Death had been a self-served justice, the only fate deserving of someone whose hands once held a sword that had tasted innocents' blood. Wasn't that fair? Wasn't that righteous? Couldn't those souls properly rest now that their murderer was dealt with? It is right. It is good. Perhaps it was not the standard execution of solving such a situation, but he is a cultivator. He has done his duty, to the end.
...But Xiao Xingchen did not think solely of his victims in those final moments. Death had been an escape. Trapped between the knowledge that the man he held most dear was dead by his hand, and the laughter of a madman drowning out his own thoughts. There had been nowhere else to go. There had been nothing else to do. What other choice did Xingchen ever have?
During his ministry upon the mortal earth, Xingchen wore white. Death had been his cloak, keeping him warm long enough until, finally, it could smother him.
But that was...recent? Long ago?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists. He, himself, saw to that. Shuanghua's blade, the same that had cut too many lives apart, bit through his own neck. He doesn't remember how it felt. Did that sensation ever reach his mind? Probably not. There was no time, right?
Does it matter?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists and that is how it should be. Spare the world from more of his own naivete that only drags others into his problems. He may have helped some people, but did his bloodied hands stain their interactions further down the line?
Was his master right all along?
Tortured, nebulous thoughts swim through the nothingness that is Xiao Xingchen. Time doesn't matter. Space doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.
And yet...despite the desire to not be, he sometimes...feels. Distant, but warm in its own way. A faint light, though he's not really seeing, not like he once did. It comforts, but it hurts. But it draws the nothingness that is him to it.
At some point, his fractured soul recognizes. In shards. In stabbing moments. A whiff of some far-off scent. A glimpse of a handsome face. An old echo of a grounding voice, long ago, when he could properly use it.
Zichen.
He's not alive, not really, and yet that presence lingers, never leaving Xingchen's side, as if keeping vigil. Why would he do that? After the deserved anger directed at Xingchen all those years ago, after Xingchen needlessly took what was left from him? Why does he stay?
But stay he does and Xingchen, truly broken and truly lost, longs to be in his physical presence one moment more. Not as nothing, but to simply see or hear him, to not touch, to never touch Zichen. To beg his forgiveness, though he deserves none of it. Xiao Xingchen doesn't want to exist anymore, but...he doesn't want to leave just yet. He gathers the broken pieces of himself as best as he can and breathes out, so weak, so quiet.
"Zichen..."
Not as a ghost, maybe not yet, but not as impossibly destroyed as he once was.
How could he not stay? Everything he had said and done when they parted had been a mistake, one that he had wanted desperately to correct and hadn't been able to do so. And all he could do now was carry his soulmate's soul and maybe find a way to heal it someday.
Zichen thinks he must be imagining things when he hears the quiet voice saying his name. He aches for it to be real and for some reason, he does open his eyes.
There's a faint hope that he'll see Xingchen there and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch.
Xingchen watches, takes in the moments between his own faint voice's echo and the desire on Zichen's face. He looks, sees his own eyes staring back at him, and he's never felt so naked or small.
But...Zichen is looking at him.
The realization causes his pieces to shudder - the pouch on Zichen's person undoubtedly stirs, too - and he looks into himself, at himself, and sees...
He's there. No thicker than a veil of delicate lace, but...he's there, kneeling next to his dearest friend, the man he never wanted to hurt and yet the one whose life he ruined most. And Zichen reaches for him. Like none of it ever happened.
It's too much for Xingchen. A sob tears through him and for a moment he flickers in and out, though he remains. The grief, though, weighs on him so literally, and he makes to lie down on his side. He can't bear to be on the same level as Zichen. He doesn't deserve it. Let the dirt claim him, like this.
And yet, he can't seem to stay entirely silent. "Zichen," he whispers again. "I'm...so sorry."
Zichen's other hand goes to the pouch, feeling the stirring there as well. This is all so unusual, something that didn't seem like it should be possible. He stops shorting of touching Xingchen. For a myriad of reason not the least his own fears and guilt but the sincere worry that if he actually tries to touch this vision of Xingchen he will be gone again.
However, something breaks when he sees him lay down, when he sobs. He can't take it.
"No," Zichen says and his hands go to try and pull the other back up.
From his new place on the ground, all Xingchen can really see of Zichen is his knees. How he longs to continue looking at his face, strangely familiar eyes or no, but he doesn't deserve to let his own senses linger. So he lies there, unmoving except for how his unreal body shakes with his despair.
And then strong hands reach toward him and Xingchen curls up into a ball, though he doesn't try to pull away or push his old friend away. He just watches, amazed, and chokes out, "Why?"
Perhaps Zichen could pull this form of his up and destroy him once and for all. Xingchen wouldn't blame him for freeing himself of such a worthless weight. He won't, though. Xingchen knows him better than that, knows that Zichen wouldn't hurt someone needlessly, even if he thinks he deserves anything done to him. But, still. He doesn't move away. Instead, he forces out more words. "I...I ruined everything."
Zichen doesn't let the other stay down, he shakes his head as he tries to look him in t he eyes. So many emotions fill him. His fingers are trembling when one hand moves to touch the other's cheek, cupping his face.
He shakes his head again at the idea that the other tries to say he ruined everything. No. No.
He shifts closer, he wants to hold Xingchen like he never had when they were alive but he can't. He is sure the other will disappear. And he can't express it all, how much he's missed him, loves him. How much he is so sorry for what he had done, for pushing Xingchen away and not finding him again in time.
"I did." The word is heaved out as Zichen's hand rests upon his cheek. The kindness in that gesture, the gentleness, is too much. It's almost as if Zichen forgives him. How ridiculous. No matter how close they may have once been, Xingchen's sins are simply too heinous.
He doesn't deserve any of this. But being near Zichen is all he's wanted and even though they can't possibly go back to how things were before, he wants to be in his presence. Just for a moment. One selfish moment.
And if he can explain himself, maybe he'll be able to rest entirely, not hang on by a single fragment like this. "If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened. You'd still have your family at the temple. You would..."
Another sob hits him, thus one fact tearing at what's left of him with such ferocity. The one thing that destroyed any tether to his mortal life. Because how could he possibly keep living after...after...!
Under Zichen's touch he starts to wither, starts to curl so harshly into himself. His voice has weakened, too, hardly breaching a whisper. "You'd still be alive."
Song Lan wishes nothing more that he could speak and he could adamantly say that the other did not. But all he can do is shake his head and continue to touch the other's cheek. He struggles with the touch a little but the other is real and he had missed him too much that it overcomes the fear.
He aches to see his soulmate hurt like this and knowing he can really do nothing to help. He can't say the words that need to be said. He tries to stop him from curling in on himself, moving closer though still afraid that the other would disappear, that he would find he is dreaming or hallucinating.
He pulls him against him, wrapping his arms around him.
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...But Xiao Xingchen did not think solely of his victims in those final moments. Death had been an escape. Trapped between the knowledge that the man he held most dear was dead by his hand, and the laughter of a madman drowning out his own thoughts. There had been nowhere else to go. There had been nothing else to do. What other choice did Xingchen ever have?
During his ministry upon the mortal earth, Xingchen wore white. Death had been his cloak, keeping him warm long enough until, finally, it could smother him.
But that was...recent? Long ago?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists. He, himself, saw to that. Shuanghua's blade, the same that had cut too many lives apart, bit through his own neck. He doesn't remember how it felt. Did that sensation ever reach his mind? Probably not. There was no time, right?
Does it matter?
Xiao Xingchen no longer exists and that is how it should be. Spare the world from more of his own naivete that only drags others into his problems. He may have helped some people, but did his bloodied hands stain their interactions further down the line?
Was his master right all along?
Tortured, nebulous thoughts swim through the nothingness that is Xiao Xingchen. Time doesn't matter. Space doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.
And yet...despite the desire to not be, he sometimes...feels. Distant, but warm in its own way. A faint light, though he's not really seeing, not like he once did. It comforts, but it hurts. But it draws the nothingness that is him to it.
At some point, his fractured soul recognizes. In shards. In stabbing moments. A whiff of some far-off scent. A glimpse of a handsome face. An old echo of a grounding voice, long ago, when he could properly use it.
Zichen.
He's not alive, not really, and yet that presence lingers, never leaving Xingchen's side, as if keeping vigil. Why would he do that? After the deserved anger directed at Xingchen all those years ago, after Xingchen needlessly took what was left from him? Why does he stay?
But stay he does and Xingchen, truly broken and truly lost, longs to be in his physical presence one moment more. Not as nothing, but to simply see or hear him, to not touch, to never touch Zichen. To beg his forgiveness, though he deserves none of it. Xiao Xingchen doesn't want to exist anymore, but...he doesn't want to leave just yet. He gathers the broken pieces of himself as best as he can and breathes out, so weak, so quiet.
"Zichen..."
Not as a ghost, maybe not yet, but not as impossibly destroyed as he once was.
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Zichen thinks he must be imagining things when he hears the quiet voice saying his name. He aches for it to be real and for some reason, he does open his eyes.
There's a faint hope that he'll see Xingchen there and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch.
no subject
But...Zichen is looking at him.
The realization causes his pieces to shudder - the pouch on Zichen's person undoubtedly stirs, too - and he looks into himself, at himself, and sees...
He's there. No thicker than a veil of delicate lace, but...he's there, kneeling next to his dearest friend, the man he never wanted to hurt and yet the one whose life he ruined most. And Zichen reaches for him. Like none of it ever happened.
It's too much for Xingchen. A sob tears through him and for a moment he flickers in and out, though he remains. The grief, though, weighs on him so literally, and he makes to lie down on his side. He can't bear to be on the same level as Zichen. He doesn't deserve it. Let the dirt claim him, like this.
And yet, he can't seem to stay entirely silent. "Zichen," he whispers again. "I'm...so sorry."
no subject
However, something breaks when he sees him lay down, when he sobs. He can't take it.
"No," Zichen says and his hands go to try and pull the other back up.
no subject
And then strong hands reach toward him and Xingchen curls up into a ball, though he doesn't try to pull away or push his old friend away. He just watches, amazed, and chokes out, "Why?"
Perhaps Zichen could pull this form of his up and destroy him once and for all. Xingchen wouldn't blame him for freeing himself of such a worthless weight. He won't, though. Xingchen knows him better than that, knows that Zichen wouldn't hurt someone needlessly, even if he thinks he deserves anything done to him. But, still. He doesn't move away. Instead, he forces out more words. "I...I ruined everything."
AYY ME FORGETTING HE CANT TALK N THE LAST TAG RIP
He shakes his head again at the idea that the other tries to say he ruined everything. No. No.
He shifts closer, he wants to hold Xingchen like he never had when they were alive but he can't. He is sure the other will disappear. And he can't express it all, how much he's missed him, loves him. How much he is so sorry for what he had done, for pushing Xingchen away and not finding him again in time.
AYYY YOU'RE STILL VALID BOO
He doesn't deserve any of this. But being near Zichen is all he's wanted and even though they can't possibly go back to how things were before, he wants to be in his presence. Just for a moment. One selfish moment.
And if he can explain himself, maybe he'll be able to rest entirely, not hang on by a single fragment like this. "If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened. You'd still have your family at the temple. You would..."
Another sob hits him, thus one fact tearing at what's left of him with such ferocity. The one thing that destroyed any tether to his mortal life. Because how could he possibly keep living after...after...!
Under Zichen's touch he starts to wither, starts to curl so harshly into himself. His voice has weakened, too, hardly breaching a whisper. "You'd still be alive."
no subject
He aches to see his soulmate hurt like this and knowing he can really do nothing to help. He can't say the words that need to be said. He tries to stop him from curling in on himself, moving closer though still afraid that the other would disappear, that he would find he is dreaming or hallucinating.
He pulls him against him, wrapping his arms around him.