Chapter Text
Shi Qingxuan is not having a great day.
Waiting around for rescue that may or may not come is about as fun as it sounds, and they’re not very good at entertaining themself in the meantime. Hopefully either He Xuan or Xie Lian has gotten their message and will arrive soon, but the more time that passes, the more unlikely it seems.
Shi Qingxuan’s TV is logged in to one of He Xuan’s streaming services, so they consider adding something crazy to their recently watched so He Xuan will recognize it as a cry for help. But they don’t have Wi-Fi, and anyway, they’re pretty sure He Xuan is not going to randomly check this account for vague clues.
They’re really regretting not investing in walkie-talkies.
As Shi Qingxuan languishes in near-despair, they turn over their conversation with Shi Wudu in their head. It’s only after thinking in circles for a while that they remember something he’d said: I’ll help you stay safe, and Ling Wen can take care of your friends.
Shi Qingxuan abruptly sits upright. What does that mean? If this is Shi Wudu’s idea of help, then what exactly is Ling Wen’s?
Suddenly it feels even more urgent to find a way out of here. They’re just wondering if there’s a way to DIY a semi-reliable parachute when the front door clicks and swings open. Shi Qingxuan turns, startled, as He Xuan materializes in the entryway, balancing a laptop on one arm. They also catch a glimpse of two seemingly unconscious men on the ground on either side of him.
Well. Shi Qingxuan wasn’t sure what they were expecting, but this seems about right.
“You came!” they exclaim.
He Xuan’s face says even he isn’t sure why he did. “You sent a paper airplane to harass me.”
Shi Qingxuan beams at him. They would take their chances at throwing their arms around him, but unfortunately he’s still holding the laptop, and he probably wouldn’t hesitate to lock them back up in the apartment if they break it by mistake. “How did you—? It was cursed shut, wasn’t it?”
He Xuan scoffs. “Curse casters are too used to cutting corners. The door couldn’t be manually opened or destroyed, but there was nothing stopping me from accessing it remotely through the building’s system. Well, except your building’s weak attempts at cybersecurity, but that’s a joke. You should probably move if you don’t want to get hacked. Again.”
Shi Qingxuan’s eyes travel to the thugs on the floor—the “security detail,” as Shi Wudu called them. “And are they—?”
“Dead? No, I’m not terribly interested in facing murder charges on your behalf.”
Shi Qingxuan has a hard time believing He Xuan would ever allow himself to be caught or charged, but: “That’s a good policy, generally,” they agree. “Wait! Where are the others?”
“How should I know? I’ve been a bit preoccupied springing you from jail. I assume this is your esteemed brother’s doing?”
With a distracted nod, Shi Qinguxan says, “Yes, but—I think something is wrong.”
“With your brother? I heartily agree.”
Shi Qingxuan rather suspects He Xuan has never done a single thing heartily in his entire life. “No, with—well, yes, with him, clearly, but I’m talking about the others. My brother said Ling Wen was going to ‘take care’ of them, and I’m afraid to find out what that means.”
He Xuan’s expression doesn’t change, but his posture tenses. “Last I heard, Ling Wen had referred them to a tracker to find Hua Cheng’s ring.”
Shi Qingxuan sucks in a breath as they consider the implications of that. “Oh. That can’t be good. Ling Wen doesn’t want them to find White No-Face, so whatever they find, I don’t think it’ll be an actual clue.”
This revelation makes He Xuan sigh with what they estimate to be about sixty percent sincerity. “Don’t tell me we now have to go rescue them too.”
“I don’t know about rescue, but we should at least warn them, right? Hey, can I borrow your phone?”
“I just generously liberated you from prison, and you’re already making demands?”
Shi Qingxuan makes a heart with their hands. “I’ll pay you in cuteness, how about that?”
He Xuan looks expectedly repulsed, and Shi Qingxuan tries not to laugh too obviously when he says, “I’ll pay you to never do that again.”
They hold out their hand, and He Xuan pulls his phone out of his jacket and reluctantly drops it into their grip. “Passcode?” they prompt.
“Six-six-six,” He Xuan says dryly.
“I think it’s more than three digits.”
“Add another six, maybe.”
Shi Qingxuan sticks out their tongue at him, but it’s the most normal things have felt in days.
Xie Lian is having a rather confusing day, but at least it’s not going as poorly as Feng Xin’s.
Their first order of business is to take a probably concussed Feng Xin to the nearest ER. Apparently he had grabbed Mu Qing with the intention of talking sense into him and earned a punch in the face for doing so.
Xie Lian can’t help but wince when he sees the lump on Feng Xin’s head where it hit the wall from the force of the punch, but Hua Cheng nods with something suspiciously close to approval. “The good old-fashioned way of handling conflict,” he observes.
“There didn’t need to be conflict,” Feng Xin mutters. “He was just crashing out about—about . . .”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Hua Cheng says with false concern. “It must be hard enough for you to string thoughts together on a good day.”
Feng Xin ignores that, which is really for the best, and puts an entreating hand on Xie Lian’s arm. “I think something is really wrong with him.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ve been saying that about Mu Qing for years.” Hua Cheng folds his arms.
“He was going—he went to—fuck.” Feng Xin clutches the back of his head. “Motherfucking fuck, that hurts. I think I’m going to be sick. Oh, but—fuck, the Murder Board. It’s in his room. You’ll see. There’s an Anti-Mu Qing Board too, in my room.”
Feng Xin is looking rather green at this point, so Xie Lian calls a car to escort him to the ER. In the time it takes to arrive, Xie Lian manages to convince Hua Cheng to accompany Feng Xin to keep an eye on him, using a combination of pleading looks and logical arguments before just invoking the husband card. This Hua Cheng is not yet equipped to withstand such a ruthless tactic.
Hua Cheng agrees only on a few conditions: that Xie Lian will turn on location tracking for his phone and stay in touch by text, that Xie Lian will not be part of any physical altercations, and that Hua Cheng will not have to be nice to Feng Xin just because he’s an invalid.
Xie Lian is actually a little surprised that he manages to send Hua Cheng off, despite how his husband’s instincts must be roaring at him to stay; he suspects he succeeded in large part because on a subconscious level Hua Cheng doesn’t actually see Mu Qing as a threat to Xie Lian.
Once those two have departed, Xie Lian gets to work locating these boards Feng Xin mentioned, and they are . . . really something.
Mu Qing’s almost qualifies as a work of art with the collage of newspaper clippings, handwritten notes, and other paraphernalia connected meticulously by red string. (Xie Lian suspects the red string in question is mostly for stylistic purposes, but he also gets momentarily distracted thinking fondly of when he and Hua Cheng would tie red string around their fingers before they got married and acquired actual rings. Now those pieces of string are tied together inside a pouch in their dresser.)
There’s a button thumbtacked to the middle of the board with a note that just says JW? Xie Lian frowns at it, then traces one of the strings to a printout of Jun Wu’s professor bio, and yet more notes: Prior work history? College info? Could not find. Request disciplinary history, if applicable? There’s also a photo of the three of them as undergrad students alongside Jun Wu at some department event. The buttons on Jun Wu’s blazer are circled, but Xie Lian can’t quite tell what’s significant about them.
This “Murder Board,” for whatever reason Feng Xin calls it that, is a lot to take in. It also covers some key events in Xie Lian’s failed stint as an idol and a hastily scrawled timeline that includes when he and Hua Cheng met and got married.
Xie Lian reads it all silently, sets the board down on the floor, and goes to find Feng Xin’s “Anti-Mu Qing Board.” This one is a lot less comprehensive but certainly more straightforward. Feng Xin has relied entirely on a series of Post-its that make varying degrees of sense, such as:
Mu Qing entirely losing his marbles? Probability: High
Memory curse: bad. Not sure if fatal or just inconvenient
Buy more eggs
Jun Wu sus. Beef w/ XL’s music career? Beef w/ HC?
Xie Lian presses his lips together, not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all.
Xie Lian finds Mu Qing sitting on a bench in the place where, years ago, they had perhaps the worst fight of their entire friendship. It was memorable to Xie Lian, of course, which must be what compelled him to come here to look for Mu Qing, but he’s a bit surprised to find that it must’ve had a similar impact on Mu Qing. Or maybe he just likes this spot.
The Heavenly Entertainment building sits not too far from a public park with a short nature trail. The scenery isn’t very impressive, given its location in the middle of a city, but Xie Lian still found the green space a bit soothing as a trainee whenever their schedule got too turbulent.
He’d only returned once after he quit the company, just to see if he could still soak up some tranquility to clear his head. By some unfortunate twist of fate he had run into Mu Qing, who had unleashed the full force of his bitter frustration and confusion. Xie Lian hadn’t had any answers to offer him then, and he couldn’t help but lash out in return after being cornered.
It’s not a pleasant memory for him, and he’s sure it isn’t for Mu Qing either, but here they both are.
Mu Qing doesn’t acknowledge him at first, even when Xie Lian sits down next to him on the bench. Xie Lian waits quietly for him to say something, fixing his gaze on the trees in front of them.
“Have you come to punch me to avenge Feng Xin?” Mu Qing asks after a while.
“No.”
There’s another long silence.
“He shouldn’t have tried to stop me from leaving.”
“Probably not,” Xie Lian agrees.
“He’s stupid.”
Xie Lian lets out an amused huff of air in spite of himself but doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mu Qing turn to look at him.
“Did you come because you know?”
“Know what?” Xie Lian asks quietly.
The time that passes is the conversation’s longest bout of silence yet. “I guess you wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly with me if you did know. That I . . .” Mu Qing’s voice is scornful, but it’s hard to identify the target of his derision. “I got Hua Cheng cursed.”
Xie Lian makes a soft humming noise. “I see.”
“I did,” Mu Qing insists.
“How so?” Xie Lian says. “Did you hire someone?”
Mu Qing’s hands, which have been gripping his knees with increasing tension, curl fully into fists. “Yes.”
“Oh. How did you find such a powerful caster?”
“I . . . Someone recommended them.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t . . . It was a stranger. I don’t know.”
“A stranger approached you with a referral and then you paid a different stranger to cast a curse?”
Mu Qing shakes his head slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes, that’s what happened.”
“What made you trust these strangers?”
“I just . . . did. I was too angry to think straight.”
Xie Lian nods. “This was a couple weeks ago? What made you suddenly angry?”
“It was—it just built up over time.”
“Oh, got it. How much did it cost to hire this person?”
“A lot, I guess.”
“Can I see the transaction?”
“It wasn’t—I paid in cash?” Mu Qing’s flat voice rises in a question for the first time. “What does it matter? I’m the reason Hua Cheng lost all his memories! Why are you sitting there so calm?”
“Because you’re lying.”
Mu Qing shoots to his feet so he’s now standing in front of Xie Lian. His entire body is stiff with repressed agitation, except for his hands, which are clenching and unclenching like an involuntary function.
“I’m coming clean to you, and you’re accusing me of lying?”
“Mu Qing, you did not pay someone to curse Hua Cheng’s memory.”
Confusion chases some of the indignant rage off of Mu Qing’s face. “Yes, I—why would you—?”
“We’ve known each other for so long. Do you think I don’t know you?” Xie Lian’s gaze on Mu Qing’s face is steady. “You might spit in someone’s cup, but you wouldn’t poison it.”
“That’s disgusting.” It’s a bit comical how Mu Qing’s face scrunches with distaste, so Xie Lian can’t help but smile.
“Okay, how about this? You’ll curse someone out, but you won’t cast a literal curse on them.”
“But I did!”
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says patiently, “do you remember the board in your room with all the crazy red string?”
“It’s not crazy,” he snaps. “It’s a useful organizational tool!”
“A tool for what?”
“To—” Mu Qing stops. “I don’t—” He presses a hand against his temple. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Do you find that strange?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just—I feel like that’s normal.” He slumps back onto the bench, muttering to himself. “It’s normal. Isn’t that normal?”
Xie Lian waits quietly beside him.
“This is ridiculous,” Mu Qing says finally. “What are you trying to imply by messing with my head like this?”
“I think you know.”
“I do remember things. I remember deciding to curse Hua Cheng, and I remember acting on it.” He stares defiantly at Xie Lian, who doesn’t take the bait.
“And do you think those memories are real?”
“Of course they’re real. Why else would I—?” Mu Qing is clutching his head with both hands now, and he leans over to brace his elbows against his legs. “They’re real. It’s all real. It must be. I remember it.”
Mu Qing is not the most amicable or well-adjusted person in the world, and he’s certainly not Hua Cheng’s biggest fan, but Xie Lian finds the idea of him going out of his way to curse Hua Cheng’s memories pretty far-fetched. He doesn’t even really think a curse caster would’ve been able to approach Mu Qing and convince him that cursing Hua Cheng was a good idea, because Mu Qing is such a distrusting person; he would’ve been far too suspicious to agree even if he were tempted to spite Hua Cheng. And, anyway, why would someone powerful enough to cast mind curses need Mu Qing’s help at all?
The evident gaps and inconsistencies in Mu Qing’s memories have only further cemented Xie Lian’s conviction. If Bai Wuxiang can erase memories, implanting false ones is likely not outside the realm of possibility. But this new memory curse seems rushed, without the neatly cauterized edges of Hua Cheng’s severed memories. Unless Mu Qing had stumbled upon something he shouldn’t, why would the caster act so rashly?
And how did the ring get into Mu Qing’s possession? Xie Lian wraps his fingers around the object in his pocket and squeezes until he can feel it making an indentation on his skin. If someone else is responsible for arranging this whole setup, then they planted this ring on Mu Qing for a reason, knowing Xie Lian and Hua Cheng would find it. There’s no reason they would hand over the actual object that the curse is bound to, so whatever cursed energy Heaven’s Eye picked up from this ring must be a hoax.
Someone wants them to think Mu Qing is the true mastermind behind Hua Cheng’s memory loss, but they framed him too quickly to fully cover their tracks.
Xie Lian sighs and lets the ring go. Casting one last look around at the trees, he gets to his feet and offers a hand to Mu Qing. Mu Qing lifts his head warily and just stares at it for an uncomfortably long few seconds in which Xie Lian thinks he might not take it. In the end, though, Mu Qing reaches a hand out in return and allows Xie Lian to pull him to his feet.
“Let’s go home, hm? We’ll figure out the rest later.”
Hua Cheng is having the worst day ever. He can’t imagine more acute suffering than babysitting a concussed Feng Xin while his beloved is off somewhere potentially confronting the madman who caused said concussion and is potentially involved in cursework (but is he really?).
Almost instantaneously, as the car is pulling away, he regrets allowing Xie Lian to convince him that splitting up is a reasonable idea. Under the weight of Xie Lian’s entreating gaze, he’d thought that he probably didn’t need to be worried, since Feng Xin really is punchable, and that doesn’t necessarily reflect on Mu Qing’s mental state. Plus, he figured he would have an opportunity to interrogate Feng Xin without Xie Lian being worried about Feng Xin’s weak brain hurting a little. (Unfortunately, this strategy does not pan out, due to Feng Xin having a weak brain.)
If Mu Qing raises so much as a single finger against Xie Lian, Hua Cheng will repay it a thousandfold. And if he does somehow have something to do with this curse, he’ll be lucky if he still has an intact corpse at the end of this.
He exchanges a few texts with Xie Lian on the drive and in the hospital waiting room, and Xie Lian assures him that everything is fine. He’s just about to send a suggestion that Xie Lian abandon the search for Mu Qing and come here instead when Xie Lian texts him: I found Mu Qing. He’s fine!
Fine how? Hua Cheng certainly doesn’t care about his physical or mental well-being. fine as in “not an immediate threat”?
Yep! is all Xie Lian replies. Then he adds: Taking him back to his apartment now.
Hua Cheng’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he considers how chill he should be. He decides on “not that chill,” considering the state of the idiot getting evaluated by medical professionals right now, and calls Xie Lian.
“Hi,” Xie Lian says when he picks up. “How’s Feng Xin?”
“Fine.”
“Fine as in you don’t care how he’s doing?”
“Gege, you really do know me so well.”
Xie Lian’s laugh is a balm to the steadily thrumming anxiety he’s been pretending is not eating at him. “I’ll take that as he’s still alive, at least.”
“If not, his corpse is remarkably lifelike.”
“Are you almost done there? I can come meet you after I accompany Mu Qing home.”
There’s some grumbling in the background that must be Mu Qing insisting he doesn’t need to be accompanied home. Hua Cheng completely agrees, but there doesn’t seem to be much point in saying so. “I think we’re wrapping up here.” If that’s not the case, he’ll kindly encourage the medical staff to hurry the fuck up. Feng Xin’s head injury doesn’t seem particularly serious, so they can’t have much more to do. “I’ll be home shortly.”
“Alright,” Xie Lian says. There’s some muted noise in the background as Mu Qing presumably says something irrelevant, then Xie Lian says into the phone, “I’ll see you soon then. Love you, bye!”
Hua Cheng drops his phone.
Luckily for the person next to him, it narrowly avoids hitting them; luckily for him, it doesn’t shatter when it hits the floor. The last thing he needs is to break another one.
Love you, bye. Love you. Love. You.
Hua Cheng nearly sighs aloud. Love is a beautiful thing. His heart is so buoyed by Xie Lian’s words that he accidentally smiles at Feng Xin when he finishes getting checked out. Feng Xin looks appropriately horrified.
“It’s about time,” Hua Cheng says. “Give me your phone. I’m not paying for our ride home.”
“Is Mu Qing okay?” Feng Xin asks, though he does obediently hand it over.
Hua Cheng halfheartedly tries to remember anything from his conversation with Xie Lian other than the last three words. “Probably, yeah.”
“Probably?” Feng Xin echoes. “Why not definitely?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor,” Hua Cheng snaps, already having lost interest in this conversation. “Xie Lian is waiting for us. Let’s go.”
Xie Lian decides to wait in his friends’ apartment for Feng Xin to return so he can make sure his head is doing okay and that he gets a brief update on Mu Qing’s current state. Mu Qing, for his part, has shut himself in his room, muttering about a headache. Xie Lian is a little worried that he pushed Mu Qing too far and the external interference will cause him genuine harm, but all things considered he does find it more likely that Mu Qing is just reeling from the fake memories he’ll need to sort through. That would give anyone a headache.
Xie Lian’s phone lights up with another call then. “He Xuan?” he greets, a little apprehensive to hear from him, in case of any more bad news. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, good!” a very familiar—and distinctly un-He Xuan voice—chirps. “You’re alive!”
“Xiao Shi?” Xie Lian says, surprised. “Why do you have He Xuan’s phone? And why wouldn’t I be alive?”
“Just checking! He Xuan had to come help me with something; it’s a whole thing. Never mind that. Is everyone okay over there? Have any of you been locked up?”
“Locked up?” he repeats. “Everyone’s . . . mostly okay, I guess. There have been a couple complications, but no one is locked up, no. What’s going on with you?”
“Have you heard from Ling Wen?” Shi Qingxuan continues as if Xie Lian hasn’t said anything.
“She sent us a curse tracker earlier, but I haven’t spoken to her directly today.”
“Did the tracker find anything?”
“Um . . .” Xie Lian fiddles with the ring, as he’s been doing somewhat compulsively all afternoon. “It’s kind of a long story, but not really.”
“Don’t let Ling Wen help you anymore, okay? She’s not on our side. She doesn’t want us to find White No-Face. She might even be working with him; I don’t know.”
“Got it,” Xie Lian says. At this point, nothing fazes him. “I won’t accept any more help from her then. Thanks for the heads-up.”
She must have tipped off Bai Wuxiang, giving him an opportunity to plant the ring and draw their attention with it. Xie Lian gives his temples a harsh rub. He can almost feel a headache starting to form, but frankly he should be grateful it’s a matter of weariness rather than curses or concussions.
“You’re really all doing fine, then?” Shi Qingxuan says. Most of the cheer has faded from their voice, exposing an anxious edge. “Do you need me to come over? We can have another brainstorming session.”
Xie Lian kindly doesn’t point out how catastrophically the last one went. “No, not today. I think we all need some time to rest before we regroup.”
“Totally. Okay, well if you need me, I’ll be staying at He Xuan’s place.”
Xie Lian can make out He Xuan’s dry “You will?” in the background. He very much wants to know how this development has come to be, but he just doesn’t have the energy right now to probe any further.
“Take care of yourselves,” Xie Lian says, before exchanging farewells and hanging up.
He doesn’t have to wait much longer for Hua Cheng and Feng Xin to return.
Hua Cheng makes a beeline for Xie Lian as soon as he sees him in Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s living room. Xie Lian stands to meet Hua Cheng in a tight hug, as if they’ve been apart for years.
After a while, Hua Cheng steps back just enough to conduct a quick wellness check with his eyes. Xie Lian smiles indulgently at him and says, “I’m really fine.”
“I’m fine too,” Feng Xin volunteers, “though the PDA is making my symptoms much worse.”
“I know other ways to make your symptoms worse,” Hua Cheng says with a nasty smile that makes Feng Xin scowl at him.
“What did the doctors say?” Xie Lian tries to step slightly further away from Hua Cheng for the sake of propriety, but his husband catches him with an arm slung around his waist to keep him close.
Feng Xin gives a brief overview of the situation—luckily, his head injury doesn’t seem too severe, but he’ll be out of commission for a few days—and asks about Mu Qing.
“I think we’d better talk about it tomorrow,” Xie Lian says. “It’s nothing too serious, but we all could use some rest. Just give him some space for now, yeah? If you need anything, just text me—well, use the voice-to-text feature, I suppose, since you shouldn’t really be having any screentime.”
“He’ll be fine,” Hua Cheng says dismissively. “Who cares?”
Feng Xin flips him off, and Xie Lian takes it as a sign to escort Hua Cheng away from the concussion patient. His husband truly has shown remarkable fortitude in accompanying Feng Xin up until now, so Xie Lian makes a mental note to cook him something nice later. Well, cook him something.
Back in their own apartment, they both slump exhaustedly onto the couch and are soon joined by the cats.
“Oh, here.” Xie Lian pulls out Hua Cheng’s ring. “You can have this back, if you want.”
Hua Cheng reaches out eagerly, but he takes it gingerly from Xie Lian’s fingers and stares at it. “Should we . . .” He swallows audibly. “Do we have to destroy it?”
Xie Lian gives him a soft smile, trying not to let the heaviness of his heart weigh on it. “No, I don’t think we need to.”
Hua Cheng’s face is inscrutable. “You don’t think it’s the real curse talisman?”
“I do not.”
“Why did Mu Qing have it, then? And how did Heaven’s Eye track it?”
“San Lang, could you do me a favor?” Xie Lian adjusts Ruoye’s newfound position on his stomach so he can sit up a bit to face Hua Cheng.
Hua Cheng doesn’t seem to have noticed E-Ming climbing on him, or perhaps he’s pretending not to. “Anything.”
“Can you just save your questions for tomorrow? I’ll give you an explanation; I promise. Just not right now, if that’s okay. I’m a bit tired.”
“Of course, gege. Don’t trouble yourself right now. Although . . .” He flicks a sly glance at Xie Lian, who raises his eyebrows, knowing that Hua Cheng is looking for a different kind of trouble. “If I’m doing you a favor, perhaps you could do one for me in return?”
Xie Lian senses the trap right away and decides to walk into it with a smile. He’s tired of trying to do this the right way. There’s no such thing as a right way; he’s just been leaning on that idea out of fear. But what is there to fear, really, except the regret of not being brave enough?
“Anything,” he says.
Hua Cheng’s eyes are practically gleaming as he says, “Won’t you give your poor deprived husband a kiss, gege? Just this once?”
I hope it’s not just this once, Xie Lian thinks.
And then he kisses his husband.