Work Text:
The sun hung high and merciless over Puqi Shrine, pouring heat across the fields.
By midday, even the cicadas had gone quiet.
Xie Lian wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon. It accomplished very little.
Damp strands of brown hair clung stubbornly to his temples, and the collar of his robes had long since darkened with sweat.
“Daozhang, you should rest a bit” one of the older farmers called from farther down the field.
“I’m alright” Xie Lian replied, smiling as he bent again to gather the cut stalks into bundles. “Just a little warm.”
A little warm was perhaps an understatement.
The summer air wrapped around him like wet cloth. Every breath carried the scent of sunbaked earth and ripening grain. His shoulders ached pleasantly from work, but it was in a comfortable way he was used to.
Still, there was work to finish.
The harvest had to be brought in before the evening rains came. Several of the village families were short-handed this season, and Xie Lian had volunteered as usual, having nothing much else to fill the day with.
He straightened carefully, one hand pressing briefly against the small of his back. A dizzy spell swept over him for half a second, making the bright field blur white.
Ah.
Perhaps he really had been in the sun too long.
But it passed quickly enough.
“I’m fine” he assured another worried glance directed his way.
The farmer looked unconvinced.
Xie Lian smiled brighter.
That usually worked on people.
He bent again.
The field shimmered gold around him. Somewhere nearby, water trickled through irrigation channels with a soft, cooling sound that only made him more aware of the heat baking against his skin.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean forearms dusted with dirt and chaff.
Hua Cheng would scold him if he saw him like this.
The thought arrived so naturally that Xie Lian laughed softly under his breath.
Not really scold, perhaps. Hua Cheng never denied him anything seriously. But he would narrow his eye and say something like: Gege, if you wanted to torture me, you could simply say so directly.
Then he’d drag Xie Lian inside, sit him down, press cold tea into his hands, and hover nearby with increasing concern.
Xie Lian’s smile softened at the image.
San Lang should be back by evening.
He’d gone to Ghost City the night before to deal with some matter, Important, probably. Hua Cheng had tried to explain it over breakfast, but halfway through he’d become distracted watching Xie Lian struggle with a stubborn steamed bun and abandoned the story entirely.
Thinking of breakfast made Xie Lian suddenly aware that he was hungry.
Hm.
What should he make for dinner?
He shifted another bundle of grain onto the cart and considered the question seriously.
Something cool, perhaps.
The weather was too hot for heavy soups.
There were still tomatoes growing behind the shrine, and he’d seen fresh tofu in the village market yesterday. Maybe chilled noodles? Hua Cheng liked anything Xie Lian made regardless of quality—an opinion clearly compromised by love—but there were still preferences Xie Lian had learned over time.
San Lang liked stronger flavors.
Spicy dishes.
Xie Lian could almost picture it already: Hua Cheng sitting lazily at the table with one leg stretched out, silver chains glinting in the candlelight while he watched Xie Lian move around the tiny kitchen as though it were the most fascinating sight in all three realms.
Every single time.
Even after marriage, Hua Cheng still looked at him like that.
The memory made warmth bloom quietly beneath the exhaustion.
Perhaps noodles with sesame sauce.
And cucumber.
Oh—and those small sweet cakes a village child had traded him this morning. Hua Cheng pretended not to care for sweets much, but Xie Lian had noticed they disappeared suspiciously fast whenever they appeared in the shrine.
A breeze finally stirred across the field.
Weak, but enough to cool the sweat at the back of his neck.
Xie Lian closed his eyes briefly in relief.
The moment he did, the fatigue hit harder.
His knees nearly buckled.
He caught himself against the wooden cart before anyone noticed, breathing slowly until the wave of dizziness passed again.
…Maybe he should sit down for just a minute.
But there were only two rows left.
And Hua Cheng would return soon.
Xie Lian wanted everything done before then.
He could already imagine San Lang arriving at the shrine and immediately realising he’d overworked himself somehow. Hua Cheng possessed an almost supernatural ability to detect when Xie Lian had neglected his own wellbeing.
Actually, perhaps there was nothing almost about it.
Xie Lian sighed fondly to himself and lifted another bundle.
By the time Xie Lian reached the last row, the world had begun to tilt strangely around the edges.
Not enough for alarm.
Just enough that the sunlight looked too bright.
The field stretched endlessly gold before him, wavering in the heat like water. His sleeves clung damply to his arms. Every breath felt thick.
“One more bundle” he murmured to himself.
The stalks slipped once in his grasp.
He tried again.
The farmer nearby said something, voice distant and warped, as though heard through rainwater.
Xie Lian smiled automatically. “I’m fine.”
This time, even he could hear how faint it sounded.
His vision blurred sharply.
The earth lurched beneath him.
Ah.
That…was probably not ideal.
He reached for the water jar hanging from the side of the cart, fingers brushing cool clay for the briefest second before his hand missed entirely.
Then everything vanished.
—
Darkness floated around him, soft and endless.
His body felt terribly heavy.
Hot.
So unbearably hot.
The heat pressed against his skin from every direction until even breathing seemed difficult. Somewhere far away, voices moved in muffled currents.
He tried to open his eyes.
Couldn’t.
The darkness swayed gently instead, carrying him deeper.
Then—
Coolness.
A wave of it washed slowly over his forehead, his neck, his wrists.
Like stepping into river water after crossing burning sand.
The relief was so sudden he nearly sighed.
Another cool touch brushed carefully through his hair.
Fingers.
Familiar fingers.
The oppressive heat loosened its grip little by little, replaced by drifting air and the faint scent of ash and rain.
San Lang.
Even half-conscious, Xie Lian recognised him instantly.
The darkness softened.
This time when he opened his eyes, light filtered dimly through closed curtains instead of blazing sun.
The room was cool.
A summer breeze slipped through the cracked window, stirring the gauzy curtain edges. Somewhere nearby, water dripped softly into a basin.
Xie Lian blinked slowly.
He was lying on the bed inside Puqi Shrine.
His outer robes were gone, leaving only light inner layers loose around his shoulders and waist. Something cold rested against his forehead.
Ice wrapped in cloth.
“…Mn.”
The sound barely left his throat.
Immediately, a shadow leaned over him.
“There you are.”
Hua Cheng’s voice arrived low and smooth, threaded tightly with restrained worry.
Xie Lian turned his head slightly.
Hua Cheng sat beside the bed, one elbow resting against his knee. His black hair had come partially loose, silver chains glinting faintly in the dim room.
“San Lang” Xie Lian said weakly.
Hua Cheng’s eye narrowed.
“You fainted in the middle of a field.”
“…I did hear that happens sometimes.”
“Gege.”
That single word carried the weight of an incoming lecture.
Xie Lian attempted a small, apologetic smile.
It did not help him.
Hua Cheng reached forward and adjusted the cold cloth against his forehead with infuriating gentleness. “You were burning up when they carried you back.”
“They carried me?”
“Mhm. Apparently, you collapsed after insisting for the hundredth that you were ‘fine.’”
“…That sounds a little excessive when you say it like that.”
“It sounded excessive at the time too.”
Xie Lian laughed softly, then immediately regretted it when dizziness swam through him again.
He tried to sit up anyway.
Hua Cheng placed a hand lightly against his shoulder and pushed him back down with ease.
“No.”
“I’m alright now.”
“No.”
“San Lang—”
“No” Hua Cheng repeated calmly. “Gege is currently under strict punishment.”
“Punishment?”
“Mhm.” Hua Cheng tucked a loose strand of hair behind Xie Lian’s ear. “You lie there and do absolutely nothing while I take care of you.”
“…How frightening.”
“Terrifying, I know.”
Despite the dry tone, Hua Cheng’s thumb lingered briefly against his temple before withdrawing.
Only then did Xie Lian notice the basin beside the bed filled with melted ice water. Several more cloths rested nearby, already warm from use.
He stared quietly for a moment.
“San Lang,” he said more softly.
Hua Cheng looked at him immediately.
“You came back quickly.”
Something gentled in Hua Cheng’s expression.
“I heard gege collapsed” he replied. “There are very few things in this world capable of stopping me from returning home.”
The words settled warmly into the dim room.
Xie Lian suddenly felt far less cold.
Hua Cheng rose smoothly from the bedside. “Stay there. I made sour plum soup.”
“You made it yourself?”
Hua Cheng huffed a quiet laugh and disappeared toward the kitchen corner.
A few moments later, the soft clink of porcelain filled the room.
The scent arrived first: tart plum, rock sugar, a hint of osmanthus cooled with crushed ice.
Xie Lian closed his eyes briefly at the smell alone.
When Hua Cheng returned, condensation pearled down the sides of the dark ceramic bowl in his hands.
The soup shimmered deep ruby beneath floating plum slices.
“Careful” Hua Cheng murmured, sliding one arm behind Xie Lian’s shoulders to help him sit just slightly upright. “Drink slowly.”
The bowl touched his hands, cool as river stone.
Xie Lian took a sip.
Cold sweetness spread across his tongue first, followed by the sharp tang of plum that chased the heat from his body almost instantly.
“…San Lang” he said after another sip, genuinely impressed. “This is delicious.”
Hua Cheng looked unbearably pleased with himself.
Another breeze drifted through the room.
Outside, summer cicadas sang lazily beneath the fading evening.
Inside the dim shrine, wrapped in cool shadows and Hua Cheng’s careful hands, Xie Lian finally allowed himself to rest.
For the first time all day, the heat inside his body had begun to loosen properly. His limbs still felt heavy, but no longer unbearably so.
The room drifted in soft shadows now, evening creeping slowly through the curtains.
Hua Cheng sat beside him again, one knee drawn up loosely against the bedframe.
Watching him.
Naturally.
Xie Lian cradled the bowl in both hands and said, “Did the farmers finish the field?”
“They finished it.”
Relief crossed Xie Lian’s face immediately. “That’s good. I wanted to help until the end, but I was also thinking about dinner, and then I thought perhaps cold noodles would be best because of the weather, except we were out of sesame paste, so I considered making those mushroom buns you like instead, though the dough takes longer in summer because the shrine gets warm enough to awaken ancient evils, and then I remembered the cucumbers behind the shrine and thought perhaps—”
A cool hand pressed lightly over his mouth.
“Gege” Hua Cheng said patiently, “you fainted.”
Xie Lian blinked up at him.
Hua Cheng removed the now-lukewarm cloth from his forehead and replaced it with a fresh one soaked in ice water. The new coolness settled over his skin like snowfall.
Xie Lian sighed involuntarily.
“There” Hua Cheng murmured, satisfaction threading through his voice. “Much better.”
Xie Lian leaned back obediently this time, though his eyes still curved with lingering concern. “But dinner…”
“I already made dinner.”
“You did?”
Hua Cheng raised a brow. “Gege sounds surprised.”
“Not surprised” Xie Lian corrected quickly. “Merely curious.”
Because Hua Cheng cooked extremely well.
Dangerously well, actually.
The first time Hua Cheng had prepared an actual meal after they married, Xie Lian had stared at the table in stunned silence for nearly a full minute before asking carefully if perhaps a wandering imperial chef had secretly possessed him.
Hua Cheng, meanwhile, treated cooking the way he treated calligraphy, swordsmanship, gambling, architecture, and apparently existing in general: annoyingly effortlessly.
He simply preferred Xie Lian’s cooking.
Which was love in its purest and most incomprehensible form.
“What did San Lang make?” Xie Lian asked.
“Nothing complicated. Rice porridge, cold vegetables, steamed fish.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Mhm.” Hua Cheng adjusted the blanket near Xie Lian’s waist. “You’re only getting the porridge, though.”
“…Cruel.”
“You collapsed in a field.”
“You’ve mentioned that a few times now.” Xie Lian raised an eyebrow with a small smile.
“And I’ll continue mentioning it.”
Xie Lian laughed softly again.
Outside, thunder murmured faintly in the distance. Summer rain approaching at last.
The air shifted cooler through the cracked window.
Hua Cheng studied him quietly for another moment before saying, “Your temperature’s gone down.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It is. Otherwise I was considering carrying gege directly into a mountain stream.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“I am dramatic.”
“Mm. That’s true.”
Hua Cheng’s mouth curved slightly.
Then, after a pause, he said casually, “A bath would help too.”
Xie Lian blinked.
“A cold bath?”
“Mhm.”
“That does sound nice…”
“The water’s already prepared.”
Xie Lian looked at him suspiciously now.
“You prepared it already?”
“Of course.”
“San Lang.”
Hua Cheng’s eye gleamed with unmistakable amusement.
Only then did Xie Lian notice several additional details all at once:
The faint scent of cooled herbal water drifting from behind the folding screen.
Fresh robes folded nearby.
And the fact that Hua Cheng himself had changed clothes at some point into lighter black robes with looser sleeves, silver ornaments removed except for a single chain at his wrist.
Entirely too convenient.
“…Together?” Xie Lian asked carefully.
“If gege insists.”
“I did not insist.”
Hua Cheng leaned closer, voice dropping warm and velvet-soft beside his ear. “Then should I leave you alone in the bath while you’re still dizzy?”
Xie Lian opened his mouth. A tactical defeat.
Hua Cheng smiled slowly, victorious without mercy.
Rain began at last outside the shrine roof, soft droplets tapping against old wood and stone.
Inside the dim room, cooled by storm winds and fading heat, Hua Cheng gently took the empty bowl from Xie Lian’s hands and said:
“Come on, gege. Before the water gets warm.”
The bathwater glimmered pale beneath the lantern light.
Hua Cheng had mixed cool well water with just enough warmth to keep the evening air from turning sharp against damp skin. Thin curls of steam drifted lazily upward, carrying the scent of crushed herbs and lotus leaves.
Rain whispered steadily outside the shrine now.
A soft summer storm.
Xie Lian stood beside the tub in fresh inner robes that were already sliding dangerously loose from lingering exhaustion.
“I really am alright now” Xie Lian tried once more.
“Mhm.”
“That sounded unconvinced.”
“I’m deeply unconvinced.”
Hua Cheng stepped into the bath first, black robes discarded somewhere behind the folding screen. Water shifted softly around him as he sat back against the smooth wooden edge, one arm draped lazily along the side.
Then he looked up at Xie Lian.
That look.
Warm. Patient. Entirely too handsome for the peace of any living creature.
“Come here, gege.”
Xie Lian’s ears warmed immediately.
Not because of anything improper.
Mostly.
He stepped carefully into the water, sighing as the coolness wrapped around his overheated skin. Relief spread through him almost instantly, drawing tension from his aching muscles.
“Better?” Hua Cheng asked quietly.
“Much.”
“Good.”
Xie Lian moved to sit opposite him.
Before he could, Hua Cheng caught his wrist lightly.
“Mm. no~”
Xie Lian blinked. “What?”
Hua Cheng tugged gently on his wrist.
With suspicious ease, Xie Lian found himself guided backward until he was sitting against Hua Cheng’s chest instead, half-folded comfortably into his lap while Hua Cheng’s arms settled around his waist.
The water lapped softly around them.
Xie Lian stared ahead for a long moment.
Then said, very carefully, “San Lang.”
“Mhm?”
“This arrangement seems unnecessary.”
“On the contrary.” Hua Cheng rested his chin lightly against his shoulder. “I’m protecting gege from further tragedy.”
“What tragedy?”
“What if you faint again?”
“In the bath?”
“It could happen.”
“Mnn.”
Hua Cheng’s voice turned grave with fake seriousness. “Heatstroke is no laughing matter.”
Xie Lian could practically hear the smile hiding underneath the words.
Outside, rain pattered harder against the shrine roof.
Inside, the lantern glow painted gold across damp skin and dark water.
Hua Cheng’s fingers traced idle circles against Xie Lian’s wrist beneath the waterline.
Entirely innocent.
Probably.
“You’re teasing me” Xie Lian accused softly.
“Would I do that?”
“Yes.”
Xie Lian laughed under his breath, the sound quieter now, softened by exhaustion and comfort and the steady heartbeat warm against his back.
He turned his head slightly.
Hua Cheng was already watching him.
Of course he was.
Silver gleamed faintly at the corner of his eye beneath loose dark hair, his expression unguarded in the dim light. Worry still lingered there beneath the amusement, carefully hidden but impossible for Xie Lian not to notice.
That familiar ache of tenderness bloomed in his chest again.
“All this because I overworked myself a little” Xie Lian murmured.
“A little” Hua Cheng repeated dryly.
Xie Lian smiled.
Then, before Hua Cheng could continue scolding him, he leaned in and kissed him.
Soft. A quiet apology.
The hand at Xie Lian’s waist tightened just slightly.
When they parted, Hua Cheng looked at him for half a second with the expression of someone who had just forgotten every complaint he intended to make.
“…Gege fights unfairly” he said at last.
“And did it work?”
“Completely.”
Xie Lian laughed again, warmer this time.
Hua Cheng kissed the corner of his forehead where the heat had finally faded and murmured, “Still i’m not letting you work in summer fields alone again.”
“That sounds difficult to enforce.”
“Mhm.” Hua Cheng settled more comfortably behind him, entirely content now that Xie Lian was safely contained in his arms. “I’ll simply supervise personally.”