Chapter Text
Upon a path built solely by the feet of travelers, against an old ginkgo tree, subtle, but not hidden, is a small wayside shrine. Like the tree, it too is old, and like the path, it too was built by stray travelers alone. It is a decently well-kept thing, especially considering its pretty remote location.
The little shrine is simple, leaning against a wall of bark, with nothing but a little box of offerings and a sign. It is carved out of stone and the front side has a flower etched onto its surface. The sign says simply:
Lord of Lost Things.
That's all. There was nothing beyond that to indicate who this shrine was for. But it didn't need anything else; anyone who needed to know would know.
This Lord wasn't exactly a widely recognized figure, per say– yet to suggest he was an obscure one wouldn't be right either. Truthfully, he had followers all across China. His believers were just as, if not more, spread about as those of the Heavenly Emperor himself. It's only that, said believers mostly had one thing in common: the lack of a home.
There are all sorts of homeless souls in the world. Some are beggars struggling everyday to just get by. Some live pretty comfortably all things considered, and wandered about with no destination. Some had a home they had to abandon. Some have never known such a thing at all, and thus set out to find it.
There were many kinds of homeless people, with a whole range of different situations. One thing most of them had come to have in common though, was this particular God– their Lord of Lost Things.
And so, this God's shrines can be found anywhere. But only to those who knew to look.
Or to those who needed to.
And while he is recognized, or even known by the Heavens, he is a God to the people in the bottom of it all. And they are, in truth, the ones who decide it all.
The beggars, the runaways, the lost children, the wandering cultivators, the nomad merchants; they saw him as a God, and therefore he was one.
(Even if the Lord himself did not realize it.)
On the side of a travel-born path, leaning against a ginkgo tree, is a small shrine. Just ahead of it, a small group of travelling cultivators, with no sect or clan to their name, steadily approach. Soon, the one leading the small group notices the humble wayside shrine, and he smiles.
"Hey, have we still got some of those old weapon from earlier?"
"Hm, those scraps? Yeah I think it's in my bag hold on-"
The other cultivator rummages through his pouch for a moment before pulling out three old blades. They had found it a while back when hunting a yao. The one that had been leading took the rusted knives and placed them upon the little offering box. Others dropped in some spare change, praying briefly for safe travels and maybe a bath of two. Some prayed for other mundane enjoyments, things that most people didn't know to be grateful for.
Other Gods would not have known to be grateful for any of these poor gifts, nor would they understand the small requests. But theirs would; theirs was the Lord of Lost Things, and he was the only deity who would understand their desires, their struggles, and their treasures. He was the only one who would surely appreciate their meager offerings. This was precisely why he had so many followers, and precisely why other worshippers could not understand their faith.
But these believers didn't care much what others thought of their Lord. Their God certainly wouldn't either.
The cultivators found some wild flowers to place around their small offerings, the white ones it was believed their Lord preferred, and then they left to continue their journey to the next village.
Hours later, the shrine was approached again. This time by a single, lonesome man wearing all white. He tipped his bamboo hat up, looking at the shrine with curiosity. He read out the sign; just as he'd suspected, it too worshipped the same deity all the other similarly secluded shrines did. He looked at the offering plate and wondered which Lord asked for spare scraps and coins. He looked at the discarded blades consideringly. Surely this God wouldn't mind if he took a little something again? They hadn't ever minded before...
The man decided to store away two of the offered knives, as well as a few coins. It's fine; he's sure no one will mind at this point.
Sparing one last smile at those white little flowers, the banished God thanked the Lord for graciously allowing him to take some things without fuss, then went on ahead unaware he had just, in fact, thanked himself.
There is a man who wears all white robes and a bamboo hat. He is a pretty friendly fellow, and he is ever kind to most anyone he meets. He has gone by many names over the course of centuries, pretty much all of them fake. He never stayed one place too long, lest he bring the most terrible misfortune, and he died at least three times a month. Despite everything, he was kind. Despite everything, he was Xie Lian still. Perhaps he was more Xie Lian now then he was as a prince. For back then he had been first and foremost the Crown Prince. Now, he was simply himself. Old, travel worn, and somehow still gracious.
Xie Lian didn't have travel companions. Not the kind that went along with him for more than a few shichens, a few days at most. He couldn't, not without risking something terrible befalling the unsuspecting folk. But during the moments he did have company, he cherished it greatly. The small acts of kindness from one wanderer to another were precious to him no matter how many centuries he's lived.
When he encountered a couple gathering water from a river, he hadn't planned to approach them. But the pair noticed him from afar, ever conspicuous with his white robes, and they had promptly waved him over.
This wasn't the first time a stranger had done so. It filled him with warmth every time, to see how those who wandered had gone from ignoring each other to banding together whenever over time. It amazed him how people had learnt to seek each other. Xie Lian remembers a time when roaming around meant little to no conversation at all. Yet it seemed that with the coming of new generations, customs had changed, and now it was pretty common for people to invite him and other random lost souls into conversation.
How could he not take the chance to speak with a person who'd reply, unlike the sky and his silk friend? Of course Xie Lian made his way to the couple standing just before the riverside.
"Hello Daozhong– are you also looking for Caiyi Town?" The young lady asked, arm entwined with her lover's.
"Ah," Xie Lian scratched his cheek, "to be completely honest with you, miss, I didn't even know it was nearby..."
The man, a roughish youth, laughed, not unkindly. "Well then, might as well come along, no? It's really quite close from here." He waved at his free hand. "All we have to do is follow the river."
Xie Lian, despite having already encountered similar invitations over the decades, was still somewhat stunned at the way people seemed to quickly accept a random cultivator into their group.
"Ahah, I'd be happy to, of course- but really, sir, I don't even know your names!" He pointed out. "If we are to journey together, we should with whom we walk with, no?"
The young lady and the male youth smiled, a little cryptidly. Xie Lian briefly wondered if this was some sort of trap– wouldn't be out of norm for him– but he truly couldn't sense any malicious intent from the pair.
"Of course, Daozhong is correct– this one goes by Lin Peizhi," the lady, Lin Peizhi tugged at the man's arm, "and my heart goes by Wan Ye."
He smiled at her with soft adoration. They were obviously the kind of couple that flaunted their relationship around easily. Xie Lian didn't particularly mind this sort to be honest. Most of the time, like now, it was rather sweet. Even though he himself would never understand not desire that sort of devotion, he could still be happy for those who did.
"Well, my friends may call me," hm, what name shall he use now? "Hua Xie!" Might as well reutilize it.
Again, Lin Peizhi and Wan Ye had that cryptic amused glint in their eyes. Again, Xie Lian sensed no malice. The three of them took off together, following the river to Caiyi Town. Xie Lian enjoyed the soft reprieve of loneliness, however brief it would be.
As they walked, the couple confessed that they had run away from their home town a couple of weeks ago, and had been seeking a place they could stay and marry peacefully.
"I see... Would you mind if I asked what happened?"
Lin Peizhi grinned in a way that probably wasn't entirely befitting of a young lady, but she simply did not seem to care. "It's quite simple Daozhong. I'm sure you've heard this story many times before, but my family was to marry me off to this wealthy elder, you see,"
"Rotten old bastard." Wan Ye muttered under his breath.
"-so I ran off with our head servant!" She shrugged, inelegantly and freely, and leaned up against her lover. "Sometimes that's just the way things go."
Xie Lian hummed. It's true; he had most certainly heard similar tales a thousand times before. Still, he could not help but admire how strong their affections must be, to have been roaming around all of the sudden and yet managing to stay cheery through it all. Lin Peizhi's robes, that must've been of reasonable value once, were irreversibly dirtied and worn. Wan Ye too looked unkept. Both of them had a certain tired look in their eyes Xie Lian easily recognized.
And yet, they looked thrilled to be here, away from the comforts of home.
Xie Lian gently grasped his hat, tipping it upwards. Whatever his terrible luck may bring next, today would still have been a good day, he decided.
When they reached Caiyi Town, not so long after they set out, Xie Lian was quick to detach himself from their side. That nothing had gone wrong so far was a rare miracle. He didn't dare test this further. He smiled at the young couple, so full of life and hope it made him ache.
"Leaving so soon, Daozhong?" Wan Ye asked playfully. "I understand; you must be immensely tired from our extensive trip."
“If anything,” his beloved said dryly, “it was your blabbing that tired him out.”
Xie Lian laughed. Oh, he thought, if only you knew. If only they knew how much he craved company, anyone's, all the time. He couldn't stay though. He couldn't ruin their new start.
"Ah, you know how it is." He shrugged. "I just can't stay in any one place for too long."
He wasn't lying, not really. The reason for this probably wasn't what they thought it was, is all.
Lin Peizhi reached out to his arm gently and squeezed, just a bit. "It was nice talking to you, Daozhong. We wish you luck on your own journey."
Haha, he scratched his cheek awkwardly, kind lady, you really have no clue!
"Thank you. I enjoyed our time together as well." He said softly, raising his arms in a small bow.
"...We speak as if we haven't known each other for about two shichens" Wan Ye commented, rubbing his head with disbelief. Xie Lian laughed again.
Shortly after parting with his brief companions, Xie Lian fell into a lake. Then, the bottom of his pants snagged onto a small decorative hook of a wooden boat, which dragged him up stream. Once he managed to get himself out without ruining his clothes, he decided to swim his way up to a more secluded shore, hopefully so that no one would be surprised by a half drowned looking man.
He ended up having to fend off a bunch of water ghouls, because of course he did.
Meanwhile, the couple looked around corners until they found a shrine, mostly hidden to those not seeking it. This one was settled against the wall of an alleyway. It was more elaborate than the forest shrines, although it still wasn't so big. Unlike the ones in the wild, those of cities tended to have paintings of their Lord, although they were simple you wouldn't have been able to immediately identify him. You could only just tell he had white robes, brown hair and a hat.
This was on purpose; their Lord was a rogue traveler. It was unlikely he'd want to be identified by all.
Even so, from mouth to mouth descriptions of his appearance would be shared amongst believers. People would quietly, discreetly, speak of his unique beauty and incredible compassion. Paintings never shared his eye colors, but any follower would know they were amber. The drawings never explicit his bandages, but they all knew to look for them on his neck and arms.
Lin Peizhi and Wan Ye had of course recognized their God. How could they not? So the first thing they did upon arrival was seek a little shrine and urge all the nearby homeless beggars and rebellious teenagers and other wanderers to tell them of their interaction. And although there wasn't much to tell, people listened avidly.
There was one thing every believer understood: the need to conceal one's identity. No group of people this large would usually agree on one thing so unanimously– but this they did. If their Lord would rather go by a fake name, if he would rather seem ordinary, then they would not begrudge him of this. In fact, it was that very humility that made him their Lord of Lost Things.
Their God of the Aimless.