"I have a brother," she'd said. "I think you'd like him." Reluctance was hardly the trait of a stubborn and brash young King's Beer heiress. Her red heels and fishnets had meant to own the night club the moment she'd walked in; Sammi had expected to be able to meet Wallace, to get a few drinks out of him and to leave. But he'd been pretty — ever so pretty and ageless — and he had spoken like he'd known she was coming into his life for a hundred years. So one drink became four and one dance had become sweat ridden bodies and her lipstick smeared against his mouth before he had taken her to his car with a choice: "You can go home, we may never see each other again." It had seemed absolute, a stern reduction of their time together, and Sammi stubbornly demanded an alternative. "Or you can come to my place to assure you never forget me."

The apartment was the kind of lavish that came from men who knew too little and owned too much. Sammi had known them all her life and, as a brother to Faye, she had expected nothing less. So when Wallace and her spent a night of intoxicated passion there and her body ached as he still moved with the sun rising over both their bodies, she thought it was the start to an over the top kind of forever. In a way, she'd been right; Wallace didn't leave when she passed out. Instead, he made her breakfast, brought it to her and told her he'd answered her phone for her to tell her boss she was going to need a personal day; he'd apologized for it but remarked on not wanting to wake her when she'd looked so nice sleeping. Sammi was smitten, and that was before she tasted the congee and pancake eggs he'd made. It hadn't made it any easier when a few weeks later, and only two more meetings after their first, Sammi realized she was late. But Wallace, Wallace had been heroic. In an instant he'd offered to marry her, called her parents and told them he'd make an honest woman out of her. Their child, he'd said, was going to grow up to be bolder and brighter than any other boy in China.

She'd cringed a little, thinking he was that kind of a man, but she'd welcomed him anyway. They'd get married after the baby, though. She wasn't going to wear a dress while fat.

It wasn't until four months into her pregnancy that Sammi realized she didn't know what Wallace did for a living. "A little of this," Faye would say. "A little of that," he'd mention later. Real estate, banking, espionage; Sammi had no clue where his finances came from and any time she got too curious, everything seemed to distract her. What mattered was them. What mattered was taking care of their child. When Sammi was nearly hit by a speeding car in heavy rain at six months, Wallace showed her a temper; she was foolish and stupid and could have died. Or worse, she could have killed his Son. She almost left him, that night, but he'd come to her crawling with tender hands and she'd stayed; foolish, and stupid, and even thought she nearly died for it.

The rest of the pregnancy became strange. Sammi, left at home, getting dropped in on by Faye, or some caretaker, or some personal shopper. And the birth had been strange, too; not difficult, not painful in the slightest, more like a calm glow took her over and thanked her for her place. She'd seen it in Wallace's eyes, watched him as he raised his child up and the glare of the hospital lights dizzied her so much she couldn't see her son's face. "Dong Sicheng," she'd heard, Wallace's voice brimming with pride. "Dong Sicheng." He'd written it on the back of her hand with his finger the way he'd done so many lovely things already; her name in there, new meanings. And Sammi had been happy about that, all too happy.

But then she'd slept, and she slept for such long periods of time. Days, it seemed, though Wallace always swore it wasn't more than a couple of hours. It wasn't until her mother finally got in touch with her that Sammi knew the truth: she'd been in and out of sleep for two months, more drugged than she'd ever known. But she didn't feel it, or taste it, and when Sammi confronted Wallace about it, things had changed. The apartment went cold, dark, and the paint peeled off the walls as he barked at her about not being appreciative. When she'd gone to grab her child, to grab her things and leave, the door blew into the bedroom and Sammi could hear storms and hooves chasing the air all around.

What happened next, Sammi has always carefully wrapped into layers the world could handle. Wallace had become something unraveling, his voice a double spectre that echoed its own chaos; his hands had reached out and been both talon and tears, ribbons of flesh and bone more than structure, and Sammi had felt dampness overcome her. Eyes crying, pants wet as she fell to her knees and clung to Sicheng in her arms. She begged, somewhere beneath the noise as the walls turned to crackling fire, but it hadn't mattered. Not until her heart felt light again and she felt the gratitude she had when she'd given birth: and in her arms, Sicheng had opened his eyes. They were brilliant and bold and blue as the clearest skies she'd ever known. And from his chest there came seven bold pillars of light and from his head there bloomed three pairs of wings; the world around them darkend and thrashed and Sammi could only smile at her beautiful baby boy who seemed like a star in her own arms.

Wallace was gone before she knew it; she heard a screaming howl and then heard it again, the echo chasing itself out of the room, as the walls turned into their solid state again and the smell of fire was washed out of the room. The light grew and grew until Sammi was holding not a boy or an angel but a well of goodness that carried her from Wallace's home to her parents' home in an instant. It kept them calm when they saw the sudden light, when they saw their daughter and knew that there had been trouble. It'd kept Simon calm, even as he grabbed a gun to go find Wallace himself and handle things. "Just calm down," had become tea, which became snacks, which became sleep it off. When Faye was there, the next afternoon, Sammi couldn't help but slap her so hard her own shoulder stung with the pain. When Faye still stood there, not shocked, or angered, her face never even turning red, Sammi knew she was in over her head.

Explanation became understanding, though it took some time; Sicheng was a Xihu, the Joy of the Stars. An endless being of celestial energy, weaving together the forces that made all that was, is and still had time to be. He was powerful, beyond powerful, as Faye was; as Wallace was. But Faye explained her own ignorance as well. That Wallace had gone mad, that he had lost his potential, lost his goal and light. She offered all her help in raising Sicheng, in trying to protect them, but they needed more than that.

Dong Sicheng became Cheng Xingshi: as if under witness protection, he lived with his grandparents for the first fragment of his life. Sammi lived in Hong Kong, working for Simon and expanding the business into an empire over just a few years time. Faye would visit her, their friends would cope, and Sammi would send money home and visit whenever she could. Xingshi was happy, anyway, it seemed. Happy enough. He remembers bumblebees crawling on his arms as Kara tried to sell a house whose garden he stood in; he remembers the way light danced off bottles as Simon walked him through factories. There are memories in his repertoire that grow and spin like beautiful stories all their own: mahjong games, fishing trips, playing with blow dryers, falling asleep laughing in his mother's arms — in Hong Kong, in Shanghai, in Wenzhou, he has no idea. There had been a bed, a view, and her and that was all that mattered. It wasn't until Kara had Xingshi sitting in on an open house with her that things changed.

As Kara dealt with some clients, a man had entered. His suit had been sharp, a blue with lines that ran through it so strongly that Xingshi thought of lightning strikes; and before he could be polite and stop himself from staring, the stranger's eyes had fallen on Xingshi and come in close enough to kneel as he smiled. The smile seemed like a strange flicker, as if he were smiling but snarling underneath, and he'd rubbed at Xingshi's cheek as he spoke. "You're so strong, Sicheng. So strong. Do you know what you can do? You'll see, son. You'll find me." When Kara returned, Xingshi had sat alone, holding onto a new piece of jade in his hands and unsure of what had happened. A man, he'd tried to say, but she knew better; Sammi had warned her and she had failed. They rushed home, and Sammi was beaten to Wenzhou only by one other: Yuan Yuan.

The new aunt was the one to teach them, to tell Xingshi in terms he could understand. Sicheng was his name, yes, but not his name here; Dong Sicheng was the name on Earth given to a boy of light from very far away: Volis. She'd shown him, in a mirror, the way that Fatian glowed. She'd told him that man was a bad man, a very bad man, and she moved herself to Wenzhou and bought the home right beside Xingshi's grandparents; all before Sammi's train even arrived from Hong Kong, or Faye had been given a call. It would be dealt with now, catered to. Xingshi was strong, born with a free will that Eson had been yearning for, and that meant he needed safe keeping. Guidance. Safety. For five years it became a lesson: Yuan Yuan and Faye trying to guide Xingshi, his mother and grandparents doing their best to make something of it. It lead to great things, of course, from fortunes told to Sammi meeting Andy once she settled into Wenzhou again a little more permanently, to even figuring out that Xingshi Could use his gift, could harness and grow it properly. A thousand and one lessons to be taught in a short time frame but he took to them all, just as he took to every other lesson they handed toward him.

The jade stayed in a box, locked in a room, in a home that Xingshi never got to visit. Otherwise, rules stayed lax: he could do what he wanted, as he wanted, so long as he kept up regular studies with both Yuan Yuan and Faye alike. Language, piano, dancing; even when Andy and Sammi took vacations with Xingshi, Yuan Yuan and Faye met up with him in secret. It worked out and his life, for better or worse, found a pace of normalcy.

Normal was easy. Life had always found a way to manage on when the world tried to disrupt its destiny. Sammi met Andy, Andy fell in love, and even Xingshi welcomed him with open arms. It happened the same year Xingshi met Wallace in Kara's open house: 2002. Too young to recall any of this exactly, sure, but Xingshi is sure that's why he has been able to stay so normal. Life never stopped and so, he never stood still long enough for anything to stain. Marriage evolved into a new brother, two years later, and Xingshi lived as comfortably as he could. The lessons that his aunties gave him were no different than piano, or guitar, or dance; they were just things to learn, to master, to do. They wanted him to live the best life he could, wanted him to just be able to follow goals and dreams without interruption of fear of his father. So, Xingshi got to oblige their whims and they his in turn.

It lead to his moving to Beijing at 12 years old. Dancing had been the biggest love of his life, the freedom of movement and being able to express something more than words so clear in him that he couldn't help but immerse himself in it. Getting into the Beijing Dance Academy with a scholarship was a sign of progress, of normalcy even in a struggle toward excellence. And a struggle it was: living alone, making a life for himself, visited only every couple of weeks by his mother though his family made arrangements to make sure at least someone was always there. They came to every performance, ever recitcal, every exam; they supported him, instead of just training him, and under their adoration Xingshi learned to shine. Xingshi worked his way through the academy hard and fast: he started to win awards early, even managed to skip an entire year of training and education and at seventeen he graduated early from it all.

College was an option: Xingshi was offered scholarships to three of the top four universities in China, but he was also offered his dreams instead. Working for Beijing Dance Academy was all that he wanted, all that he adored. For five years of life he devoted himself to them: to routine performances, to touring the world, promotions in Japan, Australia, even England. He became a staple of the television promotions, celebrating tradition, China itself on the network programs. Holidays, major award shows, and dance competitions; everything began to fall into place one after another. Even as dating was a bit of a struggle, a kind of boring in-between routine once things started, Xingshi didn't doubt a thing. He was Cheng Xingshi (Castille, when he was overseas, thanks to having picked it the first summer in Spain when his mother worked and Andy took him around to beaches and parks); he was a new star, building his own shining place in a powerful, lasting universe.

Even when the world began to find itself in trouble and Xingshi's Xihu duties came into play, when he had to fight in secret and find himself thankful no one could recognize the glowing boy with wings for who he was on television, things felt fine; generally, at least, until the registration began. Faye was the first to fight it, teach Xingshi to dismiss his gift and keep it quiet, soft so no one would notice. It lasted, until 2019; the Haven finally found them and Xingshi had to register himself for what he was. That, that was the begin of the brifest plumett of hope in the universe. The Academy fired Xingshi — for jealousy or perhaps their image, he still isn't sure. They said it was unfair, really, for him to have hidden his gift and possibly have built an advantage over others. Even though Xingshi had himself tested before them, proved he was not enhanced for it, nothing mattered to them; he was done and an illustrious five year professional career was over in a moment's time.

There weren't many options. Xingshi could have travelled, done his duty as a Xihu, but it felt... odd. Life had been about anything but giving into what Wallace wanted and though he didn't know that, he knew he wanted to live. Live properly, enjoy his humanity even if his dreams had felt he was anything but human now. So, Xingshi offered an option to his mother: give him a shot to expand on their company overseas, alone. One year, he'd said, promising that they could find real business there if he was allowed it. He managed, too, and found joy in new places; not exactly the elegance of dance and performance but still the kind of thing that left him wearing a smile all the same.

Chaos runs rampant and absolves one of all sanity. This is as it came to be with one Julian Kim, young and vibrant lover Xinghi came to take. When found, it was Jackie Morales who killed the darkness; in turn, the death of Julian came and spiraled out through the world. All the manipulations breaking slowly, all the influence of chaos and emotion slowly slipping, there were not many options left for Xingshi to take. It became clear: too many mistakes had been made. Xingshi went to the one who could reshape worlds and worked, valiantly, to do what would be best. The best possibilities, the best kindness, to give order back to a world that continued to insist on its own demise. New flesh, new vessels for the energy and souls who were purer, rebuilt whole: that was the only plan that made sense.

In this, Xingsi said his own goodbye. Volis given over to a new vessel that mirrored himself, Xingsi given brighter, happier times as the nature of the Xihu became a failsafe-trigger more than a constant command. And Julian reborn into someone new, all memories, all possible pasts and futures rearranged into a man who could handle his life with kinder fingers and softer thoughts: Malcolm Kim. Into the fray of punishment and karma he went, leaving behind a version named Dong Sicheng that could continue on and make everyone's lives a little better in its light.