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Crimson rain falls for the first time over He Xuan's realm three hundred years after he set foot on the island that would later become his. Three hundred years after he crawled inside the carcass of a long-departed country, and three hundred years after he dragged himself out of a monstrous kiln and emerged from Mount TongLu victorious… if there is any victory to be taken from this place swamped with hatred and bitterness. The way he remembers the experience, it would be more accurate to say this cursed volcano took He Xuan's exhausted soul and spat out a Demon King out of boredom alone.
Over the years, he has forgotten the sheer fury Mount TongLu brewed, and the crimson rain brings it all back. Red tears filled with rage and blood crash into the quiet waters of the lair he built with his own dead hands for decades, a cocoon nestled by the sea, the house of his worship set in stone and gold, water and eternity.
If any of those gross bloody drops dare to ruin his precious books, He Xuan will eviscerate the upstart before he has a chance to say the word 'war'.
"What do you want?" he growls in the guise of a greeting.
Black sea foams by the shore, quietly storming as a reflection of its master's temper. A lanky figure in red sits by the uneven stone eaten away by water, staring down at the ocean. The ocean glares back, silent and vicious, yet the new Ghost King remains unbothered by the very real peril he threw himself into. Worse even, he seems to be genuinely amused if his smirk and nonchalant stance give any indication.
Where is the fucking respect?
"Why, Shixiong, that's not a very polite way to greet your new shidi? I'm hurt." Red flickers in black as a very fake smile stretch out ghastly flesh.
He Xuan's eyes narrow. Shixiong, shidi, ah. What a good joke. "Haven't you learnt in Mount TongLu there is no brotherhood among the deads? It's every ghost for himself, keep your shixiong bullshit to yourself."
The new Ghost King tilts his head to the side, and the curtain of his hair splits apart to reveal one black eye underneath. It glistens with the bitterness of the thousands of souls he tore apart to get to the top of the ghost food chain. "Shixiong really is no fun."
"If you're here to fight, spare me the small talk and go for it," He Xuan says flatly. "I don't have all day."
So far, only He Xuan managed to emerge from the kiln ever since it opened. He has been reigning unchallenged over the realm of the dead for centuries, and the situation suited him just fine. Though lurking in his manor like a hermit and ignoring people would be more accurate a description of his contribution to ghost society than 'reigning', to be honest.
He Xuan knew when he heard of the bloody beast tearing his way out of the kiln with his bared fangs that his days of peace were over. And now here Crimson Rain is, bleeding over his Black Water as a silent call for war.
"So aggressive, Lord Black Water," Crimson Rain drones out, a silver trinket twisted between his long fingers. "No need to be rude, this is just a visit of courtesy."
Courtesy. Not what He Xuan would expect from an angry, wild, snarling thing like the Ghost King whose first act out of the Mount TongLu was to burn down hundreds of temples of the Flower Crowned Prince, Heaven's darling martial god. Of all the gods, he had to pick this one as his nemesis. Foolish. Everyone knew His Highness of Xian Le was Jun Wu's successor in all but in name. It was stupid to make an enemy out of him. Plus, if He Xuan had to pick any god to strike down, he certainly wouldn't choose this kind-hearted warrior out of the army of selfish hypocrites plaguing Heaven.
This is a story there, and frankly, He Xuan doesn't give a shit about Crimson Rain's tragic backstory. He just wants to be left alone to collect books and mourn in peace, is that so much to ask?
"Fine. Pretend I said something polite in answer and get the hell out of my territory."
"Not so fast," Crimson Rain predictably says. "I have two things I want to clarify with my most esteemed Shixiong. Better to say things rather than let it fester, don't you agree?"
This can't be good. Why can't people just leave him alone? "Will you leave once you said your piece?"
"Of course. No offense to Shixiong, but this place is more boring than death itself."
Naturally. It's how He Xuan wants it. Lonely and quiet, a place by the beach to lay his head on and a desk to write his poems, his stories, his vows. It's all he ever needed. Though his foolish, unbeating heart yearns for more still. "Go on then."
"First," a white finger raises up. "I'm going to build a city."
Not 'can I build a city?' or 'I intend to build a city'. There is no doubt in his formulation, his voice and his stance. It will happen for the sole reason he said so. "Are you going to build it here or in the vicinity?"
A dry laugh. "Obviously not here. Who would move into this desert?"
"Then I don't care."
"Lord Black Water truly is so accommodating to this newcomer," Crimson Rain says as he bends his leg close to his chest and lays his chin over his knee, the other leg dangling along the rock he's using as a throne. "How about this, Shixiong keep ruling over the seas, and I shall have the land."
"Whatever," He Xuan flicks his wrist. "Don't think you can stop me from roaming the land as I please though."
He doesn't leave his lair often, but books won't collect themselves. Not to mention he's not about to let this rookie walk all over him. He Xuan still has his pride, and he fears no gods nor demons. Crimson Rain and his sharp claws and dark grin, bloodthirsty butterflies and cursed scimitar don't scare him.
"Just like Shixiong won't stop me from roaming the seas as I please," Crimson Rain says. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement."
"What's the second thing?" He asks, in a hurry to finish with this boring discussion and get back to his library.
Crimson Rain smiles brightly. "Ah, that. I intend to infiltrate Heaven to tear it down. Any objections?"
He Xuan blinks. The foolish ghostling doesn't look to be joking. "You're going to destroy Jun Wu's realm on your lonesome? Good luck with that."
As much as He Xuan loathes to admit it, the old geezer sitting on the golden throne of Heaven knows what he's doing. No matter how powerful he thinks he is, this brat is not strong enough to fool him.
Yet Crimson Rain keeps on smiling this grim wound of his, teeth shining like knives in the dark. Perhaps it's not only revenge and spite filling his dead soul with enough fire to battle with the heart of all evil and come out with all his limbs attached.
Perhaps it's raw determination too. And He Xuan can't deny he's very curious to see how it will turn out.
"Do what you want, I don't care. As long as you don't involve-"
"I have no interest in your Wind Master, old man." He shrugs. "Your lover is safe from me."
Lover? As if. "Of course a brat like you wouldn't understand the difference between lust and worship."
This child grew up too fast and too harsh, not knowing of faith or belief in anything but himself. It shows in the way he stands, the way he speaks, the way he laughs. His every gesture screams of bitter defiance toward his own fate, his continued and unnatural existence is a raised fist directed to Heaven.
He knows not of worship, and he knows not of love either. A child of misfortune, who has only walked the path of loneliness, can't even begin to understand the terrifying depth of He Xuan's feelings.
"Fuck off, old man", he says with fake indifference, his eye narrowing and flutters of silver shivering around him. "So are you in or what?"
"I won't get in your way if you don't get in mine. That's all I'm willing to promise."
The disaster called Hua Cheng nods in agreement. For two devastations forced to co-exist, that's the least destructive outcome possible.
.
.
He Xuan honestly hoped this would be the last of their interactions. Crimson Rain seemed determined to cause his own ruin, and who was He Xuan to stop him from his ambitious assisted suicide. They made it clear they had no common ground but a similar experience in Mount TongLu, and Hua Cheng looked busy enough crafting his city of decadence and resentment and mocking every single Heavenly Official he crossed the path of.
Yet, exactly five years after their first meeting, blood rains again above He Xuan's lair. The disrespectful fucker. Does he realize how long it takes to remove the bloodstains his dramatic entrances leave behind?
"Shixiong, it's been so long," Hua Cheng drawls out with a lazy smirk. "How have you been?"
This time, he elected one of the many stone balconies of He Xuan's manor as his perch. He is looming over the creek foaming underneath, his trademark red outfit cutting open wounds over the unassuming grey of Black Water's realm. Every once in a while, the white of He Xuan's bone fish shimmers under the dark surface of troubled waters.
"Well enough, until now," He Xuan answers sarcastically. "What is it you want now?"
"Nothing really, just the confirmation for my esteemed elder won't get in my way." Crimson Rain's leg kicks the air playfully. "There is a man who's about to ascend as Thunder Master."
He Xuan doesn't bother asking how he can possibly know about the whims of fate. "And?"
"And I'll show up to Heaven in his place."
Ah. So that's the 'from the inside' gig Hua Cheng bragged about. Murder some poor guy before he can reach Heaven, pretend to be a god, get intel and dirt on everyone up there, and wait to strike. It's incredibly risky and incredibly stupid. "Not gonna work."
"Oh?" Hua Cheng breathes out. "And why is that, oh venerable Black Water?"
"Because no one is going to believe you are this Thunder Master."
To his credit, Crimson Rain does not erupt in a tempest of rage. His frustration simpers underneath the veneer of politeness, so close to the surface but without piercing it. "Shixiong underestimates the quality of my disguises. I'm hurt, truly."
The issue is not the many fake skins he crafts to his will. The one he's wearing now, youthful flesh and playful eyes, is the flawless reproduction of a careless teenager. He Xuan could cross his path many times and not notice the Devastation lurking within this amused smile.
"This future Thunder Master of yours," he says, winter wind blowing over his unbound hair, "is he from the common folk?"
Hua Cheng snorts. "Of course not. How often do poor people ascend? He's a fucking aristocrat."
"My point exactly. You're not going to convince anyone you're of noble birth with that attitude, brat."
Hua Cheng's eyebrows furrow in displeasure. He can scowl all he wants, it doesn't change facts. He Xuan knew at first glance the calamity was born and raised in misery, and so would those constipated bitches in Heaven.
"I see," he eventually says. "So I don't talk fancy enough, ah?"
If only it was just talking. It's the standing, breathing, walking, eating, basically everything that screams common folk. "Basically."
"Makes sense. And you're noble-born, ah?" Hua Cheng asks with fake innocence.
Oh hell no. Not happening. "Nope," he drawls out, voluntarily bringing out the accent he was raised with. "Just a scholar."
"But you do know how to act like a noble," the brat pips. "Shixiong, teach me."
"No." He snarls, before storming back inside, the black of his robes twirling around his ankles. The insufferable pest. He Xuan has other things to do than teach him how to behave properly. What is he, his mother?
"I'm not leaving until you do." Hua Cheng calls out to his retreating back.
And he doesn't. For days and days, he haunts He Xuan's ghost manor, an annoying bug prancing over his roof, by his windows, his garden. He even has the utter gall to act all charming with He Xuan's staff until he wins them over to his cause. The fucking nerve.
"At first I was scared ya know, but this Crimson Rain is quite charming, en."
"Helped me feed the fish the other day, very nice, despite those nasty nasty rumors."
"Master, help this strapping young man, why don't ya?"
"For fuck's sake," he eventually ends up caving to this campaign thrown against him. "One month. I give you one month, and that's it."
Hua Cheng smirks when he helps himself inside, skipping over the porch. "Shixiong is too good. Should I call you Shizun now?"
"One month."
"I'm a fast learner." He shrugs, full of confidence in his own skills. "One month is more than enough."
And to He Xuan's reluctant surprise, it really is enough to make a passable noble out of a street rat. To call Hua Cheng a fast learner is a massive understatement. The brat is a goddamn sponge. When properly taught, he can reproduce accents or lack thereof flawlessly, corrects his stance easily, talk about business, politics or literature as if he was born into it, even morph his aura.
A butterfly crawling out of his cocoon to change over and over and over.
There is only his calligraphy that's beyond hopeless. He Xuan would never admit it, but it's quite a relief to know there is something Hua Cheng sucks at. His writing is a monstrosity, an aberration, an offense against literature itself.
"I get it, old man," he rolls his eyes. "Give me a break."
"Don't roll your eyes, and get the heck out of my house."
He does exactly, a tempest gone as fast as he appeared. Good riddance. He Xuan will finally get some peace and quiet without being disturbed every two seconds. Which is wonderful. Peace and quiet are his favorite things in this world.
He buries his feet into wet sand, sea licking his ankles, wind kissing his cheeks, and he tells himself the coldness in his bones is not loneliness.
.
Two months after the new Thunder Master's ascension, He Xuan finds a bundle of red nested in his library, a pile of traveling books hiding him from his sight. Hua Cheng showed a clear preference for stories from far away, over politic treaties or local tales, for some mysterious reason.
Perhaps he just craves the idea of elsewhere.
"Did you got kicked out already?" He says as he closes the door behind him. "It didn't take long."
Paper ruffles in answer. Brat better not to be creasing his books again. "No. They bought it all up. Told you they would, but you're always so negative, Shixiong. This constant pessimism is not good for your wrinkles."
He Xuan scoffs. His pessimism? Hua Cheng is the most cynical person He Xuan has ever met. He believes in no one and nothing, not even himself. By comparison, He Xuan is a ray of sunshine.
"And? Why are you here then?"
"Heaven is boring," Hua Cheng sets aside his wall of paper to smirk at He Xuan. "Entertain me, Shixiong."
He looks like the perfect aristocrat in his San Lang's skin, even sitting cross-legged on the floor. "Entertain yourself, I'm not your fool. And go to your city, isn't it the point of it to be filled with amusement for chaotic agents like you."
"I will, later," he says, leaning over his palm. "Say, Shixiong. What do you think of Fate?"
Fate, uh? That elusive, intangible, unescapable collar around men's neck that divinities use to play with their devotees like dolls without realizing they were just as bounds as mortals are. Fate, as far as He Xuan is concerned, candie in a ditch.
"What's with the philosophical questions?" He scowls at Hua Cheng. "That's not like you."
"Is that a fancy way to call me stupid? I'm hurt, really," He blinks up, putting his hand over his still chest. "I'm just curious. I heard curious rumors up there."
Ah, He Xuan bet he did. Gods are extremely fond of rumors, after all. The grimmer and less truthful, the better. In a world where the limited amount of belief is food, opinions are everything. The powers of gods are built over the winds their worshippers breath out, and an unreliable reputation is a death sentence. What you do is not important, what people believe you do is.
Therefore, rumors are not harmless gossip. Rumors are weapons, and they do kill.
"I heard a story about a god who went mad after he ascended," Hua Cheng keeps going despite He Xuan's lack of interest, "and who tore apart his own fate before throwing himself off Heaven."
"Is that so?" He Xuan says with casual indifference. "Don't you know Fate cannot be seen or touched, least of all 'torn apart'?"
Here's what the wise souls understand about ghosts: they are never not angry. Rage is their essence, brewed within the resentful lava of the death. The more they linger, the more they learn to smooth away their spiteful nature under the veneer of their choice. But the anger remains in them always, a burning chain tying them to this fucked up world, and Devastations are the angriest of them all, their fury solidified through the evil of the kiln.
Without anger, there is no ghost, and Hua Cheng is a perfect example of that rule.
"It's bullshit," he sneers in the primal way of wounded beasts lashing out. "I remember when my fate was stolen. I remember the god who pinned me down as he took my fate and shoved another one in me."
He Xuan remains silent. It's not a pain he can treat lightly, or make fun, as cynical as he is. He knows first hand how humiliating and excruciating the ordeal must have been.
Quietly, Hua Cheng explains: "He said I was born with misfortune, but that according to my fate, I was supposed to have a better twist of life soon. He said I didn't deserve it, and that my upcoming good fortune would be better off to serve my god, the Crown Prince of Xian Le. My god, ah. As if I would ever worship that self-centered bastard of a noble."
And he died shortly after, in utter misery, swallowed by the hatred of the people and the indifference of the gods. Hence the reason for his one-sided feud against the Flower Crowned Prince. The godling ascended only seventeen years ago, yet his popularity and influence are incommensurable already. It is said he holds both the faith of hundreds of thousands of souls and the trust of the Heavenly Emperor, and that his spiritual powers and martial might are peerless for his age.
How high Hua Cheng would have flown if he has been allowed to.
"Who was it?" He Xuan eventually asks, after a long silence. "Who swapped your fate?"
"I thought it was one of his attendants." Hua Cheng says, dismissing the heavy atmosphere he set up himself with a nonchalant shrug. "Turned out it was the Emperor of Heaven in person."
...well shit. There is no way this is not ending in a cataclysm war. Targeting and orchestrating the fall of the General of the East is complicated, but doable. But Jun Wu? Even He Xuan would be reluctant to attract his attention to himself.
"I should be flattered such an important dickhead bothered to deal with my humble self at all," Hua Cheng adds drily. "So, Shixiong, you still haven't answered my question. What do you think of Fate?"
It's a child looking up at He Xuan, eyes filled with the golden dust of crushed dreams and hopes. It's a man smiling at him, a bloody song of revenge and revolution stretching out his lips. It's a demon calling for war, asking for no permission nor assistance, his fists clamped and his sword sharpened.
Soundlessly, He Xuan remembers the frustration and the bitterness pooling in his belly when people told him he was blessed by the gods, as if his efforts mattered not. It was not that He Xuan worked hard to succeed, his fingers tainted with inks and bumped with calluses, his eyes exhausted with his constant readings, it was merely the grace of Heaven condescending to smile upon him.
There was only one god whose good opinions he craved.
"You're here again! Thank you for the offerings, I really appreciate it!"
"You're doing great, A-Xuan! Learning so fast, working so hard, this god is at awe. I wasn't nearly as diligent at your age, haha! Don't forget to have fun sometimes, alright?"
"Government official, so soon? Ah, A-Xuan is so smart, and he worked so much. You're going to, pardon my language, kick ass! I'll be looking forward to your success."
"Do your best, A-Xuan, and please, please be happy."
Quietly, he remembers how Fate tore apart the person he looked up to the most, and he rages just as fiercely as Hua Cheng does.
"I think I'd rather be dead than to have my life depends on Heaven's will," he declares, and that makes Hua Cheng laugh, laugh, laugh. "That's the good thing about being a ghost. We answer to no power but our own."
"No power but my own," Hua Cheng repeats, testing the syllables, tasting the idea of freedom. "No power but my own. I like that."
"No power but my own." He Xuan nods. "Stab Fate with your saber, and I'll feed its body to my fish"
Hua Cheng laughs again, something like happiness coming out his bruised throat for once.
.
.
The altar is tucked deep within He Xuan's manor, far from the unwelcomed glances of strangers. Unlike the rest of his house, this room is full of soft things: pillows, blankets, robes, sunshine slanting through the enchanted roof. Within a closed chest are stored hundreds and hundreds of priceless fans, the products of centuries of work. He Xuan can only hope one day, the person they are intended for will hold one of them between his hands.
The statue of a smiling god stands at the center, a fan in hand, robes fluttering in impalpable wind. At his feet, a Calamity on his knees, offering his worship and his faith. Praying.
Lord Shi, I pray your health is good. I pray you sleep and eat enough, that you have warm clothes on your back and a warm home to live in, that you have gentle people to talk to. I pray one day I'll see you aga-
He cuts his wish short, biting his own tongue. It's not his place to demand his god's time, no matter how deeply he longs for his cheerful voice. Shi Qing Xuan does not answer him. He hasn't in a very, very long time.
He Xuan gathers his black robes and stands up, bowing one last time. He sighs at the barely noticeable fluttering sounds. It's one of the few rooms of He Xuan's manor that had yet to be invaded by Hua Cheng's irreverent presence, and obviously, it couldn't last. "If you say one rude word, one, I'm eviscerating you."
"Touchy," Hua Cheng lazily says as he strolls in, his boots singing under his light-hearted steps. "I was just curious, no need to be so suspicious, Shixiong."
"Has your curiosity been sated yet? Yes? Then get out." He Xuan growls, his tone leaving little room to discussion.
Unfortunately, Hua Cheng has never respected his privacy before, he's not about to start now. "Not quite," he says, his single black eye taking in the shrine, the roof, the statue. "I still don't get it. Shixiong hates gods and Heaven, yet he willingly kneels like a dog in front of an altar. What's so special about the Wind Master?"
He Xuan could explain, but Hua Cheng wouldn't understand. How could he understand when no one ever answered his prayers. They may be Calamities but they are very different indeed. Crimson Rain lingers because he hates. He Xuan lingers because he hopes.
He Xuan's parents were very devoted worshippers, but He Xuan himself failed to understand the point until he was fourteen. His sister of barely eight summers had been playing by the edge of the cliff, despite the frequent warnings from their parents. He Xuan was going to fetch her, yelling at her to come down.
She fell. She was going to die. The only reason she didn't is that in the fraction of second before she crashes on the ground, a powerful gust of wind stopped her fall. He Xuan had prayed, and a god answered. Later, he knelt to the recently ascended Wind Master, and he offered his life in exchange.
Keep your life, little one! The wind laughed. Keep it, and live well! Your brotherly devotion touched me, you owe me nothing.
Still, He Xuan came and came again, with prayers, with offerings, with hope. Each time, the wind replied in cheers, encouragements and hair ruffles. It took years for He Xuan to understand this feeling blooming in his chest and filling his entire being with determination was no mere devotion.
It was love.
One day, as He Xuan passed his ninetieth birthday, the wind stopped replying. He Xuan searched for his voice everywhere, in the temples, in the cities, in the wastelands, where gale cries out day and night, but the Wind Master was impossible to find.
So he turned to Heaven instead. When no gods answered his questions, he decided to ascend himself. And after years of working his ass off, he succeeded. What a disappointment it was.
"The Wind Master?" Fools cackled when he asked about his god's whereabouts. "Why would you ask about this unworthy thief? He has been banished from Heaven years ago. Haven't you heard he stole his brother's good fate to ascend? Shi Wudu was supposed to become a god, not him. Good riddance."
He Xuan remained a god a grand total of two hours before he lost his mind.
"He's special to me," he says dismissively. "That's all you need to know."
"But isn't Shixiong the one who said 'no power but my own?'" Hua Cheng probes.
"My power is my own, but my devotion belongs to my god." His heart, this worthless beat up thing, this void violently aching and yearning behind his ribcage, it belongs to him.
"I still don't get it," Hua Cheng says, genuinely confused. "Shixiong is an educated man, he knows gods are selfish and useless. They can't be relied upon."
"There are exceptions to everything."
Hua Cheng ponders upon this instead of sneering at the idea. Sunlight sets his pale skin ablaze in golden hues and his black hair on fire. "I suppose. Shixiong, if I hear about your Wind Master, I'll tell you, free of charge."
He Xuan almost tells him not to bother. His god has no wish to see him, he made that clear before. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks."
Don't look at me, He Xuan. I'm no god, I was never a god. Don't look at me, please, don't look at me. Don't worship me. I only bring misery. Forget me, cast me aside, I beg you.
He doesn't forget. He doesn't cast his worship aside. But he can wait. He can wait until his god recovers from wounds that are not his fault. He can until Shi QingXuan proves to himself and to the world he's worthy of the title of Wind Master. He can wait until a torn-up soul finds his way back to Heaven.
By the sea, by the sand, no matter how many winters crash into his shore, He Xuan will wait.
.
.
Years pass, then decades, then centuries, quickly at first, indolent after, and still, Hua Cheng remains San Lang, playful Thunder Master twirling around the Flower Crowned Prince. He Xuan would have never thought this impulsive brat would manage to stay in his role of god for so long, sharing meals, missions and laughers with his enemies, without losing his temper in public once.
It was… odd. How patient of him. How wise. He certainly showed none of that moderation with He Xuan himself.
"What is it again?" He Xuan sighs as he takes in the disaster Hua Cheng unleashed in his training room. "I hope you can pay back this mess, brat."
"Duh. Of course I can," Hua Cheng taunts. He petulantly gives a kick at the remains of He Xuan's wall, making stone and wood fly. Shameless punk. "You're the one who's ass is broke, old man."
Silver and red glint like lightening before He Xuan can put the freeloader back in his place. He slips to the side, shifting out of the trajectory of thunder. The floor cracks at the place he was standing a breath ago. "I'll add that to your bill."
"I can afford to build a thousand houses like your shitty huts," Hua Cheng points out, which, unfortunately, is very true. His thriving gambling business is the irrefutable proof crime and sin do pay. "Don't be boring, Shixiong. Fight me."
If they do fight, really fight, then his house will get wrecked. It happened to many landscapes before, and they never quite recovered from the ruin two Devastations in battle created. Hua Cheng might not give a fuck, but He Xuan is emotionally attached to his shitty hut, thank you very much.
"No. Find yourself another toy to play with." He Xuan yawns, to Hua Cheng's palpable annoyance. "Like your Crown Prince. You two are such close buddies now, or so I have heard."
Hua Cheng's provocative expression closes off at the mention of his 'sworn enemy'. The tension in the room thickens, malevolent electricity dancing in the air. In response to the growing aggressivity, water gathers by reflex under He Xuan's feet.
Well, well, well, look at that. Someone is feeling sensitive today.
"He likes to fight, right? Always descending to beat up monsters and getting 'friendly training sessions' with other gods," He Xuan muses.
"It's not like I can reveal my actual strength to His Highness," Hua Cheng growls. "Stop buying time and attack me."
He Xuan grins cruelly without moving an inch. "Oh, it's His Highness now, is it? You really have gone native, Crimson Rain."
The close friendship between the Flower Crowned Prince and the Thunder Master is a well-established fact by now, and has been for decades. The story of how the two gods teamed up to defeat a legendary monster terrorizing the East is beyond famous, and it's not uncommon for habitants of the region to worship the two together. The most intimate of sworn brothers, the rumors claim. If only they knew the truth.
But perhaps the truth is not that far of their romanced story. Perhaps Hua Cheng truly lost sight of his objective, his rage soothed by the kindness of the prince he loathed so much.
Either Hua Cheng is a better spy than He Xuan could ever imagine or he just got himself way too deep in his own game. He Xuan finds himself hoping the latter is right. There is something especially cruel to purposely befriend your foe to better spit on them later. Especially when the foe in question never intended any harm.
"Even gifted you one of his precious swords, didn't he, the fool," He Xuan says mockingly. "Are you going to stab him with it when you finally decide to exact your revenge?"
"Shut the fuck up already," Hua Cheng coldly demands as a swarm of silver butterflies rushes to He Xuan. "Since when do you talk so much, old man?"
They scatter when a wave raises forward. He Xuan smiles like a shark. "You really outdid yourself, Hua Cheng. How hurt your gege will be when he finds out his dear friend is the ruthless, lawless, merciless Crimson Rain who burnt down his temples. How crushed his spirit will be when he realizes those centuries of companionship were all lies."
The curious sounds of buzzing grows louder just as Hua Cheng turns still. Those are the cries of thousands of bugs swarming madly under dead skin struggling to contain it, the snarls of sleeping resentment bubbling to the surface with revenge.
It's the wail a bone makes when it's about to crack. He Xuan wraps his hands around the fragile skeleton Hua Cheng tentatively built out of delusions and spite, and he snaps.
"Or maybe you have something else in mind?" He thinks out loud. "His Highness' cultivation path requires abstinence, doesn't it? What a humiliating fall it would be if he lost his… purity. Imagine the scandal, the shame… he would never recover from that blow. And it's not like deflowering him would be that much of a chore, he looks fuckable enough when he's not babbling about naive ideals or swords-"
And how the bone cracks. Hua Cheng lunges forward, pure loathing curving his mouth and clutching his scimitar. He Xuan avoids him the way he has avoided many natural disasters before: with water-like fluidity and feet light like the wind he's trying so ardently to catch.
Centuries ago, a fateless ghost drifted into the sea, carried away by the waves and the tides and the foams. One day, the sea that cared for him abandoned him by the shore, to the too warm embrace of sun-kissed sand and too distant touch of the wind. The ghost stayed there for days, roaming erratically at the edge between the land and the sea until he decided to build a house for himself, and a temple for his god.
He Xuan has poured himself in here for years and years. This place is saturated with his presence. He knows every stone, every living creature, every grain of sand or gust of wind. The first time crimson rain bled upon his island, he felt every drop of anguish sink in the water and the sand. Hua Cheng is an unloved monsterling turned wild creature turned resentful ghost, selfish and furious, and its boundless rage shook the foundations of He Xuan's home.
Later, he learnt to contain himself better. Much later, he learnt the meaning of friendship, affection, and dares He Xuan say it, love. Hua Cheng is an open wound that even death couldn't cauterize. Angry kicks, bitter fists, and indifferent hits are the treatments he's used to, they don't hurt him anymore. This foolish princeling with his kind smile and his kind words and his kind hands, however, he's cradling a part of Hua Cheng no one knew existed before.
And the brat can't fucking deal with it like a grown-up adult.
"Stop lying to yourself, Crimson Rain. It's pathetic. Your prince was innocent in the crime perpetrated against you, and you know it. You haven't wanted to hurt him anymore for a very long time."
"Careful there, Shixiong," Hua Cheng bites back, his voice hoarse and raspy. "I might start to think you give a fuck."
He Xuan laughs, each peal of amusement sharp and brittle like broken glass. "I don't. I just hate hypocrisy. Now go wreck your own house if you feel like throwing a tantrum, I have no time to lose for idiots."
He leaves, and Hua Cheng doesn't follow.
.
It doesn't rain when Hua Cheng shows up again, after months of sulking. Instead, it snows fat winter tears covering everything they can: roofs, beaches, stones, balconies, skin, eyelashes.
"Hey, Shixiong," he says, dark hair littered with white. "Have you heard? The no-good fate thief ascended again."