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The first prayers are hazy, fragmented things. They’re wordless, made only of emotion and impression—a flash of longing, the burden of grief, an overwhelming scent of blood. They lurk in the corners of his mind at all times, but they don’t feel like they belong to him. They feel other.
Xie Lian thinks he’s going crazy.
It would, after all, be the most reasonable assumption. He was crazy before—crazy enough to command ghosts, to consider genocide, to kill—to kill—
He swallows, thickly, and squeezes his eyes shut.
The point being, Xie Lian is already half-mad. Isn’t that why Mother and Father killed themselves, after all? Why Feng Xin and Mu Qing left? They sensed the madness in him long before he did. So, to think that these half-formed feelings might be a fragment of his own splintering mind—it’s not so far-fetched.
He ignores them, as best he can, and life drags on.
Then, one day, a word: god.
Xie Lian shakes his head and blinks hard. He’d been thinking about dinner, and his own aching hunger, and the rotting vegetables in his knapsack—where would that word have come from? How peculiar, he thinks, that he cannot even control the direction of his own thoughts. He waits for the word to repeat, but it doesn’t. The thing in his mind, the other, aches with loss.
As the years pass, the other grows stronger. Xie Lian knows, perhaps, that he should be concerned about this—what if he really snaps again? What if it drives him to some new evil deed? But, it doesn’t feel like that. Even as the its emotions grow stronger and its words clearer, it never exerts any sort of control over him. He’s an observer to it only, and a fairly neutral one, too, he’d like to think. Even when it boils with anger, Xie Lian remains distant and unaffected.
What are you so angry for? he wonders. What’s the matter?
The other never responds—it can’t hear him the way he can hear it, he thinks.
He tries to rid himself of it a few times. He visits daoist priests and cultivators and healers; he endures herbal concoctions and rituals and rites, but none of them ever do any good. The other is always there with him. Sometimes there are long stretches between its awakenings, but never will an entire day pass without some sort of stirring from it. Sometimes, all he gets is a sleepy mumble before he falls asleep: god, it will say, with slow satisfaction, goodnight, my god.
Eventually, he grows to accept it. If this is his only punishment for killing his last—
Ah, he deserves worse.
There are times, after all, when the other barely seems like a punishment at all. As the years turn into decades, it grows wittier and wiser. Those bastards thought they could beat me today, but they didn’t know what they were competing with, it brags, and Xie Lian has to hide his smile with a hand. How cocky! Dianxia’s strength saw me through. Rabble like that is nothing!
“Ah,” he murmurs, “truly a fearsome opponent.”
Ruoye wiggles up when it hears him speak, bobbing curiously in front of his face.
“It’s nothing,” he tells it, smiling. “Just talking to myself. Don’t mind it.”
The other in his mind is fun to talk to, even if it never answers back. The loneliness aches in Xie Lian, most nights, and Ruoye can only do so much to ease it. If Xie Lian closes his eyes and pretends hard enough, he can almost believe that the other is an old friend sitting next to him and telling him stories.
God, I built my nine hundredth statue today, it tells him, nearly purring with glee. Just wait until you see them all. No god will have more statues than you.
God, I don’t know what to do, it sobs, and Xie Lian’s vision blurs. I can’t let these useless trash die for a sacrifice like this. Forgive this worthless servant, and give him strength—! It hurts, oh, god, it hurts—
God, it says, breathless, reverent, bless this blood weapon and let it serve you.
“What are you doing?” Xie Lian whispers, his breath clouding in the cold winter air. “What are you up to now? You should be more careful. It sounds dangerous.”
The fluctuations of this other’s imaginary life are fascinating; some days it will crow its victories to him, while on others it will grovel and apologize for grievances he cannot understand. Forgive this wretched ghost, it whispers, for his inadequacies. Forgive me, Dianxia!
“I forgive you,” he murmurs, although he feels there is nothing to forgive—and, indeed, doubts that the other will ever hear him. “It’s alright.”
Over time, the other develops a theme—an obsession, though Xie Lian hates to call it that. It seems impolite. At first, it’s hopeful: a promise more than a plea. I’ll find you, Dianxia, it says, bright and full of youthful exuberance. Just wait a little longer for me!
Xie Lian thinks nothing of it. It is, after all, a figment of his own broken mind. He humors it, from time to time, but doesn’t ever really believe in it—so, something like this is nothing to be concerned about. It only makes him smile, a little, to see this piece of himself so enthusiastic. Over time, however, the other grows more desperate.
It’s been weeks since I left the Kiln. Dianxia, what am I doing wrong? Why can’t I find you? I’ve been gathering ghosts and sending them out to search, but all they bring me are false leads. They’re all useless trash. I don’t even know why I keep them around…
It’s been six months since I left the Kiln. I’ve searched so much of Yong’an, but it’s hard to travel with all of these pests following me. Maybe I’ll settle somewhere and continue searching from there. I’d like you to have a safe place to rest, when I find you.
It’s been a year since I left the Kiln. This worthless soldier hates to ask anything from you, but Dianxia, if you want—I have a home for you now, somewhere safe. If you meet me there I will be yours and I will not allow anyone to hurt you ever again. I’m a Supreme now, Dianxia, but above all else I am your servant. So, please, come and meet me here in Ghost City since I cannot find you. Ask for Hua Cheng.
And Xie Lian really, really thinks he might have gone—might have traveled, might have searched for this elusive Ghost City despite knowing that the instructions came from what is, in all likelihood, a very persistent auditory hallucination. It’s not like he has anything better to do. But when the other—when Hua Cheng— asks him to come, he is buried underground with a dowel through his chest. He isn’t going anywhere.
“Hua Cheng,” he whispers for the first time, and his eyes sting with tears. Ruoye nuzzles frantically against him. “I’m sorry. I won’t be there. Please, don’t be too angry with this god.”
Months pass. Xie Lian dies again and again and again, there in that coffin. Every day Hua Cheng speaks to him and it is, Xie Lian thinks, the only thing that keeps him halfway sane. He begins to talk back, to tell Hua Cheng his own thoughts, until his throat grows sore and dry. He must sound like a madman, babbling to himself like this. He doesn’t care. Who’s around to mock him for it, anyway?
Ruoye only seems relieved that he isn’t clawing his own skin anymore.
“I think I’d like to make soup, when I get out of here,” he says, staring hard into the blackness above him. “With dumplings, and rice, and lots of seasonings. I’ll have to figure out what to call it. We can have dessert, too—I’ll learn how to make tanghulu.”
Dianxia, Hua Cheng says, today I challenged thirty-three gods. You should have seen them sniveling after; it was only those two scumbags who left you that refused to fight. Smart of them. Cowardly, but smart. Like this no one will ever think to insult you again!
“Is that so?” Xie Lian whispers, and entertains himself imagining a world in which something like that could ever be true. “That was very brave of you—but sort of foolish, too, isn’t it? Oh, I don’t mean it in a bad way, but you should really be more careful. You’re so reckless.”
Dianxia, I made wontons today. They...aren’t very good. I’ll keep trying, so I can make you something nice when we meet. I’m taking lessons from an auntie here, in exchange for protection in the city. There are lots of ghosts that come here for that. The world is so cruel to them, even after death. It’s hardly fair. I’m beginning to feel like a charity, though…
“I think that’s very kind of you. Hua Cheng is really a remarkable leader.” Xie Lian smiles into the darkness, and it drives the madness back another inch. “I’d like to meet him someday.”
Dianxia, E-ming is being a brat today. I don’t know how to get it to cooperate. It’s so willful; no matter how many times I hit it, it still acts up. A pause, and then Hua Cheng snorts. This must have been how my father felt, huh?
Xie Lian flinches at the thought. “Your father? Hua Cheng, did he...ah, I’m sorry. That’s no way for a child to be raised. Maybe you should be nicer to E-ming. Hitting things is no way to teach them.”
The Kiln opened again today. What a miserable time! It’s nothing for Dianxia to worry about, but whatever comes out of there...hmph. It’s going to be a pain in my ass.
“That’s no way to think. What if it’s something good? Something nice? Maybe you’ll be friends.”
I met a man named Yin Yu—a banished god. He’s really pretty pathetic, but I think I can make him useful. He’s got shackles, like Dianxia, so I might be able to learn to break them. He’s agreed to work for me, at least temporarily.
“How good of you to make friends, Hua Cheng!” It’s about time, Xie Lian thinks privately. Hua Cheng is always so lonely. “I hope you’ll be good to him.”
Fifty years pass this way, though Xie Lian has a warped concept of time in the coffin—he’ll only realize how long it was after the fact. He clings to Ruoye and to Hua Cheng and to the scent of dirt and rot. Then, the unthinkable:
Dianxia. Hua Cheng’s voice is subdued, today, and Xie Lian immediately frowns in concern. Yin Yu told me something. He says that the cursed shackles make it so that a god can’t hear the prayers of their believers. Can you really not hear me, Dianxia…?
“I can!” Xie Lian cries. “I can, Hua Cheng, I can! I hear you! I’m here!”
It was nice to talk to you, anyway, Hua Cheng whispers. It was nice to think that...ah, never mind. I probably would have annoyed you anyway.
“No! No, Hua Cheng, no no no you didn’t—!”
I’ll still find you, he says, determined. No matter how long it takes. Dianxia, just wait for me! Then, I can break your shackles and pray to you properly.
The silence afterwards is complete, until Xie Lian breaks it with his screaming.
Hua Cheng does not pray again.
When he claws his way out of the coffin, gasping, another fifty years later—ah, what an awful experience it is. The light is too bright, the sounds too loud, the air too cold against his raw skin. He shies away from cities and towns for the longest time. When at last he can muster the courage to return tona civilized life, several more years have passed and he’s no closer to finding Ghost City than he was before.
It’s probably not real anyway, he muses; his mind really broke for good in that coffin, and managed to rid itself of that hallucination. But a part of him persistently wonders—what if it was real? What if those really were prayers, all this time? What if Ghost City and Hua Cheng are out there, somewhere, waiting for him? It seems too good to be true, but Xie Lian has little else to do, and so he starts to search.
As it turns out, there is a Ghost City in the world—but villagers don’t take kindly to him asking about it, and often shy away whenever he so much as mentions the name Hua Cheng. One cultivator warns him to stay far, far away from that place; it’s evil and, much like its name implies, swarming with ghosts and ghouls of all sorts.
“You’ll stay away if you know what’s good for you, young man,” the cultivator says, shaking his finger at Xie Lian. “The lord of that city is Crimson Rain Sought Flower. He’s a fickle bastard. He can bring you luck, but if he doesn’t like you you’ll be in real trouble. He’s killed gods before. Just imagine what he would do to the likes of you if you pissed him off! Best stay out of his way if you know what’s good for you.”
Crimson Rain Sought Flower, hm? Xie Lian rolls the name over in his mind. Maybe he knows Hua Cheng—after all, they both make a home in Ghost City. If Xie Lian can just find the place, maybe he can have some of his questions answered. In the end, it’s a spoiled teenager who guides him there.
“Why’s gege looking for that place anyway?” San Lang asks, swinging one leg over the back of an ox cart. “Isn’t it evil?”
Xie Lian rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, no reason, no reason. I’m just curious, really.”
“That’s kind of a dangerous thing to be curious about. Gege ought to be more careful.”
“San Lang shouldn’t chastise me about this. After all, who ran away from home all alone?” Xie Lian asks smartly, because he is, after all, San Lang’s elder. He waggles his finger at him. “San Lang is the one who should be more careful.”
San Lang nods, appropriately chastised. “En, gege is right. This one will take his advice.”
“What does San Lang know about Ghost City, anyway?” Xie Lian wonders, leaning forward. “Do you know about Crimson Rain Sought Flower?”
“Of course. He’s one of the four Calamities, and so should be avoided at all costs. He’s very strong and crafty; sometimes he appears as a little boy, or a seductress, or a tall man in red robes. He likes to gamble and can bring luck—good or bad. There’s only one weakness.” San Lang points at his right eye. “He’s missing an eye.”
“Eh? What happened to the other?”
“He clawed it out in a fit of madness.”
Xie Lian winces at the thought. “So, then, what about a man named Hua Cheng? I’ve heard he also lives in Ghost City.”
“Oh? Gege, they’re one in the same. Hua Cheng is just another name for Crimson Rain Sought Flower.”
“What?” Xie Lian scrambles onto his knees, his eyes wide. “San Lang, really?”
San Lang blinks at him, surprised. “En. Is it that big of a deal?”
“Yes! I’ve been looking for Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian says enthusiastically. “I need to speak to him.”
“How come? Does gege have a quarrel with him, or want to make a bet?”
Xie Lian shakes his head quickly. “No, I simply…”
How to explain? There’s no way he can, he supposes, without giving away his status as a banished god. This isn’t something he particularly wants to reveal around San Lang. At least, not yet. To even know that Hua Cheng is real...was it all real, then? Excitement tingles in the tips of his fingertips. To meet him would be like greeting a long lost friend!
...that is, if Hua Cheng still remembers him.
“I simply want to meet him,” Xie Lian finishes lamely. “Does San Lang know how to get to Ghost City? If he’s frightened, he can simply give me directions and I’ll go alone.”
San Lang is quiet for a moment, peering out at the sunset and drumming his heels against the cart. “Don’t be silly, gege,” he says, eventually. “I’ll escort you there myself, of course. It’s the least I can do when you’ve let me stay with you in the shrine.”
“Really?” Xie Lian beams. “How wonderful! San Lang, this is going to be great!”
He can hardly sleep that night for his excitement, tossing and turning beneath his blankets. Eventually, he gets up to pace outside so he won’t disturb San Lang’s sleep. He can’t believe Hua Cheng and Ghost City are both real. He has no idea what relationship he and Hua Cheng could possibly have to inspire such devoted prayers, though. Was he a believer from Xianle? If so, how could he still worship Xie Lian, even knowing what he did…?
If he ever found out about—about—
Xie Lian crouches, suddenly, wrapping his arms around his knees as his throat tightens with ancient grief. Who would believe in him if they knew what he did to his last believer? To the young, naive, nameless ghost who left him flowers only nights before Xie Lian slaughtered him? Wu Ming, he thinks, and his eyes sting. Wu Ming, I’m sorry.
“Gege?”
Xie Lian whirls around to find San Lang standing in the doorway of the shrine, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “S-San Lang! What are you doing up?”
“I woke up and gege was missing. What are you doing up?”
“I was just thinking. It’s nothing important.”
“Hm.” San Lang crosses the yard, dragging their tattered blanket behind him and draping it over Xie Lian’s shoulders. “Is gege worrying about Ghost City again?”
“Not so much that as…” Xie Lian sighs, lifting one edge of the blanket to tuck it over San Lang’s back when he sits. “These things are complicated. I’ve known of Hua Cheng for a long time.”
San Lang slides him a sideway glance. “Oh? How so? Is he an old friend of gege’s?”
“Not so much. I don’t think he even knows who I am anymore.” Xie Lian drags his knees to his chest again, hugging them.
“Anymore? Did he know you once?” There’s an intent light to San Lang’s eyes, now.
“I don’t know.” Xie Lian shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s complicated, San Lang.”
“Well, I think it’ll be okay. Hua Cheng can be cruel, but around someone like gege—” San Lang nestles more closely against Xie Lian’s side. “Who could be cruel to you?”
It’s a fanciful thought, but it does give him some courage when they enter Ghost City several days later. The guards put up a token effort to stop them, but they must be really frightened by Xie Lian’s aura—they flee with shrieks of terror shortly after spotting him and San Lang.
“Wow,” San Lang says a little too giddily, trotting alongside him. “Gege is so mighty. Did you see the way those ghosts scrammed?”
Xie Lian rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks pink. “Ahaha, well, I guess I’ve had a lot of practice...but, I really didn’t think I was that scary.”
“If gege leveled that sort of look at me, I would be shaking in my boots,” San Lang announces. “Come this way. Paradise Manor is over here—that’s where Hua Cheng spends most of his time.”
“You sure know a lot about Hua Cheng.”
“I’m very well-read, that’s all,” San Lang says breezily. “So, what is gege going to do when he meets Hua Cheng? Will you fight him?”
“What? No!”
“But he’s a Calamity, gege. Surely an esteemed cultivator like yourself wants nothing to do with him now, regardless of any prior relationship.”
“Calamity or not, he’s a person, San Lang,” Xie Lian scolds. “You should get to know someone before making judgements like that.”
“He’s a ghost, not a person.”
“Ghosts can be nice.”
San Lang laughs, and then stops when he realizes Xie Lian isn’t smiling. “What? Really? Are you really mad at me, gege?”
Xie Lian frowns and looks away. Almost immediately, San Lang is making distressed noises and trying to edge into his line of sight.
“Gege! I didn’t really mean it,” he pleads. “Whatever gege says is right, of course. Don’t be mad.”
“San Lang should be less judgemental. Ghosts aren’t all evil.”
He thinks of one ghost in particular—thinks of a smiling mask and white flowers and sacrifice.
“If gege says so, it must be true.”
Xie Lian nods, satisfied. “Then, when we meet Hua Cheng, you must be on your best behavior. We’re his guests here. Don’t insult him.”
“Yes, gege.”
Paradise Manor rises into their line of sight as they approach the eastern quarter of Ghost City. The guards here, too, are immediately quelled by a look from Xie Lian—“Really!” he exclaims. “Hua Cheng should hire braver guards.”
San Lang nods sagely. “Gege must tell him so. But, I doubt even the bravest ghost could stand up to you.”
Xie Lian flaps a hand at him. Ridiculous!
San Lang guides him through Paradise Manor with unerring accuracy, weaving down hallways until they reach an ornate receiving room. It’s empty and quiet, but San Lang ushers him inside and shuts the massive doors behind them. As he does, the lantern lights flicker on.
“Beautiful,” Xie Lian murmurs, surveying the grand mural on the walls—swords and fire and small, white flowers. The air grows colder behind him, but he senses no danger. His suspicion reaches a head, and—“San Lang, won’t you introduce yourself properly, now?”
“Dianxia,” Hua Cheng says behind him, and that low voice, that respectful tone, that title—! “This one apologizes for the deception. I wasn’t sure how you would feel about being greeted directly by a Calamity. I wanted the chance to introduce myself before you decided anything for sure, but I understand if you must punish my dishonesty.”
Xie Lian’s eyes feel hot, and he blinks rapidly. The world blurs. Hua Cheng, he thinks. It’s been so long since I heard your voice.
He knows their relationship is one-sided—knows that for centuries Hua Cheng was screaming into a void that never responded—but it really does feel like meeting an old friend. He can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he does both.
“Hua Cheng,” he says, laughing wetly as he turns around.
“Dianxia!” Hua Cheng says, alarmed. He’s tall and thin, dressed in ornate red robes and oiled boots that chime when he walks. There is a patch over his right eye. He is everything Xie Lian expected and more. “What’s wrong? Why are you—?”
“I’ve missed you so much.” Xie Lian wipes his eyes, but more tears spill over his lashes. “Ha—ha ha, this is really embarrassing. I know you don’t know me well, but—I feel like I’m meeting a friend. You used to pray so much. Don’t you know I loved listening to you?”
“Dianxia could hear that?” Hua Cheng looks torn between amazement and mortification. “I’m—Dianxia, I—”
“You were the only one. For so long, the only one who wanted to talk to me—” Xie Lian laughs, and then sobs, and then there are awkward lanky arms around him and Hua Cheng is making the same little distressed noises that San Lang did. Xie Lian hugs him back fiercely, burying his face against Hua Cheng’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Hua Cheng says, wretched, as he rocks them on their feet. “I’m so sorry. If I had known you could hear me, I never would have stopped praying! I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”
Xie Lian shakes his head. “I understand why San Lang did. To talk like that to someone who never answers back, and for so long—it must have made you sad.”
“It isn’t Dianxia’s fault. It’s those shackles.” Hua Cheng’s voice darkens, and his fingers brush the wrap of Ruoye around his throat. “I’ll find a way to break them. I meant what I said when I prayed—this one is your servant for as long as you’ll have him.”
“I don’t want a servant, San Lang.” Xie Lian pulls back and looks up at him, his smile wobbly. “What I really miss having is a friend.”
“Then, Dianxia,” Hua Cheng whispers reverently, “this one will do his best.”
Hua Cheng leads him to the divan near the back of the room, and allows Xie Lian to hold his hands while they talk. His eye is bright with interest, and to hear him responding to Xie Lian’s own words is a longed-for novelty. The lilt of his voice is familiar, the cadence of his words like a homecoming; he doesn’t even tease Xie Lian for being so emotional. In fact, he meets each of Xie Lian’s stories with one of his own, and seems just as delighted to talk to him.
“You know I missed you, too,” he admits, later that night. “I never stopped thinking about you.”
“Why?”
“Hm?”
Xie Lian tips his head back, peeking up at Hua Cheng. “Why do you care so much, and pray so often?”
“Why wouldn’t I care?” Hua Cheng cocks his head. “Dianxia is my one and only god.”
It’s a cute thought—and, quite frankly, an unbelievable one. “That’s nice,” Xie Lian says, squinting into a smile. “But really, San Lang. I’m not much of a god anymore. I only collect scraps nowadays. So, if you’re hoping for anything really amazing, you should know I won’t be able to provide it.”
“Nonsense. Dianxia provides something really amazing every day, by virtue of existing,” Hua Cheng says loftily. “This one needs nothing else. You could even leave, and never see me again, and I would still be your believer.”
“San Lang…” Xie Lian hunches his shoulders, glancing away. “Whatever you think of me, I’m not a good god. No one has ever gotten anything good out of believing in me.”
Hua Cheng hesitates—and then, quietly, says, “I have.”
Xie Lian looks at him, curious, but he won’t let their eyes meet.
“Dianxia, you ask why I still believe in you, even when no one else does,” he continues. “It’s because you saved my life—because you gave me something to live for. Do you remember? During the God-Pleasing Festival that year, there was a foolish boy who jumped into the parade. He would have died if you hadn’t caught him then.”
It’s an ancient, distant memory dusted over by time, but—“Hong Hong-er,” Xie Lian says, and Hua Cheng inclines his head. “You’re Hong Hong-er!”
“En. This one hopes you won’t think less of him for his lowly start. I only pray it helps Dianxia to understand this one’s loyalty.”
Xie Lian’s heart sinks, settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. “It’s because you think you owe me, then?”
Hua Cheng’s head snaps around, his eye wide with alarm. “What? No! It’s—Dianxia, it’s because you were the only person in this world who cared if I lived or died. It’s because you were the only good thing I ever had in my life. Even today, you’re still the only good in this world to me.”
“I’m not as good as you think I am,” Xie Lian whispers, and this time he’s the one who looks away. “San Lang, if you knew what I did…”
“The worst thing you ever did, tell it to me.”
It should be impossible. To speak the truth of Wu Ming aloud—to himself, let alone to someone else!—hurts like breaking ribs. It makes his breath come thin and fast. But this is Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng, who has believed in him for centuries more than he should have. Hua Cheng, who spoke to him when no one else would. Hua Cheng, who needs to know exactly what kind of god he worships.
“My last believer,” Xie Lian says, his voice shaking. “I killed him.”
“...that’s it?”
This, at last, is the final straw.
“That’s it?” Xie Lian scrambles to his feet, his eyes flashing with sudden fury. “You don’t know the first thing about him and you disregard his value just like that? He gave me everything, and I spat it back at him. I never said a single nice thing to him! And he still—in the end, he still—”
The world fragments around tears for what must be the hundredth time today.
“Wu Ming,” he chokes. “I killed my Wu Ming.”
Then there are arms around him again, and he’s being pressed to a solid chest. “Nonsense,” Hua Cheng whispers against his hair. “Nonsense. He made his own choice. Dianxia had nothing to do with it.”
“How do you know?” Xie Lian shakes his head, rubbing tears into the soft fabric of Hua Cheng’s robes. “He would have done anything for me, and I just stood there and watched him die! I don’t want another believer! I don’t want anymore!”
“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, his voice raw. “Gege, your Wu Ming doesn’t blame you.”
“And how would you know? He’s dead! He’s dead, he can’t blame anybody, he—!”
“Dianxia.” Between blinks, Hua Cheng changes—grows shorter and thinner, his robes fluttering black around him as he kneels, and—“I don’t blame you. I promise I’ve never blamed you.”
The world tilts on its axis.
Wu Ming is so much smaller than he remembered, his narrow back curving as he bows his head. His hair spills like an inkfall over his shoulder, and his fingers splay over his heart. When he speaks, his voice is young and muffled by the unforgiving willow wood of his mask. He is so small, and Xie Lian tore him apart.
“Don’t,” Xie Lian chokes. “San Lang, don’t you dare—”
“Dianxia, please believe me. I’ve always watched you. After you saved me at the parade, I never left your side. Even after I died in battle, I refused to rest, and so became a ghost. Then—in the temple, with the White-Clothed Calamity—”
A shudder runs through both of them, and the oily taste of blood coats Xie Lian’s tongue. He swallows thickly around it. How could Hua Cheng know about the White-Clothed Calamity and the temple? How could he know so accurately what Wu Ming looked like? How could he possibly—?
“After that,” Hua Cheng continues, his voice hoarse, “after that, I was a wrath. I met you on the battlefield and helped you gather the lost souls of Xianle. When they turned on you, I was more than happy to take your place. To die for you is my highest honor. So, please don’t think that I blame you—and please don’t think that it was ever your fault! If this believer has ever made you feel otherwise, then—”
Xie Lian tackles him.
They both sprawl across the floor, and Xie Lian winds all four limbs around Hua Cheng—around Hong-er, around San Lang, around Wu Ming. He’s sobbing so hard his throat burns. Hua Cheng curls tightly around him, stroking his hair and back soothingly.
“Wu Ming,” he sobs, as he clutches his precious believer desperately in his arms. “Wu Ming, San Lang, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Hua Cheng hushes him. “Dianxia shouldn’t apologize. We’re here together now, aren’t we? We’ll do things better, this time.”
“San Lang doesn’t want me to leave? After everything I did to you...”
“If Dianxia wants to stay,” Hua Cheng says, his eye creasing around a smile, “this one will keep him forever.”
So, Xie Lian stays—a day, a month, a year. Despite centuries’ worth of prayers, there is still so much to learn about each other. They spend most of their days strolling the gardens and talking for hours on end. Hua Cheng tells him stories new and old, and listens raptly when Xie Lian returns the favor. He makes wontons, and lets Xie Lian cook whenever he wants. They teach each other their favorite constellations.
Every day, Hua Cheng prays.
I’m making soup tonight, gege! Are you bringing home cucumbers from the garden?
I found a new soap in the market today; it smells like flowers and reminded me of you. I’ve put some in your room if you’d like to try it.
Dianxia, please meet me at the temple tonight. I have a new statue to show you!
Gege, what’s your favorite color?
This lowly follower—er, no, gege doesn’t like that, does he—this, ah—fuck—wait, no! Don’t listen anymore, gege! I’m starting over, I’m starting all over!
Dianxia is truly worthy of all manner of praise. This one will have to flatter him with compliments while he is far away and can’t stop me. Let me start with Dianxia’s hair. He really has the softest and most—
And here is a fun part: Hua Cheng, Xie Lian discovers, is a god in his own right. This information doesn’t come from Hua Cheng himself—naturally, he’ll never tell anything to Xie Lian that might make him seem in any way more important, the little fool—but from Yin Yu. The day he learns this, he travels to the nearest Crimson Rain Sought Flower temple to make an offering of red roses and steamed buns. He lights a stick of incense and kneels before Hua Cheng’s statue, shoulder to shoulder with tens of other believers.
Truly, Hua Cheng is such a popular god!
San Lang, he prays, and hopes that the warmth of his affection bleeds into every word, please let this gege express his truest respects, too. You have always been so good to me. I’m really grateful for everything! I wouldn’t be who I am without your faith. Tonight, let me make you the best dinner and give you as many kisses as you want. In the meantime, please remember that I love you very much, and take care in Ghost City. Oh! And, if you could, bring home soymilk. Thank you!
When he leaves the temple, the sun is settling onto the western horizon. The sky is a blistering red above him, highlighting the crowns of maple trees. A man in crimson robes waits for him at the edge of the courtyard—when he opens his arms, Xie Lian runs into them and is immediately squeezed into a hug so tight he squeaks.
The prayer Hua Cheng offers him then is a hazy, fragmented thing. It’s wordless, made only of emotion and impression—a wave of joy, an ocean of love, and the overwhelming scent of flowers.