Work Text:
Xie Lian was waiting for something.
Maybe a buzz? A shimmying feeling throughout his stomach? Something other than the odd ache from pain, which wasn’t from the environment or tea at all?
People explained this feeling to be—worthwhile. He had listened to mortals rave about this kind of thing for, well, centuries. Not consecutively, but consistently. Xie Lian was a little crazy, of course, and wandering alone for decades didn’t do him many favors when it came to cities or city living… but he knew how to listen, and he had long since buried his old skin and replaced it with something new and—well—well—nothing grand, but not so pathetic looking.
So, of course he was waiting for something.
He was a cultivator and an immortal and a banished god and a virgin and a not-quite-prude.
He didn’t drink. He abstained—like he did from many things. But he found himself in certain establishments, and he wasn’t so ashamed to take his time at a table in a dim corner and listen to certain kinds of people talk or hum or make their money in the only ways they could. He didn’t gamble, though—mostly because he never saw the appeal—and by extension, he didn’t partake in any frisky games or strange behaviors with mortals.
He didn’t want a relationship of that nature.
In a different part of the room, there were five performers currently entertaining a group of men. Three were singing in harmony while dancing, one was skillfully playing a dizi, and the other was playing a pipa.
It was a very nice melody, and it was lulling Xie Lian into a state he called—ah—not so focused. Maybe that was the head wound, though…
He watched aimlessly, though. The men were very entertained by the way the women were moving. Xie Lian thought the clothes would be uncomfortable, but he admired the ornate hairpins they were wearing. And, of course, the music and the performed art itself. Xie Lian had lived for a long time. He would live for longer. He walked a long path and stuck to his own shadows, tracing the patterns of living into his skin when he froze and melted with the seasons. Mortals had all kinds of ways to keep this level entertained. Even in Xianle, hundreds of years ago, these kinds of ways and feelings and events and businesses existed. Maybe they didn’t prosper. Maybe they were secluded or trapped or frowned upon.
Xie Lian had, and still did, carry a lot of resignation and judgment.
He didn’t speak it out loud, at least—not often—but he very much did still think… certain things, about certain acts, about people who did those acts—not that he was—by any means—in a place to really pass judgment or even displeasure, so… ah. He was just good at swallowing—swords, pride, and bad words. He didn’t curse. He smiled politely and explained that he really was here for music or a sweet juice—he didn’t want services of any sexual nature.
I’m a cultivator, he would say. Music, even if not played with any energy, still makes my soul happy. I’m no good with a pipa, though, and I can’t seem to find any other place with instruments…
And normally, if he spoke softly enough and paid the correct amount—said something generously, something prudish and shy—not red-faced but still clearly so naive—then he could normally make his way into a place like this and not be bothered more than twice. He would be able to drink decent tea and listen to singers or musicians. Sometimes there would be dancers, or light tricks. He found them most interesting. On one occasion, even though he hadn’t been drunk or intoxicated, Xie Lian had somehow become the center of attention in the music room as he pretended to hypnotize Ruoye. The dancers had enjoyed moving to… some kind of patterned dance with a white snake. And, of course, other patrons had been more enamored by the soft curves and motions of the women than the faceless and scaleless snake coiling in the air, right? Or, ah, they had been very drunk… Xie Lian was lonely. He had no companions except his silk to travel with, and he of course didn’t linger in towns or kingdoms long enough to make friends. But, passing through red light districts? As a man, some would say it was normal to try it once. Or whenever bored. You had coins, so obviously it was whatever. Most establishments would welcome you in.
So, by nature, ah, it wasn’t so odd of him to be in a brothel.
But, Xie Lian wasn’t here for natural purposes or desires. He was still devout in his cultivation—even if he couldn’t access it. In fact, Xie Lian wasn’t sure how anyone could see another body and think of anything… like that.
He simply had never had such an experience with others.
The Land of the Tender was the only time Xie Lian had been struck by such a shameful fever. And, of course, Xie Lian had mulled it over for most of his life—in his worst moments—and had decided that when infected by such a terrible affliction, you could only be held to such a standard. How could it be genuine, truly you, if you were so sick with fever and pollen you couldn’t even recall your own name? You can’t say yes, and you can’t say no, so how could it possibly be fair to—ah, really. It was meant to be an agreement between parties—and—Xie Lian wasn’t the kind of person to—to—so! Theatre was different. That had been the only time Xie Lian ever felt such a burning desire, and even that had been sour and sickly. Stabbing himself had brought more comfort and control than anything else ever could. And he had been… not as old, or experienced in life, as he was now.
Six hundred years and counting, you see.
Xie Lian was in a small but rather busy brothel in the middle of seemingly nowhere.
It was a small city, too, tucked into what he couldn’t quite call a kingdom. It wasn’t big enough or strong enough to exist in such a manner, but it was populated enough to be its own civilization. Last he checked, he was somewhere far south. Probably south east, curled between a large mountain range and a bay.
Though, Xie Lian wasn’t sure. He often mixed these directions up.
And, well, his compasses—the many—had long since been busted and proven ineffective.
He had been in here since the blizzard and hail began tumbling down. It had been a rather silly coincidence, actually. Xie Lian had been on the nearby mountain, trying to find somewhere to lay low during the snow storm. Only, ha, he slipped on one of the barely-there paths and fell all the way down! It had been such a shock at the moment, and quite painful! Xie Lian went all the way off a cliff and snapped a few bones. Even after waking, with soft snow clinging to his face, there had been an atrocious amount of blood in his mouth and on his robes. The only silver lining was that he had seen distant yellow lights—the city he was now in!
(And that weird silver smear of that fluttered around his head before he rolled over and crushed it, or something, or lost his daydream.)
So, after some struggle, he had stumbled into town. He had barely made it halfway through one street, and then the thick grey clouds above had begun to drop cold pricks and fist-sized balls of ice.
Sleet! Snow! All things cold started to reign loose!
Xie Lian had made a mad dash—limping partially—almost laughing at his muddied shoes and suddenly cold and wet robes. Instead of breaking into a full laugh, he studied the layout of the city and made an educated guess as to where a brothel might be found. Or, if not a brothel, an entertainment hall of any kind. And, well, his intuition proved effective and true. A rather old-fashioned but newly painted building had sprung into his vision. The sleet and snow had already started to terrorize the townsfolk within minutes, and Xie Lian’s hat had turned into a victim of the brute force of ice chunks. He made it to the brothel, and quickly made conversation—meek cultivator, looking for hot tea, the inn was full, it was way too cold, he had money to pay for the tea and time, maybe some music, nothing that would include touching or teasing or anything like it! And the old lady who had been running the front hall had taken one look at Xie Lian’s soaked clothes, wrecked shoes, bloodied face and front—he must have cracked his skull open on the side of the mountain before finding his way into town, or gained a terrible flesh wound near a major artery—and said tea is on the house, we have no medicine for clients, touching anyone before paying is grounds for getting kicked back into the snow banks. She had then let him in—but told him he had to strip from his wet robes and wear whatever was most dry.
Xie Lian had beamed, delighted.
That was quite simple, and not outrageous! He had paid his dues, carefully stripped out of his soaked outer layers for the semi-dry ones underneath, had been shown to the main room and then granted a table.
Ruoye had been a sad coil of silk around his neck and shoulders, drenched even while hiding under his layers. Now, the silk band was loose around his neck, more like a scarf than anything else. Every now and then, the band would twist at Xie Lian’s pulse and flutter up to smother parts of the god’s face. Little greetings and apologies for being unable to keep Xie Lian warmer, or alive when the mountain had proven too unlucky to conquer. Xie Lian patted the ends, and then the side of his throat, and had murmured sweet praise under his breath—lest anyone else hear and get the wrong idea.
“It’s fine,” Xie Lian assured, even now.
Ruoye was especially sad about the entire chain of events. Silly thing.
And so, the banished god was currently sitting at a neat little table in the corner of a spacious room.
The lighting was warm and dim, even though the insulation of the building wasn’t the best. It was still a bit cold, and it would likely be colder as night arrived. His outer robes were being dried like many other mortals’ were, and instead, he was draped in the corner. He was quite grateful for the mimicry of privacy. He had finished his tea already, which had been pleasant.
Now, he was trying to feel… better.
Or, maybe it was curiosity. He had hit his head quite hard, you see!
And the fuzziness all around his eyes wasn’t from a lack of sleep. Rather, Xie Lian was quite sure he was ill and not done recovering from that unfortunate accident. But, like all unfortunate accidents in his life, he couldn’t heal any faster than this. Which was to say, he really couldn’t heal that much faster than a mortal. It took some time, maybe only a little less.
His under robes weren’t bloodied, thankfully. Not too badly. Eh.
Ruoye, unlike his clothes, was blood free. It was only a bit cold with all the weather. With enough time, it would warm right up. Similarly, Xie Lian wasn’t worried about the state of his body. It throbbed vaguely, and he knew it was because of slipping down the cliff. He also knew that his hair had several leaves or twigs in it, and a bath at this establishment wouldn’t be anything like an inn’s services. If he sat here long enough he would likely be able to decide if he wanted to stay seated and in a harmonious place, or if a warm bath took precedence. If he paid, he would receive such an amenity, he knew.
With or without… those services from the people employed here.
Xie Lian held onto the cup filled with sweet juice. It was from some kind of fruit, though he couldn’t place what kind. The young woman who served it to him had insisted with honeyed words that it wasn’t alcoholic. He had smiled and thanked her. Passed her a coin—silver, he thought. But he couldn’t say for sure. His mind was very sluggish. If not for the obvious bruises and scrubbed blood on his skin, he was certain people would think he was terribly drunk! Every symptom pointed to it. His shaky hands, his slurred words, his unfocused vision, his inability to think or even get up from this table. And his posture, gods above, it was quite terrible! He was slumping.
He felt himself slipping.
The table was solid, the floor was solid, and the fusion he was seated on was soft enough. He could be lulled into a slumber right here! Ah, it really was so silly!
There were several entertainers singing further into the room, and it was like listening to a group of sirens or yaos enchant weaker men into climbing out of their armor and robes into the waiting arms of the very demons! Or, well, maybe not. After all, these were mortal women. Some were barely even eighteen. They were performing because of their situations. Despite Xie Lian’s appreciation for the musical experiences found in these kinds of districts and taverns—which seemed to grow over the centuries spent wandering—he understood that nearly all of the women in these positions did not willingly choose to be here.
If it was willing, then it was as willing as someone choosing to stay an indentured servant when faced with a blade. If someone’s options were to be beaten horrifically if not killed or to continue to sing and dance and take clientele, then, well, was it really something you could call… willingly?
The music picked up in tempo, and the three girls singing spun quicker—fabric didn’t go flying, but it was a near thing. Long and sheer fabrics, spinning and catching on every tilt of someone’s arm, the jolt of a hip as they took one step forwards to trade spots with their counterparts. Xie Lian watched for a little, but he was preoccupied with Ruoye slithering across his left shoulder. It settled down when he traced it with his hand, pressing firmly before it could decide to loop itself down his arm. The music continued to thrum. Xie Lian’s head was rushing. The cup in front of him was sweet tasting and dark in color. In fact, he would call it wine. It had that—odd sweet taste that made it seem… muzzy.
“Ruoye,” Xie Lian mused, words coming out far too slowly, “This drink might be alcoholic after all.”
And with that, he politely pushed the cup away to the other side of the table, out of reach and place from his arms. As soon as he did so, he promptly laid his arms on the table and rested his head on them. It was very similar to how he rested in forests or on mountainsides, though in those situations he would pull his knees to himself instead.
He stayed at the table for some time. Every now and then, he felt himself slip from the present into a fuzzy state—bleeding between the lines as colors smeared in his eyes. He was glad that the establishment wasn’t as busy as it could have been. If was any busier, he likely would have been stuck sitting one table across from another person, which sounded truly miserable in these circumstances. Xie Lian hummed along when a song drilled itself into his head, finally hearing it over the rush of his own blood and the strange ache of his heart in his chest. Traces of silver eventually glided through the haze of exhaustion, and he looked up as a—what was that, a butterfly?—fluttered above near the privacy screen and wall before sparkling as the soft lights caught on its—wings?—and it floated down to settle on the edge of the table right in front of Xie Lian’s face. He stared at it, cushioned by his arms and damp sleeves. With a lazy smile, ignoring how Ruoye tightened at his throat, he wriggled his fingers from underneath his face, extending them uselessly until both his arms were stretched over the table in a straight line. No longer folded or cushioned, Xie Lian looked like a spoilt child who had been reaching for something on the other side before giving up and allowing his head to smack on the thin wood.
But no, his vision was clear enough, and there it was!
A pale white—silver—butterfly, sitting prettily. He smiled at it in full, face flushing. Wow. Despite being so out of it, he still correctly guessed it was a butterfly after all!
The butterfly could, of course, be a hallucination. But, if it was, it was quite pretty. Wow. Xie Lian was still smiling at it when he wiggled his fingers, palm-up, waiting for the inevitable tickle of insect legs or the string of spiritual energy. The little butterfly dutifully crawled onto his left palm, settling at the center where a deep purple bruise remained from his tumble down the mountainside… and yes, that was the buzz of energy.
“Aw,” said Xie Lian, in a mixture of a coo and a wince, “Don’t bother, it’s okay…”
Now, he wasn’t sure if this was the feeling he was looking for, either.
And waiting or hoping weren't the right words. Xie Lian knew that being injured—especially a head wound—would make him weirder than normal, and an alcoholic drink? Oh, come on. This was an inherently doomed situation.
“You’re so pretty,” the god said, sluggishly, and his smile tugged harshly at his face—he was sore all over, his head was fuzzy—but what a beautiful and delicate looking creature. Certainly not something that should be found in the Mortal Realm. With a pang, he realized it must not be mortal at all. The butterfly obediently flexed its wings, as if showing off, or perhaps it could read Xie Lian’s mind and was trying to fluster him. “Oh,” he said, “But you’re so…”
But then!
The butterfly flapped its beautiful wings and fluttered away.
Xie Lian didn’t even have the chance to say don’t go or wait come back pretty butterfly. Just like that, his new glimmering companion was gone. Ruoye slithered across his neck again, wrapping tightly as if it could hold Xie Lian up all on its own. Maybe, if Xie Lian was hanging from a roof—well, then yes, the silk band would certainly be strong enough to hold Xie Lian there for a long time. Maybe even eternity. At the very least, Ruoye would be loyal until the very end. Just thinking about it made Xie Lian feel a bit queasy, so he tucked his head closer to his arm and the damp sleeve covering it. He sighed, drawn out, and tried to listen to the hum and thrum of music and voices. He came here to be warmer than he was outside. He came here because the tea was decent and no one who might be looking for him would ever find him in one of these—which was a win—not that Xie Lian was ever chased down, really, but small safeties had suddenly become his only silver lining when the rest of his life was equally lonely and dark.
He sighed again, and waited for the weird sensation to either take over and kill him, or go away long enough for him to make a solid plan after the snowstorm ended.
“Ruoye,” Xie Lian murmured. “What a mess…”
His silk soothed him, wiping one end of its length over Xie Lian’s cheek—like it was following treks of tears that hadn’t yet fallen.
He supposed he could just leave again and wander. He already spent all his coins on entrance and tea, so he wasn’t sure sticking around would be wise. He also lost most of his scrap during his fall down the mountain—ow, ow, ow—so, if anything, he should just go back up to that cliff side and see what could be found and taken once more. He had planned to fix most of it and sell it, but without having it in his possession, those plans were obviously unobtainable.
Xie Lian sighed again, heavy, and listened to the music. He really tried to pay attention, but his head was spinning and his vision was reduced to a sweep of colors in a rice field during a terrible monsoon. He could see absolutely nothing, and what he could see was splattered and shaped uncharacterically. If he wasn’t so accustomed to head wounds, or being dizzy, or being like this, he would truly think he was dying. The coldness in his hands could be justified by the winter weather, after all, he had been outside for some time. The numbness and spiking—that, too, was likely from the cold or the shock of dying. Nearly dying? Who knew. Xie Lian was sure he snapped his neck on the way down, but—
He felt terribly sluggish. But, all of a sudden, his neck prickled. “Hm?”
Noise and motion—someone close by—why? Why? What? There was a blur of red next to him, and Xie Lian was rather certain that a person had just settled next to him at the table. He blinked, clearing his vision, and lifted his head off of the table in between his arms to glance to the left—hair tilting. His bun was falling apart already, and he was quite the sight—messy but not in the normal brothel style that one might expect to see.
Xie Lian’s appearance didn’t deter the newcomer.
The youth smiled, cool and collected and way too sharp, “Would daozhang like company?”
Xie Lian stared at this stranger—a bright red robe draped over his shoulders, a youthful face, a long black pony tail paired with a sleek red ribbon—before narrowing his eyes and slowly leaning away. Most of his weight was still pressed against the table. “Ah,” he said. “I’m… I’m not here for, uhm, company… like that?”
This person didn’t look like he would work at the brothel, but not all people seeking company at a brothel sought out other courtesans.
Sometimes—from what Xie Lian had witnessed—people would come here and leave with other people who had also come here. Rather than spend a night within this kind of establishment, they would rather just pay for an inn and have their way there. Or something like that.
He wasn’t actually too sure on the logistics or details.
But, you see, being approached in a brothel was a sure fire way to be stuck in some strange position, so Xie Lian was always quick to try and stop anything from progressing. Singing a song or two was totally different, and when he was bold enough he would gladly join a performer and sing folklore or a chant or something to make the other serving girls giggle. He had no shame, after all! He had thick skin and a vast library of tunes trapped in his head, most from Xianle—lullabies he couldn’t hear again—so he was misremembering everything, but at least he knew pieces, and shared, and… well, this wasn’t one of those situations.
The stranger narrowed his eyes too. “I’m not that kind of company,” he assured.
Even if he wasn’t, could he really blame Xie Lian for thinking it? That face was anything but casual!
Xie Lian hummed dubiously, suspicion running circles in his head. “I mean it…”
“I mean it, too,” said the youth, who smiled at him. His eyes widened again, easy going. He was wearing red and white—sleeves long but still modest. Shorter and closer to his body than Xie Lian’s sleeves—which went on forever.
This stranger had a… really nicely made face.
Xie Lian, though he never said such things out loud, suddenly had an urge to share his appreciation for either the youth’s inherited good looks or good craftsmanship. Either or.. eh. Both? Good was good. Appreciation was appreciation and whatnot. Xie Lian stared at him, rather dumbly, and listened to his own heart and the soft buzz of the room itself. How could someone who looked so young make their way in here? Without a fuss? Oh, money. Xie Lian bounced between a few ideas and somehow landed on slight concern—whether or not the youth had money or the looks of a well-kept noble shouldn’t matter, because he was alone and somehow decided that Xie Lian was good company. That warranted some concern, or at least a scolding. Don’t go offering your company or time to drunk people covered in blood, he could say. Or he could reach out and squeeze the youth’s face in his hands to see the glimmer of his amber irises.
Xie Lian blinked instead, face feeling far too warm for someone who was losing blood.
(Was this supposed to happen, ah?)
He cleared his throat. “If you want, then you can stay at the table, of course.”
“Thank you,” said the youth, both serious and seemingly happy to be allowed to stay even if it was in such a roundabout way. He settled in at the table, on a separate cushion, and seemed to reign in whatever energy was driving him.
There was still an increasingly thick aura radiating from this person, of course, but Xie Lian felt far too exhausted and—dizzy—to say anything about it. Or do, really. There might be blood dripping down his neck. There might be a wound bleeding on the inside of his belly. He didn’t really know. And the brothel really was so cozy. Far cozier than the woods in this kind of weather, you see, so even a room temperature cup of wine was wonderful paired with a soft cushion and a small table and a lack of blades or stones being thrown at him.
Mostly, he was fine with people straying near him. He normally had the comprehension and self-awareness to at least warn them that he had terrible luck, though. Maybe in a little bit when his tongue wasn’t so numb, he would have the nerve to tell this newcomer that he shouldn’t linger for long. Nothing good would come of it.
“Daozhang,” came another tug at Xie Lian’s senses. He wanted to tell the boy to shush, but he didn’t want to come across as rude—and it wasn’t like talking was such a bad thing, it was only…
“Hm?” Xie Lian hummed, staring absently at the table.
His eyes kept slipping shut, and he felt very drowsy. Distantly, he knew concussions and head wounds could cause these delirious and muscle-weak symptoms. Similarly, so could alcohol. Ah, what a terrible combination. His mouth was wet. He didn’t want to drool. Or throw up—that happened several times when he was injured, more than he would like—and it had occurred twice before after he accidentally and impulsively drank alcohol in the past. Xie Lian, by all means, was a light weight.
“Daozhang,” said the youth, solemnly, “You’re bleeding.”
Oh. Maybe that had been going on for a while—oh! That was the cold feeling in his hands, the blood loss and shock! Maybe it wasn’t all the aftermath of the winter weather! Oh, and the warm shirking down his neck, his arm—Xie Lian felt so sluggish, but it quickly changed into mortification.
“Slipped,” Xie Lian murmured, and then before the youth could say more, he lifted a hand and patted the stranger’s shoulder several times in a placating manner. Hopefully his hand wasn’t dirty. “Shhh,” he insisted, listening for the lull and hum of the dizi as a new song began. “Shhh.”
His face flushed, and he felt far too… out of it.
Imagine being caught red-handed, in this case with blood, by a total stranger! He must be out of his mind!
“Daozhang,” the stranger said reproachfully, and somehow this youth had gotten much closer in the last few seconds! His hand had placed itself on the center of Xie Lian’s back, face grim—neutral—thrpugh the haze, Xie Lian wasn’t actually sure what this person was feeling. “You’re bleeding,” he repeated, but he was very quiet when he spoke. Maybe he was listening after all? Not wanting to interrupt the entire entertainment hall? “Did you treat it? Here, daozhang, let me.”
The banished god stared at him for a moment, vision swimming. He smiled, then, abrupt and stilted. “Shhh,” he insisted, lips curling, and he patted the youth’s shoulder again. “It’s just a little… blood, okay? The song is still going.”
“I can make it end,” the youth said, suddenly sharp.
Xie Lian blinked. “Eh?”
“I can,” the youth said, and there was a certain kind of fury—care—some kind of deeply rooted obsession.
Maybe not obsession, this was a stranger with too many variables. But, that kind of aura, that kind of—mortals didn’t really come off like that, and Xie Lian would know an immortal when he saw one. Even when inebriated.
Xie Lian squinted at him, heart beating out of his chest.
What he wanted to say was—not something he could, ah, just say, so he was at a loss… Xie Lian also had the idea to ask if that butterfly from before belonged to this strange youth. The personalities seemed so alike—which must sound absurd, but in Xie Lian’s drunken mind, it made complete sense.
“‘S okay,” Xie Lian cleared his throat at last. “Head wounds, ah, they bleed a lot… I’m alright. It’s, really…” And his words slurred, and he felt like such a messy thing, so utterly unable to fight off the urge to slump over this low table and lay there until his head stoned throbbing and his stomach stopped churning with the few sips of wine he drank. He cleared his throat, “I don’t drink, but there was wine? It’s okay.”
This stranger stared at him—oh.
His other hand was on Xie Lian’s sleeve—eyeing the thick blood stain that had dried along the hem and then all the way up until reaching Xie Lian’s shoulder and joint of neck.
When did that happen?
His stomach twisted, weak, and he felt like he could explode or throw up all of a sudden. It had been such a long time since anyone touched him at all! And—certainly not like this! In this kind of place!
Xie Lian wasn’t sure how anyone could be so handsy! Over a bloodied body, no less!
The mere idea made Xie Lian feel fuzzy and sick all at once. He blinked rapidly, now, and winced at the contact. It wasn’t a good idea to be so inebriated. He should meditate. He should go find a place to hide out in the woods to freeze with the snowstorm. It would clear his head, and make the healing process less time-consuming. Death was a reason he got sick. Death was also a reason he could cure himself of sickness. Somewhat.
“Ah… uhm,” and he stared at the place that this stranger was holding, “You knew I was a cultivator, right?”
“Yes,” the youth said, distantly.
The stranger was frowning still—but there was a warmth bleeding into—oh, oh—it was energy! It was spiritual energy! At the realization, Xie Lian felt elated and surprised! It had been so long since he came across energy this vivid and strong, racing through his body and into his meridians like a river that broke past a dam! Rapidly, and dizzily, Xie Lian winced and curled forwards. His breaths got stuck in his throat, and as his eyes widened, he reached out and smacked both his hands onto the youth’s shoulders and asked very belatedly, “Are you a ghost?”
The youth barely paused. There was a heavy and solemn expression etched into his face, and he pressed harder at Xie Lian’s arm. His hand traveled up the expanse, following the sleeve and pushing it up as he went.
Xie Lian wasn’t even paying attention to his body’s appearance. Judging by the way the stranger’s face contorted, though, it must be quite ugly.
“Are you a g-ghost?” Xie Lian chattered, lopsided.
This time the ghost ducked his head, even though his gaze stayed on the wound. “Yes,” said the stranger. “Does it bother daozhang?”
“No,” Xie Lian replied. And he was being honest, of course- there was no point in lying like this, or while he couldn’t think beyond what might stumble from his lips next. He didn’t mind. It didn’t bother him. This ghost was clearly more than just nefarious, and seemed intent on even healing Xie Lian before anything else happened… shouldn’t that be a good sign? Xie Lian liked to think it was. “So much energy,” the god commented. “I… my friend, what do I call you?”
“This one is San Lang,” said the stranger, who managed to reply in an even tone.
“Hi, San Lang,” Xie Lian sluggishly mumbled, “This one is Xie Lian. It’s nice to meet you, hm?” And he shuddered a bit when San Lang’s bare hand touched Xie Lian’s skin. “Oh, you’re—c-cold.”
“Sorry,” San Lang replied evenly, carefully. “It’ll only be a moment.”
“You must be used to it,” Xie Lian mused, thinking about the chill. “I hope the mountain wasn’t cruel to you…” Because it had been rather unfortunate and unpleasant for Xie Lian. Without a lick of luck, well, anyone was bound to fall off a cliff or be served alcohol instead of plain fruit juice. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t even ask, but—he felt very curious, and being like this took away any filter he had. “Do ghosts get cold?”
Barely a pause and then, “I don’t get cold often.”
“Oh, haha,” Xie Lian laughed, weakly. “Bundle up if you do, okay?”
“Okay,” San Lang replied, but it was very obvious that all his attention was focused on the injury he was analyzing.
Xie Lian heard the pipa again. It was louder. Poetry was waxed from a performer’s lips, too—the songs and hymns had ended, but he was certain the women were still dancing to the sounds of the music. Right now, though, all Xie Lian could really hear was his own heartbeat and the smooth voice of this… youth-appearing ghost.
But somehow, while the room was spinning and the lull of a dizi and Xie Lian’s own thundering heartbeat filled his ears, he ended up with his head pressed against the youth’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure how. In fact, his mind kept blanking every time he tried to recall who moved first—if he fell and San Lang caught him—if he moved and San Lang followed and then grabbed him—if it was a mutual thing—or if this San Lang had seen the exact moment Xie Lian was about to drop dead from blood loss and or alcohol and knew to abuse the absolute damndest out of Xie Lian’s empty meridians, flooding it with enough energy that Xie Lian’s body began to burn.
He was breathing weakly, and his arm was stretched at an angle while a hand pressed along his meridians.
“Uhm,” Xie Lian said, intelligently. “Eh?”
He was warm all over. Energy was spilling from between his meridians and veins and his face was wet? Oh, he might be crying a bit. He couldn’t see anything with how his face was pressed into the shoulder of a stranger, but he was…
“It’s okay,” San Lang said tersely. “I’m just fixing daozhang’s wounds.”
“Hm,” said Xie Lian. “It’s, I don’t know… you can leave them. It’s just some blood.”
“No,” San Lang replied.
And then there was a hand on Xie Lian’s head—glimmering—a bright light that burned Xie Lian’s eyes even when he couldn’t see anything. Energy, healing. The banished god sucked in a wet breath, fear driving down like a nail being hammered. He flung himself off of the shoulder so wildly that the surprised look on San Lang’s face became palatable.
“Uhm,” said the god intelligently, “Uhm.”
His back pressed awkwardly against the edge of the table. He was still seated on a cushion. But, if he kept looking around to try and understand where he was exactly, could see that the ghost sitting with him was also on a fusion. His heart thundered wildly in his chest.
He laughed awkwardly, eyes burning. One sleeve of his under robes had been rolled up, and he tugged it back down clumsily. “Uhm!” Xie Lian laughed again, croaking.
San Lang watched him, expression shifting from surprised to something calm. “Daozhang,” he said, easily, “I know it might be confusing, but I won’t do anything to harm you.” He pointed to his own head, deliberately representing the situation. “Daozhang, you hit your head. I’m going to heal it. I—”
“No, no, that’s too formal,” Xie Lian croaked. His eyes darted from San Lang’s lovely but oddly intense face to the rest of the room. The red lighting, the gentle movements tucked on the opposite side, the quiet clatter that Xie Lian could almost appreciate due to its reflection of normalcy. “Ah, you… San Lang, uhm, aren’t you m-more of a cultivator than… I am?”
“Nonsense,” San Lang murmured, and lowered his hand. He didn’t make a move to grab Xie Lian, though—and so the unease in the god’s chest settled somewhat. “Gege is definitely more of a cultivator than me. I just dabble in it when it seems useful.”
Oh! Uhm!
“I see,” Xie Lian croaked.
“Gege,” the ghost said. Oh, wow, what a turn of events. Cheeky, bold, strange ghost! Such warmth from that kind of name! San Lang stayed seated, perfectly still. “Please don’t worry. It won’t hurt, and your head will feel better once it’s healed. I promise.”
In the background, the gentle song of the dizi was turning lively again.
“Oh, uhm, I know,” the god mumbled. “I just—you startled me.”
“I’m sorry,” San Lang apologized, sincerely. “I didn’t realize it would spook you.”
“I,” said Xie Lian, who was becoming distracted and hazy again. Everything was covered by a thin layer of fog. His skin burned and ached, his head throbbed, his arm was buzzing with too much energy than he was used to. “You just,” and he gestured, before slumping against the table with a frown. Meekly, he shook his head. Hair fell into his face. “I’m not normally so—scattered, sorry, San Lang.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ll tell you next time,” San Lang replied.
“I might be a bit drunk,” Xie Lian confessed, still meek.
“You might be,” San Lang agreed, only a little warily. But he nodded his head, adjusted his posture minutely, and waited. “Gege, please don’t bleed anymore. Could I come closer and help?”
“Eh,” Xie Lian winced. “Uhm. Yes.” As soon as he said so, San Lang followed up close—barely a foot closer, really, and now the two of them were sitting even closer to the table. He reached back out very slowly. Xie Lian followed the ghost’s hands—wow, the detail was impeccable—and kept his gaze on San Lang’s palms until the moment the ghost touched him. He winced again—recoiling barely from the touch—San Lang was warm this time. “Oh, San Lang?” Yes, he was warm. “That’s… a lot of energy to use for… temperature.”
“It’s better for you,” San Lang replied, vaguely. His hands moved from Xie Lian’s shaky palms up to the god's shoulders. He barely pressed—energy radiated as much as warmth did, now. “Gege, don’t flinch,” he warned, “I’m going to touch your head. Just for a minute.”
“I think it’ll be more than a m-minute,” Xie Lian mumbled.
His words weren’t much better. The room spun a bit, and he leaned closer to the table. He didn’t flinch when San Lang’s hands settled gently at his ears, then pushed further into his hair. Carefully, the youth tilted Xie Lian’s head to the left. Oh.
San Lang hummed. “Why is that?”
“My hair is soft,” Xie Lian chattered. “Soft enough to pet.”
(Even when covered in frost or damp with blood or tangled with a few leaves…)
There was a slight pause before San Lang was further in Xie Lian’s space—he didn’t know how it kept happening! The lapses of movement and sight! But then the ghost laughed, a low sound, one that was halfway gentle and halfway uninterested. He must still be quite focused on the wound.
A pause. “Yes, gege’s hair is very soft,” he agreed. “It hid most of the damage.”
“I don’t know,” Xie Lian replied. “Maybe the Madam did—didn’t, ah, care?”
“Hmm,” said San Lang, dubiously.
Xie Lian, unable to keep watching the wall, ceiling, table, chair, or floor, screwed his eyes shut and allowed San Lang to meticulously heal him. The energy flowed and draped over him like a waterfall and a blanket simultaneously. If only being drunk was—ah—like this all the time. Or head wounds, maybe, because he was often injured and very much so not drunk. This was an accident. And his cultivation was, well, he still felt it underneath the shackle, so he knew it wasn’t broken or losing anything—this was a terrible scenario, really—but that gentle kiss of spiritual energy was truly a gift and…
“That’s too much,” Xie Lian blurted, and squeezed his eyes closed.
“Sorry, gege,” San Lang replied, and let up on the flow of energy. “Better?”
Xie Lian didn’t reply, still hiding in the shoulder.
The back of Xie Lian’s head was throbbing and buzzing—no longer aching—but it was like getting a rock in your shoe. Now he had to try and slip his boot off, shake the rock free, and start over on his path. Getting injured was very similar to blinking dust out of one’s eye.
Xie Lian was good at it.
The room was spinning, even while he wasn’t watching it. Vertigo… not the head wound, because this silly stranger—pretty face, soothing voice, much too furious underneath all that youthful whimsy that Xie Lian couldn’t quite stomach—really, really—not the head wound, because it was healed. Mostly. Probably. He felt it change. He felt his head move, his mind sluggishly begin to reroute itself. Ruoye was squeezing the base of his throat so tightly, and he tried to drag himself back into reality as his companion wiggled. Ruoye, despite being silk, was still sentient enough to understand spiritual mechanics.
“Uhm,” Xie Lian said, weakly. “Yes?”
“Gege?” San Lang asked, simply holding the back of Xie Lian’s head. He hadn’t pulled away yet.
Neither had Xie Lian, but—
Really! It was rather—the word was—this was very touchy! This was a lot for a stranger! Xie Lian didn’t mind, which was probably the weird part! Maybe he was drunk! Maybe he knocked all the mental nails loose in his skull! Really!
He cleared his throat, and into the fabric he mumbled, “San Lang is very… handsome.”
“Eh?” San Lang replied, sounding unprepared for that comment. He took it in stride, only a second later, voice turning teasing—disbelieving, still too sharp. “Gege thinks so?”
A small, very small pause. “En,” the god said, muffled.
But Xie Lian didn’t resurface from his hiding spot, and in fact, he didn’t even try to wiggle out from under San Lang’s hands. The ghost wasn’t touching anywhere he hadn’t already, and he wasn’t wandering shamelessly, either. Xie Lian, selfishly, didn’t want to evacuate just yet. He was still dizzy and embarrassed. And, again, it had been so long since someone had touched him in any manner that didn’t end up with blood or broken bones or something similarly unpleasant. After a little while—or maybe not long at all—Xie Lian didn’t know how it happened, but his hands were curled tightly in the back of San Lang’s robes. He was holding on as tightly as he could, shivery, and unable to convince himself to let go. Similarly, San Lang hadn’t said or done anything to indicate he wanted Xie Lian to go back to his side of the cushion. In fact, San Lang had adjusted his hands to hold onto Xie Lian’s head and the center of his back with a great amount of care.
If anyone ever saw this sight, it would look… too close for comfort. Odd.
Very much not normal!
But, Xie Lian’s breathing was steady. He was still hiding. Ah, really, it had to be called hiding. Or he was just resting in a place he shouldn’t, but the point was still the same. His eyes were burning, and he blinked the fuzziness away to the best of his ability.
San Lang hummed and still didn’t let go. “How did gege get injured?”
“Hm,” said Xie Lian. “I, ah, slipped.”
“Where?” San Lang asked, simply, like this was normal and appropriate small talk.
Where did you get so injured? Where did you die? You slipped, where? Was it small talk? Maybe it was small talk for ghosts? Maybe. Ah, what a mess. He didn’t know the first thing about ghost culture, or how any of them conversed. Even if a ghost was once a mortal, there was no way to go back! A ghost became a ghost! Maybe this was a casual kind of topic, the same way asking about death or joss paper would be! He didn’t know!
“Down a mountain?” Xie Lian echoed, weakly. “Uhm. A little, before getting to the village? I lost my scraps.” He sighed at the memory, a reminder to go and get the lost trinkets and items he had collected prior to the storm. “My poor scraps…”
San Lang hummed, low and long. His hands, which had very politely and firmly stayed at Xie Lian’s back and the base of his skull, seemed to radiate with energy once more. From where Xie Lian’s face was smothered, he could almost feel the energy waver within the skin the ghost was wearing. Maybe he felt very strongly about scrap collecting.
Or, well—
San Lang disproved the odd theory with one question, still low. “Shouldn’t gege be more worried about himself, rather than a bunch of scraps?”
Judging on his tone, Xie Lian was given the impression that San Lang wanted to say trash, not scraps.
He laughed first, weakly, and then melted back into a disappointed lump of a human. “But they were good scraps,” Xie Lian argued, sighing and heaving and sounding very unlike himself. He wasn’t exaggerating. They were good scraps. He had enjoyed collecting and finding each piece, and had been looking forward to repairing whatever needed mending. It passed the time. It made him feel alive.
The ghost sounded unamused. “Isn’t gege good, too?”
Such a question felt too heated for something as silly as a conversation about scraps, or, ah, slipping down a mountainside…
“Don’t try and t-trick me when I’m drunk,” Xie Lian replied, sour and petulant at the odd comment. His vision blotted again. He felt San Lang swipe his thumb over the baby hairs on his neck, very gentle—it was wrong of him to say it was soothing, but it was sweet—persistent—sweet. He hiccuped instead, sighing. “It’s impolite, San Lang.”
“My bad, gege, my bad,” San Lang obediently agreed, but his head was closer to Xie Lian’s ear. Like this, the ghost was able to transfer all of Xie Lian’s remaining weight onto him—no longer stuck at the table, but instead on a living body. Or, well, uhm. A non-living but still existing body, he supposed. “It’s only,” said San Lang, haltingly, “It’s only that scraps can be replaced.”
“My scraps,” Xie Lian mumbled, with longing and sadness. His vision was still spinning, and was only made worse when he tried to shake his head against the ghost’s shoulder. “I would have preferred to keep them.”
“After the snowstorm, I’ll help you find them,” San Lang promised.
“It’s okay,” Xie Lian breathed. “You’ve done plenty.”
“I don’t think so,” San Lang replied.
“Nuh-uh,” Xie Lian said. He exhaled, inhaled, and then warbled on. “You talked with me,” he explained, which sounded—pathetic, actually—even as he remained unable to tell up from down, saying something so shameless felt desperate and pitiful. Imagine hearing it from an injured and drunk person—oh but you talked to me, that’s plenty. How could anyone stand it? Ah, Xie Lian was going to be so ashamed when he could finally think. “You also… I’m healed, aren’t I? You did that, too, so… You did plent-ty, San Lang. So it’s okay.”
“Hmmm,” said San Lang, who didn’t sound appeased at all.
If anything, he sounded less happy at those words. As if something like this was truly offensive—was the notion of helping someone trivial or revolting to a ghost? If so, why would he have even offered! So it couldn’t be that!
“I mean it,” Xie Lian insisted, every word dragging across his tongue. “Don’t worry about it.”
Lord knew that Xie Lian didn’t worry about it…
San Lang didn’t say anything else.
For a moment, all the unpleasant memories buried in Xie Lian’s skull rattled about—abnormally alive—and if he could simply die and stay dead, Xie Lian was rather certain he would be a very well-adjusted ghost. Of course, to be a ghost wouldn’t be littered with pleasantries. And by all means, he wouldn’t be very strong. Xie Lian wasn’t sure if cultivation levels transferred for the dead, and even if they did, he wasn't sure if he would be able to access it even then. He was optimistic and ashamed at the same time. He couldn’t cultivate freely—he could, but he couldn’t see or feel or use it—there was a deep ache around his neck and ankle, and when it was especially bad, he would get all choked up. It felt like a noose on the worst days.
But, right now—it wasn’t choking him as much as the heat and lethargy was making him feel anything but whole. And, of course, the way he was practically draped and glued to San Lang’s side wouldn’t help his case.
This whole situation could prove to be a terrible excursion, but he didn’t have the heart to accuse San Lang of anything.
The ghost had been nothing but indulgent and cautious—quite helpful! With how badly Xie Lian’s head and body had been hurting earlier, if anyone had wanted to try something with him—there likely would have been a lot of scuffling—and perhaps two dead people at this table instead. Xie Lian wasn’t an average mortal, so he wouldn’t just let something happen, he wouldn’t fight and fail so simply—not to blame mortals—ah, sorry—but if anyone had wanted to take advantage of him, he likely would have sent Ruoye to strangle them. And then he would have left, if he could still walk—more or less…
San Lang hadn’t tried anything! So such a hypothetical didn’t even apply! It was wonderful! Maybe too good to be true!
Like this, in this random brothel in the middle of nowhere, Xie Lian thought things were going quite well! It could be much worse.
(He knew that very well.)
“Gege’s thinking,” San Lang murmured, “What about?”
Processing the question took longer than it should have. Xie Lian didn’t answer, just flexed his hands. San Lang didn’t ask again.
Xie Lian could be dead. Xie Lian could be injured, in a terrible condition, facing more than just bloodshed- he could be petrified—the rare occurrence of fear. His body could be covered in the snow right now. With all the hail, sleet, and terrible weather, he could re-awaken into an even worse situation. Instead, he was in a warm place, having drank tea—and an accidental alcoholic beverage—and was now hiding in a stranger’s shoulder.
(Yes, this was hiding. No, he wouldn’t explain further.)
After a little bit, he cleared his throat. It stung at the sound—grating—but he managed to mumble, “San lang, I think you’re… I get the feeling you aren’t a very touchy person?”
“I’m not,” San Lang agreed, vaguely. He echoed his prior sentiment from earlier. “Only when it suits me, gege.”
Xie Lian sighed. “Sorry for leaning on you so much.”
Despite his comment, he made no move to get up or away.
The room wasn’t spinning but his vision was. (Still.) Xie Lian, against all odds, got the feeling that a few sips of alcohol weren’t supposed to make someone this finicky. Even in the depths of his inability, he still had a vague idea of how shameless and odd he was acting. When his head finally cleared, he would be so embarrassed.
“Don’t be,” San Lang said.
Then again—Xie Lian didn’t have the energy to wriggle up and away—let alone to try to pry himself away from the warm shoulder he was still putting all his weigh against. It really has been so long since he could just be near another person like this, and even though the circumstances weren’t ideal, he was terribly selfish.
He laughed a little, which turned into hiccups. “I can’t help it. I know it’s, uhm, a bit of a… I know it’s a burden.”
San Lang’s hand swept up his back—shivers sprung under Xie Lian’s robes—and the youth slowly readjusted his grip on Xie Lian’s body. Not a touchy person! Not a touchy person! Despite the god’s hiccups, he laughed again at the touch. In a selfish moment, he pushed his head closer and allowed his body to drape even more so into the ghost’s hands. His head was so fuzzy. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “You can—wherever you like, it’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
After a moment, San Lang found the places he wanted to hold: the small of Xie Lian’s back. Then, he wrapped his arms around Xie Lian and didn’t let go. It was—it was like a hug.
San Lang murmured, “It’s not.”
“Hm?” Xie Lian didn’t even realize San Lang was still stuck on that conversation piece—ages ago! Barely worthwhile now, minutes late. He blinked against the soft fabric again. “What is… oh, a burden?” He smiled, amused—intrigued. “I’m heavy, though.”
“You aren’t,” said the ghost, who had taken in every word and action in stride. Even now, he didn’t complain about how Xie Lian had practically melted into his side—halfway onto his legs, into his lap—Xie Lian knew how scandalous this looked, how it felt—his belly curled and he hoped the heat traveling in his meridians didn’t make its way anywhere else unsavory.
“Really?” Xie Lian huffed, hands twisting mussily in San Lang’s robes.
San Lang sounded oddly solemn. “Really.”
Xie Lian hummed, suspicious and curious again. He pressed his face further down—as further as he could—and he couldn’t see anything, could only feel the energy underneath San Lang’s robes—the coil—the tension and the way this character decided to hold onto him, despite how odd the situation was. Xie Lian’s emotions kept rocking like a ship in the sea. He couldn’t help it. “I’m not?”
“You aren’t,” San Lang repeated.
“Hmmmm,” said Xie Lian.
One of San Lang’s hands, after a dangerous pause, moved up Xie Lian’s back again. Oh. Oh, wow, how unexpected—Xie Lian made a sound into the robe, but he didn’t do anything else—and San Lang said he wasn’t a touchy person, but this felt rather touchy—affectionate, indulgent—very careful, very nice!
San Lang seemed intrigued, quiet. “Are you supposed to be?”
“I guess not,” Xie Lian hiccuped. He sighed heavily, teeth chattering again, a bit. “I don’t eat often, so maybe t-that’s it.”
Another pause.
He heard a dizi, a zither, a pipa, two voices singing and—
“Gege,” San Lang startled, more urgent than before, “Gege, after this, I’ll get you something to eat. What do you like? I’ll get you whatever you want.”
The little brain power Xie Lian had was temporarily diverted to wondering what San Lang could possibly mean. After this? Does he have so much free time to indulge me? Ah? How could he be so serious! Silly!
What a strange person Xie Lian had met!
“Uhm,” Xie Lian hummed for a long minute. His thoughts collided. When was the last time he ate? Did the tea or alcohol count? Hmmm. “I like, ah, mantou—all mantou! Oh, congee, I like millet, I like simple things, I don’t mind at all.” He thought about it more, and as he did so, he finally managed to turn his head to the side so he could see part of the room. He rested his cheek on the ghost’s shoulder. “Mmmm,” he thought some more. “I like a lot—whatever is easy, whatever is around. Oh, I like—there’s a bright-colored flower you can steep, it’s very sweet—like, uhm, it’s like walking into the sun. Better than sugar or honey. It grows in the south.” He frowned. “I don’t know its name, but, uhm, it’s nice. Do you know it?”
“I’ll find it,” San Lang said, firmly, and the worst part was that he truly sounded like he meant it!
“No, no, no, don’t even worry, I’m just talking, I’m just talking,” Xie Lian complained, and hiccuped again. The room was a smear of colors, and while Xie Lian doubted San Lang left him with any of his prior injuries, Xie Lian still felt very sluggish. His fingertips were numb whereas his face was burning. He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, San Lang, I’m fine. So fine. It’s okay.”
“I’ll find it,” San Lang repeated.
Xie Lian—with a burst of dismay or surprise, something like lightning—finally pushed himself off of San Lang’s shoulder and blurted, “But why would you risk that?”
The ghost’s eyes flickered for a second. A little wide-eyed, but not by much, San Lang asked, “Risk what, gege?” He allowed Xie Lian to reorient himself, even changing his grasp so he could better meet Xie Lian in the middle of this… weirdly… intimate hold… ah.
Xie Lian was now holding both of the ghost’s shoulders while leaning closer to the ghost’s head and body and face—ah, Xie Lian couldn’t help but squint at San Lang’s elegant appearance—much too pretty. Really! Not a trace of blood or bruising or dirt. He was wearing a well-made skin! This ghost had plenty of power, and shouldn’t waste it doing something so nonsensical! Or if he did, it shouldn’t be to hunt down a flower that may or may not still exist! It had been some time since Xie Lian drastically encountered it, after all! Why would someone like San Lang be so interested in it, or anything that Xie Lian mentioned? This stranger, all this power—while he looked like a youthful noble, he really must be several centuries old!
His face was burning still, and while the sudden motion made him dizzy again, Xie Lian had quite a lot of experience with such things so he barely even batted an eye. No more time for suspicious coddling!
“Look at you!” Xie Lian insisted, face red, lungs heaving. “Searching for something so sma-all! It would be such a waste!”
“A waste of what?” San Lang asked, blinking fast. He didn’t waver, even when the god started to shake his shoulders—like a chiding remark—as if!
Xie Lian shook his head next, slowly but insistently. “Too pretty,” he announced, “Don’t waste your time getting dirty in the south. That flower isn’t worth it. If you want something sweet, get something else!”
San Lang stared at him.
There was a pause before—fire—energy, really! And San Lang fixed his hands so he could politely scoop Xie Lian’s palms off his shoulders, grabbing and squeezing both of them. The numbness, just like that, vanished into a dull buzz—was that the feeling mortals talked about getting when they drank? No? Probably not! But Xie Lian’s heart was beating very fast and he couldn’t even imagine how San Lang would ever willingly choose this, or a rather silly quest for a sweet flower!
Silly!
Utterly wasteful!
Better things could be done!
“Ehhh, but, gege,” San Lang complained, whatever windless spell he had briefly suffered from before going away. He squeezed Xie Lian’s hands, still touching, and smiled. “Maybe that flower is as good as you described. Maybe I want to try it.”
Xie Lian sighed loudly, tilting his head this way and that. The dizziness turned into a cottony feeling, and he wanted to ask Ruoye to cover his eyes. Instead, he dragged his hands—still connected to San Lang’s—up to his face and covered his eyes. He shook his head like that, muffled with the sweet solitude of a ghost’s fake body temperature. “Hngggg,” he denied, and tilted his head down and tried to stop moving so much. “Terrible idea—I lied! It’s not worth finding.”
It surely looked like a scene. It surely did…
“I don’t think so,” cajoled San Lang, who was likely still watching Xie Lian’s every move. “I think finding things is always worthwhile. Don’t you agree? It’s like your scrap-collecting, gege.”
Very petulantly, Xie Lian sighed. “No.”
“How come?” San Lang barely laughed—but—oh! Oh! Oh, uhm!
Xie Lian felt like someone had just prodded him with a spear! What a sound it was—how beautiful—like the doves in the morning! A raspy but delightful uptake of noise! Not so high-pitched as a chirp, but downright lovely! Xie Lian felt so conflicted—so—he dragged the hands off his face, biting at his own cheek, and he frowned at San Lang’s smiling face.
“See?” Xie Lian cried, losing his trail of thought just like that. “How could you possibly—ahhh, just forget it! You shouldn’t be in any dirt at all! It doesn’t matter what you’re looking for!” And so abruptly—his mood crashed down, and he squeezed San Lang’s palms and kept going, “You could break your legs or snap your neck or—or—get frostbite! Or suffer from-m heatstroke! For a flower! I lied, I lied, it’s not like walking into the sun, and it’s not sweet—don’t go looking for it—hnggg, don’t go looking for any food for me! I-I’m fine!” Chittering, chattering, every sound in the universe poured from his mouth as he rambled. “You could get hurt, San Lang, San Lang, that’d be the worst thing ever, ugh, I’ll—I’ll be mad!” Then, he shook San Lang's hands furiously. His eyes started to burn, too! “I mean it, I mean it, I really—really, really, really—don’t even!”
San Lang watched with wide eyes. He seemed to take in the sight of Xie Lian, and after a moment of thinking, he must have determined the easiest way forward.
Xie Lian felt so strongly about such small things—hated to kill—learned to do it anyway—wished he still had the solemn presence of Fang Xin after all these years—but instead he stared right into San Lang’s eyes and tries to convey what he felt. Barely even half a night talking to a stranger and now he was enraptured and attached and terribly uncharacteristic of himself! Gods above, what had he become so quickly? San Lang was too convincing!
A few seconds passed and then the ghost smiled, sharper again. “Does gege really think so?”
“Of course!” Xie Lian nodded. The room decided to spin, too…
“Hmmm,” contemplated San Lang.
“No, no, I mean it,” Xie Lian hiccuped, and his hands were still grasping San Lang’s shoulders. He insisted, “I know what it’s like! It’s not fun! Definitely don’t do that to yourself. Don’t even—ugh—not even a splinter, okay? Not even one scrape! It really isn’t f-fun. Especially if you’re alone or already tired or—anything at all. Don’t…”
“Don’t worry, gege,” San Lang said at last, and he promptly reached up and pried Xie Lian’s hands off of his shoulders. His hands were still warm—mimicking a mortal’s warmth—but he was bold enough to just hold onto the god’s hands and continue smiling, eyes half-lidded, taking in Xie Lian’s expression. “I won’t get hurt,” his voice was very quiet now, very solemn. “In fact, you don’t need to think of it. You should be more concerned with yourself, okay?”
Xie Lian narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Uhuh…”
“Yes,” San Lang nodded.
Xie Lian narrowed his eyes even further, and his frown turned into a scowl. “But,” he mumbled. “What if something happened to you?”
“I’d be fine,” San Lang reassured.
“I don’t know about t-that,” Xie Lian said, and he dragged their intertwined hands up so he could prod at San Lang’s cheeks. Then, boldly, he pried his hands out of San Lang’s grasp and simply held onto the ghost’s face. “Look, look,” he repeated, “You’re so… good company, good face, good name, hmmmm… I think you should be careful!”
“I’ll be careful,” San Lang replied very easily, very obediently.
The room was spinning with red and warm tones—even Xie Lian felt like he was!
Xie Lian pressed a little firmer at San Lang’s face—bold—enraptured—suddenly worried, like a pit was in his belly, like he had stumbled off a cliff side just to make it here whole. (He had.) He smiled, then, abruptly and a little winded. “Okay, good,” he said, slippery like sap from a maple tree. “Someone like you should be very careful.”
“Someone like me, hmmm?” asked San Lang, who had placed his hands on top of Xie Lian’s with a strange face. He raised his brows. “I think you should, too.”
The god huffed. “Who taught you to be a flatterer?”
“Ehhh? It’s not flattery,” San Lang feigned shock. Or maybe he was actually surprised. He smiled at Xie Lian, and it made everything feel utterly wondreful—to be the reason someone was happy, even if only for one moment—it was truly rewarding. “Gege will definitely understand when he’s not affected by the alcohol. This one promises.”
“Ah,” said Xie Lian, and his smile went lopsided. “But you won’t be here by that time? And neither will I…I mean, well. The night will end. What will be left to understand?” He snickered, patting San Lang’s cheeks, still bright. He sighed and gaffed. “Ahhh, I’m gonna have to get my scraps and find a nice tree to sleep under…”
The ghost hummed. “A tree?”
“A tree,” Xie Lian said, solemnly.
“Well, I can't stand for that,” San Lang replied, just as solemnly. Despite how he said it, still allowing his face to be squished by Xie Lian’s clammy palms, he sounded… odd.
“You’re sitting,” Xie Lian said with a laugh—delighted, uplifted—so warm and suddenly amused, so happy—ah, what a good thing!
“Hmmmm, but I’ll be standing soon,” the youth mused. Xie Lian laughed a little more. San Lang continued, easily. “Gege should just come back with me,” and his brows raised—challenging, gaging a reaction? Xie Lian stopped squishing the youth’s cheeks, blinking. San Lang’s face became dashing again, his good-natured smile reappearing. “I have a nice residence. There are several rooms. I’m sure at least one of them is better than a tree and dirt.”
“Maybe,” said Xie Lian, bubbly and light and suddenly feeling as if he were drowning a bit.
“I guarantee it,” San Lang replied.
“Maybe,” Xie Lian said again, and he listened intently for the background music and singing and noise of the entertainment room. There was still sound, still beauty—and if it weren’t for the fact that he was very preoccupied with this strange yet seemingly kind ghost, he would most certainly have fallen asleep listening to the wonderful lull of the pipa. “San Lang,” he said, and his body shifted uncomfortably, and he needed to be clear, and—a million other things. “San Lang,” he shook his head. “I’m not much at all. Your home is probably wonderful. Don’t go inviting strangers inside so easily—ah, what if I broke or stole something?”
“It’s not a home,” San Lang said, simply, “But even if it were, and I invited you in, and then you stole or broke something, well, then those things were worth breaking and worth letting you steal.”
Xie Lian’s eyes watered. He patted both sides of San Lang’s face. “Treat your home better,” he said, “Everyone deserves a nice home.”
San Lang kept watching him.
Xie Lian’s eyes continued to sting, and his smile was lopsided. He sighed—so dramatic, so heavy—and then he paused. “Oh. But… I wouldn’t break any of San Lang’s things.”
“I know,” the ghost said wryly, but it looked like he wanted to say more.
“I wouldn’t,” Xie Lian tilted his head down, and his face was burning too—he let go of San Lang’s head and grabbed his own face, pressing his thumbs harshly into the skin under his eyes. Quickly, and with a faint sense of something instinctive, he scrubbed his blooming tears away.
San Lang frowned—oh, oh, wow! Again! Wow!
The ghost reached up and pried Xie Lian’s hands away. It was very firm after all, how could anyone care about this kind of thing? San Lang took Xie Lian’s hands and held them, like cradling a small animal—holding onto it so it couldn’t just fall down and, like, break its neck or something.
“Gege,” insisted the ghost, “Don’t be so upset, I understand.”
Xie Lian made a pathetic sound that sounded like a cross between mmmgahaff and uraghrghh. “Maybe you,” the sad and somewhat-maybe-very drunk god said. It was almost a shock to see someone present any care for him at all. If he had to steal something, it would probably be…
San Lang paused—catching onto what Xie Lian was talking about. “Ah? Maybe me?”
“No, like,” Xie Lian sniffled, and it was very embarrassing how attached he had grown to this stranger in all but maybe half a night. “I’d steal you. But, that’s… nothing else, uhm, maybe just you.”
He blinked wetly again, and a flood of tears came back with vengeance. And then he hiccuped! The banished god who had thicker skin than a blubbery sea creature, who walked alone and didn’t bat an eye to any mistreatment or horrendous luck—he hiccuped! Xie Lian’s eyes were burning, and it was safe to say he was at risk of drowning. It was a flood zone all of a sudden, and he had no choice but to follow the increasingly awful currents. To cry over nothing at all—what a sight to behold! What a nuisance…
But all San Lang did was squeeze his hands again, holding them—one above, one below—and frowned. “Gege,” he said, and said it again for good measure. “Gege, please don’t be sad.”
“I’m not,” Xie Lian hiccuped. “I’m not, don’t worry, I’m not.”
He heard the trill of a dizi, and then the echo of his own heart beat, the slightest rustle of Ruoye around his neck.
“You wouldn’t have to steal me,” San Lang said—back on topic—trying to distract and disarm and soothe and a dozen things. His eyes were trained on Xie Lian’s face. Such striking eyes, such a beautiful face, such a… He was still staring. Oh. Had he looked away even once this whole time? His face—did a thing—and the ghost said very seriously, “I’d just go with you.”
“Awh,” hiccuped Xie Lian. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“Yes,” San Lang nodded, and didn’t let go and seemed very intent on getting this point across. “I don’t have to, but I would.”
“San Lang,” he hicced, “I’m not so… clingy, weirdly—I’m not like this when I’m—uhm, not… drunk. I’m not so weepy. Hnngh,” and his eyes kept stinging, and he flexed his slightly numb hands in San Lang’s grasp, and flexed again in order to intertwine their fingers together like they weren’t just total strangers. “You’re so nice. I’m… it’s just, you, so sweet, and… oh, ‘m sorry, sorry, sorry—what a bunch of… rambles… uhm. San Lang.” And his vision was wet, layered with the alcohol and layered with something that had existed in his chest for ages. Loneliness was a cruel thing. He tried so hard to ignore it. He tried and succeeded for centuries—but one moment of good company and he was suddnely—it was so much and too much and—and—this strange ghost, charming and firm and vicious but not—strong but playing weak—this ghost seemed so attuned so easily!—so quick to care and to express it, as if Xie Lian was a trusted companion and not just an oddly behaving, previously injured and concussed, just-so-happened-to-be-drunk cultivator. “It’s the alcohol,” Xie Lian mumbled. “Please forgive me when all of t-this is over…”
“Of course,” said San Lang, quite reasonably. “Would you like some water?”
“Uhm, yes,” Xie Lian blinked wetly. “That would be good.”
And then—out of nowhere—there was a cup of water on the table. Xie Lian saw it simply pop into existence. He blinked again, looked back to San Lang. The ghost smiled at him. Even like this, Xie Lian knew this person was handsome and charming. Oh, wow. Maybe it was because he was like this that he knew. But powerful—oh—it was so difficult to settle on an answer! This couldn’t be an average menace-ranked ghost! This had to be…
“Why are you here?” Xie Lian whispered, leaning closer. His eyes narrowed, but the suspicion and curiosity he carried was warped by the tears that still clung to his lashes.
San Lang still smiled at him. “Gege might not believe me, but I was looking for my beloved.”
That was not what Xie Lian was asking, exactly, but okay—okay! The god paused, and bit his tongue, and bit his lip, and shook his head. “Did you find them? Here?” Then he shook his head again. “No, I mean… I’m just c-curious as to why you’re still staying here? What’s keeping you here?”
San Lang’s face was exceptionally soft. He reached out and took the newly summoned cup of water and pressed it into Xie Lian’s hands, then held his palms over Xie Lian’s. For a moment, he didn’t reply. In the silence, Xie Lian looked down at the water. It was perfectly clear, and didn’t have a sweet scent. The chances of this being poisoned or alcoholic were so slim.
“I was looking for my beloved,” San Lang said after the moment passed. “That’s why I stayed around.”
“Hmmmmm,” mumbled Xie Lian, as he cupped the water and took a sip. It helped. His head throbbed, but he would recover, he would be fine. “Did you find…”
“I did,” San Lang said, easily. “Even so, I’ll have to stick around. There’s no point in dispersing after all this time.” His face—shifted—eyes glimmering—and he folded his hands into his sleeves with a grin. Xie Lian stayed seated, still in San Lang’s space, and the ghost just kept smiling the guileless smile. “After all, who will keep my beloved company?”
Xie Lian looked away from the water, and the room. The brothel that provided shelter from the cold and shelter from further damage—excluding the alcohol—was the place that was awkwardly positioned in a town that looked worse for wear. This was an odd place to meet anyone. This was an odd place to find anyone. This was such a strange place for a ghost to be. Even stranger if that ghost was choosing to hang around Xie Lian, choosing to… His heart beat was heavy in his ears. Xie Lian looked back at San Lang—at the perfectly done ponytail, the long black hair the ghost possessed, the striking eyes with the shimmery red eyeliner, the red and white robes and the way he was holding himself.
The twice-banished god swallowed thickly. “Uhm,” he said, “You?”
This might be—
(Why is he here with me if he was sticking around and searching for someone dear to him? Why is he being so accepting of this situation if there was someone else he could be with? Why am I…)
“Yes,” San Lang agreed, indulgently. “Gege’s right, of course.”
—the feeling that Xie Lian always heard people talk about and—
Xie Lian’s heart might as well just jump out from his chest! It might be because he was drunk and otherwise not himself, but for a very brief second, he was almost certain that San Lang was implying that he had been looking for Xie Lian!
—adamantly claimed was so great!
“Oh,” Xie Lian croaked. His face burned, and that warmth spiraled into his heart, his head, his soul. Would it be so bad to have San Lang’s company, even when he was, ah… less inebriated?