Chapter Text
Yibo stirs from a dreamless slumber and stretches languorously, working the sleep out of his body, limb by limb. His internal clock is telling him it’s time to get up, but when he cracks open one eye, it doesn’t seem like morning yet. The bedroom is still strangely dark, bathed in deep red tones.
It’s a heavy red, reminding Yibo of the inside of the Xuanwu of Slaughter, or — better yet — like the richly sensual red of Xiao Zhan’s inner robes, the ones Yibo couldn’t wait to unwrap during that unforgettable summer.
The room is awash in so much red that Yibo’s mind flies back to that sea of red lights that had greeted Xiao Zhan at Tencent Night, lighting up the entire arena as he’d stepped on stage to sing. It had been a night of high emotions, a triumphant return after a horrible year.
They’ve come so far since then, Yibo thinks with a sleepy smile. Together.
“Gege,” he mumbles, tossing an arm around the man next to him in bed. Unexpectedly, long, fragrant hair is suddenly in his mouth, softly tickling his face, and Yibo reels back in alarm. In an instant, he’s wide awake, stunned into panicked silence at the sight of a long-haired stranger in bed with him.
The big brown eyes staring back at him are not Xiao Zhan’s.
Not that it would be any less confusing, but the long hair doesn’t belong to Wei Wuxian, either.
Yibo yells in fear and rolls away, scrabbling madly at the sheets to pull them around himself, not only because he’s in bed with someone he doesn’t recognize, but because he’s keenly aware that he’s not wearing anything. This part, at least, makes sense; the last thing he remembers is falling asleep with Xiao Zhan, but still—
He does a quick mental check of himself. Apart from his racing heart, he feels fine, and doesn’t seem to be injured. Whoever this stranger is, he doesn’t seem to have done anything to Yibo.
“Wh-who are you?” Yibo cries, his brain crowded with a jumble of chaotic thoughts: How did I end up in bed with this guy? Oh god, Zhan-ge is going to kill me. Where is Zhan-ge? Wait, is this man going to kill me? He swallows this last question down, deciding it’s probably better not to give the man any crazy ideas. Instead, he squares his shoulders and demands, “What are you doing in my room?”
The stranger inclines his head at this question, and although he’s plainly surprised to find Yibo in bed with him, his demeanor is unexpectedly serene, like someone who is used to weird, unexplainable things happening to him.
“My name is Xie Lian,” the man finally says, his voice soft and gentle. “And this is the bedroom I share with my husband. Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
Yibo’s eyes anxiously flick around the bedroom and it finally registers to him that he’s not in his home, or any hotel that he’s been in before. And the deep red of the room isn’t just the dusky glow of early morning. The room is absolutely drowning in red — from the lacquered red walls, the profusion of gauzy red curtains, to the luxuriously red sheets, blankets, and pillows covering the bed.
“I’m - I’m— oh no,” Yibo stammers, face burning hot with the horrible realization that he's the one who has somehow trespassed into someone else’s bed. He stumbles to his feet, pulling the sheets more tightly to himself and looking desperately around the room for some clothes to put on. “Wh-where am I?”
“This is Paradise Manor. In Ghost City.”
“Paradise Manor? Ghost City?” Yibo echoes dumbly. The names of these places sound vaguely familiar to him, though not in a way that would explain why he's here. He scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head vigorously, as if this will wake him up from an obviously bad dream, but when he opens his eyes again, Xie Lian is still there, looking politely quizzical. Yibo’s mind goes blank, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing and hearing. “Where? Wh-what? I - I don’t—”
“And who are you?”
“Oh, I’m - I’m uhhh W-Wang Yibo,” Yibo answers. He probably shouldn’t be telling a stranger his name, but it’s also a relief to know the answer to a question for once, to be certain of one thing.
“Wang Yibo?” Xie Lian repeats thoughtfully, without any hint of recognition.
Yibo lets out the breath he’s been holding and nods warily. Maybe if this guy doesn’t know who Yibo is, then at least whatever is going on won’t end up being the Hot Search to end all Hot Searches.
Xie Lian draws a line with his finger in the air and looks expectantly at Yibo. “Yi—”
It takes a moment for Yibo to realize that Xie Lian is prompting him to write out his characters, and Yibo huffs a soft laugh despite his situation. He can’t remember the last time someone asked him to write out his characters, and it’s unexpectedly charming for someone to be both ignorant of his fame and yet genuinely interested in knowing who he is.
Maybe this really is just a hallucination.
Yibo relaxes a bit. It’s all too weird to be for real, so he might as well roll with whatever is happening, because maybe he’ll get some answers. “Y-yes,” Yibo tells Xie Lian. “And Bo—” he adds, scrawling his character with a finger across the bedsheets.
Xie Lian stares at the ripples left behind on the silky fabric and lets out an amused giggle.
“What’s so funny? Is it my name?”
“No, no, it’s your handwriting—”
Yibo’s face falls, and for the first time he’s glad that Xiao Zhan isn’t around. He would be so disappointed to hear someone chuckling over Yibo’s handwriting. “My handwriting?” Yibo asks in dismay. “What’s wrong with it? I’ve been working on it!”
Xie Lian waves his hands in the air. “I apologize, I didn’t mean it unkindly! It’s just that the wildness of your script reminds me of my husband’s handwriting.” His gentle smile turns wistful. “Just a little.”
“Your husband!” Yibo gasps, suddenly remembering that there’s another person who would be unhappy to find him in this room. He scans the room anxiously, cowering into the red sheets wrapped around his body, painfully aware of how compromising this whole scene would look to a jealous husband. “Wh-where is he?”
“I wish I knew,” Xie Lian sighs. “Right now, where San Lang has gone is as much a mystery as why you’re here… although I suspect it's probably connected.”
This seems like a reasonable conclusion, but Xie Lian seems strangely calm about it all. “You don't seem too worried,” Yibo observes.
Xie Lian smiles softly, his eyes twinkling with pride. “San Lang is very resourceful; he’s the most capable man I know. And the most determined. He'll find his way back. And he'll certainly find out how this happened.”
Yibo swallows hard. Judging from the way Xie Lian talks about San Lang, Yibo won't want to be anywhere nearby when he returns. “Is - is that your husband’s name? San Lang?”
“Oh no, that's just what I call him. He goes by many titles, but most would know him as Hua Cheng.” Xie Lian traces the characters in the air with a graceful finger.
Yibo chews on a lip, trying to place the name, but drawing a blank. And although City of Flowers doesn’t sound like the sort of name a dangerous man might have, Yibo stays on his feet, fidgeting restlessly, ready to run if he has to.
“And you?” Xie Lian asks. “You called out gege when you awoke, but I assume you did not mean me. Who shares your bed?”
Yibo blushes at the question and for a moment he hesitates, wondering whether he should tell Xie Lian about Xiao Zhan. They have to keep the reality of what they share a secret, Xiao Zhan is always reminding him, but it’s clear that these are not normal circumstances. Yibo still doesn’t know where he is and he feels sure that if he wants to get home again, he will have to trust Xie Lian.
“M-my husband,” Yibo finally says, his face warming, as it always does, when he says the word. “Xiao Zhan. That’s his name. I need to find him, to get back to him. To let him know that I’m okay. I - I need to know that he’s okay,” he says, words tumbling out in a rush.
Yibo can almost hear Xiao Zhan scoffing, telling him that he doesn’t need to worry about him the way he so often does. Aish, he would say with a fond, beautiful smile. You worry too much, Lao Wang. But Yibo doesn't know how to stop worrying about him, wondering whether he’s eating or sleeping enough, whether he’s happy and safe.
And could Xiao Zhan really blame Yibo for being worried now? He was transported to another world, perhaps to another time, and worse yet, into another man’s bed, taking the place of his possibly-dangerous husband. It sounds crazy when Yibo thinks about it, but Xie Lian only smiles at him.
“Aren't you even a little worried?” Yibo asks. “I mean, isn't it weird, having your husband disappear from your bed? To have me here instead? I'm - I’m still freaked out,” he says, casting another anxious look around the room that now looks murderously red to his eyes. “Why aren't you more concerned?”
Xie Lian looks down and reverently touches a red string tied around one of his fingers. “Because this thread tells me that San Lang is safe, even if he’s not by my side. It doesn't mean I don't still worry about him, but I believe in him. Over centuries and lifetimes, San Lang has always found his way back to me, so I trust in him. In us. No matter what happens.”
Yibo slumps to the floor, wondering whether he is hearing Xie Lian’s words correctly. Either Xie Lian is making things up, or Yibo really is far from the world he knows. “Over centuries? Lifetimes? That’s not possible.”
“It’s - it’s a very long story,” Xie Lian chuckles, a little uneasily.
“Well it sounds like you’re reciting the plot of a drama,” Yibo mutters. “So are you just messing with me? Because that’s not something that happens in real life, waiting for centuries!”
“I know it’s hard for mortals to understand—”
“Mortals?” Yibo laughs and looks around the room again. “Have I stumbled onto the set of a play? Do you have a script I can read so I can know what’s going on?”
Xie Lian’s eyes light up. “A script? Are you an actor?”
“Yes,” Yibo says, “so is this a drama we’re supposed to be acting out together?”
“Sadly, no.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? Because the things you’re saying, and - and all of this,” Yibo says, waving a hand at Xie Lian and the entire room, “it reminds me of the shows I appear in, so why shouldn’t I think it’s all just make-believe? I mean—”
But before Yibo can say more, the room suddenly erupts with a bright light, and Yibo tumbles to the floor in alarm. When he looks up again, Xie Lian is still gazing serenely at Yibo, but floating in the middle of his upturned palm is a blue flame.
“What is that?” Yibo cries out in disbelief, shielding his eyes from the glow of the flame at the same time as he tries to look more closely at it, to confirm what he’s seeing.
Xie Lian closes his hand and extinguishes the flame. “Just a simple cultivation trick,” he shrugs. “Do you believe me now?”
Yibo swallows hard and nods. “S-so I really am far from home, far away from Xiao Zhan, in some - some magical world?”
“I’m afraid so.” Xie Lian must notice the wave of shock and sadness that washes over Yibo, because he stands up, shaking out the long sleeves of his robe and offering a kind smile. “You must be hungry,” he says, turning for the door. “Let me bring you something to eat, and then we can talk more.”
Yibo opens his mouth to tell Xie Lian not to go to any trouble, but is rudely interrupted by the grumbling of his own stomach. “Thank you,” he says instead.
“Not at all,” Xie Lian replies. “Please make yourself comfortable while I’m gone. I’ll have someone bring you clothing to put on. After you’ve eaten, we can try to figure out how to get you home.”
Yibo nods, pulling the sheets protectively around himself and hugging his knees close as soon as Xie Lian leaves. Without Xie Lian’s comforting presence, anxiety floods through Yibo anew, his mind still trying to make sense of his predicament. Has he really been transported to a world where cultivators and magic are real?
His worries are only heightened when a vaguely menacing robed figure suddenly appears in the doorway and stalks into the bedroom.
“I’m sorry! I don’t know how I got here!” Yibo yelps and he cowers behind a bed curtain, heart thumping wildly in his chest because this is surely Xie Lian’s husband, and Yibo is about to die a horrible death. But the person, face obscured by an ornate mask, pays him no mind. Instead, he places a neatly folded stack of fabric at the foot of the bed, bows, and swiftly retreats, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Yibo blows out a relieved breath and laughs nervously as he realizes that the mysterious visitor was only delivering the clothes that Xie Lian had promised.
Getting dressed is a more complicated affair than Yibo anticipated. After years of starring in historical dramas, and putting on all manner of high fashion for photo shoots, he’d expected to be able to figure everything out in short order. But there are no costume jiejies to help him, and it turns out that wherever he’s ended up has many unfamiliar clothing customs.
And Yibo isn’t about to search out the scary masked guy to assist him.
By the time he’s wrapped the borrowed robes around himself in some measure of order, Xie Lian is setting a tray of food on a low table on the other side of the room.
“Ah,” Yibo sighs as he takes a seat on the floor across from Xie Lian. “Thank you. I’m very sorry to have troubled you.”
“It’s nothing,” Xie Lian smiles, and lifts the cover on the plate with a flourish. “Please enjoy.”
Yibo leans forward eagerly, and his stomach gurgles with hunger— then lurches violently at the smell that rises into the air like a foul cloud. He stares down at the lumpen grey mass before him and tries not to grimace too obviously. “Oh,” he grins weakly, throat tight with the effort not to breathe too deeply, “you really shouldn’t have gone to so much… trouble.”
“Nonsense! I enjoy cooking,” Xie Lian says with a light wave of his hand. “And you’re a guest, however you’ve found your way here. I can’t let you go hungry. Please,” he says again, gesturing at the dish. “I call this ‘Harmonic Wishes of Plenty for the Heavenly Visitor's Fateful Meeting.’"
Yibo blinks at the oozing substance on the plate and is about to start laughing, because surely a dish that looks and smells like this one can only have such a grandiose name as a prank. But when he looks over at Xie Lian, his expression is so hopeful and pure that Yibo realizes that he really did labor over this meal with the best of intentions, if not cooking skill.
“I’m - I’m so honored. Th-thank you,” Yibo says with a bow, and with Xie Lian watching expectantly, he picks up a small chunk of food and chokes it down as quickly as he can, hoping to skip the tasting part of eating.
It doesn’t work.
Whatever it is that Xie Lian has cooked for Yibo makes him double over in pain and brings tears to his eyes. “Oh!” Yibo cries, and drops his head to the table, coughing and retching violently. “It’s - it’s… s-s-so sp-spicy!”
Xie Lian swiftly hands Yibo a cup of water and wrings his hands worriedly. “Spice? But I didn’t put any spice in the dish?”
“But it - it burns? It - it hurts,” Yibo groans between gulps of water. “I-I’m so sorry - I can’t - I can’t take sp-spice, I - I—” he manages to gasp out before everything goes black.
Sometime later, when Yibo comes to, his whole body feels weak and wrung out, like a wet towel. He peels open one teary eye and sees the fuzzy face of a man leaning over him and pressing a dampened cloth to his forehead.
“Zhan-ge,” he croaks. “Help me.”
“No, I’m sorry, it’s still me, Xie Lian.”
Yibo moans piteously, holding his aching stomach.
“Maybe you should eat more, if you’re feeling weak?” Xie Lian moves to pick up the plate to bring it closer to Yibo.
“NO!” Yibo exclaims, more sharply than he meant to. “I’m - I’m not hungry. I’m just too sad to eat. I’m missing Xiao Zhan too much to eat,” he tells Xie Lian, pushing the offending plate away as politely as he can. “Your food… it makes me miss Xiao Zhan,” he says, wondering when he would be able to taste Xiao Zhan's delicious home cooking again.
“I understand,” Xie Lian says comfortingly. “When San Lang was away, I missed him so much. I rarely cooked when he was gone. It didn’t seem worth all the effort to cook just for myself, you know?
Yibo looks up, schooling his face not to look too skeptical of the idea that Xie Lian’s cooking involves hard work. “How long was he gone? You said he waited for you for - for centuries?”
“Oh no, the last time we were apart was only about a year.”
“A year!” Yibo cries. “That’s still so long!”
Xie Lian laughs. “Waiting a year for him to return was nothing compared to the eight hundred years that San Lang waited for me.”
Yibo’s mouth drops open at this. “Eight - eight hundred years?”
“No, no, don’t worry,” Xie Lian says reassuringly. “You won’t be apart that long, we will figure out how to get you home, I am sure of it.”
“But how?” Yibo moans. A year already seems unbearable to him, and 800 is incomprehensibly long, and yet Xie Lian and his husband got through it. No wonder Xie Lian seems so relaxed about Hua Cheng’s disappearance. “How did you endure such long separations? There are times I have to be away from Xiao Zhan for a month at a time, and - and it’s so hard. I miss him so much.”
“I spent that year wandering Mount Taicang. Meditating, collecting things, observing the ways that the mountain lived and changed and endured during those long days. It brought me comfort." Xie Lian's face brightens. "Maybe it will do the same for you.”
With no other options before him, Yibo nods. “I am willing to try,” he says, trying not to look too eager to be far from the revolting stench of Xie Lian’s cooking, now permeating the entire bedroom.
“Then let’s go,” Xie Lian says kindly. “I’ll take you there, and you can tell me more about your Xiao Zhan. Maybe that will make you feel better, and perhaps I might learn something that could help unravel the mystery.” He gets to his feet and shuts the bedroom door firmly.
Yibo wrinkles his brow in confusion. “But why did you shut the door? I thought we were leaving?”
“We are,” Xie Lian smiles. He turns to the door and, using his fingers, he quickly traces complicated symbols across the lacquered red surface.
The gesture makes Yibo think of Xiao Zhan as Wei Wuxian, his fingers deftly sweeping patterns in the air to prepare a talisman, and Yibo's chest aches with the memory. “Wh-what are you doing?”
Xie Lian pauses in his work and looks at Yibo, his face softening as he takes in Yibo’s stricken face. “Making a distance-shortening array,” Xie Lian says. “It is the quickest way to get to Mount Taicang from here. Come,” he tells Yibo, swinging the door open and holding his hands wide in invitation. “Let’s take a walk.”
Yibo stumbles to his feet and edges warily towards the door. On the other side, instead of the darkened hallway that had been there before, a sunny pathway beckons.
"How—" Yibo gasps, his eyes flicking between the sunlit vista before him and the subdued dark of the bedroom he’s standing in. Maybe he was only imagining the flame in Xie Lian’s hand, but this? He reaches forward and feels the warmth of the sun on his hand, a light breeze wafting in through the open doorway. “Oh my god,” he breathes.
“Yes?”
“What?”
“Ah,” Xie Lian laughs, “Never mind. Let’s go?”
Yibo squints as he steps out into the bright light of morning. He surveys the bucolic landscape before him, dominated by a majestic tree-covered mountain rising into the clouds. He hears the squeak-thunk of a door closing behind him and turns to see Xie Lian standing by a dilapidated little structure marked with a modest hand-painted sign reading, “Huangji Temple.” It seems impossible that the sumptuous bedchamber they’d emerged from could have fit into this ramshackle shed of a temple.
“I don't understand,” Yibo whispers in wonder. “This can’t be.”
“Let’s climb the mountain together,” Xie Lian replies, “and I will explain.”
Xie Lian sets a brisk pace along the path leading up the mountain, and Yibo follows, his eyes transfixed by the fluttering of Xie Lian’s white robes, his long, flowing hair. The sight brings a sharp pang of longing, a wave of memories transporting him back to that hot summer of true feelings, of the too-short days and nights filming with — and falling in love with — Xiao Zhan.
Yibo's fingers find the familiar chain around his neck, then caress the bone-shaped charm hanging from it. The feel of the rough, diamond-encrusted surface grounds him, and he sighs. “I can do this,” he murmurs quietly to himself.
“Hm?” Xie Lian turns around to look at Yibo. “Is there something wrong?”
Yibo shakes his head. “I was just thinking of Xiao Zhan.”
“Oh,” Xie Lian says, noticing Yibo fidgeting with his necklace. “Is that from your husband? I have a token as well,” he says, pulling a chain out from under his simple robes.
Yibo leans closer to inspect the sparkling ring that Xie Lian holds out on his palm. “It’s beautiful.”
Xie Lian smiles as he tucks it back under his robes. “San Lang gave it to me after he found me again. I didn’t know he had been looking for me for so long, so I didn’t understand its significance then. But maybe I did, because I have never taken it off since he gave it to me.”
“Zhan-ge gave this to me for my birthday four years ago. A bone, because he calls me his puppy,” Yibo says with a grin. “I hate to take it off, but sometimes I have to, for work. When we’re apart like this, it calms me to touch it. It makes me feel like he’s— like he’s always with me.”
“That’s lovely,” Xie Lian says. “Would you like to tell me more about your husband?”
“I would,” Yibo smiles.
Exchanging stories together, the day passes quickly in this way. Yibo tells Xie Lian about Xiao Zhan and their life together, and the challenges they’ve faced over the years. Xie Lian talks about Hua Cheng and the long, winding journey they took to each other’s sides. Along the way, Xie Lian tries to explain the world that Yibo has stumbled into. As they talk, Yibo eats his fill of fresh fruits, picked from the trees they pass on their way up the mountain paths.
It’s a lovely walk, just as Xie Lian promised, and Yibo can’t help but think about how much Xiao Zhan would have enjoyed it, the way he’d dart from tree to tree, admiring a nameless flower blooming along the path, or studying an interesting insect. He can almost see Xiao Zhan twirling under the leafy canopy, maybe sliding clumsily on the wet mud, doing some goofy dance move just to make Yibo laugh.
Yibo has always been drawn to this, Xiao Zhan’s youthful, playful, curious energy. Back when they’d filmed Chen Qing Ling together, Yibo would tease him for being so childish, for not acting like the 91-liner he is. “But why?” Xiao Zhan would ask. “What’s the rush, Lao Wang? The world is serious and difficult enough. Everything is cool, just grow up slowly.”
That summer, Yibo hadn’t listened because he had been in such a hurry to prove to Xiao Zhan that he wasn’t just a little kid. But now it's six summers later, and Yibo is the same age that Xiao Zhan had been. Xiao Zhan was right. Youth passes quickly, and he has to savor the experiences that come his way, and not let them slip through his fingers.
At dusk, they reach a pretty overlook and Yibo takes a seat on a rock to drink in the views. He takes deep breaths of the cool and clean mountain air, listens to the evening bird song, the rustling of the trees overhead. He looks out to the horizon, where the sun is just beginning to dip behind distant peaks. Xiao Zhan’s honeyed voice sounds in his ear: Yibo, the sunset is very beautiful. Every evening, you used to focus only on moving forward, and missed the chance to appreciate it.
“I wish you could see this, Zhan-ge,” Yibo murmurs. “I promise I’ll enjoy it while I can, and tell you all about it when we’re together again.” He sits there for a long time, committing to memory the way the golden sunset ripens into orange and deep red tones. Yibo shivers as the sky dims and the color bleeds away, leaving everything grey, a feeling of melancholy hanging in the cool evening air.
The change is gorgeous and desolate all at once, and Yibo lets out a long wistful sigh as the last of the day disappears into shadow.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Yibo looks up to find Xie Lian at his side. “Yeah, it really is. Thanks for bringing me here. I see why it brought you comfort when Hua Cheng was away.”
“I’m glad.” Xie Lian pauses a moment to look out over the darkening valley, then bows slightly to Yibo. “Shall we? It will take some time to descend the mountain.”
Yibo loses himself in the sights and sounds of Mount Taicang on the long walk back, and he’s almost sorry when they finally arrive at the door of the rustic Huangji Temple. Xie Lian expertly traces characters across the rough hewn doorway, then opens it and ushers Yibo back into the dark red of the bedchamber at Paradise Manor.
The mysterious attendant has evidently come through again, as the food has (thankfully) been cleared away and an adjacent room has been set up for Yibo, complete with a soft white robe for sleeping.
“I'm not sure how I will sleep, not knowing where Zhan-ge is, whether he’s okay.” But even as he says these words, Yibo feels his eyelids droop and fights back a yawn.
“Sleep,” Xie Lian urges. “If the morning comes and San Lang hasn’t returned, or there’s no solution in sight, then I will come up with another plan, however—” Xie Lian pauses and touches the thread on his hand, “I feel confident it will be sorted out soon.”
“Thank you,” Yibo says. “You've been so kind. But as much as I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today, I umm hope this is goodbye.” He smiles weakly, then bows deeply as Xie Lian takes his leave.
It’s been a long, emotional day, and as lovely and healing as the walk on Mount Taicang had been, Yibo feels the weight of hopelessness closing back in on him as he settles into bed, realizing that he's no closer to unraveling the mystery of how he got here— and how he will get home.
Xiao Zhan is so precious to him, it’s hard for Yibo not to worry about him, to fret over every separation, every challenge. But as the years have passed, and Yibo himself has grown and matured, he's also learned to trust in Xiao Zhan, in himself, and in what they have. He’s adapted to the way of living with time, and trusting that somehow, it will always work out.
He thinks of Xie Lian's serene smile, the way that he and Hua Cheng have endured through centuries and lifetimes of trials. We'll get through this too, he sighs, staring up into the red gauzy curtains until they blur and darken and he falls into a dreamless sleep.
When Yibo wakes the next day, he peeks open an eye and is relieved to find himself back in his own bedroom, softly lit with the golden light of morning sunshine. He pokes the sleeping form next to him experimentally. “Zh-Zhan-ge?”
The lump rolls over, and at the sight of Xiao Zhan's beautiful face, Yibo tumbles into his waiting arms, pressing eager kisses to his lips and sighing in relief. “Oh, it’s you, thank god,” Yibo exclaims, then blinks in confusion when he realizes that Xiao Zhan has just said the exact same thing to him.
“Wait,” he says. “Y-you expected to see someone else here? In our room?”
“That was going to be my question,” Xiao Zhan replies, raising one perfect eyebrow at him. “What’s going on here?”
Yibo looks around the room, squinting at the bright sun streaming in their bedroom window — so different from the dark red of Paradise Manor. There’s no way that what he experienced was real, is there? He shakes his head with a laugh. “Oh my god, Zhan-ge, I had such a vivid, crazy dream,” Yibo tells him.
“Me too,” Xiao Zhan says with a wry smile. “You have no idea. But tell me about yours first.”
“Okay,” Yibo says, pulling Xiao Zhan to him and holding him close. He clears his throat. “So… once upon a time, there was a young prince…”