a glimpse of light

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.”

There is a six-year-old playing with the nefarious Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s ashes.

This gives Feng Xin no small amount of anxiety.

“Be careful, please, Your Highness,” he begs, watching as Xie Lian tosses the ring into the air and then catches it with a delighted grin. “That’s very expensive.”

“I’m careful,” Xie Lian insists, and tosses it again.

Feng Xin makes a high-pitched sound of distress.

Xie Lian had discovered the ashes around his neck shortly after Hua Cheng left, and has been playing with them ever since. Feng Xin had started to take them from him—a child should naturally not be entrusted with a devastation’s ashes—but Mu Qing had stopped him. Crimson Rain Sought Flower would consider taking the ashes from Xie Lian to be nothing short of an act of war. Feng Xin could imagine his fury all too well!

“Tempting, though, isn’t it?” Mu Qing muses quietly beside him, as Xie Lian tries the ring on a finger. It’s too large, and slips off. He catches it seconds before it hits the ground. The butterfly perched in his hair flaps its wings, lackadaisical. “We could just...take them, and then what could he do? We could send him far away forever, or even kill him.”

“Xie Lian would kill us,” Feng Xin says, mournfully. What’s more, he really doesn’t hate Hua Cheng that much. He’s rude and overbearing and obsessive, but he’s also...good, to Xie Lian, in ways Feng Xin has slowly come to recognize.

Mu Qing sighs. “It’s too bad.”

“Your Highness,” Feng Xin says, his voice jumping up an octave when the ring hits the floor and bounces, “it’s almost time for bed. Why don’t we—?”

“I’m not ready for bed yet.”

“Well, not quite yet, but Fu Yao has made you some sleeping robes that actually fit. Wouldn’t you like to try them on?”

“In a second.”

Oh, boy. Feng Xin rubs his temples. 

“In a second” turns out to be an hour later, and by then Xie Lian is exhausted and overwhelmed and having an absolute breakdown because he needs to sleep and the last thing he wants is to sleep. Mu Qing is distraught.

“What’s wrong with him?” he demands, looking wildly at Feng Xin while Xie Lian clutches his ring of ashes and bawls. The butterfly is growing progressively more agitated, and flutters wildly around his head.

“He’s tired,” Feng Xin says. Feng Xin is also very tired.

“So why doesn’t he want to sleep?”

“He’s six.” Feng Xin groans and stands, making his way to Xie Lian’s side. “Your Highness, it’s time for bed now. We’ve played long enough.”

“I don’t,” Xie Lian says, hiccuping around his sobs, “wanna go to sleep!”

The butterfly lands on Feng Xin’s shoulder, its wings quivering. 

“You’ll feel better if you do,” Feng Xin coaxes. “Aren’t you tired?”

Xie Lian shakes his head adamantly. His face is flushed red and streaked with tears, his eyelashes clumping. 

“What if I read you a story? I know some really good ones.”

“I don’t want a story!” Xie Lian wails. “I want a-Niang!”

Oh. Oh.

“Ah, Your Highness…”

“I want—I want a-Niang,” Xie Lian sobs. 

“Xie Lian, Lian-er,” Feng Xin whispers, and sits down next to him. Xie Lian reaches out and clutches a clumsy handful of his robes. “I’m sorry your a-Niang isn’t here right now. We’ll get you back to her very soon, I promise. Until then, Fu Yao and I won’t let anything happen to you. I can stay with you until you fall asleep.”

“a-Niang,” Xie Lian says plaintively, but doesn’t fight when Feng Xin picks him up and settles him into his lap. Feng Xin begins to rock him, and he sniffles miserably. “I miss a-Niang and a-Die.”

“I know. I know you do,” Feng Xin says. “That’s okay.”

“When can I go home?”

“Really soon.”

“How soon?”

“A—a couple of weeks, at most.”

“Weeks?” Xie Lian shrieks, and his tears renew all over again. He’s nearly hyperventilating. “a-Niang, a-Niang—!”

“Shh. Shh, Lian-er, take a deep breath. That’s it, that’s good.” Feng Xin squeezes him. Mu Qing watches on in abject horror. “I know you’re scared, but you’re safe here. We won’t let anything happen to you, and your a-Niang is going to be so happy when she can see you again.”

Xie Lian clings to him until he cries himself out, burying his face against Feng Xin’s shoulder. There will undoubtedly be a snot patch on his robes later. This, he thinks, is a worthwhile sacrifice. Feng Xin strokes Xie Lian’s back and hair as he settles, relieved when the rate of his breathing slows. He hasn’t seen Xie Lian cry so hard in decades.

“Lian-er, we’re going to get ready for bed now,” Feng Xin says, when Xie Lian has subsided to sniffles. Xie Lian whines, but doesn’t otherwise protest. “Fu Yao, where are those robes?”

Mute, for once, Mu Qing offers him the new robes. Feng Xin helps Xie Lian to dress, then wipes his face of tears and snot before offering him a drink. He settles him into bed, bunching the blankets up around his shoulders before fishing around in a nearby chest. Some of Cuo Cuo’s old toys are still here—one of them is a small, threadbare frog. When he offers it, Xie Lian readily accepts and clutches it to his chest.

“Stay here,” Xie Lian pleads, grabbing Feng Xin’s sleeve. “Don’t go away.”

Instantly defeated by Xie Lian’s puppy dog eyes, as per usual, Feng Xin sits down in the nearby chair. He had rocked Cuo Cuo to sleep here many, many times. 

“I still don’t want to sleep,” Xie Lian whispers, and then yawns so widely his eyes tear up again. “Nan Feng-gege…”

“I’ll tell you a story, then. You don’t have to sleep. Just listen.”

Xie Lian subsides again, petting the stuffed frog while Feng Xin tells him an old children’s story. By the time he’s halfway done, Xie Lian’s eyes are closed and his breathing has settled. Mu Qing, watching from the door, makes a sound of disbelief.

“Gods,” he whispers, “that was horrible. Who knew he’d be so willful?”

Feng Xin did.

“Never mind. He’s only missing his parents.” Feng Xin stands, exiting the bedroom but leaving the door cracked so light can filter inside. The butterfly remains behind, perched on the bedside table beside Xie Lian. “Let him sleep as long as he wants. We can have a late breakfast.”

“If Hua Cheng doesn’t show up before that. He says he’s located the demon.”

“You spoke with him?”

“Unfortunately. Knowing him, it won’t be more than a few hours before he’s back here.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. He can take his ashes back, at least, before they’re lost or broken.”

Neither Feng Xin or Mu Qing sleep that night, too leery of Hua Cheng’s impending presence—or another attack from the demon that cursed Xie Lian. Despite his late night, Xie Lian rises when the sun does and stumbles out to greet them with his stuffed frog in hand. He rubs one eye with his knuckles, yawning.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Feng Xin replies. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh.” Xie Lian pushes him back, then climbs into his lap to cuddle against his chest. Mu Qing watches jealously. “Breakfast?”

Sensing an advantage, Mu Qing springs up. “I can make breakfast. What does Your Highness want?”

“Youtiao.”

“How about youtiao and congee?”

“That’s good.”

Xie Lian lounges with Feng Xin while Mu Qing cooks, and the house gradually fills with the hearty scents of frying dough and sweet porridge. Hua Cheng’s butterfly rests lazily in Xie Lian’s palm, and he pets its translucent silver wings with a careful finger. 

“When is that man coming back?” he asks, peeking up at Feng Xin. “The one with the butterflies?”

“Hua Cheng?”

“En.”

“Probably today sometime,” says Feng Xin. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yes! He was cool,” Xie Lian says, his eyes sparkling. “He can talk to butterflies. And did you see his sword? It’s so pretty!”

“It is a pretty sword,” Feng Xin grudgingly admits.

“Can I have a sword like that?”

“I’ll...see if I can find you one.”

You will do no such thing, Nan Yang Zhen Jun, Mu Qing hisses in their communication array. Do you want him to gore himself? 

I wasn’t going to give him a real one! Jeez, how irresponsible do you think I am…

After breakfast, Mu Qing scoops Xie Lian up and deposits him into a tub full of steaming water. Xie Lian shrieks and giggles and makes castles out of the iridescent bubbles on the surface. Miraculously, he manages to convince Mu Qing to play with him; by the time he’s finished, it’s unclear which of the two actually got more water on himself. Mu Qing checks the scrape on Xie Lian’s shin and finds it neatly scabbed, but Xie Lian insists on another bandage anyway. 

“When Hua Cheng gets here again, we can have him heal that,” Feng Xin says, rifling through another of Cuo Cuo’s old toy chests.

“He can do that?” Xie Lian asks, eyes widening.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” Mu Qing says wryly. Feng Xin privately agrees, but won’t say such a thing in the butterfly’s presence. Besides, isn’t it a little mean to tarnish Hua Cheng’s reputation in Xie Lian’s eyes? “Healing magic for a g—”

Feng Xin clears his throat.

“—guard,” Mu Qing finishes lamely. 

Mu Qing helps Xie Lian to dress, and Ruoye warily snakes out of the discarded pieces of the outer robe to peer at them both. Xie Lian jumps back with a startled noise. 

“Don’t be scared,” Mu Qing sighs. “This is only Ruoye. It’s our friend.”

“Ruoye?” Xie Lian asks uncertainly. “That doesn’t sound nice.”

Ruoye droops, and Feng Xin frowns.

“It’s not a nice name, maybe,” Feng Xin allows, scooping the poor ribbon up, “but it’s a very nice...thing. Here, want to pet it?”

Xie Lian tentatively reaches forward, stroking his fingers along the smooth silk. It perks back up, nuzzling up between his fingers and making him giggle. 

“It tickles,” he says, scrunching his nose as Ruoye coils back into place around his wrist. “Can I take it?”

“Take it where?” Mu Qing asks.

“Outside!” Xie Lian bounces on his toes. “I wanna go play. Do you have swings?”

“...we will have by afternoon,” Feng Xin decides, and goes to find his ax.

To no one’s surprise—save, perhaps, Xie Lian’s—Hua Cheng arrives late that morning. He materializes next to Feng Xin, spooking him badly, and then has the nerve to criticize his swing-making capabilities first thing! 

“That wood is too rough,” he says, scowling. “It will hurt His Highness’s skin.” 

“Fuck you,” Feng Xin says, wheezing and trying to calm his heart.

“You wish,” Hua Cheng sneers, and reaches for sandpaper. 

Xie Lian spots them several minutes later, running from Mu Qing’s side and shrieking Hua Cheng’s name. “San Lang! San Lang-gege is back!”

Hua Cheng looks inordinately pleased. His body language immediately softens, and Feng Xin is reminded of a dog letting down its hackles. He crouches, beaming as Xie Lian skids to a stop in front of him—it is one of the truest smiles Feng Xin has seen on his face. Crimson Rain Sought Flower, he realizes, has dimples.

Despicable.

“Did you get the kidnappers?” Xie Lian demands, all but vibrating with excitement. 

“I did,” Hua Cheng says. “They’ll never bother His Highness ever again, so he can rest easy.”

“Did you fight them with your sword?”

“En.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“They couldn’t land a single blow. Truly, they were inadequate compared to Your Highness’ servant.”

“Can I play with your sword?”

At this, a flicker of guilt crosses Hua Cheng’s face. “Er…”

“No,” Mu Qing says, stomping towards them. Xie Lian whines. “I said no, Your Highness. That sword is too dangerous for you.”

The sword in question shivers in protest, its horrible red eye squinting open.

“It! Has! An! Eye!” screams Xie Lian. In excitement or terror, Feng Xin is uncertain. That uncertainty lasts until approximately two seconds later, when Xie Lian reaches forward to touch the aforementioned eye. 

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says, gently cupping Xie Lian’s hand between his own. “I have a better sword just for you. Would you like to see it?”

Xie Lian is thus successfully redirected by the small, dull sword Hua Cheng produces from his qiankun pouch. While made of wood, it has been elaborately carved and decorated with jewels. Xie Lian immediately challenges Hua Cheng to a duel, and Hua Cheng obliges with a dull wooden sword of his own. His blows are slow and easy, and he lays laughing on the grass when Xie Lian inevitably defeats him.

“His Highness is truly too good!” he declares, hefting Xie Lian into the air above him. “You’ll have to teach me your moves.”

“Put me down, put me down—stand up—okay now pick me up! I want to ride on your shoulders!” Xie Lian sits on Hua Cheng’s shoulders, gripping fistfuls of his hair. “Look how tall I am! Nan Feng, Fu Yao, look!”

“I’m looking,” Mu Qing says, and there is an undeniable fondness beneath his words.

“San Lang is really tall,” Xie Lian says wonderingly. 

“That’s what happens when you eat all your vegetables and train hard,” Hua Cheng says, with an air of sage wisdom. 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh- uh.”

“Uh- huh.”

Xie Lian giggles, then reaches around to cover Hua Cheng’s eye—or, well, eye. Hua Cheng reels dramatically once blinded, making him squeal and cling harder. “You’re silly. How come you only have one eye?”

“I dropped the other one,” Hua Cheng says seriously. 

“No you didn’t.”

“I did! I jumped off of my bed one too many times, and it slipped right out. That’s why you should never jump off beds, Your Highness.”

“You’re lying,” Xie Lian accuses. “Eyes can’t just fall out.”

“Well, if Your Highness insists...but maybe you should be careful, anyway. No jumping off high things, okay?”

“Can I see under your eyepatch?”

“No, it’s glued to my face. Hey, look, Nan Feng finished your swings!”

“Aaaaaaah! San Lang, push me, push me!”

By lunchtime, Xie Lian is well and truly exhausted—and, Feng Xin thinks, so is Hua Cheng. They both lay on the floor of the house, panting as they catch their breaths. Mu Qing steps neatly over both of them as he prepares lunch. 

“Hey,” Feng Xin says, nudging Xie Lian with the toe of his boot. “Show Hua Cheng your leg.”

“Oh!” Xie Lian rolls up his robes and peels off the bandage, showing Hua Cheng his tiny scrape. “Can San Lang really fix it?”

Hua Cheng clucks his tongue and coos and cossets as though it’s a damn laceration. Really, he shouldn’t feed into this melodrama! ...although, Feng Xin supposes, an adult Xie Lian might need all the encouragement he can get to confess a wound. One of Hua Cheng’s butterflies alights on the scrape, and it vanishes within seconds.

“So cool,” Xie Lian whispers, rubbing his fingers over the skin. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“En, of course. But you’ll have to develop your spiritual energy first.”

Xie Lian groans. No doubt, he’s been told that hundreds of times even at this age.

“Do you want to meditate with me?”

“No.” Xie Lian sits up and scoots closer to him. His robes are grass-stained and rumpled where they pool around him. “San Lang, since you found the kidnappers, will I get my memories back?”

“Soon,” Hua Cheng promises. “Very soon, Your Highness.”

After lunch, Mu Qing and Feng Xin manage to pry Hua Cheng away from Xie Lian. “We need to talk,” Mu Qing insists, “about what happens now. Your Highness, stay inside and wait for us.”

“But I want to come,” Xie Lian says, jutting his lower lip out in a pout.

“You can come play with us more in a few minutes. Right now the grown-ups need to talk,” Mu Qing says firmly. “Stay inside.”

“Whatever you’re going to say, say it quickly,” Hua Cheng says, once they’re outside. His foot taps impatiently. “I want to spend time with him like this while I can.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Mu Qing accuses.

“Yes,” Hua Cheng says, unapologetic. “He’s adorable.”

“What I want to say is—you can’t have him,” Mu Qing says, his jaw set. “While Xie Lian is like this, we’ll keep him here.”

Any and all of Hua Cheng’s good humor vanishes at once.

“We’ll take good care of him,” Feng Xin rushes to add. “The best care. We love him too, you know. He’s our best friend.”

Hua Cheng’s jaw tightens, his eye darkening. 

“What’s more, this place is better for him,” Mu Qing continues, stolidly not looking in Hua Cheng’s direction. He probably fears to lose his nerve if he does. “Ghost City would scare him too much, and Puqi Shrine is too run-down for a child.”

“The cottage on Taicang Mountain, then,” Hua Cheng says coldly. “I appreciate your concern for His Highness, but—”

“But nothing. Crimson Rain Sought Flower...means well, where His Highness is concerned,” Mu Qing says, grimacing, “but he has no idea how to care for a child. At least Feng Xin has done so before.”

“It’s not like it’s that hard,” Hua Cheng scoffs. “They’re just little people.”

“See, that’s exactly where you’re wrong. Children require consistency, and routine, and structure. You would spoil him too much—you can’t even say no without making excuses! You were going to give E-ming to him, earlier, weren’t you?”

“Of course not! I—”

“Besides that, you haven’t the faintest idea what a parent is supposed to act like. Only look at your own childhood! Who did you have? Now, I’m not blaming you for that, but you can hardly deny that it had its impact. To be a caregiver is simply something you aren’t suited for, and I hope you can agree that Xie Lian isn’t meant to be a trial run.” 

Hua Cheng…

Hua Cheng flinches.

Feng Xin has never seen him flinch before. He frowns.

“You know what they say,” Mu Qing adds, to drive the nail home. “Children take after their parents in these matters. If someone’s father beats them, then as for their own children...and, well, only look at how you treat E-ming.”

There is an expression on Hua Cheng’s face, then, that Feng Xin does not fully understand and has no time to analyze. It is replaced almost immediately by pure, unadulterated fury. He whips around, leaning over the two of them—times like this, he towers, and his butterflies fan out behind him with shrieks of anger. His breath smells like blood. His fangs are a fox’s. 

“How dare you,” he says, his voice black. “How fucking dare you. I would never hurt him! I would never even think of doing something like that. I ought to kill you for this. You piece of shit servant—you think you’d raise him better than me?! You couldn’t even stay by his side when he needed you most! Now you expect me to entrust him to your care?”

Mu Qing is very, very pale—but, to his credit, he does not step away. “This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he says. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower gets angry and threatens people. Xie Lian is young and spoiled, and he will make you mad. When he does, is this how you’ll react?”

“Of course not,” Hua Cheng snarls. “I’ll—I’ll—”

“You don’t know what you’ll do. You’ve never had a child, Hua Cheng. You have no idea what kind of a father you would make—but I do.” Mu Qing lifts his chin. “And I don’t want you around Xie Lian.”

Hua Cheng surges forward, slamming Mu Qing into the door of the house and drawing E-ming. “I’ll rip your fucking guts out you if you try to keep him from me, you—”

A frightened cry rings out behind them, and Hua Cheng freezes instantly. He yanks himself back, his eye wide. 

“Fuck,” Feng Xin whispers, and shoves Mu Qing aside. He barrels through the door in time to see Xie Lian scramble beneath the kitchen table and hug his knees to himself, his eyes full of tears. He’s sobbing again. “Lian-er, whatever you heard—it’s okay. Everyone’s okay.”

Feng Xin kneels before the table, opening his arms, but Xie Lian only shakes his head and quails away. His eyes are fixed on a spot over Feng Xin’s head—fixed on, Feng Xin realizes, Hua Cheng. The ghost stands in the doorway, open horror on his face as he looks down at Xie Lian. He takes a step forward, casting Xie Lian in his shadow, and Xie Lian flinches back. 

“Xie Lian,” he whispers, stumbling back again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I’m—”

“Would you shut up?” Mu Qing hisses, shouldering him out of the way. For once, Hua Cheng doesn’t retaliate. “Just get out of here. You’ve scared him. See, this is exactly the sort of thing I was trying to prevent. Crimson Rain Sought Flower isn’t fit for a child.”

That strange, unreadable look crosses Hua Cheng’s face again, but this time Feng Xin thinks he understands what it is—terror. Absolute, awful terror.

“Xie Lian?” he whispers again, and Xie Lian clamps his hands over his ears and sobs. 

“Go away,” he sobs. “Go away go away go away—!”

Hua Cheng, as ever, can do nothing but obey.

Crimson Rain Sought Flower doesn’t go far.

Feng Xin finds him, several minutes later, sitting by the swingset. He looks smaller, this way—his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin propped on them. He tenses when Feng Xin sits down several feet away from him; almost certainly, he wants to snap, but in a novel turn of events he restrains himself. Feng Xin is left unbloodied.

“Xie Lian is fine,” Feng Xin says, first, looking out over the fields before them. Farther away from the house, the grass grows tall and thin. It ripples in the breeze. “He was frightened, but he’s calmed down now. He’ll be okay.”

Hua Cheng does not respond.

The thing is, Feng Xin never regretted that they took that tiny, filthy child from Xie Lian’s arms all those centuries ago. Why would he? The crown prince could naturally not be burdened with something—some one —like that. He had more important priorities than one wretched waif. But Feng Xin has to wonder, now, what might have happened if they allowed Hong Hong-er to stay.

He has to wonder what it would have been like, to have a little brother.

“What Mu Qing said…” Feng Xin rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “Hell. Taking care of a kid is hard. It certainly isn’t for the faint of heart. You know how to take care of Xie Lian as an adult, it’s true, but like this things are different. Of course you would do your best, but for some people their best isn’t enough.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him,” Hua Cheng says, his voice low and flat. Then he falters, and hugs his legs more tightly. “Not on purpose, I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Feng Xin knows no such thing. Xie Lian is so small like this, and Hua Cheng is so volatile. At least as an adult, Xie Lian can fight him off if he falls prey to another fit of madness. Like this, if Hua Cheng lost control...“But Crimson Rain Sought Flower is scary for a kid to be around, especially when he’s mad—and he doesn’t know how to calm himself down well, either.”

Hua Cheng glances over. He’s shifted forms: this one is that of the teenager who once bickered so arrogantly with Fu Yao and Nan Feng under the scorching sun of a desert. He looks much less arrogant, now, although his face is still cold.

“Apologize to him, and to Mu Qing,” Feng Xin continues. “He’ll forgive you then. You know how he is.”

“To Mu Qing,” Hua Cheng repeats, scathingly.

“If you don’t, Xie Lian won’t forgive you. He’s always been this way. His sense of justice is too strong.”

Hua Cheng growls, wordless and feral, before cutting his eyes away from Feng Xin’s again. He’ll apologize eventually, Feng Xin knows. He would do anything to win Xie Lian’s favor back. He would grovel before anyone, if only his god asked. His pride is as fake as his forms.

“Anyway, we’ll take good care of him, so you don’t have to worry. You can visit him whenever you want. It’s only for a couple of weeks, and then he’ll be back to normal and he can go wherever.” Feng Xin takes a deep breath, steeling himself for a fight. “Alright, Hua Cheng?”

Hua Cheng’s fists tighten until his knuckles blanch.

“If you let him get hurt,” he says, finally rising to his feet, “I’ll slaughter you both.”

Feng Xin blinks, surprised. “Then, you’ll let us…?”

“I’m putting up a perimeter around this place. None of you are to leave a five-mile radius without my knowledge, and I will be leaving butterflies here to keep watch. You are to give him nothing less than your absolute best. If he has so much as a hair out of place after this—”

“I wasn’t kidding, earlier. I love him too, and I’m not going to let anything hurt him.”

“And tell—tell him I—” Hua Cheng looks away, his jaw clenching and his shoulders hunching. For a moment, he looks much younger than a ghost of centuries. “Forget it.”

Anyone will tell you that Feng Xin is more brawn than brains, and he would hardly dispute it. He’s never been the most intelligent. He proves this to himself, once again, by reaching forward and resting a hand on Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s shoulder. Hua Cheng tears himself away with a vicious snarl, but Feng Xin is still in possession of all ten fingers—so, he considers it a successful interaction.

“Come inside,” he says. “Try again.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head.

“He’ll miss you. He likes you.”

“He said to go away.”

“He was frightened.”

“And I don’t want to frighten him again.”

Feng Xin sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “Then, what? Are you just going to ignore him until this curse is over? You can’t possibly expect me to believe that.”

“...tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then. Come with your apologies prepared.”

Hua Cheng nods, short and sharp. Then he grits his teeth, tosses his dice, and disappears.

Back inside, Feng Xin finds Xie Lian napping in Mu Qing’s arms. His eyes are still puffy, and his grip on Mu Qing’s robes seems unbreakable. Mu Qing, resigned, pats his back as he sleeps. “Huh. You’re still in one piece,” he says, upon seeing Feng Xin.

Feng Xin stops in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why did you say that stuff to him?”

“To Hua Cheng?”

“Do you actually believe that?” Feng Xin asks, frowning. “That if someone’s parents are no good, they can’t be any good, either?”

Mu Qing shrugs. Xie Lian whines in his sleep, pressing his face against the crook of Mu Qing’s neck and shifting restlessly until Mu Qing hushes him. “It makes sense. What your parents teach you—isn’t that the only way you know to raise children? Who else would you learn from? Especially if there’s no one else to correct you.”

The idea unsettles Feng Xin, but he finds that he can’t debate it. He slouches onto the divan next to Mu Qing and looks at Xie Lian’s little, scrunched face. “Hua Cheng wasn’t happy.”

“Well, it’s his own fault. He just proved us right—if he can’t control himself, why would we ever trust him with a child?” Mu Qing cups the back of Xie Lian’s head protectively. “I’m just glad he left without more of a fight.”

“Yeah,” Feng Xin mutters. “I guess.”

“What? You think we were wrong?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why do you sound so morose all of a sudden?”

“I’m not morose.”

“You are!”

“I’m not! Looking at your face just pisses me off!”

Mu Qing’s eye twitches, but he refrains from springing up and reaching for his sword—mostly, Feng Xin assumes, because Xie Lian is still heavy and sleeping in his arms. Despite his insistence otherwise, Feng Xin does find himself more morose than usual for the rest of the day. He tries his best not to let it show; he especially tries not to let it show around Xie Lian, who is still quiet and clingy and uncertain. He spends most of the evening in their arms or laps. He does not ask after Hua Cheng again.

That night, once Xie Lian is asleep, a small silver butterfly flutters through the window. Feng Xin hesitates, and then reaches out to catch it. For all his fear of it, it does not cut his palms for the impudence. Its wings are softer than he realized they could be. “He’s fine,” Feng Xin tells it, quietly enough to avoid waking Xie Lian. “He’s been good all day. He built a foil palace with us, and ate most of his dinner. He didn’t like the steamed buns, though. He’s really too picky.”

The butterfly flicks its wings—an acknowledgement, perhaps?—then creeps out from between Feng Xin’s fingers and goes to rest on the bedside table. It is gone by morning.

“What are we doing today?” Xie Lian asks, holding Feng Xin’s hand as they head to the kitchen for breakfast. The bounce seems to be back in his step after a good night’s sleep, and his eyes are bright again. “Can we fly kites outside?”

“Sure, if you want,” Feng Xin allows, picking him up and depositing him into a seat at the table. “Fu Yao, wanna fly kites later?”

“Maybe,” Mu Qing says, nudging a bottle of soymilk in Xie Lian’s direction.

Xie Lian cheers, then grabs the bottle and gulps it. Whatever manners they taught him at the palace are rapidly vanishing; Mu Qing blames Feng Xin. This, Feng Xin thinks, is fair. He reaches for his own soymilk, but as he grasps it there is a knock at the door. All three of them tense. 

“Is that...San Lang?” Xie Lian asks, hesitantly. “Did he come back?”

“I’ll go and see.” Mu Qing pushes back his chair, the legs grating against the floor, and walks briskly to the door. He swings it open, and Feng Xin leans his own chair back on two legs to try and peer around the corner of the wall; he is unsuccessful, but teaches Xie Lian yet another bad habit in the attempt. “What the hell is this?”

Well, that’s not a good sign. 

Feng Xin hears footsteps crossing the floor, then, but they’re too light and fast to be Hua Cheng’s. Instead, what peers around the corner is—

“Hong Hong-er?” Feng Xin chokes, spluttering soymilk. 

Hua Cheng glares up at him from a child’s face. It’s not Hong Hong-er exactly—the eyes are both bright and dark, the skin clean and the bones less prominent—but it’s a near enough likeness. 

“Hong Hong-er?” Xie Lian repeats, leaning forward to look at this new intruder with open curiosity.

“Your Highness,” Mu Qing says, storming into the kitchen and reaching for Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng jumps back, his little fists balling up at his sides. “This is actually—”

“Hong Hong-er!” Feng Xin shouts over Mu Qing, springing to his feet, and all three of them jump. “This is my little brother, Hong Hong-er!”

Hua Cheng’s eyes widen. Then he smirks, and folds smoothly into a little bow towards Xie Lian. “Your Highness,” he says, and it is unnerving to hear such respect in a child’s airy voice. “That’s right. Nan Feng-gege told me about you, and so I wanted to come say hi.”

“Oh,” Xie Lian says. Then, his eyes shining: “Well, hi! Do you want to fly kites with us?”

Hua Cheng inches closer hopefully. “If gege can teach me how.”

“I’m sure he can!” Xie Lian beams. “Right, Nan Feng?”

The look Hua Cheng turns on Feng Xin is absolutely blistering. Feng Xin is very much not, he knows, the gege Hua Cheng meant. But, they’re both caught in it now, so…

“Yeah, I can.” Feng Xin clears his throat, sitting back down. “But first, we have to finish breakfast. Have a seat, Hong-er.”

Hua Cheng scrambles up into a chair beside Xie Lian, and Feng Xin has to fight the automatic urge to help boost him up. He doubts Crimson Rain Sought Flower would appreciate the gesture. Once Hua Cheng is seated, Xie Lian begins to describe their collection of kites as they eat. Hua Cheng listens, rapt, and makes admiring comments at all the right points.

Mu Qing’s eyebrow hasn’t stopped twitching once.

After breakfast, Feng Xin takes the children outside with an armful of kites. 

“Which one do you want?” Xie Lian asks Hua Cheng. “I like the phoenix one.”

“You can have that one, then.” Hua Cheng nudges the phoenix to Xie Lian before picking out a panda for himself. They fly kites for most of the morning, and Hua Cheng smiles and talks and nods along with everything Xie Lian says. Feng Xin can’t help but think there’s a reluctance to him, though—a guilt that lingers in his eyes whenever Xie Lian looks away. 

Xie Lian grows bored of kites, eventually, and grabs Hua Cheng’s hand to drag him off towards the swings. Feng Xin leans against the side of the house and watches them play, a cup of ginseng tea in one hand. Hua Cheng is smaller than Xie Lian—too small to push him well on a swing—so Xie Lian grabs him under the arms and places him in one of the swings, himself. Hua Cheng grasps the ropes tightly, eyes wide, and Xie Lian tries to see just how high he can push him. 

(The answer is not very high, given that he isn’t even four feet tall, but Feng Xin admires the effort anyway.)

“Nan Feng-gege!” Xie Lian cries, eventually. “Come push!”

Feng Xin sets his cup down and heads for the swings. Hua Cheng immediately starts to squirm out, but Xie Lian stops him. 

“Wait, wait, Nan Feng is going to push you,” he says. “He can get you really high up!”

Hua Cheng subsides, but not without another nasty look in Feng Xin’s direction. Feng Xin could dread this, or make it awkward, or fumble some excuse to push Xie Lian instead of Hua Cheng. He doesn’t. Instead, he reaches forward to grasp the ropes of the swing and peers down at Hua Cheng. 

“Ready?”

Fuck you, Hua Cheng thinks venemously to him in the array.

Little kids shouldn’t say naughty words like that.

I’ll kill you in your sleep.

Feng Xin snorts, and then pushes Hua Cheng as high as he can. Hua Cheng squeezes his eyes shut as he rushes back towards the ground, and Feng Xin has a split second to wonder— has he ever been on a swing before?— before he pushes Hua Cheng right back up. Xie Lian shrieks in delight, bouncing on his toes and grabbing Feng Xin’s robes. 

“Me next, okay? Me next!”

“Why not both of you?” Feng Xin grabs Xie Lian and deposits him in the second swing. He alternates his pushes, and Xie Lian kicks his feet so hard it makes the swing wiggle. Hua Cheng relaxes some once Xie Lian is with him, and manages to keep his eyes open the next time he rushes towards the ground. 

“Nan Feng, Xie Lian!” Mu Qing calls, leaning out of the house. “Lunch is almost done!”

“Come on, boys.” Feng Xin stops both of their swings, hooking one arm around each of their waists and tucking them against his sides like two flour sacks. Xie Lian laughs. Hua Cheng sighs. “Let’s go see what we’re eating, huh?”

Xie Lian regales their morning adventures for Mu Qing while they eat, and then begins to rub his eyes. Even Hua Cheng is beginning to look sleepy, his eyelids heavy and his food half-eaten. Feng Xin has to wonder how much his forms truly affect him.

“Looks like someone’s tired,” Mu Qing observes, while Feng Xin clears away their empty bowls. “I think it might be naptime.”

“Mn, I think so,” Feng Xin agrees.

Xie Lian almost immediately begins to whine. “I can’t nap! Hong-er’s here.”

“Hong-er can nap, too,” Mu Qing suggests, a little too malevolently. Hua Cheng side-eyes him. “He’s even littler than you are. You’d better make sure he gets his sleep.”

“Oh.” Xie Lian frowns, swinging his feet before glancing over at Hua Cheng. “Are you really tired?”

“En.”

Xie Lian heaves a sigh, but goes to find his frog and his blanket. Feng Xin tosses extra pillows onto the divan, and Hua Cheng climbs onto it. When Xie Lian returns, he has his frog in one hand and a panda in the other. 

“Here,” he says, offering Hua Cheng the panda. “For you, in case you get scared.”

Hua Cheng buries his face against the panda with a soft, “Oh.”

Xie Lian settles in at one end of the divan, and Hua Cheng on the other. Feng Xin flares the blanket out and tosses it across them both. Yawning widely, Xie Lian burrows into his pillows and shuts his eyes—all in all, a much better putting down than Feng Xin had expected. Hua Cheng keeps his own eyes open, watching Feng Xin and Mu Qing warily. 

So, Mu Qing says in their communication array, this is the great Crimson Rain Sought Flower’s master plan? You’re not even going to apologize to him? You’re just going to trick him into thinking you’re someone else so you can keep an eye on him without taking responsibility for your actions?

Hua Cheng scowls, coiling himself more stubbornly around his tattered panda. I’ll apologize to him later. I didn’t think he would want to see that form again so soon.

You’re right. Mu Qing scoffs. He’s probably still terrified of you. 

Hua Cheng’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding audibly. 

That’s not true, Feng Xin interrupts. Hua Cheng, he asked after you this morning. He wanted to know when you were coming back. Yeah, you scared him, but I told him that you knew what you did was wrong and that you regretted it. I told him you were sorry. Now, if only you’d apologize, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came to see him again in your true form. 

Hua Cheng rolls over, shoves his face into the divan, and does not respond.

Oh, that’s just like you, Mu Qing grumbles. Too prideful to even apologize for a—

Mu Qing, let him sleep.

It’s not like he actually needs to!

Mu Qing.

Mu Qing slouches back in his chair, glowering at Hua Cheng’s back, and doesn’t speak again. It is a very frosty naptime. To his surprise, Hua Cheng is actually asleep when Xie Lian stirs again. Xie Lian tip-toes over to his side of the divan, leaning over to see him.

“Be careful, Your Highness,” Feng Xin murmurs. “Don’t wake him.”

“Why’s he still sleeping?”

“He’s littler than you are.”

“Oh.” Xie Lian sets his stuffed frog behind Hua Cheng before pulling the blankets up over his shoulders. Then he trots back over to Feng Xin. “Can we still play?”

“In the kitchen, and we have to be quiet.”

They are almost half an hour into building another gold foil palace when Hua Cheng stumbles into the kitchen after them, bleary-eyed and clutching both stuffed animals. “Gege,” he mumbles.

“He’s right here,” Xie Lian chirps, nodding towards Feng Xin. “Wanna come play with us?”

Hua Cheng makes the arduous climb into a kitchen chair, then rests his head on the table and watches as Feng Xin and Xie Lian finish their palace. He compliments it profusely once they’ve finished, a little more awake now, and is then summarily dragged off by Xie Lian to play with the stuffed animals. Xie Lian is already good at sharing his toys, and Feng Xin ruffles his hair and praises him for it. He gets a glowing smile in response, and even a look of approval from Hua Cheng.

That evening’s regularly-scheduled breakdown is, predictably, about Hua Cheng leaving.

“Why can’t he just spend the night?” Xie Lian whines, tugging on Mu Qing’s hand. “Nan Feng is here to watch him. Nan Feng, can’t he stay?”

“No,” Mu Qing says firmly, and shoots a warning look in Feng Xin’s direction. “I’m sure his...parents are missing him, or something.”

The mention of parents does not, in any way, make this easier. 

“I want to go home too,” Xie Lian says, his eyes welling with tears. Hua Cheng, near frantic, pats his shoulder. “My parents miss me.”

Feng Xin scoops him up and cradles him. “Of course they do, Your Highness, and we’ll get you back to them soon. But you don’t want Hong-er’s parents to miss him the way your parents miss you, do you?”

Xie Lian shakes his head miserably.

“So we have to let him go home,” Feng Xin explains. Then, with a look at Hua Cheng: “Maybe he can come play tomorrow?”

“En.” Hua Cheng stands up on his toes, leaning on Feng Xin to meet Xie Lian’s eyes. “I’ll come back and we can play more tomorrow, Your Highness, don’t worry.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Mm. Okay.” Xie Lian rests his cheek against Feng Xin’s chest, his body relaxing. Feng Xin breathes a sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow, Hong-er.”

Hua Cheng smiles fondly. “See you tomorrow, Your Highness.”

Once Hua Cheng has gone, Feng Xin tucks Xie Lian into bed. As per usual, he’s asleep before the middle of the bedtime story. He wakes up early, nearly bouncing with excitement for Hua Cheng’s return, and Feng Xin thinks that today is going to be another good day.

Also as per usual, Feng Xin is wrong.

The trouble starts in the morning.

Xie Lian goes outside to play before breakfast. Feng Xin sits outside too, nursing a cup of hot tea and keeping half an eye on him. This is his first mistake. Xie Lian, at all times, requires at least one whole eye. (He would say two, if only Hua Cheng weren’t so successful at keeping him out of trouble.) He hears the crash and crackle of brush, which isn’t wholly unusual—he and Ruoye have been exploring the forest boundaries. 

Satisfied that all is well for the moment, he steps inside to speak with Mu Qing because he smells something burning—quite the unusual occurrence, when it comes to Mu Qing’s cooking. But Mu Qing, it seems, is locked into an intense mental argument (if Feng Xin had to guess, with Hua Cheng). Feng Xin scrambles to save the noodles. 

By the time he steps outside again, Xie Lian is gone.

“He’s what?!” Mu Qing screeches, upon receiving this news. “What do you mean gone?”

“I mean I can’t find him,” Feng Xin pants, contemplating exactly how long he has left to live once Hua Cheng’s lurking butterflies hear. “I was only gone for a second! He must have wandered off into the forest.”

“Gods above, of course he did. Come on!”

Together, the two of them plunge outside and into the trees. Feng Xin cups his hands around his mouth and bellows Xie Lian’s name; the birds around them shriek in alarm, but there is no other reply. Without a word, Feng Xin and Mu Qing split off in separate directions—Mu Qing to the west, and Feng Xin to the east. They stay connected through the array, sharing glimpses of scenery and snippets of thought (a panicked chorus of Xie Lian Xie Lian Xie Lian oh gods where’s Xie Lian streams ceaselessly between them).

Hua Cheng, when he appears, is formless. 

He is a crackle of cold air and a writhing black shadow perched in the treetops above Feng Xin’s head, a burst of malevolence and a pressure that makes Feng Xin’s heart jackrabbit into his throat. His breath catches. The air freezes against his teeth. He smells ozone and blood. When Hua Cheng speaks, it is not with a voice—not with a thought—only with a deranged, furious intent that Feng Xin’s human mind barely translates, and—

WHERE IS HE!!

Feng Xin slams his hands over his ears, although it does no good. Hua Cheng’s panic boils around him, in him, through him.

LIAN-ER!!! YOU LOST HIM YOU LOST HIM YOU LOST—!

“Then help me find him!” Feng Xin shouts, fighting to be heard over the clattering trees and the rushing noise of a devastation’s madness. “Hua Cheng!”

The darkness lightens, brightens, bursts into a thousand silver butterflies with razors for wings. They take off, scattering into the forest, and Feng Xin runs after the ones flying east. 

“He’s got Ruoye with him,” he pants, and knows Hua Cheng will hear. “He can’t have gone past the perimeter. Fuck, he probably hasn’t even gone half a mile—it hasn’t been that long.”

KNEW I SHOULDN’T HAVE TRUSTED YOU. RUINOUS, UNRELIABLE, DISLOYAL—

“I get it!” Feng Xin snarls. 

Hua Cheng snarls back, echoing and encompassing.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal, Feng Xin thinks, if only Xie Lian had better luck. But right now, he is small and weak and unfortunate. What if he falls into a creek and drowns? What if a bear eats him? What if he trips off of a cliff and dies? There are so many, many things that can go wrong for a six-year-old in the wilderness, never mind a six-year-old Xie Lian in the wilderness. Hua Cheng’s bubbling terror certainly isn’t helping Feng Xin keep his head. 

FOUND HIM.

The butterflies around Feng Xin halt immediately, turning to swarm north. Feng Xin lunges after one, catching it in his hands. It beats stinging wings against his palms until blood trickles between his fingers, and he hisses through his teeth and fights the instinct to crush it. “Stop,” he says. “Stop. Hua Cheng, stop.”

FOUND HIM!!!

“Great! Fantastic! Now chill the fuck out,” Feng Xin snaps. “You can’t go to him like this right now. He can’t help you the way he usually does—he’s six. You need to calm yourself down. Remember what happened last time?”

The butterfly hesitates, and Feng Xin unfolds his hands. A thousand tiny, wicked cuts cross his joints. This is the price, he supposes, for suppressing Crimson Rain Sought Flower even a second. The butterfly flicks blood from its wings. 

HE NEEDS ME.

“Yes, he does,” Feng Xin agrees, with a flash of jealousy—but Hua Cheng is right. If there’s one thing he’s come to understand over the past decade, it’s that Hua Cheng really is Xie Lian’s most devoted believer. Whether Feng Xin likes it or not is a different story, and one that doesn’t matter right now. “But he doesn’t need you like this. Don’t you remember being a child? Don’t you remember how frightening it was when people were angry around you?”

I’M NOT ANGRY!

“You could have fooled me. Just—calm down first. Breathe.”

The butterfly lifts from his hand, but it doesn’t go far. It perches on a nearby tree trunk, fanning its wings anxiously. Feng Xin steps away, and it lets him go. The wind curls cold around his shoulders, shoving him forward. His path is lit by hundreds of gleaming silver butterflies: they perch eerily on the leaves, on the brambles, on thorns and dirt and stone. He breaks into a run again, following the path they outline for him until he can hear a child’s cry.

“Xie Lian!” he calls. “Lian-er!”

“Nan Feng!” Xie Lian shouts, and Feng Xin hears bracken crumbling as they fight their way towards each other. The second Xie Lian emerges from the brush, Feng Xin scoops him up and squeezes him so hard he gasps. “Nan Feng-gege, Nan Feng—”

“It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay,” Feng Xin says, cupping a hand around the back of Xie Lian’s head as he sobs. His face is streaked with dirt, and there’s blood on his fingers. Ruoye coils anxiously around them both. “I’ve got you.”

“I got—I got lost,” Xie Lian chokes out, pressing his face to Feng Xin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I got lost.”

“It’s okay,” Feng Xin soothes. It’s not, really, and they’ll have to have a talk about wandering off—but that can come later, when Xie Lian isn’t trembling quite so badly. “I found you. I won’t let you get lost again. Here, Lian-er, show me your hands.”

Xie Lian leans back and opens his bloody hands. There is a tiny butterfly between his palms, and for a moment Feng Xin feels sick with horror—did it actually cut him, in its terror? But Xie Lian doesn’t treat the butterfly with any fear. In fact, he scoops it onto his shoulder before holding his hands out again. 

“What happened?” Feng Xin asks, frowning at the shallow cuts. 

“Thorns,” Xie Lian says, his breath still sticky and hitching. “I fell.”

“Poor Lian-er. You’ve had a hard afternoon—let’s go home and we’ll get cleaned up, okay?”

Xie Lian nods, winding his arms around Feng Xin’s neck again. Then, sniffling, he asks, “Where’s San Lang?”

“San Lang?”

“Mm. He brought the butterflies.” Xie Lian points back, towards their gleaming silver path. The butterflies all watch him, still and silent and quivering. “Is he—is he mad at me? For getting lost?”

“Lian-er…”

A low, soft voice comes from behind them: “Of course not, Your Highness.”

Feng Xin whirls, and Xie Lian sits up straighter in his arms. Hua Cheng has taken his true form again, and stands several feet away. His shoulders are drawn tight, his face half-turned from them in uncertainty. Xie Lian curls closer to Feng Xin, one hand coming up to fiddle nervously with the collar of Feng Xin’s robes.

“San Lang really isn’t mad?” he whispers. 

“No.” Hua Cheng shakes his head adamantly. “Your Highness doesn’t have to be scared. I’m sorry I frightened you before—my behavior was inappropriate, and I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. You have nothing to worry about from now on.”

Xie Lian eyes him for a moment, then asks, “You weren’t really gonna rip Fu Yao’s guts out, right?”

“Of course not,” Hua Cheng lies. “This one was merely acting tough and exaggerating.”

“But we can talk about that later,” Feng Xin says, hitching Xie Lian a little higher up in his arms. “Let’s get home, first. Fu Yao is worried sick about you.”

Feng Xin heads south again, and Xie Lian clutches him tightly. Hua Cheng follows several steps behind, his boots chiming. The butterflies fade behind him. They meet Mu Qing in the yard—Feng Xin had informed him of their impending return home through the array—and he immediately scoops Xie Lian into his own arms.

“Xie Lian, what were you thinking?” he demands, his eyes blazing. “You could have been lost, or hurt, or killed! Don’t you know better than to run off like that? Didn’t your parents teach you anything at all?”

Xie Lian’s eyes begin to water, and Hua Cheng’s hackles instantly rise. E-ming rattles on his hip.

“Enough, both of you,” Feng Xin says, before they can devolve into another spat. “Fu Yao, can’t we at least clean him up before you start scolding him?”

To his credit (and to Feng Xin’s immense surprise) Hua Cheng shakes himself off and stalks past Mu Qing without a second glance. Xie Lian watches them both nervously as their paths cross—but, when they don’t immediately lunge for each other’s throats, he seems to relax some. Once inside, Mu Qing sets Xie Lian down to wipe the blood from his hands and the dirt from his face. He helps Xie Lian change into fresh robes while Feng Xin dabs the mud from Ruoye’s silk. 

Hua Cheng hovers, and hovers some more.

“‘m sorry, Fu Yao-gege,” Xie Lian mumbles, shame-faced, as Mu Qing plucks stray leaves from his hair. “I didn’t mean to get lost.”

“Your Highness should know better than to run off alone,” Mu Qing grumbles.

“And what right does his servant have to scold him?” Hua Cheng huffs, his eye narrowing. “You two were the ones who weren’t watching him closely enough.”

“So, what? We should have to watch him at all times? Don’t be a fool. He knows better—don’t you, Lian-er?”

Xie Lian looks uncertainly between Mu Qing and Hua Cheng, wringing his hands. 

“They’re not going to fight again,” Feng Xin sighs, kneeling next to him. “Isn’t that right, you two?”

Hua Cheng looks away, folding his arms over his chest.

“Not if he doesn’t start anything,” Mu Qing mutters. “In any case, we—”

“Sorry,” Hua Cheng snaps.

Mu Qing falters, taken aback. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry.” Each word looks like it physically pains Hua Cheng. “For last time. I—behaved poorly, and threatened you. I shouldn’t have done that and I won’t do it again. So. I’m sorry.”

Mu Qing stares at him. 

Hua Cheng glances hopefully towards Xie Lian, and Feng Xin knows perfectly well who that apology was actually meant for. 

“Well—well, whatever,” Mu Qing says, for lack of a better response. Feng Xin can’t blame him. He doesn’t know how any reasonable person would react if Crimson Rain Sought Flower himself apologized to them.

“See?” Feng Xin says cheerfully to Xie Lian, who does look relieved. “All better. Nobody’s fighting with anybody. So, can you tell us why you were in the forest without us now?”

“Oh! Yeah.” Xie Lian tugs his ring of ashes off, holding it out for Feng Xin to see. “I dropped my ring and it rolled away, so Ruoye and me went after it, but then this big black bird came down and stole it so we had to chase it! And the bird put it in a nest, so Ruoye went up and knocked it down, but then the bird got mad and chased us so we—”

...really, Feng Xin didn’t know what he was expecting.

“For this?” Mu Qing demands, snatching the ring. “You ran off for this?”

Hua Cheng tenses, his eye darkening.

“Hey, that’s mine,” Xie Lian protests, reaching for the ring. Mu Qing yanks it away from him. “Fu Yao, that’s mine!”

“I can’t believe you. It’s just a stupid ring, Xie Lian. It’s a piece of glass! It isn’t worth risking yourself for.”

“Give it back,” Xie Lian says, jumping and trying to grab the ring. When he fails, his eyes flood with tears and he tugs at Mu Qing’s robes. Ruoye snakes out of his sleeve, leaning aggressively towards Mu Qing until Mu Qing snatches it in his other hand. “Give it back to me!”

Hua Cheng looks between the two of them, his brow furrowing—he looks more than a little distressed. Had it not been for his recently-extracted promise, he almost certainly would have attacked Mu Qing. As things are, however, Feng Xin is sharply aware that the two of them hold a hefty and altogether uncommon advantage over the ghost.

For some godsforsaken reason, he finds that he doesn’t want to abuse that advantage.

“Fu Yao,” Feng Xin says, warningly. “Be careful with that.”

“You clearly can’t be trusted with it,” Mu Qing spits. “If you’re going to go risking yourself over something stupid like this, then why would I give it back to you? You’ll just do it again.”

“I won’t,” Xie Lian sobs. “I won’t, Fu Yao, give it back.”

Hua Cheng kneels, suddenly. “Your Highness,” he says, briefly distracting Xie Lian from his effort to climb Mu Qing. “Fu Yao is right.”

Feng Xin chokes. Of all the things he expected Hua Cheng to say, that certainly wasn’t it! Mu Qing is right—?! 

“That ring is just a silly bauble,” Hua Cheng says. “His Highness shouldn’t risk getting lost or hurt for toys like that.”

Xie Lian looks at him, his breath hitching and his face streaming with tears. “But I like it,” he says. “I want it. The bird was—it was gonna take it.”

“If you like it so much, and it gets lost, I’ll just make you another one,” Hua Cheng promises. “There’s no need for Your Highness to get hurt for this one specifically. I’ll make you as many rings as you want, if only you’re careful.”

“But I want that one,” Xie Lian repeats, his voice cracking. “It’s mine.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head. “Your Highness can have it back later, when you’ve proven you can be more careful with yourself. I’ll keep it for you until then.”

“San Lang! No! No no no—” 

Hua Cheng straightens up, wincing when Xie Lian slams into his legs—and it is not a wince of physical pain, Feng Xin is sure. Once he’s standing, Hua Cheng extends a hand and Mu Qing drops the ring into his palm. It is unceremoniously shoved into one of his pockets. 

“Give it back!” Xie Lian wails, clutching fistfuls of Hua Cheng’s robes and yanking. “Give it back, give it back, give it back! San Lang!”

Feng Xin had not ever expected Hua Cheng to take anything from his beloved little god. He certainly hadn’t expected Hua Cheng to do it even in the face of Xie Lian’s tears, and it’s best, he thinks, not to test the ghost’s resolve more than they have to. So Feng Xin scoops Xie Lian up, neatly dodging the tiny fist that flies in his direction, and carries him outside. He takes him over to the swings, and then sits down in one of them and begins to swing gently with Xie Lian in his lap. Xie Lian pushes against him, distraught and furious, until Feng Xin hugs him tight. Then he crumbles all at once, still bawling, and latches onto Feng Xin with fervor.

“Why’d you take it from me?” he cries. “Why’d you take my ring?”

“We’ll give it back soon,” Feng Xin murmurs, stroking Xie Lian’s hair. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. It’s only for a little while.”

“I didn’t mean to lose it. I didn’t mean to!”

“Shh, I know. We’re not upset at you because you lost the ring. We were just worried because it’s dangerous out there alone, and you could have been hurt. All three of us would have been very sad if anything happened to you. You can’t go running off without us. Do you understand?”

Xie Lian does not respond, but slowly, slowly, his crying tapers off again. When it does, Feng Xin hears the quiet press and jingle of silver-strapped boots behind him. This, he thinks, is not a good thing. Xie Lian is quiet, but by no means content yet. 

“Your Highness?” Hua Cheng says, softly. He holds out a small golden ring on a chain; this one emits a soft light. “How about this one instead? Even if you drop it, it will return to you at once, so you’ll never need to be scared of losing it.”

Feng Xin knows a ring like that must be priceless. Xie Lian reaches out to take it with small, scratched hands—as he does so, a silver butterfly lands on his knuckles to erase those delicate wounds. Carefully, Xie Lian pulls the ring to himself. Then his face screws up again, and he flings it as far away as he can.

“I don’t want that stupid ring!” he shouts. “I want mine!”

Hua Cheng cringes like he’s been struck, looking altogether too chastised for someone on the wrong side of a spoiled six-year-old. 

“Then, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng starts, hesitantly, “maybe soon—”

“You’ll get it back later,” Feng Xin interrupts, standing and setting Xie Lian down. He kneels before him so their eyes can meet. Xie Lian looks far too distressed for such a little thing as losing a ring. He shouldn’t remember how valuable that ring of his really is, but something tells Feng Xin he isn’t entirely ignorant of its worth. “You can be angry, but you can’t take it out on San Lang. He’s only trying to help you.”

“He’s mean,” Xie Lian snaps. “He took my ring.”

And Feng Xin knows—he knows— that Xie Lian is six, and upset, and lashing out because he doesn’t understand how to express himself in any other way. He knows that, given enough time to calm down, Xie Lian will accept the ring’s loss and forgive Hua Cheng’s part in it. He knows a six-year-old’s fury is a fearsome, but short-lived, thing. 

Hua Cheng, it seems, does not know these things.

“Your Highness,” he says, almost desperately, “I’ll give it back soon. I don’t mean to upset you.”

“Give it back now. You’re not allowed to take things from me. I’ll tell a-Die, and he’ll—!”

“That’s enough, Xie Lian. Hua Cheng, you should just—” Feng Xin sighs, hefting Xie Lian into his arms again. Xie Lian bites him, the little brat. “Just go. I’ll deal with him while he’s like this. He’ll only upset you.”

Feng Xin carries Xie Lian farther away, hoping to spare Hua Cheng the rest of his tantrum, and Hua Cheng—

Hua Cheng stays behind, looking more lost than Feng Xin has ever seen him.

Xie Lian’s foul mood lasts until lunch and a nap. The food and rest go a long way to placate him, although he’s not interested in playing much for the rest of the day and only asks for Hong-er. When Feng Xin explains that Hong-er can’t be here, Xie Lian clings more tightly to his stuffed frog and will not be comforted. Hua Cheng sits awkwardly on the divan and tries to engage him in conversation. It doesn’t work. 

Feng Xin is really starting to feel bad for the guy, so he pulls Hua Cheng aside once Xie Lian is asleep. “You can’t let him get to you,” he says, apologetically. “He was like this as a child. He’s not used to—well, to not getting his way, and he probably felt a connection to the ring, so—”

Hua Cheng yanks his arm away. Ruoye is coiled around his wrist, having left Xie Lian once the child fell asleep, and it twines anxiously between his fingers now. “I don’t need your advice,” he spits, squeezing the silk. “I know I’m bad at this. Everyone’s made that perfectly clear.”

“Well, it’s not your fault that your parents—”

“Don’t talk to me about that. You don’t have the fucking right.”

“Both of you keep your voices down. Xie Lian is sleeping,” Mu Qing hisses, stalking out of the kitchen with a bowl full of sticky rice for tomorrow’s breakfast. 

Hua Cheng bares his godawful fangs, but does lower his voice when he speaks next. “I’m not leaving again. I can’t trust the two of you to keep him safe.”

“You’re one to talk. It was your ring that got him in trouble in the first place.” Mu Qing scowls, setting his bowl aside and crossing his arms. “So why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Take the ring back?”

Hua Cheng scoffs, glancing away. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. But, Xie Lian is—he’s always been overprotective of that ring. If he’s still carrying those inclinations with him, then it’s dangerous to leave it here. I won’t let him risk himself for something so stupid while he’s this vulnerable.”

“Even if he’s mad at you?”

“I will accept whatever punishment I deserve when His Highness is grown,” Hua Cheng says coldly. As he does, Ruoye snakes up to loop protectively around his throat and peek through the curtain of his hair. “I’ve always told him he could make his own decisions, but right now it’s too dangerous to allow that. So, even if he’s mad about it, I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him safe and accept the consequences later.”

“Hmph,” Mu Qing says. It is the same hpmh he uses whenever Feng Xin bests him in an argument and earns a grudging modicum of respect. “Tomorrow, at least come as Hong-er for a while. Xie Lian likes you that way. It’ll put him in a better mood.”

“He likes you this way, too,” Feng Xin insists. “It’s only—well, it’s only—”

“I’m the bad guy like this, right?” Hua Cheng looks away. Feng Xin expects him to scoff, or roll his eye, but right now he looks...he looks…“I fuck up every interaction I have with him, even when I try not to. No matter what I do, I’m worthless as a gege. Trust me, there’s no one who knows it better than me. That’s the only goddamn reason I’m still letting you keep him here after your blatant failure today.”

...right now, Crimson Rain Sought Flower looks defeated.

“I’ll prepare the guest room,” Feng Xin says quietly. “Crimson Rain can stay there until Xie Lian is grown again. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”

“Ah," Hua Cheng murmurs, stroking Ruoye's silk absently, "this one won’t blame him if he doesn’t."

When Feng Xin steps outside in the morning, the air is fresh and cool. The sun softens the clouds and edges them in pinks and golds as it rises. In the distance, the grass glistens with dew and the swings rock gently in the breeze. There, on the edge of the porch, sits Hua Cheng. 

He’s picking bloody black feathers out of his teeth.

“I can’t do this right now,” Feng Xin says, and turns back around.

“What?” Hua Cheng complains. “It’s just the bird that scared His Highness yesterday.”

“Goodbye and good morning, Hua Cheng.”

Tiny bird bones crunch behind him. 

“Morning, Feng Xin.”

“Woah,” Xie Lian says, looking at the ungodly number of clothes and toys Hua Cheng has brought from Ghost City—an attempt, Feng Xin guesses, to win back Xie Lian’s favor. “This is all for me?”

“En, all of it,” Hua Cheng says, nodding adamantly. “If there’s anything His Highness wants that isn’t here, please tell this servant and he’ll get it right away.”

“What does His Highness want to play with first?” Hong-er asks, peeking over at Xie Lian’s face. (Feng Xin is hard-pressed, at this point, to tell which one is the clone—Hua Cheng or Hong-er. Both are terrifyingly realistic.) 

“I still want my ring,” Xie Lian reminds the room as a whole. Then, he reaches for a bright purple robe. “But we can play with these first.”

For several hours, Hong-er and Xie Lian play dress-up with the gaudy clothes and jewelry Hua Cheng has brought for them. Hua Cheng slouches on the divan, making no move to join the children even when Mu Qing crouches to help Xie Lian braid his hair with gold ribbons and Feng Xin kneels to fasten Xie Lian’s little wooden sword onto his belt. There’s an anxiety to the ghost, now—an uncertainty when he looks at their prince. All of the ease and confidence that Feng Xin saw the first time he played with Xie Lian has vanished.

Feng Xin can’t help but feel uncomfortable with its loss. 

“Come down here already,” Feng Xin says, throwing an extravagant golden comb towards Hua Cheng. “Play with us.”

Hua Cheng hesitates, glancing towards Xie Lian.

“San Lang can help me,” Xie Lian allows, scooting over. He’s trying, rather poorly, to braid Hong-er’s hair the way Mu Qing had braided his. “This is hard.”

So, Hua Cheng goes to sit beside Xie Lian. “Can I teach His Highness how?” he asks, reaching for one of Hong-er’s messy braids. 

“En,” Xie Lian says, and watches studiously as Hua Cheng combs Hong-er’s tangles out and then begins to braid again. Hong-er looks rather unimpressed, but then he’s hardly the child Hua Cheng is focused on. “Can I try again?”

“Of course,” Hua Cheng agrees solicitously. 

By the time the two of them have finished, Hong-er’s hair has been braided and unbraided several times over. If he had been an actual child, Feng Xin is sure, he would have been squirming and annoyed by now. As it is, he sits patiently and endures Xie Lian’s clumsy little tugs without a word. 

“Make-up next, okay?” Xie Lian says, reaching for a pot of kohl.

Feng Xin is thus forced to endure afternoon tea while sitting directly across from a poorly-powdered Crimson Rain Sought Flower— without laughing. It’s a trial. He can’t quite stop a grin from crossing his face every time he glimpses Hua Cheng’s gaudy make-up, however, and to his disbelief he sees one corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth quirk up in return. It’s only a small movement—anything else would crack his make-up—and it only happens a single time, but it’s what finally makes Feng Xin break out laughing. 

“What?” Hua Cheng asks.

Like he has to ask that, and so sullenly, too!

“His Highness’s fashion skills,” Feng Xin says, shaking his head, “are very creative.”

Hua Cheng’s eye softens, and he reaches up to touch the steak of rogue on his cheek. “En. He’s always been like that.”

“Like with his food.”

“His Highness’s food really isn’t that bad,” Hua Cheng huffs “You’re just—”

“I’m not insulting it. He really is very inventive with it. I couldn’t come up with all of those names.” Feng Xin tactfully doesn’t say that, inventive or not, Xie Lian’s food is garbage. 

“Hm.”

“San Lang, here,” Xie Lian says, trotting over and pushing another mug of tea towards Hua Cheng. It’s cold now. Hua Cheng drinks it with an appreciative hum. “Good?”

“Very good, Your Highness. You’ll have to teach me how you make it.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, trotting up to Hua Cheng. He’s got his stuffed frog in one hand, and Hong-er’s hand in the other. “Will you push us on the swings? You’re tallest.”

Hua Cheng inclines his head. “Whatever Your Highness wishes.”

With a squeal of delight, Xie Lian tugs Hong-er off towards the swings. Hong-er stumbles after him with a content smile. Hua Cheng scoops Xie Lian up, first, his hands light and cautious where they touch. When he reaches for Hong-er, Xie Lian squirms around to watch.

“You have to be easier with him,” he says, sagely, “‘cause he’s littler.”

“Oh,” Hua Cheng says. He and Hong-er stare at each other, their eyes narrowed. Sighing, Hua Cheng picks him up and sets him down in the other swing. 

As Hua Cheng pushes the children, Feng Xin leans on one side of the swingset. “After this,” he proposes, “would Your Highness like to come try out the archery set I made him?”

Xie Lian gasps. “Archery set?”

“Mn, all for you. I’ll teach you how to use it safely.”

Hua Cheng looks doubtfully at him—but, Xie Lian has already dragged his feet through the soft dirt below the swing to stop himself. He takes off, shrieking in excitement, and grabs Feng Xin’s hand. 

“Be careful,” Hua Cheng calls after them. Whether the warning is for Xie Lian or Feng Xin, it can’t be said. As soon as Xie Lian’s back is turned, Hua Cheng grabs Hong-er by the scruff of the robes and sets him on the ground. Hong-er kicks him on the way down. “Hey! You little—”

“Hua Cheng,” Feng Xin interrupts, scooping Xie Lian into his arms. “Grab Hong-er and bring him too.”

“Hong-er, hurry!” Xie Lian squirms, already fighting to get back down. “Nan Feng, walk faster.”

Glaring, Hua Cheng picks Hong-er up again and follows them towards the western field. The bow Feng Xin has fashioned is small and weak, but more than enough to entertain Xie Lian. They spend most of the evening shooting dull-tipped arrows, and Hua Cheng watches fretfully from the sidelines; Hong-er, in turn, scrambles to collect Xie Lian’s arrows until Feng Xin catches him. (It’s harder than it should be, like trying to catch a fox kit.)

“It isn’t safe to run out by the targets,” he scolds, and whole-heartedly savors the way it makes Hua Cheng’s mouth thin with displeasure. Hong-er frowns at him. Such a serious look on such a small face! “I’ll pick up the arrows once we’re done, don’t worry. Here, why don’t you try shooting? I’m sure His Highness will let you have a turn.”

“Yeah!” Xie Lian runs back over, his bow clutched gleefully. “Hong-er, you try.”

After, Mu Qing comes to collect Xie Lian—the two of them have taken to cooking together, when they can. Hua Cheng follows, like the world’s most horrible mother hen, until Feng Xin steps in front of him.

“Relax,” he says. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I thought the last time I left him alone,” Hua Cheng spits, and steps around him. Hong-er, too, gives him a sour look before darting after Xie Lian. 

Ah, well. War isn’t won in a day.

Almost a week later, Feng Xin’s kitchen is covered in paint.

Hua Cheng looks maliciously glad about this. “Yes, that’s it, Your Highness,” he enthuses. “Painting must be done with your whole heart. Don’t hold back.”

Xie Lian smashes another blue-streaked hand against his canvas, giggling. Feng Xin can’t fathom what he’s even trying to paint, at this point—maybe, once, it was a landscape.

“Why didn’t we do this outside?” Feng Xin wonders, mournfully.

“I’m painting the dishes,” Xie Lian explains.

Hm. Maybe if Feng Xin squints at the painting hard enough…

“Do you like it?” Xie Lian holds up the wet canvas, and several thick streaks of paint drip from its edges and onto the floor. The actual painting is a mess of colors and clumsy shapes, with none of the finesse Feng Xin has come to expect from Xie Lian. Hua Cheng glowers over Xie Lian’s head, as though Feng Xin would actually think to insult him.

“It’s beautiful, Your Highness,” Feng Xin says. “As expected of such a fine young prince.”

Xie Lian beams. “It’s for you. You can hang it on the wall.”

“Just as soon as it dries, I will.”

Mu Qing steps inside, then stumbles to a stop. “What is this?” he says, aghast.

“Painting, obviously,” Hua Cheng says, rolling his eye. “What grand observational skills you have, General.”

“Xie Lian, your robes!” Mu Qing cries.

It’s a valid point. Xie Lian’s robes have not been spared—they’re streaked and soaked in a multitude of colors, as is his hair and the skin of his hands and forearms. Brushes, Hua Cheng had declared early on, were too delicate for Xie Lian’s enthusiasm. Hong-er isn’t much better off, but the paint looks slightly less garish on his black robes. 

“What a mess,” Mu Qing says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Couldn’t you have at least done this outside?” 

“He’s painting the dishes,” Feng Xin explains.

“And how am I supposed to cook dinner now? This will take forever to clean up. Nan Feng, can’t you—”

Hong-er makes a point of stretching; his foot knocks over a full tin of red paint. “Oops,” he says, leisurely, as it floods across the floor and over the toes of Mu Qing’s boots. 

“Hong-er!”

“Aaaand, I think it’s bathtime,” Feng Xin says, quickly scooping Hong-er up before Mu Qing can pounce. He sees Hong-er stick his tongue out at Mu Qing and has to hide a smile of his own; Mu Qing really earned that one. 

“I want bubbles,” Xie Lian says, trotting after them and leaving smears of paint in his wake. 

“I’ll get you bubbles, Lian-er, don’t worry.” Feng Xin props Hong-er on his hip as he fills the bath, then warms it through with a heating talisman. He lets Xie Lian pour in the soap, swishing it around until the water froths. “How’s that?”

“Good!” Xie Lian strips to his underrobe, then scrambles into the tub. Feng Xin plops Hong-er in after him. 

Do me a favor and drown Hong-er while you’re in there, Mu Qing grumbles from the kitchen.

You can try, Hua Cheng says, breezily, but he’s awfully hard to keep down. Trust me, I’ve tried a few times now. Hey, what are you even making?

Nothing that I need your help wi—hey! Hey, stop, get your filthy hands away from my dumplings!

Feng Xin drowns no children in the bath, although he isn’t completely sure they aren’t trying to drown him. With the amount of splashing they do, he’s as wet as they are by the time the paint is gone. He only gets them to settle down when he lathers soap into Xie Lian’s hair, and then into Hong-er’s. Xie Lian goes pliant and sleepy-eyed. Hong-er freezes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his bony shoulders stiff. 

“Getting paint out of your hair,” Feng Xin replies calmly, and tries very hard not to think about the bloody, broken child they left behind centuries ago. “You really got it everywhere.”

There’s a crash from the kitchen, and Hong-er winces.

Feng Xin tries even harder not to think about that bloody, broken child. It doesn’t work.

“Hua Cheng,” he calls over his shoulder to disrupt whatever chaos is about to erupt in the kitchen, “bring me some dry robes.”

To his amazement, Crimson Rain Sought Flower obeys. He suspects this is only for Xie Lian’s sake, but he’ll take what he can get. Once both of the children are dry and dressed, they return to the kitchen. Feng Xin picks up a damp washcloth and hands it to Xie Lian.

“Here,” he says, “let’s clean up.”

“Unnecessary,” Hua Cheng argues, taking the washcloth from Xie Lian. “I’ll just use my spiritual powers and—”

Feng Xin takes the washcloth and hands it back to Xie Lian, who blinks up at them both in bafflement. “He helped make the mess, so he’ll help clean it up. You will too. Here.”

Hua Cheng scowls at the washcloth Feng Xin presses into his hand, and into Hong-er’s. 

“Menial labor,” Hua Cheng mutters, like the spoiled goddamn ghost king he is. “His Highness is a prince. He’s—”

“—perfectly capable of picking up after himself,” Feng Xin says, wry. “And he’s not even complaining as much as you are.”

Hua Cheng’s lower lip juts into something suspiciously close to a pout when he glances up and finds Xie Lian and Hong-er on their knees together, scrubbing paint off of the floor and talking quietly. Hong-er is a living bur; always at Xie Lian’s side or lingering a mere step behind. Maybe that’s what having a little brother looks like.

Hong-er and Xie Lian are playing tag when Hong-er skids around a corner and directly into Mu Qing. Mu Qing drops a bowl of steamed rice, and it shatters across the floor. The silence after is deafening, but only lasts a split second. 

“Hong-er!” Mu Qing grabs him, and Hong-er freezes in his grip. Feng Xin gets up to intervene, but—“Did you step on the glass?”

Hong-er stares blankly at him. 

“Hong-er?” Xie Lian asks, hesitating at the edge of the glass shards. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Hong-er squirms, pushing at Mu Qing’s hands. 

“Are you sure?” Mu Qing demands. “If you’re hurt—”

“He’s fine,” Hua Cheng interrupts brusquely, taking Hong-er from Mu Qing and dropping him beside Xie Lian. He lands on his feet, barely. Hua Cheng glances over his shoulder and mutters, “Quit bothering Fu Yao and go play already.”

Hong-er grabs Xie Lian’s hand and tugs him away, although Xie Lian stumbles and looks anxiously over his shoulder as Hua Cheng and Mu Qing face each other. Feng Xin offers what he hopes is a comforting smile to the kids as they slip outside, and then heaves himself up with a sigh.

“Don’t touch me again,” Hua Cheng spits. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to let him step on the glass?” Mu Qing demands. 

“I would have been fine. Something like that would barely sting, and I could have healed it anyway. I don’t need your help.”

“He’s a little kid!”

“No,” Hua Cheng hisses, leaning forward, “I’m not.”

“Boys, boys.” Feng Xin steps between them, pressing a hand to each of their chests and pushing them apart. Hua Cheng’s chest is eerily still and cold beneath his palm, while Mu Qing’s rises and falls quickly with fury. “Come on. Think of the children.”

Hua Cheng tears himself away with a growl, scowling at the far wall. “It’s his fault.”

“I was trying to help you,” Mu Qing argues. “Why are you always so ungrateful?”

“Grateful? What do I have to be grateful for?” Hua Cheng draws himself up, looking down at them both. “Your help came eight hundred years too late. I don’t want anything to do with either of you. If I had my way, I’d have killed you both ages ago.”

“You let Feng Xin help with Hong-er,” Mu Qing spits, and then snaps his mouth shut and glares at them both.

Hua Cheng laughs—a crooked, cold sound that sends chills down Feng Xin’s spine. “Yeah, well, Feng Xin’s an idiot.” 

“Hey,” Feng Xin protests bleakly.

“So,” Hua Cheng continues, sneering, “what’s your excuse?”

“Hong-er is different,” Mu Qing insists. “You made him different.”

Hua Cheng arches his eyebrows.

“He’s different. He’s not you. He’s—like you, sometimes, he’s still a brat, but he’s never gotten angry. He’s never hit anyone. He’s never hurt Xie Lian. He’s not you.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t change a single thing. He’s the same monster I am, Mu Qing, and you’d do well to remember it. Besides—” Hua Cheng smiles, and Mu Qing’s face pales. “How do you know Hong-er’s the clone?”

“Hua Cheng?” Feng Xin asks quietly, after. “Which one is the clone?”

Hua Cheng glances over at him, his gaze bored. “Does it matter? Hm. I don’t think it does. Whatever I do, whatever I look like—I’m still the same awful person in your eyes, aren’t I? Well, that’s okay. I feel the same about you. People don’t change.”

Feng Xin looks away—out at the twilight, and the faded gleam of stars above them. Several wraith butterflies perch on the porch, their wings flashing in the moonlight. “I think Mu Qing’s wrong.”

“Oh, probably. But about what?”

“I think, with a little more practice…” Feng Xin stretches his legs out in front of him, breathing deeply the way he always does before battle. “You wouldn’t be a bad dad, Hua Cheng.”

Hua Cheng does not respond and, when Feng Xin glances over, he’s gone. 

It is, he thinks, the first time Crimson Rain Sought Flower has ever fled from him.

“You’re an idiot and I hate you,” Hong-er says the next morning, when Feng Xin opens the door to let him in. “I wish you'd die. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“Good morning to you too,” Feng Xin says, yawning. “Xie Lian’s in his room.”

Hong-er glares and scrambles off to snuggle.

“The East Sea surged and roared and said, ‘Come on, you silly bird! How can you ever imagine filling me up with those stupid rocks?’” Mu Qing says, using his best angry voice for the East Sea. Xie Lian sits cuddled in his lap, wrapped securely in a warm blanket and wide-eyed with wonder. 

Hong-er sits at his feet, frowning. No doubt he’s heard this story before; who hasn’t?

“But Jingwei retorted, ‘You murderer! Time is such a just judge as to send you to death eventually. Wind may break my wings; the sun may wrinkle my skin; but my resentment will never die. Let's wait and see,’” Mu Qing continues. “When the East Sea asked Jingwei why she hated him so, she laughed a bitter laugh. ‘Ha! You have just forgotten the young girl torn apart by your blind and angry waves. You want to claim more lives, don't you? Never imagine it! I will make you disappear from the earth and you deserve it.’”

Xie Lian shivers, bunching his blankets up around his chin. “Jingwei’s angry.”

“She should be,” Hong-er points out. “The East Sea is a jerk. It’s his fault she died and turned into a useless bird.”

“Do you want to hear the ending or not?” Mu Qing interrupts, to which Xie Lian nods eagerly. “Alright. Well, then, listen up: flying and shrieking, Jingwei made her journey between Mount Jiu and the East Sea numerous times, each time carrying a few stones or branches, as if she would never suffer from fatigue. It is her intention to fill up the sea that drowned her—back and forth she flies, never an end. Even now, you can see Jingwei throwing stones into the vast water if you go to visit the East Sea.”

“Does she fill it up?” Xie Lian asks, leaning forward. “In the end?”

“I don’t know, Your Highness.” Mu Qing shrugs, smoothing a hand over Xie Lian’s hair. “She’s still trying.”

“Oh.”

“She’ll kill it up one day,” Hua Cheng drawls; he hasn’t looked away from Mu Qing once. “She has eternity, after all, and she’s very persistent. Don’t worry, Your Highness.”

“...why do you have to say it so creepily,” Mu Qing mutters.

“So, there’s a festival coming up,” Feng Xin says, sitting on the table and swinging his legs. Hong-er has gone home for the day, and Xie Lian is asleep. Hua Cheng isn’t anywhere to be found, but Feng Xin is sure he’s lurking somewhere; maybe he’s the spider in the corner, or the cold draft by the front door, or the shadows behind the divan. Best not to think about it for too long. “It’s in just a few days.”

“Your point?” Mu Qing asks, wiping off the dinner dishes before handing them to Feng Xin to dry.

“I was thinking maybe Xie Lian would like to go,” Feng Xin admits.

“Mn, maybe. Do you want to take him and Hong-er?”

“Hua Cheng could take them.”

Mu Qing snorts—and then, when he realizes Feng Xin is serious, he throws the dish rag down and turns on him. “What? Why the hell would you want that?”

“Hua Cheng is sad. Can’t you tell?”

“Who the fuck cares what that guy feels? I’m here for Xie Lian, not him.”

“I feel like,” Feng Xin says, carefully (as carefully as he is capable of doing anything), “it would be good for him to take care of the kids on his own for a few hours. It wouldn’t be all day, and it wouldn’t be far away, either, so if there was a problem we could be there quickly.”

“No.”

“Mu Qing—”

“No, Feng Xin. It’s too dangerous.”

“You leave Xie Lian alone with Hong-er all the time. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is—”

“There is no difference,” Feng Xin insists, frustration bleeding into his voice. “They’re the same person.”

“At least if Hong-er gets angry he won’t give Xie Lian nightmares. Hua Cheng is too scary. He’s—he’s crazy, Feng Xin, you know that. He’s not fit to take care of kids on his own.”

“How is he supposed to learn if you won’t even let him try?”

“Let him try with someone else. There’s no need to risk Xie Lian.”

“He loves Xie Lian!”

“He’s obsessed. There’s a difference.”

“You really believe that, after all this time?”

“Love or obsession, it doesn’t really matter—the way he behaves does. He’s already frightened Xie Lian once. I won’t risk it again.”

“You provoked him then.”

“I told him what he needed to hear. If I hadn’t said that stuff, he would have taken Xie Lian from us, and that would have been much worse. He’s a devastation! Or have you forgotten that part? What happened? Why are you so close to him now?”

“I’m not, I just—I think it’s sad. Looking at him makes me sad.”

“And you’re willing to put Xie Lian in danger just to make him happy again?”

“Of course not! I don’t—I don’t think it would be that dangerous. At a festival, I mean—”

“If someone does something wrong? If someone accidentally trips on Xie Lian, or Xie Lian gets lost, or something like that? Hua Cheng overreacts. He’s too intense. It’s scary, for a little kid.”

“I just…”

“It’s a nice thought, Feng Xin, but it’s not happening. We have to protect Xie Lian more than we have to protect Hua Cheng’s feelings. He’s our responsibility, not that ghost. Okay?”

Feng Xin exhales, looking away.

“Besides,” Mu Qing continues, shrugging, “it’s only a little longer now. Xie Lian can figure out how to make Hua Cheng happy again once he’s grown, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

Feng Xin supposes that’s true, but—

But, well. He worries anyway.

The festival is wonderful.

Xie Lian holds onto Feng Xin’s hand, and onto Hua Cheng’s. Hong-er keeps his own hands rather sullenly in his pockets, and only takes hold of Hua Cheng’s once Feng Xin insists he set a good example for their Lian-er. They buy candies, and tanghulu, and steamed meat buns. When Xie Lian gets tired, he rides on Hua Cheng’s shoulders; Hong-er rides on Feng Xin’s. The fireworks reflect brightly in Xie Lian’s wide eyes, and when they do Hua Cheng smiles—complete with dimples—more than Feng Xin has ever seen him smile before.

But, both children are exhausted by the time they get home. 

“Why don’t you put them down for the night?” Feng Xin suggests, setting Hong-er down on the bed. “Hong-er can stay.”

“En, alright.” Hua Cheng sets Xie Lian down, carefully helping him into his sleeping robes before attempting to nestle him under the blankets. Xie Lian whines, clinging to him, and Hua Cheng looks helplessly at him. “Alright, Lian-er. Alright.”

Hong-er goes down without a fight, curling up on the bed; he always tries to make himself small. Feng Xin draws the blankets up over him and smooths a hand over his hair. 

“Goodnight, Hong-er,” he murmurs. “Goodnight, Lian-er, Hua Cheng.”

Xie Lian mumbles something incoherent. Hua Cheng nods at him. 

Feng Xin leaves the three of them—but, as he passes the doorway later, he hears Hua Cheng singing. It isn’t a lullaby in any language he knows, but the tone is soft and sweet in Hua Cheng’s low voice. When he peeks inside, he finds Xie Lian cradled in Hua Cheng’s arms and already asleep. There is love in the ghost’s gaze. It would take a fool not to see it.

Feng Xin swallows thickly, and he moves on.

“Feng Xin? Feng Xin? Are you—can you wake up, please, Feng Xin? I need to talk to you.”

Feng Xin groans, rolling over and pulling the blankets over his head. “‘s too early, Lian-er,” he mumbles. “Later.”

“No. I’d really like to talk to you now, please.”

This is the tone of his prince—still quiet and mild, but unyielding. Feng Xin peels himself off of the mattress and sits up, rubbing his eyes. Xie Lian stands at the foot of the bed, Hong-er nestled and sleeping in his arms. His mouth is pressed into a thin, serious line.

“Xie Lian,” Feng Xin says, blinking hard. Then: “Xie Lian! You’re back!”

“Shhh.” Xie Lian strokes Hong-er’s hair when he stirs, then turns his attention back to Feng Xin. “Yes, I am. The curse wore off last night. Thank you for all of your help these past couple of weeks; I really do appreciate it. I know it must have been an inconvenience.”

“No, no, it was—you’re welcome, Your Highness. We were more than happy to help. Are you—do you feel okay?”

“I’m fine, Feng Xin.” Xie Lian smiles, soft and small, and Feng Xin gulps. “I’m sorry to wake you up this early, but I want to talk to all of you together. It seems like there are some important things we need to address. Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in the living room?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll be there soon.”

“It’s no rush. I’m still waiting for San Lang to wake up.” Xie Lian sweeps his thumb over Hong-er’s temple, humming softly. 

Feng Xin has a moment to bite back his jealousy—why wait for Hua Cheng to wake up, but not him?—before Xie Lian’s eyes lift to him, again.

“I fear it won’t be an entirely pleasant conversation,” he says, still serene—but there is a bite of iron below his words. “But I’ll make congee.”

This...does not make Feng Xin feel any better at all, actually.

Mu Qing leaps in to help Xie Lian with the congee, which Feng Xin thinks is very noble and heroic of him. The noise of their cooking is what eventually stirs Hua Cheng, and he squints up at Xie Lian, who has yet to put him down. Xie Lian beams.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, dumbly. Then: “Gege! Gege gege gege gege—”

Laughing, Xie Lian embraces the toddler-sized calamity attempting to climb him. Hua Cheng makes a high-pitched sound of delight—from anyone but Crimson Rain Sought Flower, Feng Xin might even consider it a squeal—as his hands tangle in Xie Lian’s hair. It’s cute. It’s unfairly cute. Several seconds later, Hua Cheng has yet to stop moving, although he isn’t actively trying to scale Xie Lian’s shoulders anymore; Feng Xin suspects he’s just squirming with excitement. Even so, Xie Lian hugs him a little more securely to settle him down. 

“Ah, San Lang—it’s okay, it’s okay, easy,” he says, rubbing their noses together. “I’m right here. I really missed you too.”

“I thought gege was never coming back!” Hua Cheng wails mournfully, melodramatically. “I missed gege so much. Gege was very cute as a baby, but this San Lang was beginning to think the curse would never wear off and I would be stuck with these two idiots forever. How is gege? Do you feel okay?”

“I feel just fine, don’t worry. San Lang did a good job breaking the curse—thank you very much.”

Hua Cheng wiggles. Hua Cheng fucking wiggles. “Of course. Anything for gege.”

“So are you hungry, my little hero?” Xie Lian asks, grinning. “I’m making congee.”

This doting affection is going to make Feng Xin sick if it continues much longer. He steps forward, clearing his throat loudly, and Xie Lian glances over at him. Hua Cheng ignores him, predictably, in favor of shoving his face into Xie Lian’s hair and breathing deeply like the little freak he is. 

“As cute as this all is,” Feng Xin says, “if we’re going to talk, let’s talk. I told Jian Lan I would take Cuo Cuo as soon as everything was fine here.”

“Ah, of course. I shouldn’t keep you. Here, San Lang.” Xie Lian sets Hua Cheng down, and between blinks he goes from a dimpled toddler to a towering ghost. “Who wants congee?”

Mu Qing’s intervention has salvaged the congee, to Feng Xin’s relief, and they all sit to eat. Hua Cheng holds Xie Lian’s hand the entire time, as though he’ll simply fade away if some part of them isn’t touching. Maybe he will. Xie Lian finishes eating first, though, and gently untangles his fingers from Hua Cheng’s. 

Then Xie Lian stands, and he bows.

“Gege!” Hua Cheng cries, affronted, and surges forward to nudge him back up. “What’s this for? Stop that.”

“San Lang.” Xie Lian laughs, gently pushing Hua Cheng back into his seat. “It’s alright. I wanted to say thank you—all three of you.”

“Well, don’t thank us that way!”

Xie Lian tweaks his nose, and Hua Cheng juts his lower lip out in a pout.

“Besides, the thanks is really unnecessary,” Mu Qing adds, looking away. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“He’s right. You’re our friend, Your Highness, so of course we wanted to help you. Besides, a few tantrums aside, you were pretty cute as a kid,” Feng Xin says, grinning.

Xie Lian flushes pink, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, yes. When I was little, I was—”

“—the cutest thing in the world,” Hua Cheng finishes adamantly. “None of us would change a single thing, Your Highness.”

“Now, I don’t think that’s entirely true,” Xie Lian objects. “San Lang should be more sincere.”

Hua Cheng sprawls across the table, nudging his bowl closer to Xie Lian. “This one sincerely wants more congee, gege.”

Spoiled. Ridiculously, abhorrently, thoroughly spoiled.

Xie Lian does give him more congee, but doesn’t wholly let him get away with the deflection. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to the three of you about, actually,” he says, pushing Hua Cheng’s refilled bowl back to him. “I’m grateful for all of your hard work, but there are some things that could have been handled better.”

Hua Cheng’s jaw tightens. “Gege, about this, I need to apologize.”

“You see?” Xie Lian asks, his eyes flashing as he looks from Feng Xin to Mu Qing. “This is the problem. San Lang has nothing to apologize for.”

“I frightened Your Highness,” Hua Cheng says lowly. “I behaved poorly when you were in a vulnerable state, and I—”

“You and I will talk about that at home. Don’t apologize anymore right now, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng’s jaw clicks shut, and he looks away. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“As for you two…” Xie Lian breathes deeply, setting his hands on his hips. Feng Xin feels very much like a child again, sitting in front of his mother before a scolding. “I understand that you wanted to protect me, but really, from San Lang? I thought we had finally moved past this. I thought you finally understood that he would never harm me.”

“Never harm you intentionally, maybe,” Mu Qing grudgingly allows, “but as a child, you weren’t able to defend yourself. If he had gone mad—”

“Even at his maddest, San Lang would never hurt me,” Xie Lian snaps. “How dare you insinuate otherwise. And to bring his own childhood into it, too! I expected better from you.”

Mu Qing leaps to his feet, his eyes blazing. “It wasn’t safe, Xie Lian! I know you think you understand him, but you haven’t seen the things he can do. You haven’t known him as long as we have. You weren’t there when he attacked thirty-three gods and desecrated their temples. You weren’t there when he attacked us. I don’t know whether or not he’d hurt you, and that’s the problem. It wasn’t a risk worth taking, not when you weren’t able to defend yourself.”

“San Lang is my husband,” Xie Lian says, his voice trembling with anger. “He is the man I spend every single day with. I know him better than anyone.”

“Mu Qing was right.”

Feng Xin’s head snaps around, his eyes wide. Hua Cheng’s head is lowered, and he will not meet anyone’s gaze. His words ring in the silence between them.

“...San Lang?” Xie Lian says, faltering. 

“Mu Qing,” Hua Cheng repeats, slowly and reluctantly, “was right. The choices he made were solely to protect His Highness, and I can’t blame him for it. This lowly ghost is—he’s too scary for children. He wouldn’t have been a good caretaker for His Highness on his own.”

Xie Lian’s hands curl into fists so tight his knuckles blanch. 

“This one,” Hua Cheng continues, heedless of the chill growing in Xie Lian’s eyes, “doesn’t know how to take care of kids. His Highness deserved better. At least this way, Feng Xin could use his experience to make sure you were cared for properly. I’m only upset that they lost you.”

“Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian says, “please wait outside.”

Hua Cheng flinches. “Your Highness…”

“I need to talk to these two alone. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

Hua Cheng slinks out of the house like a kicked dog, casting woeful glances back at Xie Lian until the door shuts behind him. Then, and only then, does Xie Lian let his face contort with fury. He brings his hands down on the table hard enough that the wood cracks. 

“Look what you’ve done,” he hisses. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get him to trust himself around me? And now you’ve ruined it. How am I ever supposed to convince him that he’s safe for kids now? What if we want to have children in the future? What will he think?”

“Kids?” Mu Qing’s voice cracks. “Kids? You can’t! Your Highness, Crimson Rain Sought Flower would—”

“He’d be a good dad,” Feng Xin interrupts, and they both stiffen and whip around to face him. “Maybe not yet, but with a little more practice, I mean. He was learning fast. If he could just control his anger better, he’d do fine.”

Xie Lian takes another deep breath, his eyes closing briefly. “Now if only I can convince him of that. You’ve made it unbelievably more difficult, Mu Qing.”

“I was protecting you.” Mu Qing scowls. “I’m sorry it upset Hua Cheng, but he was the one who snapped at me first.”

“Because you tried to take me from him. Mu Qing, do you know how scary that is for him? I was gone from him for eight hundred years, and then you tried to take me when I was already cursed and small? Of course he reacted that way. You know how protective he is.”

“If he’s so protective, why wouldn’t he want what was best for you?” Mu Qing demands. 

“He undoubtedly did. Believe it or not, before you, he probably wouldn’t have had any doubts about his ability to care for me! And if he did, he would have reached out to Yin Yu for help. I’m not saying he would have been perfect, but he would have been good. He’s always good to me. And now you’ve—” Xie Lian’s fists clench again, and he breathes shakily. “Ai, my poor San Lang.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?” Mu Qing says, his teeth grinding audibly. “Will that make everything better?”

“No. No, it’s not me you need to apologize to.”

“What? To him? No way!”

“I can’t say I expected anything more,” Xie Lian says flatly, “but I’m still disappointed.”

Feng Xin knows the words aren’t aimed at him, but they make him cringe anyway. Mu Qing’s face pales abruptly, and he leans forward with his mouth open. Feng Xin scrambles up before he can begin to shout again. 

“Maybe we can all talk about this when we’re calmer,” he says, his own voice strained. “I don’t think we’re accomplishing anything right now.”

“Feng Xin is right.” Xie Lian turns on heel, heading for the door. “I need to talk to San Lang.”

“Your Highness,” Feng Xin says, and then hesitates.

“What is it?” Xie Lian glances back over his shoulder.

“Let me know if you need anything—either of you.”

The smile that lights Xie Lian’s face is soft and familiar, momentarily erasing the lines of tension around his golden eyes. “Thank you, Feng Xin.”

Things are far from smoothed over—but, Feng Xin hopes, it will be enough for now.

(Besides, it only takes five seconds after Xie Lian’s exit for Mu Qing to lash out at Feng Xin in his rage, and—well, then he has other things to think about.)

As soon as Xie Lian steps outside, he has a ghost king plastered against him. This is, as always, a positive development. He hums appreciatively, petting Hua Cheng’s hair as his husband nuzzles into his neck. 

“Is gege mad?” Hua Cheng asks, unusually meek. “Did this one do something to offend him?”

“It’s not you I’m mad at, sweet boy.” Xie Lian cups his cheek, turning to kiss the tip of his nose. 

“If it’s something those dimwits did, this one will gladly kill them,” Hua Cheng says, perking up a little at the notion. “Gege only has to say the word.”

“Ah, San Lang, such a romantic.” Xie Lian grins and kisses his husband properly, reaching into Hua Cheng’s robes to snag his dice as he does. “I’m not quite that mad yet.”

“Hm. Well, if gege changes his mind…”

“You’ll be the first person to know,” Xie Lian promises, and tosses the dice. Together, the two of them step away from Feng Xin’s house and into their bedroom at Paradise Manor. “But right now, I want to talk to you about other things.”

Hua Cheng changes face again, looking away and dropping his gaze. It makes Xie Lian’s heart ache. How long has it been since Hua Cheng looked so uncertain around him? Things had been getting so much better in regards to his self-worth, and now…

“Ah, San Lang.” Xie Lian steps forward, cradling his husband’s face and peppering it with kisses. “My poor San Lang. You’ve had a hard time.”

“What? Gege, no. I had fun.” 

“I had fun too. San Lang was very good to me.” Xie Lian tips his head, smiling. “He helped Feng Xin build the swings, and played on them with me, and taught me to spar, and flew kites when I asked him to. Hong-er was a good friend, and San Lang was a good gege.”

A pink blush creeps across the bridge of San Lang’s nose. “It was only what Lian-er deserved. Honestly, this one wishes he could have been better for you.”

“Nonsense. San Lang was perfect.”

Hua Cheng scoffs. “Hardly. I frightened you, and lost you, and took your ring. We’re just lucky nothing worse happened.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Xie Lian shakes his head adamantly. “Although, now that you mention it, I would like my ring back.”

Hua Cheng fumbles through his pockets before hastily offering Xie Lian his ashes again. “I’m sorry I took it,” he says. “I know it belongs to gege, and that he can do whatever he wants with it. If it was only for my sake, I wouldn’t have dared to touch it. It’s only—I was worried you were going to get hurt protecting it.”

Xie Lian takes the ring, looping it around his neck again and nestling it beneath his robes. He can’t say that he’s glad it was taken from him, but he understands. “I know. I’m not upset.”

“You were,” Hua Cheng mumbles.

“I was a child, San Lang. Please don’t take that sort of thing to heart. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“I know. I don’t blame gege. With the knowledge he had at the time, he had every right to be upset. It’s the same as when I scared you.”

“You…” Xie Lian sighs. He can’t deny that Hua Cheng had scared him, and even if he tried to Hua Cheng would see through the lie. “You did frighten me, but I don’t blame you for that.”

“You should.”

“You felt threatened.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hua Cheng’s shoulders hunch, his jaw clenching. “I’m an adult. I should know how to control myself. I shouldn’t lash out at others like that when there are children around. So, I don’t need gege to say I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t know I was listening in. I wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I knew it was a possibility. Please, gege, for this, just let me be sorry. I know how awful it is when the adults around you are angry and you can’t do anything and I—” Hua Cheng exhales sharply. “I’m sorry I put you in that situation.”

Xie Lian closes his eyes and swallows around his grief. It hurts to imagine Hong-er in his position, small and scared and powerless. At least Lian-er had never been in any actual danger. The same can’t be said for Hong-er, all those years ago. No doubt the adults in his life would have lashed out at him as soon as each other. 

“Alright,” Xie Lian says softly. “If that’s what San Lang needs, then I forgive him.”

Hua Cheng leans down to press his forehead against Xie Lian’s shoulder. “So easily?”

“En. I believe San Lang is sorry, and that he won’t do it again. I don’t need anything else.”

Hua Cheng makes a low, dissatisfied noise.

“Why does that make San Lang unhappy?” Xie Lian asks, although he knows why very well. 

“It’s too easy. For what I put gege through, I should—”

“I won’t help you hate yourself, San Lang, and you know better than to ask me. Gege says you’re forgiven, and so you are. No more blame.” Xie Lian reaches up, tugging gently on Hua Cheng’s braid. “No more guilt.”

Hua Cheng wraps him in a tight hug, curling down around him. He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree, either, and that’s as close to a victory as Xie Lian thinks he’s going to get right now. 

“What else is upsetting my sweet boy, hm?” Xie Lian asks, kissing Hua Cheng’s temple and sifting fingers through his hair. “Please tell this gege, so he can make it better.”

It has taken a long, long time for Hua Cheng to accept that he can ask for comfort—and even still, it’s difficult for him. Xie Lian fully expects tonight’s conversation to be like prying teeth, so he’s a little surprised when Hua Cheng tucks even closer to him and mumbles, “Gege...does gege think this one would be a bad father?”

Xie Lian blinks—and then, at once, he tightens his grip on Hua Cheng. It is a claim and comfort both. “Absolutely not,” he says vehemently. “San Lang, don’t ever think that. I think you’d be a wonderful father.”

“I don’t know how.” Hua Cheng rubs his face against Xie Lian’s shoulder, breathing shakily. “Gege, what if I’m like him?”

“Like who?”

“Like my father?”

“No! San Lang, no.” Xie Lian’s voice cracks, and he pets Hua Cheng’s hair almost frantically. “No no no, never, love. You would never be like him. My San Lang is so sweet and so patient with the people he loves. He’s nothing like that bastard.”

“How do you know? Gege, we’ve never had kids around. The closest thing we have is stupid E-ming, and—” Hua Cheng squirms uncomfortably. “I hate it. I treat it like my father—like he used to treat me.”

Xie Lian can hardly refute the truth of that statement. E-ming is the most child-like, out of all of them, and still Hua Cheng has never been particularly loving towards it. But, at the same time…“It’s because E-ming reminds you of yourself, isn’t it? Because it’s a part of you, and how San Lang feels about himself is rarely kind. So, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison.”

“What if it is, though?”

“Well, if you’re so worried about it, then be nicer to E-ming,” Xie Lian says simply. “It would be good practice. Even something like being a dad needs practice, I think.”

“But what if I’m—what if I can’t?” Hua Cheng says, drawing back and shaking his head in frustration. “What if I can’t love anyone else? Gege, all I am is yours. Even if they’re your children, there’s no guarantee that I could love them. The way I am—the way I exist, I just don’t know if there’s room for anything else.”

It hurts, somewhere deep behind Xie Lian’s ribs, this reminder that Hua Cheng has lost so much. He has lost so many parts of himself in death, and replaced them with only obsession. There is something precious about being another person’s only reason to live. There is something terrifying and sick about it. 

“Let’s get a pet,” he blurts, and Hua Cheng blinks at him. “A—a dog, or a cat, or a horse, or something, and then we can see. And, even if San Lang can’t love anyone else, it doesn’t matter. I’m happy like this. So if being fathers isn’t possible, or is too scary for you, then we don’t ever have to do it and that’s okay.”

Hua Cheng stares, and then: “Not a horse.”

“Okay.”

“I hate horses.”

“Okay. San Lang—” Xie Lian leans up, wrapping his arms around Hua Cheng’s shoulders and dragging him back into another hug. “Everything’s okay. We’re okay.”

Hua Cheng’s back shakes under his hands, and he pushes Xie Lian until they both topple onto the bed. Then he winds his limbs around him, clinging fiercely as Xie Lian kisses his hair and pets his shoulders. Xie Lian croons softly to him, bumping their faces together when he convinces Hua Cheng to peek up at him.

“I don’t want to be like him,” Hua Cheng says, his voice thick with fear and grief, “I don’t, gege, I don’t want to be him.”

“You won’t,” Xie Lian soothes, over and over and over, as many times as it takes. “My San Lang is good and kind. He’s never hurt anyone he loved.”

“I want to be a good dad. Gege, I want to be good.”

“You are. Shh, my San Lang, you’re so good, and you would be a wonderful father. You’re so good at so many things. Any skill you put your mind to, you perfect.”

“But what if I can’t love them? Gege, what if I can’t?”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, San Lang, deep breaths. Whether or not you can, I love you and I will not leave you. I’m happy just like this. This—you and me—this is all the family I need.”

“Gege’s my family?”

“Of course I am. San Lang, of course.”

Hua Cheng cries harder, his tears damp and cold against Xie Lian’s collarbone. His fingers clutch Xie Lian’s back with a fervor that borders on painful, and Xie Lian kisses the tips of his ears until he stops shaking quite so badly. When Hua Cheng finally unlocks his fingers, it’s only to pet one hand down Xie Lian’s side.

“I wanted it to be nice for gege,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I wanted you to have fun when you were little.”

“I did. San Lang, it was so much fun.”

“It could have been better.”

“Then—” Xie Lian captures his hands, folding them between his own. “We’ll do it again. I’ll let you take care of Lian-er whenever you want.”

Hua Cheng’s lower lip trembles. “Yes, please. I love Lian-er.”

“Lian-er loves you too.” Xie Lian snuggles closer, humming happily. “San Lang-gege is his favorite.”

Hua Cheng laughs, wobbly and wet, before burying his face against Xie Lian’s hair. “San Lang-gege,” he repeats, and Xie Lian couldn’t stop the smile that crosses his face for anything in the world. “I like that.”

The two of them remain tangled together for several hours—the only reason they stir, in the end, is because Xie Lian’s stomach has begun to rumble. He cooks while Hua Cheng perches on the counter and swings his legs, watching his every move with rapt attention. Even when they sit to eat, his eye rarely strays from Xie Lian’s face. 

“—don’t think I’ve ever painted something quite that bad,” Xie Lian says, laughing. “I can’t believe Feng Xin actually hung it up.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Ah, San Lang, really.”

“I am.” Hua Cheng pouts, stirring his congealed rice with a single chopstick. “How come that guy gets to have one of Lian-er’s paintings and I don’t?”

“You have lots of my paintings, silly.”

“Not that one. Mm. I’ll have to steal it, gege.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian scolds playfully. “Feng Xin was good to you, wasn’t he?”

Hua Cheng shrugs. “He was okay, as far as bastards go. Better than the Sweeping General, anyway.”

“I thought so.” Xie Lian leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “I’m still upset about how they treated you. It wasn’t fair.”

“Gege is regularly surrounded by people unworthy of his time,” Hua Cheng agrees.

“San Lang.”

Hua Cheng fills his mouth with poorly cooked rice and does not respond.

“It wasn’t nice of them to bring up your childhood like that—and to make you think you would be anything like your father just because of the way he treated you. I’ll get them to apologize.”

“Unnecessary. I don’t care what those two think of me.”

“You deserve an apology.”

“It doesn’t change anything. What they think of me—it won’t change, and I don’t care, anyway. The only opinion that matters is gege’s.”

“Well, gege’s opinion is that they should still apologize.”

Hua Cheng wrinkles his nose.

“Really, I thought…” Xie Lian sighs, reaching out to cover Hua Cheng’s hand with one of his. “I thought they were warming up to you. I thought things would have been better.”

“They weren’t awful,” Hua Cheng grudgingly admits. “Feng Xin said I’d be a good dad.”

Xie Lian blinks. “To your face, he said that?”

Hua Cheng harrumphs and looks away.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries joyfully. “He really does like you!”

“Well, I don’t like him. He’s still an asshole. Just...less of an asshole than some other people, I guess.”

Xie Lian squeals and squishes his own face in delight. “You’re friends!”

“We aren’t.”

“I just knew this day would come eventually! San Lang, I’m so happy.”

“Oh.” Hua Cheng blinks. “Well, if it makes gege so happy…”

“So happy.”

“Then I suppose we aren’t enemies anymore.”

Xie Lian flaps his hands, then springs up to clear away their dishes. “But, enemies or not, Feng Xin still needs to apologize. I’ll talk to him and Mu Qing again tomorrow; I was getting a little too worked up today. But really, can you blame me? The way they made San Lang feel—ah, it isn’t fair! My sweet boy must have been so miserable.”

“Hardly,” San Lang says, looking fondly after Xie Lian. “How could I be miserable with Lian-er around?”

“Lian-er wasn’t always the nicest to you.”

“Lian-er was a baby. I don’t mind.” 

“You’re sure you’re not mad?” Xie Lian asks, hesitating. “The things I said to you...I’m sorry, too.”

“What? No, gege.” Hua Cheng stands and drapes himself over Xie Lian’s back again, nuzzling into the nape of his neck before biting gently. Xie Lian shivers. “Gege doesn’t ever need to apologize to me. Lian-er was so little—he can’t be blamed for not controlling himself perfectly.”

“But I made you sad.”

“Yes, but—that’s because of me, not because of gege,” Hua Cheng says apologetically. “When it comes to gege, I’m simply too sensitive. I know you really didn’t mean it.”

Xie Lian turns in his arms, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Good. I’m glad you know that.”

“Besides,” Hua Cheng adds, grinning, “it was cute to see gege finally demanding the things he wanted. I love you when you’re spoiled.”

Xie Lian’s face heats, and he shoves it into the crook of Hua Cheng’s neck to hide. “San Lang is so shameless.”

“En.” Hua Cheng ruffles his hair affectionately.

“I think if there’s anything San Lang has to worry about when it comes to kids,” Xie Lian says thoughtfully, “it’s going to be spoiling them too much.”

“Hm,” Hua Cheng says. It’s a very happy hm. “There are worse things.”

Much, much worse things, Xie Lian knows—and those are the things that he doesn’t want either of them thinking about right now. So, he grabs Hua Cheng’s hand and drags him outside. He’s got a lot of scrap-collecting to catch up on, and what better way to spend an afternoon than exploring with his husband? Hua Cheng has no complaints to make, if the way he laces his fingers through Xie Lian’s and smiles like the sun is anything to go by.

“I’m sorry,” Feng Xin says.

“Shut the fuck up and drink your fucking tea,” Hua Cheng says back.

It is, Xie Lian thinks, one of the friendliest exchanges he’s seen from them.

Lian-er wakes up in a nest of silk sheets and warm blankets. Someone is wrapped protectively around him; when he peeks up, he sees one dark eye fastened to him. He smiles, and reaches up to wrap a hand around Hua Cheng’s braid. Hua Cheng returns his smile, soft and adoring. 

“Good morning, Lian-er,” he murmurs.

Lian-er nestles closer, tucking his head beneath Hua Cheng’s chin. Hua Cheng reflexively curls up tighter, enfolding Lian-er within the curve of his body. “Morning, gege,” Lian-er mumbles, tucking his nose against Hua Cheng’s collarbone. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” Hua Cheng whispers. Then, “What do you want to do today, little one?”

Lian-er hums thoughtfully. “Let’s go to the garden. I want to play with the butterflies.”

“Mn, that sounds nice.”

“And—” He looks up, propping his chin on Hua Cheng’s chest. “San Lang-gege can make me swings.”

Hua Cheng’s eye shines. “Gege can make you so many swings, Lian-er.”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t apologize,” Xie Lian says, frustration leaking into his voice in spite of his best efforts to keep it out. “You know you were wrong.”

“The choices I made were to protect you,” Mu Qing spits. “Why would I apologize for that?”

“Because you hurt San Lang!”

“Hua Cheng doesn’t give a shit what I think or do. He doesn’t need my approval.”

“No, he doesn’t, but—can’t you at least try? For me? I love you both and I want you to get along.”

Mu Qing looks away from him, scowling. “Well, I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you can’t always get what you want. He and I will never be friends.”

“I’m not asking you to be friends, I just—” Xie Lian shakes his head. “Do you really think what you said was right? Do you really think Hua Cheng would ever hurt a child? Would ever hurt me?”

“He’s a devastation-ranked ghost king who’s slaughtered thousands of ghosts, gods, and humans, Xie Lian. He’s one of the most dangerous things in this world. You’d do better not to forget that.”

“I was thinking,” Feng Xin says, “about what it would have been like if we’d kept Hong-er.”

“Oh?”

“Do you think he would’ve called me gege, too?”

“Feng Xin.” Xie Lian tips his head to look at his oldest friend, his own throat full of regret for that abandoned child and the family they could have had hundreds of years earlier. “He would have loved you. You could have taught him to fight.”

“He would swear a lot more, I think, if he’d been raised around me.”

“He already swears more around you. Tsk. You’re teaching him bad habits.”

Feng Xin laughs, tossing his head back. “Me? Xie Lian, isn’t he Chengzhu of Ghost City? All of the bad habits are his first.”

“Feng Xin?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for taking care of him when I couldn’t.” Xie Lian folds his hands in his lap. “I know we made a mistake sending him away back them—and it wasn’t just you and Mu Qing, either, despite what San Lang likes to think. I could have kept him around if I really wanted to. That I didn’t is my own fault, and we’ve all suffered for it. But, I think we have a new chance now. I’m not going to let this one go so easily.”

“Ah, Your Highness.” Feng Xin draws his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and sighing. “I won’t let it go, either. Maybe he’d like me to, I don’t know, but...if there’s any chance at all, I don’t want to hate him anymore.”

“I don’t think he wants to hate you, either. Just give him time. He’s stubborn about the way he feels—but, once he decides he likes you—” Xie Lian smiles, wrapping his fingers around the ring over his heart. “He won’t ever stop.”

“Agh! E-ming, you goddamn—” Hua Cheng takes a deep breath and lets it out, ignoring the way E-ming rattles and glares at him. When he speaks again, his voice is stiff. “Would you please quit doing that?”

E-ming stops rattling and stares.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, and Hua Cheng glances at him. “Good job.”

Feng Xin is soaking wet when he skids into their shrine, his eyes wide. Outside, the skies have opened for a downpour: thunder cracks and rolls through the thick clouds. The wind buffets fiercely through the shrine’s open door until Feng Xin kicks it shut behind him. Xie Lian springs to his feet. Hua Cheng quirks an eyebrow.

“So listen,” Feng Xin says, panting. He’s holding a bundle of cloth tightly to his chest. “I know you said you were still looking, but I found this on the side of the road in the middle of the storm and I didn’t see its mother anywhere and I thought of you and—fuck, here, just take it!”

He thrusts the bundle of cloth forward, and Xie Lian quickly accepts it from him. It squirms and he nearly drops it in surprise—within the folds of wet cloth, there’s an animal. It’s small, barely more than a handful of fur and paws. Its eyes aren’t even open yet. Xie Lian is immediately and irrevocably in love. 

“What is that?” Hua Cheng prowls closer, looking warily at the bundle. 

“A dog.” Feng Xin hesitates. “I hope.”

“Ugh. Your Highness, don’t touch it, it’s got fleas.” Hua Cheng reaches into the bundle, pulling the puppy up by the scruff of its neck. It goes limp in his hold, instinctively curling itself up as he carries it towards the bath.

“Feng Xin, thank you.” Xie Lian hugs him, then immediately pulls back and clucks his tongue. “Ah, but you’re soaking wet. Come on, let’s get you some new clothes before you catch a cold.”

As Hua Cheng washes the puppy off, Xie Lian rummages through their closet for clothes that will fit Feng Xin. Once everyone—the puppy included—is clean and dry, Xie Lian gathers them in the shrine’s front room. Hua Cheng returns the pup to him, and Xie Lian wraps her in his robes. Her fur is dark and patchy, and her mouth is pink and toothless when she opens it to cry. 

“It’s loud,” Hua Cheng says disapprovingly. 

“She’s perfect,” Xie Lian says, looking warmly at her. “We don’t have to keep her if San Lang doesn’t want, but let’s at least keep her until she’s old enough to wean.”

“How will we feed it?”

“The neighbors have goats—maybe they’ll lend us milk.”

“Hm.”

“Well, if you don’t want to keep it, give it back to me and I’ll find it a home,” Feng Xin says. “I know it’s probably not what you were looking for, but when I saw it I didn’t want to leave it behind. It’s too pathetic. Who knows what would have become of it all alone?”

Hua Cheng looks suspiciously at him.

It’s only after Feng Xin leaves that he says, “Gege, that dog’s no good. It’s sick and a stray.”

“She’s perfect and I love her,” Xie Lian announces, kissing the puppy’s little wet nose. “But we won’t keep her if San Lang still doesn’t want her in a few days. Deal?”

Hua Cheng sighs, sinking to the ground beside Xie Lian. “I’ll go ask the neighbors for milk as soon as the rain lets up.”

“E-ming! E-ming, stop it, stop— ugh.” Hua Cheng makes a face as his scimitar presses insistently into his hands. He had petted it all of one time, and it seems to have gone mad with its master’s affection. Xie Lian can’t stop giggling. “Why are you like this? Why are you so needy? Can’t you behave like a proper weapon for once in your life?”

“E-ming, come here, sweet thing, come here.” Xie Lian opens his arms, and E-ming quickly abandons Hua Cheng. Soothingly, Xie Lian strokes its blade until its trembling eases. “Is San Lang being nice to you, hm? I know he is. He’s being very good, isn’t he? He’s a good boy.”

Hua Cheng groans and throws himself face-first onto the bed. 

Hua Cheng knows there are pieces of himself that did not survive his first death. One of those pieces, he’s certain, is the ability to love anyone but Xie Lian: it’s merely a fact of his existence as a ghost. His entirety revolves around one thing and one thing only. Anything else is a distraction. Even knowing that...

Looking at this puppy, he feels nothing, and it terrifies him.

Xie Lian claims he’ll be happy no matter what Hua Cheng is capable of feeling, but Hua Cheng wants to give him everything. It’s clear that he wouldn’t mind having children and Hua Cheng doesn’t want to be the one to hold him back from that. But, at the same time, he doesn’t dare subject a child to his own loveless parenting. 

He takes care of the puppy, as he does all of Xie Lian’s things. He dips a washcloth into warm goat’s milk and lets it suckle. He washes the fleas and mange from its tiny body. He cleans up its messes and buys it rope and rawhide to chew on when it begins to teeth. He never hits it. He never hurts it. He never loves it.

And then, one day, he sees Xie Lian playing tug-of-war with it. Its tail wags enthusiastically and it watches him with nothing short of adoration. There is a brilliant smile on his husband’s face, and Hua Cheng’s lungs ache with the sudden weight of his love. He turns his eyes from Xie Lian to the puppy, and—

Oh.

He doesn’t know if this is love. It’s certainly not what he feels for Xie Lian—a passion that borders on madness half of the time—but it’s soft, and it’s warm, and it’s nice. He likes things that like Xie Lian. He likes things that make Xie Lian happy. He likes the puppy. 

That night, he sits with her cradled in his lap and lets her nurse on goat’s milk while Xie Lian cooks dinner. “Hi,” he whispers to her. Her paws knead the rag, and he dips it into the bottle of milk beside him before returning it to her. She makes soft snuffling sounds as she eats. Her fur is silky-soft where it brushes his fingers. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

“I think she does.” Xie Lian kneels behind him, kissing the top of his head. 

“I like her,” Hua Cheng confesses. Xie Lian hums happily, winding his arms beneath Hua Cheng’s to hug him. “I don’t know if I love her, but I like her.”

“Do you want to keep her?”

“En. Gege, let’s keep her.”

“What should we name her?”

Hua Cheng thinks, setting the washcloth aside: she’s falling asleep as she suckles. He scratches her round, pink belly with one nail and watches her leg kick. “Xi-wang,” he says softly. “How about Xi-wang, gege?”

“I think that’s a perfect name.” Xie Lian scoots around to pet the puppy’s head, his eyes soft. “Welcome to the family, Xi-wang.”

“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says, his eyes widening. Xi-wang bounds around their feet, her tail wagging as she sniffs Mu Qing’s legs. “What are you doing here?”

Mu Qing grimaces away from Xi-wang. “I just—hadn’t seen you in a while. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh.” Xie Lian’s eyes drop. It seems Mu Qing still doesn’t trust Hua Cheng to take care of him. “Well, if that’s all, then you can go. I’m fine.”

“That’s not— all, I just—” Mu Qing lets out an angry huff of air. “What is this, anyway? When did you get a dog?”

“A few months ago. Her name is Xi-wang. She’s San Lang’s baby, so you’d better be nice to her. I don’t think even I could stop him if you hurt her.”

“I’m not going to—why would I hurt her? She’s just a dog.”

“I don’t know, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says wearily. “So why else are you here?”

Mu Qing folds his arms across his chest, glaring at the cattle in the distance. “Because I miss you, okay?” he spits. “Because I miss seeing you, and spending time with you, and if I had known that pissing off your husband would have caused this then—”

“You didn’t just piss off my husband,” Xie Lian says, his shoulders tensing. “If you had just pissed off my husband, I daresay very little would have changed. San Lang always lets you come around as much as you want, no matter how he feels, because he knows it makes me happy. You pissed me off this time, Mu Qing. If you can’t even apologize for saying cruel things to him, then I don’t want the two of you around each other.”

The door on the far side of the cottage creaks open, and Xi-wang takes off with a yelp of excitement. Xie Lian can’t see Hua Cheng around the corner of the cottage, but he hears his husband’s own startled yelp when the dog careens into his legs. The sound is followed closely by laughter.

“Xi-wang, really!” one of the most dangerous things in the world exclaims, his voice bright and syrupy-sweet the way it always is when he speaks to their puppy. “You’re too much sometimes, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Yes you are— meimei, sweet girl, what are you so excited for? Where’s gege, princess? Where’d he go?”

“What,” Mu Qing says politely, “the fuck.”

Xie Lian shrugs. “She’s his baby.”

“Gege?” Hua Cheng pokes his head around the corner of the cottage; his expression immediately sours when he sees Mu Qing. “Oh. We have company.”

“Not for much longer. Mu Qing, we can visit another time.”

“I—no, I—”

Xie Lian places himself between Mu Qing and his family. “You shouldn’t be here. This is San Lang’s home, too.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?” Mu Qing finally huffs, looking towards Hua Cheng. “You’re not as awful as I thought you’d be, so—I’m sorry I said that stuff.”

“Huh,” Hua Cheng says. “Asshole. But I get it—you were just trying to protect Xie Lian.”

“But we can agree that Mu Qing was wrong because I don’t need to be protected from San Lang, right?” Xie Lian asks. Hua Cheng’s mouth pinches. “Right, San Lang?”

“Right. I guess.”

“San Lang is a great gege, and he’s going to be a great dad. If I ever hear you insinuate otherwise, Mu Qing—” Xie Lian narrows his eyes sharply. “I really don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be nice.”

“I won’t say that stuff again,” Mu Qing sighs. “If you say he’s really that good, then...I should believe you.”

“Yes. You should. I’m really not that stupid,” Xie Lian says, putting his hands on his hips. “I’ve been with San Lang for such a long time, now, and he’s still the sweetest man I know. If I had any doubts about him, I wouldn’t be here. But you made him feel very badly. I won’t tolerate that anymore.”

“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, “it’s okay. You don’t need to—”

“San Lang is my husband, and no one gets to talk bad about him,” Xie Lian says firmly. “Not even my friends. Especially not my friends.”

“I get it. Your Highness, I won’t do it again.”

“Good. In that case…” Xie Lian relaxes, allowing a smile to cross his face. “San Lang, would you mind if Mu Qing stayed for tea?”

“Do whatever you want,” Hua Cheng says, hefting a basket into his arms. “I’m going to feed the chickens. C’mon, meimei.”

Xi-wang trots alongside Hua Cheng as he heads towards the coop, her tail wagging hard enough to sway her haunches. Xie Lian steps aside to usher Mu Qing into the cottage. He can’t deny that he’s missed his friend; he knows this argument will be a thorn between them for some time yet, and it’s undoubtedly pushed Mu Qing and Hua Cheng even farther apart. But, they have time. Maybe, one day, the two of them can really forgive each other.

It’s a nice thought, anyway.

Their bed is very full now.

Hua Cheng curls up in his sleep, and Xie Lian wraps around him. E-ming has taken to dulling itself and sneaking beneath the covers to press against Xie Lian’s back, where Ruoye will wrap around it to hold it throughout the night. Xi-wang has grown large and lanky, and she sprawls at the foot of their bed. There isn’t room for more, and half of the time Xie Lian finds his limbs hanging off of the mattress anyway. He wonders how they’re going to fit children between them.

But, he supposes and smiles, they can always build a bigger bed.