Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yin Yu was not a civil god, and it shows.

He had never been especially fit, at least when compared to other martial gods, but that certainly doesn’t mean he's incapable. Especially not now. Not when he’s sprinting down the streets of Ghost City, narrowly avoiding people in his haste.

He cuts past one lady, acutely aware of her exasperated gasp as he passes. Normally, he would offer some muttered apology. Normally, he wouldn’t draw any form of attention to himself at all. But as the crowd divides to make room for him, he can’t bring himself to care.

He eventually skids to a stop inn front of a large pavilion that he knows all too well. He nearly trips over himself then, and a few ghosts pause and give him spared looks, but he only gives them a curt glance before running inside.

Yin Yu really hadn’t planned on this. Earlier that day, when he received a knock on the doors of Paradise Manor, he hadn’t expected it to be some brash woman, rudely welcoming herself in. He also hadn’t expected her to flirt with him so shamelessly. Really, right there in Hua Cheng’s residence!

Most of all, Yin Yu hadn’t expected her to be the key to something both he and Hua Cheng had been trying to solve for decades. Truly, fate has a strange way of working.

Yin Yu is leaning against the wall now, trying to ignore the blaring crowd that is adding to his growing migraine. He slips a hand under his mask, wiping at sweat gathering at his forehead.

He can see him now. He’s not sure what has Hua Cheng in such a sociable mood, but he’s centered in the crowd, betting with whatever ghosts are stupid enough to do so. Yin Yu’s been with him long enough to know he never loses a bet.

Despite being his ‘closest’ servant, Yin Yu knows better than anyone that Hua Cheng is a loner. He handles most of his duties on his own, only sending Yin Yu when he feels as though he has better things to do. Even in his home, he is rarely seen, as Yin Yu learned painfully. Hua Cheng stalks around paradise manor like a house cat, except unlike a house cat, he could tear you limb from limb if he simply chose to. He lives up to the unpredictable nature he built for himself.

He’s wearing a form that Yin Yu vaguely recalls seeing before; one that radiates a sort of wild energy. It’s fitting, he thinks. He’s sitting with his leg hoisted up by his torso and has a hand toying with a bead in his hair; A habit Yin Yu has long come to recognize as boredom.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when Hua Cheng’s eyes glance around the room, eventually landing on him. He quirks an eyebrow up, an obvious annoyance in his gaze, and waits for Yin Yu to respond.

And he does. He knows better than to keep him waiting. He scoots himself off the wall, breaking through the crowd to stand next to Hua Cheng. The other ghosts don’t say anything, assuming he’s one of the gambling den’s many workers. Hua Cheng speaks first, voice hushed, resting his chin on his hand.

“Why are you here?”

Yin Yu internally grimaces. This already wasn’t off to a good start.

“We should speak somewhere private, my lord.”

Hua Cheng’s eyebrows furrow at that, as if considering it. He reaches out then, rolling a die in his hand. The crowd’s cheers grow louder. Yin Yu pales.

“Please, my lord. You’ll understand-”

“It can wait.”

Another roll. More cheers. Yin Yu squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the pounding in his head. The building nausea in his stomach.

“...It really can’t-”

Hua Cheng puts his hand up, rudely cutting him off. He then goes back to his game, leaving Yin Yu standing there, boiling.

He watches for a while, as Hua Cheng plays back and forth, ignoring Yin Yu’s presence. He feels like a child, standing there and progressively getting more irritated as he watches him play like their conversation hadn’t happened. This is possibly the biggest news that he will ever get, and he had brushed him off like it was nothing.

All regards for his own well-being aside, he speaks again. “My lord.”

Hua Cheng promptly ignores him.

“My. Lord.”

...

Yin Yu breathes in.

“Hua Cheng.”

Hua Cheng stills, hand mid-roll. None of the other ghosts had seemed to hear him just now, but can sense that something is wrong. It quiets down in the gambler’s den.

Hua Cheng turns so he’s facing Yin Yu, who is suddenly thankful for the mask he is wearing. He’s sure that he must be sweating bullets by now. For a while, nothing could be heard by small whispers. Hua Cheng breaks the silence first.

“...Are we on first name basis now, Yin Yu?”

Yin Yu clenches his jaw, which isn’t doing his migraine any favors, but that's the least of his concerns right now. He’s too focused on not throwing up. Or not fainting. Either works.

Yin Yu is suddenly aware that the spiritual energy around him is thick enough to drink; too choke on. Yin Yu resists the urge to cover his mouth, instead forcing his fists tighter. Hua Cheng is glowering now. Even in this form, his gaze is just as piercing.

They’re waiting on him to speak. He knows it. Every ghost is staring at him, anxiously waiting for his next move. When he glances around, they follow his movement. He wasn’t aware he had that much power over this. Over how this all goes.

It’s a new feeling he’s not used to. An indescribable thrill of being the one that affected people in such a way.

With newfound confidence, he speaks.

“I’ve found the Crown Prince of Xianle.”

Chapter Text

It was art, really. The way Yin Yu had painted a new portrait of Hua Cheng; one that no one had ever seen before. He had taken him off guard, and he couldn’t help but feel slight satisfaction as Hua Cheng's eyes widened, pupils blown.

If it was quiet before, it’s dead silent now. Yin Yu is suddenly aware that all he can hear is his own breathing; probably from being the only person technically ‘alive’ in the room. Unconsciously, Yin Yu pulls his sleeve over his wrist.

He meets Hua Cheng’s gaze again, whose eyes are roaming across Yin Yu’s form, looking for any sign of deceit. He doesn’t find any, and he opens his mouth, like he’s about to speak, when-

“Xianle?! Ha-”

Someone in the back breaks the silence with wheezing laughter. When Yin Yu looks at him, he’s surprised to see a low-level ghost leaning forward in his chair, clutching his knee. Or what’s left of it, anyway. He’s obviously older, and hasn’t aged gracefully. His legs have nearly decayed away.

“I remember him!” He yells obnoxiously. “I was there when he ascended to the heavens both times, and still managed to fuck himself over. Can’t even save a single family.” He grabs himself by his elbows, leaning to the right. “I’m not sure what Hua Chengzu wants with him, but believe me, that cut sleeve isn’t worth it.”

It’s a little ironic, Yin Yu thinks. A ghost making fun of a god for not being able to ‘save someone.’ Assuming they’re all standing in this room, none of them are in a position to judge, as far as he’s concerned.

Yin Yu didn’t know what Hua Cheng wanted with Xianle. His job doesn’t leave a lot of room for leverage, see? And when he got hired, oh...three hundred years ago? He was told specifically to do as told and to not question anything.

And he did just that. He wasn’t in a position to get picky, after all.

When Hua Cheng first assigned him to look for Xianle, it made him pause. He had heard of Xianle before. His story was infamous. His time had happened long before Yin Yu’s, however, and thus, they had never met.

But what would a ghost king want to do with him?

Hua Cheng never gave him any clarification, so Yin Yu had simply assumed he was another causality. It may explain why they had never found him. If Yin Yu was him, and knew Hua Cheng was looking for him, he would be hiding too. He can’t help but feel a twinge of pity for Xianle.

The ghost had kept bantering on while Yin Yu zoned out. Snapped out of his trance, Yin Yu, like everyone else, turns his back to him, facing what he expects is an irritated Hua Cheng. He knows he so hates to be interrupted.

To his dismay, Hua Cheng is glowering again. Though, this time, it’s not aimed at him. He’s fixated on the ghost behind Yin Yu, eyes narrowed.

He knows that look. He’s seen it so many times before.

He respectfully steps back, hands clasped in front of him.

“And you know what else?!” He’s wheezing again, gesturing to a lady next to him. “I heard his parents were so disappointed, they killed -ACK-”

His voice cuts off, and for a moment, fragments of light seem to shine through him; As him coming from his chest. He looks down at his hands, utterly confused.
Just as suddenly, blood splatters across the walls, a sickening squelch following after it. Yin Yu is acutely aware that ghosts are screaming from being streaked red.

As ghosts shove past him, Yin Yu simply sighs, wiping a small streak of blood off his mask. He’s wiping his hands on his robes when Hua Cheng speaks.

“Yin Yu.”

He looks up, meeting Hua Cheng’s gaze. Yin Yu doesn’t realize Hua Cheng has switched to his true form right away; Not until he sees smooth leather where his right eye should be. When he speaks, his voice is low.

“Come with me.”

He turns on his heel, walking out without bothering to let Yin Yu answer. Yin Yu follows after him, stepping over what he thinks are bits of brain matter, but he doesn’t let himself think on it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he steps into Hua Cheng’s office, he already has an apology prepared. He had spoken in confidence and had promptly been reminded of Hua Cheng’s true power. Of what he could do to him, if he so wished. Yin Yu only hopes he’ll keep his body in one piece.

When he closes the door behind him, he opens his mouth, ready to speak, when-

“Where is he?”

Yin Yu looks up, finding Hua Cheng is watching him, eyebrows knitted together, and hands balled up by his sides.

This is not the first time he’s had to track down someone for Hua Cheng. He’s done it countless times, since looking for small details, working in the trenches, is exactly what he does best. There were easy ones, like the low-level ghosts who pissed Hua Cheng off in some way. There were also the more difficult, like Qi Rong, who always somehow manages to get away.

This was by far the hardest. But Yin Yu hadn’t expected...whatever this is.

Hua Cheng is currently looking at him like he’s some sort of lifeline. Like he’s his last grasp on reality. An opposite to the murderous glint in his eye that Yin Yu has long gotten used to.

So, when he speaks, his tone is...concerned.

“...I beg your pardon?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t answer right away. His eye scans Yin Yu’s mask, then back to his eyes.

“...Where is he?”

Yin Yu squints his eyes, trying to process all this. He knows better than anyone that Yin Yu not hearing Hua Cheng's orders is probably the #1 way to make him angry. And yet, Hua Cheng had dismissed it. In fact, Hua Cheng had dismissed Yin Yu disobeying him twice today.

...Something isn’t right.

When Yin Yu answers, he keeps it vague. Intentionally so.

“...He’s in the kingdom of Yong’an, my lord.”

Hua Cheng’s flinch is subtle, but present. It’s silent again, only just for a moment, because suddenly, Hua Cheng is pacing.

...He’s pacing.

Yin Yu watches, understandably flabbergasted. He can hear the soft jingling of Hua Cheng’s boots as he circles around his desk, mumbling something in a language he can’t understand.

As if this couldn’t get any more strange.

At some point, Yin Yu hears him say something that he can decipher. Xie Lian.

It gives him pause. He wasn’t aware that Hua Cheng knew his given name, let alone was willing to speak it.

Letting his mind wander, he scans the room, eyes landing on a painting in the very back. Its colors are of white and gold; a nice contrast to the deep crimsons that he’s used to seeing.

Hua Cheng is a talented artist, he knows. He’s seen countless paintings and sculptures laid throughout the manor. Often, he’s even painting when Yin Yu tries to speak to him, which he used to find irritating, but now it’s...oddly therapeutic. He’s even learned a thing or two from watching.

What he hasn’t quite figured out yet is that all Hua Cheng’s works share one similarity.

...They’re all dedicated to a god.

Yin Yu thought it was a joke at first. Maybe even some sort of trick. Even when he was a god, he had never heard of a ghost worshipping anyone.

But then Yin Yu saw the altars. Had even caught him praying on more than one occasion. Oddly enough, Hua Cheng always left flowers. Untraditional, but Yin Yu still thought it was sweet, if not strange.

Yin Yu’s eyes drift over the painting. It’s the same man that stars in all of Hua Cheng's works. Long hair, pale skin, and a strong form. Obviously, he’s a martial god.

...So why can’t Yin Yu recognize him?

He doesn’t know much about him, but he knows that Hua Cheng is a few centuries older than himself. Maybe this god was one he worshipped when he was young? A far-stretched idea, but it would explain why the god’s clothing in the painting is not from their time.

But that wouldn’t explain the god’s anonymity. Unless, of course, he was one of the gods that Hua Cheng killed all those years ago. But that wouldn’t make sense. Hua Cheng wouldn’t worship a banished god-

Yin Yu’s thoughts stop just as quickly as they began. Hua Cheng’s thoughts must have come to a stop too, as his pacing stills, and he speaks, voice hushed.

“I already searched there.”

Yin Yu meets Hua Cheng’s gaze, who’s looking at him, utterly confused. He speaks again, this time with more force in his tone.

Flower crowned martial god...

“I already searched there. You did, too. He wasn’t there.”

Laughingstock of three realms.

Yin Yu is distantly aware of the nausea building in his stomach. The dryness in his mouth. If both he and Hua Cheng had searched there, and had both managed to miss him...then that means...

...They most likely stepped over him.

He swallows then, washing down iron, and scrambles for a response that seems appropriate. He doesn’t find one, and instead chooses a physical approach, reaching inside his satchel and pulling out a scroll. He slides it across Hua Cheng’s desk, knocking over a glass. His boss would normally kill him for that, he knows, but this time, Hua Cheng doesn’t spare it a glance, instead opting to stand next to him.

Yin Yu’s hands are shaky when he points Xie Lian out.

“...”

“...”

“...That’s a field, Yin Yu.”

“...I know...”

Chapter Text

Hua Cheng wouldn’t describe himself as...’picky.’

Sure, years of being a ghost king have left him a little spoiled, but he hasn’t forgotten his roots. It was long ago, but he remembers the nights he laid in his shrine, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He remembers pretending he was full so his mother could have a larger portion. He remembers resorting to pickpocketing, but it was often useless.

He couldn’t go anywhere without people noticing him. He remembers just wanting to hide away.

It all feels so silly now.

Hua Cheng wasn’t picky. Sure, he had envisioned how meeting Xie Lian would go. Ideally, he would have put more effort into his appearance. Something that would make him forget about what he used to look like, all those years ago. Assuming he hadn’t, already. He wouldn’t blame him, with the chaos that followed.

Of course, that was before this.

That was before he was stepping through the fields of Yong’an, trailing behind Yin Yu. He’s not sure how long it’s been snowing, but it’s deep now, and it’s making him waver with every step. He’s suddenly thankful that Yin Yu took lead. He must look ridiculous right now.

Hua Cheng looks around, taking in the surroundings. The fields are beautiful; nostalgic, almost. Although spring will always have his heart, winter does have its own charm. If he was in the mood for reminiscing, this wouldn’t be a bad place to do so. If only it wasn’t so cold.

Xie Lian must be freezing by now.

Hua Cheng whips his head around, choosing instead to focus solely on Yin Yu’s back. Best to not lose himself just yet.

The walk is long. Hua Cheng watches as Yin Yu tightens his cloak around him at some point, hands shivering. The hood he has on is too long, and it dips over where his eyes should be. However, Yin Yu keeps walking, seemingly unphased. Hua Cheng doesn’t have the energy to question it.

He hadn’t brought a cloak. He didn’t think to bring one, with all the chaos that followed after learning of Xie Lian’s whereabouts.

It still feels like someone is going to wake him up soon... Tell him this is all some sort of nightmare.

He barely registers when Yin Yu has stopped walking, nearly ramming into him. Then, he blinks, and looks around, evidently lost.

When he gathers himself, he looks down, and finds a headstone. It’s older, made clear by the cracks and dirt. But that isn’t what confuses him. Instead, he’s trying to figure out how snow was already brushed off it, if neither of them had touched it.

Yin Yu must know what he’s thinking. When he speaks, his tone is smooth; unbothered. “I was here earlier, my lord.”

Hua Cheng turns to him, eye squinted.

Just as quickly, Yin Yu loses his confident façade. “I-I just wanted to confirm...that he was...”

He trails off. Hua Cheng doesn’t ask for clarification. He doesn’t need to. Now, his eye glances back down, scanning over the headstone.

He realizes then that there’s text engraved where the snow had been brushed away. He leans forward, eyebrows furrowed.

Guoshi Fangxin

“...”

Hua Cheng turns to Yin Yu, eyebrows raised. He thinks, wildly, that this may be some sort of mistake. That, somehow, they’ve got the wrong person. Sure, that means Yin Yu royally fucked up, but he can worry about punishing him properly later.

But when he meets Yin Yu’s gaze, he averts his gaze.

“...I’ll explain later, my lord.”

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. Not until he breathed out, harsh and shuddery, as the last hope flickering in his chest died out. A distant part of him acknowledges that he doesn’t need to breathe; but that thought is gone just as quickly as it comes.

In fact, all thoughts he has are gone in a matter of seconds.

Almost instantly, Hua Cheng greys around the edges. A haze surrounds him; one that is all too familiar.

It was the only way he could manage.

Small moments like these where he doesn’t have to think. Moments where it gets hard.

A small part of him is aware that Yin Yu has started speaking. Rather loudly, too. If he was in his right state of mind, he would put him in his place, but instead he just...drifts.

It’s pleasant, almost.

Almost.

He’s brought back by a rough pair of hands seizing him by his shoulders.

“Hua Cheng!”

His first thought when he opens his eye is that Yin Yu's hands are trembling. Probably from the cold. It’s still snowing. The second is that he, at some point, has removed his mask. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his cheeks are flushed. Really, they should get inside soon. Before he freezes.

Hua Cheng blinks, surprised by his own carelessness. Now, he can’t seem to remember why he had even brought him in the first place.

He steps back, releasing himself from Yin Yu’s grasp. Yin Yu watches as Hua Cheng stands there, gathering himself. For a while, neither of them are able to form words.

Yin Yu is the first to break the silence.

“...We should start as soon as possible. The snow doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks up. Yin Yu’s right. The snow does look like it’s just gotten more severe than when they got there. Fat snowflakes land on Hua Cheng’s cheeks and melt, but he doesn’t bother to wipe them away.

He looks back down and nods solemnly at Yin Yu.

“...Get started, then.”

Chapter Text

His clothes don’t do much to protect him from the cold. They have long worn away with age, and so much blood, both fresh and old, has soaked through them, that it’s caked to his skin. He’s sure that is he made any sharp movements; they would tear without much resistance. If he was able to move, anyway.

Xie Lian involuntarily shivers, vaguely aware of the sharp pain that shoots up of body when he does so. A part of him registers that he’s cold now; That it wasn’t this cold before. Maybe it’s winter now. Maybe it’s not. There’s no saying.

He’s not sure how long he’s been awake, absent-mindedly running his thumb up Ruoye’s tip, eyes staring blankly to his right.

It’s one of his more conscious moments. He knows.

He’s not sure how long it’ll last.

He breathes in, ignoring the whistling sound it makes; How labored it feels.

It’s moments like these he hates. Moments where he’s left alone with his thoughts, utterly aware of his situation.

Sometimes, he’ll kick his legs out, trying to put more space between himself and the coffin walls. It only digs the sword deeper into his chest, however, so he stops just as quickly as he starts.

Sometimes, Ruoye tries to help. He whips himself around the coffin lid, battering at it until it wears itself out.

Nothing works.

In his less conscious moments, he hallucinates. Sometimes, he wanders around villages, like he had been, for so many years. Other times, he’s working hard in the heavenly capital.

Often, though, he’s home. In his palace, in clean robes, and in a body that doesn’t ache when he breathes.

His mind isn’t always so kind to him, however. Bai Wuxiang stills follows him, all these years later. At these moments, Xie Lian will thrash around, clawing at the coffin walls, digging his nails into whatever he can get a hold onto.

It’s silent, even then. His parched throat can no longer scream.

He’s only calmed by Ruoye uncoiling from his wrist, smoothing circles over his cheek. Just like his mother did when he was a child.

It’s ironic, almost.

His favorite moments are when he’s asleep. When all the pain in his body is lifted, even if it’s just for a bit.

His eyes become heavy, and his fingers slowly drop from Ruoye as he stills, letting sleep carry him away. It feels much better there.

He’s drifting away when he hears shifting above him. Xie Lian moves his head up, which he thinks is far too much movement for the day, but whatever. His eyes dart around the coffin.

...What was that? Had he just imagined it? He wouldn’t doubt it. Grumbling, Xie Lian puts his head back down. He’s used to hearing things move around him. Animals moving through dirt, usually. That must have been it.

It’s quiet for a moment, before the sound comes back. This time, it lasts longer. Truly, his hallucinations are becoming quite cruel. Can’t even sleep in peace now. And this time, Xie Lian isn’t the only one who has noticed. Ruoye has shot up from Xie Lian’s wrist like a snake and is whipping around rapidly.

And still, nothing is wrong with the coffin. The noise doesn’t stop. It’s coming closer, he realizes. He can start to make out a shink sound every few seconds. Ruoye starts to tremble, as if imitating a growling dog, and Xie Lian smooths a hand over its length, comforting it. Then, he hears speaking.

It’s muffled, and he can hear anger rising in his stomach as he realizes he can’t make out what they’re saying. He can’t figure out what’s going on.

...A hallucination must be the only explanation. A really, really detailed one.

He should’ve known. Ruoye was only acting that way because Xie Lian was acting crazy. Content with himself, he kays back down, squeezing his eyes shut.

All is well for what feels like a few minutes. He’s not sure, though. He’s not counting. He doesn’t even process when his leg slides and hits the side of the coffin wall. It does make his fingers twitch, but nothing more.

Then, it happens again.

Has he officially gone mad?

He looks up, now more irriated than before. He watches as his legs slide again, this time to his left, and gently thud against the side of the coffin.

Except he isn’t moving them. In fact, his arms are sliding too, he realizes. And his head.

His whole body takes a sudden shift forward, which forces a painful gasp out of him. He stiffens, placing his arms on both sides of the coffin, keeping himself as still as possible.

It isn’t so bad after that. It's as if the coffin is in a river or something; Just gently rocking. Xie Lian is looking around wildly, waiting for this to be another part of his dream, but it all looks the same. The same crème colors, the same dried blood, the same...

None of this is making sense. Why is he even moving in the first place? A small, wild part of him, allows himself to have hope. To think that someone has found him, after all these years, but that thought is gone as quickly as he thinks it.

It wouldn’t be that easy, he thinks. Nothing has been that easy.

The movement stops abruptly, and Xie Lian hits his head with a sudden thump. He recovers quickly, regaining his place with his arms braced to his sides.

It’s colder now, he realizes. Much colder. He can feel the condensation forming when he breathes.

“…”

…When was the last time he felt that?

He doesn’t remember.

He places his hand in front of his mouth and breathes again, feeling moist air circulate around his fingertips.

It’s…

Xie Lian can feel tears prickle at the sides of his eyes. He ignores them, instead continuing to warm his hands like he did as a kid. He accidentally blows on Ruoye at some point, at which then Ruoye flicks him on the nose. Xie Lian giggles, his voice gravelly, and apologizes. His voice is so quiet he’s not even sure that Ruoye had heard him, but he takes the gentle coiling around his wrist as forgiveness.

The voices start again. This time, Xie Lian can’t make out any words. Even when he presses his ear to the top of the coffin lid, keeping as still as possible.

It’s quiet. Unbearably so.

He feels a familiar sharp pain in his heart. The same one he has felt for years when he moves too quickly or breathes too hard.

Except, he hadn't done either.

He looks down, thinking that this couldn’t get any more strange.

It was his last conscious thought before the blade was suddenly ripped from his chest.

Chapter Text

When Yin Yu nearly rams into another servant while holding a bowl full of water, he almost laughs. Being so clumsy is not like him at all, but given the circumstances, he thinks he’s earned the right. The women he cut off turns to tell him off, but he’s already rounded the corner by then.

He stops in front of a room in the left corridor; a place that used to be blocked off. Only after today’s events had he been given access.

Had this been under any other circumstance, he would feel a little excited. It’s not often he gets to see something new, and Hua Cheng rarely shows him favoritism…if ever. But, as he presses his back against the door, pushing it open, he already knows what to expect.

The first thing he sees when he closes the door behind him is Hua Cheng. He’s pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, posture rigid. He doesn’t even spare Yin Yu a glance as he enters.
Yin Yu stands next to him, placing the bowl and cloth down on a nightstand. He notices then that his hands are cupping an even smaller one; Yin Yu vaguely thinks that Hua Cheng could accidently break it if he holds it too tight. Only then does he look up.

The thing sprawled across the bed can hardly be considered human, he thinks. He’s abnormally skinny, cheeks sunken in. He wouldn’t look alive if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing.
He doesn’t look anywhere close to the man that stars in all of Hua Cheng’s paintings. Yin Yu vaguely wonders if they got the wrong guy.

But then he looks down and sees Hua Cheng lightly rubbing his thumb over Xie Lian’s knuckle. The gesture is intimate; a word he never thought he would associate with Hua Cheng. He swallows.
Despite his ghostly appearance, Xie Lian still looks noticeably better then when they first opened the coffin lid. He looks clean; at least, as clean as he can be. It’s hard to wash off that many years of dust. His hair has been cut, curling just below his ears, which isn’t surprising. He knew when he first saw Xie Lian’s matted hair that it would be impossible to save.

Hua Cheng still hasn’t looked up. He gaze is fixed on Xie Lian’s hand. Yin Yu can see that his eye is puffy and lined with tears. Quickly, he averts his gaze.
He glances around the room, begging himself to say something, anything, but comes up blank.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now as he’s looking around, he realizes that the room is slightly different than the rest of the manor. It’s subtle; if he hadn’t looked closely he wouldn’t have noticed. The room’s walls are painted a different shade of red, a little more orange than the crimson that Yin Yu is used to seeing.

“Cardinal…”

Yin Yu hadn’t even realized he had spoken until Hua Cheng’s gaze lands on him. His eyebrows are furrowed, his face saying “What are you on.” He doesn’t say anything though, instead waiting for Yin Yu to continue.

He scrambles for a response. “You know, I-I read somewhere that cardinals are good luck.” He looks up, acting as though he is fascinated with the wall suddenly. He rambles on, “Historically, nobles would wear cardinal, as it means to be of great importance.”

Hua Cheng face doesn’t change, and there’s a moment where neither of them say anything. Yin Yu suddenly wishes he had just stayed quiet, or left, or something. Instead, he sways nervously, avoiding his gaze.

It’s quiet for a bit. Yin Yu doesn’t even see when Hua Cheng lightly sighs and intertwines his fingers with Xie Lian’s. “…I know.” He says, voice just above a whisper.

Yin Yu almost contemplates what he means by that, but Hua Cheng doesn’t give him any time to think on it. He reaches over to the bowl, dipping the washcloth in and wringing it out before placing it on Xie Lian’s head. He doesn’t stir.

Yin Yu watches, transfixed. He’s not even completely sure why. Just the sight of seeing Hua Cheng doting over something gives him this weird, nervous feeling. Like seeing something he’s not supposed to. He swallows again, and looks down at his feet.

Hua Cheng seems to know what he is thinking. “He’ll be here for a while. When he wakes, I want you to treat him as you would treat me.”

Yin Yu’s reply comes sharp. “Understood, my lord.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Yin Yu nods, grateful that he now has an excuse to leave, and makes his way to the door. He pushes it open and is about to step out when-

“Yin Yu.”

Yin Yu pauses, looking expectantly at Hua Cheng. He hesitates, as if choosing what to stay, before he turns to look at the wall in front of him.

“…Thank you for your work today. I’ll make sure to reward you well.”

Yin Yu’s mouth falls open, trying to find a response that is appropriate. Never, ever has Hua Cheng thanked him.

“...I-It’s my job, my lord.” He stammers.

And with that, he turns briskly before closing the door behind him. He hopes Hua Cheng can't hear him sprint down the hallway.

Chapter Text

The first thing Xie Lian thinks when he wakes is that it is blessedly warm. He’s no longer shivering, scraping his wrists against splintered wood and leaving them raw. It’s a welcome change.

He squints his eyes open, but instead of meeting the paint-chipped lid he has long gotten used to, he finds red. Red hangs above him, flowing down through beams above his head and below his feet. It takes him a moment to register that he is looking at curtains, much like the ones he had surrounded his own bed with, when he was a prince.

Well, that must be it then. His mind has convinced itself that he is in the kingdom of Xianle again. He almost groans then, but remembers that this is a welcome distraction. He should enjoy it before he returns to his senses.

He rolls his head to the right, listening as his shoulders pop. He must have fallen asleep with his hand behind his head again. Not that hard wood is any better, but at least that doesn’t have his neck at an awkward angle. He rolls his shoulders.

Vaguely he’s aware that he is oddly more conscious than normal. Not often does he remember his circumstances when he is dreaming, but he doesn’t give it much thought.
Opening his eyes again, he looks around. He assumed that he was in his bedroom, but as he looks around some more, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Everything he can see is red; not just the curtains. The walls are red, the bed is red- the robes that wrap his frame are red.

This isn’t a bedroom he recognizes. Assuming he is still hallucinating, he briefly wonders if his mind has made up something new entirely. Must have gotten bored of revisiting old memories. He looks to his right arm that has been lying dormant at his side since he woke, expecting Ruoye to uncoil from his wrist and flick his face like he always does-

-except Ruoye isn’t there. Instead, pale fingers lay just below his palm, as if holding him.

It doesn’t startle him. This isn’t real.

He blinks at it. It’s not a hand he recognizes. He doesn’t see his mother’s freshly polished nails or Mu Qing’s rough callouses. He does notice that whoever it belongs to, they must be cold. It feels like being cushioned by ice.

His eyes follow down the person’s arm and to his tunic; which is also red, may he add. Eventually, he looks directly into the eyes of a man who looks just as shocked to see him.

Xie Lian doesn’t say anything. In his dreams, he doesn’t have to. They stare at each other, seemingly waiting for the other to say something. Xie Lian’s eyes roam over his face, a habit he would have once considered rude, it doesn’t even cross his mind now. The man speaks when Xie Lian’s eyes land on the smooth leather that covers his right eye. He watches as he rushes to cover it with his hair.

“You’re awake.” He says, removing his hand from under Xie Lian’s as if it wasn’t there to begin with.

His expression doesn’t falter. He stares at him with a deadpan expression, waiting for him to continue. The man scrambles for a response.

“…Good.”

Xie Lian watches as he straightens himself, reaching for something on his head. He hadn’t even realized he had a cloth on his head until the man removes it, and he feels cold air against his skin. He involuntarily shivers.

“I understand this is confusing, Dianxia. I can explain as long as you allow this lowly one to help you.”

Xie Lian’s eyebrows rise at that. Distantly, he’s aware that the title the man gave him makes something register in the back of his mind, but then he’s sitting beside him, raising what looks to be a cup to his lips. “Can you drink?” He asks.

Xie Lian looks down at it, dumbfounded. His thoughts stop completely, and he sits there for a few moments, processing this. It’s all new. He hasn’t dreamt this before.
Then, he parts his lips, allowing the man to tilt his head back so cold water can flow down his throat.

It catches him off guard. He snaps his head to the side, gagging. In his sudden movement, he has knocked the cup over, and water spills down his chest and soaks into the blanket below him. The man stands up sharply, as though stung, and steps back. He watches as Xie Lian struggles to regain himself, hunched over and heaving.

When Xie Lian’s breaths shallow out, he seems to snap out of it, and quickly begins to clean up. He places the cup to the side and folds the blanket up. “I’m sorry, Dianxia, I-“ He stammers. “I’ll clean this up. Just lay back.”

And there it is again. Though his thoughts are muddles by the shock of what just happened, something in his chest tightens at the use of his old title. Like hearing a song you have listened to before, but can’t quite remember the lyrics.

When the man has returned and is tucking a new blanket underneath his arms, he watches intently. His movements are clumsy, shaky even. Eventually, he does sit down again, though his posture is rigid. He avoids Xie Lian’s gaze this time, instead opting to fidget with his sleeves. That too, Xie Lian realizes, is familiar.

Something blooms in his chest. A bittersweet mixture of hope and dread and confusion all at once. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but given his predicament, he probably couldn’t muster enough energy to do either.

Instead, he opens his mouth, readying his voice.

It’s a stupid, wild thought, but…

“…Wu…Ming?”

The man looks up and meets his gaze, eye wide. Neither speak.

Xie Lian wonders briefly if the man was just shocked by the poor quality of his voice. Or, maybe he thinks he’s gone crazy. He wouldn’t blame him.
The man stands up abruptly, clearing his throat. Xie Lian’s gaze returns to his eye.

“…Excuse me.”

He watches as the man nearly runs out of the room, the bells on his boots rattling wildly. Xie Lian nearly mourns the loss before remembering he’s not real. None of this is real.

He leans back, allowing sleep to capture him again.