Settled comfortably on the roof of a skyscraper, Lin Chen snaps open his fan. Glowing under the neon lights, he grins madly to himself as he preens in his success. His paper fan struggles sadly against the raging winter wind, but even as his breath forms white fog-clouds as he exhales, he only feels the slightest of chills. Oh, the joys of being near-immortal.

“Well,” he muses to himself, as he watches the way the plum tree glows under the moonlight. There is only one set of footprints on the snow. “This is going to be interesting.”

A lost soul – not terribly uncommon, but rare enough that the appearance of one was enough to set off the entire Reaper gossip mill.

“Huang!”

The Reaper turns around, balancing his hat on top of a stack of paperwork. At the image of his excited coworker running down the hall, he sighs.

“I heard about your recent collection – a lost soul? Did you actually encounter a lost soul?”

“Well,” Huang says, glaring, “I didn’t exactly encounter it if it became lost, did I?”

The gossiping Reaper only laughs. “It’s been so long since we’ve had one of those cases. Fate sure acts in strange ways, hmm?”

Less the hand of fate, Huang thinks to himself as his colleague waves a cheerful good-bye, and more the whims of annoying and very much non-godly beings.

Life-threatening wounds don’t just heal on their own.

With a renewed vigor in his steps, Huang slinks into his office. Paperwork first. Then, hunting.

Changsu first notices the man in black when he is trudging through the blustery winter chill, walking home from class at the local community college.

At first, he thinks nothing of the man standing at the edge of the crosswalk. In a drowsy stupor, his gaze had slid lazily across the group of people waiting to cross—but just as he is about to glance away, just like he had with everyone else, something stops Changsu from drifting off again.

With a tilt of his head, he considers the man, wondering what exactly about him had caught the attention of his own sleep-deprived mind. The man in black cuts a sleek, sharp figure against the blur of the city, as if the lines of his body are aligned slightly out of place with the rest of reality. But Changsu blinks, and everything smooths out again.

The man fades into the cityscape, as if he’d never been there at all.  

With a roll of his aching shoulders, Changsu hefts his backpack up and follows the crowd across the road as the pedestrian light flashes green. He brushes past the man, and by the time he’s halfway across the road he’s already forgotten about it all.

The Reaper, for his part, doesn’t even notice the human that had lingered on him for just a few moments too long to be normal.  Instead, he is watching the intersection intently, waiting patiently. The crowd crosses the road. The traffic light blinks green.

And then – a terrible, terrible screech fills the air as tires skid across the asphalt, metal bodies crunching against each other like an ugly art display.

Somehow, there is only one death today.  

Huang is waiting for him outside the teahouse of the afterlife.

“Kai,” he greets as the Reaper steps out the door.

Kai nods in acknowledgement. “This isn’t your usual neck of the woods,” Kai says, “Is there something you need?”

With a shrug, Huang firmly sets his hat on his head; Kai mirrors his action. “Nothing really,” the older Reaper says. “I simply wished to give you a heads up that I’ll be in the area more often.”

Ah – the intense gleam in Huang’s eye made sense now. “New lead on your lost soul?”

Huang’s laughter is sickly sweet, bleeding into something cold. “Something like that.”

Uncertain of what to say, Kai simply tips his hat. It isn’t any of his business, anyhow. “Well, good luck then. Let me know if I can help.”

The second time is less like two ships passing in the night and more like ship stares down iceberg because both of them have absolutely no idea what is going on.  

With a heavy sigh, Changsu pushes open the door to his house. Well—it’s not his house.

The moment he steps through the doorway, the stench of cheap beer slams into him. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, Changsu slips his shoes off and peeks into the small living room.

What greets him is entirely in his expectations: Xiao Xuan is sprawled lazily on the couch, flicking mindlessly through different television channels. A near-empty box of beer bottles is within arm’s reach on the table, and empty ones litter the floor. He scratches his patchy beard and mumbles drunkenly to himself.

After his mother died, Uncle Xuan was the only family Changsu had left. It was either that or an orphanage, and Changsu, then just a boy of eight, had to get down on his knees and beg his Uncle to take him in. When Uncle Xuan finaly agreed, Changsu had foolishly thought this was because Uncle Xuan actually had a heart underneath all that bluster. But now, Changsu knows that if it weren't for the life insurance Changsu's mother had left him when she died, Uncle Xuan would have probably kicked him into a ditch.

A pity, then, that Changsu doesn't know where that check is, or how to get it, no matter how much Xiao Xuan hounds him for it.

Before Changsu can decide whether nor not to risk crossing the living room to his bedroom, Xiao Xuan notices him hovering in the hallway.

“Changsu!” he snaps, struggling to sit up. “You’re late. Where the fuck is dinner?”

Changsu briefly closes his eyes and wills patience into his mind. Unfortunately, he has to scrounge through a rapidly dwindling reserve. “Sorry Uncle, I just got home from class. I’ll make dinner right away.” He pauses. “Where’s Jingxuan?”

Uncle Xuan squints at him. “Why? You trying to get out of cooking dinner for him?”

Yes, Changsu doesn’t say, and instead pastes on a blank smile. “Of course not. I was just worried.”

Quickly crossing the living room, Changsu pushes open the door to his bedroom. When Changsu flicks on the light, he sees Jingxuan hunched over his computer, eyes wide and clicking madly at some monster on the screen. He doesn’t acknowledge Changsu’s quick entry and exit.

“Dinner’s soon,” Changsu mutters under his breath as he stuffs his backpack under his desk. Jingxuan ignores him.

As Changsu is poking around in the depressingly empty refrigerator, Uncle Xuan yells, “The hell is that infernal noise?”

It takes a moment for Changsu to understand what the man is angry about. From the road outside comes the shrill shriek of an ambulance siren, and Changsu can hear faint yelling from what he assumes are paramedics or police.

“Changsu!” His uncle yells, and Changsu huffs as he pulls out a bag of green onions.

“Yes, Uncle?”

“Go outside and tell them to shut up,” Xiao Xuan gripes as Changsu, sleeves rolled up and still in an apron, stands at the doorway. “I can’t concentrate on my show.”

On screen, a woman dressed in elaborate, flowing robes sinks to her knees and sobs. Changsu rolls his eyes.

“Sure,” he replies, even though has had no intention of doing so. But Xiao Xuan’s attention is zeroed in on the TV screen again. Like father, like son.

It’s probably for their neighbor anyways. Changsu remembers how even when he was just a kid, the elderly man seemed like he was about to fall over and die any second. He’s just surprised it took this long.

Ah. Might as well take a look. Old man Ji had been nothing but kind to him, if a little overbearing at times.

Changsu quietly opens the front door, peeking out into the darkness. By now, the sirens have stopped, but the flashing lights of the ambulance parked on the road continue to throw red and white arcs of color onto the walls. Sure enough, there is quite a commotion right next door.

Light from Old Man Ji’s house spills out onto the lawn as paramedics roll a stretcher through the front door. To the side, there is another volunteer talking soothingly to Old Man Ji’s wife, who looks to be in the middle of a nervous breakdown.

A cold chill slips down Changsu’s shirt, and somehow, he instinctively knows it isn’t from the wind.

A movement in the corner of his vision makes Changsu instinctively jerk his head toward it. At first, he sees nothing out of the ordinary—just the shadows on the walls and the plants swaying in the breeze.

Then, someone steps out of the doorway, movements graceful and sleek. It’s a man so jarringly out of place that, for a long moment, Changsu can’t even process what he is seeing. He looks like a man right out of an old film, all monochrome with a black trench coat and a black – is that a fedora? As he descends the stairs, one hand placed firmly on his ridiculous hat, the other tucked in a coat pocket, he neatly sidesteps a man rushing in with some sort of medical apparatus. No one else – not the wife, not the volunteers, not the policemen – seems to notice him.

Changsu, frozen in place, suddenly thinks where have I seen this man before?

As if on cue, the man pauses, one leg already poised to step onto the sidewalk. With a slight tilt of his head, he turns around, slowly, gaze sweeping quick and sharp across the scene he’d just left.

When his eyes settle on Changsu’s wide eyes and open jaw, he frowns.

It’s an—attractive look. This thought registers dimly in the back of Changsu’s head as he flinches at the unexpected intensity at which the stranger scrutinizes him

The stranger is still staring at Changsu with a slightly pissed expression, but the clench of his jaw accentuates his absurdly sharp cheekbones and the strong cut of his jawline.

Feeling a little brave, and a little foolish, Changsu plasters on an embarrassingly small smile and waves.

The man’s eyes widen, all traces of anger gone, as he whips his head around, as if searching frantically for something. When he finds nothing but empty space behind him, he stares at Changsu again.

The absurdity of this entire situation startles Changsu out of his previous deer-in-headlights mode.

“Yes, you!” He yells out across the lawn. But perhaps the hustle and bustle of next door, seeing as the paramedics have just eased a stretcher carrying one pale Old Man Ji out of the house, swallow his words, because in between one blink and the next the man is gone.

Uncle Xuan’s angry yell of hurry up with dinner! is enough to jerk Changsu out of his odd trance. Swallowing his disappointment (at what? he can’t really seem to decide), Changsu guiltily retreats back into the house, shutting the door behind him.

As he hurries to the kitchen, he realizes he can’t shake the feeling of something being terribly, terribly out of place, but Uncle Xuan’s impatient scolding is more than enough for Changsu to bury the entire incident into the recesses of his memory.

Meng-dage pounces on Changsu after lunch.

“Changsu,” Meng Zhi says, beaming. The crinkle of his eyes gives him a distinct puppy-like look, something slightly unnerving to be seen on a grown man. “I need to show you something.”

With a sigh, Changsu waves his hands flippantly, even as Meng Zhi throws an arm around his shoulder.

“Meng-dage,” Changsu says, weakly, “I have to go to class.”

“It’s important,” Meng insists. “And no you don’t, you don’t have class until two.”

Normally, Changsu very much appreciates Meng Zhi’s attempts to wriggle into his life. For all his overbearing attention, Meng is a thoughtful and sincere person, and also one of the few friends who knows about Changsu’s home situation. Changsu has crashed in Meng’s guest room more times than he can count, and he swears by Meng’s home-cooked meals.

But today, Changsu is feeling shittier than normal. A cough lingers in his chest, and although he doesn’t have a fever, he’s been shivering all day. The droning lectures of his professors only add to his headache.

Of course, Meng Zhi notices. “Did you take your meds yet?” he asks, frowning at Changsu.

Changsu nods, but then coughs wetly right after, so he does not paint that convincing of a picture. Meng’s face scrunches into a near comical portrayal of worry. No one really knows what kind of illness Changsu has—Uncle Xian took him to the hospital the first time, looked at the bill, and laughed in his face. A few successive visits, using Uncle Xian’s last bit of goodwill, resulted in nothing but a diagnosis of “weak constitution.” Now, Changsu pays for his (probably wrong) medication completely out of pocket. At least it alleviates some of the pain.

But Changsu manages to wave off Meng’s concerns, and after a few more minutes of wheedling, Changsu finally relents.

“This,” he snaps, although he really isn’t that angry, “better be good.”

With a laugh, Meng gently removes the finger jabbing at his chest. “Remember this summer, when Jingrui and his family—and most of his extended family—went on that cruise trip?”

As they round a corner, Meng still chatting amicably about the adventures of Jingrui and Yujin and Jingrui’s crazy family in the Bahamas, Changsu slowly tunes out Meng’s chatter. There’s an odd feeling unfurling in his chest again. Or maybe it’s more like needle pinpricks brushing against his skin. Changsu self-consciously rubs at his arm.

Right as Meng is about to lead him into a classroom, Changsu jerks to a stop. The moment he does, the shuffling footsteps behind him cease.

Slowly, Changsu turns around, ignoring Meng’s concerned question. But there is nobody behind them, the hallway empty.

“It’s nothing,” Changsu mutters, even though the tingling still creeps over his skin.

When Changsu follows Meng through the door, his is immediately attacked by a purple cyclone.

“Changsu!” Yujin yells, vaulting over a nearby desk to tackle Changsu into a hug. “You're still alive!”

“Geez,” Meng Zhi scolds, pulling the grinning boy off of Changsu, who has turned a worrying shade of red as he gasps for breath, if a bit exaggeratedly. “At this rate, he won't be for very long!”

“Changsu, are you alright?”

Jingrui carefully picks his way around the scattered desks and chairs, worry creasing his forehead. Like a slippery eel, Yujin expertly twists out of Meng Zhi’s grasp, bounding toward Jingrui with seemingly endless energy.

With a show of great effort, even though Yujin's hug had been more surprising than painful, Changsu heaves himself up, scrabbling feebly at Meng’s arm. In solidarity, Meng Zhi gasps dramatically and clutches at Changsu’s swaying body, face twisting in a caricature of shock.

“This better be worth a near-death experience” Changsu moans, daintily touching the back of his hand to his forehead as he swoons in Meng Zhi’s arms. Yujin is laughing so hard he’s wiping away tears, while Jingrui hides a fond smile behind a sleeve. They're used to Changsu’s dramatics, and a little bit of gallows humor never hurt.

With a flourish, Jingrui pulls a padded box from the folds of his jacket sleeves. It’s slightly larger than the width of Jingrui’s palms, and is fashioned after a treasure chest. Changsu quirks a smile at the tacky appearance, but still leans in with an air of expectation.

“I know how much you like shiny things,” Jingrui declares with utmost certainty, ignoring the way Meng Zhi snorts loudly. “So when we found this, we immediately thought of you!”

Saying so, he carefully opens the box. Inside, padded with soft red satin, sits a large pearl, slightly misshapen, about the size of a pigeon’s egg. When Jingrui’s hands move, it catches the light, and shines. Almost instinctively, Changsu leans in, eyes widening. The pearl really is a pretty thing, milk white all-around but with an odd sort of luster that only polished things have. He has to pat his hands on his arms to stop himself from reaching out.

“Did you buy this?” Changsu asks, looking slightly embarrassed when Jingrui, having seen Changsu’s aborted action, early offers the box to him. He picks the pearl up, admiring the way it slides across his palm.

“Nope!” Yujin cuts in, bounding on the balls of his feet. He’s beaming with the satisfied air of someone who has done a tremendous deed. “I found it in the ocean when we were scuba diving! Honest to god, it’s the real thing.”

Suddenly, there’s a light gust of wind brushing against the nape of Changsu’s neck, the whisper of footsteps slipping past his ears, so gentle that Changsu almost doesn’t notice anything is out of place. But Changsu has always been more observant than most, and after a moment of processing, he thinks, almost idly, how can there be wind in this classroom with a closed door and no open windows?  

Changsu raises his head without even thinking, mind temporarily off the (very pretty) pearl and eyes about to sweep across the windows, when an unexpected thing bursts into view.

And he very much bursts. One moment, there is empty space to the right of Changsu and the next, a flurry of what sounds like flapping wings, a gust of wind that doesn’t move a hair on Changsu’s head, and a man appears out of thin air.

Changsu stumbles backwards, right into Meng Zhi’s chest, and somehow manages to choke down a curse. In the process, his frail hands fumble the box. Jingrui, reflexes honed by a lifetime of martial arts training, somehow manages to lurch forward and grab the box, and the pearl safely with it, before it can tumble to the ground.

Faintly, Changsu can hear Meng Zhi’s concerned. Changsu blinks, and Yujin has scurried to his side, helping Meng Zhi prop him up as Jingrui stands helplessly, hands still curved around the treasure chest.

Next to Jingrui stands a man in black. Changsu blinks again, and the blurred outlines of his figure seem to stutter and then clear in quick succession, like a camera does as it focuses. Another blink, and then there is the realization that this is the man Changsu saw a week ago, in the yard, watching over Uncle Ji’s departure with the steady gaze of someone who has seen the same scene over and over again.

Changsu swallows as his mind kicks into gear again. As Yujin tugs at his arm, worry creasing his forehead, Changsu realizes that no one else in the room can see him.

He makes a split-second decision.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, stumbling to his feet. He turns to give Meng Zhi a small smile. “Thanks for catching me.”

“Are you ok? Do you need to drink something? Eat something? Do we need to get you to the hospital?” Yujin asks, all in a rush.

Changsu waves him off. “It’s ok, I just got dizzy for a moment.” He winks at Jingrui, who has relief painted all over his face. “Guess that pearl was just too cool.”

“Really, Changsu,” Jingrui sighs. “But really, if you’re feeling unwell, let us know, ok?”

Changsu nods, but his attention is already sliding off his friends and focusing on the strange man, who is dressed in the exact same black coat, black boots, black hat as he was the last time Changsu saw him.

The man makes no move to interact with any of the other people in the room. In fact, as Yujin bounces back to Jingrui’s side, Changsu thinks that the man isn't really aiming to do anything all.

Changsu stares at the man's face, at his familiar jawline, the slight widening of his eyes. When Changsu follows the man’s stare, he realizes that it is focused on the pearl still in Jingrui’s hands. All at once, the man stills, silence rushing to fill the soft murmurings of ambient noise that had followed his entrance. Then, he hears a soft intake of breath from the man, and to Changsu's surprise, a tear rolls down his cheek.

Evidently, the man is surprised too. He raises a trembling hand to brush under his eyes, and then rubs more fiercely when the tears don't stop.

“What is wrong with me?” The man whispers, seemingly unable to break eye contact with the pearl.

An automatic response is on the tip of Changsu’s tongue, but Jingrui flips the treasure chest shut as Yujin says, beaming, “And that’s the full story of how we got the pearl and gloriously pranked Jingrui’s Aunt Yue! Spectacular, right?”

The man flinches violently, spell broken. He rubs furiously at his eyes, gives the classroom a rough, wide sweep, and disappears as suddenly and as smoothly as he came.

Before Changsu can react, Jingrui is pressing the box into his hands. “I don't really like these things,” he’s saying, “And Yujin will probably lose it within a week—” “—would not!” “—so take care of it, ok?”

“Right,” Changsu says, startled back into the present. “Of course I will. You two really know me so well.”

As they part ways, Changsu finds that he can't quite return Jingrui and Yujin’s bright smiles. The presence of the man in black weighs heavy on his mind. Once is a coincidence, explained by fickle fate and odd people. Twice? Especially when the man in question teleports in and out of the room like some kind of ghost?

Changsu isn't the religious type, nor does he believe in the supernatural. But the curiosity is eating him from inside out, and there's only so many ways to explain the phenomenon he'd just witnessed.

By the time he waves goodbye to Meng-dage and heads to his next class, he is already scheming.

Lin Chen is having a wonderfully normal day, filled with lovely strolls through the city and exciting conversations with the local ghosts when an angry Reaper materializes in front of him. The shadows kicking at his feet, along with the fearsome aura spiking off him in droves, causes the ghost Lin Chen has been teasing to screech in fright and promptly disappear.

“You!” Kai snarls, and it is such an uncharacteristic expression on his face that Lin Chen’s frivolous greeting dies in his throat.

“Me!” Lin Chen recovers quickly,and gives the Reaper a cheeky smile. “But you know that I'm me. What business do you have with this little fox spirit, Mr. Reaper?”

“Little fox spirit? You no good, meddling huli jing! You bastard of a ninetails!”

“I have eight very beautiful tails, thank you very much,” Lin Chen sniffs, snapping open his fan.

With a ferocious vigor not usually seen in any Reaper, much less one as calm and professional as Kai, Kai jabs a trembling finger into Lin Chen's face.

“I don't know what trick you pulled,” he says, anger tightening his voice, “But stop interfering with my life and my job.”

Lin Chen very tactfully does not say but you're dead! Instead, he snaps his fan shut and taps it against his chin, a slow smile curling across his face. Though Lin Chen rarely takes his true fox-form these days, preferring to show off only his tails, or most often, to pass completely as a human, something about the way he holds himself, about the way amusement constantly dances in his eyes or the wry smile lingering on his mouth, a witty comment prepped on his tongue that reminds most people he meets of a trickster fox. At this moment, Kai watches the way Lin Chin’s eyes curve in a a-ha! movement and has the distinct feeling of being swindled, although of what he doesn't know yet.

“I see,” Lin Chen drawls. “You saw him.”

“Why did you tell me to go to that school?” Without truly listening to Lin Chen, Kai barrels on. He’s managed to wrestle composure over his face, but Lin Chen can still feel the quiet, dangerous anger swirling right under the surface. “Did you cast a spell on that pearl? Is this your idea of a prank?”

Lin Chen’s fan pauses in its motion. “Ah,” he says, mildly, “A beautiful pearl, was it not? Why, did you find it distasteful?”

“It made me cry,” Kai blurts out. He presses his lips shut, embarrassed at another uncharacteristic outburst. Especially one so full of raw insecurity, of unfiltered emotions. Reapers, after all, for all they looked like humans, for all they needed to sleep and eat, aren’t humans anymore. The intensity at which humans experience emotions are unnecessary for a Reaper’s job.  

Lin Chen’s eyes widen. He is obviously not expecting this response, and falls into silence. He tilts his head, and then takes a few steps backwards, gaze suddenly sharpening with intensity. Kai can only stand in confusion as Lin Chen paces a slow, steady circle around him, eyes flickering up and down his body, as if Lin Chen has truly seen Kai for the first time. One step, then another, and then Lin Chen has stepped right into Kai’s personal space, leaning in so close that Kai can almost feel the other man’s breath ghosting over his skin.

Under the weight of Lin Chen’s stare, unsettling and unexpected, Kai suddenly feels as if the heavy burden of all the time Lin Chen has lived, all empires he has seen rise and fall, all the lives he has watched from beginning to end, has settled on Kai’s shoulders. There is a near-oppressive aura rolling off of Lin Chen in waves, and unconsciously, Kai’s throat closes up. For a moment, he stops breathing.

Then, Lin Chen straightens, cheery smile back on his face. Kai jolts out of his trance, stumbling backward as he inhales sharply. Somehow, he manages to keep his composure.

“I thought so,” Lin Chen says, sounding extremely smug. “I love being right.”

“What?” Kai snaps. He has the distinct feeling of being led around by a dangling carrot, forever turning round and round in circles. He doesn’t like it. “Speak clearly, fox, or I will smite you.”

But Lin Chen only laughs and dances away from Kai’s outstretched hand. “As if you can do anything to me, little Reaper. I’m a little out of your jurisdiction, you know?”

“By the way,” Lin Chen adds, snapping open his fan in a big, dramatic gesture. As the fan flutters, the elegant design spread across the leaf shifts and shimmers under the sunlight, the colors splashed across the fan flashing and changing as if they had a mind of their own, Lin Chen grins. It is as warm as all of Lin Chen’s other smiles have been, but Kai can see the glint of sharp canines.

“You should talk to him,” Lin Chen continues, clearly ignoring the wariness that flashes across Kai’s face. “You know? The human that can see you.”

It takes a moment for Lin Chen’s words to sink in. By the time Kai demands, “How do you know that?!” Lin Chen has already disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the echoes of his laughter on the winter wind.

Lin Chen has been witness to many, many things. With every tail a huli jing gains, his power grows, but this sort of power can only come into being through the passage of time. His eight tails, gained through patience, perseverance, and the careful sharpening of his magic through eight lifetimes of living, mark his long foray into eternity.

But these are not eight human lifetimes, oh no. A fox spirit’s lifetime is not marked by humans, nor anything they create. Not the rise and fall of their cities, their empires, or even the long, tedious span of their civilizations.

Lin Chen has lived for a long, long time.

In this lifetime, Lin Chen has been witness to many remarkable things. The land he has settled on has witnessed centuries of bloodshed, each new war marked by a new liege-lord, a new emperor, a new identity. This is the way humans live, after all. To struggle and struggle again once you fall, always reaching for greater things.

Generally, Lin Chen tries not to extensively interact with humans. How to explain the fact that you have seen his father’s generation born and watched them die, and his grandfather’s, and his great-grandfathers? How to explain the fact that you never seem to age, how to explain the way you hold yourself at such a strange distance from worldly affairs, yet are so inexplicably affected by it?

Most of all, Lin Chen is tired of making friends, of falling in love, only for each and every relationship to become lost in the sands of time.

There is a saying, among the supernatural that are intricately tied with human lives. Lin Chen has also heard it repeated among humans, although he does not quite know where it originated for them.

They say that humans have four lives. One life of planting seeds, one life of watering those seeds, another life of harvesting, and finally, a life of cherishing the harvest.

In this life, there is a Reaper and there is a Lost Soul and a pearl. In a previous life, Lin Chen played side by side with two boys bound together tightly by a red string of fate.

Really, saving that Lost Soul from certain death was just a whim. Having lived as long as he has, not even staring in the face Death can scare him anymore.

But Lin Chen looks at Mei Changsu and he looks at the Reaper who cried over a pearl carrying the heavy weight of a promise that has lasted through death and beyond death and he can only shake his head and ask himself how in the world he didn’t realize sooner.