Chapter Text
Ghost City did not sleep.
It shimmered.
The streets ran red with light from a thousand paper lanterns, the air thick with smoke and laughter and the scent of wine and rot.
At the heart of it stood Paradise manor—half palace, half prison—a place for pleasures too costly to name.
And on the steps of that palace, trembling and thin in travel-worn silks, stood a god once called Crown Prince.
Xie Lian did not weep.
That much, at least, he still owned.
Behind him, his chaperones from Xianle bowed and scraped, murmuring assurances and bargains: that their ruined kingdom would receive Ghost City’s aid in the war, that a small gift such as this was only a symbol of goodwill, that the Crown Prince was gracious and willing.
Willing.
Hua Cheng said nothing.
He lounged on his throne like a panther in repose, one long leg draped over the armrest, silver rings catching the light as he tapped an idle rhythm against the bone-inlaid arm of his seat.
The eyepatch did little to soften his gaze; it only made the stare from his remaining eye all the more searing.
“So” he murmured. “You’re what they’ve offered.”
Xie Lian raised his head. The motion was small but proud, defiant despite his hunched shoulders. “Your Lordship” he said, voice clear as wind over glass. “I am here to serve.”
Hua Cheng smiled.
It was not kind.
“I suppose you’ll do.”
He rose. The hem of his blood-red robe dragged across the floor like a tide coming in, and when he stopped before Xie Lian, close enough to feel the heat of him, he reached out—not gently—and hooked a gloved finger beneath the prince’s chin.
“You’re prettier than they said” he said. “That was stupid of them.”
Xie Lian blinked, lashes trembling, but he didn’t flinch. “I belong to you now.”
“Yes” Hua Cheng agreed. “You do.”
And then, softer, almost to himself, as he leaned in close enough for Xie Lian to smell wine he must’ve been drinking earlier.
“We’ll see how long it takes before you believe it.”
—---
The outfit was folded neatly on the silken bedspread when the servant led Xie Lian to his new quarters.
“Lords orders” she said, not meeting his eyes. “You’ll wear this tonight.”
She didn’t linger.
The room was decadent, lined with gauze curtains that hung like spiderwebs, pale and useless against the draft.
Perfume clung to everything: crushed flowers, powdered skin, sharp metallic sweetness like old coins. The bed alone could have fed his entire province for a year.
Xie Lian approached the garments with leaden steps.
It wasn’t a uniform. Not really.
It was a thing of sheer fabrics and delicate threads, pearl-beaded ties that would snap if pulled too hard, a slit so high along the side of the robe that modesty was only a memory.
He touched the gauzy fabric with careful fingers. It shimmered faintly, translucent as mist in moonlight.
A collar rested beside it. No mistaking what that was for.
He dressed with shaking hands.
—---
When Hua Cheng saw him again, it was from the raised dais at the back of the main hall, where Ghost City’s court of demons drank and gossiped and watched like wolves at a slaughter.
Conversation stilled.
He had known, of course, what he was doing. What it meant to take a royal hostage and dress him like a courtesan.
But something in his chest stuttered all the same when Xie Lian stepped into view, spine straight, gaze carefully lowered. The boy was all pale limbs and long lashes, dark hair swept up with red cord, mouth soft and unsmiling. Beautiful. Breakable.
Deliberate.
Hua Cheng leaned forward lazily, chin in hand, and smiled. “Come here, pretty.”
Xie Lian walked the hall like a condemned man—too quiet to be called brave, too proud to be ashamed.
When he reached the dais, he dropped to his knees. Not gracefully. It hurt. He made no sound.
“Look up” Hua Cheng said.
He did.
And Hua Cheng saw it, finally: that thread of fire beneath all that glass and silk. Not defiance, exactly. Just… refusal.
Refusal to cry. Refusal to beg. Refusal to be what he looked like.
Gods.
He was going to enjoy this.
Hua Cheng reached forward and brushed his knuckles against the boy’s cheek, gentle as a lover. “Tell me” he said. “Is this how your people used to dress you, Your Highness?”
Xie Lian’s lips parted, then pressed together. “No” he whispered.
“Mm.” Hua Cheng dragged a thumb slowly across the soft skin below his eye. “Their loss.”
He leaned closer, voice dark and indulgent.
“But I’m generous. I’ll dress you up myself. If I don’t like what I see…” His fingers trailed down the side of Xie Lian’s neck, ghosting just above the collar. “I’ll dress you down .”
There was a beat. A hush.
Then—
Hua Cheng turned, lazy and amused. “Someone bring wine. My new servant’s shy. I’ll have to work harder to get him talking.”
And to Xie Lian, as a whisper just beneath the din:
“You’ll speak soon, sweetheart. Or you’ll sing .”
—---
Hours slipped by in silks and shadows. Wine poured freely, demons gossiped, gold clinked between teeth.
And through it all, Xie Lian knelt dutifully at Hua Cheng’s side—bare knees pressed into the embroidered carpet, hands folded, back straight despite the ache blooming between his shoulder blades.
He barely breathed.
It wasn’t that anyone touched him. No one dared. But their eyes did—lingering on his thighs where the robe parted, on the bare skin of his neck, on the slow rise and fall of his chest.
He could feel their laughter like oily fingers on his skin. He hated that he didn’t know the jokes.
And through it all, Hua Cheng watched him like a cat at the edge of a bowl of cream. Amused. Possessive. Waiting.
Until, finally, he stretched his arms with a bored sigh and leaned down to murmur into Xie Lian’s ear.
“Too far away” he said. “Come here.”
Xie Lian looked up, startled. “I—?”
Hua Cheng crooked a finger.
“To my lap, sweetheart. I don’t bite. Not unless I’m asked.”
Laughter rippled through the court.
Xie Lian swallowed thickly. His face felt hot.
But the command was clear. He rose stiffly, moved forward. Deliberate, careful, like a dancer trying not to stumble—and sat, gingerly, on the crimson brocade of Hua Cheng’s thigh.
His heart thundered. The heat of the Ghost King soaked through silk and skin alike.
Hua Cheng’s arm curled easily around his waist, pulling him in close. “Better” he purred. “Isn’t that nicer?”
Xie Lian tried to answer, but his voice snagged in his throat. He gave a tiny nod instead.
“See?” Hua Cheng murmured, low against his temple. “You’re learning already.”
He lifted the goblet, pressed it lightly to Xie Lian’s lips. “Drink.”
Xie Lian obeyed. The wine was rich and dark, almost too sweet, and he coughed faintly at the burn in his throat.
“There” Hua Cheng said. “Your first taste of pleasure. Was it so terrible?”
Xie Lian ducked his head, mouth brushing the rim of the goblet. “No” he said, softly.
Hua Cheng chuckled, deep and pleased.
Then, quieter: “You’re trembling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are” Hua Cheng said, and ran his gloved palm slowly down Xie Lian’s thigh, where it rested lightly across his lap. “But don’t worry. It suits you.”
Xie Lian went rigid. But he didn’t move away. And when Hua Cheng leaned in, wine-sweet breath ghosting over his ear, he saw what he was looking for—
That little hitch in the prince’s breath.
A flicker of lashes.
A shiver that had nothing to do with fear.
“Oh” Hua Cheng said, pleased. “There you are.”
And he smiled, all teeth and smoke and slow, easy danger.
“I think you’re starting to enjoy this.”
—---
The night pressed on.
Hua Cheng never seemed to lose sharpness, never blurred around the edges. He had his prize in his lap, pale and trembling and silent, and that was enough to hold his attention longer than a hundred drunken wagers.
But eventually—even Ghost Kings grew bored of games played before too many eyes.
He tipped back his goblet, drank deep, and then, without warning, rose to his feet.
The motion swept Xie Lian up with him—an arm sliding under his knees, another bracing his back. Xie Lian gasped, hands flying to clutch at Hua Cheng’s shoulder.
For one dizzying moment he was weightless, helpless, carried as though he were no more than a doll.
Gasps and whistles followed them from the hall.
Xie Lian buried his face against the curve of Hua Cheng’s neck, not daring to look at the watchful, grinning crowd. His heart rattled like a bird in a cage.
He did not speak. He did not dare.
Because this was for Xianle. This was for the soldiers bleeding at the borders, for the fields burning, for the hungry children and desperate mothers.
If he had to lower himself—if he had to… to consummate with a demon, with the King of Ghosts himself—then he would. Even if his body shook, even if shame burned hot across his skin.
It was only—
He did not expect the demon to be handsome.
Sharp and beautiful, with that wicked curl of a smile, with the scent of smoke and sandalwood clinging to his robes, with the effortless strength that held him as though he weighed nothing at all.
A demon should have been grotesque, foul, reeking of sulphur and blood. Not this. Not this smooth voice, this eye like molten silver, this easy, lazy flirtation.
The way Hua Cheng carried him—like something precious.
It made his throat ache in ways he could not name.
The corridors blurred past in a haze of crimson draperies and golden lamps. At last Hua Cheng shouldered through a pair of heavy doors, lacquered black and carved with lotus blossoms. His private chambers.
The bed dominated the room: vast, silken, covered in sheets the colour of fresh blood.
Hua Cheng walked straight to it and, with no more ceremony than a laugh, plopped Xie Lian down onto the centre of it.
Xie Lian bounced once against the mattress, hands fisting in the sheets, hair tumbling loose around his shoulders.
He looked up, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed.
Hua Cheng stood over him, hands braced on his hips, head tilted, smile lazy and sharp. “There now. Perfect fit.”
Xie Lian opened his mouth, closed it again. His heart was hammering so hard he thought Hua Cheng might hear it.
The Ghost King leaned down, close enough that the ends of his hair brushed against Xie Lian’s chest. His gaze lingered shamelessly, drinking him in.
“You look nervous” Hua Cheng murmured.
“I—” Xie Lian’s throat caught. He swallowed, forcing the words out. “This is for my kingdom.”
Hua Cheng’s smile curved, slow and dangerous. “Is it?” His fingers traced the edge of Xie Lian’s collar, feather-light. “Funny. I thought it was for me.”
Xie Lian’s breath hitched.
For a long moment, Hua Cheng only looked at him—looked, and smiled, and let silence stretch tight as a bowstring between them.
Then, with infuriating casualness, he straightened, laughing under his breath. “Relax, pretty. I don’t eat my servants on the first night. You’d hardly be any use to me if I did.”
Xie Lian blinked. His body, taut as a drawn blade, sagged with bewildered relief.
Hua Cheng leaned a hand on the bedpost, grinning down at him. “You really thought I was going to have you, didn’t you?” He chuckled, low and indulgent. “What a sweet little martyr you are.”
Xie Lian’s face burned.
And Hua Cheng, drinking in every flicker of his expression, thought privately— Ah. so cute.
The bed dipped as Hua Cheng leaned closer, bracing one arm against the sheets. The air between them grew heavy—thick with smoke, with wine, with something Xie Lian could not name.
The Ghost King was so near Xie Lian could see the faint curve of his smirk, the gleam of silver beneath his lashes, the way his tongue darted briefly across his lip as if tasting the moment.
“Tell me” Hua Cheng drawled, lowering his head until their foreheads nearly touched.
“You look like you’re about to faint. Or is it…” his gaze slipped to Xie Lian’s parted lips, “…that you want us to, Your Highness?”
Xie Lian’s eyes flew wide. His chest fluttered with panic, with heat, with something treacherously close to anticipation. “I—I do not—!”
The words tangled, clumsy. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Desperation clawed up his throat and he blurted the only defence he knew:
“I mean…i’ll do as you like, my lordship.”
Hua Cheng stilled. His smirk sharpened.
“Oh, say that again?”
Xie Lian swallowed, knuckles white against the sheets. “My lordship?” His voice was soft, breathless, wavering but sincere.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—
“Tut, tut, tut.” Hua Cheng clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly, as though correcting a child who’d misbehaved.
“No, no. Not that. Don’t go giving me some cold, distant title like I’m one of your stuffy little ministers back in Xianle, we’re much closer now.”
He leaned closer still, so close their noses brushed. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous purr. “Call me gege.”
Xie Lian froze. His breath caught audibly. His entire face burned as though lit from within, the flush creeping down his throat, up the tips of his ears.
“G—ge…” His voice cracked. He tried again, trembling, mortified. “Gege…”
Hua Cheng’s composure shattered.
A laugh slipped from him—low, startled, raw with delight. His lips curled in a grin so wolfish and genuine it could not be feigned.
He tipped his head forward, unable to hold back, and pressed a quick, shameless kiss to the tip of Xie Lian’s nose.
The sound Xie Lian made was small, shocked, almost a squeak. His eyes went round, his lips parted.
Hua Cheng lingered there a moment, nose to nose, grinning like a fool.
“Too cute” he murmured, his voice warm with amusement, with something perilously close to fondness. “All red and trembling, all for me. My pretty little prince, blushing like a bride.”
Xie Lian covered his face with his hands, as though he could hide the heat. “Y-you’re cruel.”
“I’m generous” Hua Cheng corrected, laughing softly . He reached up and gently tugged Xie Lian’s hands away, drinking in the sight of him flushed and flustered . “I let you keep your clothes on, didn’t I?”
Xie Lian had no answer. His lips trembled, his gaze darted away, his chest rose and fell far too fast.
Xie Lian sat there, perched on the wide, red-silk bed like some offering, hair mussed, lips parted, his cheeks fever-hot from wine and humiliation.
He could not remember the last time he’d felt so powerless, so foolishly seen . Every flicker of his breath felt exposed under Hua Cheng’s unwavering gaze.
The Ghost King had not moved far. He still leaned close, his arm braced against the bed, the other hand toying with a loose strand of Xie Lian’s hair as though it were spun silk.
“Say it again” Hua Cheng murmured.
Xie Lian blinked. “Wh-what?”
“That word.” Hua Cheng’s lips curved, dangerous and indulgent. “The one I asked for. Say it again.”
The flush rose fresh across Xie Lian’s cheeks. He turned his face away, lashes trembling, but Hua Cheng’s fingers caught his chin and coaxed him back, firm but not cruel.
“Look at me when you say it.”
Xie Lian’s voice barely made it past his throat. “Ge…gege.”
Hua Cheng closed his eye, savouring it, a smile cutting across his lips like a blade through fruit. “Good boy” he breathed.
The praise made Xie Lian’s stomach twist. He wasn’t supposed to feel heat at such words, wasn’t supposed to feel his chest tighten at the glimmer of approval in the demon’s voice.
This was degradation, humiliation— sacrifice —and yet his body betrayed him, leaning fractionally forward, craving more of that impossible warmth.
Hua Cheng noticed, of course. He always noticed.
The Ghost King chuckled low in his throat and shifted closer, so close Xie Lian could see the faint scar tracing beneath the patch, the faint gleam of teeth when he smiled.
“You know” Hua Cheng drawled, “you’re making this far too easy. A servant shouldn’t look at his master like that.”
“I-I wasn’t—”
“Oh, you were.” Hua Cheng’s grin sharpened. He lifted his hand, brushing a knuckle across Xie Lian’s burning cheek. “Sweet, flushed, trembling. If you’re not careful, I’ll think you actually like me.”
Xie Lian’s lips parted, caught between protest and something dangerously close to truth. The air between them grew taut, stretched thin like glass ready to crack.
And then—Hua Cheng tilted his head, closing that last breath of space, and kissed him.
It wasn’t a cruel kiss, not even truly demanding. Just slow, heated, indulgent—lips pressing gently, firmly, tasting, coaxing.
Hua Cheng kissed him like it was inevitable, like it had already been decided long before this night.
For a moment, Xie Lian gave in. His hands clutched at the sheets, his eyes fluttered shut, his lips answered in hesitant, clumsy reply. It was warm, dizzying, terrifying. His heart soared against his will.
Then reality crashed back.
He broke away with a sharp breath, his face burning hotter than ever. His hand flew to his mouth as though he could scrub the taste away.
“I—what have I done—” he whispered, horrified, voice cracking. “Shameless—so shameless—”
The words fell from his lips in a rush, an echo of the scorn he had grown used to hurling at himself, sharp and instinctive. His body curled inward, as though trying to fold away from Hua Cheng’s gaze.
He did not see the shift in Hua Cheng’s face.
The smile vanished. The air in the room thickened like storm clouds gathering.
“Shameless?” Hua Cheng’s voice was quiet, too quiet.
Xie Lian flinched, startled by the sudden steel.
The Ghost King rose to his full height, shadow falling long across the bed, silver eye gleaming like a blade unsheathed. His voice was still low, but it vibrated with something dangerous.
“Don’t you dare call yourself that.”
Xie Lian stared, heart pounding, caught between fear and confusion. “I—I didn’t mean—”
Hua Cheng leaned down, his gloved hand slamming into the mattress beside Xie Lian’s hip, pinning him in place without touching him. His face was close, too close, the heat of him a wave crashing down.
“You think kissing me makes you filthy? You think wanting me makes you less than what you are?” His voice sharpened, cut with fury. “Don’t you ever debase yourself in front of me. Not you. ”
“Hm, you’re basically calling me filthy as well…am i filthy to you little prince?”
Xie Lian’s lips parted soundlessly. His breath shook.
Hua Cheng’s eye burned into him. “You’re mine. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. If anyone says otherwise—if you say otherwise—I’ll tear their tongue out and make them choke on it. Understand?”
The silence rang loud in Xie Lian’s ears.
At last, he gave the faintest nod, too stunned to speak.
Hua Cheng exhaled sharply, pulling back just enough to break the tension. His gaze softened a fraction, though the edge of anger still lingered.
“Good” he muttered. Then, more gently, almost a whisper: “Don’t shame yourself, pretty. You’ve no idea how much I already can’t look away.”
And with that, he brushed the faintest kiss—softer than a sigh—against Xie Lian’s temple.
This time, Xie Lian did not pull away.