Work Text:
At least this time, when Xie Lian was chased out of town, he wasn’t pursued with pitchforks. That always made his stomach wriggle with unease for days afterward. Or perhaps that was the hunger?
In any event, pitchforks were overkill. The God of Misfortune had been chased out of many towns in his 800 years of wandering, and it’s not as if he had ever resisted. A polite “we would like you to leave now” would always do the trick.
This town had been a prosperous farming village nestled at the foothills of a mountain range in the south. In exchange for lodging and two meals a day, Xie Lian had been helping the local farmers build barns to house their growing livestock and storehouses to keep their harvested rice. Unfortunately, despite the fact that they were entering monsoon season and it often rained for weeks on end, those barns and storehouses kept managing to catch on fire as Xie Lian was working on them! It was a clear display of his awful luck, and he was not surprised to wake up one night to a torch in his face and a crowd of furious farmers chasing him away.
Xie Lian couldn’t help but be disappointed; one of the farmer’s wives had promised to make roast pork for lunch, and he had been looking forward to it. He had only one half of a stale steamed bun stashed up his sleeve when he was forced to set off into the foothills on his own. He rationed it in small bites for three days, and simply ignored his gurgling stomach after that.
The skies did not take pity on him, and it rained day and night. His unfamiliarity with the terrain had him mistakenly trekking farther into the mountains, too, which left him slipping and sliding in a quite undignified manner as the mountainside grew steeper. On the sixth day, he took a particularly bad fall and both sprained his ankle and cracked his head on a sharp rock. The rain, at least, was coming down hard enough to wash away the blood. He hoped that there were no bears around to smell it: he’d encountered them three times in the past, and had only once walked away intact.
Most nights, Xie Lian managed to find an outcropping of rock under which he could sleep. The night of the sixth day, though, he found he did not have the energy to look for shelter. The rain was coming down but the winds were not bad, as he was in the lee of the mountain. He simply found a nice, waterlogged bed of ferns and lay down on his back, sprained ankle elevated on a rock, and tried to sleep.
It was on the seventh day that Xie Lian found the temple. The structure was made of rock old enough that the once-sharp stone edges had been rounded by erosion. One of the wooden doors had been left ajar. Above them hung a dedication plaque cast in metal that had rusted slightly around the edges. Xie Lian drew closer onto the stone steps, careful not to slip on the slick layer of moss that grew there. When he wiped the rain from his eyes, he found that the plaque read Crimson Rain Sought Flower.
It was no surprise to Xie Lian that he did not recognize the name. Surely the heavens were filled with countless gods he had never known. But this was a strange name for a god. It wasn’t that a heavenly official would never take such a bloody title; many of them were conquering generals in their mortal lives and had more blood on their hands than in their body. What was odd was the elegance of the title. No general Xie Lian knew would choose a title so refined.
He ascended the steps and slowly pushed open the double doors. He steeled himself to be barraged by a flock of bats or a group of grumpy racoons. He knew he had no greater right to this unexpected shelter than they did. Instead, out from the door rushed a wave of yin energy. Perhaps it was not animals that resided here, but ghosts! But as the dim, stormy daylight illuminated the small temple, it became clear that there was no nest of ghosts or bats inside. In fact, this temple wasn’t abandoned at all, someone had simply closed the doors to prevent the monsoon rains from flooding in. On the altar sat incense holders full of ash, a quite stale steamed bun, and a few overripe fruits.
The stone statue above the altar was not quite life size, yet it was imposing all the same. A distinctly androgynous figure stood with their shoulders squared and a wicked scimitar held in their right hand. In their left was an umbrella, which they held not above their own head, but slightly in front of them as if shielding the altar below. On their shoulder sat a delicately-sculpted butterfly.
Xie Lian had wondered what god would choose such a title. But likely, this was no god at all.
As he stood dripping in the entryway of the temple, he considered his options. The offerings on the altar meant that there was likely a village very close by. He could venture there in search of a place to stay and work to do. This deep into the mountains, surely they had very unique scraps that needed collecting! But the sky was already beginning to darken as the sun, somewhere beyond the blanket of clouds, sank closer to the horizon. And Xie Lian knew that he was quite a sight, and might not fetch the warmest reception by arriving in this state. His white robes had been stained an uneven brown by mud that the rain never quite washed out. Every bit of his skin, too, was covered in layers of grime.
“I hope you don’t mind if I stay here for the night,” Xie Lian said to the statue as he wrung out his waterlogged hair on the top step of the entryway. “Unfortunately, I have nothing to offer you. Perhaps I should have saved that steamed bun, after all. I will find some way to show my gratitude tomorrow, if that is alright with you.”
Since it was still raining, he decided to close the doors. But immediately after closing them, he flung them back open again. His breaths were short and uneven. Who knew a temple could feel so much like a locked tomb?
No matter. One night of rain would not erode away the temple’s entryway. His heart still racing, Xie Lian decided to sit closer to the open doors instead of in the temple’s darker recesses. It was damp here, and prone to mist-spitting winds, but at least there was a roof over his head. He sat down and leaned back against one of the open doors.
Xie Lian took a deep breath in and out. “We’re finally out of the rain, Ruoye,” he said, and the silk wriggled against his wrist in delight. It shot out from his sleeve and whipped through the air in an attempt to dry itself. It had never liked being wet. Whenever Xie Lian endeavored to clean it, Ruoye would struggle in his hands like a feral cat. Such a thing was rarely necessary, as the enchanted silk seemed to repel dirt, but for some reason Xie Lian’s blood had always clung to its fibers.
Clean and dry, Ruoye curled up on Xie Lian’s lap, nuzzling against his stomach. He petted it idly. “Perhaps the rain will stop tomorrow,” he said.
The rain did not stop. Xie Lian woke in the morning to the sound of raindrops splattering on the stone steps and wind whistling lazily through the trees. But even slouched a mere hand’s width from the open doorway, he could not feel the wind or the water on his skin.
Xie Lian blinked open his eyes and looked down at what should have been his damp, itchy robes. They were dry. So was his hair. He sucked in a surprised breath and realized that even the air around him was drier also than it should have been.
What in the world?
He sprang to his feet and checked all of the dark corners of the temple, yet found no hidden benevolent spirits that might have dried his clothes in the night. He stuck one arm out of the entryway of the temple and found that it was wet, humid, and windy just on the other side of the threshold. It was as if there were an invisible barrier where the doors should be.
“Is this your doing?” he asked the statue. “Are you annoyed that I didn’t close the doors last night?”
But that wasn’t right. An annoyed being would not have dried his clothes in the night! Xie Lian wasn’t sure how the not-god who was worshiped here would have known of his presence, though. It was not as if Xie Lian had prayed. Perhaps this was a local spirit with only a few temples, and so it had taken notice anyway?
To show his appreciation, Xie Lian set to work sweeping the piles of ashes from the altar. Absent an available broom, he had to use his hands, and of course he ended up breathing in some ash and sneezing uncontrollably. Ruoye thumped his back in consolation. Then, Xie Lian began cleaning up the leaves that had blown inside over the past few months or years. He had to pick them up by hand and toss them in a pile just outside the temple, but the work was almost meditative in its repetition. Then he tore off a strip of fabric from the bottom of his robes—they were torn and frayed, anyway. He shoved his hand outside to get the cloth wet and began to wipe down the statue. Smoke from burning incense had covered the stone in a gray film, especially the underside of the sculpted umbrella that hovered atop the altar.
Xie Lian was too short to clean the statue’s face. Even with his arm outstretched, those sharp features remained just out of reach. He could only wonder if this looked anything like the being it was modeled for. Likely it did not, as he had seen many statues of himself, Feng Xin and Mu Qing over the years that looked nothing like the gods they were meant to depict.
“Ruoye,” he said, “could you help me? No, no, I don’t expect you to wipe it yourself, of course not. Come now, use this rag. Oh, thank you, Ruoye, that is perfect. Can you get the top of its head? Wonderful. Thank you.”
When Xie Lian was finished, the statue was a few shades lighter. It was not a large accomplishment, but he was satisfied to have done something in return for this being’s kindness. He discarded the torn strip of his robes, now blackened with soot, in the small pile just outside the temple where he had tossed the leaves.
Every time he stepped back through the threshold, he was reminded of how much more comfortable it was inside. The being worshiped here must truly be benevolent! Most likely, they had not intervened themself to make his stay more pleasant, but after so many years of housing worshipers, temples would often take on some spiritual power themselves. They became non-sentient extensions of the being that they served and could use such power reflexively to further that being’s will.
Xie Lian knelt before the statue and closed his eyes.
Crimson Rain Sought Flower, thank you for your hospitality. I regret that I have nothing to give you in return. Please accept my sincere gratitude nonetheless.
Was that good enough? Weren’t prayers typically longer? It had been eight centuries since Xie Lian received a prayer of his own, and he could hardly remember what they were supposed to sound like. Hopefully this Crimson Rain Sought Flower was not offended by his brevity!
Xie Lian took a long moment to savor the feeling of dry robes. Then he stood and dusted off his knees. It was already late in the morning and he should be moving on in search of the nearby village. Maybe they could tell him more about this strange being that they worshiped. He turned to leave, but paused.
A silver butterfly hovered in the entryway. Its wings glimmered as if they were made of light.
“Poor thing! You shouldn’t be out in this rain, you’ll damage your wings!” Xie Lian reached out to it, and it landed immediately on his index finger. He pulled it into the temple and it fluttered its wings, flinging off tiny drops of water. It must not be as delicate as it looked.
“Were you looking for something? Are you hungry? Perhaps… ah, yes. I’m sure our generous host wouldn’t mind if you partook of some of this fruit? It is going bad anyway, and you have such a small stomach… There.”
For a moment, the butterfly simply sat atop the bruised skin of the fruit. If Xie Lian didn’t know better, he would have sworn it was staring up at him! With a sigh, he knelt down in front of it and leaned his face in close. “Come now, you’ll feel better if you eat something.” He poked the fruit with his fingernail, causing some juice to leak out.
That finally caught the butterfly’s attention enough to look away from Xie Lian. It felt around with its little silver feet, then unfurled a long tongue and began poking at the skin. Eventually it stilled and began sucking the juices up through the hollow appendage. Its fluttering wings had finally gone still, and up close, he could see they carried a beautiful design in embossed, glittering silver.
What a treat to see such a rare creature so close! It had been centuries since Xie Lian had seen something so enchanting. He wanted to compliment it, but he held back, for fear of distracting it from its meal.
“Daozhang must be a noble cultivator, if he is so kind even to insects.”
The voice came from the steps outside the temple. Startled, Xie Lian turned to look and found a young man dressed in red standing in the rain. He was slender and tall, nearly a man but still clearly a teenager. His long black hair was held in a ponytail and his eyes were alight with a mischievous smile. He held a red umbrella over his head.
Xie Lian stood and dusted off his robes. The butterfly followed and perched on his shoulder, where it opened and closed its wings slowly. “It is quite the beautiful insect, wouldn’t you agree? And very unusual.” He laughed nervously. “My apologies, are you the caretaker of this temple? I am just a traveler passing through and I took shelter here for the night, but I’ll be on my way soon. I hope your god does not mind that I’ve presented some of their offerings as butterfly food.”
“No need to worry, daozhang, I’m no caretaker,” said the young man. He ascended the three moss-covered steps and crossed the threshold. If he noticed the strange spiritual barrier, he did not mention it. “And I worship a god, but this temple does not belong to him.”
“Are you from a nearby village?”
“No, just a traveler passing through, as you say.”
The young man certainly didn’t look like a traveler. His robes were not opulent, but they spoke of a certain degree of wealth—perhaps he was the son of a well-off merchant. And the robes were slightly wet from the rain, but not nearly soaked, torn or dirty enough for him to have been traveling very long in such terrain!
Xie Lian suddenly felt quite embarrassed at his own physical state. “Ah, as you can see, the path I took here was a challenging one,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. He pushed his bangs from his eyes. “But hopefully my journey will be easier going forward. I was just about to leave, so you’re welcome to—”
“Daozhang, your head.”
Xie Lian froze. The young man was only half an arm’s length away from him now, and his expression had turned to stone. His intense gaze was fixed on Xie Lian’s hairline, where Xie Lian had pushed a few stray hairs back from his face. “My head?”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m not inj… oh.” The blood had long since clotted around the wound, but it was still hot and tender to the touch. In all honesty, Xie Lian had completely forgotten about it.
The young man’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Daozhang, please let me tend to your wound. I insist.”
“It’s hardly a wound,” Xie Lian said with a wave of his hand. “Just a little accident, that’s all.” But even as he said the words, he obeyed the young man and sat down just in front of the altar. The young man immediately kneeled and began ruffling through a satchel that Xie Lian had not noticed until now. From it he pulled a roll of clean bandages, a cloth, a small bottle, and a tiny jar. This youth certainly traveled prepared!
“You can never be too careful with a head wound, daozhang. When did it happen? Have you had a headache? Have you been seeing double?”
The young man’s eyes were an enchanting black as he opened the small bottle and poured some liquid onto the rag. Immediately, Xie Lian recognized the smell of strong wine. He tried to focus. “It was the day before yesterday, I believe. I fell on a rock. I hadn’t noticed a… ah. Yes, it appears I do have a headache.” Xie Lian frowned. “Also, there’s no need to call me daozhang.”
“No? What should I call you?”
Xie Lian paused for a moment to select an alias—he had many, it should be easy to think of one. But he was having trouble focusing. Half of him was trying to ignore the splitting headache, and the other was studying the youth’s hands.
“Gege, then,” said the young man. “This might sting.”
Xie Lian couldn’t help but laugh. The alcohol-soaked rag was cool against his forehead. If it stung, he didn’t feel it.
“Alright. But what should I call you? Didi?”
The youth laughed, too. “Gege can call me San Lang.”
“San Lang is very knowledgeable about tending wounds. Is he training to be a physician, by chance?”
“I’ve only learned the basics. I wanted to be prepared for a situation like this.” San Lang finished with the rag and unscrewed the tiny jar, then scooted even closer to Xie Lian. He knelt close enough that Xie Lian could feel the youth’s knees pressed against his crossed ankles. The smell of herbal ointment reached his nose.
“Is it deep?”
“Not terribly, and it is not infected, fortunately. But gege must keep it clean and bandaged,” San Lang said. He wrapped the strip of bandages twice around Xie Lian’s head with expert hands, then sat back on his ankles to assess his work. A strange expression crossed his face. Xie Lian wondered if he didn’t look a little silly with his ankles, his forearms, his neck, and now the top of his head covered in bandages, most of them stained brown.
Normally, he didn’t care about such indignities. Xie Lian was a hard man to embarrass these days, and he hardly cared that he had spent the last week rolling around in the mud. But San Lang was so dignified in comparison. His eyes were sharp as he looked at Xie Lian, as if he were committing every detail of his appearance to memory.
“Is gege hiding any other injuries?” San Lang asked.
“No, San Lang has done a good job of patching me up.” Xie Lian laughed. “I’m afraid I have nothing to repay you with, either.”
San Lang cocked his head to the side. “Who else would you repay?”
“The being who is worshiped here has been very welcoming to me. I would have liked to thank them with an offering.”
“Those offerings aren’t from gege?” San Lang asked, looking over Xie Lian’s shoulder to the stale steamed bun and overripe fruit on the altar.
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t have any food to offer.”
“Then what has gege been eating?”
This young man looked truly concerned! Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Ah, some berries here and there, no need to worry.”
Immediately, San Lang surged to his feet and snatched the steamed bun off of the altar. He placed it in Xie Lian’s hands. The bun was much softer than it appeared, suddenly, as if it had been made only that morning. How strange.
“Gege should eat this. He needs his strength to heal.”
“San Lang! I cannot steal from the altar!”
“The ghost king won’t mind.”
“Ghost king?”
“Crimson Rain Sought Flower. He’s a ruthless ruler, but he’s not one of those fussy gods that cares about offerings. What’s he going to do, eat it himself?”
“San Lang knows a lot about this ghost king. Yet you do not worship him?”
“I don’t, and gege shouldn’t either. But he would want you to eat that steamed bun. Right?”
Suddenly, a thin voice floated above their heads, as if it came from the statue itself: Listen to San Lang. Eat the steamed bun.
Xie Lian whipped his head around to look up at the statue. Nothing about it had changed. He had a dizzying sense of deja vu. He must have hit his head quite hard! All of this was strange. San Lang, in particular, was very strange.
He sputtered a laugh. “Alright, San Lang. But only if you agree to share it with me.”
San Lang looked like he had bit into a lemon. “Gege…”
“I insist.” He split the bun right down the middle, careful not to get any of the dirt from beneath his nails on San Lang’s half. He tried to get a good look at the lines of San Lang’s palm when he passed it off, but he was having trouble focusing his vision.
Perhaps it was because he had not eaten anything in four days, but it was the most delicious steamed bun that Xie Lian had tasted in years.
“What else can you tell me about Crimson Rain Sought Flower?”
San Lang sat with his legs crossed in front of him and leaned back casually, propping himself up with one arm behind him. “What would you like to know?” he asked as he took another bite of the bun.
“How does one become a ghost king?”
“Slaughter. And an unfortunate amount of administrative work.”
“Administrative work?”
“The Supreme Ghost King Hua Cheng, also known as Crimson Rain Sought Flower, runs an underworld city in the ghost realm. It’s said to be an unruly place, full of gluttony and debauchery, and its leader rules over it with an iron fist—which, of course, requires paperwork.”
“It is interesting that humans would worship such a figure if that is what he represents… The debauchery, I mean, not the paperwork.”
“Perhaps it seems strange to daozhang, being so good at heart. But most humans are no strangers to debauchery, and they often want terrible things.”
“Hm. You think too highly of me, San Lang.”
“I don’t think I do,” San Lang said, sounding strangely serious. “Besides, is it really a surprise that humans would turn to petitioning a ghost king when the gods are so inept?”
Xie Lian was fairly certain that he was currently the territory of either General Xuan Zhen or General Nan Yang. He gave an awkward laugh. “If the gods are all inept, then which is the one you worship?”
“I didn’t say they were all inept. Gege, look, I found another steamed bun in my satchel. I’m full now, so would you please eat this one? It will go bad otherwise.”
San Lang was an intelligent young man, full of knowledge beyond his years. He was also full of bullshit. But Xie Lian felt it would be unspeakably rude to reject his offer when he was clearly trying so hard, so he accepted the food graciously. “Where are you traveling to, San Lang?”
“I could ask gege the same question.”
Xie Lian took a bite of the steamed bun and found that it tasted even better than the last. “Gege asked first.”
“Haha. Well, I don’t have a particular destination in mind. I suppose the only thing I am looking for is a companion.”
Xie Lian nodded. “A good companion is not an easy thing to find.”
“No, it isn’t. I’ve been looking for a long time. And you, gege?”
This most basic question was impossible for Xie Lian to answer. He could hardly think about the future when it was endless. He was a leaf in the wind, wanting for nothing.
“I am only hoping to experience beautiful things, no matter where that takes me,” Xie Lian said. “For example, my new butterfly friend… Oh, where did it go?”
Suddenly, the butterfly reappeared in his periphery, as if it heard him calling for it. It settled back on his index finger and fluttered its wings, preening.
“Your friend is flattered, gege.”
Xie Lian watched its wings, hypnotized.
“...Gege? Gege?”
Xie Lian blinked. Oh. San Lang’s arms were underneath him. He had listed off to the side.
“Sorry, San Lang. I must be dizzy…”
A hand touched Xie Lian’s head on top of the bandages. “How do you feel?”
How did he feel? Xie Lian was never sure. The steamed buns had caused his hunger to flare up from the empty ache he was so used to ignoring, to constant pangs of need. And the splitting headache was still there if he concentrated on it. The problem was that neither of these pains stood out against the backdrop of pain from the rest of his body.
San Lang pressed the back of a cold hand against Xie Lian’s forehead, and for a moment, the touch belonged to his mother. Then he blinked and it was San Lang in front of him again, looking frustrated and concerned. “Gege, I didn’t notice before, but you feel very hot.”
“Really? I think I’m quite cold…”
“You have a fever.”
“Hmm. If I’m sick, you should leave, San Lang. I don’t want you to catch anything…”
“I won’t catch anything. You’ve just been out in the cold too long, and your body is too malnourished to fight anything off. Come on, gege, you should lay down away from the door.”
“Nnn. Too dark,” he said, but almost immediately, the sconces on the wall (there were sconces on the wall?) became lit, filling the darkest corners with warm light. Xie Lian looked up at the statue’s sharp features, then at San Lang’s. “How…?”
“Gege, I’m going to carry you.”
“I can walk,” Xie Lian insisted, but his ankle gave out as soon as he tried to stand. He was too dizzy to catch himself, but luckily San Lang was there. He swept Xie Lian off his feet and carried him to the little alcove behind the altar, then laid him down on a sleeping mat that definitely had not been there before. “Where did you get a mat?”
“It was in my satchel.”
“But you didn’t…”
“Gege, did you hurt your ankle?”
“En, I twisted it,” Xie Lian answered. His tongue was loose and heavy. Why was his body giving out on him now, when nothing bad was happening to him? If San Lang was indeed just a passing traveler—and even if he wasn’t—he shouldn’t be saddled with seeing Xie Lian in such an ignoble state.
San Lang was sitting at the foot of the sleeping mat. He hoisted Xie Lian’s right leg into his lap, ignoring his patient’s noise of protest. “It doesn’t hurt,” Xie Lian insisted.
“Forgive me, gege, but I don’t believe you.” San Lang brushed his frayed under-robe upward to expose Xie Lian’s ankle. Immediately, he hissed. “You said you didn’t have any other wounds.”
Xie Lian tried to sit up, but his abdominal muscles were suddenly too weak. “Oh, did I forget one?”
“There is a deep cut on your ankle. It’s infected. It looks like you tried to bandage it.”
Oh, now he remembered! That had happened only a few days into his journey. He had gouged it on a rock hidden beneath some brambles. But he kept an eye on it, knowing that he was traipsing through the mud and that it was liable to become dirty. Perhaps it had split open again when he sprained his ankle and then it became infected. Or perhaps he hadn’t paid as much attention to it as he meant to, and it had been infected this whole time. He couldn't quite remember anymore.
For some reason, Xie Lian felt obligated to correct San Lang by saying, “It was already bandaged.”
San Lang’s voice was cold. “I see. To cover this?"
He must be referring to the cursed shackle. Someone who knew so much about the affairs of ghosts and gods would likely recognize it for what it was. “Ah, San Lang, don’t mind that.”
“How could I—” San Lang started to say. It sounded as if there was something around his neck, constricting his air flow. “Gege, I’m sorry.”
Xie Lian reached out to pat San Lang’s hand, but he was laying down and San Lang was too far away. He just ended up patting his own thigh instead. “Don’t apologize to me.”
“Then who will?” The young man’s voice cracked with rage beyond his years. “The world should beg for forgiveness at your feet.”
Xie Lian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Maybe I’m atoning for something, too.”
Rain splattered like tears on the stone steps. Lightning flashed, then thunder. The temple shook, and Xie Lian shivered. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was raining blood. He extended his arm again to touch San Lang, perhaps even to soothe him, but he could not reach.
“Gege, I’m going to clean and bandage your ankle. This may sting.”
Xie Lian hummed and waited, but felt nothing. The light from the sconces danced across the temple’s ceiling and illuminated a vast network of spider webs. It seemed he hadn’t done a very good job cleaning out the temple at all. While he was increasingly certain that Crimson Rain Sought Flower would not mind, he still liked to see his tasks to completion. Once his ankle healed, he would go outside, grab a stick from the ground, and use it to clean out the cobwebs.
He tried to tell San Lang this, but his tongue was too sluggish. How embarrassing that such a handsome man was seeing him in this state. San Lang had Xie Lian’s dirty foot resting in his lap as he wrapped new bandages tightly around his ankle. “Stay still, gege,” he said in that soothing voice as Xie Lian’s twitching leg tried to move away.
“I’m alright, really, I’m alright, I’ve had worse, San Lang, I’m alright…”
Mercifully, San Lang set his leg back on the ground, then disappeared. “Wait,” Xie Lian tried to say, “wait…” But then San Lang was back, sitting cross-legged and pulling Xie Lian’s head upward slightly. Cool water touched Xie Lian’s lips and he drank it greedily. Some spilled from the corners of his mouth and slid down his neck. He shivered.
“Cold,” Xie Lian said. He was grasping now, grasping for something, pulling it toward his body. It was San Lang’s robes. “Cold…”
“Gege,” San Lang breathed.
Behind Xie Lian was a wall of warmth, and he pushed himself feebly back into it. His skin was prickling, his body shaking. San Lang’s skin was not even particularly hot—yet still, Xie Lian’s body sought him out.
There was an arm over his hip and another one stretched beneath his head like a pillow. In the low light, Xie Lian could see a red string tied around San Lang’s middle finger. His own fingers twitched, as if to untie it and retie it himself. His head ached with the familiarity of it all, and yet everything also felt so foreign. He pressed back further against San Lang’s body and wondered how long it had been since he had been held.
“Don’t leave. Cold. Don’t leave.”
“I won’t. I swear it. I’ll never leave you.”
The words made him shiver with selfish pleasure. “You should. I’m very unlucky,” he protested.
San Lang’s breathing went strange, and his left arm tightened on Xie Lian’s hip. “You aren’t. I know that you aren’t.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Xie Lian sighed. The red string swam in front of his eyes. “I met you.”
When Xie Lian opened his eyes again, it was morning, his fever was broken, and San Lang was not lying behind him. He sat up quickly, fighting through a brief bout of dizziness before seeing—
“Gege, good morning! I went down to the village and got you more food. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a bit of everything I could find.”
San Lang had not disappeared. In fact, he was sitting at the foot of the sleeping mat with his legs crossed and a buffet spread on a cloth between them. Off in the corner sat the red umbrella, dripping wet.
Xie Lian immediately spotted a small container of roast pork. His mouth watered.
“San Lang, I can’t repay you for this.”
San Lang smiled, his eyes squinting into little half moons. “There’s no need. Gege’s company is reward enough.”
Next to the pork were fresh steamed buns, an assortment of fresh vegetable dishes, and a container of fresh rice noodles. Xie Lian’s stomach gurgled. He scooted forward on the mat and tried to sit cross-legged, but his ankle gave a pang of protest.
“Careful, that will take a while to heal.”
“I heal quicker than most.”
“I have no doubt that is true.”
Xie Lian knew from experience that he would make himself sick if he broke such a long fast by gorging on food, so he forced himself to take small bites of everything.
“Isn’t San Lang going to eat?”
San Lang debated for a long moment. “Alright, gege,” he said, then portioned out some rice noodles to eat. He had such good table manners, Xie Lian noted.
“It seems the rain has finally stopped,” he observed. Outside the temple, birds were chirping and the sun was shining. In only a few hours, the entire mountainside would become oppressively muggy.
“It seems that way, in this pocket of the mountains, at least.”
“Oh? Is it raining elsewhere?”
“En. It appears it is still raining to the north, south, east, and west of here.”
Xie Lian could not help but laugh. “What a remarkable stroke of good luck.”
“Indeed. Gege, I have a request.”
“Hm?”
“Please allow me to carry you down the mountainside to the village in the valley.”
“Carry?” Of all the undignified things that Xie Lian had been asked to do…!
“You cannot aggravate your ankle, and I think gege would be far more comfortable sleeping in the lodging I have found for us in the village.”
“The mountainside can be treacherous. And I am not light.”
“I carved a path earlier, gege. I’m stronger than I look.”
This man was so earnest that Xie Lian could hardly stand it, yet he also couldn’t bear to look away.
“I have no doubt that is true, Hua Cheng,” he said.
A mischievous smile spread across the young man’s lips. “I still prefer San Lang.”
Hua Cheng was indeed very strong. He swept Xie Lian off of his feet yet again and carried him as if he were no heavier than a bag of rice. Hua Cheng navigated the mountainside as easily as walking down a flat paved road. Was his chest broader than it had been in the temple? Was he taller? Xie Lian’s head was tucked just below his shoulder, and he could not hear a heartbeat. He could only hear the jingling of jewelry and Hua Cheng’s light footfalls. It was all strangely peaceful.
“Does your true form look anything like that statue?”
Hua Cheng scoffed. “Not at all,” he said, his voice lower than it had been in the temple. “What subpar artistry.”
“Hm.” Xie Lian closed his eyes and tipped his head back to soak in the sunlight. What a miracle to feel such warmth on his face. “I thought it was lovely”
“Gege sees good in everything.”
“I try to. Do you think my butterfly friend will follow us?”
“I know it will. And many more of its friends, if you’d like.”
“It seems you found some companions for your journey,” Xie Lian said.
“It seems so. Say, would gege mind if we accompanied him on his journey? We would love to see more beautiful things.”
To think that the next time he came across a particularly lovely flower or a unique piece of scrap, he could turn to Hua Cheng and share in its beauty… As the God of Misfortune and the Laughingstock of the Three Realms, Xie Lian had scarcely been so fortunate.
“I don’t live lavishly, San Lang. I’m afraid this isn’t an isolated incident, I find myself rolling around in the mud far more often than I’d like.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Hua Cheng said. “But if gege ever gets tired of wandering and would like to rest, I would love to show him Ghost City. I’m afraid there isn’t much beauty to be found there, however.”
Xie Lian opened his eyes and looked up at Hua Cheng. From this angle, he could see little more than his jaw, which was wider than it had been in the temple. On his shoulder, the silver butterfly flapped its wings. Xie Lian petted it happily.
“If San Lang built it, I am sure it is magnificent.”