Chapter Text
He walks into the grand martial hall as if it is the first time again. It always feels like the first time. It echoes around him, empty of his majesty's useless servants. The silver bells on his boots chime with his every step in the quiet. He feels the disapproval without needing words, and silences them with a thought. The quiet yawns open once again. The one he lives for waits. Patient as always.
Hua Cheng drops to one knee. The throne of the heavenly emperor looms before him, his godly boots before Hua Cheng’s unworthy eye. He keeps his head bowed, knowing better than to look up uninvited. His majesty is patient in his correction, but Hua Cheng keeps making foolish mistakes. The emperor is merciful with him, but he should not have to be.
Hua Cheng should be perfect.
“Have your pets found him?” Jun Wu asks, voice patient and kind. His frustration only shows when Hua Cheng forgets himself. Forgets his place. He keeps his eyes fixed on the emperor’s boots. He stays on one knee.
“Yes, your majesty.”
“And you remember my warnings?”
“His majesty’s enemy is cruel and shrewd, hiding behind a mask of benevolence. He will attempt to twist this unworthy servant’s thoughts. This one must strike hard and fast. The enemy cannot die, and this one need not fear bringing him forth in pieces if necessary.”
“Good.” The emperor praises, and it unlocks the tight feeling of worthlessness in Hua Cheng’s chest. “You are not my ideal servant, Crimson Rain Sought Flower, but you show promise. I have no doubt you can learn, given time”
“This unworthy one thanks you, dianxia.”
Fuck. His traitor tongue slips again, and he doesn’t have to look to know that—
The black blade of Zhu Xen appears at his neck. The sword presses up from beneath his chin, forcing Hua Cheng’s eyes higher. Hua Cheng swallows, and the motion would draw blood if he were more than the useless ghost he is.
“Try again.” Jun Wu says, infinite in patience, magnificent in his gentility with such a pitiful excuse for a servant before him.
“Your majesty,” Hua Cheng whispers, closing his eye— eyes— deferentially. Jun Wu does not like his imperfect form, so he wears a perfected skin before him. Hua Cheng still does not understand why he ever thought the emperor would like such a thing. He had felt so certain...
“This one will accept any punishment,” he offers, forcing himself not to look upon that glorious face. He has not earned it.
“I know you will.” Jun Wu rises from his throne. Paces forward, shifting Zhu Xen’s blade aside and placing his hand in Hua Cheng’s tightly-bound hair instead. Hua Cheng lowers his head, and suppresses the bewildering urge to tremble at the tender touch.
“Go now,” Jun Wu orders with benevolence. “Do well, and all is forgiven.”
“Your majesty,” Hua Cheng rasps. “I will not fail you.”
“All I ask is that you try,” Jun Wu assures. Hua Cheng feels a sudden squeeze around his heavy limbs as the emperor wraps his hand around the ring of his ashes. “You will try for me, won’t you Crimson Rain?”
“If I fail, I ask that your majesty disperse this servant’s useless remains!” Hua Cheng spits, disgusted with the thought of failing his god again.
“Though I do enjoy your spirit, I hardly think that would be necessary.” The squeeze releases. Hua Cheng refuses to gasp, reminding himself that he does not have to breathe at all.
Jun Wu switches his hold on Zhu Xen. The tip of the sword whistles past Hua Cheng’s ear. He does not flinch. Then the god offers his blade in both hands. Hua Cheng raises both his own hands, palm up, to receive its weight. Even to his dead skin, the blade feels cold.
“After all,” Jun Wu says, releasing the sword into Hua Cheng’s reverent hands, “Xianle's tenacity is not to be underestimated.”
Hua Cheng finds the piece of trash where the butterfly found him hours ago. He is sitting in the middle of a field, bathed in sunlight, miles from the closest town. He sits straight on the ground, not even a stone beneath him to guard against the dirt. His head is tilted back, his legs crossed, and his hands resting neatly on his knees. He has a pleasant, soft smile, and breathes deeply as if in meditation. Around his throat, the curse shackle is hidden beneath white bandages. ‘Without his spiritual power, will this fight even be a challenge?’ Hua Cheng wonders.
He could strike now and tear him apart with little more than a thought. Efficient , Jun Wu might praise, pleased that Hua Cheng followed his advice.
He doesn’t.
Instead Hua Cheng cocks his hip, crosses his arms, quirks one eyebrow, and waits. His smile deepens, amused by the oblivious creature before him. This is Jun Wu’s target? His majesty could have given him a task twenty times more difficult. After all, hasn’t he already dethroned and destroyed martial gods brimming with spiritual powers? And yet his majesty thinks he must be warned about this scrap god?
“Hmm,” Xianle says, breaking into his thoughts. His eyes are still closed, but it would appear he's aware of his company. "Crimson Rain Sought Flower?"
Hua Cheng gets his first sense of unease. Not only did Xianle give no indication of his attention, the way he speaks Hua Cheng's title is... No one has ever said any of his names like that. He inspires fear, awe, or hatred everywhere he goes; often all three. He has painted his reputation in blood through the past eight centuries.
So why does this insignificant worm’s voice sound not just respectful, but outright fond ?
Hua Cheng deepens the cruel smile he wears, seething with anger on the inside at being thrown off balance.
“Your highness the crown prince.” He greets in return, letting disdain drip from every word.
That’s better. The trash god flinches as if wounded. Hua Cheng is about to follow the words when Xianle takes a deep breath and sighs it out again. By all appearances, he seems to be taking a moment to relax in the middle of this shitty field with Jun Wu’s loyalest weapon standing right before him. Then Xianle smiles again, as bright as before.
“Ah, you say it so coldly,” his laugh is easy and self-effacing. “I imagine I make a pretty sorry sight. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lord Crimson Rain." He sketches a half-bow where he sits. "May I assume that you’ve been sent to capture me?”
“Indeed. I'll be bringing you to his majesty,” Hua Cheng lifts Zhu Xen, waggling its point in the traitor’s direction. He mimes slices across Xianle’s throat; his shoulders; his hips, “in as many pieces as I see fit.”
“I see, I see.” Xianle only bobs his head in a nod, eyes still closed and still smiling that gentle smile. “Sounds like you’re working hard. I hope you’re being treated well.”
“Where are your worthless little allies?” Hua Cheng laughs instead of allowing the nuisance to blabber on further. “I’d love to bring his majesty their heads as an added gift.”
“Well, now that you’ve said that, why would I tell you where they are?” Xianle has the nerve to laugh again; Teasing and light, as if this were a joke.
Hua Cheng’s smile deepens, and he doesn’t bother fighting it back. The slaughter is always more enjoyable when they’re spirited.
“Do you plan to sit there all day?”
“Do you plan to let me rise?”
At last the traitor’s eyes open. They shine dark gold in the sunlight, like honey straight from the hive. Xianle's smile deepens when he lays eyes on Hua Cheng. There is not a trace of fear in him.
“You don’t have a weapon,” Hua Cheng points out, sauntering closer and gesturing with his free hand. “Or spiritual power. Wouldn’t you say the scales are already tipped heavily in my favor, even if I give you time to prepare?”
“Indeed, indeed,” Xie Lian bobs his head a few more times. “Then will you let this old god stretch a moment? I’ve been waiting here since your butterfly found me, after all.”
“This humble ghost apologizes for the inconvenience.” Hua Cheng scoffs, sketching a mocking bow. “Do you truly think you stand a chance?”
“Well,” Xianle rolls his shoulders. He dips low to the ground with one foot out to the side, shapely legs clearly outlined under his coarse robe when he leans into the stretch. “You aren’t using the dreaded E-Ming, so that’s one point in my favor. Why not, by the way?”
‘Put that filthy thing away,' Jun Wu instructs, firm voice bordering on anger. A thumb pushes aside his eye patch, and presses down into the empty socket. 'We both know where it should be.'
Hua Cheng closes his good eye in shame, even as Jun Wu's voice turns soft with understanding. ‘If you are to serve me, you must cover your imperfections.’
“This blade was gifted to me by the heavenly emperor himself.” Hua Cheng preens, shaking free of the thought. He starts to prowl back and forth before the blithe god as he stretches. Impressive flexibility, he has to admit… “It will more than suffice for the likes of you. You should feel grateful to be struck down by the great Zhu Xen.”
“Ah,” Xianle waves his hand in front of his face. “Not to disappoint you, but I’ve actually been struck down by that sword a few times already. It’s nothing special.”
“You’re a strange little thing,” Hua Cheng chuckles. “Are you going to stop stalling for time now? No one is coming to save you.”
“I am not waiting for anyone. Lord Crimson Rain is honorable to give this humble god time to prepare,” Xianle tilts his head, smiling. “Would you like to make a wager on the outcome before we begin? I hear you enjoy gambling.”
“There will be only one outcome,” Hua Cheng lets his fangs show when he grins. “What could you offer me that I won’t already take?”
The god shivers, which Hua Cheng had anticipated with delight. But he also… Blushes? Is he…?
“Information.” Xianle says in a rush, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I’ll answer one question from you with complete honesty.”
“So you intend to lie to his majesty the heavenly emperor?”
“Ah, do you have to say his full title every time? How tiring… As for your question, if I answered that truthfully, wouldn’t it make our bet worthless?”
“Hm…” Hua Cheng can’t help the chuckle in his chest. How odd… “And if you were to win? What prize would you ask?”
Likely something foolish. His loyalty, or information on Jun Wu, or the location of Hua Cheng's ashes.
“I get to ask you one question.” The traitor raises a single finger. “You don’t even have to answer. It’s a good bet, right?”
“Too good.” Hua Cheng watches Xianle bend backwards, taking his eyes off the enemy to stretch into nearly a full back bend. The loose ends of his rich brown hair trail down onto the ground with the arch of his back. “You’re hiding something. But I accept anyway. Whatever your plan is, you’ll never get the chance to follow through.”
“So cocky!” Xianle accuses, straightening up already shaking his head and spreading his hands. “I would say it’s your youth, but you’re nearly as old as I am, so it must be experience instead.”
“Which tells you?” Hua Cheng prompts with a delighted cruelty, rolling his own shoulders in preparation.
“Ah, that my lord Crimson Rain is unused to losing.” Xianle laughs, clapping his hands together. “Something this one cannot relate to, in honesty!”
“Then let’s put you out of your misery quickly, shall we?”
Hua Cheng summons a wave of his butterflies. He's had his fun; now this will be over fast. They will enclose the god in a blinding wall of silver agony, and the shreds of him will be offered to Jun Wu on a platter.
But the god doesn’t scream, or flee, or even stand dumb with confusion as those who do not know the Wrath Butterflies do. As Hua Cheng’s vicious, ruinous, monstrous butterflies scream out of him and towards the traitor god, Xianle smiles.
He opens his arms, lifts his hands, and laughs . It will be a fool's death. It should be a fool’s death.
Except the screaming stops.
The butterflies slow in the air, fanning their silver wings. By the time they reach Xianle, they float sweetly down to him. They perch upon his head; his shoulders; his extended arms.
There is not a single drop of blood.
“Ah, sorry, sorry everyone,” Xianle giggles as the silver insects crawl across his face. “Yes, it’s good to see you too.”
When he looks up to Hua Cheng, his expression is bashful. “My apologies, but your butterflies probably won’t do much good against me. Animals tend to enjoy my presence, you see.”
Hua Cheng feels his smile fall for the first time. Never before. NEVER before. What sort of power is Xianle using to turn his own spiritual creatures against him?
No matter. Pathetic, useless things. What good are they to him if they won’t obey? He waves a hand and the butterflies crumble into dust, shrieking.
Xianle jolts in place, eyes wide and expression distraught.
“It wasn’t their fault,” he objects, turning a sorrowful frown on Hua Cheng. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“If you’re going to worry about something, your highness,” Hua Cheng draws the address out, letting his disgust with the once-prince coat the words, “you should start with yourself.”
It’s all the warning he gives. It’s more warning than the traitor deserves. Most of the battles he had when he dethroned the 33 gods were over in a heartbeat, even without the butterflies. There were few who could come close to matching Hua Cheng for speed and preparedness.
His sword meets air rather than flesh. It would appear that Xianle is one of the few.
“In honesty, I’m quite excited about this.” The god says, robes still settling around him from the speed of his movement. He’s so far away that it would look to an observer like Hua Cheng swung at nothing. “You’re quite a fighter, and I’ve never gotten to try my skill against you. Though if you’re open to negotiation, I’d prefer to not fight at all!”
“Of course you would prefer not to,” Hua Cheng returns, smirking in pleasure as the thrill of this being an actual battle pulses through him. “The weak would always prefer to run.”
“Do you really think those who choose not to fight are weak?” Xianle tilts his head, looking bewildered. “I think it’s quite the opposite.”
Hua Cheng spins back into motion, and doesn’t stop after the first strike this time. Xianle is a whirlwind as he dodges. His white robes glow dull gold in the sun as he ducks and weaves around every strike. Zhu Xen sings through the air. In answer, Xianle hums under his breath, as if considering something. The low pitch of his humming remains unchanged with his increasingly gymnastic maneuvers.
He doesn’t try to strike back once.
“Would it be safe to assume, then, that you would consider predator animals stronger than prey?” Xianle asks with deep consideration, hopping back so far that he clears the field.
He doesn’t even appear to be breathing hard. Interesting...
“You wouldn’t?” Hua Cheng grins, letting his fangs shine.
“Not in the slightest,” Xianle taps his chin, face scrunched up like he’s thinking hard. “For instance, even if you insist on measuring strength by the ability to kill— which is how I assume you’re ranking things—"
Hua Cheng tilts his head in confirmation.
"— a horse could kill a wolf in single combat. However, it would still prefer to flee. Does that make it weaker than the wolf by default?”
“Do you really think now is the time to talk about our personal philosophy?” Hua Cheng chuckles at the strange man before him, so unconcerned with Zhu Xen's blade and so intent on their discussion.
“Ah, indeed, I should focus! It just seems short-sighted to me, as a person who has been kicked by a few horses.” Xianle laughs that awkward little laugh again.
“Jun Wu was right,” Hua Cheng snorts, eyes narrowing as he speaks, seeking out that potential weakness he noticed before. “You really do have some mixed-up ideas in that pretty head of yours.”
“Ah, pretty ?” Xianle replies, his face flaring bright red.
Hua Cheng strikes like a snake in the wake of his flush, the sword poised to slice straight through Xianle’s heart.
Two fingers meet the side of Zhu Xen, and tap it aside. The force of the motion numbs Hua Cheng’s hand, and sends him veering off course, nearly into a stumble.
“I see it is dangerous to receive a compliment from the esteemed Hua Chengzhu.”
The strange god is laughing again. Embarrassed. The tips of his ears are still charmingly pink, and his honey-bright eyes are cast aside like a shy maiden's. By appearances alone, no one would believe that moments ago he flicked Hua Cheng’s blade away as if it were nothing.
“Won’t Xianle satisfy this ghost’s curiosity?” Hua Cheng asks, eyes narrowed above his vicious grin. “Why would a creature as strong as a horse choose to run if it knew it could win?”
“Hm, lots of reasons I suppose.” The god lifts his hand to his chin again, tapping against a smooth jawline in consideration. "I'm certain Lord Crimson Rain could figure it out."
Hua Cheng moves like liquid fire; drags speed into all of his limbs, and presses forward. Xie Lian circles, and dodges, and circles again. Neat, smooth motions that inevitably tuck him into Hua Cheng’s blind spot, or out of range, or even once, shockingly, pressed right behind him, back to back, twisting with him like a reflection.
“You’re very good,” Xianle offers when he breaks away from Hua Cheng’s back, driven out of hiding by a wild, blind attack. “It’s a pity Jun Wu gave you a straight sword. I’m certain you’re a demon with a saber. Or better yet a scimitar?”
“I don’t need E-Ming to kill you.” Hua Cheng laughs. “You won’t even fight back.”
“No.” Xianle agrees, smiling. “I won’t.”
“Why not?” There’s definitely something crazed showing in Hua Cheng’s smile by now, but he can’t help it. Isn’t this exactly what he hates? Being looked down on by these worthless, traitor gods? Those who abandoned his— his majesty?
“Do you think this ghost king beneath you?” he continues, prowling forward.
“No no no, not in the slightest!” Xianle waves both hands before him; a more obvious defense than any of those he’s used against the blade. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower is a unique and dangerous opponent, unmatched in this world. I truly regret being his target at this time!”
“Then fight, you pathetic excuse for a god!” His voice is rough; frustration and hatred boiling out of his throat.
“I won’t.” Xianle's hands drop to hang loose at his sides, and that sweet little smile stays fixed on his face.
Hua Cheng tosses a die. Uses the magic to teleport himself across the field in a heartbeat, it should be more than enough of a surprise to—
The god ducks around to his right, and has the audacity to tap his elbow up and hook one of Hua Cheng’s legs with his ankle, correcting his straight-sword form. He even laughs after, as Hua Cheng whips around towards him, mouth agape.
There’s no denying it. The god knows he’s blind on his right. How does he know that? This skin should be more than sufficient to hide that fact even from emperor Jun Wu himself. No, Hua Cheng didn’t give himself away. The god must have researched him to prepare for this battle. Perhaps he found the old legends told by that group of pathetic humans, hundreds of years ago. Those fools who wandered around blabbering stories of a hero ghost tearing out his own eye.
Idiots. He should have sacrificed them to the kiln.
“You’ll wear down eventually.” Hua Cheng says, annoyance boiling under his skin. Failure doesn’t sit well with him. Being taunted and played with even less so.
“I'm sure, I’m sure,” the useless god agrees, “but I won’t fight you, even if I do. Ah, careful! That’s a scimitar stance again, Lord Crimson Rain!”
Hua Cheng barks a furious laugh. He shifts his stance, then gestures to himself with his free hand. “Does this unworthy ghost meet your approval now, your highness?”
“Ah—” Xianle flinches again at the sound of ‘your highness’ on Hua Cheng's tongue.
“If Lord Crimson Rain would do this old god a favor and call him ‘Xie Lian,’ this one would be very grateful.” Xianle hurries to say. It looks like there is something aching behind his smile. It’s the only strike Hua Cheng’s been able to land on him thus far.
“Wouldn’t that be terribly disrespectful?” He holds his cold smile, glaring at the one opposing him. “Why won’t you strike me, your highness?”
The trash god sighs, shoulders slumping. “You know, I promised to answer one question truthfully if you won… This really does seem to invalidate the bargain… But I suppose I can give you this one for free, since it's to do with you.”
Xianle tucks his chin. Looks down at his empty hands with a sad, wistful smile, then lifts his gaze to Hua Cheng again.
“It’s a simple answer,” he says, “but you won’t like it.”
“You’re stalling to catch your breath.” Hua Cheng accuses, half-playful, all furious. “Answer.”
“Very well.”
Xianle’s smile takes a turn for the blinding. The sunlight paints him golden. His hair is coming loose from the sloppy bun it’s half-gathered into. It waves around him with his white robes in the gentle wind. Xianle’s eyes narrow in undeniable affection. When he speaks, it is with the certain clarity of one reciting a poem they wholeheartedly believe.
“This one simply does not want to hurt Hong Hong-er.”
That name is a knife. It pierces straight through Hua Cheng’s empty eye socket, and back into his brain. The world goes dark for a heartbeat as his dead body tries, briefly, to live again. He pushes it away. Feels his smile fall into a snarl, and his eyes go wild with fury.
He knows, he knows, he knows, no wonder he thinks you’re trash.
But Xianle is just smiling at him, that gentle affection unwavering. If anything, there is a touch of concern there now, in the twist of his brows. Hua Cheng drags in a breath. It shakes.
“Who is that supposed to be?” He spits, acid in his voice, knowing it’s far too late to deny. His own response gave him up to this enemy.
“You.” Xianle replies, gentle, as if trying to coax a rabid fox into drinking from his hand.
Hua Cheng lets the final remnants of his smile fade. He snarls outright, and jolts forward.
Something grips his leg, and he stumbles. It’s only a moment, but it’s too long. The thing wraps around, and around, and around him. It forces his arms to his side, trapping the sword outside the bindings; ties his legs together; wraps tight around his shoulders, all the way up to his throat. The attack sends him toppling to the ground, writhing.
“Careful, Ruoye!” scolds Xianle, hurrying forward. “Don’t hurt him.”
Hua Cheng struggles; a feral beast in a trap. It is a cheap trick— a cheap trick he shouldn’t have fallen for! Getting distracted by a wound from the past? Being blinded by this trash’s simple smiles and strange speeches? Falling for such a thing? Shameful!
He claws his hands. Thrashes. Tries to twist the sword to cut the thing holding him, even if he slices into himself, but—
The sword is lifted from his clawed fingers. He didn’t even see the god move. He screams in wordless fury. Lashes out, trying to bite that pale hand. He is a wild thing, and he will fight to his last breath— he will fight until this stupid god tears him apart, and then he will reform himself and come for him again, and again, and again— so long as Jun Wu keeps his worthless ashes!
“Easy,” the god says, tossing Zhu Xen away like so much garbage. The dark blade spins through the daylight, and lands with a tragic clatter somewhere so far it is out of sight. “I’m not going to hurt you. Ruoye will even let you go, once I’m safely away.
“Coward,” spits Hua Cheng, laughing past bared teeth. “Coward!”
“Ah, indeed, it’s true.” Xianle agrees, standing just out of range of Hua Cheng’s sharp teeth. “I am a coward.”
Hua Cheng twists himself against the bindings, unhinged, desperate to make just one mark on this nothing god . The thing around him squeezes, and he gives a hollow gasp.
“Ruoye!” Xianle scolds again, and the bands around him loosen once more, though not enough for him to writhe free.
There is a heavy sigh. Then the traitor has the audacity to kneel before his bound form, and dip into a low bow, touching his head to the ground.
“This is my fault,” Xianle says, his voice low and so achingly kind, “and I will fix it. I don’t dare keep you here while he has hold of you, but I pray you stay safe and well, Hua Chengzhu.”
Hua Cheng jolts. Not to try escaping. He doesn’t understand this god— he doesn’t understand anything at all about this— but the sight of Xianle bowing makes something crazed in him howl louder. Hatred? Fear? Sorrow? He doesn’t—
“Since I won, I get to ask you one question.” The god sits up, brushing a hand over his dirty forehead. “Though I know you don’t find this a legitimate victory.”
“I do,” Hua Cheng growls, and he surprises even himself with that. He averts his gaze. Grits his teeth, breathing in the smell of the earth, though he doesn’t have to breathe.
“Your victory is clear.” He mutters, sullen. “That I was unprepared for your tactics, it does not speak poorly of you, but of me. His majesty even warned me you would toy with my mind.”
“Ah, I truly did not intend to,” Xianle sighs, “I only spoke the truth. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hua Cheng says nothing. Waits for the pain.
Another soft, sorrowful sigh, then the god speaks. “Alright. My question is only this: please listen well.”
He bends closer, almost in range of Hua Cheng’s teeth. He eyes Xianle’s throat, ready to strike, before—
“Are you sure,” the traitor breathes, as if it is a secret, “that your devotion is not misplaced?”
Hua Cheng’s eyes snap up from his throat to his honeyed gaze. Fury lights under his skin. He opens his mouth, ready to snarl an answer, or bite at that pretty face, or— The band wraps itself four times around his mouth, silencing him. Its grip is deadly, but it feels soft against his skin. Like silk.
“Don’t answer right off the bat,” Xianle says. “Just think. And please, Lord Crimson Rain, be safe. Keep yourself safe.”
Xianle reaches out, as if to touch, and Hua Cheng tenses, eyes burning with fury and offense. His delicate fingers twitch just once before he folds them back in his lap without touching. Then he stands.
“This one will see you when next you hunt him down,” he says with a bow. “I will watch for your butterflies. Ruoye will release you in four hours. This one will pray that Jun Wu is not unkind to you for this. Please accept my apology that I could not come with you.”
Then he leaves, simple as that. He pulls the ragged hat he wears off from his shoulders as he goes, and settles it atop his head. The sun beams down on him, this once-darling of heaven, and he walks into the distance. He does not run. He does not look back.
Eventually, he vanishes into the distance. Hua Cheng never once looks away.
He trembles in the silk restraints, silenced and squeezed. He reaches for his spiritual powers, but the silk is no simple tool. It seals him like a magic circle. He can do nothing but struggle.
So he struggles. He has been a worm on the ground before. He has crawled through the mud for his highness— no, his majesty , and he will do it again. Over and over. Forever, if he must.
He does not have to escape. He just has to—
The god tossed Zhu Xen towards the West. Hua Cheng writhes his way in that direction, fighting the silk band for every inch.
In the end, it releases him before he reaches the sword. Though he lashes out, it slips away from him. It flies straight up, until it merges with the pale clouds in the dark night.
Hua Cheng stares after it, panting hard, fury and confusion warring in his empty chest. It is an unbearable shame to return with nothing but the bruises wrapping his body.
He must bear it for his majesty. He turns at last, walking further west. He finds Zhu Xen buried halfway through a tree trunk from the force of the rogue god’s throw. He pries it free with worshipful fingers, and closes his eyes.
For just a moment, before he ascends, he feels a rush of fear at the thought of what Jun Wu will do to him.
It should be fine for him to do anything. Hua Cheng gifted him his ashes for a reason. Hua Cheng is his highn— his majesty’s , to do with as he pleases. There should be no fear in that. Didn’t he say it himself?
‘What’s there to be afraid of? If it were me, I’d have no regrets giving away my ashes, destroyed or not!’
Hadn’t he said it to Jun Wu’s own face, smiling with fond benevolence upon him?
And yet, as he tossed the dice, another voice whispered in a strange, kind voice:
‘Are you sure your devotion is not misplaced?’