Chapter Text
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They met again in the middle of a hot summer afternoon, on a busy highway at the outskirts of the city. It felt like the new, improbable beginning of an old story, a one-sided anthology of memories fixed together and treasured with fervor. That day, on the edge of the long road that came out between the tall buildings to run alongside the farmlands, with the sun still drilling relentlessly on his leather covered back, Hua Cheng was found, after years of searching. I can't believe, he thought dazedly, that after all these years trying to find him, he is now walking towards me.
And it was like all the world around him had stopped to a halt, the sound of the passing cars faded, and surely the planet must have stopped turning too. A few meters in front of him a man was approaching, his threadbare clothes fluttering around him with the momentum of the passing cars. Hua Cheng was conscious of his heart beating fast in his ears as he felt like years and years of his life had passed just to be in that place, at that moment.
The man stopped just in front of him, and Hua Cheng's mouth, ever ready to save him from making a fool of himself, spoke three simple words: “Need some help?”. The answering smile on the man's face was soft and luminous.
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Hua Cheng tied a rope to the back of his motorcycle. The other end was tied craftily to the back of a vehicle that looked just like the wretched, unloved offspring between a bike and a cart. The picture of his shiny motorbike dragging the thing promised to be absolutely ridiculous, but Hua Cheng would hit anyone who dared to say that to the man in front of him, who was currently introducing himself.
“I'm Xie Lian, by the way,” said the man, with a small bow. “Thank you so much for helping me. I was just going to drag the trike to my house, but I'm happy you can help me, if it's not much trouble."
Hua Cheng took his helmet off before speaking.
“Not a problem." He smiled. "I was going to stop for a rest just now” he said, as if stopping on the side of a busy highway with just fields at the sides was a logical thing to do. “I'm glad I found gege, these fortuitous encounters often bring good luck”.
Xie Lian, not reacting to the overly familiar “Gege” addressing, smiled a little wider. Hua Cheng, now without the helmet, had the chance to really look at him, to see some of the changes that the years had brought; Xie Lian's face didn't have the delicate features of his teenage years anymore, his skin was chaffed by a rough life, and his hair, though still shoulder length, was tied in the messiest half bun ever. He was far away from the almost celestial youth that Hua Cheng had known. He looked… more beautiful than ever. More real.
“Ah, I don't think you should count an encounter with me as luck." Xie Lian said, seemingly ashamed. "I tend to bring troubles and I'm I'm a little unlucky… well, the handlebar of my bike just fell off in the middle of the highway."
The man had narrated the incident at the beginning, and Hua Cheng had expressed his wonder at the quick reflexes that had allowed him to stop, but internally he had been horrified, and now he shuddered again; He could had found him crushed by a car. But he continued faking nonchalance as a pro.
“Trouble is kind of my thing, gege has nothing to worry” said Hua Cheng, and he could not resist the urge to wink. Before he could see the other man's reaction, he finished tying the rope with a last tug.
“There, we’re good to go. I hope gege doesn't fear motorcycles."
“Oh!” Xie Lian's beautiful eyes opened wide. “I was thinking of walking home. Isn’t it too much weight to take me too?”
Smiling crookedly, Hua Cheng answered, “It's not, E-ming can take it. We'll be going slow…and, even if you give me the directions to your house I could lose my way, or I could even… steal your bike. Isn't it better if gege goes with me, for practical reasons?”
Xie Lian laughed, a musical sound that resounded as a forgotten echo in Hua Cheng's mind.
“Those are very good points, although I don't think you'll have any use for an old cart without a handle." And then, as an afterthought "You named your motorcycle E-ming?"
Oh, the silly name had just escaped his mouth. Hua Cheng was slightly embarrassed, but he managed to shrug it off.
"Yes, Isn't it cool? Or gege thinks that I should have come out with another name?"
This time Xie Lian couldn't seem to restrain himself, and just "Pffted" merrily.
"I was just surprised that it has a name, but… it's actually kind of cute to give it one. Should I name my old trike too?"
"Maybe you should. Maybe it will come to life and save Gege from the kind of trouble he had today" said Hua Cheng playfully.
"I'll keep it in mind. Now, what should I call you, friend? I'm sorry I didn't ask before"
"My name is Hua Cheng. But If it isn't an issue, could gege call me San Lang?" Was he pushing it too much? He'll think I'm some kind of creep, making myself so familiar already.
But his silly heart was so happy, doing somersaults and singing opera, and "San Lang" was a name no one had used on him before. He had the sudden urge of being a new self, not the little boy using the echo of a nickname, not even Hua Cheng or Crimson Rain; He wanted a new name just for Xie Lian to use.
The man in front of him just nodded and smiled politely, not letting his thoughts show on his face.
"San Lang, then"
As Xie Lian mounted and, at Hua Cheng's request, held on to him "for security reasons" (even if they went as slow as he could, to not upended the cart), he tried to focus on the motive behind finding Xie Lian in the first place: He just wanted to repay a debt. He wanted to show a little gratitude for the moment his life was saved and forever changed, and for the strength that the sole memory of Xie Lian had given him through the years. But the delicate, barely-there touch of Xie Lian's hands holding onto his waist reminded him of the soft, fluid movements of those same hands as he'd seen so many times before, so many years ago. And the heat of the body behind him prompted memories of an alley behind a nightclub, years after their first encounter, and the yearning and the pain he'd felt then.
It was incredible being with him again after all that, and so unreal, because the thing was, Hua Cheng had for a long time this idealized image of Xie Lian, the portrait of a wonder: The ethereal dancer, with that sculpted yet beautiful body, the prince with skin as pale as white jade, with a melodic and carefree laugh and the confident demeanor of someone who knows that can do anything, everything.
This man didn't look like a model or a statue for worshiping anymore. Same bright eyes and beautiful smile, Xie Lian was his savior and an intriguing stranger at the same time.
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For Hua Cheng it all started ten years ago in a packed, bustling street, where a temporary stage had been erected.
The day was sunny and almost warm, just the last wisp of a gentle winter breeze passing by. In the countryside the plum blossoms were probably already in full bloom, but in the city, crowded with people and buildings, you rarely saw one of them, and never where Hua Cheng lived. But he, who at that moment was nothing more than a small, scruffy child that called himself Hong-er, had loved them since he saw a poster promoting a festival in a faraway district, and had in his mind a stubborn wish to admire one in real life. (He now wondered about the reason for that obsession. Why the hell had he been so obsessed with a damn tree? He didn't come to a conclusion, except… that he was a really weird boy.)
So he emerged from the dark and dirty streets where he lived, where the electrical wires fell to the ground in tangles like snakes, and walked, half wandering and half searching, until the stores seemed prosperous and the buildings were towering above his head. And then, in the distance, he saw a stage. And in the scene depicted there, there was a single, perfect plum tree. It was fake, that was obvious. But his curiosity had been picked, so he made his way by elbowing people in the crowd. He was small and skinny for his twelve years, but he was tough, and did not not care at all about the curses and complaints that the spectators he annoyed in his wake spat at him. People shout at me way worse things than that, assholes, he wanted to say, don't even bother.
There were people dancing and jumping on the stage. The costumes were bright, colorful and clean, there were some swords, and the dancers moved with so much elegance and energy that he was instantly mesmerized. He had never, ever watched anything like it. But the bothersome crowd kept moving and blocking his sight, making a human wall of tall backs in front of him, and the clinical eye patch on his right eye obstructed his vision even more, so he looked around and, taking note of the large structure of the stage, he found a possible way, a place where he could get a better view. So he broke through the people, cursing under his breath, until he came out the side of the crowd and then, with more ease, he reached the right corner of the stage.
He was agile. You had to be, when you were lived surrounded by people who hated you, when you had to run from the blows of the ones you were forced to call parents and brothers, or you had to get away when they wanted to take the little you had. Hong-er had spent most of his life to that point running and hiding in unexpected nooks and crannies of those pitiful streets like a small animal in a cage, biting when cornered. So as a small animal, it took him little effort to climb one of the tall steel columns that supported the roof of the stage. They were crowned with big lights and dressed in great red curtains and cut-out guardian lions that concealed almost completely the side of the structure.
It was a privileged place to be, in some ways. The lights were blinding him a little, but he could still see everything in detail. Below him the dancers revolved around each other, looking like butterflies and crickets in their energetic jumping and running. Hong-er was enjoying himself, even in the awkward position of a wingless bird up in a nest, when suddenly the music began to increase its pace, the sound of the erhu and the dizi flute flowing wildly now. The dancers spun madly following it, but then… all came to a stop in just one second. The performers froze in a kneeling position, and even the public seemed to hold their breath and stay silent, waiting.
From the curtains at the back of the stage a figure emerged. He was dressed, even more lavishly than the other dancers, in white, red, and gold, his step was slow and elegant, and his face was a fierce painted mask that emanated strength. Hong-er couldn't stop staring. He remembered once he'd overheard an old woman in his neighborhood telling her grandchildren stories of princes of ancient times, strong, brave, and handsome, with swords as elegant as their clothes, and Hong'er was sure he was supposed to be one of those princes of legend. He even has that awesome sword in his right hand!
But even if he looked like a figure from fantasy, somehow he seemed to him to be the most real character in that scene, as if all the other dancers were just shadows.
Like magic, the music began to play again, slow at first, then fast, epic, as the figure in the beautiful robes began to move his sword, twisting and turning like a flower in the wind, like he was fighting with a hundred enemies at the same time. And then he was really fighting! All the dancers had suddenly turned against him and they were dancing as swiftly as they attacked. Even if Hong-er knew it was all an act, he couldn't help holding his breath, feeling afraid on behalf of the lone figure of the young prince. Don't you dare to beat him, he though, heart tightening.
And then it happened. Trying to see better, to not miss anything of the wonderful mirage that was happening before him, he changed position… and his foot slipped. It got caught in one of the reflectors that created the colored lights, making him lose his balance and the precarious hold he had on one of the bars. He tried to hold on to something else, but his sweaty hands kept sliding. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, mad with panic. Hong-er took at last hold of the red curtains, and was left hanging on them as a kitten holding for dear life, but just for a fleeting moment; soon he was staring in horror as the fabric slowly tore from the top. He realized then, hearing the screams of the public as a faraway sound, that the stage was indeed very tall. And even if he had fallen from roofs and been beaten a hundred times, he had never fallen from anywhere near this height.
Even as he was paralyzed, frozen in terror, a small thought fluttered in his head. This is it, finally. After twelve years of being the scum of the street, an unloved, unwanted wretch, this was the end.
And then the curtain finally tore.
It felt curiously slow and fast at the same time. But when he finally felt the impact it wasn't the hard stage floor of the cold concrete of the street, but something more soft. Someone who gave a small grunt, as both fell to the ground. Hong-er opened his eyes.
He was enclosed in shiny fabrics, the same colors that he'd already seen in the regal figure, and strong arms were holding him steadily. He raised his head and he was met by the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. They were bright, an amber-brown so luminous it looked like liquid gold in the lights, and they were looking at him with worry. And then he noticed the soft lines behind the mask-like face painting; the shape of the mouth, the perfectly straight nose, and he thought that the person holding him was too beautiful for him to be staring at.
Scared by that notion, ashamed, and used to be scolded for everything he did, Hong-er tried to stand. But a calm, gentle voice sounded next to his ear, standing out from the background noises of screaming and clapping
“Don't be scared! No, no, don't get up, take it easy! it's gonna be alright, I caught you”
You caught me.