Archive of Our Own

Since he was young, Hua Cheng had always felt something wiser and more powerful than will, pushing him towards the highest parts of the snow-crowned mountains that towered over his village.

People, too caught up in their busy lives, seemed to forget that humans have always yearned to climb higher, reach the top, see as much of the world as possible, and become one with it.

But not Hua Cheng. He felt that urge deep in his bones.

He’d been exploring the mountains and their forests as long as he could remember, and since he had been able to afford proper equipment, he had been getting closer and closer to the sky.

And in return for his dedication, the mountains, in their demandingness, gave him something back. They gave him peace; they made him proud, and they made him humble. Patient. Strong.

When he had been strong enough to reach the summit of the highest one, he then turned his efforts to try to reach where no one had. The most difficult passages.

That's how he found it.

The temple.

It was old. Very old. But it still stood, unlike the few buildings that must have surrounded it, now little more than scattered stones. As if some unfathomable force was keeping it upright, protecting it.

He had taken off his sunglasses, not quite believing his eyes. The sun, reflecting into the snow, had burned his retina. The cold wind had bitten his pale skin. But the temple had still been there when his squinted eye adjusted to the light, its silhouette engraved in his vision.

The first time Hua Cheng opened the heavy doors, he felt as though he was living the strangest dream. The place had an eerie quality, standing against the elements in such an inhospitable place. The howling wind suddenly went quiet, as if nature itself didn’t dare disturb whatever lay there.

And then, when he stepped inside, Hua Cheng’s whole world shifted on its axis and settled wholly upon what stood before him.

Within the temple stood a statue of a god long forgotten by the world.

In one hand, he held a sword, a flower in the other. From his back unfurled a thousand additional arms reaching out as though to bear the weight of heaven and earth alike. A gentle, soft smile rested on his face, not revealing even the smallest strain, and in his kind eyes lay an endless compassion that seemed to see through all things.

Hua Cheng could not have named what seized his heart. He dropped to his knees, a breathless, awe-struck expression on his face, and it felt as though something deep within had finally clicked into place, like a discordant melody resolving, like stepping across the threshold home. For the first time, he knew with absolute certainty that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

The god, in his infinite silence, sealed in stone, had spoken to him without words. Understanding pierced through his feeble mind like lightning, threatening to break it into a million pieces and, at the same time, holding it together. It spoke of compassion and tenderness, but also of grief and loneliness, vast and aching, much more agonizing than any human could stand. Hua Cheng's mortal heart had lifted and broken all at once as ancient, godlike emotions, far beyond his ability to comprehend, flooded his being.

A prince, a saint, a god, a martyr.

His god-

His god?

Where had that thought come from? It did not feel like his own, and yet it unfurled from the deepest, most intimate part of his soul, as though it had always been there, waiting.

His god.

By the time Hua Cheng came back to himself and began the long descent down the mountain, his devotion had crystallized. Solid, unshakeable, and as natural as breathing.

From that moment on, whenever he could, he made his way up the arduous path leading back to the temple.

He brought tools, varnish, and offerings with him. His rituals were contrived and clumsy, but what he lacked in knowledge he made up for with reverence.

He would lay the most beautiful flower from his garden on the altar and polish the statue’s sword. He kissed each of his god’s feet, lowering himself to the ground to worship even the lowest part of the divine being.

And he prayed.

He prayed for knowledge, for clarity. For understanding.

He begged, foolishly, impossibly, to comprehend a god’s pain.

And his god listened, for after hours spent gazing into those stone eyes, his body held fast in a trance, he began to understand.

He learned to recognize the sadness carefully concealed behind them. The slight, pained frown on his brow. How could it not be there? A being of infinite benevolence, in a world so corrupted with selfishness, with an insatiable hunger that only ever took, took, took. That gave nothing back. For which no number of hands would ever be enough.

How could such a contrast not leave his god with a raw, aching void at his core?

And what could Hua Cheng do but offer him his devotion, his company, and understanding?

So he spoke.

He told his god about anything and everything. About his little garden, or the feeling of watching the sunrise spill over the mountains. About E’ming, the troublesome stray cat he had taken in because it had only one eye, and how he could not quite admit how much it reminded him of himself. About the petty quarrel he had with his neighbour, and about the nights when he missed his mother so much that it ached.

He felt foolish, sometimes, speaking of such small things to a being as ancient and boundless as time.

Yet he spoke all the same.

So that, perhaps, just perhaps, his god would not feel quite so alone, high upon that mountain, trying to hold the sky up with his thousand hands.

That worry, about his god feeling lonely, had him pacing his room one evening, as the last pale rays of winter sunlight slanted through the window.

Technically, hiking the next day was a terrible idea. Winter was nearing its zenith; the cold would be sharp and unforgiving, the snow piled high. But the weather forecast promised heavy snowstorms for weeks to come, making it hard even to walk outside, let alone hike, but Hua Cheng had finally managed to acquire good-quality paints, and the thought of waiting that long to bring them to the temple was unbearable.

Well, it was decided then. He could not wait. Greedy, impatient little thing that he was.

So he began to pack.

As always, he was meticulous, checking and rechecking that he had everything he might need, prepared for whatever might arise, though he would make sure to start the descent long before sunset, before the storm could catch him.

The next morning, he set out before the sun had crested the horizon. The cold was so sharp that breathing hurt, and his still sleepy body protested with every step. Yet by the time the first rays of sunlight brushed the snow, setting a million tiny crystals shimmering like diamonds, his limbs had warmed, and his mind had settled into a gentle, familiar peace.

It had become part of his ritual. As he climbed, he let his thoughts drift wherever they pleased, so by the time he reached the temple, his mind was crystal clear. Cleansed of worry, fear, excitement, or anger. Just a quiet, meditative state left.

When he arrived at the summit where the temple stood, he took a moment to take in the view. The quiet of the mountains; ancient masses of soil that had been here before him and would remain unmoving long after he was gone. The infinite blue of the sky stretched above him, and beneath, a coat of pristine, untouched snow covered the world in white.

And there was the temple, standing among it all, like another eternal formation of nature.

It always made him feel insignificant in a way that brought him deep comfort. Knowing that something far greater and more important than himself would outlive him, no matter what he did.

To devote his life to a god so almighty, yet so forsaken, was the greatest honour Hua Cheng could imagine.

Thus, he walked towards the temple, tying his long hair with one of his paintbrushes, and set to work.

After performing his rituals with methodical, unhurried movements, he began to paint, and the hours passed without a rush. Colors bloomed in his mind, and he became absorbed in the patterns along the back wall, lost in the traces of a world long gone. He put special attention into getting the colours right, to match the hues he could only guess at from the faded remnants of the original mural.

He paused only long enough to cook a pot of noodles on his camping stove and drink a cup of coffee his thermos had kept warm, all the while speaking absently to the statue about the patterns he had been working on.

He wished, fervently, for some sign, some way of knowing how he ought to paint him.

What colors did his god favor in his robes? Was his jewellery wrought entirely of gold? —Surely it must be, nothing less would be fitting—And his earrings, were they pearls, or coral? He found himself wondering which hues would best complement his skin.

Was his skin pale?

Would it feel soft to the touch?

And his lips… what shade of pink were they?

Were… were his hands warm?

Strong—?

He drew in a sharp breath and cut that line of thought short, berating himself.

How shameless.

It was not the first time it happened; by now, he knew exactly what to do. Really, what was wrong with him? Such blasphemy surely demanded repentance.

He strode outside and, kneeling on the ground, he plunged his slender hands into the snow and left them there until they hurt. Along with the sharp wind biting into his flushed cheeks, that brought him back to his senses.

Good. He thought.

He returned to his work with aching fingers.

Hours passed in enraptured silence before the sound of his brush dropping to the stone floor shattered his trance. He blinked a few times, disoriented, then slowly became aware of the stiffness in his hands, nearly blue from cold.

Shit.

Maybe he had pushed himself too far.

He slowly turned his head, dread settling in his chest, and saw, to his horror, that the light spilling through the temple doors had dimmed. Outside, the wind howled like a living thing.

A snowstorm.

He swore under his stuttering breath. He had been careless.

A cold panic threatened to squeeze his chest. He fought to keep his breath under control and think.

He could try to go down, but as the light faded and the storm raged on, the cold would be unforgiving, and he could easily get lost. Then he’d freeze to death.

He could stay the night in the temple, though the thought of offending his god filled him with dread, but even if he survived the first night, the storm would not relent. Weeks of snow and deepening cold would make the descent impossible. He did not have enough food to last that long.

He didn't want to die, even if it was at his god’s feet.

If he were gone, who would keep him company?

In a moment of futile desperation, he turned to the door to test how cold it was, whether he could risk it.

And then...

"Don't go."

A voice rang like bells, vibrant and clear, seeming to come from inside his mind and from everywhere at once. The sound echoed through the temple as Hua Cheng's entire world came to a stop.

"You'll freeze."

Not even the sound of the howling wind dared to fill the space the voice had left behind it.

He slowly turned around, stunned, not quite understanding what was happening, and suddenly a blinding white light flooded his vision.

Ah, he thought, strangely calm. I must have actually frozen to death. That's why I feel so warm now.

But… no, that was not quite right.

He could feel his heart hammering wildly in his chest, and pain bloomed as blood crept back into his stiff fingers, opening up his blood vessels, one by one. Surely death was not supposed to feel this... human.

He… he was alive, yes. But then what, in heaven’s name, was happening? This could not possibly be…

When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, and its source was laid bare, the sight punched all the air out of his lungs.

"Do not be afraid," said the voice, now undeniably coming from the being before him, ringing through every cell of his body.

He was there.

His god.

He looked exactly like his statue and, at the same time, infinitely different. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for such a celestial sight. For a suspended moment, their gazes met. Hua Cheng’s single dark eye held fast by two orbs made entirely of molten gold, radiant with a light as ancient as the sun itself. Eyes that had seen the rise and fall of empires, life and death unfolding before them in endless succession, infinite joy and infinite suffering.

He seemed to be made entirely of light, and at the same time so solid that he could have bent gravity to his will. Behind him unfurled his many arms, innumerable and reaching, as though his benevolence extended to all things.

He had the face of an angel. So agonizingly beautiful that it was almost unbearable. Hua Cheng would have whimpered if he could get his throat to work.

He was in awe.

He was terrified.

He wanted to carve his own heart out and set it on the altar as an offering, along with all the blood that was boiling in his arteries.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to...

In his rapture, before he could think, he reached out a trembling hand, almost brushing his god’s white robes.

His first conscious thought was…

I could never have painted something like this.

And then, the heaviness of the scene dawned on him like a hammer. His hand stilled, twitching, just before he could soil his god's robes with his paint-stained fingers.

All the blood drained from his face. He withdrew his hand as if it had been burned, and fell to his knees in a deep kowtow. His whole body was shaking.

His god was in front of him.

An ancient being that could surely destroy him on a whim if he so desired. More powerful and wise than he could even begin to imagine.

He had been so foolish, playing to paint in his temple, talking to him as if he were an equal. Thinking he could grasp what he wanted or needed.

But his thoughts were cut short by the whisper of robes, light as feathers, pooling around his god as he knelt beside him.

"Do not bow to me, my dear boy."

Hua Cheng's breath caught. He slowly raised his head, brow knitted in utter confusion, mouth agape.

In light of the sheer wrongness of his good kneeling on the ground, he tried so hard to speak, but no words could leave his mouth.

"I have done nothing to deserve such treatment,” his god continued, “except keeping you too long in this cold, forgotten mountain."

Hua Cheng's head swarmed with confused thoughts, but he willed it to still.

"Please, my God,” he managed to let out, “It is he who shouldn’t kneel beside this lowly servant. It’s my honor to serve you to the best of my ability."

The god’s lips curved in a warm smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He wore the same slight frown as his statue. Hua Cheng’s hands twitched. He wanted to reach out and smooth it.

"My sweet boy… do you even know what kind of terrible god you're worshipping?" he said with a pained and solemn expression that felt so wrong in his delicate features.

“I do not, my god,” said the boy, softly. “But I would be honored to.”

The god let out a resigned sigh.

"What do you wish to know?" he said.

“A name,” implored Hua Cheng, “please.”

His god’s lips curved in a sad smile, and he stood up to walk along the altar.

"I've had many names over the millennia. Xie Lian was the first one, the one my mother gave me. Then… the people gave me other ones. I've been Taizi Dianxia to my believers. They called me things like… Flower Crowned Martial God or His Highness Who Pleased the Gods,” he huffed, and then his smile faltered. “Then… then those same people called me a God of Misfortune. Then I was the Laughingstock of the Three Realms for a while…” his eyes looked distant, as if he was seeing something that was no longer there. “I recall General Hua was the last one that was given to me. And now,” his eyes focused on Hua Cheng once again, “I've outlasted everyone who once uttered my name."

Hua Cheng’s stomach twisted.

"Then may this servant address you by the first title?" he asked, looking up at him.

"You may,” his smile had yet to reach his eyes, “but I would prefer it if you called me by name. I'm not a prince anymore, nor a god worth worshipping."

"You are to me, Dianxia." The title felt like silk rolling in Hua Cheng's mouth.

Xie Lian's eyes widened for a moment, and his lashes fluttered, like tiny golden butterflies.

"Oh. It sounds… so different when you say it." His face began to twist into a genuine smile. "It carries..." He sighed, and the slight, troubled frown returned to its place. "It carries a sentiment I do not deserve. I've done terrible things, dear boy. Unforgivable things. You'd do best to forget me."

“Dianxia, please, don’t be so cruel as to ask this servant for the only thing he cannot do,” replied Hua Cheng with pleading eyes.

Xie Lian's brows lifted and drew together, a small, uncertain crease forming between them.

"Why? I don’t have anything to offer." He said, voice strained.

“I don’t want to take more from you, Dianxia.” Hua Cheng’s gaze now held a fierce, almost desperate determination.

Xie Lian stood still, the molten gold in his eyes swirling wildly, like it was about to spill.

Then, his brow softened.

“What’s your name, child?” he asked.

Hua Cheng swallowed.

“I’ve had a few names too, Dianxia, but I would rather my god call me San Lang.”

The god’s lips curved into a slight, indulgent smile.

"You've suffered, San Lang." He declared. It was a statement, not a question.

"Nothing compared to what my god has,” he replied, immediately.

"How could a human understand a god's pain?" His expression was unreadable. Maybe it was disbelief, or... curiosity?

Hua Cheng held his gaze for a long moment before lowering his forehead onto the ground.

"Show me, please, Dianxia,” he implored. “Let this servant share your burden.”

A pause.

"Your body would not stand it,” said the grave voice above his head.

"Then let it break,” he growled.

Another pause, longer this time, disrupted only by Hua Cheng’s ragged breath.

After a minute, he felt something hum around his head. The god had reached out some of his arms, and the sheer power his body held was making the air vibrate around them. As the rumble grew stronger, Hua Cheng braced himself for the pain. He tried to keep his breathing under control. For his god’s sake, wouldn’t he take it gladly?

He waited.

The pain never came.

Instead, his god’s hands cradled his face with so much tenderness that it pierced through his heart like a burning arrow. The thrum seemed to settle into his very bones, warming him up from the inside.

Speechless, he met his god’s gaze. He was smiling gently, and a warm light curled around his frame. The picture of a saint.

“My precious believer. You carry such a beautiful heart,” he said softly.

Hua Cheng choked down a sob.

“Please, Dianxia, I beg you. Don't say such things. I can't bear it.”

Xie Lian’s smile grew warmer.

“You’ve already given me so much, San Lang. I’ve cherished your faith and dedication. Yet you are only a fragile human, my devotee. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself.” His hands softly brushed Hua Cheng’s hair and cheeks. They felt impossibly soft, gliding across his skin like a warm knife through butter. “You’re the one who deserves love and protection. And it would be my honor to give them to you.” He moved closer, gazing into Hua Cheng’s eye. “Tell me, what does my dear believer want?”

“I-” he cleared his throat. “I just want to worship you, Dianxia.”

Xie Lian stared at him, slightly amused. There was a playful glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He rose to his full height.

“Go on then,” he grinned.

Hua Cheng’s eye widened in confusion, and then he let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, like a starving man who had just been permitted to eat.

His eye shone with an impossible reverence as he lowered himself again, murmuring prayers under his god’s intense stare. He dared to place a chaste, humble kiss on his god’s perfect feet. They hovered above the ground, never to touch the soil Hua Cheng knelt on.

Possessed by a fervor so intense it was almost maddening, he rose again to look up at his god. A faint glow covered his immaculate features, as if he were blushing.

With trembling hands, he grasped Xie Lian’s robes, made of a silk so smooth it almost slipped between his fingers.

“Please, Dianxia,” he begged, no longer even trying to make sense, “please. Let me give you everything I have. Please, take everything from me.”

Xie Lian simply offered an indulgent smile.

“Then, let me see what you want to give,” he obliged.

Hua Cheng just nodded.

“Bare your chest for me, dear,” said the god gently. “I need to touch your heart.”

The boy obeyed, undressing his lean upper body for his god to see. He felt unfit, in his worn-out hiking pants and boots, before such a divine being.

“Will you really let me see?” asked Xie Lian. “Are you certain?”

Hua Cheng nodded again. He didn’t even fully understand what he was agreeing to; only an unshakable faith guided him.

Various hands gently supported his head and shoulders. They were so warm it nearly hurt, but not quite.

His god, towering over him, then put one palm over Hua Cheng’s heart. The boy gasped. It felt like, rather than his skin, he was touching the deepest parts of his being.

“Remember, you can stop me,” Xie Lian said. “But I promise you’re safe, San Lang. You don’t have to be afraid, yes?”

Hua Cheng nodded, earning himself a reassuring smile.

Then, Xie Lian placed a delicate hand upon his brow, and Hua Cheng’s gaze was suddenly turned inwards.

He was inside his head, but he was not alone. His god was with him.

And he tugged.

He tugged at a train of thought, and Hua Cheng was simply pulled along, like a bystander inside his own soul. He felt exposed, in an almost freeing way.

And, in his trance, Xie Lian saw.

He saw all of Hua Cheng’s feelings unfurl before him. His doubts. His burning devotion.

His love.

That depraved, abnormal, but sacred love that he could not understand, only feel.

He shed a golden tear that fell into Hua Cheng’s cheek.

“Oh,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “my precious, beautiful believer. You carry so much fire in your heart. I had forgotten I could ever feel this warm.”

Hua Cheng felt his god’s presence hum with delight inside his soul.

“But…” he continued, “there’s more, isn't it?”

Hua Cheng forced himself not to resist. He had shown everything he wanted to give, but had left concealed what he wanted to take.

But if his god wanted to see, Hua Cheng didn’t want to have a say on the matter.

So, he let Xie Lian keep exploring. He let him see all of his shameful desires. The way he desperately craved love and acceptance. Mercy. Shelter.

Shame. Shame. Shame.

He was too weak.

Hadn’t he just said he didn’t want to take more from his already exhausted god? Why was he asking for pity, then?

Without stopping his prying into Hua Cheng’s soul, Xie Lian spoke with impossible kindness.

“Oh, my sweet boy. There's nothing to be ashamed of,” his voice then turned firmer. “And it’s not pity, what I feel for you.”

Hua Cheng nearly fell apart at the words—what was it, then? He wanted to ask, not daring to hope—but he held on, because the thread Xie Lian was pulling was going in a way Hua Cheng desperately wanted to keep hidden.

But, of course, it was futile.

How could a believer hide his sins from his god?

So, he closed his eyes when Xie Lian reached the deepest parts of him, prying him open, seeing everything.

And then, he stooped.

His god slowly lowered his gaze to look at him, and his shimmering eyes widened.

Then, they darkened.

The entire temple shook with him.

Was he… angry?

“My dear boy…” he said. There was no outrage in his voice, just surprise. “You… really want this? Do you realize who you’re asking this from?” A thick, vibrating power was curling around his frame, making it hard to breathe. “Do you even know the things I could do to you?”

Hua Cheng knew, vaguely, he should be scared. Terrified.

He wasn’t.

“Show me, please, Dianxia,” he asked, for the second time that day, knowing it might break him.

Xie Lian’s mouth curled in a sharp, delighted smile.

“Come here then,” he said.

Hua Cheng fought back a sob. Dazed, he ran his calloused hands over his god’s thighs, hips, and waist; his entire body trembled, as if he were climbing the stairs to heaven.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept mumbling under his breath.

“Shh… It’s alright,” the god replied, equally breathless somehow, as his hands guided him to his feet. “It’s alright. Just… come here, I’ve got you.”

They looked at each other for an instant, desperately searching for some sign of reassurance in each other’s eyes.

Then, the god closed the space between them, and their lips crashed.

It was a frenzy. Hua Cheng clung to his god’s robes as his mouth took his, afraid he’d disappear the moment he let go, like an impossible dream, as an infinite number of arms embraced him.

Hua Cheng’s life had been worth it just for being blessed with this single instant of mercy.

His god— his strong hands and his warm mouth—were everywhere, surrounding him.

Parting his lips, he let Xie Lian’s tongue into his mouth. It was tentative, at first, and so sweet it felt like tasting a fruit. He explored his mouth hungrily, coaxing Hua Cheng’s tongue to move with him while his hands cradled his face with aching tenderness.

Hua Cheng’s body was like clay in his god’s hands, his impossibly soft fingers molding his pliant flesh into something new. Something claimed.

Their lips parted.

“Dianxia I—” said Hua Cheng, breathlessly, seeking understanding in his god’s eyes. “I don’t know what to…”

Xie Lian’s lips curved in a kind smile.

“Shh, I know, sweet boy. It’s alright, I’ll guide you. Just lie back and let me touch you.”

He gently removed the paintbrush from his hair, letting it fall loose. He pushed him down onto the altar, placing a knee between his legs.

Hua Cheng’s breathless body lay below him, an offering for his god.

The god’s movements were fluid, sensual, like sunlight shimmering through water. His robes and long hair brushed the boy’s skin as he dipped down to kiss him again, bolder this time. His gentle yet unrelenting tongue persuaded Hua Cheng to yield, to succumb to his own passion.

“I want to see you,” said Xie Lian. “All of you.”

Hua Cheng just nodded, frantic, chasing his lips again.

Xie Lian obliged, smiling, while his hands worked on Hua Cheng’s robes, undressing him completely in mere seconds.

He straightened up, pushing Hua Cheng down to admire his work.

Hua Cheng was undone by desire. Panting through parted, swollen lips, flushed red down to his corded shoulders, and eye wide. Open. Vulnerable.

“You are so handsome,” said the god, tracing the lines of his eyepatch with one finger, the scars underneath. “How did a wild thing like you end up here in my arms, hm?”

Hua Cheng almost laughed. Wild? Never in his life has he felt tamer.

Xie Lian ran his hands all over his servant’s body, and Hua Cheng could not even tell where he was being touched anymore. His arms, his hair, his chest, and his back, every trace of his god’s fingers traveling directly to the scorching heat that was growing in his lower abdomen.

The touches turned exploratory, and Hua Cheng allowed his god to experiment with his reactions as he kissed him in different ways, bit his lips, licked his neck, and played with his nipples, curiosity and awe shining brightly in his eyes.

“You are so lovely,” he said, running a finger from his chest all the way down into the hair on his lower belly. “And your body is so sensitive. Look at how your blood rushes to meet my touch,” he smiled, meeting his eye. “Beautiful.”

Hua Cheng, who could only twist and gasp under his touch, tried to hide his face in embarrassment. But before he could manage, the god took his wrists, his touch gentle but firm, and pinned them to each side of his head, leaving his body exposed for his free hands and mouth to keep exploring.

And so he did. He watched how Hua Cheng’s eyelashes fluttered when he kissed the spot below his ear, listened to his soft moans when he pulled his hair to tilt his chin, and felt how his muscles tensed when he sucked his nipples and gently scraped them with his teeth.

He ran his hands across the insides of his legs, spreading him open for his eyes to feast on.

Hua Cheng could have died of embarrassment, but kept his legs open.

And when the god wrapped one of his hands, almost vibrating with raw power, around Hua Cheng’s length, the boy let out a broken whine.

Oh, heavens. It felt so good. He had never experienced something so glorious. A heat so intense it threatened to send him over the edge.

He wanted to be touched. He was desperate to be touched. But more importantly—

He wanted to touch his god, too.

Xie Lian noticed his distress and stopped, but didn’t remove his hand.

“What’s wrong, sweet boy?” he asked. “Is this too much? Do you not want this?”

Hua Cheng widened his eye.

“No, no! I—” words failed him, once again. “I do! It’s just that I—I am not worthy. At best, it should be me pleasuring Dianxia.”

He cringed at his own boldness, but the god’s eyes darkened. A wicked smile spread across his face, and his hand moved in slow, agonizing strokes.

Hua Cheng’s eye would have rolled to the back of his head weren’t it locked into his god’s. It felt so, so good.

“My precious boy,” said Xie Lian with half-lidded eyes. “You’re giving me your flesh as an offering and dare to deem it not worthy?”

He dipped his head until their brows touched.

“Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” he said in a low voice.

Hua Cheng’s breath caught.

Xie Lian took his right hand, never breaking eye contact. He guided it lower and lower, letting him feel the hardness growing between the god’s legs.

Hua Cheng’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Would you like to see?” asked Xie Lian gently.

“Please,” whimpered Hua Cheng.

Pleased, the god rose between Hua Cheng’s legs, towering over him. Slowly, never taking his eyes off the boy’s skin, he let his robes fall from his shoulders in one smooth move, revealing his body inch by inch.

Hua Cheng had never seen something so beautiful.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and touched his chest. It was as soft as his hands. How could it be so, while looking like it was carved from pure jade?

Every muscle in his body thrummed with raw energy, making it feel inhuman—a god’s body.

And, when Hua Cheng’s eyes wandered lower, the blood drained from his face.

His body, in appearance, resembled that of a human. But there was nothing human about the arousal curling there, about the power it held.

It was big.

Hua Cheng swallowed, torn between desire and fear.

Xie Lian climbed onto the altar again, caging him with his arms.

“Now, San Lang,” he said, “won’t you let me take you the way we both want?”

“Y-yes, Dianxia, whatever you want.”

“I want you to tell me what you need.”

Hua Cheng suppressed a whine.

“Dianxia has already seen. Please, don’t torture me like this.”

Xie Lian gave an indulgent smile, but didn’t relent.

“I want to hear you say it, my precious San Lang.”

The boy swallowed.

“Use my mouth,” he whimpered, “please.”

His god’s triumphant smile was a reward in itself.

“Of course, dear,” he obliged.

Hua Cheng found himself on his knees before his god again—a much more fitting position, in his opinion—kept in place by strong hands, head thrown back, eyes pleading. The touch was gentle, meant to make him feel held and not restrained.

A pair of those hands took his jaw while fingers coaxed his mouth open.

He let the god explore his mouth, tracing steady circles on his tongue, pushing his fingers to test how deep he could go before making him gag.

Hua Cheng sucked, eye fixed on his god’s focused expression, watching his parted mouth.

They stared at each other for a moment before Xie Lian withdrew his fingers and let Hua Cheng take over.

Hua Cheng didn’t need any more cues. After silently thanking him, he took his god’s cock in his mouth.

His steady hands guided him while he kissed and sucked, hypnotized by the sounds it pulled from his god every time his lips brushed the most sensitive spots.

Hua Cheng grasped his god’s waist as he sat on the edge of the altar, hooking one of his legs so Xie Lian could rest the back of his knee on his shoulder.

When his eagerness caused him to try to take him deeper, bringing tears to his eye, Xie Lian’s grip in his hair stopped him gently.

“Easy, dear,” he said. “Don’t force yourself. You’re already taking more than you normally could have.”

It was true, the god’s length shouldn’t even have fit in his mouth. But somehow it felt natural, this bending of reality, coming from his god.

“Mnhh… Your mouth is so warm,” he said, breathless, stroking Hua Cheng’s flushed cheeks. “So good for me, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng was in heaven. Having his god in his mouth, drawing pleasured sighs from him with his eager tongue, was more than he could ever ask for.

But Xie Lian had other ideas.

Eyes shining with delight, he helped Hua Cheng get on top of the altar, straddling his hips, while the god slightly reclined on a pair of his arms.

There had never been a time when Hua Cheng had been untouched by at least two pairs of hands, making it hard to focus and forcing him to surrender to the sensations the touch sent through his body.

Right now, there were hands on his hips. Staring into his eye, hungry for his reactions, Xie Lian slowly guided his hips to grind against his, rubbing their cocks together, drawing a moan from both their mouths.

Hua Cheng threw his head back, which Xie Lian took advantage of, running his hands through his hair and grabbing it at the nape, for better access to his neck.

Hua Cheng was certain it would leave marks. He hoped so, at least.

His god’s hot breath against his skin, the grinding of their hips, and the way he was gently pinching his nipples almost distracted him from where another pair of hands had made their way to his ass and spread.

He couldn’t help but gasp, clinging harder to his god’s shoulders, as he felt one finger rub his entrance.

Xie Lian searched for his gaze.

“You have to tell me if it hurts,” he said. “Your human body is fragile, and what I can do to stretch its boundaries is limited.”

Hua Cheng’s jaw hardened. He most certainly was not planning on doing so.

Xie Lian smiled, part amused, part admonishing.

“That’s an order, dear.”

Fuck.

Then, he pushed one finger inside, and Hua Cheng’s mind went blank.

He had grown somewhat used to his god’s touch, feeling the faint vibrations his power sent through his body. But having his finger inside such a sensitive spot was a completely different experience.

He could barely keep himself together. It would have been overwhelming if it weren’t for the simmering heat pooling in his stomach and his god’s fiery gaze keeping him grounded.

His god looked just as undone as he himself felt, but his composure never slipped.

“Breathe, dear.” Hua Cheng realized he had been holding his breath. “That’s it. Can I move?”

“Mnhh… Yes,” please, please, please.

He slowly moved his finger, in and out, and Hua Cheng bit back a moan. He dropped his forehead against his god’s shoulder.

It felt incredible. The steady rhythm at which his god was moving, first with one finger and then with two, inside him with almost no resistance, sent waves of arousal straight to his spine.

Then, the touch turned more insistent, not only easing its way in but searching.

Hua Cheng didn’t know what he was searching for, but when his god stroked a certain spot, he understood soon enough.

His breath caught as a lightning of utter pleasure sent sparks throughout his entire body.

He barely registered his god’s words.

“Ah, there it is,” he purred, satisfied, “You loved that, didn’t you?”

Thankfully, he didn’t need Hua Cheng’s response and kept brushing the same spot repeatedly, drawing broken moans from the boy’s mouth.

The god hummed, pleased.

“Can you talk, dear?” he asked. “Let’s try one more time. Do you want another finger inside?”

“I—” Yes! “Please, Dianxia,” he managed to sputter.

Another finger slid in from a different hand, judging by the angle, widening him more than Hua Cheng had imagined possible.

But then again, given the size of the god’s cock…

Just thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine. He would have thought it was fear if it weren’t for how it stirred the heat inside his pelvis.

Xie Lian silenced him with another kiss, slow and sensual, so tender compared to the steady, relentless thrusting.

Hua Cheng buried his hands in his god’s hair, holding on.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he broke the kiss.

“Dianxia,” he gasped desperately, “please, please put it in.”

The god smiled and kissed his temple.

“I’m almost finished here, sweet boy. Be patient,” he said, taking his mouth again.

Was his tongue longer than before? Or was it just Hua Cheng’s entranced mind imagining it?

It felt like he was being fucked so good from both sides. The only thing he could do was surrender to the ceaseless, all-consuming waves of pleasure.

Finally, his god withdrew his fingers and laid him down on the altar, with a bit too much force.

Well, Hua Cheng thought triumphantly, it seems I’m not the only impatient one.

He searched for his god’s gaze. He found hunger and… hesitation. The small frown was there again.

Hua Cheng groaned, touching his god’s face and arching his back, chasing more contact. He felt empty.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said, with fierce determination. “Please, Dianxia. Just take what’s yours.”

That unleashed something in him. The frown eased, and his hands grabbed him more firmly.

He positioned himself and—

He pushed it in.

Hua Cheng couldn’t help but tense. Fuck. It was big. And it was not only the size, but there was something… overwhelming about it. It wasn’t even halfway in, and it was almost too much already.

Almost.

“Breathe, dear,” said Xie Lian. Hua Cheng was glad he wasn’t fretting. “Just breathe through it. Nice and slow.”

Hua Cheng took a sharp breath through his nose and forced his muscles to relax while Xie Lian stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“That’s it. Good boy.”

Hua Cheng gave a short nod, eyes closed in concentration, and his god began moving again, pushing it in slowly while whispering words of encouragement into his ear.

“Shh, I know, dear. I know it’s intense. It’s almost done, just bear with it a little longer, I promise it will feel better soon.”

The stretch was so intense. It hurt, always at the edge of becoming unbearable, but never really crossing it.

After what felt like a long time, Xie Lian finally bottomed out.

“All done,” he murmured against his temple. “You did an excellent job, my precious boy.”

Hua Cheng sighed in relief and opened his eyes to find his god’s worried gaze.

He took a moment to assess the sensation without the pain, and pleasure overtook him.

It felt divine.

His god’s presence was everywhere. Around him, inside him. Filling him completely, an ardent, steady pressure stirring the heat in his gut.

“Does—does it feel good, Dianxia?” he said, panting.

Xie Lian’s expression softened, and his eyes flashed.

“You feel better than heaven,” he said.

“Fuck,” Hua Cheng growled, utterly undone.

He grabbed his god’s face and kissed him so forcefully that their teeth clacked together. Xie Lian moaned into his mouth and began rolling his hips steadily.

Hua Cheng threw his head back into the altar and dug his nails into Xie Lian’s back.

He didn’t know what it was about his god’s cock, but there was something in the way he fucked him.

A divine sensuality in his movements, a godlike presence inside his body that touched him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. The powerful sensations, not meant for a human to experience, overwhelmed him and forced him to surrender to an all-consuming desire.

His god’s hips slammed against him now, all semblance of control gone. Waves of heat shook Hua Cheng’s body, drowning him in pleasure.

The lust he felt was beyond human and more than animal, pushing him to suck and bite, to arch his back against his god’s chest, driving him deeper into his core.

He clenched his muscles until it hurt so good he could have sobbed.

“Fuck,” he cried. “Yes. Yes! Fuck me harder, please, Dianxia, just—ah—just—break me.”

His god’s eyes darkened.

“You should be careful what you pray for, boy,” he said with a sly smile.

He stroked Hua Cheng’s length, up and down, transferring his intense heat through the boy’s body. He had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from crying out.

The pleasure kept rising to unbearable heights, wave after wave, until Hua Cheng felt like he couldn't take any more, like he would truly break.

The heat kept tightening in his gut, growing more intense until it finally—finally—let go.

Hua Cheng saw white as shockwaves rippled through his oversensitive body, tensing his muscles. A broken cry burned its way out from the depths of his desire.

He clung to his god, to his gaze, as if it were an anchor holding him steady while the world around him shattered in ecstasy.

Then, after what felt like a long time, he went limp in his arms.

He felt as if he were melting.

Xie Lian fucked him through his orgasm, rhythm more erratic as he chased his own high.

He let out a low moan as he orgasmed, and it was the most beautiful thing Hua Cheng had ever heard.

It was his last thought before the world faded to black.

Hua Cheng woke up in the middle of the night to find his god looking down at him. Hua Cheng still half-asleep, smiled, and Xie Lian returned the smile.

He looked celestial. He was glowing even brighter than before, with his arms lazily splayed in a relaxed kind of elegance. His perfect features softened with traces of ecstasy.

Hua Cheng’s fingers twitched. He wanted to paint him.

“Go back to sleep, my precious boy,” Xie Lian murmured, stroking his hair. “You must be exhausted. That was a lot for a human body to experience.”

Hua Cheng blinked.

“Will my god still be here when I wake up?” he asked.

“Of course, dear,” he smiled.

“Then, may I hold you, Dianxia?” Where had his inhibitions gone?

Xie Lian blinked a few times, mildly surprised. Then he gave an indulgent smile.

“If that’s what you want.”

It took some maneuvering to get Xie Lian’s arms just right so he could rest his head on Hua Cheng’s chest, but they managed it.

Hua Cheng sighed, content, and fell asleep again, stroking his god’s long hair.

He barely heard his god’s words.

It’s been so long since someone held me like this, I had forgotten it felt this good.

Hua Cheng slept lulled by a steady resolve to always stay by his god’s side.

Hua Cheng woke again to the morning light, dimmed by the blizzard. He blinked a few times, slightly disoriented, until the events of the previous night flooded his mind.

A blush coated his cheeks, warmth spreading down to his neck.

Then, not feeling his god’s presence beside him, he shot up in a panic.

He only relaxed when he spotted him facing the back wall, inspecting the patterns Hua Cheng had painted.

He looked ethereal, like an apparition from the heavens.

Xie Lian looked over his shoulder and smiled.

“Oh, good morning, San Lang,” he said cheerfully. “I’m sorry, did I scare you? I just wanted to see your work up close. You did such a wonderful job with the colors; it almost feels like traveling back in time.”

Hua Cheng’s chest warmed at the praise, and just at the sight of his god.

He’d been in his presence for just one night, but it felt so… natural, now. Speaking with him.

“Did you sleep well, Dianxia?”

“Well, I don’t actually sleep,” he replied with an apologetic smile, “but I feel… rested. At ease. More than I’ve felt in centuries, to be honest.

Hua Cheng felt his chest would burst from joy.

“What about you? Did you sleep well, San Lang?” he continued.

Hua Cheng found that he didn’t have it in him to feel shy anymore.

“I have never slept better,” he said with a sly smile. “Dianxia made sure of it.”

Xie Lian widened his eyes and opened his mouth before breaking into a vibrant laugh that seemed to brighten up the whole temple.

“Well, where could that hesitant boy from yesterday have gone, hm?”

Hua Cheng grinned.

“You’re so lovely, San Lang. My precious boy,” the god said with a fond smile. “I enjoyed it so much too, but…” the small frown returned to his brow, and Hua Cheng’s stomach twisted. “It’s time for you to go back now, dear.”

Xie Lian smiled with the same expression carved on his statue. If Hua Cheng hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was gracious and magnanimous. But he knew it was a self-sacrificing smile, born of grief and loneliness.

His blood went cold.

“Wouldn’t my god allow me to stay here, with him?” He pleaded. “So he would not feel lonely?”

Xie Lian’s features softened.

“I would like that more than anything, my dear, beautiful boy,” he said. “But you’re human. Your life is precious. You have to go back to the world, to take care of E’ming and your garden, visit your mother’s altar, and even argue with your neighbor,” Hua Cheng’s expression turned sour at the mention of E’ming—the cat could take care of itself. “You need to be human. You cannot stay here, tending to an old, forgotten god that has almost forgotten what life means.” He approached and cradled Hua Cheng’s face. “You’ve done enough, my sweet boy. You’ve given me company, dedication, and love. More than I could ever ask for. But,” he smiled. He looked sad, and Hua Cheng’s heart broke. “It’s time for you to go back.”

Hua Cheng had no words to explain why he simply couldn’t do that. He still had so much love to give. He was bursting with it. How could he explain that nothing in his life compared to what was right in front of him? That he wasn’t worth anything if he took away the only thing that gave his life meaning.

He grew frustrated because, once again, words would fail to describe the turmoil in his chest. But he gazed into his god’s eyes and knew in his heart he understood.

“Thank you, my precious San Lang,” he said with a fond smile, eyes brimming with emotion. Then, his expression hardened. “But that is an order. And you will obey.”

Hua Cheng blanched as panic tightened his throat, but he forced it down.

He had the feeling that that may have worked before, but not now.

Not with him.

“If my god would feel lonely up here,” he said, carefully, as if he were trying not to scare a hurt animal, “but he orders me away... could this lowly servant ask Dianxia to come with him?”

Xie Lian’s eyes opened impossibly wide. The air around them hummed with anticipation.

“I—I don’t have much, but,” Hua Cheng explained frantically, “I have a place to stay. And Dianxia could sleep on my bed, close to the fireplace. Of course, this lowly one would find another place to sleep. And—I could cook for you. I’m not the best cook, but I imagine it’s been a long time since Dianxia had a warm meal. Maybe Dianxia would like to see the garden, the flowers will bloom beautifully in a few months, when the weather warms. And of course, I wouldn’t let E’ming bother you, the clingy thing…”

As he paused his ramble to draw breath, he stilled, realizing what he was doing.

The blood drained from his face.

He dropped to his knees for the countless time since the day before and laid his forehead on the floor.

“I—I’m sorry, Dianxia,” he stuttered. “I got carried away. Of course, this servant couldn’t presume that you would—”

His god didn’t let him fret for much longer.

Xie Lian once again knelt beside him and took his face, gently guiding his eyes to meet his. His expression showed curiosity and awe.

“Would you really want to take me with you?” He said with a stunned edge to his voice. “Would you really want me by your side?”

“I—” yes! “Yes, of—of course, Dianxia. I would like that more than anything,” he replied, with a breathless smile.

Xie Lian’s smile was so bright that Hua Cheng wouldn’t have minded never seeing the sun again.

In the blink of an eye, Xie Lian’s appearance shifted to that of a young man roughly Hua Cheng’s age. His irises were golden, and he still looked like an angel.

Well, he could pass for a human. Just the most beautiful human to ever walk this earth.

Hua Cheng stared at him, too stunned to speak.

“Then take me with you, San Lang,” the god smiled. “Take me home.”

Home.

The word Hua Cheng had never expected to say for himself warmed his heart as he descended the mountain, his beloved god’s hand in his.