Once they were out of the earthen pit tomb and things were settled with Qingshan’s elders regarding her deceased body, a whirlwind of thoughts had hit Liu Ying so fiercely that he nearly staggered where he stood.

Too many things had happened, too many implications were made. He thought about the encounter with Han Chuanli and Xu Qiang, how strongly they suspected him and how close they were with perhaps uncovering his true identity. They seemed intent, angry, and determined – they might even return to Qingshan soon to follow up on the case they were building against him, the meandering mortal that somehow survived a fatal demonic attack that only a highly-ranked cultivator or a god could survive. Namely, a god that’s been missing for a hundred years.

He also thought of Chen Yun, the mysterious cultivator that may or may not have had overlapping secrets with his own. When he had spoken to Duan Baozhai in the tomb about what her divine curse had been all those years ago, an array of details that had flown over his head up until them had come crashing down around him. The small gestures, the barely-there smile, the way he looked at him as though he’d known him for centuries. The way he spoke, the things he said. The disappointed glances, the somber looks on his face whenever Liu Ying told him a fallacy – how could it all have slipped past his usual careful attention to detail? But alas, none of those things were concrete proof that Chen Yun wasn’t who he claimed to be, and it sent his mind reeling. Was he inadvertently projecting a reality in his mind due to his own circumstances or were these real, tangible clues he had just been too preoccupied to focus on?

Of course, he’d been too consumed with the task at hand – finding Duan Baozhai, but also escaping the throes of Ludong and fleeing the watchful eyes of the Gods of Wind and Earth. Two things with a competing urgency that ultimately swirled into what he was facing now – uncertainty and Duan Baozhai’s words reverberating in his head.

“Everything, every minute detail, had been arranged just so.”

That was a fearsome thought. That despite all of his precautions and care, after one hundred years of running, destiny thought it best that he be suddenly honed in on by three gods on all sides. The speed in which it all happened was confounding, and Liu Ying cursed himself for getting lost in it all, only truly noticing the situation he was in until he was almost trapped.

He needed a way to confirm his suspicions. Guesswork was not part of his arsenal of skills despite all of the time he put into it. It only served to keep him up at night and drive him mad with worry.

Chen Yun seemed to notice his thoughtful silence, because he slipped away for a moment before returning to the log Liu Ying was sitting on that overlooked the setting sun above the rice fields, and held out a warm meat bun. Liu Ying took it slowly, unable to make eye contact with the cultivator as he did.

Chen Yun sat beside him in silence for a moment before speaking up, “Here I thought I’d be getting that earful I was promised.”

Liu Ying didn’t reply right away, instead chewing thoughtfully on the meat bun, and he could tell that it made Chen Yun uncomfortable from how he occasionally shifted and stole sideways glances at him.

“... I need to leave Qingshan.”

“Is that what’s rendered the long-winded Xiao Fan speechless? The thought of those gods returning? I don’t think they will so soon. I hear that destroying another god’s altar or shrine warrants punishment in the heavens.”

Liu Ying wanted to scoff but he held it down. An offense like that usually ended in a firm talking to from the Emperor of the Heavenly Realm and then some sort of retribution, be it in the form of reconstruction or giving up one of their own shrines, but it was ultimately left to the two parties to decide how to settle the score. Knowing the Harvest Goddess, she wouldn’t be happy unless the retribution was granted ten-fold, so Chen Yun had a solid point. Han Chuanli and Xu Qiang would probably be tied up for a while.

“You knew they were coming, didn’t you?” Liu Ying asked, “That’s why you wanted to stay in the village.”

“I could tell there was a strong influx of divine qi approaching, yes. They aren’t necessarily subtle… I had hoped they would just run right past Qingshan.”

“Why did you hide it from me?”

“Hm… Well, I wasn’t sure who they were coming for. For you, for me, for Duan Baozhai… Who could have known? How could I explain to you, without you thinking the worst, that I may or may not have had two gods on my trail?”

Liu Ying blinked at him.

I can’t tell if he’s trying to confuse me or if he thinks I’m stupid.

“Why would they be on your trail?”

“If I answered that question honestly, could you do the same?” Chen Yun asked.

… Actually, he may just be diabolical.

He looked away, back towards the rice fields and the shimmering water. “Forget what I asked.”

“I’ll take you out of Qingshan. Wherever you want.”

The words made Liu Ying freeze. Even his breath stopped in his chest it took a moment to recall how to exhale. “Why?” he blurted.

“Well, I did just offend the Gods of Wind and Earth, didn’t I? I should also make haste. And I don’t want to be back with my sect before they get the chance to hear about this.”

It appears he really is going to stick to his story… I won’t be able to wrangle it out of him with just words. I need proof he can’t deny or explain away.

But what now? He must be as nearly certain that I’m not really Xiao Fan than I am that he isn’t Chen Yun. I suspect he isn’t here to cause me any detriment even if he does know my true identity, as he’s had many opportunities to turn me in if he wanted to, but I’m afraid that despite wanting to trust him, I cannot afford to allow myself to be in a vulnerable position… I cannot return to the Heavenly Realm.

… I’ll just have to keep my wits about me.

“The offense you caused was heedless. I could have talked my way out of it if you had let me, like I always do. Don’t put yourself in unfavorable situations because of me,” Liu Ying chided lightly.

“I don’t do anything heedless, Xiao Fan. Of that, you can be certain.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth, Liu Ying wanted to say. Zhou Hui was always quick to put himself in harm’s way in someone else’s defense, always quick to accept fault where he had none. He wasn’t the heavens’ Golden Boy without reason. They’d gotten into spats in the past because of this, where Liu Ying accused him of being downright gullible for helping slimy gods who badmouthed him behind his back but were reduced to beggars whenever they needed assistance.

Liu Ying decided to drop the subject with a defeated sigh, and instead said, “The teahouse owner mentioned there were two spare rooms above it that we could use, didn’t he? I suppose we should get some rest after all the traveling we’ve been doing…”

“Agreed,” Chen Yun said, slowly getting to his feet and stretching out his arms, “Although, you look like you have something else on your mind.”

“I always have something on my mind,” Liu Ying mumbled, “Maybe too many things to count. But something I ask myself is – what if the Gods of Wind and Earth send someone else in their stead? Someone craftier?”

Chen Yun was quiet for a moment but eventually shrugged, “How much craftier than setting fire to the Harvest Goddess’ altar can one get?”

A laugh broke across Liu Ying’s face, surprising even himself. Chen Yun stared at him blankly for a moment, almost as though he was being thrown off guard, and Liu Ying quickly looked away in embarrassment.

In what seemed like an effort to save them both the awkwardness, Chen Yun said, “I apologize. You have a laugh that reminds me of someone.”

–

The stairs that led up to the dusty second floor of the teahouse creaked with every step, and they led into a small space with two doors adjacent to each other, and one on the other side. Inside, the rooms seemed to be halfway storage spaces, filled with boxes and shelves, but also complete with tea tables, bedrolls and windows to air out some of the dust. The third room contained a washtub and clean cloth, along with a stained wood-framed mirror hung precariously on the wall.

“Better than many of the tree branches I’ve slept in,” Liu Ying murmured, blowing a thin coat of dust from one of the shelves in the room he had claimed.

“I’m sorry?” Chen Yun said by the doorway, somehow having caught what he said, “Tree branches? Like… a monkey?”

Liu Ying blinked at him from over his shoulder. “Like… someone without other options? Yes. Exactly like that.”

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“I can imagine there was more than enough ground for you to sleep on when you made the decision to dangle your limbs off of a branch instead.”

“Not every place is safe enough to sleep on the ground, you know. Wild animals, surrounding bandit camps, demons. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’ve lived too lofty a life to know what any of those concerns are like.”

Liu Ying hadn’t meant to say the words in a harsh way, but sometimes banter could go off the rails if one wasn’t careful. He felt bad when his comment was followed by silence, but tried to push it away by busying himself with opening the window and letting in some fresh night air. When he turned back around, Chen Yun was gone and could be heard shaking out the sheet to his bedroll in the other room.

In a cursory attempt at an apology for the quip, Liu Ying allowed a few minutes to go by before he appeared at Chen Yun’s doorway and asked him if he wanted tea before heading to bed. Chen Yun gave a nod before rifling through his basket and withdrew two copper bowls and a small woven satchel full of dried tea leaves. There was an old teapot in the midst of the storage items which served perfectly well after they gave it a rinse and Chen Yun used his spiritual power to bring the water inside of it to a quick boil. Liu Ying briefly made a jest about his seemingly bottomless bamboo basket, which earned him a forced smirk. Frankly, it was enough for him. It was very rare that he was able to make Zhou Hui upset when he didn’t mean to or they weren’t actively arguing about something, so he had wondered why he seemed suddenly sensitive about his not-very-funny ‘lofty life’ comment, but he shrugged it off. Things may have very well changed in one hundred years and it was possible that he just couldn’t read him like he used to.

The following day, they rested for the entirety of it. Liu Ying hadn’t realized how tired and low on spiritual energy he was until he found himself sleeping for an absurd amount of hours in a row, even managing to completely sleep through Chen Yun knocking on the door and then poking his head inside to ask if he wanted to eat anything. When he was met with nothing but silence, Chen Yun closed the door and allowed him to rest for however long he needed.

When night fell, things began to change. In the silence of the small storage room, what was previously a heavy, welcome slumber began to morph into sharp images and sensations in Liu Ying’s resting mind.

“Ah… even death tastes like sin.”

In his dream, Liu Ying startled when he heard the old woman’s voice reverberate in the space surrounding him. He looked around in the darkness, trying to focus his eyes to hone in on something, anything, that would reveal where he was but all he could see were traces of barely visible outlines of objects he couldn’t distinguish. Something overheard looked like a low-hanging tree branch. Something else directly across from him looked like bushes and shrubbery.

He was too afraid to move towards or away from anything, a pang of panic shooting through his chest like a poison arrow.

“Everything, every minute detail, had been arranged just so.”

Liu Ying’s eyes began to get accustomed to the darkness and the strange outlines began to take shape right before him. He was in the middle of a dense forest that didn’t even allow a shred of moonlight to sneak past the tree crowns overhead. Something by his feet was dripping languidly in a small puddle. Looking closer, Liu Ying made a choked noise and instinctively stepped backwards, holding out his arm in front of him.

His robe sleeve was torn nearly in shreds but the puddle of crimson blood hadn’t come from him. In his left hand, he was holding the dagger that Duan Baozhai had given him to fight off the demon Jielong.

Bite, and be bitten.

The dagger was coated in fresh blood that dripped off the slender blade. It fell from his hand almost instantly and fell into the puddle on the ground. Where had so much blood come from?

Then, there was a slight shake in the bushes coming from behind him, sending a shock through his system. Liu Ying attempted to draw spiritual energy into his palms in preparation, but he realized with a start that it was all gone, zapped from his reserves like the last dregs of water in a drought. In a whirlwind of haste, he began to run, fleeing deeper into the dark forest that swallowed him up in its unforgiving mouth.

It was hard to breathe around what felt like his heart lodged in his throat, and his chest burned. No one direction seemed to lead anywhere – it was like a maze with no entrance or exit, just darkness and boots pounding against the leaves and dirt.

Something moved rapidly above him, within the tree crowns. Liu Ying’s knees nearly gave out from the surprise and he halted suddenly to try and catch a glimpse of what it was. There was a shadow sitting on one of the highest branches, legs dangling back and forth as though to tease him.

“You won’t get anywhere like this. You’re wounded prey in a lair of wolves.”

The voice didn’t sound like it came from the shadow, instead curled around him closely in a whisper, hot against his ears.

“Running from the consequences to your actions won’t get you any further away from them. They’re tied to you like an anchor, pulling you further into the water until all you can do is writhe and drown. Drowning… sounds like adequate retribution to an immortal, doesn’t it? Especially for what you’ve done.”

Another shadow appeared from behind a tree several feet away, completely faceless but just the tilt of its head was enough to send shivers up Liu Ying’s spine. He took a step back, fear wringing him by the neck so tightly, his breaths came out in painful huffs.

“Before you’re sent off to answer for your actions, why wouldn’t we want to exact some of the justice we believe is noble and true? We’ll tie you to an anchor and let you down into a deep river, where you can drown, faint, reawaken and drown all over again! Repeatedly, for days, until all hope has left you. How satisfying.” It sounded cruel, low, and gravelly.

A looming presence prickled the back of Liu Ying’s neck, and he whipped around to see a third shadow, the figure familiar in its build.

The whisper belonging to the shadow behind him was softer, closer, but felt like needles on his skin. “That’s not what you truly fear, is it? ‘Death’ is trivial.”

“Shut up!” Liu Ying finally snapped, trembling from head to toe, “Shut the fuck up!”

“Won’t you return to us? What are you so afraid of?” The whisper became harsher with each word, “Won’t you let me bring you back? I’ll bring you back – when you least expect it! When you turn your back, when you lay to rest… I’ll be there, like a shadow.”

Pressing the palms of his hands against his ears, he screamed until his voice was hoarse, “Stop! Stop! Just banish me! Leave me alone! I can’t trust you – any of you!”

A silver gleam passed his eyes - the dagger he had dropped. Pupils blown wide. The slice of metal in the air. A scream pierced the night.

Liu Ying’s body jolted into an upright position.

A rivulet of cold sweat coursed down from his temple and his hands shook. It took a long moment for him to realize he was still in the spare storage room above the teahouse in Qingshan, and it took even longer for him to gather his bearings enough to stand up and catch his breath by the window.

The night air was cold and felt nice against his heated skin, but it could only do so much to calm the storm of thoughts raining down over his head. Perhaps he was being thoughtless, illogical and spurred by emotion, but in the span of a few minutes, he made a decision that had him fixing up the room and gathering his belongings. He managed to find a spread of parchment in one of the storage crates and sat down by the tea table to summon a bit of spiritual energy and form written words on the page from his mind.

Chen Yun,

I apologize for the sudden change in plans. I’m no longer able to travel with you. I don’t believe you harbor malice, but I don’t have room to trust anyone at the moment.

In the future, I hope our paths cross again, under different circumstances. Perhaps, I think, we may have met in a past life, and that is why we seem so familiar to one another. Who’s to say? Maybe we’ll meet in the life after this one, too.

Thank you for the kind things you have done for me. I do not take them lightly. Please take care.

By the way, I will take that chatty man’s mule with me. Don’t worry, I’ll return it to him when I get the chance.

Xiao Fan.

Liu Ying very slowly opened the door to his room and crept out of it, careful not to make any noise. Chen Yun’s door was firmly closed – he was probably asleep, and that was the perfect scenario. He could easily slip the note beneath the door and tiptoe his way out of the teahouse, run out of Qingshan, find the mule still outside of the Harvest Goddess’ desecrated altar and then simply ride off into the night.

He kneeled down by the door, folding the note twice and pressed it against the floor.

“What are you doing?”

If it was possible to spew up his heart, then was the time for it to happen. Liu Ying’s shoulders tensed up to his ears as he recollected the note and slowly stood up, turning to face Chen Yun, who had just arrived at the top of the stairs. He was holding two pork skewers in his right hand, which was dangling loosely by his side now that his attention was honed in on Liu Ying.

He swallowed hard and released an inaudible breath. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry.”

Confusion and hurt were dancing in Chen Yun’s eyes but he was stunned silent.

Why was seeing that look in his eyes so painful?

Liu Ying stepped forward and reached for Chen Yun’s free hand, pulling it up, open-palmed between them. He placed the note on it and for a moment, when their hands touched, it felt like their mortal skins had shed away. Like it was just Liu Ying and Zhou Hui standing there in the dim light, a lifetime stretched between them.

After a moment that bled into eternity in his mind, Liu Ying proceeded to brush past him and descend the stairs to the teahouse.