Chapter Text
Hua Cheng thought nothing could surprise him anymore. After all, he’d spent days listening to Xie Lian’s deepest fears and tenderest thoughts. But, as it turned out, his god’s mind was also shockingly mundane—even silly.
One afternoon, he was perched casually against the shrine wall, pretending to nap, while Xie Lian swept the shrine floor with comical diligence.
Why is there always so much dust? Does dust regenerate on its own? Is it alive?
Hua Cheng’s eye flew open, and he had to smother a snort. He turned his head so Xie Lian wouldn’t see the smirk curling at his lips.
Xie Lian paused in his sweeping, looking at the ground seriously. I wonder if ghosts produce dust. Does San Lang shed ghost dust?
Hua Cheng almost choked.
“What’s wrong, San Lang?” Xie Lian looked over innocently. “You seem amused.”
“Nothing, Gege,” Hua Cheng said smoothly, though the laughter in his voice betrayed him.
Hua Cheng started noticing a pattern. Whenever Xie Lian’s hands were busy—sewing sandals, mending robes, or arranging offerings—his thoughts would wander. And sometimes, they wandered to truly ridiculous places.
Do scraps have feelings?
Hua Cheng froze mid-step as he entered the shrine, staring at Xie Lian, who was lovingly arranging a bowl of rice before the altar.
What if they cry when I throw them out? Maybe I should keep them just a little longer…
Hua Cheng sighed internally. That explained the piles of useless scraps tucked into corners of the shrine. The Ghost King loved Xie Lian with every fiber of his being, but this—this was starting to test him.
“Gege,” he said gently, eyeing a cloth scrap pile threatening to topple over. “Do you really need… all of that?”
Xie Lian looked up, completely serious. “Of course! They might come in handy one day.”
Hua Cheng didn’t reply. Instead, Xie Lian’s next thought drifted in like a breeze: I should name them.
He’s hopeless, Hua Cheng thought fondly.
Then there were the heavenly officials. Hua Cheng quickly learned that Xie Lian’s polite smiles and patient demeanor masked a wealth of biting commentary.
One evening, Xie Lian was cheerfully recounting a story about a recent visit to the Heavenly Court, his face serene as always. But in his thoughts…
Ling Wen always looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Maybe I should send her a pillow as an offering.
Hua Cheng nearly spat out his tea.
“And then Ling Wen said…”
Does Quan Yizhen even understand how clothes work?
Hua Cheng choked audibly this time. He reached forward to steady himself and Xie Lian looked mildly concerned as he dissolved into another coughing fit.
The worst, however, were the moments when Hua Cheng was the subject of Xie Lian’s stray thoughts.
One day, as Xie Lian sat sipping tea, Hua Cheng caught a casual but utterly devastating thought.
Why does San Lang look so good doing nothing?
Hua Cheng froze mid-pour, the tea spilling slightly. Xie Lian glanced up. “San Lang? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Gege.” Hua Cheng quickly regained his composure, though his face was suspiciously red.
Stop being so charming. It’s unfair.
Hua Cheng gave up. He set the teapot down with a thud and turned away before Xie Lian could see his hopeless grin.