The Ghost Of You

Chapter 4

Mu Qing did not remember falling. Only that it had happened too quickly for him to regret reaching out, and holding onto the closest thing with the clawing desperation of a dying man.

In the half second it took, their bodies twisted in the air. He landed with an inglorious thud, hard against the rocks.

That was when his vision blacked.

It was only a brief affliction, one he was wrenched from barely a second later, when his spiritual power straggled back. Warmth bloomed in his chest. The vertebrae in his spine melded back together, as shards of shattered bone once again rejoined. He breathed through it, dragging pieces of severed ribs from the punctured meat of his lungs. Nerves twitched in his hands, as feeling and movement returned. The ground beneath him was chilled stone. Pebbles had come loose, and clustered under his palms. He flicked one away.

It was Mu Qing's own, lamentable heart that was the problem, and was what forced open his jaw, pulling the words out.

"Feng Xin." He called out for him. His name, left unspoken since his death, felt heavy and foreign. He'd buried it with him.

"Feng Xin."

There was the rustle of movement next to him. Feng Xin sat up, a reddish haze at the edge of his vision. The flow of time, and the stagnancy of death had changed his face, his body, all a pathetic attempt at unrecognizability. Mu Qing saw through it more than easily. He was still Feng Xin, in his bones and skin, and the shape of his face. Feng Xin, beautiful in his tangibility.

Mu Qing pushed himself from the ground. He had a better view of Feng Xin this way, sitting next to him, white hair glowing silver in the moonlight. He looked near otherworldly.

His eyes, onyx black in the sclera, pupil ringed with gold, fixed on Mu Qing, and blazed. The furrow of his brow was practically nostalgic.

He kept his own gaze fixed on Feng Xin's chest. The fabric of the dress had split apart there, revealing where a blade had once been buried, and the wound left behind, nestled in the center of his chest. He'd seen it once before, still fresh and uncleaned. Blood and the ache of grief had prevented a closer look.

Now, he could see where Feng Xin's ribs had broken, and pulled apart, left jagged at the edges. Broken, and useless, still protecting the hollowed out nothingness in his chest.

In sick fascination, Mu Qing touched his face. His dead skin felt cool against the palm of his hand, and he ran the tips of his fingers against his jawline. He eyed the collar gracing his throat, the last remnants of the chains Mu Qing had so dutifully cut away, frozen against his skin. Real metal, different in make to a cursed shackle. Feng Xin shuddered at his touch.

He grabbed Mu Qing's wrist, and wrenched his hand from his face.

"Don't- don't you fucking dare."

He shoved Mu Qing, hard enough that he landed flat on his back. On instinct, Mu Qing kicked him.

"All this time, and this is how you greet me? I'm hurt."

He shot up, and grabbed Feng Xin's shoulder. Another punch was thrown at his face. Mu Qing narrowly dodged, and threw himself at Feng Xin, shoving him into the dirt. He climbed on top of him, thighs wrapped around his waist.

Feng Xin's golden glare came like a reward.

"Shut up! I don't want to hear any of your bullshit!" He swung wildly at Mu Qing, none of his punches landing.

Mu Qing's patience ran thin. He grabbed Feng Xin's collar, and slammed him back into the ground.

"My bullshit? You're the one talking nonsense like it's a job! What, did you hit your head on the way out of Tonglu?"