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Ghost City, despite being a collection of souls, a land reeking with the undead and the vile, comes alive at night. Street vendors flaunt their wares. Pots and pans clang, buskers holler—these sounds mix with jovial music and the hustle and bustle of crowds, becoming a symphony of energy. It's the kind of place with a spirited heart that never stops beating.
He Xuan, despite being surrounded by that vibrancy, has never felt more dead.
If anything were up to He Xuan, he'd be back in his own palace of solitude, where the only thing that could bother him would be the rattling of bones from his dragons as they swim in circles in their lagoon. He'd absorb the rush of cold from the water that slowly infiltrates his domain, which, to him, will always be better than some sketchy merchant trying to convince him to try eating a leg. The spray of saltwater, the sound of crashing waves, the feeling of sand between his toes—his island domain has everything that brings He Xuan joy in his afterlife.
Almost everything.
As much as he loathes to admit it, there is one thing that his island lacks. One thing that he has grown to crave more than anything else.
If it were up to him, and this thing weren't a factor, he wouldn't be standing just past the impressive front gates of Ghost City, loitering around like he has nothing better to do. He wouldn't have walked all the way here at some fool's request, and he certainly wouldn't put up with the fact that that particular fool is now late to their engagement. But as any great scholar knows, the heart oft takes a different road in life than the mind, and his mind is currently like a labyrinth.
In agreement with his thoughts, his nail digs into his hand. The pull of his skin distracts from the onslaught of annoyances around him, only a little bit.
Maybe it was stupid of him to come here. Like a fish out of water, he doesn't belong in this glittering, bright place. Even though he made the effort to wear his best robes and combed the sand out of his hair, his best only amounts to the average citizen's worst. His finest might have a little silver wave embroidery, but how can it glitter when everything shines here? In short, he has very little, if no presence at all. So much so, in fact, that the Ghost King has no reason to wear a different face. Nobody recognizes Black Water.
Before he has the courage to turn tail and leave, a cold, yet familiar, feeling covers his palm.
“You shouldn't pick at your hands, He Xuan,” a voice smooth as silk whispers into his ear. He Xuan freezes.
Behind him is a taller man with a lean, yet athletic frame. His face is sculpted and his nose is long and slender. His long, healthy black hair is tied into a ponytail, though his bangs loosely fall over his eyes.
Black robes. No jewelry. But his wry smile is just as foxy as it always is. He may be disguised today, but He Xuan spots the red he would normally wear in a decorative thread that winds its way down a small braid on the side of his face. This is a man who is alive despite being dead. This is a man who belongs in every inch of Ghost City, and every inch of Ghost City belongs to him.
“You're late, Hua Cheng,” He Xuan states. Calm and flat, like the surface of water lacking even the smallest ripple, it's unbefitting of the currents underneath.
Hua Cheng chuckles, unfazed. “Forgive this one, the crowds slowed him down today.”
It's always something, He Xuan scoffs to himself. Just another reason to loathe this dreadful place.
Still, it's hard to stay mad at his fellow Ghost King for long, especially when Hua Cheng reaches over, covering He Xuan’s hand with his own. It’s only a little warmer; such is only natural for a ghost.
“I told you to stop picking at your hands, didn’t I?”
He Xuan looks down at his feet. With Hua Cheng’s hand covering his own, the touch is all he can think about. He no longer has the heart to fire back with a ‘why should I listen to you?’, or a ‘what does it matter to you?’, or even a ‘why won't you show me your real face?’. Well, he has some gumption for the last one, but, admittedly, he likes having his hand held and doesn't want his complaint to ruin the moment.
“It's habit.”
“A bad one.” Hua Cheng feigns a frown. His longer, smoother fingers rub tiny circles for a moment. “Guess I'll have to keep your hand occupied.”
A little bit of color wells up in He Xuan's cheeks, weak to the remark like he always is.
Perhaps knowing that He Xuan can't find a response, Hua Cheng pulls him forward, head tilting toward the city.
“Shall we?”
“Mn.”
From there, the night continues how it normally does whenever Hua Cheng invites him here. Lord Crimson Rain, under his most undercover disguise, parades around Lord Black Water incognito, tugging his partner by the hand to lead him down the road.
They stop at a market, debating food, despite not having the need to eat, spend time watching the fountain of souls in the center of town despite the fact that both of them have seen it countless times already, and revisit the same pleasantries that they always discuss each time they converse.
Perhaps love is just a pull, like the stretching that the muscles in his arm feel right now to take He Xuan in one direction and then the next. But how would the water ghost know? The strongest emotion he had felt in hundreds of years was hate. This person, these feelings, they're all new.
Can he really believe Crimson Rain Sought Flower? That pretending to love another god, and sending He Xuan on a wild goose chase to find him was really just a ploy, a reason to continue meeting? It almost trivializes the oh-so-coveted emotion called love—even someone as lacking in it as He Xuan can see that.
Isn't love supposed to be something…more tender than this? More…exciting? Shouldn't he want to spend every waking moment with Hua Cheng? What about these noisy commutes to Ghost City is love? How is that different from being friends? Even with his many years of study, he's not sure there is an answer. Not one that he likes, anyway.
The easiest answer would be that Hua Cheng enjoys playing. He's a tease and a flirt, a prankster and a fox. After all, what could the water ghost offer to Crimson Rain, the man who has it all? A gloomy comment every now and then perhaps.
Even at his brightest and most groomed, He Xuan has all the color of a stormcloud.
In his own thoughts, He Xuan fails to see that Hua Cheng stops in front of him, and his nose partially embeds into the taller ghost's back.
Hua Cheng startles a bit, glancing back with his dark eye. He Xuan always acts the most foolish around him, it seems.
“Is everything alright?” Hua Cheng asks.
He Xuan steps back, giving as much space as he can in the busy street.
“It's fine.”
Hua Cheng studies him for a moment. Is that…concern on his face?
Whatever the expression is, it's quickly replaced with a smile.
“If you say so. Anyway, we're here.”
Hua Cheng lets go and steps aside, revealing behind him a grand staircase made of white stone. From the top of it, He Xuan hears cheering, laughter, and some yelling. If he could read the sign above the place, he'd probably know what kind of establishment this is, but whoever wrote the sign has some of the worst penmanship he has ever seen.
“Where is here, exactly?” He Xuan inquires, managing the least judgemental tone he can. For him, that means a faint inflection as opposed to his normal, flat voice.
“You'll see,” Hua Cheng says over his shoulder, already hopping up the overly grand staircase. The man's love of surprises has always conflicted with his counterpart's methodical nature, but He Xuan sighs and follows him anyway.
Inside, He Xuan finds a gambling hall. Perhaps there was a more legible sign and he just missed it. He should have guessed, right? Somewhere like this is exactly where someone like Hua Cheng would want to take him. Right?
There are fewer people here than on the street, which is appreciated, but this collection of ghosts is even more rowdy. A man lacking a face, but making up for it with two sets of arms, cheers wildly after rolling two perfect sixes. A woman with flowers growing out of her head sobs at her latest defeat. A group of boisterous creatures cackle over food served on the side. It's the kind of place Hua Cheng feels right at home in, but He Xuan hasn't a clue why he’d choose to bring him to such a place
“Wait just a moment,” Hua Cheng whispers before bushing past and disappearing into the sea of people.
Suddenly, He Xuan is alone in his new least-favorite place. Without Hua Cheng, the noise seems to triple in volume. Bear it, he tells himself, settles in the least-crowded area he can find to wait.
To his dismay, the fraction of peace is quickly disturbed when a figure leans against the dice table in front of him.
“You're a new face around here, aren't you?”
He Xuan looks up to meet eyes with a handsome ghost with blue skin and pointed ears. Unlike most of the denizens of Ghost City, this one appears mostly human, save for those features. He looks like he died roughly in his mid-twenties, though He Xuan knows better than to judge a ghost by appearance alone. To put it simply, he is pleasant to look at.
“To this particular scene, yes,” He Xuan answers.
“I figured as much. Can I get you a drink?” he asks with a twinkling smile, flaring his orcish teeth.
He Xuan shakes his head, “No thank you, I don't drink.”
“That’s a shame.” The ghost seems to pout at that momentarily before leaning in again. It’s a little too close. “Got a name? Mine is Jietang by the way.”
“He Xuan.” Something must seriously be wrong with him today to give his real name instead of a fake one. Whatever.
The man twirls his cup in his fingers, rattling the tiny dice inside, nodding, perhaps committing He Xuan's name to memory. He smiles. “I can teach you how to play if you'd like, cutie?”
He Xuan barely catches the breath that stumbles out of his mouth. Him? Cute? Is this ghost blind?
Nobody in the history of ever, even when He Xuan was a mortal man, has used those words to describe him, and they certainly couldn't be applicable now that he is Black Water Submerging Boats. Even Hua Cheng, his supposed lover, has never called him cute. No, Hua Cheng only uses those words to describe his bumbling, awkward actions.
Now that he thinks about it, Hua Cheng doesn't describe him with affection at all. They've never labeled what they are. They've never been physical. They haven't even kissed. If his ‘lover’ can't even do that, what could a random ghost possibly think about him? It's ludicrous.
He's just about to turn a cold shoulder to this stranger when another thought creeps in. What if…he isn't lying? What if there is some value to He Xuan that only this stranger can see?
The cogs in He Xuan’s brain lock in place at once, jammed by the idea that he, the Black Water Ghost, so enigmatic that he can sweep his way through Ghost City without garnering a glance, could possibly be worth the compliment. Nobody knows him, and nobody wants to know him.
Dice dance across the man’s knuckles playfully while his hand reaches ever closer. Before he realizes it, they're touching, and He Xuan finds the trinkets in his hand. It feels like the shiny offering of a crow.
“You've got nice hands, I bet you'd be really good at it,” Jietang encourages.
He Xuan looks down at the dice in his hands. Despite the couple wounds on his nail beds from picking at them, his fingers are long, midway between blocky and slender. No blemishes. Little hair. He supposes they're nice.
He has never been one to gamble, and frankly, he doesn't even enjoy the concept of it. What does having nice hands have to do with technique anyway? And what kind of technique could there possibly be in a game of chance?
A little flustered, he stammers, “I…um…thank you, but I—”
“He already has a teacher.”
Hua Cheng appears, his forehead littered with knots from the piercing stare he shoots across the room. The crowd parts as he steps forward.
“C-Chengzhu! G-good evening! I didn't realize!” sputters Jietang, who by now has taken a few steps back.
Hua Cheng isn't wearing the same disguise as earlier when He Xuan's eyes have the time to fully take him in; he's wearing heavier, more luxurious robes littered with silver jewelry. His thick black hair cascades down his shoulders to end playfully above his lower back, and his fringe hides an eyepatch covering his right eye. When he steps forward, the decorative beads on his boots rattle, giving the impression of an aggressive snake.
But more than that, this form is a little thinner than the one he wore earlier. Still broad, but taller, and his features leaner. His nose is narrow and sloped, barely casting the menacing shadow that he now has on his face. He Xuan has never seen this form before.
Hua Cheng's figure invades He Xuan's field of view, severing his vision from that of Jietang. He can't see the other king's face but he imagines the terrifyingly pleasant smile when he says, “Get lost.”
Jietang nods shakily and scurries away through the crowd. Whispers and murmurs rise to fill the space.
“Serves him right, that flirt!”
“How dare he!”
“Who does he think he is, flirting with Hua Chengzhu's man!”
He Xuan turns red. Hua Chengzhu's man? How did they…?
Hua Cheng doesn't permit He Xuan time to ruminate on it, though, as he turns back around and fiercely snatches up He Xuan's hand. Pulled up more stairs at the back center of the room, through the veil of a red curtain, He Xuan's heart beats louder and louder the closer they get to being alone.
The fabric drifts over his body like a dream, bathing his vision in red. Hua Cheng blends into it, emerging like a tiger through forest floor brambles.
He Xuan steps back until his shoulders press against the wall and Hua Cheng hovers closely over him.
“Hey…what are you—”
Hua Cheng invades every inch of He Xuan's space, pinning him against the wall as if his arms were pikes driven through his shoulders.
“Is this one not good enough for you, Black Water?”
“T-that's not true. What are you talking about?” He Xuan stumbles through his words, unsure. Hua Cheng has always been the one too good for him. Wherever inside Hua Cheng, the Crimson Rain Sought Flower, this insecurity is coming from, he cannot ascertain.
“I saw the way he touched you,” Hua Cheng says lowly. “What would you have done, had I not intervened?”
He Xuan lowers his gaze. Is Hua Cheng…jealous?
“He Xuan. What would you have done?” he repeats.
What would he have done?
“What would I have done?” He Xuan echoes under his breath. His hands curl to a fist, only to flatten out before his arm surges forward.
Smack!
Right across the other Ghost King’s face, He Xuan’s handprint brands him with a soft red.
Exhaling any remaining momentary frustration through his nose, He Xuan states, “That's what I would have done. I only like you, you fool! So come to your senses. And get off of me.”
He Xuan shrugs him off. He's not sure how to feel. Shouldn't Hua Cheng know him better? Not even as a lover, but as a man?
He steps past the stunned Ghost King, only for his hand to be stolen again.
“Wait, please” This time, Hua Cheng's voice feels small. “This one…apologizes. I…overreacted.”
His hand is too clammy. He Xuan attempts to tug himself free but Hua Cheng squeezes tighter.
“Do I have to hold your hand for you to follow? Must I always keep you in sight, lest you leave? What should I do to make you stay?”
“I'm not—” He Xuan starts, but his voice quickly loses pressure. “I've been following. But to what I'm not sure. Where are we going, Hua Cheng? Everything here is so loud and distracting.”
The other man dares a step closer, and He Xuan hasn't the strength to create more distance than he already has. So when Hua Cheng slumps his head over his shoulder, and his arms wrap around him, bringing him into an embrace, his heart aches, and he can't deny it.
“I'm not sure…but I know that I cherish you. So please don't run away from me.”
This silly emotion called love, perhaps it's not as it's portrayed in storybooks. Surrounded by Hua Cheng’s ghostly heat, He Xuan wonders why he ever doubted this man or this feeling. He leans into it, needing it like a fish needs water. He’s alive.
Muffled by Hua Cheng’s robes, He Xuan murmurs, “Hua Cheng?”
“Mm?”
“Why don't we go somewhere quieter?”
Hua Cheng replies, “Do you have somewhere in mind?”
He Xuan nods. “The beach.”