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Secluded and treacherous. Desolate and 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨— enough to melt the skin of a normal human. That was the kiln.
Lawless, with only to kill and survive, to become stronger and rid those who are weaker. That was the concluding goal.
In the end there only existed me inside.
No one left but myself that scorched in sin.
That dark and cursed place was where I remained for 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, there was almost nothing I could make out, only a few cracks that streamed light and water that dripped from who knows where, unbearable silence that swallows the sounds of screeching rodents.
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴.
Amongst those shadows, there's a statue— tall and sturdy, it's form high and mighty, imposing. A Divine Statue.
Gods…. pretentious bastards who look down on mortals, who have no pity or remorse. Gods. All seeing, all knowing, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵.
I had thought to myself that whoever put a statue of a god in a place of iniquity and massacre, a place where ghosts desire to be inextinguishable and almighty even above the gods themselves was 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.
But, the hands of that statue, I admit that I had found some sort of home to it. In the darkness I was not able to tell who this god was, there was no distinguishable spiritual device, no striking features of well known gods, not even a style that I could recognize, like something lost in time.
𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 .
Those large stone hands were my only companion, the only place to lay and be safe. I had spent my endless nights there enduring the crackling heat and the sounds of howling ghosts, right there on those enormous delicate hands.
Such a gigantic statue yet still carved with so much precision that one would be able to tell who it is with only a glance. It was unfortunate during that time, that shelter of mine was swallowed in darkness. A face blurred by the never-ending sea of ink.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯? 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯…. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥.
Those twelve years I spent in the kiln, I envisioned my plot for vengeance, I waited patiently to become an unstoppable force, I had wanted to rid of those guilty in my name, yet—
𝘏𝘶𝘢 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘨. 𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳.
Somehow I ended up with that fool shortly after I left the kiln. A ghost king, the same as me. He was there waiting for me.
Red robes, silver vambraces, black boots, silver bells, hair darker than night, skin pale and lifeless, tall…...handsome.
He had stood in front of me with a smirk, an eye filled with mischief and the other that held mysteries covered with an eye patch.
I had wondered how I ended up in debt to this ghost king shrouded in haze.
I had wondered how I became a figure associated with him. A guard dog, a toy, a convenient device, a 𝘱𝘢𝘸𝘯 for his endless game of chess.
Shouldered with the task of finding 𝘩𝘪𝘴 god.
That god. I pondered why he insisted on searching for someone that has almost been wiped from history, someone who left nothing but tales of downfall and humiliation.
I still hate myself for eagerly wanting to know the origins of those statues when in fact the revelation that the hands of those countless and thousands of statues were carved by none other than this most feared nightmare of the heavens made my stomach 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘯 and left me puzzling who that god could be, brooding over who had made the seemingly inscrutable, cold hearted, blood raining demon devote his life and abundant loyalty to.
How could someone praise and be fully devoted to someone? Let alone a 𝘨𝘰𝘥. I never understood. Why worship gods who are no less than scum.
How could he—a 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨— hound for someone who's fallen from grace.
𝘐 𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦.
As the decades passed, I got used to hearing 𝘩𝘪𝘴 god’s name, but— I never said it didn't leave me sour.
𝘐 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘮.
Every conversation with that ghost donned in red had tasted bitter to me, dissembling at the mention of 𝘟𝘪𝘦 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘯 the crown prince of Xian Le, the flower crowned martial god.
I came to hate this god above any other deity without ever having known anything of him other than what I heard nor having seen his face. This hatred was something peculiar, it wasn't the loathe and repugnance I had felt towards a certain pair of gods. This was unlike anything that I had felt before, it was like a million odious spiders that crawled about, an itch, something that twisted in my gut, a foul feeling that suffocated my throat, a squeeze at my heart.
𝘖𝘩– and how could I forget his eye… so full of adoration, so soft and 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵. There was a sparkle in his eye, it twinkled and held books upon books of words that he always tried to contain. I wanted to put out that light in his eye so bad. How could I bear to gaze into his eye any longer? Everytime I met his gaze I became muddleheaded.
I had thought that if I pulled the string of his eye patch, could I see what the other eye held? Would it be the same or would it contain the answers to mysteries and secrets that's kept locked away in his heart?
𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸.
Up in the heavens I pranced in the guise of a god I had turned bone. My purpose was not to mingle with the gods but to eradicate those who have wronged me in my living years. I was there to slowly poison and pluck out those who showed me no mercy and ripped me of my fate for their own benefit. I was there for myself and for Hua Cheng, his hidden eyes and ears. I was satisfied with corrupting the heavens slowly, carrying out my plan meticulously….. but why…. Why did everything shatter because of 𝘩𝘪𝘮?
The moment he ascended again rivaled the most dreadful day of my entire existence. How- 𝘩𝘰𝘸 did everything that could have gone wrong happen!
When I finally saw his face, how could I move? It felt like something was slowly cracking and falling apart inside me, a sinking sensation I wished I could ignore, his face was like an epiphany, a manifestation of all my insecurities, his entire being a thorn lodged into my lungs, as a frightening understanding of all my bitter resent towards him.
I haven't felt that burn of passion and intense vigor in so long that I had almost forgotten what it was. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦. Me, in love, with a man at that. How could that be? I didn't understand myself. What was there to love? Where did love blossom?
Why was it him? I searched myself for answers and asked myself questions. I didn't understand, I still don't— 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧— Maybe it was the way his hair fluttered in the wind with longing in his face, his unguarded heart when he thought I couldn't tell the words of self-mockery disguised as a confident front. Perhaps I've been lonely for so long that knowing I wasn't the only one like myself, who worked towards the same goal, who partially saw the world the same as I, perhaps, that ignited emotions I thought I wasn't capable of anymore.
These excuses of debt, the pretense of friendship, my repressed years of emotions, and everything the both of us have suffered through. Did all of these matter? Was it worth it?
In this world, I'm destined to never achieve the epitome of humanity, the summit of existence, what makes life worth living and re-living— 𝘏𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. True genuine ecstasy of freedom, knowing, love, and empathy.
I realized this when I never got the satisfaction of revenge. Not when I killed that who wronged me, not when I showed mercy, not when I watched from the sidelines a torrent fervent love story, not when the love story had ended in tragedy, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘺.
My heart scattered just like your figure bursting into a thousand silver butterflies, flown away into something I couldn't grasp.
I've always thought I would never lose to your beloved, I always thought I knew you better, that I was with you longer, I wanted to believe I was better, yet, when I saw him desperately clutching onto your fading body and the look of the bittersweet sorrow and love that I could only imagine from you. I knew, I had lost, I've never been close.
Those desperate cries from your beloved was the only thing that filled my ears as my eyes only watched the remnants of silver dissipate into nothing.
That was goodbye. An unwilling excruciating farewell.
Your beloved who still waits atop Mount Taicang. Swallowed in orange maple and passing seasons, passing years, decades, centuries. He still waits even though he knows it's over, even though he knows you're never coming back, even though the bright red of the string wrapped around his finger has dulled.
Everything you've left, it's in my hands now. Everything that was yours, it's now my possession. Your beloved is now under my silent care, your city, your people.
Do you not pity your beloved?
Do you not pity 𝘮𝘦?
Why.
Why did you love till there was nothing left.
You've left me everything you have except for what I yearn for, what I want most.
Everything is now mine except for your heart.