Work Text:
The marketplace bustled with noise, a vibrant chaos of hawkers and merchants calling out their wares, mingling with the chatter of people. Colorful fabrics waved in the gentle breeze, and the scent of incense mixed with the rich aroma of food vendors. To anyone else, it might have seemed like an ordinary day. But to Hua Cheng, standing silently by the side of his god, every moment spent beside Xie Lian felt anything but ordinary.
He observed him with an almost imperceptible smile, as Xie Lian cheerfully inspected a few trinkets on a vendor’s stall. His slender fingers held up a delicate hairpin, the sunlight catching the polished surface, making it glint. Hua Cheng’s heart stirred at the sight of his god’s serene expression, a calmness about him that radiated even in the most mundane of activities.
Xie Lian turned towards him, his smile soft and warm, a gesture that seemed to touch something deep inside the ghost every time it was directed at him. Hua Cheng returned the look with a faint smile of his own, but there was a familiar pang of protectiveness, a weight of unspoken concerns lodged in his chest. How long had it been since they had met again? How many lifetimes had passed since he first swore his devotion to Xie Lian? He never stopped worrying, never stopped watching. No matter how at peace his god seemed now, Hua Cheng knew the depths of Xie Lian’s suffering.
It was then that a stranger approached. He was an unremarkable man, with dust-stained robes and a tired expression that bespoke years of hardship. Hua Cheng noticed him out of the corner of his eye, a mere flicker in the bustling crowd. He wouldn’t have paid him any mind, except for the way the man’s gaze lingered on Xie Lian with a strange mix of desperation and awe.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” the man stammered, his voice weak but filled with reverence. He bowed low, almost stumbling over himself. “May I... May I help you with that?”
Xie Lian, ever gentle and kind, smiled again, nodding slightly. “That’s very kind of you. I don’t need help, but thank you for the offer.” His tone was polite, as always, but the man seemed intent, stepping forward in a way that made Hua Cheng narrow his gaze.
The Ghost King’s instincts flared, warning him that something was off. The man’s posture was too eager, his movements unsteady. How did he know who his god was anyway? There was something else, too—something that pricked at Hua Cheng’s finely honed senses, like the feeling of a blade being drawn from its sheath just out of sight.
Xie Lian, oblivious to Hua Cheng's growing unease, turned his attention back to the hairpin, unaware as the man reached out a trembling hand. In an instant, his fingers grazed Xie Lian’s wrist.
Time seemed to slow for Hua Cheng. The air around them thickened as a chill swept over the marketplace, unnoticed by anyone else except him, whose entire body tensed. He was about to intervene, to shove the stranger away, when it happened.
The man’s face twisted in an instant, eyes widening as if he had been struck by something far worse than any physical blow. A choked sob tore from his throat, the sound raw and primal. He staggered back as though burned, collapsing to the ground with a scream caught somewhere deep inside him, strangled by his own terror.
The marketplace grew silent.
Xie Lian’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he stepped toward the man, his concern evident. “Are you alright? What happened? Let me help you—”
“No!” the man rasped, crawling backward, his eyes wide with sheer horror. His hands shook violently as he flinched away from Xie Lian’s outstretched hand. “D-Don’t touch me! Don’t—” His words broke into a stuttering mess, terror choking the breath from his lungs. “I... I didn’t mean to... I didn’t know...”
Xie Lian froze, his expression torn between worry and shock. “Please, it’s alright—”
The man shook his head violently. “No! You—” He scrambled to his feet, shaking uncontrollably. “Y-You’re... I can’t—” Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd, his terror palpable in the trail of people he shoved aside in his haste.
The marketplace, though still buzzing with activity, felt unbearably quiet to Hua Cheng. His eyes remained fixed on his god, who stood there, his hand still half-extended, fingers trembling faintly. His smile from earlier had vanished, replaced with something fragile, something guarded.
Hua Cheng took a step forward, his voice low and soft, though inside, a storm was already brewing. “Gege... What was that?”
Xie Lian shook his head, forcing a smile back onto his face, but Hua Cheng could see the cracks in it, the strain in his eyes. “It’s nothing, San Lang. Just someone who seemed overwhelmed. He must have been startled.”
But Hua Cheng knew better. He had felt the shift, had seen the fear that gripped the man with an intensity that went beyond mere shock. It wasn’t just fear—it was horror. The kind of horror one experienced when faced with something they could not comprehend, something too dark, too painful to endure.
Hua Cheng’s gaze flickered to the spot where the man had touched Xie Lian. He pieced it together, the knowledge clicking into place like a series of jagged puzzle pieces. The man... he had touched Xie Lian, and then—
It all made sense. Hua Cheng had heard of people with the ability to glimpse the thoughts, emotions, and memories of others through physical touch. It was a rare and dangerous power, one that was both a gift and a curse. The man must have been one such person, and in that brief moment, he had seen something. No—he had felt something within Xie Lian.
Something so horrific that it had sent him spiraling into madness.
Hua Cheng’s heart clenched painfully, cold dread creeping up his spine. What had the man seen in his god’s mind that could provoke such a reaction? What horrors had his god buried so deeply that even him, who had vowed to know every part of him, had never fully understood?
Xie Lian had always been strong. He smiled, he laughed, and he carried on with an unshakable grace. But Hua Cheng knew better than anyone that his god’s past was littered with tragedy, sorrow, and wounds that never truly healed. The ghost had always thought he understood the depth of Xie Lian’s pain. After all, he had watched him for centuries, had been with him through so much. But this...
This was something else. Something darker. Something that lay beneath the surface, hidden even from his careful gaze.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng said softly, stepping closer to Xie Lian. His voice was calm, but his hands were clenched tight at his sides, as if trying to restrain the urge to reach out, to pull Xie Lian close and shield him from whatever unseen torment lay within. “What did he see?”
Xie Lian’s smile wavered, his eyes flickering with something that Hua Cheng could only describe as... fear. “San Lang... I don’t know.”
But Hua Cheng didn’t believe that. Xie Lian did know. He had to. And the fact that he was trying to hide it, to protect Hua Cheng from the truth, only made the weight of it more unbearable.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The marketplace around them resumed its usual clamor, unaware of the silent exchange of emotions between god and ghost. Hua Cheng watched Xie Lian carefully, his sharp, silver eye searching for answers in the lines of his god’s face. But the other’s expression had become impenetrable, a carefully constructed wall of calmness.
Yet behind that wall, Hua Cheng could see the cracks forming. The tremor in Xie Lian’s hands, the way his eyes darted away, as if afraid to meet his gaze for too long.
Xie Lian was terrified.
Hua Cheng swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in his throat. He had always known that Xie Lian suffered in ways that no one else could fully understand. But this? This was worse than he had imagined.
What kind of agony had his beloved been carrying all this time? What had that man seen that made him flee in terror? And why—why hadn’t Hua Cheng seen it? Why hadn’t he noticed how deeply those wounds still festered?
“Gege,” Hua Cheng said again, his voice barely a whisper. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”
Xie Lian’s smile returned, but it was thin and fragile, like a piece of cracked porcelain. “I’m not hiding anything, San Lang.”
But Hua Cheng could hear the lie in those words. And it tore at him, deeper than any blade could.
Xie Lian turned away, his gaze distant. “It’s better this way. There are some things... that shouldn’t be shared.”
Hua Cheng’s chest tightened. He wanted to protest, to demand that his god let him in, that he not push him away. But the look in his eyes stopped him. It wasn’t just fear. It was resignation. A quiet, suffocating belief that whatever darkness Xie Lian carried within him, it was something he was meant to bear alone.
Hua Cheng hated it.
He hated that his beloved had suffered so much that he believed he deserved to suffer in silence. He hated that someone as pure, as kind as Xie Lian had been broken so badly by the world. And most of all, he hated that there was nothing he could do to take that pain away.
So, Hua Cheng did the only thing he could. He stepped forward, standing by Xie Lian’s side, silent and steady. He didn’t reach out, didn’t touch him. But his presence was a promise—an unspoken vow that no matter what, he would be there. Always.
Even if he couldn’t heal the wounds, even if he couldn’t take away the darkness that lurked in Xie Lian’s mind, Hua Cheng would never leave. Not now. Not ever.
As the day wore on, and the marketplace buzzed with life once more, Hua Cheng remained by his god’s side, a silent sentinel, watching over him with a heart filled with both love and sorrow.
And in that moment, Hua Cheng understood something he had always known but had never fully acknowledged: Xie Lian’s pain ran deeper than even he could fathom. And no matter how many lifetimes it took, Hua Cheng would be there to bear it with him.