Chapter Text
The first words Xie Lian hears upon his third ascension are not of the other gods' dismay at his arrival, but a deep, masculine voice in the unmistakable, telepathic form of a prayer:
What the hell was that?
Xie Lian is supposed to be taking in the Divine Realm after eight hundred years away from it, but he is staring into middle space, confused as to why he is receiving a prayer so immediately. It is possible that he's hallucinating; that is more likely than the probability of him actually having any believers left.
I know I felt something, the voice prays. Not like Tonglu. Just like Tonglu. Probably a new ascension. Not usually this loud.
How much does this believer know about the Divine Realm, speaking about ascensions? The murmuring continues to come in and out as Xie Lian reacquaints himself with his station and its demands. Xie Lian doesn't mention it to Ling Wen, and he tries not to let it distract him. He focuses on Ling Wen speaking right in front of him and smiles politely for the entirety of their conversation.
Useless, the prayers mutter at one point. Some top-notch spywork, always out on a playdate whenever something happens, making me check in on the peanut gallery myself.
The prayers trail off into a grumpy, malleable silence.
Xie Lian knows prayers when he feels them. No matter how many centuries have passed, he will never forget the fluid weight of them, the way they swirl in the back of his mind and sit on his heart.
He comes to a few conclusions. Firstly, against all odds, he indeed has a believer after centuries of inactivity.
Secondly, this believer is likely very, very old; Xie Lian can't imagine a mortal person discovering Xie Lian's divinity and becoming this devoted to him so recently, so he must have been around for an incredibly long time. Chances are that his believer isn't human. That is also supported by the evidence that he has at least one spy in the Divine Realm and can 'check in', whatever that means. It would have been impossible for a mortal to manage anything so daring.
(It occurs to Xie Lian that he should mention the spy issue to Ling Wen, but he decides against it for the moment, mostly because the situation is too unbelievable and he, selfishly, doesn't want to get his one remaining believer into trouble just yet.)
And lastly, his believer is so fervently devoted to him that he seems to think mostly in the form of prayer. That is a terrifying prospect. Xie Lian has never heard of such a case before, not even in hypotheticals, and he finds himself hoping, for his believer's sake, that there is some other explanation for this phenomenon.
Whatever the reason, a low stream of his believer's thoughts hums in the back of Xie Lian's consciousness.
His believer does not seem to be aware of it.
Xie Lian hasn't been in the Divine Realm for fifteen minutes when, abruptly, he feels the strangest prayer in his history as a god. It is unheard of to feel a prayer more than hear it, but there it is: a surge of emotion transmitted through Xie Lian's connection with his worshiper.
Not a surge, he realizes as it swiftly builds and spirals off of itself—more like a cataclysm.
His believer is in raptures. He is in a fit of such explosive, psychotic ecstasy that Xie Lian actually stumbles to the golden paved road—thank heavens he has just reached a more remote spot, pacing around a fountain in an otherwise unoccupied public garden—and has to catch his breath. There are coherent thoughts somewhere within it, but the internal manic screams of IT'S HIM, YOUR HIGHNESS, YOUR HIGHNESS, YOU'RE HERE, YOU'RE BACK, HE'S BACK, BELOVED, YOUR HIGHNESS, FINALLY MY GOD MY LOVE MY GOD are all but swallowed by a degree of pure, fundamental happiness that Xie Lian has by far never reached in his existence.
The feelings aren't his own, but just by proximity to them, Xie Lian bursts into tears, claps a hand over his mouth, and starts laughing hysterically.
Xie Lian can only feel pity for his believer. What poor, misguided soul could worship Xie Lian after eight hundred years of shame and absence? He is irrelevant and powerless. Whatever his believer worships him for, Xie Lian no longer has it.
But, his optimism offers, isn't it lucky for him to still have a believer after so long?
Find Him find Him God Highness keep Him safe never again never again finally find Him Your Highness I love You I love You I love You I love You I love You
That part is a bit concerning. Xie Lian wipes his eyes, still shuddering with adrenaline, and sorts his evolving collection of information.
He has a believer who is not only devoted, but an outright zealot, after eight hundred years of having no actual god to worship.
This believer seems to know things he shouldn't: that something occurred in the Divine Realm when Xie Lian ascended; that Xie Lian had ascended; quite a bit about Xie Lian himself, if the suggestions of personal closeness and recognition are to be believed (though that could also stem from delusion).
This believer has waited for him for a long time.
This believer seems to be infatuated with him.
And this believer is looking for him.
"Well," Xie Lian says to himself as he eventually composes himself, stands, and brushes the wrinkles out of his clothes, "it'll be nice to have a friend."
As the situation sinks in, it occurs to Xie Lian that listening to a man's private thoughts is, perhaps, unethical.
There is a spell that he had put to great use during his first ascension: with just a simple hand seal and a small commitment of spiritual energy, he could shield his mind from incoming prayers. This had been helpful when the influx of his believers' prayers became too great, but at least those prayers had been intentional.
In his current state, Xie Lian can still form the hand seals just fine. As long as he is in the Divine Realm, too, he has plenty of access to ambient spiritual energy. The problems will arise as soon as he steps back down to the Mortal Realm—and he does intend to go back as soon as possible, where the ridicule of his name is a little less active and concentrated. In the Mortal Realm, though, his cursed shackle prevents him from accessing much spiritual energy at a time. With only that inconsequential amount, he would not be able to sustain such a mental shield for long. In the past, he wouldn't have even noticed the energy drain. Presently, it would exhaust him in under an hour.
This means that, outside of the Divine Realm, Xie Lian will be unable to block out the prayers in the interest of his believer's privacy. As long as he is in the Divine Realm, though, it is perfectly feasible.
Xie Lian takes a second to test it. He furtively forms the seal, pushes a fizzle of the energy accessible to him through it, and casts the spell.
What if He stays up there for years? ...Why do loquats go bad so fast? It's not like—
The thoughts are cut off.
That proves it. The spell only applies to prayers, and so these must be prayers.
However, the situation is too unusual and alarming to go unmonitored. Xie Lian silently apologizes to his believer, genuinely remorseful for the breach of inherent boundaries, but rationalizes it to himself: if his believer is spying on him, Xie Lian has some right to return the favor.
He lets the spell lapse naturally. Curious and wary, he keeps listening.
Despite his one believer's enthusiasm, Xie Lian has no merits with which to pay off his inadvertent property damage. Seated under an ancient ginkgo tree by a heavenly lake, Xie Lian watches the wind and sunlight catch in the leaves and wonders if he can get some help from his believer in accruing merits. Maybe if he were to build a temple—
Refresh offerings, new flower, fresh incense, don't kneel. Persimmons and plums are in season
He already has a shrine?
A pearl of warmth floats up Xie Lian's throat. After this long, he really has a shrine? Might he go to it? Whether it produces merits for him or not doesn't matter. It's more than enough to see that one person in the world still thinks he's worthy of…anything, really.
Floors polished, have to redo the garden, soon, can I see You soon? I miss You, I miss You so much, I can only lean my cheek against Your sculpted palm, want to hear Your voice again
Well, the obsessiveness in combination with such intimacy is a tad unsettling, but it's still an honor to be so completely cherished by someone.
Serve You, all I want, Your Highness, all I want is anything You want, I'm not worthy You can even throw me away that's okay I love You
Still unsettling.
You will have temples again, Your Highness, I swear it. I will build a hundred thousand temples for You.
Mustn't pray. I won't say it out loud. I couldn't burden Him. I don't want to scare Him. I know, I know I'm scary, I'm sorry
Xie Lian blinks at the delicate golden-green leaves fluttering over his head. The breeze is dry and sweet, like a kiss on the cheek.
What kind of man is this believer?
By now, Xie Lian is certain that he isn't praying on purpose. It's tragically endearing, how this man worships Xie Lian with his whole being and still tries to be subtle about it.
What might Xie Lian say to him when they eventually meet?
'It's okay,' Xie Lian could begin. 'I'm not scared of you. Actually, could we hold hands? I am desolately lonely.'
No. No, Xie Lian will have to start with, 'I'm sorry. You have made a terrible choice in your god. I let you down. Do you happen to have memory loss? You must have forgotten all of the catastrophic failures.'
Xie Lian breathes in and out and puts on his best smile. He has to be vigilant against that sort of all-consuming shame. He learned that a long time ago.
Back to the present, he tells himself cheerfully. Back to the topic of merits.
Is he gaining strength at all from his worshiper's devotion? It's nearly impossible to tell underneath his shackle. Ling Wen could give him a precise number regarding merits, but divine power itself does nothing for him.
His worshiper sighs internally.
Will His Highness ever visit here? Will He see the evidence of my devotion? Would He want to?
This place is… It's beautiful. I've stopped at nothing to make beautiful places for Him. He always deserves better than what is before Him, but would He approve of the temple I've built?
He wouldn't want to come to Paradise Manor, would He?
Don't be an idiot.
It's a cold, empty house. I will never have a home without Him. I will never have a home.
That's okay. That's okay. He will never love me. He probably won't even remember me. That's okay.
Ugly piece of shit, Xie Lian's worshiper mutters suddenly. Monster. It's better this way. Ugly freak.
Xie Lian's habitual smile fades. His heart aches with a sudden protectiveness for his devotee, like Xie Lian could defend him from his own poisoned self-image. No matter what he looks like, Xie Lian will be grateful to him for his faithfulness. Even though Xie Lian can't return all of his feelings, he will still cherish him.
All afternoon, he wonders if they really have met before.
Xie Lian spends three days wandering the Divine Realm both trying to come up with a plan and trying to deduce the identity of his believer. In that time, he learns a great deal more about him.
His believer is wildly intelligent as well as emotionally unstable. He is quick-witted and caustic, at times a terrible perfectionist, and caught between a near-god complex of his own and a case of self-hatred deeper than Xie Lian thought was humanly possible. There are a few things that entertain him, primarily art and mischief, but only one thing that brings him true joy.
His thoughts, some straying more clearly into the realm of prayer than others, fade in and out as murmurs and whispers. He is a constant presence no matter how quiet he falls, but no more distracting than the constant influx of prayers that any prominent god would receive. Being a god affords Xie Lian what is essentially an extra pocket of consciousness to process the prayers of his followers. He does find himself listening to his only believer more actively, though. He is too curious.
To keep the prayers from becoming too distracting, Xie Lian decides to think of them similarly to Ruoye: pleasantly wrapped around him as a faithful companion.
At the end of the first day, Xie Lian finds a lovely spot at the very edge of the city, the last garden before the ground stops and gives way to the sea of clouds. He lies on his back in the grass and watches the atmosphere flutter between him and the stars. He settles down, decides to describe the cold as refreshing, and listens to the lullaby of his worshiper's thoughts.
Not sure how long I'll be gone, he thinks. Was gone for five years before this. The city will be melodramatic when I disappear again. Someone will try to take over the Gambling Den, that toad Green Ghost will try to piss on my territory, blah blah blah, and Yin Yu will have to clean it all up and tell me about it while I'm busy. Always happens right after I leave.
Well…it's not that bad. I didn't build Ghost City to be weak. It's just full of idiots.
Xie Lian stares at the stars and picks at his sleeve. Ruoye slithers up his chest to prod lightly at his cheek in concern, having sensed a change in his body's tension.
"He's quite a man, Ruoye," Xie Lian says quietly. "It seems that he built a city."
Ghost City, no less, and that gives Xie Lian a decent notion as to his worshiper's state of being.
Xie Lian's one believer is the…ruler of Ghost City? Unless these prayers are the result of an elaborate delusion, his follower is almost certainly a ghost—a powerful one.
People are human when they ascend, and they are human when they fall. Mortal, god, or ghost, what a fascinating person his follower is.
Xie Lian is sure, though, that he has never met the ruler of Ghost City. If they had indeed met at all, it must have been a long, long time ago.
On the second day, Xie Lian wakes to another secondhand fit of happiness.
His Highness His Highness my God my Beloved He's back He's back He's okay He's
The prayer dissolves into disjointed laughter and joyful sobs.
I waited for You I waited so long please hold me again
Looking, Xie Lian hears as he seeks out something passable for breakfast. Ling Wen is kind enough to give him something hot to eat and a cup of tea. His worshiper's mania has largely subsided and he has swung hard into practicality.
Looking. Spread out in a grid. He's still in the divine realm, but I'll be here, I'll be ready, I'll wait for Him until He comes, until He needs me.
Xie Lian realizes that some people might take that as ominous, but it fills him with as much warmth and nervous excitement as apprehension. He probably has nothing to fear from this man, but he doesn't know at all what to expect.
Which form to take?
This one is the most attractive.
But this one is the least threatening.
Fuck it. I'm being ridiculous. He won't recognize me, no matter what.
He never saw my whole face.
Xie Lian stumbles as he walks on the golden road, and he stops, frozen. A couple of officials glance at him but opt to ignore and avoid him.
Xie Lian never saw his face?
Had he worn a mask?
No, Xie Lian tells himself, unable to breathe. No, it can't be him.
Ugly kid, bandages, always with bandages.
Xie Lian's breath comes back to him in a stuttering gasp. He isn't sure how guilty to feel, being so relieved that his worshiper had been an injured child with low self-esteem. It's far more preferable to him than being stalked by that horrible two-faced mask.
There had been so many bandaged faces during the war. He remembers some more clearly than others, but he can't be certain of any of them.
I'm being stupid. Just…
True form. I won't meet Him with a lie. Not this time.
Xie Lian is presented with a way to gain merits. He descends to the Mortal Realm and, even on his merry way tumbling down the side of a cloud and then a cliff, he hears his worshiper.
Gonna fucking kill Black Water and feed him to his own ugly fucking fish like the cheap, rancid chum he is, absent at a time like this.
Of all the useless, pompous, disrespectful, self-absorbed, petty trash, of course it's Xuan Zhen wasting His Highness' time.
North. A start.
His voice, His voice as beautiful as I remember, my Beloved, please speak again
At the bottom of the cliff, Xie Lian staggers to his feet and brushes the dirt off his clothes, staring into the distance.
It is safe to assume by then that his believer can access the Divine Realm's communication array. Is he a ghost or a god?
He has to be a god. How else could he sense and know so much about the Divine Realm?
But that's impossible. He certainly isn't in the Divine Realm, and he wouldn't have any need for spies if he could freely enter it. He also has to be hundreds of years old and lives somewhere called Ghost City, for goodness's sake, which presupposes ghost, and no ghost has ever ascended to godhood. Perhaps he is a banished god?
Either way, the thought that this believer had been hovering in the array, listening to Xie Lian apologize for the damage he had caused, is unnerving.
Xie Lian travels on foot for another three days. In lieu of a conversation partner, Xie Lian attends his believer's prayers.
Xie Lian does continue to wonder about the ethics of listening to this stranger's thoughts. His believer isn't aware that Xie Lian can hear him, which seems like an unfair, if unintentional, invasion of privacy. Even if Xie Lian can't shut them out as he is, he doesn't have to listen so actively to them.
At the very least, Xie Lian decides that he should tell his believer about the situation as soon as they inevitably meet. It will be exceedingly awkward, but his worshiper deserves his honesty.
For the time being, Xie Lian judges that it is wiser to learn more about this sole believer. His faith is a force stronger than anything Xie Lian has beheld before, and it dizzies him, wondering what kind of spiritual power his believer's faith might have afforded to him without his shackles. Nevertheless, he is an unknown, and Xie Lian would have been a fool to dismiss the sort of danger he might pose to the people around them.
You agreed to the terms, his believer thinks callously at one point, while Xie Lian is settling down into his bare-bones camp just off the road. Quit bawling. You lost. A heart for a heart. You weren't using yours, anyway.
As if I was going to let you win.
I've told you all, I can't grant love. Trying to buy her marriage won't make her love you, either.
It seems that his believer, the lord of Ghost City, is a big gambler. His luck is obscenely good, too, if he can simply decide when to win. His dice aren't even loaded, as far as Xie Lian can tell.
Why would I want your shriveled little heart, anyway, other than for the pleasure of cutting it out of you?
Xie Lian shivers. It's going to be a cold night.
His believer plays several more times that night.
Ten years of your wife's life? Why the fuck would I want that?
So be it. I don't have to tell you what I'll do with it.
People just love gambling away things that aren't theirs.
Xie Lian gathers that his believer's opponent was playing for his father-in-law to die so that he could collect the inheritance, discard his wife, and marry his young mistress instead. He listened avidly for the outcome.
Aww, your four against my eleven. How ever did that happen.
Oh, don't make that face like you care. Your wife's going to be just fine, with a fresh start far away from you.
Xie Lian smiles to himself.
Fifteen years of your life for a spiritual sword? Boring. I can't imagine you'd use either for anything good.
Well, I have to let them win sometimes.
Haven't found Him yet. Little wraiths, searching.
It's the middle of the second day when Xie Lian is nearly knocked off his feet by a thunderclap of rage.
He stumbles and rights himself on the dirt road. He has begun to see signs of civilization in the distance, but for now he is still on a straight, narrow road cutting through a surreal arch of tall autumn maples, bright red and gold like he's standing in a fireplace. He might as well be, filled with the heat of his believer's fury this way. The leaves blur together in an impression of flames, and he finds himself short of breath.
The prayers are incoherent. Deciphering them is like trying to read through a wall of fire, but with some struggle, Xie Lian is able to collect pieces of what has upset his believer so much.
You dare speak of Him
He's finally back and you
Torched
My God's temples
Flowers to cinders
And you dare
Boast of your sins
In my streets
Burned
My only home
And you laugh
Scream now
Louder
Broad daylight
See if anyone else dares
This is my fucking world
And what is mine is His
Xie Lian has to stop walking for a moment.
His believer fumes for the rest of the day. He holds onto his vengeful malice with the kind of death grip only a ghost can manage.
They're calling Him the Scrap-collecting God now. Word spreads fast. Ancient trash comes crawling out of the woodwork to insult Him, even now.
Never again.
No one will ever touch Him again.
Sword
Don't.
God, please, don't think of it.
Never again.
Xie Lian doesn't want to be afraid of him. He's trying not to be.
Xie Lian stops early that evening. He curls up by a brook with his back against a massive tree, its roots spreading out on either side of his curled form like a cradle. It even offers a bit of shelter from the sinking cold. He closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of cold earth, and he tries not to ruminate on his believer's mood of the day.
He has lived centuries with no one to speak up for him. It's easier to accept the tarnish on his name as an absolute than to have someone take his side again.
To his fervent believer, the past is still a fresh wound. It has not gotten easier. Xie Lian has reconstructed his self image and his view of the world with peace and humility in order to keep his sanity, but his worshiper has left himself open to it. He doesn't try to distance himself from the pain of Xie Lian's fall. As an act of loyalty, he continues to feel all of it.
Xie Lian tries to block it all out again. He just wants to sleep.
His believer turns to comfort, trying to reassure both of them. It doesn't come from distancing himself from the memories, but latching onto hope for the future. He thinks gently, vulnerably, as if he were lying beside Xie Lian and murmuring to him over the forest's nighttime quiet.
I built You a new temple, Your Highness.
I built You a palace, too.
I built myself to keep You safe.
I could hold You, if You want.
You won't have to worry anymore.
Just wait. I promise You green gardens, soft sheets, scented baths, fine food, beautiful clothes, collections of artifacts, books, blades, limitless wealth, anything You desire, and as much or as little of me as You will have. Safety. Love. It's all waiting for You.
I will give You the whole world, if You ask for it.
Xie Lian takes that literally and believes him. With a soft, miserable laugh, he concedes that he would have really liked those soft sheets right now.
His believer is gentler on the third morning, like yesterday's anger has left him tenderized.
Mount Yujun. Patience. He'll come.
Is He alone? I hope He isn't lonely. I hope no one is bothering Him.
No one can keep me from Him. But will He accept me?
Did they give You a palace, Beloved? Is it as grand as You deserve? Will You need me at all?
Chance Encounters, his believer muses as Xie Lian takes a table in the teahouse named 'Shop of Chance Encounters'. Feels lucky.
He's watching. Xie Lian expresses no signs of suspicion and is content to wait for his tea.
All things considered, this believer is quite a bit nicer than Xie Lian's last non-Ruoye long term companion. The Reverend literally tried to feed off of his despair and only left him after he depressed it half to death with his optimism. His believer might be a powerful, chaotic, admittedly dangerous ghost, and he might have killed multiple people in the time that Xie Lian has been connected to him, but he does have a sense of justice and fairness.
Xie Lian does have to question his judgment, though. He's concerned by someone unwise enough to idolize him.
The voice quiets down again to the rustles and whispers of idle thoughts. For someone who tracked Xie Lian down within days of his ascension, he doesn't seem likely to try to harm him, not even from overexcitement. He's only gathering information, and so is Xie Lian.
Xie Lian finds himself smiling and clasping his hands in his lap. For centuries, he's had nothing more to look forward to than a full meal or the rare clean, warm place to sleep, and he hasn't had a friend in so long. It will be good to finally make their conversations more than one-sided. His believer has allegedly prepared an obscenely luxurious home for him, but in all honesty, Xie Lian is most excited simply to see a friendly face.
His smile is tense, though. Who could have possibly seen his fall from grace and still love him? Who could be so gripped by madness that he had remained faithful to the God of Misfortune and Trash for so many centuries?
Xie Lian feels that they will find each other soon. He is just as eager as nervous about it.
He glances up from the table and surveys the teahouse. It is empty of customers aside from himself, and he bites back a flicker of disappointment. He is anxious to see his believer's face, and no matter what his believer thinks of his own appearance, Xie Lian is prepared to like it.
A light catches Xie Lian's eye. He redirects his attention and sees that a butterfly had made it through the doorway. Its wings are so white that it reflects the sunlight just as the moon does, luminescent and ethereal. Xie Lian stares, mesmerized, as the butterfly wanders over the tables and eventually to him.
He raises his hand and offers it. The butterfly lands on his finger.
It isn't white, Xie Lian realizes. It's a ghostly silver, even its body, and seems to give off light of its own—not like the moon, but like stars.
Xie Lian knows that the creature can't be natural, but it's so harmless and lovely that he can't care. He lets it rest on his hand and slowly fan its wings.
Then he's struck with that prayer of feeling again.
Pure devotion is an elusive, terrifying thing of unquestioning loyalty and all-consuming conviction. Xie Lian almost reels back when the weight of it hits him. He has only seen such devotion expressed once before, and once was too much.
Alongside that is awe, that headrush of seeing something extraordinary and meaningful. A view from a great height. A revelation long in the making. The full expanse of the night sky after a century underground. That, Xie Lian has not felt in a very long time.
Engulfing it all, bleeding into every corner of Xie Lian's body, is love—pure love, selfless and unconditional in every facet of it. It is precious and fond. It is adoring. It is protective. It is fierce, it is tragic, it is personal, it is so happy to see him, and it strikes him with the weight of the world.
He has never seen that kind of love before.
He's so beautiful, his believer thinks with soft, tearful, enamored laughter. There's a silent shiver, like he's catching his breath in a rein. I have to get ahold of myself. I can't act like this in front of Him.
The butterfly lifts off of his finger and flits out the window. Xie Lian stays put, so stunned that his eyes can barely follow the creature.
The sincerity and depth of his believer's feelings have shocked him into momentary paralysis. Is it possible for people to love that much? Is it really possible for anyone to love Xie Lian that much? He wastes precious seconds in his stupor before standing and going to the window to look for the butterfly.
The next prayer is sudden and far less enthusiastic than before.
Oh fucking shit damn it, why why WHY are they here.
That is when Xie Lian notices the deputies at the table.
Ghost groom, hm? Let's see what's up the mountain.
Xie Lian does have to remain present in his mission. He manages it well, sorting through the details of the case as well as noting the stronger accidental prayers that come through. He is a touch distracted and finds himself looking for butterflies in his periphery, but he does what has to be done.
At the same time, his worshiper investigates the case on his own end. He seems to be just as distracted.
Will His Highness like me?
He's always liked me before, I think. I hope.
No, He's just nice.
He won't remember me.
Sad excuse for a barrier.
Might as well leave it up for now, keep civilians from stumbling in.
A barrier array up the mountain? Xie Lian bites his tongue to keep himself from sharing this information. He wouldn't have been able to explain his source to his companions. All he can do at the moment is take note of what to look for on Mount Yujun.
Oh, ew, it's Pei Ming's.
Someone forgot to air this place out.
Ah— Well, there are all seventeen.
Doesn't seem in character for Pei Ming. He's got more integrity than this. It's unlikely that this is his mess.
This is His Highness' job. Don't get in the way. Just here to follow. Here if He needs me.
That evening in Nan Yang Temple with his two reluctant deputies, Xie Lian lies on the floor and listens.
I would give Him a flower, but there's no way in hell that I'm bringing offerings to Dickhead Temple.
His Highness will have temples again.
Have to bear it. Have to stay calm.
The prayers don't necessarily keep Xie Lian from sleeping, but he does pull his mind up out of dozing to listen to the more interesting ones throughout the night. They don't slow; his believer doesn't seem to be sleeping.
What if He remembers me?
He probably remembers me. I did make quite a scene back then. What if He remembers the day but not the boy?
But we met so many times. Ah, He won't recognize me.
It's better if He doesn't.
Xie Lian combs through his memory for who this believer could be. He thinks of ruins, of the last days of his temples, and has to retreat back into the present.
His hand under my knee, so gentle, gentle even as He presses into me, my arms around His shoulders, He kisses me softly and whispers against my gasping mouth, promises to finish inside me, claim me, was always His—
His believer cuts himself off and prays a long, miserable groan.
Stop. Just stop. Disrespectful.
Xie Lian lies frozen on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the temple ceiling. He feels a flush of warmth as well as a pointed sense of unease. His hands thread together over his stomach and tense so tightly that his knuckles crack.
This…is new.
Xie Lian does not explore such thoughts on his own. Ever. And he isn't so certain that he likes a stranger imposing them upon him, even unknowingly.
Knowing that his believer loves him, cares about his happiness, and is making efforts to respect his boundaries even when he doesn't know that Xie Lian will ever find out, though, helps him forgive it instantly.
But the loose image of himself intertwined with a nameless, faceless ghost with that low, pleasant voice and gentle hands—
Xie Lian's face burns. He swallows and rolls over onto his side, feeling too tight in his own skin.
Who the fuck?
Just observe, don't kill her yet, not a groom, dressed like the rest.
Jealousy?
Pei Ming, you dumb bitch, loose ends are how you make ghosts.
Xie Lian's heart creeps into his throat as he listens to his follower solve the case for them. He pieces it together along with his believer's lightning-fast stream of thought, collecting details, unraveling the mystery.
Xie Lian hears him again in the morning.
Why does it have to be him? his believer thinks at one point in a low, irritated growl. Why does that trash always have to be involved? When can I kill him? Would His Highness mind?
The only reason Qi Rong hasn't been annihilated yet is that His Highness hasn't given me permission.
Xie Lian chokes on his meager breakfast. Fu Yao raises an eyebrow at him.
He couldn't mean the same Qi Rong. There is no way that the Qi Rong Xie Lian knows could have lasted this long. He doubts that his cousin was the only person with that name in history, anyway.
But why else would his believer think he needs Xie Lian's permission to kill him?
Xie Lian doesn't tell his reluctant volunteers about any of these developments. He can't imagine that his old friends would react well to reports of his devotee.
Xie Lian hears him as he and the deputies discuss tactics. They do still need to explore the mountain and lure the target out, regardless of Xie Lian's inside information. At least he is better prepared with it in mind.
I want to do it. Save Him the trouble. I can clear them out.
Wait. Be patient. His Highness needs to do this. Trust Him. Don't get in His way. I've waited eight hundred years. I can wait another day.
Xie Lian hears him as Xiao Ying helps prepare him as a decoy bride. For an instant, he thinks he glimpses a glimmer of silver in the trees beyond the temple windows.
I can't. I can't. I can't.
It'll be fine. Stop shaking.
His Royal Highness, golden, the most beautiful without the mask, hold me, hold me, hold me.
Xie Lian hears him as the procession sets out and realizes that he is following them up the mountain.
But what if He does remember me?
He won't. Stop.
I have to keep my head down. I'll only cause problems for Him if I intervene.
Xie Lian wishes that he would appear. He has so many questions for him. His hands tremble in his lap, and he could almost swear that he feels him nearby.
Xie Lian hears him when the procession is attacked.
This place is revolting.
Well, she won't be bothering Him personally, Xie Lian's believer thinks, even when the wolves appear. He'll get safely to the end.
Don't interfere, he thinks as the binu come in dozens. Those idiots have it under control.
Haha, no, of course they don't, he decides as the palanquin is surrounded. Have to do everything myself, couple of useless—
There is no need to trouble his believer, so Xie Lian puts Ruoye to work. In seconds, the bulk of the horde is destroyed. His believer is silent, then prays a breathless stream of, I love Him I love Him I love Him.
Lovestruck by a show of martial power. This man is so weird. Apprehensive as Xie Lian is about meeting him, he feels another helpless bubble of affection for this stranger.
His believer has been close by the whole way up the mountain. Xie Lian wonders with a flash of anxiety if his worshiper might be the ghost bridegroom, but that thought dissolves almost instantly. There have been no thoughts in that vein, and it seems like his believer had never even been to the area before yesterday. He has been solving the case, anyway, not covering up any part of his own in it.
However, his worshiper has been watching the whole time, following along with his presence undetectable by Xie Lian, two deputy gods, and the binu. He is invisible, very powerful, and very, very close.
He also has no love for Nan Feng and Fu Yao, which might mean that the deputies are in danger, and there are local civilians who need to escape the mountain. The binu are one problem, but this believer is still unpredictable. Xie Lian orders his companions to leave.
Xie Lian stays behind. He will either meet the ghost bridegroom or his devotee, and either way, he will be solving a vital mystery.
Cowards, his believer seethes as the deputies leave. Traitors. Parasites. Trash. How could anyone leave His side willingly? Well, His Highness doesn't want them to die, so… A couple of swarms should clear the binu out. They don't have to know, if they don't look behind them.
His Highness.
His Highness is…still in the palanquin.
The woods are silent.
Xie Lian sits there, frozen, with his heart trying to beat out of his chest.
He has no reason to be afraid. All assailants are gone, and the only other person present is, as far as Xie Lian can tell, someone who would rather die than hurt him.
But what kind of person does it take to love Xie Lian so much, and how could he ever face them?
Oh God, his believer thinks weakly, pained as though he's been stabbed, I can't. I can't do this. I can't see Him like—
It's the only chance I'll ever get to see Him like this.
I can't do it. But I can't leave Him to find His way through this hideous place alone. I…
I'm calm. Nothing will happen to Him. I'm in control. I'm calm.
I know the way better than His attendants would have, anyway. It's better like this.
Ah, it's certainly a striking scene for the moment.
Xie Lian barely catches it, but from somewhere outside the sedan, he hears a very soft, wry chuckle. The low voice has become intimately familiar to him in the past few days, but it still gives him goosebumps the first time it reaches his ears.
The mountain is otherwise quiet. There is only the slightest rustle of wind in the trees, as though even the branches are afraid to draw attention to themselves, and all the nocturnal animals have gone silent. The crickets have nothing to say, and if there had been any wolves left, they seem to have fled. The road outside the sedan sounds even more infinite with so little to reference.
Then Xie Lian hears boots on the path, a row of delicate chimes accompanying each even step as with fine chains. His heart races out of time with their gait.
The footsteps reach the side of the palanquin.
Xie Lian feels terror, one part his own and the other his believer's.
How can Xie Lian be so engraved in someone's mind that even after eight centuries his thoughts still revolve around him, like his reason for existing is to worship him? How can this person be so his that even his emotions become prayers? Xie Lian can only fumble through the fog of his memory and try to recognize him.
What will He call me this time?
His believer wonders it so quietly, but it hits Xie Lian like freezing water.
His last believer.
His most devoted believer, who had seen him as a prince eight hundred years ago.
A ghost who remained loyal to a fallen god. A ghost who stayed in this world to protect his beloved.
A ghost without a name.
The curtain of the sedan is brushed aside, and from there, a hand offers itself to Xie Lian, palm up and open and just visible under his red veil. His believer's hand is elegant and strong, a masculine structure treated with grace, and very pale. There is a thin red string tied around one finger.
Xie Lian sits motionless, staring at the hand. His ghost thinks with absolute clarity, with all the intention of a prayer whether he intends it as one or not, the smallest please. Xie Lian almost thinks he's whispered it aloud.
Xie Lian sets his hand in his believer's.
His skin is cold, and his fingers curl tenderly to fit and hold Xie Lian's hand, reverence and adoration in every fine muscle movement.
Don't be afraid, please don't be afraid of me, please don't
Xie Lian squeezes his hand.
How could Xie Lian not remember him, when he has been at the forefront of his thoughts every day for centuries? Every day, every glance at his branded ankle, every idle adjustment of the silk around his throat, every moment of well-worn acceptance of his bad fortune, every day of hundreds of years of penance, he has thought of the loyal spirit he failed.
His believer doesn't shake. He is the steadiest, most reliable structure Xie Lian has ever encountered as he guides Xie Lian out of the sedan. Xie Lian is not so steady; he is distracted and unaccustomed to his bridal attire, and his foot catches on the hem of his gown as he steps out. He falls forward.
His believer catches him.
His arm is around Xie Lian, their hands on the other side still clasped, and Xie Lian has fallen right into his chest.
In a daze, Xie Lian first notes that the ghost is a head taller than him and that he smells nice, like incense in a flower garden.
I can't do this I can't
Stay calm.
I can't He's so He's right here I'm touching Him
Then stop.
The ghost begins to step back and offer Xie Lian some respectful space.
Xie Lian closes the distance again. He wraps his arms around his believer and embraces him tightly.
There are no prayers from his believer in that moment. There are no coherent thoughts at all.
With extreme care, the ghost places both arms around Xie Lian. His touch is as light as possible, like he is afraid of inflicting any amount of harm on Xie Lian by holding him too impassionedly.
To hell with the ghost bridegroom. It isn't this man, and Xie Lian can't bear not to see his face anymore. He pulls away, and when the ghost releases him, Xie Lian takes his hand and guides it to his veil.
His believer's hand trembles when he follows the unspoken instructions, lets go of Xie Lian's hand, and pinches the edge of the red silk.
Am I really allowed this honor, Your Highness, please, I
With slow, ritualistic solemnity, his believer obediently lifts the veil and draws it off.
They are standing close when their eyes meet—the ghost only has the left one, wearing a simple black patch over his right.
His believer previously decided to meet him in his true form. Because of his self-degradation, Xie Lian lovingly accepted that he would not be beautiful. It would not have harmed Xie Lian's opinion of him.
He wasn't prepared for his believer to be breathtaking.
The ghost appears to be a tall young man. His features are pleasantly angular, the kind of face one might associate with sharp wit and roguish charm. He wears his black hair down, exceedingly informal, except for a slender, neat braid on the right side that hangs down to his collarbone and ends in a curious red bead. Red and silver are a theme across his whole figure; the majority of his clothes are crimson, and he has an assortment of silver jewelry that makes him look regal and sinister at once. Several pieces of jewelry depict shining silver butterflies.
His visible eye, round and stunned, is onyx black.
Xie Lian has never seen anyone like him.
Was this the face that had been hidden behind that smiling porcelain mask?
Had he really smiled in that last moment, before Xie Lian lost him?
All the while, he doesn't stare at Xie Lian so much as behold him with a look of soft, open surprise.
I love Him so much I could die.
Hearing that, Xie Lian is stricken. He can only think of the last time this man died for him, and he recalls it forcefully in that moment—the black, wheeling storm cloud that swallowed him. That scream.
And he came back for him. He's searched for him for all this time. Xie Lian isn't worthy of that kind of love.
The moment Xie Lian's tears spill over, his believer startles in horror and holds onto Xie Lian's shoulders, seeking to comfort him.
"Wu Ming?" Xie Lian asks.
His ghost is still.
How did He
He knows me
He remembers me
He's crying for me no no no no no
"Your Highness," Wu Ming murmurs. He bends his head closer to Xie Lian's, as intimate as he dares, and takes the initiative to brush his thumbs across Xie Lian's cheeks and dry his tears. Xie Lian doesn't know whether to keep crying or start laughing, so he does both, helplessly holding Wu Ming's hands to his face. Wu Ming laughs with him, soft and weak, and whispers again, "Your Highness."
"You're here." Xie Lian's voice is faint, and the words crawl through the rubble of his composure. "You're alright. You're here."
"I am." Another quiet, awed laugh slips out of Wu Ming. "You're here."
"I am so happy to see you," Xie Lian says, which sounds comically insufficient to himself. To Wu Ming, it is affirmation of his entire existence.
I can't believe this, I'm going to kiss Him, I can't I can't
Wu Ming valiantly does not kiss him.
Xie Lian finds that he had readied himself for it. He shocks himself by, for the first time in his interminable life, being intuitively and wholeheartedly ready to kiss someone. This seems to be a natural moment for it, even though he is not supposed to ever have such a moment.
Feeling delirious, he wonders if this is how such moments are supposed to be and whether the ache in his chest is romance or desperation.
"And I you," Wu Ming murmurs.
In the midst of his disorientation, from disbelief to elation to a painful drive for reassurance, Xie Lian remembers what he had always wished to say to this man. His laughter has ceased, and he tries very hard to stop crying.
"I'm so sorry." The words come out as a whisper, rasping over tears. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you. It was all my fault. I'm so sorry."
"Your Highness, no. No." Wu Ming wraps Xie Lian up in his arms in a real embrace this time, tight and protective. Xie Lian can't possibly deserve it. "It was my choice. There could never be any reason for you to apologize to me. Please. I couldn't bear to be a source of pain for you."
I would die again and I wouldn't like it.
How long has He been sorry?
How long has He felt this way on my account, no no no no please, God, no, it's been so long
Xie Lian will not forgive himself, no matter how Wu Ming tries to excuse him. He shakes his head and clutches Wu Ming's arms.
"Where have you been?" Xie Lian asks. Wu Ming laughs under his breath.
"Everywhere. I… A lot has changed, but I'm just the same. And you?"
"Everywhere," Xie Lian says with weary humor. "Everything has changed. I don't think I'm the same at all."
As long as You are who You want to be. As long as You can be happy, that's okay.
They have been locked together long enough that they will have to either settle into the embrace more comfortably or pull away. Xie Lian is torn; Wu Ming is euphoric to have him in his arms, but Xie Lian wants to look at him. Wu Ming is even more conflicted.
Does He want to be held? Is He just being polite now? If I keep holding Him, I'm going to lose my mind. I'm touching Him so much. I need to kiss Him, I'm going to fucking shatter, Your Highness, please, I can't be trusted.
The context and details of the situation begin to stitch together in his mind: Wu Ming is in love with him. Sweet, brave Wu Ming is not only not dispersed, but he has loved Xie Lian all this time and thinks about kissing him. It's perplexing, becoming aware of it, and Xie Lian is unsure of how to come to terms with it.
There is too much to process for one moment. There is Xie Lian's grief for Wu Ming's past; shame of the person Xie Lian had been and his unworthiness of Wu Ming's loyalty; helpless joy from finding him safe, enduring, and stronger than ever; hope as a whole future opens up before Xie Lian's eyes, a second chance at giving his most devoted believer everything he should have; and something more confusing, not wholly comfortable but not wholly opposed, regarding the scope of Wu Ming's affections for him. Even that tangle of emotions is barely the start of it. The whirlwind of so many feelings leaves Xie Lian in the eye of a storm, windblown but strangely steady. The only thing Xie Lian is certain of, the only thing that he trusts as the basis of all his decisions moving forward, is that Wu Ming is unconditionally, irrevocably precious to him.
In the meantime, Wu Ming is trying so hard to be a gentleman, and Xie Lian doesn't know what would make this the easiest for the poor man.
So Xie Lian pulls back. Wu Ming lets him go, but Xie Lian takes his hands so that they are still in contact.
He's so beautiful I'm going to cry
"What name do you go by now?" Xie Lian asks, because he dearly hopes that his believer hasn't damned himself to no name for eight hundred years.
Wu Ming gives him a small smile, slightly sad, slightly mischievous.
"I'm called Hua Cheng these days, but to be honest, I don't have the best reputation everywhere. If it pleases you, would you call me San Lang?"
Idiot ugly idiot why did I ask that He's dressed in wedding clothes how could I ask Him to call me such a thing
"San Lang," Xie Lian repeats, and it makes him smile. He will have questions about Hua Cheng's reputation later, maybe after he has recovered from the confusion of how such a man could possibly call himself ugly.
Oh GOD, say it again say it again say it again
"But San Lang," Xie Lian considers, relishing in the glee that Hua Cheng radiates every time he calls him that, "I feel that Your Highness is too formal, in that case."
Hua Cheng's eye lights up. His smile cuts wider, and Xie Lian is distracted by the point of his white teeth.
"Very well, gege," Hua Cheng says, grinning.
Oh God He likes it, look at Him, He's happy, did I make Him happy?
Xie Lian is happy. His believer said that he hasn't changed much, but he has grown from a subdued, grim, but faithful wrath ghost into a vibrant, eccentric, but faithful ghost of undetermined strength. Wu Ming's mask always smiled, but seeing the smile of his true face is a healing experience.
"I like your real smile," Xie Lian says then. Hua Cheng's eye widens and his mouth goes slack, but he only shows that expression for a second before biting his lip and staring at their hands.
Your Highness, You can't do that, what am I supposed to do, I'll only fall more in love with You, I can't love You more than forever
"Gege," he says quietly, as Xie Lian continues to stare at him in a daze, "I'm certain that you don't want to stay here all night. May I lead you out?"
Xie Lian cocks his head. With a new lump of guilt in his stomach, he commits to pretending that he doesn't know anything he has heard through Hua Cheng's prayers.
How is he supposed to tell him?
Not right then. Xie Lian has to rush the decision to postpone that conversation for a calmer, better moment. Xie Lian needs to be in his right mind to give Hua Cheng a properly articulated apology and explanation, not drop such an embarrassing revelation on him in the middle of a dangerous area.
"Do you know where I'm going?" Xie Lian asks.
"You're seeking the rumored ghost bridegroom. And no, it's not me."
"I never suspected it was," Xie Lian assures him with a squeeze of his hands before making himself let them go. "What do you know about the case?"
"Well, to begin, it's not a bridegroom."