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Hua Cheng dreams of dying at least once a week.
Every time, the dream is the same: it is dark, it is cold, and he is alone. He screams, sometimes, until his voice is hoarse and his ears are ringing, but nobody answers him. Blood slips between his fingers like water, paints the snow beneath him black. A war rages around him and the silence of it is deafening.
Eight hundred years is a long time. One would think that it was a long enough time to forget the sensation of dying, which happened so quickly it’s memory was more distant than the stars in the sky above him. Death was probably the most fortunate thing Hua Cheng ever experienced when he was alive, yet still the memory of it clings to him like a shadow.
Usually, Hua Cheng wakes up in a cold sweat, a crushing pressure in his chest that eventually fades away when he realizes what’s real and what isn’t. With Xie Lian, like most things, bearing with it becomes easier just by knowing he is near, and safe, and happy.
Tonight, though, it’s different.
The blood between Hua Cheng’s fingers is not cold and watery but instead thick and hot, and it burns wherever it touches. He screams, as he always does, but no sound comes out. Hua Cheng opens his eyes, expecting to see the same blood-soaked battlefield as he always does, but instead he finds it empty.
A few yards away from him, a lone figure stands clothed in white, face raised to the sky.
Your highness?
Hua Cheng tries to call out to him, but no sound comes. XieLian is oblivious to his presence, standing completely still with his back to Hua Cheng. The wind whips around him, bitter and unforgiving.
Something flashes in the corner of Hua Cheng’s eye, and when he looks towards it his blood runs cold. Another figure in white slowly approaches Xie Lian, virtually indistinguishable from him except for the smooth white mask that covers his face.
Hua Cheng watches in silent terror as Bai Wuxiang unsheathes a long, black blade from his hip. The masked man approaches casually, steps measured and slow, yet Xie Lian remains completely unaware of him.
Run! Hua Cheng stumbles forward even as pain rips through his abdomen at the movement. Your highness, run –
Xie Lian lowers his face, looks over his shoulder. His eyes meet Hua Cheng’s across the field and he smiles. Even from a distance, Hua Cheng can see the tear that rolls down his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian says, voice cutting through the howl of the wind. “Please forget about me, San Lang.”
Hua Cheng screams again, even when the noise gets stuck in his chest, as Bai Wuxiang raises the sword behind Xie Lian’s back. He tries desperately to run towards Xie Lian, and when his legs give out and he falls to his knees, he crawls to him instead, but the distance between them only yawns further with each step.
Run! Go! Don’t just stand there! Hua Cheng can barely breathe past the pain tearing through him, but he still drags himself further. Please, I’m begging you –
Bai Wuxiang brings the down the blade in one deadly arc. It cuts through Xie Lian’s back like paper, and he crumples to the ground. Red stains the whiteness of his robes like blood on snow.
Hua Cheng collapses, one hand still clutching his stomach as he watches him fall. No, no, no no no no no nononono –
Bai Wuxiang sheathes the blade before finally turning to glance at Hua Cheng. His mask is a smooth expanse of white, but Hua Cheng has a distinct feeling that the monster is laughing at him.
Your highness, Hua Cheng begs, vision going dark as he feels the familiar embrace of death wrap around him. Please hang in there. I’ll save you, please don’t die, please --
“San Lang?”
Hua Cheng raises his head blindly, desperately. He can see nothing but an empty battlefield. The crumpled figure of Xie Lian before him moments ago is now gone.
“Your highness,” he cries, his voice hoarse. “Your highness –”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian says again, and something warm rests against his cheek, brushes away the tears. “San Lang, San Lang, I’m here.”
Slowly, like snow falling, the scene before him fades away. It is instead replaced by darkness, and numbness, and an ache in his stomach that feels a little bit like starving did, when he could feel it. The coldness in his limbs lingers, but he can feel warmth beyond it.
“San Lang.”
Hua Cheng opens his eye to a worried, familiar face. He laughs, once, a hysteric and broken sound, and it becomes something more like a sob as Xie Lian pulls him into his embrace and rests his chin on his head. The warmth of him is like the sun, and Hua Cheng wishes it would swallow him whole.
“It’s okay, San Lang, I’m here,” Xie Lian says gently. “You’re safe. I’m with you, and you’re safe. I’m not going to leave you.”
Hua Cheng breathes in the smell of cedarwood and sweat and sleep that clings to Xie Lian like a second skin. Slow, the lingering panic fades away until all that’s left is a hollow numbness.
“I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng says when he finds his voice again, no matter how small and broken it is. “I’m sorry, gege. I’m sorry.”
Xie Lian sighs, reaching up to card his fingers through Hua Cheng’s hair. It’s familiar and comforting, and Hua Cheng squeezes his eye shut and tries to focus on that instead of the lingering fragments of the dream that cling to his skin.
“San Lang has nothing to apologize for,” Xie Lian says quietly. “It’s just a bad dream.”
The rise and fall of Xie Lian’s chest is even, and beneath it, his heart continues to beat steadily. It’s more than Hua Cheng can say for himself, but it helps ground him. He realizes belatedly that his face is wet with tears, and he’s probably ruining Xie Lian’s robes, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.
It’s a long moment before Xie Lian speaks again, his voice soft. “Does San Lang want to talk about it?”
“The dream?” Hua Cheng asks. “It’s nothing to concern gege over.”
Xie Lian hums, before leaning back and shifting so that he’s facing Hua Cheng. Even in the dark, his eyes are shadowed by concern. Hua Cheng doesn’t meet them.
“San Lang.” Xie Lian gently brushes the hair out of Hua Cheng’s face. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but don’t hold it in for the sake of not worrying me. Heavens know you’ve heard enough of my nightmares.”
Hua Cheng doesn’t argue that, because if anyone else is familiar with death chasing them even in sleep, it’s Xie Lian. More often than not, Hua Cheng wakes up to him thrashing and crying out, and being reminded of it makes him frown.
“I was dying,” Hua Cheng finally admits after a long pause, lowering his gaze. “And you were there, and so was that bastard Bai Wuxiang, and I couldn’t save you. I tried to reach you, but you were too far away. You couldn’t hear me or see me until it was too late.”
Just thinking about it again makes him feel nauseous. Hua Cheng hates this side of himself – the helpless, worthless side of him, who can do nothing but sit by while the one he loves the most suffers over and over again.
The weak side of me, he thinks. The one who doesn’t deserve to stay at Xie Lian’s side.
“Oh, San Lang.” Xie Lian brushes his thumb over Hua Cheng’s cheek, catching a stray tear. “It isn’t your fault. Nothing that’s happened is your fault. If anyone should be taking the blame, it’s the ones who caused the pain, not those who couldn’t prevent it.”
Hua Cheng doesn’t meet his eyes. “I should have become stronger faster for you. I –”
“You are here now,” Xie Lian interrupts him. “And so am I. How we got here, and what happened along the way – it’s in the past. What matters now is that you’re with me, and I’m with you. Everything else couldn’t matter less to me.”
“But –”
“Also,” Xie Lian continues, as if he can’t hear him, “if it meant I would be able to stay at San Lang’s side for the rest of my life, I would gladly go through it all again.”
Hua Cheng stares at him. Xie Lian isn’t the type to say such things without meaning them, and the sincerity in his gaze breaks his heart.
“As long as gege is at my side, he will never have the chance to,” Hua Cheng swears. “Even… even if I couldn’t protect you then, I will now. No matter what happens to me.”
“San Lang makes me sound like some kind of helpless maiden,” Xie Lian says, even though he’s smiling, just a little. “Will he be there to sweep me off my feet when I start a fire on the stove again, then?”
“I would have put the fire out before it even flickered to life,” Hua Cheng replies, which earns a quiet giggle. “I mean it! Your highness is so heartless, laughing at this disciple for his selflessbravery.”
Xie Lian laughs softly before leaning forward and kissing him briefly. When he leans back, his eyes are sparkling with warmth.
“San Lang is the best disciple this humble god could ask for,” Xie Lian says, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “I wouldn’t trade him for a million others.”
“Just a million?” Hua Cheng teases.
“A trillion,” Xie Lian amends. “Even for all of the people in the world, I would not exchange their love for San Lang’s.”
Hua Cheng hums, closing his eye and shifting closer to Xie Lian. The comfort of his embrace is more than enough to chase away any lingering fear, and he can already feel Xie Lian starting to doze off beside him.
“Should gege round up all of those people’s love for him, it could never surpass that of which I have for him alone,” Hua Cheng promises as Xie Lian’s breathing evens out. “I will forever be his most devoted follower.”
When Hua Cheng eventually falls asleep again, with Xie Lian’s face pressed into his shoulder and his arms around his waist, he doesn’t dream of anything, which is just fine by him.