it was ruthless, tyrannical and from every point of view marginally masochistic. song lan kept telling himself it was okay, he was dead, he didn't feel a single thing. but just because his body couldn't produce tears or scream anymore didn't mean song lan didn't drag a bag of pain on his shoulders.
it was like before, before the world ended. the only difference being, not a heartbeat was heard.
two living corpses, one a little more alive than the other, walking shoulder to shoulder through the empty night streets. like two lost leaves on the wind, they had no direction or will to change their pace. both mute and cold, one still hearing and feeling, still contacting with the world. song lan had put one finger into the land of death; xiao xingchen had only a finger left in the land of life.
the hybrid of hell, heaven and earth. song lan understood the meaning behind these words with a bittersweet taste.
earth, because they were surrounded by unchanged pace of spring, summer, fall and winter. of people dying and being born, children playing on the streets, mothers sweeping the floor, men chunking down liquor like they only had this one last chance. earth, because the tao was still there among the trees, grass and flying insects. everything here was earth, earth was home.
heaven, because he had him. xiao xingchen himself, both broken in the body and soul, but still undeniably him. song lan dared to touch his hair once, it didn't fall apart. later on he was brave enoigh to touch his sleeve. his shoulder. then he led him by the hand, all how it ised to be when he still believed in heaven.
and hell, because xingchen's fingers would not overlap with his. he wouldn't laugh, he wouldn't talk to him, he wouldn't try and lead him into the market. that one time when he did, they met him, that spewn of evil in human form who never tasted love, so he never tasted pain until he killed the only reason why song lan still kept walking.
he kept doing that for whoever knows how long. it was fall when they left. in winter, they were both silent figures in white pushing through the blizzard. in spring, they were the figures resting at the ridge of the river. in summer, they would hide in shadows. when a year circled around, song lan and xiao xingchen were far away.
one day he sat down and xiao xingchen followed obediently. song lan burned a small campfire to keep them warm, shuanghua and white horsetail whisk. their owner didn't need warmth, but in the blaze of the fire song lan could at least see his face. it was then when he choked down a stone and neared in.
his fingers curled behind the bandage on xiao xingchen's face and gently took it off. with the cover taken off, xingchen looked even more familiar and even more distant. there were uneven cuts at the corner of his eyes, the memory of their true owner bluntly digging them out. and where the eyeballs should be, there was blackness. still blood and flesh, no longer triggered with tears.
song lan covered his eyes again.
he was feeling weak.
two years later, it was another river. another fall and another fire. song lan took out the pouch and stroke it. he then placed it on xiao xingchen's immobile lap.
"won't you come back home?" he asked the shimmering soul voicelessly
"it's not cold there anymore."
"i promise you, everything is good now."
"look, we're still together."
"i'm still with you."
"i'm not leaving anymore."
"xingchen, i'm sorry."
"please don't let me go."
