Long ago, the Kingdoms knew peace. Gods, Men, Demons, and Ghosts had lived amongst each other in harmony for many years. But nothing lasts forever. Trust, an ever fickle thing, must always be earned, and much like a fragile teacup, when broken it can rarely be made whole once more.

The Kingdom of Jiehua was idyllic and calm. A young cultivator who lived there was known for being graceful, full of life and having a gentle hand. He was well loved across the kingdom, and all who knew him could tell you he always put himself second–he would live on little to nothing to ensure the safety of those around him.  He always did have a way with people, a nurturing touch which guided his hands to help and cherish, to save and grow. He was lucky, in a way. Despite his family not understanding his care or need to help others, especially those different to himself, he was full of passion for them all the same. The light he held within his emerald eyes, guided those who needed him.  It was no surprise to anyone when the young man ascended. 

Jiehong’s ascension was simple really, much in line with how he lived his life. With a soft floating glance up towards the heavens, his feet touched the top of the peak. The ascension brought great power, though not overtly so. So it also came as no surprise to anyone when he was named the God of Flowers. 

His love for flowers started when he was a boy and it of course stemmed from his love for humanity. He saw how people, despite their adeptness, would struggle with their own food supplies. He despised for anyone to go hungry and so learnt how to help the plants and crops grow. It came naturally to him, as natural as breathing, to nurture something so closely and allow it to grow and bloom into something beautiful under his care. 

To some, becoming a minor God would be nothing to brag about. Power, of course, was always something which humanity both desired and took for granted. Each person wanted to climb to the top of the ladder, so to speak, and then languish. But for Jiehong such things did not matter. What did matter was that he had been granted a more substantial ability to help others, and continue his work in an area in which he was passionate. 

As a man he was known to be kind, ordinary but with a heart of gold. As a God he was worshipped, not by millions but by mere hundreds. He never truly cared for numbers or popularity, but each prayer he received brought a content smile to his face, and reminded him that he truly made a difference. 

Many looked down on him due to his status, but he was and would always be proud of what he had become. He would continue to spread the joy that flora could bring to all those around him, hoping to bring happiness and beauty to all who would allow it to be so.

But nothing lasts forever. 

“I swear! I never did such a thing!”

And like a dying rose, petals fell through his fingertips…

“Please… I need you… Don’t leave…. Stay with me…”

…he watched everything around him wither and die…

“Stop… Please… Anything but this… Help them!”

Many moons had since passed since the pure soul fell from grace, since the flowers bloomed and died. 

His ascension had been easy. His fall, anything but.

The sun beat down upon those in the Heavens, whether it was true or simply a construct no one could say. Many voices carried across the expansive dominion of the always clear sky.

The gossip amongst the Gods was always a truly disturbing thing… but still it occurred.

“What lies ahead?” A young gentleman spoke; a Martial God judging by the sword on his hip. His hair was pulled into a tight updo, easy to keep out of the way as he fought. His eyes trailed to a darker spot within the Heavens where only a slight glimmer pervaded the area. 

Another young man, a Messenger God, barely glanced in the direction the other looked. He furrowed his brow as he waved his hand, the motion brushing off the comment as though it annoyed him. 

“That is the portal to the domain of the Flower God. It is of no importance,” he stated, already turning to move on to the next area of the Heavens. 

“You mean…” The young man paused. His mouth slightly parted as his eyes widened in shock. “The one who killed off an entire village?” he managed, swallowing slightly as if in disbelief that the God who’d committed this atrocity was still alive and allowed to keep his own domain.

The other God sighed, and brought his thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was obviously tired of this line of questioning. 

“He cannot hurt anyone. His powers are no longer accessible, and he is trapped in one area of the mortal realm. Anyway… let’s–”

The God cut himself off at the sound of a twig snapping off to the side. The two turned around, their narrowed eyes expecting an intruder. After all, it is rather rude to not announce yourself. But as they turned no one could be seen… 

Dust was something that Jiehong had gotten used to. The constant soft wind blowing those tiny particles of decay around him was almost a pretty sight in contrast to the rest of the aged place where he resided. Their floating in the air reminded him of how blossoms of sakura once did the same in his presence. 

He sighed calmly and stood, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath his feet. Scuffed white shoes caught on the uneven floor as he moved. A soft wisp of pale blue fabric surrounded him, dirtied, ragged, and completely out of place on the man who was once known as the most beautiful of the Gods. 

His ice white hair was tied up in a loose bun. The rest spilled over his shoulders, framing his delicate, almost feminine, face. Weeds and, in happier times, flowers had adorned his hair like a crown. Wide green eyes surveyed the table which had just collapsed unceremoniously onto its side, two of the legs giving in, causing the dust to dance.

“It will be fine,”  he thought to himself, as his palms brushed against the side of his robes in an anxious gesture. This was something he was used to: things breaking and his having to fix them… 

“You can’t fix the dead…”  The internal words sprung intrusively into his mind, a soft crease appearing between his brows, just as snowy as his hair. He shook his head trying to dispel the negative and unproductive thoughts. 

He knew this, of course, and over time his self-soothing mantras had lessened. He was no longer completely sure who was at fault for what had transpired. His emotions mixed with his memories, causing him to find blame in what he once believed he’d had nothing to do with. 

He started to clean up the items that had fallen off the table as it broke, picking up a shattered teacup and cradling the pieces gently in his hand. Lost in his thoughts, Jiehong didn’t hear the slight creaking of the door to his home as it opened, nor the soft creaking of the floorboards until a slight snap echoed throughout the room. He twisted to face the noise, a startled gasp falling from his lips. Though his finger caught on a splintered point of one of the ceramic shards in his hand, he barely noticed, more focused on the young man who now stood before him. 

Jiehong’s wide verdant eyes surveyed the other, running up from black boots, to silver and black robes which framed the unknown intruder. There were also silver ornaments adorning the man’s wrists and waist. It was much more expensive than anything Jiehong owned.  A column of pale skin was shown peeking from the tops of his robes, which lead to a sharp jawline and tilted lips. Finally, green eyes met with grey ones. It was a startling colour, not unlike a storm was encompassed within them. Black hair spilled messily over the other’s shoulders. It was windswept, yet beautiful. Jiehong subconsciously took a step back, eyes not leaving the other man. 

“I apologise for startling you,” the other one began. “I was simply passing by and became curious as to what this place might be.” The man spoke in a voice rich and swollen with confidence. A slight rasp underlined his every word. 

Jiehong wasn’t sure what to say. He knew this man did not simply wander into his territory. It was, after all, sealed off by a rather strong barrier. Not just anyone could enter. Only those with high enough spiritual energy or standing were even able to attempt to pass through. Jiehong opened his mouth to put together some kind of response, before he promptly realised that he must look somewhat like a fish gasping for air, mouth moving but unable to form any words. 

The other man gave him some level of respite and simply smiled. Though the smile contained a sharp edge to it, it also resembled a smirk as he levelled the other with an air of amusement. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jiehong. You may call this one Zhi Ji.”