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Chapter Text

The voice is soft and indistinct, a gentle breeze across his face.

Your Highness, it whispers, ghosting through the strands of his hair.

He turns to look behind himself, following the path of that retreating voice, but there is nothing, only the same pitch-black darkness that surrounds him on all sides. The ground beneath his feet is smooth, and looking down, he sees himself reflected as if he is standing on the surface of a dark, placid lake. He studies his reflection, watching as his white robes billow around him, his sword held fast in his right hand. He makes for a stark silhouette against the obsidian void, and his face is luminescent, radiant as the moon.

Your Highness…

He turns toward the soft, sibilant call, and this time, he can see a tiny white pinprick glowing in the dark. He strides toward it, and his reflection follows, his image wavering with the fall of each footstep. As he approaches, the speck of white begins to change shape, slowly unfurling until he arrives to find a small, pristine flower lying at his feet.

Carefully, he scoops the blossom into his hand. A light, sweet scent wafts over his face, and he brings the flower closer, inspecting the perfect symmetry of its petals. It’s an exquisite bloom, delicate and soft, but as he peers at it, the flower seems to shift, its petals elongating and blooming outward until it covers the whole of his palm.

Your Highness…

The flower twists and writhes, its petals wrapping around his fingers like vines, and he watches, immobilized, as the center of the flower contorts into something like a face. A sharp, stabbing pain lances through the center of his palm, and his eyes widen in alarm as something slowly creeps around his wrist.

Roots are crawling under his skin. He can feel them slithering out from the ache inside his palm, circling his wrist and spidering down his forearm. He wills himself to move, to rip out the flower and throw it away, but his body will not respond. He stands in perfect stillness as the roots climb up and over his shoulder, gathering in the well of his collarbones before creeping up the front of his neck. His eyes are still fixed on the flower, on the sinister twist of its shifting face and its crooked, leering mouth.

Your Highness…

Slowly, inevitably, the roots push up through the soft flesh under his jaw. Wicked tendrils unfurl within his mouth to coil loosely around his tongue. He tries to cry out, but the sound is swallowed by the tangle of vines snaking their way down his throat. His eyes dart helplessly back and forth, but other than the endless darkness, there is only his pitiful reflection. He sees his own face, all its radiance dissipated, thin and wan as a piece of white silk, and he watches his lips part, hoping to scream, but no sound escapes him. Instead of a cry, an avalanche of perfect white blossoms cascades out of his mouth.

A sigh of contentment breezes through the darkness.

Soon, it promises. Soon, Your Highness…

Flowers are quickly piling up at his feet. They spill across the ground, obscuring his reflection until all he can see are heaps of flowers. The smell of the blossoms floats up through the air as the flowers continue to rain down. That light, sweet fragrance is now heavy and oppressive; it’s thick, and it’s cloying, and it’s almost metallic. He thinks, as he settles his eyes on the bloom in his hand, that it smells a little bit like blood. The small, deformed face is not quite as menacing as before, its mouth not so vicious as it curls into a sly, almost mischievous smile.

Soon…

---

Xie Lian comes awake slowly, his eyelids heavy and his mouth completely dry. His tongue feels stiff, like old, cracked leather, and he swallows sleepily, attempting to draw out some moisture. His body is leaden, almost insensate, and he curls his toes carefully against the numbness in his feet. He breathes in deeply, curling the fingers of his right hand to coax sensation back into his arm. But the fingers of his left hand are rigid and disobedient; they spasm in protest around the weak phantom ache in his palm. When he pries his eyes open, the lights of Qiandeng Temple seem to brighten, growing stronger as he blinks away the last vestiges of sleep. 

“Gege slept so late today.”

The tone is pleased and almost playful, and slowly, Xie Lian turns his head toward the sound of that beloved voice. Hua Cheng is lying on his side, half propped up on his elbow with his head resting comfortably in his hand. He’s still in his sleep robe, which is carelessly tied. The red silk is practically falling off his shoulders, leaving the pale expanse of his chest mostly exposed. His eyepatch is firmly in place, he’s smiling easily, and his left eye is lively with the reflection of the temple lights.

Xie Lian smiles sweetly, languid as honey as he extends one lazy arm along the bed. He curls two fingers inside the edge of Hua Cheng’s robe, seeking the cool marble smoothness of Hua Cheng’s skin. He strokes his knuckles back and forth with a minute shifting of his wrist.

“San Lang stayed in bed with me?”

His voice cracks a little, so he swallows again to wet his throat, and Hua Cheng’s smile widens, his eye glittering in response. In truth, Xie Lian can tell by Hua Cheng’s artfully unrumpled appearance that he’s been awake for some time. Hua Cheng prefers an early start, often rising well before dawn, and if Xie Lian had to guess, it’s been at least a few shichen since Hua Cheng woke up today. Ghosts don’t need to sleep at all, of course, but Hua Cheng is happy to indulge them both by going to bed each night.

Soon after they were married, Hua Cheng had explained to him that when he was alive, sleep was a luxury he could rarely afford. Home was never safe; he would be kicked awake too early after falling asleep too late. Sometimes, as a punishment, he would be kept awake for days, forced to stay standing on a chair in the corner. They took turns watching him during the day, prodding him with sticks whenever he faltered. They guarded him in shifts for as many nights as it took until he finally collapsed from exhaustion, his bones cracking loudly as he hit the floor.

“Obviously, the streets were no better,” Hua Cheng had told him. “Do you know what they say?” he’d asked lightly. “What to do if you want to survive?” His lips had curled with wry amusement as Xie Lian shook his head.

“Sleep with one eye open,” Hua Cheng had intoned, his voice darkly grave and his face deadly serious. “You can imagine how difficult that was for me, gege.”

Xie Lian had laughed almost hard enough to cry.

And so, waking up late to find Hua Cheng still lingering in bed with him is a happy privilege indeed. Hua Cheng is beaming, clearly excited that Xie Lian is finally awake, and Xie Lian melts a little under his gaze, warmed by Hua Cheng’s delight.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Xie Lian tries again, and this time, his voice comes out easy and smooth. “San Lang must have been so bored,” he teases. “How long have you been awake?”

“Forever,” Hua Cheng replies, his eye sparkling with mischief. “Gege, I was starting to worry you might never wake up.”

“Don’t be silly,” Xie Lian laughs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because,” Hua Cheng smiles, his lips quirking with mirth. “I worked you so hard last night,” he explains. “Didn’t you cry before finally passing out?”

Xie Lian immediately flushes, his cheeks aflame with mortified heat as his eyes go wide and startled.

“Of course, gege also begged me not to stop,” Hua Cheng adds, his smile turning wicked. “What was I to do? I could only obey. I am nothing if not your faithful servant.”

Xie Lian starts to curl up in embarrassment, moving to hide his face, but Hua Cheng catches the hand that’s still resting against his chest before Xie Lian can pull it away. Xie Lian slaps his other hand over his eyes and groans blindly toward the ceiling.

“So you see,” Hua Cheng continues, “It’s my duty to remain with you until Your Highness wakes up. I have to make sure that gege is okay.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian sighs. “How come you’re only obedient when I’m not telling you to stop?”

“Has Your Highness ever truly wanted me to stop?” Hua Cheng asks brightly. He raises Xie Lian’s captured hand to his lips and kisses Xie Lian’s knuckles. It’s a soft and cool caress, a soothing contrast to the distant ache that’s lingering in Xie Lian’s palm. 

Xie Lian peeks at him from between his own fingers. “A command is a command,” he replies, neatly sidestepping Hua Cheng’s question. “Disobedient is disobedient. If you were really so—hey!”

Hua Cheng has leaned in and reached across the bed, grabbing Xie Lian around the waist and hauling him forward until Xie Lian is pressed against Hua Cheng’s chest. Hua Cheng reaches down and grabs Xie Lian behind the knee, then he hoists Xie Lian’s leg overtop of his hip, sliding his own leg between Xie Lian’s thighs. Xie Lian is immediately docile, soft and pliant as Hua Cheng tucks him under his chin. He can feel it when Hua Cheng begins to heat his body for Xie Lian’s comfort, and Xie Lian sighs in contentment.

“Gege really was sleeping so deeply,” Hua Cheng murmurs, his voice softly thrumming above Xie Lian’s head. “You didn’t even sigh when I combed my fingers through your hair. I really was a little worried,” he confesses. “Even while sleeping, you always respond to me. I’ve never seen gege so still.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian breathes. He flattens his palm over Hua Cheng’s would-be heartbeat, splaying his fingers while stroking back and forth with his thumb. “I feel perfectly fine,” Xie Lian reassures him, but he runs a quick scan on his body, just in case. His spiritual energy courses swiftly through his meridians, raw and powerful like it always is after Hua Cheng restores it. “There’s no need to worry,” Xie Lian soothes. “I promise, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Hua Cheng draws easy circles on his back, humming mildly in agreement. Xie Lian nestles closer, breathing in deeply. Hua Cheng’s mysterious floral scent is faint, but it’s deliciously enticing, and Xie Lian loves being close enough to smell it. It’s so clean and refreshing, Xie Lian thinks, and so unlike the sickly, rusted fragrance from his dream.

“I didn’t find anything wrong when I scanned your body earlier,” Hua Cheng admits. “Now that you’re awake, I can finally relax. But really, gege,” he says, his voice tinged with mischief once more. “It’s very hard for me, you know, being awake without you.”

Xie Lian stifles a laugh, shifting back just far enough to look up into Hua Cheng’s face. 

“San Lang really was bored,” Xie Lian teases.

“Worse,” Hua Cheng insists, his voice terribly forlorn. “I was lonely, gege,” Hua Cheng laments.

“Does San Lang miss me when I’m asleep?” Xie Lian laughs, his heart melting a bit despite his mirth. How does Hua Cheng come up with such nonsense? Ridiculous, Xie Lian thinks.

“Gege may laugh at me,” Hua Cheng says, “but I really do suffer every minute that you’re asleep without me. What if you’re dreaming and it’s not about me?” Hua Cheng exclaims. “I’m very jealous of whoever you’re dreaming about, gege.”

Xie Lian freezes, choking on his laughter as it dies out completely.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng calls, instantly serious. “Gege, what’s wrong?”

Xie Lian swallows, his throat suddenly dry again. His eyes are unfocused, and that thick, cloying scent is somehow back in his nostrils.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, his voice more insistent this time. “Were you dreaming about something?” He brings his hand up to cup Xie Lian’s face, his thumb stroking lightly across Xie Lian’s cheek. Hua Cheng’s expression grows dark as he asks, “Were you dreaming about someone?”

It takes another moment for Xie Lian to find his voice. “I was dreaming,” he confirms. “And there was someone, I think. But I couldn’t see them,” he explains. “I could only hear them.”

“What did they say?” Hua Cheng wants to know.

“They kept calling for me,” Xie Lian replies.

“Did you answer?” Hua Cheng asks.

“No,” Xie Lian shakes his head. “There were other things distracting me,” he says vaguely. “But it was odd,” he muses. “They called me Your Highness, almost like a prayer, but I don’t think they were expecting a reply.”

“Oh?” Hua Cheng asks. “Did they mean to lure you somewhere instead?”

“Possibly,” Xie Lian allows. “I think they were waiting for me. Or maybe I was supposed to be waiting for them,” he adds. “I really can’t say for sure.”

Hua Cheng strokes his cheek again, and then he settles his hand around the back of Xie Lian’s neck and gives it a comforting squeeze.

Hua Cheng’s voice is quiet when he speaks. “It’s been a long time since gege had a nightmare,” he says, and Xie immediately flushes. Hua Cheng is quick to reassure him, “I won’t fuss if it’s not serious. If gege says it’s nothing, then of course I will believe it.”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” Xie Lian insists. He can feel the blush deepening as it spreads across his cheeks

In truth, he very rarely has nightmares, and for the most part, they are relatively benign. If they manage to wake him up, rolling over and tucking himself more firmly against Hua Cheng’s side is usually enough to restore his equilibrium. If the dream is more intense, Xie Lian will clamber on top of Hua Cheng, nestling under his chin until Hua Cheng dutifully embraces him.

Unfortunately, maybe two times or so, Xie Lian has bolted violently awake to find Hua Cheng waiting to catch him. On these nights, Hua Cheng must hold him, clasping him tightly and rocking him gently until Xie Lian finally stops shaking. It doesn’t matter how infrequently this happens; Hua Cheng never forgets anything, especially not anything that causes Xie Lian distress. As a result, Hua Cheng remains vigilant against any dream-induced discomfort, and just like now, Hua Cheng is always ready to comfort him. But Xie Lian can never help feeling embarrassed. Who wants to be knocked around by their own subconscious?

“It was a little intense,” Xie Lian admits, “but it’s nothing to worry about. And it’s certainly nothing to be jealous about,” he adds with a smile. He sneaks a hand up Hua Cheng’s chest, reaching over his shoulder to find a lock of Hua Cheng’s hair, and Xie Lian twists it coyly around his finger.

Hua Cheng laughs, delighted by Xie Lian’s sincere shift in mood. He smiles down at Xie Lian with a playful expression.

“Gege, you know I was just kidding, right?” His hand tightens on the back of Xie Lian’s neck. “Unless?”

Xie Lian holds back a nervous laugh. It’s rare for him to instigate like this, but Xie Lian is feeling unusually bold, and he wants to try something.

“Well,” he begins slowly, “it wasn’t last night. Maybe the one before? Yes, that’s right,” he decides. “The night before last.”

“Go on,” Hua Cheng prompts. His tone is light, but the hand that was holding Xie Lian’s neck is now snaking down his body to settle firmly on his hip. Hua Cheng grips him hard, and for a moment, Xie Lian forgets that he is the one who’s supposed to be teasing.

“There was a man,” Xie Lian says, his breath quickening despite his best efforts. “He was tall, and slender, and he had long, thick black hair. I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was good-looking.”

“How good-looking?” Hua Cheng asks. He shifts slightly, pressing his leg more securely in between Xie Lian’s thighs. He doesn’t seem bothered at all. “Sounds pretty average to me.”

“He was extremely good-looking,” Xie Lian insists, trying, and failing, to ignore the hand that’s now trailing smoothly down his thigh. “Otherworldly, like something out of a folktale.”

“Then his beauty could be an enchantment,” Hua Cheng points out, maddeningly unaffected. Xie Lian spares him an exasperated look before redoubling his efforts.

“He was gorgeous, San Lang! It wasn’t just his face—”

“You couldn’t see his face,” Hua Cheng reminds him.

“It was his whole aura,” Xie Lian asserts. His eyes are intent on Hua Cheng’s face, eagerly awaiting some reaction. “It was intoxicating,” he tries, but Hua Cheng doesn’t blink. “Devastating,” he persists, but Hua Cheng looks skeptical. “Ravishing!” Xie Lian proclaims, and oh, that seems to have done the trick.

“Ravishing?” Hua Cheng raises one sophisticated eyebrow. His next words sound like a challenge. “Tell me,” he says, jerking Xie Lian forward even farther onto his thigh. “How exactly was he ravishing?”

“Well,” Xie Lian tries, distracted by the sudden friction between his legs, “he was very strong, and very forceful. His hands were large, and he had long, thin fingers.”

“And how did he use those hands on you?” Hua Cheng asks, his voice pitched dangerously low.

Xie Lian swallows, a shiver passing through him, and Hua Cheng rolls his hips forward until Xie Lian has to stifle a moan. Hua Cheng pushes Xie Lian onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms while pressing Xie Lian down with his hips.

“Tell me,” Hua Cheng commands, and his tone is no longer playful. There’s something sharp and possessive in his voice, and Xie Lian is weak against this side of him. Hua Cheng’s gaze is boring into him, and Xie Lian has to calm his racing heart before he can reply.

“He caressed my face,” Xie Lian begins. “Gently, with his knuckles.”

“Like this?” Hua Cheng asks, softly curling his fingers and stroking them down Xie Lian’s cheek. He smiles as he scoops Xie Lian’s chin into his hand.

“Yes,” Xie Lian breathes, letting Hua Cheng tilt his face up. He wonders if Hua Cheng will kiss him.

“What else?” Hua Cheng demands, taking a firmer grip on his chin. Clearly, he is not planning to kiss him yet.

“My neck,” Xie Lian whispers, unable to maintain eye contact. His eyelids flutter as he looks down to the side. This is one of many things he’s still painfully shy about.

“Yes?” Hua Cheng prompts. His tone has turned wicked, and Xie Lian can hear his smile widening. His fingers release Xie Lian’s chin to caress the skin of his throat. “What did he do to your neck?”

“He… put his hands around it,” Xie Lian gets out, eyelashes wavering. “And he choked me,” Xie Lian confesses, giving up and screwing his eyes shut. He can feel himself blushing again, his cheeks growing unbearably hot.

“I see,” Hua Cheng chuckles.

Xie Lian is momentarily distracted by the thought that he’d meant to be in control here, but then Hua Cheng’s big, cool palms come to rest on either side of his neck. Hua Cheng’s fingers slip around back, careful not to tangle in the silver chain at Xie Lian’s nape, and his thumbs find purchase beneath Xie Lian’s chin. Xie Lian swallows, his breath beginning to stutter, his whole body quivering nervously in anticipation.

“Deep breath, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng purrs. He listens as Xie Lian takes a long, shaky breath, and then he is tightening his fingers and squeezing his palms together, his thumbs tipping Xie Lian’s head back against the bed.

Xie Lian shudders, his body arching off the bed while his hands fly to Hua Cheng’s wrists. His fingers tremble against Hua Cheng’s skin like the wings of his silver butterflies. He keeps his eyes closed, letting his mouth part around so many futile gasps. His body is rigid, his extremities tingling, tension building as Hua Cheng increases the pressure. Xie Lian pushes against his own edges, longing for release while loving the submission, and when Hua Cheng bites the base of his throat, Xie Lian’s whole body spasms with pleasure. His blood thrums hotly as Hua Cheng releases him, his body falling heavily against the bed.

Xie Lian gasps, greedy for air and giddy with release. He can feel Hua Cheng’s hands on him, soft but insistent, stroking his face and smoothing back his hair. His body goes slack as the last of the tremors travel their way down his limbs, and his breathing is heavy, but it’s under control. Hua Cheng presses a cool kiss to his forehead, and Xie Lian finally opens his eyes. Hua Cheng is watching him, tenderly alert for any signs of distress, and Xie Lian is quick to dispel any worry, smiling as steadily as he can manage.

“San Lang,” he says, and his voice only quavers a little. “You did that so well,” he enthuses. He doesn’t know why he likes such a thing, and he won’t think too closely about it, but Hua Cheng has no shame about these sorts of things, so Xie Lian trusts him to try them. He lifts a shaky hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Hua Cheng’s ear, and Xie Lian teasingly adds, “You did that so much better than he did.”

Hua Cheng laughs, a light and joyous sound.

“Did I really?” Hua Cheng wonders. “How fortunate that my rival is so easily defeated.”

“Well,” Xie Lian says, “there is one more thing.”

This time, Hua Cheng raises both eyebrows. “Oh? He did something else?”

“He did,” Xie Lian confirms. “It was very impressive.” He looks at Hua Cheng through lowered lashes. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“How intriguing,” Hua Cheng says, his eye narrowing in suspicion. “Tell me about it.”

Xie Lian toys with Hua Cheng’s sash, teasing the precarious knot. Hua Cheng raises an eyebrow at him, and Xie Lian coyly continues.

“He grabbed me around the waist with his big, forceful hands,” Xie Lian says. “He lifted me easily and hauled me onto his lap.”

“And did you resist?” Hua Cheng asks. There’s an edge to his voice, and there’s something almost eager about it. He shifts his weight back on his knees so that he can grip Xie Lian’s waist with both hands. He tightens his hold, hovering over Xie Lian like a storm cloud brimming with lightning.

“I couldn’t,” Xie Lian pleads, like he’s begging for forgiveness. He can feel Hua Cheng’s fingers digging into his flesh. “The way he held me,” Xie Lian shudders. “The way he worked…”

Hua Cheng makes a growling sound deep in his throat. Xie Lian moves to tease him, to slip his fingers inside the edges of his robe, but Hua Cheng seizes his wrists, pinning his hands over his head. Xie Lian offers up a token struggle, but Hua Cheng simply narrows his eye.

“I really couldn’t move,” Xie Lian pleads some more. “His strokes were too powerful and precise. They were so strong, and so bold,” Xie Lian sighs. “I’ve never been so impressed.”

“Is that so?” Hua Cheng asks, and his smile is crooked as he looms closer to Xie Lian’s face. He looks like a wolf about to pounce on a helpless rabbit.

“Oh yes,” Xie Lian gushes. “I’ve never seen such amazing calligraphy.”

Hua Cheng balks, blinking in surprise as his grip falters around Xie Lian’s wrists. Xie Lian bursts into laughter, slipping out of Hua Cheng’s hold and rolling back and forth underneath him. He can’t go far, since he’s bracketed by Hua Cheng’s knees, but there’s enough room to ricochet gleefully back and forth.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng protests, his voice laden with woe. “Gege, that’s not fair.”

Xie Lian only laughs harder, thumping the bed like a drum.

“Gege is so cruel,” Hua Cheng complains. “Gege knows I can’t compete with calligraphy.”

Xie Lian wheezes, hugging his sides as he rolls back and forth.

“Gege is so pleased with himself,” Hua Cheng sighs. “Look how he rejoices at his San Lang’s defeat.”

Xie Lian smiles up at him, settling down at last. “San Lang is not defeated,” he soothes. He gives a small tug on the red coral pearl that’s tied neatly to the end of its braid. “He just has to practice a little harder, that’s all.”

“Gege is so magnanimous,” Hua Cheng teases, his smile turning sly. “Should our next practice be more rigorous?” he asks. “Clearly, I need to work on my strokes.”

He quickly shifts up and to the side, rising to his knees and scooping Xie Lian into his arms, then he sits down again, situating Xie Lian securely between his legs. Xie Lian yelps, attempting to squirm away, but Hua Cheng holds him in place with one arm looped tightly around his waist. He presses his other hand over Xie Lian’s lower belly, his fingers splayed wide and heavy, and Xie Lian immediately stops struggling, melting back against Hua Cheng’s chest.

“What was it again?” Hua Cheng muses, nuzzling into Xie Lian’s hair. “I need to be more powerful?” he asks, his teeth grazing the shell of Xie Lian’s ear. “More precise?” The hand on Xie Lian’s abdomen shifts, deftly untying Xie Lian’s sash. “Stronger?” Hua Cheng whispers. “Bolder?” he almost growls. Cold fingers slip inside Xie Lian’s robe, pushing the silk aside to draw cool, torturous waves across his skin. Xie Lian shivers, and Hua Cheng feels it, humming in satisfaction.  

“Tell me, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says, that delicious note of command back in his voice. “Shall I practice on you now?”

Xie Lian bites back a humiliating moan and summons the last of his princely defiance. “Don’t think this means you can skip actual practice,” he scolds. “If you really want to defeat my dream man, then you’ll have to—”

Whatever else he might have said is swallowed by Hua Cheng’s mouth. He kisses Xie Lian like he means to punish him, or worship him, and Xie Lian caves beneath his savage ministrations. He suffers the villainous torment like the flower beneath Hua Cheng’s blood rain; silently, beautifully, and completely at Hua Cheng’s mercy. When Xie Lian seeks to pull away, Hua Cheng fists his hand in Xie Lian’s hair and bites down on Xie Lian’s lip. He grins against Xie Lian’s answering gasp, greedily chasing it back into Xie Lian’s mouth. Finally, Hua Cheng moves to lift Xie Lian up, breaking the kiss long enough to topple him onto the bed.

Something shifts as Xie Lian’s back hits the mattress, and a moment of stillness stretches between them before Hua Cheng starts moving again. Xie Lian blinks, his smile blooming sweetly as Hua Cheng moves to straddle him. Hua Cheng pauses, regarding him curiously, unable to help smiling back. He’s always attuned to Xie Lian’s mood, and he’s alert to the slightest change. Hua Cheng watches him silently, his gaze meticulously intent.

Suddenly, Xie Lian is feeling remarkably tender. Whether it’s the afterglow of his victorious little joke, or the unshakeable devotion with which he’s just been kissed, Xie Lian finds himself reaching for Hua Cheng while blinking back unexpected tears. Quick to respond, Hua Cheng is careful to close Xie Lian’s robe before lowering himself down on top of him. He slides his arms around Xie Lian’s body, squeezing him firmly until Xie Lian relaxes. Xie Lian sighs in happy relief. Ghosts Kings are heavy, or at least this one is, and Xie Lian is thrilled to be pinned beneath him.

They stay like that, blissfully inert for a long, comfortable time. The only hint of movement is the rise and fall of Xie Lian’s chest, lifting Hua Cheng slightly before bearing him down again. Hua Cheng hums, absently sounding out notes from a song whose melody Xie Lian almost remembers. Xie Lian loves it when Hua Cheng hums, and very occasionally, if Hua Cheng’s mood is exceptionally good, Hua Cheng will sing. It’s never any song that Xie Lian knows, and it’s never in a language that Xie Lian understands, but when Hua Cheng curls his elegant voice around those enchanting foreign syllables, some old, twisted scar tissue dissolves behind Xie Lian’s ribcage.

Eventually, Hua Cheng stirs, dropping a kiss onto Xie Lian’s temple. “Gege is so sensitive today,” he murmurs. “Should we choose another time to practice my strokes together?”

Xie Lian laughs into Hua Cheng’s shoulder. His arms are still pinned to his sides, so he bends them at the elbow, reaching up far enough to pat Hua Cheng’s hips. “Yes, I think we should,” he smiles. “I promise that San Lang can practice his strokes with me some other time.”

“On you,” Hua Cheng is quick to correct him. “Practice my strokes on you, gege. Don’t think I’m going to forget that part.”

“Right, of course,” Xie Lian concedes, his face warming at the mess he’s wrought for himself. “But it won’t be a long lesson,” Xie Lian tries. “Half a shichen at most.”

“I think it should be longer,” Hua Cheng drawls. “I need enough time to establish a rhythm. A strong, steady rhythm. Very powerful. Very precise.”

Xie Lian can’t help himself.

“You forgot bold,” he says.

Once again, Xie Lian’s laughter erupts, and Hua Cheng quickly detangles himself. He unwinds his arms to rear back and look down, leering at Xie Lian with wicked intent. He grabs Xie Lian’s waist, then he digs in his fingers, eliciting a sharp, inelegant shriek. But before Xie Lian can even think to rebuke him, Hua Cheng has lowered his head. Xie Lian can feel the smile curving against his skin, and then Hua Cheng is viciously biting him, sinking his teeth sharply into the crook of Xie Lian’s neck.  

The noise that escapes Xie Lian is absolutely mortifying. It’s not quite a whimper, not quite a moan, but Xie Lian is certain that whatever he calls it, he’s never heard anything so desperately needy. He seeks to hide his face with his hands, but Hua Cheng is quick to seize his wrists, pinning them roughly against Xie Lian’s chest with one hand. Xie Lian screws his eyes shut instead, lamenting his pitiable state. He’s spent 800 years impervious to embarrassment, but now, just like every time with Hua Cheng, he’s left scandalized by his own raw desire.

It’s Hua Cheng’s turn to laugh, and it’s a low, roguish chuckle that’s thick with unspeakable promise.

“Gege is so brazen today,” Hua Cheng observes, dropping a kiss onto each of Xie Lian’s closed eyelids. “Not that I mind,” he adds, petting Xie Lian’s hair with his free hand. “But gege is also quite fickle today,” Hua Cheng complains. “First, he wants to play with me, and this San Lang gratefully obliges. Then, he heartlessly tricks me, and this San Lang suffers cruelly.”

Xie Lian can’t stop his mouth from twitching, but he keeps his eyes closed as Hua Cheng continues.

“Next, he must be punished, and once again, this San Lang obliges. But then, he starts to melt, so this San Lang dutifully wraps him up and presses him flat like a brick of tofu. And finally,” Hua Cheng says, “he brutally mocks me, and now this poor, beleaguered San Lang must bite him on the neck.”

Xie Lian cracks his eyes open at last, blinking owlishly up at Hua Cheng. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“Not right this moment,” Hua Cheng replies, gazing down at Xie Lian in amusement. “But if gege were to ask me, of course I would comply.” Xie Lian immediately shakes his head, and Hua Cheng grins, trailing a finger down the line of Xie Lian’s throat. “It’s fun when gege asks for what he wants,” Hua Cheng purrs.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian pleads, weakly tugging at his wrists. “I am begging you to give me some face.”

“Not asking is fun, too,” Hua Cheng reassures him. “Gege can stay quiet if he prefers. Perhaps, next time, he could try saying nothing at all.”

“It’s your fault the mood is so up and down today,” Xie Lian decides, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “It’s not that I’m fickle, you’re just unfocused.”

“Gege, you wound me,” Hua Cheng protests. “I’ve been focused on you since before you woke up. I’m very focused, gege. Obsessively so.”

“Yes, but I’m awake now,” Xie Lian points out. “What are you doing to get us out of bed?”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, his lips twitching cheerfully. “Clearly, that is not my objective.”

“I suppose not,” Xie Lian sighs, twisting his hands within Hua Cheng’s grasp. “I might’ve known by the way you keep working me up.”

“If you would stop calming down,” Hua Cheng tells him lightly, “I wouldn’t have to work so hard. Do you see how difficult it is for me gege? I really do suffer unjustly.”

“You do not!” Xie Lian bursts out, once again shaking with laughter. “Let go!” he demands, but it’s hard to sound commanding when he’s giggling. “Please just let go and kiss me nicely,” he pleads. “I can’t hug you back if you won’t let my hands go.”

Hua Cheng hums approvingly, finally releasing Xie Lian’s wrists. As soon as he’s free, Xie Lian grabs at Hua Cheng’s hips, dragging him down until Hua Cheng is settled between his legs. He throws his arms around Hua Cheng’s neck, tilting his face up expectantly. Hua Cheng smiles, dipping his head to nuzzle Xie Lian’s nose, but it’s not a kiss, and Xie Lian huffs indignantly.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” Xie Lian complains. “I asked you so sweetly to please kiss me nicely, but you’re still being so disobedient.”

Hua Cheng drops his head to laugh against Xie Lian’s shoulder. “Your Highness, did you just call yourself sweet?” He grins down at Xie Lian while Xie Lian attempts to glower back. “Perhaps I should also call you like that. My sweet one?” he proposes. “My sweet prince?”

“Neither of those,” Xie Lian retorts, flushing hotly across his cheeks again. He withdraws his arms from around Hua Cheng’s neck and crosses them over his chest. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Which is what?” Hua Cheng asks. He pushes himself up until his arms have straightened out, his hands resting firmly on either side of Xie Lian’s head.

Xie Lian swallows, mustering up all of the royal bravado that might still be left in his blood.

“Kiss me,” Xie Lian commands.

Hua Cheng smirks down at him, defiantly smug.

“Gege is spoiled,” Hua Cheng declares, and his voice is unreservedly satisfied.

“I’m not spoiled!” Xie Lian splutters. “You’re spoiled!” he counters, sounding exactly like a five-year-old.

Hua Cheng attempts to lean down again, but Xie Lian immediately pushes him back.

“No,” he refuses. “No more, I’m done!” His arms are straining against Hua Cheng’s curiously daunting weight. Hua Cheng has obviously shifted somehow, his body now heavy as the press of a thousand boulders.

“Your Highness, why are you upset?” Hua Cheng laughs. “I love it when you act spoiled.”

“Why,” Xie Lian huffs, his elbows buckling as Hua Cheng drops a little closer, “would you love something like that?” He gives up and lets Hua Cheng fall, but Hua Cheng catches himself before he hits Xie Lian’s chest.

“Because,” Hua Cheng says, one hand stroking the side of Xie Lian’s face. “It means I’ve finally made you safe.”

Xie Lian blinks, his lips parting around a startled intake of breath. He struggles for a moment, his body uncooperative. He finds it strangely difficult to breathe out again. Hua Cheng leans in, pressing cool lips against Xie Lian’s forehead in a long, comforting kiss. He pulls away and shifts to sit back on his haunches, gazing down at Xie Lian from where he’s perched over Xie Lian’s hips. He’s too far away, Xie Lian thinks, but then Hua Cheng is bending back down, cupping Xie Lian’s face between his hands and touching their foreheads together.

“You’re safe now, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng promises him. “You’re safe now, with me.”

Xie Lian wraps his fingers around Hua Cheng’s wrists, holding him loosely as Hua Cheng cradles his face. Hua Cheng pulls back a bit, just far enough so that Xie Lian can see his expression clearly again. He looks very pleased with himself, and Xie Lian’s heart shakes, wobbling on its axis like one of Hua Cheng’s budaoweng dolls. Hua Cheng sits back, and Xie Lian lets go of his wrists, allowing Hua Cheng’s hands to slide smoothly down his neck. Hua Cheng traces the silver chain with his fingers, following it down to where the ring lies against Xie Lian’s chest.

Silence stretches leisurely between them, neither of them rushing to speak. Xie Lian knows that Hua Cheng is waiting for his response, but Xie Lian refuses to say anything before he is absolutely certain that his voice won’t betray him.

A lifetime later, Xie Lian replies.

“San Lang,” he whispers, beckoning Hua Cheng closer. He wraps his hand gently around the back of Hua Cheng’s neck, pulling him down until his lips are brushing against the shell of Hua Cheng’s ear. “Will you please,” he says loudly, “please just kiss me nicely now?”

Hua Cheng rears up to laugh with his head thrown back. He sits back on his haunches again, the peals of his laughter ringing happily through the temple. As his amusement dies down, he quickly rearranges himself, moving to lie on top of Xie Lian once more. Xie Lian pretends he’s not proud of himself, parting his legs to let Hua Cheng settle snugly between them.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng smiles, ferociously beautiful. “I really can’t win.” He strokes his thumb slowly across Xie Lian’s cheek, agonizingly tender. “This San Lang admits his defeat,” he whispers, and then finally, at last, he kisses Xie Lian nicely.  

Despite being thrilled by his victory, Xie Lian nearly weeps with relief, and now he’s quickly unravelling beneath the careful press of Hua Cheng’s lips. The harder he tries to collect himself, the faster he becomes unmoored. His whole body shudders as Hua Cheng strokes his hair, cradling Xie Lian’s head to better manipulate the kiss, and when Hua Cheng’s tongue slips into his mouth, Xie Lian practically sobs. Hua Cheng hums and deepens the kiss, clearly enjoying how Xie Lian tastes on the edge of being overwhelmed.

With all the wicked things Hua Cheng uses to torture him, it hardly makes sense that such a simple tease can undo him like this. He may still be shy whenever Hua Cheng is being exceptionally filthy, and he may still look like a dainty seventeen-year-old, but Xie Lian has never truly been delicate. He’s obviously strong, he can endure basically anything, and Hua Cheng has definitely denied him before. Hua Cheng frequently withholds many things, like Xie Lian’s climax, or a promise to untie him. These things are far more urgent than a kiss, especially one that is only bestowed nicely.

How silly, Xie Lian thinks, giving up and melting under Hua Cheng’s ministrations. He lies heavy and pliant, his grip relaxing on Hua Cheng’s robe until his hands fall back to his sides. He lets Hua Cheng move him however he pleases, his back curving like a willow tree as Hua Cheng lifts him off the bed. A small moan escapes him as their lips slip apart and his head falls back, and his breath stutters to a halt when Hua Cheng scrapes his teeth along Xie Lian’s throat. The hand that’s not holding Xie Lian’s waist slips up to support Xie Lian’s head, grasping him so that Hua Cheng’s thumb is hooked against Xie Lian’s earlobe. His fingers wrap tightly around Xie Lian’s neck, resting at the base of his skull.

“How is it, Your Highness?” Hua Cheng murmurs, hovering just above Xie Lian’s lips. “Hasn’t this San Lang treated you nicely?”

Xie Lian’s only reply is a weak, fragile whine.

“Very well, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng intones. “Your San Lang will try one more time.”

Hua Cheng closes the space between them, kissing Xie Lian so tenderly, so nicely, that Xie Lian finally spirals apart. Tears spring hotly into the corners of his eyes, and Xie Lian doesn’t fight them. His eyelids gradually flutter shut as he surrenders himself completely. He whimpers in protest when Hua Cheng breaks the kiss to lower him back to the bed, and he’s already aching when Hua Cheng opens his robe to take him in hand.

It’s taken so little to bring him to this point, and Xie Lian knows that he won’t last long. So easy, Xie Lian thinks, and he feels a small flicker of shame. He turns his face away, pitiful and abashed, but Hua Cheng grabs him by the chin and firmly turns him back. Xie Lian is ready to plead with him, expecting Hua Cheng to be smug, but Hua Cheng’s expression is curiously soft, and Xie Lian’s heart squeezes as his tears spill over at last. Hua Cheng leans forward to kiss him again, and Xie Lian relaxes, his limbs going soft even as Hua Cheng strokes him more firmly between his legs. 

“That’s it, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng murmurs, his voice ghosting over Xie Lian’s lips. He strokes Xie Lian faster, whispering encouragement between each reverent kiss. “You’re so close, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng croons, and Xie Lian bites his lip to keep from crying out. “Let go, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng whispers. “You’re so safe with me.”

Xie Lian comes with a sob, and Hua Cheng strokes him through it, pressing their foreheads together until Xie Lian stops shaking. It takes a long time, and it takes even longer for Xie Lian’s breathing to slow down. There’s something strangely tremulous about it, like a breeze passing through tree branches.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian croaks, and Hua Cheng sits up to inspect him. He wipes away the tear tracks with his thumbs, smoothing away the moisture with a few soft strokes. His eye lingers on Xie Lian’s face before roving over his body, examining him carefully for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, he smiles, his eye twinkling proudly.

“Well done, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng congratulates him.

Xie Lian laughs, still a bit unsteady, but he rallies quickly to reply.

“Well done yourself,” Xie Lian says, and Hua Cheng beams at him, his smile growing wider.

“Gege is pleased?” Hua Cheng prompts, and Xie Lian has to stifle another laugh.

“Very pleased,” Xie Lian assures him. “San Lang is so skilled.”

“Am I?” Hua Cheng asks archly. “Is there anything that I did particularly well?”

“Well,” Xie Lian says, pretending to think about it, “you really did kiss me exceptionally nicely.” Hua Cheng preens himself on the compliment, nodding along as Xie Lian continues. “You were so gentle with me, and I think I needed that very much.”

Hua Cheng stops nodding, his gaze glinting warmly. It’s very unusual for Hua Cheng to be so wholeheartedly soft in bed, regardless whether or not Xie Lian requests it. Xie Lian doesn’t mind; he has no complaints about being obliterated on a regular basis, but it was nice to be cherished a little differently today.

“But most importantly,” Xie Lian says, “Sang Lang was finally obedient.”

“So I was good?” Hua Cheng laughs, his shoulders shaking with amusement.

“You were perfect,” Xie Lian tells him, and Hua Cheng laughs harder, but Xie Lian can tell he is thrilled by the praise.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Hua Cheng drawls, his smile turning devious. “I think gege should reward me for behaving so well.”

Xie Lian feels his face growing hot. “Why don’t I shorten your next calligraphy practice?” he tries.

“How short?” Hua Cheng asks, crawling over top of him.

“Very short,” Xie Lian promises. “San Lang won’t even have time to get bored.”

“Regretfully,” Hua Cheng sighs dramatically, “I’m already bored just by thinking about it.” He leans forward to reach past Xie Lian’s head, sliding his hand under the pillows and pulling out a small silk cloth. “Gege’s offer is unacceptable.”

“What about a fight?” Xie Lian suggests, but Hua Cheng shakes his head before bending to the task of wiping Xie Lian clean. He’s very thorough, but his touch is almost teasing, and Xie Lian shivers, clamping his mouth shut to avoid making any undignified noises.

“I’m no match for Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says. “And while I am always honoured to lose to you, I don’t think it counts as a reward.”

“You liar,” Xie Lian says, but he can’t keep the affection out of his voice. “You love to spar. So what if I’m stronger? I think you’re faster, and besides, there must be some weapons we haven’t tried yet. Didn’t you just bring me a new set of butterfly swords? They’re so beautiful, San Lang, why don’t we try them out?”

Hua Cheng finishes cleaning him up and tosses away the cloth. He sits back and regards Xie Lian thoughtfully. The look on his face is mostly inscrutable, but Xie Lian can easily imagine that whatever Hua Cheng is thinking, it’s probably not about sparring, and it’s definitely not about swords. Xie Lian sits up and pulls his robe closed, hastily retying his sash while Hua Cheng raises an eyebrow at him. Xie Lian looks away and scoots toward the edge of the bed.

“Why are all of gege’s suggestions for later?” Hua Cheng asks lightly.

“Because,” Xie Lian stalls, scooting a little faster. “Patience is a bitter plant, but its fruit is always sweet.” He swings his legs off the bed and prepares to make a run for it. “San Lang should wait.”

Behind him, Hua Cheng laughs, and Xie Lian makes the mistake of looking back over his shoulder. Hua Cheng’s smile is wolfish, and his eye is gleaming with lascivious intent. Xie Lian’s treacherous stomach flips like an acrobat, and then finally, Xie Lian bolts.

Unfortunately, Hua Cheng really is faster, and Xie Lian doesn’t get far. Hua Cheng’s arm feels like an iron shackle as he seizes Xie Lian around the waist and hurls him back onto the bed. He lands heavily, and his breath seems to rattle as it’s knocked out of his lungs. Hua Cheng is already on top of him again, heavy as a mountain and just as immovable.

“Opportunities do not wait,” Hua Cheng says, his smile turning rakish. “And so, neither will I.”

“That’s not how it goes,” Xie Lian protests, squirming uselessly under Hua Cheng’s hands. “It’s supposed to end with, time will not come again.”

Hua Cheng’s expression turns predatory. “If gege can still think to correct my idioms, I’m not working him hard enough.” He leans in next to Xie Lian’s ear, his voice sounding low and menacing. “Relax, Your Highness,” he purrs. “I’ll take my own reward.” And with that, he violently bites Xie Lian’s earlobe.

Xie Lian yelps in a most unbecoming manner. “Stop that!” he shrieks. “San Lang, that’s—” he yelps again, and this time it sounds even more unseemly, trailing off into a pathetic, shaky moan. Hua Cheng is holding him firmly in place, his hand fisted roughly in Xie Lian’s hair while he bites below the shell of Xie Lian’s ear. There’s hardly any flesh there, but Xie Lian is unusually sensitive in that area, so of course Hua Cheng loves to use it against him.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian gasps. “Weren’t you being so gentle just now? Why clean me up if you only meant to profane me again? San Lang,” he pleads, his voice filled with all the urgency of someone who is about to be ruthlessly tortured. “Husband?” he tries. 

“Shh,” Hua Cheng hushes him, his lips brushing against Xie Lian’s neck. He pulls back far enough that Xie Lian can see the joy on his face, and Xie Lian feels himself softening in response. Hua Cheng really does love it when Xie Lian calls him that. “Your Highness,” Hua Cheng grins. “Are you ready to be nice to me now?”

“I’m always nice to you,” Xie Lian complains. “I’m too nice to you. That’s why you behave so badly all the time.”

“I’m a demon,” Hua Cheng points out.

“You’re a ghost,” Xie Lian counters. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Both are prone to behaving badly,” Hua Cheng says. “And as a Ghost King, I am naturally inclined toward excessive depravity.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Xie Lian declares, and then Hua Cheng descends on him once more.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng growls against his skin. He’s left so many teeth marks on Xie Lian’s neck, and Xie Lian wonders absently if Ruoye will be able to cover them all. “This will last so much longer than a calligraphy lesson,” Hua Cheng promises him. “I’m going to take my time.”

Time, Xie Lian thinks.

Time? Xie Lian freezes.

“Time!” Xie Lian cries, bolting upright with a surge of spiritual power that sends Hua Cheng flying across the bed. “Time!” Xie Lian wails, casting about uselessly for his clothes. “San Lang, what time is it?”

“It’s just past wu,” Hua Cheng replies. He picks himself up from where Xie Lian has so ungraciously tossed him. “Gege, you don’t have to rush.”

“But I do,” Xie Lian despairs, hopping off the bed and hurrying to get dressed. “I promised to help out at Puqi Village today.” He hastily ties his hair up as Ruoye comes slithering out of its hiding place to twine around his forearm. “Summer will be over in less than a month, but there’s a late harvest this year, and I swore I’d be there to help.”

“Go another day,” Hua Cheng suggests. “They can’t need you more than I do.”

“San Lang, don’t be silly,” Xie Lian chides him as he slips on his boots. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you. We can play again tonight.”

“Gege really is cruel,” Hua Cheng sighs. “Have you forgotten that I’m leaving tonight?”

“What?” Xie Lian exclaims, whirling around to face him. His sash is still not properly tied, and his outer robe is knocked askew with the motion.

“Blackwater,” Hua Cheng explains. “He needs my assistance with something tedious. And by tedious, I mean time-consuming. I’ll be gone for at least a few weeks,” he says, and he looks distinctly unhappy about the prospect. “He’s going to owe me a truly unthinkable amount of money after this.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, his shoulders sagging with dismay. “Three weeks? That’s a whole month. I’m so sorry. I really did forget.”

Hua Cheng slips off the bed and comes to stand in front of him. “Don’t apologize, Your Highness.” He straightens Xie Lian’s robe across his shoulders before neatly folding it closed. “I will be bitterly patient, just as gege wishes.” He secures Xie Lian’s sash and gives it a tug, drawing Xie Lian closer. “But I warn you,” he adds, “that when I return, I expect Your Highness to be extraordinarily sweet for me.”

“Must you twist everything that I say?” Xie Lian sighs. He means to sound exasperated, but his voice is terribly fond. “You’ll call for me, won’t you?” And now, he sounds plaintive. “You’ll use my communication array?”

“Of course,” Hua Cheng assures him. “Although, I’ll be very happy if gege calls for me first.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian groans, but Hua Cheng just laughs at him. Xie Lian can’t help it; he’s still so embarrassed by Hua Cheng’s password. “I have to go,” Xie Lian tells him, and then he quickly pecks Hua Cheng on the lips. He turns to leave, but Hua Cheng grabs his elbow.

“Say goodbye to me properly,” Hua Cheng entreats him. “I’ll be gone for a lifetime.”

Xie Lian sighs, but he turns back around. To Hua Cheng, ‘properly’ could mean anything from half a stick of incense to a handful of shichen, and Xie Lian is late enough already.

“Close your eye,” Xie Lian commands. Hua Cheng smiles like he’s trying not to laugh, but he dutifully complies. “Now put your hands behind your back.”

Hua Cheng does chuckle this time, but luckily, he doesn’t protest. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits expectantly. Xie Lian reaches up and holds Hua Cheng’s face between his hands. He stands on tiptoe, hovering in front of Hua Cheng’s lips.

“San Lang,” he whispers, and then he quickly hops up, touching a kiss to the tip of Hua Cheng’s nose.

Xie Lian flees.

“Goodbye, San Lang!” he crows over his shoulder, dashing away in victory. He’s halfway out the grand doors when he hears Hua Cheng’s incredulous laughter.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng calls, and Xie Lian pauses on the threshold to look back. “You will be,” Hua Cheng says ardently, “the final, most absolute death of me.”

---

Despite being raised as a prince who never had to dirty his hands with hard labour, Xie Lian quite enjoys farming. Unlike the construction jobs he was forced to do after his second banishment, Xie Lian finds planting and harvesting sincerely gratifying. He devotes himself to it with almost childlike enthusiasm, and every time he extracts an exceedingly shiny water chestnut from its tangle of muddy roots, he understands the Rain Master completely.

It’s the end of the day when he notices the tickle in his throat. He sits with the villagers and drinks from their flask, but no amount of water seems to ease the irritation. Xie Lian tries clearing his throat, but it only makes the sensation worse, and it draws the attention of the village chief.

“Daozhang, are you all right?” he asks. “Is there something you need?”

“No, I’m fine,” Xie Lian assures him. “It’s just a small tickle in my throat.”

“Ah yes,” the village chief nods. “Sometimes that happens when you’ve been working in the dirt all day. Can’t help breathing some of it in,” he says sagely.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Xie Lian smiles. “Thank you as always for your wisdom.”

“No, thank you for all of your hard work!” the village chief replies. “You do the work of ten men, and you do it while smiling. I’ve only seen one person work faster than you, and that’s your Xiao-Hua. Come to think of it,” the village chief muses, “I haven’t seen him around for a while. Did he go home?”

“Yes,” Xie Lian answers easily. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

“A loss for us, but I suppose it’s just as well,” the village chief says. “He has a wife to look after. He can’t always be running off to play. How is his wife?” he asks. “They’ve been married for quite some time, haven’t they?”

Xie Lian clears his throat again, trying not to laugh. The tickling intensifies, but he manages to reply.

“They have,” he says. “Xiao-Hua tells me he’s very happy.”

“And the wife?” the village chief prompts. “Is the wife happy?”

“The happiest,” Xie Lian replies, swallowing the insistent fluttering. “There is no one happier in all three realms than his wife.”

“Hmm, good,” the village chief nods, satisfied at last.

Xie Lian relaxes, but he swallows again, because now, his whole throat is tingling. He’s just about to ask for the water flask again when the village chief suddenly speaks.

“Any signs that there might be a child soon?”

Xie Lian’s whole body flushes with embarrassment, and he barks out a nervous laugh, but it quickly transforms into a coughing fit, and he finds himself unable to stop. The village chief slaps him on the back, but Xie Lian only coughs harder, and it’s not until the water flask is pressed into his hands that he’s able to douse the burning itch.

“My apologies,” Xie Lian rasps. “It seems I really did inhale too much today. I think I should head home.”

“Of course, Daozhang,” the village chief says. “Be sure to get a good night’s sleep. It will help you feel better and restore your strength. Will you come again tomorrow?”

“Yes, I think I will,” Xie Lian smiles. With Hua Cheng away, he wants to keep busy, and he’d rather stay in the mortal realm than bother with anything in heaven. “I promise to arrive much earlier this time.”

“No need, no need,” the village chief waves him off. “Arrive whenever it pleases you, Daozhang. We’re just grateful to have your help.”

“At sunrise, then,” Xie Lian tells him, and the village chief laughs in approval.

Xie Lian stands to leave, and the villagers all wave him a warm goodbye. Xie Lian smiles and waves happily back.

“See you tomorrow,” Xie Lian calls, but then he has to cough a few times into his hand. Feeling awkward, he waves one last time, then he turns and sets off toward Ghost City. Some good sleep, he reasons, will benefit him greatly, just like the village chief said. He wonders if Yin Yu might be able to find something soothing for his throat. It doesn’t feel like it’s burning anymore, but the tickle remains persistent. Xie Lian continues down the path, his mood light and cheerful. He’s already looking forward to telling Hua Cheng about his day.

Chapter Text

A week later, while the novelty of farming hasn’t worn off, neither has the irritating cough. It does seem worse while he’s working in the fields, which lends some credence to what the village chief said about breathing in dirt, but Xie Lian is starting to feel skeptical. The cough doesn’t stop when he returns home for the night. It calms down when he’s resting, but it never completely subsides. The tickle remains an unrelenting annoyance in his throat.

He’s not really worried; other than the cough, he feels perfectly fine. Gods don’t get sick, at least not in his own experience, but he wonders if maybe it’s possible. Technically, he’s only been a god for a fraction of the time he’d been an immortal, so maybe it’s happened before and he just doesn’t know about it.

“Of course not,” Mu Qing scoffs. “Gods can’t get sick. Why would you need to ask that?”

“No reason,” Xie Lian hedges, taking another long sip of water. The flask is almost empty, and the farther he tips his head back, the more it makes him want to cough, so he gives up on the last few drops.

“Why are you so thirsty?” Feng Xin asks. “Is it really such hard work? You’ve only just stopped to talk with us, and you’ve already finished your flask.”

“It’s not too arduous,” Xie Lian says. “You’re welcome to try, if you’d like.”

Mu Qing scoffs again, rolling his eyes. “That’s not why we’re here. But wait,” he adds, his voice turning suspicious. “Why did you avoid the first question?”

Xie Lian coughs awkwardly for an overlong moment. “Is it something so strange to be thirsty?” he rasps, but he begins coughing again almost immediately.

“Your Highness, why are you coughing so much?” Feng Xin asks. “Did you choke on some of your water?”

“No,” Xie Lian coughs. “It’s from farming,” he explains. Feng Xin has produced another flask from somewhere, and Xie Lian quickly takes a few gulps. “The village chief says it’s normal when you inhale a lot of dirt.”

“Then use a scarf,” Mu Qing snaps, clearly exasperated. “Can’t you see how other people are using them?”

“Ruoye has been helping me,” Xie Lian says. “I’m resting right now, so of course it’s relaxing as well.”

“That thing is too flimsy to properly help,” Mu Qing sniffs. “Nan Yang, give him a scarf.”

“You think you can just give me orders?” Feng Xin snaps, but he pulls out a scarf nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Xie Lian says, sheepishly accepting it. “Why are the two of you here?” he asks, genuinely curious. “You can’t have stopped by just to chat.”

“Why can’t we?” Feng Xin retorts. He sounds a little put out.

“We’re here on behalf of heaven,” Mu Qing grimaces. “They want us to confirm your wellbeing.”

“My what?” Xie Lian laughs, but then he also has to cough. Feng Xin whacks him on the back.

“Do you realize you haven’t made a visit to heaven in almost nine months?” Mu Qing asks. “That’s more than twice as long as the last time you were away.”

“Who’s keeping track of that?” Xie Lian asks. He’s a little amused, and a little bit puzzled. “The Palace of Ling Wen can’t possibly care about such things, and they wouldn’t have time to help if they did.” He takes another sip from Feng Xin’s flask. “Unless there’s some sort of betting pool?” he hazards. “Whoever has the longest bet should double it. I don’t have any plans to go up.”

“There’s no bet, Your Highness,” Feng Xin assures him. “And they’re not requesting that you return immediately. It’s just that…” he trails off, seemingly uncomfortable with finishing the thought.

“They want to know what you’re doing,” Mu Qing finishes it for him. “There’s been a lot of gossip while you’re away this time.”

“I’m farming,” Xie Lian says. “I’ve been collecting scraps. And I’m not ‘away’ from heaven. I don’t live there,” he reminds them. “My home is with San Lang.”

Mu Qing snorts. “They want to know what he is doing more than anything else.”

“He’s busy colluding with Blackwater right now,” Xie Lian says sweetly. “Although I’m not really sure about what.”

Feng Xin blanches, but Mu Qing only scowls. Xie Lian suppresses another round of coughing, the muscles in his throat straining against the tickle.

“Give us something better to report back than farming and junk collecting,” Mu Qing says. “The only thing more suspicious than doing nothing is doing nothing but trifling things.”

Xie Lian coughs out a laugh. “Farming isn’t trifling,” he scolds. “And how is scrap collecting suspicious? Why do any of the officials even care what I do? Nobody cares that the Rain Master doesn’t reside in heaven. She hasn’t been back more than once since the capital was rebuilt.”

“The Rain Master is not a martial god,” Feng Xin replies. “Unlike you, who is the strongest among us.”

“The strongest among us, who just happens to be married to the terror of all three realms,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “The bell barely stopped tolling a few months ago. Some officials still get headaches when they recall it too clearly.”

“If San Lang and I wanted to stage a hostile takeover of heaven, don’t you think we would have done it by now?” Xie Lian asks. He turns his head to cough roughly into his sleeve. “Why are the officials suddenly so paranoid?”

“It’s a power void,” Mu Qing shrugs, his voice laced with disdain. “Since you’re the most powerful, the weak-minded among us are afraid that you’ll rush in to fill it. And they worry about your… proximity,” he says carefully, “to Crimson Rain Sought flower.”

“My what?” Xie Lian asks. He’s confused by Mu Qing’s unusually stilted tone.

“They think he’s corrupting you!” Feng Xin blurts out, his face stained uncomfortably red. “It’s ridiculous,” he huffs. “They say that every time he… that you… that your wellbeing is… anyway, you don’t need to mind them,” Feng Xin concludes. “Just let us take care of it, Your Highness.”

“I’d be much obliged if you would,” Xie Lian says. “I’ve told you honestly what I’ve been doing, and it’s not much, but I’m sure you’ll know best how to spin it. You’re a much better official than I ever was,” Xie Lian tells Mu Qing. “Sorry to cause you so much trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” Mu Qing sniffs. “Don’t thank me,” he adds.

Xie Lian smiles, but then he erupts into another harsh coughing fit. It feels strange, he thinks, like his body is trying to dislodge something. He can almost feel it rattling around in his lungs.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Feng Xin asks. “How much dirt have you swallowed, exactly?”

“You do sound unwell,” Mu Qing squints at him. “Maybe you should stop for the day.”

“I’m fine,” Xie Lian waves them off. “You said it yourself,” he tells Mu Qing. “Gods can’t get sick.”

“Still,” Mu Qing says, peering at him critically. He fishes a small jar out of his sleeve. “If it doesn’t go away, try this potion. And if that doesn’t help, maybe ask the Palace of Ling Wen what might cause a god to keep coughing.”

“Ling Wen is too busy for a question like that,” Xie Lian coughs. He accepts the potion gratefully, tucking it away in his sleeve. “I hope things go well when you get back to the capital. And next time you come see me,” he adds with a smile, “I hope it really is just to chat.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but Feng Xin nods decisively.

“Depend on it, Your Highness,” Feng Xin says with a bow.

“Until next time,” says Mu Qing, and then the two of them turn to leave.

Xie Lian watches them go, warmed by the same wistful fondness that always accompanies these encounters. He’s happy, and he’s grateful, to meet them where they are, and he’s even happier knowing that they might still walk together sometimes.

He takes one more swig from Feng Xin’s flask, resisting the urge to start coughing again. He’s trying so hard to suppress the tickling in his throat that his nose starts itching instead. Xie Lian sneezes, not once, but three times, and then he’s coughing again, hacking ungracefully into his sleeve. Ruoye flutters where it sits around his neck, clearly concerned, and Xie Lian pats it, struck by a sudden thought.

“Wait!” Xie Lian calls, his voice scraping out of his throat. “I have something else to ask you.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing turn around to face him.

“What is it?” Mu Qing calls back.

Xie Lian clears his throat, choking back another aggravating cough before voicing his question.

“Do gods have allergies?”

---

Gods do not, as it turns out, have allergies.

Mu Qing hadn’t exactly said as much, but he had rolled his eyes, and he had thrown his head back, and he had sighed with his whole body, so Xie Lian can only assume that the answer is adamantly no. Still, he thinks, it had been a thought worth entertaining, even just for the faint hope that his cough could be easily explained.

“Maybe it was a silly question,” Xie Lian tells the resident calico cat of Puqi Shrine. They are sitting on the steps leading into the courtyard and enjoying the last of the evening sunlight. “I haven’t sneezed even once since then.” The cat accepts a dried liver treat from Xie Lian’s fingers. “But still,” he sighs. “It would have been nice to have an answer.”

Xie Lian is somewhat perturbed. Mu Qing’s potion has a very limited effect; it eases the irritation for about an incense stick’s worth of time, but then the cough comes back in full force. Sometimes, it comes back even stronger. The bottle has lasted a few days, and Xie Lian has just swallowed the last of it. He takes a deep breath and savours it, grateful for the much-needed relief.

“Some help is better than no help, right?” Xie Lian asks. A little black cat has joined the calico, and Xie Lian can see a big orange cat making its way across the courtyard toward them. He fishes around in his sleeve for more treats. “Maybe I should ask him for more of it.”

The cats have lined up neatly in front of him, and Xie Lian feeds them each a treat. They’ve already been fed for the night, which means none of them are starving, but they chitter and mewl at Xie Lian as if they’ve never been fed in their lives. Hua Cheng tells Xie Lian that he’s going to spoil them, but Xie Lian just smiles, because that is his plan. Xie Lian has never met a cat he didn’t like, and he’s never met a cat who didn’t love him back. He hopes all the shrine cats are happy and satisfied, and he hopes they’ll bring their friends to visit whenever they need a meal.

“Gege.”

Xie Lian abruptly sits up straight, startling the cats. “San Lang!” he exclaims. “Sorry,” he says to the cats, distributing another round of treats as an apology.  

“Gege, did I startle you? Are you talking to someone?”

“No, don’t worry, I’m just spoiling the cats,” Xie Lian says happily.

He can hear Hua Cheng chuckling in response. “Don’t overfeed the shrine goblins, gege. You don’t want them to get fat.”

“They’re not fat,” Xie Lian tells him. “You’re not fat, are you?” he asks the cats. “I saw a new one today, San Lang. It was so small, I wonder if it was a kitten? It’s a tortoiseshell, San Lang, it was so sleek and beautiful!”

“Another hungry shrine goblin,” Hua Cheng sighs, but Xie Lian imagines that he’s smiling. “They’re going to eat all of your offerings, gege.”

“I wouldn’t mind if they did,” Xie Lian says cheerfully. “And anyway, cats don’t eat fruit and things like that, so I don’t think we have to worry about them desecrating my shrine.”

“Have you been sleeping there?” Hua Cheng asks.

“Sometimes,” Xie Lian replies. “It makes getting up to help with farming easier, since it’s closer to the village. The new house is very nice,” he tells him. “It’s so much different than the one-room shack that the shrine used to be. It’s very convenient to have a proper house for when I’m living here. I’m glad you had it built. It would be so nice to stay here with you,” Xie Lian says. He blushes a moment later, realizing what an obvious invitation he’s just made.

“I’m sure it would be,” Hua Cheng agrees, his voice low and sultry. He seems to have intuited the turn that Xie Lian’s thoughts have taken. “Do you miss me at night, Your Highness?”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian chides him, although he feels a little sheepish. “Don’t just start flirting with me,” he scolds, as if he wasn’t the one who started it. His blush has only deepened, but he pretends to be unaffected. “You haven’t even told me how you’re doing with He Xuan’s business yet.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Hua Cheng says. “It’s just ghost business.”

“Ghost business?” Xie Lian asks.

“Ghost business,” Hua Cheng repeats. “Very dark. Very nefarious. Also, very boring. Trust me, gege. You needn’t be bothered with it.”

His tone is light, almost flippant, and Xie Lian takes that as his cue to stop asking. If Hua Cheng isn’t volunteering any details, it means that a heavenly official would be better off not knowing. Whatever he and Blackwater are doing, Hua Cheng doesn’t want Xie Lian involved. Xie Lian always tries his best not to be overly curious about ghost business, and he trusts Hua Cheng to conduct his affairs in such a way that heaven has no authority to intervene, but sometimes, he wonders. What are the things that Hua Cheng chooses to protect him from?

“All right,” Xie Lian says, stroking the calico cat. “But San Lang, won’t you tell me how you are? Are you well? How are the bone fish?”

“The fish are fine,” Hua Cheng laughs. “And gege knows that I’m always well. But I’m not happy,” he adds. “It’s very lonely here without gege.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, his voice softening with affection. “Isn’t He Xuan keeping you company?”

“No,” Hua Cheng says flatly. “I hate that guy.”

“You do not,” Xie Lian laughs.

Whatever Hua Cheng feels for He Xuan, Xie Lian knows it’s not hate. These days, Hua Cheng hates a surprisingly small amount of people, but only because hatred requires a level of attention that Hua Cheng isn’t willing to pay to anyone who isn’t especially noteworthy. If Xie Lian had to hazard a guess, Hua Cheng’s regard for He Xuan probably sits somewhere around nonchalant respect with a dash of cheerful condescension.

“You must have something you can talk about,” Xie Lian teases. “You’re both Ghost Kings.”

“Gege, that is literally all that we have in common,” Hua Cheng says.

“I just think He Xuan could use a friend, that’s all,” Xie Lian admits. He’s not surprised that Hua Cheng might feel lonely in Blackwater’s lair. Xie Lian has never been anywhere so desolate.

“He does,” Hua Cheng agrees. “But I don’t,” he declares. “Has gege been farming this whole time?” Hua Cheng asks. “How many chestnuts can there possibly be?”

“So many,” Xie Lian tells him. “There are other crops, too, and lots of things for me to do. I’ve been tending to the shrine today, sweeping and cleaning and the like. And feeding the cats,” he adds with a smile. “They’ve kept me company all day.”

“So gege really isn’t lonely without me,” Hua Cheng laments. “I see,” he sighs. “I’ve been supplanted in gege’s heart by a handful of cats.”

“San Lang, how are you always so ridiculous?” Xie Lian laughs.

“Gege hasn’t once said that he misses me,” Hua Cheng sniffs.

“That’s not true,” Xie Lian protests. “I told you yesterday that I missed you.”

“That was yesterday,” Hua Cheng says. “This is today. One day seems like three autumns,” he intones. “I haven’t stopped missing you for one moment since you left me. I ache for you, Your Highness.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian murmurs, his tone softening again. Hua Cheng’s words are so over the top, but his voice is utterly sincere. “Of course I miss you,” Xie Lian tells him. “San Lang, I miss you so much. Especially…" he trails off, suddenly shy.

“Especially?” Hua Cheng prompts. He sounds extremely interested.

“Especially at night,” Xie Lian mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. He knows exactly where this is going, and he’s not in the least prepared for it.

“I see,” Hua Cheng muses, and he sounds greatly pleased.

While Xie Lian may not be ready for whatever torment Hua Cheng is devising for him this time, he is, in fact, quite hungry for it. They’ve only been apart for a little more than a week, but after just over a year of marriage, and with Hua Cheng’s proclivity to profane his god every night, Xie Lian has grown accustomed to a deep, intense, and frequent physical intimacy. Xie Lian is almost embarrassed to admit how much his body misses Hua Cheng. It’s hard to sleep without Hua Cheng beside him, and he yearns for Hua Cheng’s touch. He’s a little unsure if Hua Cheng can do anything while not physically present that won’t make Xie Lian miss him even more, but he’s curious enough to try.

“It’s almost night now,” Hua Cheng says, and his voice is low and promising. “Is gege getting ready for bed?”

“No, I’m in the courtyard,” Xie Lian says. He drops his hands and looks up at the sky. Twilight has fallen, the last of the sunset scattering up to heaven. His body still aches like it’s burning for Hua Cheng, but he’s suddenly very tired, and lonesome, and he just wishes he could curl up with Hua Cheng and sleep. “San Lang,” he sighs. “I really do miss you. Don’t ever think that I—”

Xie Lian coughs so violently that he chokes.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng calls, his voice turning serious. “Gege, are you okay?”

How strange, Xie Lian thinks, his body racked with relentless coughs. The potion has worn off much faster this time.

“Your Highness, please answer me,” Hua Cheng entreats him. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” Xie Lian gets out. “I just, have this cough, and I—” his words are swallowed by another heavy bout of coughing, and it’s a long moment before he can continue. “It’s this cough that I picked up from farming,” Xie Lian explains. “I breathed in too much dirt. That’s why I’ve taken a break for a day or two. Now that I’ve stopped farming, I’m sure it will go away on its own.”

“Gege, it sounds serious,” Hua Cheng says. “I’ve never heard of developing a cough from farming.”

“The village chief said that it’s not uncommon,” Xie Lian coughs. “So it’s not that serious, and you don’t need to worry, San Lang.”

“Still,” Hua Cheng insists. “How long have you been coughing like this?”

“About a week,” Xie Lian answers, feeling a little guilty. He’s been careful to suppress his coughing whenever he talks to Hua Cheng, and he’s been using the potion for the last three days to hide how bad it’s become. “Like I said, it started with the farming. I was harvesting chestnuts. There’s a lot of dirt you have to shake off the roots.”

“A week is too long,” Hua Cheng decides. “It’s unusual for a god to suffer an affliction like that. Does heaven have a physician?”

“We do,” Xie Lian replies. “We have quite a few, actually.”

“Then let’s hope at least one of them isn’t useless trash,” Hua Cheng mutters. “I would like for you to consult with them, Your Highness. It makes me uneasy to know that you’re suffering, and it upsets me greatly to think that you might be sick.”

“Gods don’t get sick,” Xie Lian is quick to reassure him. “But if it would make San Lang feel better, of course I’ll go see a heavenly physician. I’ll go tomorrow,” he promises. “So don’t worry, San Lang. You should concentrate on your ghost business, instead.”

There’s a long, heavy pause before Hua Cheng replies.

“Your Highness,” he says gravely. “If anything is wrong, anything at all, know that I will return to your side in an instant. There is no business in all three realms that can keep me from you if you need me. Depend upon it, Your Highness. I am only a summons away.”

Xie Lian instinctively reaches for the dice in his sleeve, wrapping his fingers around them just as the next round of coughing hits. He grips them so hard that he’s sure the numbers will be imprinted on his palm. He’s coughing so harshly that tears are clinging to the corners of his eyes, and he hopes that Hua Cheng can’t hear them in his voice.

“San Lang,” he manages, and it sounds mostly normal. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m just tired.” He feels like he’s trying to persuade himself and not just Hua Cheng. “I’m not getting enough sleep, so I think I’ll go to bed now. But I promise I’ll go see the physician tomorrow. I’ll go as soon as I wake up.”

“That’s good, gege,” Hua Cheng says. “I’m relieved to hear you say that. Please get some sleep now.”

“Good night, San Lang,” Xie Lian smiles. He knows that Hua Cheng never sleeps without him, so he’ll be up the whole night working, instead. “I hope you get a lot done.”

“As do I,” Hua Cheng sighs. “The sooner this trash is done with, the sooner I’ll be back with you. Good night, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian droops as the array falls silent, coughing once or twice into his sleeve. He doesn’t immediately get up to go back to the house. He sits a little longer with the cats milling around him in the dark. He’s a little less lonesome than he was before, but his skin is itching with the need to be touched.

Xie Lian never touches himself without Hua Cheng’s guidance. 800 years of celibacy has left Xie Lian with a crippling amount of self-consciousness when it comes to self-gratification, and without Hua Cheng’s presence, getting off is a futile endeavor. Xie Lian usually doesn’t mind; he’s always happy to wait, and since Hua Cheng is so amorous, he never has to wait very long. But this is already the longest amount of time they’ve been apart since Hua Cheng’s return, and it’s not even halfway done yet.

“How have I become like this?” he laments to the cats. “Why am I so greedy? Guoshi would be so ashamed of me,” he shakes his head. He coughs a few times before finally standing up. “I would wait ten thousand years for San Lang to return,” he tells the stars. “But it would be nice if I didn’t have to.”

He takes out the dice still clutched in his hand, uncurling his fingers to stare at them longingly. He coughs a few times before putting them away. He withdraws his hand from his sleeve, and then he carefully inspects his palm under the moonlight.

There, along his love line, is the faint imprint of snake eyes.

---

“Take a deep breath in, Your Highness,” the physician says.

Xie Lian inhales. He resists the urge to cough as the physician tracks his pulse.

“And out,” the physician instructs.

Xie Lian exhales. It feels almost normal, except for the slight tremor as the air passes by the tickle in his throat.

“Hmm,” the physician hums, and Xie Lian sits up straighter, eager to hear his conclusion.

The physician has already examined his meridians, monitoring the flow of his spiritual energy as it travels through the vital pathways. His body has been pronounced to be in excellent condition, and the physician has listened to him cough for much longer than necessary, because Xie Lian couldn’t stop coughing.

“How is it?” Xie Lian prompts. He is hoping the treatment will be something easy. He wants good news to give to Hua Cheng.

“It’s curious,” the physician says. “You say that you’ve been breathing in too much debris, which would point to an external pathogen. You could have a wind-heat cough, since it’s so loud and harsh, but you lack any of the other symptoms. Normally, I would be inclined to believe you are suffering from something internal, like a lung-yin deficiency, but you exhibit no other signs of yin deficiency, and the flow of your spiritual energy is entirely unimpeded.”

“What does that mean?” Xie Lian asks. His hopes for a simple solution are quietly deflating. “Are you saying you don’t know what’s wrong with me?”

“I’m saying, Your Highness, that there is nothing wrong with you,” the physician says. “There’s certainly nothing I can detect from this examination.”

“But you’ve heard me cough,” Xie Lian insists. “You can’t tell me that’s normal.”

“It is unusual,” the physician allows. “But it is not unheard of, even among heavenly officials. There are extensive medical records of similar anomalies here in heaven. If you’re curious, the Palace of Ling Wen might be able to assist you in looking them up.”

Xie Lian blinks at him. “Why would—” he coughs heavily, and it does sound harsh and loud.

“Hmm,” the physician hums again, nodding as he makes his decision. “I will treat you for the wind-heat cough. A regular dose of white mulberry leaf and chrysanthemum flower should do the trick. Take it twice a day,” he instructs. “I’ll have the apothecary prepare the elixir and send it to your palace.”

“Are you sure that’s all I need?” Xie Lian rasps.

“Of course I’m sure,” the physician all but bristles. “You’ll feel better in no time, Your Highness. Now, if you will excuse me, I have something else I must attend to.”

“Yes, of course,” Xie Lian says, nodding uneasily as the physician bows and leaves.

Xie Lian sighs, then he makes his way out of the mansion, exiting the medical compound with a troubled heart. The New Heavenly Capital is laid out much like the old one, and it doesn’t take long to reach the main avenue. He walks very slowly, partly so he can think, and partly so he won’t trigger any more coughing fits.

Unlike the old capital, this avenue has no name. Without an Emperor in place, it seemed inappropriate to call it the Avenue of Divine Might, but after much debate, there was no consensus on what to call it instead. It remains, simply, the avenue. Xie Lian finds himself wishing it wasn’t quite so immaculate; he could really use a pebble to kick down the street. It’s an extremely unprincely thing to do, but Xie Lian had tried it a few hundred years ago, and very occasionally, when no one is looking, he comforts himself with this small act of willful indecorum.

Perhaps he should have asked for a second opinion. As he’d told Hua Cheng, there are quite a few physicians in heaven. In truth, they are mostly concerned with treating the kind of injuries that a god might sustain in battle, and they are very rarely called upon to do anything else. But while they were mortal, they were among the greatest physicians of their time, and the best of them continue to study and practice in heaven. From what Xie Lian has heard, at least one of them regularly practices medicine in the mortal realm. Maybe he should have asked for that one in particular.

“Your Highness!” a voice calls, and Xie Lian turns to see Feng Xin hurrying toward him.

“So it is true,” says another voice, and Xie Lian turns again to see Mu Qing. He’s coming from the opposite direction as Feng Xin, and he’s not walking as fast, but they arrive in front of Xie Lian at exactly the same time.

“Hello,” Xie Lian greets them with an awkward smile. He’s painfully aware of how strained it must look, but he’s trying very hard not to cough.

“Your Highness,” says Feng Xin. “Is everything all right? You said you weren’t going to come up.”

“I did say that,” Xie Lian gets out. “Sorry,” he coughs, and it takes all of his strength not to keep on coughing. “I had a change of heart.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mu Qing huffs. “I’ve yet to give my account to the court, so they’ll just assume we convinced you to come up after all. But never mind that,” Mu Qing says before narrowing his eyes. “You were seen leaving the physicians’ mansion. What’s wrong? Are you still being plagued by that cough?”

“I see that bad news really does travel quickly,” Xie Lian sighs. “San Lang insisted that I see a physician.”

“It’s only bad news if the outlook is bad,” Feng Xin tries to reassure him. “What did the physician say? Did he prescribe any treatment?”

“He’s treating me for a wind-heat cough,” Xie Lian says, and then he finally gives up and coughs roughly into his sleeve. He’s dimly aware of all the prying eyes upon him, but he’s used to being treated like a spectacle in heaven, and he very easily ignores them. “The apothecary is mixing me an elixir,” he says. “I’ll be leaving as soon as it’s delivered to my palace.”

“What’s in it?” Mu Qing asks. He sounds skeptical, and Xie Lian doesn’t blame him. Mu Qing is a talented apothecary himself, and if his own potion had not helped, he probably wants to know how this one will be different. “Wait, never mind,” Mu Qing decides. “I’ll go ask them myself. In the meantime, you should return to your palace. Escort him there,” he tells Feng Xin. “Try and look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I will be enjoying myself!” Feng Xin snaps. “And stop giving me orders!”

Mu Qing doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes; he simply turns on his heel and leaves.

“Arrogant piece of shit,” Feng Xin mutters. “Come on, Your Highness. Let’s go back to your palace.”

“You really don’t need to escort me,” Xie Lian tells him. “But if you must, please don’t walk too fast. I don’t want to be coughing all the way there.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Feng Xin replies, and then he falls into step beside Xie Lian. The people who are loitering hastily avert their eyes, pretending as if they weren’t staring. “Why are you all so bored?” Feng Xin barks at them. “Go carry scrolls in the Palace of Ling Wen if you have so much free time!”

“It’s fine,” Xie Lian tells him. “Just let them be.”

“I can’t stand people like that,” Feng Xin says.

If receiving worship is the first and most important priority for a heavenly official, then the second most important thing is obviously gossip. Xie Lian knows they will be followed down the avenue, and speculation must be flying through the communication arrays. He spends very little time in heaven, so it makes sense that people are curious to see him, but he really didn’t think his appearance would cause this much of a stir.

“Feng Xin,” Xie Lian says, careful to keep his voice low. “Why did Mu Qing say that you should look like you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Because,” Feng Xin says, his face darkening as he continues, “it’s best to give the impression that everything is well with Your Highness.”

“What do you mean?” Xie Lian asks. He pauses to cough into his sleeve, and thankfully, it’s not a very powerful bout. “Are people being nosy because I went to see a physician?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Feng Xin replies. “I don’t like telling Your Highness,” Feng Xin admits. “Idle gossip is idle gossip, and I don’t think you should be troubled with it. But there are rumors, Your Highness, about your wellbeing. About whether or not you are succumbing to evil influences.”

“I see,” says Xie Lian. “And now that I’ve come back to heaven to consult with a heavenly physician, those rumors will only gain traction.”

Feng Xin nods, his expression grim, but Xie Lian smiles at him, not at all bothered.  

“It does me no harm to let people talk,” he tells Feng Xin. “So what if they believe that San Lang is corrupting me? People have said much worse things than that. What do they think might happen?” he asks, pausing a moment to cough. “Even if I were to lose my mind to him, San Lang would never think to conquer heaven. He dislikes it here too much to bother.”

“Your Highness, you’re right,” Feng Xin says. “That’s exactly what they fear. They believe that Crimson Rain Sought Flower is slowly taking over your body and mind, and that once he has complete control of you, the two of you will be unstoppable.”

“We’re already unstoppable,” Xie Lian says plainly. “We’re also a united front. But if heaven is still convinced that I am the only thing holding San Lang back, I can see how my health is a point of concern.”

“That’s just it, Your Highness,” Fen Xin says. He steps in front of Xie Lian, forcing him to halt so that they’re standing face to face. “It’s not just a point of concern. It’s a point of special interest. There are people who believe that Hua Cheng’s influence will weaken your body, and that over time, your power will weaken as well.”

Xie Lian tries not to laugh, suppressing another round of coughing. “I can tell you right now, that is definitely not what’s happening. If anything, San Lang makes me stronger.”

“And they hate that!” Feng Xin almost snaps, and Xie Lian is immediately sobered. “Your Highness, there are people in heaven who do not wish you well. These people want you weakened. These people want you sick.” Feng Xin pauses to collect himself, smoothing out the anger in his voice. “They would rejoice if they heard from an unscrupulous physician that the strongest martial god in heaven is suffering from a mysterious illness. They hope very much, Your Highness, that you will be brought low by disease.”

“That’s a faint hope to have,” Xie Lian says blandly, still completely unbothered. “Gods don’t normally get sick.”

“You’re not normal,” Feng Xin retorts. “What other god spends so much time with a Ghost King?”

“San Lang is not the problem,” Xie Lian says firmly. “It’s just a cough. I have no other symptoms. The physician—”

“The physician can’t be trusted,” Feng Xin cuts him off. “I’m telling you, we don’t know who is an ally or not. If the specifics of your cough start to circulate, that means someone in the medical compound is invested in your downfall.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic,” Xie Lian says. “Also, a little paranoid. What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks. “What are they going to do? Try to assassinate me? I can’t see that going well for them,” he coughs. “If all they’re doing is gossiping around their card tables and hoping for news of my demise, then I’m going to be perfectly fine.”

“I don’t like it, Your Highness,” Feng Xin declares. “We don’t like it,” he amends.

“I truly appreciate your concern,” Xie Lian smiles. “But really, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Feng Xin bows his head, and they walk in silence the rest of the way.

Xie Lian smiles at Feng Xin outside the walls of the Palace of Xianle. “Thank you again for being so attentive,” Xie Lian says. “But please don’t worry. Idle gossip is not a threat, and threats are useless against me anyway,” he smiles. “Tell Mu Qing not to worry, either. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with the elixir. Even if it’s poisoned, it’s okay. I’ve swallowed so much poison in my life, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“That’s terrible, Your Highness. Casually telling me something like that,” Feng Xin shakes his head. “Good luck, Your Highness. I’ll take my leave.”

“Goodbye, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian smiles.

Feng Xin bows, and then he’s swiftly moving away, striding down the avenue with an imperious gait.

Xie Lian turns and enters his palace, passing undisturbed through the outer courtyard. He keeps no servants, so it makes sense that the palace is deserted. Whoever takes care of it reports to Quan Yizhen, and Quan Yizhen reports to Yin Yu. Xie Lian has told them both not to bother, but Yin Yu is clearly acting on orders from Hua Cheng, and Quan Yizhen is clearly overjoyed to be in regular contact with Yin Yu.

He stops on the steps in front of the towering front doors, and he frowns at the thought of entering. What comforts are waiting inside for him? A throne he’s too embarrassed to sit on? A bedchamber he can’t share with Hua Cheng?  There’s more than one reason to avoid The New Heavenly Capital, but being with Hua Cheng is the reason that matters most.

Xie Lian turns around again, taking a seat on the stairs, and he wonders how long he’ll have to wait for the apothecary. It’s almost midday, Xie Lian realizes. Hua Cheng must be getting curious about his visit with the physician. Xie Lian longs to speak with him, but that password is really too much. Maybe if he’s lucky, Hua Cheng will—

Xie Lian erupts into a violent bout of coughing. He clasps one hand over his mouth while the other hand flies to his chest. He grabs a fistful of his robe over his painfully throbbing heart, and then he’s curling forward, wrapping his body around the suffocating pain in his lungs. It feels different than before, like the tickle in his throat is being chased out by something more substantial. Whatever it is, it’s blocking his windpipe, and Xie Lian gags, then retches, before finally, he dislodges it into his hand. His coughing subsides, his breathing evens out, and Xie Lian blinks, staring in confusion at what lies in his palm.

Small white flower petals are sticking to his skin. They pile up wetly in his hand, delicate and diaphanous where they cling to his fingers. He watches, stunned, as the wind picks up, and it carries the petals away from his fingers as if he was a cherry tree in spring.

This, he thinks, must qualify as an anomaly.

A highly unusual and peculiar anomaly, which is also, apparently, undetectable. Could the physician really have been lying? It’s not impossible, Xie Lian reasons, but it’s equally possible that the man simply made a mistake. Xie Lian would much rather believe that the physician is fallible; even if he’s incompetent, that doesn’t mean he’s evil. Xie Lian won’t even entertain the idea that the elixir will be poisoned. No assassin is that stupid.

But still, it seems like a rather egregious thing to miss. It’s a very strange thing to be coughing up flower petals, and it’s a stranger thing still that his cough has now almost completely subsided. He barely notices the tickle in his throat, and he can take deep, uninterrupted breaths without wanting to cough even once. A quick jog around the courtyard doesn’t agitate his throat, and a short sprint doesn’t provoke another coughing fit, either. He sits on the stairs again to consider his options.

As much as he’d like to find himself cured after expectorating a handful of petals, Xie Lian knows that is far too easy. Even if coughing up the irritant has alleviated the cough, how did the irritant arise in the first place? The cough is just a symptom, Xie Lian realizes. The real affliction must be happening somewhere inside his lungs.

He dislikes the idea of returning to the physicians’ mansion. If Feng Xin and Mu Qing are right, he’d be putting himself into the hands of people who might not just wish him ill, but who might even feasibly harm him. Xie Lian is skeptical they could do anything to him that matters, but it’s still not a pleasant thought. Even if the physician had meant well today, he’s already dismissed Xie Lian once, and while Xie Lian doubts he could reasonably ignore a handful of disturbing plant matter, he’d rather not go back to be dismissed again.

That leaves him two options.

The first is Hua Cheng. Normally, Xie Lian would never hesitate to call on him, but right now, Hua Cheng is engaged with what Xie Lian believes must be very delicate business. If it were simply an act of destruction, or some ghostly display of dominance, Hua Cheng would be back already. But he and Blackwater are still mired in dour secrecy, which means that whatever they’re doing, it would be disastrous if something went wrong. Xie Lian should not distract him, no matter what Hua Cheng says to the contrary.

Xie Lian picks the second path, pressing two fingers to his temple.

“Ling Wen?” Xie Lian calls. “Ling Wen, are you there?”

“Welcome back, Your Highness,” Ling Wen replies. “It’s been a while.” Her voice is surprisingly warm, but thankfully, it’s not warm enough to allow for small talk. “How can I help?”

“I need you to look something up for me,” Xie Lian says. “Please start with heaven’s medical records, because I’m hoping you’ll find something there.”

“Medical records?” Ling Wen exclaims. “My palace doesn’t normally deal with those.”

“Can you make an exception?” Xie Lian asks. “The physician told me you could help.” He pauses for a moment before he realizes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “He was just offloading work onto you, wasn’t he?”

“Him and the rest of heaven,” Ling Wen sighs. “What am I looking for, Your Highness?”

“Thank you,” Xie Lian says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I need to know what causes someone to cough up flower petals.”

“Flower petals?” Ling Wen sounds confused. “Your Highness, did you say flower petals?”

“Yes,” Xie Lian confirms. “Have you heard of anything like that before?”

“No,” Ling Wen replies. “Never. Is there anything else to look for?”

“This person has been suffering from a heavy, persistent cough for about a week before coughing up the petals,” Xie Lian says. “There are no other symptoms. It’s just a terrible, suffocating cough that won’t respond to medicine.” That sounds very bleak, Xie Lian realizes, but he’s hopeful that Ling Wen will find something to help. “They’re white petals,” Xie Lian adds. “Just in case that’s helpful. Small and white and roundish.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll see what I can do.” There’s a small pause before she asks, “Is there anything else I need to know about this case?”

“Just that I am relying, as always, on your most scrupulous discretion,” Xie Lian smiles. 

Xie Lian is not naïve enough to think that Ling Wen likes him, but he’s pretty sure that she respects him, and Xie Lian knows that Ling Wen’s respect is hard won. Not many people have it, and even fewer people have it without resentment.

“The Palace of Ling Wen deals in facts, not gossip,” Xie Lian continues. “I eagerly await whatever truths you might find, and I trust you to deliver them discreetly.”

“Understood, Your Highness,” Ling Wen says, and Xie Lian can almost hear the wry quirk of her lips. He’s appealing directly to her pride, and she knows it. “I’ll report back as soon as I find something,” she promises. “Please enjoy the rest of your day in heaven, Your Highness, and if you’re not staying, then safe travels back to the mortal realm.”

The array falls silent as Ling Wen disconnects.

The wind picks up in the courtyard again, shaking through the branches like an early reminder to the trees. Soon, summer will be over. Soon, these leaves will fall.

Soon, Xie Lian thinks, and it’s the shadow of an echo half-remembered.

Xie Lian sits alone on the steps of his palace, and he waits.

Chapter Text

“That’s it,” Xie Lian soothes. “Just hold still a little longer.”

The small tortoiseshell cat lies tensely on its side, and Xie Lian holds it down gently with one hand. Its tail swishes sharply back and forth, but it allows Xie Lian to treat its wounds. A bite mark sits across its left rear haunch, and there are a few raw teeth scratches on its leg. The wounds aren’t deep enough to really impede the cat’s movement, but if left untreated, they could quickly become infected. Xie Lian hates the thought of the little creature losing its leg, or worse, its life.

“Almost done,” Xie Lian says, applying the last of the salve and wrapping up the bandage. “There,” he says, releasing his grip on the cat’s body. “You’re such a good cat,” Xie Lian coos, and the cat springs lightly to its feet. It turns to sniff at the bandage, but it makes no move to bite it off. “You’re just a baby, aren’t you?” Xie Lian says, stroking its sleek little head. “You can’t be much older than a kitten.”

Xie Lian rummages around in his sleeve, looking for more dried liver treats. He offers up a small one, and the tortoiseshell daintily takes it. As soon as it’s finished, it looks up at Xie Lian with its brilliant green eyes, and then it paws the air in front of Xie Lian’s hand until he laughs and reaches into his sleeve again.

“Yes, all right,” Xie Lian tells it, producing another treat. “But only because you’re healing. And because you have such a pretty face,” he adds. “You’re the prettiest cat I’ve ever seen, and I want you healed up for when San Lang comes back. You can impress him with your perfect little everything.”

Xie Lian watches the little cat eat, and he’s struck by a powerful wave of longing. It’s a silly thing to wish for, but Xie Lian can’t stop hoping that he’s finally found a shrine cat that Hua Cheng might like. Hua Cheng is mostly indifferent to animals, but he’s not above admiring them from time to time, and Xie Lian is certain that this cat is exceptionally pretty. The thought of Hua Cheng holding it gently makes Xie Lian’s heart beat like a rattle drum.

The coughing fit hits him suddenly.

There is no lead-up this time, no soft coughs rolling into heavy ones. It’s just a sharp, violent hacking before another batch of petals fills his mouth. Xie Lian runs to the doorway, leaning outside to spit them out. The petals fall unevenly from his mouth, clumping together where they’re wet with saliva, and Xie Lian spits repeatedly to expel the ones stuck to his tongue. His knuckles are white where he grips the doorframe, and he holds himself steady until the last dizzy spasms subside.

Xie Lian finally stands up straight. His mouth is free of petals, but it’s filled with self-reproach. It’s been four days since he first coughed up petals, and it’s been four days since he last spoke with Hua Cheng. When Hua Cheng had contacted him to ask about his appointment, Xie Lian had downplayed the physician’s dismissiveness and extolled the virtues of the elixir. He had not mentioned the flower petals. 

At the time, Xie Lian had believed that his affliction, while strange, was nothing truly serious. He’d felt confident that Ling Wen would discover the cause, and the heavenly physicians would devise a solution. Now, he is not quite so confident. As his condition worsens, he feels increasingly guilty. He simply hadn’t wanted to worry Hua Cheng, but now, not telling Hua Cheng about the petals feels almost duplicitous.

Unfortunately, even though Xie Lian wants to come clean, if he mustered up the bravado to recite Hua Cheng’s password, it wouldn’t do him any good right now. Blackwater had required a moratorium on all spiritual communications, and Hua Cheng had reluctantly agreed.

“He’s sealing off his lair and the whole island that protects it,” Hua Cheng had said. “He’s even frozen the lake itself, although I suppose that’s a fair precaution. It’s the entrance to the heart of his domain, I guess. Still,” he’d added. “Wretched bastard enforcing a wretched ban. I should just raze this whole thing to the ground.”

“I’m sure you can’t do that,” Xie Lian had replied. “If you could, you would have been home by now.”

“I’m going to double his tab,” Hua Cheng had muttered. “Not seeing you is bad enough, but not talking to you as well? Triple it. But gege,” he’d said, his tone softening for Xie Lian. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? This elixir is really going to help?”

“I’m sure it will, so please try not to worry.”  Xie Lian had said. “San Lang, I’m going to miss our nightly chats.” Suddenly, he’d felt incredibly lonesome. “Do you think you’ll be done soon?” he’d asked. “Is it really going to take the whole three weeks?”  

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng had said, his voice solemn. “Even if the communication arrays are blocked, the dice will still work. If you need to see me, I will come. If you want to see me, I will come. I will always come for you, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian leaves the house to seek out the sunshine in the courtyard. Like the rest of Puqi Shrine, the house is south-facing, but it’s a little unconventional, because rather than fall within the boundary of the shrine’s outer wall, the house sits just outside of it. It’s a charming little house with sweeping red eaves, and it’s built from the same stone as the shrine wall. The bright red front door points straight down the hill, and a side door leads directly to an entryway into Puqi Shrine’s courtyard.

Xie Lian has always felt that having a separate house at the shrine would be ideal. This way, he reasons, whenever he and Hua Cheng might drop in unannounced, they will have somewhere to stay that won’t displace a resident priest. The fact that there has never been a resident priest at Puqi Shrine is beside the point; Xie Lian still hopes he might find one.

He takes a seat beside the rockery that Hua Cheng built last fall, and he pulls out the dice, opening his fingers to let them bathe in the sunlight. He strokes their edges, pushing them around in his palm, but he’s careful not to drop them, and he’s careful not to roll them. The tortoiseshell cat has followed him out, and it sits down beside him, squinting into the sun. Xie Lian pets it, lost to his thoughts.

Xie Lian must finally admit that his affliction is getting worse. While the constant need to cough has ceased, the intermittent coughing fits are a much bigger problem. Sometimes, they happen a few times a day, and other times, they happen a few times a shichen. Some are lighter than others, but all of them end with Xie Lian coughing up flower petals. The heavier the coughing fit, the more petals he coughs up, and he’s beginning to suffer dizzy spells with the more violent bouts. 

He considers the dice again, hefting their sun-warmed weight in his palm. Would it really be so wrong to summon Hua Cheng?

Xie Lian still hesitates.

Wouldn’t it be selfish? Would it even be necessary?

Ling Wen is already scouring the heavenly archives, and Xie Lian still believes that she will find him an answer. In the meantime, the coughing fits are unpleasant, but they’re not unmanageable. Mu Qing has even deconstructed the physician’s elixir and devised one of his own. It works a little better than the last one, so Mu Qing has prepared him a few bottles.

Xie Lian puts the dice away, and then he stands up and looks down at the tortoiseshell cat. It’s been his faithful shadow since he started tending its wounds a few days ago, and now it’s watching him intently, as if it’s wondering what they’re going to do next.  Xie Lian can’t help smiling at it.

“If you can be wounded and still stay so cheerful, then so can I,” he tells it. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go clean the altar.”

The little cat follows him into the shrine, and together, they take on the day.

Then they take on the next day, and the day after that. The trees turn yellow, and then they turn orange, and soon, they’ll turn wildfire red. It won’t be long now, Xie Lian thinks. He’ll have to buy a rake for the leaves.

But while the days are reasonably pleasant, the nights are considerably less so. Xie Lian misses Hua Cheng more acutely at night, and nothing magnifies his absence more than an empty bed. When Xie Lian is faced with the sight of it, he inevitably starts coughing up petals. He doesn’t know why it’s worse at night, but falling asleep is a struggle. Meditating helps, but unfortunately, it’s not foolproof, and Xie Lian sleeps less every day.

Gods don’t need sleep to maintain their bodies, but in Xie Lian’s experience, they do need sleep to maintain their minds. Divinity does not preclude having a human consciousness that occasionally requires a reset. While meditation can replace sleep, Xie Lian’s success with it right now is fleeting, and he is, in a word, tired. His mental exhaustion must be bleeding into his body; he’s increasingly unsteady after his coughing fits, and sometimes, he must fight to stay upright.

“No point in complaining,” Xie Lian tells the tortoiseshell. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go sweep the shrine.”

It might seem odd to remain at Puqi Shrine when their other homes are arguably more comfortable. But the shrine has things that need to be done, and Xie Lian would like to be doing them. Besides, going back to Ghost City in his current condition would only incite chaos. Xie Lian would hate to make Yin Yu responsible for something that he can’t tell Hua Cheng, and the denizens of Ghost City would be tripping over themselves in order to find a cure for Granduncle.

Xie Lian cheerfully starts sweeping, and he wonders at the lack of a resident priest. The shrine is in excellent condition, but the garish Crown Prince statue hasn’t brought him any worshippers who are interested in the position. These days, he has plenty of devotees, but they are much more interested in the more refined temples constructed in larger cities. Aside from the village teenagers who Xie Lian pays to sweep the threshold, clean the altar, and feed the cats, the shrine receives very little caretaking between his own infrequent visits. Xie Lian resolves to visit more often, even if it’s just to care for the creature that’s currently clinging to his broom.

Xie Lian’s not sure when the first cat showed up. Ever since his second banishment, whenever Xie Lian stays in one place for a while, a cat inevitably appears. If he stays a little longer, more cats will soon follow. Xie Lian has encountered innumerable cats over the years, but until now, he’s never lived anywhere stable enough to claim one. Or rather, for one to claim him.

Most of the cats in Puqi Shrine are just passing through. They eat their food, they lie in the sun, and when they wander off, they may or may not come back again. But there are three cats who live in the shrine now, and Xie Lian was delighted to finally give them names. There is Da, the giant orange one, who is impressively fluffy and perpetually hungry. There is Xun, the sleek black troublemaker, who won’t hesitate to pick a fight with Ruoye. And there is Dian Dian, the strangely doglike calico, who excels at bringing Xie Lian gifts. Sometimes, it’s food, and Xie Lian wonders if the cat is raiding other shrines. Sometimes, it’s rags, and Xie Lian wonders which villager is missing their dish cloth. And sometimes, it’s an injured tortoiseshell cat.

“You are making this very difficult,” Xie Lian tells it, although it’s too fondly said to be much of a scold. He shakes the broom in the hopes that the cat will let go. “You’re getting filthy. Just look at you, all covered in shrine dust. How am I going to get that off of you?”

The cat simply stares at him, refusing to let go of the broom.

“All right,” Xie Lian says. “What about if I give you something better to play with? Ruoye,” he calls. “Can you entertain this small friend while I finish sweeping?”

Ruoye unwinds from around his wrist, slinking away from Xie Lian’s arm with obvious reluctance.

“I know,” Xie Lian soothes. “But you don’t have to let it catch you. You can stay just out of reach so its claws won’t scratch you. Honestly, you’re so much stronger than you think. A few cat claws aren’t going to tear you up, I promise.”

Ruoye uncoils the rest of its length, slowly wavering around a bit, and Xie Lian gets the distinct impression that it’s sulking.

“Go on,” he urges it. “This is the last chore of the day. I promise to sweep very fast.”

If silk bands could sigh, Ruoye certainly would, and it sags dramatically before it finally dives toward the cat where it’s hanging off the broom. Faced with this possibly menacing entity, the cat leaps away, leaving Xie Lian free to sweep. Ruoye flutters about the shrine, and the cat eagerly gives chase. It jumps, and it swipes, and occasionally, it pounces. Ruoye starts to enjoy itself, cheering up immensely every time it outwits the cat. When Xie Lian stops sweeping, the pair is still playing, and Xie Lian hates to break them up.  

“That’s enough for today,” Xie Lian tells them, extending his arm for Ruoye’s return. “After all, you’re still injured.” He scoops up the cat and examines it critically. “You’re also still filthy,” Xie Lian declares. “Let’s clean you up, shall we? And then I’ll check your wounds before bed.”

The cat sits primly on the table inside the house while Xie Lian goes about cleaning it. He wipes away the dust using Dian Dian’s latest gift, a colourful rag that the calico brought him yesterday. The tortoiseshell purrs loudly, butting its head against the rough, wet cloth.  

“Does it feel nice?” Xie Lian asks. “Is it like a big cat tongue licking you clean?” he teases. “Give me your feet,” he commands, scooping up each paw to clean one by one. “You really are the most well-behaved cat I’ve ever met. You’ve never clawed me even once.”

The cat stares at him expectantly as he puts the rag away, but Xie Lian shakes his head.

“You’re not done yet,” he tells it. “Time to check your wounds. If you’re lucky, we get to take the bandages off today.”

The cat is indeed very lucky, and Xie Lian happily rolls up the bandages and discards them. The wounds have closed up nicely, there are no remaining signs of infection, and the cat’s fur has already started to grow back where the scars are faintest. Xie Lian offers it a sizeable piece of dried liver.

“Congratulations on a full recovery,” he smiles. He strokes his hand over the cat’s mended haunch as it contentedly crunches on the liver. “I suppose this means I should kick you out now.”

Xie Lian has been allowing the cat to sleep with him in the house while it recovers. Hua Cheng would raise an eyebrow at him for being so indulgent, but the truth is, Xie Lian appreciates the cat’s company. In between the bouts of coughing, cuddling with such a soft, warm little creature soothes Xie Lian’s tired soul. When he manages to fall asleep, it’s usually because the cat has lulled him into a peaceful daze with the sound of its contented purring. If Xie Lian is indulging anyone, he is indulging himself.

“You need a name,” Xie Lian tells the cat. “I know you might leave now, since your wounds are all better, but I hope that you’ll stay. If Dian Dian brought you here, and Da and Xun haven’t chased you away, that means they’re okay with you staying. Won’t you stay?” he asks. “I’m giving you a name,” Xie Lian decides. “You can still leave, if you like. It just means that once, for a little while, you and I needed each other.”

The little cat butts against his hand until Xie Lian starts petting it again. He admires its sleek, soft coat as he strokes his hand over its mottled colours.

“Gui,” Xie Lian proclaims. “Your name is Gui,” Xie Lian tells it.

The little tortoiseshell flops on its side and rolls over to expose its belly. Xie Lian joyfully pets it there, careful not to press too hard. He doesn’t kick Gui out of the house that night, nor any night after that.

Keeping the cat with him at night has one other benefit. It distracts him from thinking about Hua Cheng. While nothing can stop him from thinking about Hua Cheng completely, the cat’s presence is an excellent deterrent against his more shameful, licentious thoughts. Despite being wary of the next coughing fit at night, his body still thrums with need. His thoughts often wander into dangerous territory, and thinking too deeply about Hua Cheng’s touch inevitably triggers a coughing fit. It’s obvious to Xie Lian that when his heartrate picks up, so does his breathing, and nothing makes his heart beat faster than Hua Cheng.

But tonight, Gui did not follow him inside, so Xie Lian leaves the door open while he prepares for bed. When he’s washed his feet and combed his hair, he sticks his head out of the bedroom to see if the cat has come in yet. It doesn’t appear to be inside the house, so Xie Lian decides to leave the front door open and close the bedroom door, instead.

He lies on his back in the bed, folding his hands across his chest and softly closing his eyes. Without an innocent creature watching over him, Xie Lian’s thoughts begin drifting in a predictable direction. But instead of reciting sutras to chase the thoughts away, Xie Lian invites them in. He’s determined to keep his breathing steady no matter how much his heart starts to race. He keeps his breaths long, slow and steady, and they ghost unnoticed past the tickle in his throat.

He imagines his reunion with Hua Cheng. Maybe Xie Lian will be so effusive in his greeting that Hua Cheng will take him directly to bed. What might Hua Cheng have in store for him? After leaving Hua Cheng so unsatisfied inside Qiandeng Temple, Xie Lian knows that Hua Cheng is planning to punish him. Last time, he was so gentle, which means next time, it’s going to bruise. Xie Lian shivers at the thought, careful not to upset the rhythm of his breath.

Hua Cheng is sure to fuck him, which is what they both love best. He wonders how many rounds he’ll last before he finally passes out. He imagines Hua Cheng waking him up just to fuck him unconscious again, and the thought of Hua Cheng using his helpless body is starting to make Xie Lian hard. He concentrates on his breath as his hand drifts down, slowly, slowly, before it slips beneath the folds of his robes. He’s so bad at this, and he doesn’t normally try, but he’s so hungry for it, and if he just thinks of Hua Cheng, then maybe, maybe—

Xie Lian bolts upright, propelled by the force of the cough. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge and coughing toward the floor. This coughing fit is unusually violent; his lungs are on fire, and it feels as if he’s coughing up plumes of vicious smoke. When the clump of wet petals hits the roof of his mouth, he immediately knows something is wrong.

Blood.

Xie Lian smells it before he can taste it, and when he spits out the petals into his hand, they are stained with small flecks of red. It spatters onto his sleeve as Xie Lian coughs out the last of them. He’s not alarmed by the sight of it, but Xie Lian is unnerved by the smell. It’s not just the smell of the blood, which is perfectly normal on its own. It’s the smell of the blood mixed in with the petals. It’s thick, and it’s cloying, and of course it’s almost metallic.

It’s familiar, Xie Lian realizes.

It’s a nightmare, Xie Lian thinks.

He raises two shaky fingers to his temple, hoping that Ling Wen is still working.

“Ling Wen?” he calls. “Is it too late to trouble you?”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” comes the quick reply. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an update on your case. I do apologize for the lack of progress. It turns out that heaven’s medical records are in shambles. Is that why you’re calling?”

“Yes, but I was just hoping to add some information. I think it might be helpful,” Xie Lian replies.

“What is it, your Highness?” Ling Wen asks.

“There’s blood,” Xie Lian says, deciding to be blunt. “It’s not just petals anymore, I’m coughing up blood,” he says, deciding to be honest as well. “And I think we’re looking in the wrong place. I’d like you to delve into legends, instead.”

“Legends?” Ling Wen asks. “Any particular kind?”

“All kinds,” Xie Lian replies. “Legends, myths, folktales. And please keep an eye out for anything that involves dreams, especially nightmares. I dreamed about what’s happening to me,” Xie Lian explains. “Luckily, it’s not exactly the same, but if things progress any further…” he trails off, not wanting to complete the thought.

“Understood, Your Highness. I’ll change my focus immediately. Is there anything else?” she asks.

“Only that I might beg for some urgency to be given to this matter,” Xie Lian replies. “I know you’re swamped,” he says plainly. “But if you could prioritize my case, I will be forever grateful.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Ling Wen assures him, and her voice is laced with sincerity. “Rest easy, Your Highness. We will find a solution for you soon.”

“Thank you,” Xie Lian says. “And goodnight,” he adds, “if you’re planning to go to sleep.”

“That’s a little while off yet, but thank you,” Ling Wen says. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

The array falls silent, and Xie Lian stares at the mess of blood-flecked petals in his hand. He considers tossing them onto the floor with the rest of their scattered ilk. He’ll clean it up in the morning, he reasons. Right now, he’s so very, very tired. He doesn’t even have the energy to go find his robe, rifle through its sleeves, and finally roll the dice. It’s only a few more days before Hua Cheng could be home, but Xie Lian would give anything to be wrapped up in his arms right now.

He’s called back out of his thoughts by a tiny, insistent meow. The cat is scratching at the other side of the door, and Xie Lian finally gets up to let it in. He finds Gui staring up at him, its big green eyes reflecting the moonlight from the window. Xie Lian steps around it, striding to the open door and flinging the petals outside. When he’s brushed the last of them off his fingers, he closes the door and heads back to the bedroom. Gui has already made itself comfortable on the bed, and Xie Lian curls around the cat. He closes his eyes, and he tries his best not to think about anything until morning. 

The next day is torturous.

Each coughing fit is a bloodstained mess more violent than the last. They leave him dizzy, disoriented, and queasy enough to retch. What had Feng Xin told him? They want him brought low by disease? Perhaps someone in the Palace of Ling Wen has already leaked the news, Xie Lian thinks. Perhaps his detractors are already celebrating.

He’s standing in the entrance to the house trying to breathe some fresh air. He’s fighting off nausea while leaning against the doorframe, and Xie Lian is suddenly angry with himself. What is he doing? Why did he put his faith in heaven when heaven would rejoice to see him fall? Why hasn’t he summoned Hua Cheng? Why has he avoided Yin Yu? Why isn’t he relying on Hua Cheng’s extensive network of resources? Hua Cheng is who he’s missing. Hua Cheng is who he needs.

Xie Lian grips the doorframe with white-knuckled fingers, swaying with the next wave of nausea. The tickle has become more like claws in his throat.

“He’s going to be so mad at me,” Xie Lian murmurs.

Hua Cheng had encouraged him to use the dice for anything. Hua Cheng had said he’d return to Xie Lian’s side in an instant if something was wrong.

“San Lang, I’m so sorry,” Xie Lian whispers. “Everything is wrong…”

“Gege!”

Xie Lian startles, bolting upright in the doorway, and his vision blurs with dizziness. At first, he thinks he’s hallucinating, and then, he thinks the communication array must have been unblocked. But soon, his eyes are refocusing, and the hazy streak of distant red that seemed so indistinct a moment ago has coalesced into the Ghost King. Hua Cheng is striding up the hill toward him, one hand resting on his scimitar. His smile is wide and breathtaking, and his eye shines like the depths of midnight lit by a million stars.

“Gege, I’m back!” Hua Cheng calls. “Aren’t you going to greet me? I had hoped you’d run out and throw yourself into my arms,” he says cheerfully. “I’m not quite there yet, so you still have time.”

Every muscle in his body is uncoiling in relief, and Xie Lian can feel himself tearing up. Finally, he thinks, and then he’s stepping out the door, opening his arms and reaching for Hua Cheng. He doesn’t even care that Hua Cheng will be angry, because he’s here, he’s really here, and Xie Lian—

“Gege!”

Xie Lian is coughing.

Xie Lian is coughing, and heaving, and he thinks he might hit the ground, but of course he doesn’t, because Hua Cheng is there to catch him. And oh, Xie Lian thinks. Oh. The feeling of being in Hua Cheng’s arms again, even in the middle of this wretched agony, is enough to make him cry. It’s only a tear or two, but to Xie Lian, that’s plenty. He fists his hands in the fabric of Hua Cheng’s tunic, feeling the petals make their way up his throat, and then he turns his head away from Hua Cheng’s chest to violently retch them out.

To his horror, Hua Cheng extends his hand and catches them. A solid wet mass falls into his palm, and Xie Lian strains to see it. His head is still spinning, and his eyes don’t want to focus, but Xie Lian can still make out the bloody outline of a single, delicate, perfect white blossom.

“Your Highness…”

Xie Lian looks up into that achingly handsome face. Hua Cheng is stricken, the starlight extinguished, and he looks upon Xie Lian with undisguised grief.

Oh no, Xie Lian thinks. I’ve hurt him.

And then, quite unmercifully, Xie Lian blacks out.   

---

He’s wading through an endless sea of flowers.

Hundreds upon thousands of beautiful blossoms are blanketing the ground like snow. They pile up around his shins, and they’re heavy as he strides his way through them, but he plods along stubbornly, crushing them carelessly underfoot. He swings his sword to cut a path for himself, but the blossoms will not give way. They spin and they flutter before the force of his blade, churning as if they were water, but their numbers go deeper than the ground itself, and they are endless no matter how he parts them.

Your Highness…

He whirls at the sound of that beckoning voice, scanning in all directions. But everywhere he looks, all he can see is the glowing white sea of flowers. He lowers his sword, relenting for the moment, and he flicks his sleeve to chase away the oppressive scent of the blossoms. But instead of abating, the fragrance grows stronger, and it’s coming from beneath his feet. He uses his sword to clear away the flowers from where they’ve piled up around his boots. He slowly steps back, and there, in his footprint, a blossom lies pitifully crushed.

The blossom is bleeding, and all around it, the flowers are turning red. He takes a step back, but his footing feels slick, and he turns to look behind himself with a mounting sense of dread. A trail of bloody blossoms has risen in his wake, clawing to the surface to stain the sea red.

Your Highness

His head snaps down as the hand grabs his ankle. Its fingers are clawed, and it’s black like oblivion. When it yanks, he goes down, deep and then deeper, sinking like a stone into the thick sea of flowers.   

He kicks, and he flails, and he loses his sword. He twists, and he turns, and he spirals even deeper. By the time the hand releases him, he doesn’t know which way is up. He can barely see a hand’s length in front of his face, and all he can hear is the rustling flowers. The smell is overpowering, and he thinks he might suffocate, but when he gulps for air, he only swallows flowers. His struggles grow weaker, but just as his vision is starting to blur, he falls from the flowers into open black air.

He gasps as he falls, a long, grateful breath.

And then he’s run through by his own sword.

---

Xie Lian bolts awake, surging upward and curling forward, one arm wrapped around his throbbing abdomen. His breathing is deeply unsteady, rasping in and out of his lungs, and it takes a few moments to bring his gasping under control. Once he is calm enough, and his phantom stab wound stops aching, Xie Lian sits up straight and takes stock of his surroundings.  

He is in their bedroom at Paradise Manor. The curtains are drawn, and the room is dimly lit by clusters of tall white candles. His hair is loose, and he’s dressed in only his zhongyi. Even Ruoye has been removed, and it’s resting at the foot of the bed. Xie Lian doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep, but judging by the state of the room, it’s long past nightfall by now. He’s just starting to wonder where Hua Cheng might be when he’s startled by a shadow shifting in the corner.

Hua Cheng emerges from the darkness, stepping slowly into the ring of candlelight. It casts a golden glow over his wealth of silver jewelry, and the butterfly torque glints sharply. He halts a few strides away from the bed, and the delicate chiming of his boot chains falls silent. For a moment, Xie Lian wonders. Why wear his boots in the bedroom? But with another look, he understands. Hua Cheng is out in full regalia. From the vambraces and the layered silver belts, to the earrings and the intricate necklaces, Hua Cheng is wearing his most exquisite armour, and Xie Lian grows quietly apprehensive.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian tries, and his voice is weak and raspy. “San Lang, won’t you come closer?” He extends his hand toward Hua Cheng, hoping to lure Hua Cheng forward. “I know we need to talk,” he says quietly. “Can we please do it face to face?”

Hua Cheng slowly approaches, arriving in front of Xie Lian at the side of the bed. He sits on the edge, angled toward Xie Lian as he takes Xie Lian’s proffered hand between his own. He holds Xie Lian lightly, just a perfunctory touch, lingering barely a moment before he gracefully withdraws his hands. Xie Lian is left with his arm outstretched, and a beautiful, bloodstained blossom is cradled in his palm.

Xie Lian swallows, nauseated by guilt. He can almost feel the flowers quivering in his lungs, and he strongly resists the urge to start coughing. When he looks up at Hua Cheng, Hua Cheng is watching him carefully, and his expression is closely guarded. But when he finally speaks, his voice is unusually soft.

“Your Highness,” he says, and something about it feels distant. “How long have you been coughing up flowers?”

“Well,” Xie Lian struggles, trying to ignore the clawing in his throat, “this is the first one like this,” he says, presenting the blossom in his hand. “I’ve never coughed up a whole flower before now, but I’ve been coughing up petals for a bit longer.”

“How much longer?” Hua Cheng asks, his tone pointed.

“About a week and a half,” Xie Lian admits. “Maybe almost two.”

Hua Cheng abruptly stands up and walks away from the bed. He stops on the edge of the candlelight, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The line of his shoulders is stiff, and he’s radiating displeasure.  Xie Lian wishes he could wrap his arms around Hua Cheng’s waist and bury his face in Hua Cheng’s back, but he knows that right now, possibly for the first time, his touch would not be welcome.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian calls. “I’m sorry,” he begins. “I know that—”

“Why should you be sorry?” Hua Cheng asks, his voice turning sharp. “If Your Highness has things you don’t want to tell me, then that is your right.”

“But I did want to tell you,” Xie Lian protests. “San Lang, I know that you’re mad at me, but—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Hua Cheng interjects. “Your Highness, you needn’t apologize for your feelings.”

“My feelings?” Xie Lian asks. “San Lang, what are you talking about?” He clenches his hands in frustration, and his fingers close around the forgotten blossom in his palm. Xie Lian stares at it reproachfully for a moment before something finally clicks. “San Lang,” he calls again. “Do you know what this is?”

Hua Cheng remains silent, stiff as a new divine statue.

“You know what these flowers are,” Xie Lian says. He’s flooded with relief and a warm sense of pride, but it’s tainted with bitter regret. Of course Hua Cheng knows about the flowers. Of course Xie Lian should have gone to him first. “San Lang. Please tell me?”

Hua Cheng turns his body so that Xie Lian can see his profile. His good eye is facing Xie Lian, and the golden candlelight is reflected in its depths.

“There’s a legend from Dongying,” Hua Cheng begins. “It tells of a disease called hanahaki. A name which means, quite simply, to throw up flowers.” He pauses as his gaze falls on the flower in Xie Lian’s hand. “The plant will take root in the lungs, and as it grows, the victim will start to cough. It’s a normal cough at first, but soon, the victim starts coughing up flower petals. Eventually, they will cough up full blossoms.” He turns to face Xie Lian at last. “The flowers will grow in size and number, until finally, the victim suffocates to death.”

Xie Lian stares at him, eyes wide in the dimness. “I always believed that gods couldn’t get sick,” he says weakly. “But how can it be anything else? Everything fits so perfectly.”

“Indeed,” says Hua Cheng. His face is still unreadable, his features still half hidden in the dark.

“But how could the physician have missed it?” Xie Lian asks. “You scanned my body yourself before you left. I started coughing that same day, but I didn’t feel like anything was wrong. How could it possibly have eluded us both?”

“As I understand it,” Hua Cheng says, “the plant has no life force of its own. It’s born of your own emotions, and it’s nourished by your own blood. It does not read as an intruder, because it’s merely an extension of your own feelings.”

“My own feelings?” Xie Lian asks, his voice incredulous. “I don’t understand what that means. Why would my own feelings want to suffocate me? But wait, never mind that,” Xie Lian says. “San Lang, is there a cure?”

“There is,” Hua Cheng says slowly. “It has to do with the cause.”

“You mean my own feelings?” Xie Lian asks again. He’s starting to feel a little hurt. Hua Cheng has said he’s not angry, but Xie Lian can tell that something is wrong. Hua Cheng has been perfectly forthcoming with his answers, but Xie Lian wishes that Hua Cheng wasn’t being quite so cold with his words. The fact that he’s still standing halfway across the room upsets Xie Lian greatly.

“One feeling in particular, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says softly, and then he steps into the light so that Xie Lian can see his face clearly. His expression is still shuttered, the line of his mouth inscrutable, but when Xie Lian looks into his jet-black eye, for one fleeting moment, like a sword stroke flashing in the moonlight, Xie Lian can see the depths of Hua Cheng’s anguish.

“Which one?” Xie Lian croaks out.

“Unrequited love,” Hua Cheng replies. His tone is so gentle that it’s almost benevolent. He could be speaking to an upset child.

“What?” Xie Lian rasps. “I don’t—but that’s—” his voice cracks unceremoniously, so he swallows and tries again. “San Lang, what does that mean?”

“Hanahaki only affects people who suffer from an unrequited love,” Hua Cheng explains. “And so, the solution is simple. The disease will be cured once the feeling of love is returned.”

Xie Lian stares at him in horror. “But that’s…”

Impossible, Xie Lian thinks.

Unless?

“You are lovesick, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng intones. His voice is still gentle, his face still like stone.

Xie Lian is dumbstruck, frozen in shock. It can’t be possible, he thinks. It can’t.

Hua Cheng takes another step forward, and the candlelight seems to tremble. “The stronger the unrequited love, the faster the disease will progress. You are already in the final stages, Your Highness,” he says gravely. “As I said, the solution is simple, but that doesn’t guarantee it will be easy to accomplish. If persuasion is necessary, it will take more time, and to delay too long could be fatal.” He levels Xie Lian with a piercing stare. “You must tell me, Your Highness. Who are you really in love with?”

Xie Lian wants to scream, but all he can do is cough.

Hua Cheng is at his side in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping an arm around Xie Lian’s shoulders. Xie Lian flails until he finds Hua Cheng’s free hand, grasping it hard enough to break human bones. Xie Lian’s other hand fists in the bedding, twisting the fabric with sudden, unbridled rage. Three bloody flowers emerge this time, retched out one by one. A string of bloody saliva trails down from his lips, and he can feel himself shaking, but he can’t say for certain with what.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng murmurs, and Xie Lian lifts his face up, dizzy with his jumbled emotions.

Hua Cheng is watching him closely, his expression still carefully guarded. When he starts to pull his hand away, Xie Lian reluctantly lets it go, and Hua Cheng retrieves a small silk cloth from beneath the folds of his robes. He wipes Xie Lian’s chin, and then he wipes Xie Lian’s lips, passing over the corners of his mouth with such gentleness that Xie Lian almost bursts into tears.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng tries again, but Xie Lian immediately cuts him off.

“No,” Xie Lian rasps, turning his face away. He’s burning up with anger, or maybe it’s humiliation, or maybe it’s whatever he’s still shaking with.

“Your Highness, please,” Hua Cheng entreats him. “I won’t be angry,” he promises. “But if there’s someone who can save you, then let me bring them back. If there’s someone you cherish who will surely return your love, then let me go find them. Let me bring them to you, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian rounds on him, grabbing great fistfuls of his collar and yanking him almost close enough to kiss.

“No!” he all but screams, and Hua Cheng’s eye widens in surprise. “San Lang, no!” Xie Lian cries, and then he drops his face a little, unable to maintain eye contact.

Fear, he realizes. He’s been shaking with his own private fear. But it only takes a moment for Xie Lian to gather his courage and raise his face again.

“San Lang, there’s no one like that,” he insists. “The only way my love can be unrequited is if you no longer love me back.”

Hua Cheng’s eye grows even wider, his inscrutable expression replaced by astonished disbelief. A moment later, he breaks completely, and Xie Lian catches another glimpse of that fathomless anguish before he is crushed into Hua Cheng’s embrace.

“Your Highness!” Hua Cheng exclaims, his voice uncharacteristically distraught. “Of course I love you back. But how is it possible that you still love me?” A shudder passes through him, and his hand trembles slightly where it’s cradling Xie Lian’s head. Xie Lian doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hua Cheng so affected. “It shouldn’t be possible, but if you say it’s true, then of course I believe you. I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng laments, rocking them back and forth. “Forgive me, Your Highness, for being so selfish.”

“What are you talking about?” Xie Lian murmurs. “Of course I still love you.” He’s gone soft in Hua Cheng’s arms, resting his cheek on Hua Cheng’s shoulder and melting against his chest. His fear has completely evaporated, banished by Hua Cheng’s embrace.

Hua Cheng still loves him. It’s not just worship. Hua Cheng loves him.

“Your Highness, this should be impossible,” Hua Cheng says, carding his fingers through Xie Lian’s hair. “Hanahaki is exclusively caused by unrequited love. There are no variations. When I came home to find you sick, I could only conclude that you no longer loved me.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian tries, but Hua Cheng hushes him, stroking the back of Xie Lian’s head.

“I shouldn’t be happy,” Hua Cheng continues. “If there is no one else that you love, then there is no one who can cure you. I should be grateful to find gege his true beloved if that means you will survive. But if there really is no one else, then gege’s heart is still mine,” he says quietly. “I am selfishly happy, Your Highness. I want to keep you.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, and then he tenses against the stirrings of another looming coughing fit. Hua Cheng tenses as well, his arm tightening around Xie Lian’s shoulders. They wait it out together, Hua Cheng drawing circles on Xie Lian’s back. When Xie Lian is certain he’s safe to talk again, he lifts his head from Hua Cheng’s shoulder and sits back to regard him properly.

Hua Cheng is fully unguarded again, his expression soft in a way that’s only meant for Xie Lian. Xie Lian traces Hua Cheng’s features with his eyes, lingering on his lips and smiling when he gets to his widow’s peak. It doesn’t matter which form Hua Cheng takes, or how many times Xie Lian has seen them, Hua Cheng will always be the most beautiful thing that Xie Lian has ever laid eyes on.  

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Xie Lian begins, “but I need to say it. San Lang, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you about the flower petals, and I didn’t summon you right away,” Xie Lian sighs. “I know you said that you’d come to me for anything, but I didn’t want to ruin your ghost business, and I know,” Xie Lian says, raising one hand to forestall Hua Cheng’s protest, “that you wouldn’t have cared. I’m sorry, San Lang. You have every right to be angry with me.”

“Your Highness, I’m not angry with you,” Hua Cheng says.

“Not even a little?” Xie Lian asks.

Hua Cheng raises an eyebrow. “Does gege want me to be angry with him?”

“No,” Xie Lian says. “But I do feel guilty.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says. “It’s true that I was angry, but not because gege did anything wrong. I set the parameters of our communication myself, and It doesn’t surprise me that you adhered to those boundaries. Gege has committed no subterfuge,” he says, but his gaze hardens as he continues. “I only wish,” he says solemnly, “that Your Highness would treat any threat to your health as a top priority. And in cases such as these,” he says darkly, “I wish that Your Highness would treat it as an emergency worthy of my full attention.”

Xie Lian swallows, immediately abashed.

“If I was angry, it is because you put yourself below my irrelevant business,” Hua Cheng says. “Your Highness, you come second to nothing.”

Xie Lian bows his head, humbled by Hua Cheng’s devotion, but Hua Cheng curls a finger under Xie Lian’s chin and tilts his face back up again.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Hua Cheng tells him. “I may hate whatever reasons you had not to summon me, but you had them. It won’t help us to dwell on them now.”

“They weren’t all bad reasons,” Xie Lian says. “Although some of them were a little silly,” he admits. “I haven’t been on my own for a while, and we haven’t really been apart, so I just really, really wanted to be a good, um…”

“Yes?” Hua Cheng prompts, tilting his head in curiosity.

“That is to say, I wanted to take care of things on my own while you were away,” Xie Lian says. “Domestic things. Like cooking and cleaning, but also some refurbishing and tending to the garden. And the cats,” he says. “There’s a new cat, San Lang. I want you to meet it.”

Hua Cheng smiles for the first time since Xie Lian woke up. “Of course I’ll meet gege’s new shrine goblin. But gege,” he says, “It sounds like you wanted to keep a household.”

“I did,” Xie Lian agrees. “I wanted to make it especially comfortable to welcome you home.”

“Gege should know that I’d be comfortable anywhere that he’s waiting for me,” Hua Cheng says. “But don’t worry, gege. I think you did a wonderful job.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” Xie Lian points out.

“That’s all right,” Hua Cheng says. “I don’t need to check. I know that gege is a good wife.”

Xie Lian feels himself flushing, giddy heat crawling up his neck, but then he’s coughing again, and Hua Cheng holds him through another excruciating round. Three more blossoms hit the bed beside the others, but Hua Cheng briskly sends them flying to the floor. He throws back the blankets, and then he scoops Xie Lian up, resettling him so that Xie Lian is sitting sideways across Hua Cheng’s lap.

“Gege, I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng soothes. He wipes away the blood staining Xie Lian’s lips with the pad of his thumb. “I shouldn’t have teased you,” he murmurs. “Forgive me, I should have asked if it’s provoked by laughing.”

Xie Lian shakes his head, and then he immediately regrets it as the world lurches sideways. He lets his head fall against Hua Cheng’s chest, welcoming the cold press of silver against his cheek. When Hua Cheng lifts a hand to hold him there, Xie Lian nearly moans with relief. The cool skin of Hua Cheng’s palm presses firmly over Xie Lian’s temple, and the world stands up straight again.

“What does it react to?” Hua Cheng asks. “Does anything make it easier?”

“Not anymore,” Xie Lian says, his voice scraping out of his throat. “Mu Qing made me a potion, but it stopped working days ago.”

“Does anything make it worse?” Hua Cheng asks.

Xie Lian hesitates, and of course, Hua Cheng notices.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng prompts

Xie Lian closes his eyes. “It gets worse when I think about you.”

Hua Cheng remains silent, so Xie Lian quietly continues.

“I only just realized it yesterday,” Xie Lian says. “I don’t know why, but when I think about you strongly, the coughing gets so much worse. And San Lang,” he says, his voice cracking in half. “I think about you all the time.”

Hua Cheng says nothing, but he holds Xie Lian a little tighter.

“You’re all I can think about at night,” Xie Lian murmurs, his throat constricting with the admission. “I couldn’t sleep, because all I could think about—”

“Shh,” Hua Cheng hushes him. “Your Highness, don’t talk too much. Don’t recount anything that will make you cough again.”

Xie Lian falls silent for a moment, brooding on his predicament. If Hua Cheng is correct, and hanahaki has only one cause, then Xie Lian must be suffering from something else. But how is it possible that his affliction is identical to hanahaki in every other way? It makes much more sense that these two diseases are branches growing from the same tree. Perhaps one branch has been grafted on; it looks the same as the others, but it came from different roots.

Eventually, Xie Lian speaks up again.

“What should we do?” he asks. “There must be a solution.”

“I agree,” Hua Cheng says. “We just haven’t found it yet. Once gege is asleep again, I’ll start looking immediately.”

“Will you be doing research?” Xie Lian asks. Hua Cheng keeps an extensive library, and Ghost City has many hidden repositories that are brimming with ancient archives. They are bound to include texts far more gruesome and unsettling than anything heaven might have, which may prove to be what they need. Hanahaki isn’t just tragic, Xie Lian thinks. There is something truly sinister about it.

“Some,” Hua Cheng replies. “I’ll go through my own library, but I have plans to designate most research to other unsleeping eyes. Gege won’t like some of my methods,” he says darkly. “But if I have to go all the way to Dongying myself to find a cure, then so be it.”

“Please don’t,” Xie Lian says, his heart skipping uncomfortably in his chest. He pulls back to look at Hua Cheng directly. “Send someone else. I’m tired of being away from you,” he complains. His exhaustion is making him needy, and he’s too wrung out to care. “I know we should get started, but I’m so tired, I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Xie Lian sighs. He’s spent half the day unconscious, so why is he still so sleepy? “Will you stay with me if I can’t fall asleep?”

“Your Highness, please rest easy,” Hua Cheng tells him, and his voice is laced with such serious affection that Xie Lian wonders what he’s done to deserve it. “I will not leave you tonight unless you fall asleep, or you order me away.”

“Okay,” Xie Lian agrees, his voice coming out small. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Of course,” Hua Cheng replies. “What would you wish of me?”

“Could you hum for me?” Xie Lian asks. When Hua Cheng blinks in surprise, he hastily adds, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He averts his eyes, suddenly feeling shy. “I just, that is, I thought it would be nice, or I guess I mean soothing, to feel your voice through your chest, and I—”

“Your Highness, of course I will hum for you,” Hua Cheng tells him. “I was hoping that gege might ask me for a kiss,” he says playfully, but he quickly turns serious as he adds, “but I know that might trigger a coughing fit.”

“It might,” Xie Lian agrees. “Humming might too, but I’d like to try.”

“Then we’ll try,” Hua Cheng says, lifting Xie Lian out of his lap and placing him to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. “If you’ll allow me a moment, Your Highness.”

Hua Cheng begins the process of removing his jewelry. While Hua Cheng is obviously a shapeshifter, and his outfits can be glamoured fabrications, his silver accessories are real, and he takes great pride in wearing them. Xie Lian knows very little about the people who crafted them, because Hua Cheng never says much when Xie Lian asks. The only thing Xie Lian knows for sure is that Hua Cheng’s mother was not native to Xianle, and because of her, Hua Cheng wears silver. It’s her songs that Hua Cheng sings to him, and every time, Xie Lian thanks her.

Hua Cheng starts with his silver vambraces. He triggers the hidden clasps in the butterfly design, and the metal gently springs apart to allow him to withdraw his forearm. He sets the vambraces aside on the bed, and then he withdraws a crimson qiankun pouch from his robes. Xie Lian watches with desperate fondness as Hua Cheng tucks each vambrace away. When he starts to work on his necklaces, Xie Lian eagerly speaks up.

“Can I help?” Xie Lian asks.

Hua Cheng pauses with his hand on a chain, tilting his head in question.

“Please?” Xie Lian asks. “I want to help my husband,” he adds with a very small flush.

Hua Cheng smiles at him, his eye glittering softly in the candlelight. “Of course gege can help,” he says quietly. He shifts a little on the bed, angling his body so that his back is facing Xie Lian. “There are six separate clasps,” he tells Xie Lian over his shoulder. “Five separate necklaces.”

“Okay,” Xie Lian smiles, then he scoots a little closer. He gathers the sleek black waterfall of Hua Cheng’s hair to the side, then he places it forward over Hua Cheng’s right shoulder. Xie Lian leans in to examine the fastenings on the exquisitely crafted silverwork.

The easiest one is the butterfly torque, because its large, solid hoop sits on top all of the others. Xie Lian grips it with both hands, and he lifts it over Hua Cheng’s head, taking care not to hit Hua Cheng with any of its magnificent pendants. Next is the one with a heavy dual clasp. Its twin chains lead to a thickly woven lattice that supports several long, spear-like pendants. He peels it away from Hua Cheng’s shoulders and reaches both hands around to collect it in front of Hua Cheng’s face. Hua Cheng remains motionless, allowing Xie Lian to heft the necklace over his shoulder and set it aside with the butterfly torque.

The next three necklaces prove to be a little more difficult. They are delicate contraptions that Xie Lian cannot immediately make out. Their clasps are difficult to find, and he is completely uncertain which one is on top and should therefore be removed first. He’s not sure how much time he spends staring before Hua Cheng finally speaks.

“Gege, are you all right?” he asks, and his voice is warmly amused. “Would you like some help?”

“Oh, no,” Xie Lian replies, perhaps a touch too quickly. “It’s just that, well, I’m not sure if I should do this one thing, or if I should do this other thing instead, and…” he trails off, colouring with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Hua Cheng laughs. “Gege didn’t even have to dress himself until after his first banishment,” he says. “This is not your area of expertise, Your Highness.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian laments. “I really did want to help.”

“We’ll do it together,” Hua Cheng decides. He turns back around to face Xie Lian so that their knees bump together against the bed. “Gege, come here,” he beckons, and Xie Lian edges closer, leaning into Hua Cheng’s space.

“Here,” Hua Cheng says, touching the tips of his fingers to one of the delicate chains.

“This one?” Xie Lian asks, placing his fingertips next to Hua Cheng’s along the line of glimmering silver.

“Yes,” Hua Cheng answers, his voice just above a purr. “Draw it toward you,” he instructs. “Pull it a few links at a time until you can see the clasp in front of you.”

Xie Lian does as he’s told, and eventually, the clasp comes into view around the curve of Hua Cheng’s neck. Xie Lian draws it closer until it bumps against his fingertips.

“Got it,” Xie Lian breathes, smiling sweetly in victory.

“Good,” Hua Cheng murmurs, lightly settling his hands over Xie Lian’s. He gently moves Xie Lian’s fingers aside and takes hold of the delicate clasp. “These ones are a little tricky,” he tells Xie Lian. “Watch closely, gege.”

“Oh!” Xie Lian exclaims, watching in amazement as the mechanism unlocks. “San Lang, how lovely!”

“I’m glad that gege likes it,” Hua Cheng chuckles. He sets the necklace aside with the others, and then he indicates the next chain lying against his chest. “I trust that gege has this one under control?”

“I do,” Xie Lian smiles, awash with tender affection.

It takes him a few tries, but Xie Lian manages to unclasp the next necklace. The last one takes a bit longer, and they bow their heads closely over Xie Lian’s hands. Xie Lian leans in until he can feel Hua Cheng’s lips hovering over his temple, and he unhooks the chain at last. When he finally pulls back to put aside the necklace, Hua Cheng’s eye is dark, and Xie Lian only pauses a moment before he’s unfastening the first of Hua Cheng’s belts.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng begins, but Xie Lian quickly dismisses his protest.

“Let me,” Xie Lian insists, his fingers working diligently on an elaborately engraved silver buckle. “I want to do it.”

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng demurs, but Xie Lian bats his hands away, determined to complete his task.

But once he’s finished, Xie Lian doesn’t stop there. He drops to his knees in front of Hua Cheng’s feet and takes ahold of Hua Cheng’s gleaming boot.

“Your Highness, no!” Hua Cheng exclaims, grabbing Xie Lian by the wrists and yanking his hands away. “I cannot allow you to do such a thing.”

“I may be your god,” Xie Lian tells him, meeting Hua Cheng’s gaze head-on, “but you are my Lord Husband.”

Hua Cheng regards him with a look of pure, agonized desire.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng whispers, his voice painfully hoarse. “Please come up here,” Hua Cheng entreats him, tugging gently on Xie Lian’s wrists. “Your Lord Husband commands it.”

Xie Lian releases Hua Cheng’s boot, allowing himself to be drawn up to sit on Hua Cheng’s thigh. Hua Cheng softly kisses his cheeks, then his nose, his eyelids, and his forehead. Xie Lian shudders, feeling the beginnings of a coughing fit, so Hua Cheng pulls back, shifting Xie Lian off his lap until Xie Lian is back on the bed.

“Lie down, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng tells him, and Xie Lian allows Hua Cheng to guide him down onto the mattress. Once he’s lying prone, Hua Cheng quickly stores the necklaces in the qiankun pouch, then he takes off his boots, and he lies down beside Xie Lian.

“Come here, gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs, and then he’s lifting Xie Lian to lie on top of him.

Xie Lian sighs, his cheek meeting the luxurious fabric of Hua Cheng’s robes. He melts into Hua Cheng’s embrace as Hua Cheng begins to hum, and the rich, soothing sound of Hua Cheng’s warm voice vibrates gently through his ribcage. It passes into Xie Lian’s body and lulls him into a peaceful stupor. Xie Lian closes his eyes, the shadows of grateful tears swimming just behind his eyelids.

Deep within Xie Lian’s lungs, he feels the flowers churning, and that nightmarish echo cackles, reverberating through his mind.

Soon, it all but snarls.

Xie Lian keeps his eyes closed, his eyelashes trembling as he wills away the urge to cough.

Not yet, Xie Lian thinks. Not now. 

Not now, the echo concedes.

But soon.

Chapter Text

The next day, Xie Lian wakes up alone. It neither surprises nor upsets him that Hua Cheng is gone, since Xie Lian knows that Hua Cheng must already be researching. The curtains have all been pulled back, and by the quality of the light pouring in, Xie Lian estimates that it’s a little past si. He sits up slowly, wary of disturbing the flowers, then he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He sinks his toes into the soft, thick carpet, amazed that he was able to sleep for so long.

A fresh set of robes is laid out for him, and Xie Lian pads over to put them on. He quickly realizes that these robes are brand new; the exquisite white fabric is smooth and soft, and there is a delicate pattern of white silk embroidery around the collar of the inner robe. Xie Lian eschews most finery these days, but sometimes, Hua Cheng likes to sneak a tiny glimmer of splendor into Xie Lian’s wardrobe. Xie Lian smiles, brimming with fondness, but then he doubles over with the force of his coughing.

He turns away from the beautiful robes so as not to stain them, then he stumbles over to brace himself against the nearest wall. He retches for what feels like forever, and when the coughing finally dies down, there is a small pile of blossoms at his feet. Xie Lian stares at them in dismay, blood still dripping from his mouth as he fights to get his raspy breathing under control. He counts twelve flowers, all of them considerably bloodier than anything he’s coughed up so far.

Xie Lian sighs, waiting for the dizzy nausea to subside. His warm thoughts of Hua Cheng had undoubtedly triggered the fit, and Xie Lian wonders if he’s being punished for sleeping so peacefully through the night. He wonders how the disease might do something like that. It talks to him now, so it’s obviously intelligent, but is it somehow reading his mind? Xie Lian shudders at the thought.

When the room stops spinning, Xie Lian selects an older, coarser set of robes from the wardrobe. He quickly slips them on and ties back his hair, then he finds a pair of his boots, and he follows the red string deep into Paradise Manor.

Hua Cheng is seated at the center of a long table in the back of his private library. Books and scrolls are stacked up neatly on Hua Cheng’s right, but on his left, they lie in a haphazard pile. As Xie Lian watches, Hua Cheng picks up a scroll from the right side, scans it from end to end, then he tosses it on top of the precarious mountain to his left. A small army of ghosts dart purposefully around the library, scanning the shelves for relevant texts and bringing them to Hua Cheng’s table. They carefully place them on the neat and tidy pile, then they collect a discarded item from the messy side and return it to the shelves.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng greets him, pausing in between scrolls. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad,” Xie Lian tells him. One of the ghosts rushes to place a cushion next to Hua Cheng, and Xie Lian steps around the table to drop gracefully into the seat. “I did have another coughing fit,” he confesses. “But I’m feeling okay right now.”

“Gege, you do look pale,” Hua Cheng frowns. His eye is fixed on Xie Lian’s lips. “How many blossoms was it this time?”

“Twelve,” Xie Lian answers. He wonders if he still has blood on his lips.

“I see,” Hua Cheng says, his face darkening.

“That’s a lot, isn’t it?” Xie Lian sighs. “San Lang, I think I’m getting worse.”

“Yes,” Hua Cheng quietly agrees. “I’m sorry, gege, but I’ve found nothing yet. I have a rare book from Dongying about diseases in this library, but none of these useless trash have found it for me yet. When I find out who moved it, I’ll have a new sack of fertilizer,” he mutters. “I’m about halfway through here, and while I am quickly losing patience, I will leave no stone unturned.”

“You went through half of your library in less than a night?” Xie Lian exclaims. “San Lang, you really are impressive,” he says warmly.

But for once, Hua Cheng doesn’t seem receptive to the praise, and his face only darkens further.

“There’s nothing impressive about allowing you to suffer,” he says lowly.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian tries, ready to protest, but Hua Cheng only shakes his head.

“There’s no need to comfort me,” Hua Cheng says. “I know my own abilities, but none of my skills have helped me to discover a solution yet. To think that I might topple the heavens more easily than I can protect you?” Hua Cheng shakes his head again. “It infuriates me, Your Highness. And right now, I only wish that I could take away your pain.”

Xie Lian stares at him, his heart softening like a steamed bun, gratified even as the flowers start clawing their way up his throat. He slaps a hand over his mouth, moving to get up and flee, but Hua Cheng catches him around the waist and pulls him into his lap. Xie Lian covers his mouth with both hands as the coughing begins to overtake him. Hua Cheng shoves the table away so that when Xie Lian begins to retch, there’s an empty patch of floor in front of him to receive the bloody blossoms.

By the time Xie Lian has coughed up another fourteen flowers, he’s seeing spots, and he’s shaking heavily. The blood on the floor pools thickly, seeping into the bamboo mat that’s lying under their cushions. When it’s clear the fit is over, Hua Cheng guides him upright, locking one arm around Xie Lian’s torso and pulling his back against Hua Cheng’s chest.

“Gege, I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng murmurs, smoothing his hand over Xie Lian’s forehead and brushing back Xie Lian’s hair. “Have I made it worse?” His lips are so close to Xie Lian’s temple, and even though the thought makes the flowers roil in fury, Xie Lian desperately wants a kiss. “Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers, wiping away the tears that Xie Lian didn’t know he was crying. “Is it easier if you don’t see me?”

“No,” Xie Lian insists, gulping unsuccessfully for air. It’s starting to feel like he’s trying to breathe through multiple layers of silk, and each time he suffers through a coughing fit, another layer is added. “I don’t want that.”

“I don’t want it either,” Hua Cheng agrees. “But if it would help—”

“I won’t stop thinking about you,” Xie Lian croaks out. “So don’t even bother.” The shaking is starting to subside, so he takes a breath as deeply as he can manage, then he gradually wills his heartrate to slow down. “Can I help you?” he asks. “Or would I hinder you rather than help?”

“Gege is free to help as long as gege is feeling well enough,” Hua Cheng replies. He shifts Xie Lian in his lap so that Xie Lian can turn and see his face. “But there are many different languages across these texts, so make sure to select the ones you can understand. Ask the ghosts if you need help to find things.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian regards him seriously. “Exactly how many languages do you speak?”

“I don’t know,” Hua Cheng shrugs, combing his fingers through Xie Lian’s hair. “I lost count.”

Xie Lian desperately tries not to laugh, careful not to swoon or do anything lovestruck. He manages not to start coughing again, but it’s a close call, and Xie Lian wobbles. Hua Cheng gives him a reassuring squeeze, then he signals for a ghost to fetch water. It returns with a bronze washbasin, and Xie Lian gratefully washes his hands.

After all the blood is cleaned up, they settle down and get started, but Xie Lian quickly finds that he is a hindrance after all. Hua Cheng reads preternaturally fast; he devours full books in minutes if not seconds, and the scrolls only take him half as long. Xie Lian can’t help being impressed, and he’s reminded of how fast Hua Cheng sculpts, but thinking so avidly about his husband’s ghostly prowess inevitably leads to more coughing. Xie Lian feels terrible, and a bit sheepish, for halting their progress once more.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. He stands with one hand pressed against the wall, because he managed to jump up and run away this time. “I’m not saying you were entirely right,” Xie Lian says over his shoulder. Hua Cheng is standing behind Xie Lian and holding him mostly upright. “But I don’t think my presence is helping either of us.”

“Gege should rest,” Hua Cheng tells him, but Xie Lian shakes his head.

“I’ll go mad if I have to lie down all day,” Xie Lian says. “If I can’t even help with finding my own cure, I might as well try being useful somewhere else.”

“Will you go to Puqi Shrine?” Hua Cheng asks. He’s already guessed Xie Lian’s intentions.

Xie Lian nods before standing up straight, and Hua Cheng turns him around. He inspects Xie Lian critically, his brow slightly furrowed as his eye roams over Xie Lian’s face.

“I must look absolutely frightful,” Xie Lian smiles. He’s trying for some levity, but Hua Cheng doesn’t smile back. He takes out a small silk cloth, and he wipes away the lingering blood at the corners of Xie Lian’s mouth. He takes Xie Lian’s hands and cleans every finger, giving special attention to the area around the butterfly knot.

“Please be careful, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng entreats him. “Don’t overexert yourself at the shrine. If you need me, or if anything gets worse, please use the dice.” His face softens slightly with a faint, affectionate smile. “I hope your shrine goblins help you feel better.”

Hua Cheng escorts him to the heavy dual doors of the library, then he takes out his own dice and tosses them once in his hand.

“To shorten gege’s journey,” Hua Cheng says, then he rolls the gleaming dice into a shallow jade bowl that sits atop a white marble pillar. When he pulls the door open using only one hand, Puqi Shrine sits happily on the other side.

“Summon me when you wish to return,” Hua Cheng says. His other hand guides Xie Lian through the door, cradling his lower back. “I will bring gege back directly.”

Xie Lian clears the threshold, and he turns back to look at Hua Cheng. He tries not to think about how handsome Hua Cheng looks while moving a heavy door like a piece of rice paper.

“Goodbye for now, San Lang,” Xie Lian says. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Never soon enough,” Hua Cheng replies, and his tone is playful, but his gaze is sincere. “Take care, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian turns and heads up the hill, not wanting to wait until the door closes. If he stares any longer at Hua Cheng’s devastating face, he’s certain the flowers will riot.

Puqi Shrine is exactly as he left it, save for a few new offerings on the altar. Xie Lian makes his way back to the house, and he heads straight into the kitchen. The ingredients for his pickling project lie untouched on the counter, and Xie Lian smiles, relieved to find them undisturbed by the cats. The components of the soy marinade have yet to be combined, and his collection of spices are lined up within easy reach. There are neat little piles of chopped up cabbage, but the carrot and the bitter melon have yet to be sliced.

Just as he’s tying his sleeves back to work, he hears a bell ringing, and a loud, rhythmic chanting echoes throughout the shrine. The voice is imperious, bold and clear, and Xie Lian knows exactly who it belongs to.

“What is he doing here?” Xie Lian sighs, but he goes back to the courtyard to greet the man nonetheless. 

By the time Heaven’s Eye is cautiously descending the steps into the courtyard, Xie Lian is waiting to receive him. Heaven’s Eye freezes at the sight of him, and Xie Lian smiles wearily. He notes that the cultivator’s third eye has just been invoked with fresh blood.

“Xie-daozhang, how have you become like this?” Heaven’s Eye all but gasps. “Your shrine is littered with evil bloodstains. Don’t think I can’t see them just because you’ve wiped them up. This evil lingers,” he shudders, ringing the bell once more.

“I’m sorry about the blood,” Xie Lian says. “It seems I’ve fallen sick, but please, pay it no mind.”

“Sick?” Heaven’s Eye balks. “Xie-daozhang, you are not sick.” He slowly comes closer, rubbing at his forehead while scrutinizing Xie Lian. “This is no disease.”

“It’s not?” Xie Lian asks, lit by a spark of hope. “Do you know what it is?”

“You are suffering under a powerful curse,” Heaven’s Eye says gravely. “This is blood alchemy, Xie-daozhang. A truly demonic affliction. That’s why the bloodstains won’t fade, and why you,” he says, fixing Xie Lian with a piteous look, “will most likely not survive.”

“Are you certain it’s a curse?” Xie Lian presses him. “Who could cast it? And why?”

“I cannot say,” Heaven’s Eye shakes his head. “I do not know the workings of such curses, nor do I know how to undo them. I only know how to identify their ilk and cleanse their bloody aftermath.”

“I see,” Xie Lian muses, falling silent as he thinks. Perhaps he’s been given another piece of the puzzle.

After a long, solemn moment, Heaven’s Eye speaks again.

“I am truly sorry, Xie-daozhang,” Heaven’s Eye tells him earnestly. “It’s not much,” he adds a moment later, “but if you would permit me to cleanse the evil bloody qi from your shrine, I would be honoured.”

Xie Lian snaps out of his reverie to reply.

“Of course,” he says warmly. “You can come back tonight when I’m gone. There’s no use in doing it while I’m still around, since I’ll just bleed all over it again…” he trails off, simultaneously embarrassed and dismayed.

Heaven’s Eye shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat and looking away. Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Of course,” Xie Lian says again. He is sincerely grateful, if a little bruised. “The moment you hear of my passing, please come to Puqi Shrine and perform a cleansing. My soul will rest easy knowing that this task is in your hands.”

“Xie-daozhang,” Heaven’s Eye bows. “It shall be done. May the rest of your path be peaceful.”

“Goodbye,” Xie Lian tells him, and then Heaven’s Eye exits the courtyard, disappearing into the shrine. A moment later, Xie Lian can hear his bell ringing as he heads off down the road.

Xie Lian sighs for what feels like the hundredth time that day, but then he looks down as he feels something brush against his robes. Gui has ducked under the hems, and Xie Lian manages to glimpse its tail before he can feel the cat rubbing against his shin. It’s butting its head against his ankle through his boot, and Xie Lian can hear it purring even underneath all that fabric.

“Hello,” he greets the cat. “I see you survived the night without me.”

Gui wanders back out and shakes its head, and its big, bat-like ears make little flapping sounds. It sits down in front of him, staring expectantly, so Xie Lian crouches to pet it. He’s thoroughly engrossed in watching the sunlight play off its sleek, mottled coat, so he doesn’t immediately notice when the other cats arrive, circling like hungry koi.

“Wha—!” he exclaims, catching himself before he tips over. Da has come crashing into Xie Lian’s hip, and its wide, sturdy flank delivers a solid push before the cat circles away to glower at him.

“You did that on purpose,” Xie Lian scolds, but the cat is clearly unrepentant. Dian Dian and Xun sit on either side of Da, and all three of them stare at Xie Lian reproachfully. Gui rolls around in front of his feet, blissfully unconcerned by the audience.

“I’m not playing favourites,” Xie Lian insists. “When was the last time any of you rolled around and played cute for me?” he sniffs. “I know what you really want, but there’s nothing in these robes. Come on,” he says, and when he stands up to dust himself off, all four cats spring to their feet. “Let’s go find some more liver treats.”

Despite Xie Lian’s assertion that the cats only want food, after receiving their treats, all four cats hang around while Xie Lian resumes pickling. While Dian Dian and Xun move constantly around the house, Gui and Da keep Xie Lian company. Da takes up residence on the brick windowsill over the stove, but Gui is unwilling to sit still. It’s far more interested in chasing Xie Lian’s spoon in and out of the spice jars.

Xie Lian puts the vegetables in a pot, then he pours in the soy mixture and sets the pot on the stove. He puts on the lid, then he bends to light a fire in the small cave of bricks. It feels good to be doing something, and despite his body’s precarious condition, Xie Lian is enjoying himself. The heat from the stove takes the chill off the early fall morning, and his pickling liquid smells exactly how he envisioned it. The cats are all such earnest company that Xie Lian can’t help feeling happy.

But his predicament isn’t too far from his mind, and he wonders at his encounter with Heaven’s Eye. The cultivator had been absolutely certain that Xie Lian is suffering from a curse, and while Heaven’s Eye has a history of embarrassing Xie Lian with his declarations, he has never actually been wrong. And this time, Xie Lian is troubled, because Heaven’s Eye has just declared that Xie Lian is as good as dead.

“I wonder if it’s different for a god,” Xie Lian muses as he sweeps the kitchen floor. “He’s probably only dealt with mortals.”

Still, Xie Lian reasons, he ought to tell Hua Cheng. It could amount to nothing, but perhaps it will turn the tide of their search.

“Your Highness?”

Xie Lian stops sweeping and stands up straight.

“Ling Wen?”

“Hello, Your Highness,” Ling Wen greets him. “I have an update on your case.”

“Oh!” Xie Lian exclaims. He’d forgotten he was still waiting to hear from her. “Of course,” he says. “I’ve learned a few things since we last talked, but I’m curious to know what you’ve discovered?”

“Oh?” Ling Wen asks. “In that case, Your Highness may already know what I’ve found. Are you familiar with something called hanahaki?”

“I am,” Xie Lian replies. “San Lang knows about it, and it seems to fit, but…”

“Then you’re confused on the same point that I am,” Ling Wen concludes. “Your Highness is not in unrequited love, are you?”

“No,” Xie Lian replies. “Which means I’m not sure how to proceed. San Lang is also looking for a solution, but I confess, I’m getting worse quickly.”

“In that case,” Ling Wen begins, her tone unusually delicate, “in the absence of anyone who can return your affections, has Your Highness considered the alternative?”

“What alternative?” Xie Lian perks up. “Ling Wen, is there another cure?”

“After a fashion, yes,” Ling Wen says, and Xie Lian is immediately wary. “There is a surgery, Your Highness. One that will remove the flowers at the root and prevent them from growing back. It’s delicate work to remove them from your lungs, and if they’ve spread to your heart and your stomach, then it may be more difficult. But the procedure is possible, and I’ve discovered some rudimentary drawings for the physicians to follow. If Your Highness decides you are willing, I can have them prepare to receive you right away.”

“You said, after a fashion,” Xie Lian reminds her. “There must be more to it.”

“You are correct, Your Highness,” Ling Wen concedes. “There is an unfortunate side effect to the surgery,” she says. “One that will alter the trajectory of your life considerably.”

“What is it?” Xie Lian asks. Dread settles in the pit of his stomach as the flowers roil with glee.

“The surgery doesn’t just remove the flowers,” Ling Wen says. “Your love is removed along with them.”

“What?” Xie Lian exclaims. He’s a little confused by what he’s just heard. “What do you mean? How is that possible?”

“I do not understand the mechanics of it, Your Highness,” Ling Wen says. “Only that, once the flowers are removed, you will no longer be in love.”

“That’s preposterous,” Xie Lian declares. “How could I not be in love with San Lang?”

“There’s more, Your Highness,” Ling Wen says gravely. “Not only do you lose all of your romantic feelings, you lose any memory of the person who inspired them.”

“What?” Xie Lian asks, his voice getting smaller.

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower would become a stranger to you, Your Highness. Your memory would reconstruct itself around the shape of his absence until he ceased to exist for you at all,” Ling Wen says.

Xie Lian remains silent, and the flowers jostle near the bottom of his throat.

“The surgery seeks to save you from death by removing that which plagues you,” Ling Wen explains. “That means two things. The flowers, and your unrequited love. According to what literature I could find, removing the former obliterates the latter.”

“But my love is requited,” Xie Lian tries. “Surely that must make a difference?”

“I cannot say for sure that it does,” Ling Wen says, and for a moment, Xie Lian almost hears something sad in her voice. “I don’t know exactly how you are experiencing this hanahaki, but can Your Highness say for certain that it has nothing to do with your love?”

Xie Lian swallows, suddenly dizzy. When he doesn’t respond, Ling Wen continues.

“Hanahaki is a disease born of emotion,” she says. “It gives that emotion a physical form, and that form is inevitably deadly. I do not know which emotion is shaping the flowers in your lungs, Your Highness. But we cannot rule out your love.”

“My love for San Lang can’t possibly be killing me,” Xie Lian protests, but the dread in his stomach is starting to make him queasy.

Hadn’t he said it himself? It gets worse when he thinks about Hua Cheng.

“No,” Xie Lian says firmly. “This has nothing to do with San Lang.” He refuses to believe that those jealous gods in heaven could be right. “Is there really nothing else? No other solution?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” Ling Wen says. “I am very sorry, but this is all I could find.”

“I see,” Xie Lian says quietly. This surgery is definitely not an option. “Thank you, Ling Wen,” he tells her. “You have my deepest gratitude.”

“Your Highness, would you like me to keep looking?” Ling Wen asks. “I’d be happy to keep researching on your behalf.”

“That’s all right,” Xie Lian replies. “I am grateful for your offer, but San Lang and I will take it from here.”

“Very well, Your Highness,” Ling Wen says.

“Goodbye,” Xie Lian says, but just as he is about to close out the array, Ling Wen hails him again.

“Your Highness?” she calls. “If you decide to proceed with the surgery, there is one more thing you should know.”

“Yes?” he asks. “What is it?”

“Once the flowers have been removed, you will lose all of your romantic feelings,” Ling Wen repeats. “Of course, as I mentioned, that means your love and your memories of that love, but there is one final thing.”

Xie Lian swallows thickly, bloody flowers surging toward his throat.

“You will lose your ability to feel any sort of romantic love at all,” Ling Wen says. “In short, Your Highness, you will never love again.”

---

He’s staring up into endless midnight, a pitch-black abyss devoid of any stars. The air is thick with the scent of bloody flowers, and it’s deathly quiet, save for the long, slow wheezing of his own impossible breath. His body is cold where it sprawls atop the altar, his limbs lying brittle and useless like a handful of scattered incense sticks. His torso is a mutilated cavern of flesh, his ribcage protruding from the wreckage of his body like the hull of a sunken ship.

Flowers are blooming in the space where his intestines used to be. His stomach is an open wound, completely overgrown, and more flowers bloom along the curve of his ribs while the vines twist in between the bones. His heart still beats sluggishly around the obsidian sword which impales it on the altar, and the vines coil gently around the vicious blade as if to cradle it in its proper place. A single blossom sits at the base of the hilt, perched as if to watch his inexorable decay.

His lungs are still intact, but he struggles to breathe, because each one is brimming with lush, quivering blossoms. They jostle for release, gradually clawing their way up his throat, but they’re so tightly packed that even air can hardly pass by. His mouth remains open in a silent scream, and the flowers slowly spill over his lips, rolling past his tear stains on the altar.

Your Highness…

Something is with him on top of the altar, crawling up his body to crouch behind the sword. He can detect no movement against the backdrop of the abyss, but he can see the black claws where they curl over the cross-guard, rustling the flower on the hilt. The voice seems to sigh, and then the claws trail down the blade, icy fingers coming to rest where the black sword pierces his heart.

Haven’t I done well, Your Highness?

Another ice-cold black hand drifts up to caress his face, and the next words feel like frostbite creeping across his skin.

Isn’t this what you wanted?

The hand strokes down the side of his neck before settling over his throat.

Isn’t this what you asked for?

The long black claws begin to tighten around his neck, cutting off what little airflow he has left. His eyes start to vibrate fearfully in their sockets; he’s long since lost the ability to blink.

Don’t worry, Your Highness

Sinuous tendrils are sprouting from every pore, snaking through his ruined flesh and spidering over the altar. They weave and tangle into a verdant shroud, concealing his pitiful body. The shape of his flesh dissolves around his bones, and the flowers bloom and feast.

Soon, we’ll be together

His head lolls to the side as the muscles in his neck disintegrate, and a handful of perfect blossoms roll eagerly out of his mouth. His eyes are still straining, and he watches as the sea of flowers fades into the ink black abyss.

There’s no need to breathe where you’re going

The world is falling away from him, one perfect blossom at a time.

See you soon, Your Highness

---

“Are you sure?” Hua Cheng asks.

Xie Lian turns to face him, resplendent in the new set of robes. The luxurious fabric lies softly as a whisper against his skin, and the morning light glints off the subtle embroidery around the inside edge of his sleeves.

“I’m sure,” Xie Lian says, decisive but gentle.

“Will you take a wraith butterfly with you?” Hua Cheng asks. “Purely for my sake.”

“Of course,” Xie Lian smiles. “I’d be happy for the company.”

Hua Cheng regards him seriously, something fiercely protective swimming in the depths of his eye.

“I would accompany you myself, if you would but say the word,” Hua Cheng tells him. “You are absolutely certain that you wish to go alone?”

Xie Lian steps forward until they’re just an arm’s length apart, tilting his face up to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze. It’s full of devotion, none of it blind, and Xie Lian grows stronger, his heart firmly resolved.

“I’ll go alone,” Xie Lian replies. “Not because I wish it, but because I think it’s best. San Lang, you should go and meet with your associate as planned. What was she called again?” he asks. “The Queen of Pestilence?”

“Self-titled,” Hua Cheng snorts. “She’s a wrath who takes a special interest in weaponized diseases. Gege won’t like consorting with someone who would spread a plague for fun, but she may have better resources than whatever Ling Wen could find.”

“I understand,” Xie Lian nods, lowering his eyes in resignation. Hua Cheng had warned him that his methods could be upsetting, and Xie Lian knows that means more than just things like torture. Working together with nefarious creatures for ill-gotten gains is another kind of evil, especially if anything powerful is bartered away in the process.

Hua Cheng takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. He curls a finger under Xie Lian’s chin and gently tilts Xie Lian’s face up. Hua Cheng fixes him with a fervent look, and Xie Lian’s weak, tremulous breath catches in his much-abused throat.

“Gege, I hate to upset you,” Hua Cheng says, “but I won’t apologize for this.” He looms even closer, his hands cradling Xie Lian’s face. “I have ripped out fate at the roots and strangled it with my own two hands just to be with you,” he says lowly. “If I have to tear the world asunder to save you, then so be it. I’ll sink heaven to the bottom of the sea if I must. You will survive, Your Highness. I swear it.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian chokes out, and his breath snags on the flowers he can feel creeping toward his throat. His hands come to rest on Hua Cheng’s silver vambraces, his fingers curling tightly along the lines of a butterfly. “Please, I—” he swallows back the vicious trembling, and he blinks away the stinging in his eyes. “I don’t want to cough.”

Hua Cheng nearly growls in frustration, his fingers tensing slightly before he releases Xie Lian’s face and steps back. For a moment, there’s a sharp, furious hunger storming within his eye, but his expression quickly shutters, dark waters becoming still. Xie Lian wonders what his own face must look like. Is any of his own raw desire reflected there? If he could, he would let Hua Cheng devour him.

“I should go,” Xie Lian says quietly. “San Lang, will you open the way for me?”

Silently, Hua Cheng leads him to the door. He picks up a stick of cinnabar, still wet from grinding against the inkstone, and he makes one last, decisive stroke, connecting the arc of the array. Before he opens the door, he raises his right hand and crooks his index finger, and a single crystalline butterfly emerges from the motif on his left vambrace. It perches on Xie Lian’s shoulder, lighter than any feather.

“Be careful, gege,” Hua Cheng says, and he opens the door to reveal a small thatched cottage. “I can’t follow you once you’ve moved past the barrier, but I will be watching the whole time.”

“I know,” Xie Lian smiles. “Don’t let me distract you too much, okay?”

“I can do two things at once,” Hua Cheng quips. “When it comes to gege, my attention is unlimited, even if it must be divided.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says fondly. “Please be careful on your own journey today.”

“Gege knows I’m never in any danger,” Hua Cheng smiles. He traces the finger that he used to summon the butterfly down the curve of Xie Lian’s cheek. “But for your sake, I’ll be careful all the same.”

“Good,” Xie Lian says, gulping back the tremors. “I’ll see you later, San Lang.”

“Take care, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says, and then Xie Lian strides through the door.

The air of Mount Tonglu is cool in the shade of its forests, and Xie Lian shivers as he walks toward the cottage. As always, the front door is unlocked, and Xie Lian enters to find three deflated empty-shelled people folded neatly over a long, crude bench. A tidy deck of cards sits proudly on the table, which means that the state preceptor must have won the last round. Xie Lian is about to call out for him when the state preceptor appears through the back door.

“Your Highness!” he exclaims. “I thought I heard someone come in. What is it this time?” he asks briskly, eyeing the silver butterfly on Xie Lian’s shoulder. “No more trouble with your Crimson Rain, I hope?”

“San Lang is fine,” Xie Lian says awkwardly. His teacher’s exasperated attitude toward Hua Cheng has always left Xie Lian feeling sheepish.

“The look on your face tells me that it’s something serious. But wait,” the state preceptor says. He quickly strides forward to peer closely at Xie Lian. “Your Highness, are you unwell?” He grabs Xie Lian’s wrist, frowning as his eyes dart back and forth across Xie Lian’s face. “Your Highness,” he breathes, his eyes widening in alarm. “What in the heavens is wrong with you?”

“You can feel it?” Xie Lian asks. “No one has been able to sense it before. Maybe it really has progressed too far,” he sighs.

“I’m not feeling anything,” the state preceptor shakes his head. “Which is troubling, because Your Highness, you look positively ghastly. If you weren’t a god, I’d think you were on the brink of death. What manner of evil has found you this time?”

“A curse, I think,” Xie Lian says. “There’s just one thing I need to confirm.”

“Which is?” the state preceptor asks. “I know a few things about curses, but they’re not a specialty of mine. You’d be better off asking him.”

“Yes,” Xie Lian says. “I know.”

“You want to see Jun Wu?” the state preceptor asks, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. “Your Highness, you are deeply unwell. Are you sure you feel strong enough? I don’t mean to suggest that he’ll attack you,” the state preceptor explains. “Only that your heart might be wounded in your weakened state.”

“I have to see him,” Xie Lian insists. “Please, will you take me to him?”

“If you’re certain,” the state preceptor nods. “And you’re in luck,” he adds, dropping Xie Lian’s wrist and ushering him out the back door. They emerge into a small grassy clearing that’s hemmed in by towering trees. “I’ve just built a transportation shed,” the state preceptor says proudly.

The lopsided structure is crudely made, and it’s just big enough for two people. Its uneven walls are cobbled together using roughly hewn pieces of wood, but the door is sturdy, and it swings easily on its hinges as the state preceptor seals it shut.

“I have all the time in the world, so spending half the day walking to the entrance of Mount Tonglu is no big deal, but even I get tired. Besides,” the state preceptor adds, inspecting the array on the door of the shed, “this way, there’s more time for cards.” He activates the array, and then he opens the door, revealing a dimly lit vestibule with another door directly opposite.

“We still have to walk a bit,” the state preceptor tells him, and Xie Lian steps through the doorway. “The chamber that holds him lies deep underground, and navigating the labyrinth that conceals it involves many stairs. Are you certain you feel up to the journey, Your Highness?”

“Quite certain,” Xie Lian replies. Even if he has to stop and cough along the way, Xie Lian is determined to see this through. “Please lead the way, Master. I’ll do my best to keep up.”

“You’ve never had to keep up with anyone in your life, have you?” the state preceptor shakes his head. He crosses the space to the opposite door, and he pushes it open to reveal the cavernous great hall of Wuyong Palace. “This way, Your Highness.”

The entrance to the labyrinth is hidden deep within a courtyard adjacent to the king’s private quarters. The state preceptor leads him through the remnants of a long-forgotten garden, and they arrive at a small pagoda situated in the middle of a rockery. He ducks inside, and Xie Lian follows, watching as the state preceptor taps a selection of tiles across one segment of the floor. A moment later, the segment shudders, rising and twisting back. Revealed at their feet is the top of a narrow staircase, and the two of them light palm torches before descending into the darkness below.

Unlike the caves of Mount Tonglu, this labyrinth was deliberately constructed. Many of its tunnels are paved and structured, and there are dozens of doors hiding secretive chambers or leading to endless passageways. It reminds Xie Lian of the royal mausoleum of Xianle, and some of these chambers may very well safeguard the bodies of Wuyong’s royal family. Xie Lian spares a grim condolence for Jun Wu; he doesn’t have to imagine what it's like being suppressed inside a tomb.

Despite his best efforts, Xie Lian eventually loses track of all the twisting and turning they’ve done. Occasionally, he has to request a pause, but thankfully, he does not succumb to any coughing fits. The flowers seem giddy, almost like they’re excited, but for now, he manages to keep them from violently surging up his throat.

“Here,” the state preceptor says, stopping before a nondescript door. “One moment, Your Highness, let me activate the talisman that will allow you to pass through the barrier.” He withdraws a slip of paper and inspects it in the light of his palm torch. Once satisfied, he gestures Xie Lian closer. “Hold still, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian stands tall as the state preceptor activates the talisman. The writing glows red before the paper disintegrates in front of his face. The state preceptor repeats the process on himself, and then he pushes the door open, ushering Xie Lian into a small antechamber.

“It works once to let you in, and once to let you out,” the state preceptor tells him. “I’m the only one who can activate it, although you probably already know that. It’s tied to your spiritual energy, and no part of you can pass through while another person is attached. He can’t use you to escape this way,” he explains.

“Do you really think he would attempt something like that?” Xie Lian asks.

“No,” the state preceptor shakes his head decisively. “In my personal opinion, he isn’t likely to emerge until well after heaven’s punishment has been served. But precautions must be taken,” he sighs. “Those who still fear him must have those fears assuaged.”

“I see,” Xie Lian says quietly. “How much farther is it?”

“Just through there,” the state preceptor says, indicating the lone door on the other side of the antechamber. It’s bracketed by two massive sealing stones that have been carved from Mount Tonglu’s obsidian. “Shall we?”

Xie Lian nods, following the state preceptor across the chamber. As he walks, he sweeps a section of his hair forward over his shoulder, nudging the silver butterfly to hide behind the locks. He feels it settling against the skin of his neck, its gossamer wings pressed flat.

The state preceptor raps lightly on the door, waiting politely for the muffled reply before pushing it open and stepping inside.

“Your Highness,” he calls, propping the door open and gesturing Xie Lian through. “I’ve brought someone to see you.”

Xie Lian feels the barrier tingling as he passes through, heaven’s mandate relenting for just a moment to allow him inside. The room is much larger than Xie Lian had expected. There is a comfortable assortment of furniture, including an actual bed, and an extensive supply of books and scrolls are stacked tightly onto three tall shelves. There’s even some access to water. A small stone spout protrudes from the wall, and a copper basin sits below it. It’s simple, but comfortable, and Xie Lian finds himself relieved. Even now, he cannot bring himself to wish his own torment on his tormentor.

“So it is true,” says Jun Wu, and Xie Lian locks eyes with him at last. He’s sitting at a low square table, and it’s set with a teapot and three empty cups. “I dreamt you would come.”

“Was it you?” Xie Lian asks, his voice trembling in spite of himself. He’s not sure if the flowers are shaking him, or if the reality of facing Jun Wu again is causing an emotional storm. “Are you the one who cursed me?”

“No,” Jun Wu sighs, dropping his eyes to the teapot. “And yet,” he adds, raising his gaze to meet Xie Lian’s once more, “in a way, I have.”

“Your Highness,” the state preceptor breathes. “What have you done?”

“Please,” Jun Wu says, gesturing at the cushions set along two sides of the table. “Sit.”

Reluctantly, Xie Lian moves forward to take a seat. The state preceptor closes the door, then he follows Xie Lian to the table. The flowers surge toward Xie Lian’s throat as he drops gracefully onto the cushion, but he swallows them back and sits perfectly still, and they sway in mocking submission.

“I presume you know enough to understand that you are suffering from hanahaki?” Jun Wu asks.

“Yes,” Xie Lian replies stiffly. “But I was told it was a curse born from blood alchemy.”

“Hanahaki?” the state preceptor exclaims. “Isn’t that a disease of legend? How is that the same as a blood curse?”

“The disease itself is not a curse,” Jun Wu says. He pours them each a cup of tea, although Xie Lian makes no move to accept his. “But the infliction of it is.”

“Explain,” Xie Lian demands, and the flowers chuckle lowly.

“Hanahaki is a disease born out of unrequited love,” Jun Wu begins. “This is still true of what ails Xianle, but in your case, this unrequited love is not your own,” he says. “Someone else’s unrequited love has been planted in your lungs.”

“How?” Xie Lian breathes, ignoring the clamouring at the base of his throat.

“In order for this curse to succeed, the caster must sacrifice their own life,” Jun Wu explains. “When the strength of their blood combines with the will of their freely offered life force, their unrequited love becomes an inescapable infection for the person with whom they are in love.”

“Why?” Xie Lian asks. “Why cast something like that?”

“Without any hope of having their love reciprocated, is it really so unfathomable that someone might give in to malice?” Jun Wu asks in reply. “Chances are even greater where jealousy is involved. How better to supplant a rival lover than to obliterate all that was loved?”

Xie Lian swallows, unable to form a reply around so many quivering flowers.

“This curse is vengeful, Xianle,” Jun Wu tells him softly. “Once it has taken root, this hanahaki must proceed to one of two outcomes. The first,” he says, “is surgical removal. If you remove the flowers at the root, you will survive. But you will lose all memories of your love, your lover, and even your ability to love again. The caster wins, because how dare you love another?”

Xie Lian swallows again, forcing himself to unclench his hands where they’re gripping the fabric over his knees. Jun Wu takes a careful sip of tea before he continues.

“If you refuse to have the surgery, then the conclusion is inevitable,” Jun Wu says. “You will succumb to the disease and die. The caster wins, because you join them in death.” He fixes Xie Lian with his frozen lake stare. “A perfect murder-suicide.”

“Then,” Xie Lian tries, his voice coming out raspy and thin, “how could you have cursed me if you’re still alive?”

“As I said, I did not curse you,” Jun Wu explains. “But I am responsible for the creature that did.”

“The shadow?” Xie Lian asks him.

“The shadow,” Jun Wu nods in reply. “A being I created to follow you after your second banishment. Like many nefarious creatures born of Mount Tonglu, this one was forged from rage and resentment, but unlike the others, I used a drop of my own blood to shape its heart, and I allowed this shadow to connect with my own consciousness.”

“How did it survive your fall?” the state preceptor demands. “You can’t possibly have been communicating with it this whole time?”

“It is not a clone,” Jun Wu explains. “It exists independently from me. Although we have been connected in the past, and it undoubtedly learned the hanahaki curse from me, it has a consciousness of its own. One that has been growing for over 800 years,” he adds. “Since I have been sealed here, I haven’t had any contact with it. But some time over a month ago, I had a dream where it dispersed.” He looks at Xie Lian with something like regret. “It told me it would bring you here.”

“I don’t understand,” Xie Lian protests. “How can something like that even have the life force necessary to curse me? How could it love me? What rotten approximation of love could inspire a curse like this?” he asks bitterly.

“This creature was not so simple,” Jun Wu shakes his head. “And are you really so dismissive of the dark beings born of Mount Tonglu? Consider your Crimson Rain,” Jun Wu points out, inclining his head toward the butterfly that’s supposed to be hidden behind Xie Lian’s hair. “He thinks, and loves, and bleeds.”

“San Lang was human once,” Xie Lian snaps. “Don’t compare him to your demonic manifestations!”

“This was a creature that followed you for centuries,” Jun Wu insists. “Everywhere you went, this shadow went with you. You were its purpose, its very reason to exist, and through its eyes, I watched you,” he says. “How better to keep track of you than to step into its body and mind? I could hear its thoughts as surely as it could hear mine. We shared our obsession, and that obsession was you. You were never alone, Xianle. Not even in that coffin.”

Xie Lian goes cold, the blood draining out of his face. The silver butterfly comes out of hiding, quivering at Xie Lian’s distress.

“I doubt you remember how long you were in there,” Jun Wu says, “but that creature was never happier than when it was lying in that coffin with you.”

Xie Lian almost feels faint, a clammy sweat breaking out across his brow. “I thought I was hallucinating,” he mumbles. “But you’re saying that voice in the dark…?”

“It spoke all manner of twisted things to you,” Jun Wu confirms. “Sinister promises. Rapturous affection. Never had it been so eager to call me to your side. I visited you there often,” he confesses. “I even used its hand to stroke your brow.”

“Your Highness, please!” the state preceptor exclaims. “There’s no need to reminisce about such things!”

“It loved you,” Jun Wu concludes. “In every way that it knew how, it loved you. And now, it has destroyed itself in order to reunite with you in death.”

Xie Lian sways a little in his seat, abruptly and violently nauseated.

“One thing I don’t understand,” the state preceptor presses. “I couldn’t sense anything when I scanned the Little Highness for illness. How is it that this hanahaki has no life force of its own? If it requires the life force of the caster to be born, shouldn’t there be some trace?”

“The sacrifice creates the seed and foists it upon the victim,” Jun Wu explains. “But it is a dead thing made from a dead thing, and it’s not until it takes root in the lungs that the hanahaki begins to flourish. And what do you think feeds it?” he asks. “What gives it a second life? Your own blood, and your own emotions, most particularly your feelings of love. Tell me,” he says to Xie Lian. “What happens when you think about your Crimson Rain?”

Xie Lian remains silent, trying not to be sick.

“The unrequited love fuses with your own love, using it as fuel to grow its vengeful flowers. But do you think it is happy to be so intertwined with your love for another? Of course not,” Jun Wu shakes his head. “The more you love another, the stronger and more resentful the hanahaki grows,” Jun Wu tells him. “Your deterioration, Xianle, would not be so rapid, nor so acute, if you simply loved him less.”

“Why?” Xie Lian whispers, and the flowers lurch toward his throat. “Why has it turned out like this?”

“I am sorry, Xianle,” Jun Wu says softly.

Xie Lian staggers to his feet, dizzy with the cackling of the flowers. His vision sparks white around the edges, and he’s struggling to draw breath into his overcrowded lungs.

“Your Highness?” the state preceptor calls. “If you’d like to leave, please let me escort you through the—”

But Xie Lian doesn’t wait for him to finish, stumbling out of Jun Wu’s room and dashing across the antechamber. He extracts the dice from within his sleeve and hurls them at the door, throwing his shoulder into the wood and barreling through the doorway. He has just enough time to register the cool, fresh breeze on his face before the coughing overtakes him, and then there is a flash of red, and he’s tumbling forward into Hua Cheng’s arms.

---

Dappled sunlight marks the path winding leisurely through the maple trees. The canopy above is a sea of flaming red, with orange and gold leaves scattered generously throughout. The colours play warmly off the snow of Hua Cheng’s skin, and Xie Lian stares dazedly at the light kissing Hua Cheng’s cheek. The sound of his boots crunching softly through the leaves is a pleasant accompaniment to the smooth, steady rhythm of his gait.

Xie Lian lies weakly against Hua Cheng’s chest, the latest set of tremors still working their way through his body. His lovely new robes have been stained irrevocably red; flower-shaped bloodstains trail down his sleeves, and blood-soaked petals still cling to the fabric. Whole bloody blossoms lie cradled against his abdomen, because Xie Lian no longer has the strength to push them off. He coughs as they walk, and the flowers come up smoothly now, their passage made easy by so much more blood.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian tries, and it comes out a little louder than a whisper.

“Hmm?” Hua Cheng hums, and Xie Lian savours the way it vibrates through Hua Cheng’s chest. “What is it, gege?” He stops walking and looks down at Xie Lian. “Do you need to rest?”

“I am resting,” Xie Lian smiles weakly. “San Lang is doing all the walking for me.”

“Gege said he wanted to walk, so we’re walking,” Hua Cheng says. He shifts Xie Lian gently in his arms, resettling him so that Xie Lian’s head rests a little higher. “Just tell me when you’re ready to stop, and we’ll stop.”

Xie Lian shakes his head, a minute shift against Hua Cheng’s shoulder.

“I like it here,” Xie Lian says. “Although I don’t really know where here is,” he admits.

“It doesn’t matter, so long as gege likes it,” Hua Cheng declares.

Xie Lian falls silent again, listening to the wind through the trees, and Hua Cheng resumes walking at his calm, unhurried pace. Xie Lian stares at his profile, wishing that he could see Hua Cheng’s good eye right now. When Xie Lian had expressed a wish to walk, he’d been almost too weak to stand up, so Hua Cheng had scooped him into his arms without a moment’s hesitation. He seems completely unbothered that the flowers cradled between them have stained his crimson robes a deeper, darker red. Xie Lian can’t help wondering what he’s thinking after listening to that conversation with Jun Wu. He watches the leaves pass by overhead, and Xie Lian is suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful wave of regret.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian laments, and it’s a small and raspy thing. “Do you remember when we first met again on that ox cart?”

“I remember,” Hua Cheng replies. “Although I stole gege as my bride before that.”

“You did,” Xie Lian agrees. “But the ox cart was where we first spoke.” He looks up at the vermillion canopy, watching the sun peek through. “We were surrounded by maple trees just like this.”

“Yes,” Hua Cheng says, keeping his strides long and even.

“You told me so many things that day,” Xie Lian says. “Do you remember how I asked you to tell me about Crimson Rain Sought Flower?”

“Is gege trying to embarrass me?” Hua Cheng asks lightly. “Did you like making me talk about myself?”

“You were so honest,” Xie Lian smiles. “You even told me about your ashes. I thought, how charming, but how dangerous, and then you casually left them behind with me. How could you entrust me with something so precious?” he wonders. “I was so unlucky at that time.”

“I would do it again,” Hua Cheng says firmly.

“Maybe I’m still unlucky,” Xie Lian murmurs, flattening his hand over Hua Cheng’s silent heart. “Maybe I really am cursed. Maybe it’s possible to be too happy, because San Lang. I really am so happy. Every day with you is my happiest.”

“Your Highness, don’t talk,” Hua Cheng tells him, and his voice is unusually rough. “You’ll make yourself cough again.”

“That day, in the temple,” Xie Lian soldiers on, his voice growing scratchy with emotion. “I ran away from you, because I thought we’d always have more time. Why did I do that?” he says sadly. “I could have had another whole day with you, but I stupidly left you alone.”

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng insists. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And now I really—” Xie Lian chokes back a mouthful of blood. “Just want. More time.”

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng hisses, coming to a stop and ducking his head to press shaking lips to Xie Lian’s forehead. “Please, don’t say any more.”

“Just a little,” Xie Lian whispers, his vision starting to swim. “If I can’t have a lot, then just a little.” He raises his hand to cup Hua Cheng’s face, and Hua Cheng finally turns so that Xie Lian can see his left eye. “I would suffer all my life’s torment a thousand times over if it meant I could have even half a stick of incense more with you.”

The look on Hua Cheng’s face is pure anguish.

“So please,” Xie Lian begs. “Just, take your time. Walk a little slower, won’t you? Just... for a little while longer…”

Hua Cheng only shakes his head, and a moment later, a silver butterfly drifts across Xie Lian’s field of vision.

“Sleep now, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says gently.

“San Lang…” Xie Lian tries, but then his vision softly blurs, melting into silver until sleep rises to take him.

Chapter Text

Xie Lian comes awake slowly, blinking heavy eyelids against the light of the midmorning sun. It’s filtering in through the window, winking through the branches of a tree, and Xie Lian turns his head away, guarding his eyes from the glare. He shifts underneath the blanket, his body strangely weighed down, but then he sits up with a startled exclamation as Gui springs sharply off of his abdomen.

“Ouch,” Xie Lian tells it. He rubs his hand over his abused lower belly and glances around the room.

Hua Cheng must have brought him back to Puqi Shrine, and Xie Lian wonders how long he’s been asleep. His bloody clothes have been removed, and a clean set of robes has been laid out on the foot of the bed. Xie Lian cautiously stands to get dressed, relieved to find that he is no longer dizzy, and he feels well rested for the first time in weeks. He takes deep, controlled breaths as he slips on the soft white layers, and while his breathing is not unobstructed, his throat feels less crowded than before. It’s as if the flowers are sleeping, so Xie Lian moves slowly; he’s determined not to wake them as he glides carefully out the door.

What greets him in the common room is not what he’s expecting.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing are standing stiffly around the table, clearly not sure if they are allowed to sit down. They both turn to face him as Xie Lian approaches, and their expressions turn equally grim. Xie Lian spares them a curious glance before his eyes flit instinctively to Hua Cheng. The Ghost King is leaning against the far wall in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest. Aside from a thin silver belt and the coral pearl tied to his braid, he is completely unadorned, and Xie Lian wonders at this rare display of softness.

“Your Highness, you’re awake,” Feng Xin greets him. “How are you feeling?”

“Is there any point in asking?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “He’s dying, you fool.”

“He’s not dying!” Feng Xin snaps. “He’s—”

“Dying,” Mu Qing says flatly.

“I’m actually feeling a little bit better,” Xie Lian says. “I suppose you’re here to tell me it won’t last?”

“You don’t need us to tell you that,” Mu Qing retorts. “You spoke with Jun Wu yourself. That should be all the explanation you need.”

“San Lang, you told them?” Xie Lian asks, turning to look at Hua Cheng. He’s not upset, but he’s curious to know why Hua Cheng has chosen to involve them.

“Of course he told us,” Feng Xin bristles. “How else are we supposed to help?”

“I’m not sure you can help,” Xie Lian replies. His eyes are still fixed on Hua Cheng’s unreadable expression. “You might as well go back to heaven.”

“Oh, we’re going back,” Mu Qing tells him. “But not without you.”

“What?” Xie Lian asks, turning his head toward Mu Qing.

“Your Highness, we’re here to escort you back to heaven,” Feng Xin says solemnly. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower has charged us with your safety, and we mean to see you through this from the beginning to the end.”

“What do you mean?” Xie Lian asks, quiet dread settling into the pit of his stomach. “San Lang, what do they mean?”

Hua Cheng remains silent, still as any statue.  

“You’re going to have the surgery,” Mu Qing tells him briskly. “Your Crimson Rain Sought Flower has given us the anatomical diagrams we need to perform it safely. I don’t know where he got them, but I’ve never seen drawings that detailed before. Heaven’s best surgeon should have no trouble following the instructions. I’ll be assisting her myself,” he says gravely. “Nan Yang will guard the door,” he adds.

“And that’s not a duty I intend to take lightly,” Feng Xin interjects. “We’ll walk with you, Your Highness. Every step of the way.”

Xie Lian shakes his head slowly, his eyes drifting back and forth between them. He can feel the flowers stirring as his heart rate picks up, and his gaze settles heavily on Hua Cheng once more.

“We need to hurry,” Mu Qing is saying. “If it spreads to your other organs, the surgery becomes much more difficult. Every moment counts.”

Xie Lian barely hears him. He stares at Hua Cheng’s handsome figure, tracing his eyes over long, elegant limbs. Even with his arms crossed, there’s no hint of tension, and Hua Cheng’s face remains cool as undisturbed snow. But there’s something precarious about the stillness of his expression, like a glacier right before an avalanche. His inky black eye stares resolutely back, and the dread in Xie Lian’s stomach hardens like ice.

“Your Highness?” Feng Xin calls. “Your Highness, we shouldn’t delay.”

“No,” Xie Lian says, and his voice is almost serene. The flowers start quivering, but he remains remarkably calm. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be going with you,” he declares. “I won’t consent to any surgery like that.”

“The alternative is death,” Mu Qing reminds him. “Or did you forget that part?”

“I’m still a god,” Xie Lian points out. “I won’t die so easily. This isn’t anything I can’t endure until we find a better solution.”

“Easily?” Mu Qing scoffs. “You’re right about that, at least. You have a god’s body? Fine,” Mu Qing spits. “You won’t suffocate, so it moves to your stomach. You don’t need to eat, so it moves to your heart. Your heart pumps it through your bloodstream until every muscle and every vein is infected,” he says. “You’ll start to sprout those noxious flowers from every single pore. It will devour you until you’re nothing but bones.”

Xie Lian swallows, and the flowers start to simmer, giddy with the memory of his nightmare on the altar.

“You’ll lose your mind,” Mu Qing insists. “This is not an abyss you can endure.”

“I still won’t do it,” Xie Lian decides. “I have something more precious to lose than my mind.”

“Xie Lian!” Mu Qing explodes, fury contorting his features. “If you don’t do this, you’ll have nothing at all!”

“It’s mine,” Xie Lian says coldly. “I won’t give it up for anything.”

Mu Qing seethes at him, but Xie Lian simply stares calmly back. Feng Xin looks helplessly between them, woefully unequipped to be the peacemaker.

Finally, Hua Cheng speaks.

“Would you give it up for me?”

Xie Lian startles, completely taken aback. He turns his widened eyes toward the corner where Hua Cheng is pushing himself smoothly off the wall. He unfolds his arms and moves toward Xie Lian, crossing the room in long, fluid strides. He stops just an arm’s length away, fixing Xie Lian with a clear, gentle look.

“Gege should go with his associates,” Hua Cheng says. “Have the surgery now, before it spreads out of your lungs. Your stomach is one thing, gege, but I wouldn’t trust any of the useless officials in heaven with your heart.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian exhales, his breath catching on so many blossoms. “What are you saying?”

“Cut out the flowers,” Hua Cheng tells him. “Preferably as soon as possible.”

“But,” Xie Lian tries, and the flowers roil in glee. “I’ll forget you,” he says weakly. “I won’t love you,” he says in dismay.

“I know,” Hua Cheng says gently. “But gege, you’ll be okay.”

The ice inside Xie Lian cracks, and he’s suddenly flushed with anger.

“How can you say that?” Xie Lian exclaims. “How can you ask me to do this?”

Slowly, Hua Cheng steps forward, reaching for Xie Lian and drawing him close. Xie Lian goes stiffly, but Hua Cheng tilts his chin up and holds Xie Lian’s face in his hands.

“How can I not?” Hua Cheng replies. “Your Highness, if your love for me is killing you, I’d have you kill it first.”

Xie Lian gasps for air, his heart constricting as though it’s been stabbed.

“I know that you’ll forget me,” Hua Cheng continues. “And I know that you’ll never love me again. But if your love for me will condemn you to eternal agony and oblivion, then I want you to destroy it. Rip out every trace.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian rasps, and it’s a weak and broken thing.

“I won’t regret my love for you even when you can no longer return it,” Hua Cheng says softly. “You’ve blessed me with love once, and that’s more than I deserve.”

“Of course you deserve it!” Xie Lian bursts out, his eyes stinging and his hands shaking where he’s gripping Hua Cheng’s sleeves. “I won’t do it,” he protests. “I can’t. Who cares about the pain?” he cries. “San Lang, I don’t want to live a life without loving you.”

Hua Cheng fully embraces him, pulling Xie Lian flush against his chest. He strokes Xie Lian’s hair as Xie Lian shakes, and he brushes a light kiss against Xie Lian’s temple.

“Although hearing gege say that makes me very happy, this is the one decision of yours that I cannot accept,” Hua Cheng says. “You must choose life, Your Highness.”

“But I’ll lose you,” Xie Lian murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut against the red of Hua Cheng’s tunic. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re mine.”

“I’ll always be yours, Your Highness,” and Xie Lian can hear the smile in Hua Cheng’s voice. “I was yours before you knew me, and I’ll be yours when you don’t know me again.”

Xie Lian still shakes his head, his heart seizing up in denial. Hua Cheng continues to soothe him, one hand cradling his head while the other hand draws slow circles over his back.

“Think for a moment.,” Mu Qing speaks up. “What if your roles were reversed?” he asks. “If Crimson Rain Sought Flower was going to die unless he relinquished all love for you, wouldn’t you want him to do it?”

“Useless trash!” Hua Cheng snarls, and for the first time since they’ve returned to the shrine, Xie Lian hears the full force of his anguish. The arms holding Xie Lian are trembling with cold, helpless rage. “Don’t waste your words on such meaningless comparisons.”

“Why are you arguing with me?” Mu Qing retorts. “I’m trying to persuade him!”

“You don’t understand us at all,” Hua Cheng sneers. “You think I would relinquish my reason to exist?”

“Just knock him out and let us take him!” Mu Qing roars. “We’re wasting precious time!”

“No one is hitting him!” Feng Xin snaps. “Please, Your Highness,” he entreats Xie Lian. “Please, let us take you back now?”

But Xie Lian has gone perfectly still.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng calls, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Gege, are you all right?”

Xie Lian stares at him, and Hua Cheng stares back, his midnight eye flaring with the light of three thousand lanterns.

What had Jun Wu called it?

A perfect murder-suicide.

The ring sits heavily over Xie Lian’s heart, and Hua Cheng’s declaration echoes clearly through his mind.

If their hiding place is destroyed…

If Xie Lian succumbs to the hanahaki, then Hua Cheng will inevitably lie down with him in death. Hua Cheng’s existence is irrevocably tied to his own, and if Xie Lian refuses the surgery, he will be extinguishing Hua Cheng himself. It will be the fourth and final death for Xie Lian’s most devoted believer.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs. He thumbs away the tears rolling down Xie Lian’s cheeks. “I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Xie Lian shakes his head, managing a small smile at last. “San Lang,” he says wetly. “We really are too much alike.”

Hua Cheng’s expression softens, and he squeezes Xie Lian’s shoulders. “Gege will have the surgery?” he asks.

“Yes,” Xie Lian replies. “San Lang, I choose life for both of us.”

Hua Cheng smiles softly, like sunlight melting snow.

“Then I’ll live as Your Highness commands,” Hua Cheng says.

“We should get going,” Mu Qing interjects. “Ling Wen says the physicians have been ready for hours.”

“Not yet,” Xie Lian says. He spares Mu Qing a glance before he looks back at Hua Cheng. “I need to say goodbye to San Lang.”

“Your Highness, we shouldn’t delay,” Feng Xin says.

“A few more moments are not going to kill me,” Xie Lian insists. “It won’t take long, I promise. Just wait for me outside.”

“How long?” Mu Qing demands. “You think you’ve got time to spare?”

“No,” Xie Lian replies. “So I’m asking for just a bit more. Please,” he says firmly, his eyes forever on Hua Cheng. “Just give me half a stick of incense.”

---

Xie Lian drifts, his cheek resting heavily on Hua Cheng’s shoulder. Hua Cheng sits cross-legged on the floor, and Xie Lian sits in his lap, his legs wrapped ungracefully around Hua Cheng’s torso. They’re clutching each other tightly, no space between their chests, and Xie Lian’s arms wrap securely around Hua Cheng’s neck. Hua Cheng’s smooth, melodious voice floats quietly around them, and the sound of the foreign syllables vibrates soothingly through his chest.

He hadn’t meant to end up on the floor, but Xie Lian couldn’t help it. After Mu Qing had angrily dashed into Puqi Shrine, he’d returned bearing one stick of incense. He’d snapped it in half, jammed it into a ceramic holder, then lit it with a palm torch and left it on the windowsill.

“Not a moment longer,” Mu Qing had warned them, and then he’d flicked his sleeves sharply on his way out of the house. Feng Xin had been quick to follow him, and then Hua Cheng had crossed the room and firmly shut the door.

Xie Lian had almost laughed; Mu Qing’s antics were so petty and familiar. But then, Hua Cheng had turned to face him, his eye ablaze with devotion. Xie Lian’s heart had cracked right down the middle, like a dam that could withstand no more. His vision had blurred with helpless tears, and he’d covered his face as he’d crumpled to the floor. Naturally, Hua Cheng had caught him, guiding Xie Lian into his lap. Now they sit defiantly, fiercely intertwined, two opposite threads of fate woven stubbornly together.

Xie Lian watches as the smoke curls off the incense, and another speck of ash is collected in the dish.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian murmurs. “Did you see the new cat? I never got to introduce you,” he sighs.

“We’ve met,” Hua Cheng assures him. “It wouldn’t leave your room while you were sleeping.”

“Gui,” Xie Lian says. “Its name is Gui.”

“That’s very clever, gege,” Hua Cheng says, and he turns to press a kiss into Xie Lian’s hair. “It’s very happy, but I think it must be very spoiled,” he observes. “Aren’t the other cats jealous that it lives inside the house?”

“I don’t think so,” Xie Lian replies. “Cats all like different things. Besides,” he adds. “I wanted to spoil it so it would never leave.”

Hua Cheng laughs brightly, giving Xie Lian a small squeeze. “Is that why gege spoils me?” he asks. “Am I just a big cat to you, gege?”

“Maybe,” Xie Lian smiles, awash in wistful fondness. “If you were a cat, you’d be the dearest cat of all. I’d spoil you rotten, just like I do now. And I’d love you more than anything,” he says. “Just like I do now.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, his voice dropping low, the sound of it shaky and rough.

“You are my best love,” Xie Lian says quietly. His vision swims with tears, but his eyes remain fixed on the incense.

Hua Cheng tightens his hold, one arm locked around Xie Lian’s waist while the other hand cradles his head.

“Gege really knows how to make me happy,” Hua Cheng says, and his voice has smoothed out like the sea after a storm. “If only you knew just how happy you make me, Your Highness.”

“Will you still be happy after I forget you?” Xie Lian asks.

Hua Cheng pulls back, forcing Xie Lian to loosen his grip and look Hua Cheng in the face. His expression is gentle, but his gaze is resolute.

“I love you,” Hua Cheng says simply. “It’s never been more complicated than that.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian chokes out, but Hua Cheng puts a finger to his lips and continues.

“I love you beyond words,” Hua Cheng tells him. “I love you beyond worship, and I love you beyond death. That’s why I won’t let gege return my ashes. You could hate me and despise me, and I would still love you until I was dust.”

Xie Lian furiously shakes his head, fresh tears springing into the corners of his eyes.

“Maybe it isn’t much to hear that I love gege best,” Hua Cheng smiles. “If you’re the only thing I love, then of course I love you best. But gege loves many things widely and freely,” he says. “If I am the best among all of those things, then I am happy beyond compare. You’ll always make me happy, Your Highness. Even after you forget.”

“I don’t want to lose it,” Xie Lian says. “I don’t want to lose my best love.”

“It won’t be lost, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says softly. “I’ll remember it even when you can’t.”

Xie Lian stares at him, tear-stained and heartsick. He hates what he’s agreed to do, and a part of him is still refusing to go through with it. His eyes dart to the windowsill; the incense is almost gone. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian begins, his voice hardening with determination. “You have to promise me something,” he says. “Promise me, or I won’t have the surgery.”

“What is it?” Hua Cheng asks. “Gege knows I’ll do anything.”

“Promise me that you’ll come meet me,” Xie Lian says. “After I’ve recovered from the surgery, come find me right away. Don’t wait. Don’t wear any other face. Come in your true form, so I can know you right away.”

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng begins, but Xie Lian silences him with a shake of his head.

“I don’t care what Jun Wu said, and I don’t care what Ling Wen found. I don’t care if it’s impossible,” Xie Lian declares. “I will love you again.”

Hua Cheng’s eye flickers with pure, raw devotion.

“I promise,” Hua Cheng whispers. “I’ll do exactly as gege commands.”

“Then,” Xie Lian says, heat rising in his cheeks. “I have one more command for you.”

“What is it?” Hua Cheng asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Kiss me,” Xie Lian says softly. “Before we run out of time.”

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says warily. “Won’t the flowers revolt?”

“Maybe,” Xie Lian admits. “But I really don’t care anymore. Unless it would be unpleasant for San Lang?” he asks. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want a mouthful of blood.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says flatly. “There is no plane of existence in all three realms where I would not enjoy kissing you.”

“Then you’ll do it?” Xie Lian asks hopefully. “You don’t even have to do it nicely this time.”

Hua Cheng regards him carefully, and for a moment, Xie Lian thinks he might actually refuse. But then, he’s stroking Xie Lian’s face, and he’s lifting Xie Lian’s chin, and then he’s tilting his own head down to meet Xie Lian halfway.

“As gege commands,” Hua Cheng whispers, and then he crushes their lips together in a brutal, hungry kiss.

As Hua Cheng had predicted, the flowers rage in protest, and he sends a burst of his spiritual energy roaring down Xie Lian’s throat. While the flowers can’t be destroyed this way, it seems to be holding them at bay, and Xie Lian kisses back desperately, lost in the throes of his anguished desire. He’s shaking with the force of it, and his tears are flowing freely. He’s never wanted anything the way that he wants this kiss.

Hua Cheng pulls back just a moment before Mu Qing starts pounding on the door.

“Time’s up!” Mu Qing calls. “Get out here, Xie Lian.”

They stare at each other a little while longer, Xie Lian’s face cradled gently in Hua Cheng’s hands.

“Let’s go, gege,” Hua Cheng says quietly, and then he’s hoisting them both to their feet.

He takes Xie Lian’s hand and leads him out the door. Xie Lian walks with his usual grace, but every step feels like a nail being driven into a coffin. Outside the house, Feng Xin and Mu Qing have already finished drawing the array that will take them to the New Heavenly Capital. Hua Cheng walks Xie Lian right to its edge, and he only releases Xie Lian’s hand after he’s raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to Xie Lian’s knuckles.

“Gege, go safely now,” Hua Cheng tells him. “I won’t forget my promise. I’ll be waiting patiently for gege’s return.”

“Then,” Xie Lian smiles, “I’ll be extra sweet for you when I get back.”

Hua Cheng laughs, returning the smile, and it’s like moonlight reflecting off snow.

“Gege needn’t worry,” Hua Cheng says. “My wait won’t be bitter, and you’ll arrive soon enough. Who cares if time will never come again?” he says loftily. “I’ll make our next meeting even better than the last.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian smiles again, and the flowers start rioting once more. The last of Hua Cheng’s spiritual energy has burnt off, and Xie Lian bites back the nausea.

“Let’s go,” Feng Xin says, stepping into the array with Mu Qing. “Your Highness, it’s time.”

Xie Lian steps backward into the array, his eyes never leaving Hua Cheng.

“San Lang,” he calls as the array starts to glow. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Hua Cheng smiles, his eye glittering with starlight.

“Never soon enough,” he intones. “I’ll see you soon, Your Highness.”

---

Sunsets at Puqi Shrine are always spectacular, because the shrine is perfectly positioned to watch the world change colour. Xie Lian sits on the top of its front steps, his eyes sweeping peacefully over the scenery below. The sunlight pours gold over the verdant tiers of distant rice fields, and the horizon flames red like a grove of towering maple trees.

It’s been just over a month since Xie Lian underwent surgery, and he’s been convalescing in heaven ever since. He hadn’t expected his recovery to take nearly so long, but as Mu Qing had pointed out, blood curses are a particularly tenacious kind of evil.

“Be sure to come back regularly for the next few weeks,” Mu Qing had told him. “We need to monitor your progress and make sure there are no lingering effects.”

Xie Lian doesn’t relish the thought of making regular visits to heaven, but he is grateful to everyone who helped save his life, and he’s resolved to be politely obedient. He’d promised Mu Qing he’d be back in three days, which is just long enough to take care of the shrine. He’ll clean the altar, and he’ll feed the cats, and it will refresh both his heart and his mind.

Gui has arrived to join him on the steps, sitting down primly beside him. Xie Lian smiles at it, admiring the orange in its fur as it glows brightly under the sunset. He reaches out and pets it gently, his heart swelling wistfully with affection.

How sad, Xie Lian thinks, flooded by mournful sorrow. How lonely it must be to use your own love as a curse. If something so simple as a tortoiseshell cat can bring him so much warmth, then Xie Lian can’t imagine what fires might burn in the love of another person. Xie Lian has never longed for anything romantic; he’s always avoided any attachments that might lead him to break his cultivation. But when he thinks of the shadow and the ravenous obsession that ultimately drove it to oblivion, he wonders. What does that feel like? He sits in quiet melancholy, waiting for the light of the stars.

As he watches the pink clouds drifting, a strange sound reaches his ears. He looks down toward the curve in the road where a curious procession is marching. Some of them are carrying instruments, but the music can only be called noise. The drums and the cymbals are woefully discordant, and the flutes are barely tolerable. Those who aren’t playing are weighed down by parcels, and many of them move quite awkwardly. It’s almost as if their hands and feet are somehow the wrong shape and size.

Xie Lian’s eyes are immediately drawn to the figure at the head of the procession.

A tall man in red moves gracefully forward, his long strides bold and purposeful. His shoulders are wide, but his body is slender, and a gleaming silver scimitar hangs from his narrow waist. As he moves up the hill toward Xie Lian, his red cloak billows behind him, and it blazes like a lick of haughty flame against the wildfire of the horizon. The sunset flashes sharply off of something on his chest, and Xie Lian perceives the outline of a beautiful silver butterfly.

Xie Lian stands to welcome him, feeling unaccountably dazed, and the stranger climbs to the top of the steps to greet Xie Lian face to face. Up close, Xie Lian can see that this man really is too handsome. Raven black hair frames a snow-white face, and staring too long at its moonlight brilliance will certainly hurt the eyes. His bearing is elegant, his features refined, but there’s a wildness about him in the set of his brow. Something about him is wholly untamed, and Xie Lian senses an unshakeable pride. His right eye is covered by a simple black eyepatch, but his left eye is bright like a clear midnight sky.

Oh, Xie Lian thinks, suddenly breathless. The stars have arrived.

“Daozhang,” the stranger smiles, and his voice is clear and smooth. It’s like freshly melted glacial water replenishing a mountain spring. “I hope it’s not too late to pay your shrine a visit today.”

“No, of course not,” Xie Lian replies, collecting himself at last. “Any time of day is fine when your offering is sincere,” he smiles. “If I only accepted people in daylight, I’d never see the farmers.”

“Well said, Daozhang,” the stranger smiles again. “It’s easier for my entourage to travel at night.”

“We’ve brought gifts for his Elderliness!” a voice calls from the back.

“They’re not gifts from us,” another voice scolds. “They’re gifts from our Chengzhu!”

“Quack!”

Xie Lian blinks, a little bit taken aback.

“Pay them no mind,” the stranger tells him. “They’re just overly enthusiastic fools.”

“I see,” Xie Lian says, resisting the urge to laugh. “Since they call you Chengzhu, you must be a great city lord. How should I address you?”

“There is no need for titles,” the stranger demurs. “I would prefer it if Daozhang addressed me differently,” he says. “If Daozhang and I are going to be friends, it would be best to speak a bit more intimately.”

This time, Xie Lian does laugh, a bright and surprised exclamation. He’s astounded, and yet strangely delighted, by the stranger’s cocky speech.

“Are we going to be friends, then?” Xie Lian asks. “Are you certain you know who I am?”

“I would know you anywhere, Your Highness,” the stranger cheerfully declares. “And so, I’ve come to pay my respects to the Crown Prince of Xianle. Please accept my offerings, Your Highness.” His smile is brash and rakish. “I am your most devoted believer.”

Xie Lian blinks up at him, quietly bemused. His heart does something funny, like it’s wobbling with the echo of a tiny silver bell.

“Then,” Xie Lian begins, “what should I call you?”

The stranger’s expression softens, and he takes a small step closer. He holds Xie Lian’s gaze with his starlight eye, and he speaks into the space between them.

“Please,” he says gently, like the moon pushing back the clouds.

“Call me San Lang.”

---Fin