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Chapter Text

On the land of a kingdom that survived drought and war, untouched by the plague, stands a god boy. He had ascended at seventeen, which means he is seventeen forever. It also means that he was banished from the Heavens at seventeen.

On the same land stands a ghost boy. He's eternal seventeen too because he died on the battlefield at that age. A dirty death, mourned by no one, but he does not regret it.

The god boy currently doesn't see him behind the trees, but the ghost boy is counting on that. He doesn't mind being invisible for all of his afterlife.

On the same land stands a calamity boy. He too ascended at seventeen, he too was banished, he too became a ghost, and no one cried or cries for him.

(At least, he thinks so.)

Above the land of the kingdom, which survived disaster after disaster, hover the spirits of the dead from the kingdom that did not survive. These are the spirits of children who were robbed of the chance to grow up; spirits of young mans and young womans who were robbed of the chance to fall in love for the first time; spirits of craftsmen who couldn't finish their life's work; spirits of the elderly who were not allowed to enjoy nature one last time and peacefully leave life surrounded by family.

They all hate, hate, hate.

They want revenge.

The god boy regrets releasing them. Like them, hatred and vengeance guided him, but more precisely, as it guided them, grief also guided him. Grief for his country, family, for the lost past and the forfeited future. Grief for himself. 

He also grieved for his belief in the goodness of people and the world, but this faith had just returned to him (thanks to the prickly merchant and his bamboo hat).

This faith urges the god boy to attract the attention of the spirits with a scream.

The ghost boy has no faith in either the world or people. It's hard to believe in a world that bestowed upon you a cursed fate from birth; it's hard to believe in those who mocked and beat you for the color of your eyes.

But the person he loves is willing to sacrifice himself to save all of this.

He is ready to sacrifice himself to save that person.

So, he steps forward and raises the black sword, diverting the spirits' attention to himself. Under the white mask, he smiles, thinking that he can finally protect his love — finally be of use.

In the last moments of his existence he looks at the god boy: at the chestnut hair, the eyes wide open in astonishment, and the slightly parted lips.

"Stop! What are you doing! Give me the sword!"

The god boy rushes towards him, but it's already too late. The swirling darkness of hundreds of spirits engulfs the ghost boy. The ghost boy screams.

The calamity boy watches all this and is surprised. What a selfless act of devotion, he thinks with irony, but behind the irony, there are enough emotions to engulf him entirely if he allows himself to dwell on them. Disappointment in a failed plan, but also bitterness, envy, and resentment — for no one would do this for him, he bets — and, for some reason, even a slight sense of regret.

The god boy falls to his knees, sniffing, and chokes on tears because all this time he thought that nobody cared — and now it turns out he was wrong, and someone has been caring for him all this time, and now that someone is dying in his place. And it's his fault.

"Wu Ming, no, no, please, what are you...", the boy sobs, pitifully and senselessly, but it makes no difference for him. "I missed having a friend so much all this time, don't leave me, please, or leave, I still don't deserve you, but don't die. Please. Please!"

While he weeps, the darkness around the ghost boy gives way to a white-golden glowing.

With raised eyebrows, the calamity boy watches as the ghost boy ascends to the Heavens. Plans will have to be changed. (He won't admit it, but some part of him is glad about it — a part that life should have strangled long ago — a part he has been trying to strangle.)

(This foolish part still hopes that there is something good in this world.)

(Something as precious as the devotion which he just saw.)

Chapter Text

"It's even better," thinks the calamity boy. If only the curious ghost were dispersed, Xie Lian would mourn for eternity — with his stubbornness. Xie Lian would know that someone never left him until he ceased to exist in the world. He wouldn't be alone: not with the memory of someone who loved him and hoped he would be all right.

And now the curious ghost will remain in the Heavens, and Xie Lian will be left alone. Surely, at first, he will say something noble and try to believe it himself, but over time... Over time, wounds have a tendency to fester.

"Well, here you are alone again," the calamity boy begins softly and subtly. "Your ghost won't return; he abandoned you, just like your friends and your parents. Like I said. Well, don't worry, I will always be with you."

The god boy doesn't even look at him. He still kneels in the dirt, still crying, paying no attention to the tears, but now he's also smiling. It's a fragile smile, radiant, and his eyes are full of hope.

The mask of the calamity boy also half-smiles and half-cries, but it looks entirely different.

"You can deny it all you want, but sooner or later, you'll come to me. Tell yourself that you're happy for him if you want, but any pretense gets tiresome eventually."

Where the ghost boy ascended, there remain a black sword and a white flower. The god boy doesn't touch the sword but reaches for the flower, gently wiping the dirt off its petals.

"So, you were sincere back then..." he whispers. "Oh, my Wu Ming."

The memory of how he trampled the peony offered by Wu Ming earlier should cause pain. It will surely cause pain many times later, but right now, it doesn't. He feels so much that he feels nothing. Transparency.

In a few millennia, he will be able to think that he was like in a museum of his own feelings back then. Walking through the halls, examining exhibits behind glass: here are the remnants of old desperation with anger, remnants of old determination, shock and grief, regret, guilt, shock again, gratitude and hope, the warmth of affection, and what is this.

He doesn't have such comparisons now; museums will appear in future China sometime around the XX century of the future era.

(When they appear, he will go there not alone but with a precious and once almost lost soul by his side. This is also unknown to him for now.)

He ignores White No-Face not for a nice gesture, but because he sincerely doesn't care. He has no strength to think, feel, and speak. What can White No-Face do to him now that he hasn't already done?

Wu Ming is safe; that's the main thing.

Xie Lian also knows that he should value his own life since so much has been sacrificed for it, but he hasn't needed it for a long time. It's hard to say exactly how long; maybe since the moment he pulled his parents' bodies from the noose, maybe since the altar. Perhaps since the scattered rice on the floor.

Someone or something quietly lands behind Xie Lian, and when he turns around, he almost shouts. It's too much for one day; truly too much.

"Your Highness..."

The youth in black and in the commonest mask again bows his knees, but he sways. Ascension heals people on the verge of death and, apparently, ghosts on the verge of dispersal, but after that, anyone would be exhausted.

The prince of the vanished kingdom rushes to him and falls to his knees for the second time today, embracing the youth so that he can lean his weight on him.

The ghost boy flinches as if he's never been hugged before. He doesn't hug the prince in return.

"Wu Ming? What are you doing here? Did something happen?" The last question is utterly foolish. "You ascended; I don't understand, I..."

"Your Highness, you're here," the ghost boy solemnly replies in a weak voice. "Where else should I be?"

"Stubborn..." tired, gentle laughter.

Okay, now — to figure out the situation. He'll think about the rest later. They'll talk later, Xie Lian promises himself.

White No-Face is still here; hide from him, at least for a while; stop somewhere; Wu Ming needs rest; find out what can help a ghost recover besides time, sleep, and nourishing food; if he could share spiritual powers...

When Xie Lian finally turns to White No-Face, he notices that he has already disappeared.

Xie Lian hugs his ghost boy tighter and bursts into tears again, burying his face in his shoulder. He doesn't let go of the flower. The ghost boy awkwardly strokes the prince's hair and tries to wipe away his tears ("Oh, Your Highness").

Another prince from the long-lost kingdom, the self-proclaimed Emperor of the new Heavens, locks himself in an empty hall of the imperial palace, sinks into a chair, wearily closes his eyes, and leans his head on his hand.

He long ago noticed that Xianle knows how to surprise, but this?

And what should he do now? Most importantly, why?

So, someone is still staying after all?

Then why did no one stay with him?

Oh, sorry, he's not as noble as Xianle. He didn't retreat halfway and doesn't repent for what he did. That's what this is about? No, if this boy stayed even now, he would have stayed anyway.

Then why?

Good thing the mask is still on him, Wu Ming decides. It's the only reason His Highness didn't notice how he blushed nervously the whole way. To the abandoned temple where they stopped before, the prince carried him in his arms. ("No, I see how exhausted you are, don't argue. Wu Ming, please? Will you indulge this one?")

His Highness certainly doesn't understand how it looks. He's just being kind, as he always is.

Wu Ming would love him no matter what happened. But he's so glad that His Highness has returned to his usual self. Something tells him that otherwise, His Highness wouldn't be happy.

And that's all he wants. Well, that and... for His Highness to stop looking at him with such warmth, because otherwise his dead heart will soon come to life and flutter with inappropriate hope.

Street rats should know their place.

Especially when treasure of Xianle sits down on the dusty temple floor, leans against the wall, and places Wu Ming's head on his lap.

"Will you sleep? Tomorrow, I'll think of something with mat and... all of this."

Wu Ming is going to protest because he should take care of His Highness, not the reverse; then a hand loosens his ponytail and runs through hair, and he can't find the courage to disturb the moment.

"As Your Highness wishes," he whispers.

"Well, that's fine." The prince realizes: "Wait, lift up for a moment."

His Highness pulls off his upper robes and covers Wu Ming with them. The fabric smells of peony and camellia.

The hand returns to the hair, and, listening the scent, Wu Ming falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Xie Lian wakes up early and startles, abruptly pulled from a heavy sleep. He takes a few deep breaths and then listens to the quiet and rhythmic breathing of the ghost whose head still rests on his knees. His hand hasn't left the other's dark strands.

There's something comforting in this contact, grounding after everything that happened. As long as he doesn't let go of Wu Ming, he knows that he's here, right next to him.

"Your Highness?" the youth says sleepily.

"I'm here," Xie Lian responds. "How do you feel?"

"Better than ever," Xie Lian doesn't see how Wu Ming smiles under his smiling mask. Those words are pure truth. He's on knees of His Highness, and His Highness is talking to him, a dream come true in the most literal sense; he has imagined it so many times but never dared to hope. "And you?"

"I'm..." Immeasurably guilty before you? So happy that you're here? "I need to tell you something."

He has no words, but he won't find them, so it's better to get this over with. Xie Lian gently pulls Wu Ming away from his knees, rising only to kneel. He presses his forehead to the dusty floor, lingering there, trying to feel it.

Then he straightens up.

"Wu Ming, I apologize to you, although I know I don't deserve your forgiveness." He forces himself to speak slowly, solemnly, and the form of his words becomes a relief; it creates a safe neutral zone between him and his feelings. "You've been patient and kind with me all this time, and I treated you indifferently and cruelly. You offered me your loyalty, and I didn't appreciate it or appreciate you."

He pronounces:

"Because of me, you almost disappeared from this world. That's what I repaid you."

These words should corrode his mouth and tongue the very moment he utters them, but it unfairly remain ordinary. Just words. A set of sounds. Neither Wu Ming's cry then, nor his own sobbing, nor the wind in leaves, nor the noise of waves. Just consonants and vowels. From it, you can form anything else.

He's Xie Lian, and he forms what he forms.

Cold hands envelop him, and even through the fabric of his upper clothes, he feels Wu Ming's fingers slightly trembling. The ghost pulls him closer, desperately and tightly, and Xie Lian can't help but think that there's something protective in this gesture.

"Your Highness... Please, don't speak like that," the youth almost whispers, and his voice is full of pain.

"But it's the truth!" Xie Lian objects. "You deserve someone who would be worthy of your kindness and loyalty. And I... I'm just me, and look what I've done to you."

"You deserve everything," Wu Ming replies with sincerity and determination that make it difficult for Xie Lian to find the strength to argue (although he should). "And I don't blame you. In the bay... Interfering was my choice. You didn't ask me to do it; you tried to keep me away and safe."

"I was the reason you had to make that choice," the prince insists. "I put you in that situation."

"White No-Face did it to both of us," the youth disagrees. "Blame him."

Wu Ming's stubbornness seems cute to Xie Lian, and he has to suppress a sigh and a smile; his wonderful ghost! But he won't smile at how unforgivably he treated Wu Ming.

"But I was so callous and rude to you! I trampled the flower you wanted to give me."

Wu Ming touches the flower Xie Lian tucked into his hair yesterday.

"You were hurt."

"That doesn't justify me!"

"Then I forgive you if you need it. Your Highness, my god, Crown Prince of Xianle, Xie Lian. But please, don't torment yourself because of me." A quiet sigh. "I can't bear it."

Xie Lian hides his face on his ghost's shoulder.

"Please, then, don't speak of yourself as if your pain means nothing."

"We have a deal," Wu Ming laughs.

They stay like that for a while. Xie Lian belatedly thinks about how selfish he was: he upset Wu Ming again with his apologies. He thought he must to apologize for, he thought about what he needed — and didn't think at all about what his ghost wanted.

He also thinks about when he started calling Wu Ming "his ghost" but suspects that the other would like it. He decides to test this theory someday.

Wu Ming thinks again about hugging His Highness and wonders if his lifelong supply of luck has gone to that. He wonders if he overstepped, treated His Highness too boldly and disrespectfully — but His Highness really looked like he needed to be hugged, and... well... he didn't show a hint of aversion to Wu Ming's touch, as if he didn't think there was anything dirty and wrong in Wu Ming. Like yesterday.

Finally, Xie Lian, pulling away, gets up:

"I'll go try to find out if there's any work for me around here."

"I'm with you," Wu Ming quickly stands up. "I can help."

Xie Lian shushes at him:

"Rest for at least a couple of days. And don't say you're already okay; I won't believe it." The prince realizes: "Of course, I shouldn't be ordering you, I'm sorry, but... I really will worry about you if you don't stay. I'll worry anyway, and..."

"Your Highness can order me if he wishes," Wu Ming easily says, because it's true.

"I'm no longer a prince, Wu Ming, and you don't have to be a soldier or a servant," says Xie Lian, and there's something strangely warm in his gaze. "But... we can be friends. I mean, if you want."

The ghost next to him freezes completely. He had no friends in life; he doesn't know what it's like to be friends. And now the one he's in love with offers to be like this.

"I would be honored," the boy says. And then: "But Your Highness will always remain Your Highness."

"Wu Ming!" Xie Lian laughs, brightly and affectionately.

Then he finally leaves.

Chapter Text

Xie Lian is having more luck than usual. During a day of conversations with the locals, he finds several families willing to pay for work and an elderly woman who is willing to shelter them with Wu Ming in exchange for help in the garden.

According to her, the garden is a reminder of her deceased husband, but she is already too old and finds it difficult to care for the trees and flowers on her own.

When she learns that Wu Ming recently had an 'illness' and is getting better, she immediately empathizes with the boy. She constantly feeds him, worries about whether he is clothed warmly enough in cool weather, ensures that Wu Ming does not overexert himself with his zeal — in short, the ghost boy seems to have acquired a human grandmother.

Xie Lian sees a naive confusion in his friend's response to every manifestation of care, and each time, he thinks about how lonely Wu Ming must have been in his past. This evokes tenderness in the prince and further annoyance at himself for not noticing this earlier, like many other things.

The boys settle in a separate small and cozy outbuilding. Soon, they establish their own routine, finding it pleasant.

Until noon, they work in the garden, then spend a few sunniest hours on lunch and relaxation. After that, they spend the rest of the day helping other villagers with their chores. Evenings are theirs to spend as they please. Sometimes they stroll around the surroundings; sometimes Xie Lian teaches Wu Ming reading and calligraphy.

If they hold hands on a walk, 'to not get lost,' or touch shoulders while sitting with scrolls, who can blame them?

After Wu Ming fully regains his strength, sparring is added to their activities. Xie Lian is incredibly excited, discovering a natural talent in the youth, and Wu Ming is  incredibly excited by Xie Lian's smiles.

When Xie Lian rejoices in Wu Ming's successes in swordplay or enthusiastically recounts another technique, he looks his age. Not as the heir of a fallen kingdom, not as a god banished from the Heavens. Just a youth who has the chance to share a rare passion with someone.

When Xie Lian smiles at Wu Ming, it's almost easy to believe that his past didn't touch him; that he doesn't wake up from nightmares every third night, and Wu Ming doesn't whisper soothing nonsense to him until morning.

Wu Ming vows to do everything he can to see the prince relaxed and happy as often as possible.

He brings a white flower every day again, and now Xie Lian always wears flowers in his hair.

"I wish I knew more about you," Xie Lian says once when Wu Ming helps him comb his hair.

It's so strange that someone is doing this for him again. In childhood, his parents used to tidy up his hair; the carefully arranged locks would inevitably become tangled by the end of the day, and Xie Lian still remembers how much of a torment it was for the little boy to sit still, waiting for someone else's hands to untangle the knots. After that, it was Mu Qing who took on this task for a long time as the prince's personal servant. Xie Lian got used to thinking that both of them enjoyed this little daily ritual with all the quiet conversations that accompanied it, with a sense of comfort and shared secrets. Perhaps he was mistaken.

Perhaps Mu Qing didn't want it; maybe, for his friend, it was just another duty, as mundane as sweeping the floors or doing the laundry.

He never asked.

He just assumed.

"What, for example?" the ghost youth asks quietly. His voice sounds slightly tense.

"Everything?" Xie Lian responds.

Wu Ming is silent.

Xie Lian always feels like talking to others – being with others – is like walking on the balustrades of one of the palace balconies. He climbed them all one by one when he was ten or eleven.

"That is, everything is probably not easy to tell right away..." the prince hastily admits. "But whatever you want to share with me, I'll be glad to listen."

He happened to fall from the balustrade of the second-to-last balcony in line. It happened by accident. Someone from the courtiers noticed the boy, got scared, called him, and Xie Lian got distracted by his own name and lost his balance. It wasn't a high fall, so Xie Lian got away with a couple of sprains, a week in bed, a month without martial arts training, and a very, very long conversation with his father – but it could have been much worse.

"In my past..." Wu Ming carefully chooses his words. "There are few things that His Highness should hear about."

Now he constantly feels like he's on the highest balcony of the palace; as if he's balancing and is about to fall because of something he hasn't even seen yet; as if he can't keep his balance forever, no matter how much he wants to, and the fall is just a matter of time.

"Oh, my Wu Ming," the prince wonders if the youth blushes behind the mask; he noticed that usually, the tips of Wu Ming's ears turn red, but in any case, he would have to turn around to see. "It's your past, of course, it's important to me! You're important to me."

After Mu Qing, there was no one. Xie Lian combed his hair himself; not gently untangling, like Wu Ming is doing now, but roughly tearing apart the knots of strands. When Feng Xin also left him, he spent several days in bed without the strength to get up, let alone make himself look presentable.

Could all of this have been avoided if he paid more attention?

When his parents left, they did it in the worst way possible. The smell of death clung to Xie Lian as he dragged their bodies to the grave; then he spent several hours washing in icy running water, but for a long time, he still felt that smell in his own hair and on his skin.

What's better – knowing that he could have changed something and didn't? Or that he never had a chance?

"But I don't want to force you, of course. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. We can forget about this conversation."

Wu Ming remains silent for a long time and then sighs.

"I'll tell you. Just... ask about something specific, Your Highness. It will be easier that way."

Xie Lian does just that.

Xie Lian asks Wu Ming about everything: his favorite melody (an ancient lullaby of his mother's people), favorite colors (white and gold), the least favorite color (red), happiest memories (time spent with His Highness), and any specific happy memory (yesterday when they rewrited Yuan Chen's poem together – half each).

He employs a clever trick! He asks what Wu Ming would like to request from him.

"I really, really want to do something for you. Even if it's small."

"You don't owe me anything. And Your Highness really doesn't need to do anything."

"You don't need to do anything for me because you already exist," Wu Ming thinks. "That's enough."

The prince, as usual, either doesn't see the double meaning in his words or prefers not to notice. He's always like that: Wu Ming feared so many times that he revealed his feelings, and His Highness attributed everything to a joke. It's for the best.

"I... This is not an attempt to repay you for something!" Can he really repay his debt to his ghost? The idea itself sounds sacrilegious. "I genuinely want to. It will make me happy." Shameless manipulation, thinks Xie Lian, but at least it's pure truth, and overall it's for the best. "Please, Wu Ming?"

"And what if..." The ghost youth pauses. His fingers also freeze.

The prince tilts his head to the side; amusingly, Wu Ming notices with tenderness, they are not face to face after all. He gently returns the other's head to its previous position, and it seems like the prince leans into the touch and melts in it.

Wu Ming resumes to unbraid and braid the chestnut strands. In a circle, in a spiral, in a ribbon that his and Xie Lian's friend August Mobius would invent in the XIX century? Whatever it is, he wishes he could stay in it forever. 

"If what, my Wu Ming?" The prince utters the last words particularly affectionately.

Turning them to the sides and examining each sound with delight, like a rare pearl in the royal treasury.

(Wu Ming doesn't know that when he addresses the prince by his title, each time it sounds not like a respectful formality but like a prayer.)

(He also doesn't know that the prince is warmed and hurted every time by this: it's... endearing, but Xie Lian doesn't want distance between them. He has lost too many this way.)

Wu Ming is not accustomed to such things: kindness, affection, or care. It's warm and... painful, as if removing dried bandages from a wound. It's scary. You don't know in advance how much the bandages will expose underneath.

You don't know in advance whether the wound will open without them and how much it will bleed next time.

"I'm afraid to tell you," Wu Ming says slowly. "What if you think worse of me afterward? If I ask for too much?"

Xie Lian straightens up and turns to face Wu Ming. In this moment, he looks more like the prince he was born to be than ever.

"There's nothing that would make me think less of you. I promise". The prince gently adds: "If you ask for too much, I'll just say so, that's all."

Then something comes to his mind, and his golden-honey eyes sparkle with rare mischief:

"You can even test me if you want. Go ahead, ask for something 'too much'! I'd like to see how you'll try."

"Can I draw Your Highness? Sometimes."

"Do you want me to pose for you?". Wu Ming admires the glowing smile on His Highness's face again. "There's definitely nothing 'too much' in that. It's cute! One more time."

The ghost youth recalls something, and Xie Lian notices his hands clenching.

"I would like... for you to tell me when you need help. Please. It's unbearable for me to see you suffer."

"Okay," Xie Lian exhales, touched and flustered. "It's... difficult, but I'll try. But Wu Ming... ask something not about me, something for yourself?"

Wu Ming tilts his head, imitating the prince's gesture from before, and remains silent. (It looks naive, a bit childlike, somewhat obedient, and very cute. Xie Lian blushes slightly.)

"What if it's very selfish?"

"Great! I want you to be selfish."

"If it's something selfish and about you?"

Xie Lian's thoughts go astray, and he blushes even more. (It seems he should quote the Ethics Sutra more often; he clearly did it too infrequently lately.)

"Well, come on?" urges the prince.

"I want to stay with you," Wu Ming says it like stating a fact: snow is cold in winter, and a campfire is hot.

He expected it to be difficult to say this, that his voice would be barely audible or strained, that the words would refuse to be found. But in reality, whenever he speaks about his love or anything related to it, there is nothing easier. There is nothing he is more certain about.

"If you allow me and as much as you allow me. Here or wherever you decide to go. But I wouldn't want to impose on you."

Wu Ming's confidence lasts as long as he is focused on what he is saying. Once the last of his words fades away, panic begins to swell within him again – but panic has little time for that because Xie Lian's smile is brighter than any of his smiles Wu Ming has seen before.

"Of course. Of course! And you were afraid to ask about this? I want this too." The prince grabs his hands, not knowing what to do with himself. "I'm so glad, you... you can't imagine."

"Hmm... actually, I can," Wu Ming chuckles, also unsure of what to do with himself. "Your Highness, do you really think I'm any less glad?"