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fan_flashworks2021-05-01 08:37 pm
laireshi) wrote in fan_flashworks2021-05-01 08:37 pm
Entry tags:
The Other Side: The Lost Tomb: Fanfic: Three Days for a Farewell
Title: Three Days for a Farewell
Fandom: The Lost Tomb
Rating: Teen
Length: 3536
Warning: Major character death set before the fic, implied suicide
Summary: Zhang Qiling returns from the Bronze Gate, but Wu Xie does not welcome him back.
It’d been an eternity. It’d only been a second and an eternity still awaited.
Zhang Qiling did not know how long he’d been inside the Bronze Gate, how long he had to stay, still. Faced with the Ultimate, time mattered very little; memories of the world outside seemed like nothing more tangible than dreams.
(He couldn’t sleep inside the Gate, which meant he couldn’t dream, either—which meant his memories must’ve been real, right? Pangzi was real and Wu Xie—Wu Xie was real too, no matter how miraculous his existence in Zhang Qiling’s life seemed.
Or they were both an effect of hallucinations, his mind trying and failing to deal with the Ultimate.
But without them—even if they weren’t real—without them, Zhang Qiling wouldn’t have survived being faced with the Ultimate intact. And he still remembered: his own name, and their faces, and how sun felt on his skin.
He remembered, and he waited.)
***
The Bronze Gate opened.
For a long, timeless moment, he couldn’t understand what it meant. Then he stood up—his legs were shaking; he had no idea when the last time he really moved was—and walked towards it, half-convinced he wouldn’t be able to leave, that it’d close right in front of his face, that there would be an invisible barrier that kept him inside—
He was almost too scared to try and leave, but if there was the slightest chance . . . He had to go.
He walked out and he understood that the ten years were truly over.
***
Wu Xie wasn’t waiting for him.
(Because Wu Xie was real, Zhang Qiling knew now; outside of the Gate, he could tell, with a complete certainty, that his memories were real. Wu Xie was real, and the way he kissed him ten years ago among the snowstorm on Changbai Mountain was real, too.)
Wu Xie was real, but he didn’t come for Zhang Qiling.
It was a good thing. It was what Zhang Qiling wanted: to give Wu Xie ten years of innocence, so that Wu Xie could live his life. So that he could move on, forget about the adventures and all the dangers that he’d faced for Zhang Qiling. So that he could be happy and safe.
(Zhang Qiling had hoped—but that was so selfish of him.)
Pangzi came, though. He looked—older. More tired. The decade had not been kind to him. But he embraced Zhang Qiling without hesitation, a tight, warm, all-engulfing hug that made Zhang Qiling feel simultaneously the safest he’d been in ten years and absolutely terrified.
No one had touched him in a decade. Nothing had touched him in a decade. The world behind the Gate—he wasn’t sure it could be called a world at all. He didn’t push Pangzi away, though. He couldn’t do that.
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said, his hand soothing where it ran up and down Zhang Qiling’s back. “I missed you so much.”
Zhang Qiling nodded; hoped that Pangzi could feel the movement against his shoulder. Pangzi kept holding him for a long time, until the terror receded, until Zhang Qiling felt almost as if he were home.
(Almost. He didn’t analyse the reason for that.)
***
The weather was good this time. No snowstorm threatening to freeze them to death. Pangzi came prepared, carrying a backpack with a tent, two sleeping bags, a change of clothes for Zhang Qiling and enough food to last them two weeks. Zhang Qiling reached to take it from him more than once, aware of how heavy it must’ve been, but Pangzi batted his hands away every time.
“I’m not an old man yet,” he said.
He did not mention Wu Xie, and Zhang Qiling did not ask.
Maybe Wu Xie got married. Maybe he had a family, children. Zhang Qiling hoped he did. He hoped he had people who loved him, people who would take care of him now. Zhang Qiling wasn’t going to disturb his peace if he found it.
The open space was—a lot. The wind seemed to cut him as if with blades; the sun was blinding.
Pangzi fell behind him, once, and Zhang Qiling froze when he lost line of sight to him. Pangzi was right behind him. He knew it. He knew it.
He couldn’t turn back to check, because what if he weren’t there, what if Zhang Qiling was still inside the Gate (what if that was why Wu Xie wasn’t here—because in the real world, he’d certainly come, wouldn’t he?), what if—
“Xiaoge?” A strong hand wrapped around his bicep and squeezed. Pangzi came up to him, looking into his face in concern.
Zhang Qiling trembled. Pangzi held him until he could breathe again.
(Pangzi was always right next to him, after that, talking all the time, touching him if they had to walk in line.)
***
The way down took a long time.
Zhang Qiling tired so much more easily than he remembered. There was no water to drink inside the Bronze Gate and no food to eat; sleeping was impossible; he didn’t even know if what he’d breathed in there was air, or if there was no oxygen at all inside, either, and it was just the Ultimate keeping him alive.
(Or as alive as his unnatural life was.)
They needed to stop for rest often, but Pangzi didn’t begrudge him the need. Zhang Qiling slept like the dead at night; every morning Pangzi obviously spent a long time trying to wake him up. He tried to make Zhang Qiling eat bigger portions of food, but Zhang Qiling didn’t let him. No matter how tired he might’ve been, Pangzi needed sustenance more than him.
Even so, it wasn’t . . . bad. It was nice to be with Pangzi again, to be cared for—and such an alien concept, too.
The only thing missing was Wu Xie, and that—
Zhang Qiling had all but told him to forget and move on, hadn’t he?
It was good that Wu Xie had.
***
Pangzi grew more serious and more worried the closer to Erdao Baihe they were.
“It’s been ten years,” he said once and cut himself off sharply.
Zhang Qiling nodded. He knew that. He knew ten years was a lot for normal people, but he’d always been more of a ghost than a real person; never had belonged to the world. A decade did not change it. A century wouldn’t, either.
Pangzi held him very close on the last night on the mountain.
It wasn’t necessary. Zhang Qiling would be all right. But he appreciated the worry all the same. He liked the touch and the closeness. He would miss it once Pangzi left him to return to his life. Maybe he’d bear with Zhang Qiling’s visits from time to time?
Zhang Qiling did not ask. It was enough that Pangzi came for him. He wouldn’t impose further.
A decade was a very long time for real humans, after all.
***
Hei Xiazi met them at the bottom of the mountain. He looked him over as if he was expecting to see him injured, but whatever else the Bronze Gate had done to him, a physical injury was not a part of it. Hei Xiazi met Pangzi’s eyes. There was a very obvious moment when they silently communicated about something Zhang Qiling was not privy to; then Pangzi shook his head.
Hei Xiazi looked grim.
“I’ll handle it,” Pangzi said aloud. “You know he—” he stopped himself.
Hei Xiazi smiled. Zhang Qiling could not tell if it was honest or not; probably wouldn’t even know to wonder, if not for the silent conversation right before it.
“Good to see you back, Yaba Zhang.”
Zhang Qiling nodded at him.
“You!” A shout came from down the street.
Zhang Qiling looked behind Hei Xiazi. A familiar-looking man was running in their direction, clearly angry.
“Everything he’s done, and you still came for him?!” he screamed.
Zhang Qiling frowned. He belatedly identified the man as Wang Meng. Why was he here? Wasn’t he Wu Xie’s shopkeeper?
Pangzi tensed. Hei Xiazi looked alarmed.
“Don’t,” Pangi said, his voice very, very cold. “He wouldn’t—”
“Don’t you dare say laoban wouldn’t want me to!” Wang Meng stood in front of them, but he only looked at Zhang Qiling. He realised, with a beat, that this man absolutely hated him. “He’s dead and it’s all your fault!” he yelled at Zhang Qiling. “He’s—”
Zhang Qiling did not hear the rest of Wang Meng’s words.
He was only vaguely aware of Pangzi moving towards him—he wasn’t even sure why until he realised he was falling, his knees folding underneath him. Pangzi caught him before he fell, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, it—
Hei Xiazi was reaching for Wang Meng in a movement that Zhang Qiling recognised. “No!” he barked, and everyone froze.
“Where’s Wu Xie?” Zhang Qiling asked, and his own voice sounded alien to his ears.
“Xiaoge—”
Zhang Qiling was trembling, kneeling on the ground in Pangzi’s embrace, and it didn’t matter. He looked up at Wang Meng, because he knew, with a painful clarity, that he was the only one who would tell him the truth.
Pangzi had come for him. Had spent a week leading him down. Had said nothing. Hei Xiazi came, too, and he clearly knew, and he had said nothing.
Wang Meng came here to hurt him, that much was clear, so Zhang Qiling believed in his honesty.
And he had to know. He had to know. He had to know, and it couldn’t be true.
“Laoban is dead,” Wang Meng repeated.
Zhang Qiling flinched.
“He’s dead because of you.”
“Don’t you dare tell him this bullshit,” Pangzi snapped, but he didn’t move, he kept his arms around Zhang Qiling, as if afraid he’d crumble without the support. (He wasn’t wrong.)
“You know it’s true!” Wang Meng’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “He turned laoban’s life apart, and then he—” He turned to Zhang Qiling again. “Then you abandoned him! For ten years! What did you think was going to happen?! He loved you so much!”
Zhang Qiling shook his head. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Wu Xie—Wu Xie wasn’t here because he’d forgotten, he’d moved on, he’d found a life of his own—
“He took down the whole Wang family for you!”
Zhang Qiling stared at him, barely processing the words. Wu Xie had never been supposed to even know about them, how—
“He kept taking the snake pheromones—he said it was to defeat the Wangs, but he never stopped, did he? Do you know why?! Because what he really wanted to see in those memories was you! He kept poisoning himself for a chance to see you in someone else’s eyes, even for a moment!”
“Wang Meng, that’s enough—”
“He kept taking the pheromones until his body couldn’t do it anymore! He killed himself for you!”
“Fuck this,” Hei Xiazi said. He hauled back; knocked Wang Meng out.
Zhang Qiling wasn’t . . .
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said. “Xiaoge, don’t listen to him—Xiaoge—”
Is it true, he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t: he knew it was. He saw the raw grief in Wang Meng’s face. He understood why Pangzi had become more and more stressed as they came closer to the village.
But it couldn’t be true. Wu Xie couldn’t be gone. Wu Xie couldn’t have died. Not at all, and not like that.
Zhang Qiling was still in the Bronze Gate, and it was playing tricks on his mind.
That had to be it.
He kept shaking, all over, uncontrollably. His vision went blurry. His ears were ringing. He couldn’t—Wu Xie couldn’t—Zhang Qiling didn’t—
He thought someone was saying something, he thought there were arms on his, but he couldn’t understand it and he couldn’t react and Wu Xie had to be alive, had to—
A pressure at the back of his neck. Darkness.
***
Zhang Qiling came to in a soft bed.
He hadn’t slept in a bed in ten years.
Pangzi was sitting next to him, his face tight in worry. Why would he look like that? Zhang Qiling was—
His eyes widened. A nightmare, it had to be . . . “Wu Xie,” he gasped out.
Pangzi’s face crumpled.
And Zhang Qiling’s life—broke.
***
If Zhang Qiling had been better at expressing himself with words, he would’ve asked, Why did you come for me? Why didn’t you just let me stay inside, forever? Wouldn’t that have been kinder?
But Zhang Qiling could never find the right words to convey his feelings—I thought about my connection to this world, and realised—it’s only you, a confession that meant nothing in the end, a confession he never should’ve made. He should’ve left the moment he woke up amnesiac in hospital: he hadn’t known his own name, but he had known he was supposed to be alone.
He never should’ve let himself love Wu Xie. He should’ve left before Wu Xie started to care for him.
He only noticed he was crying when Pangzi hugged him, hard.
Why didn’t Pangzi hate him?
“Wang Meng—he doesn’t understand,” Pangzi said quietly. “Tianzhen—fuck, Xiaoge. It’s not your fault.”
“He was right,” Zhang Qiling whispered.
Pangzi shook him. “He doesn’t have any fucking idea what he’s talking about!”
“Did he lie?” Zhang Qiling asked.
Pangzi was silent.
***
He contemplated many things.
He thought of climbing back up Changbai Mountain; entering the Bronze Gate again; letting the Ultimate have him.
He thought of plunging the sword that Wu Xie had given him straight into his own heart.
He thought of finding Wang Meng and giving him a gun. It’d be quick, this way, but he destroyed one life already; he shouldn’t break another one.
He thought of leaving, walking forward until he forgot his life again.
But Pangzi was always there, and on the rare occasions he wasn’t, Hei Xiazi was instead, watching him with careful eyes, as if they weren’t going to leave him alone even for a moment.
***
“Xiaoge.” Pangzi touched his jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. “Xiaoge, do you remember your mother?”
Zhang Qiling closed his eyes. He thought, after hearing about Wu Xie, that nothing could hurt again: he was wrong. This memory was still like a stab wound, never closed.
“I’m sorry,” Pangzi hurried to say. “I—I’m doing it all wrong. This isn’t what Tianzhen wanted. I’m sorry, I—” He took a deep breath. “Tianzhen’s in Motuo. I know it’s only three days, but—he’s there.”
Motuo was a long way from there: longer than Zhang Qiling really wanted to stay alive.
But if Wu Xie was there—he’d go for a chance to spend ten minutes with him. Three days—three days were an eternity, and nothing at all.
(He knew exactly how much three days could hurt, too.)
***
Someone else handled all the logistics. Hei Xiazi went with them, keeping to himself, uncharacteristically silent. Zhang Qiling walked when he was told to, sat on a train or in a car when he was told to; did not eat and did not sleep. He couldn’t swallow anything. Any time he closed his eyes, he saw Wu Xie, staring at him with lifeless eyes.
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said. “You need to eat something. You need to rest before you fall down.”
Falling down did not seem like a bad idea.
“I promised,” Hei Xiazi said, a propos of nothing. “Get some rest, Yaba Zhang, or I’ll knock you out. And that’s your favourite technique, not mine.”
What was even the point?
They transferred from one car to another, a bigger SUV. Zhang Qiling was so tired, and Wu Xie was still gone.
A hand at the back of his neck; a finger pressing down, hard; nothing.
***
He woke up leaning against Pangzi, half in his lap. Pangzi didn’t seem to mind—he kept his arms firmly around Zhang Qiling, clearly trying to keep him as comfortable as could be in the tight car space. Zhang Qiling had no idea how long he’d been out; knew that it didn’t help. The world remained too sharp and too blurred all at once; cold and hopeless and without Wu Xie.
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said, that and nothing else, and this time, Zhang Qiling ate the proffered protein bar. It tasted like nothing and his stomach hurt after.
***
They made it to Motuo. They climbed to the temple. Zhang Qiling was still weak after the decade spent inside the Bronze Gate, so it was a slow, hard hike. He thought, under other circumstances, he might be annoyed at his own body. As it was, he didn’t care for anything much.
He wasn’t sure if he remembered all his visits to that place, but he remembered enough. He knew there was a statue of him crying in one of the courtyards.
He wondered if it had always been meant to be prophetic.
He’d known, before leaving for the Bronze Gate, that Wu Xie was likely to find this place. He hadn’t realised, had absolutely no idea just how his absence was going to affect Wu Xie.
He’d had no choice, but it didn’t matter now.
The monks in this temple had taught him that his mother had passed him a heart. That he could feel and want like any other person.
He wished, now, that they hadn’t.
***
They made him eat and sleep a full night before being allowed to see Wu Xie. He acquiesced: he was good at ignoring his bodily needs, but for Wu Xie, he’d make an effort.
He got an hour of sleep before he woke up, shivering, from a dream in which he killed Wu Xie with his own hands, Pangzi’s arms around him doing nothing to ward off the nightmares.
“I’m sorry,” Pangzi told him in the darkness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep him safe. I’m sorry you found out like that.”
Nothing was Pangzi’s fault, but Zhang Qiling couldn’t find the words to tell him that. He just clung to him, grateful for his presence, aware that without him, he’d drown.
(Would that be so bad?)
***
Wu Xie looked alive, merely asleep. Zhang Qiling folded to his knees at his bedside, wanting nothing more than to touch, and too scared to do so.
Wu Xie’s eyes fluttered open. He sighed. He opened his mouth, and he spoke.
Zhang Qiling’s mother had waited for him for too long: by the time he found her, she couldn’t speak. They’d spent three days in silence; three days that reshaped Zhang Qiling’s whole world.
He was not prepared to hear Wu Xie talk.
“Xiaoge,” Wu Xie said, softly. He sat up. He lowered himself to the floor next to Zhang Qiling. He touched him.
Zhang Qiling was not prepared for any of this.
“You’re back,” Wu Xie said. He cupped Zhang Qiling’s face in his hands. He smiled at him, but it looked sad. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you home.”
Zhang Qiling could not take it. He wanted to run and couldn’t leave Wu Xie; he wanted to trade his life for Wu Xie’s but even the Ultimate couldn’t grant him that wish; he wanted to fall asleep here, near Wu Xie, and never wake up again. He wanted to walk up to his own statue and turn into stone just like it.
Wu Xie, infinitely patient, as if they didn’t have seventy two hours only, less so now, wiped his tears away.
***
Wu Xie talked: about their first meeting; about going to Tibet to look for Zhang Qiling’s history. He didn’t talk about the Wangs; he didn’t mention the snakes. Zhang Qiling’s suspicion that he wasn’t supposed to ever learn the truth morphed into certainty, but he didn’t tell Wu Xie that he knew. He wanted to give Wu Xie even a small semblance of peace, and if that meant pretending Wu Xie died in an accident—he would try to do it.
He held Wu Xie close to him, the way he’d always wanted to and never had before.
“I missed you so much,” Wu Xie said, the closest he came to admitting the truth. “I just wanted to see you again one more time.”
Zhang Qiling hid his face in Wu Xie’s shoulder.
***
Wu Xie was carding his fingers through Zhang Qiling’s hair: a comfort and a torture. Soon he would never be able to touch him again.
“Xiaoge, promise me one thing,” Wu Xie said. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”
It was the first and last time he ever lied to Wu Xie.
***
“Can I do something?” Wu Xie asked, as if Zhang Qiling could tell him no.
Zhang Qiling nodded.
Wu Xie smiled. He leant in, so very slowly, until their mouths met. His lips were warm and dry.
Their second kiss, and the last one.
Zhang Qiling wanted to kiss him until he lost his breath, until he suffocated, until there was no more of him in this world.
(Because there wasn’t, was the horrible truth; there was no Zhang Qiling without Wu Xie, not anymore.)
***
There was no warning: one moment Wu Xie was holding Zhang Qiling close; the next he went slack, cold and dead.
***
Zhang Qiling left the temple straight from Wu Xie’s room: no backpack, no outer clothes, barefoot.
The ice and snow were warm, compared to his shattered heart.
Fandom: The Lost Tomb
Rating: Teen
Length: 3536
Warning: Major character death set before the fic, implied suicide
Summary: Zhang Qiling returns from the Bronze Gate, but Wu Xie does not welcome him back.
It’d been an eternity. It’d only been a second and an eternity still awaited.
Zhang Qiling did not know how long he’d been inside the Bronze Gate, how long he had to stay, still. Faced with the Ultimate, time mattered very little; memories of the world outside seemed like nothing more tangible than dreams.
(He couldn’t sleep inside the Gate, which meant he couldn’t dream, either—which meant his memories must’ve been real, right? Pangzi was real and Wu Xie—Wu Xie was real too, no matter how miraculous his existence in Zhang Qiling’s life seemed.
Or they were both an effect of hallucinations, his mind trying and failing to deal with the Ultimate.
But without them—even if they weren’t real—without them, Zhang Qiling wouldn’t have survived being faced with the Ultimate intact. And he still remembered: his own name, and their faces, and how sun felt on his skin.
He remembered, and he waited.)
***
The Bronze Gate opened.
For a long, timeless moment, he couldn’t understand what it meant. Then he stood up—his legs were shaking; he had no idea when the last time he really moved was—and walked towards it, half-convinced he wouldn’t be able to leave, that it’d close right in front of his face, that there would be an invisible barrier that kept him inside—
He was almost too scared to try and leave, but if there was the slightest chance . . . He had to go.
He walked out and he understood that the ten years were truly over.
***
Wu Xie wasn’t waiting for him.
(Because Wu Xie was real, Zhang Qiling knew now; outside of the Gate, he could tell, with a complete certainty, that his memories were real. Wu Xie was real, and the way he kissed him ten years ago among the snowstorm on Changbai Mountain was real, too.)
Wu Xie was real, but he didn’t come for Zhang Qiling.
It was a good thing. It was what Zhang Qiling wanted: to give Wu Xie ten years of innocence, so that Wu Xie could live his life. So that he could move on, forget about the adventures and all the dangers that he’d faced for Zhang Qiling. So that he could be happy and safe.
(Zhang Qiling had hoped—but that was so selfish of him.)
Pangzi came, though. He looked—older. More tired. The decade had not been kind to him. But he embraced Zhang Qiling without hesitation, a tight, warm, all-engulfing hug that made Zhang Qiling feel simultaneously the safest he’d been in ten years and absolutely terrified.
No one had touched him in a decade. Nothing had touched him in a decade. The world behind the Gate—he wasn’t sure it could be called a world at all. He didn’t push Pangzi away, though. He couldn’t do that.
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said, his hand soothing where it ran up and down Zhang Qiling’s back. “I missed you so much.”
Zhang Qiling nodded; hoped that Pangzi could feel the movement against his shoulder. Pangzi kept holding him for a long time, until the terror receded, until Zhang Qiling felt almost as if he were home.
(Almost. He didn’t analyse the reason for that.)
***
The weather was good this time. No snowstorm threatening to freeze them to death. Pangzi came prepared, carrying a backpack with a tent, two sleeping bags, a change of clothes for Zhang Qiling and enough food to last them two weeks. Zhang Qiling reached to take it from him more than once, aware of how heavy it must’ve been, but Pangzi batted his hands away every time.
“I’m not an old man yet,” he said.
He did not mention Wu Xie, and Zhang Qiling did not ask.
Maybe Wu Xie got married. Maybe he had a family, children. Zhang Qiling hoped he did. He hoped he had people who loved him, people who would take care of him now. Zhang Qiling wasn’t going to disturb his peace if he found it.
The open space was—a lot. The wind seemed to cut him as if with blades; the sun was blinding.
Pangzi fell behind him, once, and Zhang Qiling froze when he lost line of sight to him. Pangzi was right behind him. He knew it. He knew it.
He couldn’t turn back to check, because what if he weren’t there, what if Zhang Qiling was still inside the Gate (what if that was why Wu Xie wasn’t here—because in the real world, he’d certainly come, wouldn’t he?), what if—
“Xiaoge?” A strong hand wrapped around his bicep and squeezed. Pangzi came up to him, looking into his face in concern.
Zhang Qiling trembled. Pangzi held him until he could breathe again.
(Pangzi was always right next to him, after that, talking all the time, touching him if they had to walk in line.)
***
The way down took a long time.
Zhang Qiling tired so much more easily than he remembered. There was no water to drink inside the Bronze Gate and no food to eat; sleeping was impossible; he didn’t even know if what he’d breathed in there was air, or if there was no oxygen at all inside, either, and it was just the Ultimate keeping him alive.
(Or as alive as his unnatural life was.)
They needed to stop for rest often, but Pangzi didn’t begrudge him the need. Zhang Qiling slept like the dead at night; every morning Pangzi obviously spent a long time trying to wake him up. He tried to make Zhang Qiling eat bigger portions of food, but Zhang Qiling didn’t let him. No matter how tired he might’ve been, Pangzi needed sustenance more than him.
Even so, it wasn’t . . . bad. It was nice to be with Pangzi again, to be cared for—and such an alien concept, too.
The only thing missing was Wu Xie, and that—
Zhang Qiling had all but told him to forget and move on, hadn’t he?
It was good that Wu Xie had.
***
Pangzi grew more serious and more worried the closer to Erdao Baihe they were.
“It’s been ten years,” he said once and cut himself off sharply.
Zhang Qiling nodded. He knew that. He knew ten years was a lot for normal people, but he’d always been more of a ghost than a real person; never had belonged to the world. A decade did not change it. A century wouldn’t, either.
Pangzi held him very close on the last night on the mountain.
It wasn’t necessary. Zhang Qiling would be all right. But he appreciated the worry all the same. He liked the touch and the closeness. He would miss it once Pangzi left him to return to his life. Maybe he’d bear with Zhang Qiling’s visits from time to time?
Zhang Qiling did not ask. It was enough that Pangzi came for him. He wouldn’t impose further.
A decade was a very long time for real humans, after all.
***
Hei Xiazi met them at the bottom of the mountain. He looked him over as if he was expecting to see him injured, but whatever else the Bronze Gate had done to him, a physical injury was not a part of it. Hei Xiazi met Pangzi’s eyes. There was a very obvious moment when they silently communicated about something Zhang Qiling was not privy to; then Pangzi shook his head.
Hei Xiazi looked grim.
“I’ll handle it,” Pangzi said aloud. “You know he—” he stopped himself.
Hei Xiazi smiled. Zhang Qiling could not tell if it was honest or not; probably wouldn’t even know to wonder, if not for the silent conversation right before it.
“Good to see you back, Yaba Zhang.”
Zhang Qiling nodded at him.
“You!” A shout came from down the street.
Zhang Qiling looked behind Hei Xiazi. A familiar-looking man was running in their direction, clearly angry.
“Everything he’s done, and you still came for him?!” he screamed.
Zhang Qiling frowned. He belatedly identified the man as Wang Meng. Why was he here? Wasn’t he Wu Xie’s shopkeeper?
Pangzi tensed. Hei Xiazi looked alarmed.
“Don’t,” Pangi said, his voice very, very cold. “He wouldn’t—”
“Don’t you dare say laoban wouldn’t want me to!” Wang Meng stood in front of them, but he only looked at Zhang Qiling. He realised, with a beat, that this man absolutely hated him. “He’s dead and it’s all your fault!” he yelled at Zhang Qiling. “He’s—”
Zhang Qiling did not hear the rest of Wang Meng’s words.
He was only vaguely aware of Pangzi moving towards him—he wasn’t even sure why until he realised he was falling, his knees folding underneath him. Pangzi caught him before he fell, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, it—
Hei Xiazi was reaching for Wang Meng in a movement that Zhang Qiling recognised. “No!” he barked, and everyone froze.
“Where’s Wu Xie?” Zhang Qiling asked, and his own voice sounded alien to his ears.
“Xiaoge—”
Zhang Qiling was trembling, kneeling on the ground in Pangzi’s embrace, and it didn’t matter. He looked up at Wang Meng, because he knew, with a painful clarity, that he was the only one who would tell him the truth.
Pangzi had come for him. Had spent a week leading him down. Had said nothing. Hei Xiazi came, too, and he clearly knew, and he had said nothing.
Wang Meng came here to hurt him, that much was clear, so Zhang Qiling believed in his honesty.
And he had to know. He had to know. He had to know, and it couldn’t be true.
“Laoban is dead,” Wang Meng repeated.
Zhang Qiling flinched.
“He’s dead because of you.”
“Don’t you dare tell him this bullshit,” Pangzi snapped, but he didn’t move, he kept his arms around Zhang Qiling, as if afraid he’d crumble without the support. (He wasn’t wrong.)
“You know it’s true!” Wang Meng’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “He turned laoban’s life apart, and then he—” He turned to Zhang Qiling again. “Then you abandoned him! For ten years! What did you think was going to happen?! He loved you so much!”
Zhang Qiling shook his head. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Wu Xie—Wu Xie wasn’t here because he’d forgotten, he’d moved on, he’d found a life of his own—
“He took down the whole Wang family for you!”
Zhang Qiling stared at him, barely processing the words. Wu Xie had never been supposed to even know about them, how—
“He kept taking the snake pheromones—he said it was to defeat the Wangs, but he never stopped, did he? Do you know why?! Because what he really wanted to see in those memories was you! He kept poisoning himself for a chance to see you in someone else’s eyes, even for a moment!”
“Wang Meng, that’s enough—”
“He kept taking the pheromones until his body couldn’t do it anymore! He killed himself for you!”
“Fuck this,” Hei Xiazi said. He hauled back; knocked Wang Meng out.
Zhang Qiling wasn’t . . .
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said. “Xiaoge, don’t listen to him—Xiaoge—”
Is it true, he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t: he knew it was. He saw the raw grief in Wang Meng’s face. He understood why Pangzi had become more and more stressed as they came closer to the village.
But it couldn’t be true. Wu Xie couldn’t be gone. Wu Xie couldn’t have died. Not at all, and not like that.
Zhang Qiling was still in the Bronze Gate, and it was playing tricks on his mind.
That had to be it.
He kept shaking, all over, uncontrollably. His vision went blurry. His ears were ringing. He couldn’t—Wu Xie couldn’t—Zhang Qiling didn’t—
He thought someone was saying something, he thought there were arms on his, but he couldn’t understand it and he couldn’t react and Wu Xie had to be alive, had to—
A pressure at the back of his neck. Darkness.
***
Zhang Qiling came to in a soft bed.
He hadn’t slept in a bed in ten years.
Pangzi was sitting next to him, his face tight in worry. Why would he look like that? Zhang Qiling was—
His eyes widened. A nightmare, it had to be . . . “Wu Xie,” he gasped out.
Pangzi’s face crumpled.
And Zhang Qiling’s life—broke.
***
If Zhang Qiling had been better at expressing himself with words, he would’ve asked, Why did you come for me? Why didn’t you just let me stay inside, forever? Wouldn’t that have been kinder?
But Zhang Qiling could never find the right words to convey his feelings—I thought about my connection to this world, and realised—it’s only you, a confession that meant nothing in the end, a confession he never should’ve made. He should’ve left the moment he woke up amnesiac in hospital: he hadn’t known his own name, but he had known he was supposed to be alone.
He never should’ve let himself love Wu Xie. He should’ve left before Wu Xie started to care for him.
He only noticed he was crying when Pangzi hugged him, hard.
Why didn’t Pangzi hate him?
“Wang Meng—he doesn’t understand,” Pangzi said quietly. “Tianzhen—fuck, Xiaoge. It’s not your fault.”
“He was right,” Zhang Qiling whispered.
Pangzi shook him. “He doesn’t have any fucking idea what he’s talking about!”
“Did he lie?” Zhang Qiling asked.
Pangzi was silent.
***
He contemplated many things.
He thought of climbing back up Changbai Mountain; entering the Bronze Gate again; letting the Ultimate have him.
He thought of plunging the sword that Wu Xie had given him straight into his own heart.
He thought of finding Wang Meng and giving him a gun. It’d be quick, this way, but he destroyed one life already; he shouldn’t break another one.
He thought of leaving, walking forward until he forgot his life again.
But Pangzi was always there, and on the rare occasions he wasn’t, Hei Xiazi was instead, watching him with careful eyes, as if they weren’t going to leave him alone even for a moment.
***
“Xiaoge.” Pangzi touched his jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. “Xiaoge, do you remember your mother?”
Zhang Qiling closed his eyes. He thought, after hearing about Wu Xie, that nothing could hurt again: he was wrong. This memory was still like a stab wound, never closed.
“I’m sorry,” Pangzi hurried to say. “I—I’m doing it all wrong. This isn’t what Tianzhen wanted. I’m sorry, I—” He took a deep breath. “Tianzhen’s in Motuo. I know it’s only three days, but—he’s there.”
Motuo was a long way from there: longer than Zhang Qiling really wanted to stay alive.
But if Wu Xie was there—he’d go for a chance to spend ten minutes with him. Three days—three days were an eternity, and nothing at all.
(He knew exactly how much three days could hurt, too.)
***
Someone else handled all the logistics. Hei Xiazi went with them, keeping to himself, uncharacteristically silent. Zhang Qiling walked when he was told to, sat on a train or in a car when he was told to; did not eat and did not sleep. He couldn’t swallow anything. Any time he closed his eyes, he saw Wu Xie, staring at him with lifeless eyes.
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said. “You need to eat something. You need to rest before you fall down.”
Falling down did not seem like a bad idea.
“I promised,” Hei Xiazi said, a propos of nothing. “Get some rest, Yaba Zhang, or I’ll knock you out. And that’s your favourite technique, not mine.”
What was even the point?
They transferred from one car to another, a bigger SUV. Zhang Qiling was so tired, and Wu Xie was still gone.
A hand at the back of his neck; a finger pressing down, hard; nothing.
***
He woke up leaning against Pangzi, half in his lap. Pangzi didn’t seem to mind—he kept his arms firmly around Zhang Qiling, clearly trying to keep him as comfortable as could be in the tight car space. Zhang Qiling had no idea how long he’d been out; knew that it didn’t help. The world remained too sharp and too blurred all at once; cold and hopeless and without Wu Xie.
“Xiaoge,” Pangzi said, that and nothing else, and this time, Zhang Qiling ate the proffered protein bar. It tasted like nothing and his stomach hurt after.
***
They made it to Motuo. They climbed to the temple. Zhang Qiling was still weak after the decade spent inside the Bronze Gate, so it was a slow, hard hike. He thought, under other circumstances, he might be annoyed at his own body. As it was, he didn’t care for anything much.
He wasn’t sure if he remembered all his visits to that place, but he remembered enough. He knew there was a statue of him crying in one of the courtyards.
He wondered if it had always been meant to be prophetic.
He’d known, before leaving for the Bronze Gate, that Wu Xie was likely to find this place. He hadn’t realised, had absolutely no idea just how his absence was going to affect Wu Xie.
He’d had no choice, but it didn’t matter now.
The monks in this temple had taught him that his mother had passed him a heart. That he could feel and want like any other person.
He wished, now, that they hadn’t.
***
They made him eat and sleep a full night before being allowed to see Wu Xie. He acquiesced: he was good at ignoring his bodily needs, but for Wu Xie, he’d make an effort.
He got an hour of sleep before he woke up, shivering, from a dream in which he killed Wu Xie with his own hands, Pangzi’s arms around him doing nothing to ward off the nightmares.
“I’m sorry,” Pangzi told him in the darkness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep him safe. I’m sorry you found out like that.”
Nothing was Pangzi’s fault, but Zhang Qiling couldn’t find the words to tell him that. He just clung to him, grateful for his presence, aware that without him, he’d drown.
(Would that be so bad?)
***
Wu Xie looked alive, merely asleep. Zhang Qiling folded to his knees at his bedside, wanting nothing more than to touch, and too scared to do so.
Wu Xie’s eyes fluttered open. He sighed. He opened his mouth, and he spoke.
Zhang Qiling’s mother had waited for him for too long: by the time he found her, she couldn’t speak. They’d spent three days in silence; three days that reshaped Zhang Qiling’s whole world.
He was not prepared to hear Wu Xie talk.
“Xiaoge,” Wu Xie said, softly. He sat up. He lowered himself to the floor next to Zhang Qiling. He touched him.
Zhang Qiling was not prepared for any of this.
“You’re back,” Wu Xie said. He cupped Zhang Qiling’s face in his hands. He smiled at him, but it looked sad. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you home.”
Zhang Qiling could not take it. He wanted to run and couldn’t leave Wu Xie; he wanted to trade his life for Wu Xie’s but even the Ultimate couldn’t grant him that wish; he wanted to fall asleep here, near Wu Xie, and never wake up again. He wanted to walk up to his own statue and turn into stone just like it.
Wu Xie, infinitely patient, as if they didn’t have seventy two hours only, less so now, wiped his tears away.
***
Wu Xie talked: about their first meeting; about going to Tibet to look for Zhang Qiling’s history. He didn’t talk about the Wangs; he didn’t mention the snakes. Zhang Qiling’s suspicion that he wasn’t supposed to ever learn the truth morphed into certainty, but he didn’t tell Wu Xie that he knew. He wanted to give Wu Xie even a small semblance of peace, and if that meant pretending Wu Xie died in an accident—he would try to do it.
He held Wu Xie close to him, the way he’d always wanted to and never had before.
“I missed you so much,” Wu Xie said, the closest he came to admitting the truth. “I just wanted to see you again one more time.”
Zhang Qiling hid his face in Wu Xie’s shoulder.
***
Wu Xie was carding his fingers through Zhang Qiling’s hair: a comfort and a torture. Soon he would never be able to touch him again.
“Xiaoge, promise me one thing,” Wu Xie said. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”
It was the first and last time he ever lied to Wu Xie.
***
“Can I do something?” Wu Xie asked, as if Zhang Qiling could tell him no.
Zhang Qiling nodded.
Wu Xie smiled. He leant in, so very slowly, until their mouths met. His lips were warm and dry.
Their second kiss, and the last one.
Zhang Qiling wanted to kiss him until he lost his breath, until he suffocated, until there was no more of him in this world.
(Because there wasn’t, was the horrible truth; there was no Zhang Qiling without Wu Xie, not anymore.)
***
There was no warning: one moment Wu Xie was holding Zhang Qiling close; the next he went slack, cold and dead.
***
Zhang Qiling left the temple straight from Wu Xie’s room: no backpack, no outer clothes, barefoot.
The ice and snow were warm, compared to his shattered heart.