Crimson and Clover

The Ghost Holds a Wedding - Part 9

It's the morning after when Xie Lian finally gathers his courage and asks, "May I?"

They lie together, he and San Lang; in the big, soft bed that constitutes a world on its own. The light is dim and San Lang looks splendid, bathed in it and sprawled on top of Xie Lian like a huge and very affectionate cat. That's where the similarities end, though. A cat wouldn't have littered Xie Lian's throat and shoulders in love bites, or occasionally rubbed his morning erection against Xie Lian's hip.

It's been, all things considered, a lazy morning.

The moment he asks, San Lang freezes. His grip on Xie Lian's waist tightens just enough for the difference to be noticeable. "It's... not the kind of sight I want to subject gege to."

Whoever made San Lang think he's ugly, Xie Lian wants nothing more but grab and show them why a martial god is not someone to be trifled with. Even a former martial god. He might not have much in common with Heaven anymore, but he's still first and foremost a warrior.

"Does my husband truly think anything concerning him would disgust me?" Mere words are enough to make San Lang tremble, but Xie Lian gives him no reprieve. He will spend the rest of eternity convincing his husband he's worthy of affection even if it's the last thing he does. "San Lang is precious to me. I would love it if he felt comfortable around me, but I can wait as long as he needs me to."

Neither of them moves for so long that Xie Lian begins to believe he's pushed too hard and said too much, that the wedding changed nothing and time must take its course rather than be rushed. And rush he does; oh, how he rushes in like the foolish, impulsive man he is, how often does he speak before thinking. Most of the time, San Lang doesn't care and follows him just as blindly, and if they stumble and fall, it happens hand in hand. But maybe he shouldn't have pushed now, not for this, and regret swells within him until he can't hold it back anymore and—

Before he can say anything, San Lang takes off his eyepatch.

Strands of hair cover the right side of his face, so Xie Lian pushes them away with a shaking hand and a heart in his throat. There are no scars he's been expecting; he sees only a sunken, closed eyelid and discomfort written all over San Lang's face.

Driven by an impulse he has no intention of controlling, he kisses San Lang's right cheekbone. He lets his lips linger and when San Lang doesn't push him away, he does it again – this time to that closed eye.

That tears a broken whimper out of San Lang, but he makes no move to stop Xie Lian.

"I am most grateful that San Lang let me see him." Xie Lian murmurs against his skin. Gently, he pries the eyepatch out of San Lang's clenched fist, smoothes it out and gives it to him. An offering and a show of gratitude, a trust taken and offered all the same. "This husband of mine is without a doubt the most handsome man in the three realms."

"Xie Lian," San Lang chokes out. It's small and broken—the voice of an abused child and an unwanted ghost.

It's a mirror, and Xie Lian's loneliness is reflected in it.

Unlike earlier, the embrace he pulls San Lang into is desperate. "Thank you," he whispers into his skin. "Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for loving me."

San Lang holds him just as tightly—and for the first time in forever, he throws the eyepatch away.

"What are you going to do now?" Xie Lian asks as he accompanies He Xuan to where a black sea wavelessly and soundlessly laps against the land of Ghost City.

He Xuan came earlier with a broken fan in hand and spent an hour with Shi Qing Xuan behind a closed door. By the time he got out, Xie Lian made tea and convinced San Lang to behave. It meant no jabs, no shouting or unsubtle showing off power, and somehow, miraculously, everyone survived and no one minded.