an echo chamber of my own

Fandom: Word of honor Characters: Wen Kexing & Gu Xiang Prompt: After her death, Gu Xiang’s voice (and ghost?) appear to Wen Kexing, the expression of his guilt because no, she won’t come back even as a ghost. (So you say you like angst? THERE! You’ve been served! 😈 )

This is set in a nebulous alternate ending where ZZS and WKX both survive but suffer severe consequences.

On AO3 here.

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“What’s wrong?” Zhou Zishu asks as he finds his lover’s arm and drapes himself around it.

Wen Kexing stays frozen under his touch. He’s kneeling on the floor, the folds of his robes in disarray around him as if he’s fallen rather than sat. In the sweeping light of the setting sun coming through the window, his white hair stands out in Zhou Zishu’s dimmed vision like the veil of a shrouded ghost.

“Is it a headache again?” Zhou Zishu tried after waiting in vain for an answer.

He feels Wen Kexing’s hitched breath in the crook of his shoulder, a whisper he can’t make out. “You’ll have to be louder,” he says apologetically.

“Sorry,” Wen Kexing’s hand signs onto his chest, repeatedly.

The hand signs was something they made up when Wen Kexing first woke up inside the mountain with broken meridians, so weak that he could barely speak, let alone loud enough for Zhou Zishu’s diminished hearing. They’ve been useful, but they only have a handful of words; it doesn’t tell Zhou Zishu what’s going on.

“Are you in pain?” he asks, softly, in case it is indeed one of Wen Kexing’s headaches.

“No.” A fist, laid on his chest. Then, “Yes. No.”

Zhou Zishu frowns and adjusts his grip on Wen Kexing’s arm.

“A-Xiang,” Wen Kexing’s actual voice says at the edge of his hearing. Zhou Zishu refocuses on his lips, trying to understand his jumbled words. “She shouldn’t be here! I don’t… No! She was supposed to—”

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu gently cups his face. “Are you seeing a-Xiang?”

“Can’t you see her?” Wen Kexing asks desperately.

“Lao Wen, I can’t see much on a good day, you’ll have to show me.”

For his own peace of mind, he still follows Wen Kexing’s gaze, but the sun has nearly set, and the room is too dark for him to distinguish anything but Wen Kexing’s white hair and pale face.

Wen Kexing stumbles forward out of his grasp, desperately reaching. “A-Xiang…” His voice is loud now, hoarse as if he’s been crying. “A-Xiang, you weren’t supposed to stay… Your Cao-ge, he’s waiting for you… Don’t stay for me…”

“Lao Wen, there’s nothing there,” Zhou Zishu says, embracing him from the back, if only to keep him from hurting himself.

Even if he can’t see well, he’s reasonably sure that a-Xiang hasn’t come back as a ghost. It’s been months now since her death; she’s been buried and avenged, and she’s hopefully at peace. This girl who was a ghost in life—Wen Kexing hasn’t stopped blaming himself for her tragic end, and he’s the one for whom peace will not come.

Zhou Zishu can’t bring himself to regret not letting him die in the mountain, much like he can’t regret his own survival, but the price to pay for Wen Kexing was steep. The loss of his martial art was only the start of it; the weakness of his body made the headaches and fainting spells much worse. And then there are the visions.

From what Zhou Zishu can tell, Wen Kexing has seen and heard things others didn’t for most of his life, or at least that’s what a-Xiang told him when he asked her. The inhabitants of Ghost Valley called him crazy—Zhou Zishu did too, once. But now that Wen Kexing’s control over his own body keeps failing, he easily loses his grip on his mind too. Or perhaps, now that their lives are more simple, the gap between his perception and reality is more obvious.

“She’s not there,” Zhou Zishu says soothingly. “She’s gone over. She’s found her peace.”

“No,” Wen Kexing sobs. “Once a ghost, always a ghost. There’s no peace for us. This is all my fault…”

“Lao Wen…”

Zhou Zishu isn’t sure what to do. Wen Kexing won’t snap out of this just because of his denials—he’s already pushing Zhou Zishu away, stumbling up again, reaching. But there’s nothing to reach for; just as Zhou Zishu’s hands find him again in the darkness, Wen Kexing falls to the floor and curls up on himself, whimpering.

He’s muttering something Zhou Zishu can’t hear. At a loss, Zhou Zishu lies down beside him and gently catches his wrists. He brings Wen Kexing’s hands up to his own face—hands that immediately start signing against his cheeks, over and over, “sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Zhou Zishu whispers. “She loved you, and you did your best for her. Her death wasn’t your fault.”

Even this close, he can’t see much of Wen Kexing’s face, but he can feel the gradual relaxing of his posture. Carefully, he gathers his lover in his arms, touching their foreheads together. “There. It’s okay, go to sleep. It’s okay.”

Wen Kexing whispers something indistinct, a vibration against Zhou Zishu’s lips, and kisses him tiredly. “Sorry,” he signs again on his neck, but this time, it’s addressed to Zhou Zishu.

“It’s okay,” Zhou Zishu repeats. “I love you. You can sleep.”

Wen Kexing’s body goes slack in his arms, and Zhou Zishu lets out a breath. “I’m sorry, a-Xiang,” he murmurs to himself. “I’m doing my best to take care of him.”

There is no response, but he wasn’t expecting one.

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Day 2: Consort Jing

She doesn't even have a name but she's so awesome I love her.

Bonus: I accidentally skipped pages of my sketchbook before starting this yesterday so I did a couple teeny tiny sketches.

I'm trying to do a sketch every day in this little sketchbook for the month of June and I'll probably hold myself to it better if I post them here.

For the writing warm up game, how about NIF + Jingrui and Yujin + “I don’t think that’s how that works” ?

For this prompt game.

Thank you so much for the prompt! I strayed from my usual writing patterns and didn't even write angst (because Jingrui and Yujin deserve fluff)

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“Quick, lift me up,” Yujin demands, stepping on Jingrui’s linked hands.

Jingrui grunts a little as Yujin climbs onto his shoulders. He’s taller and stronger than his friend, but the younger boy still weighs enough that he nearly keels over. “Careful!” he calls.

“Sorry! Go to the left, I can’t see anything from here!”

Jingrui obediently takes two steps to the left. “What are they doing?”

“I’m not sure, wait…” Yujin lifts himself partially onto the tiled roof of the courtyard wall, though he keeps one foot on Jingrui’s shoulder, almost making him overbalance. “Jingyan-ge is lying on the ground. I think he’s mad. Lin Shu-gege has his foot on his chest.”

“Maybe they fought?”

Yujin’s second foot finds Jingrui’s shoulder again. “Lin Shu-gege is laughing. I don’t think they’re having an argument.”

Jingrui frowns. He feels a little guilty for doing something as sneaky as climbing the wall of Prince Jing’s residence, but Jingyu-gege, stuck at court for the rest of the day, took him and Yujin apart very seriously to ask them to keep an eye on Lin Shu-gege and Jingyang-ge. He doesn’t really understand why, but the two older boys have been in disgrace for days at court: Lin Shu-gege, Jingrui has heard, kneeled in front of his ancestors for a full day, and he’s been walking and especially sitting stiffly. Jingrui doesn’t know what punishment Jingyan-ge might have received, but he’s been especially straight-backed and serious.

Even though his Xie father is strict and often absent, Jingrui can’t quite imagine what it must be like to have the Emperor for a father. He shares his last name with the Princes, but their lives are very different. As the only one who takes martial arts seriously, Jingyan-ge has become Jingrui’s favorite Prince, but he and Lin Shu-gege don’t have a lot of time or patience for teaching their younger cousins anymore.

Suddenly, Yujin gasps. “They’re kissing!”

“Kissing?” Jingrui says, confused. “Kissing who?”

“Each other, idiot! Jingyan-ge pulled Lin Shu-gege down and Lin Shu-gege punched him and now they’re kissing! Do you think they’re going to marry?”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Jingrui frowns. “They’re both boys. Besides, isn’t Lin Shu-gege going to marry Nihuang-jie?”

Yujin somehow shrugs with his whole body, vibrating with excitement. “Still kissing! Ew! Maybe they can be each other’s concubine? Can boys be concubines?”

Jingrui thinks about it. “Maybe?”

He’s kind of glad that Yujin is the one looking. The thought of Jingyan-ge kissing Lin Shu-gege is… disturbing. He doesn’t want to see it.

“We should go before someone finds us,” he says.

But it’s already too late.

“YAN YUJIN!”

At the shout, Yujin falls off Jingrui’s shoulders, and he barely manages to catch his friend before he faceplants. Yujin has gone pale with fear.

“Oh no,” he cries out. “Xia Dong-jiejie!”