Chapter Text
Xie Lian’s morning is saved by an unexpected interruption.
He slept poorly last night, despite how thoroughly Jun Wu’s welcome home exhausted him. Though he grew accustomed to his role at Jun Wu’s knee over the past year and a half, spending the past few days on his own in the mortal realm was just long enough to make Xie Lian feel the true weight of the shackles he wears. Returning to his Emperor’s side feels more than ever like a gilded cage.
So when the soft light of dawn finds Jun Wu’s hand questing over his stomach, Xie Lian shoves it away.
Immediately, he freezes in shock at his own temerity. Behind him, Jun Wu pauses. Xie Lian can feel his master’s size and strength, the stillness in his Emperor’s mien like the shadow of a terrible promise just waiting to be fulfilled.
“Xianle,” Jun Wu says. His voice is stern. Xie Lian stays where he is, gaze fixed on the far wall. After a moment there’s a sigh, and then a shift in weight as Jun Wu sits up in bed. Xie Lian shuts his eyes, trying in vain to block out the quiet disappointment burning into the back of his skull like the radiance of a miniature sun.
A hand settles on his hip. Xie Lian tenses, his heart rabbiting in his chest. He’s being contrary. He has no right to refuse, he knows this, has earned any and all treatment Jun Wu chooses to give him, but—but—
There’s a loud knock at the door.
Xie Lian’s eyes fly open. What? Who has the audacity to come to the Emperor’s innermost chambers unbidden? Jun Wu must have the same thought, because the hand on Xie Lian’s hip tightens at the same time as he lets out a sharp, “Who is it?”
“My Lord, it’s the Earth Master,” comes Ming Yi’s muffled voice. The strain is audible even through the heavy wood. Xie Lian lifts his head at the sound of the door swinging open, too shocked to register any other emotions. “You must come quickly. Crimson Rain Sought Flower has—”
The Earth Master takes two steps into the room and stops. He stares at Jun Wu, and at the figure of the Crown Prince of Xianle naked in his bed. Then he drops his eyes to the floor, his face going flat and grim as he presses his arms hard against his sides. He looks like a man facing the hangman’s noose, and despite his own burgeoning humiliation, Xie Lian feels a stab of sympathy at Ming Yi’s obvious pain.
“Finish your report,” Jun Wu says. His voice is extremely mild. He quietly reaches over and tugs the blankets up over Xie Lian, then reaches for his robe, pulling it on with confident, unhurried motions. Xie Lian huddles into the bed but does not look away, still watching Ming Yi with wide eyes.
The Earth Master squares his shoulders and nods jerkily. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower is setting fire to your temples,” he says. “Fifty of them are already ablaze.”
Xie Lian’s heart stammers in his chest as Jun Wu goes still. What on earth…? The Emperor has warned Xie Lian about that terrible ghost king—told him stories of Hua Cheng’s capriciousness, about the destruction he wreaked on thirty-three gods for no reason at all.
But by all accounts, Crimson Rain has always been careful to keep his distance. What could make him change his mind now?
Despite his mortification at being seen like this, Xie Lian sits up, peering at Ming Yi. If the Earth Master knows more than he’s saying, he doesn’t let on; he’s still staring adamantly at the floor, as though memorizing the pattern of the elegant rug might save him from the wrath of his Emperor.
“I see,” says Jun Wu at length. “Call the rest of the officials to the Great Martial Hall. I will be there presently.”
The Earth Master bows and then leaves. He doesn’t run, but it’s a near thing. The door shuts behind him with a final sort of thump.
For a moment Xie Lian wonders if the punishment Ming Yi interrupted is going to happen anyway. But Jun Wu isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at the closed door, his face serene. After another moment he slips off the bed without looking at Xie Lian, heading towards his inner chambers.
Xie Lian’s heart eases in his chest at the unexpected reprieve. He starts to get up, too, only to realize his mistake as Jun Wu gestures without looking back at him.
Agony erupts in his neck and ankle, his cursed shackles bursting to terrible life. Xie Lian cries out as energy sears through him like an attack of miniature lightning strikes, what feels like every nerve in his body writhing in agony. He collapses back to the bed, speechless from the ferocity of the strike.
Just like that, it’s gone. Xie Lian is left panting and trembling on the bed, hot tears starting in his eyes as his body shakes its way through the residual pain. “You will stay here, my Xianle,” comes Jun Wu’s calm voice. “I think your last trip away from the Heavenly Court was a little too much excitement. Use the time to practice your cultivation.”
And with that, he sweeps out of the room.
* * * * *
Xie Lian waits until Jun Wu has been gone for almost an hour before he tries getting up again.
This time, the shackles permit him to leave the bed. Xie Lian knows better than to try to leave the Heavenly Court, however. This long into his… apprenticeship, he’s very familiar with the expectations placed on his behavior.
He goes to bathe, washing quietly in the lavish quarters Jun Wu appointed for him. Xianle Palace stands unoccupied on the Great Martial Avenue; Jun Wu built it for him when Xie Lian unexpectedly ascended for the third time, but by then Xie Lian was already living in Jun Wu’s personal palace. No discussion was ever had about Xie Lian moving into his own palace.
By that time, the iron jaws of the trap had long since snapped shut on him.
Xie Lian washes himself with the vacant stare of someone who is trying his hardest not to inhabit his own body. It’s easier if he quiets his mind, tries not to think about anything. He got very good at it in the past year and a half, at simply moving through the world without consciously being aware of what was happening to him.
Then Jun Wu sent him to Mount Yujun to investigate the missing ghost brides—his first independent trip in the eighteen months of learning at his Emperor’s knee—and all of his careful work at not noticing his own pain came crashing down.
Xie Lian pauses mid-scrub. His eyes burn; he turns his face downwards, letting the salt tears run down his cheeks into the bathwater.
He really thought that the eight hundred years he spent wandering the mortal realm might be sufficient punishment for his crimes. To discover that his Emperor not only knew the extent of what Xie Lian did in those last terrible days of his kingdom’s fall, but thinks he needs to be punished more for it… it’s crushing.
But Jun Wu has always been kind to him, always loved him, always protected him. Xie Lian was overjoyed when his Emperor descended to earth to speak to him directly and offer to mentor him. He’d been so lonely, all too willing to accept the offer to work at the side of the only Heavenly Official he truly trusted.
I will protect you, my Xianle. I will train you, and care for you, and help you fix what’s been broken. In exchange you will give me your unswerving loyalty. Is that not a fair trade?
A painful lump fills Xie Lian’s throat. He swallows hard as he breaks out in gooseflesh despite the warmth of the bathwater. Xie Lian sits in the bath for the next fifteen minutes, leaking tears and shivering like a man in the grips of a high fever. He clutches the edge of the tub so hard his fingers leave indents in it.
Finally his body hits its limit. He lurches to the edge of the tub and vomits over the side, choking on a sob as his stomach tries desperately to purge itself of whatever is poisoning him. What comes up is white, frothy bile.
Xie Lian stares at the ugly little puddle on the floor. It looks far too much like something else that Jun Wu always makes a point to leave inside him.
The sight breaks him. Xie Lian sinks back into the tub and lets the water close over his head to drown out his screams.
* * * * *
When Xie Lian finally emerges some twenty minutes later, his face is wan and his eyes dull. He dresses himself and heads out to the private cultivation grounds that Jun Wu keeps. The gardens are unparalleled in their beauty, full of rare plants and meticulously curated flower beds. They’re also very private.
He finds a shady tree and sits himself beneath it to meditate.
Xie Lian shuts his eyes. He tries to focus on clearing his mind, on settling his body, but his thoughts keep wandering to unwanted topics. Things like: if Xie Lian had tried to answer Feng Xin and Mu Qing when they reached out to him, would anything be different? Would they talk to him now, if he went to see them?
He hates that he can’t rid himself of these thoughts, no matter how many times he tries. Even though he knows that his former friends despise him now—even though he knows he doesn’t deserve their friendship, or their concern—he so badly wants to go see them, to beg for support. He should be strong enough to simply endure the situation he’s in, since he brought it on himself, but in the end he’s too weak.
As always, Xie Lian pushes the idea away. If he were to go see either of them, they’d only withdraw from him in disgust when they found out his predicament. And even if for some reason they were to find some pity in their hearts for him, what then? Asking them to go against their Emperor?
The thought makes Xie Lian shudder.
“Your Highness,” says a voice from very close by. Xie Lian yelps and nearly jumps out of his skin.
He opens his eyes to find the Earth Master standing a short distance away from him. Xie Lian’s face burns as he abruptly remembers what situation the Earth Master witnessed him in less than two hours ago. “Earth Master,” he says faintly. “I…”
“We don’t have much time,” interrupts the Earth Master. He’s frowning. Xie Lian stares at him, perplexed. Ming Yi comes forward, dropping to one knee in front of Xie Lian and cupping his fist before him in a deep bow.
Xie Lian goes hot at the gesture of undeserved respect. “Honorable Earth Master, please,” he begins. “This one is unworthy of such an honor—”
Ming Yi ignores him. He straightens but stays on one knee, making a series of rapid hand gestures. Lines of magic burn in the wake of his fingers, and despite himself Xie Lian can only watch in fascination as the Earth Master crafts some complicated sigil in the air with just hand gestures and the strength of his cultivation.
The sigil lights up, so bright it’s nearly blinding. Xie Lian’s eyes widen as he recognizes the charm in the instant before it grabs hold of him: a Verity Chain.
A length of golden chain erupts from the sigil, wrapping itself around both Xie Lian’s and Ming Yi’s right wrists, binding them together in an unbreakable hold.
“Earth Master, what are you doing?” Xie Lian breathes.
The Verity Chain is incredibly difficult to produce: a charm that binds two people to speak nothing but the truth to each other so long as it’s active. It requires an enormous amount of spiritual energy and immaculate crafting of each individual link. Xie Lian has only seen it done once in his eight hundred years of wandering.
Ming Yi grits his teeth. “I am trying to help you,” he says. The chain between them lights up in response to his words. “Your Highness, I do not have much time before the Emperor returns. Are you his servant willingly?”
Xie Lian cries out as the Verity Chain pulls at him, twisting at his spiritual core. “I—” He tries instinctively to deflect, to soften, but the words refuse to come out. The truth spills from him despite his best efforts, along with a few fresh tears. “...No.”
Ming Yi looks grim. “Please don’t do this,” Xie Lian blurts. “It won’t help anything.”
“Is he hurting you?” Ming Yi presses.
Xie Lian shuts his eyes, more tears leaking down his cheeks. That lump in his throat is back again, blocking his ability to speak. But the chain around his wrist pulses, demanding, and so he nods his head, pressing his lips together hard to keep his noises down.
Ming Yi growls something under his breath. At the same time, something brushes Xie Lian’s cheek. He opens his eyes to see a flash of silver directly in front of him: a butterfly. It’s tiny and delicate and oh so beautiful, and it flutters before him in a way that Xie Lian can’t help but read as friendly. Comforting.
“Can he track you if you leave Heaven?” Ming Yi asks. Xie Lian looks over at the Earth Master again. Ming Yi’s expression has turned cold and determined, something dark bleeding into his eyes; it makes Xie Lian shiver to see it.
Once again the Verity Chain refuses to let him not answer. Xie Lian winces as its magic throbs around his wrist. “Yes,” Xie Lian whispers.
Ming Yi scowls. Meanwhile, the silver butterfly dances in front of Xie Lian for a few moments before settling on his shoulder. For some reason Xie Lian finds himself reassured by its presence. He’s never seen one like it before; he wonders if it’s some creation of the Earth Master’s, though that doesn’t make very much sense.
Before the Earth Master can ask another painful question, Xie Lian jumps in. “Why are you doing this?” he asks. “I’ve brought this on myself.”
Ming Yi’s scowl deepens. “No, you haven’t,” he says, the Verity Chain flashing between them. “And I’m doing it because you need help. And because I made a vow.”
“What?”
The Verity Chain brightens warningly, and it’s Ming Yi’s turn to wince. Xie Lian can feel just how much spiritual energy is burning up to maintain the chain, and he can’t help but marvel at how strong the Earth Master is. “This is for you,” Ming Yi says, and he holds his free hand out.
In his palm is a length of red thread.
Xie Lian stares at it. He reaches out despite himself with the hand not bound by the Verity Chain. As his finger brushes its edge, the thread bursts to life. It ties itself neatly around Xie Lian’s first finger, knotting into a bow and fluttering its ends at him as if to say hello. “What is this?” Xie Lian asks.
“It’s a guide,” says Ming Yi. Xie Lian looks up at him and is startled to see that Ming Yi appears to be changing before him, becoming paler, gaunter. His ears elongate to fanned fish fins, and his mouth fills with sharp teeth. “It’s—it’s tied to another person at the other end. Your Highness, that person wants to help you. You can rely upon him completely.”
Xie Lian stares from the transforming Ming Yi to the red thread that has tied itself to his finger. His head swims; he doesn’t know what to think, what to say. “Who are you?” he asks.
Ming Yi grits his teeth and shudders, visibly resisting the question. The Verity Chain lights up so bright that Xie Lian has to shut his eyes against it. When he opens them again he finds Ming Yi has transformed completely into someone ghostly and ferocious, shark teeth bared as he presses his free hand atop the truth spell still burning both their wrists.
“I am Black Water Sinking Ships,” he grits out.
Xie Lian stares. Black Water Sinking Ships? One of the Four Calamities? His mind reels, question upon question springing to his tongue. How did he manage to infiltrate the Heavenly Court? And was it just for this?
And what vow could be so great that he would burn his identity to come to Xie Lian like this?
“I can’t help you if you reveal me to the others,” Black Water says, as if reading Xie Lian’s thoughts. His voice is tight; he’s visibly trembling, energy pouring off him into the Verity Chain. “When you next are able to leave Heaven, follow this thread to wherever it leads you and you will find help there. The—the thread will hide itself until you follow it home, and then it will hide you until you have reached your destination.”
Xie Lian stares from the red thread to Black Water’s face. “Who is this person you speak of?” he whispers. “Who is at the other end of this thread?”
At this, the ghost of a smile flickers over Black Water’s face, there and then gone. “Your most devoted follower.”
* * * * *
Xie Lian keeps his silence.
He’s heard very little about Black Water Sinking Ships from the other Heavenly Officials. The one Heaven spends the most time fretting about is that Crimson Rain Sought Flower. But not even a ghost king can circumvent the magic of a Verity Chain, and Xie Lian is almost certain that Black Water had not realized just using the chain would force his illusion to burn itself to ashes.
He tells himself that it’s only curiosity that keeps him quiet, prevents him from telling anyone what transpired. He just wants to find out who’s at the other end of this red string, that’s all.
(Thinking about anything beyond that stirs something sweet and painful inside his chest, something he’s tried to strangle with all his might. If Xie Lian dares think about it harder than that, he’ll only die of heartbreak all over again.)
So he keeps quiet. He cultivates and meditates until his Emperor returns, and when Jun Wu finally arrives with storm clouds in his eyes and the smell of ash on his clothes, Xie Lian kneels obediently and gives his master no reason to think on what his pet was doing while he was away.
He’ll be punished for his earlier transgression, of course. Xie Lian halfway hoped Jun Wu might be too distracted with Crimson Rain’s assault on his temples of worship to remember, but that was only foolish daydreams. The darkness in Jun Wu’s eyes when he glances at Xie Lian over dinner is all the warning Xie Lian needs.
So when they make it back to the Emperor’s rooms, Xie Lian waits only for the door to shut behind them before he drops gracefully to his knees and then into a deep kowtow, forehead pressed to the floor.
“This one wronged his master this morning,” he says softly. “He was willful and disobedient. Your servant is ashamed of how he behaved and welcomes whatever punishment his Emperor decides upon.”
He shuts his eyes, focusing on arching his back and lifting his ass in the way that he knows Jun Wu likes best. There’s a faint inhale, then the whisper of robes; a moment later Jun Wu’s fingers card through Xie Lian’s hair, painfully tender.
“My Xianle,” Jun Wu murmurs. His voice is warm, gentle. Loving. Xie Lian squeezes his eyes shut against the way that voice slithers into his heart. “How I love to see you like this, so attentive. You’re just as beautiful as I always knew you would be.” Jun Wu kisses the top of his head, and Xie Lian shivers.
Jun Wu completes Xie Lian’s punishment himself: twenty strikes across his back and shoulders with one of Jun Wu’s favorite whips, the one that has cruel magic woven into every lash and barb. Xie Lian has an inhuman pain tolerance, but Jun Wu has found a number of ways to circumvent that; by halfway through the beating Xie Lian is choking on his sobs, clutching at the leather thongs around his wrists for support. He barely manages to stay upright until the final strike lands and Jun Wu growls out release, and then he slumps against the wall with a strangled moan.
Jun Wu is there in a flash, crouching next to him and gently freeing him from the wrist restraints. “So good for me, Xianle,” he murmurs, pulling Xie Lian into his arms. “You took it so well. Your master is very pleased.”
Xie Lian whimpers, tears leaking freely from his watering eyes at the pain in his back. All he does these days is weep, it seems. He curls against Jun Wu, shutting his eyes against that broad chest as his Emperor gathers him up and carries him towards the bed.
Once, he fought this part even harder than he fought the violation of his celibacy. But now he clings tighter to Jun Wu’s shoulders, hides his face in his master’s neck as Jun Wu shushes him and starts to gently clean the wounds in his back. Jun Wu holds him close, murmuring against his brow and tenderly petting his hair as he sees to Xie Lian’s welts.
It’s been so long since anyone touched him with kindness. If the price of that touch is the suffering that comes beforehand, Xie Lian is willing to pay it. There’s no one else in all three realms who is willing to show him such affection, after all.
He very carefully does not think about the red thread hidden on his finger—or who it is that might lie at the other end.
* * * * *
Xie Lian’s chance to follow the thread comes much sooner than he expected.
In the days after Crimson Rain’s assault, the dominoes start to fall faster and faster. The ghost king does not let up his war on the Emperor—every day comes news of more temples burnt to the ground, the devastation increasing in speed and breadth with every passing hour. Xie Lian can’t help but wonder what imagined slight has caused this Hua Chengzhu to declare outright war.
Two days later Shi Wudu bursts into the Great Martial Hall, his eyes wild and his robes in disarray, bearing the news that both Wind and Earth Master have vanished. The Water Master is in a panic, and it takes Jun Wu almost twenty minutes to calm him enough to organize some kind of investigation.
(Xie Lian can guess at why the Earth Master has disappeared. But the Wind Master’s disappearance is provocative. Xie Lian knows Shi Qingxuan and “Ming Yi” are close, and he cannot help but wonder at the nature of this disappearance. The motives of ghost kings are completely obscure to him, it seems.)
The uproar means Jun Wu has very little time to devote to private affairs with his star pupil. Xie Lian does his best to assist—after all, an assault on Heaven threatens the human worshippers who depend on the gods for protection and assistance—but the nature of the threat means that Heaven has to divide its forces and spread out into the mortal realm to try to mitigate the damage.
Three days after Black Water Sinking Ships came to Xie Lian with a shocking message and an unlooked-for gift, Jun Wu sends his most beloved servant to search for the missing Wind and Earth Masters. He sends the Martial God of the West with him, but Quan Yizhen is easy enough to give the slip to, poor boy. All Xie Lian has to do is hint that nearby villagers insulted his shixiong and Quan Yizhen is charging off to right the fictitious wrong.
Xie Lian can’t help but wince as he watches Quan Yizhen go. You really need to get your temper under control, he thinks fondly.
Then he lifts his left hand, curling his first finger and concentrating on the red thread he can feel but not see. He doesn’t touch it yet, just stands in the middle of a deep forest with his heart in his throat, listening to the wind in the trees.
Now that the moment has come, Xie Lian finds himself afraid: afraid of disobeying his Emperor; afraid of what—or who—waits at the other end.
Or, worse, isn’t waiting.
For easily the twentieth time since that clandestine meeting with Black Water, Xie Lian wonders if he has any right to try to escape his fate in this way. Jun Wu chose to take him under his wing, after all; there are so many in both the heavens and on earth who would jump at such a chance. And if sometimes his master is cruel, it’s only what Xie Lian deserves.
He’s never asked Jun Wu outright to leave. He’s never had the nerve. But on some level Xie Lian knows that Jun Wu would say no—and that the punishment for asking would be terrible indeed.
As if aware of his fraught regard, the red thread slowly becomes visible again. The sight of that twist of crimson around his finger makes Xie Lian ache for reasons he doesn’t understand.
His own words come back to him. Why are you doing this? I brought this on myself.
Again he sees Black Water’s scowl in his mind’s eye, his voice grim: No, you didn’t.
Foolish. Misplaced compassion from a stranger unacquainted with the depths of the crimes Xie Lian has committed... only, Xie Lian can’t quite manage to dismiss it. Not with the memory of the Verity Chain burning so brightly with every statement from the ghost king’s mouth.
Xie Lian turns a slow circle, staring around at the quiet forest. The trees sway gently in the wind, the leaves whispering their endless song to him as if to soothe his troubled heart.
The idea that he still has a believer somewhere is ludicrous. And even if he does, they’ll be sorely disappointed when and if they lay eyes on their fallen god. But Xie Lian can’t shake the idea that whoever crafted this red thread for him must be someone truly special—who else could compel such a powerful messenger, or inspire such loyalty from a evastation?
He bites his lip and looks down at his finger. He would swear that the thread has warmed, wrapped around his finger like a miniature scarf. Xie Lian spares a moment to wish Black Water bothered to tell him how to activate the charm. Time to improvise.
“Take me there,” he murmurs.
Immediately, the thread bursts to life. One end of it shoots out, growing longer by the second as it flies before him. At the same time, something dances over Xie Lian’s skin, wrapping him in a whisper-fine layer of released magic that it takes Xie Lian a moment to recognize as a concealment charm.
Xie Lian squares his shoulders and walks forward, letting the red string guide him.
The landscape around him doesn’t seem to change much, but Xie Lian can feel the thrum of moving a large distance very rapidly. It’s some kind of unique Distance Shortening Array, he thinks distractedly, but its destination seems almost to be in flux—several times Xie Lian thinks they’ve arrived wherever they’re going as their journey pauses, the red thread waving hither and yon like a dog trying to catch a scent. Then they’re off again, crossing hill and stream, city and countryside in a handful of seconds.
(The red thread reminds him of Ruoye. Xie Lian misses his spiritual weapon terribly; the first thing Jun Wu did upon taking Xie Lian under his wing was demand his pupil pick a new weapon, one “more befitting to his station.” Xie Lian was permitted to leave Ruoye somewhere of his own choosing, finally deciding to leave it to rest alongside his mother and father in the Holy Mausoleum.
Ruoye cried when he left it. The silk band doesn’t make noise, but there’s no other way to describe how it twisted around itself in agony, trying over and over to return to Xie Lian’s wrist as Xie Lian wept and pushed it away.)
Finally, they come to a clearing. The red thread reaches up, brushing Xie Lian’s cheek before fading away altogether. Xie Lian looks around, his heart in his throat.
The clearing is certainly very pretty: surrounded on all sides by flame maples, their graceful arms swaying back and forth, giving the illusion of wearing mantles made of living fire. Several large flowering bushes dot the area, elegant chrysanthemums and gorgeous wild roses.
But there’s nothing else. No temple; no carved statue with a cryptic message tucked into its fist; no scroll lying meaningfully abandoned on the ground. And not a single soul appears to be here save for Xie Lian himself.
Xie Lian glances around. Maybe whoever’s supposed to be here just hasn’t arrived yet. But wasn’t the thread supposed to take him to meet that person? Xie Lian finds he’s no longer sure. He walks over to one of the bushes, bending over to sniff at the delicate pink blooms. He’ll just wait a little while, he decides, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest. He came this far, he should see it through.
But the longer Xie Lian waits, the more his heart sinks. He can no longer tell if the concealment spell the red thread placed on him is active—and now that he’s here he’s starting to wonder if he really read it right, if it was ever actually active at all. The dark, cruel voice in the back of his mind that sounds very much like the voice of White No-Face speaks up: a whisper only, but a whisper was all that it ever needed.
This is just a trick to test your loyalty, Xianle, it says. Xie Lian shivers, sinking to his knees in front of the rosebush. Jun Wu wanted to see if you would run given the opportunity or if you had finally learned your lesson. He’s going to arrive any moment now and see exactly how faithless and stupid you really are, to have believed there was anyone else in the whole wide world who would care about a miserable failure like you!
Xie Lian bites his lip against the tremor that’s taken hold of him. The Verity Chain, he reminds himself desperately. The Verity Chain doesn’t permit lies. Black Water wasn’t lying to him. He couldn’t be—
You really think the Heavenly Emperor couldn’t find a way to make a spell that looks just like the Verity Chain? comes that voice. It’s full of derisive laughter now. Xie Lian puts his face in his hands, shoulders hunching up in fresh humiliation. His eyes burn, and the lump in his throat is back. This was a test, Xianle. A test you failed. Jun Wu will be here any moment now, and this time he’ll realize that you’re not to be trusted. He’ll never let you off the leash again after this.
And he’ll be right.
Xie Lian chokes on a sob. He crumples over, his whole body shaking with tears. He should have known this was just a trap, another of his master’s ploys to test his cleverness and his obedience. He should have stuck to the course, done as he’s told… at least when he obeys, Jun Wu rewards him with meaningful work. Now—
The faintest sound of chimes reaches his ears.
Xie Lian is too distraught to notice it at first, but a soft glow appears directly in front of him, like a candle has been lit inches from his face. Xie Lian raises his eyes to see a silver butterfly alighting on the rosebush right in front of him. It flutters its delicate wings at him in greeting.
Even in the depths of despair, Xie Lian can’t help but smile. “Hello,” he whispers. “It’s nice to see you again.”
From behind him comes the jingle of bells and the sound of footfalls. Xie Lian freezes. But even as his body goes rigid with fear, part of him recognizes that those footsteps sound nothing like his Emperor.
“Your Highness,” comes a deep voice—a voice that is not Jun Wu’s. “Forgive this one for being late. I was in the middle of dealing with some trash when the red thread summoned me. I came as quickly as I could.”
Xie Lian’s breath catches in his throat. Who is at the end of this thread?
Your most devoted follower.
Xie Lian turns around.