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Chapter Text

Xue Yang ducked the bamboo pole that came swinging out of nowhere.

This girl, he thought incredulously. Is she really blind? It doesn't seem like it, sometimes.

Inches away from his head, the bamboo pole thudded hard into the wooden doorframe. The loud crack of sound rang through the small entrance of their home.

A Qing stood in front of him, white eyes glaring daggers at somewhere above his head, holding her pole upright in front of her. There was a fierce expression on her face. If not for the fact that she was aiming her pole somewhere off to the side instead of directly at him, Xue Yang would have sworn that she wasn't blind.

"I'm gonna kill you," she said tightly. "You stay right there, you ugly sonofabitch. I'm gonna kill you, you hear me?"

"Calm down, A Qing," Xue Yang laughed. "What's gotten into you this morning? And how do you even know I'm ugly? You can't even see."

He caught the bamboo pole as it came toward the sound of his voice. It smacked hard into the center of his palm. Xue Yang grunted in surprised pain. That had definitely carried all of A Qing's strength behind it.

"Oh, you're definitely ugly," A Qing said. "I don't need eyes to see that. Only someone with the face of a dog and the thick skin of a pig would be able to do what you did."

"Hey," Xue Yang said roughly, letting the edge of bloodlust show in his voice. There were limits to how much he would take, even from an amusing brat like her. "A Qing, why are you doing this?"

A Qing did not shiver, even though Xue Yang knew she was afraid. His fingers were itching to draw his sword. All he needed was an excuse. One little excuse.

"You hurt him," A Qing said tightly. "You bastard. You hurt Daozhang. I'll never forgive you."

The bamboo jerked violently in his grip. Xue Yang yanked it out of her hands and broke it in two.

A Qing stumbled, but she caught herself quickly. A blind girl that stumbled easily would not survive long on the streets. Her eerie white gaze slid past him, and again Xue Yang wondered if there was some secret she was hiding from him. He could never be sure, and that was a constant itch under his skin.

"Is this about the thieves that broke in?" Xue Yang asked, keeping his voice dangerously light. "They're the ones that hurt Daozhang, not me."

"They were your friends." A Qing spat. Her accusing glare was harsh enough to melt the section of the wall that she was staring at. "You told them about this place. You told them to rob it."

"And how would you know about that?" Xue Yang countered immediately. "Did you see me talking to them, by any chance? Even though you can't see?"

He had been careful not to speak a single word. He watched her face closely. If she tried to lie her way out of this one, he would know.

"I overheard them talking," she said without the slightest hesitation. "When they came in, I hid under the floorboards. They mentioned you by name. They said you'd promised them a whole lot of valuables, but they only found some of Daozhang's old things. And now they've taken them, and Daozhang is devastated. And it's all your fault."

"That's a very good story," Xue Yang said, so delighted that he felt like clapping. It seemed like he wouldn't be able to catch her out in a lie today. He smiled at her, and made his voice sound as smug as possible. "So, what do you think? Do you think Daozhang will believe you?"

Even though her only weapon lay shattered and broken in two, A Qing wasn't done. She lunged at him with her fists upraised. Xue Yang dodged out of the way easily.

"Who do you think you are?" A Qing raised her voice to a shout. Xue Yang flinched back slightly at the sudden vehemence in her voice. She was almost spitting at him.

"You're just a dirty kid that Daozhang picked up off the street! Look at you. You always swagger like you own everything in this house even though none of it belongs to you! I bet you treat the whole world the same. You have nothing! You are nothing except for what Daozhang feeds you out of the generosity of his heart! A trash can for food! A black hole for affection! And yet you sit there and act like he owes you everything in the world. Apologize to him! Right now, you ungrateful son of a bitch! You-"

Xue Yang grabbed her wrists in an attempt to stem the poisonous words pouring out of her mouth. He didn't want to press his palm against her mouth to silence her, for fear that the acidity in those words would actually burn his skin. 

As it was, he suddenly felt sick and shaky. Why should he be listening to the words of such an annoying, know-nothing little brat? Her words should have gone in one ear and out the other, but instead they settled uncomfortably under his skin and burned inside his veins.

"Shut up," he growled. "I have nothing to apologize for. I'm-"

"You have everything to apologize for!" She snapped, and then surprised them both by breaking down into sudden tears. Her wrists pulled violently away from his grip. He caught them again, and nearly stepped on her feet to pin her down. He held her like a writhing, venomous snake. She was so light that he could have held her up with one hand on her collar.

But her tears did nothing to stop the torrent of her words. "You have no idea how hard- how hard Daozhang works. Do you know that he gets up almost three hours before we wake up? Every day? He takes care of all the animals that have fallen sick. He does all the chores, the washing of our clothes and the tending of our gardens. Do you even know how weird that is? Usually, in any family, it is the younger generation that is responsible for such things? Or are you such a street-bred brat that you've never even known this much?"

She was a street-bred brat as well, as dirt-sucking and lowborn as the rest of them. But her eyes were shining with a haughty, know-it-all arrogance. It irritated Xue Yang to no end, but he couldn't get in a word edgewise.

"I -" he started. Then, incomprehensibly, he realized that he had nothing to say. There was a dull anger thudding in his chest - what right does she have to talk to me this way? I'm nearly five years her senior. She's just a little kid who knows nothing. She's just a blind little idiot who is leeching off of Daozhang's generosity just like - just like -

Just like me.

And now he understood why her words rankled him so. She was a hypocrite. The worst of all hypocrites, to criticize him for doing what she was doing so blatantly and without shame.

Xue Yang tried to get angry. He was angry, but he was also a little too stunned by his sudden understanding. He had never quite realized why A Qing irritated him so much, but now he knew - they were the same.

A Qing glared up at him, her flat, colorless white eyes steady and accusing. They had settled somewhere vaguely around his face, but he had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that she was seeing right through him. Not just into his expression, which had turned into a twisted grimace of guilt and anger, but into his blackened and warped soul, which was now writhing with discomfort.

"I don't want to hear you say another word," he said shortly. He let her go. She did not back away, but she rubbed her wrists. They were red where he had gripped too tightly. She was still crying a little, but she made no move to wipe the tears away.

Silence fell in the hallway. She couldn't look away, because she couldn't see in the first place. Xue Yang couldn't stop staring at her, trying to figure her out. Why was she crying? For Daozhang? But why? It wasn't like Daozhang would be hurt that badly?

Then, he realized that she was crying because of him, because she believed that nothing she did or said would be enough to make him apologize. And it had made her feel helpless, useless, and small. He was familiar with that feeling, that mix of anger and frustration so strong that your only recourse was to cry.

When Xue Yang had been a child, whenever he cried like this, he often did it openly on the street. He supposed that he had been looking for sympathy, for any form of comfort, any form of kindness. No one had ever paid him any attention. Looking at A Qing now, Xue Yang was suddenly reminded of those times.

He held up his sleeve and smooshed it across her face, clumsily wiping off the tear tracks. This finally made her back away, as if his touch had been something disgusting and slimy and revolting. As she backed away, she brought her hands up to her face, her fingers probing for something - but only finding smudged tear tracks.

"I'll apologize," he said shortly.

She didn't answer. She just wiped the back of her hand wearily across her face. When she put her hand down, her expression was strangely solemn. Her eyes were red and the tears were gone.

"Go," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Xue Yang couldn't help smirking a little at her tone. Bossy little miss, he thought a little fondly. I'll miss you after I have to kill you.

Then he turned, to go and apologize.

.

Xiao Xingchen bent over the broken pieces of the wooden chest. He had examined each piece until the sharp edges had scraped his skin enough to draw blood. He still pressed his fingers into the shattered box, over and over, fumbling, searching for something that he knew wasn't there. This was the closest he had come to despair in years. He felt it overwhelming him like a black tide, dragging him under into a place where there truly was no light, not anywhere.

"What are you looking for?" Xue Yang asked from the doorway. Xiao Xingchen turned towards him with a gasp of relief.

"Xue Yang," he said urgently. He knew he sounded half-mad, but he didn't care. "Xue Yang, come over here and help me look. There should be a comb in here. It's green jade, about the width of my hand, this big. Can you see it? Is it anywhere in this room?"

Xue Yang furrowed his brows. "A comb?" he said disbelievingly. There had been documents, letters from important people, in that box. Their entire year's worth of savings had been in there, enough to buy enough tiles to fix their leaking roof. And what Xiao Xingchen was searching for so desperately was a comb?

He had never even used a jade comb, as far as Xue Yang could remember. He used a wooden one, just like the one A Qing used, plain and sturdy and simple.

Xue Yang filed that information away for a bit later. For now, he did a quick scan of the room. Then, he blew out an angry breath.

The room was trashed. Every jar smashed against the ground, its contents strewn about. The bed was intact, simply because it had been too heavy to lift, but the covers and the bedding had not fared well. There were large tears made in the rough hemp fabric, made by a dagger or a knife of some sort. The straw spilled down onto the floor in a little yellow trickle, and hung out like entrails from a slain animal. In the middle of it all was Daozhang, his white robes stained with dirt and blood, his fingers still probing into the shattered wooden chest.

"I don't see it here," Xue Yang said. The next line was supposed to be: I know who did this. Give me a moment and I'll go find them for you.

But instead the words caught in his throat. He felt sure that saying them out loud would feel like throwing up, such was the nausea swimming up behind his throat. His teeth clacked together as he struggled violently to keep his composure.

"I'm sorry," he said instead. His voice was so tight that he could barely get the words out.

Xiao Xingchen stilled in surprise. "Xue Yang?" he asked. "Why… why are you apologizing to me?"

"Give me a moment," Xue Yang said, and it was easier now, now that he was back on script. His blood was jittering uncomfortably in his veins. He cursed A Qing to hell and back. That fucking brat. Why did she have to go and ruin all of his plans like this? He never should have listened to her.

"Xue Yang?"

"Give me a moment," Xue Yang repeated, and he couldn't meet Xiao Xingchen's eyes. Damn. First A Qing and now Xiao Xingchen. What was the point of being the only person in this household that could see, if he was too ashamed to lift his eyes from the floor? "Just, wait here. I'm going to fix this. Wait here."

He took off before Xiao Xingchen could call him back and demand an explanation, one that Xue Yang was not quite ready to give.

.

The thieves were easy to find, because Xue Yang had arranged for them to meet anyway, under a wooden bridge near the entrance to the city. The constant rumble of wagon wheels over cobblestone made a decent cover for their conversation. As Xue Yang approached, however, he was annoyed to find that Cheng Xing had brought five or six of his cronies instead of coming alone, like he said he would.

They had arranged themselves into quite the picture - Cheng Xing sitting high up on the slope, toying with a long wooden stick in his hand, and his friends all looking grim and ready for a fight. They all watched him approach with a kind of fearful arrogance; they knew who he was and what he could do by reputation, but not anything more specific. In any case, they didn't like having him in their space.

Cheng Xing was a boy around Xue Yang's age, with a handsome face spoiled only by a thin scar across his nose and the left side of his cheek. In the shadow of the bridge, and wearing clothes covered in dust and mud, he seemed like a rat king that had taken human form. He had eyes that glittered dangerously with anger and greed, and right now, his gaze was fixed on Xue Yang with both emotions clear for everyone to see.

"Xue Yang," Cheng Xing said coldly. The rest of the boys grew silent and their muttering died down. "You have a lot of baseless courage, to show up in front of us right now and to saunter in like you own the place. I'm pretty displeased with you, right now."

"Oh really?" Xue Yang stepped forward, threateningly. In the next instant, he was surrounded on all sides. He kept his eyes fixed on Cheng Xing and forced himself to smile widely. "I should say that I'm pretty displeased too. A little bird told me that you had loose tongues during your robbery. I thought you would know better than to talk about me if you wanted to live. Too many words can be dangerous. For everyone involved."

He watched their reactions carefully. There were a few sidelong looks, and curious glances, instant snippets of wordless communication, too detailed to catch completely, but he was met with silence.

"And yet, sometimes there can be a case of too few words," Cheng Xing replied at last. His eyes narrowed. "You did not mention that the house belonged to a cultivator, and a powerful one at that. It's dangerous to get mixed up with their kind. They could come searching for us at any moment, and they could kill us without a thought."

Xue Yang's lips twitched at the thought of Xiao Xingchen being feared so. Then he remembered the way Xiao Xingchen had despaired over that broken chest, and had seemed on the verge of insanity just from losing that comb. He felt his face grow cold and hard as winter. "That doesn't matter," he said, and the boys around him shifted back a little at his tone. "Give me everything you took from him, and be quick about it. I don't have time to waste on empty threats and needless worries."

Cheng Xing studied him, and quickly realized that Xue Yang was not making an empty threat. An aura of resentful energy had sprung up around him, black and curling like smoke, drawn up out of the rich ground. Plenty of people had committed suicide here, had fallen after a night of drinking in town, or had been pushed off to their deaths. Most of the corpses were gone, but some of their energy still remained. Xue Yang grinned at them all a little wider, and watched their resolve crumble like ash before the wind.

Quickly, they produced various objects hidden in their coat pockets and other places. Xue Yang gathered them all up absently, but the jade comb did not show up.

Instead of saying anything, Xue Yang made a gesture with his hand. One of the boys closest to him screamed and fell to the ground, clawing at his throat. Black tendrils crept up his face and neck, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"Wait!"

Xue Yang turned to Cheng Xing, but did not stop. Cheng Xing had scrambled down from his slope, hobbling down with the aid of his stick, and was pulling out the jade comb from his pocket. He shoved it into Xue Yang's hands.

"Take it and leave," he hissed. His eyes were furious, and his words even more so. "Leave, and never show your face in front of us again."

Xue Yang was so distracted by the jade comb that he let the spell dissipate, and almost turned to leave. He had originally planned to kill them all. Thieves gossiped like off-duty wine sellers, and he had no intention of letting their words spread to the wrong ears, but now that he finally had the jade comb in his possession, he felt so relieved that he briefly forgot what he had come here for.

"You can stare at that thing later," Cheng Xing said impatiently. "Now go and -"

In one fast motion, Xue Yang caught Cheng Xing by his chin. Then, he reached in to grab the boy's tongue between his thumb and forefinger. Cheng Xing screamed, but the scream cut off sharply as Xue Yang dug his thumb into the flap of muscle, and pressed in so hard that he threatened to tear the entire thing out.

"I forgot to mention," Xue Yang said pleasantly. "If you breathe another word about me, or even if you say my name, I will know. Don't worry about that cultivator, then. He will be the least of your worries."

To emphasize his point, he allowed the tendrils of resentful energy around him to brush against Cheng Xing's skin. Cheng Xing shivered violently as the echoes of dying screams sounded in his ears and made his bones grow cold.

Xue Yang dropped the boy, and Cheng Xing collapsed onto the ground, choking and clutching at his mouth. He did not look up, but his silence was all the answer that Xue Yang needed. When Xue Yang looked around, all of Cheng Xing's friends had backed several feet away from the black aura that surrounded them both. They all looked terrified out of their minds.

Before he turned to leave, Xue Yang stopped as something else caught his attention - a walking stick, clearly taken from some elderly victim. He kicked it up and hefted it to gauge its weight. It was surprisingly light, made out of some hollowed wood, and intricately carved. He shoved it into his belt loop.

"I'll take this too," he said to no one in particular, then left.

.

In the house, Xiao Xingchen was curled up in a corner, looking more miserable than Xue Yang had ever seen him look before. His fingers were pressed tightly against his clothes, and tense with anxiety. A Qing knelt by him, patting his back awkwardly. Neither of them looked up when Xue Yang approached.

He knew that they had heard him, though. He made his steps loud and deliberate.

A Qing stiffened. He knew that she had not ratted him out, because otherwise the configurations of their bodies would have been much different. He would have opened the door and been met with a sword through his body or a snarl of hatred.

He was oddly grateful that she had not said anything. He didn't quite understand her line of thinking, though. Did she truly believe that he would confess everything, and apologize? Did she really think he was that naive?

Xue Yang sighed. He was letting quite a lot of people live today.

"Daozhang," Xue Yang said softly. "Hold out your hand."

The hand that Xiao Xingchen held out was unsteady. A Qing hesitated before supporting his wrist gently. Xue Yang realized that both of them looked drawn and pale and tense. They had been talking about something, or arguing, possibly. They were trying to hide it from him.

His fists clenched around the jade comb. A flash of suspicion ran through him, so strong that he felt the adrenaline spike in his veins, making his body recall the echo of the violence it had gone through earlier.

But neither of them seemed about to attack him, and neither of them seemed to be afraid of him. With a sigh, Xue Yang dropped the comb into Xiao Xingchen's palm.

Xiao Xingchen recognized the item immediately, but he kept running his fingers over the smooth curves, feeling each individual tooth in the comb. A Qing reached out hesitantly, confirming what it was after an instant of contact with the smooth jade. She breathed a sigh of relief, and dropped her forehead on Xiao Xingchen's shoulder. Her long hair spilled over the back of her neck and onto his back.

For a moment, Xue Yang was filled with ugly jealousy. He did not have the excuse of blindness in order to give Xiao Xingchen physical comfort. All he could do was this.

"A Qing," he said suddenly. "Go fetch some water and a cloth. Both of your faces are black with dust, and Daozhang's hands are injured."

"Go get it yourself," she said, without lifting her head.

Xue Yang tsked and tried not to sound too annoyed. "I am the one that has to wash your faces," he said irritably. "Just go already."

A Qing scowled darkly. Xue Yang was about to lose his temper when she finally stood up. She caught her balance on the wall. "I don't have my bamboo pole," she complained.

Xue Yang was distracted from his rising anger. That's right, he thought wryly. Because I broke it. But he did not think he needed to apologize for that. She had attacked him with it. With a flourish, he produced the walking stick that he had taken from the thieves at the very end. A Qing did not even twitch in reaction.

He poked her in the chest with one end, and she grabbed it between her two hands.

"Here," he said. Her expression changed from fury to confusion as she felt along the walking stick and discovered what it was.

She did not ask where he had gotten it from, and he did not volunteer any information. With a flip of her hair and a hmph of grudging approval, A Qing took the walking stick and started for the well. The sound of the tap tap tap of her feet and new walking cane descended down the stairs.

"Thank you," Xiao Xingchen said hoarsely. He sounded as if he had not slept in days.

"Don't thank me," Xue Yang said immediately. His own voice sounded strange to his ears, oddly echoey. Something awful twisted inside him. He had forgotten the script completely. Before he could say any more, he bit his tongue. In some ways, these situations were even more dangerous and precarious than fighting out on the streets. Here, a wrong word or a slip of the tongue could cut more deeply and destroy more than swords ever would.

Xiao Xingchen sighed and brought his hands up to his forehead, curling up as if he was trying to make himself into something small. He had not let go of that comb ever since it had entered his grasp. Xue Yang studied him for a long moment, at the smudges of dirt on the hems of his clothing, and the dust that coated his hands in a fine layer. He still looked pure, somehow, as if the grime of the world and the pain on his face only went skin-deep and no further. He wondered what the significance of that comb was.

"This was a gift," Xiao Xingchen said quietly, as if he had read Xue Yang's mind. "A gift from an old friend of mine, a brother in arms, if you will. I told you I was a cultivator, before."

A cold sensation raked its way down Xue Yang's back. The jealousy he felt earlier was nothing compared to the ugliness that reared up inside him now. "Did you - ?" He swallowed, staring at the comb as if it were some kind of venomous snake. The number of things he suddenly understood about Xiao Xingchen was staggering. "Was he your - ?"

Xiao Xingchen lowered his head in pain. "Once," he answered, without changing the volume of his voice. "But not any longer."

The ugly feeling inside of Xue Yang twisted and deepened into murderous rage. He wanted to tear apart this imaginary person, limb from limb and muscle from bone. He felt sick with it, until he was shaking. He wanted to kill, but he had no name and no face to ascribe this sudden hatred towards. He wondered who this person was, to have hurt Xiao Xingchen and to still be loved so.

Xue Yang suddenly remembered his plan and his script. This was where he was supposed to comfort Xiao Xingchen, to make jokes and run a playful hand down his back. This was where he was supposed to make his move.

But now, all of a sudden, he felt a barrier between them that was something worse than age and more solid than rejection. No matter how much effort he put into raising his hand and reaching out, he felt as if he would never be able to touch Xiao Xingchen's heart.

He's in love with someone else. And it's been years, but he still hasn't moved on.

Xue Yang didn't know what to do. He just stared, angry and confused and hurt, at the curled up figure in white before him. His mouth twisted in bitter irony. Things never worked out for him, did they? He did not want to be a second choice, nor did he want to wait for a broken heart to heal. Maybe a better person would have accepted something like that, but Xue Yang would not. The unfairness of it all was a shocking, unexpected blow.

At last, overwhelmed with his own pain, Xue Yang sank down to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. It was a familiar position, one he had assumed many times as a child, alone on the dark streets, with no one else to comfort him. Xiao Xingchen was only a foot away, within touching distance, but the older man was drowning blindly in his own pain and his own memories, and didn't notice.

They were like this when A Qing finally trumped up the stairs, carrying a bucket of water with a white cloth laid over the handle. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, and called out gently: "Daozhang?"

"I'm here," Xiao Xingchen replied hoarsely. He seemed to have calmed down somewhat. "I haven't moved."

A Qing hesitated. "And the other one?" she said, a little bit louder, her voice significantly less gentle.

"Just hand over the bucket," Xue Yang said irritably. He could not let her sense his pain. He refused to give her that satisfaction. With an effort that seemed to hurt his very bones, Xue Yang forced himself to stand up. He yanked the bucket of water out of her hands.

"Took you long enough," he muttered darkly. He plunged the washcloth into the water - cold, clean - and realized that A Qing had waited to strain out all the muck in the well water beforehand. He didn't care. With jerky, efficient motions, Xue Yang wrung out the washcloth and began to wipe the traces of dust off of Xiao Xingchen's face.

Xiao Xingchen raised his face somewhat and smiled a bit ruefully at Xue Yang's touch. "You don't have to do this," he said, trying to inject some humor into the situation after his breakdown. "I'm not a child."

"Sit still," Xue Yang snapped at him. It stung him that Xiao Xingchen saw him as a child. He felt anger itch along his veins at the thought that Xiao Xingchen had completely missed the underlying current of pain in his voice. No one could have heard it unless they were looking for it and he had always been good at disguising any real emotion from his voice. Still, he was angry that Xiao Xingchen couldn't tell.

The white cloth came away significantly darker than when it had been. Xue Yang would have attempted gentleness, but he did not think he could hide the tremor in his hands if he tried to go slow. So, instead, he scrubbed off the dirt from Xiao Xingchen's face and hands, and was done so quickly that he had barely touched the man at all.

A Qing came around to Xiao Xingchen's side again. She sat down beside him, and laid her walking stick gently against the wall.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, sounding a little hesitant. There was a little undercurrent of fear in her voice, as well as guilt. She did care for him, just as much as Xue Yang did, but she also depended on him as well for her continued survival. She could not afford for him to go mad.

Xiao Xingchen found her arm and squeezed it reassuringly. "Don't worry about me, little one."

"I can't help it," she replied, dropping her forehead on his shoulder again. It smudged the white fabric with even more dust.

Unable to take it any longer, Xue Yang pulled her away with a sharp hey. He took the washcloth again and began scrubbing her face roughly. "There's a limit to how shameless you can be," he told her angrily. You're not a child anymore. You're nearly a grown woman. "You can't even see how dirty you are right now. You're covering him in even more dust right after I just cleaned him up and you're ruining all my work. Get over here. Stay still."

"Get off of me," she flailed her arms, and turned away from the washcloth so that he ended up wiping the side of her face instead. "What are you - Xue Yang! What are you doing?"

"I'm wiping your face, you dumbass." He caught her by the chin, jerked her face around and held it still while he rinsed out the washcloth and squeezed the water out with one hand. She made a face at him, blind eyes furious, and he covered her entire face with the washcloth and pressed down with one hand, hiding her expression. There, much better.

"Grerhaghaaargh," she said.

"Greaaggh," he replied mockingly, moving his hand to her forehead so that he could wipe off all the dust in one go.

"Hahahaha -"

They both turned towards that sound, so stunned that the washcloth dropped to the floor and neither noticed. Xiao Xingchen brought his fingers to his mouth and was trying desperately to stifle his giggles. As Xue Yang watched, his mouth broke into a wide smile, and he began laughing openly into the air.

Neither of them had ever heard him laugh like this, not ever before. It was an incredibly pleasant-sounding laugh, genuine and contagious, a laugh that reminded them of a strong summer breeze in a fond childhood memory.

Xue Yang felt an odd sensation in his gut. It was like a fist had unclenched around his heart or an unbearable pressure on his chest had suddenly been released. He felt as if he had been saved. He could breathe easier, all of a sudden, knowing that if Xiao Xingchen could still laugh like this, then eventually everything would be alright.

"D- Daozhang?" A Qing ventured uneasily. She touched the hem of his clothing, and could feel him shaking with real laughter. It did not seem to reassure her. A tinge of fear entered her voice. She was afraid that he had gone mad. "Daozhang?"

Xiao Xingchen reached out, and wrapped his arms around both of their heads. He did not heed the fact that A Qing's face was still wet, or the fact that Xue Yang was now clutching the washcloth in his hand. He hugged them warmly and said, "I'm lucky to have you two. I don't know what I'd do if I were all alone. Xue Yang, thank you for taking care of us. A Qing, thank you for getting the water. You both don't need to worry about me anymore. I have you two and that's more than enough."

He had never said anything like this before. It was a shock. Not even a parent would have been so forward and so loving with their words to their own child. As a result, Xue Yang and A Qing, both street children who had never known their parents, let alone kind words like these, were both struck completely dumb.

With a fond pat on both of their heads, Xiao Xingchen pulled back, oblivious to the absolute wreck he had made of their composure. They both stared at him, speechless, as he said: "Now if it's not too impossible, I'd love for both of you to get along. We're all a family here, and we have to depend on each other to survive. Can you do that for me?"

After a long moment, A Qing finally found her voice. "Yes, Daozhang."

Xue Yang responded more out of instinct than thought: "Yes, Daozhang."

Then A Qing's face twisted in disgust, and she stuck her tongue out at Xue Yang. I take that back, her expression said, and it was so childish and petulant that Xue Yang wondered why he had ever thought of her as almost a grown woman. A Qing looked away with a silent sniff. I still think you're a snake.

Only Xue Yang could see this side of her, since Daozhang, of course, was blind. He briefly considered taking her head and putting it into the water bucket for a while. His fingers twitched, then curled into fists.

After a moment, the urge faded and Xue Yang just sighed. "Whatever," he said, standing up and stretching. He felt as if he had been wrung out like a washcloth. He was emotionally exhausted. Too much had happened today, and he was still not sure how to feel at the end of it all. "I'm going to get the broom. Use the water bucket to clean yourselves off."

A Qing made a shooing motion with her hands, telling him to go away already. She felt around for the washcloth, wrung it out, and began patting at Xiao Xingchen's face methodically. Her fingers and her expression were both incredibly gentle.

She doesn't know yet, Xue Yang thought with a twinge of half-satisfaction and half still-unhealed pain. She doesn't know that she doesn't stand a chance.

He didn't want to think anymore, so Xue Yang turned to leave. He noticed something lying across his path- the wooden walking stick, which had fallen down from the wall and rolled away several feet. For a moment, he was sorely tempted to take it with him, or to whack A Qing over the head with it. But in the end, he just sighed irritably, and placed it back against the wall.

Chapter Text

Xue Yang dreamed of darkness, the kind of darkness that came from forgetting sunlight, the kind of darkness that had only ever known weak candles and fire arrays. He hated it here. It stank of blood and sweat, and before him, the words on the manuscript blurred as his vision filled with tears.

Here, the screams didn't echo off the walls, they soaked into them and sank in, absorbed by some strange property of the carved stone. This dungeon was underground, he had heard. That was why they never saw any sunlight, not even when the doors to their cells opened.

Xue Yang heard the door open, and flinched.

Behind him, the tall figure of a man dressed in golden robes smiled down at him like a snake staring at an insect. His sleeves were raised to cover his nose, and his eyes ran across Xue Yang's shivering form with an appraising look.

"They tell me that your studies have been going well," the man said. "They tell me that you're a promising one."

Xue Yang screwed up all of his remaining courage, and spit, and hacked a glob at the man's feet.

The next few moments were a blur of screaming and crying, but he tried hard not to beg. Whips lashed across his skin, across his arms and back. They were trying to make him their pet, their tool, and Xue Yang had seen too many get used up that way. He refused to be anyone's weapon but his own. Rage and hate filled him until he could barely see.

He lashed out, taking black energy from the walls and the air. There was more than enough death here to choke on, and it filled his limbs easily. He dreamed about this, sometimes, dreamed that corpses were digging their way out of the ground towards him, whispering into his ears, begging, screaming, crying. They all wanted death just as badly as he did.

The demonic energy built up inside him until Xue Yang wanted to scream. He wanted to kill and hurt everything around him. With one final, desperate lunge, Xue Yang threw everything he had at Jin Guangyao.

"Jin Guangyao," he screamed. "I'll never forgive you for this! I'll kill you, I'll strip your skin off your bones! I'll cut you limb from limb! You'll never own me, you bastard! I will not be your slave!"

The magic stopped working inside him, all of that black energy congealing into gel inside his veins, and then solidifying until Xue Yang could no longer move.

Above him, the eyes that stared down at him were cold and amused.

"Done?" Jin Guangyao asked, and his voice was a clear cut through all of Xue Yang's built-up killing intent. The room went cold as the black energy swirling around Xue Yang disappeared into the array he held in front of him.

Xue Yang screamed with rage, thrashing against the bonds that held him down, certain that he was going to be killed in the next instant. Panic overwhelmed him until he could no longer hear anything that was being said. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't -

With a loud thump, Xue Yang fell out of his bed.

For a moment, he was completely disoriented. The dark ceiling above him was wood instead of stone, and the floor beneath him was gritty and hard, unlike the smooth marble that had made up the cell in his dream.

Then he realized that he was still tangled in his blankets. With an effort, Xue Yang dug himself out. He was covered in sweat, and shaking.

"Who is Jin Guangyao?"

Xue Yang had his sword out before he knew it. A jolt of panic made every nerve in his body flare into a state of high alert, as if the words had been a blow aimed at him in the dark. The blade quivered an inch away from A Qing's throat.

A Qing stood several inches away from him, hands outstretched as if to wake him. With a cold shiver, Xue Yang realized that he had been having a nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

"Where did you hear that name?" He demanded.

A Qing's expression tightened. She stared in his general direction, looking confused. Only then did Xue Yang realize that it had been a genuinely innocent question. "From you," A Qing said, "In your sleep. You kept muttering that name."

Xue Yang sheathed his sword. A Qing's lips compressed into a thin line. She backed away, leaning against the doorframe.

"You were about to kill me," she said flatly. "For just mentioning it."

The dream was slipping away fast, like water between loose fingers. Xue Yang drew in a deep breath. The sounds of the outside were rushing in, replacing his dreams with their solid details - the taste of the night air, humid from the recent rains, the soft rasp of his breathing.

"If I wanted to kill you, little one, I would have done it a long time ago."

There was a beat of silence. Xue Yang looked at A Qing, only to find no fear or anger on her face. Instead, she just looked thoughtful.

"It's a shame Daozhang isn't here," she said. "He would be shocked to hear those words coming out of your mouth."

"I'm glad he isn't," Xue Yang laughed. "I always have to pretend, in front of him. But you're different. Why haven't you ratted me out already? Are you so soft-hearted that you can't bear the thought of Daozhang having to decide between the two of us?"

"If I wanted to rat you out," A Qing said slowly. "I think you would kill me before I even opened my mouth."

Xue Yang sighed. "I suppose you're right."

Silence fell, broken only by the creak of old wood and the occasional soft rush of wind outside. A Qing tensed when Xue Yang approached her, perhaps sensing his footfalls on the floor.

"I would rather not kill you," Xue Yang said into the silence. He reached out, and his fingers stopped an inch away from her face. Her pale eyes stared unseeing, right through him.

In a weird sort of way, he had started to consider her family. He had joined several roving bands of children on the street, in order to survive. He supposed that his warped views of families had come from those experiences - shivering under a bridge, gulping down every last bite that you could, guarding what little possessions you had from anyone larger. You could be beaten and killed by your neighbor if you were found to be hiding any food, but that neighbor might also be the only form of companionship that you had.

He hadn't forgotten that feeling, and A Qing hadn't either. Perhaps that was why she was always so suspicious of him. Hell, he was suspicious of her, and she was just a blind little girl.

But now that Daozhang had asked them to get along, Xue Yang found himself actually trying.

A Qing bared her teeth at him in a tense smile. "Why don't you try?" she asked, and only barely kept the tremor out of her voice. "You'll have a lot of explaining to do to Daozhang later."

"Just keep your mouth shut," Xue Yang said and curled his fingers in, black smoke disappearing into the air. And instead of killing her, he pinched her cheek and laughed at her yells of outrage.

Chapter Text

It did not take long for news of a demonic cultivator to reach Baixue Temple.

Cheng Xing held his tongue - it had taken a week to heal, and for that week he had been reduced to eating watery porridge and drinking light soup. During that time, he barely said a word, kept his lips pressed tightly together, and wore an expression of bitter anger. However, his friends had seen it all, and they - true to their nature - gossipped like off-duty wine sellers.

They told their friends, the carpenter's son, the merchant on his way to Gusu, the fisherman who caught them on the docks. The merchant told the two farmers who had hitched a ride with him, and shook his head at the prevalence of demonic cultivators these days. The farmers went home and told their wives, and from there the story spread like wildfire within a couple days. Finally, it had reached the ears of the cultivators stationed at the Dayao Mountain Watch Tower. From there, the news was set in paper for the first time, written in tiny script on a scroll, and sent in a daily report to Baixue Temple.

In a cold, austere hall, two men wearing white robes knelt in front of a long table made of black stone, engraved with jade and gold. A few flickering sigils of light were carved into the stone walls, giving off a soft yellow light. It was late. The air felt weighted down, as if the room had been buried in layers and layers of snow.

"In conclusion, we believe the rumors of a demonic cultivator near Yi City to be true. Additionally, it is highly likely that it is Xue Yang, the famous delinquent from Kaizhou.”

"Xue Yang, who is wanted for the attempted murder of Chang Cian, the head of the Chang clan."

"Xue Yang, who trained as a guest disciple of the LanlingJin Sect for two years before being excommunicated for his use of demonic cultivation."

"Xue Yang, who was presumed dead after being chased out of the Golden Carp Tower, but was never confirmed dead due our inability to find a body."

"Due to the serious nature of his crimes, the threat he poses towards our Yueyang Chang Sect, and his frightening abilities as a demonic cultivator, we humbly request assistance from the Baixue Temple in hunting this man down and bringing him to justice."

A chill fell over the room. Both of the Yueyang Chang Sect cultivators held their breaths. They knew it was an audacious thing to ask. Cultivators rarely meddled in each other's affairs.

But the cultivators of the Baixue Temple were well known for their willingness to offer help with unconventional requests. They held no land, owned no sphere of influence. They were an odd sort, valuing common ideals over family ties, accepting all sorts of misfits and outcasts.

It was all possible due to the prestige and incredible strength of their Sect Leader, Song Zichen.

Sitting at the head of the long black table, Song Zichen looked down at the cultivators from the Yueyang Chang Sect with eyes that seemed to be made out of dark glass.

He wore long dark robes that flowed like water onto the stone floor. His skin was so pale that it almost seemed white, and with his dark hair and dark eyes, he looked a little like a beautiful grim reaper. He had sharp features that made him seem handsome from any angle. He would have caused a stir anywhere he went, if not for those black eyes that made him seem incredibly cold and unapproachable.

"There's no need to lay it on so thick," he said dryly. "I've heard of Xue Yang. I know what he's done."

With a smooth motion, he rose to his feet, buckling his sword to his belt. He stepped away from the table and passed by the two cultivators in several long strides.

"The rumors are still vague, but the possibility is there." His pace did not slow as they turned to stare at him. He did not look at them. "Even if there's the slightest possibility that he is alive, we cannot allow him to run loose and do whatever he wishes. I'll investigate this myself."

At the entrance to the hallway, he stopped and looked back. Both cultivators were stopped in their tracks by the weight of his gaze. "There's no need for you to accompany me," he said. "I work better alone."

Then he was gone, leaving nothing but a slight chill in the air, and a heavy silence.

The two cultivators of the Yueyang Chang Sect glanced at each other, but neither had any words. They had been lucky to find him during one of the rare times he had actually been in Baixue Temple. And now he was heading out again, like a passing blizzard, disorienting and confusing while he was there, and gone just as suddenly as he had arrived.

.

Song Lan stepped onto his sword and left Baixue Temple and its bitter memories behind him as quickly as he could.

The land beneath him was a wash of white fog rising over a huge river. He would follow it nearly all the way down to Yi City, where the source of this river would be the ice-capped mountains melting in the summer. Huge white birds, with wingspans the size of a grown man, flew alongside him for a while, flapping their wings occasionally. He was briefly grateful for their company, during the long hours he spent high up, almost among the clouds. Despite his reputed love for silence, Song Lan hadn't always been used to travelling alone.

But that was another time, another lifetime ago.

It had been years since he had lost Xiao Xingchen to the incident that had blinded the other man. It had been years since Xiao Xingchen had disappeared without a word, without leaving a note, without letting Song Lan know whether he was alive or dead.

In all these years, Song Lan still hadn't heard a single thing about a blind cultivator, wearing white and wielding ice. He was beginning to give up hope.

The investigation of Xue Yang was an excuse to get out of Baixue Temple, to search in an area that he hadn't visited before. Yi City was a remote city, nearly three hundred leagues away. It was as unlikely a place as any.

No, I'll find him. Song Lan set his teeth, leaned forward into the wind, let his sword carry him higher into the sky, until he could barely see the river beneath him. I'll find him no matter what it takes. I won't stop searching until the end of the world.

.

When Song Lan arrived at Yi City, several days later, the sun was low in the sky and the air was cool with the oncoming sunset.

Song Lan made a lonely figure, walking up the hill to the house at the edge of the city.

This place had been pointed out to him by one of the local merchants. The merchant had been one of the few people still up and about at this hour, a large man with a heavily muscled build and a few streaks of grey in his hair. He had never heard of a cultivator with a sword of ice, but he did know a boy fitting Xue Yang's description.

"He's a troublemaker," the man almost spat, but then remembered what company he was in. He composed himself hastily. "He's been terrorizing my son lately, with all his promises of raising devils out of the ground to chew him up in his sleep. He's a demonic cultivator for sure. Are you here to deal with him, daozhang?"

"If he is the one I'm looking for," Song Lan replied.

Now, the city behind him was dark and quiet, with only a few lanterns making pools of yellow light in the distance. On the hill, grass and wildflowers covered everything that had not been laid out in stone. They filled the air with a rich, complex scent that came and went with the breeze. The house in front of him still had brightly lit windows.

Song Lan heard voices inside - one sharp and mocking, belonging to a boy, and one belonging to a young girl. They sounded like they were arguing.

The boy sounded the right age to be Xue Yang. Song Lan raised his hand to rap his knuckles sharply against the door.

The sounds of arguing stopped, cut short. If there were any more words exchanged inside, they were too muted for Song Lan to hear. After a moment, the door opened.

The world seemed to splinter into tiny fragments around him, reflecting reality like bits of broken glass. Xiao Xingchen's face appeared in the doorway, pale and thin and familiar and the last thing Song Lan had expected to see. It stole the air from his lungs, completely erased any semblance of calm Song Lan had been able to grasp onto.

Xingchen, the thought was filled with panic and despair. Shock hammered into him, paralyzing him. It can't be. After all this time - you were here all along?

His breath caught in his throat. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to call Xiao Xingchen's name, but he could only move his lips soundlessly. Xingchen, Xingchen, what are you doing here?

In the doorway, Xiao Xingchen's look of gentle inquiry slowly changed to confusion. When Song Lan's breath caught in his throat, a flash of understanding went across his face, followed by a torrent of the same emotions that Song Lan was feeling.

Xiao Xingchen had instantly, instinctively known who had come to his door, just from the sound of his breathing and the way his breath caught.

His lips moved, but no sound came out. Zichen?

Song Lan was staring at him in total disbelief and despair, unable to believe that he had finally found someone he had lost, someone he never thought he would find again. When he saw his name on Xiao Xingchen's lips, saw the recognition, he was finally able to speak again.

"Xiao Xingchen -"

"Song Zichen -"

Someone barrelled into view in the hallway, a tall boy with dark hair and eyes that glittered with anger. His face still carried a few traces of boyhood, but his expression carried a lifetime of hatred. "So it's you," he growled as soon as he had seen Song Lan. The rage made his voice tremble. He drew his sword, which finally made Song Lan tear his eyes away from Xiao Xingchen's face.

Xue Yang? For a moment, Song Lan was shocked to see him. He had completely forgotten why he had come here in the first place.

In the next moment, the boy lunged towards him.

.

A loud crash sounded on the hillside, blowing up a cloud of dust that was visible from the foot of the hill. Startled birds flew every which way, trying to get away from the commotion.

At the center of all this chaos, Song Lan's sword turned aside blow after blow as Xue Yang pressed forward recklessly. The younger boy left himself wide open, almost as if he didn't care whether he got stabbed or not. There was a childish anger to his actions, a venting of frustrations that had built up until they had finally exploded into violence.

"Xue Yang!" Xiao Xingchen ran out of the house, "Stop!" His fingers grasped at his sword but he did not draw.

"Don't come over here, Xingchen!" Song Lan struck the sword out of Xue Yang's hands. It flipped over and over in the air, catching the light and reflecting it crazily. "It's dangerous! He's a murderer!"

Xue Yang's rage seemed to explode again at the sound of Song Lan's voice. "How fucking dare you call him that?" Xue Yang reached his hand out blindly, calling his sword back to him. "How dare you - "

He was cut off by the sound of a high-pitched scream.

In an instant, they both looked towards the sound of that scream. It had come from A Qing, who had run out after Xiao Xingchen. She had been caught in the sword's path, and now a long red gash ran across her back, across her shoulders.

Xue Yang's sword tumbled to the ground, and the sound made a dull clatter. All movement halted.

A Qing had collapsed into Xiao Xingchen's arms. She was still alive, but clearly in pain. She curled up in muted agony. For a long while, in the silence, Xiao Xingchen's hands moved across her back to try to find the extent of the wound.

When he looked up, Song Lan felt a chill that he had never experienced before in his veins. He had never seen that expression on Xiao Xingchen's face before.

Ice blossomed out of the ground in jagged stalagmites, sharp edges and wide petals of white frost. The ground bloomed white and blue under Xue Yang and Song Lan's feet, making it slippery and dangerous to move.

It covered the entirety of the hilltop, transformed it instantly into a scene of ice white and blue. The wildflowers all froze in place, no longer moving in the breeze. Their color was muted and faded behind layers and layers of clear ice.

The temperature on the hillside plunged several degrees.

"Alright," Xiao Xingchen bit out, and his voice was a ringing rebuke in the sudden silence. "Put your swords down, right this instant."

Song Lan dropped his sword, tossing it far away. It made a loud sound against the layers of ice that had formed on the ground.

"Xingchen," he started to try and explain.

The icicles in front of him shattered in a violent explosion, throwing shards into the air. They were knife-sharp and clear as glass. When they buried themselves back in the ground in a loud clatter, silence reigned again. Song Lan jerked back as if he had been slapped. Xiao Xingchen had never lost his temper at him like this.

"I don't care," Xiao Xingchen said coldly and stood up to face both of them, now that he had made sure that A Qing was okay.

Xue Yang had gone completely silent, as if he had been frozen in place. He did not seem like he would make any move anytime soon. His eyes were fixed on the long red gash across A Qing's back, the violent shock of color it made.

Xiao Xingchen's expression was furious and directed at both of them. The tips of the ice glittered dangerously in the morning sunlight, and Song Lan eyed them with sudden wariness, remembering how much damage they could do to a defenseless passerby.

Xiao Xingchen took a deep breath. "Zichen," he said tightly. "He may be a delinquent, and he may be accused of murder, but he has been living in my household for the past two years. He has been living under my roof. I am not going to let anyone take him away, not even you, not without a proper trial and explanation."

"He's a demonic cultivator," Song Lan replied insistently. He gritted his teeth. "Or do you not believe me?"

Now it was Xiao Xingchen's turn to flinch as if he had been struck. "No," he said softly. "Not that, never that. It's just..."

A Qing was sobbing silently, her shoulders shaking and her fingers curled up to hide tears. Song Lan realized with a shock that she was blind, with white pupils that stared out at nothing. He instantly felt guilt spear through him.

He stepped forward, trying to offer help, but tensed at a movement from Xue Yang. The boy's eyes had returned to him, and he looked furious again, bristling with defensive anger, as if another step towards Xiao Xingchen would break their temporary truce.

"Take care of the girl," Song Lan said at last, never taking his eyes off of Xue Yang. The boy stared back, brimming with hostility, but he did not object.

Xiao Xingchen hesitated, but he had known Song Lan long enough to understand. He nodded curtly.

"Don't go back to fighting," he said, picking A Qing up and making his way back toward the house. He stopped by Xue Yang, and said something into the other boy's ear that made him deflate visibly. Xue Yang slumped forward, defeated more soundly by words than by anything Song Lan could have done.

Song Lan stared at them, furious and helpless. The last thing he wanted was to let Xiao Xingchen out of his sight again.

But he could do nothing more than watch as Xiao Xingchen disappeared into the doorway again, and Xue Yang closed the door behind him and settled against it like a guard dog. The boy crossed his arms and stared fiercely at Song Lan, daring him to take a single step.

The breeze picked up again, blowing away the last of the dust. The frozen hilltop glittered and shone in the setting sun one last time, and then the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

Chapter Text

Xue Yang leaned against the door, staring at the tall man that stood alone on the frozen hilltop. His black clothes made a negative space against the dark sky. His face seemed to be carved out of white marble. He radiated a strength that seemed to match his eerie surroundings, stood unaffected by the cold or the wind that had risen up now that the sun had set. The man looked like death, like fate, a shade from another realm, come to drag Xue Yang back into the depths of hell. 

So this is who Daozhang is in love with.

Even as his heart twisted and writhed at the sight of this man, Xue Yang couldn't help but feel his attention being drawn to the sounds behind the door. Xiao Xingchen would be searching the house for his medicine kit, bandages and needles and thread to sew up A Qing's wound.

At the thought of A Qing, an uncomfortable sensation stabbed him in the gut repeatedly. He hadn't meant to harm A Qing. She had just gotten in the way. But he also hadn't looked to see where Daozhang was, he had been so blinded. It could easily have been either one of them that got harmed.

If not for this bastard showing up -

But then Xue Yang thought of the anger on Xiao Xingchen's face, and his words - "We will speak about this later." - and his anger wilted away into discomfort. He had never seen ice appear like that, out of nowhere, covering an area completely. It had been a terrifying thing, to feel ice creeping up his legs, to feel the cold seeping into his skin. It had been terrifying to hear that cold anger in Xiao Xingchen's voice, promising retribution for his actions.

It had never occurred to him before that Xiao Xingchen was a powerful cultivator in his own right, even if he was still blind.

Will he kill me, for harming A Qing? For a moment, he thought that might be the case. He had never seen Xiao Xingchen so angry. Xue Yang shivered.

I really don't understand him, he thought, for the second time that week. I don't understand Daozhang at all.

.

.

.

[Three days earlier]

The streets of Yi City were usually bustling with early morning activity, but today there was much more commotion than usual.

At the sound of a sharp cry, Xiao Xingchen turned his head and stopped in his tracks. Next to him, Xue Yang stopped as well, if a bit more reluctantly. He was hungry, and wanted to hurry and get their groceries and get out of here already. He did not like spending any more time than necessary in the streets, being stared at and muttered at.

"Did you see what happened?"

"No, is something wrong?"

"There was a yell, just now."

Xue Yang had heard it too. He craned his neck to look over the crowd that was starting to gather on the corner of the street. The stall merchants were coming out from behind their stalls, drawn by the clamor. Something exciting was clearly happening, and they did not want to miss out no matter what.

The crowd shifted a little, moving aside for just a moment to reveal the figure of an old man lying on the ground. His walking stick was several feet away from his outstretched hand. His mouth was wide open, obscenely so, revealing a row of teeth that resembled an old wall - missing large sections, and the rest rotting and crumbling.

He was dead.

Xue Yang reported as much to Xiao Xingchen. Just as he expected, Xiao Xingchen made a horrified sound and immediately started toward the fallen old man. With Xue Yang's guidance, and his loud shouts clearing the crowd, they made it to the fallen man in a few more moments.

Xiao Xingchen knelt quietly beside the old man. His hands reached out, brushed against the man's tunic, found his neckline and his collar. His two fingers moved up to the man's throat, checked for a pulse only to discover there was none. He had no sight to tell him what everyone else already knew - the pallid grey skin and the filmy yellow staring eyes all indicated a corpse that had been dead for some time.

As his sense of touch told him these things, Xiao Xingchen's expression fell into deeper sadness. Xue Yang could never really understand why, even though he knew this was the expression that Xiao Xingchen would show. It wasn't as if either of them knew the old man. It wasn't as if his death had any negative impact on their lives. Hell, even if the two of them had gone ahead and mercy killed the old man for being so obviously ill - so ill that he had no chance of surviving the following winter - it would have been a good thing rather than a bad thing.

Why, then, did Xiao Xingchen look as if he had failed in saving the life of a dear friend? Try as he might, Xue Yang simply couldn't understand it.

For some reason, he thought of A Qing. The way she talked sometimes made it seem as if she thought the same way he did. But she also had been with Xiao Xingchen for longer. As much as it burned him to think of another lecture from her bratty little mouth, in that bossy tone of voice, it might be worth asking her about this matter.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Xue Yang wondered if he had gone crazy. What, why was he even considering starting a conversation with that brat? It was almost guaranteed to end with him so annoyed that he would want to strangle her, and her so annoyed with him that she might start itching to start a fight. Then, dinner would be a strained matter with snippy little comments made over the table. Xiao Xingchen's face would become graver and graver with each subtle jab and thoughtless insult. And after a day like today, after he had made an expression like that, Xue Yang was reluctant to make Xiao Xingchen's day even worse.

.

When he ended up asking A Qing about the matter with the dead man on the street, A Qing did the unexpected thing, and went completely silent for a long, long time.

"What?" Xue Yang prodded her. She did not react to the butt of his sword until it had made contact with her shoulder. It nearly knocked her off balance. He kept testing her and she never quite failed his tests. But that irritating feeling still remained. She was simply too - too something to be truly blind.

"You asshole," she grabbed blindly for his sword, and only ended up making funny swiping motions in front of her face. Xue Yang bit back a laugh.

"Good," he lilted back at her. "So you haven't become mute as well as blind."

"You and your prejudice against blind people," she muttered under her breath, but it was a distracted tone, and the response was something she had said a hundred or a thousand times before. It lacked its usual acridity. She was bothered. She was thinking about something. Xue Yang suddenly, very much, wanted to know what she was thinking.

What are you, really? He wondered. Behind your youthful face and your blind white eyes, that seem to track me wherever I go no matter where I am. Are you really watching me? Or is it just my imagination?

At last, she said. "If I am to tell you the truth - the truth is, I don't understand Xiao Xingchen either."

It was the first time she had admitted something like this. This kinship between them - that they were simply two creatures of this mortal, sinful earth, street-bred and raised in the mud, scrambling to survive. Their first thought at the sight of a corpse was to search it for money. They simply could not understand somebody like Xiao Xingchen mourning the death of somebody he did not know.

"I think," A Qing said hesitantly. "I think he sees everybody in this world as a valuable existence. Someone who is valuable, just by being alive. As if he thinks everybody else in the world is as good as him."

They would cry if Xiao Xingchen died. Xue Yang shuddered at the thought of considering everybody in the world as that precious to him. It sounded exhausting. It sounded impossible. It sounded incredibly stupid.

A Qing, surprisingly, did not lord over this better understanding of Xiao Xingchen over him. Xue Yang was grateful for that. He did not think he would put up with her if she started gloating. And after that moment of kinship they had shared together, just a while ago - it felt strangely comforting to know that he was not the only dirty thing in this household.

Neither of them brought up the possibility of asking Xiao Xingchen for the answer. There was a clear understanding, and nonverbal agreement - that this would be a thing that they only discussed amongst themselves.

Why are we different? What makes us so bad in comparison with him? Will he hate us if he finds out how different we are from him? Will he cry for us if we die? Even if he knows what filthy, ugly creatures we really are? If he could see -

"I don't get it," he admitted.

"That's because you've never thought of anyone besides yourself," A Qing said bluntly.

Xue Yang stared at her in open astonishment. Did she want to die? But A Qing didn't even seem to realize that she had said anything wrong. She looked as calm and nonchalant as ever, casually insulting him like that.

"That's not true," he tried to say. She dismissed his feeble retort with a hand that waved air away.

"You'll never be able to understand how Daozhang thinks," she said. "You and he are totally different people. You think of nothing but yourself, and he thinks of everyone but himself."

"And how do you know that?" Xue Yang challenged, angry that she had been able to see through him so easily.

A Qing folded her arms and would have glowered, if she had any sight. "I'm blind, but I'm not deaf," she said. "You never apologized. You have never apologized for anything in your life."

.

.

.

The door behind Xue Yang opened suddenly, jerking him out of his reverie.

Xiao Xingchen stepped out. His white sleeves were covered in blood, which Xue Yang realized with a shock was A Qing's blood. There's so much of it.

"Xue Yang," he said, and a little frost covered Xue Yang's skin at the tone of his voice. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He's going to kill me, Xue Yang thought.

He tried to think of what to say. It wasn't my fault, she ran into the dangerous situation herself.

But A Qing was blind. She had no way of knowing where the danger was, or where it was coming from. Xue Yang closed his mouth, biting back the words he had been about to say.

A Qing's words came back to him. You never apologized. She had been referring to the incident with the thieves. He had felt bad for that, sure, but he thought he had made up for it by retrieving the jade comb and all those other objects. Surely that was enough, wasn't it?

But he couldn't undo the wound that had been made across A Qing's back. Xue Yang shifted uncomfortably as Xiao Xingchen shook his sleeves, shaking out a few drops of blood.

"I'm sorry."

Off to one side, Song Lan stiffened in surprise. He had been glaring at Xue Yang with all the intensity that one uses to watch a rabid dog, but this had been outside of his expectations. There had been genuine remorse in Xue Yang's voice.

Xue Yang, meanwhile, instantly felt so uncomfortable that he thought he would die. He gritted his teeth and waited to see if this would be enough to make Xiao Xingchen forgive him.

Xiao Xingchen sighed. He seemed to be purposefully avoiding facing Song Lan's direction. "Go inside and apologize," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Watch over A Qing, and tell me if her condition changes. Let me speak to Song Daozhang."

With a sudden shock, Xue Yang realized that Xiao Xingchen didn't want to speak with Song Daozhang. There was a jittery nervousness about him, a downturn to his mouth that meant he wasn't looking forward to speaking with the other man at all.

He's afraid, Xue Yang realized. He's going to get hurt again.

It was such an understandable, relatable emotion, coming from Xiao Xingchen himself, that Xue Yang almost laughed. Here was Daozhang, who had crushed Xue Yang's heart without even realizing it, now going to face the man who had broken his heart. This was a delicious bit of irony that even Xue Yang could appreciate.

Before he could say anything, however, Xiao Xingchen gave him a push. Xue Yang cast one last look at the man in dark robes, standing on the hilltop, and then went inside.

.

A Qing was curled up on her bed, on her side, wearing an expression of bitter suffering.

She stirred a little when the door shut behind Xue Yang.

"Daozhang?" she asked hopefully.

An idea came to Xue Yang. Despite everything that had just happened, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to mess with A Qing whenever it came up.

So he didn't say anything as he approached, keeping his footsteps quiet and gentle. He had spent a long time living in Xiao Xingchen's presence. He knew how the other man walked, and what his footsteps sounded like.

A Qing fell silent as he approached. Her back had been bandaged neatly, and her hair was an untied mess all around her head. Xue Yang reached down and began to comb his fingers through her hair, straightening it out of its mess.

A Qing shivered once, but did not say anything.

You were wrong, he thought, and then a little triumphantly: You were wrong about me after all. I know how to apologize. And as it turns out, I can understand Daozhang after all.

He managed to comb her hair until it was all straight, and could be wrangled into a simple braid that went over the side of her shoulder. Throughout it all, A Qing had her eyes closed. Her breathing had settled from something tense with pain to something a bit easier.

Then, when he was done, Xue Yang leaned over her and said: "I'm sorry."

To his surprise, A Qing did not jerk back and scream. Her eyes flew open, but she did not otherwise move.

"Xue Yang," she said flatly.

Disappointed, Xue Yang leaned back. "How did you know it was me?"

A Qing didn't answer. She shut her eyes slowly, too tired to keep them open.

Xue Yang had been expecting some tirade, something about how-dare-he-have-the-face-to-come-here or how he was the ultimate scum of the earth, to have hurt her like that, an innocent little girl. He had expected an endless stream of whining about how badly it hurt, and how she had almost died, and so on. To be met with silence was more disconcerting than any of those would have been. Xue Yang frowned.

"A Qing?"

"Leave me alone," she said coldly. Xue Yang jerked back as if he had been stung. That tone had felt like iron gates being slammed shut in his face. He felt as if he had just been left out in the cold, all alone, despite the warmth in the room.

A hard lump of coal settled into his stomach. It felt bitter and ashen, like it would flake away and poison his bloodstream. Later, Xue Yang would identify this feeling as remorse, but right now, all he knew was this awful, uncomfortable weight, pinning him down like weights.

Fuck, he thought, as he felt all of the warmth drain out of his body and onto the floor. I've messed up.

Chapter Text

[12 years ago, in the Baixue Province]

The news that a cultivator had come down from Baoshan Sanren's mountain spread like wildfire. Although it had been two generations since Yanling Daoren descended into madness and villainy, and one generation since Baoshan Sanren had died her tragic death, people still remembered where they had come from, and remembered their master.

He uses a style of cultivation that no one has seen before, the families whispered excitedly. His sword is ordinary steel, and yet it creates pillars of ice as far as the eye can see.He faced a thousand ghouls in the cursed battlefields of LangZhu and suppressed them all.The sky itself turned clear when he swept by, and he cleared the world of rot and decay wherever he went.

Song Lan thought the rumors might have been a little exaggerated. The noble cultivating families loved nothing more than fresh gossip.

Unfortunately, he belonged to one of those very families.

"You should go meet him," his lady mother said. "He is said to be extremely good looking, if a little eccentric. His cultivation base is incredibly strong. He would make a valuable ally, if only he would stay in one place for longer than - Song Zichen, are you listening to me? Or are these words going in one ear and right out the other?"

Song Lan looked up from the wooden planks of the bridge, where he had been tossing crumbs into the pond below. Several large carp with glittering scales gathered underneath him, their mouths opening and closing. In the bright summer sunshine, he looked much younger and looser than the stern black figure he would grow up to become. 

"I'm sorry," he laughed. "I heard you say someone was good looking and tuned out the rest. I assumed that you were trying to marry me off again."

His mother gritted her teeth. "Don't joke about that," she said coldly. "If you hadn't frightened off those last two girls so badly, you would have a wife by now!"

"I don't want a wife," Song Lan said carelessly, tossing the last of his bread into the pond and standing up.

He stretched and smiled up into the sky. It was a beautiful day, with light winds making slight ripples on the surface of the clear blue pond. This garden was his favorite place, with its carefully designed stone paths and tall trees with their sweeping branches, and this low red bridge made of simple wood but carved and decorated by a master artisan. He had hoped to spend another quiet day here, only to be interrupted by his lady mother.

"You are going to the Discussion Conference this year," she said firmly. Song Lan acquiesced with a shrug. "He will be there, and you will introduce yourself to him. Ask him if he is interested in becoming a guest disciple. Try to get close to him. Try to find out what he knows."

Song Lan let all of her words fade into the background. She could say whatever she wanted, but if he did not hear her, then he did not have to comply. He did not feel like wasting his time in stuffy halls amidst even stuffier company, but he had no choice.

He tapped his fingers against the wooden banister and looked up at the sky. It was filled with white clouds that seemed to swallow up his mother's words and muffle them, or maybe that was just his imagination.

It would be nice to live under a cloudless sky, he decided. But those days would never last.

.

When they did finally meet, it was under one of those clear skies, with a bite of winter in the wind. Song Lan had been dragged over to the Discussion Conference at the Golden Carp Tower, and he stood off to one side, ignoring the opulent gilded statues and the expensive finery in favor of a small pond. Despite the name of the place, the carp here were not all golden. Instead, they flashed silver and red and orange and white, beneath the surface. He smiled at them as he spread the last few crumbs of the LanlingJin Sect's finest pastries across the water's surface.

"You must be Song Zichen," a voice said off to the side.

Song Lan did not care to look up. "That I am," he said and watched the carp scales flash in the winter sunlight.

There was a light laugh, even though he hadn't said anything particularly funny, even though he was, in fact, being quite rude. Surprised at finding such a pleasant sound in this unpleasant place, Song Lan looked up at last.

The man off to his side was surprisingly young, with simple white robes and a thin, handsome face. His eyes danced with amusement as he regarded Song Lan, and instantly Song Lan knew that this must be Xiao Xīngchen, and that all the rumors about him must have been true.

"You must be Xiao Xīngchén," he said formally, standing up straight so that he could greet the other man properly.

"I am," Xiao Xingchen came over to see what he had been looking at. Song Lan shifted a little to the side, to give him space.

"I've heard of you," he commented, to fill the silence. "They say you're talented but eccentric, and almost impossible to tie down. At least ten different cultivating families have offered to take you in, but you've refused every one of them."

"I've heard of you too," Xiao Xingchen returned, not sounding offended in the least. "I've heard that you're cold and unfriendly, and you hate being touched."

"It's true," Song Lan said. He was suddenly aware of every inch of empty space between them. He gave Xiao Xingchen a sidelong glance. "Are you here to try and cure me?"

There were many tales of miracle cures and advanced medical knowledge that Baoshan Sanren had hidden away in her mountain. No doubt so many families were eager to get their hands on Xiao Xingchen because they thought he knew such secrets. But Xiao Xingchen merely shook his head.

"I'm here to be your friend," he said simply.

Song Lan smiled at him. Then he turned to his side, leaning his elbow against the railing. "Listen," he said, not unkindly. "You seem like a decent person. I'm not too sure what your game is, but I'll give you some advice: you're best off avoiding someone like me."

"Why is that?" Xiao Xingchen asked, genuinely curious. He glanced down at the carp in the pond and noted the crumbs still floating on the surface. He clasped his hands over the railing to watch the fish underneath the bridge. Song Lan noted how thin his wrists were, and wondered distantly where he found the strength to lift a sword.

"Haven't you heard? I'm the black sheep of my family. They'll lug me around to Discussion Conferences like these, and then I'll lose face for them by not participating in anything. But they keep doing it."

Xiao Xingchen laughed again. Song Lan couldn't understand why he felt lighter, like a breeze had come by to lift up his spirits.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Xiao Xingchen said.

Song Lan nodded towards the Main Hall, with its brightly lit lanterns and golden arches. "I've offended everyone in there at least twice. The only reason they let me in at all is because my family insists on it." He grinned at Xiao Xingchen, to show that it didn't bother him at all. "You, on the other hand, are the rising star of the cultivation world right now. You should be putting your popularity to better use than trying to make friends with me."

Xiao Xingchen hesitated, then admitted: "I think I've offended everyone in there at least three times over. If anyone else sidles up to me to try and convince me that their sister is a beauty, or that they have a lot of money, I'm going to find a mountain to go up and never come back."

Song Lan surprised himself by bursting out into laughter.

It felt good to laugh. It felt like he hadn't laughed in years. He had been living under a suffocating cloud for so long. Song Lan finally understood why it was said that Xiao Xingchen brought a clear sky with him wherever he went.

"So it seems the rumors aren't true after all," Xiao Xingchen said, smiling. "You're not half as frightening as the others make you out to be."

"No, it's true," Song Lan said, still laughing. "Everything they say about me - that I'm mysophobic, that I'm cold and distant - that's how I really am most of the time. I just didn't expect the rumors about you to be true as well."

"What rumors?" Xiao Xingchen asked.

Song Lan beckoned Xiao Xingchen closer, and put his mouth against the curve of Xiao Xingchen's ear.

"Here's the secret," he said. "There are nothing but rumors in the cultivation world - it's all a sham. We decide our truths blindly, sitting behind gilded doors. We repeat our nonsense to each other until it becomes reality. And once enough people believe in it, once there's a narrative, who cares what actually happened? Down here, it's all just cultivators trying to hog glory for themselves and brag about it to each other. You should have stayed on your mountain, Xiao Xingchen."

He drew back, to see what effect his words had. Xiao Xingchen was staring back at him, eyes dark and wide, his smile gone.

Song Lan's chest felt tight. Most people fled once they saw this side of him, this bitterness. If his lady mother had her way, he would always be wearing a mask, cool and distant and polite. He could pass as a decent cultivator that way, one who did not lose his temper and allow his emotions to rule him.

Xiao Xingchen still hadn't moved. His eyes were fixed on Song Lan with a startling intensity.

"You are the second person I've met," he said slowly. "That does not pretend that cultivators are perfect."

"Who was the first?"

"My shijie." Xiao Xingchen looked lost for a moment and then admitted. "When I came down the mountain, I found out that she had died in a night hunt years ago."

Then Song Lan saw it, the reason for Xiao Xingchen's odd behavior and his unwillingness to integrate into the cultivation world that seemed so fixated on him.

His heart wrenched suddenly. Xiao Xingchen, he thought. You never should have left your mountain. This is a world of demons and wolves. We'll devour you and your ideals, and leave nothing but bones.

But instead, he said softly, "I never knew her."

"It's alright," Xiao Xingchen said, smiling as if he had just discovered a secret. "We should talk, Song Lan. I would be very interested in hearing what you have to say."

.

.

.

[One year later]

Baixue Temple did not always live under a shadow of perpetual gloom, under dark clouds and oppressive skies. In the mid-summer heat, a year after the Discussion Conference, the walls of the temple shone in the sunlight, and the dark-lacquered wood became hot to the touch. The tiled roofs glistened and gave off a hazy light. Men and women strolled easily through the courtyards, enjoying the high temperatures.

"Song Lan!" A cry went up from the gates. "There's someone here to see you!"

At the gate, Xiao Xingchen folded his hands respectfully. His robes were an impossible white despite the summer dust, fluttering easily in the slight wind. His face wore a slight smile, a refreshing smile, some said, feeling as though their hearts grew lighter upon seeing him.

His appearance, as always, caused many to gather around him eagerly and ask how he'd been. The people living near Baixue Temple held a special fondness for Xiao Xingchen. After all, he had been the one to finally pull Song Lan out of his semi-isolated state. Before, they rarely had the chance to see their young master, and rumors about his poor health abounded - that he was sick, unfit, or unwell. Now though - 

Xiao Xingchen took a half step back, hand going to his sword. That was all the warning the others had before a figure crashed through the gate.

That figure was Song Lan, who was not only smiling but grinning widely as his sword clashed loudly against Xiao Xingchen's Shuanghua. The people of Baixue Temple always knew that their young master's swordsmanship was excellent, but due to his reclusive nature, they had never been able to witness it before. Now, they saw Song Lan spar with Xiao Xingchen, in full view, trading blow for excellent blow. To any trained eye, it was obvious that they were evenly matched.

Ignoring the crowd that had formed around them, Song Lan held his sword at a downward slanted angle. His shoulders were relaxed, but he stood ready to leap at any moment, tense without being stiff. He was the very picture of arrogance.

"Come to challenge me again?" he asked. "You should give up already, Xingchen. I'm on a four-game winning streak. I'm unstoppable now."

"You're winning by 51 to 47, Zichen," Xiao Xingchen replied flatly, but his lips twitched as he fought not to smile. He struck out, blade dancing in the air, and Song Lan turned it away with a flick of his wrist. "Those four wins really don't mean much."

"Making excuses already?" Song Lan spun his blade lazily in his hand, stepping forward. From his grin, he was intending to milk those extra four wins for all they were worth. "You know, maybe I just have you figured out, Xingchen. I must know your blade as well as my own by now."

At this, Xiao Xingchen's smile finally broke out on his face, but he just said: "We'll see about that." His blade flew again, and the white steel flashed.

Shuanghua was a sword that was the envy of the cultivation world, but part of the reason why it was so well recognized was the skill of its bearer. Xiao Xingchen's swordplay could only be described as light - as light as a feather on the wind, faster than the blink of an eye. He didn't just swing his sword and rely on brute force and overpowering spiritual energy like many other cultivators did. He created openings with a dexterity that surprised many and struck with quick, decisive blows.

On the other hand, Song Lan fought with efficient, almost lazy movements. He stood still, his dark eyes glittering with amusement, watching Xiao Xingchen. Then, with seemingly no effort, his blade would spin up and knock away a blow that seemed to come out of nowhere. His feet never moved as he parried blow after blow, and returned with a few of his own. There was an air of inevitability about him, a patient, slow wearing down of Xiao Xingchen's defenses.

To the onlookers, it seemed more like a dance than a fight.

"Don't feel too bad," Song Lan said later, after having racked up his fifth win in a row. Xiao Xingchen slid his sword back into his sheath with a small sigh. "I have nothing but time to kill, here, while you've been on the road."

They were cooling down from their fight in the small, private courtyard with the red bridge and the pond full of carp. A fountain burbled cheerily nearby. Song Lan resisted the urge to dunk his entire head in. Instead, he just flicked some water toward Xiao Xingchen.

"Cheer up," he said as Xiao Xingchen continued to sulk. "A glum face doesn't suit you, Xingchen."

Xiao Xingchen swatted at him. "This meekness doesn't suit you, Zichen. Go back to being the arrogant creature you were before. It'll make it all the sweeter when I finally have my revenge."

Song Lan grinned. "I'm just helping you find excuses for the next time you lose."

"There it is," Xiao Xingchen muttered to himself, "And he's back."

Song Lan couldn't help it. He laughed. "Did you miss me?"

Xiao Xingchen's eyes raised to meet his, startled for a moment. Then he said: "I did," low and soft and sincere enough to make it all but a confession.

It was enough to steal all the breath from Song Lan's lungs. He had always been weak to Xiao Xingchen's earnest side.

"You were gone for a while, this time," he said. "Will you stay for dinner? I promise to keep you far away from my mother, and that I have no beautiful sisters."

Song Lan's mother was an icy woman, tall and harsh like the winter climate up north, with a touch of bitterness in her eyes and her mouth that only came from a lifetime of injured pride. Sect Leader wives were often expected to be powerful in their own right, but never too visible. She had resented that for much of her life, and her son had been one of the few ways to rectify that.

There were few people that could scare Xiao Xingchen, but Song Lan's mother terrified him.

Xiao Xingchen laughed and shot Song Lan a strange, strained smile. "I really appreciate it," he said. "But I have to head out again before nightfall."

Song Lan ignored the sensation of his heart dropping. "Where to?" he asked. "And why so soon?"

Xiao Xingchen paused for a moment, considering him. He looked unusually serious, without his slight smile. He drew a deep breath.

"If you have nothing but time to kill," Xiao Xingchen said, "Why not come with me to the ChengShu province? There have been an unusually high number of disappearances in that area over the last twenty years."

It was an invitation, plain and simple, but Song Lan felt as if he had been given the highest degree of trust that someone could offer. All cultivators were fiercely protective of their night-hunts, and even Xiao Xingchen would not give away that information lightly. Song Lan felt that trust settle somewhere in his chest and glow like a warm coal.

"ChengShu," Song Lan thought for a bit. "That's quite far, isn't it?"

"It is." Xiao Xingchen hesitated, unsure, as if he did not know that Song Lan was already preparing to follow him to the ends of the world. "It's extremely remote, and a thousand leagues away from the nearest watchtower. The people there have been left to fend for themselves for the most part, but things have gotten bad. I couldn't ignore their request."

He glanced at Song Lan's face, and apparently finding his expression unreadable, kept talking. "I know you're the Clan heir, I know you have responsibilities here and can't drop everything to just leave. I would very much like for you to come, don't get me wrong. I just - "

Song Lan silenced him with a smile, the kind of smile one wears when he realizes that he is finally free to go wherever he wished, even to a place with cloudless skies.

"When do we head out?" he asked. "I'll go wherever you go."

Chapter Text

A saying became common: Xiao Xingchen the bright moon and gentle breeze; Song Lan the distance snow and cold frost.

It was not uncommon for cultivators to go night hunting together. The younger generations often competed with each other during Discussion Conferences hosted by the largest clans and fought over who could claim the hardest kill, or boast the highest degree of skill. In recent years, Song Lan had been known as a brilliant but lazy cultivator, often dragged to these competitions by his lady mother, and putting in the barest amount of effort. If he shot five arrows, those five arrows would land true, but he wouldn't bother to draw more. In contrast, Xiao Xingchen was known as a guest who often declined invitations to such conferences because he was busy helping a village with a ghoul infestation or off in some distant land sorting other matters out.

Therefore, it was a matter of great interest when the two of them started killing legendary monsters left and right. A village in Qingshu had been plagued by dust storms for the past two generations, killing all their crops and poisoning their wells. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen traveled there and found the source - the foul breath of a giant that had fallen asleep on a nearby mountain. Another woman begged them for help in curing her son's madness - he had fallen asleep one day in the forest and had come back empty-eyed and singing mad praises of nonexistent gods. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen had tracked down the cause to the desecrated stone statue of some long-forgotten deity, and slain its spirit, freeing the boy from its grasp.

And on and on these stories went, things that sounded like they were fairytales instead of true events. But the sources were too numerous to discount.

Before long, the two of them had become legends in their own right. Song Lan, always cold and aloof save for when Xiao Xingchen was around, who would only reserve his rare smiles for his best friend. And Xiao Xingchen, who never refused a request for help, who was as gentle and kind to the lowest beggar on the street to the mayor of a city.

They were the most powerful team of cultivators that the world had seen in a generation, people said, remembering the way the Venerated Triad had caused much of the same stir back in their day, and that with a war to help them accomplish great deeds. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen were accomplishing great things, and in a world of peacetime. Some people started to say that they could do anything.

The first family to get sick was the Jia family, a small clan who lived in Qingshu, with only twenty-two people across all three generations living under their modest red-tiled roof. They had just recovered from the poisoned wells and dust storms when disaster struck.

They got sick one by one. It started off with a cough, an itch in the back of their throat, a tingling sensation. Numb. Ma-la, the kind of spicy numb that often came after eating tiny black peppercorn seeds. Then it progressed to a fever, the kind with boils and knots, with red rashes appearing across your entire face and body. Over time, those rashes turned black and sore. By the fifth day, each and every member of the Jia family had died a gruesome death.

A horrifying tragedy, people whispered. An entire clan, gone just like that. The doctors couldn't arrive on time, and by the state of the corpses, they couldn't have done anything anyway. The Jia family must have been cursed.

The next family to get sick was the Qin clan, with fifty members in total including servants and maids and wards. Their matron had just asked Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen for help with her eldest son. They were more centralized, living in the middle of the bustling port city. The doctors arrived on the first day but could do nothing. They died in a very similar manner - coughing, sores, red rashes that turned black, made their tongues thick and swollen until they could no longer eat or drink anything, and a quick death.

People sought after skilled doctors like mad. Women began walking around with jade tokens to ward off evil, men began to finger their swords and look around suspiciously, jumping at the slightest movement as if they could see a curse coming. But it was all useless. In quick succession, the entire Shu, Xiao, and Ling families succumbed to this illness, and not even the most skilled doctors could do anything about it.

That was when people remembered Xiao Xingchen and his famed master Baoshan Sanren. People remembered how he had helped them. When tragedy struck, he had always found a solution before. They came to him, begging for his medical expertise, begging for help. Fear had struck into the hearts of every soul. Cultivators were dying like flies, even when their stronger bodies and healthy lifestyles should have prevented such deaths. It was a curse or a disease that only seemed to strike cultivators. It had to be.

If you do not know the answer, then ask your master on our behalf, they begged, after he had been forced to refuse them over and over again. Baoshan Sanren hoards vast amounts of medicinal and herbal knowledge up on her mountain. If anyone knows what this could be, it must be her. Why will you not ask her for us?

Still, Xiao Xingchen refused, even though it clearly tore him apart to do so. Pleading turned into angry shouting. Hurt turned into anger. Despair turned into madness, and the survivors fixated on Xiao Xingchen's refusal as if it were the only thing left standing in between them and death.

You are a coward, they called him. You are cold-hearted and cruel. You must know the cure, or else your friend Song Lan and his clan would not remain so untouched, all fifty members of their household, untouched and clean and unaffected by the curse.

The narrative twisted, as it often did in times of uncertainty and death. Xiao Xingchen is the one who cursed us all, people whispered. This sort of thing never happened before, not in living memory. And yet after Xiao Xingchen comes and makes such a stir with his new cultivation techniques, his specialized skills and knowledge from Baoshan Sanren herself, this happened. It's his fault. It's his fault. It has to be his fault.

Song Lan spoke out in defense of Xiao Xingchen. The accusation was ridiculous, he said. Xiao Xingchen had shown himself to be an honorable cultivator and a kind-hearted soul. The cultivators who died from this disease died horrible deaths. Even if it was a curse and not a disease, it could not be Xiao Xingchen who had caused it. It would require acting skills of the highest degree to be so two-faced.

But the accusers found backers from the Lanling Jin Tower. After the Lanling Jin sect had lost five out of its nine branch families, it too was growing anxious and jealous of Xiao Xingchen's knowledge. The accusers persisted with their story. It could not have been anyone else, they said. The evidence clearly pointed to Xiao Xingchen, and his unusual cultivation abilities. He was too secretive, they said. He must be hiding something.

At this, the rest of the cultivation world remembered how Xiao Xingchen had so deftly avoided being drawn into their own clans. The truth became muddied and unclear. The narrative spiraled out of control.

.

Xiao Xingchen curled up near the window, staring out into the courtyard of the Song family's garden. Light rain pattered down onto the cobblestone, and the clouds overhead made the sky seem closed-off and sealed. He had his sword next to him, placed against the wall to his side. It was never out of reach, these days, and he hated that.

Song Lan came to sit across from him, sliding into the alcove and setting his own sword at his feet.

"Xingchen," he called softly. "None of this is your fault."

Xiao Xingchen pulled himself out of his reverie, only to offer Song Lan a halfhearted smile.

"What if it is?"

"Don't say that."

"But what if there was something I could do? What if they're right? What if this is my fault?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Song Lan shut the window and drew the string to close the wooden slats. In the suddenly dim lighting, he looked fierce and protective, looming over Xiao Xingchen as if he intended to protect him from the world if need be. "Don't listen to what those lying snakes at the Lanling Jin tower are saying. Remember what I told you. You don't owe them anything."

Xiao Xingchen finally looked up at him, really looked at him. Saw his fierce eyes and pale skin, the hollow of his throat and the angle of his collarbone, cheekbones that he longed to touch but had never dared to, not even after all this time.

I'm a liar, he thought. I never cared about any of them. I only ever cared about you.

Later, carrying his half-dead friend up the mountain, Xiao Xingchen repeated those words over and over and over.

He had found Song Lan at the very center of the main hall, surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. It had been a slaughter. His mother and father lay dead on the steps just outside. His sword was caked with blood until it shone black and screamed of death and violence. Xiao Xingchen flew to him, unable to see, unable to breathe. Song Lan knelt on the black tiles, but he did not move.

His hand had touched Song Lan's shoulder, and Song Lan had jerked away so violently that Xiao Xingchen's fingers had nearly come off.

"Don't touch me," he had said, in a voice roughened from screaming, a voice that had been broken from despair.

He was trembling. His grip on his sword was so shaky that he barely held on to it as he pointed it at Xiao Xingchen. That was when Xiao Xingchen caught sight of his eyes, and the long red gash that ran across them, the blood that trailed down his cheeks like red tears.

Zichen, Xiao Xingchen wanted to cry with despair, wanted to cry with happiness. Song Lan was still alive. In this world of death and monsters and pain, Song Lan still existed. To feel happy when his best friend had just lost everything, his family, his home, his eyes - his beautiful eyes, so sharp and steady and knowing, always watching Xiao Xingchen as if he knew what the other was thinking, so bright when he laughed and so kind when he thought no one was looking -

Xiao Xingchen stumbled over a rock that he did not see, and Song Lan groaned in pain. The sky was growing dark, but Xiao Xingchen had pushed this far already, and he was not going to stop now. The mountain air felt strange and unfamiliar against his skin, even as he felt the familiar recognition. He was coming back, after all these years, after he had been told to leave and never return.

"I'm sorry," Xiao Xingchen said to Song Lan. He felt dizzy, feverish, felt as if he were walking through a dream. Nothing felt real except for the weight of his dying friend on his back. He choked up, forced himself to put one foot in front of another. The mountain path was uneven and hard, but he could not bring himself to care.

He had been a coward and a liar. He had been afraid of coming back to his mountain, afraid of returning to a world of ice and emotionless detachment, afraid of facing the wrath of his master.

The truth was, even if he did not know whether Baoshan Sanren could have cured that disease or not, Xiao Xingchen did not want to try and find out. If he returned to the mountain, there was a chance that he would never be allowed back down. He would never be able to go on night-hunts with Song Lan again, would never spar him and even up their score, would never catch Song Lan smiling in that odd sincere way of his, unexpected and soft and warm.

He had chosen Song Lan over everyone else, and now Song Lan had paid the price. His family was gone, his temple was destroyed. Even if every last attacker was found and destroyed, it would never bring back his childhood home and the blood he had spilled. But there was one thing that Xiao Xingchen could return to him, one thing that might even begin to repay the debt that he owed.

I'll give you my eyes, and then I'll go away, he promised in his heart. You've lost everything because of me. It's only fair that I lose everything too.

Chapter Text

[Yi City, present]

The two people that stood on the bridge looked as different as night and day - one with long dark robes and one with soft white.

The first was taller. His skin was so pale in the moonlight that it almost seemed to be carved out of jade, and with his dark hair and dark eyes, he looked a little like a grim reaper. He had sharp features that made him seem handsome from any angle. He would have caused a stir anywhere he went, if not for those black eyes that made him seem incredibly cold and unapproachable.

The second person on the bridge still wore a cultivator's white robes. He had grown thin over the past few years, although his slight frame still held surprising strength. His fingers were long and slender and settled patiently against the stone framework of the side of the bridge.

For a moment, the man in the black robes seemed to hesitate. That icy exterior cracked and the air around him seemed unsure rather than harsh and forbidding. For, after all this time, Song Lan was still not sure what he should say to his long-lost friend.

Xiao Xingchen turned to offer him a dazzling smile. As he turned, the bandage around his eyes came into view, white just like the rest of his clothing, four fingers thick and tied with a simple knot on the back of his head. Song Lan couldn't help but feel an echo of despair every time he saw that strip of white cloth instead of the gentle eyes he had been so used to.

Xiao Xingchen's smile faltered. He raised his fingers to touch the white blindfold on his face.

"Does this bother you, Song Lan?"

"No. It doesn't."

That was a lie, and they both heard it, but Xiao Xingchen let it pass.

He turned to face out over the water, even though he wouldn't be able to see the shimmering starlight reflected off of the glassy surface.

Song Lan thought he would go crazy with silence. He should be bursting with words, with all the bottled up feelings inside him.

He had missed Xiao Xingchen like a sky missed its sun in the depths of winter, where the lack of light had hardened it into a frozen wasteland. He had counted moments where he had felt the lack of Xiao Xingchen's presence until that count had reached some immeasurable amount, for how did one count every waking moment and then some?

And yet here he was, watching Xiao Xingchen as if the other man would disappear if he blinked, too terrified to speak.

Xiao Xingchen's smile faded. He braced himself as if expecting a blow.

"Xingchen," Song Lan said softly. He had always loved calling Xingchen by his name, had loved the fact that two of them had shared a piece of the same name. He wished that he could make Xingchen's name sound like a caress; it came out as a broken whisper.

"Xingchen, why did you leave?"

The sky darkened perceptively as a cloud rolled across the moon, dimming its bright light and casting a gloom into the river and its murky lights.

"I had to," Xingchen replied, just as quiet, and equally broken. "It was my fault. I had to take responsibility."

Song Lan took a step forward, closing the distance between them until he remembered himself. His hands dropped to his sides. Why this again? Did Xiao Xingchen truly still blame himself, after all this time?

"I could have gone to Baoshan Sanren's mountain at any time," Xiao Xingchen continued. His voice was unsteady now with the force of a confession. "I didn't know at the time, but now I do. I could have gone, and asked her for help, and all those people would have been saved. Your family would still be alive."

No. No, that was all wrong -

Xiao Xingchen swallowed, and with difficulty, he said: "I - I always thought myself so much better than all those other cultivators, I always thought I was above their politicking and their greed. But the truth was - all that time - I was just like them. Nothing mattered to me, as long as I had what I wanted."

The guilt seemed to build inside him like a wave, drowning him. "They were right about me, Zichen. They were right all along. I am a fraud, and a liar. I'm all those things. I was selfish and your whole family paid the price in blood for it."

His voice broke off as Song Lan swept forward and gathered him up in his arms, squeezing all the air out of him.

The world seemed to still, the wind going quiet and the fireflies and the glimmer of stars and the rustling of leaves all going dim and muted. Everything seemed to narrow down to the space around them and the cobblestones beneath their feet.

Song Lan wondered why, now of all times, his heart felt like it was about to break.

"I missed you," he whispered into the quiet stillness. "I didn't care about any of that, Xingchen. I never blamed you for anything. I just missed you."

Xiao Xingchen was trembling in his arms, his hands coming up to grasp tentatively at Song Lan's robes. "I'm sorry," he said, all jagged and shattered like a porcelain vase that had been thrown to the floor. Song Lan wanted to sweep up all of him into his arms and hold him without letting a single particle of dust escape. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -"

Then his voice failed him finally. After that, he simply buried his face into Song Lan's chest, and cried.

In the morning, the sun rose over a half-melted hilltop, with white ice slowly giving way to green grass. It was like the opposite of a battlefield, death giving way to uncover life, instead of the other way around.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan were back by sunrise, one figure in white and another in black, and if Xue Yang hadn't seen them separately before, he would have sworn that they had chosen their colors to match as a pair.

But he ignored that fact, pushed it to the back of his mind, as he came out to greet them. A Qing was still sleeping inside, still recuperating from her wounds. Xiao Xingchen slipped inside the room to check on her, while Song Lan and Xue Yang stood stiffly in the front room.

They stood on opposite sides of a table, as far away from each other as possible.

I promised A Qing that I wouldn't fight him, Xue Yang thought. He couldn't help but size Song Lan up, though - the state of his travel-worn robes, still fine and obviously belonging to a highly-ranked cultivator, the icy expression on his face, his easy posture, only a breath away from becoming a maelstrom of death.

I could take him, he thought indignantly. But just at that moment, Xiao Xingchen came back.

Xue Yang waited for the verdict. If Song Lan had turned Xiao Xingchen against him, then it was all over, no matter what A Qing said. He held his breath, and held onto his inner determination as hard as he could. Whatever he did, he would have to watch his words carefully.

"Sit down," Xiao Xingchen gestured to a chair.

Well. That didn't bode well.

Xue Yang sat, but then Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan took chairs and sat around the table as well, with Song Lan taking the chair that A Qing usually sat in.

It was strangely dizzying.

Xue Yang had eaten countless meals here, had bickered and cajoled and stolen scraps of food and begged for candy all at this table. With Xiao Xingchen there, and all these memories suddenly swirling up inside him like a disturbed pond, this felt more like a family intervention than an interrogation.

"Xue Yang," Xiao Xingchen said. "You haven't been honest with me."

"You'll have to be more specific than that," Xue Yang said, before shutting up hard. Fucking hell. Being at this table, sitting down, was really messing with him.

But Xiao Xingchen just cracked a smile, one that made Xue Yang's heart settle like an anxious child being given exactly what they wanted. It was a familiar smile, a fond one. He didn't hate Xue Yang after all.

"You're right," Xiao Xingchen admitted. "Here are your specifics - Song Daozhang says that you are a demonic cultivator. I've been speaking with the townsfolk in order to verify his claim. From what they tell me, he is telling the truth, and you are a demonic cultivator. The villager's descriptions were vague, but enough to suggest that you not only have some knowledge of their techniques, but have used them."

Xue Yang swallowed. So much for his plan to deny everything, then.

Xiao Xingchen leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "So," he said. "Xue Yang. This is your chance to come clean. Tell me. Where did you learn demonic cultivation?"

Xue Yang put on an innocent expression, even though he knew it would do no good and that Xiao Xingchen couldn't see it. He had to try.

"Daozhang," he said. "When we first met, you said to me - the past doesn't exist for people like us."

Xiao Xingchen sighed as if he knew that this had been coming. Xue Yang pressed on.

"You came here running away from your past. I saw how you reacted when it came to find you. I would not react so well to people from my past coming to find me either. I have never once asked you what your past was; you should return the favor."

Xiao Xingchen turned to Song Lan, helpless. "He does have a point."

At this, Xue Yang finally had to look at Song Lan, who had been silent this entire time, considering Xue Yang. His expression was far colder than Xiao Xingchen's, sending a shiver of unease through Xue Yang.

He had known how to deal with Xiao Xingchen, but he could not figure out how to deal with Song Lan.

As Song Lan gazed back at him impassively, Xue Yang knew somehow - one word out of this man would result in Xue Yang getting kicked out of the only home he had ever known. He would end up on the streets, alone again, or worse.

But there was nothing he could do. Suppressing his rage, Xue Yang glared back at Song Lan, and waited. He was helpless again, and he hated it.

But Song Lan never said anything. Instead, he reached up and took Xue Yang's sword from the wall and inspected it.

"This is from the Lanling Jin Sect," he said tersely.

"Yes." Xue Yang couldn't see what he was getting at. Was he trying to approach the subject sideways? Was he hoping to ensnare Xue Yang in some trap?

"I've had several experiences with the Lanling Jin Sect," Song Lan continued. "Several years ago, they did a sweep of several cities, collecting all the orphans and homeless on the streets. They all disappeared, presumably relocated to a shelter, but not many people inquired after them."

Xue Yang suddenly felt cold.

"This was around the time that a lot of dark energy was swirling about in the world. Now that I think about it, the Lanling Jin Sect was always highly interested in demonic cultivation. A majority of the Yiling Patriarch's texts ended up in their hands, if I recall."

Then Song Lan tossed the sword to Xue Yang, who caught it out of the air, unable to hide his surprise.

"Xingchen tells me that he found you, bleeding and half dead." Song Lan said. "You were nearly blinded, and you carried scars far older than the most recent ones. I don't know what you went through, not the specifics, but I am willing to ignore your past as well."

Xue Yang was so angry that he nearly choked. Pity? How dare he? With a snarl, he moved to draw his sword.

And was met with a bared blade - when had he moved? - in his face, the point gleaming an inch away from his nose.

"That said, don't think that I trust you blindly." Song Lan's eyes were cold and pitiless. "I gave you a chance to tell us everything, to gain my trust, but you've wasted that chance."

It was like the bottom of a cup had dropped out, spilling all of the liquid inside out onto the cold, hard ground. Xue Yang felt empty, devoid of any meaning or life. Anger was just a memory of heat to him now, but even that was draining away into the cold air.

"You have a life here, but your nature is not something that can be changed. If you ever hurt Xingchen, if you ever hurt anyone, I will haul you to Baixue Tower myself. If you ever thought that the Golden Carp Tower was a prison, then you would miss those days with a homesick longing while you spend the rest of your days imprisoned, tortured, and praying for salvation."

Xue Yang barely dared to breathe, barely dared to move.

He was going to be allowed to stay?

Slowly, reluctantly, he sheathed his sword. He eyed the point of Song Lan's sword dubiously until the other man drew it back.

"Daozhang," he said, "Why have you decided to do this?"

"That is none of your concern."

But it is, Xue Yang thought. What did Xiao Xingchen say to make you change your mind?

"Swear to me that you will not hurt anyone, and I will allow you to continue to live here."

Xue Yang nearly raised an eyebrow before swallowing down his disbelief. He would be able to get away - just on an oath? A lot of people seemed to want promises out of him lately. He could feel them on his skin, these promises, like an itch that he was constantly aware of.

He could deal with this. He would deal with a lot, as long as he was allowed to stay here.

"I swear," Xue Yang said.

A Qing stumbled down the stairs, sleepy and uncoordinated without her cane.

"I heard voices," she said, her hand reaching out to hold the wall.

"A Qing! You shouldn't be up!" Just like that, Xiao Xingchen had gone back to the warm person Xu Yang knew. Song Lan was also staring at him in surprise.

A Qing waved away Xiao Xingchen's concern. "I'm fine."

"You're saying that now. Tear open your wound again and then we'll see how you feel."

Song Lan's lips quirked into a smile. Xue Yang hated him just a little bit more. This was the Xiao Xingchen that he knew, and Song Lan didn't. He wanted to tell Song Lan to leave, to go away. This version of Xiao Xingchen belonged to them only.

A Qing had finally noticed Song Lan's presence, having bumped into him on her way into the room.

"Daozhang," she said respectfully. Little brat. What was she doing, giving the black cultivator respect when Xue Yang was right there?

"A Qing," Song Lan returned, a greeting that somehow conveyed everything he needed to say. I know your name. Xiao Xingchen has told me about you. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've brought upon you.

A Qing seemed to take that in stride. She had found Xiao Xingchen's chair in its usual spot in the room. With a sigh, she dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor.

"Don't let him take Xue Yang," she said to Xiao Xingchen, with all the petulant demand of a child wanting her toy.

All three sets of eyes turned to stare at her, two working, and one blindfolded.

Xiao Xingchen recovered first.

"Of course, child." He reached out to pat the top of her head. "We were able to reach an agreement."

Song Lan recovered second. He made a brief, assenting noise.

Xue Yang still hadn't recovered. He stared at her, nearly speechless. It occurred to him that he hadn't spoken in a long while. Strange. This wasn't like him, to be so passive, to accept fate as it comes.

Brashly, without thinking things through, he growled, "I don't need your help."

But A Qing didn't even listen to him. After hearing of Song Lan’s agreement, her shoulders had slumped with relief. She leaned her head against Xiao Xingchen's thigh, content to close her eyes and doze off right there.

"No need to be so harsh, Xue Yang," Xiao Xingchen patted A Qing's head again, tentatively, as if he had just found a cat in his lap and was afraid of scaring it away.

Xue Yang caught the look in Song Lan's eyes, and felt a twisted sick satisfaction and understanding.

So he can be jealous too.

The news spread that a rich man had moved into Yi City.

He brought no servants and wore no jewels, but he was clearly a high born noble at the very least. He was a curiosity to many of the locals, most of whom had only known fat merchants and innkeepers and wine-sellers, and had yet to meet someone who was truly wealthy.

"He's the son of a great cultivating clan that has fallen on hard times," people whispered, looking at his cold face and stern expression. They nodded to themselves sagely, saying that it must be so, even though in truth no one knew the slightest thing about the tragedy that had befallen the Song Family more than a decade ago.

"He's a disgraced heir," others said, and since that made sense as well, it was accepted as the truth. Nobody knew exactly why he'd been disgraced, or who had disgraced him. As a result, since people loved to spin tales out of nothing and create intrigue where there was none, Song Lan became the wrongly disgraced heir of an astronomically wealthy cultivating family. He had come here in search of something, and he was determined to find it.

Perhaps, they speculated, Song Lan was here to hunt a legendary monster that had been asleep in these mountains for the past century. None of the elders had any notion of mythical beings lying in wait anywhere near their gloomy city. But that didn't matter.

In the end, the rumor mill churned, and by the end of the week, everyone in the city knew his name and where he lived. Oddly, the rich cultivator had decided to take a room at the edge of Yi City, far away from the city center. There was only one road leading into Yi City, and the other edge of it was a barren, ghoul-infested wilderness.

Disgraced, people said to themselves, shaking their heads. Perhaps he was hiding from the world, spending a couple of years in total seclusion. Perhaps he was hoping to die alone, and unknown, in a forgotten corner of nowhere. After all, no one else dared live so far out that way except for the crippled and the blind.

Chapter Text

"You can't kill him," A Qing said. "You know that, right?"

The room was lit by a single lantern, its weak yellow light pushing the darkness out to the edges of the room, but no further. On a straw-covered mat, A Qing sat with her back against the wall, her hair braided and swept over one shoulder, covered in their warmest blanket. She had healed fast, but Xiao Xingchen had still ordered bed rest for her for at least a month.

Xue Yang looked up from where he had been putting away the rolls of bandages. As part of his punishment, he had been assigned the unenviable task of cleaning and dressing A Qing's wounds.

"First off, he's a better fighter than you," A Qing continued. "If you fight again, you'll lose. Secondly, if you kill him, Xiao Xingchen is going to kill you. Got that?"

Xue Yang sat back slowly on his heels and worked through his anger and surprise. On one hand, he was glad that A Qing was finally speaking to him again. On the other -

"How would you know?" he asked, a bit stung. "You're blind, you don't know a thing about fighting." Or about Xiao Xingchen, he wanted to add, but that was false.

"Yes," she replied flatly. "I'm blind. And even I can tell."

For a mad moment, Xue Yang considered calling up the ghosts of the dead, taking their power as his own, until he could kill hundreds and not feel a thing and level entire cities without having to lift a single finger. Song Lan, a better fighter?

As far as Xue Yang could tell, the compromise between Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan had been this: Xiao Xingchen would vouch for him, and monitor his movements. Song Lan would investigate any traces of demonic cultivation being used in Yi City for nefarious purposes. If neither of them turned up with anything suspicious, then Song Lan would agree that Xue Yang had turned over a new leaf.

For the past few months, Xue Yang hadn't been allowed out of anyone's sight. He wasn't exactly under house arrest, but it was like trying to dig out a thorn from the base of your skull, feeling eyes on the back of your head, constantly being pinned down. Xue Yang hated it. He wanted more than anything for Song Lan to just leave and never come back.

What made it worse was Xiao Xingchen. Xiao Xingchen was happier than Xue Yang had ever seen him. Even when he was feeling his most trapped, Xue Yang couldn't bring himself wish for all of that happiness to disappear.

Xue Yang realized that his fingers were clenched tight around a roll of bandages. If even A Qing realized that there was something special between Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, then -

"Please don't fight him."

Xue Yang stared at her in surprise. All his anger drained away like a lanced boil, slipping out of his grasp, leaving him strangely calm.

"There's no need to," A Qing said again, trying to sound reasonable. "Xiao Xingchen will deal with him for you. Even if you're a demon-energy-using-bastard or whatever, he'll explain that not all of them are bad guys. If Song Daozhang believes that you won't hurt anybody, then there's no reason for him to keep hunting you."

"Why do you care?" The question was out before he could stop himself. He got no answer. He was missing something. It felt like a hole inside him that he wanted to fill, an itch he wanted to scratch, but couldn't, not until he got his answer.

A Qing tsked irritably, shifting her shoulders and wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

"Listen to me, you lout," she said. "I'm trying to help you. I'm giving you advice. Heaven knows that you're too heartbroken to think clearly right now - "

"What?"

"But listen to me! When you see him, don't draw your sword and charge in like a boar again. Let Xiao Xingchen sort this out. We won't let him take you away!"

"Wha -"

And then he stopped. Because beneath his confusion, there was a small, warm realization trickling into him. He tried to ignore it. It couldn't be real. He knew A Qing. He knew how much she hated him. She had never liked him. So then what was this sudden, fierce protectiveness? It had to be fake.

But then he knew. Somehow, somewhere along the way, at some point amidst all their bickering and fighting and constant sniping at each other, he had started to think of her as family, and she had started to think of him as the same.

"Promise me," she said. Suddenly, she shoved her hand out toward him, pinky finger extended. "Swear to me that you won't lose your temper at him again. That you won't fight him."

Xue Yang was too stunned to think. It felt like the place where his heart had been had collapsed into a puddle of warm goo, where it twisted and trembled with disbelief.

Somebody cared about him. Was that what it felt like? This weakness that made him all warm inside?

Without really realizing how, he hooked his pinky around hers. It was a strange gesture, a game between friends, but amongst kids that had grown up on the streets, it was the strongest oath they knew how to make.

"I won't fight him," Xue Yang promised. He had never made an oath like that before, and he felt keenly how heavily it weighed on his tongue. This was more than just a simple promise. This was A Qing accepting him as part of her family, saying - I trust you like I would a brother. This was him being given responsibility, for the first time, to not break someone's trust.

He found the location of the weakness in his chest, slammed down on it hard, obliterating it like a worm that had infested his heart. But it wouldn’t disappear. Then he built a cage around it, then walls around that, until his promise was a guarded thing, a part of him that he mustn't let anyone else see.

Chapter Text

Winter came hard in Yi City.

Snow fell with thick, heavy and fat snowflakes that stuck everywhere they touched. After several hours of falling, the ground had become nearly untraversable. Within a few days, snow had piled up to the windows, and cold winds curled their fingers into every crack and corner, beneath warm layers of clothing and into stinging eyes.

In the air, there was the sharp, clean tinge of ice. It would be impossible to make a return trip, even for a cultivator.

Song Lan spoke to one of the innkeepers in Yi City, who promptly cleared out one of their largest rooms and hunted down their half-retired cook, harangued all her grandchildren into cleaning every inch of bare wood and dusting every forgotten corner. Yi City had never welcomed many visitors, but the old innkeeper was determined to keep this one happy.

Song Lan was the perfect guest - quiet, tidy, wealthy, and almost never there.

Instead of staying in his rooms, he was often out and about in the city, speaking to the local shopkeepers and wine sellers and magistrates. And when he was not wandering the city, he was waiting on a bridge that ran across frozen water. The cold never seemed to touch him, even though wind and rain buffeted his clothes and hair like any normal human.

He seemed to be carved of ice itself, except for the rare moments when the person he was waiting for would come up beside him. Then, his face would break into a smile like sunshine in midsummer.

In the radius of the stove, sitting on top of a small fire that had been built earlier that day, A Qing was braiding straw into long ropes. They trailed off at the ends, disappearing into the shape of a small corded circle, the beginnings of a straw basket. She hummed a little as she worked.

"It's too quiet," A Qing said suddenly. "There are four people here, and it's completely silent. What's wrong with you people? At least talk about something. I'm getting bored."

"Nobody has to entertain you," Xue Yang shot back. "Maybe we're just sleepy."

"Well, if you're sleepy, then go to bed. Stop distracting me with your breathing. It's disgusting."

Xue Yang narrowed his eyes at her, but she didn't even see it.

"Song Daozhang," A Qing asked as she worked. "Do you know any stories?"

Xue Yang groaned. He had still managed to avoid acknowledging Song Lan's presence here, but it was still clearly a nettle under his skin.

"What?" A Qing snapped. "Neither of you are any good at stories - sorry Daozhang - and I'm bored!"

"I'm not really sure," Song Lan said thoughtfully. "What kind of story would you like to hear?"

"A nice story," A Qing says. "A warm one. I'm cold. And an interesting one, please, not like the awful horror stories that Xue Yang tells."

Song Lan shot Xue Yang a bemused look before he realized what he was doing, but by then it was too late to call it back. Xue Yang huddled down further into his blanketed nook, looking surly. If Song Lan didn't know better, he would have said that Xue Yang was sulking.

"I don't really think -"

"Zichen, don't sell yourself short," Xiao Xingchen had a small smile playing on his lips. "You're an excellent storyteller."

Even Xue Yang seemed to find this interesting. His brows furrowed. A Qing, on the other hand, grinned so wide that Song Lan instantly knew that he had lost this battle.

"Alright," he sighed. "I'm really not good at telling stories. I'm just good at repeating things. I don't know if you two have heard of it, but here's one about the rabbit on the moon, and the girl he keeps company."

A Qing straightened visibly. She set down her things, placed her hands in her lap. Even Xue Yang went still, paying attention, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Long ago, there lived a hero. His name was Hou Yi, and he was famous for all sorts of things in other stories, but this story isn't about him. It's actually about his wife."

"You see, Hou Yi had married a childhood sweetheart of his from his village. They met one day when he was out hunting and she was out picking herbs. He mistook her for a deer, and accidentally shot her with an arrow, injuring her. When he realized what he had done, he quickly took her back to his village to heal her. This girl was Chang e."

"By the time she had recovered, the two of them had fallen in love. They got married, but Hou Yi was often away on adventures and they couldn't see each other often. Hou Yi became known throughout the whole world, saving it multiple times, but he never forgot about Chang e and went back to her as often as he could."

"He would often bring back presents for her - treasures of jade or gold, beautiful birds in gilded cages who sang songs day and night. But Chang e often shunned them all and spent her days crying instead, saying that she missed him, asking him not to go. But he always left anyway, called off to another dangerous adventure."

"One day, Hou Yu came back with a small wooden box. He didn't give it to her as a present, and instead hid it away under the floorboards, instructing her to not let anyone see. Chang e's curiosity was piqued. He had given her all the usual presents this time, but her mind kept going back to the small wooden box."

"When her husband had left, Chang e stole the small box out from under the floorboards and opened it."

"The thing inside was simply a small medicine bottle, containing two pills."

"Nobody really knows what happened next, there are a lot of different versions for what happened. But what I was told was this: As Chang e was shaking out the pills into her palm, all of a sudden, she heard her husband coming back. Impulsively, she put the two pills in her mouth and swallowed them to hide the evidence."

"She instantly felt that something was wrong. For you see, the pills in that wooden box were actually elixirs of immortality. The gods had given these pills to Hou Yi in gratitude for his brave service in saving the world. In fact, they had given him two. He had refused to take only one, saying that he could not become an immortal and leave Chang e behind."

"Just then, Hou Yi returned, and found Chang e with the opened box and the opened bottle. Both pills were gone."

"Chang e was terrified of her husband's anger. After realizing what she had done, she ran to the window and flung herself outside."

"But instead of falling down, she fell up instead. She floated, and floated, and floated up into the sky."

"This was because, despite swallowing two pills, the elixir was actually incomplete. In order for it to mature into its full form, it had to be stored away, untouched, for seven years and seven days."

"So Chang e floated higher and higher in the sky, and no matter how many times her husband tried to shoot her down, he always missed. She floated past the highest rooms, past the tallest trees. Soon she was higher than even the clouds."

"In the end, Chang e decided to live on the moon, so that even if she could not see her husband's face, it was the closest she could get."

"On the moon, she found a rabbit that was to be her only companion."

"He's another one of the immortals, but a lesser one, more of a servant. His job is to grind pills all day with his mortar and pestle to create more elixirs of immortality. He can't talk of course, because he's just a rabbit, but he became Chang e's only friend. That's why on nights with a full moon, you can see the shadow of a rabbit on its surface."

When he had finished, A Qing's rope was forgotten in her hands, and there was dead silence for a while.

Even Xue Yang has started to pay attention in the last half of the story. His expression was strange. A Qing's face was full of complicated emotions too. It seemed like neither of them had heard this story before.

Song Lan wondered how that could be possible. He hadn’t expected that.

He glanced over to Xiao Xingchen, only to find him with his head pillowed comfortably on his arms, leaning against an upraised table. He had been listening to the story too. Somehow, Song Lan had become the center of attention.

Uncomfortably, he cleared his throat, but he never got the chance to say anything.

"Are all your stories like this?" A Qing asked. Then, without waiting for him to answer, she pleaded: "Tell us one more?"

"Well, they're not all like that," Song Lan said defensively. He looked at Xue Yang, who had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He had expected more than one snarky comment by now. "Are you sure you've never heard this story before?"

Xue Yang shook his head slowly, too distracted to ignore Song Lan like he always did. "Bits and pieces," he said. "But I've never heard the whole story before."

Oh. Song Lan was taken aback. He had heard this story countless times, over countless nights. That was part of the reason why he still could memorize it and recite it now.

"Tell us another one, Daozhang," A Qing asked again, leaning forward, a bit like a small animal that had tasted its first bite of food.

Helplessly, Song Lan looked back at Xiao Xingchen. But Xiao Xingchen was no help. Instead, he was smiling, and even half-hidden behind the folds of his sleeves, that smile was enough to make Song Lan's heart nearly jump out of his chest.

"Fine," he groaned, and ended up telling stories well into the night until all the candles burned low and the light from the stove made a tiny pool of brightness that turned into a pocket of the world with just the four of them.

Chapter Text

[Several months later]

Time was a powerful thing.

There was a common saying - that nothing changes except for ‘change'. It would have been impossible, a few months ago, to imagine a peaceful scene like this one. Warm blankets around a well-stocked fire, a good roof over their heads, the smell of cooking in the air. 

Xue Yang found, to his horror, that he was actually beginning to enjoy it.

It wasn't that the food was particularly good, or that their station in life had risen dramatically. They were still the social rejects of Yi city, the outcasts that caught stares and whispers whenever they walked about the streets. But lately, something had eased inside him. Maybe it was the candies that Xiao Xingchen had started bringing back from the market. Maybe it was the stories that Song Lan would tell whenever it got dark outside and A Qing was too restless to sleep. Xue Yang still hated Song Lan, but he couldn't help but admit that he liked the stories.

In the winter, there weren't many places they could go. All of them spent most of their time trapped inside. Without Song Lan's stories, Xue Yang admitted, they all might have gone a little mad. But that only happened at night.

So, half bored to death, without anything better to do during the day, Xue Yang began to teach A Qing how to read and write.

When Xiao Xingchen found out about the lessons, due to A Qing pleading for the lessons to stop, Xiao Xingchen had laughed for minutes on end.

"I think it's a great thing to learn," he said.

"But I'm blind!" A Qing wailed. "What use does a blind person have for reading and writing?!?" She waved her hands before her eyes, then threw them up in a helpless gesture. "It's like teaching a cow how to play an instrument!"

"Did you just call yourself a cow?" Xue Yang snickered.

"Shut up!"

"Hey! They were your words, not mine!"

"I'm blind," Xiao Xingchen said matter-of-factly. "And I can read and write. A Qing. You should thank Xue Yang for taking the time to teach you."

A Qing opened her mouth. Swallowed what she had been about to say. Xue Yang cackled openly at the look on her face.

Xiao Xingchen patted her head, which made Xue Yang stop cackling abruptly. "There now, A Qing. Listen to me. Do what Xue Yang tells you, and you'll appreciate it later in life."

Xue Yang crossed his arms and couldn't help himself from gloating. Just a little.

"Why are you doing this?" A Qing demanded of him.

I want to know if you're really blind or not, Xue Yang thought. Song Lan was still looking in the city for traces of demonic cultivation being used, and he would have no luck, not in the winter. But Xue Yang had gotten careless several times and used demonic cultivation in front of A Qing. If she knew what was happening, Xue Yang could safely assume that she hadn't told Song Lan anything yet. But still, he wanted to know for sure.

"I'm trying to test how smart you are," Xue Yang said easily. "If you're smart, then we can marry you off for a lot of money. If you're not smart, we can marry you off for even more money."

That nearly sent A Qing into an indignant tantrum, if not for the fact that Xiao Xingchen was there and watching.

"I don't want to," she ended up saying sulkily.

"Well," Xiao Xingchen said brightly. "I think you should anyway." And then A Qing had turned her face to him with an expression full of betrayal, only Xiao Xingchen couldn't see.

And that had been that.

The other thing with time, though, was that happy times did not always last for long. What went up must always come back down, and Xue Yang should have known better than to take this new peace for granted.

When spring came, or rather, when temperatures outside had risen to slightly above freezing, and they could venture outside without the risk of frostbite or getting lost in a blizzard, A Qing started skipping classes in order to wander outside. She would wander back eventually, driven inside by the cold. Xue Yang would make her write extra pages, then, and after a few times A Qing simply accepted it quietly as long as she could sit by the fire to do it.

But then one time, A Qing came back shivering and shaken, which was all sorts of wrong because she never acted like that, not when a gang of thieves had tried to harass her, not when old men solicited her, and not even when Xue Yang let out all of his murderous intent and threatened to kill her.

For a moment, Xue Yang was absurdly indignant that something else in the world existed that could actually make her react that way. Brave, foolish little A Qing. Angry, bitter, heartless-save-for-when-it-came-to-Daozhang A Qing. A Qing, who never showed fear, who never even showed a hint of it, not even to Xue Yang's bared blade.

"What happened?" he asked.

Crouching by the fire, A Qing didn't answer. Xue Yang found that even stranger. A Qing loved to complain. If it had been her normal self, she would be wailing and crying to Daozhang right now.

He ended up crouching beside her. She was not crying, but her hands were shaking a little more than usual, and he could tell that it was not from the cold.

"What happened?" he asked, more insistently.

"Nothing," A Qing said. She curled her small hands into fists, as if trying to get them to stop shaking. "I just - I ran into a group of girls outside." Her voice trembled. "They called me ugly. Said I couldn't see how ugly I was because I was b-blind."

Xue Yang wondered if she would dare to lie to him, even now. He had never known A Qing to care about her appearance. But then again, girls did start to care about the strangest things at the strangest of times.

"Who were they?"

"I don't know," A Qing said bitterly. She was still shivering, but a thread of anger worked its way into her voice. "I'm blind. It's useless. All this - you teaching me how to read and write. None of it will ever matter anyway. You can do whatever you want, you're a boy and have a sword and can fight. But I'll always be just me, no matter what I do."

"Hey -" he wasn't sure how to comfort someone on the verge of crying, so he awkwardly patted her head. He tried to think of what to say. "Next time they come to bother you, just come and find me. I'll deal with them for you. Or better yet, you can take that bamboo stick of your and just poke out their eyes. Then they won't have any right to judge anyone for being pretty or ugly."

Instead of laughing, A Qing just shivered again.

Xue Yang sighed. "It was a joke," he said. "A Qing. Really, what happened? What did they do to get to you this badly?"

A Qing was silent for what seemed like an eternity. She simply gazed at the fire, holding out her hands to warm them. The reflection of the firelight flickered in her white eyes.

"Something happened after that," she confessed suddenly. "Someone else came, and recognized me. He told the girls to all get away from me, that I was the devil's child, and that I lived with two cut sleeves and a - a demonic cultivator."

The world reeled in slow motion. Xue Yang sat back slowly.

To his surprise, the first real emotion he felt was anger.

"He has a lot of nerve, if he's calling Xiao Xingchen a cut sleeve," he said. "Those are two cultivators that he's talking about. He must not value his life very highly."

"Mn," A Qing agreed absentmindedly. Her shoulders were tense, though, and Xue Yang suddenly understood why something seemed so off about her.

"He said something more, didn't he?" Xue Yang asked. "He said that he had proof."

Slowly, A Qing nodded.

Many things suddenly clicked into place.

Ah, Xue Yang thought. There you are, Cheng Xing. Looks like you're back in the city after all.

Chapter Text

A Qing sat in the corner, weaving straw baskets. It was slow going, since she was blind and had to constantly feel her way around the basket to see how far she had gotten. Xue Yang sat next to her, wearing a sulky expression, doing the same thing and occasionally snapping at her before fixing her mistakes.

Xiao Xingchen stopped in front of Xue Yang and A Qing, once he felt the crunch of straw beneath his feet.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"I think we've been punished enough," A Qing said mournfully. "It was just a little fight, Daozhang. Nobody got hurt."

Xiao Xingchen didn't even respond to that. He ended up carefully feeling his way to the wall, and then sitting down next to her. Somehow, he managed to avoid the bundles of straw that A Qing had placed within easy reach in a semicircle in front of her. She was surprisingly organized when it came to these things. After reaching out to feel how many of those bundles were left, Xiao Xingchen nodded to himself.

"You're almost done," he said. "And you've learned your lesson now, haven't you?"

"I have," A Qing said. "No fighting Xue Yang. Even when he calls me stupid for not being able to read." The last was directed a little venomously at Xue Yang, who gave an irritated little twitch of his shoulders.

Xiao Xingchen laughed. He couldn't help it. He felt her lean against him briefly. She had spread blankets all over the mat, so that she could conserve as much body heat as possible.

"Daozhang," she asked. "Why don't I ever hear you humming?"

Xiao Xingchen paused, his brows creasing. "Humming?"

"Like, singing." A Qing sounded surprised that he didn't even know what it meant. "You know, little snatches of - haven't you ever heard the fishermen sing when they head out to sea, or when merchants load up their wares?"

She jerked her head in Xue Yang's general direction, to get his attention. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? People do it when they're working."

"Only when they're happy," Xue Yang said shortly.

A Qing sounded as if she had just suffered a blow. "Daozhang. Are you unhappy?"

"No, of course I"m happy!"

"Then why don't you ever sing?"

Xiao Xingchen blushed hard. "I don't - I'm just bad at singing!"

"Would you rather be with Song Daozhang than with us?" A Qing asked out of nowhere. She had her hands clenched tightly in her lap, bundles of straw forgotten. "Would he make you happier?"

The room fell silent as both Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang turned to stare at her.

"No," Xiao Xingchen said finally. "I won't choose him over you two. Don't worry."

Xue Yang jabbed a finger into A Qing's side. "You're being rude."

"You were wondering too," she snapped back at him. "And since when do you get to call me rude?"

Xue Yang made a noncommittal sound, unwilling to argue that point.

"Hey," Xiao Xingchen said in a warning tone.

"We're not arguing," both Xue Yang and A Qing said in unison.

As punishment for arguing again, the two of them were sent out to buy groceries for the month.

"I don't know how I'll ever get you two to behave," Xiao Xingchen sighed.

"We're a lot better than we were before," A Qing told him honestly. It was true - a few months ago, the two of them only ever spoke when they argued. Now, at least, they only argued half the time.

"That's good to know," Xiao Xingchen said dryly. "Now don't come back till you've found everything, and please don't forget the tomatoes."

Xue Yang, predictably, went off on his own the instant they reached the market, leaving A Qing to do all the work. She was not as good of a haggler as he was. There was no one that quite managed to do intimidation quite like Xue Yang. But she preyed on the weak-willed hearts of lady shopkeepers who felt pity for her, and she could get a few sweet deals that way. And if some penny-pinching vendor tried to sell her bad fruit or vegetables, well, A Qing wouldn't put up with that either. In any case, both of them were far better at this than Xiao Xingchen was. After all, Xiao Xingchen was the only one out of them that was truly blind.

She was looking for one of the more kind-hearted tomato-sellers when she heard a yell behind her.

"Hey!"

She ignored it at first, but then that pounding of feet caught up with her. A hand grabbed her by the shoulder, and forcibly turned her around. A Qing cried out, but the voice was already yelling into her face. "Hey you! That walking stick! That's my walking stick? Where did you get it?"

A Qing tried to squirm away. The person in front of her was a boy, a boy who seemed to limp as he walked. His face was handsome except for a scar along his nose and his left cheek. He glared at her with growing fury when she did not answer.

"Tell me!" He shook her. They were beginning to draw a crowd. "Who gave that to you?"

"Please," A Qing said, trying to sound as pitiful as she knew how. She looked up at him, which had the effect of revealing her white pupils completely. "Please, I - I don't know. Please, I'm blind."

She reached out blindly, deliberately, kept her eyes fixed vaguely on his face. The more onlookers there were, the less likely he was to try something.

"Sir," she said calmly. "As you can see, I'm blind, so there's no way I could know who gave this walking stick to me."

She was thrown to the ground, head ringing, bones jarring inside her painfully.

"Don't touch me!"

In an instant, out of nowhere, Xue Yang was there. One moment, the boy was snarling in her face and the next, there was nobody there. The empty blue sky wavered in front of her eyes.

With some difficulty, she climbed back up to her feet. Now, the boy was the one on the ground, his hands raised. Xue Yang had his sword out, pointed toward the boy on the ground. The blade glinted in the weak sunlight.

"Never touch her again," Xue Yang said, and trees would have shattered and frozen lakes would have cracked with the amount of cold fury in his voice. "Call her a street rat, a thief, yell at her or threaten her all you want, I don't care. But if you touch her, I will carve your arm off bit by bit, layer by layer, and I'll make it hurt worse than anything you've known before."

"You," the boy snarled. Xue Yang seemed to recognize him as well.

"Cheng Xing."

Suddenly, Xue Yang smiled. It was a smile that A Qing hadn't seen on his face for ages. It sent a cold shiver down her spine. "There you are," Xue Yang said. "Hello Cheng Xing. Nice of you to show yourself. I've been looking for you."

Xue Yang pulled Cheng Xing up, and it didn't take much persuading to get the crowd to disperse. He simply left, taking Cheng Xing with him. A Qing followed a safe distance behind, oddly cautious.

Does she know? Cheng Xing signed.

No, Xue Yang signed back. He glanced at A Qing, but the white pupils of her eyes did not reassure him as much as he thought it would. But if you tell her, I'll just have to kill her too. You wouldn't want that on your head, would you?

Cheng Xing didn't react at all to his bloodthirsty smile or to his threat. Instead, he just narrowed his eyes. The scar on his face ran across his nose and his left cheek. Xue Yang had often wondered about giving him a matching scar on the other side, for symmetry's sake. But Cheng Xing had refused every time that he had offered.

You should tell her to leave, then, Cheng Xing signed. What I have to say is for your ears only.

Xue Yang stopped and turned back to A Qing. She walked into his outstretched hand and came to a stop.

"Go back home," Xue Yang said, a little more gently than he had intended to. She was tense, clutching her basket of food to her chest with a fierce little scowl. She no doubt intended to protect him from Cheng Xing in case the other boy started fighting again. In her mind, it was always easier to fight two on one.

Her surprise was as good as confirmation for her line of thought. "Why?" she asked. "Don't you need my help to beat him up?"

Xue Yang bit back a laugh. "Girls shouldn't be beating anyone up," he said. "Someone needs to go back and tell Daozhang what happened. I'll be right behind you."

It took a little more persuading, but finally she left. Xue Yang didn't think she would actually tell Xiao Xingchen anything about what happened. Old habits didn't die easily, and neither of them wanted others to fight for them.

"Alright," he said, turning to Cheng Xing. "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."

"You must think incredibly highly of yourself," Cheng Xing replied. "If you think you can get away with it. Everyone watched you drag me away, and you'd have to kill the little blind girl as a witness too."

"Alright, alright," Xue Yang amended. "It would be too suspicious for me to kill you now. But you need to take responsibility, Cheng Xing. You've made my life a lot more uncomfortable recently."

"Do I look like I care?"

"I told you to keep your mouth shut," Xue Yang said amicably. "And yet here we are. Who was it who blabbed. You? Or one of your friends? Do I need to hunt you all down?"

"None of them survived the winter," Cheng Xing said, with all the unconcern of someone who had seen this happen many times before. "So you see, Xue Yang, I've got nothing to lose. I can take you down with me, and we can both be executed together. Or -"

"Or you can blackmail me." Xue Yang said flatly, seeing where this was going.

Cheng Xing flashed a small, bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. "What goes around comes back around," he said. "You used us to do all your dirty work, and now it's time to pay up in full."

"I asked you to rob a house," Xue Yang said flatly. "Once. I even taught you several demonic cultivation techniques in order to pull it off. And still you messed up."

"You didn't tell us that there would be a cultivator there," Cheng Xing was unapologetic. "You're lucky that I didn't out you right then and there."

But that was the catch, because if Xue Yang was caught, then all of Cheng Xing's crimes would come to the light as well. That was the nice thing about having villainous friends. You all went down together no matter what.

"I'm sorry to hear about your friends," Xue Yang said carefully, "But I really don't have anything. If you're thinking of blackmailing me, you should have done it before Song Lan came to Yi City. With him here, I can't do anything for you."

"You do have something," Cheng Xing said, and pointed to his sword.

Months ago, Xue Yang would never have considered it. He would have drawn his sword right then and there.

It wasn't that he had any special sort of attachment to his sword. Jiangzai was a black blade, issued to him by the masters in the Golden Carp Tower, made for a cultivator but not with any special care. He had used it many times in the past few years to get what he wanted, and its blade had taken on an edge of the violence he felt whenever he wielded it.

It was the one thing that had saved him, back when he had been alone and an orphan on the streets. But truth be told, lately, Xue Yang hadn't needed his sword at all.

"What would you do with a sword?" Xue Yang asked. He had gone very, very still. If anything, he had to give Cheng Xing credit. Out of all the things he could have asked for, Xue Yang's sword had to be one of the most audacious.

But then, he tried to think of the last time he had used it. It must have been months ago, when Song Lan first came. He had dreamed about using his sword on Song Lan many times after that, but to his surprise, Xue Yang realized that he no longer did.

He stared at Cheng Xing, considering for far longer than he wanted to. He should have said no, he should have reacted with indignation or anger. He should be furious enough to kill right now.

But, unwillingly, Xue Yang took in the state of Cheng Xing's clothes, and the gaunt hollows in his cheeks and the death in his eyes. Cheng Xing was starving. He would die soon, if he didn't find work. And he couldn't find work if he had nothing to his name, and nothing to sell.

You're just like me, he thought, for the second time in his life. In Cheng Xing's quiet hatred and cold words, he saw and heard himself. If you take my sword, then you'll really become me - or who I was, back then.

He felt something strange, then - a pain in his chest that seemed to curl around the image of Cheng Xing before his eyes, like prodding at an oddly tender spot and feeling sick and guilty when it hurt. Later, he would find out that this emotion was pity, but he would understand that pity was the last thing that Cheng Xing wanted from him.

"Take it," Xue Yang said finally. He unbuckled his sword and held it out. A sword in exchange for peace, in exchange for the life that he had now. He thought that it might be a fair trade. If he changed his mind, he could always hunt Cheng Xing down again.

From the look on Cheng Xing's face, he was just as surprised as Xue Yang was at this turn of events.

"What's gotten into you?" Cheng Xing wondered, taking the sword. He studied Xue Yang's face as if looking for a trick.

Xue Yang shrugged, feeling slightly lightheaded. He felt lighter, unburdened, somehow.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I just grew a heart."

Chapter Text

On the bridge that had become their designated meeting place, Song Lan saw Xiao Xingchen already waiting.

He was never quite sure how Xiao Xingchen managed to tell when he had arrived. But as soon as he stopped by the other man's side, and took up a position next to him, Xiao Xingchen's lips quirked into a smile and he spoke.

"Have you been well?"

"I've been fine." Song Lan clasped his hands together over the stone railing, to keep them from doing something stupid, like reaching out. "And you? How have you been?"

"Not bad, actually." Xiao Xingchen seemed more relaxed than usual, although Song Lan still saw with a wince that his face seemed emaciated. That was something that could only change with time.

Song Lan was more than happy to take each day as it came. He had forgotten what it was like to simply live, to breathe, and feel at peace. He had once heard that Xiao Xingchen was the kind of person that brought a clear sky with him wherever he went. It had always proven true, at least for Song Lan.

As Song Lan studied him, Xiao Xingchen laughed suddenly. "Song Lan, I'm going to tell you something you won't believe. Xue Yang started to teach A Qing how to write."

Song Lan's brows furrowed. "What use does - " He stopped himself before he could say any more.

Xiao Xingchen pretended not to notice. He brought his fingers up to his mouth to suppress a small giggle. "I know, that's what I wanted to know as well. But Xue Yang insisted. He kept muttering something about ‘testing' her, to see how smart she actually was. But I think it's pretty clear that she's a smart girl already."

Song Lan's impression of A Qing was that, other than her startling white pupils, she had been a small, flighty thing, like most street children were. When he had approached her in the beginning, she had dashed behind Xiao Xingchen immediately, as if they were playing a game of hawks and chickens, and Xiao Xingchen was the mother hen. Song Lan knew an imprinted chick when he saw one, but he hadn't said anything at the time. Xiao Xingchen seemed to need somebody to take care of, somebody that needed and depended on him.

 Song Lan glanced at Xiao Xingchen's face curiously. "How is A Qing taking it? These lessons?"

"Not too great, I think." The amusement in Xiao Xingchen's voice was audible.

Song Lan made a small, unsurprised sound. From what he could remember of A Qing, she was also not the type to sit down and listen to instructions quietly. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of life Xiao Xingchen had led in the past few years. Then, to his shock, he realized that all he had to do was ask.

"You never told me how you found her," Song Lan said. Did you ever smile like that, before? "Or how she found you."

Xiao Xingchen hesitated for a moment, then admitted: "She tried to steal from me."

Song Lan blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I let her take it, of course. She needed it more than me."

"Xingchen."

"She was a child!"

"So you adopted her?"

"She adopted me, actually." Xiao Xingchen smiled helplessly at Song Lan's tone.

Song Lan made an aggravated sound. It seemed like Xiao Xingchen hadn't changed at all.

Xiao Xingchen's smile faltered. "That probably wasn't the best way to explain it. A Qing always says I'm terrible at telling stories. Maybe the same applies to this as well. She's a good kid. Really."

Song Lan sighed. "I believe you," he said. "But you said that about Xue Yang too."

"What about you?" Xiao Xingchen asked. "Have you found anything out about Xue Yang?"

Song Lan heaved another sigh, choosing his words carefully.

"He is the Xue Yang from Kaizhou that I was looking for," he said. "But as for his use of demonic cultivation, no. I've heard rumors about him, but nothing else. I have yet to find any proof."

Xiao Xingchen was tense in an instant, upset. "What rumors?"

"I won't repeat them until I have proof," Song Lan said firmly. "It is still possible that he is just ostracized for his slight limp and his arrogant attitude. Believe me, Xiao Xingchen. I won't believe in baseless rumors."

"Why don't you talk to him?"

Song Lan laughed. "Have you seen him? He won't even look at me."

"I haven't, actually," Xiao Xingchen said lightly. "What, are you really telling me that the two of you aren't best friends by now? He really is a charming kid once you get to know him."

Song Lan buried his face in his hands and groaned. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Xiao Xingchen ordered.

Song Lan wished that he could brush his mistake away as easily as Xiao Xingchen just had, but something caught in his throat. He found it hard to swallow, and suddenly he felt as if a stone weighed on his chest.

"Song Lan," Xiao Xingchen reached out for him, then stopped with his fingers inches away from Song Lan's sleeve. Song Lan turned to watch him, suddenly breathless.

But then Xiao Xingchen's fingers dropped away, and he folded them back inside his sleeves to hide them from the cold.

"Try talking to him," Xiao Xingchen said earnestly. "I think you two are more similar than you know."

Xue Yang hummed a little as he walked down the street. It was late at night, and most of the market stalls had been taken up, leaving wide open cobblestone streets. The wind blew a chilly breath across his cheeks, but it had no bite to it. It was too gentle to hurt.

He was in a strangely good mood. Nothing could hurt him today. The sky was clear and devoid of any clouds, a deep inky blue backdrop to his evening.

Something had eased inside of him lately. He hadn't realized it before, how much it had hurt. In the lower prisons of the Golden Carp Tower, he had always thought that he had only survived because of his hatred. They could do anything to him, take away his freedom, strip him of everything he owned, mold him into what they wanted, but they could never really touch his hatred. That had kept him alive through everything. He thought that it was what had eventually led to him getting free.

But lately, he was starting to forget his dreams of black stone walls and the feeling of powerlessness. Teaching A Qing how to write had helped with that. Helping Xiao Xingchen get good deals in the markets helped with that. And, however much he hated to admit it, listening to Song Lan's stories about different lives in different places helped too. He wasn't alone anymore.

His feet carried him down the main street. Yi City's main export was funerary goods. It had always been an unlucky city, with the jagged mountain face overhead, bearing down with a noticeable presence. He still heard faint whispers on the wind, every now and then, from the ghosts that refused to leave. But they tugged at him less, now. They didn't infect him nearly as much with their bottomless hatred as they used to.

As much as he had hated his time in the Golden Carp Tower, Xue Yang had to admit that in the end, he was glad to have learned demonic cultivation. Without it, he never would have survived his first few years on the streets, before Xiao Xingchen had found him. It was really just a tool, nothing more, and nothing less.

He wished that Song Lan would understand that, before condemning all demonic cultivators as immoral and evil.

The thought of Song Lan made Xue Yang scowl. He had been trying not to acknowledge the other man's existence, but now he was even taking up residence in Xue Yang's head. Forget him. Xue Yang drew in a deep breath and looked up at the clear sky.

When he looked down, he was startled to see a ghost - not a wisp of one, not a shadow - but a full, realized ghost with distinct facial features and barely blurred outlines - standing in front of him.

Xue Yang's breath left his chest in a rush. The ghost's face was masked with blood, and he looked so solid that the cobblestones behind him were barely visible. He must have been freshly killed, and wandering around for someone to help him.

But the worst part of it was - Xue Yang recognized him.

"Cheng Xing?"

Without a word, the ghost just turned and stalked off. Behind all that blood, it was impossible to make out his expression. Xue Yang gave chase immediately. Cheng Xing couldn't be dead. Surely this was a mistake. They had only seen each other mere days ago -

His feet took him to the top of the bridge, overlooking a small brook with fast-running water. Xue Yang ran to the highest point and looked around desperately, but no one was there anymore. He tried peering out into the dark water. Had Cheng Xing drowned? But then where was all that blood coming from?

Something shoved him hard in the back. Xue Yang cursed as he turned to face whatever had touched him, only to come face-to-face with the ghost of Cheng Xing.

This close, inches apart, Cheng Xing's expression was stark and impossible to miss. His lips were drawn back in a snarl, showing bloody teeth and eyes that shone with anger. In life, his eyes had been black, but in death, the pupils of his eyes had turned a ghostly white. They shone at him with an intensity that made them nearly glow. He pointed a finger at Xue Yang.

This is your fault, he was saying.

And then Xue Yang was toppling over backwards, losing his balance. With a loud splash, he fell into the river. Water filled his nose and mouth, icy cold and making him scream in shock.

The water was shallow, and the bottom was full of sharp rocks. It had always been a popular place to commit suicide, but Xue Yang never would have thought that he would go out this way.

By some miracle, he made it to the surface without ingesting too much water. His clothes dragged in the water, weighing him down. Xue Yang broke the surface and gasped for air. On the bridge, the ghost was gone again.

Minutes later, but it felt like an eternity, Xue Yang dragged himself to shore. Shivering, swearing, he hauled himself into a small alcove under the bridge, where he could put his back to the wall and hide from the wind a little.

This was why freshly-made ghouls were always the most dangerous. But that hadn't been a ghoul - that had been a ghost. In all his years, Xue Yang had never heard of a ghost successfully completing a murder attempt. They weren't supposed to hold that much power.

His foot hit something, and Xue Yang looked down. At his feet, there was something that appeared to be a log.

When he backed away and saw it for what it really was, Xue Yang went - if possible - even colder than he had been before.

Cheng Xing's pale, dead face stared up at the underside of the bridge. He was still covered in dirt and mud, but his body was cold. He had been killed recently. Bloody gashes ran across his whole body, and one deep cut had been slashed across his throat.

Xue Yang shuddered and knelt down beside him.

"You poor bastard," he said softly. The sword was nowhere to be seen. Had Cheng Xing known how to fight with it? He looked as if he had put up a fight. There were signs of a struggle on him. He had not gone down easily.

Staring down at Cheng Xing's face, Xue Yang remembered the man who had been left out to die on the street all those months ago. He was no stranger to corpses. They no longer bothered him, but for some reason he couldn't take his eyes away from Cheng Xing.

This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought. Cheng Xing was supposed to start a new life, to finally escape the harsh life he had lived up till now. He was smart. He could have made it, with a high-quality sword by his side and the skills to use it. Xue Yang couldn't understand how this could have happened, and at the worst possible time too.

Is this what Xiao Xingchen sees? he wondered. Someone's dead who shouldn't be. Something hot and bitter rose up in his chest. Cheng Xing hadn't been a friend. The two of them had barely ever interacted. But still, Xue Yang hadn't hated him.

He reached out to close Cheng Xing's eyes.

"Xue Yang?"

The world seemed to shatter, such was the concussive blow to Xue Yang's awareness. His vision fractured, his breathing stopped. In his head, distantly, he was aware of the passage of time and the movement of air. But within him, everything had gone into a spinning, chaotic mess of splintered thoughts and an overwhelming sense of panic.

He forced himself to look up, even though he knew his face was a terrifying mask of bruises and wounds.

Rounding the corner, with one hand on the underside of the bridge, was a small girl with white eyes. After seeing the ghost of Cheng Xing, Xue Yang wondered why he hadn't realized it before. A Qing was a ghost in the flesh. No wonder he had always been unsettled by her.

"A Qing."

It's not what it looks like, he wanted to say. But why would she ever believe him? Look, she was already drawing in her hands to her mouth, to force back a scream of terror at the sight of him. Look, there was the fear in her eyes, the recognition of who he truly was - a killer, a monster, a -

Xue Yang was struck dumb by a sudden realization.

She can see me?

Her eyes had focused on his face, had dropped down to the corpse at his feet, and then back to his face again. She was searching for an explanation in his face. Her eyes gazed right into his, pure white and incredibly unnerving. He had gotten used to that gaze sliding right past him. He had not realized what a thrill it was to have them finally focused on him.

For a moment, Xue Yang completely forgot about the context of this situation. He barked out a laugh, laughing out loud. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, like the inevitable pounding of drums right before an execution. He finally understood her.

"You little brat," he said wonderingly. "You've been lying to me this entire time. You can see."

He was surprised by the sudden rush of emotion inside of him. Awe, mostly, that she had managed to hide it from him, after all these years together. It made him want to laugh his head off. As it was, he was already suppressing mad giggles. He must have looked like a lunatic, covered in blood, laughing about this betrayal. But it had been a crazy evening, and he was reaching the end of his rope.

A Qing stood there for a moment, framed by the alleyway, and looked at him with tears in her white eyes.

Xue Yang stopped laughing. The lightness in his heart turned into stabbing weights, iron bars that drove through his chest and pinned him to the cold stone street. He realized that he had just broken her heart.

Then, A Qing turned her head to scream out into the streets. "Help! Help! Murderer! Somebody's been killed!"

Chapter Text

When Song Lan found him, Xue Yang was in chains, head bowed down, his long hair untied and spilling over his shoulders to hide his face. He was in a large iron cage, slumped on a wooden chair, his arms bound behind his back. For an instant, Song Lan wondered if the boy was showing remorse, and if he would find the boy's face streaked with tears.

The black clothing shifted, trembled, and Song Lan realized that Xue Yang was laughing. It was an incredibly childish sound, muffled and suppressed but unstoppable all the same.

His first thought was: Xingchen, ah Xingchen, I tried to warn you, but you're going to get your heart broken anyway.

He felt sick, but the magistrate had turned the matter over to him. Cultivators, even demonic ones in a backwater village like this one, had their own way of meting out justice. Even the murder of the head of a household was not enough justification for commoners to touch a cultivator.

Xue Yang was Song Lan's responsibility.

But staring down at this boy, Song Lan could not find the strength to lift his sword and strike the head off of the boy's shoulders. His arms were too tired. It took all of his energy to just step further into the room, and shut the door.

"Xue Yang," he said gently. He hated the fact that this boy had somehow wormed his way into the same part of Song Lan's brain that thought of family and home. He had only ever wanted to be left alone, and now it seemed as if everyone who barreled into his life would leave him anyway. He tried to channel that thought into anger, and sharpened his tone. "Xue Yang, look at me."

Xue Yang lifted his head. His hair was a mess, tangled around his pale face until he looked like a ghost. There was still a layer of black blood drying on his cheeks. His eyes had a mad gleam in them, but at least he had stopped giggling.

Impossibly, Song Lan's first instinct was to grab a wet washcloth and start scrubbing the filth off of Xue Yang's face. The words rose to his lips unbidden: Xue Yang, for heaven's sake, you're a grown man. What are you doing walking around with blood all over your face?

But that was another world, another lifetime ago. Instead, he asked, "Did you kill Cheng Xing?"

Xue Yang laughed bitterly. The smirk on his lips was so familiar. Song Lan had seen it across the dinner table when Xue Yang had made cruel jokes and made fun of A Qing. He had seen it as Xue Yang stared right into his face and laughed at his lack of proof, at his simmering frustration at having to allow Xue Yang to walk free. It felt like being spit in the face.

"Would you believe anything I say, Song Daozhang?" Xue Yang tilted his head back, relaxing into his chair, in his iron cage. "What worth do my words have, against that of a dead man?"

Song Lan pulled up a chair, and sat in it heavily. He had to lean on his sword for support, and even as his thumb stroked the sword hilt, he did not think he could summon the strength to lift it. Not yet.

Xue Yang was watching the movement of his thumb. He licked his lips, and smiled so falsely that it cracked the dry blood caking his face.

"Daozhang," he said. "That's the trouble with you righteous folk. You never stop to think about what the world looks like to people like me."

"Have you killed before?" Song Lan asked quietly. "Or was this your first time?"

Xue Yang's lips twisted, and he bowed his head again. "Why do you care? You're going to kill me either way."

Talk to him, Xiao Xingchen had said. You two are more similar than you know.

Staring at Xue Yang's mad devil-may-care smile, Song Lan thought he could finally understand. His heart twisted bitterly. Is this what you saw when you looked at me back then, Xingchen? This bottomless anger and despair?

Without thinking, Song Lan knelt down and took Xue Yang's face in his hands. The boy's skin was cold and clammy from the river. He felt like a corpse, but he hadn't been shivering. A spike of alarm shot through Song Lan.

"Xue Yang," he said gently. "I'm not going to kill you."

Xue Yang met his eyes. His voice was flat with disbelief. "Not until you have proof?"

Song Lan paused. Xue Yang kept his eyes on him and didn't look away. He had finally started to shiver. For the first time, Song Lan realized that Xue Yang was much younger than he had originally thought. Wet and bedraggled, with eyes that no longer shone with hostility, he really was just a scared kid.

This was easier when I hated you, Song Lan thought. For being there for Xiao Xingchen when I wasn't.

"Is there proof?" Song Lan asked.

Xue Yang looked like he was about to laugh again, the bitter laugh that he had been overwhelmed with before. But then he stopped.

"No," he said quietly. "I didn't do it, Song Daozhang."

In the other room, A Qing was having the most difficult conversation she had ever had in her entire short life.

She was explaining to Xiao Xingchen that she wasn't actually blind.

"I didn't mean to hide it from you," she said, her voice trembling. "Please believe me, Daozhang. I really - I'm really sorry for lying to you all these years."

Xiao Xingchen's expression was terrifyingly blank. Too many things had happened for him to process at once. A Qing's betrayal was only a small part of it.

Xiao Xingchen had come back to the sound of A Qing's muffled sobs, in the corner of the house where her bed was.

He had instantly dropped the basket of vegetables that he had been carrying in his arms. The basket bounced on the floor, dislodging its contents. Large carrots and onions and heads of lettuce rolled away from him. He rushed towards her.

"A Qing!" He had never heard her cry, not once. The sound of it broke his heart, and reminded him of how much of a child she still was. She sounded terrified.

"Daozhang," she lifted her head and reached for the sound of his voice immediately. His fingers grasped hers, and he pulled her into a hug. At the same time, he patted her face anxiously.

"Are you injured?" he demanded. "What happened? Where is Xue Yang?"

He felt her flinch at Xue Yang's name, and his alarm only grew. "A Qing," he repeated, feeling a thick terror filling up his chest. What has that boy gotten himself into now? 

"Xue Yang, he -" she had to force herself to stop crying, so that she would have enough breath to speak. When she finally spoke, her words struck Xiao Xingchen like a blow. "He killed Cheng Xing."

After that, she had confessed a whole mountain of things, secrets that she had kept in order to hide her ability to see, lies she had told in order to maintain her facade.

It turned out, this entire time, that A Qing had known far more than any of them had given her credit for. She had known about Xue Yang's demonic cultivation. She had known about his nightmares, how he kept trying to escape a place with black walls and bloody floors.

She had known all about his little tricks, and that several months ago, he had given a group of thieves the opportunity to break into their home and ransack all of Xiao Xingchen's things.

"He's not a good person," A Qing said through her tears. "Daozhang, no one knows this better than me. But he's like me. He didn't know how to be anything different. I - I also stayed with you because I thought I could use you, at first."

"A Qing," Xiao Xingchen said, heartbroken.

She reached for him convulsively, only to draw back, terrified that she would be slapped away. "I'm sorry," she said over and over. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you all of this earlier. I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Zichen always said that I was too naive," Xiao Xingchen whispered, almost to himself. A Qing stared at him, anguished. He pressed his hands to his face, and found that they were trembling.

Suddenly it was too much. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him.

He staggered and nearly fell. It was A Qing who caught him.

"Daozhang!" She sounded terrified. Her small hands guided him down to a sitting position. She pulled away briefly, and then threw her arms around him, offering support. He clung back on to her.

"I'm not sorry I met you," A Qing said fiercely. "Meeting you is what saved my life. If not for you, I would be dead by now, or worse. I hope you forgive me, Doazhang, but it doesn't have to be today. It doesn't have to be anytime soon. Just - " her voice broke briefly, and she clung on tightly. "Just don't make me leave. Please."

"You can stay," Xiao Xingchen said finally. His dizziness had passed, but he remained where he was, sitting on the floor. How pathetic am I? he thought. I'm being comforted by a child, and she's acting like the wiser one here.

"I promised that I wouldn't give up on you two," he said finally. "That's you, and Xue Yang as well."

He could feel her startlement, but Xiao Xingchen just drew in a deep breath.

"Help me up," he said to A Qing. "Let's go and see him."

Xue Yang stared at the family that he thought he had lost, and wondered if they had all gone mad.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Tell us everything you know," Song Lan said impatiently. "You heard him. You mentioned following Cheng Xing's ghost, and that it pushed you into the water. What else was there? Did you see anybody else near the scene? Can you think of any reason why Cheng Xing might have wanted to lead you to his corpse?"

"Slow down a minute," Xue Yang recognized this feeling in his chest by now. It was hope, and he still remembered enough to know that hope was a dangerous thing. "Why would you believe me? I've lied to you, all of you, before."

"We know," Xiao Xingchen said dryly. "But we're also going to hear you out. We gave you the chance to tell us everything before, Xue Yang. This is your second chance."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Xue Yang said.

Xiao Xingchen waited a moment.

"It seems to me," he said. "You're the one who has a hard time with belief, Xue Yang."

Xue Yang stared at him, shocked. He had never seen Xiao Xingchen like this before.

He wondered if any of them would really understand. Ghosts were something that freaked out most people, even cultivators. They had always lived their lives in a place where ghosts were simply something to be eradicated or purged, with the weight of purification tools and the might of their swords. They hadn't learned about ghosts the way he had, where the individual's thoughts and motivations were just as important as the amount of energy they held.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I'll tell you." Then an idea came to him, one that was both terrifying and exhilarating at once.

"Actually," he said, "I might be able to do you one better. I might be able to tell you exactly how he died."

Xue Yang took a deep breath. The next part was going to be the hardest bit.

"There's a demonic cultivation technique called Empathy," he said. "It involves channeling a spirit into your body in order to experience the moments before its death. I didn't learn it from the Lanling Jin Sect. I learned it on my own. The basics, anyway."

He didn't know why it was so important that they know this, that he had started down this path himself, had been brilliant and talented enough to do what no other kids on the street could do, had been clever enough to turn it all to his use. But none of it had mattered in the end. They had all been swept up, one after another, to study in the bowels of the golden tower behind locked doors.

There was a strange, strained silence in the room as the two other cultivators processed this. Xiao Xingchen had his fingers pressed to his mouth, shocked and barely hiding it. It was confirmation, in a way. Xue Yang had been living under his roof all this time, a demonic cultivator. He had admitted just as much.

Xue Yang took another deep breath.

"We could hit two birds with one stone then. If I use that on Cheng Xing's spirit, I may be able to find out how he died."

Song Lan was the one who got it first. He put his hand to his chin, suddenly looking thoughtful.

"No," Xiao Xingchen said. "Spirits are dangerous creatures. Channelling them opens you up to possession. Or it could drive you mad."

Song Lan laid an apologetic hand on his back.

"It's a good idea," he said gently. "If Xue Yang is not the killer, then Cheng Xing has all the incentive to point us to the real culprit. Even if it's dangerous, it's a way to clear up this entire situation in one shot."

"I'll do it," Xue Yang said.

Song Lan looked at Xue Yang. "Have you ever done this before?"

"No." Xue Yang shook his head. He had only read about it during his time at the Golden Carp Tower. He had grasped the basics of it, but had never really been interested in using it before.

"Wait, it's too dangerous." Xiao Xingchen cut off as Song Lan touched his arm.

"We don't have much of a choice," he said.

"I'll need someone to pull me out of my trance at the very end," Xue Yang said. His heart was beginning to hammer in his chest. He knew how to pull off Empathy, he wasn't the killer, but the risk was still there. Was this really happening?

"How?"

Xue Yang considered Song Lan for a moment, and then glanced at A Qing, who was sitting huddled up in the corner.

"A Qing," he said. "Are you still mad at me?"

Her white eyes raised to meet his. "Yes."

"Will you forgive me if I let you hit me over the head with your bamboo stick?"

This made her brighten visibly. "Sure," she said. "That sounds fair."

"Then it's settled." Xue Yang sat down against the wall, feeling the cold stone against his back. "If…. after Cheng Xing lets go of me, you're the one responsible for pulling me out of Empathy."

A Qing hopped to her feet and came over. She pressed reassuringly against Xiao Xingchen's side. "He'll be fine," she said to him confidently. Xiao Xingchen's worried expression did not change.

Xue Yang had seen enough. He closed his eyes.

"Come in," he said to the ghost of Cheng Xing, who had been hovering in the background for some time now.

The ghost leaned forward into him, and crashed into his body like a wave of cold water.

A full-armed slap hit him in the face, coming from a man that loomed over him, drunk and raging.

Instantly, Xue Yang was filled with a white-hot rage. He could not see for a moment, as his vision clouded over in black and red. The floor veered up dizzily to meet him. He realized that he must be a child, to get flung so far, and so easily.

The man's voice was a constant roar of filth and obscenities. A woman's shrill voice was overlaid on top of it, tearful and begging.

At last, the tumbling came to an end. Nausea still filled him, though, and shame and anger and beneath it all, hatred so strong that it weighed down his stomach like lead. The view tilted up as the boy looked up, and Xue Yang found himself staring into Cheng Xing's face, his narrow, unscarred, younger face. He was looking into a mirror.

Ah, he thought. So this must have been Cheng Xing's childhood.

Vaguely, the man's words filtered in through the haze that had formed in his ears. "- you're a lowlife slut, you know that? Bringing him into my house, bringing him under my roof. Have you no shame?"

"Please, please, he's going to die, he's just a child -"

"He's not my son. You may be my wife, but don't think I haven't forgotten -"

"- die on the streets. I couldn't just leave him -"

The man's arm came around to strike her as well, and the hatred inside of Xue Yang - inside of Cheng Xing's stomach - doubled like a billowing cloud of black energy. He tried to step forward, but the room around him spun, and whirled around, and then the scene changed.

.

The face that swam into view in front of him belonged to a woman - lined, older, but unmistakably the same woman who had pled for his life before. Her expression when she looked at him was unbearably pained, yet gentle. She brushed her hand across his face. Cheng Xing jerked away from her touch. He was older now, had been roving the streets for some time. He did not want others to see him with this woman, and draw a connection between the two of them.

"Have you been eating well?" She asked, pained with the knowledge that he must not have, with his skinny build and his tattered clothes. As she spoke, she dug into her pockets and produced several steamed buns, wrapped in a thin white cloth.

Cheng Xing's stomach growled loudly, but he did not take it.

"I heard you were leaving," he said. He refused to be bought off by food. "I heard your husband had decided to sell the shop, and move to another city. Where are you going?"

The woman's face fell. She looked to be on the verge of tears. "I don't know," she said hopelessly. "He did not tell me either."

Cheng Xing knew that he could not say take me with you. He also did not think he could follow them into a new city, into a strange new place where he did not know anyone and had no one to turn to. He felt a small cold lump settle into his stomach, fear, to soak up all the heat of hatred that had been there before.

"What am I to do?" he asked in a small voice.

The woman lowered her face into her hands, and began to cry.

As he watched her cry, Xue Yang thought now, that's just irresponsible. You were the one who brought this boy into the world in the first place, and now you're just leaving him? At least think of something for him to do, don't just sit there and cry.

Cheng Xing evidently had not expected too much help from her either. He gently prodded her: "Do you know who my father is, or where he is? I could try to go to him for help. I've heard that if he was a cultivator, families sometimes take in bastards as servants."

The woman sniffled and pulled herself together with a visible effort. "He was a passing merchant," she said in a voice that wavered between humiliation and pain.

"Then I can - !"

"Don't go to him!" the woman shook her head. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, cooling his burst of enthusiasm with the terrified look on her face. "He is not a good man. He will not take you in. He has a temper, even worse than my husband's."

Cheng Xing felt disappointment fill him like bitter medicine. "What am I to do, then?" he asked, but it was useless.

.

Other scenes passed by in a blur. Cheng Xing grew up on the streets, stealing what little food he could, working for what food he could not. He found others like him, and they roved the streets, preying on merchants and travellers.

Then the scenery became familiar - the muddy rivers and the high mountains of Yi City, the everpresent dark sky, the dirty streets, the gaunt faces of familiar townsfolk with their sharp tongues and harsh words. Cheng Xing was the oldest one now - the rest had either died of sickness or had simply disappeared. The other boys deferred to him not just because he was the oldest, but also because he had been around for so long that he knew where to find food and where to find shelter, and who they could steal from safely.

He saw from Cheng Xing's perspective as Xue Yang appeared under the bridge, cast in black shadows and a bloodthirsty smile. The shiver that ran down his back was not his own. Was this how others saw him? Cheng Xing and his friends had been terrified of him.

Once, that knowledge would have brought him joy. Now, Xue Yang just offered a short prayer, Cheng Xing, I know we hated each other, but after this is done, please let me go. 

Then he was standing with Cheng Xing on the street, only this time with their perspectives flipped. The sword given to him was Jiangzai, black and glinting in the weak sunlight.

Time shifted forward once again, and the sword was in his hands. He played with it, spinning it around, unsheathing and sheathing it repeatedly. It was fun and interesting at first, but he lost interest in it soon after. He wore it around his waist, but it was heavy and awkward, so he ended up strapping it to his back. That didn't work either, so Cheng Xing finally ended up just using it as a walking stick.

Xue Yang gritted his teeth and felt a burst of indignation. My sword!

But then they were in the place where Cheng Xing had been killed.

There was a man in front of him, kind-faced and unassuming. He did not seem like a cultivator, but there was an aura around him that Cheng Xing had come to associate with ‘other' people, people who were more dangerous than they seemed.

"I've been looking for you," he said. Cheng Xing held his tongue, and did not reply. Secretly, his heart was slowly constricting with joy. Had his father come to take him off the streets after all?

"You've given us quite a lot of trouble," the man continued.

Instantly, Cheng Xing felt the back of his neck prickle. It was a warning, but it came too late. He backed away, drawing his sword. It got snagged in its sheath, but the black surface of the blade drew all of the man's attention.

”Whoever you are,” Cheng Xing said. “Stay away from me.” Black wisps of smoke started to curl in towards him, from the walls, from the stone beneath his feet. It was a simple trick. Xue Yang had showed it to him, once, and with the sword, the demonic energy came to him all the easier.

The man smiled, and his smile was no longer kind. It was a wolf's smile, all red and bloodthirsty, having finally cornered its prey.

"Ah, I thought that you looked different, Xue Yang," the man said. "Rumors said that you had been hiding here all this time. I thought it unlikely, but it looks like it is you after all."

"I'm not - " Cheng Xing started, but then a sword glare flashed. Pain bloomed all along his chest and skull, and then the rest was darkness.

In the darkness, the kind of darkness that came from death, Xue Yang shivered uncontrollably.

So it was me after all, he thought. It's my fault that Cheng Xing is dead.

He recognized the killer's robes, if not his face. There were no other clans that could afford to send assassins with such fine clothing. The Lanling Jin sect had found him, it seemed. And they thought they had killed him.

"Cheng Xing," he said into the darkness.

Before him, materializing out of the black into a silvery form, insubstantial edges and seemingly filled with white smoke, the boy appeared. His eyes had empty spaces where the pupils were supposed to be. It was difficult to read his expression.

"I'm sorry."

It seemed so stupid, apologizing for getting someone else killed. Xue Yang felt sick. He wished he had never learned the word.

Cheng Xing said nothing, just continued to watch him with those eerie pupils. It reminded Xue Yang of A Qing, and of the lives that all three of them had led.

"If you let me go," he had to stop and swallow, even though he had no corporeal form. "I'll - I'll find the rest of your boys. You said that all of them died, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? I’ll make sure that they’re okay. I'll tell them what happened, the real truth. You didn't have to die, Cheng Xing, but if you destroy me now, you'll be trapped in a dead body until you turn into a ghoul and have to be put down. You could hurt your friends that way. Please, listen to me - "

The ghost reached out to stop him. His eyes were suddenly blazing with a white light, furious and bright enough to make Xue Yang's sight blur.

Swear it, he was saying, extending his pinky finger. An oath, then, as strong as they knew how to make it.

Slowly, Xue Yang extended his pinky finger as well.

"I swear," he said solemnly, and meant it.

Chapter Text

Xiao Xingchen leaned against the railing of the bridge. "I can't believe it," he said. "The Lanling Jin sect, researching demonic cultivation?"

"You should," Song Lan said. "You of all people should be able to see it clearly - how power-hungry everyone is here. The truth is, I've suspected this for a while."

This clearly came as a surprise to Xiao Xingchen. He jerked upright. "Really?"

"I've had several experiences with the Lanling Jin Sect," Song Lan explained. "Several years ago, they did a sweep of several cities, collecting all the orphans and homeless on the streets. They all disappeared, presumably relocated to a shelter, but not many people inquired after them."

Xiao Xingchen suddenly felt cold.

"Like I said. Those were dark times. I told you before, didn’t I? That the Lanling Jin Sect was always highly interested in demonic cultivation. A majority of the Yiling Patriarch's texts ended up in their hands."

"You've got to be kidding me," Xiao Xingchen breathed. "What should we do? It'll be difficult for us to accuse them of anything. They're one of the most powerful clans in the world."

Song Lan laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'll take care of it."

"How?"

"I'm going to send a letter to Nie Huaisang," Song Lan said. "He's the only person that would believe this."

Something inside Xiao Xingchen seemed to break. It felt like an icy shard had lodged into his chest, right underneath his collarbone. When he spoke, he barely managed to keep his voice steady.

"Oh. So when were you planning to leave?"

Song Lan felt as if the ground had dropped out from underneath him.

"What?"

Xiao Xingchen looked pale. His fingers curled tighter in against his stomach as if he felt sick.

"I assumed," he said unsteadily. "Once your investigation was finished - "

"I'm not leaving."

Song Lan couldn't breathe. All this time, what had Xiao Xingchen thought? That Song Lan was just going to show up and then leave? Were things between them really that unclear?

They were the biggest fools in the universe. Song Lan wanted to cry.

"Xiao Xingchen, I'm not leaving you," he said. The words were finally spilling out like he had wanted them to. "Ever. I finally found you again. I spent years searching for you. The thing with Xue Yang was just an excuse. I never intended to go back to Baixue Temple ever again. That place isn't home for me. You are. You and A Qing and even Xue Yang, the little brat."

Xiao Xingchen's face was flooding with color. His fingers unclenched and he started to reach out, only to stop himself. "Zichen, you don't have to - "

"Xingchen, listen! I want to stay with you forever!"

Dead silence, and Song Lan watched all of Xiao Xingchen's defenses crumble away like dust.

Song Lan softened his voice. "Do you understand now?"

"Yes." It was barely a whisper, but Song Lan relaxed. All the tension drained out of him. He hadn't realized how long he had been carrying that weight.

He stared at Xiao Xingchen for what seemed like ages, studying the familiar features of his face. Once, he had been afraid that he would forget them. Now, with their future stretching out in front of them like an endless road, he was sure that he would never have to worry about that again.

Xiao Xingchen seemed hesitant though. His fingers kept clenching and unclenching into loose fists.

"Can I touch your face?" Xiao Xingchen asked finally.

Song Lan froze. That was not the question he had anticipated. With a horrible shock, he realized that Xiao Xingchen had not expected Song Lan to allow it. He had never even tried to touch Song Lan, during all their years together. Once his sight was gone, and touch forbidden to him, it was no wonder that Xiao Xingchen felt so hesitant around him. Song Lan took a deep breath and steeled himself. He would never deny Xiao Xingchen anything he wanted, not ever again.

His silence went on for a beat too long, though. Xiao Xingchen's smile turned inward a little, as if he had to use it in order to support his fragile heart. "It's alright if you don't want me to."

"No," Song Lan reached out to take Xiao Xingchen's wrist. He marvelled again at how thin his friend had become, and he shoved down the despair that came at feeling the bones of Xiao Xingchen's wrist protrude so much. He took a deep breath, and raised Xingchen's hand to his face.

Still, Xiao Xingchen hesitated. His fingers curled in reflexively, inches away from Song Lan's skin.

"Please," Song Lan said, through a tightness in his chest that he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried. His voice came out in a near whisper. "Xingchen."

He realized that he was staring at Xiao Xingchen with an expression of pure desperation. He realized that he wanted Xingchen to touch him, more than anything else in the world.

Xiao Xingchen touched him gently at first, with light brushes against his skin, with just his fingertips. Song Lan held himself as still as a statue, forced his heart to beat steadily, forced his breathing to come evenly. The touches fluttered across his face, as light as a butterfly, landing briefly on the arch of his nose, the curve of his cheeks, the line of his jaw. Xiao Xingchen's fingers left traces of his warmth wherever he placed them, little residues of sensation. When they brushed across his lips, Song Lan realized that he had stopped breathing.

Their foreheads were pressed together, and in the space between them, the air was heavy with unspoken meaning. Every single one of Xiao Xingchen's touches felt like a revelation. Song Lan replied with his own touches, hesitantly tracing a line across Xingchen's cheek. He went dizzy at the sound of Xingchen's small gasp, and took it as an invitation to press his palm against the side of Xingchen's face. His fingers brushed into the hair behind Xingchen's ear, and after a moment, his thumb stroked boldly across Xingchen's lips.

Xingchen's sharp intake of breath was more than he could take. Song Lan reduced the distance in between their lips until they were just barely touching, as if that one breath had physically yanked him closer. He could feel every shallow breath that Xiao Xingchen made against his lips, like the barest hint of a breeze across his skin. He was paralyzed by want.

He didn't know which of them moved first, or maybe it was both at the same time. Xiao Xingchen's mouth was soft and a little cold from the winter air. With a rush of dizziness going to his head, Song Lan kissed him like he had always wanted to.