Chapter Text
Shi Qingxuan died of old age.
To say that he was not content with his life would be a lie. He had lived for hundreds of years as a heavenly official before falling and becoming mortal. After that, it is true that his life was full of pain, reduced, and far more fragile. Yes, he struggled. There were days when money was tight, when his body ached, when the world felt unfamiliar without divine power—but he was never truly alone. His second-best friend, His highness the crown prince, Xie Lian, was still there for him, supportive and kind as ever. And then, unexpectedly, He Xuan returned, at last, to apologize.
They spoke of the past, of pain and anger and things that could not be undone, and chose reconciliation anyway. For Shi Qingxuan, that choice alone made everything worth it.
Their marriage was not grand like the wedding of Crimson Rain Sought Flower and the Crown Prince. There were no crowds of ghosts or gods, no spectacle remembered for centuries to come. It was a simple wedding, with only the closest guests in attendance. But it was perfect for him. He remembered how Pei Ming and Ling Wen had unexpectedly stepped in where his brother could not—helping quietly, handling arrangements, pretending not to notice when his hands shook or when his eyes grew wet. It was simple, warm, and sincere, everything he wanted.
Even so, he missed his brother deeply. Shi Wudu had been his anchor for most of his life, and that absence never truly faded. There were nights when the grief returned sharp and sudden, when guilt weighed heavy. He remembered kneeling in prayer, asking for forgiveness—for falling in love with the man who had killed his own brother. He cried and prayed for days. Then, one night, he dreamed of Shi Wudu holding him, telling him to live on, telling him that he had his blessing.
After that, the guilt softened. It never disappeared, but it no longer controlled him.
Shi Qingxuan knew then that he was one of the most blessed souls. He had a loving brother who had protected him to the end, supportive friends who never abandoned him, older figures who stepped in when he needed guidance, and a husband who loved him fiercely, even when Shi Qingxuan did not know how to accept it.
By the time death came, he was ready.
He should not have become a ghost. Most ghosts linger because of regret, resentment, or dissatisfaction with life, and Shi Qingxuan had none of those. His life had been full. He had loved and been loved in return.
But he could not leave his beloved husband alone in the world. He had promised his beloved husband that he would come back, no matter what it took.
So Shi Qingxuan became a ghost.
Being a ghost felt like floating.
At first, Shi Qingxuan could not remember who he was, or what he was supposed to be. His thoughts drifted in and out—scattered and thin, refusing to stay in place for long. There were only a few things he knew for certain. He was weak. He needed to hide. He was very scared.
He wandered for a long time, though he had no sense of how much time passed, before concluding that this place was some kind of forest. Tall shadows stretched endlessly between the trees, and faint lights hovered everywhere. There were other ghost fires like him, small and dim, all keeping their distance. Whenever a stronger ghost appeared, the weaker ones scattered immediately and hid without a word. Shi Qingxuan learned quickly to do the same.
Once, he saw a large ghost seize one of the smaller ones and swallow it without hesitation.
It was not only ghosts that posed a danger.
Shi Qingxuan learned that cultivators also roamed the forest. They carried talismans and weapons, their presence piercing and unsettling. When they appeared, the ghost fires hid even more desperately than before. Some were caught. Some were purified, their lights extinguished without ceremony.
Shi Qingxuan did not fully understand what purification meant. He only knew that it meant disappearing.
For some reason, the thought filled him with panic.
He did not want to be purified. The feeling was sudden and absolute, stronger than fear of hunger or being devoured by other ghosts. Even without his memories, he knew this with certainty. He still needed to stay in the world. There was something unfinished, something he had to do.
He could not remember what it was, or who it involved. But the need to remain lingered stubbornly within him, steady and unyielding.
So, when cultivators drew near, Shi Qingxuan hid as carefully as he could, dimming his light until it was barely there at all. Whatever he had forgotten, one thing was clear.
He could not leave yet.
After that, he made sure not to get too close to anyone.
After several days of being a ghost, Shi Qingxuan came to a quiet conclusion. Being a ghost was not easy. If anything, it was very hard.
Nighttime was the worst. When the forest darkened, the cold seemed to seep into him. His fire would dim and flicker, and fear settled in its place. There was a constant ache in his chest, a sense of longing he could not name. He missed someone dearly, though he did not know who. All he knew was that he wanted to be held, wanted someone to tell him that he was safe and that nothing would hurt him.
The confusion frightened him more than the darkness.
He felt as though he was supposed to remember something important—something essential. He searched for it constantly, but every time he reached for the thought, it slipped away. The harder he tried, the more panicked he became.
One night, his light dimmed so much that he thought he might scatter completely.
That was when another ghost fire drifted close. Then another. Quietly, without speaking much, they gathered around him. They invited him to huddle with them, to share what little warmth and energy they had. Shi Qingxuan did not know how to thank them properly, but he felt deeply grateful for their kindness.
From then on, they stayed together.
Staying together was sometimes safer, but it also drew attention to the group.
Fortunately, the attention they attracted this time was not dangerous. The ghost who approached them was calm and carried only a low level of malevolent energy. He did not try to frighten them or drive them away. Instead, he introduced himself as Zhan Yang, a wrath level ghost.
He had been a ghost for nearly three centuries.
Zhan Yang said he liked helping newly formed ghost fires. He gathered them together and spoke patiently, explaining things in a way that was easy to understand. Under his guidance, the ghost fires learned that they could cultivate, slowly strengthening themselves until they could take on a proper form.
“It takes time,” Zhan Yang told them. “Years, decades, sometimes even centuries. You must be patient. I was once a ghost fire too, and someone helped me then, so now it is my turn to help you.”
Shi Qingxuan listened carefully, his light steady and attentive. For the first time since waking as a ghost, the future felt less frightening.
Staying no longer meant only surviving the next night. It meant the possibility of becoming something more.
Zhan Yang gathered the ghost fires in a quiet clearing and spoke in his calm, patient voice. Shi Qingxuan listened closely, his light flickering with attention.
“There are levels among ghosts,” Zhan Yang began. “Not all of us are the same. Some are weaker and barely more than a flicker. Others grow in strength until they can take a form and move freely among the living and the dead.”
He paused to let the others absorb the words.
“There are four basic ranks, excluding ghost fires,” Zhan Yang laughed lightly and continued. “The lowest is Malice. Ghosts of that rank can only harm a single target at a time. Next is Menace, stronger, capable of wiping out a household. Above that is Wrath, a rank powerful enough to cause destruction on the scale of a town. And at the very top is Supreme, also known as the most devastating.”
Shi Qingxuan’s light pulsed thoughtfully. The idea of strength measured in ranks was new to him, but the clarity helped settle something in his mind.
Zhan Yang smiled a bit and went on.
“Those who reach the Supreme rank are often called Ghost Kings. But first, you should know about the Four Great Calamities. Their names are feared across all three realms.”
He looked at each ghost fire in turn.
“One is called Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” Zhan Yang said. “He rules the Ghost City, and he married an infamous God who was once a Crown Prince. These days, the two of them are spoken of together more often than apart.”
The ghost fires flickered softly—in awe.
“Another is Night-Touring Green Lantern, sometimes called the Green Ghost. He is not quite at the Supreme level, only a Wrath, but he causes trouble in his own way.”
He paused, letting the information sink in.
“There is also White-Clothed Calamity,” Zhan Yang continued. “His disasters were so great that entire kingdoms fell before him. The last I heard, he is fortunately gone for good.”
He sighed softly, as if relieved that this much, at least, was true.
“And finally, there is Black Water Submerging Boats,” he said. “A powerful water demon who rarely shows himself, but whose name alone is enough to make even strong Ghosts and Gods hesitate.”
The forest felt quieter.
“They say his hunger has no end,” Zhan Yang went on. “It is not just hunger for food or power. It is hunger for ghosts, for resentment. But at least, it is said he has calmed down after marrying a fallen god turned mortal.”
The ghost fires flickered uneasily, instinctively drawing closer together. However, Shi Qingxuan felt deeply pained upon hearing the last Calamity’s name.
Zhan Yang’s voice softened after that. “Legends say that the stronger a ghost becomes, the more they are tied to something they could not leave behind. Some cling to regret. Some to anger. Some to love. Those are the ones who endure the longest.”
He looked around at them, steady and serious.
“If your fire grows strong enough, you may one day take form. That is why cultivation matters. Cultivate your fire. Strengthen your resolve. If you do, you will not be lost to the cold night. You will not be extinguished.” After a moment, he added, almost casually, “Remember this. There is only two true Ghost Kings left in this world. Red rules over the land, and black rules over the water.”
He let the words settle before finishing quietly. “Just make sure not to cross them, and you will be fine.”
Shi Qingxuan had begun to feel safe.
After so many nights spent together, the fear no longer pressed in quite as sharply as it once had. The forest had become familiar—predictable. It had sheltered them from wandering ghosts and passing cultivators for weeks now, and that fragile sense of security had slowly taken root.
But it did not last.
The night after Zhan Yang told them those stories, Shi Qingxuan felt the air turn heavy around him. It was hard to explain, but something felt off, and his light flickered in response.
He was not the only one.
The other ghost fires reacted at once, dimming or clustering together. Zhan Yang went still, his expression tightening in a way Shi Qingxuan had never seen before.
“This presence,” Zhan Yang said quietly after a moment. “It is the strongest I have ever felt.”
No one asked what that meant. They already knew from the stories the night before.
“It is not a Wrath,” Zhan Yang continued. His voice was firm, but there was urgency beneath it. “If it were, I would recognize it. This can only be a Supreme.”
A Ghost King.
“We cannot face it,” Zhan Yang said firmly, already gathering his belongings. “Do not draw attention. Do not linger. We leave now.” His tone left no room for argument.
They gathered close and moved as quickly as they could, drifting through the forest in silence. No one spoke. No one shone brighter than necessary. They abandoned the stretch of land that had protected them for so long, leaving behind what had once felt like a safe haven.
Shi Qingxuan did not know where they were going. He only knew that something vast was nearby, and that if it turned its attention toward them, there would be no escape.
And then it did.
The pressure behind them surged suddenly, no longer distant or indeterminate. It was close—far too close. The forest seemed to shrink around them, the air growing heavy and difficult to move through, as though even drifting forward required effort. Panic rippled through the group as ghost fires scattered instinctively, their lights flickering wildly.
“Stop,” Zhan Yang said sharply.
They froze at once.
Shi Qingxuan felt it then, fully and unmistakably. A presence so overwhelming that it made his light tremble uncontrollably. It was not anger, not quite, and not hostility in the way he understood it. It was simply there, vast and unavoidable, pressing down on everything around it and leaving no space to hide.
Slowly, he looked up.
From where he hovered, he could see a figure standing ahead of them. A man in black robes with glistening golden eyes, tall and unmoving, his outline stark even in the dim forest. The darkness around him felt heavier, as if the world itself bent subtly toward him, drawn in by his presence.
Shi Qingxuan’s thoughts raced, fragments colliding in his mind.
Red rules over the land. Black rules over the water.
Black Water Submerging Boats.
His light flared in pure panic. He did not want to be eaten. He did not want to be swallowed and disappear without a trace. He did not want to end like the ghost fires he had seen vanish before his eyes—consumed and forgotten.
And yet, despite the stories and everything he had witnessed, this man felt safe.
He tried to make himself smaller, dimming as much as he could, wishing desperately that he could disappear into the shadows. But even as he shrank back, he felt it. The man in black was already focused on him.
Zhan Yang reacted first.
He dropped to one knee without hesitation, hands coming together in a proper fist-and-palm salute. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid with fear. Even so, he forced himself to speak.
“My Lord,” he said, his voice unsteady. “We did not come here to disturb you. We are sorry to have blocked your path. We will leave immediately and will not trouble you any further.”
The man did not look at him.
Instead, he stepped forward.
The moment he moved, the ghost fires trembled as one. Panic rippled through the group, their lights flickering wildly as they tried to shrink back. Every trace of attention fixed on the man in black, on the way the forest seemed to yield before him.
Shi Qingxuan should have felt the same fear.
He knew that. He understood it logically. This was Black Water Submerging Boats—a Ghost King. A being who could scatter him without effort, who could swallow him whole and leave nothing behind.
But instead of panic, he felt something else.
The pressure was still there, heavy and overwhelming, but beneath it was a strange sense of safety. The presence that frightened everyone else felt right to him in a way he could not explain. It pulled at him, gentle and insistent, like a tide drawing something lost back to shore.
Without meaning to, Shi Qingxuan drifted forward.
He wanted to run to this man. He wanted to be held, to bury himself against him and cry. He wanted to complain about the long, cold nights in the forest, about the fear and confusion and loneliness. The urge was so strong it made his light shake.
The man’s expression changed as he drew closer.
His eyes were fixed on Shi Qingxuan now, wide and shining, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will. He looked, impossibly, like he was on the verge of tears.
Zhan Yang bowed even lower, his voice breaking as he spoke again.
“My Lord, please forgive us. These ghost fires are newly formed. They are innocent and weak. They mean no harm.”
The man did not respond.
He walked past Zhan Yang as if he were not there at all.
When he reached Shi Qingxuan, he stopped. Carefully, as though handling something fragile, he cupped the small ghost fire in his hands. His touch was gentle—warm.
Shi Qingxuan froze, then relaxed without understanding why.
The man lowered his head slightly, his voice rough and quiet when he finally spoke.
“My dear,” he said. “I have at last found you.”
Zhan Yang froze, his head still bowed, clearly stunned by the words. Around him, the other ghost fires flickered in open confusion, their lights wavering as they tried to understand what they had just heard. None of them had expected this. None of them had expected a legendary Ghost King to speak like that, or to anyone at all.
Shi Qingxuan, on the other hand, trembled with something close to joy.
The moment the man’s voice reached him, his fear melted away completely. His light brightened, flickering rapidly, and before he could stop himself, he spun in the air, circling the man twice in a burst of uncoordinated excitement.
The man laughed softly.
It was a quiet sound, almost disbelieving, but his expression softened immediately. His eyes crinkled at the corners, warmth replacing the earlier strain as he watched the small ghost fire dart around him.
When Shi Qingxuan finally settled again, he drifted back into the man’s open palm without hesitation. He nestled there, his light steady and bright now, as if he had finally found where he belonged.
For the first time since becoming a ghost, Shi Qingxuan felt truly safe.
And without realizing it, he let out a small, contented sound, hovering comfortably in the man’s hand, purring like he had been waiting for this all along.
He Xuan knew the moment Shi Qingxuan died.
Shi Qingxuan was smiling at him. He Xuan could see the wrinkles on his face, the white in his hair—the clear signs of a long mortal life well lived. Yet to He Xuan, his spouse was still the most beautiful being in the world. Shi Qingxuan barely managed to finish his sentence before his eyes closed, still smiling as he promised he would come back, that he would not leave He Xuan alone.
Then he took his last breath, and his body went limp.
He Xuan screamed.
He cradled Shi Qingxuan’s aging body, pressing his face into his hair, kissing the top of his head, then his forehead. No sound came from him as he cried, his shoulders shaking. Gently, with hands that trembled despite himself, he laid Shi Qingxuan’s body down and formed a protective barrier with practiced gestures. Shi Qingxuan had promised to come back, and now He Xuan needed to protect his beloved’s body. Ghosts needed their ashes to be safe, and He Xuan would make sure of it.
Only then did he straighten.
He needed to find his beloved’s soul, regardless of the price.
He searched their home first. He Xuan tore through every room, every corner where Shi Qingxuan might have drifted back out of habit, out of stubbornness, out of promise. When he found nothing, he widened his search, moving through his domain with growing urgency, his power rolling outward in waves. Still, there was no trace of him, no familiar lingering warmth, no familiar presence.
Shi Qingxuan was gone.
That was when fear truly set in.
Ghosts were not guaranteed. Even with a promise—even with unfinished ties—there was no certainty that Shi Qingxuan would return at all. And if he did, there was no telling what form he would take, or how fragile he might be.
So, He Xuan kept searching.
He scoured forests and abandoned paths, places where wandering spirits gathered, following the faintest disturbances in yin energy. He crushed the ghosts that tried to feed on weak fires. He drove away cultivators who lingered too close. Days passed, then more, until the world itself seemed to hold its breath around him.
When he finally felt it, it was almost too small to believe. A familiar warmth—thin and flickering, but unmistakable. He arrived just in time.
The small ghost fire rested in his palm, its light steady and content, as if it had always belonged there. The sight struck him harder than he expected. All the tension he had been holding loosened at once, and for the first time since Shi Qingxuan’s death, he allowed himself to breathe.
Only then did he look up.
The ghost kneeling before him straightened slightly, uncertainty clear in his posture. He Xuan studied him for a brief moment before speaking.
“This is Shi Qingxuan,” he said, his voice low but steady. “My spouse.”
Zhan Yang’s eyes widened.
Of course, he knew the story of Black Water and his beloved. The former Wind Master who fell to mortality, the long separation, the reconciliation that followed. It was a tale known across all three realms, whispered among ghosts and gods alike, often spoken of in the same breath as Crimson Rain Sought Flower and the Crown Prince Who Pleased the Gods.
“He is newly formed,” He Xuan continued, his thumb brushing lightly along the edge of the ghost fire, careful and protective. “He does not remember himself yet. He is weak. And you kept him well and alive.”
He inclined his head just slightly. It was not a bow, but coming from him, it was more than enough.
“You have my thanks.”
The words seemed to hit Zhan Yang all at once. He froze, then hurriedly bowed again, this time far deeper, his hands trembling.
“I did not know,” he said quickly. “If I had known he was the Shi Qingxuan, I would have—”
“It does not matter,” He Xuan interrupted calmly. “You guided him. You protected him. That is abundant.”
He paused, then added, “For what you have done, I owe you a debt.”
Zhan Yang looked as though he might faint on the spot.
In He Xuan’s hand, Shi Qingxuan’s ghost fire flickered happily, entirely unaware that his gentle guide had just learned he had been sheltering the spouse of Black Water Submerging Boats all along.
He Xuan felt content with his beloved safe in his arms. From his qiankun bag, he took out a lantern. There was no light within it, yet the moment it appeared, Zhan Yang felt a chill of recognition. It was an extremely rare magical artifact, its surface etched with intricate patterns and careful craftsmanship meant to endure centuries.
He Xuan held it out gently, turning it so Shi Qingxuan could see. The lantern was designed to shelter and protect ghost fires, preserving their warmth and keeping them from dispersing.
“Qingxuan,” he said softly. “You can stay here for a while. It will keep you warm. You will be safe inside. Rest now. Let me take care of everything else.”
Shi Qingxuan drifted happily into the lantern. His fire brightened at once, growing stronger and steadier, and a deep sense of contentment settled over him. Even without words, He Xuan could tell that his beloved was comfortable and safe.
Only then did He Xuan turn his attention back to Zhan Yang and the cluster of ghost fires gathered behind the wrath-level ghost.
With a flick of his wrist, a small bone fish appeared. It was tiny, yet unmistakably alive with an abundance of spiritual energy. It swam through the air toward Zhan Yang, circling him once before hovering patiently at his side.
“I will take my leave,” He Xuan said calmly. “But if you or any of the ghost fires ever need my help, tell it. I will come.”
His gaze softened slightly as he added, “Consider it the price for helping my beloved.”
.
He Xuan arrived at Ghost City with the lantern held carefully in his hand. His grip was steady, deliberate. He refused to loosen it. He had already lost his dearest once, and he would not risk it again—not even here. Still, there was someone he needed to see.
He walked down the main street toward the largest and most extravagant building in the city.
Ghosts along the way noticed him immediately. Conversations fell quiet. Figures stepped aside, parting the path without being asked, careful not to draw the attention of the Ghost King in black. No one dared block his way.
At the gates of Paradise Manor, a guard straightened and bowed deeply.
“Lord Black Water,” the guard said respectfully. “Good evening. The City Lord is currently away with his husband. Please feel free to wait inside. We will ensure you are well accommodated.”
He Xuan did not look at him as he continued forward.
The guard hesitated, then glanced again at the lantern cradled so carefully in his hand. Curiosity got the better of him.
“That is a beautiful lantern, Lord Black Water,” he said cautiously. “Is it a gift for our City Lord? If you wish, I could keep it safe for him until he returns.”
He Xuan stopped.
He turned slowly, fixing the guard with a flat, unreadable stare.
“This,” he said calmly, “is my spouse.”
The guard did not move.
He stared at He Xuan. Then at the lantern. Then back at He Xuan, as if hoping one of them would explain itself if he looked long enough. Only then did he realize that inside the lantern was a small ghost fire.
The guard stammered as understanding dawned. “I-I apologize,” he said weakly. “I hope, uhm, L-lord Shi Qingxuan is also having a good evening…”
He bowed toward the lantern, hesitated, then bowed again, deeper this time
“My Lord… or Lady,” he added helplessly.
He had seen Lord Black Water’s mortal spouse many times before. Shi Qingxuan was close to the City Lord’s husband, always drifting in and out of Ghost City with ease. Sometimes he insisted on being called “Lord,” sometimes “Lady,” and the answer was usually obvious depending on whether he was wearing robes or a dress.
But tonight, there were no robes. No dress.
Only a ghost fire.
The guard stared at the lantern, quietly despairing.
How, exactly, was he supposed to tell?
“Hm,” He Xuan answered, already turning away.
The guard remained frozen for a full five seconds after He Xuan disappeared into Paradise Manor.
The guard had noticed that Shi Qingxuan was growing older, and mortals were fragile beings. Did that mean Lord Black Water’s mortal spouse had passed away? And not only that, but had he returned as a ghost fire?
The realization hit the guard like a thunderbolt. His face went pale. Without another word, he straightened abruptly and turned on his heel, nearly tripping over himself as he took off down the corridor.
This was not something he could sit on.
He ran straight for the Moon-Waning Officer. The City Lord needed to know immediately. No—this was bigger than that. Lord Xie Lian also needed to know. Everyone knew how close Shi Qingxuan was to the City Lord’s beloved. If anyone deserved to hear this as soon as possible, it was him.