Chapter 2 - 2

"If you even think about biting, I'll stab the needle through your eye."

Song Lan had known discomfort in his life. The unspoken shame of being hailed a supposedly dauntless warrior while unable to abide simple touch. The gut-churning revulsion when facing the vilest of monsters, witnessing the handiwork they had made of once-breathing human beings. Having to endure the falsehoods and hypocrisy of the clans and sect leaders whose politics he preferred as little to do with as possible, but that even a wandering cultivator could never wholly escape.

He had even suffered something like this particular discomfort once before, albeit having been blissfully unprepared then for just what it would entail.

With Xue Yang's fingertip impatiently drumming against his chin, prompting him to open his mouth, he was more uncomfortable than he could remember being in his life.

"You may find that hard to do without fingers," he snapped back, temporarily voiceless again, Fuxue slicing the signs onto the ground. Xue Yang narrowed his eyes at him, tossing and catching the talisman coin once. Song Lan fervently wished he would touch it as little as possible.

"You have a foul mouth on you when you know he can't hear you, corpse. Maybe I don't feel like doing this, after all."

Xingchen looked vaguely pained.

"Please, no fighting. And please don't talk behind my back. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Nope," Xue Yang said, holding his gaze, a challenge. "Nothing either one of you two can do, unless you want to risk stitching it stuck upside down, and then you'd talk backwards for eternity."

Song Lan frowned suspiciously. That sounded ridiculous enough that he couldn't immediately tell if it was truth or lie.

"Just do it," he said stiffly, sweeping Fuxue across the ground. Added "And tell him what I said." as an afterthought.

"He says to just do it," Xue Yang repeated, singsong. "Which I will if he'll just open his mouth and stop squirming."

Resisting the urge to close his eyes, refusing Xue Yang that satisfaction, Song Lan fought down a shudder of revulsion and opened his mouth.

"That all you can manage?" Xue Yang scoffed, hooking his thumb over his teeth to pull his mouth further open until his jaws ached with it. His only comfort was that the shorter man looked every bit as tense as himself.

"Maybe we should just unhinge your jaw all the way," Xue Yang muttered, looping silver thread through the square hole of the coin before resolutely reaching into his mouth and stabbing the needle through his cheek. "You're dead, it'd pop right back in place and be fine in a few days. Would give me more room to see what I'm doing."

"No need for excessive force," Xingchen said, calm but with a steely protective edge. It warmed, somehow.

The needle was sharp enough he barely felt it piercing his cheek, over and over, a strange cold sucking sensation as the thread pulled through his flesh. The fingers were worse, like a large fleshy spider squirming in his mouth. He contemplated how many of them he would be able to sever in a single bite, should he choose to. Probably at least three, he grimly concluded, imagining in detail how nicely they'd crunch between his teeth.

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Xue Yang's eyes and teeth flashed threateningly.

"Hold still," he hissed, a warning tone to his voice. "Almost done. You really have got to be the most ungrateful person I've ever met! This is me doing you a favour."

A favour, haphazardly patching up a modicum of the damage he had caused in his first place. Song Lan gave him a frosty glare, unimpressed.

Xue Yang just scoffed and rolled his eyes before focusing back on the work at hand. A few finishing stitches and knots, then he pushed the needle through his cheek one last time, pulled the thread taut from the outside and let go, leaving needle and thread to dangle awkwardly. Pulling his hand back, he insolently wiped his fingers on the front of Song Lan's robes.

"Feel free to cut that yourself. I don't think you'd appreciate me waving blades near your face," he sneered. "Come on. Say something. Let's see if we got it right."

"No blood this time..?" he said, the first thing he thought to ask, having braced for that particular horror. Xue Yang grinned darkly at him.

"Disappointed? I'll bet you'd like to see me bleed."

He reached out and grabbed his chin, turning his head back and forth to run an assessing gaze over his handiwork, rubbing the spot of hot-and-cold metallic stitches on Song Lan's skin with his thumb. Calling upon his very last reserves of patience to hold still just a few moments longer, Song Lan let him.

"My blood was only needed to activate the sigils the first time," Xue Yang explained, absently, engrossed in his scrutiny. "You may need to dab some more on if it starts losing power, but any human blood should do for that. Even your dead goop. Mm. It looks fine. I'm good."

"So it's working?"

"I can hear you," Xingchen confirmed, with a wide, happy smile. "And your voice is clearer than before."

Once Xue Yang's hand fell away from his skin, Song Lan allowed himself to relax, realizing only now how rigidly tense he had been. A quick, precise cut from Fuxue severed the dangling thread, and he grazed a fingertip over the tiny stitches, a numb patch of skin that probably should feel more sore than it did. One benefit of being dead, apparently, was a very high tolerance for pain.

But the smile Xingchen aimed at him was contagious, and with a sharp twist of his guts he couldn't help but think that kissing him should technically be far easier without the disc of silver clattering around in his mouth. Suddenly he very much wanted to find out.

As luck and happenstance would have it, Xue Yang conveniently chose to stalk away the few steps needed to crouch by the stream near their campsite to fastidiously wash his hand, back turned.

Something in Song Lan's suddenly unsteady breathing must have betrayed his thoughts, because before he could even move, Xingchen's smile turned even wider, quirking mischievously at the corners, and he soundlessly stepped up to quickly press his smiling lips hard against his.

And that was when a band of cultivators burst through the trees, yelling, several swords pointed right at them.

***

In the end, no one died, which was a bit disappointing.

Tugging his glove back on with his teeth after the impromptu surgery session, Xue Yang let the small knife he'd flung into his hand at the commotion slip back into the folds of the arm-wrap qiankun pockets and stepped up beside Xiao Xingchen to stare down the intruders.

"Our apologies, once again," the leader, a short boy looking no older than fifteen said with a deep, polite bow. His two companions hastily followed his example.

"A misunderstanding!" another nervous-looking boy with an unfortunate case of front teeth hurried to elaborate. "We're on a Night Hunt, tracking down fierce corpses, and the spirit compass led us here. It must be malfunctioning again," he added, with a frosty stare at the last young cultivator, who was frowning at the contraption in his hand, shaking it a few times.

Xue Yang felt his lips stretch wide, even as Song Lan stiffened at Xiao Xingchen's other side. Hunting for fierce corpses? How entertaining.

"Lemme see that," he said, stepping forward and stretching out his hand. Startled, the tallest boy held out the spirit compass for him to take, and he plucked it up and then looked closer with suddenly renewed interest.

"Oh! A real classic - the first Yiling Laozu model, one of the original designs! You never see these around anymore." He allowed his smile to grow sharper. "What with the way they have a nasty tendency to blow up when you least need them to. Wouldn't put too much trust in this thing, if I were you. You're lucky you still have all your fingers, kid."

As through drawn by invisible strings, he could feel the wide eyes of all three young cultivators slowly turn to his empty sleeve. Which was hilarious, and he burst out laughing, tossing the compass back at the suddenly anxious-looking tall boy who fumbled catching it as though it'd catch fire at any moment, which just made him laugh harder, having to wipe at his eyes.

"Please, forgive our lack of proper introduction," Xiao Xingchen said with a small, polite bow, as though they hadn't in fact been rudely ambushed by the fledgling cultivators. "I am Xiao Xingchen. This is my friend, Song Lan. And-..."

He hesitated, head turning toward Xue Yang, suddenly seeming uncertain. Wondering if it was emotion or the thought of potential wanted posters that made him waver, Xue Yang just smiled sharply and gave a short nod - even Wen Rouhan had only ever gotten a hand-clasped nod out of him at the very most, and he was not in a mind to start bowing to pompous cultivators now.

"Xue Chengmei."

Red-faced, indirectly chastised for their lack of manners, the three kids hurried to bow, deeper.

"I'm Zhao Yicheng – this is my cousin Zhao Yijun, and our friend, Wang Haifeng", the short boy said. "We were on our way to Kuizhou to head downriver to the cultivation conference. But then we heard rumours of hauntings in these mountain passes, fierce corpses attacking travelers..."

"And now you're attacking travelers instead! What a creative approach!" Xue Yang cheerfully pointed out, making them flush a deeper red.

"Don't mind my friend," Xiao Xingchen said, in a tone that wasn't quite reproaching, but firm enough to make him keep quiet, thoughts distractedly lingering on the word 'friend'. "Will you please tell us what you know about these attacks? We would gladly offer our help, if we can."

"Ah, no," Xue Yang coughed out, instantly snapped back to the present, even as Song Lan intervened with a "Xingchen, perhaps that isn't the best idea..."

Xiao Xingchen turned his head between both of them, surprised.

"They're tracking fierce corpses, Xiao Xingchen..." Xue Yang said, and there was really no good way to make the obvious point without dragging a whole slew of messy issues into the light alongside it. He held out, grinding his teeth, hoping against hope that Song Lan would make himself useful, make his magnanimously gifted voice useful, just for once.

"Shuanghua can't tell me apart from other fierce corpses," Song Lan calmly said, which was good and sensible, but then he had to follow it up with a wholly unnecessary "You shouldn't... fight a fight where you have to rely on its guidance against purportedly dead things."

Xiao Xingchen flinched, going deathly pale, too pale, looking almost dead again, and for a terrifying moment Xue Yang thought the spellwork might be failing. But then, thankfully, he nodded, a thin crackled mask of false serenity slipping onto his face.

"You're right. Of course."

The three baby cultivators looked a bit lost, having missed out on Song Lan's part of the conversation, but puffed themselves up as Xiao Xingchen turned back toward them with a wan smile.

"I fear I myself will be unable to assist you on this Night Hunt. But if you tell us what you know, I know my friends will do their best to help vanquish the threat."

Unbalanced by an odd, hollow feeling at the way Xiao Xingchen visibly sagged under the weight of old regrets, it took Xue Yang a few moments to process the meaning of the words. He made a wholly involuntary sound.

"What?!"

"Oh, that's... That won't be necessary. We have it under control!" one of the babies flailed, adorably unfamiliar with the lines spelling out absolute immovable determination on Xiao Xingchen's face. Apparently this joint Night Hunt was going to happen now, no matter what anyone said.

"Xingchen..." Song Lan said, with equal parts protest and resignation. At least he clearly knew the set of that jaw when he saw it. Xiao Xingchen's smile was bright and sharp like Shuanghua's frost flowers.

"Helping others is our foremost creed. I will do whatever I can - as I know you two will as well."

"You know that, do you," Xue Yang muttered, looking away from that ice-searing smile before he lost all self control and stepped in close to lick it off Xiao Xingchen's teeth. "I don't even have a weapon! Maybe I should just hang back here, with you?"

"Oh, I'm sure you have other means to handle a problem like this," said Xiao Xingchen, his smile growing even odder, brittle and sharp at once. It was wildly disconcerting. And very distracting.

"We really were on top of it," the unfortunate front teeth said, but weakly, clearly beginning to realize that once Xiao Xingchen had stated something in that voice, there was no protesting.

"We're going to need at least one more talisman so I can talk to them," Song Lan sighed. "Can you make one at such short notice? We shouldn't take away Xingchen's in case I need to reach him in an emergency."

Habitual grin sliding snarlwards, Xue Yang hissed under his breath.

"You're just asking for one miracle after another now, aren't you! Yes," he interrupted when Xiao Xingchen opened his mouth, "Yes, I can. It'll take an incense stick or two. Get me something to eat and see if these children have any plan ready whatsoever in the meantime. I'm not going to trudge around these backwoods all night looking for things that might not even be there."

Looking between them with a quizzical frown, the shortest boy attempted to hide his confusion with another shallow bow.

"We're grateful for any... company on this hunt, of course. And we do have a plan! The rumours spoke of a haunted village not far from here, where the restless dead roam the deserted streets at midnight. We were heading there when Yijun's compass sent us off trail on a false lead... again."

Xiao Xingchen's smile softened ever so slightly as he turned back to the children.

"Won't you please join us for a meal? You can tell us what you know, and we can make our plans together. My friend lacks his voice, but Xue-... Chengmei will arrange for a spell that allows for you to speak with each other during the hunt."

Gracelessly slumping down on the ground, Xue Yang sullenly shook one of the few remaining blank coins out of his qiankun sleeve and then almost lost the blunted needle he'd used for carving the others in the leaf litter, swore something filthy enough that at least two of the boys gasped in pale-faced shock.

Night Hunting unarmed, without Jiangzai, Yin Iron or any proper weapon, stumbling over a gaggle of children at every step - alongside Song Lan.

Perfect. Just perfect.

But Xiao Xingchen had called him "friend" twice in the short conversation, and smiled like a slash of burning ice, and there really was no arguing with either of those things.

At least he'd get to kill things, albeit already dead ones. He could pretend every single writhing, dying corpse was Song Lan.

Maybe that way this Night Hunt could have some small merit, after all.

***

The sun set early beyond the mountain ridges, and it was already getting dusky by the time Song Lan made the last preparations to leave with the three young cultivators and – regrettably – Xue Yang.

He still felt uneasy leaving Xingchen behind, though he knew his companion was perfectly capable of handling himself. Far better off here by himself than surrounded by frenzied fierce corpses he might hesitate to fight back against...

"If something comes out of those woods, you stab it," Xue Yang aggressively told Xingchen, clearly following the same trail of thought. Xingchen looked slightly exasperated.

"I will be fine."

He nodded at them, looking his usual calm and serene self, but there was a tension under the surface if you knew what to look for. Clearly aching to be able to help, and it was an awful, unforgivable thing that he had been abused so viciously that he dared not.

"Be careful out there. Watch each others' backs."

Xue Yang just gave a predictable scoff and shot Song Lan a glare, which he coolly ignored.

"We will look after them," he stated, neutrally.

Xingchen smiled slightly at that, with a small shake of the head.

"Be safe. All of you. I'll see you again soon."

Xue Yang looked as though he'd like to say something more – when didn't he? - but for once he managed to keep his mouth shut. Just turned sharply on his heel and brusquely started herding the younger cultivators ahead.

"You'd better know which way we're going - if you get us lost out there, you'll be losing fingers for every stick on incense you're wasting my time!"

Quickly stealing a hidden kiss, just a quick shudder of shared breath, Song Lan caught and squeezed Xingchen's hand, felt it squeeze his fingers back.

"We'll be back soon."

He tore himself away, leaving Xingchen standing alone, seemingly glowing golden in the firelight.

I promised I'd never leave you again, he thought, heart aching, then forced himself to turn and walk away. Heading into the darkening woods, he hurried his stride to at least prevent Xue Yang from harassing the loudly protesting youngsters any further.

***

"Yijun. Psst. Yijun."

"Not now! I'm trying to get this stupid compass to work - but it's just spinning now. I think it broke for real."

"Okay, yeah, I told you that thing was fake. But listen, Yijun, I think... I think – you know those old stories your Popo used to tell? From the Sunshot times? Do you remember the legends of the Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze, and Distant Snow and Cold Frost? Weren't they... They were Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, weren't they? Do you think these people are actually-..?"

Xue Yang grinned widely at the not particularly discreetly whispered conversation ahead. The lanky boy with the compass almost tripped over his own feet as he connected the dots and shot a bewildered look at Song Lan, a blacker shadow moving soundlessly through the dark.

"Ahh, hush! Please!" he stepped forward and interrupted, a hissed whisper right behind their ears that made the two boys jump. "You mustn't speak their names out loud! The heroes of legend have returned, to help a world in need - but they're far too humble to boast about it."

Their eyes went round enough he could all too easily imagine them popping right out of their sockets, and wouldn't that be a beautiful sight?

"Really?" Front Teeth breathed, sounding terrified and vibrating with excitement at once.

"Absolutely," he nodded with a straight face. "I've heard whispers that they're even collaborating with the Chief Cultivator himself on some grand plan to save the world... But you mustn't tell anyone about it!"

There. That ought to ensure the right rumours spreading. Good luck even thinking about turning his daoshi and their stupid plan down, once the whole cultivator world eagerly expected them and his mighty Excellency to work together.

"And, uh. Who were you again?" Compass Boy asked, with an uncertain frown. He answered with his best fanged grin.

"The Tiger in the Mountains! Xue Chengmei! You haven't heard of me?"

At least they were honest and just mutely shook their heads.

"I'm a dear, close friend of the Chief Cultivator! I used to work at Jinlintai – oh, is this your first time going? Mm, no wonder you didn't know, then."

Of course it would be their first conference, children that they were, and they both flushed. Small, small children, so desperate to make a name for themselves, even squeezing in a Night Hunt on the way to score some extra points - no wonder they hadn't wanted older and more capable cultivators butting in, stealing their glory.

Desperate enough they would no doubt agree to any friendly suggestion in exchange for a sliver of recognition...

"I'll be happy to give you some advice-.." was all he cheerfully managed to get out, however, before Song Lan loomed out of the dusk for his usual Putting An End To Fun intervention routine.

"No, you will not. Keep alert. Zhao-gongzi said we're approaching the village. Tell them, too."

He gnashed his teeth at him, but turned back to the two boys with a bitter-sugared smile, almost wishing he'd had the time to make more than the one extra talisman to avoid being relegated to messenger boy.

"The exalted Distant Snow and Cold Frost says we're almost at the village. You kids fight fierce corpses before?"

"A few, just before we met you," Compass Boy said, giving the agitated spirit compass one last morose look before tucking it away. "There were a couple on the road, it was disgusting! Do they always smell like that?"

"Smell?" he asked, tilting his head – that was almost useful information. "Not if they're reasonably fresh. Were they decomposed? Rotting?"

Both boys nodded. Song Lan and the short boy stood waiting up ahead, and he could make out the shapes of houses just down the path, all dark. They all gathered together, drawing their swords and taking in the scene ahead. The night was silent.

"As the one adult who both knows what we're doing and can talk, I'll tell you how we'll do this," he said. Song Lan visibly clenched his jaw, but held off protests for the time being. Good corpse.

"The boys said the fierce corpses they met before were rotted – that means risen dead, not living puppets. So we'll start at the graveyard, see if anyone's gotten up to walk around lately." He raised his fingers to tick off facts. "One or two dead bodies turning into hungry ghosts can be chalked up to personal grudges and lingering resentment – more than that means someone's out there using demonic cultivation to give them a nudge. Before we know which it is, it's hard to say how many are waiting for us – or how aggressive they'll be."

The children listened in rapt attention, one or two looking rather alarmed, and even Song Lan reluctantly nodded.

"I'm going to need some blank talismans. When we find the graveyard, I'll draw up a Stygian lure array, that should draw in any corpses around so we can do a headcount. Your job is the chopping of said heads. And whatever you do, once it starts – don't cross the circle, and don't touch me. Understood?"

"What happens if we do?" Song Lan asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He flashed his teeth at him.

"Oh, you could probably handle it, though it may knock you out for a bit. These kids? They get a sweet kiss of distilled resentment like that and they'll qi deviate or turn into raging living puppets on the spot. So don't. We don't need more pissed-off corpses to fight."

"You really know a lot about fierce corpses, Xue-qianbei," Front Teeth said, fascinated. Xue Yang graciously smiled at him with hardly any canines showing at all.

"Mm, yes. You could say dealing with the living dead is quite my specialty." He sighed exaggeratedly. "Some of them can be so troublesome."

To the surprise of no one, Song Lan just gave him a dour look, probably physically incapable of appreciating a good joke.

"We go together," he let Fuxue brand into the gravel. "And stay together as long as possible. If we need to split up once we reach the village, Zhao Yicheng will go with me since he can hear me. Zhao Yujin, Wang Haifeng, you go with Xue..." Just the briefest hesitation, a quiver before the sword reluctantly spat the courtesy name out. "...Chengmei. Keep your swords drawn and stay ready to fight. Don't hesitate, no matter where the enemy strikes from, or what they may look like."

Subtle. Xue Yang let his smile widen.

"The talismans you wanted, Xue-qianbei," the shortest boy said, offering him a stash of prepared paper rectangles; decent quality, they'd do just fine.

"Lend me an edge..?" he said, sparing Song Lan a sharp smile. "You did say you wanted to see me bleed."

Despite the never-wavering murderous intent in the dark daoshi's eyes, the man looked dismayed as Xue Yang reached out to slide a fingertip along the razor edge of his drawn sword, no doubt feeling that he sullied the blade by so rudely bleeding on it. He laughed darkly at that – as though Fuxue hadn't gorged itself on his blood before! Pierced him clean through to the hilt, deeper and more intimate than any lover had ever been.

With a look of distaste at whatever he saw in his eyes, Song Lan abruptly turned away and started walking toward the dark, abandoned village. Using his bleeding fingertip to draw the necessary sigils, leaving some of the talismans blank for future improvisation, Xue Yang let the others lead the way. Better let the ones with actual swords walk up front.

He suddenly missed Jiangzai like he missed his right arm, for a brief dizzying moment feeling like half a thing, helpless. Clenching his jaws until his teeth creaked with it, he forced the thought down again and focused fiercely on drawing the sigils.

At a disadvantage - not helpless, not ever helpless.

And every last half-dead thing waiting in the village would die screaming for making him feel that way, if only for a moment.

***

The village was more of a ghost town, only ruins standing. Roofs collapsed, debris built up in corners - nothing had lived here for a long time.

"The doors," one of the young cultivators said in what was probably supposed to be a whisper, but came out a squeak. "They all say..."

"'Death'," another filled in, sounding faint. Song Lan looked around, concluding they were right. In the fleeting moonlight the characters were faded and hard to read, but almost every door was painted with large, jagged characters for "death", like a silently screamed warning.

"What happened here?" the shortest boy, Yicheng, turned to him and asked, sounding almost pleading, as though the right explanation would make the gruesome scene make sense. Had he ever been that young? Thinking the horrors of the world could be made to make sense?

"A plague, most likely," he just said, writing it out for all to see. "The signs are to warn people to stay away. When enough people died, whomever still lived must have left."

"If anyone lived," the tallest boy muttered, and while he held his sword ready, true to good form, the blade was visibly shaking.

The attack came suddenly, soundlessly, a sudden stench in the air their only warning. In one single fluid motion Song Lan turned and sliced Fuxue through the shadows even as something came lurching out of the dark, piles of bone and rotted flesh hitting the ground at his feet with a wet, squelching sound. Twitched a few times, then fell still.

The young cultivators flinched violently, swords raised, but the night was silent again.

Xue Yang came strolling up, tucking the talismans in his belt to crouch down and pick up a mess of gory bone – an arm, he realized while wishing he hadn't, coming loose from its socket without resistance. The demonic cultivator studied it with professional detachment, then raised it to his face to sniff it – he determinedly looked away, hoping against all hope he wouldn't taste it.

"Hm."

"Anything?" he managed to force out between clenched teeth.

"Very dead," Xue Yang noted, entirely unhelpfully because yes, that much was obvious. Letting go of the decaying limb, he wiped his hand on his empty sleeve and stood, frowning. "But not quite dead enough."

"Clearly," he clipped out. "That's the problem."

"No," Xue Yang said with a patronizing sigh and rolled his eyes. "I meant that it's in too good condition for something so long dead. This place is in worse shape than Yi City - it's been abandoned for a long time. Anything buried here should just be bone and slime by now. But this lady still had some flesh left on her."

How he could possibly tell that the putrefied pile had once been female, he couldn't guess.

"There are rituals," he said, reluctantly. "Rare burial rituals to keep flesh from decaying in the ground. If the people here were buried with such honours, their bodies would remain in good condition for decades, maybe longer, depending on the strength of the master who laid them to rest."

"That's potentially very interesting from a purely academic point of view!" Xue Yang exclaimed, sounding a bit too intrigued for comfort. "But for now, we should probably hope no one had time for such fancy spectacles once that plague hit. They'll be easier to subdue if they're rotted. Watch out for their hands and teeth," he added, turning to the boys. "You get bitten or scratched, you'll end up like them. And crush their skulls when you kill them. When they're mostly bone driven by pure demonic energy like this, damaging the body isn't enough, they have no vitals you can hurt to slow them down."

The young cultivators nodded fervently, clustering a bit closer together.

"Let's head for the graveyard," Song Lan had Fuxue brand onto the ground, only to realize that between the clouds dimming the moonlight and the mist swirling at their feet, the characters couldn't be read. He held back a sigh. "We'll look for the graveyard," he said through the talisman instead. "Maybe then we'll learn how many of these roaming dead we have to deal with. Tell them."

"You heard him," Xue Yang lectured the boy wearing the speech talisman, even as he casually brought his boot down to crack the skull on the ground with a wet crunch. "Tell them!"

There was something deeply wrong with this place, Song Lan concluded as he set out to lead the way, twitches of discomfort crawling under his skin. He had been on countless Night Hunts, many far more dangerous and horrifying than this. But the unease wouldn't leave him alone all the same.

"Someone raised them," he heard conversationally at his shoulder, shot a quick glance at Xue Yang. "Bodies this long dead don't get up by themselves. But reanimating things this brittle and rotted... It makes no sense. As soldiers, they'd be useless. There's no one around here anymore to wreak vengeance on by desecrating their loved ones, no civilization to terrorize into submission with a gory display. Why would anyone go through the trouble..?"

He realized Xue Yang was talking less to him, more at him, lips pursing in thought. Had no answers to give, so he just gave a vague shrug and went back to scanning the mottled darkness ahead for threats. Hopefully if the demonic cultivator came to any grand insights, he would share them. Hopefully.

The mist was swirling thicker the further they went, the racing clouds above painting the village with a dancing calligraphy of moonlight, constant movement at the corner of their eyes. More than once the young cultivators jumped at shadows, slicing at shapes that turned out to be nothing but fog, or moonbeams, or on one more memorable occasion, an old twisted tree. The Wang boy had to spend several moments trying to wrench his sword loose from the gnarled wood, apologizing profusely all the while, Xue Yang cackling with malicious mirth in the background.

"At least you've got a strong hand on you!" he praised, by the time the boy braced with his foot and stumbled back, sword finally free. "Stab like that would go through two bodies easy, three if you leaned into it!"

Uncertain of whether he was being complimented or mocked, the boy just bowed quickly and compulsively wiped down his blade, trying to hide his red face.

Then, between one peal of laughter and the next, Xue Yang spun around, one of the talismans suddenly shooting from his fingers with a blazing trail lighting up the gloom. There was a burbling shriek as it hit another lurching corpse, and the thing twisted and jerked as though slowly burning alive before crumbling into dust on the ground.

Feeling another, stronger ripple of what he finally realized was resentment from outside himself reacting with his own, Song Lan spun around and decapitated another rotting body, caught himself immediately and turned the blade around to cleave the falling skull on a backstroke, leaving the two halves spinning like a split melon on the ground. There was a very low whistle from Xue Yang and when he turned he glimpsed a strange intensity in his eyes.

"You actually remembered, well done," was all he said, however, with a quick lick at his lips. "Destroy the skull, or you may find the chopped-off heads gnawing at your ankles later."

"Xue-qianbei, Song-daozhang..! The graveyard! It's just up ahead," the Wang boy exclaimed, no doubt eager for everyone to forget the awkward tree-stabbing incident from just before.

Two looming shishi statues framed the entrance to the graveyard, fog condensing on the lichen-covered stone to wash their grimacing faces with moonlit tears. The white of the mist blended with black tendrils of resentment in the enclosed dell ahead, like ink drops swirling in water, and in those writhing clouds he could make out shapes moving. Knew with absolute certainty that those were not tricks of the eye, of moonlight or shadow.

"Let's lay them back to rest," he said, because that was the only righteous way to think of what they were about to do, denying the ravenous hunger for violence that the heavy pulse of resentment in the air was arousing in him.

Xue Yang was laughing again, animated and elated.

"What Song-daozhang said - let's go kill things!"

***

It was frustrating beyond words having to hang back while the others surged ahead, swords raised. He ached, itched to kill, felt his own muscles tense in tune with each perfect stroke Fuxue dealt.

He fired off a few talismans for the sake of it, sniping a few corpses creeping up on the agitated youngsters while they weren't paying attention. Nowhere near visceral enough for his tastes. Xue Yang sighed.

More shadows moved in the mist; the village was old, countless generations buried here, and while most of the living dead were little more than stick-like twitching bones, there were many of them. Soon the four cultivators found themselves surrounded, despite even Song Lan's impressive speed and reach. He fought better with his mind set free, Xue Yang was forced to admit. He'd been a very useful puppet with those nails driven deep into his skull, but unleashed like this he moved like death itself, shadow among shadows, leaving utter devastation in his wake.

It was rather delicious to watch.

Then the ground under the cultivators started heaving, more bony arms growing out of the dirt like twisted branches, groping blindly for flesh to tear. Plague mass grave. The baby cultivators squealed like piglets under the knife, breaking apart from each other in panic, their robes ensnared by dead fingers.

"Xue-qianbei! Xue-qianbei! The array, draw them off, make them go away, please!"

Time to shine, apparently!

Stabbing things was more physically gratifying, but it had been a long time since he'd gotten the chance to dance with feral resentment like this, and his blood thrummed faster at the prospect.

"Remember – stay out of the circle!" Xue Yang called out, which was very magnanimous of him, all things considered. They had already been warned once.

The ground was soft soil covered in thick moss, shit for drawing arrays, but he was nothing if not a genius, and this was his true element, his craft, his art.

He left the cultivators to their desperate chopping and whirled around in a tight circle, pinning talismans to key points, using his feet to scrape the moss away enough for the bared earth to form sigils, enhanced with blood at the vital spots. More blood would be better, much better, but he still had so little to spare, and Song Lan would no doubt be upset if he asked to bleed one of the boys dry for the good cause. It would have to do; the true craft lay in wrestling and shaping the swirling resentment itself, anyway, the painted array and sigils more guidelines than strict necessity.

Doing it without Yin Iron would be... interesting. Good thing he enjoyed attempting impossible things, the more flagrantly brazen the better.

He took one final deep breath, closed his eyes to focus, then snapped them open again, lighting up the activating talisman in his fingers. With a deafening roar like thunder the symbols around his feet crackled into life, something blacker than the dark night, connecting the key points and locking the Stygian lure circle in place.

The shift in the air was immediate, the thick roiling fog of resentment hungrily answering the call, pouring in like an enraged, towering tidal wave from all around... and for one last moment of clarity he knew a breath of doubt, taking it all on without the leash of Yin Iron bending it to his will.

Then the world went dark.

Shrilly, madly, Xue Yang laughed.

***

The shift was immediate, the fierce corpse in front of him wavering, jerking, and turning away. Song Lan swept Fuxue in a tight stroke, slicing its skull in half.

Nearby the young cultivators were doing the same, taking advantage of the faltering carcasses all around. He felt it tug at him, at his very bones, the vortex of the array calling out to the resentment inside him, like standing in the rapids of a river, very nearly losing his footing to be swept away. Gritting his teeth he fought the pull, raised Fuxue again and again, shattering skulls. Some brown and brittle as paper, giving almost no resistance at all, some hard and crunching, sending splatters of rotted brain matter in wide arcs around him. Vile.

A blindly groping skeletal arm burst out of the moss under him, twitching fingers climbing up his leg and baring his teeth he stabbed into the ground at where the head should be, then again, and the arm collapsed into a pile of unmoving bones.

The swirling resentment was flooding into the array, leeching out of the dead, several of them collapsing into dust as the corrupted force drained away. He could barely see Xue Yang inside the twisting, thrashing swirl of darkness, but he could still hear him, laughing madly, high-pitched, ecstatic and insane.

"Let's finish this while they're weakened," he told the boy with the speech talisman, who jerked his eyes away from the thundercloud of shadows to stare at him.

"That's... That's demonic cultivation, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said shortly, because there was little point in denying it. "Lay them to rest, shatter the skulls. Tell the others."

But even as he said it, it was clear that the fight was over. Even the strongest corpses were collapsing, hollowed out and lifeless once more. He chose to still stab Fuxue through their heads, just to be sure, but at least now he had the time to make a quick mudra for every one, uncertain if the soundless prayers he spoke through the talisman made any difference, wanting to think so. They had been living people, once.

The darkness slowly faded, the sigils of the black array around Xue Yang flickering out like candles even as the last tendrils of demonic energy were absorbed into the human figure in its midst. He was swaying where he stood, blood trickling from nose and mouth down his chin, but there was a dreadful deranged grin on his face, his hair still fluttering restlessly as if disturbed by some invisible wind. Then he looked up, and with a sick sensation of looking into a mirror, Song Lan saw that his eyes had gone all black.

His grin widening further, all bloodied teeth, he slowly staggered up to them, up to him, unblinking, glassy eyes nailed to his face.

"That was fun," Xue Yang breathed. "You're going to have to hold this for me for a bit. Can't... Can't use it all right now. You'll owe me, though. For later."

"What?" he asked, resisting the urge to step back; Xue Yang was too close, far too close, his body heat fevered, and he could feel his presence, like a cloying, invading touch even from inches away.

"This," Xue Yang said, holding up a talisman. "Brace."

He smacked the piece of paper against his chest, and the world exploded into darker-than-dark fireworks. He felt something roar into him, bursting its way through his bloodstream, his meridians, boiling, overwhelming. He would have screamed with it, but his jaws were locked, every muscle in his body frozen, and he couldn't scream, couldn't move.

It was awful, it was terrifying, it was the purest euphoria he had ever known, and he shamefully felt himself twitch with it, instantly half-hard.

Then it was over, and his body ached and burned as if he'd just run a hundred li at his fastest. Xue Yang collapsed against him, clinging to his sleeve with his gloved hand, slumped half to his knees.

"Ow," he muttered. "So, all things considered, that went really well."

"Let go of me," Song Lan growled, settled for a rough shove instead of using Fuxue like he yearned to, and Xue Yang sniffed indignantly, but let go and stepped away, albeit rather shakily. His eyes were a bit red-shot, but otherwise back to normal, or whatever wide-eyed mania constituted normal for Xue Yang.

"Xue-qianbei, are you... Are you all right?" the taller of the Zhaos asked, looking equal parts concerned and afraid. Xue Yang turned and assaulted him with another disconcerting grin, messily wiping the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

"I figured it out!" he said, then laughed again. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"What?" the boy said, taking a step back, and Song Lan felt himself grow cold, fought the urge to either close or roll his eyes. Oh... Oh, no.

"Hmmm, no. Not you. You," Xue Yang continued, turning on the other two who instantly took a coordinated step back. He laughed again, a cackle of dizzy amusement.

"If you need to make a name for yourselves and there are no convenient monsters to fight along the way, you'll just have to make your own! Right?"

"Look, it was..." the Wang boy started, then bit off the words like he didn't know what to say.

"We didn't know it would be like this!" the shorter Zhao exclaimed, a look of all too genuine panic in his eyes as he gestured with his gory blade at the debris of humanity scattered all around.

"You... Yicheng, he's not serious, you're not... not serious, are you?" his cousin gasped. "You said I should use the compass to track-... did you plan this?"

Xue Yang just laughed louder, bent double with it, wheezing for air.

"Did you do this?" Song Lan sternly asked the leader of the group, who at least had the shame to look down at his feet, suddenly looking so very, very young.

"It was just... We just thought we could use those old rumours a bit. No one else was supposed to be involved!"

"You're lucky we were!" Xue Yang stated with a sweeping gesture, still laughing. "If you'd gone in by yourselves, you'd have been eaten alive before making it past the first few houses!"

"These are forbidden arts for a reason!" Song Lan scolded, wanting to grab the boys by the collar and shake them. "Look at this! These were people, once! Look at what they have become!"

The small boy stumbled back and then, horribly, tears started welling up in his eyes.

"No one was supposed to be hurt," he said, defiantly, voice breaking. His friend stepped up beside him, trying to raise his chin, but he was visibly shaking. His cousin just stared at them, still incredulous, disbelieving.

"No, no, I get it," Xue Yang said, still chuckling and wiping at his eyes. "Zhao and Wang, good old Wen vassal families – and every last one ground into the dust alongside them during the Sunshot war, except babes in the womb. You're the first to go to Jinlintai in a generation, aren't you? No wonder you have things to prove! Ahh, sucks to be born with a family name that comes with a death sentence attached. I must say, I admire your sheer creativity!"

Song Lan just stared at him, then the boys, who looked like they had been slapped. Sect politics, he thought, stunned, all but sensing a headache he could no longer truly feel coming on. Murderous, mad sect politics, driving children to such desperation.

"Will you..." the short leader of the group looked up at him, challenging and imploring at once, "Will you tell anyone about this?"

Xue Yang just giggled, slapping his hand on the nearest boy's shoulder in a comradely gesture.

"I think we can give you a pass, just this once. What do you say, Song-daozhang? Mercy?"

"You will lay these people to rest," he said, grimly. "And you will pray for their spirits at every altar you pass along the way. Never use foul tricks like these again."

The boys hurried to bow, deeply, hands clasped on bloodied swords before their faces.

"These were some strong spells!" Xue Yang said, brightly. "Clumsily executed, but strong, raising things from so far away! You'd better hand me the Yiling Laozu notes you read them from, so you don't fall for the temptation to try this again."

With a hurried flurry of rustling paper, the pages were handed over and tucked into Xue Yang's belt alongside the handful of unused talismans. He'd have to confiscate those later, he knew, but that was a confrontation he didn't feel like having in front of the children.

"You have a long way to travel," he said, holding back a resigned sigh, keeping his voice cold and admonishing. "And many graves to fill before then. You had better get started."

"Good luck at the conference!" Xue Yang smiled, oddly affable. "Look at it from the bright side - now you can boast having Night Hunted alongside the legendary Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze and the Distant Snow and Cold Frost! If that doesn't bolster your shaky reputation, nothing will!"

The boys blinked, faces slowly lighting up with nervous hope.

"The sun is rising soon. If there are no more fierce corpses around, we should return to Xingchen."

Xue Yang nodded, matter of fact again.

"Pretty sure we got them all. I couldn't feel any more of them within the reach of the spell, and that extended at least six li in every direction. And we're going to be needing that coin back, thank you," he said, spinning to face the nearest boy with his hand outstretched.

Jumping, faced with that sharp sugary grin, it took the young cultivator a moment to remember the speech talisman, but then he hurriedly tugged the string over his head and handed the silver coin over.

"Not bad to have a spare," Xue Yang said, turning back to him and tossing the coin over. "If you need to talk to strangers in an emergency. Let's go back. I could eat a horse. Maybe two horses? Two horses and big bowl of candy."

With a final curt bow, Song Lan turned his back on the bewildered trio of cultivators and the field of carnage left behind, and followed the still somewhat wobbly, chattering man through the ruins of the village.

The exuberance of pure resentment Xue Yang had discharged into him still sang and throbbed through his every nerve, revolting and revitalizing at once. Remembering empty dead eyes, a thoughtless existence of only rage and hunger, he almost faltered. So very nearly what he was, yet nothing at all the same.

For all the pain, and grief, and doubt that haunted his living, conscious mind... This was still better.

***

The chill of night was beading into the dew of daybreak, the forest drowsily coming awake all around. It had been a long, lonely night.

Xiao Xingchen added another few twigs to his fire, rubbing his hands against the morning chill. Fought down yet another surge of apprehension, as he had with all the previous ones - all the many, many previous ones.

They will return, he sternly told himself.

They would return, they would be safe and sound, and he would not be doomed to wander the world alone once more. He wouldn't, couldn't, he knew, not again.

He froze at the sound of distant voices, cocked his head to listen, and the flood of relief as they crystallized into Xue Yang's wickedly happy laughter and something long suffering huffed in reply made him shiver - suddenly it was all he could do to swallow back tears, thick and hot and dry at the back of his throat.

He shot to his feet, distracted enough that he almost singed his robes on the small fire, only dimly aware of his surroundings as though the approaching sound was the only real thing, the only thing that mattered.

"Zichen? Xue Yang? Has all gone well?"

"Daozhang!" Familiar, familiar voice, full of familiar affectionate joy. "Please tell me you're cooking something on that fire, Xiao Xingchen! I'm starving."

Of course he should have, had he thought of it.

"If you're hungry, you can cook your own food. Xingchen."

The shift in Zichen's tone was so abrupt as he went from annoyed scolding to gentle greeting that Xiao Xingchen suddenly couldn't hold back laughter, all his relief bursting out of him at once. Once started, it was hard to stop, and he let himself laugh helplessly until all the flutters of fear and solitude had escaped his constricted chest.

"Oh, Zichen. It's good to have you back. Xue Yang - I'll cook you something to eat, I promise. Where are the young masters Zhao and Wang?"

Surely his companions wouldn't have returned in such a good mood if the young men had been hurt.

"They had some things to deal with," Xue Yang said, sounding a bit dazed. "We parted ways at the haunted village. Which isn't, anymore."

"The young cultivators will make their own way to Jinlintai. The fierce corpses have been laid to rest," Zichen confirmed, kindly. "They are at peace, and these passes are safe again."

He smiled at that, frail, but letting old sorrows rest for now. He could allow others their atonement, too, just as he ever sought his own.

"Then you've done well. I'm so sorry I couldn't help."

The way they immediately protested at once made him laugh again. Xue Yang won out on simple stubborn refusal to stop talking until Zichen gave up and fell silent.

"You can help - by cooking some breakfast," he graciously suggested. "And then I'm going to sleep for two days. Maybe three. If you want to keep going, you'll have to carry me."

"I can drag you by the hair," Zichen snapped, acerbically, then fell silent as though surprised by himself. Xue Yang just gave a sharp little laugh of surprised delight.

"So helpful! I'll let you know if that'll be needed. And just so you know, snoring isn't consent."

Xiao Xingchen smiled, so wide his cheeks ached with it, as his heart ached, so full it might be bursting.

"Rest, both of you. You've had a long night. I'll make you breakfast."

"Nah," Xue Yang said, not quite holding back a yawn. "If I sit down, I'll pass out, and then I'll starve to death in my sleep, and wouldn't that be a boring way to go. I'll help. You're doing the dishes after, though."

"That sounds fair," he agreed, still smiling, reaching into the qiankun bags for rice and a sealed jar of zha.

"I'll fetch water," Zichen said. "I need to wash anyway. And you will, too, before even thinking of touching any food."

With predictable grumbling interlaced with the occasional more colourful curse, Xue Yang did, thankfully, haul himself off to follow his example without further prompting.

Xiao Xingchen was still smiling, couldn't stop, wasn't sure he ever would.

The Universe itself was an eternal dance of opposing forces, forever balanced against each other. And if there ever was a diametrical opposite to loneliness... surely this must be it.

True to his word, Xue Yang passed out after breakfast, seemingly dead to the world. Which, once tentatively making sure he was in fact still alive, suited Xiao Xingchen just fine.

Adding some more wood to the fire, he sat down next to Zichen, breathing in the scent of his wet, clean hair.

"I wish I could have gone with you," he said. "I worried."

"I missed you, too," Zichen answered in reply to what he had meant, if not said outright. "I don't like being apart from you. But it was dangerous. This once... I hope we won't have to be separated again."

"Mm," he agreed, reaching out to find a familiar hand, giving it a fond squeeze. "We don't get to choose what dangers we'll face. Maybe in time... It will be different. But I think this was the right choice, for now. I'm just relieved you both came back unharmed."

It wasn't even a sigh, just the slightest twitch in the hand under his at that "both". Selfishly, he chose to ignore it.

"We were, after all," he pointed out, unable to hold back just a light breath of laughter at the memory, "so very rudely interrupted by those courageously Night Hunting young cultivators earlier. I recall that I was in the middle of investigating whether that coin was attached right..."

There was another, very different twitch in the hand under his, and he smiled wider. Wanted, oh, he wanted...

He raised his hand and lightly traced his fingers across Zichen's cheek, the small patch of thin, cold metal streaks embedded into his skin. The stitches felt tight and tidy, from the outside at least.

"Does it hurt?" he breathed.

"... No," Zichen said, though even through the talisman his voice sounded thick.

"Then maybe I should get a closer look," he mumbled, leaning in. "Like this..."

His lips were more sensitive than his fingertips, so it was perfectly justifiable to choose them over using his fingers. Useful for detecting a fever or measuring a too-faint heartbeat - or tracing silver streaks against skin. And if he parted them just slightly as he grazed them over the stitches, surely that was just coincidence.

"Xingchen..."

"Oh," he whispered, could feel just the slightest hum under his lips as the coin responded, the silver thread thrumming with it. "Oh, Zichen, will you say that again?"

There was a quick inhale at that, a much slower ragged exhale.

"Xingchen."

His lips tingled with it, tickled, and he laughed breathlessly, pressed a proper kiss onto the skin, then another.

"I love the way you say my name. Zichen."

He kissed the stitches again, then dragged his lips slowly across cool, smooth skin to find the still damp hair at a temple, kissed again, burying his nose in it, inhaling deeply.

"Zichen..."

Suddenly there was hand on his wrist, tugging at him, another cupping his face to forcibly drag him back past the stitches to find lips, hungry for his. He made a soft sound of absolute need and dove in, kissing that perfect mouth over and over. Marveled at being able, allowed to do this, wrapped his own hands over Zichen's cheeks, slid them back into his hair to hold his head still, his, his, his...

"Zichen... Oh, Zichen... You..."

Huffed, short breath barely forming words. Lips somehow soft and firm at once under his own, under his tongue, his teeth...

"Xingchen-..."

His fingers curled into smooth, damp hair, a moan shuddering up his spine to escape his hungry mouth right into the kiss. He pressed his tongue harder at the tantalizing slit between Zichen's lips, wanting more.

"Xingchen, no, wait. Stop."

He was so focused on his absolute purpose that it took a few moments to register the words, and he gave a muffled noise of surprise as Zichen's strong hands locked on his wrists and plucked his hands away from his hair, letting them rest between them, a palisade of fingers suddenly shutting him out, an unbearable distance.

"... Zichen?"

"I can't."

He froze, something hollow and cold blossoming in his ribcage, as though his lungs would fall in on themselves.

"I want to, I do," Zichen hurried to say, in response to whatever he saw on his face, sounding absolutely pained. "I do, I-..." A short, harsh breath that was almost certainly a curse. "But I can't. Not all this. Not right now. Not yet."

He could feel his own pulse, every single throb of a heartbeat, in his wrists where Zichen's hands held them. He should probably say something, he thought, distantly, but it seemed he had kissed all the air right out of his lungs.

"I..." Zichen gave a wordless sound, a pained moan that he realized had come from his mouth, not the talisman, something much rawer. He felt him lower their hands, lean his head forward over them to briefly rest his forehead up against his own chest and the ache nesting there.

"Xingchen..."

"Then we won't," he found himself saying, voice only a little brittle, muffled into the damp hair just under his chin. "We'll wait. We'll wait however long you want. Do only what you want. Just-..."

And there his voice broke, briefly, and he had to swallow a few times.

"Just don't leave me."

"Never," Zichen gasped, and his hands clenched down on his wrists so hard it hurt, sending a shudder of even more desperate need through him, a need to be held, squeezed close, touched, touched everywhere... He firmly shoved it aside, taking deep breaths, forcing himself back to equilibrium.

"Is this all right?" he asked instead, turning his wrists in the slackening grip to lightly touch the inside of Zichen's arms with his fingertips, not quite leaning his cheek against his hair. There was just a faint shudder at that, an unhappy "no" spoken without words, and with love and regret he pulled back a bit further, letting cool empty air in between them.

"Thank you," Zichen said after several heartbeats of heavy silence, sounding defeated, but he hadn't let go of his wrists, slid his hands down to hold his hands instead, squeezing them with all the words he couldn't bring himself to speak. "I'm sorry."

He smiled, squeezed back. Still wanted, yearned, but wanted Zichen's happiness far more.

"Oh, Zichen. Just this, just you... Anything you want to give, I treasure. Please know that."

Zichen's thumbs stroked unsteadily across his knuckles, and he forced himself to relish in that sensation alone, forced himself not to hunger for more, remaining in and appreciating the moment for what it was. He laughed, a bit ruefully but mostly amused at himself.

"I think I've fallen out of practice with the 'patience' tenet of the teachings. I should thank you for guiding me back on that path."

Zichen made a soft noise that he was almost certain was a snort of laughter, clasping his hands a bit harder.

"Don't do too much too soon," he drily said, and suddenly Xiao Xingchen had to lean in again to muffle his helpless laughter against his shoulder, surrendering to undignified giggles at the mere thought of Xue Yang's words lecturing the two of them on the pacing of their intimacy. Zichen rarely laughed, but he could feel the shoulder against his forehead shake soundlessly with amusement too.

"That's horrible," he chided, still laughing. Somehow, without any need for sight, he knew Zichen smiled.

"It was hard, last night," Zichen finally said, slowly, sounding serious once more. Like the words hurt to speak. "All that resentment. Fighting fierce corpses. Things, monsters... like me. A reminder."

He flinched, heart suddenly clenched tight in his chest. Wishing he could reach out, hold, comfort, but knew the touch would bring more unease than consolation.

"You're not... Not like that. You're you. My Zichen."

The strong hands tightened on his, but there was a tremour in them.

"I don't want to be this," Zichen said, so quietly he could barely make the hum of it out through the talisman.

Brave, stoic Zichen, whom he had only ever seen lament his own fate once, screaming with pain as his family lay slaughtered under the chilly skies of Baixue, cruelly left alive to suffer the grief.

"I know," he said, throat dry. What could you possibly say to that? "I know, I know. It's awful and unfair. I wish... I wish there was something, anything I could do. I wish..."

Helplessly he just grabbed the hands holding his own tighter. Couldn't find words when they were needed the most. But Zichen's hands squeezed his own back, and maybe that was enough.

"I'm just so grateful to have you here with me," he whispered. "I couldn't stand to ever be without you again."

Zichen lifted one of his hands, their entangled hands, to his face, and as he pressed trembling lips so very lightly against his knuckles, Xiao Xingchen could feel tears dripping on his skin.

"Oh, Zichen," he breathed, heart breaking and breaking and breaking. "Zichen, my Zichen..."

And through the talisman he heard whispered three words he had always known to be true, but that still meant something different now, after everything. Yet another layer of devotion, another thread woven with the familiar trust and companionship and affection.

His voice was hoarse and cracked with a hundred emotions when he answered, but he knew it didn't matter, knew there could be no doubt at all about what he meant to say when he swallowed back his own thick tears to say "I love you too."

***

It was well past midday by the time Xue Yang yawned awake, gone from comatose sleep to manic energy in a heartbeat, sharp eyes instantly alert.

The look he shot Song Lan upon sitting up – or rather, Xingchen asleep in his lap - flashed pitch black for a second, before he sneered.

"Ah, no! It seems a fierce corpse infiltrated camp after all. And here I specifically told him to stab anything that got close."

Song Lan didn't dignify him with a reply. Xue Yang just curled his lip at him in something more grimace than smirk and pushed himself to his feet.

"Get that fire back going. I saw some crayfish in the stream this morning, I'll see if I can catch some. We should eat and head out, see if we can find a better place to stay the night. There's a storm coming."

He raised his eyebrows at that; it had been sunny all day, not a cloud in the sky.

"How can you tell?"

Xue Yang huffed that sharp breath of his, halfway between derisive scoff and laughter, flexed his fingers once.

"I'm a good guesser."

As he sauntered off with his usual swagger, Song Lan sighed and carefully nudged the sleeping Xingchen gently to the side enough that he could reach the pile of firewood and put a few more twigs on the fire, coaxing it awake from sullen embers.

By the time Xingchen drowsily raised his head from his lap with a sleepy "Good morning," there was already a congee simmering, and a small pile of steamed crayfish cooling on a large leaf beside the fire.

"That smells delicious," Xingchen said, sitting up and brushing his sleep-tousled hair back over his shoulder.

"Sleeping in and served breakfast in bed," Xue Yang scoffed, but smiled a sharp little smile as he grabbed his share of the food. "Some of us are apparently living the easy life."

Xingchen smiled back, amused.

"Thank you for letting me sleep. We should probably try to walk a bit further once we finish eating. There's bad weather coming."

"I already called it," Xue Yang stated, pointing his chopstick for emphasis. "Your big lump heard me, he can verify it – unless you'll cheat by making him take your side!"

Xingchen paused while pouring tea, tilting his head questioningly, as though asking for confirmation. Song Lan shrugged minutely.

"Yes."

"There you go. I win this one – your turn to cook dinner."

"You already did," Xingchen mildly pointed out, passing Song Lan the cup of tea and settling back to eat. "Cook dinner."

"I did," Xue Yang stated, viciously. "So tomorrow's your turn twice over."

Sipping the hot tea, a sensation of warmth if not taste in his mouth, Song Lan firmly told himself he wasn't left out on purpose. It was disturbing, the familiarity the two of them sometimes slipped into out of habit, and as always it made his hackles rise, along with the urge to protect Xingchen's all too carelessly bared heart.

Xingchen who suddenly smiled in a way he couldn't remember ever having seen before, in their past life together. Not quite toothy enough to echo Xue Yang's evil smirks, but eerily impish all the same, utterly disconcerting.

"If we do keep walking, perhaps I will be able to buy some coriander before then? I can make you ghost chicken, or perhaps a refreshing coriander salad..?"

Xue Yang sputtered a vehement protest, voice climbing several octaves in mock outrage.

"That's cheating! Daozhang, you monster, that's cheating, you wouldn't..!"

His tirade died out as Xingchen burst into laughter, warm and delighted - and even more disconcerting than Xingchen's mischievous smile was the surreal experience of seeing every single one of his own emotions echoed on Xue Yang's briefly unguarded face at the sound of it; joy, wonder, soft aching affection.

Clenching his jaw, Song Lan turned away.

"If we want to find shelter before the storm breaks, we should leave as soon as possible. There's not many hours of daylight left."

Xingchen nodded in agreement and picked up his bowl of congee again, just a small shadow of a smile still playing on his lips as he ate.

They finished their meal and cleared out the small makeshift camp with the efficiency of increasingly well-established routine that probably should have been disturbing, too, if he allowed himself to linger on it.

Scraping dirt over the remaining embers of the fire, Xingchen unconsciously rubbed a hand over his bandaged face.

"Is everything ready? We should get going - it's bound to start raining any moment, and I think it will last for quite some time once it does."

"Yes," Song Lan confirmed, tucking the last rinsed teacup away in his qiankun pouch.

"Yes," Xue Yang echoed, falling into step as they set out down the road, the warm tone of sunset rapidly swallowed by heavy, billowing clouds cresting the mountains.

In a race against storm and nightfall, they made it a few li down the road before the first thick, biting drops started smattering into the road dust, a dark, thick cloak of rain sweeping over the world to the sound of distant thunder.

***

"If a man sits with one hand in a snowdrift, and the other hand in a boiling tea kettle, is the heart resting in between content?" his Shifu had once inquired, face serious but eyes glinting, almost a lifetime ago, when he had asked about the necessity of sticking to one single path and one alone, if all things balanced out in the end anyway.

"No," the child Song Lan once was had been forced to concede. For some reason, the exchange lingered at the forefront of his memories, accompanied by the roar of pouring rain.

If a man sits with one hand in Heaven and the other in Purgatory, is the heart resting in between content? he drily thought. No.

Or, to be even more specific - if a man sits in a small cave, and Xiao Xingchen sleeps resting on one arm and Xue Yang on the other, is the man content? No. Very much no.

He viciously tried to elbow the loathsome creature off his right arm without disturbing Xingchen's rest, but Xue Yang just made a small protesting sound in sleep, more snore than snarl, unmoving.

It had made perfect sense to insert himself as a barrier between the two when they had all settled together in the small space, seeking makeshift shelter from the storm - protecting Xingchen with his own strong body from the delinquent's unsavoury presence. And of course by now he was well accustomed to Xingchen slumping up against him the moment he fell asleep. A safe, companionable kind of closeness he'd come anticipate, relish and delight in.

He was far less delighted when Xue Yang did the same thing some time later, limp and boneless in sleep.

He jabbed his elbow at him again, harder this time, but that only led to Xingchen squirming restlessly at his other side, lightly jolted by the movement.

"Zichen..?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Hm..."

With a sigh, Xingchen burrowed his face closer against his shoulder, then settled down again, breathing deep and even.

It could have been amusing, really, the absurdity of the scene, and he had allowed himself to think so for a brief moment. But then he remembered Shifu's words, his wise solemn face, with eyes crinkled in amusement. Those same eyes wide with pain the very last time he had seen them – the last thing he had seen of Baixue altogether, last he'd seen at all for a long while, his finally restored sight coming at a gruesome price that still hurt, after all this time. All because of one person, a beast, a monster - currently leaned up against his right arm, snoozing peacefully.

He twitched with revulsion, as though he could somehow escape his own skin and the figure resting up against it, a disturbing body heat seemingly felt even through all his layers of clothing.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to breathe evenly, suffer through. This night wouldn't last forever, the rain would stop and they would leave. For Xingchen's sake – he still needed his rest, still looked so tired just being alive sometimes – for his sake, he could remain still and keep the peace.

He breathed through the familiar patterns, allowing his mind to sink deeper and deeper into rest, allowed himself that rare escape.

He was warm. The rain was peaceful.

Song Lan drifted off into sleep.

***

Pale dawn light had begun filtering into the shallow crevice when several things happened in quick succession.

With a roar of inhuman resentment, the fierce corpse between them exploded awake out of noxious dreams, eyes black, teeth bared, fingers curved into claws.

Startled, acting on instinct, Xiao Xingchen followed Shuanghua's agitated lead, leaping to his feet and unleashing the sword in one fluid movement, striking.

Only slightly ahead of him, more accustomed to fighting for his life the split second he awoke, Xue Yang shot to his feet, elbowing the flat of the blade off course and grabbing onto Xiao Xingchen's wrist to keep him from completing the blow on a backward stroke. Trying to hold him back left-handed was much like standing in the path of the feiyi serpent all over, the sheer pressing strength of him overwhelming. But if he was allowed to bury his sword through Song Lan's heart again, no matter how well-deserved, he knew Xiao Xingchen would die.

There was a minute give as Xiao Xingchen came awake enough to take in the situation, and Xue Yang just barely had time for a quick surge of relief before a convulsively clenching hand locked down on his throat, lifting him clean off the floor and slamming him up against a wall.

His vision went black, and he clawed at the hand choking him – like attacking stone, no reaction or give whatsoever, and as the grip kept tightening it felt as though his head would explode, a deafening roar in his ears, taste of blood in his mouth.

He might be distantly aware of Xiao Xingchen speaking, tugging at the clenching fingers as well, but couldn't tell if an eternity or just a few heartbeats had passed by the time the dead hand finally wavered once and let go. He crashed to the floor, trying desperately to suck breath into his burning lungs, but it was like breathing through the thinnest bamboo straw, his throat swollen almost completely shut, and the world remained half-dark, every singular beat of his heart a dull pounding blow through the blood vessels in his face and scalp.

His body screamed for him to get back on his feet, to run, fight back, but he was weak, and Xiao Xingchen was here, was still talking, holding Song Lan back, and if Xiao Xingchen was here, it was safe. He could focus on breathing.

The resentment in the air was dying down; apparently the undead daoshi had managed to get himself under control, falling calm to the soothing sound of Xiao Xingchen's voice.

Well, that was a way to wake up...

He had finally gotten his own breathing working reasonably again by the time Xiao Xingchen turned away from Song Lan, with a last lingering touch, to kneel in front of him, and suddenly a gentle hand on his shoulder stole his breath away again.

"Are you all right?"

Well, he was now, bathed in that soft concern, everything in the whole world narrowed down to just that light but steady touch.

"Fine," he managed, or at least tried, his voice just a raspy croak. That bastard Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen frowned, still clearly worried, and it was worth every last bit of discomfort, honestly, his light touch, that genuine care on his face.

"Do you need something for the pain?" he asked, hand going for his qiankun pouch, "I still have some left of the medicine Wang-daifu sent along for your injuries."

And he was about to say no, because he was not that weak, pains no worse than usual, but by then Xiao Xingchen was already holding a pill of elixir up to his face, and he wouldn't turn that opportunity down for the world.

"Ah, perhaps... I should," he managed, almost grateful for the tangible reason to be so breathless.

Do not kiss his fingers, do not, he repeated over and over in his head, fiercely, absolutely determined, as the elixir was held up to his lips - and then of course he did anyway, the way he would on rare lazy mornings when the daily candy was delivered in person, just before the most sugary-sweet of kisses-...

Xiao Xingchen froze, his lips shaping a small "o" of surprise, his face suddenly flushing pink, and Xue Yang quickly drew back before he could say anything, too much, that was too much and it took so very little to make him upset these days.

"Thank you," he said instead, lightly, though the elixir was bitter and awful in his mouth.

"It's stopped raining," Song Lan said, sounding like his usual aloof self again, and just for once he could forgive him for interrupting before Xiao Xingchen had the chance to say anything. "Xingchen, will you please start the fire? We'll go get some more firewood and water."

And that he had not agreed to, which apparently didn't matter at all, as there was suddenly a grip on his arm, almost as firm as the choke-hold earlier, and he was unceremoniously dragged out of the cave.

The last he saw of Xiao Xingchen's face was still somewhat bewildered, his ears an impossible deep pink framed between white blindfold and midnight hair, looking sweeter than any candy in the world.

***

Song Lan could still feel the restless aftershocks of black resentment coursing through him, and perhaps it hadn't been wise to subject himself to Xue Yang's continued presence in that state – out of the corner of his eye he could vividly see the necklace of bruises still growing ever darker on the man's throat.

That should feel like victory, finally getting to wrap his hand around that neck and squeezing-... but the shadowy memory, giving into the fierce instincts, losing control... it tasted more like shame.

Once out of earshot from the cave he stopped short and turned, and while Xue Yang didn't flinch back, his eyes were sharp and alert, and he kept a calculated distance, out of immediate grabbing range.

"I lost control. How do I stop it."

The dark eyes narrowed, and the almost automatic smirk didn't reach beyond Xue Yang's lips.

"You're asking me?"

There was still an anger in him, something hot and boiling and vastly at odds with his usual temperance. But this was about regaining self-control, not giving into dark temptations of more violence.

"You made me into this. So yes, I'm asking. How do I control it?"

Xue Yang tilted his head to one side, canines flashing briefly in that sharp smile, still more of a wary threat than any expression of amusement.

"That's what the nails in your head were for. I can put new ones in, if you like!"

He just held his gaze, blankly, waiting for something useful.

"No?" He gave an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head the other way. "Then I'm not sure I can do much to help you. Ordinary fierce corpses are just hunger and anger, all the time, no control at all - you've seen them. Something like you... there are no other things like you. Except Wen Ning, I suppose, Yiling Laozu's Ghost General. It's such a pity we didn't get to talk more to them before parting ways! The revelations that man could impart..."

Still not helpful, and he scowled, running out of patience fast. Apparently Xue Yang realized that would be a bad thing, current positions considered, and the smile was replaced by the same businesslike look he'd sported when first presenting the speech talisman and while examining undead remains in the haunted village, looking him over.

"It's mostly up to you, really. Controlling yourself. You're supposed to be a master of your own mind, aren't you, worthy daozhang? Keep your energies calm, don't give into resentful thoughts – you fell asleep, didn't you? In the cave? Had nightmares?"

He nodded shortly, and got a thoughtful nod in return.

"Mm. It's good that you do living things, breathing, eating, resting – it keeps you closer to human, closer to what he needs. But sleeping is loss of control, and dreams can be dangerous."

He tapped two fingers against his pursed lips.

"You know, we could probably repurpose almost any charm designed to keep resentment out to keep it in. See if we can find one of those little trinkets the hawkers sell at the wayside. Can't hurt."

"That's all? All you can do?"

He didn't know why he'd expected more, expected anything at all. Xue Yang flashed him another, wider smile.

"If I had my Yin Tiger Amulet, I could probably get you under control, but without the nails, you'd still fight me every single waking moment. You'll just have to try and control your emotions yourself. I can't do everything for you, Song-daozhang."

He drew a deep breath, then exhaled it, resentment dissipating, something hollow and a bit hopeless beneath.

"I apologize," he forced out, stiffly, "For attacking you. It was not my intention."

The smile faded completely from Xue Yang's face, replaced by something he couldn't read, surprise, perhaps, or suspicion, or a mix of both.

"You're apologizing. To me. You."

He gave a flat look in response.

"I lost control, and I hurt you. For that one thing, I apologize. I admit to my mistake. Do with it what you will."

There was a short exhale from Xue Yang, like a single scoff of laughter, or maybe a sigh.

"Ah, yes. Loss of face for you, that would be unacceptable. Mustn't kill me without intent, that'd look bad. Shame on you."

He hadn't expected the words to be received with grace - doubted Xue Yang was capable of doing anything with grace - but the dark scorn in those narrowed eyes was still aggravating beyond reason and he had to fight down a twinge of hungry resentment rising again. Xue Yang's eyes narrowed further, as though he could actually see the darkness twisting inside him.

"Xiao Xingchen keeps telling me to do my breathing exercises to keep my temperament balanced. Perhaps you should do the same, Song-daozhang? It does wonders for your self-restraint. I can recommend it!"

A trilling little laugh.

"Ah, poor sweet, goodhearted Xiao Xingchen... Stuck with us monsters."

He had to close his eyes briefly, something far colder and more hollow than the seething anger suddenly stabbing right through where his heart had once lived. Wanted to argue against that statement, but how could he?

"Mm. Go get that firewood, Song-daozhang. We shouldn't leave him waiting all alone for too long, or he'll worry."

He kept his eyes closed until the sound of Xue Yang's footsteps had faded, not trusting himself to look at him, not when the anger was finally dying down. In the silence, he took several deep steadying breaths, because annoyingly, it did actually help a bit.

And then he forced all dark thoughts down, opened his eyes and began searching under the trees for reasonably dry firewood. It was a chilly morning after the rain, and Xingchen deserved the comfort of – something not a monster – a gentle fire to keep him warm.

***

Xiao Xingchen burned.

A searing heat crawling under his skin, lazily licking along his meridians, the ignited embers in his lower dantian blazing from red to yellow to white hot under the bellows of his every deep breath.

He wanted, needed... Something like hunger, but in his skin, his flesh, to be held, made real again.

It took stern, conscious effort to wrestle his breathing under control again, smothering down the blaze to something bearable.

His fingertips refused to cool, still tickled and burned with the memory of lips, plump and soft, and a quick playful lap of wetness as that too familiar mouth nipped the elixir from his fingers. Like sugared candy, offered on lazy mornings in another lifetime. A mess of tangled memories coming along with it, of what would usually come after...

The knuckles of his other hand flickered with heat in response, ignited by the brush of Zichen's weeping kisses the morning before, and he almost writhed with it, rubbing and wringing his hands as though the burning, hungry sensation could be scrubbed out of his skin by force.

Brief touches, but not enough, never enough, only making the loneliness, the longing worse. Two companions, ever faithfully at his side, yet ever at an unbearable distance – one whose touch he couldn't, mustn't abide, another who couldn't stand his...

A cruelty in that, a bitter irony.

"Xiao Xingchen!"

Xue Yang, cheerfully chanting his name from outside, the sound cutting across his fevered thoughts, and it took every ounce of once iron self-control to remind himself why his heart shouldn't jump in delight at it, why he shouldn't get up and lean into a desperately needed embrace he knew would be there if he asked for it.

"Looks like there's a village down the road – if we stop there for food, you won't have to poison us all with coriander after all!"

Remember the lies, the deceit, the laughter as you died, he told himself, sternly, a little desperately. Remember all the people dead! And finally, ruthlessly Remember a-Qing! when the other bitterly familiar daggers seemed too blunted, wouldn't cut deep enough.

"Are you still hiding away in here in the dark, Daozhang? I thought you were supposed to start the fire – are you trying to worm your way out of making breakfast now, too?"

The tone was light as it approached him, its sharp edges softened by a gentleness that still took him by surprise sometimes, just the faintest questioning undercurrent of concern.

"You should come outside! It's a beautiful day, now that it's stopped raining. All washed clean, glittery spider's webs everywhere, even a rainbow over the mountains up west."

He gave a wan smile, forced his voice to work.

"It's been a long time since I saw a rainbow."

"I'll describe it to you – it's a good one! All bright colours."

I haven't forgiven you, he thought, hopelessly. There are things you've done that I don't think I ever can. But sometimes you make it so very hard to hate you.

And when there was a light, questioning touch at his sleeve, he didn't pull away, reluctantly allowed it, let Xue Yang take his hand and lead him into the dawn to tell him about the beautiful things of the world.