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“What a tricky one you are Black Water.” Crimson Rain smiles unnaturally from his perch in the tree, panels of his tunic swaying in the light breeze. The very picture of calm.
He Xuan does not emerge from shadow, there’s no need. His fellow Supreme can see him well enough, why exert the precious energy to step forward just to meet another’s judgemental gaze?
“His Highness mentioned you’ve been lurking recently, I can’t imagine why.”
Down the hill where the trees grow sparse, two figures share a bright conversation. One in white and more reserved, while the other carries on cheerful and loud. Voice echoing through branches and the distance does little to soften the brash tones.
Happy.
Always happy. Always loud and excitable even with new bandages and a lean face.
Always so damn happy.
He Xuan does not answer, or blink. So easily losing the habits of the living, of the gods, for the cold stillness of death’s performance. He was not like Hua Cheng, he did not have a reason to pretend to be otherwise, to imitate warmth they will never get back.
Down below a man’s laughter is like many bells clashing violently together and somewhere water like ink begins to boil upwards from the ocean floors: Hungry in memory.
“So. Silent treatment eh? How boring.” Crimson Rain chimes with silver jewelry as he slips down from the tree branch above. Landing soundless, not a hair disturbed from the motion. He gives He Xuan his space but is already too close. Too familiar with the one he caught on this sunny day.
“Say something interesting and I might respond.” He Xuan rebuffs without movement, his gaze battling his shame for the strength to turn away. To stop watching the form below with a lax arm and bruises on his shins - new calluses and scars on his fingers.
“How about,” Hua Cheng hums, scuffing boots on the dirt floor as he keeps his eye on the happy picnic goers below (but his aura is cold and spreading, a warning should He Xuan mistake his friendly greeting for carelessness). “How lovely a job you did repairing a former Wind Master’s fan?”
Black Water does not flinch, but he does sink into himself. Withdraws the shadow of his presence unintentionally like a dog retreating to it’s home.
Shi Qingxuan sits on the stretched blanket below sharing a meal with His Highness. Taking only what he is offered, a polite starving man who is too ashamed or prideful to take more when given. His clothes are dull, too large for his fading frame (week after week getting thinner. Slower. Paler) and he looks small like he never did before.
In his lap sits a fan.
Too fine an object to be in the hands of a poor man, but kept safe and close regardless. The only symbol of his former life beyond the lingering elegance of his features. The way something forged regal cannot forget how it felt to carry oneself under the weight of decadence. The fan is a not-so subtle reminder of many things, and He Xuan tried to scrub the blood and salt water from it before returning it that day.
Shi Qingxuan says something with animated delight, hand absentmindedly reaching for the fan. An old habit which leaves Xie Lian trying not to winch as the former Wind Master freezes, drops his palm to his lap and tries not to look so heartbroken.
He keeps the fan, but does not use it.
He wears it but does not hold it.
It might as well still be in pieces across filthy stone.
“Hn.” The weight of Hua Cheng’s company feels too exposed.
“Do you think he noticed it’s heavier than before?” Crimson Rain taps his finger to his chin, pondering.
“No.” He Xuan answers softly, voice vacant and surprisingly breathless for something that does not need air.
“Not that it’s my business to say anything...”
“And yet you will.” He grunts. It only amuses his company.
“He could burn that fan any day now.” Hua Cheng speaks his mind and his tone sounds no more or less delighted - yet somehow lacks a mocking edge. “Or throw it away into the streets to be trampled and lost to even you. Why risk it?”
He Xuan chooses not to respond, not out of disrespect, but lack of an answer. Or at least not one he wishes to hear himself say.
“How cool you were.” Crimson Rain pushes as Xie Lian waves off some odd comment from Shi Qingxuan who’s shielding his mortal eyes with a hand of only flesh and bone. “ Do it yourself you told him . Then you tossed it his way like it wasn’t your-”
“Enough.” Black Water finally turns to face his watcher, unsurprised by the grin waiting for him. “If my proximity to His Highness upsets you I will go. I have no intention of trouble.”
“No not at all.” Hua Cheng chuckles. “I’m just trying to understand why you indebted yourself to me for a single human lifetime just to follow him around anyways. I’ve held up my end of the bargain and will continue to do so. My little ghoulies and ghosties keep the former Wind Master and his people safe from truly terrible things. They sneak gold into the donation boxes and drop food when his meager stashes are low. Keep him well and out of harm , that’s all you asked.”
“Then that’s all I owe you for.”
“Until he dies.” Hua Cheng nods, looking bored as He Xuan could freeze oceans at the words. “Until his mortal spirit leaves this realm and then what?”
“And then our pact will be done.”
Below Shi Qingxuan uses a cane to stand. It’s sturdy wood, well crafted by simple hands. He Xuan left it a few weeks ago near the beggars camp after noticing the man’s current stick was growing brittle. Caused him to fall twice and He Xuan could only watch as the man talked himself out of tears when he did fall. “It will be fine Qingxuan, you can do this yourself. You can do this.”
Black Water doesn’t realize he’s turned his eyes from Hua Cheng to watch that man, holding thoughts in anticipation of weary legs to give out. Hands twitch and seas darken until Shi Qingxuan stands on his own without incident.
“No. It’s because after he’s dead you will no longer be here to pay it.” Hua Cheng speaks only the truth, no point in denying it. “Even if your ashes are safe in his hands now, once he’s gone you’ll have no reason to linger, isn’t that right?”
Silence.
Bitter, cold waters storm through his veins as he watches Shi Qingxuan secure the fan in his thin robe - so close to the heart He Xuan can feel it’s pulse pressing against his empty chest. The familiar rhythm he once learned by the touch of the smiling man, tucking close as they walked arm in arm. The giddy skittering of that heart when she might hold him tight, warm. The feeling of tracing patterns over changing flesh with his own hand, and yet no matter the shape of the body, the heart remained the same.
A heart which will one day go silent, never to be felt again.
Because of him.
“Inform His Highness I will keep a better distance.” He says, more as a promise to his brother calamity than the god below. He Xuan wants to sink back into shadow, into the waters. He wants to sleep and be swallowed by nothingness. He wants the weight of the ocean and it’s black void silence to wash the sound of that laughter from his skin.
Shi Qingxuan’s voice rings out over the trees and hill, bright and sweet and all that sunshine should be:
“I can do it myself!” He cheers, lifting the basket from Xie Lian’s hands proud as he sways but does not fall. Chin high, hair catching like gold in the sun and for a moment He Xuan parts his lips with the full intention of calling down: you idiot !
As if that would make the man laugh then whine for him to carry the basket instead. Pouting Ming-xiong! And pressing that pulse to his arm as they’d walk.
Inseparable.
Black Water sinks rows of teeth into his tongue instead, as punishment for this new hunger he cannot satisfy.
“He can do it himself,” Hua Cheng mimics, amused, patting He Xuan’s arm with a cold hand before moving to join the others. Smug and seemingly satisfied for now. “It’s a pity you can’t say the same.”