Work Text:
“Your Highness Qi Ying, let me make sure I understand this correctly—” Xie Lian’s tone was patient, though his expression betrayed a hint of disbelief as he clasped his hands neatly at his front. “You want me to do you a favor, and that favor is asking Crimson Rain to lend his golden skeletons and a step-litter?”
Across from him, Quan Yizhen nodded so eagerly that his loose curls bounced with every movement. His eyes wide and shining like polished amber. He leaned forward slightly, anticipation radiating from every line of his posture, as though he were already halfway to climbing onto the skeleton-drawn litter of his dreams.
Xie Lian blinked slowly, at a loss for words. “I… see,” he said carefully, his lips curving in the faintest of smiles. “I’m not sure gold bars will work on him, though…”
The effect was immediate. Qi Ying’s face fell in dramatic defeat, his bright enthusiasm collapsing into something pitiable. His thick brows drew together, heavy and dark, casting his expression in melancholy. Shoulders that had been poised with excitement drooped low. “Then… is there anything else I could do in return?”
Xie Lian tapped a finger against his lips, pondering. But the truth was simple: no. There was nothing his husband lacked, nor anything he would possibly need from the martial god as for now. And so, Xie Lian shook his head gently, his expression touched with regret.
Still, Quan Yizhen did not retreat. He furrowed his brows deeper, lips pressed into a tight line, his whole body radiating stubborn focus. It was almost comical—this formidable martial god standing in the middle of the heavenly capital, utterly confounded by the problem of how to melt the heart of a ghost king feared by all.
The sight was so woeful, so transparent, that Xie Lian couldn’t help but sigh softly. He tilted his head, strands of long black hair spilling forward over his shoulder as his gaze shifted from Qi Ying’s forlorn figure to the flagstones beneath their feet. His arms folded gently around himself as if to contain the swell of feeling inside, lips pursing in thought.
At last, his eyes softened, and in a quiet, yielding voice he said, “Perhaps… I can still try talking to him regardless. Even if there’s nothing you can offer, I’ll do what I can—”
“THANK YOU, YOUR HIGHNESS!” Quan Yizhen’s shout rang out so suddenly it startled a passing heaven official, who glanced at them in alarm. His face was once again lit with unrestrained joy, bright and unselfconscious as the midday sun. He all but bounced in place, fists clenched with barely contained energy.
Xie Lian could only laugh under his breath, shaking his head at the sight. “You’re welcome, Your Highness,” he replied warmly, his tone taking on the gentle coo one might use with a particularly excitable child. “But… do keep in mind that I can’t promise he’ll agree, alright?”
Quan Yizhen only hummed in acknowledgment, nodding vigorously with no trace of concern, as though the matter were already settled in his heart.
Brushing his hair until the damp strands fell smooth and silken over his shoulders, Xie Lian walked toward the wide bed in the bedchamber of Paradise Manor. Candlelight swayed in the carved lanterns, gilding his figure in a soft glow, his every step a picture of unstudied grace.
Hua Cheng reclined lazily against the headboard, a book balanced in one hand. Yet the instant he felt that subtle shift in the air—the quiet herald of his beloved’s approach—the volume was set aside without a second thought. His lone eye lifted, and before he could stop himself, his lips curved into a smile so foolishly tender it might have made a lesser man feel self-conscious. But Hua Cheng never cared. For Xie Lian, restraint was almost an impossibility.
Xie Lian’s long dark hair was still damp, the last traces of bathwater clinging faintly at the ends, as though reluctant to part from him. The loose strands carried a subtle sheen, softening into dark silk that brushed against his robe. Even his lashes seemed touched with that lingering moisture, leaving shadows delicate as butterfly wings across skin pale as flawless jade. A thin white robe draped lightly over his frame, its collar dipping just enough to reveal a glimpse of the silver chain at his throat. Under the heat of Hua Cheng’s gaze, a shy flush began to bloom across his cheeks and down his neck, staining porcelain with rose.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian murmured, lowering his lashes, “you need to stop doing that…”
Hua Cheng tilted his head, feigning innocence, though his smile was anything but. “Do what, gege?”
“You know what.”
The ghost king let out a chuckle, opening his arms wide in wordless invitation. “How could San Lang not look, when his beloved wife is this beautiful?”
The words made Xie Lian’s face grow even hotter, yet his lips curved helplessly all the same, betraying the fondness he could never hope to conceal. He made a faint noise of protest, as if to scold, but the sound quickly dissolved into a soft giggle instead. With quiet steps, he climbed onto the mattress and let himself be drawn into Hua Cheng’s embrace, his head finding its familiar resting place against the broad chest clad in crimson silk.
“Naughty,” Xie Lian whispered against him, though the faint smile in his voice softened the word beyond reprimand.
The two of them sank into silence, the faint murmur of Ghost City drifting in from beyond the manor walls. Together they lay cocooned in warmth, the world reduced to the rhythm of a steady heartbeat beneath Xie Lian’s ear.
At length, Xie Lian’s voice broke the hush. “San Lang…”
Hua Cheng’s response was immediate, a soft chuckle warming his chest. “I know that tone. What's gege plotting now? Something having to do with the common people again? Another one of those schemes with the village aunties?”
A laugh, light and unguarded, slipped past Xie Lian’s lips. “No, not this time.”
“I’m listening,” Hua Cheng said, his gaze softening, as if nothing in the world could matter more than this moment and the words about to leave Xie Lian’s lips.
“It’s His Highness Qi Ying,” Xie Lian said at last.
Hua Cheng’s lone eye sharpened, narrowing with suspicion even as his tone remained dry. “What did the brat do now? Cram gold bars into Puqi Shrine again? Do I need to beat him up?”
“San Lang!” Xie Lian leaned back just enough to give his husband a reproachful look, lips pursed in faint disapproval. “You’re far too mean! It’s not that at all. He just had… a favor to ask.”
One dark brow arched. Hua Cheng tilted his head, patient and expectant.
Xie Lian hesitated, his voice softening as he carefully studied Hua Cheng’s face for the slightest shift of expression. “He… wants to have your skeletons carry him on a step-litter. Just for a day. We could use your other step-litters! The ones not reserved for only us! But only—only if it’s alright with you, of course… haha...”
For a moment, Hua Cheng simply stared at him as though processing the words. Then, as if some memory snapped into place, he barked out an unrestrained laugh. “He still hasn’t forgotten that?!”
Xie Lian’s lips curved despite himself, caught between exasperation and fondness. That day, Quan Yizhen had practically vibrated with delight at the sight of Hua Cheng’s resplendent step-litter, only for the golden skeletons to dismiss him without mercy. Even when he tried to clamber aboard, they had unceremoniously tossed him right back out again! In the end, the poor boy had been forced to run after it on foot—flushed, panting, a picture of baffled indignation. The sight had been so ridiculous, so pitiful, that Xie Lian truly hadn’t known whether to laugh or to cry.
Xie Lian would later on discover that Hua Cheng had indeed designed the litter to obey only two people: himself, and Xie Lian. Anyone else was destined for rejection—Quan Yizhen, of course, not being an exception.
At the memory, Xie Lian’s chest tightened faintly. He recalled how the boy’s bright eyes had dimmed, crestfallen as he watched the litter carry Xie Lian further ahead.
“I do still feel rather sorry for him, thinking back…” he admitted softly.
“Gege’s too kind,” Hua Cheng’s laughter finally tapered off, though a smirk lingered at the corner of his lips. Then, with a subtle change in his voice, velvet turning to steel, he declared, “But if gege is asking San Lang, then the answer is no.”
Xie Lian blinked.
Hua Cheng tilted his head, a low, breathy laugh slipping past his lips, the sound warm but edged with disbelief. His single eye gleamed, drinking in every flicker of Xie Lian’s expression as though he found endless amusement there. “Gege, what’s with that face?” he drawled, voice rich with mock surprise. “Didn’t you just ask me for a favor? You said only if it’s alright with me. Well, that’s my answer! Are you planning on taking your words back?”
Color flared high across Xie Lian’s cheeks. Inwardly, he faltered—realizing he had begun coming off as if he were no longer asking but demanding, however softly the words had left his lips. He felt like a spoiled prince again, startled and off-balance whenever his parents or his Guoshi denied him something he thought certain. The realization left him flustered; his heart gave a faint skip, and he lifted his hands in a helpless little wave, long sleeves sliding down to his wrists. “No! No, of course not! Of course it’s alright...!"
But it wasn’t. What had begun as Quan Yizhen’s request now felt uncomfortably like his own. The soft pang of pity in his chest would not fade, no matter how much he tried to laugh it off. Why he suddenly cared so much for such a childish, trivial matter, Xie Lian couldn’t say. Yet the truth was undeniable—he longed to see that child have his wish granted at last. Such a simple, guileless wish… and all the more painful to leave unanswered.
It dawned on him, with a prickling unease, that this impulse was far too familiar. He was treating Quan Yizhen’s plea like the prayer of a worshipper, and himself as the god bound to answer it. The reflex was so deeply ingrained, it felt impossible to resist.
Before the thought could sink its teeth any deeper, a low voice cut across the silence, warm and rich.
“Though perhaps I could consider it,” Hua Cheng drawled, leaning closer until the faintest ghost of his breath warmed Xie Lian’s damp hair. His strong arms around Xie Lian’s waist tightened, pressing Xie Lian even more snugly against him. In the flickering candlelight, his dark eye gleamed, and a slow, wicked curve tugged at his lips. “If gege tries hard enough.”
Xie Lian startled, his head lifting as though tugged by invisible strings. His eyes—wide, shining, impossibly soft—met Hua Cheng’s, the plea caught in them far too easy to read. “Really?” The word slipped out in a whisper, trembling with fragile hope.
“Mn.” Hua Cheng’s smile deepened, lazy and devastating, as he dipped down to nuzzle his face into the crown of his beloved god’s head, inhaling the lingering floral sweetness of his bath. “But whether gege’s attempt works or not…” His lips brushed feather-light against his hair. “…San Lang makes no promises.”
Xie Lian’s breath caught. He laid still, letting Hua Cheng bask in his scent, letting the warmth of those words coil around him. An idea then stirred slowly to life, one that made heat creep into his cheeks. He wanted to pull away—ought to, perhaps—but it was too late. He had come too far. And besides…
He pictured the look of disappointment on the Martial God of the West if he failed to bring him good news. That wouldn’t do at all. Quan Yizhen had been nothing but sincere, even kind, in his blunt way. For that, Xie Lian found himself wanting—truly wanting—to do this one thing for him.
“San…”
Hua Cheng hummed from above, the rumble sinking straight down Xie Lian’s spine.
“Will San Lang… will San Lang… gege… help me?” The words came out so small he almost winced at himself. He felt childish, foolish even, for asking this way. His cheeks burned as he kept his gaze fixed stubbornly on the crimson silk before him, elegant fingers twisting and tugging at the fabric as though the motion might calm down his nerves.
A pause. Then, deliberately, low and coaxing: “What was that?”
Xie Lian’s nose scrunched up in frustration, the tips of his ears flushing scarlet. His husband was toying with him again—merciless as ever when it came to peeling back his composure. A spark of impatience lit up in his mortification, and he shifted back just enough to dare a peek upward.
Through the veil of his lashes, his eyes lifted, wide and uncertain. As expected, Hua Cheng’s attention snapped to him immediately, unwavering and absolute. That scorching gaze rooted him in place, made the air feel too thin in his lungs. He swallowed, heart stuttering. There was no escaping now.
Here goes his last resort. The one card he knew would definitely work.
“Will San Lang gege help Lian?”
The words slipped out softer than he intended, delicate as spun glass, yet they struck their mark. He saw the unmistakable glint of heat flare in Hua Cheng’s eye, a dangerous curl of satisfaction tugging at his lips. Xie Lian scarcely had time to process the look before the world tilted—Hua Cheng’s weight bore down, pressing him flat against the mattress. The sudden impact stole his breath in a startled gasp, the solidity of Hua Cheng’s body caging him effortlessly in place. In an instant, the ghost king’s face was buried in the curve of his neck, nuzzling against the soft skin there with hungry insistence. A deep, pleased groan rumbled out of him, the vibrations spilling against Xie Lian’s throat, leaving trails of tingling heat wherever they touched.
“San Lang!” Xie Lian yelped, arms flying up on instinct to cling around his husband’s neck even as his mouth stumbled over protests. His body betrayed him, head tipping back of its own accord, exposing the pale, delicate line of his throat to the ghost king’s mouth.
“Gege will help…” Hua Cheng’s voice was velvet-soft, low and intoxicating, each word pressed hot against his skin between the scatter of lips and breath. He paid no mind to the faint mewls of protest with shameless delight, instead dragging slow, wet kisses along the slope of Xie Lian’s neck, each one lingering just enough to wring a helpless shiver out of him.
A hand slipped down with deliberate ease, settling firmly against the curve of Xie Lian’s hip, fingers splayed possessively. The wolfish smile that curved against his throat sent another rush of heat spiraling through him. “…But Lian has to help gege with something first.”
The meaning was clear. And in that instant, Xie Lian knew this night would not allow for sleep.
“YI YU XI! YI YU XI! YI YUXI!”
Four golden skeletons clattered along, their towering frames comically outsized, each step shaking the uneven cobbles beneath. Their bones gleamed in the surrounding lamplights of Ghost City, polished so brightly that even the faintest wisp of ghost fire reflected off their ribs and skulls. Around them, the lazy swirls of green-blue flames bobbed and twirled, keeping pace as if dancing to the beat of their work song.
Balanced high upon their shoulders was an ostentatious step-litter. The sedan was lacquered a rich vermillion, carved with creatures whose gilded eyes winked each time it passed beneath the glow of a ghost lantern. Every corner of the canopy dripped with red tassels and dangling strings of jade beads that clinked like windchimes whenever the skeletons jostled it into motion.
From within that decadent carriage, the Martial God of the West leaned halfway out of the curtained window, his grin brighter than the lanternlight. Quan Yizhen’s unruly curls whipped in the breeze as his eyes sparkled with the same reckless glee he wore in battle. Chin lifted in unabashed pride, he looked upon every passing ghost as if this riotous city belonged to him alone, as though he were parading through his own domain rather than the heart of the Ghost King’s lair. He was the perfect picture of a carefree child let loose in a festival parade.
Specters lining the narrow street gawked openly. Some shook their heads in disbelief, muttering under their breath about the absurdity of it all. “Who is this boy?” one whispered. “Why is our city lord granting him such favor?” Another snorted behind a sleeve, though a sly grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.
At the grand gates of Paradise Manor, two figures stood bathed in the warm halo of lanternlight. Hua Cheng’s crimson robes brushed against the white folds of Xie Lian’s, their colors a quiet echo of blood and moonlight. His arm was snug around Xie Lian’s waist, a gesture both possessive and protective. With his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping as the gaudy procession clattered past for the fourth time.
“Gege,” he drawled, his voice pitched low, threaded with both resignation and plea. “Three laps. Don’t you think that’s enough? Should I call them back?”
Xie Lian tilted his head up, dark lashes catching the lanternlight. His eyes curved with quiet delight, a soft smile playing at his lips. He gently patted the hand that rested at his waist. “San Lang… just one more. Please. I promise this will be the last.”
The earnestness in his tone softened the Ghost King’s expression despite himself. Hua Cheng’s single eye crinkled faintly, a helpless smile tugging at his mouth as he shook his head.
A while after, far down the street, the golden skeletons wheeled back into view. The vermillion step-litter swaying dramatically atop their shoulders. Quan Yizhen was laughing outright now, head thrown back, his joy so free and unrestrained that even a few jaded ghosts found themselves smiling in spite of their better judgment. Lanterns flickered as the ground trembled beneath the skeletons’ rhythmic march.
This time, Hua Cheng lifted his hand and flicked his fingers with imperious ease. His voice rang clear as a bell: “Alright, that’s enough.”
The golden skeletons halted at once. “YES, CHENGZHU!” they chorused in perfect unison, lowering the sedan with surprising gentleness for the martial god to hop off. At a silent command the heavy gates parted, and the skeletons marched off in formation to return the litter to the hidden vaults where their master kept such treasures.
Quan Yizhen put on a smile and clasped his fists and bowed with formal courtesy. “Thank you, Crimson Rain. Thank you, Your Highness.”
“It’s truly nothing, Your Highness,” Xie Lian replied warmly, returning the smile with ease. Beside him, Hua Cheng only offered a faintly bored glance, his arm never once loosened around Xie Lian’s waist.
And so, after their farewells, the martial god took his leave, his heart light with a wish granted. Behind him, Xie Lian’s chest felt just as light—quietly satisfied, even over something as small and ridiculous as this.
As Quan Yizhen bounded off into the chaos of Ghost City, the street around them gradually settled back to its usual rhythm. Ghosts returned to their business, merchants resumed their bargaining, spirits muttered about the ridiculous display, and whispers spread like smoke—some praising the Ghost King’s unexpected generosity, others insisting it was the gentle Xiao Daozhang or their “Madam Wife” that must have coaxed their city lord into such foolish nonsense.
“Is gege pleased?” Hua Cheng asked quietly, voice edged with softness.
Xie Lian turned, eyes bright. “En,” he said softly, the single syllable carrying more warmth than a hundred words. “Thank you, San Lang.”
He started toward the entrance of Paradise Manor, but Hua Cheng leaned down and dipped his head, lowering until their faces were level. He angled slightly, presenting one pale cheek in silent demand.
Xie Lian blinked, puzzled. “San Lang?”
“Reward,” Hua Cheng said simply, his voice low and unmistakably expectant.
Realization warmed Xie Lian’s chest. And for a moment, Xie Lian could only laugh under his breath, his heart swelling at the childishness beneath the title of Ghost King.
“Alright. My San Lang deserves it.” He cast a quick glance around, ensuring no curious eyes lingered, then lifted his hands to cradle the Ghost King’s face. With infinite tenderness he pressed a gentle kiss to the offered cheek, his own smile curving sweetly against Hua Cheng’s cool skin.
Hua Cheng’s answering grin was nothing short of dazzling, his lone eye curling into a crescent of pure joy. Straightening to his full height, he laid a warm hand against the small of Xie Lian’s back.
“Alright,” he murmured, satisfaction thrumming in his voice. “Let’s go home.”
And together they slipped inside Paradise Manor, leaving the night to hold their laughter.