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It began, as many unnecessary disasters did, with Pei Ming speaking when no one had asked him to.
As the heavenly officials were seated, having disqualified Xie Lian from the Lantern’s competition as an automatic first place, and contemplating if Crimson Rain Sought Flower would find some other way to ruin their effort anyways with his grand gestures. After all, for the past few years, the two attended the banquet in heaven together, before leaving shortly after to who knows where.
Ling Wen stood at the head of the hall, fingers pressed to her temple as she summarized expenses, and the still-unsettled matter of Heaven’s outstanding debts to Ghost City. It was quite astonishing that fifty years later, the debt still remained. However, considering the way some officials had shamelessly asked for extra budget in constructing their palaces, agreeing in a heartbeat to Hua Cheng’s sky-high interests as they miserably overestimated their capacity to pay it back, it was not surprising.
“—in conclusion,” she said, voice even, “we will revisit the matter next quarter.”
A collective sigh rippled through the hall.
It was into this moment of fragile peace that Pei Ming leaned back in his seat and said, pleasantly, “Don’t you think it’s about time?”
Mu Qing’s brush paused mid-air, already sensing something wrong. “About time for what?”
Pei Ming tilted his head, considering. “For His Highness and Crimson Rain Sought Flower to have a child.”
Silence.
Feng Xin choked on his tea.
Mu Qing stared at Pei Ming as though he had just suggested burning the palace down for warmth. “Are you unwell?”
Pei Ming waved a hand. “It was merely a thought. They’ve been inseparable for decades now. Married, settled, powerful beyond reason. One would think—”
“One would think you should stop thinking,” Mu Qing snapped. “They’re both men.”
Pei Ming hummed. “They’re both not mortal.”
“That does not—”
“Besides,” Pei Ming continued easily, “Ghost City has solutions for many things Heaven prefers not to acknowledge.”
A few officials shifted uncomfortably.
Feng Xin frowned. “Why are you even thinking about this?”
Pei Ming shrugged. “Curiosity. Can you imagine the reaction across the three realms? A child who’s half ghost, half god—or perhaps something else entirely.”
Ling Wen lowered her hand slowly. Her gaze flicked to Pei Ming. “Old Pei.”
“Yes?”
“Are you speaking from experience?” She looked very, very still, as though contemplating how to rip Pei Ming to shreds depending on his answer. “Is there something you would like to share?”
Pei Ming laughed, but it seemed a beat late. Ling Wen’s eyes narrowed. However, the other insisted, waving his hand. “Now that would be scandalous.”
Mu Qing scoffed. “This is pointless. Even if such a thing were possible, it’s not as though—”
“If they did,” Feng Xin cut in, brow furrowed, “His Highness already said the child would look like Crimson Rain.”
The room went still again.
Mu Qing turned to him sharply. “What?”
Feng Xin blinked. “What?”
Pei Ming’s eyes lit up. “He did?”
“Yes,” Feng Xin said, frowning as though only now realizing this was strange. “Back during Mount Tonglu. When Crimson Rain appeared in that…smaller form.”
Mu Qing’s expression darkened. “You remember this why, exactly?”
Feng Xin bristled. “He kept saying it! ‘Doesn’t he look like my son?’ He told everyone! Repeatedly!”
Pei Ming let out a low laugh, delighted. “Did he now?”
Mu Qing rubbed his temple. “He was joking.”
“Was he?” Pei Ming mused. “From what I recall, His Highness didn’t seem embarrassed at all.”
Ling Wen’s gaze drifted downward, thoughtful.
“Well,” Pei Ming concluded lightly, rising to his feet, “food for thought.”
Mu Qing watched him go with open suspicion. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Of course I am,” Pei Ming said over his shoulder. “Love is a beautiful thing.”
*
Hua Cheng was waiting at the steps when Pei Ming emerged from the hall.
He was leaning lazily against one of the white jade pillars, red robes vivid against the sterile brightness of Heaven. His expression was relaxed, eyes half-lidded, as though nothing in the world before him was worth more than a passing glance.
Pei Ming noted, not for the first time, that this was never quite true. At least, not in regards for one particular person.
“Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” Pei Ming greeted cheerfully. “Here for His Highness?”
Hua Cheng smiled. It was polite. Sharp. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Ah,” Pei Ming sighed. “How devoted. Truly, Heaven should erect a statue in your honour.”
“You may submit the proposal,” Hua Cheng said. “I’ll consider funding it.”
Pei Ming laughed and fell into step beside him, uninvited. They descended the stairs together, the sound of distant bells drifting faintly through the air. Hua Cheng seemed to have no interest in furthering the conversation. Especially with a man like Pei Ming; never anything of substance.
“So,” Pei Ming began casually. Hua Cheng wished he did not. “We were just discussing something interesting in the hall.”
Hua Cheng did not look at him. He couldn’t be less bothered. “If it concerns Heaven’s debts, speak to my accountant.”
“Not that,” Pei Ming waved it off. “Something…domestic.”
That earned him a glance. Hua Cheng’s eye was sharp, the dark colour of them flickering faintly beneath long lashes. “Speak plainly.”
Pei Ming smiled. “Do you remember Mount Tonglu?”
Hua Cheng scoffed softly. “I try not to.”
“Specifically,” Pei Ming continued, undeterred, “do you remember taking on that smaller form?”
Hua Cheng paused. He did not like where this was going. “…Yes.”
“Good,” Pei Ming said. “Because His Highness remembers it very well.”
Hua Cheng’s expression remained unchanged. “He remembers many things.”
“Oh, this one stood out,” Pei Ming said lightly. “He was quite taken with it.”
Hua Cheng’s lips curved faintly. “He always is.”
It was nothing new, after all. He remembered too well, of how much Xie Lian adored it. Hua Cheng himself had felt miserable the entire time, but seeing how happy it made Xie Lian to take care of him—he would be lying if he denied it didn’t make his heart unbearably tender.
All of a sudden, Hua Cheng missed him even more. Glancing back at the closed doors of the palace, wondering how much longer he would take. It was a testament to how little he cared for anything in this place apart from his beloved; for he didn’t even notice Pei Ming stopping beside him, watching him carefully.
Pei Ming chuckled. “True. But not everyone insists on announcing to an entire crowd that someone looks like their son.”
The world seemed to still. Hua Cheng stopped.
Wait.
For a moment, Pei Ming wondered if he had mis-stepped. Then Hua Cheng turned slowly, head tilting with mild curiosity rather than anger.
“…Son?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Pei Ming said, raising a brow. “Didn’t you know?”
Hua Cheng stared at him. The smile on his lips did not fade, but something in his gaze sharpened, as though a blade had been drawn partway from its sheath.
“He said,” Hua Cheng replied evenly, “that I looked like his son.”
Pei Ming nodded. “Repeatedly.”
Silence stretched between them.
Hua Cheng searched his memory. He remembered Mount Tonglu. He remembered the noise, the heat, the blood. He remembered Xie Lian’s voice, bright and fond and utterly unconcerned with propriety. And that is when it came back to him.
He did. How could Hua Cheng forget it?
Precisely because he found those words nothing but a simple cover up, reading no real meaning behind them even as his heart had leapt in a way he was unfamiliar with. Hua Cheng had never imagined a future. A family. He had only ever imagined Xie Lian.
His dream had only ever been, Xie Lian.
“…When,” Hua Cheng asked at last, “did he say this?”
Pei Ming raised an eyebrow. “You truly don’t recall?”
“No,” Hua Cheng said, lying.
“During the opening,” Pei Ming said. “When you appeared. He smiled and asked if no one else could see it.”
See what?
“See how much you looked like his child.” Pei Ming, oblivious, continued. “Nan Feng remembered it very clearly. Apparently, His Highness said that if he ever had a child, they would look just like you.”
The words landed softly. Hua Cheng laughed. It was brief; surprised. “He was joking.”
“That’s what Xuan Zhen said,” Pei Ming replied. “But His Highness didn’t seem embarrassed.”
Hua Cheng’s laughter faltered. Pei Ming watched realization dawn, slow and catastrophic. He searched and searched in memory. Yet, his Xie Lian, always shy in the face of expressing affection, truly did not grow embarrassed back then.
His mind replayed the memory with merciless clarity now: Xie Lian’s eyes bright, voice warm, hand resting lightly against his sleeve. Not teasing. Not flustered.
Simply stating a fact. Absolutely enamoured with the idea, absolutely disappointed when it came time for him to leave that form behind.
Hua Cheng swallowed.
“That,” he said finally, voice carefully light, “is a strange thing to say.”
Pei Ming grinned. “I thought so too.”
Xie Lian descended the steps, his robes dyed pale red at the edges, shimmering with subtle thread-work that occasionally caught the light and dazzled underneath the brightness of the heavens. With his elegant bearing, he was the very picture of an immortal described in the fairytales of the mortals.
Hua Cheng watched him, just as enamoured with him since the day he’d set eyes on Xie Lian. As though feeling his gaze and hearing his thoughts, Xie Lian lifted his head, meeting his eyes. Hua Cheng’s lips unconsciously tugged up into a smile.
The sight of such sweet affections between the two the moment they stepped out the halls was an eyesore for many, as they silently wept in their hearts for they had no such romantic pursuits of their own. Hua Cheng very much liked making them all jealous. The more they burned their insides, the happier Hua Cheng felt.
Xie Lian reached him in no time, his eyes turning to crescents with the force of his smile. “San Lang,” he said, hand coming to wrap around his arm. “Did you wait long? I’m sorry, it took us longer than usual.”
“Gege doesn’t have to apologise, I know how useless the rest are,” he reassured. Passer-bys bristled, but could not speak a word. Xie Lian laughed, softly chiding him with no heat at all. They both started off together, Xie Lian telling him of his plans, as Hua Cheng spoke of his own day too. In no time at all, with a quick throw of his dice, they were in the streets leading to Paradise Manor.
As always, the streets bustled with clamour and bright lights. There were greetings thrown at Xie Lian’s feet like petals drifting in the wind. Numerous, each brighter than the last, until a fight broke out between two spirits as they tried to be louder than the other.
“Please, everyone,” Xie Lian said, looking embarrassed, “there is no need! I adore all your words, big or small, loud or not!”
“As expected of grand-uncle!”
Hua Cheng gave them a glare, and they all scrambled away, finally allowing them peace and quiet. Xie Lian merely looked amused, chuckling under his breath. “Don’t be upset, San Lang, they mean well.”
“Hmm, gege encourages them too much,” he said, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. Unconsciously, he pulled him closer, Xie Lian following with ease as Paradise Manor came into view. “Give them an inch, and they take a mile.”
“I wonder then, who they get it from?” Xie Lian mused, meeting his gaze.
“What is gege saying?” Hua Cheng asked, acting oblivious, a lazy smile on his lips. “I’ve always been very well-behaved.”
“Oh?” Xie Lian looked at him, clearly unconvinced. “Then I wonder who it was that was so stubborn the night before?”
“That’s because it works on gege,” Hua Cheng said easily. Then, after a beat: “Anyone raised by you would learn fast.”
Xie Lian blinked. “Raised by me?”
“Mhm.” Hua Cheng shrugged, tone light, almost careless. He took the overcoat from Xie Lian’s arms the moment they stepped through the doors, gesturing for the other to take a seat on the cushioned chair in the foyer. Hua Cheng kneeled in front of him, feeling the other’s curious eyes set upon him with an insisting weight.
“If gege ever had someone to look after properly, they’d be spoiled beyond repair,” he said. Perhaps a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Perhaps a hint of envy, for anyone that did get his care. Carefully pulling away his shoes, until Xie Lian’s feet touched the soft carpet. “No scolding, only praise. Wrongdoing would be rewarded with sweets.”
“That’s not true,” Xie Lian protested, laughing. “I can be strict when I need to be!”
Hua Cheng gave him a look, his fingers wrapping behind his ankles. Xie Lian’s fingers curled over the edges of the seat, staring down at him, eyes bright yet grip tightening, feeling the cold of Hua Cheng’s fingers against his skin. “You say that, but you can’t even refuse me.”
Xie Lian paused, then smiled, conceding the point. His lashes fluttered, gaze averting, smile turning a tinge bashful as he thought something over. “Well…I suppose if they were anything like you, I wouldn’t want to refuse them either.”
Hua Cheng’s eye widened, just a fraction.
“And besides,” Xie Lian continued, completely unaware, “being spoiled isn’t so bad.” He reached forward, brushing Hua Cheng’s hair back from where it fell across his eye, tucking it back. His touch carrying a warmth that spread to every part of him, in an instant. Xie Lian’s gaze sweetened. “If someone grows up happy and confident, that’s a blessing, isn’t it?”
A blessing.
Hua Cheng’s mulled the word over, before standing.
The conversation had left him reeling. It was strange. There seemed to be no sense of finality to Xie Lian’s words; as though he truly didn’t mind the idea at all.
A child like Hua Cheng. A boy born under the star of misfortune, who brought nothing but the worst to the people around him and himself. Who had been helpless for as long as he lived, before finally turning his fate after death.
It was not a matter of self-confidence. Hua Cheng had no qualms about the superficial people deemed important; looks, money, power. Hua Cheng had it all.
But it had always been something deeper. A stain that could not be removed. The reason why he had worried over his true from when first meeting Xie Lian, never wishing for the other to see his scar, to see the mark of his desperation. Yet, for some reason, it had grown to be the part that received most affection from his beloved.
His highness must be joking.
Hua Cheng must have been truly preoccupied by these thoughts, for he didn’t even hear when Xie Lian had entered their shared bedroom after his bath, drying his hair as he sat in front of the dressing table. He glanced at Hua Cheng through the reflection, surprised to find his husband still lost in thoughts.
“San Lang?” He spoke, breaking Hua Cheng out his reverie. He blinked, looking back to see Xie Lian draped in his white inner robes, sticking against parts of skin that were still a bit wet, growing translucent. His nape bore deep marks of their previous love-making, his body having grown fuller and healthier over the years as Hua Cheng adored to spoil him.
For a moment, the image came to mind, uninterrupted.
Something impossible. Unlikely to ever see light of day.
Xie Lian’s body fuller still, his hips round, his belly plump, and the glow on his face as radiant as ever as he carried a mark of both of them.
Hua Cheng swallowed, immediately averting his gaze and dissipating that thought restlessly so. “Sorry, gege, I was just distracted.”
That, in on of itself, was quite surprising. Xie Lian didn’t comment, but his gaze grew more attentive. Hua Cheng could feel it, and to ease the other’s worries, he merely brought up another topic to talk about.
*
The Mid-Autumn festival approached once more in the blink of an eye. Festivities were abound in the mortal and heavenly realm alike, bustling with joy everywhere. Xie Lian, as he usually did, had taken to scrap collecting and roaming the mortal realm, in lookout for those who didn’t seem to share the celebratory sentiment.
Hua Cheng accompanied him, both of them walking through the streets of another downtrodden little village—if it could even be called that—chatting as they want. Xie Lian was showing him something he had found; a music box it was called, an invention someone had made and then discarded for whatever reason.
It was the most delightful thing. Xie Lian’s eyes grew so bright, as he twisted the handle, the music of it subtle and yet enchanting. Hua Cheng would have to make one of his own soon for the other, if this is the way his husband would fawn over it.
It was then, they stopped, sensing it before they even saw.
Up at the bend of the road, crouched down a small child. Tattered robes, hair messily tied back, playing with a firefly it had trapped in a jar. Glancing at each other wordlessly, they drew closer.
Xie Lian spoke first, crouching down. “Hello,” he said, soft as to not frighten him, smiling, “are you lost?”
The child stared at Xie Lian. A little boy probably no more than four years old. He nodded. “Mama said to wait,” he told him, “I’ve been waiting for a loooong while.”
Instantly, there was a flit of fleeting sadness in Xie Lian’s eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, “then, you must be very hungry. Do you want to come with gege? We’re going to very nice city, with lots of food and plenty of things to play with.”
The boy stared at them, unsure. Hua Cheng did not offer any word of his own, but with a wave of his hand, a butterfly flitted around, sitting atop the jar with the blinking firefly. Fascinated by the wings that emitted silvery light, his apprehension waned. “Mama said not to follow people,” he muttered, quiet, “what if she can’t find me?”
“The city has lots of people,” Hua Cheng spoke up, “your Mama might be there instead.”
The boy thought this over for a long while. Xie Lian then bought a bun for him from a passing vendor, the boy scarfing it down immediately. Throughout it, Xie Lian asked him questions, endlessly smitten with his very amusing replies. Hua Cheng watched the scene unfold, off to the side.
Eventually, he agreed to come along.
Xue Ling did not let go of Xie Lian’s sleeve even once.
His fingers were small, grimy with dirt beneath the nails, but his grip was firm—possessive, even. Xie Lian noticed, of course, but did not comment on it. Instead, he slowed his steps to match the boy’s uneven pace, letting himself be tugged this way and that whenever something caught the child’s attention.
“Gege,” Xue Ling said suddenly, pointing, “what’s that?”
Xie Lian followed his gaze. A stall selling sugar figures stood at the corner, the vendor shaping molten candy into birds and flowers with deft hands. It was an octopus spirit, but the child did not seem scared one bit; rather excited instead.
“Oh,” Xie Lian said, delighted, as though he hadn’t seen such a thing a hundred times before. “Those are sweets.”
“Sweets?” Xue Ling repeated, eyes widening.
Xie Lian crouched again, bringing himself eye-level. “Mm. Would you like one?”
The boy hesitated, then nodded, very seriously.
Xie Lian rose, choosing a small rabbit—nothing sharp, nothing that could break. Hua Cheng paid, even as the spirit kept waving his many arms while sweating profusely, insisting ‘Chengzhu doesn’t need to, really doesn’t need to!’
When he handed it over, Xue Ling stared at it for a long moment before carefully licking the ear.
His face lit up.
“It’s sweet!” he announced.
Xie Lian laughed, soft and bright. “I’m glad.”
Hua Cheng merely watched. Hadn’t spoken. But something in his chest tightened, slow and relentless, as he took in the way Xie Lian’s eyes followed every movement the child made, alert but never tense. Protective, without being smothering.
It was nothing new, really.
But Hua Cheng noticing so intently? That was.
Xue Ling licked sugar off his fingers, then frowned. “Gege,” he said, “could you be my baba instead? My baba is not very nice. He’s always angry with me.”
Xie Lian blinked. Hua Cheng straightened, immediate understanding dawning. While both of them were surprised, it was hardly unbelievable.
Xie Lian smiled, not awkward or flustered, but gentle. “No,” he said honestly, “gege is just here to help you find your way. This city has many people, and they might be strange, but they are all very nice. You can rest here, as we search for your mama. Once you meet her, you can find your way.”
The boy seemed satisfied with this answer, leaning closer anyway. Making sure he was standing near Xie Lian, his hand tugged at his robe. “Thank you, gege!”
Hua Cheng’s fingers curled.
That should not have looked so natural. Yet. It unbearably did. The same kindness that Hua Cheng had fallen for, displayed so vividly in front of him, through such a different lens.
The boy glanced at him, his eyes wide and innocent, not a hint of the world’s stain residing within them. “Thank you to red-gege too,” he said, quieter, making Xie Lian very happy as he glanced at him with a smile. Hua Cheng offered a small one, ruffling the boy’s hair, before calling forth a few ghost women. They immediately lulled the boy to sleep with a gentle song, adhering to orders as they took him away.
It was quiet, on their way back. “What a young soul,” Xie Lian sighed, shaking his head, “do you think his mother is still out there, San Lang?”
“There is little chance,” Hua Cheng said honestly, a hand against the other’s back, gently tugging him closer as a few ghosts rushed past. “The area was desolate for many years. I think he has only recently gained a human form again.”
It was nothing new; encountering ghosts of young children, lost in their way, unsure of what to do or why they were clinging one. This one had a clearer idea, which is perhaps why he was even able to maintain it in the first place.
Later in the evening, the Mid-Autumn banquet was hosted in the heavenly realm. The two of them were in Qiandeng temple, watching the sky lit up with the strength of over thousands of lanterns, filling up the world like an endless sea of fish. Xie Lian had worn a beautiful golden and red brocade robe Hua Cheng personally had made, stunning as he stepped out to meet him in the balcony.
The golden glows of the lanterns reflected in those deep eyes, swimming with emotion, more enchanting than any other side the world could offer him. Hua Cheng had matched, and the sight of them together in these robes made him remember their wedding. Their vows to one another. That fateful night, that fateful meeting, and all the ways Hua Cheng had made sure to bend fate in whatever way he wished, to tie him to his beloved.
Xie Lian sat beside him, quiet and contemplative. He never seemed to tire of the lanterns, despite seeing them every year. When Hua Cheng asked, he merely grew shy, not telling him the reason, and insisting it was just pretty to look at.
He took the other’s hand, warm in his colder one. Xie Lian glanced at him, lashes gently lowered, a smile dancing on his petal lips. He was so beautiful at times, it hurt. “Gege’s a little distracted, no?” Hua Cheng asked, smiling, and Xie Lian’s cheeks pinked, looking away. “Are you worrying about the child?”
“No, there’s nothing to worry for as long as he’s in ghost city,” Xie Lian waved off. He played with Hua Cheng’s fingers, turning around the rings. His own that he wore on a pendant, sitting beneath his robes, right over his heart.
“Then?” Hua Cheng asked, tucking back Xie Lian’s hair, “do not think of it too much.”
“Do you think we did well?”
“I think you did perfect,” Hua Cheng said, “you’ve always been good with kids.”
“Is that so?” Xie Lian laughed, before meeting his eyes, almost wistful, “it’s such a shame then, I couldn’t be more so to you.”
Hua Cheng’s eye widened, before his lips pulled into a smirk. “What then?” He asked, “gege would like a mini-San Lang of his own to play with?”
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” Xie Lian said, honestly, without missing a beat. As though enamoured by the idea, he lowered his head, staring down at the affinity knots on both their fingers. “A child like San Lang…I wouldn’t mind at all.”
Hua Cheng stared. His heart thumped loudly against his chest. “Are you sure?” he asked, “don’t you always say, I’m already too much for you to handle?”
“I don’t mean it like that!” Xie Lian squeaked, embarrassed, as he grew red. “It’s just when…when we’re in private, you really don’t listen at all.”
Hua Cheng’s smile softened, reaching forward to peck his lips. Xie Lian’s eyes fluttered shut, remaining so even after he pulled away, both their faces only a breadth’s inch apart. Hua Cheng’s eye gazed over his features, unabashedly taken. “You spoil me so well, gege,” he all but purred, his other hand rubbing against the side of Xie Lian’s waist, watching the blush deepen. “How am I to resist?”
“San Lang you really…” Xie Lian breathed out, exasperated, “you just go overboard.”
“Oh,” he paused, “then…does gege wish to stop? I’ll hold myself back.”
“No, no, I don’t!”
“So then, I can?” Hua Cheng grinned, “I’m very confused, your highness. You keep telling me two different things.” He leaned forward, nosing against his neck, breathing him in. “Should your San Lang go easier on you? Take you apart slower?”
“San Lang!” Xie Lian chided, pouting as he pushed at his shoulder, meeting his eyes, “we’re—we’re outside!”
“There’s no one here but us,” Hua Cheng reasoned, raising a brow, “but if gege insists, the divan is just inside. We can take it there.”
“No you—” Xie Lian seemed torn between laughing and crying, “I just—I don’t have them right now anyways.”
Hua Cheng blinked. “Have what, gege?”
“The pills!” Xie Lian buried his face in his hands, terribly embarrassed. “Oh, San Lang, I’m so sorry. I know you’ve been hinting at it for an entire week, but I really couldn’t bring myself to tell you! I just didn’t have the courage!”
Hua Cheng suddenly felt very, very confused. He tugged at the other’s wrists. “Gege,” he called out, “what hints?”
“Oh, San Lang, you’re really going to make me say it?” Xie Lian’s face flamed, eyes shut tight as he finally let go, looking extremely aggrieved. “The child-bearing pills! I know you saw them, which is why you’ve been speaking of kids this whole week! Even the others noticed; General Pei mentioned something about children just the other day at court!”
Hua Cheng felt like a gong was being rung inside his head, and every braincell was scrambling to piece things together.
Child-bearing pills. He heard of them in passing, but never delved into it long. After all, Hua Cheng had never been interested, his love would only remain ever Xie Lian’s, and he had been so sure that—
His highness would never want for something like that.
Yet, it seemed… “When did you get them?” He asked, voice quiet.
Xie Lian heard the change in his tone, lowering his hand. He did not look at him, hands clasped, fidgeting. “On your birthday,” he admitted, making him raise his brow, “the first year after we were married.”
Hua Cheng stared.
“I know, I know, San Lang, the ghost citizens just wanted to gift us something and it was not their fault. After all, you’re their Lord; why would they not want to see an heir? But I just…It was all so new then, and I was very much too shy to bring it up, so I hid it away.”
Hid it away.
Not thrown it away.
Which meant that Xie Lian kept them as possibility, and not as rejection.
For fifty years now?
Which meant—
“Did gege mean it then?” Hua Cheng spoke, voice oddly hoarse. Xie Lian noticed, looking at his expression for the first time, and swallowing hard. It seemed that he finally picked up on the fact there was a disconnect between what they were both talking of each. “That you—you’d want a son like me?”
“I—” Xie Lian’s mouth opened and closed, eyes lingering. They spelled a thousand words and more, and just then—
Insecurity.
Hua Cheng would rather crush his own ashes than to ever let Xie Lian feel such a thing with him. “I only ask because,” Hua Cheng laughed, trying to lighten the mood, “surely there was no way, you wanted one with me? I mean, gege, I joke of it, but a child of mine would be—”
“Endlessly lucky,” Xie Lian cut, before he could continue. “Endlessly charming. Confident, strong and most of all,” his eyes met his, something unreadable in his gaze, as delicate as glass, “loved. Dearly. San Lang, I thought…”
“No,” Hua Cheng admitted, “I did not see the pills. There was merely—merely talk of you bringing it up, all that time ago in Mount Tonghlu. When I had to be in my smaller form.”
“Oh,” Xie Lian spoke.
Silence fell upon them both.
Most of all, loved, dearly.
Hua Cheng felt something inside of him constrict. Scared. Sacred. Nervous. It was rare for him to ever be nervous with Xie Lian, after their marriage. It was rare for him to think so much on a particular thing, rather than just speak of it.
Yet…
He felt Xie Lian’s warm hands curl around his arm, hugging it to his chest. When he glanced back, Xie Lian had hid half his face against Hua Cheng’s shoulder, seemingly drawing the courage to speak.
It made his heart melt. Like sugar in water, dissolving in an instant. “Gege?”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian said, in that tone of his, that made him forget all of it. All of the world. All of his worries. “I really…I really wouldn’t mind. A child that looks like you, is just like you; really, it’s best thing I could ever want. But only, if San Lang wants the same.”
A long while passed in silence, before Hua Cheng finally spoke. He didn’t dare look at Xie Lian.
“…Gege,” he said quietly, “have you ever wondered why I never spoke of it?”
Xie Lian’s fingers tightened slightly around his sleeve. He shook his head.
“I thought,” Hua Cheng continued, voice low and careful, “that wanting something like that was greedy for someone like me.”
Xie Lian lifted his head.
“I have nothing to offer but misfortune,” Hua Cheng said. There was no bitterness in it—only truth, as he had always known it. “If a child were like me… I wouldn’t want them to suffer for it. You could say now, that I turned my fate. But the road to it was...” He swallowed, “not the best.”
After all, it was only after death, did Hua Cheng ever get to live.
Xie Lian stared at him for a long moment. Then, very gently, he reached up and cupped Hua Cheng’s cheek, turning his face back toward him. His thumb brushing under the skin of his eye.
“San Lang,” he said softly, “do you know what I think?”
Hua Cheng didn’t answer.
“I think,” Xie Lian continued, “that you survived things no one should have. And instead of becoming cruel, you became…you. And I suppose,” Xie Lian added, almost shyly, “that is why I thought a child like you would be safe.”
Hua Cheng laughed under his breath—quiet, disbelieving. Turning to kiss Xie Lian’s palm, and feeling all those constricting knots in his chest loosen.
“And what about a child like you?” Hua Cheng asked instead, eye twinkling.
Xie Lian didn’t understand immediately; hesitating.
“I think,” he said slowly, “they would love too easily. Forgive too much.” He smiled, small and a little sad. “And I would want them to have someone like you, so they wouldn’t have to endure alone.”
Something in Hua Cheng’s chest loosened.
Not certainty. Not resolution. But permission.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Xie Lian’s.
“…Then perhaps,” he murmured, “they wouldn’t be like either of us alone.”
“No,” Xie Lian agreed, arms snaking around him to embrace him, leaned right against the crook of Hua Cheng’s neck. “San Lang,” he said, quiet. Voice restrained and yet bold. Quiet yet louder than anything he could hear. “Do you want to?”
His grip around Xie Lian’s waist tightened.
Do you want to?
Shouldn’t he be asking that? And yet it is the man he has worshipped, loved and yearned for, asking him. What more could Hua Cheng ever want? “Gege,” he breathed out, as light as whisper, “I wouldn’t mind the world, with you.”