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San Lang is such a powerful ghost, Xie Lian suspects he doesn’t need to get his skin reworked, refreshed, as regularly as an ordinary resident of Ghost City might. He’s secretive enough that he likely does it all himself… performing whatever self-care rituals keep ghostly faces from rotting off, melting into slime or fading away to papery tatters. Maybe he only has to do it every handful of decades, or maybe he doesn’t have to do it at all…? But a Ghost King is still a ghost, and the dead do rot. Rot waits patiently, fended off with salves and creams and injections, infusions of spiritual power. Could any of the dead be truly immune?
The first time Xie Lian finds himself thinking about something like that, he flinches… first, because he imagines San Lang’s skin going loose and wrong beneath his fingers, maybe his hand slipping away as he’s holding it, so he’s left clutching putrefying insides and bones. Next, because he imagines San Lang’s one burning black eye, embarrassed, horrified if such a thing were to happen. Pulling his hand away, tucking his face behind a mask. Ordinary Ghost City residents all seem to own masks, for nights when they haven’t had time to refresh their faces in a while, warding off decay. If San Lang were an ordinary ghost, a special someone might kiss his mask’s cheek sometimes before he goes to work…
Well…
Xie Lian imagines the feeling of a mask beneath his lips without meaning to. That mask might be smooth and painted, smiling in a playful boyish way… something San Lang. He presses a hand against his mouth, finds his own lips smiling sadly, bemusedly. Shaking just a little, which is strange. San Lang isn’t an ordinary ghost, and he doesn’t share mundane troubles like this with Xie Lian, generally. The day-to-day issues of the dead. Kissing San Lang’s cheek… cold as cold can be or feverish, depending. Soft, unrotten.
Once thoughts of potential rot come, though, Xie Lian wonders: should he, as a new friend and hopefully-considerate host, prepare a special place around Puqi Shrine for San Lang to give himself facials? The shrine isn’t very big, but perhaps a curtain and small mirror would be enough. A little privacy. Maybe, if he sells enough scrap, he’ll be able to gather some of the right supplies in advance? Set everything up discreetly. It would probably be good to know how to do it all in-house, anyway, if Lang Ying ever ends up needing treatment. Xie Lian figures he probably won’t be able to afford a lot of trips into Ghost City for facials, as his new cultivation student gains confidence and might end up wanting them! Yes, his body has been ravaged by the Human Face Disease… but that on top of rot sounds pretty nasty.
Ah, Xie Lian might not be able to afford regular ghost-facials, but he manages to gather enough interesting items to think, “Yes, this is probably enough. If I find a ghostly beauty salon, I could trade these for some starter supplies and a few tips!” So, he goes off to give it a try. He could just ask San Lang… San Lang, who probably has his own super-expensive deathly cosmetics stocked away at Paradise Manor, if he does need to use stuff like that sometimes… but he doesn’t want to be rude. Would San Lang look hurt or disappointed, hearing, “Hey, how often does your face tend to rot off, anyway?” Maybe it would even sound like Xie Lian’s doubting his ability as a much-feared Ghost King…?
Gods can fall, and fall and fall. It stands to reason that Supremes can, too, if things go badly enough. Xie Lian steels himself, ties his bamboo hat around his neck. He’ll ask for some basic cosmetics and simple instructions on how to use them. He surely can’t be the only living being that has ever wanted to ask after such things for the sake of a treasured ghost…!
Refusing to think too hard about that sentiment, Xie Lian gets the job done. The ghostly ladies running the salon establishment recognize him as San Lang’s friend, but claim they’ll be discreet about it all. He sincerely doubts it, but what can he do? It’s too late to find a rogue cemetery-run ghost spa. There are lotions that mimic life, and fizzing, crackling energy-infused medicines that soak deep and reverse rot where they can. If a ghost waits too long between treatments, this part can apparently really sting.
Xie Lian thanks the ghostly ladies, truly grateful for the explanations. He’s sure they give him more than he can rightfully pay for; he goes back to his little shrine and arranges the cosmetics in a neat scavenged basket. He also has a slightly-cracked mirror and a folding screen someone sold for cheap because they thought it was haunted.
Next time San Lang comes to visit, he doesn’t ask about the cosmetics in their basket, but his eye lingers on them, curious. Time after that, he asks, teasingly, “Gege, you aren’t working up the nerve to tell me I have a patch of rot on my cheek, are you?”
“Oh! No, no, no. Absolutely not. No.”
“Then I guess that’s all for little Lang Ying…?”
“Mm. Yes and no…? Honestly…?”
As Xie Lian explains, he finds it difficult to look San Lang in the eye. Maybe he’s afraid to find disappointment there. When he finishes, though, San Lang chuckles, velvety and sweet. Touched, it sounds like. Fond as ever. A knot of worry loosens in Xie Lian’s chest, hearing it.
“I see. Gege has imagined massaging oils and medicines into my skin… how could I say no to care like that?”
Xie Lian’s eyes dart up at last, and they share a little smile. His is guilty, shy, and San Lang’s so coy and soft.
“Would you be willing to show me the technique you’ve been learning, gege?” San Lang asks, voice stumbling just a little midway. He sits crosslegged, obedient, by the basket of cosmetics. Tilts up his chin, closes his one eye. If one were truly to apply this sort of thing properly, they’d dab it gently into the skin around his empty eye, behind the eyepatch, too. Xie Lian wouldn’t dare, of course.
“San Lang… you don’t have to humor me. And what if I mess up? If I mix things wrong and hurt you…”
“You won’t mess anything up. I can walk you through it, if it helps. I know the steps.”
Xie Lian kneels in front of San Lang. He sanitizes his hands once, then twice, then reaches for the small spider-shaped bottle that smells like flowers and embalming fluid. San Lang murmurs, “Exactly. That one always goes first,” encouragingly, and so he begins. Flushing bright red, at first, as his fingertips gently-gently-gently reach for San Lang’s skin.
The feeling of taking care of San Lang, even in a way he might not really need… as a Supreme, as an accomplished ghost who already knows the steps and can definitely do this himself if he ever needs to… isn’t so bad, though. In fact, Xie Lian feels warm and safe and useful, doing this. He even tries applying medicine behind San Lang’s ears, which gets him laughed at a little, again.
It isn’t a cheek kiss. It isn’t. But whether Xie Lian knows it or not, each brush of his fingers is something close.