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Chapter Text

For all the tales that have been spun, Hua Cheng imagines himself as an old husk that travels here and there and nowhere. He’s a walking pile of bones that should have been laid to rest by now. Maybe pushed out to sea and left to rot beneath the sun.

He’s always had the quiet thought that he’d meet his end in battle or something. Heh, the problem is that there’s no one quite strong enough to do the job.

Those Heavenly officials studiously avoid him, hide behind golden fans whenever his name comes up. And the Emperor hasn’t deigned to get off his ass. Why would he when he holds the realms in his palm?

If Hua Cheng had that much power, what would he do?

Tonight, he wanders through snowy fields. The nearest town is a few mountains over. A moon hangs full and silver above. He can almost pretend that he’s the only person in the world. The wind picks up then and he has half a mind to let himself break apart into a thousand silver butterflies.

What would be a serene night if not for his curved blade that still drips blood. Hua Cheng has just finished clearing out a particularly troublesome lot of ghosts, reduced them to fang and claw. Not for any significant reason. He was just bored and the opportunity fell into his lap. Like weeds, they’ll sprout elsewhere if given enough time.

He stops for a moment, ice crystals melting on his skin. What’s he really waiting for? He should storm the heavens right now and challenge them all. Let his last night end with a bang. Just then, Hua Cheng catches a thread of something. It brings forth the warmth of a spring day and the sweetness of dewy flowers.

He follows it without question.

His curiosity leads him deeper into the trees and to a river nearly frozen. He notes how it runs a sickly pink. Did some dying animal fall in somewhere? And then he sees it.

Further upstream is a young man who rests chin-deep in water frigid enough to kill. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted as though this were truly a relaxing soak. Hua Cheng is beginning to think that he’s stumbled upon a corpse when that person suddenly looks over at him.

Silence stretches between them until Hua Cheng finally calls out, “Am I interrupting bath time?”

The youth smiles a little like he’s embarrassed. His voice is soft as he answers back, “Ah, no. I was just about to get out.”

Is he a ghost? He can’t be. His eyes look much too alive for that, dark and depthless like the night sky. How, then, is he able to withstand the temperature of that water? Hua Cheng doesn’t come across too many mysteries and frustration bubbles beneath him.

The youth shifts and Hua Cheng’s breathing falters a bit. Hot blood seeps from a grievous wound in his side, painting the snowbanks red. Something like that should be enough to kill any mortal three times over and yet he continues to rise, laborious and slow.

He sees Hua Cheng openly staring and gently says, “I’ve learned that cold water helps with bleeding.”

Hua Cheng blinks. In a tone sharper than he really means, he says, “Don’t they have medics for that? Why are you out here?”

The youth puffs out a laugh and then winces. “Medics cost money. And the stars look brilliant tonight.”

And then he promptly passes out.

If you stare at a cloud for long enough, then it begins to change shape. So much so that you can’t really remember what it looked like to begin with. Hua Cheng doesn’t want to forget this. And so, against his better judgment, he scoops the youth up with surprising gentleness and begins to travel northward.

Hua Cheng’s favorite thing about the ghostly realm is that no one bothers him. You have two heads? That’s twice the brainpower to get tasks done. You have four arms? Obviously, you must’ve been a wonderful farmhand. Here, everyone is odd so that means that no one is.

If you want to stroll about while carrying a (nearly) dead body, then you are more than free to do so. Honestly, it’s usually too crowded for anyone to notice anyways. People are always trying to sell something or fight each other or gamble and drink the night away. There isn’t a moment’s peace to be found and Hua Cheng loves it.

He keeps to quiet side streets and dim back alleys, tucking the youth close to his chest. Every so often, his eyes flutter and he takes a quivering breath. Hua Cheng can feel his clothes dampen with blood and he quickens his pace toward home.

Home isn’t really a home, but rather a worn cottage that Hua Cheng has been claiming as his for many years now. He’s like a hermit crab that hasn’t changed its shell yet even though this one is old and ill-fitting. The view is pretty nice, though. Ethereal wisps floating across a black lake, the muted lights of the city in the distance.

Hua Cheng lays the youth down onto a thin mattress, trying and failing to keep his eyes from roaming along his body. Curiously, that wound seems to have diminished in size and the color has returned somewhat to his cheeks. His hair pools out around him like a blooming jasmine, the curve of his throat long and elegant.

There’s a bandage wrapped tight around his neck and Hua Cheng very nearly trails a finger along it. For a moment, reckless memories color his vision. Seeing his reflection for the very first time in a shard of broken glass and understanding perfectly why everyone hated him. Even to him, his crimson eyes were a frightening thing to behold.

So he took to hiding himself in scraps and old cloth, bruises throbbing just beneath his skin. And when he was old enough to leave home, leave his drunken father lying alone on the floor, he did just that. It’s been a couple centuries since and regret has never crossed his mind.

Hua Cheng hesitates before he carefully peels off the youth’s outermost layer, tattered beyond repair and pink with blood. This leaves him enough access to the wound to both clean and bandage it the best he is able to. When he’s finished, Hua Cheng takes the ruined clothing and uses it as kindling for a fire.

Sometime later, when the moon is at its highest point in the sky, the youth begins to stir. He slowly sits up and looks around before his eyes land on Hua Cheng’s. Once again, he’s captured by their richness.

He softly says, “I fear I’ve troubled you. You didn’t have to go out of your way for me.”

Hua Cheng says back, “That’s quite an underreaction. You should be dead. Unless you already are?”

And then the youth laughs outright, pleasant and light. “Where are we?”

“This land is called Ghost City,” says Hua Cheng. “It sounds menacing but most people here are idiots.”

He goes quiet then, his expression pensive. He asks, “Is it alright if I’m here? I heard that this lord is very strict about who he allows inside his territory.”

This time, it’s Hua Cheng who laughs. “You’re just another stray. It’s fine.”

He’d know better than anyone. Hua Cheng was a starving boy with no family, no money, no prestige. Of course death found him quickly. He came back as a tiny ghost fire, his flames cold and weak, and stayed that way for a long time.

“Do you have a habit of bringing in strays?” asks the youth.

“Only when I’m bored.”

The youth smiles and it’s like the first breath of summer. “I’m glad your boredom brought you my way. Who knows where I’d be if you hadn’t found me.”

“Probably buried beneath a mountain of snow?”

Again, the youth laughs and some quiet part of Hua Cheng wants to join in. And then he chides himself for entertaining such thoughts. His life has been one of solitude and he’s content to keep it like that.

“So what happened to you?” Hua Cheng asks.

The hearth crackles for a moment. The youth says, “I actually just slipped and fell.”

“You fell?”

“Off a ravine.”

“...”

“Onto some rocks.”

“...”

“And then rolled down a hill. The river was right there and I thought the water might help. And that’s when you came.”

“Damn,” says Hua Cheng. “That’s some pretty poor luck.”

The youth doesn’t say anything, staring hard at his knuckles. “Is it? I met you after all.”

Hua Cheng is speechless, some unknowable feeling humming deep in his heart. Finally he says, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“My name? No one’s asked me that in a while,” he says, his smile gentle. “It’s Xie Lian. And you?”

Before Hua Cheng can really understand what he’s doing, he answers, “You can call me San Lang.”

Xie Lian sticks around after that. They never use concrete terms to describe anything and Hua Cheng finds himself inwardly joyous to have someone waiting for him. It doesn’t take them long to fall into rhythm with each other, inhaling and exhaling to form a single breath.

At night, Xie Lian likes to sing gentle melodies beneath the glow of candlelight. Hua Cheng drinks in every word, trying to figure out why it sounds so familiar. Like a dewdrop on your finger, tiny and fragile and bright.

Hua Cheng was right all along. He doesn’t need the heavens; what he has now is truly better than ascension.

But one evening, curiosity gets the better of him and he asks, “Why do you wear that bandage around your neck? Is it an injury that hasn’t healed?”

Xie Lian stills, his hand tight on the ladle he’s using to stir broth for dinner. “Something of that nature, I suppose.”

Hua Cheng says, “There’s good foliage around here. I can probably make some kind of medicine for it.”

“It’s a curse. Nothing can heal it,” Xie Lian softly says.

“Someone cursed you? Why?”

“I asked them to.”

Hua Cheng can only blink, wholly caught off guard. He opens his mouth to reply, but then decides to let the topic drop. They eat their meals in silence.

That night, Hua Cheng lets the moonlight gleaming through the cracks in the roof cast patterns on his skin. Xie Lian rests beside him, facing the wall. Words hang at the tip of their tongues but neither one seems able to voice them aloud.

Hua Cheng finally whispers, “I was cursed, too. The difference is that I was born with mine.”

Xie Lian doesn’t move at all so Hua Cheng keeps talking. “My red eyes. It was seen as a bad omen, a sign that I must’ve been forsaken by the heavens. A single touch from me was thought to bring nothing but ruin.

I was bullied mercilessly for it, chased away, and threatened… I wanted to gouge them out myself. I wanted to disappear, but not anymore. This road hasn’t been easy, but it’s the one I chose to walk.”

Xie quietly says, “I’m not that brave, I don’t think.”

“Not so much bravery, but an insatiable rage,” Hua Cheng plainly says.

To his surprise, Xie Lian laughs a little, his eyes bright in the dark. “I know the feeling.”

Hua Cheng props himself up on his elbows. “Yeah?”

“...I lost my home to war and disease. It–It was inevitable, but I didn’t realize until much later. Afterwards, I drifted around for a time, aimless. One day, I came across these ghost flames all caught in a lantern.

I used what I had left to release them and watched them all float away. How could I be angry after that? How could I be sad? I could still help people, try to make things easier for others. It doesn’t always work, but I’ll never stop trying.”

Some ancient memory tugs at Hua Cheng, but he can’t quite attach names or faces. A second later, it’s gone altogether. He tells Xie Lian with full sincerity, “You’re amazing.”

The smile he receives is enough to light the darkest parts of his heart.

Chapter Text

Each morning carries the breath of spring now. It sighs across the realms, leaving blue skies and weightless clouds. And Xie Lian has become particularly radiant during this change.

His cheeks are like the swell of ripened apples, crisp and sweet. His hair tumbles down his back, a river of the blackest and clearest waters. His beauty is the sort to make kings offer up their finest daughters. It’s like the glint of pure sunlight but also gentle like the kisses of dewy grass at your ankles.

By now, Hua Cheng is certain that Xie Lian is not the boy of seventeen that he presents himself as. For all his softness, there is an aged look in his eyes. An ache that comes from grief alone. It is the most apparent when he sings, each note light and silver and sorrowful.

Tonight, warm fire cradles them both as Xie Lian plucks the strings of a finely crafted instrument. His fingers are long and slender, more suited for a blooming maiden. Glossy tendrils fall across his face that is a bit pink from the wine they’d sipped with dinner.

“You’re sure you don’t want anymore?” asks Hua Cheng. “I’ve got another bottle somewhere around here.”

Xie Lian smiles. “My cultivation doesn’t allow for much more than what I’ve already had.”

Hua Cheng understands that some choose to abstain from mortal foods or meditate in the holiest spaces or swing swords around all day long. All for the slightest chance to rise to godhood and squawk before the emperor himself.

So he’s more than a little stunned that Xie Lian, with his laughter that sounds like afternoon rain, would care about something like that. He asks, “You’re a cultivator?”

“Technically, yes,” answers Xie Lian, his eyes faraway. “It’s more so a relic of my past. But living any other way seems unthinkable.”

Hua Cheng knows what he means in an instant. He’s used to the slippery shadows of the ghostly underworld, the black whispers of death and ruin. He’d have no idea how to function in the heavens where secrets are illuminated and all is revealed. Deep down, he thinks that he’s nothing but a corpse and his face is just a mask.

“So you want to ascend?”

Xie Lian stops strumming and the cottage is completely quiet. He looks at Hua Cheng and softly says, “I already have.”

Hua Cheng blinks. And then he smiles. “Why am I not surprised?”

Days pass after Xie Lian’s revelation and Hua Cheng finds himself hoping to catch a glimpse of his divinity. Will lakes ripple when he passes? Should rainbows arch above him? Does his smile alight in time with the stars?

Honestly, Hua Cheng can’t say he notices anything different. If Xie Lian is indeed a god, then he is muted one. Is this part of the curse?

“Have you turned to stone, San Lang?” comes Xie Lian’s teasing voice.

“Hah, I’m too handsome to be a sculpture,” replies Hua Cheng.

“And much too talkative.”

He takes another bite out of the peach he holds, staring out across the pond in the distance. In between the two of them sits a basket full of fat, swollen peaches that Xie Lian wants to pass out to some village children later on. The sun has reached its highest point in the sky and the water sparkles before them.

Hua Cheng thinks now is a good time to broach the subject. He lightly asks, “So what goes on in the heavens?”

Xie Lian puffs out a laugh. “I’m sure you know as much as I do.”

“Really?”

“No one tells me anything up there. If I ask, I fear they tell me lies. Besides, my current task resides elsewhere.”

“What’s that?” asks Hua Cheng, hoping his curiosity is written too plainly on his face.

Xie Lian pauses then, his cheeks reddening. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“... I have to create… a… shrine dedicated to myself. I need a worship statue, donations, a sign, all of it. But I haven’t the slightest clue how to get started nor where to get setup. If the gods above found out, they’d all laugh for the next ten years!”

The idea comes to Hua Cheng at once and he says, “Build a shrine down here.”

“In the ghostly realm? The heavens would surely spit blood across the skies.”

“Let them.”

Xie Lian doesn’t respond, but his eyes seem bright and lively. Just then, a curious white band of silk threads from underneath his sleeve. It moves as though it were a snake and knows only of how to slither and bite.

“Heh, what’s that?” asks Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian looks down as if just noticing it. He pats it back into place. “Another relic of my past. It’s shy around new people, but it must be warming up to you.”

Hua Cheng laughs outright then. “Well, it’s certainly got good taste.”

Eventually, spring yawns into summer and the heat brings about many things. Hua Cheng has taken to sleeping in the innermost corner of the cottage so that the rays of sun do not reach him in the morning. More often than not, his dreams take on the shape of Xie Lian. The soft whites of his robes drying in the breeze, the pink soles of his feet when he washes them in the evening, crimson red flowers woven into his hair.

Hua Cheng does not find reprieve in his waking hours; Xie Lian is a flame that won’t seem to burn out. He stopped caring about how old he was when he crossed one hundred. Now each day is long and slow and terribly hot.

The ghosts have also responded to the turn of seasons with a certain testiness. The nightlife is rowdier than ever with festivals and dances and brawls and chaos. Wine flows from cups like waterfalls and steaming food is piled high on plates.

It’s the best time of year to make some money.

“You wanna go to a gambling den with me?” asks Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian replies, “But I have nothing to bet with.”

“Believe me, there’s always something.”

And so a few hours later, Hua Cheng’s pockets are heavy with coin. He’s always been oddly lucky when it comes to stuff like this. He never knew why, but he certainly isn’t complaining.

The den is absolutely packed; bodies upon bodies crowd each other, jostling, shoving and laughing. Up above them all, on the second level, sits a curtained off room. Tall, ornate pillars guard the entrance.

Apparently, the lord of the ghostly realm dwells just beyond. No one has ever seen his face. And no one particularly wants to. Everyone figures that as long as they keep their distance, they should be able to walk away with their lives.

All night long, Xie Lian had opted to stand behind Hua Cheng. When asked if he wanted to participate, he’d only said, “Oh, that’s alright. There could be one hundred cups of wine and one cup of poison and I’d still pick the cup of poison.”

Hua Cheng is just about to try his hand at something else, when a loud crash suddenly sounds on the other side of the room. There’s brief silence as a thousand pairs of eyes turn to see someone sprawled across a smashed table. It’s an older man dressed in exquisite clothing, a nasty bruise blooming across his face.

Voices erupt, raucous and sharp. Hua Cheng can just barely make out thundering rain upon the roof. He says into Xie Lian’s ear, “We should get out of here now.”

Nothing good will come from lingering about any longer.

A woman’s yelp cuts through the chaos then. That man who was just crumpled in a heap has leapt up to his feet and now grips her arm tightly. His eyes bulge out of his head as he sputters, “Wait, wait! I’ll bet twenty years of my daughter’s life if you’ll let me try again!”

The girl weeps in silence beside him, a rabbit baring itself for the lion.

A wintry wind descends upon them all and a few patrons slip out of the den in sudden fear. Hua Cheng wants to take Xie Lian by the wrist and do the same, but they stand in too central of an area; it’d be far too noticeable if they were to leave.

The curtains above flutter just the slightest bit. A deep, belly of a voice asks, “Only twenty years?”

The man nearly cries, “Twenty years and all of her beauty and– and her firstborn’s head!”

“No, no, stop it!” The girl tries in vain to thrash and twist against him.

Hua Cheng turns back to Xie Lian only to see him walking away, towards the commotion. That curious band of silk darts around his wrist, poised to strike. The tension in the air is nearly palpable, hot coals thrown across ice.

“Poor kings are the most tragic,” says the lord of the ghostly realm, each word cruel and sharp. “They have the title but nothing else. Bring her to me.”

The old man immediately yanks his daughter to a standstill and hisses out, “Don’t you see? With this money, our lives will change!”

“I’d rather be poor than to have gained it like this,” she says back, still attempting to rip out of his grasp.

He howls in pain then, whipping around wildly. Xie Lian stands beside him, a placid look on his face. That silk band is braided deathly tight around the man’s wrist.

“You will stop this at once,” Xie Lian says, calm as a spring breeze.

He finally lets the girl’s arm go and she falls to the floor, staring up at the two of them with wide and watery eyes. If the air was cool before then now it is simply frigid. There is quaking underfoot and Hua Cheng thinks the building may actually collapse on itself. A few more people openly scurry out, whispering and shivering.

“You dare interrupt?” the lord demands, volcanic and wrathful. “I should take your sorry life and curse your descendants tenfold!”

Hua Cheng moves then, his blade heavy and dangerous at his side. He’s not sure what his expression looks like, but ghost and god alike give him wide berth as he stalks over. His blood feels lit from the inside, explosive and volatile.

“Attempt any such thing and I’ll burn this shithole to the ground,” he spits out. And no truer words have ever been spoken. Something both primal and childlike rises within him, deep memories of his father spotting his vision.

Hua Cheng matches that wintry wind with a flaring flame of his own. “How about I start now?”

He feels Xie Lian’s light touch on his back then and it’s like an anchor in a raging storm. Sweet brown eyes meet his and any lasting anger is blown out like a candle.

“Let’s go,” Xie Lian gently says into his ear.

The demon lord makes no moves to stop them, sulking and steaming in his room of curtains. If there’s anything Hua Cheng hates with all of his heart, it is someone weak pretending to be strong. If this gambling den were in his hands, it’d be unlike any other.

Outside, the rain has hushed itself down to a cool drizzle; it’s refreshing on Hua Cheng’s skin and he tips his face up. The moon is full and pink above them. He notices a few loitering ghosts standing about; they avert their gazes as if afraid he’ll put them on a skewer.

The girl turns to them both and bows deeply, her hair spilling over her shoulders. Indeed, taking away her beauty would have been quite the devastating curse. She says, “I thank the two of you. I wasn’t sure how that would end.”

Her father stands mute beside her, looking tired and small.

Xie Lian smiles, warm honey and lavender. “Please, there’s no need. I’m only glad we were able to help.”

“There must be something I can do to repay you?” she asks.

“No, no–” Xie Lian starts.

“You got any men to help me with a project?” Hua Cheng cuts in. Xie Lian shoots him a look, but he keeps going. “There’s a god I want to dedicate a shrine to.”

He sees Xie Lian’s hands quietly tremble in his sleeves.

The girl furrows her brows and asks, “A shrine? Well, I suppose that could be arranged. You must also need money to fund it, correct?”

The old man closes his eyes in pain, probably imagining shining treasure just walking out of his palace. But he doesn’t say a peep.

“More wouldn’t hurt,” answers Hua Cheng.

And so the girl gives her word before tugging her father away. The ghosts stare a bit more brazenly now, as if finally convinced that Hua Cheng isn’t a mad dog. He calls out to them, “And what about any of you?”

They share glances amongst themselves until a brave one pipes up, “I’ll help!”

Those words bounce around and soon many of them are promising that they’ll help out as well. Xie Lian rubs his forehead and whispers to Hua Cheng, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Hua Cheng smiles. “I already have.”

Honestly, Hua Cheng can’t say that the shrine is particularly well-built; the ghosts were probably too busy hitting each other with planks of wood to focus seriously on working. But it’s in a good location, close to the water and away from the chaos of the city.

In the space between the mortal and ghostly realms, Hua Cheng hopes that it will bring relief to those who visit and lift Xie Lian’s name higher than even the heavens.

He has the sudden image of himself as a little boy down on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together in fervent prayer. To whom he prayed, Hua Cheng does not know. But when he looks at Xie Lian, there is a quiet familiarity that both unsettles him and makes him whole.

He asks Xie Lian, “Do you want to go inside?”

Behind the two of them, the ghosts gather around; they still carry hammers and mortar and screws. Their hard work shines on their faces and they watch Xie Lian with awe in their eyes.

Xie Lian gently pushes the door open and it promptly falls off its hinges, smacking onto the floor. The ghosts begin to bicker amongst themselves, pushing and shoving.

Someone calls out, “I’ll build you a thousand doors!”

Another replies, “Why would you build a thousand doors if the first one you built fell apart?”

Hua Cheng silences them all with a contemptuous look.

Still, Xie Lian smiles at this, the first rays of dawn reaching across the sky. And then he spends the better part of an hour thanking everyone, letting them push gifts of odd fruits and strange meats into his hands. When they finally leave, the hill is quiet save for chirping crickets.

A moment later, giggling can be heard just beyond. It’s a gaggle of ghostly women, pale and painted and pretty. They offer up bowls of congee and plates of roasted chicken, crowding around Xie Lian and whispering that he’s more handsome than their old husbands ever were.

During this, Xie Lian’s cheeks turn more and more red.

“Do you want to spend some time with me later?” asks one, her meaning absolutely clear.

“I’m flattered, but I can’t get it–” Xie Lian starts to say, but then stops as he shoots a panicked look at Hua Cheng.

The woman is confused. “You can’t get what? What does that mean?”

Before Xie Lian can truly turn to stone, Hua Cheng claps his hands once and tells them all to come back another time. The women grumble a bit but slip off the porch in a swirl of glittering fabrics and shiny hair.

“I hope that’s it for visitors tonight,” Xie Lian sighs.

Hua Cheng can’t help but laugh. “Eh, I wouldn’t mind a few more.”

The maple leaves are rich and thick around them. That cursed heat has finally gone away and Hua Cheng looks forward to the snowfall that lies just beyond the mountain tops.

He and Xie Lian ride in the back of an ox cart, unbeknownst to the driver and slowly traveling to who knows where. They sit close enough to memorize each other’s breathing and Hua Cheng is joyous every time their hands touch.

The cart bumps along the road and Hua Cheng is starting to think that Xie Lian fell asleep beside him until he suddenly says, “San Lang, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

A moment passes, two. Xie Lian quietly asks, “Would you really have burned down that den?”

Hua Cheng answers without hesitation. He’s come too far to be afraid now so he speaks from his heart. “I’d have burned down the entire world that night.”

“Why?”

Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west? Why do tides break against the shore? Why did the village children throw stones at Hua Cheng back when he was just a boy? Why did his mother die? Why couldn’t he die along with her?

It does no good to ask questions, to speculate. You just have to live in the present, let your own courage guide you forward. That’s what Hua Cheng has always done. And it’s what he will do now.

“I have something for you, if you’ll accept it,” Hua Cheng says, solemn as can be. Not waiting for response or acknowledgement, he puts his hand out and presents a thin, silver chain with a sparkling crystal ring hanging off of it. It glints wondrously in the afternoon sun, a treasure of no comparison.

Xie Lian’s eyes widen. “It’s beautiful… but what is it for?”

Hua Cheng smiles. “It’s nothing. Just for fun, alright?”

A thousand emotions flit across his face before he finally says, “Alright, San Lang.”

Xie Lian turns away then, lifting up his hair to expose the slender curve of his neck. Trying his best not to quiver, Hua Cheng reverently fastens the chain onto him.

“How do I look?” he asks, a grin playing on his lips.

“Simply divine, Your Highness.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Hua Cheng’s eyes throb. Soft, minute bits of pain that start and end without cause. It’s always worse in the sunlight and when he was a boy, he took to hiding himself in shadowy corners. He’d cautiously creep out only when the moon hung full and silver in the sky.

He remembers how cool the breeze felt on his skin. Whispering over his bruises, kisses of their own kind. He wonders if his mother preferred spring or fall, sweet or savory, humility or pride. He also wonders if it’s better to have painful memories or none at all.

Now, his eyes hurt more than usual and he grinds his palms against them for some sort of relief. It’s like spidery threads running along his skull and spreading down, down, down. It’s like a thick stone placed on the bridge of his nose and he can’t get a good breath in. It’s like bloody tears slowly drying on his cheeks. It’s like–

“San Lang,” he hears Xie Lian softly ask, “Are you feeling alright?”

Immediately, Hua Cheng straightens his posture and tries to affect an air of carelessness. A habit he seems unable to break, even after all these centuries. “I’m fine. Tired, that’s all.”

Xie Lian neatly folds himself down beside him. “You haven’t been sleeping. You always wake before I do.”

These days, more often than not, Hua Cheng spends his evenings at the shrine with Xie Lian. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they laugh, sometimes they are only quiet, like two planets circling around each other.

Hua Cheng knows he’s imposing, knows that he has practically invited himself over. But he can’t bring himself to be alone for too long. Xie Lian never complains, always welcomes him in with the same gentle smile. The candlelight frames them both in shades of gold and Hua Cheng wonders if this is the real heaven that mortals always pray about.

Hua Cheng smiles. He repeats, “I’m fine, really.”

The lie is paper-thin, wrinkled, and torn. Xie Lian is quiet for a moment, his cheeks beautifully red. He quietly asks, “Is it your eyes?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know what emotions flit across his face, hardly registers his blood trickling through his veins like melting snow. He blinks and he swears he sees his mother for the briefest moment. He whispers, “Yeah, it is. It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

Silence swims around them, heavy as an ocean on their chests. And something like embarrassment settles deep into Hua Cheng’s stomach. Everything is stupid and everything is pointless and life is an abyss.

Xie Lian finally speaks and it’s like a first breath after suffocation. He says, “When I was a child, I used to loathe the springtime. The flowers spurted from the dirt and the bees were buzzing and the wind was unceasing. My nose would run and my eyes would puff up and burn.

I’d wail in the morning and my poor mother would try to rock me or sing to me. I’d only try to scramble out of her arms. She’d finally had enough of it and came back into my room with a folded cloth, wetted and iced, and pressed it over my face.

All these years later and I still do it when my grief over her starts to become too much. I know it’s not the same thing, but… maybe I could do it for you, San Lang? Should we ever part, this is how you can remember me.”

Hua Cheng’s heart squeezes in his chest even as a thousand reasons to decline build in his throat. A ball perched at the top of a hill, a bird sitting on the highest branch. In the end, all he says is, “Alright.”

Feeling more than a little nervous, Hua Cheng slowly lays his head onto Xie Lian’s lap. He sees that odd silk band dancing just out of his field of vision. The floor quietly groans beneath their weight and the sound is like the snap of elastic.

Xie Lian’s hair falls like a rich curtain around Hua Cheng and all he smells is him, spice and fern. It wouldn’t take much to close the distance between them. It wouldn’t take anything at all.

What do their shadows look like? So close that you couldn’t tell where one shape ended and the other began?

Hua Cheng closes his eyes and the cloth is near divine on his skin. Even through that thick fabric, he can just make out the pads of Xie Lian’s fingers tenderly pressing onto his lids. They remain like that for some amount of time.

And so quietly that Hua Cheng isn’t sure if he imagines it, he hears Xie Lian say, “I think your eyes are quite brilliant. Like stars.”

Hua Cheng first sees him in the water, the eerie gold of his eyes shining through that murky darkness. The air radiates something cold and damp, like slimy fish heads piled high on a plate.

Without conscious thought, Hua Cheng immediately feels for his blade, the hilt wonderfully smooth. A familiar fire and anger ignites within him and he is ready for anything.

Sweet Xie Lian is tucked away at his shrine, at rest for the evening.

Hua Cheng hasn’t felt a presence this strong in a long time; an image of deathly white robes and a smiling mask haunt his head. He wants to follow the memory but when he tries, it’s like trying to force open a locked door.

Tense and tortuous moments pass as these two individuals watch each other from across the lake, the moon cold above them.

Of course, Hua Cheng can’t be killed a second time over. But he can certainly be dispersed. No different than his silver butterflies scattered across a breeze. Who knows how long it’d take him to piece himself back together? He doesn’t care to find out, not when life has truly become worth living.

Finally, he gathers himself and barks out, “Keep staring and I’ll put your head on a pike.”

“I’d like to see you try,” comes the reply. But it’s half-hearted and without any real venom. So this guy isn’t looking for a fight after all?

“What the hell do you want then?”

There’s a brief silence. “Your word.”

That figure begins to wade slowly out of the water, his robes black as a grave. There’s a weariness to him and Hua Cheng would believe it if he said that he was ten thousand years old. His dark hair is pulled away from his face, every tight muscle highlighted and exposed.

Hua Cheng won’t take any chances and calls his butterflies to him.

But the man only rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. I’m too hungry for a brawl.”

Hungry? Hua Cheng really only eats whenever Xie Lian prepares a stew and that’s maybe once every few days. He’s able to carry on just fine, his strength unfailing and constant. What sort of ghost is this?

He’s come close enough that Hua Cheng can just make out the jewelry he wears; it’s bones chained together in a knot sitting at his chest. Classy.

Hua Cheng also notes his bruised and bloody knuckles, how his skin looks sallow and sunken. If any village girl were to stumble upon him, they’d surely run away in fright.

“You want my word about what?” Hua Cheng’s hand is still rigidly wrapped around his sword.

“That little god belongs to you, yes?”

His voice is oddly melodic. Like a melody that you can’t quite grasp. Hua Cheng does not move, does not even blink. He just waits.

The man continues on, “Tell me, is he only a plaything for you?”

Like a sudden split down the center of the earth, Hua Cheng surges forward not entirely sure what he’s going to do next. All he feels is hot. His blade is forgotten on the ground as he throws a wild punch.

Another and another until a cold blast of water smashes him directly in the chest, hard enough to crack the ribs of a lesser mortal. It’s enough to bring him back to himself, the grass strangely soft beneath his back.

He rises to his feet, breathing hard. “Leave me the hell alone.”

The man only adjusts his clothes, doing nothing to staunch the blood at his lower lip. He fixes Hua Cheng with a penetrating stare. “Every branch needs to be snipped off.”

Hua Cheng starts to spin on his heels. “Go speak in riddles to someone else.”

“I have business with the heavens,” the man says after him, “that cannot deviate from its path.”

“You have business? What, another shit stain lurking around in the dead of night?” Hua Cheng snarls.

His mouth twists, golden eyes flaring up. “If his life is as valuable to you as you’re acting then–”

“And if you valued your own, you’d know better than to threaten what’s mine.” The words pour out before Hua Cheng can really consider them. But caution has long been thrown to the wind. Now, he’s ready to fly as close to the sun as he can. “Really, what’s to stop me from spearing you where you stand?”

A moment passes, two. His fingers twitch at his sides as though calculating how much water it would take to drown Hua Cheng. He pointedly says, “Kill me and you won’t get any information.”

Hua Cheng nearly barks out a laugh. “Why would I give a single shit about what’s happening up there?”

He pulls a face. “You are old, but you are also young and foolish, I see. The emperor has ice for a heart. They are cold and they are focused on your pet. But if you don’t give a single shit, then I don’t either.”

Hua Cheng turns to stone, his skull swimming and sinking. He has the desperate, childish wish of holding Xie Lian close to him now, feeling his warmth seep into him.

“Who are you?” Hua Cheng whispers, hollow.

He smiles then, his teeth sharp and gleaming. “I’m the Earth Master.”

And then he vanishes.

Hua Cheng learns several things in the following days, none of which he’s particularly happy about. It was already apparent that that wasn’t the Earth Master he’d spoken to that night. But of all the people it could have been, he did not once think that it could be Black Water.

It’s a name whispered only in the deepest parts of the ghostly realm. Half of mortals think he’s a myth and the other half use him to threaten their children into behaving. Black Water’s favorite dish is misbehaving little ones. Black Water’s favorite dish is your organs.

Blah, blah, blah.

Black Water had better keep his distance or the only thing he’ll be eating are his teeth.

No, Hua Cheng’s real concern is the emperor. Xie Lian has only spoken about him the softest of ways, reverent and respectful at all times. So why would the emperor be fixated on him? There’s a story here, but Hua Cheng can’t find the first chapter.

The cursed sun is hot on his back as he goes about fixing the roof of the shrine. Did those foolish ghosts use twigs for shingles? Tired and frustrated, Hua Cheng practically rips his robes off and drops them onto the ground below.

He is facing the distant sunset when he hears a sudden ruckus behind him. Xie Lian’s face is red, his expression fixed studiously on the toe of his boots. “... the roof looks great, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng can’t help but crack a smile. “Heh, view’s much better from up here.”

Xie Lian looks like he’s about to skitter away, but at the last moment he gracefully leaps onto the roof. The sleeves of his robes bloom around him, white lilies bathed in morning dew. Hua Cheng’s eyes are drawn to his bandaged neck.

He’d said he had asked someone to curse him. Why? Why, why, why? More importantly, who? Lines begin to form in Hua Cheng’s mind and something scorches him from the inside out.

“I feel like I haven’t thanked you properly for doing all this work around the shrine,” says Xie Lian, gentle. “Not that I have much to offer.”

“Nonsense,” says Hua Cheng. “I’ve got another place to sleep and eat and that’s good enough for me.”

Xie Lian begins to smile, but then he focuses intently. He says, “Oh, it looks like you’ve got a little leaf caught in your hair.”

Hua Cheng tilts his head forward and Xie Lian reaches to remove it. He doesn’t give himself time to second-guess what he’s about to do.

As Xie Lian pulls his hand back, Hua Cheng catches it. He presses the sweetest kiss upon his palm, maintaining eye contact all the while. There’s a different kind of burn within Hua Cheng now.

Red as a tomato, Xie Lian stammers out something incomprehensible. Hua Cheng says, “Look at your hand, gege.”

Indeed, the callous that had begun to form was now smoothed away entirely.

“Just a simple exchange of spiritual energy, right?” Hua Cheng near purrs.

Xie Lian blinks. And then he smiles. “Right, San Lang.”