His hands rise up to his face, blindly fumbling at his eyes, but— but there’s nothing over them, he—
Click.
It’s instantaneous.
The click of something sealing around his neck, and once it does—
Hua Liang’s knees hit the dirt, hard—and there must have been unseen rocks and twigs, tearing at his knees and biting at his palms, he can feel them break skin—
But it’s so heavy.
His hands slide down to his throat, clawing, but—
There’s nothing there.
A panicked whimper escapes him, fingernails scraping at his skin—because—
There has to be something there, it’s choking him, he can’t lift his head, it’s so—
It’s so heavy, he—
New bride… New bride…
His hands dig into the dirt, trembling with the effort it takes, trying to bush himself up.
“HELP!”
He screams, screams as loud as he can, until it feels like something in his throat is going to break, but—
No one hears him.
He curls up on the ground, hands clutching his throat, and tries the next thing he can think of.
Baba, something’s wrong. Something’s here.
It hurts!
He prays, prays as hard as he knows how to, but it quickly becomes clear—
No one can hear it.
New bride… New bride… “BABA! A’DIE!”
He feels something tightening around his ankle, squeezing until it feels like his bone might snap—
And when he looks down, he finally does see something.
A vine, crawling all the way up his calf, his thigh, thorns sprouting up, digging into his flesh—
Then, there’s a voice in his ear, and breath on the nape of his neck.
Xianle.
“NO!” He thrashes, trying to get his legs free, tears hot against his cheeks. “LET ME GO—!”
But he can’t. He can’t move his arms, they’re pinned against his sides, and even as he tries to thrash, sobs wracking his form, he can’t, he can’t—
But there’s something that cuts through.
A soft hum beneath his cries—and when he quiets down, breathing raggedly, it grows clearly—
A melody he doesn’t know, but the closer he listens—
It isn’t—
It isn’t cold.
When Hua Liang’s eyes open, he sees stars.
His chest is heaving, face soaked with tears—
But there are arms around him, and he sees a forest path—one that looks like a trail head, leading towards the highway—
And he realizes that someone is humming in his ear, their voice laced with spiritual energy.
He gulps, gasping for breath as he leans back. “…I’m out of it,” he finally manages to say, his voice hoarse. “I think I’m out of it.”
Lan Haoran doesn’t let him go—not yet.
“What’s your name?”
“W-what?”
“Just answer.”
“H…Hua Liang…”
“Where are you?”
“Mount…” He swallows, his heart pounding. “Mount Yu Jun…”
“Who am I?”
“…Lan…Haor-ran…”
It sounds so stupid, but the more questions he answers, the less he shakes.
Finally, he manages to ask—
“A—are we actually on Mount Yu Jun? It looks different—”
“I got us back down to a service road,” the Lan answers quietly, and for someone who seemed so firm about his personal space before, he’s in no rush to let Hua Liang go.
“…How long was I—?”
“Just a few minutes,” he reassures him, then adds— “But you’re stronger than you look.”
Hua Liang finally looks back to ask him what he means, but—
When he sees the swelling bruise on the Lan’s cheek and the scratch marks on the side of his neck, his stomach drops.
“…I’m sorry,” he mumbles, eyes stinging. “I didn’t mean to—”
The Lan shushes him, and there’s—
There’s something oddly safe about it.
“Forget it.”
“I really didn’t—”
“I know.”
“I—”
“You got yourself worse than me.” Hua Liang pauses, reaching up to touch his own throat, and his fingers come away red. “I had to stop you.”
Hua Liang presses his hand back down, feeling the deep scratches down his neck, swallowing hard.
He can’t fix anything that serious, but his cultivation is advanced for his age—so he’s able to heal them until they’re a little more superficial.
“…What was that?” He whispers, fingers shaking as they work.
“You were the one who seemed to sense something before I did. What did you see?”
Hua Liang hesitates.
“Yes, yes,” a voice speaks over them both, coming from above. “What did the little prince see?”
Hua Liang jerks, but before he can really react, he’s yanked behind a tall, broad set of shoulders.
Still, he manages to peak around Lan Haoran—and when he does—
There’s a figure above, sitting on a wide branch, bare feet dangling beneath, swaying slightly with the breeze.
“Who are you?”
“I asked you first,” Hua Liang squints, his eyes adjusting to the moonlight—finding the stranger to be a young man, dressed in traditional, white robes.
“I won’t ask you twice.”
The young man rolls his eyes, long, dark hair falling in a heavy curtain around his shoulders—and his laugh is particularly melodic.
“Relax, little Lan—I was night hunting in the area. I came when I heard the screaming.”
Screaming?
Hua Liang’s cheeks burn at the notion that someone would have overheard him like that—and Lan Haoran doesn’t move, his posture relaxed, but his hand rests on the hilt of his sword.
“The area was reserved for training exercises months ago.”
“Oh my,” his eyes grew round and apologetic. “I must have neglected to check my calendar.”
“Which sect are you from?”
“I serve in the martial god of the central plains’ temple in the capitol,” he explains calmly, watching Hua Liang, who suddenly seems to relax at the prospect.
“…You’re one of dage’s worshippers?”
“Mn. I heard his esteemed didi in distress, and I came running.”
"Cultivators in Hua Bolin's temples don't wear all white," Lan Haoran says pointedly, and Hua Liang is a little embarrassed for not noticing that first, but in his defense, he's having a night.
The taoist's smile is especially coy. "I'm a little rebel." His eyes slide back to Hua Liang, glancing him over. "They didn't show a very close look at you on the broadcast—I see you're the one who's been blessed the most with dianxia's looks, how lucky."
Hua Liang tucks his hair behind his ears self-consciously—he gets that a lot, but hearing it from someone with such a pretty face is kind of distracting—
"Wouldn't that be an insult to his brother? The god you supposedly worship?"
"Oh? I wouldn't dare. I love his highness' rugged looks." The stranger says earnestly, placing a hand to his chest. "But he's never been so vain as to take something like that as an insult."
"For someone with such a loyalty to him, you aren't lifting a finger to help."
"You seemed to be enjoying playing hero for the princess in distress, little Lan. I didn't want to interrupt."
Now both of the teenagers are blushing, though Hua Liang doesn't know what Lan Haoran is embarrassed about, he didn't get called a princess.
"Tell me, Hua-gongzi, do you need my assistance?"
"...I'm okay," he finally answers, clearing his throat, still hoarse. "...Do you know what that was?"
The cultivator’s eyebrows raise, and he shakes his head. "I'm just as bewildered, it was very strange to witness."
He rises to leave, and Lan Haoran recovers enough to speak through clenched teeth:
"You never answered my question."
"...Hmm?"
"What is your name?"
"...Oh," he laughs, covering his mouth to hide a wider smile. "Ren Yi. Tell your brother to call on our temple soon, him?" He says, addressing Hua Liang one final time. "It's been lonely lately."
He turns, and in the blink of an eye—he disappears.
Lan Haoran stares, his jaw clenched—but when he looks back down, he finds Hua Liang pantomiming gagging, and raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"I should've known."
"Known what?"
"...Dage has a lot of exes," he mutters, wrinkling his nose. "He probably was planning on swooping in to help to get his attention or something."
"...He would have a relationship with one of his own worshippers?"
"Look at our parents," Hua Liang rolls his eyes. "I mean, sure—it's a little bit out of character for him, he doesn't usually like people who blow smoke up his ass—but he was super pretty, and that's generally his type."
"Pretty?"
"And a little menacing, yeah."
Not that any of them ever come around the family, really—Hua Ming mentioned that he met one of them when he was really little, but most of what Hua Liang knows comes from photographs, paintings, stories—or his gege’s friends teasing him about embarrassing memories.
Hua Bolin is even more protective over them in some ways than their parents are—and if he knew someone like Ren Yi had approached him—if they were lovers—
He would be livid.
Still, now that the adrenaline of that encounter and the panic before it is fading, Hua Liang finds himself less and less concerned with that.
He presses one hand to his temple, his legs shaky and unsteady—
And he feels an arm around his back, holding him steady—making sure he doesn’t fall.
His mouth pulls up at one corner.
Lan Haoran feels a hand tug at the front of his shirt, and when he looks down—
Hua Liang had a teasing smile, a mischievous one, an angry grin, an overly adorable expression he pulls when he’s in trouble—
But there’s this soft, genuine smile on his face now, almost like a reward.
“Thanks for looking after me, shixiong.”
Lan Haoran’s expression is unreadable—but it feels as though his arm tightens around his back in response.
“You’re welcome.”
“You could call me shidi, you know.”
There’s a soft sound of rushing wind as the others land nearby, but their shizun is there first, kneeling by Hua Liang and his nephew as he checks them for any injuries.
“What happened here?”
E’Ming jumps down from Pei Xiang’s shoulder, shifting into the form of a large black dog, not so different from Hong Li as he scampers to Hua Liang’s side—placing his paws on his chest as he sniffs his face.
“…I don’t know exactly what we encountered,” Lan Haoran replies. “But it caused Hua Liang to have hallucinations. I used clarity to calm him—a cultivator who claimed to serve one of his brother’s temple appeared to offer assistance, but left when he saw we were no longer in distress.”
(Though from where he was standing, his presence felt more antagonistic than helpful.)
Lan Junjie’s brow furrows. “What was he doing here?”
“He didn’t give an answer I thought was sufficient, but I didn’t have the means to detain him.”
His uncle frowns, digesting that information before looking to Hua Liang.
“What did you see?”
He clears his throat, still raw from, well, all the screaming—and Nie Dongmei comes forward, pulling out a water bottle from her pack.
"Are you okay?" She asks, offering it to him. "Any first-time encounter with intense resentment can make your body go into shock. You should eat something. Here, I have—"
"His dad's a calamity," Jiang Kuang frowns. "Wouldn't he already be pretty used to that?"
Hua Liang takes the water bottle anyway, taking a few sips. "Thank you, and, um..." He bites his lip, thinking. "...It's probably going to sound crazy—"
"It won't," Lan Junjie assures him, watching with his arms crossed. Hua Liang hesitates, then sighs.
"...My dad encountered a fierce ghost on this mountain two thousand years ago," he admits. "I saw...well, it almost felt like one of his memories, I guess."
Their shizun rubs his chin, looking up the hill. "...Was the hallucination auditory, or just visual?"
"I..." Hua Liang swallows, struggling to answer. "It was like I was actually there, reliving it," he mumbles, handing Nie Dongmei her water bottle. "I could hear and feel...pretty much everything."
Jin Chuanli shivers, rubbing her arms. "...Is that really possible?"
Lan Junjie sighs, rising to his feet. "It's becoming more common, unfortunately."
Hua Liang looks up with a start, still holding his hands close to himself, trying to stop the shaking. "What?"
"Land—especially land ripe with spiritual power or resentment—holds memory, just like anything else." The Lan elder explains carefully. "If there's a demon or deity causing trouble in the area—they can tap into that."
His nephew frowns. "...But I didn't see anything."
"Half of him comes from his father," Lan Junjie steps back from the trailhead with a sigh. "All manner of beasts can take advantage of that."
"...You're sure that's what it was, then?" Hua Liang asks slowly.
“There’s no reason to think otherwise,” his shizun says, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “Unless there’s something else you saw?”
“…” Hua Liang presses a hand to the side of his throat, thinking—but ultimately shakes his head, even as he can feel the weight of Lan Haoran’s gaze on his back. “No, shizun,” he shakes his head. “That was it.”
“Do you feel as though you can complete the remainder of the excursion?”
Hua Liang perks up, bobbing his head in agreement, “Yeah, of course I—!”
“No,” Lan Haoran speaks over him, stepping forward to speak to his uncle directly. “I had to use clarity first five minutes to subdue him. He needs to go home.”
“…” Hua Liang sags, his expression dropping into a scowl.
And here he thought they were getting off on a better foot.
“…See that he gets home safe, then.”
The older boy nods, placing one hand on Hua Liang’s shoulder, stopping him from stepping forward to protest.
“Yes, shushu.”
“…Shizun, I feel like I’m at high risk for encountering the traumatic memories of my ancestors too, can I go home—?”
“Hush, Wen Xiaodan.”
“Man…”
Pei Xiang sends Hua Liang a sympathetic look, waving in farewell as the others get ready to take off. “You should listen to him, A’Liang. You look tired.”
Hua Liang flinches slightly, pressing a hand to his cheek—and he refuses to meet Lan Haoran’s gaze when the older boy looks down, curious about his reaction.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Okay. C’mon E’Ming, we’re going home.”
The demon perks up, shaking out it's fur before shifting back down into a mouse, scampering up Hua Liang's shirt before disappearing into his sleeve, wriggling into the fabric to get comfortable.
"You're a tattle tale, you know," he mutters.
Lan Haoran tips his head, casting him a glance from the corner of his eye as the others prepare to leave, his sword hovering a foot off the ground between them.
"I didn't do it for you."
And when Hua Liang remembers what he said before—
If you got hurt—do you have any idea what would happen to my uncle?
...He can't really argue with him.
He's much quieter than he was before when they're back in the air, and he's probably outing himself by being perfectly balanced instead of whining and leaning against him like he was before, but—
Who cares? It's not like he's trying to annoy him right now, anyway.
He just focuses on the breeze on his face, and the sight of the stars overhead.
As long as he feels that, sees that—then he knows he isn't there, inside of that memory again.
However, as much as Lan Haoran seemed annoyed by his persistent attempts at conversation before, he seems to like his silence even less.
"I thought royalty was supposed to be charming."
"Royalty?"
"I was under the impression that your father was a crown prince by birth."
Even if Heavenly Emperor isn't a hereditary position, the prince of a kingdom certainly is.
"...Well, it's not like I have subjects to serve and praise me, or whatever," Hua Liang replies, rolling his eyes. "And the only people left from Xianle are all my seniors, so in that sense, I'm kind of lowest on that food chain."
"People still called him Taizi Dianxia after Xianle fell, so I assumed."
Sure, but who is going to call Hua Liang your highness, the kids from his math class at his old school?
...Actually, some of his classmates in Gusu have tried calling him that, but it feels...odd.
"A'Die did. And the other Heavenly Officials did, but that—that's different." Hua Liang shrugs, tilting his head a little further back to look at the moon. "They live so long—they'd all lose their titles if they gave them up when the world moved on."
It's still so strange for him to think about, sometimes.
That if his parents had been more fortunate—maybe he never would have been born. Or, even stranger—maybe he would have been born thousands of years ago.
If his parents had met in the heavens, instead of a buildup to war. If Xianle hadn’t fallen.
His parents rarely ever talk to him about what happened back then, or why. He’s often been left to read old legends and try to make his own guesses.
If Hua Bolin had been born back then—would he have been the next prince to dazzle the public, and be adored in return? Would he have become the next King of Xianle, or was it always his fate to ascend so young, just as their father before him?
And if Hua Liang had been born back then, would he have been just another silly, ornamental member of the royal family? There to cause problems for a distraction from his own boredom?
…Just like Qi Ron—?
“I didn’t mean to trigger such deep pondering.”
…Well, after the last couple of weeks his family has had—Hua Liang would have been contemplative anyway. That’s not exactly Lan Haoran’s fault.
“…Well, the Heavens is full of former royalty, and let me tell you—a lot of them are actually pretty rude—and I can be charming.”
“Oh?”
“You seemed pretty charmed when I called you shixiong—”
“Shut up.”
Hua Liang snorts, able to see the Lan’s scowl from the corner of his eye—
(But not the rush of pink at the tips of his ears.)
“And I’m pretty. All I have to do when I want to be charming is smile and not talk.”
“…That’s cynical for someone so…”
“Perky?”
“Boisterous.”
“Aren’t those synonyms?”
“Boisterous is slightly more obnoxious.”
Instead of squawking with indignation, Hua Liang snorts.
“Say, Lan-xiong? Something’s been bugging me.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath.”
“…If you’re the older one, how come Lan Jun is the sect heir?”
He’s quiet for so long, Hua Liang becomes certain that he won’t answer—and he understands. It’s probably something personal—
“I was never sect heir to begin with, so I wasn’t passed over.” He shrugs. “That title was always Lan Jun’s.”
“…Because—?”
“It’s not my place to say.”
Hua Liang frowns, struggling through a yawn.
It’s his life, if it isn’t his place to say, whose is it—?
“…Is that what you meant about inheriting debts?”
"Hmm."
"Hmm?"
"You're slightly less silly than you look."
"Hey—!"
"And we're far off from anyone who actually thinks you're tough." The Lan points out flatly. "You can sleep, now."
As his sect's most senior disciple—he's more than aware of how exhausting it is, having Clarity used on you at all—and five minutes of it is quite some time.
"I'm not—" Hua Liang starts, though his own yawn betrays him. "I'm really not—"
A hand grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him back until he's leaning against the Lan for balance.
And, given how much the Lan has emphasized valuing his personal space, Hua Liang can't help but be a little touched.
"E'Ming won't let you fall, anyway."
"What, so YOU would—?"
"Sleep, your highness."
And, despite their conversation—
There's something about the tone with which he says his title that makes Hua Liang think that Lan Haoran isn't making fun of him at all.
You'd think that it'd be hard, sleeping while standing up, flying that far through the air, but—
Well, if he didn't know any better, when his knees went slack from the sleep, it felt like someone swept his legs up, holding him as he drifted further under.
Felt like that, even though that certainly couldn’t have been what happened.
Not when he wakes up what only feels like a few minutes later, met with the familiar sight of his street.
Surprisingly normal, when you consider who they actually are—not in the city, his parents find that too stimulating—but in what appears to be a nice, if not normal family home, sitting on the outskirts of a quiet village.
(A village rather well known for their water chestnuts.)
Hua Liang blinks sluggishly, feeling someone's hands on his elbows, steadying him, as his feet reach the sidewalk. "...Lan-xiong—?"
"Chrysanthemum tea."
He starts, gripping the Lan's forearms as he grows a little steadier on his feet. "...Huh?"
"It helps if you've been exposed to resentment," he shrugs. "You don't want to get nightmares."
Hua Liang almost scoffs at being worried about a nightmare, but...
When he remembers what he saw before, he nods, grateful for the suggestion.
"Thanks for bringing me home."
Lan Haoran looks down at him, his lips twitching into what could almost be a smile. "What happened to me being a tattle tale?"
"..." Hua Liang shrugs, and his mouth doesn't quite move from his pointed stare, but—
Maybe he smiles with his eyes, just as the front door swings open.
"A'Liang?" A voice calls. "We didn't expect you back so early."
Hua Liang looks over his shoulder to find his baba standing there, leaning against the doorframe, and—
It's weird, because he knows he isn't doing anything wrong—but he finds himself dropping Lan Haoran's arms and stepping back quickly, clearing his throat.
"...I had a little trouble, so they sent me back early," he explains, walking up the front steps. "My shixiong brought me back."
Xie Lian hums, glancing over his son's head. "Would he like to come inside for a minute?" He suggests. "He came all this way—"
"I think he's in a rush to get back, baba," Hua Liang interjects quickly, knowing that, after everything Lan Haoran said before—he probably doesn't want to be invited inside.
Xie Lian crosses his arms for a moment, watching the Lan bow respectfully on his direction, and though he offers a smile and a wave—like his son predicted, he doesn’t come forward to introduce himself, choosing to mount his sword and come back from where he came.
“…That’s too bad,” he murmurs. “Lans are always good guests. Is that the sect heir?”
“Huh?” Hua Liang looks up in the middle of taking off his shoes, then shakes his head. “No—the other one.”
His father blinks, confused. “…You mean the one you’ve been complaining about all week?” “…Mmm, yeah.” Hua Liang agrees. “Why? Wasn’t it obvious?”
For some reason, despite all of his father’s wisdom, it seems like it really wasn’t.
“E’Ming seems a little jittery,” Xie Lian observes, watching as the demon jumps out of his son’s sleeve, scampering over to greet him. “Does that have something to do with what happened?”
It’s brief, but Hua Liang hesitates.
Do you have any idea what would happen to him, if you were harmed under his care?
“…It wasn’t anything that crazy,” he says, shaking his head. “Shizun said it was probably some demon or deity in the area causing hallucinations—but I didn’t know that was gonna happen, so I got freaked out.”
“…Oh,” Xie Lian frowns, reaching over to tuck his hair behind his ear, thumb stroking his cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?”
To his surprise, rather than brushing him off, complaining about being treated like a baby at his age—
Hua Liang just steps into the doorway with him—wrapping his arms around his father and hugging him as tightly as he can, face buried in his chest.
“Nope,” he mumbles. “I’m good.”
And of course, after a moment of surprise, Xie Lian holds him in return—one hand rubbing Hua Liang’s back as the other strokes the back of his head.
“…Are you sure you’re alright—?”
“I just love you, baba.”
Xie Lian’s expression softens as he rests his cheek on top of Hua Liang’s head, closing his eyes.
“I love you too,” he says. “I don’t think you can even understand how much.”
Hua Liang doesn’t think he can, either. When he’s being held by him, he feels safer, more loved, than he’s ever known how to explain.
“Is A’Die home?”
Xie Lian shakes his head, and it looks a little comical, given that Hua Liang is a high schooler—but he easily hugs him until he’s lifted off his feet, turning around to walk inside.
“There’s a ruckus in Ghost City that he’s been dealing with—do you want him home?”
No—but the knowledge that he would drop everything if he did is enough to make Hua Liang feel warm, comfortable.
“No—I’m really tired, I just want to go to bed, but—do we have chrysanthemum tea?”
“I think so, why?”
“Shixiong said it would help me sleep.”
Xie Lian sets him down in the hallway, brushing his bangs away from his face. “Are you worried about nightmares? I can make you some—”
“Nope!” Hua Liang smiles widely, shaking his head. “Just being proactive—let me make you some, baba—I got it.”
(Xie Lian gracefully acquiesces, as he always does when his offers to grace the kitchen with his presence is refuted.)
“It seems like you’re adjusting.”
“What?” Hua Liang asks, distractedly rummaging through the cupboard.
“To the new school?”
“Oh,” he blinks. “…Yeah, well—it’s kind of easier, since everyone already knows…”
Xie Lian's smile flickers from where he stands in the corner, watching his son fish out the kette, going to fill it in the sink.
"...Was that difficult at your last school?"
There's never an accusatory tone to how he asks anything. In fact, Hua Liang has stupidly confessed to doing something he shouldn't more than once, simply because his father has such a strong mastery over a neutral tone.
But still, in situations like this, Hua Liang knows better.
"Not really!" He shakes his head, setting the kettle aside. "I mean, for a long time, I didn't know we weren't normal, so it didn't really feel weird that the other kids didn't either."
Xie Lian nods, reaching up to toy with the red pearl in his ear, his fingers slowly twisting the earring round and round. "Was it more difficult once you did know?"
He watches his son pause, his hand on the stove knob—then shake his head.
"...No," Hua Liang looks back, staring at him intently. "Because when I was at school, I felt normal. But at this new place—I don't know, it's not like they get it, but their parents are all sect leaders, so...it's not like they're normal either, y'know?"
“…Hmm,” Xie Lian hums, joining him—and with one press of his finger, the kettle starts to whistle.
(Why use a gas stove when spiritual power is instantaneous, anyhow?)
“And you like them?”
“The other kids? Yeah—they’re nice, and it’s kind of cool learning about other cultivation paths. Even if they’re kinda…more mentally taxing, I guess.”
“Even the one who brought you home?”
Hua Liang pulls out one of the tea bags to steep, and his voice grows slightly gruffer.
“Yeah—he’s not so bad.”
“…Good,” Xie Lian smiles, but when Hua Liang looks up at him—it doesn’t entirely seem to meet his eyes. “I don’t want the changes that we’ve been going through to make you unhappy.”
Changes.
That’s certainly one way to put it.
It’s weird, because Hua Bolin had been a god his whole life—and he’s never felt distant from him—
But it feels so weird, knowing he and Hua Ming aren’t the same anymore.
“I mean…I don’t know, he’s older than you and Dage were when you ascended,” Hua Liang mumbles, lifting the tea bag out. It’s not as good as fresh leaves—but he really doesn’t trust himself or his baba to attempt that. “I guess I should have expected it.”
“…Ascension has nothing to do with age or bloodline,” Xie Lian reminds him softly. “It’s just a matter of fate.”
Right.
But contemplating that for too long might trigger a kind of existential panic, so—
“Are you okay, baba? You seem kinda stressed out.”
Xie Lian pulls down a set of mugs, sliding them over. “I’m alright. Worried about you three, but that’s my job.”
Hua Liang doesn’t really know how his oldest brother could be included in those worries—he’s pretty much indestructible, like their parents—but maybe that’s just part of having kids.
“Okay—it’s just been a while since I’ve seen Ruoye, and you’ve seemed kind of—”
“Ruoye is keeping an eye on something for me,” his father assures him, as he so often does, ambiguously. “No need to worry.”
“Oh, that’s good—”
“But there is something I wanted to discuss with you.”
Hua Liang looks at him curiously, but his father only fills their cups, lifting both to lead him to the table.
“I know you want to rest, I won’t keep you long, but I’ve barely had a chance to spend time with you in the last couple of weeks—”
“I thought,” Hua Liang pauses, self-conscious about interrupting—until his father gestures for him to continue. “I thought you might not want to talk to me.”
“A’Liang,” Xie Lian’s brow furrows. “I always want to talk to you.”
“I know,” he agrees in a rush, looking down at his tea, watching steam rise and tickle his nose. “But everything that happened was my—”
Xie Lian reaches out, placing a hand on his chin—and when Hua Liang looks up, his father is giving him a rare, firm look.
“It was not your fault.”
“But, I—”
“You’re still a child,” his father says, his voice gentle, but his gaze is so intent. “You cannot take responsibility for things beyond your control. It only ends in pain.”
You blamed yourself.
He thinks it, but he can’t say it.
He felt it, before.
And when you ascended, you were almost the same age as me.
Which is impossible to imagine, because Hua Liang feels very much like a kid. Nothing close to—
Nothing close to everything that was expected of his father, all those years ago.
“…But,” Xie Lian continues, lowering his hand from Hua Liang’s face, “I do want to talk to you about what happened that day.”
“…I already told you about everything I saw—”
“I know, I believe you.”
“Then I don’t—”
“Your father and I discussed what he saw,” Xie Lian explains softly, averting his eyes back to his own cup. “And we both agree you’ve reached the age where you and I need to have a talk.”
"...But I'm not in trouble?" Hua Liang asks slowly, lifting his tea to his lips as his father shakes his head.
"Not at all."
Hua Liang has never particularly liked overly floral teas—but there's something soothing about this one. Mildly sweet, buttery, warming the back of his throat. "Then I don't—"
"It's about the man," Xie Lian explains, fighting the urge not to shatter his own cup. "The one who threatened you."
"...I really don't—"
"The one who touched your face?"
Hua Liang's lips part, and as disgusted as he felt back then—there's something that's making him lower his eyes with embarrassment now, shaking his head. "I didn't do anything to make him do that—"
"Of course you didn't," his father agrees immediately. "And even if you had, you're a child. It wasn't your fault, regardless of anything you did."
Hua Liang frowns, taking another sip of tea. "...Then what is there to talk about?"
Xie Lian's lips press into a thin line as he finds a place on the wall to stare at, taking a deep, silent breath.
"It's about what he wanted from you, A'Liang."
"...Oh..." His son repeats slowly, his eyes widening—then quickly narrowing, his nose wrinkling with disgust. "Oh."
"It's important for you to understand—"
"But I don't even want to do anything like that yet!" Hua Liang protests immediately, heat rising to his face. "Not hand holding, kissing, or anything else, so I don't need you to give me a talk—"
"What?" Xie Lian blinks, confused, then—
Then he's the one getting red in the face, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Oh—no—you're too young for—it's not about that—I mean, it sort of is, but—"
"Baba, I think I'm really sleepy now—"
"Wait."
Hua Liang is halfway out of his seat, only to drop down heavily—fighting the urge to whine and kick his feet. "But if it isn't my fault, why do we have to talk about it?" He pleads. "It's not fair—"
"It's not," Xie Lian agrees. "I wish we didn't need to."
"Great news! We don't! Hope that helps—"
"A'Liang."
"..." He sags, fighting the urge to slam his face into the table. At least if he knocked himself out, he wouldn't have to hear any more.
"This isn't a punishment, you know—"
"I heard about the talk you had with Hua Ming," he mumbles, miserable. "But he actually looked at something, so I don't get why I—"
"We never had this talk with Ming'er," Xie Lian clarifies, fighting the urge to grimace. "Or A'Lin."
"..." Is it a secret, third thing? A secret, third, worse thing? "Then why do I have to—?"
"Because of the way you look, A'Liang."
The teenager falls silent, his eyes slowly growing pinched with confusion.
"...What's wrong with the way I look?"
He shakes his head, confused, because he—he's always been told how cute he is, when did that change—?
"Nothing," Xie Lian finally does allow that grimace to shine through, pushing his cup aside as he turns to look at Hua Liang directly. "You are so beautiful," he assures him, struggling to put it to words. "From the moment you were born, you've always been—"
"Then I don't understand—"
"When you look that way," Xie Lian says, then stops himself, closing his eyes, steadying himself. "...Your father and I have tried so hard to give you and Ming'er the childhoods you deserve. For you to not have to think about these things, and I—"
"You did," Hua Liang assures him, despite his own confusion. "I always felt happy and safe, and I still do. We don't need to—"
"We do," Xie Lian frowns, rubbing a head against his forehead, trying to soothe some unseen ache. "Because you're getting older, and you're going to want to live your life, and we want that for you as well—but there are things you have to understand—"
"—I grew up with the internet, I kinda know a l—"
"There are going to be people who don't respect your childhood," his father interrupts him, choosing his words carefully. "People who won't care about what you want, your safety, or your wellbeing."
Hua Liang stares at him, and—
Maybe, the worst part of this is watching that surprised, frightened confusion take over his gaze, seeing him realize what Xie Lian is trying to say.
"...I know what girls deal with," he explains slowly. He'd seen enough of that at his last school. Even now, watching Jin Chuanli. "But I'm not one of them—"
"Sometimes—" Xie Lian shakes his head, "—when there are men who look like you and me, we still have to be cautious."
"...I'm not weak," Hua Liang mumbles. "I can protect myself—"
"These things don't happen to weak people," his father corrects him. "That has nothing to do with it."
"But I—"
"A'Liang," he reaches over, pulling Hua Liang's hands away from his cup, clasping them both in his. "When I was your age, it started happening to me."
...Oh.
"...People...tried to—?"
"I wouldn't say that they tried to do anything," Xie Lian corrects, averting his eyes with a frown. "Feng Xin would probably know more about that than me, but I —" He sighs. "That was when I noticed what people—some people—wanted from me."
And there were times when just that knowledge felt like a violation.
"...Okay," Hua Liang mumbles, lowering his eyes, swallowing hard. As much as his father keeps reassuring him that it isn't his fault, that he's done nothing to cause this—there's still this prickle of shame in his gut. "I get it. People are gross—"
Still, it's odd—because sure, Hua Bolin leans more on the handsome side, but Hua Ming is pretty. When Hua Liang was little, he used to think his gege and his baba were the prettiest people in the world, but—
The eyes might put people off, as much as he disagrees with that.
"Not all people," Xie Lian corrects. "There are always decent people in this world, but the ones who aren't—you have to be discerning. Plenty of them won't be as blatant as that man was."
...That's a terrifying possibility to consider.
"You have to be discerning. I know it's not fair—but you need to be mindful of that from now on."
He shouldn't have to be. But the risks of not being observant—
From the look on his father's face, Xie Lian can't even stomach the thought.
Hua Liang squeezes his hands in return, trying to offer some halfhearted form of comfort, even though he knows that he doesn't need to.
"...Was I not observant enough, back there?"
"You were," Xie Lian nods, unable to hold back his own anger. It isn't in his tone, but—
When Hua Liang looks into his eyes, he sees it there—loud and clear.
"But people like that—even if they tell themselves they don't—they usually know they're wrong," he explains grimly. "They don't try to make what they're doing obvious."
That's...frightening to consider. Hua Liang just—he doesn't think that way. How is he supposed to know what other people are thinking—?
"...Is it just...adults? What about kids my age?"
"That's different," Xie Lian assures him. "You should always be careful, but...that wouldn't be the same."
Hua Liang frowns, eyes flickering about as he considers. "...But like—what if I was okay with it?"
Xie Lian blinks, tipping his head to the side. "Okay with it?"
"Am I even old enough to do that stuff if I want to?"
When he looks up, it's to find his father staring at him like a deer, frozen in the headlights.
"...Baba?"
"I...ah..."
Xie Lian clears his throat, "What—what do you mean by 'stuff,' in this context?"
"Baba—" Hua Liang winces, "You're holding my hands a little tight—"
"Sorry, sorry—"
"—and like—kissing? And—dating, stuff?" He blinks. "I mean, I know gege hasn't done that, but I also don't know like...how old I'd have to be? But Pei Xiang is like, obsessed with girls—"
"Are you—?"
"Oh, no—I don't like girls. I mean, I do, but not like that."
"Oh," Xie Lian nods, feeling a little dumbstruck. "Is there—a boy—?"
"No!"
He answers a little louder, a little quicker than either of them was anticipating—and he finds his face growing a little red as a result.
"...If there is, that's alright, it's perfectly normal to start developing those feeling at your age—"
"Baba—"
"I'm—I'm a little awkward about this too, but it's important that you understand that—"
"So, if I do, I'd be allowed?"
"Well—I—there would be rules, but yes—"
"Like what?"
"....I don't know, San Lang and I can discuss—"
"Do not bring this up to A'Die!"
"...But you brought it up to me," Xie Lian reminds him, his brow furrowed with confusion. "Why would it be strange for me to bring it up to—?"
"Because I'm not dating anyone! I don't want to!"
"...You just want to know that you can?" His father repeats slowly, trying to wrap his head around what Hua Liang is saying—and he doesn't get why it seems so hard.
He just wants to know the hypothetical rules for when and if he likes someone. Which might be never. Hua Bolin has never settled down. Except, well, he's dated—
But it took his parents eight centuries to get together, so who knows?
"Yeah!"
"I mean—yes. And when that time comes...we'll discuss what the rules are?"
"Okay," he bobs his head in agreement. "Yes, that sounds—"
"Unless you do want to have the other talk, I still have the book we gave Ming'er—"
"It is past my bedtime."
Hua Liang chugs the rest of his tea, even though it's still hot enough to burn his tongue—rushing over to rinse it out in the sink before leaving it on the drying mat.
"I just want to be there for—"
"I know," Hua Liang acknowledges, "and I love you, and I'm a very lucky little boy with no romantic prospects and a bedtime so there's no need for any talks, books, or whatever—I'm going to bed! See you in the morning!"
He rushes out the door so fast, it's almost as though he leaves a little dust cloud behind, and Xie Lian is left there wondering:
"...When did he get a bedtime?"
Hua Liang skids into his room, practically slamming the door shut behind him, socks slipping on the hardwoods—
And for a moment, he just leans against the door and stares at the ceiling, wiping his hands down his face.
The general predatory nature of man? Yes, depressing conversation—
His dad asking him if he had a crush on someone? If he needed a book on—on—hormones or whatever?!
A nightmare.
One that he's more than willing to put behind him, brushing his teeth before climbing into bed, but—
He looks up at the ceiling, trying as he might to close his eyes, to drift off and put this night behind him—but he can't.
…Should he have said something?
Hua Liang throws his arms over his face, and tries as hard as he can not to think about the feeling of thorns digging into his leg. Of the crushing weight pressing down on him from above.
That didn’t feel like a memory. Not at all, but—
But they wouldn’t have been off by themselves if it wasn’t for him. It’s his fault, and if he says something, Lan Junjie would be—
He grumbles, rubbing his eyes, and then it occurs to him.
There is one person he could talk to, besides his parents.
He sits up, throwing his legs over the side of his bed, feet hovering just above the floor.
Technically, he has three bedrooms—one in their home on Mount Taicang, one in paradise manor, and here. And while they all feel like home—this is the place where he can walk to his closet door frame, seeing small ticks in pencil made over the years. Each time he begged his baba to check and see if he got any taller.
This is where he still keeps all of the toys his father made for him when he was little in a flat storage box under his bed—because he’s too old for them, maybe—
(But it’s still nice to hold them, and feel the love there.)
But regardless of where he was—if he came before a door, reaching over to knock five times, in a very particular reason—
He would still see the same flash of golden light under the door seam, and the same person would always answer.
Still—
When the door creaks open, and a familiar face steps through—Hua Liang’s face still lights up with relief, and he still rushes forward, wrapping his arms around him.
“Dage!”
Hua Bolin is like a wall—not stumbling back under his weight, but hugging him in return—
And as usual, there’s always this momentary pause.
One where his older brother’s eyes will flicker about the room. Where he’ll listen close, his spiritual power swathing around them, unseen, searching for the tiniest hint of danger.
Then, when he finds none, that brief little moment passes—and he’s smiling and ruffling his little brother’s hair.
“You always sound surprised,” he snorts. “Have I ever not come when you knocked?”
“…No,” Hua Liang mumbles. “But it’s late.”
“Mmm. Did you get yourself in trouble?”
“No,” he answers, though maybe a little too quickly. “I just wanted to talk to you about something…that I’m not sure I want baba and A’Die to know about right now.”
Hua Bolin grins, his eyes lighting up as he jumps back onto his little brother’s bed, landing so lightly, the mattress doesn’t even creak.
“This is so exciting—did you drink?”
“No.”
“Do drugs?”
“No!”
“Don’t sound too scandalized, you’ll end up all constipated like Ming’er.”
“I—” He pauses, glancing at his brother’s clothes. “Where were you, anyway?”
Hua Bolin glances down at himself, his paint-stained coveralls, unzipped and tied at the waist, revealing a white, sleeveless shirt underneath.
“Working. Xu Zexi’s temples have taken to portraying him with a weak chin.”
“You mean the literature god?”
“Just the one. He petitioned dad for a new official likeness to correct the mistake.”
“…But doesn’t he actually have a weak chin?”
Hua Bolin holds his hands up, struggling like the innocent party he truly is.
“I suggested he grow a beard.”
“Did he?”
“He insisted I just show him in the most flattering possible light.”
“…Did you?”
His brother hasn’t moved from his pose of an innocent shrug.
“I paint what I see, not propaganda.”
But he’s also the finest artist in the Heavenly Court, so whatever he produces is the best Xu Zexi will get.
“…And you just ditched him for me?” Hua Liang blinks. “I mean—if he was sitting for you at one in the morning, isn’t he gonna be pissed?”
“I didn’t ditch him,” his brother assures him. “He’ll be by my side until the product is complete.”
Hua Liang glances around, confused—until the martial god reaches into his pocket, producing a daruma doll.
Hua Liang’s jaw drops. “…Aren’t you gonna get in trouble—?!”
“Nah—” Hua Bolin rolls his eyes, tossing the doll between his hands like a toy. “I mean, he might write a few mean poems about me, but I enjoy hate mail.”
Besides—he already painted him three hundred years ago. Maybe this experience will deter him from asking again.
“Isn’t dad gonna be mad—?”
“I’ve gotta let him get a little mad at me sometimes didi, when you’ve been around this long, a little conflict keeps you young.”
Hua Liang wrinkles his nose, wrapping his mind around the thought.
“Can he hear what we’re saying? What I wanted to ask you about…is kinda private?”
Hua Bolin’s eyes sparkle, and with a snap of his fingers, the daruma doll disappears in a puff of smoke. “He can’t now.”
“…Where is he?”
“I just transported him to He-xiong’s bedroom, so hopefully he’s given him a good knock on the head.”
“While he’s sleeping—?”
“I doubt he was sleeping. What’s up?”
Hua Liang frowns, almost feeling a little bad for the earth master. He’s one of the most over worked gods in the Heavenly Court. What if he really was sleeping—?
“…I went on my first night hunt.”
“How exciting—did you get anything?”
“…No,” he shakes his head. “I kinda messed it up.”
Hua Bolin’s expression becomes a little less jovial as he sits back against the pillows, watching him carefully. “I doubt you did that, A’Liang.”
“Yeah, I did—I kept picking at my shixiong—”
“Why?”
“—because he was picking on me first—”
“Makes sense, carry on.”
“We got separated from the group—and we ended up on Mount Yu Jun.”
"..." From the look on Hua Bolin's face, it clearly means a little more to him than it did to Hua Liang. He knew the story, yes—but everyone knows the story of the Crown Prince and the Ghost King meeting on the bridal sedan.
(It heps when your parents are historical figures, what can he say.)
"A'Liang, before you tell me more—is it because you trust me not to tell our parents, or because you trust me to decide whether they need to know?" He asks, his voice taking a rare, serious turn.
"...The second one," Hua LIang mumbles, sitting down beside him, pulling his knees up against his chest. "It was my fault that I got in that situation. I don't want shizun getting in trouble with his sect if he doesn't have to."
Hua Bolin exhales, settling back against the headboard with his arms crossed. "Then go ahead."
"...Shizun said...land with alot of spiritual energy or resentment...attracts deities and demons who fed off of it, and they can make you see things?" Hua Liang explains slowly, not wanting to get it wrong.
"That sounds right," Hua Bolin agrees, listening carefully.
"And I...guess it made me see one of baba's memories?" Hua Liang wraps his arms around his knees, resting his chin against them.
"...Did it scare you?" His brother asks gently, watching him from the corner of his eye. "It would be normal if it did."
And he'd understand why Hua Liang wouldn't want Xie Lian to know.
"...Yeah," the teenager admits, his throat a little tight. "It felt...awful."
"...Because you were scared, or because now, you know he went through that?" His brother asks him.
Hua Liang holds himself tighter and just nods, but they both know which option he's agreeing to.
It's one thing, knowing that your parents have been through a lot. It's something else, feeling that someone you love so much went through something so horrible.
"Did you know that?" Hua Liang asks, his voice lowering to a whisper. "What he went through?"
Hua Bolin hesitates, reaching up to rub at the back of his head, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling—tracing the pattern of stars he painted there when Hua Liang was still so little.
"Our parents...were really different when I was born, A'Liang."
"...In a bad way?"
"No, just—there wasn't nearly as much time and distance between them and those memories back then," he clarifies. "So...I always knew."
That's difficult for Hua Liang to imagine, even now.
Yes, he knows that his parents didn't have easy lives—but that's because the stories are out there for everyone to know.
He still had big family breakfasts every weekend. He didn't miss out on a grandfather that would sneak him candy, or bring him extra presents on holidays. He remembers being 'the funny one' when he was little—how when he wanted to, when he really wanted to—it was always so easy to get everyone in his family roaring with laughter.
It didn't feel any different from anyone else.
"But, if that's what you're worried about—you don't need to tell dad about it, and I understand why you probably don't want to," Hua Bolin qualifies, reaching over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Unless you're not okay...?"
"No," Hua Liang shakes his head. "I'm a little shaken up, but I'm okay."
Hua Bolin squeezes his shoulders, leaning his head against Hua Liang's. "If you're sure—"
"But after shixiong used clarity on me—this person showed up, and he said that he knew you."
That gives his brother pause, his eyebrows raising.
"...A mortal?"
"Well—he said he served in one of your temples—in the capitol," Hua Liang explains. "And he talked like he knew you—so he offered help, but he left once Lan Haoran said we didn't need it—"
"Did he introduce himself?"
"Yeah—he said his name was Ren Yi?" Hua Liang frowns. "He wanted me to tell you that he offered to help me."
His brother doesn’t reply to that. Doesn’t look at him—and when Hua Liang lifts his chin, trying to look at him, his expression is mostly obscured by the dim lighting in the room.
“…Gege—?”
“Gimme a sec, A’Liang, this old man is wracking his memory,” he sighs, scratching his chin. “What did he look like?”
“Uh…he wore white robes, no shoes, and he was uh—” He pauses, almost saying ‘your type,’ “…extremely good looking.”
“Hmm. By what standard?”
“Like—me or baba, I guess,” Liang says, feeling a little downtrodden including himself in that comparison after the conversation he had before.
“Does that sound familiar?”
“Well—my believers don’t wear all white,” his brother reasons. “But that appearance describes many of my acquaintances. Either way—it doesn’t sound like he was a normal guy approaching you casually. I’d just call me the next time someone like that shows up, okay?”
“…Okay,” Hua Liang agrees. “I didn’t want to bother you—”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“…” The teenager snorts, shaking his head, and Hua Bolin smiles.
“But really—you needing my help, that would never bother me.”
It would never bother their parents, either—but that part seems to go unsaid.
But when his older brother goes to sit up—Hua Lang reaches over to grab the hem of his shirt, drawing the god’s attention—
“Could you just—” he looks away, his ears burning, because he—
He feels like such a baby.
“Could you stay until I fall asleep?”
“…” Hua Bolin pauses, then leans over, kissing the top of his head. “Obviously, silly.”
Hua Liang’s a little too big for them to bunk together now, the way they used to when he was little—but the carpet is plush enough, the martial god doesn’t seem to mind stretching out on the floor, arms folded beneath his head.
“…By the way, A’Liang?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’d you get the sweatshirt?”
Hua Liang pauses, looks down at his clothes, and he—
His face goes red, all the way from his collar to the tips of his ears.
When did he—?!
“The mall!” He snaps, rolling onto his side, facing the wall as he yanks the covers up and over his head, curling into a ball.
Hua Bolin blinks, staring at the ceiling.
…Aren’t malls supposed to be dying?
Hua Bolin knows better than to push him in that subject—he can’t catch him on unawares with an innocent tone, the way their father can.
But the best way to get to Hua Liang is to ignore the front door and wriggle your way in through a window, in his experience.
“How’s the new school going?”
“Fine,” his brother mumbles, muffled.
“Are you sulking because I noticed the boyfriend sweatshirt, or because it’s not actually going well?”
“Shut the—! It’s fine!”
“Doesn’t sound fine.”
“It is fine!”
“…Between you and Ming’er, how soon am I gonna be an uncle? You’re stressing me out—”
“You should make me an uncle, instead of being an old guy with commitment issues!”
“Oof!” He grins, clutching his chest. “When did you get so catty? I already said to our parents, yeye, Ren Song gege, Lord Wind Master—”
“—listing how many people you have to explain this too just makes it sadder—”
“Why would I settle for less than what our parents have?” He says, shrugging innocently. “It makes everything else so underwhelming. Might as well wait for that once in a lifetime—”
“Just date Mu-jie then, she likes you. One in a million right there, you’re welcome.”
"..." Hua Bolin's expression freezes, only for him to roll his eyes—and he takes on a rarely scolding tone. "Hua Liang, why are you trying to be mean to her?"
"I'm not! It's not mean if it's the—"
"You know that's not true. You're just saying that so she'll be embarrassed instead of you."
"It is true—"
"But did you say it for the right reason?"
"..."
Yeah, he didn't think so.
"But she does," Hua Liang mutters, deciding there's no point in walking it back.
"That doesn't make it your place to say so."
"What, so you already knew?"
"I'm her best friend's older brother. I'm one of the only people in her life that she isn't related to that understands her circ*mstances—it would be odd if she hadn't had a crush on me at some point."
"So, then is it really mean of me to point it out—?"
"And she's a baby, just like you and Ming'er—"
"—you're still gonna be calling me a baby when I'm in my twenties like them—?!"
"—and she's already grown out of it, so it's not going to be long before she finds some nice guy to keep her busy."
Hua Liang rolls his eyes, hugging his pillow to his chest.
"I don't know, from what I've overheard, the guys who keep her busy aren't nice."
Hua Bolin's eyebrows snap upwards, and his voice sharpens.
"What?"
"You'd have to ask her about it, I haven't been able to eavesdrop on them since she got her godly sense of hearing, and all that." Hua Liang mutters, staring at the dark underside of his comforter.
"...You're trying so hard not to talk about school, you're starting to make me think it's really that bad."
"It's not, I already told dad—"
"Who you've been super forthcoming with this evening?"
"...Apparently me and Pei-xiong put them off a little bit."
"...did he say something weird to a girl? He's a little bit too much like—"
"No, no—acting like we're not...like them, I guess."
"Like them?"
"Mortals." Hua Liang mumbles, heaving a sigh. "Which I guess is dumb, because that's exactly what we are."
He expects some sort of speech about why he shouldn't worry about it—it's just a bump in the road, they'll get over it, go with the flow or whatever—
"But you're not like them."
Hua Liang pauses, fighting the urge to roll over and pull the covers down. "...I mean, I am mortal—"
"Yes. And you're still like them."
"...Baba is always talking about how we're not better than anyone else—"
"We're not."
"Then I don't see how I'm—"
"Our parents being who they are doesn't make you or me smarter, more talented, or better than anyone else," Hua Bolin agrees, his eyes growing dark as he stares up at the ceiling. "But that doesn't really matter."
"I'm not a god. I age. I get that I'll be different when I'm a deputy, or if I ascend, but for now—"
"No," Hua Bolin corrects him. "All of that is true. But no matter how much I know that, and you know that—there will always be people who don't understand it."
Hua Bolin could tell him that, for as long as he's been alive, he's watched human beings find excuses to differentiate each other. That anything that makes you different can either ostracize you, or—
It can bring out something even worse in people.
"What, they'll think I'm a god?"
"They'll think you're the closest thing to a god they could feasibly get their hands on," his brother warns him quietly. "And there are more desperate people out there than you could even imagine."
And desperate people will do things that he could never imagine, Hua Bolin is certain about that.
Still, the silence from his little brother has grown a little heavier, and he—
He knows there's a time and place for these conversations, and this probably wasn't it.
"...That doesn't mean that you can't make friends, or that every single person is going to see you that way," he clarifies. "It's just something to be careful about."
Yeah, Hua Liang thinks, pulling the covers closer around him. Just another thing he needs to be worried about.
Still, despite it all—between the tea, knowing that his brother is here, that he's safe—
Going to sleep is a lot easier than he'd thought it would be.
Hua Bolin listens close, waiting for his breathing to even out—and for the tell-tale little snores that even he can't fake, even when he tries—and then he quietly rises to his feet, slipping out the door without another word.
Normally, he'd always say goodbye to his father before leaving, even if it was a brief hug and a 'Love you, see you later—'
But when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he finds the heavenly emperor stretched out on the couch, one hand tangled in Hong Li's fur where the deputy sleeps on the floor beneath him, a book still grasped in his other hand.
...He's never been that good at noting his bodily needs, especially sleep—so the fact that he passed out downstairs while Hua Bolin's other father wasn't home isn't that odd, still.
As he carefully settles a blanket over Xie Lian's sleeping form—
Hua Bolin can't help but wish that his baba treated himself a little more carefully.
Still, it's probably better this way.
Did you say that because you don't want our parents to know—or because you trust me to know whether they need to?
Hua Bolin pauses in front of the front door, hands in his pockets, listening to that voice in the back of his head.
What a hypocrite, huh?
His eyes close, and for a moment, the ache flares, driving deeper, sending nausea crawling up his —
Knock, knock, knock!
His hand raps against the door three times in varying tempo—and when the light beneath the seam flashes red, he turns the knob.
His attire shifts as he steps onto the street, paint-stained coveralls making way for fitted pants, a silk shirt, and leather coat—and his hair goes from long and wolfish to short and slicked back.
Generally speaking, no one can step into Ghost City without his father knowing about it—and even at his age, Hua Bolin is no exception. But, given what he's heard in background channels all evening—someone's been in the gambler's district making noise, so, as long as he keeps his head down, doesn't wear his normal attire, and doesn't make a scene, it's unlikely the citizens in the new side of the city will notice—
Crack!
Something twacks against the back of his head at the same speed as a racing bullet, sending stars exploding in front of the martial god's eyes—and even he staggers a couple of steps, his hand flying to the back of his skull, leaving the throngs of ghost around him to pause, looking around at all of the commotion.
"...What the—?!" He mutters, glancing over his shoulder—
And he finds a daruma doll on the ground, eyes staring up at him in a wide, panicked rage.
"...Buddy—!"
"YOU f*ckING FREAK!"
It's only by grace of his own speed that he's able to spin on his heel, darting out of the way as hands lunge for his throat from behind—
"Lord Earth Master—let's not make a scene—"
"So, NOW it's lord earth master?!"
"I'm respecting my esteemed elder," he explains, darting to the side when He Bai, who frankly does look like he catapulted himself here straight from bed, his robes haphazardly thrown on, hair askew. "Like the filial junior I am—"
"WHERE WAS YOUR RESPECT HALF AN HOUR AGO?!"
"Indoor voices, He Bai—why don't we talk somewhere more private—?"
"DON'T TRY TO WEASEL OUT OF A PUBLIC EXECUTION, YOU LITTLE—!"
Hua Bolin, try as he might, can't wrestle down the mischievous grin that grosses his face. "...You weren't asleep, were you?"
"OBVIOUSLY NOT—!"
"...Your wife wasn't either, huh?"
BAM!
To be fair, with his personality, they wouldn't have been friends for so long if Hua Bolin hadn't learned to take a punch—even if the earth master is absurdly strong, almost like Hua Bolin's father, it's crazy to think that he isn't a martial—
"Did you let him see your wife naked—?"
"OF COURSE NOT!" He Bai snarls standing over the crater that he's punched the martial god into the bottom of, watching as Hua Bolin's hands appear over the edge, pulling himself back up.
"Then no harm no foul, right?"
He Bai's hand finds his throat as he's starting to pull himself out, and to be clear, Hua Bolin takes after his father in build—he's a tall, broad individual—
And the earth master is still able to lift him by the grip on his neck alone, feet dangling.
"No harm?!" He snarls, their faces less than two inches apart—
"Gege." A voice from behind him says, flat and unamused. "If you make such a public scene about it, do you think your wife will appreciate it?"
Hua Bolin coughs, and despite the violence of their positioning, he's still swinging his feet casually from where they dangle. "He's...he's got a point—!"
"Shut your mouth."
"Gege."
Thud.
Hua Bolin's feet land solidly back on the ground, and to his credit, he only sways for a minute, clearing his throat. "What, he dragged you into this, too?"
Pei Lü, by contrast, is the most put together of the three of them—though it would be more bizarre if he wasn't, even at this time of night, wearing immaculate robes, glimmering accessories, all without a single hair out of place.
And still, despite his elegant appearance, the look he casts his nephew is far from amused.
"What did you expect?"
"He's a big boy, Pei Lü, he can come and punch me all by himself—"
"And what were you trying to achieve, exactly? Or are you just in another one of your juvenile phases?"
As per usual, Pei Lü's remarks have a lot more bite to them than He Bai's fist.
"I don't have juvenile phases."
"Then enlighten me, if you would."
Hua Bolin rubs his throat, walking away from the middle of the street, more than confident that his fellow officials will follow (if only with violet intent). "Well, I figured that He-xiong would atomize him, so I'm shocked he's still in one piece—"
"I just barely didn't."
"But I couldn’t supervise him for a moment, so I just transported him to someone I trusted," Hua Bolin shrugs innocently, stepping onto the sidewalk. "How was I supposed to know you wouldn't be asleep—"
"A'Lin."
There's something so stern, hearing the River Master call him by such an affectionate nickname.
"...And no one could blame He Bai for roughing him up, so, we both win!"
"Why did you try to use him as a murder weapon?"
"He's been annoying me for three centuries. sh*t builds up," he shrugs. "Here—Pei-xiong, you really should use a disguise, I'm trying to be lowkey—"
"You're not asking me to wear one."
"You're not pretty enough to make a scene, He-xiong."
Pei Lü rolls his eyes as they step into a side street, doing one small spin—and when she comes to a halt, she throws her hands up, looking at her companions expectantly.
"Better?"
"Well..." Hua Bolin looks her up and down, rubbing his chin—eyeing the black dress, loose hair, and gleaming eyes. "You're worshipped in that form, too—you could at least give yourself bad hair or something—"
"I'm already humoring you, I'm not debasing myself by wearing a form that isn't suited to me."
Vain.
"Why couldn't you supervise him, anyhow?"
"Who?"
"Your wayward literature god," Pei Lü says, questioning him on He Bai's behalf, given that her cousin—who is normally far milder tempered—is still fuming.
"Oh—Hua Liang needed to talk to me about something privately."
"Hua Liang," she repeats, finally seeming to shed her annoyance with him, being dragged from her palace in the middle of the night to referee some ridiculous fight between him and He Bai, replacing it with much more genuine concern for her youngest nephew. "How is he?"
"...Adjusting," Hua Bolin mutters, his expression becoming far less jovial. "But him and Ming'er—I know they didn't show it, but being close in age, in situations—it was good for both of them."
And Hua Ming's sudden change in status and lifestyle is easy for neither.
"Hmm. Pei Xiang's been the only mortal since he was born," she muses, tapping her chin. "He's never known the difference."
And what a painful difference it can be.
"...I was surprised by that," He Bai mutters, finally seeming to move past his fury with Hua Bolin enough to speak to his cousin in a far milder tone. "All of your other siblings have been in pairs."
"Qing'er and I are a little further apart," Pei Lü shrugs, "but I'm the only one that was unplanned—and having a sibling around was always so important for A'Niang."
"Do you think they'll have another one soon?"
"...I think there are already too many Peis running around the Heavens," she shrugs, a little exhausted at the thought of more—as much as she does love all of her siblings. "Why not just get your parents to have another one?"
"Technically, that would still be another Pei, wouldn't it—?"
"Not one I have to worry about, though—they'll be your job."
"You say that as if you don't worry about everyone anyway, jiejie."
"Leave her alone," He Bai growls, kicking the daruma doll up from the ground, nearly crushing it between his fingers as he stares him down. "Why don't you just drop him in on your parents? Your father would've scattered his ashes before there was any debate."
Hua Bolin wrinkles his nose at the suggestion, but at his age, it feels a little ridiculous to admit that he finds the concept of his parents being fully fleshed individuals with bedroom activities of their own, technically speaking, icky.
"It got your attention though, didn't it?"
"So, you're saying that this all could have been in an email?!"
"I wouldn't even have to send you emails if you gave me your new array password. It's so mean that you changed it—"
"Because you wouldn't stop trying to talk to me at inappropriate moments."
"Not my fault that you and your wife spend so much time alone together. It's weird."
Pei Lü rolls her eyes flicking her hair back over her shoulders. "If you don't get on with it, I won't stop him from decapitating you next time. That runs in his side of the family, you know."
"Oh, ha ha."
"Someone tried to do something to A'Liang."
That makes both of his friends fall silent, instantly looking to him with concern.
“…Is he alright?” Pei Lü asks first, even if the answer is obvious—their friend wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.
“Yeah, yeah—just a little shaken up, and I could tell he didn’t want to tell me everything, but…” Hua Bolin shrugs as they pass into the next street down, winding through the crowds. “I think—well, I don’t know what to think. I want to think it has something to with what happened in the arena, but—”
“You want it to?” He Bai asks, incredulous.
“It’s better than the alternative.”
“Do your parents know?” Pei Lü walks a little closer to He Bai as they pass a rowdy group of drunken ghosts, her nose twitching with disgust when some of them try to cat call her.
“Not until I’m sure.”
“Why—?”
“A Taoist appeared before him and his shixiong to offer assistance,” he mutters, recalling his little brother’s words almost perfectly.
“I don’t see how that’s—”
“He introduced himself as Ren Yi.”
Oh, and the silence that falls over all three of them. A silent grimace that makes He Bai briefly look so much older. The sharp, locked set of Hua Bolin’s jaw—
And as they pass through the crowd, Pei Lü reaches over without looking down, intertwining her fingers with the martial god’s and giving them a gentle squeeze.
“You’re sure?”
Hua Bolin squeezes hers too tight in return, reaching up to touch his forehead with the other.
“…I checked,” he mutters, remembering how he leaned over his brother’s bed before he pressed his fingers to Hua Liang’s forehead—sneaking a glance at what he saw. “The man he saw—had his face.”
He Bai and Pei Lü share a complicated look, one that holds more history than most could imagine, after so many years on this earth.
"...You know it wasn't," He Bai reasons, appealing to his logic. "You'd know if it was."
Hua Bolin glances around them, and instead of speaking aloud, answers in their group array.
I can't think of a soul left outside of the Heavens that would know his face enough to imitate it.
And no one in the Heavenly Court would dare.
Neither of them have an answer for that one, but Pei Lü still has a tight grip on his hand, squeezing harder, like that could ground him, somehow.
You should tell your parents, A'Lin.
He won't look up at her, all too aware of his father's presence on the other side of the city.
I'm not putting them through the reminder if it's just a trick. I just need to make sure.
A'Lin—
He Bai blows out a slow breath, running his fingers through his hair.
It's not that he's telling them, not really. Not that he chose to parade himself in public shortly after incurring his wrath because he enjoys the spectacle, no—
He's asking, because the earth master is the only one who holds the key.
It's unwise. That place is secure, I just need to see with my own eyes— That's not what I'm worried about, Hua Bolin.
Still, he—
...He's never denied him this before, and he doesn't start now.
He Bai sighs, characters and symbols shifting across his palm as they step onto a nearby stoop, pressing his palm to the door.
No light shines beneath when the array activates, and no sound greets them when the door opens, allowing the three gods to step into darkness, one after the other.
Hua Bolin was no older than six years old, the first time he realized how immense the world was.
So much more than their kitchen in Puqi Shrine, or the halls of Paradise Manor.
So much bigger than the villagers who smiled and offered him sweets when he played in their fields among the other children, or the ghosts who would pull funny faces at him as he toddled down the streets, well protected under the shade of his father's umbrella, his fingers gripping the calamity's sleeve.
It was good luck, they said, making a child of death laugh.
The world wasn't large until he walked the streets of Gusu—the city of three ascensions, an ancient place, one with temples on every corner—and even as he held his father's sleeve, even as he never wandered, he found himself looking upon divine statues of every face he had ever known.
And for every temple he saw, there were so many souls knelt in prayer, asking for so many things that he could never understand. Not then. Not later, as he clung to the robes of a stranger, and he couldn't find a single thing to pray for.
Not because he didn't lack for anything, but because hope had become an exhausting exercise.
Am I dead? He had asked, only to feel long, bony fingers stroke through his hair, and he listened to the loneliest man he ever knew reply:
I'm dead enough for both of us, little prince.
But even then, as enormous as the world seemed, as inescapably overwhelming—
Hua Bolin has never understood how Lord Earth Master has been able to tolerate it for so long, carrying a position he oh so unwittingly inherited from his father.
A jailer.
When they finally meet the light of the stars again, it's so cold, their breath fogs around them in great pools of mist, furling all around—and Pei Lü, suddenly underdressed, immediately shifts back to his male form, robes swirling, and when that seems not quite sufficient, the earth master snaps his fingers, conjuring a set of furs for them both.
None for Hua Bolin, something he would normally whine about, claiming favoritism (not that Lord Earth Master has ever denied that), but now, he only finds himself staring ahead.
Gods, Calamities, and everything in between—the more powerful they are, the more powerful of a place it requires to keep them contained.
Hua Bolin was small, still small enough to climb in his father's lap as he told stories of a butterfly, pinned beneath a glass cage.
A maker of wonders that were both great and terrible. A wife. A mother. A teacher.
And now the mountain that sealed her was so powerful, it left a scar on the world when it was torn asunder.
The mountain he stands before now is a tall, lonely peak, situated in the furthest, loneliest reaches of the far north.
Other than the occasional thrush and mouse, nothing lives here.
It's too cruel of a place.
Most lands that are ripe with power tend to be sucked dry by cultivators or ghosts over the centuries—but not here, in a landscape so inhospitable, nearly all cultivators avoid it. The only mortals who do come are bizarre hobbyists who want to climb the thing—but they oh so rarely survive the ascent.
It leaves the air crackling with power. Palpable enough that even Hua Bolin's core, ancient and immense, crackles in its presence.
And as master of the earth, every mountain, rock, and crack that dots the landscape—there is only one man who holds the key to places like this.
One can't help but wonder what a weight that is, resting upon his shoulders.
Holding cages for those who will never know the mercy of reincarnation.
"I can look," He Bai says, the wind whipping his hair—if not for his holding his arm out in front of his cousin, it would have lashed Pei Lü's cheeks raw from the cold. "There's no need—"
"I need to see."
There's no surprise there.
He always has to be the one who looks.
He Bai can't look at him in condemnation, or even with harshness, as he normally might.
He simply reaches forward, pressing one palm to the mountain face—then steps aside.
There's a soft humming as he walks the passageway alone, boots echoing faintly throughout the cavern, his hand resting at a slight alert until he hears the entrance seal shut behind him.
He knows the melody by heart, after so many years.
After twenty steps, the tunnel opens to the wider chamber, and there—
Hua Bolin stops, and he looks.
There he is.
Kneeling on the ground, tracing some unseen pattern on the stone, doing little more than pushing dust around—but he seems content in his work, humming his soft, wordless song.
When he looks up, his face melts into a breathless smile, eyes sparkling under the pale glow of the ghost fires flickering overhead.
"You're home!"
The martial god doesn't reply, even as the prisoner rises to his feet—swaying unsteadily for a moment.
"Did his majesty keep you on another patrol again?"
He tips his head to the side when Hua Bolin doesn't reply, hair falling across his eyes.
"I know you love him, but your grandfather makes you work too hard," he sighs, rubbing his hands against his arms, warming them up. "It's so strange, but it's felt like winter since you left. Meimei kept teasing me, but I just can't seem to find where the draft is coming from—"
"Ren Yi."
He speaks softly, but with a firmness that seems to jar him—
And he hardens himself, watching whatever illusion this place put him under fade from Ren Yi's eyes, and as lucidity returns—
That soft happiness cracks, leaving something for more complex behind.
"...Oh," Ren Yi says, one hand lowering to his chest, gripping the front of his robes. "...That was a good one. Lord Earth Master must be in a better mood as of late."
“…He isn’t cruel,” Hua Bolin murmurs, glancing around the otherwise barren interior of the cavern.
There’s something too inhumane about condemning someone to an eternity of staring at a stone rock face that never changes, regardless of what they may or may not deserve.
Living in memories then, is the easiest. And from what Ren Yi was saying—
He remembers that year. It was a good one.
Ren Yi pushes his hair behind his ears, watching the god with a newfound guardedness.
“What have I done to deserve the privilege of a visit?” He asks, clasping his hands behind his back. “Those mortals still don’t satisfy you, I’m assuming?”
The martial god doesn’t answer—but Ren Yi steps closer, and the moment he’s in reach, Hua Bolin’s hand whips out—
Grasping the iron collar around his neck, dragging him forward until his toes barely touch the ground—only to find it solid.
Secure.
Ren Yi winces, but doesn’t attempt to resist.
“…You look so worried,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning the martial god’s face. “You could talk to me. There’s no one I can tell.”
And no one he would tell, as loathe as Hua Bolin would be to admit it.
Still, he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he asks a question of his own:
“You were never from here, were you?”
Ren Yi pauses, one hand wrapped around Hua Bolin’s forearm—not trying to push him away, but simply attempting to get a little pressure off of his neck.
“I—”
“You crossed the rift,” he says, staring into the man’s eyes.
Just like that girl from the arena.
“And there are people on the other side who still remember you.”
Ren Yi doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t have to.
Not when a slow, breathless smile spreads across his face, filled with a hope that makes Hua Bolin ache.
“…Someone else made it?” He whispers.
But she wasn’t a god, like him.
Whatever happened to her body, during or after—she deteriorated too quickly.
Ren Yi’s power is entirely sealed, Hua Bolin can feel that. He wouldn’t be able to fight off a normal mortal in this state.
The person who approached Hua Liang was someone who already knew of him. Someone who knew—
Who knew that hearing Ren Yi’s name would drag Hua Bolin right back here.
The martial god closes his eyes.
He fell for that one quite easily, though—
Even if he had seen through the plot from the beginning, he still would have come.
“…Don’t be afraid,” the prisoner murmurs, his hand tightening around Hua Bolin’s forearm ever so slightly. “Or—oh,”
The tone of his smile shifts, and instead of holding Hua Bolin’s arm, his fingers caress it.
“You’re not afraid of them, are you?”
Hua Bolin’s fingers tighten around the iron collar around Ren Yi’s neck until his knuckles grow white.
“You’re afraid that I might have been telling you the truth all this time.”
He doesn’t move then, doesn’t have the will too, when Ren Yi gently pulls the hand from his iron shackle, placing Hua Bolin’s hand against his cheek.
“You’re afraid to find out that I’m innocent.”
And how would that feel? Is the question that goes unsaid.
Placing someone you loved in a cage for so long, only to learn that they were an innocent man?
“Where do you keep them?” The fallen god asks him softly, his hand resting against Hua Bolin’s chest.
“You think I’d tell you?
“They’re yours,” Ren Yi shrugs. “I don’t want them back.” Even as he says this, his hand tightens in the martial god’s shirt, feeling what lies beneath. “It’s just good to know that you still need me close.”
Finally, after a superhuman level of resistance, Hua Bolin’s eyes lower back down, settling on Ren Yi’s face.
He wishes fate had allowed him the mercy of watching the man age, rot, and become nothing that he could look upon and yearn for.
(Even if his persistence is something entirely within Hua Bolin's control.)
But Ren Yi looks the same now, as he did then.
Looks at him the same way now, as he did then.
And if he—
You're afraid to find out that I'm innocent.
He couldn't be.
If he was, he couldn't look at me this way.
But Hua Bolin can’t look at him, and not think of a time when he used to watch the god sleeping in the morning sun—counting every single one of his eyelashes as the seconds slipped by.
He doesn't realize how close Ren Yi has gotten until he feels his breath against his lips, and it takes every ounce of his power not to respond.
"When I get out of here, I'll protect you."
CLANG!
An in an instant, his warmth is gone.
When Hua Bolin opens his eyes again, a golden chain has appeared, connecting to the iron shackle around Ren Yi's neck—dragging him down to his hands and knees on the floor, head forced to bow low.
And only now, when it's not just them, does a bitter smile appear on the prisoner's face.
"...Lord Earth Master," he hisses, speaking the title like an insult. "As gentle of a jailer as ever."
He Bai doesn't move from where he stands at the entrance, leaning against the cavern wall with his arms crossed. "I'll be gentle when you have shame."
Ren Yi's arms shake with the effort it takes to hold himself up, and with great effort, he manages to lift his chin.
"I have to repent to be worthy of kindness?" He asks softly. "How medieval."
"Forgiveness." He Bai corrects him, his eyes narrowed. "You have to be forgiven."
Ren Yi bites his tongue, shaking his head—
But he wouldn't be himself if he didn't have verbal barbs of his own.
"Ironic," he muses, his fingers spreading against the stones beneath him. "If there was more forgiveness in this world, you wouldn't exist."
"Don't waste any more attention on the creature," Pei Lü steps out, standing next to his cousin—and he sends Hua Bolin a pointed look. "You said you had to see. You've seen. No good ever comes of you giving him attention."
"Lord River Master," Ren Yi rolls his eyes, shoulders hunched. "I didn't realize I'd be treated to such a reunion with old friends."
Pei Lü doesn't even cast him a glance, his arms crossed. "Animals like you don't have friends."
"Animal," Ren Yi repeats softly, watching his fingers, how they strain, holding himself up from the floor, his vision blurring in and out. "What hypocrisy."
He Bai's eyes narrow, and his collar grows even heavier, dragging the fallen god closer to the ground. "Lü'er is right," he says. "We're leaving—"
"Your secrets are worse than mine." Ren Yi says, even as his breathing becomes labored, and then—his eyes snap to Pei Lü. "Especially yours, Lord River Master. Though I suppose that was out of your control. Sins of the father."
"I could shackle your mouth," He Bai growls, his eyes flashing. "And leave you like that until someone decides to bother with you again in a few decades."
Ren Yi shakes his head, looking back to Hua Bolin—and as he already knew, the martial god hasn't been able to move his eyes since he succumbed to looking.
"There's no one else I want to speak to, anyhow."
"...Good," the River Master says, grabbing Hua Bolin by the back of his jacket. "Be alone with your thoughts."
"Do you think that's the worst punishment for somebody like me?"
The River Master pauses, looking back at him scornfully.
"No," he says. "The worst punishment would be whatever I designed for you—but that's why they don't allow me to hold the keys."
Hua Bolin tells himself he won't look, but still.
The last glimpse he has of the cavern is that small, lonely figure—kneeling on the stone floor.
Then, the entrance opens behind them, and the frigid air returns.
"I know that was a horrible idea," Pei Lü mutters, pulling his furs tighter around himself. "Now he'll be out of sorts for who knows how long."
"At least he didn't f*ck him this time," He Bai rolls his eyes, sealing the mountain behind him. "That's growth."
"Gege, I don't see the good in bringing all of that up—"
"I'm fine," Hua Bolin finally speaks, his voice hoarse.
He can still feel the weight of the iron collar in his hand when he squeezes it into a fist, nails biting into his palm.
"He told me what I needed to know."
Pei Lü stands between them, pulling the hood of his cloak up to shield his face from the harsh winds, and when his broader, taller cousin notices—he moves to stand in front of him, forming a small break.
“What did he say?”
It was more about what he didn’t say, as it’s always been.
“He’s from the same place as the girl that attacked Ming’er,” he says, and even under the shrieking of the wind, he can be heard crystal clear. “Whatever their motivations are—they may be the same.”
“…And the one who approached A’Liang,” Pei Lü frowns, just as He Bai’s expression darkens. “He’s—?”
“He needs to be found immediately,” Hua Bolin says, finally turning his back on the mountain peak, leaving it behind him. “Before he manages to do the same kind of damage.”
(Or worse.)
He Bai doesn’t ask if Hua Bolin means to tell his parents now—that’s a given. But he can’t help but pity him.
Some old wounds are best forgotten.
It’s a cold, quiet morning in the imperial city—steam rising from chimneys and vents, drifting upwards as the sunrise begins to peek between the high rises.
Autumn is just beginning to take hold—and it gives the air a fresh, crisp feeling—
Almost, but never exactly like home.
The groan of rusted hinges accompanies the swing of a side door, opening up into the alley—making way as a young man walks to the dumpsters, dropping a few bags of trash.
A voice trails out from inside, drifting to his ears—
“You taking your fifteen already?”
The young man rolls his eyes, wiping his hands on his apron before leaning against the wall, pulling a box of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“It’s not like I’ll have time later,” he mutters, pulling one to his lips, flicking open a lighter.
“Did you eat?”
“ ‘Mm fine.”
“Don’t know how, man. You’re that goddamn big, you oughtta eat like a f*ckin’ horse.”
“You’re just short.”
“f*ck off!”
He snorts, taking a long drag.
“Seriously, though, did you eat?”
“Why are you so worried about it?”
“You’d think you don’t get paid enough to eat. You get tipped out better than anyone else here—”
“Never said I couldn’t afford food. Just saving up.”
“For what?! At that point, go be a model—you’d make more money off of that face.”
“I’m shy.”
“Just—” his manager rolls his eyes, stepping leaning out of the door for a moment to shove a steamed bun in his hand. “Eat, kid, you stress me out.”
The door slams shut as he takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, but—
He sees a flash of fur from the corner of his eye, and he can’t hold back a smile; shaking his head.
He kneels down, holding the bun out—and a white cat, far too clean and well fed to live in an alley, trots over, nibbling from his hand.
Mo Shen can’t help but watch with curiosity, because he didn’t think demons could eat.
“Now,” he murmurs, resting his elbows on his knees. “When are you gonna go home and tell your master how boring I am?”
