the blue-robed figure who reminds him that he is still alive.

And oh, how Zhu Yan wishes he were ghost or immortal instead, a being he could refuse to acknowledge by sheer will.

Their dry robes flutter in the breeze that blows in uncomfortable silence, as if it wishes to soothe the Great Demon’s fury by mere touch.
His body is dry but his consciousness is drenched; drowned in anguished wrath.

 

“Zhuo Yichen, are you insane?”

Zhu Yan screams at him, the guttural cry ripped from the dregs of his shattered heart.

The younger staggers backwards, bewildered by the intensity of Zhu Yan’s rage.
The Demon has never raised his voice before; not when Yichen despised him, not when he hurt him with cruel words.

“You want to do what?”
Rage emanates from him as a palpable force, disbelief powering his feeble, broken form.

The Great Demon draws in a rattling breath, each puff of air nothing more than sand burning past his throat.

“How dare you think you could do this, split the vessel-”

He gasps, unable to enunciate the words. 

Zhuo Yichen stares at him in dismay, unable to understand why the older looks so deranged.

“Zhao-”
He freezes, hand outstretched, blue eyes locked on crimson ones.

 

Because for the first time, the Demon, who had always stood too close, steps away.

Zhu Yan shrinks away from Zhuo Yichen, nearly tumbling backward over the hem of his robes.
His expression is contorted, his otherworldly features distorted by rage, the natural beauty of his physique overwhelmed by agonized incredulity.

He wishes nothing more than for Zhuo Yichen to disappear, to vanish from his sight as if he never existed. 

But he cannot look away. 
Not from the past that will never return, not from the present that he’d rather not exist in and not from the future that Zhuo Yichen wishes to accompany him in.

As a painful exhale stutters past his cracked lips, Zhu Yan suddenly understands.
He’s not angry.

 

He’s afraid.

 

Not of death, but of life.

He has sought death for as long as he can remember. Raced after it like a hound on a blood trail, crawled towards it like a fish out of water.

Because for him, Death is not the end, but the beginning. The start of an existence unburdened by sin and sorrow.
He stands tall upon the precipice of the Abyss, yearning for the moment he can fall into its fathomless depths.

Zhu Yan has never chased yesterday, never dreamt of tomorrow.
He has merely existed in the hazy season between day and night, tormented heart cognizant of neither dawn nor dusk, the eternal darkness in his soul veiling both the blazing warmth of the sun and the cold glitter of the moon.

He has only survived in today-each agonizing moment spent under a shadow of guilt.
Sunlight touches every particle of dust around him, but the darkness of his remorse is impenetrable.

He’s not afraid to die.
He’s afraid to live.

He’s petrified to think what it might feel like to live without fearing every thought and emotion that might unravel him, might overwhelm his iron hold over the malicious energy.
He’s terrified of imagining what the melody of happiness might sound like in the absence of the constant din created by Evil.

He’s scared of stepping out of the shadows, of feeling the warmth of the Sun on his face.

 

 

But here stands Zhuo Yichen, a mere infant in the eyes of the ancient Demon, offering not escape but shelter.

He doesn’t promise to erase the past wet with Zhu Yan’s tears.
He doesn’t promise to wipe away the grief that is woven into the Demon’s flesh and blood.
He doesn’t ask Zhu Yan to let him ruthlessly hack away at the weeds of guilt that inexorably choke the plants of kindness in his heart.

He offers.
Asks Zhu Yan to write a new future instead of closing the book of life with death.
Offers his flesh and blood to share a burden that has always been, and will always remain unbearable.
Promises the Demon that he will hold his heartache like a flower in the palm of his hand.
Tend to his wounds till nothing but the faint memory of scars remains.

Zhuo Yichen extends a hand, promising to lead Zhu Yan into the light.

But Zhu Yan cannot take it.
Cannot imagine a future where he is not alone and misunderstood.
Cannot dream of walking a road that doesn’t shred his soul and bleed him dry every step of the way.

The Great Demon groans, the walls of fear and misery collapse upon him ruthlessly.
He bends over, arms circled tight over his middle; his body nothing more than an oasis of pain in the burning desert of his soul.
His legs feel as steady as quicksand, his body sways like a ship caught in a hailstorm.

The pain is real. The panic visceral, engulfing not just the physical but the spiritual.
He closes his eyes, the darkness meagre relief from the fear that holds his soul prisoner.

Zhu Yan thinks it’s a mercy when his knees begin to give way, unable to bear the crushing weight of hope any longer.

And then-

And then-

He’s here.

Zhuo Yichen steps past the unpassable chasm that Zhu Yan has created between like it is nothing more than a mirage in the sunlight that radiates from his very soul.

Zhu Yan lets out an anguished moan as Zhuo Yichen lowers them both to the floor, warm arms wrapped gently around the Demon.
His head rests securely on Yichen’s chest, arms falling uselessly to his side.

And as Zhuo Yichen hugs him even closer, Zhu Yan breaks.
The river of tears he had been holding back with every ounce of his strength rushes past him like a flood.
Each keening sob a testament to eons of grief and remorse that he has borne alone.

He has never felt so ashamed.
But never has he felt so seen either.

But Zhuo Yichen has seen him. All of him.
Seen the monster he becomes when malevolence overpowers him.
Seen the broken mess of repentance that is painted on his back like lightning.
Seen the heart full of love that beats past the unyielding cage of his mortal body.
Seen the destructive anger that is more than willing to consume itself to keep Zhuo Yichen safe.

And having dispelled the beautiful mist that covers his shattered soul, Zhuo Yichen stays.
Holds Zhu Yan as if he will never let go.

And the Great Demon is so afraid.

Afraid that he will wrap his arms around the younger too and never let him go either.
Afraid that he will be conquered, not by despair, but by hope.

Because that is the thing about hope.
Sometimes, it is the wings that help you soar; but it can also be the weight that drags you down.
Sometimes hope carries you; and sometimes you carry it.

He is as afraid of looking at himself as he is afraid of looking at Zhuo Yichen.
He’s not just scared to dream of a life without the constant fear of losing control.

He scared for Zhuo Yichen. 
Scared of crushing him under the weight of misery that he doesn’t deserve, burdening him with despair that will surely drown him too.
Scared that Zhu Yan’s heartache will become too much to hold one day, like a withered flower in spring.

He’s scared that one day, Zhuo Yichen might leave.

Zhu Yan’s breath hitches, as the thought crosses his mind and he realizes just how absurd it is.

Just as sorrow is ingrained bone-deep in the Demons’ soul, loyalty is ingrained in Yichen’s soul.
Devotion so steadfast that it is as frightening as it is awe-inspiring.

Zhuo Yichen would never leave.
And perhaps that is what scares him most.

 

Zhu Yan loves Zhuo Yichen with the entirety of his being. 
Cherishes him like the sky adores the stars.
He’s drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Willing to burn himself even if it that is the only way to remain close.

But love should not be a shackle.
He will not bind Zhuo Yichen to himself, will not lead him into the arms of doom.
He will fall from the vast sky like a dying star, sleep forever in darkness far from the flame.

But he will never let Zhuo Yichen carry the weight of his ruin.

Zhuo Yichen may be stubborn, but the Great Demon is built from the sand of willpower, each grain melting a hole into the enormous power of malicious energy but still unable to overcome it.

Zhu Yan grimaces in Yichen’s unwavering embrace.
The arms around him the only thing keeping him from turning to demonic dust in this dream world.

He steels himself, knowing what he is about to say is unforgivable, irreversible.

The Ape demon has feared the Blood Moon, dreaded the punishment of heavenly lightning he has called upon himself willingly.

But what he is about to do now transcends fear.
It is steeped in love and longing, masked as hatred and ire.

He pushes himself away from Zhuo Yichen once again, seizing him by the front of his robes.

 

“Zhuo Yichen, how dare you pity me? How dare you offer atonement like mercy?”

He laughs at his shocked face, each broken shard of his glass heart piercing his grief-stricken soul.

“Zhuo Yichen, you think I want to share my life with you, walk the road of eternity with my killer by my side?”

He watches Yichen’s shoulders fall, all the breath punched out of his lungs by Zhu Yan’s cruel words.

 

“Zhuo Yichen…”

Never has the Great Demon imagined he could hurt anybody like he hurts his beloved now.

“I hate you.”

The words fall from his lips like a curse, like a beast that sinks its teeth into his flesh, like a hundred arrows hammered into his heart.

Silence crashes into them like a tidal wave, odium's putrid breath cloying in the atmosphere which is suddenly devoid of air.

Zhu Yan releases his hand, wanting to put a distance that is more than physical between the two of them.

But he can’t.

Like the first rays of the sun after a thunderstorm, like the flicker of brightness after an eclipse, like the first spring after an unending winter; Zhuo Yichen grabs the Demon’s hand again.

Mindless of the claws that tear into his frail fingers drawing blood.

“I know.”

Zhu Yan freezes, trapped in his hold once more.

“I know you hate me, Zhu Yan. And you should. I deserve it.”

Zhu Yan can’t decide whether he wants to strangle that fool or stab himself with his own talons.
But Yichen gives him no reprieve.

“You can hate me all you want, Zhu Yan…”

The Great Demon quivers as Yichen’s tears begin to fall, each salty drop scalding the hand that Yichen refuses to let go of.

“But please don’t die.”

 

 

The air shifts, before the Great Demon can begin to fathom the situation he is in.
He had tried to push Zhuo Yichen away, but like the reckless moth that can see no farther than the flame, he has pulled him closer instead.

They both gasp as the air shimmers, space folding in on itself to reveal a being so ancient that the world has forgotten what she looks like.

Nüwa.

Zhu Yan squints as the Goddess draws nearer, mortal eyes unable to make out her divine form.
Reality warps around her, each particle of the atmosphere twisting constantly, weaving new truths from the old cloth of her gown.

The fog around them solidifies as she walks closer, revealing the place they are in.

The bridge to her Pavilion; the very place she had made Ying Long the first Vessel of malicious energy.

The Great Demon finds it ironic if not tragic.

 

“What a fool.”

Her voice is honey, sweet as birdsong, foreboding a snowstorm.

She lowers herself to her knees with an indescribable grace, each movement as fluid as the laughter of a river, elegant as a butterfly unfurling its wings.

As she reaches out a hand to stroke Zhuo Yichen’s tear-streaked face, Zhu Yan moves.

He’s already pulled the young demon into the folds of his robes before he can think twice about it.

He snarls at the Goddess of Creation, uncaring of the consequences.

She tilts her head at him, more amused than offended.

“Oh?”

Zhu Yan pulls Yichen closer, even as the younger lets out a surprised yelp, bewildered at the sudden turn of Zhu Yan’s emotions and actions.

“Didn’t you say that you hate him, White Ape?”

Her voice holds both laughter and challenge, neither of which Zhu Yan wishes to acknowledge.

He closes his eyes, inhaling Yichen’s scent, laced with sword-oil and snow.

The Goddess settles herself on the floor, content to watch the two as they struggle against each other-both trying their utmost to protect each other even as they push each other away.

How…adorable.

She gazes at the one who is feared and revered as the Great Demon, the vessel of malicious energy.

She’s amazed by his fortitude, amused by his fear.

“You’re scared.”

The Great Demon snaps open his eyes, glaring with awe at the Goddess.
He’s read about this ancient immortal, who can perceive one’s mind, see through the darkness of one’s heart.

“You’re scared he’ll get hurt if you agree to his plan, aren’t you? You’re scared he’ll break himself while he holds you.”

Zhu Yan inhales sharply.
The Goddess had peered into his very soul, given words to the thoughts he dare not voice.

Yichen stills in his arms, shrinks as he understands what the Goddess is telling them both.

 

“You’re wrong. I hate him. I do not care what happens to him. I know we’re at the brink of death. I’ve already taken out my core. I’m as good as dead.”

His last words are a plea,
“Let him go.”
Zhuo Yichen whimpers at his cold words.

The great demon groans as the younger encircles his waist again, shaking his head silently.

Nüwa laughs at them both.

“Oh, Great Demon, have you ever dreamed?”

Zhu Yan cannot look away from her.

“The one who is made of nightmares does not have the liberty of dreaming, Nüwa.”
He has never dreamed.
He does not wish to do so now.

She looks at him sadly, wondering how to pull him out of the prison of his own false beliefs.

It is, ultimately, Zhuo Yichen, who shows her the way.

Bingyi’s descendent snuggles into the Ape’s chest, holding him to his heart.

“You’re not a nightmare, Zhu Yan. Didn’t I tell you that before?”

The older gasps softly, as Yichen raises his tear-streaked face from his chest.

“You told me before didn’t you,”
Yichen caresses his face.

“Do what you want, to become what you want.”

Zhu Yan’s tears begin to fall again, even as he clutches Yichen closer, no longer able to let go.

Nüwa smiles, gesturing at the lake beside them.
They turn their heads as the water ripples with her power.

“Let me show you, Zhu Yan, what you can do, who you can become. Together.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

When I initially thought of this story-it was short. Zhu Yan would accept Yichen's proposal and kiss him silly.
but then, I wondered-
wondered whether Zhu Yan would ever allow anybody else to sacrifice themselves as long as he was alive.
and my brain said NO.
so, here we are.
Will Zhu Yan overcome his fear? Will he be able to live, and not just dream of happiness?

Would love to know your thoughts!

Notes:

isn't evil Zhuo Yichen alluring?

 

let me know your thoughts!