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The air grows crisp the nearer they draw to the celestial mountain’s peak, the energy so thick around them that it prickles the skin. It is first her core, however, that tells Zhu Hong that they are close, as it revolts against the celestial energy with a sickening lurch. She comes to a halt, bracing herself against a tree trunk and closing her eyes as she tries to breathe steadily through her nose. She hears the footsteps ahead stop, as well, before returning to her at a jog.
“Shijie,” says Zhao Yunlan, voiced chilled thin from the cold. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Zhu Hong says, eyes still closed as she concentrates on getting control of her nausea. “I just need a moment.”
Zhao Yunlan ignores her, as usual. He takes her arm, turning her wrist upward and pressing two of his fingertips to where her pulse has always irregularly beat. The transfer of qi is gentle, one of the only gentle things her shixiong really does for her, and relieves her pain and sickness almost instantly. She lets out a long breath, relaxing and pulling her arm out of his hold.
“Thank you,” she says, straightening up again and not meeting his eyes.
It’s humiliating, really. To need. Zhao Yunlan is their clan’s first disciple, shifu’s only son, he absolutely should not be in the middle of the wilderness with her on a wild goose chase. But he is himself, and she is in more pain than she has ever been, and finding the immortal Guo is her only chance, and so Zhao Yunlan is here. There is nothing for it, now, but to journey upward until they find him or they do not.
Zhao Yunlan stays nearer to her as they continue ascending, their breath visible before them as they go. She does not feel the cold like he does, never has, but she is more easily winded. That much is new. A worrying sign. When si-shu was alive he would send her pills to help with her strength. She never could properly replicate them, but even if she could she doubts they would help her now. A quiet part of her doubts that anything will, at this stage. The resentment has begun to take it’s toll, as her family always said it would. It was the last thing her uncle ever said to her, actually, the night that she ran away to join a cultivation clan in some brazen attempt to, what? Save her own life? Defy fate? Or was it just an exercise in ego, a refusal to remain frail and unimportant?
Her uncle is dead now, as is everyone who has ever shared her blood, and Zhu Hong still can’t let him be right about this. Not just yet.
“Come.” Zhao Yunlan’s hand wraps around her wrist, keeping a firm hold and forcing her to pick up her pace. She hadn’t realized she was listing behind. “Keep up.”
“Sorry,” she mutters, concentrating on stepping over rocks and dips in what can hardly be called a path. She can’t remember the last time she was this tired, her muscles this unstable and burning. She began cultivation late, her core never quite as strong as other disciples her age, but still it has been long since she felt weak.
“We’re almost there,” Zhao Yunlan says.
“How can you tell?” she asks, looking at him sideways.
He grins back, breath misting in front of his face. “Just a feeling.”
Zhao Yunlan helps her keep her balance as they continue to climb, the path growing narrower but also more well-kempt. It is a surprise when Zhu Hong feels a dull pain between her eyes, like someone has thumped her on the forehead, and comes to a halt. Zhao Yunlan seems to feel the same, hissing and rubbing the spot with the heel of his palm.
“Wards,” he says, scowling irritably. “Did those texts happen to tell you how we get past them?”
“No,” Zhu Hong says, looking around and finding nothing of use. “To be fair, immortals don’t usually take visitors asking for favors. They find you.”
Zhao Yunlan hums dryly, crossing his arms and squinting up at the sky. “When and if they decide to notice the outside world, yes.” He is quiet for another moment, before tilting his head back and shouting at the top of his lungs. “Hello! Anyone up there?!”
“Zhao Yunlan!” Zhu Hong hisses, smacking his arm hard.
Anything further she would like to say is swallowed by a sudden wind, whipping their hair and watering their eyes. Zhu Hong pulls her collar up over her mouth so her breath isn’t stolen, squinting as their surroundings seem to dim though the sky has not changed. From above descends a black-robed figure, hooded and broad. Their presence is imposing, despite their being apparently unarmed. The hood is pulled back to reveal a man, his hair shorn like black moss, hair on his lip and chin and accentuating his rounded features. He might look boyish, even, if not for his decidedly world-wary glare. His eyes briefly, faintly, glowing red does not help.
“Who are you?” he asks lowly, shoulders square as if he means to block the whole of the mountain path with his body. “Why are you here?”
“We’ve come seeking Immortal Guo, is that you?” Zhao Yunlan asks bluntly. His hand rests on Shanchuan’s hilt at his side, but does not draw quite yet.
The man’s eyes swivel to him, his expression unchanged. “No.”
Zhu Hong purses her lips, nudging Zhao Yunlan out of the way before clasping her fist in the most polite greeting she can manage. Manners have never been her strong suit, but she is determined to at least see this through, whatever it’s outcome.
“My name is Zhu Hong,” she says. “We are both disciples of the Long clan.” The man just stares at her, so she awkwardly continues. “I’ve come hoping to have an audience with the immortal so he can examine my core. I was infected with resentment as a child and my condition has worsened lately. I fear I will die soon.”
The man stares at her for several heartbeats, only the whistling of the wind interrupting the silence. He extends a hand, and she gives him her wrist while ignoring Zhao Yunlan’s uncertain grunt. The man presses two fingertips to her pulse, but instead of feeding her energy like her shixiong, she can feel him poking around at her core to investigate it. He needs only a moment to find what she knows is there, and he opens his eyes with a deep frown as he releases her.
“Mm. Come, then,” he says, before turning on his heel and waving his arm with a flourish.
Zhu Hong sees nothing, but when she steps forward to follow him she finds that he has taken down the wards so they may pass. His pace is brisk as he leads them up the path, enshrouded by trees and undergrowth but well-kept. The black-robed man’s stride is so long and quick that he draws ahead of them a bit, and Zhao Yunlan leans in when it seems he is out of earshot.
“There’s something…wrong, with that man’s cultivation,” he says lowly.
Zhu Hong glances at him from the corner of her eye, then forward again. “Mm. Modao?”
“No,” Zhao Yunlan says, shaking his head with a frown. “But something…similar. Or a little to the left of it. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. We should be wary.”
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” she murmurs back dryly. He pinches her arm, and she hisses before doing it back much harder than necessary.
The foliage breaks ahead of them and they come into a clearing, a small homestead cradled by mountain rock on all sides. They pass through the gate and follow the black-robed man up the path toward an old wooden house with a thatch roof and a sturdy deck on it’s front. To the left of the path is a covered garden, rows and rows of both medicinal herbs and vegetables. On the right side is a pond, a pavilion crouching above it unpainted but it’s wood lovingly looked after. While the pathways are kept clear, it seems that this homestead’s inhabitants prefer to let the wild grass and flowers and trees grow where they will and live around them. Zhu Hong’s anxious heart settles just walking through this place.
The door to the small house opens as they approach the steps, and a tall but slight man stands in it’s frame. He wears a scholar’s robes, light in color with elegant, draping sleeves, and his hair is gathered up in a knot with two strands hanging to frame his face. His face is thin, making his eyes look a bit too large for his head, and he looks far, far younger than Zhu Hong had imagined. He appears to be only her age, actually, if not a bit younger.
“Xiao Guo,” says the black-robed man, nodding to Zhu Hong and Zhao Yunlan. “These are the intruders. The girl says she is sick.”
Zhu Hong wrinkles up her nose, but still forces herself to salute respectfully. “The girl’s name is Zhu Hong,” she says evenly. “My shixiong and I have come seeking the immortal Guo.”
The brightly clad man’s face splits into a sunny smile. “That would be me! Forgive my husband, he is…protective. Come inside,” he adds, stepping aside to allow them entry to the house.
Zhu Hong accepts the invitation eagerly, leaving her boots at the door and following the immortal Guo inside. The house is similarly cluttered but peaceful as the outside, drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, incense thick in the air, various paintings hung from the wooden walls. The main room is appointed with a low table and mats, enough for guests; Zhu Hong wonders just how often people visit here. They certainly hadn’t received a warm initial welcome.
“Come, come, please sit,” the immortal Guo says earnestly, extending a hand toward the table. “Lao Chu, will you put some tea on, please?”
“Mm,” Lao Chu says, before disappearing into the next room.
“I really am sorry about him,” Guo says, smiling brightly again. “He’s very sweet, but we don’t receive many visitors. And even less that are agreeable.”
Zhu Hong raises her eyebrows. “What do they typically come for?’
“Well, I suppose I mean that those who come to me are usually quite desperate,” Guo says carefully. “Willing to do anything. Often armed.”
“I see.”
“Lucky you have a man with Lao Chu’s particular talents to watch your back, then,” Zhao Yunlan says, not making his disdain a secret in the slightest. Zhu Hong would kick him if she weren’t trying to keep them from getting their asses rolled back down the mountain face.
The immortal Guo, for his part, simply plasters on a polite smile and nods before turning his full attention to Zhu Hong. “What is this I hear about you being ill?”
Zhu Hong takes a long, deep breath. Now that this long-awaited moment has come, she struggles to get her thoughts in order. “Immortal Guo, I fear you are my last hope. When I was a child, my golden core was infected with resentment. I have struggled against it all my life, but it is finally catching up with me. And I am sure that soon I will be dead.”
A hand with warm fingertips touches hers, and she almost pulls away by instinct before realizing that he is asking for her wrist. She offers it, as she has already twice today, and allows him to investigate the truth of what she says.
“Oh. I see,” he says softly, closing his eyes as he gently feels around her core, following the paths of her meridians to track the flow of her qi. He blinks them open again after a minute or two, looking troubled. “First, please just call me Guo Changcheng. Or daozhang, if you must. Being called ‘immortal’ is so stiff.”
Zhu Hong hums, nodding once. She doesn’t care much what the man wants to be called, only what he can do. “Fine.”
“Second, I am afraid your condition is extremely complex,” he says, giving her an apologetic look. “I can try to help, but I cannot guarantee success.”
“That’s fine,” she says at once. “Like I said, this is my only chance.”
Guo Changcheng hums, then looks up with a smile as Lao Chu returns with a steaming pot and three cups. “Thank you, dear.”
Lao Chu hums quietly, and the look he gives him is unbearably soft. Zhu Hong averts her eyes, feeling like she’s intruding. Guo Changcheng pours for them, which also makes her uneasy, but she thinks it would be even more impolite to interrupt him. Lao Chu sits at his shoulder, legs crossed underneath him.
“No tea, Chu-xiongdi?” Zhao Yunlan asks, leveling the man with another piercing gaze.
Lao Chu hums negatively, not looking at him. Guo Changcheng smiles his angelic smile, returning the pot to the warmer.
“He doesn’t like it.”
Zhu Hong almost wants to laugh at the imposing, darkly clad unorthodox cultivator being picky, but she doesn’t. She takes a polite sip, finding that though she has never been thrilled with tea herself, the warmth of it is comforting, it’s simplicity reminding her of si-shu’s homemade blends.
“Zhu-guniang, do you mind telling me more about your condition?” Guo Changcheng asks. “You say you were infected as a child?”
“It began as excess yin,” Zhu Hong says, wrapping her hands around her cup. “I was born during a harsh winter, and my parents were killed in the crossfire of war. A territory dispute. I was left in the snow for a long time before my si-shu found me. I survived, but just barely. And not without damage.”
Guo Changcheng reaches to squeeze her hand, and she has the urge to pull away again. She lets him, though, forcing herself to smile. She never knows what to do in response to kindness, other than smile. She has found that such gestures are largely so the other person can feel good about themselves, and a simple acknowledgment is enough to get them to stop.
“I am sorry to hear you have such a tragic story,” says Guo Changcheng, and he sounds so sincere her hackles lower a bit. “So you have long been vulnerable to negative energies.”
“Mm. I was tattooed when I was young,” she says, pushing up her sleeves to reveal the characters on both of her arms. They are large enough to trail down her biceps and the tops of her forearms, the black ink faded with time. “Warding talismans. I can’t be sure they worked, but I never was possessed or anything similar, so. Perhaps they did.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Over time it also became clear something else was wrong, and my si-shu discovered that I had also been infected with resentment,” Zhu Hong says. “Probably from being surrounded by the dead for so long.”
Guo Changcheng nods along slowly, his frown more sad than thoughtful. Truly a puzzling man, especially for an immortal. “How have you fought against it’s influence for so long?”
“I joined a cultivation clan,” she says, glancing at Zhao Yunlan, who meets her eyes as well. “And trained hard to strengthen my core as much as I could.”
She still remembers the day she arrived at the Long clan’s gates, twelve years old and all alone with nothing but a small pack to her name. She had been greeted by a boy a few years older, who had blinked at her with puzzlement and then invited her inside for something to eat. She had not been trained in cultivation at that point, had always been expected to become a healer in the tradition of her family. But they were gone, and she was afraid and indignant at the cards she had been dealt. Zhao Yunlan had convinced his father to take her in despite this, and she strove not to be a useless mouth to feed. Her cultivation is nothing impressive, but she has never been a weak link. And when that changed, she left. If only the man’s sole son and heir hadn’t followed right after her.
“Zhao Xinci is not known for taking in strays,” Guo Changcheng says, which she thinks is the most diplomatic way he can manage to say the man is a bit of an asshole. “You must be very dedicated.”
“I prefer life to death,” she says evenly. “In that I am dedicated, I suppose.”
She feels Lao Chu’s eyes boring into her and meets them, blinking once. He stares for another moment, before looking away like he hadn’t been doing anything strange.
“So what can be done?” Zhao Yunlan asks, an impatient edge to his voice. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Guo Changcheng hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. “I will need to do some thinking and some research, I’m afraid. But you both are welcome to stay. There is a small house in the back that you can use.”
Zhu Hong exchanges another look with Zhao Yunlan, who nods once.
“Alright,” she says, closing the walls over her heart a bit tighter before hope can reach it. “Thank you.”
She has barely been awake for ten minutes, face first in a cup of tea the following morning, when Lao Chu approaches the guest house. She stares, leaning to look behind him, but he is alone.
“Chu-xiong. Can I help you?”
“No. But I will apparently be helping you,” he replies, sounding less than thrilled by the prospect.
“How?”
“Guo Changcheng will explain further. Follow me. And bring your shixiong.”
Zhu Hong scowls irritably. “We haven’t even dressed, give us a minute.”
Lao Chu sighs heavily through his nose, as if he is being terribly inconvenienced. “Fine. Come to the main house when you’re finished, then.”
“Fine.”
Zhao Yunlan has slept late, as he often does when he has no one to kick his ass out of bed. She takes it upon herself to do just that, ignoring him cursing at her as she tosses his clean set of clothes at his head. They are both washed and dressed soon enough, heading to the main house shoulder to shoulder on the stone path.
“Did he mention what Guo-daozhang found?” Zhao Yunlan asks around a yawn, rubbing his face and muffling his words even further.
“No. He seems to be a fan of saying very little,” Zhu Hong says dryly. “But whatever it is, he will apparently be involved.”
Zhao Yunlan pulls a face at that. “No, he won’t.”
“Don’t,” she says, giving him a look. “If you interfere with this I’ll kick your ass.”
“Shijie. He is dangerous. He could hurt you.”
“How can he hurt me more than I hurt already?” she quips. “Besides. I think you are judging his practice too harshly. Whatever it is, Guo-daozhang clearly has no moral qualms with it.”
“Guo-daozhang is welcome to whatever opinion he likes,” Zhao Yunlan snorts. “And I’ll have mine.”
They step inside to find the front room empty, voices sounding from a room in the back corner of the house. They follow the noise to where Guo Changcheng and Lao Chu are talking, the former arranging a table full of herbs, salts, and incense while the latter watches him with crossed arms. They look up when they hear footsteps, and Guo Changcheng’s face splits into his typical dazzling smile.
“There you are! Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you,” Zhu Hong says, taking the seat at the table that Guo Changcheng gestures to. Zhao Yunlan remains standing, his arms crossing to match Lao Chu’s and the two of them glowering at each other in unison.
“So,” Guo Changcheng begins, continuing to fiddle around. “I have some good news and some bad news.”
“Alright.”
“Good news: I think I can help you,” Guo Changcheng says, his smile more soft and genuine as he glances up to meet her eyes. “The bad news: I don’t have everything I need.”
Zhu Hong sits up straighter, her heart racing as she latches onto the notion of an achievable task. “What do you need?”
“Lao Chu will need to be heavily involved in the process,” Guo Changcheng says, hands busy as he throws herbs into a mortar and pestle and begins to grind them as he speaks. “I have found a theoretical technique that involves guiding the resentment out of one body and into another. Lao Chu has volunteered, as he is no stranger to it.”
Zhu Hong raises her eyebrows, glancing at the surly man in black who apparently has a selfless streak. Or, maybe he just has a death wish. “Are you sure?”
Lao Chu grunts lowly, expression unchanged. “I can handle it.”
“He is more equipped to survive it than most, but he will still need help,” Guo Changcheng amends, giving him a look. “Which is why I need to make him a decoction to strengthen him, for which I need a nirvana flower.”
“Nirvana flowers aren’t real,” Zhao Yunlan says flatly. “They’re a legend.”
The look Guo Changcheng gives him might be called innocently perplexed, if Zhu Hong were not close enough to see the edges of his eyes tighten the slightest bit. “Zhao-gongzi. I promise you I do not deal in fairytales. And the jianghu benefits greatly from your disbelief.”
Zhao Yunlan lifts one of his hands from where it rests on his elbow, as if in concession. “I just want to be sure this is real. And we aren’t wasting our time. She is…deteriorating, quickly.”
Zhu Hong frowns, not liking that particular phrasing, but is unable to argue. Each morning she wakes and feels as if more of her has melted away. She is weak, and tired, and losing will. She had simply hoped Zhao Yunlan hadn’t noticed.
“I understand,” Guo Changcheng says, compassion so thick in his voice she wants to insist she’s fine, actually, and they should go back home and no one should ever look at or refer to her again. “This method is very real, but I will not pretend it is assured. As I said, it is theoretical. Much robust study of more unorthodox methods of cultivation is passed down privately amongst practitioners, not widely available texts. But Lao Chu believes it is possible, and I trust him.”
Zhao Yunlan hums lowly, squinting at him. “Then I suppose I will have to, as well.”
“Where can we find a nirvana flower?” Zhu Hong presses, annoyed at being talked around. “How much do you need?’
“A full blossom will do the trick,” Guo Changcheng tells her. “They are located south of here, in the Naihe Valley on the edge of the border between the jianghu and ghost realm.”
Zhu Hong nods firmly, desperate to get moving now that she has seen sunshine at the end of the tunnel. “Good. We’ll leave right away.”
“There is one thing you must remember,” Guo Changcheng says as she stands, his brow low as he touches her arm. “You must not cross the border into the ghost realm. If you do, you will break the treaty between humans and the gui, and you will invite the wrath of the twin princes.”
Zhu Hong nods slowly. She is not a coward, but even she is unnerved by the threat of the twin gui princes. “Right. How will we know where the border ends?”
“Just don’t leave the valley,” Guo Changcheng says, squeezing her arm gently. She doesn’t normally like touching, but he’s so natural and gentle when he does it that it has already ceased to put her on edge. “Once you cross into the mountain range on the opposite side, you will be in gui territory.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
Guo Changcheng smiles, more weakly than his others. “I can’t send Lao Chu with you. It’s too dangerous for him. So I can only wish you good luck. And be careful.”
They can’t travel to Naihe Valley by sword with Zhu Hong’s core misbehaving, and so they go on foot. Zhao Yunlan is quiet for most of the journey, an oddity for him as he tends to fill every silence with inane chatter. It isn’t until they have traveled far enough south and passed through the celestial mountain range and into the valley that he says anything substantial.
“So, what do you think he meant by the valley being too dangerous for Lao Chu?”
“I have no idea,” she says. She takes his wrist, pulling him with her as she climbs onto an outcropping to get a better lay of the land. “Maybe he’s in shit with the gui.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me, actually.” Zhao Yunlan squints once they reach better vantage, shadowing his eyes to see better. “Damn. It’s awfully foggy in there.”
Zhu Hong hums in troubled agreement. Guo Changcheng had said that nirvana blossoms have deep blue tapered petals speckled with white, which is distinctive enough. It will be much more difficult to locate them with the fog and the overcast sky. Never mind trying to ensure that they don’t stumble into gui territory accidentally.
“Stick close,” Zhao Yunlan suggests, patting her shoulder. “Let’s just get the flower as quickly as we can, and leave.”
“Right.”
Zhu Hong follows Zhao Yunlan back down off the outcropping and to the end of the path. The fog looks even thicker from this angle. There is a distinct line where it ends, in the same place that the mountain path they had been following terminates, as well. A sure sign that this fog is not entirely natural. Zhu Hong takes a deep breath, exchanging a look with Zhao Yunlan, before the two of them step through. She keeps a tight hold on his sleeve, just in case.
A few steps, and it feels as if the fog has swallowed them whole. Zhu Hong’s heart begins to race, and she takes deep, deliberate breaths to slow it. She keeps her eyes on the ground, searching for blue flowers, but all that lies beneath their feet is wet grass, overgrown and brushing their shins as it soaks their boots and hems. It becomes almost mesmerizing to watch herself trample it, her eyes fixed on the next place she will step. She only realizes her mind has wandered, and some time has clearly passed, when she hears a voice echoing in the distance and she comes back to herself. Her fingers, previously clutching Zhao Yunlan’s sleeve, are empty, and her clothes are even more soaked than before. Her legs are sore, as if she has been walking for hours. She curses under her breath, whirling around toward the sound of the voice.
“Zhao Yunlan?” she calls, her voice echoing eerily. “Zhao Yunlan!”
The panic that had threatened her previously rears it’s head again and, before she can think better of it, she begins to run. It is difficult, in the valley, to hear which direction a sound is truly coming from. Every time she hears the faint voice calling again, she turns in a different direction, the fog making her feel like she is being devoured. The ground is largely flat, and so it comes as a shock when her foot hooks on a dip in the terrain and she falls face first. It knocks the wind out of her, and she ends up with scraped up palms and a bruised cheek for her trouble. She groans, glad no one else is there to witness her, and gingerly pushes herself up onto her knees.
Happily, she realizes, she seems to have exited the fog. The relief is short-lived, as she takes in her surroundings and finds herself on the path of the mountain range on the other side of the valley. The one she was absolutely not supposed to cross into.
“…shit,” she says, before the world suddenly goes black.
When Zhu Hong opens her eyes again, her body is stiff and she has a splitting headache. She is also in a cage.
She sits up quickly with a gasp, and hisses as she promptly cracks her head on iron bars above her. “Ah!”
“Oh, look, it’s awake.”
There is a plume of black, like ink in water, and two identical men step out from inside it. One is clad in black, the other in white, right down to their hair that is so long is brushes the floor. She can feel that they are gui, innately, instinctively, and does not need to ask to know they are the twin princes, Hei-dianxia and Bai-dianxia. Lovely.
“Are you sure this one is a cultivator?” asks Bai-dianxia, crouching gracefully and frowning at Zhu Hong, evaluative like she is a dog or a horse. His hair is blinding, the silver-white strands almost seeming to glow. “It doesn’t feel like one.”
“Why not?” asks Hei-dianxia. Their voices are similar, but his is deeper, cool and measured where his brother’s is taut with restless energy. “I didn’t notice anything.”
“It feels odd, I don’t know,” Bai-dianxia scoffs, standing again with a flourish of sleeves that are floor-length to join his hair. “Like it’s broken. Or sick.”
Zhu Hong stiffens as she feels poking around in her core, already sick to death of the sensation even if it weren’t occurring with no one touching her. She glares at Hei-dianxia, kicking the bars of the cage for lack of a way to otherwise express her displeasure.
“Get out,” she says venomously. “I’m not broken.”
Hei-dianxia hums, not looking offended or even affected, really, by her ire. “You are something close to it. What have you done to your golden core, human?”
“I didn’t do anything to it.”
“No? It seems to me that you have been playing around with wicked cultivation,” Hei-dianxia says evenly, the corner of his mouth quirking. “How unorthodox.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” Zhu Hong says tightly, kicking the bars again because it’s the only thing she can do. “Let me out.”
“You trespassed on gui lands,” Bai-dianxia says, and though he looks irritated it almost sounds like he’s laughing. “That is a violation of the treaty. So we have a right to keep you.”
“It could be worse,” says Hei-dianxia. “You could be dead.”
It does seem, as Zhu Hong (and her cage) are transported to a yawning throne room on the shoulders of five or six lesser gui, that she is to be kept as some sort of pet. She is unsure how entertaining they expect her to be, as “broken” as she is, but they at the very least don’t seem intent on torturing her. For now, anyway. She grunts as her cage is dropped to the floor with a thud, sending her into the bars and bruising her shoulder.
“I don’t know what you expect to get out of keeping me like this,” she says, glowering at the princes as they each take an identical throne. Simply to admire her, it seems. Gui are so fucking odd. “I will die soon.”
“I should say so,” Hei-dianxia says, staring at her with an unreadable expression. “I am still interested in how your core became so infected.”
“It happened when I was a child. And it has gotten worse lately.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
“I don’t fucking care what you believe,” Zhu Hong says tightly. “Those are the facts, either way.”
“Hm.”
They are interrupted by the towering doors at the front of the hall being thrown open, and a single man stepping through. Zhu Hong blinks as she realizes it’s her idiot shixiong, his robes and face flecked with blood but Shanchuan still sheathed. He grins with his whole face, as he often does, catching his breath as he approaches the twin thrones with a confident gait.
“Xiao Wei,” Zhao Yunlan says, voice carrying in the high ceilings. “Your people are very rude to guests.”
Zhu Hong’s jaw drops, and she whirls to see which of the fucking gui princes he is speaking to that way. It seems to be, if his bright red ears are any indication, Hei-dianxia. Bai-dianxia is giving his brother a look of disbelief similar to her own, then turns his nose up as he looks at Zhao Yunlan like he’s something on the bottom of his boot.
“What is that?”
“That is a human, didi.”
Bai-dianxia gives him a look that could only be described as bitchy. “Yes, thank you. I mean why does it know you?”
Hei-dianxia lifts his chin, clearly trying to recollect some of his dignity after being called ‘xiao’ in front of a prisoner. And his brother.
“His name is Zhao Yunlan. We have—“ A long pause. “…met.”
Zhao Yunlan’s smile grows more crooked, and Zhu Hong might even describe the look he gives him as playful. What the hell has her shixiong been up to?
“Indeed we have. I’m sure you remember, from the times we’ve met, me mentioning my shijie? Zhu Hong?”
“Vaguely,” Hei-dianxia says coolly.
“Good! Then you’ll understand why I can’t let you keep her in a cage, as amusing as I’m sure she is,” Zhao Yunlan replies. Zhu Hong does her best to set him on fire with her eyes, but it doesn’t work. “She’s not well. We were in the valley looking for nirvana flower for her cure, and the fog confused us.”
The way Hei-dianxia looks at him is unlike anything Zhu Hong has seen between two possibly-lovers. He isn’t shy, or even flirtatious. The expression is fond, but in the way that one feels for someone who is flagrantly misbehaving, and will see no consequences because one has spoiled them rotten.
“I see.”
“She broke the treaty,” Bai-dianxia says irritably. “And so did you, by stepping foot here and killing our foot soldiers.”
“I tried the peaceful way,” Zhao Yunlan says, putting up his hands. “They didn’t seem interested in talking.”
“They acted without orders,” Hei-dianxia says evenly. “They deserved their deaths.”
Bai-dianxia sighs but does not argue, pursing his lips and flicking his sleeves. “Even so. What do you propose we do about these infractions? Nothing?”
“Of course not,” Zhao Yunlan says. “I’ll owe you a favor. One for each, even, if you’re competitive.”
“We act as one,” Hei-dianxia says coolly. “So one will do. But your earnestness is noted.”
Zhao Yunlan smiles lopsidedly again, lowering in a bow. “Whatever pleases, Hei-dianxia.”
Hei-dianxia smirks, so faintly it is almost imperceptible. He waves his hand, black robes billowing, and the cage around Zhu Hong disappears. She scrambles to her feet and to Zhao Yunlan’s side, glaring over her shoulder.
“Go,” Hei-dianxia says. “Before I change my mind.”
Zhu Hong blinks as Zhao Yunlan takes her hand and pulls her with him out of the throne room and down the steps outside. They dodge blood spatters as they go, remnants of the fight Zhao Yunlan underwent to get to her.
“Quickly,” he mutters, breathless as they hurry toward the exit of the ghost realm. “He means what he says.”
“Right. …thank you,” she adds, not looking at him . He clearly knows the way, so she lets him keep tugging her along. “I was stupid to get caught like that.”
“No,” Zhao Yunlan says, flashing her a quick smile. “That fog was magic. I got lost, too. They were just so distracted with you that I didn’t get put in a cage.”
They reach the towering archway that serves as the entrance and exit to the ghost realm, and when they arrive at the end of the winding path beyond it they find that there is a tunnel carved through the fog of Naihe Valley.
“It seems Hei-dianxia has done us a favor,” Zhu Hong says, before gasping. “Wait, we still don’t have—“
There is a shimmer before her eyes, and a midnight blue flower bleeds into existence, tapered petals flecked with white and remnant of a clear night sky. She hesitates, before slowly reaching and taking the nirvana flower out of the air. She rubs her thumb carefully over it, and it feels real enough, the petals silk-smooth.
“Two favors,” Zhao Yunlan says warmly. Zhu Hong narrows her eyes at him.
“Were you ever going to tell me you have apparently been courting one of the gui princes?”
“Courting! Ha!” Zhao Yunlan laughs, nudging her toward the tunnel through the fog. “That’s too polite a term for what we’ve been doing.”
“Ugh. Forget I asked.”
“You sure? I’ve got plenty of stories. Filthy ones.”
“I will kill you.”
Guo Changcheng looks relieved to see them when they return, though his eyes go wide seeing the blood on Zhao Yunlan’s robes.
“Oh, dear! Come in, come in, I’ll draw you a bath.”
“There’s no need for that,” Zhao Yunlan insists, blinking as Guo Changcheng tugs them both inside with impressive strength. “Really, I’m fine. It’s mostly gui blood.”
Guo Changcheng ignores him, and shuffles Zhao Yunlan off with two hands steering him by the shoulders. “Zhu-guniang, you can take the blossom to my study!”
Zhu Hong does as she is asked, finding Lao Chu inside almost exactly where they left him. That would be silly, of course, but it is a bit funny imagining him de-animating into a statue. It would suit his stoniness. He raises his eyebrows when he sees her, and the flower that she pulls carefully out of her pocket.
“Well, shit. You really got it.”
“You didn’t have faith in us?” Zhu Hong asks as she leaves the blossom on Guo Changcheng’s work table.
“Faith doesn’t often mean much,” Lao Chu says, watching her closely. “What happened? You tangled with gui?”
“I got captured by the princes, but Hei-dianxia let us go.”
“Mm. Sounds like him.”
“You know him too?” she asks, bewildered. “He seems to like humans much more than his brother.”
“He’s odd, for a gui. He likes humans more than any of them, which still isn’t much,” Lao Chu says. “I wouldn’t say I know him well. But he taught me some things.”
Zhu Hong sits on one of the well-loved mats, frowning at him in fascination. “He taught you? Taught you what?”
“Some techniques,” Lao Chu says. “Not everything I know, but some.”
“What exactly is your method of cultivation, anyway?” she asks, forgetting to be polite. She’s gotten this far, she thinks. It’s quite unlikely they will decide to turn her away now. “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“It isn’t a specific method,” Lao Chu tells her. “They are techniques that I have cobbled together over decades of practice. I cultivate in order to become undead.”
Zhu Hong stares at him. “You mean immortal.”
“No. I mean undead.”
“I…oh,” Zhu Hong says dumbly. “Why?”
Lao Chu narrows his eyes at her. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I have been told that before.”
“Hm.” Lao Chu pushes away from the wall, coming to sit across from her with a sigh. “I can’t cultivate to immortality because I don’t have a strong enough core. It isn’t injured like yours, but I started late like you.”
“Oh.”
“And, I want to be with Xiao Guo,” he says, averting his eyes to the tabletop. “So this is my option.”
Zhu Hong just looks at him for a minute or so, a more complete picture of the man coming together in her mind. “Have you made much progress?”
“Some. I have slowed my aging,” Lao Chu says. “It has given me more time for failure, and repetition. Which I need.”
“Right. Well. I hope you succeed,” Zhu Hong says. And that helping me does not kill you.
Lao Chu smirks a bit, as close to a smile as she imagines she will get. “Oh, I will.”
It takes Guo Changcheng a full day to brew the nirvana flower decoction, and when it is finished it looks like a deep blue sludge. Zhu Hong is glad she does not have to drink it. Lao Chu downs it in one go, and even he shudders and pulls a nasty face. Guo Changcheng smiles sympathetically, patting his cheek.
“Sorry. Are you ready?”
“Mm,” Lao Chu nods, taking a swig of water to chase it down. “Ugh. Yes. I’m ready.”
“Good. Zhu-guniang?”
“Just Zhu Hong,” she says, sitting where she has been instructed with her back facing them. “And, yes.”
She stares at the far wall, prepared to dissociate until the whole thing is over. Her vision is obstructed by Zhao Yunlan, who sits in front of her and takes both of her hands before squeezing them. She smiles weakly, her eyes burning a bit as she squeezes back. She hears shuffling as Lao Chu sits behind her, pressing his palms firmly to her shoulder blades. His hands are freezing, but she elects not to complain.
“Now. Close your eyes.”
She does, inhaling and exhaling deeply as she focuses on the gentle scent of Guo Changcheng’s incense, the solidness of Lao Chu’s hands on her back and Zhao Yunlan’s keeping her anchored. She feels a presence, warm like sunlight, feeling around her core, and this time she lets it in.
The process was promised to be long, but she had not anticipated how tiring it would be. Guo Changcheng is slow, painstaking, not wanting to injure her or Lao Chu as he ferries resentment out of her body and into his, instead. It isn’t quite as simple as it sounds, the resentment fighting him and seeming to latch onto her core harder as he tries to remove it. Cold sweat beads on her forehead and she feels faint, vaguely nauseous. She must begin to list sideways at some point, because she can distantly feel Zhao Yunlan grab her biceps and keep her steady.
And then, all at once, she feels light. She cannot remember a time before the pit in her sternum weighing her down, and so the absence of it is jarring. She also feels her body devolving into shivers, and her head doing a somersault without the rest of her. She gasps as a firm arm collides with her chest, and she realizes belatedly she was falling again.
“Hong-jie! Easy, easy. Lay down.”
She groans quietly, eyes still closed as she allows herself to be guided to lie flat on her back. She is afraid the room will be spinning if she opens them. She lays there for an uncertain amount of time, waiting to stop feeling so awful, and is startled by a sharp smell that stings her nostrils. She blinks her eyes open as the dizziness fades away, and she can feel herself inside her body again.
“What happened?”
“Nothing unexpected,” Guo Changcheng says, pulling the salts away from her nose and ducking into her lines of sight. “How are you feeling?” he asks, observing her eyes individually rather than actually looking at her.
“Dizzy. A bit sick,” she says. “But better than I was a minute ago.”
Guo Changcheng nods firmly, eyes round as he continues on with checking her vitals. He presses his fingertips to her wrist to observe her qi, and smiles happily at whatever he finds. “I don’t want to speak too soon. But this is a massive improvement. I believe we may have done it.”
Relief does not hit her; she thinks it will probably be some time before this feels real. Safe to believe in. “How is Lao Chu? Is he alright?”
“He is just fine,” Guo Changcheng promises, patting her arm gently. “He will need some rest. But the decoction helped him withstand the procedure.”
“I can’t thank him enough. Either of you.”
“No need,” Guo Changcheng says warmly. “This is what we do.”
Guo Changcheng insists that they stay for another few days so he can be sure there have been no adverse side effects. On the morning of the third day, he gives Zhu Hong her final check up and a clean bill of health.
“Please call on us if you ever need anything,” she says firmly, glancing between him and a now-recovered Lao Chu. He has been quiet, since waking. Guo Changcheng says that it is part of the adjustment. “I mean it. We’ll be happy to repay the favor.”
Guo Changcheng doesn’t pay that any mind, instead smiling brightly as he pushes supplies into their hands for their journey back home. “Be careful. Be sure to drink the tea I gave you, it will help with any fluctuation.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She and Zhao Yunlan say one more goodbye, before turning and walking out of the yard, through the gate and back down the mountain path. They are quiet for a while as they go, traversing the more dangerous parts of the path until they have gotten about halfway down.
“So,” Zhao Yunlan asks eventually. “Do you feel different?”
Zhu Hong nods slowly, looking out into the middle distance. “Yes. Not necessarily stronger, but…lighter.”
Zhao Yunlan hums fondly, reaching to ruffle her hair and laughing when she smacks his hand away. “Good. Well, now that you’ve got a healthy core, you know I’ll be kicking your ass to get you trained up, right?”
“I don’t need you to get me trained up. I’ll be kicking your ass.”
“Ha! I suppose we’ll have to see.”
It’s odd, to suddenly have a whole life ahead of her when she so recently had resigned herself to death. Or at least, been so close to it she had been driven to desperation. Zhu Hong thinks she will take Zhao Yunlan up on his offer to let her kick his ass. And after that, maybe she’ll see what the world looks like now, without a heaviness on her heart or a curse from which to run.
THE END