Archive of Our Own

Xie Lian had been many things in his long, long life– a beloved prince, a revered god, an ill omen. He’d been as grand and marvelous as the statues his people once constructed of him, shining like a jewel in the crown of the heavens, and he’d been so vehemently hated and trodden under so many muddy feet that he might as well not exist whatsoever.

However, for all his varied experience, Xie Lian had never been… little before. At least, not this little.

He had woken up feeling surprisingly good, all things considered. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well as the previous night– after spending what felt like hours battling a rogue demon terrorizing the village he’d been collecting scraps in, Xie Lian had passed out the second his head hit his makeshift pillow. It made a degree of sense that he’d been so tired; no demon with half a brain would have stooped to snatching children in broad daylight unless it was out of its mind with hunger, let alone doing such a sloppy job that it had repeatedly failed and left obvious tracks. By the time Xie Lian had tracked the shriveled, nasty thing down to an abandoned shack on the outskirts of the village, it knew its time was up, and had lashed out with all the rash intensity of a cornered animal.

The fight had been longer and harder than it should have been for a demon of that size– but, after all, nothing puts the lust for life in a creature like the threat of imminent death. Thankfully, even with both of his shackles binding much of his spiritual energy, Xie Lian had been able to wear it down and, as soon as he’d gotten an opening, disperse it with a final, blinding blow to its core.

Blinding…

Xie Lian sat up on the straw mat– the straw mat that now felt a lot squishier than it had when he laid down last night, but he supposed that was just the residual sleepiness talking– and rubbed the crust from his eyes. That’s right, that sudden flash of light had been unexpected, and much brighter than a flash of his own energy should have been under the circumstances (read: two cursed shackles). The demon had practically imploded with resentful fury and pierced Xie Lian’s ears with a blood-curdling shriek before finally dissipating into a fine dust. Xie Lian had reeled back, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears, physically rocked by the sight and sound. And then… Ah, then what…?

“Ah… hah… ACHOO!”

Xie Lian’s entire body jumped with a powerful sneeze that kicked up large swirls of dust in his periphery. As soon as he recovered, he rubbed his nose blearily– gods, he felt like he’d been sleeping in a powder box for how itchy it was.

Ah– sleeping!

Right– the very instant the creature dispersed, Xie Lian had been overtaken with powerful exhaustion. Suddenly, his limbs were deadweight, his mind foggy and muddled about the edges. Chalking it up to how much fighting he’d just done and not having eaten more than half a stale bun in the last week, Xie Lian had dragged a half-rotted straw mat from the corner up to a spare sack of flour, and conceded to knock out right there in the shack for the night.

Now, aside from the itchy nose and general haze of a long, deep sleep, Xie Lian was actually feeling incredibly refreshed. His body felt sprightly and weightless as he raised his arms above his head and pointed his toes in a long, luxurious stretch– and promptly slid off the flour sack onto the floor with a yelp and a subsequent thud.

Wait– the– the flour sack–?

The thought felt more jarring to Xie Lian than the fall itself, which was quite a feat, considering that he had just landed straight onto his rear on the floor– which, even in his fatigue last night, he swore hadn’t been carpeted before, and especially not carpeted with woven straw…

Xie Lian blinked and looked around dumbly. He couldn’t remember being in a building this large since the last time he’d visited the Royal Mausoleum. Without a doubt, it was the same shack– the same dusty old furnishings, the same remnants of wild animal nests tucked in the corners and rafters. The windows were still boarded up, barely letting in more than a few splinters of early springtime light; they shone in jagged fragments on the floor, illuminating the edge of the grand, widespread straw mat and the pile of demon-ash at its foot, right where Xie Lian had left it.

The shack was the same, as was the mat, and the flour sack– the only thing changed had to be…

Xie Lian looked down at himself, and the dainty little imprint he had made in the thick layer of dust on the floor.

Uh-oh.

Xie Lian himself was… little.

After the shock (and sneezing) had worn off, Xie Lian had scrambled around a bit longer, feeling tremendously relieved to find that just around the flour sack’s corner was his straw hat, though now roughly the size of a thimble. Just as thankfully, when he’d leaped to retrieve it and tripped over the head of a nail rising out of one floorboard, the telltale swish and abrupt tightening about his wrist to steady him confirmed that Ruoye, too, had shrunk along with him– as well as his clothes, blessedly, and his shackles (less of a blessing but he’d take it). It seemed everything on Xie Lian’s person had gotten the same treatment.

A twinge of curiosity alighted in him, and Xie Lian briefly brought his thumbs and middle fingertips together, casting his consciousness inward. Deep inside him, his reserve of spiritual energy lay dormant, clasped tightly between both shackles like it was serving its life sentence. Xie Lian swallowed the rising wave of melancholy, and focused. Sure enough, the more he felt around his divine core, the more he noticed it– the sensation of a dark, heavy blanket suppressing his mana. 

“Huh– a curse, then…” he murmured to himself, dropping his hands to his sides. More of the pieces began coming together in the wake of his realization: the demon’s feral rage, its dying cry of protest, the sudden effect it had on Xie Lian’s physical form…

And now, several hundred years into his second banishment,with his energy reserves shrunk and bound even tighter than before, any hope of breaking the apparent curse was well beyond his means.

Xie Lian put his hands on his hips and huffed. To think– there were still some things in this wide world that could surprise him! If Xie Lian was honest with himself, the knowledge was almost refreshing. But mostly very, very inconvenient.

“Goodness, what a hassle. What to do…?” he pondered, starting to pace a little dusty trench into the floor. “I guess I’ll need to be careful not to get stepped on and squished. Haha– but then again, when did getting trampled to death stop me before, eh, Ruoye?”

Ruoye tightened sharply in one scolding pulse, as literal a slap on the wrist as the silk could give him.

“Ah–” Xie Lian winced. “Too soon? Sorry.”

He made a few more circles about the flour sack, looking for any more of his belongings that might have slid off in his sleep. To his relief, he found nothing but small piles of dust and debris rustled up by the previous day’s battle, now rising up in drifts to Xie Lian’s mid-calf at his new height.

“Well– it looks like I can keep whatever was on me at the time. Shame… how am I supposed to carry all my…” Xie Lian came to an abrupt halt, eyes widening and mouth falling open in dismay. “Oh–!!”

He almost winded himself completely as he darted across the expansive floor to the shack’s entrance; thank heavens he hadn’t closed the door behind himself, or else he may have had to dig himself out through the spongey floorboards. By the time he whirled around the towering front door, he was panting and wheezing from the sheer distance he’d traversed in order to get outside– and even worse, he nearly pitched off the shack’s front step, only avoiding a much more unpleasant fall by Ruoye’s immediate action, shooting out to one jagged plank and pulling a flailing Xie Lian back from the edge by his wrist just in time.

“Ah–! Whoa, whoa– thanks… I guess I’m not used to being so sm–” Xie Lian broke off, heart plummeting at the sight of his bag of scraps set neatly beside the door, newly filled to bursting– and now, over a hundred times his size.

Xie Lian couldn’t suppress a wail of dismay, slapping his hands over his face and sinking to his knees while Ruoye danced frantically around him. “Oh no…! Ruoye, it took me days to collect all that. There were some really good finds in there– ah, what a waste!”

In the full light of morning, Xie Lian’s altered state was even more exaggerated– the jump from the front step to the ground was about the height of a two-level building, and the long grass towered and rushed like a great forest at the edge of the yard. What would have taken him a few simple strides just yesterday was now easily half a day’s trek.

Xie Lian groaned into his palms– he was starting to feel somewhat less tickled by this turn of events. Ruoye, bless it, seemed to be doing its best to cheer him, brushing against the back of his hands in comfort, unraveling and reaching as far as it could as if to test its new length– and going a bit too far, as Xie Lian was unceremoniously tugged ahead by the wrist.

“Ah–! Ruoye– hey, don’t pull–!” Xie Lian protested, only to be hauled to standing with another yank; with no choice but to follow, Xie Lian stumbled along behind its tether, following it to the far edge of the stoop. “Hey– where are we going–? Ruoy– AAH!”

Xie Lian cried out as he flew over the rocky edge, only to be suddenly suspended in mid-air by Ruoye shooting its opposite end to wrap snugly around another protruding nail’s head. He clamped his mouth shut on his own squawk of surprise, and swiftly pulled both knees up about his hips while clutching his end with both hands, keeping his body curled and tense as he momentarily swung in mid-air like a bead on the end of a string. Then, with a slight hush, Ruoye slowly loosened its slack, lowering Xie Lian safely to the ground. Once there, he cautiously extended one pointed foot, then the other, finally coming to a shaky landing on the earthen floor.

“Ah– th-thank you, Ruoye, but– please warn me next time, okay?” Xie Lian puffed as he brought one hand to press against his chest, willing his heart’s rapid pace to slow. Now having detached and returned to his side, Ruoye twisted one end to the side in an adorable semblance of a cocked head. 

Xie Lian couldn’t help his exasperated laugh, and stroked the end with one finger as it wriggled happily. “Yes, yes, you were very helpful– but I need to know before we go flying off of big steps from now on, alright? We’re going to be doing a lot more of that now that we’re tiny.”

Xie Lian began to creep forward as he spoke, the truth of his own words coming further to light with every step. Even where the grass was sparse toward the front of the yard, the blades towered over him in elegant arcs, and the morning light cast the spongy dirt beneath his feet in vibrant green tones like colored glass– despite his situation, Xie Lian found the sight quite beautiful, and breathed deep with a tentative smile. He had always loved the earthy smell of early spring in the countryside, and now it was perfuming every step he took as he meandered about from this new, curious perspective.

Ducking beneath a drooping clover-head, Xie Lian perked up at the rough, basin-shaped lump he spied discarded in the dirt; an idea alighted in his mind as he recognized its outline, and darted forward to pry the acorn cap loose from the ground. He sized it up as he swept the grime out of its hollow interior with a leaf– at Xie Lian’s current height, the cap was about the size of a very large bowl, something a parent might select to bathe their newborn baby in. It just barely covered the expanse of Xie Lian’s back, and when combined with Ruoye lashed about it once or twice in a snug ‘X’ shape, made just as good a collecting pack as Xie Lian could have ever asked for.

“Sturdy, too!” he preened, rapping his knuckles against the bumpy edge where it crested his shoulder. “I’ll never have to worry about it tearing at the bottom and losing anything on the road. Heh– I look just like a snapping turtle.”

Xie Lian giggled and ran his thumbs along the silk hugging under his arms where Ruoye had fashioned itself into a pair of straps. Now that the sun had begun burning away the dawn mist, dew drops the size of lanterns were hanging heavy from the grass-tips above him; he smiled and lifted an open palm to accept one, bursting into laughter as its weight quickly gave way onto his hand with a sudden splash. Just one drop was enough to wash the residual dust clean off his face, and just two more allowed Xie Lian to soothe his itchy throat and drink his fill of crisp, fresh morning dew– genuinely the most pleasant start to any day that Xie Lian could recall from recent memory. 

Well, how about that, Xie Lian mused. A blessing in a curse– haha!

Feeling a good deal more reinvigorated than he had in years, Xie Lian adjusted his straw hat and gave the acorn cap a cheerful hoist before traipsing forward into the small jungle before him. Sure, he’d have to stay out of trouble’s way if he didn’t want to get eaten up– but maybe being little wouldn’t be so bad.

As the closed, rosy bud of early spring continued to bloom, Xie Lian found that this new… adjustment was not all that different from his usual way of life. It certainly posed its own unique obstacles at first– getting around was quite frustrating, and he had to get very good at hiding again in order to avoid predators. However, regardless of size, Xie Lian had retained all his old tricks: he was still resourceful, adaptable, and, most notably, good with animals.

After successfully commandeering his first mouse ride with some wild nut and berry offerings, Xie Lian came to find travel quite manageable. The creatures were skittish, but ultimately friendly, and took direction incredibly well; Xie Lian had never realized rodents were so clever when he was big, and he considered himself exceptionally fortunate to have the opportunity to appreciate their intelligence now. When necessity arose, he and Ruoye could also wrestle with a few worms in exchange for a quick flight on a sparrow, but Xie Lian found his feathered companions to be a little… well, bird-brained, to speak bluntly. Just one glimpse of something shiny in the dirt, and poor Xie Lian was nearly hurtled off its back while his ride darted wildly off course in pursuit. After a few more experiments of this kind, he found he much preferred ground travel.

With that sorted, next was the issue of feeding himself– thankfully, Xie Lian already had several centuries of trial-and-error foraging under his belt. Now, being able to examine many of these plants and fruits at closer distance, he was far more successful than he had been in the past, and accidentally found himself eating cleaner than he had in years. Sure, he often missed the ease and comfort of a nice steamed bun fresh from a stall; luckily for him, being on squeaking terms with so many mice meant Xie Lian could hitch a ride to any trash heap on this side of the country for some pretty decent scraps– provided he could bear the smell, of course.

Finally– the matter of Xie Lian’s continued scrap-collecting. After the initial dismay wore off, Xie Lian soon found this was the least-changed aspect of his life. Anything he may have previously discounted as ‘too small to be worth anything’ became a gem in his eyes, snatched up and stowed away into his acorn cap with zeal. Where before Xie Lian had had to focus on reselling to survive, now his collecting became pleasure for pleasure’s sake, and he was free to repair or repurpose an item solely for the joy of it. 

With no more need for money, Xie Lian dove into this hobby with renewed delight. There was no shortage of bits and bobs his size, all easily given a new lease on life with some imaginative thinking. An odd button could become a mighty shield; some loose bit of thread, a new decorative tie for his hat.Once, after being assaulted by one of spring’s characteristic rain showers, he had even fashioned a modest shelter out of pages from discarded scrolls and books, patching together a humble cottage of parchment for himself the way he used to build gold foil palaces.

However, for all his efforts, there were many aspects of Xie Lian’s former life that were unchanged. No matter the material or size, any makeshift home Xie Lian found for himself collapsed in on itself before long, and he was forced to continue his centuries-long pattern of vagrancy. Xie Lian thought carefully on this while slogging through the soaked wreckage of his third failed structure after it was battered to paper pulp by the elements; freeing as it was, no one his size could hope to live a halfway decent life with so many threats and so little protection. So far, he’d done well living on the outskirts of society and actively avoiding any traces of civilization for fear of being literally stamped out by it– but even he had to admit that his chances were better there than out in the wild.

Let alone when the seasons turn, Xie Lian reluctantly admitted to himself, prodding at the sludge that was once his roof with one foot. My problems won’t be half as mild as a rainstorm forever…

Thus, Xie Lian fell back on his hard-won talent for swallowing bitter pills, loaded up his acorn cap with as many scraps as he could comfortably carry, and hailed a mouse for the closest building with an inconspicuous hole in the flooring. 

If he was to survive, he would have to get creative.

Interestingly enough, the string of homes Xie Lian found himself in for the following months were so suitable that he found himself wondering if suddenly becoming tiny had interrupted the flow of his bad luck somehow.

First was the roadside inn he clambered into for the remainder of spring– specifically the back walls of its kitchen. There, he had found no shortage of delicious food, some of it tossed out with only a few bites missing. Xie Lian ate better there than he had in decades, and made excellent friends with all sorts of vermin by passing along food scraps to save them from the traps the innkeepers had set out. However, the air started to grow cloying and thick with the approaching summer, and, combined with the constant steam and smoke wafting into the crook of the wall Xie Lian had fashioned for himself, the little god found himself stifled and clammy with sweat more often than not. As such, at the turn of the season, he carved what he hoped was a thorough map of all laid traps into an inner beam, and bid a fond farewell to his fuzzy neighbors.

The bright, abundant summertime led Xie Lian to a place that was much more comfortable, but no less noisy– in fact, probably ten times as loud as the bustling inn: a humble family home abutting a modest rice paddy. Gusts of fresh wind swept freely through the open windows and doors all season long, carrying the water’s natural coolness and the scent of peaty wet earth throughout the house. Unfortunately for Xie Lian, the only nook in the floorboards he’d managed to score unnoticed was far from peaceful, being directly beneath the children’s room. The two young children who lived “upstairs” from Xie Lian were sweet enough, judging by the sounds of their play and enthusiastic calls for ‘mama’ and ‘baba,’ ‘yeye’ and ‘nai nai,’ but Xie Lian couldn’t say he slept particularly well during his stay there. In addition to the noise, he couldn’t help feeling horrendously guilty at skimming even the tiniest bits of discarded food and trash from the family, especially listening in on how hard the parents worked to keep everyone fed, clothed, and happy. 

So, on his final night in that house, Xie Lian broke one of his own rules of secrecy, and crept out of his nook while the children were sound asleep; then, as quietly and efficiently as he could, he re-sewed every worn thread, sanded every splintered corner, patched every hole, darting about the room and repairing every well-loved toy he could reach. Some hours later, as he stole away into the cool morning on oncoming autumn, a wistful smile pulled at his lips. Maybe the children would spend the rest of their lives swearing earnestly to the existence of the little fairy thing that skittered through their childhood– or maybe, they would wake without noticing a thing. Either way, he sent a little prayer for their health and good fortune up to the fading stars, as thanks for their unwitting hospitality.

Soon, the days and nights grew sharp and windy, and after traveling in the crisp wilderness for a good few days with no buildings in sight, Xie Lian was starting to fret a bit. Ruoye did its best to warm him, sliding and shifting about under his clothes in a vain attempt at friction, but all it took was one whistling wind to chill Xie Lian straight to the bone. Not only that, but he suspected he had wandered a bit too far from the edges of civilization; nighttime was a delicate affair, hiding out under stones and fallen leaves as the unmistakable light of ghost fires bobbed overhead. Xie Lian wasn’t sure when he had wandered nearer to the ghost realm. On one hand, he supposed he was too small pickings for any ghost to take notice of him– but on the other, that didn’t change the fact that navigating himself out of harm’s way was a near impossible task at this size. 

He was starting to suspect that his newfound good luck had run out when he finally spotted it– a small, but well-poised silhouette on the darkening horizon. Xie Lian, having been both a beggar and a chooser in his lifetime, knew better than to pass up the opportunity for shelter, and took off toward it.

The building turned out to be the home and workshop of a mortal craftsman, and yet another drastic change from his previous accommodations: it was plenty warm, and there were some food scraps left about the far edge of the small yard, but otherwise it was solemn, austere, and quiet as a tomb. Xie Lian managed to find himself an abandoned mouse’s hole on the side of the ground floor that was dedicated to the man’s workshop; with plenty of cover between the legs of several work benches and fragrant curls of wood, he could safely scurry about at nighttime, and even sometimes during the day, if the craftsman was particularly engrossed in his work. He seemed to be a stoic sort of man and kept an unwavering routine, for which Xie Lian was deeply grateful. It meant that he could lay low for the season, potentially well into winter, and continue adding to what was becoming his most creative home yet.

In terms of scrap-collecting, Xie Lian had hit a veritable goldmine. With such a variety of finely crafted items, perfectly sized tidbits of material were scraped away, chipped off, and swept to the corners of the room at the end of every day– just as good as delivered into Xie Lian’s eager hands.  The floor of his mouse hole was soft underfoot with layered wood shavings, so thin that they felt like downy feathers; the walls were decorated to eclectic perfection with gleaming metal spirals that caught the light of discarded candle-wicks that Xie Lian had pressed into spare globs of wax pried off the main work table’s surface. Sometimes, sipping tea from the handmade (albeit rustic) teacup he’d hammered out of a metal scrap for himself, Xie Lian amused himself by thinking that really, this place was home to two craftsmen– one of them was just being paid for his waste removal services in free, miniature room and board.

It was a private, peaceful time in Xie Lian’s new life, one that paired well with the darkening days outside as the entire world seemed to circle in its bed, in preparation for the oncoming sleep. It had been a very eventful year so far, and ultimately, Xie Lian counted himself quite lucky to have gotten on so well.

As such, it only stood to reason that something was bound to happen.

Xie Lian wasn’t the type to sleep in, and hadn’t been in several centuries– in truth, he wouldn’t have slept in at all that one fateful day, had his usual pocket of daylight through the mousehole not been blocked by some unknown obstacle. By the time he was sitting up groggily in his wood shavings bed, a cursory look about the overly dark room told him that it was probably late into the afternoon; any natural light filtering in through the entrance was shining at such an angle that it had missed him completely. Xie Lian rubbed his eyes with a small grumble and staggered to his feet to investigate his new, unsolicited front door.

Just outside the mousehole was a wide length of wood, wide enough to block all but a sliver of the entrance. Peering through the hole to examine it, Xie Lian could see a few shades of its rich color, could even smell the earthy scent of finishing oil still fresh on it. Clearly he’d missed most of the action of the day, if such a large piece had been completed, and there was no sound of footsteps about.

Cocking his head, Xie Lian tentatively reached one hand to slide across the wood’s surface. It was sanded to a finish that was nearly silken, and almost appeared to be a deep red in the few places that was catching the light. What craftsmanship… he marveled, sliding his hand to and fro once or twice– and, after weighing the perfect silence of the room with his own burning curiosity, doubled back for his straw hat, then began to shimmy his tiny frame through the equally tiny space for a better look. It was a tight fit, and he’d had to draw on some of his old busking work in order to squeeze out without damaging the hat, but once Xie Lian slipped out the opposite end and came to face the final product, he was struck speechless with awe. 

Before him stood one of the most beautifully crafted writing desks he had ever seen, even in his time as crown prince: illuminated in the amber light of the autumn afternoon, its vivid mahogany shone as red as the scattering maple leaves outside; the patterns of the wood grain were positioned and sanded so artfully that they made new patterns in and of themselves, natural lines ebbing and flowing over the length of the desk like running water; drawers of varying sizes were all christened with polished handles of pure gold, gleaming with sunlit opulence.

It towered over Xie Lian’s comparably miniscule form as grand and magnificent as any one of his temples at the very height of his godhood– the sight almost made him a bit nostalgic, though the feeling was embittered by a wave of deep melancholy. Xie Lian was no longer a stranger to feeling small and plain in the face of grandeur, but a pensive stillness coursed through him nonetheless. Sometimes, he seemed destined to simply exist alongside great, beautiful things. He didn’t mind that so much these days– and besides, it didn’t stop him from enjoying what little beauty he could grasp at.

“How lovely– Ruoye, hoist me up, will you? I just have to see the top!”

Ruoye slithered out from Xie Lian’s sleeve cautiously, but obeyed, first looping about the golden knob on the lowest cabinet and toting Xie Lian up until he balanced both feet carefully on its rounded surface, then repeated the process up toward the next drawer, and the next– even Xie Lian had to stifle his exhilarated giggles as he swung and clambered up the desk’s smooth, elegant surface like he was scaling a steep cliff face. Finally, with a small grunt of effort (and a good amount of help from Ruoye hauling him up over the edge), he reached the summit, pausing for a heartbeat to collapse on his back with a breathless laugh.

“Phew! How’s that for exercise, huh? I need to get back into… shape…” Xie Lian’s eyes widened at the sight of something shiny, even from where he was looking at it completely upside-down.

A short distance away on the desk’s surface was a golden pin– it was quite small, even by Xie Lian’s standards, but it caught the afternoon light like a gem. He swiftly hopped to his feet and scuttled over to it; on closer examination, the pin was straight, somewhat thick, and blunt at one end, or else he might have mistaken it for a misplaced earring. The other end was adorned with a pair of outstretched butterfly wings, giving the pin the semblance of having taken flight. In proportion to Xie Lian, it was about the size and shape of a small hand-axe. The metal was ever so slightly warm to Xie Lian’s touch as he took it in his hands, having absorbed so much of the autumn sunshine; judging by the heft, it was undoubtedly pure gold. It had been a while since Xie Lian had personally handled such riches, but even he couldn’t forget something so intrinsic to his childhood.

Xie Lian turned it over in his hands admiringly with a bittersweet hum. Were it not so obviously a complementary piece to the desk, this would have been the crowning glory of his collection of knick knacks. Furthermore, it really could make a halfway decent weapon (reminiscent of some of the pieces in his old armory, even!), although Xie Lian would be aggrieved to use something so elegant for such crude purposes.

Another glint of gold interrupted Xie Lian’s reverie, drawing his attention ahead– even given the stunning item in his hands, Xie Lian couldn’t help but gape in awe at the desk’s surface before him. The color and quality of the wood was no less stunning up above, and was artfully constructed into an array of small drawers and cubbies all along the far end. Xie Lian gently set the butterfly pin aside and leapt to his feet to admire them, his shoes pitter-pattering along the wood’s surface.

The smallest of the drawers, situated on opposite ends of the desk, were just about Xie Lian’s height, probably best suited for sheafs of paper or correspondence, and even the tiniest golden knobs on them shone like stars. Lined up tidily beside them were matching rows of vertical cubbies, so tall that they reminded Xie Lian of the spaces in between bookshelves at some great library.

Most splendid of all, perhaps, was the desk’s central cabinet– clearly the crown jewel of the piece, its double doors were latched in the center with a masterfully crafted golden butterfly, just about an exact match to that of the golden pin. Everything from the twin antennae, to the golden bar handles dangling from a series of elegant loops lining the butterfly’s thorax, to the intricate filigree of the wings was engraved in painstaking detail; at first, Xie Lian couldn’t help but clasp his hands over his mouth in speechless delight.

“Oh, goodness… this is really something else…!” he breathed through his fingers, drawing his eyes all about the latch as if to memorize it. The draw of those delicate golden wings was irresistible; despite Xie Lian’s significant distance from finery, some things were just too lovely to not be admired. No sooner had Xie Lian’s hands parted and extended tentatively toward it then a flash of white silk darted into his line of sight, lightly slapping them away with a disapproving thwack.

“Hey–!” Xie Lian exclaimed in hushed scolding. “Come on, it’s just a look– we’ll go back in a minute, I promise. He won’t be down for dinner until the sun sets anyway, and who knows when we’ll get a chance to see something so nice again?”

The silk gave a few dissatisfied ripples, but slipped back into Xie Lian’s sleeve as instructed, conceding to hover by his wrist at the ready. Xie Lian gave it a nod, and turned his attention back to the golden butterfly. One curious fingertip reached out to the wing’s lowest point, tracing the perfectly symmetrical patterns of curls and notches. Clearly, no expense had been spared in any stage of this piece’s creation. Taking both golden bars in his hands, he braced his stance and gave a swift, measured tug; the doors swung open without so much as an errant creak, a glowing testament to their craftsmanship.

“Ah, what a lovely touch!” Xie Lian marveled as he stepped inside. His voice echoed faintly about him, and the smell of the finishing oil was fresh and musky in his nose as he examined its spotless interior. At his height, the space was almost the exact size of a roomy inner chamber– a bit dark, perhaps, but plenty spacious and well-crafted. Xie Lian beamed, and spun around in the center of the cabinet to take it all in. “This fellow had better get his money’s worth for all this detail. I wonder who on earth could have commissioned such a thing…”

Just then, rhythmic footfalls resounded from the ceiling above, traveling toward the far end of the house and growing in volume as they descended the stairs. Ice shot through Xie Lian’s veins, and he whirled around with wide, frightened eyes to see a long shadow stretching down the stairs like a river of ink spilling towards him at what felt like lightning speed.

“Oh– no, no– Ruoye!” he hissed, diving for the far corner as he extended one arm. “The door– quick, the door!”

True to its order, the silk flew like a flash to the open door and pulled it shut with a soft click– swiftly plunging the entire chamber into sudden, pitch-black darkness.

Xie Lian’s chest tightened instinctively, and as soon as his back bumped the wall of the cabinet, he slowly slid down to sitting, pulling his knees up to his chest. The footsteps had arrived at the desk now, and several thumps and rumbles sounded as the craftsman began handling the desk: drawers opening and closing, hinges re-oiled, the slide of massive hands over the surface to check for irregularities. They all clamored like thunder in the little chamber, and Xie Lian had to fight back a full-body startle at each one.

“Hah– good work there, Ruoye. That was close…” he whispered as the silk slipped back to his side. Though his eyes were still adjusting to the dark, he could just barely make out the fine thread of light that remained visible between the doors; Xie Lian tried to focus his attention on that, and not the way the impenetrable dark seemed to press against it, smothering it to a slow, wheedling death.

Just the thought made the fear sharpen in him, pierce him through the chest. He forced a steadying breath, rubbing his hand across his sternum to soothe the phantom ache. Ruoye rustled fretfully about him, brushing at his fingertips like comforting kitten licks, moving about his body in a cycle of loosening and tightening as if trying to hug him. The sentiment brought a small smile to Xie Lian’s lips in spite of how they were trembling, and he hushed the silk as he shakily stroked one end. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay… We just have to wait till nightfall, and then–”

CLINK… SH-NN-K.

Xie Lian froze, and slowly turned his wide eyes in the direction of that sliver of light, buckling and whiffing out under the craftsman’s hands– along with the telltale sound of metal sliding against metal. He could feel his own breath thinning when the doors shuddered again; there came a final sharp click , the sound reverberating like a final nail in a coffin– and when the shadow of the man withdrew, Xie Lian could see a clear obstruction in the splinter of light just above the level of the golden handles…

Oh, heavens… the butterfly pin…!

The pin: slid perfectly into its designated place through the empty loops– and now thoroughly barring the double doors shut.

“Oh… oh, no…” Xie Lian muttered in a small voice, cold dread dousing him from head to toe as he lowered his swimming head to his knees. "Not again..." Outside the doors, the sounds of the house were muffled to an near unintelligible degree; the steps were moving away from the desk, straying to the opposite end of the workshop, soon joined by earthen clanks of clayware as the craftsman began setting up for dinner. Right on schedule, Xie Lian quipped bitterly to himself– in truth, he didn’t have the spirit to say it out loud. Even if he did, surely the joke would dissipate into thin air as soon as it left his lips, snuffed out like a weak candle by that heavy, heavy dark, creeping in to stifle him on every side…

“Oh, you’re… bit late… wondering when… pick up…”

Xie Lian’s head snapped up at the garbled sounds of voices just outside– it was the first time in his entire stay at the craftsman’s home that Xie Lian had heard him speak to anyone but himself. Fighting against his panic-stiff limbs, he staggered to his feet and tiptoed to the cabinet doors.

“My sincerest… delay in the City… shows excellent skill… my lord… undoubtedly pleased with…”

Xie Lian brought his hands to rest on the wood, daring to press his ear against the crack where the lock lay. As suspected, another voice was echoing in the small house– it sounded quiet, subdued, and a bit dull, if Xie Lian was frank about it– but it was a different person from the craftsman, without a doubt. His brows furrowed– had he heard something about ‘pick up?’ Could this be the individual who had commissioned the desk in the first place?

Xie Lian’s question was answered with an unceremonious tumble backward as the floor pitched wildly beneath his feet; he fell back onto one hip with a cry of surprise, and slid all the way to the back corner like a ragdoll. He had only just lifted his head and caught his breath when the chamber shifted again, sliding him abruptly to the other end. Outside, faint, wavering grunts of effort sounded as the entire piece lifted high and low, from side to side.

The realization sank in mid-fall: the desk was being moved, presumably to its new home and master– and taking Xie Lian along with it.

His mind sharpened as he slid toward the far wall of the cabinet, and clarity cut through the fog of his panic; all four limbs shooting into action, he managed to brace himself against the impact with two feet against the corner and both hands planted firmly on the floor just in time for another great shudder as the desk shifted. Yes, that was right– he wasn’t bound and pierced in place. He could still move, could still break down the doors– heavens, if the need was dire, Ruoye could even slip under the doorway and remove the pin once the coast was clear. Xie Lian took a few bolstering breaths, and rebalanced his weight with renewed determination. He wasn’t trapped. He wasn’t buried. He could find a way out.

With a slow keel to one side, then the other, the desk slowly lowered to stillness. Then, it began to shudder again with a steady rumble that kicked all the way up through the cabinet floor, a feeling akin to driving a cart on a bumpy road. So we’re being transported, Xie Lian thought as he crammed himself tightly into the corner for stability, trying to trace a map in his mind’s eye of any opulent, notable buildings he might have passed on the way. Far enough to use a cart, but close enough that the craftsman knows the other person by sight, and speaks to them fairly casually… Perhaps they’ve made commissions like this before?

But what kind of place– or better yet, what kind of person lived nearby who could afford a piece such as this? Nothing of this level of finery could be made for any commonplace use; no, it was far more likely that it was designed and made with a particular, wealthy individual in mind. The second person had spoken of a city and a lord, but with Xie Lian’s useless sense of direction, that could be absolutely anywhere or anyone with a heavy enough coin purse!

Xie Lian huffed in frustration, and braced himself against yet another bout of heavy rocking. He supposed this was what he got for not keeping up with significant figures of the modern day for the last couple centuries.

Where– no… Who exactly are we going to now?

Though the cart rumbled and shook, Xie Lian held fast inside for the entire ride. He supposed he could count himself lucky that he had never been the type to get motion sick, even though that was probably the only point of luck he had going for himself at the moment. This became abundantly clear the farther on their voyage they went– especially when currents of ghostly energy came sweeping over him, too strong to be blocked out by even the thickest of barriers. Clearly, they had fully crossed whatever border Xie Lian had been toeing in early autumn, and were well beyond the reaches of the mortal realm.

Xie Lian tried to grasp at what information he could as the aura became cloying and impenetrable as a heavy fog. To his frustration, he couldn’t glean much; it shifted so chaotically and frequently that it felt more like a combination of several auras– hundreds, maybe even thousands’ worth. An animal spirit here, a ghost fire there– every time Xie Lian detected one, there appeared another ten, then another fifty, until his head was spinning so badly that he might as well be motion sick after all. Not only that, but the doors of the cabinet were a poor barrier against the utter cacophony that rang outside: hollering, clanging, pots and pans, the rumble of wheels, the rush of fire, and all manner of inhuman noises. Among the clamor, Xie Lian could barely make out a hollered phrase or two as the cart rattled along:

“SAY– IT’S WANING MOON!!”

“KEEPIN’ US OUTTA TROUBLE, HUH, OFFICER?! HAHAHA– AW, COME ON, WE’RE JUST MESSIN’ WITH YA!!”

“WHATCHA GOT THERE, OFFICER– SOMETHING FOR THE MARKET–?”

Xie Lian tensed for action when the latter voice rose in volume, as if drawing closer to the cart. Before he could act, he stumbled to the floor as the cart came to a lurching halt– then he heard a thin whistle like a blade swinging through the air, and a meaty thud as something fell to the ground. A screech of shock pierced the air, dwindling as that voice– the second individual Xie Lian had heard– spoke for the first time since they’d left the workshop.

“Kindly step back– this item belongs to the Lord of the City, and you are not permitted to touch.”

“WELL, FUCK, YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SLICE THE WHOLE HAND OFF, DID YA? IT’S GONNA TAKE A GOOD WEEK TO GROW ANOTHER ONE BACK, YA KNOW!!”

“With respect, Cao Tai-xiansheng, you have five other hands to work with, and we both know that didn’t hurt.”

“WELL, IT HURT MY FEELINGS!!”

“Good evening, Cao Tai-xiansheng.”

Xie Lian scrambled back to the corner of the cabinet as the cart picked up speed again, fighting bravely against the chill running down his spine. What kind of place was this– furthermore, what kind of person was this Lord of the City?

“Is he really so protective of his belongings?” Xie Lian muttered under his breath. He noted that he could hear himself speak clearer now that the noise of whatever street they’d been on started fading, and the road beneath them seemed to smooth out. “Heaven knows what he might do if he catches a stowaway…”

Ruoye gave a nervous shiver against his wrist. Xie Lian smiled as comfortingly as he could at it. “Don’t worry– we’ve gotten out of worse messes before, and that was when we were much more noticeable! Let’s just make sure we escape before he comes back.”

More clamorous voices sounded outside the cabinet, and Xie Lian braced himself in the corner, sealing himself to silence as the desk swayed and pitched once again. Grunts of “where to,” and “around this way,” indicated that he was likely coming to the end of his unexpected journey– as he squinted at it, Xie Lian could tell that the light coming in beneath the doors had shifted. It was now an unnaturally deep red, traced with hints of dim lamplight. The footfalls of the individuals carrying the desk even sounded softer, as though tramping through halls upon halls of carpet and not solid flooring. If Xie Lian had been debating who could be wealthy enough for this kind of item, he had certainly found his answer.

He pushed his arms against the walls for stability as the chamber tilted sharply to one side, then the other– a few sighs of relief filtered in, followed by some distant chatter that grew slowly quieter, farther away… until at last, Xie Lian heard the slide and click of a door closing, enfolding whatever room he had been delivered to in dead silence.

Xie Lian stayed frozen at first, hardly allowing himself to breathe– nothing. He dared to creep forward to the crack in the doors, raising his eye to it. He could vaguely make out the corner of a doorway, a sliver of a wall that appeared to be draped in elegant tapestry, what might be the leg of a tea table…? He pinched his brow and allowed himself one puffed breath of frustration. His line of sight was far too small to be sure that the coast was clear, but he had no choice– if he tarried any long and was caught by this lord, he would surely be done for.

“Okay, Ruoye– we have to try it…” he whispered under his breath, dropping into a preparatory stance so he could be ready to dash at a moment’s notice. “I need you to slip underneath here, and go for the pin. Try not to drop it too loudly. Then wait until I’ve opened the door to check, and we’ll make a break f–”

Xie Lian’s breath seized in his throat as the air around him seemed to swirl, and thicken… No, not the air, he realized as he reeled and staggered backwards. It was the spiritual aura of the room itself. The very fabric of space had bent, twisted, split open as if by command– clearing the way for the strongest wave of ghostly energy Xie Lian had felt in his long, long life. It washed over his entire person, drenching him in a feeling reminiscent of digging one’s fingers into grave dirt, of the idle bobbing of a mournful ghost fire, of unnatural blood singing through one’s veins like the treacherous current just beneath the surface of a frozen river. This aura… such power could only be…

Xie Lian wasn’t even granted another wild heartbeat of panic before the sound of a figure approached in three sharp, purposeful steps– and with no further ado, rattled the desk as they pulled out the butterfly pin, and threw open the cabinet doors. Xie Lian had been frozen stock-still with his back and palms pressed against the far wall. However, when the cabinet flooded with light and a piece of parchment was shoved inside, effectively pinning him against the mahogany wood, even he couldn’t help his urgent, somewhat comical cry of, “Whoa-whoa-whoa– WAIT–!”

With a delicate ring, the massive figure outside quickly drew back, just far enough that their lower half still filled the entryway. There, Xie Lian could see flowing crimson red robes, accented with a brilliant silver belt about the midriff that dripped with ornaments– the very ones Xie Lian had just heard, chiming like bells as the figure moved. One hand, pale as a corpse, hung in mid-air, and the other hovered over the hilt of some weapon, polished to a menacing gleam; Xie Lian noted with a shiver that each one of the blackened nails was filed to a claw-like point, long enough to span the length of Xie Lian’s entire torso.

“Who’s there?” the figure barked, and Xie Lian flinched at the tone: cold, haughty, and fierce– well-suited for the lord of a city of ghosts, he supposed.

All the same, there was nothing to Xie Lian’s back and sides but three unyielding walls, and nothing left before him but an open doorway to that very lord. He couldn’t have been more thoroughly caught if he’d tried– and now, he literally had nowhere else to run.

“Well?” the voice demanded.

Xie Lian swallowed hard, then put on his best look of deference, folding his hands together and bowing his head as he slowly stepped out of the cabinet. It was all the better that he had averted his eyes in apology, as the sudden glare of light had him squinting uncomfortably down at the desk’s surface. Having been stuck in a small, dark place for a while, all of his senses felt smothered, the figure’s demonic aura only growing in potency the closer he got. As he emerged, Xie Lian caught whiffs of incense mingling in with the wood’s natural scent, and the faint crispness of night air filtering in from somewhere.

Well, at least he knew he could probably jump out a window if need be.

He came to a stop at the center of the desk, right beside where the figure had dropped the butterfly pin. It was still such a lovely thing, despite all the trouble Xie Lian had let it get him into. Never mind it, he thought, just say your piece and pray he lets you go.

Xie Lian bowed at the waist to the lord of the city, the very picture of deep contrition.

“Please accept my sincerest apologies. I did not intend to alarm or inconvenience you, my lord,” he swore. “I assure you, I was trapped inside this cabinet by pure accident– you may examine it for yourself, but I promise that no damage has been done to the interior.”

The figure was completely silent, without even the slightest breath to give them away. Xie Lian cleared his throat nervously before continuing. Maybe this lord wanted more groveling– that was okay, Xie Lian could do groveling. He bowed even deeper, prepared to drop into kowtow if things went south.

“Your lordship may be assured that I understand this item belongs to you and you alone, and I am deeply sorry for my transgression. If your lordship will be so gracious, I shall take my leave at onc–”

“No–!”

Xie Lian physically startled at the sudden, emphatic reply– so much so that he instinctively looked up in its direction.

Having spent a good amount of time at this height, Xie Lian was very used to other people being taller than him. Even considering that, the man standing before his own two-inch frame was… tall. Xie Lian couldn’t really rely on his own spatial judgment anymore, but the fact that he had to crane his head up to a neck-aching angle just to meet his eye was enough indication in itself.

Eye– Xie Lian blinked, feeling his mouth fall a little slack as he fully took in the ghost’s face. He was remarkably handsome, exuding the kind of alien beauty one could only carry back with them from beyond the grave. His skin was deathly pale, so pale it nearly glowed under the light like a piece of polished, snow-white jade; it stood in stark contrast to the raven-black hair that tumbled loose over his shoulders and came to a fine widow’s peak at the crest of his forehead. Xie Lian felt his eyes tracking its graceful arc all the way to the man’s brow, where he found his first observation had indeed been correct: a sole dark eye glinted like a whetstone, while the other was obscured by a sleek leather eyepatch. The strap that secured it swept across the expanse of his face like a wild stroke of ink, which only accentuated the elegant angles of his cheekbones, jaw, and nose. A pair of lightly rouged lips were parted in a blank look of profound shock.

Curiosity stirred in Xie Lian at that detail: really, this man looked a great deal more shocked than Xie Lian would expect for someone of his status– whatever the equivalent of having seen a ghost would be to a literal ghost, and a powerful one at that. But then, he supposed even such a powerful ghost lord had probably never seen such a teeny tiny person before.

The awestruck silence was shattered by a violent, metallic rattle from the hilt at the ghost’s hip; lightning-fast, he brought both pale, clawed hands to grab at it and stifle the sound before Xie Lian could even determine what it was, though he could make out a fine, black scabbard extending long and curved behind the man. A blade…?  

Though he was still clutching his own weapon to the point of strangulation, the man blinked his eye rapidly, long lashes batting like the wing of a startled bird.

“You don’t– no,” he stammered. His voice was deep, but still rough around the edges as he collected himself. Xie Lian came dangerously close to smiling at the sound of it– to think, the fact that someone like the famed Lord of the City could be caught so off-guard by such a small thing was genuinely charming. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”

Xie Lian cocked his head, puzzled. “I– I don’t? But this is Your Lordship’s desk, and–”

The ghost shook his head in curt, insistent movements. “Please, there’s no need for such formalities.”

Xie Lian’s eyes boggled– this was truly not the kind of man he’d been expecting. “Eh– but you are the lord of the city, aren’t you?”

“Ah– yes, I am, but…” The man paused to look away and take a steadying breath, releasing it in a slow, cool sigh that Xie Lian felt sweeping over him like a gentle autumn breeze. When he met Xie Lian’s gaze again, he donned a polite smile, and tucked his hands humbly behind his back. 

“But I’m not angry with you,” he continued, his tone much smoother. “And I have no intent to throw you out like some thief. You said so yourself: it was an accident.”

The ghost stepped forward to the desk again and knelt before its surface to bring his face to Xie Lian’s level– perhaps to get a better look at his stowaway, or perhaps for the sake of Xie Lian’s poor sore neck.

“I’m only sorry you were trapped in there for so long…” he murmured. At this distance, Xie Lian could track the tender concern coloring his expression as easily as watching the sky change color with the dawn. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Xie Lian’s heart fluttered, and he unfolded one of his hands to curl loosely like a closed flower bud before his chest. “Oh, yes, thank you– I’m just fine.”

The man’s dark, straight brows crooked downward. “Those scum weren’t too rough with the delivery, were they? You can tell me if they were.”

“No, no– not at all, really–!” Xie Lian sputtered with a flustered laugh, waving his hands in front of him. “There’s not a scratch on me! I was just… well, I wasn’t expecting to be picked up like that, haha… Serves me right for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

A spark struck like a flint in that dark eye, and the corners of the man’s lips crooked up in a smile. “Hmm… I don’t know. Seems to me like you ended up in quite the serendipitous place.”

At Xie Lian’s blank look, that smile deepened, and the man raised his hands to lay palm-down on the desk, resting his chin atop the interlaced fingers. The position made his otherwise severe and otherworldly face look young, mischievous– almost boyish, to Xie Lian’s private amusement.

“You must have come from Gao Su’s workshop somehow or other. That’s far enough from the fringes of the mortal realm that you must have been traveling quite a long way– no one wanders that far for their own entertainment. Plus, only a select few are even aware that he does business with Ghost City… and since you weren’t completely sure of who I was, you must not be familiar with this area. Am I right?”

Xie Lian puffed a sheepish laugh. “Hah– well, yes.”

“Which also suggests to me that you have nowhere else to go,” he concluded, voice softening with consideration. “Am I right again?”

Xie Lian smiled curiously; a ghost lord who took such care not to offend a complete stranger (especially one he could easily squash beneath his heel) was a peculiar one indeed– but nevertheless, he was as grateful as he was pleasantly surprised. “Exactly right,” he admitted with a shrug.

The man’s lower lip tugged inward as he seemed to chew on it lightly– really, Xie Lian was having a hard time remembering why he had ever been so nervous before, when the city’s fearsome lord had turned out to be so terribly endearing–!

“I feared as much,” he replied, so low and with such solemnity that Xie Lian could have mistaken it for speaking to himself– he found that a bit peculiar, but before he could consider it further, the man’s eye fixed on him again, bright and resolute. 

“Then it’s settled,” he declared. “You’ll stay right here for as long as you desire.”

Xie Lian nearly choked on his stuttered reply. “Wh–what? Oh, I couldn’t– please, I really don’t mind going–!”

Another metallic shudder sounded from the ghost’s hip, followed instantly by a sharp smack somewhere beneath the desk’s surface as he seemed to strike at it; from the waist up, he was perfectly serene, and the dark hair waved like a silky black curtain as the ghost shook his head firmly. “I won’t hear a word of protest. It’s almost wintertime in the mortal realm, yes? And you’ve already said you have nowhere else to go.”

A shiver ran through Xie Lian at the mere suggestion; despite his own self-consciousness, the ghost spoke true. The whole reason Xie Lian had run for shelter at the craftsman’s home in the first place was for fear of the elements. If he left, Xie Lian wasn’t guaranteed to make it through the streets of Ghost City safely on his own, let alone back in the mortal realm in the dead of winter.

The man must have noticed Xie Lian’s discouragement, because his voice rumbled with earnest compassion when he spoke next. 

“I have no desire to throw you out into such conditions, not when you can stay safe and comfortable right where you are,” he assured. “Please believe me– you are welcome here.”

Xie Lian looked up, finding himself entirely encompassed by the soulful look in that dark eye– he had to cast his eyes all around the man’s face in order to take it all in, and still, he was overwhelmed. Such kindness and generosity… the likes of which Xie Lian hadn’t experienced in many, many years– more than he could count.

“Unless, of course,” the ghost continued. “You’d rather have somewhere more comfortable than a desk cabinet…?”

Xie Lian shook his head with a grateful smile. “Oh, no need– it’s quite cozy in there, actually! I’ve never had a home my size with a real door before, let alone a door that locks!”

The stranger threw back his head and laughed heartily. When he plopped his chin back down onto his hands, his face was aglow with delight.

“Alright, then. Let me at least get some furniture arranged for you– I want you to be as comfortable as possible, gege.”

Xie Lian couldn’t help his own squawk of incredulous laughter at that. The man only cocked his head innocently.

“Hm? What’s funny, gege? Won’t you fill this simple one in on the joke?”

Xie Lian gestured wildly between himself and the man’s frame, hulking by comparison. “Haha–! Look at me– clearly I’m not the gege here–!”

Those red lips set in a playfully stubborn line as the man shook his head. “Nonsense– it’s a matter of principle and respect. For as long as gege is in my home, he is my honored guest.”

A feeling of genuine bashfulness swept up through Xie Lian from his feet– he might have shyly scuffled his shoes a little on the desk itself, were he not so acutely aware that doing so would damage his gracious host’s new furniture. Which reminded him…

“Uh… if I may ask…” Xie Lian asked meekly. “Guest of… where, exactly?”

The stranger chuckled deeply in his throat and rose to standing. Again, by the creaking of his neck, Xie Lian was quickly reminded of just how huge this lord was in comparison to himself– likely much taller than the average mortal, and definitely taller than Xie Lian, even at his former height.

Thankfully, the man stepped further back and swept a red and silver-clad arm to gesture to the rest of the room. Now looking at it in full, Xie Lian felt a bit breathless. The desk itself was already a work of finery– in that sense, it was very well suited for its new home. He cast his eyes around the ornately decorated bedchamber, boasting lavish furnishings of the same mahogany as the writing desk, a plush divan strewn all over with cushions and furs, and, as Xie Lian had suspected, a sprawling, luxurious bed enclosed by intricate lattice work. Both the bed and the windows were hung with silks of rich red, black, and burgundy, some of which were gently swaying in the night air. Through the one open window just past the bed, the distant chaos of Ghost City provided a faint twinkle and low hum that permeated the room.

Xie Lian’s gawking must have been painfully obvious, judging by the stranger’s pleased smirk. “Paradise Manor,” he answered. “Residence of this land’s Supreme Ghost King.”

Xie Lian froze, his wide eyes locking on his new companion, his expression going slack. “Uh… Ghost… King?”

The man smiled as politely and simply as if Xie Lian had asked him the time. “Mm-hm.”

“Ah... I see,” Xie Lian cleared his throat and straightened the front of his robes, trying for at least a semblance of composure. “And, um… who might that Ghost King be, exactly?”

Another one of those spirited laughs echoed through the room as the man reached for the arm of a nearby chair; drawing it close to the desk, he sank down into it and crossed his long legs with all the self-assured confidence of the supreme ghost king in question. A sliver of Xie Lian was starting to wonder what on earth he had gotten himself into– but that was quickly vanquished by the sight of the man leaning over in his seat and planting one elbow on the desk, plopping the side of his face into his hand to look at Xie Lian conspiratorially.

“Well, he’s known to the rest of the world as Hua Cheng, Crimson Rain Sought Flower… A vicious, volatile ruler who’s brought gods and ghosts alike to their knees…” he explained in a slow, hushed tone, as though he were sharing a ghost story– though honestly, Xie Lian supposed he was. He was spellbound all the same, physically drawn closer to the man’s form– only for that sole eye to squint into a dark crescent as he shot Xie Lian an impish smile.

“But, in here… gege may call me San Lang.”

The ease with which Xie Lian’s new life fell into place at Paradise Manor astounded him, due in no small part to Hua Cheng’s attentive generosity. Hardly two hours into their acquaintance, Hua Cheng had been listening, enraptured, to the winding tales of Xie Lian’s travels; at the mention of his beloved wood shavings bed back at the workshop, Hua Cheng’s smile had gone slightly tense at the corners of his lips, but nodded in encouragement for Xie Lian to continue, merely bringing a fingertip to tap against his temple. About half an hour later, Hua Cheng excused himself momentarily, only to return with an ornately painted box of middling size, which he presented to Xie Lian with all the solemnity of an offering from a devotee.

“I did promise I would make gege comfortable,” he crooned as Xie Lian gawked at the lavishly made bed that lay inside: downy pillows, a hand carved bed frame, furs and blankets, all exactly his size. Xie Lian couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a real bed, let alone one that he could easily stretch out his entire body in.

In spite of its tempting call, Xie Lian fought against his own exhaustion in favor of talking with Hua Cheng well into the night’s wee hours, until eventually he was all but forced back into his cabinet for some much-needed rest. The bed was as luxuriously comfortable as it looked, immediately plunging Xie Lian into a sleep that was heavy, deep, and completely dreamless. As such, when he woke up late the next morning and groggily pushed open the cabinet’s double doors only to find a matching, miniature chest of drawers waiting for him… well, he couldn’t have been blamed for wondering if he’d actually woken up at all.

Often, Hua Cheng could either be found readying himself at the far end of the room, or sweeping in from the hall as soon as Xie Lian roused for the day. He seemed to be in the habit of taking breakfast in his chambers, and from their very first morning, this routine was extended to Xie Lian in the form of his own mouth-watering spread, laid out steaming in doll-sized dishware, surprisingly fresh and well prepared despite the miniscule portions. He eagerly tucked into his few fluffy grains of rice and fragrant cup of tea while Hua Cheng looked on, visibly pleased as he nibbled on his own meal; Xie Lian found that a bit odd, as to his knowledge, most ghosts didn’t need to eat. But then, most ghosts weren’t eager to open their homes (or their desks ) to perfect strangers– and most ghosts certainly weren’t Hua Cheng.

If recent events weren’t proof enough of what a unique man Hua Cheng was, the not-so-fearsome ghost king gave Xie Lian plenty more as they gradually came to know each other. Xie Lian found Crimson Rain Sought Flower, the Supreme Ghost King Hua Cheng, to be many things, very few of which were implied by his titles and reputation: he was clever, for certain, whip-smart and immensely powerful– but more notably, he was warm, obliging, deeply considerate… when he wasn’t busy being the biggest tease Xie Lian had ever encountered.

“San Laaaang…” Xie Lian groaned, knocking his forehead on the brush he was bracing upright against his side. “You promised you’d focus…!”

Hua Cheng giggled devilishly as he spun his own brush in one hand like a toy and propped up his chin with the other. “But gege, this San Lang is focusing– I’m listening to everything you’re saying.”

Xie Lian scoffed an exasperated laugh, readjusting his grip and drawing the brush tip down in a decisive stroke on the parchment beneath his feet– he had always written with an elegant hand, and unsurprisingly, he found even more enjoyment in calligraphy now that it had overlapped with his love of a full-body workout.

“I meant on your paperwork,” he asserted. “Waning Moon Officer said it was important, so you oughtn’t let me distract you.”

Hua Cheng released a miserable sigh that rushed along the desk’s surface and swept up the length of Xie Lian’s hair, making him smile in spite of himself. The act might have been believable, had Xie Lian not grown accustomed to Hua Cheng’s playful dramatics.

“Come, haven’t we earned a break?” Hua Cheng pouted. “I was really hoping that gege would tell me another story from his travels as a reward… maybe the one about the frog and toad’s turf war next?”

Xie Lian lowered his brush to the brush rest with a huff, and spun on his heel to march across the desk toward Hua Cheng, parchment rustling under his tiny footfalls as he went.

“Finish that page, and I’ll think about it.”

“Hah–! You drive an awfully hard bargain, laoshi…”

Xie Lian almost tripped over the parchment in flustered surprise. Hua Cheng was also dangerously suave at times, yet another thing he wouldn’t have expected from a ghost feared by so many– unless, of course, his reputation also included a string of broken hearts. Xie Lian found he didn’t like thinking on that possibility for too long.

“W-well, you– ah, you won’t get anywhere when you hold your brush like that–!” he stammered, grabbing Hua Cheng’s brush and repositioning it in his hand. Just beyond the toe of his shoe, Hua Cheng’s own handwriting lay scrawled and spattered across the page like the scene of some gory crime. Xie Lian’s own instructor certainly would have said as much if he could see it now: a literal crime against all three realms.

“Ah, of course, silly me…” Hua Cheng smirked, letting his pale hand go loose about the brush as Xie Lian maneuvered it; his skin was cool to the touch, which did not surprise Xie Lian, but was also delicate as silk, which very much did. “Please, do instruct me.”

Xie Lian ducked his head and prayed his reddening cheeks weren’t noticeable at this distance. “Well… alright. If San Lang insists.”

Hua Cheng’s wide smile did a poor job of hiding his pleasure. Xie Lian was starting to think he wasn’t even bothering with subtlety– but he couldn’t deny how deeply Hua Cheng’s enthusiasm warmed his heart, however mischievous the means.

True to his promise, Hua Cheng seemed intent on repaying Xie Lian for his company (and impromptu calligraphy lessons) by being the perfect host. Every morning, Xie Lian emerged from his cabinet to find a new piece of furniture, each one fit for a tiny prince: a full length mirror, a tea table and set, a wardrobe filled with impossibly delicate robes, even a precious flower bud potted in fresh soil. Before long, the cubby was filled out with comfortable furnishings and tasteful decoration; for the first time in centuries, Xie Lian had quite the elegant little home for himself. 

For his part, Hua Cheng took the interior design of Xie Lian’s cabinet so seriously that Xie Lian had to laugh, feeling the need to remind Hua Cheng that the desk belonged to him in the first place. Hua Cheng would not be deterred, hemming and hawing over the layout of the furniture, of how they could get some natural light into the bedchamber without compromising gege’s privacy, of how he had dabbled in some craftwork himself and would happily hollow out a window in the desk’s back panel, even temper the little glass panels by hand– Xie Lian had despairingly grabbed onto the hem of Hua Cheng’s sleeve at the mere thought of Hua Cheng going to all that trouble, and urgently reassured him that leaving the doors open would suit him just fine.

Hua Cheng, after a brief moment of surprise, had laughed and agreed, but on one condition– that Xie Lian not hesitate to take anything else for his new home that would please him, anything at all.

“All that’s mine is yours,” he assured, his voice rumbling deep and resonant through Xie Lian’s very body at this distance; Hua Cheng always took such care to speak softly when his mouth was hovering so near Xie Lian, and yet Xie Lian still had to tamp down a slight tremble at the sensation. By necessity, he hadn’t interacted with any other people during his tenure as a teeny tiny person; doing so with Hua Cheng now required physical closeness most of the time, which came with the constant reminder of just how small Xie Lian really was– and just how large Hua Cheng was in comparison.

“You have free reign to go anywhere in the Manor you like,” Hua Cheng told him as they looked over a map of the estate together, drawing one pointed nail from one room to another. “Though, I do not recommend going without a guide. I would hate for gege to get lost.”

Xie Lian followed dutifully behind the nail, traipsing down the illustrated halls as though practicing. “Hah–! That’s a very wise idea, knowing me. Will San Lang guide me, then?”

Hua Cheng smiled with undisguised glee. “I would be honored to. However, there is another form of transportation at your disposal, if you wish…”

At Xie Lian’s curious look, Hua Cheng brought his chin to rest on his forearms; meeting Xie Lian at eye level, he drummed his nails against the shining silver vambraces with a quick string of delicate clinks, and cocked one mischievous brow.

“How does gege feel about flying?”

Xie Lian’s previous gripes proved negligible with the astonishing solution Hua Cheng offered. Birds were one thing– magical, crystalline butterflies were quite another. Xie Lian had never seen anything like the creatures before, simply materializing out of Hua Cheng’s vambraces and lifting off his jewelry by command; they danced adoringly about Xie Lian, surrounding him with sounds of tinkling bells and a feeling of a crisp wintry breeze. They appeared like any other butterfly except in color, silvery, glittering, nearly translucent in places– Xie Lian noted this with wonder as he circled one that had alighted on the desk before him, examining it like one would a horse, only approaching after Hua Cheng gave him an affirming nod. 

The butterfly made a dainty chittering sound as he extended one hand, and immediately lowered one of its antennae to his palm in deference. Xie Lian gave a slight shiver and a hushed laugh at the touch; it was cold, and slightly tingly, as though he’d been grazed by an icicle. Carefully, he moved his hand to lightly stroke along the rest of the body. Their glass-like exoskeletons and wings felt much the same, akin to the frostbitten edge of a windowpane. Again, the creature cooed and batted its wings, even seeming to tap its thin, fractaled legs against the desk’s surface like an overexcited puppy. Suffice it to say, Xie Lian was charmed immediately.

As it turned out, the butterflies were also incredibly resilient; Xie Lian found this out firsthand while astride one’s back, bursting into amazed laughter as it took to the air in swift, effortless flutters. It made several wide circles about the room, giving Xie Lian an even better look at its size and luxury– and when the butterfly returned to hover by Hua Cheng’s face, Xie Lian had a hard time telling if his stomach was flipping from the height or the view. Of course, Hua Cheng had never hesitated to come to Xie Lian’s level, but seeing him up close like this was another thing entirely: at this height, Xie Lian could admire him drawn to his full height, his frame straight and broad, his chin raised and lips curled in cool, self-assured pride. Normally, Xie Lian wouldn’t endorse a trait that could so easily corrupt anyone else, but for Hua Cheng, he’d make an exception– pride was as effortless and handsome on Hua Cheng as a well-made robe. It… suits him.

Xie Lian hadn’t realized he was staring slack-jawed until Hua Cheng repeated his question of ‘how is gege enjoying himself’ again, with no small trace of amusement– and if Xie Lian sputtered a bit in his reply, then he could only pray it could be attributed to hovering at such a staggering height.

At Hua Cheng’s behest, Xie Lian went on to make use of the butterflies to explore Paradise Manor. Xie Lian, though initially reluctant to impose, found that flight was definitely necessary for a home of this size– Paradise Manor was huge, each corridor impossibly splitting into another three, lined wall to wall with pockets of discovery, ranging from personal libraries to surprise outdoor gardens to secret inner chambers within inner chambers. The entire manor was so entrancing and maze-like that Xie Lian felt certain that much of its depth was a mischievous trick of the eye.

A great deal like its master, he mused fondly as his butterfly steed swept him up to the next bookshelf; he was far too small to take any books out himself, but Hua Cheng had enthusiastically encouraged Xie Lian to take his pick anyway– he would be sure to take note of what gege liked ( how he did this, Hua Cheng coyly refused to say), and have it brought to his chambers for them to peruse together when he returned.

Xie Lian chuckled to himself as he paced along the length of the shelf, trailing his fingers along the books’ spines as he went. The weeks had turned to months now, and his host’s attentiveness hadn’t diminished in the slightest. On the contrary, he and Hua Cheng had only grown closer by the day, swapping stories and jokes and points of interest until one of them reluctantly withdrew: either Hua Cheng urging Xie Lian to get his rest and turn in for the night, or Xie Lian reminding Hua Cheng what a busy man he actually was. Realistically, neither of them were fooling themselves (or each other) with what they’d rather be doing– the hours and hours spent talking with each other was proof enough of that.

One comparably tiny hand came to a sudden halt, spread wide over the character for ‘weaponry’ as Xie Lian’s eyes lit up at one particularly intriguing title– even if he didn’t understand precisely how it worked, that didn’t stop him from chirping a delighted, “Oh– this one next, please, San Lang!” Behind him, the butterfly’s wings flapped with the sound of a blade singing the air, and Xie Lian swore he could hear Hua Cheng’s obliging assent thrumming through it.

No one could deny that a butterfly ride was as exciting as it was efficient in getting Xie Lian around the manor– however, he would pass it over any day for the chance to explore with the master of the house himself. Hua Cheng was no less eager to be Xie Lian’s guide, dedicating full days to playing around at home as often as he could; Xie Lian was starting to feel suspicious of how much free time this Supreme Ghost King seemed to have, but not suspicious enough to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“San Lang really has quite the collection. I’m very impressed,” Xie Lian marveled from his seat on Hua Cheng’s left shoulder. Ever courteous, Hua Cheng was walking at a serene, steady pace down one corridor, lined with all manner of artwork from ages and kingdoms Xie Lian thought to be lost forever.

“I’m honored to hear it pleases you, gege,” Hua Cheng chuckled smoothly. “I’ve always thought that fine things deserve to be cherished.”

Xie Lian adjusted his grip on the collar of the crimson robes as he leaned slightly forward to meet Hua Cheng’s eye. “Oh, yes, I agree! Far better to have a home than to sit around unnoticed and collect dust somewhere.”

Hua Cheng’s eye flicked down in Xie Lian’s direction, and squinted into a dark, smiling crescent. “My thoughts exactly,” he crooned, and the rich music of his voice resonated through Xie Lian’s very core– another benefit of a personal escort, one that was quickly becoming one of Xie Lian’s guiltiest pleasures.

Xie Lian quelled his fluttering heart by turning his attention back to the artwork with a dry laugh. “Ah– I think this ‘Hua Chengzhu’ must be a person of great influence, to have come upon so many rare pieces. Don’t you?”

The expanse of Hua Cheng’s shoulder stiffened beneath Xie Lian as Hua Cheng actively suppressed his own bout of laughter so as to not send Xie Lian flying off; Xie Lian was helpless to another surge of warmth at the thought. Hua Cheng was so careful with him– careful, but never once patronizing.

“Hah–! Maybe to some,” he conceded. “Though really, you’d be surprised how much stuff people give you when you inspire enough fear.”

Xie Lian snorted. “Is that so? I guess that’s why I haven’t had any of San Lang’s good fortune– after all, who’d ever be afraid of a tiny trash collector?”

Hua Cheng’s pace slowed, his smile fading ever so slightly. If he’d hoped to disguise the shift, he’d sadly failed. At this distance, Xie Lian could note every change in his expression, no matter how small– this was another one of his guilty, private pleasures, though not without plenty of cause. From the day they met, Xie Lian had suspected that for everything Hua Cheng so freely offered, even more went hidden– or, perhaps not hidden, but rather… restrained.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” Hua Cheng amended as his tone grew pensive. “But make no mistake… I, too, was once very little in this world. No offense meant, of course.”

“Oh– none taken,” Xie Lian rushed to assure through his surprise. As much as Xie Lian had come to know Hua Cheng during his stay, at times Hua Cheng proved to be as similar to Paradise Manor as it was to him– an utter labyrinth of mystery, however welcoming, however beautiful.

“We’ve sort of traded places, then,” Xie Lian admitted sheepishly. “By now, I’m sure San Lang has figured out I wasn’t always this little.”

“I had my suspicions,” Hua Cheng replied courteously. “But gege never brought it up, and I didn’t want to pry.”

“Hah– yes, well…” Xie Lian ducked his head. “The details don’t really matter, anyway. I’m little now, and I have to learn to get by. Besides, it really hasn’t been all that bad– you’d be surprised how much you can get away with when nobody notices you!”

Again, Hua Cheng’s face shifted imperceptibly; were anyone else in the room, it likely would have gone unnoticed, but from Xie Lian’s point of view, the slight, fretful furrow of his brow was plain as day. After a long pause, he finally spoke again.

“Does… does gege miss it? Being bigger?”

Xie Lian paused himself as he considered it. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he mused. “I’d already been quite small for a long time, in a certain sense. So really, it wasn’t all that difficult to just… disappear. It’s not like anyone missed me.”

Hua Cheng’s mouth twitched, his indecipherable gaze fixed straight ahead. “Hm.”

Xie Lian shifted and fidgeted with his handful of Hua Cheng’s collar, suddenly feeling even guiltier than usual for the close-up view that only he was privy to. “Does San Lang miss being smaller?”

He rose slightly in the air on that crimson-clad shoulder as Hua Cheng drew in a slow breath. He was still looking forward as he walked, though the muscles in his angular jaw worked subtly, thoughtfully beneath his dove-white skin– Xie Lian successfully stopped himself from obsessing over the movement by realizing what a sensitive question he had just asked.

“Ah–!” he stammered. “That is, if you–”

“No,” Hua Cheng answered, firm and definitive, but not unkind. “I don’t.”

Xie Lian paused; it wasn’t unlike Hua Cheng to speak so decidedly, especially with things he was passionate about– but about such a delicate topic, where he would normally show that characteristic restraint… Could this mean San Lang is comfortable opening up to me?

The little flip of happy surprise in Xie Lian’s belly was enough to tamp down his protests, and he listened attentively as Hua Cheng continued:

“Back then– when I was smaller– I was useless. Powerless in the face of so much,” he confessed, his voice beginning to roughen in his throat. “There’s no worse feeling in the world than watching cruelty unfold before you, and being unable to do a thing. I don’t wish it on anyone.”

Xie Lian nodded slowly. “I see… That’s quite honorable,” he said, feeling a tidal wave of affection surging from his chest, threatening to swallow him whole.

Hua Cheng puffed a hollow laugh. “Gege is kind to say so– but really, it isn’t about honor. I…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I want to protect someone.”

Xie Lian’s heart stuttered. “Oh?”

“Mmn,” Hua Cheng hummed as he came to a halt. All at once, Xie Lian felt the rush of tenderness course through Hua Cheng’s body as closely as if it were his own; it smoothed the tense set of his shoulders, drew up the corners of his lips, softened his dark gaze as it focused from the empty space ahead to something invisible– some far-off, sentimental place where Xie Lian couldn’t follow him. “My beloved.”

Xie Lian’s stuttering heart stopped, then sank like a stone.

“Y-your…” he stammered; his tongue felt heavy and stupid in his own mouth, his voice muffled to his own ears. “Your– beloved…?” 

Hua Cheng only smiled wider, and nodded. “Mm-hm. My beloved is an extraordinary person: beautiful, kind, earnest, wise, strong beyond measure… They recognize this world for what it is, and choose to love it, despite its many faults. They are my hope,” he declared simply. “The greatest treasure I have ever known.”

That voice deepened with immeasurable warmth the more he spoke, rumbling and ebbing from the very center of Hua Cheng’s chest outward; Xie Lian, still sinking, could almost fool himself into imagining some of that warmth could reach him on Hua Cheng’s shoulder, even if just its farthest, thinnest edges. He wanted to reply, to tell Hua Cheng how wonderful that was, how happy he was to hear it– the words were stuck fast like a thick, ugly mass of mud in his throat.

Blessedly– or cursedly– Hua Cheng seemed only too happy to continue while Xie Lian silently shoved fistfuls of salt into his own wound. 

“With all they’ve done for me, with all they still do,” he explained. “I wish to not just protect them, but to care for them. To give them a home, to keep them in comfort, surround them with beauty. To ensure their happiness would be my highest honor, one that I wish to fulfill for as long as I exist in this world. Whatever it takes.”

Xie Lian could only listen, spellbound, as Hua Cheng’s impassioned speech waned; eventually his gaze returned to the present and cast around the hall as he, again, started to pace slowly through countless corridors of finery: all lined up perfectly, polished and preserved… as if waiting for someone.

“In truth, that’s what it’s about,” Hua Cheng confessed in little more than a reverent whisper, sounding as much the asker as the answerer. “All of it: the power, the city, the manor and everything in it… It’s all for them, should they desire it– should it please them.”

Xie Lian was feeling a little light-headed, and he didn’t think he could blame the height this time. He lowered his eyes and huffed a soft laugh of awe. “I can’t imagine it wouldn’t. Just look at all you’ve done for them, how hard you still work to look after them– I… I admire that very much.”

A slight stir by his right side drew Xie Lian’s gaze up again, where he almost startled to see Hua Cheng looking right at him, slightly starstruck.

“Gege is… very gracious,” Hua Cheng replied, his tone measured but profoundly grateful; by now, Xie Lian knew for a fact that the stillness of his voice only barely veiled how deep his meaning ran. “To look after them is all I’ve ever wanted, even since I was young. Though, at times…” A hint of shyness crept into his expression as he lowered his gaze. “Part of me does miss being smaller.”

Xie Lian cocked his head in curiosity. “Oh?”

Hua Cheng nodded with a wistful smile. “Yes. If only to feel as safe in their arms as I once did, all those years ago.”

The statement tugged a small gasp from Xie Lian’s throat, and his eyes pricked against his will. He could imagine that version of Hua Cheng so well: small and helpless, perhaps, yet bursting at the seams with passion and spirit that blazed like wildfire– not unlike Hua Cheng at this very moment, visibly wrangling himself back into place at the mere mention of his beloved. Xie Lian’s throat panged. If only he could have held Hua Cheng then, too, if only to see him that way, just once… and to understand all the emotion he kept locked up so carefully.

“That’s… that’s a beautiful sentiment,” Xie Lian murmured. “I can only imagine what a wonderful feeling that would be…”

Realistically, Xie Lian knew that wasn’t true; he knew it as soon as he cast his eyes back down over himself, seeing his own tiny body dressed in finer clothes than he’d had since his royal days, warm and fed, safe and comfortable– carried so kindly, so gently by someone who’d opened his home to him and offered him the first friendship he’d known in centuries. If he was honest with himself, Xie Lian knew exactly what a wonderful feeling that was, had been swimming in it for months on end, and he was grateful… and yet, for the first time since his transformation, he looked down at his changed self and felt a sour taste creep into his mouth.

Forget scrap-collecting, forget cultivation, forget the heavens and godhood– all Xie Lian’s littler dreams had whiffed out before this new flame, burning steadily in his heart. In the shadow of this elusive, perfect, astounding beloved– how could someone so literally small ever compare?

They don’t, his mind helpfully answered, which Xie Lian accepted with a shaky sigh as he tried to pull himself together. Still, it didn’t mean he had to inflict his bitterness on everyone else.

Xie Lian brought a hand to brush against his chest. “Ah, forgive me… I’m very moved, is all.” Even the sore dejection brewing inside him couldn’t fully dampen his genuine smile. He had always known Hua Cheng to be a man of immense passion, and seeing it in action felt like an even greater gift than any in the long, long line he had been bestowed so far. “San Lang is quite the romantic.”

Hua Cheng tossed his head back with a good-natured laugh. “Haha–! Gege sounds surprised about that.”

“Oh, no, no!” Xie Lian insisted. “Not at all– quite the opposite! The fact that you believe so strongly in love is…”

One dark eyebrow cocked in a sardonic arc over Hua Cheng’s sole eye. “Crazy?”

Xie Lian shook his head firmly. “No– it’s brave.”

At that, Hua Cheng stopped again, this time in obvious surprise; it showed in his expression as he turned to look at Xie Lian again. It painted his stark features in kinder, more human strokes, stoking the determined fire in that deep, dark eye, bringing a sorrowful quirk to his brow and slightly parted lips. It was the both the clearest and most indecipherable emotion Xie Lian had read on him since they met; he felt quite grateful he was safely seated, or else Xie Lian was certain the sight would have made him physically weak. 

Like this, even someone as dazzling as Hua Cheng looked plain, somehow: unceremoniously stripped down to all his simplest, innermost parts. Most of all, despite his comparable enormity– like this, Hua Cheng almost looked… small.

Those lips opened around a short, impulsive breath, one that Xie Lian instinctively joined in holding– and then pressed back together, closing tightly around whatever had just been scratching at the door to be let out. Madly, Xie Lian half wanted to climb onto his face and pry them back open with his bare hands– anything, anything to get that glimpse of truth again. Instead, he worried the corner of Hua Cheng’s collar between his fingers, and spoke.

“Ah…” Xie Lian rasped. “Have I spoken out of turn? You can be honest with me.”

Hua Cheng blinked several times as if surfacing from a deep dream, and cleared his throat curtly. “N-no, no… Gege’s wisdom is inspiring, as always. I’m grateful for it… and for him.”

The smile he gave Xie Lian, however restrained, was completely sincere, and Xie Lian accepted it gladly. Anything he could get.

“Now, then…” Hua Cheng picked up his sprightly pace again, and turned them down a corridor that Xie Lian was certain hadn’t been there before. Haha–! Tricky, tricky San Lang… “How about the armory next? I came upon some interesting throwing darts the other day– I was thinking we might be able to fashion them into something more suitable for your skills, if we put our heads together.”

Xie Lian clapped his hands together in delight, even as part of him internally shook his head. Ah, too much–!  

“Yes, please!” he agreed enthusiastically. “Oh– will E’Ming be in the armory today as well? I felt so terribly, leaving it in such a state last time. The poor thing was practically crying after me…”

Hua Cheng scoffed. “That hunk of scrap metal needs to learn some discipline anyway– if I’m any more lenient, it’ll think it can pitch a fit every time it wants its way.”

Xie Lian couldn’t resist a devious giggle of his own. “Ah, discipline, you say? Then I guess I’ll keep that in mind the next time San Lang tries to wriggle out of calligraphy practice.”

Hua Cheng’s scowl turned to a miserable pout at lightning speed. “Gege, no fair…!”

The childish whine sent Xie Lian straight into hysterics as they approached the armory, though Hua Cheng seemed to take the hint and deigned to allow E’Ming out of its scabbard for some allotted ‘gege time’ after all– heavily supervised. Xie Lian beamed and applauded as the scimitar paraded itself about, singing with glee, then rattling sullenly every time Hua Cheng drew Xie Lian’s attention elsewhere. Xie Lian had to laugh aloud at the sight– the resemblance was truly uncanny.

Their thorough exploration of such artful weaponry lifted Xie Lian’s spirits enough to distract him for the rest of the afternoon, and well into their shared evening. However, by the time Xie Lian was yawning over the book of poetry he and Hua Cheng were poring over together, and Hua Cheng had sweetly but insistently bid him goodnight, that little stone that was once Xie Lian’s heart was weighing sore and heavy in his chest again.

He had tossed and turned in his tiny bed for what felt like hours, restless energy buzzing in his fingertips and toes as he tried to will himself into relaxation. Eventually, he sat up with a frustrated huff. It was no use. His heart had no pity on him– every time he tried to focus on the silence of the room, all he could hear was the ring of two distant voices: one deep and resonant and enamored, the other vague, but equally happy; then, when he covered his ears and screwed his eyes shut, even his mind’s eye carved two embracing silhouettes out of the muffled dark: one tall and broad, the other… well, vague again, but that wasn’t the point–!

Xie Lian frowned and swung his legs off the bed, puttering to the door left ajar as he rubbed absently at his chest. He had never been a jealous person before– he couldn’t say the feeling much agreed with him.

He emerged from the cabinet to the desk’s surface in the hopes that maybe if he sat up a while longer, he could nod off before it got too close to sunrise. However, the sight that greeted him stopped him and his aching heart in their tracks.

Slumped over the desk was Hua Cheng, fast asleep with his head pillowed on his arms. He was donning a set of simple sleeping robes, rumpled but still in his characteristic crimson, and had exchanged his leather eyepatch for one that appeared to be made of velvet– a softer one for nighttime, perhaps?

A cursory look toward Hua Cheng’s empty bed confirmed Xie Lian’s suspicion; the blankets and furs were also twisted in a hopeless rat’s nest, the entire thing left abandoned in favor of stumbling back to the desk. Here, even in a notably less comfortable position, Hua Cheng was sleeping like the dead: his legs splayed out beneath the desk, his arms haphazardly folded under him, and one side of his face squished ungracefully against his forearm. The position had pushed his lips open into a loose ‘oh’ shape, through which came the tiniest whiffs of air as he breathed, in turn rustling the open pages of the book that lay beside him.

So San Lang breathes in his sleep, then? How precious.

Xie Lian tiptoed closer, his heart fluttering with impossible fondness– even more so as he rounded the corner and saw it was the same book they’d been reading together before turning in, now reopened to one particular poem. He paused for a timid moment, then raised one bare foot to the parchment and padded quietly across the page to examine its title.

“‘The Ache of Separation…’ Ah, San Lang, so sentimental…” Xie Lian murmured under his breath as he knelt to trace the characters with one open hand. 

Another breath wafted through his loose hair, drawing his attention to Hua Cheng’s sleeping face, open and unguarded. A bittersweet feeling lanced through Xie Lian as he regarded him; Hua Cheng looked so young, so sweet this way. All his sharper features softened around the edges, as though Xie Lian’s vision was going out of focus the longer he looked, casting him in and out of some deep memory. Is this how San Lang looked when he was small…? When his beloved held him, back then?

That sour taste rose in Xie Lian’s mouth again, and he tore his gaze away to look instead on the page beneath his feet– though the characters came in and out of focus as well as he wandered between the lines, blinking and swallowing back insistent surges of emotion.

No water is enough when you have crossed the sea,
No cloud is beautiful but that which crowns the peak.

Xie Lian smiled ruefully to himself– it was likely that only a few months ago, he would have respectfully disagreed with this poem’s message. He’d had centuries of practice appreciating what little was before him, had prided himself on that skill. He’d gone without the luxury of desire for so long that it felt more like some bad habit from childhood, thoroughly broken. And yet, here it was– fervent and unyielding at the forefront of Xie Lian’s mind, demanding to be acknowledged. When had Xie Lian gotten so bad at denying himself? His brow furrowed at the thought as he absentmindedly mumbled the poem’s ending lines.

Passing through the flowers, my heart is unmoved,

Perhaps because of Daoism…

“‘Perhaps because of… you…’”

Xie Lian came to a stop over the final character as a pool of jet-black hair crept into his periphery. Directly beside him, Hua Cheng hadn’t stirred, hadn’t even fluttered his eye. Xie Lian wondered if he was dreaming– and if so, of what. Of whom.

Xie Lian just stood there a while, quiet and still as an unlit candle on some barren altar. His throat was a sore, hollow well, his arms limp at his sides. For a long moment, he looked helplessly between Hua Cheng, the parchment, Hua Cheng again– then sank down heavily right there on the poem with a defeated sigh. However beautiful, its words had spoken with even more gutting truth than he’d feared: if Xie Lian thought there was any going back to his aimless, loveless life before, he was crazy.

“No– it’s brave.”

Xie Lian couldn’t help but grimace, thinking back on his own presumptuous words. Really, sometimes he said the most ridiculous things… 

Had Xie Lian done anything in the last however-many centuries that could be considered brave? He didn’t imagine so, at least not in the way that Hua Cheng was brave; Hua Cheng’s very soul burned with it from the inside out, driving his conviction– his devotion– even beyond the grave. To be on the receiving end of such unconditional love had to be a happiness that surpassed heaven, unparalleled by anything in the three realms, Xie Lian was certain. It only stood to reason that such a fate could swerve and miss Xie Lian so entirely.

“Oh, San Lang… I really am cursed, huh?” Xie Lian breathed with a wry smile. Just inches away, Hua Cheng slept on, none the wiser– even more stunning and unattainable than the day they met.

Perhaps there was some comfort to be found in that, the constancy of it all. As before, Xie Lian knew right where his place should be, where it would always be: traipsing by on a threadbare, parallel line, existing alongside all these beautiful things– never reaching them.

The following weeks passed in much the same manner: Hua Cheng happily giving and giving, and Xie Lian wondering how much more he could possibly take. 

The more time they spent together, the deeper and faster Xie Lian fell; in an astounding display of trust, they had even begun to venture into Ghost City together on occasion, on the strict condition that Xie Lian stay on Hua Cheng’s shoulder and alert him immediately if Xie Lian was feeling drained by the barrage of noise. At first, Xie Lian was eager for the distraction– however, witnessing firsthand the dichotomy of the fiercely domineering ‘Hua Chengzhu’ outside versus the teasingly tender ‘San Lang’ inside did absolutely no good for Xie Lian’s heartache.

It was a miracle that he had kept his burgeoning feelings concealed for so long; internally, Xie Lian was meticulously weighing the integrity of confessing to Hua Cheng against the knowledge that the truth wouldn’t do either of them any real good. Hua Cheng would only be surprised and uncomfortable, and by extension, Xie Lian would only be more miserable. Although, Hua Cheng would likely thank him for his honesty, and that could be as kind a parting as Xie Lian could hope for under the circumstances… Despite picking apart every possible scenario ten ways to Heaven and back, Xie Lian spent more time thinking himself in circles than he did making any real decisions– none of which was aided by his upcoming deadline.

Xie Lian knew that outside the eternal night of Ghost City, the mortal realm was likely beginning to stir from hibernation, the earth thawing and opening once again– as such, his position as guest felt less ‘honored’ and more ‘imposing’ with every passing day. Much of the basis on which Xie Lian had agreed to stay was the impossibility of survival in the mortal realm, but with the wheel of the year now steadily turning Xie Lian toward his inevitable departure, Xie Lian couldn’t help but feel restless. After all…

Ah– how does one tell their best friend (who is a hundred times their size) that they have a huge, embarrassing, unrequited crush on them?!

“... Gege?”

Xie Lian snapped out of his deep concentration to find Hua Cheng looking at him questioningly, reddened fingertips paused in swiping across his lips. Ah, that’s right– Xie Lian had thought he could manage being normal about keeping Hua Cheng company as he readied himself for an evening supervising the Gambler’s Den. This was one of the only places Hua Cheng went alone these days, though he made up for it by taking his sweet time getting ready, with plenty of gege’s help.

To his credit, Xie Lian had done remarkably well ignoring the movement of Hua Cheng’s slender fingers as they slid on a selection of silver rings, had even cheerfully assisted him in deciding between the hairpiece with the butterflies or the maple leaves– only to get ridiculously worked up just watching those fingers massaging crimson red rouge onto his parted lips, and had opted to turn his thoughts inward to minimize the ogling. 

“Ah–! I’m so sorry, San Lang–” he apologized profusely. “What were you saying?”

Those lips curled sweetly, revealing the tiniest gleam of a pearly, pointed tooth. “No apology needed– I was only wondering if you’d like to try some for yourself, since you looked so… interested.”

Xie Lian’s eyes flicked to the small porcelain dish of pressed rouge sitting on the desk just below his feet, where they were dangling over the cubby ledge he was sitting on. He must have been staring a vacant, dead-eyed hole into it while he was lost in thought. Gods, Xie Lian was really going to humiliate himself one of these days if he wasn’t careful.

“Oh–! That’s thoughtful, but… n-no, thank you,” he stammered, folding his hands modestly in his lap. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn any kind of makeup, likely not since his royal days. It had become him well back then– Xie Lian almost regretted that Hua Cheng couldn’t see him that way, if only for appearances’ sake. “It, uh… it wouldn’t suit me.”

Hua Cheng’s eye narrowed to a playful squint, about as close as he could get to grinning while he was still applying the product. “Haha– we’ll have to agree to disagree, then. I think gege would look breathtaking in red.”

His voice sang rich and deep, a perfectly devilish complement to another pass of a fingertip along his plush bottom lip. To the untrained eye, it could easily be passed off as simple teasing– if Xie Lian hadn’t caught the adoring glow in his dark eye. 

Xie Lian flushed as red as the rouge from head to toe, squirming a bit in his seat as his heart throbbed in his chest. Ah, San Lang– how can you just say things like that–?! Especially when you–  

He swallowed hard and knotted his fingers together, feeling an inexplicable urge rise in him, so alike the voice that compels one to touch hot things despite the inevitable burn. Xie Lian knew Hua Cheng’s devotion to his beloved was too boundless to leave room for anything else– and yet, when he talked like this, Xie Lian couldn’t help but… 

“S-San Lang… may I ask you something…?”

Hua Cheng paused, tension visibly creeping into his frame as he lowered his hand. “Of course.”

“I was just… well…” 

The words twisted anxiously in his throat as if to strangle themselves before being spoken, but Xie Lian steeled himself against it. Yes, his days here were as precious as they were numbered– but didn’t that mean he owed it to Hua Cheng to openly ask for honesty?

He screwed his eyes shut; there was no choice. No matter the heartbreak, Xie Lian simply had to take the leap. 

“I wanted to know… whether San Lang has mentioned me yet,” he muttered, eyes downcast, his proverbial hand over the flame, awaiting the burn. “To… to his wife.”

The split-second pause felt long and ominous enough that Xie Lian was worried he had caused Hua Cheng deep offense. That thought was almost upsetting enough for him to simply dive out the window like he’d considered doing all those months ago– thankfully, Hua Cheng’s raucous laughter shocked his eyes open before he’d had the chance.

“Hahaha–! Gege, I–!” Hua Cheng’s face was split into a wide, toothy grin of amusement, his body hunched over the desk and shaking with the sheer force of his laughter. “I– haha– I don’t have a wife–!”

Xie Lian’s jaw hung slack from his face, staring at Hua Cheng a bit stupidly. “You… you don’t…?”

Hua Cheng cackled wildly. “No!”

“B-b-but your…” Xie Lian’s mind was running in circles as he scrambled to put the suddenly very mismatched puzzle pieces back together. “Y-your special someone? Your beloved–?”

Hua Cheng’s laughter eased as he took up a silk kerchief from inside one of the drawers and dabbed at a tear threatening the bold red strike he’d applied at the corner of his eye. “Hah– yes, but I… ahem– well, I haven’t won them over quite yet.”

An adorably tiny smack sounded as Xie Lian slammed his hands down on either side of him emphatically. 

“How can that be?!” he exclaimed incredulously. “San Lang is everything anyone could ever want– kind, and gracious, and clever, and so terribly beautif–”

Judging by Hua Cheng’s stifled chuckle, he’d found the second smack of Xie Lian’s hand over his own mouth to cut off his embarrassing tirade equally adorable. Still, with his eye averted coyly and his makeup smudged beneath a blotchy flush, Hua Cheng again appeared more alive than dead, more hopeful young man than fearsome ghost.

“Gege flatters me… but I don’t mind being patient. Besides– I have all the company I need right here already.”

Xie Lian had only just begun sputtering over that before Hua Cheng was bundling the kerchief into a point and raising it to his eye again as he continued: “Also, I’m really quite busy at the moment.”

“Ah– y-yes, I imagine so,” Xie Lian stammered, shyly lowering his head in an attempt to stop it from spinning. “Ghost City must be very difficult to manage…”

“Well, yes,” Hua Cheng hummed. “And finding the cure for gege’s curse, naturally.”

Xie Lian’s head shot up in blank astonishment. “Wh–what… San Lang, you…?” he breathed through lips numb with shock.

Hua Cheng sat back in his chair, crossing his arms with a knowing smile. “With all due modesty, gege,” he explained. “I am one of two existing Supremes, the Lord of Ghost City, with thousands of souls, living and dead, at my immediate command. Surely you didn’t think I’d allow you to be stuck like this forever.” 

One of Hua Cheng’s thumbs twisted one of his rings in repeated, thoughtful circles as his eye lingered over Xie Lian’s tiny form, as if studying him– being so closely examined wasn’t doing much to slow Xie Lian’s speeding heartbeat.

“Admittedly, my search hasn’t turned up anything of much use yet– but I promise you, gege, I won’t give up,” Hua Cheng swore, his words sobering as his eye met Xie Lian’s again. “Whatever it takes to break your curse, I won’t rest until I’ve found it. You have my solemn word.”

Xie Lian stared up at Hua Cheng, utterly speechless. Funny as it was, he hadn’t even considered breaking his curse a possibility at all, let alone an achievable one– centuries of accepting his many lots in life had probably taught him too well. And yet, miraculously, here was Hua Cheng, with a firm enough grip on hope for the both of them.

“Unless, of course,” Hua Cheng queried into the lengthening pause, cocking one brow in curiosity. “Gege prefers being little…?”

“No–!”  

Xie Lian clamped his mouth shut on the blurted reply half a second too late, much to his embarrassment and Hua Cheng’s barely disguised delight; still, the small blow to Xie Lian’s pride had knocked enough clarity into him to at least try at some manners, and he raised one fist to clear his throat modestly.

“Ahem– um, no, I… It had been quite an interesting experience, but… it would be nice to be big again,” Xie Lian admitted, flicking a grateful smile up in Hua Cheng’s direction before the intensity of that dark gaze overwhelmed him, and he had to avert his eyes again. “At least so I can thank San Lang properly. And, ah– move out of his desk.”

Hua Cheng shook his head, smiling fondly in reply. “You’ve done more in thanks than you know– but you shouldn’t feel rushed to leave, not if you don’t want to.”

Xie Lian shook his head as he fumbled with his robes, fretting one embroidered flower nearly threadbare between his hands. “It’s alright, San Lang, I really couldn’t impose any more than I already have– and I wouldn’t blame you for wanting your home to yourself again…”

A sudden creak sounded before Xie Lian, and he looked up to see Hua Cheng sliding out of the chair and kneeling before the desk in one fluid motion, coming to meet Xie Lian’s anxious gaze with direct attention.

“Not an imposition– an invitation,” Hua Cheng reassured. “You’ve seen firsthand how big and empty this place is, and I wouldn’t make the offer if it wasn’t a sincere one.” He straightened at the waist and opened one wide palm to wave about the room while a hint of restless laughter crept into his tone. “I’m serious, gege– pick a room, and it’s yours. Hell, pick ten, or twenty– take the whole manor! Just…”

The impassioned words faltered as Hua Cheng paused, brows knitting and lips pursing in thought. Xie Lian was sitting very still, half-afraid that he would shatter the dream he was in if he moved. It hardly mattered. He felt paralyzed by tenderness anyway, unable to do much more than look and listen while, clever and daring as he was, Hua Cheng visibly wracked his mind for the proper words to convince Xie Lian to stay. 

As if he needed to try so hard, Xie Lian thought, his heart panging– as if Xie Lian expected perfection from him. Dear, sensitive man.

When Hua Cheng spoke again, his voice was as small and steadfast as a low-burning flame. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you anywhere you didn’t want to be. I just… I would be very lonely, if you were to leave. Believe me, gege. My home is yours, if you want it– if it pleases you.”

The sincere words plucked their merciless song on Xie Lian’s heartstrings– then one struck a familiar chord, Xie Lian felt his brow knit. Those words… where had he heard them before…?

“The power, the city, the manor and everything in it… It’s all for them, should they desire it– should it please them.”

Xie Lian subconsciously drew in a soft gasp, as he recalled Hua Cheng’s near word-for-word phrasing not so long ago. A coincidence? It had to be. Hua Cheng already had his beloved– albeit, one that he somehow hadn’t yet won over… one he wanted to protect from the world, for whom he’d readily give up all the power and possessions he’d amassed… one he longed to care for, above all other desires, to… 

To give them a home.

Xie Lian’s eyes widened as, finally, all those mismatched puzzle pieces clicked, forming a picture he couldn’t have imagined if he’d had another eight hundred years. Could it… Could it be that…?  

The remaining words went unsaid, even in his own mind. He couldn’t help it– they still felt so small and fragile, so easily shattered under the weight of any misplaced expectation. Even now, Xie Lian’s breath trembled around them, terrified to give them voice for fear that once freed, the newborn dream would not survive.

Still, Xie Lian was Xie Lian, and where his mind was spiritual steel, his body betrayed him enormously; he could tell by the rush of heat to his face that his cheeks were turning a ridiculous shade of pink, and his mouth was spreading into a shy smile– though, for once, he didn’t try to conceal either of them. It was hard to give much thought to that when Hua Cheng’s very voice instilled Xie Lian with courage– courage to hope that, maybe…

“And, if he’ll permit my boldness,” Hua Cheng continued, cocking his head and smirking in that boyish way that always made Xie Lian so stupidly giddy. “There’s much, much more I want to know about gege, if he’ll tell me.”

All Xie Lian’s hard-won wariness over the centuries gave way beneath that darling look. Who would have guessed that was all it took to undo those silly defenses? Not Xie Lian, not when his small smile was blooming into a grin, probably looking as childish and bashful and lovestruck as he felt.

“I… I’d like that,” he agreed, mustering up enough courage at the last moment to add: “Of course, only if San Lang will tell me about himself too.”

Hua Cheng blinked, briefly taken aback– then visibly preened from head to toe.

“As always,” he affirmed warmly. “Your wish is my command.”

Even though his preparations were complete, Hua Cheng seemed especially loath to leave Xie Lian’s side after their heart-to-heart, and even more so after raising a begrudging finger to his temple at a message from the Waning Moon Officer. Xie Lian was sure it had been an honest, mild-mannered inquiry as to when Hua Chengzhu’s presence should be expected this evening, but he wouldn’t have been able to tell by Hua Cheng’s deep scowl of irritation.

“Hmph– now I don’t even feel like going. Gegeeee…” he grumbled, slumping pathetically over the desk like a child being dragged out of bed. “Don’t make me…”

Xie Lian sputtered an incredulous laugh. “Hah–! San Lang, ah… Just go for a little while, alright? You already said you would. And besides, it’s not like I’m going anywhere, am I?”

Hua Cheng peeked out from his mess of black hair, his eye a thin, mischievous squint. “Ah, but then you’ll just be having all the fun without this poor, lonesome San Lang… Maybe I can send a clone. That rabble won’t tell the difference.”

“S-San Lang–! For goodness’ sake– come on–!”

Hua Cheng snorted in amusement at Xie Lian hopping off his ledge and skittering across the desk to shove him up– well, either at that, or at how Xie Lian’s feet slid fruitlessly about underneath him upon throwing his entire body weight against Hua Cheng’s forearm.

“Haha– alright, alright, you win, I’m going–!”

Hua Cheng took up the silk kerchief for a final, hurried blot against his lips and rose to standing, though not before making one more indulgent twirl. “Well? How do I look?”

Xie Lian flapped his outstretched hands in front of him. “Beautiful, perfect– now go!"

“See you later then, gege– don’t wait up, alright?”

Hua Cheng’s bright, sing-songy call and abating laughter rang back to Xie Lian through the closing bedchamber doors, where he’d been left with his hands planted exasperatedly on his hips like a scolding housemother. More than that, Xie Lian was completely flushed, heartracing, and short of breath for at least three different reasons at once– maybe four, if he counted shoulder-checking Hua Cheng’s arm, but even that paled woefully in comparison to…

“Whew– oh…”

Xie Lian couldn’t help but voice a small sigh as he suddenly swayed, the adrenaline abruptly running its course. All the recent revelations had sunk in at once and hit him so powerfully that his knees had gone weak; even so, by the time Xie Lian sank to sitting, a breathless, giddy laugh was tumbling out of him like a string of joyful little pearls.

Believe me, gege. My home is yours, if you want it– if it pleases you.

Hua Cheng’s beloved, and his adored little house guest. Could it be… Could they be one in the same? Even if so, there was so much of Hua Cheng’s story that was yet unaccounted for, so much still to explain– but then…

There’s much, much more I want to know about gege, if he’ll tell me.

A profound stillness settled over Xie Lian as the possibility steadily sank in. Whether Hua Cheng had drawn the similarity with such intentions, Xie Lian couldn’t tell for certain– but gods , the earnest look in Hua Cheng’s eye had felt like it was speaking directly to him as clearly as his words, striking true to Xie Lian’s soul and gently towing him towards hope.

Xie Lian’s cheeks were starting to get sore with how wide he was grinning. He felt like he was dreaming. Was he dreaming? He looked around the room for any telling signs– tears in reality, odd visions or unexplained phenomena– oh, but he was in a city of ghosts, so what good would that logic do him– only to fall headlong into helpless affection again when his gaze caught on a shining bit of silk nearby. In the corner of his periphery lay the kerchief Hua Cheng had used, and on its corner, the crimson-red imprint of his kiss.

Xie Lian found himself staring longingly at it, overwhelmed with emotion that was threatening to lump up in his throat. After a moment, he sniffled, and scuffled over to it on hands and knees, taking up the corner in his hands. At this size, the kerchief was large enough to smother Xie Lian at least four times over– oh, but when it smelled so strongly of Hua Cheng, his characteristic sweetness and smokiness, what could be a better way to go? He breathed a little laugh to himself, and gently laid one palm atop the mark. The full length of his hand hardly covered a fraction of it, the rest spilling beyond his fingers and blooming on the silk like a pressed flower or a stroke of brilliant paint. Just touching it stilled something in Xie Lian’s soul, and soon, that ecstatic little flutter was strengthening into something like resolve.

“When the curse is broken… then I’ll tell him,” he whispered, the silky kerchief and the silent room the only witnesses to his heartfelt vow. “I’ll tell him everything.”

Everything: from his feelings, to his past, to his failings, to his blossoming dreams. Hua Cheng would listen to it all, Xie Lian knew, and maybe even accept him unconditionally, if he dared to dream it– and the events of the last ten minutes had reforged Xie Lian into quite the dreamer.

His fingertip traced tenderly up the side of one smiling, hairpin curl– the corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth, Xie Lian noted with a pang; he could identify it by sight, thanks to months of close, dedicated study. For all the lovely things people said about hope, no one had ever mentioned how utterly mad it made one feel; Xie Lian was restless, almost dizzy with it. He wanted the curse broken tomorrow– no, tonight – he wanted Hua Cheng home, wanted to touch more than a kerchief, wanted to hold more than just a few strands of that inky hair in his hands– he wanted… wanted…

Xie Lian paused for only half a heartbeat, before impulse won by a landslide. Then, gripping the silk tightly between his hands (the way he so longed to take hold of its larger, ghost-king-sized counterpart), he ducked his head down, with eyes squeezed shut and face beet red, to press it to his lips– a firm and ardent kiss against the mark his love had left.

Maybe it was that Xie Lian had never been in love before, nor had ever kissed something with such powerful emotion– or maybe it was the more amorous implication of putting his mouth somewhere Hua Cheng’s mouth had been– oh heavens, best not think on that too long–

Whatever the reason, as soon as his lips touched the crimson mark, Xie Lian felt… light in him. Pure light, erupting from his heart like he’d been set ablaze from the inside like a lantern, and sent floating with weightless, incandescent wishes to the sky. 

His eyes fluttered shut, drinking in the sensation with fervor– oh, if this was love, then no poet had ever done it justice… Xie Lian was flying, soaring to and past the Heavens with love. He was unfurling like a flower to light, petal by glorious petal. He was surging awake as if from some deep, dark sleep, as some invisible hand clutched around his spirit suddenly opened its palm and lifted him to the sun, ever higher, ever bigger–

Xie Lian’s eyes flew open.

Wait.

Bigger?

There was a very still pause, and those eyes blinked once, then flicked down to the kerchief in his hands– the entire kerchief, neatly tucked between Xie Lian’s calloused palms, and not at all the size of four bedsheets combined. His lips were still on it, now encompassing the kiss mark whole, and still tingling slightly with that rush of light, or love, or whatever it had been. The lingering remnants of it coursed through Xie Lian’s spirit even now. Despite the two familiar bonds of his shackles, mana as potent as liquid gold flowed between his meridians like thin little trickles down a rock– limited, but very much present.

Not even daring to move his head, Xie Lian’s wide eyes scanned what he could of his person: the robes he’d been wearing were just as lovely in his new, much wider periphery– so Xie Lian was still clothed as well, thank heavens– and under the bedchamber’s deep red lighting, the white silks were glowing rosy pink to match the delicate embroidery. His eyes darted up next, swept about the room. Sure enough: a standard-sized tea table, a standard-sized divan, a– well, still quite a large and luxurious bed, actually, but Xie Lian was not going to focus on that right now when there was so much else going on–

Most notably of all, creaking beneath him: a standard-sized desk, beneath a very human-sized god.

Xie Lian didn’t even get another second to process before the sudden sound of the door drew his stupefied gaze forward, the subject of the noise not bothering with preamble as he reentered his chambers.

“Now, gege, don’t be angry with me,” Hua Cheng drawled as he sauntered in, eyes downcast as he began removing his rings barely two steps into the room. “But I really do think those scum can get along without me for one more night, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of you in here all alo–”

His undoubtedly flimsy excuse broke off when he finally looked up and locked eyes with a full-sized Xie Lian perched atop the writing desk with his legs folded under him– caught red-handed, red-faced, and now even a little red-lipped, still frozen with his lips mid-kiss to the silk kerchief.

A handful of priceless rings clattered carelessly to the ground from Hua Cheng’s slackening grip. Xie Lian didn’t know a dead man could get any paler, but there Hua Cheng was, exceeding his expectations yet again, frozen stock-still in the doorway, his face agape with shock; whether at the sudden growth spurt, or at the shameless display of affection, Xie Lian was too mortified to guess.

To be fair, Xie Lian was no better. Now faced with Hua Cheng in a more suitable form for accurately judging size, he was equal parts flustered and enthralled to see that Hua Cheng… well, he really was still quite big in comparison. His height still towered over Xie Lian’s, those shoulders still so broad beneath his vivid robes, the heels of his boots making him appear even more statuesque and magnificent than before. 

Xie Lian felt dangerously close to actually swooning at the sight of Hua Cheng in full view, and he might have done so– had Hua Cheng not staggered one shaky step toward him, looking more starstruck and overcome than Xie Lian had ever seen him before. His lips parted, and for a split second, Xie Lian was almost afraid of what was about to spill forth. However, no matter how many worst-case-scenarios he could have drummed up, it was safe to say he didn’t expect Hua Cheng’s reverent, half-whispered:

“Your Highness…”

The kerchief finally slipped from Xie Lian’s slack fingers; his mouth, previously pursed in the kiss, now fell open as he stared back at Hua Cheng in matching astonishment. He hadn’t heard his title spoken by anyone in at least a few hundred years– so few people knew of the Crown Prince of Xianle now, except by poor reputation. Anyone who knew Xie Lian by that alone surely would have turned him out the minute they realized his identity.

But then, Hua Cheng wasn’t just anyone. He had proved as much a hundred times over in the last few months alone, with all the faithful patience of a true devotee. Xie Lian felt the truth of this welling behind his eyes, catching in his throat. He felt like laughing. He felt like crying.

Oh, San Lang, dear San Lang… have you known me all along?

Meanwhile, Hua Cheng appeared to realize his words too late, his face panning swiftly from amazement to genuine terror at his own unwitting confession; Xie Lian might have burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity, were he not still reeling. His body didn’t feel cooperative quite yet; it was all still so heavy and unfamiliar around him, having suddenly been re-saddled with all the cumbersome burdens of his former size. Xie Lian was no longer tiny nor weightless, no longer capable of passing beneath anyone’s notice– especially not Hua Cheng’s. This was as much Xie Lian’s responsibility as it was his privilege.

And after all… hadn’t Xie Lian made a promise?

His lips trembled momentarily, then parted of their own accord. “San Lang… I–”

CRRREEEAAAK…

They both looked down to the telltale groan coming from under Xie Lian– just a bit too late.

CRACK!

The poor desk finally shattered beneath him (for all its exquisiteness, of course it hadn’t been built with the full weight of a martial god in mind) and Xie Lian went plummeting to the floor along with it– though for him, the moment of descent was slowed to a dream-like crawl. Strange– for all his experience with falling, he couldn’t recall the sensation ever feeling so prolonged before, nor so free of dread. Soon, Xie Lian knew, the crash landing would come: the drop would punch him in the gut with short, sickening delay, and that wasn’t even considering the heavy guilt, and the rush of mortification– and yet…

And yet, all Xie Lian could see now was Hua Cheng: his residual blush, his bewildered expression, his body diving, his arms opened and flying out to catch Xie Lian even as he plunged downward– the movement immediate, instinctual. Unconditional.

Xie Lian smiled radiantly in mid-air. How strange, how wonderful– in all his life, Xie Lian had never felt so happy to be falling before.

CRASH– THUD–

“GEGE!!!”