A drop here, a drop there (a one-shots/snippet book)

The carriage held but just ourselves (TGCF)

A/N: huh i didnt know there's a minimum title length. The carriage held but just ourselves (and immortality)

Heaven Official's Blessing, Tian Guan Ci Fu, my beloved. Piece of media that made me ship another pair after Cecilos. I got into tgcf last year and my brain just got obsessed, I love it so much. I'm learning mandarin and my goal is to someday buy the chinese version of the novel and read <3

I'm also honoring my chinese ancestors on my grandfather's side- but tgcf gave me an actually concrete goal to work towards so whatever works!

Yes I drew that picture.

CW: post-death. thoughts of suicidal ideation/self-harm. hurt/no comfort

Awareness came, slowly and grasping, as if through thick molasses.

There was nothing for an indeterminable amount of time, and then, faintly, at the edges, there was something.

Someone?

Through the haze, there was a sound. It was weak, and shaky. Something new, and it tried to make some form of response. Perhaps a question, or a request for the sound to repeat itself.

But what came out instead, its first prevailing thought, was-

"It hurts."

Awareness then came more clearly, as if the discovery of voice was a reminder of other parts of his Being. He remembered he was a he, not an it. He remembered hurting. Hurting so bad and so long that he wished and begged and fought and screamed-

Oh.

He's not hurting anymore.

Something landed near him, and he snapped his attention to the outside world. Droplets? He realized abruptly that the air had been far from quiet. A litany of apologies and sobs fell from the lips of a man above him, replacing the overwhelming silence that had in turn replaced the pain.

He looked like a young man, dressed in the rich red color of maple leaves. His silver jewelry of high quality indicated him to be someone of high standing, and one of his eyes is covered by a black eye patch. His raven hair fell unbound around him, forming a curtain as the man bent forwards as if due to some great insurmountable weight. Pale cheeks and sharp handsome features are marred by the way his expression is twisted in a picture of sorrow, tears flowing down in rivers.

Numbly, he realized that he was cradled in a pair of trembling hands, close to the man's chest as if he were something precious.

He's a ghost fire.

And this man, he can sense, is another ghost. A powerful one, too.

The thought of the other ghost dispersing him flitted away as quickly as it came. As inconceivable as the idea was, the ghost seemed to be...mourning him.

How odd.

Xie Lian didn't know there was anyone left in the world that would mourn him. He didn't even mourn himself.

He is a lost and abandoned thing. Tired and old.

His last moments hurt. The hundreds of years wandering alone and dying countless times hurt. He's so tired of hurting.

He dimmed.

"Your Highness," the ghost said, sounding a little frantic, before his tone softened into a shaky whisper. "You can rest now. This worthless servant will keep you safe." His cool hands were impossibly gentle as he coaxed Xie Lian to rest on one, the other hand reaching out to materialize a paper lantern.

Xie Lian peaceably let himself be stored inside. He didn't know who this stranger is, but he sensed no danger from him. For the first time in a long while he felt...safe. He's in a vulnerable position and he felt like he won't get taken advantage of or kicked to the ground. What a novelty.