The Ghost Of You

Chapter 5

Feng Xin woke with a start.

The memories crept back to him, slowly.

Knowledge that he'd had Mu Qing beneath him and, in the pivotal moment, had failed to kill him. That he had let Mu Qing play at pretend innocence, that he had even believed at all he might've been telling the truth about Xie Lian. That he had seen him knelt on the ground, refusing to look back at him, and that he had taken that opportunity to run, instead of putting an arrow through his heart.

He paid the price of cowardice when the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole.

The room he now found himself in was ancient, made up in styles not used since Xianle had still been in power. Someone had taken him to a bed, and peeled the wedding dress from his body. A simple, white robe took its place.

The shift fell loose from his shoulders, revealing the wound on his chest far more than he'd ever wanted. He fumbled with the collar of his robes, trying desperately to cover it. It made little difference. With little else to do, he pushed aside the bed curtains. His stomach dropped.

Feng Xin knew the room better than he knew himself.

He stepped from the bed into a perfect replica of Xie Lian's private room in the palace of Xianle. Not a single thing was out of place.

Everything was very quiet.

He placed a hand on the wall, and moved slowly through the room. To his own horror, his hand did not pass through the brick, which meant he could no longer deny it was real.

It was then that he did a terrible, stupid thing.

"Mu Qing?" When he called out for him, his voice shook, fear buried under the words. No response came. Only his own echo, reverberating from the walls of an empty palace.

Growing angrier, he yelled for him again. "Mu Qing? T-this isn't fucking funny!"

There was no sign of Mu Qing at all.

He would not have welcomed him, if there had been. Yet, it was easy to imagine Mu Qing, in his cruelty, hunting him through the twisting halls. Drawing on his dark powers to create a maze out of their shared memories. Saber in hand, ready, once again, to snuff him out. Sparing him had been a mistake, a manifestation of weakness.

As he walked, Feng Xin kept himself pressed to the wall. He could barely last a few steps before fear took hold of him, and he looked back.

If Mu Qing had come to take his life again, this time he would look him in the eyes.

He could do to him what he wanted, kill him with the blade, or tear into his skin with teeth and nails until he was a mess of blood and gore. It only mattered that the bastard turned around and looked him in the eyes, when he did it.

If he had, Feng Xin would have taken him too. He could've killed him, could've spread his ashes, but he would not die without pressing a hand to Mu Qing's chest, and filling his veins with ice.

At least, if they were both dead His Highness would be safe.

Feng Xin moved quickly through the room. He did not allow himself to linger. He stepped past a screen door, and into the room he and Mu Qing had shared. They had both been lucky that His Highness had wanted to keep them near, and that Their Majesties had been so willing to grant his requests. To sleep a few feet away from His Highness was far superior to sleeping in the crowded, dusty servant's quarters. He remembered very little of it. Only that he had often been afraid.

Their room remained how he remembered it. Small, and bare, and only separated from His Highness's with a screen. They'd had beds, though they were nothing particularly fancy. A basic wooden platform and straw mat had been enough.