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Chapter Text

Fifty years in, Hua Cheng decides he likes Dusk City. When he’d first passed his trials and come into power, he’d wondered if the city built directly on the crossroads between the realms, ruled, of all things, by a Council of representatives, would be too tame for him, but in the end, he’d decided to try it. If it felt too stifling, he could always leave.

He’d built his Gambling Den in the heart of the Demons’ Quarter, and it’s been thriving ever since. The City Council initially greeted him warily, not particularly thrilled by another powerful demon in their jurisdiction, but after a few incidents that he’d… settled in a somewhat dramatic but unequivocal fashion, they’d realized it was better to leave him alone lest he gets rid of them and takes over. They’d even gone as far as offering him a seat on the Council, which Hua Cheng had graciously accepted, even though he almost never chooses to show up.

Hua Cheng probably couldn’t have taken them out back then, but now that his power has grown—to say nothing of his treasury—it probably wouldn’t have been hard at all. He doesn’t need to, though. Already it is known that nothing major in the city can take place without his knowledge and approval—or at least lack of opposition. They can deal with the pesky minor issues themselves.

Hua Cheng leaves the Gambling Den earlier than usual tonight, feeling a little bored. Nobody’s stakes were high enough to warrant his personal interest, which is a shame. He’s been cooped up for a while, and the grueling training he periodically subjects himself to makes him itch to put it to use.

He’s not so reckless, however, as to go looking for fights. Ever since being reborn as a demon—and reconstructing the memories of his mortal life is still very much on the agenda, as he strongly suspects there’s a bill to pay—he’s reached the rank he has due to a combination of three factors: sheer ruthless determination; a complete lack of fear of death; and a mind as capable as it is void of sentiment. Stupidity is a trait he despises, and fighting for fighting’s sake is nothing but.

The Demons’ Quarter is also known as the Red District, as even in the daytime it’s perpetually shrouded in semi-darkness, broken only by the light of numerous red lanterns. Now, as it’s way into zi shi, the lanterns glow a vivid sinister crimson, and the streets are rowdy with demons, occasional brave mortals, and various spirits looking for fun.

Hua Cheng isn’t up to shifting skins, so he takes a lesser-walked side-street leading away from the Den, feeling like taking a stroll instead of heading straight for his residence. This part of the city is brimming with his power, and it’s a good way to settle his thoughts.

All of a sudden, a back door of a wine house opens some distance in front of him, and someone rushes out, followed by a gaggle of demons who are all yelling at them to stop. Hua Cheng pauses to watch, curious.

The one desperately trying to make his escape looks young, seventeen or eighteen at most, which in this city could mean anything. A flower spirit. He’s wearing multilayered robes in white, cream, and pink, but as is the custom with flower spirits, the silks are gauzy, almost sheer, cut in a way that is half-revealing, half-hiding, like petals of a flower. His hair is mostly loose with some flowers woven into it—again, as per their usual style, and on his feet are flimsy golden sandals. Bracelets and anklets jingle melodiously as he moves.

He’s pretty, but then, the flower spirits are always pretty, that’s their entire purpose. They are mostly low-level deities, whose main function is to spread beauty and joy. Just like flowers, they are notoriously vulnerable and possess almost no defensive capabilities.

This one is running for dear life, but there’s only so far he can run in the narrow confines of the alley. Within seconds he’s surrounded, and stops, swaying lightly on his feet, hands lifted in a placating gesture.

“Ah, fellows, there’s no need to be rude, is there?” he says, smiling at them. “Can’t we talk about it?”

Hua Cheng mentally scoffs. Yeah, that’s going to happen.

“Give it back,” one of his pursuers, a tall, bulky demon with the head of a pig says. “Give it back now, and if you ask nicely, I’ll be gentle with you.”

The others laugh and sneer. Hua Cheng suppresses a sigh. There’s another thing the flower spirits are notorious for—with their soft, resilient bodies, attractive appearance, and sweet, alluring scents, they’re all but made for lovemaking. Their temperaments, demanding they give affection freely, make them the butt of many inappropriate jokes and, sadly, frequent victims of mistreatment.

“While I appreciate the offer,” the flower spirit laughs softly, seemingly undaunted, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t taken anything of yours. I told you before, I came here to meet a friend.”

The others guffaw. “Friend!”

“You have a friend in the Demons’ Quarter? And how well does he fuck you that you’d come all the way here for it?”

“Little flower, we’ll show you a much better time!”

“Yeah, just give us back the Silk, and we’ll get right to it!”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” the flower spirit replies, eyeing them warily, though still smiling. He doesn’t seem too sure on his feet—probably drunk. “It’s the wine, it makes me all hazy. Can you explain what you lost, and maybe I can help you find it?”

“You little liar, just give it here!”

Another demon tries to grab him, baring his teeth in impatience. The flower spirit ducks drunkenly and somehow manages to nearly stab him in the eye with an uncoordinated swipe of his hand.

“You little fucker, you nearly took my eye out!” the angry demon roars.

“Sorry, sorry!” The flower spirit hiccups, swaying slightly, and waving his hands. “I told you, I was just waiting for my friend, he usually takes care of me when I’m like this—”

“Guys, stop dawdling around, get him!” The pig-head demon snarls. “The buyer will show up in an hour, and I still haven’t gotten my dick wet!”

Hua Cheng frowns, annoyed at this development to his night. He’s not in the business of rescuing people who can’t fend for themselves, but this is about to turn ugly in a way he distinctly despises—and all within not even a hundred meters from his Den. Unacceptable. He moves to intervene, but suddenly stops, staring.

As all the demons jump the flower spirit, the youth himself seems to stagger drunkenly in a peculiar way—not quite running, not quite dancing, and all clearly panicked intoxication. He moves brokenly, and somehow manages to elbow the nearest attacker in the gut, evidently hard enough to make him stagger back, gasping for breath. He steps on another demon’s foot, loses his balance, and while trying to catch it, knees him in the groin. The howl of pain is deafening.

Having lost his fight with gravity, the flower spirit starts falling. His skirts flare out, obscuring everyone’s vision, a pair of shapely, not-at-all-dainty legs flash in the air, and then his foot somehow lands square in the Pig-Head’s face with an obnoxiously loud sound of breaking bones. Dark blood sprays out from the broken nose and a few fangs go flying as the demon hollers, clutching at his face.

“Sorry, I’m so terribly sorry,” the flower spirit mutters, having somewhat regained his feet, and whirling around, seemingly in a daze. “Oh, let me fix that for you—”

The other two demons have the good sense to jerk back from the unevenly flowing sleeves, but they don’t seem to be fast enough. In a flash, the little drunken flower spirit hits the spots beneath their jaws with precision worthy of His Imperial Majesty’s guardsmen—seemingly on accident—then looks around confused. In a neat circle around him, five demons are sprawled on the ground, either unconscious or consumed by their own pain.

“Um,” the flower spirit says, sounding puzzled. “Sorry about that. Well, I’ll be going then.”

Hua Cheng realizes he’s been staring, transfixed, and can barely keep himself from applauding. This is either someone in possession of luck rivaling his own—or an incredibly capable individual, showing skills—and guts—far above his station.

The flower spirit turns around and starts in the direction away from Hua Cheng, but at that moment, another group of demons is spitted out from the wine house, looking strangely disheveled, and blocks his path. By their expressions, they mean business.

“It’s him! That little fucker glued my head to the table and took my Silk!” someone yells.

“Get him!”

The flower spirit turns and runs—straight at Hua Cheng. Since Hua Cheng has been concealing his aura, it’s not a surprise that no one has noticed his presence until this moment, but now, of course, it’s inescapable. The flower spirit’s eyes widen—and oh, they are uncommonly pretty, even for a little flower god, alight with more than mere gentleness and sweetness. There’s a certain wildness to them, the excitement similar to that of a warrior in the heat of battle. It has to be the wine.

The youth reacts uncommonly fast. Instead of stopping or trying to squeeze past Hua Cheng, he throws himself straight at him. Arms wind around his neck, a fight-hot body presses against him squarely, the sweet scent of blooming lotuses envelops him, and a breathless but clear voice whispers in his ear:

“Play along, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Hua Cheng may have been taken off guard, but he’s never been slow. His arms wrap around the flower spirit’s slender waist, and he pulls him against him tighter. The flower spirit squeaks a little in surprise, and seems to blush beyond the colors that the thrill of the chase has lent him. He doesn’t try to free himself though.

“What the—”

“Unhand him, he’s ours!”

Hua Cheng lifts his head and glares at the assembled crowd of thugs, letting his eyes flare red and unleashing his aura fully.

“What did you say?” he asks coldly.

This has the effect of a sudden snow storm. The only-just-enraged demons pull back as if struck, expressions quickly paling in horror.

“Crimson Rain!”

“Your lordship! We didn’t see you there!”

“Is… is this spirit yours then?”

Hua Cheng glares at them, and a cloud of silver butterflies appear at his back. “What do you think?”

The trash before him retreats a few steps further, eyes on the glittering cloud behind his back.

“Oh, how cute!” the flower spirit whispers in delight, staring at the butterflies, and cautiously extending a hand out.

To Hua Cheng’s immense surprise, three of the butterflies land on his palm, glittering in welcome.

“Oh, they are so beautiful,” the flower spirit marvels, eyes alight with admiration. “And so clever, too! Are they yours, uh…?”

“San Lang,” Hua Cheng says softly without meaning to. He’s too busy trying to process that this is someone who’s apparently not heard of him or his butterflies and either can’t sense their murderous aura or doesn’t care.

“San Lang.” The flower spirit smiles at him brightly. Softly, so that only Hua Cheng can hear, he whispers, “I’m Lianhua.”

A lotus spirit, right. Hua Cheng should have guessed. He can detect no scent of alcohol on him, either, only the deep, sweet aroma of a lotus lake in bloom.

Seeming to remember his part, Lianhua turns to look at his pursuers. “See, I told you I was here to meet a friend. I haven’t seen whatever it is you’re looking for. I certainly didn’t steal it.”

Hua Cheng plays along, frowning at him. “And where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours. Did this trash make you late?”

He glares at the demons, who seem well on the way to petrified.

“We didn’t!”

“Your lordship, we didn’t know!”

“Lord Crimson Rain, we’d never dare—”

“We didn’t touch him, not a tiny bit!”

“It’s all right if he glued me to the table! It was restful!”

“If we’d known he was your lover, we’d never have dared—”

At the word ‘lover’ the flower spirit flinches and hides his face in Hua Cheng’s shoulder, then catches himself and tries to pull away. Smirking, Hua Cheng tightens his arm around his waist, keeping him there. Those silks are really too thin, he can feel every minute shift of the other’s body. Lianhua seems to realize this, too, and stills.

When he looks up, his face is entirely red. “Uh, S-San Lang, p-please don’t be hard on them… I must not have explained properly…”

“You didn’t, you really didn’t!”

“Your lordship, if he’d only said—”

“We’d never touch what’s yours—”

Hua Cheng looks at them, eyes narrowing, committing their faces to memory. The butterflies behind him suddenly condense into a buzzing angry cloud.

“SCRAM!”

Amidst shouts of terror, the demons scatter and flee, pursued by the enraged butterflies. Within mere seconds, the alley is empty except for Hua Cheng and the little lotus spirit.

“Um.” Lianhua shifts slightly in his arms, eyes downcast. “Thank you so much for your help—uh, Lord Crimson Rain? You… you can let go now.”

For a moment, Hua Cheng is thoroughly tempted to keep him. He’d always scoffed at people governed by their greed for sensual pleasures, be it food, wine, drugs, or sex, and he’d felt nothing but deep scorn for those desperately trying to bed flower spirits. He’d acknowledged their aesthetic appeal, but beyond that? A waste of time and a loss of face to be ruled by one’s lower regions…

Yet now… He’s suddenly so tempted now.

Lianhua is looking up at him with his guileless amber eyes. What a strange creature. He seems competent and oblivious at the same time, accidentally taking out five thugs without any weapons, and then throwing himself at arguably the most dangerous demon in the city, perhaps in the entire realm, and demanding he ‘play along.’ Is he fearless or stupid? And why does he have to be so pretty…

It’s the last thought that sobers Hua Cheng, who’s used to tightly guarding himself against any human weaknesses. Pushing his reluctance down, he releases the flower spirit from his hold.

“My pleasure.” Hua Cheng tips his head at him slightly. “Lianhua, was it?”

“Yes,” Lianhua says. “We flower spirits tend to adopt the name of our domain.”

“White lotus?”

“En.”

“You’re pretty far from where it’s safe for you to be,” Hua Cheng remarks.

“I understand that now.”

Unable to help it, Hua Cheng asks. “Have you any idea who I am?”

Lianhua appears somewhat awkward. “Lord Crimson Rain. You rule over this part of the City. I’ve heard of you, I only… didn’t realize you were you. This one begs the lord’s indulgence.” He cups his hands and bows deep, the motion making the cutout parts of the sleeves of his outermost layer shuffle open, teasing a hint of skin.

Hua Cheng feels a little hot without any discernable reason, and he can’t resist reaching out and softly guiding him up with a touch of his hand over the slippery silk.

“I think we’re close enough for you to keep calling me San Lang,” he says with a smirk that widens at the other’s obvious embarrassment.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply… I wouldn’t have presumed—”

“Oh, I think you did mean to imply it,” Hua Cheng says. “Don’t fret, it was smart of you, although…” Had anyone else tried that, Hua Cheng would not have been as accommodating. He’s at a loss to explain why he’s made an exception even now. Shoving his confusion aside, he says, “You’re not really drunk, are you?”

At this, Lianhua looks up at him and smiles, playful and mischievous. “Not at all.”

Hua Cheng’s heart abruptly does a strange flip, setting off an unsettling tugging sensation in his chest. Suddenly, he desperately doesn’t want the little flower spirit to leave.

“What were they after?” he asks.

Lianhua hesitates a moment, then reaches into the many folds of his scandalously flimsy robes and pulls out a scarf made of red silk, heavily embroidered in gold.

Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow, sensing a vague aura from the object. “The Wish-Granting Silk?”

“By name, yes,” Lianhua says, his fingers running over the fabric tenderly. “It doesn’t really grant wishes, its power is at its end, though I imagine those… people didn’t know that when they stole it. It’s something of a family heirloom of a friend of mine, though, and he’s supposed to gift it to his bride. The wedding is tomorrow, so it was vital that I retrieved it.”

Hua Cheng looks at him, sizing him up. Lianhua is definitely not like any flower spirit Hua Cheng has ever met, but all the same—

“You took quite a risk.”

Lianhua shrugs dismissively, glancing away. He carefully folds the silk and stuffs it back into his robes. “Better me than him.”

It’s a puzzling statement, but Hua Cheng has a feeling he’ll get nowhere with it if he asks. Instead, he inclines his head slightly. “This part of the City is dangerous for someone like you. May I escort you to its border?”

Lianhua looks up at him, those bright amber eyes searching. There’s no wariness coming off of him, as if he isn’t afraid of Hua Cheng in the slightest, but is rather making an appraisal. Hua Cheng feels uncommonly stiff, strangely suspended, and mentally frowns at himself. Ridiculous. This is just some unusually boisterous flower spirit. Intriguing, no question, but hardly warranting such reactions.

Seemingly having come to some sort of conclusion, Lianhua smiles, demurely lowering his eyes. “I wouldn’t wish to trouble my lord further. I am not as helpless as I look.”

Hua Cheng huffs. “Had I not been here, they’d have eaten you alive. After doing other, a great deal more distasteful things to you.”

Lianhua shivers, hugging himself before he catches his own reaction. His smile fades. “You are of course quite right.” He looks up shyly. “Then I would have to trouble you.”

Hua Cheng extends a hand, waits patiently for the other to take it. He pulls out a pair of dice from his robes and throws them in the air. By the time they land back in his palm, the street around them has shifted, and they are standing at the corner of a marketplace in the Trading Quarter—a respectable and frequently patrolled part of the City. Lianhua pulls his hand back and sighs in relief, then looks at Hua Cheng with open admiration.

“That was… very elegant.”

Hua Cheng grins at him, pleased like a cat whose ears have been scratched. “No trouble at all as you can see.”

“Yes.” Lianhua smiles tentatively at him. “Very clever.” After a beat, he seems to shake himself and straightens up. “Well, thank you again, my lord. I have to go now, if I am to bring this back in time for the ceremony.”

“Wait.”

Lianhua turns back to give him a questioning look.

Hua Cheng folds his arms over his chest, smirking. “I don’t help people for free. You said you’d make it worth my while, remember?”

Lianhua blinks, then blushes in embarrassment. “Right! Sorry, I didn’t mean to just… Uh, what would you like? Except for this silk, and given enough time, I could probably get you anything.”

Hua Cheng grins, feeling so pleased he’s almost giddy. He hasn’t enjoyed playing like this in a long time.

“There’s no need to take time, and I won’t ask you for something that isn’t yours to give.”

For the first time, Lianhua looks wary of him. “What… Uh, what is it then?”

Hua Cheng tilts his chin upward in challenge. “A kiss.”

All right, so perhaps he isn’t as immune to the flower spirits’ charms as he’d thought himself to be. That he’d never been interested in them before doesn’t mean he can’t play a little now.

Lianhua blushes, his eyes going wide, and his soft-looking, pink mouth opens slightly. “Uh… a… a I beg your pardon… A… what?”

“A kiss,” Hua Cheng repeats, grinning. “Didn’t you say, you would give me anything I asked for? Something small like that should be easy enough for you, no? Or are you going back on your word?”

“No!” Lianhua exclaims hastily. “Of course not! It’s just, something like this, I—I—uh…”

Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow.

Lianhua huffs and actually stomps his foot a little in frustration. “All right, but close your eyes!”

He is adorable in his embarrassment. Perhaps he is new? Hua Cheng had no idea the flower spirits, whom he’d always believed to be pretty but bland, could be so entertaining. Obediently, he closes his eyes and waits, his aura extended, lest the little mischief-maker decides to run.

He doesn’t. Hua Cheng can feel him approach, slowly and haltingly, the boldness with which he’d initially thrown himself into Hua Cheng’s arms entirely gone. Finally, he’s so close that Hua Cheng can feel the warmth of his body, the slightly vibrating presence next to him, palpably nervous. It’s getting harder and harder not to smile.

At long last, there’s a tentative touch to his arm, a long-fingered hand settling on it lightly, as its owner draws a little closer, inhaling as he seems to pull himself up on his toes. He’s taller than an average person, but he has nothing on Hua Cheng of course. Again, Hua Cheng wants to smile, the thought pleasing him for some reason.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then something cool and soft touches his lips briefly. Hua Cheng frowns slightly in confusion. This doesn’t feel like—

He opens his eyes just in time to see something falling and catches it on reflex. The flower spirit has dashed off soundlessly and incredibly quickly—Hua Cheng only catches the swirl of his robes as he disappears into the maze of streets. Glancing down, Hua Cheng discovers that he’s holding a fresh, fragrant lotus blossom on his palm. It’s a pure white with a subtle pink hue to it, as if the flower itself is blushing from having touched his lips.

He stares at it for a few moments, processing, then laughs out loud. That little liar. Hua Cheng throws the flower up in the air then catches it gently, tucking it into his robes, and turns to head back to his residence. He doesn’t use the dice, preferring to walk the whole way, a persistent grin on his face.

Now he knows for certain he will see the little lotus again. No one who owes him can escape him forever.

Chapter Text

Over the years, many people have accused Hua Cheng of rigging the games in his Gambling Den, but, in fact, he never does. Each person’s karma is their own business, and Hua Cheng isn’t an idiot to step onto Fate’s toes. He knows very well where his territory ends, and much prefers to have Her as an ally.

When someone challenges him personally, however, it’s a different matter. This has nothing to do with fate or karma, only his choice, and he’s never shy about making it. If someone is foolish enough to present themself for his judgement, well. They’ll get what’s coming to them, and he won’t lose any sleep over it.

He suspects it hadn’t been like this at all back when he was still mortal, but ever since he’d come to as a newly-born demon, his luck has been extraordinary. Hua Cheng never loses if he doesn’t want to; any game of chance always goes exactly as he needs it to. So sometimes, when he has a reason, he lets them win.

His power has grown to an extent where he rarely if ever needs to fulfill the conditions of the bargain himself, but there are certain cases, certain bets when he makes exceptions. Plots of revenge call to him—a pattern, of which he’s acutely aware—and the most complicated cases he oversees himself.

When a young cultivator bets his own life against that of Qin Budai, a man who defiled and murdered his sister, Hua Cheng lets him win. He’s nobody’s do-gooder, and if he serves justice, it’s of a kind that terrifies most people. It’s just that Qin Budai is a mortal who can give most demons a run for their money when it comes to atrocities, with a particular taste for torture-murder and curses. Hua Cheng has stumbled over his handiwork enough times to decide that a bit of house-cleaning is in order, since no one else seems to be up for the job.

Normally, he’d don a disguise when visiting the mortal realm, but this time, he doesn’t bother. As a demon, after all, he’s entirely human-shaped, except that his true appearance tends to draw attention. It’s the middle of the night, however, when his butterflies track the trash down to an abandoned, half-collapsed house at the side of the road that is no longer used. Honestly, when mortals choose to run from him, they pick the dumbest locations.

“No, no, no, please!” the sniveling mess on the ground wails, trying to crawl backwards, eyes wide and horrified, glued to E’Ming’s ominously-gleaming blade. “Whatever it is they paid you, I’ll pay you more! Anything you want! Silver—no, gold! Gold! Children! Virgins!”

Hua Cheng hasn’t felt this disgusted in a long time. Deciding not to prolong it, he lifts E’Ming in a murderous swing and brings it down sharply, ending the trash’s miserable existence.

Except—he doesn’t.

There’s a loud clang as E’Ming collides with another blade. Hua Cheng whirls in place—he hasn’t noticed another presence! Not many can sneak up on him, in fact, he’d struggle to name anyone who can. Is Qin Budai’s aura so revolting that it’s overwhelmed his senses?!

There’s a person clad entirely in black, a mask on his face. The sword he’s holding is a beautiful jian. Hua Cheng takes the man in. Shorter than him, slim, and—fast. Not many could have been in time to stop E’Ming, never mind withstand its power. The scimitar in his hand seems to agree, vibrating in excitement.

“Who are you?” Hua Cheng demands. “Leave, before I hack you to pieces!”

The person in black doesn’t leave, moving instead to block Hua Cheng’s path.

“As you wish then,” Hua Cheng grits out and attacks.

The man blocks him! Admittedly, Hua Cheng hasn’t been using his full strength, but still, this shouldn’t have happened. Before he knows it, they’ve exchanged a few dozen blows, neither gaining ground nor decisively retreating.

Qin Budai is still sniveling, sobbingly thanking his defender, as he tries to climb to his feet and run. Without taking his attention off the fight, Hua Cheng directs his butterflies to bind him, and within seconds, the sorry excuse of a man is bound head-to-toe, resembling a human cocoon. Cloth is stuffed into his mouth, and he can only whine, trying to bite through it.

Hua Cheng’s full attention is on his opponent now, and oh, but he’s beginning to like this. He hasn’t met anyone truly challenging to himself since he’d fought his way through the throngs of bloodthirsty demons in the Tonglu Caldera, and that had been a scene of crude slaughter, spurning refined skills in favor of brute force. This here, is almost like a dance, where his partner is fighting him for the lead, while matching him at every turn. Hua Cheng can barely stop a pleased growl from emerging.

All the same, no matter how pleasurable, it’s time to end this. He starts leaning more into his strength, coming near to full capacity, and his opponent finally begins showing signs of strain. He’s not defeated, not yet, but should Hua Cheng press a little more, he’d—

Even as he moves, Hua Cheng’s attention is suddenly arrested. He can’t see the man’s face, but the way he moves seems… almost familiar. That quick jerk of his hand as he retracts his blade. The slight tilt of his head. The way his feet move as if drawing a pattern on the ground while barely touching it.

And there’s another thing—his clothes. Black and tight-fitting, yes, and at first Hua Cheng’s attention has slid off them, dismissing them as the typical attire of someone up to no good at the dead of night. Now that he takes in the details, the only thing about it similar to the usual outfit of an assassin is the color. The fabric is gauzy, sheer layer upon sheer layer, soft and slippery, almost like—

A punch of excitement nearly makes him stagger, as pieces fall into place. Surely, not. It can’t be…

Quick to test his guess, Hua Cheng changes his objectives, and instead of fighting to get to the prisoner, he gets closer to his opponent himself. He can tell he caught the other by surprise, as a sudden exhalation escapes him. He draws back sharply, yet a second too late. The moment of close proximity lasting no longer than a quarter of a heartbeat has given Hua Cheng the opening he needs.

E’Ming slides in with deadly precision and just before it’s flicked away by the vigilant jian, it cuts through the ties of the mask. It clatters to the ground, and as it goes, the subtle sweet smell permeating the air that has gone unnoticed until now blossoms fully into the deep, fresh scent of lotuses.

They both freeze, and Hua Cheng stares into the familiar bright amber eyes, as the impetuous lotus spirit tries to catch his breath.

“Lord Crimson Rain,” he manages, slowly letting his sword arm fall. The mask must have been woven into his hair, and now it falls loose, unfolding slowly over his shoulder like a silky wave.

Hua Cheng doesn’t even try to conceal his pleasure at this development. “Lianhua-gongzi. We meet again.”

“Yes,” Lianhua says, licking his lips nervously, and tries to stand a little straighter. “Please, uh. Please don’t kill me?”

Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow and sheathes E’Ming. “Not sure I could even if I wanted to,” he says. “I didn’t realize flower spirits were such talented fighters. In fact, I was under the impression that so much as holding a weapon makes them wilt and wither.”

“Um, well… yes, uh.” Lianhua puts his own sword away. “Normally, we do. It’s just… it’s something of a hobby of mine.”

Hua Cheng watches him, far too amused to be angry at being thwarted in his original goal. “A hobby?” he asks. “You’re quite proficient for an amateur.”

“Oh, there’s no need to flatter this one,” Lianhua says, glancing away in clear embarrassment. “I knew you were pulling your blows.”

Not that much, Hua Cheng muses, though doesn’t share. He follows the lotus spirit’s gaze instead and frowns.

“Pray tell why are you defending this scum? Have you any idea the kind of person he is? What he’s done?”

“Oh, abundantly.” Lianhua nods grimly. “Believe me, under any other circumstances, I’d have stood aside and cheered you on. But as it happens…” His eyes narrow as he takes in the bound gagged man, wriggling on the ground like a worm and wailing. An expression of disgust crosses Lianhua’s features, and he shudders in revulsion, but his gaze remains uncommonly hard. “He cursed someone. There’s an innocent young lady, who won’t live to see three dawns, unless it’s broken. Her family has tried everything—no cultivator or spirit could do anything. That young woman has more virtue in her little finger than this… creature has ever seen in his life, and more importantly, she has her whole life ahead of her.” With difficulty, he tears his gaze away from Qin Budai and looks at Hua Cheng. “So you see, my lord, why I couldn’t let you kill him before he told me exactly how to break the curse?”

Hua Cheng feels his mood inexplicably soured. He doesn’t know why, but this young lady sounds extremely suspect. Virtuous, is she? Just what virtues does she have to have earned herself such an ardent defender?

It won’t do to show his displeasure, however, so he only says coolly, “Is that all? You should have said.” He squares his shoulders and turns toward the captured waste of space who turns white then green as he sees his face. Without turning his head, Hua Cheng addresses the lotus spirit, “You might want to step outside for a few minutes.”

But to his surprise, Lianhua replies, quiet but firm, “If it’s all the same to my lord, I’ll stay.”

‘My lord.’ Hua Cheng makes a face, which sends his prisoner to anguished conniptions.

Cold and indifferent, he says, “Suit yourself.”

It doesn’t take much, nor does it take long. The only difficulty arises when they have to narrow down exactly which young lady it is, as the despicable creature has made a habit of cursing anyone who refused him and whom he couldn’t take by force.

Lianhua listens attentively, committing what needs to be done to memory, but by the end of it, he is visibly shaking with rage. It comes to the point where he almost throws himself at the bound trash before him, and Hua Cheng has to catch him by the shoulders and drag him off, while making his butterflies gag Qin Budai once more.

“You’re that concerned over your friend?” Hua Cheng asks.

Lianhua jerks his chin sharply. “Of course I’m concerned, but that’s not…” He takes a few breaths to compose himself. “Did you not hear him? He made a habit of it, he—”

“And he’s going to die horribly for it,” Hua Cheng soothes, already having dismissed the scum from his mind. He rubs circles with his thumbs on Lianhua’s shoulders gently. “You now have the information. Leave the rest to me.”

The flower spirit looks up at him, and suddenly gives him a sharp, very un-flower-like smile. “With pleasure.”

Hua Cheng feels a jolt of heat rush through him. So what if Lianhua has to rush off to save some hapless virtuous maiden? Hua Cheng is here now. He can’t let him just leave without leaving his mark.

“By the way,” Hua Cheng says softly, his voice dropping into the purring register as his hands gently press into Lianhua’s shoulders, warming that cool silk. “That’s the second favor I’ve done for you, and you still haven’t paid me back for the first.”

Lianhua blinks, startled, then blushes spectacularly. In the silver glow of Hua Cheng’s butterflies, he looks suddenly like a cute little rabbit caught in a snare.

“Uh…” he utters breathlessly, shifting in place, clearly only now realizing the position they’re in. He tries to pull away subtly, but Hua Cheng holds fast. “S-San Lang, really, this…”

Oh, so I’m San Lang now. Hua Cheng smirks.

“Xiao gongzi, if you’ve heard of me, surely you’ve heard that no one can owe me and not pay up? And that the longer people avoid paying, the bigger their interest rate grows?”

Lianhua’s eyes widen. “In…interest?” he croaks.

Hua Cheng pouts. “Xiao gongzi is making me look bad, but in fact, I wasn’t the one who came up with our bargain. Xiao gongzi was the one who suggested it, of his own free will—”

“I did not suggest exactly that…” Lianhua mutters in a choked voice.

“—and now that I’ve done my part, he wants to back out. How very dishonest. What is a demon lord to do?”

Lianhua looks progressively more faint, color rising higher and higher in his cheeks, standing out sharply in contrast to his black outfit. “I… m-my lord, I’m not refusing to p-pay, only…” He draws in a breath and asks miserably, “Please, won’t you close your eyes?”

Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow. “You think you can fool me with this twice?”

Lianhua shakes his head, cheeks crimson, but gaze earnest. “Please, I’m just… I’m shy. You can hold on to me so that you’d know I won’t run away.” He looks up beseechingly. “Please?”

Hua Cheng tries to spot the trick, but can’t. “All right,” he says, concealing his excitement. “If you promise to make it worth it.”

At this, Lianhua looks positively distraught, “I… I can’t really promise that. I… I… I will try?”

He looks so nervous and yet determined that, to Hua Cheng, closing his eyes feels like denying himself a major treat, but yet again, he acquiesces. His hands are holding on to the flower spirit’s shoulders, keeping him in place.

There’s a beat, as Lianhua seems to inhale and exhale, then he shifts, leaning up, and for a fraction of a second, presses his warm lips to Hua Cheng’s cheek. A jolt of pleasure runs through Hua Cheng at the touch, but as it’s still not enough, he opens his eyes, ready to complain, only to find Lianhua still very, very close, gazing at him in wonder.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” Lianhua whispers breathlessly. “One could drown in them and never want for air.”

Hua Cheng freezes. His eyes—the one thing he’s certain has transcended death and rebirth with him—his eyes are ugly, especially the right one. No one has ever… Yet, there’s such earnestness in Lianhua’s voice, it breaks through every defense Hua Cheng has built up over the years, slicing through them like they aren’t there.

Shock makes him let go, and in a flash, Lianhua has dashed across the remnants of the room, leaping up onto the window sill.

“Hold it!” Hua Cheng says, instantly realizing that the little imp has done it on purpose. “If you leave now, your debt will triple, and next time I’ll collect it myself!”

Lianhua looks at him over his shoulder, face still flushed, the corners of his lips turned upward. “You’re much too good for that, my lord, and this one is much too ordinary to interest you. I’m sure you’ll forget me in a week.” He flings a palm out as Hua Cheng jolts toward him, and says brightly, “Oh look! I think your prisoner is escaping.”

With that, he jumps out the window, merging with the night and the obnoxiously loud cicadas’ song. Hua Cheng whirls in place to discover that somehow the bindings tying up Qin Budai have become undone while he wasn’t looking, and the trash has slithered out through a gap in the wall, making a run for it.

Hua Cheng swears.

--

Later that night when he returns back to his residence, his clothes smell heavily of blood, but also, just a little, of lotuses. Hua Cheng grins, shaking his head.

Anyone who could hold his own against him bears investigating, let alone a flower spirit. Since when do they have any affinity for fighting? They are the human-shaped manifestations of nature at its most beautiful and benevolent. Having cultivated from flowers, they usually spend their days picking out outfits and learning new dances. They can be vain and prideful, and an insulted flower spirit could spend weeks thinking up some insidious revenge, but metal and brute force frighten them, and they have no interest in getting close to either.

A hobby, was it? The little lotus seems to be a compulsive liar, and it’s beginning to drive Hua Cheng up the wall that he can’t get any answers. On the contrary, this new encounter has only brought more questions.

Smiling a little, he touches his cheek, trying to recall the elusive touch. So, the little blossom thinks he can toy with Hua Cheng like that and get away with it? Perhaps he is as simple as his brethren, after all, to be so oblivious to danger. Just the same, it appears that Hua Cheng needs to remind people that his reputation is entirely deserved.

The next time they meet, Hua Cheng will show that hapless creature that no one outplays the player.

Chapter Text

Hua Cheng’s dreams turn vivid. It’s ironic. Back when he was fighting his way out of the Tonglu Caldera, he slept—well, like the dead. Nothing disturbed his sleep, not the stink of blood, ripening under the sun, nor the howls of feral demons. Yet now, unexpectedly, this many decades later, his nights become anything but restful.

Strangely, it starts pleasantly enough, with the sweet sensation of the lotus spirit’s lips pressing shyly against his cheek. Before his mind can savor it, however, all the gentleness is sucked away, and his dreamscape is filled with the smell of fresh blood, the sound of teeth grinding bones, the barks and howls of dogs or perhaps wolves. He never can retain more specific details, except the way he was feeling in those dreams—helpless, desperate, and very, very angry.

Hua Cheng suspects a curse—he’s not immune, after all, even if not much can affect him—but soon enough dismisses the idea. With some deep-seated instinct, he can sense what it is. The echoes of his mortal life, the memories he shouldn’t have retained. Perhaps it’s time he found out, once and for all.

--

Since he is visiting the mortal realm in the light of day this time and on a day of a major event, Hua Cheng chooses a less conspicuous skin than his true appearance. He’s striding down the street of the little town as a young man of perhaps nineteen or twenty, carefree and somewhat bored, as only a rich young master could be. He’s kept his signature red robes, but few people would make the connection between a red-clad youth and the infamous Crimson Rain demon lord by the color alone.

Hua Cheng has had his fill of sightseeing in the mortal realm back when, however, he has a purpose now. The patron of this town, a scholar of some renown by the name of Lin Zhulang, is holding a competition, promising his family’s prized possession, the Truth-Revealing Brush, as an award. The brush is said to have the power of only writing the truth, even if the one who holds it doesn’t know it. Hua Cheng doesn’t have much hope that it’ll help him reveal his suppressed memories, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

Except, before he subjects himself to any competition, he needs to ascertain that the brush is valid. Infiltrating the Lin estate is child’s play—with servants running back and forth in preparation for receiving guests, no one has any attention to spare for anything but the task in hand. Hua Cheng sneaks in without any difficulty, and quickly finds the room where the brush is held. As he’s anticipated, the owner has taken it out to inspect it, but the fact that he let it unattended after makes Hua Cheng frown.

He waits until Lin Zhulang leaves and slips into the study. He examines the brush in its case, extending his senses. The spiritual aura from the object is strong enough for the real thing, however, something feels off. Frowning, Hua Cheng unceremoniously picks the brush up and instantly feels bitterly enlightened. The brush itself has no spiritual presence at all. Just as the Wish-Granting Silk, its power must have been exhausted. The case is spelled to preserve whatever object is placed in it, and its aura masks the lack of it of the supposedly-precious brush.

Disappointed, but not particularly surprised—after all, why would anyone, no matter how noble and generous, part with a treasure for no good cause—Hua Cheng puts the brush back and turns to leave. He doesn’t bother concealing his presence this time, and openly strides through the main courtyard. The servants give him somewhat startled looks, but as the first guests have already begun to arrive, they don’t think much of his sudden appearance.

For a moment, looking at the assembling scholars, some of whom look incredibly pompous, and at the equally smug-looking host, Hua Cheng is sorely tempted to just announce his discovery for all to hear. He opens his mouth, ready to unleash the much-deserved humiliation, when a newcomer makes him choke on his breath.

As far as Hua Cheng knows, flower spirits don’t have the power to shift disguises, so he’s not surprised to see that Lianhua has only changed his clothes. Instead of the usual frivolous outfit that would have, no doubt, caused a riot in this place, he’s wearing a simple but elegant set of robes in white and blue. His hair has been gathered up in the style befitting a scholar, and he’s even holding some scrolls in his hands.

Hua Cheng bites his lip against an exasperated laugh, ignoring the way his heart suddenly starts pounding. As disguises go, it does successfully hide the fact that this is a flower spirit, not a mortal. It does nothing, however, to tone down the look of glowing youth or the eye-drawing morning-dew-clear beauty. Already, people are staring, and the host himself hurries over, an expression of one entirely besotted on his face.

“Welcome, welcome, young master. May this humble host please have the honor of your name?” he simpers, sickeningly sweet.

Hua Cheng wants to punch him even more than he did for the fake brush.

Lianhua seems startled by the attention, blushing prettily. Hua Cheng honestly can’t tell if he’s acting or not. Unless this is the first time he’s visited the mortal realm looking as—well, himself, he should have been ready for this. Yet, he looks so genuinely embarrassed… Hua Cheng mentally shakes his head, already smiling.

“This insignificant one is called Lian Hua,” Lianhua says, bowing deep. “This one knows that his poor knowledge and abilities are no match for the respected masters, but this one humbly hopes to learn from competing alongside them.”

Hua Cheng sees the elder scholars visibly melt at such flattery, while the younger ones look smug and even patronizing, as if already deciding who’s going to show the adorable but clueless beauty the ropes.

“Of course, of course, the Lin family competition is open to all,” Lin Zhulang proclaims self-importantly. “Let me show you to your seat, Lian-gongzi.”

He offers Lianhua a hand, but the lotus spirit only smiles at him gratefully and steps forward, as if not having noticed. Hua Cheng suddenly remembers how he’d thrown himself into Hua Cheng’s arms the first time they met. His mood improves.

Lin Zhulang pretends he’s been gesturing in welcome and turns his awkward invitation into a ‘this-way’ gesture, guiding Lianhua into the courtyard. Just then, it all comes to a halt, as their path is abruptly blocked by a grinning Hua Cheng.

Lin Zhulang blinks and frowns. “Uh… I’m sorry, and you are—?”

Lianhua, for his part, takes Hua Cheng in, smiling, ever-polite. Yet suddenly his eyes widen slightly, and for a split second, his mouth falls open, before he catches himself. Hua Cheng feels pleased like a fox that’s broken into the henhouse. Reluctantly, he spares a look at Lin Zhulang.

“I’ve only just arrived, hoping to learn from the masters as well,” he says sweetly and bows. “This one is called Hong Hua.”

Lin Zhulang reflexively bows back, but the sense that he’s being mocked is pervasive even for someone as full of himself as him. Hua Cheng knows that his youthful mortal appearance is quite striking as well. The difference between him and Lianhua, however, is that Hong Hua’s beauty doesn’t come with the flavor of ‘prey,’ not even the slightest bit, but quite the reverse.

Lianhua is gazing at him fixedly. Hua Cheng feels very proud.

Lin Zhulang, however, frowns. “Young man, do I know your family? You don’t look like the scholarly type.”

Who are you calling young man? Hua Cheng scoffs mentally. He’s fairly certain he could be this gnat’s great grandfather, going by age only, of course.

“Oh, don’t I?” he asks with seeming worry. “Perhaps I don’t have my host’s refined sense of taste, but surely, if all scholars looked the same, they’d be indistinguishable from bookkeepers?”

Lianhua presses his lips firmly together, though the corners of his mouth treacherously twitch. Hua Cheng feels a strange lightness in his chest, not unlike one he gets from a particularly strong vintage.

Lin Zhulang looks confused and unhappy about it, suspecting the insult, but being unable to prove it. He frowns. “Young master Hong, you—”

“—are welcome?” Lianhua says with an innocent smile. He turns his gentle eyes on Lin Zhulang. “Didn’t Lin-laoshi say this competition is open to all?”

Lin Zhulang blinks, staring at Lianhua not unlike a rabbit hypnotized by a snake. Hua Cheng would feel sorry for him, if he wasn’t internally gloating.

“Of course,” Lin Zhulang affirms, coming to some semblance of his senses with difficulty. “Uh, this way please, young masters.”

Led to the row of low tables set in a semi-circle, Lianhua is directed to a seat in the center. Hua Cheng snags one right next to him, ignoring Lin Zhulang’s frown.

“We’ll start in a few moments,” Lin Zhulang says, displeased, then seems to remember the other attendees and forces a smile. “Everybody, please take a seat and get ready.”

As he finally leaves, Hua Cheng sprawls in his seat without any decorum, leaning against his table and propping up his cheek with his hand, all the better to gaze at the little lying flower.

“Stop it,” Lianhua says lowly, not turning to look at him, ostensibly busy with adjusting the paper and brushes on the table.

“How can I when you make for such a fascinating sight?” Hua Cheng purrs. “Let me guess. Scholarly pursuits are another hobby of yours?”

Lianhua spares him a look. “As it happens, yes. Can’t live a day without studying some historical text. I’m quite pathetic.”

There’s a hidden joke in his tone, Hua Cheng can sense it, but alas, he hasn’t been let in on it.

“I can tell,” he hums. “Flower spirits are notorious for such passions after all.”

Lianhua has the grace to blush slightly. It is widely known after all that beings who’d cultivated a human form from flowers are mostly concerned with anything pertaining to beauty—clothes, cosmetics, jewelry. Dancing and singing is usually the height of education that they deign to obtain.

“Not everyone is the same,” Lianhua says in a slightly didactic tone.

Hua Cheng smiles. “Of course, of course. Far be it for me to judge a flower by its fragrance.”

Lianhua shoots him an openly displeased look, which thrills Hua Cheng to no end. He leans closer.

“Tell me though, why are you here? Do you really want that stupid brush of his? Oh wait, don’t tell me. It’s for another friend, isn’t it?”

Frowning a little, Lianhua turns the slightest bit toward him. “It’s for a client, yes.”

Genuinely surprised, Hua Cheng blinks, sitting up a little straighter. “A client?”

Lianhua seems to sag a little in his seat and turns to him a little more. “Do you know the Black Camelia Pavilion in the City?”

Hua Cheng stares. Of course he knows it. It’s a private enterprise of one of the City Council members, established as a point of connection between the denizens and the council, but in truth having long evolved into an office doing all kinds of work and running errands for whomever pays. Normally, they try to steer clear of anything morally shady, but since silver is involved, there have been plenty of exceptions.

Hua Cheng puts his previous two encounters with the lotus spirit in perspective and realizes it fits. Retrieving a stolen item and finding out the conditions of breaking a curse both sound like urgent matters that won’t wait for a magistrate to investigate. Still, it’s not the type of occupation that would be natural for a flower spirit of all beings.

Carefully, Hua Cheng asks, “You’re working for them? Why?”

Lianhua purses his lips, glancing down at his hands. “I severed ties with my family, and I need to make a living, don’t I?”

Hua Cheng barely refrains from a knee-jerk ‘Come stay at my manor, you won’t have to do a thing.’ He blinks slowly, surprised at himself. Where has that come from?

“How long has it been?” he asks instead.

Lianhua sighs a little. “Eight years.”

Hua Cheng processes fast. So that means Lianhua is a born spirit, not first-generation just-popped-out-of-a-flower. That might explain his intelligence and other… oddities. To an extent, at least. Doesn’t quite explain the weapons, but…

“Why this sort of work?” Hua Cheng asks. “Why not something more… artistic?”

There are many dance troupes in and outside the City who gladly hire flower spirits, after all, and pay generously.

Lianhua says lightly, “I’m not that good and I fear the competition.”

Hua Cheng studies him fixedly. Theoretically, it’s not impossible, though anyone who can move with a sword in their hand the way Lianhua had can never complain about poor coordination or lack of a sense of rhythm. There is another possibility. ‘I severed ties with my family.’ This isn’t something Hua Cheng can pry into now, but come to think of it, dancing on stage is a guaranteed attention-draw. Hm. Perhaps the ties aren’t as severed as Lianhua would like them to be—which in itself is odd.

“And the Pavilion hired you?” Hua Cheng asks. “Just like that?”

Lianhua actually smiles at this, eyes crinkling in genuine amusement. “Well, not just like that,’” he says. “They didn’t think a flower spirit could be of use to them at first, but after I solved a few cases for them, they reconsidered.”

Hua Cheng would dearly love to ask more, but at this moment, Lin Zhulang returns, taking up his seat before them on a dais, the self-absorbed bastard, and announces the start of the competition.

--

The tasks themselves are nothing imaginative, and Hua Cheng would have scoffed, had he not been playing a part. At first, they have to recite some poetry and answer questions about their chosen verse. The order of responses is decided through lottery, which Hua Cheng shamelessly rigs so that he and Lianhua have to go last.

After listening to the others, some overconfident, some openly floundering, and all very tedious, it’s finally Hua Cheng’s turn. He recites his favorite, The Ache of Separation, answering the questions with ease that seems to surprise the panel and even some of the younger competitors who seem to visibly reassess him. Hua Cheng refrains with great difficulty from rolling his eyes.

Lianhua chooses Thinking of Distant Friends, reciting it with such a charming sense of melancholy, that the questions from the seniors are more about ‘Who could a young man such as yourself possibly be missing like this?’ to which Lianhua only replies with a graceful smile that he’d chosen the poem for its artistic value, not personal reasons, and speaks about it at some length. Hua Cheng watches him thoughtfully.

Next comes a history test, where Hua Cheng annoys a lot of the seniors by sharing a lot of facts that are in the history chronicles and some that definitely aren’t, yet seem indisputable under cross-examination.

When he resumes his seat, having yet again been reluctantly awarded a top score, Lianhua leans over and asks in a whisper, “You know this, because you were there, don’t you?”

Hua Cheng grins. “Was there? Lian-gongzi, I was the one who took his head off.”

Lianhua only has enough time to give him a measuring look before it’s his turn to answer.

Hua Cheng listens with interest. Lianhua’s account is a great deal more to the elders’ liking, as it cites the known historical texts and doesn’t deviate, but it’s exactly this that Hua Cheng finds intriguing. Lianhua speaks like someone who’s had a formal education, and Hua Cheng has never heard of a flower spirit willing to subject themselves to that. Just what kind of family is he from?

He, too, earns a top score, but he sits back down with visible relief, and shares quietly, “Winged it.”

Hua Cheng only lifts a brow.

Then comes the classic text section, and Lianhua recites the Dao De Jing with the air of someone, who’s repeated the words so many times they’ve long lost all meaning to him, and that includes the commentaries. The elders are pleased though, while Hua Cheng smirks.

At this point, he and Lianhua are tied for first place, and while their fellow competitors throw admiring looks at the innocent-looking cheater to Hua Cheng’s right, Hua Cheng himself seems to have become an object of their resentment. He smiles, immensely pleased by this outcome.

Lin Zhulang presents the next task with a smile that gives away both his smugness and anticipation of humiliating others.

“These were all just preliminary rounds to make certain no one of lesser intelligence is among our ranks,” he announces, making Hua Cheng internally scoff. Next to him Lianhua releases a barely-detectable sigh. “Now, for the real thing. The Truth-Revealing Brush isn’t so easy to obtain, so this next test will show us the strength of your spirit.”

They are each given a ceramic bowl of simple design. As the servants distribute them, Lin Zhulang says, “These bowls are special. Place them upside down onto the paper before you, then press your hands against them. They will reveal what’s truly in your heart.”

Hua Cheng barely refrains from rolling his eyes, as they all do as instructed. Parlor tricks. He presses his palms against the upturned bowl and immediately feels the spell it’s been glazed with. It’s rather weak, but can be used malevolently as the one who holds the master-bowl, as Lin Zhulang does, can force any other bowl to do his bidding.

Indeed, the first few men who turn their bowls over look embarrassed and disappointed, wilting under the chatter of the excited spectators. There’s nothing on the sheet of paper before them.

“Not to worry, some truths take time to mature,” Lin Zhulang declares with a condescending smile. “Though I’m afraid that means you can’t continue with the competition this time.”

Shamefaced, they retreat into the crowd.

One man reveals a small stone when he turns the bowl over and frowns at it. As the crowd laughs, he glares at them, “What are you laughing at, it speaks of my stolid character!”

Another man finds a gleaming copper coin underneath his bowl. Ruddy-cheeked, he exclaims, “It’s not that I only think of wealth! It’s the wealth of knowledge that I long for!”

Lin Zhulang’s gaze turns to Hua Cheng, his expression one of pure malice. “Young master Hong, your turn.”

Hua Cheng smiles coolly back. He’s neutralized the spell long ago, and now turns his bowl over with a flourish.

Three butterflies instantly take flight under the ‘ooh’s and ‘ah’s of the surprised crowd. He turned them white in case someone would recall the crystalline silver ones that belong to the infamous Crimson Rain demon, but even so, they’re incredibly pretty in the sun.

Lin Zhulang’s face is stunned, and he has to quickly turn his anger into a somewhat polite smile. Lianhua, on the other hand, looks delighted, and extends his hand. The butterflies instantly flock to him, landing on his palm, one venturing onto the tip of his nose. The image is adorable.

“Hello again, little friends,” Lianhua murmurs gently. “Thanks for your help last time.”

Hua Cheng blinks. Of course. It was the little traitors who had untied his prisoner the last time they met, evidently following Lianhua’s request. Butterflies are naturally attracted to flowers, and the little trickster had used it to his advantage. Hua Cheng narrows his eyes at him. Lianhua smiles at him sweetly.

Honestly, it’s like he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Hua Cheng isn’t called Crimson Rain for his favorite color. He’d spilled so much blood, he could make it rain for a month in the entire realm. His rank is more than earned. Someone like Lianhua ought to be terrified of him, and this lotus is… is… is laughing at him.

Frowning, Hua Cheng waves an impatient hand, and sends the butterflies scattering away.

“Oh,” Lianhua sighs a little, watching them go.

It’s his turn now, and he gracefully turns over his own bowl. The crowd gasps in awe. Underneath, a fresh white lotus rests beguilingly on the paper, gleaming in the light. Hua Cheng knows for a fact that such a thing would be far beyond Lin Zhulang’s abilities, he doesn’t even need to see the man blink stupidly at the sight. Lianhua, for his part, looks as amazed as everyone, and picks up the flower hesitantly, as if he, too, can’t believe it’s real.

“A true purity of spirit! Young master is truly blessed!” one of the younger scholars exclaims.

Lianhua blushes prettily, demurely lowering his eyes. The lotus changes hands as everyone wants to examine the wonder. Using this distraction, Hua Cheng leans closer.

“I would have thought cheating like this was beneath you,” he murmurs, smirking.

Lianhua sighs, a little chagrined, and says, “You don’t know what he would have had me display otherwise. I had little choice but to do this.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes instantly snap to Lin Zhulang, who’s gazing at Lianhua fixedly, a covetous look on his face. Hua Cheng frowns.

Oh, hell no.

--

The next test is to be the last one, and it’s just Hua Cheng’s luck that Lin Zhulang says something long-winded and pretentious about how a capable and elegant mind must only reside in an equally capable and elegant body, and so the last remaining contestants are to demonstrate a physical skill of their choice. Perfect. That man clearly requires a demonstration of why Hua Cheng and anything that belongs to him shouldn’t be messed with. He smirks and awaits his turn.

The first man out of the remaining five chooses to sing, much to all of their woe. The audience cringes openly, and even Lianhua’s expression becomes a bit fixed. Hua Cheng enjoys it all a great deal.

The second man opts to demonstrate his archery skills. He hits the target off center twice, while the third arrow takes off in a wild direction, nearly taking off someone’s hat. The owner of the hat comes after him with curses, and they disappear into the crowd, accompanied by very uncultured swearing from every side.

The third participant shows a dance, which isn’t too off-rhythm and is passable for a mortal, even garnering some approving noises from the audience. His face, however, displays his distaste for the exercise clearly, thus quite ruining the impression.

Hua Cheng schools his expression into impassivity as he gets to his feet. He sheds his outer layer, and then the next one, until he’s only clad in a thin blood-red undershirt from the waist up. The audience erupts in murmurings, some particularly prudish ladies avert their faces or hide behind their sleeves. Some keep throwing looks, though, from behind fans and their scowling husbands.

Hua Cheng ignores it all, walks to the center of the courtyard and pulls E’Ming out. His scimitar is also disguised to look like nothing but a completely ordinary weapon, but the proportions and weight are the same, and it glints in the sun hungrily.

Hua Cheng had once believed that dancing with a sword was a pointless exercise, requiring no real skill. Having met a teacher who’d showed him better once, he’d long since changed his mind. He moves through the sword forms at an ever-increasing speed, improvising in the moment, yet keeping every motion precise, every twist and turn deadly. He pivots and bends, glides through the air and slices through its fabric as if it were real cloth with swift sharp motions. His mind slips into a sort of meditative state, and he barely remembers to keep an eye on his audience.

He doesn’t forget completely though, and the sight of Lianhua watching with a slightly glazed look in his eyes, lips parted, and cheeks flushed brings him immense satisfaction. He smiles like a predator, assured of his power, sends E’Ming into a spinning arc, and lands gracefully on his knees, the tip of the blade digging into the stone.

The courtyard erupts in applause, and Lianhua actually shoots to his feet, clapping in delight. Lin Zhulang’s face looks like he’d eaten nothing but bitter green lemons all day. Hua Cheng allows himself a pleased smile.

After that, only Lianhua himself is left, and he, too, chooses a dance, albeit a weaponless one. Hua Cheng was prepared to see something beautiful—few things can rival with a flower spirit’s grace, after all. What he wasn’t prepared for was for Lianhua to choose the Thousand Rivers Dance.

As soon as the first notes of the pipa fill the air, Hua Cheng’s eyebrows rise. The Thousand Rivers Dance is notoriously difficult, and until relatively recently has only been performed on the glorious stages of the Heavenly Capital. It’s only after a few dancers defected twenty or so years ago and began teaching it in other realms that it became possible to see it. Hua Cheng himself had only seen it twice until now, impressed by the technical skill required. He’d heard that the number of people and spirits of every kind wishing to learn far exceed the capacity of the masters, and most are rejected out of hand for not being good enough.

Lianhua’s movements are mesmerizing and effortless, as he seamlessly merges with the music and the very air around him. He dances in much the same way he’d recited Dao De Jing earlier—as if he’s so familiar with every breath and motion, he could do it in his sleep. Hua Cheng smiles and absorbs the show through every sense available to him. If Lianhua notices, he doesn’t show it.

When it’s over, and once again, the courtyard erupts in applause, Lianhua takes a bow, keeping his head down. His expression, when Hua Cheng catches it, is half-chagrined, half-wistful, as if he’d suddenly remembered something he’d forgotten he longed for.

“Did you say you have no skill?” Hua Cheng murmurs to him as Lianhua resumes his seat. “What’s the point of pretending to be humble when you are like this?”

Lianhua gives him a look that’s a little lost. “But that was only… I mean, I wasn’t that good, my teacher would have—”

He cuts himself off abruptly and doesn’t say anymore. Hua Cheng’s eyes narrow.

Meanwhile, the scores are tallied, and Lianhua is declared the winner, with Hua Cheng coming a close second. Lianhua gives him a slightly apologetic smile, but Hua Cheng magnanimously waves him on to receive his prize.

The only thing he doesn’t like about this is the oily, sticky looks Lin Zhulang is giving Lianhua. Not that the little enterprising liar can’t look after himself, it’s just that… He looks so oblivious as he receives the box containing the brush with both hands. Hua Cheng frowns, and, while he originally wanted to slip away immediately, he abruptly changes his mind and decides to stick around for the celebratory dinner.

--

He finds Lianhua wandering in the gardens. They are nowhere near as impressive as what Hua Cheng has in his manor, but Lianhua seems content enough gazing at the subpar flowers. He turns toward Hua Cheng with a smile as the demon approaches.

“I hope my lord doesn’t hold my victory against me,” he says sweetly.

“Not at all.” Hua Cheng smiles and nods with his chin at the box in Lianhua’s hands. “You do know it’s fake?”

Lianua glances at the box and nods. “As soon as I touched it, I could tell.” He gives Hua Cheng a curious look. “How did you know?”

“I snuck in to examine it before this idiotic competition had started.”

“Ah.” Lianhua looks both impressed and thoughtful. “I wish I’d thought of that. Why didn’t you tell?”

Hua Cheng steps a little closer, smiling at him. “How would I have seen you dance then?”

Lianhua blushes slightly, looking away. “You have a peculiar taste when it comes to amusements.”

“You have no idea.” Hua Cheng smirks. He nods at the brush again. “What do you intend to do? Tell your client?”

Lianhua frowns slightly and shakes his head. “No. He asked for this object, and I will give it to him. He said he wanted to test his wife’s fidelity by making her use the brush to answer his questions. I hope he likes whatever answers he receives.”

“Devious.” Hua Cheng chuckles.

Lianhua smiles slightly. “I am but a conduit, it’s not for me to decide someone’s fate. Lord Hua—”

“I still prefer San Lang.”

“—may this one ask why you were interested in the brush?”

Hua Cheng hums. He could lie, of course, or simply not answer, but he has a sense—a foolish one, perhaps—that for all his trickster ways, Lianhua has been candid enough with him today.

“If it had still been potent, the brush was said to reveal the truth, even if the one who uses it isn’t aware of it. I was hoping it would help me regain some of the memories of my mortal life.”

Lianhua listens attentively. His eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Your mortal life? I thought… Forgive my ignorance, I was under the impression that when demons are not born but made, the precipitating event is usually extraordinarily painful and violent—that’s why in the process of rebirth, the memories are wiped clean, or else they become too much to withstand?”

Hua Cheng folds his hands behind his back as they stroll slowly along the lanes. “Usually, yes. Most lose their memories and are happier for it. For some, however, certain things… impressions linger. I can’t remember much, only flashes, but”—he frowns—“I keep getting the sense that I have an unsettled debt, and I won’t know rest until I pay it.”

This isn’t something he likes to dwell on, though, until he knows more, so he looks at a suddenly deeply pensive Lianhua and says, “Speaking of debts…”

Lianhua instantly takes a step away from him, and his cheeks color. “S-San Lang, uh, about… about that…”

Hua Cheng feels his smile grow as he follows, and it’s like a peculiar dance between them, perfectly in sync, until Lianhua has backed away straight into the curb of a decorative fountain. He trips and nearly falls backward, but Hua Cheng catches him by the elbows, righting him on his feet.

“Uh…” Lianhua clears his throat, not looking up at him. Hua Cheng hasn’t let go. “San Lang, I—”

“There you are!”

Hua Cheng has never wanted to kill anyone more. Lin Zhulang appears at the mouth of the lane, somehow managing to smile at Lianhua and frown at Hua Cheng at the same time.

“The dinner is starting and everyone is waiting for the guest of honor. Come, young master Lian, we must toast your victory!”

“Oh, of course. My apologies!” Lianhua moves to follow him, but when Hua Cheng doesn’t let go, he looks up, flustered. “Young master Hong, this clumsy one is grateful for your help, but I’m all right now.”

Hua Cheng grits his teeth and unclenches his hands. Lianhua slips away in an instant.

--

The dinner is about as annoying as Hua Cheng had anticipated, but he is saved from total boredom when he discovers that Lianhua has the alcohol tolerance of a… well, of a peach blossom, which is to say none at all. As toast upon toast is raised in his honor, and his attempts to politely decline are ignored, he gets more and more glassy-eyed and red-cheeked, and seems to be holding himself together by an immense exertion of willpower.

At some point, he manages to excuse himself for a bathroom trip and doesn’t come back. Since the rest of the drunken crowd fails to notice, Hua Cheng goes to investigate and discovers Lianhua trying to scale the back wall of the estate, presumably to escape.

Hua Cheng tsks. “There are easier ways, you know.”

Lianhua gasps, not having heard him approach, loses what little balance he had, and falls straight off the wall. Hua Cheng moves before he knows it, and suddenly he has an armful of a very drunk and very startled flower spirit. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are unnaturally bright like this, as he gazes up at Hua Cheng, trying to track. Hua Cheng feels inexplicably fond of the picture.

“San Lang,” Lianhua says with impressive clarity. “Please put me down?”

Hua Cheng sets him on his feet, unwise as it is. “You wish to leave this circus, I take it?”

“En.”

“Dusk City?”

Lianhus shakes his head a little longer than necessary. “Still have… I still have, uh… what are they called… errands! I still have errands in—in town. The inn. I need to… the inn.”

Hua Cheng has never found drunk people adorable before. Now, he can barely keep from laughing.

“Then, no need to climb any walls. Come with me.”

Since Lianhua only blinks at him, Hua Cheng sighs, grabs his hand, and pulls him along. A simple ‘look-away’ spell takes care of the servants, as Hua Cheng leads his not particularly aware but obedient charge to the side door. They slip outside without issue and are swallowed by the low light of the evening streets.

Lianhua seems to notice that they’ve left the estate, and breathes a little easier. He relaxes enough to start swaying as he walks, pulling on Hua Cheng’s hand as if it’s a tether. Hua Cheng lets him for the most part, only tugging him back when he’s in danger of colliding with a wall or an empty food stall.

“San Lang, I… San Lang? Everything is spinning?”

Hua Cheng grins. “You’ve never been drunk before?”

The expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness appears on Lianhua’s face. “I can’t remember. Maybe? Before I—”

Frustratingly, he chooses this moment, to trip over his own feet. Hua Cheng pulls him out of it, but with too strong a momentum, Lianhua crashes into him. Hua Cheng’s arms come around him fully and don’t let go. The little lotus seems to be in no hurry, either.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, rubbing his face against Hua Cheng’s chest like a cat. “San L-Lang? Will you…” he mumbles something inaudible.

“Will I what?” Hua Cheng asks, holding him up and enjoying it. He feels warm all over, and sort of like he’s eating candy. A kind of strange, full-body sweetness that he’d never experienced before. “Will I what?” he repeats softer, gently tipping Lianhua’s face up with his knuckles.

Lianhua’s pupils are blown, his usually gentle eyes are deep-water lakes set on fire. He gazes up at Hua Cheng’s face, unblinking, before his gaze drops to his lips.

“Will you collect your debt now?”

Hua Cheng jolts, arms locking tight around his captive. Lianhua keeps looking at him with the same expression, and Hua Cheng feels a step away from snapping. Still, he smirks.

“No.”

Lianhua blinks, then looks hurt. Either he’s the best actor in the universe or all of his defenses have really abandoned him in his inebriated state.

“Wh-why not?” He pouts.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” Hua Cheng teases.

Lianhua frowns. “Why? Am I not advan… avdant… avantagy… advanta-taging… No, that’s not right. Advanta-gious? Advantagy enough?”

Hua Cheng laughs softly, which makes Lianhua begin to struggle, trying to push him away, saying, “Let me go then, what are you… uh, what are you holding me for?”

And all right, there’s a limit to what Hua Cheng can take. He pulls Lianhua closer sharply, leans in, and softly nuzzles along the column of his throat. The lotus spirit shivers violently in response, forgetting his fight, and tilting his head on instinct in clear invitation. Hua Cheng takes it, but his lips barely touch, until they reach the shell of one blushing ear. Lianhua’s hands clutch desperately at his shoulders.

“When I collect my debt,” Hua Cheng purrs straight into his ear, their bodies flush together, and Lianhua is trembling in his arms, making no move to escape. “When I collect my debt, you’ll be stone-cold sober, so that you can remember. Every. Single. Second.” Each word is punctuated with his lips brushing against that sensitive skin.

Lianhua lets out a low moan that almost makes Hua Cheng lose it. But he wants this to last, he wants it to linger, he wants Lianhua to seek him out himself.

With great difficulty, Hua Cheng makes himself pull back. Lianhua is breathing heavily, lips parted and wet. Hua Cheng swears silently. He should have known better than setting himself up like this. It takes the lotus spirit a few long moments to find his own feet and look away, something straightening in his frame.

Swallowing his disappointment, Hua Cheng asks, “Can you walk? Or shall I carry you to the inn?”

Lianhua shakes his head, looking unseeingly at the dark street. “I still have… business in this town. Lian Hua’s reputation must be… must be… p-preserved.”

“All right, then,” Hua Cheng says, and hoists him up to sit on the counter of a nearby stall. “I’ll go fetch a carriage. Sit for a moment by yourself, all right?”

Still not looking at him, Lianhua nods.

--

As it turns out, a few carriages are idling just around the corner, and a hefty bag of silver makes negotiations supernaturally swift. It’s barely been a few minutes before Hua Cheng returns and swears.

The stall where he’d left Lianhua is empty. Fondness and disappointment swell in his heart at the same time, and though he can’t help a smile, it’s bitter. He waves the driver off with a quick motion of his hand.

There’s nothing left for him here to do, but something makes him linger. As his gaze falls to the ground, he notices the burnt remnants of talisman paper. He bends down to examine it, then stands up, smiling, enlightened and berating himself for not having foreseen this.

A sobering talisman. Of course the crafty lying little blossom would have one on him. Why didn’t he use it sooner, though? Frowning, Hua Cheng suddenly notices something he should have noticed at once. How could he possibly have missed it? Is he affected by some kind of pollen?

On the counter where Lianhua had been sitting, there’s a square of folded paper in the shape of a butterfly. Hua Cheng picks it up and unfolds it. His eyebrows go up. Inside, there’s what looks like a list of ingredients for a draught of some sort or perhaps a potion. There are items on the list that would be incredibly hard to get, way beyond any mortal’s reach, and some of the items Hua Cheng has only heard of and never seen with his own eyes. But the ingredients that he can identify all have one same thing in common.

They are all said to improve one’s memory.

Hua Cheng rereads the list several times, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He will not forgive Lianhua’s debt for this. But he will, perhaps, owe him a favor.

Dice in hand, he disappears into the night, humming an old tune.

Chapter Text

It’s the dead of night when Hua Cheng gets to the last temple. In seventy years, the bastard only managed to get twenty-odd temples erected in his name, and tonight Hua Cheng has burned them all down. Or—will have burned them all down after he’s done with this one. He looks at the building with a deep sense of dark satisfaction, lifts his hand up—

And stops.

Oh, surely, surely not.

A white-clad figure crouches next to the window, obviously thinking himself invisible. And Hua Cheng would be glad and excited any other time, but he can’t tonight. Without any gentleness whatsoever, he wields his power like a whip, grabs the intruder around the waist, and jerks him away from the building sharply until he lands in a heap at Hua Cheng’s feet with a muffled cry.

“What possessed you. To come here. Tonight,” Hua Cheng grits out with difficulty, hands curled into fists, as he watches Lianhua pick himself up from the ground.

“The—the village head,” Lianhua says, coughing, and wiping road dust off his face as he cautiously comes to stand. “He heard what happened to the other temples, and he—” He’s taken over by another bout of coughing. “Sorry, uh. Sorry. He, uh, he begged me to save the tablet. There’s a—there’s a copper plate in there that has all the deeds of their ancestors inscribed on it. It’s tradition to keep it at the temple, regardless of which god it’s dedicated to.” He gives Hua Cheng a wary look. “Um, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng turns to him sharply.

Lianhua’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t back off. His voice comes stronger this time, calm and quiet, but perfectly audible. “Whatever grudge you have against Yu Qin, the townspeople are surely innocent.”

For the longest time, Hua Cheng can only look at him, barely able to see him through his rage. Finally, his voice as gravel, he manages, “You have one minute.”

“What if there are people inside?” Lianhua pipes up.

“There are no people inside,” Hua Cheng growls. “You have less than a minute. GO.”

Lianhua doesn’t need to be told twice. He dashes toward the temple, light as a gust of wind, and disappears behind the heavy wooden doors.

Hua Cheng waits. His rage that he’s been able to keep at bay the whole night is straining its leash, and he doesn’t want to hold it back. He’s never had a harder time waiting, but he owes the little lotus, and he always pays his debts.

Fortunately, Lianhua steps out at last, lugging behind something more the size of a table than a plate. Hua Cheng’s lips press into a thin line. As Lianhua finally clears the temple grounds, Hua Cheng can’t wait a second longer. He flicks his wrist, and the building is instantly turned into a raging bonfire.

Lianhua gasps, stumbling the last couple of steps. The plate rolls away and lands in the grass with a heavy thud that is almost swallowed by the roar of the fire. Lianhua comes to stand at Hua Cheng’s side, chest heaving. They watch the fire. Hua Cheng can sense Lianhua’s wary attention, but for once, he’s too absorbed in his own world. Only once the roof of the building collapses, and the fire settles to meticulously devour the glorious feast laid before it, does Hua Cheng feel somewhat more himself.

He casts a sideways look in Lianhua’s direction. “You didn’t try to stop me.”

“En,” Lianhua says, eyes on the fire.

“I’m burning a god’s temple. That’s an act of sacrilege.”

Lianhua’s shoulders move subtly, a restrained shrug. “From what I heard, he’s not a very good god.”

“Oh?” Hua Cheng finally turns to look at him. “And what did you hear?”

Lianhua’s lips press into a thin line. “Yu Qin had ascended as a martial god, some seventy-odd years ago. Since it’s not often that a mortal ascends, everyone was expecting great things from him. And his martial skills were very impressive—as long as one was willing to admire them from afar, and mostly in the retelling.”

Hua Cheng snorts. “Well, you got that right. Talking about how great he is, is something he’s always done best. How slime like him managed to ascend as a martial god is beyond me.”

“Some said,” Lianhua says slowly, “that he shouldn’t have ascended at all. That there was another man, destined to ascend from that region, but somehow it was Yu Qin instead. He had many supporters in the heavens, even among born celestials, but he couldn’t get the status he longed for. He—is no Pei Ming.”

Hua Cheng laughs bitterly. “No, that one at least knows his way around a sword.”

“En. Pei Ming’s battle glory is honestly earned, even if his reputation otherwise is…”

“Even more honestly earned?”

“En,” Lianhua sighs. “He is the envy of many. From what I heard, Yu Qin didn’t measure up in martial prowess. And Pei Ming had over eight hundred years of cultivation on him. So Yu Qin decided to take a shortcut. The heavenly emperor presides over many celestial kingdoms, and in one of them, there was a prince.”

Hua Cheng watches him, listening attentively. This isn’t something that’s come up in his own research.

“Yu Qin wanted to marry that prince. Not because he fell in love or anything like that.” A smile full of irony flits over Lianhua’s lips. “Rather, as a born celestial, that prince had a blessing upon him, a powerful one. Something he would have to give to his chosen one. Yu Qin wanted that. Had he gotten it, he truly would have risen in ranks and this”—he tilts his chin toward the fire—“wouldn’t have any effect on him. His cultivation base would have been unassailable.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes narrow. “But he didn’t get it.”

“No. The prince’s parents—well, his father—thought it to be an advantageous match. His own celestial kingdom was of an ancient lineage and with very good standing, but it was small, and, while respected, not really influential. He was also quite enchanted by Yu Qin—or rather, his reputation.”

“Fool,” Hua Cheng scoffs.

Lianhua glances away, clearing his throat. “He uh… there were certain…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know the details anyway. So the match was approved, but the prince himself didn’t want it, so he defied his father and turned it down. When Yu Qin got rejected, he tried to get the blessing by force.” Lianhua’s jawline tightens minutely. “He didn’t succeed. That’s… mostly what I’ve heard.”

Hua Cheng hums. “I wonder how one manages to hear such gossip. By the sound of it, it must have been pretty close-kept.”

Lianhua smiles faintly. “Oh, it’s nothing impressive. I have… well, I used to have some connections up there.”

“Did you? Hm. So what happened to that prince?”

“I don’t know.” Lianhua shrugs. “I heard about this by accident, but as it didn’t concern me, I didn’t ask more.”

Inside the temple, a wall collapses, and the fire flares momentarily brighter, sending out a wave of sparks. It hits the invisible wall Hua Cheng had set up around the temple grounds so that fire wouldn’t jump on the nearby buildings. He’d told the villagers as much in a dream the night before, and he’s pleased to see that no one chose to test him by coming out and trying to douse the fire.

Lianhua watches the lightshow, then turns to look at Hua Cheng. “San Lang, you don’t have to answer, but what grudge do you have against Yu Qin?”

It’s Hua Cheng’s turn to stare into the fire as his jaw clenches. “He killed my mother.”

A soft exhalation slips from Lianhua’s lips, somehow, miraculously, audible. He doesn’t say anything for a beat, then shifts a little closer.

“Earlier, I spoke with the village head at the teahouse,” he says. “And there was a storyteller. I stayed and listened for a bit.”

Hua Cheng says nothing.

“He said that, before he ascended, Yu Qin used to be a rich young man. Once, when a slave trader was passing through town, he had a woman with a young child to sell. The villagers felt sorry for them and asked Yu Qin to buy them.”

Hua Cheng’s hands clench into fists again.

“He did. Only instead of their lives turning for the better, they got so much worse. He let all his servants go and made the woman do all the work, so that she couldn’t even sleep for more than a few hours. And her boy was small, only seven or eight, but Yu Qin sent him out to hunt wild game in the woods every single day. If he came back empty-handed, he and his mother didn’t eat.”

Hua Cheng is staring at the fire. He’s not seeing it.

“One day, a few years in, the boy couldn’t get any game. He was smart and quick, he’d learned to steer clear of bears and wolves, but he could trap a boor and shoot rabbits. But that day, there was nothing. He stayed in the woods until it got dark, but still no luck. Yu Qin was in a bad mood that day, and when he realized that the boy hadn’t returned by dusk, he’d sicced his dogs on the mother. The boy returned just in time to hear her last screams.”

Hua Cheng wants to close his eyes, but can’t. All he’s seeing is blood and a body torn apart.

“He rushed to his mother, but it was too late. Then, in a fit of rage, he attacked his master. The man laughed at him, and send his dogs after him, too. But the boy didn’t wait to be torn apart by the dogs. Such was his hatred, that he’d torn open his own chest, ripped out his own beating heart, and swore with his dying breath to return and avenge them both.”

There’s a sharp pain in his chest even now, his heart begging him to dig it out. Hua Cheng breathes through it.

“San Lang,” Lianhua says softly. “You made the potion, didn’t you? You remembered? That boy… It was you, wasn’t it? San Lang. I’m so sorry.”

Hua Cheng lets out a gasp, stuck between a laugh and a sob. His chest heaves, as he staggers a few steps away, and falls to his knees.

“The story has it wrong,” he says dully. “When the boy came back home, his mother was already dead. One of his duties, apart from hunting, was feeding the dogs. He hated them, they were vicious monsters, not trained at all. And that night, the first thing he saw when he came to that… man’s home were the dogs chewing on something in the yard. And the first thing he’d felt was relief. That he’d have to take a beating and go hungry, but at least he wouldn’t have to feed them.”

“Oh, San Lang…” Lianhua sinks to his knees and hugs him. Hua Cheng remains motionless, unable to feel it.

“I cursed him, you know. But it must have backfired. I thought, I’d come back as a hungry ghost and would skin him alive, but instead… Instead, he’d thrown something at me, and then I opened my eyes, a demon, not a ghost, and I remembered nothing. And my mother… my mother wasn’t even buried, just left for those beast to… to…”

Lianhua holds him tighter. Hua Cheng still can’t feel it.

“That that… monster could ascend…” Hua Cheng opens his mouth and lets out a roar aimed at the fire-lit skies. It turns into a mad, dark laugh. He laughs and laughs, feeling as if he, too, had caught fire. “Well, he won’t be a god after tonight. And when he falls, I’ll be waiting for him.”

--

Later, he won’t be able to tell when Lianhua disappears. Hua Cheng doesn’t really come back to his senses until the sky has turned a milky, greyish pink, threatening dawn, and the flames have died down to embers. He’s still sitting on his knees on the ground, his robes having gotten damp with dew.

When he hears light footsteps, he doesn’t look up. Just by the sound, he can tell who it is. Not a threat.

Lianhua stops beside him and extends a hand. “Come with me.”

Hua Cheng blinks, feeling like he’s coming out of a decade-long slumber.

“Please, San Lang.”

A little woodenly, he takes Lianhua’s hand and lets the lotus spirit tug him to his feet.

He follows Lianhua numbly, for once, devoid of curiosity or mischief. He feels hollow inside, echoing like an empty shell. He doesn’t care where they’re going.

Lianhua is leading the way, holding Hua Cheng’s hand firmly in his. In the murky pre-dawn, his mortal-realm white robes seem to glow softly, and following him, Hua Cheng feels suddenly like a child he once was, trudging through a dark and dangerous forest and dreaming that a ghost or a spirit would come to show him the way.

Lianhua leads him out of the small town toward what looks like a long-abandoned manor. It’s half in ruins and has been mostly reclaimed by nature, but Hua Cheng recognizes it instantly. He’s glad to be numb right now. His memories are no longer vivid and stark, but rather muted as if separated from him by water.

They walk into what used to be the courtyard and stop. Lianhua lets go of his hand, and Hua Cheng blinks as if only just coming awake. He looks around. There’s very little here still to recognize as weeds and trees have come in and taken over, their roots demolishing stone and swallowing metal whole.

“Most people don’t know,” Lianhua says softly, “but flowers have extremely long memories, even if they only live one summer. As they die, everything they witnessed sinks into the seedlings deep in the earth, to be reborn again in spring.”

Hua Cheng looks at a cluster of unpretentious white flowers at his feet. They sway gently in the rising breeze.

“I asked,” Lianhua says. “Even the grass you’re standing on remembers you, even if it’s not aware of it. When your mothed died, her blood had sunk into the ground. Her bones became dust, became earth. And as no rites were held, no rituals observed, while she herself moved on, a remnant of her soul remained.”

Hua Cheng looks up sharply, suddenly all in his body. “What are you saying?”

Lianhua gives him a quiet smile. “Look around.”

Hua Cheng does. At first, he doesn’t see anything, except a yard full of wild overgrown plants. But then—

There are specs of vivid blood-red everywhere he looks. Roses. Dozens and dozens of wild roses, small in size yet so striking in color, thorny and resilient, climbing over what used to be walls and is now nothing but a place for the flowers to spread out. They are everywhere, and now that he’s paying attention, there’s a soft, tender scent in the air—sweet, yet with a bloody tang to it.

It’s her. Those roses. Those vivid crimson flowers so full of life and passion. It’s her voice that loved to sing, her body that loved to dance, her curiosity and her courage, and her unyielding will. It’s the stories she told him at night of adventures, love, and freedom.

Hua Cheng walks slowly to the nearest cluster, raises his hand, but doesn’t dare touch. The blossom is glistening with drops of dew, as if it’s crying seeing him. The flower seems to turn toward him, and Hua Cheng suddenly does feel like a child—helpless and desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Mama, if I had only been faster… If I’d only…”

He closes his eyes, but tears still spill. A gentle, sweet-scented wind caresses his cheeks, as if saying, ‘Silly boy, what are you crying for? Don’t you know all is well now?’

When he regains some measure of composure, Hua Cheng says hoarsely, “What can I do? I can’t leave her here. Not in this place.” He turns toward the lotus spirit. “Lianhua, what do I do?”

To his surprise, Lianhua smiles at him. “Nothing. Allow me.”

Hua Cheng steps back, as Lianhua stands to face the garden. He pulls something out of his sleeve, blows on it, then drops it to the ground. The object grows in size until it’s tall enough to reach halfway up to his waist. It’s a beautiful crystal box, the kind Hua Cheng has never seen before. Lianhua carefully flips the lid open, then turns back toward the garden where roses are everywhere.

He lifts his hands, and his palms glow. Softly, Lianhua starts speaking under his breath, words Hua Cheng can’t discern in a language he doesn’t speak. It’s like a song, only not quite. Like the symphony of wind and rain and earth and growing things.

The roses glow in response, every single bud turning toward Lianhua, as if listening, as if—responding. Suddenly all the branches they grow on, thread-like thin, covered in leaves and thorns, are lit up—and oh, they really have taken over this entire yard and whatever is left of the house.

As Lianhua’s palms direct, the branches with flowers clustered on them rise in the air, uprooting themselves from the rock and the ground, breaking apart huge stone plates as they come loose. Lianhua keeps drawing symbols in the air, and the entire powerful plant starts winding together, becoming first a ball, and then—a figure made entirely of plants but shaped like a woman.

It lands softly by Lianhua, but doesn’t pay him much heed. Instead, she walks straight toward Hua Cheng, who stands there, afraid to breathe.

“Mama?”

The rose woman lifts her hand and gently touches his cheek, her face smiling. Then she turns, takes Lianhua’s hand, and lets him guide her into the crystal box. As soon as her feet touch it, she transforms again, becoming smaller, and smaller, until all that’s left is a tiny rose plant with only a handful of flowers on it. Lianhua waves his hand, and the lid slides softly shut.

“You can, uh… take this wherever you like,” Lianhua says quietly. “Roses love gardens, but they also love mountain meadows. This one is… very resilient, so just find a place you like, and then… then just open the box. The spell will reverse.”

Hua Cheng glances at him, alerted by the strange halting in his speech, and is instantly alarmed. Lianhua looks pale as a sheet, beads of sweat glistening on his temples, and he’s swaying slightly on his feet, like a—like a defenseless flower caught in a strong gale. Hua Cheng steps closer.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine!” Lianhua waves at him, which only makes him more unstable. “I haven’t practiced in… uh, I’ll… I’ll just sit down for a second, all right? This, uh… this stone looks really… uh, really…”

His eyes slide closed, and he collapses. Hua Cheng manages to catch him just before his head is about to collide with that apparently very attractive stone. Lifting the unconscious lotus into his arms, Hua Cheng looks into his face with worry, while fumbling for his pulse. He listens carefully, the deafening sound of his own heartbeat getting in the way.

Slowly, he releases the breath he’s been holding. The little lotus spirit is only exhausted, though his reserves of spiritual energy are frighteningly low. Hua Cheng glances at the beautiful crystal box, then at Lianhua’s drawn face again. That little fool. Just how much did a spell like that cost him? Hua Cheng had never seen the like, but he could feel the immense power involved. He was just… too distracted to think about it.

Reflexively, Hua Cheng holds him closer, leans to rest his forehead against Lianhua’s, whose skin is worryingly cool.

“Foolish little flower, why didn’t you say anything? You’ve overdone it,” he whispers, then pulls back slightly. “This doesn’t count, just so you know.”

He presses his lips against Lianhua’s forehead in a long, lingering kiss, and pours energy into him gently. Though the night has taken a toll on him, too, Hua Cheng has a lot to spare. He keeps at it, until some color returns to Lianhua’s cheeks. How long he stands there after, simply gazing at the unusually quiescent yet still utterly unfathomable being in his arms, even he couldn’t say. He just feels suddenly that Lianhua can keep his secrets forever if he wants to. And if he never wants to pay up, Hua Cheng will never force him to.

But he would like—he would dearly like—to keep teasing him about it, to keep running into him, to keep seeing him, to keep watching him blush, and stammer, and smile, to have him play his tricks on Hua Cheng for all eternity.

Lianhua sighs a little in his arms, shifting to tuck his face into Hua Cheng’s chest, like a cat seeking warmth. Hua Cheng’s heart does a strange flip, one that he’s felt before, in present company even, in present company only, one that usually gives him a peculiar feeling as if he’s in freefall.

At his feet, the roses inside the crystal box are giggling softly in the sunlight.

Chapter Text

After that, Hua Cheng doesn’t see Lianhua for months. Back when he’d brought the unconscious lotus spirit back to Dusk City, his first instinct was to take him to his manor to recover. But Hua Cheng didn’t want to repay an act of such incredible kindness with potentially scaring him, so he brought him to the best inn in the city instead. He didn’t know where Lianhua lived, so he picked the best room and paid upfront enough silver for the little lotus to stay there at least a year if he so desired, the innkeeper bowing so hard as he gave his assurances that he’d nearly concussed himself.

Hua Cheng left to take the remnants of his mother’s soul to a distant mountain peak. It was the one she used to point out to him, back before his shitstain of a father had sold her to a slave trader and Hua Cheng had run away with her. She loved looking at that mountain, saying she’d traveled there once in her youth and how beautiful it was there.

It really is beautiful. Hua Cheng picks a spot near a gently murmuring waterfall, with plenty of shade and sunlight, tucked away from the wind. He opens the box, and watches the roses spread out, and in an instant, it’s as if they’d always been there. He leaves, and for the first time in years, his heart is light.

When he comes back, buoyed by that quiet joy, he immediately goes to check on Lianhua, only to find him gone. It’s only been three days, but the innkeeper splays his hands.

“He didn’t say he was leaving for good, he simply left. We’ll keep the room for him, of course, your lordship, don’t you worry—”

Hua Cheng walks out on the useless trash, not bothering to let him finish.

Three days couldn’t have been enough for Lianhua to fully recuperate from having spent that much spiritual energy. The more Hua Cheng thinks about it, the less he likes it. He shouldn’t have let him do it, or at least, not like that. If Hua Cheng hadn’t been so out of it that night, he’d have realized it sooner.

But Lianhua—Lianhua surely must have known all along, why would he just… Hua Cheng is not even a friend to him, they barely know each other. To give so much to someone you barely know, just like that, all because—what? Did he feel that sorry for Hua Cheng after hearing his story? Or did he feel responsible as it was his potion that helped Hua Cheng get his memories back?

Except. Hua Cheng remembers vividly how they met. Remembers the second encounter, too. Lianhua, it seems, is willing to risk his life for any client, really—for anyone at all. Just what kind of flower spirit is he?

Frowning deeply, Hua Cheng walks the streets of Dusk City, ignoring the half-awed, half-scared looks the denizens send him. Without his conscious knowledge, his feet take him into the part of town unofficially dubbed the Grove. Despite the nickname, it’s a regular district, perhaps slightly greener than the rest, as it’s primarily occupied by the animal and flower spirits, with an occasional lesser demon or human thrown in the mix.

Hua Cheng’s presence creates a disturbance. Some of the animal spirits dash away, some regard him as if considering a challenge. Hua Cheng only scoffs, and even one particularly obstinate tiger spirit backs off at that.

The bolder flower spirits, however, seem to see this as an opportunity and flock to him, their sweet scents and chirpy voices enveloping him like a carnivorous greenhouse. They all smile beguilingly and talk sweetly, spinning before him, showing off their bright flimsy clothes and shameless manners. Indeed, why would a flower ever need shame?

Hua Cheng is getting nowhere with his questions. Nobody knows where Lianhua lives, or if they do, they don’t seem inclined to tell him. Instead, it’s all:

“Why would you need some bland little lotus when you have the prettiest orchid right here, hm?”

“Who told you you’re the prettiest? Orchids are so vain! My lord is a man of true taste, he’d come here for a camellia, right? Much more exquisite!”

“You two can only rely on your looks, but what can you even do for my lord except stand there like fools and look pretty? Now, I am very skilled in the arts of pleasuring every sense, surely Lord Hua would—”

Lord Hua, for his part, feels nothing at their frivolous touches except irritation. They are all objectively very beautiful, that’s true, but none of them stir his heart. None of them manage to stir his body the slightest bit either—he simply can’t divorce himself from their stupid, vain personas, self-absorbed and self-serving, even as they throw themselves at him. He never thought himself to be so picky, but now, being at the center of this flower storm, his previous indifference has made the leap straight to resentment. Yes, they deserve respect in their own right, but he doesn’t have to like them. None of them can do what Lianhua can do. None of them are anything remotely like Lianhua. They have none of his wit, none of his charm, they’re blunt and utterly shameless, and even knowing that this is simply their nature, Hua Cheng can’t help but detest them all at that moment.

Realizing he’s not going to get any useful information like this, he firmly extricates himself, and with one roll of the dice, he’s back at his manor.

--

That night, his dreams take a turn. He sees the gaggle of flower spirits again, dancing for him, then shamelessly offering themselves to him, even taking their already flimsy clothes off to entice him, and the image is both mildly arousing and supremely infuriating. Except then, they part, and Lianhua steps out of the crowd. He’s dancing—except not as Hua Cheng had seen him dance before, all ethereal grace and exquisite movements, but rather, he dances exactly as the undignified flower crowd around him, same provocative movements, the sway of his hips, the baring of his throat, his clothes peeling off as he draws closer. Hua Cheng’s irritation evaporates like it was never there, he can’t take his eyes off the lotus, and he’s burning, burning…

He wakes up abruptly, breathing heavily, sweating, and undeniably, painfully hard. It takes him a long time to calm down.

Once he’s had a long, refreshing soak in the ice-cold water of the pool, his mind clears, and his reflections turn grim. Desire is a dangerous thing, for both the one who feels it and the object of it. Lianhua, however superior to regular flower spirits, is still only a flower spirit. What Hua Cheng now understands he wants from him will burn him to cinders. Not at once, perhaps, but therein lies the trap.

It is the nature of the flower to be welcoming to all. Hua Cheng, however, knows himself and his own obsessive nature. Once he’s had a taste, he won’t be able to let go. He can see it so clearly, him finally catching the wayward lotus and trapping him here, in this residence even, never to leave and to belong to Hua Cheng alone. Seeing him slowly withering in captivity.

And if he somehow manages to hold off his worse instincts and release him, then see him be playful and charming with someone else, trading kisses or more with them—what a slow, merciless torture that would be. For all the horrible things he’d been through and survived, Hua Cheng knows in his gut, he won’t be able to take it.

He hauls himself out of the pool, standing on the deck for a long beat in silence, moonlight brazenly caressing his bare form. The water, disturbed by his movement, throws a distorted reflection back at him. Hua Cheng stares at it for a long time.

It seems that if Lianhua needs any protecting, first and foremost it would be from Hua Cheng himself.

--

His spies turn up no valuable information. Lianhua, it appears, doesn’t live in the Grove, and the other flowers only know him in passing. They don’t seem to have a high opinion of him, but they generally don’t care about things that don’t directly concern them, so that’s neither here nor there and serves to do nothing but irritate Hua Cheng some more.

A week passes. Then, two. Hua Cheng checks at the inn again, but there’s been no sightings. He visits the Black Camelia Pavilion, scaring the clerks half to death.

“He’s taken a new case,” one of them stammers finally, as the rest cower in the corners. “That’s all I know, I swear, Lord Hua!”

“What case?” Hua Cheng growls.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” the man—a regular human, by the looks of him, probably a low-level cultivator, many of whom find jobs in Dusk City—wails, lifting his hands, not so much placating as begging for leniency. “It must be in the records! But—but—”

“But what?” The ice in Hua Cheng’s tone grows as his patience thins.

“You’re… you’re… my l-lord is not of the Pavilion,” the clerk who had apparently decided that today would be a good day to die says, shaking, but determined. “I can’t just sh-show you those… It’s not—it’s not—”

“Then check them yourself and tell me,” Hua Cheng snaps. “I am a member of the City Council. Surely, it’s enough for you to do that.”

For the first time in his memory, that particular title proves to be of some use. The clerk nods hastily, looking slightly relieved, and runs off to check the records, leaving Hua Cheng to stew in his own frustration.

It turns out, Lianhua took a request to locate and deliver the Clear-Water Cup, which, by description in the Pavilion’s inventory, looks like a simple cup made of commonplace clay. However, after having been used for over a century at a renowned Buddhist temple, it has attained the ability to neutralize any poison. The Pavilion note meticulously states that the extent of its powers hasn’t been determined.

Hua Cheng couldn’t care less. Whether the cup is another useless trinket or an actually powerful artifact, it’s all the same. For him, by itself, it’s a mere curiosity at best, and its only actual value is in helping him locate Lianhua.

--

Unexpectedly, finding the cup proves to be more difficult that he’d thought. Perhaps, it does have real value. Hua Cheng sends out his operatives and his butterflies to scour the mortal realm, and when that doesn’t yield immediate results, the demon realm as well, but all they bring back are rumors, unproven evidence, and news of others on a similar search.

Weeks pass. Then, months. Hua Cheng follows the most promising leads personally, using his mastery of disguises, but his search, too, proves empty. No cup, and no sign of Lianhua.

Whenever he returns to Dusk City, he terrorizes the Pavilion, but there’s no satisfaction to be had there, either. Lianhua hasn’t reported in, nor sent any messages, and the Pavilion, apparently, doesn’t provide its agents with a security net of any kind. It’s all Hua Cheng can do not to blast the whole place to pieces.

In his brief stops in the City, he deals with the urgent matters in the Gambling Den, his temper ever so short these days, and confers with Yin Yu, who alone out of all Hua Cheng’s underlings can be trusted with solo unsupervised work, on account of having been a minor martial god once but having had enough good sense to quit. That straight after he’d quit a major corruption scandal erupted in the Heavenly Capital only raised Hua Cheng’s estimation of him.

Hua Cheng values him for many reasons, but especially for his reliability. This time, however, even the ever-resourceful Yin Yu can only sift through every meager rumor by hand, and so far has uncovered nothing promising. After he finishes his unsatisfying report on this, and presents the Den issues Hua Cheng needs to deal with, he still lingers.

“What is it?” Hua Cheng says impatiently, his mind elsewhere. The City Council had apparently decided to drown him in paperwork as a petty act of revenge for terrorizing one of their own. More fools them, Yin Yu is not to be trifled with when it comes to handling bureaucracy.

“An unrelated matter,” Yin Yu says blandly, unaffected by his master’s tone—another reason Hua Cheng continuously employs him and pays him as much as he does. “But a troubling one. Imperial guards have been spotted in Dusk City.”

Hua Cheng pauses and looks at him, eyebrow raised. “Imperial guards? As in—that self-absorbed arrogant bastard His Imperial Majesty the Heavenly Emperor’s personal guards?”

“Yes. They came in disguise, as badly made as usual, though it was less that and more their attitudes that gave them away,” Yin Yu reports. “The Council is aware of their presence, but is ignoring it.”

“Useless cowards,” Hua Cheng scoffs. “The guards, what do they want?”

“They are apparently looking for someone to arrest, some heavenly runaway,” Yin Yu says. “This time, however, they are unusually tight-lipped about it.”

“Interesting.” Hua Cheng hums. “Have we heard of any major trouble up there recently?”

After all, sending imperial guards into the heart of hostile—technically just independent but everyone knows better—territory is a drastic measure.

“No,” Yin Yu says, looking genuinely puzzled in as much as he ever looks anything. “Either something truly big is about to break, or someone is using the guards for their private purposes.”

“And there aren’t many people up in that heavenly dump who could do that,” Hua Cheng muses. “Who do you think?”

“His Majesty, obviously,” Yin Yu says. “Barring him, probably Ling Wen. And of course, the commander of the guards. After all, these men come from his kingdom, he raised and trained them. Naturally, they’d obey him, unless perhaps it contradicted the emperor. But if it has nothing to do with him…”

“Hm.” Hua Cheng glances at the stack of papers awaiting him with displeasure. “Sounds like one of their petty squabbles that don’t concern us. Keep an eye on that, otherwise leave them be.” He pauses, a smirk emerging. “But if they stick their noses into the Red District, give them our warmest welcome.”

Even Yin Yu’s lips twitch at that. “Yes, my lord. Now, these only require your signature, while those you have to actually read, and—”

Hua Cheng groans.

--

It’s another frustrating month before he finally manages to locate the cup at a remote shelter high up in the mountains. Hua Cheng travels personally, and as he climbs to the abandoned temple inn, he keeps expecting to be intercepted, to hear that clear voice, filled with mischief, calling after him. Even as he reaches for the cup, he expects for someone’s hand to overtake his.

But there’s nothing. He is alone and unimpeded. No intricate sweet scent permeates the chilly winter air, no gentle laugh disturbs the silence.

Heart unexpectedly heavy, Hua Cheng sweeps up the cup, and leaves.

--

Hua Cheng does the only thing he can think of. If it’s the cup Lianhua is after, then he should know where it is.

Back in the City, Hua Cheng resumes presiding over the games in the Gambling Den nearly every night. He takes some bets, rejects others, and in general does what he’s always done. The only thing he does differently this time is occasionally have the red curtains opened instead of closed so that everyone in the Den can take a good look at him.

At him—and at his newest acquisition, a simple clay cup he likes toying with as he watches the games.

Not too often. He’s not that heavy-handed. But enough times for anyone who’s paying attention to both hear about it and be able to get confirmation. After that, he waits, and… waits.

--

It’s another two torturous weeks before he finally sees Lianhua again. That night in the Gambling Den, Hua Cheng has the curtains open, though he keeps the cup out of sight. The games are particularly brutal tonight, though no one has challenged him directly yet. Hua Cheng would be bored if he wasn’t feeling the tension in the air, one that he senses is only partially his doing.

It’s late into the gaming night when a man enters the Den, leading someone on a chain. Hua Cheng doesn’t change his leisurely-sprawled pose, but internally he tenses.

The man looks to be a middle-aged human, a ghost-path cultivator by his aura, an arrogant expression on his otherwise average-looking face. Hua Cheng hates the lot. It’s frequently a contest of who’s more annoying—a righteous cultivator of an orthodox sect, or a ghost-path one, who thinks he’s smarter than everyone. This one seems to be similarly convinced of his superiority, as he strides into the gaming hall as if he’s so much above everyone here, and it would be fun to take him down a few notches, perhaps even literally—if it wasn’t for the chain in his hands connected to the collar around the neck of someone forced to follow behind him.

Lianhua.

Hua Cheng doesn’t show it, but his breath stops for a long beat.

The lotus spirit looks beautiful, but also—terrible. He’s dressed in the usual flower-spirit ensemble in lilac, pink, and white this time—except, it’s missing some of its many layers, exposing him to the hungry eyes far worse than even the boldest flower spirit fashion would. His hair is loose, but rather than having flowers in it, it looks like someone’s greedy, irreverent hand has been running through it without a care. He’s barefoot in this cold, his hands are tied in front of him, and his head is lowered. Under the licentious stares raining on him and equally distasteful comments pelting his skin, he seems to shrink further into himself with every step.

Hua Cheng hasn’t felt rage like that in a long time. Perhaps since the very night he’d remembered his past. It takes an inhuman effort to remain sitting as he is and wait.

The man walks directly toward the main table and stops at the foot of the steps, looking up at Hua Cheng, the expression on his face a curious mixture of challenge, scorn, and tightly suppressed fear.

“So you’re the Red Demon, one they call Crimson Rain—the owner of this… place?” he demands, his voice thinning unpleasantly in parts. “I, Mo Weishi, have come to challenge you!”

Forcing himself to ignore the presence at the man’s side, Hua Cheng lazily crosses his legs. “Boring,” he drawls. “Why should I give you the time of day?”

Many gamblers halt their own games or abandon them altogether to come closer, anticipating a show. The regulars look predatory, the newcomers—scared and intrigued. The flower spirit, brought unwillingly into this spotlight, shivers.

“You have something I want in your unworthy hands,” Mo Weishi declares, either oblivious or thinking for some reason that he’s got the upper hand here. “The Clear-Water Cup? I’m willing to bet with you for it.”

Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow, sending a mental command to his security personnel to stand ready, but not to act without his word. He can sense their murderous intent clear enough.

“My hands are unworthy, but yours aren’t?” he asks coolly, producing a cup and twirling it around in his palm. “From where I’m looking, you’re no adept of the righteous path, visitor.”

Mo Weishi scoffs. “At least I’m no demon scum.”

The crowd around him, mostly consisting of ghosts, spirits, an occasional mortal, and said demon scum, buzzes angrily.

“One has to be either very powerful or very stupid to say something like this here,” Hua Cheng notes in an uncaring tone, his eyes resting for a moment on Lianhua’s hands that have curled into fists.

“No need to guess which one he is!” someone from the audience yells, and the hall instantly ripples with mean-spirited laughter as more similar comments are thrown around.

Mo Weishi’s face turns red with anger. “You all—you—!” He seems to incensed to speak for a moment, then turns his eyes back to his goal. “Hua Cheng! I’ve come to do business here! Will you bet or not?!”

Despite Hua Cheng’s order, a couple of security demons move closer threateningly, as the crowd erupts in angry murmurings.

“He shows the lord no respect!”

“How dare he address him as he pleases!”

“Let me at him! I’ll tear his head off his shoulders, then we’ll see how he talks!”

Hua Cheng lifts a hand, and silence falls immediately.

“I have no use for this trinket, but why would I give it to you for the asking? What’s your bet? And it had better be good. I don’t like people who waste my time. In fact, I see it as offensive.”

The heavy implication of what happens when Hua Cheng is offended hangs in the air, thick enough even for Mo Weishi, it seems.

Still, he remembers himself and steps forward boldly, jerking on the chain in his hand. Lianhua stumbles past him, bound hands lifting up in a desperate bid for balance. He lowers his head instantly as he regains it, but that split second of sharp movement has been enough for Hua Cheng to see the purple bruise blooming on his cheekbone. Hua Cheng’s vision blurs red.

“I’ve heard that Lord Hua”—the title comes off mockingly—“is rather partial to flower spirits. Visits that den of whores—the Grove, do you call it?—frequently.”

At this, Lianhua flinches and moves as if to look up, but at the last moment, hangs his head again, turning into a statue.

“So out of my magnanimous heart, I’ve captured one for you,” Mo Weishi states, clearly pleased with himself. “If I win, the cup is mine. If you win, I’ll give you this pretty thing. Don’t worry, the collar on his neck suppresses his powers, he can’t put any charms on you. Use him however you like. He’s a bit feisty, but completely harmless like this.”

Hua Cheng is suddenly on his feet, and he doesn’t remember standing up.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Mo Weishi says suddenly, flinging out a hand. “I have a condition!”

The crowd doesn’t like this at all.

“He’s come into our lord’s Den and thinks he can set conditions!”

“The nerve!”

“Like this flower spirit is that special! Like my lord couldn’t have any of them at the snap of his fingers!”

Hua Cheng looks up, and gratifying silence falls immediately. Slowly, he descends the stairs until he’s towering over the man who clearly has a death wish and is unaware of it.

“What condition?” Hua Cheng asks.

“We use my dice, and you throw with your left hand!”

At this, the uproar flares up ever-higher.

“He dares accuse our lord of cheating! Human scum!”

“Let me at him! I’ll rip him to pieces!”

“How dare he?!”

Hua Cheng, however, smiles. “Very well. We use your dice. I’ll throw with my left hand. Go ahead, then. I accept your bet and your condition, but I have one of my own. If you lose, I’ll take this flower spirit and your head.”

He ignores the appreciative hum of the crowd. Mo Weishi looks uncertain for the first time, and glances at Lianhua for some reason. Hua Cheng doesn’t care how this unfolds. He’s fully aware, he’s talking to a dead man.

Mo Weishi seems to come to a decision, and steps toward the table. “I go first, demon.”

He lets go of the iron chain, and as it drops to the floor, Lianhua’s neck is jerked down as well. Hua Cheng forces himself not to look at him.

Mo Weishi pulls a pair of dice from his sleeve, takes the cup, and places them inside, shaking the cup vigorously. Hua Cheng doesn’t bother neutralizing the spell he can sense on the dice. He’s in the seat of his power, and nothing can affect his will.

Mo Weishi opens the cup and throws the dice on the table. A four and a six. A good roll under different circumstances. He glances triumphantly at Hua Cheng and hands him the cup.

“Your turn, Hua Cheng.”

Hua Cheng picks up the dice, throws them in a cup, and rolls, no tricks, no flare, no show. At the last second, he sees the minute motion of Lianhua’s chin as the flower spirit sneaks a peek from under his lashes.

The gaming hall roars.

Double sixes.

“Take him,” Hua Cheng orders expressionlessly amidst the celebratory chaos, and two muscular, tall demons with blank faces instantly grab Mo Weishi, pulling him away.

“Wait!” the man yells, incensed as it slowly dawns on him. “You cheated! That’s not fair! I demand a rematch!”

With a desperate lunge, he manages to twist himself out of the guards’ hands for a moment, throwing himself at Lianhua.

“You! You tricked me! You said to use my own dice! You said he’s no good with his left hand!”

Hua Cheng looks at Lianhua, as the guards recapture the sputtering man and drag him further off. For the first time since he’d entered, the flower spirit looks up of his own free will, his eyes landing squarely on the still shouting profanities excuse of a human being. He doesn’t say anything, but the ghost of a smile touches his pale lips that look dry, as if he hadn’t had a drop of water in forever.

Sensing Hua Cheng’s gaze, though, he drops his head again, pulling back, as if… in shame. Hua Cheng’s blood boils.

He steps toward Lianhua, picking up the ugly, heavy chain. A moment of concentration, and it bursts apart in his hands, pieces of the collar shooting out like arrows in every direction. Someone curses, multiple voices instantly shushing them.

Lianhua sways on his feet, gulping for breath, chest heaving. As Hua Cheng steps closer though, reaching to catch him, he draws back sharply, then freezes, as if having remembered he’s got nowhere to run. Hua Cheng feels a sharp, stinging pain in his chest at the sight.

He approaches cautiously. Lianhua is watching him out of the corner of his eye. He flinches, but doesn’t pull back, as Hua Cheng waves his hand, and a few dozen silver butterflies swarm around Lianhua’s bound wrists, tearing at the rope until it all but dissolves without a trace. Lianhua shivers.

As Hua Cheng takes in more details, his vision bleeds red again and there’s a deadly drumbeat of blood in his ears. The scandalous way Lianhua is dressed—or rather not dressed—is an insult in and of itself, but it doesn’t end there. With so many layers missing, the slits of his sleeves fall open from his shoulders to his wrists, revealing bare skin, and on that skin—hand-shaped bruises blooming, stark dark-purple blemishes marring the smooth white jade. His wrists are red and blue.

The hall falls eerily quiet, apart from Mo Weishi still vomiting curses, as Hua Cheng takes off his own heavy, fur-padded outer robe in one motion, and carefully drapes it over Lianhua’s shoulders, finally hiding him from prying eyes and the cold air. He’s ready for the lotus spirit to flinch away from him, to protest, but instead his heart breaks as Lianhua’s pale fingers grab onto that too-large robe, clutching at it so desperately his knuckles turn white, as he pulls it awkwardly tighter around himself.

“Cheat! Cheat! Hua Cheng, you cheated, you despicable—” Mo Weishi keeps yelling.

Eyes flashing, Hua Cheng whirls on him. “Silence.”

He doesn’t roar, but the sound has the same effect, echoing off the walls, and making the entire hall go completely still, petrified.

“You have the nerve to come into my territory,” Hua Cheng growls, “to demand things of me as if you’re entitled to them, to insult me—and you expect there to be no consequences? For the crime of pissing me off alone I would have you stripped of your skin and chased out of here to the ends of the earth. But you stand here, spouting nonsense, when you DARED HARM WHAT IS MINE?”

A collective gasp is torn from the crowd, as E’Ming flies out of its scabbard, singing its rage as it slices through the air in the blink of an eye. The guards have the good sense to dash aside, as E’Ming pierces the man’s heart in one swift motion and bathes in his blood triumphantly as it’s torn out of the body in a bright-red stream.

Lianhua makes an odd noise and seems to sag at the sight. “San Lang…” he whispers, still not lifting his eyes. “Please. Get me out of here.”

Hua Cheng wraps his arm around his waist, and pulls the dice out. A blink, and they’re gone.

--

Hua Cheng brings them straight to his suite in Paradise Manor. As soon as the Den disappears from view, Lianhua starts shaking so badly, he can’t keep his feet. Hua Cheng gently guides him to sit on a soft cushion, kneeling beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Lianhua says, rocking slightly in place and clutching at Hua Cheng’s robes as if they were a lifeline. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, hey,” Hua Cheng cuts him off, gently covering his hands with his own. Lianhua’s skin is like ice. “Stop that. What are you sorry for?”

“I—I—I u-used you,” Lianhua manages, staring down at their hands in desperation. “T-to free myself f-from him. I couldn’t… I couldn’t manage on my own. I was… I was so stupid and I got caught, and…”

“Hush.” Hua Cheng dares to softly squeeze his hands, careful not to exert too much pressure. “You’re not stupid, and that bastard died too soon. I should have skinned him slowly for what he did to you. Should have cut him piece by disgusting piece.”

He’s tried to control his voice, but he must have failed, and Lianhua finally looks up at him, tortured amber eyes filled with tears.

“Why?” he asks, his voice shaky.

And Hua Cheng is suddenly breathless, stripped of all pretenses and clever disguises.

“Don’t you know?” is all he can say.

A clear sob falls off Lianhua’s lips, as he suddenly slides off the cushion and straight into Hua Cheng’s embrace, clinging to him with the same desperation as he’d clutched his robes before. He buries his face in Hua Cheng’s shoulder, and cries, and cries, like a child left alone in the deep, dark forest, then suddenly whisked off to safety. Hua Cheng’s arms wrap around him, and he holds on just as tightly, murmuring soothing nonsense into the tangled silky mess of hair, palms sliding gently up and down Lianhua’s back. His heart feels split open, raw with it.

“He died too soon,” Hua Cheng whispers. “He died too soon.”

Eventually, Lianhua quiets down, still shuddering with the echoes of it. He hides his face in Hua Cheng’s shoulder, refusing to look up, as if he can only talk if he isn’t seen, if he can pretend to be invisible.

“I… it was so stupid. I was in the mortal realm, searching for the cup. But I—I left Dusk City too soon after… uh, after that time. My powers were low, and I got caught in the rain and got sick. So stupid.” He shakes his head at himself. “It’s not the first time that’s happened in eight years. I’m not—I’m not clueless. I know how to handle these things. May-maybe it’s made me arrogant. I was weak after I recovered, but I didn’t want to refuse the assignment. It paid well, and I needed to avoid… Uh, I wanted a change of scenery.”

Hua Cheng continues to softly rub his back, listening. He doesn’t know why he is so trusted, and his chest feels warm.

“That man… I ran into him on the road, and he pretended he’d been mugged. I was so focused on finding the cup, I didn’t look too closely. I thought he was just a fellow traveler. I was distracted, it was stupid.”

Hua Cheng tsks, forcing himself not to interrupt, but willing Lianhua to stop calling himself that.

“I helped him, and he asked if he could share my shelter for the night, and I said yes. He didn’t look at me like…” Head bent, he still manages to turn his face even further away. “Like men sometimes do. I didn’t think he would try anything like that…” A bitter chuckle escapes. “And he didn’t. Instead, I woke up in the morning with that collar around my neck, and I was powerless. If my energy had been full, I could have fought it. I have before—this isn’t the first time someone had tried something like this on me. But I was still healing, I shouldn’t have rushed out, I should have…”

He shakes his head, but at least he’s stopped trembling, and his voice seems steadier now. Hua Cheng squeezes him lightly, a wordless reassurance. It’s a different language, another conversation they’re having at the same time, one that Lianhua seems completely unaware of, even if he’s clearly responding to it.

“He… I was afraid he would…” He stumbles, and Hua Cheng feels his own teeth sharpen suddenly. He died too soon. Too easy. “But instead he just… roughed me up. Insults, taunts. Then he said, you had found the cup, and he’d trade me for it. And I… San Lang, I am so sorry. I know your luck. Your skill. I fed him that lie, because I wanted to see him gone. I wasn’t the first spirit he’d caught, and I saw what he did to them.” His voice drops to a distant whisper. “The cup. He didn’t want it to neutralize poison. If corrupted, it would create poison, and… and those spirits were still alive, when he collected his… ingredients.”

Hua Cheng hugs him close.

“I wanted him dead,” Lianhua says tonelessly, having composed himself again. “Even if you had to see me like that, even if you’d felt ashamed knowing such a person, I wanted him gone. I couldn’t do it myself. So I said I’d tell him your weakness if he stopped beating me, and he believed me.”

Hua Cheng gently takes his shoulders and pulls away so that he can look him in the eye.

“Xiao gege, I am ashamed that this whole time I’ve been looking for you, and I didn’t find you sooner. I’m ashamed that my incompetence had led to this. I am proud to be someone you could rely on, even like this. And the only thing I regret is that I let him die so easily. He didn’t deserve an easy death. I’m sorry. But I could never be ashamed of knowing you.”

Lianhua’s mouth is open slightly, his eyes red, yet clear. “I… San Lang…” he breathes out, eyes sliding closed for a moment. A confused frown creases his brow. “Xiao gege?”

Hua Cheng blinks. He can’t say where the endearment has come from. It just… felt right.

“It suits you,” he says.

Lianhua blinks, lips curving in anticipation of the first real smile. “And if I’m actually older than you?”

Hua Cheng grins. “Gege it is then.”

Lianhua tilts his head to one side, studying him, as if Hua Cheng is a very peculiar exhibit. “I had thought, with your status, your… position, you’d be… more prideful than this. After all, I’m only a silly flower spirit.” He glances away and sighs. “Sillier than most, in fact.”

Hua Cheng smiles, gently tipping Lianhua’s chin back to face him. The lotus spirit lets him.

“You judge yourself too harshly, and I can’t let you. And as for the things you mentioned… Do they really matter? To me, only real power means anything.”

And between the two of them, Hua Cheng realizes with some belated irony at his own expense, he’s not the one who wields any.

Lianhua looks confused. “But then—”

Hua Cheng smiles at him. “Gege will understand one day. Unless you mind?”

Lianhua looks away and shakes his head, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Good then. Gege, you look exhausted. Stay the night, eat something, rest. Please, I won’t take no for an answer. Not tonight.”

Lianhua’s blush intensifies, but when he looks at Hua Cheng this time, there’s a hint of the old mischief there. “Well, you won me as your prize. It’s not like I can refuse you, my lord.”

Hua Cheng blinks. Abruptly, his spine feels as if it’s been replaced with a chord of red-hot liquid metal. Lianhua looks at him innocently, as if he has no idea what he’s doing. Perhaps he doesn’t. Perhaps he’s having fun. Hua Cheng would happily endure either option for the joy of having him here.

“One moment, gege.” He smiles, reaches into the folds of his robes to pull the dice out again. He shakes them in his hand then lets them fall to the floor. “Oh, would you look at that, snake eyes. So much for my luck.” He takes Lianhua’s hand, puts the dice onto his palm, then gently closes it around them. “Your turn, gege.”

Lianhua looks puzzled, but obediently recreates the motion, and drops the dice on the floor.

Hua Cheng whistles. “Two sixes. Your luck is really something, gege. Congratulations, you beat me. You have your freedom back.”

“I—” Lianhua stares at the dice, bewildered, then looks up at Hua Cheng, and it dawns. A helpless, real smile blooms on his lips. “San Lang, you really are a marvel.”

Hua Cheng grins, hiding how much that has affected him, and says, “If you want to thank me, stay the night as my guest. No, gege, I insist. It’s late, and I won’t hear of letting you leave in such a state.” An idea pops into his head. “Would you like a bath? I’ll have it drawn and heated for you.”

“He-heated?” Lianhua says feebly, it’s almost a whimper. Belatedly, he tries to conceal the longing in his eyes. “San Lang, it’s too much trouble, I—”

Victory, Hua Cheng thinks, grinning, has always tasted sweet.

--

While Lianhua is happily soaking in the indoor bathing pools—Hua Cheng had bitten his tongue raw to prevent himself from offering assistance. He hasn’t earned the honor yet, and he wouldn’t like to break Lianhua’s trust by using his vulnerable state against him to get his way—Hua Cheng orders for copious amounts of food to be brought in to his private quarters, and spends his time setting the table personally to his satisfaction. He’d added a medicinal solution to the bathwater earlier, and now he eyes the qi-replenishing broth and the selection of appetizers and main courses, and worries if it’s sufficient and to the lotus’s taste. Flowers are omnivorous, he knows this, but of Lianhua’s personal preferences he still has no knowledge.

When Lianhua finally emerges from the bath, and pads back into the room shyly, Hua Cheng feels ambushed.

The visible bruise on Lianhua’s cheek is already barely-noticeable, between the effects of the bath and his own qi running freely. His hair has been washed and combed, but it’s still wet, only toweled dry. He’s wearing a clean set of white inner robes that Hua Cheng had bought for one of his smaller-sized forms and hadn’t worn yet. He’d left them for Lianhua with the rest of the ensemble in demure light-green. Hua Cheng’s designed persona was supposed to be a humble scholar.

But Lianhua isn’t wearing the rest of the ensemble. Instead, he is still—again—wrapped in Hua Cheng’s own thick red outer robes. He’s holding them together at the collar with his hand, as he stands there, eyes downcast, a flush on his cheeks, shuffling his feet nervously.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Lianhua utters, addressing the floor. “These are warm, and I… and uh…”

Hua Cheng resists the absurd urge to check if he’d died again. A shamefully big portion of his mind is busy roaring, half in triumph and half in agony. The rest of him can only just hold himself in check.

“You look adorable, gege,” he hears himself say in a light, teasing tone he’s pulled out of no one knows where. “If you like those so much, by all means, keep them.”

Lianhua moves closer slowly, having to be mindful of too-long swaths of winter-heavy fabric. “Only for tonight, if San Lang really doesn’t mind. I’m too tired to make myself decent, and besides…” He colors some more. “San Lang has already seen me in a far more embarrassing state. My apologies for my lack of decorum earlier.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng sighs. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

Lianhua’s lips thin into a stubborn line. “I wouldn’t want San Lang to think that it was by choice that I appeared like that. Since he apparently frequents the Grove now, he might have gotten the erroneous impression that all flower spirits disregard decency, and this one didn’t want to be confused for one of those who do.”

Hua Cheng takes a moment to process this, then grins wide, unable to help it. “This one wouldn’t dare accuse gege of such condemnable absence of taste, even had he appeared in the Den entirely naked.”

Lianhua’s head snaps toward him. “San Lang!”

“As for my visits to the Grove,” Hua Cheng purrs, finally able to move without yielding to the urge to pounce, and drawing closer. “I went there to see if I could find you. I tend to find flower spirits uninteresting and too noisy, unless they happen to have sword skills to rival my own. Despite my luck, I couldn’t find any. No need to be jealous, gege.”

“You—!” Lianhua glares at him, face on fire. “Who’s jealous? I only… You just—” His stomach rumbles loudly as the scents of food reach him.

“Gege, you must be starving,” Hua Cheng says gently, offering him a hand. “Come, eat something.”

The war between offended dignity and hunger is clear on Lianhua’s face, but in the end, he sighs a little, and takes Hua Cheng’s hand, allowing him to escort him to the table.

--

Despite being obviously hungry, Lianhua eats sparingly.

“It wasn’t that bad, he did feed me once a day,” he says with a wry twist to his lips. “And this is all so delicious, San Lang, I’d better watch it, or I’ll make myself sick.”

He speaks like one who’s had that experience, perhaps more than once, and Hua Cheng feels as if he’s the one starving here. He still knows next to nothing of this little captivating enigma, and he longs to know it all.

Hua Cheng doesn’t really understand it, but the months he’d spent without running into Lianhua weren’t just boring—they were dreadful, dull, a colorless mire of frustrating days and empty nights. Perhaps he is under a spell, but if that’s true, he doesn’t want it broken. Perhaps he is a fool. So what? He’s been nearly everything else under the sun, why not this?

He uses his chopsticks to put the choicer pieces into Lianhua’s bowl, gently encourages him to drink more broth, as he talks about the dramas in the City that Lianhua had missed, and tells him carefully curated anecdotes from the Gambling Den, coaxing out smiles, and even, when he’s lucky, laughter.

He watches carefully, so he notices the exact moment when the warmth, the food, and most of all the feeling of safety have tipped Lianhua straight into drowsiness. His blinks turn slower, his gaze less focused. The too-big fur-padded robe tends to slide off his shoulders, and he turns less vigilant about pulling it back. His tea is left unfinished, as Hua Cheng takes the cup from him before he drops it.

“Sorry, San Lang,” Lianhua murmurs, eyelids heavy. “I’m afraid I’m… not a very, uh, sorry”—he yawns—“not a very good guest tonight.”

“Gege, can I tell you a secret?” Hua Cheng asks, offering Lianhua his hand. The lotus spirit takes it trustingly, warming Hua Cheng’s heart.

“Hm?”

Hua Cheng gently draws him to his feet and immediately wraps an arm around his waist to support him as they start their slow walk toward the guest room.

“I never have guests,” Hua Cheng admits, guiding him carefully along the softly-lit corridor. “You are the first, and I have no complaints.”

“No guests?” Lianhua blinks slowly, obviously more than half-asleep already. “But San Lang is so good? So warm… If San Lang were my friend, I’d be his guest all the time.”

Hua Cheng smiles, gently pulls him back from walking into a decorative column, and teases, “Aren’t I your friend, gege?”

“Oh!” Lianhua’s eyes snap open wide. “That’s right! San Lang is my friend!” For no explicable reason, his mood suddenly plummets, and he repeats morosely, “San Lang is my friend…”

“What’s wrong, gege?” Hua Cheng asks, swallowing a smile. “Don’t you like being friends with me?”

Lianhua seems to not be listening. “That’s why San Lang said he’d have killed that man slowly. Because he cares about me. Because we’re friends.”

He sounds like a child explaining something to himself. Hua Cheng finds this both charming and slightly heartbreaking. He feels a little bad.

They stop at the door to the guest bedroom, aired out and heated to be toasty-warm as per Hua Cheng’s instructions.

“Ah, this is wonderful. Thank you, San Lang.” Lianhua turns and attempts to bow to him. Hua Cheng catches his arms to pull him upright. He then reaches out and carefully pulls the heavy outer robe back over Lianhua’s shoulder, not daring to touch the soft silk beneath. Even more carefully, he doesn’t think of anything as he does it.

“Sleep well, gege,” he says softly. “I’ll leave one of these with you.” He extends a hand, and a silver butterfly emerges from the vambrace, fleeting off to Lianhua’s shoulder. “If you need anything, just tell it.”

Lianhua tries to look at his own shoulder. “En. Thank you.”

Hua Cheng smiles. “Good night.”

He’s only taken a few steps, before Lianhua calls suddenly, “San Lang!”

Hua Cheng turns to look at him. “Gege?”

There’s a clear conflict on Lianhua’s face, and his body is half-swaying forward, one foot in the corridor, the other rooted to the spot, one hand holding on to the doorframe as if to bar himself from moving, while the other is keeping the robe from sliding off his shoulder again.

After a moment, he shakes his head in apology, and pulls the robe in tighter. “Nothing. I’m sorry. Good night.”

He disappears behind the door, leaving Hua Cheng alone with his confusion.

--

He half-expects Lianhua to disappear in the night or at least make the attempt—Hua Cheng is disinclined to allow it this time, he’s not one for making the same mistake twice. But the lotus spirit must have been too worn out, so not only does he stay put, he even sleeps in late. Hua Cheng is pleased. It means Lianhua feels safe enough here to relax his guard.

Safe here. With him.

It’s odd that such a thing should have any bearing on him. If asked, he never would have thought it for himself, but it does. It feels momentous, like having conquered a kingdom, and his ambitions had never even led that way. It just feels… good. Really, really good.

Hua Cheng, for his part, hasn’t slept at all, which doesn’t affect him much, as there were things to be done. Acquiring a wardrobe that would fit a flower spirit of very refined tastes overnight is a challenge even in Dusk City, but Hua Cheng’s reputation of the unofficial ruler of the City does wonders when it comes to dragging people out of bed in the middle of the night and demanding their best wares. The sheer terror of the experience is compensated heavily with bags of silver and bragging rights, so in the morning they wake up exhausted but quite satisfied.

Hua Cheng finds the resulting selection barely up to par, but it’s the best he can do on such a short notice. The lack of foresight on his part irritates him, but now is not the time to wallow in his own inadequacies.

When Lianhua finally emerges from his bedroom around noon, he looks every bit the flower spirit royalty. Out of all the options Hua Cheng had procured for him, he’d picked the set in white, red, and gold, the sheer silks beautifully overlaying one another, the slits and frills conveying a flower’s delicacy, yet the overall design, while teasing enough, also doesn’t reveal anything it shouldn’t.

He smiles at Hua Cheng shyly. “San Lang, these are so beautiful.” His hand slides over his hip, feeling the fabric. “Who do they belong to? I have to thank the owner for letting me borrow them.”

Hua Cheng feels incredibly pleased with himself. “They are yours,” he says with a smile. “I’m happy you like them.”

Lianhua’s eyes widen. “San Lang, it’s too much! Already I’ve imposed on your hospitality, and your time, and now this!” His cheeks color, but his tone turns playful. “At this rate, I won’t be able to pay my debt in two lifetimes.”

Hua Cheng chuckles and turns to indicate Lianhua should accompany him. “Oh, gege has remembered his debt?”

“How can I forget?” Lianhua grumbles, joining him. “Though I have to say, San Lang has been very gracious in not reminding me.” He stops abruptly, suddenly serious. “San Lang, last night… I wish to apologize again. I don’t remember half the things I’d said and done, but what I do remember is so embarrassing. I’m sorry. Jokes aside, you can ask any service of me, and I’ll do it happily.”

Hua Cheng considers his grave expression and suppresses his own humor. Instead, he affects an equally serious tone and says, “Very well. I require company for the midday meal, Lianhua-gongzi. Will you serve as such?”

Lianhua is forced to lift his eyes on him at this. After a long beat, Hua Cheng wins the little staring contest, and Lianhua whines, “San Laaaang!”

Hua Cheng grins. “This way, gege.”

--

They spend the rest of the day in each other’s company. Hua Cheng gives Lianhua a tour of his residence, something he’s never done before for anyone, and catches himself feeling strangely proud. The library is a hit, the armory—even more of one, though Lianhua seems embarrassed by his own obvious interest toward the displayed weapons and doesn’t let himself linger. Finally, they find themselves in the garden, and it’s Hua Cheng’s turn to be shy.

“It’s nothing like the Grove, I know,” he says.

Lianhua looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but manages to refrain. “Well, with so many tree- and flower spirits living there, it would be a real cause for concern if the Grove hadn’t been as green and lush as it is. But San Lang, your garden is so beautiful! Look, are those azaleas? You must know how difficult it is to grow them in this soil! And the temperature! The spells you use to keep it so warm here in the middle of winter—San Lang, you’re really powerful!”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Hua Cheng mutters, glancing away.

“Of course it is. Most people of your means, never mind most demons, have hobbies so despicable it pains to even think of them. You chose to use yours to create so much beauty! San Lang. You’re really one of a kind!”

Hua Cheng smiles, concealing his reaction. “Flattery won’t get you out of paying your debt, gege.”

Lianhua blushes, but grins back. “What makes San Lang think I don’t want to pay?”

Hua Cheng’s head snaps toward him, but Lianhua has already whirled away, hurrying off to inspect the lilies, loudly admiring their color and shape.

Hua Cheng thinks abruptly that his garden doesn’t have the most vital thing of all—a lotus pond. He will build one. He will start as soon as possible.

--

They share an evening meal, just as pleasant as the day before it, and migrate to Hua Cheng’s favorite leisure room. Among other things, it has a small gambling table in an alcove, where he sometimes practices new games. Lianhua wanders over to it as they talk.

“San Lang,” he says, fingers lightly sliding over the rich crimson fabric covering the table. “I never thought to ask—why games of chance?”

Hua Cheng, feeling playful and bold, leans against the table, blocking Lianhua’s path, and folds his arms over his chest. “Why not?” He grins.

Lianhua, having initially balked at their sudden proximity, seems to accept the challenge and doesn’t move away, tilting his head up instead, studying him. “You like to win?” he hazards.

“That way lies addiction.” Hua Cheng shakes his head. “In truth, winning is easy.”

“Oh? What’s the trick?”

Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow. “Is this gege’s plan? Learn my secret then use it to take my power?”

Lianhua smiles. “And what would you do if I did?”

Hua Cheng regards him, heart too full. He reaches out to gently take a lock of Lianhua’s hair, letting it slip between his fingers. “I’d probably let you,” he says with a wistful smile.

Lianhua’s lips part slightly. “San Lang…”

Hua Cheng abruptly pulls back, taking a few steps away, his back turned. “Gege, in truth, to be good in games of chance, you need to be able to accept either outcome. There is no winning and no losing, no risk and no reward, only your will to trust the game, to see it through, and to emerge stronger no matter the result. If you look at it like that, you’ll never lose.”

Lianhua sounds pensive. “So you like the constant challenge.”

“As part of it, I suppose.” Hua Cheng smiles, unseen. “Call it my own mandate of heaven.”

Lianhua is silent for a moment. After a while, he says, “San Lang, about my debt…”

Hua Cheng grins, his shoulders relaxing as he turns around. “Gege, don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I forgive my debtors. And I’ve decided that I’m willing to forgive your debt—on the condition that you’d stop disappearing on me. Deal?”

Lianhua’s expression turns suddenly peculiar. Hua Cheng can’t read it. His heart picks up the pace the longer the lotus doesn’t say anything.

“Are you sure?” Lianhua asks at last, his tone giving away nothing.

Hua Cheng feels an unnerving tingling sensation run down his spine. Yet he’s never been more certain. “I’m sure.”

Lianhua takes a step toward him, then another. “And if I offered to pay it in full right now? No tricks.”

Hua Cheng swallows, watching him slowly come closer and closer. Temptation seems to seize his whole body. He can tell Lianhua is serious, that he won’t back out now. He wants so much, but—

“You’re still forgiven.”

Lianhua stops directly in front of him, eyes locked on Hua Cheng’s, intense and unfathomable.

“So,” he says softly. “No debt?”

Hua Cheng is having difficulty breathing. “No debt.”

Lianhua smiles suddenly, a small, barely-there, imperfect, real smile, and murmurs, “Good.”

Faster than Hua Cheng can process, Lianhua’s hands wind around his neck, Lianhua pulls himself up on his toes, leans up, and presses their lips together.

It’s like being abruptly doused with bone-melting heat. Hua Cheng has to squeeze his eyes shut against a sudden golden sun storm that hits him with no warning. Lightning bolts are running down his spine, settling in his core, and he thinks he might be shaking, but Lianhua’s lips are sweet and gentle against his own, moving ever so softly.

Just as suddenly, it’s over. Lianhua pulls away, though he doesn’t go anywhere, settling back on his feet and staring up at Hua Cheng, looking almost frightened. Hua Cheng’s mind is blank.

“I’m sorry,” Lianhua whispers. “I know you said friends, but I only wanted… only this one time, I—”

He moves to draw away, and Hua Cheng snaps.

He’s not entirely aware he’s moving, but his hands are suddenly on Lianhua’s waist, pushing him back and hoisting him up onto the table. Lianhua makes a startled noise, but doesn’t move to stop him, maybe he can’t, maybe he doesn’t want to, maybe he’s not fast enough to act, as Hua Cheng has already pushed hismelf between his knees, one hand sliding into that silky mass of hair, tilting his head just right, and his mouth finds Lianhua’s with little finesse and all hunger.

He’d have stopped at the slightest resistance—probably, maybe, he might have, the possibility exists—but he doesn’t meet any. Lianhua lets out a helpless sound that rings eager to Hua Cheng’s ears as he takes it from him, and this kiss isn’t like the first one at all.

Hua Cheng has never wanted anything in his life, either one even, more than he wants this now. He feels like an arrow released from a bowstring, like a chord, struck and unfolding in the air, unable to halt his own sound even if he wanted to. He kisses Lianhua deep, hard, finally taking that teasing, mischievous mouth, and getting drunk on the taste, on the tight soft pressure, on the way it yields before him, overwhelmed, and sweet, and all for him.

“San Lang…” Lianhua gasps, managing to break free for an instant, eyes wide and hazy, lips swollen and vividly red.

Hua Cheng squeezes his waist tighter, and takes his lips again, pulling their bodies flush together. The silks are warm, slippery under his fingers, Lianhua’s thighs are trembling where they grip Hua Cheng’s hips, his hands don’t seem to know where to land, as he is being held, and squeezed, and kissed. Hua Cheng captures his wrists, holds them together behind Lianhua’s back, and Lianhua lets him so easily, as if it wouldn’t even occur to him to resist.

Nipping at his lips, Hua Cheng tastes the sharp line of his jaw, the soft, sweet spot beneath his ear. His lips trace a fiery line down the column of Lianhua’s throat, as Lianhua is gulping for air above him, chest heaving. Near-delirious, Hua Cheng pulls the collars out of the way, sucking a bruise into that jade-white collarbone, and Lianhua trembles all over, keening softly, a desperate, helpless little sound.

Hua Cheng doesn’t stop, but awareness trickles in through the haze, and he realizes he’s bending Lianhua backward forcefully, an inch away from pushing him flat on the table. Lianhua doesn’t resist, but he’s shaking, his ankles are locked around Hua Cheng’s hips as his only anchor, and it’s a little like he’s hugging a storm that has come to devour him.

Hua Cheng eases off gradually, pulling him back up, softening his kisses into something tender and soothing. He releases Lianhua’s wrists, and lets him lead this time, waiting for Lianhua’s mouth to turn after his, before kissing him again, slow and achingly sweet, like the gentle touch of a sun-infused, playful summer shower.

Hua Cheng pulls back a little, watches as Lianhua slowly, hazily opens his eyes, and a sudden knowledge coalesces into something solid and undeniable. Hua Cheng is gone. He has been for a while now, maybe even from the very beginning, and some part of him had clearly known, but he’s only just now caught up, and there’s no denying it anymore. Not when it feels as if his life is hanging on the tremble of those tear-spiked lashes.

Lianhua’s pupils are blown wide, his lips look bruised, and he’s breathing unevenly. But his hands come to rest on Hua Cheng’s shoulders, and then he slides closer, tucking himself into Hua Cheng, wordlessly asking to be held tight. Hua Cheng hugs him, burying his face in Lianhua’s hair and rubbing his back gently.

“All right?” he asks after a while.

“En.” Lianhua hums. “So I. I, um. Now, I understand why you’ve asked for it. I didn’t know it… it would be, um. Like this.”

Hua Cheng’s heart skips a beat. He pulls back slightly to be able to see Lianhua’s face, and asks, “Gege, was this your first kiss?”

Lianhua flushes, glances away, and nods. “En.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t hug him again for fear he’d crush him. “Gege,” he says, barely controlling his voice, carding his fingers through Lianhua’s hair reverently. “I am honored.”

Lianhua shifts uncomfortably, tries to hide his face. “Oh, stop it, it’s nothing much, I know, I’m sure it wasn’t even that good for you, you don’t have to—”

He goes wonderfully obedient and quiet when Hua Cheng kisses him again, still gentle but firm.

“I am honored,” he repeats, leaning his forehead against Lianhua’s. “The night we met, I was only joking. Had I known what honor I was asking for—”

“You’d have asked for it anyway,” Lianhua says wryly. “You’re shameless.”

Hua Cheng laughs, and kisses his hair. “This whole time. I thought you were teasing me, but you really were shy, weren’t you?”

“En,” Lianhua sighs, blushing to the tips of his ears. “But I was teasing you a little bit, too, just to see…” He gives Hua Cheng a rueful look. “Just to see what it was like. I genuinely didn’t think you’d remember me. After all, you know the saying about flower spirits. Sweet is the scent, but any flower on a branch smells the same.”

Hua Cheng’s chest rumbles, expressing his displeasure. “I never liked that saying.” He frowns. “Gege, it’s true that I’d never found flower spirits interesting before, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t respect them. I am powerful, but to become like this, in broad strokes, all I had to do was die.”

“San Lang!”

“It’s true.” Hua Cheng shrugs. “The rest came from what I did with it after. But flower spirits… It can take one up to a hundred years of dedicated, meticulous work to cultivate a human form and consciousness. Sometimes longer. And even if their inclinations are of little interest to me, how can I disrespect that? They serve to give the world beauty, and its inhabitants—joy. My talents lie in blood and destruction, so who am I to scorn them?”

Lianhua is gazing at him with an expression caught between stunned and enraptured. Hua Cheng smiles at him.

“Did gege take me for just any demon brute with not a thought in his head except for lust and slaughter?”

“No,” Lianhua says slowly, sounding dazed. “San Lang really is one of a kind.”

He tilts his chin up, lips slightly parted, wordlessly asking and offering at the same time. The kiss is gentle this time, almost like that very first one, only without the shock of it happening.

“Thank you,” Lianhua whispers as they part.

Hua Cheng’s eyebrows arch. “For—?”

Lianhua only smiles and shakes his head.

--

Hua Cheng isn’t surprised to find the guest bedroom empty in the morning. His heart falls, but he doesn’t have the time to become properly upset, as he spots a square of paper, folded like a butterfly, waiting for him on the neatly made bed.

San Lang,

As the poet said, ‘flowers could fall, but the fragrance will linger.’ I have to leave, but I fully intend to return. If I do not, don’t look for me. If I do not, don’t think more of me than if I were a bouquet of flowers you’d throw away without a care once it wilts. I will explain when I return, and if I don’t it won’t matter. I would rather you forget me than be disappointed. That, I don’t think I can bear.

Take good care of yourself, San Lang. There’s no other in the three realms like you.

Yours,

Instead of his name, Lianhua has signed with a simple little drawing of a lotus blossom.

Hua Cheng stares at the note for a long time, his heart heavy, his mind a void.

Chapter Text

Building a lotus pond is a lot trickier than Hua Cheng had believed. He could have ordered it built, of course, but this feels too important to delegate, so three days after Lianhua left finds him ankle-deep in mud in a newly-dug pond basin in a picturesque corner of his own garden. Lotuses love muddy waters, taking something slimy and disgusting and using it to create the pinnacle of beauty, the perfect blossom. One needs to be dumb as a rock not to see the metaphor.

Hua Cheng hadn’t intended to be idle, no matter what Lianhua had said in his letter. He had, however, almost instantly discovered that the Clear-Water Cup was missing and cursed his own lack of foresight. Lianhua still had a client. From what Hua Cheng remembers of the Black Camelia Pavilion clerk’s terrified blabbering, it was a group of traveling monks working to alleviate the suffering of people in borderland villages, ravaged by war and disease. Naturally, Lianhua wouldn’t linger once he had the cup in his sights.

It paid well, he’d said. Hua Cheng’s mouth twists. Somehow, he sincerely doubts it pays at all. He’d had the time to look through the Pavilion’s ledger. It remains a mystery to him how Lianhua was able to even make a living, considering he mostly took cases no one else wanted as all those clients could offer were a few coins at best. Lianhua, it seems, has never gotten out of his lying habits, only Hua Cheng can now clearly discern a pattern in his lies. He doesn’t like that pattern.

Hua Cheng is still the owner of the cup, as he was the one to retrieve it, so technically this counts as stealing. The truth of it is, Hua Cheng would have given Lianhua this entire manor to take apart had he asked for it. It seems, Hua Cheng still hasn’t earned enough trust.

Many would be amazed, most would laugh at the idea of the terrifying Red-Clothed Calamity becoming an utter fool for love, but Hua Cheng cares little. The opinions of others don’t matter when one knows oneself, owns oneself completely, and he does. His passion, his drive have never known restraint as long as they were his. He never hedges his bets for anything that’s vital to him, death being an old friend, not a source of fear. Perhaps, this is why Luck loves him.

So he doesn’t go stir up trouble this time, and instead digs out the pond with his own hands, installs the drain system, and is now working on creating a perfect nourishing mixture of water, a certain type of mud, and other plants. The water is cold, and he’s up to his knees and elbows in mud, but this isn’t something he’s willing to trust into anyone else.

He hasn’t earned the trust. He’s earned some, but not enough. All the little things Lianhua let slip pile up in Hua Cheng’s mind. He’s been in Dusk City for eight years, yet no one knows where he lives—not the other flower spirits, not his superiors at the Pavilion, obsessed with keeping meticulous records. The cases he picks take him out of the City in unpredictable directions as often as not. He hadn’t stayed at the inn Hua Cheng had put him in—the best inn in the City, mentioned first to every visitor. He’d risked his health, in fact, to flee from it as soon as possible.

‘I needed a change of scenery.’

Hua Cheng has always been sharp, but one doesn’t need to be particularly bright to realize that Lianhua is hiding. Not from Hua Cheng. That’s the gratifying part. No, when push came to shove, he’d run to Hua Cheng, though he seemed to think he wouldn’t be welcome. He’d run to Hua Cheng, and he—

This is maddening. Lianhua had trusted him when it came to throwing himself into Hua Cheng’s arms, spending the night in his house, taking his clothes off under his roof, and—letting him have Lianhua’s first kiss. He had trusted Hua Cheng to take care of a minor evil, like that scumbag who’d captured him. He had not trusted Hua Cheng with the information of what or who it was he was hiding from.

Lianhua trusted Hua Cheng to take, but not to give. And this is definitely Hua Cheng’s fault.

He rearranges the little stones on the bottom of the pond for the fifth time, before powering up the heating ward. He gets out of the basin as soon as he feels the temperature begin to rise. The heat is for the plants, not for unworthy demons who couldn’t convey a simple enough message to the only person they truly cared about.

Oh, how quick he was to take that kiss, to take every liberty offered to him—and quite a few that were not. A selfish brute—exactly like all the other demons. Did he think he was better than them, because he’s handy with a sword? Because he’s taught himself to read, speaks a dozen languages, and studied poetry? Because he has a sense of honor and his mind works faster that the rest? Evidently, it’s not fast enough. Pathetic. Who would trust him to take care of them? He wouldn’t even trust himself.

He inspects the seeds with great care. He’d much rather Lianhua had blessed them, but he hasn’t earned that honor, either. It’s a test of his dedication, his skill. He’ll do this as many times as it takes to get it right.

--

“My lord?”

Hua Cheng hums to indicate he’s listening. The number of people who can appear in his residence unannounced—indeed, have access to enter—is laughably small by design, and sadly the visitor isn’t accompanied by the tender-sweet fragrance of blooming lotuses.

“I apologize for interrupting, but there is an urgent matter that requires your presence in the City Council chambers. You’ve been summoned.”

At this, Hua Cheng turns his head to actually fix Yin Yu with a look. “Excuse me?”

Yin Yu nods, conveying he understands the absurdity of the situation, but that it’s happening nonetheless.

“Representatives from the Heavenly Capital have arrived,” Yin Yu explains. “Accompanied by imperial guards—openly this time. There aren’t too many of them, but they’ve accused us of harboring a fugitive and are threatening force unless we give him up.”

Hua Cheng snorts. “Let them try. Unless Jun Wu deigns to descend personally, those are empty threats, and they know it.”

Yin Yu, however, looks as concerned as he ever does. “They’re here on behalf of their own commander, not the emperor, but they sound very determined. My lord, they aren’t bluffing. I know we have the upper hand should it come to open conflict, but the threat must be taken seriously.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes narrow at Yin Yu’s expression. The former martial god has worked for him long enough for Hua Cheng to know that Yin Yu isn’t prone to panicking over nothing or exaggerating the level of danger.

“Heavens,” Hua Cheng sighs mockingly, “just what has that fugitive done to merit this?”

“That, they aren’t disclosing.”

“There’s a shock,” Hua Cheng scoffs. “Who is he, do we know?”

“We do,” Yin Yu sounds strangely hesitant. “There is another matter you should be aware of. The imperial guards have tried to apprehend the fugitive themselves this morning, but he had severely wounded their leader, before Dusk City guards appeared. He surrendered to them without a fight. My lord, the man who’d led the imperial guards is Yu Qin.”

Hua Cheng’s head snaps up. “What did you say?”

Yin Yu nods. “Yu Qin. He’s currently also in the Council chamber, in… pretty bad shape.”

Yu Qin had to have lost most of his powers after Hua Cheng had burned down his temples, but he was still a martial god—and unreachable while still up in the heavens. Hua Cheng had been waiting for him to fall, and now it seems, he did.

“Yin Yu.” Hua Cheng is beginning to feel a highly unpleasant sensation of a cold, slimy substance slithering down his spine. “Who is the fugitive?”

“A runaway prince. The heir apparent to the celestial kingdom of Xianle.”

The unpleasant, unnerving feeling intensifies. Hua Cheng frowns, trying to make the connection. “Xianle? One of the oldest celestial kingdoms that has lost most of its former splendor after Jun Wu’s… ‘restructuring’ of the heavens?”

“En. King Xie is now the commander of the imperial guards, responsible for their training and service.”

“So Xie Shenwang is looking for his son, intent on dragging him back in chains if he has to,” Hua Cheng muses. “What does this have to do with me? If the Council caught him, why haven’t they handed him over yet? What do they need me for?”

Yin Yu seems to hesitate, as if choosing his words very carefully. “The Council is… reluctant, as you are the de facto ruler of the City, and they have heard rumors that the prince in question has been seen in your company. They dare not act without your permission.”

Hua Cheng stares at him. “Seen in my company? What gossip is this? Seen where? If it’s the spring houses again spreading rumors that I’m their regular to attract clients, I told you to deal with that—”

“In the Gambling Den,” Yin Yu uncharacteristically interrupts him. “Recently. Seen by half the City.”

The vague sense of unease abruptly jumps to the ice-cold feeling of dread.

“What’s his name?” Hua Cheng demands.

Yin Yu’s eyes confirm it even before he speaks.

“His Royal Highness Xie Lian, my lord. It might interest my lord to know that while the martial god Xie Shenwang is indeed his father, his mother is one of the four famous flower spirit beauties, Lian Hua Mingming.”

Hua Cheng’s heart seems to freeze in his chest altogether as his ears are filled with noise. Pieces fall into place almost faster than he can process, bringing with them the overwhelming disgust at his own stupidity.

Flowers can’t stand the touch of metal, except perhaps jewelry, yet ‘Lianhua’ has an obvious passion for swords, one hell of an affinity for them, too. ‘Lianhua’ is ‘estranged from his family.’ ‘Lianhua’ has never been intimidated by Hua Cheng’s rank, as if it wouldn’t even occur to him—of course it wouldn’t occur to someone who’s grown up at a royal palace of a celestial kingdom! ‘Lianhua’s’ impressive cultivation, far exceeding the usual limits of a flower spirit. His intelligence. His skills. His manners. The way he both leans into his flower spirit nature and shies away from it, embarrassed, as if he’d been taught to be ashamed of it. It wouldn’t do for a celestial prince to behave as any common flower, after all, would it? Gods, damn them all to hell, forbid.

Anger is making Hua Cheng’s chest hot, and he forces himself to unclench his fists.

“I know why they want him back,” he says hoarsely, hearing the rage in his own voice. And the little liar had chosen the damnedest moment to reveal that much—when Hua Cheng was in no state to connect the dots!

Yin Yu blinks. “My lord?”

“He was supposed to marry that piece of trash Yu Qin,” Hua Cheng growls. Unbelievable. “Xie Shenwang must be out of his fucking mind, if he still thinks that’s happening.” He starts walking briskly. “Alert all our people to stand ready. If the heavenly trash think they can come here and do as they please, they have another thing coming.”

“My lord, wait!”

“What?” Hua Cheng snaps, impatient.

“The Council isn’t releasing the prisoner at the moment; he’s not in any danger.” Yin Yu looks down delicately. “Perhaps my lord would like to change before heading there?”

Hua Cheng blinks, then glances down at himself. He’s dressed in simple work clothes, bare ankles and arms covered in mud. The lotuses. He’d forgotten. He grits his teeth, hating the delay, but Yin Yu is right.

“Hot water,” Hua Cheng grinds out. “Now.”

“Already waiting in your bath chamber.”

Hua Cheng scrutinizes Yin Yu’s face for any sign of mockery, but if there are any, he can’t detect them. Sighing, Hua Cheng brushes past him back toward the main house.

“You might live long enough to get a raise yet,” he grumbles.

Yin Yu bows.

--

Even in a rush as he is, Hua Cheng dresses with care. Perhaps, it’s stupid. Perhaps, it’s vain. He does it anyway. Hua Cheng is a demon, and before that, he’d been a slave, a servant, a vagrant, and a son of a merchant’s concubine. That his hands, his lips had touched a true-born celestial, never mind a prince, is…

It should be a notch on his belt; it should be a point of pride, something to brag about. Instead, he feels nervous, not good enough, and what if this whole time Lianhua has only been humoring him? Not playing, no. Lianhua isn’t one to play condescending games like that, of that Hua Cheng is certain. But he’s definitely someone to endure out of kindness, politeness even. Hua Cheng can’t bear the thought.

Lianhua. He should call him Xie Lian now, shouldn’t he? He’ll have to see it to believe it first, even though he knows deep inside that there’s no mistake.

A roll of the dice, and he’s standing before the tall ornate doors of the Council chambers. Time to find out.

--

The doors open at the touch of his power, and Hua Cheng strides in, taking the hall in, in a glance.

The Council members are sitting in a semi-circle on the dais that Hua Cheng has never once set foot on, looking a great deal more spooked than usual. A couple are even sweating. At the opposite end of the hall, half a dozen imperial guards are standing, their expressions absent, their armor glinting with tacky gold. Someone is lying on the stretcher beside them, covered with a cloth, but still breathing.

In front of them on either side of the hall, two dozen City guards are standing at attention. Yin Yu has been busy, it seems, as Hua Cheng recognizes many faces. They are all his people, but then, the City Guard has been his tacit purview for years.

And at the center of the room to the left, there are two figures—one standing, one kneeling. The one standing has his hands folded behind his back, his entire posture screaming extreme annoyance. He has a handsome face, young—but in that way that denotes the agelessness of immortality rather than the actual glow of youth. His clothes mark him as court advisor.

The one kneeling is Lianhua—or, Hua Cheng supposes, His Royal Highness Prince Xie Lian of Xianle.

Lianhua—Xie Lian seems to have suffered no injuries in whatever altercation he’d had with the imperial guards. He’s dressed in the flower-spirit fashion, dark- and light-blue layers peeking out from under the pearly-white outer one, his hair has tiny white flowers woven into it. He’s gratifyingly wearing boots, but sadly, not the white fur-padded cloak Hua Cheng had commissioned for him and left in his bedroom four—yes, only four days ago. It’s chilly even in the hall, never mind outside. Of course, Hua Cheng sighs to himself, half-fond and half-exasperated, this man is more resistant to most things, cold included, than the general fragile flower.

As soon as Hua Cheng’s eyes land on him, Xie Lian’s gaze meets his. A guilty expression flits over his face, and he looks away quickly, staring instead at his hands, bound—again!—in his lap. Hua Cheng suppresses his anger for the moment.

“My esteemed colleagues, members of the Council,” Hua Cheng intones coolly, making ‘esteemed colleagues’ sound indistinguishable from ‘useless worms.’ “I have been summoned, and I have arrived. What is the meaning of all this?”

The Council members’ faces turn a shade paler.

“Uh, Lord Hua, you see—” one of them starts awkwardly.

“The meaning of all this is that you’re harboring a fugitive,” the tall man who’s been pacing beside Xie Lian says, glaring at Hua Cheng. “Your Council refuses to surrender him to us without your say-so. Crimson Rain, is it? I, Mei Nianqing, Guoshi of Xianle demand that you release this man to us immediately.”

Guoshi, huh? Hua Cheng lifts an eyebrow. Behind Mei Nianqing, Xie Lian seems to fold a little into himself, as if all hope has abandoned him, leaving him too tired to care. Hua Cheng hates how defeated he looks.

“Why should I?” he asks.

“Well, you are the ruler of this… depraved place in all but name, are you not?” Mei Nianqing asks with obvious derision. “I warn you now, Hua Cheng. You may be powerful, and this is your domain, but do not stand in the way of the heavenly justice.”

“Justice?” Hua Cheng affects a politely surprised tone. “If it is justice the heavens want, the venerable guoshi should have said so. Is this man a criminal then? What is he accused of?”

It’s becoming abundantly clear that Mei Nianqing hadn’t expected resistance like this. To him, Hua Cheng’s permission had seemed a formality, and he’s obviously irritated at having to explain himself. For a guoshi of a celestial kingdom—any kingdom, for that matter—he seems to be remarkably bad at handling his own temper.

“This is no mere man, you… demon,” Mei Nianqing replies snappishly. “This is His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Xianle, and you will refer to him as such.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Hua Cheng bows to Xie Lian, his tone devoid of any mockery. Whether Xie Lian senses it or not, he doesn’t respond or look up.

“And what is His Highness’s crime?” Hua Cheng asks, his attention back on Mei Nianqing.

“What difference does it make to a demon lord like yourself?” Mei Nianqing scoffs. “He’s one of us, so it’s really none of you concern.”

Hua Cheng smiles. “In that case, I’m perfectly happy for him to remain here. Thanking the esteemed guoshi for the visit, may he have a pleasant day elsewhere.”

There’s an indistinct shuffle coming from where the Council members are sitting. Someone may have whimpered. Xie Lian’s lips twitch—a barely-there motion, gone the next second, but Hua Cheng’s heart swells.

“You—!” Mei Nianqing, on the other hand, is not amused at all; his face turns red. “How dare you—this has nothing to do with you, you—”

Hua Cheng splays his hands, smiling ever-so-pleasantly. “Perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn’t. Guoshi is in my City, which he seems to be aware of, and he’s making a request. I’m asking a simple question. It hardly seems unreasonable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mei Nianqing’s face reflects clearly that he would sooner chew his own boots than agree with Hua Cheng on anything, but he seems to marshal himself against this new obstacle. It takes a while.

“His Highness,” Mei Nianqing says when he can master his voice, “is to be punished for being unfilial.”

“Unfilial?” Hua Cheng lifts a brow. “That’s all?”

“What do you mean, that’s all?!” Mei Nianqing explodes. “It’s a heinous crime—”

“In the mortal realm, perhaps,” Hua Cheng cuts him off, unimpressed. “And even there, it would require serious evidence to make such an accusation stick, otherwise it’s just a private family matter. Personally, I don’t put much stock in such charges. In my experience, if the young are being unfilial, the old are usually the ones to blame.”

Mei Nianqing scoffs. “Such lack of respect is to be expected from a demon. What do you even know of filial piety? Of duty?”

“Duty,” Hua Cheng says flatly, “must go both ways—something the old frequently seem to forget. Enough sophistry. If that is all you have—”

“It’s not,” Mei Nianqing interrupts this time. “Very well, Lord Hua. Despite his crimes, His Highness is His Highness, and it’s not for outsiders to witness his disgrace. But if you insist.”

He flicks his eyes to Xie Lian as if to say, ‘See who you chose to surround yourself with.’ Had the prince’s expression revealed any signs of discomfort, Hua Cheng would have stopped the whole thing at once. But Xie Lian’s distant face remains unchanged.

“Eight years ago,” Mei Nianqing says in a didactic tone of one used to lecturing ignorant youths, “His Majesty had arranged His Highness’s marriage to a prominent martial god. It was to be a union highly beneficial to Xianle. Even His Imperial Majesty the Heavenly Emperor had blessed it. But His Highness”—Mei Nianqing rounds on the prince accusingly—“had refused to obey His Majesty’s will. Not only had he refused, he’d also left the Heavenly Capital without permission and had lived in hiding ever since.”

Hua Cheng studies Xie Lian’s calm face and says, “Sounds to me like His Highness had the good sense not to marry some trash god unworthy of the title.”

“You—!” Mei Nianqing whirls back on him, incensed. “Who’s worthy is not for some demon to decide! And His Highness had no right to disobey!”

“No right to choose his own partner?” Hua Cheng asks, articulating carefully and trying to hold his rage at bay.

“No!” Mei Nianqing shouts. “He’s not some mortal who can pick and choose—he has responsibility to his father! To his kingdom! When he was born, he had a blessing bestowed upon him by the elder gods—clearly, it was given to all of Xianle through him, what right does he have to treat it carelessly as he pleases?! That spoiled brat, to behave so selfishly—your royal father is so disappointed in you, Xie Lian! And so am I!”

Hua Cheng curls his hands into fists, lest he starts an earthquake through the power of his fury alone.

“What. Blessing,” he grinds out around his sharpening teeth.

“Eight hundred years of cultivation!” Mei Nianqing yells. “His Highness carries within him the equivalent of eight hundred years of cultivation to be transferred to another with his first kiss!”

Ringing silence fills Hua Cheng’s ears. Mei Nianqing keeps yammering on and on about the tastelessness of the condition and how that’s the unfathomable elder gods for you or maybe the shamelessness of the flower spirits, but Hua Cheng can’t hear a single word. Xie Lian looks directly at him, and it’s all in his eyes, in the gentle smile that is filled with unspeakable sadness.

First kiss.

First kiss.

That sudden heat, the golden sparks, the lightning bolts shaking his core—Hua Cheng had imagined none of it. He’d thought it was only the shock of having the person he’d fallen for kiss him finally of his own free will, he’d thought it was his own romantic perception—but it was real. It was real.

What he’d felt at that moment was the weight of eight hundred years of cultivation settling in his body.

As a demon lord, he’s very powerful, invincible to most things, and set to live a very, very long life, centuries-long perhaps, but if he wanted immortality, he’d have to cultivate for another…

For another eight hundred years.

And now, he doesn’t have to.

He doesn’t realize he’s moving, the entire hall, the people, Mei Nianqing’s shrill shouts—everything fades, blurs out, disappears. He’s suddenly across the room, on his knees, staring straight into those sad amber eyes, and he can’t comprehend any of it.

“Why?” he croaks.

A tear falls softly from Xie Lian’s lashes, and he smiles, even as his lips tremble. Barely-audible, he responds, “Don’t you know?”

Hua Cheng feels punched in the gut. He isn’t sure he’s breathing.

“The night we met,” he pushes out hoarsely. “I was only playing with you… joking…”

Xie Lian’s eyes slide closed for a moment. “I know.” He looks up, calm and resigned. “San Lang, don’t think too much on it. I did it because I wanted to. I don’t regret it, and I never will. In all my life, in all three realms, I’ve never met anyone more worthy.”

Hua Cheng couldn’t utter a single word right now if his life depended on it. His immortal, as of a few days ago, life.

Xie Lian seems to notice and smiles softly.

“Ah, San Lang, don’t look at me like that. It’s all right. You don’t owe me anything. It’s not a debt. I know you were only playing. But I…” He shakes his head and laughs quietly. “My heart knew the moment I saw you, and I listened to it, that’s all.” He looks past Hua Cheng’s shoulder and sighs. “You can release me back to them, it’s all right. There’s nothing they can do about it now.”

Mind reeling, Hua Cheng is forcibly thrown back into that moment, hearing Xie Lian say, ‘Oh, stop it, it’s nothing much.’

It’s nothing much.

He was perfectly well aware that he’d just given Hua Cheng the functional equivalent of immortality over a silly bet he didn’t have to honor, and he’d said, ‘It’s nothing much.’

And even back then, when Hua Cheng didn’t know, it sounded like ‘I’m nothing much.’

“Oh,” Xie Lian says suddenly. “I guess I owe you again. I took the Clear-Water Cup without your permission. The monks were very happy, I hope—I hope San Lang can forgive me this one debt. I’d pay you back, but I think giving away my blessing like this counts as more than just being unfilial. It’s treason, so I’ll probably be, uh, indisposed soon, but—”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE IT AWAY?” Mei Nianqing’s screeching suddenly cuts through the bubble Xie Lian and Hua Cheng have been ensconced within. “GAVE IT TO WHO? THIS DEMON SCUM? XIE LIAN, HAVE YOU NO SHAME?”

“—I’ll try to arrange something to compensate you before, uh… before, well. Um. Before.”

“Stop talking,” Hua Cheng whispers.

“S-San Lang? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend…”

“Stop talking, Your Highness, I beg of you.”

“SELFISH, IMMORAL, DESPICABLE BOY! FOR YOUR OWN DISGUSTING LUST YOU’D BETRAY YOUR KINGDOM?! YOUR FATHER IS TO BEAR SUCH SHAME—”

“HIS FATHER SHOULD BE ASHAMED!” Hua Cheng roars, leaping to his feet, pulling Xie Lian up with him.

The entire hall seems to be encrusted in ice with every word he says. Even Mei Nianqing blinks at the sight. Hua Cheng’s fury is cold to burning.

“How ignorant you are, old man, and you presume to teach others?” he says. “When elder gods want to bless a kingdom, they bless a kingdom. When they want to bless a person—they bless a person. How dare you take what is his for yourself? I’m not surprised they didn’t bless your kingdom—it’s ruled by a fool,” he all but spits out, and the temperature in the hall drops still lower.

“What did Yu Qin promise to get King Xie to agree to give his son away to him? To restore Xianle to its former glory? And you believed him? That trash couldn’t even ascend on his own. In seventy years, he couldn’t even get enough followers to rise in the ranks, because guess what? Even mortals have more sense than you.” He narrows his eyes. “Did it ever occur to you to wonder why Jun Wu had blessed this union? He’s an arrogant bastard, but he’s no fool. He’d blessed it, because that marriage would have destroyed the last treasure Xianle had—and I’m not talking about the damn blessing!”

His voice reverberates off the ice-covered walls, creating a deafening resonance. Yet still Mei Nianqing wants to argue, opening his mouth. Hua Cheng flicks a wrist, and a few dozen silver butterflies dash toward the guoshi, forming an effective gag.

“I’ve heard enough out of you, old fool,” Hua Cheng growls, his hand demolishing the binds tying Xie Lian’s wrists. His other hand is around the prince’s waist, a vice he won’t be able to break out of. “Your prince, you idiots, was the only one to see through that scheme clearly. He didn’t refuse to marry that trash for himself—even though he should have! He did it to save you, you worthless imbeciles! And you dare accuse him of being unfilial?”

“San Lang—” Xie Lian says timidly, hands pressed against Hua Cheng’s chest.

Hua Cheng’s head snaps toward him. “Not a word, Your Highness, I’ve heard enough.”

Xie Lian bites his lip. Hua Cheng burns with the need to destroy a certain celestial kingdom, but now that he’s caught in that frightened amber gaze, he softens despite himself.

“Gege, I understand it all now. They treated you from birth as if you were a thing, an asset in living form, nothing more. Duty personified. That’s why you treat yourself as such, that’s why you’d risk your life for any client, work so hard to help anyone you meet, and don’t even think you’re allowed to accept anything for yourself. You defied those idiots to save them from their own stupidity, and now you intend to go back to them? So that they could take out their frustrations on you? Imprison you? Give you poisoned wine?”

His arm tightens involuntarily on Xie Lian’s waist, prompting a soundless gasp to fall off the prince’s lips.

“Gege.” Hua Cheng leans in close to rest his forehead against Xie Lian’s. “I won’t let you destroy yourself for them. You’ve given them enough. Suffered enough. If you allow me—and even if you don’t—I’ll spend the rest of my immortal life worshipping you as you deserve.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whimpers. “You don’t owe me anything… I didn’t do it for you to feel—”

“Hush.” Hua Cheng gently lays a finger across his lips. “Gege, you said, that first night, your heart already knew. So did mine. You had me the moment I first laid my eyes on you. Gege.” He tips Xie Lian’s chin gently up, cutting all routes of escape. “Your Highness, believe me.”

After what feels like a small eternity, Xie Lian’s eyes seem to clear. A tiny sprout, so vulnerable yet so beautiful emerges at last, trembling and so brave. Faith. Seeing it, Hua Cheng wants to fall to his knees again in gratitude.

“Your Highness,” he says softly. “What do you want? Forget everything else. What do you want? I promise you, you can have it.”

“I…” Xie Lian is staring at him dazedly. He licks his lips and has to start again. “I… would like to stay with San Lang. If… if San Lang doesn’t mind.”

Hua Cheng grins at him. “Your San Lang would love nothing more.”

Xie Lian blinks. “My—?”

“Yours,” Hua Cheng purrs, grinning with all his inhumanly sharp teeth on display. “All yours.”

He pulls the dice out and calls without looking, “Yin Yu.”

“My lord?”

In his arms, Xie Lian looks around, bewildered, clearly not having noticed Yin Yu’s presence.

“Drag that trash to the dungeons,” Hua Cheng orders, tilting his head in the direction of the man lying on a stretcher. “And kick the rest of the trash out of my city.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And you.” Hua Cheng turns toward Mei Nianqing, who’s chewed halfway through the butterfly gag and glares back with bloodshot eyes. “Since all His Highness has ever been to you and to that other fool up there is his blessing, now that it’s gone, he’s of no use to you. But make no mistake. I would go to war for him, so if you know what’s good for you, you will never approach him again unless he does it first. Take this message with you and don’t come back.”

He turns away, squeezes Xie Lian’s waist tighter, and smiles, pushing everything else out of his attention.

“May I take you home, Gege?”

Blushing, and seemingly caught between laughter and tears, Xie Lian smiles.

“Please.”

Chapter Text

The moment they appear in the safety of Paradise Manor, the most wonderful silence envelops them after the barrage of noise of the Council chambers. Xie Lian sighs softly, hesitates the tiniest bit, then wraps his arms around Hua Cheng, presses his face into his shoulder, and melts into him, holding on tight. Hua Cheng’s heart feels as if it’s been touched by the softest of flower petals. He relaxes his own vice-like grip, and gently rubs Xie Lian’s back.

“All right?”

“Mhm,” Xie Lian hums and tries to burrow deeper into him. “I’m sorry for being silly. I just need a moment.”

Hua Cheng has never felt this way before, both incredibly happy and absolutely terrified of somehow mishandling something both infinitely precious and fragile.

“Gege can hug me as much as he wants,” he says, and despite his efforts, his voice gets away from him. “Any time he wants.”

Xie Lian laughs wetly into his shoulder. “Ah, careful, San Lang. I might think you mean it.”

“Of course I mean it.”

Xie Lian hums, amused. “What would happen to your reputation if there’s a flower spirit clinging to you all the time? ”

“Hm. People will think that I’m a terrifying demon lord who’d even managed to kidnap a celestial prince and put a powerful spell on him. My reputation would make the heavens shake.”

“Doesn’t it already?” Xie Lian snorts quietly, then tilts his head to look at him. “A spell?”

“En. To get him to like me.”

“Hm. I know how such stories go. The other flower spirits will be jealous of the prince and will seduce the demon lord away. What will happen to the prince then?”

Hua Cheng’s heart cracks, and he stops playing. “Gege, no one will ever seduce me away from you.” The words sound so inadequate. How can he possibly explain this?

Xie Lian sighs softly and shifts away from him. “It’s all right, San Lang, I’m sorry for…” He shakes his head at himself, then pulls away from Hua Cheng altogether.

“Gege, that expression on your face,” Hua Cheng says, watching him from across a few steps now between them. “It scares me.”

Xie Lian glances at him, the look on his face only turning more resigned. “San Lang, in the Council chamber just now… Thank you for giving me face.”

“Gege!”

Xie Lian lifts a hand up, stopping him. Hua Cheng freezes.

“I know you… like me,” he says, coloring slightly and seemingly unconsciously bringing a hand up to touch his lips, as if recalling what it felt like to have Hua Cheng like him. “But it doesn’t have to be binding on you,” Xie Lian says, dropping his hand and looking up, his expression calm and clear, shading the heartbreak he seems to have accepted already. “I didn’t want to tell you about the blessing, because you are a very honorable person, San Lang. I knew you’d feel responsible for me, but you’re not. I’m not a maiden whose virtue you’ve ruined—not that you’d ever. I had a boon and I gave it to you of my own free will. You don’t have to…” He wrinkles his nose as if frustrated with the limitations of words. Hua Cheng knows the feeling. “I don’t want you to think that you have a duty to me, San Lang. I don’t want you trapped by it… like I was.”

It hits Hua Cheng then finally. So that’s what this is about. Of course. His heart aches and rages, demanding he burst straight into the heavens and devastate a certain royal palace, obliterating it to dust.

But his anger won’t help Xie Lian. Damage like this can’t be undone in a day, but Hua Cheng vows silently to himself at that moment that he will remove every single poisonous needle from his beloved’s heart. The day will come when Xie Lian’s faith in himself will be restored. Hua Cheng will see to it. For now, it’s enough that Xie Lian is willing to be here at all.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says softly. “We seem to be at an impasse. You can’t believe my words not because you think I’m lying, but rather because you don’t believe such a thing is possible. That loving you not for your blessing, not for what you can do for someone, but loving you for you is impossible. It breaks my heart, but I understand.”

Xie Lian goes very, very still, and it is dangerous, this stillness. It means he can disappear at any moment, and Hua Cheng is under no delusion that he will be able to find him. If he says the wrong thing now…

“Your Highness.” He keeps his tone light, smiles even. “How about this? You know making deals is my specialty, so would you agree to make a new one with me?”

Xie Lian blinks, puzzled. Puzzlement is good. Puzzlement means he won’t run.

“A deal?”

“Yes.” Hua Cheng smiles. “I’m a demon, after all.”

“What kind of deal?”

Hua Cheng holds his eyes as he crosses the space between them. He picks up Xie Lian’s hand gently and brings it to his lips. Xie Lian watches, wariness and longing reflecting in his eyes.

“If I ever feel duty-bound to you, I will tell you,” Hua Cheng says. “If you think me honorable, then trust that I would not lie about such a thing. I am a demon lord, Your Highness. Not even the Heavenly Emperor can make me do anything against my will. What reason would I have to endure something I do not want? Your Highness, I don’t have your compassion, nor your kindness.”

Xie Lian’s eyes are huge, fixed on him, riveted. His lips are softly parted as he listens with seemingly his entire soul.

Hua Cheng says, “If the day comes when I look at you, and my heart doesn’t stir, I will let you go. But until such a day comes, Your Highness, put the doubts out of your mind. Stay with me, secure in in the knowledge of my devotion. Stay with me and let me show you what a demon’s love is worth.”

Xie Lian shivers, drawing in a trembling breath. “San Lang, to have it and lose it… It will ruin me.”

Hua Cheng smiles at him. “And this is why we’re making a bet. You’re betting such a day will come. I’m betting it never will. Do you wish to bet against the house, Your Highness? You know how my luck is—how’s yours?”

Xie Lian laughs involuntarily. “Unnaturally bad,” he admits. “They said it was to counteract my blessing.”

Hua Cheng gently draws him closer. “Then let me place this bet for you,” he pleads softly. “Gege, don’t bet against us, please.”

“San Lang…” Xie Lian sighs, and frees his hand to place it gently against Hua Cheng’s cheek. “You really do have a silver tongue, and you are the house. Wouldn’t I be a fool to bet against you?”

Hua Cheng holds him close, reveling in the fact that he is allowed. He’s wanted. This isn’t a game they both pretend it to be. Xie Lian is hiding nothing from him right now, and Hua Cheng can see it so clear in his eyes—how scared he is to believe. How much he wants to. It’s head-spinning and heartbreaking, and Hua Cheng wants every single shade of doubt gone from those devastating eyes for good.

Time is his ally, and so is action. He will shower this little flower in so much love and care, he won’t come up for air, and then he’ll have to accept it. One day, he’ll believe.

Hua Cheng smiles.

“I’m glad that’s settled, gege,” he says deliberately lightly. “Now, Your Highness, what’s your pleasure? Are you hungry? Would you like a bath? Are there any injuries that need to be seen to?”

Xie Lian smiles, backing off from the deeper waters as well, and considers the question. For a moment, his gaze stops on Hua Cheng’s lips, and Hua Cheng’s heart nearly beats out of his chest, a certain burning tension flooding him instantly.

But in the end, Xie Lian says, “Actually, a bath sounds lovely, San Lang.” And then, because he’s still the little trickster lotus spirit, just as much as he is everything else, and he clearly wants Hua Cheng to die, he asks innocently, “Will San Lang join me?”

Hua Cheng makes some kind of noise that no one alive or dead would recognize as speech.

The heartless flower laughs at him, eyes alight. “Was that a yes?”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says in a strangled voice, “you really will be the death of me.”

--

“San Lang, can you help me with my hair?”

Hua Cheng will most certainly die.

The bathing room is filled with fragrant steam rising from the pool, but that serves to help just as much as to torture. Xie Lian acts as if undressing in front of another is nothing much to him. Whether it’s his flower spirit half that thinks nothing of it or the habit of a prince used to attendants—those poor, poor attendants, how have they not combusted in that cold heavenly palace, and should Hua Cheng perhaps go up there and kill them all—but he doesn’t hesitate to let the three outer garments slide off his shoulders. Only his pants and a single translucent layer remain, as he stands there with his back to Hua Cheng, attempting to gather his hair.

Hua Cheng approaches slowly, more to give himself time to get a grip than anything else.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he murmurs.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian sighs a little in pleasure as Hua Cheng’s hands gently take over. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Hua Cheng can’t resist the temptation of sifting through the thick silky waterfall of Xie Lian’s hair. In the candlelight, it gleams with rich hues from warm black to golden-brown chestnut. Hua Cheng wants to bury his face in it, but holds the impulse in check. His willpower is straining.

“Gege doesn’t like it?” Hua Cheng asks.

Xie Lian hums. “Perhaps not when you say it. Up there, that was all anyone addressed me by, and it always felt… like a reminder. To mind my place, to remember my duty. It was a leash, not a title. But you say it differently.”

Hua Cheng smiles, carefully gathering Xie Lian’s hair up. “Oh? How do I say it, Your Highness?”

“Like you mean it. Like you think I deserve the respect.”

Hua Cheng hums and gently pins Xie Lian’s hair up with a fine golden comb. He can’t help but tease, “And is respect the only thing you hear when I say it, Your Highness?”

He is treated to the sight of the back of Xie Lian’s bare neck blushing. Hua Cheng can’t resist leaning closer to it, lips hovering millimeters away, breath warming the sensitive skin.

Xie Lian shivers tangibly. “S-San Lang…”

“Hmm?” Hua Cheng worries the air just above, still not touching, but exploring to his heart’s content. “Please answer, Your Highness.”

“I—” Xie Lian shivers again and tries to step away, but Hua Cheng’s hands are suddenly on his arms, holding him in place. “It’s… I… it’s not the only thing… San Lang, what… what are you doing?”

“Just helping you prepare for your bath,” Hua Cheng intones sweetly, though it comes out with a deep dark glaze to it. He straightens slightly, and slides his hands from Xie Lian’s arms to his waist, enjoying the way the sensitive stomach trembles at the light touch. He finds the ties of that last sheer layer and starts undoing them slowly, one at a time.

Xie Lian sucks in a breath, and he keeps on shivering in the overheated room, but he doesn’t make a run for it. Even as the last tie is undone, and Hua Cheng’s palms slide up, gently diving underneath that last layer, then guiding it slowly and softly off Xie Lian’s frame.

The two of them stand suspended for a breath, and when Xie Lian doesn’t move, Hua Cheng gets bolder. His palms press back against that tiny waist, skin-to-skin now, the touch no longer barely-there, but heated, confident. An unidentifiable quiet sound breaks from Xie Lian’s lips, but he doesn’t move to stop Hua Cheng as Hua Cheng’s hands find the ties of his pants and start undoing them, too. It’s just one string, and as it comes undone, the silk shimmers off Xie Lian’s hips with no encouragement.

Hua Cheng breathes him in. He doesn’t look, not yet. But he stands there, palms flat against Xie Lian’s stomach, not pulling him close, but touching firmly, staking a claim. Xie Lian swallows. His breathing picks up, his body making tiny, restless motions, unnoticeable from even a small distance, but felt so keenly here. He moves his head as if on the verge of turning, of speaking.

Hua Cheng squeezes his waist lightly then, leans in to press a quick kiss under one blushing ear.

“The water will get cold, gege. Come, didn’t you want a bath?”

Without waiting for a response, he takes his hands off Xie Lian and turns around, walking to the opposite side of the pool to finish undressing himself. The soft broken sound he hears from behind him makes him grin like a highly pleased fox.

He doesn’t play coy, or at least doesn’t show it. Standing sideways to the pool, he takes off the rest of his own clothes with unhesitating, confident hands. There’s a squeak from behind him, then a loud splash, indicating that someone has perhaps entered the water a little faster than intended. Hua Cheng turns to look, feigning concern.

“Your Highness, are you all right?”

“I’m fine!” Xie Lian says, settling on the underwater bench, face crimson, as he looks at Hua Cheng and instantly snaps his eyes away.

Hua Cheng smirks. “Are you sure? The water not too hot?”

“It’s perfect,” Xie Lian says quickly, his voice breathless. “San Lang… are those tattoos?”

Oh. Hua Cheng had forgotten.

Completely naked, he stalks toward the pool steps and enters the water, noting how Xie Lian is keeping his eyes away. Well, this simply won’t do. He dips down, then straightens, water running off his shoulders, bouncing off the hard muscles. Waist-deep, Hua Cheng wades closer to where Xie Lian is sitting and presents his back.

“Yes,” he says. His shoulders and the entire back are covered in inky patterns of his own design.

“It’s beautiful,” Xie Lian breathes out, and Hua Cheng can hear him stand up, the water sloshing gently between them. “San Lang, may I touch?”

“Gege may do as he pleases with me.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian reproaches softly. Then, his hands are on Hua Cheng’s skin, fingers tracing the swirls and lines gently. “Protection?” he murmurs.

“En. I didn’t expect to become immortal quite so quickly.”

“Sorry.” Xie Lian sounds ruefully amused.

“Are there any more surprises like that lying in wait, Your Highness?” Hua Cheng asks, more to distract himself from the maddening sensation of Xie Lian’s gossamer touch on his skin than any real suspicion.

“Hm,” Xie Lian hums, the tips of two fingers sliding down slowly, following a particularly long and elaborately curving line circling across Hua Cheng’s back from his shoulder to—

“Hard to be sure,” Xie Lian murmurs, the progress of his fingers slowing some more.

—to the spot just above his buttocks, which also happens to be where the water level currently is. Hua Cheng sucks in a breath and holds it.

“You’re so tense, San Lang,” Xie Lian says with some disapproval. His fingers have stopped just above and are rubbing back and forth gently, as if they, too, are lost in thought. “Would you like me to give you a massage? I’m good at them.”

That little—

Hua Cheng forcibly pushes down swear words. Instead, he turns around with a smile and catches Xie Lian’s wrist, lifting it up to his face.

“How kind of His Highness to offer.” He kisses the underside of Xie Lian’s wrist gently and watches, gratified, as the prince flushes, watching him with wide eyes. “I’ll take you up on it…” He leans in and wipes a droplet of water off Xie Lian’s collarbone gently. Catching Xie Lian’s startled look up close, Hua Cheng grins, adding, “Some other time.”

He pulls back, releasing Xie Lian’s hand, and settles on the opposite bench. After a moment, Xie Lian resumes his seat, and they both settle in for a good soak in the pleasantly warm, fragrant water.

“But seriously, gege,” Hua Cheng says, watching him through the steam. “Is it all right for me to ask about your life? You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Xie Lian smiles at him, pulling over a floating tray with the bathing oils, salts, and brushes. He picks up a washcloth and gently nudges the tray away.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you,” he says quietly, slowly dragging the washcloth over his arm, exerting no pressure.

Hua Cheng feels his eyes riveted to the mundane motion as if it’s the most fascinating show in the world. Shaking himself mentally, he asks, “How did gege get so good with a sword?”

He seems to have picked a good topic, because Xie Lian beams. “I just always loved them, you know?”

However, then his expression clouds.

“You know how imperial guards are considered the best army in the three realms? I trained with them. Or—I did until my father forbade it. At first, I couldn’t understand why. He was a martial god, and I was his heir. Perpetual heir, never to ascend, all things considered, but all the same. When I was little, I wanted to be a hero, just like him. I wanted to train in martial arts, in the sword.”

He absently moves the washcloth over his shoulders.

“My father was vehemently against it. I took to running away to join the guards on the training grounds, and he always punished me, if I got caught. Eventually, a retired master took pity on me, trained me himself in secret. When he, too, got caught, my father exiled him, and I trained myself, using the manuals he’d left.” He smiles ruefully. “That’s why I’m not very good.”

Hua Cheng frowns. “Gege, need I remind you that you’d held your own against me?”

Xie Lian gives him a gentle smile. “You weren’t fighting at nearly your full strength, San Lang. Don’t think I couldn’t tell.”

“I fought with a great deal more than you seem to think,” Hua Cheng says. “Gege, I wouldn’t lie to you, and I never lie to anyone about their sword skills. If you’d learned that much by yourself, there’s no limit to what you can do with proper training.”

Xie Lian glances away, cheeks coloring noticeably now that he’s adjusted to the warmth of the bath. “Thank you, San Lang, you’re very kind.”

A placating answer. Hua Cheng purses his lips. Xie Lian obviously doesn’t believe him. He thinks Hua Cheng is being nice. Hua Cheng is never nice.

“At any rate, I couldn’t understand it. My father said I had no talent, but I thought—wasn’t that all the more reason that I should train? According to him, however, those who lack talent to such an extent were hopeless.”

The anger simmering inside returns full force, and Hua Cheng clenches his fists. “Gege—”

Xie Lian shakes his head. “It’s all right. I understand now he may not have been… entirely truthful.”

Hua Cheng grits his teeth. Oh, they’ll come back to that. And to many more things, it seems. He knows something deep like this can’t be healed at once, but he’s making a list, and he won’t rest until every single poisonous lie is gone from his beloved’s heart.

“He was puzzling,” Xie Lian says, rolling his neck and dragging the cloth over his throat. A mouth-watering display, except—Hua Cheng is still angry. He commits the sight to memory. “He didn’t want me trained as a martial god, but whenever I sang and danced outside of classes, or laughed too much, or was playful, or behaved… in a free manner—”

“In other words, as is natural for a flower spirit,” Hua Cheng grumbles.

Xie Lian gives him a soft look, but continues, “He punished me. I couldn’t understand what I was supposed to be. Everything I was drawn to seemed to be wrong.”

“It wasn’t wrong,” Hua Cheng says, and the pool heats up a notch, responding to his anger.

Xie Lian blinks, startled, and Hua Cheng quickly cools it back.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Xie Lian shakes his head. “You’re… upset?”

Sure, they could go with that, except—

“I’m angry,” Hua Cheng admits.

“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian says, looking worried. “I didn’t mean to—”

Hua Cheng rises off the bench and moves toward him, more of him than he’d intended on display, but for once he doesn’t care. Xie Lian has looked away, his chest rising and falling faster, but he turns back once Hua Cheng settles beside him and gently cups his face with one hand.

“I’m not angry at you, gege. I’m angry that the man who was supposed to care for you and raise you in your power, hurt you like this instead. My father was a good-for-nothing bastard, but at least he was honest about hating me. Yours…”

He pushes his forehead against Xie Lian’s, then kisses his temple, his palm caressing the side of his face gently.

“Gege—Your Highness, please tell me you know this. You’re beautiful. You’re you. Everything you are drawn to is natural and beautiful. He taught you to be small, to diminish yourself for his own reasons that had nothing to do with you. Stop believing his lies, Your Highness. He was likely jealous or feared you’d take his place.”

Xie Lian sighs, staring into space. Hua Cheng watches him, heart aching. He carefully pulls the cloth from Xie Lian’s slack fingers and starts running it over his shoulders very, very gently.

“Before, I never could have thought such a thing,” Xie Lian says eventually, seemingly unaware of Hua Cheng’s ministrations, yet his body relaxes by degree into them. “But now… It’s hard to accept, but jealousy—perhaps. He seemed to think I ought to be purely ornamental and remember my place. But then he’d tell me that I’ll never be as beautiful as my mother, so I shouldn’t think too highly of myself.”

Hua Cheng can’t hold back a deep growl starting low in his belly and wanting to tear out of his throat. “Gege, if you want your father to live, you should never let us meet.”

Xie Lian turns toward him, startled as if he’d forgotten his presence. His gaze softens. “You’re biased, I think, San Lang.”

“Gege—”

“Please, don’t be mad,” Xie Lian whispers, sidling closer. “It’s not good for your health. Please, don’t be mad, San Lang.”

He presses his lips softly against the corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth. Hua Cheng stubbornly doesn’t respond. Xie Lian pulls back slightly to look at him, and something seems to amuse him. He presses another kiss to Hua Cheng’s lips, his own trembling on a smile. Then another.

Hua Cheng crumbles, of course he does. His palm cups the back of Xie Lian’s neck to hold him close, and he kisses him, slow and deep, taking comfort from him when he’d meant to offer some. But Xie Lian hums with pleasure into it, and relaxes in Hua Cheng’s hold, trusting and warm.

When Hua Cheng pulls back at last, he’s quite forgotten what he was angry about. Dangerous, that.

Xie Lian smiles at him. Hua Cheng’s palm slides down to rest against the base of his throat, his thumb rubbing the ridge of the collarbone gently. Xie Lian closes his eyes and sighs a little, like a pleased cat. He is so heart-wrenchingly lovely, it hurts to look at him.

“Let me wash your hair, gege,” Hua Cheng begs suddenly. “I won’t pull, I promise. I’m good with a comb. I won’t hurt you.”

Xie Lian opens his eyes slowly and looks at him. His expression softens further. “Of course you won’t hurt me, but San Lang, I might fall asleep on you.”

“Then sleep,” Hua Cheng says and gently kisses the bridge of his nose. “Just relax, gege. I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s too much trouble—”

“No trouble. I want to. Please?”

Xie Lian sighs, giving in. “All right, San Lang. Thank you.”

He doesn’t fall asleep, but he drifts, relaxed and drowsy, making soft sighs of pleasure every once in a while or shivering with it under Hua Cheng’s hands. The water barely hides anything, and he’s beautiful, and Hua Cheng wants him, but right now he wants this even more—this softness, the gentle intimacy, the surrender born of deep underlying trust that is more intoxicating than any wine. He watches his own hands, too strong, often too cruel, cradle Xie Lian’s head, his neck, open, unguarded, and infinitely fragile like this, and he feels drunk, terrified, and immeasurably proud all at once. He hums as he works, and sometimes at a particularly sweet touch, he hears Xie Lian purr softly in contentment.

--

They share an evening meal, talking and laughing, and Xie Lian is still sleepy and relaxed, and the cup of clear spring wine that Hua Cheng pours him seems to remove the very bones from his body. When it’s time to retire, and Hua Cheng pulls him gently to his feet, he molds himself into Hua Cheng’s body, as if trying to sink into him or at least be as close as a vine hugging a tree.

Watching him with softness in his heart and amusement on his lips, Hua Cheng sees no reason to deny himself the pleasure and picks him up into his arms.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian protests, blushing. “I can walk… I think.”

“But why would you need to, when you have me to carry you around?” Hua Cheng purrs, carrying him securely along the softly-lit corridors.

“If people knew you treat your guests like this, you’d never know peace in your house again,” Xie Lian laughs.

Hua Cheng doesn’t let it show on his face, but his heart winces as if pierced by a needle.

“You’re not a guest, gege,” he says quietly. “And this is your house now, too.”

Xie Lian looks up at him, a lot less sleepy. “Ah. San Lang, I spoke without thinking and offended you,” he says in a small voice, fingers gently tracing the line of Hua Cheng’s jaw.

“No such thing,” Hua Cheng says. “It’s new. You’re not used to it. Your San Lang understands. Gege should try and remember that this house and everything in it is yours.”

“San Lang, stop for a moment,” Xie Lian asks.

Hua Cheng obeys. “Hm?”

“Kiss me so I know you’re not mad.”

Hua Cheng melts. “Gege…”

He complies instantly, and it starts off as sweet and reassuring, but he’s been teased all day, and he’s fraying around the edges, just a bit, just enough for his teeth to accidentally nip Xie Lian’s lower lip, and Xie Lian’s breath hitches, and then somehow he’s no longer in Hua Cheng’s arms but instead pressed against the wall roughly and kissed breathless. Hua Cheng only comes to his senses and stops when Xie Lian starts making tiny keening sounds and trembling against him.

“Sorry,” Hua Cheng breathes out, hands caressing Xie Lian’s waist soothingly. “Sorry, gege, I got… carried away.”

Xie Lian is still trying to catch his breath and only shakes his head, eyes reddened and lips bruised. “Don’t…” he manages. “Don’t apologize.”

Hua Cheng kisses him softly in apology all the same.

They make it to Xie Lian’s bedroom without further incident, except Xie Lian suddenly stops at the door.

“San Lang…” He hesitates, glancing at Hua Cheng with painful uncertainty. Hua Cheng holds his breath, trying not to show it. “San Lang, if this really is my home now…”

“It is.”

“I can sleep in any room I like, right?”

Hua Cheng looks at the bedroom as if it had betrayed him. “Gege, something is not to your liking? You should have said. There are plenty of other rooms to choose from, or I can change any to your taste, you only need to say—”

“Can I sleep in yours?” Xie Lian cuts him off with a smile.

Hua Cheng chokes, swallows, then nods his head very firmly. “Yes. Absolutely. Yes.”

--

It’s a shorter trek this time. Hua Cheng expects awkwardness, and there is some, but it must have been a trying day for his lotus, he seems intent on one thing only. As he slips into bed, he buries his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply, and gives out such a low, sweet whine of relief that the image that should have been incredibly arousing makes Hua Cheng laugh.

Not that arousal isn’t there, but it’s overshadowed by the feeling of deep, profound satisfaction he’s never felt before, as if every single thing in the world is perfect, as if he has precisely what he’s always wanted, down to every minute detail he couldn’t even imagine. For the first time since he was still held in his mother’s arms, Hua Cheng feels home.

He douses the lamps with a wave of his hand, eliciting another pleased noise from the bed’s occupant. Hidden by the darkness, Hua Cheng grins like a fool, before joining him.

It takes them a while to get settled. Xie Lian’s mind is a lot less inhibited when he’s half-asleep, and he twists and turns without restraint, trying to get comfortable. After a beat of this, he seems to begin radiating frustration.

Hua Cheng pulls him close, back to chest, and hugs him tightly, immobilizing him. Xie Lian goes still, as if processing. He pushes slightly against the restraining limbs, as if testing, to no avail. And then his body turns heavy and soft, and he lets out a little pleased mumble.

“Your arms will get tired,” he says around a yawn, showing no inclination to remedy that.

“No, they won’t.” Hua Cheng grins.

“Last time I slept in that robe you gave me,” Xie Lian confesses suddenly, slurring his words a little. “It smelled like you. Made me feel safe.”

Hua Cheng’s heart does a somersault. This man will kill him.

“Is the real thing better?” he murmurs.

“En.”

“Then sleep, gege.” Hua Cheng kisses his hair gently. “I’m right here.”

“Mhm. Sleep, San Lang,” Xie Lian mumbles in agreement. “Love you.”

Hua Cheng abruptly feels as if his heart has left his body entirely. Xie Lian’s breathing has slowed and evened out, he’s asleep as if he has no idea of what he just said. As if he’d given Hua Cheng another boon, then shrugged and said, ‘It’s nothing much.’

Hua Cheng lies awake for a long time, and his arms don’t get tired in the slightest.

--

The next few days are spent with Xie Lian happily exploring the manor, and Hua Cheng equally happily showing off.

The gardens proudly present their splendor to Xie Lian’s kind eyes, every plant instantly preening under his gaze. He talks to them, generously sharing his spiritual energy to the point where Hua Cheng has to stop him lest in his enthusiasm he exhausts himself again. Xie Lian smiles ruefully.

The only part of the gardens Hua Cheng doesn’t show him is the lotus pond. In fact, it’s hidden behind a look-away ward of the most powerful design Hua Cheng knows. It’s not ready yet. The seeds are in, but they haven’t sprouted. The wait is unexpectedly unnerving. It’s not that he thinks Xie Lian will be upset if the pond isn’t perfect, it’s just…

He wants it to be a gift. No gift will ever compare to the one Xie Lian had given him, but that doesn’t mean Hua Cheng shouldn’t try. Xie Lian is a prince! And even if he wasn’t, he’d still be Xie Lian! He needs to be courted as he deserves! He needs to be spoiled in every way imaginable! And Hua Cheng isn’t terribly impressed with himself so far.

They revisit the armory, and this time, Xie Lian doesn’t hesitate to pick up any sword that takes his fancy, admiring them openly. His joy is contagious. They spar, and what he lacks in technique, he very much makes up for with creative distractions. His basics are incredibly good, however, and when Hua Cheng starts giving him pointers, he absorbs them with mind-boggling speed.

There is a point, inevitably, when Xie Lian can’t get a move quite right, and Hua Cheng abandons verbal adjustments and instead comes close, hugging him around the waist from behind and wrapping his hand over Xie Lian’s holding the sword so that they can move as one person. It proves ineffective as a teaching tool. It proves very effective in bringing Hua Cheng just that much closer to the brink of insanity.

At night, they sleep in the same bed more often than not, and it’s both wonderful and completely agonizing. Xie Lian doesn’t seem to have any difficulty falling asleep in Hua Cheng’s arms, and Hua Cheng doesn’t dare do anything but hold him and occasionally kiss his hair, lest he violates that tender trust. Quite a few times a night, he has to move slightly away, and think of frozen wastelands littered with bones, but it’s difficult when the sweet flowery scent reaches him even there. It’s torture. He wouldn’t give it up for anything.

--

After a few blissful days of them being wrapped up in each other, Yin Yu’s subtle inquiries have evolved to undisguised nagging, and Hua Cheng gives in with a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry, gege, I’m afraid I need to visit the Gambling Den this evening. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

Xie Lian looks up from where he’s been tuning a liuqin, murmuring a melancholy song under his breath. “Oh. Uh, I mean, of course, San Lang. You don’t have to make anything up to me—you don’t have to be by my side all the time.”

“But that’s where I want to be all the time, gege,” Hua Cheng whines.

Xie Lian tuts. “So clingy.”

“Gege is too good, I can’t help it.”

Xie Lian gives him a quelling look, then suddenly his expression changes. After a moment, he goes back to gently plucking the strings of the instrument, his hair a silky curtain half-obscuring his face.

Feeling like he’s walking blind, Hua Cheng says hesitantly, “Would gege perhaps like to accompany me?”

Xie Lian looks up briefly, but it’s enough for Hua Cheng to know he wasn’t wrong.

“Uh, I don’t want to be burden,” Xie Lian says, eyes back on the strings.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng reproaches gently. “It didn’t occur to me to ask, because it’s such a violent, uncouth place. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Blushing slightly, Xie Lian stops playing and looks at him. “To tell you the truth, San Lang, I’ve been to the Gambling Den before we met.”

Hua Cheng stops. “Oh?”

“Before I left the Heavenly Capital, I’ve heard of the demon lord Crimson Rain,” Xie Lian explains, looking more adorable than ever in soft, flowy white and pink robes and his hair down like that. Watching him is almost enough to distract Hua Cheng but not quite.

“Ah. Only good things I imagine?” He lifts his eyebrow, knowing full well what epithets might have been used. “A respected opponent?”

“Hm. More like ‘a ruthless blood-thirsty calamity who could probably topple the heavens and plunge the mortal realm into chaos,’” Xie Lian says with a sweet smile.

“Such praise. This one is unworthy.”

Xie Lian rolls his eyes with visible enjoyment. He’s picked up a lot of bad habits in his time downside that he seems to relish.

“I ran to Dusk City, because I thought no one would ever think to look for me here, and if they did, they wouldn’t dare,” he says. “But when I settled here, it was quite confusing. People here treated you as their god. You were ruthless, yes, but apparently, also fair and clever. They feared you a great deal, but they seemed to admire you more.”

Hua Cheng scoffs, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I wanted to make my own opinion, but from what I could see, the city wasn’t like what I expected at all. The heavens are beautiful but they can also be very… cold. All form, glinting gold, and no beauty underneath the surface. Dusk City was… brash, even garish in places, seemingly very chaotic… But it was also thriving. I could see it when I walked through the market and stopped at the shops. I could see how the districts were cleverly organized so that each community could have their space, but also—room to interact. I could see how well-maintained the streets were, how people were alive, even though some of them weren’t, technically. It took time getting used to this way of serving justice, but then I realized that in a place like this, it could only be done this way. And all of that was thanks to you.”

“Careful, gege, you’ll overpraise me.”

Xie Lian shakes his head softly. “This is your city, San Lang, whether you want to officially acknowledge it or not. After I realized all of this, I admit, I got very curious. The image I had of you before didn’t fit the reality of your actions. So yes, I came to the Gambling Den one night to sneak a peek.” He grins bashfully, though the familiar mischievous glimmer is there. “It was a busy night for you—you handled quite a few bets. And after that, I knew I’d be staying. That the City was the right kind of place for me to be.”

Hua Cheng absorbs this, a little spellbound. “You liked me before we met?”

Xie Lian smiles. “I respected you before we met,” he corrects. “That was enough for me.”

“The night we met—”

“I recognized you, yes, your aura is very distinctive.”

“That was no guarantee I would help you.”

“No.” Xie Lian smiles again and puts the liuqin away. “I gambled.”

Hua Cheng crosses the space between them and offers him a hand. “Would you care for a tour of the Den, Your Highness?”

Xie Lian beams at him, taking it. “I’d love nothing more!”

--

The whispers start immediately, but the Gambling Den has never been a subtle type of place, so within moments, whispers progress to nearly shouting.

“Look, it’s Lord Hua and that pretty spirit!”

“Ha! I told you our lord really did steal a celestial prince right from under the noses of those heavenly bastards!”

“Stole him, ha! Bet he stole something from him, I’m surprised he’s even walking!”

“Sturdy little flower, isn’t he, to have survived a week at the lord’s manor.”

“He’s wearing too many clothes. Liked him better the other night.”

“Yeah! Flower spirits always dress slutty, what’s wrong with this one? Show us a little skin, buddy!”

“Shut the fuck up, are you tired of living? Do you want Lord Hua to kill you?”

Hua Cheng, admittedly, comes close after those last remarks. He flashes his eyes at the crowd, and gratifying silence falls at once. At his side, Xie Lian is blushing so hard his face seems to have caught on fire. Hua Cheng looks around with a heavy gaze.

“The next person to disrespect His Highness will have their ashes scattered over the Pit.” He glares at them. “If I ever hear that kind of talk again, I’ll dismember all of you. Am I making myself clear?”

The room shudders with a deafening, “YES, YOUR LORDSHIP.”

Hua Cheng stares them down for a few moments longer, before nodding briskly. “Back to your games.”

He escorts Xie Lian toward the stairs, and only as they slip past the red curtain, do Xie Lian’s shoulders relax.

“I’m sorry, gege,” Hua Cheng says, holding his hand as they walk up the stairs. “I should have realized this would happen.”

“I don’t mind,” Xie Lian says with a pale, but honest smile. “They’re your subjects, and this makes them respect you more.”

“There is no respecting me if they disrespect you,” Hua Cheng says stubbornly.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian sighs. “You know they’re going to talk anyway. My reputation isn’t something I care about overmuch.”

He looks away as he says it though, and Hua Cheng suddenly wants to smash his own head against a suitably hard surface. He’s an idiot. There’s an easy fix to this, and he should have started with that.

“Gege, want to get married?”

Xie Lian’s head snaps toward him. “San Lang!”

There’s clear chastisement in his tone, and to Hua Cheng it feels like a slap. He should be slapped, that’s true, how dare he even think—

“You can’t suggest marriage just so people won’t talk,” Xie Lian says huffily. “If we were ever to marry, it should be because both of us want it. You’ve done enough for me. I won’t press for more.”

Hua Cheng imagines his expression must be somewhat comical, but he’s too busy trying to catch up to care. “Gege,” he says slowly. “Your Highness. Does this mean that you… that you want to marry me?”

Xie Lian blushes deeper, and looks away, displeased, looking for a place to sit. As there are none available except for Hua Cheng’s throne-chair, he sits himself on the floor by its foot.

“Not if San Lang is this unserious, no,” he says haughtily. “I am not such a person to have to trick someone into having me, if all they’re looking for is a bit of fun. I—San Lang! What are you doing?!”

Chest warm to burning, Hua Cheng has unceremoniously picked him up into his arms and sits down on his throne, a very irritated flower spirit in his lap.

“Your Highness, forgive your San Lang, he’s slow and not very smart,” Hua Cheng purrs, arms tightening around his captive. “He never imagined Your Highness would consider him for the honor.”

Xie Lian huffs, turning his face away, chin up. “You should have just asked.”

“I know. That was unforgivably stupid of me. Your Highness—”

“No.”

He sounds so petulant that Hua Cheng laughs. Xie Lian sighs a little, deflating.

In a small voice, he says, “San Lang doesn’t seem to realize that there is nothing I wouldn’t give him for the asking.”

Hua Cheng’s arms abruptly tighten around him, drawing a surprised gasp from that maddening mouth. Xie Lian stills in his arms, eyes wide.

“Your Highness should take care when he says things like that to a demon.” Hua Cheng says in a low growl that doesn’t carry, but seems to make Xie Lian shiver. “Especially one who’s clinging to his last restraint as it is.”

“I—mph…”

The kiss turns heated in an instant, and it’s bliss and torture both. Xie Lian’s warm weight in his lap is driving Hua Cheng up the wall, every minute shift an unbearable, sweet tease. There’s no controlling his body, nor hiding its state like this. After a few minutes filled with nothing but Hua Cheng’s lips and tongue bullying Xie Lian’s mouth, drawing out and swallowing little whimpers and gasps, Xie Lian seems to become aware of it. His hands grip Hua Cheng’s shoulders and he pushes back, staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide with shock.

Both their chests are heaving as they stare at one another, eyes locked, yet both of their attentions clearly fixed on the same spot where Hua Cheng’s erection is digging into Xie Lian’s thighs.

After a long beat, Hua Cheng sighs a little, consciously exhaling. “I’ll have a second chair installed here,” he says, voice hoarse.

Xie Lian doesn’t reply.

The remainder of their time in the Den is spent with Xie Lian sitting in the chair, and Hua Cheng sitting on the steps at his feet. No one challenges Hua Cheng that night, so he instead takes this time to show various games to Xie Lian, pointing out players and explaining tactics.

Xie Lian listens with great interest, and the questions he asks show off both the sharpness of his mind and the potential trouble in Hua Cheng’s future. But it’s a little difficult to be worried about it, when Xie Lian’s fingers gently sift through his hair, as if Hua Cheng is a feral cat in dire need of petting. It’s hard not to melt.

Even though he’s calmed down, Hua Cheng doesn’t trust himself to sleep in the same bed that night. He kisses Xie Lian breathless and leaves him in his own bedroom.

--

He never should have dropped his guard.

The next morning at breakfast, Xie Lian says with a smile, “The Pavilion have contacted me and they have a new case. I’ve accepted it. I hope San Lang doesn’t mind?”

Hua Cheng doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so wary. It’s not as if he thought that Xie Lian would be idle forever, spending his days lazing about in Paradise Manor. Hua Cheng would never dare imprison him. It’s just that…

“Your Highness… has this one done something wrong?”

He’d thought Xie Lian was a little bit too calm about the whole display in the Gambling Den last night. So Hua Cheng, despicable creature that he is consumed with lust, did manage to spook him.

“No, no.” Xie Lian shakes his head quickly, reaching over the table to take Hua Cheng’s hand. “It’s just that… I actually like working for the Pavilion, San Lang. At first, it was out of desperation, but I quickly realized I was well-suited for this kind of work. Solving puzzles, serving those who can’t protect themselves… I feel useful. I’d been an idle prince for so long up there that once I’ve tasted what it was like, it’s hard to give it up.”

“If it brings gege joy, of course he should do it,” Hua Cheng says, somewhat relieved. “Just promise me that if you run into something really dangerous, you’ll call for me.”

“San Lang.” Xie Lian smiles. “How would it look if a simple field agent called on the lord of the city every time he’d hit a snag?”

Hua Cheng tenses. “Your Highness—”

“Oh, all right,” Xie Lian says, clearly only just refraining from an eye roll. “If I’m ever in trouble, I’ll call on San Lang to come rescue me. But he shouldn’t be worried. Despite how my last case went, I’ve been doing this work for eight years and I’ve always managed. I’m not entirely incapable.”

Hua Cheng catches his hand this time and squeezes it. “Your Highness is the most capable man I know. I’m only saying, you’re not alone anymore. You can rely on me if you need to. Nothing would bring me more joy than to have you call on me.”

Xie Lian’s expression softens. “All right, San Lang. Thank you.”

He leaves after they finish their meal.

--

He’s gone a week.

Hua Cheng… doesn’t have a good week. He checks on the lotus pond twice a day and despairs every time the seeds don’t sprout. He’s vicious in the Den whenever someone bets against him. He runs Yin Yu ragged with wedding preparations. Not that he has a date or even a ‘yes,’ but everything should be ready just in case.

At night, it’s hard to avoid thinking of his own inadequacies. He damn well knew how fragile Xie Lian’s faith was. And what did he do? Joked about it, teased him, not to mention couldn’t keep his greedy hands to himself. If the prince never comes back, it’ll be only fair. If the prince never comes back…

Hua Cheng leaps out of bed with a growl, conjures up two clones, and fights them until all three of them are exhausted and bleeding all over the training ground. When E’Ming finishes them at last, it only feels better for a moment.

--

Xie Lian returns by the end of the week, wearing the winter cloak Hua Cheng had had made for him, looking flushed from the cold and smiling helplessly as they see each other. Before Hua Cheng knows it, he has an armful of a slightly chilled lotus spirit, holding on to him tightly.

“San Lang, I missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too, gege,” Hua Cheng manages, fighting himself not to crush him. “Was gege’s hunt successful?”

“En. It was a troublesome ghost, it took me a while to track him down. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

“You’re here now,” Hua Cheng says, tipping Xie Lian’s chin up gently with his hand and smiling at him. “Welcome home, gege.”

Thank you for coming back.

Xie Lian sighs into the kiss.

--

They share a meal, talking late into the night. There’s wine on the table as usual. Xie Lian doesn’t drink more often than not, but tonight he allows Hua Cheng to pour him a few cups, and becomes adorably tipsy. His mind is clear, but his defenses are down, while his mischievous side comes out, and at some point, he ends up crawling into Hua Cheng’s lap, as if seeking to reconnect through touch.

Hua Cheng indulges him, fighting down his own response to such treatment. He wants to be close. He wants Xie Lian to feel that there is nothing to fear. He can be as playful as he wants, Hua Cheng will only rejoice in it.

“San Lang, you smell so good,” Xie Lian half-whines, pushing his face into the hollow of Hua Cheng’s throat. “I wonder if…”

He trails off, but the mystery doesn’t last, as the next moment, warm lips press against the side of Hua Cheng’s neck, and that’s—no. No. Hua Cheng may be a powerful demon lord, but he can’t endure this. It’s not fair.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng hisses through gritted teeth, grabbing Xie Lian by the shoulders and pulling him off. “You’re playing with fire.”

Xie Lian blinks, startled, staring up at him. A puzzled expression steals over his features.

“Fire,” he echoes softly. “But I don’t see any fire?” He looks around, shifting in Hua Cheng’s lap.

Arm around Xie Lian’s waist, Hua Cheng jerks him close roughly, pressing him down onto his rapidly hardening erection, separated from the source of this torture by a few layers of silk. The fire Xie Lian couldn’t see is barely contained within Hua Cheng’s skin, and he grins like a tiger presented with a meal, sharpening canines and all. With no qualms, he pushes upward into that warm weight, the feel of it so good, his eyes nearly roll back.

Xie Lian’s jaw goes slack, bright spots of color bloom high on is cheekbones. It’s beyond intimate, beyond shameless, feeling the shape and proportions of the other like this, before it’s even seen. Hua Cheng gets harder at the thought, and Xie Lian whimpers.

“See it now?” Hua Cheng asks, dark and sweet.

“En,” Xie Lian manages, squirming. “S-San Lang—”

Hua Cheng hisses. “Don’t move, Your Highness, unless you want me to take you right here on this table.”

“San Lang!” Xie Lian gasps, eyes going impossibly wider.

Hua Cheng arches an eyebrow, his free hand lifting to trace the contours of Xie Lian’s slightly opened lips. “Well, what did you expect consorting with demons, my prince? They’re all lustful brutes.”

Xie Lian’s mouth moves uselessly, no sound comes out. There’s panic in his eyes, in the restless movements he can’t seem to stop, but there’s also—

Hua Cheng feels punched in the gut again as the realization slams into him. He’s been a fool. Suddenly everything, every single puzzling instant of the last two weeks, of all the weeks before, make perfect sense.

“You want that,” he utters, unable to believe, his last restraint being torn even as he breathes. “I’ve been trying to… But you don’t want to be courted and seduced. You want to be claimed like a prize.”

“I don’t…” Xie Lian says unconvincingly, shaking his head, having already forgotten what he is denying. “It’s not… San Lang, this isn’t… let go…”

“Oh no,” Hua Cheng growls. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He pushes up, ignoring Xie Lian’s startled squeak, grabbing him with restraining force and heading straight for the bedroom.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whimpers, making a feeble attempt to free himself. “Uh, San Lang, wait, maybe…”

Hua Cheng squeezes him tighter, restraining his movements, and Xie Lian makes a tiny, desperate noise.

Hua Cheng carries him to the bedroom, pushes him against the bedpost, and kisses him hard. Xie Lian wails into the kiss, helpless against the onslaught, forced to surrender and take it. Hua Cheng’s claws sharpen, and then there’s a shockingly loud sound of fine silks being ripped to shreds.

Xie Lian manages to turn his head away, gaping, blushing crimson all the way down to his now exposed chest. “S-San Lang, this…”

Hua Cheng’s eyes consume the newly revealed territory greedily. He’s seen before, yes, but he hasn’t looked. He’s looking now, and Xie Lian is squirming under his gaze, turning his face away, blushing harder than ever. As if remembering suddenly he can move, he turns, either to run or hide himself, fingers grasping at the torn clothing uselessly.

Hua Cheng catches him before he takes so much as a step, pushes him down onto the bed, and follows, peeling open the torn fabrics like petals of a flower, forcing them to reveal the moon-pale flesh within. His eyes are hungry, his hands are hungry, and now all of him can feast.

Xie Lian throws his head back and whines softly, caught and helpless, as Hua Cheng’s lips descend on him. Hua Cheng catches Xie Lian’s restless hands, presses his wrists into the bed on either side of his head, as he climbs on top of Xie Lian and devours his mouth, while rutting unrestrained against him, still mostly dressed against Xie Lian’s tantalizingly naked form. The imbalance seems to spur them both on, as Xie Lian arches up, tries to fight him off, except his ankles end up wrapped around Hua Cheng’s waist somehow, heels digging into his hips, he’s gasping for breath when he’s allowed a split second of reprieve, and his cock his hard and wet between them, smearing clear liquid over the thin silk of Hua Cheng’s shirt.

Hua Cheng subdues him like this until the fight in him begins to wane, until his wrists can be released and stay where they are, until his mouth looks ruined and his neck ravished. Hua Cheng slides down his body then, pulling his own shirt finally off his shoulders, and unleashes a tender yet infinitely merciless torture on Xie Lian’s chest and nipples. Xie Lian comes to life at that, whining and wailing, hands pushing uselessly at Hua Cheng’s shoulders, and then Hua Cheng sucks one tender bud into his mouth, and Xie Lian’s head falls back helplessly, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“San Lang… please…” falls from his lips.

Hua Cheng sucks harder, ears delighting in the shout that brings. He pinches the other one, pressing and releasing, scratching lightly, and then he brings the lightest hint of teeth to the one he holds hostage in his mouth. Xie Lian screams, back arching, as he falls apart under him, hands pummeling Hua Cheng’s shoulders.

Hua Cheng watches, enraptured, and when Xie Lian sinks into the sheets, progressively more boneless as tension leaves, Hua Cheng pulls himself up, reveling in the mess between them. He gets rid of the rest of his clothes as fast as he can, unwilling to miss even a second of this and regretting he hasn’t done so earlier so that he could have felt it against his own skin.

Leaning in, he gently kisses Xie Lian’s slack mouth. There’s no response at first, and Hua Cheng keeps on kissing him slowly, caressing those bruised lips, until he feels the first stirrings of response. Xie Lian’s hands slide over his shoulders rubbing gently, as if in apology for the inadvertent abuse. Hua Cheng smiles.

“All right?” he asks softly, pulling back only just.

Xie Lian makes an affirming sound, still too dazed to feel embarrassed.

“Your Highness.” Hua Cheng nudges him, trying to elicit a little more awareness. “Please tell me there wasn’t another blessing hanging on this.”

Xie Lian blinks slowly several times, processing the question. When his gaze finally attains enough coherency, his eyes instantly crinkle and he giggles. “No. I’m afraid I’m all out of those.”

Hua Cheng drops his head onto Xie Lian’s shoulder, still painfully, achingly hard, and sighs. “Thank goodness.”

Xie Lian laughs and wriggles under him, hissing softly as his sensitive parts rub against the no-yield muscle-hard form that is Hua Cheng’s body. Hua Cheng holds him down, stilling his movements. Xie Lian’s eyes meet his, embarrassment surfacing now that the orgasm has receded.

“You… you must think me ridiculous…” Xie Lian whispers, hiding behind his lashes. “To just… go off like that. But I’ve never… I didn’t know it would feel like this…”

Hua Cheng kisses him hard to keep him quiet and pulls back with difficulty. “I think you are the most treasured being in all creation.” He takes another kiss. “I think I want to see you come again. I think I haven’t ravaged you yet, haven’t made you mine yet, and you’re trying to distract me, little lotus. I think you’re trying to escape.”

Xie Lian’s tender smile breaks character rather badly, but the fire in his eyes comes back, and he says, “I heard demons were merciless brutes, but all this one has done was made me feel good. I think their reputation is overrated. It’s all talk. I think San Lang in particular—ah!”

Hua Cheng flips him over onto his stomach and roughly pushes Xie Lian’s thighs apart with his knees. “Yes, continue,” he growls lowly, holding Xie Lian down and rubbing his cock between his cheeks. “Tell me more about how I’m all talk.”

“Saaan Lang,” Xie Lian manages, face pressed into the sheets. “That feels…”

“Yes, gege, how does it feel?” Hua Cheng purrs, hands settling on Xie Lian’s waist as he lifts up to continue his motions unimpeded.

The blush spills all the way down from Xie Lian’s face to the back of his neck and likely his chest, Hua Cheng stares at it, ravenous.

“It’s too… you feel too big,” Xie Lian’s voice comes out strangled, half due to his position, and half embarrassment. “You… I can’t… I’ve never…”

“Oh, that I know, gege,” Hua Cheng coos, bending down with a grin and kissing the back of his neck. Experimentally, he says, “I’m sorry to say demons aren’t wired to be gentle.”

Xie Lian shudders under him, his knees choosing this moment to slide a little wider on the slippery silk of the sheets. Hua Cheng’s vision blurs at this response for a moment, and he has to steady himself and breathe.

“P-please,” Xie Lian whimpers. “I’ll be so good, just please don’t… don’t hurt me…”

Hua Cheng swoops down, slipping an arm around Xie Lian’s neck, pressing against him everywhere. “Plead all you like, I can’t feel pity,” he growls low in Xie Lian’s ear. He bites the sensitive lobe, tearing an abortive cry out of his trembling captive. Hua Cheng grins and kisses the offended spot, whispering softly, “But I will never hurt you.”

Even the not terribly sensitive parts of the body can be made so if given enough attention. Hua Cheng takes his time simply holding Xie Lian under him, arm around his waist or his neck, as he ruts against his supple flesh unhurriedly, keeping his mind away from the images of sinking into him at last. It’s not the time still, but even like this, Xie Lian is panting against the sheets, hands scrambling uselessly for purchase. It must be driving him mad, this suspense, this prolonged teasing, and he soon devolves into helpless whimpering and garbled pleas.

Hua Cheng has unscented oils in every room, not to offend, he’ll have to ask about it later, but it feels like sacrilege to offer a lotus fragrance to the one who smells sweeter than them all. Xie Lian’s flower scent intensifies, just as Hua Cheng’s own—metal and blood—must, and his body feels soft, melting under Hua Cheng’s hands.

Hua Cheng handles him firmly, like a master fine-tuning his instrument, and all Xie Lian does is let out incoherent little noises, and wordlessly beg for more. Hua Cheng knows he can’t be too slow or too gentle, not this first time, or nerves and doubts will have space to emerge.

Fingers dripping with oil, he breaches Xie Lian with two at once, his other hand playing with Xie Lian’s abused nipples. Xie Lian cries out, bucking under him like a trapped bird.

“Ah! San Lang! It’s too much! It’s too—”

Hua Cheng pinches his nipple and pushes the fingers deeper in, and Xie Lian’s voice turns into a high-pitched scream. Sweat breaks out all over his body, tears bursting from his eyes as Hua Cheng slowly moves his fingers in and out, careful, but merciless, giving him no respite. Xie Lian’s whimpers turn into sobs, his hands lying motionless on the bed as if he’d forgotten how to use them, his skin glistening with moisture, turning powder-white and rosy, and Hua Cheng will never be able to look at any snow-white lotus again and not remember this sinful, devastating image.

His own arousal is so painful by now, he’s almost blocked it out, or else no self-imposed restraint would be enough. He fucks Xie Lian with his fingers in a maddeningly slow rhythm, going deeper and deeper, changing angles, until Xie Lian’s whimpers turn into cries of pleasure-driven agony and he starts pushing back mindlessly, seeking more. Hua Cheng holds him down and nails the same spot over and over again, rubbing and rubbing, until Xie Lian screams.

“San Laaaaang!”

He flies apart for the second time, shaking and deadly beautiful. Hua Cheng could ascend from this. Perhaps he has. Perhaps this is heaven as it’s supposed to be.

But they’re not done. Now that he’s seen it twice, now that he has the intoxicating wine of having brought him to it twice in his blood, Hua Cheng can’t stop unless he’s asked to. Xie Lian is beginning to go boneless as his body softens in intense pleasure, and instinct drives Hua Cheng onward.

He pulls his fingers out of the sweet tightness of Xie Lian’s body, grips his pliant waist instead, and enters him in one long, smooth glide, filling him completely as aftershocks still roll through Xie Lian’s body.

“Nghhhh!” Garbled noises fall out of Xie Lian’s mouth, his spine jerks reflexively, his inner muscles try to contract and fail.

Relaxed as he is, he’s tight. He’s tight, and wet, and perfect, and Hua Cheng’s vision blurs, but his control never slips. Xie Lian is trembling in his arms, caught, pinned down, and finally, finally pierced. Fully sheathed, Hua Cheng stills, and both of them can do nothing but breathe.

It’s the end of the hunt, the ultimate follow-up to the mischievous smiles, and clever tricks, and all the teasing, deliberate and not. The reward, the triumph, and the submission. The way Hua Cheng doesn’t move, though it’s killing him—won’t move until he’s allowed. The way Xie Lian shifts under him, around him, giving up the last of his defenses, because here, at the brink of impending glorious ruin, he’s got nowhere to run and he can finally admit that he doesn’t want to.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispers. “I’m… I’m…”

Hua Cheng holds him close, kissing up the side of his neck, gently sucking on the hinge of is jaw, holding him tight, secure.

“I love you,” he says softly, hot and heavy with meaning, into Xie Lian’s ear. “I have you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You’re so beautiful. So brave. There’s no one better than you in the three realms.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian’s voice is hoarse, raspy.

Well. Hua Cheng intends to make it a lot worse.

“Hush.” He kisses that precious ear gently. “You don’t have to do anything. Let your San Lang take care of you. Let me love you as you deserve to be loved.”

Xie Lian whines quietly in protest, but he can hardly argue the point like this, held down and speared open, in the arms of the man he’d defied the heavens for.

“Please,” he whispers.

Hua Cheng moves.

He starts slow and shallow, barely pulling out before sliding back in. Xie Lian moves to spread his thighs a little wider, and Hua Cheng’s next thrust is sharper as a warning. Xie Lian whimpers and stops trying to help. As he surrenders further and further, letting go of the need to perform, to present, to be a certain way, Hua Cheng grips his waist tighter, the movement of his hips growing in amplitude.

Minutes pass as sweet, sweat-glazed eternities, and Xie Lian’s hips are pulled high in the air, his face smashed into the bedding, as Hua Cheng kneels behind him, slamming into him with force now, knocking out gasps and whimpers. Xie Lian is full-on blabbering, incoherent noises and made-up words falling off his lips, and he’s so hot around Hua Cheng, the sweetness of him seeping through the skin, directly into his cock, and it’s maddening, and so, so good, and Hua Cheng wants to keep going forever, he never wants this to end.

But he’s held back for what feels like an eternity, and he’s at his limit. He changes the angle, hammering in, and is instantly rewarded with a hoarse, piercing:

“San Lang! San Lang! San Laaang!”

His control finally snaps, and he slams in a few more times almost brutally, before erupting, releasing straight into that tight quivering heat. His vision whites out, but he still reaches around Xie Lian, taking him in hand, and that’s all it takes. They shake apart together, and while Xie Lian turns liquid, as aftershocks wreck his body, Hua Cheng holds in place until every last drop has sunk inside.

--

Hua Cheng wakes up at the break of dawn, vaguely sensing something wrong. He opens his eyes and it becomes clear to him immediately. He’s alone in bed. Xie Lian is gone.

He sits up abruptly, heart in his throat, panic rising like a tidal wave in his ears. Was he wrong? Did he misread it? Were there clues he’d missed?

Yet soon enough his panic recedes slightly as the butterflies show him his missing lover. Hua Cheng ponders the image for a beat, before slowly getting up and reaching to put on some clothes.

He walks into the garden soundlessly, his steps not disturbing the morning dew glistening on the plants. He moves softly like a cat, a part of his mind terrified of spooking his prey.

Xie Lian has Hua Cheng’s fur-padded robe on again and, by the looks of it, not much else. His hair is still wild from the night activities, and he’s barefoot. Hua Cheng nearly tuts at that. He keeps his garden warmer than the winter air outside the residence, but it’s still not a good idea.

Xie Lian is sitting by the lotus pond. Hua Cheng didn’t think the glamor would really fool him, but it’s still a surprise. He doesn’t turn his head, but it’s clear he’s aware of Hua Cheng’s presence, as he speaks softly.

“Your lotuses have sprouted.”

Hua Cheng takes a step toward the edge of the pool and peers down. Indeed, quite a few seedlings have broken the muddy surface, unfolding toward the light. His heart rejoices momentarily, but then Xie Lian’s tone registers. Hua Cheng turns toward him sharply.

Xie Lian’s shoulders are slumped, and tears are streaming soundlessly down his face. Hua Cheng’s heart aches.

“Gege,” he says on the brink of losing his voice. He comes over and sits on the ground next to Xie Lian. “Gege, what’s wrong?”

Still staring at the lotuses, Xie Lian blinks, and turns his head toward him.

“San Lang,” he breathes out wetly. “I’ve only just realized. I’m sorry.”

Hua Cheng is pretty sure he’s dying. “Realized what? Gege?”

Xie Lian’s lips tremble. “You… you love me.” He looks at the lotuses and back. “Not duty. Not fun. You… really do.”

“Oh, gege,” Hua Cheng breathes out, his heart cracking open. He gathers Xie Lian into his arms and holds him tight. “Of course I do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s all right.” Hua Cheng kisses his temple softly, rocking him gently. “I love you more than life, gege. I never want to be without you.”

Xie Lian whimpers and buries deeper into his embrace, winding his arms around Hua Cheng’s torso.

“I think you’re beautiful, and brave, and kind,” Hua Cheng repeats his own words, giddy with knowing that, now, they’ll finally land. “I think there’s no one else like you. I would go to war for you. I want to marry you. If I am not allowed, I wish to be with you for eternity, even if it is only as a sword in your hand when you are attacked, an umbrella over your head when it’s raining. Gege. Gege, you have me.”

Xie Lian shifts minutely against him. “And San Lang has me.”

They sit quietly like this for a long time, exchanging soft words, and softer kisses.

By the end of the week, the lotuses are blooming.

--

“That Hua Cheng really is too much,” the cultivator in white says with authority, setting his cup on the table sharply. “He’s always been shameless, but this is way over the line! He tricked an actual god—a trueborn celestial prince—into marrying him! Who does that demon think he is?”

“Uh, well, he’s a demon lord, for one thing,” another cultivator wearing purple says reasonably, pouring himself more wine. “It’s expected that he’d be gutsy. For another, how’d he trick him?”

“Made a bet with him of some sort, I heard,” an older man in off-white robes says with a shrug. “That god must have been very foolish indeed to fall for it. Everyone knows you don’t bet against Hua Cheng, he’ll screw you over every time.”

“Ha, screw,” a teenage boy in pale gold snickers in the corner. “That god really is getting screwed now, isn’t he? Ha ha ha!”

The others frown, and the older man says, “Young man, if you can’t be trusted not to be vulgar, better keep your mouth shut when your seniors are talking.”

“Vulgar but not wrong,” the phlegmatic cultivator in purple says with a shrug. “Though the wedding was grand, I heard.”

“Who cares?!” the cultivator in white roars. “Hua Cheng must be stopped! He’s pure evil! Even celestials aren’t safe!”

“Hm,” his colleague hums. “Third-Eye, why don’t you go first then, hm? I heard the last person who tried to rescue that prince was lucky to escape with his life. I also heard it was that prince himself who’d given him that nice sendoff.”

“He’s obviously under an evil spell!” Third-Eye proclaims. “I will free him from it!”

The man in purple silently toasts him.

--

Standing unnoticed in the darker corner of a tea house in the mortal realm while waiting for his husband to finish a case, Hua Cheng smirks. “Oh, I can’t wait.”