Archive of Our Own

There is a house on the edge of an ancient forest.

Miles of rolling hills and green pastures stretch out towards it, coming to a sharp and sudden stop along a boundary filled with the thick heavy trunks of conifers and their weighted, drooping limbs. They form a tangled barrier of foliage, rich and green and inviting in a terrifying, mysterious way.

There is a house on the edge of an ancient forest, that faces away from the dirt road and stands stalwart against the encroaching greenery. The boundary wall creates a perfect square around the  three-bay building, creating a large rear garden that looks out on to the fields, and a shorter front garden that stops at the forest line like an invitation into a gothic mystery. There is no gate between the walls, only two young rowan trees that have grown to form a perfect arch, red berries dangling from beneath the leaves like an offering waiting to be plucked.

There is a house with a door made from mountain ash, carved with flowers and with a grate and handle made of iron. It has sat empty for years, wear and tear and decades of misuse clear in the bowing of the wooden beams, the holes in the thatching and the overgrown gardens. Children’s laughter has faded into the tinkling laugh of something darker, that curls around the building but cannot climb through.

There is a house that has been forgotten to time, until the moment comes when the lost, almost forgotten sound of life travels down the dirt road.

Xie Lian arrives late in the day, sweat on his brow and his hair messed up beneath his hat, red under his chin from the rubbing of the strap. He stumbles through the overgrown rear garden, down an obscured stone path that winds around to the front of the building. The keys are heavy in his pack, cool against his fingers when he pulls them out from where they nestle against the deed to the house.

He takes a moment to lean against a rowan tree, looking up at his new home with a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. Maybe, just maybe, this place will start to heal the part of his heart that feels like he’s spent his whole life missing something.

“Perfect.” It feels a bold statement, given the rundown state of the place, but it is his.

There is a house on the edge of an ancient forest, and Xie Lian is determined to make it a home.

It does not take long to transfer his belongings from the cart to the house.

It would have taken around ten minutes, had he not caught his legs in a thorny bush that bordered the path up to the front door, and then spent another ten minutes tying bandages to all the cuts on his ankles, followed by fifteen minutes of reluctant brush clearing. He briefly considers tearing off the jammed shutters on the rear windows of the house and hauling everything in through there, before he remembers the whole miles away from the nearest village and decides sleeping with an obvious security risk breaks his promise to look after himself.

Not that there’s anyone out here in the first place. The fields directly behind the house are flat, stretching as far the eye can see, and the approach of any visitors is quite easy to see. The forest out the front, however, gives him no such reassurance. From what he’s been told, it travels flat for a mile before it hits the hills, though he’s been promised some spectacular walking routes if he only dares to enter it.

It is dark, ominous, thick and seemingly impenetrable from the start of the tree line. Xie Lian has been in other forests, where the trees are sparse and dotted around for a mile or so before reaching the true depths of the forest. There is none of that here, only dense foliage in a perfect line. Xie Lian is tempted to think it serves as a warning, wonders who the forest is trying to keep out.

Or, what it is trying to keep in.

He thinks he might have been temporarily insane when he decided to go ahead and buy the place, but he’s here now and he is damn well not going anywhere.

He doesn’t bother to unpack yet, rooting around in a cupboard for a broom he knows must be in here. It’s half rotted, the bristles dusty with cobwebs, but it’s better than nothing.

Xie Lian ties his hair up with a ribbon, chuckles anxiously at the state of the inside, and gets started.

His first venture into Puqi village is…disconcerting.

He’s only here for the essentials that he did not bring before, a pail of milk, flour, eggs, some wood for the chicken coop he hopes to build. He needs straw for the thatching, clay for the roof tiles, some oil for his attempts to cook. Xie Lian would also like to get some actual chickens, but he thinks he’s noticed a fox prowling around outside and he’s not sure he has the emotional strength to deal with the potentially disastrous results of leaving them unsheltered for the night.

He’d been expecting a bustling market, loud and chatty, and for the most part that is what it was, before they’d noticed Xie Lian flitting through trying to find the stalls he needs.

Silence follows behind his every step, and when he turns multiple people avert their eyes.

His heart falls, but Xie Lian keeps the friendly smile on his face. There is a suspicion simmering beneath the quiet that not even his most charming grin can dispel. No one is outright rude to him, but they’re not exactly friendly either.

Understanding does not strike until he’s reached the spice stall, the farmer eyeing him warily as he picks out some garlic and ginger. He pays, fumbles with his pouch and tries to stuff them in without having to open the ties, and looks up to find the farmer looking at him curiously.

“You’re the young master who bought the house near the forest?” With each word that leaves his mouth he relaxes, tension bleeding out of him as he gives Xie Lian a once-over. He’s vaguely aware that he should be offended that the farmer has looked at him and found him to appear harmless, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Oh!” Xie Lian straightens, pleased that someone has finally dared speak to him. “I am. My name is Xie Lian.” His eyes crinkle as his smile widens, shoulders lifting briefly. The tension in the air pops, as though the people around him have released a breath in relief.

That’s the moment it clicks. He hadn’t told anyone his name. Fae country. He knows the folktales, knows that superstition runs deep in the north, that strangers are not trusted, but he’d hardly expected that his sudden appearance at a market would have the locals thinking he’s something out of the myths. The frosty reception he has received makes him realise that they had genuinely harboured suspicions before he willingly told them his name.

Do they think he's a fae who has sprouted a sudden interest in raising chickens? Are the fae known for purchasing homes outside their realms?

He tries not to be too discomfited just because these traditions are mostly unfamiliar to him. Dismissing their concerns will only get him ostracised faster, and it is not in his nature to do so. All he can do is be friendly and hope that they will warm up to him in time.

The farmer returns his smile, still slightly wary, and hands him an extra stem of ginger.

“You’re a long way out. Who knows when you’ll make your way back here.” He offers in explanation.

Xie Lian accepts it with thanks, and does not fail to notice that the farmer has not introduced himself in kind.

The rest of the visit is quiet. The weight of the gaze of others has thankfully disappeared, though the small talk at the stalls is polite and impersonal, simple questions about the state of the house and what he plans to do with it. By the end of the visit his cheeks ache with the strain of maintaining his friendly smiles, but he has almost everything he came for plus some extras.

And at the very least, the ache in his cheeks distracts from the ache in his chest.

There is a fox in his garden.

Xie Lian is staring down at the burnt remnants of his congee, bashful even though there is no one around to witness his failure, when he hears the sound of something moving quickly in the bushes outside. He looks out the window, sees a shadow under the rose bush, and does not hesitate before he’s moved to the door.

The superstitious villagers from earlier in the day would probably despair at the sight, a young man opening his door in the night without a care regarding what could be lurking outside. He doesn’t much care: if anything is going to get him, he reckons that being caught whilst helping the local wildlife isn’t a bad way to go.

The problem is immediately obvious. The fox is half out of the bush, its front leg and paw caught in a tangle of vines from the plant. It looks as though it has tried to pull its paw out quickly but given up, and Xie Lian tries not to wince at the thought. The shrub looks harmless now, but it had been responsible for his own wounds on his ankles, and the thorns on this particular rose bush look vicious. At his approach the fox tries once again to tug it’s paw free, but all it earns is another stab from the thorns.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, calm down.” He tries to sound soothing, but he’s not sure it works. Are foxes like dogs? Do they respond positively to soft, soothing voices? He will have to ask around, though he thinks the villagers may chase him away if he tries to explain this to anyone. He’s sure he’s read something about fox spirits, though he can’t remember if it was good or bad.

Xie Lian rushes back inside, grabbing the burnt congee and a blunted pair of scissors,

“Here,” he says, placing the bowl down in front of the fox. He hopes it works as a distraction, seeing as he doesn’t quite fancy having his fingers bitten off for trying to help. The fox watches him carefully as he reaches into the bush, and it is the work of several moments before he manages to work the scissors through the thin branch that holds the fox hostage.

With his luck, he’s surprised that the fox doesn’t immediately turn and snap at his hands. He leans over, curious, and gently lifts the paw that had been trapped as the fox cocks its head at him.

Weird. But, bigger things to focus on here.

“Oh, you poor thing.” The branch that had caught the fox had not been thick, but it had managed to get matted in the guard hairs along its leg, and with the number of thorns on it he’s not surprised that the animal was struggling to free itself. On the off-chance that it really is a supernatural being, he explains what he is going to do before he picks up the scissors again, sitting cross-legged along the side of it.

Using them, he gently pries them under the tip of one of the thorns and uses them to slowly pry it out of the hair.

“I wonder, what made you want to come in?” He asks pulling the congee closer and offering it up to the fox before he uncurls the first thorn. “Not that I mind the company. I like the quiet, but I think it could get lonely out here.”

There’s another tilt of the head.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that, I’m used to it.” He says with a smile, and Xie Lian could almost believe the animal is capable of understanding him. Xie Lian tries not to let any surprise show on his face, instead taking a closer look at the animal’s coat as he pulls out another few thorns with careful movements.

In the evening light it looks a deep burnished red, a full glossy coat of colour with dark spots interspersed throughout, with silver guard hairs that almost make it shimmer in the light. The eyes, too, are strange, not human, but not what he’d expect from a wild animal either.

But no, that would be impossible.

The fox lowers its head whilst he works on its leg, sniffing the congee cautiously before it clears the bowl. It’s an odd sight, Xie Lian sitting there with a fox leg in his hand, blunted scissors cutting the branch into smaller pieces to stop the freed thorns from getting tangled again. It takes a minute for the rest of them to be freed, and Xie Lian takes a moment to run his fingers down the fur to be sure there are no broken-off pieces left.

“See? Almost done.” He gets to his feet and grabs a scrap of cloth from the haphazard clothesline that he had set up to dry the rags he’d used to clean the house. There’s a bucket on the edge of the well that he dunks it in, wringing it out a few times before he returns to the fox. It’s still sitting there, and he wonders if it’s actually a trained pet - surely they don’t usually allow humans so close?

The soaked rag is freezing, so he tries to warm it up as well as he can before he runs it down the length of the fox’s paw to clear the drying flakes of blood.

“I’d try and heal them myself, but I’m more apt to make them worse.” Xie Lian says with a smile, feeling a little insane but equally not sure what else to say to an animal that looks as though it understands his every words. It doesn’t move when he’s finished, and he dares to reach out and gently drag his fingers down the thick fur of its back. It arches up into his hand, and he lets out a laugh into the quiet air before he grabs the rag and the empty bowl and moves to sit on the little veranda of his home.

The fox follows, sitting at a distance from him and curling up. It’s nice to see, he thinks, feet on the step below and his forearms resting along his thighs.

Enjoying the cool evening air, with the cloudless sky giving him a dramatic view of the stars, Xie Lian feels a little like the shards in his heart are beginning to ease.

There is a silhouette on the edge of the forest.

Xie Lian heads down the garden path, heedless of his bare feet or the icy cold, and follows it out to the tree line. Silver glints in the moonlight, the beating of the wings of thousands of silver butterflies that lead him in a winding line towards the man who stands at the edge.

A hand reaches out, silver vambraces shining under the light from the butterflies, but it is so bright that Xie Lian struggles to look at them. He looks up, to eyes that flash as red as the mismatched jewels in his ears. He tries to look closer, to get a glimpse of the face, but the moment their fingers brush the man turns and drifts further into the forest.

Xie Lian follows, hand clasped tightly in the other man’s grip. He tugs on the hand, manages to get him to look back-

-and stumbles, over a ring of mushrooms and grass that grows the wrong way-

-and falls, falls, falls through a cloud of butterflies-

-and lands on his feet on the streets of Xianle, dirty and sooty from the funeral pyres that are never ending. He turns to look at the temple, burned from the flames, down to the fox that sits by his side and licks its front leg clean. Blood drips from its mouth, thorns stuck in its gums, and Xie Lian drops to his knees.

Blood flows down his palms and across his knuckles, stuck in the crevices between and under his nails, sticky and strong as he sinks his fingers into the soil, finds the rot that lies beneath the city and pulls it into him. An exchange, a city for the life he could have lived, jagged wounds at his wrists and neck as he takes Feng Xin’s sword and drags it across the smooth skin of his own throat.

Blood soaks the soil, but it is not enough, cannot ever be enough. A delicate feminine hand reaches out through the haze for him, catches him before the blood loss does, but not before he has nearly emptied out his entire spiritual being into the rotten core of a dying city.

He wakes on the edge of a forest in robes as white as the snow, bandages around his wrists and neck and only enough of his energy to keep himself alive. He rages against the barrier, breaks his nails digging into the clay soil trying to reach out for a power that is no longer his in its entire might. Where once he tapped into an ocean, now he barely scrapes up the last dregs of a dried-up stream.

He screams, screams, screams-

-and gasps into the morning sunrise.

He scrambles to his feet, cold sweat soaking through the back of his underclothes, his hair plastered to his forehead and his chest heaving into the quiet of the early hours.

Sucking in a breath, Xie Lian yanks down his sleeves, staring down at the faint criss-cross of scars that once were deep wounds in his wrists. They’re barely visible these days, but he remembers putting them there, choosing to slice open the flesh and praying he'd bleed out quickly.

But his nightmare….

Xie Lian stumbles over to the bucket that still sits on the lip of the well, immediately upending it on himself to cool the sickly heat at the back of his neck and down his chest. Half a nightmare, half a memory, and he tries to control his breaths with the knowledge that he is here, now, alive.

He looks around the garden, realising that part of the reason for the sweating is probably because of the few blankets that had been draped over him. Xie Lian frowns: he doesn’t remember getting those off the clothesline, nor does he remember clearing away the cuttings from the rosebush or washing the rag.

Had he been dreaming the fox up too?

Wary, he walks over to the clothesline and touches each of the scraps of cloth that are hanging from it. The first three are dry, but the fourth is heavily damp, as though he’d washed it right after the fox whilst the others are as dry as they should be given the warm weather of the day before. He yanks his hand back as though burned, because he didn’t wash it.

By the door to his home, the blunted scissors and the washed-out bowl have been placed on a stool, a small silver butterfly resting atop the scissors. It takes off as he approaches, and he is surprised when it comes to land on his outstretched hand. It tolerates him as he pulls it in to get a closer look.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a butterfly like you before.” He comments, smiling, before his breath must ruffle its wings and it heads off. Xie Lian follows it a little ways, as it flies gently over towards the rowan trees.

Xie Lian comes up short when he spots it.

“Ah.”

There is a faery ring outside the entrance to the garden. It’s only little, inconspicuous, but he has the idea that it will not remain so for long.

He stands there for a moment, thinks on the strange fox, the faery ring, the blankets draped over him and the cleaned out bowl that he most certainly did not clean, and frowns.

The iron in his front door is gone by noon.

Two weeks after first moving in, Xie Lian makes his first venture into the forest.

He sidesteps the faery ring outside the rowan trees, and to his surprise the forest is not actually the impenetrable fortress that it appears. There’s an old dirt path from his property leading to the tree line, and after a few metres of struggling through badly maintained underbrush he finds a path.

An actual path.

It is neglected and has clearly been unused for a long time, but it’s there, and his curiosity is ignited. He’s packed a water skin and some fruit (from his garden, he has fruit trees in his garden!), and it’s early enough that he can get a solid few hours of exploring before he’ll need to turn around to be back at the house by nightfall.

And so, a few metres from the forest edge, he sets off.

The route is all twisting turns and winding bends, flat at first but then veering up embankments and down past a stream. It’s remarkably traversable, however, and more than once he finds himself wondering if this is one of the old paths to the long-dead city of Xianle.

It’s odd, really, that such a foreboding forest is so peaceful inside. Xie Lian has been able to hear the odd animal moving through the trees, and his presence is unassuming enough that the birds carry on with their song far above him. The foliage may be thick, but there’s enough of a gap created by the path that light floods down into the forest. The villagers may be convinced that there’s a monster in here that should be avoided at all costs, but so far all he can see is nature thriving without the interference of humans.

He is enjoying himself so much that two hours pass without his notice, and the trees have once more begun to thin out the further up the path he goes. As the path levels out and he rounds a bend, daylight pierces down unhindered to a well lit outlook.

Xie Lian hurries his pace, stepping carefully to avoid squishing a few mushrooms that grow on the path. He can see a stone bench at the edge of the overlook and he’s eager for a place to sit, before he realises exactly what he is looking at and comes to an abrupt stop.

There is a man lying on the bench.

He is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful men that Xie Lian has ever seen.

He’s sprawled across it like he owns it, one leg brought up with his foot flat on the wood, whilst the other dangles down to rest on the forest floor. His arms are bent behind his head, messing up a long braid of thick inky hair that flows down over his shoulder, the ends curling in the leaves beneath the bench. With his face tilted up towards the sky, he looks almost ethereal.

It is such a carefully curated look of relaxation and nonchalance that Xie Lian is not surprised in the least when eyes as bright as stars slide slowly over in his direction. There is no indication of surprise at his sudden appearance, and he looks rather as though he had been expecting someone.

“Good morning!” Xie Lian keeps his tone light, though his geniality is genuine. The man moves into a sitting position as he steps closer, and Xie Lian lowers himself onto the bench with a smile that hides how carefully he is considering his words. “That’s kind of you.”

Xie Lian swivels on the bench to look out from the overlook. They’re not particularly high up, just high enough that they can see above the trees that cover the valley below. It stretches as far he can see from his seat on the bench, and a glance over at the path confirms that it begins to slope down in the direction of the valley.

Warm, sweating slightly from the walk, Xie Lian takes a deep drink from his water skin and uses the opportunity to take a surreptitious look under his hat at the man he’s sharing the bench with.

He’s leaning back on his hands, his upper body one long line as he resumes tilting his face to the cloudy sky. He seems tall, maybe a couple of inches taller than Xie Lian himself, and long legs stretch out to the path where they cross at the ankles. Since Xie Lian has moved on the bench, he faces the forest whilst Xie Lian is facing the valley, making it so that they are both side by side but face to face. He’s young, likely no older than twenty, though there’s a strange aura to him that makes him seem unfathomably older.

Xie Lian raises his eyes to take another glance at his face, only to flush red in mortification when he realises that the man’s eyes are open and watching him, a knowing smile twisting the corners of his mouth.

Caught, then.

With a nervous smile, he holds out the water skin.

“I didn’t expect to meet anyone this far in the forest. Or anywhere in here, to be honest.” That he manages to speak without a hint of embarrassment in his voice is impressive, but the man only inclines his head in agreement as he takes the proffered water.

“I’m just wandering around. My family often kicks me out after a fight, so I come here for a few days.” He sounds carefree, as though being kicked out often enough to warrant trips to a forest the whole village is convinced is haunted is not a big deal at all.

“Are you from Puqi village?” Xie Lian asks, knowing that there can’t really be any other answer. Puqi is the only village close enough that the trip to the forest is worth it.

“I am. Have you been?” The man is very still even as he speaks, though his face is open and easy to read. It relaxes Xie Lian a little, on edge as he is after spending two weeks overthinking folktales.

“I have.” He starts, smile on his face, before he falters and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, they were very wary of me though.”

A huff of laughter is his response, as the man straightens and brings his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bench.

“They’re all superstitious fools. Ignore them.” There’s something in his tone, hidden behind the sneer, that Xie Lian likes immediately. It’s a confidence that his beliefs are right, a small rebellion against his elders if he goes against their opinions. The man continues. “You must be the one who moved into the house on the forest edge. Why’d you come all the way out here?”

“Ah, I wanted to get away for a while.”

“You chose a strange place to come to. Most people from the south learn about Xianle and don’t come any further.”

Xie Lian raises his head and smiles.

“I know.”

He offers little else in explanation, and the young man cocks his head at him. Curiosity ignites in his eyes, and there’s a look on his face that tells Xie Lian that his interest has been piqued. Xie Lian can’t decide if he should be charmed or wary.

The silence stretches for a moment too long, and he feels the need to fill it.

“Do you often lie on benches in the forest, waiting for the next soul to come your way?”

That startles a chuckle out of the man, who looks across at him and shrugs.

“I was thinking of returning to the village, but I got so hungry I needed to sit down.”

Xie Lian nods in understanding, and takes a moment to remember what he knows about offering food to handsome strangers who may or may not be one of the fae. He thinks it’s acceptable to offer him food, especially if he’s mentioned being hungry. He opens the ties of his pouch, rooting around until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here, I brought some food with me.”  Xie Lian holds out one of the two apples from his pouch, hoping that the man will consider him trustworthy enough to eat it.

A beat passes, before what appears to be a genuine smile crosses the man’s features.

“What about you?”

“I have more in the pack.”

He must find that answer acceptable, for he turns on the seat and pulls his legs up beneath him, facing Xie Lian as he holds his hand out to take the fruit. As he moves his vambrace slips down a little, revealing the soft skin of his wrist.

Xie Lian stiffens.

Around his wrist and over his knuckles, in seemingly random places, are several little cuts and scratches. They’re thin, not too deep, and shaped exactly like he’d caught his hand in a thorny bush and come out the worse for it.

A rose bush, Xie Lian thinks, but which one?

The man takes the apple, careful not to let their skin touch, and looks at him with a knowing smile when Xie Lian meets his eye. If it weren’t for the utter absurdity of the ideas going through Xie Lian’s mind, he’d almost call it soft.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Xie Lian takes the other apple out and begins to eat. There is something about this man that is not human, he is almost certain of it, but he cannot reconcile it with what he knows of the folktales. Fae are supposed to be tricky, dangerous, not quite right in just the right way to set one’s teeth on edge. They don’t appear on benches and have friendly conversations with hikers.

He ponders it, trying to keep his facial expressions neutral and purposefully looking out over the valley to give his eyes something to look at. It gives him time to think, with nothing but the soft sound of crunching filling the air.

Ah. There it is.

They’re in the depths of the forest, overlooking a valley on what should logically be a windy outlook, and Xie Lian has consciously spent his entire walk appreciating the beautiful songs of dozen of species of birds.

And yet, the only sound is that of the apples crunching between their teeth.

A blanket of stillness has descended on the outlook, unnoticed by Xie Lian until now. There is no chill from a late autumn wind, and he thinks that the last time he’d heard a bird had been when he started up the path to the bench.

Before he’d crossed the line of mushrooms.

Oh, Xie Lian, he thinks with a frown, you fool.

He doesn’t feel like he’s in danger; if anything he feels content. The man next to him might be a little odd, but that hardly means he’s an entity from myths and folklore, and Xie Lian is not bold enough to think he would be so interesting as to catch the attention of a fae. Regardless, he has little spiritual power to speak of, especially after using the bulk of it on his gardening and on warming up rags for injured mammals.

“I didn’t think there’d be so much superstition and tradition here. I’ve never spent more than a minute or two thinking about the fae before I moved. I didn’t believe in them.”

Which is not…quite true, but if he’s fishing for information then it's better to act clueless, he supposes.

At those words the man leans in, carefree and without a damn for propriety as he breaks into Xie Lian’s personal space with a smirk.

“Oh? And do you believe in them now?”

He can’t help the flicker of his eyes down at those lips, where the smirk is a teasing mix between wicked and mischievous.

“Should I?”

“They say if you meet a fae you should be polite and do your best not to offend them. You’re choosing your words very carefully for someone who isn’t sure if they believe or not. For instance, you’re not supposed to trade names with a fae, and you haven’t asked for mine or offered your own.”

A good point, but easily countered.

“You haven’t asked for mine either. And you seem to know a lot about them for someone so young.”

“Nah. I read a lot, that’s all.”

“Then, what does a fae look like? I should know, in case I were to ever encounter one.”

The man’s gaze turns, and he leans in even closer.

“What do you think one looks like?” He turns the question around, raising his eyes to look at Xie Lian head on. He is once again struck at how beautiful the man is, but there is more to it, a darkness that he wears like a well-worn cloak.

Xie Lian turns away first, a funny feeling rising in his chest that tells him staring into that darkness for too long will only lead to him tumbling headfirst into it.

“I’ve heard so many tales, I couldn’t possibly narrow it down.”

“Ah,” the man says, lips twisting into a grin that is almost feral. “You ask what one looks like, but then you say you’ve heard many tales. Which is it?”

Xie Lian has to admit he walked right into that one. “I get the feeling that you’re trying to trap me with your words.” It should be an admonishment, but Xie Lian is amused and he knows it shows on his face.

“Not at all. I just like to tease.”

He is saved from having to formulate a reply when he looks out over the valley, and notices that the sun is halfway down the horizon, well hidden by the clouds.

“Shit.”

Xie Lian stands up so quickly that he oversteps and nearly falls off the ledge.

He cannot have been talking to this man for longer than half an hour, but the position of the sun tells him that it has been nigh on three hours.

“It’s late.” The man says simply, though the look on his face is entirely unreadable, smooth porcelain skin schooled into a blank expression. His gaze is heavy, and Xie Lian takes pleasure in making him flinch in surprise when he holds his hand out.

“We should leave now, if we want to be out of here by sunset.” He’s pretty sure the man is a fae by this point, but on the off-chance that he isn’t, Xie Lian isn’t going to leave him to fend for himself in a forest overnight.

For all his teasing and suave confidence, the man is hesitant when he takes Xie Lian’s hand and hoists himself off the bench, and he drops it like a hot coal once he’s up.

“I’ve just realised.” Xie Lian says a minute or so after they’ve started walking, once they’ve passed the mushrooms and the sounds of nature begin to filter back. “We’ve been chatting all this time, but I don’t know your name!”

“You may call me San Lang, gege.” There’s a finality there that does not invite Xie Lian to share his own name, and he knows better than to push. Still, he feels a blush at the familiarity of the address.

“Well, San Lang, it’s nice to meet you.”

“The honour is mine, gege.”

It takes everything in him not to stumble to the floor.

They make it out of the forest just as the last of the sun’s rays are streaked across the sky, the horizon a blazing orange whilst the sky above turns a deep blue, and Xie Lian relaxes a little at the sight of his home.

San Lang looks around the garden and raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think peach trees bore fruit until summer, gege.”

The laugh that is startled out of Xie Lian’s throat is unnecessarily high pitched, and not at all natural.

“Ah, you know how fruit trees get when they’ve been left to grow wild. Must be a late bloomer!” And then, to change the subject, “where will you go now?” 

San Lang gives a little shrug and looks out over the fields with one corner of his lips twisted up in a half-smile.

“Don’t know. I’ll figure it out.” And then he waves, turns on his heel, and Xie Lian frets.

“Wait! You can’t walk all that way in the dark. You can stay here for the night, if you want!”

“Are you sure?” San Lang asks, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Yes, I’m sure, or I’ll only spend the night worrying that you could have injured yourself stepping into a badger’s sett, or lost your way in the dark.” The urge to wring his hands is strong, both from nerves for the man's safety and also because he knows the villagers would never let him within a mile of their homes if they knew he was letting strange men into his house without question. Unless San Lang really is a wayward youth kicked out by his parents; then they’d probably think he is kind, regardless of the fact that San Lang is still a stranger to him.

“Alright then, as long as you don’t mind.” San Lang steps around him, his shoulders brushing again Xie Lian’s own as he steps through the faery ring and into the garden. Xie Lian frowns at the sight, carefully stepping around the ring and under the arch. There’s something of an edge to San Lang, as though he is a bit ruffled, though surely it can’t have been Xie Lian’s offer to stay that has provoked it?

San Lang pauses before the steps to the veranda, looking up at the little old building with an oddly hesitant smile on his face. Xie Lian counts his blessings that he removed the iron from his door, else that could have led to an awkward moment.

“You have a cute home, gege.”

Cute?!

“San Lang, are we looking at the same building? There’s a hole in the roof and I butchered the front door yesterday!”

“I’ll help you build a new one.” As if it were that easy, as though it’s common for well-bred young men or mysterious fae beings to be able to just build a door.

“Ah, less of that,” Xie Lian says, his hands running through his hair to tighten the half-bun at the back of his head. “You’re a guest, I shouldn’t be putting you to work.”

“I’m more than happy to help, gege.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll discuss it tomorrow.” Xie Lian steps up beside him, his fingers circling around the vambraces, and tugs him towards the door. “Come on, I think I have some soup leftover from yesterday.”

This time, San Lang does not flinch away from his touch.

That evening, when the fire has burned down and they’ve both prepared for bed, Xie Lian lays on his front and looks down at San Lang with a question burning on his lips. San Lang, who is laying on his back with one arm behind his head and the other resting across his stomach, inclines his head in place of saying go ahead.

“Can I trouble you with another question?”

San Lang half turns to him, and his smile returns.

“Gege may ask me anything.”

“Who leads the fae in the forest?”

San Lang stills, and Xie Lian can see in the low light how intrigued he is by the question.  The smile turns sly, and as he tilts his head a little the long braid slips down from his shoulder to fall on the mat.

“Oh? Why does gege want to know?”

Xie Lian gifts him with his most guileless smile.

“I’m just curious.”

“Very well, gege. They say he’s one of the oldest unseelie fae in the forest, that he was here when the old kingdom of Xianle fell. He became the Fae King not long after, defeating all thirty-three of the fae who stood ahead of him in the succession. No one knows his name, of course, or at least no one is alive who remembers it.” San Lang says it all as though reciting it from a list he’d learned on the direction of a tutor, and the expression on his face matches it, eyes lifted to look at the ceiling as though envisioning the points.

“I wonder why he did such a thing.”

San Lang shrugs, his free hand dragging his braid back over his shoulder and playing with the ends of it. “Who knows? It was a long time ago, gege, and every village within a thousand miles of Xianle have their own folktales about it.”

“And Puqi village’s version?”

A stuttering pause tells him that question was certainly not expected. Whether San Lang is trying to make up something on the spot, or if he’s genuinely trying to remember the village’s version of the tale, he certainly looks taken aback.

But then the smile returns, smooth.

“We say it was for the love of a witch. After all, only the Fae King can allow a witch to live amongst the fae, and the traditional consort is a witch.”

Xie Lian hums. “That sounds terribly romantic for a figure who instils so much dread into the people of the village.”

San Lang doesn’t grumble, per se, but his scoff is a close thing.

“Like I said before gege, superstitious fools.” He says softly. Xie Lian continues his questions.

“What does he look like?”

San Lang turns fully on his side then, moving so quickly that Xie Lian flinches on instinct. He leans up a little, enough that he can prop up his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“Now why would gege think I know that?”

“Aha, no reason!” Xie Lian hurries to say, careful not to offend. “Only, your stories are so detailed, I thought there may have been some descriptions of this king, if only to ward off naive travellers.”

But San Lang does not seem angry, only amused, and he smiles at Xie Lian with that beguiling smile once more.

“I’m just teasing, gege. There’s lots of different descriptions, but they all have one thing in common. He is blind in this eye.” San Lang leans across and taps the corner of Xie Lian’s right eye. “Some places say he was a human that was kidnapped by the fae, who marked his eye, and that’s why he gouged it out. We say he did it to gain the power to overthrow his predecessor, but in Xuli they say he used it to create a sabre that he could destroy Xianle with.”

The look that he gives Xie Lian tells him exactly what he thinks of that story.

“You disagree, San Lang?”

A soft laugh escapes his lips. “It is inconsistent. Why create a weapon that can conquer a city, and not use it to become king immediately?”

Xie Lian allows himself to laugh in agreement. It is nice, he thinks, to have company for the evening. San Lang is an interesting conundrum that he wants to figure out, a wealth of knowledge in the body of a charming man who smiles easily but who almost certainly carries an undercurrent of something darker beneath his skin. His gaze, though, is something else entirely. At first glance he looks like he is lounging lazily on the mat, an air of nonchalance given off by the way he props himself up with his head in his hand, but his gaze makes Xie Lian feel like he could be the only person left in the world. It feels like San Lang is pinning him in place, and it sends a shiver up his spine whenever those eyes meet his own.

“If gege permits, I also have a question.” San Lang interrupts his thoughts, a cheeky grin twisting his lips. It is delightful, though Xie Lian admits it warily.

“Of course. I will do my best to answer.” 

The grin changes, knowing, and the look he gives Xie Lian is plain in how clearly it tells Xie Lian that he has been looked at, and he has been seen. Then, he artfully throws Xie Lian’s words back in his own face. “I’m just curious to know what a witch with such weak spiritual power is doing in this forest.”

Oh.

“Ah, you know, then?”

San Lang looks across at him with an expression that manages to appear both incredulous and bored. It’s impressive, really.

“I knew from the moment I watched you cross into the forest. Gege would not have been able to come so far had he been an ordinary human.” San Lang suddenly feels closer even though he has not moved, or perhaps Xie Lian has leaned in himself? He pulls at his sleeves, suddenly self-conscious.

And then, before the conversation can dig too deep, pull out old scars like rotted roots from the ground, Xie Lian catches on to San Lang’s words.

“You were further in than I was. What does that make you, San Lang?”

A pause.

“Resourceful?”

Xie Lian laughs into the space between them, feeling oddly more comfortable than he has in years.

He takes to helping out the villagers.

It’s all he knows how to do, really, after years of wandering, collecting, sleeping in cubby holes and spare corners of barns and sheltered alleys in the cities. At least now he has a home-

The thought sticks, his brain stumbling, a strange flutter in his belly because really, it’s the first time in decades that he thinks of a place and envisions home.

But he helps. He brews ointments and medicines, trades them for food and materials and trinkets, trades the trinkets for money to buy more herbs and spices. He pours all of his energy into his garden, creates teas from the leaves of his flowering quince and the valerian patch, creates oils for topical use.

His garden overflows and blooms well into winter, and a small boy collecting a mint oil to help his mother’s lungs looks out over the herb patch and questions him thoroughly.

“Are you sure you’re not a witch?”

Xie Lian laughs.

“Do I look like one?” He asks, wrapping some tea leaves and placing them into the boy’s pouch alongside the stoppered tincture.

The boy looks him over, an expression on his face that is far too serious for his age, and harrumphs.

“No, you don’t.”

Xie Lian sends him off with a laugh and some peaches for the journey home.

He’s not a healer, he insists, but they’re a small village in the middle of nowhere and he’s better than nothing in their eyes. They warm up to him as the months pass, autumn blowing cooly into early winter, when colds begin to spread and aches and pains become more noticeable. He may be suspicious, but he’s helping.

Sometimes, on the long winter nights where the cold is bitter, San Lang joins him for a few days at a time, initially claiming frequent arguments with his family. The excuses don’t last for long, especially as the claimed arguments become so outlandish that Xie Lian stops asking, and at some point San Lang stops pretending that he’s coming from the direction of the village at all.

Not that Xie Lian is complaining - with San Lang’s help, he’s managed to fix up the last of the problems plaguing the little house, and he’s been able to build the chicken coop and buy the chickens. San Lang always fixes up something for him before he leaves, smiling like he’s presenting a secret offering. He never actually sees him leave in direction of the village, for he always leaves at noon claiming he’ll take a walk before heading back.

It’s not even subtle, really.

And then, mid-winter, Xie Lian is sitting cross-legged amongst the vegetables, fingers pressed deep into the soil, when San Lang simply walks out from the mist gathering at the tree line.

“Oh.” Xie Lian says pointedly, lifting his eyes as he tries to coax the unhappy roots of a ginseng back to life. “Are we done pretending you’re human?”

San Lang slips past, eyes sliding across to look at him as he nears, before he chuckles darkly.

“I never claimed to be human, gege.” As though it was obvious, as though Xie Lian hasn’t been tying himself into knots trying to think of ways to approach the subject. With a smile, San Lang grabs a broom and begins brushing away some of the soot from the outdoor fire pit that Xie Lian uses to brew anything with a strong scent. He stops only to raise a stupidly elegant eyebrow at Xie Lian, who realises he has been staring with a fond, doe-eyed smile on his face, and suddenly his cheeks aren’t cold anymore.

He is grateful for the company, finding a strong comfort in those cold evenings when the pair of them sit before the fireplace, warm cups of teas in their hands, trading stories and debates, laughing into the quiet of the dark nights. San Lang is cool to the touch, but when they lay down to sleep he’s a trap for Xie Lian’s heat, and more often than not Xie Lian wakes up pressed tightly into him (for warmth, he desperately tries to convince himself, for warmth). Usually San Lang is equally curled around him, long fingers threaded through the ends of Xie Lian’s hair, and his stuttering heart doesn’t know what to do with that.

On the days that he is needed, as winter turns to spring, he helps in the fields in exchange for scrap, items that he can reuse or resell. It is hard work, gives him an ache up the back of his legs, down his spine, along the curves of his shoulders, but at the very least he’s so exhausted when he sleeps that there’s little chance of him moving in the night to wrap around San Lang again.

On one memorable evening San Lang offers to help him work out his knots, and Xie Lian’s reaction is so violent (skittering away across the sleeping mat and sputtering incoherently) that it briefly stuns him into silence. San Lang’s smirk carves itself behind Xie Lian’s eyelids, however, and he has to take himself outside for an impromptu evening dip in the nearby stream.

San Lang then simply allows his eyes to watch Xie Lian when he stretches out the pain as he lays down to sleep, joints cracking and popping. It’s not exactly a heated gaze, but each time he’s thankful for the darkened room to hide the extent of his blush.

That, too, is an intimacy which he grows to love. It is not one that he has shared with anyone before, and though their conversations are rarely different to the ones they have by the fire, there is something heavier, weightier in this. Laid on his side, head tilted up to look at an impossibly-close San Lang who props himself up on one elbow, whispering quietly into the space between them, is it any wonder that his heart barrels its way out of his chest?

Spring moves slowly towards summer, as the syrupy warm days become more frequent than the cool ones, and he discovers that San Lang has a hatred of the sun but is partial to sitting in the tall grass on cloudy days. Xie Lian purchases a large red parasol from the village, extends the stem with bamboo and string and wedges it into the soil near the birdbath.

Later, San Lang insists that he must be repaid for the courtesy. Xie Lian privately thinks that the sight of him lounging beneath it, dozens of silver butterflies perched on the edge like little jewels, is payment enough. It’s probably sinful for Xie Lian to enjoy looking at him so much, but it’s definitely more of a crime not to fully appreciate those long, tightly-clad legs.

On the cusp of summer, Xie Lian returns to the forest.

The paths have not been walked since early winter, when he had judged there to be too much of a risk of him slipping, and he had been too prideful to risk his death at the hands of something stupid like tripping over his own feet on an icy bank. San Lang had told him, after that winter evening, that Xie Lian only had to call out for him and he would come, but again. Too prideful. He would shrivel up and disappear if he had to call for help because he’d sprained his wrist or walked into a tree, or something equally clumsy.

It takes a moment too long for Xie Lian to notice that the birds have stopped singing, a blanket of quiet dropping down over the forest. It does not, however, take him long to notice the shadow in his periphery, a blind spot that he cannot quite focus on no matter which way he turns his head. Something lurks along the edges of the path, but the most curious thing of all is that he feels safe.

A familiar scent rolls by on the breeze, earthen and woody, like musky clothes hung out to dry on a cold windy day. It should be ominous, he knows, a portent of an uncanny thing lurking beyond his vision, but all it does is bring comfort. If he is uncomfortable it is only because he is trying to fight the urge to inhale deeply and sink into that comfort like a warm set of robes.

Ah, of course. Who else?

“San Lang?” He asks, and waits.

Like a pile of leaves on a gust of wind, a number of butterflies swirl down through the gaps in the trees. Xie Lian is walking along the forest path on his own one moment, and is joined by San Lang in another. He does not startle, makes no noise at all as he looks over at his new companion to find him looking up at the canopy above, head cocked in curiosity.

“Ah, hello!” Xie Lian smiles pleasantly, hand raising in a small wave that catches San Lang’s attention.

“Gege.”

“I didn’t think that would actually work.”

San Lang raises an eyebrow.

“I said I would come whenever gege called, did I not?”

“Of course, I should never have doubted San Lang.”

Xie Lian walks backwards, far from graceful but careful enough not to step into the edges of any faery rings that encroach upon the path. He sidesteps a few with complicated footwork that occasionally draws his concentration away from their conversation, and San Lang smirks after the fourth ring is avoided.

It does not escape Xie Lian’s notice that San Lang walks straight through them all. Can the fae be affected by other fae’s traps?

“Is gege worried that he will be doomed to dance to exhaustion?”

A soft smile plays at his lips as he contemplates how best to answer the question.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer. I think I used to be, once, but not anymore.”

“Mn. Then it is good that those legends have no basis in truth.” San Lang’s huff of laughter seems sincere, and the fondness Xie Lian feels at hearing it is enough to distract him from the wide edges of yet another ring.

San Lang’s hand snaps out to grab his upper arm in the second before Xie Lian’s foot makes contact with the ring, long fingers wrapping firmly around his bicep and tugging him away from the mushrooms that line the edge. Mid-step, Xie Lian loses his balance, and the only choice he has to stop himself from toppling over is to brace himself against San Lang’s chest.

The curling of his fingers in the deep red fabric of his clothes is as unintentional as the weight of San Lang’s hand coming to rest on his lower back, he’s sure.

Xie Lian struggles to untie his tongue as San Lang looks down at him, head cocked as what is surely the darkest blush of Xie Lian’s life begins to spread up his neck and across his cheeks. The urge to stammer out a thank you wars with the knowledge that such words are dangerous, and it takes a moment for him to string a sentence together.

“Ah, San Lang, what would happen if I did step through one of the rings?” He finally asks, motioning with his head to the ring he nearly walked through. It takes a moment for San Lang to answer, and Xie Lian realises he is still clutching tightly to the front of his clothes.

Xie Lian releases him as though he has been burned, clearing his throat gently and vainly fighting the blush on his cheeks.

“It depends.” San Lang finally answers, his words coming out slow as he pulls himself together. Xie Lian can relate. “Most of them will just bring you to the notice of the fae that put it there, and direct them to you.” He shrugs, as though that isn’t one of the most terrifying things Xie Lian has ever heard.

“And the others?” He asks, a little breathless.

“Some can take you places. Ones put down by powerful fae will take you to them, if you know how to work them.”

Xie Lian can’t deny that this new information is intriguing to him. He wants to ask, curious about the one in front of his home.

“How do you work them?”

San Lang pins him in place with a look.

“You need to know the name of who laid the ring, which humans rarely do. Once you know that, it’s a matter of knowing the stories.” His smile is enigmatic, and it sends Xie Lian’s heart racing.

“Which ones? The food thing?” Xie Lian says it so casually that it prompts a laugh out of San Lang’s throat.

“And a gift. The fae king has a ring, for example, that acts as his token.”

“Just like that? A name, a token, some food and knowing where you want to go?” He is sure that he is simplifying it to an atrocious degree, but San Lang begins to look daunted rather than offended.

“It’s not as easy as gege is thinking. It takes meaning, and once you cross, you can’t go back.” Xie Lian gets the sudden feeling that they’re not talking about hypothetically walking through faery rings anymore.

He is struck suddenly with two absolute certainties: the faery ring outside his home has been put there by the most powerful fae in this forest, and that if he were to do all of those things and step through, San Lang would be the one waiting on the other side. Now if only he knew his true name.

From the look on his face, San Lang knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“San La-“

“-is not my name.”

“I know.”

Xie Lian is struck with what is probably an inappropriate feeling of smugness when San Lang recoils a little in surprise. So often the situation is reversed that he really can’t help it.

“I would give gege anything,” San Lang starts, voice tight, “but that.”

“No, no.” Xie Lian hurries to reassure him, one hand reaching out for his shoulder. “I understand, San Lang, I’m sorry. It would be asking a lot, I shouldn’t have-“

“No.” San Lang grabs his outstretched hand and pulls him in, and the look on his face now could break Xie Lian’s soul in two if he let it. “I would give gege power over me without hesitation.  I would give you everything I am if it were that simple.”

“But?” Xie Lian asks, his voice soft enough that even San Lang can barely hear it. A flame flickers between them, sparks into being and lingers where their skin touches.

“Gege is not made for this world. He is too good for it.”

By which he means that the reason he won’t give Xie Lian his name is because he knows Xie Lian will try and cross into the world of the fae with nary a glance behind him. He wonders if San Lang’s hesitation is not because he is unwilling to let Xie Lian in, but because he could not stand to let him go once he’s there.

Xie Lian knows that he has a reputation for being kind and affable, sometimes foolish and, long ago, an object of ridicule. He can be simultaneously anxious and stubbornly unflappable, easily embarrassed on one hand and wholeheartedly unashamed on the other. He knows that San Lang sees this, has only seen this side of him since he walked onto an outlook seven months earlier. They have enjoyed seven months of an easy friendship that strengthens by the day and which Xie Lian is certain has grown to something more without either of their acknowledgement.

But Xie Lian has spent decades alone, flitting from village to town to city, unable to plant any roots and never finding a home. Here, in this little corner of the world, he has done both. There is a part of him that has been missing since he woke up alone outside a burned city a mere shadow of who he was, and San Lang makes him feel like he’ll never be a broken, forgotten thing again. His shamelessness and his stubbornness is only too happy to rear its head to allow him to be selfish just this once.

And he will. Not at this moment, for too much has already been shared between them, and he suspects that they’ve both waited long enough for this feeling of belonging that a little longer won’t kill them.

“I think that San Lang should let his gege decide what he is made for.” Xie Lian finally says, meeting his gaze head on and without flinching. San Lang inhales sharply at his words, and the tension between them risks becoming even heavier.

Giving his sunniest smile, Xie Lian pulls his wrist down from where it is still caught in San Lang’s grip, tugging San Lang’s hand down with his own until he can easily twist in the grip and thread San Lang’s fingers through his own.

He desperately tries not to laugh at how San Lang has been rendered speechless. Such a change from their usual, with San Lang’s cheeky confidence and astute observations and Xie Lian’s amiable babble!

“Now, come on, it’s nearly noon and I need to sit down for some food. Find me a clearing, San Lang, before I collapse in this heat!” He demands with mock haughtiness, and it breaks the spell over San Lang long enough for his smile to be returned.

Xie Lian can only grin, sincere, and is fortunate enough to be blind to the effect it has on the man who now tugs him off the path towards the east. He weaves them through the trees for several minutes, until Xie Lian can see a gap ahead that looks like a path wide enough that a palanquin could make its way down it unobstructed.

San Lang guides him carefully around a faery ring, over to a large maple tree with a maze of dense exposed roots that are thick enough to be seated on.

“Here, gege.” San Lang helps him to sit as Xie Lian unties his hat and takes his pouch from between the folds of his robes.

“Here, San Lang,” Xie Lian mimics, an impish smile on his lips as San Lang sits down alongside him, unable to lounge comfortably across the roots when his legs are so long “A peace offering.” He hands over one of the steamed buns he had made earlier in the morning, though the look San Lang gives him tells him that his choice of words has not gone unnoticed.

They eat quietly, San Lang caught in his own thoughts and Xie Lian too busy admiring the forest around them to speak until he’s finished. They’re sitting in the middle of a grove of old red maple trees, the floor littered with vibrant red leaves, and Xie Lian is seized by the urge to create a crown from the leaves around them.

Without hesitation, he pops the last of the bun into his mouth and then begins collecting handfuls of the leaves.

Thankfully, for the preservation of his dignity, San Lang does not comment when he starts weaving them through the little gaps in his bamboo hat.

“I’m curious, gege.” San Lang finally says, after Xie Lian has weaved a frankly glorious crown of red maple leaves around the brim of his hat. Xie Lian hums curiously at him, head tilting in his direction as he collects more leaves and begins weaving another crown that has no hat as its base.

It takes him a few tries to get the holes in the leaves right, and his fingernails begin to stain pink from where he threads the stalks through the leaves, but eventually he looks up to find San Lang watching him intensely.

“Ask away.”

“What made you come all the way out here in the first place?”

Xie Lian briefly stills, his fingers stuck halfway through looping one end of the crown through the other. San Lang watches as he rolls his lower lip between his teeth, nervous. He blinks rapidly, a thousand excuses running through his mind, before he decides on being vague but sincere.

“Something drew me out here. I knew the rumours about the forest, but I didn’t believe it would be a threat to me. My energy has been inconsistent for years, but if anywhere would help me to stabilise it, surely such an ancient forest would be the place?” He continues with his weaving, but San Lang’s smile tells him more questions are incoming.

“But why here, when gege was already lonely?”

“Perhaps I needed a quiet harbour, a port in a storm?” He asks, an anxious laugh being pulled from his throat.

“Can a house on the edge of a forest act as a port?” San Lang asks, and his tone remains light and humoured.

“No, but the company can.” Xie Lian pauses, sees out the corner of his eye how San Lang stills. “The company feels like the safest harbour I’ve had.”

Xie Lian looks down, blush high on his cheeks after saying such words, and the air between them becomes heavy with a tension he dare not name. He fiddles with the maple leaves in his lap, threading the final stalk through a hole in the first leaf, and leans across to deposit the woven crown of maple leaves onto San Lang’s hair.

It works, breaking the tension between them as San Lang lifts a hand to straighten it, eyes lifted up to see the edges of it in his vision.

“A crown fit for the king of the fae?” Xie Lian asks, though the question he’s asking is not quite the question he has spoken. If San Lang says I would not know, he’s not their mythical leader. Anything else… well. An admission can be hidden within a redirection.

The crown is bright and stark against San Lang’s hair, and matches well with the colours of his robes: Xie Lian had chosen the reddest leaves within his reach.

San Lang reaches out, taking Xie Lian’s bamboo hat with the maple leaves threaded around it, and gently places it on his head, careful not to mess up Xie Lian’s half-bun.

“Does this make gege the king’s consort, if his crown matches?”

The tension snaps back into place.

Xie Lian daren’t look up, trying to piece his words together carefully. It goes deeper than the light, amused tone to San Lang’s words, another question that is asked without quite asking. Saying no will risk San Lang withdrawing completely, shutting this thing between them into a box and never letting it see the light of day again if he thinks that is what Xie Lian wants. But agreeing is…difficult, forces him to look a truth head-on that he does not yet have it in him to face.

“I don’t think the consort can be chosen with just a crown of maple leaves.” Is what he finally manages to say, and when he gathers the courage to look up he meets San Lang’s gaze immediately. It is not heated, but it is intense, and San Lang swallows as he inclines his head briefly.

“Gege is right, of course. A token, gifted by me, would be needed.” And then San Lang leans forward, tying off Xie Lian’s hat with a smile that is downright distracting.

They spend the rest of the day in easy conversation, and this time Xie Lian does not need to offer for San Lang to follow him back to his house.

During dinner, he asks if he can see San Lang’s true form, the one he knows must exist from all the little hints from the man about the fae being known to have multiple forms. San Lang stiffens, stares at him for a moment that stretches out long enough for Xie Lian to be certain he has overstepped terribly, and then falters.

“What if I’m a hideous-looking beast?” It’s half a joke, one that falls flat due to the sheer bitterness that he struggles to hide. Xie Lian does not hold back.

“Is this because of the eye?” He asks softly, moving to the edge of his seat at the table. His hands reach out automatically, one cupping San Lang’s jaw whilst the other pushes the messy hair that hangs just above his right eye out of his face, tucking it behind his ear gently. It falls back into place not a moment later, but his actions have the intended effect. San Lang seems frozen in place, almost like a startled deer, and that burning gaze of his is subdued and unable to look any higher than Xie Lian’s collarbone.

“San Lang, I want to see you.” Those eyes finally flick back up to his own, and something warm and affectionate slots into place in his heart at the same moment that the embers between them start to build towards something brighter. “I want to see you because I am your friend, and you could never disgust me.”

The silence drags out, neither one of them daring to look away, before San Lang swallows thickly.

“Someday, gege. I will show you.”

Xie Lian nods, smile still on his lips, and the rest of the meal is spent in a companionable silence.  When they finally retire to bed, he lays down first this time, his head cushioned on his bicep and unable to tear his eyes from San Lang as he mirrors him. San Lang does an admirable job of pretending to sleep, but Xie Lian has him figured out, and he bridges the gap halfway by allowing his hand to rest palm-down in the space between them.

As he drifts off he feels cool fingers tracing patterns over his knuckles, featherlight, and smiles.

It’s a safe bet to think that this is not Xie Lian’s greatest idea.

He is well aware that he is dangerously skirting the line between bravery and foolishness, curiosity and idiocy. He also knows that whilst he may not be sure about the fae, he does know everything there is to know about the Ghost Festival, and that perhaps taking a midnight hike through the forest that borders Xianle on today of all days is almost certainly one of the most reckless ideas he has ever had.

Especially given that, with his shitty luck, today is the first time it has rained in over three weeks, and the heavens are more than making up for the lack of rain with a storm fierce enough that he struggles to close his front door.

Definitely not his smartest idea.

Outside the house the rain comes lashing down in sheets, hard enough that he can feel the pressure on his hat. It’s not far to the tree line, maybe sixty steps, but he can barely see in front of him and he feels his best chance is to use the faery ring even if it does defeat the point of his midnight jaunt.

No.

Xie Lian steels himself, and then runs the sixty steps, sidestepping the ring and all but charging for the forest line. The wind howls, roaring in his ears with every step he takes, but he can barely hear it above the thunderous sound of the rain on his hat. It’s a miracle that he reaches the tree line at all, though his legs are covered with splashes of mud and one of his boots has soaked through after he’d failed to see a puddle on the path.

Once through the tree line, the sound of the storm dims significantly, and Xie Lian faces the forest with what is probably a wildly insignificant amount of apprehension.

He can probably make it to the other side in about fifteen hours if he doesn’t stop, which should get him there for mid afternoon. He’s been waiting for the Ghost Festival for this very reason, relying on the crossing of spirits to release enough spiritual energy that he can tap into it and get to the city without attracting the attention of the fae. 

That assurance does not last him long.

He’s been walking for around an hour when he first hears it, a light giggle on the wind that comes from behind him. Xie Lian ignores it, pushes on when the next one comes from ahead, and keeps his smile on his face and his lantern aimed at the ground. He was correct about the spiritual energy in any case - the further in that he goes, the more he can feel it thrumming in his veins.

Another laugh, this time right by the curve of his ear, and Xie Lian does turn in a whirl of his white robes. There’s nothing there, of course, but he is certain he can feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him as he continues walking.

Oddly, it doesn’t feel malicious. It feels teasing in a childish way, like he is surrounded by easily-excited youngsters desperate to catch a glimpse of the new person walking through. Xie Lian supposes that there haven’t been many travellers through the forest in a long time, and keeps himself alert as he walks. The giggling continues, tinkling like little bells as the storm rages above the canopy, water running down the tree trunks in eerie rivulets.

Xie Lian continues his walk for another hour, listening carefully and being sure not to walk in the direction of any giggling that he hears. It works, and he is unhindered as he travels until the wind feels like it is beginning to pick up again. He avoids it as well as he can, weaving between the trees, until finally he can see a gap ahead and he rushes towards it.

Only to stop, baffled, when he emerges onto the trail with the maple trees.

He…definitely should not be here. He had made certain that his initial direction was one he had not travelled before, and his unimpeded first hour of walking in the opposite direction should be enough to ensure he did not come across this trail again. He turns on his heel, looking down at the ground curiously to be sure he has not stepped through a ring.

But no, there is nothing beneath his feet other than the roots of the maple trees and what little underbrush manages to grow here.

How odd, he thinks, not daring to speak aloud in case it invites an attempt at conversation from one of his followers. This can’t be the same grove?

Sighing, he continues on.

The wind batters him as he walks into it, his lantern casting a low light along the ground, and of course he is lost. Of course he is, here, lost beneath the maple leaves. He thinks that the bells of laughter have finally disappeared, though it could very well be the case that the sound of the wind in his ears is merely blocking it out.

Xie Lian doesn’t even know how the wind is so strong this deep in the forest, it should not be possible given the canopy and density of the trees. At the very least the rain is hugely dampened by the canopy, and he’s mostly dry despite his impromptu soaking when he started the walk.

Frustrated, he considers giving up and turning around. He is tired, and the old road seems endless even though he’s been walking down it for what feels like an age. Xie Lian knows he is getting drowsier by the minute, stumbling over some of the roots of the trees and barely able to keep his hat on his head.

His fingers are cold as he fumbles with the ties of the bamboo hat, unable to fasten them with his usual dexterity. It’s only a matter of time before he stumbles again, hands flying out to steady himself against one of the tree trunks, and the hat goes flying off his head.

It stops mere inches behind him, caught by an abnormally fast hand. The wind immediately disappears, and silence descends.

“San Lang!”

The grove floods with a soft, ethereal light as a thousand silver butterflies land on the tree trunks, allowing him to see more than the faint details that the lantern gave him. Xie Lian has sometimes thought San Lang a little difficult to read, with smiles that could be hiding sneers, and frowns that could be hiding disdain. There is difficulty here too in deciphering his face: it’s not anger, not quite disappointment, and could almost be a mixture of fear and self-admonishment.

And oh, Xie Lian thinks, the fact that he’s wearing a slightly different face might also have something to do with his expression being hard to read.

“What,” San Lang starts, pulling the hat down over Xie Lian’s hair and leaning under to tie it off beneath his chin, “is gege doing here, today of all days?”

Xie Lian has an answer for this question, he’s sure he does, only words and language and the knowledge of how to use his mouth to speak seems to have deserted him.

This is San Lang’s true appearance? He can only assume it is, else he would have simply appeared as he always has. He’s still taller, that much is immediately clear when Xie Lian has to fully tilt his head to look at him, though eye contact is impossible when he’s too busy staring at the wider jawline, fuller mouth, the cheekbones that he could cut glass on. His hair is much longer, messily chopped around his face, but loose and falling over his shoulder in an inky sheet. Without the ponytail and with the low light emitted by the butterflies he somehow manages to look softer. There is very little difference aside from that, and he merely looks like a broader, older version of how he has always appeared.

Xie Lian gives in to the urge to reach out and touch, sliding his fingers along one of San Lang’s collarbones and then up, trailing gently over an Adam’s apple that is almost certainly more pronounced than the one he’s used to seeing. San Lang hitches in a breath that Xie Lian is certain he doesn’t even need, his arms still reaching out and his fingers still caught in the ties below Xie Lian’s chin.

His fingers are cold against Xie Lian’s skin, which is both cooling and mortifying, given that he’s sure San Lang will be able to feel the heat from his blush. The gaze fixed on him is intense, but he still can’t bring himself to meet it just yet. He can feel the pressure on the ties, his hat pulling down slightly on his head as San Lang’s fingers tighten, but Xie Lian is too fixated to care.

His hand slips down to the thin braid that falls over San Lang’s other shoulder, and he curls it around his fingers without pulling on it. His hair is soft as silk, because of course it is. Xie Lian is sure his own hair looks like a rat’s nest by this point.

Aware that he should probably be focusing more on the fact that San Lang isn’t breathing, he follows the braid to the hollow behind his ear, and finally looks up.

At the same moment he notices the eyepatch, his fingers brush against the leather strap, and the spell breaks. San Lang pulls away as though he’s been burnt, and Xie Lian feels embarrassment and shame flood through him.

“San Lang, I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ He clears his throat, nervous. Shouldn’t have what, felt him up in the middle of the forest?

“Gege, why are you here?” His tone is not reproving, is more curious than anything, but Xie Lian feels the need to hide from it.

“Just out for a walk!” He barely has the words out of his mouth before he realises it’s a truly pathetic excuse. San Lang gives the lantern hanging from his belt a dubious look, and Xie Lian chuckles nervously.

“Gege.”

But Xie Lian can’t answer, not really. He barely knows what he’s doing out here, an impulsive trip that he didn’t quite think through. He had a destination, but trying to recall the reason for it is difficult.

Taking a step back, he reaches out behind him with his hand until he scrapes his fingers over the bark of one of the red maple trees. He slides down the trunk, trying and barely succeeding in regulating his breathing.

Has it only been a few hours since he left his home? It suddenly feels like much, much longer.

“What were you trying to do?” San Lang asks softly as he approaches, kneeling down so they are at eye level. Xie Lian leans his head back against the trunk, knees pulled up to his chest, and keeps his eyes on the maple leaves.

And then, sounding utterly defeated, he whispers, “I wanted to go home. If I could get out the other side, I could find it.”

Xie Lian’s eyes are half-lidded, peering out through his lashes at San Lang. The man looks absolutely stricken to hear those words.

Cool hands reach out to take his own, gently prising them apart from where they cling to the fabric of his clothes around his knees. San Lang doesn’t pull him up, though, just holds his hands carefully as if he were unworthy to take such liberties.

“Gege,” he starts, tone careful. “Xianle was reclaimed by the forest years ago. Humans haven’t been able to get there for decades.”

Oh. The words sting, but it’s not surprising, not really. Even with his barely-there recollections, it was common knowledge that miles of forest had been cleared to build the city and its outlying farmsteads. Xie Lian struggles to swallow, trying to pull the threads of what he knows together.

“Was- ah, was it you?” He’s not angry, tries to make sure that it shows on his face. San Lang considers him for a moment, expression careful, before he nods slowly.

“It was the only way to get rid of the rot, gege. Everyone within was long dead.” He sounds apologetic, but Xie Lian does not begrudge him the decision. Xianle had been doomed from the moment the builders cut down the first tree.

“I tried to - I thought I could save it.” The ties around his throat begin to feel as though they’re suffocating him, and he pulls his hands back to tug at the ties and yank the hat off his head.

“I know, gege.” San Lang takes it from him before he can throw it to the ground, settling it down gently beside them. Xie Lian lays his head back against the trunk, and is greeted by the sight of the maple beginning to wildly flower above them. San Lang follows his gaze as the flowers begin to wilt, going through their entire life cycle in minutes.

“Sorry. I thought I could use the leftover energy from the Ghost Festival to get me through quickly.” Xie Lian offers in answer to San Lang’s raised eyebrow, head still tilted back against the tree. “But it’s more than even I thought I could bring forth.”

It’s still there, flooding through his veins, though the spark of being overfilled is long gone. It feels more like a flow, entering and then smoothly leaving once it has noticed he does not need it, no longer bubbling up inside but settling down on a current between-

Between-?

Xie Lian furrows his brows a little as San Lang begins to pluck petals out of his hair, yanking down his sleeve past his elbow and reaching out to wrap each of his hands firmly around San Lang’s wrists. The other man tries to pull away, but he’s too wary of upsetting Xie Lian to put too much force into it, and he can do nothing when Xie Lian drags in as much power as he can possibly take.

It flows in through his left hand without hesitation, the excess already flooding out through his right, in and out of San Lang.

The scars on his wrists glow silver.

“San Lang.” Xie Lian begins, impressed with how steady his voice is. “I’ve never mentioned that Xianle was my home.”

Eyes cast down to the floor, San Lang tries to pull his wrists away, but Xie Lian tightens his grip. He shifts, pushing himself up onto his knees to mirror San Lang.

“Why is it your power that I’ve been siphoning all day?”

San Lang turns his wrists in Xie Lian’s grip until the pads of his thumbs can make contact with the sensitive skin above his scars.

“Did gege ever wonder,” San Lang begins tracing an indecipherable pattern over the scars, and the silver glows brighter, “how he has lived for so long, given that he no longer has the full strength of a normal witch?”

He had, but only once, when he had been in the stage of his life where he spent his days collecting and selling scrap, busking and travelling and refusing to stay in one place for too long. Time had stretched out long and slow, and he had spent one morning frantically checking his reflection in an old, broken mirror, fingers raking through his hair and across his face in search of a single wrinkle or grey hair. He had found neither, despite it being twenty years since the fall of Xianle.

After that, he had steadfastly refused to think about it, used what little power he had each day, and allowed himself to believe that it was enough to sustain him for so long.

San Lang finishes his pattern and cradles Xie Lian’s hands in his own, ensuring that his wrists are facing up. It takes a moment to notice it, but beneath the scars are the faint outlines of two butterflies, one on each wrist. Their wings flutter in time with his pulse, and they’re visible for only a few seconds before they fade away.

Pieces begin to slot into place for Xie Lian.

“San Lang, why am I suddenly feeling that our meeting on the outlook was not the first time we’ve met?”

San Lang briefly looks as though he considers stretching the truth very far, before he appears to steel himself.

“Gege is correct.”

He remembers so very little from that time, his memories having drained out of him, a side effect of pouring his soul and his blood and nearly all of his spiritual power into the ground. That he can remember slitting open his wrists in the first place is nothing short of miraculous, a memory he carefully and slowly pulled out of the ether to explain the ragged scabs he’d found when he had awakened. Even then, the reasoning had mostly escaped him.

But this, the way San Lang looks up at him, shamelessly devoted, sparks another memory. There is no gentle revelation, no coaxing it to the forefront, for this one smacks him in the chest with all the force of being hit by a horse cart.

The boy that he had saved from entering the forest, the youth he had grown into, and the young man he had become, who had scooped his drained and exhausted body up from the forest floor and carried it out, promising to return but then disappearing out of sight and out of his memories.

Why had he needed to save the boy from the forest? Why had he needed carrying out? He remembers very little, but he remembers this: the pain in his arms, the confusion as the trees thinned out, the knowing that he should have access to huge reserves of spiritual power that seemed to have disappeared but not knowing why. He remembers an eye eternally covered with bandages until Xie Lian, feverish and half-dead and about to be left alone again, had finally glimpsed harsh pink sclera and an iris and pupil branded with a blood-red peony.

That same eye is now covered with an eyepatch, apparently gouged out by San Lang himself in a bloody ritual to consolidate his own power.

“San Lang, you were- you were human.” Xie Lian whispers into the small space between them.

“I have never,” San Lang interrupts, a wry twist to his lips, “been human.”

He’s right - the memory trickles in, of him defying the official orders never to step into the forest, snatching the tiny black-haired child out of the hands of an entity he can’t quite recall, recognising that there was something not quite right about the child.

“A changeling, then, but you were safe. I saved you. What did you do?”

San Lang raises his chin, stubborn, and that one eye stares at him with something suspiciously like defiance raging behind it.

“Nothing that I would not do again, a thousand times over.”

“San Lang, what happened?”

“Gege saved me, once. I returned the favour.” As though a favour can encompass this, the sheer amount of devotion required to successfully link the life-force of a weakened and drained witch to his spiritual power. To sustain that over so many years, subtly enough that Xie Lian could not detect it, it had to have been a drain on San Lang’s own abilities.

“I could have saved them.” Xie Lian begins to say, but San Lang shakes his head sharply enough to silence him.

“You would have bought them a few more years at most, if the plague did not get them first.” And then, gently, “Your life was too high a price to pay.”

Xie Lian wants to disagree, remembers the height of some of the funeral pyres, thinks that prolonging the life of at least one child would have made his attempt worth it, but there’s a finality in San Lang that makes him realise trying to argue would be futile. He’s here now, one of only three to get out of the city and, honestly, Mu Qing and Feng Xin would probably begrudgingly agree with San Lang.

The thought makes him smile. He hasn’t though of them in such a long time, has no idea where they are these days, but knows down to his bones that they’d scold the shit out of him if they even saw him walking with San Lang in the forest. The knowledge that he’d invited a stranger into his home, discovered he was a fae, and then kept the association would send them incandescent, he’s sure.

With a sigh, Xie Lian tugs at San Lang until the other man follows his direction, guiding him to sit down against the tree. San Lang goes easily, settling against it at enough distance that Xie Lian doesn’t have to brush against him if he doesn’t want to.

It’s stupid, so Xie Lian immediately plonks himself down right next to him, pressed together from knee to shoulder.

San Lang freezes at the contact, though at least Xie Lian can be comforted by the fact that he looks more like he’s trying to restrain himself than uncomfortable. Because this is new to him, and because they’re in a whirlwind of revelations here, Xie Lian compounds it further by looping his arm through San Lang’s and taking his hand in his own.

“Tell me, why can I only feel your power now, then?”

It’s not what San Lang had expected him to say, but Xie Lian likes to act unexpectedly, and San Lang does kind of deserve it for pretending they had never met before.

“The connection is stronger in the forest, gege, but only when I look like this.”

Only when he’s in his original form, then. It makes a certain amount of sense: if he’s wearing a different skin, perhaps it takes up too much energy, or perhaps the connection is simply stronger because the sacrifice was made when San Lang was in his mortal skin.

Xie Lian tightens his fingers where they’re threaded through San Lang’s, and carefully lowers his head to rest on his shoulder.

“I wish you’d told me you knew me.” He finally says, his breath dusting along San Lang’s exposed collarbone. If he were to move any closer then his nose would be pressed against the skin there, and Xie Lian is tempted to try just to see if it would make him squirm.

“Gege,” San Lang says, and it’s almost like a plea, “I was trying to convince you I was human.”

“Because you were doing such an excellent job of that.” Xie Lian can’t help but point out, because really, he’d been suspicious from the start.

They sit quietly for a minute or so, as Xie Lian tries to parse through what remnants of his memory have started to flicker through. There’s not much, not really, more flashes than actual scenes.

“Gege is taking this rather well.” San Lang breaks the silence, sounding a little hesitant, and possibly confused. Xie Lian lifts his head, only to rest his chin on San Lang’s shoulder instead, and peers up at him through his lashes.

San Lang turns to look down at him, realises how close the position has put them, and immediately raises his eyes to the sky as though he’s praying for mercy. Xie Lian does his best not to laugh.

“How should I be taking it?” This close, he could count every one of his eyelashes if he wanted. He settles for giving in to the temptation to blow air lightly through his lips, watching as it makes the large silver hoop in San Lang’s ear sway back and forth. The coral decoration on the end is just close enough to tickle his nose, and he huffs a laugh through his lips. The movement makes San Lang look back down at him, and-

And, oh. They are quite close.

“Worse than you are. We barely knew each other.” Xie Lian understands what he’s not saying, can understand the implication. Is it a little weird, for San Lang to have traded his humanity for Xie Lian’s life, a man he must have hardly known? To give up a chunk of his own power to keep Xie Lian alive? Probably, but it’s San Lang. There’s been something off about him since the moment they met, and if Xie Lian isn’t going to let king of the fae bother him, then this isn’t going to bother him either.

“We know each other now.” Is all he says, before he goes back to resting his head on San Lang’s shoulder. He smells nice, comforting, like home, and Xie Lian feels the exhaustion of the early hours and the emotional toll begin to settle down on him.

“San Lang?”

“Mn?”

Xie Lian swallows, mulls over his words in his head.

“I can’t - I don’t think I could handle it if I were to remember it all now, but someday, I want you to tell me everything. All of it, even the difficult parts.”

San Lang nods, and his hair tickles along the side of Xie Lian’s face. He’s comfortable, warm despite San Lang’s innate coolness, and he truly would not trade this for anything.

“Anything for gege.”

Xie Lian smiles, burrows himself in closer, and gives in to his exhaustion.

When the morning light filtering in through one of the windows wakes him up later that same morning, Xie Lian bolts out of his bed and into the front garden, uncaring of the wet, muddy grass. The air is humid and heavy with the scent of petrichor, but the sun is shining and the world has been washed anew.

Xie Lian inhales deeply, the scent comforting, and then registers the light weight against his chest, bustled beneath his robes. Pulling his collar down, he makes no effort to hold back his gasp at what he finds.

The red ribbon that San Lang had worn in his braided hair when they first met is tied loosely around his neck, the knot smooth and unobtrusive. Hanging from it, a few inches below the hollow of his throat, is a beautifully carved wooden ring.

Xie Lian lifts it up to inspect it, his heart beating hard enough that it feels like it is going to claw its way out of his chest. It is decorated with beautiful tiny carvings of butterflies and maple leaves around the deep brown of the band, and aside from the carvings it is ridiculously smooth. In between the hammering beats of his heart, he wonders if it fits.

Spinning around on his heel, Xie Lian searches for a sign of his friend, but the world outside his home is quiet. He rushes to the trees that border the entry path, stopping at the edge of the faery ring and looking out to the tree line, and yet there is no sign of San Lang anywhere.

Xie Lian sighs, feeling oddly bereft, sadness settling in his stomach like as stone as he begins to feel as though he has missed out on a beautiful moment that could have been shared. Standing in the centre of the path, with the view of the forest before him, he makes a decision. He knows that there’s probably a thousand tales that say he probably shouldn’t, but he carefully lifts the ribbon over his head without getting it caught in his hair, and tries the ring on.

Unsurprisingly, it is a perfect fit.

After, in a state that is not quite a frenzy, he does everything he can to make his home an obvious welcome mat for the fae.

He plants foxglove under the windows, lavender by the stone path to the door, hangs wind chimes off the trellis and above the porch and lets one dangle under the lantern brackets. He purchases some seeds in the village and throws them along the boundary wall, behind the chicken coop, and makes them grow to full bloom in minutes. Xie Lian is vaguely aware that there is something to do with hawthorn, and plants several of them in the centre of the front garden. Halfway through, he remembers exactly what the tradition entails, and spends a solid fifteen minutes hanging over the garden wall, outright hysterical at the mental image of his friend dancing around a bush like a faery.

It makes his intentions quite clear.

Later, San Lang will lean back against a planter, the lavender sweeping up and seeming to grow taller by the minute, and look across at him with an eye that knows too much and not enough.

“You have not,” he will start, tongue flicking out to lick at his lower lip, “asked for my true name. Not since that day.”

And Xie Lian, sitting opposite with his legs folded beneath him and a sloppy crown of yellow chrysanthemums in his hair, will lean across and tug him towards him with his hands gently cupping San Lang’s face.

“I think you know why.”

San Lang will avert his eyes, uncertain.

“You can only use my name to get me to leave if you tell me to leave.”

And it will take everything Xie Lian has not to close the distance between them.

“And if I used it to ask you to stay?”

There is something in the air that dances between them, a flicker of starlight that Xie Lian wants to reach out and grasp in his fingers.

The parasol shades them from the summer sun, San Lang reclining lazily in the grass, legs crossed at his ankles and his arms bent behind his head. Bright yellow streaks of pollen from the wildflowers stains his hair in patches, but he does not care, only opens his eye to watch Xie Lian as he talks animatedly at him. It is some humorous story from the youth he shared with Mu Qing and Feng Xin, but if he’s honest, Xie Lian is so captivated by the sight that he’s beginning to lose the threads.

He’s laid on his side, propped up on his elbow with his chin resting in his hand, sunhat long forgotten in the grass. The world has narrowed down to shades of red and black against a background of green, tinted pink as the sun beams down onto the parasol. There is not a single sound to be heard, only the buzzing of the bees that have been such frequent visitors to his garden.

Not that Xie Lian could notice it, drawn as he is to stare at San Lang. There is something about him that he cannot tear his eyes away from, the relaxation reflected clearly on a face that is often tinged with humour, dark eyes taunting but eternally unreadable. Xie Lian is struck once again with the thought of how beautiful he is, skin as smooth as porcelain, tall and well built, with a gaze so intense that Xie Lian can blush wholly from the memory of it. Whenever he finds it focused on him, he can almost feel himself combusting.

The original form that San Lang had shown him had been beautiful in a sweeter way, mischief settled in the line of his shoulders and a beguiling smile that warmed Xie Lian with the lure of a new friend. This appearance, his true appearance, warms him in a very different way, a fire licking its way through his blood with every accidental brush of skin. Gone is the beguiling smile, replaced with open adoration and a burning want that he tries hard to hide, but Xie Lian has been able to see through to it from the very moment he appeared in that moonlit clearing on the night of the Ghost Festival.

Xie Lian had wanted, before. But now he burns right alongside San Lang, and…-

“…gege?”

There is a playful smirk twisting San Lang’s lips as he speaks, and Xie Lian jerks slightly in surprise at the realisation that he has done nothing but stare for several minutes.

Ah, look at me, drifting into a world of my own again is what he knows he should say, break the tension by flicking his hair over his shoulder, invite those gentle teasing comments about his tendency to daydream.

But they are laying in his garden, and his heart yearns, burns with the heat of the sun inside his chest, and he’s no longer able to convince himself that this is a bad idea.

Xie Lian knows what he should say, but he tosses the words into the wind and leans down, heart in his throat, to press a soft, gentle kiss to San Lang’s lips.

He can feel San Lang’s sharp inhale as he covers his mouth with his own, and it gives him pause, makes him pull away just a little as a blush floods its way up his neck. There is satisfaction there too, knowing that for once he seems to have caught him off-guard.

And then, the dam breaks.

San Lang surges up, both arms coming up to wrap around Xie Lian and pull him close. His heart feels as though it is going to pound out of his chest when San Lang’s lips part against his own, one hand sliding along to the nape of his neck to tilt Xie Lian’s head back and deepen the kiss. San Lang’s lips are cool, but the kiss is hot, sweet, and Xie Lian bucks downwards, seeking pressure.

They still for a half second, before San Lang’s nails dig into his back as he rolls them, and one moment his arms are full of San Lang and the next he is the one being pressed into the ground. San Lang holds himself up with one hand as the other tugs Xie Lian’s head back, exposing his throat. Desire burns in his chest as he kisses a fiery trail down the column of his neck, and Xie Lian can’t get enough air, the only sound his heavy pants and breathy moans.

“San Lang.” His tone is so desperate that it should be embarrassing, but San Lang freezes in his arms. Xie Lian anticipates it, brings his hands up to cup San Lang’s face before he can pull away too far.

“Gege,” he starts, gaze dragging away from Xie Lian to focus on the blades of grass behind his head. Every line of his body is tightly wound, but the control is slipping. “I-“

“No.” Xie Lian cuts him off. “If you want to stop, we can stop. But I don’t want to.”

San Lang’s breathing comes out harsh against his his cheek, ragged and restrained, the grass snapping beneath his fingers as he braces himself above Xie Lian. He can feel his own mouth falling open, and the urge to tilt his head up to catch those lips once more is overwhelming in how powerful it is. He’s not sure why San Lang seems to think of him as some blushing altar of virginal purity, unable to sullied by the likes of a fae, but Xie Lian is willing to disabuse him of that notion. Fast. Preferably right now.

“San Lang?” He asks, careful, as the man in question visibly struggles to keep himself in check. Xie Lian hopes he fails, but if he’s going to be crying out any names then he would rather it be San Lang’s real one, consequences be damned. Right here, the thought of them belonging to each other is a heady one, and he sees no downsides. “San Lang, if I ask you for your name, will you give it to me?”

“You have to mean it, to want it, or it won’t work.” San Lang whispers between gasps of air, body tense and hard where it is pressed against Xie Lian’s. “And gege is too good to want me like that.” As if to punctuate the point, he lightly trails his fingers along Xie Lian’s jaw, over his lips and across his cheekbone before they nestle in the tousled mess that is surely his hair.

The way he feels like he is fighting against his own hips, desperate to buck up find relief if only San Lang would trail his hands lower should, frankly, be enough evidence to dispute that statement.

He squirms, looks up. His world has narrowed down further, San Lang’s long black hair acting as a curtain against the rest of the world. The eyepatch is more visible when his hair is falling away from his face, and his gaze is so intense that it would knock the breath from him if it hadn’t already been kissed out of him. Xie Lian gathers his courage, uses his elbows to push himself up slightly, relishes the gasp it drags out of San Lang when it pushes their chests together.

“Please tell me” he whispers, “your name.”

Time stretches out as Xie Lian waits with baited breath, until San Lang bridges the distance and…

And.

Xie Lian tilts his head up as he pulls away, the murmur of San Lang’s true name pressed into the skin of his jaw. This time it is San Lang who waits, and Xie Lian wonders if there is even a way for him to tell if he does it right.

He thinks of the first kiss, the lust that shot through his body like a lightning bolt, the weight of the arm around his waist and the heat of all those lovely kisses down his neck. He thinks of all of those things, allows the desire that courses through him to come to the surface, tempered only by the sheer force of the love that aches to burst out of his chest, and leans up until they’re so close that their noses brush.

“Hua Cheng.” Whispered like a lover, a love that is true no matter what San Lang believes, and Xie Lian knows immediately that he’s done it right. San Lang stiffens as though struck, pupil blown wide, breath stuttering to a halt. His gaze has not wavered from where he looks down at Xie Lian, but it’s as though he is genuinely stunned to see him still there. Xie Lian can understand it, at some level: it is one thing to be told you are loved, wanted, but quite another to have it be undeniably proven through the power that your own name holds over you.

They are standing on a precipice, a terrifying stillness blooming to life between them. Xie Lian settles back down onto the grass, one hand wrapping around San Lang’s waist to drag him down with him, and hurls them both over the edge.

If the earlier kiss had been heated, this one scorches. San Lang kisses like he is consuming him, nipping at his lower lip and swallowing his gasp. Xie Lian loses himself in it, one hand reaching up to tangle in his hair as he returns the kiss just as fiercely. With every inch of them that touches the tension in him builds, and he shifts enough that San Lang settles down between his legs as he grinds up into him, a whimper catching in his throat at the pleasure that surges through him.

And finally, finally, San Lang shifts, no longer bracing himself fully against the ground, one hand trailing down Xie Lian’s side, over his hip. It is gentle, and then it is not, the grip close to bruising when long fingers dig into his thigh. Xie Lian follows without resistance, slinging his leg around San Lang’s hip and using it to pull him down even closer.

They part with a gasp, but San Lang wastes no time before he returns to Xie Lian’s neck, back to pressing torturously soft kisses into the column of his throat. He cannot even be embarrassed at the short, needy whine that escapes him when San Lang retraces the kisses, sucking dark bruises into the skin. His hand tightens in that inky black hair and he almost apologises, but it is lost in his gasp when he feels the sharp pain of a bite at his collarbone, soothed immediately with the swipe of a tongue.

It is all he can do not to fall apart here and now, begging for release. Xie Lian releases his hold on San Lang’s back, hand fumbling between the layers of his clothing until he can finally reach between them and palm San Lang’s erection through the cloth of his trousers.

He has a moment to tug at the girth of him, hand sliding from base to tip, before the hand still wrapped around his thigh snaps out and grabs his wrist, pinning it to the grass above Xie Lian’s head whilst he kisses a smile into his skin.

“San Lang.” He intends it to be an admonishment, but it comes out as a desperate whine instead. He does not care, cannot care, especially not when San Lang apologises with the slow, gentle rocking of his hips and a filthy smirk.

“Gege is impatient.” Is all he says, tangling their fingers together. The change in their position and the stretch of their bodies only presses them closer together, and Xie Lian bucks up again as San Lang rocks into him with increasing force. Any response Xie Lian can make is cut off with another searing kiss, and he lets it consume him until his only thoughts are half-coherent babbles, his only focus the mouth on his own and the dragging of his own erection against San Lang’s.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there in the grass trading hot wet kisses, only knows that his attempt to reach between them once more and undo the ties of their trousers with the hand that is tangled in San Lang’s hair only gets it pinned above his head with the other one. It angles him up, pressing impossibly closer, and Xie Lian suddenly finds himself with both wrists pinned by one of San Lang’s hands as the other pushes beneath his lower back, angling his hips up even more. Arousal ricochets between them, Xie Lian barely able to breathe with San Lang rutting against him, and all he can do is writhe against him like a wild thing, desperate to touch and indignant at being held back from doing so.

It takes a moment to realise that their breaths are coming in fits and starts, ragged and broken in the gaps between kisses.

“Please.” He manages to whine in a moment in-between, desperate but unashamed. All he wants is to feel him, put truth to his imaginings of the silken heat of San Lang, to be touched and opened and filled and fucked into the floor. The thought alone is nearly enough to send him over the edge.

San Lang pulls back, lips red and swollen, and leans down again to whisper in his ear.

“The first time I fuck you, gege” He says, voice clear, confident, “it will not be on a bed of grass.”

As if rocking into him on the ground beneath a parasol does not count, he punctuates his point with hard, fast thrusts of his hips, kissing Xie Lian long and slow as he drives them both over the edge.

He feels San Lang shiver, knows the moment he comes and follows him with a shuddering gasp, and his wrists are released in time for him to reach across and cup San Lang’s face in his hands. There’s an uncomfortable wetness covering his lower belly and spreading over the inside of his trousers, but he can’t find the wherewithal to care, unable to cope with how he still wants, needs more. They’re both breathless, a little dazed, though San Lang wears it with a wicked grin that falters into uncertainty when Xie Lian makes him look at him.

“I love you.” He says. He does not give San Lang a chance to reply, only drags him down, content to be pressed into the grass by the other man’s weight. It is almost painful, their mouths crushed together so hard that their teeth clack. They’re pressed together tightly, as though San Lang can convey the depth of his own love by attempting to merge his body with Xie Lian’s and it is heady. Xie Lian would lay here forever if he could. How is he supposed to return to a normal life, knowing he could be spending his days being kissed to within an inch of his life?

The answer, a dark part of him thinks, is that he doesn’t need to.

San Lang pulls away as if he can sense the direction of Xie Lian’s thoughts, leaning back just enough to be able to look down at him. Love slots into place in Xie Lian’s heart, a certainty that he dare not name in the quiet between them.

The quiet that often settles between them changes into something new, soft and warm and deep, and Xie Lian can only hope that he doesn’t look as lovestruck as he feels.

“Gege is…” San Lang stares down at him, his eyes roving over Xie Lian’s lips and back up to meet his eyes. “If gege followed me into this world, he can’t leave once he’s here.”

Xie Lian smiles softly, his thumbs swiping gently across San Lang’s cheekbones. He knew that already, of course. He lets one hand fall from San Lang’s face, catching his braid and winding it around his fingers.

“I hope you have a bed.” He says, lips lifting up in a grin when San Lang tilts his head, confused. “Or next time you’ll just have to make do with a bed of grass.”

Xie Lian tugs down, hard, as San Lang kisses a low chuckle into his mouth. He is content, legs tangled and San Lang in his arms as they spend the rest of the afternoon trading long and lazy kisses.

It goes like this.

There is a man who he meets in the forest, with eyes that hold devotion and a smile that speaks of a promise.

There is a man who he meets daily in the forest, or in his home, who knows too much about the ancient folktales, who knows each way to make Xie Lian laugh. There is a man, who has never asked for his name, whose touch sets his skin on fire, who smirks and saunters and then falters when Xie Lian gifts him with kindness and smiles, who will eat his awful burnt food but will not offer food in return.

There is a man whose smile makes Xie Lian’s heart race in his chest, whose rare touches make him convinced that those beautiful silver butterflies have started beating their wings in his stomach. There is a man who haunts his dreams and stalks his darkest fantasies without even knowing it.

It goes like this.

There is a presence in the forest that darkens every corner it reaches, swelling and deflating with the seasons and the clock, stronger at dusk and dawn. There is a presence that silences the birds and the mammals and the crickets, creates a blanket of stillness that follows the presence like a ghost.

There is a presence, that follows the man who considers Xie Lian’s smile to be brighter than the sun, that ties the man to the fate of the forest, that holds him in its grip almost as tightly as the man grips the forest. They are one and the same, and Xie Lian does himself no favours to try and ignore it.

It goes. Like this.

There is a way to belong to the forest, now lost to myth and legend. There is a way if you are a witch who knows where to look for it, if that way is in actuality a tall and handsome fae king in need of a consort.

Stepping into a faery ring is not enough. Being trapped somewhere is not the same as belonging somewhere, nor is it the same as willingly exchanging one home for another.

Eating food offered by a fae is not enough. Food is food when freely given, and the contents of one’s stomach cannot tie a man into a realm he was not born into.

Saying your name is not enough. It is a dangerous way to hand power over oneself to another, but exchanging names? Knowing the name of one of the fae is enough to get them to leave you alone, but to whisper it on the wind, in a tone only used in breathy hums between passionate kisses?

Not. Enough.

But all of these things, all at once?

There is a message, hidden in the little hints left for him by San Lang. His true name, Hua Cheng, never to be spoken. The token around his neck. The water chestnuts that he leaves in the basket by the door. The faery ring that grows by the day, through the rowan arch, easily sidestepped but there, an invitation.

There is a man that he loves, who he would exchange names with, whose token he will wear proudly atop his clothes, whose food he need only take a bite of, whose world he need only confidently step into.

And so it goes.

Like.

This.

There is a faery ring outside his home.

Two steps from the garden edge, bordered by the arch of the young rowan tree branches, as long and wide as Xie Lian is tall.

Bitten lips curve along the flesh of the water chestnut that he cradles with his fingers, the crunch of his bite the only sound in the forest. He stands on the precipice, chewing slowly, as the autumn breeze comes to an abrupt halt, and stillness descends on the world.

Behind him, a fox pads gently through the underbrush.

One step from the garden edge.

Two steps from the garden edge.

He does not turn, does not side-step the circle.

Three steps from the garden edge.

“Hua Cheng.”

One step into the ring, and the world explodes into a rush of colour and sound, the scent of a thousand wildflowers on a crisp wind.

There is warmth at his back, a familiar body curled against him, nails digging into his hips. It is more of a struggle than it should be to resist leaning back into that heat even as the grip tightens. Lips flutter along the curve of his ear as gentle as the beat of the wings of the butterflies that cover the forest floor. The cool tip of a nose presses into the hollow where his jaw meets his ear lobe, and this time he does not resist the urge to bare his neck to the warm mouth that presses into his skin.

“Last chance, gege.”

He tilts his head back, hair falling over his shoulders like a curtain, as the body he is held against presses him even closer.

He smiles.