ALL I HAVE LEFT. (XUEXIAO)

002

It had already been a year since the death of Xiao XingChen. Maybe two. Xue Yang didn't know anymore. Xiao XingChen was dead, and A-Qing was too. Her last words to him were:

"I-I really hate you."

Xue Yang wanted to tell her that he hated her too. If she hadn't told Xiao XingChen, would he be dead right now? If she didn't have her head so full of justice, maybe Xiao XingChen would still be laughing and Xue Yang would still have candy to eat. Xue Yang hated A-Qing and he hated Song Lan and he hated Xiao XingChen, but above all else, he hated himself. He wanted to cry and slap himself and cry to A-Qing, telling her that he regretted what he had done. But in the end, all he could do was laugh.

Xue Yang sat down at the coffin home, his two hands holding the biggest radishes in the market. After Xiao XingChen's death, there was no need to bicker with the salesmen anymore, and he would always carry home the biggest radishes. But for some reason, the tiny, shriveled-up radishes that daozhang brought home were so, so much sweeter. 

After clumsily preparing dinner, he brought a bowl of simple soup over and sat in front of Xiao XingChen's coffin. He opened the lid and gazed at the serene face of the man underneath, preserved by the talismans he slapped on top. Perhaps it was the moonlight, but Xiao XingChen's gentle smile looked a little bit helpless. 

Xue Yang's hands faltered at the sight of that snowy white bandage and the slanted headpiece that Xue Yang couldn't figure out how to put back on to daozhang's head. 

Xue Yang looked over toward the corner of his room to see the clothes that he wore when he first met Xiao XingChen. It was so long ago. Ever since daozhang's death, Jin GuangYao had paid a strange amount of attention to him, buying him new clothes and such, but he always refused to wear them. His old clothes were already torn and so awkwardly small, but he didn't mind it.

Xue Yang walked over and picked up the pile of black cloth off the ground. He wanted to go back to that time so badly, when he wasn't the terrible, detestable villain that had created so many tragedies. He tried to put on the old clothes, but they wouldn't fit. Xue Yang tried pulling his old shirt down, but all that he heard was a rip. A dryness spread through the back of Xue Yang's throat.

"Why don't they fit?" he screamed, his voice hoarse.

"WHY WON'T THEY FIT!" His screams were wretched and pitiful.

"These are my clothes, so WHY WON'T THEY FIT!" 

Xue Yang threw the clothes down in a rage and stomped on them. Defeated, he let his body slip onto the ground.

"I just want to go back..." he mumbled.

"I just want to go back..."

"Is it too much to ask?" Xue Yang choked.

"IS GOING BACK TOO MUCH TO ASK?" Xue Yang's voice cracked, the pain in his throat burning through him, through his chest, through his head until the raging fire inside him consumed him.

Xue Yang closed his eyes, and he didn't open them for a long while. He was scared that when he opened them, he would lash out and rip apart everything in front of him. But when he gain the courage to open his eyes, it was not a desolate inferno burning in his eyes, but rather a light wetness. Perhaps it was this wetness that put out the fire in Xue Yang's heart. 

Xue Yang smiled miserably to nobody and headed back over to drink that bowl of already-cold soup. He took the wooden spoon in his hand and scooped up and spoonful of soup before raising it towards Xiao XingChen's face.

"Daozhang, don't you want to eat too? It's already cold," he said in a gentle voice.

This time Xue Yang wasn't mad that Xiao XingChen didn't respond. He imagined that Xiao XingChen nodded and smiled, taking the wooden spoon out of his hands and taking a sip. Xue Yang waited until the image in his mind was over to take a sip himself. The soup was bitter against his tongue, but he felt numb to it already.