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“What is a heart but sinews and blood?”
“a heart that beats for no one.”
Xie Lian wakes from his sleep in Paradise Manor to a prayer.
Stronger than anything he’s ever received, ringing in his ear like a siren’s song. It pleads out his name.
He wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t actually asleep. He was trying to, but the lack of cold skin pressed against his side and the space next to him on the wide bed was enough to keep him barely dozing off. His San Lang had gone off earlier in the day to deal with some troublesome work on the outskirts of the city, promising that he would come back before Xie Lian would even wake.
He memorized his beloved’s hands, running cold fingers against the taut line of muscles. The ghostly touch of his lips hovering ever so lightly against his own, their breaths mingling into one before diving into a kiss. It’s raw, with teeth and passion, it sinks deep into his bones and makes a place right in his heart. San Lang whispers something against his neck, mouthing an oath that he would return before the sunrises.
He would wait for him, on the bed they share and in the home they made. During the year Xie Lian spent waiting for him, he told himself that even if it took eight-hundred or a thousand more, he would spend the rest of his immortal life awaiting his beloved’s embrace. But now, it feels like the seconds run too long, and the more his husband is away from him, the more his heartaches.
So when he hears the soft cries, shrill and broken, he listens.
Your highness— help me. Please… I cannot bear this any longer—
The power of this prayer is immense, strong enough that it reaches his bedroom in Ghost City. Xie Lian rises to his feet, the loose red sleeping robe falling from his shoulder and spilling around him in a pool of crimson. The bites on his neck still sting, he’ll need to cover them before he heads out into the mortal realm— heaven forbid they repeat what happened last time.
Please… Your Highness, Chengzhu, I don’t know what to do anymore—
He wraps his usual pristine white outer robe around his already worn sleeping robe, it’s not his old white Daoist robes, the ones he wore while scourging in the dirt during his banishment. Hua Cheng made sure that his entire closet would be switched out with robes befitting his spouse’s status. Albeit, he kept the simple style and minimal designs that Xie Lian favored, this time made of rich silk and fine embroidery of silver butterflies, just like his husband.
Xie Lian loved them dearly because when he saw them together wearing the patterns, it brought a swell of pride to his chest.
He finishes off by adjusting the coral red pearl on his ear, the gleaming shine of it refracting the moonlight. RouYe slowly slithers off the bedpost and curls itself around his arm, he pets it lightly and it keens into his embrace like a cat in a sunbeam.
With one last final look at his form in the mirror, he wipes at his sleep-weary eyes and grabs the dice sitting by the edge of the table kept at the foot of the bed.
He closes his eyes, lets himself listen to the lingering crises in the air, the solemn yet somewhat mellifluous voice that pleads to the heavens, crying out for a god who may listen.
Your Highness—!
With the flick of his wrist, the dice clatter and reveal two snake eyes glaring back at him. He breathes and opens the door.
That night, in the hazy glow of moonlight and crimson stars— a god descends.
On the other side of the door was nothing but a shroud of darkness.
Xie Lian stumbled, the ground beneath him was wet and muddy. The air around him lingered with the unmistakable scent of fresh rain and nature, a forest.
He opened his palm, gathering a handful of spiritual energy. It swirls and churns within his chest, unconstrained and wild as it’s been ever since his shackles have been removed, he’s still learning to slowly regain control over his abundant supply of spiritual energy. He lets it run through him, coursing through his body as light spills from his fingertips, it's as easy as breathing. A bustling fire awakens in his palm, just bright enough to illuminate his surroundings and confirm his suspicions.
The forest is damp and bleak, trees reaching far into the night sky where large branches cover the faint light of the moon. He treads forward, hoping to watch his step and avoiding the deep holes of mud and rain while he wanders through the thicket.
He relied on the faint whisper of a prayer, still drifting softly in his ear. He lets himself follow their echo, guiding him through the forest mindlessly before finally arriving at a shrine, down by the side of the road.
Suddenly— as if his terrible luck still followed him despite the lack of a shackle on his ankle — the sky began to churn as it rumbled with the sound of thunder. Rain began to pour from above, quick and unrelenting as it drenched Xie Lian unforgivingly.
He quickly dashed inside the shrine, not even sparing a glance of who it may belong to by the plaque on the front. His clothes were salvageable, not too wet that he could feel the cold seep into his skin, but still, damp that he felt mildly uncomfortable.
The shrine was warm, however. Gentle candlelight and incense burned at the altar, where two carved figures stood proudly.
It took him a second to realize that one of the figures was him.
The shrine he entered was one dedicated to him. He looked back up to look at the other figure carved beside him and only saw the expressionless face of his husband staring back at him, white marble eye and lips pressed into a thin line. Scimitar hung at his waist and butterflies etched into his clothes, he was the exact juxtaposition to Xie Lian, who wore the outfit that the statues in XianLe often depicted him as. In one hand was a flowering branch, the other was clasped firmly with the other statue.
Xie Lian couldn’t help but smile. The warm feeling that bubbled in his chest was strong enough to make him ignore the uncomfortability of his clothes. This was one of those shared shrines San Lang had told him about.
He had never gotten an actual opportunity to see them for himself. It felt like every time the thought came to his mind, a new request from heaven pulled him back into the frantic frenzy that he would completely forget. He also rarely never received prayers from these shrines, because most of the time they were directed towards Hua Cheng.
His eyes travel to the incense sticks at the burner, not even halfway done. The only offering on the table is a measly meat bun, to which Xie Lian didn’t mind at all, in fact, he more than welcomed it. But if San Lang were to see it, he’d definitely be more offended on Xie Lian’s part.
That’s when he heard the soft snores rising from beside him.
His gaze turned down to a woman, curled up into a small ball on the hardwood floor, shivering and shaking with her hands firmly clasped around a small chain on her neck. Her clothes dripping wet.
Xie Lian acted immediately, dropping to his knees “My lady!”
The woman stirred, turning to him with bleary eyes, her skin hot to the touch and her face feverish. He promptly shedded his outer robe and wrapped it around her quivering figure with the utmost care not the graze at her skin. She looked at him languidly, as if unaware of her own predicament.
“My lady, are you alright?” Xie Lian asked, fastening the robe around her tighter, “Why are you here?”
She blinked at him, wide eyes unfocused. “...Daozhang?”
She was clearly too incapacitated to answer any of his questions, but the burning incense sticks and the meager offering on the altar made him put two and two together.
The canorous whispers and heart-wrenching cries all came from this small woman, drenched in rain and shivering in his hands.
“My lady...pray she forgives me for such meddling,” Xie Lian mutters, easily picking her up in his arms, the dampness of her clothes slowly seeping into the fabric of his outer robe.
He takes a quick survey of the area around them. The shrine is clearly one specifically meant for only worship, not even having a sleeping mat or stove-top for wandering travelers to use (years of homelessness during his banishment have taught him the incredible joy it is to have such simple living commodities in places easily accessible). Luckily enough, there is a hearth in the room's far corner, gathering dust and uncleaned ash from lack of use.
He lays her as gently as possible on the hardwood floor and produces a small handkerchief from his sleeve and gently wipes away the water from her forehead and neck. Standing up, he makes his way through the drizzling rain in search of firewood.
When he returns, the woman still lays motionless on the floor. He pats down on her head for signs of heat and lets out a sigh of relief when the temperature has gone significantly down. Setting the firewood inside the hearth and letting it burn, he sits beside her and watches with rapt attention.
The crackling of the fire and the pitter-pattering rain make for somber thinking time.
He… he hasn’t heard such a mournful prayer in a long, long time.
Even with his rising popularity in the heavens, he still hasn’t adjusted to the fact that he’s now being worshipped in the context that people ‘build shrines’ and ‘send prayers’ to him, kind of way . The eight hundred years of silence he’s grown accustomed to is abruptly blown away by the ever-present clamors of prayers. Sometimes loud, sometimes whispers, people now pray to him to avoid sickness, or for fortitude, guidance, and strength. It feels like there isn’t a moment when his head isn’t filled to the brim with the chatter of thousands upon thousands of people at once.
Everything gets so loud and uncontrollable. He tries to answer all of them to the best of his abilities, but there is only so much within his jurisdiction. Prayers for safety, strength, and courage are things that he can grant, but most of the time he has to hand over the prayers like childbirth, advice, and marriage of all things— to gods who actually listen to that kind of stuff.
It’s sickening, sometimes. There are moments where he wishes he could go back to the tranquil yet hard-working life he had in banishment when he wasn’t a god who had so much responsibility set out for him.
Only when he’s in the presence of his beloved— his sweet San Lang,— do the thousands of voices finally halt. The world goes quiet in his hands. And he feels the comforting relief of being safe and loved wrap around him with sturdy hands that ground him back to reality.
Love makes him breathe; it is the air that fills his lungs after years of drowning in loneliness. The silence within chaos.
“H..hng…”
His head immediately whips to the side.
The woman stirs, her head thrashing to the side, eyes shut tight. Xie Lian knows a nightmare when he sees one, so he rushes to her side and gently attempts to nudge her awake.
“My lady.” He jostled her gently, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders as she struggled against her dream. “My lady, it's just a nightmare, wake up.”
He narrowly dodged a hand that was aimed directly at his throat, the woman continued to thrash and fight in her sleep that it left Xie Lian no other option but to smack her in the face.
There was a rouse of silence that floated through the air. Xie Lian stifled a breath, worried that if he took one he would face the wrath of the woman hitting him back, and frankly, he would deserve it.
Instead, the soft sounds of crying drifted across the room.
“My lady!” He quickly rose to his feet, getting ready to prostrate in front of the woman without a moment’s waste. “My lady— I— apologize...this daozhang just wanted to wake you from your nightmare. I did not mean to cause you harm!”
The cries didn’t stop, however. Instead the moreso got louder until the empty shrine was filled with the sound of sniffling and high-pitched whining. With his forehead still plastered on the floor, Xie Lian dared to look up to see her teary-eyed face looking back at him.
“...my lady?”
Admittedly, she was not the most attractive. Rounded face with youthful features, it made her tear-stained and snotty nose look like a child who had just thrown a tantrum. She had a dull presence, or at least, with the way she held herself made it clear she wasn’t from any sort of nobility or high status. Her clothes were also far shabbier, simple and clean, but not impoverished.
The woman sniffed, running her snotty nose on the fabric of Xie Lian’s outer robe.
“Daozhang…” She responded meekly.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Qi Ling,”
Xie Lian leaned back into the wall, sighing. “What are you doing at this shrine during such weather, Lady Qi?”
Qi Ling looked skittish, like a cat shook by a thunderstorm, ready to bolt out at any moment. Xie Lian tried his best to look as patient as possible with her, hands on his lap and a placating smile on his face. It took a few moments before the shivering woman seemed to deflate, sinking into the fabric of his outer robe.
“I wanted to pray to the gods…” She said, almost hesitant.
Xie Lian nodded, “I’m certain you can pray to them in the morning, yes? Where’s your family, your home?”
That seemed to make Qi Ling even more panicked. Her doe eyes widened with a glimmer of fear, her shoulders rigid and her eyes switching back and forth between Xie Lian and the open door.
Ah, Xie Lian thought. A wave of sympathetic understanding washed over him.
“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”
With that question, Qi Ling burst into tears once more.
“D-Daozhang….”She chokes, another wave of tears rolling down her cheeks like rain. “Please don’t send me back!”
Xie Lain promptly rose to his feet and placed a hand on her shoulder. He smiled at her, his tone patient; “You must tell me why you’ve run away, my lady. They must be worried for you.”
“I did not run!” Qi Ling yells, frantically shaking her hands. Xie Lian notes they are calloused at the fingertips with wrinkled knuckles, the hands of a seamstress. “I came here to pray! I did not run.”
The tears began to roll down her eyes harder, as she ducked into the billowing sleeves of his outer robe and cried into the fabric. Xie Lian could already feel the odd gaze of Yin Yu when he’ll turn in his laundry and see the dampened sleeves wet from tears. Xie Lian ran a hand down her back comfortingly.
“I believe you, my lady. I do.” He said. “Please calm down, take a deep breath before you continue.”
He stayed with her the time she was gathering herself, slowly instructing her to breathe in and out. Afraid that she might catch a fever, he brought her closer to the hearth and wrapped his outer robe around her tighter.
“It’s alright, I won’t send you back. I promise.” He spoke after a moment of silence.
Qi Ling nodded slowly, wiping at the red marks that grew under her eyes.
“But if I may ask, what was my lady praying for? Surely there must’ve been shrines that would have been easier for her to go to?”
Qi Ling blinked at him owlishly, her face flaming a deep scarlet.
“I… wanted to ask for advice…”
Xie Lian’s brow rose.
“Advice?” He repeated.
Qi Ling nodded, her eyes downcast. “Yes.”
Xie Lian looked at her. Her soft and innocent demeanor, cheeks dusted with a pink tinge. The way she clung ferociously to the chain on her neck, guarding it as if it would be taken from her. She looked too young to be praying for the types of things Xie Lain granted, fortitude and strength seemed far too out of thought for a young woman like her.
He sighed. “Love advice?”
Qi Ling’s face turned to the color of blood. “Daozhang!”
“There’s no need to be ashamed!” Xie Lian said quickly, “I’m sure his highness will listen!”
His highness was, in fact, listening. He had come from his home in ghost city to answer a prayer that had been so immensely sorrowful that it had reached him in the dead of night. A prayer supposedly filled with so much agony and ache that it broke past his barriers.
He looked back at Qi Ling, young and curled up by the hearth, her body barely big enough to hold all that sorrow.
No wonder she burst out crying the moment he asked.
“My lady,” He said gently, sitting next to her by the hearth. “I may not be his highness, but if you’d like. I’ve lived long enough to have gained an understanding of such— things … I know it may seem rude of me to ask without knowing but—”
He turned to her and smiled. Love was something he was new to as well. Centuries since he has been walking the mortal realm with no one by his side, he’s forgotten the simple pleasures of having someone to talk to. To be listened to. To be heard.
“You may confide in me.”
He thought for a moment that he had overstepped. Qi Ling’s crestfallen eyes stared at the floor with unwavering intensity, her hands played with the chain on her neck with methodical precision.
The crackling of the hearth and the pitter-pattering of the rain never felt more suffocating.
“There’s a boy who’s been with me since we were children. He got married.”
Xie Lian turns to her, wide-eyed.
“Did you love him?”
Qi Ling let out a choked sound, caught between a laugh and a sob.
“I do.” She said breathlessly.
Xie Lian had spent the last hundred years in the silence of his own thoughts and contentment, or at least, he thought he was content. There had been no one to listen to him ramble, to hear all of his cries or worries, he was stuck in a quiet whirlwind where— no matter how hard he screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding— the world never responded.
But in that somber moment, caught between the rain and a crackling fire, Xie Lian knows the pain of being ignored and holding your feelings until you can’t feel at all. In all those desperate, angry moments where he had no one to heed his agony, when he was angry at the world, at heaven, and himself. Only wishing— praying to be heard, did he learn that human empathy was such a valuable, precious thing. He wishes no one to feel that kind of pain.
He is someone who has known sorrow and thus knows kindness.
So he listens.
He listens as Qi Ling tells him a story, about a boy who was born into a merchant family who fell in love with a girl who was a tailor. Qi Ling tells him how he loved her and snuck out every night after supper to run with her in the moonlit fields. She tells him how she loved him, how she pricked herself on needles and sewed together garments made only for him. She tells him a story about two youths in love, free and wild. Who thought they could go against the world and fate itself.
She cries when she tells him about how he got married to another merchant girl. Xie Lian holds her hand.
She talks about loss, about broken promises made under moonlit fields. How the boy said he would run away for her, leave his life of comfort and luxury for her, and give up everything he’s ever known for her.
Qi Ling’s voice was wracked with sobs when she told him how he was so willing to abandon everything— all for a woman who makes clothes out of scraps. She tells him, mournfully, about how the girl runs away, packs up her belongings, and leaves the boy she loved behind for a loveless marriage and a broken heart. She tells him how she cries to the gods.
She tells him a story of lovers who could never be together and yet, they love.
“I pray his highness and Chengzhu tell me what to do I—” Her voice is broken from all the hours of crying. “I couldn’t stand to see him ruin his life for me, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to regret his choice.”
Xie Lian is silent, his hands going to the crystal ring pressed against his chest, he lays a hand on it.
“His highness and Chengzhu are gods of luck and fortitude respectively.” He said slowly. “Why pray to them?”
Xie Lian was close to redirecting her to a temple of Ming Guang. Pei Ming was considered the god of love, after all. Even if the woman who prayed at his altar wasn’t up to his standard, at least he could provide her better comfort and maybe some proper insight, better than whatever Xie Lian and his ghost husband could give.
Speaking of his ghost husband— Hua Cheng’s shrines are rarely ever shrines. He’s not even an actual heavenly official, and yet he is worshipped with blood and spite, his shrines are one's built-in ruins and broken homes, made for curses, anger, and swift vengeance. Only when he is worshipped with Xie Lian in their shared shrines, does he ever rarely grant luck.
And yet, even after Qi Ling’s story about love, her choice of going to their shrine was admittedly still unanswered.
She looked at him strangely, “Daozhang is the priest of this shrine, yes?”
Xie Lian froze, looking off to the side he coughed into his closed fist. “Ah, I am.”
“Then you must know about the tale of eight hundred years!”
Xie Lian shook his head.
Qi Ling let out an indignant gasp. Looking at him with wide eyes and an even wider mouth, she frantically shook her head. Xie Lian couldn’t help but feel as if the roles were suddenly switched and now he was the one being admonished.
“Daozhang! You must have heard of it! It’s one of the Crown Prince of XianLe’s most famous stories. The tale of the scrap collecting god and his most devoted believer, how he waited eight hundred years for his beloved to return to him?”
Of course, Xie Lian heard of it rather than heard of it but actually lived it. He didn't know that his and San Lang’s story would be so widely known!
“Apologies, this Daozhang is clearly not keeping up with the latest news. Perhaps Lady Qi could enlighten him?”
Abruptly, Qi Ling had sat up straighter and dusted the sleeves of his outer robe with a flourish. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled mirthly at him, there was a sudden life that bustled within her, making her appear like the demure youth that she was supposed to be. He let out a bemused laugh at it.
Then, he began to listen to a new tale.
He listens as Qi Ling tells him a story; about a vengeful, vicious ghost who the heavens trembled at the sheer mention of his name, that fell in love with a twice forsaken god.
She tells him what she’s read from books and heard from storytellers on the street: about how the god had been humiliated, scorned, and ruined by all those who used to worship him. How they burnt his shrines and spat on his statues and made his name into a curse. How he was forgotten, all but by one single devout believer, the vicious, vengeful ghost that heaven feared.
She giggles when she tells him about how the ghost waited eight hundred years for his beloved, always searching and scouring all three realms for his god. Never giving up faith and believing until the very end that he would return.
She smiles, soft and forlorn, her voice laced with longing when she speaks of how they found each other— the god and the ghost tied by a red string, born to be hated and yet— finding each other within the chaos and learning to love despite it.
“Many pray to their shared shrines to ask for guidance, blessings for marriage, and wishes to meet a person that will love them as much as the ghost loves his god.” She smiles into the fabric of her sleeve. “Many think it’s silly but I… I like to believe that they listen.”
Xie Lian is stunned silent.
Qi Ling takes his silence as indifference and quickly stammers to add “—I’m sorry, Daozhang! It’s just such a romantic tale that it got me to believe it too. Haha.” She said sheepishly.
It took a moment for Xie Lian to think. By the time the last embers in the hearth went out, he was still stuck in a state of lucidity where he still couldn’t wrap his mind on the whole situation.
He makes a few important discoveries within the day:
- People pray to Xie Lian and San Lang for their marriages and guidance in love-related concepts.
- People have spread the story of Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s romance as some sort of novel plot that’s inspired multiple retellings, plays, and songs.
- Xie Lian misses his husband. A lot.
“Lady Qi,” He said, breaking the heavy silence. “You believe that story?”
Qi Ling looked at him warily, her eyes drifting to the ornate marble statues at the altar, the incense had long gone out and the rain outside had dwindled into a gentle drizzle.
“Yes.”
Xie Lian smiled, placing a hand on hers as he spoke. “That ghost had waited for his beloved for eight hundred years, and the god would wait for eight hundred more if it meant that they would be together. Lady Qi, you don’t need to believe in such stories to know that the man you love is looking for you right now, searching for you as the ghost did.”
Qi Ling huffed, her eyes watery and smile despondent. “But we’re not gods and ghosts, Daozhang. Stories are only stories.”
The diamond ring that hung under his robes seeped warmth into his body, like a beating heart it brimmed with love and adoration.
“Not everyone is the same. People are made of endless choices. There is never just one path.” Xie Lian said. “It is who we choose to love and what we choose to sacrifice for that love. I don’t believe there is such a thing as someone who’s made for you, even the god and the ghost, destiny and fate don’t make our choices, we do.”
Xie Lian holds her hand tighter. The diamond ring on his chest beats like a vociferous drum.
“Love is hard, it takes work and cooperation. It will hurt you, it will make you cry and scream, you will hate it— but it makes you whole, and you’d never know what you’d be without it.”
Eight hundred years of loneliness. Wandering barefoot across hot stones and paved roads alike, walking until his feet blistered and bled, still not being able to cry out to anyone. The constant ache in his chest from the lonesome nights where the moon and the stars were his only company, the euphonic midnight breezes were the only thing that would put him to sleep. Of being hurt until he could feel pain no more.
Eight hundred years of humiliation. Twice forsaken he had fallen from heaven, having his kingdom be burnt and ruined to the ground. His name turned into a curse, his parents dying in shame, his bare existence misfortune incarnate. Scorned and forgotten by all those who believed in him.
Eight hundred years of waiting, and more. A hand so soft and gentle when it cradled his. He learned to love the color red, and the warmth and safety it brought him, of tender gazes and devotion burned into his bones. Kisses that would wash away all his worries, regrets, and fears, something so fragile it could break any second.
Xie Lian knows that it only takes one person.
One person is all he’ll ever need.
“If you love him, why run? If he loves you, why leave? Happiness is such a fickle and fleeting thing, to have it now is to treasure it forever. It will hurt, it will always hurt, but it will forever be worth it.”
Those words came from the depths of his heart, the bellows of his soul. He speaks with all the conviction that comes with centuries worth of living. The diamond ring pressed against his chest beats like an undead heart.
He brings it close to his lips and kisses it softly, it’s warm in his hands.
“Daozhang…” Qi Ling muttered, her doe eyes forming with dainty tears. “Doazhang is really in love, isn’t he?”
She breaks out into another cry. She really does look like some sort of child throwing a fit, her bottom lip wobbling and her face flushed red. Xie Lian can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh and he pulls her close into a comforting embrace.
The ring against his heartbeats again, almost as if agreeing with her.
“I… I am.” He said softly. “This Daozhang just doesn’t wish for Lady Qi to be unhappy with her life.”
Qi Ling cries harder, her hands desperately wrapped against his clothes like a child. “Daozhang... I don’t know how to get back to him. I wandered far and didn’t bother to look back.” She let out a choked and bitter laugh. “I’m lost. I’m sorry for all the trouble, he always told me I was such a cry baby.”
Xie Lian scoffed, rubbing down her back gently. “Now, now. It’s alright Lady Qi. I can help you.”
Qi Ling’s head shot up forward, her tear-stained face looking up at him with childlike wonder. “You will?”
Xie Lian laughed. “Of course, as thanks for my lady’s offering.”
Her head tilted to the side. The meat bun on the altar had gone cold from the rain and was most likely inedible, but that doesn’t stop Xie Lian from standing up and taking it into his hand. Without a second’s notice, he bites into it and hums pleasantly.
Qi Ling’s mouth drops.
“Daozhang that’s!” She cried, standing to her wobbly feet.
“No worries, no worries.” Xie Lian chided, taking one more bite before finishing it whole. His San Lang had long broken him out of the habit of eating foods that had gone bad or fallen on the floor, but how could he deny such a humble offering? “It’s compensation.”
“But—”
Xie Lian reached into his inner robe and pulled out a paper talisman. Without a second’s waste, he pulled a hefty amount of spiritual energy from his core and infused it into the inked paper. It glowed a yellow hue before a new scripture was written on the paper, the words for Guide.
“Take this talisman and say ‘His Highness the Crown Prince, please guide me back!’ then follow it. ” He spoke, gesturing to the glowing talisman in his hand.
Qi Ling’s face dropped. Her red-rimmed eyes were blown open and her mouth gaping.
“Your… Your highness!” She said breathlessly, dropping on her knees and prostrating to the floor.
“Ah! Lady Qi, none of that!” Xie Lian said, dropping to his knees beside her to lift her head from the floors. Qi Ling looked at him with even more astonishment. “Lady Qi shouldn’t bother with such formalities, no? She has somewhere to be.”
He extended his hand outwards to which the talisman floated in his palm. The dim golden glow radiating from shining the wet tear tracks on Qi Ling’s face. She sniffled, running her nose against her hand while looking at him shamefully.
“Your highness… I— you actually listened…” She said softly. Xie Lian couldn’t help but smile.
“Isn’t that why you prayed? To hear guidance? I was quite fond of your story, so here.” He gently laid the glowing talisman in her hand. “It will take you where your heart most desire.”
Qi Ling hesitates before she takes the talisman. Her gaze was wary of Xie Lian’s open palm and patient smile. He gently urged her to take it, her hands grasped at the thin paper with the utmost care and delicacy. Xie Lian cupped their hands together and muttered the spell.
Her hands glow a bright golden hue that lights up the shrine— before dying back down to a single dot that rests on her hand. The shape of an arrow that points northwest, to where his heart desires.
Xie Lian rises from the floor with Qi Ling in hand. With a gentle expression, they walk out of the shrine and out into the forest paved road. The air was ripe with the pleasant, dewy petrichor of the post-rain dawn. She had given him back his outer robe and it was now neatly tucked away in his arms as he waved her off.
“I wish you safe travels, my lady. May your heart guide true.” He said with a smile.
Qi Ling let go of his hand reluctantly. She bites on her lip as if she has more to say.
Xie Lian chuckled, “Is there anything else?”
Qi Ling looked startled for a moment, the flush on her cheeks reddened as she whispered: “Is it true?”
“What is?”
“The stories,” She looked at him with hopeful eyes. “About your ghost?”
Xie Lian felt warmth. Like sunlight spinning in his heart madly until his body couldn’t help but radiate love. The smile on his face stretched wide, and his hands tenderly grasped on the crystalline ring hanging next to his heart.
“More than anything.” His voice hung like honey to saccharine sweet words. “They are nothing but real.”
That seemed to be all it took. Qi Ling looked at him, eyes dancing with mirth and a smile reaching her eyes. She seemed to have understood.
She looked back to the road ahead with a hesitant wave and began to walk to where her heart lay.
Xie Lian smiled as she disappeared further and further from sight. He smiled when the morning sun shone from the horizon. He smiled, feeling nothing but the lightness and joy in his heart.
With the clatter of dice, he returns.
It takes all but a single second for Hua Cheng to wrap his arms around him like an overly affectionate python.
“Gege,” His husband muttered into his back. Soft lips trailing the line of his shoulder blades, Xie Lian couldn’t help but cave in and melt into the loving embrace of his dearly beloved.
“San Lang,” He said breathlessly in response. Turning his back to face him. His husband’s face wore a small frown, his hands pressed tight into Xie Lian’s waist. Xie Lian hummed, leaning into his chest and breathing in his scent. Smoke. “I’m back.”
He chuckled, the sound of it reverberated across his chest. “I should be the one saying that to Gege, I came back and he was gone.”
Xie Lian instantly picked up on the light concern that laced his voice. Feeling such strong emotions rose within him in a second, his heart twisted at the thought of Hua Cheng arriving before he returned, the sun still hadn't set, still keeping the promise to be made— only to see the sheets empty and Xie Lian nowhere from sight. He let out a strangled sound, as he cupped Hua Cheng’s face in his hands and brought it down so he could look into his eye.
“San Lang,” He whispered, running his thumb over his cheekbone. Hua Cheng leaned into it like a cat. “I worried you, didn’t I? I’m sorry, I went off to answer prayer but forgot to leave a note before I left. Pray San Lang forgives this husband of his.”
“San Lang could never be angry at Gege.” He said firmly. His hand reached out to place itself over Xie Lian’s. They’re always cold, but Xie Lian is always warm, together they make a mismatched harmony. Contradictions within contradictions. “But I did worry.”
“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you look for me?”
Hua Cheng looked at him, his eye staring at Xie Lian with such fondness that it made his heartache. Years of marriage will never be able to make him stop feeling undeserving of his husband’s unwavering adoration. “Gege would come home either way, yes? Unless he needed my help, I would wait for him.”
Xie Lian felt his poor heart crumble under the weight of all his emotions.
Rather than trying to voice the warmth that grew in his chest whenever Hua Cheng looked at him. The softness he felt whenever his husband would hold him and whisper sweet words into his ear. Or the undying devotion he’d show in these quiet, intimate moments of theirs— he instead wrapped his arms around his waist and slowly guided them to their bed. Both tired from their midnight escapades fell into each other’s embrace without a moment to spare.
He breathed in the scent of smoke, mixed with flowers and the tinge of blood. He could taste it on his tongue and relish in the fullness that was his beloved.
“Did I say something to make gege so forward?” He asked with a teasing lilt, hands finding their way into Xie Lian’s scalp. Running his fingers down the silky ebony locks.
“San Lang always teases me.” Xie Lian said into his husband’s chest. “But he didn’t tell me he was hiding something from me.”
Under him, Xie Lian felt Hua Cheng stiffen. His body went rigid in his hold as he said firmly, “I have nothing to hide from you.”
“I know, I know.” Xie Lian chided. “But San Lang didn’t indulge in the stories that the mortals were sharing? About us? I only just found out when I had received prayer from one of our shared shrines asking us to guide them through a love problem.”
Hua Cheng’s worries didn’t seem to ease, he couldn’t even look at Xie Lian.
“If Gege is bothered by it then I will tell them to stop.”
Xie Lian laughed.
“I’m not! I promise you I’m not. In fact, I find it sweet.” He says, fiddling under the sheets to find his husband’s hand. He clasps it tightly, bringing it to his mouth to press a tender kiss. “The god and his ghost, they call it.”
“The tale of eight hundred years.” Hua Cheng’s grip tightens around his. Xie Lian hums, enjoying the cold contact as he presses himself closer into his husband’s embrace. Home, he feels like home.
“They pray to us. About marriages, favors, soulmates.” He hears Hua Cheng chuckle at the mention of soulmates, presumably because of the red string kept around his finger. “A woman prayed to me asking for guidance on a man she loved.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her to follow her heart.” He thinks of Qi Ling’s tear-stained face and starstruck look. “It would lead her to whatever she truly wanted.”
“And what do you think?”
“Hm?”
“What do you think about it?” Hua Cheng asked again. Arching his back to press a kiss on the crown of Xie Lian’s head. “What will happen to her?”
He hums, curling around his husband once more.
“I’m happy that they find comfort in us, that they find hope in a tale like that. It’s such a nice thing, don’t you think? To believe in something real.”
A tale of longing, sorrow, anger, and devotion. He knows not everyone will have what they have, what they have is something else, something that only comes once in a lifetime. And yet— to be able to inspire, to bring hope, and to let others believe— that’s enough for him.
“I know she’ll be fine. She’s returning to where her heart is.”
When he thinks of home. He thinks of lacquer red walls, silver butterflies, and a warm and loving embrace. He thinks of the scent of smoke, effortlessly mixed with flowers and the ever so present tinge of blood. He thinks of gentle hands, adoring eyes, and a heart that beats despite everything they have suffered.
This is where his heart belongs, this is where it always stayed.
“Goodnight, Gege.”
He hopes that their story lives on, in song, poem, and books. He hopes that another will pick up their tale and discover a love that persists despite all the odds pit against it. He hopes he gets more prayers from lovers who wish to defy fate, to go against the odds, and make their own path.
He wishes for everyone to have a love like the one he has.
“Goodnight, San Lang.”
(Somewhere, there is a moonlit field. In the center stands a man, arms open and eyes shining like starlight. On the other side is a girl, with rough hands and a soft heart, she runs to him. Dancing in the midnight breeze with prayers on their lips and fire in their bones. This is how love is born.)