Chapter Text
Feng Xin would like to think that he has become accustomed to the variety of strange (and often unfortunate) events that surround Xie Lian. He has become accustomed to the flights of fancy, and the trash collecting, and the occasional ill-fated culinary quest. He has even, as of late, become accustomed to His Highness’ cripplingly poor choice in spouse. This is clearly a mark of his superiority in friendship to Xie Lian, as Mu Qing has still been unable to accept Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s interference in their lives.
Despite all of Feng Xin’s practice in these unfortunates, however, he is not prepared for this.
“Who are you?” Xie Lian stares up at him from a puddle of oversized white robes, his eyes wide. He is several sizes too small, and several shades too oblivious. “And, um. Where are we?”
Beside him, Mu Qing sighs very very very deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“This—this is—” Feng Xin’s mouth moves soundlessly for several seconds.
“The deaging curse,” Mu Qing says dryly. “Yes. I got that impression. Now, tell me, why is he cursed? You were supposed to be watching him.”
“Me? I had his right side, you had his left—that bastard attacked on the left! This is all because of your inexperience! Stick to sweeping next time, huh?”
Mu Qing’s face flushes red with fury. “You—!”
“Um.” Xie Lian raises his hand. Feng Xin drags his eyes back to that little, wrenchingly familiar face. “Hi. Who are you guys?”
Mu Qing flicks his eyes towards the heavens, undoubtedly praying for patience. What a fool. Feng Xin, at least, knows how to handle children now—raising Cuo Cuo had felt a little bit like being thrown off of a cliff, but at least he’s experienced now. Only if Xie Lian decides to try biting his face off will he have issues, and even that is something he’s dealt with once or twice before.
“I’m Nan Feng, Your Highness,” Feng Xin explains, crouching in front of Xie Lian. The name Feng Xin would be too suspicious—he and Xie Lian were friends when they were this young, after all. “This is my associate, Fu Yao. What do you remember?”
Xie Lian cocks his head, his brow furrowing as he thinks. “I was with a-Niang. We were making soup.”
Feng Xin clicks his tongue. “Well, that explains it. Your Highness, you’ve lost your memories.”
“Oh.” Xie Lian’s brow furrows more, a tiny frown crossing his face. “How come?”
“Yes, Nan Feng,” Mu Qing says through his teeth. “How come?”
“Well, that’s easy. Someone kidnapped Your Highness and took your memories—but you’re safe now, of course. Her Majesty sent the servants Nan Feng and Fu Yao to return you to her. We drove those awful kidnappers away and got you back; now we’ve just got to get your memories, too. Your Highness has nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, okay,” Xie Lian says. Then he lifts his arms in a silent request to be picked up, and Feng Xin is helpless to refuse. He bundles Xie Lian into his fluttering white robes, then scoops him up. Xie Lian nestles close, innately trusting, and adds, “Thanks for saving me. I’ll give you candy when we get back, okay?”
“Your Highness is very generous,” Feng Xin says, clearing his throat. “Now, we’ll take you back to our base, and—”
“A secret base?”
“Yeah, a secret base.”
“Are you like spies?”
“It took a little bit of spying to find those kidnappers, yes.”
“Woah,” Xie Lian says, pulling back to meet Feng Xin’s eyes. His own gaze is bright and earnest. “That’s so cool.”
“Fen—Nan Feng, we have to talk about this,” Mu Qing hisses, trotting after them.
“Of course! Spies always debrief after a mission,” Feng Xin says, and delights in the way Xie Lian’s eyes widen. “But we can do it once we’re safely back at our secret base. I think His Highness would be more comfortable there than in the middle of nowhere, don’t you?”
Feng Xin can practically feel Mu Qing bubbling with frustration as they step through their distance-shortening array, but ignores it in favor of answering Xie Lian’s enthusiastic questions about spying. While it’s true Feng Xin himself has little knowledge of subterfuge, it is also true that he’s very good at bullshitting his way through things to impress children. It’s how he gets Cuo Cuo to sleep every night. Besides, Xie Lian must be frightened to wake up somewhere with two strangers—it’s Feng Xin’s responsibility as his friend to make him comfortable.
Their secret base is, in fact, one of Feng Xin’s many homes in the mortal plane. He had offered this one as a base of operations for their current mission—namely, to destroy the demon that’s been turning people into children—since it was so close to the territory in question. He, Xie Lian, and Mu Qing had been staying here for several days while they hunted the demon. Today had been the first time they confronted it face-to-face.
Needless to say, it had not gone according to plan. Few things do, when Xie Lian is involved.
“Fu Yao,” Feng Xin says, depositing Xie Lian onto the divan, “would you mind mending some of these robes? They’re a bit too big for His Highness.”
Mu Qing looks like he would rather slit Feng Xin’s throat—but, there being a child present, he refrains from these homicidal inclinations and snatches the oversized outer robe instead. Xie Lian huddles down in his inner robe, rubbing his thumb over the sleeve. There are small crimson flowers embroidered on the fabric that loops around his wrist.
“Is Your Highness hurt anywhere?” Feng Xin asks.
Xie Lian looks at his own hands and arms, then peeks under his robes. He gasps. “I got a cut!”
Feng Xin’s brow furrows. He had hoped Xie Lian would be uninjured, but it seems that demon had landed a blow after all. “Where at?”
Xie Lian hauls up his robe to reveal his leg, where a small scrape crosses his knee.
Feng Xin sighs in relief. “Well, that’s not so bad.”
“But I’m bleeding,” Xie Lian says, his lower lip wobbling. Ah, Feng Xin had forgotten how much of a baby Xie Lian used to be, before—before—
Well.
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Feng Xin says. “It’s just a little scrape. You didn’t even notice until you saw it, so how can it be that—?”
Xie Lian’s eyes well up with tears, and Feng Xin freezes.
“You idiot, get out of the way,” Mu Qing snaps, shouldering him aside. He kneels in front of Xie Lian with a damp washcloth and a bandage. “Don’t pay attention to him, Your Highness. He doesn’t know how to treat wounds.”
Feng Xin bristles. Of course he knows how to treat wounds! He’s eight hundred years old! ...admittedly, he tends to let his wounds heal themselves, but he can still slap on a bandage from time to time. It’s not like Mu Qing can do anymore than that, either, except maybe stitches. The perks of being a glorified tailor, he supposes.
“Here. I’m going to wash it so it stays clean,” Mu Qing says, dabbing the washcloth over Xie Lian’s knee. “Then I’ll put a bandage on it and it will heal in a few days. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Xie Lian sniffles, but sits obediently while Mu Qing bandages his knee. “It’s better?” he asks, when Mu Qing sits back again.
“All better,” Mu Qing agrees seriously. “Now, is Your Highness hungry or thirsty?”
Xie Lian squirms forward, wrapping his arms around Mu Qing’s neck so Mu Qing has no choice but to pick him up when he stands. “Hungry,” Xie Lian admits, pressing his face to the side of Mu Qing’s neck. “Can we have wonton soup?”
Mu Qing sighs softly, resting one hand against Xie Lian’s back. “...I guess I’ll make us some soup.”
Xie Lian makes a tiny, happy noise and squeezes Mu Qing harder.
While Mu Qing and Xie Lian go to work in the kitchen, Feng Xin picks up Xie Lian’s half-mended outer robe. Ruoye snakes out from it, waving itself threateningly in his direction. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he whispers harshly to it. “It’s not my fault. Mu Qing was supposed to be guarding the left.”
Ruoye lashes itself, then tucks back into the robes.
“Fine. Just be that way,” Feng Xin mutters, dropping the robe. “Brat.”
He puts Ruoye and the robe away, then returns to the kitchen. Mu Qing is slicing vegetables, his knife clicking neatly against his cutting board while Xie Lian stands next to him on a stepping stool and washes bundles of bok choy. He’s talking cheerfully to Mu Qing, his little voice animated as he describes the newest toy his mother had purchased for him.
Feng Xin tries, briefly, to slip into his communication array with Mu Qing. About this curse, we should—
Not right now, Mu Qing says irritably. I’m talking with His Highness.
Yeah, about a stupid wooden horse!
Feng Xin huffs and slouches back out of the kitchen. How come Mu Qing gets to hog Xie Lian? He won’t be this little and cute for long—it’s only right that they should share. But it’s almost an entire hour—an hour!—before Feng Xin sees Xie Lian again, when the child trots out of the kitchen and grabs Feng Xin’s sleeve.
“We’re done with the soup,” he says, beaming. Looking at that smile is like looking at the sun, and Feng Xin blinks, momentarily stunned. “Come and eat with us.”
The three of them sit at the table with bowls of steaming wonton soup. Feng Xin must grudgingly admit Mu Qing’s prowess in this area—he’s never eaten a meal better than those Mu Qing prepares. Xie Lian seems to be of the same opinion, because he hums happily as he stuffs a wonton into his mouth.
“This is really good,” he says, licking broth from his chopsticks.
Mu Qing pokes his own wonton, frowning. “It’s nothing. I’m sure His Highness has eaten better at the palace.”
Xie Lian shakes his head adamantly. “This is even better than all those! Even better than a-Niang’s!”
Feng Xin thinks that, if Xie Lian inherited his cooking skills from his mother, then besting her would be no particular feat. Mu Qing seems absurdly pleased by the compliment anyway. Feng Xin is about to open his mouth to comment when a sudden chill creeps over his shoulders and lifts the hairs on the back of his neck to attention. A smooth, predatory voice creeps into his private communication array—how did that bastard even get the password?! Feng Xin has changed it eight times in the last two weeks!
Nan Yang, Hua Cheng purrs. Now would be a good time to tell me that His Highness is alright. I haven’t heard from him all day, and it’s making me a little concerned.
Feng Xin’s heart seizes violently in his chest. He chokes on a wonton. How Crimson Rain Sought Flower behaves when he’s a little concerned is no laughing matter—!
“Nan Feng?” Xie Lian asks, reaching over to pat him.
“Nan Feng?” Mu Qing also says, his brow furrowing. “What’s—?”
He breaks off suddenly, his face paling. So it seems that Hua Cheng has contacted him, too.
He’s alright, Feng Xin says quickly, and feels Hua Cheng relax exactly not at all. Really! Why the hell ask if you’re not going to believe what I say?
Hmph. If he’s alright, why isn’t he responding in our communication array?
Maybe he needed a break from you, Mu Qing replies testily. I certainly would.
Hua Cheng’s presence grows darker and sharper, weighing heavily against his mind. Shut up, he hisses. I’m coming to see him.
What? No! No, absolutely do not—
Thunder cracks outside, and the wind carries in the scent of blood and blossoms. An instinctive thrill of terror races down Feng Xin’s back to curdle in his stomach. He springs up, standing defensively in front of the table. Mu Qing scoops Xie Lian into his arms, glowering over Feng Xin’s shoulder as the front door blows open.
“What is it?” Xie Lian asks fearfully, clutching Mu Qing’s robes. “What’s that? Is it the bad guys?”
“No,” Mu Qing sighs, "it’s just a big pest. He’s not going to hurt you, so don’t worry. He’s just here to talk to me and Nan Feng.”
The jingle of chains rings brightly through the house, and Hua Cheng steps inside amidst a flurry of agitated butterflies. Xie Lian’s eyes follow their glistening silver wings, his mouth dropping open in awe. Hua Cheng’s own eye is dark with loathing, but the second it lands on Xie Lian it widens into surprise.
“This is…”
“Xie Lian,” Feng Xin says, scowling. “And you scared him, so thanks.”
Hua Cheng falters, but recovers with damnable ease. He dissolves the butterflies and bloodrain before sweeping into a graceful bow, his hand over his heart. “Taizi Dianxia,” he says. “My sincerest apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Oh,” Xie Lian says, and peeks up at Mu Qing—trying, evidently, to gauge how he should react to this stranger. “Um. It’s okay.”
“Your Highness, this is Hua Cheng,” Mu Qing says.
Xie Lian’s eyes widen, and then a tiny smile flickers across his face. “Hua...Cheng?”
Hua Cheng’s eye creases up around a smile of his own, and it sends shudders down Feng Xin’s spine. Who knew Crimson Rain Sought Flower could actually look this happy—?! “It’s a funny name, isn’t it?” he says, chuckling. “His Highness may call me San Lang. All my friends do.”
“Can I play with your butterflies?” Xie Lian asks, squirming in Mu Qing’s arms. With a grimace, Mu Qing sets him down. “Please?”
“Of course. They’re very friendly.” Hua Cheng kneels, holding out a hand. A butterfly perches on his knuckles, and Xie Lian trots over to examine it more closely.
“Woah,” he says, “they’re see-through!”
“Pretty neat, right? His Highness can hold one, if he likes.”
“They don’t bite?”
“Not at all.”
Feng Xin would like to argue that, thank you very much. He still has nightmares about those damnable insects and their screaming mouths and their cutting wings. To think that Hua Cheng would let a child play with one—ridiculous. It’s a small mercy that Xie Lian was with them when he was turned into a child, at least, and not with the Ghost King. Who knows what kind of trouble he would have gotten into, then!
Several more butterflies flit over, perching in Xie Lian’s hair and on his shoulders, until Feng Xin finally can’t take it anymore. He strides over, scooping Xie Lian up and resolutely ignoring the flash of fang it earns him from Hua Cheng. After all, he won’t actually do anything with a child around.
“Don’t play with those,” he chastises. “They might hurt you.”
“They wouldn’t,” Hua Cheng says confidently, straightening up and folding his arms over his chest. “Nan Yang, Xuan Zhen. Can we talk about your little mission?”
“Come here,” Mu Qing mutters, taking Xie Lian from Feng Xin’s arms. “I’ll watch him while you two talk.”
What a damnable coward! Feng Xin watches, fuming, as Mu Qing carries Xie Lian back to the kitchen to finish eating dinner. When he turns back to Hua Cheng, the butterflies are all perched—on Hua Cheng, on the walls, on the ceiling—and abhorrently, deathly still as they watch him with their little murderous eyes. Their killing intent is entirely too palpable.
“Let’s go outside,” Hua Cheng says, smiling. It is a corpse’s smile.
Outside, the sky is clear and cloudless as the sun sinks west. Feng Xin folds his arms over his chest and stares out at the reddening horizon, his jaw clenched. Hua Cheng stands next to him, unbreathing and unblinking. How Xie Lian doesn’t find him the creepiest thing in the world, Feng Xin will never know.
“What happened?” Hua Cheng asks coldly.
“I’m sure you could figure it out if you thought hard enough,” Feng Xin mutters. “The mission went wrong. The demon cursed Xie Lian before we could kill it, and then escaped. We brought him back here until we could figure out what to do.”
“Was he hurt?”
“He has a scrape on his leg, but that’s all.”
“Was he frightened?”
“Well, he woke up in the middle of nowhere with a couple of strangers, so he wasn’t thrilled. We told him we rescued him from kidnappers and we’re going to return him to his parents as soon as we can get his memories back. As far as he’s concerned, he’s a little kid living in Xianle again.”
“What’s your plan?”
“We’re going to—”
“You know what, never mind. I’m sure it’s inept anyhow.” Hua Cheng waves a hand dismissively at him. “I’ll deal with this from now on. You two watch over His Highness while I dispatch the demon—it’s what we should have done in the first place. I don’t know why he insisted on working with you two.”
“Hey, have you heard of the concept of friends?”
Hua Cheng sneers. “What use have I for those? If you two are anything to go by, they seem rather detrimental.”
“You—!”
Hua Cheng snaps his fingers, and Feng Xin’s voice suddenly chokes off. He shouts. The noise is muffled by his own sealed lips.
“That’s better,” Hua Cheng says, waving a hand and summoning a butterfly to himself. “You have one job now, understand? Keep His Highness safe and happy until I’ve dealt with this. This one will keep you company, so don’t try anything stupid.”
Hua Cheng deposits the malevolent little monster on Feng Xin’s shoulder. It waves its antenna aggressively at him, fluttering razorblade wings.
“I’ll go and kill the demon. When I’m done, I’ll return. I don’t expect it will take very long.” Hua Cheng steps away from him, sighing. “What an inconvenience. In any case, give Taizi Dianxia my best regards.”
With a rattle of dice, he disappears into thin air, and Feng Xin can speak again. He coughs violently before hauling in a ragged breath, his heart thundering painfully between his ribs. He hates that damn ghost even more every time their paths cross! Storming back inside, Feng Xin slams the door behind himself.
“It went that well, huh?” Mu Qing asks wryly. He’s sitting on the floor playing blocks with Xie Lian, who is watching Feng Xin with wide eyes.
“It went great,” Feng Xin says through gritted teeth. “Hua Cheng is going to track down the... kidnappers for us, to make sure they won’t come after His Highness ever again.”
“Oh.” Xie Lian seems pleasantly surprised, his eyes brightening. “That’s good. Is he coming back?”
“As soon as he finds the kidnappers, yes.”
Mu Qing sits back and rubs his eyes. “Fantastic.”
“We need to talk,” Feng Xin says. “Alone.”
“Your Highness, will you stay here for a few minutes?” Mu Qing asks.
“Uh-huh. Is everything, um, alright?”
“Everything’s fine, kiddo,” Feng Xin says, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve just got to figure out how to get your memories from the kidnappers once Hua Cheng finds them, that’s all.”
“Oh. That's okay then.” Xie Lian sprawls out on his belly, kicking his heels over his back. “Where are you going?”
“We’ll just be outside. Stay right here,” Mu Qing says.
Feng Xin ducks back outside, and Mu Qing stops next to him and taps his foot impatiently on the ground. “Killing the demon should eliminate the curse,” he says, frowning, “but it might take some time. In the event His Highness is still a child after this, Hua Cheng will undoubtedly want to take him.”
“Well we can’t let him!” Feng Xin says, a vein in his temple throbbing. He glances around, just to be sure that fiendish butterfly hasn't followed them outside. Hua Cheng might be a vaguely acceptable husband for Xie Lian, but a caregiver?! “That guy isn’t fit to raise a plant, let alone a child.”
“I know, I know. You don’t have to convince me. What we need to do is convince him."
“He won’t listen to us. Gods, the only one he’ll listen to is Xie Lian, and Xie Lian is—what, five or six?”
“But he wants what’s best for Xie Lian, doesn’t he? What he thinks is best?” Mu Qing asks, rubbing his chin as he thinks. “Being raised around ghosts and ghouls certainly isn’t what’s best. Ghost City would scare him too much.”
“So he’d offer to take him to Puqi Shrine.”
“What does he know about raising a child? You remember what he was like as a kid, don’t you?” Mu Qing frowns. “Hm. Considering that, it may not actually be too hard to convince him...leave the talking to me, alright? I might have a plan.”
“Whatever you want,” Feng Xin says. He would kill to avoid speaking with Hua Cheng again after this afternoon. “So, what? For now we just look after His Highness?”
“I don’t see what else we can do. At least it’s not that hard.”
“Not yet. You don’t know how spoiled he was as a child.”
Mu Qing snorts. “At least it’ll be a funny story to tell once he’s back.”
“Yeah.” Feng Xin rubs the back of his neck, looking out at the fireflies as they begin to flicker. The butterfly fans its wings in the corner of his eye, fluttering out of the house to perch on a nearby tree. Behind him, he hears the clatter of blocks and Xie Lian’s little giggle. “...at least it’ll be a funny story.”