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The push and pull of good and bad luck is just another way the world demands balance from us all.
It’s easy to overlook luck's impact on a life, because for most, it evens out in the end. Of course, some people are ill-fated; others are smiled upon. But none had ever fallen so far, and remained sprawled on the bottom rung of luck for so long, as the Crown Prince of Xianle.
Consciously and unconsciously, Xie Lian’s bad luck defined his every decision, every happenstance, every consequence, for 800 years. After so long without luck, it took Xie Lian a whole year just to get used to the concept of it again.
One year. It was a long enough time to break even the most ingrained of habits, one would think. As the months passed, and he built the cottage and gardens on Mount Taicang, Xie Lian learned. To not hold his body in tense anticipation, to not move with the certainty of tripping, to not hold bags of collected scrap in the manner of one accustomed to losing every last bit out through a hole in the bottom.
He learned to stop assuming that at least half his meals would be burned to a crisp, or give him food poisoning, or be dropped in the dirt, or be stolen by a bird right out of his mouth.
He still tensed, often. Waiting to trip, to fall. But most of the time, he didn’t. At first, he still tripped a lot, just from expecting to trip. The weight of his body felt different, now that it wasn’t actively finding a way to work against his own equilibrium.
But after six months, as he proudly stated when Feng Xin visited one afternoon, he made it through an entire week without falling on his face. Or burning himself. Or burning his cottage down. Or anything terrible at all, really.
Feng Xin’s weary expression and raised eyebrows were not the reception he was hoping for, but it didn’t matter. Xie Lian was happy for himself that things were going so well, even if the entire Heavenly Capital thought he was crazy for staying in his (slightly crooked) cottage, waiting for a potentially permanently dead ghost.
Bad luck still happened to him in that year, of course; he was hardly perfect. Immortal, and a God, sure, but not perfect. But once, after he tripped over his feet with a hot pot in his hands and actually managed to not only right himself but keep every last drop of his stew, he started to realise: this was life now. He could reasonably expect the best out of each day. So he did.
But the best never quite happened.
He ate the stew silently that night, Ruoye slightly subdued and droopy in her usual spot in the fruit bowl. He brushed at his neck absent-mindedly with his fingers. He still woke up every day expecting them to be there. The cursed shackles. His neck, his ankle.
In the 800 years they were present, he had long since forgotten what it was like before, when they had not been part of him. They were something that he always noticed, all day, every day. They never let him forget. They always thrummed. Almost…pulsed, with a slight tinge of loneliness or loss or pain or hunger, whatever was likely to make him feel the worst. They had a way of figuring that out exactly.
He’d learned how to counterbalance, with his obsessive way of looking at the bright side, but the shackles could not be brightened. They were inescapable, by design. Always there. Waiting to point out the dark side. Or, failing that, to engineer it.
Given their 800 years on the body of a fallen God, the shackles had their own power and agenda. They had every intention of sticking around. But they couldn’t. Not when they were up against someone like Hua Cheng.
It wasn't obvious, at first, but the shackles felt different after they met. Only in hindsight did he realise that they always felt lessened. Weaker. Like they knew they were in the presence of the person who would destroy them.
Hua Cheng obliterated both shackles, created by the Emperor of the Heavens himself, with spiritual energy alone. Impossible. Unheard of throughout all of the realms. And Hua Cheng did it without a second thought, even if it meant he might never come back.
Hua Cheng had given Xie Lian a life without the shackles. Now, Xie Lian actually needed to live his life as if they weren’t there. So after Hua Cheng's sacrifice, how could he do anything but resolutely believe, without a shadow of doubt, that he would come back to him?
He would. Hua Cheng could do anything.
The whispers and rumours of the Upper and Middle Heavenly Courts still spoke of nothing else. Hissed arguments and spirited debates mostly came down on the side that the Heavens would be safe from Crimson Rain Sought Flower for at least a few centuries. Which was for the best, of course. The terms they’d accepted to receive his aid on Mount Tonglu were preposterous, clearly designed to humiliate…there were even decent odds being laid in some very high rolling gambling pools that maybe, just maybe, he was gone forever.
But Xie Lian refused to believe that. He would forever be his most devoted believer.
So he waited. A year. Only a blink of an eye in the course of his long life, but the longest year he’d ever had, in his heart. Each day was another day where Hua Cheng didn’t come back to him. Each knock at the door was a swallow of disappointment when the door was opened.
“I pray to never rest in peace,” came the whisper in his dreams, just before dawn every morning. Xie Lian would lie on the sleeping mat, fingers grasping the ring tightly, and believe. Maybe it would be that very day that he’d return.
And so he’d rise, and wash, and eat, and take care of himself in the manner of someone expecting only good things to happen. He’d answer prayers, or collect scrap, or prune weeds from the mountain path that would lead Hua Cheng to the cottage. The way should be easy for him. No obstacles. They’d had enough of those.
And so it was that under the light of thousands of Blessed Lanterns, one year after Hua Cheng dissolved in front of Xie Lian’s eyes, he returned. When Xie Lian ran to him and threw himself into his arms, his only words (before he lost the ability to speak) were both heartfelt and true:
“I knew you’d come.”
***
Xie Lian was in the circle of Hua Cheng’s arms for a long time. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. It was hard to say. He was not a person who cried often, but tears flowed from his eyes onto the vibrant red of Hua Cheng’s tunic, quickly and lightly, as his head stayed buried in his chest.
Relief, gratitude, joy, adrenaline, giddy ecstasy all made themselves known. Still. In his heart, there was still a twinge of bittersweet, that they had to be apart at all; that Hua Cheng had to piece himself back together bit by bit. It must have been so hard for him.
Ruoye had wrapped herself very tightly around E’Ming’s hilt, so much so that it looked like E’Ming’s hilt was a wrap of white silk. E’Ming was vibrating, humming, and Xie Lian stroked him as he closed his eye lazily. Xie Lian swore the hum of the vibration reached a frequency so loud that it actually sounded like a whimper, but that was ridiculous, because scimitars couldn’t whimper.
Eventually, after enough time had passed that Xie Lian was not just a damp ball of emotion, Hua Cheng spoke. More than the soft, repeated whispers in Xie Lian’s ear, of “Gege, I’m here,” and “Of course I came back to you. Where else would I go?” His full throated, deep rumble, the one that made Xie Lian shiver and forget to close his mouth.
“Gege. Shall we go inside?”
Hua Cheng was stroking circles on his back with one hand, his other lazily kneading at his waist.
Xie Lian was a mess. He tightened his hands on Hua Cheng’s tunic and buried his nose deeper in the nook he’d dug for his face. He couldn’t be seen like this. Luckily, it was now getting dark, though the lanterns were still bathing them in dappled light.
He’d had to turn off the communication array with a hasty “Hahaha, sorry, I’m a little busy!” when multiple Gods popped in one after the other to begin a frenzied line of questioning about the lanterns, and if them being sent meant the return of who they thought it meant, because if he was back then-
“Gege. Your cottage looks so warm. Don’t you want to go inside and eat? I’ve spent a whole year without your cooking.”
Xie Lian huffed a laugh.
Hua Cheng was wheedling at him. Wheedling. He’d missed him so much.
“Okay, San Lang,” he mumbled.
He felt Hua Cheng smile against his hair.
He kept his eyes down as he extricated himself. Hua Cheng didn’t let him get away with that, tilting his face up and cupping it in his big hands to wipe his tears away.
He looked exactly the same. Black eyepatch. Red string on his finger. Proud brows, sharp features, pale skin, and altogether just a bit too unsettlingly large. Strong. Flashy and daring in his red and silver. Almost obnoxious. Which, of course, he was.
Xie Lian surely also looked the same, in that he was gawping up at him foolishly and unkempt with his straw hat and white robe coated in road dust. Xie Lian couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too much. His skin warmed under the force of it, and the cool touch of his hands. Every time he’d look into his eye, the stare was too intense, too strong, and he’d falter and look down. Hua Cheng had a smug half smile on his face, like he knew it was too much, and didn’t care.
“My…my cart, my ox,” Xie Lian mumbled, pink eared and looking vaguely at Hua Cheng’s chin.
Hua Cheng glanced over his shoulder. Xie Lian heard the creak of the wheels and whipped his head around, still clutching at Hua Cheng’s collar. The wheels were turning of their own accord, leading the ox to the wooden overhang that he'd built for his stall and water trough. The ox obeyed, albeit grunting with confusion. The two chickens he’d been able to buy last month flapped out of his way noisily, clucking in irritation.
Xie Lian turned his face back. And up. He’d forgotten how much he had to turn his face up. Hua Cheng’s hands had dropped to his neck. His thumbs were stroking him idly. His head felt very small.
“I…his harness, his hay-”
He heard the grate and scrape of a cart releasing itself from the ox’s harness, and a whump of a bale of hay being dumped unceremoniously. He looked back to see the ox happily nosing at it, and the cart sitting innocently by the stall, still seesawing and creaking slightly.
Sheepish, he bit his lip. “I…yes, well that’s very helpful,” he murmured helplessly. “Normally I just do it…the normal way.”
“Gege,” said Hua Cheng, still stroking his neck.
“Mmm?”
“You’re nervous.”
Xie Lian scrunched his face involuntarily. “Of course I am,” he grumbled, heart thumping.
Hua Cheng’s lips quirked, eye twinkling. “I see. Perhaps inside will help.”
Xie Lian nodded, overly enthusiastically. “Mmm. Yes.”
Hua Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Gege.”
“Mmm?”
“We need to move to go inside.”
“Oh. Yes,” he gulped.
He released Hua Cheng’s tunic, extricated his face from his hands, and moved toward the cottage.
“Gege.”
He turned back.
“How will I find my way to the cottage, if you don’t lead me?” asked Hua Cheng, widening his eye slightly.
Xie Lian’s mouth dropped open, glancing at the cottage, which was ten steps away.
“I-” he gaped hopelessly, before giving up. He took a breath to steel himself, and lurched to grab Hua Cheng’s hand. It was cool, fingers slender and long. Hua Cheng laced their fingers together. His hand felt engulfed. Xie Lian was very aware of how pink his face must be.
“Much better. Now I can see it,” said Hua Cheng, nodding magnanimously.
Xie Lian blinked in exasperation, and turned, yanking him hard enough that Hua Cheng’s deep chuckle followed him across the threshold. Which he promptly tripped over. Despite two whole weeks without an incident. He was saved by the firm arm of Hua Cheng, which snaked around his waist as if it were waiting to help him.
“Argh, oh, thank you,” he stammered, righting himself.
“Gege should be careful,” replied Hua Cheng, fingers taking their time detaching from his waist.
Xie Lian narrowed his eyes and threw him a look. He could swear Hua Cheng was deepening his voice slightly just to taunt him.
Hua Cheng puffed a laugh. “Ah, I’m sorry, your highness,” he said, bowing slightly. “No more teasing.” His voice was normal now. Still deep, but lighter and warmer.
Xie Lian let go of him and moved to light the lanterns and braziers as Hua Cheng loomed in the doorway, looking about curiously. He swallowed, turning back to him. Hua Cheng was here. In the home he’d built for him. On Mount Taicang, the holy mountain of their birthplace, in their old kingdom of Xianle. His kingdom.
E’Ming, ignoring the disapproving click of Hua Cheng’s tongue, unsheathed himself from his hip and went to join Ruoye in the corner to play what seemed to be some version of “I’m going to get you.”
The cottage was one room, of course, the setup quite similar to Puqi Shrine. Intentionally so. He had nothing but good memories of that place. He’d come to think of it as their place.
The sleeping mat was in the same corner, the benches and the windows in the same spots. The walls were wooden, a hotchpotch of boards sawn from fallen trees from around the mountain, varying in their shades of brown and ash. The one main difference was that the floors were also wood instead of earth, but dirt still found its way inside easily enough. He’d been here a year, already the longest any home of his had ever lasted. It had felt strange to have a place for so long, thanks to Hua Cheng, but without Hua Cheng.
The roof was slightly (and accidentally) sloped, in a way that made the rain slant more to the left of the cottage than the right. He’d never built a decent door. He was hoping Hua Cheng would come back and make him a new one again.
“It’s not much,” he said, gesturing unsurely.
Hua Cheng fixed him with a look.
“It’s perfect.”
Xie Lian bit back a smile. “I…I should make tea,” he said, hurrying to the teapot and chattering nervously as he worked.
“I missed you a lot, when I was building it. You’re much better at these things than I am. I’ve built thousands before, but there was never much point in me learning to build well, since they’d always just fall down, haha! Or be blown away in a tornado, or a boulder would fall on it, or it’d get run through by a herd of stampeding cows again...”
Hua Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Stampeding cows?”
“Oh yes, that happened a few times, and a herd of goats once!” he said, setting out the tea cups. “I never had much luck with animals. One time, I came home to a place I’d built in the northern mountains to find a troop of very territorial monkeys had just…taken it. Claimed it. A very mean female was in charge and I couldn’t even grab my things. Or…well, I tried, but…she didn’t like it. I saw her wearing one of my socks a week later.”
Hua Cheng raised the other eyebrow. “Monkeys wear socks?”
“Oh. Um. Just the one, I mean. And not on her foot, on her head. Like a crown. We made eye contact, I think she was…goading me,” he said lightly, clearing his throat.
Hua Cheng nodded, eye dancing. “Of course. Makes sense.”
The water for the tea began to cheerfully boil over behind him.
Xie Lian kept going.
“Another time I even woke up halfway out to sea! Which wouldn’t have been a problem if I were in a boat, but I was actually in a wooden cabin, which didn’t even have a floor so I wasn’t sure how I was still floating, until I looked down and there was this shark-”
“Gege?” he interrupted.
Xie Lian almost sagged with relief. He was glad Hua Cheng had stopped him. He was out of control. He would keep blithering like an idiot until even a ghost king died of old age.
“Yes?”
“I promise I will never let a herd of anything stampede through- or take- any home of yours again.”
Xie Lian bit his lips as he smiled. “I- well, yes, alright- though don’t make promises you can’t keep, it’s quite difficult to divert cows once they build up steam-”
“Gege,” said Hua Cheng, tone amused, but gaze steely.
“I- well- um- okay then,” he said, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing his forehead in discomfort.
He was back. Hua Cheng, his- his…uh- well, his…San Lang. His San Lang was back. In his home. And after a year of waiting for him patiently, not knowing if he’d be waiting a hundred lifetimes, the topic of conversation he chose was how he’d once been outsmarted by monkeys.
In his defence, they really were exceptionally crafty monkeys and-
“Gege, shall we eat?”
“Oh! Yes, yes of course, do you…want to eat anything in particular?”
“There is nothing in the world I want to eat more than anything you make,” he said smoothly.
Xie Lian beamed. “Alright!”
He dealt with the (ruined) tea and began preparing the vegetables, pleased to have something to do that kept his mind and hands busy.
It didn’t work. He was an absolute hazard with the knife. He was so distracted and jittery that he kept nearly cutting his thumbs off. He felt footsteps behind him, and Hua Cheng’s pale hands came to rest on his own.
“Gege.”
Xie Lian let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, as his hand stilled.
“Yes?”
“I always like your cooking best when you let me help.”
Xie Lian swallowed, extremely aware of Hua Cheng’s large form looming behind him. For all his promises not to tease, Hua Cheng’s breath was tickling the hairs by his ear. Which, given he didn’t need to breathe, was clearly intentional.
“Alright,” he said briskly. “You can chop then.” He dropped the knife and moved to deal with the pot. He was always better at working with spices and seasoning anyway. More freedom to be creative. He ignored the chuckle as Hua Cheng began to obediently chop the vegetables, finely and evenly, doing it perfectly like he did everything.
The stew turned a promising shade of purple soon enough, and Xie Lian spooned it into two bowls for them to eat, only spilling a little. His hands were still a little shaky, but Hua Cheng pretended not to notice and murmured his thanks as they sat to eat.
“What is this called?” he asked, looking at Xie Lian as he blew on the stew.
Xie Lian lowered his eyes. “Anniversary Ambrosia.”
Hua Cheng was silent. Xie Lian peeked up at him.
“You remembered,” he said softly, resting his chin in his hands.
Memories flashed. Xie Lian was looking up at a great city wall, a child was falling, a crowd was screaming and gasping…the day they met. Another Shangyuan Festival long, long ago. Hardly something Xie Lian would forget, given it came to define his existence.
“Of course I remember. Is that why you um, chose today?” he asked, tasting the stew. Delicious, if a little bland. He should make it…purpler, next time. Though he should make sure to replicate the floating black bits.
Hua Cheng’s eye flickered. “I came back the moment I could. But I think making it for this day was…motivating, for me.”
“Did you go to Ghost City already?” he asked, trying to ignore the scene in the corner where Ruoye was twirling herself around E’Ming in a way that seemed unnecessarily…twirly.
Hua Cheng frowned.
“Gege. You really think I’d go anywhere but here first?”
Xie Lian chewed slowly as his heart bloomed. “I wasn’t sure you’d know where to find me.”
“You weren’t hard to find. And I had a little time to spare waiting for you, so I rustled up a few lanterns.”
“En. A few,” he chortled. “Three thousand again?”
“Three thousand and one. It is, as you say, our anniversary after all,” he said quietly.
Xie Lian snapped his mouth shut after he realised it was hanging open. “Oh,” he gulped. “That’s nice.”
Hua Cheng’s lips curled up. It was unfair that he always made a smile look so indecent. “Mmm. I’m pleased you thought it was nice,” he said, tilting his head and keeping his gaze fixed on Xie Lian.
“Any…plans?” asked Xie Lian, choking slightly on one of the floating black bits.
“Plans?”
“Well, you have to go to Ghost City at some point right?”
“I do not have to do anything.”
“But…what if some uppity ghost tries to take over, or something?”
“I would like to see their attempt, and I’d enjoy teaching them why it was a bad idea.”
“So you…you’re uh, free?”
Hua Cheng snorted. “Free of obligation? Yes. I am the freest, in a way.”
“I meant more…you have free time?”
“Yes gege. We have time.”
Xie Lian noted the ‘we.’ He liked it. “Oh. Good,” he managed, laying down his spoon on the table.
Hua Cheng finished his stew, tipping the bowl to catch every last drop. “Heavenly,” he said, winking.
Xie Lian huffed, panicking slightly and snatching his bowl away to wash. He half expected Hua Cheng to follow him and do something outrageous like stand behind him and wash the dishes with him trapped in front of him, hands slippery together in the water, but he didn’t. He just watched, silent and amused with his chin in his hands.
Xie Lian returned to the table eventually, hands wet. Normally, Ruoye liked to run herself through his fingers after a dishwash. It was Ruoye’s version of a bath, and it dried Xie Lian’s hands, so the ritual worked well for both of them. But Ruoye was still preoccupied, now wriggling like a snake along the floor as E’Ming tried to stab down at her, the scimitar’s ruby eye a permanent crescent of delight.
Hua Cheng took his hands without preamble and used the end of his tunic to dry his hands, ignoring Xie Lian’s protests. “Your Highness should briefly allow his hands to be sullied by this unworthy cloth,” he intoned reverently, dabbing at his fingers. Xie Lian rolled his eyes. He didn’t see Hua Cheng talking about sullied hands when he was doing his dishes.
Hua Cheng was watching him again. He could feel it, even as he focused on the fine, silky cloth rubbing in between each and every one of his fingers. Hua Cheng was being very gentle, if a tad overexaggerated in his slow sliding of the cloth between the webs of his fingers.
“Gege.”
“Mmm?”
“You’re still nervous.”
Xie Lian’s fingers twitched; an involuntary urge to cover his face with his hands.
“I know. I don’t…I know. Sorry,” he said. He wasn’t sure why he was like this. Today, and in general.
Hua Cheng had moved to massaging each of his fingers, and the mounds of his hands.
“Why are you sorry?” he murmured.
“Don’t know,” breathed Xie Lian, face reddening. Why could he still not do this? Properly look at this man, who he’d longed for, waited for, replanted a mountain’s worth of maple trees for.
Hua Cheng’s hands stilled, but remained cupped around his, holding them.
“Gege. Is it too much?”
Xie Lian’s lips parted in confusion. He raised his eyes. Hua Cheng’s gaze was fixed, intense.
“Send me away. Tell me to go to Ghost City. I’ll only be here when you’re ready. When it’s not too much.”
“No, don’t go! I’m ready now!” blurted Xie Lian.
Hua Cheng raised his eyebrows. “Alright.”
“I just…” he faltered.
Hua Cheng’s long fingers were stroking softly at the inside of his wrist.
“You just?” he prompted.
“I just don’t know what….ready means,” said Xie Lian, rushing through his words.
Hua Cheng cocked his head.
“What it means?”
“En,” he said, biting his lip. What exactly was he ready for?
“Well…gege. It can mean whatever you want it to mean. And it doesn’t have to mean anything, now, today.”
Xie Lian mouthed wordlessly. “I…” he tried again. “I, and you- you and me, we’re- and now you’re back, which means you’re- we’re-”
Hua Cheng pulled him close by the hips, and nestled his head against his chest. Xie Lian rested his hands gingerly against his hair.
Hua Cheng's voice rumbled and vibrated through his chest.
“Your Highness, I am yours. And I mean that in every, or any, sense that you want.”
Xie Lian squeezed his eyes shut. “I- I know. I just…we never had more than a few days, before. Even then…we were…”
“Mmm,” he agreed. “Everything was always manic, and unravelling, and urgent, and now-”
“Now-” continued Xie Lian.
“Now it’s just us,” said both of them.
Xie Lian froze, as did Hua Cheng, raising his head up to look at him with a mischievous grin on his face. He laughed. So did Xie Lian, sheepishly.
Xie Lian steeled himself and put on his very best and most official proclamation face. He didn’t want Hua Cheng thinking…
“I haven’t changed my mind, San Lang…I mean, I meant everything I said, on Mount Tonglu. I- you- and me…” he said, stunted. He coughed, pink-eared.
Hua Cheng’s face softened, turned up at him, expression full of something…whole. And fragile. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with what to say. It was always notable when Hua Cheng didn’t know exactly what to say.
“I’ve given it some thought, but I haven’t changed my mind either, Your Highness.”
Xie Lian puffed a laugh.
Hua Cheng leaned forward again, burying his face in Xie Lian’s robe again. “Gege, won’t you rest with me? That’s all I want, tonight. Everything else, anything else, we have time.”
Xie Lian exhaled slowly, feeling relief seep through him. “Yes. Of course. San Lang.”
They settled in for the night on the sleeping mat. Ruoye and E’Ming had long since curled around each other. Ruoye was even rising and falling slightly in a flutter, as if snoring.
Xie Lian turned to Hua Cheng on his side, not quite willing to close his eyes and stop looking at him yet. Hua Cheng was already watching him, of course. Though this time, he was not meeting his eyes. His gaze was fixed on his neck.
Xie Lian’s fingers twitched up to rub his neck, embarrassed. He’d stopped wearing the white bandage around his neck a while ago. He still wore it out of habit for weeks after Mount Tonglu, but Mu Qing had rolled his eyes during a visit, and asked why he was bothering now that he had nothing to hide.
Some strange, hard to understand corner of his mind still felt like his neck was naked. Every time he looked in the mirror, he’d touch his neck uneasily. Ruoye sensed his discomfort, and kept flying up to wrap him protectively. Though after a while, he started to love the feeling of the breeze on it. Every time it would tickle and nudge at him on the mountain, it felt like Hua Cheng was whispering a teasing hello.
And of course, there was the fine chain around his neck, and the ring on the end of it. Now, there were no obstacles to distract from it. That part, he liked.
He met Hua Cheng’s eye reluctantly.
“Perfect,” Hua Cheng murmured.
Xie Lian stifled a smile. “It’s just a neck.”
“Exactly. Just your neck. Unbound. Free,” said Hua Cheng, face soft.
Xie Lian shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks to you,” he mumbled.
Hua Cheng winked. “Many thanks, gege.”
“Mmmph,” he said, fidgeting.
“You can’t possibly be shy about your neck, now can you gege?”
“I- well-”
“It’s a very nice neck. The finest I’ve seen, in all the realms.”
“San Lang-”
“Certainly suitable for ascension as God of Necks, had you not already ascended-”
“San LAAANG!”
Hua Cheng chuckled wickedly.
Xie Lian grumped at him, snuggling just a little bit closer despite himself.
“Well…good night,” he said, panicking slightly.
Hua Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Good night, gege.”
“You’ll be here when I wake up?”
“Of course.”
“Okay,” said Xie Lian, feeling silly for asking. But in his defence, Hua Cheng did have a thing about leaving before he woke.
Hua Cheng’s face was flickering in the light of the one remaining candle.
Xie Lian was not an idiot. In all the headiness of the reunion, they’d not kissed. Shared spiritual power. Whatever the youths were calling it these days. He was too busy slowly combusting in his embrace. Xie Lian was always terrible about initiating, feeling all 800 years worth of his inexperience and his resulting ungainly self-consciousness. Hua Cheng seemed to find that funny, like he did with most things, but Xie Lian found himself wishing that Hua Cheng would grab him and take care of it for him.
He cleared his throat, realising his gaze had drifted down to Hua Cheng’s lips and stayed there for a very obvious amount of time.
“See anything you like, gege?”
Xie Lian made a noise like something being sat on.
“I- that’s not-”
Hua Cheng laughed through his nose. “Gege, you do not have to kiss me. You can wait a thousand years to kiss me, or never kiss me again.”
Xie Lian looked at him dubiously. “And you’d be fine with that?”
Hua Cheng arranged his face to be very solemn, inclining his head. “Of course.”
“Mhmm. I don’t believe you.”
Hua Cheng’s eye lowered. “There’s no life or death situation clouding my judgement here. I confess to being greedy, before.”
“Every time?”
Hua Cheng’s jaw twitched. “Yes. I suppose there were…several times.”
Xie Lian shook his head fondly.
“I know. I was there.”
Hua Cheng tilted his head closer. Xie Lian could smell him- expensive cloth and spice and incense. “I mean to say. This time, I’ll wait for you to kiss me. Even if it is a thousand years."
Xie Lian was absolutely on fire and gaping like a fish. “I-”
“Good night, gege,” said Hua Cheng, closing his eyes with a smirk.
Xie Lian huffed. He would definitely have to summon all of his courage and kiss him tomorrow. And every day after that, or that smirk would quickly become insufferable.
***
Xie Lian woke gasping in the darkest part of the night. Hua Cheng’s hands were immediately on his face, stroking and murmuring, as Xie Lian gulped air and tried to calm his racing heart.
“What is it gege? What happened? I’m here, nothing will harm you.” Xie Lian could see his concerned expression through the filtered moonlight.
“I…it was just a silly dream, San Lang-”
“Tell me.”
Xie Lian was too wrenched from sleep to gather himself, so he blurted it out.
“I just…dreamed it was a dream. That you weren’t…here. That I dreamed you.”
Hua Cheng’s lips parted, brow furrowed. “Gege. I am here. It’s not a dream.”
Xie Lian closed his eyes. That’s what the Dream San Lang had said. Right before he dissolved in front of him again.
He felt Hua Cheng move his hands down to encircle his own, and pull them up to place them on his face. Xie Lian's eyes flew open in surprise.
“San Lang?”
“Poke me, gege?”
“Pardon?” he gasped.
“That’s what you do, right? When you don’t believe me? You poke my face?”
“...” said Xie Lian.
Hua Cheng smiled at him. Their faces were so close. Xie Lian finally took stock and noted they had curled towards each other in the night, arms touching.
His fingers twitched on Hua Cheng’s cheekbones. He drew in a breath. Well, Hua Cheng asked…
He prodded. It was definitely a face. With skin on it. Cool, smooth skin.
Hua Cheng’s lips quirked up.
“Feel real?” he asked, gaze soft.
“Yes,” said Xie Lian, still too sleepy and thrown to let shame catch up to him.
“Good.”
Xie Lian pulled his hands back, upon realising he’d let them linger for too long. It was a good idea, he supposed. Dream San Lang never made him poke his face. He felt his heartbeat slow down. He really was here. This was just the first night of many.
“Go back to sleep, gege.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled, eyes already closing. He slept soundly through until dawn.
How could he have ever doubted him, even for a moment?
Real San Lang was so much better than a dream.