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Patching holes in the cold autumn rain wasn’t something that was often at the top of anyone’s agenda. Nevertheless, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng still spent a good chunk of their evening doing exactly that.
As the wind howled and the rain poured, whipping boughs and drenching fields, they knelt side by side on the roof of Puqi Shrine, perching dangerously close to the edge of the unsteady overhang. Amidst the pitch-black night they hammered blindly, guided only by the smallest glimpses of distant lightning strikes. One by one, the streams of fire light that shot through the holes in the roof gradually disappeared, patched with shoddy planks that Xie Lian found purely by chance during the day’s scrap run. Luck, it seemed, had truly been on his side.
By the time the last nail was struck, both Xie Lian and Hua Cheng were soaked to the bone, their clothes easily doubled in weight. With their hair plastered to their faces, they leapt blindly from the roof and raced inside in search of shelter, trailing water with every step as it dripped from their robes and seeped through their shoes.
Xie Lian was the first one in, followed closely by Hua Cheng, who insisted with a gentle hand to Xie Lian’s back that he take the lead. The door closed after them with a muted thunk just as thunder roared outside, rumbling and rattling the walls of the shrine. As it quieted, their heavy breaths softened, and two sets of tight shoulders finally fell slack. The only sound left between the two of them was the steady patter of rainwater onto the floor.
Turning slowly, Xie Lian levelled his wide gaze with Hua Cheng’s, then broke out into a grin. “That was…”
Numerous words danced on his tongue, but none were worth settling on. He was speechless.
Hua Cheng, in turn, grinned as well. “The most fun we’ve had all day? I couldn’t agree more, gege.”
Xie Lian laughed softly through his nose. What a creative way of putting it, he thought.
It had been so long since it last rained so hard, and admittedly, Xie Lian had been slacking on repairs. Whenever it rained, his go-to solution had been to set down shallow dishes beneath the worst of the holes and simply mop up whatever mess came through the remaining ones. With summer having already passed, he’d figured that the storm season had gone along with it, minimizing the risk of heavy rain and harsh winds. One would think that after eight hundred years he would know better than to gamble on such a flimsy assumption.
Gathering one of his sleeves, Xie Lian gave it a good squeeze, adding to the mess beneath his feet. Although Hua Cheng was just as wet, he didn’t seem as concerned about wringing out his own sleeves or even the long tail that he’d tied his hair into. For a while, Xie Lian stared at him, eyes wandering from his head to his feet as well as everything in between, wondering what Hua Cheng intended to do without a clean change of clothes.
He supposed that if he had to, he could lend him some, as in this form Hua Cheng was much closer to his size.
“San Lang, do you—”
As if he’d read Xie Lian’s mind, Hua Cheng raised a hand and snapped his fingers. His form shifted instantly, subtly changing from a young man drenched in rainwater to a young man who was completely clean and dry.
Xie Lian had almost forgotten about shapeshifting. Fascinated as always, his grin returned. “Never mind, then.”
Smiling cheerfully, Hua Cheng stepped around the puddle by the door. Without a word, he headed straight for a basket of rags, setting about throwing them down over every last drip he could find, no matter how small.
Keen to help, Xie Lian knelt to grab a few himself, only for Hua Cheng to slyly toe the basket just out of reach.
“No need, gege. I’ll take care of it.”
“Ah? But it’s my shrine… and you’re a guest—”
“You’re still wet,” Hua Cheng gently reminded him. “Go on and change, Your Highness. I can handle this.”
Xie Lian huffed lightly and stood up straight. “You’ve already done so much for me, San Lang. Really—I haven’t even thanked you yet for patching the roof with me. So… thank you. I’m sorry for roping you into this.”
With his hands cupped, Xie Lian closed his eyes and bowed ever so slightly, bashfully expressing his gratitude with the utmost sincerity. He opened his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of Hua Cheng’s fingers as they twitched, the rag in his hand nearly slipping from his grasp.
For a moment, Xie Lian thought he might have seen the faintest hint of a blush running along the tops of Hua Cheng’s cheeks. It was also entirely possible that he had only just imagined it. By the time he’d given it some serious thought, there wasn’t a trace of it left, leaving him no choice but to forget about it.
A small, quirky smile played at Hua Cheng’s lips as he tossed the rag. “It’s no trouble. I really don’t mind.”
“Alright,” Xie Lian said softly. “If you insist.”
…
Out of the blue, it suddenly occurred to him that he and Hua Cheng were standing rather close to each other.
The space between them had dwindled down to nothing once he’d gone after the basket of rags. From where he stood now, he could clearly see the light of the fire reflecting him in Hua Cheng’s eyes and casting warm shadows beneath the contours of Hua Cheng’s face. It was mesmerizing—so much so that he could no longer remember what he was supposed to be doing. His clothes continued to drip, adding to the mess on the floor.
Distant thunder shook the walls, and the sound of pouring rain intensified. Unexpectedly, Xie Lian shivered.
Hua Cheng abruptly turned on his heel, heading toward the stove with apparent purpose in every step. With his hands already reaching for ingredients, he casually said, “Why don’t I cook tonight? I’ll get some soup started.”
Slowly snapping out of it, Xie Lian mumbled, “Oh, uh… mhm. I’ll just… change, then.”
“Mm. I won’t look.”
Xie Lian stood in place for another minute, watching Hua Cheng from behind, before he finally retreated to a dark corner of the shrine. A clean robe lay in wait for him, neatly folded by Hua Cheng after he’d thoughtfully brought in all of Xie Lian’s laundry before the storm. Smiling, Xie Lian held it to his face and inhaled, delighting in the scent of fresh air. Hua Cheng’s timing had been perfect—any later, and this robe would’ve been wet, too.
One by one, his layers came off, carefully peeled away from his pallid skin. Unbothered by Hua Cheng’s quiet presence, he stripped down to nothing, heaping his wet clothes in a basket to be laundered on a better day. Starting with his hair, he towelled off as best he could, then redressed the same as he’d stripped, one layer at a time. When his sash was tight and his collar snug, he settled on the straw mat to wait for Hua Cheng, knowing that if he offered to help with the soup he would only be told, or rather encouraged, to sit and rest anyway.
With his legs crossed, Xie Lian leaned against the wall, making himself comfortable. He was about to tell Hua Cheng he was decent, when another shiver violently tore through him, rattling his teeth and prickling his skin.
How odd, he thought. Gods, whether they wore shackles or not, didn’t typically feel the effects of the cold.
In all likelihood, it was probably the sound of the rain tricking him into thinking he was cold. A heavy downpour such as this was bound to play around with his mind a little. It actually reminded him of the days when he had no choice but to wait out such storms under leaky eaves, or salvaged umbrellas that were riddled with holes.
Paying it no mind, he called out, “San Lang? I’m done. Why don’t you come rest while it simmers?”
Throwing a smile over his shoulder, Hua Cheng nodded. He sipped from a spoon, sampling what he’d made, and only when he was satisfied with the flavour did he join Xie Lian on the mat, sitting close, but not too close.
“How is it?”
As attentive as he was, Hua Cheng seemed a bit distracted. “Hm?”
“The soup,” Xie Lian clarified. “Is it turning out okay?”
“It’s good, gege. I think you’ll like it.”
Smiling warmly, Xie Lian nodded. No matter what Hua Cheng made, he was bound to enjoy it.
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, giving them a brief rest. For a long time, he and Hua Cheng did little more than listen to the rain as it hammered the roof and battered the walls, the whipping wind sending stray drops in through the tiniest holes and gaps between the boards. As the storm surged, so too did the thunder, rolling in like steady waves, each roar slightly louder than the last. It nearly lulled Xie Lian to sleep.
After a yawn roused him, he peered over at Hua Cheng. “You chose quite the day to stop by for a visit.”
“It’s a good thing, too.” Hua Cheng grinned. “Against the two of us, those holes didn’t stand a chance.”
Xie Lian shook his head, tossing his hair. His damp locks stuck to his cheek and the side of his neck, making him quiver. “I really am sorry. You came here to have fun, and I ended up putting you to work, as always.”
Hua Cheng’s face was unreadable as he gazed at Xie Lian. It was as if he hadn’t heard a single word Xie Lian had said. Slowly, as if possessed, his hand came up and brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen into Xie Lian’s face, his fingertips lightly tracing the hairline as he tucked them behind his ear.
“Hm? San Lang…?”
“Want me to tie it back for you?” Hua Cheng asked quietly.
Xie Lian’s eyes darted across Hua Cheng’s face, longing to hear what was on his mind while knowing he likely never would. His heart skipped a beat, spreading warmth to the tips of his ears and through the tops of his cheeks. Impulsively, he brought a hand to his ring, tracing the inner rim with the pad of his finger.
“Sure,” he said softly. “Let me just…”
On his hands and knees, Xie Lian shuffled across the straw mat until he landed in front of Hua Cheng, then sat cross-legged while presenting his back. His heart continued to race up until the moment when Hua Cheng’s fingers began to gather his hair, smoothly combing most of it back into a high bun that exposed the slender nape of his neck. It was just soothing enough to settle Xie Lian’s nerves, when a timely draft blew in from between the cracks in the walls, licking its way along his bare skin to send another shiver rippling through him.
As he pulled his collar tighter around his neck, he thought he’d seen the last of them.
But he shivered again, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Gege… are you cold?”
Over his shoulder, Xie Lian gave Hua Cheng a timid smile. “Huh? Oh, no. No. I’m fine… are you?”
Before Hua Cheng could answer, Xie Lian reached for his blanket, still folded up in the corner as it often went unused. As he unfolded it, he turned around and offered it to Hua Cheng, who refused him with a polite smile.
“I’m alright, gege. But thank you for asking.”
Gently insisting that Xie Lian keep it, Hua Cheng covered his hands with his own to push the blanket back into Xie Lian’s space. But the moment they touched, the colour in his face drained, and his smile slowly fell.
“Your Highness, you…”
“…”
Xie Lian’s hands were ice cold and frightfully pale. Though his skin had long since dried from the rain, it was as if his hands were fresh out of a snow drift, chilled not just on the surface but surely all the way to the bone, too.
Laughing it off, Xie Lian slipped his hands free from Hua Cheng’s grasp a little more forcefully than he would’ve liked. Stuffing them into his lap, he said, “It’s alright, I just… can’t seem to warm up tonight, for some reason…”
Feeling shy all of a sudden, he gazed at the blanket on the floor between them, rather than at Hua Cheng. He hadn’t meant to lie and say that he wasn’t cold, it was just that he didn’t realize how cold he truly was. If not for the absurd amount of heat that Hua Cheng’s hands had given off, perhaps he would have never even noticed.
Hiding his hands in his sleeves, Xie Lian forced a smile and looked up. “Don’t worry about it, San Lang. It’s okay. I’ve been much colder than this before. You know, one time, I actually…”
He started to ramble, retelling the story of how he once found himself lost in a snowstorm wearing little more than what he had on right now. Hoping that Hua Cheng might find it as amusing as he did, he fully immersed himself in his embarrassing tale, speaking with his hands as much as he did his mouth, while sparing no detail.
“…I ended up borrowing one from some poor old folks who thought I was—huh? San Lang?”
Xie Lian stopped as Hua Cheng laid the blanket over his lap for him, spreading it out neatly across his legs and over his feet. That unreadable expression had returned to Hua Cheng’s face—a look that Xie Lian could best describe as one of grave concern, softened perhaps by the smallest touch of bashful reservation. Stunned into silence, he could only watch as Hua Cheng shed his coat next, offering nothing in the way of an explanation as he wrapped it around Xie Lian’s shoulders, selflessly sacrificing what little warmth he had for himself.
Clutching either side of Hua Cheng’s coat in his hands, Xie Lian asked, “What about you? Won’t you be cold?”
Hua Cheng was taken aback by that question, his eyes slightly wide and unblinking. He stared at Xie Lian for a moment, then relaxed and broke out into his usual smile. “I’m a ghost, remember? I’m supposed to be cold.”
Sensing he’d just been teased, Xie Lian’s face grew hot. Wearing a small smile of his own, he looked down at his lap and drew Hua Cheng’s coat a bit further around his shoulders, gladly accepting it without hesitation.
Having been on Hua Cheng all this time, the coat was divinely warm, which seemed rather odd for a man who’d just claimed he should always be cold. In his current form, though, Hua Cheng was indistinguishable from ordinary mortals. Between the coat and the blanket, Xie Lian was already starting to heat up nicely. He could still feel a few shivers trying their best to rattle his bones, but thanks to Hua Cheng’s selfless generosity, they were a little easier to ignore this time around.
Not knowing what else he could possibly say to express his gratitude, Xie Lian settled for a quiet, “Thank you.”
Hua Cheng responded with a soft hum before he stood and made his way into the kitchen. Xie Lian could only assume that he intended to check on their dinner. While Hua Cheng was busy with that, Xie Lian carefully rearranged himself, scooting back to lean against the wall just as he had before. The bun that Hua Cheng had tied his hair into was almost like a pillow, cushioning his head against the hard wooden boards behind him.
With nothing to do but watch Hua Cheng from afar, Xie Lian soon fell into a daze of sorts, his eyes low-lidded and terribly heavy. For a while, he made a halfhearted attempt to stay awake by reciting sutras in his head, but in the end, it was all for nothing. His head slowly tipped to one side as he started to doze off, finding comfort in the rhythmic sound of falling rain and the warmth that Hua Cheng had so kindly given to him.
He might have slept right through until morning if he hadn’t heard Hua Cheng calling him softly.
“Gege? Are you still hungry?”
“Hm…?”
Bleary-eyed, Xie Lian dragged himself upright and wiped the sleep from his face. Beside him, Hua Cheng knelt with a small bowl in his hands, its contents piping hot and boasting the savoury scent of a rich vegetable broth.
Immediately, Xie Lian’s mouth watered.
He accepted the bowl with a tired smile and another quiet word of thanks, placing it on his lap to further warm his hands. While he waited for it to cool a bit he pressed his palms to the sides of it, leeching as much heat as he could. Settling at his side, Hua Cheng waited to eat as well, though Xie Lian was certain it wasn’t because it was too hot for him. If ghosts weren’t bothered by the cold, then surely hot soup wouldn’t bother them, either?
Deciding it wasn’t worth dwelling on, Xie Lian took a spoonful and held it above the bowl, blowing gently to cool it faster. The first bite filled his mouth with earthy flavours and a subtle hint of heat—a welcome surprise that was almost certain to help rid him of his chill. As expected, Hua Cheng had proven to be exceptionally skillful.
“Mm, you were right. It’s good,” Xie Lian said. “Thank you… again. I feel like all I’ve done tonight is thank you.”
Hua Cheng laughed and raised his own spoon. “It’s fine, gege. I’m happy to lend a hand however I can.”
Though he smiled as he spoke, his eyes were distant, almost gazing right through Xie Lian.
Xie Lian tilted his head, studying Hua Cheng’s face carefully. He desperately wanted to ask if something was wrong, but before he could, Hua Cheng turned away and began to eat with the same face that he always wore.
Unwilling to let Hua Cheng’s hard work go to waste, Xie Lian set aside his woes for now and began to eat, too.
Taking his time, he made it halfway through his bowl, when he noticed that his spoon felt a lot heavier in his hand. He was certain it was still the same old spoon it had always been, but he couldn’t seem to hold it steady anymore, even when it was empty. Thinking it was a trick of his tired mind, he closed his eyes, assuming all would be well when he opened them again. Instead, he found that his eyelids had only gotten heavier, too.
Somehow, exhaustion had crept up on him long before he had even a faint idea of what was going on. Staring listlessly into his bowl, he wondered how much time had passed between now and when he started eating. It couldn’t have been long enough for his soup to cool off, as his hand was still warm around the bowl in his lap.
When he really thought about it, he was actually quite warm all around.
His head began to tip forward, nodding gently as he fought off sleep once more. Then, with a quiet clunk, his spoon hit the bottom of the bowl as it slipped from his hand. The bowl itself was next to go, nearly tipping over in his lap as his other hand relaxed. If not for Hua Cheng’s keen eyes, it would have easily spilled all over Xie Lian’s blanket as well as the mat he needed to sleep on—or rather, the mat they both needed to sleep on.
Startled by the touch of a cold hand to his forehead, Xie Lian shivered and raised his head. Not far across from him, Hua Cheng sat looking visibly anxious, his brows knit tight as he studied Xie Lian’s rosy complexion.
“Your Highness… you have a fever,” Hua Cheng murmured.
“Hm…?” Xie Lian was so weary he could hardly keep up. “A fever…?”
His eyes fell upon his dinner, the bowl having been thoughtfully set aside. He went to reach for it, but when he tried to work his arm out from beneath Hua Cheng’s coat, he was shocked to find it was also too heavy to lift.
“I’m sorry, San Lang,” he slurred. “I don’t think I can… finish it.”
His eyes were slow to follow Hua Cheng’s hand, lagging behind as he tried to watch him move from his head to his neck. He shivered when Hua Cheng touched him there, that hand somehow so much colder than before.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make some more for you whenever you want,” Hua Cheng assured, speaking just above a whisper. “Try to get some sleep for now, Your Highness. San Lang will take care of the rest.”
Briefly looking around the shrine, Xie Lian was reminded that all those wet rags needed to be picked up and set outside. The dishes needed to be done, too, now that they had eaten, or mostly eaten. It should have been easy for him to do it himself, as not even broken legs or punctured lungs had kept him from doing what needed to be done in the past. But for some reason—perhaps only this once—he wanted to be just a little bit selfish.
Looking at Hua Cheng, Xie Lian nodded, then gazed almost longingly at the pillow on the other side of the mat.
Before he could try to crawl to it himself, Hua Cheng swept him up into his arms, placing his hands around Xie Lian’s back and underneath his legs. Xie Lian all but melted into their brief embrace as Hua Cheng slowly laid him down on the mat, taking great care to settle him comfortably on his side.
The instant his cheek hit the pillow, Xie Lian went motionless, his weak limbs falling slack as they splayed out in front of him. As thoughtful as ever, Hua Cheng very respectfully folded Xie Lian’s arms up against his chest for him, making sure to slip them in beneath his coat-turned-blanket.
“How does that feel?” Hua Cheng whispered.
Xie Lian could only hum.
For a while, he slipped in and out of consciousness, roused by the shivers that racked his body rather than what little noise Hua Cheng made. Though he didn’t know what Hua Cheng was up to, Xie Lian could hear him shuffling around every time he stirred from sleep, his footsteps soft and light as if he had taken off his boots.
Eventually, that noise stopped, leading Xie Lian to realize just how much he had fixated on it.
Summoning the strength to open his eyes, he watched as Hua Cheng quietly settled beside him, lying on his side only a short foot away, with his arm bent and tucked beneath his head like a pillow. Behind him, the shrine was engulfed in darkness, a lone candle on the altar the only light by which Xie Lian could see him.
Xie Lian wasn’t sure why—perhaps it was the fever speaking—but he was immensely glad to see him there.
“I’m sorry. I hardly ever get sick,” he whispered. With a weak laugh, he half-joked, “I’ve ruined your visit.”
Tucking the collar of his coat right under Xie Lian’s chin, Hua Cheng reassured him with a soft smile, and even softer words. “You haven’t ruined anything, gege. Any time that I can spend with you is always worth my while.”
Xie Lian smiled faintly. It was all he could muster. Faced with such kind words, he was at a loss for what to say.
As he lay there, he could do little more than tremble, his arms and legs rendered useless. At the very least, he wanted to let his hair back down now that it had dried a bit more, but even something as simple as putting a hand behind his head was a tremendous feat. The slightest movements were enough to send him into terrible fits, his shivers bordering on violent. His only choice was to lie still and hope that sleep might take him quickly.
Closing his eyes, he tried once more to drift off, murmuring tiny hums and tired sighs as he fought to quell the worst of his tremors. When his restlessness inevitably sent his covers askew, he could feel Hua Cheng’s hand gently drag them back over him, tracing his shoulder and his waist with the lightest touch. Somewhere amidst the haze in his head he thought he should thank Hua Cheng for being so patient with him. It seemed like the least he could do. But whenever he tried, the pull of sleep lured him away, leaving only soft sounds in its wake.
Half an incense time later, he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he’d started.
Fed up, he drew a deep breath, then blew it all out through his nose in a heavy sigh. Still shivering, he turned his head and nuzzled his pillow in a desperate search for heat, finding it delightfully warm until he realized it was also damp with sweat. Lacking the strength to flip it over, he sighed again, a faint whine slipping out with it.
“Gege? What’s wrong?”
Xie Lian had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone.
Though his eyes wouldn’t open, he managed to mumble, “I can’t get warm…”
He didn’t hear anything from Hua Cheng after that. Back when he had briefly been out of sorts, the storm had picked up once more, the sound of pouring rain almost deafening at times. It made it hard to tell if Hua Cheng was shuffling around, or if he was even still lying there with him. For all Xie Lian knew, Hua Cheng could have gotten up and wandered off. If he couldn’t open his eyes or make his mouth work again, he might never know.
It wasn’t until a few minutes later, after the storm had settled down, that he finally found his answer.
“I could hold you, if you like.”
…
Xie Lian suddenly felt as if lightning had struck him in the chest.
His eyes opened slowly, like a weight had been lifted from them. From across the mat, still warmly lit by the light of the dwindling candle, Hua Cheng watched intently, his expression exceptionally shy for someone who had just offered his embrace with so much sincerity. In all the time that Xie Lian had been adrift, Hua Cheng seemed to have come a little closer. It was enough to have made the space between them comfortably small.
Beneath his borrowed coat, Xie Lian fiddled with his ring. Many long years had passed since he last curled up in someone’s arms. The only time he’d ever done so was with his parents, when he was young and scared or in miserable shape, much like he was right now. Admittedly, he felt a bit uneasy about the idea of doing it again. At the same time, he wasn’t so sure that he could fathom the idea of turning Hua Cheng down, either.
He was tired, and tired of shivering. Hua Cheng was right there, and willing. He had no reason refuse.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
Though his eyes seemed to hold the faintest hint of anxiety, Hua Cheng’s gaze never once strayed from Xie Lian’s face. “Mm. I wouldn’t mind. I’m warm, in this form.”
When Xie Lian thought about how warm Hua Cheng’s coat had been, he felt a much more comfortable shiver roll through him. If Hua Cheng himself were anywhere near as warm, he would be hard-pressed to refuse.
But Xie Lian was also drenched in sweat, his skin insufferably hot to the touch despite how cold he felt on the inside. If he were to get too close, he would only pass his unpleasantness to Hua Cheng, which was hardly fair.
Conflicted, he mumbled, “I don’t… want to be a burden, though…”
“You’re not a burden, gege,” Hua Cheng murmured. “You’ve never been a burden to me.”
Xie Lian lowered his gaze. He truly didn’t know what to do with himself in the face of such honesty.
There were many times in his long life when he felt he’d been a burden. Even more, since meeting Hua Cheng. To have someone he held so dear to him insist otherwise rendered him speechless, and a little lightheaded.
It was a long time before he allowed himself to say, “If you really don’t mind, then…”
He finished with a soft hum, unable to say more.
His heart began to pound once Hua Cheng stirred, the gap between them suddenly closing much too quickly. Within seconds, he could see nothing, the remaining candlelight eclipsed by Hua Cheng’s silhouette. As he was slowly gathered, blankets and all, into Hua Cheng’s arms, Xie Lian held his breath, afraid to move or make the smallest sound. It wasn’t until a gentle hand cradled the back of his head and guided his face beneath Hua Cheng’s chin that it all rushed out, his breath shuddering along with what he hoped was the last of his shivers.
Outside, the storm grew suspiciously quiet. The only thing Xie Lian could hear was the rush of blood through his ears and the soothing sound of Hua Cheng’s steady breathing. Though he couldn’t quite explain why, there was something so effortless about taking up space in Hua Cheng’s arms. It didn’t feel as though he shouldn’t be there at all, but rather that he fit almost too perfectly—as if Hua Cheng had always meant for it to be so.
On their own accord, Xie Lian’s fingers curled into Hua Cheng’s tunic, reluctant to let him go.
A soft breath fanned across the top of his head. A moment later, one of Hua Cheng’s hands plucked the ribbon from Xie Lian’s bun, freeing his hair before combing it out with the lightest strokes of his fingers. It was all very casual, yet somehow so deliberate, filled with tenderness the likes of which Xie Lian thought he had long since lost along with his beloved late mother. For a time, however fleeting it was, he felt as if he were eight hundred years younger all over again, curled up in the arms of someone who had only ever loved him unconditionally.
He didn’t know what time it was when he finally stirred, or that he had even fallen asleep to begin with.
The sound of rain still travelled through the walls, but it was much gentler now, like a warm spring shower. Sunlight peered through the cracks in the boards, murky as it broke through the morning’s thick cloud cover. When Xie Lian breathed deep, he could smell the wetness that saturated the earth, along with a scent that he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it carried a distinctly masculine undertone—something musky, almost, but inoffensively so. In a way, it was strangely familiar, as if he knew it quite intimately, but only from afar.
Memories of the night before suddenly came flooding back, and in an instant, Xie Lian was wide awake.
He realized, first, that he was in Hua Cheng’s arms, or perhaps more accurately, that Hua Cheng was in his. A tangled mass of limbs lay strewn around and across Hua Cheng’s legs and chest, ensnaring him with no regard for propriety or even personal space. The next thing Xie Lian realized was that the scent filling his nose was none other than Hua Cheng’s scent. It was so naturally alluring that he had hardly thought twice about it.
One limb at a time, he carefully extracted himself, until a hand at his back gently pulled him right back in.
He made a small sound as his face returned to the crook of Hua Cheng’s neck. Above, he heard the softest laugh, and he wondered how long it had been since Hua Cheng woke up. Given that ghosts had no need for sleep, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that Hua Cheng hadn’t gotten any rest at all. This realization made Xie Lian flush, the implication that Hua Cheng had watched him all night far too much for him at this early hour.
Lying perfectly still, he foolishly tried to pretend as if he had gone back to sleep.
“Gege?”
Hua Cheng’s hand slowly wandered along Xie Lian’s back, stroking lightly up and down his spine with only the tips of his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly low, much closer to that of his real voice.
“Gege, how are you feeling?”
Xie Lian was prepared with an impulsive I’m fine, but he paused when he noticed that he truly did feel fine.
In his haste to reorient himself, he hadn’t had time to spare a thought for how he felt. Though the mat and all his clothes were soaked, his fever was gone, and he was surprisingly clearheaded. As if on cue, his stomach groaned, reminding him that he hadn’t managed to finish the soup that Hua Cheng had so kindly made for him. He would have gotten up to make something else now that he was no longer weak and feeble, but being wrapped up in Hua Cheng’s arms the way that he was, he found it quite hard to do anything but lie there.
Forgetting the question, he mumbled contentedly, “I’m warm.”
Hua Cheng’s hand stilled. “Too warm?”
“Ah? Oh, no, just… warm. The good kind of warm.” Xie Lian cleared his throat, thankful that Hua Cheng couldn’t see the redness in his cheeks. “I’m fine. It’s… it feels good. I feel fine.”
Hua Cheng’s frame gently shook as he laughed. “Gege had me worried last night,” he said quietly.
A strange twinge stirred Xie Lian’s heart.
He propped himself up on one arm, shivering when his borrowed coat slipped from his shoulders. Before he could say a word, Hua Cheng was covering him back up, gazing softly at the swath of rosy skin that peeked out from between the folds of Xie Lian’s crooked collar. Their eyes met just as Hua Cheng finished tucking his coat beneath Xie Lian’s chin, yet despite having one another’s undivided attention, neither could say a word.
An apology sat waiting on Xie Lian’s tongue, when all of a sudden, he yawned.
It was a long time before he finally closed his mouth, which he quickly covered after the fact when he realized how much hot air he must have blown all over Hua Cheng’s face. His eyes narrowed and shifted as the tops of his cheeks swelled, while Hua Cheng simply laughed, playfully blowing a short puff of air right back at him.
Tracing a thin beam of sunlight with his eyes, Xie Lian asked, “What time is it?”
“Still early. You can sleep a little longer if you like, gege. I don’t mind.”
Xie Lian warily eyed the space he’d previously been. With the exception of rolling onto his back, Hua Cheng hadn’t moved. His head was still pillowed on one of his hands, holding open the spot where Xie Lian had slept alongside him. From where Xie Lian sat, it looked terribly inviting, and it was Hua Cheng’s idea…
His eyes flickered, meeting Hua Cheng’s gaze. “Are you sure?”
With an easy smile, Hua Cheng said, “Mhm. When it comes to gege, I’m always sure.”
In an instant, Xie Lian abandoned all thoughts of what he might have had to do today.
The moment he settled down, Hua Cheng’s arm swept out from underneath his head. A gentle hand pulled Xie Lian so close that not even an inch of empty space remained to separate them. Enveloped so suddenly by that same familiar scent, with Hua Cheng’s mortal heart thumping intently beneath his ear, Xie Lian felt it was only right to offer a tender gesture of his own. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, or perhaps not… but he slipped an arm around Hua Cheng’s waist and held him back just as snug, returning an embrace that had been long overdue.
His lips curled into a tiny, crooked smile when he heard Hua Cheng’s heart race much faster than his own.
Seemingly reading his mind again, Hua Cheng asked, “Does that sound not… bother you?”
“Not at all,” Xie Lian murmured mid-yawn. “It’s nice.”
“You’re sure?”
Xie Lian gently blew a laugh through his nose. Softly, he said, “When it comes to San Lang… I’m always sure.”