The Ghost Of You

Chapter 7

AN: Chapter specific TW for self harm, but in a blood magic context. (Do you need blood for the distance-shortening array? That's what the wiki said, and I like blood magic, so we're going with it)

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Feng Xin did not know how long he stayed there, perfectly still, in the silence of Mont Yujun, when White-No Face vanished. Time stilled around him, until his thoughts were no longer racing, and the world was no longer collapsing in on itself.

By the time he gathered himself, the mountain was already plunged into a storm. The wind howled, and shook the trees. White snow intercut the black night, coming down so hard he could barely see in front of him. A chill crept through the thin, white robes, stinging at his skin. Feng Xin swore, loudly and unabashedly, and cursed Tonglu for not at least granting him resistance to it.

Yelling at the volcano, as it turned out, did little to stave off his guilt. The people living in the village weren't prepared for a storm. They couldn't have been. The harvest season had barely begun, only for their crops to swiftly die under the force of a blizzard. Anyone at all familiar with the ghost realm would know to blame him. He would deserve it.

Feng Xin fled. A pathetic attempt to spare the village from the worst of it.

By the time he allowed himself to rest, he was in the farthest reaches of the southwest. There, the mountains were always abundant, and too high for most people to spend any large amount of time in, besides a handful of cultivators looking for something to brag about. Most importantly to Feng Xin, it gave him somewhere to disappear into.

In the high altitude chill, and unending winter, all the signs of a calamity's presence were buried under the snow.

When he was lucky, he hid within forgotten temples and monasteries, in the long months when no one came to visit them. Often, they were dedicated to ancient, long dead gods. Sometimes, he had to face the truly difficult choice between sleeping in a Xuan Zhen temple, or finding a cave.

Luck had been on his side this time, and he returned to an old, abandoned monastery that he often took shelter in. At the very least, he was able to rid himself of the white robes, and finally return to his own clothes. They were nothing special, he had always lacked the extravagant taste that was so popular in Xianle. A round collar robe and armor, when he needed it. Simple. Practical. He pulled a fur-lined cloak around his shoulders.

The white robes made for good kindling, and he made a small campfire. Furs and fire were a relief, one that allowed him a few minutes of warmth, before the inescapable cold caught up with him.

The days passed him by. Rest did not come, even when he tried to sleep, and he was left pacing through the halls of the monastery. He kept the fire burning as they did. The pressure of White-No Face's task gave him constant company.

Eight hundred years, and he'd still failed to find His Highness, failed to kill Mu Qing, when the chance had presented itself.

Feng Xin was not given time to agonize over it, before the monastery's door was thrown open, and Jian Lan marched in. She wore an expression that made it seem like she was strongly considering picking him up and throwing him off the nearest cliff.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? Or do you think it's funny to make me run all over the Mortal Realm?"

Feng Xin blinked. He had not yet considered that, in a panicked attempt to escape, Jian Lan had been left behind. Still, he swore that he'd not seen her at all, when he ran from the mountain.