Chapter Text
The young heir has yet again snuck out to spend his afternoon hiding by the river right behind his family’s large estate. He drops an array of nameless white flowers into the stream, and they're taken by the river's current while the young man muses to himself.
The ever-present nagging sense that he is missing something, forgetting something, is back. He’s always felt as if he were missing something. Those ever-fleeting wisps of memories, feelings, and sensations that are frustratingly familiar, but he could never grasp them fully.
Next to him lies an old-looking book. Despite the aged look, it’s apparent that the book is very well cared for. It opens to an illustration of the long forgotten crowned prince of Xian Le. One of the precious darlings of heaven, yet the only one cast away and disregarded. His true history after his descent and the destruction of his kingdom is forgotten.
But it was said that the once beloved prince had mysteriously turned on his people, bringing ruin to not only his own kingdom, but another kingdom as well: Yong’an. It was also said that the prince wasn't alone; during the story of his vengeance, it was said he was shadowed by a young man clothed in black with a smiling mask on his face to match the disgraced prince’s own.
The young heir has always been enamored by such a tale, especially with the mysterious crowned prince. He found it strange how such a seemingly peaceful and kind soul could tear down his own nation. He’s always wondered what happened, yet whenever he begins to think too hard about it, he gains a certain feeling of unexplained anguish and rage.
He’s always felt a deep uncalled-for resentment toward the prince's supposed shadow.
He is pulled out of the moment by a servant and guard calling for him. The servant stays silent until he is addressed to avoid the anger of the young heir. The heir, looking quite annoyed at the interruption, nods for him to speak.
“…Your father wishes to see you, young lord.” The servant informs whilst bowing deeply, the third heir’s annoyance with the summon is apparent.
“What does he want now?” he asks, more to himself than anything. And with a roll of his dark eyes, he stands, dusts himself off, and picks up his books and scrolls.
The servant stays silent, walking away once they have fulfilled their role. The heir sighs and follows the servant back to their residence.
—
His father and step-mother stand in front of him, and they look at him with their typical apathy. They never really liked him; he's not sure why, but the feeling is mutual. Perhaps it’s because he is their third son, the backup for the backup. He does not bow in greeting. He merely stares and waits for them to speak, to tell him why they've summoned him to meet with them.
“...San Lang,” his father begins,
San Lang bows his head lightly, more a sign of acknowledgment than respect. The young heir has always hated being called that by his parents. A reminder that he would never be their first or even second choice, likely not even third due to his elder sister.
“Considering you seem quite set on… avoiding certain duties,” the man states distastefully. “Your mother and I have decided to accept an exceptional offer.”
The usual annoyed or angry glint in his father’s eyes turns a concerning sort of joyful and malicious.
“And that offer is…?” the young heir, hesitant as he is, asks.
“You have been given the honor of being married off to the Wàidì Rén family, those who control the west,” his father describes, “they are an extremely prestigious family, so you must act accordingly.”
The words are a threat as much as they are a command. A familiar building sense of rage tinged with dread settles within his chest. He stares at the smug and all too pleased expressions on his parent’s face with a blank look yet pleasant expression. In reality the young man was fuming.
Of course they’d take the first opportunity to send him away. They've always hated him.
He has never belonged here.
With that thought in mind, the young heir comes up with a plan. He would run. They wouldn’t look for him anyways, why would they bother with their second replacement. With a too-pleasant smile on his face, San Lang bowed to his parents.
“...Very well,” he said cordially, but in his mind he was already planning his escape.
He is swiftly dismissed and allowed to return to his room. He immediately begins packing whatever he could take, which isn’t much, just some coin, his most valuable art pieces, and scrolls. All his drawings, scrolls, and books of the crown prince of Xian le, he refuses to leave such art in the hands of his so-called parents. Then he prepares himself to sneak out during the night.
—
Night comes and the young heir slips out of the estate under the cover of darkness and silently runs with the river towards a nearby village. San Lang runs through the muddied river bank, not once turning around to look back at the slowly fading mansion that was once his residence but never his home. He keeps running until he sees a small hut with a small garden, and soon he sees the worn path to a village.
The runaway heir resolves himself to stay here for the night for rest and supplies, so, with the little money he brought, he allows himself a room at a small inn and some food. The morning comes quickly and at the first sign of sunlight the runaway heir is up and about, he checks out of the inn and buys what he couldn’t bring from the market in the heart of the village.
He buys himself some basic tools and other such supplies, then asks the vendors and craftsmen directions for the next town over. He does this repeatedly until he’s nearly out of coin and feels it safe to find one last village to settle in.
To his luck, he comes across an older merchant with an ox cart willing to let him hitch a ride to a smaller farming village closer to the central plains, for only a small amount of coin.
Once on their way, the elder isn't much of a conversationalist, but when prompted does try to answer many of the runaway’s questions; many of which were about the elderly man’s previous journeys. San Lang never got to travel much, after all. The man is well traveled and well informed, actively explaining the scenery and terrain of the not-so-well-traveled path they were on.
They spent the day in idle conversation, while taking a short rest to eat. Strangely, night comes again, and unfortunately for San Lang and the old merchant, this evening won’t be peaceful. Both believe it is far too early for it to be darkening already. San Lang barely even noticed the sky turning into the shades of sunset, nor did he notice suddenly entering into this heavily wooded area. Then, the older man stops the cart as he sees an upcoming fork in the road in the distance.
“Why did we stop?” the younger boy asks as he looks around in confusion.
The elder man looks troubled and points to the fork in the road, “That… that shouldn’t be here… perhaps we should tu-”
He gets cut off as a group of chattering spirits suddenly emerge from the trees. Suddenly, something in the air shifts and their cart is surrounded. The elder man visibly starts to panic, clutching the reins of the cart so hard that his knuckles are turning white. San Lang frowns and subtly looks around to find a solution to their current predicament. The ghosts notice the cart and begin closing in. The old man and the poor ox are scared stiff and the stress of the situation causes the elder to faint.
San Lang acts quickly catching the other man before he seriously injures himself and soothes the ox the best he can. Thankfully, it seems the younger man’s luck strikes yet again.
A flash of blinding light appears, then a short young-looking man with wild curly hair put up in a messy ponytail and golden armor is approaching the cart at a brisk speed. The ghost seems to notice the new arrival and all subsequently freeze and turn towards the shorter man.
One of the ghosts yells out, a tremor in its voice, “I-it’s the bringer of the golden storm! Scatter!”
It’s evident that these ghosts are scared of that curious man. The runaway watches as he chases the ghosts around with a dry snort. He briefly thinks that the scene would be hilarious if only they weren’t dealing with unpredictable ghosts.
He suppresses a flinch when an intense and cold stare lands on him. After a few minutes, San Lang gathers enough courage to look back at the newcomer. Upon closer inspection, the armored man looks no older than eighteen and is squinting his eyes at San Lang, as if trying to recall or recognize something about him. The runaway sees right away when the answer clicks; the armored man’s eyes light up and he points blatantly at San Lang.
“It’s you!” he suddenly exclaims, then without explanation, he vanishes in another flash of light.
After he disappears the path to the village returns to normal. The fork in the road turns to a single path, and the trees and air clear up. All seems well and good. As if that whole ghost debacle never even truly occurred.
San Lang takes a moment to process what just happened before checking on the elderly man. The man is, thankfully, alive and unharmed. Then he checks on the ox and it is in a similar condition as its owner.
Both were just mildly terrified by the encounter, and truth be told, San Lang can’t blame them. But he needs to get to the village before their supplies dwindle and more strange things happen. So, with the limited knowledge he’s gotten from books and watching the old man handle the ox, he continues their journey towards the quaint Puqi Village.
—
After that strange encounter with the ghost, it was a relatively peaceful ride to the outskirts of their destination. The elder man wakes up just as San Lang stops by an old abandoned shrine. After explaining what happened, the younger asks about the shrine. The old man says that no one owns that plot and he can be free to do as he pleases with it.
San Lang nods and thanks the older man politely before getting off the cart with his items and entering the decrepit old shrine. He looks around and begins to catalog what he needs to fix first and what materials he may need. He’s quick to begin work in patching up the old shrine.
—
Once he gets settled into his new residence, he visits the town. It's a peaceful and charming little farming village, and the others take to him like bees to honey. The elderly and children alike are curious why such a ‘finely dressed and handsome young man’ has decided to settle here, in an old fallen apart shack no less!
He redirects or straight up ignores most of their questions outright, hoping they'd die down, but his lack of answers only truly stirred the rumor mill. At least they mostly knew asking the runaway direct questions would be a useless endeavor. He was left alone most of the time, aside from villagers checking in on the infamous new arrival, or when he goes into town for things he cannot get on his own.
He gets by with his knowledge and physical prowess, being of great help to those who need him. They also catch him creating his paper flowers.
Though he refuses to sell them— he’s felt a pang of possessiveness over the precious delicate things— they still insist he not hide them. So instead, he leaves most of them on the old altar of his new residence. The villagers start calling him Xiao Hua, for the little flowers that scatter around the old building.
One strange morning, there's a knock on his front door. Usually the villagers don't bother him till noon, yet now the sun has barely risen.
Once he gets up to open it, the young Xiao Hua sees the most stunning man he has ever laid his eyes upon. The man is dressed in pristine white cultivator robes with long light brown hair and the prettiest golden eyes and kindest smile he's ever seen. The cultivator bows to him and speaks in the most soothing tone this he has ever heard:
“Hello there, forgive this one’s intrusion, but isn't this where that old decrepit temple used to stand?” The (likely) older man asks him. “This young master has made quite the improvement to it.”
Xiao Hua is awestruck by both the particularly familiar term and sudden praise, and takes a few moments too long to respond. The younger one snaps out of it enough to nod slightly then bow in respect.
“Ah, Daozhang praises this lowly one too much… One merely added more structure and furnishings to this old shack. Still it’s hardly presentable enough to be called a shrine,” Xiao Hua responds pleasantly.
“Please, no need for such a humble attitude! This young master has really fixed up this place,” The cultivator in white praises yet again, then he adds:
“As for such a formal title, there is also no need. This one is merely a traveling cultivator. Please call this one Hua Xie” The cultivator, Hua Xie, introduces.
The young man feels a strong pang of wrongness when trying to utter the other’s name, but he was requested to keep things less formal. So, San Lang thinks for a moment before coming up with a solution.
“This one is honored to know gege approves of his revisions to this temple. If gege would like, he may call this one…” He pauses, then ultimately decides with a vague sense of assurance and a sense of trust in this man, “San Lang.”
Hua Xie looks puzzled for a moment before his whole expression brightens and he subtly nods in approval.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, San Lang.”