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The first scream pierced through Hua Cheng’s heart like a sword. The sound was unbearably familiar, present in all his worst nightmares. Next to him, Xie Lian froze.
Hua Cheng’s head throbbed violently. His vision went red and hazy. Evil energy surrounded them, but it seemed to be embedded into the stone itself. He couldn’t very well destroy the stone and risk shattering the cave into pieces on top of them. So instead he rushed in front of Xie Lian and spread his arms wide. “Ge ge, don’t look!”
Desperation coursed through Hua Cheng like fire. But it was too late.
Xie Lian whispered, “What is—how?” He took a step forward as if entranced, but at the same time, his chest flinched away from the scene in front of them, as if his body was split in two.
A group of people crowded around a stone table, murmuring over the body of a person bound by silk stained in red. They held him down by his arms and legs and ripped through his stomach, then his throat, then his heart, over and over like a butterfly carelessly pinned into a display board.
White No-Face sat at the side of the table calmly. Neither he nor the crowd of people seemed to have noticed that a new group of people had arrived.
Hua Cheng roared in wild fury and swept at the person holding the sword, intending to knock it out of their hand before it could touch Xie Lian. But his hand passed through the sword handle as if it were made of shadows—the sword plunged again into Xie Lian’s chest. Hua Cheng tried to attack White No-Face and the others in the crowd, but his hand merely swept through their forms.
So it was an illusion, then. And yet, Hua Cheng could still feel burning fear rise up inside of him, setting his senses aflame. It was only an illusion, and yet it felt impossibly real.
Hua Cheng frantically threw out a pair of his dice, but nothing happened. The curse throbbed beneath their feet and through the walls. It was a powerful spell; it took an enormous amount of focus for Hua Cheng to even sense the lay of the curse lines, let alone hunt along them for their weak point. And doing so was near impossible when Hua Cheng’s concentration was scattering constantly, unable to look away from the scene in front of him.
The mirage of Xie Lian looked unseeingly at the ceiling in horror. Though his mouth was covered, Hua Cheng could still hear his muffled screams. With each sickening slide of the blade through Xie Lian’s throat, his cries grew more and more distorted, and the seizing of his body grew more violent.
The real Xie Lian—because the one on the table was not real, not real—stood only a few steps away from his mirror image. He stared blankly at the stone table, trapped in time. Then, his breathing turned gradually into gasps, and he dropped his sword with a clatter. Hua Cheng watched in horror as Xie Lian turned away from the table and fell to his knees. He curled into himself, arms tightly wrapped around his body. Hua Cheng could hear him muttering something under his breath, inaudible at first. But as the sounds of the Xie Lian on the table became fainter, the voice of the Xie Lian on the ground rose in volume.
“Help me, help me, please.”
Hua Cheng felt his stomach drop. He had to clench his fist, trying to hold in the terror that was scorching through him. He dropped to his knees, maintaining a short distance between him and Xie Lian.
“Ge ge,” Hua Cheng whispered, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. “Ge ge, it’s not real, I promise. You’re safe. It’s me, it’s San Lang. I’m here.”
Xie Lian didn't react to his voice; he only continued muttering in short gasps. Feng Xin rushed over and hovered above Xie Lian.
“What’s wrong with Dianxia? Is something hurting him? Why would a demon create such a horrible illusion—does it think this will stop us?” He began to reach for Xie Lian anxiously.
Hua Cheng pulled E-Ming out of its sheath in one swift motion and pointed it at Feng Xin, face twisted in fury. “Don’t you dare touch him!”
Mu Qing urged Feng Xin away as well. “You idiot, step back. You’re only going to make things worse by looming over him like that.”
Fen Xin jerked back as if he’d been burned, eyes wide, and quickly moved away.
“Don’t you see?" Mu Qing continued. "The curse is tied to our emotions. We need to meditate. Look over there. If you stay calm, you can start to see through the illusion. We need to find the exit.”
Now that Feng Xin wasn’t posing a threat anymore, Hua Cheng turned his attention back to Xie Lian. Xie Lian was still bent over clutching at his neck and torso, his breaths reduced to short gasps. Hua Cheng called his name louder, hoping it would jar Xie Lian out of the trappings of his mind like it sometimes had in the past. But Xie Lian didn’t react. His murmurs grew louder and louder until he was screaming.
“It hurts! It hurts! Someone help me, it hurts!”
Hua Cheng stomach heaved. He took a sharp breath, even though he didn’t need the air—anything to try to loosen the choking nausea rising in his throat like smoke. He knelt there on the cold stone floor, forcing himself to not reach out to Xie Lian. He was afraid that the feeling of unknown hands would terrorize Xie Lian further.
Hua Cheng held his body as still as possible, trying to keep his composure from shattering completely.
E-Ming laid where Hua Cheng had dropped it. An enormous well of tears flowed from its eye, which was squinted against the force of its grief. If it had a voice, it might’ve been screaming as well. When E-Ming scooted closer to Xie Lian, Hua Cheng knocked it away harshly. “No,” he commanded, words barely audible through the shaking tightness of his throat. “Control yourself, you fool. Wait. He needs you to wait.”
Hua Cheng had sat next to Xie Lian like this many times before when the demons of Xie Lian’s past surged up uncontrollably. Sometimes words were enough to ground him. Other times, it seemed that the memory would envelop Xie Lian entirely, and Hua Cheng would stay by his side—always by his side—making sure he didn’t need to go through it alone; making sure that when the memory began to dissolve, Xie Lian would have someone to help anchor him.
At first, Xie Lian had tried to hide his pain from Hua Cheng. He’d wanted to endure it alone, unwilling to trouble anyone. Hua Cheng had found him frozen on the ground, as still as stone, every inch of his body tense. Hua Cheng had called his name over and over, terrified. Then, he’d grabbed Xie Lian’s shoulder, afraid that Xie Lian been wounded.
Hua Cheng had torn into himself for weeks at the terror that had filled Xie Lian’s form at Hua Cheng’s touch—at the way Xie Lian had thrown himself against the wall, looking through Hua Cheng at a waking nightmare only he could see.
When Xie Lian had blinked wearily out of the numb haze, Hua Cheng had begged that they search for ways together to help Xie Lian when his mind and body trapped him again in the past. He had pleaded with Xie Lian to not hide his suffering from Hua Cheng.
“I was so ashamed,” Xie Lian had whispered.
And Hua Cheng had responded, “Whatever you have to bear, let us bear it together.”
They'd slowly discovered ways that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian could try to lighten the blow of the waking nightmares together. When Xie Lian and Hua Cheng were apart, Xie Lian would sometimes whisper into their private communication array, shakily asking Hua Cheng to please tell him about his day. And Hua Cheng would talk and talk until Xie Lian’s responses became more steady.
Other times, Xie Lian was too overwhelmed to even think to contact Hua Cheng. Or sometimes if they were both at Puji Shrine but Xie Lian truly, truly did not want Hua Cheng to see him, Hua Cheng would step outside as Xie Lian wished. He would not come back in until Xie Lian opened the door. And then, Hua Cheng would simply ask Xie Lian what he needed – to be held, to be listened to, to exist without demands. Anything.
And so, Hua Cheng did what little he could do to help Xie Lian, staying by his side as he had so many times before.
Never, though, had he sat next to Xie Lian as a sword came flying down to the rhythm of Xie Lian’s cries.
Eventually—after what felt like eons of screams that sheared away at Hua Cheng’s bloodless heart—Xie Lian’s yells started to fade into faint sobbing. “Ge ge,” Hua Cheng tried again. And this time—this time—Xie Lian jerked and gasped out quietly, “San…”
Hua Cheng’s heart stepped back from the edge of breaking. Thank you, thank you, Hua Cheng repeated like a mantra in his mind. He didn’t know who or what he was trying to thank. He only knew that he would’ve given anything to relieve Xie Lian from his suffering.
“Ge ge,” Hua Cheng repeated like it was the only word he knew, the only word worth saying. “Ge ge, ge ge…”
At the far side of the cave, Hua Cheng heard Feng Xin give a triumphant cry. “Blood Rain Sought Flower, get over here! We found the exit!” He stood next to an unremarkable corner of the cave that only hollowed out when Hua Cheng forced himself to calm down and peer closely at the stone. Hua Cheng looked back at Xie Lian quickly.
“Ge ge, do you need help standing?” Hua Cheng leaned close, worry threading through every angle of his body. Xie Lian’s body was still flinching at the sensation of an unseen gutting. But he was aware enough to nod, eyes blinking hazily. They stood together, Hua Cheng supporting most of Xie Lian’s weight. They walked toward Fen Xin and Mu Qing, slowly, carefully. When they finally exited the cave into a narrow corridor, Hua Cheng felt the choking tightness in his chest loosen its hold. He brought Xie Lian to a nearby wall and lowered him gently, sliding down next to him.
Xie Lian looked exhausted, unbearably and deeply so. Xie Lian leaned his head against the cold stone, and Hua Cheng worried for the discomfort that the rock wall might bring. He wanted so badly to make the world soft for Xie Lian.
“Ge ge, is it okay if I hold you?”
Xie Lian’s mouth twisted, turning his face away as if he was ashamed. “You don’t need to worry yourself San Lang, I’m fine. I'm covered in sweat. I don’t want to get your clothes dirty.”
Hua Cheng had to scrape his nails into the ground to prevent a wounded sound from leaving his lips. “Ge ge, will it help you? Just tell me if it will help you.”
Xie Lian turned back toward Hua Cheng, perhaps to repeat that Hua Cheng didn’t need to worry. But Xie Lian’s eyes widened and his lips hung parted. Hua Cheng didn’t know what expression Xie Lian saw on his face. He only knew that his entire body felt like a taut bowstring on the verge of breaking.
The sound of feet shuffling from a few steps away jolted through his awareness. It was likely only Mu Qing or Feng Xin, but his mind went wild with fear, and he had to use all his self-control to not lash out with E-Ming. He was incredibly… incredibly afraid.
Xie Lian looked down at the ground, the pained smile erased from his face, replaced by somber tiredness. “I… it would help, I think. If you don’t mind…”
Xie Lian looked as if he was embarrassed to be asking Hua Cheng for such a thing; as if having the chance to help Xie Lian was a burden and not a benediction.
Hua Cheng pulled Xie Lian onto his lap, holding him as close as he could.
Xie Lian took a shaky breath. “You’re… San Lang, are you breathing for me?”
Indeed Hua Cheng’s chest was lifting, artificially forcing air into lungs that had no need for it. Hua Cheng made each inhale long and steady and breathed out slowly against the side of Xie Lian’s head.
Xie Lian ducked his head further into Hua Cheng’s neck. He lifted a hand to rest on Hua Cheng’s chest, and slowly matched the rhythm of his breaths to Hua Cheng’s. In and out. In. Out. And on and on Hua Cheng went, trying to pull Xie Lian back down to Hua Cheng’s heart.
Finally, Xie Lian’s shaking subsided. He lifted his head to look at Hua Cheng, this time with a genuine, though faint, smile smoothing across his face. His eyes were red-rimmed with strain, but present, right here with Hua Cheng.
Xie Lian held Hua Cheng's arm with a firm grip and moved back slightly. He murmured, "San Lang, let's go back. We can't allow such a powerful curse to exist."
Hua Cheng's voice grew uncontrollably louder. "No, no, absolutely not. Ge ge you don't need to go, you can stay here. I'll go!"
Xie Lian shook his head. "I can't just let you go alone, you might get hurt—"
"Then just stay here with me!" Hua Cheng could see Xie Lian about to protest. "Please!" Hua Cheng cried out. “Don’t go, not again. Please!” He could feel the tight hold he'd maintained on his tumultuous emotions beginning to unravel.
Xie Lian’s eyes widened. “It’s… it’s really okay San Lang. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Hua Cheng pulled Xie Lian back into his embrace and clung onto him as tightly as he could. He felt as if he could keep Xie Lian here by the force of his terror alone. Hua Cheng wanted to keep Xie Lian safe from anything and everything; he would have moved heaven and earth to make it so. He’d thought that if he could just become strong enough, he could fight anything that might try to harm Xie Lian. And so, it shook him to the core when something untouchable clawed at Xie Lian—when Hua Cheng was useless.
Xie Lian leaned back again, more hesitantly this time.
“San Lang… are you okay?” Xie Lian’s voice was so full of love that Hua Cheng could not bear it and—the tightness in Hua Cheng snapped.
Hua Cheng’s face crumpled. Xie Lian gasped and reached out to cup Hua Cheng’s cheeks, but his hands could not contain the inferno that burst through Hua Cheng.
Hua Cheng sobbed, grasping Xie Lian as tightly as he could. “I’m sorry I’m like this, ge ge, I’m not even the one hurting.” His tears raced bloody down his cheeks, spreading out onto Xie Lian’s robes like spider lilies, like death; like the blood that had once gushed out of wounds not so invisible. “I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng cried out, despair spiraling out of him now that his iron control had cracked. “I don’t—.” Hua Cheng let go and tried to move away to hide his face. He was furious at himself.
Xie Lian grasped Hua Cheng’s back and pressed his face into Hua Cheng’s neck, so soft and warm against him. “You are hurting,” Xie Lian whispered. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I love you, San Lang. We’re safe, we’re okay.”
Hua Cheng could not stand his own audacity in accepting Xie Lian’s comfort mere minutes after the reminder of Hua Cheng’s failure. And yet, his entire being thirsted for Xie Lian’s words, like a volcanic eruption seeking the ocean.
“San Lang, it’s in the past now. It’s gone. Let’s think of other things, happier things… it’s been so long since we made dinner together, we’ve really been too busy lately. Can we try to make something tonight? We’ll need to chop some firewood first—maybe you can do that while I pull up some vegetables from the garden? Though I’m not sure which ones are ready yet…”
Hua Cheng was spiraling into pieces, like plumes of ash flying out from a fire pit. But Xie Lian’s voice rose and fell with the soothing rhythm of the tides. Hua Cheng thought of the path leading up to Puji Shrine, with its red maple leaves strewn across the ground, like a blanket of crackling flames swept around by the cool autumn breeze. He envisioned the garden that he had planted together with Xie Lian months ago. He thought of Xie Lian’s joyous laughter when Hua Cheng had sprinkled water from the watering can onto Xie Lian’s sweaty face, flushed and heady under the hot sun.
“The—the carrots are ready ge ge, we can make a soup. I pulled one out the other day and it was huge, just like you said they’d be. You’re so good at gardening, ge ge.” Even though tears still dripped sluggishly down Hua Cheng’s cheeks, he could tell that the tension in his body had unraveled. He didn’t feel the impulse to strike out at everything that moved, didn’t feel like he was losing all control of himself.
Hua Cheng felt… safe.
Xie Lian blinked at him and laughed. “San Lang, don’t you remember? You were the one who chose the carrots.”
“Ah, but they only grew so big because they had ge ge to take care of them.”
Xie Lian just chuckled affectionately, and leaned in close. He pressed his forehead against Hua Cheng’s, and the shining light in Xie Lian’s eyes comforted Hua Cheng.
Xie Lian shifted in Hua Cheng’s lap to move up a little onto his knees. With a hand on Hua Cheng’s shoulder to steady himself, Xie Lian tilted his head and pressed a firm kiss to Hua Cheng’s forehead. The press of his lips was scratchy and searingly warm—a blessing from Hua Cheng’s god.
Xie Lian held his lips there one second, two. When he pulled away, Hua Cheng pressed his face to Xie Lian’s chest and closed his eyes. He breathed in the scent of Xie Lian, the sweat and the sweetness. Xie Lian wrapped his arms around Hua Cheng’s head and cradled him close like something precious.
Xie Lian’s touch settled some roaring monster in Hua Cheng’s chest, whispered for it to lie down and rest. Whispered peace.
For a few golden moments, there was only the sound of Xie Lian’s steady breathing. Then, from the far end of the corridor, footsteps approached.
Hua Cheng peeked out from a gap between Xie Lian’s arms, a sour taste coating his tongue. Feng Xin was walking over, expression wild and upset. He and Mu Qing had stayed at the other end of the corridor until then, so at least they weren’t complete idiots. Perhaps they’d seen that Hua Cheng would’ve torn them apart if they’d gotten too close. But now that the danger posed by Hua Cheng’s fear and protective instincts had subsided, it seemed that Feng Xin couldn’t hold himself back anymore.
“Dianxia, what was that? Was it just an illusion created by the curse? Or was it… a memory?”
Hua Cheng tensed and moved to stand up. But Xie Lian reached down and held his hand suspended above Hua Cheng’s lap. Hua Cheng quickly lifted his own hand to meet Xie Lian’s, grasping it with a tenderness made his skin ache.
Mu Qing’s voice sounded, echoing faintly against the stone walls. “It was likely a curse intended to materialize a person’s greatest fear into a trap. The only way to get out was to maintain calm, which would doubtless be difficult for the person targeted by such a vivid illusion. Doubly so if it was a shared memory. And from Blood Rain Sought Flower’s reaction… I would say it was indeed a memory.”
Feng Xin turned to Xie Lian, mouth agape and horror rising in his eyes.
“Dianxia, why didn’t you ever tell us?!”
Hua Cheng could feel fury simmering in his chest. He bared his teeth at Feng Xin and was about to spit out insults, but stopped when Xie Lian began to speak.
“I didn’t want you to know,” Xie Lian replied, voice weak with exhaustion. “I didn’t ever want anyone to know.”
Feng Xin’s face twisted, trying to search for words.
Mu Qing walked over quietly as well, lips pursed, clearly discomfited. He crossed his arms tightly against his chest.
“When.”
Xie Lian sighed, and looked away. “Does it really matter?”
Mu Qing’s face clouded like a storm. “When?!” His sharp voice rebounded off the walls, echoing through the corridor. When, when, when. Where?
They all knew what he really wanted to ask. When did it happen in the timeline of their complicated history? Where was I?
Hua Cheng hated them deeply for not being present when Xie Lian most needed them by his side; he resented their helplessness the way he resented his own. Hua Cheng thought that they weren’t worth a hair on Xie Lian’s head, didn’t deserve a single word from his lips. He wanted them to beg on their knees for Xie Lian’s forgiveness.
But in the end, Hua Cheng wasn’t the one who decided what Xie Lian thought he was or was not owed.
Xie Lian paused for a few moments, thinking, then heaved out a breath. He looked up at Feng Xin and Mu Qing, expression resolute. “If you really want to know, it was a little while after I went looking for a place to cultivate. You remember—I ran out on my own and didn’t return until a few months later. But… it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
Feng Xin’s eyes were wild, like he was struggling with something within himself. He seemed barely able to force words out. “I- you- do you mean that time I found you wandering around the streets? The time I… I punched you?!”
His words shook through the corridor like thunder. Xie Lian had never told Hua Cheng much about those years when it was just him and his attendants. He knew only that Mu Qing’s leaving had tormented Xie Lian. And to know now that in Xie Lian’s time of greatest vulnerability, the only friend he’d had left had met him with aggression instead of comfort, anger instead of understanding…
Even Mu Qing seemed shocked. Surely he was tracing the timeline in his head as well, realizing that Xie Lian’s torture had occurred not long after Mu Qing’s betrayal.
And Hua Cheng, who’d been right there with Xie Lian, hadn’t been able to save him.
None of them—none of them—had come to Xie Lian’s aid when he’d screamed for mercy.
Xie Lian shook his head and stood, pulling Hua Cheng up with him. He leaned on Hua Cheng for support, but raised his head with resolve, looking straight at Feng Xin and Mu Qing.
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault—no one but White Masked No-Face’s. It doesn't matter when it happened because he would have merely waited for another opportunity or made a different plan to the same effect.”
Feng Xin took a step forward, eyes still wide. “Xie Lian, I…”
Xie Lian looked away and sighed again. He wrapped an arm around Hua Cheng’s waist and leaned against him more firmly. “We can’t change the past. All I wish is that we can become friends again. Don’t let the events of today hold us back from that, please.”
Feng Xin looked as if he had more he wanted to say. But after a pause, he took a step back. Mu Qing was still standing frozen, mouth twisted in that infuriating way of his. For a few seconds, Hua Cheng pondered over the logistics of summoning blood rain in such a small corridor. But Mu Qing, too, turned away, choosing to stew in his own inscrutable thoughts rather than push the discussion.
Hua Cheng was glad for the silence. He was so tired. Hua Cheng could feel Xie Lian’s weight pressing against him, could feel Xie Lian’s arm tightening around his waist. He wanted so badly to go home to Puji Shrine and rest with his love safe and sound next to him. Hua Cheng placed an arm around Xie Lian’s shoulders and pulled him close.
“Let’s go, ge ge.”
Xie Lian looked hesitant. “But… what about the curse? We can’t just leave it there...”
Hua Cheng glared at Fen Xin and Mu Qing, making sure they could see the flames in his eyes and the horrific dried blood coating his face. “Have them take care of it.”
Xie Lian looked at them as well, likely about to protest. But the two nodded their heads before he could say anything—Fen Xin earnestly, with sorrow in his eyes; Mu Qing with shame lingering on his lips.
Xie Lian sighed and nodded. “Alright. But don’t go into the cave alone, you know now how powerful it is. Set up protective barriers to prevent wayward travelers from getting, and then notify the communication array.”
Hua Cheng smirked as Feng Xin and Mu Qing both murmured, “Yes, Dianxia.” He knew that they weren’t usually this obedient toward Xie Lian. It looked like they did know shame after all. Hua Cheng brought out his dice and threw them into the air, stepping out of the cave corridor with Xie Lian by his side.
The dusty air of Puji Shrine was a balm to his heart. Shafts of light drifted in through cracks in the old wood. Every surface spoke of their shared memories—the paintings on the walls, their robes hung in the corner. The simple bed they had crafted together.
Xie Lian moved slowly to the bed, pulling Hua Cheng along with him. They both sat down, side by side, looking at each other. Xie Lian looked exhausted, but he was smiling faintly. Hua Cheng reached up to press his fingers to Xie Lian’s hair tie. When Xie Lian nodded, Hua Cheng pulled the hair tie out, feeling Xie Lian’s silky, tangled hair run across his hand like rivulets of a stream. He lifted his hands to cup Xie Lian’s cheeks, the expanse of his palms pressing against Xie Lian’s jawline.
He had dreamed for many centuries of the softness of this man’s skin; and now, here he was, his face fitting perfectly into Hua Cheng's hands. Every single day, Hua Cheng reflected on the impossible luck that had brought them together, and the endless efforts that kept them there; he thought that perhaps fate was not so terrible after all, if it could allow for such joy in his cursed life.
Hua Cheng brushed his thumbs under Xie Lian’s eyes, trying to smooth away the tension that still lingered there. Xie Lian’s warm breaths gusted over Hua Cheng’s face, and he raised a hand to gently trace the bloody tear tracks that had dried on Hua Cheng’s cheeks.
“Let’s… never do that again,” Hua Cheng whispered.
Xie Lian laughed and clasped his palms over Hua Cheng’s hands. He closed his eyes, pressing Hua Cheng’s touch into his skin. “Yes, today was… a bit awful, wasn’t it?”
Hua Cheng closed his eyes too, chuckling with both bitterness and mirth. “Awful” was putting it very lightly. Hua Cheng felt eviscerated by the image still imprinted in his mind; felt like he was that young boy again, watching helplessly as the person he loved most in the world suffered right in front of him. It was like he’d never escaped that abandoned shrine where fear and flames had birthed a young vengeful spirit.
Xie Lian’s hands tightened around Hua Cheng’s hands and pulled a palm against his lips. Hua Cheng’s eyes jolted open, Xie Lian’s lips sending his skin tingling like light glinting across glass. He pressed a long, lingering kiss into Hua Cheng’s palm, and then pulled their clasped hands into the space between them, blinking his eyes open to look at Hua Cheng. He smiled again—this time a joyful smile that pierced through their soul-deep weariness.
“But we got through it together.”
Hua Cheng grinned back at Xie Lian, his heart feeling light and strong, like it could start beating again with the force of their love.
“Always.”
They lay down facing each other, legs tangled together. The fading light of the sun pulled them into liquid dreaming; and they never once let go of their joined hands, hearts whole and intact.