Archive of Our Own

Ghost City always reeked of things no one could quite name. Not rot, not blood—though those were there too—but the leftovers of indulgence: sour wine soaked into wood, perfume worn too thick, smoke clinging to every surface like a second skin. The fog didn’t cleanse anything—rather, it dragged the scent deeper into the brick, the silk, the skin of anyone who stayed too long. It smelled like spit and musk and desperation. Like pleasure gone stale. It was a place that didn’t bother to hide what it was. You don’t come to Ghost City for comfort—you come to feel something press its teeth into you and leave a mark.

That night, the city glowed a deep, fevered red, as it always did, the color spilling from every lantern and stall. Scarlet lanterns swung from crooked beams and towering arches, their light staining every surface in a wash of warmth. Buildings rose on either side of the main thoroughfare in angles both graceful and grotesque, stacked haphazardly, their rooftops steep and curling, their balconies spilling with red gauze and watching eyes.

Crowds of all kinds wandered the streets, dense and restless, their presence a swirling mass of restless energy. Spirits of every shape, species, and era brushed past one another—some translucent, fading in and out like mist; others solid, their features sharp and unyielding; some towering, their forms casting long shadows, while others were small and fleeting, darting between the legs of the larger ghosts. It was a kaleidoscope of souls, all existing in the same space, yet bound by different worlds and times. all tinged with that same insatiable hunger. 

Vendors shouted from their stalls, waving skewers and steaming bowls to lure passing customers.

“Get your eyeball skewers! Still blinking!”

“Try the nine-spice hearts! Spicy enough to kill—again!”

The voices layered over each other in an unending current of noise: calls, laughter, arguments. Somewhere down an alley, a scuffle broke out between two drunken ghosts, their shouting carrying over the crowd like the screech of rusted metal. From open shopfronts came the clatter of dice, the twang of string instruments, the rustle of silk and coin. A high-end tea house nearby exhaled music and low, sultry singing, the sounds curling up into the mist like smoke.

Xie Lian walked among them with quiet steps, luminous in white. His robes–made of the finest silk, many thanks to his husband for having bought it for him–shimmered like pearls under the lantern light, utterly incongruous against the deep red that drenched the city around him. He moved like moonlight made tangible: pale, untouchable, too lovely to belong here. And yet, here he was, meandering through the chaos of Ghost City with a tranquility that defied the noise.

Ghosts turned their heads as he passed—well aware of his status in the city, some offering polite nods or quiet greetings. A few familiar faces, old acquaintances from his previous visits, caught his eye, their expressions warm but respectful. A shopkeeper at a nearby stall paused mid-action, offering a quick bow. “Xiao Xie Daozhang,” he greeted, voice low but friendly, as though recognizing that Xie Lian’s presence made the chaos feel just a little more orderly.

Others followed suit—small gestures of respect from the ghosts that moved around him. The bustle of the city carried on, but for a few moments, it seemed to soften, as if the streets themselves acknowledged his presence. He nods to every one of the ghosts in return, his smile genuine.

It wasn’t often that Xie Lian wandered these streets alone—especially not without the ever-watchful presence of the city’s Ghost King at his side—but tonight, his husband had been called away, off to handle some disturbance caused by two or so ghosts. It was nothing serious, Hua Cheng had assured him, and so, with a peaceful walk in mind, Xie Lian had ventured out into the night. 

But solitude in a place like this was never left unbothered for long.

He had just passed a stall selling blood-soaked dumplings (garnished with what looked suspiciously like fingernails) when he heard a delighted voice call out behind him.

“Is that the Xiao Xie Daozhang I see?”

He turned, startled but polite, and found a pair of courtesans lounging near the doorway of an upscale pleasure house—a striking man and woman, both dressed in fine silks embroidered with red and gold. The woman, lovely in smoky eye makeup and a slitted cheongsam that shimmered like snake scales, had a pipe resting between two gloved fingers. The man beside her was equally extravagant, with long hair tied back in crimson ribbons, an ornate fan hiding a wicked smile.

The woman’s lips curved. “Out on your own, are ya? No Hua Chengzhu wrapped around your waist like a possessive jealous husband tonight?”

The man laughed softly, eyes flicking up and down with a little too much interest. “He’s radiant, look at him! How can someone shine brighter than the lanterns? He's temptation draped in white.”

Xie Lian’s expression flickered into something sheepish, one hand lifting in a polite greeting. “San Lang had a matter to tend to. I just thought I’d take a quiet stroll around the city while I waited.”

“Quiet?” Her eyes swept over him, slow and deliberate. “With a pretty face like that? Those doe eyes, that sweet little smile?” She gave a low laugh. “You really expect quiet looking the way you do? Should be criminal to let you roam around unchaperoned!” 

The man beside her chuckled softly, glancing at Xie Lian with a playful gleam in his eye. “Agreed! Honestly, the way Chengzhu always hovers around you each time we see you, we half-expected him to materialize the moment we laid eyes on you this time as well .”

The woman’s smile sharpened into something sly. “Ghost City’s little Madam Wife —unescorted, unattended, and still glowing like a newlywed? Risky!”

Xie Lian’s face turned bright red, the teasing words hitting him harder than he’d expected. Madam Wife . He knew where this nickname came from—how the ghosts had first coined it after figuring out that Chengzhu had a beloved. How they’d watched him constantly search around for a particular someone throughout the centuries, gather courting gifts, prepare a sedan, adjust the layout and furniture in Paradise Manor to fit his beloved’s habits. To them, it was clear. There must be a Madam Wife Chengzhu was waiting for. And so, the nickname had stuck, teasing him for these past two years.

“En, it’s like you’re practically begging to be ogled and pounced on,” the male courtesan purred, fluttering his fan open once again to hide the smirk that spread across his lips. 

The female courtesan, her eyes narrowing with mock disapproval, smacked him lightly on the arm. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” she warned, her gaze sharp and signaling that he’d already said more than enough. 

Xie Lian’s gentle smile faltered. A faint pout tugged at his lips—not the petulant kind, but something subtle, instinctive. The kind a rabbit might make when scolded unfairly. “That’s a rather presumptuous thing to say,” he responded, tone feather-soft but unmistakably calm. “I don’t walk to invite attention. I walk because I have legs, and I’m free to use them.” 

He gave a tight-lipped smile, polite as ever—but his gaze sharpened, just a touch, like a blade sheathed in silk. “If you’re so easily tempted by someone simply existing in mere white robes, that’s your problem, not mine.” 

The male courtesan blinked, looking genuinely taken aback for half a second—before the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Oho,” he said, lowering the fan. “He’s got a bite.” 

The woman scoffed, tapping the edge of her pipe against the lacquered frame of the doorway. “Of course he does,” she drawled. “You think Chengzhu married a little songbird with no claws? Look at him. All white silk with a delicate face and figure—until he snaps and scolds you like your mother!”

Xie Lian’s mouth twitched, caught somewhere between offense and reluctant flattery. Not wanting to endure another round of teasing, he began to turn to leave, steps light and steady—but just as he did, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Inside the pleasure house right behind the courtesans, just beyond the carved lattice of a half-open wooden window, a man lay sprawled across a plush, wine-colored chaise, one arm draped languidly over its edge. Cushions piled beneath him shifted with each subtle motion of his hips. Nestled between his parted thighs, another man knelt—his head moving in slow, deliberate rhythm, mouth working obscenely as his fingers dug into the other’s thighs for leverage. There was no mistaking the slick, wet sound that filtered out into the street.

Xie Lian’s breath hitched. His eyes went round with disbelief, color draining from his face before surging back with full, fiery vengeance. The man’s mouth — “What are they doing?!” he blurted out, voice high with shock, the words tumbling from his lips before he had the sense to stop them. In the next breath, he spun away so quickly the hem of his sleeves flared like startled wings. His face burned scarlet, nearly incandescent beneath the gauzy sunlight.

The courtesans, who had paused in their banter, followed Xie Lian’s line of sight. The male courtesan let out a short, incredulous bark of laughter. “Whoa—he’s really going at it! Damn, look at the grip he’s got on him!”

The woman blinked once, twice, and then her gaze snapped back to Xie Lian, narrowing in disbelief. “Wait, wait, wait—what do you mean what are they doing? ” Her voice sharpened with incredulous delight, her hand flying to her hip as she leaned forward like a predator catching the scent of prey. “Xiao Daozhang… are you telling me you don’t know what that , a mouth service, is?”

Xie Lian stiffened like someone struck by lightning. “I’ll be taking my leave now,” he managed, retreating a step with mechanical grace, as if distance alone could erase what he’d just witnessed.

“You’re joking ,” she cried, flinging an arm toward the open window in exasperation. “Ya really don’t know what that is?!”

“I–I’m leaving!!!”

“ XIAO DAOZHANG! ” the male courtesan practically sang after him, both scandalized and delighted, his fan snapping shut in midair. “HOW OLD ARE YOU? HOW COME YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT MOUTH SERVICING–? AND YOU’VE NEVER ONCE SUCKED CHENGZHU OFF IN NEARLY A YEAR OF MARRIAGE?!”

“Lower…—! Lower your voice!” Xie Lian hissed, shrinking into himself, sleeves still pressed tightly to his flushed face. A handful of passersby slowed, curious. Mortified, he ducked further into the shadowed overhang of the brothel’s entryway, slipping behind the lacquered wooden pillar like a spooked deer vanishing into brush.

“Oh, oh no ,” the male courtesan moaned theatrically, clutching both hands to his chest like he’d been dealt a mortal blow. His silken sleeves fluttered with the motion, rings glittering as he staggered half a step back as though wounded. “ Poor Chengzhu! Don’t tell me you’ve never even used your hands?! ”

“Hands?” Xie Lian echoed in a whisper so small it barely disturbed the air between them. The moment the word left his lips, his eyes went wide with horror, as if he could see it floating there—damning, irreversible. His hands jerked up like he meant to catch it, to stuff it back down his throat and swallow the evidence whole.

The courtesan gasped like he’d taken a crossbow bolt to the chest. Then, with masterful dramatic flair, he dropped to his knees in the dust of the street. His outer robe flared around him in a perfect bloom of embroidered silk, pooling at his feet like an unfurling peony. “ Aiyoohh! ” he cried, shaking his head in despair. “Such an innocent little madam wife you’ve got, Hua Chengzhu! So sweet, so pure— so useless! Even I could make a much better wife!”

Behind him, the female courtesan exhaled a plume of fragrant smoke through her nose, her lips curling around the stem of her pipe. She regarded Xie Lian with something between amusement and pity, like a drenched kitten trying to cross a flooded street. “Worship goes both ways, sweetheart,” she said, voice dry as dust. “It’s not just about being held up on a pedestal and moaning pretty, ya know.”

She flicked the ash from her sleeve with a snap of her fingers and drew another breath from her pipe. The smoke curled around her lips as she continued, tone dipping low, almost conspiratorial. “I’ve heard things,” she said slowly, letting the smoke veil her words, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Little whispers—stories. From Paradise Manor’s servants. About the screaming. About how he’d fuck you—how sometimes he’d even go down on you–they concluded from hearing all the licking… slurping… wet sounds that echo down the corridor…”

“T–that’s—!!” Xie Lian nearly choked, staggering back a step as if she’d hurled hot coals at his feet. A rush of blood surged up his neck, flooding his face to the tips of his ears. “Th–that’s—that is inappropriate! That is private! How do they even—why would they air such private matters around?!”

“All that worship from his lordship’s part, yet you’ve never done a thing for him?” the woman continued, ignoring Xie Lian’s outburst, her words curling around him like smoke. Having not received an objection from the god, her eyes glittered—sharp with mischief. “He really does spoil you rotten…”

Xie Lian startled visibly. That can't be true, can it? He had given… something. His heart. His body. His trust. Hadn’t he?

“You’ve never even thought about it, have you?” she pressed, her voice suddenly lowering into something more intimate, velvet-wrapped and dangerous. “What our Lordship might crave in return. What he aches for.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Xie Lian murmured, voice barely audible. But the words tasted hollow on his tongue, weak even to his own ears. Is she right? The thought surfaced without his permission, creeping up like a guilty ghost. Have I never truly thought about what he wants? No.. they’re just teasing . Just crude courtesans with nothing better to do than gossip and shock . And yet—he couldn’t stop the way those words echoed. The way they carved out tiny truths he hadn’t dared to face before.

San Lang… he never asked for anything, never complained, never hesitated to give—whether it was touch or praise, his devotion or his body, he gave it all so freely. He held nothing back. But Xie Lian— has he ever offered in return? Always the one receiving. Always the one being worshipped. The one trembling, gasping, held in reverent hands while San Lang worshipped every inch of him in every way possible. Always held, always comforted, always loved. But had he ever thought to give that devotion back in the same manner?

A flush rose hot beneath his skin, but it wasn’t just embarrassment now. It was shame. The thought made his throat tighten. Not the way he does. Not with the same intent. Was it because he assumed San Lang didn’t want that? Or worse—because he hadn’t let himself wonder if he did? Does he desire it? Has he been waiting this whole time? Longing for something I never thought to give? He never even asked nor beg— 

Xie Lian was deep in thought. His brows drew inward, lips pouted, a deep crease of concern settling across his delicate features as he stared unseeing at the ground. His thoughts churned in spirals: unspoken questions, imagined desires, phantom touches that might have been.

The courtesans, watching, exchanged glances—eyes bright with mischief. The male courtesan clapped a hand to his chest with a theatrical gasp, then burst into laughter, his lacquered fan flapping wildly like he needed to cool himself down from sheer delight. “Aiyoooh, look at that face… How is Chengzhu even surviving this divine, delicate little wife of his?” he howled, practically doubled over. “If it were me, I’d have died from frustration long ago!”

Still laughing, he leaned in close, voice dropping to a scandalous whisper, eyes glittering. “No, seriously—you must try it, Xiao Daozhang. Forget hands—start with that pretty mouth of yours. Oh, if only you knew how much men love it…” He fanned himself with renewed vigor, eyes gleaming. “Chengzhu would probably fall on his knees and propose to you all over again.”

“En,” the woman added with a drawl, her voice smoky as the delicate thread she exhaled. “How has he not perished from sheer restraint? Five full days of seclusion after your wedding—five days!—and now an entire year without even once having you do something for him in your bedroom affairs ?” She clicked her tongue, mock-exasperated. “Poor Chengzhu. Suffering in paradise…”

Xie Lian made a sound in his throat that might have been a squeak. His ears and neck were flaming now, as if his very blood had been replaced with boiling wine. He turned on his heel, muttering a breathless, “I must take my leave now...,” as he half-fled down the threshold, limbs stiff with mortification.

“Ahh alright, alright!” the woman called after him, clearly amused. “We’ve teased you enough. For today.”

The man beside her lifted both hands in a loose gesture of surrender, smile softening, even fond. “No harm meant, Xiao Daozhang. Promise. Just the ghostly way of playing around.” He gave him a long, appreciative look, more sincere this time. “You’re quite the legend around here, you know. Hard to resist a little fun when the city’s brightest lantern walks by all alone without—”

“Without who?”

The voice sliced through the air with a quiet precision, as sharp and deliberate as a blade. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable, even the very wind holding its breath in anticipation. Hua Cheng appeared like a storm breaking the calm—Clad in red from head to toe, he cut an imposing figure—tall, unyielding, and impossible to ignore. He towered over everyone present, not just in stature but in presence, his shadow long and commanding in the lamplight. His single visible eye, dark and gleaming, swept over the group with cool calculation, sharp as any weapon he carried.

Xie Lian’s heart skipped a beat. He had been trying to keep his composure, to maintain some semblance of calm in the face of the teasing. But the moment his eyes met Hua Cheng’s, all the tension in his body melted away, replaced by a quiet reassurance. It was as if the world had fallen into place the moment Hua Cheng appeared, and nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

The man froze, his fan hanging suspended in mid-flick, the sound of it cutting through the air halted as though time itself had stopped. Beside him, the woman’s casual, lazy posture evaporated, her every movement stiffening with an almost imperceptible tension. The once lively street, teeming with the chatter and laughter of passersby, seemed to shrink in on itself, as if the very fabric of the world had stilled.

A subtle change rippled through the surroundings. The faint hum of conversations, the rustling of feet across the cobblestones, and the sizzling sounds of food being fried at nearby stalls all seemed to quiet down. The once vibrant street now felt suffocatingly still. The only sounds that filled the air were the distant plucking of strings from a lone musician’s lute and the occasional crackle of something frying in hot oil, its sizzling punctuating the silence like a heartbeat. Even the crowds had quieted, their movements stilled as if they too sensed the gravity of the moment.

“Go on. Where’s all that bark from earlier?” Hua Cheng’s voice rang out again, calm but sharp, like the flick of a whip. His gaze, as cold as the deepest winter, locked onto the courtesans with an intensity that made the temperature of the space drop by several degrees. His very presence seemed to make the air heavier, thicker, as if the world itself had momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

The woman opened her mouth as if to speak, but the words caught—strangled in her throat beneath the weight of that gaze. The man, braver by a hair, made a weak attempt to bow, but his voice faltered, stammering as if each syllable were a stone caught between his teeth. “Hua…Chengzhu, we—”

“My absence doesn’t mean you trash are permitted to poke fun at my wife.” Hua Cheng’s voice was low. Not raised, not growled—but precise , and cold in a way that made the air still. There was no heat to it, only menace honed into something sharp and gleaming. His words slid between them like a blade unsheathed in moonlight. Beneath the surface, barely veiled, was fury. And beneath that , something colder still: a warning. A reminder.

“WE—WE’RE SORRY, HUA CHENGZHU! XIAO DAOZHANG!” The woman’s voice pitched up in panic, shrill with fear. The male courtesan had gone pale, his fan trembling in his hand as he bent low, sweat glistening at his temple.

Xie Lian moved before he even realized he’d stepped forward, placing himself gently but deliberately between Hua Cheng and the pair. His hand rose and rested on Hua Cheng’s forearm—featherlight, but with unmistakable intent. A tether. “San Lang,” he said softly, urgently. “Please. It’s alright. They didn’t hurt me. We were only talking… let’s leave?”

Hua Cheng didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed locked on the courtesans, red eye gleaming, unreadable behind the curtain of black hair and the glittering eyepatch. His silence stretched, taut as wire. Then, in a blur of panic, the courtesans dropped to their knees with a force that echoed. Their foreheads smacked against the cold stone with audible cracks , voices rising in tremulous unison: 

“WE’RE VERY SORRY, XIAO DAOZHANG! HUA CHENGZHU! NEVER AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN WILL WE MISBEHAVE! MANY, MANY APOLOGIES!”

Xie Lian’s heart clenched. Guilt prickled at his chest—sympathy mingling with deep discomfort as he looked down at them. They hadn’t meant harm, not really. They had only been playing their part, teasing as courtesans did. Sigh, This is just the weight of Hua Cheng’s protection…

He tried again, looking up at the Ghost King, his voice quieter than before, barely carried on the air. “That’s enough now… you’re going to cause a bigger scene.” His eyes flicked around—sure enough, a few curious ghosts had begun to gather, drawn by the tension in the air like moths to flame.

For a moment, Hua Cheng didn’t move. Then—without a word—he lowered his gaze, letting it slide away from the courtesans as if they were no longer worth the weight of his anger. He turned his attention to Xie Lian instead, and whatever storm had been brewing in his expression softened just slightly at the sight of him.

The courtesans didn’t wait to be dismissed twice. “Thank you, thank you for sparing us, Hua Chengzhu! Xiao Daozhang! You are too generous—too merciful!” they cried in frantic unison, stumbling upright with graceless haste. They bowed deeply as they scrambled back toward the pleasure house’s doors, vanishing into its shadowed interior like mice fleeing a lion’s paw.

Xie Lian shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, though his expression was still a little strained. He felt the weight of Hua Cheng’s presence beside him, the silent protection that radiated from the man he loved. Without a word, Hua Cheng took his hand in his, his fingers warm and strong. With a fluid motion, Hua Cheng grabbed a dice from his pocket and tossed it onto the ground, and in the blink of an eye, the world around them shifted. They were no longer standing on the crowded streets of the city. Instead, they found themselves inside the familiar, quiet sanctuary of their bedchamber at Paradise Manor.

“Are you alright, beloved?” Hua Cheng began, his voice gentle now, though there was a faint edge of concern beneath the calm. His hand cupped Xie Lian’s cheek, his eyes searching for any sign of distress. “Tell me, what did they do to you? Let this husband teach them a lesson.”

Xie Lian, though exhausted by the whole ordeal, smiled softly and placed a thumb to the corner of Hua Cheng’s lips, shushing him gently. “San Lang… Truly, it’s fine. Just a little teasing, mostly compliments. It’s fine,” he reassured, his voice soothing as he gazed into Hua Cheng’s eyes, trying to calm him.

Hua Cheng’s gaze still seemed to be filled with heavy concern, his hand tightening its hold on Xie Lian’s. “Your Highness—” 

Xie Lian smiled again, the warmth returning to his face as he pulled Hua Cheng gently toward him. “It’s fine,” he repeated, pressing a gentle kiss to Hua Cheng’s cheek. “Thank you for arriving at the right time and helping me flee away.” His words were soft but sincere, a quiet gratitude in the gesture.

Hua Cheng’s expression softened, and a small but genuine smile appeared on his lips. “You’re always too generous. Every single one of them are undeserving of your kindness.” He pulled Xie Lian into his chest, cradling him in his arms as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to his hair. His voice was quiet, tinged with something more possessive now, “If I catch anyone bothering you again, I swear I won’t be holding back.”

“San Lang…” he breathed, and in that single utterance was affection, trust, and something lightly teasing. He glanced up to Hua Cheng with a glimmer in his eyes. “What do you say we… take a bath?” he asked, the corners of his mouth tugging upward with quiet mischief, the suggestion hanging lightly between them—both tender and knowing.

Hua Cheng raised an eyebrow, but instead of a smirk, his lips pressed into a faint pout. “You’re trying to distract me,” he said, his voice low and just a little petulant, the hint of wounded pride in it so subtle it would’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else—but not Xie Lian. His eye stayed fixed on Xie Lian’s face, the pout deepening just slightly, as if saying, You always do this when you’re trying to hide something from me.

Xie Lian chuckled, pulling away just enough to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on now,” he coaxed gently, his fingers threading through Hua Cheng’s. With a soft laugh and a tug, Xie Lian led Hua Cheng away, hand in hand, the peace and warmth between them more than enough to wash away the remnants of the tension from earlier.

***

Even after a day had passed and the lanterns of Ghost City cast their familiar golden-red glow across the wide streets below once again, Xie Lian found himself unable to settle. The quiet halls of Paradise Manor, usually a place of peace, felt like an endless stretch of emptiness around him. His hands were restless, fingers twisting in his sleeves, while his boots made the only sound as they clicked softly against the polished stone floors. The stillness of the night seemed to close in on him, almost suffocating in its weight. He paced back and forth in the halls, the fragrance of sandalwood and osmanthus lingering faintly in the air from the corridor braziers. Normally, the gentle scent would soothe him, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace, but tonight, the familiar atmosphere couldn’t quiet the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. A thought that had taken root and refused to let go.

The words from the courtesans still echoed in his ears:

Worship goes both ways.

What our Lordship might crave in return. What he aches for.

Start with that pretty mouth of yours—Chengzhu would probably fall on his knees and propose to you all over again.

Xie Lian swallowed hard, his face flushing at the mere memory of their teasing, a strange tightness in his chest. His fingers twitched nervously at his sides, an inexplicable sense of discomfort sweeping over him. He could still hear their voices, their teasing laughter—mocking yet strangely alluring. And now, it seemed the more he tried to push those thoughts away, the stronger they grew.

He stopped walking abruptly, leaning against the carved wooden column that adorned the hall. His breath came out in a quiet sigh, his chest heavy with the weight of his own confusion. His cheeks burned, as though a sudden fever had swept over him.

San Lang is always the one to make sure I’m comfortable. To take care of me. Every time... he’s the one touching me, moving for me, pleasuring me, making sure I’m the one to enjoy it. He never asks anything in return, always too focused on my comfort to even think of his own needs. Xie Lian closed his eyes for a moment, the soft thrum of his heartbeat steadying him, but only for a fleeting second. And what do I do in return? I just cling to him like a fool. Now that I think of it, I didn’t even do anything during our first night! How spoiled!

A small sound escaped his lips as he looked down at the floor, his mind filled with the weight of his guilt. Is that all I am? A passive participant…?

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Hua Cheng deeply—no, that wasn’t it. But perhaps it’s true that—Xie Lian had always taken, always received, yet never gave. 

No more being selfish! he thought, an unexpected resolve settling into his chest. He didn’t want to be the one who only took.

His heart fluttered, uneasy, as his thoughts turned to Hua Cheng. He knew his husband must have desires of his own—needs he’d never once voiced aloud. But Hua Cheng had never pushed him for anything. He’d never made demands, never asked for more than what Xie Lian freely gave. Always gentle, always urging him to relax and let him take care of everything.

At least, that’s how things had always been between them—so far.

But I do want to offer something, at least once.

The thought hit him like a slow realization, something warm and unsettling— a desire to give, a desire to pleasure —and the ache in his chest deepened. He bit his lip, suddenly aware of the lingering tension in the air. The manor felt so empty, so quiet, the soft rustling of his robes the only sound.

The problem was… how? How could he possibly do this? He couldn’t exactly ask the courtesans, not in a thousand years. That was entirely out of the question. And asking Pei Ming? Heaven forbid. The very thought made him shudder.

Then, like a flash of clarity, a memory surfaced—something Hua Cheng had once mentioned so casually, his voice low and teasing. “I studied all kinds of erotica, scrolls on pleasure, manuals of touch. I wanted to learn how to please His Highness without ever needing to touch and experiment with anyone else.”

Xie Lian blinked, his breath catching. The library.

His head snapped up, eyes lighting with a sudden spark of resolve, his pulse quickening. The answer had been there all along—right within the walls of their own home. Hua Cheng had spoken so nonchalantly about the things he had learned, but Xie Lian had never truly processed just how far his husband had gone to study, to understand every aspect of their relationship, of their intimacy.

Perfect timing, it seemed, was on his side. Hua Cheng had just left to deal with matters in Gamblers' Den, and he wouldn’t be back for several more hours. Thus, Xie Lian didn’t waste another moment. His bare feet glided across the smooth stone floors of the manor, and he hurried deeper into the halls, toward the library tucked away in the farthest corner. The heavy, ornate doors of the room beckoned him, a safe haven from the restless thoughts that clung to him like a second skin.

The soft click of the lantern’s flame igniting broke the silence, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The flickering light spilled over the rows of dark lacquered shelves, each one lined with ancient scrolls, their spines worn from countless hands that had turned their pages. The air smelled of old paper—an intoxicating scent that always seemed to lull Xie Lian into a sense of calm, even in the midst of his own turmoil.

He moved slowly, reverently, his fingers brushing against the delicate spines of the books. His gaze flicked over the familiar titles, but it was one in particular that caught his eye—a book bound in crimson silk. With trembling fingers, he pulled it from the shelf, the sound of the book sliding free with a soft shhhk reverberating in the quiet room. He carried it carefully over to the low sitting cushion beside the reading table, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and dread.

As he opened the book, the air around him seemed to grow still. He paused, staring at the pages in disbelief. There, before him, were the illustrations—detailed, intricate depictions of acts Xie Lian had never dared to imagine. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the first image—a pair of men, intertwined intimately on a bed. The descriptions beside it, written in a flowing, almost poetic style, explained the techniques with calm precision, every word laced with a knowledge that made Xie Lian’s pulse spike.

He flipped through the pages, fingers trembling as they skimmed over the illustrations. Some were shockingly explicit—depicting couples in all manner of positions: men and women, women and women, some men and men. Some scenes were tender, others more daring, but all of them were presented with an academic, detached quality that made Xie Lian feel a thousand miles away from the intimacy they described.

And then, he stopped. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes caught on a particular page. There, in the center, was an illustration that made his stomach twist with a mix of curiosity and embarrassment—a man seated at the edge of a bed, another kneeling between his legs, face buried in his lap. Exactly like the scene he’d glimpsed through the pleasure house window. The description that followed was detailed, almost clinical, packed with unfamiliar terms and instructions that made his head spin. His fingers hovered, uncertain, as heat crept up the back of his neck.

Xie Lian flushed a deep crimson, heat flooding his face, his chest—every inch of him burning with the force of his reaction. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, though every part of him wanted to. So that’s how it’s done… His thoughts raced in a panicked flurry. Oh heavens…

‘Begin with slow, gentle licks to the tip. Let your tongue explore the ridge, the slit, the most sensitive places. Do not rush–’

‘Circle your tongue around the head, then glide down the length with steady pressure. Take your time; let him feel each inch.’

‘As arousal builds, take him deeper—inch by inch—until he grazes the back of your throat. Or lower, if your body allows, until your lips brush the base.’

‘Cup his testicles with one hand, stroke with the other, keep your tongue moving. The more relaxed your jaw, the more of him you can take.’

‘Let him hear it—wet sounds, soft moans. Let him see you want it.’

‘Once he nears his peak, do not flinch. Do not pull away. Accept him fully, and swallow with grace—’

“Too much, too much, too much!” Xie Lian yelped, his face burning so hot that it felt as though it might catch fire. He slammed the book shut with both hands, the force of it rattling the table beneath him.

He sat frozen, hands still pressed flat over the cover as if to keep the images and words from escaping into the air. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, loud enough to drown out thought, a deafening drumbeat reverberating through his whole body. His breath came in shallow gasps, chest rising and falling too fast. How in the world is this supposed to be relaxing? How do people even do this without passing out from embarrassment?!

The room—once quiet and peaceful—now felt like a trap, the walls closing in with every tick of the clock. His thoughts swirled in a storm of confusion, fascination, and mortification. He didn’t even dare glance down at the book again.

Well… he thought, trying to reel himself back toward rationality. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to do anything. Hua Cheng would never ask this of him. He knows me—he’s patient and kind and never expects anything in return. He wouldn’t be upset. He wouldn’t be disappointed. 

But, Xie Lian admitted to himself, small and shy beneath the frantic fluttering of his heartbeat, it’s not all about wanting to give back anymore.

He bit his lip, eyes lowering, the flush on his cheeks deepening. The thought had crept in slowly, quietly, until it was no longer possible to ignore: he actually wanted to. Not just out of duty or the desire to give something back—but because the idea had begun to genuinely stir something in him. It wasn’t only about Hua Cheng anymore. There was a timid, persistent curiosity blooming beneath the embarrassment. A quiet longing to know what it would feel like—to make Hua Cheng unravel, to watch him lose composure because of him, to make him feel good. 

Besides, maybe… just maybe it’s something they’d both find to like.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to summon the strength to rise. His hands hovered over the book one last time before lifting it, almost reverently, and placing it back on the shelf. He adjusted it twice—just to make sure it looked untouched—then stepped back quickly, as if afraid it might call him back.

His cheeks were still burning as he turned and hurried from the room, sleeves drawn up to hide the tremble in his fingers.

***

Xie Lian had fallen asleep before he realized it, worn out from all his pondering and excitement, perhaps—It was a soft descent, without resistance, lulled by warmth and quiet fatigue. When he stirred awake some time past midnight, the room around him was quiet, cloaked in shadows softened by the silver light of the moon slipping through gauzy curtains. The covers were pulled gently over his body, tucked up to his chin with a tenderness he didn’t remember receiving—and yet, the space beside him on the bed was empty. Blinking slowly, he sat up, the air cool against his skin. 

“San Lang?” he called softly into the stillness. 

He received no response.

He slipped from the sheets and changed into a lighter sleeping robe—something soft and loose, the silk brushing against his ankles as he moved. His hair, no longer tied up neatly, fell loose down his back, still faintly scented with the floral rinse from earlier that evening. Padding barefoot through the quiet halls of Paradise Manor, he passed darkened windows and flickering lantern sconces, the silence only broken by the faint rustle of leaves outside and the creak of wooden floors beneath his steps. Every room he peeked into was empty.

Then, from down the corridor, a faint glow caught his eye.

Warm lamplight spilled gently from beneath the heavy door to the study. Xie Lian’s pace slowed as he neared, recognizing that steady light, the hush of focus beyond it. Ah… so he’s still working , he thought. Of course. He reached the doorway and hesitated there, peering inside quietly.

The fire burned low in the hearth of Paradise Manor’s study, its dim glow stretching long shadows across the lacquered floorboards and ink-dark walls. The air was dense with the scent of sandalwood and aging parchment, mingled faintly with wax. Scrolls lay in quiet disarray across the desk’s surface, some unfurled, others set aside with their edges curled from heat. The ink on the most recent one was still damp, its characters half-smudged where the brush had slipped. 

Hua Cheng sat hunched over the desk, his posture rigid from hours spent reading, writing, sealing—his single visible eye dulled not by lack of interest, but by the familiar, bone-deep fatigue of endless responsibility. His eyepatch casted a shadow across his cheek, and his hair, usually smooth, had grown slightly tangled, strands sticking to the line of his jaw. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing pale skin and his tattooed arm. 

He exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, his thumb brushing absently over a spot just above his brow where a headache had begun to bloom. The silence was complete—no sound but the occasional settling creak of timber or the whisper of a coal shifting in the hearth. He didn’t notice how long he’d been still until he realized the ink on the brush had dried. A small frown pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Then—softly, just outside the door—there it was. A sound he would recognize in any lifetime. Soft, familiar footsteps moved across the wooden floor just outside the study—unhurried, light, unshod. Hua Cheng didn’t move at first, nor did he lift his head. Knew the subtle weight of them, the almost reluctant grace. And when the faintest trace of the scent of fresh flowers reached him—carried in the heat-warped air—it was further confirmation, not surprise. He raised his gaze.

Xie Lian had already pushed the door and entered the room. He stood just beyond the reach of the firelight, framed in warm shadow, the edges of his white robe catching the faintest shimmer of the flames from the fire . The garment was simple—quite modest even–but the thinness of the silk betrayed it, making it cling faintly to the delicate shape of his frame. His raven locks was unbound, long and dark down his back, and a few wisps framed around his face, softened further by the faint flush of pink on his cheeks. He looked at Hua Cheng with that usual gentleness—but there was something else beneath it tonight. Something quiet, searching.

“San Lang is still working?” His voice was soft, but it carried.

The words weren’t chiding, just filled with concern. They fell like a breeze across the tension in the room, and Hua Cheng let out a breath. He sat back slightly, eye never leaving Xie Lian’s face, a tired smile touching his lips as some invisible weight eased from his shoulders.

“I was just about to finish, Gege,” he said, voice low, fond. “You should be resting.”

Xie Lian stepped closer, his eyes drifting briefly over the cluttered desk—the scattered scrolls, smudged ink, half-used brushes—before lifting again to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze. He let out a soft sigh, then, without a word, moved to perch lightly on the edge of the desk. The motion was unhurried, almost instinctive. His bare feet tucked beneath him, the robe shifting just enough to reveal the elegant lines of his legs through the thin silk.

He didn’t look at Hua Cheng at first. His gaze dropped instead to his hands, folded quietly in his lap, fingers curled loosely.

After a moment, he asked, “...Are you tired?”

Hua Cheng gave a low, breathy chuckle, worn and honest. “Very.”

Another silence fell between them—quiet, but far from empty. It was the kind of hush that deepened everything else: the soft crackle of the fire, the distant murmur of wind brushing against the wooden doors, the occasional whisper of cooling embers shifting in the grate. Shadows played gently along the walls, flickering like breath.

Xie Lian seemed deep in thought. Though Hua Cheng had no idea what about.

And just as Hua Cheng was about to ask if there was something of concern, Xie Lian inhaled slowly—his lash dipping low over his eyes. He didn’t speak right away. There was a visible hesitation in him—as though he were testing the shape and weight of his words before letting them fall. His hand shifted, inching across the polished wood of the desk, his fingertips brushing the lacquer just beside Hua Cheng’s hand. He didn’t look up.

“Do you…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Does San Lang want me to help him… relax?”

The question hung in the air between them like a held breath. Hua Cheng blinked, caught just slightly off guard—not by the words themselves, but by the softness beneath them. Earnest. Perhaps even a little shy.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of Hua Cheng’s lips.

“That would be nice,” he said mindlessly, low and absent. “Very nice.”

And that, he would realize a moment later, was his mistake. Because he hadn’t read between the lines. Hadn’t registered the tone. Hadn’t noticed the faint flush deepen on Xie Lian’s cheeks. He thought, in his fatigue, that his beloved was offering to help him lie down, maybe rub his shoulders, coax him to bed with soft words and clean sheets.

He did not expect what followed.

Xie Lian shifted, slowly slipping down from the edge of the desk—not to stand, but to kneel.

His knees touched the polished wood floor with a soft, nearly soundless thud, his robe billowing around him like a ripple of moonlight. The silk pooled at his thighs, and the shape of him beneath it was barely hidden—delicate wrists, a slight waist, the gentle curve of his knees against the lacquered floor. For a heartbeat, Hua Cheng couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He stared, frozen, his single eye wide with stunned disbelief, a sharp breath snagged painfully high in his chest like a bird caught behind his ribs.

Then he moved all at once—half-lurching forward as if shaken from a trance, one hand bracing against the edge of the desk while the other reached out, grasping Xie Lian’s arm. His touch was firm, almost urgent.

“Your Highness, what are you doing?! Please, stand up—” His voice was low and strained, roughened by confusion, disbelief, and something hotter simmering beneath the surface.

But Xie Lian didn’t move. He remained there, small and composed on the floor, his head slightly bowed and his face flushed a soft, embarrassed pink that crawled down his throat. The tips of his ears were red where they peeked from the veil of loose, dark hair. He didn’t resist Hua Cheng’s grip, but he didn’t budge either. His hands came up instead, feather-light against Hua Cheng’s knees, his fingers trembling faintly even as he steadied them.

“San Lang,” he said softly, barely louder than the low crackle of fire behind them. He swallowed, his lashes dipping. “Have you ever thought about… having me… worship you? Like how you worship me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Hua Cheng’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. His grip on the desk tightened until the wood groaned beneath his fingers.

Xie Lian dared to lift his gaze then—hesitant, but no longer wavering. His eyes, luminous in the firelight, were full of quiet sincerity. “You’re always taking care of me. You give so much… and you never ask anything in return. But haven’t you ever wanted ? Even once? For the care and attention be all on you? Perhaps for me to use my hands on you, or—or—”

His voice caught, and he glanced away briefly before forcing it out in a rush, “Or—-or my mouth?!”

Hua Cheng’s breath caught. He went still—too still—as if the rest of his body hadn’t yet caught up with what he’d just heard. For a heartbeat, he only stared at Xie Lian, lips parted slightly, a faint crease between his brows like he was trying to process it—but no words came. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a sound. A laugh—soft and shaky, barely more than a breath. It slipped out unguarded, like it had surprised even him. Disbelieving. A little awed.

He lifted a hand and ran them back through his hair—fingers threading through the loose strands as if grounding himself in something tangible. The motion was habitual but uneven, his hands trembling just enough to betray the calm he tried to maintain. His fingers lingered at his nape for a moment, then dropped, leaving his hair slightly disheveled. It didn’t help. The flush was already rushing to his cheeks, blooming fast across the bridge of his nose. His ears burned red.

“Oh, Your Highness…” he muttered under his breath, dazed and breathless. Another quiet, helpless chuckle escaped him, curling at the edges of his lips like he couldn’t stop it if he tried. His shoulders rose with a deep inhale—shaky, like it might carry some of the tension away—but it only seemed to settle deeper in his chest.

“Of course I’ve imagined it,” he admitted, voice roughened with restraint, but laced with something gentler underneath. He smiled faintly then—wry, sheepish, fond to the point of pain. “For more times than I’d like to admit. Thought about it so often it’s honestly embarrassing.”

He looked up then, finally daring to meet Xie Lian’s eyes. His gaze swept over the other’s face as if it physically hurt to linger too long. Still, he smiled. A small, aching thing, tugging weakly at the corners of his mouth. It was uneven, uncertain—full of quiet wonder, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. Like even now, some part of him was bracing to wake up.

“But that’s not something you owe me.” The words came soft, but firm—measured with care, as if he was holding them gently in his mouth. There was no anger in them. No hint of disappointment. Only raw honesty, thick in his throat and barely stitched together at the seams.

“...So don’t say it like it’s a duty,” he said, voice low, hoarse with feeling. “Like it’s some repayment for my love. Like I’ve been waiting for you to offer yourself just to balance the scale.” He swallowed, gaze flickering back to Xie Lian, expression open and unguarded.

“I never expected anything back.” He shook his head once, slowly, the tension in his jaw flexing with restraint. “That’s never what my worshipping has been about.”

But even as the words left him, they couldn’t undo the image already burned into his mind—a beauty like Xie Lian kneeling, cheeks all rosy and nervous, voice trembling as he offered his mouth. Hua Cheng felt the heat gather low in his belly, twisting cruelly behind his ribs. His stomach clenched tight.

“I know,” Xie Lian said—quiet, but clear. The words fell into the hush between them like the first drop of rain on still water, delicate and trembling but certain.

“I know it’s not something I owe you.” His gaze stayed low, fixed somewhere at the center of Hua Cheng’s chest, as if looking him in the eye might make the words crumble in his mouth. His hands were trembling—visibly now—as they curled tighter into the folds of Hua Cheng’s robe. The silk bunched beneath his fingers, knuckles going white from how fiercely he gripped it, like he needed to anchor himself or risk dissolving under the weight of his own confession, “But I want to.”

“I’ve thought about it,” he went on, voice barely above a breath.  “Wondered if it was something you’d ever want. And I—” He swallowed, drawing in a shaky breath. His flush was deeper now, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, down his neck. It stood out starkly against the soft lamplight and the fine lines of his pale collarbones.

“I want to help you,” he said, again—firmer this time, but still quiet. “Not because I should. Not because I think I owe it. But because I want to see you like…that—” He faltered, a flicker of panic flaring in his eyes, but still, he pressed on. “I want to make my San Lang feel good.”

His hands were still tightened in the crimson silk, twisting with the effort of holding steady. His whole body seemed to be trembling with it—shyness, determination, fear, desire—all tangled together. And even though his gaze didn’t lift, it was clear: there was no hesitation left in what he was offering. Only raw, tender yearning. A plea to be allowed to give—not because he was expected to, but because the ache of wanting had finally grown too loud to ignore.

”Gege…” Hua Cheng rasped, voice breaking on the syllables, too full of disbelief and barely leashed hunger. Both hands dragged down his face, slow and shaky, as if he could scrub the image from his mind before it unraveled him entirely. But when his palms fell away, his eye dipped down—and landed squarely on the growing strain beneath his robes. His jaw clenched, sharp enough to ache. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, hissed it out like it burned. “I— I’m not quite sure you know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” Xie Lian said again, more firmly now, though his cheeks were glowing pink. “I read your books. And I… think I understand the basics already—” He paused. Swallowed. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely qualified as a whisper, added:

“…Besides… I do know how to swallow swords. So… that should help too…?”

Silence followed—surging inward, dense and heavy, wrapping around Hua Cheng’s ribs like a vise. 

Hua Cheng did not— could not —move.

For a long, long breath, he simply stared—at Xie Lian, kneeling between his legs, eyes impossibly earnest, his lips parted just slightly, his expression so pure it could’ve shattered stone. The golden wash of firelight clung to his skin, catching on the curve of his rosy cheeks and the delicate line of his throat, painting him in a warmth that felt almost unreal. As if he hadn’t just said the single most obscene, ungodly, and unfairly erotic thing a man could possibly hear from the person he loved more than life itself.

“Your Highness, you can’t just say things like that carelessly—” he said—hoarse, unsteady, voice barely more than gravel.

Xie Lian flinched slightly, as if the weight of his own words had finally caught up to him. “Did i say something… wrong…?”

Hua Cheng didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on Xie Lian, reverent and stunned. 

“No, Your Highness, it’s just—I just really wish you hadn’t said all that,” he exhaled, and then let out a short, sharp breath that barely qualified as a laugh—tight, disbelieving, scraped raw from the inside of his chest. “Because all I can think about now is how you learned. Why you learned. You sneaking around our library, searching high and low for my books, and studying them like a devoted little scholar just so you could get on your knees and— offer yourself to me like this. ” 

He leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the desk to keep from grabbing Xie Lian outright. “And then you— you —say you know how to swallow swords?” His voice dipped lower, tighter, heat curling through every syllable. “You thought that would make it better ? Gege, do you have any idea of the things you do to me…?”

“My god—kneeling before me, saying things like that…” he whispered, the words trembling on his breath. His eye fluttered shut, jaw tight. “You’re going to drive me insane, Your Highness.”

Silence. 

Only the sound of Hua Cheng’s breath, harsh and uneven, filled the space between them—heavy, like it cost him effort to hold it in. And beneath that, the furious thudding of Xie Lian’s heartbeat, loud in his own ears, as if the silence made it echo louder still.

Xie Lian’s fingers curled into the fabric of Hua Cheng’s robe again. “San Lang,” he said softly, the plea barely audible. “Just.. just let me try…”

Hua Cheng gulped audibly, his throat bobbing with the effort of containing whatever response clawed up from his chest. His eye gleamed like something struck—shocked, stricken, helplessly undone.

But Xie Lian didn’t wait for permission. Not because he assumed he’d received it, but because he knew he did. It was written across Hua Cheng’s face, etched into the way he gripped the edge of the desk like a man on the verge of losing control. He could feel it in the heat of his gaze, in the thunderous silence between them. That unspoken yes —quivering on the edge of surrender.

Xie Lian’s fingers moved upward again, slower now, trailing over the sash at Hua Cheng’s waist—He paused just for a moment, seeking some final silent answer. Then—delicately, reverently—he slipped his fingers under the knot, and began to undo it. The sash loosened with a whisper of silk, slipping free under his hands. Bit by bit, Hua Cheng’s robe began to part, the fabric falling away from his hips, revealing the sharp lines of his abdomen, the deep flush of heat rising under his skin—and beneath it all, the heavy strain of what he’d been holding back this whole time.

Xie Lian’s breath caught, eyes widening

Of course he knows Hua Cheng is big. They’d made love more times than he could count, and every time had left him gasping, trembling, stretched to the edge of what he could bear. But somehow, in all those heated moments, he’d never seen it from this angle. Never knelt before him like this, eye-level with the very thing he was about to take into his mouth. And now, faced with it—hard, flushed, impossibly thick, resting so close he could feel the heat of it against his lips—Xie Lian suddenly realized he might have overestimated just how much his mouth could handle.

His stomach fluttered. His fingers clenched tighter in the folds of Hua Cheng’s robe. He swallowed reflexively, lips parting as if in preparation—then hesitated, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“I… forgot how big you are,” he murmured, voice thin and trembling. His eyes flicked up again, shy but helplessly fixated. “I don’t even know if I can fit you in my mou—”

Hua Cheng let out a breathless, half-strangled laugh, hoarse and utterly wrecked. It burst from his throat ragged and sharp, so raw it almost bordered on a groan. “Holy shit—don’t say that— Your Highness —gods, you don’t have to do it anywa—”

But as the words left him, Xie Lian was already moving. Something in his expression had shifted—a mix of determination and blind affection. He leaned in, and without answering, pressed a featherlight kiss to the tip. A soft, trembling touch—hesitant, reverent—more prayer than act.

Hua Cheng groaned like he’d been struck, his hips jerking before he managed to force them still, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. His hands clutched the arms of his chair in a death grip. “ Good fucking heavens …”

Xie Lian exhaled shakily, breath fanning warm across the tip of Hua Cheng’s cock. His hands tightened on the other’s thighs, pale fingers digging in just slightly, seeking balance—anchor—something to hold onto as he steeled himself. Then, slowly, reverently, he leaned in and parted his lips.

The head slid past them with effort, and he startled at the immediate stretch—his jaw already aching, muscles tense with the unfamiliar strain. It was too much , more than he’d expected, more than he’d ever imagined. His throat fluttered, instinctively trying to close against the pressure, and he paused—still, breathing slow through his nose, shoulders rising and falling in shallow waves.

The taste was warm, earthy, unfamiliar. Not unpleasant, just intense —like heat and salt and something uniquely San Lang . His tongue moved instinctively, cautiously—drawing along the underside in a trembling stroke, then flicking up to brushat a sensitive spot. Just a gentle pressure, a curious experiment. Then, as if confirming something to himself, he sealed his lips tighter and sucked—softly, tentatively, like testing the rim of a delicate wine cup to see if it would spill.

A strained sound escaped Hua Cheng above him.

Xie Lian didn’t dare look up—not yet—but the tremble in Hua Cheng’s thighs beneath his hands, the way the muscles jumped beneath his touch, told him everything. Encouraged, he took another breath and pressed forward, just a little more, just enough to feel the weight of him on his tongue, the shape and girth more vivid than anything he’d dared imagine. It wasn’t perfect. He fumbled slightly, cheeks hollowing, unsure how far to go, how deep to take him. Saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth, and he had to swallow around it, still uncertain, still finding rhythm.

Messy. Hesitant. And yet, oh so sincere.

“Ah—Your Highness—” Hua Cheng gasped, voice raw and broken like firewood catching flame. His head fell back, hand flying to grip the armrest hard. “You’re—Ohh, you’re gonna kill me…”

Xie Lian looked up, cheeks hollowed, eyes wide and glassy. He needed to see if Hua Cheng was enjoying it—needed that affirmation, however wordless. The sight shattered what little restraint Hua Cheng had left. He choked on a curse, his hold on the armrests tightening like a vice. “You’re gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come too fast if you keep looking at me—”

But Xie Lian didn’t stop. He adjusted his angle, trying to take more despite the stretch, breath warm and shallow through his nose. His throat fluttered around the head of Hua Cheng’s cock, and Hua Cheng bucked with a rough groan that shook the chair. Hua Cheng honestly couldn’t tell if Xie Lian was miraculously talented, or if he was just so in love that anything Xie Lian did felt like ecstasy. Either way, he was in hell—and heaven—and completely ruined.

Xie Lian whimpered softly—half from effort, half from embarrassment at the praise—and the sound vibrated around Hua Cheng’s cock like a bolt of lightning. His brows furrowed slightly, sweat beginning to pearl at his temple. He took another breath and pushed deeper, determined. The thick weight of Hua Cheng’s cock slid further in, nudging against the back of his throat. His jaw ached, tears pricking his eyes—but he didn’t retreat. He swallowed, slow and careful, throat tightening around the head as he tried to accommodate more. His lips were slick now, stretched wide, spit beginning to drip freely from the corners of his mouth.

Hua Cheng’s head fell back with a ragged groan. “Ooooohh, Your Highness—”

Each bob of Xie Lian’s head was a deliberate, shaky effort—testing rhythm, adjusting pressure. His tongue flattened and then curled along the underside with each slow pass, catching on the pulsing vein there. He didn’t have a perfect rhythm, but the sheer determination in every motion made it maddening.

“Gege, your mouth…” Hua Cheng rasped. His thighs tensed beneath Xie Lian’s palms. “You’re too good at this—”

Xie Lian paused only to breathe, pulling back with a slick pop before pressing forward again, growing more and more confident from all the praise. His lashes fluttered—damp from the amount of tears escaping as his throat burned and his jaw protested. Still, he didn’t stop. He eased down until Hua Cheng nudged deeper, until the stretch forced a choked little sound from him. His shoulders trembled, throat constricting around the girth—but of course, he swallowed. 

The sensation—tight, wet, fluttering—drove a low, brutal sound from Hua Cheng’s chest. 

Xie Lian made a soft, needy noise in response—embarrassed, overwhelmed—and the hum of it around Hua Cheng’s cock nearly made the Ghost King unravel.

One of Hua Cheng’s hands tore away from the armrest to bury in Xie Lian’s hair—not to force him, never that, but to hold on, to anchor himself through the maelstrom of sensation. The warmth. The pressure. The raw effort of it—Xie Lian’s sincerity was searing. His soft little gasps, the wet sounds of his mouth, the teary-eyed glance upward—it was too much.

“You’re heavenly,” Hua Cheng growled, his voice ragged. “On your knees like this, crying around my cock—fuck—do you even know what you’re doing to me, Your Highness?”

Xie Lian let out a loud moan in response, the sound muffled, desperate. His cheeks were hollowed around Hua Cheng’s cock, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth. Every time he pulled back, a slick string of spit clung between them—only to vanish again as he swallowed him down with another soft, shivering breath. His throat ached now, sore from the effort, but he didn’t stop. He wanted this—wanted to feel it, to take all of it, to prove something without words. To show Hua Cheng he wanted to care for him like this.

And it was messy. Beautifully, ruinously so. Wet, obscene sounds filled the quiet of the study—the intimate slurp of his mouth, the hitch of his breath, the tremble of slick skin against silk. Spit spilled from his chin and dripped down his throat in shining rivulets as he grew more confident, his movements faster, sloppier, more eager. His fingers clutching tight in the rich fabric of his robes, steadying himself.

“Your Highness– shit —I’m close—” Hua Cheng gasped, his body coiled with tension, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring about to snap. 

His hips jerked forward involuntarily, chasing the impossible heat of Xie Lian’s mouth—and just as release surged through him, he pulled away with a strangled sound. “Wait—Your Highness, fuck—!”

With a harsh, guttural groan, he wrenched himself free at the last second, spilling hard across Xie Lian’s face with a raw, broken curse. Thick, hot ropes painted his cheek, his jaw, the curve of his mouth—white streaks catching in the dip of his cupid’s bow and dripping from his chin. Some clung to his lashes like dew.

Xie Lian flinched only slightly, caught off guard—but didn’t pull away. He blinked up at Hua Cheng, dazed and trembling, lips still parted in unconscious invitation. His breath came in wet little pants, saliva still glistening between his lips and Hua Cheng’s cock, strings of it catching the light before slowly breaking. His breath came in soft, shuddering pants, mouth still parted, a glistening strand of saliva still connecting his lips to the tip of Hua Cheng’s cock. He blinked slowly, dazed, trembling, bathed in release and utterly undone. His cheeks were wet. His eyes shining.

He looked like a vision indeed. A god brought low. So beautiful it made Hua Cheng feel like he was losing his mind.

Hua Cheng leaned forward with a groan, one hand brushing at Xie Lian’s cheek in apology—but Xie Lian only stared up at him, blinking slowly.

Then he sulked .

“...You didn’t finish in my mouth,” he whispered, voice hoarse and thick with wetness.

Hua Cheng froze. “What—?”

Xie Lian swallowed, visibly, cheeks blazing red beneath the mess coating his skin. His lashes were wet, his lips slick with spit and Hua Cheng’s release. But even like this—flushed, disheveled, trembling—he looked up at him with quiet, determined shame. “The books I found said it’s…” he hesitated, voice barely audible now. “...it suggested to swallow. I didn’t —I don’t think I did this right.”

The air punched from Hua Cheng’s lungs like he’d been struck.

Xie Lian looked humiliated to admit it—his fingers curled slightly against his own knees, mouth trembling as though he couldn’t believe the words had left him. And yet, through all of that, he still pouted, the faintest, aching flicker of disappointment ghosting across his expression, like Hua Cheng had truly robbed him of something important.

And that— that —was what shattered Hua Cheng’s composure.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

He just felt —felt his cock twitch, already stirring back to life despite having come only moments before. It throbbed heavy, hot, aching again just from the sight of Xie Lian kneeling there like that, voice wrecked and body flushed, softly confessing that he’d wanted to take more.

He was already getting hard again.

“Your Highness—” he reached out before he could think better of it—hand threading rough and reverent into Xie Lian’s damp hair.

Xie Lian didn’t move. His hands remained limp at his sides, knees tucked beneath him, still catching his breath on the floor. Hua Cheng could see the marks of effort on him—His throat was red, stretched and sore. And he still wanted more.

“Forgive me,” Hua Cheng whispered, voice wrecked, trembling with restraint he no longer had. “You can scold me for this later. But right now—”

His hand clenched, and he yanked Xie Lian forward.

Xie Lian squeaked as he was brutally dragged down, his lips parting instinctively, already wet and ready. Hua Cheng thrust into that waiting heat in one swift, brutal glide—past the spit-slick seal of his mouth, past the swollen ache of his throat—and didn’t stop. 

He didn’t give him time to adjust, didn’t offer mercy or pause. He just fucked his mouth, hips snapping forward in tight, feral rolls as if something inside him had broken loose. Xie Lian whimpered around him, cheeks flushed a feverish pink, lashes wet. His hands clenched tight on Hua Cheng’s thighs, delicate fingers digging in as he struggled to keep pace with the brutal rhythm Hua Cheng had unconsciously fallen into—hips twitching forward, tugging him back down again and again, each motion guided by the trembling grip Hua Cheng had knotted in his hair.

Every time Xie Lian tried to pull back for air, Hua Cheng groaned—a soft, needy, breathless sound—and pushed him back down, cock dragging heavy across the back of his tongue. “ My god , you are so pretty,” Hua Cheng rasped, looking down at him. “Look at you… tears running down your face and you’re still taking it so well—”

Xie Lian’s eyes lifted, glassy and shimmering, as though seeking approval even through the haze. His lips were stretched wide, spit glistening down his chin, the faintest bubble of drool escaping past the seal of his mouth. His knees had begun to tremble, the strain of staying upright growing with each thrust.

The room filled with the sound of it—obscene, wet, echoing off the lacquered wood and shelves of ancient texts. Each thrust was met with a soft, choked noise, a hiccuped breath through Xie Lian’s nose. His lashes fluttered as his throat stretched to accommodate the relentless rhythm, spit spilling freely down his chin and all the way to his chest. His hands stayed locked on Hua Cheng’s hips—clinging to them like a lifeline, letting Hua Cheng use his mouth the way he’d wanted to offer it from the start.

“You’re so— so good ,” Hua Cheng panted, head tipping back with a groan. 

Xie Lian whimpered again, a faint hum of sound that vibrated up Hua Cheng’s spine like lightning. His jaw trembled with the effort as he tried to press further—his throat fluttering as he swallowed around the weight of it. He choked, struggling to breathe, his body shaking from the intensity. He wanted so desperately. Needed to feel his husband come undone for him.

“Perfect… my wife is the… utmost perfect—” Hua Cheng growled, hips stuttering. “I’m gonna come again— Fuck—! Are you sure you want it inside , Your Highness—?”

Xie Lian nodded excitedly— eagerly —eyes wide and shimmering. The movement made him gag around Hua Cheng’s cock, and he gave a wet, broken moan in answer. Please, it practically said. Don’t stop. I want this. I want you.

With a deep, guttural moan, the ghost king slammed in to the hilt, cock buried in the velvet heat of Xie Lian’s throat as he came hard—hot, thick pulses flooding his mouth. His god hummed as he swallowed again and again, throat working greedily to take every drop of Hua Cheng’s cum, a flush blooming across his cheeks like fever. He didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch—just knelt there and took it. Every pulse made him whimper—low, breathless, instinctive. “ Fucking—ngh—Your Highness… fuck—”

Having gulped down every drop of his husband, Xie Lian finally pulled back with a wet gasp, mouth parting open as he coughed and panted, chest rising and falling with effort. His lips were red and glistening, chin slick, and his whole face was painted in a mess of Hua Cheng’s release. 

Hua Cheng stared for a moment, stunned, heart thundering in his ears. Then, slowly, he reached out—his thumb swiping under Xie Lian’s lower lip, gathering a sticky trace of come that had dribbled there. Xie Lian blinked up at him, dazed and flushed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

“…Did I do well?” the god asked, voice hoarse, unsure. The words were so quiet, so earnest, it was like a dagger straight through Hua Cheng’s ribs.

Hua Cheng choked on a breath. “Well?” he echoed, nearly incredulous. His eye widened. “Your Highness, I almost died a fourth time.”

And then he was moving—surging forward to cup Xie Lian’s face in both hands, kissing him in wild, breathless bursts. He pressed reverent kisses to wet cheeks, to tear-streaked temples, to the corner of his mouth and his sweat-damp forehead, worshipful and overwhelmed, like he didn’t know where to begin. Like he couldn’t believe Xie Lian was real.

Xie Lian’s lashes fluttered, and he let out the faintest breath, eyelids heavy and half-lowered. His limbs were boneless with exhaustion, body pliant in Hua Cheng’s hands. He looked utterly ruined—lips slick and kiss-bruised, mouth parted in a dazed little pant as he struggled to come down. His arms, moving on instinct, curled loosely around Hua Cheng’s neck, clinging faintly even though his fingers trembled.

Hua Cheng’s hands shifted as if to lift him—automatically, without thought—one arm sliding behind his knees, the other bracing around his back. The kind of movement he’d done a hundred times before. The promise of comfort. Of being carried somewhere warm and soft.

Xie Lian thought he would. To their bed, maybe, or to the bath—the warmth of clean linen, San Lang’s hand behind his back like always. But instead—

There was a sudden jolt as Hua Cheng swept him up and sat him down forcefully atop the study’s desk, scrolls and ink-brushes clattering to the floor in a neglected storm. Xie Lian gave a startled gasp, his thighs jolting apart slightly from the motion, the wood cold under him even through his robes. “San Lang…?” he breathed, wide-eyed. “What are you—?”

“A reward ,” Hua Cheng murmured, grinning like the demon he is, voice deep and hot with hunger. He leaned in close, lips brushing the delicate shell of Xie Lian’s ear. The Ghost King’s hands settled on either side of his hips, firm and possessive, fingers bunching in the silk of his robe.

Xie Lian shivered. “But you… aren’t you tired…?” he whispered, though the tremble in his voice betrayed him—more anticipation than concern. His thighs shifted slightly where they rested on the edge of the desk, robe slipping higher without him noticing it.

“Mn. I was indeed,” Hua Cheng breathed, mouth grazing the side of his throat, his voice dark and almost playful. One hand slipped beneath the fold of Xie Lian’s robe and spread his thighs apart, slow and reverent—as if a gift being unwrapped. “But you knew exactly how to wake me up, didn’t you?”

As his gaze dropped between Xie Lian’s legs, a curse tore from his throat. 

Xie Lian flushed furiously. “W-What?” he stammered, squirming instinctively, knees shifting as if to close. But Hua Cheng caught him—gently, yet with an unshakable grip—and held him open. 

“You’re soaked already, Your Highness” Hua Cheng rasped, voice dark with awe. His fingers slid down, dragging over the soft skin of Xie Lian’s inner thigh, and then dipped inward—two fingers slipping easily into that flushed, dripping heat.

Xie Lian gasped. His whole body jolted like it had been struck by lightning, fingers clutching tight at Hua Cheng’s shoulders, breath stuttering in a trembling cry.

“Ohh,” Hua Cheng breathed, watching the way Xie Lian shuddered, cunt twitching. His fingers slid deeper, the tight heat clenching around them, obscene and unbearably soft. The slick obscene sound of it going straight to his cock—already beginning to get erect again despite having just spent himself. “ This wet… just from sucking me off—?”

“I… I didn’t mean to be,” Xie Lian stammered, voice faint and breathless, his knees trembling as Hua Cheng began to move his hand in slow, deliberate strokes. “I– Oh yes – I couldn’t help.. Ah … it—!”

His fingers slid out with a lewd, slick sound and his hand spread across Xie Lian’s thigh. “Seems like I don’t need to prep you at all,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles teasingly across those slick folds. “We did go a couple rounds the other night, after all.”

“San Lang… w-wait—” Xie Lian whimpered, voice cracking with the effort to hold himself together, a trembling, desperate sound that landed somewhere between plea and warning.

But Hua Cheng had already positioned himself—guiding his cock with one slick hand, dragging the flushed head through the mess he’d made of Xie Lian’s cunt. And then— He pressed in. Slowly, deliberately, with one deep, devastating stroke.

Xie Lian gasped, spine arching off the desk as Hua Cheng sunk into him—inch by inch, thick and unrelenting. It was too much. It was always too much, even after all the countless nights they spent together. 

His hands flew back, clutching blindly at the desk behind him for purchase as his body gave a sharp, involuntary shudder. The stretch was overwhelming—deep and burning and perfect —walls clenching desperately around Hua Cheng as he slid deeper, pushing past the tight heat like he belonged there. Like he’d earned this.

“F-fuck— Your Highness ,” Hua Cheng rasped, voice hoarse, ruined. “Why— how —are you always so tight—?” his fingers dug into Xie Lian’s hips, grip bruising, desperate, as his restraint splintered apart. He rolled his hips forward with a growl, sheathing himself fully in one brutal thrust that drove the air from Xie Lian’s lungs.

Xie Lian sobbed. There was no other word for the sound—fragile and wrecked, his whole body trembling with overstimulation. His legs were trembling, spread wide over Hua Cheng’s arms, thighs twitching with every sharp movement. His walls flutter helplessly around the impossible thickness, dripping down over Hua Cheng’s cock with every desperate, trembling squeeze. “Ah—ah—S-San Lang—I can’t! ” he gasped, voice shattering with every thrust.

Hua Cheng grunted above him, breath ragged, eye wild and reverent all at once. His gaze swept over every trembling inch of Xie Lian—his swollen lips, his tear-wet lashes, the quivering squeeze of his thighs. “ Don’t be scared, Your Highness ,” he breathed, voice low and shaking, barely more than a plea. “I’ve got you.”

“San—ngh—San Lang—” Xie Lian moaned, the name dissolving into breathless ruin as Hua Cheng shifted his angle, hips rolling just right—striking that devastating spot deep inside him with perfect, ruthless precision it stole the breath straight from Xie Lian’s lungs. His body arched, trembling.

“ Oh yes , Gege—!”

Hua Cheng buckled–his hips stuttering. The word landed like lightning, cracking through him with dizzying force. 

“ Fuck —Your Highness—!” he rasped, and then he was moving again— faster, rougher. He drove into Xie Lian with brutal, fevered force, every thrust crashing forward like a wave against rock. The desk shuddered beneath them, legs scraping noisily across the floor as the god was pounded back, again and again. Hua Cheng’s body arched over Xie Lian’s like a shield, jaw clenched, muscles straining to keep from entirely wrecking the god beneath him. Xie Lian, flushed and breathless, squirmed helplessly beneath the onslaught—soft cries bursting from him in broken stutters, his cunt gripping Hua Cheng’s cock so tightly. The robes twisted beneath him were soaked through, folds sticking to the grain of the desk, slick dribbling freely from between his thighs.

“You know what that does to me,” Hua Cheng hissed, voice strangled with hunger, hips pistoning forward again and again. “ Calling me that —ahh — ”

Hua Cheng’s world had narrowed to heat and friction, the desperate clench of Xie Lian around him, the sweet, wrecked sounds spilling from his lips. His grip on Xie Lian’s hips were bruising, fingers digging into soft skin like he couldn’t bear to be parted—not even for a breath—as he drove in again, again, each thrust harder, deeper, hungrier than the last.

Their bodies moved in tandem, slick and breathless, skin slapping against skin with wet, frantic rhythm. Xie Lian was flushed all over, glistening with sweat, thighs trembling around Hua Cheng’s waist. His body bared and vulnerable.

Xie Lian sobbed, voice cracking—desperate. “Gege—San Lang Gege, please—more, don’t stop—!”

Hua Cheng’s rhythm became even more wild, harsh and ragged—nothing but his instincts taking full control. His hips snapped with desperate precision, each motion rougher than the last, punching moans from Xie Lian’s throat before he could swallow them down. The desk beneath them groaned in protest. Xie Lian’s body was shaking, barely able to take it, his hands scrabbling against the wood for purchase. The sound of their bodies slapping together was lewd and endless, punctuated by Hua Cheng’s growled curses and Xie Lian’s wrecked, gasping pleas. The god’s head was thrown back as pleasure carved its way through him in unrelenting waves.

“Keep—keep calling me that, I’m begging—” Hua Cheng choked out, his voice breaking on a low, guttural noise that sounded like it had been torn straight from his lungs. It wasn’t soft—it was feral, thick with heat and disbelief, the nickname undoing something deep inside him as always. “Say it, beloved —say it again—say it while I fuck you full—”

“Haa— Gege–!” Xie Lian moaned, hands scrabbling at Hua Cheng’s shoulders, nails clawing into fabric, and his eyes rolled back as the head of Hua Cheng’s cock kissed that one spot within him again, again—too deep, too good, perfect. “Ge…! that feels.. so good—!”

Xie Lian could barely think. It was too deep, too full, every thrust pushing him further out of his body. The pleasure was unbearable—suffocating—borderline painful in how good it felt. And all he could do was take it. All he could do was feel—the warmth of Hua Cheng's body above him, the rough glide of every thrust, the rasp of his breath against his skin, his voice in his ear. Xie Lian looked up at his husband—eyes wide and dazed. There was no shame in his expression now, no fear, only raw vulnerability and aching love, as if Hua Cheng were the only thing in the world he could see. And oh , that look—pleading, reverent, wrecked—Hua Cheng could just cum from that alone.

“I love you,” Hua Cheng choked out as he bent forward, mouth grazing the curve of Xie Lian’s jaw. His arms tightened around Xie Lian’s waist, possessive and trembling.

Xie Lian whimpered, breath hitching sharply. Every thrust rattled through him, pushed him closer to the edge—he couldn’t keep himself upright anymore, couldn’t stop the tears from slipping past his lashes. His whole body felt like it was unraveling, hips jolting with each snap of Hua Cheng’s, chasing more, chasing everything.

“Gege—Gege, I—I’m coming!!” he sobbed, voice high and cracked with desperation. “Enough—please—enough—mercy, please—!”

Hua Cheng groaned, voice ruined with adoration and want. “Come for me, Your Highness. I got you. I’m right here.”

Xie Lian screamed —His body arched like a drawn bow as that final he’s finally tipped over the edge. The sound that tore from his throat was raw and cracked, wrenched from somewhere deep and sacred, like something holy had been broken wide open. His cunt clamped down around Hua Cheng’s cock in spasms so tight, so wet, it was utterly obscene—his release gushing in hot, helpless pulses, slick pouring over Hua Cheng’s hips, dripping down the insides of his thighs, soaking the desk, the floor, everything. It was everywhere—heat, scent, slick—the world narrowed to sensation, to Hua Cheng, to the blinding pleasure that ripped him apart from the inside.

Yet still, Hua Cheng didn’t stop. He relentlessly fucked Xie Lian through the aftershocks—his hips slamming into the god with mindless urgency. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even measured. It was hungry, frenzied, the deep, slick grind of a man lost to sensation. His breath stuttered against Xie Lian’s skin, moaning hoarsely into the curve of his neck as his thrusts turned punishing, each one chasing that final, maddening edge.

“Keep clenching around me,” he growled, voice wrecked and trembling. “Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop—”

Xie Lian could feel it—could feel Hua Cheng swelling inside him, thick and straining, that distinct pressure building with every frantic snap of his hips. He was going to come. That thought alone made Xie Lian’s pulse spike—overwhelmed with heat, with aching want, with the unbearable need to be filled.

“Gege—!” he cried, voice thin and cracking as tears streaked down his flushed cheeks. His nails dug into Hua Cheng’s back, frantic, pleading. “Gege—inside, want it inside—please—give me lots of it—!”

“Shit—fuck—fuck, I’ll give it to you—anything… I’ll give everything to you—” Hua Cheng panted, voice torn between a growl and a plea, every syllable shaking with need. His grip on Xie Lian’s hips tightened, bruising, as his body snapped forward again and again, each thrust brutal with intent. He never faltered. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not when he was this close, not when Xie Lian was beneath him, flushed and begging, split wide and dripping around him. His muscles locked. His rhythm turned erratic, vicious. One more thrust—then another—then—

The sound he made when he came was nothing short of animal.

A brutal, broken growl tore from Hua Cheng’s throat as his entire body locked up, slamming deep — deep —into Xie Lian one final time, grinding down against his trembling hips as he spilled inside him in hot, overwhelming pulses. He came with everything—like he was pouring his soul into him—jerking helplessly with each twitch of his cock, thick spurts flooding Xie Lian’s already slick heat. So much of it leaked back out around the base, dripping obscenely down his thighs and soaking the desk and floor beneath them.

Hua Cheng trembled above him, gathering Xie Lian in his arms, moaning raggedly into his hair, voice cracking on a sharp, shuddering sob. “Take it—take all of it— take —” he babbled, still rutting tiredly into his god, slower now, shallow and lazy, as if he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

Xie Lian whimpered through it, eyes shut tight, his body jerking with each pump—but he didn’t push him away. No. His legs only locked tighter around Hua Cheng’s waist, arms trembling where they clung to his shoulders like a lifeline. His head tipped back in surrender as his husband filled him, warm and deep and endless. His belly felt stretched full, thick and heavy with the weight of it—and when Hua Cheng finally stilled, both of them were panting, drenched in sweat, barely coherent.

“You were so good, beloved,” Hua Cheng whispered hoarsely, broken and raw. “You always are— always …” 

His voice gave out, too full, too overwhelmed, and for a long, silent moment, neither of them moved. They just breathed—shaking, clinging, Hua Cheng still buried deep inside him, never wanting to leave if he had the choice.

His knees trembled where he stood, legs barely holding under the weight of everything—emotion, ecstasy, the god in his arms—and finally, with a low, shuddering breath, he eased them both back. Hua Cheng collapsed into the chair behind him, pulling Xie Lian off the desk with him—causing the god to gasp softly at the shift, but melted into his husband’s lap without protest, legs draped over Hua Cheng’s thighs, arms limp around his neck. Hua Cheng was still inside him—still thick, still hot, still twitching faintly—and the stretch of it made Xie Lian shiver all over again.

The only sounds left in the study were the pair’s ragged breathing slowly beginning to steady, with Hua Cheng holding Xie Lian close, one hand stroking along his spine in slow, soothing circles, the other tangled gently in his hair. Neither spoke. There was no need. The silence between them was full—of warmth, of tenderness, of everything they didn’t have to say.

****

The sun had barely begun to set, casting a honeyed glow across the quiet courtyard of Paradise Manor, bathing the tiled rooftops and swaying trees in soft amber light. The garden rustled gently with a passing breeze—flowers shifting in full bloom, their petals catching sunlight as if reluctant to let the day go.

Xie Lian sat tucked close against Hua Cheng on the stone bench near the koi pond, his sleeves gathered neatly in his lap, fingers smoothing a fold of his robe that wasn’t even wrinkled. His hair had been loosely tied back.

Hua Cheng watched him out of the corner of his eye, just a little too quiet. His hand rested on the small of Xie Lian’s back, warm and steady, his thumb drawing slow, idle circles against the silk of his robe—gentle, affectionate, but laced with something knowing. The curve of his mouth, the almost imperceptible twitch at its corner, betrayed the amusement he wasn’t bothering to hide.

“…Your Highness,” he said at last, voice low, lazy. “Seriously though.”

Xie Lian glanced over, wary. “Yes?”

Now Hua Cheng turned to face him properly, dark eye gleaming. “Where did you get the idea to do that ?”

Xie Lian went still.

A beat of silence passed. Then he slowly looked away, as if something profoundly compelling had appeared in the crack between two paving stones—specifically, an unremarkable patch of moss that he suddenly found worthy of his entire attention. “It’s… it’s not necessary to know,” he mumbled, ears already turning red.

“Yes,” Hua Cheng said, without missing a beat, “it is.”

Xie Lian’s shoulders stiffened. “It really isn’t.”

“It is.” Hua Cheng leaned in a little, that sly smile sharpening with interest, the glint in his eye unmistakable. “It was incredible. You’re not allowed to just drop that on me and refuse to explain. Who gave you the idea?”

Xie Lian let out a long, suffering groan and raised a sleeve to his face, shielding himself from view like a criminal caught mid-heist. “A–ah… perhaps I shouldn’t lie to my husband, after all…”

Hua Cheng brightened instantly, shifting closer, his voice dropping to a coaxing purr. “That’s right. Be honest with your loyal, devoted, very grateful husband.”

Xie Lian peeked out from behind his sleeve, the flush in his cheeks blooming brighter the longer he lingered under Hua Cheng’s gaze. Then, as if the act of eye contact had physically burned him, he turned sharply away, lips pursed in what he thought was composure—but really wasn’t. “…You remember those courtesans that were… ‘bothering’ me a few days ago?”

Hua Cheng’s expression shifted the instant the words left his mouth. That glint returned to his eye, sharp and amused. “Oh,” he said slowly, savoring the memory. “Yes. The ones who made Gege go all red and flustered, right there in the middle of Ghost City.”

Xie Lian cleared his throat delicately, gathering what little dignity he could salvage. “Yes, well… long story short, the conversation… escalated. They taught me how worship… in bed—goes both ways—that I should learn to give to San Lang the way he gives to me—” He paused, cheeks blazing. “…And then they gave me a tip. About how to do that.”

Hua Cheng tilted his head, silent.

Xie Lian lowered his voice to a near-whisper, so soft it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “They said one of the best ways to… pleasure a man was to… well. Use the mouth.”

For a heartbeat, Hua Cheng didn’t respond. Then his expression darkened—not with shame or embarrassment, but with a sharp, offended scowl. “Fools,” he bit out. “The disrespect—to speak of such things with you out in the open, like gossip in the streets—Gege, let me go back and teach them a proper lesson. They had no right—”

“No, San Lang,” Xie Lian said quickly, his hand brushing against Hua Cheng’s wrist in a soothing touch. “Really, it’s fine. Besides…” He glanced up, eyes sly despite his blush. “You… enjoyed it, didn’t you? I’m sure—just a tiny part of you—is secretly grateful they introduced me to such… an act.”

Hua Cheng gasped, clutching at his chest with theatrical flair, lips parting in mock offense. “Gege… you wound me!”

Xie Lian rolled his eyes, the tips of his ears still flushed. “Oh, stop it, San Lang.”

But Hua Cheng’s grin only sharpened, something wicked and indulgent glittering in his eye. He leaned in just enough to make it feel like a challenge. “You enjoyed it just as much,” he murmured, voice low and far too pleased. “Don’t think you can pin all the blame on me. If only you could’ve seen yourself—”

“What—? You! I did not—!” Xie Lian sputtered, voice pitching higher with indignation, but the protest crumbled almost instantly into a groan as he turned away, hiding his burning face away from the ghost king’s sight. “Ugh! Honestly, San Lang!”

Hua Cheng only laughed—low, rich, maddeningly fond. His hand reached out to slip around Xie Lian’s jaw, fingers gentle but insistent as he coaxed him to face him again. “I’m just teasing, Gege” he smiled, and pressed a kiss to his flushed cheek—soft and entirely too pleased.

After a quiet moment, Hua Cheng’s arm tightened around Xie Lian—just a little. The teasing glint in his eye faded, his smile gentling into something more earnest. When he spoke again, his voice was low, steady—not playful now, but quiet and real, like a truth he’d been carrying in his chest for a long time. “…But I do want to say this, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian looked up, startled by the shift in tone. Hua Cheng had leaned back just enough to see him properly, his thumb brushing gently along the curve of his cheek, slow and reverent. “You don’t have to do anything just to please me,” he said. “Not like that. Not if you’re uncertain. Not even if you think it’ll make things equal.”

Xie Lian blinked, lips parted, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“I mean it,” Hua Cheng continued, his gaze never wavering. “If I have to spend eternity without you ever touching me like that again, I won’t complain. Not once. I’ve always been content—just holding you, kissing you, being beside you. That alone is more than I ever thought I’d be allowed to have. More than enough.”

He exhaled slowly, his voice softening even more. “I love being the one to worship you. It’s never felt like a burden. I always want to give. Always, no matter what.”

Xie Lian’s breath caught, his eyes going wide and a little glossy, lips trembling at the edges of a smile that hadn’t quite formed yet. There was something in his expression—awed, open, and aching. He looked at Hua Cheng like he was something sacred. “I know—San Lang, I know that.”

He glanced down, lashes lowering, his fingers curling into the hem of his sleeve. His voice was quieter now, but no less sincere. “But I did want to try. I wanted to give something back. Not because I thought I had to. Just because… I wanted to. I wanted you to feel that way too. If I hadn’t—if I didn’t—then I wouldn’t have done it at all.”

And then, slowly, he smiled. It bloomed across his face like something delicate and blooming in spring, soft and unbearably sweet. “I really did enjoy it, San Lang.”

For a moment, Hua Cheng didn’t say anything. He just looked at him—his beloved, his wife, his god, his everything—like he’d been struck dumb all over again. Then he laughed—quiet and breathless, uneven at the edges. A laugh steeped in disbelief and aching fondness.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice warm with something that trembled beneath it. Still smiling, he reached for Xie Lian’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender, almost reverent kiss to the knuckles. “Alright, Your Highness.”