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one
Shi Qingxuan rubs their face against Ming Yi’s chest. It’s hot in the wine house, but Ming Yi is always pleasantly cool, like wet earth.
“Ming-xiong,” they say dreamily. It was Shi Qingxuan’s idea to come out to the mortal realm, to spend an evening drinking and laughing. Well, Shi Qingxuan has been drinking and laughing; mostly Ming Yi has been eating, as usual. Shi Qingxuan giggles.
“What.” Ming Yi is always so stern, but he always comes out to play with Shi Qingxuan anyway. Who does he really think he’s fooling? It’s so endearing. Shi Qingxuan likes him so much.
“Nothing,” says Shi Qingxuan. They pat at Ming Yi’s chest. “Ming-xiong.”
“Stop talking nonsense.” Ming Yi leans over them to grab another bite of food. Shi Qingxuan remains stubbornly slumped in his lap.
“It’s not nonsense!” they say. And then, sing-song: “Ming-xiong, Ming-xiong, Ming-xiong. I love how your name sounds, have I ever told you that?”
Ming Yi stiffens underneath them. And then his hand is in Shi Qingxuan’s hair, gripping hard, yanking them up so they’re looking Ming Yi in the eyes. They blink. “Shut up,” he says. He’s gone all stiff. Shi Qingxuan giggles again, delighted to be this close.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” they say, fanning their fingers out against Ming Yi’s cheek. Ming-xiong, always so serious. “You’re cute, Ming-xiong.”
Ming Yi’s grip tightens. Shi Qingxuan feels nervous, very suddenly, off-balance even though Ming Yi is holding them tight, so they can’t even sway. Their eyes go wide. Teasing is one thing, they love teasing Ming Yi, but is he really going to—if he wants Shi Qingxuan to shut up, then maybe he’ll—
Ming Yi releases them all at once, so quickly that Shi Qingxuan tips backwards a little, thumping into the low table with their drinks. “Don’t spill the wine,” Ming Yi says gruffly. He pours himself a drink.
Shi Qingxuan laughs, and waves their hand. “Let me, let me.” They take the jar from Ming Yi. Some part of them can’t decide if they’re relieved or not, an itch under their skin, like they watched dark clouds pass overhead without rain. But it’s nothing more wine won’t take care of, or shifting out of this form, or just a few more hours like this, soaking in Ming Yi’s company. There’s something about Ming Yi that’s just so relaxing. Shi Qingxuan doesn’t understand it, but it’s nice. It’s so nice. Ming Yi always pays attention to them, his dark eyes focused. Shi Qingxuan buries their face in his shoulder, laughing when Ming Yi lets them, because they knew he would.
“Ming-xiong,” they say again, mostly for the delight of the way Ming Yi grunts in response, so insistent on sounding annoyed. “I do love winehouses like this. I ascended in one, you know!”
Another drink of wine. “I know.” Ming Yi’s voice is too low and steady, like he’s forcing himself to sound bored; like he didn’t just almost kiss Shi Qingxuan in a winehouse. “Of course I know.”
Shi Qingxuan slides down, flopping on their back with their head in Ming Yi’s lap. He allows it. His scowl is so funny from this angle, sideways in Shi Qingxuan’s vision.
“You know, after it happened, all I could think was how lucky I was.” They cover their mouth with their hand, whispering into it. “Not because of any of—oh, you know, the rest of it.” They flutter their hand, indicating all of it, the power and wealth and easy happiness. “I was happy enough in the Middle Court. But before, way before, right after my brother ascended...he had things to take care of, and there was a moment where I thought—what if I never see him again?”
Ming Yi pauses, his cup halfway to his mouth. His lips thin.
“I was so proud,” says Shi Qingxuan, warming to the topic, warm with the wine. Happy to tell Ming Yi the kinds of things they don’t tell other people, confident that he’ll listen. Ming Yi is a good listener. “But then I thought—praying to a god is kind of lonely. I’d never been lonely before. He was always with me. Always, always, always. And then he came to get me and he was so mad that I thought he might leave me. And then he laughed at me, and ruffled my hair.” It was a long time ago; hundreds of years had not yet worn the Water Tyrant into someone too proud to ruffle his little brother’s hair. “Ah, it was so embarrassing. Of course I would be an official in his palace. Of course I knew that. But sometimes it’s hard to know the things you know, isn’t it?”
“It’s not embarrassing,” says Ming Yi, voice rough. “To miss the ones you love.”
Shi Qingxuan presses both hands to their face, hiding their smile. “You’re right, of course,” they say. “And anyway, you should have seen his face when I did ascend—can you imagine the Water Tyrant shocked? It was like he could hardly believe it. Like—like something he’d been waiting for, for such a long time, had finally come.” They drop their hands, smile dizzily up at Ming Yi. “You know, I think he was proud of me too.”
Ming Yi looks down at them in that same nerve-wracking way. He trails fingers down Shi Qingxuan’s throat. They shiver. They do like this. They do. The shared secrets, the push-pull, feeling like it’s only the two of them in the world, even in a busy wine shop. They like Ming Yi so much.
He turns his face away, drinking his wine. “I’m sure he was,” he says in a very neutral tone. Shi Qingxuan laughs, throat moving under his fingers. Ming Yi never says anything about it, not with words, but he doesn’t care for Shi Wudu at all.
They close their eyes. They’ve had enough wine that their head is pleasantly fuzzy in the way that drunkenness feels for a heavenly official, a prickling sensation that reaches all the way to their toes.
“Ming-xiong,” they say, bringing a hand up to cover Ming Yi’s, where his fingers are still hovering at Shi Qingxuan’s collar, “why do you never say my name?” Oh, their voice shouldn’t sound like that, full of longing, but they do get wistful when they think about their ascension. They do get wistful when they think about how their name might sound in Ming Yi’s mouth.
Ming Yi’s fingers tighten. They shiver. Ming Yi doesn’t move, though, doesn’t even look at them, doesn’t do anything.
“It’s okay,” says Shi Qingxuan softly. “Some things can’t be said, hm?” Some things are hard to know, and harder still to say. Shi Wudu never said that he was proud, but Shi Qingxuan knew it anyway.
They snuggle back into Ming Yi’s lap, drowsing, and don’t see the look on his face.
two
The ghost they’re supposed to be looking for is boring, and more importantly, nowhere to be found in this little out of the way forest. And the lake looks so enticing.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Ming Yi says.
“I haven’t gone swimming in ages,” Shi Qingxuan counters. Ming Yi grabs her by the back of her robes when she tries to take off for the lake at a run, like a mother cat disciplining a kitten. Ming Yi is lucky Shi Qingxuan likes him; he can really be so rude.
“Your robes,” he says, by way of explanation, as if drying a set of robes is any kind of difficulty for Lady Wind Master.
“Good idea, Ming-xiong!” she says, and wriggles out of them.
Ming Yi squawks, startled, and turns around so fast that Shi Qingxuan nearly collapses into giggles right there. She pats him sympathetically on the back, and leaps into the water with a splash. “You really should have said something like ‘We don’t have time,’ then I would have had to argue with you!”
“We don’t have time.”
“Oh, well, I’m already wet, it would be such a waste not to swim for a bit.” Shi Qingxuan ducks her head under the water, enjoying for just a moment the way it surrounds everything. It’s a safe sort of feeling, like being protected. She doesn’t know if she thought that way before her brother ascended. It’s been such a long time. It’s hard to remember the fine little details, the texture that makes life real.
Her hair is heavy when she sticks her head back into the air, streaming down her back. “Come on, Ming-xiong, get in! It’s so nice!”
The stiff lines of Ming Yi’s back remain unmoving on the shore. His shoulders are nearly up by his ears. Shi Qingxuan floats, tipping her head back to look at him upside down, kicking her feet a little in the water. “Don’t be like that. Just change forms! Then it won’t be inappropriate, right?”
Ming Yi is silent. But he does shift forms and turn around, arms still crossed over his chest. Shi Qingxuan doesn’t comment on it; he’s already fed up enough with her for one day. Teasing Ming Yi is an art that she’s become very practiced at.
“If you want to swim,” she advises, “you should take your robes off too! I promise the water really is nice. Or does Lord Earth Master not enjoy it?”
“Water is fine,” he says.
“Then at least come put your feet in!”
Ming Yi approaches the shore with caution, like he expects that Shi Qingxuan is going to tackle him, or summon her fan and blow him into the water. As if she would do that so soon. And then, wonder of wonders, he does pull his boots off and sit at the edge of the lake, careful to keep his robes dry.
Shi Qingxuan grins, and swims over to him, ruining all his hard work by balancing her elbows on his knees.
“The water’s so deep, Ming-xiong,” she says. “You can’t really want to stay all the way over here! What if something happened to me?”
“You can swim.”
“The ghost could be here!”
“You can fight.”
Shi Qingxuan lays her head on her arms despondently. “You’re so mean, Ming-xiong.” She leans up out of the water a little bit more, balanced on Ming Yi’s knees, enough that his ears go pink. He’s so cute. “Aren’t you being ungrateful? We’re so lucky to be here on such a nice day. You should learn to appreciate what you have more.” She pokes him in the stomach. “You really won’t keep me company? ”
“I’m right here,” says Ming Yi.
Shi Qingxuan pouts, and uses his knees to push herself off back into the lake, laughing as he splutters when her feet splash him. She floats for a little while, the sun warm on her bare skin, utterly satisfied with the world. She wonders if she could convince Ming Yi to make paper boats with her, to race them on the water with her fan. Maybe later; he’d probably insist that she put her clothes back on.
She’s flipped back upright in the water, a hand raised to call out to Ming Yi again, when something wraps around her ankle and tugs. She shrieks, mainly for show. The real one that follows is swallowed by the water as she’s pulled under.
It’s dark beneath the water—is the lake deeper than it was before? Shi Qingxuan kicks for the surface, but up isn’t up, and she gasps in water anyway, a familiar terror spilling out of her. She can’t hear under the water, she can’t hear and she’s in water and she’s safe, but it’s like the same old fear is looking over her shoulder, whispering in her ear: you think you’re happy now but you’re not, you never have been, you’re alone and you’ll stay that way—
A flash of light cuts through the darkness; a hand grabs hers and yanks her up into air. She throws her arms out, and Ming Yi catches her, one arm around her waist and another digging into her thigh. The lake around them is placid. Shi Qingxuan wraps her legs around him, startled and still shaking. She stares at Ming Yi, blinking water out of her eyes.
“A minor demon,” says Ming Yi, scowling. “You should be more careful.”
Shi Qingxuan’s heartbeat begins to slow. Just a little ghost, hiding in the water; she wasn’t really in any danger at all. And still, here Ming Yi is, soaking wet on her behalf. “Aw, Ming-xiong, you really did save me!”
“Imagine explaining to Ling Wen Zhenjun why I came back alone.”
“Or my brother,” Shi Qingxuan says cheerfully. Ming Yi’s fingers tighten on her thigh, like he really is imagining how the Water Tyrant would react. It also reminds Shi Qingxuan of where exactly his hand is. They’re pressed close together, too. Shi Qingxuan knows for a fact that she looks very appealing in this form, especially all wet. Ming Yi doesn’t look so bad himself, even in his sodden clothes. She breathes in deep and watches the way Ming Yi colors as her chest presses up against his.
He still looks so stern. Here Shi Qingxuan is, seducing Ming Yi so thoughtfully, and he looks like he’s bitten into a lemon. He’s so cute, especially like this, when his face is all pretty, ruined by the scowl. She thunks her face down against his collarbone and laughs and laughs, throwing her arms around his neck. Just this is fine. Just this is nice, safe in Ming Yi’s arms.
“Ming-xiong,” she says, “you really should make sure there isn’t any water in my lungs, you know. It can be very dangerous!”
Ming Yi drops his hands, turning his face away as he scoffs, but Shi Qingxuan is holding on to him so tightly that she doesn’t go anywhere. And for a little while they just float in the water, Shi Qingxuan feeling very pleased with herself that she got Ming Yi to swim with her after all.
three
“I’m fine,” says Ming Yi.
Shi Qingxuan sighs, gustily, laying his head on his hand, his elbow balanced on Ming Yi’s bed. “I’m your best friend, Ming-xiong, and you’re going to sit here and lie to me? Crimson Rain Sought Flower had you imprisoned!”
“And I’m fine.” He really does look alright, considering what he went through—the four heavenly officials who took him out of the Great Martial Hall did a good job patching him up. Shi Qingxuan found him resting in his own palace, a drab and dark place that Shi Qingxuan hardly ever visits. Ming Yi doesn’t spend that much time here, anyway; Shi Qingxuan usually has to work harder to track him down.
“Anyway,” says Shi Qingxuan, “I’m here to scold you, too. You’ve been lying to me all this time!”
Ming Yi gives him a sharp look.
“You’ve been spying on Ghost City, and you didn’t even tell me?”
“Do you understand the concept of spying?” grumbles Ming Yi.
“Are you suggesting that I, Lord Wind Master, can’t keep a secret?”
“Yes.”
Shi Qingxuan laughs. He puts his arms down over each other on Ming Yi’s bed, and lays his forehead on top of them. “Ming-xiong,” he says on a sigh. “Don’t be so mean. I really was worried about you.”
A stiff silence. “I told you,” says Ming Yi. “That isn’t necessary. I’m fine.”
“Still. I worry. You’re always disappearing! What if I want to go drinking with you and you’re off stuck in some other ghost king’s dungeon?”
Shi Qingxuan peaks his eyes up over his arms. Ming Yi shrugs, and then winces, and suddenly all of Shi Qingxuan’s jokes feel flimsy in a way they never do. Oh, and Ming Yi looks alarmed now, just a faint downturned set of his mouth, as Shi Qingxuan wipes messily at his eyes with his sleeve.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says, “it’s been such a long day—you should have heard what went on in the Great Martial Hall after you left, Lang Qian Qiu started yelling at the Crown Prince, it was such a mess, I’ll tell you about it—”
“Shut up,” says Ming Yi, taking a firm but gentle hold of Shi Qingxuan’s wrist, pulling it away from his eyes.
“You really don’t know what to do when someone cries,” he says, with affection, and then he bursts into fresh tears. Ming Yi’s eyes are so wide. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“What?” Ming Yi’s voice is so honestly baffled. Has he never had anyone cry at his bedside before? Shi Qingxuan doesn’t know much about what his life was like before he ascended. It’s not something he talks about.
“Ming-xiong,” says Shi Qingxuan, speaking very carefully. He pulls his wrist out of Ming Yi’s hold, and twines their fingers together. “What would I do if you didn’t come back? Next time you get sent off on a secret assignment to spy on a Calamity, you have to tell me! I promise I can keep a secret when it matters.”
Ming Yi looks away, his fingers twitching. “You’d manage. If I didn’t come back.”
Shi Qingxuan squeezes his hand. “Do you really think that?” He thought Ming Yi knew. How can he not know?
He shifts his grip, and brings their clasped hands up. Ming Yi watches him with startled eyes, and only stops Shi Qingxuan when his mouth is brushing his knuckles. “Lord Wind Master,” he says, his nails digging fiercely into Shi Qingxuan’s hand. Just for a moment.
Shi Qingxuan hums, and drops his hand. Ming Yi just stares at him, his own hand hanging in the air. He puts it, finally, to Shi Qingxuan’s cheek. His fingers are clumsy and cold. He moves like he’s stuck in a dance he doesn’t know any of the steps to, but is determined to see through regardless. Shi Qingxuan is so happy he’s alive.
Ming Yi drags his hand up to Shi Qingxuan’s temple and strokes his hair once, his mouth tilted down, like he’s aiming an arrow at comfort and wants to be sure he hits the mark. Shi Qingxuan didn’t really know, before, that you could like someone so much it hurt; so much it feels like something inside of him is going to burst open.
“Honestly,” he says, into the quiet. “You as a spy is hard to imagine. Everyone knows you can’t lie.” Shi Qingxuan pauses. He leans into Ming Yi’s hand, and smiles, the one he reserves for Ming Yi and Ming Yi alone. “Or is it only me you can’t lie to?”
“Dream on,” says Ming Yi, and doesn’t take his hand back.
four
“Come on, come on,” Shi Qingxuan says, dragging Ming Yi behind her. They’re back in the mortal realm again; Ming Yi isn’t the type to show preference for one place over another, but he certainly prefers to be around fewer people. It’s still the Mid Autumn Festival, though late in the night. Most people are occupied. The spot Shi Qingxuan is headed for, a hillside not far from Puji Shrine, is as likely as ever to be deserted.
“Where are we going?” Ming Yi asks, not sounding like he expects an answer. Shi Qingxuan laughs, and pulls harder.
“I told you,” she says, “we’re celebrating.”
“We just had a banquet.”
“And did you have fun?”
Ming Yi just looks at her. Shi Qingxuan beams, and tugs him along, and the hill comes into view.
It’s beautiful even from a distance; fireflies love it here.
“You got the ninth most lanterns!” Shi Qingxuan leads Ming Yi by the hand up to the top of the hill, surrounded by little flickering spots of light. “Shouldn’t you get to celebrate by doing something you like?”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Ming Yi. Shi Qingxuan hasn’t dropped his hand, and neither has he. They hang suspended between them. It’s nice out here, a cool autumn night. Shi Qingxuan flops onto the ground, taking Ming Yi with her.
She pulls out a qiankun pouch, and produces a jar of wine, two glasses, and a plate full of steamed buns, taking them out one by one, so that she can see Ming Yi’s tiny smile grow. It’s not even really a smile; the furrow between his brow just smoothes out by degrees. She tucks the pouch away with a flourish, feeling very pleased with herself.
Ming Yi is already eating one of the buns, his legs crossed. The next one he breaks in half, and he hands half to Shi Qingxuan. “You’re just avoiding whatever mess the Crown Prince is getting himself into now,” he says.
Shi Qingxuan hits him in the shoulder with her fan. “I love going on adventures with the Crown Prince!” she says. “And anyway. You’re always so glum, Ming-xiong, and you only just got back from Ghost City.”
Ming Yi eyes her. “Is that what this is about?”
“A little,” says Shi Qingxuan.
“A party is the answer to that?”
Shi Qingxuan shrugs. “When I was younger, I never got to celebrate,” she says. She tucks herself up against Ming Yi’s side, leaning her weight on him. “My brother wouldn’t allow it. It was for the best, but I always missed it. So I take every chance to celebrate now!”
Ming Yi looks down at her. He’s holding himself very still. Shi Qingxuan wonders, if she counted, how many fireflies are here, and how many lanterns she’s added to the Lord Earth Master’s total. Surely that’s worth at least one kiss, isn’t it?
It’s the kind of thing she could say aloud, and Ming Yi’s ears would turn red, and he would push her off his shoulder and stalk away. But she wants to stay here. She doesn’t want him to go. She doesn’t have to worry about losing Ming Yi; it’s not like when she was a child, and every sweet Shi Wudu gave her on her birthday she had to eat carefully, hidden away, just in case it was too much joy all at once. But still. This is something worth savoring anyway.
Ming Yi shoves another half of a bun at her. A firefly lands on his head. Shi Qingxuan snuggles up against him, and savors.
five
Xie Lian is outside, dealing with General Pei, and Crimson Rain Sought Flower is of course glued to his side. Shi Qingxuan wants to laugh at that, or slant a look at Ming Yi to share the joke. But they can’t quite find the energy for it.
They’ll be safe here, in the Rain Master’s lands, and then—and then they can figure out what to do. They just need time.
“You’ll help me, right?” Shi Qingxuan says. Ming Yi’s face is drawn. He’s pacing back in forth in the little hut they’ve installed themselves in.
He stops. “What do you want to do?”
Shi Qingxuan rubs at their face. Nothing feels right. Their brother is a stranger, their skin doesn’t fit, they can’t do anything about any of it. They’d forgotten how awful it was to be powerless. “I don’t know,” they say, “I don’t know, that’s what I need help with, Ming-xiong!”
“I heard you. In your brother’s palace.”
When he came to rescue them. Shi Qingxuan smiles, their shoulders relaxing just the slightest bit. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
“You said you didn’t want to be a god anymore. That you wanted to descend, and stay in the dirt.”
“Yes.” Their smile vanishes.
“Is that still what you want?”
Ming Yi’s whole body is rigid. His arms are crossed. Shi Qingxuan thinks of how they felt, when the Reverend of Empty Words whispered in their ear at the Terrace of Cascading Wine. Your brother will become nothing before you; you’ll never trust him again. The story that Shi Qingxuan didn’t want to believe, the truth they didn’t want to know.
“No,” says Shi Qingxuan. “I don’t know. But when I said that...I was so alone. I didn’t realize anyone was coming. I couldn’t stand the thought of staying in that palace with him, knowing what he did, but I don’t—I don’t know.” They look up. “I don’t want to leave you all alone, Ming-xiong. Where will you sit at banquets?”
“Then turn your brother in,” says Ming Yi. “He can’t keep you trapped then.”
Shi Qingxuan shudders. They stand up, and take hold of Ming Yi’s hands, uncrossing his arms, drawing them away from his body and stepping into the vacated space. They bend their head, too tall now to tuck it under his chin, so they settle for the space between his neck and shoulder.
“Ah, Ming-xiong,” they say, “did you have a brother in life?”
Ming Yi inhales sharply. For a moment Shi Qingxuan thinks he won’t answer. He closes his eyes, and draws in a deep breath. Then, he says, “A sister.”
Shi Qingxuan wraps his arms around Ming Yi’s waist, squeezing tight. “You would have done anything for her, right? I can tell. It’s like that with us. We’ve always protected each other. I—that he would do something so horrible—I can’t say I don’t believe it. I know my brother. I always have. But how can I condemn him for something he did for my sake?”
“Some things shouldn’t be done.”
“I know,” says Shi Qingxuan, “but he did it, it’s done, what will change if I abandon him?”
“If I could slit your throat right now,” says Ming Yi, voice rough against Shi Qingxuan’s cheek, “and have my sister stand beside me now, do you think I would do it?”
“No,” says Shi Qingxuan, holding him tighter. They laugh. Ming Yi is always so blunt. He never tries to be careful with them. On a normal day it’s fun to pretend to complain about it; at times like this it’s just nice, not to be handled like glass. “You’re nothing like my brother, Ming-xiong, I know that. But he’s still my brother. ”
Ming Yi finally raises his arms, and brings his hands up to cradle Shi Qingxuan’s nape. He tugs them back to look Ming Yi in the eyes. Shi Qingxuan doesn’t step back. They’re so close, sharing breath; and breath feels like so much more, without any spiritual power, every one a necessary ache.
“Thank you,” says Shi Qingxuan again, in a small voice. It’s all falling apart. They never used to doubt that there would always be more time. The future to a heavenly official is an endless bright road. But maybe there isn’t any more time. They lean in.
From outside, General Pei shouts Shi Qingxuan’s name. They turn their head, still so close their noses nearly brush, Ming Yi's hands steady and unmoving at the back of their neck. When they hear that Shi Wudu's Heavenly Calamity has started, they throw themselves out of Ming Yi’s grip. He grabs for their sleeve, but Shi Qingxuan pulls away from his hand without thought, and is out the door before Ming Yi can speak.
He closes his mouth. He had nothing to say, anyway.
one
Shi Qingxuan kneels in blood, and tells Ming—tells He—tells him the truth. There is no laughter left in them, so they can only be honest. They want to die.
“Dream on,” He Xuan tells them, voice and tone utterly familiar. Shi Qingxuan does not look up. Shi Wudu’s head makes a horrible hollow sound when He Xuan drops it, blood splattering. They flinch back, nearly losing their balance. They can’t help it. They squeeze their eyes shut against He Xuan’s sneer.
The fingers on their face are damp with blood. He Xuan tilts their chin up, and Shi Qingxuan does not open their eyes, will not.
“Look at me.”
Shi Qingxuan shakes their head only once before He Xuan tightens his grip and stills them. “I’m sorry,” they say, hearing the dullness of their words, the utter lack of color. They’ve never spoken like this, never, not even when they were young and mortal and terrified, haunted at every step. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He’s dead, isn’t it enough?”
They hear the motion of He Xuan’s hand. The shackles around their ankles and wrists crack and fall away, as if that will make them any more free. “I said there was no third path,” says He Xuan. “Haven’t you been listening?”
“He’s dead,” Shi Qingxuan says again, and this time they shudder, because—because—he’s dead. Their brother is dead. He protected them their whole life, he ruined it all, he gave Shi Qingxuan everything that should have been He Xuan’s, they could have both lived but he’s dead, if Shi Qingxuan opens their eyes they’ll have to see it again—
He Xuan’s grip slips down to their throat and goes tight. And for a slightest moment the horror does recede, Shi Qingxuan’s mind always taking the quickest and easiest path out of danger, and they remember: another night, wine on their tongue, a light touch at their throat.
If He Xuan remembers any of those nights, he shows no sign. He lifts Shi Qingxuan from the floor like that, high enough that they’re hanging suspended, and Shi Qingxuan does open their eyes then, they have to, they’re choking on nothing. So they see how impassive He Xuan is as he watches them claw at their throat.
“I gave you a choice,” says He Xuan. “You didn’t kill him.”
Shi Qingxuan can’t speak. He Xuan’s hand tightens. The way it hurts is so unfamiliar that Shi Qingxuan can barely recognize it. They wonder if he’ll snap their head off like this too.
They let their hands drop to the side. Go limp. Their eyes blur with tears, they forgot they could cry. But isn’t this what they wanted, after all? What better way to die, almost getting what they used to want, Ming Yi’s hands all over them?
With a disgusted noise, He Xuan drops them. Shi Qingxuan lands on their knees, one hand keeping them upright, the other rubbing at their throat. It hurts. They’re as good as mortal now. They’ll bruise. And—and the bruises will be from He Xuan. They don’t even get to keep the ones that their brother would have left.
Fine. Fine. They don’t deserve that, either.
“What do you want?” Shi Qingxuan asks, rasping. “You killed him first. You killed him. He’s dead. What do you want now?” They laugh. Find laughter, they can always find laughter to light their way in dark places. It doesn’t feel good. After a lifetime of stolen happiness, maybe now their laughs will always feel like this. Shi Qingxuan buries their face in their hands, covered still in their brother’s blood. “I can’t kill him again. It seems we’re on a third path whether you like it or not, He-gongzi.”
Through their fingers, Shi Qingxuan sees He Xuan twitch at his name. And Shi Qingxuan says, with the most force they’ve used to say anything since they woke up here, “What do you want?”
He Xuan steps forward thunderously. He goes down to his knees in front of them. He wraps his hands around Shi Qingxuan’s wrists, yanks them away from their face. He doesn’t let go, and Shi Qingxuan is caught by the coldness in his eyes. Ming Yi was always such a cool, comforting presence. It was one of the first things Shi Qingxuan liked about him. He Xuan’s gaze now is like ice through their heart, colder than steel.
But still, he doesn’t let go. They’re so close, like all the other times they’ve been close, except nothing like that at all. Shi Qingxuan was so stupid. They thought they understood everything. They thought they were important, that they mattered, that Ming Yi liked them.
They were always close like this, and Shi Qingxuan thought—oh, someday. Someday one of us will reach out and hold on. Someday I’ll kiss him for real. It was a nice idea to turn over in spare moments, glowing and pretty and fun. Easy and simple and free, just like everything else in their life.
Nothing is easy or simple or free anymore. Instead Shi Qingxuan kneels in blood, with He Xuan’s cold fingers wrapped around their wrists like shackles.
They’re crying still. And this is the end of the path; there’s nothing bright ahead of them. So why not. They lean forward, and let He Xuan taste salt and blood. He Xuan is still as stone, but he doesn’t pull away. All this time he drowned in anger, and never pulled away.
He Xuan’s nails dig into their wrists. He looks furious, desolate, a creature forged from lingering ghosts and misery. A demon like him, a being of revenge, is only ever hungry.
Shi Qingxuan closes their eyes. Remembers crying at Ming Yi’s bedside, remembers being cradled in his arms, remembers the simple false joy of a hand in their hair. All the things they shouldn’t have had, that were never theirs. They ask again, one more time, barely a whisper, “What could you possibly want anymore?”
They lick the blood from their lips, and wait to be devoured.
He Xuan’s grip doesn’t loosen. There’s nothing but blood left between them. But He Xuan tells them the truth, maybe for the very first time. Bent close, breath ghosting like a kiss, he says: “I don’t know.”