Chapter Text
Hua Cheng didn’t remember much of his earliest days, but the first warmth he ever knew came from his mother.
She had found him in an abandoned storehouse but the location seems to be barely known. A baby, barely clinging to life, wrapped in thin, tattered cloth, with eyes too bright and red to be human. Most people would have turned away in fear. Most would have left him to fate
But not her.
She took him home, warmed him against her chest, and whispered words of comfort as if he were her own flesh and blood. It didn’t matter that she soon discovered he wasn’t human. It didn’t matter that he sometimes stirred in the night with unnatural hunger or that his body healed far faster than any child’s should.
She loved him anyway.
His real mother, the one who had given birth to him, had abandoned him not out of cruelty, but out of desperation. There were scientists, researchers, those with dark intentions who wanted him for experiments. His biological mother had done the only thing she could to save him: she hid him away, far from those who sought to use him as nothing more than a test subject. The woman who raised him never spoke of where he came from, she didn’t know and she didn’t want to know why. It’s better not to know.
For ten years, he lived in a fragile yet beautiful dream. His mother, the woman who became his mother, raised him with kindness. She taught him how to read, how to sew torn fabric, how to navigate the harsh streets without drawing attention to himself. And, most importantly, she taught him how to hide what made him different.
But dreams are not meant to last. Illness came like an unstoppable tide, stealing her breath, her strength, her life. By the time Hua Cheng was ten, she was gone, and he was alone in a world that had no place for him.
For a year, he survived by his wits, hiding in the ruins of the home they once shared. He scavenged, stole what he could, and avoided people whenever possible.
One day, hunger gnawed too deeply. He ventured out to steal food from the market, his small frame darting between the stalls. The bread was warm in his hands, his heartbeat wild with the thrill of escape.
But on his way back, his luck ran out. He miscalculated a step. The ground crumbled beneath him, and before he could react, he was falling.
The impact rattled his bones. Pain lanced through his leg. He tried to stand, but his foot twisted beneath him at an unnatural angle. A cry tore from his throat, swallowed by the yawning pit around him.
No one came.
For the first time since his mother died, he felt true terror. Would he die here? Forgotten in the dark?
But then a voice.
Someone had heard him.
Strong arms pulled him out of the abyss, lifting him into the light. His vision swam with pain, but he caught glimpses of dark eyes, gentle hands. The man spoke to him softly, soothingly, before the world went black.
When he woke, the smell of antiseptic filled his nose. His leg was wrapped in a cast. And sitting beside his bed was the man who had saved him.
“Are you alright?” Xie Lian asked, voice filled with concern.
Hua Cheng blinked, disoriented. “Who… who are you?”
“Just someone who couldn’t leave a child crying in a hole.” Xie Lian smiled gently. “What’s your name?”
Hua Cheng hesitated, then whispered, “Hong Hong - Er .”
Xie Lian chuckled. “That’s a cute name, Hong Hong - Er. But next time, try not to fall into any more holes, alright?”
After realizing that Hua Cheng’s injury was serious, Xie Lian wasted no time. Lifting the boy onto his back, he carried him through the quiet streets, searching for a clinic.
“It’s going to be okay,” Xie Lian assured, his voice steady despite the urgency in his steps.
Hua Cheng, dazed from the pain, barely managed to nod. The warmth of Xie Lian’s back was oddly comforting, making him feel safe for the first time in years.
They reached a small clinic, where the doctor examined Hua Cheng’s swollen ankle with a practiced eye.
“A bad sprain,” the doctor concluded. “He’ll need to stay off it for a while. I’ll wrap it properly and give him some medicine for the pain.”
Xie Lian stayed by his side throughout the process, listening attentively to the doctor’s instructions.
“Thank you,” Xie Lian said, before turning to Hua Cheng. “We’ll get you somewhere to rest soon.”
For the first time in a long while, Hua Cheng felt like someone truly cared.
Xie Lian was famous, though Hua Cheng did not realize it then. A renowned animal rescuer, a traveler who had seen the world and saved countless creatures.
And now, he has saved Hua Cheng.
Xie Lian worried for him. A child alone in the streets, injured, with no family to claim him—what choice did he have but to take him to the authorities?
Hua Cheng wanted to tell him everything. About his mother’s warnings, about his fear of people discovering what he was. But he could not risk it. So he said nothing beyond the simple truth that he had no parents.
The police placed him in an orphanage.
It was not kind, nor was it cruel. It was simply another place he did not belong. The other children whispered about his red eye. The caretakers frowned at his silence. But he survived, as he always had.
Years passed. And then one day, he saw Xie Lian again.
Not in person. But on a screen, in a grainy news clip about his latest rescue mission.
Hua Cheng watched, transfixed. He sketched the man’s face over and over, studying every detail. He wanted to remember. To never forget the one person who had reached for him in the dark.
Xie Lian became his inspiration. His light.
For years, the orphanage had been the only home Hua Cheng had ever known. The dim hallways, the creaky beds, the faint smell of old books in the common room, everything about it was familiar. But familiarity didn’t mean comfort. The place was safe, but it had never truly felt like it belonged to him. It was simply a place where he existed , waiting for something, anything, to change.
Now, at eighteen, he was finally free to leave.
Hua Cheng sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small, worn out bag that contained everything he owned. A few changes of clothes, a battered sketchbook, some pencils, and a tiny stack of bills he had saved from odd jobs. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to start somewhere .
The door creaked open, and Auntie Xuan stepped in. She had been at the orphanage longer than anyone, raising dozens of children who came and went. She wasn’t the warmest person, but she had always looked out for Hua Cheng in her own way.
“So, today’s the big day,” she said.
Hua Cheng nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked at the bag on the bed, then back at him. “You sure about this?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t stay here forever.”
Auntie Xuan sighed, stepping into the room. “No, you can’t. But that doesn’t mean the world out there is any easier.”
Hua Cheng met her gaze. “I know.”
She studied him for a long moment before pulling something from her pocket—a small, worn envelope. She pressed it into his hand.
“It’s not much,” she said gruffly. “Just a little money to help you get started.”
Hua Cheng stiffened. “Auntie Xuan, I can’t—”
“You can and you will ,” she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Consider it my last bit of help before you run off into the world.”
He swallowed thickly, fingers tightening around the envelope. It wasn’t about the money—it was about the fact that someone cared. That someone believed he could make it out there.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.
Auntie Xuan huffed, ruffling his hair like he was still a kid. “Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?”
Hua Cheng smirked. “No promises.”
She shook her head, but he could see the rare fondness in her eyes.
The morning was crisp when Hua Cheng finally stepped out of the orphanage gates. He stood there for a moment, staring at the road ahead of him. The city stretched before him, loud, unfamiliar, unpredictable.
But that was what he wanted.
He walked through the streets, his bag slung over his shoulder, sketchbook tucked under his arm. He didn’t have a clear destination, only a vague plan: find a cheap place to stay, sell his art, survive.
The first few weeks were rough. He found a tiny, windowless room in a rundown building, barely big enough for a bed. His money ran out faster than he expected, and he spent his days hopping between part-time jobs, as washing dishes, running deliveries, fixing signs.
But no matter how exhausted he was, he never stopped drawing.
Every spare moment, he sketched on scraps of paper, napkins, even the backs of receipts. When he had enough saved up, he bought real canvases and set up in the park, selling his paintings to passing strangers. Some ignored him, some stopped to admire his work but didn’t buy anything.
And then, one day, someone did.
A woman in a tailored suit paused in front of his display, her sharp eyes scanning his art.
“You painted these?” she asked.
Hua Cheng nodded, gripping the edge of his sketchbook. “Yeah.”
She picked up a small painting.
“How much?”
Hua Cheng hesitated. He had never been good at pricing his work. Too high, and no one would buy it. Too low, and it felt like he was selling a piece of himself for nothing.
“Fifty,” he said finally.
The woman hummed, then pulled out her wallet. “I’ll take it.”
Hua Cheng blinked, barely processing as she handed him the money.
“You’ve got talent,” she said, tucking the painting under her arm. “Keep going.”
And just like that, something shifted.
It was one sale. One moment. But it was proof that he could make it. That his art had worth.
From then on, Hua Cheng pushed forward. He took commissions, painted portraits for cafes, and even started gaining a small following online.
The road wasn’t easy. Some days, he barely made enough to eat. Some nights, he wondered if he had made a mistake leaving the orphanage.
But then he would pick up his brush, and everything would make sense again.
But despite his small victories, something still felt missing.
A purpose. A reason. Something to make all this struggling worth it.
Xie Lian.
The first time Hua Cheng saw him, he was captivated. Xie Lian had this quiet presence, something so warm yet distant, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but still managed to smile.
Hua Cheng didn’t believe in fate, but if it existed, then Xie Lian was his.
He didn’t know when it started, but Xie Lian became his light.
The reason he picked up a paintbrush even when he felt like giving up.
The reason he tried to be better.