Chapter Text
CHAPTER FORTY: God of Hong-er
Hua Cheng awoke in increments, gradually and leisurely coming back to awareness, luxuriating in the warmth of the golden light filtering in from his secluded private gardens and the freshness of the sheets surrounding him. He stretched a little, drunk on the knowledge that nothing in particular required his immediate intervention, and turned to the side, ready to greet his husband… who was not in their marital bed.
A travesty!
His reaching hand came back empty and cool, and when he finally opened his eyes, expecting Xie Lian to at least be within viewing distance, he found their bedroom empty. “Gege,” he whined mournfully, contending with the cruel evidence that if he wanted his beloved to pet him and kiss him, he would have to brave the carpeted floors and springtime air of the corridors. “How unfair.”
He sat up, drawing his sleeping robe closed about his waist, and contemplated sulking until his husband came looking for him. He had been promised a lazy morning in! The sun wasn’t even that high in the sky, what had Xie Lian gotten up for? Had some heavenly nuisance requested his assistance even on their first free day in half a year? The nerve of them —perhaps Hua Cheng hadn’t made the meaning of unavailable for the time being clear enough.
Before his light pout could devolve into a frown, the door to their chambers slid open, and in Xie Lian walked, barefoot as was his preference, with the whole lush length of his hair pulled up and twisted into a bun, bearing two matching bowls in his hands. He smiled brightly upon meeting Hua Cheng’s eye, but the ghost sniffed, and playfully turned his head away. “Has gege finally remembered this husband he has abandoned?”
Xie Lian laughed softly, padding soundlessly over the white fur covering the floor. He leaned in to press a kiss to Hua Cheng’s forehead, and as he drew away a piece of his hair trailed across the ghost’s face, smelling faintly of jasmine. “Gege even bathed without me,” Hua Cheng accused. How had he slept through that ?
“This gege went to make breakfast,” said Xie Lian, and sat down sideways on the bed. Hua Cheng immediately claimed his lap for himself, sticking his toes between his husband’s warm thighs. “Can I be forgiven? You were really too sweet, I couldn’t bear to wake you.”
Hua Cheng pretended to think about it while immediately putting forth a hand to receive Xie Lian’s divine food. “I suppose, since my husband cooked for me… This San Lang is satisfied.”
Xie Lian snickered, balancing his own bowl on Hua Cheng’s bent knee so he could curl his fingers around the ghost’s ankle; Hua Cheng shivered with the thrilling awareness of how quickly and easily Xie Lian could snap the thin, delicate bones there, and, by contrast, with the feeling of how gently he was being touched instead. “How is it? Is it fit for public consumption?” the God asked, peering at him from below his long lashes.
Leaning back against his pillows, Hua Cheng examined the contents of his bowl. Xie Lian had made a rather colorful attempt at congee, topped with an impressive variety of dishes Hua Cheng hoped to have the fortune to taste for lunch and dinner that day. The shattering of the cursed-luck shackle had done nothing to lessen Xie Lian’s creative zeal in the kitchen, but it had disposed of most (but not all) related incidents. So the toppings were strangely paired but unburnt, the smell of spices curious but balanced, and the rice was soft and glistening, nearly translucent. Hua Cheng sipped at it gleefully, in love with every meal his husband lovingly prepared for him, and readily sang his praises.
Xie Lian narrowed his eyes at him, chewing carefully. “Would you feed it to Guzi?” he put in.
“I think there’s too much spice for him to handle,” Hua Cheng answered honestly. “But otherwise, yes.”
Glowing happily, Xie Lian patted the ghost’s shin in thanks and returned to his meal. Hua Cheng watched the elegant arch of his neck, bared for his eye to feast upon, and thoughtlessly lifted his free hand to tease the sharp bruise Xie Lian had left on his collarbone in the evening, prodding at the tender ache of it. His husband shot him a look that silently conveyed his opinion on Hua Cheng’s insistence at leaving such marks unhealed for much longer than strictly required, but did not chastise him outright, which was as good as an invitation for him to make more trouble. Hua Cheng scraped the last of his congee off the bowl and set about painstakingly licking the spoon clean.
“Gege,” he whined, tilting his chin back by a fraction. “This husband is still hungry.”
Xie Lian swatted his knee. “Shameless creature,” he muttered, while laughter sparkled in his eyes. “Did you forget we need to pick up Guzi at Jian Lan’s?” His lips twisted. “And probably help fix whatever mess he and Jian Yuan made this time.”
Hua Cheng began to draw one of his legs around Xie Lian’s frame. “Whatever mess was made was surely Jian Yuan’s fault,” he said, because it was true. “And for whatever mess wasn’t made we’ll have Guzi to thank.”
Although his mother had helped cultivate him into a full, solid, self-possessed form, Jian Lan’s son was still a tremendously destructive force: appearing now as a boy of seven, Jian Yuan sported an array of pointed teeth, glowing red eyes and an untamed mane of white hair; his character was tempestuous, only tempered by Guzi, whose sweet but no-nonsense disposition had managed to charm even Jian Lan’s little beast into submission. The two children had become inseparable, which was why even Xie Lian hadn’t felt guilty at all to ask Jian Lan to watch Guzi for the night so that he and Hua Cheng could entertain themselves in private for the first time (or so it felt) since the fall of Jun Wu, a year and a half before.
Reconstructing the Heavens into something functional had taken a toll on them. In the end, their private entertainment had lasted maybe half a sichen (Hua Cheng was being generous in his assessment) in which they’d rolled about in bed in their inner robes directly after dinner, and had been over embarrassingly quickly —and any hopes of a second round had been dashed, because just the once had been enough to send them both to sleep, before sunset. Raising a child in the middle of the greatest structural crisis the three Realms had encountered in an era wasn’t easy!
Still, now that they had rested…
Xie Lian’s fingers traced little circles over the tender skin just below Hua Cheng’s ankle. “As long as we get there before lunch,” he decided, and having decided he broke immediately into motion, standing up from the bed with no regard for the cage Hua Cheng had made of his legs. Before the ghost could voice a complaint, Xie Lian snatched the empty bowl from him to set aside with his own on the bedside table, then with a flick of his fingers drew down the red curtain shutting the bed off from the rest of their crowded chamber and smiled.
Feeling pliant, Hua Cheng languished artfully upon the sheets, watching through a lidded eye as Xie Lian fixed his ribbon tightly about his bound hair and finally crawled atop him. At the barest suggestion of his hands, Hua Cheng let his legs fall open and squeezed Xie Lian’s hips between his thighs, trapping him there. They kissed, slow and deep, and Hua Cheng worked at ruining his God’s hairbun with his claws while Xie Lian ran rough palms inside his loose robe, following the slope of his sternum and the curve of his ribs.
Hua Cheng canted his hips upwards, grinding against his husband’s obvious interest. “Gege has much to atone for,” he purred, looping his arms around Xie Lian’s neck. “The bed was frightfully cold when I woke.”
Xie Lian’s light bout of laughter tasted like candy when pressed into his mouth. “Truly, if you still have the mind to think of that…”
Hua Cheng had a moment to brace himself, then Xie Lian had him pinned single-handedly by the wrists, forcing his back into an arch. With his free hand he brushed an incongruously sweet caress along Hua Cheng’s face, and then tapped two fingers to his lips, which parted obligingly. “Should I give my aggrieved husband something else to occupy his attention?” Xie Lian asked casually, while offering the tiniest suggestion of pressure to the flat of Hua Cheng’s tongue.
When those fingers retreated from his mouth and nothing else happened, Hua Cheng realized Xie Lian was waiting for his response and whined low in his throat: “Please, A-Lian,” which was all the incentive his husband needed to bend over above him and sink his teeth sharply into the unfaded bite mark Hua Cheng had worried at for at least an incense’s time. As far as payback for teasing went, this was particularly pleasant, and so Hua Cheng went fully boneless beneath Xie Lian and submitted (with seductive grace, and certainly no begging!) to his husband’s whims.
He also got a bath for his efforts, which Hua Cheng hadn’t even been angling for but received regardless. It was misty and perfumed and drawn-out, and Hua Cheng hadn’t felt this relaxed since before Xie Lian had been made to ascend a third time. Naturally, to express his gratitude for his husband’s delicate (and not-so-delicate too) care, Hua Cheng delayed them both by insisting on washing Xie Lian’s hair (which Xie Lian enthusiastically allowed), and then on a few kisses (which Xie Lian initially refused, on account that they would result into more tumbling. They did. Xie Lian glowed beautifully afterwards).
As it happened, they bypassed “before lunch” entirely and managed to drag themselves out of Paradise Manor quite late in the afternoon. Hua Cheng was unrepentant! He had not been granted the privilege of spending more than a sichen alone with his husband since the whole mess with Jun Wu had begun, so he had to make the absolute most of this golden opportunity. Truly, these days it seemed there was always something pulling their attention this way and that.
In the wake of the Heavenly Emperor’s fall, much had needed to be done. Banyue had been, understandably, reluctant to part with them for a while, which brought about, more often than not, Pei Su’s extended visits; Shi QingXuan stuck to her disciple like overcooked rice paper, and where she went so did He Xuan; to top it off, Yin Yu was housing the recovering and quite destructive Quan Yizhen in his own quarters. All without counting Guzi, of course, who had not enjoyed being left alone in Hong Ye with only a group of teens for company, and had spent almost five months literally clinging with stubborn fists to either Xie Lian’s or Hua Cheng’s robes, to the point that they had become concerned, and had gone to Yushi Huang for reassurance.
By the turn of the year the general stickiness had abated, but still Paradise Manor more closely resembled an inn than a private residence, and neither the cottage on Mount TaiCang nor the Shrine in Puqi village were safe from visitors. All things considered, Hua Cheng had been remarkably tolerant of the work that had been piled and piled upon Xie Lian’s shoulders as he tried to come up with a different way to run the Heavens. Hua Cheng had thrown money at the reconstruction efforts like they were his own personal project (and because nothing put a God in their place quicker than being indebted to a Calamity); he had even come up to assist when needed. It had been a year and a half! Surely those useless officials could manage themselves for a bit!
Such considerations he shared with his fondly amused husband as he helped him into a light cloak, crimson silk patterned with silver maple leaves. Fixing the hood so it folded neatly beneath Xie Lian’s hair, Hua Cheng finished his little rant: “Gege, why don’t we shut off the array, take Guzi, and move to the other side of the land, where no one knows us? You can teach calligraphy to pass the time, and I’ll be your housewife.”
Xie Lian flicked his chin, then began his usual ritual of adorning Hua Cheng in silver chains, necklaces and bangles. “San Lang, you like our friends,” he chided, sliding a dozen bracelets up the ghost’s arms. “You like hanging out with them.”
“I like our friends when they have their own places to live in,” Hua Cheng muttered mutinously. “I also like being able to walk around in my inner robes and having sex without some inconsequential trash from Heaven whining at us in the array.”
“I know,” Xie Lian sighed, patting his chest as if in consolation. “It’ll be over soon, and then we’ll take a vacation. Three whole years, what do you think?”
Hua Cheng took his husband’s hand, squeezing it tightly, and together they swapped the quiet of the (blissfully empty) Manor for the chaotic nonsense of the streets of Ghost City. Their citizens swarmed them at once, also wanting a piece of their attention, but Hua Cheng put out a bit of a threatening aura and they settled for gossiping from afar.
Xie Lian frowned. “Ah, Ling Wen wants to meet with us again.” He rubbed his temple, suppressing annoyance. “San Lang, remind me why we’re going through all this trouble?”
“Because gege doesn’t want to be the next Heavenly Emperor,” Hua Cheng readily supplied. “And Black Water is tired of managing half of Heaven’s affairs by himself.”
Without breaking the steady rhythm of their walk, Xie Lian dropped his head back onto Hua Cheng’s shoulder. “That’s right,” he breathed. “Forget three years, I want a decade.”
Humming low in his throat, Hua Cheng pressed a number of kisses on his husband’s head, lingering for a moment, and then delivered a very light nip to his cheek, looking to raise his mood. As predicted, Xie Lian immediately jumped back, fixing round accusing eyes on him, and hid the whole of his face behind his sleeve, grumbling in slightly exaggerated outrage. Even after so many years, Hua Cheng’s beloved was still so easily embarrassed, at least when in public, which was a weakness Hua Cheng readily exploited for his own gain. He bowed his head to receive the scuffing Xie Lian administered in retribution, smirking all the while, then tucked his arm in the crook of the God’s elbow. “Gege can have as many years as he wants.”
“Shameless,” Xie Lian sighed, and tugged him forward into the streets.
On the way to the Gambler’s Den, Hua Cheng bought several sticks of human-safe tanghulu from the rickety stall of an excited snake spirit, who wept in delight when Xie Lian gifted him a blessed flower for every piece of candy Hua Cheng selected. Holding the sticks carefully so that the golden sugar wouldn’t get caught on their hair despite the wind that had picked up, Hua Cheng submitted to his husband’s scolding. “San Lang-ah, didn’t Guzi have grass jelly yesterday? Isn’t this a bit too much?”
“He can share with Jian Yuan,” Hua Cheng said, and kissed the rest of Xie Lian’s objections right off his lips while Xie Lian played at batting him away.
To avoid having to deal with the mayhem that accompanied their visits to the Gambler’s Den, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng decided to slip in through a hidden side door (the kind reserved for working staff only) instead of going through the main entrance. Xie Lian got that little smug look on his face that meant he was feeling much pleased with their sneaking about, and Hua Cheng nearly forgot the treats he was carrying in favor of making his own appreciation of it known. So they lost maybe another incense’s time to each other, shuffling inside a storage cabinet where Xie Lian hastily pulled his hair up and got down on his knees for him.
Well! Surely they could take the brief indulgence after the amount of nonsense they had been asked to deal with on the regular, for months!
They did, eventually, make themselves presentable and reach the worker’s quarters. Jian Lan lived on the uppermost floor, where the enchanted ceiling of the Den was painted to reflect Ghost City’s erratic sky and the rooms were larger and warmer. Her door was hung in pretty baubles and protective charms alike, and rattled loudly when she opened it for them, staring them down through her lightly-painted eyes. “Did you get lost on the way here?” she said in lieu of a greeting, stepping back into her quarters to the distant sound of shattering china. “I had a shift, you know.”
“You’re in charge of shifts,” Hua Cheng reminded her, leaving Xie Lian to make their excuses (if he wished to) to instead go and investigate the chaos coming from the kitchen. What if Guzi cut his hand on a ceramic shard? When he peered inside the room, however, he saw only a pair of well-behaved children, threading silver through colorful glass beads that they were arranging into a rather long chain. No trace of china remained on the carpeted floor.
Hua Cheng curled his nose, taking in Guzi’s placid expression (fake! So fake!) and the satisfied glint in his companion’s glowing red eyes. “Jian Yuan, spit it out,” Hua Cheng demanded. An awful sound of chewing followed, and Jian Yuan’s cheeks puffed up, working hard to dispose of any evidence. “I will throw you in the cursed lake.”
Jian Yuan swallowed his mouthful of broken pottery and then trotted over to attach himself to Hua Cheng’s leg, the cheeky brat. “Uncle Chengzhu wouldn’t,” he chirped, flashing his thin white fangs in delight. “Uncle Chengzhu is soft for children.”
Guzi scrambled up to his feet and pulled the demon boy away, hissing censure at him in a perfect mirror of Xie Lian’s habits. Then he bowed, having learned his manners impeccably, and begged forgiveness formally and precisely, as if he were a stray disciple and not Hua Cheng’s own far too cunning son. “This Guzi has not instructed his didi well enough. This Guzi will do better. Pray Diedie forget the disrespect A-Yuan has shown.”
Feeling a bit bullied, Hua Cheng stared down at the two criminals in the making and vaguely remembered he was still holding tanghulu in his hand. He cleared his throat.
“Guzi, did I teach you manners so that you could take advantage of my husband?” Xie Lian asked from behind him, coming up with his arms crossed before his chest and stern reprimand in his frown. “Honestly, the two of you should know better by now. A-Yuan, what did you eat?”
Jian Yuan flashed a helpless look towards his mother, who arched an eyebrow at him and said nothing, and then to Hua Cheng, and finally resigned himself to the scolding and dared to meet Xie Lian’s expectant gaze. “Forgiveness, Dianxia, the plate had already fallen.”
Xie Lian’s sweet smile was honestly terrifying, and Hua Cheng saw both kids shiver under its weight. “A-Yuan is such a smart child, though,” said the God gently. “I’m sure he remembers the rules?”
Shifting uncomfortably until he was standing partway behind Guzi, Jian Yuan dithered a bit longer, while Guzi poked and squeezed at his elbow to spur him into talking. “No eating stuff off the floor,” Jian Yuan muttered eventually. “No spiritual powers inside the house until gege is thirteen. Ask if something is safe before touching…”
While Jian Yuan dutifully rattled off the fourteen rules Xie Lian had laid out to ensure everyone’s continued survival, Hua Cheng shuffled backwards, leaning his shoulder against the warm wooden wall, and turned towards Jian Lan. “How did you manage tonight?”
A corner of her red mouth tilted up. “As well as anyone could,” she sighed, although her eyes glinted with a kind of happiness Hua Cheng had never seen on her before her son was restored. “Xiao Yue came over for dinner and brought that sticky shidi of his along. It seems like he’s made peace with all the clinging.”
Hua Cheng snorted. Even if he was nominally a God again, Yin Yu had elected not to return to the Heavens, keeping instead to his duties to the City; on the other hand, Quan Yizhen, now a ghost, spent his time attached to his shixiong ’s sleeve, making somehow less of a nuisance of himself than Hua Cheng had initially expected. Together, the two also took care of the prayers dedicated to the Martial God of the West, which had originally been a shared position anyway. “That boy is more persistent than a plague. But it’s not like Yin Yu has asked me to kick him out. I would. In fact, I’m desperate for him to ask…”
“He won’t,” said Jian Lan, patting Hua Cheng’s shoulder slowly. “Do you want somewhere to put your sweets or are you going to eat them?”
“Ah, they were meant for the kids,” Hua Cheng told her, pursing his lips as he considered how serious Xie Lian was about the scolding, and how counterproductive undermining it with treats would be. “Perhaps later,” he decided, and arranged the tanghulu sticks inside the tall pot Jian Lan offered. “Meimei, let’s make tea.”
As they went through the motions, Xie Lian wrapped up his brief lecture and gave his sentence: “You’ll both be spending tomorrow afternoon in Xiao Feng’s workshop, making pottery,” he decided, and Hua Cheng mentally cleared a space in their schedule for the trip. “Even the plainest object was the product of someone’s labor. You should always keep in mind the value of that.”
“Yes, Uncle Dianxia,” said Jian Yuan, looking appropriately contrite. At his side, Guzi’s lips turned up a little, as the boy no doubt eagerly anticipated meeting with Banyue, who was staying at Nether Water for the month. He was quite taken with his older sister, and trailed behind her like a duckling whenever he had the chance. It certainly didn’t help that Banyue spoiled him worse than Hua Cheng had her in her youth. “We’ll remember!”
“Good, good,” Xie Liam told the children, waving a hand. “Now go lay the table for tea.”
Jian Yuan was possessive of his mother, and sat in her lap the moment she was settled at the table; Guzi had sadly outgrown that phase, and, feeling like an adult, knelt prim and proper between his parents, keeping his spine straight and his hands on his thighs. Hua Cheng, who was definitely not mourning his son’s sudden desire for independence (Banyue had let herself be squeezed and kissed and petted until she was eleven! And even after, she had been very tactile in her affections!), soothed himself with the warm weight of his husband leaning into his side. Reaching up, he pulled down Xie Lian’s hair so he could curl it around his fingers.
“Baba, are you going to the Heavens tomorrow?” Guzi asked hopefully. When Xie Lian nodded, he leaned forward: “Can A-Yuan and I come? Uncle Tai Hua said he would show us some cool moves if we went.”
Hua Cheng closed his eye, praying for patience, and Xie Lian, as the direct recipient of such a prayer, swatted his shoulder in retaliation. Lang Qianqiu is well meaning, and loves the kids very much , he said in the array. I’ll make sure Xiao XiWei never leaves them alone.
“Fine,” said Hua Cheng. “A-Yuan, don’t get caught pulling pranks on the Gods.”
Jian Yuan grinned with his many, many teeth. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Uncle Chengzhu. This Jian Yuan will definitely not get caught.”
Guzi shifted slightly, and Xie Lian shot him a narrowed-eyed glance. Hua Cheng waited to see whether Xie Lian would intervene to nip whatever trouble the kids were concocting in the bud, and when he didn’t, Hua Cheng smiled, satisfied that at least a bit of vengeance could be had against the useless trash who had doubled his husband’s workload. Jian Lan sipped her tea, unimpressed.
You’ll be the ones who’ll have to clean up after , she reminded them, arching a thin eyebrow as he peered at them above her cup.
Hua Cheng shrugged. I hope Mu Qing gets bitten again.
Xie Lian, beautifully, rolled his eyes.
Nether Water Island was full of the laughter of children. Although Xie Lian hadn’t given her much notice, Shi QingXuan had seemed happy enough to receive Ghost City’s resident troublemakers for a lesson in working with clay; of course, it had helped that Xie Lian and Hua Cheng had brought the kids over themselves, and had stuck around to supervise in case they managed to blow something up (Guzi was shaping up to be as inventive and reckless about consequences as Hua Cheng himself. Unfortunately, Xie Lian seemed too endeared by these traits to corral them properly), so the situation was fairly manageable. Jian Yuan seemed fascinated enough by the process that he wasn’t yet looking for loopholes in the No eating strange stuff rule, while Guzi was ecstatic to be helped in his lesson by Banyue and Xiao Pei. Hua Cheng sat by them, painting over incredibly detailed little ceramic beads, and Shi QingXuan flitted between the children like a swallow in her fluffy robes, occasionally swatting them on the heads with her new fan.
He Xuan closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the summer air. Without needing to look, he twisted another knot in the net he and Xie Lian were working on, made from the wiry fur of a great beast Lang Qianqiu had been sent to slay as his last Jun Wu-assigned mission —the beast had turned out to be an ancient dragon who, in its old age, had outgrown the creek it was slumbering in and had become stuck, causing it to flood. The resolution, in the end, had been peaceful, but E’Ming had to be summoned to cut out the dragon’s mane where it had become tangled within the rocks. The dragon had gifted it to them, citing its many properties. It would make a sturdy and durable spiritual net, of great use for nighthunting.
Since the two-century anniversary of Banyue and Pei Su’s ascension was coming up, He Xuan and Xie Lian had taken up the project, cleaning and sorting through the matted hair until it shone silver; it was now arranged neatly inside a covered basket between the two of them, having already been twisted into a single string of rope. “Lao Xie, do you think it’s wise to leave Ling Wen with so much power?” He Xuan asked quietly, turning towards his friend of seven hundred years. “I know I said I wouldn’t get involved, but I do worry.”
Xie Lian smiled, sweet and indulgent. “Ah, Xiao He,” he sighed, “you have worried about me for so long. There’s no need anymore.”
He Xuan adjusted his grip on the silver rope and shifted in the sand to examine Xie Lian’s face more fully. The memories of his human life after so long had all become fuzzy, tinged with a dream-like quality, and he tried to recall the way he had been, back then, pretending to be a young cultivator, with his strange old eyes and starvation shivering in his bird-bone wrists. “Perhaps not,” he conceded, considering the fullness of his cheeks and the relaxed set of his spine. Without the specter of Bai WuXiang looming over him, Xie Lian was at ease, taking up space in a way He Xuan hadn’t quite known him capable of —instead of watching from the sidelines, he had a presence . “Humor me, still. Tell me your reasoning.”
“Well, it’s not like she wasn’t the one who managed everything for Jun Wu,” said Xie Lian, with a wry tilt of the lips. He stretched his legs before him, letting the half-done net spread over his lap like a river, silver on pale pink. Had he washed one of his white robes with one of Hua Cheng’s? It wouldn’t be the first time. “She’s capable and level-headed. Who else in Heaven fits the position?”
Huffing a bit, He Xuan did not reply, because the answer would have been myself, of course , which was a moot point since he had decided he was done with Heaven’s bureaucracy. He was willing to keep managing the Earth Master’s prayers, as well as the Water Master position which through the years had become inextricably entangled with Black Water’s worship, but that was as far as he would go. He certainly did not have the interest or the patience to keep an experimental, tentative, chaotic council of Gods in line. Lao Xie arched an eyebrow delicately at him, as if having divined the direction of his thoughts, and smirked faintly. “Precisely,” he said, evidently deciding to take He Xuan’s silence for agreement. “Besides, although she is cunning, she doesn’t have Jun Wu’s raw spiritual power. She couldn’t take over even if she wanted to, and if she tries anything… well, I have two Calamities on my side.”
He Xuan rolled over to his side, uncaring of the sand that stuck to his trailing hair, and popped his chin into his palm. “Lao Xie flatters these Ghost Kings to suggest he might need our assistance against the rabble in Heaven.”
Xie Lian’s self-satisfied grin grew to expose a hint of teeth. “Whether I need it or not, don’t I have it all the same?” he put in, and of course it was absolutely true. “I wouldn’t use my spiritual powers in such a way, that would just invite trouble. I’m quite happy to leave the scaring and posturing to you and my husband.”
“Of course you are,” He Xuan sighed, smiling in return. He didn’t really mind it if Lao Xie used his own reputation and the Gods’ prejudices against them —Xie Lian hated being perceived as intimidating, so it fell upon He Xuan and Hua Cheng to play that part, as it had been for centuries. “I suppose I can come up occasionally, just to see how things are working out.”
There was enough of a predatory glint in Xie Lian’s normally soft eyes that made He Xuan wonder just how far the reconstruction of the Heavens was testing the near-infinite well of his patience. “You would? How delightful.”
Deciding that a change of subject was in order, He Xuan straightened up, returning his eyes to the threads of dragon hair twined around his fingers, and breathed in the sea-side air. The day was faintly clouded, turning both the sky and the waters reflecting it pale gray, like a pearl. “How is Guzi adjusting to cultivation?” he asked idly, letting the boy’s chirping voice wash over him as he tormented Hua Cheng with all manner of questions (Hua Cheng answered each one with great seriousness and ill-concealed delight), and tried not to become too concerned by Jian Yuan’s conspicuous silence. Surely, whatever that little demon cooked up, QingXuan would be able to handle it.
“He has a talent for it,” Xie Lian confessed, preening in an ostentatious way that masked the no-doubt soul-crushing relief that he and his husband had managed to pick up a second child who had a chance at immortality. “He has already started building his spiritual pathways, even if…” Trailing off, Xie Lian hummed quietly to himself; the steady rhythm of his knitting slowed into stillness, and He Xuan tilted his head towards him, silently coaxing him to speak. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to teach him, beyond the basics. He’s not at all inclined towards the martial arts, which is how I built my cultivation. I think San Lang and I are going to have to learn a new method for him. He’s already started looking, but it doesn’t come naturally to either of us.”
He Xuan patted Xie Lian’s shoulder in sympathy. Truth be told, among the vast spread of their acquaintances, there was no one who had cultivated something other than the martial arts before ascension; the only elemental God who had belonged to a sect was Shi QingXuan, and in all their years together He Xuan hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what his partner had learned as a youth, given that her general attitude towards her lessons had been one of avoidance. “QingXuan might be able to help,” he offered tentatively. “It’s worth a try.”
“I’ll ask her later,” Xie Lian agreed, leaning back on his elbows to stretch a bit. Despite his general grace and self-possession, as he reached back a hand to massage his lower spine, muttering about creaking bones and aching muscles, he really looked like the old man he had always been, deep into his soul. “Xiao He, Xiao He, you’ll understand once you’ve reached my age,” Xie Lian groused, catching his amusement and deciding to take offense. “I spent half the day sitting in Ling Wen’s Palace on those stupid chairs of hers. Maybe that’s how she lets you know she hates you.”
Laughing, He Xuan took the net from him and folded it back into the basket, so Xie Lian was free to sink down and laze about like a salted fish. “If she hates you, she won’t let you sit at all,” He Xuan told his friend lightly, contemplating the merits of piling sand on his limp body. “Although, those chairs are truly awful.”
They were designed to keep the Literature Gods alert while they worked, after all.
As if summoned by Xie Lian’s mild discomfort, Hua Cheng flitted over with his handful of painted beads, which he abandoned onto a square of cloth in favor of grabbing at his husband. He Xuan remembered vaguely having once thought there wasn’t a need to do something about the general stickiness the two had displayed back when they had first reunited, because surely they would settle within reasonable boundaries with time. Well. They were certainly capable of existing apart from each other. He watched as Xie Lian let himself be pulled upright so Hua Cheng could put his hands on his hips and transfer a trickle of spiritual power to soothe his aches, which was wholly unnecessary since Xie Lian himself was in possession of more qi than anyone else in the land.
“Gege, I made beads for your blessing bracelets,” Hua Cheng said, propping his chin on Xie Lian’s shoulder. “Do you want to see?”
Xie Lian obviously wanted to, and so did He Xuan, in all honesty. He leaned in, picking up the carefully-detailed, perfectly spherical little beads to examine the delicate white flowers they depicted. Xie Lian rambled enthusiastically about the number of protective spells he could stuff into the clay, while He Xuan considered the clear sheen of an obviously finished work and counted down in his head.
Shi QingXuan descended on them. “Crimson Rain! I said no cheating!”
Hua Cheng curled his lips and waved a hand. “Who’s cheating?” he purred in that aggravating, cocky tone of his, safely sheltered behind the curtain of Lao Xie’s slightly messy, sand-speckled hair.
He Xuan opened one arm so that his companion could flop down into his side, the perfect vantage position to direct the full force of her outrage onto Hua Cheng. Her arms and hands were covered in dried clay, a pale, greenish brown, and the thick sleeves of her working outfit (only marginally less elaborate than her usual) had been tied above the elbows; absentmindedly, He Xuan tightened the ribbon on the left before the fabric could spill forward and become ruined. The smile Shi QingXuan flashed at him was bright as the sun, but quickly turned into half a glower when her attention shifted back to Hua Cheng. Although she frequently claimed they were “art buddies” (Crimson Rain neither accepted nor refused the definition), in truth, they shared more artistic differences than agreements, which had resulted in a number of extremely specific arguments. Xie Lian and He Xuan’s attempts at mediation generally only made them worse, so in time they had learned to keep their silence. Besides, who cared about the proper way of mixing colors? Once it was mixed, no matter how, didn’t it stain all the same?
Shi QingXuan folded her arms. “You know, Crimson Rain, for an eight-hundred-year-old you’re remarkably impatient,” she said, tapping her fan against her own shoulder. “Craftsmanship shouldn’t be rushed. What are you using all that spiritual power for, ah?”
Hua Cheng shrugged lightly, playing with the red thread on Xie Lian’s hand. “Why would it be cheating if it’s my own power?” he drawled. “Do you think I have the time to wait for it to dry and temper naturally? Gege needs the beads, and we’re only here for today.”
Xie Lian rolled his eyes, and started up a conversation in the array: I don’t really need them, he pointed out for He Xuan’s benefit. San Lang is being dramatic as usual.
He Xuan turned to gaze at the rolling sea to mask his smile. I’ll be honest, I think Crimson Rain is right. Even if he used spiritual power, the beads are done, aren’t they? Who would be able to tell?
But Xiao Feng has a point, it’s good for these things to be done organically , Xie Lian objected. Although it’s true that we don’t have time right now. He shifted slightly to accommodate the angle Hua Cheng had twisted his body in so as to fully face QingXuan while they carried on with their light-hearted, pretentious bickering. Lao Xie’s eyes had softened with fondness, and he didn’t seem to mind the way his husband was pushing and pulling at his fingers (He Xuan distinctly heard Xie Lian’s knuckles crack) to sate his restless energy. What’s new in Nether Water, anyway? I forgot to ask.
So, while the argument continued, He Xuan settled more comfortably into the fine white sand of his domain, one arm curled around Shi QingXuan’s hips, following her animated motions, while the other supported his own weight and hers over a closed fist. He told Lao Xie of the new tricks Pei Su had been teaching the freshly-healed bonefish, and of the latest prayer the Earth and Wind Masters had been called upon to answer; he spoke of his projects for expanding the Library that was the heart of his manor, and of a new recipe he was thinking of testing out for dinner, if Xie Lian and his family wanted to linger for a taste.
Most of it was ordinary, and very little was exciting. All had been resolved, and it seemed that, somehow, He Xuan’s life had turned full circle, and had left him once again busy with the concerns of the renowned if reclusive scholar he had wished he could become. This unexpected blessing, he knew, he owed in its entirety to Lao Xie, or perhaps his own choice to befriend him, so long ago. Would you mind it very much if I visited that Mei Nianqing? He Xuan put in after a lull in conversation. I want to make a record of the Kingdom of WuYoung .
Xie Lian put his cheek in Hua Cheng’s hand, having snatched it from the air as he gestured, and sighed a bit. I don’t mind, as long as you don’t ask me to come with you.
He Xuan would sooner drown the earth beneath his sea than put Xie Lian in such a situation, and readily agreed. He glanced over at the children, who had abandoned their pottery project in favor of throwing wet clay at each other, aided and abetted by Banyue and Pei Su. Xie Lian followed his gaze and covered his face with his sleeve, clearly torn between amusement and mortification. I’ll take care of the baths after, he offered, tucking some strands of his hair behind his ears. I’m a little hungry…
That was a cue He Xuan was more than willing to take. Pressing a kiss to Shi QingXuan’s temple, he shifted back, trailing his palm along her spine until she found her balance without having to lean on him, and then he stood. “While the two of you finish your argument, Lao Xie and I are going to get food,” he announced, watching Xie Lian begin the process of unsticking his clingy husband from his person. “Is there anything in particular you want?”
Hua Cheng looked up at him flatly. “Fish,” he very pointedly declared.
“Butterfly stir-fry,” Shi QingXuan said sweetly, smiling with too many teeth.
“Alright, Lao Xie can pick for you,” He Xuan decided, for he was neither as endeared nor as magnanimous as Xie Lian —truly, how was it than when put together, those two became more childish than the pair of actual kids they were meant to be babysitting?
Xie Lian tapped a finger on Hua Cheng’s forehead: “Don’t murder each other while we’re gone.”
“Anything for gege,” Crimson Rain rattled off, predictably although sincerely. As they went, they still heard him mutter in a low tone: “Wind Master can keep dreaming.”
Pressing a hand into He Xuan’s elbow, Xie Lian bent over laughing.
Festivals in Ghost City were always a bit of a production, but Shangyuan was when the citizens gave their best and their worst to cook up entire weeks of extravaganza, ranging from reasonably acceptable games (such as riddle lanterns or knife-throwing, even if the targets were sometimes other players, or conscious beings) to completely unhinged challenges that required the setting of firm boundaries on Yin Yu’s part, and usually resulted in the need to section off entire neighborhoods so they could be cleansed. Xie Lian almost always had fun (barring that one time when the lake had somehow caught fire, and days had been spent ensuring the strange purple flames did not spread further than a li ), although, since it was also his wedding anniversary, he tended to be a bit distracted with his husband.
This year, however, to mark the (finally completed) reconstruction of Heaven and Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s subsequent release from its clutches, the festival had been made human-safe (within the limits of Ghost City’s populace, anyway) so that the people of Hong Ye could partake in the celebrations without risking their lives or their limbs. Since winning the fight against Jun Wu, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng had decided to be more upfront about the truth of their natures and their past, and so the village temple which had been dedicated to the Guardians of Hong Ye was now correctly assigned to Taizi Dianxia and Crimson Rain. Aside from that, thankfully, not much had changed.
Puqi Shrine had also grown with Xie Lian’s popularity, and had become a refuge of sorts for weary travelers, who knew they could eat the offerings and sleep in the rolled-up mat in the corner in exchange for a bit of maintenance work around the still-fragile building. Small figurines had started popping out around the land, like friendly, portable idols joined by a piece of red string; Hua Cheng had been quietly outraged by the poor quality of the depiction, but Xie Lian found it sweet, and so it stayed.
Fireworks burst like overripe fruit above the City as Xie Lian walked leisurely through the busy, colorful streets. At his left, Guzi was placidly holding his hand, looking cheerful but composed in the forest green hanfu Hua Cheng had designed for him, the picture of an obedient, filial son (and he was, truly, unless and until that image interfered with whatever mischief he had planned with his partner in crime). Hanging off Xie Lian’s right arm was Jian Yuan, whose pointed claws had snagged many threads from his sleeve as the boy dangled his legs in the air and let his weight be carried in full by the God.
Xie Lian hardly felt it, so he let it slide, strolling about with his elbow folded in like he was carrying a basket in the marketplace instead of his friend’s hurricane of a son. It was no hardship, truly, to take care of the little hellion for a while; aside from the fact that Guzi adored him so completely, it was only right for Xie Lian and Hua Cheng to return the great favor she had done them when they were floundering first-time parents, raising a daughter while knowing nothing of the challenges she would have to face. So, from time to time, they whisked Jian Yuan away to Hong Ye or up in Heaven, so she could meet up with Huang-jie or the sisters in the Gambler’s Den.
Then again, it was usually Yin Yu who minded the boy when Jian Lan was busy, because it was more convenient and because Jian Yuan had him wrapped around his little finger, and was very enthusiastic about Quan Yizhen (the greatest enabler among all of their friends and acquaintances) and his general destructive approach to life.
Smiling, Xie Lian searched the crowd for his husband. Hua Cheng was standing by the lake, painting on a large scroll of silk while a small circle of admirers watched on, singing praises towards his masterpiece. Xie Lian distinctly felt the change in his expression as he beheld the Ghost King’s beauty, the delicate grip of his thin fingers around the brush, the contemplative turn of his pale lips, the flutter of his lashes. He wore a robe Xie Lian himself had embroidered in a pattern of slightly clumsy but perfectly presentable maple leaves, and the God’s heart squeezed a bit at the sight. So dignified! So sweet! So proud to be wearing Xie Lian’s subpar attempt!
After much begging, Mu Qing had started (im)patiently instructing Xie Lian in the craft, and the results were paying off, since he felt he could still keep his face even though Hua Cheng had most certainly bragged to every available ear about the origins of that particular robe.
“Uncle Dianxia, so gross,” Jian Yuan whined, loud and shrill, watching the shape of Xie Lian’s besotted smile. “So gross!”
Ah! Xie Lian pursed his lips. So what if he couldn’t help but go a little stupid at the sight of his husband? Jian Yuan, was it Xie Lian’s fault that Hua Cheng was like that? Was it Xie Lian’s fault that upon hearing the child yell, Hua Cheng had turned, and had smiled so wide and glowing over at him, with dimples in his cheeks and a crescent eye? Was Xie Lian supposed to resist that ?
He wasn’t.
Guzi let go of Xie Lian’s hand to run to Hua Cheng. The crowd, of course, parted for him, and so the kid flew head-first into the ghost’s silver belt, making it chime lightly (the sound should have been swallowed by the awful noise of the streets, but Xie Lian was quite attuned to it, and picked up on it anyway); Hua Cheng grabbed their son by the waist and lifted him up with a single arm to press a kiss on top of his fluffy head. Then, respecting Guzi’s desire for grown-up independence, he set him down on his feet and patted his hair back into order.
“See, A-Yuan? Everyone likes my husband,” said Xie Lian, fully aware that it wasn’t true but feeling it should be.
Jian Yuan shot him something of a judgemental look and finally dislodged his nails from the tender fabric of Xie Lian’s sleeve, dropping soundlessly on the ground. “Uncle Chengzhu is Uncle Chengzhu,” he argued, although Xie Lian wasn’t sure what kind of point the boy was making. “Can I be excused? I want —I would like to please see if Uncle Yue and Uncle Yizhen want to play, please .”
Chuckling softly under his breath, Xie Lian grabbed the recalcitrant little demon by the back of his robes (green, obviously, to match Guzi’s). “Anything you break will be detracted from your allowance,” he warned, while stuffing a piece of hard candy in his hand. “Don’t forget to buy something nice for your mama!”
So the boy scurried between the stands to where Quan Yizhen was engaging in a rather fruitless seduction attempt (which involved too much violence and three daggers) while Yin Yu looked on in horrified fascination. Jian Yuan’s interruption rescued several stalls from being ground to dust, spared Yin Yu’s dignity and gave Yizhen something different to focus on. Xie Lian shook his head and went to inspect his husband’s painting.
“ Xiao bao , what do you think?” he asked Guzi, tilting his head to the side so Hua Cheng could kiss his cheek. “Should we steal it?”
Hua Cheng’s fingers danced up and down Xie Lian’s spine. “Gege, I’ll make you a better one at home,” he said, not even sparing a glance for the finished piece depicting Ghost City in all its chaotic glory. “This one is for the Den. Let’s go see if A-Yue’s here yet.”
They found their daughter deeper into the City, where the games were wilder, throwing pebbles to upturn a moving target so that she could win Pei Su a prize. The literature God stood behind her, ever-serious, quietly cheering her on. A few steps behind, Shi QingXuan and He Xuan were sharing a single cup of soy noodles, gossiping in low voices; Xie Lian waved, and they waved back. The moment Guzi’s eyes fell on Banyue, he was lost for everyone else, attaching himself firmly to her side to demand all of her attention. Hua Cheng sighed in mock-dismay, and drew Xie Lian into the main square for a dance.
Most of the instruments were made out of graveyard bones and graveyard wood, but the music was lively, flowing and honey-rich, and when Hua Cheng offered, Xie Lian drunk wine from his cup, letting the flush of it rise to his cheeks as the awareness of freedom finally sunk into his veins. He laughed, and spun his ghost around in circles despite his protests, and when Hua Cheng grew tired of dancing Xie Lian dropped him off to sit with Jian Lan and Yushi Huang, who were sharing rice cakes and liquor at a table, and asked Lang Qianqiu and Xiao XiWei to join him instead.
Xie Lian’s good disciple was bright-eyed and nimble on his feet (he had learned from Xie Lian himself after all) and his personal-guard-turned-partner kept up with them reasonably well, even following along with their conversation. Now that he could, Lang Qianqiu had taken great pride in claiming Taizi Dianxia as his Guoshi, and because the need for secrecy had been lifted, Xie Lian had been unable to persuade him not to beat up those Gods who still found it in themselves to disrespect him. So he allowed it, and did not comment on the bruise that was blooming on Qianqiu’s cheekbone.
After a few more rounds, Banyue came over to also request a dance, and Xie Lian squeezed her close and tight to his side with Guzi holding both of their hands as they followed the erratic beats of Ghost City’s music. “Baba,” said Banyue quietly, “you look happy,” and Xie Lian hummed and kissed the curve of her full moon cheek.
Once he became dizzy with the wine and all the spinning, Xie Lian wandered the stalls, greeting the ghosts that called out to him to receive white-flower blessings from his hands; soon, Guzi dragged Banyue away to meet with Jian Yuan, having decided that a sichen of separation was more than long enough and could not stand. Xie Lian let them go, pleased with how much they liked each other. He thought about joining Feng Xin and Mu Qing, but they were competing their way steadily through most of the games on offer, and Xie Lian did not want to risk upsetting the delicate balance they had found between themselves.
Instead, he filled his qiankun sleeves with steaming mantou and made his way back to where he had last seen his husband. Jian Lan and Yushi Huang were still there, heads tilted close as they smiled at each other, but Hua Cheng wasn’t, although he had left behind an empty cup of liquor. Xie Lian pursed his lips, and wondered at his absence.
He felt, within his chest, the glowing warmth of blooming devotion, offered quietly and unspoiled by any request, the source of which Xie Lian would have recognized even had he lost access to all of his senses. He thought about calling for his San Lang in the array, but ultimately decided against it —the festival was loud and chaotic and draining, and if Hua Cheng had retreated from it then Xie Lian himself had the perfect excuse to do so; thus he said his goodbyes and marched off in search of his Ghost King, pulling lightly at the red thread between them.
Xie Lian tracked down his husband deeper into the heart of the City, all the way to Qiandeng Temple, which was shrouded in silence and bathed in soft yellow light. A host of silver butterflies trailed behind him as he slowly ascended the steps, feeling some sort of fragile anticipation build inside his throat. On a whim, he masked his presence, the way he had as a youth, freshly made into a God and forbidden from showing his face to his believers. There was something precious and intimate in the sight of Hua Cheng’s unguarded solitude, and Xie Lian wanted to watch, undetected, the quiet motions of his faith, repeated over and over throughout the centuries for a God who had not been much of a God at all.
The curtain of Hua Cheng’s ink-black hair, haloed by candlelight, shifted across his back as he laid his incense on a plate, and the smoke curled about him like a caress. Xie Lian circled the altar, enchanted by the look on his husband’s handsome face, the brightness of his eye and the inner peace that smoothed out the lines at the corners of his mouth. He seemed, at once, very young and very wise. Crimson fabric flowed and creased, marriage-rich, in the bend of his elbow when he drew a fresh white blossom from his sleeve, and Xie Lian ached deeply from the love he felt for him.
There was still no statue in the Temple, so Xie Lian sat himself atop the altar and smiled. “Thank you for your flower,” he said, tender-voiced, and dropped the illusion. “I like it very much.”
Hua Cheng startled, wide-eyed, and his jaw slackened in surprise as he took in Xie Lian’s sudden proximity, the slight press of Xie Lian’s knees around his hips, Xie Lian’s open hand, ready to receive his offering. “Ah,” Hua Cheng sighed, little more than a breath, and then he bent his spine and leaned in to press his face in the fold of the God’s robes, tucked against his heart. His palms dug into Xie Lian’s thighs for leverage while his heeled boots scratched the marble floor, but still the flower was held carefully so it would not be crushed. “Dianxia-ah.”
Xie Lian felt him shake minutely under his touch, and slowly drew his fingers through that thick, lustrous mane of hair, letting him hide his overwhelm for a bit before gently urging him to rise. “Come up,” he entreated, teasing his hands around his husband’s shoulders. “Come up here, you sentimental man.”
Like this, with Hua Cheng standing between Xie Lian’s legs while he sat on the altar, they were of a height. The smile Hua Cheng reserved for him was a little wet, his eye rimmed in red, and Xie Lian was powerless against the aggressive wave of affection that built like a shiver up his spine, trickling into his fingertips until they tingled. He caught Hua Cheng’s face between his palms and scattered kisses all over his brow, the line of his nose, his cheeks, his parted lips. “Husband,” Xie Lian whispered into the soft skin, “don’t look at me like that.”
Hua Cheng blinked helplessly at him, as if to say, how else , and so to punish him for it Xie Lian smothered him with kisses for a bit longer. When he pulled back from Hua Cheng’s tempting mouth, he rested their foreheads together and breathed in the closeness they so effortlessly shared. Hua Cheng lifted his hand and with great reverence fit his white flower behind Xie Lian’s ear, as if it was the first time, as if he hadn’t spent the morning weaving blossoms into the thin braids gathered at his topknot. But then again, wasn’t their life made of simple, repeated moments, sweet and precious in their abundance?
“My San Lang,” said Xie Lian. “Will you make a request of this old God?”
The cool whisper of Hua Cheng’s fingers trailed along the curve of his jaw, terribly distracting, so Xie Lian turned his face into his husband’s palm and stilled the motion with a chiding nip delivered to a pale white wrist. Hua Cheng’s lashes fluttered, damp and darkened for it, and he prayed. Xie Lian, finally, finally, was able to close his eyes and hear that prayer coil within his mind as was his right, because before anything else, before he even became the God of XianLe, he had been the God of Hong-er, and his husband’s wishes were his to make true.
A-Lian, said his most faithful believer, whose devotion was the thread from which Xie Lian’s divine body was shaped, A-Lian.
And then, for a long while, nothing else.
“Anything, San Lang.”
Hua Cheng tilted his chin up, and his smile was a small and gentle thing, barely dimpled. Kiss me.
Xie Lian bowed his head, cupped that lovely, ageless face like a treasure between his palms, and surrendered.
