Chapter Text
A week after the battle on Mount Tonglu, Xie Lian received his first prayer in 800 years.
[ My god, I offer this stick of incense in the hopes that you may bless me with good health during this pregnancy! Thank you! ]
He had completely forgotten how it felt: like a slight tickle at the edges of his awareness. The disembodied words flowing over him were like a trickle of water he could choose to attend to or ignore. He chose to listen in. The prayer came from a familiar location to the south—surely from Puqi Village, because where else?
Even with access to his spiritual powers, Xie Lian was still fairly powerless, as he could do nothing to bless the young woman’s pregnancy. Perhaps after everything had been settled here on Mount Taicang, he could return to Puqi Village and craft a talisman for her.
Her voice faded quickly, but it left open a door in his mind that he had not noticed was there. He brought a finger to his temple and concentrated. This abandoned place was dusty and dark—and overflowing with a truly unfathomable number of prayers! It was almost painful, like pressure building up behind his eyes.
How had he not noticed this before? The answer was obvious. From the moment Hua Cheng had faded away in his arms, his body and mind had been in utter turmoil. His meridians had surged with limitless power, but his grasping hands were empty—they clawed at his chest as if to rip out his heart, to wrap their fingers around the pulsing agony. If Feng Xin had not been there to stop him and hold him as he sobbed, he didn’t know what would have happened.
That feeling had not disappeared in the days since. It had merely become easier to ignore.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Xie Lian blinked. Feng Xin was looking at him over the breakfast table. So was Mu Qing, who wore an expression like he had bitten into a lemon, but that was to be expected. His arms and hands were still so badly injured that he could not use chopsticks on his own, which forced him to submit to the indignity of being fed by Feng Xin at every meal. For Mu Qing, this was only marginally better than having to eat directly from his plate like a dog. Xie Lian had offered to feed him instead, but Mu Qing had refused.
“I received a prayer just now.”
“From who?” Mu Qing said, and then winced. “Uh, I mean…”
Xie Lian waved a hand. “It’s just a woman from Puqi Village. But I’d like to listen back to it again. Do you remember how it was that you configured my spiritual relay station?”
“Do I— that was eight hundred years ago!”
Xie Lian just blinked at him.
Mu Qing huffed. “I remember that it was the most needlessly complicated task you ever gave me. I had to ask a dozen people in the Spiritual Information department and none of them would give me a straight answer about how any of it worked. I had to just figure it out on my own!”
“We get it, you’re just so smart and put-upon,” Feng Xin said. “Open wide…”
Mu Qing headbutted the chopsticks, sending them flying. A glop of noodles landed on Xie Lian’s shoulder and slid slowly down his sleeve before plopping on the ground. What a waste of food.
“Who knows what happened once he put those cursed shackles on you,” Mu Qing continued as if nothing had happened. “But I configured it to alert you to all incoming prayers, at your insistence. Even if you didn’t listen to the prayer as it came in, it would be stored indefinitely in the relay station. There was a password… Do you remember the password?” he asked Feng Xin.
“Why the fuck would I remember the password?”
“Useless lump.”
Xie Lian waved his arms at them. “No need to argue, I’m sure I could remember the password…”
“Why would you? You never knew it, you didn’t need a password for your own spiritual relay.”
“Ah. Right.”
“Oh, I remember. Qi Rong Go Die In a Hole.”
“Mu Qing!”
Feng Xin snorted. “Oh yeah, I remember that.”
Mu Qing’s eyes had gone unfocused—he must have entered the spiritual relay. When he emerged, he looked slightly shell shocked.
“Your Highness…”
Xie Lian cleared his throat. “So you saw.”
“You— you— are those all from that demon?!”
“I do expect they are from San Lang. As you implied earlier, I have very few believers.”
“That is— it’s— way too many!”
“How many were there?” Feng Xin asked.
“Tens of thousands! Hundreds of thousands! How many times a day would he have had to pray…?!”
“Who knows,” Feng Xin said. “You’re the new accountant.”
“Fuck off.”
Xie Lian had lost his appetite. He dug his fingers into the cushion below him and focused on remembering how Hua Cheng’s voice had sounded when he said, I’ll be back. I’ll never leave you.
“Do you need help sorting through them?” Feng Xin asked, with a tone of voice that suggested he would rather take up the Heavenly Capital’s accounting.
“Thank you, but you have enough on your plate already,” Xie Lian said. Besides, there was no way Hua Cheng would ever want his private prayers heard by these two. “Mu Qing, I should probably… do you remember how to change the password?”
“Not even a little bit. If you’re worried about us snooping, don’t. Neither of us wants to hear what kind of filth he prayed to you.”
“Ah, that’s really not…” Xie Lian cleared his throat. “Well, thank you anyway. Would either of you like the rest of my food?” With his heavenly powers restored, it wasn’t as if he needed to eat. It was nice to no longer have to worry about starving near to death.
“I’ll take it. Not that I’m ever going to get to eat it, if this idiot won’t shut up and swallow his damn pride,” Feng Xin said.
“I hate you.”
“Really? I thought we were f-f-friends.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“With those injuries? Sure. Open up, Qing’er…”
Xie Lian decided it was better to take his leave before his robe became stained any further by projectile bits of food.
It was early winter on Mount Taicang. The clearing where they had set up the temporary Heavenly Capital was just south of the Crown Prince Summit. Around the perimeter were maple trees—young ones, from Xie Lian’s perspective, but their trunks were already too wide to wrap his arms around. Some red leaves still clung to their branches, but most blanketed the forest floor.
Xie Lian had set up his own tent near the perimeter, slightly away from the others. He sat with his legs crossed inside and brought a finger to his temple.
If his spiritual relay station had been a physical place, it would have been like an unkempt library, books and scrolls piled so high that they nearly touched the ceiling. He would have had to carve out narrow pathways through the mess just to get around. Fortunately, it was not a physical space, and the backlog of prayers, while overwhelming, was at least organized by date. He knew without listening that they were almost all from Hua Cheng—while the prayers didn’t come with names explicitly attached, they were imprinted with the aura of the believer and the general impression of the location from which they had prayed.
Xie Lian gritted his teeth against a wave of grief. I’ll be back, I’ll never leave you, he remembered, over and over again, but the exact contours of Hua Cheng’s voice as he said those words had already been smoothed out. He could feel the weight of the ring around his neck and the brush of thin string around his finger.
Was he strong enough to listen to these?
Was he strong enough not to?
[ Dianxia, ] said a teenage voice, achingly familiar and impossibly young. [ I think you’ve returned to heaven. Good. That unruly scum doesn’t deserve your presence, if this is how they treat their god. They might have turned their back on you, but I won’t, no matter what you say! I meant it yesterday, I won’t forget you! I don’t know how much longer I will be able to protect this temple, but if it falls, I’ll build you another one. I’ll build you hundreds more. I swear it! ]
And then, quieter, his voice cracking with adolescence: [ I hope you are alright in heaven. Please be safe. ]
Xie Lian let his hand fall. It was as if time had warped beneath his feet, and he was moving, suddenly, out of the tent and through the maple forest and emerging on the Crown Prince Summit, where the charred ruins of his Crown Prince Temple sat overgrown with weeds.
Here, a teenager with a black and blue and bloody face had fought back a mob on his own. Here, he had painted a portrait of his god with inexpert hands and set it above the stone altar, which was now cracked down the middle and worn at the edges by the elements. Here, Xie Lian, his heart burning alongside his kingdom, had offered the only mercy he could think of to this boy. He had broken the rules one last time and told the boy to forget him.
Xie Lian had not known that this bloody devotee was the same child that had screamed and cried and clung to his robes here on this very mountain. He had not known it was the soldier who had guarded him at Beizi Hill. He had not known it was the person he would come to love most in this world, who would free him from the shackles that were about to be placed around his ankle and neck.
The moss-covered flagstones were wet beneath his knees.
[ Good morning, Dianxia. It rained last night, so the fires are no longer burning. I should try to find food today. I hope you are alright. Please be safe. ]
[ Good morning, Dianxia. Some of the orchard survived the fires, so I found enough food to eat. I’m offering you this apple, but I’m also going to eat it, because I think you would want me to. I hope you are alright. Please be safe. ]
[ Good morning, Dianxia. Your portrait blew away while I was gone, so I made you a better one, but it’s still unfit for you. I am going to keep practicing and keep getting better. I hope you are alright. Please be safe. ]
[ Good morning, Dianxia. Last night I had very good luck, because I finally caught the squirrel. I’ve mentioned it before, that little fu— er, uh. It keeps stealing from the stash of nuts that I offered to you. It was seeking death, taking from your altar without permission! And it’s been a long time since I’ve had meat… It didn’t taste very good, I hope Dianxia never has the displeasure of eating such a creature. I hope you’re alright. Please be safe. ]
There were so many prayers like that—hundreds, thousands, even. Hua Cheng had prayed everyday for years as a teenager living in this abandoned temple, and Xie Lian could not bring himself to skip even a second of it. The chorus of Good morning, and please be safe was almost hypnotic, and the day slipped by quickly. Until…
[ Good morning, Dianxia. The fighting near the city has gotten worse. Those Yong’an dogs think they’ve won. Soon they’ll take the mountain, too. I’m sorry, but I need to leave. I need to go fight. …I hope you’re alright. Please be safe. ]
No, Xie Lian wanted to scream, you be safe! Don’t fight a war that has already been lost! As the following prayers rolled through his mind, Hua Cheng’s voice grew deeper and his anger stronger.
[ Dianxia. I won’t stop fighting. I won’t. Please be safe. ]
[ Dianxia, today I used the saber technique you taught me. They were— a statue of you, they were— I killed them. They deserved it for how they disrespected your image. Please be safe. ]
[ Dianxia, I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore. I don’t know if you are safe. I don’t know anything. These scum won’t stop profaning you, and the Yong’an dogs won’t leave, and— Dianxia, please, please be safe. ]
[ Dianxia, ] croaked a voice through a gurgle of blood, and Xie Lian’s stomach convulsed. No, no, no no no NO NO—
[ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It hurts, it– it w-wasn’t enough… It wasn’t enough. I’m sorry, I won’t f-forget you, I won’t for-forget, I swear, I, I w… won’t for… forget… ]
Silence.
In the ruins of the Crown Prince Temple, Xie Lian shoved his fist in his mouth to stifle his sobs. His arms were empty, just as they had been when Hua Cheng’s comforting weight evaporated from him at Mount Tonglu. He was alone, just as Hua Cheng had been when he died.
If Xie Lian had run like the wind down the mountain to the battlefield, he could have swept the boy’s body off the ground and used his hands to stop the bleeding. He could have pushed sweaty hair from his left eye and soiled bandages from his right and commanded with all of the power of Heaven that he live. And if the boy didn’t listen, Xie Lian could at least have pressed their chests together and held him as he took his last breath…
It had happened only one mile away. It had happened 800 years ago. He clutched at the ring around his neck and held what was left of Hong Hong’er in his hand.
Even doubled over in grief, Xie Lian could not bear to stop listening. He needed to hear Hua Cheng’s voice again.
But the next prayer was even worse. It did not come from anywhere within the fallen Kingdom of Xianle, but from a strange, wispy location in the far distance that did not exist anymore. There were hardly any words in this prayer. The furious screams split him right down the middle, so loud they could make ears bleed. It was as if the prayer itself was made of roaring fire.
[ DIANXIA—
DIANXIA NONONO—
DIANXIA! PLEASE! ]
For a long, bleeding moment, Xie Lian did not understand.
But of course, the little ghost fire. It had begged him to turn back and stayed with him when he didn’t.
It had been forced to watch as his body was turned inside out upon the altar.
Xie Lian wrapped his arms around his unscarred midsection and wished fervently that Hua Cheng hadn’t been there, and thanked the heavens that he had. That they shared such a nightmare was a horrific relief.
[ Dianxia, can you hear me? ]
For a wonderful moment, Xie Lian thought… But no, it was just the next prayer, which had come in a few months later.
[ I don’t know why you’re doing this, ] prayed Wu Ming, desperation clear in his voice. [ Let me protect you. Please, let me protect you. Let Ruoye release me and I’ll return to your side. You don’t need to hurt yourself. Please, stop hurting yourself…! ]
There were two more identical prayers, one for each day that Xie Lian had left his faithful follower behind while he lay with a sword in his stomach, waiting for a sign, any sign, to not go through with it.
Those were the only prayers that Wu Ming ever left for his god, before he sacrificed himself for his god’s mistakes. There was a long gap before the next one.
[ Dianxia. ] Xie Lian had never heard such a voice in his life—as if the words themselves had been raked over hot coals before being shredded with a sword. The ghost sounded like he was in three places at once, not yet quite solidified into a physical form. [ I won’t rest. I won’t rest. I won’t I won’t I— ]
[ Dianxia. ] Ah, there. His voice sounded more human now, but tinged with a new desperation. [ Are you calling me? Is that why I can’t resist it? It’s calling me, I feel— nghh… ] The back of Xie Lian’s neck prickled, and in a flash he remembered that frenzied night in Qiandeng Temple, his body spilled over the altar along with calligraphy ink. A shock of arousal pulsed through his body before he could quell it. Those lips, those teeth, closing over Xie Lian’s throbbing pulse point—
—a Dao that may be spoken is not the enduring Dao. A name that may be named is not an enduring name—
[ I’m coming. I’m coming, Dianxia, I’m coming to you… ]
—make freedom from desire your constant norm—
[ Dianxia, ] came the next prayer. [ I’ve been tricked. Foolish! Useless! Whoever trapped me here away from you will meet death at my hand! ]
[ Dianxia, I have uncovered some intriguing ruins. I can’t make sense of the carvings, their writing system is quite strange, but perhaps this unworthy worshiper is simply ignorant. I wonder if Dianxia would recognize these radicals… ]
[ Dianxia, this unruly trash keeps coming. No matter how many ghosts I consume, there are always more… They are cocky and useless. I will use their strength to serve you. ]
[ Dianxia, I must apologize for the state of this makeshift shrine. There’s no ink to be found on this godforsaken mountain, even in the buried ruins, and I considered painting your portrait in blood, but that seemed horrifically profane. The rains are heavy these days and there are clay deposits everywhere so… This pathetic sculpture feels like blasphemy, too, but surely it is better than nothing. I have no flower to put in its hand either, because they don’t grow on this mountain and my hands are too clumsy to sculpt such a delicate object. I hope that wherever you are, you’re in better shape than this ridiculous thing. ]
At this prayer, Xie Lian couldn’t help but laugh! The delighted sound bounced off the stone ruins surrounding him. How he wished these prayers came with visuals… Or, well, perhaps it was better that they didn’t. Still, with his eyes closed he could imagine San Lang’s first sculpture, a few stacked balls of clay with holes for eyes, a little rock for a nose, sticks for arms— surely it was precious! He laughed and laughed.
[ Dianxia, ] the ghost said, and his strained tone made Xie Lian choke. [ Can you hear me? ]
“Yes, yes,” Xie Lian gasped, pathetically.
[ I’m too weak. I have no weapon. Th— there’s too many of them. ] Was he bleeding? It sounded like he was injured. Xie Lian’s hands fluttered helplessly in front of him. [ Those pathetic humans would deserve to die, for how stupid they were to come here, but I— I can’t— I know what you would do. How many times have you stabbed yourself through with a sword to save useless people you don’t even know? If you had the strength to do that to your divine body, then… ]
Xie Lian clutched at his chest, silent.
[ … Good riddance to this FREAKISH THING —! ]
The sound of it was—
The sound —
Xie Lian listed to the side and threw up.
[ WHAT— NO, WHAT, WHAT IS HAPPENING— DIANXIA—! ]
“San Lang!” Xie Lian cried, his fingers white as they dug into the flagstones. In the brief silence between prayers, he could hear nothing but the blood thundering in his head. Ruoye wrapped itself around his midsection as if it were trying to hold him up.
Xie Lian had ascended three times, and each time was less expected than the last. The beam of light, the weightlessness, the way his body ceased to obey the laws of nature in one lightning-quick moment… The third time Xie Lian ascended he had actually thought he had been struck by lightning, though once his head cleared, he remembered that that actually hurt quite a bit more.
He tried to imagine this young version of the wild ghost he loved so much appearing at the golden ascension gates of the Heavenly Capital: his eye freshly torn from its socket, a cursed blade clutched in his blood-soaked, clawed fingers, looking every bit like the stereotype of a fearsome, undead thing.
Xie Lian hunched over his own pool of sick and laughed and laughed. What he wouldn’t have given to see the look on those gods’ faces! A wrath, ascended as a god! It gave Xie Lian great pleasure to imagine his San Lang stomping around the Heavenly Capital as the gods stood around with their jaws on the floor…
The next prayer did not come from high above in the Heavenly Capital. It came, once again, from the strange, half-hidden forests of Mount Tonglu.
[ Dianxia, ] his believer panted, [ you weren’t there. How? How could something like me ascend to godhood while you remain banished? That disgusting place is full of backstabbers and hypocrites and I swear to you I will become strong enough to burn it to the ground. ]
In the years that followed, Xie Lian’s beloved had prayed to him every time he sculpted a new statue, like a dedication. Usually, his script was the same:
[ Dianxia, I’ve created this statue in your image. It’s a pale imitation, but I’ll work hard to make the next one better. ]
But as time wore on, his tone became more and more desperate, and Xie Lian’s empty arms ached to hold him.
[ Dianxia, is that really how your eyes looked? The angle of your brow bone doesn’t look right no matter how I change it… And your smile, it— I don’t know how to fucking capture it, I— I close my eyes and I see it, just like that day in your arms, but this stone is useless, my hands are useless—! ]
[ Dianxia, did you…?
…I thought I heard…
…It’s just that the caves, the sound, it echoes and sometimes I think I hear… ]
[ Dianxia, I-I’m sorry. I beg your forgiveness. I’ve profaned you, I deserve to rot for this, but I can’t destroy it, it’s you, I threatened death to the flower yao for this but even they didn’t dare to carve it in stone, or… or to touch… I’m sorry. This transgression simply can’t be… ]
[ Dianxia, my god, strike me down, I painted— I painted— it’s just that my memory, it’s slipping, everything is slipping, and I cannot forget, I will not forget, but if you— it would be a mercy, what a wretched thing I— ]
[ Dianxia, the Kiln is beckoning…
I am going. I will win.
Please, wait for me. ]
“Your Highness? Your Highness!”
“Hey, what the—what the fuck? Are you sick?”
Xie Lian reacted immediately by sweeping Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s legs out from under them. Of course, he didn’t realize it was Feng Xin and Mu Qing until he opened his eyes, blinking away tears, and saw that not only had he deposited his friends on their backsides, but he’d been gone all day. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating his friends’ bewildered expressions.
“Ah, Feng Xin, Mu Qing, I’m sorry…”
“We called your name twenty times!” Mu Qing exclaimed.
“Really?”
“Aren’t you freezing out here? Don’t tell me you’ve been here all day listening to his little love notes.”
“Don’t.”
Even Xie Lian was surprised at how intense his voice sounded.
“... Are you sick?” Feng Xin asked.
“No, I’m sorry to have worried you both. Let’s head back to camp.”
Feng Xin scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. This place gives me the creeps…”
The breeze rustled the mostly-bare tree branches. It was quite cold, actually, now that Xie Lian had noticed it. As they walked away from the Crown Prince Temple and toward their camp in the clearing, Xie Lian found himself saying, “He guarded it for years.”
“Who? What?”
“San Lang. Before we returned to the Heavenly Capital for me to face my punishment, we encountered him here…”
“That bruised brat,” Mu Qing recalled. “Fuck, that demon really was everywhere and we didn’t even know it…”
“I should have made the connection,” Xie Lian said as they arrived at his tent and ducked inside. Mu Qing and Feng Xin hesitated inside by the flap, as if they were for some reason reluctant to stay or to leave.
“So he stayed at the temple?” Feng Xin asked.
“En.” Xie Lian dropped onto his bedroll with only the slightest bit of grace. Slouched forward, he massaged his temples hoping to banish the sudden headache. “He protected it for years, before…”
“Before he bit it?”
“Mu Qing!” Feng Xin hissed.
“What?! It’s not like he went anywhere, the stubborn bastard…”
Inside the tent, it was silent. Xie Lian picked at a piece of straw peeking out of the side of his sleeping mat. “Have you ever died, Mu Qing?”
“...No.”
Xie Lian was silent. He massaged his temples.
“It’s not as if you have, either, you’re not a ghost,” Mu Qing added.
“Mu Qing…” Feng Xin hissed, as if sensing this misstep.
There were so many things that Xie Lian could have said in response. I have died more times than you can count was one of them. But he had no interest in pity or even genuine sympathy. The idea of enduring it made his head throb even more.
“He would have been scared,” he said instead, his tongue barely managing to form the words. He felt like he might sink under their weight. “He died for me twice. Now he’s… a third time…”
“Dianxia,” Feng Xin said, and suddenly there were arms around him.
“He begged me to wait for him. He begged, and I didn’t even—!”
“Dianxia.”
Xie Lian took gasping, gulping breaths against Feng Xin’s chest. He smelled faintly of sweat and bowstring wax. Inside Xie Lian’s clenched fists, sharp pieces of straw pierced his palms. He hardly felt it.
“What if he doesn’t— If he can’t do it again—!”
“He will,” Mu Qing said, as if he were stating a fundamental law of the universe. “If he’s died and been reborn for you twice, then he’s practically an expert. And he’s a Supreme Ghost King, nothing could hold him back. He’s probably the most powerful being in the three realms now.”
“Not anymore. I took that power, I took it all from him.”
“No, he gave it to you. So don’t disrespect him by saying otherwise.”
Xie Lian hiccuped so violently that his brain rattled in his skull. It had been a long time since he had lost it like this… And now he was having two breakdowns in just one week!
“He gave it to me,” Xie Lian forced himself to say, because he knew Mu Qing was right. “He’s given everything to me for so long, and I didn’t even know.”
“I know you’re upset,” Feng Xin said, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But really, isn’t that something to be happy about? You didn’t know then, but you know now. If he were here telling you about it, wouldn’t you just think it was some twisted sort of romantic?”
Feng Xin was half right. In the Cave of 10,000 Gods, when Xie Lian discovered the extent to which Hua Cheng had been devoted to him for the better part of a millennium, he had indeed thought it was quite romantic.
But that was before Xie Lian learned a final, unthinkable twist: that the worst thing he had ever done, he had done to his beloved. That he’d once thrown a flower Hua Cheng gifted him to the ground. That he’d given him a name so cruel that even thinking it made him wince.
It was before Xie Lian learned that he was the beloved for whom the little ghost fire swore to never rest in peace.
Of course, Xie Lian was counting on that. I pray to never rest in peace was the sweet promise Xie Lian clung to these days, allowing him to drag his ancient bones from bed in the morning. Instinct told him it was selfish, but Feng Xin had a point: If Hua Cheng were here, he’d be having none of this. He’d say, It was my choice, I wouldn’t do anything differently.
I understand your everything.
My dream is only you.
The part of Xie Lian that could not bear for others to experience any hardship on his behalf revolted. But the selfish part of him that yearned—that rolled around in the dirt and wanted to be loved all the same—rejoiced.
Hua Cheng would want him to be selfish. If he were here, such a thing would make him smile like a clear winter’s morning. He would pin Xie Lian to the ground and kiss him senseless about it. And now, Xie Lian understood firsthand why such a thing would bring Hua Cheng such immense joy.
So when Hua Cheng returned, Xie Lian would insist that he be selfish, too.