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There was a ghost in the Gambler's Den that evening that Hua Cheng had never seen before. That wasn't strange, of course. Ghost City was vast, and the Gambler's Den in particular drew in all sorts who didn't call the city their home. But this ghost was different than the kind of riff raff that Hua Cheng normally encountered, and he found his attention drifting back to the strange ghost from time to time as he waited to approach the dais where Hua Cheng was sitting.
The ghost wore dark robes and a veiled hat, which granted him an air of mystery, Hua Cheng supposed. His aura was surprisingly strong for someone who must be a wrath at most; he had certainly been steeped in resentment in a way that was rare even for higher level ghosts. And he'd waited so patiently for a moment of Hua Cheng's time. "Well?" Hua Cheng drawled once the previous challenger was dragged off in tears and it was the veiled ghost's turn. "What do you want?"
The ghost bowed formally, sparking scattered laughter throughout the den at how out of place his polite manners seemed. "I have come to request a boon of Chengzhu."
Hua Cheng raised his eyebrows. "I run a Gambler's Den, not a charity house," he said. "If you would like to make a bet with me, name your wager. Otherwise, you may find your way out of my establishment."
"I do not have anything to bet with," the man explained. "Nor would I be likely to win a game of chance, with my poor luck. I have heard that Hua-chengzhu has an interest in the unusual and challenging, so I have come to throw myself upon your mercy in the hopes that my situation would be interesting enough to catch your attention."
Hmmm. Hua Cheng did not normally take on such cases, but there had been a lull in excitement recently, and he was just bored enough to consider entertaining the idea. "And who am I speaking to?"
"Fang Xin," the man said, and murmurs traveled through the crowd. Evidently, the name was familiar to many of them. Hua Cheng, too, had heard of a man who had once gone by that name.
"So, the infamous Guoshi of Yong'an has found his way to my city," Hua Cheng said. "And what trouble has Your Excellency found yourself in? I see you've found your way out of your coffin."
Fang Xin reached up and removed his hat. With the veil no longer covering his face, the mask Fang Xin was wearing underneath it was revealed. The mask, too, was infamous, a part of the mythos that surrounded this ill-fated figure. "I humbly request Chengzhu's aid to remove the mask I wore in my previous life."
"Guoshi is not familiar with how to shift his appearance?" Hua Cheng asked. "Surely you could find a teacher other than the ruler of Ghost City?"
"My problems are of a different nature," Fang Xin said firmly. "Perhaps Hua-chengzhu would be willing to speak more privately?"
It was a bold request, but Hua Cheng was somewhat invested at this point, so why the hell not! He invited the guoshi to join him up on the dais.
"It took me a century to break out of my coffin. His Highness was determined that I should stay buried, and I taught him well. His methods were quite effective." Fang Xin said once the curtains had closed behind him. "Then once I was out, it took me some time to come back to myself."
That was fairly standard for ghosts. Hua Cheng had originally grown in power to a wrath far more quickly than most, but he'd had to reform himself after he was dispersed, and he was familiar with that kind of disorientation.
Fang Xin sighed. "Before the coffin, my mask was simply a mask. After I got out, when I tried to remove it, it wouldn't budge. It's as though it is determined to keep me from moving on from the identity of Fang Xin. I've tried everything I could think of to remove it. I've gouged as deeply into my flesh as I can manage to try to get under it, but it still clings to my face."
Well that was certainly out of the ordinary. "Do you see this mask as part of your identity?" Hua Cheng asked. It was strange, sometimes, the way that ghosts manifested once they regained a physical form.
"Not part of my identity, no," the guoshi denied. "Part of the persona I wore as Fang Xin, yes. But not part of me. And by now I've come to believe that the mask is cursed."
A cursed mask that could not be removed. Well, that was just as likely as anything, Hua Cheng supposed. "Do you know who might have cursed you? Beyond the obvious, of course," Hua Cheng asked. The one who buried him, that Yong'an prince, was a likely suspect, but the former Yong'an guoshi was a mysterious figure; who knows what kind of people might have taken issue with him.
Fang Xin hesitated. "I do not believe anyone has cursed me," he said finally.
Hua Cheng raised an eyebrow in incredulity. "If the mask wasn't purposefully cursed, does Guoshi have an idea of how it came to be this way? I may enjoy a challenge, but it is useful to have some place to start looking, and removal of a curse is often tied to the way it came about." He shrugged. "I'm a busy man; I don't like to waste my time."
Fang Xin reached up almost absentmindedly to touch the bandage wrapped around his throat. "There is precedent," he said slowly. "For previously inanimate objects to develop... lively characteristics... when exposed to the resentful energy produced by an immortal repeatedly dying a violent death."
If Hua Cheng's heart had been beating, his blood would have frozen in his veins at those words. That bandage... he knew it. Centuries ago, it had bound Hua Cheng's god to to his own altar to be stabbed again and again as the little ghost fire Hua Cheng had been was powerless to do anything but watch. Later it had bound Hua Cheng himself to keep him from interfering in his god's acts of self-destruction.
"You're not a ghost," Hua Cheng said numbly. "You're not dead."
And Guoshi Fang Xin—Xie Lian, Hua Cheng's beloved—smiled wryly at him. "Not anymore."