The familiar feeling of rocks grating against his back as he moves brings a grimace to his lips. The scent of blood - and something warm drizzling down his forehead . . . wait. No, this was normal, something like 800 years of normal. The metallic taste of dirt that had collected on his mouth as he slept reminded him that he should have been more thankful when he was a prince, ignorant of the claws of hunger. When he first was banished he had tried to eat dirt in a craze of starvation, just to throw it back up. He hadn't known hunger as a god either.
No, and he had hardly known pain. A breeze blows past him; he instinctively shuts his legs. Wait . . . why that? What the . . . His eyes shoot open as he feels the coolness between his thighs, and now the stench of old urine greets him. Why had he urinated on himself? But when he tries to sit up and look his body does not respond. "Come on," he whispers hoarsely, or so he thought until he bit down on the rag between his teeth. He went to remove the nasty thing . . . but a chain . . . a chain with spikes. It pierced him all over, even little movements breaking deeper into his skin. The Immortal Binding Chain wrapped around his neck, arms, and legs, and a heavy lock dangled by his throat. And a ring . . . coolly sitting on his chest, beautiful as if it wasn't being mocked by the essence of a god unworthy of anything except the junk he collected.
And that is when he remembered.
He had gone out to collect more scraps like he always did. He hadn't been far from home . . . he had promised San Lang he wouldn't be gone long. Oh . . . and that is right also. 800 years had built a strong memory of normal . . . but actually those rocks scratching into his back weren't normal anymore. Otherwise, he would have ignored them. He had woken up happy for a second. That must have been because he had assumed the pressure on his hips and body was from the man he loved until he grew aware enough to realize he couldn't be farther from that ethereal experience.
His blush was hidden by the rags. This really shouldn't hurt so bad - he had endured worse. Perhaps San Lang's insistence that he acknowledge pain had weakened his tolerance. Or maybe, the scale was tipping. Maybe the emotional pain wasn't worse than the physical anymore - maybe some of it had been washed away, or cried away, or laughed away piece by piece.
SMACK!
Sharp pain flows through his body as he jerks, radiating through him. He grits his teeth.
"Good morning, your highness," a mocking voice remarks. Your Highness . . . it drips with something disgusting from the unrecognizable man standing above him . . .no, on him. One foot on him, digging into his side. He had felt his ribs crack many times before. If your ribs crack as a god you might still be able to fight. But the chains draining his spiritual powers dig further into him. If your ribs crack as a mortal, even taking a breath will feel as if you are being stabbed.
It had been so long since he had been struck. He had been spoiled now, gentle hands always grazing his body, always searching, tracing his scars with an aching tenderness.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," someone says. "You know, he was a martial god once. Who knows. Even with those chains he might jump up and bite you."
The tone was teasing, and sick. But the god didn't have much time to consider this before a boot met with his jaw, jerking his neck to the other side and leaving another trail of blood.
"I'd love to see him try."
That's right. He thought he had seen San Lang. He thought that and then he ran and hugged him, but he had become too naive. When a knife was in his stomach, and the betrayal, and suddenly there were chains and he couldn't stop crying, the name of his beloved poured from his lips as his whole body shook. But it hadn't been him. The hands he thought were his loved ones then turned to be another's, and they had no mercy. And he had no strength. The shock of thinking Hua Chang was going to kill him . . . no . . . that he was going to lose him had been too much. He couldn't fight, couldn't breathe. Because he had been thinking that he was unworthy of such a man so why shouldn't things end this way?
He should've known better.
A jerk of the chain and he feels more rocks beneath him, peeling at his skin underneath his torn robes. A muffled cry escapes his lips as he is jerked upright, now partially hanging from the chains like a piece of meat. How long had he been here?
"Two weeks of starvation seemed to have made you lighter, bitch," he hears, and saliva hits his face. Two weeks? But how . . .
"The medicine we gave you should restart your body and memory as if it were the day you were kidnapped, so let's see what you remember." A knife pierces through his stomach, but hanging from the chains he only writhes in pain. Muffled groans of agony escape his mouth as blood soaks through his robes. Drip, Drip, Drip. Were those his tears . . . no, his blood. More warmth in between his legs and hot urine mixes with the puddle on the floor.
Shit. no he was a god . . . right? A Martial god - how could he be so weak!
A crack and his back is on fire. Crack. Crack. Crack. A voice cries out, his voice, as his back is torn by the whip serrating it. He swings, barely on his knees with each strike. Someone grabs his jaw, pinching hard into his cheeks that bleed against his teeth.
"Now tell me, how do we kill that ghost of yours?" Someone seeths. Another whip on his back, and the nails dig further into his face. "Tell me!" they scream.
He had thought he was weak. And he probably was, for he had seen gods be stabbed and hardly grimace. He was swallowing vomit and defecating on himself from the pain. But he would protect his beloved if it meant dying for him. Except in this case - he was immortal. They could hardly kill him. He remembered Hua Chang saying there was a torture worse than death. His urine, blood, and saliva soaked body seemed to resemble something of that sort.
When vomit projected out of his mouth onto the hand of the one holding his jaw and the screaming, wait, no, the vomit - down onto the ring . . . down onto the ring.
No, NO! His mind flared. Not that.
His neck jerked back as a hand grabbed the necklace and pulled, seeing him panic as
the ring was covered in bloody puke. That is when he realized that for two weeks . . . no thirteen days he had done everything right. He hadn't revealed anything. He had been stoic as a mouse despite the torture. Oh, he could endure it. The humiliation, the pain, the hunger.
Hua Chang had endured 800 years of it. And then the shame - yes, hua chang had endured 800 years of something resembling this for him, and died three times. Xie Lian had just endured 13 days, just to stupidly give away the one thing he had trusted him with the most.
"If it was true love, perhaps the one giving it wouldn't care whether the ashes were destroyed or not."
He had said something like that . . . his lover as they sat in the cart full of hay. But this wasn't how it was supposed to end. It wasn't his choice, his fault . . . tears stream down his cheeks as he writhes against the one pulling the ring, twisting it, laughing. They yank it over and over, and his body jerks with the movements as they try to break the ring, "Hua Chang!" they scream, "I will kill you!"
He hears a sharp snap and starts thrashing, trying to break free from the chains, trying to reach for something. They had the ring. He dives forward and the chains yank him back, slamming him against the wall. More blood, now from his head going down his back. He would die. If it meant ending things here he would die before they finished destroying that ring. He tries to thrust forward again, his vision dissipating as his pupils dilate. Sounds he had never heard, horrible screeching leaves his throat. He tries. He tries so hard to keep thrusting, and he can hear something breaking, - was it his bones, or the ring? If these chains could rip through his body he could make them pierce his heart. He was so close.
But he was so weak. And warm. Why was he so weak . . .
So weak that when the chains dropped him and he fell back he could only grit his teeth as the spikes dug deeper into his flesh, not even able to lift himself to keep them from tearing into his back from the weight. He couldn't tell if the whipping had stopped now that he had fallen. The floor felt slippery with blood. Maybe if he was lucky, he would actually die before they destroyed the ring.
And then he thought - that he actually would die. The spike embedded in his chest couldn't stop his heart. But if he saw that ring had been broken, his heart would surely never beat again.
So he opened his eyes. He would look - he would force himself to. He would -
More blood spewed onto his clothing, and he grimaced waiting for the pain. Perhaps it was that his pain was so bad already, he couldn't tell where he had been stabbed next. He was thinking it must have been his lungs this time.
Surely they had destroyed the ring by now. Seems they were kind enough to destroy him also.
He was thinking he would look, but he was sure death wasn't far from him. He couldn't see anymore anyways. Heart in abyss, body in paradise . . . wait no, now it would be different. Now he could say, body in abyss, heart in paradise. But as he gave in, he figured if hell was where San Lang was, he would abide there with him.
"Gege," a soft voice echoed.
It was nice to imagine that call. That gentle whisper. Maybe dying would let him relive some of these kinder moments.
"Gege, please, come back to me." Something warm dripped on his face and light tapping reminded him of something annoying. Or was it some kind of gentle slap? What kind of torture was this?
"Gege please . . ." He awoke with a start - a start to him because his lungs were burning and sore as if he hadn't breathed in years. But his own blurry eyes and . . .
"NO!" he screeched, crawling backwards. The rocks still dug into his thighs, scraping his bleeding legs. His eyes were glued shut with dried blood, and he frantically crawled backwards until he slammed into a wall. If the blood had scabbed on his back, he felt it pouring again and his hand slipped on the blood as he fell on his side. "NO!" he screamed again. "YOU CAN'T!"
He wouldn't say the ring. He wouldn't say it because he couldn't reveal that was what they had been looking for. What if they hadn't destroyed it? So he helplessly just cried no, repeating himself over and over.
The wounds across his body reopened with the movement. They had just whipped him, how had they closed so quickly? Was this hell?
He continued to grope against the wall until something grabbed him, much stronger than him and he felt his arms crush against his body. He tried to punch and kick . . . it was pitiful. A grown mortal man would have been stronger than him in this state. He felt someone pin his legs under theirs, and a hand behind his head pulled him into their shoulder where he couldn't get away. He screamed in terror, trying to thrust away as hard as he could.
"Xia Lian, it's me! Stop this!" a firm voice cried out.
A needle dropping could have been heard from the silence that ensued. "Gege it's me," he said, now gently. "It's going to be okay. It's just me now. I've got you." He could feel his husband's breath beside his ear as his hand caressed his matted hair.
Usually, they meet with a kiss. Or a hug. Or maybe a joke even if they were in the mood for it. And of course every time they met . . . one thing that was never missing was the huge unadulterated grin on Xia Lian's face.
But the only thing that met his husband now were tears. He was blind . . . yes. Blood could blind him but he could recognize the voice of that man from a million miles away. This was his beloved.
The hands that had just lashed out in fear now gripped the fabric of his Crimson coat as sob after sob poured out of Xie Lian. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him that he thought he had died, that they had gotten the ring and crushed it. That he was hoping maybe he would die before that happened, so he could be spared. But nothing could move past the burning lump in his throat as he quietly wept.
He hardly noticed when an arm left his waist and went underneath his legs to lift him. They weren't walking anywhere, but at least the sticky blood on the floor wasn't seeping into his clothes anymore. Even so, he couldn't help but notice the warmth between his legs again. When had he defecated this time - was it when he screamed? How could he have missed this.
"I . . . I'm sorry, San Lang," he mumbled. His heart dropped in his chest as shame consumed him, and he weakly tried to move out of his grip to stand. He still couldn't open his eyes but he would figure that out later.
"Please put me down," he breathed. "Please." It would spare him some of the embarrassment. He was a god after all - even if not worth following. It is all he can do to fight through the pain in his body. The shock was starting to wear off and not an inch of him wasn't screaming in agony.
"No, Gege. The floor is filthy," he replied. He continued to struggle but it was fruitless. Every move he made sent knives through his body, and he could feel wounds continuing to tear and bleed all over him. The arms holding him gripped him tighter, not allowing him to move any longer. "Now Xie Lian, I hope two weeks hasn't caused you to forget what happened last time we were in a cave and you asked me to put you down. Is this Gege going to make this humble servant have to repeat himself again?"
He didn't know why but he thought maybe he let out a small chuckle in the middle of another river of tears. He still couldn't open his eyes somehow. He remembered the last time the floor had been dirty he had asked him so many times to put him down, and how he carried him around as if he was weightless.
"San Lang," he replied, earnestly. But his voice was weak, and it trailed away as darkness consumed his vision. He heard two dice echo in the cave before going limp, exhaustion winning over.
Cold. He was so cold. He shivers and realizes he still can't open his eyes and can't tell if he is shaking because he is soaked or lost too much blood. There are some voices in the distance, and he remembers something about being carried before he passed out. Realizing he is in some sort of bed, he slowly moves to sit up. He had to get to the bathroom and clean himself up - if San Lang had placed him in bed he must not have noticed his embarrassing predicament.
He figures he is at paradise manor by the smooth silk sheets he tries to pry off of himself. His clothes stick to his body, and he tries to move slowly hoping if he maybe soaked in the bath he could pry the robes off without causing too much more bleeding. He brings a hand to his chest to feel for the ring, and tries not to falter when it's not there. Of course he wouldn't return it after he had almost caused him to die.
He knew where the bathroom was, but his efforts failed him as he fell straight on the floor beside the bed the moment he tried to stand. How ridiculous. He had been through worse . . . hadn't he? He moves his arms and bites his tongue as he tries again to stand.
For a moment he thought his strength returned and he had stood up. But then he felt the arm around his waist and noticed his feet were hardly holding his weight as he leaned heavily onto the one holding him. It could only be one person.
"I . . . um," he stuttered. "I think I need to go to the bathroom. I think I'm cold."
It was humiliating. He was glad he couldn't see the look on Hua Changs face. An arm went back under his legs and he gasped as sharp pain pierced his chest. There was no doubt a number of his ribs were at least fractured.
"Xie Lian," a broken voice said quietly.
"I can walk . . ." he replied weakly. "Please let me walk." He could feel himself being carried towards the bathroom, and he struggled to contain his emotions. "No, just . . . please just let me walk. I . . . I . . ."
"Xie Lian," he heard again. He felt lips pressing against his forehead, and for a moment he forgot about the struggle and relaxed. "Does my crown prince want lavender, honey, or mint," he asked softly.
"San Lang -" a hand gently covers his lips, preventing him from going on and he hears the water begin to run. He hadn't realized he was still shaking so badly until the warm water touched his feet, then his legs.
"Lavender, honey, or mint, Gege." The tone of his voice was so gentle.
"Mint," he breathed. He smelled the mint begin to fill the tub and relaxed into the warmth. He couldn't help it, the tears that started to fall as a warm gentle rag began to caress his eyes, gently peeling away the scabs keeping them shut. Only the sound of the cloth being dipped into the water, then onto his eyes, then dipped into the water again. Maybe he would think it was just the water dripping from the rag - but then again he would have to be a fool to think someone who knew him so well would mistake such a thing.
Slowly, he squinted and blinked as his eyes were released. Usually the bathroom was bright and he prepared for his eyes to adjust. But the only light he saw was the glowing of silver butterflies fluttering around the tub, creating a gentle silver glow. His San Lang had even considered this.
The rag dipped again, and this time it cupped the side of his face taking his tears with it. He slowly looked towards his beloved, the one ever so gently cleaning one wound at a time. The same way he always had - the same way he remembered his gentle hands guiding him - and only him. In that one eye, soft, steady streams of tears fell down his cheek.
"Gege," he whispered. "I missed you." He takes the rag and dips it in the water again, moving down to his neck. All Xie Lian can do is gently nod, a ball of hurt climbing in his throat. It was pitiful, a god and a king crying like this in the bathroom. The butterflies circle around them, and land on his clothes as they slowly peel away from his body, the blood softened by the water. He grimaces as some of the wounds still re-open, having healed into the fabric to be torn once more.
"I . . . I am sorry," he mumbles as they move towards his waist. "I think I got you dirty. I accidentally . . ." he couldn't bring himself to say what it was. But when he mustered up the courage to look at Hua Chang, he was met with a deep kiss, and a hand behind his head as his robes were finally removed. It only took a moment, but it saved him the torment from his mind.
"This Gege has nothing to apologize for," he said, now holding his head onto his shoulder. "See, you are clean now."
He wouldn't have recognized his frail and bruised body if he didn't feel the pain return at the end of the kiss. He was thankful he didn't have to look long before he was wrapped in another robe, the water having been drained. Clean was an overstatement. It would take weeks for some of these wounds to stop bleeding. A god could bleed forever and never die.
But it wouldn't be an overstatement to say that now that the embarrassing issue was taken care of, he might be able to sleep more peacefully.
This time, he allowed himself to be carried to the bed. The sheets had been changed and butterflies still lit their steps, and pulled back the sheets, and fluttered around his hair to dry it. They danced everywhere so beautifully, that Xie Lian had forgotten to feel embarrassed about anything else and solely focused on the show they put on before him as he was lowered into bed. It didn't matter how many times he saw them, every time he would lift a hand to watch one of them land on his finger.
Had he not been enthralled with the creature he would have remembered to look up at his husband before the fluttering of the butterflies wings put him into a deep sleep. Even then, he could feel someone caressing his hair, gently untangling it piece by piece as he drifted off. It felt like a cruel trick, those butterflies stealing his attention like that. But by the time exhaustion finished taking over it was too late, and all he could do was rest in the comfort of his husband's embrace.
"Sleep well, my love."