Chapter Text
“Chengzhu. We may have found him.”
The words cut through the silence like a sword through wet paper. Yin Yu had not spoken loudly, but in the vast, echoing halls of Paradise Manor, he might as well have screamed.
The chengzhu of Ghost City was sitting in front of a low table, his back straight and a paintbrush in his hand. It was one of the many things that Crimson Rain Sought Flower had mastered over the five centuries of his life and death, and though his artwork could not be called refined, it had a primal vibrancy that spoke to those who saw it.
For a moment, he didn’t give any indication that he had heard at all, except that the paintbrush had paused halfway through a stroke. Then, Hua Cheng carefully placed the brush off to the side, as if he couldn’t trust himself to finish the painting.
He had heard those words several times over the last five hundred years. Each time, chasing a thread that would ultimately lead to nothing — a phantom who seemed to vanish just when Hua Cheng thought he had found him.
“Where?” he asked.
“The kingdom of Yong’an.”
Hua Cheng’s dark eye moved down to the half-finished painting. Carefully, so as not to smudge the wet paint, he pushed it away from him.
“Where did this information come from?”
“A ghost who witnessed some unrest in the kingdom’s capital. He knew that — that you were searching for someone, and he says that he may have seen him there.”
Hua Cheng’s face tightened into an odd expression. It was if something pained him, and at the same time he was ravenously hungry.
“Do you have this ghost?” he said in a low voice.
“We do. He tried to flee when he realized that one of your spies had heard his stories, but I’ve placed him in one of the cells.” Through the holes in his ghost mask, Yin Yu’s eyes are measured, cautious. “Shall I bring him to you?”
“Yes.”
Yin Yu bowed and left the room, his black clothing melding into the shadows outside the room.
Hua Cheng picked up the paintbrush again, and studied the painting in front of him. It was of a young man dressed all in white, with wide innocent eyes and a sword held in one hand. His other hand hadn’t been painted yet, but Hua Cheng already knew that it would hold a white flower.
Outwardly, he showed no signs of the tempest raging inside him. To the rabble ghosts of the world, he was the Chengzhu of Ghost City, one of the four Calamities, the Crimson Rain-Sought Flower that made even the gods tremble. The lesser ghosts lived in perpetual fear of displeasing him, and would obey him unquestioningly. If he ordered them to do something — such as finding a missing person — they would scour the earth to find that person.
It had been five hundred years since he had last seen that person. Now, his search might be over.
Hua Cheng’s long, slender fingers dug into the edge of the table. He had allowed himself to hope many times over five hundred years — too many times. He would never give up — never stop looking — but he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be another dead end, leaving him frustrated and angry at a world that kept him apart from the one he sought.
He put the paintbrush down again, and swiftly rose to his feet. One hand slipped into his robes, and found the pair of dice he kept on his person at all times. He had developed them not long ago, and had found that they were very useful when he needed to travel in a hurry.
He might need them to go to Yong’an tonight.
Then he tensed. Someone was approaching. He could hear chains clinking and loud thudding footsteps… and a voice whining…
“... don’t want to see him! If he hears what I have to say—“
“Be truthful, and nothing bad will happen,” Yin Yu’s voice said calmly.
“If you're so sure about that, why don’t you tell him what I saw?” the whiny voice said shrilly.
Yin Yu remained silent.
“Can’t I just tell ya what I saw, and you tell Chengzhu? He wouldn’t want to hear from trash like me! Just let me go and I’ll—“
“Shut up. Chengzhu wants to speak with you, and he will.”
Normally, Hua Cheng might have derived a little amusement from this strange ghost’s obvious fear of him. Everyone was afraid of him — almost every ghost knew of him and feared his power, unless they were a deranged simpleton like Qi Rong. Even the gods had learned to fear Crimson Rain Sought Flower, which gave him a savage pleasure to think about. He despised them and their corruption, their callousness, their arrogance.
There was only one person he didn’t want to fear him. If that person was afraid of him, he didn't know what he'd do.
But he couldn't feel any enjoyment today — only a bone-deep tension, like a guqin string about to snap. His fingers itched, and he had to curl them into fists at his sides.
Yu Yin dragged the ghost into the hall, and Hua Cheng gave it an appraising look. It was a pitiful specimen, in his opinion — a scrawny, flabby creature with the bulging eyes and wide lipless mouth of a frog. It was wrapped in magically-binding silver chains that would tighten the more the prisoner struggled.
When it saw him, its eyes bulged even further. “Oh great chengzhu!” it wailed. “Please forgive me for disturbing your peace — I didn’t wish to bother you with my useless stories—“
“Shut up,” Hua Cheng said harshly.
The frog immediately stopped talking. He was visibly shivering now.
“Tell me about this man you claim to have seen,” he said.
The frog gulped a few more times. “I-I-I had heard that your mightiness had been looking for an immortal man from the dead kingdom of Xianle. One who’s very good with swords.”
Hua Cheng’s eye flashed. “Go on.”
“Well, I was in the kingdom of Yong’an, and I-I-I don’t know if you know this, Chengzhu, but the entire royal family was murdered some years ago.”
Hua Cheng had known, and hadn’t cared. He had hated the kingdom of Xianle when he had lived there hundreds of years ago, but had fought and died there for the sake of someone who prized it. As for Yong’an, it was just a decadent kingdom that rose from the ashes of another kingdom just like it, only with less to recommend it.
“What does that have to do with the man I’m seeking?” He asked brusquely.
“Th-they say the state preceptor murdered them in cold blood,” the frog continued. “He had a black sword, and—“
Hua Cheng turned sharply towards the frog ghost. The braid in his hair swung in an arc across his face, the coral pearl gleaming in the lantern-light. His face had been cold before, but now it had a wild starkness, as if he were about to lose control and start slashing the room apart with his scimitar.
“Did you say a black sword?" he said in a soft, deadly voice.
The frog nearly fainted, and his green face blanched almost white. Trembling, he nodded. “Y-yes — a very cold sword with a — a black blade with a small thread of white. I saw it myself, lord chengzhu!.”
Hua Cheng felt his fingers trembling, and quickly curled them into fists. Could it be him? The state preceptor murdering the royal family didn’t sound like him, but… but the sword had been his. Hua Cheng remembered that sword like he remembered the feeling of his father's fists — a pain that was engraved into his soul. He would never forget the sight of it sliding into Xie Lian’s ravaged body over and over and over, while his god screamed for death to take him and Hua Cheng screamed in agony watching it happen—
“Chengzhu?”
Yin Yu’s voice broke through the bloody memories, forcing Hua Cheng back into the present. His fingernails were biting into the flesh of his palms, and his teeth were tightly clenched together.
He had to know. That cursed sword had belonged to Xie Lian when Hua Cheng had last seen him — he might still have it, even after what it had done.
“This preceptor,” Hua Cheng said hoarsely. “What does he look like?”
“I — I don’t know, chengzhu.”
Hua Cheng’s eye opened wide, his pupil flaring. It was the eye of a man about to do something violent, something outside his usual control.
“Liar,” he snarled quietly.
The ghost threw himself to the floor and wriggled like a dying fish, with fat tears streaming from his eyes. “I’m not lying, chengzhu, I swear! The preceptor wore a silver mask when I saw him! I couldn’t see his face at all!”
It took all of Hua Cheng’s self-control to not unleash a swarm of silver butterflies with razor-sharp wings. He had to calm himself. He had to find out about this state preceptor — where he was — who he was —
“How do you know he was from Xianle?” Yin Yu said suddenly.
The frog was sniveling so hard that he could barely be understood. “I—I saw him for a f-few minutes. S-silver m-mask and robes b-black as night. He s-said something about b-being tired after five hundred years — and that he had to do something for Xianle’s p-people. He kept saying it over and over…”
“Take me to him,” Hua Cheng said coldly. “If you’re telling the truth, I’ll reward you.”
The frog paled so much that he almost turned yellow. “I can’t! I can’t!” he gulped.
Rage blossomed inside Hua Cheng. He hadn’t searched for five hundred years to be thwarted when he was close — so close that he could almost see the face of his fallen god. He was not going to let this slimy nobody keep him from finding Xie Lian.
“Tell me where to find him,” he said icily. “Or I will—“
The frog let out a pathetic wail and threw himself in front of Hua Cheng’s boots. “Spare me, Chengzhu!” he moaned, fat tears streaming from his bulbous eyes. “I can’t take you to him because he’s dead! The crown prince killed him twenty-six years ago!”