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Ruoye haunts the halls of Paradise Manor, a figure in white making his rounds and ensuring the safety of each occupant. Soft, white silk flutters around him with each step. E-ming hangs from his hip, vibrating softly at their proximity, and Ruoye smiles down at the scimitar, fondness filling his chest with warmth.
His fingers stroke E-ming’s hilt, petting it gently, and when he speaks his voice is gentle, soft as the silk that created him. “Shall we take a break, E-ming?”
E-ming purrs in response.
Ruoye’s laughter fills the empty halls. He slips into the darkened library, sits down on a plush chair, and settles E-ming into his lap. The scimitar purrs, its eye on the hilt closed in contentment, and Ruoye hums, his fingers sliding down the gleaming silver of the blade.
“So pretty,” Ruoye says. “Hua Chengzhu has done well by you.”
E-ming’s purring grows stronger.
Ruoye continues to pet him, continues to praise the cursed scimitar, and with each word, E-ming grows a little longer, a little sharper. A strip of white silk curls around E-ming’s hilt, nuzzling him so softly, so sweetly.
E-ming shudders and in the blink of an eye, the scimitar disappears. In its place is a man, roughly the same height as Ruoye, with dark grey hair and a wide eye dressed in a silver tunic and black pants — similar to his master yet so, so different. E-ming blinks, shakes his head, gazes around in wonder.
“Hello, E-ming,” Ruoye says, smiling with pride and warmth at the man laid across his lap. “Glad to see you’ve figured out how to shift.”
“Ruoye,” E-ming whispers, voice cracking. His expression switches between curious and befuddled, and Ruoye holds back his laughter.
It’s a natural part of the first shift. Ruoye’s first word had been Xie Lian’s name — and his voice had cracked then, too.
“How do you feel?”
E-ming wiggles his fingers, staring at them in a strange kind of wonder. He reaches up, pats Ruoye’s face, and gasps at the touch. “Oh,” E-ming says. “Oh, this is nice. You’re so warm.”
“Mm,” Ruoye hums in agreement. “You’re warm now, too.”
E-ming’s responding grin is brilliant, his eye shining with delight. Something else flashes in his eye then — determination, maybe? — and he slides off Ruoye’s lap, stumbles to his feet, sways a little. “Woah,” he says, arms outstretched in an attempt to keep his balance. “Oh, this is strange.”
“Take your time. There’s no rush.”
“I’ve been wanting to do this for hundreds of years,” E-ming says, taking a tentative step forward.
“And you will have hundreds of years to practice.”
E-ming takes another step forward, less careful this time, and sways again. This time, he can’t correct his balance, and he falls forward, letting out a squeak of surprise as he crashes toward the floor —
Strips of white silk fly out to catch him, wrapping around E-ming before he hits the ground. Ruoye raises an eyebrow in a silent I-told-you.
E-ming’s ears go pink. He coughs politely, avoiding eye contact with Ruoye. “Alright, point taken. Could you, perhaps, un...bind me?”
He looks so pretty in a heap on the floor, white strips of silk wrapped around the silver of his tunic. Ruoye lets them fall, calls them back to him, and watches, amused, as E-ming attempts to clamber to his feet again.
E-ming is a quick study, as Ruoye learns, and before long he’s flitting from one corner of the room to another, laughter trailing behind him. He skids to a stop in front of Ruoye, leaning down to grab one of Ruoye’s hands in his own, and tugs him up.
“Come on,” he says, insistent. “I want to explore.”
“Aren’t you already familiar with Paradise Manor?” Ruoye asks. Despite the question, he tightens his hand around E-ming’s and allows the newly-shifted scimitar to drag him out of the library.
“It’s not the same,” is E-ming’s response. And he’s right — Ruoye knows all too well the excitement of new legs, the thrill of experiencing a new body, the autonomy it brings.
Ruoye allows E-ming to lead him through the winding halls of Paradise Manor and out into the sprawling gardens Hua Chengzhu keeps well-tended for Dianxia. Towering hedges line the path to an extravagant fountain and E-ming gasps, delighted, as he sprints toward it, hand-in-hand with Ruoye.
“Oh,” he says, dipping his free hand into the water cascading from the top of the fountain. It gurgles happily. “Oh, I like this. It’s so…”
“Wet?”
“Yes!” E-ming laughs. He brings his hand back, watches with wide-eyed curiosity as water drips down his fingers, and then flicks the excess at Ruoye.
Ruoye snorts. A strip of silk wipes the droplets from his face and E-ming’s eye follows its movement, enraptured.
“You’re so pretty.” E-ming’s grin transforms from delighted to soft and sweet and Ruoye melts. He raises his hand to Ruoye’s face again, pats his cheek, fingers still damp. “So, so pretty.”
“E-ming is also very pretty,” Ruoye says, mirroring E-ming’s smile.
E-ming’s ears pinken again and his cheeks flush at the praise. He ducks his head, suddenly shy. “Let’s go explore the city. Can we?”
“Of course we can. You don’t need to ask — you’re free to do as you like.”
“I know, but I want you to stay with me.” He squeezes Ruoye’s hand, and Ruoye expects E-ming to drag him out of the garden and into the heart of the city. Instead, he bites his lower lip, hesitant, and asks, “Can I call you gege?”
Oh. Warmth rushes through Ruoye at the thought. “What about Xie Lian?”
E-ming hums. “He’s da-ge. You’re gege.”
“In that case, I’m honored.” A strip of silk winds around E-ming’s wrist, slides up his arm, tickles under his chin. “Now let’s explore the city, shall we?”
***
Even as late as it is, the Ghost City is bustling. E-ming guides Ruoye through the crowded streets, along cobbled pathways that he’s only ever seen from his place on Hua Cheng’s waist, and flits from shop to shop, peering through the cracked, dusty windows.
Ruoye follows dutifully.
“Gege,” E-ming says, squinting through glass stained a light green, “Can we… eat? Is that something we can do?”
“Mm,” Ruoye hums in confirmation. “We can, but not here.” He narrows his eyes at the sign above the door denoting this as the bastard Qi Rong’s establishment.
E-ming turns to Ruoye, a pout on his cute mouth. “What’s wrong with this place?”
For a moment, Ruoye contemplates telling E-ming the truth. And then he realizes that both Dianxia and Hua Chengzhu will be very, very angry if E-ming enters a confrontation with that green bastard, and decides better of it.
“Health code violations,” is his answer.
E-ming scrunches his nose. “The Ghost City has… a health code? Can we even get sick, gege?”
“Not officially, but you wouldn’t want to eat there. Trust me.” Ruoye tickles E-ming’s chin with another strip of silk. “I know a place that Dianxia and Hua Chengzhu both like. Shall I take you there?”
E-ming’s eye brightens and he nods. “Is it the one with the red-tile floors?”
Ah, of course E-ming would recognize locations by whatever he could see sitting at Hua Cheng’s hip. “That’s the one,” Ruoye says, smile soft as he squeezes E-ming’s hand.
He tugs E-ming away from the green glass and brings him across the street where there’s a quaint tea shop run by the lovely spirit of an elderly woman. She has a tendency to add eyes to the tea, but otherwise it’s a nice establishment, and it has the pretty red-tiled floor that E-ming recognizes.
The sweet, old spirit coos over E-ming when they enter, reaching up to pat his cheek and call him quite handsome, just like Hua Chengzhu, and it’s not a surprise to Ruoye that she recognizes him, even in human form.
She corrals them into a corner of the tea shop and ensures they’re settled, refusing to leave them alone until they’re both holding cups of steaming tea in front of their faces. Green ghost fire lights E-ming’s face.
Ruoye grins at E-ming from over the steam. “Be careful, it’s hot. Painful, if you don’t let it cool down a little before sipping it.”
E-ming stares down at the tea in his hands, contemplative. His mouth pulls down into a frown. “Hot… like Mount Tonglu?”
Ruoye holds back a grimace. “Mm.” He reaches across the table, holds out his hand for E-ming to take. “Similar concept. It should be fine now.”
E-ming stares down at Ruoye’s hand, and then reaches out to take it, warm fingers against his. His frown disappears, replaced by the sweetest smile Ruoye has ever seen in his existence.
Then, E-ming sniffs the tea, nose scrunching softly as he gets used to the concept of aromas. He tips the cup back ever so slightly, eye widening at the first taste of tea on his tongue.
“Oh,” he says after a moment. He licks his lips. “Oh, gege, that’s really good.”
Ruoye takes a sip of his own, closing his eyes with a pleased hum as he savors the flavor. It’s a gentle blend, one that reminds him of fields of flowers and a rolling oxcart full of hay. The elderly ghost chose well.
They spend a better portion of an hour at the shop, only leaving when their cups have gone cold, empty save for the last few tea dregs.
“Do you think they’ll be awake?” E-ming asks as they duck out of the shop.
Hua Chengzhu and Dianxia, Ruoye infers. “No.”
E-ming’s expression falls, his eye drooping at the corner in disappointment.
Ruoye squeezes his hand again, pats his cheek with a soft strip of silk. “But,” he says, “I think they would be extremely pleased if we woke them up and they saw you.”
E-ming’s entire face lights up at that, his eye shining with a renewed excitement. “Well, in that case, let’s go!” He vibrates with pure joy and Ruoye’s heart is so, so soft.
***
Paradise Manor rises out of the green ghostfire of the city, tall and ethereal. The windows remain dark, its occupants asleep in each other’s arms, and Ruoye and E-ming slip between through the gate and inside with little fanfare.
E-ming guides Ruoye through the darkened halls, the two of them still hand-in-hand, and a strip of Ruoye’s white silk wraps around their wrists, shivering with delight as it ties them together. A flush graces the tops of Ruoye’s cheeks.
They slip into the master bedroom together. In the large, plush bed lay Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, the two of them curled around each other; Xie Lian’s leg thrown over Hua Cheng’s hip and Hua Cheng’s face buried against Xie Lian’s chest.
“Dianxia,” Ruoye calls, voice soft. He reaches out with his silk to caress Xie Lian’s face, tweaking his nose, tickling under his chin. “Dianxia, I have a surprise for you.”
Xie Lian begins to stir. His nose twitches, he smacks his lips and he buries his face in Hua Cheng’s hair.
“Da-ge?” E-ming says, hesitant yet excited.
Xie Lian’s eyes open immediately. He jolts up in bed, waking Hua Cheng up with his sudden movement, and gasps when he sees E-ming standing next to Ruoye at the foot of their bed. “Oh,” Xie Lian whispers, his eyes softening and a smile blossoming across his mouth. “Oh, E-ming, look at you!”
Hua Cheng sits up with a yawn and scratches the back of his head. He blinks, slow and sleepy, and his eye grows wide when he realizes what Xie Lian is staring at. “E-ming!”
E-ming scrambles into bed, pulling Ruoye with him as they’re still tied together from Ruoye’s silk, and burrows right in-between the two of them. Ruoye ends up half strewn across E-ming’s lap and half across Xie Lian’s.
“You’ve done so well,” Xie Lian says, running his fingers through E-ming’s hair as E-ming practically purrs, his entire body vibrating at the touch. “E-ming, I’m so proud of you!”
Ruoye hums in agreement. E-ming has done well. He knows from experience how difficult the first shift is, how hard the transition can be, and yet E-ming has taken it all with ease.
From the other side of their impromptu cuddle pile, Hua Cheng speaks up. “E-ming,” he says, voice low and thick from just waking up. “I’m also very proud. But you’re sitting on my arm and it’s going to sleep.”
E-ming laughs, Xie Lian coughs politely into his sleeve, and Ruoye snorts.
Ruoye relishes in the light-hearted energy filling the room, in the warmth and the comfort, and his heart is so, so full. “I’m also proud of you, E-ming.”
And Ruoye doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than this moment, not in his hundreds of years in existence.