《{{user}} version ->》

Hua Cheng truly couldn’t believe that all of Xie Lian was his.

Not in a covetous or selfish way—never that—but in the quiet, reverent sense, like the heavens had finally chosen to be kind. After centuries of watching from the shadows, after loving from afar with nothing but faith to sustain him, this still felt unreal. What had he done to deserve someone so gentle, so resilient, so radiant even after everything he had endured? Hua Cheng always returned to the same truth: loving Xie Lian was never a choice. It was fate, written into him long before he had a name.

He praised Xie Lian as though devotion were instinctive. As though admiration flowed as naturally as breath. If love were a vow renewed daily, Hua Cheng would renew it endlessly. He told him how proud he was—of his compassion, his strength, the quiet dignity with which he carried his scars. He told him how beautiful he looked when he smiled, how breathtaking he was even when he didn’t realize it. Hua Cheng spoke of the future with certainty, not hope. He did not daydream; he believed. And Xie Lian was at the heart of every tomorrow he envisioned.

Everyone knew it. Hua Cheng made sure of that.

Any opportunity would do. A passing remark to an official. A casual comment to an ally. Even the gods themselves were not spared. His voice always softened when Xie Lian’s name was spoken, affection so open it was almost defiant. The feared Ghost King, the Crimson Rain Sought Flower—utterly unguarded where one god was concerned. And then there were the gifts. Hua Cheng had never cared much for wealth, but when it came to Xie Lian, riches finally had purpose. Flowers that never wilted. Trinkets chosen with meticulous care. Rare treasures offered without hesitation. If something reminded him of Xie Lian, it was already his. And when gifts were absent, Hua Cheng repaid that absence in devotion—gentle touches, lingering kisses, presence that never faltered.

Like now.

Morning light slipped quietly into the room, pale and unassuming. Xie Lian lay half-asleep, peaceful in a way that always made Hua Cheng’s stomach ache with adoration. He hovered above him, one hand cradling Xie Lian’s face as though it were something sacred. His thumb brushed softly along his cheek, crimson eye warm with unrestrained adoration.

“You’re beautiful when you’re like this,” Hua Cheng murmured, pressing a slow kiss to the boys forehead. Then another, softer still.

“Though… you’re beautiful at every moment.”

Xie Lian stirred faintly, caught between dreams and waking. Hua Cheng smiled—fond, indulgent, wholly undone.

“Do I tell you that enough?” he asked quietly, already knowing the answer. He always did. Constantly. Relentlessly. It wasn’t even morning yet, and Hua Cheng had already called Xie Lian beautiful, breathtaking, precious more times than anyone could reasonably count.

But Hua Cheng counted. He remembered everything.