under red skies

Answering prayers is a much more complicated affair than one might expect.

For gods, humans do half of the work for them. They explain the problem, leave an offering—and the god knows exactly which temple in their region to respond to.

Obviously, Hua Cheng doesn't have temples.

And, unlike martial gods and the like—his influence doesn't rise and fall depending on location. As the only ghost king, technically speaking—he has jurisdiction over all ghosts, everywhere.

But he isn't looking for ghosts, now—he's looking for children. Human children.

The lanterns provide a small spiritual connection—not enough for him to be able to instantly appear at one's location, but enough for him to follow...somewhat of a trail.

And the further he walks...the more he begins to hear.

Mostly from locals—all charmed by the youthful, handsome face he's been wearing as of late. His body doesn't need rest, food, or drink—but he'll stop in taverns. Drink liquor, while listening to the farmers as they tell their stories.

Stories of children going missing at night.

Mothers waking up to empty beds, running through the house, screaming—but nothing is ever found of them, and they don't return.

Most blame some sort of animal—after all, the search parties that have gone into the forest do find scraps of closing, puddles of blood, but...

If that were the case, how could a beast pluck them straight out of their beds? And do so silently?

No. It was something luring them away. The men in the first tavern Hua Cheng tries suspect a local pervert, known for leering a little closer to the farmers' sons than he should.

Hua Cheng looks into that—on the off chance that it's true, but when he finds the man...

He's disgusting, yes. Pathetic. The Ghost King goes through the effort of rendering him incapable of looking at any children at all—but he's also cowardly, and unlikely to do more than leer.

Still, to be sure—after he takes the man's eyes, he returns the next day—only to find another child missing. This time, a little girl.

And unlike the adults, who look to one another with suspicion...the children tell a very different story.

Of a green light, lurking in the night

Twinkling in the distance—a beautiful, tempting sight. One that entrances any child that looks upon it, drawing them further, further, further—until they can't turn back.

And that, Hua Cheng knows—is no man. No—it's something that falls directly within his purview.

A ghost.

He stays in a local tavern once again, watching the sun slowly begin to set through one of the windows, sipping at his drink. A few of the waitresses have taken an interest—but he never spares more than a passing look when he orders another drink, or settles his tab.

The only thing that /does/ catch his eye over the course of the evening is a young man, wearing a finely made outer robe of blue and silver. Beautifully intricate for something to be worn by a blacksmith's apprentice—and when his companions inquire, the youth brags—

"It's the local weaver back in my village!" He grins, jabbing his thumb against his chest. "The guy doesn't have a family to support or anything, so he sells things like this way under value!"

"Should you really brag about that?" His friend grumbles, shaking his head.

"Have you at least been tipping the man?"

"I mean, sure, I'm not an ass—pah, you think so little of me!"

The mention of the weaver draws a small smile to Hua Cheng's face, fiddling with the red thread tied around his finger.

It...brings back memories. Just then—fate strikes.

Hua Cheng's eyes slip back towards the window—just in time to see the sun slip beneath the horizon entirely.

It's time.

He tilts his head back, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the rest of his drink, slamming the empty cup back down as he tosses a few coins to the waitress.

He's out the door before he can hear what the young man has to say next.

"Why would I short change a BLIND man? And a Taoist no less! I'm not that sort of man!

(A fit of bad luck, unfortunately—though not his own.) It's a simple matter, finding a place to lie in wait.

There are six houses on the edge of the village—three of them with children. All Hua Cheng has to do is perch in a nearby tree, waiting in a low crouch.

The ghost isn't particularly clever, haunting the same villagers so frequently—and just like he suspects—

It appears.

Hovering in the dark, bouncing slightly in the air, burning green and bright against the edges of the trees.

Hua Cheng recognizes it, of course—

A ghost fire.

But there's something different about this little spirit. Something...not right. It's been bewitched by something.

He remains in his hiding spot, watching the spiritual power drifting from the little creature in showers of sparks, gently enticing anything that looks upon it. Not more powerful, dangerous beings—Hua Cheng isn't affected in the slightest, but...

The door of a nearby house opens.

Stumbling through the dark comes a little girl, bare foot, hair loose, wearing pink night clothes that must be cold now, out in the wind and the dark—but she doesn't seem to notice.

Hua Cheng follows now, silently dropping onto the ground behind her, slowly following her path.

It winds through the forest, ambling at times, but steadily heading deeper and deeper inside. Away from any help or escape. Like a small insect, slowly being drawn deeper into a spider's web—not realizing that it's already far too late.

The air smells like death and rot.

From...

Hua Cheng glances up, staring at the tree tops, and...he stops.

That's enough.

The little girl stops walking when a set of fingertips press against the back of her head, her eyes coming back into focus.

"I..." She glances around, whimpering with fear. "Where...is—?"

A voice hushes her, and she falls silent.

"Don't be afraid."

There's no green light in front of her anymore—and when she glances around—

There's no one there at all, so who's...?

"...Hua Chengzhu?" She whispers.

That was who she had been praying to, after all.

When her feet kept moving, even when she tried to stop them. When she couldn't scream, no matter how hard she tried, but...she knew she wasn't dreaming.

"...I'm sorry I didn't light a lantern," she whispers, "I—"

"Forget about the lanterns," a voice replies—a little annoyed.

She pauses, clearly a little confused by how...irritated the voice sounds. Did he like the—?

"But...?"

Before she can question more, though—something catches her eye. Soft, silvery light, flitting past her face—and when she turns around...

There's a butterfly lighting the path.

The voice doesn't speak again—but she knows.

If she follows the light—it'll take her home.

"...Thank you, Hua Chengzhu," she murmurs, stumbling after it.

Once she leaves the clearing, Hua Cheng reappears, holding the little green ghost fire in his hand, examining it.

"What happened to you?" He murmurs, tilting his head to the side. It's almost hard to believe now that his spirit was ever this small and fragile. He's holding an entire soul in his hand—and yet, it feels like little more than a fly.

It would take a savage ghost to do this.

Something powerful, yes, but...clearly not comfortable enough in it's own ability to hunt to show it's face directly, or to hunt larger prey.

No, this is a creature that lurks in the dark and preys upon children. His skills in magic and illusion are impressive enough, but...

Hua Cheng suspects, after seeing this ghost's handiwork, that it's combat skills must be subpar at best. And if that's the case—it will run away before the ghost king has the chance to approach it properly.

To make a proper greeting, if you will.

So, Hua Cheng decides to play.

The ghost fire isn't quite so addled now, when he lets it go—bouncing in front of him, waiting for orders—and when Hua Cheng speaks again, his voice is far different from how it was before.

"Take me where you were taking her," He commands. Quickly, the spirit complies.

They go deeper into the woods—and the longer it takes—the more the ghost king starts to notice the smell.

Death and rot. Blood—some of it old, some of it new.

This is practically a slaughterhouse, rather than a savage ghost's lair.

And for what purpose?

It's almost amusing, the way the creature doesn't seem to even be trying to properly hide it's identity, after all...

When Hua Cheng sees a pair of boots tangling through the treetops—he bows who it is.

He's disappointed to find that the creature is still alive—but not surprised

In the center of the forest, there's a place where the roots and branches meet, tangling into a small, tangled little nest. It's hosted many different species of rodent over the years. But never something quite this foul.

A robed figure sits upon a throne of brambles.

Several ghost fires hover around him, highlighting the acidic green hue of his eyes, dark hair falling around his face in a tangled mess as he snatches another spirit between his fingers, examining it.

"...Two silver pieces," he mumbles, discarding it. "How cheap."

He repeats the process over and over, snatching little ghosts between his fingers, estimating just how much they would sell for at the market, fingers trembling and squeezing them with annoyance.

Qi Rong was sold for eight silver pieces, once. What are they worth, in comparison?

Nothing. Nothing. Stupid, worthless souls, barely enough to sell for something interesting, even grouped together like this...

Then, he hears the sound of footsteps—and he sneers, not even bothering to look up. "It took you long enough," Qi Rong hisses. "This better be good."

And, trailing behind the ghost fire is...

A little boy.

Small, probably little more than seven or eight years old—with wild hair, tied into a loose braid over his shoulder.

And big, amber eyes—burning in the darkness.

A fine catch—this child looks like he has a strong soul!

A slow, sadistic grin spreads across Qi Rong's face, full of sharp teeth. Who knew this worthless little place was hiding an expensive creature like this?

"Hello, little one." He hisses, watching the little boy with hungry eyes. "What's your name?"

The child tips his head.

Instead of answering Qi Rong's question, he just takes another step forward, and while he has the voice of a child—he doesn't speak like one.

"Who are you, and what is this place?"

Brave.

A brave little fool.

Qi Rong's smile twists into a sneer.

"I am the Ghost King!" He balls his hands into fists, sitting up on his throne of thorns, "Can't you tell, you ignorant little whelp?! I am the ghost king, Qi Rong! Fresh from the bowels of hell!"

But instead of looking terrified, as he should be—

The little boy looks absolutely delighted.

"A ghost king?" His grin is lopsided, one sharpened canine sticking out. "You?"

The creature practically bears his teeth in response.

"Yes!"

"I thought Qi Rong was cousin to the Crown Prince of Xianle."

The green ghost pauses in the middle of lunging to throttle the child.

"...You know that?" He breathes, eyes widening. Drawn in by the promise of being recognized for what he used to be—

Wealthy. Royalty.

But then he remembers.

How it all came crashing down.

"...He's got nothing to do with me!" Qi Rong snarls. "I ditched that loser ages ago!"

The boy's eyes flash for a moment—but he doesn't waver.

"That's not what I heard."

The green ghost starts to snarl, and the little boy doesn't flinch.

"I heard the crown prince banished you."

Qi Rong pales.

"I heard he was so disgusted, he stripped you of your titles."

Qi Rong stumbles backwards, like he's been slapped. "...Who—who told you that?! It's a LIE! Who told you?! WHO TOLD YOU?!"

The boy doesn't flinch, just smiles even wider.

"Everyone knows that."

Part of Hua Cheng wonders if the green ghost will put the pieces together, but...

His expectations for the green ghost's intelligence were never that high, so he isn't particularly offended when Qi Rong continues to rage—

"IT'S NOT TRUE! IT'S NOT! I left him behind, he was just angry because I didn't wanna worship him anymore, HE'S the disgrace, not ME!"

Of course—that's exactly when he notices it. The rocks on the ground around them— they aren't stones, native to this forest.

They're fragments of marble. Rubble, left behind from...

Divine statues.

There's a face on the ground near his foot—all too familiar.

Suddenly, the air around the clearing is...different, from before. Slightly more menacing.

Qi Rong frowns, glancing around, sniffing—and he catches a whiff of something— something strong.

Spiritual power. More...more than the ghost is used to. But where...is it coming from?

Now, the kid speaks again, his voice cold. "I thought the Ghost King was a red spirit. Not green."

After all, those were the rumors.

Conveniently, Qi Rong seems to ignore the boy's red tunic. "That's just a rumor—it wasn't true! He's definitely green, alright?!"

"...And I thought Ghost Kings were supposed to be tall," the boy drawls, distinctly unimpressed.

A vein bulges in Qi Rong's forehead.

He, of course, doesn't even break 160 centimeters.

"I WAS tall! I don't know why my spirit formed like this, I—!" He grabs the boy by the neck.

In all honesty—Hua Cheng can't remember Qi Rong being taller than Xie Lian, even when he was alive. He was maybe half a head below than the prince—and in this form, he's shrunk even shorter than that.

A small piece of karma, he supposes.

"But can't Ghost Kings change the way they look?" The boy questions.

He doesn't sound like he's being throttled, even with the way he's dangling by Qi Rong's grip on his neck.

His eyes burn in the dark—and his gaze is imperious.

Slowly, the green ghost starts to pause.

"I..." He frowns, his brow pinched. How would a child know that?

"Couldn't you just make yourself taller?" The boy repeats—this time, his voice much lower.

Suddenly, he isn't dangling anymore—and Qi Rong has to reach far over his head to grip the man's neck.

"Like this?"

Suddenly, the clearing goes quiet—dead quiet. No little creatures scurrying in the night. Not even the sound of ghost fires flickering in the wind.

There's nothing, just—

Silence.

His eyes look down on him, burning sharply. Qi Rong's fingers begin to tremble. "...H...Hua Cheng?"

Of course, he knows him by that name. The entire ghost realm does—it was spread to every region of the land of the undead by those who turned back before becoming sealed into the gates of Mount Tonglu.

A beautiful name. A poetic name.

A killer's name.

His smile is just as much of a sneer as Qi Rong's was, sharp, framed with fangs and a cockiness that seems to permeate the air. "I was not aware that there were any other Ghost Kings." He murmurs—and the moment Qi Rong lets him go, the green ghost is the one left dangling.

He struggles, feet kicking in the air, choking out apologies. "I-I meant no disrespect, young master, I—I—this ancestor didn't know!"

"You think that makes a difference to me?" He muses, tightening his fingers, watching the ghost's eyes bulge out of his head.

There was a time when this man towered over Hong-er.

It's something he'll forget in time—he always does.

Most people have two different responses to fear: fight, or flight.

Everyone who has ever known the ghost king would say the answer in Hua Cheng's case was obvious.

Fight.

That wasn't always true.

There was a different time. One where he was small. Scared. Struggling—but frightened. Because the man forcing him into a sack, dragging him towards that carriage—

His face was so similar to the one Hong-er saw that day.

'DIANXA! DIANXIA! DIANXIA!'

The screams of the crowd echoed so clearly in his mind back then. The entrancing beauty of that face, the eyes looking down on him, squeezing Hong-er close, as he whispered the words—

'Don't be afraid.'

And so, he wasn't.

But on that day, so many years ago...Hong-er was afraid.

Not of the pain. Even as a child that small—he was used to pain.

Not of dying. Hong-er had barely even lived at all by then—but he was so very ready to die.

He was afraid, when the man with a face so similar to that of his savior threw him into that sack, saying he was Xie Lian's cousin...

Hong-er was afraid that, somehow, the prince knew what was happening. That he knew this man was hurting him, and that he didn't care.

That was frightening. Truly, horrifically frightening.

Not Qi Rong, never Qi Rong—but the thought that the Crown Prince might be someone like him. That the one point of goodness in Hong-er's young life was that of fool's gold.

'My handsome, brave Hong-er.'

That was what his love used to call him—but it isn't very hard to be brave, when you've seen the worst of what the world can do. And there are still things that frighten Hua Cheng. The same things that frightened him when he had a different name. A different face.

But in the end, there was nothing to be afraid of after all.

Because the carriage was stopped—and even though all of the pain, the agony that Hong-er had never been afraid of, not truly—

There was the Crown Prince's face. Xie Lian's horrified, frightened face.

Hua Cheng hasn't felt real fear since that day. Not for himself. He's been afraid on Xie Lian's behalf many, many times, but...

He looks over the trembling, pitiful figure in his grip now.

Hua Cheng has never been frightened by Qi Rong, as a ghost or a human.

Not even when Qi Rong was torturing him. Murdering him.

Hong-er didn't feel fear when the former noble would plunge Fang Xin into his non- fatal point, twisting and sneering, trying to antagonize the teenager into screaming.

That was just pain. It wasn't frightening.

So many people hurt him in his human life—Qi Rong isn't even special in that regard, and as such, the Ghost King wouldn't have held a grudge for his own death normally. Not even for the torture, or the abuse he faced before that—no.

It was for what Qi Rong did after.

Being forced to watch as his god stumbled through the forest, calling out his name. Walking underneath Hong-er's lifeless body, over and over again, fearing—fearing the worst. Desperate to find him.

When Hong-er could only worry about how often Xie Lian was falling.

Scraping his hands, twisting his ankle. Hong-er never would have let him fall before— but now, he's legs wouldn't move. Never would have allowed his prince to continue on in such pain and discomfort before. Xie Lian wasn't so used to pain back then—but he pushed through it.

All to find him. When Hong-er already knew that it was too late. That the worst possible thing had already happened.

He was dead. Hong-er was dead, and all he could do was watch Xie Lian, and worry about it getting cold.

'It's going to snow.'

It was all so unclear back then. He was barely even a ghost fire, struggling to understand why he couldn't answer when Xie Lian called his name.

'It's going to snow soon, gege—you should get back inside.'

His lips wouldn't move, and they felt stiff—cold.

'You hate the cold.'

Hua Cheng has learned so much in the last twenty five years. More than any one human could in a lifetime. But among all of those things, he's learned a very rare secret:

Ghost Fires can weep.

Humans don't think of it that way, when they see sparks drifting from the small flame spirits forms, no. But that's what they are.

They poured from Hong-er's form when he tried to press close to Xie Lian's body in the snow—to keep him warm the way he once did during the nights.

'You have to stop mourning the life you could have had.'

That was what Zhao Beitong said—one of the most important lessons his Guoshi ever taught him. And yet, she was wrong about one thing:

Hong-er didn't mourn the loss of his own future.

At first, he wasn't particularly distressed about his own death at all. It was an afterthought, a frustrating barrier to protecting his god, but...

It was when he realized that he couldn't keep Xie Lian warm anymore—not ever again —that Hong-er truly began to mourn.

He's still mourning that—even now. And nobody mourns like a ghost.

"I...!" Qi Rong's feet are still flailing, his fingers clawing uselessly at Hua Cheng's wrist. "I said I was sorry, there's really no...no need for violence!"

Drawn from his thoughts, the ghost king's lips twist into a sardonic smile. "Was it necessary for you to slaughter so many human children? What was the purpose of that, exactly?"

"It..." Qi Rong's feet jerk slightly when Hua Cheng's thumb crushes into his trachea. "It was...a...Fundraising...effort!" He wheezes, not understanding why the ghost king cares. "What—what difference does it make to you?!"

After all—benevolent ghosts don't make it very far, in the afterlife. To be a ghost king, you have to be dripping with resentment and rage.

What are the lives of a few mortal children, in the eyes of a man like that?

Hua Cheng's fingers tighten to the point where the ghost can feel his vertebrae crush and snap. An all too familiar feeling by now, unfortunately—

"You took my name in order to do so." He muses.

As anyone might imagine by now—Hua Cheng has become somewhat protective over his name. He doesn't particularly enjoy seeing it misused.

"R-Really just your title—!" The ghost tries to argue, but when there's more crushing of his spine, he weeps. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry!"

His voice wails out into the night, echoing through the trees—like that of an animal caught in a trap, struggling for life. "You can't possibly mean to d-disperse me, can you?! It—it wasn't so great an offense—!"

It takes so much wealth and privilege, Hua Cheng thinks—for human suffering to be seen through such a warped lens. Bai Wuxiang wasn't wrong, when he said that to Xie Lian before.

Qi Rong only sees his actions through the scale of the severity of the consequences he faces after.

Even that day, when Xie Lian saved Hong-er from being dragged behind his carriage —Qi Rong measured the severity of the action through the consequences he faced from the king and queen. And to some extent, Feng Xin.

He didn't care that a child almost died—no. Not for a second.

He cared that his arm was broken. He cared that his carriage was taken.

And now, Hua Cheng knows—Qi Rong doesn't think Hua Cheng cares about the lives taken. And it certainly won't stop him from doing this again in the future.

For a moment, he considers destroying him.

It wouldn't be particularly difficult, and—he can see, from the way Qi Rong struggles, that the green ghost anticipates that outcome.

There's only one thing that stays his hand, in the end:

The memory of Xie Lian standing in the middle of a feasting hall, holding a flame.

White mourning robes, covered in blood—the curse pattern of his shackles gleaming in his eyes. His skin tinted with a hellish green glow as he held Qi Rong's form close, whispering to him viciously.

Hua Cheng doubts it's a memory the god looks back on fondly now, but...

Just thinking back on it makes the ghost king's heart ache with longing.

"P...Please...!"

And it's irritating, to have this sniveling, irrelevant creature's whining intruding upon such a lovely image.

So, Hua Cheng crushes his throat entirely to silence him. "NNNGH!"

He releases his fingers then, leaving the green ghost to collapse on the ground, clutching his neck as he writhes with pain.

It should be a familiar feeling for him, then.

"I won't disperse you," Hua Cheng murmurs, slowly tilting his head.

Not out of a lack of desire.

But because that decision has already been made.

Xie Lian could have dispersed Qi Rong in that moment with ease—but he chose to allow the spirit to continue on.

It was his god's wish—and Hua Cheng won't violate that now. "Not quite, anyway." He flexes his fingers.

But he'll come to the very brink of it. What happens to the spirit from there, in the end—is up to him.

"You called yourself a ghost king," he murmurs, standing over Qi Rong's broken form. "Would you like to see what that means?"

After all—most people don't.

Bai Wuxiang was a calamity to be feared. A bringer of war, destruction, and plague— but rarely did he ever enter the field of combat directly.

Rarely did the world ever see the true scope of a Ghost King's strength.

Hua Cheng is still exploring the limits of that strength now. But this, well—

Qi Rong watches as small, silvery creatures creep in on the forest floor around him. Rats.

The butterflies, he thinks, wouldn't do for dealing with a creature such as him.

The green ghost struggles to move, pained sounds coming out of his throat as the little wraith spirits begin gnawing at the edges of his form, quickly draining his spiritual power.

This doesn't even feel like so much as flexing one's pinky. Hardly even an effort at all.

Qi Rong can see that, even now, as he's pushed to the brink of utter destruction, flailing uselessly as the silver spirits crawl all over him, knowing at every exposed piece of flesh—

Hua Cheng isn't even watching. He's examining the dirt under his nails. Like he's bored.

"You don't seem particularly bright, so I'll be explicit with you," he sighs, turning on his heel as the rats reduce Qi Rong to exactly where he started, twenty three years before:

Back into a Ghost Fire.

"I'm not a patient man. When someone pisses me off, well..." He smirks. "Do you want to know what pisses me off, Qi Rong?" The Ghost King continues, slowly starting to walk back down the forest path. The butterflies have returned now, slamming into the ghost fire over and over again, strongarming the little thing into following their master.

His boots crunch softly against the leaves, dry and brittle as autumn begins to settle in. Silver bells chime softly in the breeze.

"When people touch what's mine."

When you're born with nothing, you grab onto the things life gives you—and you hang on tightly.

Up until recently—there was very little in Hua Cheng's life he could truly claim as his own.

There were things he desired to claim before, yes—but he had no right to them, and was forced to let such hopes go.

But he was a lonely child. One who grew into a selfish teenager. And now, Hua Cheng is a possessive man.

"Lay a finger on my worshippers, and I will find you," the ghost king muses, glancing up at the sky. "And I will do this to you again."

It isn't so much of a threat as it is a promise—because he knows Qi Rong can't help himself.

His survival instincts might not be bad—but his impulse control is absolutely abysmal.

But that's fear that Qi Rong has to live with, and Hua Cheng, well... He gets to enjoy it.

The Ghost King has never acknowledged the fact that he actually has worshippers. Not until now.

He still isn't sure if it counts, given the fact that he willingly descended but... They've been praying to him all this time, and now he's answered.

That forms a certain sort of relationship, whether you want it to or not. When they exit the forest, Hua Cheng finally hears it—

Rain.

The soft pattering of drops falling down through the treetops, only hitting the top of the ghost king's head when they make it out into the open—and when he sticks out his palm—

He finds it stained with red.

"...Again?" He muses, rubbing his fingertips together.

The last time this happened was on Mount Tonglu, back when he first forged E-Ming. At the time, he thought of it more as a...freak incident, more than anything else.

Now, as the blood begins to pour—he feels a rush of power that comes with it, crackling through his veins.

And now, he realizes—he was that one that caused it before. That is causing it now.

That Hua Cheng's rage could be something so profound, that after releasing it upon a creature like Qi Rong—even in what felt like a pitifully small dose—

He could make the sky weep bloody tears.

Something about that satisfies him. Bringing some small measure of peace to the torn, bloody ache in his heart that has haunted him all these years.

The ghost fire trembles behind him, sizzling each time a drop of blood lands on it's form—and Hua Cheng pulls out...

An umbrella.

It unfolds with ease as he lifts it over his head, watching the bloody downpour around him.

Not the first time he's used to the spiritual device—nor the last. And he doubts, in the end, that his god ever knew that he kept it. But...

'If you can't find a meaning in life...'

His fingers tighten around the handle of the umbrella, remembering.

'Allow me to be that meaning.'

Words that were given in kindness—even if Xie Lian likely put very little thought into them at the time. Such a small, forgettable moment to a god.

But those small moments...

He glances down, catching sight of a small white flower on the ground, it's petals slowly becoming stained by the rain

Those moments, so small in the gaze of a god, can mean everything in the life of a child.

He doesn't think much of it then, tipping the umbrella forward to shield the little thing from the downpour.

His mind is already so far away, haunted by memories of how many flowers, just like this, he used to find for his god each day.

Hua Cheng remembers the flower he placed in Xie Lian's hair, the last day he saw him. How wilted and tired it looked beneath the rain.

He tried so hard to protect him as Wu Ming. Knowing that it was often in vain— because Xie Lian had no desire to be saved.

Still, he tried.

Knowing that no pain lasts forever. That eventually, his god would return to himself again—

And how horrified Xie Lian would be, when he saw the things that grief and resentment could lead him to do.

Humans might worship gods on pedestals—but only because those gods placed themselves on those pedestals to begin with.

No one falls further than a god—and no one mourns them quite like a Ghost.

Maybe as Hong-er, he could have said something. Done something to help him more.

Hong-er was someone the prince knew. Someone he trusted. But—

But who was Wu Ming? No one. Nothing. A creature that didn't even have a name.

And it was not his place to interfere in Xie Lian's decisions—not even his own self destruction.

He could only follow—and watch.

Watch as that flower wilted in the rain.

Alone. So, horribly alone.

Until it came under the shelter of a worn out, slightly bent bamboo hat.

Hua Cheng thinks about that, now—watching a slightly bloody flower take shelter from the rain.

He remembers, and it aches.

He doesn't know that a young girl is watching him from her bedroom window, her eyes wide as she peers through the night.

The sight should be frightening, and yet...

She knows, watching the shape of that umbrella tip forward, that the young man holding it is the one who saved her

The Ghost King, the crimson ghost, Hua Chengzhu— No.

More than just a crimson ghost, she thinks—watching the way the bloody rain drops fall all around him.

What she's watching—it doesn't feel like something as simple as a ghost haunting the night, no.

It's more significant.

This feels like something out of a story—no, a fairytale.

And such tales have names that carry the beauty they hold within.

Of all of the times that Hua Cheng would make the sky rain with blood—he found this incident to be among the least significant.

Pest removal, if anything

And yet—it's the night that earned him his proper title. One verse in a song of four—

'Crimson Rain Sought Flower.'

At first, he found it a bit off base, but...then again, what else is he doing, if not walking through the bloody rain, constantly seeking the flower?

Xie Lian told himself, when he began his second banishment, that he was going to start over. That this was a new leaf, and he wouldn't turn to the methods he had once before, when he was foolish and young, determined to unleash his grief on the world.

And he meant it.

In the years since, he hasn't brought any harm to humans. He hasn't cheated or stolen from anyone. In general, he's lived his life by respectable means.

Just a simple Taoist.

But Xie Lian never expected to find himself placed in this sort of situation.

One where he's expected to stand aside, and allow something horrible to continue— simply because heaven mandates that it isn't his 'place' to interfere.

But Xie Lian isn't a god. Not right now, anyway, and...He's regretted his failures to help mortals—but never the act of trying.

Knock knock!

The boy stumbles toward the front door, rubbing his eyes irritably as he opens it, only to find...

A blind Taoist in white cultivation robes, flanked by a thin, angry looking child, half hiding behind his side.

"...Mr. Hua?!"

"Heng," Xie Lian smiles in return.

"What are you doing here?" He mumbles with a frown. "It's not even sunrise. I don't have to work for another four hours! I get to sleep a little more! I—"

"It's not about that," Xie Lian shakes his head, pulling Yan out from behind him. "I need you to keep him here with you tonight."

Heng stumbles back inside the doorway, looking at Yan like he's a cockroach that the taller boy would rather smash before he makes his way inside.

Yan doesn't look particularly pleased about the situation either, but...

Xie Lian smiles sweetly, gripping both children by the shoulders as he steers them inside.

"It's important to make friends at a young age," he explains calmly. "Otherwise you'll end up all alone like me, understand?"

"...That's depressing," Yan mumbles, hanging his chin.

"At least I won't end up blind like you!" Heng grumbles, tugging at Xie Lian's grip on his arm. "And Yan's already all alone, that's not my—!"

He stops when the Taoist leans in front of him, still smiling—but there's a sharpness to it now.

"Do you know how I lost my sight, Heng?"

Slowly, the boy shakes his head—and Xie Lian's smile widens. "Someone asked me to do a good deed, and I said no."

Not exactly the truth, but from the way he can hear Heng's heart throb with terror in response, it's an effective lie.

The two boys are left behind in the doorway, Yan holding himself tightly while Heng glares, eventually forcing himself to turn back. "If you want to sleep, there's an extra blanket. But if you try to get in my bed—I'll kill you."

The smaller boy is quiet for a moment, then—

"...Okay," he mumbles, stumbling after him.

Xie Lian had Yan carefully describe the path to his father's house to him before—and now, it's a fairly easy path to walk. He stumbles once or twice, occasionally catching himself with his hand against the trunk of a nearby tree.

The bark is wet now—but he can't remember it raining before. There's also a faint smell of iron, like blood...but he can't seem to place it.

Either way, there isn't much time to contemplate it. He has something a little more pressing on his mind, now.

It's a small walk up the hill, to make it to the cottage that Yan described—and the entire way there, Xie Lian is contemplating.

This isn't exactly a situation that can be worked out with words. Maybe Xie Lian would have thought that in his youth, but now...

He isn't so naive.

It's something he's silently wrestling with, walking to the doorstep of the house, rapping on the door with three sharp knocks.

Can he settle this situation without harming the human? Does he—?

"I swear to the GODS if you're not dead, I'll KILL YOU MYSELF!"

...Does he want to?

He feels the door swing open aggressively as Yan's father stumbles outside, liquor coming off of him like a stale stench—hears the rush of air as he swings his head around, trying to catch sight of the child—before his gaze finally settles on Xie Lian.

"...Who are you?!"

"..." The god smiles, clasping his hands in front of him in a friendly gesture. "Good evening—you have a son named Yan, is that correct?"

"...Yes," the farmer grouses, wiping at his nose. "What's it to you?"

"Well, I came across the child with some other kids from town," Xie Lian explains calmly, "and they were trying to summon a Ghost King."

"I..." The man's eyebrows knit together. "What?! What sort of nonsense is that?! Where's the little brat now? When I get my hands on him—!"

"I left him with Heng's family for the evening," Xie Lian continues, a forced smile in place. "But I hope you aren't trying to imply you'd resort to violence."

"..." The farmer stops, breathing heavily, looking the Taoist over. He recognizes him from town, he thinks.

"...Mr. Hua, isn't it?"

Xie Lian bobs his head politely. "Yes. The children—they seemed to think the Ghost King could help them, if they were being mistreated."

The farmer stiffens, his shoulders rising defensively. "Would your son have a reason to summon him, you think?"

"...The boy's been disturbed since his mother died," the older man mutters, hands balled into fists by his sides. "He's prone to telling tales to get attention. Nothing to worry yourself over."

The lines are practiced. He's said them many times. Xie Lian can tell.

"...I see," he murmurs. "Well, I thought I should check, nonetheless. Thank you for setting my mind at ease."

It's not as though he can use physical violence to threaten the man, can he? "It's alright, little priest—safe journey home, now."

Xie Lian turns around with a frown.

It's been a long time since he was so frustrated with his limitations as a god. And—he knows it wouldn't be hard to eliminate this man. That no one would miss him, and that some might even thank Xie Lian for it.

But didn't he swear that he wouldn't resort to such things again?

He—

"I swear, that boy wants to see ghosts everywhere he looks," the man mutters when he thinks Xie Lian is out of earshot. "If that's what he wants, he can go join his dead whore for a mother for all I care."

The prince pauses in mid step. Ah. There it is.

He reaches into his robes for a moment, slowly working through a newly formed idea in his mind—lifting out a small silver ring, pressing his lips against it.

"I'm sorry, Hong-er." He murmurs under his breath. "I promised I wouldn't do this sort of thing anymore, but..."

But this is important.

Finally, Xie Lian turns around, settling his gaze—unseeing, but still unnerving, on the farmer.

(He doesn't know that, only a few kilometers away, a ghost king rubs the back of his neck with a shiver.)

"Sir?"

The farmer pauses, glancing up.

"...What is it?"

Xie Lian smiles, slowly tipping his head to the side, his voice perfectly pleasant— friendly, even, as he speaks again—

"Yan told me everything."

The older man goes stock still, eyes bulging out of his head. "He—?!"

"He showed me the scars." Xie Lian explains.

Of course—Xie Lian had to touch them to know that they were there, but once he did, the prince knew exactly what made them.

A whip.

"And that made me believe he was telling the truth about the rest of it, as well."

He listens, as Yan's father's pulse begins to race.

There were other things the child told Xie Lian. Things that wouldn't leave scars, but cut all the deeper.

"I'm going to tell," Xie Lian concludes, turning back around. "That's why I left Yan somewhere else, tonight. I thought it was only decent to tell you first."

If this were any other situation—if Xie Lian were any other person, it would be an incredibly foolish thing to do. A naive thing to do.

But now, he simply starts making his way back down the path towards the village— and when he hears quiet footsteps following, he smiles.

Humans can surprise you, in Xie Lian's experience. Many of them have a goodness in them that can come out when you least expect it.

But there are just as many who are never surprising. Who will always disappoint. This man is one of the latter—which works to Xie Lian's advantage

Even if he pretends not to notice, he's expecting it when the farmer creeps up on him from behind.

And this method—it works perfectly for his needs.

When a set of hands wrap around his throat behind, the cultivator makes a big show of gasping, letting out a strangled whimper.

Objectively, he's aware of just how violently the man is squeezing his throat. Can feel his windpipe being crushed as those fingers squeeze tighter with each passing moment.

But it doesn't hurt, not really.

Even when he's lifted from the ground, feet flailing with feigned weakness. His hands tremble as he 'tries' to pull the farmer's fingers off of his throat.

Fingers that Xie Lian could crush with a flick of his wrist, if he desired—but now, he does no such thing.

Then, when he finally goes limp—those hands let him go, and his body goes crumpling down against the dirt.

He lays there for a moment, hair covering his face—utterly still. Not breathing.

The farmer stares down at him, hands trembling, his own breaths becoming ragged.

Xie Lian remains limp, when he feels fingers wrap around his ankles—slowly dragging him into the underbrush.

It's kind of nice, he thinks. Almost like being carried. He can't remember the last time someone ever carried him. The occasional rock bumps his head—but it's not too bad

Eventually, he's left behind a bush—the brilliant plan of a mean spirited drunk to get rid of a body. Very impressive—Xie Lian is trembling with awe of his ingenious little scheme.

He stumbles back towards his house, and Xie Lian feels Ruoye tremble against his throat woefully.

Poor thing, probably feels horrible that the god wouldn't allow it to help. But that wasn't the point.

Xie Lian lies against the forest floor, stroking his fingers over the ring thoughtfully.

'I'm sorry, Hong-er,' he thinks to himself, staring into the dark void of his shackles

'I know I said I wouldn't do this anymore.'

He promised to take better care of himself, in his second banishment. And Xie Lian does try, but...he isn't very good at it, honestly.

'But there was a child in danger this time. You would understand, if you were here—I promise.'

Once his throat finishes the process of reconstructing itself—it takes a little over an hour—he rises to his feet.

He clutches Hong-er between his fingers again—but Xie Lian doesn't bother with apologizing this time. It would seem sincere, given what he's about to do.

In the cottage at the seat of the hill—there's sharp rapping at the door.

Knock, knock, knock!

"..." The farmer rubs his temple, rising to his feet, staggering through the kitchen once more. "Have you finally dragged your miserable ass home, you little—?!"

The door swings open, and he freezes up with terror.

Standing in the doorway—his throat clearly bruised, but otherwise unharmed—is a Taoist.

A blind Taoist, wearing cultivator's robes.

"Hello," Xie Lian smiles kindly. "Are you Yan's father?"

"..." The farmer trembles. "I...I'm..." he takes a step back, his throat dry. Had he...had he not finished the job somehow? "I-I am..."

The Taoist's smile widens, making the older man's heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

"He told me everything," Xie Lian explains, turning around. "I'm going to tell."

He begins his slow walk down the mountain path once more, and once again, he's all too aware of the sound of the farmer stumbling after him.

It almost hurts, the second time—but only because he uses a knife. The feeling of a blade against the god's skin brings back bad memories

He lets out a pained cry when the knife plunges into his back, over and over again, even makes a scene by rolling over onto his back, throwing his arms up to shield his face—before going limp once more, his blood pooling beneath him on the ground.

There's a bit more effort, now.

This time, when he drags Xie Lian into the forest—there's an attempt to bury him. Not fantastic, really—it's barely more than a foot deep, and his boots are sticking out. But he can't say that there's not a very, very shallow learning curve when it comes to Yan's father.

Xie Lian lays there again, wiggling his toes. The farmer didn't seem particularly concerned with mopping up the blood spatter—but then again, there was all of that blood around before—maybe Xie Lian's blends in.

How did that happen, anyway? He... Ruoye is writhing in protest now

The spiritual tool is attached to him—more so than most devices of such nature. It's primary purpose is protection, after all—not combat.

Being forced to watch this happen to the prince over and over again...leaves the poor thing distressed.

"I'm sorry," Xie Lian murmurs. "But this is the best way."

After all—Xie Lian can sit up now. He can brush the dirt from his robes, and make his way back up the hill.

Yan wouldn't be able to do that, if his father harmed him. He knocks on the door once more.

It's not the most graceful method, he'll admit.

"He told me everything."

But each time he says those words, the man's eyes widen just a little more with fright. "I'm going to tell."

In the hours before sunrise, Xie Lian is strangled. Stabbed. Drowned in the river at the foot of the hill. And each time, he makes his way back

He never lays a finger on the farmer—not once.

But in the hours after sunrise, there's a light set of knocks on a different door.