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It is the day of the new moon, and, while it would not be fair to say Hua Cheng is waiting, he isn't not waiting, either. He attends to his business as usual, and if he perhaps keeps a portion of his awareness open, listening, that is usual, too.
"You've not heard from him?" Yin Yu quietly asks, and Hua Cheng blinks back to the task at hand. His lips flatten; his distraction must be more obvious than he'd thought.
"The man survived a war," Hua Cheng says, tone conspicuously bored, and wonders who he is attempting to convince. "And he still found time to pray to me. If the fool somehow managed to die in peacetime, slipping off a pier or eating the wrong berry, he deserves to be forgotten."
Nodding, Yin Yu gathers the scrolls Hua Cheng has finished and bows. "Of course," he murmurs.
"I will call for you when these are complete," Hua Cheng says, gesturing to the reports and requests stacked beside him. There are more than is typical on a day like this; what is going on in Ghost City that requires so much of Hua Cheng's direct attention? "You may leave."
When Yin Yu slips from the study, Hua Cheng frowns at his writing table, unrolling the first scroll. It's a minor dispute between food stall owners; the sort of thing Yin Yu generally handles himself.
"He's purposely keeping me busy," Hua Cheng mutters, incredulous. Mercy, now even Hua Cheng's subordinates are worrying about him. It makes him wonder how transparent he's been over the years, how much Yin Yu has guessed. Not that it matters; he is a ghost king, not a forlorn child. He needs no coddling.
Yin Yu has always been perceptive, though.
With a resigned huff, Hua Cheng begins reading in earnest. There's no sense in not taking care of work that is there to be done. Still, his earlier words loop in his mind. Could the man actually be dead? He has been praying to Hua Cheng since he was a child: his first offerings were half a dumpling he'd purchased for himself in the market and a carefully wrapped piece of candy; his first stumbling requests consisting of earnest pleas for the continued safety of his three dogs, from whom he'd been forced to separate.
Hua Cheng doesn't even know how the kid found his tiny shrine; Hua Cheng himself was unaware of its presence before that first plaintive prayer. Who had constructed it and when? Who had maintained it?
Whatever the answers, Jiang Cheng—simultaneously a determined, hardworking sect heir and a scared child, heartbroken about his pets—had stumbled upon it and taken its care and upkeep upon his own tiny shoulders.
With a start, Hua Cheng realizes he's once again gotten lost in his thoughts. His concern is frustrating to him; for centuries, he has subsisted on little more than his belief in his own god, his certainty he will someday see Xie Lian again. Why is he wasting time worrying about a rude, viciously petty—though admittedly compelling—human?
But Jiang Cheng hasn't missed a new moon since that very first prayer, whether his worship was offered at the small shrine or in a stolen moment of privacy with nothing more than a nub of incense, traveling between battlefields. Not when he lost his parents and his home. Not when the whole of the jianghu was fighting and killing each other. Not when he lost his golden core.
Frankly, Hua Cheng had begun to believe the man was just too fucking stubborn to die. And, in the quiet of his mind, Hua Cheng had found that dogged persistence intriguing.
Now it's been three months since Hua Cheng has heard anything at all from him. Hands slamming to the table, Hua Cheng stretches his tightened jaw. Can he have no peace? Why must he be plagued by these useless thoughts? Where is Jiang Cheng, anyhow? How dare he waste Crimson Rain Sought Flower's precious time?
Perhaps it is time the Jiang sect received the blessing of Hua Cheng's actual physical presence. Arriving in a storm of blood should shock the good people of Yunmeng into the proper attitude for worshipping a ghost king like a god. And if it angers Jiang Cheng, all the better. When Jiang Cheng is furious, the fire in his eyes is breath-taking.
If Hua Cheng had breath to take, anyhow.
Growling, Hua Cheng stands, irritated with himself. He can't concentrate, so there's no use in being here. He could reach out via Jiang Cheng's dreams, but doing so without first hearing from him feels invasive and—frankly—self-indulgent.
Fine. He'll head to the human realm in disguise and do some information-gathering, instead. If the head of a Great Sect —the zongzhu of the Jiang— had the audacity to die without Hua Cheng's permission, surely the towns in Yunmeng will be abuzz with—
His body shocks to stillness. Had that been a prayer? It sounded more like…
There's another sob, this one clear in the expectant quiet of Hua Cheng's thoughts. It's him, Hua Cheng realizes, jaw clenching. Jiang Cheng has never openly cried with Hua Cheng, not even as a despondent child. What in hell has happened?
His dice are in his hand before he registers it, before Jiang Cheng can utter his first wretched 'Crimson Rain Sought Flower'. It occurs to him that he should probably leave Yin Yu a note explaining where he's gone, but he's already stepping through his distance-shortening array to find Jiang Cheng.
*
Hua Cheng doesn't remember how it started; he's been visiting Jiang Cheng's dreams for many years. It had been a novelty at first, Hua Cheng delighting in his ability to do something only purported gods could do.
The first time, Hua Cheng had taken the child to visit his dogs. He'd largely hung back, letting the barking, wiggling fur-balls monopolize Jiang Cheng's attention.
He visited often after Jiang Cheng had particularly difficult interactions with his parents. Hua Cheng doesn't recall much of anything about his own family, but watching Jiang Cheng led him to think that was, perhaps, a good thing.
During those dreams, Hua Cheng allowed himself to speak with Jiang Cheng, even if only to offer a few comforting words, or a soft hand on his shoulder. He'd once ruffled Jiang Cheng's hair, then laughed at the kid's furious spluttering and reddened cheeks.
All this to say… Hua Cheng has brought this situation upon himself—this strange attachment. He had visited too often, for reasons he stubbornly refuses to examine.
It hardly matters; as Jiang Cheng grew into a man, the tenor of his needs changed, and Hua Cheng was a trusted and familiar face. While Hua Cheng has guarded his chastity for centuries, patiently waiting for his god, he has not been as careful in Jiang Cheng's dreams.
Jiang Cheng is so passionate, his skin so warm; his hands callused and strong, fingers digging welts into Hua Cheng's shoulders, his thighs. He is so alive, thrumming with movement and noise, sparking with heat, reminding Hua Cheng of the pleasure of breathing, the delight of holding someone close. The comfort of a beating heart.
Of course, the burning of Lotus Pier—and the subsequent war—destroyed Jiang Cheng's sense of safety, and along with that went his desire. Not that Hua Cheng hasn't given them opportunity; feeling Jiang Cheng could use the distraction, he's tried several times to convince him to relax, to follow him to bed. Even in his dreams, Jiang Cheng was unable to forego his vigilance.
Only once had Jiang Cheng caved; only once since the gods-forsaken disaster the megalomanical leader of the Wen had wrought.
Hua Cheng remembers it clearly.
Jiang Cheng had been so gentle, had kissed him so softly. He'd pulled a thumb tenderly over Hua Cheng's cheek. It was the first time Hua Cheng had been forced to think of what he and Jiang Cheng did as 'love-making', and it shook what he'd thought to be the immovable bedrock of his soul.
That night, Hua Cheng had cried, wrapped in the arms of a man centuries his junior. Jiang Cheng didn't say a word, never asked a question; he simply stroked Hua Cheng's hair and kissed the tears that streaked Hua Cheng's face. Treated Hua Cheng like he was worth tenderness.
Hua Cheng had spent the rest of that night silently begging his god to forgive him for being too weak to leave the comfort of Jiang Cheng's embrace. He'd sobbed and beseeched Xie Lian to understand his loneliness, his desire to feel alive and needed, if only for a shichen or two.
Of course, he knew he would be forgiven, which only made him more miserable. Xie Lian would never hold something like that against him, or against anyone. But what was the use in saving his body for his god if he had given a piece of his heart away?
*
Hua Cheng notices the humidity, first. Coming from the chill of Paradise Manor, he swears he feels water condensing on his skin.
There's a scrabbling sound; it turns out to be Jiang Cheng, when Hua Cheng lifts his head. The man's eyes are red-rimmed and wide, and he's scuttling backward from the cushion on which he'd been kneeling.
He doesn't go far, though. Recognition flashes over his face, and it occurs to Hua Cheng that this is the first time Jiang Cheng has seen him outside of his dreams. A disguise would have been prudent, but Hua Cheng, in his rush to get here, hadn't really been thinking.
"Hua Cheng?" Jiang Cheng whispers, voice hoarse. "How did you… Am I dreaming?" He glances around the room, as if to remind himself where he is.
There's no sense in further deception; Hua Cheng forces himself to take a deep breath, then tilts his lips into a wry smile. "You are not dreaming; I'm really here."
Shoulders straightening, Jiang Cheng slowly rises to his feet. "Why did you step out of thin air, directly into the middle of my family's ancestral hall?" Jiang Cheng is wary, and the distrust in his eyes makes Hua Cheng's chest tighten. It's not a look Hua Cheng has seen before.
Well. If nothing else, Hua Cheng's sudden appearance seems to have shocked Jiang Cheng out of his despair. "I used a distance-shortening array," Hua Cheng explains, though he knows that is not really what Jiang Cheng wants to know. "I apologize for intruding in your family's sacred space."
Jiang Cheng's mouth presses into a tight line, brows sinking into a scowl. Gods, he is lovely when he is angry.
"Why are you here?" Jiang Cheng snips out. It's clear there are other questions he'd like to ask, but he's waiting for Hua Cheng, attempting to give him the benefit of the doubt. Ah, Hua Cheng loves him. The thought comes and goes without trouble, settling comfortably within him. He suddenly knows Xie Lian will understand.
"Because you called for me," Hua Cheng says. "Because I heard you crying, and I came here as fast as I could." The words are more honest than Hua Cheng intended, but he finds he doesn't mind.
Jiang Cheng crosses his arms over his chest, scoffing. "I most certainly did not call for you, nor did I cry—"
"I am Crimson Rain Sought Flower," Hua Cheng says, interrupting. "And I heard your prayer. I've heard your prayers for years."
Jaw going slack, Jiang Cheng blinks in stunned silence. Hua Cheng steps closer, pleased when Jiang Cheng does not back away. "I hadn't heard from you in months. I was worried."
Jiang Cheng winces, his shoulders sagging. Hua Cheng watches sadness cloak the man like a shroud. "Everything has gone to hell," Jiang Cheng strains out, anguished. "My entire family is gone, now. He killed my jie, and then he went and killed himself before I could—"
Schooling his features, Hua Cheng waits while Jiang Cheng forces down a sob. Jiang Yanli is dead? How? Who is this 'he' that killed her?
"So here I am, alone, rebuilding a sect without money or resources, with too few people, and now my nephew is my responsibility as well, and how the hell am I supposed to be a parent when mine were such terrible examples, I have no idea—"
"Where is your shixiong?" Hua Cheng asks, irritated on Jiang Cheng's behalf. "I know he made himself scarce for a while, but surely—"
"Wei Wuxian killed her!" Jiang Cheng roars, blowing Hua Cheng's eyes wide. "And he lost control of his resentful energy before I could avenge her death! I had to watch him as he was torn apart, and it was the most horrifying, gut-wrenching thing I've ever seen." His hands fly out, arms wide. "Tell me! Why the hell am I sad he is gone?"
The gesture is not an invitation to an embrace, but Hua Cheng moves forward anyhow, pulling Jiang Cheng into his arms. He stiffens, but after a long, shuddering breath, he collapses into Hua Cheng, sobs wracking his body.
There is nothing Hua Cheng can say, nothing to be done. Hua Cheng has seen so much tragedy over his many years, some of it his own, and it never gets easier. He lets Jiang Cheng cry himself out.
It must be about a shi later when Jiang Cheng finally looks up from the circle of Hua Cheng's hold. They're seated on the floor, having settled there when Jiang Cheng was too exhausted to stand, but, even still, Hua Cheng hadn't let go. He meets Jiang Cheng's gaze, stroking his cheek with his thumb.
"You're cold," Jiang Cheng says, out of nowhere. Hua Cheng stifles a laugh.
"Is that a problem? I assumed it would be welcomed, given the oppressive humidity in this place." When Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, Hua Cheng allows himself a huff of amusement.
"And you're…" Lips pursed in thought, Jiang Cheng considers his next words. "Quiet, perhaps."
Hua Cheng's sigh comes naturally to him, despite not normally requiring breath. "I doubt you need any further emotional turmoil at this moment, but I don't wish to deceive you." The curious look in Jiang Cheng's eyes flattens, distrustful, so Hua Cheng hurries to finish.
"It's complicated, but the pertinent bit is probably this: I am dead, Jiang Cheng. I have been for centuries. I would imagine the 'quiet' you mention is my lack of heartbeat, the absence of life and blood flowing through me."
A surprised sound catches in Jiang Cheng's throat, but he doesn't look upset. Hua Cheng feels himself relax ever so slightly, and a deep sigh gusts from Jiang Cheng's chest.
"I have questions," Jiang Cheng says flatly, "but I am too fucking tired to ask them, right now."
"Very reasonable," Hua Cheng murmurs. "For now, you should rest."
Jiang Cheng pulls away, gaze dropping to the floor. "Does that mean you are leaving?"
Hua Cheng was intending to leave, truthfully. It had never occurred to him that he could stay. Something warm and happy swirls in his gut.
"I will stay, if you are inviting me."
Jiang Cheng makes a show of his irritation, rolling his eyes and huffing, but he stands and drags Hua Cheng to his feet. He does not let go of his hand.
"Come on, then." As Hua Cheng follows him outside, he interlaces their fingers. "I'm starving," Jiang Cheng announces, then cuts Hua Cheng a sideways glance. "Do you eat?"
"I do when I would like to," Hua Cheng says.
"Then let's fucking eat," Jiang Cheng replies, and pulls him onward. Smiling, Hua Cheng sends up a quick prayer.
'Dianxia, I love him. I think you will, too. Come back to me soon.'