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He finds the statue on one of his aimless strolls through the Spiritual Retreat, if anything he does these days can be called aimless. He came here for a reason, after all.
He notices the hood first, and then the stillness beneath it. There had always been a certain stillness to Xiaoge, like life was just flowing around him and he had to make an effort to be moved by it. But not like this--hewn in stone and rooted to this place forever.
He reaches out to touch his fingertips to the stone, trailing his fingers over the chisel marks on the statue's chest. There's a smooth, flattened shape that fits under his palm, roughly where Xiaoge's heart would be. It's cold to the touch. When he steps away, the rough crags and valleys blend together into the shape of stillness again, and he sits down to take it all in.
The boulder's placement in the middle of the courtyard. The contours of Xiaoge's face, forever unchanging. The jacket to protect him from the elements.
Five years down, and five more to go.
If you still remember me.
In Xiaoge's mind, fractured by unimaginable loss over and over again, was there even the possibility of a future in which Wu Xie might not be there, waiting for him? Did he want to give Wu Xie an out? Was he used to people just slipping in and out of his life, leaving barely any traces behind?
Maybe even following him to the Heavenly Palace had been a selfish act, born from the same unrelenting stubbornness that had led Wu Xie to caves and deserts and mountains and lakes with barely any breaks between adventures. So desperate for answers he thought would soothe the restlessness inside him. Selfish. Relying entirely on Xiaoge to save him when he inevitably ran into trouble he couldn't handle on his own.
Maybe when he slipped in the snow that day, when Xiaoge had to catch him like he had caught him so many times before, it was that familiar dance that made Xiaoge finally tell him the truth about the Bronze Gate. The shapeless horrors it contained. The broken promises of the nine families. You're my friend and my responsibility and a nuisance, Xiaoge was telling him underneath it all. You've been a nuisance all this time, and you'll still be a nuisance in ten years. So I will trust you with this. I will trust you with the knowledge that it was supposed to be you.
He watches the light change as the sun sets over Xiaoge, and it's only when he can't bear the cold any longer that he gets up and shakes some life back into his limbs to start the slow walk back to his room.
Five more years to go.
He's got so much work left to do.
. . .
It's like I've never existed in this world. There are no traces of me at all. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wonder if I exist at all, or if I'm just a phantom of a person.
. . .
It feels like the explosion shattered his whole body, even though nothing seems to be actually broken. It still hurts to move, to speak, to breathe. He coughs, but the dust seems to be lodged in his lungs. His body is still trying to inhale, to exhale, but he's so endlessly tired. When he falls asleep, maybe his body will just give up trying.
He hadn't expected to die like this.
He always thought Pangzi would be by his side. He thought he was invincible, if he's honest with himself. Because Xiaoge would always save him in the end.
Now that his luck has finally run out, they'll find him with this broken man who became so violently obsessed with Zhang Qiling he went mad with it. Are there more like him out there in the world? Whose lives Xiaoge touched? Who couldn't bear leaving?
He might have remembered you too, he wants to tell him. It would have been the brightest moment of your life. But he can't speak anymore. It hurts, and he's so, so tired.
"Idiot," he says instead, his voice rough from the dust.
As his senses leave him and he manages to take one more breath, and then another, he thinks of Xiaoge's face in his hands after Pangzi brought him to Wushanju. The way Xiaoge's eyes flashed when he said Wu Xie's name. How some light broke through. In all that terrible darkness in his head, he remembered Wu Xie.
Pangzi will have to meet him at the Bronze Gate now. Pangzi will explain. He'll know what to say. He'll find the words.
Xiaoge won't be alone, either way.
. . .
A ghost is the absence of life, which isn't the same as death. The dying cling to life, and the dead can't ever touch it again, but ghosts are afforded neither hope nor rest. Only the kindness you extend to them.
. . .
At night, he sits with the scrolls and reads them all again, just in case he's missed any clues. He notes down dates where he can, names of people he can identify, fragments of memories he can connect to others. He takes pictures of drawings and sorts them into folders if they seem related to ones he's come across before.
The night is quiet, and the oil lamp's flame only flickers when he moves around the room to make himself a fresh pot of tea or put away a scroll he's finished cataloging.
Did Xiaoge enjoy nights like this? When he returned from his travels with pieces of information to be recorded by whichever Deren was serving him at the time? When he would read through older scrolls to remind himself of traces he'd left in the world, of the good he'd done with the powers he never asked for? Did he ever expect another person to be in this room and pore over these records?
The scroll Wu Xie is holding doesn't have any new information, but the cloth is warm and supple against his skin, and he realizes his thumb is moving over the writing in slow, careful sweeps. Maybe Xiaoge touched this same scroll, decades ago now, sitting here by the same warm light.
Maybe--
Wu Xie exhales. He should get a few hours of sleep before the sun rises, at least. There's more to do tomorrow. If he can finish this mission, he can go home and start putting together his research for real.
Everything will be done by the time Xiaoge comes out of the Bronze Gate.
Xiaoge will be safe.
. . .
In your kindness, love will take hold.
. . .
He's looking up at a pillar so impossibly tall that he can't see the end of it, and he knows he must climb it to stop the storm. Once he has reached the top, he'll be able to dissolve the storm with his bare hands. It's just layers of warm air and cold air--easy to pull apart into nothing if you can get close enough. A dark, foreboding coil of crackling blues and purples, high above the mountains. He just has to reach it in time.
The stone is rough against his hands, and ice cold. He doesn't have time to go back for his gloves. He must make the climb like this, his feet looking for purchase to push him up, his hands freezing in the whistling wind.
Up, up, up.
The pillar is so tall, and the storm is right above him, and so far away. The rock is crumbling underneath his hands, footholds breaking away under his feet, sharp edges cutting into his skin.
You shouldn't be rock, he thinks. You were given a gift.
You shouldn't be rock.
You shouldn't be rock.
We gave you a heart.
He wakes up with a gasp, his heart hammering in his chest. It takes him a long moment to realize he's in his bed, at home, alone. No muffled noises of the Yinshaluo starting their day outside. No Pangzi snoring his way determinedly to a late breakfast. No fur keeping him warm.
Just the dim light inside his own room, the very early morning sun barely illuminating the pictures on the walls and the books on the nightstand.
Might as well get up.
He picks up a piece of paper he left on the floor last night, a note scribbled hastily while the thought was still fresh in his mind. He grabs the book at the top of the stack too--a scrap of paper marking the page he'll need to compare with his research on Gutongjing--and makes his way to the study in the early morning quiet. Carefully puts the book down and adds the piece of paper to one of the stacks lining the edges of the desk. Picks up a pen from the floor and returns it to the mug next to the notebook. Surveys his workspace for a long moment.
What would it have felt like, sitting in silence for three days, nothing but your own thoughts and your mother's fading warmth for company, grief and hurt and love blooming in your chest. After everything, did Xiaoge consider his being alive a gift? Did the grief stay in his heart even when everything else was ripped away from him again? Did the love?
He goes to the kitchen to make coffee and start the day. He'll have to make a couple of calls after breakfast. Try and wheedle his way into a private archive or two. Maybe Xiao Hua can help him out with some of the leads he's been trying to chase down.
Pangzi will join him around noon to make sure he'll take a break, so it's better to get an early start anyway.
So much left to do.
. . .
Ghosts exist outside of time. For the living, time passes slowly at first, and then too quickly, when they can sense the end coming closer. The ghost keeps on existing through it all.
. . .
"This is going to be a glorified self-defense class," Hei Xiazi says, looking down at Wu Xie. "Don't expect to learn how to actually fight."
"I mean," Wu Xie says, "we could give it a try."
"I just did."
Wu Xie rolls his eyes at him, then takes Hei Xiazi's hand to pull himself up. "Fine, try again."
This time he manages to stay upright for a moment longer, then lands flat on his back again when Xiazi knocks his feet out from under him. He doesn't appreciate the judgemental eyebrow raise, but can concede that so far he isn't making the greatest case for himself.
"Fine, so we start at zero. You can still teach me, can't you." He gets up and dusts off his pants, then assumes some approximation of a fighting position again.
Hei Xiazi sighs. "Look, Xiao Hua seems to care about your continued survival, and since I owe him a favor or two, this is now my problem. I can teach you a certain set of skills that can help you deal with trouble as it comes to you, and then maybe, with some luck, heavens willing, you will see your boyfriend again."
Wu Xie opens his mouth.
"But I cannot," Hei Xiazi continues, "teach you martial arts in the limited time we have. Maybe a couple of offensive maneuvers that play to your strengths. Assuming we can figure out your strengths." He gives Wu Xie an assessing look. "We might not."
"Thanks."
"You want to survive, don't you."
"I think I'd prefer that to the alternative, yes."
"We'll start training tomorrow."
"Why not now?"
"I have to make some adjustments to my plans."
Wu Xie gives him a look. "You really know how to build a guy up."
"Not my job."
"Part of the job, surely," Wu Xie mutters.
Finally, Hei Xiazi grins at him. "Xiao Hua did warn me about you," he says good-naturedly, picking up his backpack. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Wait, what did he say?" Wu Xie asks, following him across the courtyard. "And what did he tell you about--"
"Spend today lowering your expectations," Xiazi says without looking back, his hand raised in a lazy wave. "It'll benefit both of us."
Then he's gone.
Well, that could have gone better. Now that he's met with Hei Xiazi and is more familiar with his particular approach to teaching, he's pretty sure it also could have gone much worse. Xiao Hua really must have put in a good word for him.
Back in his study, Wu Xie pauses in front of the picture wall. He's added several photos over the last few years, but the story they tell has remained largely the same. Now that he's aware of the story, anyway.
Most people have pictures of family and friends on their walls, or on their desks or shelves. Staged photos with parents and grandparents, everyone decked out in their best suits and dresses. Big celebrations. Entrance exams and graduation ceremonies. Weddings.
He's got evidence. He's got pictures of expeditions, and artifacts, and explorers that set out on adventures decades ago and never came back. He's got proof of tangled conspiracies and convoluted plans that were set into motion centuries before his birth.
He's got this fucking mess.
But he also has Pangzi and Xiao Hua and Xiuxiu and--
Well, first of all he has an appointment tomorrow and he'll make sure to show up with expectations so low even Hei Xiaizi will be impressed.
And then, if he can figure out the last few remaining snags in his plan, and with a whole lot of luck and quite a bit of help, heavens willing--
He will see Xiaoge again.
. . .
It seems that the only thing I can find in my relationship with this world is you.
. . .
He realizes he's been zoning out when he blinks and the grocery store noises come rushing back and an elderly woman gives him an annoyed look as she reaches past him for a bag of unshelled peanuts. He must have been staring at the shelf for a while.
He mumbles something and turns toward the snack food aisle, going through the list in his head again. Might as well pick up a few things to stuff into his backpack for when smoking isn't an option and he needs to keep his hands and mouth busy. There's still a few calls he has to make, and one more person to track down. As soon as he's done here, he'll go through his notes again.
"Sorry--" someone says behind him, and he automatically steps aside. Apparently he's just in everyone's way today. "Thanks," the guy says, crouching down to pick a few things from the lower shelves.
When he gets up again, Wu Xie gets a glimpse of his face, and then a better look when the guy turns towards him. It's like the whole world stops for a moment. "Oh, sorry," he says eventually, since the guy is giving him a quizzical look. He's also, Wu Xie notes, subtly looking around the store, as if to check whether they've attracted any attention. "You look just like someone I know."
The guy snorts softly. "That's a new one," he murmurs, his face turned back towards the shelves.
"No, really," Wu Xie says, in the same quiet voice. He doesn't even know why he's still surveying the bags of jerky in front of him. His brain isn't processing any of the options. "It's quite--uncanny."
"Friend of yours?"
"Mm."
"Good friend?"
There's an undertone in his voice that makes Wu Xie swallow, and he thinks the guy notices it. He has no idea what he's doing, but it feels like the guy might.
He gives Wu Xie a sideways look. "You live nearby?"
It's completely out of the question, obviously, but for one shattering, unholy moment he actually considers it. Thinks about saying yes, and taking the guy somewhere more or less private to--see what happens. Just. To see what happens.
He doesn't even know what he wants to happen, just that the guy reminds him so much of Xiaoge, and Xiaoge is still out of reach for another two years and three months and seventeen days, so this--
This is not even close to an option. Not even on the same planet as an option. He's already shaking his head before the word comes out. "Sorry," he says, leaving his basket where it is and giving the guy one last look, barely long enough to remember his face later. Why would he need to, anyway.
He leaves the shop, lightheaded and empty-handed, and grabs his phone as soon as he makes it to the car.
Pangzi picks up on the second ring.
"I think I'm losing it," Wu Xie says.
There's a pause, and then: "What do you need?"
Of course that's the first thing Pangzi would ask, and Wu Xie wishes he could say: I need you to come here and bring some dynamite, it'll be just like the old days.
"God, I don't know," he says instead. "I don't know."
"Tell me about your day then, we'll figure it out from there. Start with breakfast."
"There was no breakfast."
Pangzi makes a dramatic noise. "Ah, see, there's your problem right there. You need someone to make sure you're fed. Can't lose your mind if your belly is full, take it from me."
Wu Xie closes his eyes to let the chatter wash over him for just a moment. "I'll have breakfast tomorrow," he says eventually, his heart beating more quietly in his chest.
"See that you do," Pangzi grumbles. "A proper meal, too. Not just jianbing in the car."
"I promise."
They're both quiet for a moment.
"I worry about you, Tianzhen."
"I know."
"You know we have that date with Xiaoge."
"Haven't forgotten about it."
"So, you know. You'll have to stay alive for that."
"I will."
"And--"
"I know. I know. You too." He hangs up and starts the engine, because you can't weep like a child when you're driving, and he doesn't call Pangzi again for six months.
. . .
You have to keep on living. This may be the hardest part of all.
. . .
They don't talk much on the way to the train station. Even Pangzi is quiet, for Pangzi. Just reenacts some of the dicier moments inside the Wang compound, because making muted explosion noises and reassuring the both of them that they're still alive is how he shakes everything off. Some of the relief spills over, but Wu Xie still tends to retreat into his own mind to process things, especially after the last handful of years.
Eventually, Pangzi falls silent too.
He's doing his best not to wake up Li Cu, but Wu Xie is pretty sure not even Pangzi at his most Pangzi could wake him up right now. He's out cold, and it'll take his brain some time to power up again.
"You're doing the right thing."
"I didn't say anything."
"I know you, Tianzhen."
Wu Xie lets out a breath, checking the rear view mirror for any signs of Li Cu stirring, just so that his eyes have something to do.
"He doesn't belong in this world," Pangzi tells him.
"But he's part of it now," Wu Xie says, feeling some emotion rise inside him. "The Wang clan made sure of that." Now that it's all over, it's harder to keep everything squashed down where it belongs. He's grateful Pangzi gave him some space earlier and didn't comment on his red-rimmed eyes, but he still feels like a soda can that's been tossed around and is about to be cracked open.
"Tianzhen--"
"I made sure of that."
"You didn't have a choice."
Wu Xie snorts. He didn't, did he. That was rather the point of the last ten years, if not his whole life. Generations before him cooked up an insane plan, and here they are. Here they all are. He looks in the rear view mirror again, not like he can see much of Li Cu.
Attempt number eighteen. The one who lived.
"There are always choices," he tells Pangzi, but his heart isn't fully in it. He can't think about any of it right now.
Pangzi gives him a look, then nods in the general direction of Wu Xie's arm. "That was a choice," he says, voice rough. "Xiaoge won't like it."
"You don't like it."
Pangzi just grunts, turning to look out of the window.
"I failed them," Wu Xie says. "The least I can do is carry their memory with me."
Pangzi doesn't say anything. Wu Xie just hears him take a breath, and then they're both quiet again.
Li Cu will go home.
It's better this way.
. . .
Ghosts exist everywhere and nowhere. In a summer breeze, in the taste of hardtack, in freshly fallen snow. When they're gone, their presence lingers. When they're with you, their absence looms. They teach you the meaning of being haunted, and then they teach you how to bear it.
. . .
All these years, he wondered what Xiaoge would say after coming out of the Bronze Gate. What his very first words would be, after a decade of untold horrors and isolation.
There was still a chance, in Wu Xie's mind, that he might not remember them, at least not at first. That he wouldn't say anything, too withdrawn to form words, and just instinctively recognize them as people he could trust. One way or another, they would take him home. One way or another, he'd make their triangle whole again.
He never thought about what he would say.
He must have assumed it would just come to him in the moment.
And now Xiaoge is sitting across from him, looking exactly like the day he left, and Wu Xie is feeling every single one of the last ten years in his bones, and cannot think of a single thing to say.
As always, Pangzi rescues him from himself, practically jumping into Xiaoge's arms and drowning out the silence with his chatter, until Xiaoge turns to look at him again.
"Xiaoge," Wu Xie says finally. Like his mind had been holding on to the thought this whole time and now he could finally let it go, like a held breath.
Xiaoge.
He allows himself a hug, after that, now that Pangzi has made a start. Xiaoge's hand comes to rest on his back, just lightly. Just enough to feel real.
Everything else will have to wait.
. . .
Ghosts don't have a home, because they don't belong in the living world. But they might choose to share yours for a little while, if you can bear to watch them leave again.
. . .
He's been staring at the ceiling for so long, everything has gone a little swimmy and he needs to blink before he looks at the clock again.
At least he can sleep in tomorrow.
Today.
Ah, fuck it.
He gets up and grabs his pillow and then he walks down the corridor to what is now Xiaoge's room, feeling ridiculous and still a little bit like that soda can. Eventually he'll just break open.
Xiaoge's door isn't closed, which is a surprise at first, but then again, he might not enjoy enclosed spaces right now. Although it's Xiaoge, and they're still trying to figure out what he might actually want. From life, from his nominal family, from them. From Wu Xie.
He stands in the doorway for a moment, pillow in his hand, feeling more ridiculous by the second. Xiaoge is looking at him. He was leafing through part of Wu Xie's research notes in bed, the low light casting shadows across the blanket. Slippers aligned neatly by the side of the bed. A half empty water glass on the nightstand.
Just when Wu Xie is about to say something, Xiaoge puts the notebook away and moves himself just a little bit to the side, closer to the nightstand. He looks at Wu Xie again, who finally steps inside the room, and then he looks at the door, so Wu Xie closes it. It quietly clicks shut.
So maybe enclosed spaces are fine, under some circumstances.
They end up lying next to each other, sharing the blanket, and the noise inside Wu Xie finally quietens down.
"Have you tried sleeping yet?" he asks Xiaoge, who moves his head just enough to indicate no. "I tried."
Xiaoge reaches out to pull the blanket a little higher over Wu Xie's shoulder, his fingers lingering there for a moment. Then he looks at Wu Xie again.
Wu Xie wants to reach out too, but he feels so clumsy, like he wouldn't even know where to put his hand. He hasn't felt this clumsy since his first training session with Hei Xiazi. "I've changed, haven't I?"
Xiaoge is still for a moment, and then he nods.
"But you still recognized me."
Xiaoge nods again, slower.
"So it was all worth it," Wu Xie says, and for a moment he fears that a laugh might burst out of him, or that he might start crying, right in front of Xiaoge. In his bed. Ten years just spilling out, all over the bedsheets and onto the floor, dripping everywhere. Too much, too much.
All of it worth it in the end.
"Wu Xie," Xiaoge says, and Wu Xie closes his eyes and lies very still, until Xiaoge meets him in the middle and pulls him into his arms.
It should feel awkward; he thought that maybe it would be awkward, but then he just needs to shift a little and they fit. As always, Xiaoge catches him, and then everything else becomes a little easier. He moves his face against the side of Xiaoge's neck, his nose and his lips sliding against soft, warm skin, and Xiaoge's arms around him tighten just a little bit, one of his hands combing into Wu Xie's hair. Keeping him there. It only takes another small shift and he's kissing Xiaoge's neck, every small sound amplified in the quiet around them.
He hasn't shared a bed with another person in a long time. He can't remember the last time he's touched someone. He's never touched Xiaoge with the intent to make love. And now it's been ten years of nothing but memories and feverish visions and he can't think about anything else.
Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow he might be brave enough.
He moves to put his head on Xiaoge's chest, where his heart is beating reassuringly, and everywhere feels warm. Xiaoge is still running his fingers through his hair.
"I knew you'd be there."
Wu Xie closes his eyes and lets out a breath. Gathers up the fabric of Xiaoge's t-shirt in his hand, rucking it up along his ribs, and lifts his head to press a kiss against Xiaoge's sternum, first through the cotton, and then with no barrier between them at all. His lips touch Xiaoge's skin, and Xiaoge moves against him, and maybe. Maybe he can be this brave after all.
. . .
I'm on your side.
. . .
Xiaoge returns from his hike around noon, when the sun is high in the sky but it's not too warm to tend to the garden yet. Wu Xie pauses in his work to watch him approach, and bites down on the instinct to bring up lunch first thing. Maybe he can greet Xiaoge first, and then wheedle until he makes food happen.
"Welcome back," he says, pushing his spade into the soil and taking off his gardening gloves. "Found anything interesting?"
Xiaoge holds up a glass jar full of red berries, their color even more vivid in the bright sun.
"Edible?"
Xiaoge nods.
"Nice."
Xiaoge's gaze falls on the abandoned hoe beside the bed of spring onions.
"Uncle Li's goat escaped again, so Pangzi was a good neighbor and went over to help him repair the fence."
Xiaoge snorts.
"Fine, some wine might change hands when he's done."
Xiaoge cocks his head at him.
Wu Xie smiles. "Yes, he'll bring back some of Auntie Li's preserves too."
A pleased look softens Xiaoge's features, and then he takes a step closer, his eyes not leaving Wu Xie's.
"Hey," Wu Xie says.
Xiaoge takes another step.
One day Wu Xie will ask him what goes through his mind in these moments. When he's just looking, as if he's sorting through things in his head, or trying to communicate something important, or watching prey.
For now, Wu Xie meets him in the middle and puts a hand on his hip, where the hoodie is warm from the sun and soft against his palm. "Hey," he says again, and then he leans in to kiss the side of Xiaoge's neck, soft and slow.
His skin tastes barely salty, and the smell of rain and trees is still caught in his hair. Wu Xie sticks his nose into it, right behind Xiaoge's ear, and Xiaoge huffs out something like a laugh as he ducks away. He still lets Wu Xie catch his face, so Wu Xie can pull him close again and kiss his cheekbone and his jaw and the corner of his mouth. Then he wraps his arms around Xiaoge and they just stand there for a long moment, Xiaoge's face in the crook of Wu Xie's shoulder, the sun warming the both of them and the craggy soil they stand on. The garden they've made.
"What do you want for lunch?" Xiaoge asks, and Wu Xie pulls away to grin at him and take his hand.
"I'll let you decide," he says, dragging Xiaoge towards the house. "It's all good."
Behind him, Xiaoge snorts softly.
Wu Xie kisses him again on the porch, surrounded by the plants Pangzi will water later, and the scattered tools and furniture they'll have to straighten out, and then he pulls Xiaoge inside.
. . .
In the home you share, the ghost can become alive.