“Buye, Buye. If you keep living, do good things ever really happen?”
“Good things?”
A scarlet battlefield stretched endless and bare, hushed after a brutal storm of war. Thousands of ownerless bodies lay forgotten, clasped together in a lonely, noisy sleep. Flesh and blood spattered like crimson blossoms, and the seeping red ran like a river, flooding the land.
On the lone hill that rose from this red plain—
A man with ash-rough hair stood, black sleeves whipping like ravens. His spine held straight, a spear poised to pierce the sky.
His gray eyes carried a full cargo of despair, a metallic squall roiling within, mirroring this blood-soaked World. Hearing her, he slanted a look at the small girl beside him—white hair, white eyes, silver coat. Her skin, bare to the air, was snow-pale and jade-delicate, as if one touch would shatter it. She tugged at his sleeve, stubborn as a winter reed.
“I’m [Misfortune]. And you ask me about good things?”
“The answer?” Her dead-pale eyes stared blankly at him, a ghost adrift. She tugged harder, brittle and set.
“Ah, don’t pull my sleeve. This coat’s expensive.”
“So, the answer?”
“You’re a handful, kid.” The gray-haired man let out a long breath, then pressed a palm to the crown of her head. “Good things? They’ll come.”
She wobbled like a toy top. But in that blood-slick, stinking graveyard, her dull eyes flashed bright for an instant—flower-fresh, too clear to be stained.
“Really?”
“Yeah, yeah. Now let go of my coat.”
“Mm. If they will.” She tipped her face up to him. “Then I guess I should keep living.”
...
...
“Buye, Buye. If you keep living, do good things ever really happen?”
The girl looked at the man half-kneeling beside her.
“Good things?”
Shlick—
Sweat beaded his brow. Laughing, the man yanked the golden spear out of his own abdomen. What burst from the wound wasn’t blood, but a storm of ashen motes.
His right hand jolted. Gray particles roared off him like a gale.
With everything he had, he whipped his arm. The golden spear shot like an arrow loosed, punched through a stand of towering trees, shrieked like a knife through ears, and blazed toward a mountain ridge thousands of meters away.
A heartbeat later, the forest rang with a death-cry, raw fear detonating across the trees.
“I’m [Misfortune], and you ask me about good things?” He didn’t spare a glance for the one dying over there.
He forced himself upright. Ashen motes boiled in his gaze. He gave the girl a small smile.
“The answer?”
Watching his struggle, the girl didn’t reach out. She stood still, blank as frost, chasing only the answer.
“Hey, troublesome kid.” He sighed, pressed her head again. “Good things? Sooner or later, sure. Happy now?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t shake me—keep shaking and it’ll be too late to call a doctor.”
“Mm. If they will.” Her mouth lifted a fraction—maybe a smile, maybe not. “Then I guess I should keep living.”
...
...
“Buye, Buye. If you keep living, do good things ever really happen?”
Under a black night sky bleached pale by a storm of fireworks, the girl lifted her face toward the man.
He didn’t answer at once. He was looking around.
Shapes ringed them, shadows layered like a million troops in fog. They hid within the blinding light. At their head stood a woman—gold hair, gold eyes, gold armor.
She stood firm, radiance pouring off her, one person lighting the entire sky.
“So many people for me?” The man laughed, unrestrained. “A mere Lesser [Deity] like me… I rate the [Golden] swinging their whole armada?”
“[Misfortune].” Her voice chimed like jade on jade, or blades on blades. Light burned under her visor. “You can’t carry it.”
“Hah.”
“The [Seer] has spoken. Anyone may—except you. Because you are [Misfortune].” Each word landed like a cut. No room for argument. Killing intent flared. “Put it down, or die.”
“Die? You’ll kill me? With you so-called High [Deities]? Ha, haha, hahahahahaha!”
He doubled over laughing, tears spilling, as if he’d heard the biggest joke this World had ever told. His wild laughter rippled through the silent stars.
The gold-haired woman didn’t move. Blank-faced, she let him laugh.
Wiping his tears, he ruffled the girl’s hair. Bold as a bandit, he pointed at the circle of [Deity] troops around them. “Linlang, see? Stay alive and you do run into good things.”
“Really?” She stared, lost at sea. She didn’t seem to notice the noose tightening. She always wore that same dazed face.
“Of course.” His smile thinned, and he straightened, inch by inch. His lips held a curve, but cold as snow now, no warmth at all. “This is fun, isn’t it.”
“I see.” The girl smiled a little too. Ice cracked, and a touch of life showed—faint, but real. “Then I’ll keep living.”
...
...
“Buye, Buye—”
Shlick—
A blue sword carved a bright arc through the air and slid past the man’s arm.
Scarlet blood splashed across the girl in his arms.
He grinned into the pain. His body spun hard, right leg chopping like an axe, driving into the swordswoman’s gut.
“Wah!” She spat blood at the sky, then rocketed away like a shell and slammed into the far earth.
“NiceBall!” Watching her grind a deep scar into the ground, the man laughed, loud and arrogant.
Laughing up at the sky, he didn’t notice the girl’s eyes—blank face wet with blood—twitch for a heartbeat. Only a heartbeat.
“Buye.”
She let him hold her, wiped blood from her cheeks, and watched him sweat. Her voice stayed flat, stubborn for the answer. “If you keep living, do good things ever really happen?”
“Good question.” He caught the spinning left forearm with his right hand, grinned down, teeth bright, killing intent glittering. “I’ve considered it.”
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—!
A roar like locusts swarming rolled in, swelling fast from far to near.
He spun—and saw a black storm of arrows, a squall hammering down.
A black ocean surged, waves stacked high, ready to drown the two of them here.
Far off, one figure hung in midair and loosed at full draw.
“Put it down, [Misfortune].” The archer was a silver-eyed girl with a black ponytail. Her voice drifted through the tidal roar, thin and distant. “You know this—my power counters yours.”
“Tch.”
He smiled. “Guess I don’t need to think any more. Stay alive, and good things really do happen—like running into something this interesting.”
“Really?” She tilted her face up to him.
One breath later, the black waves were upon them. Wind whipped and beat at them. His coat dragged back like lead-poured cloth.
Cloud-black and sky-swallowing, with nowhere to run.
His grin widened, a touch theatrical.
“Of course.” Ashen motes howled off him, charging the black sea.
“That’s good.” The girl gave a small smile. In the thunder of impact, she spoke the line she always did. “Then I’ll keep living.”
...
...
“Buye, Buye…”
Rain fell like a cataract, a deluge stitching sky to earth. The World turned gray and blurred.
Barefoot in the downpour, the girl stood ankle-deep in muck. She stared at the man facedown in the mire—bloodied, barely breathing.
For the first time in a hundred years together, she didn’t ask the question she’d worn thin.
Eyes on him, face empty, she spoke soft.
“…Are you going to die?”
His cheek scraped mud. He pried one eye open and looked at her. Half his face was paste, but his mouth twitched into that familiar, devil-may-care smile.
His words dodged the question. Thousands of times, he’d hated answering that boring line. This time, he answered first.
“Of course. If you keep living, good things happen.”
She flinched. Her hands trembled.
“No… I’m asking you…”
“I said it… good things will happen.” He held her in his gray gaze. A thousand feelings crowded there, condensing to a single look.
Struck like lightning, not just her hands—the whole body shook. “No… I—”
“Trust me. I’m [Misfortune]. Isn’t that the answer you’ve always wanted?”
“No, no, no…” Her eyes shook too. She seemed to finally see the terror blooming at her feet. The ice-mask shattered. Life rushed into her face for the first time—and the first expression that bloomed was fear and grief.
“No, not that…” She stumbled forward, dropped to her knees, and grabbed him, frantic. “Buye, Buye.”
“Ah.”
“I—I don’t want to know.” She shoved at his body, trying to roll him over with muddy hands. “Linlang—doesn’t—doesn’t want to know—”
“Too late.” Blood threaded his lips. His voice thinned. “Linlang, the first time you asked, it meant you’d know all this.”
“No, no. Linlang regrets it. I don’t want it. I don’t want to know.” She shook her head in pain.
“No. You already know.” He smiled. Even in the muck, his smile shone. “People—just living doesn’t guarantee good things. But when you’re dead… there’s no good at all. Me, I don’t want to die at all. So, Linlang, keep on liv—”
His words broke.
“No! No! Buye!”
Linlang screamed, hopeless. As his eyes drifted shut, huge tears welled in her silver gaze. She clutched her chest hard. She had never felt this—the flood swelling inside, ready to burst her ribs. It hurt… though her body had no wounds, the flesh was fine, her spirit untouched by any curse. And still… it hurt…
She didn’t know where the hurt lived. But it was there. And it hurt.
“Buye, Buye…”
“It hurts—it hurts so much—”
Clumsy, she tried to push his limp body, but she was too weak to do anything. She cried and pushed and smeared tears. Face, hands, eyes, hair—everything caked in mud, until at last she was stained pitch-black by the sludge soaked with [Misfortune]’s blood.
She didn’t notice. She sprawled over him and wailed.
“Liar—Buye—liar. You liar! Living—clearly—has no good at all! It hurts—it hurts—there’s no good—none at all!”
“It hurts, it hurts so much, Buye, Linlang can’t bear it!”
“You—ugh—you—ugh—liar! You liar!!”
“Living—clearly—has no good—none at all!”
...
...
About the other book: yes. I’m busy with my graduation project now; once the thesis defense is over, I’ll have time to tend both books.
