Chapter Text
Hua Cheng had never known fear like this. For weeks, he had been consumed by a gnawing, relentless dread, the kind that ate away at him from the inside, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in his chest. Xie Lian was missing—his beloved god, his everything—and Hua Cheng had been powerless to find him.
Every lead had turned up empty, every search had been in vain. It was as if Xie Lian had vanished from the world, leaving nothing behind but the faintest traces of his presence. Hua Cheng had searched high and low, scouring the heavens and the mortal realm alike, but Xie Lian was nowhere to be found.
His solace finally came when Xie Lian answered him last night, telling him that he was in his palace and that he would come to Puqi Shrine the next day.
But that message had done little to ease Hua Cheng’s anxiety. The exhaustion in his god’s voice, the faint, trembling quality of his words—it had been enough to send Hua Cheng spiraling into a fresh wave of panic. He had barely slept, pacing restlessly through Paradise Manor, his mind racing with dark possibilities. What had happened to Xie Lian? Where had he been? And why did he sound so weak?
The hours until dawn had crawled by, each minute stretching into an eternity. But now, at last, the sun had risen, and Hua Cheng stood outside Puqi Shrine, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear. The shrine was quiet, the village still and peaceful in the early morning light, but the Ghost King could find no peace within himself. He had to see Xie Lian, had to know that he was truly alright.
The moment he saw the faint shimmer of white robes in the distance, his breath caught in his throat. Xie Lian was approaching the shrine, his steps slow and measured, as if every movement required a great deal of effort. Hua Cheng’s heart clenched painfully at the sight—Xie Lian looked so fragile.
Without thinking, Hua Cheng closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his true form materializing in front of Xie Lian with a burst of silver butterflies. “Gege!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with a desperation he couldn’t hide.
Xie Lian looked up, his eyes meeting Hua Cheng’s with a tired, but warm gaze. “San Lang,” he murmured, his voice still soft, but with a note of affection that the ghost had feared he might never hear again.
For a moment, they simply stood there, neither moving nor speaking, as if the world had frozen around them. Hua Cheng’s eyes roamed over Xie Lian, taking in every detail—the pallor of his skin, the faint bruises peeking out from under his robes, the lingering shadows in his eyes. The god had always been ethereal, otherworldly in his beauty, but now, there was something haunting about him, something that made Hua Cheng’s chest tighten with sorrow.
“What happened to you?” Hua Cheng finally whispered, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Xie Lian’s arm as if to reassure himself that he was truly there, that this wasn’t some cruel illusion.
Xie Lian offered a small, weary smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes that Hua Cheng couldn’t ignore. “I’m alright now,” he said, though his voice lacked the strength to make the words convincing. “I’m just… tired. I need to rest.”
Hua Cheng’s heart ached at the sight of his beloved trying to put on a brave face, trying to reassure him even when he was clearly struggling. “Gege doesn’t have to lie to me,” Hua Cheng said gently, his voice softening. “You’re hurt. I can see it.”
Xie Lian’s smile faltered, and he lowered his gaze, as if ashamed to be seen in such a state. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make San Lang worry.”
“Worry me?” Hua Cheng’s voice cracked with emotion. “Gege, I’ve been going mad with fear! I searched everywhere for you, and there was nothing—no sign of you, no trace of where you’d gone. And then, when you finally contacted me, you sounded so… so weak.”
Xie Lian reached up, placing a hand on the ghost’s cheek, his touch cool and comforting despite his own fatigue. “I’m sorry, San Lang,” he said again, his voice thick with regret. “But I had to… I had to do this alone.”
Hua Cheng’s brow furrowed in confusion and concern. “Do what alone? What happened to you, Gege? Who did this to you?”
Xie Lian hesitated, his eyes flickering with a mix of fear and uncertainty. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he simply shook his head, as if the effort of explaining was too much to bear.
Hua Cheng’s chest tightened, his fear turning into a cold, simmering rage. Someone had hurt Xie Lian—someone had done this to him, and he would make them pay. But for now, all he could do was be there for his god, to offer him the comfort and support he so desperately needed.
“Come,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around Xie Lian’s waist to support him. “Let’s go inside the shrine. Gege needs rest.”
Xie Lian didn’t resist, leaning into Hua Cheng’s embrace as they walked the short distance to the shrine. Every step was slow and careful, and the ghost could feel the tremors running through the god’s body, the exhaustion that weighed him down like a leaden cloak. It took everything in him to keep his composure, to focus on getting him inside and settled rather than on the anger that burned in his chest.
When they finally entered the shrine, he guided Xie Lian to the straw mat and helped him sit down, his movements gentle and deliberate. He knelt beside him, his eyes searching his beloved’s face for any sign of what had happened, but all he saw was the deep, lingering fatigue that clouded his gaze.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
Hua Cheng shook his head, his heart breaking at the vulnerability in the other’s voice. “It doesn’t matter how Gege looks,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “What matters is that you’re here, with me. That’s all I care about.”
Xie Lian’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he reached out to take Hua Cheng’s hand in his own, his grip weak but steady. He could see the pain etched in every line of Xie Lian’s face, the way his body trembled with the effort of simply sitting upright. He wanted to demand answers, to know who had hurt him and why, but he could tell that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.
“Rest, Gege,” Hua Cheng said softly, squeezing the god’s hand. “You don’t have to worry about anything else right now. I’ll take care of everything.”
Xie Lian nodded, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
Hua Cheng’s heart clenched as he watched Xie Lian struggle to stay awake, his body clearly at its limit. “Rest,” Hua Cheng urged gently. “San Lang will be here when you wake up.”
Xie Lian managed a faint smile, his eyes fluttering shut as sleep finally overtook him. He slumped against Hua Cheng, his breathing evening out as he sank into a deep, much-needed rest. The ghost held him close, his heart aching with a mix of relief and sorrow.
For now, all he could do was stay by his beloved’s side, offering what little comfort he could. But in the back of his mind, the cold rage continued to simmer, a promise of retribution for whoever had dared to hurt the one person he loved most in the world.