Chapter Text
They arrive in Paradise Manor. It is dark and almost stiflingly warm. The low lantern light paints the lacquered walls with feathers of crimson glow.
Their footfall echoes through the corridor, and silvery wraith butterflies lead the way.
At the end of the long corridor, a dark figure appears—tall, though not so tall as Hua Cheng, and wearing an eerie smiling mask. He bows to them both.
“Oh, Yin Yu! Hello!” Xie Lian says cheerfully, though he’s so exhausted, he feels as though he’s moving underwater. Still, he can manage a smile.
Yin Yu stares at him in surprise. Or, rather, Xie Lian thinks it’s surprise, judging from the rigid set of his shoulders. Truly, it isn’t much different from Yin Yu’s normal greeting, at least when Hua Cheng is around, that is. Yin Yu is a little more relaxed when it’s just the two of them. Or he was. Back when he had any memory of Xie Lian at all.
“Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince,” Yin Yu says with careful remove.
Hua Cheng shifts, and his silver jewelry chimes. “Report.”
“Chengzhu.” Yin Yu bows again and begins. “The former guoshi of Xianle, Mei Nianqing, was found in the provisional gambling hall. Already grossly in debt to the other players, he was reluctant to part ways with the table.”
Xie Lian sighs and slaps his palm to his forehead.
“Fool. And his debts?” Hua Cheng asks.
“Paid in full, compliments of the house. He awaits you both presently. Though, I would be remiss not to mention, he is in ill humour.”
“Of course he is. He now owes Crimson Rain a debt. Not an ideal situation for someone like him who only knows how to lose.”
Ah. Xie Lian doubts that’s the reason for Mei Nianqing’s upset but chooses not to say anything.
They arrive in a dining hall Xie Lian has never seen before—it is lit by flickering red lanterns and candlelight. Beyond the large windows, snow gently falls in the garden.
Hua Cheng’s guards stand at attention, lining a long dining table. Yin Hai and Mogwai do not look at Xie Lian as he passes, though he tries to meet their gaze. Mao Wei, Amida, Fang Ji, Lin Qiu—none so much as glance his way. The only acknowledgement of his presence is a formal bow from each of them.
The only one who will meet his gaze, is a pink-haired, violet-eyed guard wearing an impish grin. Xie Lian’s mouth drops open when he spots Ying Ying among the guards, and Hua Cheng’s clone winks.
Ah, ah, he knows now that Ying Ying is a clone—really, he should have seen it sooner. Of course Hua Cheng could easily remake him after his untimely death at the hands of Bai Wuxiang. But Xie Lian’s heart still skips a beat thinking about Ying Ying sucking his finger into his mouth or weeping as he listened to him play music. Of course he was Hua Cheng all along.
At the end of the table, Shi Qingxuan wrings their hands, pacing back and forth. They look up, turquoise eyes bright with anxiety. “Your Highness! You’re all right!”
Xie Lian smiles, warmth flickering in his heart at the sight of the former Wind Master.
He Xuan sits at the table, devouring a platter of fried noodles. He doesn’t look up as Hua Cheng and Xie Lian approach.
Across from He Xuan, Mei Nianqing sits, sniffing as he ignores his own proffered meal. It still takes Xie Lian by surprise to see his guoshi’s familiar eyes in a much younger face. He is so delicate and lovely—his loveliness only sullied by his indignant sneer.
“Well? Anything?” Hua Cheng asks, his voice dangerously smooth and gentle.
He Xuan grunts around a mouthful of noodles. “He won’t talk.”
“Why should I speak to you, gluttonous little ghost? Look at the way you conduct yourself! It’s a disgrace!” Mei Nianqing’s eyes are red-rimmed. His complexion chalky and his hair matted. He glances at Xie Lian and then away.
“I’m a disgrace?” He Xuan says, relaxing his chopsticks. Noodles spill onto the crushed velvet of the carpet. His ocean-blue eyes narrow on Mei Nianqing. “Didn’t we just pull you, wailing and blubbering, away from the gambling table?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. The fact that you’re a ghost king means nothing to me. I can end your miserable existence with the snap of my fingers.”
He Xuan shrugs and shoves his mouth full of noodles, though his eyes gleam with violence.
“Enough.” Hua Cheng doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone resonates with power.
Mei Nianqing turns his fierce gaze on Hua Cheng. “And you! You saunter in here, commanding authority! You aren’t worthy to stand at Little Highness’ side!”
Xie Lian tenses.
“Is that so,” Hua Cheng says with a smirk.
“That’s what I said! I warned His Highness about you, dirty, cursed child that you were, born under the Star of Solitude! You bring ill fortune to everyone around you! I warned him, I warned him! And now look at all the misery you’ve caused!”
Hua Cheng stills, and his expression goes terrifyingly dark. His aura, like smoke, thickens the air in the room, and blackness curls in the corners of Xie Lian’s vision.
Shi Qingxuan whimpers, and He Xuan looks up, interest in his keen gaze. “The Star of Solitude?”
If Mei Nianqing is at all nervous about the increasingly potent killing intent in the room, he doesn’t show it.
“Guoshi,” Xie Lian begins, his nerve endings humming. He rests a gentle hand on Hua Cheng’s arm to calm him. “Guoshi, please. We are only here to ask you about a cursed artifact and what you might know.”
But Mei Nianqing ignores him. “How many times has His highness died on your watch, Crimson Rain? Pah! Your loyalty, as expected, has turned out to be worthless. You forgot him so quickly, and all it took was a little curse!”
“Careful,” Hua Cheng says dryly, his voice revealing nothing. “Unless you’d like to be reunited with your own ghost. I can make that happen.”
“Ah ha ha ha ha! Okay, okay! Moving on!” Alarm bells are going off in Xie Lian’s head. From the corner of his eye, he sees Yin Hai and Mogwai rest their hands on the pommels of their swords. Yin Yu signals for them to stand down.
Mei Nianqing rises to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. “And don’t think I haven’t heard the rumours of all the pretty boys you’ve been taking to your bed while his Highness pines! After what you’ve put him through, I’m surprised he’s willing to—”
“Guoshi!” Xie Lian’s voice echoes through the hall. His stomach roils, and acid burns beneath his tongue. He takes a steadying breath, shutting out the images of Hua Cheng wrapped in the embrace of another, kissing another, naked in bed…ah… “Mei Nianqing. I am sorry for your loss. I truly am. Jun Wu’s dissipation is a shock, certainly, certainly. But you can’t speak to San Lang this way. I won’t allow it.”
“Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers at his side. He takes Xie Lian’s hand, threading their fingers. Hua Cheng’s skin is hot to the touch, almost feverish, and worry sparks in Xie Lian’s heart.
“We need your help,” Xie Lian continues. With his free hand, he reaches up and unravels the second red coral pearl from Hua Cheng’s braid and holds it out on his palm. The bead is hot, scalding to the touch, and glistens in the red glow of the lantern light. “Do you recognise this bead?”
Mei Nianqing stares for a long moment with a complicated look on his face. He huffs and slumps back down into his chair. “That is the coral bead Bai Wuxiang used to control Lang Ying, the first king of Yong’an. I have long suspected it was related to you somehow, Your Highness.”
A chill goes down Xie Lian’s spine. “Ah. Yes. It was mine, actually. One of a matching set. I gave it to Lang Ying before he was king.”
“That would explain Jun Wu’s choice of cursed article.”
“Because of Bai Wuxiang’s obsession with His Highness?” Shi Qingxuan asks, sitting next to He Xuan at the table. They clutch a full goblet of wine in their slender fingers and drink deeply.
“One can safely assume,” Mei Nianqing replies bitterly.
“Am I the only calamity not obsessed with His Highness Xianle?” He Xuan asks between mouthfuls of food.
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha! He-xiong!” Shi Qingxuan admonishes. “Your Highness, is the bead the source of this curse, then? You’ve been wearing it all this time, haven’t you? Ever since Lang Qianqiu returned it to you?”
“Ah—”
“Wait.” He Xuan focuses his gaze on Shi Qingxuan. “His Highness the Crown Prince. Was he the one there with us in the temple that day? When we were playing dice? Is he the one who stripped Crimson Rain?”
“Of course!” Shi Qingxuan winks at Xie Lian. “I was already pretty certain His Highness and Crimson Rain were in love. They just didn’t know it yet and needed a little nudge.”
“And you chose to withhold this information from me? From Hua Cheng? Qingxuan, do you know how much time and effort you could have saved us just by telling the truth?”
Shi Qingxuan pales, but remains resolute. “It’s Old Feng now. Remember, He-xiong? His Highness confided in me for a reason. I know him well, and he wouldn’t harm a fly. You’ll have to trust me on this one. Anyway, it’s not as though you’ve never lied to me.”
He Xuan tenses and returns his attention to his food. The almost-empty platter before him is removed by one of the Paradise Manor staff and replaced with a new one, piled treacherously high with noodles and shrimp. He attacks with vigour.
Shi Qingxuan frowns, their gaze flickering to Hua Cheng. “Crimson Rain, have your memories returned, then? I see you two have become close just like before.”
“I don’t need my memories to be close to Gege.” Hua Cheng’s voice is chilly. He lets go of Xie Lian’s hand and pulls him closer, gripping his waist tight, his fingers grazing just beneath Xie Lian’s ribcage.
“Hahahahahaha true love wins after all,” Shi Qingxuan says and downs the rest of their wine.
Xie Lian shivers and leans into Hua Cheng’s embrace. His heart burns with emotion, and his eyes prick with tears. Ah, he is so tired. So very tired. He wants to crawl into Hua Cheng’s embrace and sleep forever.
Mei Nianqing crosses his arms, his bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Pah! This is what you say after how you’ve behaved? After you’ve betrayed Little Highness? It was no wonder the spirits of the black pagodas grew excited upon sensing you! You bear a fate of extinction!”
Hua Cheng bends and kisses the corner of Xie Lian’s mouth, his grip on Xie Lian’s waist tightening. When he rises once more to his full height, he gives a chilling smile—he is all sharp features and wild, dangerous beauty. His eye is black as pitch.
“Is the illustrious guoshi of the Xianle Kingdom having a hard time differentiating between his own feelings and the feelings of others? Perhaps it is you who feels betrayed, hmh? Did not your lover bestow his ashes upon another? And when your lover realised the object of his affection was beyond his reach, he chose to perish rather than settle for you, hmh?”
“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, his heart thudding in his ears.
Mei Nianqing’s hands fly into his tangled hair. His frail body vibrates, and his chest rises and falls rapidly. “You demon! You cursed brat! The child who fell from the city wall during the Shangyuan Heavenly Ceremonial Procession! I knew you were evil the first moment I laid eyes on you—dirty, disgusting thing, clinging to His Highness’ pristine robes! Pah! What could a cursed ghost like you possibly know of a love that has spanned millennia? What could you possibly know? You locked your own lover in the dungeons where he was nearly raped and killed! Then you dry hump a little waif of a ghost for all to view! Oh, yes. I watched you as that pretty little thing fed you with his own hands, groping at you in a depraved fashion. All while Little Highness sat and watched! Woe is me that it wasn’t Xie Lian whose memories were stolen away! He would have been better off!”
In a blur of red, Hua Cheng is gone from Xie Lian’s side and gripping Mei Nianqing by the throat, the points of his matte-black nails digging into soft flesh. Mei Nianqing kicks and writhes, toppling his chair, his feet dangling. The killing intent in the room rises until it is suffocating, darkness swirling. The candles on the table are snuffed out one by one as the whirling winds of Hua Cheng’s spiritual aura stir his raven hair, and it dances wildly with every gust. E-ming rattles at Hua Cheng’s side, radiating pure evil.
Hua Cheng’s eye is glowing red, and his aura whips his raven-feather hair around his shoulders. “I dare you to say another word. Go on. I’m waiting.”
Mei Nianqing makes a terrible gurgling sound, his eyes rolling back in his head. His face slowly turns purple.
“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, and with inhuman speed, places himself between the ghost king and his former guoshi. Hua Cheng reluctantly lets go, and Mei Nianqing falls with a thud, grasping his throat and coughing.
Xie Lian drops to his knees before him. “Guoshi, Guoshi, are you all right?”
Mei Nianqing pushes him away, still coughing. Finally, he catches his breath. “That demon will be the end of you, Your Highness. Have you lost your brains? All this despair—all this suffering—is wrought by the Star of Solitude.”
“That’s enough,” Xie Lian says, his bubbling grief rising to the surface. Mei Nianqing has always been difficult, but this is really too much. “None of this is San Lang’s fault, and I won’t hear you slander him again. Now. Will you answer my questions or not?”
Mei Nianqing meets his eyes for a moment, and what is reflected back takes Xie Lian’s breath away. Grief. Shame. Remorse. Regret. In Mei Nianqing’s eyes, Xie Lian sees the image Jun Wu dissipating into ash, gone from existence, never to reenter the reincarnation cycle. His heart throbs with grief. If Hua Cheng ever dissipated like that, he’d—he’d…ah, ah, he can’t even think about it.
Mei Nianqing huffs, still eyeing Hua Cheng warily. “Yes, yes, fine. Be quick about it. I don’t wish to linger here.”
“The bead.” Xie Lian swallows, his throat sticking. “How did Ju Wu use it to control Lang Ying?”
A long silence follows. The lanterns gutter, and the plum tree branches in the garden creak beneath the weight of heavy, wet snow.
“Bai Wuxiang chose Lang Ying carefully,” Mei Nianqing says, his voice devoid of emotion. “There was nothing special about him, per se. He was only a brutish commoner. The bead—the one you so generously gave him—when Bai Wuxiang realised what it was, that it was from you, he would have been delighted. Oh, how meaningful he would have thought it was. A gift from the God of Misfortune. Deeply symbolic.”
“Get on with it,” He Xuan says. “No need to wax poetic about something like this.”
Mei Nianqing sniffs and continues. “Bai Wuxiang imbued the bead with cursed energy in order to manipulate Lang Ying’s actions. The curse, as I understand it, augments grief, rage, despair. If the bearer has trauma in his heart, the bead brings it to the surface, expanding it, amplifying it, until it’s unbearable—until the bearer is lost to grief. The bead incited mania in Lang Ying. So consumed by grief was he, that when Bai Wuxiang offered to plant the vengeful spirits of his wife and son on his body, he accepted. The rest is history. Xianle was destroyed, led by Lang Ying’s army at Bai Wuxiang’s behest.”
Xie Lian’s heart shudders against his breastbone. In the mirrors of his mind, he can see Lang Ying’s face, twisted in grief, the wailing faces of his wife and son pushing out of his skin. Lang Ying had thanked him for the bead as it rolled at their feet. Then, he had died.
“But, how? And…why? What does this have to do with San Lang losing his memories of me?”
Oh, but he doesn’t understand at all! He hasn’t been consumed by grief—he isn’t lost to despair. Many things have happened to him in his long life that he wishes not to think on, but they certainly aren’t expanding or amplifying to an unbearable degree. Could the bead really be the source of the curse? Or was it something else?
“Oh, how should I know!” Mei Nianqing flings his hands in the air. “Perhaps it isn’t the bead at all, since you seem perfectly fine!”
“How do you”—Xie Lian’s hands shake and he clasps them together in his lap—“know all this? About Lang Ying and the coral pearl?”
Mei Nianqing stares into the distance, his lips softly parted, oblivious to Xie Lian’s despair. “Some, I saw first hand. Some, His Highness of Wuyong told me. He trusted me, you know. I was the one he trusted. I was the one he wanted by his side when he was imprisoned beneath Mt. Tonglu.” He stares down at his hands. “It was nice when the curse took hold. Jun Wu finally stopped talking about you. It gave us some time to get to know one another again without his blasted obsession.”
Xie Lian sighs. “I’m glad you had that time together. I truly am sorry for the way things happened.”
“He made his choice, I suppose.”
Xie Lian refuses to think of Hua Cheng dispersing into a cloud of butterflies. He refuses. His throat aches, and his limbs are heavy. “Guoshi. What is this curse? Could it really have been caused by the bead?”
Mei Nianqing rises to his feet, and Hua Cheng helps Xie Lian up, too.
“If it is the bead, the only solution is to smash it. Can’t you feel the evil radiating from it?”
“No. I can’t.” He stares down at the glint of red on his palm.
Xie Lian’s mother had given him the earrings. She’d hummed a soft melody as she put them on, smiling at him in the looking glass. She played with his hair for a little while, smoothing the silky strands.
“LianLian. My little prince, look at the water. It waits, it waits.”
He sees her now, hanging by the neck in their small hut. Her bloodshot eyes are open, staring into the abyss. The creaking of the snow-laden trees in the garden becomes the creaking of the wooden rafters as his parents swing.
Ruoye squirms at his wrist, its head poking out his sleeve.
“Somebody! Somebody come and kill me!”
He is lying on a beach in the chrome-bright loneliness of the day. The icy waves lap at his feet. Above, gulls cry their mournful song. His ribs are like sand dunes, his tongue caked with salt. The sedgy shore waves around him, and his nascent heartbeat whirs weakly at his pulse points.
“My little prince, the star of solitude is no longer solitary…”
Xia Lian tastes blood on his tongue. He can feel the slide of the black-jade sword between his ribs. It comes away bright with blood. But when he looks down, there is no wound. Not even a scar. Those are scars he doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t deserve…
“Help me.
Help me, help me, help me!
Help me, help, help, help, help, help!
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!”
He is back in the coffin, a stake through his heart.
He is drowning.
He is burning.
He is starving.
He is watching his kingdom burn.
“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, his teeth chattering. He pants, his breath coming in icy gusts. The red coral bead burns against his palm, and he shudders.
All around him, butterflies explode, silvery and diaphanous. The drop to his feet like stardust, and a howl rises in his throat. He has failed Hua Cheng—he has, he has—perhaps he should have let him go. Perhaps it is better to be forgotten—forgotten by the Heavens and the Mortal Realm. Forgotten by the ghosts. If he lets it go, he can drown in his memories alone. He can let go…
“Help me.
Help me, help me, help me!
Help me, help, help, help, help, help!
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!”
“My little prince…”
The great swell of his grief cuts off. It is as if he is rising out of his body, floating, looking down from above. He feels nothing. He only watches his own placid face as ice floods his bloodstream.
“Little Highness! What is all this fuss about? What is wrong with you?”
“Crimson Rain!” He feels Shi Qingxuan rubbing his back—gentle, cyclical motions. “Your Highness! Shh, it’s okay!”
“Gege! Gege, look at me! Can you match my breathing, Gege?” Hua Cheng takes Xie Lian’s hand and presses it to his broad chest. He takes a deep, slow breath, and Xie Lian attempts to match it, but his breaths in are too long—too stuttering.
The bead burns in his palm.
He meets Hua Cheng’s fervent gaze. His dark eye is wide with fear. They stare at one another for a long moment, Xie Lian's rapidly beating heart incongruous with the icy winter of his soul.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng mutters. “You’re exhausted. I’ll have the staff pour you a bath.”
“I should…ah….ha ha ha! I should return to the Heavenly Capital.”
“Gege…”
“Maybe…ah…maybe Ling Wen will have more information on this type of curse. We need to…ah…aha…”
Hua Cheng bends and, with one hand at Xie Lian’s back and one under his knees, sweeps him into his arms.
Carrying Xie Lian in his arms, Hua Cheng moves silently through the quiet halls of Paradise Manor. Xie Lian’s teeth chatter and his entire body vibrates with shivers. Hua Cheng’s chest is scalding against his cheek, but he can’t help but lean into the embrace. Hua Cheng smells so good. Like smoke and flowers—like his favourite incense that his believers used to burn in his temples.
They enter the most beautiful baths Xie Lian has ever seen—more beautiful even than the baths in Xianle Palace. They are ornate, carved marble, inlaid with gemstones. Rose scented steam rises from the enormous pools of water.
Hua Cheng sets him on a silk divan and proceeds to strip him of his torn black robes, his sopping boots. As they are removed, the robes crack with dried blood.
“San Lang…” Xie Lian whispers.
“Shhh, Gege. Rest now. This one will take good care of you.”
Once Xie Lian is naked, his blood-caked hair unbound, Hua Cheng picks him up once more and carries him into the pool.
“San Lang, your robes! The water will ruin the silk.”
“It’s fine, Gege.”
The water is scalding, and oh so delightful. Xie Lian gasps and hums as he is submerged. He feels numb—far away from his own thoughts. But he does feel the slide of Hua Cheng’s fingers as he washes his hair with finely scented oils and scrubs his skin. It is only then Xie Lian realises the state he’s in. Cuts and bruises cover his body from when the Gambler’s Den caved in on him, and the back if his head throbs.
Hua Cheng’s silver butterflies materialise, landing on his slippery wet body. His skin tingles as it heals, and Xie Lian sighs.
Hot water laps at his chin to the rhythm of Hua Cheng’s ministrations. Everything is hazy, and Xie Lian’s eyelids are heavy. But the floating makes Xie Lian feel strange. Panic begins to rise in him again. The water lapping at him—the feeling of weightlessness—begets a slippery black feeling deep inside him. Nausea burns in his belly.
“San Lang,” he gasps. “Can we get out of the water now?”
Hua Cheng frowns, but quickly finishes rinsing his hair. “Of course.”
He hoists Xie Lian out of the bath and towels him dry—then proceeds to dress him in finely made white winter robes. He carries Xie Lian to his own bedchambers—chambers which Xie Lian has only been in once before.
Xie Lian is nestled beneath warm covers, hot stones wrapped in velvet at his feet. He sighs and shudders, breathing into the jasmine-scented pillows.
Hua Cheng pries the coral bead from his fingers and drops it in a strange copper jar with a stoppered lid.
Xie Lian doesn’t remember falling asleep.
He doesn’t remember dreaming.
When he wakes the next morning, he is alone, though the sheets at his side are rumpled as though Hua Cheng had recently been at his side.
He slides out of the elaborately dressed bed and pulls soft white outer robes on. The halls of Paradise Manor are quiet. Empty. He is surprised to find Shi Qingxuan in the morning room, their expression tight with anxiety. It is an unusual sight, to see the former Wind Master in such a state.
“Old Feng. Good morning,” Xie Lian says, though his voice is still scratchy from sleep. “Have you seen San Lang?”
Shi Qingxuan wrings their hands. “Your Highness. Ha ha ha ha, your Crimson Rain and He-xiong just left. There has been a surprising development in the Heavenly Capital.”
Xie Lian frowns, but honestly, he cares little for the goings on of heaven. “Is everyone all right? Are Feng Xin and Mu Qing all right?”
Shi Qingxuan’s frown deepens. “They are, Your Highness. It’s just that…”
“Hmh?”
“Today is the inauguration of the new Heavenly Emperor.”
Xie Lian’s jaw drops. A strange tingling chases down his spine. “Oh? I suppose they’ve finally gotten tired of waiting for me. Whom have they chosen?”
“General Tai Hua will be crowned today. Perhaps it is already done.”
Xie Lian nods, but something feels wrong. Something doesn’t feel… “Ah. Lang Qianqiu. He will do well as emperor. He is fair and powerful, if not a little headstrong.”
The wind from the open window brings with it the scent of snow.
“Right. It’s only that…well. That isn’t why they’ve chosen him.” Shi Qingxuan looks pained, their pretty features contorting.
“Oh?”
“They’ve chosen him because he defeated Jun Wu.”
Xie Lian freezes.
“Oh.” He takes a shuddering breath and turns toward the open door. “I should…ah…I should be in contact with Feng Xin and Mu Qing. I need to…ah…I should really…”
“Your Highness!” Shi Qingxuan calls after him. “You can’t contact them!”
Xie Lian pauses in the doorway. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Why ever not?”
Shi Qingxuan is silent for a long moment, and Xie Lian begins to wonder if they will respond at all. “You can’t contact them, Your Highness, because they don’t remember you.”