Yixing's eyes seem brighter than usual. Jongdae can see the flashes of colour even from where he stands in the entranceway. The chonrian is staring at Jongdae, but he doesn't acknowledge the mudang's presence until minutes after Jongdae has reached his side.

"Oh, hello." Yixing smiles. "I didn't notice you. I was lost in my own world again. They all wanted to say goodbye."

Jongdae is quiet. He reaches for his bells, and there's the sound of trembling metal within trembling hands.

Yixing frowns, and he takes Jongdae's hands into his, smoothing the shudders away. "It's alright. I'm not really needed anymore. Those high up will not be angry. They are saying the necessary ceremonies each year are getting too expensive to do. And then, there's science."

"That's not the reason I'm trembling," Chen whispers, but his hands have finally strengthened, the shivering calmed.

"I know," Yixing replies. "Seven times should be enough."

Seven times for certainty. Seven times for luck. Seven times for death. And seven times for life.

The bells ring those seven times. Then Chen utters the purification rites as the sweat of concentration beads on his forehead, and then he lays his hand down across the chonrian's colourful eyes.

It's like being engulfed in a rainbow. The rushing colours flash and spin and fly, twisting upwards towards the heavens in a gust of voices and memories and images. It tastes like smoke. Well, who'd have guessed that spirits tasted like smoke? Maybe it was true when people said that you are what you eat.

Then, it's over – so suddenly that the panting breaths sound so solid in the silence, one could have packed them and kept them for later.

Then, Chen slowly lifts his hand away from Yixing's eyes. Yixing's eyes are brown now. They're glowing with the setting sun shining in them – almost golden. But they're brown nevertheless.

"It's so...quiet." Yixing finally says. The tears fall, unbidden. "So, so quiet."

And Jongdae catches Yixing when he falls. He wraps his arms around the other man tightly, clinging even when the feeble, lost words whisper against his ear.

"It feels lonely."

"Where is everyone?"

"It's so quiet."

"Where has everyone gone?"

"I'm all alone."

"All on my own."