A/N: This story is very loosely based on a tumblr prompt about modern day deliquent Xue Yang being visited by time-travelling Xiao Xingchen.
Things I know jackshit about: 1) hacking, 2) modern China, 3) ancient China. So naturally this story has all three of those. I'm trying to do some basic research, but the warning still stands - read at your own risk! Hope the xuexiao is worth it :).
Life bleeds out of him, comes rushing from the place where his arm was connected to the rest of his body just a moment ago. He has fallen down on his knees and is now swaying a little, his vision going blurry.
Xue Yang is dying, that much is certain. There is nothing that could save him now, but that's okay. He still has one last move left.
His fingers already feel as stiff as those of a corpse when he digs into his pocket, clasping them around a small, intricately crafted silver pendulum that gives off strong surges of energy. He has marveled about that energy before, during the numerous times he tried to crack the mystery of this object. It feels not exactly resentful, but definitely dark, powerful yet volatile. He has a vague idea about what it might do, but no way to be certain, due to the very nature of the artifact.
The moment he touches it with bloodied fingers, the pendulum starts to suck out his rapidly dwindling spiritual energy like a leech. He wants to let out a bout of bitter laughter, but the only thing he manages is a painful grimace.
He was saving this artifact as the very last resort, the way spies keep poison capsules on their persons, because, well. The precondition for its use is his death, which was something he tried to avoid if he could help it. Unlike some fools, choosing to die by their own hand at the first opportunity.
Beautiful, broken fools.
He pictures Xiao Xingchen's face – not the achingly perfect yet cold mask death has turned it to, but the way it looked before that blundering idiot Song Lan had to come and spoil everything, animated when talking with A-Qing, lit up with laughter at Xue Yang's stupid jokes.
One night, Xue Yang was roused by Xiao Xingchen tending to the fire in their hearth. There was a strange smile playing at the Daozhang's lips as he stirred the glowing embers, gentle yet wistful. Something about it made Xue Yang close his eyes and even his breathing, pretending to be still asleep.
A moment later, careful fingers removed a strand of hair from his face, and then proceeded to caress the crown of his head, as gently as though Xue Yang wasn't a ruthless killer but some fragile being made of porcelain.
With the memory of that feather-light tender touch, Xue Yang crushes the pendulum in his grip, and sends all his remaining life force towards it