Chapter Text
The moon may be new or full, but whether it waxes or wanes, it does not change in itself; what changes is the perspective through which it is observed. People are like this as well.
~
On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, the Ghost Gates open.
The barriers between the mortal realm and the underworld thin, allowing even the most wicked of ghosts to escape and wreak havoc on the living. For a little while, at least.
Above the mountaintops, storm clouds gather in warning, rumbling with thunder as the heavens sense the disturbance in the fabric of nature. In the darkest valley, countless resentful spirits scramble to be the first to leave. Their dense shadows blend together in masses that can rival the sky, and shrieks of the souls fill the night air — shrieks of pain, of hunger, of delight at their short-lived freedom.
Among them walks a scholarly man in fluttering robes, red as the blood of the lives he’s taken. An intricate jade hairpin shines amidst the dark waterfall of his hair, complementing his almost otherworldly beauty. Unlike the ghosts that surround him, the man walks slowly, as if he is simply taking a nice stroll, his measured steps in no hurry at all. Closing his eyes, the man takes a deep breath of the humid night air, savouring its electric taste. The clouds part for a moment, and in the light of the full moon, his lips pull into a twisted smile, the cruel attempt of a monster pretending to be human.
~~~~~
The clear clatter of stones on a Go board is the only thing breaking the silence in the temple of the night god. Two men sit opposite each other, one in modest greys, one in flowing white. The stillness between them is one of intense competition, until the man in white drops a black stone on one end of the board, effectively surrounding the white pieces and ending the game. With a wave of his hand, the stones clear off the board and return to their respective bowls in an orderly fashion, and he leans back into his seat with a smile.
“Zishu, you went easy on me,” he says humbly.
The other man shakes his head, also smiling. “Yeshen-dianxia[1] is speaking in jest. While it is true that on the battlefield, you may not be as powerful as me, when it comes to strategy it is I who falls short.”
Jing Beiyuan raises an eyebrow and pretends to be angry. “It has been millenia, and yet you still speak so formally to me! Are we not friends?”
“Beiyuan,” Zhou Zishu amends. “Well, I thank you for the excellent game, but I must get going.”
“Heading out so soon? It has hardly been a few hours since midnight in the mortal realm. Surely the ghosts could be given a little more time to play.”
Zhou Zishu shakes his head. “In normal times, perhaps, but did you not hear the heavens rumble? A ghost king walks among those who have escaped from the Gates, and I would rather spare the ghost guards the headache of more paperwork. Besides, what kind of martial god would I be if I grew soft-hearted towards evil spirits?”
Jing Beiyuan considers his words for a moment before nodding thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should descend with you to lend my aid.”
“With you down there, who knows if I will be helped or hindered?” Zhou Zishu laughs. “You know, if you wished to see Bai-jiangjun[2], you could simply visit the underworld instead of going to all this trouble.”
Rather than denying the implications, Jing Beiyuan says, “But where’s the fun in that? He’s more fun to tease when he least expects it.”
Zhou Zishu decides not to dignify that with a response. After centuries of being caught between his friends in their strange courtship, he has learned better than to question anything. On more than one occasion, he’d had half a mind to go to the Marriage Manor to ask for the red strings of fate, even if they didn’t work on celestial beings, if only to escape being the victim of their increasingly overt gestures of affection.
Instead, he stands up and straightens out his robes, and he is about to leave when Jing Beiyuan stops him.
“Be careful on your descent to the mortal realm this time,” he says with a serious expression. “As I was putting out the constellations last night, I observed the astrological bodies, and according to my calculations, you are to meet your tribulation of the heart[3]. Are you certain you do not wish for my company?”
Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. If he hadn’t known Jing Beiyuan for tens of thousands of years, he might have actually believed the act. Unfortunately for his friend, Zhou Zishu knows that his favourite pastime is to descend to the mortal realm pretending to be a blind fortune teller, scamming the poor humans for his own entertainment. It would seem that he wants to expand his business to the heavens now, as well. Besides, living in the heavenly realm, which beauty hasn’t he seen? Zhou Zishu would sooner work on his cultivation and training than to waste time on such frivolous matters.
“Stop trying to meddle in other people’s love lives and start worrying about your own,” Zhou Zishu laughs. “I’m going now.”
The temple of the martial god is just as desolate as that of the night god, though with fewer intricate details, built for practicality. Zhou Zishu shrugs on his armour quickly, and after checking his weapon one last time, he steps into the mortal realm.
~~~~~
Zhou Zishu emerges near an old coffin house as the sun falls.
As he descends into the mortal realm, his armour melts into the guise of simple grey robes, not unlike the ones he wears in the heavens but made with coarser material. Casting a quick glamour to render his face into one of average plainness, he would appear to any common onlooker as a travelling Daoist priest, quickly forgotten as soon as they glance away.
Picking a spot in the courtyard of the coffin house, he sits down and begins meditating, carefully concealing any traces of his heavenly aura. Places such as this one frequently attract beings of yin nature, providing a refuge for ghosts during the day when the sun is out. By sitting out in the open like this, he acts as bait: while weaker ghosts cannot hope to drain the life force of a Daoist priest or a cultivator, stronger ones would no doubt be tempted to try.
As expected, Zhou Zishu does not have to wait long before he senses movement behind him. A sharp gust of wind sweeps through his hair from behind, and without opening his eyes, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws them up in an arc. Immediately, he hears a tortured wail above him, and he leaps to his feet in one fluid motion, taking out his wine flask and uncorking it. He watches as the ghost turns into a wisp as it gets sucked into the container, before closing it once more.
One down.
He doesn’t get a break, though, as spirits begin attacking him in groups, trying to wear him down with numbers. Zhou Zishu turns his mind to the battle at hand, stepping gracefully as he draws his soft sword from his waist to fight them back. What makes this particularly tricky is that he doesn’t intend to destroy any of them permanently, but to weaken them enough to capture and bring them back to the underworld. The ghosts, on the other hand, have no such qualms and are clearly out for blood.
Gradually, Zhou Zishu falls into rhythm, letting muscle memory guide his mind as he dodges and parries and strikes. The spirits swarm around him as more pour from inside the coffin house, swirling and attacking like a tireless hive of wasps.
Just then, he feels a change in air pressure behind him. Reflexively, he thrusts his sword backward, only to hit empty air. Instead, a large paper fan brushes past him, narrowly missing his face, and cuts across the throats of the three ghosts he had been fighting. The souls are destroyed with painful shrieks before Zhou Zishu can capture them, and the remaining spirits flee.
After finishing its arc, the fan cuts across the air and brushes past Zhou Zishu’s other side, returning to where it came from. Turning, Zhou Zishu sees pale, elegant fingers curled around the fan’s jade skeleton. The fan’s owner, seeing that he had his attention, smiles brightly and waves.
“How might I address this brave Daozhang?” the stranger asks, fluttering his fan not unlike a peacock showing off.
“My surname is Zhou. My name…” Zhou Zishu catches himself. Although few mortals know the true names of the gods they worship and even fewer dared address them as such, it is always better to err on the side of caution. “My name is a single character Xu. The Xu of catkins.”
“‘A virtuous man is impartial, his steps as light as catkins’[4],” the man compliments immediately. “An excellent name. Certainly fitting, with your light steps like swirling clouds and your butterfly bones of unparalleled beauty.”
Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes internally. “And might I thank this friend for his help…?”
Recognizing that he is asking for his name in turn, the man answers cheerfully, covering one fist in salute. “Wen, Wen Kexing. Although I must admit I haven’t helped much at all — I’m terribly afraid of ghosts, you see.”
As if to sell his story, Wen Kexing opens his fan wide and hides his face behind it, blinking over the top innocently with lashes that are distractingly long.
Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes externally before pursing his lips. “Earlier…why did you have to destroy the ghosts’ souls?”
It could have been a trick of the light, but Zhou Zishu swears Wen Kexing’s eyes goes steely for a second. The moment passes.
“Why not?” Wen Kexing shrugs carelessly. “Evil souls are damned to eternal punishment. Wicked beings like those would only burn in the eighteen levels of hell forever, so killing them completely is an act of kindness, actually.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “And I can be very kind. In fact, where I come from, they call me Wen-dashanren.”
Zhou Zishu glances at his large fan pointedly[5], but rather than commenting on it, he says, “Even the most evil of spirits were once human, and deserve a second chance once they have carried out their penance, no matter how long it may take. Besides, none of the ghosts you destroyed were beyond salvation. They simply had to be purified of their resentment.”
Wen Kexing laughs, though the amusement does not reach his eyes. “Then perhaps I am not a saint like Zhou-xiong.”
“I am hardly a saint,” Zhou Zishu replies, thinking of his fearsome reputation as the martial god. Even his own followers are terrified of him.
The battle over, he sheaths his sword again, not missing the way Wen Kexing’s eyes follow the action with interest. Zhou Zishu puts the wine jar of tortured souls away before turning back to him.
“Well, I thank Wen-gongzi once again for his assistance, but I must get going now.” He begins to walk away with a lazy wave.
Wen Kexing hurries up to him, falling in stride like an obedient dog. “Ai, Zhou-xiong, why so distant? At the very least, the two of us have been through life and death together. Since we met by chance, doesn’t this mean that we have affinity[6] for each other? The Zhongyuan Festival has just passed, and there are still many ghosts lurking around. Let me tag along and protect you, I can guarantee my services.”
Zhou Zishu raises an eyebrow without slowing down. “Protect me? I thought you were afraid of ghosts.”
“Then you can protect me! Surely a saint like Zhou-xiong wouldn’t dare leave a poor, weak scholar vulnerable to their attacks.”
A poor, weak scholar, huh, Zhou Zishu thinks in amusement. In that short display of force that must have not used even a tenth of Wen Kexing’s full strength, he sensed a power far stronger than any mortal cultivator. And yet, Wen Kexing did not have the obvious aura of an animal or plant spirit that has gained human form, much less the air of a god or ghost. He could very well be a god in disguise, though in that case, surely he would have recognized the Baiyi Sword. If anything, Wen Kexing is well and fully an enigma to Zhou Zishu, who prides himself on knowing everything that transpires within the Three Realms. On intrigue alone, he is willing to entertain a potential threat.
“Suit yourself,” Zhou Zishu shrugs, before walking faster.
Wen Kexing’s face lights up in delight. “I knew you didn’t have the heart to leave me behind — hey, hey, Zhou-xiong, wait for me!”
~~~~~
The following weeks pass with Zhou Zishu capturing the biggest troublemaking ghosts as he intended, though Wen Kexing sticks to his side like honey. He had thought that the man would leave after a few days, perhaps finding his work too tedious or too dangerous, but Wen Kexing proves to be more persistent than he expected. After three days, Zhou Zishu regrets his decision to agree to let Wen Kexing come with him, and by the end of the first week, he has learned to tune the man out completely.
The thing is, Wen Kexing doesn’t make for bad company when he isn’t showing off like a peacock or sprouting suggestive poetry every three sentences, it’s just that these occurrences happen all the time.
“A-Xu, try this watermelon. It’s really sweet, although not as sweet as you.”
…Oh, and there’s also the incessant flirting. If Zhou Zishu hadn’t tried all sorts of tricks to check, he would swear that Wen Kexing is a fox spirit. There is no other explanation for how he can continuously sweet talk at this plain, forgettable face, even if his preferences lean this way.
“Finish your watermelon and let’s go,” he says, dodging out of the way with distaste. “And don’t touch me, your hands are sticky. What are you, three?”
“Hehe, I can be however old A-Xu wants me to be~”
Zhou Zishu leaves.
“A-Xu, you wound me. It is true that beauties are the coldest people in the world,” he sighs, lamenting.
They continue down the stretch of open market, with Wen Kexing looking around excitedly like a child and Zhou Zishu following behind, paying for everything reluctantly.
As the sun begins to fall late into the summer evening, the two of them find an inn to settle for the night. Normally, Zhou Zishu would simply find the nearest temple of the martial god and stay there whenever he was out on these excursions alone, but with Wen Kexing’s identity still unconfirmed to him, he’s content to keep up the facade of being a mortal for a little while longer.
“Two rooms, please,” Zhou Zishu says, tossing a few pieces of silver onto the front desk of the inn.
The clerk’s eyes gleam when he sees the money, but after a moment, he looks up apologetically. “My deepest apologies, sirs, but we only have one room left. There are two beds, of course. If that is not amenable…”
Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing speak at the same time.
“That is alright, we can look for a different place - ”
“It is perfectly fine, thank you!”
Wen Kexing strolls up and places a hand on Zhou Zishu’s arm. “Don’t mind him, my wife is easily flustered.”
Zhou Zishu shrugs him off none too gently. “Don’t mind him, this lunatic’s mind isn’t too bright. We’ll be on our way.” He moves to take back the silver.
Wen Kexing puts his hand over Zhou Zishu’s and pushes the pieces back. “We’ll take the room, thank you.”
The poor clerk looks between the two men nervously. “I-I will return when you have made a decision. I-I-I’ll be right in the back.”
They end up taking the room.
“Childish,” Zhou Zishu grumbles as he pulls the doors shut.
“I knew A-Xu had a sharp tongue and a soft heart,” Wen Kexing replies shamelessly. He wanders over to a bed to run his hand over the covers. “The sheets are too rough.”
Zhou Zishu walks to the other bed, settles down cross-legged, and closes his eyes to begin meditating. “Then you can pay for your own lodging.”
Wen Kexing flits to his side immediately, fanning himself and batting his eyes. “But how would a broke, pitiful scholar such as myself afford such luxuries?”
Zhou Zishu cracks an eye open to watch him critically. “You can either shut up and stay, or I will kick you out.”
“A-Xu - ”
Zhou Zishu shoots him a warning look. “I’ll shut up, I will shut up right now,” Wen Kexing laughs sheepishly.
Satisfied, Zhou Zishu settles back into his meditative posture, taking deep breaths and circulating his qi through all his meridians. He goes through his usual meditative exercises, strengthening his mind and relaxing his body. The quiet room helps him focus, but now that he is feeling more alert, the room feels perhaps…too quiet, suspiciously so.
He opens his eyes.
Wen Kexing sits at the foot of his bed with his face propped up in one hand, blinking at him with an expression that clearly says, Praise me, I’ve been good.
“I am kicking you out,” Zhou Zishu deadpans, before yanking up and pushing him towards the door.
“I didn’t even do anything!” Wen Kexing protests. “If admiring your beauty is a sin, then I would willingly burn in the eighteen levels of hell for eternity.”
Zhou Zishu continues shoving him. “You’ve leeched enough from me.”
“I can make it up to you!” he scrambles. “I have no money to my name, but I can promise the rest of my life to you.”
Zhou Zishu remains unfazed.
Wen Kexing has one foot out the door when he yelps as a last resort, “Three jars of wine!”
This gives Zhou Zishu pause, and he considers the offer for a moment, but he does stop pushing. “Only three?”
“As many as you want,” Wen Kexing amends quickly, stepping back into the room and closing the door behind him before Zhou Zishu can change his mind.
“At least six.”
“Done.”
“It must be fine wine.”
“Only the finest for my A-Xu,” Wen Kexing nods vigorously.
Zhou Zishu raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you have money?”
“Aiyo, A-Xu, you have to understand, I was just flirting.”
“Indeed,” is the dry reply.
Under the light of the waning moon, the two of them lightly leap onto the roof of the inn, jars of wine in hand. Here, away from the bustling of the mortal realm but also far from the heavens, Zhou Zishu finds himself enjoying the tranquility of drinking wine with a companion, watching the night sky.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” Wen Kexing sighs in admiration, breaking the silence.
Zhou Zishu turns to shush him, only to find the other man staring right at his face. Feeling the tips of his ears burn under the intensity, Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. “Be quiet.”
Wen Kexing complies for once as he too basks in the tranquil atmosphere. However, the weight of his gaze is not on the moon, but rather on the person next to him, and it is Zhou Zishu who breaks the silence this time.
“Have I grown a second head? Are there warts popping up on my skin?” he snaps.
“A-Xu jests. How could blemishes exist on such a beauty?”
“Wen-xiong must have an eye disease. As they say, if you are sick, you should cure it as soon as possible.”
Wen Kexing smiles infuriatingly. “Don’t play coy with me. With your elegant figure and your delicate bones, there is no doubt a beauty hides beneath that plain face. It is only a matter of unveiling your true appearance.”
Zhou Zishu tilts his head back to drink the last drops of wine. “And have you managed to do that with all your staring?”
“Not yet,” Wen Kexing answers, leaning into Zhou Zishu’s personal space. “But on the account of the fine wine, won’t you show me?”
Zhou Zishu pushes him away without hesitation. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what the wine is paying for.” And then, “Perhaps if you showed me your true appearance, I can consider showing you mine.”
Wen Kexing looks back at him with a playful smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Be careful what you ask for, A-Xu. Some people, though they parade around with human masks, are in fact horrifying monsters underneath.”
Zhou Zishu scoffs. “What monster can be more horrifying than human nature? Besides, you underestimate the horrors I have witnessed in my time.”
“Ah, forgive me. I’ve forgotten how well-traveled this great Daozhang is.”
Zhou Zishu thinks he catches a bit of wistfulness in his tone, but when he looks over, Wen Kexing is taking a sip of wine like he has no worries in the world.
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Surely a man as…scholarly as you has much experience as well.”
Wen Kexing shrugs, looking over like he’s surprised Zhou Zishu remembers the identity he gave at their initial meeting. “Experience, I have plenty. Now, whether they are good or bad remains to be seen, but personally…I believe meeting you heavily tips the scale in favour of good.”
Zhou Zishu ignores his clear effort at dancing around the subject. “Indeed. After all, a scholar must have lived through interesting events to have amassed such a high level of martial proficiency.”
He expects a flirtatious remark in return, but when he looks up, Wen Kexing’s dark eyes bear into him like he is staring into his soul. “Are you asking me, A-Xu? Because if you are, I’ll tell you.”
“Lao Wen, there is no need if - ”
“I was sold as a slave boy in my youth. Found my master and his brothers defiling a servant girl one time, so I killed them all.”
Zhou Zishu is stunned by his bluntness, and it takes him a moment to recover. “I’m sorry.”
Wen Kexing shrugs again, leaning back for another drink. “Don’t be. How’s that for ‘interesting’?”
Against his better judgement, Zhou Zishu can’t help but ask, “What happened after?”
“I…I don’t remember. It’s been too long.” Wen Kexing glances over, a melancholic look in his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be running away or trying to kill me right about now? I’m a monster, you should be scared of me.”
“You are not a monster. Those people you killed? They’re the real monsters.”
“If you say so.” Wen Kexing sighs, looking back up at the sky. “Ah, I’ve ruined the mood, haven’t I? And to think, all I wanted was to admire the moon together with a beauty. Darkness always finds a way in, it seems.”
As if on cue, a dark wisp of cloud drifts across the waning moon, obscuring its light from view. Though it is still the peak of summer, the night air suddenly chills.
Zhou Zishu sets the empty wine jars aside and stands, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
Wen Kexing immediately stands as well. “And leave me alone here, scared and defenseless? I shall go where A-Xu goes,” he declares.
Zhou Zishu doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Just a moment ago, he sensed an intense amount of yin energy nearby, and though it is faded, its essence lingers. While in theory there are many sources for yin energy this pure, so close to Zhongyuan it can only come from a ghost powerful enough to cause significant damage, but not powerful enough to conceal its trace.
Leaping from the roof, he chases the trail at an inhuman speed, weaving between streets with incredible agility. Without gazing behind, he can tell that Wen Kexing is keeping up with him effortlessly.
The trail leads them to the back of the manor belonging to the local magistrate. When he flips over the stone wall, Zhou Zishu catches sight of the ghost for the first time. In the clothes of a governor is a man in his forties, who looks almost human save for his black lips and deathly pale skin. His attire is so ridiculous in combination with his complexion, Zhou Zishu thinks for a moment that he would fit right in with a travelling theatre crew. The ghost is hunched over the limp figure of another man wearing thin night robes, one hand extended above his neck in an unnatural, claw-like fashion.
In a flash, Zhou Zishu draws his blade and slices it through the air, sending a blast of energy that knocks the ghost backwards. He dashes forward and catches the unmoving man before he can hit the ground, and notices with mild relief that he is only unconscious, not dead. Setting him down perhaps more carelessly than he means to, Zhou Zishu turns to face the resentful ghost, whose lips are curled in a canine-like snarl as he regards the newcomer.
“Governor Meng,” Zhou Zishu says, watching as dark energy curls around the ghost.
“So a little daoshi has decided he can ruin my midnight snack,” the ghost neers in return. “You must be more stupid than you look if you dare say my name, and yet stand here like a fearless calf in front of a tiger.”
Zhou Zishu points his sword straight ahead with a steady hand. “Clearly you do not mean to come with me peacefully, so stop wasting time with your useless words and let us fight.”
The ghost — Governor Meng — tilts his head back and cackles before looking back with anger in his face. “Very well. I had thought this would be a ruined meal, but perhaps it only became more extravagant.”
Zhou Zishu charges without hesitation, swinging his sword in arcs of forms he long perfected. Sharp blasts are flung from the edge of his blade, forcing the ghost to dodge out of the way. Within a few traded blows, it becomes clear that while Governor Meng wasn’t trained in life, he must have picked up some martial skills after becoming a ghost. Rather than fighting with a discipline that comes from training with a master, he shamelessly uses unorthodox techniques to escape Zhou Zishu’s attacks time and time again. Gritting his teeth, Zhou Zishu presses on in his offense, knowing that the moment he tries to defend against the ghost’s feints, he will instead leave himself open.
As the fight draws on, Governor Meng must realize Zhou Zishu isn’t some random low-level cultivator, and his attacks grow more vicious. In a flash, he produces a butcher’s knife from his sleeve, hacking down with brute force like a desperate man down to his last resort. For a moment, his forceful advances slow Zhou Zishu, who takes a few steps back to reassess the situation. However, before he can attack the weak spots in the ghost’s forms, Governor Meng’s eyes widen, looking behind Zhou Zishu and dropping his weapon.
“V-Valley Ma - ”
The ghost drops to his knees like a puppet with cut strings, clutching at his throat and choking though he has no need for air. The resentful energy around him dissipates completely.
Unsurprised by the turn of events, Zhou Zishu walks up and collects the ghost into his wine flask before turning around to Wen Kexing fluttering his fan innocently.
“A-Xu is so courageous that his saintly wrath is able to make any ghost surrender instantly,” Wen Kexing says, flattering him.
Zhou Zishu ignores his words, leaning down instead to haul the unconscious man up on his shoulders before heading towards the manor.
“Ah, A-Xu, you should just leave him on the ground. A man like him doesn’t deserve to be saved, anyway.”
Zhou Zishu sets the man against the back door and turns, shrugging.
“Perhaps. But my duty lies in purifying resentful spirits, not in deciding whether or not a person is deserving to live.”
“So saintly,” Wen Kexing says again. This time, though, the emotion behind it is unreadable.
Something shifts in the air, making Zhou Zishu study the man before him more intently.
“Lao Wen, what - ”
“Aren’t you curious? Why I was able to subdue that ghost so easily,” Wen Kexing says, his tone daring Zhou Zishu to call him out.
“If you do not wish to tell me, I will not pry,” Zhou Zishu answers. “Besides, it is late, and I will be taking my leave soon. It is not my place to press you when I have secrets of my own.”
“Is that so? Going so soon?” Wen Kexing takes a step forward, his aura turning forceful. “Wushen-dianxia[7].”
Zhou Zishu tenses and then relaxes, slowly allowing his guise to melt away to reveal the handsome face and plated armour lying beneath. There is no use keeping up the facade when he has been called out so directly.
“When did you guess?” he asks, not so much concerned about the answer as he is trying to calm Wen Kexing down.
“The first night,” Wen Kexing admits easily. “It is unconventional for a daoshi to wield a soft sword, and besides, no mortal can move as elegantly as you did. I did not get my confirmation until earlier, though, when I saw your sword up close. The Baiyi Sword — that is the signature sword of the martial god.”
“Are you truly not a scholar? You are certainly well-read.”
“A-Xu, you flatter me.”
“I thought the Ghost Valley Master cared not for flattery.”
Wen Kexing sighs, like a small child just disappointed him. “Ai, A-Xu, it’s impolite to point out the obvious.”
Zhou Zishu shrugs. “I have never been known to be a polite man.”
“No,” Wen Kexing agrees, “you are a thoughtless man, cruel in your justice. I suppose you must kill me now.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes reflexively, but he can see Wen Kexing relaxing at his attitude, so he continues, “I haven’t caught you in the acts of evil, so I have no reason to. Unfortunately, being a nuisance does not count.”
All of a sudden, Wen Kexing withdraws his vicious aura like nothing happened. “I’m hurt, A-Xu,” he pouts, clutching at his heart.
Zhou Zishu has half a mind to leave Wen Kexing in this courtyard while he goes on his way, but the fact that he must return to the heavens soon gives him pause. He would be lying if he said the past weeks of tracking down malicious spirits were not the most enjoyable time he’s had doing such a task — shedding his image as an impersonal martial god, pretending to be a carefree mortal unrestrained by his responsibilities. If he is to be honest with himself, he didn’t even mind Wen Kexing’s company that much…though he would give up all the merit he’s accrued before admitting to such a thing.
Catching on to his flickering expressions, Wen Kexing bounds up to him like an excited puppy. “Is A-Xu unwilling to part with me? If you are unwilling, then don’t go. Travelling to all corners of the world, tasting all the fine wine under the heavens with your zhiji, is that not better?”
Zhou Zishu’s heart twinges at the offer. Not for the first time, he wishes he can shed his responsibilities and act out of line, even once, just to briefly taste what it would be like unshackled.
In the distance, dark clouds rumble with thunder and the promise of a summer storm, reminiscent of the tribulations of heaven[8] that befall anyone who violates natural order.
“My duties draw to a close, so I cannot linger in the moral realm any longer.”
“Cannot, or should not?” Wen Kexing asks. This close, his eyes are like bottomless depths, threatening to draw him in with their emotions and drown him.
Zhou Zishu looks away first, clearing his throat in an attempt to chase away any heat crawling up his cheeks. “It is my responsibility to deliver these souls to the underworld, and return to the heavens. Lao Wen, let us meet again if it is meant to be.”
He turns away quickly and begins walking, afraid that glancing back would weaken his resolve. As such, he misses the way Wen Kexing’s eyes darken as he draws his fan up to hide his face, the other half obscured by shadows.
“Is that a promise? Then don’t blame me for coming to meet you again.”
Wen Kexing has never believed in fate, after all.