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Hua Cheng wakes. This in and of itself is unusual. Hua Cheng has a bed and a bedroom, built long ago in paradise manor in a fit of optimism that one day his god will consider sharing it with him and sometimes he spends time pacing the room or working at its desk, but he rarely goes there to sleep. He is a ghost after all, he does not require sleep. Occasionally, when his mood is particularly low, he chooses to do so in hopes of dreaming of his god, but that is a rare thing, more often his low moods result in bouts of desperate searching and increased violence toward any who oppose him.
All that is to say that simply the act of wakes already has Hua Cheng feeling unsettled, unease creeping across his cool skin, because not only is he waking but he does not remember going to sleep. Yesterday was another day of fruitless frustrating search and anger and irritation overtook him. He remembers that much. He remembers the way that feeling of anger coiled in word, remembers the sickening feeling of knowing that every day he fails to find his highness is another day of leaving his god alone to suffer. He is such a failure of a believer. All his power, all his wealth, everything he has built and made of himself, and for what? If he cannot even find his god then what is the point of any of it?
And now here he is, and he has been what? Sleeping? Sleeping while Xie Lian is out there in the world somewhere suffering the heavens only know what? Self-disgust rolls over Hua Cheng like a tide and he makes to push himself impatiently from the bed…
And freezes.
There’s a weight on top of his arm. When he first woke he took it simply for a pile of pillows or something similar but when he tries to pull the arm free the thing that it is wrapped around moves in a way that is unmistakably human.
What the…
Body going suddenly stiff with tension Hua Cheng jerks his arm free and jumps from the bed before whipping around to stare down at it.
There is a figure in the bed, long dark hair splayed over the pillows and sheer white robe slipping down over the curve of a shoulder to reveal jade pale skin. It is in that moment that Hua Cheng realizes that he is dressed only in a matching shear robe, red to the other’s white, and that he is wearing nothing underneath.
Horror rises in him like a sudden tied, threatening to pull him under.
What has he done?
What has he done?
What has…
The figure in the bed makes a sleepy noise and rolls onto his back, blinking up at Hua Cheng with sleep blurred eyes. At the sight the ghost King feels the breath he doesn’t need catching in his throat because that’s… That’s… Hua Cheng would know those features anywhere, those eyes, those lips, the curve of that chin. He has sculpted each of them 10,000 times, and yet… And yet this is impossible. Utterly impossible. There is no way. There is quite literally no way that…
“San Lang?” The figure in the bed tilts his head to the side, expression soft and open. “Is something wrong?”
Hua Cheng lets out a soft breath, relief pushing it from him as some of the tension drops from his shoulders.
“A hallucination.” Of course, he should have realized it immediately. In those first days on Mount Tonglu and in the kiln they used to follow him constantly, haunting his every moment. They were a sign of his madness and yet he had treasured them, the hallucinatory sound of his highness’s voice a driving brand which kept him going, kept him fighting and killing long past the edges of exhaustion, anything for that voice, anything for his god. But that was 500 years ago now, 500 years and not once has the madness claimed him since. That is why it took him a moment to realize what he really should always have known because what is more likely? That he has gone mad again or that he would prove unfaithful to his god?
“What hallucination?” The hallucination of Xie Lian blinks up at him in confusion then pushes himself into a sitting position, the sheer robe sliding farther down his arm as he does so, revealing not only his bare shoulder but the top of his chest as well, the skin marked liberally with the echo of dark bruising bites. The sight sends heat coiling through Hua Cheng’s stomach.
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing, your highness. Don’t worry about it.”
He isn’t sure how long this hallucination will last, isn’t sure how much of him realizing that it /is/ a hallucination this illusion can take before it vanishes back into his imagination, but for as long as it lasts Hua Cheng will treasure it, treasure even this slight glimpse of his god, even if he knows it is only a product of his own mind.
“San Lang.” The hallucination stretches then sits back against the headboard, watching him with worried eyes. “What is wrong? Won’t you please tell me?”
‘San Lang.’ It’s the second time that the hallucination has used that name for him and the sound of it in Xie Lian’s beautiful voice sends longing flooding through every fiber of Hua Cheng’s undead being. He had decided on the nickname a couple hundred years earlier when the rumor of the terrifying ghost king Crimson Rain Sought Flower began to spread and he realized that he might want to greet his god under a name other than Hua Cheng, but he has never shared it with anyone. More proof that the figure before him is merely a product of his own mind.
“It isn’t anything your highness, I only miss you.”
The hallucination blinks, confused again. “Miss me? But I’m right here.”
“You are indeed.” This time as he gazes upon that beautiful beloved face, the exquisite curve of that bare shoulder, and the tantalizing marks that dot that jade pale skin, Hua Cheng doesn’t bother to keep the longing from his gaze.
The hallucination must notice because his cheeks turn a little pink and his expression softens, his voice gentling. “San Lang, if you miss me so much then why not come back to bed and hold me?”
There is nothing suggestive in the hallucination’s tone, nothing to imply that the words are meant in any more than a perfectly chaste way, and yet the sound of them in Xie Lian’s voice still sends a shudder of yearning desire down Hua Cheng’s spine.
How deep into his fantasies did the madness of his mind have to go to conjure this, to imagine this? Xie Lian, his prince, his god, soft and inviting and barely clothed in his bed, his skin baring the marks of Hua Cheng’s desire, speaking to him so warmly, so welcomingly, it’s…
He wants to say yes, wants it with every fiber of his undead being, and yet… And yet there is a difference between allowing himself to take pleasure and comfort in the illusions of his madness and actually becoming so self-indulgent that he delays his search for his god in order to console himself with a mere hallucination. Not that he could actually hold the illusion anyway. Back when he experienced them as a wrath on mount Tonglu the hallucinations were mostly auditory, only occasionally becoming visual in the way this one has, but they have never been tactile and he highly doubt that that will have changed. Still, whether it has or not doesn’t matter, only his highness matters and, much as he wishes it were otherwise Hua Cheng knows that the figure looking so softly at him from the bed is not actually his god.
Hua Cheng takes an unnecessary breath in order to steady himself and shakes his head.
“Forgive me, your highness, but I cannot.”
“Why not?” the hallucination tilts his head to the side slightly, curiosity mixing with the worry in his eyes. “Has something happened?”
“No, your highness, nothing has happened, but I must continue to search for you.”
“Search for me?” The hallucination stares at him, utter bafflement written in every line of his features. “But I’m right here.”
“I mean the real you.” Hua Cheng says it as gently as he can. Even if it is only a figment of his warped mind the idea of upsetting any version of Xie Lian is abhorrent to him.
At his words the hallucination’s eyes go wide and startled and then narrow in thought. After a moment he slips from the bed, bare feet barely making a sound against the dark wood of the floor.
“San Lang,” When he speaks again the hallucinations tone is gentle in the same way the crown prince’s tone was gentle once long ago when he held a sobbing child close and told him that he was not a curse, and the sound of it sends a new wave of desperate longing through Hua Cheng’s undead heart. “Where exactly do you think I am?”
Hua Cheng shakes his head in regret. “I do not know, your highness, but no matter how long it takes I will not stop searching until I find you. I swear it on my ashes.”
“Ah.” The hallucination lets out a soft breath and steps forward until he is standing directly before Hua Cheng. “How long has it taken so far?”
“500 years.” Hua Cheng bows his head, unable to meet his god’s gentle gaze as he admits his failure, the days and weeks and months and years and decades and centuries of time in which he has held all the power of a supreme and yet has been utterly and completely useless to his god.
“San Lang…”
There is the featherlight touch of fingers against his cheek and Hua Cheng’s head snaps up, eye widening. The hallucination should not be able to touch him. That is how it has always been, even in the depths of his madness, even when he first regained a human form, a wild wrath completely out of his mind fighting for survival on the bloody slopes of Mount Tonglu, even then he had not been able to feel is god’s touch, so why now, why…
“San Lang, I know this is going to be a lot for you to hear, but I think one of the items in that mysterious chest we were going through yesterday must have affected your memory in some way.”
“My memory?”
The hallucination nods, his fingers moving up Hua Cheng’s cheek in a caress so gentle and tender that it drives all thought besides yearning from the ghost king’s mind. “San Lang, it is 300 years later than you think it is and I am not a hallucination.”
Hua Cheng stiffens, body going utterly still in a way that only the dead can go. That’s… That’s not possible… This has to be a hallucination, a delusion, a product of his own centuries long yearning, because if it’s not… If it’s not…
“Your highness…” The title leaves Hua Cheng’s lips on a gasp, soft and shaking.
“I’m here, San Lang, I’m real.” The hallucination that may not be a hallucination says and then he reaches farther up, tangling his fingers in the ghost king’s hair, his other arm wrapping around Hua Cheng’s back, and then he leans in and presses his mouth to the ghost king’s in a tender kiss.
There is a moment when the world stands still, everything in it narrowing down to the soft press of Xie Lian’s lips against his own and the warm arms wrapping around him, warm with a body’s warmth, a warmth that has been gone from Hua Cheng for so many centuries that he can no longer even imagine it, any more than he can imagine the feel of his god’s mouth on his or his fingers in his hair, or if he can imagine them, it is only the concept of them, the simple idea, nothing this real, nothing this full of nuance and sensation. This is beyond him, Hua Cheng knows that instinctively, too complex, too all-consuming, too perfect, and that means… that means…
With the shuttering gasp Hua Cheng wraps his arms tight around Xie Lian and kisses him back, deep and desperate and filled with a disbelieving longing that, to his shock, Xie Lian doesn’t shrink from. If anything he leans in more, melting against the ghost king, surrendering himself to the kiss in a way that sends waves of shock and desire singing through Hua Cheng’s body, causing him to clutch his god tighter and kiss him still deeper.
When at last Xie Lian does finally pull back Hua Cheng fears for one horrible moment that he has gone too far, has let his god see too much of his secret desires, but no, Xie Lian isn’t pulling away, he only draws back just enough to pant for breath, pink in his cheeks and softness in his eyes.
“Your Highness.” Hua Cheng isn’t surprised to hear his own voice shake slightly on the title.
“San Lang.” Xie Lian smiles warmly back at him. “My San Lang.”
Hua Cheng has no need to breathe and yet even so the sound of those words still feels his breath catch in his throat.
“I found you?” His voice when he speaks is horse and filled with desperate yearning.
Xie Lian nods. “You found me.”
“You let me stay with you?”
“I did.”
“You…” Hua Cheng starts then hesitates over his next question, unsure how to ask about their relationship without trying to put a name to it, afraid to presume too much. Fortunately Xie Lian seems to guess his question because his smile softens further and he leans up to press another quick kiss to Hua Cheng’s lips.
“Yes, I married you.”
Hua Cheng feels as though his heart may just have resurrected itself only so it can stop beating all over again, feels as though his lungs may have just resurrected themselves only so that the breath can catch in his chest. He stares at Xie Lian, at his prince, his beloved, his god, the love of his life and death, mind reeling unable to form coherent thoughts beyond those three words echoing through it over and over again.
‘I married you.’
‘I married you.’
‘I married you.’
“San Lang.” Xie Lian’s hand drops down to cup the side of his cheek again, tone gently amused. “Are you alright?”
Wordlessly Hua Cheng nods. He tries to say something, fails, tries again, and at last manages to get the words out, “You married me?”
Xie Lian nods. “I did.” His thumb runs across Hua Cheng’s cheek in a caress. “My San Lang, my Hong Hong’er, my little soldier, my Wuming, my beloved husband.”
Hua Cheng reals, each name washing over him with enough force to set his world spinning. Xie Lian knows. Xie Lian knows that he was that pathetic child from back then, knows that he was the soldier guarding the cave and the ghost all in black. He knows. He knows. He knows everything. He knows and yet, and yet…
‘My beloved husband.’
The great ghost king Crimson Rain Sought Flower is known, not only for the skill of his blade, but also for the skill of his tongue. A brilliant charismatic cunning and fast thinking speaker, he defeated civil god after civil god with the power of his voice and wit, and yet here and now, with his beloved in his arms and saying such things to him, Hua Cheng finds himself completely and utterly without words, and so he just leans in, crashing his mouth back to Xie Lian’s and puts his tongue to better use.