Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When you think about cause and effect, it's not uncommon to interpret it as ‘one big event leading to another big event that, generally, causes inconvenience for everyone involved.’

You wouldn't be incorrect, and while this is a possibility not out of bounds of the ordinary—it’s far from being the only one. It certainly isn't the most widely known, given its uncanny ability to pass by unnoticed under an amateur, untrained eye. (Otherwise known as the majority of the population, though that may be more to do with willful blindness or incompetence. He favored the latter.)

But, don't let the overcomplicated (frankly unnecessary) subtext lose you here; the ‘effect’ in this story is arguably the most momentous that has and will ever happen to him, despite there being little, if any, evidence to point out its significance to start with.

The main thing to take away is that life is fickle.

An unpredictable variable that people take comfort in trying to control with their calendars, schedules, and clocks set to count down each and every minute. In most societies, we celebrate the birth of a new year, and vow to do it all over again. Tedious work, to maintain the status quo. For some of us, the very idea of cramming so much into one time slot sends our minds into a frenzy– because, how? How can a number dictate the past, present, and the future? How many breaths we take, before our own internal clock stops?

Detailed plans, hopes and dreams, stretching out into infinity like the invisible ones and zeroes fabricating the universe. And because it was to the educated (arrogant?) mind an impossible, tiring aspect of existence to wrangle and tie down, he'd been for as long as he could remember, content to let it do as it pleased. To go with the flow.

Why bother concerning himself with what couldn't be foreseen (at least without a crystal ball)— when he could instead be lounging on the couch without a care, mixing a curious shade of paint on his palette for a new piece or fixing up dinner with an interesting recipe he'd found in a yellowing cookbook left by the old tenant of his apartment?

He could remember vividly the disappointment his thesis essay based around a similar topic had brought, in what was supposed to be his final year of college.

How his countless hours of research and debate had been dismissed for being too ‘overstated’ and ‘challenging’ to be comprehended without a microscope.

Making an educated guess on what the cause and effect of that particular scenario was, with the added knowledge of his intolerance for the high and mighty bastards of society, what do you think it would be?

If your answer is ‘Because he realized he couldn't spend another year with that narrow-minded scum, dropped his major, gave the instructor a bad review on RateMyProfessors.com and took another course requiring a field study in an actual job for a passing grade, he somehow met the love of his life in a rich business entrepreneur’s kitchen', you would be, indubitably, correct.

He'd never been good at ‘grinning and bearing it’– he saw it as an abominable waste. That had worked out rather well for him if the silver band he wore around his neck on a chain was a 'credible source' for his in progress research.

Without taking a step back, you can't quite see the big picture, and there's really no shame in that.

He couldn't either. Not until the precise nature of these tiny coincidences leading to an outcome he cherished more than anything was pointed out years later by the origin himself on another slow, domestic Sunday while he sat at a polished table practicing (avoiding) his calligraphy.

In order to not disappoint his beloved, he'd been writing this—what would you call it, a memoir?

All in strokes of ink, page after page. Many sordid attempts had been tossed in the trashcan he currently nudged at repeatedly with his heel, not set aside until they were at least passable in terms of being legible. It was the proud documentation of a history in which he'd been happily spellbound, a recitation he could re read, retell, rephrase, in a million different ways and never get bored. In a decade, which as far as he could tell may easily turn into a handful, he wanted to look back on these times with perfect clarity.

When his body began to waste away, when he struggled with increasing frequency to recall where he'd set his keys or debated heavily the dedicated spot for sugar, he could take his common path into the living room and reach beneath the television console to extract the delicately bound story of everything.

It mattered not if his mind was also gone– instinct would carry him those few determined steps.

Xie Lian, all smiles as usual, agreed that it was clever.

He would not deny that he had positively preened at his husband's approval, but then, any praise from him, regardless of form, was always enough to do the trick.

Although he'd tried to keep his hands clean within reason of what could logically be achieved, he had dark smudges on his fingertips and the sides of his palms where they inevitably brushed the slow drying lines of his finest work yet (determined solely by the subject matter being his wooing of a prince, a tidbit that made the aforementioned royal blush red in the seat across from him when he read the previous string of words to him.)

Whenever he paused to survey his work, he checked for flaws. It was a habit as a writer he'd never been able to shake, mitigated as a result of Xie Lian's frequent input of ‘Just write what you're feeling in the moment' or ‘It doesn't have to be perfect, San Lang' and other such wise advice.

As a matter of fact, Hua Cheng detailed these recent installments aloud to his patient audience, prepared mentally for scrutiny but knew in his heart that there would only be acceptance and renewed encouragement to carry on. To avoid being repetitive, let's cut to the chase.

The reason he'd broken his lease early, cut his ties with the hustle and bustle of Shanghai, and now identified himself as a freelance artist daylighting as a personal chef while living out in the boondocks, was all thanks to a night of frantic indecision and a final resolve of needing something more.

Cause and effect.

In its nature, it was nothing more than a choice accompanied by a consequence; another funny word when given context. Hearing it, your mind immediately jumps to ‘trouble’, even though its unbiased meaning is ‘a result or effect of an action or condition.’

So, in his case, shouldn't it be referred to as a blessing?

Whatever your conclusion is, a blessing is not a blessing unless it is thought of as so by the recipient, and to him it was nothing less than the perfect amalgamation of every open-ended wish he'd ever made.

Pressing the rounded end of his brush against his bottom lip, he allowed himself to drift momentarily into the warm, blurry memories of childhood.

When he was very young and his biggest concern for the evening was what he was going to be having for dinner, his mother would take him to a temple to pray.

They weren't, strictly speaking, a religious household, but Hua Cheng had shown an interest in one god in particular— a crown prince once beloved by his people, renowned for his beauty and strength. With a flower in one hand and a sword in the other, this ancient being faced much tragedy in his life before achieving true happiness. Made a martyr of destruction, a symbol of purity and divinity, a fallen disgrace to the heavens and a protector of the common people, he was called the laughingstock of the three realms and later widely known as the strongest known god to ever ascend.

Despite his forthcomings, the prince prevailed with a smile and a humble heart. He did not strive to have a life of riches and glory, though there were curious tales of his lover in dusty old volumes at his library; a ruthless ghost with a soft spot only for him, who took pleasure in spoiling him whenever the chance arose.

Hua Cheng was always something of a free spirit, but it was this god's teachings and ideals that inspired him to live without regrets. To him, it was forever better to try something and fail than to lay down at night and grieve the opportunities he had missed while awake.

After he had lit a stick of incense, Hua Cheng pressed his hands together and, when asked by his mother why he didn't sit on the prayer mat, expressed passionately that his god wouldn't approve of his followers kneeling.

By the time he had closed his eyes and begun to speak politely into his own subconscience, his mother had risen from her place on the ground and gotten to her feet as well.

Because of his fascination with the crown prince, a faith that did not waver even into adulthood, he couldn't help but stop at an empty temple when he passed in front of one on the streets, an addict in his own right.

For Hua Cheng, the beginning of everything started with an ad slapped haphazardly to the side of the worn stone monument he'd taken to including on the route of his daily walk through the city. An excuse to visit his god.

At first, it wasn't even one he had read through all the way.

An article with a semi-interesting title, the actual contents only compelling enough for a mandatory gloss over just to be sure that he wasn't missing anything of importance.

He had half a mind to remove it and toss it into the trash—surely there was a better way to get the word out and not desecrate sacred grounds, but as he smoothed it out along the flat plane of the aged pillar it was taped to, he paused to examine the emboldened ‘HELP WANTED URGENTLY' at the top of the flier and found himself bringing it closer.

Hua Cheng didn't pretend to be a good Samaritan.

He rarely went out of his way, though if he happened to pass someone in clear need, he provided what he had available. Be that a wad of cash to a scrappy teenager, a meal or a shower, directions to a bewildered tourist or a hand to a child lost from their parent's side.

Because his god would have done so, he felt he should, too.

There really was no other great motivation.

Reading down the lines, skimming the least interesting bits, he raised an eyebrow at the last section of the ad.

If his morality was put to the test, he wasn't positive he would score very well. He had strong opinions, too strong for most to stomach, and right this instant every instinct in his gut was provoking him to laugh at the insanity of that offer when anyone else would have dropped their things and run towards it. It was almost without a doubt, a scam.

Or a nightmare dressed in white.

The job requirements were manageable and reasonable enough—a degree in or adequate proof of a comprehensive understanding of the culinary arts, a functioning vehicle to make the drive to the grounds where the building was located, and a flexible schedule.

See, now, don't point fingers too quickly and assume he was uptight. This was all well and good—it wasn’t unlike a request for a live-in maid.

He saw plenty of commissions for them to work in those filthy rich neighborhoods, and they made a real living off of people who simply didn't want to get off their asses and would rather pay someone else to do their most basic chores. What sounded the alarms in his head was the segment directly underneath the unbelievably lucrative salary rate (and promise of free room and board) in font so tiny he had to squint to make it out; ‘Due to a severe lack of willing volunteers, we are in dire need of immediate employees prepared to move onto the Xianle estate or work between the hours of 10 am to 5 pm and take on the daily responsibilities of acting as the main chef—’

“...I don't remember it reading that way. Did it look that awful?” A somewhat awkward, timid voice came from somewhere near his shoulder. He smiled.

Hua Cheng lowered his brush in time to see Xie Lian averting his gaze from the paper he was quietly proofreading behind him, handsome brow furrowed in a combination of distress and embarrassment.

Ah, he was in a mood. Not a bad one, but he could tell already that his beloved would need a bit of additional coaxing tonight to come out of his shell.

“Gege. I still have the advertisement. I'm really not exaggerating for the sake of an interesting plot.” He replied with a grin, and Xie Lian sighed so deeply that his breath tickled the wispy little hairs around his ear.

“It was ten years ago. It still upsets you?” His question was gentle, unassuming. Between the two of them, there were no secrets, nothing they couldn't share openly.

Just as it was in his blood to devote himself to his person, it was in Xie Lian's to embark upon the road less traveled.

It also meant that it took longer for him to adjust to something he perceived as shameful.

With Xie Lian practically pressing up against his back, it was easy to melt into him. To tune himself into his husband's steady breathing and the irregular beating of his heart that couldn't help but stir at this closeness, even after a decade of practice and familiarity.

“Not all the time. When I don't think about it, it doesn’t upset me even a little.” Xie Lian murmured, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. It widened at the sight of the sparkle in his lover's pupils.

Hua Cheng laughed then, and Xie Lian groaned low in his chest as he coiled around him like a starved cobra.

His hands connected in front of his lower abdomen, effectively locking him in place. Not that there was any desire to escape, or a place he'd prefer to be.

Xie Lian's arms squeezed, half lovingly, half in warning not to tease relentlessly as he so loved to do. His god lowered himself further, chin coming to rest on top of his husband's shoulder. Long strands of thick brown hair slid from their careless updo, golden brown eyes pleading in a way that never failed to capture that which they sought.

“Come on, San Lang. You've been going on about cause and effect—doesn't it bother you?”

“Does what bother me, gege?” Hua Cheng questioned innocently, earning a light swat on the arm for his failure to take this matter seriously.

“The ad,” Xie Lian began.

There was a moment's pause between his next words; he was giving Hua Cheng the benefit of the doubt, and the opportunity to reach the same conclusion that he had.

“If it hadn't been there, you wouldn't have come. And if it had been any more strange, even if you'd seen it elsewhere, I doubt you would have turned up when you did.”

Hua Cheng hummed. Xie Lian did have a point, but he wanted to dispel his worries, not encourage them.

Absent-mindedly, his fingers found a lock of silky brown hair and gently twirled it, examining it with a soft, reverent eye. “Gege is right about that. I might not have shown up then, but there's nothing to suggest I wouldn't have eventually found my way here.”

Xie Lian's expression was softer now, the crease on his forehead relaxing. “What makes San Lang think so?”

His smile lines had grown more prominent. Hua Cheng had painted them too many times to count, etching that permanent visage of beauty onto a blank canvas.

“Because I would have been too curious not to.”

“Curious about…?” Xie Lian prompted.

Hua Cheng replied calmly, “Why a handsome young heir was all alone in a mansion without a chef, and why he was in ‘dire need of employees'—”

“You’re terrible.” Xie Lian scolded, lightly rolling his eyes in affectionate exasperation at the fresh bout of laughter from Hua Cheng this produced.

“You know, I think it was Mu Qing that wrote that advertisement. He was tired of me finding a reason not to do it, and afraid I'd burn down the house trying to cook myself breakfast.” Xie Lian mused.

“Ah, that explains the desperation.” Hua Cheng nodded.

“Keep writing. I'll get started on lunch.” Xie Lian smiled, slowly detaching himself from his husband's back.

Hua Cheng missed his warmth right away, turning around in his chair to whine plaintively, “Gege, I've been at it for hours. Can't I help?”

Xie Lian didn't yield to him this time, which was a rare affair indeed, continuing to make his way down the hall and into the kitchen. “Keep writing.”

Chapter Text

The Hua Cheng of a decade ago, twenty-two and struggling to clean up his act, wouldn't have been able to tell you why he (after heavy deliberation) stuffed the flier into an inner pocket of his jacket.

Today, he would say it was fate that he took it home.

At around nine pm, the sound of a door unlatching and pulling open echoed into the silence of the building he inhabited. It wasn't anything special, but it had a decent view and a place for him to lie his head down at night (when he did actually sleep.) When he was being given a tour by the landlord, who avoided his discerning gaze like the plague as it swept around the premises, he questioned with an edge of suspicion why such an unproblematic (from his surface level investigation) living arrangement had been steadily decreasing in price for the last couple years.

His guide had sighed tiredly, saying with a wave of his hand to the door across the hall, that the neighbors made quite passionate affirmations of their love with no written schedule. He made a note to buy an impressive pair of earmuffs, signed the paperwork, and that was that.

Hua Cheng's luck was an impressive thing– as soon as he started blasting heavy metal whenever he began to hear telling thuds where his neighbors resided, they politely quieted down their endeavors.

Eventually, they moved out altogether. Joy.

After all, it wasn't like they were going to be able to file a noise complaint against him that would be taken seriously.

Hua Cheng unhurriedly made his way inside to deposit a day's worth of errands on the counter, which included several bags of groceries, a few impulse purchases and various odds and ends for a miscellaneous project.

As he went to remove his jacket and hang it on the row of hooks over where he set his shoes, a badly crumpled sheet of paper made an attempt at securing its freedom.

Fluttering down to the floor, laying pitifully on the carpet, was the chef advertisement.

Kneeling to pick it up, Hua Cheng tried to straighten it out with minimal success, tearing a small corner and flinching slightly as a sharp pain went through his index finger.

Peering at the small paper cut at the tip, Hua Cheng shifted the sheet to his left hand while he sucked at the tiny incision, removing the tiny blot of blood.

Was some bad energy imbued into the paper?

He opted to place it on the coffee table until he could sit down and take another look at it. This wasn't for another two days, and Hua Cheng himself was not the one taking initiative to further investigate the job.

Familiar pest He Xuan was laying sprawled on his sectional couch, the wrinkled advertisement held over his head as he read the amusingly stressed sounding description worn and faded from withstanding the elements for so long. When he heard Hua Cheng coming his way after occupying the bathroom for nearly two hours (likely to style his hair), He Xuan rolled onto his stomach and waved the flier around.

“What's this about?”

Hua Cheng glanced at the paper, then back to him.

He didn't say anything at first, and he would have pretended he hadn't heard the man at all if He Xuan didn't personally see him look over. Incriminating.

As it was almost more unlikely for him to drop the issue without an answer than to stop raiding his pantry or fridge for food, Hua Cheng replied in an uninterested drawl to snuff out his curiosity before it took off,

“Nothing. I don't know why I took it with me.”

He Xuan leveled him with a calculating stare.

Hua Cheng didn't seem to be purposely omitting information for once—bringing it along had been completely spur of the moment, and he'd forgotten to throw it out.

He told He Xuan so as he made his way over to the couch with his phone in hand, opened to a black and white document serving as a spreadsheet resumé for his existing work experience. Boring, but inescapable.

He didn't have much in terms of serving under a legitimate employer with a house name, given his natural freelancing abilities (and desire to make his own rules) but apparently he needed some kind of higher up to sign off on his hours to make any final advancements in his course. A bit of research told him that forging a signature or forcing someone (likely He Xuan) to do it in his stead would result in charges and/or the termination of his progress in class if it was discovered, which wasn't exactly a helpful solution.

Hua Cheng didn't doubt his ability to fly under the radar; it was listing He Xuan as his second and giving him any kind of stake over his life that eventually won over his shamelessness. What had sealed the deal was the man's initial excitement in being told ‘I’d list you and your number, worst case is they'd call you and ask a bit about my work ethic'—no matter how much debt He Xuan was in, he wouldn't pass up a chance to run him into the dirt, and Hua Cheng wasn't close enough (loathe as he was to call their parasitic friendship ‘close’) to anyone else to have a backup. He really needed to start networking.

“You don't seem so sure about that.” He Xuan snorted beside him, and Hua Cheng drew himself up to sit straighter. He Xuan stayed laying where he was, not even bothering to lift his head from the pillow.

He had barely raised a brow in question when the man continued, “I know you. If it was something you weren't interested in, you would have just ignored it or thrown it out the minute you were home, not let it sit in plain sight for who knows how long.”

Hua Cheng likely wouldn't ever admit it for his ears to hear, but he had a point.

“So, you gonna call the number?”

He Xuan's question caught him a bit off guard.

Then, he'd been asking himself the same thing every other hour it crossed his consciousness. He knew that letting the idea rot there with no resolution was quietly driving him insane, but pushing himself to seek it…

“I'm not a chef. Is there any point in it?” Hua Cheng prayed without any expectation that He Xuan would stop talking about it, and for a minute he thought that the gods may have shed pity on him.

Then, when he looked over and saw that somewhere between avoiding He Xuan's ugly face and reaching for the remote to the tv, his friend/enemy/disturbance had slipped his phone out of his pocket and started typing away, Hua Cheng snapped impatiently, “Give it.”

He Xuan responded with a smug quirk of his mouth, tossing Hua Cheng his phone back right as he leaned over to retrieve it by force. Whatever he'd done, he'd gotten away with it. He found his screen open to his messages, and right at the top—

“You messaged him.”

On any other day those words would have left as an impatient snarl, but right then he only had energy to be openly exasperated. He Xuan shrugged, “You weren't going to. I did you a favor.”

“And you didn't stop to think that maybe there was a reason for that?” Hua Cheng sighed, tapping the newest number added to his contacts. “You've done no one a favor here but yourself in tormenting strangers.”

Scanning over the introductory text He Xuan had sent, he was relieved to see the other man hadn't made him out to be a fool right off the bat. It wasn't too different from what he himself would have said; offering his full name and basic personal information like age, experience, and why he had reached out.

Ugh. He Xuan hadn't done half bad, which meant it would be more difficult to reverse and pass off as a prank to the recipient on the other line. Maybe if he went ahead and deleted it, the so-called ‘Xie Lian' wouldn't catch it, and he could forget about the whole ordeal and go back to his never-ending search for a more suitable job.

His intrigue towards this one wouldn't make any difference if things turned out to be a way of attracting brainless idiots like he thought, and he refused to waste valuable time entertaining the possibility.

With his mind made, he held down on the message and was mere centimeters away from the delete button when a row of animated dots appeared at the bottom of the chat, very quickly revealing an earnest reply.

Goddammit. Now how was he supposed to…

He Xuan heard the sound of his phone vibrating and let out a low whistle, “Damn, he must really be desperate after all.”

He started loudly crunching on a bag of chips he'd assured him he would save for a special occasion to goad Hua Cheng into throwing it into the cart.

Hua Cheng went back to pretending he wasn't there, but his attention, secretly directed at his friend or not, wouldn't have remained there for long.

He peered at the small wall of text following his own, amused and frustratingly more curious than ever.

8:06 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Hello! Thank you so much for taking the time to contact me. I'm not the best at keeping things formal, so I apologize in advance. What would you say to coming to the listed address for an interview and a trial run sometime next week?

Before he could comprehend what he was doing, Hua Cheng's thumbs had already started to carve a path along his phone's keyboard.

8:07 pm.
Me: Hi. It's no problem at all. As far as I know, my schedule this week is clear and I'll have no issue making it there. May I ask what you're referring to by trial run?

A reappearance of the little dots told him that he would soon have an answer, despite their frequent stalling, like the person on the opposite end was struggling to put their words together.

8:09 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Oh, wow, you reply fast! Yes, anyways, by the trial run I meant something like…you could check things out and see if this would be a fitting position for you before anything permanent is settled.

Hua Cheng's brows furrowed.

’Before anything permanent is settled'?

With the state of urgency the ad made things out to be, he would have expected a nonnegotiable concreteness.

Maybe this leniency was the reason the Xie family had struggled to keep long-term employees.

8:09 pm.
Me: I see. That sounds perfectly doable.

Seeming to sense Hua Cheng's apprehension, Xie Lian replied with marginally less enthusiasm than he had previously,

8:10 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: The trial would last approximately a week. As we're a ways out of the city, I'd recommend bringing essentials that would last you a while so you won't have to make extra trips.

His suggestion was followed by a hasty, somewhat awkward explanation,

8:10 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: If you're wondering why the process is designed this way, it was our hope that if you find yourself unhappy with the job, you can bail out before signing a contract. It's only for six months at a time, but it's currently the only solution we could come up with to prevent applicants from quitting with no notice, which has made it difficult to find replacements in time.

Huh.

A legally binding contract just so a cook would stay?

Sounded promising.

8:11 pm.
Me: Ah, that seems reasonable enough. If I might ask, how many people have you had leave that warranted the use of that method?

It took Xie Lian longer to answer this particular question of his, and when he did, Hua Cheng stared, unblinking, at his reply.

8:19 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Seventeen. Our last left within a week.

…Right.

So chefs were dropping like flies at this kitchen, to the point where they needed to bring in a government backed document in efforts to keep one there. No wonder the trial run was only seven days—it was more of a ‘Can you survive hell' than ‘Will the drive or distance from the city be an inconvenience'.

“You're still talking to him?” He Xuan's voice cut into his line of thought. “Does it seem like a scam, then?”

“No, it seems like I'm about to make a very bad decision.” Hua Cheng muttered in reply, eyes glued to his screen.

He Xuan raised a brow. “You're really taking it?”

“I don't know,” Hua Cheng leaned further back against the couch, one leg crossed over his knee. He'd propped his elbow on the armrest, closed palm pressing against his cheek while his other hand did the rest of the work on his phone. “I'm going to try it.”

8:20 pm.
Me: What a sum.

8:20 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Ahaha, yes, unfortunately.

8:22 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Have I scared you off?

Hua Cheng could feel the small smile forming on his lips, and try as he might to force it away, it refused to let up.

This guy was too hilarious—a little naive and gloomy, giving Hua Cheng the impression that he was by nature the optimistic (potentially spoiled) sort who was used to having his way and had recently run into a roadblock called ‘life’ that enjoyed intercepting him.

8:20 pm.
Me: Hm. No, I don't think you have. I like a challenge. What time should I be there?

Dot, dot, dot…

Chapter Text

xxx-xxx-xxxx is typing…

8:21 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Really??

8:21 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: You'll come?

8:21 pm.
Me: Really. I will.

8:22 pm.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: Great!! Does Monday afternoon sound okay?

And just like that, Hua Cheng had (presumably) dug himself a very deep grave in Xie Lian's backyard.

After establishing a time to meet, their line of connection predictably slowed down until the day of his interview/tryout for the Xie family's kitchen.

At around one, his phone vibrated with an incoming message and he halted his minimal effort in packing a small suitcase to check it, tapping the notification.

Xie Lian had sent him a more detailed guide on how to make the drive to the estate, as the flier had only encompassed the general area. Probably wise.

He had no idea what had brought them fortune, but clearly it was enough to have them on edge about unwanted visitors coming to inspect the property without a formal invitation on Google maps. From the heart of the city where his residence stood to the largely untouched plains region the manor resided, it took him a little over two hours to finally turn in to the worn stone driveway. As soon as he pulled up to the gated entrance, he was stopped in place.

Not just because there was clearly no way of getting through without plowing it down, but to find himself in awe of where he'd ended up.

For as far as his eyes could see, there were flowers.

Lovely pink peonies, bold chrysanthemums, camellia and magnolia—they sprawled over the wide front lawn in a sea of color, untamed and left to roam free.

Blossoming vines too pretty to be cut down tangled the iron bars of the gate he sat parked before, trees in full bloom shedding their petals in warm gusts of wind.

Bunches of them scattered across his windshield like slow moving raindrops, soft and dainty. He cautiously rolled down the driver's side window to catch a couple in his palm, rolling them between his fingers.

Jolted from his reverie by a cool, impatient sounding voice nearby, Hua Cheng turned his gaze away from the palace-like home to hear a man say tersely,

”Who are you? What are you doing here?”

It didn't take him long to find the source; a compact black box attached (poorly) to a wooden post, transmitting sound from a place he couldn't see.

Judging by the minuscule camera embedded into the speaker, though, they had a clear view of him.

He had a gut feeling that whoever this was, it wasn't Xie Lian, and they probably hadn't been informed of his imminent arrival. He knew he had the right place, as there were no other houses for miles and the nearest store was at least a half hour away. Isolated.

If it weren't dressed down in flowers, belonging to some magical, fae realm, he would have capitalized on his chance to avoid horror movie rationale already.

Deciding it was best to keep cordial, Hua Cheng responded calmly and with much more politeness than was typical of him, “Hello. I'm Hua Cheng—a Mr. Xie at this address is supposed to be interviewing me today at half past three?”

”...”

For a few moments, all he could hear was dull, grainy reception, and then, like a firecracker had gone and blasted his eardrums,

”—XIE LIAN!”

If the tone of the man's voice was anything to go off of, he was not calling his superior's name in fear of him having fallen down, but was instead quite impatiently growing tired of dealing with him.

Hua Cheng sat there for a couple minutes with no clear picture of what was going on, listening to the low hum of the engine and the muted singing voices on the radio. He contemplated turning it up just to have something else to focus on when at last, a second, unfamiliar voice said with a stern, businesslike air,

”I apologize for your wait, our boss is currently…indisposed, and will be with you shortly. If you'd like to go ahead and pull through, I'll be opening the gates. At the front door, there's a code you enter—3810. Please remember it in case of emergencies.”

Hua Cheng didn't have a chance to respond (and ask what sort of situation would qualify as an emergency in which he had to force his way inside) before the creaking of the heavy gates alerted him.

He couldn't explain it, but as the doors gave way and he began to slowly pass them by, hard gravel crunching beneath his car's tires, the hidden landscape seemed to brighten all around him, like he'd gone into a portal.

Sunlight filtered in broken fractals between thick, luscious green leaves, the overgrown, meadowy grass swaying and bending to the motions of the wind sweeping past it like a wave of rippling green water.

He could see the shell of what had once been beautiful landscaping beginning to be lost to time and reclaimed by nature in a way that was reminiscent of an ancient kingdom being swallowed up through the centuries.

Magnificent and grandiose, a secret gem.

The warm toned stone manor adorned in ivy only further propelled the fairy-tale aesthetic of the private property.

Protected and sheltered from the outside world, surrounded in every direction by steep valleys and rolling hills, was this lonely paradise. As he came to a stop at the top of the driveway, he spotted a flicker of movement in one of the windows of the fourth and final floor.

Its architecture was dome-like, feeding into it projecting the image of a smaller scaled castle, and at its center—

Was a young man.

Dressed in what appeared to be white sleepwear, he was almost lost in the pale cream hues of the curtains on either side of the turret as he pulled them back to look down on the yard. But even at this distance, too far away to be made out in detail, his beauty was incandescent—drawing warmth from the sun itself, absorbing it and radiating a gentle, healing light.

A prince in a tower. A god trapped in the confines of his temple, his only solace being the window to the world he watched the seasons pass from.

The artist within him was clawing his insides up like an animal caged and starved, and were he not expected to be inside in approximately five minutes, he would have rummaged through his suitcase to find his sketchbook and imprint the image for eternity. No, a rough drawing wouldn't do—he needed an easel. Paint.

He was terrified to even look away, lest the divine being above moved out of sight and into faded obscurity. Hua Cheng, trapped in a daze as he was, had forgotten to put his vehicle in park. When he moved his foot off the gas, his car lurched forward a few additional feet, and he scrambled to slam the break as he shifted the joystick to the right position.

Now he was rather glad for his lack of an audience.

Exhaling slowly to settle his frantic heartbeat, Hua Cheng glanced back at the window and, with a feeling of sinking disappointment, found that the man from before no longer offered himself to be viewed by his greedy eyes.

Was it possible he'd imagined him?

The curtains remained open, however, bringing more attention to the very real absence now left in the space separating them. Perhaps not a figment of his imagination desperate for a muse, then. With legs that refused to hold his weight without shaking, Hua Cheng pocketed his keys and stepped out of the car.

Opting to leave his belongings for now, he made his way to the wide double doors at the face of the house, protected by a beautiful archway of curved stone.

Though much of the doors were composed of glass, encased in rich red wood, the panes themselves were stained in an array of colors and somewhat foggy looking, preventing him from seeing through to the other side.

Keenly aware of eyes following him on the property's abundant security cameras, Hua Cheng navigated to the square metal box containing a full set of numbers and buttons. It was positioned just below a less than operational looking doorbell and, older than that still, a set of knockers depicting lions on the heavy doors.

Evidently, there had been some needed updates over the countless decades the home had stood proud on its grounds.

As he input the code he'd been given, he could see it appearing on the sliver of screen over the digits. When he entered it, it made a friendly beeping sound, and then a message popped up in bold,

He blinked at it in surprise, a smile worming its way onto his mouth. They hadn't even met yet, let alone settled anything about his potential in working there, but Xie Lian had already gone the extra mile to make him feel like he was wanted around. Hua Cheng continued to peer at the unexpected greeting until a doorknob turning redirected his attention. He found one of the two doors swinging open and took a short step back.

A tall, pale man with a sour face stood at the entrance, his straight black hair tied into a high ponytail. He surveyed Hua Cheng with narrow, suspicious eyes, thin lips pulled taut in a tight frown—his first impression was that his very existence (and especially his appearance) had personally offended him to extreme disgust.

“Are you going to wait to be let in every time?” The man asked with sarcastic disapproval. “The code opens the door, you know.”

Oh, lovely. So this was the tetchy one who'd spoken at the gates.

Hua Cheng put on a fake smile, saying pleasantly, “I wasn't planning on it, no, though having you do it sounds tempting.”

If possible, the man's eyes squinted deeper, and Hua Cheng amended in a soft tone purely meant for the subject of his words, “I was looking at the message left on the code box.”

“Ah.”

With a pronounced and over exaggerated roll of his eyes, the man folded his arms over his chest and said snidely, “Boss thought it was a nice touch. I don't know why he bothered with it. You'll be gone by the end of the week anyways, won't you?”

Hua Cheng stalled a bit at that. On the one hand, he'd rather hammered the nail on its head—with seventeen chefs having come and gone in what he guessed was a short span of time and his own personal agenda, which was ‘Fuck around and find out', it wasn't uncalled for for him to assume he'd be no different than the rest.

But then, he wondered if this man's horrible people skills had anything to do with the fleeing of their past employees.

If he wasn't stubborn and riddled with pride, he might have turned around and gotten right back in his car like this idiot wanted.

There might have been another factor keeping him there as well.

“Do you have any say in that? Whether I stay or go?” Hua Cheng inquired after a pause, and the man fixed him with a cold, distrustful look. He could tell that much of his display of unfriendliness was put on to ward off weaker minded individuals, which happened to be most of society, and his silence spoke volumes on his being taken aback by his refusal to run.

His invisible hackles had shot up in the presence of a threat, but now that he was cornered, he resorted to irritated submission.

“That will be up to Xie Lian. Ultimately, he has the final say.” The man admitted bitterly, like it physically hurt him to say.

Well. At least he was honest. He had no power other than influence.

From behind his obstacle into the house came another voice– this one he recognized as the one who permitted him entry to the grounds. “Mu Qing? What are you doing?”

'Mu Qing' didn't say anything, instead letting his counterpart see for himself what was taking so long with the initiation of their guest.

A tanned man with broad shoulders and thick brows squeezed his way into the spotlight, impatiently shoving Mu Qing in his efforts.

“I'm Feng Xin.” The man introduced quickly. He had just started to extend his hand to Hua Cheng when he abruptly stopped, eyes widening in their sockets as he sized him up.“You—?”

Clearing his throat when he received a sharp smack on the back from Mu Qing, Feng Xin continued with a hint of confusion in his voice, “You're…here to cook. You.”

Hua Cheng lifted a brow, fighting the smile twitching at his lips. “Was there something else you wanted me to do?”

Feng Xin frowned, “No, but…hold on. How old are you, exactly? Aren't you a bit young? Are you really a chef?”

“I'm old enough,” Hua Cheng shrugged. “Your boss knows all there is to know about me, and he asked me here for a trial run.”

“You've just evaded all of my questions—” Feng Xin blustered.

“Yes, and Xie Lian isn't exactly known for his judgment of character.” Mu Qing interrupted in a clipped tone.

Maybe this was going to be some fun after all.

Hua Cheng sighed, drawn and weary and with the air of a man secretly getting a kick out of something, “I don't have any official credentials, but I sent some examples of my cooking, and he seemed pretty interested in what I had to offer.”

“And how do we know you haven't just pulled a picture off the internet and sent it to him? He wouldn't know the difference.” Mu Qing sneered.

“You cook.” Feng Xin exonerated yet again in that disbelieving voice of his.

“Is there something hard to understand about that?” Hua Cheng scoffed. Mu Qing dipped his head, and Feng Xin nodded animatedly.

Huh. So there were matters they agreed on?

“What's with all the…piercings? And the clothes? Do you always dress like you're about to go to a photo shoot?” Feng Xin muttered, earning a warning glare from Mu Qing that clearly said ‘Shut up.’

Hua Cheng merely grinned, satisfied to withhold any further information about himself. Feng Xin seemed like he was going to say something else stupid when the sound of something softly thudding down the stairs made the two men turn around.

The ‘something’ was the princely young man he'd seen in the window, no longer donning his pajamas but an old sweatshirt with a faded logo and fitted blue jeans. His feet were bare, and his deep brown hair had been left to cascade freely down his back.

It was so long that it reached past his waist, swaying with his slightest of movements, and fell around him like a silky veil when he knelt on the final landing to retrieve something he'd dropped, the ends brushing the carpet treads running up the steps.

“Xie Lian.” Feng Xin glanced at Hua Cheng and then tilted his head in Xie Lian's direction. Hua Cheng could feel his mouth going dry.

This…

This was Xie Lian?

Pocketing whatever it was, Xie Lian quietly brought himself to his full height and stiffened when he saw he had an audience. He appeared to go even stiller as his gaze shifted from his two attendants to the youth standing directly behind them.

Their eyes met over the tops of a couple oblivious, indignant heads, locking and refusing to move away. Xie Lian had frozen like a deer in headlights, rigid as a marble statue, not moving a muscle.

And then he started to turn very, very red.

Flushed as the red roses growing from a luscious bush by the front porch, color spread all along his cheeks, dusting the bridge of his nose and the lobes of his ears.

“...Hua Cheng?”

Xie Lian spoke as if he was struggling to come out of a trance, and Hua Cheng was not far behind him, heart jostling in his chest at the sound of this divine beauty saying his name. Instinctively he cracked a smile in response, which Xie Lian returned nervously.

"Gege can call this one San Lang." Hua Cheng said, in way of a greeting.

"San Lang." Xie Lian rectified with a warm smile.

“I see we aren't needed here.” Mu Qing cut in dryly, and Xie Lian looked over in a rush, the spell cast over him broken at last.

Hua Cheng had to disguise a bark of laughter as an aggressive sounding cough when Xie Lian said, not impolitely, but certainly with some sugar coated urgency, “You're right! I think we'll be fine on our own for a little while. I'll show San Lang around.”

“At least put some socks on…you're going to catch a cold.” Mu Qing hissed in his ear as Xie Lian descended the remaining flight of steps. He waved off the suggestion, hurrying over to Hua Cheng's side. Feng Xin had to sidestep him to avoid being in his path.

Mu Qing met Feng Xin's eyes, and the former cocked his head towards what looked like a parlor. As soon as they'd gone out of earshot, Xie Lian offered him another smile, this one apologetic. “I'm sorry about them. They can be a bit…”

“Vain? Pessimistic?” Hua Cheng supplied when he trailed off, and Xie Lian blinked in surprise at his vivid choice of words. It didn't take long for that expression to morph into keen amusement.

“Hah—!”

Xie Lian stifled his laugh with the back of his hand, knowing he shouldn't be so eager to feed into this talk behind the backs of his friends. When he had composed himself, he tipped forward on the balls of his feet, grinning, “I take it they haven't run you off, then?”

Hua Cheng snorted, “Not in the slightest. It would take a lot more than that to get rid of me. I can be a bit of a pest.”

Xie Lian smiled at first, the corners of his eyes softening with a gentle crease, but it was quicker to fall than the last. Like he was reluctant to be offensive and say outright that he didn't believe him, and simultaneously had yet to master a convincing poker face to put on for show.

Hua Cheng thought he looked privately subdued, not outright pouting, while also doing a poor job at concealing his real feelings on the matter.

“You might end up feeling differently later on.” Xie Lian said calmly, tidying (fidgeting) with a vase situated on top of a grand buffet.

Hua Cheng doubted that.

When he saw that the doors had yet to be shut, Xie Lian drifted over to push them closed, turning the latches to lock them, and Hua Cheng caught a faint whiff of something flowery on the other man. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Xie Lian himself had sprouted up from the garden amongst the vivid flora and fauna.

“Well…” Xie Lian shuffled his feet against the patterned floor runner, looking around the room once before returning his eyes to him. “What do you think? I know you haven't seen much yet, but is it different than you imagined?”

Hua Cheng shifted his weight to one side, adopting a comfortably casual stance as he let his gaze traverse the same path as his host.

He didn't miss that Xie Lian was regarding him with a kind of nervous, hopeful energy– he was still keeping outwardly composed, but Hua Cheng swore he could feel some of that static electricity transferring from Xie Lian to himself.

Something inexplicable made him say the first honest thing that came to mind. Rather than endorse the polite courtesy of a false platitude with ‘It's great’, he commented directly,

“From the way the outside of the house appeared, I would have expected the same of the inside,” Hua Cheng's eyes shifted from his own reflection in the elegantly curved buffet's mirror to Xie Lian, who was peering back at him owlishly. “It's pretty empty for such a large space.”

Xie Lian stared at him in a shocked stupor for a moment longer, and then let out a nervous laugh that immediately had him regretting his forwardness, “Ahaha, yes, well…” He rubbed at the underside of his neck, eyes darting to and fro, never settling on any one thing,

“To be transparent with San Lang, I'm more broke than I look. In fact, it recently reached a point that I had to pawn off most belongings of value. Most other things were thrifted, or too important to sell. Actually, I don't know why I'm telling you all of this– please, forget I've said anything–” He explained in an increasingly frantic manner. Hua Cheng drew himself up straight, blinking, and silently raised his hands in a gentle motion for Xie Lian to take a breath.

To his surprise, it took very little coaxing for him to do so; almost as soon as he realized that he was not being laughed at or scrutinized, he visibly settled. Xie Lian's embarrassed smile pursed into a soft frown, which Hua Cheng's heart responded viscerally to.

“Gege,” he began softly, “This San Lang didn't mean it that way; it was not an insult. I apologize for my poor wording.”

The lines of worry gradually smoothed across Xie Lian's face, but he had his arms crossed protectively, deep golden eyes wary.

“I only meant…the property is so beautifully maintained. It's straight from a painting, gege– there are flowers everywhere.” Hua Cheng's mouth lifted at the side in a half smile, and he watched in real time as that endearing spark of almost childish glee returned to Xie Lian's pupils,

“I think I was prepared to walk into another garden.” He finished, and Xie Lian tentatively cleared his throat, loosening his posture.

“I want to, but Mu Qing has made his opinion on the matter clear with his nonstop sneezing. He spends most of his time here with me; I couldn't put him through that torture. Anyways,” Xie Lian nudged the crooked leg of a small velvet divan back into place as he walked towards him, gesturing with a small tilt of his head for Hua Cheng to follow him; no suggestion necessary, he already was.

“It's been difficult to fill this empty house. I've really no use for all the rooms; our staff used to board here, so there was always a strong presence of life.”

Hua Cheng's eyes followed him in silence, watching the brief flicker of melancholy dance across the man's face– like sunlight creeping through a cloudy sky, it was there one moment and quickly hidden away the next.

With a soft sigh, Xie Lian continued to speak with a little more insistence, “I want to downsize. I find it pointless to let everything continue to collect dust when someone else could be utilizing it better than myself. Letting go of this place is harder than I thought it would be."

Though he gave no verbal reply, Xie Lian gathered that he was listening, and continued to talk. Hua Cheng intently soaked in this new knowledge, filing it away for later. Xie Lian had recently inherited this property, then; he still had his two main attendants– a sign of loyalty. There was a slim chance they were being paid for sticking around.

If Xie Lian was lacking funds, it explained why he might have had to let so many go (aside from other unnamed incompatibility issues.) He had been given everything to do almost entirely by himself– the cooking, cleaning, maintenance…

That Hua Cheng was here at all, being offered payment and a free room for his services…

Xie Lian was clearly desperate for any willing help, regardless of their monetary expectations.

Xie Lian moved quietly through the corridor that would lead them from the holding area to a grand (supremely lacking) living room, navigating past worn furniture situated in front of a cheap television set and parting a beaded curtain attached to what had all the makings of a kitchen.

Hua Cheng carefully slipped past the gap in the curtain that Xie Lian had stopped to hold open for him, regarding him with another of his nervous smiles that said without words how apprehensive he was of his guest's reaction to what he perceived as a bombshell. As he looked around what very well could have been a manufactured set design for a cooking show, pristine and polished on the surface and with room for ten more people including Xie Lian and himself to safely rush about with boiling pots and steaming plates, he caught a few distinctly ‘out of place’ particulars that took away from the illusion of perfection.

One, it was, for better lack of words– disturbingly bare.

The goal at the end of a cooking session was to clean up one's mess, of course, but Xie Lian's kitchen appeared to have been stripped of any and all personality.

There were no racks for dishes or spices or any visible utensils– likely they were stored somewhere out of the way in the very plentiful cabinetry. Where he might expect to find a small table and a couple chairs in the alcove on the far left for a handful of people to sit and enjoy their breakfast, there was only empty space.

Really, it was like someone had gotten rid of everything that gave the heart of this home its ‘lived in’ quality– the sole thing separating it and a recently purchased residence was the lack of boxes around indicating that there was plenty of unpacking left to be done.

That, surprisingly, was not the most concerning observation he had made since entering the kitchen.

Hua Cheng's nose twitched slightly, wrinkling slowly as the sharp, pungent scent of bleach and other chemicals infiltrated and jumbled up his senses.

It was such a strong, overpowering smell, and yet it seemed to be failing its singular purpose of covering the layers of other less than pleasant odors– he wouldn't be too shocked if Xie Lian told him that someone had burned alive in the oven or taken a shit in the sink. A lot.

Xie Lian padded over to stand a pace or two in front of him, hands anxiously fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Did you clean recently?” He began conversationally, and Xie Lian groaned in telling displeasure.

“I'm so sorry, San Lang,” Xie Lian's hand rubbed over his mouth, swiping across it to reveal lips pursed in embarrassment and earnest apology. “I was– ah, hoping you wouldn't be able to smell it…”

Hua Cheng leaned leisurely against the counter, gazing around the room curiously. “What exactly is ‘it’?”

“Nothing dead!” Xie Lian assured a little too quickly, earning a raised brow. “Really, I– well, it's just that I'm…not very good at cooking,” He admitted, slumping with an aggrieved frown. “Anytime I try, something goes horribly wrong.” He explained sullenly.

Hua Cheng stared, unsure of how to proceed for a moment. Then, he ventured calmly, “Gege can cook?”

Xie Lian, who had been rubbing at his eyes just so he didn't have to stand still, lowered his hands to look at him with a calculating twist of his mouth, “According to Mu Qing, ‘cooking’ is too generous a word.”

“Nonsense,” Hua Cheng gently waved him off. “Maybe your methods just need a bit of tweaking. Anyone can learn to make something edible with practice.”

“Really?”

Meeting Xie Lian's eyes, he felt his heart give a traitorous stutter at the tentative hope he could see reflected in those sweet golden depths, fixed on him with renewed energy and inspiration.

He didn't normally endeavor to fill someone's head with fluff, and honestly, if Xie Lian's concoctions tasted as suspicious as they smelled, he wasn't positive there would be a way to fully rectify his methods. However…

Giving him a bit of confidence in his abilities wasn't technically breaking any of his self-assigned ‘rules.’

So Hua Cheng smiled warmly, “Of course, gege.”

Xie Lian's face lit up like a kid's on Christmas, as though Hua Cheng had given him the gift he had been begging for for months on end, “You'll teach me, then?”

What?

Blinking back at the older man, Hua Cheng's smile faltered around the edges. He echoed mildly, “Teach you?”

Nodding emphatically, Xie Lian added brightly, “I even have a whole book of recipes I've been wanting to try.”

To demonstrate, he made his way to one of the narrow cabinets directly beside the towering refrigerator, pulling it open. Reaching inside, he hauled out with both hands a massive tome that was easily as wide as his forearm.

It was held together by tape and dreams, pages yellowed, wrinkled and worn. With a quiet grunt, Xie Lian slammed it down onto the closest counter and pried it apart to land on a dog-eared page (Hua Cheng winced), gesturing cheerfully,

“What do you think?”

“I think it's a very big book. Impressive.” Hua Cheng responded calmly, earning a gentle eye roll from Xie Lian as he stopped beside him, peering down at the contents of the recipe. He hummed consideringly, while Xie Lian watched him in barely contained desperation.

There were a couple lengthy sections dedicated to the dish, detailing its history, as well as thorough instructions on how to prepare it. An illustrated piece showed what the end result should be.

It wasn't overly complicated, but it was a pastry– he didn't advise anyone to mess around with that unless they were prepared for multiple mood destroying failures in their voyage to achieve an ideal frosting.

“This takes a lot of effort to get right. It's not beginner friendly.” He murmured, flipping to the next page to see if there were any additional tips and guidance.

Hua Cheng was a decent chef– he dabbled in many different areas, had taken a few dedicated months of classes, but mostly preferred to operate solo and experiment. Even he was wary of the art of baking– it was a delicate, temperamental beast to master.

He could see in his peripheral vision that Xie Lian was softly gnawing on his bottom lip, drawing it between his upper row of teeth– waiting for his verdict.

“Does gege have the right ingredients?” He questioned, making mental notes of what they would need to find.

Xie Lian startled, like he'd been distracted, and drew away with a high-pitched, “Oh– ah, yes! Hold on.”

Hua Cheng watched him in hopelessly endeared amusement while he puttered around the empty kitchen like a directionally challenged wind-up toy, muttering to himself about where he had placed certain pans, pots and other various necessities.

A quarter of an hour later, when they had spread out their items he was sure would soon become disorganized chaos, Hua Cheng found his curiosity getting the better of him when Xie Lian confessed that he was not partial to excessively sweet confectionaries.

“Any special occasion for this, then? Gege isn't going to eat it himself?” Hua Cheng didn't want to give him the impression that he was less eager to partake in preparing food just because he wasn't making it for his unconventional (adorable) new employer.

Xie Lian did try to press the subject of his payment the moment he started pouring various dry ingredients into a bowl, but Hua Cheng had kindly brushed the attempt off, insisting they discuss it when his trial period passed. This had caused the other man to shift awkwardly for a moment or two, obviously displeased by the idea that Hua Cheng was working for free, and the latter conceded that business could at least wait until the heat on the stove was turned off.

“Oh. Well,” Xie Lian kept his eyes on the boiling pot he was looking after– he'd, following a couple messy missteps in monitoring boiling milk, learned not to look away from it for even a single moment. “It's my mother's birthday, today.” Xie Lian didn't explain any further, and there was no need for him to.

He wanted to commemorate her, celebrating with something sugary on the tongue, though she could not be there to partake in the fun herself. Xie Lian, all alone in his big, empty manor– had he planned to do this by himself, should he not have shown up?

Hua Cheng covered up his brief pause by making himself useful, trying not to think anymore on the lonesome image that had carved itself into his vivid imagination as he scrubbed at dirtied measuring cups, whisks and pots. When he shuffled to the side to check the milk Xie Lian was proudly babysitting without incident thus far, he was surprised by the sound of his voice saying with a poorly stifled chuckle, “Ah, San Lang…you've got a little something there–”

Hua Cheng instantly raised his hand to wipe it down, making a pass along what he thought was the spot Xie Lian was pointing to with a steadily widening smile.

“Wrong side.” Xie Lian said sagely, a twinkle in his eyes betraying his mirth. Hua Cheng snorted a laugh, rubbing at the opposite cheek to no avail.

He lowered and lifted his fingers in accordance with Xie Lian's (un)helpful demonstration, led by vague taps to his face as he showed what Hua Cheng should do to remove the mess. When their back and forth had gone on for much too long, Xie Lian stepped closer with a dimpled grin.

Then, as though it were the most casual thing in the world for him to do so, he swiped the pad of his thumb past his tongue and dragged it across the corner of Hua Cheng's mouth. A bit of red (jam?) clung to the tip of Xie Lian's finger– Hua Cheng stood stiffly, at a loss; wide eyes grew impossibly large as Xie Lian absentmindedly sucked it off.

He felt it, keen as a stinging circuit cutting off sharply, in his very being. The spot on his face still lightly damp with the presence of saliva not belonging to himself was probably going to, embarrassingly quickly, be replaced by his drool.

Kidding. He wasn't that depraved. Not in the open.

Xie Lian licked his lips to parse the flavor of the residue he had collected from his willing test subject and confirmed mildly, “Jam.” Great. Jam. Riveting news–

Finally, finally, it clicked–

And he watched in real time as the realization dawned in him, sparkling to life, two live wires–

Xie Lian flushed a darling red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears in the impressive span of two seconds.

Damage control, damage control–

Hua Cheng did not, in fact, do damage control.

Instead, he turned on the flip of a switch, one that set alarm bells blaring in his mind in despair of his despicable, insatiable nature as he leaned smoothly into Xie Lian's space, leaving only a questionable proximity between them.

He braced on the counter on one side, hip pressing into rounded off marble as he loosely folded his arms over his chest. Xie Lian's gaze followed him with a rapture that stole the breath from his chest, unblinking and halfway dazed–

Dark hair tumbled over Hua Cheng's shoulder in response to him leaning subtly forward to inquire with a shrewd smile,

“Is it any good, gege?”

Xie Lian faltered, throat clicking around a rough swallow as he squeezed air down the restricted pipe; he then proceeded to produce an incredible sound that was somewhere in the middle of a cat being throttled or a bird trying to squawk out a cracked high note.

“Y–Yes, it's–”

Hua Cheng gave him the courtesy of bowing his head to cough, or hack, into the crook of his elbow–

That impression had evidently cost him.

“Is gege alright?” He posed the question innocently, so as not to embarrass him further, but his concern was genuine.

Xie Lian must have seen the real worry pinching his brows, leaving a faint but noticeable crease, because he blinked past blurry tears and assured shakily, “Fine! Fine–”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Both he and Xie Lian jumped, taking a few steps forward in order to face the source of the noise (interruption) and discovered that the tart shells they had put together were ready to cool off.

They weren't the only ones in need of a breather.

Xie Lian took initiative to pull the oven door open, a waft of sweet aromas blessing the room like a priest had doused the hell of whatever had caused the persisting stench permeating the kitchen.

Hua Cheng was just grabbing an oven mitt for either Xie Lian or himself to use when he saw, from the corner of his eye, Xie Lian blindly reaching inside–

Panic coursed through him in a stabbing current of electricity, his innards clenching and threatening to spill right out of him with how hard everything plummeted.

He reached out in a rush to pull Xie Lian away with an alarmed “Gege!” too late–

Xie Lian's hand closed around the edge of the scalding pan, and he withdrew as if he'd run headfirst into a high voltage fence. With a strangled gasp, he stumbled backwards and came just short of slamming into the wall opposite in his shock– Hua Cheng was fast to follow, darting out a hand to gently but firmly grasp him by the shoulder and lead him, whispering incoherent comforts, to the sink.

He held Xie Lian steady, moving to turn on the faucet and letting his palm briefly hover under the stream to test the temperature. When he was satisfied, he kindly steered Xie Lian towards it by the wrist, letting cool water douse the reddening burns scorching his fingers.

Xie Lian flinched, but didn't try to move away– he grimaced, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth through the initial pain.

Guilt, agonizing, pricked at him– he didn't want to be related in any sense to this person's suffering. “It's okay, gege…I'm sorry. I know it hurts.” He whispered.

Xie Lian's eyes flicked in his direction, lashes fluttering.

The tension he could feel wrought through him, where his fingers kneaded into the area separating his shoulder blades, coiled and taut, relaxed with his continued efforts to massage the stress into nothing. Relief and discomfort warred on Xie Lian's face; slowly but surely, the lines of distress eased. He exhaled.

When he figured it was safe to do so, Hua Cheng advised in an unobtrusive murmur, “Stay here. Keep the water running on it for a while.” He waited for Xie Lian's distracted (how he had found himself in this position at all) nod and hum of assent to put on the useless oven mitt and remove their combined efforts and place the warm spread somewhere safe. Finding an unoccupied towel, Hua Cheng momentarily stole Xie Lian's access to the sink in order to dampen it.

Xie Lian was about to resume his spot when Hua Cheng coaxed him closer, “Here, gege. Rest this on it.”

Xie Lian stepped nearer without hesitation, looking off to the side as he examined the injury– thankfully only a minor burn. His contact hadn't been prolonged, but he had gone all in with the intention of removing the pan.

The underside of his thumb and along the lower half of his palm had endured the worst of it. Hua Cheng frowned in displeasure as he delicately laid the cloth over the raw skin, ushering Xie Lian to hold it in place and apply pleasure where he was able. “Is there a place to sit?” He asked.

Xie Lian was looking a bit pale in the face– the last thing Hua Cheng wanted was for him to topple over and sustain additional bruises. Xie Lian's answer was wordless; he slid down the lower cupboards with a weary sigh, eyes closing.

Another question, then– “Does gege have a first aid kit?”

Xie Lian's head tipped back and made a dull ‘thump’ as it hit the wood panel behind him. “Mn. Far right. Top.”

Hua Cheng navigated to where he instructed, locating the white medical box. He came to rest in a cross-legged position next to Xie Lian on the tiled floor, a spool of gauze and antibiotics in his lap. Xie Lian fixed him with a half lidded stare, silently offering Hua Cheng his hand again with a bit of prompting. “This may sting a little.” He warned softly, setting aside the cap to a jar of petroleum jelly.

He coated two digits in the sticky substance, carefully peeling away the towel and smearing it liberally in its place.

Xie Lian stilled, eyes squeezing shut, but did not move a muscle otherwise. “San Lang didn't mention he had medical experience when he sent his resumé.” He managed weakly, as Hua Cheng cleaned his fingers off with a wet wipe and began unwrapping the nonstick bandaging.

Hua Cheng smiled faintly, tearing a short length off.

He knelt, hunched and strained for reasons entirely unrelated to pain, as he winded the stripe around the gap connecting Xie Lian's thumb to his pointer, and circled back to his palm. “And gege had an astonishingly mild reaction to being burned.”

Xie Lian squirmed in discomfort at that, cheeks gaining a pinkish tint when his wriggling earned a halfhearted scolding from the man currently doing his best not to tie his bindings too tightly. “I did tell San Lang that me being in the kitchen often equated to a horrific outcome.” He reminded casually. Hua Cheng grunted in acknowledgement– not acceptance.

“You're pretty good at this, San Lang.” Xie Lian said once he had finished, admiring his handiwork.

Hua Cheng quirked a brow, “I'm glad gege thinks so. From now on, though, I'd like to not have to hone or improve upon those skills. Does gege agree?”

Xie Lian smiled, abashed, “Only if San Lang agrees to stay forever. I can't promise anything, otherwise.”

Hua Cheng drew himself up to sit straight. They locked eyes; Xie Lian held his gaze with newfound determination, refusing to lower his defenses or cease his attack.

It was a difficult thing, making it look as if he were sincerely contemplating his answer when there was only one way he was going to reply. When it became obvious that Xie Lian's nerves were eating away at him, Hua Cheng relented with an amused drawl, “Gege hasn't even shown me to where my room is yet.”

Xie Lian's lips parted, closed, and open again.

He swore he heard him curse, and then he started laughing with his full chest, bubbly and bright and oh, if Xie Lian himself hadn't suggested he should never leave, he would have begged to drop everything in order to come and live in this fantasy for the rest of his days on earth–

“I guess I should probably do that,” Xie Lian giggled, when he had recovered a marginal amount. He wiped at the wetness around his eyes, breathing hard and fast, while Hua Cheng ogled him in undisguised awe.

“After we fill the tarts.” Hua Cheng suggested lamely.

“After we fill the tarts.” Xie Lian concurred.

Later that night, when he was sprawled on top of a plush mattress, bag still tucked by the foot of his bed and unzipped only so he could pluck his toothbrush out of a smaller pack inside, he stared up at the arched ceiling of his borrowed room and let his thoughts wander.

His world, tilted on its axis, was somehow perfectly centered– a feeling of rightness found him in the dizzy, spinning whirlwind, instilling upon him a liberating, floating sensation that left him breathless and brimming simultaneously.

He had never been in love with anyone.

Was it too soon to call it that? Surely it was, but–

There was nothing he had ever been more certain of in his life. It wasn't a fleeting, shallow interest.

Had Xie Lian felt it, too? Was he as riled up as himself, laying down, tossing and turning yet unable to sleep?

Just down the hallway, a few doors away. If he listened hard enough, he might be able to catch the rustlings of late night activity, the muted pacing of anxious feet.

He didn't dare get up.

If Xie Lian was awake, there was no doubt that he would hear him leaving his room at half past two in the morning– there was a traitorous, creaky floorboard about a third of the way through the hall, close to the first flight of steps.

Hua Cheng sighed discontentedly, rolling over onto his side so he was aimed towards the wall. Ping!

Peering over his shoulder, Hua Cheng saw the momentary flash of his phone from the nightstand as it vibrated with a new notification. His internet had been spotty since he arrived, but it hadn't mattered much, seeing as he had no reason to be doom scrolling job advertisements.

Reaching out, Hua Cheng grabbed the slim device in hand and powered it on, scrolling down on the short list of updates he had received since that afternoon.

He squinted against the harsh blue light of the screen as he abandoned the standard dark mode of his other apps for his horrendously bright, built in messaging system and tapped the sole message presented at the top.

5:28 pm
Fishface: Yo you went totally off grid lmao

5:30 pm
Fishface: Yin Yu says he can't find u on Life360

5:31 pm
Fishface: I told him u probably went back to whatever freaky alien planet u came from. He acted like I said something untrue but I'm pretty sure he agreed with me deep inside

6:10 pm
Fishface: Hey if u die can I have ur apartment

8:32 pm
Fishface: R u dead fr

8:34 pm
Fishface: Joyous day

8:45 pm
Fishface: Was he actually some old man

8:45 pm
Fishface: Wouldn't be surprised if that was your type ngl

8:55 pm
Fishface: Qingxuan came over, they think I'm right about you liking fossils

9:09
Fishface: So where are we on me accepting your place on your behalf. Yes? Yeah I knew you'd want the best for me

9:20 pm
Fishface: When ur back can u go to the store cuz I ate like everything in your fridge

9:27 pm
Fishface: I'm hungryyyyy

10:16 pm
Fishface: Qingxuan doordashed us a feast in ur honor. Sorrows, prayers

2:13 am
Fishface: For someone so chronically online ur rlly good at ignoring ur phone

Hua Cheng stared at the long line of unread texts with a deadpan expression. He typed out a quick reply, and in the meantime thought on how the fuck he was going to address all of those other statements. If He Xuan got crumbs everywhere on his couch again…

2:16 am
Me: You sound like a toxic, obsessive ex.

Fishface is typing…

2:16 am
Fishface: Oh look, it's the ghost of freakness past

He Xuan sure had lost some brain cells since he started seeing Shi Qingxuan. They were, without a doubt, where he had heard such a bizarre phrase.

2:17 am
Fishface: Anyways since ur alive answer my question

2:17 am
Me: Which one, exactly?

2:17 am
Fishface: Scroll up u lasy fuck

2:17 am
Me: *lazy

2:18 am
Fishface: Kys fag

2:18 am
Me: No, I will not be doing any shopping for you anytime soon, buy your own shit. Yes, you can have my apartment.

He could see He Xuan start typing, stop, and then start again. This went on for five minutes.

2:23 am
Fishface: What

2:23 am
Me: Your comprehension skills are abysmal.

2:24
Fishface: No you're just scary when I can't tell if ur being fr or not

Hua Cheng rolled his eyes.

2:24 am
Me: I'm being ‘for real.’ I'll come and pack my things in a week. I'll start transferring you any important documents tomorrow. Whatever you need.

Fishface is typing…

2:29 am
Fishface: You're being dead serious.

2:29 am
Me: Yep.

2:30 am
Fishface: What the fuck?? Did you ACTUALLY fuck that old man? Was it that good? Ur a sick bastard yk

2:30 am
Me: Alright, so what I'm hearing is that you don't want the apartment.

2:30 am
Fishface: NO I WANT IT

2:31 am
Me: Great. Now shut up. Don't message me for the rest of the week.

2:31 am
Fishface: Enjoying quality time with the old man? :)

2:31 am
Me: Muting you, goodnight.

He Xuan knew he wasn't going to do that, so he continued to say whatever he pleased.

2:32 am
Fishface: I'm just confused like

2:32 am
Fishface: You're staying there?

Turning onto his side, Hua Cheng gazed in silence at He Xuan's last message. Pale silver moonlight drifted in through the ornate window next to him, casting soft, fuzzy shadows in the darkness. A white lace curtain whipped softly in a cool, mild breeze, stirring and settling.

Xie Lian was right to have suggested he let it stay open; you didn't often get luxuries like this in the city.

His thumbs moved languidly over the keyboard a final time before he set his phone facedown on the bedside table, a drowsy smile etched onto his lips as he succumbed to the blurry warmth of whatever pleasant haze of dreams called to him like a siren– a lonely prince in a tower beckoned him forth, hands outstretched, long chestnut hair undone.

Golden eyes sought him, a beacon of hope and everything good.

2:35 am
Me: Yeah.

2:35 am
Me: Forever.

Chapter Text

Hua Cheng lowered his brush.

Tapping it against his lower lip, he stared down at his (complete?) work with judgemental eyes, biting at the end of his writing utensil as he scrounged for glaring errors. He would have to insist that Xie Lian proofread it later– he was far more competent at finding issues with continuity or repetitive words. He was prone to using ‘beloved’ a lot.

Leaning back in his chair, arching along the cushion, he stretched until he felt a ‘pop’ in his shoulders and down his spine. Suppressing a yawn he could feel building in the space between his chest and throat, Hua Cheng gazed across the desk at where a hearty stack of unedited papers lay waiting to be purged and cleaned.

Ugh. That was going to be…yeah, no, not fun.

“San Lang,”

Xie Lian entered the office with a quiet rap of his knuckles on the door, smile soft as he inspected the product of his hard work; and the one responsible for bringing it into existence. The corners of his eyes crinkled when Hua Cheng looked over immediately at the sound of his name, tugged willingly from his trance and falling head over heels into another.

He rolled his chair to face him, Xie Lian crossing the short distance to meet him halfway as he stood.

“Dinner is ready.” Xie Lian announced, unhurried. Hua Cheng hummed distantly. Waiting.

His husband's hands found his in the inviting ambient light of the room, wrapping around his fingers and instilling in the chilled digits a welcome, familiar heat.

Hua Cheng breathed him in; he smelled of sunshine on downy wildflower grass fields, floral incense and a little like the earthy soil he had been gardening in for the better half of the morning. They'd planted a new kind of flower together in front of the house. Xie Lian expressed his hope that it would bloom soon, before the weather started its serene transition to autumn.

When Xie Lian slowly released his hold on him to drag those warm, calloused hands along his forearms, up, up, up to his shoulders, at last settling to lovingly cup his cheeks and pull him in, Hua Cheng smiled wide.

He tasted like strawberry jam.

“I can't kiss you properly if you keep doing that,” Xie Lian pointed out a bit sulkily, mumbling some sugar sweet nonsense against his mouth as Hua Cheng chuckled, apologizing in placating whispers.

A knock at the front door had Xie Lian moving reluctantly away from him, or trying to, as Hua Cheng's insistent, unrelenting grip at his waist prevented any major strides.

Xie Lian patted gently at his bicep, which, honestly, wasn't making Hua Cheng want to release him faster– “San Lang, don't be difficult. We don't want to make them wait for us to–”

“I'd be fine with that.” Hua Cheng said pleasantly.

Xie Lian grinned, exasperated, “I think San Lang can cope with a nice evening with four of our closest friends over for a meal.”

Hua Cheng pouted, “I might die of boredom, gege.”

Exerting a bit of strength to free himself, Xie Lian resumed his hold on Hua Cheng's hands and led him out into the living room. “If San Lang behaves,” Xie Lian started slowly, eyes glinting with promise, “I'll make it worth his while later tonight. Deal?”

“Deal.” Hua Cheng nodded, not missing a beat.

Xie Lian showed their noisy guests in, and Hua Cheng wandered into the kitchen close behind, looking around at the various items his love had created.

All with their own fantastical name, quirk and uniqueness– except for a tray of common fruit tarts.

He never did get to figuring out what they were called in the recipe book Xie Lian had shown him all those years ago– the title on the page appeared to have been worn out into a smeared ink splotch, and there was a bit of water damage obscuring it in its entirety.

When he became aware of Xie Lian's endearing habit of titling his dishes, especially ones he'd come up with himself, he asked him what he might dub these tarts.

Xie Lian had paused, furrowing his brows. Hua Cheng rarely saw him so stumped– usually, he could fish out an incredible label for his dishes at remarkable speed.

“I suppose, for now they're just…Something That Needs a Name.” Xie Lian decided, frowning softly.

Six months after that uncertain conversation, with no pretense, he had come up to Hua Cheng while he was pulling weeds in the backyard and blurted,

“The tarts. I want to change the name.”

Hua Cheng, with his hair tied back in a high ponytail, sweat slicking his neck, pulled at the collar of his shirt with one hand to unstick it. He lifted his left to shield his eyes from the sun as he moved to face him, and Xie Lian, blushing red as a cherry, shifted to block it for him.

“What are you changing it to, gege?” He asked with a quiet, patient smile. Whatever the reason, Xie Lian was practically vibrating with anticipation– the shuttered look of surprise on his face told him that he likely was expecting some rebuttal. He recovered quickly enough, and reached into the worn pocket of his dirt-stained overalls.

Removing a crumpled, college ruled piece of notebook paper that was taped shut, Xie Lian passed it to Hua Cheng with a trembling hand.

“Don't– don't open it until I'm inside.” Xie Lian insisted.

He hadn't gotten the chance to reply– Xie Lian was already quickly disappearing around the side of the manor. He heard the heavy slam of a door shutting.

True to his unspoken agreement, Hua Cheng waited for a couple minutes to give Xie Lian a grace period. When he assumed it was safe to do so, he gently peeled the tape back to reveal the message left inside.

In elegant, swirling scrawl were the words,

’Something That Has a Name. If San Lang knows the name, meet me in the kitchen within the next hour and tell me what it is.’

’P.S, I really, really wanted to kiss you that day. I want to, now. Do you?'

Hua Cheng decided the weeding could wait.