Work Text:
Before, Hong Lu dances: blue and white hanfu draped over him, makeup itching on his face. Stepping into place as per his parents’ wishes. They tell him he is beautiful, so he does not question if they let the candle wax drip into his eyes later. Their boy will be beautiful, something to be touched and hoarded as one does fine porcelain.
This is just how things are.
He thinks—thinks—that is how he should be, years later on the bus. Only away from that glimmering manor does he realize that the jade may be scratched.