Chapter Text
His hair had grown white as snow, but his heart grew cold, like a bitter moon.
How many times had he sat in this pavilion in the heavens, with just his brush for company? Even the white robes he wore had grown worn-out and torn over time. Shen Wenlang was not well-liked in the heavens or in the mortal realm. He was forgotten, a god in only name. There was no statue built for him, no one worshipped him, and none of the gods quite liked him.
Like a dagger, loneliness cut into his heart, leaving only a crescent-shaped portion behind.
A cold wind blew through the pavilion, causing the warm tea in his hands to spill: orchid tea, always white orchid tea. He placed the cup back on the table carefully, only using the tips of his fingers, composed like the prince he had once been. Then he walked toward the open windows and closed the drapes.
Some days, his feet still ached. Each step toward the Heavenly Gates had shattered the bones beneath his skin, yet he had climbed anyway. The Heavenly Court had demanded he turn back. Shen Wenlang had climbed anyway.
“Shizun,” a soft voice had once whispered in the mortal realm, holding a bloodied man in his arms. “I have to go. I can’t lose him.” Eyes that were usually soft brown were now dull and lifeless, clutching at the dying man in his arms.
“Don’t,” Shen Wenlang had said.
When Shen Wenlang had taken Hua Yong in as a disciple, he was already too old. Seventeen years old. He did not belong in the cultivation world; his master at the time had warned him.
Shen Wenlang, only twenty-two at the time, was already the youngest master of Huang Springs Sect. A quiet sect with a young, unlikable shizun. A prince who had left home because he did not want to marry the princess his father chose for him. The court turned its back on him, but not the scholarly world.
Shen Wenlang did not have many disciples.
Just two.
One was Gao Tu, a quiet, unassuming boy of fifteen. A commoner, Shen Wenlang, took pity on him when he caught him trying to steal his purse. He learned quickly and did not complain even when Shen Wenlang’s teaching methods were harsh. He did not complain when he was punished and made to kneel on cold ground for hours for failing to recite a sect rule.
The other was Sheng Shaoyou. He was different. A spoiled young master used to getting his way. He never listened. They often clashed, but his heart was good, even kind. He was a good cultivator. And when Hua Yong joined them, something changed between the three of them. The cultivation world frowned upon being a cut-sleeve, but it was not forbidden.
However, Sheng Shaoyou’s father was a strict man and refused to accept his son’s love. And Hua Yong was even more stubborn; he had married Sheng Shaoyou in the middle of a war.
Quiet tears rolled down Shen Wenlang’s face. He had learned not to cry anymore after being alone for so many centuries.
He had failed his disciples. Failed them all. His hands trembled at his sides, whether from cold or something that never left his body, he did not know.
“A-Yong—” The word died on his lips when he returned and found only blood.
A broken body reaching out toward Sheng Shaoyou. They had both died because Shen Wenlang stopped to rest his eyes, not realizing what would happen in that moment. His gaze had shifted. Gao Tu had already been struck down.
With his robes billowing, Shen Wenlang fell to his knees, the cold ground digging into them. The pain was sharp and raw. It felt like thousands of daggers pressing into his knees, legs, and feet.
That did not stop him. Shen Wenlang stood again, eyes blazing with fury. His sword clashed against red blades. Oh, so many of them that he couldn't see the courtyard anymore, only the clashing of swords, dipped in red blood.
He did not stop, not when arrows shattered his back, not when blades cut his hands, face, and legs. He kept fighting until his last breath. Remembering his disciples. They had grown from fifteen and seventeen-year-old boys into young men in their twenties. But their lives had been taken too soon. The heavens wanted to punish Shen Wenlang for his deeds.
But Su Yunxi, the newest goddess, the one who had descended with him. “Spare him,” she had said, voice soft but steady, fire in her eyes. “I know Wenlang, and his heart is not unkind. He fought for what he believed in. What are our purposes if we do not fight with our hearts? How do we protect the mortal realm if we turn our own away out of fear?”
Shen Wenlang had locked eyes with her. Her brown eyes, rounded nose, and the faint mark on her lips were familiar.
Su Yunxi was the princess he was supposed to marry a decade ago. He had not heard news of her passing. But here she was, fighting to save him. A man who had been nothing but careless toward her. He had never answered her letters. Never attended their meetings. Mocked her cooking. Laughed at her with his friends in the court. And yet she was still fighting for him. Why?
The gods went silent, but they agreed. They placed Shen Wenlang somewhere where the nights were too cold and the days too harsh. He did not complain. He accepted his fate.
Su Yunxi visited when she could, but he had not seen her for nearly a century now. He heard she had descended again to the mortal realm in search of something. The gods did not speak to Shen Wenlang, so he only heard the news in passing.
Shen Wenlang quieted his lonely heart, turned off the lights, and settled into his cot. He tried to find a comfortable position, but gave up. Sleep never came. Gods did not need sleep.
But in his dreams, Shen Wenlang still saw Hua Yong. Saw his carefree smile. Remembered how he had once begged him not to hit Sheng Shaoyou and Gao Tu, but him instead. Tasted the small cakes Hua Yong had made to apologize for every mistake he thought he had made.
Only in dreams did those things remain. Only there.
Shen Wenlang eventually fell asleep, but his heart never quieted. And in his sleep, he cried. The ache in his body grew heavier, like a storm that refused to stop forming.
From the moment Hua Yong saw Sheng Shaoyou at just eight years old, he knew that they were connected. That his heart belonged to Sheng Shaoyou. He never stopped looking for Sheng Shaoyou, but he was an illegitimate son of a man who didn’t acknowledge him. Therefore, Hua Yong needed to build his reputation, his standing, all so that he could be worthy of Sheng Shaoyou.
And now, he was the unnamed owner of X Holdings, a business he started all on his own. At just twenty-four years old, Hua Yong had made men older and more powerful than him cry and grovel at his feet.
His heart was cold, frozen, only slightly warm because of the memories of Sheng Shaoyou. He knew he must have him. So, he set his plans in action to win him over, pretending to be an unassuming omega, so that he could win his love, the one his heart yearned for. Sheng Shaoyou.
But something felt missing.
A man with fiery eyes, long white hair, dressed in elegant robes, greeted him every night. His soul, or his heart… something felt drawn toward that man.
Who are you, Hua Yong started to wonder. But every morning, he would wake and forget, choosing to dedicate his time to winning Sheng Shaoyou over. Though his heart ached quietly throughout the day, like a wound he could not fix, no matter how hard he tried.
It must be because you’re not yet in my life, my Mr. Sheng, he told himself. There was no other explanation. And so, he kept telling himself.
Until one day, there was a knock on his door.
His eyes grew wary as a woman dressed in a delicate white shirt and a red skirt stepped inside his office. Her hair was an ivory shade of deep black, long and silky, with curls.
“President Hua,” she said in a soft voice. “We need to talk.” She smiled, and Hua Yong noticed her heart-shaped lips.
“Who are you?” he asked, curiosity piqued. He rarely stayed at X Holdings, and the day he was here, she had appeared.
“Forgive me, I didn’t introduce myself.” She laughed, and it was like pearls from the sea: very poised and elegant. “I’m Su Yunxi.”
“Why are you here, Ms. Su?” His voice was polite and kind. Hua Yong might be a cruel man, but no one would suspect it just by looking at him.
“That’s… may I sit?” She pointed to the expensive chair. To which Hua Yong nodded. “Thank you,” she said, sitting down. “I’ve searched for you for a long time, President Hua.” A deep, sorrowful look formed in her eyes. “But I’ve never been able to find you in any of your lifetimes till now.”
“Lifetimes?” Hua Yong laughed. Was this a prank? “I don’t mean to be rude, Ms. Su, but what do you mean by lifetimes?”
“I do not mean lifetimes as time,” Su Yunxi said softly. “I mean continuity. You will no longer be allowed to lose him completely.”
“Mr. Sheng?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, not him.” She paused for a second. “Shen Wenlang.”
“Shen Wenlang?” Hua Yong’s expression cooled slightly. Su Yunxi must not be well in the head. He should call Chang Yu and have her escorted out.
“You must have the wrong person, Ms. Su. I don’t know a Shen Wenlang.” Yet his heart grew loud at the name.
She smiled. “I know this must sound crazy,” she said. She held onto her necklace before removing it, then placed it in his hands.
“Here, take this. Think of him. Call for him.”
“Ms. Su,” he said, laughing, “I think it might be best if you leave.”
“Please. Consider it, President Hua. If you remember him as he is, from before, he will return. To you.” She rose up. “Just think about it,” she finished softly as her heels clicked as she left.
Think of who? Shen Wenlang.
Hua Yong refused. Clearly, Su Yunxi was not well. How did she get into his office? He dialed Chang Yu’s number.
“Boss.” He picked up on the first ring.
“See that woman is gone.”
“Boss?” Chang Yu sounded confused. “Woman? What woman?”
“The one that just left my office.”
“There was no one there, boss.”
“There was—” Hua Yong rubbed his temple. If it weren’t for the necklace in his hand, he might have believed Chang Yu. “Check the premises again.”
There was a long stretch of silence on the other line. “Okay, boss.”
Chang Yu must have thought he was mad, but he never questioned Hua Yong. He knew what happened to those who did.
Hua Yong hung up, but stared at the necklace. Then he placed it in the trash. He didn’t know a Shen Wenlang. It must have been a prank.
Yet something still pulled at his heart, and he chose to ignore it.