The Ghost Of You

Chapter 13

In the aftermath of Tonglu's opening, consciousness came back to him slowly. Feng Xin woke in the silence of the tent, as light filtered in through the leather. Sitting up proved to be a mistake, when his body promptly refused to do so. Dull pain coursed through him at any opportunity, and it radiated from no specific place. Sleep had not cured his exhaustion, it seemed.

At his side, he felt someone stir, as Mu Qing rolled over, groaned, and pulled the fur cloak over his head. In doing so, he stole their makeshift blanket away from Feng Xin. Fighting Mu Qing for it would be a waste of strength, no matter how much he wanted to. He resigned himself to the bit of warmth his robes provided.

As he lay still, the memories of the night prior crept back to him, underneath exhaustion. Not fully, and even more had been lost to the mountain. Forgetting so much unnerved him.

It was only the dredged up memories of his time in mount tonglu that remained clear. They came back to him too quickly, and hit him at a velocity he was not prepared for. The statues. Crimson Rain. White-No Face wearing Xie Lian like a mask. His own hands inside his chest. How White-No Face had ripped him apart.

He could still feel it, the last waves of unmatchable pain, the feeling of having his heart pulled from his broken chest. Panic hit him hard, and left him grasping at the bed rolls until his knuckles whitened. He bit through the frightened, pained sound that escaped him, until blood coated his mouth.

Mu Qing had already seen him as a screaming, shaking wreck the night prior. To panic now would only cement how weak he was, and that was a danger he was not willing to risk. Even if Mu Qing hadn't killed him then, even if he was as innocent as he claimed, that did not change the fact he could snuff out Feng Xin's life in a second, if he so desired. It was a danger that was uniquely his.

No matter what Mu Qing had told him at the mid autumn festival, Feng Xin still saw him, saber in hand, standing over his own corpse. The vision of his ascension had only made it clearer.

He remembered dragging himself out of the mountain, as a newly formed ghost king. He had been panicked and weak as he stumbled down the mountain, trying and failing to turn back to what he had been before. That was where White-No Face had found him, and where it had revealed itself to him. He had begged it to undo it all. It had refused him, of course it had.

And then it had told him it had one more thing to give him, before it would collect what it owed. It had cupped his face, and it had placed its thumb between his brows, and it had shown him how he had died.

In the tent, Feng Xin glanced at Mu Qing, still sleeping by his side. He did not look like a killer, or any sort of devious mastermind, when he was wrapped up in his cloak like it was a cocoon. And maybe White-No Face had lied. And maybe Feng Xin had been stupid and useless enough to believe him.

Mu Qing opened his eyes, glaring over at Feng Xin.

"Stop staring at me. I can't sleep with you staring at me," he mumbled, and sounded like he was still half asleep.

Feng Xin had not realized he was staring. He looked away very quickly.

"I'm not!" he said. And then he said, "Shut up."

He turned away, the remaining traces of panic having not yet left him. He was balanced very precariously on its edge, and one misstep would have sent him back to a place he refused to return too. Turning his back on Mu Qing did not help.

Maybe White-No Face had lied. Or maybe he had only let himself fall prey to Mu Qing, and wandered right back into his trap.

Next to him, he heard a soft, small, noise and felt him move. Latent fear took him, and left him glancing over his shoulder at Mu Qing.