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The forest on the edge of the capital city was calm and tranquil. The birds sang and the wind moved softly through the leaves.
It smelled of rain-soaked bark and fresh grass, earthy and a little sweet. Shi Qingxuan thought, absurdly, that this was what Ming Yi should smell like. But Ming Yi had always smelled like sea and incense smoke. How strange. She chuckled at the memory and kept walking, a simple stick tapping the path as she favored her stronger leg. She steadied herself against a tree, then went on. Now and then she spun carefully, just to watch the pale dress flare around her ankles, the hem already dark with mud.
She had bought the dress with all her saved coins, a small miracle scraped from months of sweeping shrines and begging under colonnades. It was not fine silk like she used to wear, just coarse cotton dyed the color of magnolia petals. Still, the moment it touched her skin, she felt lighter, as if some forgotten part of herself had been returned. She liked dresses; she always had. In this one, her body felt the way it was supposed to. She had not felt that since everything came apart.
A few wanderers passed and gave her odd looks, but she paid them no mind, only offering the habitual, bright smile that had never quite left her. It was funny, she thought. They probably assumed something was wrong with her. Well, it was not every day they saw a crippled man in a woman’s dress, humming and dancing to herself in the woods. She chuckled again, amused. Let them think what they liked.
Today was her birthday. Of course she deserved to be happy on a special occasion, to have something nice. The dress was her gift to herself, and now she wanted a quiet day far from the busy capital. She was not heading anywhere; she just wandered the forest, drifting farther than usual until the trees thinned into a pale strip of light and the path dipped. Somewhere ahead, she could hear running water, thin and steady in the distance.
She remembered how her brother was always the first to congratulate her on her birthday, always bringing the most beautiful and precious treasures in the three realms. Oh, how she missed him. He was her beloved brother, who loved and protected her so fiercely that she had felt like the most precious thing in the world.
She stopped by a damp cluster of ferns, her breath hitching as her heart ached at the memory of her late brother.
The woodland was peaceful, a place of deep quiet that felt familiar. Ming Yi, her Ming-xiong, had always preferred silence. She missed her best friend too, her companion for centuries, even after learning that the man beside her had always been the Black Water Sinking Ships, He Xuan, and not her Ming Yi.
She wondered what the Supreme Ghost King was doing now. Was he finally at peace, after taking revenge on the two siblings who deserved it? Shi Qingxuan hoped so.
She also remembered that today was his birthday too. She would have loved to congratulate him, maybe celebrate it together, but then again, he was surely repulsed by her existence, and she thought the best gift for him would be to never see her again. The thought hurt, quietly and deep, and she accepted it.
“Ming-xiong! Hey!”
“Ming-xiong, wait up! Are you mad? Slow down, won’t you?”
“Hey, answer me. Don’t walk faster, Ming-xiong. We shouldn’t separate; the fierce ghost could pop out any time, you know. Is it because I said eating too much will—”
“Shut up.” Ming Yi stopped so abruptly that Shi Qingxuan nearly walked into his back. He turned, expression flat, and Shi Qingxuan startled to a halt. The Wind Master’s grumble dissolved into a giggle. Ming Yi always looked unapproachable and annoyed and only he knew the truth. His Ming Yi had a soft heart tucked under the frown.
“Don’t talk so much,” Ming Yi said curtly. Even though his tone was sharp, his eyes were steady. “You are too loud. You will attract the fierce ghost.”
“But I have you!” Shi Qingxuan said brightly. “You will protect me, right?”
He hooked his fingers through Ming Yi’s sleeve and tugged, cheeky as a child. “See? My protector is right here.”
Ming Yi did not answer. He sighed through his nose and started walking again.
The Wind Master trailed close, the smile refusing to leave his mouth. Even irritated, Ming Yi was beautiful in that quiet, infuriating way. His brow was almost always furrowed, his jaw rarely softened, but sometimes his voice gentled a little when he spoke to Shi Qingxuan. He was attractive, even when he was annoyed, Shi Qingxuan thought.
The road was empty. On either side, rice fields ran to the horizon, the irrigation water holding the last light of evening. Farmers and villagers were already hurrying home before dark.
For several days, prayers had been piling up; something prowling the fields after sundown, dragging people off the paths and down the narrow runnels toward the canal mouths, drowning them before anyone could pull them free. The reports went through Ling Wen, as they always did. Technically, this was Water Master business, or work for General Xuan Zhen, since it fell under his territories. But Shi Wudu skimmed the summaries and marked the case “trivial,” a local nuisance the county temples could handle. And General Xuan Zhen had been too busy dealing with an overflow of prayers from the southern part of his domain.
Shi Qingxuan was there when his brother dismissed it and volunteered on the spot. He remembered Shi Wudu’s complaint that he should not trouble himself with something so inconsequential, but to the Wind Master even one person’s prayer needed to be heard. Nothing was too trivial.
And thus, the Wind Master decided to descend to the mortal realm, dragging his best friend, a begrudging Ming Yi, along. The gloomy Earth Master always protested, but in the end, he gave in and went too.
They walked in an easy silence. Their steps found the same rhythm along the embankment, water on both sides catching the last light. Now and then Ming Yi’s sleeve brushed Shi Qingxuan’s wrist, a small reminder that he was not alone. With him, quiet felt safe and comfortable. He never hurried him, only kept pace beside him, and that was enough to feel like home.
It was peaceful until it was not.
The fierce ghost leapt at them sideways from the canal with no warning, trying to catch what it thought were wandering cultivators off guard. It moved fast, aiming to end it in one strike, but Ming Yi was faster. He stepped in front of the Wind Master, composed as ever, shielding him with a clean sweep of his sleeve.
It is always him, my Ming-xiong, Shi Qingxuan thought, heart kicking.
He never showed it with words, but he cared. It was there in the way he placed himself between Shi Qingxuan and danger without second thoughts, in the way his hand stayed at Shi Qingxuan’s shoulder a heartbeat longer than necessary, in the way his breath eased only after the threat was gone.
“Stay behind me,” he said, and Shi Qingxuan did.
Shi Qingxuan had always thought love would be bright, loud, and obvious. What he learned instead was that it lived in small things: the inaudible protection of Ming Yi’s body, the patience he gave when Shi Qingxuan chatter endlessly, the way the world seemed to settled when Ming Yi was nearby.
She walked deeper into the woods until the trees opened into a small clearing. The ground dipped, and a broad river slid through it, clear and slow, the surface holding little pieces of sky between ripples. A willow leaned over the bank, its thin leaves trailing the water like green threads. Dragonflies and butterflies skimmed the air.
Wildflowers grew in clumps along the edge, white ones like small stars, a few violet bells, and others she didn’t recognize. She giggled and happily made her way toward them, steps careful on her weaker leg. Humming, she lowered herself with patience, bracing one hand on her knee before settling onto the grass. Then she began to pick the flowers one by one. The river made a soft sound against the stones, and the willows whispered in reply as their leaves brushed together. How soothing, she thought.
After she gathered enough wildflowers, she moved in under the willow and found a low branch she could reach. It was strong enough to lean on if she did not pull. Using it for balance, she shifted to sit more comfortably, spreading her skirt to make a small lap-table.
She set her handful of flowers on the fabric and began to weave. Stem through stem, loop and tuck, a crown taking shape in her hands. When her weaker hand tired, she steadied the stems against her knee or the crook of her wrist and worked them through with the steadier hand.
She remembered being small and begging her brother for flower crowns. Shi Wudu had snapped that he did not know how to make one, and she cried.
The very next day she saw him in the courtyard, awkward and earnest, asking the grandmother next door to teach him. He practiced until his fingers learned the pattern, then came inside and made one for her without a word. He kept making them after that, every time she asked.
She smiled broadly when she finished the flower crown, proud of her work, and set the garland on her hair. It slipped a little to one side, which made her chuckle. She steadied it with her stronger hand and rose carefully, shifting weight to her sturdier leg and using the low branch for balance, then turned back toward the water.
The river was close enough to touch. White and violet petals drifted in the slow current and paused where the willow’s roots held the bank, gathering in a loose ring. After a moment the water eased them free, one by one, and they went on their way.
The fallen God watched the petals slip loose and thought, quietly, that they looked like her. The tree had held them as long as it could, the way her brother had held her, strict and sheltering, handing her a fate that was never truly hers.
Now the current took them, gentle at first, then sure, carrying them farther from the roots and the shade. She let herself imagine the river as another kind of hand, one she had loved and then feared, one who protected her and then discarded her.
The current drew the petals toward somewhere she could not see, maybe to someplace more beautiful, or maybe on to where the water deepened, black. Like where she was now.
Shi Qingxuan never thought, not even once, that he would be left alone. For as long as he could remember, his overprotective and overbearing older brother had always been there.
Shi Wudu was the kind of person who would give up anything for him. When they were mortal, Shi Wudu is sharp-tongued and distant toward everyone else since his childhood, would always smile and laugh with Shi Qingxuan, play together, and indulge in every way that little Shi Qingxuan wanted. Little proud Shi Wudu even learned how to do the feminine hairstyles that Shi Qingxuan loved and begged for. He snorted and sighed every time, but he always did it anyway, never once ashamed of it.
Shi Wudu, who had grown up as the brilliant heir of rich merchant family, was willing to let the last of their family’s wealth fall into the hands of distant relatives, all for Shi Qingxuan’s sake. When they ran from their mansion, he never looked back. He only held Shi Qingxuan’s hand tightly. Never once blamed his little brother, never once showed irritation or regret. Instead, he told Shi Qingxuan that they were going on an adventure, just to ease little Shi Qingxuan’s worry.
Shi Wudu, who always held his head high and never bowed to anyone, took odd jobs that dirtied his hands, work far beneath someone raised in comfort. Yet he never once spoke of his hardships to his beloved little brother. Instead, he came home with small gifts, new clothes, toys, and pretty hairpins, just to make Shi Qingxuan’s day a little brighter.
When Shi Wudu finally ascended, his first thought wasn’t of celebration or glory, but of his beloved younger sibling’s safety. Even as the officials of the Upper Court praised his achievement and invited him to feast and drink, he refused every offer. Instead, he descended straight back to the mortal realm to make sure Shi Qingxuan was well.
Others whispered that he was proud, too arrogant to mingle with his peers. But they never understood. They never knew that his only pride was his brother.
Shi Wudu, who took his duties more seriously than anyone during his first year in the Upper Court, would drop everything the moment Shi Qingxuan cried that the Reverend of Empty Words had come for him in the Middle Court. No order, no prayer, no divine report could keep him away. He came without hesitation. He would calm his frightened brother with quiet words and steady hands, gathering him close until the trembling eased. Then, as always, he pressed a kiss to his temple, firm, certain, the kind of gesture that left no room for doubt. He would stay until the tears stopped, until Shi Qingxuan’s breathing evened out, until the world felt safe again.
Shi Wudu, counted among the most powerful under the Heavenly Emperor and surrounded by wealth, fame, and honor, still treasured Shi Qingxuan more than anything else.
Shi Wudu, the very image of ambition and arrogance, faced his third heavenly calamity with absolute composure, yet lost that composure the instant he felt the twin longevity locket vibrating and knew that his brother was in danger. In those moments, Shi Qingxuan came first, above rank, law, and fate.
Shi Wudu, who was willing to bend fate itself for his brother, bloodied his hands by destroying a family of five, without regret and without shame.
Shi Wudu would even feign madness—provoking He Xuan into killing him directly—if it meant sparing Shi Qingxuan the lifelong scar of being forced to strike the fatal blow.
Shi Wudu, who was willing to die for Shi Qingxuan.
There are nights when Shi Qingxuan thinks it might have been better if he had never come into the world. In his heart he is sure Shi Wudu would have flourished, unburdened by him.
Looking at the river made her feel nostalgic. Sometimes, she thought it must be a curse—how both of the beings she had ever truly loved were bound to water. Her brother, the proud Water Master who ruled the tides; and He Xuan, the Ghost King who drowned ships beneath them. Maybe that was why rivers always made her uneasy. They were too familiar.
She remembered once, long ago, when her brother had been uncharacteristically drunk after a heavenly banquet. His robes had been loose, his hair slightly mussed, and he’d laughed more than she had ever seen him laugh. He’d told her, voice slurred and fond, “Water cannot live without wind.” She’d teased him for being sentimental, and they’d both laughed until their sides ached. It was one of those rare nights when he wasn’t the Water Tyrant, just her brother.
Now, watching the dark water ripple beneath her, Shi Qingxuan wanted to laugh again, only this time, it caught in her throat. “But wind cannot live without water either, Ge,” she whispered softly.
Her gaze fell to the flower crown resting in her lap. She sighed, fingers tracing the soft curve of its petals. Then, with a faint smile, she started to sing under her breath, her voice low and fragile against the sound of the river.
“How should I your true love know,
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.”
Shi Qingxuan loved two beings with his whole heart, and he would have died for either without a second thought.
He loved his brother first. He loved the hands that learned to braid his hair because he asked for ribbons. He loved the voice that was usually full of arrogance yet grew soft when speaking to Shi Qingxuan. He loved how his brother always put him first. If the world demanded a price, Shi Wudu paid it before Shi Qingxuan even knew there was a cost.
Shi Qingxuan basked in that love. He knew, deep down, that he kept his innocence because his older brother sheltered him, spoiled him with kindness, and gave him everything he asked for. He knew the other gods called him a cosseted brat, envious of the priceless brocades, hairpins, and weapons his brother handed over as easily as breath. They could only dream of such gifts.
He knew they spoke behind his back, calling him immature for giving his merits away so freely, for hosting banquets without a second thought, and for buying whatever caught his eye with his brother’s wealth. Even so, they held their tongues. If a single insult about him reached Shi Wudu’s ears, they would face his wrath, and everyone knew it would not be pretty.
In Truth, he was over the moon about it. He was the Water Tyrant’s only true treasure, the beloved brother or sometimes sister who was always spoiled rotten, the only one who received Shi Wudu’s gentleness and patience. He was the sole person who ever heard Shi Wudu apologize, and Shi Wudu was not a man who apologized. He was Shi Wudu’s weakness, and he reveled in it.
Shi Qingxuan thought he could never love anyone the way he loved his brother. Then Ming Yi appeared.
Even so, Shi Qingxuan would have died for his brother and thought it would be fair.
The river was calm and soothing. She looked into it. It was narrow rather than wide, but deep all the same; she could not see the bottom. Dreamily, she wondered if it could take her under the way, it carried petals. The thought circled back on itself, sweet and a little wrong. Maybe, like them, it could bring her to her brother. Maybe it could carry her to a long-lost love. The idea felt right—comforting, even. Maybe she should just drift with the current, let it take her, let herself drown.
She shook the thought away and giggled at such a funny idea. How could a disgusting being like her compare herself to something as beautiful as petals?
Shi Qingxuan looked up into the willow tree. It was huge, its branches spreading in every direction. She chose the lowest fork, the one that leaned over the river like a quiet seat. The bark was damp but not slick, so she tested it with her palm, then with her weight, and found it steady.
Next, she gathered her skirt in one hand and began to climb. Her stronger leg found the first knot in the trunk, while her weaker hand slid to a sturdy branch for balance. She knew she was no longer the Wind Master, only a mortal now. She needed to be careful. So she set a slow rhythm, testing each hold with her palm before shifting her weight. She moved the way she’d learned after her injury: patient, deliberate, measuring her body’s strength with each breath. When her grip trembled, she paused to rest, then climbed again.
Halfway up, she set the flower crown in a crook of wood to free her hands. Humming softly, she eased herself onto the perch, one knee tucked, one foot braced against the trunk. Below, the river ran close—clear, steady, and dark. White petals and a few violets floated in the current, and now and then a whole flowerhead drifted by. It was a beautiful, treacherous river.
After a moment, she looked beside her and noticed the willow’s new buds. She reached out and tugged one free to add to her garland. Her dress brushed against the bark, a few leaves catching at the hem before slipping loose. She smiled faintly and brushed her skirt clean. Then she fixed a stray petal into the crown and began to sing under her breath:
“How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.”
For a while, she only sat and sang, turning the crown in her lap. She was high enough to feel the breeze move through the leaves, yet low enough to hear the river’s ripple against the stones. Her thoughts wandered, and slowly, the light in her eyes dimmed.
It was a beautiful view, she decided. Her brother would have loved it. Perhaps next time she came here, she would ask him to come with her.
Or perhaps she would ask her beloved instead.
His second love was Ming Yi. He loved Ming Yi differently. While he loved Shi Wudu as family, bone-deep and certain, he loved Ming Yi the way a maiden in a tale falls for the hero. As a child, he had always wanted a romance like the stories his brother read to him before bed.
He remembered the day he met Ming Yi, the day the new Earth Master ascended to the Upper Court. Ming Yi was polite yet harsh, a man who wanted to be left alone. Even so, Shi Qingxuan believed everyone needed a friend, and if Ming Yi refused to befriend anyone, then Shi Qingxuan would be the one to befriend him.
He remembered how Ming Yi scoffed at him, rejected his friendship, and even insulted him. Yet to the Wind Master it meant something else, because he preferred a man who was honest to his face over Gods who flattered him in public while slandering him in private. Ming Yi was different, and that difference thrilled him.
And just like that, he fell quickly and deeply for a man who could be cold and warm at once. Ming Yi’s words were brief and his face unreadable, but his actions were thoughtful and sometimes unexpectedly kind.
When he met His Highness Crown Prince Xie Lian, he never guessed he would learn so much about love from him, and from someone he had never imagined: Crimson Rain Sought Flower.
It was a scandal in Heaven. At first, everyone, including Shi Qingxuan, thought Crimson Rain was someone to be wary of, perhaps even a threat to the newly re-ascended Crown Prince. The Wind Master told himself to be careful too, because he did not want his new second-best friend to end up in trouble. Xie Lian was a good man, and Shi Qingxuan had witnessed it at the Banyue Pass. Nothing bothered him more than seeing harm come to a good, honest man.
Over time, he watched their story unfold. He thought, with a little thrill, that it was a legendary love in the making and that he was glad that he had a front-row seat. It was a deep devotion between God and Ghost King. He noticed how the Ghost King in red was simply there whenever Xie Lian needed anything, much like the way Ming Yi had always been there for him, and he was moved.
He kept their tale in his mind. It was forbidden on the surface yet pure at its core, built on trust between two beings of different orders. It made him believe that love could cross any border if the vow was true.
He even imagined, once, that if Ming Yi had been a Ghost King like Crimson Rain, he would still have fallen in love with him. He would have stood at Ming Yi’s side the way Xie Lian stood at the red-clad Ghost King’s side, without flinching.
If Ming Yi had asked, Shi Qingxuan would have died for him and thought it would be fair.
At some point she stopped singing. The silence felt heavier than the song had. For a long moment, she sat there on the branch, her body swaying gently with the willow’s slow rhythm, eyes half-lidded and distant. She sighed. It was not often that she let herself remember—the memories that haunted her always came uninvited. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath, and then started humming again, softer this time, as if to keep the ghosts of her memories at bay.
The flower crown rested in her lap. She lifted it carefully, turning it in her hands, tracing each stem as if to memorize its shape. One petal had bent sideways, and she smoothed it back into place with her thumb. When she looked down, the river shimmered beneath her, ripples breaking the light into drifting threads of white and green. She leaned forward slightly, trying to catch her reflection, but the water kept moving. Her face blurred and shifted until she could not tell if it was hers.
A few loose petals floated by. She watched them drift, weightless, unbothered. Her hand lifted, hovering over the edge. The tips of her fingers grazed the air, as if she could touch them.
“Ah,” she said quietly. “How free. How beautiful. How I wish I were you.”
Her hand lingered there, trembling just above the water. The breeze moved through her hair, cool and gentle. Beneath her, the petals still danced on the current, carried farther and farther away.
“So fragile,” she murmured. “Everything is.”
She shifted, meaning to climb down. But the hem of her dress snagged on the bark. She gave it a light tug. The fabric refused to move. She laughed softly, nervous and a little shaky, and tugged again, harder this time. The branch bowed beneath her, protesting quietly. For a strange, fleeting moment, she imagined it was trying to hold her still, to tell her, Don’t go.
Something about the tree’s steady strength reminded her of her brother, how he used to hold her wrist whenever she leaned too close to the water’s edge.
Her heart thudded once. Then she smiled again, that bright, brittle smile that never quite reached her eyes.
“Don’t worry, Ge,” she whispered. “I’ll be careful.”
She smiled reassuringly, the same way she always did for Shi Wudu, and tugged at her dress again. The hem was caught fast against the bark. The river moved below in slow, patient ripples. The air smelled of wet leaves and the faint sweetness of willow sap. For a moment, everything seemed almost tender, as if the forest itself wanted her to rest a little longer.
She gave the fabric another pull, gentle at first, then firmer. The knot held tight. A sigh escaped her. “Ge, you’ll tear my new dress. Why are you always so stubborn?” she murmured, thinking that her brother had always been so fiercely protective of her.
Her fingers slipped. The branch dipped slightly, warning her. She froze, eyes wide, the sound of her pulse loud in her ears. Her cane slid from where it rested against the trunk and tumbled down, striking the water below with a small, echoing splash.
She looked after it, startled—and then the branch gave way.
For a heartbeat, she felt the world tilt. Her hand reached out for the air; her breath caught between surprise and acceptance. She thought she heard the willow groan, or maybe it was her brother’s voice, low and far away.
And then she fell, the air rushing past her ears as she smiled softly and closed her eyes, as though she had been waiting for the fall all along.
For as long as Shi Qingxuan could remember, he had always trusted his brother. He couldn’t recall when that trust began; perhaps it was simply always there, like a breath. He knew, without question, that his beloved brother only ever wanted the best for him. Every choice Shi Wudu made, every harsh word or strict command, had always been for his sake.
And then, decades after his ascension, he met Ming Yi.
From the very first time the new Earth Master introduced himself, Shi Qingxuan knew he could trust him too. Ming Yi was bad-tempered, withdrawn, and impossible to please, but he was also incapable of lying. He was honest to a fault, painfully direct in ways that sometimes stung, but that honesty made him feel safe. For the Wind Master, that was enough. He could trust Ming Yi with his life.
For all his life, Shi Qingxuan had believed that love and trust were the same thing. He trusted because he loved, and he loved because he trusted. That was how it had always been with his brother, and later, with Ming Yi.
That was why, when the truth came out, it split his world apart.
He had always known his brother could be ambitious, even ruthless, but he had never imagined what Shi Wudu had done. To help his little brother ascend, the Water Master had quietly diverted the fate of another man born on the same day, under the same stars. He had stolen that man’s luck, his name, his life, and passed the blessings to Shi Qingxuan instead. And in return, all the misfortune that should have been Shi Qingxuan’s was laid upon him. Every illness, every tragedy, every death that fate had once written for the Wind Master was carved into that man’s life instead.
That man’s name had been He Xuan.
Shi Qingxuan remembered the way the world seemed to tilt when he learned the truth—how his knees nearly gave out, how his voice refused to come. His brother, his proud, noble, dependable brother, had traded another life for his. He had condemned an entire family of five, a betrothed man and his kin, to ruin and death, all so Shi Qingxuan could live as the Wind Master, beloved, fortunate, adored.
And He Xuan,
He had known him too, though under another name, Ming Yi. His quiet companion, his partner through centuries, the man who stood beside him in every trial, who argued and scolded and listened in silence when he rambled too long. The one person he thought would never deceive him.
But Ming Yi had never existed. The man beside him had always been the ghost of a wronged soul, carrying his brother’s sins beneath borrowed skin.
He Xuan had pretended to be his friend, his confidant, his Ming-xiong, all while waiting. And when the time finally came, he tore down the world Shi Wudu had built.
Shi Qingxuan still remembered the moment it happened. The air in the Black Water Domain turned cold when He Xuan finally shed his disguise. Ming Yi’s calm, measured voice was gone, replaced by something vast and merciless. Every word that left his mouth felt like poison.
He remembered how He Xuan showed them the urns, the ashes of his family — four lives crushed beneath the weight of Shi Wudu’s sin and demanded justice. It was not vengeance for its own sake. It was judgment, long overdue.
Shi Qingxuan was bound in chains, unable to move, though every instinct in him screamed to fall to his knees. He begged and begged for his brother’s life, even knowing how unfair it was to plead for a sinner before the one he had wronged. But how could he not? Shi Wudu was his brother, his world. And He Xuan, the man behind the mask, had been his heart.
The truth spun around him until he could hardly breathe. He Xuan’s rage was righteous, yet it tore through everything Shi Qingxuan loved.
He remembered the exact moment it happened. He Xuan raised his hand, his voice like the deep current of a storm, and before Shi Qingxuan could scream again, Shi Wudu’s head was torn from his body. Blood spilled like a wave, warm and heavy, splattering across Shi Qingxuan’s face and robes. The smell of salt, iron, and flesh. His brother’s body fell before him, lifeless.
Shi Qingxuan screamed until his throat broke, but no sound could cut through the suffocating dark.
When he looked up again, He Xuan was standing there, no longer Ming Yi, no longer the friend who shielded him, but the Supreme Ghost King of Black Water. There was no hatred in his face, only exhaustion, as if he had already burned through every feeling he once had. Then He Xuan turned away.
The next thing Shi Qingxuan knew, he was on the streets of the capital, thrown out like refuse. His robes were still soaked in his brother’s blood, heavy and cold against his skin.
He thought, perhaps this was what He Xuan wanted, to discard him like something weightless, something that had never mattered at all.
The water hit cold and sharp. For a heartbeat, the world flashed white, then quieted. Her body broke through the surface, and the current caught her gently, like a cradle. The willow above swayed, shedding a slow rain of petals that landed on her hair, her face, her open palms.
Her dress billowed around her, heavy with water. She did not fight it. Her arms floated aimlessly at her sides, and the song returned to her lips—soft, slurred, almost tender.
“He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.”
Her voice trembled with the current, rising and falling with each breath. The water crept higher, closing over her chest, her throat, her chin. Still, she sang.
For a moment, faces shimmered beneath the surface, her brother’s, proud and distant; then Ming Yi’s, his gaze as steady as it ever was. The water distorted them both, until she could no longer tell which was which.
The river rippled. A shadow stirred below, long and dark, rising through the depths like smoke. The water shivered around her as cold fingers brushed the hem of her dress, then her ankle, her wrist. She didn’t flinch. When the shape finally reached her, the touch was almost tender.
Arms, pale and weightless, wrapped around her from behind—familiar, possessive, unyielding. She felt the ghost’s breath against her ear, the voice she had once loved and feared whispering her name, soft as a plea.
“Qingxuan.”
But she didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed open, dazed, pupils wide and unfocused, her lips still moving soundlessly with the rhythm of the half-forgotten song. The river carried her voice away.
He pulled her closer, until the last of her breath escaped in a ripple. The petals drifted around them, white and red in the dim light.
“And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy deathbed—”
The words broke apart beneath the surface. The river stilled.
Only the ripples remained, spreading out in widening rings, carrying petals downstream, toward the depths where light could no longer reach.