Chapter Text
Ghost City has something of a reputation. A dangerous place made for and by restless ghosts, a central hub for all flavors of resentment. The laws of heaven are only worth more than dirt by being more entertaining to grind beneath one’s heel. Here, right and wrong are determined by the strongest resentment; only the resident calamity commands enough respect to lay down anything resembling law.
So when their Chengzhu declares that he is not to be disturbed while in important negotiations, it sends the whole city atwitter. Hua Cheng, negotiating? No one can hold a candle to their City Master, not even that Black Water! Clearly, some grand scheme must be in the works. Their Chengzhu is so powerful, so clever; whatever is happening in those negotiations is clearly above their heads, but not a soul doubts that it must be of earth-rending, heaven-shattering consequence. It seems a safe bet that when the doors to Paradise Manor open and their lord emerges, the world will be forever changed.
And within the deepest recesses of his stronghold, Hua Cheng carefully regards the cards he has, the cards his opponent has, and what they’ve both laid down on the table. Even now, Xie Lian can’t help but think it a very good look on him… Even at the opposite end of the negotiation table.
Placing a paw down, the cat-sized dragon slides a square of fabric towards the ghost. His fiance does a convincing job of picking it up, considering it, and placing it back down. “A respectable color, gege, but have you considered this one?” he asks, putting a different square in front of the dragon. It isn’t subtle, the way his ghost keeps leading him back to same two shades of red; but then, Xie Lian isn’t being much better.
Marriage is, he knows, supposed to be about making compromises. It feels silly- spoiled, even- to be so hung up on what shade of red to use for their wedding, but here they are. He isn’t sure what his ghost likes so much about those two swatches, but he wants to marry in San Lang’s red so badly it feels like desperation.
So badly it comes back around to being funny. He spent so long seeing marriage as something to dread, to accept with the resignation of a fish in a net, that never in his strangest dreams would he have thought himself the type to care so much about what his wedding robes will look like.
It was different, though, when the concept was applied to San Lang and not some human stranger. If they were both full dragons, he might have even forgone the human concept of marriage entirely; they had both made pearls with each other in mind, which is perhaps as close a thing to a wedding that dragons really have.
But San Lang isn’t a full dragon. San Lang is half human, and looks at the world with a more fundamentally human perspective than Xie Lian can manage. And since that means that marriage is something with weight and importance to San Lang, so too has it become important to Xie Lian.
Which means the wedding colors are important.
And yes, he could probably just… Order San Lang to choose this shade of red, but that would ruin the whole thing. One of them is going to have to cave eventually, but it seems that time has not yet arrived. So here they are, a ghost king and a fallen god, held in a deadlock over which shade to use.
He feels the beginnings of an idea bubbling up in the back of his mind when a knock at the door breaks the moment. An irritated look crosses San Lang’s face even as the ghost calls for whoever it is to enter. They both know full well the unfortunate interloper is Yin Yu, and that the man would not interrupt them without good reason.
“There’s a matter at the Gambler’s Den you may wish to handle in person, Chengzhu.”
That could be any number of things. An especially weighty bet, cultivators stirring up trouble, even just the ghosts getting too rowdy. A common enough occurrence, in Ghost City.
But something about this time makes Xie Lian uneasy. Something about the way San Lang gets up from the table; a tenseness in the way he carries himself, the lack of a veneer of flippancy over his duties, and- most damning of all- the lack of invitation for Xie Lian to follow. “This won’t take long, gege,” is all he says before following his Waning Moon Officer out the door.
Well, that won’t do.
He waits until he’s certain the two are gone before creeping out into the hallway himself. Shortly after breaking the curse on Xie Lian’s form, San Lang installed smaller side-doors so that his god might come and go as he pleases. It’s a good solution for the moment, though he seems to be growing at a rate that should soon make it impractical to keep scaling them up. By the time it becomes a problem, though, he should be able to shift back into a more human skin. In theory. It would certainly make things more convenient, in many ways.
It isn’t really something he likes to dwell on, so he forces down the nausea and turns his attention back to where he’s going. By now, he’s more than familiar enough with Paradise Manor to make his own way to his favorite garden. Slipping into the creek there, Xie Lian takes a moment to quietly enjoy the water before following the current towards the bustling markets of Ghost City.
Things have changed in the past few weeks. Where he used to be dependent on a kind water ghoul to fish him up each time, a small ladder now reaches down from the docks to just beneath the water’s surface. It’s been replaced twice already; once for theft and once to accommodate a small growth spurt. He chirps a greeting to the skeletal ghost who haunts this place. “Good evening, Grand Uncle,” they rasp, but the strange quaver in their tone gives a sharper edge to his own uneasiness.
Walking through the streets, though, Ghost City seems to be its normal raucous self. No one gives him any trouble, in that he’s largely exempt from the usual threats of bodily harm a passerby might be thrown. But it’s still a hassle to wade through the throngs of ghosts trying to offer him things; normally, it’s rather endearing, but right now they’re just between himself and San Lang.
He ducks into a side street. This way is less familiar, but he should be able to move a few blocks out and follow parallel to the market street, then reemerge closer to the Gambler’s Den. Hopefully, whatever is demanding San Lang’s attention will be exciting enough that the ghosts nearby won’t notice him…
Ah, he should really know better by now than to jinx himself. Hardly halfway there, a gaggle of ghostly women are making a commotion, blocking almost the whole street. Ducking around their feet might be an option, but it seems a little rude. They may as well be a dam with how they obstruct his path; but better a small group to deal with than the full horde of the markets.
Or so he initially thinks. As Xie Lian gets closer, he can hear how the women are cooing over someone’s pretty face, asking for how she keeps it so fresh and alive. And he can hear the awkward replies, a tinge of desperation to get away, and resignation slowly trickles in to fill the space between his ribs.
Sitting up on his haunches, he very politely asks the ghosts to give their living sister some space. He cannot speak in this form, of course, so it comes out as a squeak; but it does the job nonetheless as the ghosts all wheel around to face him. “Grand Uncle!” One of them squeals. She looks like she’s just barely holding back from picking him up like a cat, but they know better.
“Look, meimei,” another pipes up. “Your face is so lovely even Grand Uncle came to take a look!”
“Ahahaha,” the poor woman in question gives a nervous laugh. “I really need to get going…”
Xie Lian feels his head tilt as he eyes the living woman. She’s clad in white and soft pastels, and the fan she carries smells strangely of brine. Definitely a cultivator. He would have guessed a god, but she doesn’t inspire a very particular desire to go jump off the pier and swim as deep down as he can, so perhaps not.
She looks uncomfortable. Under normal circumstances, he dislikes it when people are uncomfortable, but something about this situation strikes him as particularly in need of fixing. A trill slips from his throat.
“Umm. Hello?” the cultivator answers, and it feels like something clicks into place. He bounds up to her, grazing his cheek against a trailing sleeve before running a few paces in the general direction of the Gambler’s Den. Stopping to look back, he waits until she follows before continuing on his way.
Once they turn a corner, she pipes up again. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where we’re going?”
He chirps.
“Ah, of course. Makes sense.”
They turn another corner, and the Den comes into… Well. Not into view, not with the larger than usual mob of restless ghosts all clamoring to get inside, but it’s close enough. And it’s good enough confirmation as to San Lang’s whereabouts, though it never occurred to him to doubt.
His companion gives him a side glance. “I don’t suppose there’s a side way in?”
“HEY!!” yells the ghost at the back of the mob. “You got here late, same as us, so–” Xie Lian sees the moment he’s spotted. “Oh, fuck, Gr–” The little dragon vigorously shakes his head, and the ghost cuts off. “Ah, I get it. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll keep my mouth shut!!” Which… Really defeats the point, but he appreciates the spirit of the thing.
As it happens, there is a back entrance. And so long as his pearl is safely in the delicate silver netting around his neck, he never has an issue slipping through the barrier array that guards it.
Which may be a bit more of a hassle, given that he isn’t alone. He certainly isn’t interested in letting his… Friend? Hold his pearl. But that’s alright, because just standing on the threshold until she’s safely through seems to work, too.
The passage brings them into a break room for the staff, a nice little lounge with chairs and suspicious beverages San Lang warned him he probably wouldn’t like. It’s empty at the moment, which would be odd if not for how something out on the betting room floor has clearly enraptured half the city. So, this is probably as close to a safe place for his friend as possible, if she isn’t interested in the commotion just outside. He warbles out a question, and brings his eyes deliberately from her to the door.
“If only I didn’t have to,” she all but rolls her eyes. “I don’t suppose you would have heard of any gods trapped here?”
Hmm. No, he definitely hasn’t, so he shakes his head.
“It was a long shot. I hear his luck is pretty terrible, so of course finding him won’t be easy,” his companion huffs, and the uneasy feeling from earlier comes back with a vengeance. “Anyway, I better go make sure the martial meatheads that came with me haven’t caused trouble.”
Ah. So she is a god. Yes, he supposes his luck really is pretty terrible.
Feeling not unlike a fish deliberately taking the fisherman’s bait, he makes the decision that he may as well go see how bad it is for himself. At least he and his friend share in their reluctance, which does make him feel a little better as they reach the betting room.
Frankly, he had been expecting worse. He gets there just in time to watch San Lang hang a martial god from the ceiling, but at least it isn’t anyone he recognizes off the bat. Someone who would be offended by that, no doubt, but that’s just par for the course with gods. But it seems he’s overreacted, because this is clearly someone his fiance can handle just fine.
And of course it’s just as he starts to calm down that he spots Mu Qing.