Archive of Our Own

He has to admit, reforming his soul is a hell of a lot easier when he’s not actively fighting against the urge to pass on. It isn’t really comparable, but the last time Hua Cheng was reduced to little more than the wisp of intention and the lingering burn of resentment, he was much weaker, struggling to fight against the pull of dissipation with every fibre of his not-quite-being. This time it’s much different, he isn’t dying all over again, not really, he isn’t a fading, flickering, ruined shadow of a ghost being buffeted along like a leaf in the wind. He isn’t lost or terrified or burning with rage, he isn’t being drawn inexorably towards Mount Tong’lu against his will, he… Well, he isn’t much of anything, that’s the whole point. He isn’t about to blink out of existence, is the thing. All in all, it’s probably the most pleasant temporary displacement he’s experienced, simply because he doesn’t have to worry about that soul-deep compulsion to dissipate rearing its ugly head. 

He doesn’t care to recall that time too clearly, which is annoying because it’s burned pretty deeply into his memories, being such a formative experience for him. Quite literally. That rage under the mountain, the desperation to survive, to carve out his eye to save a group of helpless strangers because the words I want to save the common people! haven’t stopped ringing through his head since he was a child, it’s what made him. It’s not that he can’t recall it, he just doesn’t like to. The sheer level of bloodthirst that had ripped through him, the droves of ghosts and demons he’d slaughtered to prove himself, to become more so that he could get back to the one he loved, the single thread tethering his soul to the waking world… As much as he would dearly love to pretend otherwise, he is a Devastation, a ghost King, vicious in unimaginable ways, as cruel as he is kind. He may cloak himself in the love he holds for his god, the love that’s kept him going for this long, but he was born from pain and rage and he can’t ever forget that. 

But why should he? Baring his teeth against a world that wronged his god so cruelly? How is that not just?

Gods, if he had a form he’d shake himself. It’s just like him to get melodramatic, especially while he’s like this. Sensation hasn’t reformed yet, he’s nothing but consciousness split unevenly between a handful of incorporeal butterflies, sightless, bodiless, but fully able to think and wonder and fret and do his own head in. 

Still, it bears repeating that he’s glad he doesn’t have to fight the instinct to pass on this time. As a Devastation he is tied to this plane through his own strength of will and the presence of his ashes, he isn’t beholden to the urge to find peace like lesser, weaker ghosts are. Even ones twisted so viciously by hatred and resentment seek peace at the end of it, though their methods are… Questionable at best. It’s what drives their kind in the early days when death is new and the shreds of mortality still cling to them. The desire to remain as they are, that comes later, much later. It’s why Ghost City exists, it’s why they’re so fixated on their own pleasures and messy joys; it distracts them from the truth of their existence. They’re not so different from mortals in that way. 

Hua Cheng hasn’t been a Wrath for centuries but he remembers the urge well. He’s glad it passed quickly, glad he doesn’t have to worry about letting go for fear that his soul would just cease. His ashes are safe, hanging around the neck of his god, and his body - though that’s a rather sore point right now - bears a fated thread that won’t let him wander too far astray. It’s keeping him grounded, so to speak, like the world’s weirdest kite with Xie Lian as the anchor. The imagery that thought conjures is funny enough that Hua Cheng wishes he had a working throat for laughter. He’ll have to remember that for later, when he’s back where he belongs and Xie Lian inevitably asks him about where he’s been all this time. 

Saying that, he’s genuinely not sure how long it’s been. Weeks? Months, maybe? He hopes it hasn’t been years, Xie Lian doesn’t deserve to have to wait for him. Hua Cheng did it because he had to, because Xie Lian deserved that devotion. Hua Cheng deserves nothing of the sort and each moment he spends absent from Xie Lian’s life is— Well. It’s conceited of him to think that he’s worthy enough to be missed by his god, but still. He hopes. He hopes and he dreams of their reunion because he can’t exactly do much else. 

Eight hundred years… What are a couple more, in the grand scheme of things?

An decade or an hour passes, Hua Cheng isn’t sure which, and none of his senses see fit to return, but he’s able at long last to regain some semblance of control over butterflies born from his soul. While he himself possesses no form, they at least are able to perceive the world, though it doesn’t translate very well into a medium that he can easily parse. 

He gets flashes of colour, hues muted and dulled, snippets of sound that are pure tone rather than discernible speech. He hears laughter a few times, he thinks, but even that is a matter of some debate. He wonders where he is, in the physical sense. Having no body of his own, he has to rely on his butterflies to bear him along, but none of the sensations they pick up tell him anything about where he is. 

He doesn’t quite know why it’s butterflies, of all things. He’s never really felt much attachment to the things, doesn’t find them particularly awe inspiring. Xian Le had them, sure, he occasionally saw a few of them fluttering about when he was younger, swarming over flowers and nestling in blossoms as they sought out nectar from the delicate blooms. He never found the sight particularly arresting, but he likes them well enough, he supposes. He’d like to say that it was a rare moment of poetic sentimentality on his part that drove him to create them, that the synergy of the flower and the butterflies that pollinate them - flowers, the signifier of his god - caused him to fashion something in perfect counterpoint; flowers and butterflies, a perfect natural bond. He would love to say that’s why it’s butterflies, but it’s really, really not. 

It’s butterflies because when he was trapped inside Mount Tong’lu, bursting with foreign power and a new, burning resolve, it was difficult for him to maintain a stable corporeal form. He flickered and dimmed like a candle flame in a breeze, unable to hold himself together for long enough to settle comfortably. Pieces of himself would crumble, his ashes scattering while he struggled to maintain solidity, and as those fragile ashes fluttered and drifted to the ground they looked just like butterflies, and because they looked like butterflies, they became butterflies, born solely from his intent and an idle, errant thought. It was something that his fractured mind latched onto, something soft and delicate in the midst of fear and uncertainty, and once he’d resolved to form his vulnerable ashes into something tangible and easy to protect, he decided to immortalise that moment of softness the best way he knew how. To create, however he could. And so, after the painful, bloody disaster that was E’ming’s creation, he fashioned something far more beautiful in an effort to reclaim a sense of softness he hadn’t experienced since the day his young life was saved. Twin silver vambraces etched with beauty. A worthy spiritual device. 

Thus: butterflies. 

They’re as much a part of him now as E’ming; a better part, in his humble opinion. E’ming, born of his helpless rage, of suffering, of life. Butterflies, born of his desire to have something beautiful of his very own. It’s why they manifest when he cannot control his form, why they drift and flutter as the remnants of his being when he cannot solidify his presence. They’re his and he loves them. He thinks that’s all that really matters. 

He thinks one of them may rest on an outstretched finger for a moment, and that notion - far flung as it is - makes him burn in a way he hasn’t in so long. There’s only one person his butterflies would touch without the intent to do harm, only one person whose slender fingers they would deign to land on, and Hua Cheng has no lungs to hitch with an unsteady breath but he hopes, he hopes that he’s right. It’s a fleeting instance, there one moment and gone the next but he hopes it was Xie Lian and he hopes the sight of one of his butterflies served as a reassurance and a promise. 

Just a little longer. 

He hopes that’s the truth. 

“Xiao Hua.”

It isn’t at all what Hua Cheng expects to hear the moment the first of his senses return, but it’s familiar enough that he latches onto it all the same. The sense doesn’t properly belong to him, he still doesn’t have any ears to hear with yet, but his butterflies transmit it faithfully enough and when their master’s consciousness thrums eagerly in response, they sharpen their focus to gift him more understanding of what they’re witnessing, wherever they are. 

“…Been a while… Soon?”

“…Well? Tell him….”

“…Helpful… Sweet…”

Xiao Hua… A fond appellation given by the people of Puqi village from the days he spent helping Xie Lian help them in turn. That’s where his butterflies must have gathered, somewhere safe and familiar, somewhere infused with Xie Lian’s presence. It’s familiar and Hua Cheng thrills with it. His awareness is returning, slowly but surely, and his place in the world strengthens all the more for that simple pleasure.  

He wants to see, he wants more. He wants Xie Lian’s voice, he wants to know how long it’s been, he wants to know that his god is safe and happy. He’ll take this for now and force himself to be content with mere scraps but it’s so hard. He wants so much it overwhelms him, he has no body to parse the sensation with and can only thrum uselessly with everything he feels and cannot name. 

He can’t hear much, mostly just a low, constant murmur interspersed with the occasional word here and there, nothing particularly interesting. Regardless, it’s something, and Hua Cheng is pleased with this development, meagre as it is. 

Unfortunately, his luck doesn’t seem to have followed him here… Wherever he actually is. It’s difficult to describe when you don’t have a tangible form, and it seems that luck is the boon of the corporeal, which is unfair. If he were lucky, his sight would return with his hearing, but for some reason it seems that he isn’t possessed of enough presence to hold multiple senses at once. It’s fine, he has time, but it is frustrating, though he can hardly complain when sight unfolds and he finds himself looking through the smoky, fractured gaze of his butterflies, rather than perceiving through sensation alone. 

He’s not quite sure what he’s looking at, at first. A dense copse of trees, a steep incline, and people. Recognition doesn’t follow, he knows none of the people milling through the trees with purpose, but he bids his butterflies follow them at an unobtrusive distance, growing more and more curious as they ascend the incline.

All becomes clear once the trees give way, though the rows and rows of tents that become visible at the summit confuse him. Regardless, he would recognise Taicang mountain no matter how many years have passed since the crimson maples last marked it, but he doesn’t remember it being so densely populated, at least not since before the fall of Xian Le. 

His butterflies drift closer, buoyed along by his curiosity. He wishes he could hear, because these people are certainly not earthly cultivators and he wants to know their purpose here. Their bearing marks them out as heavenly officials, but why so many would descend at once to this particular place is a mystery. 

Or perhaps it hasn’t been as long as he was dreading. If heaven is still recovering from the destruction wrought by Jun Wu, then it would make sense for its denizens to relocate temporarily. It’s reassuring to think. He had been afraid that years may pass while he reformed himself, but it seems to have only been a few weeks at best. 

Good, that’s good. 

But even better, though sound is still lost to him, Hua Cheng catches his first glimpse of the one he wants to see most. 

Xie Lian looks no different, which is reassuring. He’s sat cross-legged beneath a stout oak, his back pressed against the trunk. He’s meditating, eyes closed and expression serene, and Hua Cheng wants to reach out, to call for him, but has neither the presence nor the ability to do so. For a moment he remembers a lost and helpless ghost fire, desperate to offer warmth that the chill of death had robbed from him, but Xie Lian doesn’t need warmth now. The sun is bright, hanging full and heavy like a ripe fruit in the afternoon sky, and Hua Cheng simply watches, impatient, aching, as the man he loves seeks peace alone. 

A shadow falls over him a few minutes later and his lids part slowly to look up at the newcomer that has disturbed him. He doesn’t look unhappy about the intrusion, looks desperately pleased in fact, and for a moment a skittering of jealousy threads through Hua Cheng, until Xie Lian reaches out a finger and— Oh. He’s seen the butterfly. That expression, it was for him. Hua Cheng is weak. 

Whoever that shadow belongs to must be saying something because Xie Lian nods, lips working soundlessly as he responds, gesturing vaguely with the hand without a butterfly perched on it. He wiggles his wrist oddly, splaying his fingers, then pats his chest, and even Hua Cheng can’t decipher what that’s meant to mean, but he looks… Not quite resolute, but determined, peacefully so. Xie Lian laughs then and Hua Cheng aches for him. 

I’ll come home soon, he promises. Please wait for me.

Hua Cheng still cannot interact with the world in any meaningful way, but his sight and his hearing tend to synchronise more reliably these days, so he gets snippets of perfect clarity at the oddest moments. He’s distracted halfway through the reforming of his core - a crucial step in the process that heralds that he’ll be whole soon - when a pair of foxes start shrieking bloody murder in the middle of the night. He knows it’s night because the forests of Taiceng mountain are blanketed in shadow, his butterflies glinting in the moonlight as they swarm to give him greater presence, but those foxes are a damn problem. They’re yelping and shrieking like banshees, thrashing around in the undergrowth and Hua Cheng can’t help feeling like they’re hampering the mood of his reformation a little bit. Can a ghost King not recover his tangible form in peace? 

The number of tents has begun to gradually decrease, which he assumes means that heaven is rebuilding almost space with his own recovery, though Xie Lian himself seems content to remain after his peers ascend once more, which tells Hua Cheng that this will be the site of their reunion when it comes. The gods leave and Xie Lian remains, a humble cottage built, torn down, rebuilt again. He strolls through the regrown maples that have brought back some of the mountain’s former splendour, and Hua Cheng stays as close as he can, until his presence is tangible enough that he no longer has to rely on his butterflies to move. 

He isn’t corporeal yet, that’s still a long way off, but he’s regained the memory of a body, something that had been a painfully slow process and then happened all at once after his core had reformed, and now he can keep pace with Xie Lian easily, unseen and unheard, but present all the same. He doesn’t know if Xie Lian is aware that there’s a strengthening presence beside him, but that’s alright. Hua Cheng has kept pace with him unseen for centuries. A few more months is nothing. 

He does worry if Xie Lian is lonely, but his worthless Generals do still visit, when they can. Hua Cheng might hate them personally but he’s still grateful whenever they find the time to join their Prince on the mountain, on the days when he isn’t meditating or collecting scraps, or putting his body through the steps of martial routines he still remembers from his mortal days. Xie Lian cultivated here once, it’s fitting that he does so again, now that his shackles are broken. He’s so beautiful, Hua Cheng thinks as he watches Xie Lian move with grace through the trees, feet stepping lightly from branch to branch the way he once had as a mortal. Mount Taiceng may never welcome new cultivators again, but Xie Lian seems content to remain, to relearn what had been so cruelly stolen by those cursed shackles for centuries. 

There is no one who can compare. The power Xie Lian wields is wholly unique, beautiful, unstoppable. 

He’s breathtaking. 

Several ghosts journey to the mountain, which is surprising but also isn’t. They love Xie Lian because Hua Cheng loves him and because Xie Lian can’t not be loved, and his particular brand of unique kindness endears him to even the most morally dubious of ghosts. They pay their respects, bring him food that he won’t eat, thankfully, though he bows low with gratitude and sends them away with a fond smile that never once falters. 

Shi Qingxuan visits often, is probably the one Xie Lian is happiest to see, though it hurts Hua Cheng’s silent heart every time Xie Lian’s head snaps up towards the door, every knock heralding the arrival of someone that isn’t Hua Cheng. He tries not to feel too smug about how badly Xie Lian seems to want to see him, because there’s nothing he can do about it right now. He can move and walk and hear and see but he is still formless and as much as he wants to, he can’t speed the process up any further. It’s just a matter of waiting now. 

“You know you don’t need to hang around here all the time,” Shi Qingxuan says as they gather baskets of fruit from the surrounding trees. Half of their bounty ends up eaten, mostly by Shi Qingxuan, but Xie Lian still has incriminating droplets of cherry juice clinging to his lips that Hua Cheng burns to lick away. What they don’t eat Xie Lian will take down the mountain for the villagers at the summit, and he’s been wanting to bring some to the Rain Master in thanks for her invaluable help. She won’t accept them, but she’ll appreciate the gesture all the same. 

“I know,” Xie Lian says, dabbing at his lips. He rolls a glistening cherry absently between his fingers. 

“You’re going to stay anyway.“

It’s not a question. Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing have tried to convince him to join them in heaven but he won’t. Shi Qingxuan knows they have little chance of convincing him to eschew solitude, Xie Lian’s mind is not easily changed once he’s decided. 

“I need to be here when he comes back,” Xie Lian says, dropping the cherry back into the basket. He seems to have lost whatever appetite he had a moment ago. “I want him to know that I waited.”

Shi Qingxuan looks a little confused and Hua Cheng doesn’t blame them. It’s difficult to understand how others love, but the basis of everything Xie Lian and Hua Cheng feel for each other is rooted in patience. Hua Cheng waited for eight hundred years, sustained solely by his devotion. Xie Lian hasn’t loved him as long, but Hua Cheng would have to be a complete idiot to think that Xie Lian’s feelings don’t run as deep just because he hasn’t nurtured them for as long as Hua Cheng has. He sees it clearer now than he ever had, wishes he’d noticed sooner that Xie Lian’s feelings had morphed from friendship to something deeper. They could have spent more time together before Hua Cheng overdid it. 

“I’ll stop by more?” Shi Qingxuan offers and Hua Cheng has to admit he really does like them. “I mean, it’s not like I have much to do these days.”

Xie Lian’s expression creases with sympathy. “You don’t have to.”

“Oh, come on,” Shi Qingxuan laughs. “You know you’re about the only friend I have these days. Gods are many things but they tend to stick with their own, first and foremost. Not much place for an ex-god in their ranks.”

Xie Lian touches their shoulder softly. “Maybe you should go see Yin Yu. If anyone can understand…”

“Maybe!” Shi Qingxuan says cheerfully. “I’m muddling along just fine, though. Oh, word to the wise, you do actually have company. He won’t ever say hello but he’s been hanging around to keep an eye on you. I think he’s hoping it’ll help settle some of his debt.”

Yes, and Hua Cheng is also aware that there’s a shadow lurking around the mountain. He’s careful to keep himself hidden, but Xie Lian must know there’s a ghost haunting him that isn’t Hua Cheng for once. 

“I did wonder where the peaches were going,” Xie Lian says idly. “I’ve set meals out for him but he seems disinclined to join me…”

Ungrateful bastard. Still, Hua Cheng is thankful that He Xuan has taken it upon himself to ensure that Xie Lian has at least one Devastation looking out for him at any given moment. Maybe Hua Cheng actually will knock off part of his debt. 

Maybe. 

Autumn tempers summer’s overbearing warmth, and Hua Cheng can rustle leaves and knock things over with a solid sixty percent success rate but not much else. It's endlessly frustrating , but he takes a small measure of amusement from flicking Xie Lian’s calligraphy brush onto the floor every time he puts it down. Xie Lian has checked the legs of the low table about a hundred times, tested how even it is, even going so far as to replace the legs because he thinks the whole thing is wonky. It hasn’t even occurred to him that there’s a mischievous ghost causing problems on purpose. 

He’s bored, he can’t help it. He blows gently, ruffling Xie Lian’s hair with the breeze, and Xie Lian sighs heavily, picking his brush up for the hundred and first time. 

“I hope that’s you,” he says, which stuns Hua Cheng into stillness. Not once has he ever spoken aloud when alone, only ever to visitors or Ruoye, so being addressed directly after so long is… Odd. “But if you could please behave.”

Hua Cheng reaches out a trembling hand to tug the ribbon in Xie Lian’s hair. He passes right through it and sighs heavily at the failure. 

“Come home soon,” Xie Lian says softly. “Please.”

I’m trying, Hua Cheng thinks slightly hysterically. Please believe me. 

The old mountain paths are slowly, painstakingly relaid, flanked by countless blossoms planted by Xie Lian’s own hand. Spring summons the delicate blooms, speckling the mountainside in fiery reds and soft yellows and gentle pinks and cool blues. Xie Lian works leisurely, constantly, and Hua Cheng watches over him, half-adoring and half out of his mind with impatience. 

The mountain transforms under Xie Lian’s diligent care, and Hua Cheng aches because Xie Lian is only doing this to keep himself busy, to pass the time until Hua Cheng returns. He may find pleasure in the humble work, but it’s simply an attempt at keeping his own longing in check. Hua Cheng can empathise, ten thousand iterations of his god stand as testament to that. Though both Hua Cheng’s art and Xie Lian’s toil on the mountain stand as honest work, only one of them can be called pure. 

He’s pulled from those absent musings by the call of Xie Lian’s name, spoken by someone he doesn’t recognise. Xie Lian wipes his brow and gets to his feet, tucking the pruning shears inside his qiankun sleeves, where he will undoubtedly forget he’s put them the next time he needs them. Hopefully Ruoye will be able to remind him while Hua Cheng cannot. 

They turn together, one seen and unseen, to watch a stranger approach up the mountain path, leading a brown ox and cart by the reins. He’s a farmhand, has the build of one who is no stranger to heavy work, though his face is boyish and bright. He waves happily and Xie Lian greets him with a pleased Jiao-gongzi, heading down the path to meet him. The ox stands resolute, a proud, beautiful beast, and Xie Lian pets its flank happily as he takes the reins. 

“Wanted to ensure your money went properly,” the stranger says, looking pleased with himself. “He’s not the best bred, but he’s sturdy and he won’t give you no trouble.”

“He’s perfect, thank you Jiao-gongzi .” Xie Lian beams, beatific. “I’ll take good care of him. You have my thanks.”

He exchanges the ox and cart for a basket full to bursting with the fruits of the mountain as additional thanks, and Hua Cheng is almost as pleased by Xie Lian’s purchase as the man himself. Ever industrious, Xie Lian has saved a considerable amount from his diligent scrap-collecting to make the purchase, to help him traverse the mountain on the days his collecting is far more fruitful than usual. Given that his luck is no longer hampered by his shackles, he can enjoy far more lucrative days than ever before. Most of what he collects is repurposed and sold on as usual, but some he restores and keeps for himself, or passes them on as useful gifts to the friends that visit him. They always seem happy to receive them, Xie Lian is a thoughtful gift-giver, though they seem to vastly prefer to accept these items over a home-cooked meal. 

Hua Cheng will never understand them. 

Xie Lian is gone from the mountain for some time during early autumn, and Hua Cheng drifts aimlessly in the solitude left behind. His powers are returning, it won’t be long now, but he’s still unable to manifest himself in any real way. He bides his time as usual, drifts and thinks and dreams and sighs, then perks up like an excited puppy when Xie Lian’s voice drifts up the mountain to greet him. 

He sounds happy, if a little tired, and he’s walking side by side with Feng Xin, both of them a little dirty, but otherwise sound. 

“I don’t think that counts as a prayer,” Feng Xin is saying, wiping a clump of dirt from his trousers. “They’re not asking for you as a god, they want you as a problem-solver.”

“Entreaties are entreaties,” Xie Lian says, combing twigs from his hair. “But rest assured, they’re grateful. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to receive offerings. Though it seems like my new followers don’t know what to attribute to me.”

It doesn’t matter like it once would have, Xie Lian is no longer a god restrained. His spiritual powers can once more achieve what he could not for eight hundred years, so if a follower prays for good fortune, he can grant it. If a follower prays for protection, Xie Lian can bless them. He is, however, very much possessed of a preference for prayers that require him to actually do stuff. So if his followers pray for safety because something is harassing travelling merchants or villagers, Xie Lian is usually there before the prayer ends. It’s no wonder, then, that he’s a sort of jack-of-all-trades with regards to what boons he can offer his devotees. 

“Must be strange,” Feng Xin agrees, plucking a leaf out of Xie Lian’s hair. Hua Cheng glares hard enough that he’s genuinely surprised when Feng Xin’s arm doesn’t dissolve from the elbow down. His powers aren’t fully returned yet, unfortunately. “We’ve all got a thread of history to our worship, remnants of what came before, but you're basically starting over from scratch. Well… Technically.” He grimaces, though there’s a thread of amusement behind it. “You’ve got one follower who’s been there since the beginning, at least, but the new ones don’t know much about you.”

“Probably better that way,” Xie Lian says absently. “It means my cultivation isn’t so restricted now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Feng Xin says and Hua Cheng’s ears perk up at that. Xie Lian’s cultivation has changed? That’s news to him. He’s watched his god meditate and temper his body, but he wasn’t aware that what he was doing was any different to before. “It’s going well, then? Your new path?”

“Seems to be,” Xie Lian says. “Of course, the true test will come… Ah… Later.”

Feng Xin frowns. “What does that mean?”

Xie Lian laughs awkwardly, waving his hands. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, just— Thinking out loud. I didn’t thank you properly for your help, by the way. Let me cook you dinner in thanks.”

Crafty thing, Hua Cheng thinks fondly, watching as the matter is promptly dropped as Feng Xin tries desperately to think of a way out of his current predicament. 

“I need to report to Ling Wen, so I have to pass, but I’ll see you for Shangyuan in a few weeks?”

A few weeks… A year. A whole year. Hua Cheng has been gone, has made His Highness wait an entire year in his weakness. 

Xie Lian’s smile wavers a little at the edges. His hand reaches up to clutch at his robes over his chest and Hua Cheng feels the warmth of his palm against the ring hidden there. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t want to go too far. I need to be here when…”

Feng Xin nods slowly. “Still holding out hope?”

“Forever, if I have to,” Xie Lian vows resolutely and Hua Cheng aches and aches and aches. 

It happens all at once and Hua Cheng welcomes it with open arms. 

It’s harder to sense his surroundings, his butterflies are restless. Interacting with the world takes considerably more effort than he’s used to, like he’s trying to manifest something he no longer has the power for. But that’s not right, he can feel his powers thrumming through his incorporeal body, straining to break free in a way he’s never felt. This strange plane he’s caught in can no longer confine him, and in the end it’s harder to remain than it is to let himself fall. 

Is it time? Truly?

It is. 

Hua Cheng is thrust back into the waking world with all the grace and terrible force of a tsunami, a shockwave exploding from the place where his form coalesces, matter taking shape where there once was nothing. The displacement of air where he appeared sends the trees shuddering, and the first thing he feels is breeze on his skin, in his hair, before he cloaks himself anew in crimson robes and bell-bearing boots. He raises his hands and butterflies swarm to his wrists, settling over his sleeves as glinting silver vambraces. At his waist, E’ming rattles with all the eagerness of its master, and for once Hua Cheng hasn’t the heart to chide it. 

Instead he draws fresh, clean air into lungs that don’t need it, turns his face towards the sun, and laughs. How beautiful it is to feel the earth beneath the soles of his boots, to feel at all , after so long set adrift without the comfort of sensation. 

He twists and turns, reacquaints himself with the way his body moves, and then he runs, right up through the new mountain paths towards that twice-built cottage where his heart resides. Xie Lian is not there, had set out early that morning as normal and the timing could not have been better. Hua Cheng’s luck still holds, which means he has plenty of time to do what had been nothing but wishful thinking until he exploded back into being. Though Hua Cheng aches for him like never before, he has much to do before his Dianxia comes home. 

He has a record to break. 

Blessing lanterns light up the sky, as many as Hua Cheng can offer and then some. Three thousand sent up the year before, and so he must at least double it this year, and every year after. One by one they leave his hands, drifting up, up, up, still under the market of Qiandeng Temple, still devoted to the one true god, but sent off from the peak of Taiceng because this is where Xie Lian has resolved to wait. Hua Cheng will always strive to meet him where he stands, to close the distance no matter the cost, and each glint of gold filling the heavens is testament to his devotion. 

It won’t be long now. The crimson thread around his finger pulls taut. 

Xie Lian, Xie Lian, Xie Lian. Hua Cheng’s heart is silent but it beats the name like a mantra. The lanterns are his apology for a year too long spent away, and though he has no right to expect it, he knows he will be forgiven. Such is the strength of his belief. 

He hears the creak and rumble of ox wheels turning, of sure and steady hoofbeats approaching up the path. He wants to turn but can’t bring himself to do it, not yet. His empty veins thrum with anticipation and excitement and his hands tremble as he offers the last lantern up to the heavens. He’s shaking so badly, vibrating like a tuning fork, and he’s grinning like a fool, so widely his cheeks ache, and he hasn’t even seen Xie Lian with his reformed eye yet. 

Cart wheels halt and Hua Cheng hears a soft, unsteady gasp, high and sweet. 

At last, he turns, letting his unworthy self look upon that which he loves best. 

Xie Lian is still sat at the front of the cart, reins held loosely in slack fingers. His eyes are wide, reflecting the light of the lanterns above them, lips parted in perfect disbelief. He’s leaning a little to far to the left, off-balance like he might tumble over at any moment, but Hua Cheng doesn’t need to intervene, Xie Lian’s shock isn’t enough to stop him. 

He scrambles down from the cart almost clumsily, abandoning it in favour of taking few unsteady steps towards Hua Cheng. One, two, three, four, footsteps echoing deafeningly between them. Hua Cheng can hear the thundering of his heartbeat from here. He mirrors unconsciously, taking four steps towards Xie Lian in turn. 

Another step. Another. They walk towards each other as though through the haze of a dream. 

Xie Lian’s body coils like a snake and then he’s running, sprinting, and Hua Cheng is helpless but to follow his lead, flying across the ground because this is what matters, this and nothing else. His arms ache with the absence of Xie Lian and his entire body right down to his soul knows that relief is only a short distance away. Tears glint on Xie Lian’s cheeks and his arms fling wide and then—

Eight hundred years and one more. 

Hua Cheng catches him and the moment they touch it’s like the pain was never there. Xie Lian buried his face in Hua Cheng’s neck, clutches him so tightly it should hurt but it doesn’t. He’s shaking all over, tears warm and wet against Hua Cheng’s neck, and all Hua Cheng can do is hold him, eye closed tightly against the hot rush of his own tears. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian all but sobs and the words are muffled, vibrating against Hua Cheng’s throat. “San Lang, San Lang, San Lang—“

“Gege,” Hua Cheng chokes out, voice thick with everything he feels and cannot hope to express. “ Gege.”

“Tell me,” Xie Lian says later, when the tears have stopped and the lanterns have drifted to the heavens where Hua Cheng hopes the rest of the gods sit, humbled by the sheer number of them. A candle burns in the dark, a soft glow illuminating the room, and Xie Lian’s head is pillowed on Hua Cheng’s forearm, cheeked squished up adorably so that his right eye crinkles. The fingers of the arm he’s lying on are threaded through his hair, tangled like their legs atop the threadbare mattress on the humble cottage’s bed. They might as well be reclining on the plushest bedding in existence for how comfortable Hua Cheng is right now. “Tell me everything.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Hua Cheng begins, then stills when Xie Lian’s fingers drift across his cheek, abandoning the errant locks they were playing with in favour of stroking feather-light across his eyepatch. Xie Lian shuffles closer, a fingertip skirting the edge of worn black cloth, an unspoken question in his eyes. 

Hua Cheng opens his mouth to deflect - he doesn’t want to refuse, never could - but there’s no good reason aside from his own discomfort, which could never matter. Except Xie Lian is looking at him like it does matter, and Hua Cheng has to wonder why now of all times he has chosen to touch the eyepatch. Maybe he’s curious after a year. Maybe he wants to do the things he didn’t get a chance to do before. 

Or maybe…

Xie Lian shifts again, presses a lingering kiss to black fabric that steals breath that Hua Cheng doesn’t need, then draws back and loops that errant lock of hair back round his finger. The moment passes and Hua Cheng feels heeded in a way he never has before. His discomfort was noted and accommodated. He’d never dared to hope for such a thing. 

“Tell me,” he says again. 

Hua Cheng swallows hard. “It… I don’t have the words,” he says, ashamed of what he lacks. “It was like dreaming, in a way. I was aware, at first, though I don’t think it’s awareness as you’d understand it. I had no form, just consciousness.”

Xie Lian shudders delicately. “You couldn’t move?”

“I didn’t need to. I wasn’t constrained or trapped. I simply was at its basest form. I had my sense of self and nothing else. Then it slowly came back to me. I saw the world through my butterflies when I needed to.”

“I saw them,” Xie Lian says, smiling so softly it hurts. “Where did you go?”

“Everywhere,” Hua Cheng says, which isn’t a lie, not really. He’d drifted for leagues before his awareness returned near Puqi shrine. He could have gone everywhere, he just hadn’t had the senses to perceive it. 

“Liar,” Xie Lian laughs softly. “You stayed with me, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Hua Cheng confirms, breath hitching when Xie Lian lays a palm over his silent chest. He makes his heart beat twice and Xie Lian huffs, shaking his head. 

“No pretending,” Xie Lian chides him softly. “I want you as you are, not how you think you should be to please me.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know how to explain that those two things are one and the same. “I missed you,” Hua Cheng says instead, silencing his heart once more. “I missed you so much.”

Xie Lian moves closer, the length of his body pressed against every inch of Hua Cheng’s. He rests his cheek against the expanse of Hua Cheng’s throat, eyelashes tickling cold skin. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs, arm wrapping around Hua Cheng’s waist and squeezing. His strength is… not inconsiderable. If Hua Cheng were a weaker man, he’d wheeze under the pressure. As it stands, he wants to be held tighter and can hardly believe that this moment is real, that Xie Lian is holding him without a shred of reluctance. He’s finding comfort in Hua Cheng’s present, relaxed in a way Hua Cheng has never seen him. It’s new, it's overwhelming, it’s perfect. 

“Gege,” Hua Cheng chokes, helpless. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, drawing back to look at him. “My San Lang.” His hand releases Hua Cheng’s waist - a crime, a crime - slips up into his hair, tilting his head down and— Oh, nevermind, this is better. Their lips meet, slow and soft, and Hua Cheng sighs as tension he didn’t even know he was carrying melts out of his body like ice in the sun. 

When Xie Lian pulls away, it’s because they’ve kissed for so long and so deeply that he’s now half-sprawled over Hua Cheng’s chest, fingers dug tight into the folds of his tunic, and Hua Cheng has to remind himself that Xie Lian has taken vows he has no right to coerce him to break. His unhooks his own fingers from Xie Lian’s waist, strokes his back gently and tries to remember how to think. 

“Tomorrow,” Xie Lian says breathlessly, cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “We’ll go home. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ghost City has burned to the ground in your absence. And Puqi shrine will need repairing.” He smiles a little shyly and Hua Cheng blinks up at him in a daze. “There’s a lot to be done, still. I… I couldn’t face doing it without you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng says.

Xie Lian tilts his head, brows drawn. “Why would you ever be sorry?” He asks, genuinely confused. “You came back to me.” He leans down, pressing his lips to Hua Cheng’s brow. “You came home.”

Hua Cheng burns. 

Spiritual power thrums now beneath Xie Lian’s skin, an endless font, a wellspring. Hua Cheng commits the sensation of it to memory, cloaks himself in self-control he’s half-forgotten since dispersing, reminds himself that Xie Lian’s vows are worth more than Hua Cheng will ever be. He has no right to want, no right to even consider the possibility of causing him to break them. After so long with his powers sealed, Hua Cheng would never even dream of being the reason he loses them all over again. 

“I came home,” he manages to agree, and oh, Xie Lian’s smile is a perfect, gentle thing. And it’s all for him. 

“Tomorrow,” Xie Lian reiterates, cupping Hua Cheng’s cheek and stroking his thumb beneath his covered eye. “But tonight, you’re mine.”

Hua Cheng might die all over again, he’s not sure. Either that or his heart has started beating again of its own volition and Hua Cheng is powerless to stop it. 

“Yours,” Hua Cheng vows, voice embarrassingly faint. Xie Lian laughs, delighted, and leans down to kiss him again. He tastes of the smoky tea Hua Cheng had brewed in the dented little kettle to stave off the autumnal chill, like the fruits of the mountain, rich and sweet, and that stolen memory of ruby droplets of overripe cherries clinging to his lips jumps to the forefront of his mind, unbidden. 

Then Xie Lian untangles his legs from Hua Cheng’s, throws one over his waist properly to straddle him without once breaking their kiss, and it all goes downhill from there, really.

He’s everywhere. The taste, scent, and feel of him is overwhelming, Hua Cheng is drowning in it and that’s exactly how he wants to go for his… fourth? Fourth attempt? But— As much as he wants, and want he does but he can’t— Eight hundred years of self-control must not be overridden. He may not be better than this but he has to try. 

Feeling slightly manic, Hua Cheng thinks, wildly, desperately, one with morality has the best of all ornaments, one with morality is anointed with perfume, then promptly has some form of mild mental breakdown about it. 

It works for Xie Lian, but he’s not really surprised that chanting the ethics sutra doesn’t work for a renowned ghost King known for his capriciousness and frankly dubious sense of morality. Crimson Rain Sought Flower, Hua Cheng thinks deliriously. You might have heard of him. 

Oh, good, he has actually lost his mind. For real this time. He’s come close before but always managed to endure somehow, but it really does feel like his sanity has— Snapped. 

“San Lang?” Xie Lian sounds concerned. Damn it, damn it. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Hua Cheng says, sounding distinctly not fine. Worst part is, he knows exactly how Xie Lian would respond if he said not to worry, gege, I just got so overwhelmed by how much I want you that I nearly had to recite the ethics sutra, but don’t worry, this isn’t going to turn into a Thing, I promise you. Xie Lian would stare at him, wide eyed, then he’d laugh nervously and duck his head, maybe even treat Hua Cheng by hiding against his chest as he fizzled with embarrassment like oil in a hot pan. It would be adorable. Hua Cheng thinks that might kill him for real. “I, ah… Gege is very close and this San Lang is very weak. Please, forgive him.”

Honestly, you disperse for a year and suddenly eight centuries of composure fly out the window. There really is no justice in the world. 

Xie Lian’s eyes drop to Hua Cheng’s lips for a long moment before darting back up to his eye once more. What does that mean?!

“…San Lang,” Xie Lian says after a moment. “I think you might be operating under a misapprehension.”

“Hn?” Hua Cheng hums weakly. He can’t say much else, he isn’t even breathing. Normally he doesn’t, not unless he needs to actively speak. He’s content enough to not do it at all unless he has to. Right now, if he takes another breath that’s sure to be so suffused with the natural soft, sweet perfume of Xie Lian’s skin… He’s going to do something drastic. He's not exactly sure what, but it’ll be bad. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, voice enviably clear and steady. His expression is serene, but just this side of too serene, and there is a deep flush staining his cheeks, spread right down his neck and to the tips of his ears. Hua Cheng swallows audibly and Xie Lian’s deep, dark eyes track the movement intently. He reaches out, warm palm cupping Hua Cheng’s neck, then his thumb traces lightly over the bump of his throat, before lodging just under his jaw. Held fast, Hua Cheng locks his body down before he can do something colossally stupid like shiver. 

Help, he thinks deliriously, so fervently it’s practically a prayer. I’m in so much trouble. 

Xie Lian stills above him, eyes widening, and Hua Cheng is momentarily distracted from— everything, by a wave of concern so acute he props himself up on his elbows, eyes roving over Xie Lian’s face. “Gege? I didn’t mean to—“

Xie Lian throws his head back and laughs. 

Hua Cheng is, understandably, bewildered. 

“Help!” Xie Lian chokes out between peals of laughter. “Oh— San Lang, you looked so worried! I’m not just going to pounce on you! You didn’t have to pray for help!” He cuts himself off with an undignified snort and then he’s off again, laughing so hard that tears well up in his eyes. 

Pray for— Pray for help? When had he—

Oh. 

…Oh, god.

Well. He had a good run. Some tricky bits in the beginning and then again in the middle and a few towards the end there, but it’s fine, he’s had a good— He’s had a long life, sort of, he can tap out now. Because there is absolutely no coming back from this. He’s going to have to move in with Black Water, spend his remaining days languishing face down in a lake somewhere and hoping a passing bone dragon will decide to take pity on him and chew his head off. 

“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian wheezes, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth to stifle his laughter. His eyes are crescents, creased at the corners under the force of his amusement. He’s beautiful, even at the expense of Hua Cheng’s dignity. “I’m sorry, I’m not— I’m not laughing at you, San Lang. Or— I am, but not meanly. I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting—“

“It’s fine,” Hua Cheng says, content to lie there until he either regains his composure or disperses again. “It— I’m the one who should be sorry. I was— I forgot myself. I misread the— It won’t happen again.“

It won’t. It will not. Control. Control. He’s not worthy, he won’t even allow himself to dream, he obviously can’t be trusted—

“You didn’t.”

Hua Cheng closes his mouth abruptly. Stares at him. Xie Lian stares right back. Laughter has flushed his skin beautifully, but the blush from before is still present, the shyness underneath his determination and Hua Cheng… Is once more at a loss. 

“…I didn’t?”

Xie Lian shakes his head. “A year is a long time,” he says, smiling faintly. “It’s not eight hundred years, but… It’s enough time to—“ He coughs. “To want. To make peace with wanting. And, San Lang.” He rests his palms against Hua Cheng’s chest. They burn him, even through his clothes. “San Lang, I— I do. Want you.”

Forget dying, Hua Cheng’s about to ascend again. 

“Oh,” he says faintly. 

“It doesn’t have to be now!” Xie Lian says in a rush, blustering and panicking the way he always does when he gets nervous, but only ever around Hua Cheng. He possesses a remarkably clear head under pressure, or at least he gives that impression, but whenever Hua Cheng is involved his composure seems to falter. It’s endearing, it’s alluring, and Hua Cheng is having a hard time handling it. “Or ever— If you don’t want. I just. I thought maybe… You seemed like you’d be… Um.” He straightens up, tensing like he’s about to snatch his hands away from Hua Cheng’s chest and Hua Cheng is absolutely not having that, catches Xie Lian’s wrists before he can recoil needlessly. 

“It—“ Hua Cheng exhales sharply through his nose. “I didn’t— I didn’t dare…” To be honest, he isn’t even sure what he wants to say. A hundred things come to mind, none of them chaste, all of them honest, but… “I want…” It’s hard, it’s so hard to speak of what he wants, at least the things that matter. He’s lived so long in service it feels like blasphemy to speak for himself. But Xie Lian is looking at him like all he wants in the world is to hear what Hua Cheng wants and that’s… A lot. It’s too much. It’s everything. “I want that, with you. I want— Gege, I want so much that it frightens me. I am willing, eager, even, but…” 

But, but, but. 

“Your cultivation, I can’t…”

I can’t take that from you. I can’t be another cursed shackle.

Xie Lian’s expression clears with sudden understanding. “Of course,” he says, smiling. “Of course that would be what you focused on. It wouldn’t matter, would it? I could be naked and begging and you’d still refuse me because you’d have convinced yourself that you would ruin me.”

Hua Cheng tries not to focus too much on the words naked and begging, for the sake of the shredded remains of his sanity and instead forces himself to focus on what Xie Lian actually means. “No matter how much I want you, nothing is worth that,” he says and means it. “It— Having you by my side, loving you, that’s worth everything to me. I don’t need anything else. Believe me.”

“I do,” Xie Lian says, desperately fond. “And I just have one thing to say.”

Great. So far everything he’s said has driven Hua Cheng to madness and he honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. “Mm? Whatever gege has to say, this one is always eager to hear.” 

Xie Lian leans down and that’s about it for Hua Cheng’s breathing, cutting off sharply once more the closer Xie Lian gets. He doesn’t stop until they’re a breath apart, his full weight pressed pleasantly against Hua Cheng’s chest, their lips dangerously close to brushing when he speaks. “Let me worry about my cultivation,” he says and— Nothing. Hua Cheng’s brain simply refuses to work. “Don’t deny us both because you think it’s the right thing to do. Deny me if it’s not what you want, but not because it’s what you’ve decided is best for me.”

It’s the first time in Hua Cheng’s life he’s ever been faced with such a decisive checkmate. 

He’s not really sure what to do now. He thought— If, if they ever got this far, if his wildest dreams and his most private wishes ever came true - and he never dared to hope that they would - he wanted it to go differently. He wanted to— To take his time, to lavish Xie Lian with the care and attention he deserves, to lay him down on expensive silks and plush pillows, take him apart piece by piece, if his god would deign to bless him with such an opportunity. He hadn’t ever envisioned this, that Xie Lian would be the one to— That he would be caught helpless in the face of his beloved’s open and honest desire. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, tilting his head. “Yes, or no?”

What sort of question is that?

“Yes,” Hua Cheng says, complete and utter surrender. 

Xie Lian kisses him. No, he doesn’t just kiss him, that’s not the right word. His hands cup Hua Cheng’s face, clutching at him with care edged with something deeper, eager, and he kisses Hua Cheng with such undisguised ferocity that Hua Cheng is glad he doesn’t have to breathe because breaking this kiss to do something as pedestrian as filling his lungs would be a crime. Xie Lian needs to breathe, yes, but he’s doing just fine on his own, little puffs against Hua Cheng’s cheek, sharp gasps drawn between eager lips the scant few moments they part to shift before returning to each other as though magnetised. Hua Cheng’s hands find Xie Lian’s slender waist, stroke up the curve of his back. His palms tingle and for a moment the old fear raises its ugly head, the sickening mantra of I shouldn’t be doing this, how dare you touch something so beautiful with unworthy hands, but then Xie Lian shivers and whines softly when Hua Cheng licks into his mouth and he banishes those thoughts into the shadows where they belong. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian murmurs, drawing back to gasp softly, looking lost and overwhelmed and so beautiful Hua Cheng could cry. His hands have a death grip on Hua Cheng’s tunic, and he catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he struggles for a moment and then says, “can I—?” He tugs Hua Cheng’s tunic to clarify. 

There are probably a hundred appropriate responses to that earnest request, but Hua Cheng can’t think of a single one of them, just chokes out an eager, “fuck yeah,” before his brain can tell him why that’s a bad idea. 

Xie Lian splutters a laugh, scrambling off of Hua Cheng - no, no, come back - but then his hands, clumsily in his eagerness, are at Hua Cheng’s belt, pink tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he unties it. 

Hua Cheng groans, he can’t help it. Everything about Xie Lian is tailor-made to torment him specifically. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to handle this, isn’t even sure if he can, but Xie Lian is determined and Hua Cheng is nothing if not the worst sort of enabler. He helps as much as he can, though Xie Lian doesn’t seem to appreciate the interference, kneels up to kiss Hua Cheng until he’s distracted, which definitely works, he has to admit. The belt is flung away, his outer robe pushed impatiently down his arms, and while it’s gratifying to know that His Highness wants Hua Cheng disrobed as fast as possible, Hua Cheng is pretty set on evening the playing field, so to speak. 

“Dianxia,” he calls softly, practically croons, just for the way Xie Lian ducks his head shyly. Hua Cheng hums, kneeling up himself so he can duck his head and press a lingering kiss beneath Xie Lian’s jaw, nipping softly. It’s a barely-there brush of teeth but Xie Lian trembles all the same, fisting his hands in Hua Cheng’s shirt. Bolstered, Hua Cheng follows the playful nip with his tongue, tracing the elegant line of Xie Lian’s jaw up to his earlobe and biting, is rewarded with a soft gasp that rings in his ears long after the fact. 

“San Laaang,” Xie Lian complains, tilting his head back. How is Hua Cheng meant to resist an offering like that? He doesn’t, is the answer, and he growls softly as he unleashes on that pale stretch of bared skin, nibbling down the defined stretch of muscle, so tempted to sink his teeth in that they itch with the urge. 

“Gege,” Hua Cheng drawls back, unable to keep the grin off his face. With a deft flick of his fingers, Xie Lian’s own belt is untied, and his robes go the same way as Hua Cheng’s, abandoned and forgotten. It’s like unwrapping the most perfect gift, layer by layer, piece by piece, and each inch of skin bared meets Hua Cheng’s eager mouth. 

Xie Lian moans softly, a sound that sets Hua Cheng’s empty veins blazing with want. His inner robe falls down one pale shoulder and Hua Cheng presses the most tender kiss to the skin revealed, before he slips a hand round Xie Lian’s back, cradling the back of his head with the other as he lays him down on that ratty mattress. 

“Beautiful,” Hua Cheng breathes, staring down at him in awe. Half-dressed, flushed and breathless, Xie Lian beneath him is something divine, something he has no right to touch, but Xie Lian arches up, not content to lie back and let Hua Cheng worship him the way he deserves. He fists a hand in Hua Cheng’s shirt, pulling so that he can steal another kiss, gasping softly into Hua Cheng’s mouth. 

“San Lang,” he moans into his mouth and Hua Cheng shudders, the sound of it rippling down his spine, setting his nerves alight. “San Lang, ah— Please .”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know what he’s asking for but by all the strength in him he’s going to give it to him. There’s just the matter of their clothes, and if Hua Cheng had any sense - or maybe it’s that he still possesses too much - he’d just rip them out of the way and deal with that problem in the morning. 

So that’s exactly what he does. 

Xie Lian lets out the sweetest yelp as Hua Cheng rips right through his inner robes, eyes wide as he stares down at the ruined strips of cloth now hanging off his body. He stares up at Hua Cheng, disbelief written all over his face, and Hua Cheng doesn’t have the capacity to feel even a shred of of guilt about it. 

“I’ll buy gege all the clothes he could ever need,” Hua Cheng promises, the picture of innocence. “The finest silks, the most expensive—“

A loud ripping sound interrupts him and he looks down at Xie Lian’s hands, now holding the ruined remains of his own shirt. 

“Fair’s fair,” Xie Lian says sweetly, though his face is redder than Hua Cheng’s robes. 

Hua Cheng swallows hard. 

He is in so much trouble. 

“Gege,” he says, a wounded, pathetic sound. “Have mercy.”

“I don’t think it’s my mercy you want,” Xie Lian says, trailing his hands down Hua Cheng’s chest, fingers dancing a blazing trail over his skin. “San Lang, I want…” He swallows. “I don’t know what I want.”

For all his determination, Xie Lian’s desire can only take him so far. Hua Cheng wonders what it’s like inside his head, what he thinks about what they’re doing, what it was he thought about during the year Hua Cheng couldn’t reach him that drove him to act on those nameless desires that have - by his own admission - suddenly taken precedence. What was it that made Xie Lian decide to abandon his cultivation, made him want with enough fervour to act? 

Hua Cheng himself only has theory to guide him. He didn’t abstain, not entirely, he knows his own body, knows the fundamentals, he’s read obsessively, watched when words could only offer so much insight. But Xie Lian doesn’t even have that. Total purity of mind and body. Has he ever even…?

Hua Cheng absolutely cannot think about that right now. He’d like to last long enough to satisfy the both of them, rather than embarrass himself prematurely. 

“It’s okay,” Hua Cheng says instead, pressing a soft kiss to Xie Lian’s cheek. “We can find out together.”

Xie Lian nods, reassured, and his hands continue their burning trail down Hua Cheng’s chest, over his abdomen that quivers beneath his fingertips. They halt at the waistband of his trousers and Xie Lian’s swallow is audible. Hua Cheng laughs softly, prepared to take the plunge for him, and in the interest of brevity he sheds the offending article of clothing with a simple nudge of his intent. 

“Th— Then why was the ripping necessary?!” Xie Lian demands, quickly averting his gaze and flushing, somehow, even redder. 

Hua Cheng laughs, leaning down to kiss his jaw, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses all the way down his neck. “Because it was funny,” he says, snickering when Xie Lian slaps weakly at his shoulder. “Gege. It’s alright. If you don’t want—“

“I want,” Xie Lian says at once, taking a deep, fortifying breath. Hua Cheng takes mercy on him and sits back on his feet, bared for His Highness’ approval, once he’s worked up the courage to actually look. 

It takes a minute, but Xie Lian eventually props himself up on his elbows, gaze inching down Hua Cheng’s body painfully slow. It feels like a physical touch and Hua Cheng is struggling to endure it, wants to twist and shift, squirming under Xie Lian’s attention. When His Highness’ gaze reaches its final destination, Hua Cheng halts his breathing entirely, not daring to move, not even when Xie Lian lets out the softest sound to ever grace his ears. 

Then he nearly jumps out of his skin, because tentative, curious fingers brush over the length of him and he wasn’t prepared for it. 

“Sorry!” Xie Lian blurts, snatching his hand back. “I just—“

“It’s— fine,” Hua Cheng wheezes, dead heart fit to burst. “You just surprised me. It— You can touch me, of course you can, I just… I was unprepared.”

“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian says again, though he smiles faintly. “You, um. That was a very good sound you just made.”

Hua Cheng wasn’t even aware he’d made one. He can’t imagine it sounded very dignified. He decides emphatically that he can live without knowing exactly what sound Xie Lian has taken a liking to, mainly because he would like to make it to tomorrow with some of his pride intact. 

“I’m sure I’ll make plenty,” Hua Cheng says, desperate to save face. “But gege has me at a disadvantage.”

He means it playfully - mostly - but Xie Lian takes his words to heart and starts to wriggle in place, which would be adorable in any other situation, but he’s doing it to get his own trousers off and Hua Cheng honestly hadn’t thought this far ahead. His brain stops dead in its tracks and he’s helpless to do anything except watch as the pale skin of Xie Lian’s hips and waist are bared, the enticing vee of his hipbones, his thighs—

Hua Cheng definitely makes a sound there and hears every broken second of it. It’s not quite a moan, more like a bone-deep whine of longing, one that escapes without his express permission to do so. Xie Lian flushes right down to his chest, hides his embarrassment by tugging his trousers off by the hems, tossing them to the floor. It takes a moment for him to stretch his legs back out and when he does, Hua Cheng’s mouth actually waters a bit. 

He’s— There are no words. He’s all lean muscle and pale skin, scars from wounds that he couldn’t heal himself, his body a map of everything he’s experienced, the good and the bad. Gratifyingly, he’s hard, flushed and warm enough that Hua Cheng can feel the heat radiating off of him from where he’s sat. There’s a graceful curve to his cock and Hua Cheng is desperate to get his mouth on him. 

He will, he resolves, determined. But not yet. 

“Beautiful,” he says again, reaching out almost tentatively to run his palms over Xie Lian’s thighs. The muscles beneath his hands bunch and twitch, and Xie Lian reaches out to cover Hua Cheng’s hands with his own, not halting his touch, merely seeking contact for contact’s sake. He smiles, tentative and sweet, and Hua Cheng is so weak. 

“San Lang,” he says. “Come here.”

Hua Cheng is helpless to obey. 

It’s different when he kisses Xie Lian then, the warmth of his body against the cool planes of his own burning like a brand. Xie Lian shivers and Hua Cheng hopes it’s not from the cold, but he can’t suppress his own shudder as his cock nudges Xie Lian’s thigh. The skin on the inside of his thighs is so soft, and Hua Cheng’s hips nestle between his legs like he was made to fit there. 

“San Lang is so beautiful,” Xie Lian murmurs, pressing a too-sweet kiss to his lips. He brushes hair back away from Hua Cheng’s face, tucking it behind his ears. He flicks one of Hua Cheng’s earrings playfully, the ringing tinkle a gentle sound that’s barely audible above their combined breaths. 

“Dianxia is the most beautiful,” Hua Cheng counters, kissing the corner of his mouth. “This one is not worthy.”

Something flashes in Xie Lian’s eyes and his nails dig into Hua Cheng’s shoulders, making him hiss. “My San Lang is loved beyond all reason,” Xie Lian says like he’s daring Hua Cheng to argue. “So I’ll be angry if he says he isn’t worthy. He deserves the world and I’ll give it to him.”

Hua Cheng swallows hard. “San Lang already has the world,” he says softly. “It’s right here in his arms.”

Xie Lian utters a soft exclamation, hiding his face against Hua Cheng’s chest. “Don’t say things like that,” he mumbles. “My poor heart…”

“It’s true,” Hua Cheng says, kissing the top of his head. “Gege. If you hide from me, it’s going to make this a bit difficult.”

Slowly, Xie Lian lifts his head, but not before nipping him sharply on the collarbone. Hua Cheng swoons a bit, he can’t help it. “Alright,” Xie Lian says, settling down beneath him. He draws his knees up so they bracket Hua Cheng’s hips. “I… I want things I’m not sure how to ask for.”

Hua Cheng hums, dipping just head to kiss him softly. “We can do anything you like,” he promises. “I can touch you, or use my mouth. You can make love to me or I can do it to you, whatever you want. Or we can stop and come back to this another time, if you like. It’s completely—“

“I want you to fuck me,” Xie Lian says, blinking. “Oh, look, I figured it out.”

Hua Cheng closes his open mouth with some effort. “Alright,” he wheezes. “That works.”

Xie Lian grins at him impishly. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says. “Though I’m given to understand we may be lacking the things we need for such a venture.”

Hua Cheng recovers enough presence of mind to scoff. “Gege, please. Remember who you’re talking to.” It’s calculated bravado, crafted specifically to make Xie Lian laugh, and he succeeds handily. Xie Lian snickers into his hands, humming when Hua Cheng leans down to pepper kisses over his chest, paying attention to curved and crossed scars, ensuring not a single one is missed. 

His hands he strokes down Xie Lian’s waist, over his hips, his stomach. His mouth he uses to tease soft sighs and gentle moans from his lover, thrills internally to be able to call him that. Heat licks pleasantly over his skin everywhere they touch, banishing the unnatural chill of his own body, and Xie Lian’s hands find his hair as he licks over a nipple, fisting but not pulling, and it sends a sweet shiver of pleasure down his spine. 

“Oh,” Xie Lian moans, back arching slightly to press eagerly into the heat of Hua Cheng’s mouth. “Oh, San Lang…”

Hua Cheng never wants to hear his name said any other way. He sucks softly, teasing with a feather-light brush of his teeth, and Xie Lian answers with a groan ripped right out of his throat, full-bodied and richer than the finest wine. Nails scratch against his scalp and Hua Cheng purrs , unable to stop himself from rocking his hips, rubbing his cock against the bedsheets for some much needed relief. 

“Haah, I felt that,” Xie Lian gasps, too breathless to tease. “San Lang, I need— I want you.”

Hua Cheng is absolutely not going to survive the night. He’s not too unhappy about that.

“Whatever gege wants,” he purrs smoothly, reaching a hand out. Intention follows the movement and his fingers close around smooth glass where before there was nothing. He draws his hand back, uncorking the vial with his teeth. Xie Lian watches, eyes wide and dark, and he looks more curious than anything else. 

Hua Cheng is more than happy to explain, if need be. He pours oil into his palm, coating his fingers liberally, and he looks up to ask Xie Lian if he’d like to move onto his stomach, to tell him to get comfortable, but Xie Lian is already stuffing a pillow unceremoniously under his hips. 

“…This San Lang has to ask,” he says after a moment, already knowing that the answer may ruin him. “Gege seems to be rather more informed than he lets on.”

Xie Lian laughs softly. “This one had a year left to his own devices,” he says. “I already knew that I wanted you, it just took me a while to— reconcile that fact with what I had always been taught. I figured doing my own research would benefit us both. I’m sure San Lang did the same?” He arches a brow, the cocky little thing. “Of course, your eight hundred years versus my solitary one probably puts me at a disadvantage.” 

Hua Cheng bends to kiss the inside of his thigh instead of answering. He’s not even sure what he’d say. Something horrifically inappropriate and definitely embarrassing, most likely. He can’t help bearing his heart and all his clumsy thoughts to His Highness, doesn’t particularly want to, but he can’t quite give himself over to full, shameless honesty just yet. He’ll get there. Sooner rather than later, probably, if Xie Lian has anything to say about it. 

“I’ll go slow,” is all he can think of, which is at least appropriate. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Xie Lian hums, shifting until he’s comfortable. His legs fall open and Hua Cheng bites his tongue hard to smother the groan that tries to escape. He’s only partially successful. 

His first touch is delicate, barely more than a graze of the pads of his fingers, testing the waters. Xie Lian tenses predictably, then relaxes by degrees as Hua Cheng keeps stroking, kissing his thigh, soft and slow. The oil is expensive, scented with rose oil, one of the parts of his grand master plan that he didn’t get to enact, though he can’t summon even a fraction of disappointment about it. This, here, is already better than his wildest fantasies, and after eight hundred years he has a few. 

“Breathe in,” he says softly. Xie Lian obeys, drawing in a slow, measured breath. He holds it for a few seconds before breathing out and, as he lets go of the breath, Hua Cheng eases a forefinger inside. 

Xie Lian makes a sound, a hitched gasp, followed by a thoughtful sort of hum. He’s tensed up and Hua Cheng holds perfectly still, trying not to think too far ahead, to not think about that tight, slick heat clenching around any other parts of his body. It is supremely difficult, but Hua Cheng’s willpower - while not wholly infallible - is definitely considerable. 

“Okay?”

Xie Lian nods, catching his kiss-swollen lower lip between his teeth. 

“More?”

Another nod. Hua Cheng eases his finger deeper, curling slowly as he draws it out. Xie Lian’s abdomen quivers and his breath stutters, but he seems curious rather than overwhelmed, which is fine. It is sort of making Hua Cheng want to wipe that expression right off his face, to replace it with something far less composed, but patience is key. 

“So warm,” Hua Cheng hums, resting his head against Xie Lian’s knee. “How do you feel?”

“It— Okay,” Xie Lian says. “It’s— Can you—“

“Of course.” Hua Cheng is more than happy to oblige. Xie Lian’s erection is flagging a little, expectedly, and it is now Hua Cheng’s sole mission in life to get him so hard he aches with it, before sending him over the edge. He works his lover open with slow, careful thrusts, the same way he does whenever he does this to himself. The angle is definitely better and getting to watch Xie Lian’s expression flutter between curiosity and pleasure is a delight unlike anything on earth, especially when his body relaxes and he starts letting out soft little sighs with every curl of Hua Cheng’s finger. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian sighs, reaching for him. “Kiss me. Please.”

Hua Cheng moves up eagerly, licking into his mouth as he draws his finger out, nipping Xie Lian’s lower lip as he presses back in, two fingers this time. Xie Lian gasps into his mouth, but no tension follows this time. He’s relaxed, warm and pliant, and his body welcomes Hua Cheng almost eagerly. Hua Cheng, for his part, is almost unspeakably hard. It’s getting difficult to focus but he must. His Dianxia deserves only the best. 

“It— I—“ Xie Lian drags a sharp breath in, head tilting back. “Faster, please.”

The fact that he asks is a punch of arousal right to the gut, and Hua Cheng scrambles to obey. He bites at Xie Lian’s jaw, his throat, thrusting his fingers faster, twisting them, spreading them, and Xie Lian responds so beautifully, moans rising in volume and pitch. His cock fills out once more, curving against his stomach, and pearly drops bead at the tip, leaving a damp smear against his abdomen that Hua Cheng wants to lick away. 

“Gege,” he rumbles, nudging his jaw with his nose. “So beautiful.”

Xie Lian whines low in his throat, hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Can— Want you now. Please?”

Hua Cheng spreads his fingers. He’s slick and open, he should be alright. Hua Cheng doesn’t want to risk it, but neither can he refuse such a pretty request. He pulls back, relishes in the soft whine Xie Lian lets out as his fingers slip free. He wants so badly he aches with it and judging by the state of his lover, he isn’t the only one suffering for his patience. 

“San Lang,” Xie Lian moans. “Need you, please.”

“Yes,” Hua Cheng rasps, hissing as he slicks up his neglected cock, desperately oversensitive. “Anything you want, gege.”

“Just you,” Xie Lian says, eyes glassy with arousal. He twitches his hips, cock bobbing against his stomach. “Only you.”

Hua Cheng is so, so weak. His dreams can’t even compare. Nothing can. 

Slow, he orders himself, nestling in close until the backs of Xie Lian’s thighs are slotted over the top of his own. Slow, he orders himself as he lines up with Xie Lian’s body, resting the tip of his cock against his slick hole but not yet daring to push in. Slow, he orders himself, head spinning as he tilts his hips forward and pushes in, in, in, sinking into slick heat that scorches him right down to his soul. 

Something delicate snaps, then, Hua Cheng feels it burst between them; shivering through his body, dispersing like a flame extinguished and he wonders at it. Xie Lian’s eyes fly open and he moans shakily, like whatever just broke was the last thread holding him together. 

“San Lang!” Xie Lian’s moan rings through his head, loud and hitched and perfect. If Hua Cheng’s form flickers weakly, if his being threatens to disperse through the sheer force of the pleasure that courses through him, that’s no one’s business but his own. 

“Haah, it— Are you—“ Words are suddenly impossible. Xie Lian draws him in, Hua Cheng bottoms out and can’t do anything except feel , heat and warmth and the steady, quick-fire beat of Xie Lian’s heart, thudding hard enough for the both of them. 

Xie Lian’s legs twitch like he wants to close them, but the entirety of Hua Cheng is in the way. Instead, his legs lift and lock around Hua Cheng’s waist, purely on instinct, and Hua Cheng is never coming down from this high. He has to bow forward, take his weight onto his forearms. His hair falls around his shoulders, tickling Xie Lian’s stomach and chest, and his Dianxia, his beloved, gazed up at him through heavy lids, lips parted to let out the softest of panted breaths. 

“San Lang,” he says, reaching a hand up to cup his face. “Love me.”

Hua Cheng has been powerless to do anything else since the day they met. Only now can he do it in earnest, with everything he is. 

His first thrust is so careful, barely more than a testing grind of his hips. Xie Lian gasps so Hua Cheng pulls out, so, so slowly, hissing as pleasure sparks up his spine. He watches Xie Lian’s every response, mindful of even the slightest hint of pain, but Xie Lian is lost to any sensations but pleasure, nudges his heel against Hua Cheng’s back to urge him on. 

“Please,” he says. That’s all it takes. 

Hua Cheng bows over him, rocking his hips slowly. Xie Lian moans and arches, fisting his hands in the sheets with enough force to rip them. It’s a simple thing for Hua Cheng to grasp his hands and lace their fingers together, even simpler for him to give into the desire to lift them above Xie Lian’s head and pin them to the mattress. Xie Lian moans again, hoarse and deep, rocking his hips as he seeks out every bit of pleasure Hua Cheng can give him. 

It— Hua Cheng wants with a fervour that terrifies him. It makes him careless, makes him buck his hips, drive deep into Xie Lian’s body, but that just serves to make his Dianxia cry out and writhe, begging wordlessly for more. Emboldened, Hua Cheng snaps his hips forward, as hard as he dares, and a cry is ripped from Xie Lian’s throat that sounds dangerously close to more. 

He’s lost to sensation, adrift in pleasure that threatens to drown him. His body has never felt so warm, like he’s alive, breathless, though it’s been centuries since he needed to breathe. Xie Lian pants beneath him, moaning with each thrust, and Hua Cheng gives into selfishness, chasing that aching, all-encompassing pleasure that can only be found in Xie Lian. The guilt doesn’t come, how could it? How could it, when Xie Lian cries out his name, all but sobbing through every thrust, heels dug into Hua Cheng’s back like he wants to get closer than they are? 

“Gege,” Hua Cheng grits out, head bowed. “Gege, I—“

“San Lang!” Xie Lian answers him, incandescent with pleasure. “San Lang, San Lang, ah—!”

It’s too much. Hua Cheng releases his hands, moans when the first thing Xie Lian does is wrap his arms around his neck and hold tight. Braced on one arm, Hua Cheng snakes the other between them, curling his fingers around Xie Lian’s aching cock, stroking him through every thrust, as coordinated as he can manage to be while his entire body is being pulled in a hundred different directions. Xie Lian chokes, back arching like a bow overdrawn, and he spills over Hua Cheng’s fingers with a wounded sound that’s wrenched right out of his chest. 

No one could withstand that, least of all Hua Cheng. He gasps and presses his forehead against Xie Lian’s, hips twitching as he tips over the edge, trembling from head to toe as his own release follows his god’s. It sweeps through him, chasing away the cold and leaving nothing but sweet warmth in its wake. He doesn’t mean to collapse with as much force as he does, definitely doesn’t mean to make Xie Lian take the full weight of his boneless body, but Xie Lian doesn’t seem to mind, clings to him as tightly as his trembling arms will allow, pressing clumsy kisses to every inch of Hua Cheng’s face he can reach. 

He wants to say so much, doesn’t know where to start. He settles for tilting his face up and kissing Xie Lian so softly. With clumsy fingers he brushes away a few errant tears from his lover’s cheeks and is rewarded with the sweetest of smiles. 

It’s not altogether pleasant when his softening cock slips free of Xie Lian’s body, the burn of oversensitivity dragging dual hisses from both of them. He needs to clean them up, to ensure his Dianxia is warm and clean and comfortable, but Xie Lian refuses to let him move so much as an inch, prompting him to pitch to the side in a messy tangle of limbs, laughing breathlessly when Xie Lian rolls immediately to follow him. 

“Stay,” Xie Lian murmurs, gone sleepy and soft. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hua Cheng promises. “We need to clean up.”

With some effort, Xie Lian raises his head, scowling adorably as he says, surprisingly succinctly, “fuck that.”

Hua Cheng laughs, startled and delighted. “Alright, alright, I’m staying put.” He kisses the tip of Xie Lian’s nose. “Is… Was it… Alright? You’re not hurt?”

“As if you could hurt me,” Xie Lian says, nuzzling under his chin. “It was wonderful. Everything I could have hoped for and more.” He’s quiet for a long moment while Hua Cheng’s self-esteem purrs happily. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

Hua Cheng hums in confusion. “I felt a lot of things. What specifically are you asking me about?”

Xie Lian leans back slightly to look him in the eye. “My spiritual powers. Did you feel them disperse?”

A chill creeps down Hua Cheng’s spine. So that’s what it was, that delicate thing he’d felt break the moment they joined. “I… I did,” he says, trying to tamp down the sudden mounting panic clawing up his throat. It’s really dampening the mood. Xie Lian had told him not to worry about it, but…

“I spent so long without it,” Xie Lian says, oblivious to Hua Cheng’s inner turmoil. “I got so used to its absence. I’ve been without my powers for longer than I’ve had them, so to be perfectly honest, they always felt somewhat unfamiliar. They’ve not left me completely, I don’t think. I’ve already changed my path, but I don’t think they’re as strong as they were.” He smiles, looking oddly pleased. “I think it’s a more than worthy trade off. It was easier to cultivate that way when I didn’t have someone I wanted everything with. And now that I know how it feels to— to be with you, I don’t think I could ever go back.”

Well. 

“You said you didn’t want me to decide what was best for you,” Hua Cheng says. “If you’re truly at peace with this, then I won’t argue.”

“I’m not just at peace, San Lang,” Xie Lian says, squeezing him in a clumsy embrace. “I’m happy. It’s so easy with you. I want this for the rest of my existence. This, us, it’s all I could have hoped for.”

Hua Cheng wants to say the same, but it feels useless to just parrot the sentiment back. He’s got nothing to hand that he can make any sort of grand declaration with, only himself, and though Xie Lian loves him, it’s sort of a moot point to offer himself after what they’ve just done. He’s coming up embarrassingly empty. 

Or… Maybe not. 

Hua Cheng shifts back a little, reaching behind his head to slip his fingers under his hair. He tugs the tightly knitted cord to loosen it, then tugs his eyepatch away from his face. After a moment of vulnerable hesitation, he tosses it onto the floor, letting Xie Lian see the scarred, sunken lid that hides the absence of the eye that now sits in E’ming’s sheath. 

He’s completely bare now, all of him, even the ugliest parts, on full display to the man he loves. 

Xie Lian watches, lips parted, eyes filled with so much love it’s almost painful. He leans in, brushes his lips so delicately over the scars, and Hua Cheng’s remaining eye fills with tears. 

“I love you, too,” Xie Lian murmurs against old wounds that finally feel like they’re starting to heal. “I love you, too, Hua Cheng.”

What a wonderful thing it is to be so understood. What a beautiful thing it is to be seen.