Chapter Text
The sun was low on the horizon as Xie Lian made his way up the grassy hill. Dusk was beginning to paint the sky behind him in rosy shades, and this was reflected upon the distant surface of Lang-er bay.
Some ways down below him stood the heavy silhouette of the seaport, but even now, thirty two years later, Xie Lian didn’t have the stomach to enter that place. Even if he could, he didn’t think he’d be able to recall where the exact spot was. Cities had a way of shifting over the years, and Yong’an’s growth had been explosive over these past decades.
He could see the top of the tree canopy now, and he rushed slightly in his climb, as if he was keeping someone waiting. His face fell as he crested the hill and came to a stop. His heart ached. The wind blew. There wasn’t even a bird around to keep him company. Only the crickets.
He walked over to stand in the shade of this very old, tall, red bean tree. Despite the cool air, he wiped sweat from his brow as he sat down in front of it. This spot was always the same, year after year, and Xie Lian always came here on this day.
He pulled a stick of pilfered incense out of his sleeve and used a hand flint to light it, sticking it into a sandy little spot between the roots where 31 stubs from previous years remained.
He did wish he had something more substantial to keep here, like a grave marker, but of course Xie Lian had never known that young man’s real name. He’d never even seen his face. All he had was a simple carving of the face that had been on his mask, deftly chiseled into the trunk of the tree. Three simple shapes.
He was quiet for a long moment as he stared at it. He tried to imagine the eyes behind it. It killed him not to know what had ever truly become of his final believer. He wondered if this day would ever get easier. Even after all this time, it hurt.
“It’s been thirty two years now,” he said softly. “Is it silly that I still come here? Surely you’ve moved on to your next life by now?”
Xie Lian reached up, gently brushing a finger over the bark of the face, tracing the lines of those crescent eyes. If that spirit yet remained, could he see through that mask right now?
Back then, Xie Lian couldn’t have cared less about who this was, but year after year, he regretted more that he hadn’t tried to learn anything about him. He hadn’t cared to know anything. He’d accepted his help but still expected the worst from him.
He’d been so cruel. Utterly oblivious.
Xie Lian swallowed thickly.
“Well, in case you haven’t moved on, I came to wish you well and tell you I’m… okay. I’m still here. I still remember you and I… I really, really hope that whatever was left of you found its way back to that beloved of yours.”
Xie Lian’s throat was already beginning to feel tight, so he stopped talking. The sound of crickets soaked up that miserable silence instead. He watched the incense burn while he pushed back against so many old sorrows and regrets. He heaved out a shaky sigh as he reached back into his sleeve.
“I don’t have anything but incense to burn for you this time, but I guess you can share my dinner, too.”
Xie Lian pulled an old, hard steamed bun. He’d found it on the ground this morning and was holding off eating it all day so he could eat it here. He split it in half with his fingers and laid the other side at the base of the incense stick.
His lower lip quivered slightly before he took a bite. It was hard to make himself chew, but he did, and with effort, he swallowed. His stomach growled, but he honestly had no urge to eat more.
“It’s so strange to miss someone I hardly knew,” he whispered. “But I do miss you. I wish I could know you.”
The wind picked up and stirred his hair. It blew at the incense stick, making the little ember glow brightly. He knew it was only the wind, but nevertheless he smiled through the tears now blurring his vision.
He forced himself to take another bite and closed his eyes as he chewed. He tried to picture that young man sitting here with him at his side, eating his half of the bun.
His image of the ghost had gone all fuzzy over these years, and all Xie Lian could accurately recall was his simple white mask. Vague, dark armor, and a long black ponytail.
He did his best, and he let himself imagine he wasn’t here all alone. If he wanted, he could just reach over and touch him.
He waited a good long time.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found that he was still all alone, and one of those tears finally escaped him.
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely as he brushed it away. “You were with me for only a brief time, but I owe you for so much. Thank you, and I’m so sorry. I can only pray you’re now at peace.”
He watched the incense slowly burn down to nothing. The usual silence pressed on.
Xie Lian sighed and finally forced down the last bite of his bun. He stood up, and as he did, the sun set over the horizon. Xie Lian shivered a little. It would be a cold night.
As he turned to leave, he glanced back at that smiling face on the tree one last time.
“I promise I will come back. I’ll keep coming here every single year. If you’re still out there, this is how you can find me. If you don’t want to come, that’s okay, too,” he said softly.
He cringed a little, knowing on some level he was being childish. He couldn’t let go and just face the truth. It was kind of pathetic, actually, to keep holding onto hope like this. Wuming was almost certainly long gone.
Even if it was childish, it didn’t hurt to try. It gave him something to hope for and look forward to.
Maybe next year…
He plastered on a fake smile and straightened his back.
“Either way, believe me when I say I won't ever forget you. I am forever your most thankful god of misfortune.”
That smile faltered as he turned away. With a heavy heart, he slowly made his way back down the hill, anxious to get far away from the memories that chased him in this place.
In the deep of the night, a solitary silver butterfly lit up the roots of the red bean tree. It landed briefly on that cold stub of incense and rested its wings before lazily moving on.