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“Where is he?” Xie Lian demanded, storming through the gates and into the Palace of the Heavenly Emperor. Heavenly Officials scattered in his wake, muttering his name in fear. Golden Mask Guards Flower. Jun Wu stood from his throne, eyes going wide as he took in Xie Lian.
He was wearing the regalia of a Crown Prince, complete with the golden guan in his hair. He hadn’t worn such clothes in… years, but Mu Qing had convinced him. They were so close to the robes he wore as a Heavenly Official, bright and grand and flowing, but with a distinct touch from the seamstresses of Ghost City.
Red and white and shining gold, every layer of his robes screamed of riches and finery. That he was royalty once more. He wasn’t the Crown Prince of any human kingdom, though. Not anymore. The white of his inner robe was too clean to have been woven by human hands. The red too dark, too bloody. Not the bright, joyful wedding red he’d worn before.
His outer robe gleamed in the bright light of Heaven, the golden silk catching the sun as he moved. He’d had to talk the seamstress down from making the entire outfit from woven gold, but he had to admit, the effect it had on the crowd was impressive. The silk had been painted with white peonies, trailing down his arms and along the trim. Delicate and dainty. Sinched tight at the waist with layers of belts that dangled beads and ornaments.
The gleaming black sword at his back couldn’t have been more out of place, but it made a statement.
‘You need to show them up,’ Mu Qing’s voice floated into his ear, a reminder. ‘Be all that they expect, but better. They fear you now more than they ever loved you. Use that.’
Mu Qing hadn’t picked out his outfit but had prodded him into going to the seamstresses. They had a better eye for such things than him. He was glad for it, now that he was standing before the Heavenly Court for the first time in… ages. Better to make an impression, after all.
“Xianle,” Jun Wu started, stepping forward. His fine robes glittered in the heavenly sunlight, shining with gems and the inherent gleam of silk. Xie Lian couldn’t help but compare them to his own. Mu Qing had a fine hand, and an eye for detail that Xie Lian had never cared for, but had picked up from his incensed muttering while he worked. “Welcome back.”
“Do not ignore my question,” he snapped, stopping at the foot of the stairs leading up to the dais. The peanut gallery held their breaths. Xie Lian knew his own reputation. His own power. He wasn’t a match for the Heavenly Emperor, but they didn’t seem to know that. “Where is Wu Ming?”
Wu Ming, came the muttered gossip of the gathered gods. Some, louder than others. He shot a glare at Pei Ming and Shi Wudu, the two tucked together. Small smirks lined their faces. The Red Eyed Martial God? The fiend cast out not a shichen after ascending?
He grit his teeth against the urge to lash out at the gods. It would only distract from his mission. Wu Ming had ascended. Wu Ming was alive.
But Jun Wu had sent him away. Had cursed him, had failed to save him again. Even once was unforgivable. For him to do it a second time… he was no better than Bai Wuxiang. Playing with the lives of the less powerful like toys. A game of Go with no victor, only for his own amusement.
He took note of which gods were slandering his Wu Ming’s name. They were familiar, but, then again, he knew what men like them thought. The types of gods that held themselves above others. Thinking themselves better. Like deep pockets and fine robes allowed one to walk over others without caring, just to keep their own boots out of the mud.
He couldn’t stand them.
These god’s were more than familiar, though. He knew them from somewhere. They must have had more offenses to their name than just slandering Xie Lian’s beloved.
Mu Qing met his eyes from across the hall, brow furrowed, and mouth pinched. Feng Xin was by his side, standing close enough to murmur in his ear. Mu Qing wasn’t paying attention to him, though. Instead, he glanced at each of the muttering god’s, getting more and more tense with every one who joined them.
Ah. That was it.
They were the same gods who had laughed him out of the mountain. Ripped his chance at ascending on his own merit out of his hands, with Mu Qing right beside them. He’d never been angry at his friend, and after their long-awaited conversations, he couldn’t help but resent these gods even more.
They’d held Mu Qing back, too. Held him in contempt, for being a servant and the son of a thief. Made him harsh and cruel, just so he wouldn’t be slandered when his back was turned. Mu Qing had always had a short temper, snapping and spitting whenever he felt the sting of disdain — real or imagined. Back in Xianle, though, it had mostly been contained to Feng Xin. At least where Xie Lian had seen.
The Mu Qing who had greeted him in Ghost City after his second ascension, though, had been more than that. Sneering for the sake of causing pain, rather than just protecting himself. Like if he hurt others first, he was saving himself the pain of their rejection. Even now, years later, kindness was foreign to him. At least in his words.
Mu Qing would most definitely know the god’s names.
“I don’t know where Wu Ming is at the moment,” Jun Wu said calmly. He spread his arms wide, the picture of the benevolent ruler. Xie Lian seethed but kept his rage between his teeth. It wasn’t the time. Only when Wu Ming was safe, away from the grasping hands of Heaven, would he work to avenge his beloved. “The Palace of Ling Wen is unable to keep track of banished Officials. You know this, Xianle.”
“Wu Ming was banished not even a shichen ago,” he said. He’d gotten to Heaven as quickly as he could after Mu Qing and Feng Xin had alerted him. They’d only seen Wu Ming as he was being banished, though. Walked off the edge of Heaven to land wherever the winds would take him. His peonies were blooming throughout the land, but there was still so much he couldn’t see. Heaven was, unfortunately, his best shot at finding his beloved again. He tilted his head to stare down his nose at Jun Wu. It was uncomfortable, given how high up Jun Wu was on the dais, but he managed it. Jun Wu evidently noticed, given the crease in his brow. “Surely, you’d keep track of someone you personally confronted, so soon after ascending?”
“Confronted?” Pei Ming asked, laughter in his voice. He curled into Shi Wudu’s side, though they were still standing far enough apart to be appropriate. Ling Wen shot them a look from her perch by the emperor’s side. They didn’t seem to care. “The Red-Eyed Martial God stormed through Heaven like a calamity. Looking for someone, apparently. The Emperor was only doing his duty.”
“Did I ask you?” Xie Lian drawled, raising an eyebrow behind his mask. He turned back to the emperor, hand itching for Fang Xin. The sword was a curse, but it was his curse. His burden to bear. Until he was reunited with his beloved, he’d never let it go. “Where. Is. He?”
“Xianle,” Jun Wu sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed father. Xie Lian ignored the clench in his gut. No longer, would he be dotting after this man’s heels, begging for affection. For absolution. Not when he’d taken Xie Lian’s most precious person from him. “Please, take a breath. How would I know where he was?”
“You’re the one who banished him,” Xie Lian pointed out. Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s frantic call still echoed in his ears. It had been a long time since he’d heard from them. Time passed differently in Ghost City, but he knew that years had passed in the mortal realm since they’d first been reunited. “You put that Cursed Shackle around his neck. Some part of your power resides within him.”
“Why do you care so much about this banished god?” Pei Ming asked, swaying forward to put himself in front of the crowd. Shi Wudu rolled his eyes, covering his face with his fan while Pei Ming preened. A young god who could only have been Shi Qingxuan edged away from them, ducking back into the crowd like it would hide him from Pei Ming’s… everything. “Certainly, such a deity would be dangerous, though I’m not certain of his crimes.”
He laughed, short and harsh. The laughter of the white clothed calamity, who’d threatened to siege all of Yong An. Not laughter any of them were familiar with, especially not from him. Heaven itself seemed to suck in a breath. “What could Wu Ming have done in the half a shichen he was ascended to deserve such treatment?”
“Xianle, it’s only been a handful of kè since he was banished,” Jun Wu said soothingly, dodging the question. He drummed his fingers on the throne, leaning on his other hand like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like Xie Lian wasn’t prepared to tear Heaven down brick by brick. “You should be able to find him just fine on your own. You have the power, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Xie Lian allowed, swallowing down the frustration at losing Wu Ming again. He’d find him. He had the power, the prestige, the followers. All he’d lost after his first banishment and more. Except one thing. “You haven’t answered my question.”
A little ghost fire, begging him to wait.
“I am disappointed, however, in the treatment of my most devoted believer,” he said, raising his voice so everyone in the hall could hear. The whispers picked up again, furious and hungry. “His Excellency failed to save him when he gave his life for me, leading to my second ascension. Then, when he ascends to His Excellency’s palace, His Excellency sends him down in less than a Shichen. I find this odd.”
Jun Wu raised an eyebrow. He smiled benevolently, before sitting back down on his grand throne. He was tense, though. Drumming his fingers faster, draping one leg over the other to stop himself from tapping his foot. His eyes pierced straight through Xie Lian, harsh and colder than he’d ever seen them. Ling Wen shifted by his side, readjusting her scrolls and taking a step back. “He attacked me. Should such insolence not be punished?”
“You let him die when you could have saved him. Easily,” Xie Lian said shortly. He could feel his rage rising. The resentment that had festered every day since Wu Ming’s dispersal. He didn’t know how long it had been. Centuries, probably. Enough time to cultivate into a Calamity, a God of the dead. “When he saved my life. That alone would breed a resentment strong enough to tether him to this plane. Why wouldn’t he attack you?”
“That’s the Heavenly Emperor!” one of the gods milling around the upper balconies called out, waving a fan angrily. An older man, his hair tied back in a tight bun. The crowd turned to look at him, most of them muttering in agreement. “Watch your tone! He should be treated with all due respect!”
“I am treating him with all due respect,” Xie Lian said, stepping back from the stairs. He met Jun Wu’s eyes, lifting his chin in the haughty, defiant gesture of his youth. Fit for the Crown Prince of a flourishing nation. He wasn’t a Prince anymore, but he still had a nation to care for.
Now, he was a King, and his people depended on him. There were still so many ghosts from Xianle and Yong An. Wandering, stewing in their rage and their resentment. No place to call home. Lonely and hungry and burning. Xie Lian could give them a place to rest. A place to heal, even if they didn’t want to move on.
He had one more ghost to find, though. A ghost he’d built his city around. The beating heart of his empire. The fact that he still existed was a miracle Xie Lian wasn’t going to forget anytime soon. He would find Wu Ming if it killed him. Even if it took hundreds of years.
Xie Lian steeled himself against the wave of guilt and gut-churning disgust. For himself, and for the god in front of him. The god he’d thought of as a father. “Which is none.”
The crowd went silent.
“Xianle!” the Heavenly Emperor snapped, standing once again from his throne. A wave of spiritual qi crashed down on him, buffeting him in waves of power. It burned, singing his fingers and his hair and the skin of his face. Anything not covered by the robes his people had woven. Idly, he wondered if this was what an ant felt like, when a child’s boot was about to come down on it. Crushed to pulp beneath a power greater than they could ever understand.
He clenched his fists, squaring his shoulders against the onslaught. He was no stranger to pain. If Jun Wu thought he could force him into submission, he was wrong. He was wrong. A century of realizations, and the reminder that Jun Wu was no better than even a common thief still stung.
His feet slipped on the tiles. He dug his heels in, gritting his teeth and raising his head. The power didn’t seem to end. One exhausting, tireless stream of energy wracking his body and his mind. He met Jun Wu’s gaze, clutching Ruoye to keep her safe. He was strong enough to withstand it, at least. He wasn’t looking to test his mettle against the emperor, not with his odds, but he would not be cowed.
He refused.
“Don’t,” Xie Lian snapped, fingering a portal talisman in his sleeve. He’d have to figure out a better way to move around the world. Maybe his flowers would be able to help. “I have said my piece. If you will not help me find my most devoted believer, then I have nothing else to say to you.”
With a flare of qi, he activated the talisman, disappearing in a flash of delicate, translucent white peony petals.