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Oftentimes, Song Lan found himself deep in thought. He wondered what life would be like now if he had made different choices, if he hadn’t lashed out at Xiao Xingchen after his friend gave him his eyes. Maybe, they would be roaming the world together again, side by side, maybe they would have settled somewhere. Maybe Song Lan would have had the courage to confess his love, and maybe Xiao Xingchen would have returned his feelings.
“Corpse,” a familiar voice echoed through the empty room, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. “I have a new idea for Xiao Xingchen. It might actually work this time.”
This, Song Lan thought bitterly, was his reality. Undead, mute, a slave to the person he hated most, unable to do anything against it. Xue Yang had been searching for a way to revive Xiao Xingchen for more than seven years, and not once had he gotten close. Song Lan hoped Xue Yang would never find a way to bring him back, would spare him this life. It was a grim thought, but Xiao Xingchen’s soul should be allowed to rest, even if it meant that it would never be able to find a new body, would never be reincarnated, and while Song Lan would likely spend eternity roaming the world as a fierce corpse, him and Xingchen would never meet again, not even in another lifetime. Song Lan barely listened as Xue Yang explained his idea.
“So, this way, his soul should be intact again, he’ll be alive, and he could even be reincarnated. You’d like that, huh? I sure hope I won’t ever be reincarnated. You should make sure of that when I die. In fact, I command you to do that. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure to destroy my soul beyond saving. You’d enjoy that. View it as a treat. A gift if you like.”
What had truly started to annoy Song Lan over the years was the moral dilemma that Xue Yang's entire existence presented over and over again. Deliberately destroying a soul was wrong, but would it be right in a case like Xue Yang's? It was a punishment much graver than death, to prevent reincarnation. It should be wrong, but Song Lan couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement when he thought about taking everything from Xue Yang just like he had taken everything from him at Baixue.
Song Lan had seen sides of Xue Yang he hadn’t known existed. Xue Yang was known as a demonic cultivator unimpressed, unaffected, by pain, but Song Lan had seen him frown and pace around restlessly the day before a heavy storm, had seen him stay in bed for days, clutching his hand and gritting his teeth through the pain. He’d heard pathetic whimpers, the endless rustling of blankets in fruitless attempts to find a painless position to sleep in. Song Lan had not been aware of the reason why Xue Yang could handle pain as well as he did, but every time the bad weather got to him, he thought that maybe, that lost finger was a larger burden to Xue Yang than he ever let on.
He’d heard what Xue Yang had told Xiao Xingchen, moments before he- Song Lan didn’t want to think about it. No matter how many people he killed, it would never make up for the loss of his finger. Somehow, in a twisted way, Song Lan began to understand. The pain came frequently, hit hard, and even when the weather was good, Song Lan could feel the tension in Xue Yang’s arm, all the way up to his shoulders and down his spine. The pain never left – only got more or less intense depending on the weather – and living with it had made Xue Yang so dull to it that he barely felt a sword piercing through his stomach. Song Lan couldn’t imagine being in grave pain day in, day out, but he knew what pain could do to children. One day, Xue Yang told a story to him, or to Xiao Xingchen, or to himself, Song Lan never quite knew who he was talking to. It was about a little boy without parents or a home to return to, still naïve and oblivious to the horrors of the world. Song Lan had met many of these children. He’d seen them on the streets, crippled and hopeless, begging for food or money, and although Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen had always given them what they had to offer, they had walked roads twice and met different children, the ones they’d seen a few weeks or months prior already dead. Xue Yang had survived. “That cultivator offered the boy a mountain of pastries in exchange for delivering a letter, and the boy accepted, of course. It smelled so delicious, and he would have never been able to afford so many sweets by himself. The man he delivered the letter to wasn’t pleased with whatever the letter said. The boy couldn’t read, but he had delivered, and so, he got a beating. The cultivator had already left when the boy came to collect his reward, but he saw him again a while later! The boy went up to the man, asking him for the pastries he was promised, but he was kicked and whipped, and then, the cultivator ran him over with his ox cart. The little boy’s hand was crushed, his finger nothing more but battered flesh. Was the boy wrong for wanting revenge? I don’t think so.” Song Lan didn’t think so either.
A few weeks later, days after a storm, Xue Yang told another story, this time directed at Song Lan.
“Nobody cares about a crippled kid,” he said. “When my finger started to rot, nobody cared. Nobody helped. You think you’re so noble and mighty for passing by a town and feeding the children, but once you’re gone, they will starve again. They’ll be in pain again. I had to cut my finger myself, did you know that? If I hadn’t, then I would have died like all those other kids on the street. Maybe the dogs would have eaten me alive. They do that sometimes when a child is weak and almost dead. I’ve seen people kill and eat each other, too. I’m not sure what you imagine life on the streets to be like, but people died every day right in front of my eyes, and nobody ever cared about them. I don’t know why I’m even talking about this, none of you would get it anyway. Xiao Xingchen didn’t understand when I tried to tell him. You wouldn’t understand either. Sometimes, an eye for an eye is not enough.” Once again, Song Lan found himself agreeing. He hated it, to share Xue Yang’s opinion, but he’d always been hesitant to leave a town with many homeless people, always wondered if there was any way to help them even after they left. He had never figured it out. Together with Xiao Xingchen, he had tried to help them temporarily, but Xue Yang was right when he said that once they were gone, the people would suffer again. Their deeds likely didn’t save anyone, maybe merely delayed an already slow death.
With time, Song Lan began to understand how Xue Yang’s brain worked, and yet, he could never even begin to understand why he had to go so far, why he was convinced that the mass murders of the Yueyang Chang clan and Baixue temple were justified. Xue Yang seemed entirely incapable of regret, didn’t value a life other than his own, but then again, he did seem to regret Xiao Xingchen’s death. Song Lan didn’t know why, didn’t know if Xue Yang was genuinely upset about or merely bothered by it. Xiao Xingchen was special to Xue Yang in a way, but Song Lan couldn’t quite figure out why.
Xue Yang wasn’t scared of death, that’s what everyone thought they knew, but Song Lan knew better. He’d heard Xue Yang vocalise his thoughts for years, maybe because he assumed Song Lan wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t listen or remember.
"Never thought I'd be scared of dying one day,” he’d said one day. “But I am, isn't that weird? I don't want to die before he wakes up."
Xue Yang didn’t expect an answer. Song Lan wouldn’t have known how to reply anyway.
Things became weird a few days later. Xue Yang hadn’t been working on Xiao Xingchen’s revival ever since he’d mentioned his death. Xue Yang never once skipped a day. Instead, he kept mumbling, looking at Xiao Xingchen, going out for longer than he had before, always alone.
“I could just slit my own throat,” Song Lan heard him say under his breath one time. “That would be easy. But it would make Xiao Xingchen upset. I don't want to upset Xiao Xingchen.”
If Song Lan could, he would have frowned. Where did this come from? Since when did he care about Xingchen’s feelings? Why did he even talk about it like he was planning to die?
“I could make a poison instead,” Xue Yang continued, kneading his left hand. He did that when something stressed him out. “I don't like how long it takes to kill, though. It's painful. Maybe I could just jump from a high place, have some fun before I die.” He laughed. It didn’t sound like it used to.
It was getting late, the sun already low on the horizon, and Xue Yang undressed, but not like he usually did when he was getting ready for bed. Strangely, Xue Yang was a very private man when it came to his body. Song Lan had never seen his left hand bare, without the glove. He had also never even seen a flash of skin beneath the robes, never seen him bare. Xue Yang sent him out of the room or made Song Lan turn his back whenever he was taking a bath or changing his robes. Even though it would have fitted his rude personality, Xue Yang didn’t sleep naked. He always went to bed with at least two layers of clothing, always ready to leave or fight in an instant. This time, Xue Yang stripped every last layer right in front of him, his nude body glowing in the last few rays of sunlight shining through the windows. He commanded Song Lan to kneel, and his body did, no matter how hard he tried to resist. Xue Yang opened Song Lan’s robes as well, not undressing him completely yet enough for his chest and genitals to be exposed. Song Lan couldn’t even close his eyes. Suddenly, there was a talisman on his stomach, heat spreading inside, and before he understood what it was doing to him, Xue Yang suddenly fell down on his knees above Song Lan’s hips, lining himself up, and sinking down on his hard cock with a quiet gasp. Song Lan barely understood what was happening. Xue Yang didn’t talk, didn’t show his face, simply clung to Song Lan’s shoulders as he moved. It was dry and rough, and it couldn’t possibly feel good or satisfying, but Xue Yang didn’t stop. He shuddered after a particularly hard thrust, kept going with the same force, until warm stickiness coated Song Lan’s stomach. Xue Yang hid his face in the crook of Song Lan’s neck, his entire body trembling as he came, and then suddenly, Song Lan’s shoulder was wet. Hot tears rolled down Xue Yang’s cheeks as quiet whimpers turned into sobs. Song Lan hated him, hated him so much, for everything he’d done, to Song Lan and to Xiao Xingchen and to innocent people. Xue Yang had used him just now, and although Song Lan wished he could simply cut his head clean off his shoulders, seeing Xue Yang cry made his heart sting in a weird way.
When Xue Yang stood and left, Song Lan thought he heard him apologise under his breath. What the apology was meant for, he didn’t know.
It was only the next day when Xue Yang's screams ripped Song Lan out of thought, and his instincts made him rush towards the source. Your master needs assistance, his corrupted brain told him.
When he arrived at the scene, Xue Yang's mouth was bleeding down to his neck, his arms were all red, and... There was a knife in his right hand, a bloody tongue in the other. He got up without a smile, his eyes sharp despite the blood loss, and slapped a talisman onto Song Lan's chest.
'Sit still,' a voice said in his thoughts, and although his face could not impress it and his body wouldn't listen to his own commands anymore, Song Lan was terrified. He sat, obeying the command in his head, couldn't move as Xue Yang started stitching his own tongue into Song Lan's mouth, still warm and bloody and-
'Move it.'
To Song Lan's surprise, it worked well.
'Speak.'
No sound left his throat.
'Thought so. Gonna need a little push. Be patient for one more day.'
And gone he was. Song Lan wanted to scream.
‘Corpse,’ Xue Yang’s voice rang through his thoughts the next day. ‘Come over.’
He was lying on his bed, in a room next to Xiao Xingchen’s, still resting, letting his core try and heal his self-inflicted injury. Since the day before, he had barely moved around, but there were some metal tools lying on the table not far away from him now, a written note with shaky drawings of an eye underneath them.
‘Read it and then remove them. Don’t wanna do it by myself. I wonder if it will give you any satisfaction.’
Song Lan’s body moved on his own as he pinned Xue Yang down and forced one of his eyes open with two fingers. His other hand followed with one of the tools the note had described, and before he knew it, Xue Yang’s eye was not staring straight at him anymore. Song Lan wanted to flinch, to stop what his body was doing and run away to throw up, but instead, he lay the eyeball down on a tray Xue Yang had prepared, and instantly removed the other. His hands remained calm as Xue Yang squirmed beneath him, his rattling breaths short and heavy, an occasional whimper or scream leaving his throat. When it was over, Xue Yang commanded him to leave, to put the eyeballs into Xiao Xingchen’s sockets. Song Lan could barely think straight, too shocked by what had just happened, and once again, his body did what it had been ordered to do. Song Lan was glad he didn’t have to be there mentally when his hands put Xue Yang’s eyes where Xingchen’s own should have been.
Xue Yang walked in a few minutes later, his back hunched, putting his entire weight on Jiangzai, and Song Lan had never seen him so… small. His eyes were bleeding, his body thin and frail, and Song Lan realised that the Xue Yang standing beside him now was barely a silhouette of the crazy murderer he’d known years ago.
Xue Yang knelt down beside Xiao Xingchen, reaching out a shaky hand to touch his forehead, releasing a burst of energy that would have knocked Xue Yang back if Song Lan hadn’t caught him. Holding Xue Yang in his arms like that reminded him of the night a few weeks ago, but compared to then, Xue Yang now felt much lighter. Song Lan tried to remember when he had last eaten anything, but not a single instance came to his mind. He wondered why he even cared. He shouldn’t care, not about Xue Yang, not about the man who had wiped out his friends and family, killed everyone dear to him and more. And yet. Was Xue Yang showing remorse? Giving his tongue, his eyes, his life.
There was a touch at the back of his neck, a finger slowly feeling upwards until it hit a nail.
‘Kill me afterwards, yeah? My death is long overdue anyway, and I’m sure you’d like your revenge, no matter how noble you are. Don’t let Xiao Xingchen see me. You can just live happily ever after just like you always wanted, without me ruining everything for you. Wouldn’t you like that?’
A sharp pain pierced through Song Lan’s head as Xue Yang pulled the nail out. He could feel Xue Yang’s control over him fading, could finally move on his own, could feel the foreign tongue in his mouth. Another sting and he tasted dried blood. It took a few seconds to get used to the regained control, and a few more to figure out what to do with it. Xue Yang collapsed, and this time, Song Lan was too slow to catch him. It would have been easy to kill him now, to pierce his heart with Fuxue while he was weak and- Down there, he reminded Song Lan of A-Qing. Blind and mute in the end, helpless. Even Xue Yang couldn’t do much like this. There was a certain irony to it. A-Qing’s death was the one thing he couldn’t undo, her life he couldn’t give back anymore. Song Lan wondered if he had tried. He’d been able to give his tongue to Song Lan, despite how much they hated each other, his eyes to Xiao Xingchen, who had willingly given away his own, and yet, there was nothing he could have done to bring A-Qing back.
“Zichen,” a voice sounded through the room, and Song Lan turned around to lock eyes with Xiao Xingchen, seated, confused, dressed in white robes, looking almost as Song Lan remembered him from times when both of them were still alive.
“Xingchen,” he said, his voice cracking, but it worked, the tongue allowed him to speak, and although it horrified Song Lan, he couldn’t bring himself to care about it in this moment. He didn’t spare Xue Yang a glance as he rushed to Xingchen’s side, taking his face in his hands, unable to comprehend how he could possibly be alive.
“I killed you. I killed myself. Xue Yang…”
“He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Where is he? Did you kill him?”
“Not yet.” Song Lan gritted his teeth, leaning to the side to let Xiao Xingchen look at Xue Yang who was leaning to a wall, barely holding up. His breath was irregular, his eyes and mouth bleeding again. It wouldn’t be much longer until he died. It should give Song Lan a feeling of satisfaction to see Xue Yang die a slow death, but his heart felt hollow. After all he’d done, after everything Song Lan had lost, Xue Yang’s death wasn’t wrong or unfair or undeserved, and yet, it didn’t feel right for him to die after leading Xingchen and him back together.
Xingchen looked at Xue Yang, back at Song Lan, back to Xue Yang. The silence was deafening.
“I understand,” Xingchen said. Song Lan himself didn’t understand. Somehow, Xue Yang’s thoughts were clearer to him than Xingchen’s were. “We shall see how it goes then, if he survives.”
Xue Yang did survive. Song Lan knew he wasn’t happy with it. Sometimes, it felt as if Xingchen didn’t want to live either, but in the next moment, the two of them were lying in bed together, their bodies entangled, their minds free, and everything just felt right. Xingchen never forgave Xue Yang for his actions, not even many years later, and Song Lan didn’t either. It should have been hard to roam the world together with him, but they grew used to their silent companion. He didn’t belong with them, but he also didn’t belong with anyone else, so they just let him stay as long as he didn’t cause any trouble.
Xue Yang had changed. They all acknowledged it. Things were far from perfect, weren’t even good, but they weren’t bad. There was tension between them, almost at all times, and yet, Xue Yang never snapped. He was annoyed sometimes, frustrated, especially with the loss of his ability to see and speak, but as the months and years went by, they started to communicate. It didn’t feel right to have Xue Yang with them, but after some time, it didn’t feel wrong anymore. Xue Yang had made sacrifices to redeem himself before death that never came, had given Song Lan his voice and Xingchen his sight back. It shouldn’t change anything, and yet it did. If it hadn’t been for Xue Yang’s ‘gifts’ as he called them, Song Lan didn’t know if they would have left him alive. They healed, all of them, slowly, over the years, until things weren’t bad, weren’t good. Until they were okay.