Chapter Text
“You can’t save everyone.”
“I don’t need to. I only need to save him.”
This was the conversation Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen had every time he came back.
The first time, they were both mortal— freshly trained cultivators with big dreams of starting their own clan. The second time led to Xiao Xingchen’s ascension. Song Lan’s happened almost immediately after. Xiao Xingchen had taken an attack in his stead, citing that Song Lan’s mortal body could not survive it, but his immortal body could. Song Lan had pushed himself harder than ever after that, determined to make sure his friend’s sacrifice was worthwhile. Xiao Xingchen had always been like that, giving away parts of himself as if they were small trinkets and tokens of gratitude. By now, they had lost count of how many Xue Yangs had come and gone, and Song Lan already knew how this was going to end. Xiao Xingchen did too, but he refused to accept it.
“He can’t be saved, Xingchen,” Song Lan pleaded. He wanted to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder for emphasis, but decided against it. He had tried it last time and it didn’t seem to help, so he wasn’t going to put himself through the discomfort again only to have it fail.
“How do you know?” Xiao Xingchen asked. “Every time, something bad has happened to make him snap. If I could just—”
“How many bad things have happened to you?” Song Lan asked, his tone turning sharp. “What about me? Even Wei Wuxian became virtuous enough to ascend, somehow. The suffering isn’t the problem, he is.”
Xiao Xingchen opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He had rebuttals to that argument. He knew them well at this point, considering that they had some version of this argument approximately once every few mortal generations. His suffering was worse than most. He was stronger than most, smarter than most. He was the unique person who had both the ability and the motivation to catalyze the destruction of the cultivation world. He kept getting reincarnated, kept getting second chances. He had to have earned them somehow. (“Demonic cultivation and cheating the system, that’s how,” a suspiciously Song Lan sounding voice said in his head)
“You’ve helped me every time despite disagreeing with my methods,” Xiao Xingchen sighed. “I suppose, after I’ve failed so many times, it is only fair that I indulge your method of handling this.”
Xiao Xingchen took a deep breath before locking eyes with Song Lan.
“But we’re not killing him as a baby,” he added. There was no room for argument in his voice.
“Did you really think I would suggest that? How did you even come up with that idea?” Song Lan asked, sounding equal parts shocked and offended.
Xiao Xingchen wisely kept his mouth shut. He really had been spending too much time with Xue Yang. Well, not with him, per se. Just… thinking about him. Observing him. Keeping him safe. Sobbing his eyes out as he watched him slaughter entire clans with no remorse. But never interacting. Xiao Xingchen was unconventional in many ways, but he would never break the primary rule of being an immortal. Xue Yang would never know of his existence.
—
Song Lan’s plan, as it turned out, was extremely simple. They were going to leave Xue Yang alone. They would help whichever other mortals needed it, but Xue Yang was going to get the standard path that fate had set for him. Nothing more, nothing less.
The standard path started out as expected. Xue Yang’s parents died before he could remember them. He sustained a horrific injury by way of a prominent cultivator in a well-established clan (this time around, it was the loss of his left pinky, and Xiao Xingchen felt a hint of relief that at least it wasn’t the worst possible version of this event), and made plans for revenge. Xiao Xingchen spent more than half of his nights awake for the first couple years after the incident, staring down from the heavens at the disaster that he knew was coming, fingers twitching with the desire to stop it before it became too late. Old habits die hard, after all, but they did die eventually.
By the time Xue Yang reached adulthood, Xiao Xingchen had completed several successful projects that genuinely helped the mortal world, made several new friends in heaven, and learned to use his sword blindfolded, as an extra challenge. By all reasonable metrics, he was doing great.
He had even gathered the confidence to ask Song Lan out and gotten a very gentle rejection.
“I don’t think I am capable of romance at all, to be completely honest,” was his response. Their friendship resumed immediately after, and it was like nothing had changed at all, because it really hadn’t.
Currently, Wei Wuxian was trying to teach Xiao Xingchen how to play the flute. Xiao Xingchen blew as hard as he could into the flute and produced a loud whoosh sound with no discernable pitch.
“You need to direct your breath,” Wei Wuxian said, picking up his own flute and playing a clear, crisp note to demonstrate.
Xiao Xingchen’s brows furrowed in concentration as he tried again. For a split second, something resembling a note could be heard, but it quickly dissolved into the familiar whoosh.
“You better not be teaching him demonic cultivation,” Song Lan’s stern monotone interrupted the tail end of Xiao Xingchen’s flute attempt.
“Relax, I’m not. He doesn’t need it, considering how good he is at boring vanilla cultivation,” Wei Wuxian said, flashing a smile.
Song Lan sighed. There were things about Xiao Xingchen that he would never understand, his ability to get along with crass, annoying people being one of them, but he supposed that was part of his charm. At least he was learning the flute rather than obsessing over Xue Yang and his future crimes, so he couldn’t complain.
—
Xue Yang sat in the middle of an array of talismans, wearing the gilded golden robes of the most powerful clan in the world. They had given him money and test subjects, and he would give them a window into their own future. It wasn’t quite a fair trade, but Xue Yang wasn’t planning on playing fair. Once he knew the Jin Clan’s future, he could use that information to shape his own. After one final once-over to ensure that the array was drawn correctly, he let a singular drop of blood fall from his finger into the center of the array.
Immediately, it activated.
Xue Yang was now a child, and a cultivator loomed over him. He knew this scene well. It was seared into his memory. He instantly recalled the smell of the pastries he had been promised, the blood spilling from the stump where his finger once was, the dust kicked up by the tires of the departing carriage. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had already been here before. He was supposed to see the future, not the past.
He blinked, sending a few stray tears streaming down his small face. The cultivator let out a cruel laugh and shoved him to the ground before getting into his carriage. A whip cracked. The carriage horses started moving. Its wheel approached Xue Yang’s hand.
Xue Yang closed his eyes and braced for the inevitable.
A few seconds passed.
Xue Yang opened his eyes to his intact hand, barely touching the tracks of a recently departed carriage. He carefully studied his surroundings and realized that, while the events that took place were startlingly similar to those from his past life, a few of the stalls were selling different items than he remembered, and the whole layout felt wrong. This wasn’t the place from his memories… but if it wasn’t, then where was it?
When he blinked again, he was in a completely different place. It looked like a monastery. His leg was injured, but bandaged tightly. The pain was dull and slightly itchy— the familiar ache of a healing wound.
The door opened, and a woman walked in.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she said, looking slightly surprised. “You healed fast. That’s good, it means you have a strong spiritual core.”
Xue Yang just stared blankly at her. He had never seen this woman before in his life.
“This is Baoshan Sanren’s mountain monastery,” she continued. “We found you injured and decided to take you in, at least until you get back on your feet.”
Whose life was this? He still had all 10 of his fingers here too. Unless these people magically grew back his finger, this couldn’t be his future.
He tried to open his mouth to ask whether they had grown back his finger, but couldn’t. Instead, he was forced to look down and away.
It seemed the visions were set on some predetermined path. He couldn’t change the outcome, whatever outcome that may be.
When he blinked, the scene had changed yet again. This continued on for a long time, through various scenes of other lives and universes.
By the time he found himself back in the center of his experimental array, he had lost count of the visions. They all seemed mostly random. In some, he was a child. In others, a teen. Very few visions featured a main character his age, and none featured anyone noticeably older. The only thread of similarity between the visions was that he was always right before a potential injury or recovering from one. If he was placed before a potential injury, it would always be prevented by some unlikely event, as if by some divine act. If he was placed after an injury that had occurred, he was always healing up under medical supervision.
In his actual life outside of this strange set of array-induced visions, Xue Yang had never received such luxuries. He wanted to unsheathe his knife and slash the array into bits for mocking his misfortune. The door opened before he could.
“How did it go?” Jin Guangyao asked. He was holding a book and wearing his standard diplomatic half-smile.
“Inconclusive,” Xue Yang replied through gritted teeth.
Jin Guangyao held the book out toward Xue Yang.
“Maybe this will help,” he said. “I found it in one of the corners of the library.”
Xue Yang wordlessly took the book. Jin Guangyao took one look at Xue Yang’s face and turned to leave. He was the primary source of Xue Yang’s room, board, and compensation, but he knew better than to try to stay and chat when his best demonic cultivator was in one of his moods.
The moment the door closed, Xue Yang threw the book against the wall. Neither the wall nor the book took much damage, the heavy tome thumping unsatisfyingly to the floor and lying open on one of its many pages.
“Past life spiritual regression” was the title of the open page. On it, were a set of talismans Xue Yang recognized immediately. It was a slightly modified version of his own array. He leaned over and begrudgingly dragged the open book toward him, crumpling talismans in the wake of its path.
He hated when Jin Guangyao was right.
“Many cultivators make the mistake of thinking that reversing talismans in a standard past life regression array will allow them to see the future. Instead, this technique typically results in past life visions with a specific focus,” the page read. “Not every combination has been attempted, and those that were attempted have often resulted in their users dying or going insane. Of those that have been attempted, common focuses seem to be love, death, and divine intervention.”
He hadn’t been romantically involved with anyone or died in any of the visions, so he decided it had to be divine intervention. Or a secret fourth category yet unseen because no one had lived to tell the tale. Divine intervention did fit the bill, though. Every single vision showed a version of his life that was better and kinder than his current one.
So in this life, even the gods hated him. Sure, he’d understand if they hated him now. What he was doing was against the rules of cultivation. But he had been a child when that cart took his finger. That was before he had ever broken a single law or harmed a single person. That was before he could hold his own and fight back against the injustices that were inflicted upon him.
The Chang clan’s punishment for hurting Xue Yang as a child was death. The gods had committed the same crime, and it would only be fair if they received the same punishment.
—
“Your guy is actually cultivating,” Wei Wuxian said, bouncing up toward Xiao Xingchen.
“What guy?” Xiao Xingchen asked, confused. He was friends with many people, but he didn’t have a partner, and his closest friend was already known to be a fastidious cultivator.
Wei Wuxian hesitated, as if he was about to mention something taboo.
“Xue Yang,” he clarified.
“Wait, what?” Xiao Xingchen asked, then immediately caught himself. “Actually, don’t tell me. I’m not interfering this time, so there’s no point in me knowing.”
Song Lan would be so proud of him.
That night, after he had finished with all of the day’s responsibilities, Xiao Xingchen laid in his bed and wondered what “actually cultivating” meant. Was he doing it properly for once, growing his golden core and seeking ascension? All that time spent trying to fix Xue Yang and all it took was ignoring him? It couldn’t be that simple.
Xiao Xingchen rolled over in his bed yet again. He couldn’t sleep. If Xue Yang was actually doing well, he wanted to see it. He had wanted to see it for centuries.
Just one look.
Quietly, Xiao Xingchen made his way out of his room and found his way to the edge of heaven. Looking down upon the mortals, he quickly spotted Xue Yang. His hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail, and he wore a set of dark, silky cultivation robes, perfectly fitted to his form. The only sign that this was the unruly delinquent he had watched over for multiple lifetimes was the fact that he wore no inner robes, making the man’s bare chest visible through the V of his neckline. He was sitting in his own room in the palace of the Jin Clan, and he was actually cultivating.
Xiao Xingchen watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Xue Yang’s chest as he expertly honed his breathing technique and absorbed himself deeply in his meditation. Narrowing his gaze on the visible strip of flesh where his heart was, Xiao Xingchen could clearly sense the brilliant glow of a pure, strong golden core.
—
Xue Yang reluctantly admitted to himself that the “normal” way of cultivating had its merits. When he demonstrated his abilities using only standard techniques with no demonic techniques, Jin Guangyao had let him take a set of standard cultivator missions on the clan’s behalf, which meant that he had some supplemental income with no strings attached.
The only part about it that he hated was the part that had kept him from starting earlier: the fact that it took time. Why meditate for days to achieve what one vial of blood could get you in an instant?
At the beginning, he spent all of his new earnings on candy, weapons, strange elixirs from pharmacies, and other things most of the people around him considered frivolous, excessive, or both. After a while, he realized that it could buy time and information. He couldn’t buy his way into heaven directly, but he could buy more and more advanced cultivation manuals and lessons from the disciples of masters who had since ascended.
Over time, he perfected his introduction.
“I’m Xue Yang, and I would like to be the first guest cultivator at the Jin Clan to ascend. It would bring great honor to the clan to demonstrate that they are generous with their knowledge and excellent at their craft.”
He always accompanied this statement with a saccharine smile that never quite stretched wide enough to expose the sharp points of his particularly pronounced canines. It was the most gag-inducing lie he had ever told, but it was effective. The one consolation was that he could always kill whoever he said it to after he was done learning everything he could from them. That, too, was good practice. If he was going to kill the gods themselves, then he’d have to get to the point where killing their students was easy.
Throughout it all, Xue Yang let his anger guide him. He meditated on visions of the bodies of the gods, piled up in front of him at the gates of heaven. He practiced his swordsmanship and combat until he was a fluid, automatic fighting machine. The Jin clan had hired him to be a weapon, and he sharpened himself as diligently as he did his sword.
Jin Guangyao’s mask of indifference slipped for a split second when Xue Yang rejected an order for the first time.
“I thought this would be right up your alley,” he said, resuming his placid smile as he addressed his favorite assassin.
“Oh, it is,” Xue Yang replied, “but I’ve done a little career planning, and I was thinking about what would come next.”
“If you want a raise, I’ll give you one,” Jin Guangyao said. “It’s no trouble at all.”
Xue Yang thought back to the last cultivator he had killed. He had looked so proud after teaching Xue Yang his most advanced technique. He almost felt bad for killing him while he still wore that expression of unadulterated joy. Actually, he did feel bad, but only because taking him by complete surprise meant that he didn’t put up much of a fight at all. What a boring way to go.
“Of course. Because my last paycheck was last week,” Xue Yang said. “Once I kill Jin Guangshan and make you head of the clan, you’ll have to play the part of the vengeful, mourning son of a—”
“Enough!” Jin Guangyao snapped, interrupting him. There wasn’t a single trace of a smile left on his face.
Xue Yang grinned maniacally. Very few could get Jin Guangyao to break like this, and he wore the achievement with pride.
“You’re nothing without me. If you’re refusing because you think I’ll kick you out after you finish this mission, then how about I kick you out now? Without the Jin clan’s seal of approval, you’ll just be another street rat delinquent begging for scraps,” Jin Guangyao shouted.
Xue Yang laughed. There had been a small part of him that wanted to believe that Jin Guangyao truly considered him a friend. They had committed crimes together. They had talked and laughed and shared meals. Jin Guangyao had seen his potential where everyone else just saw another worthless lowlife. But of course, that was all a lie. All his life, everyone— even the gods— had looked down on Xue Yang. It was foolish for him to expect that to change.
“Say that to me again when I’m the only god in heaven,” Xue Yang said, then turned on his heel and left.
—
Ascensions were rare, and they always happened in the central plaza. A blinding white light would shine, and a new god would appear, usually looking some combination of happy and surprised. There was usually enough time between when the light started to shine and when the process was finished that nearby gods could gather to watch the ascension and welcome the new god to their ranks.
Xiao Xingchen was meditating when an ascension began. Immediately, he heard several people rush outside, so he decided to wrap his session up early and headed out with them. He kept a steady, moderate pace, since he had seen many ascensions before, but he still wanted to give the newcomer a warm welcome shortly after their arrival.
As he approached the plaza, he heard the standard polite clapping of the crowd. The applause echoed through the streets for a few seconds, then stopped suddenly. The gods who were still walking toward the plaza slowed down and glanced around at each other.
Then, the screaming began.
Xiao Xingchen sprung into action. He pulled Shuanghua from his sheath and rode the sword as quickly as he could toward the plaza. As he flew, he saw several lesser gods running in the opposite direction with red-stained robes, clutching their wounds in pain and desperation.
He didn’t pause to think as he zipped around a corner, approaching the last turn before he reached his destination.
More and more fleeing gods screamed at him to turn around. If he looked down, he would see the still bodies of unconscious (or worse, dead?) gods who had collapsed in the middle of the road. He did not look down. His cultivation path was focused more on attacking and defending than healing. As much as he wanted to help those who were suffering, he wasn’t the best equipped for that job. The active threat was in the plaza, and Xiao Xingchen was duty-bound to stop it.
He made the final turn in his path and finally came face to face with the plaza itself.
It was nothing short of a bloodbath. Dozens of injured and unmoving gods littered the floor, and the few that were still fighting were aiming all of their attacks at a singular man. He was turned away from Xiao Xingchen and wielding a blade that radiated demonic energy.
Directly opposing the man was Song Lan.
The two of them were exchanging attacks and parries far too quickly for anyone to join in without risking accidentally hurting an ally.
Xiao Xingchen stepped off of Shuanghua, poised to attack the moment an opening presented itself.
Song Lan was the superior swordsman, though not by as large of a margin as Xiao Xingchen would’ve hoped. He was clearly on the offensive and much less frantic in his movements than his mysterious opponent, but he looked fatigued and sported a few minor injuries.
The opponent tried for a difficult spinning attack, but stumbled on the footwork. Song Lan took the opening and attacked. His sword swung through the air and missed.
It was a feint.
The other man had expertly pivoted before he hit the ground. Taking advantage of Song Lan’s momentary confusion, he tossed a fistful of powder at his face, and Song Lan collapsed almost immediately, clutching his eyes and screaming in agony.
Now that the intruder had stopped moving, Xiao Xingchen could finally get a good look at his face, and what he saw shocked him to his core.
Several other gods jumped in to attack, but several fallen bodies righted themselves to block their path.
There was a terrified shout of “Demonic cultivation!” from somewhere in the chaos. Xiao Xingchen knew this technique well. He had never used it himself, but he had seen it countless times. Every Xue Yang in every lifetime had invented the same set of nails. This Xue Yang was no different.
Xiao Xingchen locked eyes with Xue Yang as he rocketed toward him, expertly charting a path to avoid any of the corpses with nails in their necks. He knew Xue Yang would be expecting an attack. He also knew that he was going in at a disadvantage. The set of moves you could do with a sword and golden core was finite and fairly well known. The same could not be said of demonic cultivation. Xue Yang could have prepared a response to anything Xiao Xingchen threw at him, but the opposite was not true.
Wei Wuxian would have been the best person for this fight, but he was unfortunately away, traveling the mortal realm with Lan Wangji. He had been summoned to help, but waiting wasn’t an option when gods were dying left and right. There was something about that demonic blade Xue Yang wielded that allowed it to inflict permanent injuries on immortals, and it seemed that even the healers were at their wits’ end.
Every lifetime before this, Xiao Xingchen had tried to mitigate the harm that Xue Yang did to the world. What he had counted as failures were, as he realized, partial successes. Previous Xue Yangs had razed the mortal world to the ground, but none had managed to invade heaven itself. Cities could be rebuilt, clans could be reborn, but the wisdom of a slain god could never be revived. The potential damage was unfathomable. And worst of all, this was Xiao Xingchen’s fault. He had prevented this very event every time it could have happened, until now.
Xiao Xingchen made an executive decision.
Xue Yang was expecting a sword attack. His stance was tense but open, ready to spring into a defensive move against whatever Xiao Xingchen threw at him. Instead, Xiao Xingchen went for a grab. He hurtled straight into his opponent, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and taking him along for the ride. He directed Shuanghua upward, gaining altitude as quickly as he could. The demonic blade pierced through his abdomen, but he kept flying through the pain. The flesh wound wouldn’t matter compared to what he was planning to do anyway.
“I can still kill you up here!” Xue Yang shouted directly into Xiao Xingchen’s ear.
“I know,” Xiao Xingchen replied. His voice was calm, resolute. “But I can only kill you up here.”
Xue Yang’s brows knitted together in confusion.
And then, searing golden light.
Xue Yang saw it before he felt it. His body screamed in pain as pure spiritual energy ripped through him, tearing him apart at the cellular level. He let go of his sword, which was still embedded in Xiao Xingchen’s side, to grab a talisman that he kept only for emergencies like this. As his body disintegrated, so did the bloodstained paper in his hand.
Xiao Xingchen had detonated his golden core. Without any energy input, his sword was wavering, unable to maintain its altitude. His arms loosened, letting Xue Yang fall. He watched as the remains of his opponent plummet from heaven, scattering to the wind in the mortal realm. A few moments later, he fell to the ground next to Song Lan.
“I’m so sorry,” Xiao Xingchen said, grabbing his friend’s hand.
Song Lan opened his mouth, attempting to speak, but no sound came out.
“I wish I could stay longer and help you recover, but I don’t have much time left here,” Xiao Xingchen continued.
Song Lan looked distressed, still trying to say something.
“Maybe one day, you’ll see me again,” Xiao Xingchen said.
With the last fragments of his spiritual energy, he transferred his eyes to his best friend.
Song Lan opened his new eyes to see Xiao Xingchen’s limp body falling into the mortal realm.
—
Xiao Xingchen awoke to a surprising lack of pain. He felt along the side of his body for where Xue Yang’s demonic sword had impaled him and found roughly healed scar tissue where the wound should’ve been.
Song Lan had healed him. The scar still itched, and the skin was bumpy and hard— if Xiao Xingchen could see, he would be able to confirm that it was not a pretty scar. Still, after almost dying because of Xiao Xingchen, his friend had taken the effort to heal him before he fell to the mortal realm. For that, he was eternally grateful.
The sword that had only just now been inside him lay next to him, about an arm’s length away. His hand inadvertently brushed against its hilt as he scrambled to his feet. He picked it up and attached it to his belt. It wasn’t his weapon of choice, and his instincts screamed at him to get rid of it, but Shuanghua had remained in heaven, and he didn’t want to face the world unarmed. Besides, Xue Yang would reincarnate soon now that he was dead, and he didn’t want the sword to somehow find its way into his hands again.
A drop of liquid trickled down Xiao Xingchen’s face. When he reached up to wipe it, he realized it was blood, and it was coming from his now empty eye sockets. He used the sword to slice off a piece of his sleeve and tied it around as a makeshift blindfold bandage.
To be completely honest, he had no idea what to do from here. It had been centuries since he had spent any significant time in the mortal world, and he had no worldly possessions to speak of. Not to mention, he had physical needs to fulfill now. He needed to eat and drink and sleep, and he couldn’t do that out in the open in whatever unknown location this was.
Without his eyes, his ears were his best guide toward civilization. There was a running river somewhere to his left. Everything else was rustling leaves. The obvious choice was to go toward the water, but just before he turned, he picked up on a distinctly human sound. There was someone breathing heavily not too far from where he was.
“Is someone there?” he shouted, turning toward where he had heard the breathing.
There was no response, but the breathing continued. If it was close enough for him to hear, it was close enough for him to at least check its source before moving on.
Xiao Xingchen almost tripped over the man he was trying to find. His foot met something squishy, and a man’s voice yelped out in pain. He immediately jumped back, then cautiously approached.
“Are you injured?” he asked, kneeling down next to where the man was.
The man huffed, almost as if beginning to laugh, before he coughed and muttered a “yes” in a gravelly, strained voice. It must’ve been a pretty bad injury to get him in such a state. When pressed, he explained that the most significant damage was to his legs, though his whole body was worse for wear.
“If you tell me where the nearest town is, I can take you,” Xiao Xingchen offered, reaching a hand out.
No response.
“I’m not going to leave you to die out here,” he added after the silence dragged on.
The grass rustled. Xiao Xingchen assumed that the man had shifted or turned over, but he couldn’t be sure.
“I don’t actually know where the nearest town is,” the man said. His voice was still hoarse, but seemed stronger, more confident.
“That’s ok,” Xiao Xingchen said. It would have been nice if the man were a knowledgeable local, but he’d meant it when he said he wasn’t leaving the stranger to die. “I think we can help each other. I can be your legs, and you can be my eyes. We’ll keep each other safe until we’re healed and settled.”
Xiao Xingchen extended a hand and waited.
A few moments later, a smaller, rougher hand grabbed his.
“Deal.”