Chapter Text
That night, Hua Cheng was acting odd.
Feng Xin and Mu Qing would have argued that he always acted odd, but over time Xie Lian had learned the patterns and rhythms of his husband’s behavior. He knew when Hua Cheng was upset about something, no matter how well he hid it. He knew when he was nervous or uneasy, something that happened only because of Xie Lian.
But this time was different. Hua Cheng seemed… different.
Xie Lian had spent much of the day in Heaven, dealing with the prayers that had been sent to him. Over the past few years, several temples to the Crown Prince of Xianle had popped up, despite his country and his first ascension being almost forgotten. He was far behind other martial gods as Pei Ming, Mu Qing, Feng Xin or Quan Yizhen, but it was much more than he had ever dreamed he would have.
Even though he had lived most of his long life without prayers and adoration, he had to admit that it was nice to have them. Even more pleasant than during his first ascension, because while he had been spoiled and pampered back then, now he treasured every prayer, every whisper, every stick of burning incense. And at the center of those prayers and worship was Hua Cheng, who had loved and worshiped him even when he wasn’t a god.
But as he entered Paradise Manor, he found Hua Cheng sitting on the expansive jade divan. That in itself wasn’t too unusual — he sometimes waited for Xie Lian in that room, resting like a drowsy jungle cat as he waited for his beloved god to return to him. Sometimes he played at making a gold foil palace, or listened to music played by the servant girls. But without fail, whenever Xie Lian entered the manor, he rose with one of the rare tender smiles that he gave to no one else.
But on this evening, he stayed seated. His head was bowed, allowing his loose hair to fall around his face like black satin curtains. His long limbs weren’t draped languidly over the divan, but folded stiffly, as if he were huddling on himself. One of his legs was bouncing jerkily, as if he were having trouble holding still.
“San Lang?” Xie Lian called out.
To his surprise, Hua Cheng didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up. Normally, the sound of his beloved god’s voice immediately roused him from even the deepest thoughts. But he simply sat still, staring at the ground.
“San Lang?” Xie Lian repeated softly, sitting down beside him.
He touched his hand to his husband’s cheek. His first thought was that Hua Cheng was sick again. Xie Lian wasn’t entirely sure how a ghost became ill with an ordinary flu, but it had happened to him at least once, and had left Hua Cheng happily in the care of a nurturing martial god. Back then he had been running a fever — and maybe it was Xie Lian’s imagination, but he felt a little warm now.
Hua Cheng shifted as he felt Xie Lian touch his cheek, and his eye flickered up to his beloved’s face. “Gege,” he said with a faint smile. “I didn’t hear you come in…”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian asked quietly, “how do you feel?”
“I feel fine.”
“Are you sure? You feel a little warm… and you didn’t seem to hear me when I called out to you.”
Confusion crossed Hua Cheng’s handsome face, cementing Xie Lian’s feeling that someone was very wrong with his husband. Out of long habit, he touched his fingers to Hua Cheng’s inner wrist… only to be reminded that he didn’t have a heartbeat or the flow of living spiritual energy. There wasn’t much that could be done for a ghost who was ill, he reflected — last time it had happened, all he could do was insist Hua Cheng rest.
But there was something else about this that bothered him. Even when Hua Cheng had been sick before, his mind had been as sharp as ever. He hadn’t been confused or distracted — if anything, he had seemed to enjoy having his husband dote on him. Now, it was as if his mind was elsewhere — and Xie Lian knew, without arrogance, that when he was around Hua Cheng’s mind was never elsewhere. He had spent hundreds of years thinking, longing, desperately hoping, and every moment with his prince was something to treasure.
As if reading his thoughts, Hua Cheng smiled suddenly and wrapped his fingers around Xie Lian’s wrist. “Don’t worry about me, gege. I’ll be fine.”
Xie Lian pressed his lips together. He hadn’t missed that Hua Cheng had said “I’ll be fine” and not “I am fine.” He brushed his fingers through his husband’s loose silken hair. “Tell me what’s wrong, San Lang. Please.”
Hua Cheng sighed, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Xie Lian’s. “I just feel… a little off today, gege. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Are you in pain?”
“No.”
Xie Lian touched his fingers to his husband’s cheek again. “Do you feel ill at all? Feverish?”
“No.”
Xie Lian drew back slightly, his eyes fixing on Hua Cheng’s one ebony eye. “What is it, then?” he said softly.
“I feel like… there’s a pressure in the air, like a thunderstorm is about to break,” Hua Cheng said slowly, combing his fingers through his hair, and letting his hand rest against the side of his head. “It’s making my head feel… feel…” His brow furrowed, as if he were having difficulty summoning the words. “I can’t explain it… it feels familiar, but I can’t remember how…”
Xie Lian’s stomach felt as though he had swallowed a giant lump of ice. This wasn’t like Hua Cheng at all — his husband’s mind was as keen as his scimitar and almost as deadly, so to see him so distracted and confused was… upsetting. Whatever was wrong with him, Xie Lian would overturn all three realms if it helped his husband, but he couldn’t actually do anything unless he had some idea of where to start.
And… Hua Cheng had said that this odd sensation felt familiar. It made Xie Lian painfully aware that for all that he loved Hua Cheng more than anything, trusted him completely, knew his very soul… they had only been together for a few years. Most of Hua Cheng’s long, bloody, lonely existence was still unknown to Xie Lian, including whatever malady might be affecting him now.
Then he felt Hua Cheng’s hand slipping over his back, skimming just over his backside. His husband was smiling at him now, his obsidian eye now half-lidded as he leaned closer. “There’s nothing really wrong with me, gege,” he said quietly. “Let’s have dinner. I’ve had my servants prepare your favorites, since you were working all day…”
Xie Lian sighed heavily, and traced his fingertip over the edge of Hua Cheng’s eyepatch. He didn’t like the idea of simply tabling the question of what was wrong with his husband, but… what else could he do for the moment, aside from give Hua Cheng whatever he wanted? Besides, it was possible that all Hua Cheng needed was some rest, and he might be back to himself the following morning.
“On one condition,” he said sternly.
“Name it.”
“That you’ll go to bed immediately after we eat, and rest for the remainder of the evening.”
A small smile touched Hua Cheng’s lips. “Will your highness be joining me?”
“Of course,” Xie Lian said, smiling softly in return. “I want to keep an eye on you until you’re feeling more like yourself.”
“Then I agree to your condition.”
Hua Cheng raised a hand and snapped his fingers. As if by magic, a line of servants entered the spacious entertainment hall, each one carrying an elegant silver dish as if they were carrying a rare treasure. As they approached, Xie Lian turned back to watch Hua Cheng’s face, his eyes tracing the fine bones of his face, the usually-sharp obsidian eye, the locks of raven-black hair. He looked normal now — mostly — but the concern in Xie Lian’s heart wasn’t so easily quenched.