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San Lang’s mind was a maelstrom. What he was seeing before him didn’t make any sense at all. He wondered if maybe they’d actually managed to damage his left eye last time, too, and he rubbed at it furiously, yet each time he looked again, the unthinkable view was the same. Taizi Dianxia, the Flower Crown Martial God himself, was lying with his robes in bloody tatters, perhaps only held on at all by the belt at his waist. And he was staked to the ground through the stomach with his own sword.

It was thoroughly unbelievable. San Lang couldn’t accept it. He knelt uselessly beside him and watched his god draw breath after painful breath, his eyes closed in agony and relief. San Lang felt hollowed out and cold, like he was the one who had died.

“…I’m sorry, Dianxia,” he whispered. “I couldn’t protect you… I failed you… I’m so sorry…”

There was no response.

The arrival of a pair of men in the grove shocked San Lang out of his trance. With difficulty, he focused his muddled senses and turned his attention outside the cave, assessing for threats. San Lang soon recognized the voices of Dianxia’s attendants.

“Eh? …What a disgraceful sight!”

That contemptuous voice could only belong to Mu Qing, the one San Lang didn’t like at all. Dianxia deserved so much more than this ungrateful, sarcastic asshole at his side.

Several strong curses echoed into the cave, and the other attendant, Feng Xin, yelled, “Hurry and burn them! Don’t let anyone else see!”

In a very distant corner of his blurry mind, San Lang found this strange. They were just naked women, after all. They should be destroyed because they’re dangerous, because they dared to hurt and torment Dianxia. What was so embarrassing about people seeing–?

San Lang froze, flooded with panic and fear. Of course. Not all of the flowers had matured into women! One of them even…

A small, pathetic cough brought his head swiveling back around. “Dianxia!” San Lang extended his hand but caught himself in midair and pulled it back.

“Dianxia, are you in there?!” Feng Xin came rushing into the cave, lit front and back by the flames roaring outside and held in his palm. San Lang wished he could disappear into the shadows, but there was nowhere to hide and he couldn’t bear to leave Dianxia’s side. He tried to steady himself.

“…I’m here…” Dianxia’s voice broke San Lang’s heart. He was trying so hard to be strong. It was amazing. For a moment, San Lang forgot how overexposed he felt and just stared, mouth agape beneath his bandages.

All the anxiety came rushing back as soon as Feng Xin and Mu Qing noticed him.

“Who’s there?”

“Is there someone else in the cave?”

“Don’t worry. Just a little soldier,” Dianxia reassured them faintly.

When they rounded the soft corner of the cave’s small alcove, several things happened very quickly. Feng Xin halted, face white with shock at the bloody scene. He had eyes only for Dianxia, and seemed not to notice San Lang at all. He cried out in distress and rushed to his side.

Mu Qing, however, fixed his gaze directly on San Lang. They only stared at each other for the length of a few heartbeats, yet San Lang felt like he’d been bored straight through by the intensity of that glare. Something like recognition flashed across Mu Qing’s face, and San Lang’s heart dropped like a lead weight. It screamed:

He knows.

Mu Qing remembered him, San Lang was sure of it, and he had seen the shape that flower had taken for him. He had taken one look at San Lang and seen straight into his heart, and the secrets Mu Qing found there covered his face with disgust.

“Who did this?!”

Feng Xin’s cry finally pulled Mu Qing’s paralyzing glare away. San Lang took a shaky breath and struggled to collect his trembling fragments and piece himself back together. When Mu Qing threw the sword aside, San Lang automatically rushed to retrieve it. His left eye got stuck for a long while on the dark blood coating the blade, and he lost track of everything else.

Eventually, San Lang followed the three men back to the city gates, trailing far behind them, long since forgotten in the shadows. He clutched the sword in his hands, alert by reflex alone, but he was too busy berating himself internally to actually defend himself or anyone else.

He had failed, and Dianxia had been this badly hurt as a result. It was his sword that was now stained with Dianxia’s blood. San Lang felt guiltier than if he had intentionally inflicted the blows himself; it was only through his attempts to help that so much suffering had come about. If he had just stayed put like Dianxia had commanded, maybe this entire situation could have been avoided. San Lang was so upset with himself that he nearly made himself ill. Such arrogance, to have thought he could defy a god! After everything, what right did San Lang have to pretend to be worth anything to him now? So he backed off, leaving Dianxia on Feng Xin’s back, and eventually he lowered his sword in bitter defeat.

---

That night, San Lang didn’t sleep.

Predawn light was already seeping into the sky by the time his feet finally returned him to camp. He walked automatically to the dusty corner of the tent that he shared with a number of other soldiers. There was a large knot of tree root protruding from the ground that the others avoided, so San Lang had taken to resting there. An ugly monster no one wanted in an uncomfortable place no one wanted. It seemed fitting.

It also seemed fitting that someone had stolen his blanket while he was gone. Without so much as a sigh, he nicked some rags and a few small bottles from a sleeping soldier and left the tent.

San Lang’s mind was numb and detached from his body. His actions were all automatic, so it came as little surprise that he found himself standing in front of a small shrine to the Flower Crown Martial God. For a moment, a rush of shame heated his face and he considered turning on his heel and running away, but ultimately he gritted his teeth and walked inside.

It was the same shrine he had visited every day without fail since he was ten, since his god had deigned to speak to him and reinvigorated his entire life. His eye flew across the room with studied efficiency. Yesterday’s flower was beginning to wilt, San Lang noted. He would come back later with a new one.

San Lang sat down in front of the altar, legs crossed in front of him, and balanced the filthy sword across his knees. For a long time, he was silent and motionless, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed down at the long lock of hair tied around the middle finger of his right hand.

“…I’m sorry.”

The apology didn’t make him feel any better. He knew what he had done was unforgivable. However, he owed a life debt to the Flower Crown Martial God, and whether or not he felt fine was completely irrelevant; he must repent. So, San Lang picked up one of the bottles and a rag and got to work.

First, he washed the blade with alcohol, slowly stripping it of the stains that had caked on over a night of intense fighting and bloodshed. San Lang bowed his head in shame until the last of the blood had rubbed away. He set that rag aside, feeling that it weighed as much as a mountain.

Then came the fine stone powder and grinding stone. San Lang usually never bothered with this step, but the kit he randomly stole this time turned out to be an expensive one, so he polished and sharpened the blade with care. To his surprise, when the blurry reflection of the divine statue could be seen on the surface, San Lang found that his heart had become infinitesimally lighter.

Finally, San Lang coated the blade with a thin layer of protective oil, sealing it. The scabbard was lost somewhere back on Beizi Hill. He was finished.

San Lang rose to his feet and laid the sword reverently across the altar. He clasped his hands together and prayed. He did not ask for forgiveness.

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur. San Lang’s time in the shrine had lulled the tumult in his mind and left him in a loose, fluid state. As long as he kept in motion, he wouldn’t fall apart, so San Lang drifted through an endless stream of tasks. He ate, trained, ran errands for his field officer, delivered messages between different parts of the encampment, and busied himself indiscriminately with whatever crossed his path along the way.

San Lang didn’t admit to himself that he was listening desperately for any news of Taizi Dianxia. The floating, uncritical affect of his mind protected him from entertaining such unnecessary thoughts. He simply wandered while his mind locked itself down. However, as time passed and the sun started to set over the walls, San Lang gradually ran out of distractions. Without even a single mention of Dianxia’s condition, the things he’d left behind started to catch up with him.

By the time he collected his dinner rations and settled into a quiet spot far back from the fire, San Lang’s thoughts had fully untethered themselves. He managed to unwrap the bandages covering the bottom half of his face, but didn’t get as far as eating anything before his eyes glazed over. The bowl tipped dangerously in his lap, but he didn’t notice it at all.

Images and flashes of memories assaulted his senses. The smell of Dianxia’s blood, so strong it permeated even his thick bandages, as clear as if San Lang was back in that cave. The cackling of those fucking flowers, mocking and teasing and begging for death. The slick sound that San Lang could somehow feel, when his sword plunged through Dianxia’s abdomen. A now-familiar amalgam of guilt and rage flooded his veins.

But there was more, much more. Things that were somehow even more shocking, even more impossible to process, which had evaded his thoughts almost entirely the whole day. There in the flickering firelight, San Lang lost what little control he had left over his mind and his thoughts spiraled.

Dianxia had leaned on his shoulders for support. Before San Lang failed him completely, he glimpsed what it might be like to be trusted, to be relied upon. He wanted nothing more than to experience that again, but the thought was sour; San Lang knew better than to hope he’d ever have the chance again.

“If you don’t seize your chance now, even if you dream for eight hundred years you still won’t be able to have a taste…”

His heart quickened and his breathing turned shallow. It was as if San Lang was being torn in half. He should never have seen the fake Dianxia writhing outside the cave, should never have heard the real Dianxia… making those sounds within. San Lang knew he shouldn’t have witnessed those things, and yet he never wanted to forget them.

And, oh, when he touched him…

San Lang trembled down his entire body. He felt much too warm, as if he’d thrown himself directly into the brazier. His clothes started to feel strange against his skin.

“Dianxia,” he whispered.

What if… what if he hadn’t stopped? If he’d kept touching, if he’d drawn Dianxia into his arms, if he’d… even kissed him…

He really wanted to kiss him!!

Absently, San Lang placed his still untouched bowl to the side. He drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around himself, ducking his head down. His heart was beating so loudly that San Lang suddenly tensed up, worried that the other soldiers might be able to hear it, that they would know everything about him and look at him with disgust like Mu Qing had. It was unbearable to consider. He peeked out over the tops of his knees.

There were about twenty soldiers milling around the brazier, sitting in loose circles, eating and drinking and laughing. Not a single one so much as glanced at him. San Lang breathed a sigh of relief.

This wasn’t the right place or time to be thinking about these things, he realized. San Lang felt skittish, like he’d barely gone undetected, and that was unacceptable. He needed a distraction. He looked around once again and focused his gaze on the nearest circle of soldiers.

The men looked to be at least ten years older than him. The way they sat and laughed spoke of a long, familiar friendship. Empty jars of alcohol were strewn around them and they seemed to be focusing on a hunched man with curly hair. A broad-shouldered man patted his shoulder.

“Well, maybe if you could keep your sword up in battle, then she’d want to stick around…”

The men howled with laughter as the curly-haired man swatted his hand away.

“Just find another girl, Shidi,” said a third man. “There are plenty of them out there, just waiting for the soldiers to come home.”

“No water’s enough when you have crossed the sea,” the curly-haired man replied miserably. “No cloud is beautiful but that which crowns the peak.”

San Lang’s heart stuttered. He saw a vivid image of Taizi Dianxia performing in his colorful robes at the Shangyuan Festival all those years ago. Every single thread of attention he possessed was hyper-focused on this curly-haired man and his beautiful, perfect words.

“Shidi, you hopeless romantic!” one of the other soldiers exclaimed. “Who thinks like that? All flowers are essentially the same, just go pick one that you can reach and get on with it!”

“He’s right, you know. I can even recommend a place where you can get your head–”

“Sh-Shixiong! For the last time, I’m not interested!”

There was laughter all around, and even the curly-haired man cracked a small smile. Then he sighed dramatically and took a long drink. “Maybe I’ll renounce all earthly pleasures and join the ranks at the Royal Holy Pavilion.”

“Like they’d let you in! Aren’t you drinking right now?”

“I haven’t joined yet, I’m allowed to drink!"

“I definitely wouldn’t want to join,” another soldier spoke up. “Only crazy people would give up so much to cultivate when there are so many other paths they could choose instead!”

“What are you saying? Taizi Dianxia became a god on that path!” Hidden in the background, San Lang’s ears perked up. “It’s less crazy than his endless lovesick whining, that’s for sure. At least one of those will yield results.”

“I’m not so sure about that…” A man with a long braid lowered his voice and leaned in. San Lang found himself leaning, too, straining his ears. “Yeah, he ascended, that’s true, but maybe he isn’t as powerful as everybody thinks. I heard a rumor that something happened last night while we were at the banquet.”

“What?!” “What happened?” “Spit it out!” they whispered urgently over one another. Even the sad, curly-haired man looked more animated.

“I heard that the Flower Crown Martial God was drawn out into the forest and got attacked on Beizi Hill. There was a dreadful monster waiting to ambush him, all fangs and claws and killing intent. My friend was on guard duty when they carried him back, said he was covered in blood…”

Most of the group hmm-ed meaningfully, but one of them scoffed. “You didn’t see it yourself, so how could it be true?” the broad-shouldered man asked. “I actually saw him on the battlefield, and let me tell you, there’s no way that anything, monster or not, could raise even a finger against a martial god strong as him.”

The curly-haired man completely ignored that point and butted in as soon as he finished speaking, “You said they carried him? He couldn’t walk?”

The braided man nodded solemnly. “He wasn’t even awake. They tried to hide him, very suspicious.”

At that, even the broad-shouldered man was dumbfounded. “But everyone knows gods don’t need to sleep! How could he have been asleep? Either this story is bullshit or Taizi Dianxia isn’t really a god.”

The men were quiet for a moment. The braided man shrugged. “Well, ask anyone, nobody’s seen him all day, even though there were debriefing and strategy meetings for all the ranking officers this afternoon. Who is this lowly person to say whether he’s really a god… but if he’s this kind of shoddy god after all, then it seems a damn shame that nobody gave him a good lay before he ascended!”

The men laughed raucously. “Hear, hear!” “What a waste!” “Some kind of god, hah!”

San Lang rose to his feet, blood boiling with anger. “HOW DARE YOU!” he screamed, and everyone around the brazier looked up at once. Unable to listen any longer, he charged at the braided man’s back before he finished turning around and tackled him from his seat. The man’s head clacked against the ground, and he was still.

“…What the FUCK!?”

There was a delayed clamor as the men finally threw their drinks aside and leapt up. San Lang was lifted off of the braided man by several people at once. He kicked and scratched and yelled. Everything was a blur as he was pulled this way and that, striking out at anyone who came near him. By the time they managed to pin him down, all the men sported cuts or bruises or loose teeth, and they looked deeply furious.

“The fuck is wrong with you, boy? Do you wanna die?!” The broad-shouldered man struck his face and San Lang spat out a mouthful of blood, splattering the man’s clothes.

“Someone call the field officer!”

“He’s crazy! He just attacked that man!”

“Is he a Yong’an spy?”

“Why the hell would he do that!?”

After a while, San Lang was pulled to his feet and his arms were restrained behind his back. He didn’t resist; none of these men had insulted Dianxia, and he’d already taken his revenge on the ones who had. San Lang held his chin high as he was led into a large tent.

His cool resolve broke as he crossed the threshold, however. San Lang happened to touch his hand behind his back and his chest tightened painfully when he realized that the lock of Dianxia’s hair was no longer tied around his finger. It must have broken off during the fight. Regretful tears welled in his eyes.

“Sir,” the man at his left shoulder announced into the tent. “This boy attacked a soldier, knocked him unconscious, and injured several others. Presenting him for discipline, sir.”

Across the room, a man in dark armor and a long ponytail stood over a desk. He turned around slowly, training a familiar set of narrow eyes on San Lang.

“So it’s you,” Mu Qing sneered.

He turned to the soldiers. “Leave him here. I will deal with the boy.” Mu Qing’s voice was absolute, and the men immediately bowed and left the tent.

San Lang took a step forward and cried out, “How is he? Is Dianxia okay?”

Mu Qing raised an eyebrow, snorted sharply, and crossed his arms. “I should have known you would cause more trouble. Why did you attack someone? You still have one working eye, can’t you tell the difference between a Yong’an soldier and a Xianle soldier?”

“Is Dianxia alive?!” San Lang insisted. He felt the tears spill over, but he held Mu Qing’s gaze fearlessly. Mu Qing rolled his eyes.

“He is fine,” Mu Qing said curtly, and San Lang’s legs went weak with relief. “No thanks to you,” he added. “You are worse than the worst possible omen. A Star of Solitude, indeed. Every time you show up, his life gets harder.”

San Lang didn’t say anything. Mu Qing narrowed his eyes. “You think I don’t know exactly who you are, you shitty brat? You might have tricked Taizi Dianxia, but you can never fool me.” He walked forward until he was uncomfortably close to San Lang, who stepped back instinctively. “I will see right through you every single time.

“You think you’re special because Dianxia saved you? He is the realm’s most beloved god only after the Martial God Heavenly Emperor himself. He saves many people. Why should he remember you? You are less than the dirt beneath his heel. And yet you have the nerve to enlist in his army, trail after him, and fail to do even your most basic duty to protect him – because some pretty fucking flowers distracted you? Oh yes, I saw them; I know exactly how sick you are. You really are a disgrace! This army has no need for talentless trash like you. Dianxia has no need for shitty followers like you. If you want to help him so much, then go as far away from him as possible and stay there.”

San Lang’s head had fallen lower and lower the whole time Mu Qing yelled at him. He was no stranger to abuse, verbal or otherwise, and his face had grown extremely thick over his nearly fourteen years, yet this was the first time that San Lang had ever been attacked like this. The color of his eye meant nothing to him, he no longer cared if others mocked or beat him for it. His feelings for Dianxia, though, were another matter entirely, and at that moment, Mu Qing was bludgeoning him with martial precision where it hurt the most.

After a long moment, Mu Qing turned around and sighed deeply. “He will never love you,” he said, voice suddenly soft. San Lang’s head whipped up, wide-eyed. “This is what it means to love a god. You’d best learn that lesson now, brat, before he has to tell you himself that he wants nothing to do with you.”

Mu Qing made a sharp gesture at his side and San Lang felt the tethers at his wrists fall away. He clutched his hands in front of his chest and stared at Mu Qing’s back.

“Get out,” Mu Qing commanded. “And don’t come back.”

---

San Lang left the encampment in a daze. Exhaustion, hunger, and lingering, tetchy nerves took up most of his attention. He was so out of sorts that even forgot to steal a blanket on his way out.

With nowhere else to go, he returned once again to the Flower Crown Martial God shrine. The sword was gone, but San Lang didn’t really care. He didn’t need it anymore, and besides, the next time he took up arms, he was determined to find a sabre.

He didn’t sit in the center of the room this time, electing instead to huddle up in a corner near the entrance. He had no sooner rested his head back against the wall before he fell fast asleep for the first time in two days.

When San Lang opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming into the shrine, illuminating the floating specks of dirt and dust like thin rivers of stars. He was sprawled messily across the floor, and his body ached when he tried to move. Vaguely, he remembered the fight he had lost, and as he stretched and adjusted to the light, the rest of his memories started coming back to him.

For a while, San Lang felt numb, devoid of reaction. It wasn’t until he instinctively reached for the lock of hair now lost from his finger that the ache in his chest opened up once more, and suddenly all of Mu Qing’s words were ringing in his ears at once.

“He saves many people. Why should he remember you?”

“Dianxia has no need for shitty followers like you.”  

“He will never love you.”

“He wants nothing to do with you.”

Each hurt worse than the last. San Lang covered his face with his hands.

“Useless trash!” he yelled. “Stupid ugly fucking monster! Aghhh!”

Down the path along the street, some passerby made startled noises that San Lang barely registered. His fists clenched around the bandages covering his face and his shoulders shook with overwhelming emotion.

Mu Qing was right. He was nothing but a useless nobody. He didn’t have any talent, anything to offer, or any place to belong. San Lang had already been thinking such things deep within himself since the walk back from Beizi Hill; hearing them from one of Dianxia’s closest advisors made it all rise to the surface.

He was nothing.

What could a person who was nothing offer a god? He couldn’t even keep track of Dianxia’s favor for a single day.

San Lang rose to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain in his body and in his heart. He forced himself to take a breath and unclench his fists. It didn’t matter, he realized. None of it mattered. If he spent his entire wretched life trying to help Dianxia and never once succeeded, it wouldn’t matter. He would do it anyways. Mu Qing could call him worthless as much as he wanted; still, San Lang would endure, for his god had willingly become his life’s meaning, and the only person who could take that back was Dianxia himself.

“Thank you for your flower! It’s beautiful, I like it very much!”

San Lang’s eye flicked up to the white blossom displayed in the divine statue’s fist, and a small smile curled his lips. He clasped his hands and looked at the statue’s round face.

“I’ll bring you another flower soon, Dianxia,” he promised. In this, at least, San Lang had yet to fail him.

To another teenage boy, perhaps this wouldn’t be much of a purpose, but it was more than enough to set San Lang into motion again. With a practicality beyond his years, he knew that he couldn’t do anything for Dianxia if he died of starvation, so he decided to eat. The shrine’s offering trays were barren and the encampment rations were now out of his reach. He touched the statue for luck, headed out into the alleys that cut across the market, and searched for unsuspecting vendors to rob.

Within minutes, San Lang had swung up onto the rooftops with a few buns stuffed into his robes. He’d nearly gotten caught, but the vendor who went to chase after him tripped over some crates and gave San Lang just enough time to disappear up above. He chewed methodically, not thinking about the flavor at all, and turned his attention back to Dianxia.

The most important thing that Mu Qing had revealed was that Dianxia was fine. Everything else was something San Lang could endure, so long as that fact remained true. It would be harder to hear news about him now that San Lang was barred from military spaces, but he thought he might be able to pick something up from the soldiers who ventured out to nearby taverns and brothels and resolved to pass by them once evening came.

For now, that left only Dianxia’s flower. San Lang wiped his hands on the patched knees of his trousers, leapt down into the alley, and slipped into the labyrinth of the city’s underworld.

He resurfaced on the far side of the capital some thirty minutes later, close to the Royal Palace. San Lang had to be more careful here, as his scrappy appearance marked him as a clear outsider in this part of the city. He hugged the corners and shadowy alleys instinctively and approached the path that climbed up Mount Taicang. Instead of taking it, San Lang stepped off the street and darted into the maple forest. He smiled. This was his favorite part of the day.

Every day, San Lang tracked down a flower and brought it back to the Flower Crown Martial God shrine. Occasionally, he was moved by something he saw in the market. Those days were more challenging because he had to spend a long time running errands and doing odd jobs in order to purchase the flower. San Lang never felt remorseful about stealing things he needed, but his heart twisted at the idea of offering Taizi Dianxia anything he hadn’t earned for himself.

Most of the time, though, San Lang explored the forest and wild areas of the city and hunted for wildflowers. He’d gotten to know his way around the forest over the last few years and had found a few secret places that he treasured. One of these was a hollowed-out tree hiding deep within the mountainside where he sometimes went to escape from the city. At first, it had been a place to hide from the people who chased and beat him, but San Lang had outgrown the narrow shelter in his last incredible growth spurt, so he switched to resting on the thick, low-lying branches instead. Now that his appearance was more level with his strength, San Lang felt more confident as a fighter and could easily sit in the open without fear. After a few months of this, the branches had been covered with carvings, increasingly skillful in quality, depicting Dianxia’s likeness and scenes of his own precious few interactions with him.

He absently thought that he would need to add their time at Beizi Hill to his mural – and then he stopped dead in his tracks and blushed furiously. These thoughts were truly persistent to keep showing up so unexpectedly! San Lang sighed and plopped down on a soft-looking patch of moss below a tall maple tree. There was no escaping these intrusions, it seemed, so he decided to change tactics and try paying attention to them instead.

San Lang wasn’t prepared for how urgent and loud these thoughts were! His mind spun in circles around the same few fragments of his memory: Dianxia’s soft cries, the scorching hot skin of his chest, the smell of sweat and lavender. San Lang was dizzy. He pressed his back against the tree trunk, scratching himself through threadbare robes with the knobby bark while his body overheated like a furnace fire.

Why did this keep happening to him?! San Lang thought there was something exceedingly strange about all this. Of course he already knew those sounds. He heard them often enough in the city’s underworld, especially around brothels or his shitty father’s shitty mistress, to be at least vaguely familiar with what they meant. However, this was the first time that San Lang had ever felt anything besides complete indifference to them. More specifically, it was the first time he drew a connection between those sounds and a person he actually liked; no, the only person he liked.

Whatever the reason, in that moment, there wasn’t a single thing San Lang wanted more than to hear Dianxia moan and gasp like that again!

San Lang shifted uncomfortably and realized that, for the first time in his young life, he had grown quite hard in his trousers. He stared down at himself, heart pounding, and curiously brushed his hand against his clothes. A shockwave ripped through his entire body and he drew his hand sharply back. After panting a few heavy breaths, San Lang’s nerves stopped misfiring and he made a decision.

Resolutely, he replaced the hand he had drawn away, and a gentler current washed over him. San Lang’s unbandaged eye fluttered closed and he dropped his head back against the tree. A moment after impact, he moaned quietly.

The darkness behind his eyelids sent San Lang straight back to that pitch-black cave on Beizi Hill. Dianxia’s soft sounds blended into his own as he pressed and rubbed against himself. His hips writhed, and the extra friction made San Lang gasp. “Dianxia…”

Oh, that was nice. San Lang shuddered and, full of nervous excitement, repeated, “Dianxia!”

He felt like there was a vast ocean within him that had been stirred up by an unfocused, chaotic force, and it was gradually concentrating, forcing the swells of water into a single, great wave. San Lang was caught in the middle of the storm, tossed around and desperate for air, gripping on as hard as he could. Up and down had long become indistinguishable, which at least spared him the choice. Through the midst of the chaos, two words crossed San Lang’s mind, and in that moment of clarity, he suddenly felt as though he were floating high atop the crest of that powerful wave.

Right before it crashed down, San Lang whispered, “…Xie Lian…”

When he finally managed to open his eye again, the first thing he saw was a perfect, beautiful flower in full bloom.

---

San Lang did not return immediately to the small shrine. Instead, once he cleaned himself off and tucked the flower delicately into his belt, he set his path towards the peak of Mount Taicang, letting vague ideas tumble around in his mind and slowly take shape.

The only thought that San Lang was able to consistently grasp onto was that name. “Xie Lian,” he said, over and over, tasting the words on his tongue like they were the finest wine. He was fittingly drunk off of them when the Royal Holy Pavilion came into view through the trees.

It wasn’t until he was nearly past those first gates that San Lang finally gathered his thoughts enough to understand what he wanted to do. He wanted Xie Lian’s name, wanted to possess it every way he possibly could. There were a few obstacles, like having no paper, brush, or ink, not even any charcoal. Also, San Lang couldn’t read or write. But he wasn’t about to let any of that stop him. He made a quick plan and snuck towards the Xianle Pavilion.

Mere minutes later, San Lang emerged from an empty classroom, lightheaded with adrenaline, robes stuffed with all the writing tools he needed. It was too easy! His luck was too good today! He smiled and privately thanked the divine statue in his small shrine, then set off towards the largest temple for the Flower Crown Martial God in all of Xianle, Huangji Temple.

San Lang studied the temple from a distance before approaching. Just like the small shrine he took care of, each of the pillars of this temple were carved with four large characters. Even though it was the first time he had ever paid direct attention to this detail, San Lang already knew that they didn’t contain what he was looking for. Whenever he heard people approaching his shrine, they sometimes remarked in surprise that such a small shrine could belong to the Flower Crown Martial God when there were temples of such opulence within a short walk’s distance. Sometimes, they spoke about His Highness Who Pleased the Gods. They were never prompted to say Dianxia’s name directly, and he knew he wouldn’t find it anywhere in that shrine.

Even though he knew his time would be limited the moment he left the shadows, it couldn’t be helped, so San Lang ducked his head and walked directly into that grand temple, mixing into a small crowd of Taoist cultivators and disciples of the Royal Holy Pavilion. The inside of that temple was even more splendid than San Lang expected, especially the massive divine statue smiling down at him, shimmering in the flickering candlelight. His memories of Mount Taicang were hazy; he had mostly looked at Dianxia, and had had very little attention for anything else.

He shook his head and tore his gaze away from the golden statue. San Lang couldn’t allow himself to gawk, as it was only a matter of time before a shrine priest caught sight of him and threw him out. In principle, the thought didn’t bother him in the slightest; Dianxia himself had welcomed him, so it was a simple thing to scorn the mortal people who dared to speak on his behalf. However, it would be quite inconvenient to be thrown out in the middle of his search, so San Lang had to be as efficient as he could.

San Lang looked around the base of the statue. There was indeed an engraving at the bottom, and his excitement startled at the sight, but then he realized it was just those same eight characters again. With a sigh and a twinge of anxiousness, San Lang swept his gaze all around the large room. On his second pass of the altar, he honed in on a small detail he’d managed to overlook. Nestled within the many offerings and donation boxes, there were three short pieces of bamboo standing in a fine cup. On each was painted a different series of characters. Two of them were immediately ignored, but the one in the middle caught San Lang’s interest. That strip of bamboo had six characters he hadn’t seen before.

San Lang’s heartbeat picked up. Six characters, six words. Could it be… His Highness the Crown Prince, Xie Lian?!

Without a second thought, San Lang plucked the bamboo from the altar and bolted out the door. Indignant cries followed a moment later, but he was long gone by the time anyone present was able to react.

San Lang sprinted the whole way down the mountain, laughing wildly as the breeze twisted around his hair and dragged on his clothes, barely dodging past people and carts at exhilarating speeds. He’d done it! He hadn’t even needed the writing tools he stole! San Lang had perfect conviction that the tablet tucked in his robes contained what he sought. When he reached the bottom of the mountain, he paused to catch his breath and took a closer look at that precious item.

Six characters. Four of them surely spelt “Taizi Dianxia”. Two of them were “Xie Lian”. But, which two? He could rule out the middle two, at least, those would definitely be either “Taizi” or “Dianxia”. Whether the first or final two, however, San Lang couldn’t be sure.

He had to be sure.

He looked around him. The people walking nearby all wore fine, many-layered clothes. They gave San Lang a wide berth, eyeing him warily over their draping sleeves. San Lang was absolutely certain that any one of these people could have solved his problem in a heartbeat, as they were no doubt well-educated members of high society. But he was equally certain that they wouldn’t listen to a word he said, and who knows what would happen if he should try to approach anyone here.

He sighed and started walking back towards the poorer parts of the city. They weren’t exactly welcoming for someone like him, either, but at least the threats they posed were more familiar. While he walked, he turned over his options in his mind.

There could be no mistake. He couldn’t trust just anyone to read the tablet for him, not to mention that he doubted if there was even a single person who could get past his ugly appearance before sending him away or lashing out. Maybe he could find a scribe, but such a person surely wouldn’t do anything without payment, and San Lang had no idea if he could afford that service with only the usual odds-and-ends jobs he sometimes picked up. Perhaps in time, he could save enough, but he was impatient.

San Lang sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t think of another option. He felt slightly sick.

He made a short stop at the shrine to empty his person of the precious items he carried. San Lang placed that beautiful flower in the hand of the divine statue, then knelt beside the altar and worked at a loose floorboard near the back of the room. He had dug a small hole beneath it where he stowed a sparse assortment of tools and a few keepsakes. San Lang added the writing materials and that bamboo tablet to the pile. He started to draw back his hand, but paused as something occurred to him. He shuffled around for a spare bandage, wrapped up the bottom half of his face for the first time since his fight at camp, and finally replaced the board.

Too soon, he was done. There was no putting it off any longer. San Lang’s hands had begun to shake, but he didn’t notice.

Within a few minutes, he found himself standing at the entrance of a small house in a narrow, crowded street. Every hard-won sense of self-preservation San Lang possessed was screaming at him to turn around, to leave before he was spotted, to never ever return. He wasn’t fully present in his body any longer; he had fled into the recesses of his mind in an effort to escape the crushing dissonance of having come, completely willingly, to this cursed place. Then, someone walked up behind him and San Lang nearly vomited on the spot.

“You.” The voice was colder than ice and sharper than knives. “What the fuck are you doing back here?”

A coarse hand reached around him, threw the door open, and shoved San Lang inside. He tumbled to the floor but quickly stood and spun around. A tall, broad man glared at him with such vicious hatred in his eyes that San Lang unconsciously took a step back.

It was his father.

“You dare to come back here? To stand on my threshold where anyone can see you?”

San Lang looked at the floor and spoke in a trembling whisper. “…I covered my face. They can’t see.”

The man scoffed. “Who else but you would cover their face like that? You fucking idiot. Until you pluck that demon eye from your skull, covered or not, it makes no difference. Everyone will know you’re a monster.”

“…I’m sorry…”

San Lang’s father stepped forward and grabbed his chin, roughly forcing his face up. His jaw was clenched as if he were barely restraining himself from striking him.

“You haven’t gotten yourself killed in the fucking army yet? Pity. Since you’re there, they’ll probably lose the war,” he snarled. When San Lang didn’t respond, he shook him in his grip. “You had better have a good reason for coming back here, Hong Mo. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

San Lang swallowed with difficulty and tried to gather his thoughts. It was so hard to think through the anxious haze, over the great gulf in his mind behind which he was sheltered.

“I… I want you to write something,” he forced out. “For me. Then I’ll leave. I’ll never come back, no matter what.”

He winced into the strike he had known would follow, then straightened his head.

“Shitty fucking brat. Fucking lies!” An angry vein pulsed in his father’s temple. “Every time I throw you out, you come back. You’re worse than fleas. And you dare to ask me for anything? Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“This is different!” San Lang found a source of determination deep within himself and grasped onto it like a lifeline. “I’ll leave by myself this time. I really mean it. I’ll go die in the fucking army like you want. I don’t care. But please, please, I need… please, I have never asked you for anything!”

The next blow sent San Lang reeling into darkness. When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor, bandages loose around his face. Blood filled his mouth, but he didn’t dare spit it out.

His father glared down at him with clenched fists. “Never asked me for…?” He trailed off incredulously. “You ungrateful fucking brat. Every day I don’t kill you is a fucking gift!”

“Please!” Blood thickened San Lang’s speech. His head was still spinning too violently to stand, so he begged from the floor. “Please!!”

Curiosity seemed to still the storm in the man’s face. His eyes narrowed. “What could you possibly want me to write?”

There was absolutely no chance that San Lang would ask him directly. He never, never wanted to hear Dianxia’s precious name in his father’s voice. Instead, he said, “…Taizi Dianxia.”

The air in the small entrance seemed to freeze over. Disgust covered his father’s face. After a long moment, he spoke, but though his voice lowered in volume, its intensity filled San Lang with urgent dread.

“What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re fucking obsessed. How can you be so disgusting? That fucking prince should have let you die!”

He grabbed San Lang by the lapels of his robe, dragged him up from the floor, and slammed him against the wall. San Lang’s head rattled and all the breath in his lungs coughed out with a spray of blood. He had only the barest hold on his consciousness. He heaved his chest several times but couldn’t draw a breath. Finally, his lungs remembered how to expand, and he gasped and choked and coughed and sobbed.

“This is your final warning,” the man growled. “If I hear you say another word, I’ll kill you. If I so much as catch a glimpse of you ever again, I’ll kill you. You are bleeding on my floor. Get the fuck out.”

He let go and San Lang collapsed onto his knees. His body begged him to curl up and sleep, to block out the pain for however long it took, but San Lang didn’t dare let himself slip away again. Not here. He forced himself to stand, leaning heavily against the wall, and ran out the door without another word.

San Lang fell a lot as he scrambled away. He struggled to make sense of where he was and where he was going. As long as it was away, as far away as possible, that was all that really mattered.

Eventually, San Lang collapsed in an unfamiliar alley and found that he was unable to drag himself back up. Apathetic exhaustion won out, and he toppled all the way down to the ground. He was asleep before he hit the floor.

---

It was so bright. Everything was flat and dull. A shadow shielded that dreadful light, and the pain lessened. The shadow looked a bit like a person. San Lang blinked and brought the world slowly into focus.

“…Dianxia?”

“Huh? Oh, you poor thing, you must be terribly hurt to mistake this lowly person for His Highness!” The man had a deep, soothing voice. “But you’re coming around now, that’s good, that’s good. Tell me, how many fingers am I showing right now?”

San Lang’s head spun but he managed to fix his gaze on the man’s hand. “…Two,” he rasped, and the man smiled.

“That’s right, it’s two, nicely done.”

As time passed, San Lang recovered more control over his senses. One of the first things he noticed was that his bandages seemed to have all but fallen from his face, which throbbed painfully. San Lang quickly covered his right eye with his hand, catching the man’s attention. San Lang was finally able to observe that the man crouched beside him wore Taoist robes, and his thick brows were knotted in a concerned expression. When he saw San Lang was truly focusing on him, some tension seemed to leave his face.

“Ah, you’re really awake! Thank the gods. If you’ve woken up at all, you’ll be fine from now. Here, come, let’s sit you up. Up you go. There, isn’t that better?”

It wasn’t better. San Lang winced and gritted his teeth.

“If only I had left a little earlier…” The Taoist pressed his palm against his face and thought for a moment, then reached into his wide sleeves. “I’m afraid I’m running late and I can’t be of much help. Here, take this, you need it more than me!” San Lang glanced down at his left hand, which now held a large bun. He looked back up, mouth agape, not understanding.

“It’s food, you can eat it! You should eat, it’ll help you recover.”

“You… I…” San Lang frowned, trying to put the right words together. “…Thank you,” he finally managed.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!” The Taoist waved a dismissive hand. “Do take better care of yourself, young man. Ah, I really do have to go!”

He stood and, with a final conflicted look at San Lang, turned away.

A few moments later, San Lang’s heart jolted.

“Daozhang, wait!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned back. “What’s the matter?”

San Lang brought himself to his feet with great difficulty. When he was standing, he asked, “Can you… write?”

The Taoist looked puzzled. “Write? Write what? …You mean write at all? Of course.”

San Lang’s breathing quickened, and he took a shaky step forward.

“Daozhang, would you please write something for me?”

“Hm, I’m afraid I’m not carrying any paper,” he admitted with a frown.

“Just on the ground, then! That’s fine! Please, Daozhang!”

He gave him a pitiful expression and nodded. “Alright, alright. What should I write?”

San Lang was so excited he almost forgot to breathe. “T-Taizi Dianxia!”

Confusion plastered across his face, the Taoist nevertheless nodded. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew his sword from a scabbard secured across his back and etched four characters into the dirt:

太子殿下

A smile broke out over San Lang’s face, so wide he reopened his split lip. He paid it no mind.

“Thank you, Daozhang!” he beamed at him. “Thank you, thank you!”

“Young man, your lip, you should really – young man!”

But San Lang had already disappeared around the corner of a building.

Aches and pains completely forgotten, San Lang flew through the streets until he found a landmark he recognized, then set course back to the small shrine he had begun to think of as ‘theirs’. He held those characters in his mind while a sense of euphoria pumped through his body, invigorating him. He’d solved it! He would be able to read Xie Lian’s name now! That kind Taoist had done far more for him than he could ever have known.

Within a few moments of arriving, San Lang was already digging at that floorboard. When he held the tablet in his hand again, his smile broadened even more, and both of his uncovered eyes rested on the last two characters:

谢怜

San Lang’s heart surged with warmth, and he pressed the tablet gently against his chest. “Xie Lian,” he whispered. “Xie Lian. Thank you, Xie Lian.” He looked up at the divine statue and quickly rose to stand before it.

“Dianxia,” he addressed it. Then, quieter, and with more heat on his cheeks, “…Xie Lian.” San Lang straightened his shoulders. “I apologize for my behavior these past days. I was reckless and caused you to be hurt. I haven’t been useful to you at all. Maybe Mu Qing is right, and the Flower Crown Martial God really doesn’t need someone like me as a follower. But… I think you do! I will never be like those others who follow only the strongest and most popular gods, then abandon them whenever their prayers go unanswered. I will follow you no matter what! You’re my god no matter what, because I say so!”

San Lang had a sudden, vivid memory of the rush of falling, of looking up at the joyous expression of the man who caught him. He hugged his arms as his heart fluttered like leaves in a breeze. “I’m so lucky. You’ve appeared before me many ways. I’ve met the Flower Crown Martial God, in this temple and on the battlefield. I’ve met His Royal Highness the Crown Prince when he defended me in the palace. I’ve watched His Highness Who Pleased the Gods performing in the Shangyuan Festival parade. But it was only you, Xie Lian, who leapt to save me.” Distantly, San Lang felt tears on his face.

“You were the first person who ever showed me kindness. I will always follow you. I will do whatever I can for you, whatever you want. I’ll be as small and distant as you ask, or I’ll stand right by your side forever. Either way, I will always be your most devoted believer. No matter what happens to me, I will never forget my commitment. I will never forget the meaning of my life.

“Xie Lian… I love you.”

For a few minutes, San Lang stood still and held himself, his thoughts drifting far away. He was full of burning, passionate conviction for the vows he made. With perhaps shocking casualness, he knew he would cease to exist in a heartbeat if it would help Dianxia. He would die, he would destroy himself, he would wreak hell upon this world. If he were sent away, San Lang would go.

Yet, he hoped. He hoped that Xie Lian would accept him, would decide to favor him and keep him in his circle. He hoped that Xie Lian would still choose to save him a third time, if he ever had the chance. To San Lang, this felt like the silliest, most childish of fantasies; he knew in his heart that he burned that bridge on Beizi Hill, he knew he only deserved to be treated like the monster he was. And yet, selfishly, he hoped against reason, and his heart was full.

Perhaps it was that very selfishness which inspired his next decision. Perhaps it was borne of devotion and reverence. Perhaps it was simply love and adoration. To San Lang, it didn’t matter at all why he acted, simply that he did so deliberately and with his entire heart.

There were a few things that had to be done first. San Lang knelt down to retrieve the Taoist’s steamed bun, which was now cold and somewhat stiff. He ate it anyways; he would need the energy. When it was finished, San Lang reached back into that hole and drew out the writing materials he had stolen on Mount Taicang. He spread out his tools and frowned at them. How does one write with these?

San Lang picked up a brush and touched it with his fingertip. The fibers were soft and slid easily over his skin, causing him to shiver, but they didn’t leave any mark. He needed ink. Was that what the black stone was for? Although he did try drawing the brush over the stone and touching it to the paper, he wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work. He had seen his father writing before, and there was always wet ink. San Lang rushed out to the small stream a few minutes away from the shrine, filled a chipped cup with water, and rushed back.

He placed the thin stone in a small tray and poured a bit of water over it. To his delight, the water ran off with some pigment! San Lang picked up his brush and repeated his experiment, and sure enough, a faint, watery line tracked across the paper. His excitement rose; he was getting closer. He just needed to concentrate the ink to make it darker. San Lang used the back of the brush to chip off a piece of the soft stone, then crushed it into smaller and smaller pieces in the tray. As they broke apart, they started to darken and thicken the water. San Lang grinned and doubled down his efforts, working to make the pieces as fine as possible. His next trial was much darker and smoother.

After repeating this a few times, adding water and crushed black powder, San Lang was finally satisfied with the ink. He was getting closer and closer to his goal, and it thrilled him.

San Lang picked up the bamboo tablet and held it close to his face. His eyes honed in on every small detail of the ‘Xie’ in Xie Lian’s name, bouncing chaotically around the brushstrokes, trying to decide how to copy them. Finally, San Lang picked one at random and started to write, eyes still trained on the tablet.

It was a disaster. When San Lang glanced down at the paper, he saw that his hand had drifted while he wrote and the ink had run out, giving the impression that the character was being blown away by a strong gust. San Lang placed the tablet down on the paper, close to where he wanted to write, and tried again.

That went a little better. Flicking his eyes between the two allowed him to somewhat control the boundaries of the character. However, the result was still quite dreadful. San Lang tried again, and again. When he filled the entire paper, he straightened his back and looked over the page from a distance. There was definitely some improvement, yet he couldn’t help but think that people must practice for a very long time indeed to write such finely balanced characters as he saw on the shrines and temples of the Flower Crown Martial God. San Lang surveyed his own materials and bit the inside of his cheek when he realized that he only had two more pieces of paper. When he looked back at the one he had filled, he criticized himself for writing such large characters and wasting the top of the page with careless strokes when he was preparing the ink. He set it aside, stubbornly drew a fresh sheet, and started to practice ‘Lian’ with closer attention to the compactness of his writing.

By the end of the page, San Lang felt much the same as he had after his first page: it was better, perhaps because he had copied this character more times, but still lacking. He turned to his last sheet of paper. This time, he wrote the two characters together.

That was so much more challenging! Balancing one character by itself was hard enough; keeping consistent proportions between two of them at once felt somehow like four times the work. San Lang’s head began to ache. Distantly, he remembered that he had been injured the day before, so this exertion was probably unwise, yet he continued on without the slightest hesitation.

When the last page was full, San Lang frowned. He had definitely made progress. He couldn’t write quickly by any means, but his pace had improved, and he’d even started writing the strokes in more or less a consistent order each time. However, he wasn’t satisfied. Struck with inspiration, San Lang flipped over his first paper, rested the side wet with ink against the page he had just completed so as not to smear it on the floor, and started writing on the backside. He filled that page and the next in this fashion.

San Lang was feeling more confident after the extra pages of practice. He refilled his ink tray and noticed that his hands were covered with black smudges. He wiped them as best he could on his trousers.

He took a deep breath. Finally, he was ready.

San Lang rolled up the sleeve of his robe and secured it above his elbow. Taking one last look at that bamboo tablet, he began to write down his left forearm. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the brushing sensation, but San Lang was utterly disciplined and didn’t move his arm at all. When he drew the final, sweeping stroke, he finally released the shudder he’d been holding back, and it wracked his shoulders.

He had been prepared to scrub away the ink and try again, but to his surprise, San Lang found that he was completely satisfied with his writing. It wasn’t at all conventionally beautiful, yet he thought it was honest and sincere. His heart was moved more by his own clumsy, earnest characters than the perfectly composed ones on the piece of bamboo, and that was the most important thing to him.

Holding his arm out so he didn’t accidentally smear it, San Lang crawled back to that stash of tools and procured a sewing needle, thread, and the last of his bandages. Even though there were still a few hours of sunlight left, he lit the candle on the altar. Finally, he snapped a branch off a flowering tree outside the shrine and pared it down until it was about as long as the calligraphy brush and as wide around as his thumb.

When he reentered the shrine, he started combining these various items. He threaded the needle, then wound the string tightly around the branch and up and down the length of the needle several times, binding them together. The needle protruded a bit past the snapped end of the branch. It was quite firm and withstood San Lang’s testing flicks and pushes well. With that done, he purified the tip of the needle in the candle, dipped it into the pool of ink, and plunged it into a point at the top of the first character.

It hurt, but San Lang had felt much worse, so he was able to mostly ignore it. He drew the needle out and pushed it back into his skin, again and again, sometimes pausing to dip it back into the ink. A few times early on, he accidentally went too deep and hissed at the sudden flare of pain, but he adjusted quickly and made fewer of those mistakes.

San Lang was completely focused. He aimed the needle as closely as he could to each place he withdrew it, careful not to leave any spaces. After a few minutes, the pinpricks of blood he had drawn began to well up. He bent his elbow and angled his arm so that it could spill around the outside of his forearm, away from the rest of the ink, and changed his tactics; he decided to tattoo the rightmost side first and work his way left so that only the already-finished areas would be affected if there was too much blood.

Time seemed to work in a peculiar way. At first, San Lang marked its passage through the little sparks of pain whenever his precision lapsed and he stuck himself too deeply. Then, there was a transitional time when that didn’t happen as often, but he was instead plagued with tight cramps and fatigue from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulder and neck. It wasn’t until he was approaching the end of the first character and the sky outside was a deep purple that San Lang really hit his stride and felt comfortable enough to let a piece of his mind branch off and wander. When the sun completely set, San Lang stopped paying attention to time at all. He simply moved the candle closer and pushed onwards.

This equilibrium was shattered when, while working on the second character, the needle slipped in its bindings and twisted into San Lang’s skin at an excruciating angle. The shock loosened his grip and the branch dropped into the crook of his thumb, tugging even more on the needle and the skin it was embedded within. San Lang gasped with pain and drew the needle out in a flash. There was more blood than usual that time; it dripped off of the bottom of his forearm into his lap.

San Lang took the hint and rested for a moment while his heart rate settled back down. The candlelight wavered as if a gust of air had passed through, drawing his attention. San Lang was stunned to see how low it had burned. He glanced at his forearm, then back at the candle, trying to calculate if he would have enough time before the wax completely melted away. Moving decisively, he mended his tool and got back to work. His needle was steady and relentless, his black and red eyes shining with determination in the flickering light.

The candle beat him by a single brushstroke. San Lang cursed under his breath when it extinguished. He stood for the first time in countless hours and walked stiffly outside. There, on the moonlit path before his shrine, he pulled the needle out of his skin for the last time.

As soon as he finished, an incredible surge of exhaustion overwhelmed him. It took every bit of self-control that San Lang possessed to stop himself from simply collapsing and immediately going to sleep. Instead, he forced himself to shove his things back into the hole and cover it once more, then he walked dazedly back to the stream.

The skin on his arm was a ghastly sight, all swollen and covered with ink and congealed streaks of blood. San Lang knelt beside the stream and poured water over it with his right hand. He winced at the cold sting, then steeled himself and scrubbed as much of the mess off as he could without crying out in pain. When he studied his arm again, his spirits lifted and a smile snuck onto his face.

It had really worked!

At that moment, an acute wave of tired dizziness nearly pushed San Lang fully into the stream. He steadied himself and blinked several times, then quickly bandaged his forearm and walked back. Lying down on the hard floor that night was one of the most pleasurable things San Lang had ever experienced. Within moments, he was deeply, fully asleep.

It felt like only seconds later when San Lang started to wake up, but he could feel strong sunlight through his closed eyelids. He was utterly reluctant, even groaned and rolled away from the light, but then he heard the sounds of people talking. Even in such a groggy, mostly-asleep state, San Lang couldn’t help but prepare himself as much as possible for whatever might be coming.

Those voices were getting louder and clearer. They were approaching the shrine, he realized. San Lang’s limbs were still cottony and weak, so he pretended to be asleep while his body continued to slowly drag itself into wakefulness.

They were the voices and footsteps of two young women, perhaps sisters. San Lang relaxed slightly but continued listening. He heard one of them breathe sharply; she must have spotted him. He held very still.

“A-Jie, is he…?”

“He’s just sleeping, don’t worry,” the older girl said. “Leave him be, it’s not our business.”

“…Mn. Okay.” The younger girl didn’t sound convinced. “A-Jie, do you have the offering?”

She laughed. “Of course I do. Haven’t I said so the last three times you asked?”

“I’m just checking! It’s really important! How can we welcome back the Flower Crown Martial God without an offering?”

San Lang’s eyes flew open.

“Alright, here, put it up there yourself if you’re so eager!” There was a soft clatter on the offering plate and a sharp click, then the smell of incense wafted over. The sound of rustling fabric low to the ground suggested that the girls had knelt.

“Flower Crown Martial God,” the younger girl said aloud, “A-Jie and I brought you some fruit. We were so happy when Father said you had appeared at the meeting in good health, we had to come here right away!”

At this, San Lang stopped breathing altogether.

“Taizi Dianxia, we’re very sorry we didn’t go to a grander temple,” the older girl added. “A-Mei was very impatient, so we looked for the closest one.”

“Now that you’re back, we wanted to offer our prayers! I pray that A-Jie will have a good marriage next week. Please help us hide her shoes well so she will have a loving and devoted husband!”

The older girl laughed again. “Well, I pray that my sister may be betrothed to the most beautiful man in all of Xianle.”

“…Huh?!”

“He must be absolutely beautiful,” she pressed on with a smile in her voice, “for otherwise she will be forever unable to forget about you, Dianxia.”

“A-Jie!!” The young girl shuffled around wildly. Her sister laughed and spoke as though through a sleeve pressed over her mouth.

“Dianxia, please fight away all of her ugly suitors with your sword and woo the pretty ones with your flower branch! I’m sure you’ll have some time even if you’re fighting in the war!”

“A-Jie, stop!!” There was more shuffling, then her nervous voice continued from standing height. “Okay, okay, we’re leaving! I cannot believe you would say such a thing in front of him! Dianxia, I’m very sorry!”

The older girl laughed and laughed as her sister swatted at her and seemed to drag her back down the path. She called back from outside, “Welcome back, Dianxia!”

San Lang rolled onto his back. He was smiling and there were tears in his eyes.

“Welcome back, Dianxia,” he echoed happily.

---

The next several months passed in a blur. San Lang tended to his arm often, both to ensure that it healed cleanly and because it provided an excuse to uncover the tattoo and stare at it. When it no longer needed to be bandaged, San Lang took to wearing simple leather vambraces over his sleeves whenever he left the shrine, as he felt fiercely protective of this part of himself and didn’t want to display it openly, not even by accident.

San Lang maintained his small shrine, worked sporadically, and saved enough money to buy a blanket. The open shrine had been a fine enough protection against the summer rains, even the crisp autumn breeze, but when winter descended upon Xianle’s Imperial City, the frigid nights were nearly unbearable even with the extra layer.

He also trained, at least as best he could. Since he didn’t have a real sabre, San Lang carved one out of a branch and practiced the strikes and stances that Dianxia had shown him back on Beizi Hill, after they defeated the binu swarm together. He sparred with the maple trees while flower hunting, and after just a few weeks, he felt that he had surpassed his previous proficiency with a sword. Dianxia was truly knowledgeable to give him such befitting advice after a single fight! As expected of a martial god, as expected of Xie Lian! San Lang was improving so much that he was able to win some of his brawls and better protect himself, so he could even remove some of the dense bandages on the lower half of his face from time to time.

His calligraphy, however, was a less consistent and considerably less driven affair. The scarcity and expense of paper was certainly a factor, but the real barrier was a lack of motivation. Now that his tattoo was finished and he had memorized the two most important characters of all, San Lang heavily deprioritized his goal of learning how to write. Instead, he tried teaching himself how to read. While he moved around in the city doing other things, he paid attention to all the writing he could find, and gradually he started piecing together a small visual lexicon.

And, of course San Lang searched for his god. From the moment he learned of Dianxia’s recovery, San Lang spent a great deal of time skirting around the edges of the military encampment, the palace, and the Royal Holy Pavilion, desperate for a glimpse of him. However, his luck had turned back to dreadful; every time he caught wind of Dianxia coming away from the front lines, San Lang was always in another part of the city, completely unaware.

San Lang finally caught his break one spring afternoon when he decided to take the long way home from an errand. Instead of slipping through the underbelly of the city as usual, he opted to walk down the Martial Deity Avenue, the largest street in the Imperial City. He couldn’t explain to himself why he had chosen such an open, exposed path, other than that he had felt subtly drawn to it and had changed course on the spot.

His senses were heightened by a strange, impending feeling. San Lang’s gaze darted madly around while his heart pounded. There were a few false leads when his overactive imagination started seeing Dianxia in the back of every well-dressed person he passed by, only to double-take and immediately notice the differences in their statures or voices. After only a few of these mistakes, San Lang felt so tired from the violent emotional swings that he nearly convinced himself to give up. He turned at the nearest intersection, feeling quite defeated – but then he froze mid-step and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

Standing on a bridge, looking out over the river while the wind fanned his long hair, hands clasped behind his back, was Xie Lian.

After months and months, Dianxia was standing before him again!

Everything seemed to hush. San Lang was unusually aware of the rustling leaves, the gurgling water, the distant voices that didn’t quite penetrate this calm space. His body acted on sheer reflex and leapt into the shadows when Dianxia’s shoulders tensed, barely disappearing before he looked in San Lang’s direction. He stayed hidden until Dianxia passed by, so close he could even smell the soft lavender that clung to his skin and hair and clothes, and watched him walk out onto the Martial Deity Avenue.

San Lang knew he shouldn’t follow. He was lucky enough to have his wish finally granted, to be able to see his god in good health once more. And yet, it was like his discipline had shattered in that gentle breeze. Completely unable to stop himself, pausing only long enough to cover his face completely, San Lang crept out from his hiding place and trailed behind Dianxia, listening to the excited murmurs he left in his wake.

Suddenly, Dianxia spun around without a single physical tell, and although San Lang dashed towards the nearest shelter, he knew he wasn’t even close to fast enough. If a martial god wants to catch you, then he inevitably will. In moments, Dianxia circled around the thick willow tree where San Lang was frozen, arms covering his face, not quite hiding but trapped in the futility of his situation.

“You’re…?” Dianxia looked at him quizzically, hand somewhat extended as if he had meant to grab or strike him. San Lang was overwhelmed by his presence, his closeness.

“D-Dianxia, I didn’t mean to!”

“You’re from that night…”

San Lang had never been more grateful for the layer of bandages obscuring his face. His burning skin heated even more when he saw a light flush blossom on Dianxia’s cheeks. Why did he have to remember that?! San Lang thought his heart might fail. Dianxia cleared his throat.

“So it was you,” he said with a strange edge in his voice. “I was going to look for you a while back, but with so much on my plate, I’d forgotten. Ah, aren’t you a soldier in the army? Why are you in the city?”

San Lang reeled internally. Dianxia really did remember him, but something was off with what he said. “I’m not in the army anymore,” San Lang admitted.

He steeled himself for the harsh words he was sure would follow, as soon as Dianxia remembered that he’d wanted nothing to do with such lowly trash and decided to cast him aside again. Mu Qing had been right, he thought miserably. San Lang should have taken his message to heart as the gift that it was – it was surely better never to hear such rejection directly from the person he loved!

“Huh? Why not?” Dianxia’s sincere response couldn’t have been more shocking.

“I… got kicked out,” San Lang said, blinking rapidly. “Dianxia, did… did you not know?!” Didn’t you want nothing to do with me? Wasn’t Mu Qing speaking on your behalf?!

Dianxia’s eyebrows were drawn in, painting his face with confusion. “Know what?” he asked.

San Lang gaped, then smiled behind his bandages and lowered his arms. It was almost too much to accept, but maybe… maybe the rejection wouldn’t come after all!

“So Dianxia hadn’t known! I had thought… I thought…”

‘I thought you hated me,’ San Lang couldn’t bring himself to say. The surreal unreality of this conversation was making his head spin.

“Come, tell me,” Dianxia pressed. “Why did you get kicked out? Who kicked you out? Why did you think I would know? Also, what had you thought?”

This was it. This was his chance to clear up the entire situation, perhaps even to repeat his pledge of service and convince his god to accept his devotion. Maybe San Lang wouldn’t need to stay in the shadows of his most minor shrines any longer, maybe he could repay his debt and be directly useful. His heart raced and he stepped forward, ready to drop down to his knee and explain everything–

–but before he could do any of that, he was interrupted by a terrible shriek from the main street. Dianxia turned away and the opportunity crumbled to dust in San Lang’s hands.

---

The arrival of the Human Face Disease in Xianle’s capital threw the entire city into chaos. All routines were shattered, the streets were emptier than San Lang had ever seen them as people closed their shops and hid in their homes, and the shocked rumors about the victims quarantined in the Buyou Forest grew more macabre every day. The Yong’an skirmishes were increasingly frequent and bloody, and the atmosphere within and outside the walls was grim.

For San Lang himself, however, it wasn’t so easy to assign a label to this unusual time. For one thing, he didn’t much care whether other people suffered, and had even been prepared to curse the entire nation himself years ago. San Lang’s main point of access to understanding the outbreak as something ‘bad’ was that Dianxia always looked extremely distressed about it.

There was also a significant amount of emotional confusion that was very personal to San Lang specifically. Seeing other people hiding deformities in their appearances stirred up complicated feelings of empathy and vindictiveness within him. The dissonance of those two reactions was never greater than the first time San Lang glimpsed his own father in the Buyou Forest, his head almost completely wrapped in bandages. He hid away beneath his hollow maple tree for hours after that, sitting completely still with tears running down his uncovered face. When he recovered enough to return to the quarantine camp days later, his father was gone. San Lang never asked. There was only one way to leave this place. He didn’t cry again.

On the other hand, San Lang couldn’t help but feel a bit grateful that the disease had sprung up the way it did. It quickly proved more effective than anything else at drawing Dianxia away from the front lines and back into spaces where San Lang could see him. He saw him in the streets and in the forest. He watched him fight with the Yong’an army while hidden atop the battlements, barely breathing. After months of searching, now San Lang saw him so often that he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. It would have been better if Dianxia didn’t have such an enormous burden on his shoulders every time he appeared, of course, but San Lang was still relieved that he could confirm the continued existence of his treasured person.

By looking at him so much, he also saw many more opportunities to ease Dianxia’s burden in small ways. San Lang couldn’t return to the military while Mu Qing was in charge, so instead he joined the ranks in the Buyou Forest. He dressed wounds and wrapped up the budding faces, he helped to cook and feed the people at the camp. For once, his own bandages didn’t ostracize him so severely. Whenever Dianxia appeared in person, he followed him closely. Dianxia was too preoccupied to catch him at it these days, so San Lang lurked in the shadows, left him flowers and blankets, and naïvely hoped that his presence was at least a tiny comfort.

Over time, however, he stopped hoping that his small gestures would mean anything at all, and even his ability to see Dianxia was turned bittersweet. As the war raged on and the Human Face Disease grew more severe, public opinion started to turn against him and Dianxia began to show his weariness. As San Lang watched those thin fractures slowly spreading over his god’s face, he often found himself wondering about the depth of suffering that Dianxia must be feeling. How horrible it must be to be a single person standing against such forces! San Lang wished he were strong enough to take some of that burden away. He would have given anything for enough power to make a real difference, to stand properly by Dianxia’s side instead of hiding uselessly in the shadows, to become the tool his god could wield to reforge the world in an image that pleases him. As the months dragged by, whenever San Lang wasn’t at the camp, he was training fervently, determined to improve himself.

In Xianle, the tension was steadily growing like a rope that was twisted tighter and tighter between strong clamps. The fibers of social order and even normal behavior were under enormous strain, and after a while, they started to fray. When rope breaks, it shreds in a wave across the many small fibers at exponential speeds. If a few break at first, it wouldn’t have such a large impact. The rope would still be intact, and society would still function. However, when the integrity of so many fibers is compromised all at once, it’s easier for each new tear to be the one that sets off the wave. With the situation escalating as it was, it was only a matter of time before a disaster occurred that would break the rope and push the Imperial City past the point of no return.

That disaster started on the day the earthquake struck.

---

Early in the afternoon, Dianxia visited the infirmary and discovered that several people had died in failed attempts to excise the faces from their own bodies. San Lang watched from a distance as Dianxia argued with the infected patients, and his blood ran hot with rage at the irreverence with which they responded to him. He had never seen Dianxia look so shattered as when he listened to those apostatic words echoing around the camp.

“No one owes you anything…”

“So he’s really like this after all…”

“Too scary, too scary…”

“Why must we suffer battles like this when he could just burn down the enemy’s camps with all his might?”

San Lang’s endurance snapped at the exact moment that Dianxia’s did. While Dianxia fled, unable to listen any longer, San Lang leapt at the man who had spoken last and attacked him with a roar. Within moments, the entire infirmary was a mess of blows and curses and San Lang was at the forefront of it all.

His mouth curled with disgust while he fought his way through the crowd, striking as many ungrateful faces as he could. For months, Dianxia had been wearing himself ragged trying to help these people, even easing their pain with his own spiritual energy while he sought a cure. San Lang had only ever seen him sleep once, and it was after the first amputation just a few nights before, when he collapsed from exhaustion right there on the ground of the camp. Having seen the pallor of his skin, San Lang would have easily believed it was the first time since he was injured on Beizi Hill that he’d slept any at all.

After fighting for a while, San Lang’s temper cooled and he departed the camp without a second glance. He saw no need to continue to care for anyone who would treat Dianxia with such disrespect. It seemed far more urgent to find some way to show Dianxia that there was still someone who would support him. He wanted to tell him not to listen to those hateful words, to fill his ears instead with the sounds of his devotion and praise and drown out all the rest.

Although San Lang had had much more luck with seeing Dianxia these days, it had never really helped him at those times when he wanted to seek him out. San Lang was wandering around the city hoping to run into him when the earth suddenly shifted beneath his feet and he fell to the floor.

It was the strongest earthquake he’d ever felt! A fruit stand toppled over and poured its contents out into the street. Wood creaked and clattered as the buildings trembled. Many people had also fallen, and surprised cries could be heard from every direction. San Lang scrambled to his feet and looked around. He quickly spotted something that filled his heart with dread. The Celestial Pagoda of Xianle Palace, visible even over the roofs of nearby buildings, was beginning to lean.

If Dianxia had gone inside the palace, he might not notice in time and could be crushed. San Lang was sprinting towards the palace before he even finished the thought. He had to warn Xie Lian!

Another great tremor shook the city while he ran. San Lang followed the many gasps and pointed fingers and spun around. Descending Mount Taicang at an incredible pace was none other than that golden divine statue of the Flower Crown Martial God. His heart immediately lightened; Dianxia was safe, and was already carrying out a plan! Not for the first time, San Lang thought that the Xianle people didn’t deserve such a generous and noble god.

San Lang picked up his pace and pushed easily through the palace gates. They were thrown wide open as countless attendants and nobles spilled out onto the streets. He joined a loose semi-circle of nobles and commoners alike who had gathered around the base of the Celestial Pagoda. Standing in the center, Taizi Dianxia looked more like a fairytale god than ever. His right arm was outstretched towards Mount Taicang and his hands were contorted into powerful hand signs. Glowing spiritual power radiated out from his gestures, and his robes and hair billowed in a fierce wind.

Although there really couldn’t have been a less appropriate time to have such a thought, for a long moment, all San Lang could think about was how badly he wanted to run over and kiss him! He steadied himself on a marble pillar and tried to control his breathing.

The arrival of the divine statue finally snapped him out of his reverie. That golden god caught the tower just in time, crushing a section of the palace wall in its haste. There was a great cheer from all around and many more people suddenly swarmed inside to get a closer look. Dianxia lowered his arm and seemed to relax, but then his expression tightened and he cast another spell and even leapt onto the statue itself to reinforce it. Bizarrely, the crowd seemed unaware of his exertions; they circled around him and praised and beseeched him. Their words enraged San Lang nearly as much as the blasphemous dissidence in the Buyou Forest. These people were shameless in their supposed worship! In San Lang’s ears, after what he had heard that day, “Save the people! Protect the world!” sounded like an open threat.

When Dianxia’s cousin ran up to the statue, San Lang’s anger concentrated into a sharp edge. Nevermind the beating Qi Rong had given to San Lang when he dragged him with his chariot all those years ago, far worse was the constant trouble and stress he inflicted upon Dianxia through his vulgarity, his wanton violence, and his carelessness. As expected, his appearance here and now devolved the situation enormously. San Lang was too far away to hear their conversation directly, but the ripples of comments that made their way back to him revealed more than enough. Qi Rong’s words had somehow incited the belief that there was a cure for the Human Face Disease, and that Dianxia was withholding it.

Whether or not that was true was inconsequential to San Lang. He trusted Dianxia absolutely. Whatever he did or did not do, San Lang would always support him without question. If he wanted to show mercy to the very people who slandered and abandoned him, or if he decided to let them suffer without his assistance, it was all the same.

However, the people around him clearly had a different opinion on the matter. They surged forward and called out accusations until finally, Feng Xin appeared and dragged Qi Rong forcibly away. Dianxia sighed, settled into a lotus pose at the base of the statue, and closed his eyes to meditate.

After several minutes, the novelty wore off for many onlookers, and the crowd thinned considerably. After a few hours, it was thinner still. Around nightfall, San Lang was one of only a few people who remained. He stayed far enough back so that he wouldn’t be spotted if Mu Qing came to visit Dianxia, but still close enough to watch him. That first night, San Lang felt too guilty to sleep, so he sat awake all night and watched the divine statue sparkle in the sunrise and cast colorful beams of light across Dianxia’s face. San Lang was greatly moved and thought that he would never forget the beautiful sight as long as he lived.

Shortly after the sun rose, people started to return to the palace through the collapsed wall. Little by little, they gradually filled up the square. Within an hour, there was a great crowd publicly offering their prayers to the statue.

San Lang felt repulsed by this. Could these people not see that both the divine statue and the god himself were already completely occupied with protecting them? How could they dare to entreat him with their petty requests at such a time?! It was really too much to wrap his mind around.

When the King and Queen walked out to Dianxia’s side, San Lang breathed an unstrained breath for the first time in hours. He suddenly realized how exhausted he was. The guilty self-loathing rushed back; all he had done was sit awake for a single night doing absolutely nothing, yet Dianxia still sat tall even after exerting his spiritual energy constantly. If San Lang were more powerful, he could have taken over. He vowed to himself on the spot that he would find a way to cultivate his own spiritual powers, no matter how long it took. He never wanted to find himself in this helpless of a situation again.

Nevertheless, at this time he was truly useless, and Dianxia had company to support him, so San Lang rose and departed the palace. It took a long time to trudge back to his small shrine, but as soon as he did, he curled up on top of his blanket and fell asleep.

San Lang awoke in the middle of the night, disoriented and nauseous. His first thought was of Dianxia. His second was hunger. He picked a plum from the tree hidden behind the shrine, ate it even though it wasn’t quite ripe, and brought back a white flower for the divine statue. After he placed it down, San Lang hugged his arms thoughtfully and went back outside to pick another. Cradling it in his hands, he made his way through the quiet streets. Even from such a distance, the war between the leaning pagoda and the golden god was visible and seemed to loom overhead.

The palace grounds were empty once more. San Lang cautiously approached where Dianxia was meditating until he was several wide paces away. He placed his flower on the ground and retreated back to his secluded spot amidst the pillars, heart pounding.

All night, he watched his god and shared in his suffering as best he could. When daybreak brought surging crowds and visitors for Dianxia, San Lang went home and slept. This went on for days, and the strange rhythm had San Lang starting to feel like things were fuzzy and unreal. He found he was mostly marking the passing time by how close he could bring himself to Dianxia each night before placing down his flower and scampering away.

The tension was palpable. San Lang was heartbroken over the blank resignation in Dianxia’s eyes. Even the King and Queen seemed to be deeply upset. It was only the Xianle people who seemed ignorant of the struggle playing out before their eyes. At least when they simply came to pray and left immediately, nothing too bad happened. However, just like Dianxia and his divine statue, that great rope which had been twisting and fraying over several days was becoming frail and its durability was more and more tenuous. That final cascading tear which would sever the whole thing began, too, in the Buyou Forest.

It was fast approaching a week since Dianxia had taken up his post at the foot of the golden statue. His skin was flushed from days of harsh sunlight, and there were deep shadows below his eyes. San Lang was relieved when he finally saw him fall asleep, back leaning against the statue. Instead of going back to the shrine as usual, he decided to stay and watch over him while he slept. When evening approached and much of the crowd had dispersed, San Lang crept closer than ever to the sleeping god and left him a flower. He smiled at him, hovering for a moment, but then Dianxia began to stir and San Lang drew back.

Watching Dianxia pick up his flower, smile softly, and press it to his heart was one of the most powerful experiences San Lang had ever had. He felt like he had been filled to the brim with thousands of butterflies. San Lang had achieved the impossible: something he had done had lifted a tiny piece of the burden on Dianxia’s heart. He was elated beyond description. Tears cascaded down his face while he hugged his knees and smiled. In that moment, he felt that his life absolutely had meaning.

Then, the first of the patients from the Buyou Forest arrived, screaming and trailing blood as he dragged himself across the ground towards Dianxia.

There had been a relapse of the Human Face Disease in the camp, and many of the patients had broken out. They rampaged across the Imperial City, spreading terror and infection, until they reached Xianle Palace. Dozens of bandaged, hysterical people swarmed around Dianxia and pulled at any piece of his body or clothes they could reach, spewing accusations and demands for relief in equal parts. San Lang sprung into action and tried to drag them back, but there were too many people for him to completely stop them all, and more kept on pouring through the broken wall.

Then, the Yong’an victory horn cut through the city, Dianxia collapsed, the divine statue buckled, and the Celestial Pagoda finally fell. Dianxia pushed his way out of the crowd and ran from the palace. San Lang couldn’t see his face through the dust, but he was perfectly able to imagine what kind of expression must have covered it.

San Lang ran after him but Dianxia had already disappeared into the streets. Pillars of black smoke billowing up from the fortress walls provided a strong hint as to where he might be headed, so San Lang pushed through his exhaustion and ran and ran. He entered the military encampment for the first time since he was sent away, uncaring of the consequences if he should be caught. The soldiers were covered in blood and there were noticeably fewer of them than he remembered. When San Lang scaled the battlements, a sea of corpses stretched across the land, so wide he had to turn his head from side to side to see them all. Everything was still and quiet, except for the carrion crows.

The rope had torn through, leaving only frayed and unraveling fibers on both sides.

---

Over the next few days, San Lang started hearing rumors that Dianxia was injured. When he returned to the front lines, Dianxia was a changed man. San Lang watched every one of his battles from the fortress walls, eyes wide with terror as Dianxia trembled and barely avoided blow after blow. The fate of these battles was not as absolute as it had been a year before.

The first time San Lang heard a soldier call Dianxia a god of misfortune, he broke his nose on the spot. He even managed to escape unscathed, which was a sure testament to Dianxia’s advice and his own relentless training.

The second time, he faced off against a larger group and was beaten rather severely. He bound up more of his face at his shrine and stubbornly returned to the encampment.

But soon, there was far more to worry about than blasphemous speech. All across the city, people had begun to burn the shrines and temples of the Flower Crown Martial God. Early one morning, San Lang bolted upright and met a group of angry torchbearers on the path to his small shrine. Hissing and cursing, he attacked them, drove them away, and stomped out their fires. They weren’t soldiers, so even five of them together couldn’t match him.

San Lang felt deeply upset, so he visited the maple forest for the first time in weeks to pick a flower. It was an indulgence he hadn’t been able to justify while Dianxia was suffering so greatly. When he turned back onto the path a few hours later, San Lang froze and a red blossom dropped from his hand. The shrine was a collapsed heap of charred wood.

Desperately, San Lang tore through the wreckage. He was soon covered with cuts and splinters and blisters from the freshly scorched wood, but he never ceased his efforts for even a moment. When he finally unearthed that hidden corner, he was dismayed to find only a hole full of ashes and half-destroyed tools. San Lang plunged his bleeding hand straight in and searched with his fingertips, praying and crying. Finally, he felt something round and definitely intact.

San Lang sobbed for a long time and clenched that little red pearl in a fist against his chest. Tears trailed down his cheek and soaked through the bandages on the right side of his face.

When he calmed down, San Lang pried his fingers open and examined the pearl. The earring loop it was attached to had taken a lot of damage and, after a single touch, even came loose entirely. San Lang tossed the metal piece aside and pushed the pearl around on his flat palm. Now that it was separated from the metal, a thin hole was revealed that turned the pearl into a perfect, symmetrical bead.

It was wholly precious to him. He had found it knotted in his hair and tucked beneath a bandage after he was separated from Xie Lian for the first time as a child. It must have gotten caught while he clung to Dianxia during his fight with the black-clad ghost in the Shangyuan Festival parade. Ever since then, he had hidden it carefully in various places, always terrified that someone would find it and take it away forever. After Dianxia appeared to him in this humble shrine, San Lang decided to make it the pearl’s permanent home.

He had never dared to wear it on his person. It was too opulent by far, and would almost certainly be stolen. San Lang thought that he might be strong enough now to protect it if he wore it secretly, such as in a pouch around his neck, but he wasn’t convinced it would be the safest option. For now, he needed to find a new hiding spot. The trouble was, Xianle’s whole Imperial City was sinking into chaos. Temples were burning, people were rioting, and Yong’an troops were closer to invading the city with each battle. Was there a single safe place left?

San Lang decided to visit the peak of Mount Taicang and scout out the situation there. The Royal Holy Pavilion was distant from the rest of the Imperial City and the barrier of climbing the mountain discouraged many common people from visiting. Perhaps it was still intact, and San Lang could find a hiding place high above the war.

Even if San Lang found a perfect spot on Mount Taicang, he still needed somewhere safe to keep the pearl while he traveled. Lacking a better solution, as all of his tools and materials had been destroyed, San Lang maneuvered a thin lock of hair out of his ponytail and out from beneath his bandages. He braided it behind his left ear, then fed the tip through the small hole that was drilled through the pearl and tied it in place with thread from his robes. It came to rest around his collarbone and didn’t come loose even when San Lang shook his head around wildly, so he was satisfied enough to head out.

The trip up the mountain passed quickly. San Lang felt like he was shedding filthy clothes from his skin with each step he took away from the Imperial City and its burning temples. Some of the near-constant tension bled out from his shoulders and San Lang stretched into the pleasurable weightlessness while he climbed. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when San Lang reached the top.

He hadn’t expected the Royal Holy Pavilion to be abandoned. An eerie stillness settled over the compound. There were no lights or sounds. San Lang walked openly through the pavilion, for who would catch him and throw him out?

When San Lang reached the inner Xianle Pavilion, the first thing he noticed was the ruined state of Huangji Temple. The building was still upright, but it had been heavily damaged when the divine statue within was summoned down to the Royal Palace. Broken roofing tiles were scattered across the floor and one of the pillars near the entrance had collapsed, bringing a whole section of the flying rafters down with it. Based on how the wreckage looked mostly untouched, San Lang concluded that the pavilion must have been abandoned before the earthquake or so soon thereafter that no one bothered to clean it up. He stepped carefully around the debris and entered the temple.

The darkness of the room was cut up with slivers of moonlight that passed through the damaged roof. San Lang’s eye was drawn to the gaping emptiness where the divine statue should have been. Even more than the crumbling entrance, this absence in such a large temple felt incredibly defamatory. With purpose, San Lang scoured the back rooms of the temple until he found a desk with some writing supplies. On a large piece of paper, he painted a careful rendition of the Flower Crown Martial God. It was crude but recognizable, and San Lang thought it would be better than having nothing displayed at all. Wafting air at it with one hand, he returned to the main room of the temple.

To his surprise, there were people standing in the entrance! San Lang froze and watched them from the back corner, but it was quickly clear that their intentions were not honorable. Fire crackled outside and the painting fell from his hands as he rushed across the room.

San Lang tackled through the nearest of the five or six young men and rushed to extinguish the flames that were eating up the fallen pillar. Their surprise quickly wore off and someone shoved him from behind, yelling, “What the fuck?!” San Lang stumbled forward and whipped around, unleashing a flurry of blows. Those young men escalated at once, all yelling and cursing and encouraging each other.

“Leave this place alone!” San Lang screamed. Although he was fighting very effectively, there was still a cost to such uneven odds. He took several hard blows to his head and face, yet each time he continued to fight regardless of the strikes they landed, and the young men seemed more and more disheartened.

One of them shouted back at him, “You fucking mutt! Shitty brat! Did your wife lose her fucking virginity here or what, is this broken shrine your precious dick or something?!”

San Lang yelled viciously and punched that man so hard he collapsed onto the ground. The other young men finally hesitated, looking at him with something like horrified shock, and San Lang advanced with a shriek. “Scram!!”

Just then, from behind him, there was a wet crunch and the one he’d knocked over suddenly made a pained sound. San Lang spun around and saw that the man had somehow been struck in the face with a rock and blood poured from his nose down the front of his robes. San Lang steeled himself and moved to attack him, but the bloodied man darted back and fled to the street where the rest of the thugs were waiting.

“Fuck!” he yelled at San Lang as they retreated from the pavilion. “Just you wait! We’ve got more guys and we’ll get you!”

San Lang clenched his fists at his side, huffed at their flimsy attempt to save face, and yelled back, “You dare come back and I’ll fucking kill you!!”

After watching the empty street for a few minutes, reassured that they really had gone, San Lang checked that the flames were thoroughly extinguished, then slumped and trudged wearily back inside the temple. The thrill of the fight had passed and all his injuries started to throb. He picked up the fallen painting, brushed it off and unbent a corner of the paper, and carefully pinned it to a half-fallen silk drape over the altar.

San Lang slumped to the ground, sliding his back down the altar until he was sitting on the floor. He propped his elbows up on his knees and cradled the top of his pounding head in his hands. Then, he shifted, drawing his body in closer by hugging his knees and resting his forehead against them. An unusual feeling had struck him; it took San Lang a few painful heartbeats to recognize it as loneliness. He supposed that his life had always been solitary, but it had never before afflicted him so strongly as it did in that moment.

Just then, he heard a soft pah, like paper being rustled by a sudden wind. San Lang’s head shot up. There was no breeze inside this temple.

“Is that you?” He twisted around and looked up at the altar behind him. The painting swished back and forth on that silk drape as if it had just been brushed against. San Lang sprang to his feet and leaned into the altar, trembling with excitement. “I know it’s you! Dianxia, please don’t go! I have something to say to you!”

Finally, San Lang could say the words which had been weighing on his heart ever since Dianxia had first installed himself beneath the crumbling Celestial Pagoda, since the apostasy of the Xianle people had begun. He clenched his fists to stop them shaking and, with great eagerness, addressed the fluttering painting.

“Even though your pavilions and temples are burnt down… don’t be sad. I will build you many more temples in the future; bigger, more elegant, better than anyone else’s. No one will be able to compete with you. I will!”

San Lang couldn’t hold back his shaking any longer. He was full of passion and urgency. He raised his voice, heart pounding in his ears.

“Dianxia! Did you hear me? In my heart, you are god! You are the only god, the one true god! Did you hear me?!”

While his words echoed around the spacious room, San Lang suddenly felt as though someone had moved nearby and he looked around desperately. A drop of water fell from the broken roof onto his exposed left cheek and, for a flash of a second, it appeared as though a tall man in white robes was gazing down at him from atop the altar, just beside the painting. He blinked in shock, but the figure was gone.

San Lang rubbed at his eye several times, but the man never reappeared. He was about to call out again when a soft voice spoke from up above him.

“Forget it.”

It took a moment for San Lang to recognize the meaning of those words. His heart clenched and his smile faded. “…What? Forget what?” San Lang asked as confusion and anxiety rose within him.

There was an invisible sigh. “Forget me. Let it go. Soon, no one will remember anyway.”

San Lang was stunned. Tears fell freely from his eyes, covered and uncovered. How could Dianxia say such a thing? Was he this lonely and sad, too? Why would he turn San Lang away if that were true?

“I…” San Lang struggled to find the words that could penetrate his god’s deep grief. What could he possibly say to make someone like Dianxia feel any better? A fire lit in his dantian, and he said firmly, “I won’t.”

He spun around and ran towards the broken entrance. He held his jaw high even as the tears poured out and yelled again, “I wont!” San Lang clutched that red pearl dangling from his hair in his fist, held it against his heart, and shook his head passionately. “I won’t forget! I will never forget you!!!”

There was a rush of elation and, for a single heartrending moment, San Lang vividly anticipated that he would be swept up in Xie Lian’s embrace. But that moment passed, and the invisible presence he had felt while Dianxia spoke with him passed, too. San Lang fell to his knees and hugged himself tightly while his shoulders wracked with quiet sobs.

---

In the end, San Lang couldn’t bear to be parted with the red pearl. The situation on Mount Taicang was much the same as the one down in the Imperial City. Even if San Lang had managed to find a good place, after his encounter with Dianxia, he’d had such a strong change of heart that he probably would have kept the pearl regardless. For the time being, he left it tied in his hair and nervously checked it every few seconds to make sure it hadn’t fallen off.

San Lang slept fitfully in the dilapidated Huangji Temple that night and descended the mountain at sunrise. He was overcome with melancholy that he couldn’t quite explain but didn’t have the energy to investigate. He just walked, one foot in front of the other, until he was back in the Imperial City. Now that the shrine was burnt, San Lang had nowhere to return to, so he walked in the direction of the military encampment at the city gates.

He was surprised to see a large number of soldiers leaving the encampment and entering the main part of the city. Of course he had known that people often snuck out at night to buy alcohol and sex, but that was always under cover of darkness, and never in such large groups as this. San Lang blinked. Just what was going on?

He approached one of the men who wasn’t part of a group and blurted out, “Why are you leaving?” but as soon as the words had left his mouth, San Lang already knew they wouldn’t be effective. The man scoffed at him, shoved him aside, and left without a word.

Puzzled, San Lang entered the encampment. The people who were left looked haggard, their eyes staring distantly into nothing as if lost in thought. A few held their heads in their hands. No one spoke.

The situation was stranger and stranger. San Lang peeked into one of the tents that served as shared housing for soldiers. It was empty, which wasn’t unusual for this time of day. What was unusual, however, were the things that had been left behind. On almost every one of the crude beds lay piles of equipment – sheets of leather body armor, quivers of arrows, even swords and sabres were discarded openly. San Lang started to feel very nervous and unsettled.

Just at that moment, a cry came down from the top of the battlements. The Yong’an army was advancing!

San Lang drew his head out of the tent and spun around, expecting to see a great rush to fall into formation and receive orders, yet those people hardly stirred a muscle! A distressed looking field officer ran into the training area and shouted at the soldiers, “Ready for battle! Protect the Imperial City! Defend the people of Xianle!”

One of those men finally looked up, his expression gaunt with despair. “Why should we fight?” he asked in a dead voice. He spoke quietly, but every ear was trained on him absolutely. “Why should we go out and die when so many have left? Even our god has abandoned us.”

“He’s right,” another spoke up. “The Yong’an army has swollen with reinforcements from the riverlands. We don’t stand a chance without the Flower Crown Martial God.”

“Some god!” yet another cried. “He just up and quit! He left his people to suffer and die so he could go lounge in the heavens!”

“If even a god can quit, why can’t I? No wonder everyone left when they heard the news…”

“I want to go home to my family.”

“I don’t want to die!”

The field officer made a sharp gesture and yelled, “That’s enough! God or no god, we must fight. The future of Xianle is in our hands. You all know the punishment for defecting. If you leave now and we win, you’ll just be tracked down later. If we lose, then the Yong’an army will slaughter you and your families themselves. Gather your things and form up here in five minutes! Move along!” The officer disappeared back into his tent with an angry flourish.

San Lang was reeling where he stood. So that’s why he had felt so unsettled. Dianxia had gone back. After a year of feeling his presence everywhere in the city, it was suddenly empty of him and everything was cold and bleak.

His heart was already made up as soon as the camp had first come into view, but now it surged with conviction. San Lang went back into the tent and started strapping down forgotten pieces of leather armor over his clothes. He picked up a sabre, tested out its weight in his hand with a few slashes, and hung it off a sword belt at his waist. Then, he closed his eyes, held the red pearl in his left fist and his tattooed forearm in his right, and took a deep breath.

“Dianxia,” San Lang prayed aloud into the empty tent. “I trust you. Whatever you do, I trust you. I will do all I can to serve and respect you. It would be my greatest honor to die in battle for you. In this life and the next, I will always give you everything I have. I will fight for you, even when no one else will. Dianxia, believe me.”

Tears spilled out from his closed eyes. “Xie Lian,” he said softly. “I love you.”

San Lang was silent for a few moments more, then he opened his unbandaged eye, wiped his face on his sleeve, and left the tent.

As he had anticipated, there were even fewer people in the training grounds. The faces of those who remained were painted with worry, panic, and uncertainty. San Lang had never seen such faces before a battle. He steeled himself and stood tall.

Within minutes, they were marching out the city gates. There were about two hundred Xianle soldiers, which was an unbelievably small fraction of the forces that San Lang had fought with a year ago. As soon as they passed the gates, San Lang’s insides seemed to drop. By his best estimate, they were outnumbered by at least ten times.

The war horns bellowed. The forces of Xianle and Yong’an ran at each other. There was raucous yelling, then the clashing of steel upon steel.

San Lang wielded his new sabre with ferocious strength. He cut down soldier after soldier. His throat was hoarse from shouting. He was covered in blood, but had no idea whether it was his own.

In the corner of his eye, a Xianle soldier fell to the ground. It wouldn’t have been anything to notice in a battle such as this one, except that he was standing far away from other soldiers at the time. San Lang took a risk and darted his eye over. A long arrow protruded from deep within the center of his back. It seemed to have killed him instantly.

“Archers!” he yelled.

There was something wrong. The moment San Lang realized it, time seemed to freeze as his veins flooded with cold dread. That Xianle soldier was facing away from the Imperial City, yet he was shot in the back. San Lang tensed as if to turn around, but before he could so much as turn his head, he heard a sharp whistle slicing through the air behind him. He felt as if he was punched and stabbed through the shoulder at once. He reeled forward from the impact, then his nerves lit up with pain.

“They’re on the walls!” someone screamed.

When the second arrow struck his lower back, San Lang fell to his knees and dropped his sabre. His hands shook violently. He coughed and blood filled his mouth.

The third arrow buried itself in the soft flesh of his upper arm, slipping below the leather armor and cutting straight out the other side. His arm dropped, and San Lang was unable to lift it again.

Two more arrows collected on his back in quick succession. Dozens more whistled past him and stuck into the bloody grass. San Lang’s body collapsed forward and finally the arrows stopped.

He couldn’t feel pain anymore. He just felt cold. He shook so hard his teeth clattered. Then even the coldness faded. Everything was quiet, and dim, and distant. San Lang looked up and saw a beautiful, noble man smiling joyfully, arms wrapped around him. San Lang smiled, and closed his eyes.

---

“Dianxia.”

The word is the first thing he thinks, but he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what anything means. He doesn’t know who he is, or if he exists at all. He just floats, and repeats that word over and over and over.

Dianxia. Dianxia. Dianxia…

Maybe time passes. He thinks that he used to understand what time meant. Before. Is ‘before’ a time? Now there is only ‘now’, and only Dianxia.

Later. (Is ‘later’ a time? He thinks it might be.) Later, he has said his favorite word many, many times, and then something happens.

Nothing has ever happened before. Perhaps before before, but he can’t remember. Now, he hears a voice.

“Go on. Go.”

He knows that voice. From before. It’s the most important voice in the world. It’s Dianxia’s voice!

In a rush, he remembers. He remembers before. He remembers Dianxia, and the red pearl, and Xianle. He remembers himself, and his shrine, and his flower that Dianxia pressed to his heart at twilight. He remembers when Dianxia left. He remembers when he died.

San Lang looked out for the first time, after. He saw a man in white robes with a bandage wrapped up his neck and over the bottom of his face. He felt his energy swell, and it was as if his existence locked suddenly into place.

“Dianxia!”

The man looked at him. He came over. He spoke.

Finally, San Lang remembered the meaning of his life. He had more conviction than anyone in the world. He would live, for Dianxia.