Premise: Set after the novel’s conclusion, this story follows Xie Lian as quiet, unsettling moments slowly accumulate into something he can no longer run away from. The first two chapters act as both a standalone piece and the foundation for a longer narrative with additional characters.

Warnings:

vague spoilers for volume 6-8 (Seven Seas edition)

emotional/psychological trauma + abuse

implied/referenced torture + self-harm

Other: Words with small numbers next to them have footnotes¹ that can be viewed when hovering over them. Credit for the source material goes to Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (MXTX), everything else on this page was created by me. Everything...

The first two chapters are on AO3 for anyone who wants to read it there and/or leave a comment + kudos.

With the slow unfurling of days into months, life for Xie Lian had grown to be surprisingly simple. No, rather than simple, it had, for once, been… peaceful. It was a feeling he was slowly learning to accept, a feeling still foreign to him.

The one thing that hadn’t changed after all this time was his place in the mortal realm, still in need of his help. Puqi Shrine stood broader than he remembered, a small courtyard added where there had once been rubble, rebuilt in his absence by villagers whose care he had never quite known how to properly place, much less repay. And before long, those same villagers—some familiar, others known only by face—began to seek him out again, with the same trust as before, as if he had never been gone. It also didn’t take much time for him to find himself guiding lost travelers, calming wandering spirits, and righting some mishaps that—thankfully, somehow no longer grew into full-blown disasters. All just as he had done before. For Xie Lian, this was the quiet life that he missed. A pleasant one, at that.

What he hadn’t quite adjusted to, however, was just how often he found himself missing Hua Cheng. The long stretches of days when their paths couldn’t cross were harder than Xie Lian had expected. He had grown used to absence, to letting time pass quietly, and for a long while, that had been enough. But now, with Hua Cheng’s return and all of the responsibilities that came with it, each moment apart felt more delicate, as if even the smallest intrusion on Hua Cheng’s time would be too much to ask of him. They saw each other when their schedules aligned, which was never quite as often as either of them hoped. While Xie Lian could at least slip away from his volunteer work if he really wanted to, Hua Cheng carried the weight of an entire city; Xie Lian understood that better than most. So he let the days pass as they always had.

So when he finished a round of tasks in a neighboring village earlier than expected, he hesitated only long enough to pretend he’d thought it through. Really, there was no harm in stopping by Ghost City. After all, he was already nearby. Practically on the way… Entirely reasonable.

It was only a visit.

Just a visit…

No need to make a big deal of it.

His steps fell into an easy rhythm, carrying him toward Ghost City before he fully realized how fast he was walking.

Soon, the familiar glow of lanterns and the swell of lively voices rose around him as he approached the city’s entrance.

❀❀❀

Xie Lian walked through the familiar streets of Ghost City, where the night was always loud and bright. Vendors of every shape and shade hollered over one another, offering strange skewers, spurious talismans, questionably sourced meat, dubious elixirs, and… Gods know what. He half-expected to be mobbed the moment he set foot within this strip of booths, yet the rabid enthusiasm he had braced for never came.

Instead, the ghosts were wrapped in their own revelry. They jostled and bickered, drinking, laughing, yelling greetings to friends… None of them spared Xie Lian more than a passing glance or a friendly wave.

There was nothing unusual about that.

And yet, a faint chill crept along Xie Lian’s spine. In the center of vivid colors and noise, he felt strangely invisible, as if he were merely a slip of paper floating through the crowd… Weightless, purposeless.

He shivered. Only then did he notice that his feet had carried him… somewhere. A slightly quieter alley, lanterns rustling overhead, their glow seeming harsher than before.

“Xie-dashu!¹ What are you doing here!” croaked out a scratchy voice.

Xie Lian turned to see a scrawny ghoul trotting toward him, its grin stretched unnaturally wide.

“Ah… just sto—”

“You’re here to visit Hua Chengzhu, aren’t you?” the ghoul blurted out, words tumbling over one another with barely contained excitement.

“…”

“Why else would he be here?” another ghost, one with a broader frame, chimed in. “Hua Chengzhu treats him so well—as to be expected! Truly worthy of a ruler!”

Xie Lian’s face warmed. “Oh… yes… I suppose…”

“What has this little one been up to? Any trouble with those mortals?” boomed a boar-headed creature, one that Xie Lian recognized as the notorious butcher. “Just say the word and I’ll take care of it for you!” He laughed boisterously as he thumped a cleaver down as if to prove his devotion—straight into his own booth! Wood splintered everywhere, and several ghosts jumped before scolding him harshly.

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine…!” Xie Lian rushed to raise his hands, waving them frantically.

Now, this friendly bombardment, he was used to. But tonight, the voices felt thicker, heavier. More than he could manage.

“Have you eaten yet, little gege?” A ghostly courtesan questioned with a shrill giggle.

“Could you tell our Hua Chengzhu that—”

“Hey! He’s not your personal messenger, you idiot!”

“Have you heard— they’re hosting— …Chengzhu said—”

The words tangled, layering over one another like too many hands reaching at once. Xie Lian’s own mouth moved—something polite, surely, but he couldn’t even make out his own words.

A nearby ghost leaned in, its features twisted strangely, mouth flapping rapidly. The sound reached Xie Lian’s ears, but meaning refused to follow.

He blinked hard. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him.

“Ah… sorry… I should, um, go now…” Xie Lian mustered with a slight bow, suddenly too ashamed to look any of them in the eye. The dizziness washed over him again, settling heavily in his chest.

The ghosts waved cheerfully, oblivious, their voices echoing strangely as though the crowd was a further distance from where Xie Lian stood. As he turned away, his feet began moving on their own once again. He never noticed how his pace quickened—light at first, then faster, then faltering with each stumble, as if he were trying to outrun something that only he could sense.

❀❀❀

Xie Lian’s steps slowed only once the familiar silhouette of Paradise Manor came into view. With each visit, it felt a little less imposing, its halls less vast. The careful wariness of his first time here, so long ago, had faded away.

Inside, the halls were quiet. He adjusted his sleeves more out of habit than need and followed the gentle pull of familiarity rather than any clear direction. The absence of sound should have been calming, yet he found himself searching each turn, each open doorway, until—

There.

Beyond the open threshold of the courtyard, Hua Cheng stood beneath the night sky. The sight of him stilled Xie Lian at once, not from hesitation, but from relief. Hua Cheng looked exactly as he always did, unhurried and at ease, as if time moved differently around him. A light breeze stirred his hair and tugged at his robes, but he remained wholly unconcerned by it, grounded in a way that made everything else feel less urgent by comparison.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said softly, more a greeting than a call.

Hua Cheng turned almost immediately. His visible eye found Xie Lian with ease, his expression easing as he closed the distance between them. He did not comment, did not ask why Xie Lian had come so suddenly. He simply fell into step beside him, as though this had always been expected.

“Gege,” he replied, quiet and fond, as if the word alone was enough.

They began to walk together, their conversation drifting into familiar, gentle rhythms. Nothing urgent. Nothing heavy. Just fragments of shared days and small observations exchanged as they moved through the manor’s halls. The tension Xie Lian carried loosened with each turn of the corridor, until it faded into something distant and manageable. The lingering noise of Ghost City felt distant now.

Xie Lian found himself glancing over, only to see Hua Cheng already watching him, calm and attentive, without expectation.

He smiled, the tension easing enough that he stopped guarding the moment so closely. Conversation faded naturally as they walked, words giving way to something easier.

❀❀❀

By the time they reached Hua Cheng’s chambers, the quiet had settled comfortably between them. Inside, the room was softly lit, the glow catching on silk curtains and carved screens. It was still, but not empty. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate.

They shed their outer robes without ceremony, folding them aside as they always did.  Hua Cheng moved with his usual unhurried ease, unbothered, already at home. Xie Lian followed, loosening layer after layer until the tightness in his shoulders eased, just slightly. They sat together on the bed. Xie Lian meant to keep his distance, meant to sit properly, but the mattress dipped beneath Hua Cheng’s weight and shifted him closer despite himself.

Xie Lian reached out almost absentmindedly, fingers brushing along Hua Cheng’s collarbone, then lower, tracing the familiar lines of his chest through thin fabric. It was a light touch, barely there—exploratory, reverent. Hua Cheng stilled, then relaxed into it, a quiet huff of amusement escaping him as he let himself fall back against the pillows, sprawling with theatrical exaggeration.

“Careful, gege,” Hua Cheng said lazily, eye half-lidded. “You’re going to knock me off the bed.”

Xie Lian laughed, soft and genuine. He leaned just a little closer, trying to settle beside Hua Cheng as he sprawled without apology. “That would hardly be my fault. You’re the one taking up so much room.”

“Am I?” Hua Cheng turned toward him, closing the distance with a simple shift. He was suddenly very close, near enough that Xie Lian could feel the movement of him, the subtle rise of his chest as he mimicked a breath he didn’t need. Hua Cheng’s hand caught lightly at Xie Lian’s sleeve, thumb brushing his wrist in a familiar, teasing touch.

Xie Lian’s laughter thinned into something quieter. “San Lang…”

“Hm?” Hua Cheng murmured, tilting his head just slightly, as if listening for something beneath the word.

Xie Lian leaned in without fully meaning to, drawn by instinct more than intention. Hua Cheng’s smile softened, its sharpness easing.

“There,” Hua Cheng said quietly. “That’s better.”

Xie Lian shook his head, fondness tugging at his mouth despite himself. “You’re impossible…”

Hua Cheng didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied Xie Lian with an open, unguarded gaze. Not sharp, not assessing. Just warm. Amused. Affectionate in a way that felt dangerously perceptive.

“Gege’s in a good mood,” he said at last.

Xie Lian blinked, caught off guard. Then he smiled, small and unthinking. “...Is it that obvious?”

“Mmm.” Hua Cheng’s thumb brushed his wrist again, slow and familiar. “That smile,” he said softly. “Gege didn’t even try to hide it tonight.” His gaze flicked upward, playful, knowing. “Did gege miss me that much?”

Something jolted.

Xie Lian felt it immediately, sharp and inward, like being called out when he hadn’t realized he was visible at all. His smile faltered.

Miss him…? Of course he had missed him... The thought should have been comforting. And yet, he pulled back before he could stop himself, the movement sharper than he intended. The bed suddenly felt much larger.

“No—” Xie Lian started, then faltered, words tangling. “I mean— I—” He let out a strained laugh that didn’t quite land in an attempt to smooth things over.

Hua Cheng’s hand lingered where Xie Lian had been, fingers curling slightly before falling still.

The air between them shifted. Not broken, but… off. Just enough for Xie Lian to feel that sense of disconnect creeping up on him again. His gaze slid away, his attention snagging on anything that wasn’t the space between them.

Hua Cheng paused. “Gege…?”

“I… I’m going to take a bath,” Xie Lian blurted before he could stop himself. He thought that, maybe, this would at least pass as a reasonable means of escape, but the moment Hua Cheng’s gaze flickered—just a beat, just for the words to suggest a different meaning, heat shot up Xie Lian’s neck. Of course it sounded like… like that!

“Um— because it’s been a while!” he quickly added, but that was a mistake too. Didn’t that sound even worse!? The urge to flee was overwhelming.

But Hua Cheng merely inclined his head, his expression now calm. “Then I’ll have it prepared for you.”

“No, no!” Xie Lian raised both hands. He didn’t want to trouble anyone—he never did. But at this point… wasn’t he turning this into an even bigger mess? He steadied his voice and said, “I can… manage it myself… really…” The last word thinned into a whisper before he realized it.

Expression remaining as steady as ever, Hua Cheng nodded. “Mn… Take your time.”

“Yes,” Xie Lian responded. “Yes”…? Caught between relief and mortification, he slid off the bed and stooped into a stiff bow, then straightened at once when he realized just how absurd that looked—so formal, especially towards Hua Cheng—and yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Heat flooded his face. He spun on his heel and hurried out before Hua Cheng could say another word.

This chapter contains depictions of physical trauma and psychological distress. Most of it is in line with canon events, though there is a self‑harm scene original to this story.

Xie Lian had initially declined the offer so as not to trouble Hua Cheng any further, but in truth… he had no idea how one should properly prepare such a bath! At his quaint shrine in Puqi Village, all he ever had to do was fetch the wooden bucket and gather water from the nearby stream. But here… As he made his way toward the bathing chamber, he tried to recall whether Hua Cheng had ever explained the layout, where things were kept, how any of it worked, or—

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint, soothing aroma. Lantern light spilled across the chamber, painting the paper screens with a muted glow. His gaze passed over a wash basin, a mirror, a few benches, and shelves lined with various items, but none of it drew him like the stone tub, already filled with warm water. A small sigh slipped past him, tentative but relieved. “It wouldn’t be a problem,” he could imagine Hua Cheng affirming.

Still, Xie Lian’s guilt prickled. He eased himself toward the tub, carefully setting his robes aside as Ruoye slid silently from his shoulders. He lowered himself into the warm water, steam rising to envelop him as the gentle blend of herbs soothed him with each breath.

Xie Lian leaned back against the tub’s edge, gaze drifting upward, unfocused, tracing nothing along the ceiling above.

“I’m going to take a bath…” Xie Lian muttered mindlessly. “…because it’s been a while…”

It’s been a while…

His eyes lowered to the water. Though an excuse made up on the spot, those words unearthed a memory, one of the many that he had buried—and reburied, over and over again.

A time when those words would have been true. When “a while” could have been days—weeks, when caring for himself had become an afterthought, when the weight of his failures suffocated him, and when he hadn’t understood just how deeply he was dragging down those who still cared for him, staining their kindness with his own despair, all because…

Because…

His eyes darted, flinching from the mirror—

from catching the sight of himself—

or even the sight of—

No.

Xie Lian forced his gaze away, as if refusing to look could undo the thought itself. It couldn’t be. Not now. Why now?

He told himself it was impossible. That it was over. That it couldn’t come back—not a third time.

He couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Right?

His mind reached for reason and clung to it desperately, but his body didn’t listen. Something in him recoiled, already bracing, already remembering, as if his body never forgot, no matter how many years had passed.

He had to stop. He needed to stop—but the thought had already taken hold.

A ghost of a touch brushed too close to memory. The weight of arms holding him still, the cruel tenderness of cold hands stroking his hair. The sharp, familiar ache blooming in his chest and sinking into his stomach, as vivid as it had been years ago. The room seemed to tilt, the air suddenly too thick, too close.

His stomach clenched, cold and hollow, and his pulse began to thud against his ears. His skin crawled, fear giving way to a deeper, more nauseating revulsion. Trembling, he reached blindly for a rag nearby—rough, now damp in his hand—held it against his forearm, and scrubbed.

And scrubbed.

His breath stuttered as he dragged the cloth across his skin, harder, again and again, until the sting sharpened into pain. As if he could scour the feeling away by force alone.

As if that could erase—

Erase what, exactly?

His hands slowed, shaking. As if he didn’t already know.

The rag slipped from his fingers, plummeting into the water. Desperate to drown out the thoughts, he submerged his head, letting the water close over him.

But this feeling, too. It was uncomfortably familiar.

Xie Lian swung his head back up, breaking the surface in a violent burst, gasping for air.

His trembling hand gripped the edge of the tub, fear twisting into a sharp, helpless frustration at his own weakness. He braced to haul himself up—

Until a soft glow flickered into view.

Looking down at his hand, still damp, still unsteady, a wrath butterfly had settled itself upon it, its delicate wings quivering. Xie Lian stared at the familiar sight, some small, trembling part of him finally recognizing where he was. His eyes flicked down to the small ring hanging at his chest, suspended from the chain around his neck—a quiet reminder. Whether this butterfly in particular had been sent by Hua Cheng or had a mind of its own, Xie Lian couldn’t say. And it didn’t really matter.

“I suppose I’ve been in here long enough…” Xie Lian murmured, though he was unsure of whether the words were intended for himself or the butterfly.

❀❀❀

After an incense time, Xie Lian stepped back into the bedroom. The panic from earlier lay neatly folded away. He refused to let Hua Cheng catch even a shadow of it. Whatever storm he’d stirred up in his own head—water under the bridge, he told himself, though he didn’t want to think about that either.

Hua Cheng was there, as expected, lying on the mattress above the covers. One knee was propped up, the book in his hand more a prop than anything he truly read. Ruoye was curled lightly around his arm, a small, quiet presence that made Xie Lian’s lips twitch in a faint frown before he could stop it. The moment Xie Lian fully entered, Hua Cheng’s half-hearted attention vanished. In one smooth motion, he set the book aside and shifted to the edge of the bed. Ruoye had slipped away in the process, perhaps to seek E-ming.

Xie Lian approached with measured steps and sat down beside him—close enough to be near, far enough to give himself room to breathe. For a quiet beat, neither moved until Hua Cheng angled toward him. Xie Lian noticed Hua Cheng’s pale hand tapping his own lap, a gentle invitation.

He drew in a breath and accepted it.

After they settled, Xie Lian lay on his side, near the edge of the bed but not so near that it felt precarious, his head resting against Hua Cheng’s lap. Hua Cheng, in turn, adjusted just slightly, the small shifts meant only for Xie Lian’s comfort.

Then came the touch. Hua Cheng’s cool hand slid through Xie Lian’s dark, still-damp hair. His fingers combed through with patient care, and when they caught on a tangle, he paused and coaxed it loose with both hands. A long, heavy sigh slipped out of Xie Lian before he could hold it back.

From above came a soft voice. “Gege seems exhausted…”

Xie Lian couldn’t tell whether it was a question or an observation. Words tangled in his throat. All he could do was nuzzle deeper into the smooth fabric beneath his cheek.

Hua Cheng’s hand left his hair. Before Xie Lian could register the loss, a fingertip came to rest between his brows. With a gentle pressure, firm enough to ground him, never enough to hurt, Hua Cheng rubbed small circles into the spot. The touch drew Xie Lian’s eyes closed. The finger traced upward, slow and steady, until it reached the top of his forehead, then drifted back down to begin again.² The repeated motion lulled him.

This feeling… The memory of a warmer, smaller hand tending to him the same way from when he was young. A comfort he hadn’t known in centuries. His chest tightened.

But another thought followed, quiet and uncertain. This touch…. I’ve felt this before… but San Lang… did he ever…

Xie Lian couldn’t complete the thought. Not because he knew the answer, but because the question itself was too heavy to finish.

They had shared countless tender moments, of course, yet this quiet, instinctive warmth—a comfort given only in the earliest, most cherished years, was a kind of closeness neither had felt in so long that it felt almost foreign.

Xie Lian stirred and rolled onto his back, meeting Hua Cheng’s calm, patient gaze. He found himself analyzing Hua Cheng’s expression—just searching for something, anything, that made sense of how he felt.

Heat pricked at Xie Lian’s eyes. He couldn’t look anymore. A faint sting shot across his arm as he shifted, though he ignored it.

Silence settled over them before Xie Lian whispered, “I’m sorry… San Lang…” His eyes fixed on the far wall, unsure he could face him. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

A hand returned to his hair, stroking with slow, steady reassurance. “No need to apologize,” Hua Cheng murmured. “If this San Lang may ask… did something happen to gege?”

Xie Lian hesitated. Did something happen? Not Hua Cheng—of course it wasn’t Hua Cheng. And whatever had flared in him just moments ago, in the bath, he didn’t understand it himself. At least, not now.

The only “real” incident had been in Ghost City, when too much affection came at him at once… but that experience wasn’t unusual. He was familiar with the crowds, with the faces that greeted him each time, which only made this reaction feel all the more misplaced. Ghost City was the safest place he knew, a place Hua Cheng had built with his own hands. Feeling overwhelmed there felt like a kind of ingratitude he didn’t dare name.

As for the mortal realm… the quiet days had been lonely, sure, but after centuries of solitude, he should have known better than to be this shaken.

Centuries of solitude, and he didn’t realize that closeness could feel so…

So…

Since when did this become harder than being alone?

“Ah.” A thought surfaced. “Well… now that I think about it…” Xie Lian’s answer slipped into a mindless ramble. “Every few years, I suppose I have some sudden… episode. Something like this, I guess. But I let it pass, and, eventually, everything settles again… It’s… nothing I can’t wait out… ha…”

The hand in his hair paused. Xie Lian’s shoulders tightened, expecting the touch to vanish. Instead, a softer voice came from above.

“Gege… Whatever this may be… you don’t need to carry it by yourself…”

Xie Lian let out a quiet breath. “I suppose…” He hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I’m not very used to remembering that yet.”

There was a brief silence. Xie Lian stared at nothing in particular, then added, almost to himself, “It’s strange. After so long, I still don’t quite know how to make any sense of it…” 

He closed his eyes briefly, then turned to look up at Hua Cheng. This time, reading his expression wasn’t difficult. A flicker of guilt pricked at him, but he let it fade with a slow breath.

A quiet calm slowly began to settle over him, and he spoke softly, “What about you, San Lang? Have you…” He paused. “Have you ever felt this way? Surely you have. And now… would you be able to tell me…?”

Hua Cheng didn’t have an answer. Or rather, he couldn’t answer. His brow furrowed, the barest hint of conflict passing over his features.

Xie Lian gave him a small, understanding smile. “See…? It isn’t easy for anyone to admit such things.”

Hua Cheng’s eye widened before a soft chuckle escaped him. “Gege got me…”

“Mm, that may be true,” he continued, “but this San Lang trusts gege dearly. Whatever troubles gege… it will never change that.”

A gentle ache of adoration filled Xie Lian’s heart. His anxiety didn’t quite fade, but it loosened—just enough to let him rest in this moment.

“My dear San Lang…”

When Xie Lian looked up, he caught the small curve of Hua Cheng’s smile.

Sensing the conversation had reached its end, Xie Lian shifted once more, settling his head on Hua Cheng’s lap. Hua Cheng resumed the quiet ritual. Pressing the point between Xie Lian’s brows, then smoothing upward, then trailing his fingers into his hair.

Xie Lian’s vision blurred. His eyelids grew heavy, though he didn’t resist.

Half-aware, he felt his body lift—arms sliding beneath him, silk wrapping around his shoulders. The mattress dipped beside him, and a familiar weight gathered him close. He tried to speak, but only a faint breath escaped.

A chaste kiss brushed his forehead.

Xie Lian shifted slightly beneath the covers, the weight adjusting around him. A hand glided over his forearm, pausing just long enough to speak without words—hesitation lingered in that instant before warmth spread along his skin and the sharp ache that he had nearly forgotten eased. Drowsy, he barely registered it, only that the discomfort melted away under that gentle, trusting touch.

The hand returned to his hair, slow and steady, tracing the familiar, comforting path. His body relaxed entirely, surrendering to the quiet, the steady presence beside him.

A voice followed—gentle, low. The words blurred even as they reached him, but he understood all that he needed to.

He was safe. He was cared for.

He was loved.

Sunlight filtered through the windows of the familiar shrine, casting a warm glow over the tidy room. Xie Lian moved carefully as he dusted spots barely within reach, while Hua Cheng followed just a step behind, sweeping quietly. Neither of them were busy, thankfully. Today, there were no urgent errands, no pressing visitors, no prayers to be answered. Just chores and the rare luxury of a free morning.

“Maybe I can accompany you,” Hua Cheng had suggested earlier that day, something Xie Lian hadn’t argued with. The promise lingered like a small comfort, something he could focus on rather than the gnawing thoughts he still didn’t quite understand from the night before.

Xie Lian focused on the rhythm of the broom, on the small satisfaction of the dust giving way to clean wood, on Hua Cheng’s quiet presence behind him. Their eyes met occasionally, and for a fleeting moment, a small smile passed between them before Xie Lian quickly swung his head away to pretend he was absorbed in his work.

Just as the moment settled, a soft knock at the door drew a frown from Hua Cheng. Xie Lian blinked, then shook himself and hurried to answer, leaving the feather duster he had been using momentarily forgotten.

When he opened the door, his eyes widened—then softened.

“Mu Qing?” he asked, surprise giving way to a smile. “What brings you here? Paying me a visit?”

Mu Qing stood stiffly on the threshold. It had been some time since Xie Lian had last seen him for one reason or another, and whatever composure he’d brought with him was already beginning to fray.

“Oh. Well. Yes—no,” Mu Qing corrected himself, then paused. “I mean… there is something I wished to ask…” As he spoke, his gaze drifted past Xie Lian until it landed squarely on Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng met the look with a flat stare. Mu Qing’s words faltered.

Xie Lian didn’t have to look back to notice his discomfort. “Come in, come in. It’s fine,” he reassured as he stepped aside.

Mu Qing hesitated before entering. He shut the door behind him with deliberate care.

Mu Qing cleared his throat. “Xi… Your Highness… Forgive me for coming unannounced. I was uncertain who else to turn to, and so…” He hesitated.

“…I am requesting your help.” The words came out strained, as if dragged out against his will.

Xie Lian brightened. “Oh? No one else could help you? What’s the matter?”

Before Mu Qing could answer, Xie Lian’s expression shifted. He raised two fingers to his temple, brows knitting faintly as he tilted his head, listening to a familiar voice that only he could hear.

“…Feng Xin?”

There was a slight pause before the voice continued through his private communication array. Mu Qing’s mouth twitched.

“Yes. It’s me,” Feng Xin replied, though he seemed weary. “I didn’t want to trouble you, Your Highness, but… Well, there’s something I wanted to ask your help with—”

Xie Lian laughed, the sound slipping out before he could stop himself. “Sorry, sorry,” he quickly explained. “It’s just… Mu Qing is standing in front of me right now, asking the same thing.”

“…”

Before a stick of incense could even be lit, the shrine door flew open with a sharp crack and slammed against its frame. Hua Cheng’s expression became unreadable.

Feng Xin stormed inside, his boots heavy against the floor. “Mu Qing! What are you doing here? Dropping by unannounced to trouble His Highness—have you no shame?”

Mu Qing scoffed. “Shame? You nearly broke the door with such a barbaric entrance. Since when did I need your permission to ask for help in person? Or were you so afraid you couldn’t face His Highness directly?”

Now, there was plenty in Mu Qing’s words that Feng Xin could have ignored, but his temper flared at the last implication. “Afrai—!? What the hell is your problem?”

“What’s yours?” Mu Qing shot back. “You already know why I’m here.”

Xie Lian let out a soft breath. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Hua Cheng, however, stepped forward, his gaze narrowing sharply as it fixed on the two generals until they both fell silent.

“Please, please,” Xie Lian raised a hand with a smile. “Now I’m even more curious. What is troubling you two so badly?”

Mu Qing and Feng Xin exchanged a glance, each clearly waiting for the other to speak first.

“It’s… our devotees,” Feng Xin slowly began. “Mostly along the border of our regions. There’s been an influx in prayers, and fights have been breaking out.”

Xie Lian didn’t find the latter too strange. “Aren’t they always picking fights with one another?”

Mu Qing grimaced. “Well, this time, it isn’t between the two sides. There’s something else giving us trouble.”

“…From what we’ve gathered,” Feng Xin spoke up, then hesitated. He cleared his throat. “This case feels… similar to that ghost bride incident. You know. The one with the soon-to-be brides… and… General Pei…”

Xie Lian nodded, already understanding.

“You remember how the brides were taken one by one?” Feng Xin continued. “All because Xuan Ji was obsessed with him?”

“Yes, I remember,” Xie Lian answered without much thought. He paused before suddenly suggesting, “Do you want me to dress up again?”

“…” said Feng Xin.

“…” said Mu Qing.

“…” said Hua Cheng, though the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly before he turned his head away.

Before the silence could go on for any longer, Xie Lian let out a small laugh. “I’m joking,” he said as he waved a hand. “Please, go on.”

Feng Xin exhaled through his nose. “…Well,” he folded his arms, “this feels like that again.”

“Not exactly. You’re giving him the wrong idea,” Mu Qing cut in.

Feng Xin shot him a look. “Oh? Then why don’t you enlighten us?”

Mu Qing held his tongue. “Well, you failed to mention that the victims aren’t disappearing. Most of them haven’t, at least to our knowledge. They’re all turning on one another. People who should have no reason to fight suddenly airing grievances, accusing each other… Things are just… escalating far too quickly.”

Feng Xin turned toward Xie Lian. “At first, we thought it was caused by theft,” he added. “Thieves crossing from his territory. Or mine.”

Mu Qing scoffed. “Until we realized nothing was actually being stolen.”

Xie Lian brought a hand to his chin. “Then what are they fighting about?”

Mu Qing hesitated. “Just about anything, though it mostly consists of family matters, or lovers quarreling… over things that they’ve been hiding from each other.”

“Accusations,” Feng Xin added. “Threats… I’ll tell everyone! How could you? Things like that. But when they were questioned, most of them were either tight-lipped, or seemingly had little memory of the events.”

Mu Qing nodded. “We figured there must be some vengeful spirit involved, but it’s difficult to track the source of its qi.” He huffed. “We’ve tried everything. Devices, rituals, anything obvious.”

“And Ling Wen didn’t have any records of anything matching these descriptions either,” Feng Xin added. “Whatever this thing is, it’s certainly hiding. Or just waiting for something, whatever that might be.” He finished, the irritation now obvious in his tone.

Xie Lian lowered his hand slowly. “So it doesn’t create the conflict… not entirely. It nudges it along?”

Mu Qing frowned. “That’s the conclusion we’ve come to.”

“A ghost that reveals secrets…” Xie Lian spoke quietly. He paused, then smiled—small, sympathetic, almost pitying. “That’s not very kind.”

The air was still.

Xie Lian lifted his gaze again. “If it’s a vengeful spirit… do the incidents have anything else in common? A pattern, perhaps?”

Feng Xin exhaled. “We tried looking. But when we stayed near the scene of the crime to see if anything would show itself…” He clicked his tongue. “Nothing.”

“Our guess is that it won’t respond to brute force alone.” Mu Qing turned to Xie Lian. “And if that’s the case…”

Xie Lian’s gaze shifted between the two. “So you believe it’s driven by emotion.”

“Yes,” Feng Xin replied immediately. “And you’re… better with that sort of thing…”

Xie Lian smiled faintly. “I see.”

No one said it outright, but the implication hung in the air. This wasn’t their strength.

A quiet chuckle broke the silence—enough to draw all three of their attention.

“And that’s it?” Hua Cheng questioned. “That’s the conclusion you’ve come to?”

Feng Xin furrowed his brows. “What are you getting at?”

Hua Cheng’s attention flicked to Xie Lian before returning to the two. “You couldn’t draw it out. You couldn’t make it react. So you decided to bring him instead.”

Mu Qing’s expression tightened. “We’re not using him.”

“No?” Hua Cheng tilted his head. “Then why does it always end this way?”

Feng Xin’s jaw tensed, his fists now clenched at his sides. “Watch your mouth.”

Hua Cheng didn’t raise his voice. If anything, it lightened. “You know exactly what I mean. Every time things grow complicated, every time fists and blades stop working.” His smile thinned. “You drag him in and call it trust.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian exhaled softly. He turned his head and met Hua Cheng’s eye.

Hua Cheng went silent.

Xie Lian then looked between Feng Xin and Mu Qing, still calm. “They aren’t wrong. I am better at this sort of thing. Not because they lack anything—just… I’ve seen more of it.”

Mu Qing hesitated. “Xie Lian—”

“It’s fine,” Xie Lian reassured. “Truly. I don’t mind.”

Mu Qing looked away. Feng Xin exhaled through his nose.

“…We’re not… we’re not trying to push anything onto you,” Feng Xin said stiffly. “We just… didn’t want to handle this badly…”

Xie Lian smiled. “I understand.”

Hua Cheng said nothing, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

❀❀❀

Near the front entrance of the shrine, slender fingers brushed across the floorboards as a teleportation array slowly took shape.

Mu Qing knelt over the array, his expression drawn tight in concentration as he traced the final strokes. The lines shimmered faintly as spiritual energy settled into them, but his hand paused—just long enough to betray his irritation.

“You’re hovering,” he said without looking.

“I’m making sure you don’t mess it up,” Feng Xin replied casually, standing over him with his arms loosely crossed.

Mu Qing lifted his fingers from the floorboards. “If you’re so concerned, finish it yourself.”

There was a brief pause. Feng Xin’s arms dropped from their easy fold, one hand landing on his hip as he straightened. “Don’t act like I don’t know how. You’re the one dragging this out.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “I’m only being so cautious to prevent someone from whining over it, but it seems that’s not working…”

“Aren’t you just wasting everyone’s time!?”

Mu Qing snapped his head toward Feng Xin. “Aren’t you wasting mine?”

Xie Lian stood silently by as the two stared each other down, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

Before Feng Xin could get another word in, Mu Qing clicked his tongue and refocused on the sigils in front of him. With a final stroke, the array flared.

Mu Qing rose with a huff, dusting off his hands as he fixed Feng Xin with a sharp look. “Done. Are you happy now?”

“…Yes, I am, actually,” Feng Xin replied, mockery creeping back into his voice.

Xie Lian stepped forward, smiling as if nothing between the two had occurred. “Now then, shall we?”