Work Text:
…
“San Lang.”
“Yes, Gege?”
“Be honest.”
“Of course, Gege.”
…
“How was it, really?”
…
“Honestly?”
“Please.”
…
“The most sublime dumplings I’ve ever had the honor of tasting.”
“San Lang!”
“Maybe a little raw toward the middle.”
“Wh–! That’ll make you sick!”
“What’s it going to do, kill me?”
Xie Lian wanted to bury his head in the sheet he was holding and scream. Every day he swore he’d get a straight answer out of Hua Cheng about how his cooking was improving. Every day Hua Cheng proved him dead wrong.
Across the shrine from him, Hua Cheng happily dried and set aside the last of the dishes, seemingly unbothered by having consumed some form of raw meat (to be frank, Xie Lian had forgotten precisely what animal it had been). Begrudgingly, Xie Lian supposed he was right– it wasn’t as though Hua Cheng was in any mortal danger, even from the supernaturally bad likes of Xie Lian’s food.
Still, he had wanted to really succeed on dinner this once; Hua Cheng had worked even harder than usual that day, splitting wood into planks and assisting Xie Lian with repairing the latest hole in Puqi Shrine’s roof in time to beat the night’s oncoming rainstorm. Xie Lian had left Hua Cheng to most of it in order to collect a basket of scraps from a family across the village. While the errand had landed him a crumbling collection of clayware, a few scrolls that were probably salvageable, some moth-eaten bedding, and about ten more inquiries about “that Xiao Hua of yours,” he still felt guilty for saddling Hua Cheng with manual labor when he was supposed to be visiting.
As such, Xie Lian had been determined to make the perfect hearty meal for them both as a comforting end to a long day. He had no idea how he’d forgotten all about the simmering pot and ended up with half-raw dumplings, but if San Lang was no less happy for it, then…
Xie Lian heaved a sigh, and passed more of the sheet through his fingers to inspect the last few inches. It was the least damaged of the set, and while it wouldn’t provide a great deal of warmth, it could be good for rainy summer nights like these: thin enough to keep one cool, but still providing ample protection from the damp. Nodding and humming to himself, he stepped to the straw mat and grasped one end, holding it tightly before flinging the opposite end in the air.
Catching and rippling in the air like a wave, the sheet delicately fluttered to rest on the mat– in the perfect shape of a lopsided triangle.
Xie Lian cleared his throat, and lifted the sheet again.
Now it resembled a crescent moon.
Xie Lian heard a poorly disguised chuckle behind him, and looked pointedly over his shoulder just in time to catch Hua Cheng corralling a smirk back into place.
“Something wrong, Gege?”
Xie Lian plastered on a carefree smile and moved to regather the sheet. “Nothing at all. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. It appears I was correct in assuming there was some new, fashionable way to make a bed. Gege really is ahead of all the trends.”
Xie Lian turned his head to make his retort, only to see Hua Cheng’s lithe, youthful form already stepping carefully around the mat to the other side, taking the opposite end of the sheet between his pale hands. Looking up through the straight, fine brows, he offered Xie Lian an innocent look.
“Ready?”
Xie Lian let out a small, exasperated laugh. “When you are.”
The sheet again rose into the air, this time held evenly on all sides. The wide spread crested in the center, rising up into a pillowy dome, then deflating with a hush as the two pinned their respective corners down to the mat.
“There we are,” Xie Lian mumbled to himself, smoothing out a few wrinkles at the hem. “This isn’t too bad at all. If I can patch this one and the matching curtains, then I could probably fetch a good price for them together.”
Across the mat, Hua Cheng was standing and observing the spread as seriously as though he were viewing it in the marketplace.
“Pretty nice, Gege. This is a really good find.”
Xie Lian had to suppress another laugh at that; he knew from what he’d seen of the splendor of Paradise Manor that a threadbare, holey sheet was far from what Hua Cheng ought to consider a good find. He had yet to fully adjust to Hua Cheng’s strange but all-encompassing double standard, it seemed.
If a guest approached the Gambler’s Den, parading cartfuls of the world’s most priceless treasures, they’d be lucky if Hua Cheng so much as batted an eye. Meanwhile, if Xie Lian offered him a three-day-old, half-eaten bun, Hua Cheng accepted it so eagerly that anyone would think it was the world’s most priceless treasure. Fineries and riches lined the halls of his home, yet Hua Cheng couldn’t be bothered to give them a second look, so long as Xie Lian had a story about some scrap-collecting endeavor, however dull.
Xie Lian furrowed his brow, considering this just as he had so often in recent months. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t believe Hua Cheng truly wasn’t so shallow– the events of his and Hua Cheng’s friendship had proven as much. The Ghost King had made it very clear that he didn’t care if someone were rich or poor, famous or completely unknown; the one thing Xie Lian just couldn’t parse was the exact line of discernment that decided Hua Cheng’s good favor.
Does it really matter? Xie Lian thought as an absentminded hand rose to rub one temple. He knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth– perhaps he was better off just enjoying Hua Cheng’s company before it was too late. Before…
“... Gege?”
Xie Lian was pulled out of his reverie by the tail end of Hua Cheng’s comment. Snapping to attention, he looked up to see Hua Cheng kneeling down on the mat, lifting one edge of the sheet.
“Sorry?”
Hua Cheng shot him an easy grin.
“I said, why not test it out? No way of knowing the quality unless you give it a shot yourself, right?”
“Hm. I guess I don’t see the harm.” Xie Lian mused, then shrugged. “It’s not as though it hasn’t been used before, anyway.”
Hua Cheng stretched out on his side, eyes averted courteously as Xie Lian removed and folded his outer robe, only turning to him once Xie Lian had slipped beneath the sheet and laid on his back.
“Well? Is it to Dianxia’s liking?”
Xie Lian gave him a bemused look. “It’s only a sheet, San Lang. Not terribly exciting, one way or the other. Why do you keep asking?”
Hua Cheng hummed thoughtfully, and began tracing the hem with one slender finger– slow, contemplative along one edge, then turning smoothly at the corner. Xie Lian unconsciously let his eyes follow the motion, only realizing he was doing so and refocusing his gaze when Hua Cheng spoke again.
“Well, Gege… I have a confession to make. I do have an ulterior motive.”
“Wh–what? What motive is that?”
Hua Cheng folded his hands together pensively, this form’s typically boyish face somewhat darkened by his solemn tone. “There’s something I simply must know about you before this continues any further, Dianxia.”
Something that had been hiding deep in Xie Lian froze with panic.
“Gege… you must tell me.”
…
“Are you a blanket thief?”
“You–! Oh, for the– San Lang! ”
Hua Cheng had a good giggle to himself while Xie Lian stammered and flushed crimson, struggling to come up with a snappy response. Eventually, he settled for what he hoped was an indignant huff and pulled the pitiful sheet up over his head, preserving his face for the time being.
Outside it, lightly muffled, Hua Cheng laughed out loud; his laughter rang like bronze bells in the walls of the shrine, and despite his not entirely sincere offense, Xie Lian felt the set of his brow smooth at the sound of it. Hua Cheng had a very lovely laugh– deep, rich, and joyful– without a hint of the menacing quality his voice could contain on (almost) any Heavenly Official’s worst day.
There had been many moments like these lately: times where Xie Lian felt as though he was walking briskly along some street lined with windows, and every once in a while, if he turned his head just so, he could catch a brief, crystal clear glimpse of Hua Cheng through one of them– and just as quickly, his vision passed on.
Even now, beneath the cover of the sheet, Xie Lian noted Hua Cheng’s silhouette, cast in shadow on the fabric; all his sharper features– the curve of his nose, his jaw, the swell of his mouth, even the faint spray of his eyelashes if Xie Lian looked closely enough– appeared fuzzy at the edges. Hua Cheng’s form was worn to something soft, dark, and nostalgic, backlit by candlelight and it shifted, peered over him–
“Gege?”
Oh! That’s right. Xie Lian was supposed to be mad right now.
“Go away. No one’s home.”
Hua Cheng’s shadow keeled back as he laughed again. This time, Xie Lian was doubly thankful for the sheet, as he couldn’t restrain a smile in spite of himself. He was still smiling when Hua Cheng’s shadow grew again, before seeing the spread of the fabric dent three times, seemingly beneath one pointed finger. Tap, tap, tap.
“Hello? Excuse me? I heard there’s a kind and knowledgeable daozhang here– won’t you please let a poor traveler in?”
“San Lang–!” Oh, now Xie Lian was laughing. There was nothing for it
“Ah, I suppose not. Well, looks like this poor one will be sleeping out in the cold all night.”
Xie Lian sighed dramatically and loosened his grip on the sheet’s hem, flipping one corner down and open.
“Here, if you’re going to be so petty about it– come on in, the door’s open!”
Hua Cheng’s hand slipped languidly beneath the sheet– Xie Lian was not going to think too hard about that image, thank you very much– before lifting it and peering in. Xie Lian noted his form had shifted to something taller, broader: the form he had taken at the Gambler’s Den, he realized. A quiet, private string of Xie Lian’s heart sang at the sight of it, the knowledge of its truth.
Only about a foot away now, Hua Cheng’s face was all demure smiles and one eye curved into a dark crescent. He paused at the “entryway,” the very picture of a polite guest.
“Why, thank you, daozhang– where should I put my hat and shoes?”
Xie Lian threw aside any pretense of annoyance and let another laugh free. What did it matter how silly this was? He hadn’t felt this carefree in ages, and wasn’t about to let a pleasant evening pass without gratitude. Shuffling his body over to make room, he held up a hand, tenting the sheet in a wide sweep of his arm as if showing off the main foyer of some grand estate.
“Oh, just throw them anywhere. As you can see, it’s very plain in here.”
Hua Cheng chuckled as he slid inside the small makeshift cocoon, adjusting to tuck his feet fully inside and lifting his right arm just so to vault the fabric ceiling. The position left the otherwise imposing man looking a bit like a curled-up pill bug, and Xie Lian had to suppress a laugh and another heart-twinge at the thought of that, too. Hua Cheng cast his gaze around, taking his role as guest very seriously.
“Plain? Hm… I wouldn’t say so.”
“Oh? And what would you call this?”
“... Quaint. Simple. Very welcoming. Perfect for a humble daozhang such as yourself.”
“Hah–! That’s gracious of you to say. If any Heavenly Officials could see this place, they’d be too busy catching flies in their mouths to disagree with you.”
Xie Lian waited for Hua Cheng’s quick-witted reply; he always did so when they talked like this, meeting each other at the other’s level without batting an eye until one of them broke to laugh and conceded.
Silence was not what Xie Lian had expected; after it had stretched to last a few moments, Xie Lian turned to see if perhaps Hua Cheng hadn’t heard him. Instead, he found Hua Cheng’s single eye glittering with tension– restrained, Xie Lian could tell, for his own sake– as well as a cautious kind of… hurt? Could that be what it was?
“What does Gege mean by this?”
Xie Lian blinked at the reply, and instinctively broke into a sheepish, crooked smile.
“Well, come on, San Lang– it’s no secret how I live. Everyone who’s seen me can tell I don’t exactly exude opulence anymore.”
“They shouldn’t look down on you.”
Hua Cheng’s tone shifted; he now spoke very solemnly, and Xie Lian turned this over in his mind a good few times before speaking again.
This– the way the Heavens viewed The Crown Prince of Xianle– was no longer an anomaly to him. On the other hand, Hua Cheng made no attempt to disguise his disdain for the Heavens. As such, Xie Lian felt it would not be easy to explain his… complex reputation to him. At least, not without explaining it in full– every event that had led the Crown Prince Who Pleased the Gods to become the laughingstock of the three realms.
Xie Lian inwardly blanched at the very thought of it– he didn’t know if he would ever be able to confess the depth of his character to anyone, especially Hua Cheng, the first friend he had made in centuries.
Too much, a huddled, penitent corner of him whispered. It’s too much.
Xie Lian knew this to be true– he couldn’t in good faith saddle Hua Cheng with that knowledge and expect him to stay. However, the closer they grew, the more Hua Cheng’s frustration with Xie Lian’s treatment became apparent, and the more Xie Lian owed it to him to try.
Xie Lian took a breath and relaxed his shoulders, giving Hua Cheng a calm and balanced look.
“Everyone has different points of view. It can’t be helped– many of them hardly set foot outside of Heaven aside from their Tribulations. Of course they’d be shocked to see how things really are– how I really am.”
This apparently wasn’t enough to satisfy Hua Cheng. He set his jaw and shook his head lightly, as if inwardly willing Xie Lian not to accept it.
“I think they ought to be embarrassed by that point of view. It’s shallow and obtuse.”
Now that the pair weren’t joking around anymore, Xie Lian was becoming increasingly aware of just how close they were to each other. From here, Xie Lian could clearly see a myriad of details on Hua Cheng’s face– from the individual hairs of his eyebrows where they tapered off of the dark twin strikes, to the slight flare of his nostrils when he breathed in (just when had Hua Cheng begun breathing?), to the slow creeping pink in his lips as he spoke– oh, Xie Lian was not going to be looking at Hua Cheng’s lips at a time like this, thank you very much–
“But– you don’t think it’s shameful that a Heavenly Official– a former crown prince at that– is living like this?”
“Do you feel ashamed?”
Oh. Xie Lian hadn’t given a great deal of thought to that in a long time, let alone been asked about it.
“Well– not really. Not anymore.”
He paused, considering how to parse his words. Not too much, not too much. “It’s more that… shame is a less pressing issue.” Than homelessness. Starvation. Compared to them, shame was negligible. If he could feel shame, then he wasn’t truly grateful for what he had. If he wasn’t grateful, then…
“What does San Lang think?”
“I think whatever life Dianxia leads, as long as it’s safe and it suits him, that’s just as it should be.”
Hua Cheng’s responses had been very firm, but he delivered this last reply with a softened tone and gaze; in both, there was gentleness, groundedness. Reassuring.
Xie Lian suddenly felt very bare underneath that gaze, that closeness, that sentiment– the idea that not only was this not wrong, but in fact good– and blinked a few times before silently shifting onto his back.
Thinking became a great deal easier now that Hua Cheng’s face wasn’t directly in front of his. That was a good thing– Xie Lian had missed all sorts of details while wrapped up in the conversation. The threadbare sheet blanketing them both suddenly felt warmer than it should be, the straw mat beneath him somehow less prickly and thin. Against the fabric, the dwindling candlelight danced in a way that had, at some point, become soothing. Xie Lian watched it all with curiosity; it felt odd. Too much like a home to be his.
Beside him, he sensed as well as felt Hua Cheng accept his silence and turn onto his own back. From his periphery, Xie Lian saw the strong profile adjust subtly as the most feared Ghost King in all three realms appeared to chew thoughtfully on the inside of his lip. Xie Lian smiled a little sadly to himself, and hoped Hua Cheng wasn’t regretting what he said. Strange a feeling as it was, he was nothing if not grateful for it.
A few more contemplative moments passed like this as they lay side by side, barely a hand’s breadth apart, before:
“San Lang.”
“Hm?”
“I have a question for you.”
“Alright.”
“You have to answer seriously.”
“I always answer Gege seriously.”
Xie Lian puffed a pointed breath. Liar, it teased. Hua Cheng only chuckled quietly in return.
“What’s the question? Dianxia has gone and made me very curious now.”
Xie Lian breathed deeply, and waved a final goodbye to his remaining pride.
“If you hadn’t known about me– about my being the Crown Prince… would you have guessed it? From looking at me?”
“Absolutely.”
“S-San Lang!” Xie Lian’s eyes opened wide with surprise, unable to resist a look at Hua Cheng next to him. Seeing Xie Lian’s gaze turn, Hua Cheng refocused his eye on the other again, his demeanor perfectly unruffled.
“Yes?”
“You–! You said you’d be serious.”
“I am.”
“Now you’re just making fun,” Xie Lian huffed, his retreating pride stinging. “Never mind.”
“Dianxia–”
Xie Lian had already flipped over, his back to Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng made no move to stop him; even facing away, Xie Lian could feel the patience with which he held the slightly indignant silence between them. Eventually, when it had lessened, Hua Cheng spoke again, slowly but with calm assurance.
“Gege. I wasn’t making fun. I promise. Even without knowing before, I would have guessed who you were. I would have believed you, had you chosen to tell me.”
Xie Lian conceded, and turned onto his back again, a little embarrassed by his childish reaction. He concealed it by fiddling with a pinprick hole in the sheet’s weave. He’d have to dedicate some time to mending it tomorrow.
“Forgive me, I just… I find it hard to understand that.”
“How so?”
“I think…” Xie Lian had only gone and made the hole bigger with his fiddling, and gave a sharp sigh before abandoning it and turning on his side to face Hua Cheng again. Once again frightfully close, Hua Cheng lay facing him, waiting for him. “I think many of my peers in Heaven have that same struggle. Though few of them are even aware of my past in full– there’s really only a handful who are older than me– and of course, the two Generals…” Too much.
“What does Gege mean?”
“Well… I think many of them see me and have a difficult time believing– or remembering– I was ever that kind of person. After all, they don’t have much to go on, besides this.”
Xie Lian haphazardly gestured to himself, only cleaned as thoroughly as possible from the wear of the day, clothed in his only pair of cultivation robes, stained and torn and repaired a thousand times over. Certainly a far cry from his former elegance and grace.
“I suppose I don’t blame any of them– even those who knew me before– for forgetting, is all.”
Hua Cheng was silent again, and Xie Lian mentally cursed himself. Too much, too much–
“I’m sorry. I’m sure that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Dianxia makes perfect sense. It’s those fools who confound me.”
“San Lang, don’t be unfair. Can you blame them for thinking that way? It’s not as though I look and act like a prince these days. I haven’t for a very long time, even longer than I was a true prince for.”
Xie Lian felt the urge to pause at this– it was a sentiment he’d had before, but hadn’t had the occasion to truly voice. But then, Xie Lian had been doing a great deal more talking in recent months than he had in a very long time– another unfamiliar comfort that came with Hua Cheng’s company.
His gaze drifting back to the light and shadows dancing on the sheet, Xie Lian turned the thought over in his mind once, twice more. When he spoke again, he almost felt as though he were speaking through a dream.
“That is very strange, isn’t it? To have just one part of me make up my whole being, my title, my name. Such a small part, and so far away. What does being a prince have to do with me now?”
Silence, unbroken by either of them for a while. Xie Lian was lost in thought for a while longer before considering how awkward Hua Cheng must be feeling, and hurried to lighten the mood again.
“Well, that’s how it feels, anyway. I sometimes think Qi Ying wouldn’t even remember to call me by my title if he wasn’t reminded. Hah. It must be all the garbage.”
“I think the garbage makes Gege even more princely.”
Xie Lian nearly squawked at that, turning a bewildered gaze to Hua Cheng. To his surprise, the eye he met was as sincere and unyielding as ever.
“San Lang–! Now you’re certainly making fun!”
“Not at all. What’s more worthy of praise and exaltation than what Gege has made his name for? Not just then, but now as well.”
“What I’ve– collecting scraps? Worthy of praise? Surely not.”
“Of course it is. To me, nothing is more chivalrous, more honorable and kind, than going out of one’s way to find a home for all discarded things, no matter how dirty or broken. What’s more, you put your heart into repairing each piece so it may have a purpose again.”
“San Lang, please–” Xie Lian could feel heat beginning to creep up his neck at the outflowing of praise. Too–this is really too much–! “Having your opinion is one thing, but to say any of my work is quality craftsmanship is quite another. Half of those repair attempts fall apart in half the time it took to complete them–”
Hua Cheng would not be deterred. He leaned even closer toward Xie Lian (who realized with another wave of heat that their noses were barely six inches apart now) as he continued:
“But you tried. That’s ten times more than most people would do, and a hundred more than any Heavenly Official would do. Remember those clay pots we tried to fix up today?”
“Ah, don’t remind me.” Xie Lian rubbed his face with both hands, just as much to wipe the memory from his mind as to conceal his blush. “I’ve sealed up loads of cracked clay before, but they crumbled to pieces the minute I looked at them wrong.”
“That’s right. So you took the leftover shards and ground them up into rubble for the walkway, and sifted out the dust for making bricks.”
“Yes, but– San Lang, what does any of this have to do with being a prince or not?”
“Simply what I said: everything Dianxia touches is an honored thing.”
“Oh? What’s honorable about being ground into rubble and dust?”
“The fact that none of it is unappreciated.” At this distance, Xie Lian could swear he saw sparks igniting in the deep obsidian of Hua Cheng’s eye; his very expression glowed with it. “Dianxia honors each thing by not letting it go to waste, even if others consider it useless trash.”
“Perhaps I should be exercising a bit more of their sense.”
Hua Cheng shook his head; there was an excitement in his tone that was beginning to build, growing to match the fever-bright awe his gaze shone with. “I disagree. I see the way your eyes light up at every little piece you’re given; you can already see its many fates laid out before you. That’s a very valuable thing– to know that there is always another chance, always hope. If more crown princes behaved as you do, I believe their people would be much happier with them.”
Xie Lian flinched, sharply.
He tried not to– truly, he did– but it couldn’t be helped.
Too much. The memory of all those hands, begging, clinging, grasping– then clawing – even now, they were never far from him.
No sooner had he done so than Hua Cheng’s face froze; the passion with which he’d been speaking came to an abrupt halt, leaving a split second of mortified horror in its wake. Xie Lian’s stomach dropped with guilt of his own– there was no way Hua Cheng could truly know. But then, it was no secret that Xianle had been gone for centuries, and the circumstances of its demise were even less confidential.
Hua Cheng must have seen Xie Lian’s face change as well, as he schooled his expression to a severe contrition faster than Xie Lian could speak.
“At least, I–”
“It’s alright, San Lang–”
“- I believe they should. I believe… I know I’m grateful to see such a thing.” Hua Cheng seemed to be forcing himself not to avert his gaze. It remained steady, hard on himself– too hard– but gentle enough to admit: “That’s why I would know who you are, without being told. I would believe you.”
Quiet fell between them again. Xie Lian hardly knew what to do with it; he had never encountered anyone so flippant yet intent, so cruel yet considerate– above all else, so terribly careful with Xie Lian himself as Hua Cheng was. He found himself, again, struggling to fathom the gaze with which Hua Cheng fixed him, refusing to let it drop as though he owed it to Xie Lian. What a foolish notion, he mused, to think Hua Cheng owed him anything.
Even so, if nothing else… Xie Lian was grateful.
“San Lang is a very kind man.”
Hua Cheng blinked at this, and seemed to let the response settle into his bones before his frame relaxed. Xie Lian was glad to see it, and the thankful rise of his chest as he took a breath– Hua Cheng was still breathing, then.
“Gege is the kind one, to say so. I think your peers in Heaven would have an even harder time believing that, all things considered. Try not to feel too down-hearted about them; if one can’t see farther than their own nose, how could they be expected to appreciate the majesty of a sunrise?”
Xie Lian, caught entirely by surprise, let out a shocked laugh. “San Lang– too cruel–!”
“Aren’t I right, Gege? If they can’t understand the differences that exist in one person, then it just means they’re too daft to even consider the possibility. Why should one waste a book of poetry on someone who can’t read? It’s common sense, after all.”
Xie Lian puffed a good-natured scoff and grinned at Hua Cheng, who was looking quite pleased with himself for getting in a few more digs at Heaven, and having Xie Lian’s laughter as validation to boot.
“Certainly not! And if all this is true of me, then who is more chivalrous, more honorable and kind than Crimson Rain Sought Flower? All these things surely apply to you as well.”
Hua Cheng released a skeptical scoff of his own. “Now Gege is the one making fun.”
Something in the lighter mood returning had put a brave edge in Xie Lian, and he found himself surging forward against his better judgment to challenge Hua Cheng’s disbelieving look head-on. “What would you call your Ghost City, if not a home for all discarded beings? How many of those citizens would be roaming the world, aimless and hopeless, if not for the sanctuary you built with your own two hands?”
Somewhere far away, Xie Lian’s sense of propriety was screaming at him to lose the starstruck glint in his eye, to stop boring into Hua Cheng’s gaze, and for the love of all thing proper, to put some distance between them again (now they were close enough for Xie Lian to feel the puffs of Hua Cheng’s breath teasing the pearl of his upper lip, and some part of Xie Lian knew that simply wouldn’t do); Xie Lian was too enraptured to be bothered.
“Maybe I can find uses for items, but you provide shelter, security– real homes and futures, for real people–” well, dead people– “who need it. What could be more worthy of admiration? To me, San Lang is the princely one.”
…
This close up, Xie Lian could clearly see the finest details of Hua Cheng’s wide and astonished eye– the fine, deep border that separated the iris and pupil, however alike in color. What’s more, the cool and staggered wafts of his breath; closer still, the faint, peach blossom pink, ever creeping to his lips, and even the blunt impressions of his teeth where he’d been biting them before.
All too late, Xie Lian’s pride finally came screaming back to him, beaten ten times to death and back– begging for– no, demanding surrender.
Too much. Too much.
“Oh– I–” Xie Lian shrank backward, rolled onto his back, placed his hands on his flaming cheeks in one swift movement. His words kept tumbling out, and he tried desperately to put any coherence in them. “I’ve gone and said too much. I… I apologize, truly. I can’t imagine your reasoning for building Ghost City. Whatever it may have been, it’s worthy enough just by being your choice. Please don’t listen–”
“Thank you.”
The reply was curt, almost strangled, but contained no traces of the anger Xie Lian expected. He risked his remaining face to peek over. “Wh-what?”
Across from him, Hua Cheng hadn’t moved. His gaze had finally lowered, and Xie Lian noted the occasional fanning of his lashes as he blinked down at himself. Hua Cheng spoke slowly, cautiously, so much so that Xie Lian was already dropping his hands and turning to him, like a flower to light.
“I– I don’t think I can admit to doing so out of chivalry, or honor, as Gege says. But, I…”
Hua Cheng’s voice tapered off, and on the straw mat alongside his face, one hand curled in toward his chest protectively, turning the red bead that held the end of his braid between his fingers, around and around.
And Xie Lian…
Ah. So that’s how it is.
Hua Cheng nearly jumped at hearing Xie Lian’s sigh, and looked up just in time to meet his eyes, gone sea-glass soft and worn with wistfulness.
“I see. You don’t have to say any more.”
Hua Cheng stared in confusion. Xie Lian was already continuing, looking into space, feeling that he was speaking as much to himself as to Hua Cheng as he rounded the curve to this new window’s glimpse.
“It feels wrong to just admit defeat, even if everyone else says it’s hopeless. I understand that very well. Even now, no matter how foolish it makes me, I just can’t seem to learn to give up.” Despite himself, Xie Lian felt a laugh bubble up into a wide smile. “Hah—! Maybe that’s what’s so confusing about the both of us.”
Xie Lian brought his gaze back to Hua Cheng’s. He could feel the unbridled affection in it, but didn’t bother to curb himself; being known felt too good for him to care. “We’re alike in that way. I’m glad.”
For his part, Hua Cheng looked more thunderstruck than he had the entire evening; for a moment, Xie Lian was afraid he’d spoken out of turn again, but the slightest and most miraculous hint of movement caught his attention before anxiety could swallow him up.
“San Lang? Are you alright? You look strange.” Xie Lian spoke in a hushed tone as he shifted forward again– closer, closer, as close as he was during that ridiculous tirade earlier–
At this rate, Hua Cheng was going to lose his only eye if it got any wider. “Wh–what do you–”
Xie Lian’s hand extended. Hua Cheng froze. There.
It was not the first time the two had touched, not even among the first several times. It was, however, the first contact of this particular kind, and it felt as though time itself had paused in its step, just to observe the occasion:
Xie Lian’s fingertip; the base of Hua Cheng’s neck; the point where they now met, no wider than a raindrop.
Calloused, smooth as a fish’s underbelly, searing hot, colder than the grave– it was all the same, in the end. What belonged to who didn’t matter. All that mattered was the touch of flesh to flesh, and the tender, hopeful rise of one to greet the other.
A pulse.
“Your heart’s beating.”
For one precious, shining moment, Xie Lian was looking through the window again; what was more, Hua Cheng was there too, looking directly back at him. The sheet swaddled them both with homespun care, the light beyond it nearly out. For that one moment– perhaps the simplest, happiest one Xie Lian had known in his whole life– nothing, past or present or future, physical or magical, existed. Nothing but him and Hua Cheng, freed from time, seeing each other more clearly than ever in that dim, failing light.
Somewhere in a hazy part of his mind, Xie Lian thought it felt like the end of the world.
He had never imagined the end of the world would feel so safe.
“San L–”
With a severity that would have had Xie Lian worried for the state of Hua Cheng’s neck if he wasn’t already dead, Hua Cheng whipped his face to the side, burying it fully between his free hand and the straw mat. Xie Lian nearly jumped at the movement, at first instinctively afraid that he’d hurt Hua Cheng somehow. He retracted his hand, and tried to search what very little he could see of his hidden face.
“Ah… San Lang? Are you–”
“Gege complains so much about my teasing, but he’s the worst of all. I can’t take it.”
The reply, however muffled, came out as pouty and melodramatic as Hua Cheng ever was. Hearing this, Xie Lian released a jittery, nervous laugh, and pretended he couldn’t see the tip of Hua Cheng’s ear burning a deep red.
“San Lang, I’m really–”
“No more. I’ve heard enough. I can’t suffer your torment any longer, Dianxia. I’m leaving and never coming back.”
“Wh–?! What?”
Hua Cheng turned his face even further away, and held up the hand that was previously hiding it; it formed a flat, upright palm, a pure and simple “stop.”
“Don’t say another word, Gege– you’ll just make it harder to walk out and slam this door.”
“Ah–? Slam the door? Are you really–?”
“Goodbye forever.”
Before Xie Lian could utter another word of befuddled protest, Hua Cheng acted in swift succession: lifting his hem of the sheet, sliding smoothly out from under it, and finally, with all the drama of scorned lover, slamming the sheet back down and filling the cocoon– now containing only one occupant– with a rush of air that encased him in the most ridiculous bubble Xie Lian had ever been trapped in.
And after all of that, who could help but…
There was nothing for it. Xie Lian split his sides laughing, wheezing, eyes leaking from the effort, at the sheer stupidity of it all. Flippant, cruel, unfathomable he may be… but Hua Cheng could make Xie Lian laugh like no other.
It was even funnier how very little it took.
“San Lang– hahah– pl–please come back! Oh, please– I’m sorry, I swear!”
Xie Lian went to pull the sheet up, to make his ridiculous apology to match the ridiculous quarrel– only to find Hua Cheng pinning the hem down from the outside.
“Too little, too late, Gege. Besides, see– you’ve locked the door.”
And how Xie Lian hollered with laughter again, pulling weakly against the fabric despite the futility, just for the sake of failing, and falling back, and laughing at it all some more. “Oh– I’ve locked the door, have I? Then you’ll just have to sneak in the window to hear my apology.”
Xie Lian’s hand snapped up to the top of the sheet before Hua Cheng could beat him to it, pulling it wide enough for a face to peek through. Sure enough, that face, looking terribly smug and a little pinched from restraining his own laughter, appeared in the gap. Hua Cheng observed it, as well as what Xie Lian was certain was his own absurdly blotchy face, before schooling his expression to deadpan solemnity again.
“Gege, I appreciate your ingenuity, but, as you can see, this San Lang is far too big to fit through this window.”
Too much–!
Off Xie Lian went, screaming with laughter so strong that he hadn’t the slightest hope of opening his eyes long enough to see the doting smile that warmed Hua Cheng’s face.
By the time Xie Lian had finally calmed down, he was alternating wiping tears from his eyes and massaging his sore face around chattering teeth, and Hua Cheng had given up the charade and insisted Xie Lian come out from underneath the sheet so he could take several deep breaths of fresh air. They sat upright on the straw mat side by side, Hua Cheng pouring cups of water for them both as Xie Lian settled.
“San Lang… ah, you’re too– hah! You’re too ridiculous.”
Hua Cheng chuckled and passed Xie Lian a cup, taking care to hover his hand beneath it to catch any spills.
“You’re exactly right, Gege. I’m a complete and utter fool.”
Xie Lian downed his water gratefully. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Well, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” At Xie Lian’s quizzical look, Hua Cheng took his empty cup from him and moved to set the pair aside. “We’re alike. We can’t learn how to give up.” Laying the cups alongside the clean dinner dishes, Hua Cheng looked back over his shoulder at Xie Lian’s seated form.
For the second time that night, Xie Lian observed Hua Cheng in profile; this time, he was all cutting edges and sharp clarity, yet just as quintessentially him as he said with a devilish smirk:
“If that makes you foolish, then I’m the greatest fool of all.”
Xie Lian felt the protest rise and die in his throat. He no longer had the energy or desire to argue the point with Hua Cheng; part of him wondered if that had been Hua Cheng’s plan all along.
Too much.
“I could never say I agree with you, San Lang. But, whatever the case… it’s nice to know you think so. It’s… I’m glad for the company.”
Hua Cheng looked as though he had begun to say something else, but opted to nod in agreement instead. Already feeling the full effects of exhaustion seeping into his bones, Xie Lian chose not to push the issue, and took the opportunity to pat the empty space next to him insistently.
“Now, enough silliness. You worked very hard today. Come get some rest.”
With a pleased skip in his step that Xie Lian would be keeping a very strong mental image of– how often does one see the world’s most powerful Ghost King skipping – Hua Cheng returned to the straw mat and flopped down. Successfully this time, Xie Lian aired out the sheet with a whoosh and let it settle, downy soft, over them both before sending a rush of air to the woefully low candle, putting its light out at long last.
Beside him, Xie Lian felt Hua Cheng kick his feet out from the bottom corner and pillow his arms behind his head. “So– what are we fixing up tomorrow, Gege?”
Xie Lian smiled to the ceiling, the wood grain patterns on the fresh boards just beginning to come into focus. Just beyond them, he could hear the summer rain starting to fall, tapping the newly secured roof in gentle pats – not a leak in sight.
“Hm… There’s a grandmother down the lane who says she’s got a bundle for me leftover from her spring cleaning. I suppose we’ll have to go and see what there is.”
Somehow, Xie Lian was sure he felt Hua Cheng smile in the dark.
“I can hardly wait."