Chapter Text
Flurries of white snow drifted down from a black sky, whirling through pools of warm golden light cast by the tall lamps that lined the street. A dignified bustle of men and women wrapped in fur-lined cloaks mimicked the dance of the snowflakes as people spilled from their carriages to ascend the great steps of the opera house. Voices called out in merriment, mixing with the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels to create a pleasing effect of camaraderie and high spirits.
In the midst of it all, a great, crimson, many-caped coat swept up the center of the stairs. Eyes turned to watch the magnificence of its wearer as he mounted the cold marble steps of the theater, boots gleaming like a black mirror against the pearly white. His hair, beneath a fine, high-crowned beaver, was glossy black and wild, and his pale, exquisitely carved face was sharply contrasted by the intense black of an eye patch. Other patrons of the theater gave him a wide berth, even as their eyes followed him with the intense interest and admiration that an immeasurable fortune warranted.
No less than fifty thousand a year…
Self-made, they say, but the title softens the smell of shop…
That fortune of his is keeping the ballet alive. All those match-making mamas bringing their daughters to the opera house each week for the chance of meeting him…
The worst disposition imaginable. I hear he’ll never marry…
If Hua Cheng heard the whispers that followed him, he attended to none of them. Long legs carried him to the door in great strides, the unsettling eye, E-Ming glaring at all from the top of his cane. The doors swung open for him without hesitation, and he was bowed inside with deference.
The company gathered inside the theater was of the top tier, and several acquaintances called out to him, but Hua Cheng spared none of them a glance. One fine amber eye, not covered by the black eye patch, swept across the room, seeming unimpressed by offerings of champagne in crystal glasses, sparkling lights scattered about by the chandelier, or the finery of the decorations. He nodded only to He Xuan, and, by extension, Lady Qingxuan on his arm, and then went straight to his box, depositing himself with artless grace into his chair. Next to him, Yin Yu, his man of business, had already arrived, indistinct and coldly ignoring the attentions of the dashing young man at his side.
“Everything has been attended to,” Yin Yu tells him before Hua Cheng’s lips have time to part. Instead they curl up into a faint smile.
“Thank you,” he says in his careless way, and the lights descend.
*
The polite world has been taken by storm by the beauty and grace of Mr. Xie Lian, a dancer at the Xianle Opera House. In an age where ballet has risen to the forefront of entertainment frequented by high society, all eyes turn to this untouchable beauty. While his appearance alone strikes pangs of admiration into the hearts of many, his style of movement and mastery over the art form captivate all audiences. From a once-prominent family, Mr. Xie Lian rises like a phoenix from the ashes of his family’s shame.
Even a performance as juvenile as this holiday season’s The Nutcracker can draw such figures as Lord Hua Cheng, Marquis of -, who generally remain unimpressed. Famous for his apparent disinterest, the Marquis has yet to miss a performance by Mr. Xie Lian since his debut.
*
Snow seemed to flutter from the dark ceiling, dancing beneath pink feet, whirling and swirling without relief from the movement. Music swelled and then fell to barely a whisper before rising up again in a gentle wave. It was impossible to tell whether the flurry of dancers, long limbs floating gracefully over a sea of white fabric, drove the music on, or if it was the music, coaxed forth from the musicians below, that guided the dancers along their paths.
From the shadows of the wings, a graceful figure appeared, replacing the stiff form of the nutcracker. Long legs encased in white, a red jacket with a white sash. He did no more than step onto the stage when a quiet roar of applause went up from the crowd.
*
Xie Lian looked godly on stage, but in his dressing room, he was slight to the point of petite. An expensive dressing robe, at odds with his humble surroundings wrapped around his figure, cloaking elegant limbs from any chance of being glimpsed by the public eye. He had not yet changed from his costume when a knock came at his door. Smiling despite the delightful exhaustion of a night’s performance, he stood and crossed the room, twisting the brass handle of the knob.
“For Mr. Xie Lian,” said a servant’s voice from behind an excess of flowers. “Please forgive the lateness of the delivery.”
The smile softened. “I won’t tell His Lordship, so nevermind,” Xie Lian promised, accepting the large bouquet of roses.
The servant bowed. “I was to have the flowers on Mister’s table, arranged in the crystal vase that His Lordship gifted previously,” he said nervously.
“I will do it to my liking. Thank you very much,” Xie Lian said kindly.
“If you could not mention - “
“I will not say a thing to His Lordship,” he repeated with amused exasperation, “Rather, I fancy he won’t be much interested in speaking of the comings and goings of servants.”
The boy, not so very far into his teenage years, seemed not to have considered this, and visibly relaxed.
“Did His Lordship leave a note?” Xie Lian added, and the boy immediately pulled a folded paper from his pocket.
“He said he does not wish to disturb you, so he will wait in the carriage,” the boy recited.
Xie Lian tsked. “It’s cold. Please tell His Lordship that he is welcome to wait in my dressing room.”
The boy's eyes went round as saucers and Xie Lian closed the door, not waiting for an answer before he set to work removing the worst of the stage makeup and setting his hair to a more pedestrian style. A few minutes later, he was changing behind the screen when a polite knock came at his door.
“Enter,” he called softly.
There was a pause and then the knob turned.
Hua Cheng entered the room meekly, eyes alighting approvingly on the flowers before traveling to where he could just see the top of Xie Lian’s head over the top of the screen.
He whipped around, turning his back to Xie Lian. “Gege,” he complained, “How can you say enter so casually when anyone might come in to see you changing?”
“My lord is hardly anyone,” Xie Lian laughed, coming out from behind the screen in only his shirt and pants, all creamy white in the soft glow of candle light, still fastening the buttons.
Hua Cheng finally gave in and turned to face him, one eye meeting soft, sparkling amber. He took a deep breath. “Your Grace…”
Xie Lian smiled softly. “San Lang,” he said.
Every air of cold indifference and high consequence melted from his shoulders at the warmth of that voice, and he stepped into Xie Lian’s arms, sweeping him up in his own until his stocking feet lifted briefly off of the ground. He was rewarded by a laugh like the silver bells that decorated the sleighs.
“Your Grace was bewitching tonight,” he told him, still holding him close, “I couldn’t look away.”
Xie Lian landed a harmless swat to his shoulder, even as he blushed in the dim light under the compliments. “That’s not my title any more. How many times should I tell you?”
“As many as you choose,” Hua Cheng replied, “You will always be His Grace the Duke to me.”
“I far prefer Gege,” Xie Lian informed him, lifting his chin.
“What a coincidence! I too prefer Gege to everyone else I know!”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian complained, wrapping his arms more tightly around him until Hua Cheng had no choice but to bend down and steal a kiss.
“This won’t do,” he said, after far too brief of a time (in Xie Lian’s opinion) of kissing him, “Come, get dressed. I must feed you. You will be hungry. Will you stay with me tonight?”
“San Lang need only ask,” Xie Lian replied, crossing the room to find the rest of his clothes.
“The offer stands always,” Hua Cheng hesitated, and Xie Lian looked at him as he pulled on his coat. “I have something to ask you, but I would rather be on our way first,” Hua Cheng explained, motioning for Xie Lian to sit down.
He knelt at his feet, lifting one elegant foot to slide it into a shining boot, and then doing the same with the other before lifting his eyes to Xie Lian, who gazed down at him, one hand resting on his shoulder. Xie Lian lowered his lips to meet Hua Cheng’s and then pulled away. “Your clothes will be soiled.”
“It is of no importance in the face of performing a service for His Grace,” Hua Cheng whispered.
The candle light flickered in their adoring silence. Finally, Xie Lian rose, extending a hand to Hua Cheng, who refused to let go of it, even in the back halls of the opera house, until they stepped outside. Xie Lian shivered minutely under his cloak even as his eyes raised to watch the snowflakes floating lazily down from the sky. He stretched out a hand and watched one melt in his palm.
“You will catch cold,” Hua Cheng fretted, “Come into the carriage.”
“Has it been snowing this whole time?” He asked, following Hua Cheng slowly, wonderingly to the door of the carriage, which stood open to him.
“Since this afternoon,” Hua Cheng confirmed, handing him up into the warm, plush interior, “Does Gege like it? Shall I order it to snow some more?”
Xie Lian laughed again, and Hua Cheng moved into the seat next to him after the door closed behind him.
“What did you want to ask me?” he said, laying his head on Hua Cheng’s shoulder.
“I must go to Paradise Manor over Christmas, and I will be away from town for some time,” Hua Cheng said slowly, Xie Lian closed his eyes, listening to the comforting rumble of Hua Cheng’s voice beneath his cheek. “I would have preferred to beg on my knees, but I suppose I could ask here, too - would Gege come with me?”
Xie Lian sat up, opening his eyes to look at San Lang properly. “To your estate? Will you invite anyone else?”
“If Gege likes…” Hua Cheng said easily, “You do not have to answer immediately. I know that you would like to continue to perform - “
“I will come,” Xie Lian replied instantly, “Where San Lang is, there’s no place I would rather be.”
Their fingers found their way together on the seat between then, and as each of their hearts settled, Xie Lian’s head came to rest on Hua Cheng’s shoulder again, and they both looked out the carriage window, watching the snow drift contentedly into the night