Puqi Shrine is plunged into near complete darkness the moment Xie Lian blows out the single candle illuminating it.
For Hua Cheng and his sharp eyes, it is no different from a brightly lit room. He watches, himself unseen, how His Highness shifts to get comfortable on the thin bamboo mat. Observes how the god curls into himself, making himself as small as possible. Sees as well as hears the white-clad chest rises and falls with each breath, slower and slower.
The second Xie Lian's breathing evens out, signaling he is deep asleep, Hua Cheng stops breathing entirely. No need to pretend anymore. Soundless the way a human never could he lifts his head, scoots closer towards the prone god, and simply stares.
Hua Cheng still can barely believe it. He is really here.
Centuries of searching, of waiting, and now His Highness is right in front of him, only inches away, sleeping peacefully, so trustingly even with a near stranger right next to him.
His fingers itch with the need to reach out and touch, to ensure all this is real. Hua Cheng curls both hands into fists to stop himself. He has no right to take what is not freely given. It already means so much to be able to look and see.
So look he does, gaze hungry in the way of a despairing soul suddenly faced with a miracle. He will never have his fill; he knows that much. Because this is the real thing and not a fever dream or a desperate hope, and how could he ever have enough of that? His god has really returned, fought his way back up into the ranks of Heaven, and fate wanted it that that their paths cross once more at last.
But he is greedy. Hua Cheng is well aware of this flaw. The longer he stays and listens to the steady breath and slow heartbeat next to him, the more he wants to touch, to hold. To grip tight and beg for him to stay, stay, never leave again. Temptation is strong, his hands traitorous when they inch slowly closer once more until they hover over Xie Lian's back.
It takes an inhuman amount of willpower to do the opposite of what he longs for. Instead of reaching out further, he pulls back and gets up without a sound, steps away from the mat and the prone god on it for good measure. Every step back pains him, but then pain is something which long has lost its hold on him. He ignores it masterfully and forces himself to rip his gaze away and to instead survey the meager shrine they are in.
A soundless scoff twists Hua Cheng's face at the sight. The building is already past run down, it is positively rotting, holes in walls and roof, pillars sagging under decay and the weight they carry. It is no shrine worthy of His Highness much less worthy to serve as his home. Hua Cheng aches to tear it all down and build a palace on top of its ashes - grand and luxurious, as the divine as the god it stands for. He could have it done in no time. He wants to have it done.
But doing it would mean to give up his disguise already and with it the time he gets to spend with His Highness. That, he cannot bear. He had only just found him again – how can he possibly let him go already? Only a little more time, that is all he asks for. Only a blink in their endless lives. For that, he would give up all the grand shrines in the world, selfish as it might be.
And… his gaze finds the curled-up form of Xie Lian, with his meager bedding and tattered clothes, and a wave of affection chokes his rising indignation over the state of this run-down place. And even then, he is not sure if His Highness would let him shower him with all the extravagance he deserves. He is much too humble for his own good, his god.
Temper soothed, he makes another round around their small quarters, following his early gaze with quiet steps and outstretched hands. He takes not of what needs to be done to make this place worthy as he goes. Some things are easy to provide or repair, even for the simple mortal he currently pretends to be. Others he will have to get a little more creative with. There is the matter of bringing believers and devotees to the shrine to consider, and it has to be done in a way which will not unnecessarily raise the suspicion of His Highness. And then there is also…
Steps coming to a halt, Hua Cheng focuses on the most important and yet simplest thing.
The empty space above the altar, where an image of the god of this shrine should reside.
He promised His Highness a painting only a short while ago. A statue is what he would have preferred, something he could have provided easily. But it would be the kind of thing that would draw too much attention, would it not? So he will settle for this. He has the suspicion it might please Dianxia immensely all the same if he does his work well enough, and the thought alone sends a glowing warmth spreading through Hua Cheng's cold chest.
The ink and paper Xie Lian mentioned are procured easily enough. He had already spotted them when he had carried the bag full of junk inside earlier, balanced carefully on top worthless trash. Hua Cheng retrieves them without as much as a rustle and settles in the open doorway of the shrine, back against the doorframe so he there is the silent night to his left, and his sleeping god to his right.
To draw will be easy enough, Hua Cheng muses while he stares down at his blank canvas. He had had an abundance of practice, even if some of his early works, he would rather forget altogether. It is not his own skill he doubts; it is the question of finding the right way to depict his god. There is just so much to him, too many pieces to capture into a single painting.
Dianxia is kind. Dianxia is strong. He is noble, he is humble. He is wise and yet never lost his believe in the good of the world. He is prince and he is god, he is protector and he is warrior. He is…
Beautiful, is all Hua Cheng can think of when his searching gaze moves past the paper and finds the sleeping face of Xie Lian, relaxed and soft in sleep. Above all, in everything, inside and out, his god is the most beautiful of all.
The brush flits over the paper easily, gracefully. He does not even have to spend a single thought n it, hand moving without his say-so. Sure strokes capture the curve of a jaw, the straight line of a nose, the bow of slightly open lips. A whisper-light touch of the tip to paint long eyelashes resting on high cheekbones, a sweeping motion sketches the stray hair dancing in the gentle breaths of the sleeping figure.
Time becomes meaningless. Mere seconds, or entire centuries later, Hua Cheng raises the brush off the paper and lays it aside neatly before he dares to lift his gaze to his newest work.
He knows immediately that this painting will not be displayed in this shrine, or in any other place, ever. It would be a sacrilege for anyone to lay eyes on this - to see Xie Lian so unguarded and guileless, ethereal in his peaceful sleep. Even Hua Cheng's dead heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the sight and he reaches for the not yet dry lines as if in trance, only barely stopping his fingertips before they can smudge the fresh ink. It is beautiful. Xie Lian is beautiful.
He cannot allow anyone to see this.
Hua Cheng sets the painting aside with the care reserved for most precious treasures and turns back to a new, blank paper. This would not do. As much as he wanted to capture the likeness of Dianxia, this particular piece was much too personal. Something else is needed. Something
To capture the true divinity that is the Flower Crowned Martial God, depict him with all the grace and strength he always had and always will have, and that in such a way that it us plain to see with a single glance from even the most unbelieving of mortals and gods alike.
The brush spins around his fingers as he thinks, round and round while he recalls all the many facets of his god which he was lucky enough to witness.
Then, the twirling stops abruptly. A slow smile curls over Hua Cheng's lips, stretches into a delighted grin. Of course. He had been overthinking this. When has he known that this was his one and only god?
From the very first moment on.
A twirl of his fingers in the air and the ink in the inkstone glimmers and changes color obediently, turns golden and red at his behest as he begins painting once more. Each stroke is led by memories from centuries past, each line meant to capture the otherworldly beauty of a god descending to rescue the lowliest of the low.
By the time Hua Cheng is finished and sits back to examine the painting, he has outdone himself. The sight alone is like a punch to the chest, steals the air from empty lunges. In that moment he is no longer a calamity and a ghost; he is once more a mere child, being caught in strong arms while all around him cheers turn to cries turn to gasps. Once more his world narrows down to only the sight of a gentle smile below a gleaming mask, the glow of kind eyes crinkling warmly as they gaze down at him as if he is something precious, something worth saving.
It is not quite what he saw that day. His Highness had not been holding a sword nor a flower in either hand like has drawn him here, arms full with a bandaged, dirty child instead. But this is not about capturing that day in color, no matter what his dead heart feels. This is about making it clear who this shrine, run down and rotting as it was, is dedicated to.
The kindest of gods. The god the most deserving of eight hundred years of unwavering devotion.
Hua Cheng releases an unnecessary, trembling breath and gets to his feet. There is no hesitation when he crosses the room and hangs the painting above the altar neatly. it is perfect, if not because of his own skill, then at least for the softness and strength it manages to depict in equal measures. Whoever will look upon this will see, without a doubt, what worship Hua Cheng's god deserves.
He stills feels raw and jittery but satisfied with himself all the same when he turns away from the painting. Hopefully Dianxia will be content with the painting as well. The thought brings a smile to Hua Cheng's lips.
It drops once more when his gaze falls on his first painting. kneeling to gather it up, he hesitates. He should rip this to pieces; this is not meant for anyone's eyes, not even his.
Instead he folds it carefully, and tucks it into his clothing so it rests close to his heart. He is greedy, he knows. But he has been greedy in capturing Gege's likeness ten thousand times before now. Surely this one sin will not make matters worse.
Still, he prays. Forgive this lowly one, Dianxia, for his weakness.
A quiet sound pulls Hua Cheng from his thoughts. He goes startle still as Xie Lian moves around with a murmur - in sleep, he realizes with relief. Only in sleep. For a second he had almost thought his silent prayer had woken His Highness.
With a snuffling sound, Xie Lian murmurs something unintelligible, and turns to his other side, arms stretching as if searching for something. Towards the empty side of the mat. Where San Lang should be.
It was a good thing Hua Cheng had left his place on the mat. Had he let Dianxia touch him so casually, even in sleep, he surely would have dropped all pretenses and disguises and taken the chance to hold his god, to never let go again.
In an instant, Hua Cheng decides that no matter how much he wants to, he cannot get any closer to Dianxia this night. The temptation would be too great.
This is fine. He is a greedy man, but he will not take what Dianxia is not willing to give.
With a little smile he curls his fingers together for a beat before opening them again. A silvery butterfly flutters from his palm and glides through the air to settle on the back Xie Lian's hand. It will guard His Highness' dreams and, if Hua Cheng is fortunate enough, it will also remind him that no matter what, there would always be his most devoted believer by his side.
For now, this will be more than enough for Hua Cheng.
„Sleep well, Gege."
The whisper is little louder than the flap of the butterfly's wings. With those parting words, Hua Cheng steps soundlessly out of the shrine and into the night.
No time to be idle. There is a shrine to be cleaned before His Higness wakes once more.
