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Hua Cheng has always enjoyed painting.
Even as a child, before he had canvases or brushes, when he was just smearing mud on the temple of his god with his fingers in an attempt to make an acceptable offering, he's always loved it.
That feeling only amplified when he started using brushes- the feeling of the bristles hitting the paint, the slow, therapeutic strokes against the canvas or stone. It settled some century-old ache in his bones.
Maybe that was what he was painting, actually. The gorgeous eyes, the silky brown hair, which looked so soft even on paper, the delicate hands- though the calluses on his fingers.
Hua Cheng still remembers what those calluses felt like upon his skin.
How the rough little pads would stroke his cheek when he fell asleep too early (truly, he just pretended, to feel those hands on his skin, but his Beloved never seemed to notice. Or maybe He was humoring him, He always did.) The feeling of them on the back of his hand when He'd excitedly lead Hua Cheng to some new place he found. The feeling of them on the nape of his neck when they kissed.
If you had told Hua Cheng a millennium ago that he'd know the taste of his Gods' lips, he would have killed whoever was presumptuous enough to sour his Dianxia's image like that.
If you had told Hua Cheng now though, that he knew how his Beloved's lips tasted, he'd only smile fondly. Perhaps he'd brush his thumb against his lip, reminiscing about how soft they were against his own. He'd be able to describe it- the sweet, perfect taste he only ever found upon his God's mouth.
It's been roughly four hundred years since he last tasted it, but he can recall the flavor like it was yesterday.
Hua Cheng doesn't know if he believes in reincarnation. You'd think that if it were real, he would have found his Beloved again by now, but he never has.
Though, maybe he just keeps missing Him. It wouldn't hurt to keep looking, anyway.
If reincarnation is real, Hua Cheng wonders if his God's lips would taste the same.
Maybe they would. Maybe they'd taste so sweet, maybe He'd have the slight taste of plums on his lips (they were His favorite fruit in Xianle, once Hua Cheng got his hands on some Xie Lian hardly went a day without eating one).
But maybe they would be different. What would his God taste like now, he wonders?
He moves his hand against the canvas, using some spiritual energy to dry the paint. He's delicate with it, the same way he was with his Beloved's body.
It's strange, he thinks, how the hands that have killed so many managed to make the most perfect thing feel safe.
How did He feel then? When He was bleeding out, without the soft, dangerous hands of His husband?
Was He scared? Upset? Resentful, even?
Hua Cheng likes to believe he was forgiven. That in the end, his Lord didn't blame him for his incompetence. That He held the diamond ring in His beautiful hands, and pressed a light kiss to it, whispering into the night that it was okay. That He'd come back, just like Hua Cheng did. That Hua Cheng didn't need to feel guilt.
He doesn't believe it. He knows he deserves his God's hate. He promised to keep Him safe- and he did for so long, only for him to fail in the most crucial moment.
What if he had found Him sooner? If he went looking before he found out he couldn't contact Him?
He remembers the panic he felt, when he tried reaching through the communication array ("It's been so long," he'd say. "When is this one's husband coming home?")
He followed the string, the best he could. When he flicked his hand, when he saw the string in it's entirety- how faded, and battered it looked, he had hardly felt anything. He needed to keep steady- if he didn't have a level head, then he couldn't heal His Highness.
Then he arrived. Saw His body all beaten and bloody, the broken bones in His fingers- from what, he didn't want to know- and he released his butterflies immediately. Their delicate, little bodies walked all over His, healing the wounds.
It took Hua Cheng over a month before he accepted that external healing was all his butterflies had accomplished.
He laid in his bed, holding his Love, checking His pulse every few minutes, only for it to always lead to the same silence. He begged- what, he wasn't sure, the universe herself, maybe- to heal Him. For the music of His heartbeat to start up, for His beautiful eyes to open, to feel His little breaths against his skin. But it never came.
He put His coffin near His parents'.
There are cushions on the inside, so the marble won't dig into His bones. There's a glass panel above His face, too- so if He ever does wake up He won't be afraid. Hua Cheng remembers when he first found out about the coffin, how terrified he was for Him. He wasn't going to put Him through that again.
There's a latch on the inside as well, and Ruoye is with Him. So even if He is unable to, Ruoye can open the lid in His place.
He visits every day. Leaves a new flower on the lid, just as a bandaged child once left flowers in stone hands.
He likes to think that one day, when He comes back (because Hua Cheng knows He will, He has to.) He'll see the flower, and know Hua Cheng remembers. That out there, His most devoted believer is waiting for His return.
Maybe that day, when He comes back, Hua Cheng can show Him the garden he's grown. The field of those white flowers, all for Him.
He should build a swing. Plant a tree in the center of the field and tether a seat to one of the branches. Hua Cheng remembers Him talking about the swing He used to have as a teenager.
He places the painting down, hearing the soft thud as it hits the wooden floor.
He's unsure of how many paintings he has here. Maybe he should take the time to count them someday, maybe when he's finally hanging them on the walls of the cave or his manor.
He would hang all of them in his manor, but he knows He would be upset if he did. He never truly liked hanging up paintings of Himself ("It feels so vain, San Lang! We can't only have paintings of me," He once told him.)
He can't have that. When He comes back, he needs the manor to be perfect. His Love will need a comfortable place to relax after the centuries in a (albeit, big, comfortable) coffin.
His thoughts are interrupted by something ringing in the other room. He knows who it is, and he almost ignores it. Almost stays in this room, surrounded by the closest thing to his Beloved he's seen in centuries, but he decides to check.
He can't ignore one of Yin Yu's calls.
Maybe this lead will finally bring him to his God.