Nezha’s afterlife (a short story)
Nezha’s life was over, ended by his own hands. They may have been held tightly by the strings of the king of the East Sea, but they were his hands nonetheless.
It was his choice.
A twisted choice where he had to choose between his own life or his village's safety but it was his choice nonetheless.
He didn’t spend much time alive. The exact number of years was hazy, but it couldn’t have been more than ten. He missed his time alive dearly.
He missed being held by his mother as she sang sweet songs to the boy she had worked three years to bring into the world
He missed when his father would come home, sweating in his uniform from a hard day's work but still finding the energy to make sure Nezha hadn’t caused any trouble while he was away.
He missed training with his wise master to use the power and weapons he had been blessed with from birth.
Weapons he used carelessly day-to-day.
Power that would lead to his downfall.
He missed his brothers who treated him no differently than they would anyone else despite the way his power burnt holes in all the other relationships he clung onto.
Yet more than anything he missed the little things.
The feeling of hot sand burning his feet.
The joy of Laughing so hard his breath struggled to correct itself.
Even the way his joints would ache after a long day of training seemed a blessing in comparison to the apathetic nature of his current existence.
But that was all far behind him now.
His ability to experience stayed behind with his body.
Now the only thing he had left was raw emotion, memories, and thought.
Nezha knew very well it was time for him to move on to the next life, yet he still found himself hanging around the mortal realm
Trying to wipe his mother's tears as she sobbed against his mangled corpse, trying to quell the repressed anger his father carried like a bag of bricks, trying to comfort his friends who were too young to understand the boy they knew had left them and was never coming back.
In the end, he failed, doomed to be a passive observer in the grief of those he once held dear.
One night he got into his parents' bed, slipping above the covers that refused to move over him.
He pretended he was cuddled up next to them.
They would’ve never let him do that while he was alive. They would’ve told him that he had his own room for a reason and he needed to learn to be more independent.
Now that there was no way for him to depend on them, or even ask them for permission in the first place, he somehow doubted they would mind.
After a while of lying there, he decided to slip into his mother's dream.
He saw a flash of whatever she was doing before he arrived but it faded before he could comprehend it, leaving him and his mother alone in a sea of nothing.
His mother stared at him with wide eyes.
Not through him or at his lifeless body,
Right at him.
He hesitantly moved forward.
his mother stepped back, her hands trembling and her heart beating just loud enough for Nezha to hear clearly
That was when he finally noticed.
that wasn’t love or joy in her tear-filled eyes.
It was terror.
His own mother was afraid of him.
If he couldn’t even bring comfort to the ones he held most dear, then he truly had no more purpose in this life.
Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to move on without doing something, anything, to ease her pain.
So he asked her to do one more thing for him,
To build a temple
That way maybe she could find peace in the divine, and that way maybe his soul could finally rest
His mother told no one of her dream, instead opting to create the temple in private.
She planned the architecture with the same love and attention she once gave her son and placed every brick like it would bring her one step closer to him.
Often she’d break down, falling to her knees in front of her project unaware of her son's arms wrapped around her in a futile attempt of comfort.
Nezha knew she was reminded of his untimely demise every time she returned to the scene.
He admired the way she pushed through her grief, putting her energy towards something bigger than herself.
He wished he could thank her.
Maybe he would,
Maybe in a dream before he left her side for the last time.
Would that finally bring her closure?
Would that bring him closer to moving on?
He watched as the final shingle was placed with a delighted smile, the first joy he had felt since leaving his body behind.
Finally, after all this time being a wandering spirit, unable to affect the world he so desperately clung to
he had finally accomplished something wonderful. He felt had left the village better than he found it. He was ready to move on now and start a new life.
Maybe this time he would be born into a regular family and live a wonderful and normal existence.
One where he wasn’t born special but became so on his own accord.
Making his own choice to live the life Nezha had been thrown into feet first.
Wouldn’t that be lovely?
But the world was not so kind,
And neither was his father.
“What is this?” He asked looking at the temple with disdain
Nezha didn’t understand the question.
Obviously, it was a work of art. Love leaked from even the smallest cracks in the brick, but somehow that wasn’t what his father saw,
Because if it was he wouldn’t look so angry at its creator.
“It’s a temple, for our son,” the mother explained, looking towards the ground in shame.
Nezha’s mother was ashamed of him.
“Why would you make a temple for someone who almost destroyed the village single-handedly?”
Every word he spoke made him seem less and less like the father Nezha missed so dearly, and more like a demon he once trained to fight.
“He didn’t mean for that to happen! he was just a child-“
“He should have known better than to pick a fight with dragons!” The general snapped.
His mother was silent for a moment. her eyes quiet waterfalls of once repressed.
Nezha stepped forward to help her out of instinct but found himself just as heartbroken as she.
All this time he thought his father was angry at the Dragon King.
After all, if Ao Guang hadn’t sent his son to kill him-
No.
If Ao Guang hadn’t sent Li Gen to kill those children in the first place, Nezha would still be alive and his hands wouldn’t be stained with divine blood.
“What was he supposed to do? Let his friend die?” His mother's words were fierce but her voice betrayed her, coming out wobbly and weak as her struggling knees “You always taught him to protect the ones he cared about didn’t you?”
“I taught him to respect the gods,”
But Nezha did respect them! The dragon attacked first! In the heat of battle the instinct to live overpowers any social customs. His father of all people should have known that well.
He wiped his eyes, trying desperately to see his mother's face through a blur of sorrow.
He couldn’t see much but what he did see was the way her features scrunched up in desperate anger
“So what? You’d rather him let his friend be eaten? You’d rather him let Ao Bing drown him and bring his corpse to his father like a trophy?”
Nezha covered his ears, a silent scream clawing its way up his throat as images of that cursed day flashed in his mind.
Despite not being able to feel physical sensation his hands were still wet, dripping with beautiful, horrible golden blood.
He could still smell the death on his clothes, under his fingernails, in places impossible to wash out.
He didn’t want to hear his fathers answer. He didn’t want to see his mother's response. He just wanted to disappear.
Luckily for him, a loud silence spread over them Like a blanket of flame, eating up the grass and burning hotter the longer it lay uninterrupted
Eventually, his mother stormed out, unknowingly leaving her husband and son alone together.
Nezha wept on the grass, unable to be heard nor seen though he almost wanted to know what would happen if his father saw him now.
Would he even care to comfort him
or would he give him the same look he gave the temple?
He wondered if he even deserved to be comforted. After all, he had brought dishonor to his family,
and all because he wanted to save his friend from a demon in the sea
His father left and Nezha wandered inside the temple.
It was almost finished, only needing a few finishing touches, yet Nezha felt farther from moving on than he had ever been and he doubted his mother felt any less burdened by grief.
He leaned against the wall and wondered how it would feel to living visitors.
Would the wall be cold? Rough?
Would it be comforting or overwhelming if he could feel it rub against his back?
He closed his eyes tight and imagined he was in his parent's bed again, except this time it was warm and he was snuggled under the covers. His parents knew he was there but they didn’t mind, both sleeping peacefully beside him without burden,
but that was not reality, as much as he longed for it to be.
He opted to open his eyes and face the world head-on, but he did not see the other wall like he expected.
Instead, he saw fire.
Red hot flames eating away at the temple’s infrastructure, embers dancing wildly as if they were entitled to the very air around them. Nezha watched as the beauty sculpted out by his mother’s own two hands melted away around him.
Nezha ran for the exit but he couldn’t get out before the roof collapsed. The ruble fell right through him and yet he felt the same pain emotionally that he would’ve physically if it had suffocated him.
Still he picked himself up, form shaking as he moved.
Looking around he couldn’t see much but red. Still, he knew exactly what happened.
His fear and anguish were evaporated by the heat of the fire as anger ignited inside him.
He ran outside the building, the cracks and snaps of the fire deafening behind him as his animosity grew.
Just as he thought his father stood just outside, his face was Lax though his eyes reflected the flames like a dark mirror.
Nezha never thought he’d see his father cry.
He was always the type of guy who saw emotions and weakness as one and the same. He had scolded Nezha while he sobbed, telling him that his enemies would have no pity on him no matter how loud he screamed.
The tears dotting the general's bottom lashes were the closest Nezha had ever seen him to breaking down.
Still, he couldn’t find it in his soul to have sympathy for him.
No.
His sympathy and love for his father burnt down with the temple his mother had so lovingly built.
Now all Nezha had left for that man
Was rage
Nezha’s master sewed up a body of lotus made perfectly for him.
He hoped Nezha could use his strength to help people. This was the perfect second chance to use his powers right this time,
and yet he had one more thing he needed to do before that.
He thanked his master, Picked up his new spear, and stepped on his new wheels, fire immediately lighting on the gilded golden gifts. It felt as if everything he touched burned but these weapons would never tarnish under his heat. They were too strong for that.
Nezha traveled back to his hometown not even a day after he was revived
He wouldn’t stay long, he had but one thing to attend to.
After all, his father always told him that if he disrespected immortals he would pay tenfold.
Nezha always was a firm believer that what went around came around, and as he approached the house that used to be his home,
He truly believed that he was his father’s karma.
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