Chapter Text
He Xuan was tired. He had been, for decades, and centuries, but he had been especially tired as of late. Perhaps it was his soul finally giving in to the rest he was supposed to have long ago. After all this time, he felt ready to say goodbye. He felt ready to let go.
He wasn’t scared, although he wasn’t excited either. What came after death was not something he often pondered. His obligations to his family were much more pressing to him—his own future was something he decided to figure out once he had carried out justice. But now that the time was here, he was completely at a loss. What would be done to what was left of his manor? What would happen to the debt he owed Hua Cheng? And what would happen to him after he shut his eyes for the final time?
In the end, he found himself not caring very much about any of the answers. He had poured all of his being into a single goal, and now that it had been carried out, he didn’t have much motivation to do anything else. It was much easier just to let himself drift off into oblivion, to feel all the echoes of his rage and sadness drift out of him until there was nothing left for him to grieve.
That was what he thought, every night. And every night, he went to sleep empty and exhausted with the expectation he wouldn’t wake up the next morning. And every morning, he ended up opening his eyes again
It was infuriating, really. Why could he not just die already? Had he not done what he had set out to do? Shi Wudu was dead, and Shi Qingxuan was living on the streets. His family could rest. Yet he still couldn’t. There was something still tethering him to this world, something he still hadn’t resolved.
He tried to recount everything he did, tried to find where the loose end was. Ghosts could only remain in this world if they had a strong grudge, or emotional attachment to something or someone. His grudge had been resolved. So why couldn’t he pass on? He went through all the relationships he had cultivated in his time as a ghost. The only real one that had formed was with Hua Cheng, and he definitely didn’t hold any strong feelings towards him.
The mystery of his inability to die began to drive him crazy. He spent most of his time in his bed, waiting for death to come and take him. But it didn’t. Sometimes he would stroll around his manor, still damaged from the fight against Jun Wu. He didn’t care enough to fix it. It would all be in ruins sometime soon, anyway.
He would walk through the empty halls, searching for some answer to the question of his continued existence. But all he found were water ghouls and dust and rubble. He often visited his family's urns, and asked them for their guidance. But the only answer was the deafening silence of his palace. It was as if they were mocking him. They had moved on long ago, so why hadn’t he?
Every time he visited the room where his family was, he was reminded of that night. The blood was still on the floor. He had gotten rid of the body long ago, tossing it into the ocean for his fish to consume. As for the head, he had kept it as some kind of prize. It was currently kept in a chest in a locked room. Sometimes, he would go and look at it, to try and remind his soul it was over. He could rest.
He Xuan expected some kind of satisfaction after he killed Shi Wudu. Some kind of joy, or relief, or anything . But he didn’t feel anything. He had stood there, with the decapitated head of his enemy in his hand and the fresh color of blood coating everything, and felt nothing. It was worse, almost, than the rage and grief he had felt. With his despair, he had a plan, a way to resolve them. But there was no solution to the numbness he felt every minute of the day.
The only time he felt anything was when his gaze fell upon the chains in that room. When he recalled the look on Shi Qingxuan’s face when he killed his brother. It was a twisting in his gut, a pain in his heart, a constant weight on his chest.
His inability to die must have something to do with Shi Qingxuan, then. He was the only person who evoked any feeling in him anymore, as abstract as that feeling may have been. A part of him wanted to label that feeling as hatred. (Another part of him wanted to label that feeling as guilt.) He Xuan told himself that he deserved it, that Shi Qingxuan seeing his brother decapitated in front of his eyes was justice. (But the lies he told himself just festered in his heart and weighed down his chest even more.)
Maybe his revenge hadn’t been completely resolved. Maybe, what he needed was to see him. To see him suffering on the streets, dying the death he deserved as a mortal. Maybe then he could finally rest.
So, he made up his mind. He would go in disguise to see Shi Qingxuan, and maybe then his soul could finally be at rest.
It didn’t have to be an elaborate disguise; after all, he probably wouldn’t even come face-to-face with him. But it was probably better to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. He made his face younger, less tired and hollowed out—got rid of the dark circles under his eyes, made himself shorter, braided his long black hair, and replaced the unnatural yellow glow of his eyes with a dark brown. When he looked in the mirror he saw an echo of the man he once was, a long time ago. But he had no more time to mourn what he had lost. He had done more than enough of that.
As he drew the distance shortening array on the door, he hesitated. Was this really what he wanted? He hadn’t even stopped to really think about how this could go wrong. What was the point of all this? He didn’t really believe that seeing Shi Qingxuan suffering would solve all of his problems miraculously. There was something else drawing him to Shi Qingxuan, something he couldn’t name. But he finished the array and stepped through before he could second-guess himself.
He Xuan opened the door out into some alley in the royal capital. It was dark outside, and at the end of the alley he could see the glowing lights of the lanterns lining the streets. The usually-busy streets were eerily quiet, even for it being late in the night, and He Xuan almost thought he had somehow ended up in the wrong location. As he stepped out, he realized why there was no one outside. He immediately stepped into a puddle and soaked his boots completely through. It was raining.
He ducked under the overhangs of buildings as he made his way through the city. The only passerby he saw rushed past him, desperate to get back to the warmth of their own homes. No one tried to talk to him, which he was grateful for.
He didn’t even know where Shi Qingxuan was, exactly. He only had a vague idea of where he had last seen him, when he returned his fan. As he searched the streets and alleys of the capital, he realized how foolish he was being. The city was huge. He was looking for a single beggar, probably among hundreds or thousands. And who knows if Shi Qingxuan even stayed here? For all He Xuan knew, he could have gone off on his own. Or, he could have… died.
The thought, for some reason, made He Xuan walk faster.
Shi Qingxuan couldn’t have died. He would have heard, somehow. And Shi Qingxuan had been spoiled and pampered his whole life, but he wasn’t weak . He wouldn’t just die like that.
He couldn’t have. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to live out the life he deserved, on the streets, suffering the way He Xuan suffered. He would never forgive Shi Qingxuan if he had died.
Each street and alleyway and corner of the city that he found empty made the dread that was coiled around his throat squeeze tighter. No, no, he couldn’t be dead. He had to be alive. He had to be, or He Xuan didn’t know what he’d do with himself.
He was about to give up and frantically ask for Hua Cheng’s help in his search when he rounded a corner near the outskirts of the city. And there, huddled under the shelter of a small shrine, was Shi Qingxuan. He Xuan wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the fan on the ground next to him.
The first thing He Xuan noticed was that he wasn’t moving. There was a sick feeling in his stomach, working its way up his chest like burning acid. The next thing he knew he was kneeling down beside Shi Qingxuan, calling his name.
“Qingxuan,” he said, but there was no response. Shi Qingxuan’s eyes were still closed. He Xuan reached out to shake him, but stopped when he felt the temperature of his skin. It wasn’t cold, thankfully; but rather, it was burning hot. He was sick. Very sick, judging from how shallow his breaths were.
It shouldn’t have been surprising. Humans were very feeble creatures. They got cuts and bruises, infections and diseases, and they all eventually would die one way or the other. Shi Qingxuan had become human again, and it really was only a matter of time before he got sick.
But to He Xuan, this all seemed impossible. Even if he was the one who stripped Shi Qingxuan of his godhood, the one who sentenced him to this. But he thought Shi Qingxuan would live a long life of suffering until he died a slow death. He didn’t think that he would end up so sick only a few years later.
Shi Qingxuan was dying, and it was too early. He wasn’t supposed to die yet. He needed to suffer more, to feel all the different ways He Xuan had suffered in his mortal life, the ways that Shi Qingxuan himself was fated to suffer.
At least, that was what He Xuan told himself as he picked up Shi Qingxuan and carried him back to his manor.
He Xuan only had one bedroom in his manor—he never had a reason to believe he’d need more, after all. It wasn’t much more than a bed pushed up against a wall with a table beside it. It was completely barren otherwise, and he could imagine Shi Qingxuan berating him for his lack of interior design skills. He was completely insufferable.
He looked down at Shi Qingxuan, who seemed so small and fragile in his arms. Nothing like the brazen, adventurous god he had known. Now Shi Qingxuan was also just a ghost of the person he used to be. This was what He Xuan had wanted, when he had taken his spiritual powers away. He wanted this. He wanted this, and yet seeing Shi Qingxuan so pale and feather-light in his arms made his stomach churn.
He placed Shi Qingxuan in his bed, reminded of all the times he had to carry Shi Qingxuan to his bed when he got too drunk at parties. He wondered if he would ever be able to go to parties again.
A piece of hair was plastered to Shi Qingxuan’s forehead, damp with sweat and dirty from weeks without a wash. He Xuan tsked. Absolutely disgusting. He reached over Shi Qingxuan and tucked the strand behind his hair.
After setting him down, he pulled the covers over him. It was probably a mistake to bring him to his manor—it was always cold and damp, far from ideal conditions for recovery. But where else was he to go? He didn’t have the money to bring Shi Qingxuan to a real doctor.
He would have to take care of him by himself. But He Xuan hadn’t dealt with illness in centuries. Mortal life had become a foreign concept to him, and now he found himself lost in the face of it.
He sat down on the bedside, gently reaching out a hand to rest on Shi Qingxuan’s cheek. He didn’t have much to offer in terms of traditional medicine, but he did have spiritual energy. It wouldn’t cure him, but it would at least ease the symptoms.
He hadn’t transferred spiritual energy many times before, save for when he slapped Shi Qingxuan. Spiritual energy was like a gentle thrum of electricity that traveled through the unmoving blood in his veins. When he gave it to Shi Qingxuan that time, he had given it all in a single shock when they touched. This time it was much more gentle. He just let the humming flow of energy gently out his fingertips and into Shi Qingxuan.
Shi Qingxuan’s breathing slowed down, his skin cooling under He Xuan’s touch. He nuzzled his cheek against He Xuan’s hand in his sleep, and He Xuan instantly drew his hand back as if he had been burned.
This was ridiculous.
What was he doing? Shi Qingxuan was his enemy, the very person who ruined the lives of him and his family. And yet here he was, taking him into his home and desperately trying to save him. His every action was contradictory, and his thoughts were even moreso. But there was some invisible pull he felt to him, some unknown reason that he just had to save him.
He was a mess.
He Xuan didn’t even have time to compose himself before he saw Shi Qingxuan slowly open his eyes.
In a moment of pure panic, he contemplated just dashing out of the room. He hadn’t had enough time to actually think about what he would do when Shi Qingxuan woke up. He was too distracted by the pure desperation he felt in trying to save him to actually think any of this through. Would he scream, when he saw who was taking care of him? Would he be angry? He hadn’t come face-to-face with Shi Qingxuan since he returned his fan, and that time Shi Qingxuan didn’t even know it was him.
“Ming-xiong?”
He Xuan felt a twist of pain in his gut at that name. Ming-xiong. It was the closest he got to himself in his disguises, but it still was just a character he played. The name reminded him that every warm laugh, every gentle touch, every soft look from Shi Qingxuan, was false.
“I’m not Ming-xiong,” He Xuan muttered as he turned away from Shi Qingxuan.
The other didn’t respond for a few moments, and He Xuan thought he may have fallen unconscious again. But when he turned back, Shi Qingxuan was just staring at him. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused. He squinted at him, mumbling, “But you look like Ming-xiong.”
It was then that He Xuan realized he was still wearing his disguise from earlier. And his disguise did look similar to Ming Yi. “I suppose so,” he conceded. It wasn’t worth arguing with Shi Qingxuan right now. He was clearly too feverish and confused to understand.
“Ming-xiong,” Shi Qingxuan coughed, “am I going to die?”
He didn’t sound afraid. It was just like he was asking what the weather was, or today’s date.
He Xuan couldn’t promise anything. He was as lost as Shi Qingxuan was. Not to mention he didn’t have any idea of how to care for the sick. Still, he told him, “You’ll be fine.” Shi Qingxuan didn’t respond to that, only pulling the covers up closer to his chin and looking away. “I promise,” he reassured. He lifted his hand to reach out to Shi Qingxuan, before catching himself.
What the hell was he doing?
“I missed you,” he heard Shi Qingxuan whisper, and He Xuan’s stomach lurched. It hurt to hear that. It hurt because He Xuan knew it wasn’t meant for him.
“You should rest,” he told him. It was a genuine suggestion, but it was also He Xuan’s cowardly attempt to escape the situation before Shi Qingxuan made any more comments that made He Xuan’s heart heavy.
He stood to leave, stepping away from the bed when a clammy hand shot out to grab his wrist. “Wait,” Shi Qingxuan rasped. “Stay. Please.” The last two words sounded so small, so desperate. And He Xuan was tired, and he was weak, and he had never been good at denying Shi Qingxuan anything. So, with a slow, pointless breath, he lowered himself back down onto the bed beside him.
Shi Qingxuan didn’t let go of his wrist, instead trailing his hand down to He Xuan’s palm and beginning to trace circles into the cold skin. He really must be delirious. If he was truly lucid, he would probably be terrified of the person in front of him. Yet here he was, tracing shapes into He Xuan’s palm like this was a completely normal occurrence. He Xuan definitely did not feel his dead heart stutter in his chest.
The warmth of Shi Qingxuan’s feverish skin seemed to bleed into him, leaving a trail of warmth wherever he touched. It had been so long since He Xuan had felt warmth. Everything in his afterlife had been cold and bitter and sharp, but Shi Qingxuan had always been warm and sweet and soft. It was intoxicating. It was also a bitter reminder that Shi Qingxuan did not belong in his world.
Eventually the hand on his palm stilled, and He Xuan finally found the courage to look back at Shi Qingxuan. He was falling asleep again, breath evening out and eyelids fluttering shut. He had only been awake for a couple of minutes, and yet He Xuan already felt completely overwhelmed (although, in general Shi Qingxuan overwhelmed him rather easily).
He stood from the bed, letting Shi Qingxuan’s hand drop away from his palm. The sudden cold he felt on his skin almost made him want to take his hand again and—
This had been a horrible idea. What the hell was he even thinking? He hated Shi Qingxuan. He hated him so much it made his stomach churn just to look at him, just to hear his voice or even think of him. Shi Qingxuan was a terrible person, he had ruined his life, his afterlife, everything he loved. He could kill him, while he was weak and defenseless and finally put an end to all of this.
(He told himself he could, but he knew that he couldn’t.)
He dashed out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. If he kept standing there, contemplating all of his actions, he would surely drive himself insane.
He Xuan should be relieved that Shi Qingxuan didn’t recognize him for who he really was. It certainly made things less distressing (at least for Shi Qingxuan). But against all logic, he felt this want for Shi Qingxuan to see him for who he was. Even if he hated him. He had pretended to be someone he wasn’t for centuries, nurturing hollow relationships and keeping everyone at arm’s length. And still Shi Qingxuan had managed to wiggle his way past all his defenses with all his glowing smiles and never-ending pestering. He didn’t know what exactly he felt towards Shi Qingxuan—hatred, disdain, jealousy, fear—but none of those labels seemed to fit whatever wrapped around his chest and squeezed whenever he thought of him. Regardless, there was something about Shi Qingxuan that seemed to make He Xuan’s head spin in circles until he found himself dizzy and without any logic.
This was definitely a mistake. He had acted on impulse, all while knowing how many ways this could go wrong. He should just hand him off to Hua Cheng and Xie Lian—surely they would know how to deal with this better than he did. But he knew that Hua Cheng would ask him why he was doing this, and he also knew that He Xuan would have no answer even for himself. No, he would have to take care of Shi Qingxuan by himself. He would only bring him to Xie Lian and Hua Cheng if his condition did not improve.
He peeked back into the room to check that Shi Qingxuan was still sleeping, before shutting the door again and walking down the hall. He didn’t know exactly how to take care of a sick person, but from what he could remember, keeping him hydrated and fed was important. He could do that.
It was much easier to focus on the task at hand rather than the complicated feelings that were buzzing in his chest.
He checked in on Shi Qingxuan a few hours later. The bowl of soup in his hands warmed his skin to the bones. He had forgotten, after all these months of not eating, how comforting a hot meal could be.
Shi Qingxuan was still asleep, chest rising and falling at a slow, steady rhythm. His breathing had definitely improved, although each breath still sounded strained. He Xuan set down the soup on the table, and took a seat on the bedside.
He hesitated for a few moments. Convincing himself to get back into the same room as Shi Qingxuan took enough effort in itself. But now he had to actually face him.
He could just leave the soup for him when he wakes up. The thought was tempting. But Shi Qingxuan needed the food while it was hot, especially if he was going to keep him in Nether Water Manor, where all the air seemed as dead and cold as He Xuan was.
The name seemed stuck in his mouth. He Xuan swallowed. Once, twice. A deep breath, and then, “Qingxuan.” He winced at the sound of his own voice breaking the stillness.
Shi Qingxuan stirred, his eyes lazily fluttering open. He looked towards He Xuan, furrowing his brows in confusion until he seemed to come to some unknown conclusion. “Ming-xiong,” he returned, voice heavy with sleep and still rough from sickness.
He Xuan bristled at the name. Clearly, any attempt to correct him wasn’t going to work. He would just have to live with that for the time being. As painful as it was.
Shi Qingxuan was still staring at him, with this look on his face that He Xuan couldn’t quite pin down. His eyes seemed distant and yet still tender. It made He Xuan feel like he was melting, like Shi Qingxuan’s gaze was the sun and he was ice. Far away, yet still impossibly warm, and He Xuan was softening under him.
A coughing fit from Shi Qingxuan snapped him out of his trance. He didn’t know exactly how long they had been sitting there just looking at each other, or why they had just been sitting there looking at each other, but there were more pressing matters to attend to.
He Xuan didn’t think twice before he reached for the hand Shi Qingxuan wasn’t currently coughing into and began to transfer more spiritual energy. Shi Qingxuan’s coughing subsided a few seconds later. And then his gaze flitted from He Xuan to their still-joined hands. He Xuan drew back immediately and occupied himself with getting the bowl of soup from the table.
When he came back to the bed, Shi Qingxuan was looking at him with curiosity. “Sit up,” He Xuan instructed. “You need to eat.”
Shi Qingxuan didn’t move, didn’t say anything, only looked at him with tired, distant eyes. There was no warmth this time, just a weariness that He Xuan never expected to see on Shi Qingxuan’s face. When it was clear he wouldn’t move, He Xuan placed the bowl on the bedside and pulled Shi Qingxuan up by the shoulders. He adjusted the pillows to support him, since he already looked worn out from just sitting up.
“Eat,” He Xuan told him as he handed him the bowl.
Shi Qingxuan’s eyes flicked from him to the bowl now in his hands. His expression was unreadable, although from the slight downturn of his mouth He Xuan could tell he wasn’t particularly thrilled by the meal. He had lived life on the streets, and yet he was picky about his food? “You’re not going to get better if you don’t eat something,” He Xuan said.
“Mm,” Shi Qingxuan hummed. It wasn’t an acknowledgement, but it wasn’t a denial either. But he still didn’t move to start eating.
With a small huff, He Xuan moved closer to Shi Qingxuan and picked up the spoon from the bowl. Shi Qingxuan watched him as he scooped up some of the broth and raised the spoon to Shi Qingxuan’s lips. After a few seconds of tense eye contact, Shi Qingxuan acquiesced and drank the soup. He Xuan couldn’t believe he was doing this. Feeding the very person he detested by hand like he was a prince. But that thought didn’t stop him from continuing to do so, Shi Qingxuan becoming more and more eager for the next spoonful as he went. By the end he lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank the remaining broth. He had been much hungrier than he let on.
Shi Qingxuan had, in his haste, let soup dribble down his chin and onto his clothes. He didn’t seem to notice, which was strange to He Xuan, considering that the Shi Qingxuan he knew would usually begin panicking if there was so much as a thread loose on whatever he was wearing. He once had a meltdown while drunk because he spilled a drop of wine onto his favorite dress. But judging from how simple and rundown his clothes were now—with dirt and stains and frayed edges—he had moved on from that.
He Xuan wasn’t sure why that thought seemed to hurt.
Regardless of his feelings that continued to confuse him more and more, Shi Qingxuan couldn’t go on wearing his current clothes. He Xuan would have to give him some of his own. A bath would probably be needed as well; it was clear Shi Qingxuan hadn’t bathed in a while judging from the amount of dirt smudges covering his face and his tangle of hair.
“You’re a mess,” He Xuan muttered under his breath as he brushed aside a strand of hair that was hanging in Shi Qingxuan’s face. Shi Qingxuan didn’t seem to hear him, instead just mumbling some noise that sounded like a vague agreement and leaning his head into He Xuan’s palm. He Xuan had to stop himself from instinctively drawing back at the contact.
When he had lived as Ming Yi, Shi Qingxuan touched him constantly—held his hand, led him by the arm, hugged him, played with his hair—but it was all manageable because it wasn’t him. It was Ming Yi. It was as if there was a barrier around He Xuan, and as much as Shi Qingxuan tried to break through he never would be able to. And now, although he wasn’t outright trying to deceive Shi Qingxuan, he still wasn’t being seen as himself. Yet the feeling of Shi Qingxuan’s skin underneath his hand felt so much more real than it ever had.
It was probably better, anyway, to stay distant from Shi Qingxuan. As much as He Xuan wanted him to see him for who he was. As much as He Xuan wanted to take off every mask he had ever worn and have Shi Qingxuan look him in the eyes with something other than fear or hatred. But He Xuan knew that wasn’t possible. Shi Qingxuan had every right to hate him, after all. It was foolish to even entertain such an idea.
Still, he let himself lean into the thought, if for just a moment.
Once this was over, he would return Shi Qingxuan to the capital, and he wouldn’t even have to know this ever happened. It was better to spare both of them the hurt of seeing each other once again, face to face.