Chapter Text
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: The common people
The Taizi Dianxia statue Hua Cheng had sculpted in the Kiln was, of course, as tall as a mountain. One who stood on its flower-crowned head would be thus offered a generous view of whatever landscape it happened to be facing, be it the Central Plains or the desert of the North, or even the wide seas of the South; in this particular instance, however, it was the skies that held everyone’s scrutiny, cut and bleeding as they were from the Heavenly Capital that was rapidly plummeting towards the ground. Hua Cheng kept half of his silver butterflies focused on its glittering shape, growing ever-larger, so he could take advantage of the brief respite granted by Jun Wu’s momentary tribulation to set in motion his final defeat.
Firstly, he urged his husband to sit and rest. Xie Lian, if only because he was expected to be the one powering the statue and directing it in fleeing and fighting once the need arose, made no complaints, perching among the delicately-carved petals of the flower crown, eyes closed as he regulated his breathing. Banyue settled behind him, on edge, as if wanting to guard him, and Hua Cheng let her be, intimately understanding the urge. Instead of drawing attention to her, he called Yin Yu forth.
“Yin Yu, do you still have your dice?” Hua Cheng asked his officer as soon as he had made the jump from the shoulder to the head of the statue. Yin Yu flashed him the little red dice before sticking them back in his sleeve, and the Crimson Calamity nodded, satisfied with his competence. “Take the wounded to Paradise Manor, Huang-jie will be there. Once you’re done, contact me quickly.”
Yin Yu nodded, ready to turn on his heels, but Xie Lian opened his eyes and called him back. “Xiao Yue, could you please have our citizens on standby to join us soon, those who want to?” he put in, always thinking so far ahead of everyone else. “I have a feeling we’ll need their… ah… unique qualities.”
With the shadow of a smirk, Yin Yu bowed in acquiescence and rapidly hoisted Lang Qianqiu’s limp form on his shoulders before moving over to where Feng Xin and Mu Qing were still supporting the unconscious Pei Ming. Then he threw the dice and vanished in a flash of silver.
Above them, the Heavenly Capital was already as big as a full moon. Hua Cheng turned to his daughter, coming over to close his hands around hers. “A-Yue, are you staying? Or would you like to join Yin Yu and meimei ?” he asked her gently, peering into her glassy eyes. With his thumbs, he drew soothing circles into her palms, and knew that as much as he might have wanted to lock her inside Paradise Manor, ward the room and let her out only after the world had been rid of Bai WuXiang, he could not make that decision for her. “It’s your choice.”
Banyue sniffed, blinking her eyes repeatedly to banish the tears that still clung to her lashes. “I’m staying, of course I’m staying,” said Banyue, as Hua Cheng had feared —and yet, even as he feared, pride bloomed in his chest to see her rally her strength so tenaciously. “I’m… I’m fine, I promise.”
Xie Lian got up on his feet, shuffling into Hua Cheng’s side so he, too, could face their daughter. “It’s alright if you’re not,” he told her softly, with an achingly tender smile painted on his face. “I’m sorry for forcing you, my love. May I…?”
He opened her arms to her but for the first time since picking her up from the desert Xie Lian hesitated; Banyue’s lower lip shook minutely, and then she embraced him, squeezing tightly and bending her spine a bit to burrow her head below his shoulder. Hua Cheng sighed soundlessly in relief, and then a thousand wraith butterflies sounded alarms within his head—their time was up.
Black Water , Hua Cheng called through the communication array. Are you ready?
From deep within his territory, He Xuan replied: We are . Hurry up, it’s going to drop in the middle of a city.
There was no doubt in Hua Cheng’s mind as to the accuracy of He Xuan’s projection regarding the trajectory of the falling Heavens, and so he whirled about to unfortunately be the one who would break up the sweet embrace of his husband and daughter. “A-Lian—”
Pulling back from Banyue’s tight grip, Xie Lian squared his shoulders. “Let’s do this, San Lang,” he said, and pressed one hand against the black volcanic stone while with the other he formed a sigil. Hua Cheng slid behind him, supporting him at the waist, and bent over just slightly to kiss spiritual energy against his cheekbone. By this point, Xie Lian was glowing with divine power born from the destruction of Jun Wu’s Temples Hua Cheng had burned in his name, and that power was balanced with Hua Cheng’s own malicious intent, roused and piercing because of Mount Tong’lu. The statue’s eyes lit up gold, and then Xie Lian gave a simple command: “Move.”
A single step was enough for the statue to pass over entire hills. Graceful and lithe despite its colossal size, it rushed purposefully towards the Capital. The crumbling and shifting of its foundations could by then be heard, along with the groaning of its collapsing Palaces. Golden bricks and other precious things dropped from the skies like hail, catching fire with the velocity of their plunge. Xie Lian’s lips were thin, brows furrowed in concentration as he very carefully directed the statue into lifting its free arm.
That beautiful hand reached up, up, and halted the Heavens’ fall.
The moment the statue made contact, Hua Cheng spun his dice in the air and, in his most audacious feat yet, transported them all (the statue with its passengers and the entirety of the Heavenly Capital) in the middle of the Southern Sea. He Xuan and Shi QingXuan had been waiting for them, balanced together on the convoluted spine of a single bonefish, but they both jumped aboard the statue when it materialized, waist-deep into churning black waters. The Gods and Goddesses that had hitched a ride, foolishly deciding to fight, all screamed and yelled at each other in confusion and fear, intimately recognizing a Calamity’s territory as inherently hostile to them, but Hua Cheng paid their noise little mind.
Instead, he pressed himself tighter against Xie Lian’s back, and covered his hand with his own, feeding energy into the statue alongside his husband. Xie Lian tilted his head barely to the side, brushing the phantom of a kiss against his jaw, then twisted his other wrist abruptly, sending the Heavenly Capital careening backwards in a single blast of power.
From below came Mei Nianqing’s huffy tone, for once sounding appropriately in awe of the disciple that had far surpassed him. “Ah, look at that! I’ve never thought…” he sighed, talking to himself the way one accustomed to endless loneliness did. “Their energies are really perfectly balanced. How strange.”
Hua Cheng had a moment to quietly gloat at the grudging admiration that filled Guoshi’s voice, and then he added: “I wonder what Dianxia will make of it,” because, even after so many years and so many atrocities, it seemed that Jun Wu was really always his first priority.
Luckily for Mei Nianqing, Hua Cheng was quickly distracted from his displeasure by the sight of a familiar, much-despised white-robed silhouette that had come to stand on top of the one remaining Palace of the Heavenly Capital, looking down on them as he toyed with the black sword Hua Cheng had returned to him.
“XianLe, do you really think you can win against me?” Jun Wu taunted, having halted Heaven’s fall on his own power alone. Blood stained his chest, but he didn’t appear perturbed by it. He watched them, framed by the chaos of his fractured legacy, and all around him the ruins of ancient buildings quivered and crawled, rearranging themselves slowly into a new configuration.
Xie Lian gritted his teeth and lifted the statue’s silver-gleaming sword, elegant and sharp as he instinctively adopted the stance with which, nearly a millennia before, he had opened the dance of the Shangyuan Parade. “Do you?” he said softly, audible only to Hua Cheng and Banyue who were standing directly by him.
Fiercely, Xie Lian slashed at the Heavenly Capital. The amount of energy required for such a blow was preposterous, but Hua Cheng had more to spare, and for every drop Xie Lian expended he returned a full cup, branding it into his skin. Above, Jun Wu had closed his hands into a seal; although Xie Lian had cleanly cut off a section of the floating city, at the Emperor’s command the scattered pieces reassembled, arching high up into the air.
“Quick, quick, it’s reforming!” Feng Xin yelled, having felt the need to make a contribution.
Unwilling to be left behind by his rival, Mu Qing joined in with another useless observation: “Is that a dragon?”
Jun Wu had indeed decided to rebuild the Heavenly Capital into the shape of a dragon: long and sinuous, it shone against the dark backdrop of the night sky, casting an immense reflection down into the sea. A maw of sharp fangs made out of splintered glass, venerable weapons and shards of antique pottery opened above the head of the statue as the dragon curved, weightless, and let out a roar.
An airborne creature would have the advantage in such a fight, Hua Cheng realized with some dismay, although Jun Wu had to be burning up a ridiculous amount of spiritual energy to make it look so needlessly real. “Gege,” Hua Cheng whispered, squeezing his husband’s hips as he hovered, uncertain, pondering the next move. “Fly.”
Xie Lian blinked up at him in shock, but when their eyes met he smiled, and leaned closer into Hua Cheng. “If San Lang thinks it possible, then it must be,” he muttered, and twisted his fingers in the air. “He Xuan, will the sea release us?”
Black Water gave a curt nod, and tapped the statue’s brow with a single finger; a shudder ran through it, and it became lighter all of a sudden, turning into something that could float. As he narrowly dodged the dragon’s attacks, Xie Lian balanced the silver sword into the air, and with clenched teeth and a great amount of courage guided the statue into leaping on it. The sea below pushed out a wave just in time to help it along, and then they were flying. A bead of sweat rolled down Xie Lian’s temple.
Hua Cheng called upon a new host of butterflies, gathering them at the statue’s feet and under its arms to support its unnatural flight, so that his husband could concentrate, bare-handed, on facing the dragon.
Jun Wu’s attacks were swift and precise, ruthlessly aiming for the statue’s weak spots to try and drop it in the sea; more than once, the great jaws of the beast locked around it, tearing out chunks of stone —but Xie Lian managed to always draw back before the damage became permanent. One sleeve was sacrificed, along with the beautifully decorated scabbard hanging at the statue’s waist, and even a piece of the impeccably rendered topknot. Hua Cheng sent down his butterflies to melt against the stone and reinforce it where there was a need to, and urged Xie Lian forward.
The dragon descended again, this time pointing directly at the flower crown that formed the balcony on which they stood. Xie Lian lifted the statue’s hands and caught the beast’s muzzle between his palms, holding it still and thrashing in the air. Quivering with the strain of it, he swayed into Hua Cheng’s body, panting quietly with a flushed face. Suddenly, the statue’s balance on its sword turned precarious.
“Younglings! How dare you just stand there and watch?” cried Mei Nianqing from the statue’s shoulder, addressing the handful of Deities that clung to Hua Cheng’s masterpiece like a group of particularly stubborn parasites. Aside from Shi QingXuan, who had been using the golden fan to shoot blades at the dragon whenever it came too close, none of them had lifted a finger in contribution, perhaps too stunned in the face of Xie Lian’s martial prowess to intervene. “Make yourselves useful, aren’t you Gods? Or have you forgotten you have spiritual energy of your own?”
Embarrassed mumblings followed Guoshi’s harsh reprimand, and then the Gods all pressed their palms against the statue, offering up their meager power to pay for transportation. Xie Lian straightened, eyes growing sharp as he let out a bit of a snarl and ripped out the dragon’s jaw.
It reared back, and Xie Lian huffed out a breathless, elated laughter, and threw the now-motionless amalgamation of rock, gold and glass straight into the depths of the sea from which nothing surfaced. “Ah, this would be faster with a weapon.”
Black Water pursed his lips and waved a hand. The bonefish that had been anxiously circling them from below jumped out of the waves, forming a shining ivory line into the air; they bit firmly into each other’s tails, and thus became a long, slippery, poisonous whip. Xie Lian lifted the statue’s left arm to block the dragon as it lunged at them with fierce claws, shivering when it left marks deep into the stone. Thankfully, the arm remained mostly intact, and Xie Lian closed his hand gingerly around the end of that bonefish line.
“Ah, Xiao He, won’t this hurt them…?” he asked, giving an experimental flick of his wrist. The whip curved seamlessly in a half circle, protecting the statue’s face.
“It’s alright, we can fix them after,” Black Water said, rather dismissively for one who regularly spent hours doting on those guardians-turned-pets. Hua Cheng appreciated his unfazed demeanor. “Don’t falter, Lao Xie, break it up.”
Gritting his teeth, Xie Lian arched his arm above his head and forcefully slashed the air, catching the very end of the whip around the dragon’s tail; with surgical precision, another piece fell off, dropped into the water, and Jun Wu made the beast rear back, finally pushed into defense. The dragon roared, trying to put space between itself and the bone-whip which had turned Xie Lian’s attacks from competent to deadly, but Xie Lian pursued it, curving the statue’s body into the perfect stance to fly lighting-fast on a sword. Snatches of bone rattled off the loyal fish as he twisted the whip in perfectly executed figures, aiming for all of the dragon’s limbs, as familiar and proficient with this weapon as with any other. Hua Cheng, who had trained with his husband for centuries, could barely restrain the vaguely bloody desire to put his hands all over him in praise and supplication.
Plastered against his God’s back, he could feel both the delicious shift of his muscles in movement and the riot of spiritual energy passing through his meridians and into the statue below. What a blessing, to be by Xie Lian’s side during this final confrontation!
With a beautiful, almost-delicate flick of the arm, Xie Lian sent the bone whip to wrap tightly around the dragon’s neck, where it curled in loops and held, squeezing, even as Jun Wu pumped shocks of power through the fish to try and break them. The bones creaked.
Xie Lian dragged the dragon closer, close enough that it became easy for Hua Cheng to leap seamlessly on top of its ruined muzzle. He rushed forward, and Bai WuXiang met E’ming with his own black sword.
“You’ll need more than this if you hope to catch me,” hissed Jun Wu, pushing back against him.
“Die in a fire,” Hua Cheng told him pleasantly, smiling as he left E’ming hanging in the air, squatted to the ground and sent a lick of flames to spread directly within the dragon’s body.
Snatching his saber from the air, Hua Cheng evaded the Emperor’s next blow and jumped into the void, certain that Xie Lian would break his fall.
The statue’s free hand lifted, and the Crimson Calamity landed softly into its palm, feeling a little mournful to see that three of its fingers were missing, and it was cracked in the middle. Quickly, he scaled its arm and shoulder and returned to his place behind his husband. With his own red sleeve he wiped the sweat from his God’s brow, and kissed a little more power into his hair.
Baring his teeth, Xie Lian dragged the whip downwards in a single decisive motion, and the dragon wept and screeched with the sound of warping metal.
“It’s coming apart!” Banyue cried. She had been smart enough to sit back and recuperate the energy she had expended in manipulating the Kiln, but now it seemed that her enthusiasm was such that she couldn’t help but reach forward as well, adding her own divine power to the currents running through the statue.
The dragon splintered, cracked and broke.
“Xiao He, the resentment, can you—”
At Xie Lian’s request, He Xuan reached out both hands to manipulate the water below; with Shi QingXuan at his side (and even without the Wind Master’s fan), they managed to summon a tall, howling cyclone, and it snatched the scattered pieces of the Heavenly Capital into its gaping mouth so it could drag them deep into the belly of the black sea, preventing Jun Wu from claiming them for himself.
Down went the body, and finally the head. Before it could be swallowed into the whirlpool, Hua Cheng saw Bai Wu Xiang vanish.
Xie Lian’s shoulders untensed. With graceful motions he led the statue to the shore, descending from its sword once they reached the fine flour-like sand of Nether Water, and promptly sheathed the weapon (somewhat. There wasn’t much left of the scabbard), only waiting for Hua Cheng to recall his butterflies from its blade. Then, before dissolving the hand sigil, he sat the statue down, cross-legged and peaceful, even with all its missing pieces.
They all jumped ashore. Shi QingXuan, hanging off He Xuan’s arm as was her usual, turned back towards the sea, still churning around its mouthful. “He-xiong, look at that. It seems we’ll be picking up priceless artifacts from the shore for the next century.”
Xie Lian laughed in graceless surprise. “Don’t worry, Xiao Feng, San Lang and I will help with the clean-up,” he promised, eyeing the rather imposing statue that was now casting a shadow all over the forest. “Thanks for lending us your territory.”
“Of course,” said He Xuan, patting his shoulder.
Hua Cheng narrowed his eye, thinking about pestering his husband for one more kiss to tide him over before they began the chase for Bai WuXiang, but was stopped in his tracks by the combined forces of his own wraith butterflies (the ones he had stationed to guard the resentful spirits of the Kiln) demanding attention and the sudden and explosive argument that had flared up between Feng Xin and Mu Qing (unbelievably allied) and the former Guoshi of XianLe.
Ignoring their bickering and the bloodlust it evoked, Hua Cheng turned to grab his husband’s hand. “Gege, the barrier around Mount Tong’lu is faltering,” he told him gravely. “There’s an array… He’s sending the disease straight to the Capital!”
Xie Lian nodded, cupped his cheek and leaned up to give him a kiss anyway. “I thought he would,” he said a moment after. “I already have a plan.”
Clever Xie Lian. Hua Cheng just loved him.
It was midnight, and the village of Hong Ye was asleep. Xie Lian waited patiently, hand in hand with his husband, for Ming Hao to open the door to his house, listening to the heavy, labored cadence of his steps. When it finally appeared, his lined face was sharp with worry; in his hand he held a small candle, which cast orange light in a circle about its flickering flame. “Hua-daozhang, Xiao Hua, A-Yue,” greeted the old man. “Welcome back.”
Xie Lian patted his shoulder, offering up an apologetic smile, and asked: “Xiao Ming, I’m sorry, but can I trouble you to wake everyone?”
Ming Hao watched him for a moment and then nodded curtly, making his way outside to go and knock on other doors. Xie Lian breathed out a sigh, and walked across the house to the back where the sleeping mats lied, needing, in his heart, to make sure that the boy he had hidden there was safe. Hua Cheng and Banyue followed soundlessly behind him, both unwilling to disturb the quiet, but before Xie Lian could peer inside the room, a blur of short limbs and messy hair collided powerfully against his legs, grabbing onto his robes.
“Hua-gege! Xie-gege! You’re here!” cried Guzi, ecstatic as he craned his neck to look up at them both. Hua Cheng snatched him up, faster even than Xie Lian with his grabby hands, and squished him against his chest. The child squealed when Hua Cheng grinned, showing off his fangs with an open mouth, and made a gesture as if wanting to bite into his belly. “Hua-gege, no!”
Giggling and kicking his feet, Guzi fisted Hua Cheng’s hair tightly, and the ghost let the boy tilt his head this way and that, then broke free to kiss his face. “My fresh little mantou bun.”
Guzi squirmed around in Hua Cheng’s hold to reach a hand towards Xie Lian. “Xie-gege, can we go home now, please?” he asked politely.
Xie Lian swallowed thickly and produced a sweet smile for him, flicking his nose very gently. “Not yet, xiao bao , I’m sorry. It’s not safe,” he told him honestly. Guzi’s excited gaze melted into dismay as he went entirely limp in Hua Cheng’s arms, flopping back against his shoulder. Xie Lian’s heart squeezed, and he walked around so he could meet his eyes. “But we’ll see you very soon, alright?” he promised, kissing the chubby hand that was still half-extended towards him.
With a woeful sigh, Guzi surrendered to his fate, but still he burrowed into Hua Cheng’s robe, unwilling to let go. Hua Cheng thus rocked him in place, and soon enough the child’s eyes fell shut around a yawn, and Banyue came over to admire him. “Diedie, he’s very precious,” she whispered, brushing a fingertip along the curve of his face. “Look at his round cheeks!”
“I know!” Hua Cheng returned enthusiastically. “So fat! Just like yours when you were that age!”
Outside, the people had started gathering. “San Lang,” Xie Lian called, and Hua Cheng passed the child into his arms so he could give him a brief embrace before delivering him back onto his sleeping mat, tucked beneath two soft blankets.
After indulging in one last look at the round, peaceful face, they all stepped out of the house and into the marketplace. Most of Hong Ye had gathered there, and so it appeared fuller than it was during peak hours, when all the stalls were open and crowded and the villagers wanted to trade.
Xie Lian cleared his throat and addressed the people (people he had known from birth, each roughened farmer, each reckless youth, each cunning old woman) with a smile and opened arms, standing among them. “Everyone, thank you for coming so quickly. We need your help,” he said, with great simplicity.
Many nodded their heads.
Hua Cheng’s hand was a solid point of certainty. Xie Lian focused on it and not on the stakes that were riding on how effectively he managed to convince these people into willingly relinquishing what was probably the safest place in the land for the sake of distant strangers and Xie Lian’s own request. Still, if he had to, after eight hundred years, take a gamble, he was glad it was here, in Mount TaiCang, with this village that was his and Hua Cheng’s labor of love.
“Resentful spirits have been let loose in the Capital. Although I have come up with a way to subdue them, I need living human volunteers for it.” He breathed. The air tasted like maple. The people were looking at him, waiting, not even muttering amongst themselves: there was only Xie Lian’s voice, and the sounds of the night, and the faint wind brushing the high peaks guarding their backs. “It’s going to be dangerous, and honestly quite frightening, but I’m sure it will work.”
Again, there was silence.
“Dianxia and I will protect you, obviously,” Hua Cheng put in curtly. “If you’re willing, we must go now.”
Around them the farmers rolled up their sleeves, and most women set about folding their tunics at the waist for greater ease of movement. Ming Hao raised his hand. “Must we be young, or strong, or nimble for it to work?” he asked in his scratched-up voice that had never quite recovered from that tumble he had taken into the river.
“You must only be willing,” Xie Lian told him, feeling almost buoyant with relief. Then, spotting sudden and uncoordinated movements to his left, he corrected himself, catching the fourteen-year-old leader to Hong Ye’s fresh new gaggle of youths as she attempted to evade his scrutiny. “We’re obviously not taking kids —that means you as well, Xiao Lin.”
She went boneless in his grip, forcing him to hold her up by the back of her simple robe, but relented when Hua Cheng shot her an admonishing glare. “Unfair,” Xiao Lin muttered, slinking away.
After swatting the back of her head, Ming Hao turned his attention on Xie Lian. “All of us are willing,” he declared, having done a quick headcount. Xie Lian wanted to weep. For his array to work, he only needed about seven hundred people! Like this, he would have almost a thousand! What a blessing!
Ming Hao clapped his hands. “Those above the age of sixteen will come. Xiao Lin, you’re in charge of the rest. I’ve great faith in you.” Here, the young girl scoffed and crossed her arms, although her eyes twinkled at the praise and responsibility granted to her. Xie Lian was eager to see what she would become in the future. “Everyone, form a line. The guardians of Hong Ye will lead the way.”
Hua Cheng opened a portal to the Imperial Capital, and Xie Lian walked out first, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at the first suggestion of trouble. What greeted him on the other side was a horribly familiar scenario, torn straight from his own personal nightmare: a black sky, and faces howling within a cloud of resentment, impossible to contain and seeking bodies upon which to inflict their incurable woe. The night sky was entirely obscured, save for a single point, where a sliver of waxing moon shone white like a cat’s claw, curved low on the horizon.
The Gods and Goddesses who had made the run from the Heavens aboard Xie Lian’s statue were trying to beat the spirits back, with various degrees of failure, alternating brute force with talismans and charms. Bai WuXiang was nowhere in sight.
“Lao Xie! You made it!” came Shi QingXuan’s frazzled voice. Clutching the golden fan to her chest, she skidded to a stop right before Xie Lian, flushed and panting with fatigue. “You do have the solution, don’t you?”
Looking in her soft brown eyes, Xie Lian felt that perhaps too much responsibility was being placed on him —yes, he had a plan, but it had never been attempted before! What if everything went up in flames like it happened when Hua Cheng tested out his inventions? What if —but there was no time for doubt. “Assemble the others. It’s best to act at once.”
He turned back to watch the people of Hong Ye step out of his husband’s clever array one by one, watched them take in the magnitude of the enemy they had been asked to face, watched them stiffen and pale and hesitate. But then, they all straightened their backs and set their jaws and stomped forward regardless, crowding around him. Banyue came last, and then Hua Cheng who closed the portal behind them, shutting the window against the lovely view of the quiet, near-deserted village.
Feng Xin and Mu Qing bickered their way to Xie Lian’s side, one sporting a bloodied nose and the other a split lip (Xie Lian decided to be happy that their arguments had reverted to what they used to be back in XianLe: aggressive and occasionally malicious ribbing, as opposed to the full-on enmity of the past centuries) and crossed their arms, mirroring each other as they fixed their expectant gazes on Xie Lian.
“Everyone, please, form a circle,” Xie Lian instructed, cutting straight to the point. “You need to hold hands and never let go, because the chain must remain uninterrupted. You will first become the lure for the spirits, and then their cage.”
The Gods started murmuring amongst each other, but were quickly cowed by the two Calamities who were helping Ming Hao sort his people in the proper position; Xie Lian felt a faint suggestion of amusement to see how at ease with Hua Cheng and He Xuan the villagers of Hong Ye were as opposed to the most prominent figures of Heaven. Next to each person, Hua Cheng left a butterfly. “San Lang and I will stand in the middle of the circle and disperse the spirits as they come down. They’ll never touch you, I promise.”
“You heard Hua-daozhang, nothing bad’s going to happen!” Ming Hao barked decisively. “Chin up, let’s show these heavenly officials what the people of Hong Ye are made of!”
Xie Lian shot the old man a grateful smile. “As for the Gods, please divide yourselves equally among the mortals, so as not to upset the balance of the array.”
With no small amount of discomfort, the Heavenly officials were also guided into position by He Xuan and Hua Cheng. Banyue chose to stand opposite Shi QingXuan, so they could see each other.
“If you feel the need to break out of the circle,” Xie Lian added, when He Xuan had glided outside of the circle, with the intention of disposing of any stragglers, and there was nothing more to do but begin with the spell, “there’s no shame in it. Just let me know so I can ensure you do so safely, for all of us.”
Hua Cheng retreated further inside the circle, taking his rightful place at Xie Lian’s side. The God sighed deeply, bracing himself, and lifted Chi Xin up in a defensive stance. “Thank you for your courage,” he said. “Let’s begin!”
Attracted by the abundant yin energy of the humans, the resentful spirits coalesced from their scattered cloud to form a single wave of churning smoke, diving down open-mouthed for the center of the circle. The people flinched and yelped to find themselves so suddenly confronted with their ancient fury, but their hands stayed linked and their position secured, so Xie Lian shifted his focus onto the spirits, slashing at them as quickly as he could, fearing the moment Jun Wu would return.
The last time he had faced such an enemy, Xie Lian had lost everything —his kingdom, his godhood, even his beloved— to the unsolvable riddle it had presented: the disease was gruesome and deadly, but so was the cure, and it spread and kept spreading, more persistent than a wildfire. But now Xie Lian had had centuries to contemplate his answer, to reflect on what he could have done that day in Lang’er Bay, to prevent Hua Cheng from sacrificing himself. A third path, for which hopefully no one had to die.
Back to back with his first and most devoted believer, Xie Lian fought, giving it all that he had, perfectly in tune with Hua Cheng with whom he had trained most of his life. It was exhilarating, on some level, to be called upon to test their skills together in such a way, to taste blood on his teeth and feel adrenaline rush through his veins, feel the sharpening of his mind, the heightening of his senses.
Even if it was two thousand, three thousand spirits, Xie Lian was confident they could take them all.
The ruckus caused by the fight (a cacophony of screeching, howling and cursing) ended up soon attracting the attention of some of the cultivators who had assembled in the streets after the Emperor’s Temples had been set on fire. They arrived in groups of tens and twenties, hanging back before the sight of so many gathered Heavenly officials. Despite their many reservations concerning Hua Cheng and He Xuan’s presence, in the end, their sense of duty seemed to prevail, for most of them asked to join the circle to help protect the city.
Xie Lian registered all this somewhat distantly, too caught-up in the fight to truly notice the cultivators’ words or listen to their complaints, but Shi QingXuan was thankfully more than capable of persuading them into compliance, and eagerly took up the task. It was only one specific, very annoying voice that managed to break Xie Lian’s concentration —a voice belonging to perhaps one of if not the most self-righteous man Xie Lian had encountered in his eight centuries of life, a man who had cultivated a rather unique gift and nonetheless used it mostly to judge others, and who had repeatedly tried and failed to raise trouble in Ghost City.
Heaven’s Eye seemed to have it out for Hua Cheng especially, objecting to his running of the Gambler’s den (which Xie Lian could have understood, if not excused) and the protection he extended to those spirits like butcher Zhou or Jian Lan’s women who had sought out revenge against the mortals that had mistreated them.
Tuning out the cultivator’s sanctimonious speech, Xie Lian aggressively sunk his sword into a wailing spirit, cutting its contorted face in two; then, feeling sorry for it, he hastened through reciting a service for its soul, although he had very little chances of ridding it of all resentment since it had clung to its fumes for millennia. Hua Cheng’s elbow brushed his, and Xie Lian indulged in a quick glance at his serious, dangerously beautiful face, the fierce set of his mouth, the crimson glow of his eye, the silver reflexes cast on his pale skin by E’ming’s blade and the wraith butterflies filling the circle.
Hua Cheng’s tongue darted out to wet the point of his small fangs. Xie Lian wisely averted his gaze before he could become too distracted.
A sichen passed in such a way. Almost half the spirits were dispersed, and though more and more replaced them it seemed like they would soon see the end of it, and if they were lucky, it would be before dawn. He Xuan made a clone and brought out food and water, so that the mortals of Hong Ye (many of whom were elderly, or had spent the day working the fields and tending to animals and were unused to being awake at night) took turns detaching themselves from the circle to sit down, rest a bit, close their eyes.
Xie Lian began to feel hopeful —the array worked! The gamble had paid off!
And that was, of course, when the black rats swarmed the street.
“I’ll call Yin Yu over,” Hua Cheng said immediately upon spotting the first wave of distorted little minions. “Gege, I think Jun Wu is becoming desperate.”
Xie Lian, who had looked fretful at the sight of the new obstacle, smiled at him, delivering a beautifully executed blow that wiped off five different spirits at once. Hua Cheng expended some energy into trying not to openly salivate to see his husband so unrestrained, with his bared teeth and soundless steps, so light he could have been flying, glowing with excitement, flushed from exertion, nimble and lethal and magnificent.
Fortunately, the suddenly charged mood that had risen between them (a product of the far too many times in which they had gotten carried away during their sparring sessions) was effectively shattered by the prompt arrival of the colorful, mismatched, deliriously enthusiastic crowd of Ghost City, spilling forth from a blind alley to their left. Yin Yu led the procession of horrors, but detached from it quickly to join the rest of the Gods within the circle.
“Hua Gui! Our Hua Gui is here!” cried the ghosts, climbing one over the other so they could be the first to greet Xie Lian, whom they loved very well. “Granduncle! Granduncle, are you alright?”
Hua Cheng saw Xie Lian’s vaguely embarrassed delight at such open, honest care, and felt much accomplished for all the happiness his City had given to his God. Never had he dared imagine that Xie Lian would become so attached to the misfits populating the ever-changing landscape of Ghost City, nor that they, in turn, would adore him so completely. The horde of ghosts had rushed to the Capital bearing skewers, pans, claws, axes and pickets and every other manner of weapon and weapon-adjacent junk, and all of them were raised in triumph as they turned to face the approaching spiritual rats. “Granduncle, Chengzhu, we’ve come to feast on the blood of your enemies!” they declared.
A wave of discomfort passed across the circle; even the people of Hong Ye, much used to strange sights, were bothered by the malicious aura the ghosts had tracked onto the streets; but they rallied quickly (unlike most cultivators) and did not take their focus from their task at all. Hua Cheng turned his attention back to the flood of spirits Jun Wu was still pouring from the jaws of Mount Tong’lu directly into the Mortal Realm. The chill they brought was dry and pervasive, something that could be felt deep within the soul —the never-faded imprint of their touch upon him had resurfaced, trickling like shivers along Hua Cheng’s spine.
He remembered what it meant to be rent to pieces by them, to be pulled apart by so many different flavors of resentment they blurred together into a single pain, to be damaged to the point of destruction. Most of all, he remembered the sound of Xie Lian’s scream, the way it had been torn right out of his lungs, how his mouth had been bloodied with it.
Chi Xin was beautiful as jade as it slashed into the frenzied spirits; Xie Lian’s skin was clean and untouched, red and tanned from long days spent in the sun, his concentration unbroken: all of him was devoted to the fight, and no room was allowed for any doubt, no space for despair to fester. The people of Yong’an in that much-distant past had been nothing but dead weight, helpless bystanders who could only run about aimlessly like headless chickens; now there was a circle made up of more than seven hundred pairs of hands, and all of their City had come when summoned, and Jun Wu’s power was crumbling more and more with every spirit that fell under Hua Cheng and Xie Lian’s blades.
“What are all these ghosts doing here?” Heaven’s Eye yelled, stomping his feet. He had, with his pack of brainless lackeys, wandered further from the circle to inspect Mount Tong’lu’s rats, but now he had whirled around and was addressing Hua Chemg with great outrage. “Crimson Rain, you depraved, shameless Calamity, how dare you invite your—”
Hua Cheng had more important things to do (such as disposing of the spirits and admiring Xie Lian as he did the same) than listen to some inconsequential nuisance yap about his moral failures, and did not deign to even spare a glance for the man and his indignation.
Xie Lian, on the other hand, whirled around to face the cultivator from within the circle, and twisted his sword so that its glare fell sharply onto the ground, scattering precise white lines that danced in time with his moves. “Heaven’s Eye, for once in your life, close your mouth and open your mind!” he snapped, loud enough to be heard even above the noise of thousands of howling spirits. “Being here, right now, our ghosts are saving more people than you ever have.”
His rebuke was stern, his eyes golden-bright with spiritual power. Hua Cheng banished the resentful soul that had dared bare its teeth in his husband’s direction and endeavored to engrave the sight of Xie Lian, filled to the brim with scathing disdain, into his mind so that he may at least commit it to painting or sculpture.
Heaven’s Eye faltered, squinting in his direction, and Hua Cheng realized this was the first time he met Xie Lian without his Hua Gui skin, and certainly the first since his last ascension had soaked him in the glory of divinity. “You are… a God?”
“‘Is he a God’?” one of the croupiers of the den mocked. She had been sold to Ghost City as collateral by a noble husband who had cheated his way into obtaining her hand, and was thus filled with contempt for cultivators and similarly upstanding men. “What a useless question!”
“Your meat wouldn’t be good to serve in a broth!” yelled Butcher Zhu from the other side of the street. His cutting knives were covered in the dark, sludge-like blood of the rats, and so was his apron. Although he had been completely absorbed in the slaughter, it seemed the insult to Xie Lian had been enough to take him from his work. His tusks, also stained in blood, quivered over every word. “What gives you the gall to accuse our Lords?”
All the other ghosts chimed in, adding their angry shouting to the chaos. “How dare you look down on Chengzhu’s Madam Wife! Of course he’s a God!” they squawked. “Granduncle is THE God!”
Hua Cheng snorted quietly under his breath at that. Being called ‘Chengzhu’s Madam Wife’ never failed to bring a blush to Xie Lian’s cheeks, and even now, absorbed in the fight as he was, Hua Cheng saw that his ears were aflame. After their third wedding, it had become one of Xie Lian’s most common titles, and perhaps Hua Cheng had encouraged the spread of it, just a little, just to fluster him. Xie Lian shook his head minutely, having obviously divined the reasons behind the ghost’s amusement, and as he disposed of the next spirit that happened before him, he made sure to lightly trip Hua Cheng’s left leg in retaliation.
“Gege, so vengeful,” Hua Cheng breathed next to his ear, lingering for as long as he could, and then the turbulent whirlwind of souls forced them to part anew.
Heaven’s Eye had fallen conspicuously silent, not having expected such an impassioned defense of a God to come from the rowdy crowd of undead sinners who were currently savaging Mount Tong’lu’s rats by the dozens. The insults thrown his way were becoming increasingly more creative, and even some of Hong Ye’s people had started snickering at his expense. The circle strengthened for it, fear giving way to hilarity for a brief moment. Hua Cheng sighed in relief to hear his daughter join in, laughing openly and calling out the names of those citizens she knew, having been raised among them as their most beloved princess.
“Our Waning Moon officer has promised us we can eat up as many spiritual rats as we want!” bragged the ghosts, happy for their gruesome feast. “Granduncle and Chengzhu invited us personally! Who have you brought? Look! Even the Rain-jiejie has come!”
So she had. When next Hua Cheng turned around, most of his field of vision was occupied by the immense bulk of Yushi Huang’s ox. His hooves clacked ponderously against the paved streets, causing tremors to run all over the area; the farmers of Hong Ye all cheered for the arrival of the Rain Master, and she waved her hat in the direction of the circle as a greeting. Perfectly poised, she and her mount brought along with them the scent of petrichor and a strange, charged calm, and Pei Ming, who had apparently deemed himself recovered enough to rejoin the fight, hastening to keep up with the ox’s brisk pace.
“Hi jiejie,” said Hua Cheng, having sent over a butterfly to perch on her hand. “Were you feeling left out?”
Yushi Huang huffed regally, lowering her lids just enough to convey fond amusement at Hua Cheng’s general irreverence (E’Ming’s eye grew briefly round in response, although it sharpened as soon as its gaze landed onto the next wave of howling spirits) and shook out her hair. The ghosts parted to let her through, and she quickly gained terrain, facing off against the line of famished rats loitering just shy of their party. From her wide, trailing sleeves she drew out handfuls of seeds, scattering them behind her ox as he trotted over. “I’ll lead them back to the mountain,” she declared. “Master Zhou, if you and the others would be kind enough to follow…”
Although they weren’t kind at all, Hua Cheng’s citizens were certainly eager for their meal, and hurried to retrace her steps. The rats, enchanted by her healing rice, paid no mind to the hands, claws and sticks that assaulted them from the rear, and assembled in a single great river of squirming flesh that was swiftly drawn away. Pei Ming lingered around the ox, having procured a sword, and guarded his legs from the biting and scratching of the rats, looking supremely uncomfortable but resigned to it. He was renowned in Ghost City, for more than a few among his conquests throughout the centuries had been ghosts, and so he was quickly surrounded by the many invasive comments born of almost a millennia of uninterrupted gossip. Jian Lan’s women, especially, were having great fun mocking him.
“San Lang-ah, are you tired yet?” Xie Lian asked, having decided to ignore the ruckus once it became clear the rats were being quite efficiently driven away.
Hua Cheng stepped around the God so he could peer at his face, and found that he was smiling faintly. “Not by far, gege,” he replied, snaking an arm around Xie Lian’s waist to draw him closer for a fleeting kiss and a quick exchange of spiritual energy. “Your method is flawless.”
Xie Lian’s eyes narrowed into crescents. “Thank you for your help refining it,” he said sincerely before circling Hua Cheng so they were pressed back-to-back again, meeting and parting as they lunged and returned, following the wave-like flow of the fight.
Roughly a quarter of the spirits remained. The sky was slowly turning gray and a cool mist had risen about the houses with their shuttered windows and doors; most of the Capital City was immersed in that vaporous white shroud which softened the landscape, blurring its shapes into dreamlike uncertainty, and even the shrieking of the resentful souls was muffled by the very early hour. The shadows had flattened, growing long and blue, and the people of Hong Ye were taking longer breaks, having by then been awake for a full day and a night.
“It’s almost done, everyone, hold on!” Shi QingXuan called cheerfully from her place within the circle. “Afterwards, there will be a warm meal, and we can throw a party in the Ghost City, too!”
Then, the temperature dropped abruptly. He Xuan, who had been guarding the circle from outside, ensuring the mortals did not push themselves to the point of exhaustion (if one were to suddenly faint the circle would break, scattering the spirits through the city), stopped in his tracks and let out a sharp hiss. “Lao Xie! Something’s happening,” he called. “The street is bleeding.”
Xie Lian blinked, lowering his sword, and had jumped out of the circle to join Black Water before Hua Cheng could think about holding him back. Left alone to deal with the resentful souls, he could only push out a swarm of butterflies to accompany his husband, and grit his teeth in displeasure as E’Ming trilled anxiously in his hand.
Jun Wu had returned, dressed up in funeral robes and with his cracked mask still in place. He appeared silently right by the circle, and the tip of Fang Xin’s cursed blade hovered painfully close to Ming Hao’s back. The threat was clear and well-timed. “How quaint,” said the Emperor, looking only at Xie Lian as he spoke. “You went to all this trouble just to stop me?”
“Nobody move! We can’t break the circle, for any reason!” Xie Lian cried. “San Lang, stand back.”
He Xuan cursed low under his breath and placed himself between Xie Lian and Jun Wu. Every step they took squeaked with blood, but He Xuan’s dark waters pooled slowly at their feet, spreading on the street and covering red with black. Xie Lian smiled. He feinted left, then twisted around at the last moment, and with the flat of his hand he drew Fang Xin away.
“A-Lian!”
It was, of course, a useless warning —Xie Lian knew as well as Hua Cheng did that he had moved directly inside Bai WuXiang’s range, and was probably counting on that very fact to lure him away from the array so he could protect everyone else. He Xuan lunged for him at the same time as Jun Wu did, and Xie Lian slithered further and further back. “Lao Xie, what are you doing?” He Xuan snapped. “Do you want to let him catch you?”
Hua Cheng’s fingers turned numb with dread upon realizing that yes, that was exactly what Xie Lian intended. It made sense, since otherwise Jun Wu would just keep making more and more trouble for everyone else, to simply give in to his obsession and allow him the chance to confront Xie Lian alone as he so wished. Never in eight hundred years had the playing field been evened out quite as much —Jun Wu’s power was significantly reduced, while Xie Lian’s was unfettered and fed by Hua Cheng’s devotion and his spiritual energy— and such an opportunity was rare and must be taken.
It made sense, and it made Hua Cheng want to tear his lungs out and scream.
Jun Wu wrapped his white hand around Xie Lian’s unbound neck. “Good, XianLe,” he said, as Xie Lian went limp in his hold. “It seems you still know when you’re beaten.”
He Xuan froze. Hua Cheng sought out his husband’s eyes.
San Lang-ah, whispered Xie Lian in their array. Settle things here, and then you can come after me, alright? That’s what the red string is for, after all.
My love, you’re going to kill me like this, Hua Cheng sighed, how many times must you ask me to watch you walk into his traps and do nothing?
Xie Lian licked his lips, parting his mouth slightly as Jun Wu squeezed his throat. Hua Cheng watched as the fingers of his right hand traveled, inch by inch, towards his left sleeve. This is the last time, I promise.
Bai WuXiang’s empty laughter was the same as it had ever been. Satisfied with having Xie Lian in his grip, he had lost interest both for the spirits and the circle of mortals and Gods withstanding their fury. Wish me luck , Xie Lian said wryly. Having finally reached his sleeve, he drew out the pair of crimson dice Hua Cheng had bespelled with endless good fortune for him, and in a lightning-fast move he shot them in the air. He Xuan caught them before Jun Wu could unfurl his arm from around Xie Lian, and in a flash of silver the three of them vanished.
Blood trickled down Hua Cheng’s palm when he dug his nails into the flesh, but otherwise he kept his expression schooled. “Shi QingXuan,” he called, glacial and curt. “Take care of the spirits inside the circle.”
“Sure,” said the Wind Master easily, and quickly locked the hands of the two people at her sides so she could join him within the circle. She drew out the golden fan, now charged with her own spiritual power, and readied her stance. “Xiao Pei can help me, can’t you, dear?” she added, in that strange way she had of creating more trouble in her efforts at reassurance. She turned around, searching for her disciple among the human chain holding the resentful souls at bay, and found him missing. “Xiao Pei?” she cried, raising her voice.
While Hua Cheng began the process of disentangling himself from the fight, not wanting to drop it all carelessly on Shi QingXuan and risk overwhelming her, Pei Su called out for them from outside the circle. “Here,” he said, raising a hand. Looking slightly frazzled, he was holding on to Ling Wen (still in her male form, still trapped within the embrace of the Brocade Immortal she had devised) with a firm grip about her wrists. “Apologies, I thought it best to keep an eye on her.”
Hua Cheng jumped out, landing soundlessly before them. He spared a moment to nod in praise towards Pei Su, glad for his quick thinking, then turned to the Literature Goddess who had not quite chosen to support Jun Wu. He tapped her shoulder, leaving behind a single butterfly, sharp wings primed and poised to cut a clean line across her jugular. “Ling Wen. You know the consequences for disrupting the array.”
Ling Wen nodded, and stayed put.
Satisfied, Hua Cheng took out his own dice. “Diedie,” said Banyue quietly. She had disentangled herself from the circle, and reached out to press her palm to his elbow. Behind her came Mei Nianqing. “Let me.”
“A-Yue, you…” Hua Cheng protested, and then met her eyes and caved. “Of course.”
The XianLe Guoshi huffed and flapped his sleeves to attract his attention. “Ah! Young man, take me as well,” he demanded. “I’m sure I can still reason with Taizi Dianxia, he’s bound to listen eventually—”
“You’re delusional,” Hua Cheng told him disdainfully. “Stay out of our way.”
He rolled the dice.
The moment their feet touched the ground, He Xuan threw himself forward, opened his mouth to expose a frankly impressive array of sharp teeth and bit into Jun Wu’s arm, tearing it straight off of its socket. Blood poured over Xie Lian’s already ruined robes even as he rolled away, freed from Bai WuXiang’s hold, scratching the back of his hand against black stone.
It seemed that the dice had led them back to Mount Tong’lu, although a fair distance from the Kiln. Xie Lian righted himself and recalled Chi Xin from where he had stuffed it inside his sleeve, stepping to the left until he had He Xuan on his side. His friend shifted readily into a fighting stance, and Xie Lian shot him a brief smile: “Aren’t you glad for all the training I forced you into?” he teased, to distract himself from the weight of the mask staring at him from a distance.
He Xuan flicked his wrist, cracking his claws. “Lao Xie can keep flattering himself, if he likes,” he said, and then flitted forward, sharp as an arrow, retracing the first move he and Xie Lian had practiced together so many centuries in the past, back when they used to wander the land. There was no need for Xie Lian to watch to know where he would land —familiarity and repetition made it so he could shift his focus entirely on Bai WuXiang, and trust that He Xuan’s attacks were never going to hinder his.
Chi Xin sang with bloodlust when it met Jun Wu’s chilling, dulled blade. Xie Lian had fought one-to-one against the Emperor, and had managed to crack his armor on one side, enough that he might have tried to slip his sword inside that fissure, has he been of a mind to. Now he whispered that instruction quietly to He Xuan when they crossed each other, and considered whether they would manage to shatter the armor completely this time around. After all, it had taken Jun Wu longer to regrow his arm than earlier when Hua Cheng had cut off his hand.
The Emperor’s fighting style was impeccable, of course, sharp and beautiful and confident to the point of indifference, something only Xie Lian’s eminently self-possessed husband had ever managed to replicate. Alone, he faced off against Xie Lian and He Xuan both —he had in his hands double the experience Xie Lian could boast, and it was dangerous, even when his power was so obviously diminished.
He Xuan twisted coil after coil of resentment around Bai WuXiang’s limbs; somehow, he always shook them off before Xie Lian’s sword could land a hit, and Fang Xin was unreasonably fast, slicing into Xie Lian’s flesh with ease, even if only superficially.
Xie Lian had the awful impression that Jun Wu was merely toying with him. As sweat ran down his brow, the God threw all he had into the fight, but kept his attention trained on what Bai WuXiang was trying to conceal, instead of the confidence he so carefully projected.
Ah —He Xuan’s interference was certainly bothering him. It was clear he couldn’t find a way to justify his relationship with Xie Lian, or why the elusive and solitary Black Water would care enough to move so far from his territory and engage the original Calamity in direct combat. Wanting to distract him, Xie Lian smiled: “I hope my Lord doesn’t mind that I brought a friend,” he told Jun Wu above the crossing of their swords. “I can see how it would be rude to barge in Taizi Dianxia’s kingdom unannounced and with an unexpected guest.”
Jun Wu jolted when Xie Lian called his old title so openly. He Xuan merged with the cracked walls of the cave to slither behind him.
“I do admit to some surprise as to how you have acquired such a good standing amongst resentful ghosts,” said Bai WuXiang, and twisted to avoid He Xuan’s claws a moment before they could tear his throat to shreds. The mask clattered to the floor, splitting neatly in the middle. He Xuan was thrown violently back, and Xie Lian broke his fall with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Palm to palm, they quickly shared some spiritual power between the two of them, and the fight resumed. Jun Wu laughed cruelly. “XianLe, that is a lot of resentful energy for someone who claimed they would never become a Calamity…”
Xie Lian licked his teeth and shifted his stance into a clearer threat, one that more easily belonged to the streets of Ghost City than to the standardized forms of upstanding cultivation. “Energy is energy,” he instructed. “The point is in the usage.”
“Presumptuous child.” Jun Wu’s next strike was heavier. Chi Xin shivered under the might of the Heavenly Emperor, and Xie Lian retreated ungracefully to try and spare the beloved blade that had been a wedding gift from the two people who had always, unfailingly, stood at his side. Bai WuXiang chased him, engaging him in a flurry of fast-paced blows, and Chi Xin, already stained by the bite of the countless souls it had been made to slay, whined and quivered and finally, monstrously, shattered.
The kick-back was vicious, sending Xie Lian careening to the floor. Shards of bin iron rained around him, and the lovingly engraved hilt of his sword was torn straight from his hand, leaving behind a jagged cut. He Xuan immediately shifted to stand between Xie Lian and Bai WuXiang, and with a hundred open mouths he launched himself against the White Calamity, aiming to kill. Beneath the now-torn funeral robes, the golden armor creaked. Jun Wu cut Fang Xin between He Xuan’s ribs, and Xie Lian watched with bleary eyes, dizzy and nauseous, as his friend pushed the sword deeper in just for a chance at reaching the other’s neck. Sensing danger, Jun Wu kicked He Xuan against the wall.
Contending with the ringing of his ears, Xie Lian staggered back up to his feet, and there Jun Wu was, smirking. “XianLe, should I just bury you beneath this mountain?” he mused, and to the God’s horror he found one of his boots enveloped in stone —it crawled, slow as the change of the seasons, up his leg. “Perhaps a few centuries of quiet reflection will make you more biddable.”
“In your dreams,” hissed He Xuan, and pressed his hands against the nearest wall of rock; black water filtered in the smallest pores within the stone’s very structure, and then it was everywhere, and the vise keeping Xie Lian still was forcefully loosened. He Xuan gritted his teeth while Xie Lian leapt back. “Lao Xie—”
Bai WuXiang wrapped a hand around the back of Xie Lian’s head, smashing his face against the stone. Reeling from the pain, Xie Lian used the leverage he found to curl his legs to his chest and then kick his feet against the Calamity’s chest, but couldn’t break through that golden armour. Jun Wu’s grip on him remained unshakable, and a battery of silver butterflies poured out of Xie Lian’s sleeves to slash at him.
“What do you want from me?” cried Xie Lian, hissing with pain as he watched those brave little butterflies be destroyed by the other’s touch. “What do you want?”
Jun Wu lifted Xie Lian’s head a bit. “I want you to understand. People are greedy. People are awful. There’s no point in saving them,” he said. “They will always turn against you.”
“So what if they do?” Xie Lian spat, and twisted his arm to deliver a firm blow below Jun Wu’s chin with the heel of his hand. At the cost of tearing some of his hair clean off his scalp, Xie Lian finally managed to put some distance between himself and Bai WuXiang. “What matters is my choice to save them.”
He Xuan had by then covered the floor in a thin layer of black water; it cost him to maintain, but was proving immensely useful for Xie Lian, who was fighting an armed opponent with only his bare hands and his wit as protection. He dug into his sleeves and started pulling out talismans. “I’ve lived six centuries among ghosts. I know how monstrous people can be, how cruel,” he told Jun Wu even as he danced around him to evade Fang Xin’s strikes. “But, I also know of kindness, and compassion, and of care given without expectation of gain. Sometimes, the hand that held a sword can also hold a flower.”
Jun Wu’s eyes flashed, glinting like metal. “How are you still so naive? Why can you not see?” he snarled, losing some of his chilling composure. “It will hurt, every time you care it will hurt. I could crush your little friend like a bug, and for all your care you would not be able to save him.” Here, Jun Wu squeezed a hand around empty air, and the ground shook. Xie Lian saw the rocky wall attempting to swallow He Xuan, saw blood drip down his chin as he bit his lip from the effort of resisting the pull, and forced himself to trust in the other’s strength and keep his head about himself.
Fang Xin cut a line across Xie Lian’s cheek, but it was faint, barely stinging. Banyue as a child had delivered him worse bites while play-fighting. It was strange, how light the sword felt against his skin when Jun Wu’s hands in turn were harsh, seeking to break bones.
“Admit it —that I’m right. How many times do I have to teach you this lesson? There is no point in saving the people. No heart can remain pure if it has reached the abyss.”
With an arm twisted painfully behind his back and Fang Xin pressed into his stomach, Xie Lian steadied his voice. “Even if I say it, it won’t become true.”
“How many swords must I put through you before you give up?” Jun Wu gritted out.
Xie Lian had been twenty-six and new and breaking, and had received a hundred mortal blows, and had picked up the pieces of his untainted body and shattered mind, sewn himself back together and walked on. “Why don’t you try me, Taizi Dianxia?”
The sword plunged.
The sword… passed through Xie Lian’s body without leaving a trace, as if it were nothing but an illusion, or a weak ghost fire.
“What…?” breathed Jun Wu in disbelief, and tried again to the same result. “How?!”
“Did you really think that I would have returned that cursed sword to you,” said Hua Cheng, suddenly standing directly behind Xie Lian, catching him as his knees melted in relief and he fell out of Bai WuXiang’s slacked hold, “if it could still be used to harm my God?”
In the blink of an eye, Hua Cheng had dragged Xie Lian to the other side of the cave. Butterflies knitted themselves into his skin, healing wounds and bruises as they went, and Xie Lian sunk into the crimson fabric of his husband’ robe, filling his lungs with the scent of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mei Nianqing, unmasked, rush towards Jun Wu, and then Banyue, who ran in the opposite direction. “Uncle, let me help,” she whispered to He Xuan, and put her hand on top of his, and together they held together the mountain against the unstable whims of its shaken master.
“San Lang! Fang Xin, right now…” Xie Lian cried, drinking in the wondrous vision that was Hua Cheng’s face. His husband returned an intense, aching gaze to him, and turned to hide into the God’s tangled hair. “What have you done?”
“Lao Xie, you will forgive us for being cautious,” He Xuan answered for him, although his words were directed at Jun Wu. “It’s funny how little energy it takes to enchant a sword like that,” he explained, and satisfaction tinted his tone even through the strain he was under. “Of course, we are only two Calamities. What do we know?”
Jun Wu snarled, and threw Fang Xin aside.
Hua Cheng, having reassured himself of Xie Lian’s continuing existence, peeled himself away from their embrace and pointed E’ming forward. “Your Temples have burned. Your believers know about your crimes,” he stated, glowing with power, looking well and truly invincible. “You’re done, old man. You might as well just give up.”
Together, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng re-entered the fight.
Mei Nianqing had been quickly dismissed by Jun Wu, who had retrieved his sword despite his fury and had left his once-friend crumpled in a heap of purple robes. “Taizi Dianxia,” called Xie Lian’s Guoshi, nearly pleading towards Xie Lian’s tormentor. “Let him be! Xiao Dianxia is still too young! Just… Just be patient, and you’ll see!”
Xie Lian felt this was a bit egregious on his teacher’s part. “I will not change,” he protested, guarding his husband’s right side as it was his privilege to do so. Although Fang Xin couldn’t cut Xie Lian, it could still hurt Hua Cheng —but Hua Cheng was a whirlwind of crimson and silver, utterly unreachable, taking apart the Emperor’s golden armor blow by blow as E’ming’s blood-red eye, the eye upon which Jun Wu had transferred his own misfortune, scattered eerie reflexes about the cave.
“If you want to punish me because I won’t change, you are wrong. If you’re the will of Heavens, then the Heavens are wrong,” said Xie Lian, the way he had at seventeen. “Even if it’s the lowest beggar, even if it’s the smallest ghost fire, a life is a life. There is no compromise. There is no comparison.”
Jun Wu hissed fury through his teeth. His face had blanched. Fang Xin split the air, and sliced a valley into the stone, breaking Xie Lian and Hua Cheng apart by a few steps; the red string between them pulled taught, fully visible because of the overwhelm of spiritual power that permeated the relatively small space. “Silence! Do you want me to break you?”
Xie Lian threw a talisman at him, diverting Fang Xin’s deadly strike which Jun Wu had aimed towards Hua Cheng’s left eye. He watched the cool precision with which Bai WuXiang moved, the bloodied white robes, the killing intent that swirled within his eyes, poisonous and deep, and felt a strange sense of exhaustion, thinking that this man had spent two millennia wallowing in hatred and anguish. “Taizi Dianxia, aren’t you tired?” he sighed. “Are you too scared of seeing yourself as you have become to stop? Are you afraid of death?”
E’Ming met Fang Xin; sparks flew in the air; the black sword shook. Jun Wu retreated, and silent as a phantom he cleared a path directly towards Xie Lian, hand outstretched, fingers curled into claws. “How dare you—”
For the last time (he had promised) Xie Lian let himself be caught.
“Baba!” Banyue cried, as the mountain quivered and churned all around them. Jun Wu’s self-destructive will was pushing it to cave in on itself, while Banyue and He Xuan resisted it, allowing the others space for the fight; upon seeing Bai WuXiang’s claws sink into Xie Lian’s hair, Banyue had faltered, moving as if to jump at him, but Mount Tong’lu had moved with her. Dust filled the air and the stone ceiling crumbled, dropping boulders onto their heads that they barely managed to avoid. Xie Lian, whose face was uncomfortably close to the ground, coughed, inhaling dirt.
“Don’t come over!” he cried, even as Jun Wu smashed his face into the stone. Hua Cheng let out a distressed little sound that definitely hurt more than the hard rock Bai WuXiang was trying to break Xie Lian’s skull on. Grasping weakly at Jun Wu’s wrists, Xie Lian fixed his eyes on his husband, begging him to understand: “San Lang! It’s fine, it’s fine, I promise—”
Hua Cheng clenched his teeth. Instead of rushing for Xie Lian like he clearly wanted to, he joined Banyue by the wall, to pour forth some spiritual power as another quake shook the mountain, keeping time with the violent beating Jun Wu was delivering. Xie Lian sealed his mouth shut, but Banyue was screaming, inconsolably frightened. Hua Cheng curled an arm around her waist to restrain her. “It’s fine,” Xie Lian repeated around a mouthful of blood.
Jun Wu caught him by the fold of his robe and pinned him against the furthest wall, panting, black smears under his eyes and hollow cheeks. “Enough! Say it!”
“I won’t!” Xie Lian yelled into his face. “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”
“Stubborn child, if you don’t yield, everyone here will die!”
Beyond enraged, Jun Wu was burning through the last of his power to command Mount Tong’lu’s bowels, to twist hard rock into compliance, trying to bury them all alive; Xie Lian, on the other hand, had hardly made a dent into the well of spiritual energy flowing golden through his meridians. He had let Bai WuXiang toss him about, had kept himself limp and pliant, bearing the pain as if resigned to it, just so Jun Wu would exhaust himself while Xie Lian waited for him to slip. With wheezing lungs and a hollow ringing in his ears, Xie Lian reversed the hold he had on Jun Wu so that his arms were around the other’s torso; quick and precise, he administered a single blow, and felt the Emperor’s armor shatter against his chest, and then his ribs.
He slipped back and plucked E’Ming from the air, aiming its cursed blade against Jun Wu’s throat, and while the Emperor was busy evading that blow, Xie Lian called Fang Xin into his palm and used it to nail him against the wall.
“Xiao He! A-Yue! Drop it!” he called, and they leapt back from the stone.
The mountain gave a single, prolonged shiver, and like water the rock lapped at Jun Wu’s frame, as if wanting to encase him. The ceiling caved as the slopes of the peak flattened, rolling, and then light filtered in from above, along, curiously, with the smell of petrichor. Xie Lian drew a sigil in the air and sealed both the Emperor and Mount Tong’lu into stillness.
He took a single moment to breathe around the metallic taste on his tongue, and then spun on his heels and flew across the once-cave to embrace his daughter, who was heaving out frantic sobs and clawed at his robes in desperate want of reassurance. Xie Lian pressed her face into his robes and folded his arms around her head, encasing her within his embrace, and looked up to meet Hua Cheng and He Xuan’s eyes. “It’s over,” he whispered, and hardly dared believe it.
He Xuan slid to the floor, uncharacteristically loose-limbed, and dropped his head back. “It seems like it.”
“A-Lian,” Hua Cheng said quietly, reaching out gentle fingers to heal the fresh array of injuries Xie Lian had acquired; his expression was complicated, almost pained, and his wrists trembled lightly as they brushed along Xie Lian’s cheekbones. “What a mess you’ve made of yourself,” he finally murmured, chiding and yet relieved.
“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian told him and Banyue both. “It really won’t happen again.”
Behind them, Mei Nianqing had picked himself up from the floor and was now whispering softly to Jun Wu, whose eyes were sunken and hollow and maybe a little wet, who had given himself over to the stone he was trapped against as if it had finally brought him deliverance. Out of the corner of his eyes, Xie Lian saw his Guoshi sit, shoulder-to-shoulder with the fallen Emperor, and thought them both terribly human. So he stood, pressed a kiss to his husband’s chin and walked back to where Jun Wu was sealed.
“Here,” he said, and pressed his own bamboo hat to his head. “I think it’s time for you to rest.”
Jun Wu closed his eyes.
Turning his back to him for the final time, Xie Lian gathered the pieces of his beloved Chi Xin inside his sleeve, took Hua Cheng’s hand, and together with Banyue and He Xuan they climbed out of the ruined mountain. Above them, the sky was leaden with heavy clouds, thick and slow in their aimless journey —without Jun Wu to keep it, the barrier surrounding the area had broken, letting in the seasons of the outside world. Thunder sounded, not the thunder of Heavenly ascensions but the natural kind, drawn-out and rich, promising a storm. “That’s new,” He Xuan put in, turning to Hua Cheng for confirmation. “It’s only ever been winter here as far as I know.”
Banyue slipped a hand into his elbow, lifting her glistening face to study the curling clouds. “I wonder what this place will look like in a hundred years,” she mused, grinning when the first few raindrops splashed on her cheeks. “We should come back and plant a maple tree.”
Xie Lian smiled, and tucked himself closer to Hua Cheng’s side, and couldn’t quite contain a yelp when, all of a sudden, the sky brusquely let out what it had contained for centuries. And so, for the first time since the fall of WuYong, it rained on Mount Tong’lu.
Hua Cheng curled his nose and shook open the red umbrella.
