Chapter Text
The first time Hua Cheng heard Xie Lian’s voice when his lips hadn’t moved, he brushed it off as nothing more than the lingering haze of a long night. He had been watching his god work quietly at the rickety table in the Puqi Shrine, the soft hum of his voice mingling with the creak of old wood. The Ghost King leaned back against the wall, his gaze locked on Xie Lian’s serene face. It had become his favorite pastime—watching him exist, quiet and content.
“San Lang, hand me that needle?” Xie Lian asked, glancing up with a smile that seemed as gentle as moonlight.
Hua Cheng picked up the needle beside him and passed it over, their hands brushing. The contact was fleeting, and he was about to return to his relaxed pose when he heard it.
You don’t have to stay here forever.
It was faint, like a whisper carried by the wind, but clear enough to knock the ghost from his ease. He blinked, his crimson eye narrowing as he studied Xie Lian’s face. His lips hadn’t moved—he was threading the needle with a slight, focused frown.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng said, his voice smooth despite the knot in his stomach, “did you say something?”
Xie Lian looked up, puzzled. “Hm? No, nothing. Why?”
Hua Cheng paused, his gaze lingering on Xie Lian a moment longer than necessary before he shook his head. “No reason.”
The shrine returned to its usual stillness, but the ghost’s mind stayed restless. He’d spent centuries navigating curses, whispers, and illusions—this didn’t feel like any of those. It had been his voice, soft but burdened with an undertone that Hua Cheng couldn’t place.
He ignored it. For now.
But he couldn’t ignore it the second time.
It was evening, and the god was kneeling at the shrine’s entrance, coaxing a thin green shoot to stand upright. The small, fragile plant looked as though it had little chance of survival, but Xie Lian’s hands cradled it with a care that could have convinced anyone otherwise. Hua Cheng watched him from the steps, his scimitar balanced across his knees as he flicked at the hilt absently.
“Gege, why are you bothering with that?” Hua Cheng asked with a lazy smile. “It’s long gone.”
Xie Lian turned his head, and there it was again—that soft, unwavering smile that could disarm anyone. “Don’t be so pessimistic, San Lang. You never know. It might surprise you.”
Hua Cheng chuckled, a low sound that carried into the empty fields. He was about to tease Xie Lian further when it came again.
He’ll leave soon.
The voice hit him like a blow to the chest. Hua Cheng’s smile vanished, his grip on the scimitar tightening. His head whipped around, eyes sharp as they fixed on the god. Xie Lian didn’t notice—he was back to tending the plant, his face calm, as though he hadn’t just whispered words that Hua Cheng knew he hadn’t spoken.
“Gege?” the Ghost King said, his voice lower now, betraying his unease.
Xie Lian turned again, blinking innocently. “What is it?”
What is it? The same voice echoed in his head, an identical melody of concern, except… something heavier lingered in its tone. A weariness Hua Cheng could hear even if Xie Lian wasn’t showing it.
Hua Cheng stared at him for a long moment, searching for answers in the god’s face. Then, quietly, he said, “Nothing.”
The words left his mouth, but his heart buzzed with questions. This wasn’t a hallucination. He wasn’t imagining things. He could hear Xie Lian’s thoughts. Somehow.
The realization came suddenly, sharp and undeniable, when Hua Cheng lay awake that night. His mind turned back to the fight with the demon days ago—a cursed creature with jagged claws and venomous malice. Xie Lian had been the target, and without hesitation, he had thrown himself between them, his scimitar flashing as he struck the beast down. But just before it fell, its claw had grazed the Ghost King’s arm—barely a scratch, fleeting enough that he hadn’t even given it a second thought. Until now.
The connection clicked into place like iron chains snapping shut. Whatever curse or spell the demon had carried had wormed its way into him during that moment of contact, and now… he was hearing Xie Lian’s thoughts.
His god’s thoughts.
Hua Cheng sat upright abruptly, his hands shaking as he clutched at the fabric of his sleeves. Xie Lian’s thoughts—the quiet, unspoken whispers he’d never meant anyone to hear—had been trickling into the ghost’s mind without consent. A rush of shame roared through him, crashing over any initial relief that he’d found an explanation.
How could he? He had been listening to his god’s private thoughts, the thoughts that Xie Lian likely hadn’t dared share with anyone in centuries. He felt sick, like he had betrayed the very person he adored most. San Lang, Xie Lian’s voice echoed faintly in his mind again, some happier, quieter memory. Hua Cheng dug his nails into his palms to ground himself, his mind already spiraling.
Of course it would be him, he thought bitterly. The ghost who had no boundaries, who clawed his way into someone’s life without ever asking if they wanted him there. Self-loathing coiled tight and sharp in his chest, familiar and cruel. It’s what you do, isn’t it? You latch on, and you ruin things. Even this.
Hua Cheng pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to steady his breathing. He knew what he should do. He should leave immediately, search for a solution, break the curse, and restore Xie Lian’s privacy. He should tell him the truth.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
The thought of parting from his newly found god—even for a short while—twisted something raw and vulnerable in his chest. Worse still, he couldn’t find the strength to confess. How could he admit to something so invasive? How could he face Xie Lian’s hurt, his disappointment? The possibility that he might look at him differently after knowing what he’d done—even unintentionally—was unbearable.
And so Hua Cheng stayed.
He told himself it was only until he found a solution. That he wouldn’t let this go on longer than necessary. That he wouldn’t let it hurt Xie Lian any more than it already had. But deep down, he knew the truth.
Even now, knowing it was wrong, Hua Cheng couldn’t bring himself to walk away.
Days turned into weeks, and the ghost realized it wasn’t a one-time fluke. It happened constantly now, like stray threads of a melody slipping through cracks in a door. Whenever he lingered too close to Xie Lian—which was often—he could hear fragments of thoughts that were never spoken.
At first, Hua Cheng told himself he should leave—go seek out a solution, find someone who could break whatever strange bond had formed after that demon fight. But selfishly, he stayed.
Because alongside the doubts, he heard other things, too—thoughts that Hua Cheng clung to with everything he had.
San Lang always makes things better.
Why do I feel safe when he’s here?
If only he’d stay forever…
Hua Cheng treasured those moments more than he cared to admit. But the sweetness was always marred by the bitter echo that lingered afterward.
He will leave soon. I'm so stupid. I know I'm not allowed this type of things...
That thought—quiet, devastating, and constant—sank like a dagger into Hua Cheng’s heart. It didn’t matter how brightly he smiled, how many quiet, peaceful evenings they shared. Beneath it all, he could hear what Xie Lian truly believed: This won’t last. He’ll leave. They always do.
Hua Cheng sat on the shrine steps one evening, watching Xie Lian sweep fallen petals from the floor. It was a simple, unremarkable scene, but he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears as the truth settled in.
Staying wasn’t enough. Xie Lian would never trust it. He had been abandoned too many times to believe otherwise.
But Hua Cheng wasn’t like the others.
“San Lang?” Xie Lian’s voice cut through his thoughts. he looked up to find the god gazing at him, his broom paused mid-sweep. “You’re staring. What’s wrong?”
Hua Cheng smiled, a soft, almost fragile smile. “Nothing, Gege.”
He wouldn’t leave.
He would prove it.