Work Text:
He couldn’t die. He could. Not. Die.
It was driving him mad. It should have ended by now. He should have dispersed, scattered into the air like so many dried fish scales blown into the wind.
But He Xuan was still here. And it hurt.
When he killed Shi Wudu, he thought that would have been the end of it. Surely, that would have been enough. Yes, sure, he let Shi Qingxuan live, but by the end— well, death would have been too easy a way out for them. That is the only reason he let them live. That’s what He Xuan told himself back then.
That is what he told himself as he gathered the ashes of his loved ones and threw them to the wind and the waves. What he told himself as he walked into those same waves, waiting for his soul that has been kept in the mortal realm by so much hurt and heartbreak to disperse.
But he walked, and walked and walked and walked and nothing. He drifted in the ocean, the cool embrace of water all he could feel.
But it wasn’t, was it?
He didn’t only feel the water, and the cold.
There was something else, something hidden, something wrong.
And it hurt.
He didn’t know how long he drifted before he was woken by Hua Cheng’s voice in their private communication array, but he did know that he did what was asked of him willingly.
He repaired that shattered fan with more care than he had the courage to admit to himself. He travelled to the capital, and instead of anger or hatred at the fact that he would essentially be helping the person he hated the most in the world, there was that wrongness again.
The wrongness grew when he looked at what should have been the unrecognisable figure of Shi Qingxuan, but he would have known those bright grey eyes anywhere.
Where was his anger? His hatred? Why couldn’t he find those feelings that had become his oxygen after his death? The very things that had kept him going— where were they?
He couldn’t find them.
In their place was an emptiness so profound it kept his soul anchored, though all he wanted was to be done with it all. The pain, the loss, the agony.
(The fact that all of these seemed to dim when he looked at Shi Qingxuan— well. This was not something He Xuan dared to consider)
So he lived on. Whatever that meant for him. Which was not much. It meant ceaseless watching over the seas, who had not regained any master after he had done away with their old one.
It meant finding himself in the alleyways of the capital for no reason whatsoever— certainly not to see if he could spy a pair of grey eyes and tousled chestnut hair.
It meant sleeplessness, for every time he closed his eyes he would be met with one of two images— soft skin and pliant mouth gasping into his ear, or blood-curdling screams of terror from a tear-streaked face.
And neither brought him rest or comfort.
And the wrongness would not leave.
Sure, he could go to someone, anyone, and ask them to destroy his ashes, but He Xuan was too proud for that. Or at least, that is what he told himself.
—
He Xuan was sitting in the Manor when it happened. There was a storm raging outside, one that was not of his own making, and the wind that raged around the island drowned out everything else.
Then he felt it.
The wrongness surged, pierced him through the place his heart would have been, and it ached.
Wrongness? Ha, what a joke.
He Xuan had thought that he knew what grief was, since he had let it fuel him for so long. But grief and anger can be easily confused, and where the one becomes the other—the lines are blurred.
There was no wrongness. There was only grief. Because He Xuan had lost that which he loved most in this world.
And now he would never be able to get it back.
—
Shi Qingxuan was dead.
Gone.
Would never smile again, would never laugh again, would never love again.
He Xuan thought he would be the one to rob that from them, but after Shi Wudu’s death, Shi Qingxuan had lived on despite it all. They had been braver than He Xuan had ever been.
Only death could take away what Shi Qingxuan was.
He Xuan stood at the foot of the hill where Puqi Shine was located. The wind was blowing even here, the dark sky almost copious with death as thundering clouds swirled above.
He Xuan stood in the dark and the wind and the cold, and he stared at the faint glow from the shrine. He felt the pull, the cosmic force within him that ached to be there, to feel the warmth of that light. But yet another force kept him immobile.
What have I done?
A useless question, a senseless question, a fool’s regret.
He could will himself to be there, if he tried. But he didn’t. So Black Water Sinking Ships disappeared, and He Xuan— as human as he could muster, took his first step up the hill.
—
He raised his fist, and after a moment of hesitation, He Xuan knocked on the door of Puqi shrine. Footsteps sounded from inside, and when the door opened, He Xuan was greeted with the sight of Xie Lian. The former Crown Prince’s face was drawn, eyes rimmed red, clothes slightly dishevelled.
“I’m sorry, the shrine—” a look of recognition crossed over his handsome features, “—Black Water. What are you doing here?”
Though the god was clearly distraught, his voice immediately lost its weariness and turned icy cold.
He Xuan opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. Xie Lian’s gaze hardened.
“I am here to see the Wind Master,” He Xuan finally managed.
“No.”
“What?”
“You are not here to see the Wind Master. They are gone. You are leaving.”
The clipped finality of Xie Lian’s words shook He Xuan to his core.
“What do you—”
“The Wind Master was killed forty years ago. By your hand. You are not here to see the Wind Master.”
He Xuan balled his hands into fists, something more than grief curling inside of him, something too much like fear.
“Xie Lian, I just want to see them.”
A bitter laugh. “No.”
“Xie Lian,” panic rose in He Xuan’s chest. All he wanted was to see Shi Qingxuan one last time, to apologise. He knew, knew it was too late but he just needed to see them.
“Didn’t you hear me? No. No, I will not let you see them.”
“Xie Lian please,” He Xuan begged, “I know what I did to Shi Qingxuan was wrong, they didn’t deserve what I did to them. I know, I know. I just… I need to see them one last time, I just want to say goodbye,” He Xuan sank to his knees and dropped his head.
“No,” a whisper, this time. It sounded like something breaking, and He Xuan dared to hope.
“Shi Qingxuan—”
“TAKE THEIR NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!”
He Xuan's eyes widened, and when he looked up he could see why Xie Lian ascended as a martial god. Fire burnt in his hazel eyes, and in that moment the calamity knew the meaning of righteous anger.
Xie Lian bent down and grabbed the front of He Xuan’s robes, yanking him to his feet.
“You don’t deserve to mourn,” he spat, and shoved him to the ground.
He Xuan sat, stunned, as Xie Lian turned his back on him. Before he could close the door, He Xuan caught a glimpse of the inside of the shrine— of the still and peaceful body that lay within.
Desperation overtook him, and he scrambled to his feet.
“Qingxuan!”
Before he could take a step further, Xie Lian had turned towards him, and the next moment an empty bowl flew in his direction, closely missing him. He stopped in his tracks, and that hesitation was enough. He Xuan saw the god whisper something under his breath, and the bandage around his arm started to move.
He Xuan was not welcome here, and he would never be.
In an instant, he turned himself incorporeal, and vanished into the night.
Even though the wind was still raging around him, Xie Lian’s parting words were all he could hear.
“Do not dare to call that name.”
—
Black Water Manor was quiet. The winds had stopped their raging, and the waters were still. Perhaps they knew what was coming.
He Xuan felt his presence even before he made himself known.
“I heard you upset Gege,” came the low voice from behind him.
“Hello to you as well, Crimson Rain Sought Flower.”
Silence fell between the two of them. He Xuan knew Hua Cheng wasn’t here to fight him, or try to make him pay for anything. Hua Cheng was here because he was curious. Or perhaps because he knew, just as the seas did.
He Xuan stood up from his meditative position on the floor, and turned to look Hua Cheng in the eye.
The ghost king did not say a word as He Xuan took an earring from his ear.
Its long, crystalline form lay heavy in his palm as He Xuan held it, the weight of so many centuries contained within.
Hua Cheng eyed him cautiously, an eyebrow raised. “Are you sure?”
He Xuan gave a single nod, and placed his ashes in the half-outstretched hand of the other ghost. The black seemed so dark against Hua Cheng’s pale skin. The kind of dark one could drown in, He Xuan thought grimly, and then turned to look through the window of his room for the last time.
The air felt heavy, somehow.
“You won’t reincarnate.”
“Neither will they.”
Every tomb, every sea, spit the bones from your teeth.
Let the ransomed be free.