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"'Chifeng-zun?'"
He says it with that lopsided pout and scrunched up nose--his thinking expression, like he's considering whether or not he approves. And it's useless, bizarre, but you really, really want him to approve.
"It wasn't my idea," you say, in case he decides he doesn't like it. It's the truth, though: they'd all just started calling you that after the last night hunt, when you publicly scolded the mayor of Xingtai City. He'd allowed a nest of malicious ghosts to get way out of hand before deigning to pay for cultivators to take care of it, so it had been much more dangerous to your disciples and to nearby citizens. You were just so angry at his incompetence, you couldn't help it. You're not sure where the name even came from, but suddenly all the townsfolk were cheering it, cheering at you for standing against corruption and negligence.
It felt... well, it felt like too much at first, but now you're settling into it. Chifeng-zun, the man who wields his heartfelt sincerity as freely as his blade. And now you want to know what Huaisang thinks. You never know when he's going to be contrary; when he's going to reject some part of what your family is supposed to be. Some part of who you are.
So, even with your bold new title, you're hovering like a blushing child, waiting for his verdict.
It doesn't take long for his pout to ease into an appreciative smile, and your heart eases right along with it. "I like it," he declares. He looks at you with those big eyes, sparkling with adoration, just like he always did when he was younger. Your heart clenches a little. "It's cute!"
You're caught off guard, and it's your turn to wrinkle your nose. "'Cute?'" You've been thinking things like brave, noble, magnanimous. "Where is it 'cute?'"
"It's just like, you, you know?" Huaisang says. He throws his hands up in the air as if exasperated. "I can't explain it. It's just cute."
You sit there, trying to figure out how in the world he can get cute out of Chifeng-zun, and he laughs.
"Your forehead's gonna get wrinkles, Da-ge," he says, and then, with all his graceful innocence, he leans in to kiss you on the brow. You keep perfectly still, like any move you make will allow him to detect the way your mind roars in your ears, greedy and triumphant. You're disgusting, the way you're twisting this chaste little press of lips, the way you jump right to these perverted feelings when he's just showing his pure affection.
He used to do this all the time when you were both younger. You aren't quite young anymore, but he is: he's carried his youth out of his adolescence in ways that you were never able to. He's allowed to be free with gestures like this. He must be allowed to stay like this: unburdened, carefree. He must not find out about your monstrous fantasies. It would shatter him to know.
"Chifeng-zun," he says again, and the adoration in his voice burns. Just when you were beginning to adjust to your new title, you realize how little it really suits you. The man called Chifeng-zun wouldn't have these feelings. He wouldn't have to lock his terrible, unforgivable desire deep down within himself, never to be spoken aloud. He wouldn't still be feeling warm, slow tingles on his forehead where his brother's lips touched his skin.
Maybe you can think of "Chifeng-zun" as a goal. Even if you can't be that person right now, maybe going by a title like that will push you to be better, to cut out the parts of yourself that don't fit with such a venerable name. If you let the world think of you as Chifeng-zun, maybe you yourself will one day believe it.
But of course, you don't say any of that.
"I still don't get why it's cute, but I'm glad you like it," you say instead, and he smiles back at you so prettily that your heart aches.
You will try, you tell yourself. You will try to be the man who wields his heartfelt sincerity as freely as his blade, as upright and moral in your heart as the world sees you on the surface. But, watching Huaisang's innocence and quiet beauty, you know the road will be a difficult one.