Crown Prince and Ghost King

Chapter 55

--Reminder: <><><><> marks a flashback, -.-.-.-.-.-.-. marks a change of POV--

Hua Cheng wasn't listening anymore.

He was hearing, he could hear those shadows of the past bicker and argue, he had his heartstrings pulled by the tenacious soul of the man who refused to hurt Xie Lian, but he wasn't listening. He couldn't. the only thing he could do was beg, beg until his voice failed him, beg until he choked on his tears, nails scraping against the hard tiles of the floor and fingers bleeding on the dirt.

He couldn't even listen to his own husband, as he relieved the memory of the conversation he had with the street performer that refused to stab him. Hua Cheng watched his lips move, blood dripping from them for the exertion the curse was taking on his body, but even his vision wasn't good anymore.

His eyes were cloudy, veiled with tears, and yet the ghost couldn't stop looking.

It was like that day, when that weak ghost fire struggled in Bai WuXiang's hold, watched as the murder unfolded in front of his eyes. It was as if his eyes were frozen on Xie Lian's body, unable to move away, to look away even for a single second.

Maybe they were. Maybe the spirits were forcing him to witness those events exactly like he did in the past.

«Please», he cried, his voice weaker and weaker. «Please, take me instead!».

But they wouldn't listen.

And when Xie Lian called after that street performer, lost in the story of his past, Hua Cheng realized something that made his already dead heart drop and shatter.

It was almost unnoticeable, because Xie Lian was wearing black robes and Hua Cheng was blinded by his own tears, but just a split second had been enough. Just one moment of clarity. The blood at Xie Lian's mouth wasn't a result of the curse affecting his spiritual core. It didn't come from his body reacting to the situation it was in.

When Hua Cheng noticed the blood dripping down on the altar, the robes being ripped where he had been stabbed in the past, his entire being was already petrified in shock.

Xie Lian continued to call out, over and over, and for every word he spoke Hua Cheng felt the pain in his voice, the confusion, the desire of putting an end to what Bai WuXiang was doing to him. But he couldn't even pay attention to that.

The only thing he could see, now, were the open wounds on Xie Lian's body, the rips and tears in the fabric of his clothes, the dark, viscous blood slowly seeping through the cloth and dripping on worn-down stone.

«It's all my fault...», he said, shaking his head. «It's all my fault, take me! Me, not him! Don't hurt him, stop hurting him!».

He didn't care his throat was burning, begging for him to stop screaming. He didn't have lungs to obey, to save air. As long as his body resisted, Hua Cheng would keep on yelling, crying, blaming himself just so he could try to save him. To save the only person he wanted to protect, the only person he ever loved with every inch of his being.

The spirits didn't care.

Instead, the story played out with no splits in the road, no change of paths, nothing. Hua Cheng helplessly watched that middle-aged man who exposed Xie Lian as a robber, and the seed of darkness spread among the crowd.

A single person speaking of misdeeds, not knowing the reason behind them, and everybody fell prey of they fear and bloodlust just like that.

Shrieks filled the temple, the scared screams of people realizing they were already infected. Mixed within them, the faint sound of banging reached Hua Cheng's ears, but he couldn't care less. Xie Lian's blood was now painting the side of the altar, thin lines of red following slow-falling drops; it was the only thing the ghost could focus on, though his mind was already taking a road towards madness.