Chapter Text
Walking around aimlessly, Xie Lian wanders without keeping to one path. He lets himself be persuaded or disgusted or intrigued by the endless vendors trying to sell him one thing or another. He lets himself just enjoy the bustling atmosphere of the city — it’s a shame he couldn’t, the first time he came here.
Scheming ghost children hang out in cliques within the alleys’ blankets of darkness; headstrong women haggle prices with frightening ferocity; ditzy men bark with laughter and clink glasses overfilled with mysterious viscous liquids. Despite the main street’s ruckus, it is almost therapeutic. It paves the way for an innocent series of hypotheticals in his mind — small questions that make him wonder where his life could’ve gone. What he could’ve been.
Instead of visiting as the insignificant stranger he is now, could he have been a citizen of Ghost City? In any reality, could he have found himself here all those years ago? He imagines what collecting scraps on this very road would be like, but the paved roads are too clean. There’s not a lot of material to collect
…No problem! Xie Lian is nothing if not resourceful. He would make do with taking any scraps at the end of the working week: businesses have never had a problem with dumping all their rubbish on him (after all, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure). With some rusty tools, or perhaps just his trusty fingers, he could make the old garbage into new toys to sell. Anything that wouldn’t be sold could be given to the local lurking children.
Alongside his toy-seller-side-job, maybe he could land a proper 9–5. Probably customer service, although he doubts anything would go right. He shivers at the prospect of dropping food onto a customer, or causing a business to go bankrupt because of his funny influence on luck.
But, living in his city, wouldn’t he have had a larger chance at meeting San Lang?
Somewhere between those lines of thinking, he had managed to pick up a beautiful jade bracelet that caught the glare of the warm lights perfectly. He hums as he plays with it between his fingers. Before he could resume his daydream and conjecture about an imaginary first meeting with Hua Cheng, he stops dead in his tracks. Someone is following him.
“Where’d you get that from?”
Ever so slowly, he turns…
Mu Qing had appeared on his left, Feng Xin to his right, and it seemed they weren’t going to leave him alone. Begrudgingly, he replied, “What’s it to you?” from some stalls. “Bought it…”
But, as he said so, Mu Qing’s eyes narrowed: “With what money?”
In Xie Lian’s peripherals, he saw Feng Xin smack the back of Mu Qing’s head. Mu Qing just rolled his eyes at Feng Xin’s scolding attitude, as if to challenge him with — “So what?”
“It’s a valid question, no? But, perhaps I am reaching. Just look at the amount of lanterns you got today.” From anybody else, this speech would sound like praise. However, Mu Qing always finds a way to make everything he says sarcastic. He could make the most heartfelt “thank you” sound as if he’s absolutely repulsed that you even tried to help him. Xie Lian hears Feng Xin’s teeth grind. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Although, isn’t something missing?” The question is left unanswered as a food stall they pass catches Xie Lian’s eye. Mu Qing doesn’t seem to care for the silence of his two companions because he continues, “I don’t see any followers. Let alone them, who in this world could possibly afford so many lanterns?”
“Don’t be upset because you lost to His Highness.”
“Quit your barking, didn’t you lose to me?”
“We got more than your shitty palace last year!”
“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were talking about old, rotten news.”
“You’re such a—”
The argument went in one of Xie Lian’s ears, and out the other. It’s yet another argument he was yet again stuck between.
Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire for any longer, he slips away by ducking under the thrown out insults and colourful words. By inching backwards, he makes it far enough to leg it back to that food stand, quickly regretting his poverty.
What a rarity! Appetising human food in Ghost City!
The kebabs were juicy, the meat tender enough to melt in your mouth, but strong enough to not fall off the stick even after a good shake. There was jianbing, but he couldn’t get a hold of it. If only she wasn’t looking at the direction it was in…He’s already walking away, not paying any attention to the confused and startled stallholder. This entire street is full with vendors, and it’s not just food.
Ooo, that’s pretty! And, that, too!
Ghost City truly should earn the title of commerce and trade’s centre. Perhaps it wouldn’t fit, in the same sense of the human world’s golden age “Silk Road”. Rather, in the context that humans and demons and ghosts alike are all gathered to simply sell and buy and gamble. Perhaps some items are more unorthodox, but in all honesty, Xie Lian doesn’t care:
His San Lang created all this from the deepest dungeons, to the most decorated palace top. For a moment, he’s sad about the fire incident when finding Ming Yi…the burning of the treasury that was being given to him as a precious gift. However, in the next moment, he’s more upset about not being able to find San Lang in this big city! But, he guesses San Lang is as precious as that treasury (if not more!), so he’s too much of an important person to hang around these lowlifes.
…Lowlifes? Isn’t Xie Lian hanging around these “lowlifes”? Did that make him a lowlife, too?
The new rouge in his hands instantly makes him feel better. A small problem: he can’t see his own face to try it on. He supposes that it isn’t that much of a blaring problem, because in the next second, there is a small pocket mirror in his other hand. Must be expensive, the design carved into the back is beautiful. Metal thorny roses and vines creep all over it.
Just as he’s about to open it, he hears a call behind him.
“Your Highness!”
“...Feng Xin.” Xie Lian snaps the mirror shut and slips it into his robe’s in-lapel pocket. Along with the rouge.
“Don’t go running off again,” Mu Qing materialises behind Feng Xin.
“...Sure, I won’t.” Xie Lian points vaguely behind him, “I’m just going to be over—”
“HEY?! You took one of ma’ mirrors!” Mu Qing and Feng Xin, facing away from the source, both assume the reprimand is for some irrelevant local. The gears in their heads turn when they see the way Xie Lian freezes. Feng Xin grabs his sleeve, and Mu Qing grabs his arm— “What did you do?!” Xie Lian chuckles nervously.
“‘Im? The one in white? ‘e stole a wee bit o’ my food, too!” What food? Xie Lian gulps down the last bit of evidence from the stall.
“You ain’t slick!” someone in the crowd yells, launching themselves at Xie Lian. He sidesteps and evades easily by pushing forward into the men currently keeping him hostage. They simultaneously flinch at the close contact, but they don’t remove themselves — they have no choice but to keep him close so that they could shield him. People are like bees to honey. Old and young, man and woman, once tempted by the notion of violence, all gather around quickly.
Mu Qing exchanges a long glance with Feng Xin. Clearly, they’re communicating within their private array. Before Xie Lian can indulge his curiosity and ask what they’re talking about, he’s roughly pushed into their chests. Stiff as boards, the two let go of his sleeves in shock — but all Xie Lian could do was wince: “Are your chins made of steel?” His genuinity isn’t given the mercy of an answer.
Uproar! Shouting! Pushing! The circle had enclosed them, and Xie Lian had not noticed quite how populous Ghost City was, before this moment. “Are they your accomplaces!?” One of the angered vendors screamed over the yelling. Xie Lian doesn’t grace that ridiculous statement with a response. He supposes he can get away with pretending he never heard it.
In every direction, there was a body, humanoid and not. “Mind yer horns!” were met with rebukes of equal ferocity: “And mind your snout!” The tide jostles the group about, and Mu Qing naturally falls into step behind Xie Lian. On the other hand, Feng Xin naturally asserts himself in front of him.
Their hands are outstretched; Mu Qing elbows anybody who gets too close, “Look at what your sticky fingers have done,” he throws behind him.
“I…couldn’t help it?”
“We’ll talk about that later!” Feng Xin roughly pushes a woman away, who’d somehow nudged her way through the concentrated crowd. A distinct floral scent weaved into the ghostly fabric clung to her clothes. It overpowered the environment’s stale smell of booze, street food, and sweat. Feng Xin pales as he scrapes his palms on his robes, but he can’t completely rid himself of the lingering perfume.
“I want ma’ money!” Xie Lian sweatdrops.
“And I want my skewers!” Xie Lian burps behind his sleeve. As there starts to become too many people to elbow or roughly push, the three are overwhelmed by the sea of people.
“And I want to know what’s going on here.”
Xie Lian instantly forgets about wiping the corners of his mouth. The authoritative tone had silenced the rowdiness, yet simultaneously excited the crowd. Thick silence with a strong undercurrent of buzzing exhilaration permeated the stale smell of booze, street food, sweat, and perfume.
You could hear the tingle of Hua Cheng’s butterflies, like shell windchimes waltzing in the breeze. Like the silver that adorns his boots and decorates his neck.
Xie Lian only hears his blood rushing in his ears. A little lightheaded from exhaustion and way too much drink, Xie Lian can only inhale sharply when he catches sight of black, free flowing hair.
He can still remember how soft it felt to comb his fingers through it. Back then, he knew something was up with San Lang, but who’s he to judge nowadays? If someone strange wanted to join Xie Lian…well, Xie Lian was no stranger to the unordinary. He had nothing to lose, and gained all the more. The Crimson Rain Sought Flower, Hua Cheng and San Lang are the best decisions he’s made in a long while.
The world plunges back into motion with a flutter of the butterfly’s wings on Hua Cheng’s shoulder, in time with his batting eye. Xie Lian wipes his mouth from the meat’s grease, only thinking about how mesmerising the city’s lord is. And it’s not just because of his control over the sublimity of the Deathly Spirit Butterfly.
“Lord Chengzhu!” is the ultimate catalyst to the dam’s burst.
People cheering, reaching, whistling. As the mass of people only become more invigorated, Xie Lian feels none of his previous lax nonchalance. Instead, something bright and hopeful shines weakly through his confused fog, just like the small butterfly that flits its way towards him. Others flinch from its soft light, or even scramble back in guilty conscience, but even with its slow descent, Xie Lian doesn’t take the opportunity to shy away. It lands on his head; fragile legs burrowing into his bun, almost ticklish.
All this raffle was worth it after all! Instead of having to find him, Hua Cheng has found his way to Xie Lian!
…Why does that feel so funnily right?
A familiar deep hum disorients Xie Lian’s entire stature. It’s much closer. He finds out why when the last layer of people surrounding them are peeled away — parting to reveal a brilliant red. Everyone else had blurred in his mind, and Xie Lian’s cheeks burned. Distantly, he wonders if he’s matching the crimson of Hua Cheng’s robes.
“Now that you mention it…” the pig spirit and horned man that’d been at each other’s throats were now trading loud whispers, “Ain’t the boy an acquaintance of Hua Chengzhu?”
Mutters of recognition rippled through the rest of them. The last time Hua Cheng had made a public appearance, a white robed man was tutored right in front of them! An honour bestowed to nobody before. “I’d say! Not just an acquaintance. No way. I’d bet my canine they’re—”
Hua Cheng didn’t react to them at all, assumingly desensitised to his people’s antics. Similarly, Xie Lian can’t hear them. On the other hand, it’s because he’s preoccupied with analysing Hua Cheng’s laid back posture, and how his left eyebrow knitted when he smirked. It’s an enticing mix of teasing confidence. The real deal. Not an imitation. Because not even the biggest budget and the best actor can recreate the enigma of Hua Cheng. The calm is like leisurely waves upon unbothered waters.
Until an idiot decides to jump right in it, “Why’s he here?!” He breaks the serenity, and wakes up Xie Lian from his daze like the splash of cold water.
Hua Cheng hasn’t lost his wit: “Can I not be in my own city?”
Cheers from Ghost City, a grumble from Feng Xin. Other than a simple “Get lost” to his citizens, San Lang doesn’t expend much of his attention on the others and his focused gaze almost rips through Xie Lian’s already tattered heart. Xie Lian doesn’t even register the giggling crowd dispersing.
“I can’t help but notice what direction you’ve been heading…” As cheeky as ever. His arm rests on his hip and Xie Lian almost wants to gratify his greed once more by replacing Hua Cheng’s hand with his. “I suppose you’d like to see my new treasury?”
There’s no other combination of words that would make Xie Lian happier. Internally, he mourns the previous weapons — they were meant to be his, as Hua Cheng had so readily offered the entire room! He felt like he couldn’t refuse; not like he wanted to, anyway. But, the opulent quality of such a present did not match Xie Lian’s subpar…well…subpar everything. The stark contrast was almost jarring.
However, much like before, he’s unable to hide the childlike thrill that bubbles in his chest. Poorly hidden, his eyes shine just as bright as the glittering butterfly, which has made itself an accessory on his bun’s ribbon. Xie Lian tries to dim his own enthusiasm. It’s futile, everyone has already caught wind of its blinding cheer. But at the sight of it, San Lang brightens.
Hua Cheng’s smile is like a curtsey, especially for Xie Lian. Others could see its naturality, done with the learned beauty of a perfected skill, but not rightfully appreciate it. No one can understand the beauty of an art except for its author, and its intended audience. Xie Lian almost faints.
He’s too busy trying to stay up right to notice Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s patent judgement.
Hua Cheng’s eyes narrow, and his nose scrunches up a little. Xie Lian worries that he’s being tested on something — does his breath stink? Is there something on his face? A squeak gets lodged in his throat when Hua Cheng steps closer.
Whether a blessing or curse, he’s blocked by Mu Qing. Feng Xin doesn’t even protest when he’s shoved aside. “He won’t be coming with you.”
Huh?
“He’s coming back with us.”
Huh?!
“I think we know who should really be deciding,” Hua Cheng shakes his head. The cute scrunch of his nose has smoothed out, and Xie Lian finds himself missing it. With the heavenly officials tense, and the Ghost King as cool as the breeze’s chill, Xie Lian wonders who’s deciding.
All three turn to him.
His head ping pongs between the two parties. Wait, him? Making decisions isn’t something that he does everyday…Usually, things just…happen to him. Most of all, making decisions and being proud of them isn’t something that happens ever. And, anyway, it’s hard to trust yourself when the last time you chose to take the initiative, a whole building burned to a crisp.
So, he reaches for Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s hands — only Mu Qing evades with a disgusted look. Undettered, Xie Lian’s palms clasped over Feng Xin’s dorsum. “Can’t we all go together?”
“But, Y-Your Highness! We need to get out of here…”
“I’m pleading that you use your common sense. After your mess in the Heavenly Realm, do you really want to embarrass yourself in Ghost City, too? You would think it’s your life long mission to be disgraced in all three realms…”
“He didn’t embarrass himself at all.”
“Huh, maybe you’re right,” Mu Qing bristles. “After losing this year, you’re the embarrassing one.”
A vein pops on Feng Xin’s forehead. Feng Xin pulls away from Xie Lian to stridently remind: “We both lost! To His Highness, damnit!!”
Xie Lian deflates, and he looks to Hua Cheng in a desperate call for help.
Hua Cheng only pouts. He’s disappointed that the entertaining show can’t continue. Resolutely, he steps past the barking Feng Xin and sly Mu Qing. “The Waning Moon Officer will show you two the way.” After being pushed away from each other, the bickering men don’t get a chance to mull over what Hua Cheng means; in the next moment, he intercepts Xie Lian. They both disappear into a flurry of butterflies that mimic a lake’s stream. Left behind is an average sized man, wearing an average pale mask.
Feng Xin’s hair stands on end.
There was mutual silence when they arrived. Xie Lian desperately wanted to break it. There was nothing in particular he wanted to say, but he wanted to speak anyway. When Hua Cheng eyes his tattered robes, he fawns over the concern. Undeniably, indisputably, irrefutably, Xie Lian was greedy for Hua Cheng’s attention. Even when he had all of it, Xie Lian wasn’t satisfied. It was a hunger that insatiably burned his insides, extraordinarily dehydrating his mouth.
He sat down and darted his tongue over his dry lips. Hua Cheng sat gracefully across from him. “Water?” he asked, offering a clay cup. From where he pulled it from, eluded Xie Lian.
He is glad he can blame the remaining alcohol in his system for the blush blooming on his cheeks. He’s never felt so bashful in front of only a single person! As somebody who faced ridicule for centuries, called every name under the heavenly realms’ skies, whose own name is used as an insult, he never imagined he would feel that long forgotten, burning apprehension that stung his skin again. Well, until this moment. He absently notes how he’s been reintroduced to it by Hua Cheng, starting from the very day he met him.
He must have been unresponsive for quite some time because Hua Cheng inches the cup forward, urging Xie Lian to drink. When he finally takes the cup, (not registering how their hands nearly brush, nor how Hua Cheng’s fake breaths almost seem to catch in his throat) the glossy surface is cool to the touch. It’s like a soothing balm to his palms, which felt as if he’d shoved them into the unforgiving fury of fire. He ponders whether holding Hua Cheng’s smooth hand would provide the same relief, then tightens his grip when he realises the thought had passed his mind.
Peeling his eyes from San Lang, he’s taken aback. He traces the design on the cup with light fingerprints. The impressive sight stole his breath away. Whose skilled and nimble hands could create such a beautiful piece? He's seen antiques less beautiful, maybe even worth less too. But, aware of Hua Cheng’s wealth, the cup is likely an antique itself. As he drags his finger along engraved vines and flora on its body, he watches with a curious eye a dozen flowers snaking along the rim. Some butterflies were sculpted to perch on them. Despite the untraditional design, it still manages to be ergonomic. He rests his hand in the handle, made to look like pearly white petal buds.
However, a shock of contrast originates from a lonesome red orchid. Xie Lian can’t help but giggle at the sight. Aren’t these the symbols of the Crimson Rain Sought Flower?
Seeing the glazed butterflies that catch the lanterns’ lights of Hua Cheng’s residence, he pictures the first time he caught sight of him. Xie Lian’s lips part as he reminisces about the first encounter of the calming aura: the day he’d dressed as a woman and had been held by Hua Cheng. The night that would’ve been mistaken for a marriage procession by any average passerby — which, good! That’s what it was supposed to look like! The only unaccounted for variable was Hua Cheng, and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much to know that they could’ve been mistaken for husband and wife.
Either way, that night, he felt safe with his hand in San Lang’s. He thought that he’d rather like to go back to that night — to see how San Lang would’ve reacted if he reached up and-
“I can practically hear you think, gege.”
What?! Gods, he hopes not! Xie Lian evades his gaze. But then, there was that velvety laugh. Like a cozy winter’s night, like a warm summer’s day. Like fruitful results after hard labour.
He’s enamored by Xie Lian’s furrowed brows, who’s clearly painting his own private interpretation of the clay’s art. But, Hua Cheng schools his expression, “Drink. You need it to clear your head.”
Xie Lian drags his heavy gaze back up to Hua Cheng, sharing eye contact. He feels like he’s being pulled in — oh, wait. No. That’s not right. He didn’t feel like he was being pulled in, because he’ s quite literally getting closer!
He doesn’t realise until their knees knock together. Until he’s sure Hua Cheng can feel his breath on the skin of his chin and neck. His right hand, warm with the bloodflow of an overworked heart, gently slots into place on San Lang’s cheek. The god cocks his head, feeling very much like his warmth belonged right here, warming the cold and flawless skin.
His left hand twitches with unuse, as if it has become restless, perhaps jealous. The jolt feels like lightning bolting through his hand’s sculpted muscles, almost making Xie Lian spill the cold water.
He’s conflicted for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He desires to hold Hua Cheng’s slender hand, yet his hand he so desired to move is occupied by the cup! Xie Lian pouts as his head dances between facing the cup, to Hua Cheng’s fingers resting on the bed, and back to the cup.
Those fingers dig into the sheets.
Ruoye snakes away from his wrist and intercepts the cup, placing it gently on the ground. Instantly, Xie Lian’s face lights up. The problem gone, he’s able to let out a sigh of relief and snatches up icy cold hands. Unbeknownst to him, Hua Cheng’s dead heart was hammering hard in his chest.
Xie Lian squints. Then, he gets closer. And closer. It’s as if he was trying to merge with the undead body. For once, San Lang can’t interpret what Xie Lian was thinking.
“Gege!” he let out a strangled cry. But, gege wasn’t listening. Gege hadn’t drunk the water. They had gotten so off topic, Gege was on top of him, instead!
…If this is what his god desires of him, he should submit, he thought. The thought brought shivers upon his spine.
Something slips out of Xie lian’s unkempt robes, and clatters to the ground. A furious heat flushed Xie Lian’s cheeks. Despite Xie Lian’s searing self-shame, Hua Cheng does no more but bat his eye at it. What a small thing, and a big mess! The powder has scattered across the floor. Pieces of glass catch the light, almost blinding, like the burning embarrassment that simmers within Xie Lian. He scrambles off Hua Cheng, not catching his flash of disappointment.
In his voracity, he’d exposed his misdeeds to the one person he didn’t want to know! Hua Cheng is noble in his actions towards Xie Lian, and he repays by stealing from his city? All because he couldn’t satiate his acquisitiveness…
“Pffft…hahahaha!”
Xie Lian’s heart squeezes. “San Lang…don’t tease.” He crawls off the bed, leaning down to clean the best he could. Hua Cheng grabs his wrist tenderly.
“Worry not. I’ll get someone to clean it up.” At least Hua Cheng isn’t too upset about his floors… “But, it would do you best if you drink up.”
It took a moment for Xie Lian to process the words, and remember just what Hua Cheng was talking about. It doesn’t click until Ruoye snakes back out from underneath his sleeves, and obediently grabs the cup. Safe from the red mess, it’s still pristine. The cup bobs in the air as Ruoye holds it out in front of Xie Lian. With both hands, he grabs the water while Ruoye does a lap around its master, and slinks away. But, Xie Lian is feeling a little shocked, “When did Ruoye start taking orders from others?”
San Lang doesn’t respond until Xie Lian finally takes his first sip of the night. “Maybe it likes me.”
“I told you not to be a tease,” he takes another sip and he can feel the coolness of the water soothe his scorching throat, “that includes smugness.”
Hua Cheng opens his mouth to give another witty remark, but he pauses. With the way his eye evades Xie Lian’s, it’s clear he must be communicating with somebody else. Xie Lian wants to know the contents of such, so he reaches up to accompany Hua Cheng’s two fingers resting on his temple.
Even though Hua Cheng does not stop him, he’s slow. Xie Lian only catches Yin Yu’s, “Yes, Chengzhu.” Disappointed, he wishes he moved quicker.
“Gege, I have a room prepared for you. Would you like to rest?”
All at once, exhaustion crashed over him just as he was about to insist he was completely fine. “No…” a whine. Useless, as Hua Cheng clearly notices the crumple of Xie Lian’s posture.
“Come on, you’ve folded like paper.” His suggestion has become mandatory. It looks like Xie Lian will not be staying here with Hua Cheng. Xie Lian is thoroughly disheartened; he wants much more than just a measly ten minutes with the Crimson Rain Sought Flower!
Anywho, Hua Cheng’s mirth was not lost on Xie Lian, even through his groggy mind and — and, something else that was beginning to demand his attention? “No! No, I don’t want to go to bed yet…”
“Why not?”
“Because…Because…”
“Gege?”
A hot pain cuts through any existing thoughts and confusion. It only leaves room for pulsing, throbbing, heat that sears Xie Lian’s skull. A fire-heated knife to his brain — that is the only way he can describe it.
“Gege!?”