Chapter Text
They’ve delegated him to the fucking backseat.
Feng Xin slumps against the door and stretches out, letting his sneakers press against the spotless windows and smear dirt all over the glass. Fuck Hua Cheng, and fuck his stupidly expensive car, too.
"Play nice," Xie Lian chides softly, but what’s he going to do? Jump into the backseat with him?
Feng Xin throws an arm over his eyes, determined to make Xie Lian feel bad about persuading him into helping them move. “I didn’t agree to this,” he grumbles, neck uncomfortably stiff from where he lies against the armrest, “I told you I would help you move, sure, but I didn’t think he’d be here.”
A disbelieving snort. “We’re moving in together,” Hua Cheng drawls, sending him a faintly amused look from the rearview mirror. “If you thought I wasn’t going to be there, then you’re the dumb one, not me.”
There’s not much he can say to that, and Feng Xin just slumps further down in his seat, staring through the – noticeably dirtier – window, at the open sky above them.
If he had known that Hua Cheng would be here, then he wouldn't have offered to help. For a moment, he had thought that maybe Xie Lian had wanted to catch up with him, just like old times when things had been simpler, but then he had seen Xie Lian silhouetted against the sleek red of Hua Cheng's car and resigned himself to his fate. It's not like Hua Cheng has ever pretended to like him, has never even pretended to tolerate him, even though Feng Xin has tried for Xie Lian's peace of mind.
“Cheer up!” Xie Lian twists over the shoulder of the passenger seat, looking at him with a somewhat apologetic smile. “Why don’t we stop to get some food before we actually start moving, to make it up to you? My treat."
Feng Xin groans.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” The sound of typing fills the small cabin, presumably Xie Lian searching up the closest restaurant. “And if San Lang and I are going to be living here, then we need to know the best places to eat. You'll help us find a good place for lunch, just think of it as an adventure!”
He is hungry.
“Fine,” he snaps, “But only if your boyfriend is the one paying for it.”
In the rearview mirror, Feng Xin can see Hua Cheng’s eyebrow twitch.
“Of course, I’d love to,” Hua Cheng says, showing surprising self-restraint, “But only if you stop wiping your shoes on my windows. And also, only if you shut the fuck up and stop complaining about helping us move. Sound good?”
Feng Xin sits straight up, a retort on the tip of his tongue, when the entire car screeches to a halt – the sudden movement throws him forwards, sending him tumbling off of the seat and hitting the floor of the car with a heavy thud.
“What the fuck was that for?!” Feng Xin rubs his head angrily, grabbing the headrest of the passenger seat and hauling himself back up. While he doesn’t think that Hua Cheng would do something like this on purpose, would it kill him to be a little more careful? “That’s it, I’ve had enough of your –”
“You should always wear your seatbelt,” and with a gentle sigh, Xie Lian reaches over the middle of the car and flicks him on the nose. “What have I told you about safety?”
Through watering eyes, Feng Xin climbs back onto his seat, squinting at the road ahead, or rather, the end of the road ahead.
There’s a small statue in their path, so worn with time that it’s practically impossible to tell what it used to be, blocking the entrance to the tunnel. It’s dark in there, and Feng Xin can’t explain just what he doesn't like about it, just that he suddenly wants to leave.
“That isn’t your apartment,” is all he can say, a faint sense of unease slowly building in the pit of his stomach. “Let’s go back.”
“I think we took a wrong turn,” Xie Lian murmurs, and then he steps out of the car.
“If we took a wrong turn, then why the fuck are you getting out??” He turns to Hua Cheng for another voice of reason, only to see that he’s already outside with his boyfriend, staring up at the red tunnel in their way. “What the fuck are you two doing?”
“Why don’t we see what’s inside?” Xie Lian is already making his way into the tunnel, pulling Hua Cheng along with him. “Let’s go sightseeing, it’s our first day in this city, after all!”
The wind whistles by the car, towards the tunnel, but isn’t the wind supposed to blow the other way? Feng Xin can’t suppress the tremble that goes down his spine, the sudden feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong overwhelming him.
“It’s creepy,” he breathes, “It’s so fucking creepy, let’s go back.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Hua Cheng’s voice echoes through the tunnel, their footsteps getting farther and farther away, “Well, if you want to stay, we’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Dammit.
Dammit.
He is not about to get locked into the car.
“Fuck you guys,” Feng Xin mumbles, but he carefully opens the door and takes a step onto the gravel, tucking his keys into his pocket as he follows after them. “Wait up!”
...
The fields are impressive. Hua Cheng bullies him into taking couple’s pictures of him and Xie Lian, and Feng Xin reluctantly follows his instructions. He snaps some cutesy photos with Hua Cheng’s professional camera, but he can’t help but feel like – something’s wrong. Even as they walk along the meadow, a beautiful shade of green stretching as far as the eye can see, it still feels as if there's a persistent itch at the base of his spine, a voice whispering in his ear, of "Come a little closer."
“Can we go back?” Feng Xin drags his feet behind him, “This doesn’t feel right, and – and we’re going to be late to meet the moving truck if we stay any longer, and –”
“We’ll go back right after we check out that town,” Xie Lian promises, pressing his hands together in a plea. “Stop worrying so much, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! We’ll get out in time, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve set an alarm on my phone, so I’ll let you know when we need to leave.”
It's pointless to argue, so he bites his tongue, nodding stiffly.
They wander through the eerily empty streets. Feng Xin feels the unsettling weight of somebody’s gaze on him, but when he turns to look there’s nothing there. It’s creepy. It’s so fucking creepy, and he can’t help but shiver.
It’s useless to bring up his concerns, since Xie Lian will probably just tell him that he’s overreacting again, and he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Hua Cheng either. He keeps his eyes fixed on the rooftops, tightening his grip around his keychain, but nothing appears.
“A food stall!” Xie Lian tilts his head, confused. “But … there’s nobody at the counter.”
Hua Cheng observes the counter, poking his head into the back of the stall and presumably looking for any employees, before he waves a hand. “If you’re hungry, then just eat what you’d like. I’ll pay for it when the owners come back.”
The food is still warm, steam spiraling from the stacks of bowls splayed out over the table, and it smells absolutely delicious but something just doesn’t seem – right about all of it. Feng Xin takes a step back, unsure of if he’s just being overly paranoid or not.
“Are you sure about this?” Xie Lian hesitantly sits down at the bar, Hua Cheng taking a seat right next to him.
“Don’t worry, I have my card with me, just eat.”
This doesn’t seem like the best decision to make, but Xie Lian would never listen to him over his precious San Lang. A bitter feeling of jealousy rises in his stomach – the only reason why he even agreed to this trip was to help Xie Lian, not to play third-wheel to this disgustingly affectionate couple – but he quashes it down.
“I’m going to go,” Feng Xin takes another step back, “I'll wait by the car. Um. Have fun … eating, or whatever.”
“You should try some!” Xie Lian’s eyes are shining, in the way they always get when he does something particularly daring which in this case, seems to be eating food from an abandoned food stall. “Come sit with us?”
Now that Feng Xin thinks about it a little more, the whole situation is just a little off. A fully-stocked restaurant, surrounded by empty stalls? The lanterns hanging by the sides of the street are new, a vibrant shade of red, and yet the city looks so old. Did somebody come by to replace them, and why even bother if the city is just going to be empty like this?
“It’s so good! San Lang, you should try a piece …”
The happy couple are feeding each other slices of meat. Feng Xin pretends to gag, only to realize that he’s the only person in the street.
Ugh.
He turns and sets out to explore on his own, running his fingertips across the old buildings, making the trek up cracked, stone steps, carefully twisting one of the lantern’s tassels in his fingers; it’s strange how well-kept this city is, even though it looks to be deserted at the moment.
The maps that they had looked over hadn’t shown any sign of an abandoned city anywhere near the new apartment. Feng Xin distinctly remembers seeing a playground, the biggest attraction being maybe a small temple off the road; this place has to be at least ten times the estimated size of that temple, and so he pulls out his phone, intent on searching the name of this place.
… but he’s not getting any signal. Must be out of range.
(Wrong, something in the back of his head whispers, Xie Lian had the GPS working right outside, there’s something wrong, get out get out get out –)
Feng Xin turns back, only to realize that he’s forgotten the way from which he came. Which is – odd, to say the least. He could have sworn that the street behind him isn’t the same as the one he was just walking through, but maybe his eyes are just playing tricks on him.
Once, Xie Lian had told him that he’d be the first one to die in a horror movie. Feng Xin looks back on his actions and realizes that he’s been acting exactly like the protagonist’s friend, who dies first because they dismissed every single warning that the haunted ghosts or whatever gave them. Even if it is perfectly safe to be here, Xie Lian just ate unattended food – what if it’s poisoned, or something?
His eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, he decides, and he’s sure as hell not being paranoid!! He quickly walks back down the street, ready to force Hua Cheng and Xie Lian into leaving, because no matter if they call him a coward or not, he’s not dying here, not today.
The floor suddenly creaks beneath his feet and he jumps backwards, back onto solid ground. He’s reached a strange, wooden bridge.
But – he's certain that there wasn’t a bridge when he came this way before.
(What the fuck?)
He takes a step onto the bridge, carefully this time, leaning over the railing and taking a long look at the ground below. There’s a set of train tracks, winding from beneath the bridge to a place far, far beyond the horizon, and he barely has time to wonder are those still in use? when the shrill sound of a train whistle rings in his ears.
The train slowly putters down the tracks, and Feng Xin stops to watch, carefully sliding a finger along the grooves in the grain of the railing. It’s peaceful to stand here, just looking out at the golden sunset. Maybe he was just overreacting, and –
“You can’t be here.”
Feng Xin whips around, back hitting the railing with an uncomfortable thud, heart suddenly beating in his throat.
Beautiful, his mind whispers.
“Go back!” A hand slams against his chest, and he stares into dark, panicked eyes, having to look up just slightly to meet that intent gaze. He’s pushed again, almost tripping over his own feet as he stumbles backwards.
Silver hair flutters in the wind, and he can’t look away.
His hands won’t stop shaking and he sucks in a shaky breath, backpedaling a little faster. He hadn’t thought anybody else was here, so the person in front of him either has silent footsteps, or, like a spirit, appeared right behind him without a sound, and he’s not sure which idea is scarier.
The sun continues to set, their shadows stretching out along the floor as the light begins to fade, and the silver-haired – he must be a spirit, he has to be – spirit curses sharply, shoving him away to the edge of the bridge, eyes wild with fear. “It’s almost night!”
“I have eyes, of course I can fucking see that,” Feng Xin snaps back on instinct, before slapping both hands over his mouth, suddenly inexplicably scared. “I mean – I didn’t – I –”
“That means, you fucking idiot, that you need to leave, right now.” Unsteady, shaking hands guide him to the edge of the bridge, shoving him back onto the street. “I’ll hold them off, you need to go – go!”
Feng Xin can’t move, eyes fixed on the beautiful, ridiculously beautiful figure on the bridge, unable to tear his gaze away.
“They’re lighting the lanterns,” the person shouts, casting his gaze over his shoulder, “Go, I’ll buy you what time I can! Fucking – move!”
As if he’s in a dream, he tentatively begins to head back down the steps, hoping to all the gods that the spirit-person was just some lunatic in the streets of this forgotten city, and that the dark, foreboding feeling in his stomach doesn’t mean anything.
How’d it get so dark so fast?
The lanterns sway in the breeze as he goes by, lighting up the path with their scarlet glow – who the fuck lit them? He hasn’t seen anybody here, save for that weird (beautiful) spirit on the bridge, and yet every single lantern is beginning to –
He keeps his eyes on the road, but shadows are beginning to creep up at the edges of his vision. Feng Xin makes the mistake of looking to the right, just for a moment, and he sees strange figures, wreathed in black – ghosts, is his first thought, but there’s no way, there’s no fucking way – he sprints around them, trying desperately not to make eye contact because what the fuck??
Feng Xin’s brain won’t fucking work. He has to be dreaming, he repeats like a mantra, pinching his arms as if the pain will wake him up. By the time the familiar restaurant banner comes into view, his forearms ache all over.
“Xie Lian,” he whispers urgently, reaching out to shake his shoulder, “We have to go, right now – holy fucking shit!!”
He jumps backwards, sliding his keys out of his pocket and brandishing them like a knife, because that’s not Xie Lian.
A ferret – a giant fucking ferret lies there, curled up around a mountain of empty bowls, but those are Xie Lian’s earrings, and it’s wearing his white shirt, Feng Xin thinks, almost hysterically, and next to him – those are Hua Cheng’s boots, and –
Feng Xin takes another step back and trips over his own shoelaces, sprawling out onto the floor. “X-Xie Lian,” he gasps out, frozen with terror, “Hua Cheng? Is that – please tell me that isn’t you.”
A fox snaps at him, and Feng Xin can’t – what the fuck.
“Dammit!”
That’s Hua Cheng’s voice.
Hua Cheng, who’s probably the fox running in circles around the ferret’s body (Feng Xin is going insane, isn’t he?) continues to pace, mouth opening and words coming out of it. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize this place, shit! Shit! Gege, wake up!”
“Holy motherfucking god,” Feng Xin fists his hands into his hair and pulls, desperately trying not to think about – all of that. “I’m dreaming.”
“Feng Xin,” and the fox turns to glare directly at him. “You can’t help, you need to go!”
In his own, stilted way, Hua Cheng is giving him an easy way out. Too bad that Feng Xin is just as stubborn as he is, if not more.
“Shut up,” Feng Xin scrambles to their side, frantically thinking back that required first-aid class he had taken his first year in college, “He’s breathing, so no CPR, and I don’t even know how’d you try CPR because he has a fucking snout, where’s his nose –”
“You’re fucking useless!” Hua Cheng slams him to the floor with his tail, shoving him underneath the table.
He’s about to get back out when heavy footsteps echo throughout the entirety of the city, an oppressive silence ringing in his ears; Hua Cheng’s tail hangs over the table, hiding him from view.
“If you want to live, then don’t get out,” Hua Cheng warns him. “Stay down.”
The footsteps get louder and louder, until they stop right by Feng Xin’s side, white boots coming into view and Feng Xin might be terrified but he can’t help but notice that those boots look strangely … old? He hasn’t seen shoes in that style since he was in history class, seeing them on reenactors as they played out the Journey to the West –
“Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” a smooth, melodious voice sounds, “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I should have known it was you,” and Feng Xin has never heard Hua Cheng sound like this, cold and deadly and so, so fucking scary. “Get away from us.”
“And who’s this?”
The sound of jaws snapping shut. “Don’t touch him.”
“So this is the reason why you left.” The boots shuffle forwards, getting uncomfortably close, so close that Feng Xin can make out the golden threads embroidered along the sides. “A human. It’s so ridiculous that it’s almost funny – you left us all for this mortal?”
“Shut the fuck up. ” Hua Cheng’s voice dips an octave, rumbling and shaking the very ground they stand on, “Get away.”
Feng Xin was so fucking right about the bad feeling surrounding this garbage place. Unfortunately, he thinks as he stares at the shoes that are so close that he could touch them if he so much as twitched a finger, he’s a little late.
“Is that how you treat an old friend?” The voice practically purrs on the word friend, making Feng Xin think that this guy probably isn’t Hua Cheng’s friend. Just a hunch.
The tail in front of him swishes angrily, but thankfully it still blocks Feng Xin from view. “I won’t repeat myself again,” Hua Cheng growls. “Get away from me, or you lose your hand – do you think I’m fucking joking?”
“Mm,” and the man steps forwards, a smile audible in his voice. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be threatening me.”
Feng Xin clamps a hand over his mouth, scared beyond fucking belief.
The figure shifts, robes rustling as they begin to lean down, reaching out to push Hua Cheng’s tail to the side.
“Don’t you dare,” Hua Cheng growls, bright sparks of crimson beginning to light the air around of them, “Don’t you fucking dare, or I’ll –”
“But you’re hiding something from me,” the voice is just as unbothered as ever, a hand reaching past reddish fur to brush against the collar of Feng Xin’s shirt. “Who might this be? Another toy of yours?”
Silence.
Then the world explodes.
A hand grabs him by the collar and fucking – hurls him into the air, to a height that must be thousands of feet above the ground, the buildings like little dollhouses in his swimming vision; Feng Xin screams, floundering for a non-existent grip in the sky, mind racing with nothing but what the fuck?? Are you trying to fucking kill me??
A face appears right in front of his own, a hand-painted mask with a line down the middle. One half of the mask looks as if it’s crying, a teardrop carved into the wood, and the other half looks as if it’s laughing.
… it’s ugly.
(Feng Xin does not voice this thought.)
The voice that comes from behind that mask isn’t, though, ridiculously honeyed and pleasant to his ears, and it might have even been considered comforting if not for the wind roaring in his ears and drowning everything out but fear. “Who are you?”
Feng Xin's mouth opens of its own accord, as if compelled to speak, but all that comes out is an unintelligible jumble of “Fuck fuck fuck fuck what the fuck what the fuck I’m going to fucking die!!” He flails backwards, hands braced over his eyes, trying not to look at the ground hurtling towards them, and loudly curses his decision to even come and help Xie Lian move. If only he had stayed at home, maybe he wouldn't be falling to his death here.
“Tell me your name,” the masked man commands, and Feng Xin –
“Why the fuck would I tell you my name?!” Feng Xin keeps his hands firmly over his eyes, and he’s never been that religious but he finds himself praying anyway, “I’m about to die!! Get away from me, I’m –”
“I’ll save you if you tell me your name.”
Feng Xin has a hard time believing that, actually. “You’re not!!”
“If you’re not going to tell me your name, then I have no use for you,” and the mask vanishes from view, white robes reappearing at the very edge of his vision, next to Hua Cheng’s figure all the way down on the ground. “Goodbye.”
Thanks, Feng Xin thinks dumbly.
If he’s really going to die here, he’s going to haunt the shit out of Hua Cheng. He’s going to haunt Hua Cheng 24-fucking-7. He's going to make his life miserable for the rest of his days on this god-forsaken planet. He'll visit Xie Lian on the weekends, just to make sure he hasn't burnt his apartment down from his attempts at cooking, and – well, he’ll flesh out the details more when he’s already dead.
Feng Xin tilts his head upwards, gazing at the moon with a calmness he doesn’t feel, resolutely not looking at the rapidly approaching ground. He’s lived a pretty unfulfilling life, hasn’t he? No girlfriend, no boyfriend either, didn’t live long enough to graduate, didn’t even get to have a wedding –
"You idiot!"
He slams into something soft, the air knocked out of his chest with a small oof.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?!” A steady arm wraps beneath his thighs, the other securing itself behind his back, “I told you to run, and you didn’t listen!”
“Wha –?” Feng Xin peeks out from behind his fingers, coming face-to-face with the spirit from before; gorgeous, is the only thing his mind can come up with. He’s beautiful, although he looks angry at him right now, his brow furrowed in frustration. “I – what?”
“Shit,” the spirit curses, and behind him the sky is lit up in varying shades of red. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower is fucking protecting you, when’d you befriend him?”
Feng Xin swallows a scream as they twist in midair. “Befriend?!”
“He’s saving your ass right now!” They’re soaring through the streets, skimming the tops of the buildings in search of somewhere safe to land. “He’s never done that for anybody else, except for his – his lover. Is there something you want to tell me?!”
“I don’t even know you!” Feng Xin is so fucking confused. “And he’s not my lover, he’s not even my friend!”
He thrashes in the spirit’s grip, straining to make out Hua Cheng’s figure, far, far below. He’s not a fox anymore, back in his human form, arms wrapped protectively around the ferret’s – Xie Lian's – body. There's scarlet light coming his pointer finger, silvery butterflies fluttering by his side, one side of his face shrouded in shadow; he doesn't look human, Feng Xin realizes. He's starting to look more and more like one of the ghosts in the city.
The figure in white turns to look at them, stretching out a hand to presumably shoot them out of the sky, but Hua Cheng shouts something and the figure whips back around, the two resuming their fight.
Huh. Hua Cheng really is protecting him.
“Hold still!” The grip on his thighs tightens, and they plunge into a nosedive – Feng Xin isn’t proud of how he screams again, hands flying up to squeeze the spirit’s neck in a death-grip –
They land, tumbling over one another onto the roof of one of the small restaurants. Feng Xin grabs onto the ledge, steadying them both, and decidedly does not blush when he looks down and sees that he’s straddling the poor spirit’s waist.
He’s much heavier than the fragile body beneath him, the spirit lithe and willowy in comparison to his own build, and the spirit makes an audible wheeze as Feng Xin shifts backwards.
“Sorry,” Feng Xin whispers, “Sorry, sorry, sorry –”
The spirit really is beautiful, he thinks. Silver hair splays out on the tiled roof, framing a face of bewilderment, of exasperated fondness – strange, because Feng Xin knows that he’s never met this person before, but yet he can’t help but think that those features are familiar. He tentatively moves to get off, but the spirit sits up and grabs his wrists, staring at his face for so long that he feels the hot flush of embarrassment rising to his cheeks.
“Are you hurt?” Fingers press into his chest, his waist, his thighs, and the spirit must think that he’s helping but – anybody would be flustered if an unreasonably beautiful guy started feeling them up!!
“No, I’m fine, everything’s okay!” Feng Xin scrambles off of the spirit’s lap, turning his gaze towards the bright flashes of crimson and willing the color to recede from his face.
After a pause, the spirit comes to kneel by his side.
“I haven’t seen Crimson Rain Sought Flower in years,” he hears vaguely, “To think that he’s returned, and with you, of all people … is there anybody else with you?”
“Um. Xie – I mean, uh.” Feng Xin fidgets with the hem of his jacket, unsure if he should say. “I don’t think I should tell you any names, but he’s with his boyfriend. Or who I thought was his boyfriend. What’s even – what’s happening over there?”
“Oh. His boyfriend. That’s good.” The spirit seems – almost relieved. “To answer your question, Crimson Rain Sought Flower is distracting the Emperor from us.”
Another bright flash of scarlet light, and it begins to rain, sticky droplets of blood.
“Holy shit,” Feng Xin says numbly. He looks upwards, shielding his face from the onslaught of blood, only to see that the spirit is already covering him with an outer robe, clasping the topmost buttons around his neck. “Thank you,” he adds on in a whisper, carefully rubbing the cloth between his fingers, slightly in awe of the speed at which his life has gone downhill.
Across the small city, Hua Cheng howls with agony, his voice cracking with pain.
“You’ve gotten weaker,” that voice, taunting and amused, echoes in his ears and sends shivers down his spine. “Who’s that? They’re only weighing you down.”
“Get away from him!”
A deep laugh. “I have control over all of those who enter my domain. If you don’t behave, I’ll squeeze his brain out through his ears, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” The figure below strokes a finger under Hua Cheng’s chin. “Who would have thought that you’d return? And with a beautiful lover, to top it all off.”
The ground rumbles, the blood-rain coming down more heavily as Hua Cheng slams his fists against the dirt in bitter frustration.
“Don’t touch him,” Hua Cheng hisses, voice cracking. “If you don’t hurt him, I’ll surrender to you.”
“Hmm ..?” The figure leans down and plants a foot on Hua Cheng’s crumpled chest. “Tempting, but what about the other human? Tell me where he is, I don’t like uninvited guests on the best of days, reminds me too much of … you.”
A pause. “You didn’t kill him.” It’s not a question, but a statement. “Why? Are you losing your touch, old man?”
At his words, the man flinches, almost imperceptibly.
Hua Cheng is silent for a long moment.
Then he begins to laugh, a laugh that echoes throughout the entirety of the city – he clutches his stomach, entire body shaking with heaves of laughter, before bringing his hands together and shouting, “COME!”
Silver butterflies surge from the ground, spiralling into the night sky and extinguishing the golden glow of the lanterns, replacing them with a soft haze of silvery-blue. It’s dark, nothing visible except silver, silver, silver, screams erupting from fucking everywhere, panicked voices mixing together to create a deafening wave of sound –
The masked figure curses, just once, and claps three times to relight the lanterns, but the damage has already been done.
Hua Cheng finishes drawing an array on Xie Lian’s cheek, his finger dripping with blood, and grins. “Do what you will with me,” he laughs, spreading his arms out wide, “He’ll be safe, no matter what you do to me, Emperor.” Somehow, Hua Cheng manages to make the title sound like an insult.
What the fuck? Was Hua Cheng always like this? He’s definitely not human, but he’s also trying his best to protect Xie Lian from danger – what is happening?
“And for anybody watching,” Hua Cheng doesn’t make eye-contact with him, but Feng Xin feels a prickling sensation at the base of his spine, as if these words are meant for his ears only, “You better fucking get him out of here. I don’t care what you have to do, just save him, and – don’t tell anybody your name, whatever you do –”
“Be quiet.” The masked man slams a foot down on Hua Cheng’s neck, effectively shutting him up.
The sounds of the city slowly recede, all from a simple word from who must be the patron of this city. Feng Xin sinks below the ledge until only his eyes peek over, unable to look away but at the same time desperately scared to stay out in the open.
Hua Cheng’s body is limp, splayed out against the floor with his head at an odd angle from where he just got stepped on, and –
Is Hua Cheng dead??
“What a mess.” The masked figure plucks the ferret out of Hua Cheng’s arms, holding it by the scruff of its neck and inspecting it intently, stroking a pale finger down its flank. “Pretty,” he murmurs, “I’ve been needing a new coat, lately.”
Before Feng Xin can even move, the man pulls a sword from his belt, pressing the tip to the ferret’s fur.
A moment later, he makes a small sound of surprise, the sword jerking away and refusing to get any closer. The man chuckles, sheathing his sword with a dark “You never fail to surprise me … what did he call you? Oh, San Lang. It’s good to have you back.
But I can’t exactly leave your other friend in the city, unattended, now can I? Generals,” those spindly fingers snap, just once, and four figures materialize out of thin air, kneeling at his feet, “Spread out and find our … guest. Bring him to me, dead or alive, it doesn’t particularly matter, as long as you bring me something. Am I clear?”
Dead or alive?
Holy shit.
They’re talking about him.
Feng Xin swivels around, but the spirit that brought him here is gone, nothing but an empty rooftop left and what the fuck is he supposed to do??
He gingerly makes his way down the roof, flattening himself to the wall as footsteps rush past, trying to take measured breaths but it’s so fucking hard to stay calm when there are people out for his death. Feng Xin swallows the feeling of panic, hiding behind a crate and closing his eyes.
His options.
He needs to escape, but he can’t do it alone since he needs to get Xie Lian and Hua Cheng out of this place, too.
Xie Lian and Hua Cheng are in that masked man’s possession. Feng Xin is not going to try and fight him, that would be fucking suicide – the best he can do is to find out where they are, and then somehow wake Hua Cheng up so that he can deal with all of this crazy shit, but even then he’s not sure how powerful anybody is, doesn’t know jack shit about – any of this.
So he doesn’t fucking have any options, except to hide and find the exit, and then ram Hua Cheng’s car into the weird masked guy.
… except just as he thinks that, a head pops into view.
(Feng Xin isn’t weak. He was the captain of the archery club in college, and actually won a couple of championships before he decided that he needed that extra time to study. Plus, if he thinks far back enough, he tried a couple of martial-arts classes with Xie Lian, but that was before Xie Lian met Hua Cheng and stopped hanging out with him.
That does not, however, mean that he’s about to try and fist-fight this – this general. Fuck.)
“Found him,” a voice sing-songs, and Feng Xin takes one look at him, one of the figures that had been kneeling at the masked man’s feet, and fucking books it.
The crate shatters into pieces behind him, nearly drowning out the yelp of pure terror Feng Xin makes as he races through the streets in a blind panic, shoes sliding uncomfortably on the film of blood over the entire area. He slips, knees scraping against the floor, and before he can think of the horrors of injuring himself on foreign blood-soaked stones, a figure slams down in front of him.
A flash of gold – Feng Xin throws himself backwards, narrowly avoiding getting impaled by a sword strike, and almost just gives up right then and there.
This is what, the third time he’s almost died?
Feng Xin is having a terrible day.
“You’re kind of cute,” the man in front of him whistles lowly, crouching in between his legs before Feng Xin can even blink. “Do we really have to kill him? It’d be a shame to let someone who looks like this die.”
“Oh my god,” Feng Xin holds his keys out in front of him in trembling hands, as if he can protect himself with a couple of two-inch pieces of metal, “Oh god.”
“Not quite, though I’m flattered.” Golden eyes blink back at him, the man in front of him undeniably handsome, a self-assured smirk dancing on his lips, “To be your god would be an honor. May I have your name?”
Feng Xin raises his keys a little higher, ready to bolt.
If he remembers at least one thing from his childhood classes, it has to be: if your opponent is armed with a giant, steel sword that’s about the length of one of the street stalls, lifting it above their head as if it weighs nothing, you get the hell out of there.
(That might not be exactly what he was taught, but it’s close enough.)
Before he can run, though, the silver-haired spirit from before kicks the other person out of the way. “Back off!” The spirit snarls at the crowd that has begun to gather, brandishing a sabre that has to be at least twice his height. “He’s mine to catch, so back the fuck off!”
“I just wanted to have a little fun,” the first spirit pouts, before hanging his sword on his belt and turning away with a huff. “Well, whatever. When you’re finished with him, bring his corpse to the Emperor.”
Corpse??
Feng Xin wonders, not for the first time, if he’s dreaming all of this. He has to be, and yet the scrapes on his knees hurt so badly, his chest aching from where the masked guy from earlier yanked him into the sky, bruises on his thighs throbbing from where the spirit held him in a vice grip – pain means that it’s not a dream, right?
Fuck.
He turns and sprints down the street, skidding around the corner and narrowly avoiding a blast of pure energy that makes his hair stand on end with the sheer fucking power behind it. “Holy shit,” he murmurs to himself, “Holy fuck, wow.”
It’s sexy.
That's not what he should be focusing on, right now.
He squeezes through an opening in a stack of barrels, slipping in a puddle of blood and only barely managing to stay on his feet. His jeans are ruined, he laments, the scratchy feeling of torn denim rubbing across his stinging knees, but he ignores it and continues to run, blindly sprinting down any street he can see because he doesn’t know what else he can fucking do in this nightmare of a city.
The spirit’s voice is filled with frustration. “Stop running!”
“So you can kill me?” This is the worst day of his life. “Just leave me alone!”
He doesn’t remember the way to the exit, but a single silvery butterfly dances in his vision, and Feng Xin follows it because honestly. What’s the worst that can happen? He’s already pretty much doomed, at least he’ll get to die somewhere fresh and exciting, where Hua Cheng is leading him. Not that he's ever trusted Hua Cheng's judgement before – he trusted him once, the decision to come into this stupid city all Hua Cheng's idea, and look where it got him. Fuck.
To his surprise, the butterfly actually leads him to the exit, familiar steps coming into view except –
That river was not there before.
He stumbles to a stop, catching his breath on the bank of the river.
“Oh.” Feng Xin leans down, brushing his fingertips along the surface of the water as if to make sure that it’s real. “Oh.”
And if the blocking of the exit isn’t bad enough, when he raises his fingertips to the light, he can see the moon’s glow through his palms, like he’s fucking – disappearing, or something. “Holy shit,” he curses, staring at his hands in amazement, and the urge to cry nearly overwhelms him.
He came on this trip expecting maybe four hours of work at the most, moving crates and all three thousand of Hua Cheng’s ridiculous antiques into an attic, and what does he get? A whole fucking night of running for his fucking life, getting thrown into the air and nearly falling to his death, the pleasure of watching Xie Lian turn into a fucking ferret, the most beautiful man he’s ever seen chasing after him with a sabre (which, granted, wasn’t that bad) – and now, his fingers are disappearing.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Feng Xin mumbles, his legs giving out on him as he slumps against a partially submerged building, feeling almost numb now that the adrenaline has faded. “Fuck this.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” the spirit snaps back, voice lacking any real bite. “I just saved you, remember?”
Feng Xin picks at the fraying hem of his jeans, a desolate feeling of emptiness filling his stomach. “And then you tried to kill me, right after. Just do what you have to do, I don’t – I don’t care anymore.”
A long silence.
It’s broken only by the sound of waves lapping against the shore, a boat on the other side of the river beginning to make its way towards their side; Feng Xin inhales, a trembling thing, and turns his head to the river, watching the ferry advance.
“Give me your leg.”
He laughs, hollow. “Why, so you can chop it off?”
“No, just –” the spirit sighs, holding both hands out to show him that his sabre is safely tucked away in its sheath. “Just give me your leg, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Well. If the spirit really wanted to hurt him, he’d probably have done so already.
Feng Xin extends his knee, just slightly, towards the spirit. It aches, blood smeared over the scrapes, and the spirit begins to towel off the blood with a damp cloth, touching his skin with feather-light strokes. It’s surprisingly gentle, almost painless.
His breath catches in his throat. Each movement is so, so careful, the spirit treating him almost like glass, as if he’s something precious – which is strange, given how he doesn’t know who this is, doesn’t know where or if they’ve met before. This kindness, from someone he’s never even met, makes him feel as if – as if he's –
The spirit wraps a strip of cloth around the freshly cleaned scrapes, tying it all off with a neat bow. “There.”
“Thanks,” Feng Xin murmurs shortly, not trusting his voice right that moment.
“Do you … need anything else?”
What a stupid question, and yet his stupid eyes are beginning to water. “I want to go home.”
It’s like pulling a single handful of snow from a mountain, and inadvertently triggering an avalanche. Once he admits this one thing, Feng Xin can’t stop himself from spilling the rest of his jumbled thoughts. “I just saw my best friend get turned into a ferret,” he mumbles, still in disbelief. “That masked guy threw me into the air, and I was about to die before you caught me, and –”
He catches sight of the passengers on the ferry, weird, bleeding ghosts that are at least double his height.
“There are giant ghosts on that boat,” he whispers tearfully. “I’m going to be killed by all of those giant fucking ghosts, if I don’t die from being murdered by you and your other friends – I would have eaten with Xie Lian, if I had known it was going to turn out like this.”
The spirit scoffs. “You would have been turned into an animal, too. Probably a pig.”
“And being a pig would be better than freezing to death out here, wouldn’t it?” Feng Xin buries his head into his arms. “This is how it all ends, I’m going to die, I’m seriously going to die!”
That seems to get a reaction. “You’re not going to die,” the spirit snaps suddenly, dark eyes gleaming with something like determination, “Listen to me, okay? No matter what fucking happens, you’re not going to die.”
A small part of his mind desperately clings onto the idea that maybe this was all just a dream. For one, spirits don’t exist. Two, there’s no way someone like this is real, with lovely silver hair and eyes that shine brighter than the night sky above them – a figment of his imagination, he thinks, that’s all this is.
He commends his subconscious for its taste, though.
“Go away,” Feng Xin whispers, “This isn't real, I’m just dreaming.”
He reaches out for the spirit, breaking into hysterical giggles when his hand goes right through pale skin. “See? It’s not real, I’m just dreaming, none of this is real and I’m just going to wake up in our stupid car and it’ll be like nothing ever fucking happened, right? Hua Cheng's probably laughing at me, he's probably telling Xie Lian that they should drop me off at the nearest gas station and leave me there to get eaten by the rats. This isn't real, tell me this isn't real!"
A sharp inhale.
“Eat this,” the spirit says suddenly, grabbing him by the chin and pressing a smooth, round object to his lips. “You have to eat something.”
“Is that going to turn me into a pig??” Feng Xin tries to jerk away, resolutely not thinking of how the fingers cupping his jaw feel so cold and so, so real. “I don’t fucking want it, go away!”
The spirit splutters, turning red with frustration. “You just said you would rather be a pig than to be out here!”
“Well – well – I changed my mind!” Feng Xin squeezes his eyes shut, praying to every god he knows to wake up from this nightmare. “Fuck you, fuck you so fucking much, I hate this, I want to go home, I'll move ten thousand of Hua Cheng's antiques if it means I'll get to go home, just let me wake up, I don't want to be a pig even in a dream –"
“This isn’t going to make you into a pig, okay?!” Cold fingers press against his lips, a hard candy held in between them. “Just eat it!”
Feng Xin shakes his head desperately, squirming backwards. “Go away!”
“Look,” the spirit makes his voice a little softer, obviously trying to be kind despite his harsh words, “Even if it did turn you into some kind of monster, look at it this way: you still wouldn’t be as ugly as you already are.”
He can’t help but laugh in surprise, and quick as a flash, the spirit pushes the candy into his mouth. It’s strangely sweet, and Feng Xin instinctively bites down – the syrup reminds him of one of his favorite candies, when he was young and the corner store hadn’t run out of those hawthorn pieces, and he swallows.
The effect is almost instantaneous. The feeling of static fades from his fingertips, the color visibly beginning to return to his hands as he watches in slight awe.
He licks his lips for any syrup left, and accidentally swipes his tongue across the spirit’s fingers. The spirit presses his thumb a little further into his lips, an unreadable expression on his face, before slowly withdrawing. “See? Was it so bad?”
“Whatever,” Feng Xin croaks, suddenly embarrassed of how vehemently he had refused.
“You’re fucking welcome,” a hand slips into his own, the spirit beginning to tug him upwards. “We can’t stay in one place for too long, he’ll find us if we don’t move.”
The urgency in that voice surprises him, and Feng Xin takes a shuddering breath, digging the heel of his free hand into his eye. "I'm not dreaming, am I." It's not a question, but a resigned whisper. "Xie Lian, and Hua Cheng, they're both – they're both ..."
“You can’t see them now,” the spirit squeezes his hand as if to comfort him. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to them after you get somewhere safe.”
Feng Xin has no choice but to trust him. He tries to get his feet, legs numb from how he’s been sitting on them, when the air gets knocked out of his lungs as the spirit slams him against the wall.
“Quiet.”
He doesn’t dare make a sound.
A figure, clothed in pure white, soars through the air, barely able to be seen against the rapidly darkening sky, and the spirit crowds him a little closer to the wall as if trying to hide him. The smell of petrichor and fresh jasmine flood his senses, and Feng Xin can’t help but bury his face into that shoulder, trying to steady his breathing but oh god he’s fucking terrified.
The spirit pushes a little closer, one hand splayed out against the wall while the other rubs slow circles into his back.
Feng Xin squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to think about the masked figure in the sky (scary) while also trying not to think about the gorgeous spirit hovering over him (stupidly pretty). He's so close that Feng Xin can feel his cool breath on his skin, so close that he’s sure the spirit can feel his thundering pulse, can probably feel staccato beats tap-tap-tapping against his chest –
“He’s looking for you,” the spirit pulls away all too soon, grabbing his hands and beginning to tug him to his feet. “We don’t have time, you have to go.”
His legs won’t listen to him.
“I can’t,” Feng Xin whispers, staring in horror at his legs that won’t move, “I can’t feel my legs, is this a side-effect of that weird candy you gave me?”
“Don’t be stupid,” the spirit snaps, but he kneels down to inspect his legs anyway. “Just close your eyes.”
Feng Xin does so, taking a shaky breath, and cool fingertips brush over his thighs, a barely audible chant echoing in his ears. It feels vaguely as if a heavy weight is being lifted from his bones, and Feng Xin exhales, a long, drawn-out sound.
“Stand up,” the spirit commands, and Feng Xin gets to his feet, stumbling a bit but catching his balance by clutching at the spirit’s shoulder.
Immediately, they make a run for it, sticking to the cover of the countless buildings lining the streets. It’s nerve-wracking, the spirit keeping his eyes on the sky while maneuvering effortlessly through the winding road, dragging him around shadowy figures and somehow managing to keep them centered despite the fact that the spirit isn’t even looking at where they’re headed.
“Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Fucking – let me focus,” is all he gets in reply, and Feng Xin snaps his mouth shut. This is who his life is depending on? Unbelievable.
He’s dragged along alleyways and paths of stone – he trips over an uneven step and the spirit catches him with a bitten-out “Be careful,” right before they’re sprinting down another street. Lanterns glow along the sides of the alley, illuminating his savior’s sharp features, and it strikes him then, the beauty of this spirit.
Figures. He’s running for his life (fucking again), and the only thing he can focus on is the lovely silver hair dancing in his vision.
They barrel straight towards a door, and right before impact the spirit flicks his wrist and the door slams to the side; Feng Xin can barely scream before they jump off of the platform, his joints groaning in protest as they slam into the floor, but he doesn’t even have a moment to rest as he gets dragged through a warehouse filled with animals, and –
Animals of all shapes and sizes fill the room, but no ferrets appear, and Hua Cheng doesn’t appear, either. Feng Xin’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse.
He continues looking over his shoulder until he can’t see the soft lights of the warehouse anymore.
Their frantic pace finally slows as they reach a gate, the spirit taking his shoulders and whispering something – a spell, probably – sealing it with a flick on the forehead.
They’re back at the bridge, Feng Xin realizes, except the bridge had been empty the last time he was here, soft golden sunset illuminating the wood of the posts and making it seem like a scene from an idyllic storybook. Now, the only light comes from the scarlet lanterns hung on the sides of the bridge, darkness dancing at the corners of his vision, and those ghosts from earlier mill about on the wooden planks, some with limbs missing and blood dripping from various wounds – one of them has their severed head in their hands, and Feng Xin feels vaguely nauseous.
“When we cross, you’re going to need to hold your breath,” the spirit instructs him, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. “If you take a breath, my spell will break and everyone will see you, which is what we’re trying to avoid.”
Feng Xin trembles. He’s never been a coward, but there are fucking monsters on that bridge, giant ghosts and weird demon-things and creatures he’s only ever seen in movies – he tries to swallow his fear, but his hands won’t stop shaking and he desperately wishes Xie Lian were here. Hell, he’d even settle for Hua Cheng at this point. Hua Cheng would make fun of him for being so scared, but at least there would be someone he knows here with him.
“Are you scared?”
He turns away, embarrassed. “N-No,” he protests, weak even to his own ears, “I’m not.”
A weary sigh.
“Hold onto me,” the spirit murmurs, offering him his hand. “You won’t get hurt as long as I’m here, so just hold onto me.”
Feng Xin hesitates just slightly, but there’s practically nobody else he can trust right now. He gingerly intertwines their fingers, stepping closer and gripping the spirit’s shoulder as tightly as he can with his other hand.
“Take a deep breath,” and the spirit nods at him, squeezing their joined hands in a reassuring grip, “Now hold it.”
They set off over the bridge, mingling with the crowd as they begin to cross. The ghosts around them scramble out of their way, staring up at the spirit with wide, terrified eyes, and Feng Xin swallows a little nervously – why are they so afraid? Should he be afraid, too?
When they’re halfway across, the wood beneath their feet begins to rumble. “Don’t breathe,” the spirit hisses, “It doesn’t matter if you pass out – I’ll drag your body off of the bridge myself if I have to – so just don’t fucking breathe.”
Feng Xin bites back a sharp retort, but concedes.
The bridge shakes more violently, ghosts near the edges of the bridge bucked off with the movement. “The Emperor has called for inspections of all patrons,” a sickly sweet voice calls from the end of the bridge, “Terribly sorry, but it’s the Emperor’s will …”
“Don’t panic,” the spirit whispers, “They won’t inspect me,” and then he strides forwards, brushing straight past the smiling guards and taking a step off of the wooden planks, finally reaching the solid ground.
Before Feng Xin can follow – “Hey, Xuan Zhen!” The general from before, the one with the golden eyes, pats the spirit – apparently named Xuan Zhen – on the back. “Did you kill him? You did, didn’t you? Well, let’s drink to celebrate!”
“Save it,” Xuan Zhen snaps, holding Feng Xin’s hand a little tighter. “Pei Ming, I’m never going to drink with you, stop fucking trying.”
“One of these days ,” Pei Ming snickers. “Why don't you tell me how the chase went over a glass of wine? It's a pity you had to kill him, he was really cute –”
“Quiet.”
“Touchy, touchy. C’mon, you really have to unwind, when’s the last time you got laid –?” and a hand comes down on Xuan Zhen’s shoulder, right where Feng Xin is clutching to his robes –
The hand slams straight into Feng Xin’s fingers, and he can’t help it, he sucks in a sharp breath of surprise.
Oh, he realizes, watching the man’s face melt into confusion. Fuck.
“What’s … this?”
Xuan Zhen wastes no time – he slaps the man across the face, shoving him over the railing of the bridge, and shouts a simple “Run!”
When it’s clear that Feng Xin is frozen with horror, Xuan Zhen yanks him along, weaving effortlessly through the crush of people, shoving patrons out of the way as they run from the bridge. The air buzzes with the sounds of screams, of shouts (Feng Xin vaguely hears a “He just slapped me – did you see that? Did he really just fucking slap me?”) before Xuan Zhen throws them both through a small, wooden gate.
It’s so fucking loud, people still screaming General! Where’d he go?! General Xuan Zhen, there was a human, come back – General –?!
They come to a stop, hidden among the bushes in a small garden.
Feng Xin takes deep breaths, resting his head against his knees. “I fucked up,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“You did surprisingly well,” Xuan Zhen clasps his hands in his own, giving him a – a not-quite smile, but it’s not a frown, either. “Listen to me, you did fine. It was his fault – trust fucking Pei Ming to fuck everything up – but it’s okay.”
He can’t help but shudder, hand tingling from where the other spirit touched him. “I’m really sorry.”
“Listen to me,” and Xuan Zhen stares right into his eyes, the firm set of determination resting on his elegant features, “Don’t apologize. I’m your – your –” his face goes red, “Your f-f-friend, okay?”
From bitch-slapping that guy named Pei Ming, to stuttering on the word friends – the duality of this spirit never ceases to amaze him. He laughs, almost incredulously. “F-Friend?”
“Shut the fuck up,” the tips of his ears are glowing a soft pink, “I’m your friend, so – so just listen to me.” Xuan Zhen leans in a little closer, so close that Feng Xin can make out little pinpricks of light reflected in his irises. “Go down the steps, and there should be a door at the bottom. You’re going to go inside and ask for Ling Wen; she’ll be harsh, she’s kind of a bitch, but just ask her for work.”
“Work?”
“If you don’t work, you’re going to be turned into an animal, like your other friend, Xie Lian.”
Feng Xin blinks. “I don’t think I ever told you his name.”
“That doesn’t matter,” and Xuan Zhen takes him by the shoulders, staring deep into his eyes. “Look, Feng Xin, you need to work, so make a deal with the Emperor. He can’t refuse you if you keep asking, so just don’t let up.”
“I didn’t tell you my name, either,” Feng Xin whispers; his name sounds beautiful when said in that voice and he flushes, mouth parting in confusion. “How did you –?”
Xuan Zhen shakes him back and forth, face returning to its default expression of frustration. “Listen to me,” Xuan Zhen hisses. “You can’t tell him your name. Make up a new one, I don’t care, just – you can’t give him your actual name. Are you listening to me?”
“General Xuan Zhen!”
A bitten-off curse. “Keep your head on your shoulders,” Xuan Zhen pulls away, giving him a sharp nod. “Follow my instructions, and you’ll be fine.”
He stands up to leave, and Feng Xin suddenly – desperately – doesn’t want him to go. “Wait,” he whispers, grabbing his wrist, “I don’t – do you really have to go? Please don’t go,” Feng Xin pleads, “Please, I don’t want you to leave.”
Xuan Zhen’s face softens.
“You’ll be okay,” Xuan Zhen squeezes his hand one last time, before stepping away. “Feng Xin, you’ll see me after you get a job. You’ll be okay, I promise.”
His heart beats a little faster. “How did you know my name?”
The very wind stills.
“You told me your name, a long time ago.” Xuan Zhen turns towards him, a small smile on his face, barely able to be seen in the dim light. “Feng Xin, you’re not allowed to die until you give me what you promised. I’ll be waiting.”
And with that, he disappears around the corner, barking out a sharp “I’m here, calm down. What’s the situation? Don’t tell me you’ve seen the human ...”
It's a long while before Feng Xin can muster up the brain power to think about Xuan Zhen's words.
So Feng Xin has met the spirit before, and apparently promised him something, yet no matter how hard Feng Xin tries to remember, he comes up with absolutely nothing. He doesn’t think that he’d forget a face like that, though – Xuan Zhen is just so, undeniably beautiful.
It’s no use thinking about that now.
Feng Xin takes a deep breath, crawls to the staircase at the edge of the garden, and stares at the steps below.
There’s no railing. If Feng Xin slips off the edge, he’s going to hit the ground below and all of Xuan Zhen’s efforts to get him out of here alive will have been wasted. There’s no fucking railing. Who the fuck built this? There’s seriously no fucking railing?
“This fucking sucks,” he says to himself, before slowly beginning to descend.