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Chapter Text

“Look at me, Gege. Look at my face.” Hua Cheng’s whispered words are close, rising above the muffled howl of the storm. “I am coming back for you, Gege, Your Highness. My beloved. I’m coming back for you.”

The cottage rattles, and Xie Lian’s dream is lost to the haunting whistle of an icy breeze. 

“San Lang…”

He lies still and feels the earth turn beneath him. 

He can still taste Hua Cheng’s kiss on his tongue—feel the drag and stick of his lips. Hua Cheng will come back because he promised he would. 

Xie Lian’s breath hangs before him in the frozen air, suspended for a moment in the darkness. He shivers and pulls the blanket up over his mouth, and the scratchy fabric traps the warmth of his breath. The wind rises up once more, and flurries of snow sift across the wooden floor from beneath the door. It isn’t a very good door. Hua Cheng will make a new one when he returns. Xie Lian will wait. He has waited a year—more than a year—he will wait 800 years more, 1000 years. He will wait. Shangyuan Festival has come and gone, summer has breathed in and breathed out, and the Mid-Autumn Festival flitted by. Winter has blanketed the land. 

Xie Lian waits, his heart cold as a tomb.

Dreamily, he slides the ring of ashes onto his finger and holds his hand in front of his face, watching it shine with pinpricks of starlight. It’s too big for his finger, but he wants to feel its weight—the weight of Hua Cheng’s life. He wants to see it, to look at it always. 

Xie Lian smiles softly, and his lips crack. The air is dry. His bones are frozen, his heart frozen. He sinks into the bamboo mat. It’s not a comfortable mat, but he likes it. It’s like the one he slept on with Hua Cheng. This cottage, too, is similar enough to Puqi Shrine that it takes the edge off his grief. He closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

He dreams of a battlefield, thousands of glistening eyes staring up to the heavens, sizzling nervous systems embedded into the dirt.

He dreams of his parents, and calls out to them, startling them awake in their black beds. 

He dreams of white flower petals, falling like snow, cold beneath his bare feet.

When he awakes again, it is midday, and Xie Lian has fallen out of time. Hot and ragged breath rushes from between his lips in gasps and starts. He flails, his eyes searching the empty shack. 

It takes a moment to remember where he is. Beams of grey sunlight illuminate dust particles. The fire has died down to flickering embers in the potbelly stove. 

Xie Lian becomes aware of the quieter fragments of sounds around him: the gentle rush of time passing; crystals of ice forming on the skeletal branches of the trees; the slow hum of the universe. Soon, his breathing is slow again—his heart slow. 

Some days are like this. It is easy to slip back into his old ways without Hua Cheng at his side. He forgets easily. Forgets to eat, to keep warm, to speak out loud. Forgets what it feels like to be touched. It isn’t bad. Ah, it’s better to forget. Certainly, certainly. Forgetting is like sleep. It makes the time blur. It numbs his heart. 

The fire crackles as he prepares his tea, but he doesn’t watch the kettle. He watches the thin thread of red on his finger, like a scarlet finch on a thin white branch, feathers dragging. Hua Cheng tied this to his finger. Hua Cheng was real. Is real. He’s coming back.

His tea is burned. 

The daylight dwindles as he rummages through his sack of scraps. He unearths a piece of wood. The most perfect piece of antique wood, with ridges in the right places, straight and smooth. He’d been lucky to find it. With his frozen feet tucked beneath him, he begins to carve, humming cheerfully to himself. The soft melody rings false in his own ears, so he summons pretty memories of breezy spring days, Hua Cheng sweeping the yard, sneaking glances at Xie Lian from beneath his lashes. Ah, such a pretty memory. 

Xie Lian does not go back to sleep. He is afraid of his dreams, of all the things that live down there, time forgotten. 

His tea is frozen.

The icy wind howls.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, the storm abates, and Xie Lian heads into the forest in search of firewood. The day is still and bright. The crisp air stings his nose, and the sky is so blue, it aches behind his eyes. He pauses, his gaze tracing the treetops. The day’s sparkling view is devastating, and a lump forms in his throat. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, afraid to frighten off the fragile beauty. He closes his mind. No thoughts can penetrate. The cold numbs his heart, and it's fine, it's fine, it's fine.

The bright day casts his despair into sharp relief, and loneliness pangs in his heart. His thoughts are tricksy—they attempt to pull him down into the swirling darkness. Hua Cheng isn’t coming back. Hua Cheng isn’t ever coming back, and this is his life now. Cold grey landscapes. Frozen veins and frozen bones. Hua Cheng is dead. 

No, no, no, no, ah, ah, ah. He grips Hua Cheng’s ashes in shaking fingers and pants, tears freezing to his cheeks. He’s coming back. He promised. He need only wait a little longer. 

He trudges through the deep snow, his lashes spearing with crystals. A tree has fallen across a frozen stream and hauls it back to the path. He stands for a moment with his head tipped back, his eyes closed. The forest is quiet. The muted silence of winter fills his ears, and his breath escapes him in puffy white clouds. 

A crack of wood echoes through the bracken. The crunch of footsteps. Xie Lian freezes. 

Hope sparks, and before he can temper his expectations, life and colour rush back into him in an overwhelming surge of joy. 

Hua Cheng!  

It might be Hua Cheng!  

Who else would visit the lonely Mount Taicang now that the temporary Heavenly Capital has moved to its permanent location in the clouds? Mu Qing and Feng Xin always announce their visits, and Shi Qingxuan wouldn’t be able to make it up the mountain in all this snow. It must be!

Xie Lian abandons the felled tree and dashes back to the cottage, kicking up snow in his wake. He chokes on his hope and euphoria tinged with hysteria. 

The breath is crushed from his chest when he sees Quan Yizhen standing at his door, his hair wild with hoar frost, his broad shoulders dusted with snow. 

“Your Highness!” Quan Yizhen calls, and he waves ridiculously. 

They sit down to tea, but Quan Yizhen eyes his tea cup with distrust. He shivers as he looks around the cottage. “It’s cold in here.”

 Xie Lian takes a sip of tea. He tries to see the cottage from Quan Yizhen’s point of view. The floors sparkle with frost, and the walls are dingy with smoke. It isn’t much warmer inside than out. He supposes it is rather meagre, but it’s what he’s used to. He thinks from time to time of temporarily relocating to Ghost City—of sleeping for a week or two in Hua Cheng’s plush bed in Paradise Manor. But he doesn’t. Hua Cheng will look for him here first. So he stays. 

“Do you have any food? I don’t see anything edible. And it’s really cold in here, Your Highness.” 

Xie Lian flushes. He doesn’t remember the last time he had a meal. He should probably have supplies for when Hua Cheng returns. Oh, but he has longed to cook for his beloved again. To hear his gentle teasing as he hovers over a boiling pot. 

“Delicious, Gege. Though, perhaps a little less salt next time,” Hua Cheng would say. 

“Ah, I suppose it’s time to make the trek into town for supplies,” Xie Lian says and hopes his smile is convincing.  

It is only then Xie Lian notices that Quan Yizhen seems unhappy. His mouth droops at the corners, and his eyes lack their usual lustre.  

“How is Yin Yu managing these days?” he asks, keeping his tone warm.

Quan Yizhen finally takes a sip of tea, but immediately spits it back into his cup. He stares down into his tea. “Shixiong is back in Ghost City. Says that since he’s a ghost now, that’s where he wants to be. Doesn’t even visit the Heavenly Capital anymore. Maybe because the Ghost King keeps him so busy.”

“Hmn, certainly, certainly.” Xie Lian doesn’t quite understand what he means, but he nods anyway. Qi Ying obviously needs someone to listen.

The wind picks up, rattling the cottage. Bright sparkles of snow pelt the frosted window. Xie Lian shivers and takes a sip of tea. Oh. It isn’t very good, now, is it.

When Xie Lian looks up, Quan Yizhen is frowning at him. He bolts to his feet and shrugs out of his gilded robes. He drapes the robes over Xie Lian’s shoulders like a blanket. The robes are warm and soft. Xie Lian swallows, blinking rapidly. Stange and hot emotions swell in his throat. 

Xie Lian opens his mouth to thank Quan Yizhen for his kindness—to tell him he’s fine and the robes are necessary—but the words are stuck.  

Quan Yizhen runs his fingers through his lion’s mane of hair. “That’s actually why I’m here. I went to Ghost City this morning to see him, but he wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Oh?” Xie Lian shivers against the warmth of the robes. He struggles to find his bearings. His eyes are hot. 

“Yeah. Shixiong didn’t want me around. Said he was too busy. But that’s not the weird part. The weird part is that when I said I was coming to see His Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle, he didn’t know who I was talking about.”

Xie Lian is quiet for a long moment, trying to process what Quan Yizhen is saying. “Huh? What do you mean? Ha ha ha! Of course Yin Yu knows who I am! I think he was pulling your leg, Your Highness Qi Ying.”

“He didn’t pull my leg at all! He won’t even touch me!” Quan Yizhen takes another sip of tea and spits it out again with a grimace. He sets the tea cup onto the table and slides it away. “I reminded him that you’re the one who took down the Emperor, and he said he’s heard of you but never met you.”

“I…huh?” Something strange pits in his stomach—or, no. That strange something has there all along. He’s only just noticing it now that he’s warmed up a little. He burrows into the robes, teeth chattering. The wind shudders against the door of the small cottage. The fire sparks bright. 

“Does Hua Cheng know you’re living here like this? Without food or heat? Do you even have blankets?”

“Eh? Hmn. I suppose we’ll live here together once he returns. It’s not so bad, really. It’s cosy! We lived together in Puqi Shrine, after all.”

Quan Yizhen furrows his brow. “But Hua Cheng is back.”

That strange something in Xie Lian’s stomach tightens. There is a pressure on his chest, making it hard to breathe. “What do you mean back? He isn’t back yet. I’m sure there are intensional rumours floating around in order to keep order in Ghost Ci— ”

“I saw him this morning. In the Gambler’s Den. He kicked me out and told me to leave Yin Yu alone.”

Despite the fire, despite Quan Yizhen’s robes, the cold pierces Xie Lian through and through. It seeps into his bones and hardens his veins. He shivers violently. “No. It couldn’t have been him.”

“It was. I saw him taking bets. Big ones. And his aura is pretty thick. Sometimes I choke on it. I don’t like being around him when he’s like that.”

Xie Lian’s tea has gone cold.  

“Ha ha ha ha, would you like some more tea, Your Highness Qi Ying?” He glances at the cup Quan Yizhen has spit into twice and shakes his head. He feels dizzy. He feels half asleep. He feels like he’s asleep. “I could ah….aha ha ha ha…I could make some different tea!”

“Maybe you should go into town and get some food. You’re way thinner than the last time I saw you.”

“I’ll do just that! You’re right, of course. I’ll go on a supply run! What a good idea!” Xie Lian’s voice is hysterical, but he smiles with all he’s got. Hua Cheng isn’t back. This is a mistake. When Hua Cheng returns, he’ll come find Xie Lian first. 

“Your Highness, didn’t you know he was back?” 

Xie Lian’s thoughts scatter, and his hands shake as he pulls on his boots. His belly roils and he sways as he hands Quan Yizhen’s robes back. 

“Keep them. Even gods can freeze, you know, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian nods, unable to even thank the fluffy-haired god. His gaze seeks the red string of fate tied around his finger. Hua Cheng’s ashes hum against his chest.

“ There is no banquet in this world that doesn’t come to an end. But I will never leave you.”

Xie Lian sucks in a shuddering breath.

“I will come back. Your Highness, believe me.”

“I’m sure he is just settling business in Ghost City. He’ll be by soon.”

“He’s been back since Shangyuan. That’s nine months.”

Panic burns through the chill, bright and hot. Xie Lian's throat aches, and his stomach churns acid. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. Could Hua Cheng really have been back for months? Why hasn’t he come to find Xie Lian?

“Ah, that long? Hmn. He’s very busy, you see. Running a city is no small feat! Ha ha ha!”

Has Hua Cheng…changed his mind? Has he decided 800 years was enough? Or perhaps the person Xie Lian is now—the humble scrap collector living in a hovel, who talks too much and has such silly ideas—hasn’t lived up to the dream of his god, his prince. Perhaps that perfect image of Xie Lian—the one Hua Cheng held so dear—has shattered. Perhaps Hua Cheng doesn’t want to come and find him. To live in a hovel and eat terrible cooking. To listen to his rambling stories about nothing. Perhaps Hua Cheng doesn’t want…him.

Quan Yizhen only frowns. 

Once the Martial God of the West has departed, Xie Lian sits by the dying fire holding Hua Cheng's ashes to his heart. The wind howls, and so does his heart. 

He takes a deep breath and whispers that horrible spiritual communication array password.

Chapter Text

“I am not repeating that filth. You do it this time.”

“I’ve already tried twice! You do it!”

“And since you got nothing, what’s the point? He’s obviously changed it if not even His Highness can get through.”

“Why would Hua Cheng have suddenly changed his array password?”

Mu Qing scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s been cursed, and now he’s shuttering down security until he finds answers. I bet only a trusted few have it now.”

Xie Lian stares up at the gates of Ghost City, tuning out Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s bickering. His boots crunch over crusted crystal and pine. The trees of the surrounding forest shudder and moan under the weight of the heavy snow, their boughs caked in sparkling white. The undergrowth is littered with bones and teeth, decomposing bodies of animals seeping into the frost-crusted dirt like syrup.

This deep in the mountains, the moonlight does not reach them, and the night sky ripples above—the abyss hums with the pulse of stars. 

Xie Lian blinks, a chill chasing through him. Ruoye shivers around his wrist.

While the looming gates of Ghost City have always been intimidating—formidable, eerie, awe-inspiring—they are more intimidating than usual. Xie Lian feels small. Like an outsider, whereas before, he’d always felt he belonged in Ghost City—belonged in Hua Cheng’s arms. Now he doesn’t know where he belongs. 

“Where is Quan Yizhen? That idiot forgot us, I just know it. Too busy simping over his shi xiong.”

“He’s only been gone an hour. Calm the fuck down.” Feng Xin is pacing, muttering to himself. Xie Lian hasn’t seen him pace like this since the first outbreak of Human Face Disease more than 800 years ago. 

Xie Lian turns toward the gods of the southeast and southwest. He is surprised to find both of their gazes on him, but they quickly look away. He clears his throat. “Are you sure you want to come with me?”

Mu Qing crosses his arms, jutting out his chin. “Like we are going to let you venture into the Gambler’s Den without us.”

“I’ve been many times without you.” Xie Lian’s stomach churns with despair, but he ignores it, plastering a serene smile on his face. He breathes deeply of the snow-sharp air—he breathes in the scent of wet bark, of terpenes—and listens to the tinkling of ice falling from the trees. It really is so beautiful this time of year, the world asleep and dreaming. Maybe he is dreaming, too.

“That was before,” Mu Qing says, glaring up at the red paper lanterns bobbing along the gates. “Now you’re just the same trash as the rest of us. If he doesn’t know you, he isn’t going to be rolling out the red carpet. You’ll have to be careful for once.”

Xie Lian smiles blandly. Of course Mu Qing is right. Certainly, certainly. He is the first to admit that Hua Cheng’s kindness has rarely extended to anyone beyond himself—understandable, as the world has rarely been kind to him. 

But if Xie Lian is his reason for existing, even if Hua Cheng has forgotten, he wouldn’t harm him. Something deep within him would prevent it. Wouldn’t it? This will be fine. And who knows! Seeing Xie Lian again in the flesh might jog his memory! Isn’t it possible?

Xie Lian wrings his hands. His thoughts are coming too quickly again, and his belly roils with a mixture of grief and nervous anticipation. 

A small part of him—a small but enduring part of him—fears he has already lost Hua Cheng. That this curse, if it is a curse, is permanent. That what they had is lost before it could even really begin—happiness dangled and snatched away. 

Xie Lian’s hangs hang at his side, trembling. 

Hua Cheng doesn’t remember him. 

Hua Cheng doesn’t know him.  

Xie Lian’s breath is coming in harsh gasps, and he shudders beneath the weight of his grief. 

Ah…ah…he should have eaten something. Or at least tried to get a good night’s sleep before they made the trek to Ghost City. He may not need to sleep much anymore now that his shackles are gone, but it certainly helps brighten his outlook. 

All he needs to do is breathe. Slowly. One breath, two breaths…everything will be okay. 

“Your Highness, are you sure you’re up for this?” Feng Xin has paused his pacing. His wide eyes are full of worry and doubt as he gazes at Xie Lian. 

“Of course!” Xie Lian says, and offers a cheery smile. “No need to worry.”

Feng Xin narrows his dark brow. “Do you have a plan if he doesn’t recognise you? Because he probably won’t recognise you.”

“Mnm. I do.” 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Well? What do you plan to do?”

“What I must.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Feng Xin says, obviously struggling to keep his temper.

Xie Lian raises his hands placatingly. “Calm down. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right!” the two generals shout in unison.

“Hang on, I—”

“Your Highness!” Quan Yizhen appears through the city gates, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. He is soaking wet, and his hair is in wild chaos. He shakes his head when he sees Xie Lian. “He’s in the Gambler’s Den taking bets, but you should hurry. Yin Yu said he plans to leave soon. He also said I shouldn’t bother him because he’s in a really bad mood.”

“Great. Lucky us.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Xie Lian punches his fist into his palm and steels himself. Prepares for the worst. No matter what, he will find a way to reach Hua Cheng, no matter how bleak things may seem, no matter how impossible the odds. He will find a way to break the curse and return Hua Cheng’s memories. If it takes him 800 years, he will endure. Afterall, Hua Cheng has endured for him. “Let’s be on our way. But if you ever feel like this is too much, kindly turn around.”

Mu Qing and Feng Xin shift into the forms of Fu Yao and Nan Fang. Arms crossed, glaring anywhere but at each other. 

“Ah…I think perhaps a different form? There is a chance he will still remember you like this. After all, it seems it’s only me he’s forgotten.” Xie Lian hopes he has succeeded in keeping the despair from his voice. 

Feng Xin grimaces and shifts into a form Xie Lian has never seen before. Dark hair cropped short and blue eyes. He is shorter in this form, but still taller than Xie Lian. Mu Qing huffs and shifts into a slighter form, with a long reddish braid down his back and piercing black eyes. His face was pretty, his chin sharp. 

“What about you? Aren’t you going to don a disguise, Your Highness?” Feng Xin asked. Snow begins to fall, soft fluttering flakes, dusting their shoulders and hair.

“Hmn, no. I am hoping Hua Cheng will recognise me, after all.” Wu Ming once told him he would recognise Xie Lian’s form anywhere—he would recognise Xie Lian’s voice anywhere. And Xie Lian wants to be recognised. “At the very least, I’ll have the chance to see if any of the Ghost City residents recognise me.” 

“You still need to hide your spiritual aura,” Mu Qing says, smoothing his silken grey robes. “Hua Cheng doesn’t take kindly to gods in his city. And hide those ashes around your neck, too.”

Xie Lian pauses. He’s surprised Mu Qing knows what the necklace is. “Ah. You’re right. I suppose if he doesn’t recognise me, it would be quite jarring to see his ashes around my neck, wouldn’t it?” With a wave of his hand, Hua Cheng’s ashes are cloaked in ancient magic—magic only Xie Lian can retrieve them from. He can no longer feel their weight. His heart trembles, and his throat aches with grief, the most vital part of his being now hidden away. Ah…but the ashes are still there. Even if he can’t feel them. They will always be there. 

He pauses a moment. Then he waves his hand over the red string of fate Hua Cheng tied to his finger. It, too, disappears from sight. Finally, he suppresses his spiritual energy, so that not a trace of it can be detected. 

“You done yet?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Mu Qing. You really do think of everything,” Xie Lian says, turning toward the gate. 

“Whatever.” Mu Qing falls into step with him. “What I don’t get is, if he’s forgotten all about you, where does he think his ashes are, anyway? He must be freaking the fuck out.”

“Not only that, but he must wonder where the fuck he’s been the past year and a half.” Feng Xin brushes against Xie Lian’s side, an offer of comfort. 

“Or what his ghostly purpose is,” Mu Qing says.

“Oh yeah…” Quan Yizhen scratches his forehead. “That’s probably why he’s in such a bad mood.”

“You think?” Mu Qing snaps. “Which is another reason why His Highness shouldn’t go anywhere near him right now. He will be seen as suspicious at best, even with his spiritual powers suppressed.”

“I can handle myself, Mu Qing.”

“Yeah, and if Hua Cheng breaks your cultivation and your 800-year reserve of spiritual powers is emptied? Can you handle yourself then? You really don’t know who you’re dealing with. He is a depraved demon king, after all, and apparently, you’re just his type. I doubt some curse would undo that, even if he doesn’t know who you are.”

Xie Lian takes a steadying breath. His cheeks burn, and he turns toward the city. “I’ve…ah…changed my cultivation path.”

“You what?”

“Ah, it’s not that big a deal.” He made the decision to change his path over a year ago. For Hua Cheng. He’d thought when his beloved returned, he would want to express his love in every way possible, and he’s been dreaming more and more of Hua Cheng’s fervent kisses, the taste of him, the smell of him. His touch. The sounds he makes when they kiss. A shiver traces his spine, though not from the cold.

“Your Highness—”

“I’m hungry!” Xie Lian blurts out, desperate to escape this conversation.

“Oh! Your Highness! Here!” Quan Yizhen pulls something from his sleeve and offers it forth. It’s a bun. Still warm. “I brought this for you. You should eat. Even gods need to eat, and I know you’ve been ignoring that part.”

Xie Lian takes the bun. He stares at it for a long moment. His mouth has gone dry. His eyes are dry, too, but his vision blurs. He realises he’s grown unused to kindness without Hua Cheng around. “Ah. Your Highness Qi Ying. My gratitude.” 

“Well, are you going to eat it or commit it to your eternal memory?” Mu Qing sneers, but Xie Lian hears the warble of worry in his voice. 

He can’t speak a word, so instead, he takes a bite of the bun. It’s delicious, filled with delicately spiced mushrooms. His stomach froths, his skin prickling cold, and he fears he won’t keep it down, so he quickly takes another bite and turns his attention elsewhere.

They pass through the moaning gates, and Ghost City rises up around them in a vivid crimson haze. Xie Lian blinks as the chaotic revelry hits him in full force. Red lanterns bob above the slick cobbled streets, and fat flakes of snow whirl around them. It is like being in a demonic snowglobe, whimsical and evil. They pass familiar vendors. Ghosts Xie Lian recognises—ghosts who used to call him Grand Uncle—hawk their wares and growl at customers. The crowd presses in. None seem to know or recognise him. None bother to look his way except to shoot a glare or eye him up with suspicion.

They pass the restaurant where Xie Lian once sat with Hua Cheng—where Xie Lian had shovelled congee into his mouth as the topic of his ‘affliction’ was discussed by the gathered crowd. 

Xie Lian blushes and smiles softly, turning his gaze away from the gods at his side. He’d been so happy then. Basking in Hua Cheng’s adoration and attention. When Hua Cheng gets his memories back, Xie Lian would like to eat here again. Or perhaps Hua Cheng will take him somewhere new. He hasn’t yet had the opportunity to explore the city.

The air is rank with the scent of blood and booze…and other questionable aromas. But so, too, does the scent of flowers carry through the city. Ever present. A trademark. Flower City. 

Everything is how it should be. Everything is how he remembers it. The city is volatile, turbulent, vivid—and so, so alive. Life bleeds into the streets and colours the night. Life beats beneath their feet and sings in the air. Life, chaos, passion. These are Ghost City’s trademark lineaments. And it was all built by Hua Cheng, the Ghost King. The Crimson Rain Sought Flower. San Lang.

His beloved. 

His beloved. 

His beloved. 

Xie Lian presses the tips of his fingers to where the ashes should rest above the thrumming of his ancient heart. They are still there. They are, of course, still there. Ah, he just can’t feel them, but that’s fine. They are still there.

The Gambler’s Den looms above the city, stately and imposing and positively radiating evil. Xie Lian is drawn in—drawn to the violent beauty of it. The noise, the smells, the colours—it overwhelms him after so many bleak months of quiet and stillness. His days have been colourless. Empty. 

And now, it is all too much. And not enough. Too much. Not enough. He needs to see Hua Cheng—needs to hold him in his arms and hear him whisper “Gege.” He knows now what it feels like to have Hua Cheng’s gaze on him, to feel his tender care. Now that he knows…he can never…unknow. 

With Hua Cheng in his world, he doesn’t feel alone anymore. He feels seen. No one has ever seen him before, not really. Not at all. Perhaps the others don’t understand this either, but that’s fine. They don’t need to understand. 

He stands before the Gambler’s Den now, the heavy snow billowing around him. 

His heart thrums wildly, and his breath catches, scudding up the tines of his ribs. Every fibre in his body sparks and quivers. 

“Breathe, Your Highness.” Feng Xin squeezes his shoulder, and Xie Lian startles. 

“Your bun,” Quan Yizhen says. His voice is quiet. Barely audible above the shouting and laughter and music. 

Xie Lian looks down at the uneaten bun. He’s squished in between his fingers, the mushroom filling spilling out onto the cobblestones at his feet. 

“Ah…ha ha ha ha sorry about that!” He shoves the rest in his mouth and wipes his hand on his robes. 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. 

“Uh, Your Highness,” Quan Yizhen says. He frowns and bows his head. “I’m not supposed to go back in there. Hua Cheng said he’d make me beg for death.”

“That’s fine, Your Highness Qi Ying. Thank you for all your hard work.” Xie Lian smiles brightly, tilting his head to the side as he turns to Mu Qing and Feng Xin. “Well. What are we waiting for?”

He doesn’t wait for their answer and climbs the steps to the Gambler’s Den. Is Hua Cheng really here? Is it really him? Will he recognise Xie Lian when he sees him?

The revelry inside the Gambler’s Den is dreamlike. Overwhelming. The aromas of the city are more potent here—concentrated and thickened. Xie Lian has never seen it so packed, and the clientele is frenzied with manic delight and rabid rage. The floors are soaked with blood and there are at least two fights stirring up the crowd. A red haze hangs in the air. 

It wouldn’t be like this if Hua Cheng wasn’t here. The Ghost king always incites this response from his denizens. They fear and worship him. They love him. He is their saviour and their keeper. He is their god.

The glossy marble steps leading to the red curtain shine. Xie Lian can’t see behind the red curtain, but he can feel Hua Cheng’s hair-raising aura. His stately presence. He can feel in the air and in his bones. His heart pangs with excitement. With grief. With terror. His body hums, and he feels alive again in a way he hasn’t in one year and nine months. 

“San Lang,” he whispers softly to himself. He wills Hua Cheng to see him standing down here. To recognise him. To notice him in the crowd.

“Your Lordship, please!” a ghost at the main table screams as two enormous ghosts in the Gambler’s Den uniform close in on him. He falls to his knees, gazing up at the rippling red curtain with bloodshot eyes. “Let me try again! One more round! Please! I will give you anything! My…my…my wife! She’s a beauty! Very satisfying in bed! She will sate your voracious appetite! Ha ha ha ha!”

Bile rises in Xie Lian’s throat. His voracious appetite?

Hua Cheng laughs sharply, and Xie Lian sucks in a breath—the velvety sound shoots down his spine and turns to liquid in his belly. His whole body tingles with grief and euphoria…and something else he doesn’t recognise. Hua Cheng’s laugh has always done strange things to him, but it’s different now somehow. The longing has compounded since Mt. Tonglu, and now it swells within him, hot and bright and shivery.

“Now what makes you think I’d be interested in your sloppy seconds, hmn?” 

“Please!” the ghost wails. “Chengzhu! I beg of—” He howls in terror as the two guards take him kicking and screaming. They drag him away from the main table and soundly remove his head. Blood splatters the floors, gushing like a river almost to the toes of Xie Lian’s boots. No one even seems to notice.

“We should leave. Now.” Feng Xin’s shoulders are tight, his face pale. 

Xie Lian pats his arms softly. “It’s fine, Feng Xin. Everything is fine.”

Feng Xin pales impossibly further. “Taizi Dianxia, you don’t understand. You don’t know this side of Hua Cheng like we do. Will you take a look around you? If he is without his devotion, he will eat you alive and not give a flying fuck about it after! Everything is not fine! That could be you getting your head chopped off. It will be you if you don’t leave with us now!”

“Well, I’m not going to bet my head.” Xie Lian smiles awkwardly. Sweat trickles down his sides, and the stench of iron in the air turns his stomach. They are wrong, of course. Even though Hua Cheng doesn’t know him, he would never hurt him. Not without provocation, and Xie Lian understood Hua Cheng’s boundaries well. 

“His Highness isn’t going to listen to you, idiot,” Mu Qing says. He’s gone all chalky around the mouth, and his dark eyes darting wildly to the headless body of the ghost. It’s funny, even in this strange skin, he can still clearly see Mu Qing’s expressions. “He loses his marbles at the mere mention of his precious San Lang. It’s hopeless. We may as well start planning his funeral.”

“I thank you both for your concern, but I’m afraid it’s you who doesn’t understand. Something has happened to San Lang. What kind of powerful curse can steal the memories of a ghost king? There is clearly some danger here. I can’t leave him. Not like this. I won’t.”

“Taizi Dianxia—”

Desperation expands in Xie Lian’s chest. “He needs me, and I’m sorry, but I have to do this. If it’s too much for you, please don’t feel you need to stay.” Xie Lian’s hands shake at his sides, and he swallows hard. If the situation was reversed, Hua Cheng would burn the world to return Xie Lian’s memories. He would be here. Fighting for Xie Lian. As he always had fought for Xie Lian. Now, it is Xie Lian’s chance to fight for his beloved. 

“What do you plan to do, then?” Mu Qing hisses. “You can’t just go up there and talk to him!”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing stare at him, waiting for an answer. 

Xie Lian takes a deep breath and turns toward the main gambling. 

His thoughts fizzle and evaporate. 

His body hums, but he feels nothing. Or maybe he feels everything, terror, longing, rage, jealousy, confusion, sorrow…but, ah. Ah, these are all normal things to feel at a time like this. He is just exhausted and overwhelmed. Everything is going to be okay.

“Hua Chengzhu,” Xie Lian calls, and his voice is more even than he would have expected. “I would like to place a bet at your table.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing gasp.

The Gambler’s Den falls oddly silent. 

The hairs on the back of Xie Lian’s neck stand on end, and goosebumps chase down his spine. 

Silence. 

“Is that so? And what is this honourable daozhang betting for today? How can I make his dreams come true?”

Xie Lian can’t stop himself from shivering. Hua Cheng’s velvety-dark voice is laced with derision and dripping with condescension. There is no softness—no recognition. He has never spoken to Xie Lian like this before. While Xie Lian’s heart pangs with longing, his body responds very differently. He tingles all over, and his cheeks burn. He summons his courage, his fists clenching so tightly, he fears his bones will snap. 

It is a risk, but Hua Cheng has always encouraged him to be bold. To bet big.

He takes a steadying breath. “It is said Hua Chengzhu wears a coral bead in his braid that lends the wearer luck. I would like to bet for that bead.”

The coral bead. 

If Hua Cheng truly does not remember him, he won’t know why he wears the bead—but he will know it is somehow important—something somehow relevant to his past. Even though Xie Lian will lose this bet—for he will certainly lose—it will be enough to seize Hua Cheng’s attention. To raise questions and scrutiny. Hua Cheng will want to keep him close. Close enough that, perhaps, Xie Lian can find a way to undo the curse.

It truly is a risk—dangerous even—but when Hua Cheng had told him to be bold, he had listened. 

Silence hangs suspended in the air, and tension presses down on him. 

Xie Lian gazes up at the rippling red curtain. He wishes he could see Hua Cheng’s face. Breath in his smoky scent. He wishes Hua Cheng would run his long fingers through Xie Lian’s hair and hold him tight. Tell him everything will be okay.

“A curious choice.” If Hua Cheng is at all taken aback by Xie Lian’s request, it doesn’t show. Does he know the bead is important? Are alarm bells going off in his head? Does he see something familiar in Xie Lian’s face? “And now, the honourable daozhang must place his wager. What happens if he loses?”

Xie Lian takes a slow breath to steady himself. The eyes of every ghost in the den burn into him. “Ah, hahaha, I have little of worth, I’m afraid. But I can offer you my servitude. 50 years of service to Hua Chengzhu, if you will accept.”

“50 years?” Hua Cheng clicks his tongue. “Certainly daozhang can’t be more than 17. 20 at most. You’re willing to give your whole life away for a silly jewel? Tsk tsk.”

“I am older than I look. And the years are mine to give away as I wish.”

“Hmn. Soon they will be my years to do with as I wish. Does that not frighten you, daozhang?”

Xie Lian cannot hide his shiver. Hopefully Hua Cheng will assume it’s a shiver of fear. He can’t deny that he very much wants to be Hua Cheng’s. To do with as he wishes. Will the Ghost King behind the curtain want him, too? 

“Are you suggesting I rescind my bet, Hua Chengzhu?”

“I'm suggesting no such thing, honourable daozhang. Roll your dice.” 

Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath. “Ah. Right.”

“Right.”

A croupier appears at his side. It’s the same girl who met him at the door the first time he visited the Gambler’s Den. She eyes him cautiously as she hands him the dice cup. He takes the cup with shaking hands and squeezes his eyes shut, praying his luck faithfully fails him. He needs to lose. He needs to lose this bet more than he's ever needed anything. He needs to be in Hua Cheng's service.

Xie Lian lifts the lid. 

Snake eyes. 

He swallows, suppressing a smile. 

Hua Cheng rolls two sixes. As expected. He isn’t about to let go of that bead. It’s a clue to his past. And now, Xie Lian is, too.

The Gambler’s Den once more erupts in chaos. From the corner of his eye, Xie Lian sees the two large ghosts coming for him. He prepares to be manhandled, dragged from the Gambler’s Den with unnecessary force. But the ghosts barely touch him. They lead him quietly through the crowd, past Mu Qing and Feng Xin, past the crowd of delirious ghosts.

Xie Lian looks over his shoulders, up to the shivering red curtain. There is no sign of the Ghost King, nor does he offer parting words.

The large ghosts lead him out of the main hall and through a dark hallway Xie Lian has never been down before. 

Xie Lian feels a little dizzy. His belly roils, and acid coats his mouth. The sudden quiet of the hallway, the darkness after so much stimulation, makes him sway in the hands of the two ghosts. He notices they hold him a little more firmly then, but not unkindly so.

“Stupid kid,” one of them mutters as they round another corner and down another echoing dark hallway. 

“Skinny little thing. Pretty like a girl, though. I wonder if that’s why the boss wants him. You know how he is,” the other says, and Xie Lian suddenly feels like he’s dreaming. What does that mean? How is Hua Cheng? “Hey, kid? You okay? You need something to eat?”

Xie Lian opens his mouth to reply, but no words come. He wonders absently if he’s being taken to Yin Yu. He wonders what his job will be and can only hope they don’t try to foist him upon the kitchens. Maybe cleaning? Or security? He’d be good at that, though he’ll have to prove himself. And where will he be staying? Certainly not in Paradise Manor. That is too much to hope for. But close, maybe.

They turn another corner and descend a stone stairwell into darkness. 

Where are they going? Xie Lian’s heart thrums, and he stumbles, but the guards hold him firm. Now their fingers dig into his arms, as though they think he might try to run. 

The air down here is damp and still. It smells of old blood and wet earth. Sconces light the stone passageway. The ceiling is so low, the guards have to duck.

This is a dungeon…

Xie Lian’s panic quietly rises. His heart shudders and thunders in his ears. He stumbles again, and the guards hoist him up. 

They come to a cell at the very end of the corridor. The ceilings drip, and dank puddles quiver at his feet. The guards release him, and he crumples to his knees. 

“Well, kid. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which do you prefer?”

“Oh, ah…the easy way, I suppose.” Xie Lian’s voice sounds far away, echoing down the corridor. His ears are muffled and bile rises in his throat. “Ah…I guess I’m not going to be working in the kitchens, then?”

“Hands,” the first guard says, and he sounds tired.

Xie Lian offers both hands, and the guard claps shackles on his wrists. Real shackles—the spiritual power suppressing kind. They are a bit loose. He can probably break out of them if he really tries, but he won’t. 

The shackles are attached to long chains. The long chains are attached to the blackened stone wall. There is a bamboo sleeping mat in the darkened corner. A burlap blanket is folded neatly beside it. A pitcher of water and an empty ceramic bowl. A small towel.

The dungeon is silent. So silent, it whispers in Xie Lian’s ears. Images rush his mind, diffusing and reimagining, diffusing and reimagining. What if Hua Cheng doesn’t want him anymore? What if the curse has permanently removed his memories. What if Hua Cheng begins to fade without a tether? What if…what if….what if…

He covers his ears and shudders against the onslaught. Ah, ah…he is just tired. He had known this might happen. He had known there was a possibility he'd be sent to the dungeons. Of course it was bound to happen—Hua Cheng is likely quite worried that he can’t remember his purpose…that he doesn’t have his ashes. And Xie Lian has come and nudged a clue. Of course he has ended up here. It will be temporary. Hua Cheng will come for him soon enough. He needs to know about the bead, after all. 

Everything is okay. Actually, a nice sleep might be helpful, and it is so nice and quiet down here after the overwhelming chaos of the Gambler’s Den. The hard part is over! He has achieved what he set out to achieved and infiltrated the Gambler's Den. He can rest now for a little while!

“I’ll…try to make sure you get some food soon, kid,” one of the guards says, eyeing Xie Lian warily. He shrugs, and they depart, leaving Xie Lian on his own.  

Xie Lian doesn’t make it to the mat in the corner. The stone floor is cold beneath his heated cheek. He lies still and feels the earth turn beneath him. His heart will not settle, and yet exhaustion pulls him quickly under. 

The darkness consumes him.

“There is no banquet in this world that doesn’t come to an end. But I will never leave you.”

“I will come back. Your Highness, believe me.”

“Gege…”

Chapter Text

Once, many hundreds of years ago, Xie Lian awoke from a death. 

He’d starved that time, he thinks. Or maybe he’d been stabbed—there was so much blood seeping into the sand around him. Or perhaps he’d drowned again, as he was lying on a beach, his tongue caked with brine. 

No, it was starvation. He knows because he remembers awakening to a hollowed-out, empty feeling. He was naked, and his ribs were like sand dunes, rolling in the chrome-bright loneliness of the day. 

What he remembers most about that death is his mother’s voice. It was what had awoken him from his black sleep. He’d felt her long fingers combing through his salt-tangled hair. He’d smelled her jasmine perfume.

“My Little Prince, look at the water. Look what it's become. It waits. It waits.”

Xie Lian lay there for days, staring up at the colourless sky, his heart sinking into his ribcage—a throbbing, slippery thing, tangled in slick veins and tendons. 

He waited to hear his mother’s voice again, but it had only been a dream—an auditory hallucination, triggered by sparks in his half-dead mind. His mother had taken her own life centuries ago and had not lingered. Why would she linger when she’d been so desperate to leave this life—when she’d been so desperate to escape her shameful disgrace of a son. A fallen god with a heart full of rage and despair.

His bones creaked as the tide came in. Waves lapped at his body. He floated away on the breath from his mother’s lips. 

Xie Lian can no longer hear the beat of the tide. He cannot hear the rush of depths untold, nor the sorrowful wail of gulls. But he hears his mother once more. 

“My little prince, the Star of Solitude is not solitary. Look, in the distance…look...”

Xie Lian clings to the comfort of her voice, his heart thrumming with anxiety. He’s been having another nightmare. And he is so cold, right down to his bones. The chill goes through and through him. 

Behind his eyes is a bleak landscape of white and grey, snow billowing and swirling around him. In the distance, a fleck of crimson.

His eyes flutter open.

Silver butterflies illuminate the small dungeon cell in a shimmering haze, bright like the moon. They twitch along the curved stones of the walls. They flap soundlessly over his head.

Hua Cheng crouches before him, an elbow resting on a knee. He’s in a familiar form—the same form that met him on the ox cart—moon-pale skin, glossy, raven-dark hair. No coral bead. No eyepatch. Xie Lian’s heart flutters when he realises the eyes looking back at him are mismatched—one midnight black, the other blood red. 

Xie Lian stares, his mind muffled by dreaming and exhaustion, and the moments stretch by. The red eye. Xie Lian has never... 

Xie Lian snaps to attention, the fog of sleep thinning. He gasps and jolts to sitting. His heart beats out of time, and his mouth falls open, like a clam. He only just stops from throwing himself into the Ghost King’s arms, weeping against the silk of his crimson robes, clinging to him with all the longing of 800 years. 

No, that isn’t fair. Xie Lian didn’t wait 800 years. Hua Cheng waited 800 years, and in all that time, Xie Lian had been asleep. Not even dreaming. Not even alive. Xie Lian was the ghost, dressed in funeral-white, abstaining from worldly pleasures—Hua Cheng, so vibrant and alive, thriving on passion and chaos, dressed in wedding red. 

He can see that chaos in Hua Cheng’s eyes now. 

This is real. This isn’t a dream. He is not asleep in his little shack on Mt. Taicang, listening to the winter wind blow. He is in Ghost City, and Hua Cheng is here.

Xie Lian smothers the hope blooming in his heart. He meant to give himself time to prepare, to steel himself against seeing Hua Cheng again after all these months. Still, he couldn’t have prepared for the coldness of Hua Cheng’s gaze—he couldn’t have prepared for the crimson eye that Hua Cheng hated so much in life. In that eye, there is no recognition. No warmth. No devotion.  

Hua Cheng cocks his head to the side and watches Xie Lian as if he’s a deformed bug. Xie Lian is used to being looked at this way. Just not by Hua Cheng. His heart clenches painfully. Ah, he’d know it would be like this! Hua Cheng has lost his memories, but this is still his Hua Cheng. Xie Lian just needs to play his role and stay vigilant. He might miss a clue. 

“Daozhang. You’re still with us. Good.” Hua Cheng's voice is like velvet, dark and lush. Oh, how he’s missed his beloved's voice. His dreams have not done it justice—the rich dulcet tones, the soft cadence, the depths and hushes…

But it lacks the warmth and sultriness it has always held before. 

“San—” Xie Lian coughs. His mouth is dry, and he tries to swallow. “Lord Crimson Rain.”

A few butterflies alight on Hua Cheng’s shoulder, casting shards of silvery light across his pale cheek. Xie Lian watches the butterflies carefully. Seeing them now brings Xie Lian comfort, though he knows they probably shouldn’t.

Hua Cheng doesn’t know him. Has no memory of him. What does he remember of his own past? Of his mortal life? Of Xianle? Xie Lian begins to shake and doesn’t bother trying to hide it. 

“Does Daozhang know what these butterflies are?” 

A threat. 

A foreign shudder goes through Xie Lian. 

Is it fear? 

“En,” Xie Lian says. “This one has heard of Crimson Rain’s Death Spirit butterflies.”

“Good. Let’s begin then, shall we?” Hua Cheng leans forward, smiling strangely. The tip of his sharp canine catches on his bottom lip. 

Xie Lian swallows. He’s kissed those soft lips before. He’s tasted Hua Cheng's tongue, nicked his own lip on that canine. 

“What does Daozhang know about the bead he bet for tonight?”

Xie Lian had known the bead would get the Ghost King’s attention. If Hua Cheng doesn’t remember Xie Lian, the bead will be a mystery to him. But Xie Lian needs to tread carefully—he must walk the fine line of plausible deniability. He wants Hua Cheng’s suspicion, but not his ire. Hua Cheng’s memories have been stolen by a curse. It is no longer safe for Xie Lian to be recognised, mostly as it would likely lead to violence—violence Hua Cheng would regret when his memories returned. Currently, Xie Lian is in quite a bad situation, and perhaps it is folly to blindly believe Hua Cheng won’t hurt him.

“I, ah…” Xie Lian swallows heavily. “In the sect I used to cultivate with, they said it was the source of the Ghost King’s luck. And whoever holds it, will be exceedingly lucky. How foolish of me to bet against one such lucky person.”

Hua Cheng's gaze is hard. It’s the look he sometimes gives Mu Qing or Feng Xin. Or Qi Rong. It’s frigid. Impatient. Disinterested. “Is Daozhang only now realising his foolishness?”

Xie Lian laughs awkwardly. “I’ve never been particularly bright.” 

“Easy to believe.”

Ah, again, Xie Lian is used to such comments. How often has Xie Lian played the fool, after all? He ignores the hot pricking behind his eyes and resumes his study of Hua Cheng, searching for signs of hardship, any lingering symptoms of a curse. 

“I end up in situations like this a lot,” Xie Lian clarifies. 

“Also easy to believe.” Hua Cheng’s gaze slides over him, lingering on the jut of his collar bones, on his threadbare robes. “What I find difficult to believe is that a silly little daozhang heard a silly little rumour and made his journey to Ghost City to gamble his life away. There is more to this story, and you are going to tell all.”

Xie Lian nods, taking slow breaths to steady his heart. “I will answer any questions Lord Crimson Rain may have. I have no wish to cause trouble.”

Hua Cheng’s gaze hardens, though his expression gives little away. Xie Lian can’t sense any remnant of a lingering curse. No resentful energy. But he is paler than usual. Impossibly pale. Could that be residual of his dispersal in Mt. Tonglu? Or was it something more? What if, without his tether, Hua Cheng begins to fade—no. No. Xie Lian can't think like that. He needs to focus.

“Who are you?”

Xie Lian jolts, startled from his own thoughts. “Huh?” 

“Does the pretty, empty-headed daozhang have a name?”

Xie Lian opens his mouth to share one of his aliases and freezes. He can’t very well give the name Hua, though from the depths of his heart, he wishes for it. He hasn’t even considered what name he will give Hua Cheng. Usually he’s much better at thinking on his feet. His vision blurs and the room spins as a chill wraps around his heart. 

“Hurry, daozhang. Think of a lie. Quick.”

“Wu Ming,” Xie Lian blurts, and immediately, his skin prickles cold. His heart clenches and his bones hum with grief. Why did he say that?

Hua Cheng laughs. “Fuck sake. Okay, if you say so, Wu Ming .”

Xie Lian’s throat aches and this time he has to actively fight back tears. His thoughts are leaves in a storm, tossed and scattered. Wu Ming? Wu Ming? What…ah…he… 

“And which sect does Wu Ming cultivate with?”

“I…I…ah…ah…” 

“Fucking hell. Just pick one.”

He can’t possibly name a sect. Hua Cheng will be sure to interrogate them, especially if he believes it will yield results—yield information about his missing memories. His ashes. His purpose. Has Xie Lian really not thought any of this through? Was he really so hopeful Hua Cheng would recognise him that he didn’t even plan? He is as empty-headed as Hua Cheng suggests. 

“I…I no longer cultivate. This lowly one is a scrap collector.”

Both of Hua Cheng’s beautiful black brows shoot up. “A scrap collector?”

“En. I collect scraps. Um, trash. Things no one wants. I fix them or repurpose them. Give them new life. Then I sell them.”

“Ah, but Wu Ming is so well spoken. Perfect diction. Perfect annunciation. A fancy, highborn accent. I find it hard to believe he isn’t a scholar, or at least in possession of a gentleman’s education. How does such a man find himself collecting trash?”

Xie Lian wrings his hands. He is sweating, and the cool air of the dungeons kisses his skin. “It’s a long story.”

“Tell me the short version.” The silvery light of the butterflies dances in his red and black eyes.

“All right. I used to belong to a…cultivation sect, but they…ah…banished me. For certain…mistakes I made.”

“Hmn. Daozhang fucked up. Go on.”

“My family is long dead. And I really have nothing. But, I’m good at seeing potential in abandoned, worthless things.” 

Hua Cheng stares, expressionless. Xie Lian fights his dark thoughts, fights to stay on track. 

“Anyway,” Xie Lian continues. “I’m very unlucky. I have been unlucky for a long time. I have lost everything and everyone I ever cared about. So. That’s why, Lord Crimson Rain, when I heard tell of your lucky coral bead…well...ha ha ha ha ha. I, uh I have nothing left to lose.”

“Except your whole life.”

He attempts to keep his expression placid and serene. Of course he’s always known Hua Cheng is difficult to deal with. It’s really fine. It’s only that, coming up against the full force of Hua Cheng is a little more jarring than he’d anticipated. He feels foolish, and his hands shake. “Not my whole life. Only 50 years.” 

“You really think you’ll survive here so long?” 

“Ah, well, I’m”—Xie Lian scratched his forehead, and the chains rattle with his movement—“very good at surviving. One of the few things I excel at.”

Several more butterflies alight on Hua Cheng’s shoulders, gently flapping their gauzy wings. A few butterflies land on Xie Lian’s torn sleeve. One lands in his hair. He can feel its tiny feet tickling along the slippery strands. Oh, but he has missed the butterflies. They are so calming and peaceful. He can’t help but smile as one crawls across his knuckle. He holds his hand up to his eyes, the chains dragging across the cold, stone floor. 

When he looks up, Hua Cheng is appraising him with an unreadable expression. His red eye glows slightly, and his mouth pulls into a thin line. “I find you odd.”

“Odd?”

“Mnm. I’m afraid no such rumour about my coral bead exists, Daozhang. And do you know why?”

“Um…why?”

“Because few have ever seen my coral bead. I haven’t worn that appearance in over a century. I keep tabs on these kinds of things, because of course I do. If such a rumour was circulating, I would have heard it.”

“Ah…well, perhaps it—”

“So let me see if I have this straight. Daozhang’s name is No Name. He has no family, no cultivation sect, and he collects trash for a living.”

Alarm bells are going off in Xie Lian’s mind. “Ah, well sometimes I busk, too.”

“Sometimes you busk, too.”

“En.”

Hua Cheng strikes forward with uncanny speed and grasps Xie Lian’s chin. Butterflies swarm around them in a cloud. Their faces are inches apart now, Hua Cheng’s eyes glowing with rage, one midnight black, the other crimson flame. 

Xie Lian’s heart beats in his throat, and he gasps for breath. This close, he can smell Hua Cheng’s sweet breath. His cool touch on Xie Lian’s overheated skin—it’s the wrong kind of touch, but it’s still touch. Hua Cheng is touching him, skin to skin, and Xie Lian shivers with longing. He has to stop himself from leaning into it—stop himself from closing his eyes and sighing. At least his shivering can be interpreted as fear.

Hua Cheng squeezes Xie Lian’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. It doesn’t hurt, but there’s more force behind it than he’s ever taken with Xie Lian before. His evil aura swells and expands, choking the air from Xie Lian’s lungs. Hua Cheng is impressive indeed! Such an aura would send the strongest of martial gods fleeing! Even Ruoye shudders against his wrist!

“Did daozhang think he could come here, flash his enchanted eyes, and pull one over on the Ghost King?” Hua Cheng coos.

Xie Lian’s teeth begin to chatter. “My enchanted…my…aha—”

“I have never seen a performance quite like it in all my long years. Very impressive indeed. Daozhang must be very experienced in getting his way just by fluttering his long lashes. But is he truly foolish enough to believe this act will work on me? Does he think I will fall for his tricks?”

“I…no!” Xie Lian’s cheeks burn, and he can no longer meet Hua Cheng’s searing gaze. “I’m not—”

“I can taste your lies, Wu Ming. I always know when someone is lying. And only trash lies are coming from your mouth.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes are filled with rage and…fear. Is it fear? Xie Lian blinks, and it’s gone, replaced by impatience and scorn—replaced by centuries of careful remove. Before Xie Lian is a demon. Beautiful and terrible. His smile like knives. All cold fury and scorching resolve. He is a gravitational force, pulling everything toward him. 

What has Xie Lian done? What had he thought would happen? Of course Hua Cheng is afraid! He doesn’t know where his ashes are. He doesn’t know what tethers him. And whom can he trust? Perhaps Yin Yu, yes, but really, he is all alone and without his memories. And Xie Lian has come here and caused him discomfort. Made him feel unsafe. Should he not have come?

Should he tell the truth?

No. That would only make things worse. Xie Lian is very familiar with the nature of curses, and there is no easy solution. Why would Hua Cheng believe him? The best solution is still to find a way to break the curse. To get close enough to figure it out. Find what triggered the curse and find what would release it.

“I’m sorry, I…I don’t…”

Ruoye, sensing Xie Lian's rising anxiety, shivers violently, and before Xie Lian can say anything to stop it, it unfurls from his wrist and lashes out at Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian chokes out a cry, and Hua Cheng’s grin only widens. He releases Xie Lian’s chin and snatches the end of the silk band out of the air, just as he had 800 years ago as Wu Ming. Ruoye writhes and flails, but Hua Cheng clasps it firmly in his long fingers. 

“Daozhang didn’t tell me about his little friend.” His grin widens. “A demon, a powerful one, dripping in resentful energy. Hmn. A strange thing for a cultivator to have in tow.”

“Please, San…Chengzhu…please, ah—”

“Tell me, Wu Ming, where did you find such a thing? It seems quite attached to you. Look at it, trying to protect its master from the Supreme Ghost King.”

Xie Lian opened his mouth, but his words stick in his throat, panic rising inside him.

“Chengzhu,” a voice calls from behind. A familiar voice. 

Yin Yu. 

Xie Lian stifles the desire to call out, but he already knows what will happen. Yin Yu doesn’t know him either. And it would only draw more suspicion to Xie Lian’s already precarious situation. 

Hua Cheng’s smile doesn’t leave his face, nor does he look away from Xie Lian. “What.”

“Apologies, Chengzhu. I couldn’t reach you through the array.”

“Hmn.” Hua Cheng rises to his feet, Ruoye still squirming in his grasp. He ties the poor silk band into a vicious knot and turns to Yin Yu. “Well?”

“Black Water is here. He has some…interesting news. You will want to hear.”

Without a word or a glance back at Xie Lian, Hua Cheng and Yin Yu disappear down the dark hall, the silver butterflies following in their wake. 

Xie Lian is, once more, cast into darkness. The weight of his situation catches up to him, and he doubles over, his eyes leaking hot tears, and his belly storming. A violent sob escapes him and he shakes and shakes and shakes. 

Without Ruoye, he is well and truly alone—more alone than he’s been since the death of the King and Queen of Xianle. 800 years of companionship, and Xie Lian feels a little lost without the brush of silk against his wrist. Hua Cheng wouldn’t hurt his silk band, would he? Ruoye is so harmless and sweet. Hopefully the demon behaves for Hua Cheng. Ah, Ruoye. 

Despair starts to creep in. Another sob echoes off the stone walls, raising goosebumps along his spine. Did he really make such an inhuman sound? So lonesome and wild? Ah, he really needs to get it together. Yes, he is in the dungeons, and yes, Hua Cheng might leave him here for 50 years, but he’s been through worse! And he is one step closer to his goal of getting to the bottom of this curse. He won’t let his beloved down. No matter what it takes!

Xie Lian digs in his pocket for the one item of comfort he’s allowed himself. The one item he has not veiled with spiritual magic. His one connection to Hua Cheng and to his own past. 

The bead is hard and cold, trapped in a corner of fabric. It’s the matching coral earring to Hua Cheng’s—one of his own earrings from a lifetime ago. From several lifetimes ago. Xie Lian has not parted with it since Lang Qianqiu returned it to him. He pulls it out and holds it against his heart until his shaking subsides, and he sits in the fathomless dark panting through the dark feelings. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits that way. His mind is empty, his heart quiet. His body hums, but he is as still as a divine statue. 

He hears footsteps and laughter. A grating sound and a clank. Xie Lian squints into the darkness. 

A light moves toward him, bobbing softly down the corridor toward his cell. 

“Why are you so interested in this one?” The voice is scratchy, with a whistle at the end of each word. 

“I ain’t so interested.” This voice is deeper, but tinny. “Just wanna to take another look, is all. Chengzhu’s done with him anyway. Our turn.”

“You aren’t supposed to be down here right now,” says another. 

“Eh? Quit yer bellyaching. We are just bringing the prisoner some food, ain't we? From the goodness of our hearts. Poor thing looked half starved.”

“We’ll get in trouble if we touch him! I don’t want to get in trouble just so you can explore your pervy whims.”

Laughter. Several more voices. Maybe five voices. 

Xie Lian shudders. He doesn’t like the sound of this. He slides the coral bead back into his pocket and crouches, holding the long chains tightly in his hands. 

The group of ghosts appears around the corner, and Xie Lian’s small cell fills with warm lantern light. 

None of them are the kindly guards who had brought him down here. Three of them are identical. Humanoid, with sunken black eyes and wild, curly white hair. Triplets, maybe. Muscled and lithe. 

Another from the group has shiny grey skin and a thousand tiny eyes over his slippery wet face. 

The last, is a hulking beast of a ghost, sparse patches of pink fur over his bubbled body and curled black horns protruding from his forehead. 

“Looky, looky, looky, the prisoner is up and waiting for me,” says one of the three humanoid ghosts with curly white hair. In his hands, he carries a wooden tray with a bowl of soup and a bun. “We brought you some food, daozhang.”

He throws the entire tray at him, and Xie Lian ducks just in time. The tray hits the opposite wall, and soup splatters everywhere. He can hear it dripping onto the stone floors behind him. 

“Oops. Hope you ain’t too hungry.” The ghost steps forward, setting a lantern at his feet. “We’s just come to get a good look, is all. Wanted to see the beautiful mortal boy that dared challenge the Ghost King. Had to come quick, before he gets all eaten up!”

The two other white-haired ghosts laugh. The beast with pink fur and the one with all the eyes remain silent. 

Xie Lian drops his gaze. Maybe if he doesn’t give them a reaction, they’ll all leave. 

“My, my. What a face, what a face. Liquid gold eyes, and such a pretty little mouth. Mnm. Wonder what he tastes like, whatcha think?”

Xie Lian shudders, but doesn’t respond. He’s been in plenty of situations like this. They’ll probably leave soon enough, once they’ve had their laugh. 

“Uhhh, guys?” The beast with pink fur shifts uncomfortably. His voice is strange, and it whistles at the end of each word. “Seriously, Chengzhu would kill you if he knew you were down here.”

The white-haired ghost takes another step forward and crouches down before Xie Lian, right where Hua Cheng had been earlier. 

“Respectfully,” Xie Lian says, “I recommend you don’t touch me. This is your only warning.”

The ghost laughs again, and his black eyes seem to sink further into his face. “I’ll touch ya if I like. Whatcha gonna do?” To demonstrate, he grabs a handful of Xie Lian’s hair and yanks. 

Xie Lian can hear the rush of waves, and his mind goes blank. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He comes back to awareness to the sound of snapping bone and shrill screeches. 

“He broke me arm! That fucker! Kill him!” One of the three ghosts with curly white hair is screaming, holding his shattered arm against his chest. 

“Kill that fucker!” shout the other two in unison. 

The ghost with the eyes and the ghost with the pink fur, have fled. 

Xie Lian is on his feet, swinging the loose chains. His mind is still blank. He is about to call for Ruoye when he remembers his spiritual weapon was taken. His spiritual powers are sealed, too. Inaccessible to him, lest he betray himself. 

No matter. He still has his fists. 

A strange fury wells up inside him—a rage he hasn’t felt since before his second ascension—though he cannot find its source. Usually he wouldn’t indulge in such toxic emotions, but at the moment, he has little choice.

The first ghost flies at him, despite his broken arm. He’s still wailing in agony, and his black eyes glow. Long, black claws grow from his good hand. Xie Lian dodges a lethal blow and swings the chains with precision. 

The chain wrap around the ghost's neck, and Xie Lian pulls, constricting, constricting, until the head severs, and putrid green blood splatters the walls. Like the soup, dripping, dripping. The ghost’s head hits the floor and cracks open like a melon, slimy brains oozing into a nest of white curls. His body stumbles to its knees and collapses. 

The other two ghosts stare for a full minute, their faces ashen. They stare. And stare. And stare. 

Finally, one of them looks up at Xie Lian from deep within the black pits of his eyes. He bares his teeth and attacks with a snarl. 

Xie Lian kicks out with the grace of a dancer and the speed of a martial god, and the ghost flies across the cell, hitting the opposite wall with a crack. The other ghost is already on him. Xie Lian barely dodges another sweep of claws. The ghost rounds up to slash him again, and Xie Lian leaps back, kicking away from the wall and spinning through the air. He lands with a powerful punch, and the ghost crumples to the ground with a gurgle in its throat. 

Suddenly, the chains around Xie Lian’s wrists yank hard, and he only just ducks as claws flash through the air, slicing open his cheek. He tries to free himself, but the ghost has a good grip on his chains and is pulling him forward for another blow. The ghost lashes out again, and Xie Lian doges and doles out a crescent kick to the ghost’s stomach. He’s about to yank his chains free when a sharp claw goes right through his shoulder, just missing his heart, and appears through his chest. 

Hot blood spills from his mouth and gushes over his shoulder, splattering at his feet. Xie Lian gasps, his vision blurring. A blow to the back of the head, and he sees stars. 

Or are they stars? 

As he sinks to the ground, he thinks they look a little like butterflies. 

Then. Darkness. 

Chapter Text

Panicked shouting pulls Xie Lian through the gauzy layers of darkness. 

“Chengzhu! CHENGZHU! Please, he—he killed our brother! We was only avenging his death, as we ought!” 

“Is that so? And how did the mortal boy manage to kill your trash brother when he wasn’t on shift tonight?”

“H-h-he was just lending us a hand, since we’s been so busy down here of late! Brought down some food for the boy, is all. We saw him in the Gambler’s Den and thought he looked hungry!”

“Oh? Is that all?”

“Nows ya mention it, since we was down here, we thought we’d take a little taste. Just a little lick, is all.”

“You thought you’d take a little taste of my prisoner?”

“We didn’t mean no harm, I swear it!”

“Yeah, how was we to know he’s some kinda freaky fighter, even all chained up? That kid ain’t normal! It ain’t normal how he fought!”

The chiming of bells, of bells, of bells. 

The shing of a blade unsheathed, and in Xie Lian’s mind’s eye, he can see E-Ming’s beautiful crimson eye blinking back at him. 

Icy cold from the stone floors seeps up into his bones, and he shudders. His thoughts are syrupy, and he’s drowning in darkness. 

“Hmn. How long have you three been a part of my security team? Pardon. You two.”

“F-f-forty years, Chengzhu.”

“Not so long, then. Do you happen to remember the contractual stipulations against tampering with the prisoners? Do you happen to recall what you surrendered to me when you signed your contracts?”

“Wait. WAIT! Chengzhu! I…I…we…of course we remember. But we was just bringing him a little food! He attacked us first! We wasn’t tamperin, we swear!”

“The prisoner’s injuries would suggest otherwise.”

Xie Lian’s ears ring, and with every shout, the ringing pitches. His eyes flutter, and blood gurgles in his throat. He can hear Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng is close. Where are they? Still in the cave of Ten Thousand Gods? Are they…ah…where are they? He can’t remember what…

…and who is shouting? Not Mu Qing and Feng Xin, certainly. The shouted words are out of context, and Xie Lian can’t grasp their meaning. He tries to reach up into consciousness, but his eyes are too heavy—his body too heavy. His head throbs to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Darkness pulls and pulls at him. He moans softly. 

“Chengzhu.” A different voice, this one much closer. Clear and calm. “He’s still alive.”

“See! We didn’t hurt him much! P-p-please, we thought you was done wif him! I would never have touched what belongs to Chengzhu, I swear it! We’ve never touched any of the prisoners before, not in forty years, m’lord!”

Gentle fingers prod at the back of his head. “His wounds are severe. We might lose him if we don’t act quickly.”

“Take him.” Hua Cheng’s voice reaches him through the darkness, a balm to his weary heart. “See to his wounds. And Yin Yu?”

“Chengzhu?”

There is a long pause. The silence stretches into the dark corners of Xie Lian’s mind. It seems to go on forever, and Xie Lian fears he will be stuck in the darkness forever, longing for his San Lang’s voice.

“Don’t get blood on the carpets.”

“Of course, Chengzhu.” 

Xie Lian is gathered in gentle arms and hoisted up, his head cradled against a bony shoulder. Not Hua Cheng’s shoulder. The smell is all wrong. These are the wrong arms—these arms, while gentle, are not holding him right.

“San Lang,” he murmurs softly, the longing palpable in his throat. 

Footsteps echo down a dank corridor. The gentle rocking of movement. From somewhere behind him, shrill, agonised screaming. Then silence. 

Darkness pulls him beneath the surface once more. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The bleak-white bright of day leaks into the corners of consciousness. Colourless and forlorn. Muted. The muffled silence of deep winter presses in.

Xie Lian’s eyes ache, and the tip of his nose burns with ice. Everything hurts, but in a sharp way—the pain is magnified in dreaming. Ah, this is a dream, isn’t it?

He tries to sit up, but he’s bound by white silk—bound so tightly to the altar, he can’t move his arms or legs. Panic bleeds into his body, hot and bright, and he shivers violently against the sudden heat.

The altar. 

His eyes adjust to the brightness, to the gleam of frosted white marble, sparkles of snow and dust hanging suspended in the air. Bai Wuxiang, his image clouded and distorted about him. His smiling-laughing mask is sparkling with frost, too. 

The black sword melts into his skin, disappearing from view and returning covered in glistening black liquid. Black liquid rushes out onto the white altar, dripping soundlessly to the snow-covered floor. Xie Lian’s vision whites out at the pain, excruciating to the point of unbearable. 

Xie Lian is screaming, but it is silent—the silence is weighty, like a heavy blanket of snow, smothering all sound. His lungs burn, and the corners of his mouth tear. The faceless people plunging the sword into his throat, into his heart, into his stomach, are shouting, too. Their mouths are open, their eyes filled with terror and disgust, and Xie Lian isn’t a person anymore. He’s a mound viscera—of white bones and black black blood and grey flesh. He isn’t a person anymore. 

The agony of it. Oh, the agony. 

“Wu Ming. Settle down.”

The black sword plunges in again and again. Black blood bubbles and steams, severed veins sticking to white bones. His heart no longer beats. It sits there, like a slug, until someone takes the sword to it, too, spearing it through. 

“Wu Ming!”

Xie Lian isn’t a person anymore. 

He is nothing. 

He is nothing. 

And yet, he is screaming. 

His throat burns. 

His eyes burn. 

He is nothing. 

“Wu Ming! Wake up!”

He screams into the silence, “Help me. Help me, help me, help me! HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP! IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!”

“Wu Ming!”

“Why can’t I die? WHY CAN’T I DIE? IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!”

Someone grasps his chin, hard enough to drag him from his terror. 

Xie Lian gasps, his body flailing, his heart polishing his ribs with every pulse. 

“Yin Yu. Undo the restraints.”

“Chengzhu.”

An agonised wail rattles his ear drums, shredding his throat—and oh, how his body hurts. He gasps for breath, his eyes fluttering open. 

And he stills, his body going instantly limp. 

The echo of his own screaming rings in his ears. There is no blood, no sword. Bai Wuxiang—Jun Wu—is imprisoned beneath Mt. Tonglu. 

It was a dream. 

It was a dream.

It was a dream, and yet, his heart thrashes, his breathing ragged, as his gaze meets with a familiar onyx eye. Such a beautiful, soulful eye, shimmering and as bright as the night sky, and Xie Lian is caught between the rush of elation and the sharp plunge of sorrow. San Lang. His beloved. His gracious, noble someone. 

Hua Cheng is wearing his true form, the crimson bead tied to the end of his braid, a black eyepatch adorned with silver butterflies covering his missing eye. Inky-black hair cascades over his shoulders, and his moon-pale skin glows in the half light. He is as beautiful as a dream and as dangerous as a nightmare. Xie Lian can’t catch his breath. The longing is palpable, and his belly burns. 

The long, elegant fingers holding his chin release him, and he mourns the loss. His body sinks into the altar. No, not an altar, but some kind of cot. More comfortable than his mat in the cottage of Mt. Taicang, but still quite hard. 

Hua Cheng watches him carefully, his gaze assessing. “You were right about one thing, Daozhang. You have a skill for survival. I’ll give you that.”

The room expands around him. Quiet, crimson, shadowed. It’s a small room. An arm chair and a low table. Candles gutter. A long window, caked with phosphorescent snow, and the vivid indigo of twilight floods the window sill. Snow falls softly on the trees beyond. 

Xie Lian’s stomach churns. The last of the restraints are removed, and Xie Lian jerks upright, his mind in chaos. The altar dream lingers on the periphery, and he shakes, digging his fingers into the blankets to ground himself. But it’s no use. Yin Yu is there just in time for him to vomit blood and stomach acid into a wooden basin. 

“I—” Xie Lian chokes on a mouthful of blood. He vomits again, and when he’s finished, Yin Yu wipes his bloodied mouth with a cloth and guides his head back down onto the cot. 

“Shh. Don’t try to speak,” Hua Cheng says, and Xie Lian searches for warmth and care in his voice. But there isn’t any. Of course there isn’t any. Hua Cheng doesn’t remember him. Hua Cheng doesn’t…doesn’t…ah…he needs to keep his wits about him. He needs to focus. He is out of the dungeon! This is good! Progress has been made!  

“Thank fuck the screaming has stopped.” A dark, watery voice carries from the corner of the room. He Xuan leans against the wall, his arms crossed. His black robes glisten in the low lantern light. He looks thin—gaunt as one of his bone fish—and his full lips are tinged with blue. 

“Huh.” He Xuan leers at Xie Lian, his liquid blue eyes brimming with malice. Xie Lian can only see him holding Shi Wudu’s head, waves of resentful energy radiating from him, and the hairs on the back of Xie Lian's neck stand on end. “The idiot boy has intelligent eyes. Surprising. Obviously mortal. No spiritual powers to speak of, unless they’ve been hidden away by someone powerful. But given his apparent martial prowess and his knowledge of your stupid bead, I can only surmise he was sent by the Heavens as a spy.”

Ah. So He Xuan doesn’t recognise him, either. Not that Xie Lian had expected him to. It seems that no ghost remembers him. But why is this happening? If Hua Cheng is cursed, why do other ghosts not remember him? His head throbs, and he can still feel the phantom claw in his chest, like a sword impaling him. The more he tries to focus his thoughts, the more his head aches. 

“I’m…I’m not a spy,” Xie Lian replies weakly. 

“I said quiet, Wu Ming.” Hua Cheng says, his gaze narrowing. 

“Wu Ming,” He Xuan scoffs. “Really?”

Yin Yu sighs. His mask rests on the side of his head, and his complexion is wan, his eyes tired. He wrings out the bloodied cloth in a pail of water and begins dabbing the now-sealed wound on Xie Lian’s chest. “The Heavens are in chaos. They have little care for ghost kings at the moment. They have yet to elect a new emperor. No one can agree.”

“They’ll choose that Flower Crowned Martial God. He is the one who defeated Jun Wu, after all,” He Xuan says.

Xie Lian's head jerks up. He tries not to look too interested in the conversation.

“The Flower Crowned Martial God has declined. He has no wish for the throne and spends little time in the Heavenly capital.” Yin Yu sounds like he’s barely tolerating He Xuan’s presence. 

“Yeah? Did your idiotic shidi tell you that? Not the most reliable source of information.”

“Maybe not, but Quan Yizhen reports without filter or speculation. And apart from him, we have no intel in the heavens—not anymore. But this one is still curious to hear Black Water Sinking Ship’s opinion on what reason the heavens could have for sending some mortal boy as a spy.”

“Forgive my paranoia when the Flower Crowned Martial God destroyed Bai Wuxiang, the oldest and strongest ghost king, as if it was nothing. The esteemed laughing stock is suspicious at best. I will be keeping my eye on him—especially until Crimson Rain’s situation—”

“Quiet, both of you,” Hua Cheng snaps. “Don’t open your yaps unless you have something useful to say. You two fight like bored lovers.”

He Xuan huffs in exasperation, but Yin Yu falls strangely silent. 

Hua Cheng looks up sharply. His eyes narrow on the Waning Moon officer. “What.”

“It’s nothing, Chengzhu. Only that…with regards to the Flower Crowned Martial God. Quan Yizhen has been insisting I know him personally—that we are friends. There were other wilder claims, which don’t bear repeating. But it struck me as odd.”

Xie Lian sucks in a breath. He hides his shaking hands beneath the blanket. 

He Xuan laughs darkly. “Your shidi really is deranged.”

“I’d like to have a little chat with your shidi.” Hua Cheng inspects his immaculate matte-black fingernails, but a smirk graces his lips. 

Yin Yu visibly stiffens. “Chengzhu—”

“Relax, Yin Yu. I won’t lay a finger on him,” Hua Cheng mocks. “I’d just like to hear more about these other wilder claims. The ones that don’t bear repeating.”

Yin Yu frowns, and turns his attention back to Xie Lian.

In a violent burst, He Xuan surges forward and wraps his cold blue fingers around Xie Lian’s throat. Xie Lian cries out in surprise, suppressing the instinct to fight back. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He Xuan roars. “Are you a spy from the heavens? If you don’t start giving up some answers, I will devour you whole.”

Before Xie Lian can respond, He Xuan flies across the room in a furious black streak. He crashes into the wall, splinters of wood raining down around him. Hua Cheng’s aura pulses around him, his wild hair billowing around his shoulders. The air is so thick with killing intent, Xie Lian can’t breathe. 

Yin Yu backs against the wall, as if he is trying to be invisible. 

“I thought I was clear. No one touches what is mine.” Hua Cheng looks down at He Xuan with disdain.

A shiver goes down Xie Lian’s spine, and he can’t help the hope that floods his heart. 

He Xuan’s face splits into a grin, teeth like a shark. It’s still Ming Yi’s face, glimmering turquoise eyes and unkind smile, handsome and cold, but with the blackness of He Xuan’s aura, he is striking. “I should have known Crimson Rain would take a particular liking to this one. Just keep it in your pants until you know what he’s after.”

Keep it in his…what does that mean? Xie Lian’s stomach plummets, and he fears for a moment that he will vomit again. Has Hua Cheng…has he been…has he had lovers in the nine months since he’s been back? His eyes prick hot and he takes slow breaths as the enormity of it all presses down on him. Hua Cheng is obviously a sexual being. It’s just that, for the past 800 years, that has all been directed at Xie Lian, even if Xie Lian didn't know he existed. And now? Of course…of course San Lang has…um…needs. And he doesn’t know Xie Lian. 

He doesn’t know him. 

He doesn’t…ah, but even if he gets his memories back, now that he has experienced the world without Xie Lian, who’s to say Hua Cheng will even want him anymore?

He Xuan continues, “If I was in your situation, Crimson Rain, I’d be doing things differently, that’s for sure. Fucking lunatic.” He rises to his feet, throws a pair of dice in the air—dice that have certainly been gifted by Hua Cheng—and disappears through a portal. Probably back to his territory, wherever that is now.

Yin Yu dusts his sleeves off and resumes his ministrations, wiping away the rest of the blood. Deftly, he begins bandaging the wound on his chest. He wipes the blood from Xie Lian’s chin. Xie Lian shivers violently. 

“I—thank you,” Xie Lian says, swallowing back his tears. “Um…I can do this though.”

Yin Yu ignores him. “Does Chengzhu not think he’s a spy?”

Hua Cheng levels Xie Lian with a dark look. Xie Lian is helpless to resist his gaze, and his mouth falls open. “He’s lying about something, but he is no spy for the heavens. Isn’t that right, Wu Ming?”

“If Lord Crimson Rain doesn’t think so, this one must not be.” Xie Lian gasps as the wound through his chest flares with pain. It has started to bleed again. It’s so akin to the dowel in his heart, he is momentarily dizzy. He’s falling apart. He needs to get it together. Quickly.

“Chengzhu, more spiritual power is required.”

Hua Cheng pushes off from the wall and offers a hand to Xie Lian. “Your hand, Wu Ming.”

Xie Lian stares at Hua Cheng’s offered hand for a beat too long before hurriedly resting his own in Hua Cheng’s palm, shivering as their fingers thread. Yin Yu looks away awkwardly. Xie Lian’s hand is as pale as Hua Cheng’s. The Ghost King’s skin even feels slightly warm against his own, and Xie Lian shudders, his heart picking up speed again. Hua Cheng’s hand is so large. Xie Lian can only stare at their fingers intertwined. 

Spiritual energy floods Xie Lian, and his body receives it as a mortal would—that is to say, it floods his meridians sluggishly and sits there, but his chest tingles with heat, the skin stitching closed. 

Yin Yu wipes his hands on a dry towel and departs without a word. Does Yin Yu think…is he leaving alone because he thinks…

Hua Cheng doesn’t lift his gaze from Xie Lian as Yin Yu leaves. He releases Xie Lian’s hand and drops into the armchair next to the cot. He sprawls out, taking up the entire room with his presence. His long limbs should be ungainly, like an arrogant teenager, but he has the presence of a jungle cat, graceful and dangerous. He continues to watch Xie Lian carefully. 

“Is Daozhang ready to talk?”

“Oh, um. Of course. Though I don’t really have anything new to say, I’d be happy to answer any questions Lord Crimson Rain Sought Flower might have.”

Hua Cheng steeples his hands beneath his chin. “Nothing new to add, you say. I don’t recall you mentioning your martial abilities.”

“Ah, but Lord Crimson Rain didn’t ask.”

“Careful with the sass, Wu Ming. I’d really prefer not to have to worry about you in the dungeons anymore.” He crosses his impossibly long legs and pins Xie Lian with his gaze. “How old is Daozhang, then? Hmn? He mentioned he’s older than he looks.”

“En. Much older, in fact.”

“Older than me?” Hua Cheng grins wickedly. 

“I don’t know how old the ghost king is,” Xie Lian whispers. 

“Wow, Gege. I thought with age came wisdom. Lying to the Ghost King. Tsk, tsk.”

Gege. 

Hua Cheng called him…Gege. 

Xie Lian’s heart thrums and he hides the tears that gather in the corners of his eyes. His teeth begin to chatter again. Hua Cheng is teasing him. Hua Cheng thinks Xie Lian is a stupid mortal boy. Calling him Gege is meant to embarrass him, but he can’t help the thrill that warms him through.

“I…I…”

“What’s wrong, Gege? Not used to having to think up lies on the spot?” His gaze narrows on something on the floor, and he nudges it with the toe of his fine, polished boot. “Your sack of treasures, I presume?”

Ah. His bag of scraps is dirty and has a hole in one corner. Heat rises to his cheeks, especially when Hua Cheng fixes him with a disparaging look and dumps the sack’s contents on the floor without ceremony. 

Xie Lian squirms. “Ah, ha ha ha ha, I…please…um…it’s a little dirty, you see. Maybe I should—”

Hua Cheng picks through the contents on the floor. Two old vases that Xie Lian thought could be polished up and sold. A rusted knife with lovely engravings, which Hua Cheng pockets. Scrolls and figurines, the piece of wood Xie Lian has been carving…it wasn’t much. As a matter of fact, it was a pitiful collection, and Xie Lian’s cheeks burned hotter. Hua Cheng has never, ever gone through his stuff before. Xie Lian is ashamed. His scant possessions look so ridiculous in a heap on the floor like this. He is ridiculous. His whole existence is ridiculous. 

“Gege. I’m afraid to say, this really is just a bunch of garbage.”

Xie Lian is flustered, and he pressed his hands to his burning cheeks. Hua Cheng laughs, his silvery jewellery shining in the lantern light. His sumptuous crimson robes are of the finest silk, and his hair is soft and glossy, perfumed with fragrant rose oil. 

“Ah, but Lord Crimson Rain, it takes a rare talent to discern the difference between trash and hidden treasure,” Xie Lian finally says, with bitterness beneath his tongue.

“Sure.” Something in Hua Cheng’s eyes darkens and he rises to his feet, stepping around the pile of scraps. “Well, Gege, for obvious reasons, I can’t keep you in the dungeons for 50 years. So I’ve decided to keep you close. Since you have so graciously exposed the gap in my security team, you will be filling said gap, since apparently Gege can fight so well.” The Ghost King grins, and his smile is like knives. “I will keep you close. But if I find you to be false, never mind Black Water Sinking Ships devouring you. I will eat you alive."

A barely repressed shiver slips down his spine—a strange sensation, hot and cold, liquid and heavy, rushes through him.

“I assume I can leave Gege untied, since he seems to dislike it so much?”

Xie Lian nods again. 

“Fine. Anyway, if you run, I will find you. I will hunt you down like prey. And then what happens, Gege?”

“You’ll…you’ll eat me alive.”

“A fast learner.” Hua Cheng smirks. “Obedient.”

Xie Lian closes his eyes, but in the darkness of his mind, all he can see is Hua Cheng dispersing into a cloud of wraith butterflies, and he shudders. When he opens his eyes again, Hua Cheng is gone. His only company is the flickering of the lanterns, and the howling storm.

“Gege, I’ll come back to you. Please believe me.”

A hot tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When Yin Yu returns, he seems unsurprised to find Xie Lian alone. “Come. I’ll show you to your new lodgings. You can eat your dinner there and report to me in the morning. Can you walk?”

Xie Lian nods and slips out of the cot. He follows Yin Yu out of the small room. 

He is surprised to find they are in Paradise Manor, perhaps in a staff wing. But they don’t stay long. Yin Yu leads him through the entry courtyard and back toward the Gambler’s Den. The snow is falling heavier now, and Xie Lian hugs his torso as they ascend the rickety steps to the back entrance. 

It must be 2 or 3 in the morning, but the Gambler’s Den is as busy as ever. Xie Lian has been through the staff hallways once before, but it’s different now. No one knows him. No one calls him “Grand Uncle” or gives him gifts. As a matter of fact, they glare at him, or at the very least, eye him with suspicion. 

On one of the upper floors, there is a wide hallway lit only by lanterns. Light leaks front beneath the paper sliding doors of rooms. Yin Yu leads him to the end, and stops in front of the last paper door. 

“This is your room. Dinner will be brought to you shortly.” He looks Xie Lian up and down, at his worn, torn, and bloodied robes. “A uniform will be brought to you as well. And Wu Ming? Try not to get yourself killed. Mortals aren’t exactly high on the food chain here.”

Xie Lian, exhausted, can only nod. 

Yin Yu sighs, and disappears down the hall once more. Xie Lian slides the door to his new room open. 

It’s small, lit by lanterns. Two narrow beds on either side, and a window open to the swirling snow. 

Standing by the window, is his new roommate. Their eyes meet in mutual surprise. 

“So Daozhang is alive after all,” says the ghost with slippery grey skin and hundreds of eyes on his wet face. 

Chapter Text

Xie Lian tucks his sack of scraps beneath the bed out of sight. The lantern on the pocked wooden table hisses and whispers. Floors below, the Gambler’s Den is a riot of revelry, and Xie Lian wonders if Hua Cheng has returned to his seat behind the crimson curtain—wonders if Hua Cheng is thinking of him, too, without knowing why. 

His head still throbs, but that’s fine. The familiar warmth of Hua Cheng’s spiritual energy still pulses in his veins. Just for a moment, he allows it to circulate, and a few ribs snap back into place. Xie Lian grits his teeth and grimaces. 

“You good?” his new roommate says. He’s leaning against the wall, watching Xie Lian carefully with his hundreds of eyes. Each eye is a different colour—a veritable blinking rainbow. There are rainbows beneath his grey skin, too, shimmering across his lean, muscled body, lending the appearance of a watery sheen. It is the body of a warrior, certainly. And he’s absolutely massive—taller than Hua Cheng and broad across the shoulders, tapering to an alarmingly narrow waist.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Xie Lian smiles awkwardly and scratches his cheek. This ghost—his new roommate—was there with the three humanoid ghosts who’d attacked him in the dungeons. “I’m, ah, sorry about your…friends.”

“Not my friends. They got what they deserved.” Hundreds of eyes blink. “As soon as he put hands on you, I went for help. No one touches what belongs to the boss man.”

The boss man. 

Hua Cheng. 

Devastation ranked ghost and lord to Ghost City. 

San Lang has always been impressive—even when he was just a boy on an ox cart, he had such presence. 

Hua Cheng is the type of leader that incites fervour in his subjects. The type of king that inspires awe and loyalty and terror. He built Ghost City from the ground up, affording refuge to the vulnerable while simultaneously containing the more dangerous types of ghosts, keeping them away from the Mortal Realm. And Hua Cheng reigns over it all. 

He is magnificent. This is not new information, but it hits Xie Lian differently now that he’s seeing it from the other side of the line, another head in the crowd looking up at the all-powerful ghost king. Xie Lian’s heart burns with pride. His Hong Hong’er has come so far. His Wu Ming. His San Lang.

There is a soft knock at the door, pulling Xie Lian from his thoughts. It slides open, and a ghost in purple Gambler’s Den robes—no face, no visible limbs—floats into the room. The ghost carries a tea tray with steaming mugs and bowls and a plate of buns. The tray is suspended in the air in front of it, and not a tea cup rattles. The ghost rests the tray on the table, canting its head to the side as it turns to Xie Lian. It bows. 

Goosebumps trace the back of Xie Lian’s neck. He bows in return. When he raises his head, the ghost is gone. 

“You coming?” His new roommate is holding the dinner tray, one foot out the window. 

Xie Lian follows him out onto the expanse of xieshan rooftop overlooking Ghost City. The snow is falling softly now, and in the distance, the clouds part, revealing glittering indigo sky. 

The many-eyed ghost sits near the edge, cross-legged on the silver-frosted tiles. Xie Lian drops down next to him, tucking his feet beneath his robes. It’s chilly, and Xie Lian’s robes are still damp with blood and torn through, but the crimson glow of the city warms him in a way heat never could. 

The ghost sets the tea tray between them and pours them each a cup of fragrant jasmine tea. Steam billows between his spindly grey fingers. “What’s your name, kid?”

Xie Lian shakes his head to clear his thoughts and attempts a convincing smile. “This one is called Wu Ming.”

“Eh?” He gives Xie Lian a dubious look. “That was the best you could come up with?”

Xie Lian clasps his shaking hands together. Wu Ming. Xie Lian is undeserving of the name, even as he fights to break his beloved’s curse, and his belly burns with shame. “En. In the moment.”

“Ha. Okay, Wu Ming. I’m Yin Hai.”

“How long have you worked for Hua Chengzhu, Yin Hai?” Xie Lian asks. 

“150 years, give or take. And before you ask, I, too, lost a bet against the Ghost King. Can’t say I have anything to complain about though. My life is better now than it was before, and so I stayed on once my debt was paid. It’s a good gig. Pays well.” Yin Hai nudges the plate of buns toward Xie Lian. “Here, eat something.”

Xie Lian takes one of the still-steaming buns from the plate. There is also fish stew and a small platter of dates. Xie Lian hasn’t been presented with such wonderful food in months. Years, maybe. 

He takes a bite of bun. It’s filled with delicately spiced mushrooms, tender and savoury. Flavours explode on his tongue, but his stomach churns, and he only just forces himself to swallow. 

He looks out over the city, to the crowds and chaos, the softly bobbing paper lanterns. Music carries gently on the wind. Xie Lian’s thoughts are still. His body still. Below, the city buzzes like a hive of bees. Bedlam and frivolity in the streets. Shouting. Laughter. Rage. Brutality. Joy.

Xie Lian is removed from it all. 

He spent 800 years alone. And that was fine. It would still be fine, had Hua Cheng not burst into his cold grey life in vivid technicolour, all passion and violence and love and tenderness. Not that Xie Lian would trade it for the world. But he isn’t sure how to go back to cold, muted greys. To silence and solitude. 

Ah, but at least he knows Hua Cheng is safe. He has seen no signs of a curse eating away at Hua Cheng, no resentful energy, no symptoms of fading without his tether. And now Xie Lian is where he needs to be: Close. Close enough to carefully watch for clues, to try and spy any tells in Hua Cheng’s mannerisms. Close enough to wait for the curse to betray itself while he researches. He’s always been good at this sort of thing. He understands curses very well.

But still, his heart is saturated with dread—with unease. What will happen if he doesn’t get to the bottom of this curse, for certainly it is a powerful curse—powerful enough to swallow the entire ghost realm and every ghost within. And wouldn’t Hua Cheng have visited Qiandeng Temple? Or even the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods? Xie Lian knows Hua Cheng likes to paint and sculpt the Flower Crowned Martial God. Would he not recognise Wu Ming from such pieces?

The wind catches his hair, and he breathes deeply of the snow-sharp air. When he looks up again, Yin Hai is watching him with hundreds of tiny rainbow eyes. 

“You’re not eating your dinner.”

“Oh, ah, I was”—Xie Lian takes another bite of his bun—“lost in thought,” he says around a mouthful.

Yin Hai frowns. “So, I’m told you’ll be on security detail now. I have put my trust fully in the boss man, so if he doesn’t think you’re a liability, I have to assume he knows what he’s doing. But this is a dangerous job, for which you are ill equipped, kid. And it’s been even more dangerous of late.”

The back of Xie Lian’s neck prickles cold, and dread stacks along his spine. So things are different in Ghost City? Could it be because of the curse? “What do you mean? Has something changed?” 

“Hmn. Yeah. Something’s off. Ever since the boss man came back this most recent time, things have been different.”

Xie Lian takes a shaky breath. “Different how?”

“Just off, I dunno. Chengzhu has bumped up security since he came back from his year away. More meetings with Black Water Sinking Ships. We’ve sustained more attacks on Ghost City from upstarts, and there’s been extra chaos in the Gambler’s Den. So. That being said, I won’t have time to keep my eye out for a vulnerable little mortal boy.”

Xie Lian suddenly feels very tired. He longs for the abyss of sleep. Just for a few moments. Just to gain some strength and mental fortitude. “Ah. I can fight. You needn’t worry about me.”

“I won’t.” 

“Ah, is there…anything else? If I’m working with the security team, I should probably know what to watch out for.” Xie Lian attempts to keep his tone neutral. He’s relieved his voice doesn’t shake. 

Yin Hai shrugs and drowns his tea. “Hmn. Boss man has been different, too, I suppose. Wilder. More unpredictable than usual. Almost like Tonglu is about to open again or something. That kind of frenetic energy.”

Mt. Tonglu. Memories lurk in the dark corner of Xie Lian’s mind—of Hua Cheng kissing him senseless, Hua Cheng’s hands all over Xie Lian’s body—desperation, heat, frenzied passion. Hua Cheng had been wild, insatiable, unquenchable. The curse has erased Hua Cheng’s memories and devotion. Has it, too, removed his inhibitions and ignited his previously restrained passions? Without the restrictions of his loyalty, how do Hua Cheng’s desires manifest?

Xie Lian’s heart thuds in his ears. He doesn’t want to know. He’s better off not knowing. If Hua Cheng has taken lovers…Xie Lian…he shouldn’t… 

“Wilder? Do you mean, that is to say, does Hua Chengzhu…ah…take lovers?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know!

Yin Hai gives him a look. “You want to know about Chengzhu’s sex life? I’m not sure what kind of half-baked romantic ideas you have in your head, Wu Ming, but you’d do well to mind your own business. What Chengzhu does behind the red curtain is not your concern.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks flame hot. “Ah, ah ha ha ha, no! I mean, I didn’t mean…aha, that isn’t what I was asking!”

Yin Hai grunts and stuffs an entire bun in his mouth, followed by the entire bowl of fish stew. 

It has stopped snowing, and the night expands around them, yawing out to the ends of time. The stars shiver, cold and bright, and the waxing crescent moon is a curved splinter of glass. 

The pain in Xie Lian’s heart sharpens. What if San Lang is down there now, kissing someone else? Will he be taking some gorgeous creature to his bed tonight, while Xie Lian was up here eating buns on a roof? He supposes he’s never quite understood why the beautiful, powerful, brilliant, wild, Crimson Rain Sought Flower would be interested in Xie Lian—Xie Lian, the twice banished laughing stock—trash god. Plain and awkward, wearing threadbare robes. Xie Lian who talks too much of nothing, who can’t cook. Who has nothing to his name but a sack of scraps and a tumble-down shack. What does he have to offer such a magnificent being? 

If Hua Cheng gets to know him now—without their shared memories, without the hero worship and idolatry—he will probably despise Xie Lian. Xie Lian, meek and pathetic, who destroyed his own kingdom. Whose own parents couldn’t bear to be around him any more. Whose friends all left. Who couldn’t even save his last believer. 

Even if Hua Cheng gets his memories back, he might prefer his new life without Xie Lian dragging him down, now that he’s seen what it can be like. 

Xie Lian swallows past the lump in his throat. All of his terrible emotions and fears rise to the surface quicker than he can suppress them, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. His lungs burn and his throat aches. Sorrow clenches his heart, but he smiles as he gazes out over the city, the lantern lights blurring.

Ah, it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting his beloved’s memories back, and what comes next is up to Hua Cheng. Xie Lian just wants him to be safe. Happy. Because Hua Cheng deserves all the happiness in the world. His kind, beautiful, brilliant San Lang. Really, he is so proud. So proud. 

“Wu Ming.” Yin Hai’s voice startles Xie Lian from his thoughts. 

“Hmn?”

“Eat.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After they’ve eaten, Yin Hai shows him to the staff baths on the floor below. It’s a large room, larger than some of the bath houses in Xianle, encased in cedar wood, and the deep water of the pool ripples with steam. 

Xie Lian rinses away the residual blood and sweat with a pail before submerging himself in the bath, and he washes his hair with the bar of soap Yin Hai has sent with him. The wound through his chest has mostly stitched back together, though it stings a little as the soapy water foams over it. His head still throbs, but only a little. 

Xie Lian floats for a while with an empty mind, his bones creaking, his grief-muffled thoughts dissolving into steam. Soon, his eyes grow heavy, and it feels as if the whole world is underwater. He hauls himself out of the pool and towels dry, then dresses in the soft sleeping robes that have been supplied and wraps his wet hair in a top knot. When he returns to his new room, Yin Hai is already fast asleep, his large grey feet hanging off the end of the bed. 

It is snowing, and the room is eerily silent. Xie Lian crawls into his new bed and shivers beneath the covers. He touches his wrist, searching for Ruoye’s comfort, but for the first time in 800 years, Ruoye is not there. Ah, Xie Lian hopes his sweet little demon is okay. He can’t help the pang of worry. 

Now that he’s in bed, the intrusive thoughts and memories return. He tosses and turns, too hot, too cold, the blankets bunching. His dinner is a stone in his belly, and the still-healing wound on his chest itches. 

When it becomes clear that sleep won’t be possible, he quietly tugs his sack of scraps from beneath the bed and fishes out one of the vases. He begins polishing it and filling imperfections until it is gleaming in the moonlight. Ah, see? Such a pretty piece! He can probably get some coin for it. Enough to begin saving for new robes, perhaps.

Just as he’s setting the first vase aside and reaching for the other, a flash of silver catches his eye. At first he thinks it’s the reflection of moonlight, but there’s another. And another. 

Death Spirit butterflies dance around him. One lands on his cheek, its tiny legs tickling, another in his hair, clinging to his top knot. Xie Lian gasps and watches them with wonder in his heart. San lang is thinking about him. San Lang is curious enough about him to send his little spies to catch a glimpse. He holds out a shaky finger for one to land on, his heart hammering in his ears. Emotion swells in his chest. Is it relief? Is it fear? Is it grief? He’s too caught up in the moment to tell, his pulse thrumming, and his breathing ragged. 

“Don’t move.”

Yin Hai is awake, sitting up in bed. He watches Xie Lian—or the silvery butterflies, rather—with a blank expression. 

“Just, don’t move. Don’t speak.”

“Ah, Yin Hai, it’s—”

“Quiet,” Yin Hai hisses.

Xie Lian releases a slow breath. Butterflies flutter lazily around him, crawling on the blanket, on the sleeves of his robes. One lands on the wound on his chest, investigating. His vision blurs—silver light stretching into thin strands. He shudders, and the tears spill down his face. 

“So cute. You’re all such cute little spies,” Xie Lian whispers, tasting salt on his tongue. 

After a few moments, the butterflies dissolve, and Xie Lian is left in the cold moonlight. He mourns the loss of the butterflies. His heart slows. His breathing slows. He aches.

“Fuck,” Yin Hai whispers. “You’d better be on your best behaviour, Wu Ming. The boss man has his eye on you.”

Xie Lian nods numbly. 

After a few moments, Yin Hai grunts and turns over in bed, pulling the covers up over his head. He mutters something about idiotic mortal boys, but soon he is snoring again. 

Xie Lian shivers and rests his head on the pillow. He watches the rustling shadows and only manages to drift off to sleep just before dawn. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When Xie Lian awakes, Yin Hai is gone, his bed neatly made. A stack of folded clothes waits on the table. Xie Lian slips out of bed and pads toward it. It appears to be the standard issue uniform of the security team, the same black robes and pants as Yin Hai wears. 

He puts them on. They fit perfectly. The black pants and top are a strange material, thick and padded—they cling to his body like a second skin, and he flushes. He’s never worn anything so form fitting. Grateful for another layer, he slips on the outer robe, also black, falling just below the knee. The pair of black boots are next, thick soled and rigid. 

The red coral bead is still in the pockets of his ruined robes. He takes his hair down, secures the bead in a thin braid, and piles his hair atop his head once more, tucking the bead out of sight. 

The bedroom door slides open, and Xie Lian turns around expecting to see Yin Hai come to fetch him. But it isn’t Yin Hai. 

Xie Lian’s mouth falls open. Then closes. Then opens once more.

“Your….your HIGHNESS!” Shi Qingxuan stands before him in the purple robes of the Gambler’s Den staff, carrying a breakfast tray.

“Lord Wind Master!” 

Shi Qingxuan all but drops the breakfast tray on the table and sweeps Xie Lian into a bone-crushing embrace. “But what are you doing here, Your Highness? Does Hua Cheng…why…ha ha ha ha ha ha, Your Highness, why are you dressed in a security uniform?”

Xie Lian squirms out of Shi Qingxuan’s hold. “Shhhh, please, please, keep your voice down!”

He peeks outside the door. The hall is empty and quiet. No sign of Yin Hai. He slides the door closed. 

Shi Qingxuan is watching him with wide turquoise eyes. “What’s happening?” they whisper. 

“It’s, ah…it’s complicated. But Wind Master, please, you mustn’t use my name or title. My name is Wu Ming for now.”

“Wu Ming,” Shi Qingxuan repeats.

Xie Lian sighs, but he’s flooded with warmth. He’s only been in Ghost City a short time, but seeing a familiar face is a balm to his weary heart. “Wind Master, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, Ming-Xiong—” They pause. “I mean, He Xuan got me the job here a few months ago. He was very pushy about it, really! Says the capital is too cold to be wandering around without shoes like an idiot. Ha ha ha ha!”

“Lord Black Water got you the job?” 

“En.”

“And he knows who you are?”

“Ha ha ha ha, Your High—I mean, Wu Ming! You do say the strangest things. Of course He Xuan knows who I am. We’ve known each other for centuries!”

Ah. It is only Xie Lian that has been forgotten. 

“And Hua Cheng?” Xie Lian asks, wringing his hands. “Does he remember Lord Wind Master?”

Shi Qingxuan scrunches up their brow. “Oh, actually, I haven’t had the chance to speak with your San Lang yet, but it hasn’t been that long since we saw each other last. And He Xuan did get me the job here. But what are you doing here? And why are you dressed in the security uniform?”

Xie Lian drops onto the bed and covers his face with his hands. “Hua Cheng doesn’t remember this one.”

“Your Highness! Oops, I mean, Wu Ming! What are you talking about? How could Crimson Rain not remember you?”

“He’s been cursed. I’ve taken the job here to get near him…to try to find a way of breaking it. I’m here undercover. No one can know who I am. And Lord Wind Master—”

“I go by Old Feng now.”

“Apologies. Old Feng. Please, no one can know who I am.”

The bed sinks beside Xie Lian, and Shi Qingxuan puts their arm around his shoulder. “You can count on me! After all, Wu Ming is my bestest friend!”

The door slides open, and both Xie Lian and Shi Qingxuan jump. Yin Hai stands in the doorway, already dressed in his security uniform. If he thinks it’s strange that Xie Lian and Shi Qingxuan are sitting together, Qingxuan’s arm around his shoulders, it doesn’t show. 

“Time to start, Wu Ming. We are on patrol today.” And then he’s gone, leaving the door open. 

Shi Qingxuan grabs Xie Lian’s hand and squeezes. “Don’t worry, Wu Ming. We will figure it out. Meet me here tonight, after dinner. I know somewhere we can speak privately. I owe you a debt, and I can—”

“You owe me nothing,” Xie Lian interrupts. “But I shall be grateful for your company nonetheless.”

Shi Qingxuan squeezes Xie Lian’s hand one more time. Xie Lian rises to his feet, and follows Yin Hai into the hall. 

“Careful of that one, too,” Yin Hai says as they hurry down the steps toward the main hall of the Gambler’s Den. “Black Water Sinking Ships is a jealous ghost. If he’d seen what I just saw, he would flay you alive.”

Xie Lian nearly chokes. “Ah, it isn’t like that. Qingxuan is an old friend.”

Yin Hai sighs. “It’s going to be harder to keep you alive than I thought.”

They pass through a narrow door and down an even narrower set of stairs. Once they leave the staff quarters behind, they are thrust into the throngs of chaos once more. This level of the Gambler’s Den is dedicated to the private rooms, curtained off by alluring silks. The air is redolent of incense and booze, sweat and blood. Patrons smoke and gamble, drink and shout. Some dance to the lively music. No one pays them any attention as they pass. 

Yin Hai leads him down the grand staircase opposite Hua Cheng’s dais. Immediately, Xie Lian’s heart takes off, and he scans the room for any sign of the Ghost King. Maybe he isn’t here. Maybe he’s in Paradise Manor or in the Mortal Realm somewhere. 

Sweat trickles down his sides and his stomach flutters with nerves. 

“Yin Hai,” someone calls. 

Yin Hai rolls his eyes as a ghost in security uniform approaches. He’s about Xie Lian’s height, with violet eyes and silver fangs. His pink hair is shaved at the sides, the rest gathered into a short ponytail atop his head. He’s strikingly handsome, despite the arrogant look on his face. 

“Wu Ming, this is Ying Ying. You can pretty much ignore everything he says.” Yin Hai crosses his long grey arms. He really does tower over almost everyone in the Gambler’s Den. 

Ying Ying looks Xie Lian up and down. His violet eyes glow bright, and his silvery fangs glint as he smirks. “The rumours are true. The mortal boy is a beauty. Wu Ming. Wuuuuu Miiiing,” he sing songs. “Mhm. I like it.”

“Leave Wu Ming alone.” 

Ying Ying laughs. It’s a soft, pleasant laugh. “Where are we today?”

“Patrol. Where is everyone?”

Through the crowd, Xie Lian catches sight of Yin Yu, his white mask in place. The Waning Moon Officer climbs the steps to the red curtain, his long black robes trailing behind him.

Xie Lian’s heart thrashes like it’s trying to escape, and he watches as Yin Yu parts the curtain and steps inside. Hua Cheng must be in the den tonight, watching over them all. Does he see Xie Lian? Is he drawn to him? Does he feel anything at all, even without his memories?

“Wu Ming! Pay attention!” 

Xie Lian’s gaze jerks back to Yin Hai. A dozen more ghosts in black uniform have assembled, most of them eyeing Xie Lian curiously. 

“Ying Ying, Wu Ming, Mogwai, you’re with me on the Eastern Block.”

“Yes, sir!” says a ghost, presumably Mogwai. His body is humanoid, but his head is a deer skull, and his enormous antlers are decorated with moss, leaves, and flowers. His voice sounds like wind sucking through a tunnel.

“Amida, Fang Ji, Lin Qiu, you’re in the dungeons tonight. Mao Wei, patrol the northern gates. The idiot gods of the southeast and southwest have been spotted lurking about. If they show up again, alert Chengzhu directly. He’d like to have words.”

Xie Lian cringes. What are Mu Qing and Feng Xin doing here? He told them to stay away! 

“The rest of you are in the Gambler’s Den. Waning Moon needs extra hands on deck tonight. It’s going to be a lively one with Chengzhu in.”

And suddenly, they are leaving the Gambler’s Den, out into the crimson snow globe that is Ghost City. Xie Lian, flanked by Mogwai and Ying Ying, glances back over his shoulder. 

Hua Cheng is standing at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He’s wearing the form he wore on the ox cart again, his ponytail messy and off to the side, his robes maple red and lush. Instead of one red and one black eye, both eyes are golden bright. 

And both eyes are fixed on Xie Lian. 

The doors to the Gambler’s Den close behind them, cutting off Xie Lian’s view.

Xie Lian takes a shaky breath. He will find a way to make it right. He has to. If it takes 800 years, he will find a way. 

If this is his last blemished life, it will all be for Hua Cheng. 

Chapter Text

It is violet eventide, and the sky is a cascade of winking stars. The moon hangs low, swollen with light. In a few days it will be full. 

Xie Lian crouches on the tiled roof of the Gambler’s Den, surveying the dizzying network of streets that reach as far as the eye can see. The night market bustles below, and Xie Lian’s stomach turns at the concentrated aroma of sizzling meats of questionable origin. 

It’s been weeks since he’s seen Hua Cheng, and with every passing day, his anxiety grows. Intrusive thoughts invade his mind, and his dreams are laced with horrors. What if Hua Cheng is suffering? What if he begins to fade? What if Xie Lian isn’t strong enough or clever enough to break the curse? What if he never…ah. Ah, he needs to remain focussed. Allowing his thoughts to spiral never ends well. 

A gust of wind blows tinkling icicles across the roof tiles. 

Xie Lian breathes a shuddering sigh. His body is heavy with exhaustion, and time moves in fits and starts. The music and lantern light lulls him into a dreamlike state, the crowds and buildings soft around the edges. 

Despite his lethargy, he cannot ignore the scent of blood on the wind. Something feels off, and the warning pricks at the back of his mind. He rests his hands on the twin blades at his hips—standard issue for security, but still very nice blades. Xie Lian is keen to try them out. 

“Wu Ming is rather single minded in his focus.” Ying Ying is stretched out on his back on the frosted-tile rooftop, pink hair fanned around him. He takes a drag from his hand-rolled cigarette, his glowing lilac gaze lingering on Xie Lian. 

“Ah, sorry sorry, Ying Ying. What were you saying?”

Ying Ying laughs, fluttering his long black lashes. He stares a moment too long, the tip of his pink tongue wetting his lips, and Xie Lian looks away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Xie Lian has encountered many flirts in his 800 years, but Ying Ying is perhaps the most outrageous of them all. Apart from San Lang, that is.

“Hey! You two!” A shout from the street below. Yin Hai and Mogwai stand in the crowd in front of the Gambler’s Den, swords strapped across their backs, arms crossed. 

Ying Ying sits up, finally dragging his gaze from Xie Lian. He takes another long, slow pull of his cigarette, and smoke billows from his mouth. “What.”

“Those idiot generals were spotted again in the market,” Yin Hai says.

“They can’t seem to stay away.” Mogwai’s deer skull mask is painted crimson by the city’s glow. “Let’s go shopping!”

Xie Lian’s anxiety spikes. Feng Xin and Mu Qing must be getting worried if they’ve been stalking Ghost City. He isn’t worried for them, per se. He only hopes they don’t say or do anything to blow his cover. 

Xie Lian and Ying Ying leap down. A few of the street vendors glance their way with interest. 

“We’ll split up,” Yin Hai says, his hundreds of eyes catching the lantern light. “First one to bag a Heavenly Official gets to present them to our lord.”

“You’re on,” Ying Ying says. He threads his fingers with Xie Lian’s and begins pulling him through the crowd at such a pace that Xie Lian has no choice but to be tugged along. 

A shiver goes through him. Ying Ying’s hand is small, like his own. It’s the wrong hand. Everything is wrong. 

Xie Lian pretends to stumble, using it as an excuse to pull his hand away. “Ha ha ha, where should we look first, Ying Ying?”

Ying Ying gives him an appraising look. Then he smiles. “We’ll look later. I’m hungry.”

Despite Xie Lian’s protests, Ying Ying buys them each an order of dumplings, hot and fat. They are stuffed to bursting with pork and ginger. Despite their wonderful smell, Xie Lian's stomach turns. “These are safe for mortals,” Ying Ying teases. “We need to fatten you up, Wu Ming.”

 Xie Lian plasters on a smile. 

But it hurts. 

It hurts that he’s in the Ghost City Night Market with anyone but Hua Cheng. His beloved would have been the one to show him all these wonders, buy him treats from stalls he thought Xie Lian might like, then take him home to Paradise Manor and…ah…that’s as far as his imagination will let him go. Or perhaps it’s his limited knowledge on such subjects more so than his limited imagination. 

Ah, but he remembers what it felt like to be pinned beneath the Ghost King. To have Hua Cheng's hands…everywhere. Including the dangerous places Xie Lian dares not…he dares not think about that. Beneath Hua Cheng, Xie Lian had thrummed with need and a kind of liquid heat he’d never felt before. 

He still blushes every time he thinks about it. 

“What’s that pretty blush for, hmm?” Ying Ying snickers and lights another cigarette. “Do I make you nervous?” He blows smoke from his pretty nose and flutters his eyelashes. In the glow of the crimson lantern light, his hair looks almost fuchsia. 

“Ah ha ha ha ha!” Xie Lian scratches his forehead, loneliness swelling in his chest. “We should keep looking. Perhaps we will be the ones to find those generals and impress Hua Chengzhu.”

“I care more about impressing you right now.” Ying Ying winks and nudges Xie Lian’s bowl of dumplings toward him. “Eat first. Hunt after.”

Once they’ve finished their dinner, they wander through the market. Red paper lanterns sway in the breeze, and frost glistened on the uneven cobblestones beneath their booted feet. The air is redolent with the aroma of grease and incense. Vendors shout, and the crowd presses in on them as they scan the streets. 

Xie Lian pulls his vases from his qiankun pouch and sells them at one of the street vendors for more than he thought he’d get. He smiles to himself as he tucks the coin away. Perhaps he’ll buy Hua Cheng a gift. For when he gets his memories back. He also manages to snatch up some fine wires of varying widths from a pile of scraps behind a stall, and he tucks them away for later. 

When he looks up, he’s lost sight of Ying Ying. Of Yin Hai. Of Mogwai. He doesn’t see a single member of the security team within the crowd. 

He turns, his gaze trailing up and down the streets. He follows a small parade of dancing ghosts banging cymbals and yowling an approximation of music. When he turns the corner, his breath catches. 

At the end of the street, Qiandeng temple looms. It is simple compared to some of the more ornate buildings of Ghost City, but it is breathtaking all the same in its simple elegance. Of course Hua Cheng had known a temple like this would suit him. Hua Cheng has always known him. Often better than he knows himself. 

And now…no one knows him. 

His feet move of their own volition, bringing him toward the temple built just for him. An act of devotion. An act of love. What does San Lang think when he sees it now? Does he appraise it with cold indifference? Confusion? Passion he cannot place? Does it terrify him that he does not know why he built it?

He’s halfway down the street when someone grabs his wrist. Xie Lian turns and comes face-to-face with a dark-eyed ghost with greenish lips and spiky hair, his face scrunched into a hideous glare. 

“Your Highness,” the ghost whispers, and a chill goes through Xie Lian. A ghost. A ghost recognises him? But how? The curse… “What? You’re working security for Ghost City now?”

Ah. 

Never mind. 

Xie Lian would know that tone anywhere. 

Xie Lian slides his wrist out of Mu Qing’s grasp. “Well, yes, actually. It all worked out quite well. But what are you two even doing here? I'm meant to be out hunting you."

“What did you expect? We haven’t heard anything from you in weeks. For all we knew, you were locked in the dungeons.”

Xie Lian doesn’t mention that he was, in fact, locked in the dungeons.

Mu Qing curls his greenish lips. “Why the hell does Hua Cheng still hate us even though he doesn’t remember you?”

“I don’t know.” Xie Lian has been questioning this, but he supposes Hua Cheng’s ire toward Mu Qing and Feng Xin has lingered without him knowing why. Could it be that while the memories are gone, the connected emotions remain? Does that mean that Hua Cheng feels a strong pull to Xie Lian as well?

His eyes burn hot, and he swallows.

“Do you have any news?” Xie Lian asks hopefully. “Have you discovered anything about Hua Cheng’s curse?”

“Not really. But I went to see the Rain Master. To visit Banyue.”

Xie Lian’s mouth falls open in surprise. “Wait, what? You went to see Banyue?” 

“Yeah. So what?” Mu Qing’s dark eyes scan the crowded streets. Maybe looking for Feng Xin. “Anyway. Banyue says she’s never heard of a General Hua, and only seems to remember Crimson Rain Sought Flower slaying those ghosts in the Sinners Pit.”

Xie Lian takes a shaky breath and tries to clear his roaring thoughts. Of course Banyue doesn’t remember him. No ghosts do. “All right. What else? What does she remember?”

“She just said that she has holes in her memory. She knows there was someone else there, but she doesn’t know who or why she can’t remember. She was quite pissy about it.”

Xie Lian thinks for a moment, scratching his cheek. It’s unlikely that Banyue was pissy, and he suspects Mu Qing may have rubbed her the wrong way. “I’ll need to go and speak with her, but I don’t know how I’ll get away.”

“Have you considered just telling him who you are?” Mu Qing sneers. “Then we could be done with all this.”

Xie Lian has, of course, considered this. But he knows it wouldn’t be that easy. Hua Cheng is notoriously distrustful, as a ghost king is wont to be. It would take a lot of convincing to get Hua Cheng to even consider Xie Lian’s explanation, and in the meanwhile, there would be violence. Perhaps even torture. And while that would be fine for Xie Lian—he can handle a little torture—it woudn’t be fine for Hua Cheng once his memories returned. So why risk it? Better to just try to break the curse on his own. 

Mu Qing sighs. “So stubborn. You always think your way is best.”

Xie Lian opens his mouth to reply—

A deafening boom shakes the earth, and the sky splits in two. Dust and debris rains down over the market, and ghosts run and scream, covering their heads. A violent red mushroom cloud blooms above the buildings several streets over, and without pause, Xie Lian leaps up onto the rooftops, Mu Qing calling after him. 

Xie Lian’s ears ring from the explosion. His heart thuds in his throat, cutting off his air supply, but he moves like the wind, vaulting and bounding with the grace of a dancer and the speed of a god. Xie Lian is quite adept at acrobatics. After all, he’s done this type of thing enough in his long life. Though, usually he’s running from a pitchfork-wielding crowd, but that’s neither here nor there.

The streets below are blanketed in smoke and fires rage ahead. Screams and muffled cries carry on the frigid wind. 

Xie Lian’s mind races. Is this an attack launched by one of the upstarts Yin Hai mentioned? Or is this something more? The culprit behind Hua Cheng’s curse finally making a move? Was Hua Cheng in the city? Was he safe?

He flies through the air, rooftop to rooftop, the wind whipping his hair. He lands delicately on the roof of a book shop. Ying Ying lands at his side, blades drawn. Yin Hai crashes to the rooftop ahead of them, spindly grey fingers at his temple. 

“It’s Night Touring Green Lantern,” he shouts. “With an army of goons. Fucking idiot.”

Xie Lian sucks in a breath. Qi Rong? Really? But the last time he saw his unfortunate younger cousin, he’d been a mere ghost fire. 

Ying Ying laughs. “Ooph. He never learns, does he. Well, lucky us. Time for some fun.” 

They are moving again, and soon they reach ground zero. Below, amidst fires and detritus, a small army has amassed, each green ghost with a flickering candle atop their head. In their centre, Qi Rong shouts orders, his green robes fluttering around him, and a demonic mask covering his face. 

On the rooftops adjacent, more of the Ghost city security team has arrived, armed to the teeth with deadly blades and other sinister weapons. Xie Lian sees the beast from the dungeons, with pink fur and horns, a sword in each hand, his lips pulled into a snarl. 

“Take Qi Rong alive.” Yin Hai unsheathes his blades, demonic energy coming off him in waves. “Chengzhu is on his way.”

“You shit stain fucks are in for a surprise!” Qi Rong cackles. He crosses his arms, looking completely at ease surrounded by his minions. Is he really this stupid? Marching into Ghost City, wreaking havoc and challenging Hua Cheng’s hand-picked guards? “I’ll show you what a real ghost king can do!”

Yin Hai crouches down, ready to leap. “Wait for my command.”

A strange whistling bothers Xie Lian’s ears. A hissing in the dark night, hurtling straight for them. His instincts hum, and on reflex, he shouts, “Watch out!”

Xie Lian surges forward and knocks Ying Ying out of the way. A sharp pain sticks the side of his neck. He gasps, reaching up to pluck a dart out from between the knobs of his spine. It’s tiny, with a vibrant green tip. His skin prickles hot, and his vision blurs. His thoughts slow, and a tremor shudders through him. 

Another salvo of darts hail down on them, hitting every security team member. 

No. 

NO!

It’s only then Xie Lian notices the green ghosts on the buildings behind them, previously hidden from view by the billowing smoke. The candles atop their heads gutter, and they laugh uproariously. 

Another shudder goes down Xie Lian’s spine, and his jaw clenches so tight, he fears his teeth will shatter. 

Ah. 

Xie Lian recognises this sensation. He’s felt it many times before. It is the poison from a dragon flower—quite uncommon these days, actually, but very effective on both ghosts and mortals! Even gods! He supposes he’s built up quite the immunity to such poisons, having consumed many (mostly non-lethal) doses over the years. Passive mithridatism, Xie Lian likes to think of it. It comes in handy.

Ying Ying groans and hits the tile roof with a thud, sliding toward the edge. Xie Lian only just manages to reach out just in time to snatch him before he falls. Xie Lian swallows back bile and tries to blink away the dizziness as he grapples to pull Ying Ying into his arms. 

Thankfully Ying Ying isn’t a large man. Maybe only slightly taller than Xie Lian and not much broader. He’s out cold, and Xie Lian shifts him onto his back. Ah, that is until Yin Hai goes down, and Xie Lian only just manages to grab his wrist before he plummets to the earth. There’s no helping the other security team members as they slide down the rooftop, tumbling to the ground below. 

“Wu…Ming…” Yin Hai wheezes. 

“Hold on!” Xie Lian shouts as Ying Ying drools down his neck. The pink-haired ghost grows heavier by the minute!

Grunting, sweat clinging to his body beneath his thick uniform, Xie Lian manages to drag the enormous Yin Hai back onto the rooftop. Yin Hai’s hundreds of eyes roll into the back of his head and then close, his body going limp. 

Below, the green ghosts rush the unconscious security team members, weapons raised. Xie Lian would have to act fast! He settles his fallen companions where they won’t slide, and leaps inelegantly from the rooftop, stumbling when he hits the ground. 

The world is blurry and out of focus. The ground rolls beneath his feet, and bile rises in his throat—his tongue has gone unpleasantly numb. Fingers of light reach from the corner of his vision, and he fears he hasn’t much time before he, too, loses consciousness. 

He can hear Qi Rong shouting nonsense somewhere through the chaos as his minions close in on the fallen security team. Without a thought in his muffled head, Xie Lian unsheathes his blades. 

He doesn’t remember striking. One moment he is flying through the air, launching off the side of the building, and the next, rancid blood sprays across his face. The head of a green ghost rolls at his feet, curls of smoke rising from the candle wick atop its head. 

Then Xie Lian is flying again. His blades slice through the torso of another ghost, and a cascade of blood splatters heavily at his feet. He cuts down another green ghost. And another. He dodges a sloppy hit. Ducks beneath a poorly timed attack. Green guts and blood paint the cobblestones, and Xie Lian swallows acid as he spins his blades, leaving corpses in his wake. Despite his dizziness, he maintains awareness of his fallen companions, ensuring the enemy does not get close to their unconscious bodies. He knows the pain they are suffering right now—he knows the fevered nightmares that consume their minds. It isn’t pleasant.  

“Get him, you useless pieces of shit! Do something!” Qi Rong howls, and suddenly, Xie Lian is surrounded by Qi Rong’s army. 

“We are gonna show you what it means to be better off dead, pretty boy!” one of the ghosts jeers. 

Another spits at Xie Lian’s feet. “Yeah! It’s too late to run!”

“If ya try to run, we’ll skin you alive!”

The ground rolls beneath his feet, and his belly churns, but Xie Lian ignores the unpleasant effects of the poison and crouches into an attack stance. He takes a slow breath and centres himself. He can do this. He’s fought while poisoned countless times, and Qi Rong’s goons are inept. 

The ghost lashes out, leaving a foolish opening. Xie Lian cuts him down in a blink. He ducks to avoid a seven star jian through the neck and uses the momentum to force the sword through the ghost attacking from behind.  

But then something pricks his neck. The other side this time. 

“Don’t stop at just one, you fools! Stick him! Stick him with as many poisoned darts as you can!” Qi Rong shrieks.

“Y-y-yes boss!”

More darts whiz toward him. They mostly bounce off the thick fabric of his uniform—the rest he attempts to block with his swords. He yanks the three that did manage to hit from his neck. 

The world rushes in on him in dizzying colours and smells, and he tastes death on his tongue, black and acidic. 

Xie Lian staggers. 

In the flickering darkness, the mouths of the beheaded ghosts open and close, like fish. They are whispering to him, but he cannot make out their words. Xie Lian sways on his feet, his skin prickling hot and then cold. Then hot again. Oh no. Ah..this isn’t…aha…this isn’t good.

“Get him!” Qi Rong screams, and the ghosts charge forward, weapons raised.

All Xie Lian can hear is the whispering of the beheaded ghosts and his own thundering heart. But he can still fight!

The whispers rise and fall in the back of his mind. A hushed murmur to a rising gale. Xie Lian’s head spins as he ruthlessly matches the ghosts blade for blade, heads and limbs flying. He grits his teeth, blood pouring from his nose down his chin. 

The last ghost falls, its heavy body hitting the blood-soaked cobblestones. With a quick glance back to the unconscious members of the security team, Xie Lian finally turns on his cousin. 

“Qi Rong,” he slurs. “Only you would be foolish enough to attack Ghost City. I’d like to say I’m disappointed, but I have never expected more from you.”

“What the fuck are you talking—” Qi Rong’s eyes widen behind his demonic mask, and he takes a step backward before remembering himself. He seems to rally, unleashing a long, malevolent whip from his side. “Wait. A mortal boy protecting Ghost City?” Qi Rong laughs and clicks his tongue. “Hua Cheng really must be desperate. How does a piss stain like you think you’ll fare against the most powerful ghost in all the three realms? I’m going to make your corpse so ugly no one will want it!”

It takes a moment for Xie Lian’s poison-addled brain to realise that Qi Rong has no memories of him. But they’d grown up together. Xie Lian’s downfall had caused Qi Rong’s death. So what does he remember? 

“Your accent sounds familiar.” Xie Lian sways on his feet, digging his nails into the palms of his hands to stay conscious. “Are you from Xianle?”

“Huh? I can’t believe my ears! What’s a dumb ass mortal like you know about Xianle?”

Xie Lian’s thoughts are slow and syrupy. Poison curdles his blood, and his heart slows. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just wondering if you knew the Prince Who Pleased The Gods.”

Given Xie Lian’s current state, it’s truly miraculous that Xie Lian catches it—the nervous waver in Qi Rong’s voice, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Is there a gap in his memories? Or has he rewritten history around his missing memories?

“Oh, I see,” Qi Rong spits. “You’re in on Hua Cheng’s plans, are you? That measly devastation thinks he can put a curse on me? Steal my memories? Why else would you be asking about Xianle? He’ll be drowning in puss! This whole city will be dust!”

Ah. He knows then. Which means Hua Cheng knows he’s missing memories. 

Xie Lian breathes a laugh. “Ah, Qi Rong. Maybe you’ll be happier without your memories. They aren’t very nice ones.”

His cousin laughs maniacally, but his eyes are filled with rage. He launches forward, whip in hand. 

It’s a little hard to keep up with Qi Rong without any spiritual powers and with so much poison in his bloodstream, but that’s fine. He knows all of Qi Rong’s martial moves, all his tricks and footwork. Xie Lian taught him, after all. Qi Rong had always favoured the whip. 

It isn’t long before Xie Lian has Qi Rong on his back, a blade pressed to his neck. Qi Rong howls with laughter, the grating shrieks of it ringing in Xie Lian’s ears. 

“Hua Cheng’s dog has got pep in his step! Whatcha going to do, hmh? Cut my head off?” He laughs again, and he sounds so deranged that Xie Lian feels a spark of uncertainty. 

Suddenly, Yin Yu is in front of him. And the two kindly guards who’d escorted Xie Lian to the dungeons. They are hauling Qi Rong up and clapping spiritual energy suppressing shackles around his neck, wrists, and ankles. They are engulfed in a storm of silver butterflies, and Xie Lian shivers. 

Qi Rong continues to laugh, his delirious laughter ricocheting off the surrounding buildings. “Hua Cheng, you dog! This ancestor knows what you’re up to! GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES, YOU FUCKER!”

Xie Lian sways on his feet. He’s having trouble tracking what’s going on, but he seems to know now that he’s done fighting for now. Yin Yu has it under control. 

“You missed one, Gege.” Cold fingers are on the back of his neck, plucking out an errant poisoned dart. 

Xie Lian gasps. He turns too quickly and nearly falls into Hua Cheng’s arms. Hua Cheng slides an arm around Xie Lian’s waist, supporting his weight. He is in his true form, towering over Xie Lian, his single eye blazing with fire. There is a serene smile on Hua Cheng’s face as he gazes down at Xie Lian. But beneath his expression, Xie Lian can sense the turmoil. Hua Cheng is barely holding it together. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispers and vomits blood all over Hua Cheng’s immaculately polished boots. 

Chapter Text

Xie Lian gags on the tang of copper. His belly roils, and another hot rush of blood floods his mouth. He jerks away from Hua Cheng just in time to vomit down his front and onto the frosted cobblestones. He expects Hua Cheng to release him—to not want to get blood all over his lush silk robes—but Hua Cheng tightens his grip. 

The bodiless heads of Qi Rong’s minions stare at him. Their mouths move, and he can just make out their faint whispers:

“Do you hate?”

Xie Lian shudders, his skin crawling and his throat on fire. For a moment, he thinks it’s begun to snow again, but it is only ash falling softly on their shoulders. 

“HUA CHENG, YOU DOG FUCKER! GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES, OR I WILL MAKE YOU BEG FOR DEATH!” Qi Rong wails into the night, his voice shrill. “WHO THE FUCK IS THE FLOWER CROWNED MARTIAL GOD? WHO IS HE?”

“Don’t…I…San Lang…” His words are cut off by the gurgle of blood in his throat. 

“Shhh, Wu Ming. Be still.” Hua Cheng’s voice sends a shiver through him. He wants to sink into his beloved’s arms and never leave. He wants to cry and shake and scream into Hua Cheng’s broad chest, to feel the comfort of his arms. But…ah…he…he doesn’t deserve such comforts. He hasn’t even been able to break the curse. So useless. Such a failure. 

From where they stand, Xie Lian can see Yin Hai and Ying Ying, along with the rest of the security team. They moan and sob, already in the throes of the potent poison. Yin Hai calls out for his father, a shaky, anguished cry. They, too, have begun to hallucinate. Their dreams feverish and mired in horror. 

Hua Cheng’s medical team is tending to them. They administer syringes of alarmingly vibrant green liquid to the fallen guards, and soon the moaning stops. It takes Xie Lian a moment to realise one of the doctors is at his side, pulling up the sleeve of his blood-soaked robes. 

“He’ll need a larger dose,” Yin Yu tells the doctor. The fires cast strange flickering shadows onto his bone-white mask. “He took more of the poison than the others.”

“No can do, Waning Moon, Sir. A larger dose of the antidote will kill him faster than the poison.”

The doctor jabs a needle into Xie Lian’s arm, and the vibrant-green liquid disappears. Xie Lian doesn’t even flinch.

“What’s to be done then?”

Xie Lian tunes them out, his focus stolen away by the severed ghost heads scattered in puddles of blood and viscera. Their rubbery green lips move strangely—too slow and too fast to be real. Dread and despair rises up in him, a frothing torrent. 

“Do you hate?” they whisper. 

“Do you hate?”

“Do you hate?”

“I don’t hate!” Xie Lian’s cry is shredded and rough. “I don’t hate!”

Hua Cheng’s hold on him is unyielding. “Easy, Wu Ming. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

Qi Rong is still shrieking and swearing. He’s lost all control of himself and has devolved into madness. The two enormous guards from the Gambler’s Den yank on his chains, dragging him along behind them. “GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES! GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES! GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES!”

“See that this trash is made nice and comfortable in the dungeons,” Hua Cheng says, sounding bored. And Xie Lian knows that when Hua Cheng sounds bored, everyone should be very afraid of him. “I’d like to have a chat with him once I’ve dealt with Wu Ming. Yin Yu. With me.”

Without ceremony, Hua Cheng’s sweeps Xie Lian into his arms. Xie Lian’s heart takes off, beating painfully against his breastbone, turbulent with emotion. Hua Cheng is holding him. But he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“Do you hate?” the ghost heads whisper. 

“Do you hate?”

“Do you hate? ”

“I don’t hate,” Xie Lian slurs, his head lolling into Hua Cheng’s chest. The safest place in the world. The only place he wants to be. “I don’t hate, I don’t hate.”

“Okay. You don’t hate.” Hua Cheng’s voice is silky with mockery, but there’s something beneath it. Something turbid and uncertain. 

Despite the recently administered antidote, the poison ignites Xie Lian’s veins as though he hasn’t had an antidote at all. It throbs in his head and eats through his stomach lining. He turns his head to vomit more blood onto the streets. His memories rewrite themselves over reality. He sees empty grey skies. The endless grey ocean. Snow falls softly.

He sees his parents hanging from the rafters. Their eyes are open, and their mouths move. 

He sees himself, buried in a three layer coffin. He’s surrounded by white flowers. His face is blank. Void of life or emotion. 

He sees a frosted battlefield, white bone shards poking through clouds of snow. 

This isn’t real. These images aren’t real. He knows this. He’s certainly been poisoned enough to know what to expect. 

His eyes are glossed over with gauzy film and his tongue is swollen and sticky. Soon he will succumb to the mania of the poison. He needs to make sure he doesn’t speak, lest he give himself away. Already he fights the urge to babble. He needs to hide. Lick his wounds and return when he is of sound mind. 

“Ah, ah…” Xie Lian chokes on a mouthful of blood. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Really, Hua Chengzhu. You can, ah, put me down….I’ll get back to…I’ll just go…”

Hua Cheng laughs, but there is no mirth in it. “Wu Ming, you are on death’s door. You heard the doctor. You can’t have any more antidote. If I put you down you would die right here in the street. And don’t think for a moment that death will release you from servitude.”

“I’m…very good…surviving. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

“Uh huh.”

Shouts and cries ring through the air as the residents of Ghost City dig through the rubble, pulling out bodies of loved ones. The fires continue to rage.

“Yin Yu. Report. How many dead?”

“Of Qi Rong’s entourage? All of them, apart from Qi Rong himself. None escaped. The dispersed tally 138. All slaughtered by the same blades. His blades.” 

Xie Lian can only assume Yin Yu means him, though he can’t bring himself to look away from the pale pillar of Hua Cheng’s slender neck. A single fat braid rests against his collar bone. And at the end of the silky black strands, glossy and smooth, is the coral bead. Xie Lian reaches for it, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. A thrill shivers through him to know he has the matching bead tied up in his own hair, out of sight. 

He chances a peek at Hua Cheng’s face. The Ghost King is watching him with an unreadable expression. His emotions are carefully cloaked in derision. Ah, but there’s that flicker in his eye—a sort of wonder. It’s familiar, and Xie Lian’s heart throbs with hope.

Hua Cheng’s single eye burns, burns, burns, and his black hair is wild, whipping around his broad shoulders in a scorching inferno. Hua Cheng’s whole person is on fire, and the flames crackle and lick at his robes. Xie Lian, of course, knows Hua Cheng isn’t really on fire. It’s a hallucination, brought on by the poison. But he can feel the heat on his face—it melts the ice encasing his bones. It thaws his heart. So hot. So hot. Xie Lian is sweating beneath his gear.

“That trash,” Hua Cheng says, responding to Yin Yu—though Xie Lian has already forgotten what they’re talking about. “And on our end?”

“Those caught in the blast will all have perished. But of our tactical team, there have been no casualties, thanks to Wu Ming. Those who have received the antidote will have fully recovered within a few minutes. Though, I do not know what will happen to Wu Ming. He took a total of 8 darts. He really shouldn’t be alive. He may die yet. The antidote won’t work well against such a high dosage of poison.”

“What was the poison?”

“Dragon flower,” Xie Lian and Yin Yu say at the same time. 

Hua Cheng clicks his tongue. “Wu Ming, Wu Ming. Care to explain yourself? How is it you managed to not only remain on your feet, but to take out all of Qi Rong’s stooges as well as Qi Rong himself? Qi Rong may be an idiot, but he is still a savage level ghost.”

“Do you hate?” the ghost heads whisper, but they are softer now. Only in the back of his mind.

“Do you hate?” call the resentful spirits on the battlefield. 

“Do you hate?” his parents rasp past the silk band tightening around their necks. 

Xie Lian’s mouth fills with blood, salty and sharp, and he swallows. “Ah, certainly, certainly. I…aha..ha ha ha, it’s actually only that I’ve been poisoned quite a lot. Unintentional mithridatism, you see. My body, while not, ah, immune to ah…ah—” His vision blurs. The night sky is still filled with thousands of blessing lanterns, and he stares in awe. “Oh,” he whispers. “So many.”

Yin Hai and Ying Ying appear at Yin Yu’s side. They are both pale, their faces glossed with sweat. Ying Ying’s eyes are flat, his pink hair dull with the effects of the poison. Yin Hai sways on his feet. 

Despite the agony in his head, despite the nausea and hallucinations, Xie Lian is relieved to see them. “Ying Ying! Yin Hai! I am glad to see you are okay!”

Hua Cheng smiles, and it is the kind of smile that haunts dreams. Perhaps Yin Hai and Ying Ying would have preferred the nightmares of the poison. “Yin Hai. Ying Ying. How nice of you to join us.”

“You two are relieved from duty this evening,” Yin Yu says curtly. “Return to your lodging and rest.”

“With all due respect, Chengzhu. I’d like to accompany you and Wu Ming back to the Gambler’s Den.”

“Do whatever you like, I don’t give a fuck,” Hua Cheng says. “Though are you really in a position to be making requests? It’s only thanks to Wu Ming here that you’re all alive. I’d call this an epic fuck up, hmh? How embarrassing to be taken down by Qi Rong.”

“Sir.” Both Yin Hai and Ying Ying hang their heads and fall into step with the Ghost King and his Waning Moon Officer. 

Rubble crunches beneath Hua Cheng’s boots as the wend through the maze-like streets of Ghost City, smoke rising up around them. The gentle rocking, back and forth, back and forth, rattles Xie Lian’s brain, and he allows his cheek to rest against crimson robes. His skin prickles with cold sweat, and he moans. Ah, the poison is fast. Of course, it doesn’t help that he’s exerted himself so much. Hopefully that means it will be over sooner, too. He knows what’s coming next. The mania, the hysteria, the vivid hallucinations. The agony. He only hopes he can keep quiet enough not to draw more suspicion than he already has. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Yin Hai asks softly.

Neither Hua Cheng nor Yin Yu respond. 

“Eh, but who’d have thought he could fight like that! I’ve never seen anything like it before. He just hacked the poison! That isn’t normal.”

Xie Lian moans again, and this time the sound is muffled by Hua Cheng’s robes. He absently toys with Hua Cheng’s coral bead, and it warms between his fingers. 

“San Lang,” he whispers. He is lying on a beach. The icy waves lick his toes and the grey sun beats down on him. His lungs are filled with brackish water, and his skin is pearlescent as a shell, seaweed wrapped around his wrists. He knows if he flays open his skin, he’ll find bones as smooth and red as coral. 

“San Lang.” Xie Lian’s belly churns, and nausea crashes over him. “San Lang, I’m going to—”

Again, Xie Lian vomits a waterfall of blood. It drips from his chin like acid, pooling in his lap, dripping down the front of Hua Cheng’s robes. He shudders as another wave of nausea crashes over him. Another gush of blood, this time from his nose and mouth. Blood leaks from his ears, and dribbles down his neck, and he whimpers, his jaw locking.

A black jade sword slides between his ribs. It catches on bone and is yanked out. Xie Lian gasps, a sharp cry ringing in his ears. The sword plunges in again and again. He writhes in Hua Cheng’s arms. 

“Chengzhu…the band,” he hears Yin Yu say. “It’s going crazy.”

“Untie it.”

“Chenzhu, are you sure? We still do not—”

“Untie it.”

Slippery silk twists and wriggles hysterically around Xie Lian’s neck, around his wrists, soaking up his blood, and nestling into the crook of his neck. So frantic is the silk, that it snaps Xie Lian out of his poison-addled daze. 

“Ruoye!” Xie Lian cries, and his breath catches on a sob. “Ruoye!” He laughs and chokes, tears streaming down his face. “Ruoye! You’re okay!”

“What in the ever-loving fuck is that thing?” Yin Hai mutters. “It is positively drenched in resentful energy.”

With shaking hands, Xie Lian runs his fingers over the slippery silk, and it presses into his touch. 

“It’s a demon,” Yin Yu says. “A very old and dangerous demon. I’ve been trying to track down its origin. Find out what it is exactly.”

“Oh, Ruoye, you aren’t dangerous,” Xie Lian coos through his tears. His teeth chatter, and blood drips from his nose, but he smiles, relief flooding him. “You’re a very sweet demon. So good. So, so good.”

“And how did Gege acquire such a good demon?” Hua Cheng’s voice is low. Xie Lian has never heard this tone before. 

“LianLian. My little prince,” his mother whispers. 

Xie Lian stands in their rundown hut. His hands shake. The sour aroma of his mother’s cooking hangs in the air. Icy water drips from his robes. His bones are coral made. Fish swim between his ribs. 

The silk band is hanging from the beam. Two unmoving figures dangle from it. Their bodies have long since gone stiff. 

“Somebody! Somebody come kill me!”

“It’s the silk band my parents used to hang themselves,” Xie Lian says, his voice frozen, his mind stretching like the sea. 

He can see the curved rooftops of Paradise Manor in the distance, joss paper fluttering down around them, everything vibrant and colourful. 

He can see the ocean yawning out before him, snow falling softly upon the grey waves.  

“I tried, too. But it didn’t work.”

Silence. 

“Fuck,” someone mutters. Xie Lian isn’t sure who. 

“That’s impossible,” Yin Yu says, but he doesn’t sound sure. “That is a very old demon. I am certain of it. Also, it would take the death of more than just the average person to create a demon such as this.”

More silence.

Hua Cheng sighs, and his breath is like the hush of the ocean. “Wu Ming, what am I going to do with you.”

In the distance, he can hear waves crashing against the scarp. He can hear the mournful wail of gulls. He can hear the beat of the tide.

“Lianlian. The ominous star shines for you.”

Xie Lian doesn’t remember anything after that. Only the hellscape of nightmares unfolding before him. He’s vaguely aware that he’s screaming and crying. Pleading. Wailing. 

He is in the coffin. 

He is drowning. 

He is on fire, the skin melting from his bones. 

He stares up at the empty sky. 

He is alone alone alone. 

The pain is sharp and relentless, and it feels as though he is rotting from the inside. Always, always, he hears the lap of grey waves. The hum of the ocean’s depths. Always, always, he sees the colourless, cold sky.

And the icy wind howls. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When he wakes, he feels like he must have died again, but he can’t be sure. Everything hurts. He opens his eyes to a sea of crimson, vibrant and alive. A violent contrast to the endless grey and white of his dreams. He is warm and comfortable, cradled in a soft bed. 

This is not the Gambler’s Den. Not his own shared room. He’s in Paradise Manor, and not in a dark staff room. The fabrics are lush and the bed is luxurious—it’s enough to make him cry. Why has Hua Cheng brought him here?

He startles as voices from beyond the crimson curtain. 

“Everytime I see your little thrall, he’s in worse shape. How is he not dead yet?” A familiar voice, filled to the brim with darkness and violence. Black Water Sinking Ships. 

“You’re just pissed I won’t let you near Qi Rong. You’ll have your turn with the green fool. After I’m through with him,” Hua Cheng says drolly. 

“You can’t just call dibs on Qi Rong.”

“He blew up my city. I can do whatever I like.”

“Qi Rong was screaming about the Flower Crowned Martial God, Crimson Rain. It’s gotta be him messing with our memories. Who else is powerful enough?” The lantern light flickers. All is quiet. “It’s kind of fucked up that you aren’t taking this seriously, considering you don’t even know where you ashes are .”

“There you go again, running your mouth. Do you ever think before you speak?”

Yin Yu clears his throat. “I’ve had word that the Flower Crowned Martial God will be elected the new Heavenly Emperor in his absence. Temples in his honour are springing up all over the country. He will be gaining power by the shichen.”

Xie Lian’s ears prick and he tries to sit up, but his muscles scream and his head feels like it’s been cracked open by a blunt force. They are what? He’s to be elected emperor? He grits his teeth, and his head throbs. 

“They can’t elect someone without permission,” Hua Cheng says. 

Yin Yu sighs. “Forgive my assumption, but isn’t it likely then that His Highness Xianle has already agreed?”

“See!” He Xuan shouts. “It’s a show of power. He takes the throne and destroys all the ghost kings. He reigns supreme without challenge. He’s already taken out Jun Wu.”

“Bai Wuxiang. Jun Wu was Bai Wuxiang.”

“And Bai Wuxiang was what. A ghost king,” He Xuan says. 

“Only a fool jumps to conclusions without any proof. Tisk, tisk, He Xuan. I thought you were better than this.”

“You are a fool if you don’t act now. If Qi Rong is missing memories, and you are missing memories, there is a good chance I am missing them, too.”

“Hmn,” Hua Cheng coos. “Do you not know?”

A long silence follows. 

“Do you remember,” He Xuan begins hesitantly, “playing a game of strip poker with me and Qingxuan? In the abandoned Wind and Water Master Temple?”

Xie Lian stifles a gasp. He holds his breath, his heart beating wildly in his chest. His body spasms, and his vision whites out. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes. Pain lashes through his body, eviscerating him. He lies there, panting, until the agony drags him out of his body. He’s floating in pain. His awareness floats, too. 

“I do.” A cautious tone. Hua Cheng sounds so far away now, his voice muffled in Xie Lian’s ears. 

Yin Yu coughs awkwardly. 

“Who fucking stripped you of your outer robe? Who did you strip? Who was with us?”

“Do you not know?” Hua Cheng repeats, but his voice has gone hard. Sharp.

“I know someone was there. I don’t remember who. It’s like…a black hole in my memory. And there are more. More black holes.”

“Get your little pet in here,” Hua Cheng snaps. “The former Wind Master.”

The room darkens, and goosebumps trail Xie Lian’s spine. 

“No. I will talk to them on my own,” He Xuan says. 

“I am not going to harm your chatty little fuck doll. They are in my employ, so I’ll talk to them if I like.”

“Crimson Rain—”

“Go. Now. Don’t come back without them.”

There is a rustle of fabric and footsteps fade away. 

“Chengzhu? Your orders?” Yin Yu says. 

“Get me more information on what’s going on in heaven.”

Silence falls. Xie Lian drifts in and out of consciousness, the pain from the poison ebbing and flowing. He hears the curtain pulling back, and there is a heavy presence at his bedside. 

He tries to open his eyes, but he cannot find his way to the surface of dreaming. He is frozen, held beneath the waves by grief and sorrow. 

Gentle fingers touch his cheek—tuck his hair behind his ear. Gentle motions, fingers carding through the matted strands of blood-soaked hair. 

Longing such as he’s never felt, not in his 800 years, swells in Xie Lian’s heart—expands his ribs and aches in his throat. A hot tear slides down his cheek, and a cold finger swipes it away. 

“Wu Ming,” Hua Cheng breaths. 

“Your Highness, I understand your everything…”

Xie Lian clings to the moment. He languishes in Hua Cheng’s tender touch. But the pull of the tide is too strong, and he is drowning in it again.

Chapter Text

Wondrous, ah, the sky. The black velvet sky. It yawns to the far corners of the universe. Stars pulse and murmur. The boughs of the trees groan beneath the weight of snow, and their black spines pierce the horizon. 

Xie Lian stands in the wide expanse of field behind his cottage on Mt.Taicang. His breath escapes his lips in ghostly clouds, and his bare feet crunch in the glittering snow. 

All is quiet. 

All is still. 

The concentrated blue of the gloaming throbs behind his eyes. 

His chest is open—a gaping maw—and within the depths of his ribcage, the same stars pulse and murmur. The abyss. The void. Infinite and terrible. His exposed heart hums. His bones glisten, long and thin, and threaded onto the tine of a rib, is Hua Cheng’s red coral bead. The bead is brilliant red, violent against the white of bone. Ah, ah, no one will find it here. It is secret. 

“San Lang, San Lang,” Xie Lian whispers. 

Gentle fingers brush through his hair. “Yes, Wu Ming?”

“I don’t want to be here alone anymore.”

“Wu Ming is not alone. Wu Ming will feel better soon.”

“I…I…ah, San Lang, don’t call me that. I’m undeserving of that name. I’m undeserving of...”

“What are you undeserving of?”

Xie Lian sucks in a breath. “You.”

A sudden wind skates across the snowy field, and the trees sway and whisper. 

“Shhh. Rest, Gege.”

His ears roar, and darkness sucks him into the depths once more. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

For days he moans, his blood sizzling with poison, his dreams saturated in horror. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, and, ah, the weight of all he has seen. The weight of all his mistakes. 800 years of wandering the lonely grey earth, beneath the lonely grey sky. Colour leaches from his memories, bleached the white of bone.

He wakes briefly every few days, but makes little sense of his surroundings. Gone is the grey earth. Gone is the grey sky. Everything is vivid and alive.

“Let me die!” he whimpers. “Let me die! Why can’t I die?”

“You’re all right, Gege. You’re all right.” A crimson and silver blur. So close. So vital. 

“The poison will run its course.” An unfamiliar voice—Xie Lian can’t see where it’s coming from. “Shouldn’t be much longer. The fact that he is still alive is a good sign. A very good sign.”

“All you trash doctors say the same thing. Fucking useless.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When Xie Lian finally wakes, the poison has abated. His blood no longer boils. The pain is only an echo. His mind is clear. He blinks up at the crimson curtain above his bed. 

Memories flood his thoughts—rooftops ablaze, the madness in Qi Rong’s eyes, the prick of a poisoned dart—and he gasps, bolting upright in bed. His breath comes in harsh pants, and sweat pools along his collarbones. 

“Ha ha ha, Wu Ming! You startled me! Are you all right? Ha ha ha ha!”

Xie Lian startles. He jerks his gaze to meet familiar blue-green eyes. The former Wind Master sits at his bedside, dressed in the purple robes of the Gambler’s Den staff. 

“Qingx—” His voice cracks. His mouth tastes like ash. “Old Feng, I…ah…”

“I’ll get you some water.” Shi Qingxuan disappears behind the curtain and returns a moment later with a bowl of water, their robes whispering as they walk. They help Xie Lian to drink. 

The moment the icy water touches his tongue, Xie Lian loses all control, and grabs the bowl with shaking hands, slurping it down. He shivers violently. 

“Aiya, Wu Ming! Slowly, slowly. You don’t want it to all come back up.”

Shi Qingxuan refills the bowl, and this time Xie Lian sips the water slowly, despite the urge to chug. 

“How long was I—” Xie Lian’s coughs and tastes blood. Ah, it might be like this for a while. But at least the pain is gone.

“You’ve been unconscious for eight days. Everyone thought you were going to die.”

Xie Lian nods. That’s about how long he was unconscious the last time he was poisoned. Though, that time he’d spent his fevered days in a hollowed out log in a forest instead of a soft mattress. “Is… Where is…ah…Hua Chengzhu?”

“He and He-xiong left together.” Shi Qingxuan’s gaze darts nervously about. “Your Hua Cheng truly lives up to his reputation. He’s certainly as terrifying as they say. Ha ha ha ha! I had no choice but to submit to his questioning!”

Xie Lian’s eyes feel hot, and his heart thrums. In the recesses of his mind, hazy memories surface—memories of conversations had while he was in the throws of poisoned nightmares. “What did he ask you?”

“I didn’t know what to do! Hua Chengzhu asked me about that game of dice we played! I panicked! I panicked! Ha ha ha ha ha, Your High—”

“It’s okay, Qingxuan, it’s okay. Just tell me what you said.” 

“Hua Chengzhu asked me who was there playing with us—who was it that I dared to strip him of his robe. I…had no choice! I told him it was His Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle. But he doesn’t know that’s you, right? Is…ha ha ha ha, Wu Ming, did I mess everything up? He always seems to know when I’m lying, your ghost king. So clever, so clever.”

Xie Lian’s thoughts spiral too quickly. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. “No, no, that’s fine. There was nothing else for you to say. It’ll be okay. You’re right, he doesn’t know that’s me.”

“They left after that, Hua Cheng and He-Xiong. I thought they’d ask more questions, but they left. I think they went to look for the Flower Crowned Martial God. Your Highness, how did your Hua Cheng get himself cursed so badly? It isn’t just Hua Cheng who’s forgotten you! All ghosts have been affected, and none of them have any recollection of Hua Cheng’s god. Such a powerful curse!”

Silence. Xie Lian’s thoughts collect and sharpen.

“Unless…” Xie Lian pants, his heart thundering in his ears. “Unless it isn’t Hua Cheng who is cursed.” 

He’s been such a fool. He’s been watching so carefully, searching for any sign of a curse, but there’s been nothing. It’s been in the back of his mind for a while.

“Unless I am the one who is cursed.”

“Your Highness,” Shi Qingxuan whispers. “But how could this have happened? Who is powerful enough to curse you?”

Xie Lian shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“There’s one more thing. I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear. Or rather, He-xiong was drinking and…aha ha ha ha! Well.” Shi Qingxuan leans in, biting their lip. “Hua Cheng thinks it was the Flower Crowned Martial God who dispersed him at Mt. Tonglu. He thinks you tried to kill him. He-xiong thinks you want to kill all the ghost kings.”

Xie Lian closes his eyes. Ah, but that would make sense, wouldn’t it? The Flower Crowned Martial God defeats Jun Wu. Then he turns his gaze on the Red Calamity. Of course, of course. A logical conclusion. Who else could have dispersed the all-powerful Crimson Rain Sought Flower? And in Hua Cheng’s memories, that time in Tonglu is a blank spot. 

Xie Lian’s breath is coming too fast. 

“It’s okay, Your Highness. We will figure this all out. If it’s you who is cursed, it’s much easier to solve, isn’t it? Maybe we should get you out of here. Back to the Heavens.”

But Xie Lian was already shaking his head. “No, I need to stay. I need to be near him. If he doesn’t remember his tether, there is a chance he will begin to fade. Or even dissipate. I can figure this out from here.”

It’s then Xie Lian notices that he’s wearing silky black sleeping robes, and his braided hair is soft and clean. He freezes. 

Someone has bathed him. 

Someone washed his hair. 

The red coral bead had been braided into his hair. 

Panic washes over him, and he sways. 

“No…no, no, no!” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes slow breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay. If Hua Cheng found the bead, he wouldn’t have left Xie Lian alone. 

Ruoye unfurls from around his wrist, rippling in the air around them. The silk band darts back and forth in a panic, and Xie Lian notices that someone has washed it, too. It is gleaming white and smells of jasmine. 

Shi Qingxuan watches Ruoye with wide eyes. “This demon of yours. It really is something.”

Ruoye wraps itself around Xie Lian’s wrist once more, leaving a trembling end loose. There is a small lump curled into a corner of silk. Xie Lian holds out his hand, and Ruoye instantly drops something small and cold into his palm. 

The red coral bead. 

Xie Lian smiles, relief flooding him. Ruoye must have snatched it up while he was being bathed. “Ah, Ruoye. So good. You’re so, so good.” 

He unties his hair, threads the bead into loose strands, and pulls the entirety of his wild hair into a top knot, tucking the bead away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He sleeps on and off for the next few days. Hua Cheng does not return. After a final check up from the doctor, who inspects his meridians and listens to his blood, Xie Lian is cleared, and he gathers his scant possessions—his spoiled robes and blood-splattered boots.

Yin Hai is out when Xie Lian slides the door open to their shared room. Xie Lian’s bed is neatly made, and the small bundle of wire he found in the night market rests on his bedside table. He also notes that an assortment of candies, beautifully wrapped milled soaps, and other trinkets are piled on the table, along with a bouquet of strangely fragrant black flowers. There is a thank you note signed by the ghosts that make up the security team—some he knows, others he has only met in passing. Xie Lian smiles quietly to himself. These ghosts really are really quite special. He’s glad they are all unharmed. 

Heavy snow cascades over Ghost City. Fat flakes cling to the windows and blanket the rooftops as the blue glow of twilight swallows the day. The lanterns sputter as Xie Lian gathers clean robes and plucks one of the fine bars of soap from the pile. 

The baths are empty at this time of day. Xie Lian sighs as he sinks into the steaming waters, breathing deeply of jasmine and citrus. He washes his hair, careful of the red coral bead, and allows his mind to empty as he stares up at the domed ceilings. 

“Wu Ming? Are you here?” Shi Qingxuan’s voice echoes and wet footsteps approach. 

“Hmn. I’m here.” 

Shi Qingxuan drops their robes to the tiled floors and slides into the water. Their body is covered in bite marks and purple bruises, and Xie Lian averts his eyes, his cheeks flushing. 

“Hua Cheng is back.”

Xie Lian swallows hard and nods. 

“I thought I should come and warn you. Someone was looking for you earlier. Someone I didn’t know. Their aura was…strange. I couldn’t really tell what their face looked like even when I looked hard—even when I looked directly at them.”

“Eh?” Xie Lian looks up. Who would be looking for him in Ghost City? “Not Mu Qing or Feng Xin?”

“No. Although they have been loitering about as well. I told them you’re fine, but they won’t listen. Ha ha ha ha ha, you know how they are.”

Xie Lian breaths a laugh, despite his nerves. “Certainly, certainly. So, um, did this person with the strange aura say what they wanted?” There is no one who could be looking for him here. The ghosts have all forgotten him, and no one in Heaven knows he’s here, apart from Mu Qing, Feng Xin, and Quan Yizhen. 

Shi Qingxuan frowns. “They said—”

“Wu Ming!” 

Both Shi Qingxuan and Xie Lian jump. 

Yin Hai strides across the tiled floor and kneels down at the side of the bath, his thousands of rainbow eyes blinking through the steam. Ying Ying and Mogwai appear at his side. 

“You look recovered,” Yin Hai says. “A little pale, but then, you usually are.”

“I am well, thank you, Yin Hai.” Xie Lian attempts a smile. 

Yin Hai grunts. “Good. Well—”

“We’ve planned a special party for you,” Ying Ying cuts in, his violet eyes glowing. His pink hair is tied in a top knot, showing off the flower patterns shaved into the buzzed sides of his head. 

“Yeah, a Glad You’re Not Dead and Thank You For Saving Us All party,” Mogwai says, beads of water collecting along his antlers. One drips to the floor with a sploosh. “I took the liberty of inviting some very fine ghost lady talent, just for you, Wu Ming.”

Ying Ying shoots Mogwai a glare.

Xie Lian’s stomach knots. It isn’t that he isn’t grateful that they’ve thought of him, but he wilts at the idea of a crowd—of having to hold a smile on his face. He has never much liked being the centre of attention. When he was the crown prince and beholden to his kingdom, he thought little of the attention. It was just a part of his life and something he’d always known. But now? Now, he really isn’t anybody worth celebrating. He’d gotten lucky with the poison. That’s all. 

Ying Ying crosses his arms and bats his pretty lashes. “Juuust come, let us take care of you for the evening, then go home to bed early. Sound good?”

Xie Lian is so exhausted. All he wants is to soak here for hours and allow his thoughts to drift. His belly burns, and his nerve endings hum with anxiety. But he smiles. “Sounds good.”

Yin Hai holds out a towel, and Xie Lian climbs out of the baths, his muscles protesting. Ying Ying’s cheeks flush as pink as his hair, and he spins on his heels, turning his back to Xie Lian. 

“Hurry,” Yin Hai says. “It’s already started.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party is in one of the private rooms on the third floor of the Gambler’s Den. A long wooden table groans beneath platters of food and jars of liquor. Lanterns bob above the table, and stubby beeswax candles gutter, wax pooling on the pocked wood. Beyond the frosted windows, the silent snowfall continues, soft and dreamy. 

In contrast, the  atmosphere in the Gambler’s Den is lively. There must be almost a hundred ghosts here—the off-duty members of the security team, some of the kitchen staff Xie Lian is friendly with, and some ghosts from the gambling halls. Everyone is laughing and shouting, guzzling jars of liquor and inhaling plates of food. 

Xie Lian is forced into a seat in the middle of the table, and a jar of amber liquid is shoved into his hands. The liquid smells delightfully smoky, and Xie Lian takes a tentative sip. Flavours explode on his tongue, and immediately his muscles relax. He should probably only have this one sip. He needs to keep his wits about him. 

Ying Ying drops into the seat next to him and rests his chin on Xie Lian’s shoulder. “Is Wu Ming so shy? Or does he not have the chance to attend many parties?”

Xie Lian laughs awkwardly. “I suppose it’s been a while.”

“Yeah? How long’s a while? Wu Ming is very young, is he not?”

Xie Lian stares down into the amber liquid in his cup, subtly pulling away from Ying Ying. “I’m older than I look.”

“Mnm. Be careful with that, then.” Ying Ying raises his pink brows at Xie Lian’s drink. “Don’t drink too much of it if I’m not around to watch over you.”

Xie Lian flushes, setting his drink on the table. “You needn’t worry. I’m not much of a drinker. Really, a sip is more than enough for me.”

“Is that so? So what does Wu Ming do for fun, hmn?” Ying Ying’s violet eyes sparkle with mischief. “Perhaps there’s something I can do to help you unwind?”

“Ummm…”

The din of laughter and shouting falls to a hush. The tiny hairs on the back of Xie Lian’s neck stand on end, and the soft chiming of bells fills the air. 

Xie Lian turns to see Hua Cheng leaning against the moongate entrance of the room. He is in his true form, all long limbs and sharp teeth. All moon-pale skin and raven feather hair. Beauty that does not belong to this world. Sinister. Ethereal. Intoxicating. Xie Lian’s stomach drops as Hua Cheng’s gaze lands on him. 

The silence holds until it can hold no longer, and the room erupts in joyful shouts and hysterical laughter. 

“YER LORDSHIP! WELCOME, WELCOME!”

“OL CHENGZHU, LEMME BUY YOU A DRINK!”

“Ohhhhhh, Hua Cheng is here! How do I look? Is my skin on right?”

Hua Cheng is instantly swallowed by the crowd.

Shi Qingxuan arrives, He Xuan on their arm, and they sit across from Xie Lian, laughing loudly, as He Xuan devours an entire turkey carcass. At least Xie Lian thinks it is a turkey, though it looks rather large. Actually, he isn’t sure what He Xuan is eating. 

Hua Cheng has taken a seat at the end of the table, a very pretty ghost boy nestled at his side. The boy has long wavy brown hair and doe eyes. Impossibly long lashes and soft, full lips. He is elegant and smiles sweetly, his attention fixed on the Ghost King. He pours Hua Cheng’s tea, batting his lashes. 

Xie Lian swallows. His throat aches, and he feels stupid. So stupid. This is the life Hua Cheng could have had. Instead, he’d wasted centuries searching for his washed up god. For the  aptly named god of misfortune. For the plague god. The god of trash. Ah, but Xie Lian doesn’t begrudge Hua Cheng his happiness. If Hua Cheng wants to take a pretty boy to bed, he deserves to. He deserves pleasure and affection. 

Hua Cheng is loved. His citizens worship him, adore him. As they should. His beautiful Wu Ming, his Hong Hong’er, deserves every happiness. And as long as Hua Cheng is safe and hail, Xie Lian will be happy, too. He will bury his feelings. He will watch from a distance and keep Hua Cheng safe. He will find a way to break this curse, and then he will disappear. 

“What’s wrong?” Ying Ying leans closer, and Xie Lian can smell his sweet breath. “Wu Ming suddenly looks so sad.” 

Xie Lian blinks. He isn’t used to anyone watching him so carefully. “Oh? Ah…ha ha ha ha! Nothing, nothing! I’m just…ah…just a little tired.”

Ying Ying narrows his gaze. “Whatever you say.”

“Ying Ying! Come spar with me, you fucker!” someone shouts, and Ying Ying’s grin widens. He jumps to his feet and takes off through the crowd. 

With Ying Ying gone, Xie Lian’s gaze returns to Hua Cheng. The pretty ghost boy rests his head on Hua Cheng’s shoulder, his long slender fingers feeding Hua Cheng select berries from the platter. Xie Lian looks quickly away, stifling a gasp. He feels dizzy. Sick. He gulps down the rest of his drink. It burns all the way down.

Someone takes Ying Ying’s abandoned seat, and Xie Lian looks up. 

Sitting at his side is a person he never thought he would see again. 

For a moment, he thinks he’s hallucinating. Or already supremely drunk.

“Guoshi!” Xie Lian whispers harshly. 

Mei Nianqing sits quietly at Xie Lian’s side, sipping a cup of tea. He glares at the room and shudders. “Is this really where you ought to be, Your Highness? There’s not a lick of culture here. Not a drop of class.”

Xie Lian can’t think past his shock! The Imperial Preceptor of Xianle is sitting at his side. In Ghost City. Sipping tea, right in the eyeline of the Crimson Rain Sought Flower. Panic floods his veins, but he doesn’t move. Any erratic movement might draw attention. “Guoshi! Hua Cheng will see you!”

Mei Nianqing waves his hand, as though Xie Lian is a troublesome child. “Nonsense. No one will see me. Didn’t your friend not mention I’d come?”

“My friend?”

Mei Nianqing tilts his head to Shi Qingxuan, who doesn’t seem to notice Xie Lian is talking to anyone at all. “I told the former Wind Master I’d come. That ridiculous child can’t be trusted with any information.”

Xie Lian shakes his head, his thoughts a jumble. “But, Guoshi! What are you doing here? You can’t be here!”

“Believe me, Little Highness. I shan't be staying. I’ve only come to request your help.”

“My help?” A strange sense of dread pits in Xie Lian’s stomach, and he forces himself to relax. 

“Ju Wu has forgotten you. He is—” Mei Nianqing pauses. “He is fading.”

Cold prickles at the back of Xie Lian’s neck, and his belly swoops. “Ah.”

Silence falls between them, and the moment stretches and stretches. 

Xie Lian imagines Jun Wu, lying prone beneath Mt. Tonglu, a black-jade sword impaling him. An old straw hat over his face. In the vision, Jun Wu is barely a flicker. Paper thin. Nearly gone. 

Mei Nianqing grasps Xie Lian’s hand. “I know you and I have had our differences, but I beg you, Little Highness. Come and see him. Remind him of who you are, so that he may go on. I still believe he will find redemption and begin anew, but now…now he is not himself. He is listless. Tired. Without you, he has nothing to live for.”

“He’s forgotten me, too.” Xie Lian hasn’t thought of Jun Wu. But of course, Jun Wu is Bai Wuxiang, and all ghosts have forgotten Xie Lian. 

“He won’t last much longer, Little Highness. Please, as a personal favour, I beg of you. Come see him. Only you can revive him.”

A strange grief wraps around Xie Lian’s throat. Jun Wu—Bai Wuxiang—destroyed his kingdom, tortured him, manipulated him. And yet…and yet, Xie Lian finds he does not wish him ill. He hopes—he has hoped—that Jun Wu might find his peace, find his redemption. How will Xie Lian feel if Jun Wu dissipates? 

And if Jun Wu dissipates without his tether, what will happen to Hua Cheng?

Xie Lian’s gaze finds Hua Cheng once more through the crowd. He is leaned back in his chair, his long legs sprawled in front of him, like a petulant teenager. He is swirling a clear liquid in his glass, cruelly laughing at something the ghost next to him says. Nothing seems amiss. Hua Cheng shows no sign of fading. But he could. If Xie Lian doesn’t do something soon, Hua Cheng might…he might..ah…ah…

Unless.

Unless Xie Lian isn’t really his tether. 

Unless…Hua Cheng is better off without Xie Lian. 

“I can’t. I can’t leave him. I am trying to figure this all out.”

“I see,” Mei Nianqing says. “So you don’t know what’s caused this curse.”

Xie Lian releases a shuddering breath. “I don’t.”

“Truly? You don’t know?”

Xie Lian meets Mei Nianqing’s gaze. Something sparkles in the lavender depths of those eyes, and Xie Lian sits up. “What? What do you know?”

“Jun Wu has longed to forget you. You’ve tormented him for centuries, after all. His perfect pupil—his perfect prodigy—his perfect heir. Clever. Ambitious. Beautiful. In his eyes, you were everything. How could he bear to think of all that has happened? How can he bear to think of all he has lost. All he has ruined. Wouldn’t forgetting you be so much easier? Then he can just…slip away.”

Jun Wu has longed to forget you.

Xie Lian’s gaze is pulled once more to Hua Cheng. It is like gravity, a force beyond his control. 

The pretty ghost boy, with long brown hair and doe eyes, tilts his dainty chin up, smiling sweetly at the Ghost King, his fat bottom lips sticking out. 

“Is this what you’re staying for? Puh! Little Highness, that Ghost King has forgotten you so easily! Just because of some curse?”

Xie Lian jerks out of his chair. His mind is swimming, and his heart lurches into his throat. He pushes through the crowd, careless of where he is going. His throat burns, and his eyes blur with tears. 

Hua Cheng won’t notice he’s gone. He will take that pretty ghost boy to bed. And Xie Lian…Xie Lian…ah…he will…ha ha ha, oh dear! Oh dear! Maybe he isn’t quite fully recovered from the poisoning. What he needs is a good sleep! A good sleep, and then tomorrow he will begin anew trying to break the curse. Everything is fine! Everything will be okay! 

“Hey! Watch where you get a goin!” a ghost shouts as Xie Lian shoves his way to the moongate. 

Beyond the windows, the wind howls, and snow pelts the glass. Candles flicker, and lanterns sway. A haze of smoke hangs over the room, and the smell of booze is almost suffocating. 

Xie Lian breaks through the crowd and stumbles through the moongate. He gasps for breath, a tear escaping and streaking down his cheek. He is cold, too cold, and a hot pit of grief forms in his stomach. He feels he might die from the longing—a longing so palpable, so sharp and heavy. 

San Lang. 

San Lang. 

Oh, San Lang. 

Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath and releases it slowly as he pitches down the corridor, his blood humming with alcohol. He pauses a moment in a window overlooking the city. The view is obscured by the heavy fall of snow, and for once, the streets below are empty. Everyone has stayed home to wait out the storm, their loved ones curled at their sides, hot tea in hand. 

Another tear escapes. And another. 

Something tickles the top of his head. From the corner of his eye, a sparkle of silver. 

He gasps as a butterfly dances across his vision, and he holds his hand out to it. But it does not land.

“Is Gege leaving the party so soon? He hasn’t even allowed his Chengzhu to express gratitude for saving his city.”

Xie Lian whips around to see Hua Cheng standing in the corridor, hands behind his back, a look of mischief twinkling in his midnight eye. His eyepatch is obscured by a heavy cascade of glossy black hair.

Heart thrumming, Xie Lian gives a polite bow. Sweat trickles down his sides, and his hands shake. “Chengzhu. Apologies. I am not really one for parties.”

“I see.” Hua Cheng strolls toward him, his boots jingling as he walks. Long, cold fingers grip Xie Lian’s chin, forcing his gaze up. “Is that really the reason you left? Not another reason?”

Xie Lian tries to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze. He tries. And he fails. His heart is thrashing, and his mouth is dry. The tears build behind his eyes, and if he stands here a moment longer, he will break down in tears. “En. Of course, Chengzhu. Though, perhaps this Wu Ming is not yet fully recovered and requires rest.”

“Hmn.” Hua Cheng does not release his chin. He steps closer, caging Xie Lian against the wall. “I am sure you’re right. And Gege deserves rest. But I still wonder…”

Finally, Xie Lian meets the Ghost King’s gaze. He waits, his blood pulsing in his ears. 

“What is it about you?” Hua Cheng says, and he sounds…

Xie Lian sucks in a breath.

Hua Cheng runs the pad of his thumb along Xie Lian’s cheekbone, brushes along his lashes, runs along his bottom lip. 

Xie Lian shivers. 

“I’d love for Gege to join me back at Paradise Manor tonight.” He unleashes a smile that is all sharp teeth and promises. “If that’s fine with you?”

Chapter Text

Xie Lian’s mouth falls open. He stares up at Hua Cheng, his heart a storm of emotion. Is…is Hua Cheng…is this what it sounds like? Is he actually inviting Xie Lian to do…that?

A shiver goes through him. And, oh. Oh. There is a part of him—all of him—that wants to say yes. For a few hours, he could lose himself in Hua Cheng’s embrace, taste the sweetness of his beloved’s lips once more, surrender to his clever ministrations. 

Xie Lian remembers vividly how enthralling Hua Cheng’s kisses are, how all-consuming his touch, hot and needy, designed to take Xie Lian apart again and again. While Xie Lian’s stunted imagination doesn’t offer any clues as to what it might look like, and while the thought of intimacy with Hua Cheng sends his heart into his throat, it would be a sweet reprieve, certainly, certainly. And for a while, Xie Lian could pretend he has his San Lang back. That everything is as it should be. 

But exhaustion and misery weigh him down, bitter acid on his tongue. He is emotionally wrought—emotionally drained—and his heart collapses in on itself. Hua Cheng is slipping through his fingers. Perhaps he has already lost him for good. 

In his mind’s eye, Xie Lian sees the pretty ghost boy feeding Hua Cheng select berries, gazing up at him with adoration in his wide eyes. Is this the type of partner Hua Cheng would choose for himself, were he not beholden to his god? Someone refined and elegant? Someone doting and ethereally beautiful?

Xie Lian attempts a brave smile and fails. He attempts to settle his agonising thoughts and fails. Something within him builds and builds—a pressure, hot and heavy—and ah, he needs to get away! He needs to escape before Hua Chengs sees…before…ah…before it’s too late. 

But it’s already too late. 

He chokes on a sob. His vision blurs, the lantern-lit corridor streaking with soft crimson light. He cannot hide the fat tears that slip down his cheeks and splatter the floor at their feet. 

“No, thank you,” Xie Lian says, and his voice carries so much false cheer, it’s embarrassing. 

He backs away from Hua Cheng and turns down the corridor. He isn’t running, but it’s a near thing, his body humming with grief and adrenaline. Or is it panic? Is it despair? He shivers, his teeth chattering. If he can get away, hide in his rooms, on the rooftop, anywhere, he can calm himself down and clear his head. He’s let his own tumultuous emotions poison his thoughts, and now he’s eroding. He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he can’t think!

He is almost to the stairwell when long fingers close around his wrist, spinning him around. 

Xie Lian yelps, sucking in hysterical breaths. When he finally gets up the courage to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze again, he stills. 

The look in Hua Cheng’s eye stops his heart, freezes the air in his lungs. 

Gone is the mischievous arrogance. Gone is the devilish leer. Gone is the sultry aura. And in its place, is a look Xie Lian has only seen Hua Cheng wear once—in the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods.

Uncertainty. 

Insecurity. 

Panic. 

It suddenly occurs to Xie Lian that Hua Cheng is terrified out of his mind. The cockiness has only been a guise—the playful callousness a distraction from the turbulent fear and suspicion beneath. 

Hua Cheng doesn’t know where his ashes are. 

Hua Cheng is missing staggering gaps of memory. 

Hua Cheng does not know what tethers him to this world. 

And Hua Cheng, when he is afraid, is pure chaos, lashing out with sharp claws and violence. Hua Cheng, who is known for his ruthlessness, for his wickedness and untouchable power, must feel exposed and vulnerable as he searches for the source of his malady. 

The only thing protecting him is the fact that no one knows he’s lost his memories, and he keeps it that way by going on the offensive, flashing teeth sharp as knives and wit even sharper. The ever-present threat in his eye keeps those around him at a distance. No one knows what is going on behind that caustic facade.

Xie Lian has been so caught up in his own selfish despair and jealousy that he hasn’t even noticed how desperately Hua Cheng needs him right now. He has been too busy pining away for his beloved and has done nothing to dispel the curse. 

Suddenly, all he wants to do is tell Hua Cheng everything. He wants to tell him who he really is. He wants to tell him not to worry anymore, that Xie Lian has his ashes and they are safe. That he will find a way to break the curse. But one look at the chaos in Hua Cheng’s eye, at the curling darkness of his aura, and Xie Lian panics. 

If Xie Lian tells Hua Cheng the truth about who he is, Hua Cheng won’t believe him. Crimson Rain is volatile and unpredictable. Xie Lian will end up in the dungeons again where he is helpless to do anything to break the curse. Worse yet, Hua Cheng might hurt him. Torture him. Not that Xie Lian can’t hack a little torture, but when Hua Cheng regains memories, he will destroy himself for hurting his god. 

It’s too big a risk. For now, Xie Lian needs to focus on breaking the curse on his own. 

“Gege.” Hua Cheng sighs, and his expression shutters, his defensive walls back in place—vulnerability replaced with cold indifference. “I tire of these games. I’ll ask you one more time. Who. Are. You.”

“I’m…I’m no one.”

“No one,” Hua Cheng repeats, his eye darkening. “No name. No past. A cultivator without a sect or spiritual power. A silly little mortal boy who has appeared out of nowhere and just so happens to fight like a demon.” 

Alarm bells go off in Xie Lian’s head. He has scant memory of his actions while he was poisoned, but he knows he will be under even more scrutiny now, having exposed his martial skill. So foolish. So utterly foolish.

“You know,” Hua Cheng continues with a smirk, “I’ve watched your fight with Qi Rong’s army over and over again through the eyes of my clones. Hit by eight poisoned darts, and yet…” He cants his head to the side. His lush mane of wild hair tumbles over his shoulder, slippery like silk, and the coral bead sways against his collar bone. “And yet your footwork was a deadly dance, and your sword forms were beyond what most gods strive and fail to achieve. Such a cunning yet curious pastiche of tactics. Now, where did Gege train, I wonder.”

Xie Lian laughs awkwardly, tears dripping from his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve, and Hua Cheng tracks the movement. “I…oh, well, here and there.”

“The lies and evasions continue.” Hua Cheng clicks his tongue. “Black Water Sinking Ships believes you are a spy sent by the Flower Crowned Martial God, can you imagine?”

“Does Hua Chengzhu also think I’m a spy?” Xie Lian feels a bit dizzy for a moment, panic heavy and hot in his belly. The pressure within continues to build. His head throbs and his eyes burn. 

Hua Cheng raises a single black brow. He seems so calm. So alarmingly calm. But Xie Lian can still feel the tension coming off of him in waves. “I’ve just invited Gege to my bed, and he declined. What spy is going to pass up that opportunity, hmh? To acquire intelligence on the Ghost King? Maybe even get close enough to do some damage?”

So it has all been a test. Of course Hua Cheng isn’t actually interested in taking him to bed. Of course, like this, the way Xie Lian is now—

“Especially,” Hua Cheng continues, “after putting in the effort to make eyes at me all night. Gege was very alluring.”

“Making eyes…I…ah, ha ha ha! Alluring? I’m surprised Chengzhu noticed me at all, occupied as he was with his pretty date.” The miserable words are out before he can stop them, and he slaps his hand over his mouth. Xie Lian’s face burns, and he drops his gaze to their booted feet, but Hua Cheng doesn’t allow his retreat. He hooks one long, elegant finger under his chin, forcing Xie Lian to meet his gaze.

“Oh? Was Gege jealous?” he coos.

Xie Lian’s stomach burns, and fresh tears escape, hot and salty. He tries to turn away, but Hua Cheng holds him fast. 

“Gege, Gege, Gege. I’ve been watching you watch me, your golden doe eyes so filled with longing. The way your pretty little mouth turns down when you’re sad, the way your long lashes flutter in sorrow. A flawless act. Or so I thought.” He pauses, a strange tension in his shoulders. “Now I begin to suspect it is no act at all.”

“San Lang, I—” Xie Lian’s mouth goes dry, and his eyes widen in horror. “I mean…ha ha ha, I mean Hua Chengzhu.”

Xie Lian doesn’t miss the involuntary shiver that goes through Hua Cheng—he doesn’t miss the goosebumps that chase along the exposed skin of his neck. But Hua Cheng recovers quickly. His grin widens and he leans closer—close enough that they are breathing the same air. 

“No, go on,” Hua Cheng hums, his sweet breath ghosting across Xie Lian’s lips. “Gege can call this one San Lang if he likes. Nothing would please me more.”

Xie Lian yanks out of Hua Cheng’s grip. He turns his back on the Ghost King, wrapping his arms around his torso in an attempt to hold himself together—to steel himself against Hua Cheng’s mocking words. 

“I…I…” He takes a shaky breath, balling his fists at his side. “I am not here to spy on you. Or hurt you in any way. I could never…I would never…” 

There is a long silence. 

“Gege…”

“I would never.” 

Another long silence. Hua Cheng shifts behind him. 

“And what would Gege say if I decided to set him free? If I nullified his debt and sent him on his way back to the mortal realm? Perhaps with the coral bead as a parting gift.”

Panic lances through Xie Lian, and he whips around to face Hua Cheng once more. An icy wind howls in the back of his mind, and his fingers and toes are numb with frost. He imagines returning to Mt. Taicang, alone, to stare out at the empty white fields and mountains. To sit by the fire and listen to the storm rattle the walls of the tiny cottage, a coral bead dangling from each ear. 

“But you can’t!” he gasps, trying to catch his breath. His vision narrows, and he feels light headed. “I—I lost a bet! San Lang, I have to…I need to stay here! You can’t! I lost a bet!”

Hua Cheng is offering him the bead? Is it a goodbye? Is this the end of it?

He tastes acid on his tongue, and he sways on his feet. How has he messed this up so spectacularly? If Hua Cheng sends him away, how will Xie Lian break the curse? How will he know if Hua Cheng is in distress? What if he, like Jun Wu, starts to fade? What are the signs? What should he be looking for?

Xie Lian pants, panic clouding his thoughts. He sways, almost losing his balance, but Hua Cheng steadies him, and suddenly he is wrapped in the cold embrace of the Ghost King, his face pressed into crimson silks. 

And Xie Lian falls to pieces.

“Easy, Gege. Easy. I wouldn’t allow you to escape so easily. You are mine now.”

Long fingers stroke through his tangled hair, gently, gently. Like his mother used to do. A barely there touch. Xie Lian trembles violently, allowing himself this one comfort. Selfishly allowing himself to be held in the arms of his beloved. But Hua Cheng doesn’t know who he is. He isn’t holding Xie Lian because he treasures him. Hua Cheng doesn’t feel the way he feels, brimming with love and devotion. Hua Cheng must suspect him now—he must suspect Xie Lian is somehow connected to his past. Maybe that’s a good thing. 

Xie Lian can’t breathe through the gasping, all-consuming sobs. Hua Cheng’s hold tightens, and Xie Lian shakes apart, howling against Hua Cheng’s chest. Hua Cheng mutters something into the top of his head, cool breath tickling his hair. 

They stand like that for what feels like an eternity and no time at all. Slowly, Xie Lian returns to his senses. His face is sticky with dried tears, and his breathing calms. The beat of loneliness in his chest softens as he melts into Hua Cheng’s embrace. So shameless. So needy. Ah, ah, but he can't help himself. 

The wind whips the heavy snow against the windows that line the corridor, and Xie Lian shivers. 

“Gege has still not recovered from the poison.” Hua Cheng’s voice is a quiet rumble in his chest. It reminds Xie Lian of late nights in Puqi shrine, cuddled up on the bamboo mat. “Come with me.”

Xie Lian shudders and nods, his face still pressed into Hua Cheng’s chest. He doesn’t want to let go—how could he ever let go? 

When he finally pulls away, the cold air stings his wet cheeks and neck. He cannot bring himself to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze. 

Hua Cheng threads their fingers. Xie Lian shivers again as he is led down a hidden staff staircase to the lower levels of the Gambler’s Den. 

“Where…where are we going?” he asks, but Hua Cheng only squeezes his fingers in reply. 

No one seems to notice them as they weave through the crowded halls, and Xie Lian wonders if anyone can see them at all. Usually the Ghost King is swarmed by his devoted citizens everywhere he goes, but as they descend to the main hall, no one so much as looks their way.

Hua Cheng pulls him into the busy kitchens, through the throngs of sweaty, shouting kitchen ghosts, to the back where the clay oven looms. It is hot and humid, and the air smells of fresh herbs and baking bread. 

“I haven’t tried to run, you know,” Xie Lian says in an attempt at levity. His thoughts are listless, his body buzzing with baiju. “Are you planning on eating me anyway?”

Hua Cheng’s eye sparkles with something wicked. “Don’t tempt me, Gege. You would be a delicious treat indeed.”

Xie Lian flushes without really knowing why, something hot and heavy curling in his belly.

Without ceremony, Hua Cheng grabs him by the hips and hoists him up onto the butcher block countertop. Xie Lian’s eyes widen in surprise, but he’s feeling wonderfully numb and quiet. Half awake. Half alive. His head feels as though it’s packed with gauze, and his eyes are dry from crying. He could probably lie down on this very counter and fall asleep. 

A bowl of hot tea is thrust into his hands, and he looks up. Hua Cheng’s expression is strange. Far away. But determined. “When was the last time Gege ate anything at all? And before you ask, no, baiju is not a meal.”

“I…can’t remember.” Xie Lian frowns. His thoughts are so hazy and sluggish. He sips at the tea. Hmn, but it isn’t tea. It’s some kind of savoury broth with a distinctly medicinal flavour. Lemon, ginger, butter. Plump chicken dumplings. It’s nice. It warms him from the inside, and he shivers as he gulps another mouthful. The dumplings are really very delicious!  

Hua Cheng takes off his outer robe and wraps it around Xie Lian’s shoulders. It’s soft and smells of smoke and blood and flowers. The scents that are distinctly Hua Cheng. 

It’s happened many times before, that Hua Cheng has covered him in his robes. Whenever Xie Lian has shown any indication that he’s cold, Hua Cheng has always wrapped him up. Or offered his robes as a pillow. But now, as Xie Lian breathes deeply of Hua Cheng’s scent, as he surrenders to the soft silk of the robes, grief expands in his chest. It aches. The longing is palpable. 

He doesn’t deserve this. 

He doesn’t deserve Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian takes another sip of soup, but he’s full. 

“Just a little more, Gege. For your San Lang?” Hua Cheng leans his elbow on the counter and gazes up at Xie Lian, batting his lashes. 

Xie Lian is dazed but does as he’s asked. He manages to take a few more sips while Hua Cheng watches with a focussed gaze. 

“Good," Hua Chengs says as Xie Lian swallows two more large mouthfuls. "Wait here.” And he disappears into the chaos of the kitchen. 

Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath. He rests his half empty bowl of soup on the butcher block and leans against the wall, allowing his eyes to fall closed. 

The kitchens are so warm, and the din of pots and pans, the sizzling of the grills, the crackling of the fire in the clay oven, hypnotise Xie Lian. His body hums with baiju and exhaustion. But his belly is warm, and he is wrapped securely in Hua Cheng’s robes. 

Tomorrow he will track down Mei Nianqing. Surely he’s still in Ghost City. Xie Lian needs to know what kind of state Jun Wu is in and why he would be fading now. His old Guoshi might also have some ideas about how to break the curse.

Could Jun Wu possibly have been the one to curse him? Perhaps it was an unintentional side effect of the curse that not only has Jun Wu forgotten him, but all ghosts. 

Unless it was intentional. Unless Jun Wu made one final attempt to isolate Xie Lian. But why? If he only wanted to be free from his memories, if he only wanted to forget Xie Lian, why would he not have just dispersed himself?

Soon, it feels as though he’s listening to the hum of the kitchen down a narrow tunnel. His body is heavy, his eyes filled with sand. He is vaguely aware of someone lifting him, carrying him gently. And the world falls into silence. 

When Xie Lian wakes, he is in his bed with no memory of how he’d gotten there. He is still wrapped in Hua Cheng’s outer robe. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ghost City riots in the streets below. A strange parade wends through the night market, macabre instruments wailing and chiming, ghosts laughing and shouting. They wear ropes around their necks like diao si gui. Fireworks shriek and fizz, painting the sky above in gold and crimson.

Xie Lian no longer asks what they are celebrating. Any time he asks, he receives strange looks. Why do they need a reason to celebrate? Celebrate each day! Bask in passion, drown in lust, devour each frenzied moment! Life is wasted on the living. 

Yin Hai and Mogwai sit on the lip of the rooftop, along with Mao Wei and Fang Ji, their legs dangling over the edge as they argue. Snow falls softly on their shoulders and hair. Mogwai’s antlers are like tanghulu skewers, shimmering with candied frost, sparkling berries dangling from the tines. 

Ying Ying, as usual, lies on his back across the tiled rooftop, one arm behind his head. Snowflakes cling to his pink lashes. He is eating a peach, and the juices dribble down his dainty chin. It is almost lewd, the way his pink tongue licks at the fruit as he eats. 

Suddenly, Ying Ying looks up and catches Xie Lian's eye, his violet gaze burning with something strange. Xie Lian’s cheeks heat, and he looks quickly away.

Xie Lian pulls the plank of wood he’s been carving out of his sack of scraps. He holds it to the light, this way and that, analysing the curve and smoothness. Satisfied, he threads the filed wire through the bridge smallest to largest. 

“It’s true!” Mogwai says. He pulls a flask from his robes and drinks deeply. “The Flower Crowned Martial God is the new Heavenly Emperor.”

Xie Lian only just stops himself from gasping. He pricks his ears, pretending to be intent on his work. 

“How the fuck do you know it’s true?” Yin Hai grunts. “You never even leave Ghost City.”

“Jealous I know more than you do?” Mogwai snorts. “You know, Yin Hai, just because you’re so fucking miserable doesn’t mean everyone else should be, too. Have you not heard about the thousands of Flower Crowned Martial God temples popping up all over the country? Anyway, what did you expect? He took down Jun Wu. It was only a matter of time.”

“I hear he’s beautiful,” says Fang Ji says. Her long yellow hair is coarsely braided and tied around her neck to look like a noose. She glances over her shoulder at Xie Lian and away again. “He’s the perfect balance between Yin and Yang, with a body of a thousand gold. I hear his eyes are liquid gold.”

“Pfff. No one knows what he looks like.”

“There are divine statues in all the temples for all to see. Feast your eyes upon them, Mogwai. Have a good wank.”

Yin Hai roars with laughter and Mogwai tries to push Fang Ji off the roof. 

“Mortals are idiots. Divine statues never look like the real thing.” Mogwai crosses his arms, and though he’s wearing his bone mask, Xie Lian suspects he’s pouting. 

“Still good for a wank though,” Fang Ji says with an innocent smile directed at Mogwai. 

Xie Lian flushes. It doesn’t matter that it’s him they’re talking about. This idea they have in their minds of the Flower Crowned Martial God is nothing like him.

Still. He can’t help but wonder what Hua Cheng sees when he looks at one of Xie Lian’s divine statues—he knows there are many hidden away in Paradise Manor. Certainly Hua Cheng must wonder about them. Does he know they are of the Flower Crowned Martial God? Or is it just an unfamiliar face? Xie Lian suspects that if he stood right next to the lifelike ones in the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods, Hua Cheng would see no similarities. None of the ghosts would. The curse makes it so.

“But the mortals seem to think His Highness has a demon lover,” Mao Wei says, obviously relishing in the gossip. The thin branches that grow beneath his pale skin pulse in the crimson glow of the city. 

“Yeah right. Isn’t he supposed to be some pure white lotus?”

“We’ll probably find out soon,” Mogwai says. “I hear he’s coming for the Crimson Rain Sought Flower. He wants to take out all the calamities and rule without contest.”

“Why, though? The ghost kings balance the world out. If he takes them out, something fouler will come his way.”

“He can’t touch Crimson Rain. No one can,” Mao Wei whispers with reverence. He cracks his knuckles and they creak like trees swaying in the wind. 

Mogwai takes another swig from his flask. “The Flower Crowned Martial God can. He is more powerful than Jun Wu ever was. It’s no wonder the boss man has been upping security, with that crazy god on the loose.”

Crazy god? Xie Lian stifles a smile. If only they knew just how ‘on the loose’ he truly is.

Ying Ying drops at Xie Lian’s side and crosses his legs, his knee bumping Xie Lian’s. He lights a hand-rolled cigarette. He pulls a fresh baozi from his sleeve and offers it to Xie Lian. 

“Thank you,” Xie Lian says and sets the bun aside. 

“What is Wu Ming working on?” Ying Ying blows fragrant smoke from his nostrils, looking over Xie Lian’s work.  

Xie Lian finishes fixing the last wire to the dragon’s gums and strings it along the wooden body to the yueshan. “It will be a qixian-qin. When it’s finished.”

“Eh? Are these the wires you found in the market?”

“En.”

Ying Ying whistles and moves closer under the guise of getting a better look. He sits so close their thighs are pressed together, and Xie Lian pretends to rummage through his bag to put distance between them. 

“It’s beautiful. What will you do with it once it’s finished?” Ying Ying asks, his violet eyes flashing. 

“Well, I’ll sell it, of course. Do you perchance know of anyone in the city who might be interested?” The wood he's crafted the body from is very fine indeed. He might make a bit more from this sale than he usually would. 

Ying Ying smirks and raises a pink brow. “Our Chengzhu is a collector of fine instruments.”

Xie Lian huffs, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“What’s this look, Wu Ming? The craftsmanship is exquisite—truly a work of art. Will you honour this lowly one with some music before you sell it?” Ying Ying bats his lashes. 

The others fall suddenly silent. Xie Lian and Ying Ying look up.

Yin Hai jumps to his feet, his spindly grey fingers at his temple, his thousands of rainbow eyes blinking. “We’ve been summoned. Fang Ji, Mao Wei, you’re to remain on patrol. Mogwai, Ying Ying, Wu Ming, Chengzhu has need of us.”

“Fuck yes!” Mogwai straps his swords to his waist and heads for the window. 

Xie Lian shoves the remaining scraps of wood into his sack and follows Ying Ying through the window. He shoves his sack under the bed once more, and grabs his swords on the way out the door. 

“Where are we headed?” Mogwai asks as they take the stairs in leaps and bounds. 

“To the dungeons,” Yin Hai replies. “My guess is we'll be having a little visit with Qi Rong. I hope you all brought ear plugs.”

A shiver runs down Xie Lian’s spine, uneasiness clinging to him like film. Why have they been summoned to help interrogate Qi Rong? Wouldn’t Hua Cheng have finished with him already? 

They descend into the dank darkness of the dungeons. The stone ceilings hang so low that Mogwai’s antlers scrape along them as they walk. Dripping water echoes through the narrow tunnels, and in the distance, Xie Lian hears muffled shouting. 

Very familiar shouting. 

His heart drops like a stone. 

The shouting grows louder, and Xie Lian cringes.

“What the fuck?” Mogwai mutters. “That isn’t Qi Rong.”

They come to the end of the tunnel and into a large cell. Two figures are chained to the walls, mouths frothing with blood, rage and panic in their eyes. Hua Cheng leans against the wall, arms crossed, a cruel grin on his beautiful face. 

As Xie Lian comes through the iron door, both Mu Qing and Feng Xin lift their heads and meet his gaze.

Chapter Text

This is bad. 

This is very bad. 

Xie Lian shutters his expression and looks quickly away from Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s panicked eyes. If he doesn’t disguise his horror, he'll end up chained to the wall alongside his oldest friends. 

But what are Mu Qing and Feng Xin doing here? He thought he’d made it clear how important it is for them to stay away. Didn’t they know this would happen? Didn’t they know a frightened Hua Cheng is a dangerous Hua Cheng? And with gaps in his memories, the only feelings he has toward the two generals of the south is scorn and resentment?

If Hua Cheng hurts them, Xie Lian will have no choice but to stand aside and allow it, lest he endanger his position in the guard. 

Ah, but if it goes too far, he will have to step in and risk it all. If that happens, he may lose Hua Cheng forever. Perhaps he already has. Perhaps this curse is permanent. Perhaps Hua Cheng’s memories will never return.  

Mogwai laughs loudly, the sharpness of it absorbed by the dampness of the dungeons. “Finally! The two idiot generals have come to play!”

“Shut up, Mogwai,” Yin Hai says, correctly reading the room. 

Xie Lian remains silent, wondering why Hua Cheng has called them all down here. What role will Xie Lian be expected to play? Will he be ordered to inflict violence on his friends? Torture? This is an aspect of Hua Cheng Xie Lian knows little about. He’s always known Hua Cheng has dungeons—has found himself in their depths once before when he and Shi Qingxuan were searching for the one who cast the Ascending Fire Dragon. He knows Hua Cheng, over 800 years, has gained a reputation for violence and unrelenting, unforgiving savagery. But how much is rumour? How afraid should Xie Lian be right now? If Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s expressions are any indicator…very.

Hua Cheng still hasn’t said a word. He wears the same form Xie Lian met on the ox cart—that of a young master, his hair tied in a lopsided tail, wearing expensive red robes cinched at his slender waist with silver beaded chains. The effect is alluring. But again, one eye is black as shadow, the other red as the fires of Mt. Tonglu. Casually, he unsheathes E-Ming. 

Xie Lian’s breath catches. It’s the first time he’s seen E-Ming since he arrived in Ghost City. The jewel-like eye rolls in its socket, spinning faster and faster until it fixes on Xie Lian, vibrating in frenzy. Ruoye rustles at his wrist, restless and shuddering with impatience. Xie Lian calms the silk band with a gentle stroke of his finger.

The silence is heavy—it stretches on and on, and Xie Lian’s nerves are wound as tight as a qin’s strings. The tension grows, heavy and hot, and still, Hua Cheng says nothing. 

Finally, Feng Xin snaps. 

“You can’t fucking keep us here! We didn’t do anything!” He yanks at his chains. His wrists are already bruised and bleeding. 

“Is that so?” Hua Cheng pushes off from the wall, spinning E-Ming on the palm of his hand. He wears a bored expression, but Xie Lian is not deceived. Violence hangs in the air. “Just a casual stroll through the streets of Ghost City, then?”

“None of your fucking business!” Feng Xin spits

“My city, my business.” Hua Cheng grins—a flash of sharp white teeth. “I suppose you’ll try to convince me you weren’t sent by your new Heavenly Emperor to spy on the Ghost King? Hmn?”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, or at least Xie Lian thinks he does. His face is so swollen and bruised, it’s hard to tell. “We don’t have a new Heavenly Emperor.”

“That’s not what I hear. I hear the Flower Crowned Martial God has been appointed.”

“How can he have been appointed if no one can even fucking find him,” Feng Xin shouts.

Xie Lian sucks in a breath and quietly coughs to cover his reaction. Until now, he’d taken the rumours of his appointment as only that. Rumours. Of course they’d asked him to take the role of Heavenly Emperor on multiple occasions, but he has no interest in the position and has said as much, again and again.

Xie Lian catches Ying Ying from the corner of his eye. The pretty, pink-haired ghost is watching him, a small smile pulling his lips. Xie Lian looks quickly away. 

Hua Cheng nods thoughtfully. “An interesting lie—and one I’ve heard before. I wonder why you’d bother. Someone like His Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle doesn’t just defeat Bai Wuxiang and disappear. His moves are calculated and methodical. He has my attention.”

Feng Xin mutters something under his breath.

“What was that?” Hua Cheng uses E-Ming’s tip to lift Feng Xin’s chin, and Xie Lian’s blood runs cold. 

“I said, you’re worse off than I thought.” Feng Xin yanks away from the demonic scimitar, a trail of blood running down his chin. 

No! No, no, no! Xie Lian tries to will Feng Xin into silence. The more they talk, the less likely they will avoid violence. 

“Things are about to get good,” Mogwai mutters under his breath. 

On the exterior, Xie Lian’s calm. He wears a mask of indifference. On the inside, panic unfurls, frothing through his bloodstream. He feels much like he did in the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods, a talisman plastered to his back as Feng Xin and Mu Qing fended off a furious and terrified Hua Cheng. He is just as frozen now. Just as helpless. 

Hua Cheng cants his head to the side, a wild grin splitting his face. He palms Feng Xin’s face, and with incredible force, cracks the back of his head against the stone wall, leaving behind a gaping hole. The dungeons shake and dust cascades from above. “Who’s worse off than you thought?”

“What the fuck, Hua Cheng! What the fuck!” Mu Qing shrieks, his eyes wide with panic. “Do you even know why you hate us so much?”

“Do I need a reason? You’re trash, bowing down to trash. Need I say more?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about? Let us fucking go!”

“No.” Hua Cheng’s eyes glow red. He cracks Feng Xin’s head into the stone wall again, with more force this time, and dust hangs in the air. “I think I’ll keep you here. Let your prince come to rescue you.”

Feng Xin’s gaze is unfocussed, and blood streams down the back of his neck, but he hasn’t lost consciousness yet. 

Hua Cheng seems to switch interests, and shifts his gaze to Mu Qing. Mu Qing recoils, his face draining of colour. 

“Why have you been lurking about Ghost City? Answer quickly.”

“We’re looking for someone!” Feng Xin slurs, blood curdling along his parted lips.

“Whom are you looking for?”

“None of your fucking business!”

Feng Xin’s head meets the wall again. This time his eyes go blank, and his head lolls forward against his chest.

Mu Qing’s swollen eyes widen, and he thrashes wildly against his restraints. His gunmetal hair is matted with blood. “Are you planning to start a war with the heavens? Because that’s what you’ll get if you keep us here.”

“Let the heavens come. Apparently none of you even know where your emperor is. And your last emperor turned out to be a ghost king and no one even noticed. Should I be very afraid?”

“Always so arrogant. Some things never change.” Mu Qing scoffs, attempting to hold on to his disdainful facade, but his voice is pitched with terror.

Feng Xing groans, and lifts his head, blood spilling from between his lips, his gaze unsteady. 

Hua Cheng smiles sweetly. “Well then. Since you’ve come to visit, perhaps you’d like to share why your not-yet-appointed heavenly emperor is coming after the ghosts kings? Why is he trying to take us out? This is your one and only chance to share willingly. Talk. Or I’ll gladly make you.”

“He isn’t going after the ghost kings! What are you talking about?” Mu Qing’s voice is shrill.

“And here I thought you were the clever one. Try to keep up. First His Highness defeated Bai Wuxiang. Then he dispersed me at Mt. Tonglu.”

Yin Hai and Mogwai stiffen and exchange a glance. Ah. They hadn’t known where their Chengzhu had been for that year. They certainly don’t know about the curse. 

“It took me a year to return. So I’ll ask you again. Why is the Flower Crowned Martial God coming after the ghost kings.”

“You should really try to get your facts straight. I thought Crimson Rain Sought Flower knew everything about everything. Turns out, he’s just as ignorant as the rest of us,” Mu Qing spits.

Bam!

Hua Cheng’s fist cracks against Mu Qing’s jaw, and his head snaps back at an unnatural angle.

“My patience is limited. Why. Is His Highness. Coming after the supremes. Answer on the count of three. One. Two—”

Such a rush to answer!

“What the fuck! What the fuck! I’m telling you! His Highness didn’t disperse you!”

Hua Cheng’s eyes flash dangerously, his expression going dark. “You think your trash lies will save you now?”

“So that’s it?” Mu Qing sneers. “You think the Flower Crowned Martial God dispersed you? Are you going to try to kill him?”

“That’s right. So. This is your last chance. Where is the Flower Crowned Martial God, His Royal Highness, Xie Lian?”

A shiver goes through Xie Lian at hearing his own name on Hua Cheng’s lips, spoken with such malice. Such fury. He wants to cry. He wants to tell Hua Cheng he would never hurt him, not ever. That he has it all wrong. This is such a mess, and it’s only getting more tangled up. 

His mind reels, trying to come up with a plan. Should he risk it all to stop this line of questioning? Either his friends will give it all away and blow his cover, or worse. They’ll get themselves killed. His heart thuds out of time. He feels a headache coming on, and resists the urge to cradle his head in his hands. 

When he looks up, Ying Ying is still watching him closely, his violet eyes bright.

“Fuck you, Hua Cheng!”

Hua Cheng laughs and rises to his feet, sheathing E-Ming. “Yin Hai, Mogwai, take the prissy general to the lower levels and show him a good time. I’ll let you know when the stupid general has given me enough information for you to let his boyfriend rest up.”

Yin Hai’s thousands of rainbow eyes glint in the torch light as he steps forward with a ring of keys. Mogwai takes Mu Qing’s other side and clasps a clawed hand around Mu Qing’s slender wrists. 

“Don’t touch me!” Mu Qing hisses, writhing and snarling. 

They roughly drag Mu Qing across the stone floor, a smear of blood trailing behind him. 

“Hua Cheng! Your tattoo! What does it say?” Feng Xin’s eyes are glazed over, and he sways within the confines of his chains. 

Mu Qing stops fighting. 

The dungeons fall silent.

Xie Lian’s stomach bottoms out.

Hua Cheng pauses. He raises a single black brow, but Xie Lian can sense the nervous tremor that runs through him. “My tattoo? Hmn. Did you perhaps hit your head, General Shit For Brains?”

“On your forearm. There’s script.” Feng Xin’s words slide together. “What does it say?”

Hua Cheng pulls up the billowing sleeve of his crimson robes, revealing the demonic calligraphy. Xie Lian’s name. He grins wildly. “See? No tattoo. Try again.”

Mu Qing whirls around. “Are you blind! It’s right there on your arm! Ugly as sin!”

Something dark flickers in Hua Cheng’s eyes. “Yin Hai. Do you see a tattoo on my arm?”

Yin Hai frowns, relaxing his grip on Mu Qing, as though the general of the southwest isn’t an 800-year-old martial god who could tear him to shreds in an instant. “Chengzhu, there is no tattoo.”

“Mogwai?”

“No, Chengzhu, sir. I see no tattoo.”

“Of course they can’t see it. They’re ghosts!” Mu Qing's eyes are red-rimmed and dark. He is shivering.

Hua Cheng turns to Xie Lian, both eyebrows raised. “Gege, the only other living person here. What do you see?”

Xie Lian swallows hard, panic vibrating through him. He can’t lie. If he lies, Hua Cheng will soon discover the truth, and the fragile trust they’d cultivated would be lost. But revealing the tattoo would lead to more questions—questions directed at Mu Qing and Feng Xin. And Mu Qing and Feng Xin could either answer truthfully. Or die. 

“There is a tattoo,” Xie Lian says, and his voice carries a wild note. He can feel Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s gazes burning into him. 

“You do? How interesting. And what does it say?”

Xie Lian bites his lip and takes a step closer, his gaze raking over the pale skin of Hua Cheng’s arm—over his own barely legible name. Oh, when Hua Cheng gets his memories back, they really will have to work on his calligraphy.  “It’s…um…ah…ha ha ha ha it’s actually quite hard to read.” 

Hua Cheng stares at him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “Ying Ying. Find a mortal in the Gambler’s Den. Bring them down here.”

Ying Ying bows, and without a word, disappears down the darkened corridor. 

Hua Cheng crouches down before Mu Qing and grasps his chin, jerking Mu Qing’s gaze up toward him. “Now. Tell me. What does this supposed tattoo say?”

“It says ‘Xie Lian’.” Mu Qing spits blood at Hua Cheng’s booted feet.

Xie Lian’s ears ring, and his heart thrashes against his ribs. Bitter acid collects beneath his tongue and he vibrates with anxiety. What are they doing? Not only are they going to get themselves killed, they are going to get Xie Lian killed, too! How much more will Mu Qing say? Will they reveal Xie Lian’s identity? 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. They’ve said too much already. It’s too late. Mu Qing and Feng Xin think they know Hua Cheng, but they don’t. They are walking right into his trap, and providing him more information will not save them. Not now. Not anymore. 

The dungeons darken, the torches lining the walls sputtering. Hua Cheng’s aura lashes out around him, thick and black. His hair whips around his face, and his eyes glow like embers. The killing intent in the enclosed space is suffocating.

“Did His Highness do this? Before he wiped my memories and dispersed me? He inked his own name into my skin?” 

“No!” Mu Qing shouts, losing his composure once he sees his error. “You did it yourself! You did it yourself!”

“I did it myself.” Hua Cheng repeats, his words sharp as knives. 

Tension hangs in the air, and even Mogwai seems a little nervous. 

“You,” Hua Cheng continues. “Talk. Where is the Flower Crowned Martial God hiding? Tell me now, and I may let you live.”

Mu Qing’s gaze flickers to Xie Lian and away again, and Xie Lian holds his breath. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. How convenient.” A swarm of butterflies materialise and swarm Mu Qing and Feng Xin, alighting on their shoulders and arms. 

“Hua Cheng! Fuck!” Feng Xin cries as butterflies lash at his bare neck and cheeks, shredding the armour at his chest. “Back off! You don’t know what you’re doing! His Highness didn’t disperse you! He didn’t wipe your memories! You have it all wrong!”

“Where is he?”

“He—” Feng Xin chokes on blood and collapses in a slump. 

“He has a cottage,” Mu Qing blurts. “On Mt. Taicang! He might be there!”

Ying Ying appears at the barred door, a fierce look in his violet eyes. Behind him is a skinny man with long grey hair. He shivers as he stands there, clutching his arms around his torso. “Chengzhu, I’ve brought a mortal.” 

“Bring him here.”

Ying Ying leads the him into the cell. The mortal approaches, cowering in the face of the furious ghost king. 

Hua Cheng wastes no time lifting his sleeve. “Is there something written here? Tell the truth or I’ll hunt down your family once I’ve finished with you.”

Even in the dim light of the dungeons, Xie Lian can see the whites of the mortal’s eyes, his mouth hanging open in terror. “Y-y-y-yes, Hua Chengzhu. There is…th-there is something written there.”

Hua Cheng narrows his gaze, his black aura swelling. “What. Does. It. Say?”

“I…I-I-I can’t read it! Please, I’m sorry! I don’t know what it says! It looks like a different language!”

Hua Cheng stares for a long moment. Then, he pulls a bag of coins from his sleeve. “You will not remember any of this. You won big in Ghost City tonight. You will never return.”

“Y-y-yes, Chengzhu. Thank you, Chengzhu!”

Hua Cheng stares at his forearm for a long moment after the mortal has been escorted out. His fist clenches and unclenches at his side. “Rechain the idiot generals.” He looks directly at Yin Hai. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you that if this is leaks, you’ll all wish for the relief of dispersal?”

“Yes, Chengzhu. I mean, no Chengzhu.”

“Well? Which is it?”

“We understand. We won’t say a word.”

Hua Cheng’s mismatched eyes find Xie Lian, looking him up and down. He brushes by him on his way out, his fingers gliding along Xie Lian’s as he passes. Before Xie Lian can process what’s just happened, Hua Cheng has disappeared down the corridor.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It’s several days before Xie Lian has the opportunity to sneak down into the dungeons again. Shi Qingxuan alerts him that Hua Cheng has left the city, and Xie Lian wastes no time. 

It isn’t easy to slip past Hua Cheng’s guards. And there are so many of them! When he encounters the eighth patrol unit, he has no choice but to allow Ruoye to blindfold them before they lay eyes on him, and he temporarily knocks them unconscious. It wouldn’t do at all for Wu Ming to be seen down here moments before the generals of the south escape. 

Xie Lian clings to the shadows, his footfall silent as a wraith as he slips down the narrow stone stairwell to where Mu Qing and Feng Xin are chained. Thankfully, after 800 years of wandering the earth with his spiritual powers trapped beneath his shackles, he’s very good at making do without, and his martial training has served him well. 

The lanterns gutter as he passes. The only sound is the dripping of water into murky puddles. The silence presses in on him, heavy and dense, muffling his ears. He takes a stuttering breath of putrid, damp air. 

As he comes to the end of the row of cells, past the enclosure he himself occupied when he first arrived in Ghost City, he hears hushed bickering. Ah, at least they’re okay. 

Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s eyes are wide as Xie Lian slips into their cell. 

“Your Highness,” they hiss in unison. 

“Thank fuck! Get us out of here! Hurry! The guards come by once every sichen to check on us! We don’t have much time.”

Xie Lian tries with some difficulty to hide his annoyance as he sets to work on their manacles. “You know, I wouldn’t have to be down here risking everything to rescue you both if you’d only listened to me. Why have you come?” 

Feng Xin has the good sense to look contrite. “Your Highness, we were worried. We weren’t about to let that freak hurt you just because he’s lost his memories.”

“Yeah. Plus, we heard you blew up the city and almost died.” Mu Qing shifts uncomfortably, and it’s only then Xie Lian realises his arm is broken. 

Xie Lian huffs, searching his qiankun pouch for something he can pick the locks with. “That isn’t quite right. Anway. I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “You always say you’re fine, even when you’re not. And you are definitely not fine. How are you even thinner now than when you arrived? And are you even sleeping? What an idiot.”

Xie Lian looks up in surprise. He feels a pain in his heart and the weight of 800 years alone. He swallows heavily as he hears the hidden meaning behind Mu Qing’s words. His skin feels too tight, and a lump forms in his throat. He can’t remember the last time anyone cared if he ate or slept. Apart from San Lang, that is. Ah, but there isn’t time for Xie Lian to spiral! He needs to get his friends out of the dungeons before someone comes!

He takes a deep breath. “Thank you both for coming. I’m grateful.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Feng Xin dusts off his robes, and flakes of blood shiver to the ground at his boots. “Your Highness, are you any closer to figuring out what happened? Or how to break Crimson Rain’s curse?”

“Ah. No. I no longer believe it’s Hua Cheng who’s cursed, but myself.” 

“What?” they shout-whisper in unison.

Xie Lian sighs. It doesn’t make sense to believe Hua Cheng is the cursed one. No ghost—not Hua Cheng, not Yin Yu, not He Xuan, not even Jun Wu—remembers him. A curse directed at Hua Cheng couldn’t consume the memories of all ghosts, could it?

But they all know who the Flower Crowned Martial God is. Hua Cheng knows Xie Lian was there at Mt. Tonglu when he dispersed into a cloud of silvery butterflies. So why, then, can ghosts not see the tattoo on Hua Cheng’s arm? A part of him wishes Mu Qing and Feng Xin had mentioned the statues, but Xie Lian holds firm to his belief that Hua Cheng either doesn’t recognize the statues or he can’t see them at all. 

Is it because the tattoo and the statues are linked to memory? If Hua Cheng carved a statue now of Wu Ming, would he recognise the face? Probably. 

Xie Lian finally finds what he’s looking for in his qiankun pouch. A silver tool for tripping particularly troublesome locks. He sets to work on freeing Mu Qing. 

“I never want to see the inside of this dungeon again,” Feng Xin groans. 

“That’s what you say every time.” Mu Qing scowls and rubs his wrists as Xie Lian unlocks his chains. 

“You’ve been here before?” Xie Lian asks in surprise. 

But before Mu Qing can answer, they hear footsteps approaching down the stone corridor. 

The tiny hairs rise on the back of Xie Lian’s neck, and adrenaline rushes through him, heady and dizzying. Fear licks down his spine. They are at the end of the corridor. There are no corners or crevices to be had. Nowhere to hide. 

Xie Lian manages Feng Xin’s last manacle, and the general of the southeast jumps to his feet. 

A dark figure appears in the doorway.

Xie Lian holds his breath. Both Mu Qing and Feng Xin leap in front of him and crouch into an attack stance. 

The silence holds. 

No one moves. 

Xie Lian’s heart thrums, his body tightly wound.

The figure steps into the lantern light, and it is none other than Mei Nianqing! “Pah! I could have wrung your necks twice over before you fools even realised I was here. All that training for nothing. Little Highness must be very distracted indeed.”

“Guoshi!” Xie Lian breaths, his skin tingling with shock and his blood pumping with adrenaline. “What are you doing here?”

Mei Nianqing smoothes his immaculate blue robes, his eyes flashing in the dim light. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone for days now. This was my chance.”

“What do you want?” Mu Qing says, his tone scathing. He relaxes out of his attack stance, but his fists are still clenched at his sides. 

“Is that any way to speak to your elders? Such disrespect. 800 years, and still you haven’t learned any manners. Such a disgrace.”

Xie Lian is baffled. His guoshi is acting as if they aren’t in the dungeons of a supreme ghost king trying to free his prisoners. “Ah, well, um…Guoshi, we should probably not linger here. Hua Cheng could return at any moment. This isn’t a good place to talk.”

“It’s a perfectly fine place to talk. You must listen to me, Little Highness. There isn’t much time. Jun Wu only has a matter of weeks, if that, and he refuses to listen to reason.”

“What do you mean?” Mu Qing asks. 

Mei Nianqing sighs. “His Highness has cursed Little Highness. He was in agony, unable to forgive himself for the mistakes he’s made. He couldn’t find peace. He needed to forget.”

“Wait! Jun Wu cursed His Highness?”

Mei Nianqing frowns, tossing his long braided hair over his shoulder. He ignores Feng Xin’s question. 

Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath. “Are you sure it was Jun Wu who cursed me?”

“Of course. Only a very powerful ghost could summon such a curse. Who else could have done it? And who else would have the motivation?”

“Couldn’t a god have cast the curse?” Feng Xin asks. “The Heavens are in chaos right now, calling for the Flower Crowned Martial God to take the throne. The Mortal Realm, too, calls for His Highness, the one who defeated Bai Wuxiang.”

“Yeah,” Mu Qing chimes in, “and not everyone is happy about that. There are gods who would take the throne themselves. It makes sense that one of them could have cursed His Highness.”

Laughter echoes from down the corridor, followed by the groaning of an iron door. Then silence. 

“Certainly not,” Mei Nianqing whispers. “It was a ghost. Aren’t you listening? You think I don’t know the difference between a ghost curse and a divine curse? Children these days.”

“We are 800 years old!” Mu Qing snarls. 

“So act like it!”

“Ah, ah, okay, okay. Everyone calm down.” Xie Lian holds up his hands. If they start fighting, they will be caught. “Guoshi. How do I break the curse?”

“Return to Mt. Tonglu with me. See if you can reason with Jun Wu—remind him of who you are. There is still hope that he can find redemption and start a new life. He’s given up too easily. Right now he is content to fade. He keeps saying how tired he is, how old. He is at peace without memories of you, Little Highness. And we are running out of time. Without you, he has nothing to live for.”

“If he wants to dissipate, shouldn’t you just let him?” Mu Qing asks.

“If you want Little Highness to stay cursed forever. If Jun Wu dissipates, the curse will be permanent.”

Xie Lian blanches, and his skin prickles cold. In his mind’s eye, he sees Hua Cheng lying on the bamboo mat of Puqi Shrine, laughing, his eyes sparkling. 

"Your Highness! I will never forget you!"

“All right. I’ll come with you to Mt. Tonglu.” Xie Lian looks to Mu Qing and Feng Xin, a strange desperation rising inside him. “It’s the only lead I have. I need to be sure.”

“Your Highness, we’ll come with you.” Feng Xin’s expression is so open and earnest, so full of determination, Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“Me, too. But only because I don’t trust Jun Wu,” Mu Qing says.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me,” Xie Lian says thickly. 

“We leave tomorrow,” Mei Nianqing says. “At first light. At the gates of Ghost City.”

“En.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Once Feng Xin and Mu Qing are safely out of the dungeons, and away from the Gambler’s Den, Xie Lian returns to his rooms. Yin Hai is out. On shift with Mogwai. Xie Lian grabs his linen towel and heads to the baths, washing his long hair, rebraiding the coral bead into it, and dressing in his sleeping robes. He returns to his rooms and climbs into bed. 

Beyond the frost-caked windows, the icy wind whispers. Soon, Xie Lian is asleep. 

He dreams of Mt. Taicang. He stands beneath the howling night sky, blinking up at the stars. His lungs are frozen, and his skin sparkles with frost. He breathes in the wet scent of bark, of terpenes, of snow. Of time forgotten. In the trees, a figure stands, wearing a mask that doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The figure does not move. It does not speak.

All is silent. 

All is still. 

In his palm is something hot. Something red. A coral bead. It beats in time with his own heart, leaking blood down his wrist, marring the pure white of the snow at his feet. 

He has lost San Lang forever. 

He is lost. 

He is lost.

He doesn't deserve him. He never deserved him.

He deserves this.

He deserves this. 

“Gege.” A soft whisper. “Gege, wake up.”

Xie Lian blinks awake to the darkness of his room. Yin Hai snores in the bed across from him, and outside, the snow falls softly beyond the window. 

Hua Cheng looms over him, his face shadowed, and Xie Lian can smell him—pine and flowers and smoke. 

Xie Lian sits up with a gasp, the blankets slipping away and pooling around his waist. “San Lang.”

Hua Cheng presses a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Get dressed. I need you to come with me somewhere.”

Xie Lian dresses quickly, blushing furiously in the dark, even though Hua Cheng has turned his back. Once he’s donned his gear and black robes, Hua Cheng turns around and wraps heavy wool outer robes around his shoulder. 

“Gege will need to dress warm where we’re going.”

Xie Lian wants to ask where, but he remains silent as Hua Cheng pulls him close, sliding his hand around Xie Lian's waist. He shivers as Hua Cheng squeezes his hip. 

“Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers into his hair. “Hold tight.”

He pulls a pair of lacquered red dice from his sleeve and throws them. 

Xie Lian squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they are at the base of Mt. Taicang. Ahead, through the snow, Xie Lian can see the path up to his cottage. 

Shock wraps around his throat, and the long tale of terror slithers down his spine.

Hua Cheng knows.

Hua Cheng knows. 

Hua Cheng KNOWS!

Hua Cheng gazes down at him, his onyx eye sparkling, and his glossy raven hair whipping in the wind. “Gege. Be honest. You know more than you’re saying, hmn?”

Chapter Text

The wind howls, and the mournful wail is eerily humanlike. The gentle chime of snow blowing across the frost-crusted path hollows Xie Lian out. He allows his grief to numb until the memories and sorrow are only distant murmurs down a frozen wind tunnel. If he closes his eyes, he will be sitting once more in his lonely cottage, staring into a fire that has long gone cold. 

The vivid blue of night drapes them in silence. Hua Cheng stands before him like a dream. The perfect point of his chin, the slender pillar of his neck, milk-pale skin, inky black hair—his beauty is ethereal, and his eye gleams in the halflight. It hurts to look at him.

Xie Lian often dreamed of Hua Cheng like this. Appearing at his cottage door, his mouth moving around words Xie Lian couldn’t hear. The look in Hua Cheng’s eye made him feel known. It was a bright, hot sensation, the feeling known. Heady. It tingled in his fingertips and rushed beneath his skin. In those dreams, Xie Lian’s mouth cracked open like a rock in fire, and he melted into Hua Cheng’s arms. 

Xie Lian searches for that look in Hua Cheng’s eye now. He sees the Hua Cheng of his dream layered on top of the Hua Cheng standing before him, a shadowy double exposure.  

He feels like he’s standing before a canyon while blindfolded. His belly flutters, and his spine tingles with a perceived sense of danger—a perceived rush of endorphins. The two are sometimes difficult to tell apart.  

Whatever Hua Cheng knows, he has not yet hurt Xie Lian. Xie Lian is not locked in the dungeons, nor is he bleeding through his teeth. In fact, Hua Cheng has bundled Xie Lian in warm robes and held him close, spoken to him softly. 

How much does Hua Cheng know? What conclusions has he reached? 

He knows. 

Hua Cheng knows. 

But what? Xie Lian needs more information. 

Hua Cheng is unable to see the tattoo on his own arm. When no mortal could read it, did Hua Cheng come to believe it was his own writing? That he himself inked the name “Xie Lian” on his own arm? Such an act is either a forceful brand or an act of devotion. Which does Hua Cheng suspect?

Has Hua Cheng heard stories of the Flower Crowned Martial God’s third ascension as a scrap god and equated them to Xie Lian? Has he gleaned information from Shi Qingxuan, or has he perhaps found Quan Yizhen, whom Mu Qing and Feng Xin had kept far away from Ghost City? 

Ah, but of course. Hua Cheng is whip smart—uncannily brilliant. When the full force of his ferocity is behind an investigation, answers come. And Xie Lian has done little to hide. Not really very much at all. Perhaps Hua Cheng knows everything. Perhaps he only has a hunch. Xie Lian will allow it all to unfold as it will. 

But Xie Lian doesn’t dare hope. Hope is dangerous. Hope will kill one faster than a blade. Instead, he turns his focus once more to how he will end the curse. Perhaps it will be as soon as he can visit Tonglu.

Snow falls gently around them. Xie Lian holds heat in his mouth—the heat of all he cannot say. The coral bead, secured in a braid and tightly bound in a top knot, is hot against his scalp. 

“Where are we?” Xie Lian asks and pulls the woollen robes tight around his shoulders. They smell of lanolin and sandalwood incense. 

“Gege doesn’t know? For a moment I thought I saw recognition in his eyes.” Hua Cheng raises a brow. Snow dusts his shoulders, his black hair. “This is where those worthless generals said the Flower Crowned Martial God keeps a refuge. I thought I’d bring Gege along with me. In case there’s a fight.”

Xie Lian releases a shaky breath. Does this mean Hua Cheng doesn’t yet know he is the Flower Crowned Martial God? Or is Xie Lian being tested? “Ah.”

“Unless Gege would rather return to his warm bed? I can take him back now if he’d prefer.”

Xie Lian shakes his head and follows Hua Cheng as he turns up the path. 

Xie Lian carved this path himself. In the summers, it is wagon-worn, and in the winters, the parting of the trees guides travellers through the white wilderness. It took him months of back-breaking work to pull up all the trees, anticipating Hua Cheng’s arrival. He’d always imagined Hua Chen walking this path to find the tiny cottage for two, fireflies dancing at his booted feet. This wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind, but Hua Cheng was here. Hua Cheng was alive and he was here. 

“If you want Little Highness to stay cursed forever. If Jun Wu dissipates, the curse will be permanent.”

Xie Lian’s heart stutters, and he swallows. If it was Jun Wu who cast the curse, they are running out of time. Mei Nianqing, Feng Xin, and Mu Qing will be at the city gates come dawn. They will have to wait. He will leave for Tonglu as soon as Hua Cheng is finished with him here. He will make it in time. He will…ah…

But Jun Wu is certainly more stubborn than this! Surely he will hold on a while longer. Jun Wu, as Xie Lian knows him, is indomitable of spirit. He has assumed the former emperor was merely biding his time to make a comeback. That Jun Wu would choose this fate is more than baffling. 

Ah, but it matters not. Xie Lian will find a way to get him to break the curse. It must be so. The alternative is…well. It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Xie Lian feels Hua Cheng’s eyes on him as they trudge through the deep snow of the mountainside, wending through the trees. He blushes despite the cold. He has always felt Hua Cheng’s gaze like this, but is it different now? Or is it the same? It feels the same, but surely Hua Cheng doesn’t find him very interesting without his memories to provide context. 

Xie Lian’s toes are frozen and his eyelashes are heavy with frost, but he hardly notices. “What will you do when you find him? The Flower Crowned Martial God?”

“What does Gege think I will do?” When Xie Lian doesn’t reply, Hua Cheng continues, “I need answers. And he will give them to me, willing or not. I’m not here to play games.”

The trees part, and Xie Lian’s heart stills as the cottage comes into view. It looks just the same as he left it. Wood neatly stacked by the door. The yard tidy. The windows dark, the chimney cold. 

Snow billows in moon-soaked waves off the thatched roof. Through the parted clouds, a tapestry of shivering stars cascades across the night sky, cold and lonely. Beyond the forest, starshine reflects off the snow like swinging lanterns, illuminating the clearing. Ah, but it is a familiar sight. A sight he once thought he’d share with Hua Cheng. And now Hua Cheng is here.

Hua Cheng pauses. His expression is inscrutable. “No one is here.”

Without another word, Hua Cheng moves toward the cottage, and Xie Lian follows after, a bone-rattling shiver going through and through him. 

It is surreal, it is surreal. This is the cottage Xie Lian built for him. For them. To hold their love and shelter them from the horrors of their pasts. But it isn’t a home. It is a shell, empty and forlorn. It is nothing—ramshackle and humble. It is nothing. 

His cheeks and eyes grow hot as Hua Cheng rattles the door open, and snow sweeps across the floor. Shame burns in his belly. He hasn’t even been away for long, but he feels as though he’s viewing old memories through a warped and darkened glass. Xie Lian is suddenly separate from his own body. He is nothing—old and weary. He is nothing. 

Why did Xie Lian ever think such a place was fit for his beloved? His San Lang, his Wu Ming, his Hong’er, who had fought and died for him thrice over. Who has known poverty and anguish—who has fought and bled for him, who has withstood unknown trials. Is this really what Xie Lian thought to offer him? Hua Cheng deserves all the luxuries the world has to offer. He deserves much better than the scrap god, the laughing stock—the god who once destroyed his kingdom. The god who, in his weakened state, nearly became a calamity and broke his promise to the common people.  

Hua Cheng is glaring at the small room—at the abandoned cups of frozen tea, at the small sleeping mat, at the stacks of books and carved wooden boxes and half-finished instruments. At the chipped vases and unloved pieces of jewellery in need of repair. Xie Lian sees it all through his eyes now, and suddenly the cold is unbearable. 

“Abanoned, but it hasn’t been for long.” Hua Cheng narrows his gaze at one of the instruments. When he looks up at Xie Lian, he pauses. “Gege?”

“Hmn,” is all Xie Lian can reply. 

Without another word, Hua Cheng sheds his outer robe, and with uncanny speed, wraps it around Xie Lian’s shoulders. There is a strange look in his eye as he ties the waist. It is only then Xie Lian realises he’s shivering from head to toe.

“Come closer.” Hua Cheng yanks the sleeping mat in front of the wood stove and manoeuvres Xie Lian into a seated position, snatching up extra blankets and piling them on his lap. He snaps his fingers, and a fire roars to life in the cold stove. Then, he kneels before Xie Lian, taking both of his hands between his own. He blows on them, and his breath is hot. 

Xie Lian shivers violently. For a moment he is disoriented. Hua Cheng is behaving just as he would have before his memories were lost to this curse—it is déjà vu, and once more, the image of San Lang cutting vegetables in Puqi Shrine, or stretched out on the bamboo mat, or sweeping, is superimposed in ghostly layers over the real moment. Hope sneaks between the cracks of Xie Lian’s tired defences. He is certain he will pay ten-fold for this hope later, but for now, it is a balm to his wretched longing. For a moment, he will pretend. 

“Ah, but won’t San Lang be cold now?” He clutches at Hua Cheng’s crimson robes with no intention of returning them. 

Hua Cheng raises a single black brow as he sets to work boiling water for tea, the chains on his fine black boot jingling. “I’m a ghost, Gege. The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“But…ah…is San Lang not”—a shiver rattles through him, and his jaw clenches—“concerned that the Flower Crowned Martial God will return?”

“He won’t. That trash is well aware now that his generals have betrayed this place. He is hiding from me. And I want to know why. Perhaps this place will supply some clues.”

“It appears he left rather in a hurry,” Xie Lian mumbles. 

“Mnm.”

The kettle comes to a boil, and soon Hua Cheng is pressing a steaming cup into Xie Lian’s hands. “Drink.”

“My gratitude.” He cradles the hot tea in his hands, the bones of his icy fingers cracking like rusted tin. 

The wind howls, and the cheery fire pops and hisses. Hua Cheng sits on the sleeping mat cross-legged across from Xie Lian, resting his chin in his hand as he watches the dancing flames. 

“There is something odd about this place,” Hua Cheng murmurs, half to himself. “Something happened here. This place is drenched in resentful energy.”

Eh? Resentful energy? Xie Lian closes his eyes and extends his senses out. He doesn’t feel anything at all! Could this be a side effect of the curse?

“Does Gege not feel it, too?”

Xie Lian frowns. “This was the former kingdom of Xianle. Many atrocities happened here.”

A wicked grin spreads across Hua Cheng’s face. “And here I thought Gege didn’t know this place.” 

Xie Lian pales, mentally kicking himself for his foolishness. If Hua Cheng doesn’t already suspect he is the Flower Crowned Martial God, Xie Lian is unwittingly leading him in that direction. 

Hua Cheng, still grinning, stokes the fire, adding sticks of wood to the blaze. “Gege is correct. We are in the former kingdom of Xianle. But the resentment here is recent. And powerful.”

Xie Lian occupies himself with sipping his tea. The cold has clamped around his heart, frost clinging to his ribs, and his breath escapes his parted lips in ghostly white clouds. But the coral bead secured in his hair is hot. Strangely hot, like a burning ember. He doesn’t dare take his hair down to touch it. Is the bead somehow reacting to the proximity of its twin? But why hasn’t it done this before?

Mystified, he reaches out for the coral bead tied to the end of Hua Cheng’s braid, gently grasping it between his fingertips. It’s cool to the touch, and Hua Cheng’s silky hair glides along the back of his hand. 

When he looks up, Hua Cheng is watching him carefully. Xie Lian gasps and drops the bead. The braid swings for a moment before resting again against Hua Cheng’s elegant collar bone.

“Gege is coveting my coral pearl again.”

“Hmn,” Xie Lian replies, his cheeks heating. “It is very unique. Where did San Lang find such a rare treasure?”

“Was it not a gift from Gege?”

Xie Lian looks up in surprise, shock lighting up his spine. He opens his mouth and closes it. Then opens it again, his thoughts in a flurry. Blood roars in his ears like a winter storm. He decides to take a chance. “Not a gift exactly,” he whispers. 

“Hmn. What then?”

When Xie Lian doesn’t respond, Hua Cheng continues, “Gege has many secrets. There must be a reason he is yet unwilling to share.”

Xie Lian nods, his heart thudding in his chest. 

“I wonder if Gege isn’t sharing because he won’t. Or because he can’t. Perhaps Gege is bound by some force? Could it be?”

Xie Lian swallows hard. This is his chance. This is his chance to share. Should he tell Hua Cheng everything? Should he pour his heart and soul out for Hua Cheng to hear? His instincts tell him Hua Cheng will listen. That he may even believe him. Ah, but is that wishful thinking?

And what if it goes wrong? Animosity toward the Flower Crowned Martial God still burns in Hua Cheng’s eye. If Xie Lian shares and Hua Cheng attacks? Imprisons him? Tortures him? Perhaps it’s best to hold off until he’s had a chance to speak to Jun Wu, despite the rising desire to come clean to his beloved. 

“Interesting,” Hua Cheng says, his gaze narrowing in. Even though Xie Lian hasn’t said a word, he feels exposed. “There’s something else I’ve been wondering for a while. Don’t blow me off, Gege. Tell the truth. Did you come to Ghost City to help this San Lang get his memories back?”

Again, Xie Lian is so shocked he could barely reply. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. Not this. Not this blase tone or these casually loaded questions. Afraid of what his voice might reveal, Xie Lian only nods in reply. 

“Thought so. And this one immediately locked Gege in the dungeons where he got very hurt.” Hua Cheng’s voice is still nonchalant, but something strange lurks beneath the surface. It’s not quite the cold fury or the self-flagellation he’d heard in Hua Cheng’s voice when Xie Lian had crossed paths with E-Ming during the altercation with Lang Qianqiu, but close. 

“Of course San Lang locked me up,” Xie Lian protests, his shock pushed aside by indignation. He sets his tea on the wooden floor and wrings his hands. “This one was very suspicious, asking after a precious coral bead you have no memory of. A bead braided into the Ghost King’s hair must have some relevance to his past. I should have…ah…perhaps I made the wrong choice of items to bet for.”

Hua Cheng captures one of his hands and laces their fingers together, matte-black fingernails absorbing the glow of the fire. His touch is deceptively warm, and Xie Lian’s belly is filled with a wild fluttering. He pulls in quick short breaths, and his teeth start to chatter again. 

“Why didn’t Gege just say who he was?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Hmn. You’re probably right. And you’re afraid of what I would have done had I not believed you.”

“En,” Xie Lian says softly, stroking Hua Cheng’s thumb with the pad of his finger. He is suddenly mesmerised by the Ghost King’s nail polish, the narrow beds of his nails, the paleness of his long fingers. Hua Cheng has beautiful hands. He wants to bask in the nearness, in the touch and feeling of him. “But not for myself. San Lang is very…protective of his Gege. When your memories returned, you would have been upset that you’d hurt me.”

“And Gege is aware of which memories this one has lost?”

Xie Lian blinks, an uneasy feeling settling over him. “What gave me away?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.” Hua Cheng smirks, flashing sharp teeth and sharper canines. “I had my suspicions from the beginning, though I couldn’t be certain if I could trust you or not. Perhaps, in the end, it was the sincere and innocent expression in your beautiful doe eyes. It’s as though you wanted to save me when no one else could. It was as though you wanted to protect me. I have met many talented actors in my long years. I can tell what’s real and what isn’t. It was very clear from early on that Gege knows this one is cursed.”

The back of Xie Lian’s neck prickles, and his cheeks blaze. “I do want to protect you.” It is all he can say. All he can share 

Hua Cheng sighs softly. The fire pops, and sparks fly. “So Gege has come all the way to Ghost City to take care of his San Lang.”

Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath. He stares down at their joined hands. “En.”

“But, Gege. If you are here looking after your San Lang, who is looking after you?”

“Are you sure you don’t have your memories back?” Xie Lian laughs awkwardly. “This one can take care of himself.” 

“Right. When Gege bothers. Or perhaps he is so busy looking after his San Lang that he forgets to take care of himself? Something must be done about this.”

Xie Lian sucks in a ragged breath. He wants to cry. He wants to crawl into Hua Cheng’s lap and cry until he falls asleep. He wants to…ah…he wants to… 

“Does Gege know this lowly Ghost King very well, then? I would like to know.”

Xie Lian squeezes Hua Cheng’s fingers. Ah, but how well does he know Hua Cheng? Very well and not at all. The secretive and mysterious Ghost King, the scourge of heaven, the Crimson Rain Sought Flower. 

“Ah, we have a long history, though we were not together for much of it. We were only recently reunited. I know much of your past. I know your grief and some of your traumas. Perhaps I can say I know your heart. Well. That’s enough to start, isn’t it?”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers, and another shiver slips down Xie Lian’s spine. “Look at me.”

He has to force himself to lift his chin, and it takes him a moment to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze. And when he does, hope swells in his chest. Hua Cheng is looking at him as he always has, his eye filled with devotion. 

“What are you to me? Tell me.” Hua Cheng’s black eye is bright, his gaze vivid. 

Xie Lian drops his gaze once more. He can’t find the words. What is he to Hua Cheng? His god? His prince? His beloved? Would he still be Hua Cheng’s beloved if Xie Lian had not caught the falling child the day of the Shangyuan festival? If Xie Lian had not shamelessly told that young boy in his shrine to ‘live for me’? What was there to Xie Lian? How could he capture the heart of someone as special, as powerful and beautiful and impressive as Hua Cheng?

“Gege is having a hard time looking at this one. Hmn. May I ask one more question?”

Xie Lian nods. 

There is a long silence. Xie Lian stares down at their laced fingers. For a moment, Xie Lian wonders if Hua Cheng will say anything at all.

Hua Cheng traces a single finger along Xie Lian’s cheek bone, tucking his hair behind his ear. That single finger tilts his chin up again, and their eyes meet. Hua Cheng is wearing his signature smirk, but it doesn’t quite meet his eye. “Has Gege ever been kissed by this one?”

Xie Lian shivers again, but this time, not from the cold. His heart beats impossibly fast, circulating a strange kind of heat through his body. “Ah. Yes.”

“Is that so?” Hua Cheng’s grin spreads. “It isn’t fair, now is it, Gege? See, this one has no memory of any Gege kisses. Perhaps you'll take pity on his poor San Lang, since he doesn’t yet have his memories back?” 

Xie Lian is already breathing heavily, unable to control his panic, his desire, his grief, his need. He should say something, do something—

"Gege, can I kiss you?"

"Y-yes."

Hua Cheng’s lips brush against his, warm and soft, and Xie Lian freezes. His lips are so, so soft. It is the barest touch. So gentle, so gentle. Xie Lian’s eyes flutter closed. Another gentle brush, and another. Hua Cheng slots their lips together and lingers, breathing heavily. He holds them there like that, unmoving. Just when Xie Lian can take it no more, Hua Cheng pulls away.

“Gege,” he whispers, and his sweet breath fans across Xie Lian’s lips. His sly grin has vanished. “Gege, I have wanted you. I have wanted you so badly—since the first moment I laid eyes on you…”

Hua Cheng drops his mouth to Xie Lian’s once more, this time with less gentleness. Xie Lian whimpers as Hua Cheng gathers him in his arms, pulling him up onto his lap. Xie Lian straddles his hips, melting into the Ghost King, his body vibrating with nerves and a desperate need to be close. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian all but sobs against Hua Cheng’s mouth.

“Yes, Gege. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Xie Lian wants to believe him. He wants this to be real. Hua Cheng, his San Lang, his beloved! The tight, hot knot of despair in his chest dissolves and floods his bloodstream with misery. He kisses Hua Cheng back as he has never done before, too out of his mind to think—too out of his mind to do anything but bask in the ardent touch. It hurts not to be close. It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS! 

And he can only surrender. He can only fall limp into Hua Cheng’s embrace.  

Hua Cheng licks along the seam of his lips, and Xie Lian gasps, his body jerking, and his moan is muffled in Hua Cheng’s mouth. It is enough to set Hua Cheng off. He licks into Xie Lian’s mouth with heat and sweetness, their tongues clicking together, and Xie Lian shudders, unintentionally squeezing his thighs around Hua Cheng’s narrow hips.

“Gege, Gege, Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers like a mantra, breathing unnecessary, heavy breaths. He pulls Xie Lian impossibly closer, pressing their bodies together, kissing him in fervid, languid strokes of his clever tongue. “You taste so sweet. I might have to eat you up after all.”

Xie Lian shudders, a thrill whispering along his spine. 

Perhaps it is the palpable grief. The rush of adrenaline, the longing, the pining, the need, but Xie Lian’s body opens up, thrumming, throbbing, aching with foreign desire. This is Wu Ming’s mouth on his. This is the boy from the ox cart. The supreme Ghost King who broke his shackles and freed him. 

Xie Lian’s cheeks are wet with tears. 

Hua Cheng abandons his mouth to lick away the salty drops, his tongue hot and velvety against Xie Lian’s skin. Then he is back to devouring Xie Lian with a sense of absolute mania, lapping at Xie Lian’s mouth shamelessly. 

Hua Cheng has never kissed him like this before. Not even during the aggravation of the ghosts upon the opening of Mt. Tonglu. As dizzying and heated as those moments were, this, right now, here in this tiny frozen cottage, is driven by intention. 

And mortifyingly, Xie Lian realises he’s grown hard. Harder than he’s ever been, and his cheeks heat with shame. He went 800 years without feeling anything particular at all. Once or twice he’d woken up with an embarrassing situation between his legs, but it was never like this. Never like this. Then, he could simply ignore it and it would go away. But this…this is liquid heat. It is heavy. His toes curl and he pants into Hua Cheng’s mouth. 

Can Hua Cheng feel his cock pressing against his belly through the layers of robes and blankets? Is this…is it normal? Is it…ah…

His thoughts are cut off when Hua Cheng sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tasting him, then releases it with a pop, a string of saliva connecting their parted mouths. With a groan, he sucks Xie Lian’s lip into his mouth again, and releases it with an even louder pop. Again and again, he sucks on Xie Lian’s lip, shameless and utterly obsessed, and with each suck of those lips, a bolt of lighting goes right to Xie Lian’s already throbbing cock. 

They exchange shuddering breaths. Hua Cheng breathes him in, open mouthed, the heat of it hanging in the air between their parted lips. 

The world tips, and Xie Lian cries out in surprise. He finds himself on his back, Hua Cheng on top of him, heavy and powerful. He’s untying the crimson outer robes, then the black woollen robes, his hands exploring beneath Xie Lian’s inner robes. Hands caress his sides, thumbs dipping into the concave of his belly, long fingers wrapping around his waist. Goosebumps chase after those clever fingers, and Xie Lian shudders. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian calls, lost to sensation, lost to Hua Cheng’s taste, his touch, his smell. “San Lang! Feels so...please!”

Hua Cheng kisses and licks down his neck, biting at his exposed collar bone. In one swift motion, his inner robe is gone, the white-jade of Xie Lian’s chest gleaming in the flickering fire light. He half expects to see Hua Cheng’s ashes resting above his clavicle, but they are securely hidden away. Below his waist, his thin pants do nothing to hide his erection.

Xie Lian squirms, embarrassment overtaking him. He tries to cover up, but Hua Cheng pins his wrists above his head. 

“Let me look at you.” He’s breathing heavily. He doesn’t even need to breathe. He looks utterly wrecked. “You’re so beautiful. Beauty I’ve never seen in this world.”

“I’ve never…” Xie Lian whispers. “I mean…this isn’t…we…ah…”

“Shh, Gege. Don’t be afraid. I will take care of you.”

Lost in the haze of desire, Xie Lian nods. Hua Cheng leans down, his glossy hair slipping over his broad, muscled shoulders, and kisses Xie Lian tenderly, softly, with reverence. Hua Cheng deftly removes his pants, and Xie Lian is completely bare, completely exposed beneath his beloved for the first time. 

Beloved. 

Beloved. 

Beloved. 

Hua Cheng leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along his collar bones, drifting lower to his nipples. Xie Lian gasps as Hua Cheng sucks the pink nub into his mouth. He sucks for a long moment, and Xie Lian arches his back, a low guttural moan escaping his lips. Hua Cheng’s tongue is like magic! It is hot and lush and clever as it glides down Xie Lian’s belly, lapping at his waist. 

And suddenly, Xie Lian’s knees are spread wide and pinned to his chest, and Hua Cheng is biting at the inside of his thigh. He writhes and bucks, but Hua Cheng holds him in place.

“San Lang, San Lang! You can’t! I—”

Hua Cheng presses a kiss to the weeping head of Xie Lian’s cock, licking delicately at the beads of opal that leak down the sides. Then he takes the entire cock in his mouth and swallows it whole. Xie Lian shouts! Hua Cheng licks and sucks, lapping and moaning as he consumes, as he devours, like a man starved. He pulls off with a pop and looks Xie Lian dead in the eye. 

“Gege is so delicious. Truly the nectar of the gods.”

Xie Lian’s belly goes tight, and something strange and foreign builds in the depths of him. Something buzzing and hot. Something heavy and strained. Xie Lian feels dizzy, almost sick, as the pressure builds, swelling and blooming. Hot. So hot.

Hua Cheng returns his attention to Xie Lian’s dick, swirling his tongue around the head. But then he seems to lose focus, trailing down and down, between Xie Lian’s legs. His tongue laves wetly across Xie Lian’s hole, and a strangled sob rents the air. 

“SAN LAAAANG!”

The hot, heavy feeling in his belly expands, rising, rising, rising. 

Xie Lian’s vision whites out, and the heavy feeling bubbles over. Pleasure like Xie he’s never known shakes his body, washing over him wave after wave. Hot stripes paint his belly. His vision spots and darkens. 

He is gathered into strong arms and rocked, back and forth. A steady rhythm. 

The earth hums beneath them. Time slows, speeds up, and slows. 

The icy wind howls. 

“Gege, I will kill the Flower Crowned Martial God for you. I promise.”

Chapter Text

“I’ll kill him for you, Gege. I’ll kill him.” Hua Cheng’s breath is hot on his neck, and goosebumps chase down Xie Lian’s spine. “I’ll kill that trash for what he’s done. Nothing will keep us apart now.”

What?

This is…well…what?

Xie Lian sucks in a breath. 

Awareness returns to his hazy thoughts, and with it, a sharp terror. 

His body still hums with euphoria and the syrupy warmth of spent desire. His mind still whirls with the newness of intimacy. Never has he been touched this way. Never has his body flushed up with the fevers of yearning and want. Arousal has previously been an amorphous concept, but now, ah, ah, he had wanted…he still wants… 

But Hua Cheng’s words are like icewater through his veins, dousing the still-smouldering embers of latent passion. 

Something isn’t right. 

Xie Lian had thought…hadn’t Hua Cheng…something isn’t right! 

Hua Cheng—the Crimson Rain Sought Flower—always knows everything about everything. Hua Cheng, who makes such calculated leaps, coming to impossible yet correct conclusions with almost nothing to go on. Xie Lian has seen him decipher esoteric leads, leaning into his razor-sharp instincts, and unfurling mysteries no one else could have understood. He’d even gotten to the bottom of who was really responsible for the Gilded Banquet Masaquer. Truly, his intuition and savvy are uncanny.

So why is he not seeing the clues? They are all laid out. This cottage—this dilapidated hovel—does Hua Cheng not recognise it for what it is? Is it not clear to whom the cottage belongs, with all the scraps? The half-finished instruments? 

And the tattoo on his arm that spells out Xie Lian’s name in Hua Cheng’s own writing? Why would Hua Cheng tattoo the name of his enemy on his arm? Not only that, but Xie Lian marched into Ghost City and wagered a bet for a mysterious coral bead, of which Hua Cheng has no memory! Suspicious! 

Xie Lian has been waiting for Hua Cheng to come to his own conclusions as he slowly allows Wu Ming into his trust. Hua Cheng is too clever, too perceptive to have overlooked these details. Xie Lian had thought…that is to say…something doesn’t feel right. 

And now, Hua Cheng clings to him, panting into Xie Lian’s hair, cradling him against his silky-soft inner robes. He smells so familiar—wood smoke, incense, flowers, blood. Hua Cheng’s arms tighten around him. His long fingers squeeze at Xie Lian’s waist, and he kisses Xie Lian’s closed eyes. His temple. The corner of his lips. Needy. Hot. Desperate.

It is all Xie Lian has dreamed of. All he has wanted. Somehow, despite his lost memories, Hua Cheng is still drawn to him. On what level, Xie Lian isn’t sure. Perhaps it is muscle memory—or the echo of devotion that still beats in Hua Cheng’s undead heart. Perhaps it is vibrations on a cellular level. After all, Hua Cheng was forged—destroyed and remade—in the kiln, all for his beloved. His reason for existing. His tether. 

Hua Cheng’s lips are too hot. His breathing has grown ragged and fast. He clings to Xie Lian too hard. 

“Gege, Gege, Gege,” Hua Cheng mutters, more to himself than Xie Lian. His tone is off—far away somehow. “I won’t let that fucker Xie Lian hurt you. I won’t let him keep you away from me.”

Panic crowds Xie Lian’s mind even as he melts into Hua Cheng’s embrace. If one could bottle longing, Xie Lian would be sputtering from too large a gulp. The push pull of hope and despair is exhausting. Desperation and longing swirl together in Xie Lian’s throat like oil and water.  

He can feel Hua Cheng’s arousal pressing against his belly, and despite his anxiety, Xie Lian finds his body responding once more, his softening cock engorging once more. Hua Cheng squeezes his waist a little harder, pulling them closer. Xie Lian shivers as Hua Cheng threads their fingers, kissing along the inside of his wrist, then burying his face in Xie Lian’s hair.

“Gege has so much hair. So heavy and thick. Mnm.” Hua Cheng shudders as he bites at Xie Lian’s neck through his hair, and his breathing grows sharper, faster. He licks a stripe up Xie Lian’s neck, and Xie Lian throws his head back and cries out. “So beautiful. So achingly beautiful, Gege. I can’t let go. I can’t stop tasting.” 

His usually cool skin is blistering, as it was when Mt. Tonglu opened. Ah, but it couldn’t be that. Mt. Tonglu is dormant now. Xie Lian would feel it. For he, too, has broken out of the kiln. 

Something is very wrong. 

Has Xie Lian not paid close enough attention? Has he missed the signs? If Jun Wu is fading, is this how it began? How long can a ghost survive without a purpose? Without a reason for living? Without a tether? Was this the beginning of Hua Cheng’s slide into oblivion?

Sharp, hot panic spikes in Xie Lian’s heart. 

Without Hua Cheng’s memories, what is tying him…

The red string. 

Xie Lian’s thoughts stutter to a stop. Then, they are in freefall. 

The red string. 

Xie Lian stares down at their threaded fingers.

He hasn’t seen Hua Cheng wearing the red string. Not once. He hadn’t thought to look for it, as his own red string is hidden beneath a powerful glamour. Had Hua Cheng taken it off? No, why would he! Such a powerful spiritual device would have been a clue and he would have used it to find what was on the other end. He would have found Xie Lian nine months ago!

He jerks out of Hua Cheng’s embrace, staring down at their joined hands. Hua Cheng stiffens, but says nothing. 

The string is gone. It’s gone! But how…

Wait.

Wait. 

In the dying firelight, there is something there. A shadow, as fine as a strand of butterfly silk. 

Xie Lian looks again and it’s gone. 

Again, and it’s there. A faint outline. The red string. Still on Hua Cheng’s finger.

“San Lang…” Xie Lian’s breath escapes his lips in clouds, and he begins to shiver again, goosebumps chasing the length of his spine. He’s still naked, his cock hard once more against Hua Cheng’s robes, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Do you see this red string here?”

Hua Cheng stares unseeing down at his own hand, his impossibly long fingers threaded through Xie Lian’s. His panting has grown harsher, and his skin is scorching to the touch. “I see nothing, Gege.” 

His heart thudding in his ears, Xie Lian slides the sleeve of Hua Cheng’s robes up to his elbow. The tattoo. It flickers in and out of existence. It’s faded like the stars come dawn. Xie Lian has to strain to see it. “The tattoo. It’s…fading.”

Hua Cheng watches him, his dark eye swirling with starlight, but it is as if he is unseeing—oh, so far away. He snatches up Xie Lian’s discarded robe and pulls it around his shoulders. Then, he adds another log to the fire and runs his hands up and down Xie Lian’s arms.

“Gege is cold. I’ve let Gege get too cold.”

“San Lang.” Xie Lian’s voice is the barest whisper, breathy with panic. His mind is in chaos, and his belly churns with anxiety. “Why are you so certain it’s the Flower Crowned Martial God who’s taken your memories? That is to say, what if the curse comes from a different source?”

A ripple goes through Hua Cheng, and his needless breath catches. What has happened? Why is Hua Cheng suddenly so feverish? Why is his tattoo fading? Wasn’t he fine when they arrived? Or had Xie Lian missed something?

“It’s a Knowing, Gege. I can feel it—it burns in the very fabric of my being.”

“A Knowing,” Xie Lian repeats. Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right. 

“Mnm. I don’t need my memories to know. Deep in my heart, I hate him. That trash took my memories, and now he hides like a worthless bug. He is the coward that destroyed his kingdom. The twice banished garbage god. Pathetic. He knows what he deserves and knows what I’ll do when I find him.”

Xie Lian sucks in a breath, and he tries not to feel the pulse of his wound. 

Exhaustion begins to make him feel dizzy. 

Ah, but doesn’t he deserve to be hated? If he had not caught the falling boy during the Shangyuan festival, this is how Hua Cheng would see him now. They could never have found the comfort and vulnerability of a love tied to their chemistry. Hua Cheng’s devotion is born of sacrifice and a shared history. A sacrifice and history that Xie Lian incited with his own arrogance and stupidity, influencing a young and impressionable boy with careless words. 

But he never deserved that devotion. Nor that love. 

He deserves to be hated. He deserves to be forgotten. He deserves to be held accountable for his mistakes. The scrap God. The Plague God. The God of misfortune—responsible for the deaths of millions. 

Despite this, he is still Hua Cheng’s tether. Without his memories, the Crimson Rain Sought Flower will fade from existence. And Xie Lian has done nothing but fail him. 

He has failed, failed, failed.

Hua Cheng is beginning to fade.

Terror grips Xie Lian by the heart and squeezes. 

Hua Cheng is fading right before Xie Lian’s eyes. 

What if Jun Wu dissipates before Xie Lian can get there, and Hua Cheng’s memories are forever lost? How long does Hua Cheng have before his missing tether begins to unravel his existence?

But Hua Cheng can’t fade! He is too vibrant, too vivid, too alive! Too full of passion and vitality. Even now, he burns with the heat of a thousand suns, and if those suns go out, Xie Lian will be left in the frigid, boundless dark. 

And this time, Xie Lian knows, Hua Cheng will not come back. 

This time, he will be gone forever. 

The sky is lightening, inch by inch, the depth of blackness softening to a pearly indigo. Soon it will be dawn. He needs to leave now. He needs to get to the gates of Ghost City to meet Mei Nianqing. There isn’t a moment to spare.

Xie Lian chokes on a sob, his mind a swirling chaos of horror. When Hua Cheng’s lips find his once more, he cannot help but kiss back, embracing his beloved. But now, ah—now Hua Cheng is shaking. Impossibly hot. He heaves harsh breaths he doesn’t need. 

“San Lang is feeling unwell.” Xie Lian tucks inky strands of glossy hair behind Hua Cheng’s ear. “Let’s make our way back, hmh? Perhaps some rest is in order.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t answer—no quips, no reassurances—and uneasiness burns in Xie Lian’s belly. Hurriedly, he climbs out of Hua Cheng’s lap and dresses in the flickering shadows of the fire. It is cold away from the fire—away from Hua Cheng’s embrace—but Xie Lian hardly notices the cold anymore. 

“Don’t leave me, Gege. Don’t go,” Hua Cheng mutters softly, still on his knees by the fire. He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry. I took from you…I should not have touched you. This one crossed a line, and I—”

“I’m not going anywhere, San Lang. And you did nothing wrong. This one enjoyed your touch.” He ties his robes around his waist and helps Hua Cheng to his feet. “Come now. Time to leave. There is nothing for us here.”

Xie Lian reaches into Hua Cheng’s pocket to find the lacquered dice. He’s never held them in his hands before, and they hum softly against his palm—Hua Cheng’s power resonating from within. Ah, but what a unique and powerful bit of magic these dice are. Only Hua Cheng would think of such a thing.  

Hua Cheng is silent as they step out into the gloaming. Sparkling frost hangs on their breath, and the silence of the snow muffles their ears. The intense blue of the winter landscape throbs, like a living breathing thing. The stars hang lower now, almost close enough to touch, burning into their eyes. Xie Lian would dream of this night sky. He always dreamed of the night sky above Mt. Taicang.  

Xie Lian takes Hua Cheng’s hand, and he’s about to throw the dice when something catches his eye. A flicker of white threading through the black spines of the trees. He holds his breath and watches. A figure appears, dressed in all white. 

“What is it, Gege?”

Xie Lian pricks his ears. And watches.

The figure stands still as a the moon, watching from the edge of the forest. From this distance, his face is a blur of dark features. Is he wearing a mask? It’s too dark to see for sure. 

Salt pricks at Xie Lian’s eyes, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It’s too…familiar. Too eerie. The wind whistles against the shells of his ears, and the earth hums beneath his feet.

Xie Lian stares for a heartbeat. Two. But then his heart is rushing, and so is he—his boots sinking into the deep snow as he ploughs across the field, running so fast his lungs burn. The cold stings his eyes and clings to his lashes. His toes and fingers are frozen, but he doesn’t care. In his mind, all he sees is a half-smiling, half-crying face staring blankly back at him. 

The forest is dark, but Xie Lian runs, branches lashing at his cheeks and arms, snow crunching beneath his feet. The frozen stream glows, pulsing soft greens and blues of the phosphorescents beneath the ice. It is a sight to behold at night, a rare bit of magic, but tonight it brings Xie Lian no comfort. He follows along the creek bed, swerving through the trees to the mouth of a small lake. 

The same blue phosphorescents glow beneath the ice here, and the tall trees gather near the edge of the water, leaning down toward it to dip their noses in. Snow billows across the expanse of the lake, curling into sloping mounds. 

Sweat freezes along Xie Lian’s hairline as his eyes dart erratically around in the dark. He has no weapon, and his spiritual powers are sealed. But he can still fight. 

He will fight.

“Show yourself!” he shouts, and his voice is swallowed by the night. 

It is only then he notices there are no tracks in the snow. No footprints. All is silent. All is still. The trees creak and bend in the frozen wind, and icicles tinkle as they fall. 

Silence.

“Gege.”

Xie Lian whirls around, his heart is his throat. His panic has reached a fever pitch, and he can’t catch his breath. 

The Ghost King is looking more alert now, the flush gone from his cheeks and neck. He stands at his full height, E-Ming unsheathed in his hand. 

“Did you see?” Xie Lian asks. “Did you see the figure in the trees?”

Hua Cheng’s gaze flits through the trees, but he shakes his head. “There’s no one here but us.”

But he’d seen someone. A figure in white! They disappeared into the trees! Had it been only in his imagination? No. He knows what he saw. It was Bai Wuxiang. Who else would be stalking him from a distance, ensuring no one else saw? History has a tendency to repeat itself. And if Jun Wu has forgotten him…

Xie Lian turns in a circle, searching the bracken, his heart thundering in his ears and breath clouding his vision. 

Hua Cheng narrows his gaze at the lake, his black eye simmering. His black hair whips around his face in the wind. “This is the source of the resentful energy. It is steeped in the water. It has bled into the earth. Do you know what happened here?”

Xie Lian looks up in surprise. He doesn’t feel any resentful energy at all! “Here? Nothing. Not recently, anyway.”

Hua Cheng is silent for another long moment. “We should go. You’re freezing and you haven’t slept at all.”

Dawn filters through the trees, casting long shadows. He won’t make it in time to meet Mei Nianqing. He needs to get to Mt. Tonglu. Waiting is no longer an option, especially as Bai Wuxiang is showing himself. What are they up against? What is the meaning of all this?

“San Lang, there is someone who might know more about your curse. Someone who might be able to give us answers about how to get your memories back?”

Hua Cheng crosses his arms and raises a single dark brow. His crimson robes look almost blue in the darkness of the forest, his skin as pale as the snow. “Is that so? And who might that be, Gege?”

“Do you, ah…ha ha ha, San Lang, that is, it’s a long shot. But, well, if you’ll trust me, perhaps we can find some clues.”

“Hmn.” Hua Cheng takes a step toward him. “And what does Gege have in mind?’

The wind whips against his robes, sending shivers through his bones. He cannot feel his feet. There is something here. Hua Cheng is right. But to him, it doesn’t feel like resentment. Melancholy hangs on the wind. It leaks from the trees like sap. The earth hums with grief. “Ah…San Lang?”

And then Hua Cheng’s arms are around him, pulling him close. Very close. Xie Lian squeaks as Hua Cheng’s long fingers splay out around his waist. Even without his memories, the Ghost King is shameless! Absolutely shameless. 

He kisses the top of Xie Lian’s head. “Where does Gege want to go?”

Xie Lian summons his courage. “Mt. Tonglu. To see Jun Wu.”

Without a word, he takes the dice from Xie Lian’s frozen fingers and tosses them. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

From the shivering peaks of Mt. Taicang, to the cavernous cave systems of Mt. Tonglu—Xie Lian is met with a dense wall of humidity. He shudders as he gulps in heated breaths. The air burns his frozen skin, and his hair is instantly limp.

At first, it is so dark that Xie Lian can hardly tell what’s right in front of his face, until silver butterflies swarm from Hua Cheng’s vambraces, illuminating the echoing cavern. 

Xie Lian stifles a gasp. They are in the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods! They are surrounded by a crowd of ghostly statues, veils hanging low over their faces. Xie Lian knows whose face is beneath those veils. But still. The image is haunting. Had it seemed so haunting the first time he’d been here? Certainly it must have.

Hua Cheng eyes the statues distastefully but does not peek beneath their shrouds. 

“Does…does San Lang know these statues?”

“En. I carved them.

“Who…who are the statues of?” Xie Lian tries, though he knows what the answer will be.

Hua Cheng shrugs. He clasps his hands behind his back and wanders through the maze of statues, the bells on his boots jingling with each step. “No one, Gege. They have no face.” 

Ah. His suspicions are correct, although Xie Lian had thought perhaps it was like the tattoo, and Hua Cheng just wouldn’t see the statues at all. 

As they walk, Hua kicks one of the statues—a towering figure, dressed in the God Pleasing Warrior costume, a veil covering its face—and it teeters before crashing to the rocky cave floor. It smashes with an echoing crash, shards of stone scattering at their feet.  

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cried out in anguish. Ah, ah, San Lang will be so furious with what he’s done when he gets his memories back! “You mustn’t…these statues! They’re your art! Please…please don’t…”

“I can always carve more, Gege. These are nothing special. I don’t even remember carving them.”

“How can they not be special when you are the artist? What if they mean something to you?”

The butterflies spread out through the cavern, spilling light into dark corners as they walked. 

“I’m sure Gege has realised by now, if I can’t see them, they are likely of the Flower Crowned Martial God. Useless idiot. What did he hope to achieve by erasing himself from my memory? Did he think it would stop me finding him?”

To that, Xie Lian can only sigh in response. It’s a good thing he didn’t come clean to Hua Cheng about his true identity. Who knows what he would have done. 

Hua Cheng takes his hand, his thumb drawing slow circles in Xie Lian’s palm. His touch is heated, and the vacant look has returned to his eye. He is far away. Unreachable. Xie Lian watches him closely, looking for any sign that he is fading. Each fine strand of Hua Cheng’s hair is still visible, not a clump or a blur like a ghost on the brink of dissipating. Xie Lian can see each individual eyelash in the silvery glow of the butterflies. He is solid, his presence as powerful as ever. But that look in his eye…and the heat coming off his skin. 

As they wander through the statues, an eerie feeling settles in Xie Lian’s heart. He cannot help but feel doom yawning around them, ready to swallow them whole. Or perhaps it is just this place. 

He hurries his pace, ready to leave this place as quickly as possible. Something about seeing Hua Cheng’s butterflies, here, in these caves, turns his stomach, and he feels dizzy as they walk. So dizzy, that he trips over nothing. He grabs on to the veil of one of the statues as he falls backward, revealing its visage, and he hits the ground with an undignified thump. 

“Gege?”

“I’m all right.”

Xie Lian glances up at the larger-than-life rendering of himself, carved with incredible skill and craftsmanship. The statue is in full God Pleasing Warrior regalia, a sword in one hand and a flower in the other. His hair is so ornately carved that it appears to be rippling behind him—eternally in motion—and his chest rises and falls with imaged breath. A trick of the mind and a testament to Hua Cheng’s artistic prowess. 

But when he looks up at the statue’s face, expecting to see a demure and wise expression on his face, he sees nothing at all. The statue’s face is completely blank. Where once there was an elegant slope of a brow, a straight nose, a delicately pointed chin, now there is only a blank void. The light doesn’t hit it naturally. Shadows still lurch beneath phantom features, but there is nothing there. 

Xie Lian blinks, tasting acid beneath his tongue. When he looks again, he can see a vague outline of a mouth and eyes, but they are gone again with the next blink. 

He scrambles to his feet, yanking the veil off of another statue. And another. And another. 

Sweat trickles down his side, and bile creeps up his throat. Hua Cheng is right! They are, all of them, faceless! A strangled cry echoes through the cave, and it takes him a moment to realise it came from him. 

Strong arms close around him, and he’s crushed to a solid chest. Xie Lian gasps and flails, but the moment he is in Hua Cheng’s arms, he settles, his heart slowing and his breathing regulating. 

“Gege, Gege, shhhh. They’re just statues. I should have warned you not to remove the veils. Creepy fucking things.”

Breathing heavily, he allows himself the comfort of Hua Cheng’s embrace. Ah, but San Lang is right. They are just statues. He needs to keep his wits about him. Why is he even surprised? The tattoo is fading, the red string of fate has nearly vanished. The statues, of course, would be going the same way. Once they find Jun Wu, this whole nightmare will dissolve. 

“Aha…my apologies, San Lang. Sorry for all the fuss. I’m hardly afraid of a few statues, after all. I just—ha ha ha. I’m all right, I’m all right. Let’s continue.”

“Gege needn’t apologise.” Hua Cheng rests his chin on the top of Xie Lian’s head. “Perhaps it’s best we return to Paradise Manor. You need rest.”

“NO!” Xie Lian surprises even himself with his outburst. “I mean, ah, we are already here. This is important. It shouldn’t wait.”

Hua Cheng sighs. “Whatever Gege says, this lowly servant will obey.”

They continue on, and Xie Lian attempts to hide his trembling by tucking his hand inside his sleeves. He can feel Hua Cheng’s eyes on him as they walk. 

“Why does Gege think that trash who called himself the Heavenly Emperor will know anything about my curse?”

Xie Lian swallows, sparing a glance up at Hua Cheng. His single dark eye glitters in the dimly lit cave. 

“Jun Wu is the only one powerful enough to cast such a curse. Apart from the Flower Crowned Martial God, that is.”

“It wasn’t that impotent old fuck, Gege. Believe this San Lang.”

“Hmn. Still. It’s best to cover all our bases. We don't want to miss a clue.”

“Sure, Gege. But when we get back to Ghost City, we will have a lot to discuss. The time has come where Gege must tell his San Lang everything.” He frowns, squeezing Xie Lian’s hand. “I know Gege has many carefully guarded secrets. This one is afraid he can wait no longer. We can start with how you know Ju Wu.”

Xie Lian’s neck prickles hot and his cheeks burn. “Of course, San Lang. Of course. That’s fine.” Hopefully there would be no need for further discussion. Hopefully by the time they return to Ghost City, San Lang will have his memories back. 

They leap across rivers of molten lava once occupied by resentful spirits and cross the now-tumbled bridge, dodging falling boulders and streams of ash. In the back of Xie Lian’s mind, he can hear the clanging of swords—of E-Ming and Zhu Xin—and on his back, he can feel Mu Qing’s weight. Behind his eyes, he sees Hua Cheng disappear into a swarm of silver butterflies. 

His stomach turns, and for a horrifying moment, he fears he will vomit.

Xie Lian grips Hua Cheng tightly. Hua Cheng squeezes him back, and the harsh edges of his anxiety soften. 

Finally, they come upon Jun Wu’s prison. Light filters through the cracks in the rock above, and snow gently drifts down, melting before the flakes can reach the ground. 

Beneath the fragile strands of wintery light lies an old bamboo hat.

Jun Wu is gone.

Chapter Text

“No.” The whispered hum passes Xie Lian’s lips. “No. No, no, no, no, no!”

Xie Lian is in motion, moving too fast for a mortal, the darkness of the cave crowding at the corners of his vision. The swirling mass of terror in his chest swells, crushing his lungs until he can hardly breathe. 

A mournful wail rents the air, and it takes Xie Lian a moment to realise the sound has come from him, but he is beyond caring. Beyond reason. Beyond hope. 

Jun Wu is gone, and with him, he has taken any promise of retrieving Hua Cheng’s memories. All they have lived together—the falling child during the Shangyuan festival, quiet nights on a straw mat in Puqi Shrine, star gazing at the Banyue Pass, a ghost dressed in crimson and a god dressed in bridal robes walking through the bloody rain, quiet confessions in a cave of stone gods—these memories are gone forever. Gone. 

“NO, NO, NO, NOOOO!”

The bamboo hat lies abandoned atop a slick puddle of coagulated blood. This is the very spot where Xie Lian impaled Jun Wu with Zhu Xin—where Jun Wu has been imprisoned these past months.

And now he is gone. 

Faded? Has he faded? Is the curse now permanent? Will Hua Cheng be next? Is it already too late? Will he have to watch Hua Cheng disperse into a cloud of silver butterflies once more?

Is it already too late? 

Is it already too late?

Xie Lian gasps for breath, his gaze darting around in the darkness for any sign of the former heavenly emperor. But where is Zhu Xin? Xie Lian sees no ashes. No…no…he sees no sign of ashes at all. Would he? Ah, would there be…aha…if he’d…

Hua Cheng snatches him up before he can fall to his knees. “Gege, Gege, shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Ha…did he…ah, well, San Lang, I—”

“Gege, look at me. Everything is okay, hmh?” Hua Cheng holds Xie Lian’s shaking form against his chest. “Take a deep breath with me. In and out.”

“San Lang doesn’t need to breathe,” Xie Lian pants, on the brink of hyperventilating, his entire body vibrating. His breath steams against the silk of Hua Cheng’s robes.

“Follow my lead. In and out.”

Xie Lian does his best to match Hua Cheng’s breathing, his own stuttering and shallow. In his mind, he recites the Dao De Jing—though he’s switched cultivation paths and he isn’t trying to avoid impure thoughts, it is an old comfort, a worry stone worn smooth in his pocket. Soon, his panicked thoughts quiet as he breathes deeply of Hua Cheng’s smoke and floral scent, the buzzing awareness of the Ghost King’s presence like a heavy blanket. A comfort, a comfort, certainly, certainly.  

Hua Cheng is here. Not dispersed. Not butterflies. Hope is not lost. 

How many times in his 800 years has Xie Lian found a flicker of hope in the darkness and blown on it until it flamed? How many times has he clung to a promise and brought it to fruition? He will not give up. Not so soon. Hua Cheng, after all, has never given up on him. Hua Cheng searched for his lost god for 800 years, not knowing if he lived or died. Not knowing if they would ever see each other again. Hua Cheng must have lost hope time and again and still, he persevered. 

He had faith. 

He had the strength to carry on. 

Now, Xie Lian would do the same in return. 

He is selfish. He is unworthy. But he will carry on for San Lang. 

With a long, slender finger, Hua Cheng tilts Xie Lian’s chin up until their gazes meet. His dark eye glitters with concern. “Gege, listen to me. That trash wasn’t going to help you with anything. You would only have been wasting your breath.”

“But how do you know? That is to say, what does…ah—” Xie Lian takes a steadying breath. “What does San Lang remember about Bai Wuxiang?”

Hua Cheng raises a single brow. It lifts his eye patch slightly, and Xie Lian can see the faint outline of a scar beneath. A jagged track where the eye has been gouged out. Xie Lian longs to see beneath the eyepatch. He wants to see all of Hua Cheng’s wounds—all of his scars.  

“Nothing. I only know what I’ve heard. That he’s a washed up old fuck who lost the game to the Flower Crowned Martial God.” Hua Cheng’s boots jingle as he shifts his weight. 

“Ah, San Lang…” Xie Lian murmurs, the longing palpable in his throat.

Hua Cheng runs the pad of his thumb along Xie Lian’s cheek bones, wiping away his tears. “Gege is carrying a heavy burden. Gege has been so alone without his San Lang at his side. But he isn’t alone anymore. Can Gege put his faith in this lowly one? Hmn?”

“Can you put your faith in me?” Xie Lian can’t help the sob that cracks from his chest. He shakes with the intensity of it. When Hua Cheng says it that way, he can feel it—the weight. The loneliness. It bears down on him, crushing him to dust. 

The heaviness of Mt. Tonglu’s aura presses in on him. Quiet. Foggy. Shadowed. Nebulous water drips from the glistening stalactites in a rhythmic dance. Xie Lian is caught between the sharp plunge of sorrow and his own desperate grasp on hope. Ah, ah, but he needs to focus. There’s no use succumbing to despair. If he wants to be useful—if he wants to break the curse—there is no room for self-indulgent despair. He needs to clear his mind and think. THINK!

“Gege thinks Jun Wu is responsible for the curse and is very worried. But it isn’t so. That geezer couldn’t have managed something of this magnitude, not after the Flower Crowned Martial God was through with him. It simply isn’t possible. Which leaves but one suspect.”

“San Lang, you’re on the wrong track.”

“I’m not. Jun Wu has nothing to do with this.”

Xie Lian shakes his head. A shiver frosts along the knobs of his spine, icicles clinging to his ribs, encasing his heart. “It isn’t the Flower Crowned Martial God, it—”

“Gege. I may not have my memories”—Hua Cheng’s tone has grown very serious with an unfamiliar waver to it—“but it’s clear to me you carry the weight of the world. Listen to me. It doesn’t matter what happens. I am here with you. I don’t need my memories to protect you. I don’t need my memories to know you are my reason for remaining in this world.”

Xie Lian meets Hua Cheng’s fervid gaze. He sucks in a sharp breath at what he sees there. His raven feather hair is wild, billowing around his shoulders. He is unearthly beautiful. So painfully beautiful. Oh, the ache of it. Oh, the ache.

“If Gege is this one’s purpose, his beloved, how could this one fade? Hmn? You are my beloved, are you not?”

Tears stream down Xie Lian’s cheeks. He wants to hope, oh, how he wants to be San Lang’s beloved. And hearing these words now should be a balm, but… 

“What…makes San Lang think so?”

“A Knowing, Gege. The strongest knowing this ghost has ever felt. So? Won’t you share? Are you my beloved?”

Xie Lian swallows and nods. “En. I mean, I was. Perhaps…ah…perhaps not now that—”

“No, Gege. If you are my beloved, then you have always been my beloved and shall be forever more. If I love something, then my heart has no room for anything else. I’ll always treasure it. A thousand times, a million times, my feelings won’t change no matter how many years pass. It doesn’t matter if my memories are stolen. You are forever in my heart.”

Xie Lian is stunned. Hua Cheng has said these exact words to him once before, and the echo sends a pain into his heart. He takes a shaky breath and releases it. It is like a gusting, frigid wind. “It’s just that…”

“What is it, Gege?”

“It’s only…ah…I am undeserving of your devotion. I would never want to trap you just because—” His voice cracks. “Just because I made an impression on you once upon a time—ah, you were just a child! I have done so much that…so many selfish mistakes…I am not who you believed I was back then. I never have been, and while I can dedicate myself to being worthy of you, I—” But he can say no more. His shoulders slump in exhaustion, and suddenly all he wants to do is sleep. 

“Gege doesn’t see himself clearly. He doesn’t see that he is gracious and noble and brilliant. The world doesn’t deserve his kindness nor his valour. I am the one who lucked out. Even if I can’t remember this impression you made on me once upon a time, doesn’t it say something that I have fallen in love with you now, even without my memories?”

“Fallen in love? I—San Lang.” Xie Lian swallows heavily. “I’m not—”

“Not what? Not beautiful? Not compassionate? Not worthy?” Hua Cheng sighs, and kisses the top of Xie Lian’s head. “I have known from the first moment I saw Gege that he was special. He captivated me with his delicate beauty, with his honey-gold eyes. With his strength. With his grace and kindness. This one admits, he was terrified.” He laughs softly, but there is no mirth to it. “So Gege has made some mistakes. Who hasn’t? Hmn?” 

“I have done nothing but lie to you,” Xie Lian says in a quiet voice. 

“Gege had no choice. This one would have lied, too.”

Xie Lian takes a shuddering breath. “Ah, San Lang. Perhaps I’d just better tell you the truth. I don’t know how you’ll react. I won’t lie, I am frightened.”

“I trust you, Gege. It doesn’t matter what the truth is.”

This was it. This was the moment. He would tell Hua Cheng everything, and together, they would find Jun Wu. 

“San Lang, I—”

Hua Cheng’s eye flashes red. He barely moves to pivot in front of Xie Lian, the expression on his face bored, but for the fire in his single eye. He flattens his palm, and with a shing of metal, E-Ming is in hand. Xie Lian’s heart flies into his throat.

“Have the useless trash that call themselves gods tired of their freedom already? You’ve been free for less than a day and already you’re begging to return. I’m touched,” Hua Cheng says, his voice dripping with derision. 

“We aren’t here to fight, Crimson Rain.” The familiar voice echoes through the dripping cavern. “So don’t start anything.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing step out of the shadows, their weapons raised. Behind them, Mei Nianqing appears, his periwinkle robes dragging through murky puddles, his long dark hair in ornate plates. 

“Yeah,” Mu Qing says, and his gaze flickers to Xie Lian. “We’re only here to see Jun Wu.”

“He’s gone,” Xie Lian says quickly before things can escalate. “I don’t know…if he faded—”

“He hasn’t dissipated, Little Highness.” Mei Nianqing tucks his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “Is your head so clogged with pining? Too busy breaking your cultivation with a Supreme Ghost King that you can’t see what’s around you? Jun Wu has escaped. And he has taken Zhu Xin with him.”

Hua Cheng flashes a vicious grin, all sharp canines and blackened aura. “So? Jun Wu escaped. And how would he have done that, Hmn?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man,” Mei Nianqing spits. “He only ever remained here because he was punishing himself for what he did. He’s always had the freedom to leave.”

Hua Cheng spins his demonic scimitar in the palm of his hand. His posture is lazy, but his aura twists and whips around him. “Mm. I honestly couldn’t care less where that old bastard fucked off to. What I’m more interested in is how the two idiot generals escaped my dungeons. I have been informed that a skilled cultivator snuck in, disarming all my guards, and set them free. Now who could that have been?”

Ah. San Lang doesn’t suspect him at all. So who does he think broke into his dungeons, then?

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, and it’s only the way he crosses his arms to hide his clenched fists that Xie Lian realises how anxious he is. “You couldn’t have kept us there anyway, Hua Cheng. You had no reason to imprison us.”

“You exist. That’s reason enough.”

“What the fuck, Hua Cheng!” Feng Xin spits. 

Mu Qing hisses. “Will you not scream so close to my ear?”

Feng Xin rounds on him. “I’m sorry for hurting your delicate ear drums. Can we go look for the emperor now?”

“Yeah, which one?” Mu Qing retorts. “His Highness or Jun Wu?”

Feng Xin bares his teeth. “His Highness hasn’t accepted the position of Heavenly Emperor yet. So wipe that smug expression off your face.”

“He will. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Okay, enough, enough!” Xie Lian says in a panic. If they start fighting, who knows what they’ll reveal. He certainly doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of Hua Cheng.

Mu Qing turns his refined glare on Xie Lian. “What are you even doing here, Wu Ming ?”

Xie Lian cringes. 

“Oh? Do you two know each other?” Hua Cheng’s smile has become dangerous, and the back of Xie Lian’s neck prickles in warning. 

“We do.” Xie Lian sighs, avoiding Hua Cheng’s gaze. 

“A story for another time then, Gege?”

“Gege?” Mu Qing’s narrowed eyes glint in the dim light. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Hua Cheng doesn’t even have his memories, and still you’re like this together? Revolting.”

 Out of the corner of his eye, Xie Lian notices that Mei Nianqing is watching him carefully. He hurries the conversation along before anyone can interrupt and slow them down further. “Guoshi, do you know where Jun Wu might have gone?”

Mei Nianqing goes red and he sputters. “I’m not his keeper! How should I know!”

“Sir, you are literally his keeper,” Feng Xin says. “You were tasked with watching over him.”

Mei Nianqing huffs. He looks so young. So pretty. Xie Lian can hardly believe the man before him, with violet eyes and glossy braids, is the same tyrant who trained him in cultivation on Mt. Taicang. Not for the first time, he wonders at his former Guoshi’s relationship with Jun Wu.

“So what?” But then Mei Nianqing’s face pales. “Oh, all right. I may have said something to him I shouldn’t. But it’s only because I was so worried! He was on the brink of dispersal!”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing groan. Xie Lian’s stomach sinks. 

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, he’d lost all his memories! Of course I had to tell him something! I shared with him the story of Bai Wuxiang and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle!”

“What, specifically, did you tell him?” Mu Qing’s glare is cutting, but he, too, is pale. Deathly pale. Has he been sleeping? Eating?

“Only the things he shared with me before he lost his memories.” Mei Nianqing’s eyes flicker to Xie Lian and then away. “I told him how Bai Wuxiang had stalked the young prince, terrorized him. How he sought to isolate him and destroyed his kingdom. How he performed violent atrocities on him.”

“And?” Mu Qing says, and it’s clear he is uncomfortable with the topic.

“And? And, and, and, what do you think! Jun Wu left! He went to find the Flower Crowned Martial God! He seemed stronger after I told him, too.”

“Fuck,” Feng Xin mutters. “Fuck! What does he plan to do to His Highness?”

“But this doesn’t make any sense! Xie Lian isn’t Jun Wu’s tether! Jun Wu was a ghost for a thousand years before Xie Lian was even born!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hua Cheng’s voice is like black velvet, and a shiver goes down Xie Lian’s spine. “His Highness the Crown Prince might not be Jun Wu’s tether, but the former emperor sought to prove something—that anyone would have made the choices he did under the same circumstances. He chose the wrong prince, I guess. And failed miserably.”

Everyone falls silent. The only sound is the whistling of the wind through the cracks in the rock. 

“So”—Feng Xin shifts his weight—“is that why he cursed His Highness?”

“Yes,” Mei Nianqing replies. “He wanted to forget His Highness. He couldn’t bear a single thought of him any longer. I don’t think he meant the curse to affect all ghosts. A nasty side effect.”

Hua Cheng stiffens at Xie Lian’s side. “So you all believe Jun Wu has cast the curse?”

“Young man, don’t display your ignorance. Of course it wasn’t His Highness. Only a very powerful ghost could have cast the curse. Not a god and certainly not a mortal. Can’t you tell the difference?”

Hua Cheng sheathes E-Ming and clasps his hands behind his back. His footsteps chime as he approached Xie Lian’s former Guoshi. He is so tall. Well over a head taller than Mei Nianqing. Taller, even, than Feng Xin. By a lot. Was he so tall when he was Wu Ming? Xie Lian can’t remember. Ah, that time in his life is a blur, a dark nightmare of despair. The Supreme Ghost King cuts an impressive figure, and Xie Lian’s mouth goes dry. Mei Nianqing, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye. Xie Lian supposes he’s had a lot of experience dealing with temperamental calamities.

“Can I tell the difference between a curse cast by a god and a ghost, you ask? I suppose next you’ll tell me god don’t feel resentment?”

“You're no god, young man. You spat in Heaven's face when you jumped down, so don't think yourself so high and mighty. So tell me, which god is powerful and resentful enough to cast such a curse? And before you repeat the words Flower Crowned Martial God , I suggest you consider where that resentful energy came from, because I know that boy better than anyone, and he doesn’t have a resentful bone in his body. He is as pure as they say. As kind and as benevolent. Which is why Bai Wuxiang sought to break him.”

“Ah.” A headache forms at the back of Xie Lian’s skull and he grits his teeth. At least he knows now that Jun Wu hasn’t dissipated, but it’s hard to feel relief when Bai Wuxiang, without his memories, is on the loose. “Guoshi. Any idea where Jun Wu might have gone? I kind of need to talk to him.”

“Wherever he thinks he might find the Flower Crowned Martial God.”

Hua Cheng turns to Feng Xin and Mu Qing, his gaze hard but a mischievous grin on his face. “We have unfinished business, but it will have to be dealt with later.”

Before Xie Lian can even speak, Hua Cheng’s arm is around his waist and dice are thrown up into the air. Xie Lian blinks, and they are back in the Gambler’s Den.

Hua Cheng leans down and presses a kiss to Xie Lian’s temple. “There’s something bothersome I must attend to. Does Gege mind waiting for his San Lang here?”

A cold pit forms in Xie Lian’s stomach. “Where…where are you going?”

“A boring errand. I won’t trouble Gege with the details.”

“A story for another time then, San Lang?”

Hua Cheng grins, and with a wink, disappears in a burst of silver butterflies. Xie Lian stands staring for a long moment, his heart in his throat. He tries not to think of the last time Hua Cheng disappeared into a cloud of butterflies. But he cannot help the unease that has settled in his heart. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Hua Cheng doesn’t come back that night. Or the next. Or the next. Xie Lian’s unease only grows, despite the calm atmosphere of the Gambler’s Den. 

He’s on shift tonight, monitoring the comings and goings of the main gambling hall. It is quiet. Too quiet. Outside, the storm howls, torrential winds whipping snow against the buildings. It's likely the weather keeping customers away. Plus, without the Ghost King in residence, no one bothers to come. 

Xie Lian sits at the edge of the stage, whittling away at a dizi. Yin Hai found him the wood—the leg of an old bamboo table—and Xie Lian needs something to do with his hands. Carving has always settled Xie Lian's nerves. The gentle motions and the friction of the sharp blade peeling away thin sheets of wood provides a satisfaction that can’t be found elsewhere. 

Shi Qingxuan, just off a long shift, sleeps curled into a ball at Xie Lian’s side. They snore softly, their muscular shoulders rising and falling in dreaming. Xie Lian smiles and pulls their billowy scarf more snugly around their shoulders. 

The lanterns gutter, casting eerie shadows. A large moth, dust snowing down from its wings, argues with a red-faced ghost with teeth down to his armpits at one of the gambling tables. The Gambler’s Den staff have brought out a dusty bottle of baiju behind the bar and are sloppy drunk, howling with laughter. Yin Hai and Mogwai lean by the door, chatting quietly. 

From one of the upper balconies, Xie Lian catches Yin Yu’s gaze. The Waning Moon Officer observes the quiet hall from behind his white smiling mask. Xie Lian has seen so little of his friend since he’s started here. He wonders how Yin Yu is settling into life as a ghost.

Ying Ying appears, his violet eyes blazing and his brilliant pink hair tied into a topknot. Tonight, the elegant flower patterns buzzed into the shorn hair on the sides of his head remind Xie Lian of orchids—the effect is very becoming. The lithe ghost leaps up onto the stage and drops next to Xie Lian. 

Shi Qingxuan sits up yawning and rubs their eyes. 

“What’s that, Wu Ming? Another instrument?”

Xie Lian glances up and smiles past the anxiety roiling in his gut. “Mm. A dizi. Almost finished.”

“Eh? How close?”

Xie Lian frowns, narrowing his eyes as he tries to round an edge perfectly. “Ah, well. It’s probably done now, but I’m never really satisfied.”

“Wu Ming, pretty, pretty please? Play me something? I will be your willing supplicant for all of eternity if you do!” Ying Ying smiles prettily. He really is very charming. And sometimes he reminds Xie Lian a little of the Hua Cheng he met on the ox cart. The thought strikes his heart with a pang of grief. 

“Uh, well, I—”

“What? Is Wu Ming gonna play?” Mogwai shouts, and suddenly he is pulling a chair up to the edge of the stage. 

The other ghosts seem to realise something is happening and crowd around. 

“I’m not really—ah, I really haven’t played in a long time. I’m not very good.” Xie Lian’s cheeks heat, and he accidentally nicks his finger with the tip of his knife. 

Ying Ying grabs his hand. The knife clatters to the floor. With a cocky grin, Ying Ying sucks Xie Lian's finger into his mouth. A hot tongue swirls around the fingertip. Xie Lian shudders and yanks his hand away, but when he looks down, the cut is already healed. 

“Um..ah…ha ha ha ha…um…”

Shi Qingxuan’s eyes go wide. “You’d better watch yourself, Ying Ying! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

“Come on, Wu Ming,” Yin Hai says, blinking his hundreds of rainbow eyes. “Show us what you got.”

Shi Qingxuan, turquoise eyes bright, claps their hands. “Ooohhhh, please, Wu Ming? Please, please, please?”

Xie Lian sighs, accepting defeat. He nods and dusts off the not-quite-finished dizi. It truly has been years since he’s played, but in his youth, it had been one of his passions. Dance, music, cultivation. These activities had consumed him, though none so much as sword forms, which is a dance of sorts, if you really think about it. 

He brings the instrument to his mouth. 

Anticipation hangs in the air, but it’s more than that. Xie Lian feels something building, a darkness spreading. He shivers, and suddenly he feels ice down the back of his neck. 

He plays a traditional XianLe folk song, mournful and lovely. The delicate melody evokes longing and melancholy. It had been one of his mother’s favourites, but he’d always refused to play it because she always cried when he did. He can see her face now, eyes just like his, round and golden, a chin just like his, delicate and slightly pointed, her skin like his, white jade and smooth. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons he’s always hated looking in the mirror. He’d let her down, too, after all. Just as he’d let Feng Xin and Mu Qing down. His father. His entire kingdom. 

And Hua Cheng. He let Hua Cheng down the most. 

As he plays, Ruoye stirs around his wrist, and when Xie Lian nods his approval, the silk band whips through the air in a torrent, dancing and fluttering. The crowd gasps and coos, their eyes wet from the sorrowful music. Ruoye can never resist a good dance. The silk lashes through his hair, creating a wind tunnel around him as he plays. 

When Xie Lian looks up, he finds Ying Ying staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Tears stream down his pale cheeks, and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. 

Suddenly the Gambler’s Den doors crash open, and a swarm of Hua Cheng’s security team barges in. 

“Waning Moon, alert Hua Chenghu!” Mao Wei shouts, and the hall falls silent. “Bai Wuxiang is walking the streets of Ghost City! He’s looking for the Flower Crowned Martial God!”

Chapter Text

Xie Lian stands for a moment in stunned silence. His heart throbs with bursts of adrenaline. 

Despite Bai Wuxiang’s recent defeat—despite seeing the face behind the half-smiling, half-crying mask—a shiver runs down Xie Lian’s spine at the very mention of the White Clothed Calamity. He imagines the wraith of a ghost king in pearl-white mourning robes wandering the streets of Ghost City, malice in his heart, cunning in his cold eyes. 

A long-dormant fear soaks into Xie Lian’s awareness and stains his thoughts with shadow. 

For a moment, he is frozen in place, the taste of metal in his mouth. The shing of a sword slices through his memories. Ragged, blood-choked screams echo in his thoughts, and beneath that, the panicked prayers of his last believer.

Behind his eyes, a blackened shrine.

The crunch of charred bone beneath his boots.

 The weight of a mask upon his face. 

He desperately shoves these memories away, the sharp pangs in his body the only vestige of a long-ago trauma.

Jun Wu has come to find him—come to Ghost City. Now Xie Lian can put an end to this curse and return Hua Cheng’s memories. Put things to right. Wherever Bai Wuxiang is, Xie Lian needs to find him quickly and quietly. 

Ying Ying grabs his wrist with surprising ferocity, and Xie Lian turns to meet the ghost’s blazing violet gaze. Gone is the playful smirk, the flirty fluttering of pink lashes. “Stay with me. I will keep you safe.”

“I…what? But—”

The air sucks from the room, and the pressure muffles Xie Lian’s ears. Time stands still in deafening silence before the explosion shudders through the air. The Gambler’s Den shrinks and expands with the force of the blast, plumes of fire consuming wood and rice paper and silk. The stairs and balconies splinter, and the ceiling cracks open, crumbling down on top of them. Xie Lian is thrown back with force, and he lands painfully on a pile of rubble. 

Marble and wood thunder down, heavy and sharp, and dust smothers their lungs. Xie Lian’s ears ring, and blood spurts from his mouth. He isn’t quick enough to dodge one of the heavy rafter beams. 

A crack to the head, and stars explode behind his eyes.

Everything goes dark. 

He drifts beneath the surface, insensible to pain, pulled into the soundless depths. The moment hangs motionless between the final sigh of breath and the fall of memory. There is no seam. No beginning. No end. 

When he opens his eyes, he is lying on a bank of snow surrounded by the dark forest. The silhouettes of trees bend and creak, ancient monolithes, untouched by the woes of man. Above, the night sky is brimming with stars and shimmering with moon. 

“Ah, ah…” His breath forms ghostly clouds in the sparkling air. 

There is a pain in his heart. He runs his fingers down his front, feeling along the frosted layers of his robes. His chest is open, a gaping, weeping wound, slick with blood, the brilliant white of bone phosphorescent in the moonlight. A red coral bead is threaded onto the tine of a rib. Heat ripples from it, moving the frozen air in circular waves. 

“My little prince,” his mother whispers. He tries to turn his head, but his wet hair is frozen into the snow. He can only see his mother’s form from the corner of his eye, lying next to him in the glittering bank. She, too, is wearing white mourning robes. “My little prince, the Star of Solitude is not solitary. Look, in the distance, look…”

A shuddering boom shakes the forest, and sparks of flame rain down on him. Muffled shouting crowds his thoughts. The sound of swords crossing. The heat of fire against his cheeks.

“Mother,” Xie Lian whispers, the night sky superimposed overtop of the raging inferno of the Gambler’s Den. 

Xie Lian gasps awake. 

Blood pours into his eyes from a wound on his forehead, but he ignores it, he ignores the pain. Broken ribs, maybe. A blow to the head. Too much heat. Ah, ah, he needs to focus—focus past the blooming agony in his bones. He can still feel the phantom wound in his chest, and he shakes his head.

Hua Cheng’s crimson curtain is on fire, curling at the seams. Smoke billows up through the rafters and into the night sky. 

Screams and wails and calls for help fill the air. 

Shaking, Xie Lian pulls himself up. He throws a splintered beam off of his legs and brushes shards of marble and dust from his blood-soaked robes. 

Ying Ying is suddenly at his side, steadying him. The pink-haired ghost’s right eye is swollen shut, and blood drips down his collar, but otherwise he appears uninjured. “Wu Ming, you’re hurt!” 

“I’m fine.”

“Your Highness!” Shi Qingxuan is a few feet away, trapped beneath a marble slab, their hair matted in bright blood. “Aha ha ha ha, I’m a little stuck! Oh, oh, ah!”

Xie Lian staggers toward the former Wind Master, tripping over rubble. Ceramic tiles topple through the hole in the roof, smashing at his feet. The icy wind slices through the hall, and snow billows, melting when it hits the roaring flames. 

Fighting waves of dizziness, Xie Lian lifts the slab of marble trapping Shi Qingxuan and throws it aside. 

“Your Highness!”

“Your Highness?” Ying Ying glares as Shi Qingxuan scrambles to their feet. His voice is laced with panic. “Who the fuck are you talking to, Old Feng?”

“Ying Ying, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Xie Lian says. He can’t bring himself to care about Shi Qingxuan’s slip. It doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter. He will tell Hua Cheng as soon as he sees him and let the chips fall where they may.

The Gambler’s Den crumples in on itself like burned paper. The golden steps leading to Hua Cheng’s dais are charred black, and the fire rages up into the blizzarding night sky. A sick deja vu burns in his belly as he watches the flames rise. It isn’t so long ago that he watched Hua Cheng’s beautiful armoury go up in flame. He is a curse. He is a curse. 

Yin Hai and Mogwai have pulled themselves from the wreckage and stumble toward them. 

On one of the burning balconies, Yin Yu exchanges blows with a cackling ghost dressed in ragged green robes. The green ghost’s face is so gaunt and dirty, it takes Xie Lian a moment to realise it’s Qi Rong. Broken chains rattle at Qi Rong’s wrists and ankles, and his hair is matted. 

“Waning Buffoon officer!” Qi Rong unleashes a series of expletives and laughs maniacally. “I love what Hua Chode has done with the place. Bet that scat-crusted fuck didn’t see it coming! Ha ha ha ha! Never thought I’d be thanking that piss stain Bai Wuxiang, but I’m not complaining.”

“Qi Rong—” Yin Yu grunts as Qi Rong’s sword clangs against his own, blocking a barrage of slashes. “Witty as ever.”

“You’re one to talk, you waste of space! Kicked out of heaven only to end up as Hua Cheng’s bootlicker! Ha ha ha ha!” 

The beams above collapse, and they leap out of the way without pausing their battle. 

Qi Rong’s eyes are bright with enmity, and he leaps up onto the balustrade to come at Yin Yu from above. “You little fool! Tell me where you’re keeping the Flower Crowned Martial God, and I’ll make your death quick!”

“I’m already dead,” Yin Yu replies without emotion, his face a mask of indifference. But Qi Rong is lucky with his next blow, catching Yin Yu across the face with a spray of blood. Xie Lian recognises the sword form. It’s one he himself taught Qi Rong in his youth. How…how could he remember it? Or is it muscle memory? Intuition? As Yin Yu stumbles back, his booted foot goes right through the balcony floor, and he falls.

Xie Lian is there to catch him and sets him on his feet. There is a deep slash across his cheek, and blood trickles from his ears, but he seems stable enough.

Qi Rong vaults over the ledge, putting levity against gravity, and lands in front of them. He points a bony finger at Xie Lian. “You!” he shrieks and launches himself at Xie Lian without artifice.

With one deft motion, Xie Lian flicks his cousin’s blade out of his hand. It lands with a clatter amongst the rubble. “I’m afraid we were closer to an equal match when I was poisoned,” Xie Lian says, ignoring the ringing in his ears. He needs to end this quickly and find Jun Wu.

Qi Rong throws his head back and crows. He grabs his stomach in laughter and stumbles to the side. When he looks up at Xie Lian, he wears a savage grin. “I’ve decided to take your head and mount it on my wall. Right next to that infected prick the Flower Crowned Martial God, once he’s given my memories back. Ha ha ha! But I wonder how—”

“Shixiong!” The booming voice rings out, and Qi Rong’s grin falls away. 

To Xie Lian’s startled surprise, Quan Yizhen descends from the crumbling roof and lands in their midst, his fluffy mane of hair singed at the ends. His eyes widen when he sees Yin Yu’s bloodied face, and he turns on Qi Rong with a furious snarl. “What did you do to my shixiong!?”

Qi Rong doesn’t have a moment to reply before Quan Yizhen attacks. Xie Lian wastes little time. He makes for the streets, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he runs. The Gambler’s Den door hangs from its hinges, swinging in the gusting wind. Snow whips at Xie Lian as he faces the storm. 

The streets are empty, the crimson glow illuminating the blizzard from beneath. It would be beautiful but for the warning in Xie Lian’s heart. 

“Wu Ming!” Ying Ying shouts from behind him, but Xie Lian doesn’t turn around to see if he’s following. Mogwai and Yin Hai are probably following, too. 

But Xie Lian is lithe, and he is fast. With a running jump, he is up onto the rooftops, leaping from building to building. The streets below are mostly empty—either the citizens of Ghost City and taking refuge from the storm or they have heard tell of Bai Wuxiang’s arrival. Likely the latter. In the Ghost Realm, Bai Wuxing’s legend lives large. 

“Wu Ming!” someone calls from behind. Not Ying Ying. Probably Yin Hai. 

He scans the streets below. Everything is still, but for the swirling chaos of snow. Everything is calm, but for the raging of his heart. Too calm. Is Bai Wuxiang really looking for him? What has he come for? What does he want? How will his lost memories change his outlook? Will he be reverted to how he felt before he destroyed Xie Lian’s kingdom? Has he come to destroy Ghost City?

It doesn’t matter. Xie Lian won’t let him. He’s no weak, naive prince—not anymore. He knows how to play this game, and he’s defeated Jun Wu before. And if Jun Wu doesn’t have his memories, he will not know Xie Lian’s fighting style. 

He grits his teeth as he leaps through the air. He is in flight, flipping to land on slick tiles, only to push off and alight on the roof of the next building. He’s moving so quickly, he almost misses it. 

In the streets below, a blur of red and a blur of white whirl in a viscous battle. A red-clad figure wields a long, slender scimitar, and he flashes in and away from the fight like lightning. 

The figure in white is, of course, Bai Wuxiang. He wears the half-smiling, half-crying mask with a visible crack down the middle, which has been poorly repaired. He lashes out with brutal force, brandishing Zhu Xin. The echoing crash of blade on blade is chilling. The aura of evil seethes all around.

Black Water stands to the side in waiting, icicles hanging from his sleek black hair, his form vibrating with resentful energy. It suddenly occurs to Xie Lian that He Xuan has just as much of a bone to pick with Jun Wu as he had with the Shi brothers.  

Xie Lian’s eyes widen. The three ghost kings are not alone. Feng Xin and Mu Qing are there, too, united behind Hua Cheng, ready to jump into the fray at a moment’s notice. Mei Nianqing flaps his slim hands around in a panic. 

What are they all doing here? Xie Lian has hoped to meet Jun Wu alone. This way, no one else gets hurt. Could he find a way to lure the former Heavenly Emperor away?

Ying Ying, Yin Hai, and Mogwai land on the rooftop at Xie Lian’s side, drawing the attention of the crowd below. 

When Hua Cheng sees him, his icy focus melts, but there is something dark smouldering in his onyx eye.

Xie Lian can’t hold back his panicked shout. “San Lang!”

Bai Wuxiang lifts his gaze to the rooftops. He lowers his blade and stares.

A chill goes through Xie Lian. In the back of his mind, he sees a battlefield, the earth syrupy with blood and littered with broken bodies, a ghost in mourning robes watching. It is a battlefield where Hua Cheng died, fighting for his worthless god. Worthless, worthless, worthless.

He deserves this. He deserves to be forgotten. He deserves Jun Wu’s sword, Hua Cheng’s scorn. 

Hua Cheng. His beloved. The ghost who caught him gently in his arms in the Sinner’s Pit. The Ghost who lovingly carved thousands of statues in his likeness; who killed 33 gods out of devotion; who held him tightly in his arms; who believed in him when no one else did.

Xie Lian begins to shake. 

His heart trembles with love, with devotion. Were he to die now, he, too, would become a ghost and dedicate his eternity to his beloved. 

To Hua Cheng. 

San Lang. 

Wu Ming. 

Slowly, Bai Wuxiang removes his mask to reveal Jun Wu’s handsome face. Beneath his eyes is shadowed, and he is thin. Thinner than Xie Lian has ever seen him. His clever eyes are flat. Empty. But he smiles at Xie Lian. Benevolent. Almost fatherly. Xie Lian used to long for that look. It was a look his own father had never bestowed upon his disgrace of a son. 

“Are you the one they call Wu Ming?”

Ying Ying and Yin Hai stiffen at his side. He can feel Hua Cheng’s gaze. Xie Lian is pulled to his beloved like a magnet, but he can’t think about it now or he will shatter. He must remain focused. He must break the curse. 

The wind is relentless as it tears at Xie Lian’s robes. “I am.”

Even though Xie Lian is high above him, Jun Wu still gives the impression of looking down upon him. He takes in Xie Lian’s appearance with a curious look. 

“You needn’t fear. I have not come with violence in my heart. I am only here to speak with you.” Even as Jun Wu speaks the words, he raises Zhu Xin. His gaze rakes over Xie Lian. “Tell me then. Why did I wish to forget you? You look like you’d do what you’re told. You look like you would suffer beautifully.”

Is that how Jun Wu had seen him? Docile? Someone he could manipulate and mold into his image? Someone he could break? Well Xie Lian had broken. Just not the way Bai Wuxiang had intended. 

Hua Cheng grins, his sharp teeth flashing. “Your imprisonment beneath Mt. Tonglu has obviously messed with your head, you creepy old fuck. Speaking of which, how did you escape?”

Jun Wu smiles placidly. “Escape? Oh, no. I was set free by my loyal vassal ”—his voice drips with mockery—“who would have happily spent the rest of his days tending to his broken prince. It’s how he gets off, feeling power over me. Alas, he panicked when I began to fade, even if it’s what I want. Especially because it’s what I want.”

“Your Highness,” Mei Nianqing says, taking careful steps toward Jun Wu. “Please, if you release the curse and restore your memories—”

“Silence.” Jun Wu replaces his half-smiling, half-crying mask to his face, as if testing it out. As if to see if he feels anything. When he returns his gaze to Xie Lian, he is Bai Wuxiang once more. “I want to know, why did I wear this mask?”

Xie Lian takes a shaky breath. The wind whistles against the shells of his ears, and he can’t help but think it sounds like the wailing of thousands of resentful spirits. “To hide your true self from me.”

“That’s it? Hmn. There must be more to it than that.”

“Perhaps, then, it was the duality of your nature. Perhaps it helped you harness your unstable state after all that you endured,” Xie Lian says.

“All that I endured,” Bai Wuxiang repeats, his grip on Zhu Xin tightening. “That part, I have not forgotten. But why did I choose you? Looking at you now, I am not sure. But I did get you to wear this mask, did I not?”

Shame douses Xie Lian. Shame, regret, remorse. They crystallize in the ruins of his heart. “You did.”

“But ultimately I failed. I am told you chose not to kill the traitors of Yong’an to avenge your kingdom. Nor did you grow resentful wandering the earth in poverty for 800 years.”

Xie Lian cannot answer. Had Bai Wuxiang failed? Had he really? Xie Lian still has so much hatred in his heart. He had, after all, almost killed hundreds of thousands with intention. The millions of his own people he destroyed calling out from the ruins of the battlefield. 

“This is a strange feeling,” Bai Wuxiang continues. His form flickers, and for a horrifying moment, he is transparent. Xie Lian’s heart jolts in panic. “But the things I’m told I have done to you. I like thinking about them. I like thinking about them, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough.”

Between one breath and the next, Bai Wuxiang is right in front of Xie Lian—towering over him, taller even than Hua Cheng—but Xie Lian feels no fear. 

“Your Highness!” Mu Qing and Feng Xin shout.

Ying Ying roars and unsheathes his blades, but Xie Lian raises a hand to stop him.  

“We’ve already done this. And you lost. I’m not like you! I won’t change! I won’t—” Xie Lian chokes on the words. They are heavy in his mouth. He had almost done it. He had almost killed all those people. He might have, were it not for Wu Ming. Hua Cheng. His beloved. “Undo the curse you cast upon me! Undo it!” 

Bai Wuxiang cocks his head to the side. “Why? Isn’t it better this way? Or are you worried for your last believer? I wonder, though, if he isn’t better off without his memories of you. Did you not get him killed three times? Perhaps it is time for him to find his own way without the burden of his memories.”

Xie Lian swallows heavily. His throat aches with grief. He can feel Hua Cheng’s gaze heavy on him, and despair closes around his heart.

Bai Wuxiang is strangely silent for a long moment. He leans down and presses the cold forehead of his mask to Xie Lian’s. “This curse is not my doing. At first I thought perhaps I simply did not remember casting it, but I had no access to a cursed object.”

“A cursed object,” Xie Lian repeats, a cold pain going through his heart. He can smell Jun Wu’s foul breath, and he shudders. 

“Gege!” Hua Cheng calls in panic. 

“Yes. Certainly Xianle must know—” He pauses. “Xianle. That’s what I called you, isn’t it? Xianle must know about cursed objects. A curse of this magnitude would need a polestar. A body to channel the resentful energy.”

“What…ah…” Xie Lian swallows his rising panic. “What about Zhu Xin?”

Bai Wuxiang runs the tips of his long fingers along Xie Lian’s jaw and grasps his chin, rising once more to his full height. “Xianle, Xianle, it cannot be Zhu Xin, for Zhu Xin houses my ashes. My own resentful energy would consume any curse before it could be brought to fruition.”

Shock pours like ice through Xie Lian veins. He is frozen, unable to react. All those years, he’d been carrying Bai Wuxiang’s ashes around with him? Bai Wuxiang had…given him his ashes?

“You see, Xianle? This curse could not have been my doing, trapped as I was. Funny, though, isn’t it? That you are the only one forgotten? How long before the rest of the world forgets you, too, just as your last believer has? This curse will only grow stronger with time unless the cursed object is destroyed.”

“There is no one else who could have cast it.” Xie Lian chokes on a sob. “You would have found a way. You would have—I saw you! I saw you at the edge of the forest on Mt. Taicang!”

Xie Lian cannot see the expression behind the half-smiling, half-crying mask, but he can feel the giddy joy radiating from Bai Wuxiang. 

“It was not me,” Bai Wuxiang says with a chuckle. “Is Xianle seeing things again? Your friends seemed to think you were seeing things back then. Didn’t they? They thought you were crazy. They left you. They always do. Xianle, Xianle, you never learn, do you.”

“You sound like you remember,” Xie Lian whispers. “Do you?”

Bai Wuxiang shakes his head. “I do not. Perhaps it’s best this way after all.”

“Your Highness! Feng Xin and Mu Qing shout again. 

Furious tears burn in Xie Lian’s eyes, and he tightens his grip on his swords. It has finally come to this. Not that he’d doubted it would. 

“Remove your fucking hands from Wu Ming. Now,” Ying Ying rages, and his violet eyes flare bright. 

“Crimson Rain, call off your useless clone. Xianle and I are talking.”

Clone? Ying Ying is…a clone? Suddenly it is so clear—the flirting, the gentle care, the way the pink-haired ghost was always looking at him. Of course Hua Cheng would have wanted him watched at all times. 

Ying Ying throws himself forward, weapons raised, and in one fell swoop, Bai Wuxiang removes Ying Ying’s head. It hits the tiled roof with a thud and rolls down the lip of the roof. 

Blood slashes across the snow, and Ying Ying’s headless body collapses.

“Ying Ying!” Xie Lian cries.

Fury spears Xie Lian’s heart, and his eyes burn with foolish tears. The coral bead in his hair is hot as an ember against his scalp. His skin prickles cold, but the heat at his core is a dead star ready to implode. 

He reaches into himself and removes the ancient spell suppressing his aura. Spiritual energy floods his body anew. In fact, it explodes out of him, flaring in a blinding white light that melts the snow around him. His power surges through his veins and circulates through his meridians—more profuse than it had been when he’d locked it away. 

“What the FUCK!” Mogwai shouts.

Bai Wuxiang leaps soundlessly from the roof with a laugh.

Xie Lian follows the curve of the xie-shan rooftop in an agile glissade, jumping to the street below after him, his body pulsing with power.

Emotion swells in his chest, and he chokes as he comes down on Bai Wuxiang with the full force of his despair. He knocks the Ghost King off his tangent, and Zhu Xin flies out of his hands, clattering onto the frosted cobblestones. Bai Wuxiang makes no move to retrieve his ancient black-jade sword. He simply stands, watching. The mask, shoddily repaired, cracks in half once more. Beneath, there is no emotion on Jun Wu’s face—not a glint of mirth, not a hint of ire. His eyes are empty. Empty. Empty. 

Jun Wu laughs, but the sound is dead. He is now almost completely transparent, flickering in and out like a ghost fire. 

“No,” Xie Lian whispers. 

“You’re right, Xianle. We have done this before. I tire of your boring sadness.”

He Xuan’s insidious laugh rings through the streets. “Of course. It all makes sense now. Wu Ming is the illustrious Flower Crowned Martial God.”

“Break the curse! Majesty! Break the curse!” Xie Lian cries desperately, fear and grief fizzing up inside him, like bubbles in a frozen pond. He turns to Hua Cheng, his vision streaked with tears. “San Lang!”

Hua Cheng watches, his expression blank, his lips slightly parted. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. Is it hatred Xie Lian sees in his eyes? Xie Lin stifles a wail. 

Jun Wu tuts. “Xianle, look at you. Look at this pretty face. Perhaps I truly have failed you, after all. But please, answer this one question.” The icy wind howls. “Are you happy? Was it truly better this way?”

Xie Lian stares back through his tears, his heart quivering. He is tired. So tired. Oh, so tired. His mouth opens and closes. And opens once more. No words come. 

Jun Wu smiles and disperses in a shivering cloud of dust.

There is a beat of silence. Then someone is screaming. They crash into Xie Lian’s side and drop to their knees, shaking hands hovering over the grey dust that blankets the freshly fallen snow. 

All that is left of Jun Wu, the once Crown Prince of Wuyong. The former Emperor of the Heavenly realm. Gone. 

He’s gone. 

And with him, he has taken the last hope of ending the curse. 

Xie Lian’s ears ring, and he moves as if he’s underwater as he turns to face Hua Cheng, his bones coral made. 

His beloved stands a few feet away, staring but not seeing. His raven-feather hair whips in the wind, and his fine crimson robes are dusted with sparkling snow. The wind tugs at his silver butterfly jewelry, but the soft tinkling is carried away. 

Xie Lian sees no recognition in Hua Cheng’s eyes. No warmth. His gaze is as empty as Jun Wu’s, their shared history gone in a gust of ash. 

“You are the Flower Crowned Martial God,” Hua Cheng says, his voice void of emotion. The way he is looking at Xie Lian is foreign. Distant. Cold.

“Your Highness,” Mu Qing says, his eyes wide, his face pale. “We need to leave. Now. We need to get to the Heavenly Capital!”

He Xuan laughs, and the sound is like the ocean depths. “You think you can just leave? After what just happened? Think again, little gods. He will be made to suffer for what he’s done!”

“His Highness didn’t do anything wrong, dipshit, so shut your fucking trap!” Feng Xin shouts.

Yin Hai and Mogwai circle Xie Lian. Most of the security team has arrived, and they close in. Hua Cheng does not say a word. 

“Lord Crimson Rain,” Xie Lian whispers. The coral bead in his hair burns, it burns. He unbinds his braid, and unravels the bead, holding it out to Hua Cheng in the palm of his hand. His heart cracks open, and tears freeze to his cheeks. Hua Cheng will never have his memories back. He will never…ah…he will never… “I would like to buy my freedom back with the equivalent of what I’ve bet.”

“You’re not buying anything back!” He Xuan sneers. “You belong to Crimson Rain, and you aren’t going anywhere!”

Hua Cheng still does not say anything. He makes no move to take the bead. Xie Lian steps toward him, and the security team levels their weapons at him. He takes Hua Cheng’s hand in his and rests the red coral bead in his palm, then closes his fingers around it. 

“I’ll—” Xie Lian’s voice cracks, a broken intercession in his heart. “I’ll find a way to break the curse. I won’t let you dissipate, too.”

Then, he turns, his heart in turmoil. The security team is still poised to attack but make no move as he leaves. As he leaves Ghost City. And returns to Mt. Taicang. 

Alone.

Chapter Text

The cottage on Mt. Taicang is as he left it. Silent and empty. He stands in the open doorway, the night pulsing at his back. Frost cakes the windows, and the floor creaks beneath his weight as he busies himself gathering kindling for the fire. The stack of firewood will be enough to make it through the night, but he will need to cut more tomorrow. 

The final vestiges of twilight drain from the sky, and the deep of night throbs behind Xie Lian’s eyes—velveteen violet, shimmering silver, vivid indigo. The snow has stopped, and the sky is clear, blanketing the mountain in starlight. The stars quiver, shivering cold, icy and bright.

Xie Lian lights the lanterns and shutters the door. His breaths come in harsh pants, but his mind is foggy. He feels heavy, his bones frozen. A sharp sob escapes his lips as he builds a fire in the woodstove. His hands shake terribly as he tries to light the match. 

He imagines Hua Cheng taking the match from his trembling fingers. “It’s okay, Gege. You should rest. I’ll bring you some tea once the fire’s lit.”

“Ah, thank you, San Lang. I suppose I am a little tired.”

“Rest will do Gege some good. He’s worked so hard.”

He finally lights the match, and it flickers dizzily before going out. Smoke coils between his fingertips. It is cold and dark once more. He can’t catch his breath. He tries to light another match, but it shakes right out of his hands before it is even struck. His vision beats dark with his pulse, and frozen tears frost his cheeks. The wind howls, forlorn, empty, shaking the walls of his little shack. 

Xie Lian curls on the bamboo mat before the cold fire, his body convulsing with silent sobs. He pulls the blankets, stiff with cold, over his body, his teeth chattering, and ugly sobs crack him open.

“Gege, Gege, what’s wrong?”

“San Lang, San Lang. I’ve lost you forever, haven’t I?” Xie Lian whispers to the empty room. 

There is no reply. Of course there isn’t. Because Hua Cheng isn’t here. 

He takes the ring of ashes out from beneath the spell and slides it on to his finger. It glitters in the moonlight with tiny pinpricks of stars. It is too big for his finger, but the weight of it feels right. It is a precious treasure—one he does not deserve.

He will have to return the ashes soon. As soon as he can summon the courage to face his beloved once more—as soon as he can steel himself against the hatred he knows he will find in Hua Cheng’s gaze. Ah, but Hua Cheng is likely quite worried about them, so he must return them as soon as possible. But there is a comfort, having them here now. Just for a little while longer. The ring is warm. Warm against his palm. So warm. 

He lies still and feels the earth turn beneath him. 

The icy wind howls. 

Soon, he is consumed by sick-whirring dreams. He sees the mountainside, luminous in the gloaming, the trees dripping with icicles. All is silent but for the cracks and chimes of frost—the freshly fallen snow absorbs all sound, attenuating ambient vibrations. 

He is in the forest behind his cottage, following barefoot along the frozen stream. When he reaches the lake—lit from beneath by phosphorescents—strange icicles have formed, spindly and crooked, blooming like a wintery flower from the water. The forest whispers—like the snow’s gentle tumble off the trees.

His chest burns. Oh, how it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS! When he looks down, he is already expecting the gaping hole, his ribs glistening in the dappled moonlight. But the red bead is gone. The red bead is…ah…ah…what is he forgetting? He’s forgetting something important. He is forgetting, forgetting, forgotten. It is how it was always meant to be. It is better this way. He should be forgotten. 

The hole in his chest expands, down to his belly. His organs spill out into the fluffy snow. His heart turns blue and begins to fade, his bones, too, like the stars at dawn. The red string of fate, tied lovingly to his pale finger, is a whisper of memory.

He jerks awake panting into the silent darkness. Despite the chill, sweat drenches his hair and robes. Frantically, his hands reach for his chest, but he only finds the bloodcrusted and torn front of his robes. There is no hole. No gaping wound, no faded bones and heart. It was just a dream.  

The cottage door rattles, and he blinks rapidly. It takes him a moment to remember where he is. Yin Hai’s gentle snoring has become something of a lullaby, and the racket of Ghost City settles him somehow. This quiet, this silence. This emptiness…

The door thuds again—a knock! Someone is here!

He jumps to his feet and opens the door, but no one is there. The tall white pines cast long black shadows across the field sparkling with freshly fallen snow. The moon hangs low, a waning crescent.

“Hello?” he calls. There are no fresh footprints. No signs that anyone has been here. He strains his ears, listening.

The wind has died down, and the silence is heavy as the snow. He stands for a moment longer, listening, but all he hears is his own harsh breathing and racing heart. He closes the door. 

He pads across the crystalline floor to where he’s dropped the matches and attempts again to light the fire. Just as he strikes the match, a flicker of movement from out the window catches his attention. His gaze snaps to the edge of the forest. 

A figure appears at the tree line, dressed in white, a half-smiling, half-crying mask upon his face. He is dripping with icicles, his dark hair dusted with frost. Xie Lian knows now the figure can’t possibly be Bai Wuxiang, too slight is he, too thin. And now, Jun Wu has dissipated, gone forever. 

The figure in white lifts his gaze to the stars and removes his mask. He has no face, no features, only pale, smooth skin that stretches across where a face should be—just like one of the statues in the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods. A violent shudder goes through Xie Lian, and tears burn his eyes. 

He blinks, once, twice, and the figure is gone, the snow-laden trees undisturbed. With a strangled gasp, Xie Lian bolts for the door, a slippery, black feeling uncoiling in his belly. He flings the door open once more, and in his haste, crashes right into a solid, red-clad chest. 

Strong hands grasp his shoulders, preventing him from stumbling backward, and with his heart in his throat, Xie Lian lifts his gaze to Hua Cheng’s darkened expression, his black eye roiling.

“San Lang!” His voice escapes in a shaken sob.

Hua Cheng is in his true form, so very tall—over a head taller than Xie Lian—his raven feather hair falling in dark waves around him. His black eyepatch is embroidered with silver butterflies, glinting in the half-light, and his jewellery tinkles as he shifts his weight. He looks so young, so beautiful, all sharp features and even sharper teeth. A fat braid rests against the pale pillar of his neck, and woven into the strands, are two red coral beads. 

Hua Cheng releases his grip on Xie Lian, his expression unreadable. “Your Royal Highness.”

A stuttering breath escapes Xie Lian’s lips. His teeth have begun to chatter again. “Ah. Yes. Have you…ah…how did you find me? Oh, never mind. I suppose this tumble-down cottage was the obvious place to look.” He laughs nervously.

Hua Cheng doesn’t reply. His expression is still blank. Hard. Just as it was when Xie Lian left him behind in Ghost City. Xie Lian can’t bear to look at it. Has he come to take Xie Lian back to Ghost City? To lock him in the dungeons? Xie Lian will go willingly. If it’s what will make Hua Cheng feel better. 

But Hua Cheng doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. 

Xie Lian turns and picks up the matches again, kneeling in front of the woodstove, but his hands are shaking so hard, his fingers so blue and frozen, he can’t even get the match to strike. 

Long, pale hands wrap around his own much smaller hands, stilling his movements. Wordlessly, Hua Cheng takes the matches and lights the fire. The flames roar to life. Xie Lian can only stare, that slippery black feeling squirming in his belly. A chill slips down the knobs of his spine, and it is as though he is peeling away from himself, watching from above without emotion. He can feel nothing, no sensation apart from cold. He feels nothing. He isn't really here. 

When Hua Cheng turns to him again, the hard expression immediately falls away and panic flares in his eye. “Gege!”

All at once, Xie Lian is crushed into Hua Cheng’s panicked embrace and he returns to his body, to the moment. His eyes well with tears, and he cannot stop the wrenching wail that rises inside him. Hua Cheng only holds him tightly, pressing his frozen nose into the radiant heat of his chest, fingers carding through the frozen clumps of his hair. 

“Shhh, Gege. Shhh, it’s all right. I’m here.” Hua Cheng rocks him back and forth, whispering soothing words Xie Lian can’t make sense of. “What has happened here? What has happened?”

The fire pops and hisses, steam rising into the air, and Xie Lian’s wrecked sobs finally quiet. Hua Cheng continues to rock him—to soothe him—pressing gentle kisses to his temple. 

“I didn’t think you’d come, now that you know the truth,” Xie Lian murmurs. "Now that you know I've been lying to you. That I'm the Flower Crowned Martial God."

“I told you”—Hua Cheng’s hot breath tickles the hairs at the top of Xie Lian’s head—“I don’t need my memories to know you are my beloved. I don’t care who you are. You are mine.”

Xie Lian can only answer with another shivering sob as Hua Cheng pulls him fully into his lap.

“I should have known it was you,” Hua Cheng says.

Xie Lian shakes his head. “You couldn’t have known. Something was blocking you from the truth. Can you see your tattoo now?”

“No. Does it say Xie Lian?”

“En. You tattooed it on your own arm when you were only a small child.”

Hua Cheng pulls the now thawed blanket over them, angling Xie Lian more toward the fire. “I’ve known you since then? 800 years?”

“Mhm.” Xie Lian tangles his fingers in Hua Cheng’s silk robes, holding on as tightly as he can. “When you were a child, you fell from the Xianle city walls during the Shangyuan parade. I caught you in my arms. And that is how we met. And that is how this bead came into your possession.” Xie Lian tugs on Hua Cheng’s braid, his fingers toying with the beads together. “You stole it from me.”

Hua Cheng chuckles, the vibrations soft in his chest. “Now I see what you mean. Not exactly a gift. And so you knew I would have no memory of the bead. You knew would capture my attention with your risky bet. Very clever.”

Xie Lian nods. “Not so clever, but yes. I needed to get close to you. Back then, I thought you were the one who was cursed. I was looking for a way to break it.”

Hua Cheng is silent for a long moment. The powerful call of a Sichuan Wood Owl echoes through the forest, and Xie Lian sighs softly, his eyelids heavy now that he’s warm. 

“Gege, tell me, how was I dispersed?”

“Ah. I suppose you were right. It was my fault. Oh, San Lang, you used all of your spiritual energy to break my shackles, depleting you to the point of dispersion. I…ah…you promised you would return to me, and then, you…ah…ah…” Xie Lian’s throat closes around his grief. “You disappeared in a cloud of butterflies right before my eyes.”

Hua Cheng is silent for a long moment, and Xie Lian begins to wonder if he will reply at all. “I promised I would return and then I didn’t.”

“No, no, never mind that. It’s my fault, really. Somehow I wound up cursed, and now Ju Wu is gone, and I don’t—” His voice cracks on a sob. “I don’t know how to get your memories back.”

Was it still possible? Mei Nianqing had said if Jun Wu dissipates, the curse would be permanent. But there must be a way! There must be! If they could find the cursed object Jun Wu had mentioned…would it still be hidden away in Tonglu? 

“It wasn’t Jun Wu, Gege. Jun Wu didn’t cast the curse.” There was something different in Hua Cheng’s voice now. Softly, he unwinds the bead from his braid. “What is this?”

Xie Lian stares at it, and his heart grows cold. “Ah. It’s the matching pearl earring? They were a gift from my mother on my 16th birthday. I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“And you’ve been carrying it with you these 800 years?”

“No.” Xie Lian frowns. Something pulls at his frozen consciousness. “It only recently came into my possession. After Jun Wu was defeated, General Tai Hua gave it to me. 800 years ago, I gifted it to his ancestor, Lang Ying. Lang Ying then went on to become the King of Yong’an. I don’t suppose you remember him, do you?”

“Hmh. No.” Hua Cheng rolls the bead between his slender fingers. It is brilliant red in the flickering fire light. “This bead radiates evil. Did Gege not notice?”

“Evil?” Xie Lian shakes his head. “But how can it be evil? San Lang, is your bead evil, then, too?”

“Nope.”

Xie Lian turns in Hua Cheng’s arms, meeting his gaze once more. The unreadable expression is back, but his hands squeeze gently at Xie Lian’s waist. “San Lang, are you saying that you think the coral bead has caused the curse?”

“I can’t be sure, Gege. I need more information. But when you pressed it into my hand, I knew almost immediately it was a cursed object. Whether it is the cursed object remains to be seen.”

Hope sparks in Xie Lian’s chest. He bites his lips, his thoughts swirling in a storm. “But why would it make all the ghosts forget about me?”

Hua Cheng places a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth, and Xie Lian shivers, his heart thrumming at Hua Cheng’s every gentle touch. 

“I have my suspicions. But we will need to find that guoshi of yours. Mei Nianqing.”

Xie Lian blinks. “But, why?”

“Leave it to me, Gege. I’ll take care of everything.” His glittering black gaze finds the ring of ashes around Xie Lian’s neck. He hooks a finger under the chain and the ring hangs in the firelight, throwing rainbows onto his pale skin. 

Grief rises inside Xie Lian once more, and he reaches behind his neck to unclasp the chain. “These are yours, San Lang. I wanted to return them soon, but—”

“No, Gege. I gave them to you, didn’t I?”

Xie Lian nods, an errant tear escaping and streaking down his cheek. Hua Cheng kisses it away before it can drip from his chin. 

“Won’t you keep them safe for your San Lang? Hmh? Am I not your beloved?”

“What if we can’t…ah…ha ha ha, San Lang, what if we can’t break the curse? What if I have—”

“It doesn’t matter, Gege. We will make new memories. All that matters to me is you.”

“San Lang!” Xie Lian sobs, burning his face against Hua Cheng’s chest once more. 

“Gege, shhh.” Hua Cheng pulls him close again, returning his fingers to Xie Lian’s tangled hair. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate anything at all?”

“I don’t…I don’t…maybe, ah…” 

Hua Cheng hooks his arms under Xie Lian’s knees and drapes him across his lap, cradling the back of his neck and covering him with the blanket. He presses another tender kiss to Xie Lian’s hairline. “Rest now, Gege. I will keep the fire going.”

Xie Lian’s eyes are so heavy—his body heavy with relief, weighed down with grief. He’s already slipping into dreaming. “But we need to find Mei Nianqing…”

“Later. Yin Yu is tracking him down and will hold him for us in Ghost City.”

Xie Lian is about to tell him that Yin Yu should look in the Gambler’s Den when he remembers it’s been destroyed. 

“It can wait. Sleep, Your Highness.”

And Xie Lian does. He drifts off to the crackling of the fire and gentle fingers in his hair. To the sound of Hua Cheng’s soft humming—a strange, haunting melody that sounds like it’s from a foreign land. 

He does not dream.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When he blinks awake, the buttery warm of morning spills across the wooden floors. The fire pops cheerily, and he is warm, snuggled into a pile of fluffy, soft blankets—blankets that were most certainly not here before.

He is no longer in Hua Cheng’s arms, and for a moment, he fears he dreamed it all. But when he sits up, the mound of blankets pooling around him, Hua Cheng comes through the door, wet from the snow, his arms laden with freshly chopping firewood. 

“Gege’s awake.” He kicks off his boots and drops the pile of firewood by the stove with a clatter. 

It’s only then Xie Lian notices the tea tray piled high with baozi and savoury chicken congee. Fragile porcelain cups Xie Lian has never seen before billow with steam, and the delicate and sweet aroma of qimen hongcha fills the now humid cottage.

“San Lang, where did this all come from?”

Hua Cheng dusts the snow from his robes and sits cross-legged across from Xie Lian. “I sent for it. Gege needs proper nutrition. I know he hasn’t been eating properly.”

Xie lian takes a bun. They are piping hot and stuffed to bursting with mushrooms and spices. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before accepting a cup of tea from Hua Cheng. 

“And how would San Lang know that?” A pair of violet eyes, framed by a swath of pink hair, flash before his eyes, and his heart pangs. “Ah. Ying Ying. Has San Lang been spying on me?”

Hua Cheng sips his own tea, his eye sparkling. “Can Gege blame me? Wanting to be near him always? Hearing him play music so beautifully and fight so fiercely?  Gege is living, breathing art. This San Lang is enchanted.”

“San Lang is an outrageous flirt.” Xie Lian’s cheeks burn, and he distracts himself with his breakfast. He’s forgotten how it feels to be on the receiving end of Hua Cheng’s teasing. 

Hua Cheng’s grin widens, and for a moment, it is as though he has his memories back. As though this has all been a horrible nightmare. Everything is as it should be. 

“Guilty.” Hua Cheng leans forward and pokes Xie Lian’s cheek. “Gege makes it so fun, blushing so prettily. I can’t help myself.”

“That’s no excuse, San Lang.”

“You’re right. This one was very wrong.”

“I do understand wanting to keep an eye on me, San Lang. I knew I would be under suspicion until you got your memories back.” Xie Lian sighs, setting his half-eaten bun aside. He stares down at his own pale, slim hands, at the flickering red string of fate. The red string—one moment there, the next gone. “I would understand if you were still suspicious. You were dispersed because of me. I’ve had your ashes all this time and didn’t tell you the truth about anything.”

“Gege. Look at me.”

But Xie Lian can’t. He can’t bear to look Hua Cheng in the eye. He’s made only everything worse with every foolish decision he’s made. Every foolish mistake. He doesn't deserve—

“Gege.”

Long fingers tilt his chin up, and he is eye to eye with Hua Cheng, so close, he can smell his smoky floral of his scent. Gone is the playful expression. It has been replaced with an intensity that sends shivers through him. 

“Gege, there is no part of me that feels suspicion toward you. Everything in me is drawn to you, craves you, needs to be near you. To protect you. To see you smile. To learn your everything.”

Xie Lian’s eyes widen. Rarely, if ever, has Hua Cheng spoken to him this way. Hua Cheng is a man of raw action, not words, though he is clever beyond compare—clever enough to decimate civil gods in debate. 

“Your Highness, you are the only light in this world. The only goodness. You have nothing to fear from me. I would die for you again if you asked.”

“NO!” Xie Lian’s cry startles them both, and Hua Cheng raises a single black brow. “No more dying. I’d…ah…I’d rather have San Lang here. With me.”

Hua Cheng rocks on his heels, their faces so close. “So is this Gege’s home, then?”

“Well, ha ha ha…kind of. I built it for us while you were, ah, gone. But maybe it isn’t—”

“It’s perfect. This San Lang would be very happy living here with his gege. Perhaps after I’ve installed a proper door, though, hmh?”

At this, Xie Lian can only smile.

Hua Cheng tips Xie Lian’s chin up further with the pads of his fingers, his thumb brushing his cheek. “Gege has suffered so much. Gege has been very hurt and very alone.”

“Ah, San Lang, I don’t mind. I was just so worried you would…fade. The way Jun Wu did.”

Hua Cheng scoffs. “That trash was weak. He gave up. That was his choice. Why would this one ever give up when his beloved is near?”

There is a heated beat, and energy sparks in the air between them. Hua Cheng leans forward and gently brushes his lips against Xie Lian’s. They are warm. His breath is sweet, like black cherries. 

“Gege is so beautiful. So perfect and beautiful.” Hua Cheng’s breath ghosts across his lips, and he shivers again, this time not from the cold. “I cannot get enough of you, no matter what I do. No matter what I take, I need more.”

Hua Cheng brushes his mouth across Xie Lian’s again, back and forth, breathing him in, taking small tastes. Then, finally, he captures Xie Lian’s mouth in a tender kiss. 

Euphoria, sweet euphoria, floods Xie Lian. It is bright like spring, and so intoxicating, his blood shimmers and heat grows dense in his stomach. Their mouths crash together, and Hua Cheng’s tongue laves over his bottom lips. He sucks it between his sharp teeth and bites. 

Xie Lian gasps but doesn’t pull away. He needs more—more of the syrupy slow warmth—more of Hua Cheng’s gentle touch. 

Hua Cheng makes a strange, low noise at the back of his throat, and he opens his mouth as if to devour Xie Lian, to taste his everything—he laps at Xie Lian’s tongue and digs his fingers into Xie Lian’s hips, pulling him closer. 

Xie Lian’s mind strays to the last time they were here, on this very bamboo mat, and his skin burns, and heat pools low in his belly, that strange feeling he now knows is arousal. And he wants. He wants to feel Hua Cheng’s touch, his devotion, his ah…his…other things. The lower parts of his own body are responding more quickly now that he knows what’s possible. What pleasure feels like. What pleasure feels like with Hua Cheng. What his mouth feels like, what…ah..ah…

Suddenly, Hua Cheng is pushing him down onto the mat, his weight heavy on top of him. He takes Xie Lian’s lips in another devouring kiss, licking into his mouth with a soft moan. Xie Lian kisses back, clumsy though he is. He wants to taste Hua Cheng’s mouth, too. He wants to bring Hua Cheng pleasure, though he doesn’t know how. 

Hua Cheng squeezes his waist and kisses him as though he is starved, obsessed, out of his mind.

“Gege,” he whispers against Xie Lian’s lips. You taste so good. I want to taste your pleasure on my tongue. I want to make you see stars.”

He can feel Hua Cheng now, his enormous length pressed against his belly. He realises that he, too, is hard. Achingly hard, and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Hua Cheng pulls away, just a little, a glimmer in his eye. He reaches between them and palms Xie Lian’s cock, stroking up and down. 

“Ah!” Xie Lian cries, his whole body shivering with desire. “San Lang!”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers reverently. “Please forgive this San Lang for being such a brute. Kissing you and touching you is still so new to me.”

Xie Lian gasps, his hips bucking against the touch, searching for friction. “I…ah, San Lang. It’s still very new to me, too.”

Hua Cheng pauses his ministrations for a moment. “Hmh? What does Gege mean?”

“Well”—Xie Lian pants as Hua Cheng kisses and licks down his throat—“we only just found each other again after 800 years. And while we have shared kisses in the past, they were always under the guise of sharing spiritual energy. We have…shared so few kisses in earnest. We only just confessed our feelings for one another before you…ah…well, and then you were gone. And we haven’t had the chance to…”

Hua Cheng gazed down at him, the colour draining from his face, and his eye darkened. He is quiet for a long moment. “Gege…do you mean to say we have not consummated our relationship?”

“Ah, well, no. I suppose not, I suppose not. Apart from the night we visited this cottage together.”

Hua Cheng makes a small strangled sound and closes his eye on an exhale. “The last time. That was Gege’s first time?”

Xie Lian swallows. “En.”

Suddenly, Hua Cheng’s weight is gone from him. Xie Lian scrambles to his knees to find Hua Cheng sitting with his face buried in his hands. 

“That was Gege’s first time. The last time we were here.”

“San Lang, I—”

Hua Cheng moans into his hands like a wounded animal, and alarm bells ring in Xie Lian’s mind. In an instant he’s at Hua Cheng’s side, his hands hesitantly resting on his shoulder. 

“San Lang! What’s wrong?”

When Hua Cheng drops his hands from his face, his expression is dark. “I behaved like an animal toward you, taking you like that. Gege’s first time should not have been a quick tumble on the floor.”

Xie Lian can’t hold back a chuckle. “Well, I quite liked it. I liked it a lot, as a matter of fact.”

Hua Cheng scowls at the floor. “I took something from you that should have been beautiful.”

“You took nothing I didn’t willingly offer. I, ah, San Lang, I changed my cultivation path for you with this in mind.” He blushes at his own earnest words. 

“I ruined it. Gege is a prince. A god. He is a treasure beyond compare. He deserves to be cared for and cherished in bed.”

Something in Xie Lian’s stomach sinks, and that slippery, black feeling is back. “San Lang, you have the wrong idea about me. I’m not any of those things. I have made…I have made so many mistakes. I am not worthy of such praise.”

“You are the only one worthy of such praise, Your Highness.” But then his expression shifts, and he brings his fingers to his temple. He sighs. “Yin Yu has located Mei Nianqing. He is still in Ghost City, awaiting us at Paradise Manor. Will Gege come with me?”

Xie Lian breathes a shaky sigh. “Let’s go.”

Hua Cheng helps him to his feet and throws the dice. When he opens the door to the cottage, Ghost City greets them. 

Chapter Text

They arrive in Paradise Manor. It is dark and almost stiflingly warm. The low lantern light paints the lacquered walls with feathers of crimson glow.

Their footfall echoes through the corridor, and silvery wraith butterflies lead the way. 

At the end of the long corridor, a dark figure appears—tall, though not so tall as Hua Cheng, and wearing an eerie smiling mask. He bows to them both. 

“Oh, Yin Yu! Hello!” Xie Lian says cheerfully, though he’s so exhausted, he feels as though he’s moving underwater. Still, he can manage a smile.

Yin Yu stares at him in surprise. Or, rather, Xie Lian thinks it’s surprise, judging from the rigid set of his shoulders. Truly, it isn’t much different from Yin Yu’s normal greeting, at least when Hua Cheng is around, that is. Yin Yu is a little more relaxed when it’s just the two of them. Or he was. Back when he had any memory of Xie Lian at all.

“Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince,” Yin Yu says with careful remove. 

Hua Cheng shifts, and his silver jewelry chimes. “Report.”

“Chengzhu.” Yin Yu bows again and begins. “The former guoshi of Xianle, Mei Nianqing, was found in the provisional gambling hall. Already grossly in debt to the other players, he was reluctant to part ways with the table.”

Xie Lian sighs and slaps his palm to his forehead. 

“Fool. And his debts?” Hua Cheng asks.

“Paid in full, compliments of the house. He awaits you both presently. Though, I would be remiss not to mention, he is in ill humour.”

“Of course he is. He now owes Crimson Rain a debt. Not an ideal situation for someone like him who only knows how to lose.”

Ah. Xie Lian doubts that’s the reason for Mei Nianqing’s upset but chooses not to say anything. 

They arrive in a dining hall Xie Lian has never seen before—it is lit by flickering red lanterns and candlelight. Beyond the large windows, snow gently falls in the garden. 

Hua Cheng’s guards stand at attention, lining a long dining table. Yin Hai and Mogwai do not look at Xie Lian as he passes, though he tries to meet their gaze. Mao Wei, Amida, Fang Ji, Lin Qiu—none so much as glance his way. The only acknowledgement of his presence is a formal bow from each of them. 

The only one who will meet his gaze, is a pink-haired, violet-eyed guard wearing an impish grin. Xie Lian’s mouth drops open when he spots Ying Ying among the guards, and Hua Cheng’s clone winks. 

Ah, ah, he knows now that Ying Ying is a clone—really, he should have seen it sooner. Of course Hua Cheng could easily remake him after his untimely death at the hands of Bai Wuxiang. But Xie Lian’s heart still skips a beat thinking about Ying Ying sucking his finger into his mouth or weeping as he listened to him play music. Of course he was Hua Cheng all along.  

At the end of the table, Shi Qingxuan wrings their hands, pacing back and forth. They look up, turquoise eyes bright with anxiety. “Your Highness! You’re all right!”

Xie Lian smiles, warmth flickering in his heart at the sight of the former Wind Master.

He Xuan sits at the table, devouring a platter of fried noodles. He doesn’t look up as Hua Cheng and Xie Lian approach.

Across from He Xuan, Mei Nianqing sits, sniffing as he ignores his own proffered meal. It still takes Xie Lian by surprise to see his guoshi’s familiar eyes in a much younger face. He is so delicate and lovely—his loveliness only sullied by his indignant sneer. 

“Well? Anything?” Hua Cheng asks, his voice dangerously smooth and gentle. 

He Xuan grunts around a mouthful of noodles. “He won’t talk.”

“Why should I speak to you, gluttonous little ghost? Look at the way you conduct yourself! It’s a disgrace!” Mei Nianqing’s eyes are red-rimmed. His complexion chalky and his hair matted. He glances at Xie Lian and then away.

“I’m a disgrace?” He Xuan says, relaxing his chopsticks. Noodles spill onto the crushed velvet of the carpet. His ocean-blue eyes narrow on Mei Nianqing. “Didn’t we just pull you, wailing and blubbering, away from the gambling table?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. The fact that you’re a ghost king means nothing to me. I can end your miserable existence with the snap of my fingers.”

He Xuan shrugs and shoves his mouth full of noodles, though his eyes gleam with violence. 

“Enough.” Hua Cheng doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone resonates with power. 

Mei Nianqing turns his fierce gaze on Hua Cheng. “And you! You saunter in here, commanding authority! You aren’t worthy to stand at Little Highness’ side!”

Xie Lian tenses.

“Is that so,” Hua Cheng says with a smirk.

“That’s what I said! I warned His Highness about you, dirty, cursed child that you were, born under the Star of Solitude! You bring ill fortune to everyone around you! I warned him, I warned him! And now look at all the misery you’ve caused!”

Hua Cheng stills, and his expression goes terrifyingly dark. His aura, like smoke, thickens the air in the room, and blackness curls in the corners of Xie Lian’s vision. 

Shi Qingxuan whimpers, and He Xuan looks up, interest in his keen gaze. “The Star of Solitude?”

If Mei Nianqing is at all nervous about the increasingly potent killing intent in the room, he doesn’t show it. 

“Guoshi,” Xie Lian begins, his nerve endings humming. He rests a gentle hand on Hua Cheng’s arm to calm him. “Guoshi, please. We are only here to ask you about a cursed artifact and what you might know.”

But Mei Nianqing ignores him. “How many times has His highness died on your watch, Crimson Rain? Pah! Your loyalty, as expected, has turned out to be worthless. You forgot him so quickly, and all it took was a little curse!”

“Careful,” Hua Cheng says dryly, his voice revealing nothing. “Unless you’d like to be reunited with your own ghost. I can make that happen.”

“Ah ha ha ha ha! Okay, okay! Moving on!” Alarm bells are going off in Xie Lian’s head. From the corner of his eye, he sees Yin Hai and Mogwai rest their hands on the pommels of their swords. Yin Yu signals for them to stand down. 

Mei Nianqing rises to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides. “And don’t think I haven’t heard the rumours of all the pretty boys you’ve been taking to your bed while his Highness pines! After what you’ve put him through, I’m surprised he’s willing to—”

“Guoshi!” Xie Lian’s voice echoes through the hall. His stomach roils, and acid burns beneath his tongue. He takes a steadying breath, shutting out the images of Hua Cheng wrapped in the embrace of another, kissing another, naked in bed…ah… “Mei Nianqing. I am sorry for your loss. I truly am. Jun Wu’s dissipation is a shock, certainly, certainly. But you can’t speak to San Lang this way. I won’t allow it.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers at his side. He takes Xie Lian’s hand, threading their fingers. Hua Cheng’s skin is hot to the touch, almost feverish, and worry sparks in Xie Lian’s heart. 

“We need your help,” Xie Lian continues. With his free hand, he reaches up and unravels the second red coral pearl from Hua Cheng’s braid and holds it out on his palm. The bead is hot, scalding to the touch, and glistens in the red glow of the lantern light. “Do you recognise this bead?”

Mei Nianqing stares for a long moment with a complicated look on his face. He huffs and slumps back down into his chair. “That is the coral bead Bai Wuxiang used to control Lang Ying, the first king of Yong’an. I have long suspected it was related to you somehow, Your Highness.”

A chill goes down Xie Lian’s spine. “Ah. Yes. It was mine, actually. One of a matching set. I gave it to Lang Ying before he was king.”

“That would explain Jun Wu’s choice of cursed article.”

“Because of Bai Wuxiang’s obsession with His Highness?” Shi Qingxuan asks, sitting next to He Xuan at the table. They clutch a full goblet of wine in their slender fingers and drink deeply. 

“One can safely assume,” Mei Nianqing replies bitterly. 

“Am I the only calamity not obsessed with His Highness Xianle?” He Xuan asks between mouthfuls of food. 

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha! He-xiong!” Shi Qingxuan admonishes. “Your Highness, is the bead the source of this curse, then? You’ve been wearing it all this time, haven’t you? Ever since Lang Qianqiu returned it to you?”

“Ah—”

“Wait.” He Xuan focuses his gaze on Shi Qingxuan. “His Highness the Crown Prince. Was he the one there with us in the temple that day? When we were playing dice? Is he the one who stripped Crimson Rain?”

“Of course!” Shi Qingxuan winks at Xie Lian. “I was already pretty certain His Highness and Crimson Rain were in love. They just didn’t know it yet and needed a little nudge.”

“And you chose to withhold this information from me? From Hua Cheng? Qingxuan, do you know how much time and effort you could have saved us just by telling the truth?”

Shi Qingxuan pales, but remains resolute. “It’s Old Feng now. Remember, He-xiong? His Highness confided in me for a reason. I know him well, and he wouldn’t harm a fly. You’ll have to trust me on this one. Anyway, it’s not as though you’ve never lied to me.”

He Xuan tenses and returns his attention to his food. The almost-empty platter before him is removed by one of the Paradise Manor staff and replaced with a new one, piled treacherously high with noodles and shrimp. He attacks with vigour.

Shi Qingxuan frowns, their gaze flickering to Hua Cheng. “Crimson Rain, have your memories returned, then? I see you two have become close just like before.”

“I don’t need my memories to be close to Gege.” Hua Cheng’s voice is chilly. He lets go of Xie Lian’s hand and pulls him closer, gripping his waist tight, his fingers grazing just beneath Xie Lian’s ribcage. 

“Hahahahahaha true love wins after all,” Shi Qingxuan says and downs the rest of their wine. 

Xie Lian shivers and leans into Hua Cheng’s embrace. His heart burns with emotion, and his eyes prick with tears. Ah, he is so tired. So very tired. He wants to crawl into Hua Cheng’s embrace and sleep forever. 

Mei Nianqing crosses his arms, his bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Pah! This is what you say after how you’ve behaved? After you’ve betrayed Little Highness? It was no wonder the spirits of the black pagodas grew excited upon sensing you! You bear a fate of extinction!” 

Hua Cheng bends and kisses the corner of Xie Lian’s mouth, his grip on Xie Lian’s waist tightening. When he rises once more to his full height, he gives a chilling smile—he is all sharp features and wild, dangerous beauty. His eye is black as pitch. 

“Is the illustrious guoshi of the Xianle Kingdom having a hard time differentiating between his own feelings and the feelings of others? Perhaps it is you who feels betrayed, hmh? Did not your lover bestow his ashes upon another? And when your lover realised the object of his affection was beyond his reach, he chose to perish rather than settle for you, hmh?”

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, his heart thudding in his ears.

Mei Nianqing’s hands fly into his tangled hair. His frail body vibrates, and his chest rises and falls rapidly. “You demon! You cursed brat! The child who fell from the city wall during the Shangyuan Heavenly Ceremonial Procession! I knew you were evil the first moment I laid eyes on you—dirty, disgusting thing, clinging to His Highness’ pristine robes! Pah! What could a cursed ghost like you possibly know of a love that has spanned millennia? What could you possibly know? You locked your own lover in the dungeons where he was nearly raped and killed! Then you dry hump a little waif of a ghost for all to view! Oh, yes. I watched you as that pretty little thing fed you with his own hands, groping at you in a depraved fashion. All while Little Highness sat and watched! Woe is me that it wasn’t Xie Lian whose memories were stolen away! He would have been better off!” 

In a blur of red, Hua Cheng is gone from Xie Lian’s side and gripping Mei Nianqing by the throat, the points of his matte-black nails digging into soft flesh. Mei Nianqing kicks and writhes, toppling his chair, his feet dangling. The killing intent in the room rises until it is suffocating, darkness swirling. The candles on the table are snuffed out one by one as the whirling winds of Hua Cheng’s spiritual aura stir his raven hair, and it dances wildly with every gust. E-ming rattles at Hua Cheng’s side, radiating pure evil. 

Hua Cheng’s eye is glowing red, and his aura whips his raven-feather hair around his shoulders. “I dare you to say another word. Go on. I’m waiting.”

Mei Nianqing makes a terrible gurgling sound, his eyes rolling back in his head. His face slowly turns purple.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, and with inhuman speed, places himself between the ghost king and his former guoshi. Hua Cheng reluctantly lets go, and Mei Nianqing falls with a thud, grasping his throat and coughing. 

Xie Lian drops to his knees before him. “Guoshi, Guoshi, are you all right?”

Mei Nianqing pushes him away, still coughing. Finally, he catches his breath. “That demon will be the end of you, Your Highness. Have you lost your brains? All this despair—all this suffering—is wrought by the Star of Solitude.”

“That’s enough,” Xie Lian says, his bubbling grief rising to the surface. Mei Nianqing has always been difficult, but this is really too much. “None of this is San Lang’s fault, and I won’t hear you slander him again. Now. Will you answer my questions or not?”

Mei Nianqing meets his eyes for a moment, and what is reflected back takes Xie Lian’s breath away. Grief. Shame. Remorse. Regret. In Mei Nianqing’s eyes, Xie Lian sees the image Jun Wu dissipating into ash, gone from existence, never to reenter the reincarnation cycle. His heart throbs with grief. If Hua Cheng ever dissipated like that, he’d—he’d…ah, ah, he can’t even think about it. 

Mei Nianqing huffs, still eyeing Hua Cheng warily. “Yes, yes, fine. Be quick about it. I don’t wish to linger here.”

“The bead.” Xie Lian swallows, his throat sticking. “How did Ju Wu use it to control Lang Ying?”

A long silence follows. The lanterns gutter, and the plum tree branches in the garden creak beneath the weight of heavy, wet snow.

“Bai Wuxiang chose Lang Ying carefully,” Mei Nianqing says, his voice devoid of emotion. “There was nothing special about him, per se. He was only a brutish commoner. The bead—the one you so generously gave him—when Bai Wuxiang realised what it was, that it was from you, he would have been delighted. Oh, how meaningful he would have thought it was. A gift from the God of Misfortune. Deeply symbolic.”

“Get on with it,” He Xuan says. “No need to wax poetic about something like this.”

Mei Nianqing sniffs and continues. “Bai Wuxiang imbued the bead with cursed energy in order to manipulate Lang Ying’s actions. The curse, as I understand it, augments grief, rage, despair. If the bearer has trauma in his heart, the bead brings it to the surface, expanding it, amplifying it, until it’s unbearable—until the bearer is lost to grief. The bead incited mania in Lang Ying. So consumed by grief was he, that when Bai Wuxiang offered to plant the vengeful spirits of his wife and son on his body, he accepted. The rest is history. Xianle was destroyed, led by Lang Ying’s army at Bai Wuxiang’s behest.”

Xie Lian’s heart shudders against his breastbone. In the mirrors of his mind, he can see Lang Ying’s face, twisted in grief, the wailing faces of his wife and son pushing out of his skin. Lang Ying had thanked him for the bead as it rolled at their feet. Then, he had died. 

“But, how? And…why? What does this have to do with San Lang losing his memories of me?”

Oh, but he doesn’t understand at all! He hasn’t been consumed by grief—he isn’t lost to despair. Many things have happened to him in his long life that he wishes not to think on, but they certainly aren’t expanding or amplifying to an unbearable degree. Could the bead really be the source of the curse? Or was it something else?

“Oh, how should I know!” Mei Nianqing flings his hands in the air. “Perhaps it isn’t the bead at all, since you seem perfectly fine!”

“How do you”—Xie Lian’s hands shake and he clasps them together in his lap—“know all this? About Lang Ying and the coral pearl?”

Mei Nianqing stares into the distance, his lips softly parted, oblivious to Xie Lian’s despair. “Some, I saw first hand. Some, His Highness of Wuyong told me. He trusted me, you know. I was the one he trusted. I was the one he wanted by his side when he was imprisoned beneath Mt. Tonglu.” He stares down at his hands. “It was nice when the curse took hold. Jun Wu finally stopped talking about you. It gave us some time to get to know one another again without his blasted obsession.”

Xie Lian sighs. “I’m glad you had that time together. I truly am sorry for the way things happened.”

“He made his choice, I suppose.”

Xie Lian refuses to think of Hua Cheng dispersing into a cloud of butterflies. He refuses. His throat aches, and his limbs are heavy. “Guoshi. What is this curse? Could it really have been caused by the bead?”

Mei Nianqing rises to his feet, and Hua Cheng helps Xie Lian up, too. 

“If it is the bead, the only solution is to smash it. Can’t you feel the evil radiating from it?”

“No. I can’t.” He stares down at the glint of red on his palm. 

Xie Lian’s mother had given him the earrings. She’d hummed a soft melody as she put them on, smiling at him in the looking glass. She played with his hair for a little while, smoothing the silky strands. 

“LianLian. My little prince, look at the water. It waits, it waits.”

He sees her now, hanging by the neck in their small hut. Her bloodshot eyes are open, staring into the abyss. The creaking of the snow-laden trees in the garden becomes the creaking of the wooden rafters as his parents swing. 

Ruoye squirms at his wrist, its head poking out his sleeve. 

“Somebody! Somebody come and kill me!”

He is lying on a beach in the chrome-bright loneliness of the day. The icy waves lap at his feet. Above, gulls cry their mournful song. His ribs are like sand dunes, his tongue caked with salt. The sedgy shore waves around him, and his nascent heartbeat whirs weakly at his pulse points. 

“My little prince, the star of solitude is no longer solitary…”

Xia Lian tastes blood on his tongue. He can feel the slide of the black-jade sword between his ribs. It comes away bright with blood. But when he looks down, there is no wound. Not even a scar. Those are scars he doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t deserve…

“Help me. 

Help me, help me, help me!

Help me, help, help, help, help, help!

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!”

He is back in the coffin, a stake through his heart. 

He is drowning. 

He is burning. 

He is starving. 

He is watching his kingdom burn. 

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, his teeth chattering. He pants, his breath coming in icy gusts. The red coral bead burns against his palm, and he shudders. 

All around him, butterflies explode, silvery and diaphanous. The drop to his feet like stardust, and a howl rises in his throat. He has failed Hua Cheng—he has, he has—perhaps he should have let him go. Perhaps it is better to be forgotten—forgotten by the Heavens and the Mortal Realm. Forgotten by the ghosts. If he lets it go, he can drown in his memories alone. He can let go…

“Help me. 

Help me, help me, help me!

Help me, help, help, help, help, help!

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS!”

“My little prince…”

The great swell of his grief cuts off. It is as if he is rising out of his body, floating, looking down from above. He feels nothing. He only watches his own placid face as ice floods his bloodstream. 

“Little Highness! What is all this fuss about? What is wrong with you?”

“Crimson Rain!” He feels Shi Qingxuan rubbing his back—gentle, cyclical motions. “Your Highness! Shh, it’s okay!”

“Gege! Gege, look at me! Can you match my breathing, Gege?” Hua Cheng takes Xie Lian’s hand and presses it to his broad chest. He takes a deep, slow breath, and Xie Lian attempts to match it, but his breaths in are too long—too stuttering. 

The bead burns in his palm.

He meets Hua Cheng’s fervent gaze. His dark eye is wide with fear. They stare at one another for a long moment, Xie Lian's rapidly beating heart incongruous with the icy winter of his soul. 

“Gege,” Hua Cheng mutters. “You’re exhausted. I’ll have the staff pour you a bath.”

“I should…ah….ha ha ha! I should return to the Heavenly Capital.”

“Gege…”

“Maybe…ah…maybe Ling Wen will have more information on this type of curse. We need to…ah…aha…”

Hua Cheng bends and, with one hand at Xie Lian’s back and one under his knees, sweeps him into his arms.

Carrying Xie Lian in his arms, Hua Cheng moves silently through the quiet halls of Paradise Manor. Xie Lian’s teeth chatter and his entire body vibrates with shivers. Hua Cheng’s chest is scalding against his cheek, but he can’t help but lean into the embrace. Hua Cheng smells so good. Like smoke and flowers—like his favourite incense that his believers used to burn in his temples.

They enter the most beautiful baths Xie Lian has ever seen—more beautiful even than the baths in Xianle Palace. They are ornate, carved marble, inlaid with gemstones. Rose scented steam rises from the enormous pools of water. 

Hua Cheng sets him on a silk divan and proceeds to strip him of his torn black robes, his sopping boots. As they are removed, the robes crack with dried blood.

“San Lang…” Xie Lian whispers. 

“Shhh, Gege. Rest now. This one will take good care of you.”

Once Xie Lian is naked, his blood-caked hair unbound, Hua Cheng picks him up once more and carries him into the pool. 

“San Lang, your robes! The water will ruin the silk.”

“It’s fine, Gege.”

The water is scalding, and oh so delightful. Xie Lian gasps and hums as he is submerged. He feels numb—far away from his own thoughts. But he does feel the slide of Hua Cheng’s fingers as he washes his hair with finely scented oils and scrubs his skin. It is only then Xie Lian realises the state he’s in. Cuts and bruises cover his body from when the Gambler’s Den caved in on him, and the back if his head throbs. 

Hua Cheng’s silver butterflies materialise, landing on his slippery wet body. His skin tingles as it heals, and Xie Lian sighs. 

Hot water laps at his chin to the rhythm of Hua Cheng’s ministrations. Everything is hazy, and Xie Lian’s eyelids are heavy. But the floating makes Xie Lian feel strange. Panic begins to rise in him again. The water lapping at him—the feeling of weightlessness—begets a slippery black feeling deep inside him. Nausea burns in his belly.

“San Lang,” he gasps. “Can we get out of the water now?”

Hua Cheng frowns, but quickly finishes rinsing his hair. “Of course.”

He hoists Xie Lian out of the bath and towels him dry—then proceeds to dress him in finely made white winter robes. He carries Xie Lian to his own bedchambers—chambers which Xie Lian has only been in once before. 

Xie Lian is nestled beneath warm covers, hot stones wrapped in velvet at his feet. He sighs and shudders, breathing into the jasmine-scented pillows. 

Hua Cheng pries the coral bead from his fingers and drops it in a strange copper jar with a stoppered lid. 

Xie Lian doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

He doesn’t remember dreaming. 

When he wakes the next morning, he is alone, though the sheets at his side are rumpled as though Hua Cheng had recently been at his side. 

He slides out of the elaborately dressed bed and pulls soft white outer robes on. The halls of Paradise Manor are quiet. Empty. He is surprised to find Shi Qingxuan in the morning room, their expression tight with anxiety. It is an unusual sight, to see the former Wind Master in such a state. 

“Old Feng. Good morning,” Xie Lian says, though his voice is still scratchy from sleep. “Have you seen San Lang?”

Shi Qingxuan wrings their hands. “Your Highness. Ha ha ha ha, your Crimson Rain and He-xiong just left. There has been a surprising development in the Heavenly Capital.”

Xie Lian frowns, but honestly, he cares little for the goings on of heaven. “Is everyone all right? Are Feng Xin and Mu Qing all right?”

Shi Qingxuan’s frown deepens. “They are, Your Highness. It’s just that…”

“Hmh?”

“Today is the inauguration of the new Heavenly Emperor.”

Xie Lian’s jaw drops. A strange tingling chases down his spine. “Oh? I suppose they’ve finally gotten tired of waiting for me. Whom have they chosen?”

“General Tai Hua will be crowned today. Perhaps it is already done.”

Xie Lian nods, but something feels wrong. Something doesn’t feel… “Ah. Lang Qianqiu. He will do well as emperor. He is fair and powerful, if not a little headstrong.”

The wind from the open window brings with it the scent of snow. 

“Right. It’s only that…well. That isn’t why they’ve chosen him.” Shi Qingxuan looks pained, their pretty features contorting. 

“Oh?”

“They’ve chosen him because he defeated Jun Wu.”

Xie Lian freezes. 

“Oh.” He takes a shuddering breath and turns toward the open door. “I should…ah…I should be in contact with Feng Xin and Mu Qing. I need to…ah…I should really…”

“Your Highness!” Shi Qingxuan calls after him. “You can’t contact them!”

Xie Lian pauses in the doorway. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Why ever not?”

Shi Qingxuan is silent for a long moment, and Xie Lian begins to wonder if they will respond at all. “You can’t contact them, Your Highness, because they don’t remember you.”

Chapter Text

“Gege.”

Xie Lian stands in the moongate, staring in a trance at the wild gardens beyond. Fat snow flakes seem to hang in the air, listless as ghosts, and the trees glimmer with frost. The silence is smothering. His thoughts are a cacophony. 

Memories circle and circle, returning to a single thought again and again. But he doesn’t understand! 

If Lang Ying was consumed by his grief, enough to accept Human Face Disease unto himself, enough to allow a creature like Bai Wuxiang to lead him into war, enough to succumb to the fury, to the hate, to the agony of sorrow, all on account of a cursed coral bead, why then, does Xie Lian not feel that same pull of despair? 

If the cursed bead dredges up one’s traumas, and certainly Xie Lian has a few, why then, is he able to function and live normally? Has the curse gone awry? Has it stagnated? It is an awfully old curse, its creator now dispersed. Perhaps the effects are dulled.

Xie Lian has been forgotten by ghosts and gods alike. Is this truly the work of the bead? 

The slippery black feeling in his belly swishes and slithers. Like the xuanwu ghost he’d mistakenly consumed several hundred years ago. It had been a terrible death. He’d been so cold. So terribly cold. His fingers had turned blue, then black, then fallen off. No matter what he did, he could not warm himself, and he feared his bones would rattle right out of his skin. Finally, once Xie Lian had frozen to death, the snake ate its way out from his chest, leaving a cavernous, gaping wound that had gone septic by the time he woke from his death. He died again shortly thereafter. Perhaps he died more than twice, but it’s hard to remember. He doesn’t like to remember, really. It was a lonely death. He’d cried for his mother—he’d thought the branch he lay on was her arm cradling him.

He’s had so many terrible deaths. Many more than he cares to admit. Death by fire was unpleasant, of course, but the pain was always so excruciating that he didn’t have a moment to consider his loneliness. Drowning was equally as unpleasant, but waking up from drowning was the lonely part.

Once he’d drowned in the ocean, over and over and over again. When he’d finally awoken, his clothes long gone, his body swollen and water-logged, he was so disoriented that he heard his mother’s voice. He’d been so certain she was there that he called for her again and again. 

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says again, and Xie Lian tries to look up, but his gaze is fixed on the frozen courtyard gardens, on the softly falling snow and crystalline branches—on the glowing blues and soft purples. A dreamlike scene. The cold makes him want to sleep. 

“Shi Qingxuan still knows who I am,” he says, even though he already knows what Hua Cheng will say. 

The bells of Hua Cheng’s boots jingle as he approaches. Xie Lian closes his eyes and releases a shuddering breath, leaning into Hua Cheng’s warmth. Allowing the floral and smoky scent to comfort him. 

“Shi Qingxuan is not a god. Not anymore.”

Xie Lian knows this. He already knows this. “Is San Lang coming from the Heavenly capital, then?”

“En.”

“Lang Qianqiu was my student, you know.”

“Was he now?”

Xie Lian’s eyes flutter open. Snowlight ripples across the floors in vibrant blue waves, and he has the vague sense of being underwater. Everything is slow and silvery and clear.

“Gege, General Tai Hua has declined the position of heavenly emperor. He wants no part of this. It was foisted upon him much as it was upon you, though with much less reasoning behind it.”

“Oh?” Xie Lian finally looks up. Hua Cheng is watching him with an anxious expression. The Ghost King is so pale in the gloaming, and his ink-black hair falls out of his messy braid, the red coral bead resting against his collar bone. His eye is wide, and he looks so young. So painfully beautiful, and so young. There’s a line between his fine black brows, and Xie Lian reaches up to smooth it.

“He maintains he is not the prince who slew Jun Wu.”

“Ah.” Xie Lian swallows. “I suppose this is all rather confusing to everyone in the Heavenly Capital.”

“Those fools don’t need a curse to be confused. Useless trash.”

Xie Lian leans his head on Hua Cheng’s shoulder, seeking comfort and warmth. “At least they won’t be knocking at my door, attempting to convince me to take the role.”

“Heaven is unworthy of Gege’s leadership.”

Xie Lian laughs awkwardly. “I suppose it’s a moot point. Perhaps it’s for the best. There was a time in my life when it would have been a boon to be forgotten by ghost, god, and mortal alike!”

Hua Cheng says nothing. 

“Hmh, but what about the Mortal Realm? I wonder…perhaps I should return to Puqi Shine.”

“Gege, this morning while you slept, I visited the Mortal Realm. The unworthy masses still build shrines in the Flower Crowned Martial God’s name, hailing him as the new Heavenly Emperor.”

“Mhm.” Xie Lian takes a sharp breath. “I assume the gods cannot see those shrines? Can you?”

“Neither He Xuan nor I can see the divine statues’ faces—they remain as blank as the statues in Mt. Tonglu. We can’t see the temple plaques either. But the idiot former Wind Master says there are more Flower Crowned Martial God temples than ever belonged to Jun Wu.”

“I never intended for that. They wouldn’t want me as emperor anyway. I am ill-equipped. They would regret their choice when the world ended in fire and plague."

“Don’t say that. You’re wrong.”

“Ah, ha ha ha ha. Well. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I imagine the mortals are next, if this curse is following a pattern.” His thoughts float and swirl, and a chill goes through him. “Hmm, what a curious curse! I’ve never heard of anything like this. Have you, San Lang?”

“Gege—”

“San Lang, I don’t understand. I don’t…ah…aha…why is this happening? I am not grieving. I’ve not been swallowed by the abyss of despair. No one forgot Lang Ying when the bead cursed him. I need to…I should…have I cursed myself somehow? It’s the only thing I can think of. Look what I’ve put you through. Look what I’ve put everyone through.”

Hua Cheng takes his hand and threads their fingers, squeezing gently. The last of twilight leaks from the sky, and they are cast in darkness. “Perhaps it is not so simple,” Hua Cheng begins. “Grief manifests differently for everyone. We work through things in our own way. Gege, may I break precedent and say that you have lived through traumas too horrible to bear. Survival instincts take over, and we bury the past. Sometimes alive.”

“Oh yes, I’ve been buried alive.” Xie Lian’s thoughts are muffled by the softly falling snow. He is so cold. So cold. So cold. “After…ah…when I was…” How many times had he died in the coffin? 100? 1000? 10,000? He has scant memory of it. Of the agony. The coffin and his memories pressing in on him. The gaping wound in his chest pulsing blood, pulsing blood, pulsing blood until he drowned in it. Until blood filled his lungs like water and he drowned, and drowned and drowned. The tines of his ribs protruded from his disintegrating robes, glistening in the darkness. He was so alone. Alone with his memories. Drowning in time.

“Gege.” Hua Cheng’s voice is far away, above the surface of the ice. He tightens his grip on Xie Lian’s fingers. “You are grieving—”

“But I’m not!” Xie Lian’s cry startles them both. It is only then he realises he’s shaking, clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth squeak. 

The xuanwu slithers in his belly, and he shivers. 

Time slows. 

He can feel the world turning beneath them, and it is as if he isn’t in the moment, but remembering it. He isn’t in Paradise Manor. He isn’t with Hua Cheng. He is alone on Mt. Taincang, dreaming of the life he cannot have. These are only memories he cannot keep. 

He is drowning. 

“Gege!” Suddenly, he’s wrapped in Hua Cheng’s firm embrace. Hua Cheng, Hua Cheng, San Lang, the only solid force on the planet. The only safe and warm place. 

“What if…what if…ah…San Lang, but what if you never remember me?” His tears freeze to his cheeks and crack against his skin. 

Hua Cheng runs his fingers through Xie Lian’s hair. He presses a soft kiss to the top of Xie Lian’s head. “Has Gege already forgotten? The past is dead. All that matters to me is that Gege is in my arms. I know you. I will always know you, whether I remember you or not.”

They stand that way for a while, wrapped up in one another, until Xie Lian’s breathing calms and his shaking stops. 

“Gege, you need rest. You need a hot bath and a rest. You’re so cold.”

Xie Lian is vaguely aware of being led down the cavernous corridors of Paradise Manor. He is aware of being undressed, though Hua Cheng does not lead him into the depths of the pools. Instead, they sit on the marble steps, water lapping at their legs. The water doesn’t bother him this way when he can feel solid ground beneath him. He isn’t floating—he is not liable to drift away—to disappear into the watery abyss. Hua Cheng intuits his needs, holding him close, lathering his hair with soapy water as if he is still a crowned prince and not a trash god. The water is nice. So hot, it almost scalds. Just as he needs it to be.

Without words, Hua Cheng towels him dry and dresses him in soft, warm robes. He is so far away from himself, he cannot connect with the moment. He is so far away. Centuries gone. Oceans deep. Is this real? Is this his body?

He avoids looking into Hua Cheng’s eye. He knows what he will find there. 

The black snake slithers in his belly. The wound in his chest pulses blood. Ruoye tightens around his neck. Brine fills his lungs. The black-jade sword slides between his ribs.

Somebody come and kill me! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!

Is this real?

“Where is the bead, San Lang? I need it.”

“Shhh, Gege. I will give it to you tomorrow. For now, you need to rest.”

Hua Cheng’s chambers are dark. A fire pops and hisses in the hearth, licking the ancient stones. The air is heavy, stiflingly hot, but Xie Lian barely notices, shivering in Hua Cheng’s arms as the covers are pulled up snug around them. Xie Lian rests his head against Hua Cheng’s chest, listening to the echo of his long-dead heart. 

They lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. Xie Lian floats in and out of consciousness. When he wakes again, the fire has died down to embers, and the room is silent.

“San Lang?”

Hua Cheng runs fingers through his still-damp hair, pressing a kiss to the ends. “Hmh?”

“We have to destroy the bead now, don’t we?”

Hua Cheng is silent for a long moment. “I am sorry, Gege. It is the only way.”

“I’m a little afraid, actually.” Xie Lian blinks into the darkness. “I fear you’ll blame yourself when your memories return. So I just want you to remember, this is not your fault. And that…ah…ah…that…boy. The very beautiful boy that was feeding you—”

Hua Cheng stiffens. “Gege, it breaks my heart to think I’ve hurt you. That boy was just a sycophant, trying to get into my good graces. I allowed him to as, at the time, I wanted to see your reaction, certain you were a spy.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks burn. “Ah, of course. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“No, Gege, some things should be stated clearly. I have been with no one since I returned. I haven’t had any interest in anyone. I allow the rumours to abound, but I have not once touched another. Apart from you.”

Xie Lian swallows heavily, closing his eyes as Hua Cheng’s nails scratch lightly at his scalp. To be touched. To be held. He takes a shaky breath. “Ah, San Lang. I wouldn’t have held it against you. It must have been a confusing time for you.”

“When I came back to myself, when I was whole once more, my memories were slow to return, and when they did, they came out of order. While I could not remember you, I had a sense of you, still. I knew there was something tethering me to this world. It pulled at me agonizingly. Nothing felt right until you walked into the Gambler’s Den.” Hua Cheng’s fingers stilled. “I could think of nothing but you from that moment on. I should have known it was you.”

Xie Lian smiles quietly in the dark, his heart fluttering. “I must admit, it was quite exciting to see this side of you. I’ve only ever heard tell of how terrifying the red calamity is. Now I can say I have seen it firsthand.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng whines. 

“It’s true! San Lang was very frightening! A true ghost king! Feng Xin and Mu Qing tried to warn me about you. Now I see why!” he teases, and Hua Cheng buries his face in the crook of Xie Lian’s neck. 

“Gege, you will be the death of me.”

They fell silent again for a time, and Xie Lian was just dozing off again to Hua Cheng’s tender ministration, when Hua Cheng spoke. 

“Tell me about how we first met?”

“Ah,” Xie Lian whispers, snuggling into Hua Cheng’s side. He smells so good. It feels so good to lie with him. “You fell from the sky and into my arms. It was during the God Pleasing Ceremonial Parade, so I had to hold you tight as I battled Mu Qing. You were so small. So cute. You were only 10, and I was 17, but you were so small, with bandages covering your red eye. You were very shy about your eye.”

Hua Cheng sucks in a breath but says nothing. 

“We met many times after that. My cousin, Qi Rong, put you in a sack and dragged you behind his carriage. I have never forgiven him for that. Then, you joined my army.” Xie Lian’s throat closes, and he swallows hard several times. “Even death could not keep you from my side. You were very loyal. I did not know how loyal until recently. Just before you were dispersed again. And then you were gone, and I never had the chance to tell you how I feel.”

“How does Gege feel?” Hua Cheng’s voice is very quiet. Filled with awe. 

Xie Lian opens his mouth to speak, but no words can ever express the intensity of his love. Though, perhaps Hua Cheng knows anyway. 

“If I was a ghost, San Lang would be my reason for existing.” Tears stream down his cheeks, and Hua Cheng licks them away.

“Gege, I will always be your most devoted believer. Even if I don’t remember. It changes nothing. It isn’t just my memories that belong to you. It is my entire being.”

“I—” don’t deserve you, he doesn’t say. 

Hua Cheng crushes him to his chest. Xie Lian cries into silken robes, deep, shuddering sobs that shake his body. He hasn’t cried like this since he was a child. Perhaps not even then. And once he starts, he cannot stop. Hua Cheng rocks him softly, softly, like the waves of the ocean on a calm day. When Xie Lian sleeps, he does not dream. 

When he wakes the next morning, Hua Cheng is sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling the red coral bead between his fingers. He stares down at it with a blank expression on his face. 

“San Lang?”

Hua Cheng turns to look at him. “It’s hot to the touch.”

Xie Lian pushes back the covers and crawls across the bed toward Hua Cheng. He inspects the bead without touching it. 

“Can Gege sense the resentful energy coming off of it now?”

Xie Lian shakes his head. To him, this red coral bead is no different from the one Hua Cheng wears in his braid. 

“My mother gave them to me. They were earrings once. It was the last gift she ever gave me.”

“I’m sorry, Gege.” Hua Cheng’s black eye glittered with regret. “It has to be done.”

“Oh, I know that. It’s okay.”

Hua Cheng moves to remove the other coral bead from his braid. 

“No!” Xie Lian shouts. “I mean…ha ha ha ha, San Lang. It means a lot to me that you wear it. It’s safer with you than it is with me, anyway.”

“Gege…”

“No, it’s yours. My gift to you. See, it’s a gift this time, eh?”

Hua Cheng breathes a laugh through his nose. “I suppose I will just have to shower my bride with gifts in return.”

Xie Lian chokes, his cheeks burning. “B-bride?”

Hua Cheng wears a look of mock despair. “Gege said I was his reason for existing! Doesn’t that mean he will marry this lowly ghost king?”

“San Lang!” Xie Lian slaps his hands to his heated cheeks, and Hua Cheng grins wickedly. 

There is a knock at the door, and Yin Yu enters with a tea tray. Xie Lian’s cheeks burn impossibly hotter to be caught in Hua Cheng’s bed by a former god, even if said god has no memory of him. 

Yin Yu, to his credit, seems not to notice or care. He sets the tray on the bedside and turns to Hua Cheng. “Lord Black Water Sinking Ships is in the main dining hall. He awaits you.”

Hua Cheng glares but rises to his feet, throwing on his outer robes. Once Yin Yu is gone, he turns to Xie Lian. “Will Gege join me for breakfast? It won’t be any fun at all unless Gege is there. He Xuan is such a bore. And who will make fun of hs table manners with me?”

He Xuan is punching an entire tray of buns into his face by the time Xie Lian and Hua Cheng arrive in the dining hall. Shi Qingxuan is at his side, chattering on as they fan themselves. Their food is untouched, but they sip dark, aromatic tea. 

Hua Cheng pulls a chair out for Xie Lian, waving the staff away and pouring Xie Lian’s tea himself.  

“That letch Ming Guang has taken up stewardship of the heavens for the interim. They’ve now set their sights on Yushi Huang, but, surprise, surprise, no one can fucking find her,” He Xuan says, crumbs flying from his mouth. He turns to Xie Lian. “Your idiot generals are running around like chickens without a head trying to figure out where their memories have gone. I’m surprised. I didn’t think they were clever enough to notice something was missing, especially as they were pushing for Tai Hua to take the throne.”

Shi Qingxuan brushes a crumb from their sleeve. “He-xiong! Chew and swallow before you speak! We’ve talked about this!”

“I don’t care what the heavens do. The capital can burn for all I care.” Hua Cheng finally sits at Xie Lian’s side. 

“Don’t say that, Hua ge!” Shi Qingxuan says. “Remember, we need the heavens for balance. Hmh?”

Hua Cheng stares and Shi Qingxuan like they’ve grown a second head. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Qingxuan smiles sweetly, fanning themselves with a very familiar paper fan. “I know you’re all soft beneath that scary exterior. Anyway. Hua ge. Are you gonna introduce me to your new friend?”

Hua Cheng’s teacup clatters to the table. 

He Xuan stills, his gaze turning to the former Wind Master. “Which friend,” he asks, his tone dark. 

Shi Qingxuan rolls their eyes. “Don’t be silly. This beautiful creature at Hua ge’s side! I’m Old Feng! It’s nice to meet you!”

Xie Lian’s heart sinks, but he smiles. “I’m Xie Lian. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

He Xuan stares, his mouth agape. 

Xie Lian continues to smile politely. His belly churns, and tears prick at his eyes, but he smiles anyway. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says, and rises to his feet. Shakily, he retreats to the snowy courtyard. As soon as he’s out of sight, he gulps greedily of the frosted air. Hua Cheng is instantly at his side, pulling him close. 

Snow falls softly all around them, crunching beneath their booted feet. A gentle breeze shivers through the frozen branches. 

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I knew this was coming. I…ah…” And he had known it was coming. This curse was very strange indeed, and the gods and ghosts had already forgotten him. It was only a matter of time. But why? Had he cursed himself? Is it because he'd felt like he deserved it? Why did dread lurk in the back of his mind. Why did he feel that doom was impending. Nothing made sense. He wishes they had more time to figure it all out.

“Gege. We cannot tarry any longer. It’s time.

Xie Lian wrings his hands. “Why am I so nervous? Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?”

Hua Cheng says nothing, but anxiety flickers in his eye. 

“No, you’re right. I need to…I’ll do it. San Lang, give it to me.”

“Does Gege want me to crush it?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter who crushes it. Well. Go ahead then.”

Hua Cheng procures the jar from his sleeve and dumps the bead into his hand. The red of the glossy bead is vivid against Hua Cheng’s pale skin, like a drop of blood.

“Gege, no matter what, I promise you, you are not alone.”

Xie Lian can only nod. “Are you afraid?”

“To get my memories of you back? I’m terrified. But there’s nothing I want more.”

“Not all your memories of me will be good. I’ve done some…I’m—”

“Gege. You are the only thing that’s good in this world. The past is dead.”

“San Lang?”

“Hmh?”

“When you get your memories back, I think…ah…never mind. I’ll tell you later.” Doesn't that mean Gege will marry this lowly ghost king? Xie Lian has already decided that he really does wan to marry Hua Cheng. But now is not the time to discuss such things. 

Hua Cheng watches him, a complicated expression on his perfect face. Then, he crushes the bead between his fingers. 

A startling crack and a roar whooshes in Xie Lian's ears, and every hair on his body stands on end. It feels as though he falling through the ice, into frigid water.

He only sees the terrified look in Hua Cheng’s eye for a split second before the world goes dark. 

When Xie Lian opens his eyes again, he is bitterly cold. His hair floats around him in the murky darkness, frozen bubbles escaping from his nostrils. When he opens his mouth to scream, icy water floods his lungs.

Chapter Text

The water is dark and silent. 

Frozen bubbles of starlight burst around his thrashing limbs, and his eyelashes are heavy with crystals. Blue moonlight shivers in the wintery depths of water, illuminating the vivid gradation of phosphorescence and shadow.

High above, beyond the icy shell of the water, the stars glitter and pulse, and the universe yawns open wide—deeper and darker than Xie Lian has ever seen before. Infinite. His legs are too frozen to kick, but he thumps his fists feebly against the thick crust of ice. His limbs are bone pale in the slow-congealed currents. 

His lungs burn, and his thoughts are sluggish. He doesn’t understand…is this a dream? Where is he? It’s all so familiar—the frozen lake haunts the edge of his memories. How did he…where…how did he get in the water…

He already knows. He already knows. 

The powdered crush of red coral hangs suspended in the waters around him. The vibrant crimson fades, turns to grey ash. It sinks into the darkness. The water sighs.

The curse is broken.

He already knows. 

Silty gloom presses in, thick with the echo of resentment. The resentment, once palpable, also fades to grey and sinks into darkness.

Below and above. Heaven and the abyss. Infinite.

The stars pulse and pulse and pulse.  

He already knows. 

He’s in the lake behind his cottage on Mt. Taicang. Ah, but the lake hasn’t always been here. It had flooded the forest clearing in a blink, resentment infusing the gently lapping waves. The cursed bead had taken hold of him. He….thinks he remembers now. Yes, ah, the bead took hold, and he was drowning in his grief. 

Every last trauma resurfaced, taunting him, haunting him. He dreamed so vividly, he could scarcely tell past from present. Was he drowning? Was he in the coffin? Was he tied to an altar? Had he been poisoned, hanged, burned alive? Had he starved again? Yes. All of those things. Yes. 

He’d lost himself—to the cold, to the loneliness, to his grief—but he hadn’t wanted to look at it. He didn’t want to look. As his sorrow swallowed him whole, so, too, did the lake—all his past deaths at once—and he was drowning, drowning, drowning.

He can’t breathe…

All his past deaths, lonely, bleak, grey…they swallowed him whole. The suppressed memories, esoteric in their greyed-out sorrow, swallowed him whole. 

Has he been in this lake the whole time?

No, he remembers…he…ah, does he remember? Does he know? He remembers drowning in this lake now, yes. But he also remembers getting up, wandering, suddenly dry again, back to the cottage and sleeping by the fire, affected by his grief no longer. He remembers lying awake, listening to the storm rattle his cabin. He remembers wearing Hua Cheng’s ashes on his finger, his mind blank as a snowy field. But, ah, the chill had seeped into him and hadn’t let go. 

But he didn’t want to look at that either. He didn’t want to look. Best not to think about it, actually. Best not to think about the lake or the water or the cold. 

Some pain is too deep to look at. Survival is more important. Best not to look. 

He can’t breathe. 

He can’t breathe. 

He can’t BREATHE!

He panics and tries to suck in a breath, and frigid brine floods his nose and mouth, filling his lungs. He kicks and writhes, thrashing at the thickly caked ice with renewed vigour. Beyond the window of ice, the stars pulse and pulse and pulse. So blue, they throb behind his eyes. 

And he is alone. 

He is hanging from the rafters. 

Water floods the hollowness within. 

The gaping wound in his chest peels back, and his exposed heart hums. 

Black jade metal slides between his ribs with a shick. 

The black snake twists in his belly. 

“My little prince…”

Fingers of darkness reach from the corners of his vision, and his consciousness fizzles. His ears hum. His heart hums. The stars pulse. And pulse. And pulse.  

“Look at me, Gege. Look at my face.” Hua Cheng’s whispered words are close. “I am coming back for you, Gege, Your Highness. My beloved. I’m coming back for you.”

He can’t BREATHE!

His movements are sluggish, but still he pounds on the ice. 

A sudden crack shudders through the water with a deep and resonant moan. Beneath him—oceans deep—the abyss moans back.

Another crack, and the ice shatters from above. A hand plunges into the water and grips his wrist, pulling him up and up, into the biting, frosty air. A hand at the back of his neck. Hands all over him, warm and panicked. Hot lips against his cold lips. Hand on his chest, pressing, pressing. Hot lips on his. 

“Gege!” An anguished wail. 

Hua Cheng throws him over his arm and thumps him on the back, and Xie Lian is choking on icy water. He chokes and chokes, vomiting water onto the slick surface of the ice. His skin is no longer white, but blue, and his body vibrates, convulsing, shivers shaking his bones. His teeth chatter so hard, he can’t see beyond the lick of crimson red in the cold blue of night. 

Velvety red robes are wrapped around him, so snug and tight, and he’s lifted from the icy surface. 

“San Lang, San Lang, you came back…” Xie Lian’s breath frosts the air. The lonely trees sway in the gentle breeze—they bend toward the lake, as if pulled by a gravitational force—as if pulled by a black hole. The snow is bright, reflecting the milky light of the moon. 

“Stay with me, Gege,” Hua Cheng murmurs, rocking Xie Lian in his lap. 

When Xie Lian looks up and first glimpses his beloved’s face, he knows immediately there’s something wrong. His expression is complicated, and his black eye is wide with terror and sorrow. His thick, glossy hair hangs wet over his eyepatch, dripping silvery beads of water onto his equally sodden red robes. 

Hua Cheng swiftly rises to his feet and sets off through the trees with Xie Lian cradled against his chest. He’s running so fast, the forest goes by in a blur, his boots chiming in the wintery darkness. The field opens before them, and in the distance, Xie Lian sees the cottage. 

“Ah, San Lang, I built a home for us,” he tries to say, but his lips are numb and his teeth chatter. But he’s warmer now. Warmth flickers in his heart, spreading through his veins. Ah, but he’s so sleepy. So tired. Surely Hua Cheng won’t mind if he sleeps for a moment. Just a moment. Warmth has spread down to his toes, even though his boots are frozen and waterlogged. His robes, too, are frozen stiff and crack along his wet skin like bark. But he barely notices. All he feels is the pleasant warmth and the heavy sleepiness. “Take me home, San Lang.”

His eyes flutter closed, and he rests his cheek against Hua Cheng’s chest. Behind his eyes, he can see shimmering ripples of water, and he sighs.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng cries. 

“S’kay, San Lang. I’m warm now.” He isn’t sure if his words are clear, but he’s sure Hua Cheng will understand. It’s all over now. Hua Cheng is finally home. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Xie Lian is warm, snuggled beneath layers of velvet and silk. The mellifluous whir of birds echoes through the forest. A cheery fire pops and rasps in the stove. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

He sighs softly, his eyes fluttering open. Sunlight pours through the windows of his small cottage. The shutters have been thrown open, and a balmy breeze lifts the curtains. 

Xie Lian’s head throbs, but otherwise, he feels settled. His heart is placid, and the fresh air makes him feel alive. 

Beyond the windows, the trees drip, drip, drip with melting snow, and the little stream behind the cottage whispers over glistening stones. 

Gentle fingers run through his hair, but they still when Xie Lian stirs. Xie Lian shifts toward the cool presence at his side. 

Hua Cheng stares down at him with a faraway look. He is wearing only his inner robe, his dark hair wild around his shoulders. He looks so young. A boy of barely 20. Yet his presence is all consuming. “Gege is awake.”

There’s something wrong. Xie Lian sits up, ignoring the pounding in his head. He’s wearing clean, dry robes of creamy white, lined with fur. His hair is bound in silk, braided down his back. A kettle simmers on the stovetop, and a pot of tea rests on the low table, a warming talisman plastered to its side. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

The ice melts into shimmering puddles on the window sill, and the forest breathes. 

Xie Lian breathes, too. Slow, easy breaths. He is no longer drowning. 

He has been in the forest, in the water, this whole time. He’s been submerged in a lake of his own creation, drowning in his own grief. For how long? He tries to remember, but his memories are hazy.

Hua Cheng is watching him carefully.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian begins. 

Hua Cheng’s expression is impassive. Then, tormented. He reaches out to tuck an escaped lock of hair behind Xie Lian’s ear, but pauses, dropping his hand. His expression crumples. 

“San Lang!” Xie Lian throws himself into the ghost king’s arms. 

Hua Cheng doesn’t hold him back. He sucks in sharp breaths and pulls away, attempting to escape Xie Lian’s embrace.

Perhaps, once upon a time, Xie Lian would have allowed it—allowed Hua Cheng’s retreat. He would have given Hua Cheng space. But not now. Now he clings to his beloved, with every ounce of his strength, his fervor redoubled. His fingers tangle in Hua Cheng’s silken inner robe, and he buries his face in the crook of Hua Cheng’s neck.  

Hua Cheng shakes silently. Finally, he wraps his arms around Xie Lian, unbearably tight and intolerably gentle. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian gasps against the Ghost King’s chilled skin. “San Lang has his memories back?”

A long silence. 

“En.”

Ah. Xie Lian knew this wouldn’t be easy. He knew Hua Cheng would blame himself. 

“Did Gege truly not know…” Hua Cheng’s voice cracks. He pulls out of Xie Lian’s embrace with more intent and rises to his feet. “Gege has been in that lake for how long?”

Xie Lian stills. He doesn’t want to think about the lake. He doesn’t want to think about the curse. He just wants…ah…how…

“When Your Highness came to me in Ghost City to wager his life against a red bead—” Hua Cheng swallows, his back to Xie Lian. He watches the forest. “I came back here again and again, searching the forest for the source of that resentful energy. All that time, you were in the lake. I walked right over you and didn't even know it.”

Xie Lian opens his mouth and closes it. He opens it again. “San Lang, it was a curse. I wasn’t really in the lake. Ah, well, I mean...my consciousness wasn't in the lake. I was with you.”

“Yes. You were with me. Locked in the dungeons, nearly—” Hua Cheng drops his face into his hands, and Xie Lian can just see his mouth open in a silent scream. Dark energy floods the small cottage, and Xie Lian suddenly finds it hard to breathe. 

“San Lang…” Xie Lian sits up on his knees, his hands clasped together. 

“How many times did Gege die while working for me in Ghost City?” Hua Cheng’s voice has gone frighteningly cold and empty. “Eight poisoned darts from Qi Rong’s fucking—” He takes a slow breath. “And your precious bag of treasures. The way this one spoke to you. The things this one said.”

“San Lang, it isn’t your fault. You were terrified. You’d lost your memories and didn’t know where your ashes were. You’d just been dispersed!”

Hua Cheng turns to him suddenly, all fangs and fury. “That boy. Gege, the fucking ghost boy, I never…how could I have paraded him in front of you, allowing him to feed me fruit? He touched me in front of you. Your guoshi was right!”

Xie Lian jumps to his feet and closes the distance between them, wrapping Hua Cheng in his embrace once more. “San Lang, it isn’t worth getting upset over. I know you. I know your heart.”

Hua Cheng’s eye has gone bright, and he extracts himself from Xie Lian once more. “I don’t deserve to touch you. I don’t deserve to be near you. Your Highness, my god…this one should crush his own ashes—”

“NO!” Xie Lian shouts, and Hua Cheng’s eye widens. Xie Lian is breathing heavily, faster and faster. Tears spill down his cheeks, hot and salty. “It’s my fault San Lang! I didn’t even…I didn’t even notice! I was cursed, and I didn’t even notice or remember! My past traumas manifested a lake! A whole lake! And I…ah…San Lang, I don’t understand. Why did it happen this way?”

“Gege, shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Hua Cheng pulls him against his chest, and they shake together, cling to one another. 

“But why did the ghosts all forget me? What does that have to do with the curse?”

Hua Cheng breathes an unnecessary sigh. “I have a theory.”

Xie Lian looks up, resting his chin on Hua Cheng’s chest. His vision is blurry with tears. Sunlight spills across the floor, warming his bare feet. 

“His Highness has suffered more than his fair share of traumas in his life. More than most could bear. That fucker Lang Ying was just a trash mortal. His grief consumed him, yes, but it was nothing compared to what an immortal with a cursed shackle has endured. It was too much, Gege. You dissociated—you split off, leaving the grief behind, abandoning your body. It was too much. It was self-preservation. Imagine the alternative.”

Goosebumps chase along Xie Lian’s spine. He breathes in soft pants. “Because I…ah…because—” His mouth is so dry, he can barely swallow.

“Gege, your second cursed shackle. Why did you ask for it?” Hua Cheng’s voice is very far away. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

“I almost killed hundreds of thousands of innocent people. And I killed my last believer. I didn’t deserve…”

Hua Cheng makes a low sound in the back of his throat and crushes Xie Lian to his chest.

“Ah,” Xie Lian says. “I see. The ghosts forgot me because when I was reliving my traumas, I felt that San Lang was better off without me. That I didn’t deserve you, my most devoted believer who died three times for this worthless one. I suppose that’s why I kept seeing a figure in a white mask at the edge of the forest.”

Hua Cheng is quiet, pressing shaky kisses to the top of Xie Lian’s head. 

“But, San Lang, why did it take so long for the gods and then the mortals to forget?”

“Gege’s spiritual powers were sealed. Nothing could happen during that time. But once they were freed, you split yourself off again. And again. You still carried the coral bead. So the grief continued to mount.”

Xie Lian takes a shaky breath and leans his full weight against Hua Cheng. “But…if I was in the water that whole time, why didn’t I drown? Shouldn’t I be dead?”

Hua Cheng shakes his head. “You were suspended there. Frozen. The water wasn’t even real.”

They are quiet for a long time, and Xie Lian feels his own heartbeat. His own slow breaths. 

“San Lang…what happened? When you finally came back after Tonglu?”

“It took this one almost a year to come back to himself. When I did, I knew who I was, but I was missing something. It was as though I had a hole in my heart, and my essence was leaking out. I knew I was missing the most important thing, but I didn’t know what it was. I returned to Ghost City and resumed my life. I didn’t want anyone to know. My ashes were gone along with most of my memories, and I was out of sorts. Off balance. Until a beautiful mortal boy came to bet against me.”

Xie Lian breathes a laugh through his nose. “A raggedy scrap collector. What must you have thought of me.”

Hua Cheng squeezes Xie Lian tighter. “I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. This long, graceful neck”—he runs the pad of his thumb along Xie Lian’s throat—“and mass of thick, chestnut hair. Eyes of pure gold. Perfect pink lips. It hurt to look at you. I knew there was something about you, but I was also afraid you were—”

“A spy?”

Hua Cheng huffs. “Yes. You were so gentle and perfect. Prettier than my wildest dreams. Of course you’d come to manipulate me. Of course you’d been sent by the Flower Crowned Martial God. You had an aura about you. Something ethereal, even with your spiritual powers concealed. Like a god, but not.”

“San Lang, now you’re going too far!” Xie Lian’s cheeks burn hot, but Hua Cheng doesn’t laugh like he normally does when he’s teasing Xie Lian. 

“You were my every fantasy come to life, and I was instantly obsessed. So obsessed, He Xuan had to keep stealing me away from Ghost City so I didn’t get myself dispersed.”

“What?” Xie Lian thinks back to those lonely months, to Hua Cheng’s apparent indifference. 

Hua Cheng continues, “I knew the Flower Crowned Martial God had my ashes. But nothing was adding up. I could only brace myself for what was to come. That healthy fear was the only thing preventing me from snatching you up and keeping you in my bed.”

Xie Lian swallows. “San Lang!”

This time Hua Cheng laughs, but there’s a nervous tremor to it. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers. “All I’ve ever done is fail His Highness. This unworthy one really wants to crush his ashes.”

Xie Lian’s fingers fly to his chest, pressing the ash ring safely against his skin. “Has San Lang not yet realised how much this lonely god needs his last believer? Has San Lang not realised how precious he is to his god?”

“Gege…”

“I need you, you see. San Lang, I can’t…I don’t want…aha…” An ugly sob escapes his lips, and suddenly he’s swooped up into Hua Cheng’s embrace once more. Hua Cheng cradles him in his arms rocking him softly back and forth as he weeps. 

“I promised His Highness I would never forget him.”

“You didn’t forget me. You didn’t really, did you San Lang? You said so yourself. When you saw me in the Gambler’s Den, you knew.”

“En. I knew.” 

“And didn’t you say it doesn’t matter if you remember me or not? That the past is dead?”

But before Hua Cheng can respond, there is a loud banging at the door. “Your Highness!” two familiar voices shout. 

Xie Lian sighs. He pulls away from Hua Cheng and looks up into his face. Hua Cheng is scowling at the door, and for a moment, Xie Lian wonders if perhaps he should just keep quiet and pretend no one is home. 

“Your Highness!” Feng Xin calls. “Qingxuan told us you were here! Open up!”

With a heavy heart, Xie Lian crosses the cottage and opens the doors. 

Mu Qing and Feng Xin stand in the doorway, scowling. 

“You two have your memories back, too, then, I assume?” Xie Lian laughs awkwardly and scratches his cheek. 

“Yeah. Thanks for asking.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but there’s an uneasiness to the way he holds himself. He’s pale and rigid. 

Feng Xin, on the other hand, holds nothing back. He looks grief stricken. “Your Highness, is the curse broken?”

Xie Lian nods and steps aside. The two generals push past him into the cottage. They both freeze when they see the Ghost King standing by the stove, arms crossed and a cold smile on his face. 

“I suppose that means Hua Cheng has his memories back, too.” Mu Qing scoffs and crosses his arms. 

Hua Cheng grins cruelly. “How was the coronation?”

“You!” Feng Xin shouts and points a finger at the ghost king. “You know damn well it didn’t happen! Thanks to your interference!”

“You know what I want to know?” Hua Cheng pushes off from the counter and takes slow steps toward the two generals. “How you managed to escape from my dungeons.”

Xie Lian cringes. “Ah, San Lang. That was me I’m afraid."

Hua Cheng’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Gege! You wound me! You broke into my dungeons and set my prisoners free?”

“San Lang!”

Hua Cheng laughs. “All right, all right.”

“How can you be so cheerful, anyway,” Mu Qing spits. “Do you have any idea what you put His Highness through? How much pain and grief?”

Hua Cheng stiffens, his face going impossibly pale. “I am aware.”

Xie Lian shoots an exasperated look at Mu Qing. “It wasn’t San Lang’s fault any more than it was your fault for forgetting me.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t lock you in the dungeons,” Mu Qing mutters, and the killing intent in the room spikes. 

“Interesting observation, coming from the sad sweeping general. Didn’t you lead him straight into the Ghost King’s gambling den and leave him there?”

“Why you—”

“That’s enough!” Xie Lian holds up his hands. His head had begun to throb again. But he was warm. He was safe. Everything was going to be all right now. 

“Your Highness,” Feng Xin says, his voice hoarse. “What happened?”

Xie Lian sighs. He motions to the table and they all sit. Hua Cheng diligently pours tea for Xie Lian, leaving Feng Xin and Mu Qing to fend for themselves. They glare at the ghost king as they fill their own cups. 

“It was the bead, just as we thought. When San Lang crushed it, the curse was broken.”

Feng Xin takes a sip of his tea and sets it on the pocked table. “But, Your Highness, why did the bead make the ghosts forget you? I don’t understand.”

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng exchange a glance. “Ah, it’s complicated. I’ll tell you later.” He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing. “I assume that…ah…the mortals all remember me again, too?”

“En.” Feng Xin nods. “They have resumed building temples to the Flower Crowned Martial God. And to”—he curses under his breath—“the Red Calamity, who stands by his side.”

Xie Lian’s mouth falls open. “But why? Why are they so determined to pray to me?”

“You killed the false emperor. Obviously.” Mu Qing glances out the window. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t predict what the mortals will do. It’s random.”

“It isn’t random! They adore His Highness for good reason. Just as they did when he was the prince of Xianle.”

A strange heaviness forms in Xie Lian’s chest, and he bows his head. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I’m really not…I don’t—”

“Gege, look at me.” Hua Cheng takes his hand under the table. “You are the only god who deserves their worship. You are all that is good in this world.”

“He isn’t wrong.” Feng Xin takes another sip of tea. “Look how Your Highness defended Ghost City. And you did take down Jun Wu.”

“Whatever,” Mu Qing mutters. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After Mu Qing and Feng Xin are gone, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng return to the forest to take care of any lingering remnants of the curse.

The lake is gone. All that remains are a few puddles, pine needles floating on the surface. All around them, the forest drips with melting snow, and fragrant blossoms peek up from beneath the frost. The air smells of wet earth and pine.

“Gege.” Hua Cheng’s voice is so quiet. “I feel like so much was taken from us. So many firsts. Is this—” He pauses. “Is this where you want to be? We never…”

Xie Lian wraps his arms around his beloved’s narrow waist and rests his head on his chest. “San Lang, you are my home. Wherever you are. I want to be near you.”

“This one will never leave you again,” Hua Cheng whispers. “I will make it up to you. All that was taken. I will make it up.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“The way I took you. On the dirty floor. So rough. Unbefitting of a god.”

“Ah, actually, San Lang…I…ah…ha ha ha never mind. Let’s return to Paradise Manor.”

“No, go on.”

Xie Lian buries his burning face against Hua Cheng’s chest. “I liked it,” he whispers. 

Hua Cheng is quiet for a long moment. “Your Highness, you will be the death of me.”

Suddenly cool lips press against his in a chaste kiss, but it's over almost as soon as it begins. 

“San Lang—”

“You're right, Your Highness. Let's return to Paradise Manor. That is...if Your Highness wishes it.”

"I do." Xie Lian sighs. "There is still much left unsaid."

"There is. But we have plenty of time for that."

"En. Let's go."

Chapter Text

Ghost City manifests before them in a crimson tide. Xie Lian sees it all with new eyes once more: the hazy red glow of paper lanterns, joss paper fluttering down like flower petals, the sharp angles and gentle curves of the building, the decidedly evil and animated energy. It is more alive than anywhere Xie Lian has ever been before. His heart sparks and warms. Hua Cheng squeezes his fingers. 

As they walk through the slicked cobblestone streets, the city dancing and streaking around them, Xie Lian feels suddenly nervous. The Hua Cheng that walks beside him now is the one who knows him. The one who has always known him, and their 800 years have settled back into place. Xie Lian realises he prefers it this way. Hua Cheng hasn’t dedicated his devotion to Xie Lian because of what he’s done. Not because of their shared history, nor his memories. Hua Cheng sees him for him. Has seen him at his worst and still worships him.

It is like Hua Cheng has only just returned to the world, and Xie Lian has only been waiting atop Mt. Tiacang. This was the Hua Cheng that he met in a bridal sedan on Mt. Yu Jun. This was the Hua Cheng who caught him in the Sinner’s Pit. The one who carved ten thousand statues in his likeness. The one who calls him Gege. The one who’s been at his side all this time.

His sweet Hong’er.

His Wu Ming.

His San Lang.

His beloved.

When he looks up at Hua Cheng’s face, a shiver goes through him to see that the ghost king is already watching him. His dark eye burns with something unreadable, but as soon as their gazes meet, Hua Cheng’s expression shutters. 

“What is San Lang thinking?” Xie Lian asks. 

Hua Cheng tears his gaze away and looks ahead. “It’s not important.”

Xie Lian doesn’t wish to pry. This is all so fresh. So many unspeakable things have happened, and now… Well, they are both a little raw, aren’t they? A little fragile? Ah, it will take some time to find their bearings. 

“Whenever you’re ready, this one is here to listen.”

Hua Cheng laughs softly, but it sounds strange. Off. “Gege sounds as if he wasn’t the one suffering. As if this one didn’t chain him in the dungeons only to be—” His voice cracks, and he makes a strange strangled sound. “That trash didn’t die ugly enough.”

“San Lang couldn’t have known. It’s all my fault, and I only made things worse by—”

“I caused you suffering.” Hua Cheng grits his teeth, and his dark eye flares red. “The way I treated you, like you aren’t my heart’s dearest treasure. The way I took from you—nasty, like you were a toy, stealing your pleasure for myself as if it wasn’t the world’s greatest gift.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks burn, and he hides his face behind his hands. All around them, the city throbs with life, but thankfully, no one seems to notice them at all. Hua Cheng must be concealing them. 

“As I said before. I liked it. I’d never…ah…I, aha…ha ha ha ha! San Lang obviously knew what he was doing.” Xie Lian wishes he could disappear. His cheeks burn impossibly hot as he remembers the…what…Hua Cheng had been between his legs, and he’d never…it had been… “That is to say, I liked it very much. San Lang is very good.”

Hua Cheng is silent for a long moment. “I dedicated many years to learning how to take care of Dianxia. I swear—”

“San Lang, San Lang! Everything is fine!”

A warm breeze lifts Xie Lian’s hair from his shoulders. The city’s smells rise from the streets: hot grease, blood, spices, strange and horrific odours that Xie Lian can’t name, but beneath it all, the smell of warm earth. The smell of melting snow. The smell of flowers. The moon hangs low, and the pink-tinged stars wink. 

Ghost City is home. Xie Lian has been home all along.

Hua Cheng pulls them to a stop, clasping Xie Lian’s hand between his own. He runs the pad of his thumb over Xie Lian’s now visible red string of fate. 

“I need Gege to know. I have never—will never—touch another. Even without my memories, the thought of another was abhorrent. My heart was full of devotion for His Highness even when I didn’t know him.”

Xie Lian nods, unable to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze. 

“Did Gege think I had taken another?”

Xie Lian waves his free hand. Wild emotions rise within him. They hadn’t ever spoken of this before. There had been kisses, certainly, certainly. Not to mention the heated mania of Mount Tonglu’s opening (of which Hua Cheng was still unaware). There had been kisses before Xie Lian had even acknowledged his feelings to himself. Passionate kisses, but almost all had been hidden behind the guise of exchanging spiritual powers. They had not mentioned sex. They had not even discussed what they were to each other. They’d never had the chance.

“Ah, San Lang. I didn’t think about it too much,” he lies. “I was busy trying to break the curse.”

A long moment of silence. Hua Cheng curses beneath his breath. “This lowly one doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“San Lang, there’s nothing to forgive. It was an impossible situation. It was…” He takes a shuddering breath. “Of course it was difficult. I won’t lie. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else…ah…ah…that is to say, it isn’t your fault.”

Hua Cheng opens Xie Lian’s hand and kisses his palm—a lingering kiss, his ghostly breath fanning over Xie Lian’s fingers. “Hmh? Gege was jealous?”

“San Lang!” Xie Lian slips his hand away, swatting at the Ghost King. 

Hua Cheng laughs, but the laugh is still not quite right. “This one is hopelessly devoted to his god. With or without his memories.”

“You know,” Xie Lian says quietly, “it wasn’t the first time I was jealous.”

Hua Cheng lifts a dark brow. “Oh? Go on.”

“The way you spoke of your noble, gracious, special someone…I wanted it to be me.”

Hua Cheng swallows heavily and squeezes Xie Lian’s hand once more.

Xie Lian continues, “I never thought it could be me. San Lang is a Ghost King. The scourge of Heaven. The most powerful being to walk the earth. He is beautiful and passionate. Brilliant. Good at everything, and with a heart of gold. I’ve never met anyone like you in all my long years.”

A dark look flashes in Hua Cheng’s eye. “Everything I am today is because of Taizi Diantia.”

Xie Lian laughs, and his heart aches. “I’m not a very good role model. I wandered the earth for centuries without purpose, never really making anything of myself. I was so lost. But San Lang…look what you’ve become!”

“I beg to differ. Gege is the only role model for me. I became what I am because I followed you, because I was inspired by you. I had a purpose because His Highness gave me one. No one was there for you the way you were there for me. That is my deepest regret. That I couldn’t be there for you.”

Xie Lian is struck speechless. He swallows back more tears and nods. “Hmh.”

The two continue on their path, Hua Cheng’s boots chiming as they walk. They move deeper into the city, through the simmering market, bright lights and colours whirring around them. Slowly, the denizens of Ghost City begin to notice them. 

“Hua Chengzhu!”

“IT’S HIS LORDSHIP! HE’S HERE!”

“Chengzhu!”

The city cries out for its lord in a cacophony. That is, until they recognise Xie Lian at his side. The city falls impossibly, unnaturally silent. 

“Grand Uncle…”

“It’s Grand Uncle…”

“The Flower Crowned Martial God…”

“He defeated Bai Wuxiang, and now he’s returned to us!”

“He’s so beautiful…”

“I hope our Chengzhu marries him now…”

Hushed whispers rise around them, like waves lapping at the shore. One by one, the ghosts bow, some falling to their knees and kowtowing. The ones that watch Xie Lian still have worship and love in their eyes. 

“Grand Uncle, Grande Uncle, His Highness, the Flower Crowned Martial God,” they whisper reverently, reaching out for him. “He’s returned to us!”

Xie Lian is simultaneously buoyed and stricken! He’s never liked it when anyone bows to him, especially not the beautiful souls of Ghost City. They should never have to bow to the likes of him. But he says nothing, not wanting to offend or diminish. To his surprise, Hua Cheng doesn’t say anything either. 

“GRAND UNCLE IS HERE!” someone shouts from the rooftops, and just like that, the city erupts in chaos—the shouting and cheering is almost too much for Xie Lian to bear, as flowers rain down around them. One showy bloom lands on Xie Lian’s shoulder, and Hua Cheng sweeps it up and tucks it behind his ear. 

The crowd follows them all the way back to Paradise Manor, where Yin Yu stands waiting at the door, his smiling mask at the side of his head. His gaze is lowered as he bows. “Chengzhu. Your Highness.”

Xie Lian bows in return. “Your Highness Yin Yu.”

Hua Cheng’s security team awaits them within the reception hall of Paradise Manor. Mogwai and Yin Hai are at the front. Ying Ying is there, too, though Xie Lian knows now it is really Hua Cheng. Well, one of Hua Cheng’s clones, anyway. How much had Hua Cheng seen through Ying Ying’s eyes? How much had he gleaned?  Xie Lian suddenly remembers a conversation on the rooftops about his instruments. Ying Ying had been so kind and interested, praising Xie Lian’s abilities. Then, he remembers the tears in Ying Ying’s eyes when Xie Lian played a Xianle melody. His heart pangs.

He Xuan sits on the divan, his legs crossed and a scowl on his face. He doesn’t look Xie Lian’s way.

Shi Qingxuan comes bounding toward him. They sweep Xie Lian into their arms, swinging him around like a rag doll. “Wu M—A-Lian! You did it! You broke the curse!” They set Xie Lian down, their turquoise eyes brimming with happiness. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Forgetting you for a whole day was too long! I may never recover!”

“Old Feng!” Xie Lian grins up at them. 

From the corner of his eye, he catches movement. Yin Hai has stepped forward. He bows low, his hundreds of rainbow eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “Grand Uncle. We are relieved to see you safely returned to us,” he says gruffly. “I don’t understand how I could have forgotten one who shines so bright.”

His broad shoulders, shiny and grey, shake, and Xie Lian rests a hand on his back. 

Mogwai, too, dips in a low bow. “Grand Uncle. You took poison for us all. We owe you our lives. Ghost City is forever in your debt.”

Xie Lian swallows thickly. He falters, a little lightheaded. “Ah, it was nothing. Thank you for all your hard work.”

“That’s enough.” Hua Cheng’s voice is low, and his aura expands. “Scram!”

They all scramble out of the hall. He Xuan rises slowly to his feet and casually walks past. His expression is impassive, but Xie Lian can read the anxiety in his shoulders. Hua Cheng glares at his back as he leaves. 

Shi Qingxuan pats Xie Lian on the shoulder and is gone, too. 

Silence falls around them, and Xie Lian breathes a sigh of relief. 

Hua Cheng watches him with careful remove. “Is Gege sure this is where he wants to be? With me?” He sounds a little lost. A little far away. “After all that has happened, I would understand if His Highness—”

Xie Lian throws himself into Hua Cheng’s embrace. “San Lang! There is nowhere I’d rather be! Nothing can tear me away from you now.”

Slowly, with reverence and devotion, Hua Cheng runs his fingers through the tangled strands of Xie Lian’s hair. He presses a lingering kiss to Xie Lian’s temple. Another to his cheek bone, to the corner of his mouth. “Then, will Gege live here with this unworthy one? Let this one take care of him for a while? Or forever? As His Highness wishes?”

Xie Lian nods, and Hua Cheng kisses him. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, and Xie Lian can’t help but want more. But there is time for that. They have time.

They take a small supper in the courtyard, beneath a crimson awning. Small fires burn in ceramic pots around them for warmth, and the trees shiver with melting snow. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

The table is laden with sumptuous dishes, and the smell is heavenly. Xie Lian’s stomach growls with hunger. Ah, he supposes it’s been a very long time since he’s eaten, preserved as he was in ice. As his body warms, sensations return to him, and he breathes deeply of the pine-fresh air. Xie Lian yelps as Hua Cheng lifts him onto his lap. He feeds Xie Lian choice pieces of meat with his own chopsticks, and heat rises to Xie Lian’s cheeks once more. Any other time, he would not have allowed for such behaviour, but now…now…ah, perhaps it’s better to be close. As close as possible. He couldn’t deny his own clinginess. His own neediness.

Xie Lian’s eyes are heavy with sleep as Hua Cheng dresses him in soft sleeping robes, peppering his cheeks and the top of his head with kisses. They whisper to one another about nothing, but the tension between them remains. The haunted look in the Ghost King’s eye remains, and his expression is guarded. His worshipful touches are careful. Too careful. Ah, they need time. They need time to process all that has happened. 

When he dreams that night, tucked beneath the decadent bedding next to his beloved, he is lying on the sand, cold water lapping against his side. The silvery mid-day sun hurts his eyes, and the grey ocean moans with memories. Beads of water pebble along his jutting ribs, and brine pools in the concave of his belly. 

He remembers this death. It was the first time he drowned, not long after his second banishment. Not long after Wu Ming dispersed. In his memories now, Wu Ming disperses in a cloud of death wraith butterflies.

This is a dream. He knows it is. The curse has abated, and he is no longer frozen beneath an icy lake. But the memories will be with him forever. They are a part of him.

Xie Lian closes his eyes against the harsh rays of grey sunlight. Gentle arms cradle him as tears leak down his cheeks. 

He opens his eyes once more to darkness. Soft lanterns flicker in the shadowed corners, and the fire glows with embers. 

“Gege?” Hua Cheng presses a kiss to his tear-streaked cheek. “Gege?” he says again, with a hint of panic this time. 

“It’s okay, San Lang. It was only a dream.”

Hua Cheng pulls him into his arms and rocks him gently. “Does Gege want to talk about it?”

Does he? Maybe not. Maybe some things are better left in the past. It has been 800 years, after all. He is no longer drowning or suffocating or bleeding or starving. He is safe in his beloved’s arms, the memories of his lonely deaths sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He has been shaped by his past, certainly. Ah, he has been molded by it all. But sometimes he truly believes it has beenfor the better. Perhaps if he hadn’t lived the years he had, he might not recognise Hua Cheng for what he is. 

For all he is. 

Xie Lian kisses Hua Cheng, slotting their mouths together, and it feels so right. So warm and safe. 

“San Lang?”

The darkness flickers, and warmth radiates through him. 

“Hmh?”

“I never had the chance to tell you how I feel.”

Hua Cheng cards his long, slender fingers through Xie Lian’s hair. Pressed up against each other like this, Xie Lian feels small in Hua Cheng’s arms. The Ghost King is so tall and broad, so safe. So safe. 

“This one knows.”

“Mhm.” Xie Lian kisses him again, this time more boldly than he’d ever before dared. He wants to taste. He’s never given himself permission to have what he wants before. He’s never allowed himself joy. 

Tears trickle between their lips, and Hua Cheng kisses them away. 

“I missed you,” Xie Lian whispers, his breath hot against Hua Cheng’s lips. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you…”

Hua Cheng whines and rolls on top of Xie Lian, licking into his mouth. Their bodies are so warm, intertwined and humming with emotion. The erotic brush of Hua Cheng’s tongue evokes a muffled moan from Xie Lian, and his cheeks burn hot. But he returns Hua Cheng’s fervour, biting at his smooth bottom lip as if he’s always done such shameless things. 

They’re both hard. Xie Lian can feel the press of Hua Cheng’s length against his own, and he whimpers softly as Hua Cheng laps at his mouth. 

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng murmurs. “Your Highness, Gege, Gege, don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.”

Xie Lian’s muffled whimpers rise as Hua Cheng licks down the slender pillar of his neck, nipping with sharp teeth at his collar bones. Xie Lian’s dick throbs with every flick of Hua Cheng’s velvet tongue, as his sleeping robes are parted, and the balmy air of the bedroom rushes over his naked skin. With his sleeping robes gone, he’s only wearing thin white pants, which do little to hide his erection…or the wet stain that sticks to his skin. 

He moans, and tries to roll away, to hide, but Hua Cheng firmly pins him down, threading their fingers, red strings of fate pressed together as he kisses down Xie Lian’s belly. 

“Your Highness, shhh, Gege, don’t be afraid…”

Hua Cheng mouths at his clothed erection, sucking at the wet fabric with a low growl, and Xie Lian shivers and cries out. Already that heavy feeling is building in his belly. That strange, hot feeling, better than anything he’s felt before, and his cock leaks as Hua Cheng licks it through his pants. 

“San Lang!” he cries out. “I want…I want…please…” He doesn’t know what he wants. He has scant knowledge of intimacy, and all that he’s learned has been learned by accident and quickly forgotten. A small part of him feels ashamed, ready to recite sutras, but he stifles it down. This is his beloved. His San Lang. 

Hua Cheng looks up at him from between his legs. The sight of him, his eye glittering, his mouth hovering above Xie Lian’s now soaking pants, is so obscene that Xie Lian can’t help but pant, his hips rocking on their own, searching for friction. 

Hua Cheng grins. It is a wild and terrifying grin, and Xie Lian knows he should be very afraid, but he can only moan and whimper. 

“Hmh? What does Gege want?”

“I…I…” Xie Lian’s vision blurs. “I don’t know what…I...”

“Let’s see what Gege likes then, shall we?” 

Without warning, Xie Lian’s pants are gone, and his erection slaps against his belly, wet with glistening beads of precum. He wants to hide his shame, hide himself, but he doesn’t move. Goosebumps chase Hua Cheng’s heated gaze.  

“Gege is so beautiful. So perfect.” There is a hazy look in Hua Cheng’s eye. He looks drunk. Utterly obsessed. “I could just eat him up.”

“Yes, yes,” Xie Lian pants. “You keep saying that.”

Hua Cheng chuckles darkly, his silver earrings glinting in the darkness. Slowly, he removes his own crimson robes, and Xie Lian holds his breath. 

The Ghost King is a sight to behold: the muscles of his abdomen ripple, raven hair tumbling over his broad shoulders. The stark black of his tattoos leaps from his moon-pale skin, and his kiss-bitten lips are red. He is sinfully beautiful. If Xie Lian had met him at 17, he knows his choice of cultivation would not have been so easy. 

Finally, Hua Cheng removes his own sleeping pants, and his erection springs free. And, oh. 

Oh. 

That is…

He’s…

“Gege likes what he sees?”

Xie Lian blushes but doesn’t look away. Hua Cheng’s dick is long and thick, wet with desire. Twice the size of Xie Lian’s own erection, but that is neither here nor there. What do they do now? What will…ah…should he…

“If Gege has no objections, I will savour him slowly.”

Xie Lian whimpers again, his cock throbbing with need. Hua Cheng is on top of him again, pinning him to the bed with his weight. He dwarfs Xie Lian with his body, and Xie Lian is warm. Safe. He is in the arms of his beloved. Warm. 

“Does Gege have any objections?” Hua Cheng repeats with a whisper in his ear, and Xie Lian shivers. 

“N-no. Ungg!” Xie Lian sobs as Hua Cheng thrusts his hips, and their naked cocks slide together with a lewd squelch. 

A glass jar has appeared in Hua Cheng’s hand, and he dips his long, pale fingers inside. Xie Lian can only watch distantly, lost to the haze of desire. Hua Cheng slides their cocks together, picking up speed, and Xie Lian gasps and moans, as a sea of hot, dense qi pools in his dantian, like a storming sea. He bucks his hips and is rewarded with a soft moan from Hua Cheng’s parted lips. 

Hua Cheng sucks on his lip and releases it with a pop, again and again, and he palms Xie Lian’s naked ass. He glides a slippery finger over Xie Lian’s hole, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, he dips inside, gently at first, then thrusting inside in time with the rhythm of his hips. He works Xie Lian open, adding a second finger, and a third. His finger rubs up against something inside him, and Xie Lian cums with a wail. 

The waves of his orgasm crash over him, and he sobs into Hua Cheng’s mouth. His spend collects between their bellies, hot and sticky, and Hua Cheng’s breaths come in harsh gasps. 

He gently folds Xie Lian’s legs up to his chest. His cock is still hard and weeping. He slicks it with whatever is in the jar and presses it against Xie Lian’s hole. 

Xie Lian squeaks and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Open your eyes, Gege. I want you to see what it looks like when I claim you as my own.”

Hua Cheng slides slowly inside, inch by inch, and Xie Lian gasps for breath. The feeling of being full is overwhelming. Overwhelming, but good. Hua Cheng moves gently at first, and Xie Lian holds his breath until he is used to the stretch. To the weight and warmth. Xie Lian’s dick stirs and grows hard once more. 

“Gege…” Hua Cheng moans. 

“San Lang!”

Something in Hua Cheng snaps, and he thrust into Xie Lian with a startled cry. 

They chase their pleasure, and everything is a haze of heat and need and bliss. Xie Lian is a weeping, shivering puddle as he cums a second and third time before Hua Cheng shudders and gasps, his own orgasm buried deep inside Xie Lian. 

They lie that way for a while, breathing heavily, sticky and hot. Xie Lian can’t help but kiss Hua Cheng over and over. He’s never felt so cherished. So warm and peaceful. Hua Cheng rests his head on Xie Lian’s chest, and Xie Lian plays with the silky strands, letting them slip through his fingers before gathering another lock. 

“There’s so much I want to say to you. My San Lang. My San Lang.” Xie Lian’s whisper is muffled by the darkness. 

“We have time.”

“San Lang, I want to be by your side always.”

Hua Cheng is quiet for a long moment. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago. 

“San Lang?”

“Gege? Wanna get married?”

Xie Lian’s mouth falls open, his mind suddenly blank. His heart hammers against his breastbone so hard, he’s sure Hua Cheng feels it. “Do you mean it this time?” 

Hua Cheng swallows. “I meant it the first time.”

“Oh. Well. Yes, then.”

Hua Cheng props himself up on his elbow, his eye bright in the halflight. “Yes?”

“Yes, I want to marry you. My San Lang.”

Hua Cheng leans forward and presses their mouths together once more. 

Chapter Text

The crowds of Ghost City are out in full force, despite the rain. Every shop window glows with flickering light, and red lanterns bloom above the streets, like blossoms on a branch. Mist hangs in the air, and rainwater rushes in the gutters.

Xie Lian’s eyelashes are speared with raindrops as they walk through the bustling night market, his boots sloshing in oil-slicked puddles. He smiles at the vendors calling out to him, “Grand Uncle!” or "Majesty!" or "Wu Ming!". He is flanked by Mu Qing and Feng Xin, Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan following behind.

“What is that smell?” Mu Qing hisses at his side, eyeing a stall selling suspiciously malformed mooncakes. Wiry black hairs poke from the spongy tops, and Mu Qing shudders.

Xie Lian breathes deeply, but he doesn’t smell anything other than the usual blood-garlic-burning hair odours of Ghost City. Perhaps the city is a bit more pungent than usual, but it’s to be expected during Shangyuan. The ghosts celebrate in spectacular fashion, sparing no expense, celebrating as if it is their last day. Come to think of it, they celebrate most days this way. Xie Lian can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. The city is so alive. So vibrant. Just like its Chengzhu.

“Oh, veez are dewishhisss,” Shi Qingxuan says around a mouthful of mooncake they must have bought when Xie Lian’s head was turned.

“Don’t eat that!” Feng Xin bats the half-eaten mooncake from Shi Qingxuan’s hand, and it lands with a splash in a puddle.

Shi Qingxuan stares down at it morosely, swallowing. They wipe their mouth. “Now why did you have to do that? General Nan Yang, you should try to relax a little. You’re too uptight.”

“I hope you’re planning on buying them another one, Ju Yang,” He Xuan says. He crosses his arms, his blue eyes flashing in ice-cold warning. He Xuan is personally offended whenever food is wasted.

“Why, you...I was doing them a favour!” Feng Xin shouts, and the ghosts in the market look their way in interest. “Who knows what was in that thing!”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Come on. I want to get back to the Heavenly Capital in time for the banquet.”

“What’s your hurry? He Xuan smirks. “Want to get outta here before Crimson Rain shows up?”

“Like I feel like being locked in the dungeons again,” Feng Xin mutters.

Shi Qingxuan and Xie Lian exchange a glance with barely concealed laughter.

“Of course. I’d like to avoid the dungeons myself,” Xie Lian says with a sly grin.

At this, Shi Qingxuan cracks, cackling until tears streamed down their cheeks.

He Xuan raises a cynical brow. “Bold, Your Majesty. Don’t let your husband hear you saying such things, or he’ll spend the rest of the evening self flagellating and spoil our fun.”

Shi Qingxuan bats at him. “Ha ha ha ha ha, He-xiong, what are you even saying! It’s not like you know how to have fun anyway! Crimson Rain? Now he knows how to have fun!”

“Where is your husband, anyway?” Mu Qing says with a flick of his silvery braid. “We have to return to the Heavenly Capital. You can’t bail on the festivities now that you’re Heavenly Emperor, Xie Lian.”

“Ah, I still haven’t accepted the position, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian reminds him with a sigh.

He knows in his heart it’s futile to resist, and maybe—maybe—accepting the role of Heavenly Emperor is an opportunity to do some good with the power he’s been gifted. But there’s a not-so-small part of him that wants to bask in this new life here, with Hua Cheng. Give himself some time to be happy before the next disaster. It’s peaceful here in Ghost City, he thinks as a small explosion rattles the food stalls and two ghosts begin whacking each other with what appears to be human limbs. It’s home. The first real home he’s ever had.

A niggling voice in the back of his mind whispers, “Who are you to be Emperor, anyway? Garbage god, plague god, god of misfortune. You destroyed your kingdom. You got your last believer killed. You are unworthy.”

The voice may always be there, taunting him with the echo of grief, but it grows quieter with time. His past is a part of who he is. His mistakes and traumas made him who he is today, and in many ways, have granted him a strange kind of wisdom.

Of course, there are hard days. But now he has Hua Cheng at his side to quiet the voices. Hua Cheng to kiss away his sadness and hold him until he finds his way back to himself. Grief is non-linear, but he’s making his way through.

“Yeah, but you don’t need to officially accept," Mu Qing says. "Everyone assumes you're already the emperor. And with more temples than Jun Wu ever had, you’ll have a hard time convincing the Mortal Realm otherwise.”

“Do you ever stop?” Feng Xin shouts, balling his fists and nearly knocking over a cart of eyeball skewers. “You think you’re going to change his mind by nattering at him constantly? Leave him alone!”

“That’s rich coming from you! You were the one who first started calling him majesty!”

“Okay, okay, let’s calm down,” Xie Lian says, waving his hands. He doesn’t mind if the two generals demolish the newly paved streets of the Heavenly Capital, but the denizens of Ghost City wouldn’t take too kindly to the destruction. Nor would Hua Cheng. “Unless you really do want to visit the dungeons again. If you destroy the city, I won't break you out this time.”

Mu Qing and Feng Xin visibly shudder.

“Look!” Shi Qingxuan cries.

They all follow the former Wind Master’s gaze.

The sky is alight with thousands of blessing lanterns, bobbing red above the city, like glimmering red stars. Like coral beads.

“How, though?” Feng Xin says. “It’s pouring rain!”

“Ha ha ha ha ha, it looks like His Majesty is going to win the lantern competition again. No surprise there,” Shi Qingxuan says, rain dripping from their hair.

Xie Lian stares at the sky as two arms wrap around his waist from behind. Xie Lian hums and leans back into the embrace of his last believer. His husband. His beloved.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng whispers.

"San Lang." Xie Lian sighs, watching the lanterns rise to the Heavens, his heart thrumming with warmth.