Chapter Text
The first sign something is wrong is that Hua Cheng is late to dinner.
Perhaps on its own, this fact would not be of much concern to anyone else, but Hua Cheng has a strict punctuality policy when it comes to spending time with Xie Lian—his words—so this feels less a nudge and more a glaring red flag from the get-go.
It’s only been ten minutes, of course, so Xie Lian sends him a text and continues to wait patiently at a table in the restaurant where they had their first date all those years ago, but as the minutes tick by he feels his stomach tighten with worry.
After twenty minutes, he dials Hua Cheng’s number, but the call goes straight to voicemail. He checks the text he sent and sees that it was never actually delivered. Has Hua Cheng’s phone died? Is that why he lost track of time?
It’s at the thirty-minute mark he decides to call He Xuan, Hua Cheng’s—closest friend? greatest enemy? Xie Lian still isn’t clear on the matter.
“Do you know where San Lang is?” he asks. “He’s a half hour late to dinner.”
“He’s late?” He Xuan repeats, with far more inflection than normal. “But Hua Cheng has a strict punctuality policy when it comes to you.”
Xie Lian allows himself to roll his eyes, only because he’s stressed and He Xuan can’t actually see him do it. “I know that. Obviously that’s why I’m concerned that he’s not here.” In three years of marriage and the two before that they spent dating, Hua Cheng has never once been late.
“Is he dead?” He Xuan wonders.
“He Xuan,” Xie Lian snaps. “Don’t say that!”
“I’m just going through the possibilities!” He Xuan has taken on a rather defensive tone.
“Well, don’t include that one!”
“Fine. God. I’m just trying to help,” He Xuan says. Xie Lian isn’t sure that’s strictly true. He Xuan’s willingness to be helpful ebbs and flows rather like a river oft-imperiled by drought.
“So you haven’t heard from him recently?”
“No,” He Xuan says sullenly. “Every time we talk he’s a dick about the money I owe him, so I’m waiting for him to be more agreeable.”
As fascinating as that approach is, given that it seems pointless, Xie Lian does not have time for He Xuan’s nonsense right now. He takes great care to nurture Hua Cheng’s tentative friendship-slash-mutual-enmity with He Xuan under normal circumstances, but the circumstances at this time are anything but.
“Okay, thank you for your help,” Xie Lian says politely but with no real sincerity, and then he hangs up to call Feng Xin.
Feng Xin and Mu Qing live across the hall from Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, though whether that fact is convenient or downright unfortunate varies from day to day, depending on a number of factors including but not limited to how many times they barge into Hua Cheng and Xie Lian’s apartment and pick fights with Hua Cheng.
But in this case their proximity and disregard for locked doors are rather advantageous, in that they can check and see if Hua Cheng is home.
“San Lang is missing,” he says urgently when Feng Xin picks up.
“What? You lost him? Aren’t you—”
“I didn’t lose him!”
“—surgically attached? I didn’t even know it was possible for you two to be apart.”
“Hilarious,” Xie Lian says dryly. “Can you please just go check if he’s in our apartment?”
“Oh, so when we enter your apartment normally it’s a ‘violation of privacy,’ but when you ask me to, it’s suddenly fine?”
“That is how permission usually works, yes,” Xie Lian says. “And last time you walked in on us having sex, so I think our characterization of that as a violation was accurate.”
“Trust me, that was way worse for me than it was for you!”
“Feng Xin,” Xie Lian says firmly, “please go look for San Lang.”
Perhaps it’s unfair to revoke the open-door policy for Feng Xin given that they’ve been friends since childhood, but Xie Lian thinks some boundaries are appropriate now. After all, he’s married. And not an exhibitionist.
Feng Xin’s search of the apartment yields no Hua Cheng, but Feng Xin does take the opportunity to critique their interior design choices as he checks all the rooms, in addition to a lengthy stop to pet their one-eyed cat, E-Ming, that has Xie Lian pinching his brow in impatience. (It has taken no small effort on Feng Xin’s part to befriend E-Ming, whom Hua Cheng has always insisted he’s trained to attack anyone untrustworthy. Personally, Xie Lian just thinks E-Ming doesn’t understand how sharp his claws are, but then, E-Ming has never shown Xie Lian anything other than affection.)
“He’s not here,” Feng Xin finally declares. “Oh well, too bad.”
There’s little love lost between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian’s friends across the hall, and Xie Lian doubts they’ll ever be close, but it’s in moments like these that Xie Lian wishes the gap were able to be bridged, even just a little.
“Okay,” Xie Lian says, voice sounding embarrassingly small. “Thank you.”
Feng Xin starts to say something else, but Xie Lian can’t risk it being a snide remark about his husband, even if that’s more Mu Qing’s territory, so he abruptly hangs up the phone.
It’s only been forty-five minutes now, since Hua Cheng was supposed to be here, but a lot of things can happen in forty-five minutes. Especially things that Xie Lian doesn’t want to imagine and that He Xuan should apologize for putting into his head.
But maybe Hua Cheng is just at his studio. He’s a gifted sculptor, and if he’s gotten momentarily lost in his work and his phone is dead, that would more than explain the situation. None of his don’t-be-late-for-dinner alarms would’ve gone off.
Xie Lian can already picture it, opening the studio door and finding Hua Cheng standing there, headphones on, intensely focused on a mound of marble. He’d turn around, startled, when he realized Xie Lian was there, and then his jaw would go comically slack when he discovered what time it was. And he’d probably do something ridiculous, like fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but Hua Cheng has built up his sense of self-worth enough over the years that it would likely be more in jest than in service of self-flagellation. Xie Lian would smile and tug Hua Cheng to his feet, and then he’d whisper words of forgiveness right before he kissed his husband.
This imagined scenario plays over and over in his head so many times on his way over to Hua Cheng’s studio that when he reaches it his lips have lifted into a close approximation of a smile.
But then he sees the dark of the studio and any semblance or mirth, imagined or otherwise, falls away.
If Hua Cheng isn’t here, where is he?
Unbidden, panic starts to thrum through Xie Lian’s veins like poison, corroding even the parts of him that urge him to remain calm. He wonders, somewhat hysterically, if this is how Hua Cheng feels all the time, whenever he gets it in his head that Xie Lian is in peril, and Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought.
He’s so intent on his mission of not crying in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Hua Cheng’s studio that he doesn’t see another figure approach the door until they’re right in front of him.
It’s almost embarrassing how much he startles, until he realizes it’s Yin Yu, Hua Cheng’s assistant. Xie Lian doesn’t know exactly what he does, but it has something to do with handling the administrative work that Hua Cheng detests and insists no starving artist should be subjected to (the fact that he is not starving and is in fact quite successful has no bearing on Hua Cheng’s opinion on the matter. And thus Yin Yu was hired).
“Yin Yu!” Xie Lian exclaims, rushing up to him. “Do you know where San Lang is?”
Yin Yu, using one hand to unlock the front door, turns his head to look at Xie Lian. “Oh, hi. What?”
“San Lang,” Xie Lian repeats impatiently. “He didn’t show up to dinner and he’s not answering his phone.”
“That’s . . . odd.” Yin Yu refocuses on the door as he pushes it open, but not before Xie Lian sees his eyes widen fractionally. “Here, come in.” He follows Yin Yu into the studio, practically at his heels, until Yin Yu reaches a table near the front and grabs a laptop he presumably came here to retrieve. “Your dinner was at seven, right?” Xie Lian nods. “Hua Cheng left here at five-thirty to meet with a potential client. Someone who wanted to commission something, I guess. He said it probably wouldn’t take long.”
A potential client? “Who was it?” Xie Lian demands. Has Hua Cheng been kidnapped?
“I—I don’t know.” Yin Yu sounds mildly anguished. “He didn’t say. I assumed he would tell me about it tomorrow so I could get the person’s contact details and everything sorted.”
“But you must know something,” Xie Lian presses. “Where was San Lang meeting them?”
Yin Yu straightens up, perhaps eager to finally provide a concrete answer. “A coffee shop down the street from the restaurant. He didn’t want to be late.”
A tiny smile finds its way to Xie Lian’s lips. “Of course he didn’t.”
“I forget the name—it’s that one with the frozen hot chocolate he likes.”
Xie Lian nods. “I know it.”
“It’s still open, I think? If you hurry you can probably make it before close.”
“Alright. You should head home. I’ll call you if I find out anything.”
Yin Yu nods, still looking ill at ease, and they part ways.
The walk back to the area the restaurant and coffee shop are located would be nice on any other night. The air is cool but not yet cold, and there’s a certain cheer in the air on this autumn night, people spilling out of bars and restaurants onto the sidewalk. Xie Lian tries to be happy for them as he walks briskly past, but mostly he thinks about how the only person whose well-being he cares about right now is missing. Just this once, he’ll begrudge other people their laughter. Just a little.
Hua Cheng would laugh if he were privy to these thoughts and suggest his misanthropy was rubbing off on Xie Lian far too much. And then he would probably make a suggestive joke, just to see Xie Lian’s face flush pink.
God, it’s been less than two hours and Xie Lian misses his husband so much it hurts like a physical ailment.
He rushes into the cafe like a man possessed, head swiveling frantically in search of Hua Cheng, as if he’ll find him just sitting by the window sipping out of a mug.
“Can I help you?” a barista asks with the polite tone of someone assessing your sanity.
“Hello,” Xie Lian says, smoothing a strand of hair behind his ear as he turns toward the counter, “yes, perhaps. I’m looking for someone I think was here a few hours ago—tall, dark hair, different-colored eyes, tattoos? Did you see him?”
“Yeah,” she says. “He was hot.”
Xie Lian nods because, well, yeah. “Was he here with someone?”
The woman pauses for a moment of contemplation. “Honestly, I didn’t really notice. Whoever it was definitely wasn’t as hot.”
That could describe practically anyone. “Was anyone else working here at the time who might know? And do you know when he left?”
She shrugs. “It’s been just me here all afternoon. He wasn’t here for very long, though. Maybe ten minutes?”
Ten minutes? That seems awfully short for a meeting with a client. “Do you have any surveillance footage?”
The barista’s eyes narrow. “Do we look like we have surveillance footage here?”
Xie Lian spares a moment to glance around the admittedly rather run-down shop before giving her a sheepish smile. “Yes?” he says hopefully.
“Think again, dude. I have to get back to work, but good luck with”—she makes a vague gesture—“whatever.” And then she disappears through a door at the back of the bar.
Xie Lian sighs, unwilling to accept that this is a dead end but feeling defeat creep over him nonetheless. He slumps into a seat to gather his thoughts and is about to respond to a text from Feng Xin when a voice behind him says, “I can help you, you know.”
Xie Lian pivots in his seat to face the old woman sitting at the table behind him. “Sorry?”
“That man you were asking about. I’ve been here all day, and I saw him and his companion.”
“Oh,” Xie Lian says, suddenly much more attentive. “What did the other person look like?”
The woman gives him a suspicious look. “I’m not sure I should tell you. What if your purposes are nefarious?”
Xie Lian’s mouth opens slightly at that, not sure whether he should be amused or affronted. “I assure you they’re not. That man is my husband.”
“Ah.” She nods. “So you’re a husband scorned, then? Trying to catch him in the act of infidelity?”
“The—what?” Xie Lian stares at her. “No, you misunderstand. There’s no—no infidelity here. I just can’t find him.”
“That’s probably for the best. It would be awful for your husband to be cursed by the person he was having an affair with. Too much drama. Better that it was just an acquaintance or the like.”
Xie Lian is beginning to think the old woman has not been leading with any of the important information here. “Did you just say my husband has been cursed?”
She nods again. “I’m not sure what kind of curse, but I feel rather certain I saw one being cast. There was a strange chill in the air.”
“Wh—but—who cursed him?” Xie Lian splutters.
He’s encountered curses in his life, now and again, but not many of the particularly nasty ones. They’re often just little things, like Mu Qing being cursed by a classmate to speak only in rhyme for a month (to Mu Qing’s extreme and long-lasting vexation).
To think Hua Cheng has been cursed—but why? And where is he now?
“How would I know, dear?”
“Well, you just said you saw the person he was here with.” Xie Lian furrows his eyebrows in a way he hopes comes across more as quizzical than irked, even though he is definitely becoming the latter the longer he sits here.
“Ah, yes. It was a man,” she says.
He blinks several times as he waits for further elaboration. “That’s it?”
She huffs. “I can’t be expected to remember every little detail at my age.”
Xie Lian imagines Hua Cheng sitting next to him and saying scathingly, Well, can you remember any little detail?
But Xie Lian just smiles and thanks her for her help, even though he wants to yell and sob and lie down on the floor of this coffee shop and wait for Hua Cheng to come back to him.
He does none of those things, because he can’t see how they’ll help him, and anyway, he has to get home and feed E-Ming and Ruoye and call every hospital in the area, unsure whether he’s hoping Hua Cheng will be at one of them or not.
He stops at the restaurant for their ruined date night on his way back, just to ask the hostess if Hua Cheng ever showed up, but of course he didn’t. So Xie Lian trudges back to his apartment, fielding some unhelpful messages from Feng Xin and He Xuan, before he remembers he said he’d update Yin Yu, so he sends him a quick text about what he learned, which is disappointingly little.
He’s just unlocking the door to his dark, empty, husband-less apartment when Mu Qing bursts out of the apartment across the hall.
“I heard you lost Hua Cheng,” Mu Qing says, skipping all pleasantries, as he’s wont to do.
“Why do you guys keep saying that? I didn’t lose him. He’s missing. If I’d lost him, I’d be able to find him again.” Xie Lian feels his lip wobble, but hopefully Mu Qing won’t notice, because it would just freak him out. Mu Qing seems to find it uncomfortable to acknowledge feelings other than anger, so Xie Lian would rather spare him the tears right now than field his unease.
Mu Qing just shrugs, leaning against his own apartment door. “I don’t see why it’s so bad if he’s gone,” Mu Qing mutters.
“Don’t,” Xie Lian says, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m not doing this with you right now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he adds, seeing Mu Qing’s face soften a bit like a kicked puppy, which he really has no right to act like, and then Xie Lian steps into his apartment and slams the door shut behind him.
He turns on the hall light to see both cats sauntering up to him, Ruoye almost certainly because he wants food and E-Ming probably just in search of attention. He scoops E-Ming up in his arms, stroking his head as if it’s Hua Cheng’s silky hair beneath his fingers, and lets Ruoye follow him into the kitchen.
“San Lang?” he calls out, just in case.
There’s no response.
He sets down a can of food for the cats, then rather morosely pulls himself into a sitting position onto the counter and crosses his legs. Hua Cheng likes to sit on the counter when Xie Lian cooks, offering encouraging comments that would be falsehoods from anyone else familiar with Xie Lian’s cooking. He’s gotten a little better over the years, but Feng Xin and Mu Qing still refuse to accept any dinner offers when they know Xie Lian will be in charge of the meal.
He checks his text thread with Hua Cheng for the millionth time, but his messages remain stubbornly undelivered. He tries calling again, just in case, to no avail.
He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to dial the number of the nearest hospital to ask if they’ve admitted anyone who matches Hua Cheng’s description.
And then the front door opens.
Xie Lian huffs, annoyed, and hops off the counter, prepared to tell Mu Qing or Feng Xin—or both—to go back across the hall and leave him in peace to freak out about his missing spouse.
Xie Lian gets as far as the living room when he stops short and stares in wonder at the man walking down the hallway. “San Lang?”
“Oh,” Hua Cheng says, “who are you?”