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The bedroom in Paradise Manor was bathed in the soft glow of crimson lanterns, their light spilling over dark silks and gilded mirrors. Incense coiled lazily in the air, sweet and heady, as Xie Lian perched on the Ghost King’s lap, her knees bracketing her hips. In her trembling hand was a slender brush dipped in kohl, its tip hovering perilously close to Hua Cheng’s eye.
“Hold still,” she muttered, brow furrowed in concentration. Her tongue peeked out between her teeth, a habit she’d never shaken, even after centuries.
Hua Cheng, of course, was doing anything but holding still. Her single dark eye gleamed with amusement as he stared up at her, her hands resting lightly on her waist. Her usual confidence had melted into something softer here, in the quiet of their room—a lazy, smoldering fondness that made Xie Lian’s pulse flutter.
“San Niang,” she huffed, lowering the brush. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll never get this right.”
“Like what, jiejie?” she drawled, tilting her head. The movement sent her inky hair sliding over her shoulders, and Xie Lian fought the urge to tuck it behind his ear.
“Like… like I’m the only thing you’ve ever wanted to look at,” she mumbled, cheeks flushing. It was true—her gaze was a physical thing, warm as a touch, relentless as the tide.
She grinned, sharp and bright. “But you are.”
Xie Lian groaned and thumped her forehead against Hua Cheng’s. “How do you do this every day? It’s impossible!” She waved the kohl brush accusingly. “Your hands don’t shake? Your eyelids don’t twitch? How are you even human? Oh wait, you’re not.”
The summer heat had draped itself over both of them like a languid lover, coaxing even the most modest silks into something lighter, looser. Xie Lian’s robes today were no exception—thin layers of pale gauze that clung to her curves when she moved, the neckline dipping just enough to betray the soft swell of her breasts. She hadn’t noticed. Or rather, she’d tried not to notice, fanning herself absently earlier that morning and muttering about the weather.
Hua Cheng, of course, had noticed everything.
“Jiejie,” Hua Cheng purred, her voice a low hum as Xie Lian leaned closer, the kohl brush poised once more. Her single dark eye flicked downward, tracing the shadow of cleavage revealed by Xie Lian’s forward tilt. The lantern light caught the sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat, and Hua Cheng’s fingers flexed against Xie Lian’s waist, aching to follow the trail.
“San Niang, eyes up,” Xie Lian chided, though her tone held no real reproach. She tapped the brush against Hua Cheng’s cheekbone, leaving a playful speck of black. “If you keep squirming, I’ll have to tie you down.”
Hua Cheng’s lips curled. “Promises, promises.”
Xie Lian ignored her, brow furrowed as she steadied her hand. The brush grazed Hua Cheng’s lash line, and this time, she managed a passable stroke. “There! See? I’m getting the hang of—San Niang.” She huffed when Hua Cheng’s gaze dropped again, lingering shamelessly. “Are you even trying to focus?”
“I’m looking exactly where you told me to,” Hua Cheng lied, her eye crinkling at the corner.
Xie Lian leaned back, crossing her arms—a movement that only drew more attention to the problem at hand. “You’re supposed to be staring at my eyes, not my—!” She faltered, cheeks blooming pink.
“Not your…?” Hua Cheng prompted innocently, tilting her head. Her ink-black hair slid over one shoulder, and she watched, rapt, as Xie Lian’s blush deepened.
“You’re impossible,” Xie Lian muttered, grabbing Hua Cheng’s chin to force her gaze upward. Her thumb brushed the sharp line of Hua Cheng’s jaw, and for a heartbeat, her resolve wavered. There was something about San Niang like this—unraveled, wanting—that made her own breath hitch.
Xie Lian’s fingers trembled only slightly as she swept the final line of kohl across Hua Cheng’s eyelid, her tongue caught between her teeth in fierce concentration. “There,” she declared, sitting back to admire her work. The wingtip was uneven, but it was… passable. “Not bad for my first time, hm?”
Hua Cheng’s gaze flicked down again, lingering on the flushed skin exposed by Xie Lian’s gauzy summer robes. “Perfection,” she said, though it was unclear whether she meant the makeup.
“Don’t start,” Xie Lian warned, snatching a pot of rouge from the vanity. She dipped her pinky into the crushed-carmine pigment, her cheeks already pinker than the powder itself. “Now, hold still. This part’s delicate.”
Hua Cheng arched a brow. “Is jiejie going to paint my lips and scold me?”
“Yes,” Xie Lian said primly, pressing her fingertip to Hua Cheng’s mouth. The rouge bloomed like a petal under her touch, staining Hua Cheng’s lips a deep, wicked red. Xie Lian bit back a smile—this, at least, she could manage. The color suited San Niang’s sharp features, a contrast to her pale skin and ink-black hair.
“Beautiful,” Xie Lian murmured, more to herself than to Hua Cheng.
“Mm.” Hua Cheng’s voice was a rumble. “But it’s missing something.”
Before Xie Lian could ask, Hua Cheng’s hands slid around her waist, yanking her forward until their chests collided. Xie Lian yelped as Hua Cheng peppered quick, featherlight kisses across her face—her forehead, the tip of her nose, the apples of her cheeks—each one leaving a faint red imprint from the freshly applied rouge.
“San Niang!” Xie Lian squirmed, laughter bubbling out of her. “Stop—wait!—it tickles!”
Hua Cheng didn’t relent. She kissed the corner of Xie Lian’s jaw, her temple, the shell of her ear, her lips curving into a grin as Xie Lian dissolved into giggles. “Just ensuring jiejie matches me,” she said, nipping playfully at Xie Lian’s chin.
“You’re ruining—ah!—the makeup!” Xie Lian gasped, though she made no real effort to escape. Her hands fisted in Hua Cheng’s robes, half-pushing, half-clinging.
The mirror across the room captured them in its gilded frame—a riot of smudged kohl, rouge-streaked cheeks, and hair tousled from laughter. Xie Lian’s summer robes hung askew, one sleeve slipping off her shoulder, while Hua Cheng’s eyepatch sat crooked, her lips still stained a haphazard crimson.
“Look at us,” Xie Lian giggled, gesturing at their reflection. “We’re a disaster.”
“A masterpiece,” Hua Cheng corrected, her single eye gleaming. Before Xie Lian could protest, she reached for a lacquered box on the vanity, its surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl butterflies. Inside lay an array of silver jewelry—delicate chains, hairpins crowned with crescent moons, earrings that dripped like liquid starlight.
“San Niang, what are you—ah!” Xie Lian yelped as Hua Cheng fastened a chain around her throat, the metal cool against her flushed skin. The pendant—a tiny silver butterfly—nestled just above her collarbone.
“Compensation,” Hua Cheng said, her voice low as she threaded a hairpin through Xie Lian’s messy bun. “For ruining jiejie’s hard work.”
Xie Lian snorted. “You’re just covering up the evidence.”
“Never.” Hua Cheng’s fingers brushed the rouge smudged at Xie Lian’s temple. “I prefer to think of it as… embellishment.”
Another chain followed—this one dotted with pearlescent beads that clinked softly as Xie Lian moved. Hua Cheng’s hands were deft, deliberate, as if she’d rehearsed this a thousand times. Perhaps she had.
“Where did you even get all these?” Xie Lian asked, eyeing the earrings Hua Cheng now dangled playfully in front of her.
“Made them.” Hua Cheng shrugged, hooking the silver into Xie Lian’s earlobes. “For moments like this.”
“Moments where you sabotage my makeup and then bribe me with jewelry?”
“Moments where you let me see you like this.” Hua Cheng’s tone softened. She tilted Xie Lian’s chin toward the mirror. “Look.”
Xie Lian hesitated. The woman staring back was unfamiliar yet achingly her—cheeks dusted pink, lips bitten red, silver glinting at her throat, ears and wrists.
“See?” Hua Cheng pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Perfect.”
“You’re biased,” Xie Lian muttered, but her chest swelled with something warm.
The air between them thickened, honey-slow and charged. Xie Lian’s pulse thrummed in her throat as Hua Cheng’s fingers lingered at the clasp of her outer robe, the silk slipping loose with a whisper. The silver chains at her neck trembled faintly, catching the lantern light like scattered stars.
San Niang looked…
Well.
Ridiculous, Xie Lian told herself. Smudged rouge, kohl smeared like storm clouds around her eye, hair half-unraveled from its braid. Ridiculous, and yet—
—and yet Xie Lian’s breath caught anyway. There was something about the way Hua Cheng watched her, that single dark eye wide and waiting, as if she could taste the moment Xie Lian’s resolve would crack.
“Jiejie,” Hua Cheng murmured, her thumb brushing the newly bared curve of Xie Lian’s shoulder. “You’re staring.”
“You’re dramatic,” Xie Lian retorted weakly. But her hands betrayed her, rising to cradle Hua Cheng’s face. The rouge on Hua Cheng’s lips had faded to a bitten-berry stain, and Xie Lian’s gaze dropped to it, helpless.
Hua Cheng’s lashes fluttered. “Going to scold me again?”
“Yes,” Xie Lian lied, and kissed her.
It was nothing like Hua Cheng’s earlier teasing—this was soft, deliberate, a brush of lips that lingered. Hua Cheng went very still, as if afraid to breathe, her hands frozen at Xie Lian’s waist. When Xie Lian pulled back, Hua Cheng’s eye remained closed, her lips parted in silent surprise.
“San Niang?” Xie Lian whispered, suddenly uncertain.
Hua Cheng’s laugh came out ragged. “Eight hundred years,” she said, pressing her forehead to Xie Lian’s, “and you still ambush me.”
Xie Lian flushed. “I didn’t ambush you, I just—”
Hua Cheng kissed her again, swallowing the rest of the sentence. This time, it was all heat—hungry, unhurried, her hands sliding up to tangle in Xie Lian’s hair, scattering silver pins. The outer robe pooled fully off Xie Lian’s shoulders, and Hua Cheng broke away just long enough to murmur against her jaw: “Let me. Let me see you.”
Hua Cheng froze mid-pounce, her eye narrowing in mock outrage as Xie Lian pinned her wrists to the bed. “Jiejie,” she whined, squirming halfheartedly, “this is cruelty.”
“Cruelty is letting you smear kohl all over our pillows,” Xie Lian retorted, though her voice softened as she reached for the porcelain bowl of water beside the bed. The cloth hissed as she dipped it, droplets pattering onto the sheets. “Now sit.”
Hua Cheng slumped back against the headboard, her lower lip jutting out in a pout so exaggerated it could rival a petulant child’s. Xie Lian bit back a laugh—this was the Ghost King who’d defeated 33 gods?
“Still,” Xie Lian ordered, kneeling over her. The damp cloth hovered near Hua Cheng’s cheek. “Or I’ll stop halfway and leave you looking like a half-melted painting.”
“Promises, promi—”
The cloth swiped over Hua Cheng’s lips, cutting off the taunt. Xie Lian worked methodically, clearing the rouge first, then the smudged kohl. Beneath the makeup, Hua Cheng’s face emerged—pale as moonlight, her sharp features softened by the lamplight. Xie Lian’s breath caught. She’d seen San Niang bare-faced a thousand times, but never like this: pliant under her hands, her eye shut, lashes trembling faintly.
“There,” Xie Lian murmured, brushing a stray fleck of pigment from Hua Cheng’s jaw. “Now you’re—”
Hua Cheng’s eye snapped open, glinting. “Boring?”
“San Niang.”
“Dull? Unremarkable? A faded—”
Xie Lian kissed her quiet.
It was a fleeting thing, a press of lips to lips, but Hua Cheng stilled instantly, her complaints dissolving into a sigh. When Xie Lian pulled back, Hua Cheng stared up at her, dazed.
“Better?” Xie Lian asked, fighting a smile.
Hua Cheng’s throat bobbed. “...Again.”
Xie Lian arched a brow. “Still.”
Grumbling, Hua Cheng leaned back, though her fingers crept up to toy with the hem of Xie Lian’s sash. The cloth resumed its work, gentle over her eyelids, her brow, the hollows of her cheeks.
“Have I spoiled you too much, San Niang?” Xie Lian whispered, tracing the curve of Hua Cheng’s ear with the cloth.
Hua Cheng’s eye fluttered open, sudden and serious. “Never enough,” she said, voice rough. “Not in eight hundred years. Not in eight thousand.”
The silver chains at Xie Lian’s throat chimed softly as Hua Cheng’s fingers grazed them, her touch trailing lower, lingering at the clasp of the necklace.
“Silver suits you,” she murmured, “but gold would sing.” Her voice dipped. “Imagine it—jiejie draped in sunlight. Necklaces coiled around your throat. Bangles heavy on your wrists. Every piece forged by these hands.” She lifted Xie Lian’s palm to her lips, kissing her fingertips. “For you. Only ever for you.”
Xie Lian’s breath hitched. Hua Cheng’s fervor was a familiar flame, but today it burned hotter, edged with a reverence that made her ribs ache. “San Niang,” she said softly, “you’ve already given me enough.”
“Enough?” Hua Cheng’s laugh was a low, dangerous thing. Her thumb hooked under a silver bracelet, sliding it slowly up Xie Lian’s arm. “There is no enough. Not when you wear my devotion like this.” Her eye flicked up, molten. “Not when every adornment is a vow—I see you. I choose you. I am yours.”
The words pooled hot in Xie Lian’s belly. She caught Hua Cheng’s wandering hand, lacing their fingers together. “And if I prefer the hands themselves to the jewels they make?”
Hua Cheng stilled. For a heartbeat, the Ghost King’s infamous composure faltered, her gaze turning vulnerable, almost shy. “Then they are yours,” she said roughly. “As they have always been.”
Xie Lian kissed her again—slow, savoring, her free hand cupping Hua Cheng’s jaw. When she pulled back, Hua Cheng’s lips were parted, her breathing uneven. “Then make me a promise,” Xie Lian whispered.
“Anything.”
“Adorn me with this.” She pressed Hua Cheng’s palm to her chest, over the hammering beneath. “Only this.”
Hua Cheng’s breath stuttered. “Jiejie—”
But Xie Lian was already moving, her mouth trailing down Hua Cheng’s neck, her collarbone, the slope of her breast. The silver chains slithered free one by one, clinking as they fell to the bed, but Hua Cheng barely noticed. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her head thrown back.
“You—mnh—you are cruel,” Hua Cheng managed, though her trembling betrayed her.
Xie Lian smiled against her skin. “And you love it.”
“I do.” Hua Cheng arched into her, voice breaking. “I do, I do—”
Later, when the lanterns had burned low and their sweat-damp skin glowed in the half-light, Hua Cheng traced the marks she’d left on Xie Lian’s thighs—not with claws, but with teeth and tongue, tender as a scribe inking prayers. “Gold tomorrow,” she mumbled into the crook of Xie Lian’s neck, already half-asleep. “And pearls. Rubies. A crown.”
Xie Lian chuckled, carding her fingers through Hua Cheng’s tangled hair. “A crown, San Niang?”
“To match your eyes when you—”
“Hua Cheng.”
“—when you look at me like I hung the stars.”
Xie Lian’s chest tightened. She pressed her lips to Hua Cheng’s temple, breathing her in—incense and patchouli and something sweet. “You did,” she whispered.
Hua Cheng stilled. When she spoke again, her voice was raw. “Then let me spend eternity proving it.”
Outside, the first birds began to sing. Somewhere in the manor, a servant giggled, a door creaked, the world stirred awake.
And they fucked. Again.
THE END