#neithwrites

He finds himself asking, spellbound, “Are…the lanterns for Zhongyuan?”

Hua Cheng’s answer gives nothing of his deeper thoughts away. “The ones seven days ago were. These are for Your Highness.” He waves a hand. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I just had some free time on my hands. Think of it as a way to relieve your boredom.”

“Did you light all of them?”

“Mm-hm.”

“How many?” he urges.

Hua Cheng is quiet. Then: “Three thousand. It’s nothing.”

———

Scene from Chapter 13 of my tgcf vampire AU bring down the moon, commissioned from the talented @artingstarvist.

Chapter 13 of bring down the moon is out, just in time for my birthday tomorrow. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng go on their first date. What does the night have in store?

Mu Qing is drunk.

It began as a dare.

I’ve been drinking for centuries. Obviously, I can hold my liquor better than you. I bet you’d fall over after a single cup. In fact, I’ll wager money you will.

One hour and one jar of wine later, Mu Qing is falling off the garden bench whereas Feng Xin barely has a buzz going. He laughs when Mu Qing recovers from tipping forward into the grass by overcorrecting and pitching himself backward off the bench entirely.

“What the fuck,” Mu Qing says from the ground. His fair face is flushed from alcohol, his delicate brows pinched together like he can’t figure out how he ended up sprawled in the grass. His legs are still on the bench.

“Admit defeat?” Feng Xin asks.

“You’re cheating.”

“I am not. You’re just a lightweight. Come on,” he says, and spins around on the bench so he can stand up and gather Mu Qing into his arms. Ever since Tonglu and the lake of lava, Mu Qing has been less prone to punching him and more prone to swatting at him like a pissed off cat instead, which is what Feng Xin expects to happen as he manhandles Mu Qing, but rather, Mu Qing sinks into his arms.

“I’m dizzy,” he complains.

“I’m sure you are.”

Mu Qing’s nose finds the space beneath his ear, nuzzling in, and his arms settle over the top of Feng Xin’s shoulders like a fresh blanket of snow over a mountain.

“What are you doing?” Feng Xin asks.

Mu Qing squeezes him around the neck. “Dunno the last time someone hugged me.”

Oh, Feng Xin thinks first. Then: You know, I don’t know the last time someone hugged me, either…

Then he wonders how many times in the last eight hundred years someone has even touched Mu Qing. A friendly pat on the back after a training session. An accidental brush of fingers while handing over a scroll.

Is the only physical contact he’s received Feng Xin’s fist routinely meeting his cheekbone?

I’m back from hiatus and ready to work on the next chapter of all that defines me! We’re getting to the juiciest bits of the story, which is a great time to hop on board and start reading. It’s a rollercoaster from here on out.

all that defines me is the modern AU I wanted to see in the world. The central mystery is—if gods can’t reincarnate in the tgcf universe, how in the world have Xie Lian and company managed to reincarnate, and why? As they try to figure it out, something or someone hunts them from the shadows.

This story’s got modern cultivators. It’s got touches of horror. It’s got tons of fluff. It’s got demiromantic/demisexual hualian falling head over heels for the first time in their lives, faster than anyone else in the room is comfortable with. It’s got domestic, bickering fengqing and aroace partners Ling Wen/Yushi Huang.

Short of spoiling the story, I promise the happiest of endings. Long, long immortal lives for everyone. Please come screech at me to work on this! I’m very excited!

Xie Lian comes awake holding his stomach and gasping, his nightmare clawing at him, trying to pull him back under.

“Gege?” comes the soft call from his side, but he’s already halfway out of bed, feet tangled in the blankets. He yanks them free as his heart hammers, but a hand around his wrist keeps him from leaving their altar-bed.

“It’s nothing,” he says dismissively, aimed at the empty temple, a placating smile on his face.

“Gege.”

“Really. It’s nothing. Just a nightmare. It’s fine. I-I want some water. Some food. I’m going for a walk. I don’t remember— I don’t remember where I put that scroll I found this morning.” Excuse after excuse floods out of his mouth.

The fingers around his wrist stroke over his veins, his tendons, with painstaking gentleness. Up. Down. Up. Down.

He breathes with the movements and finds himself calming by small degrees, but he tenses again when Hua Cheng says, “You don’t have to talk about it. But I’m listening.”

Always listening.

Hua Cheng always listens to what Xie Lian has to say, no matter how trivial.

Something about it has Xie Lian returning to bed. He’s pulled immediately into his husband’s arms, tucked beneath his chin. The embrace is tight.

“It happened so many hundreds of years ago,” Xie Lian says, stiff. “I don’t think about it anymore. I don’t know why I dreamt about it at all.” Fingers card through his hair. Patient. Tender. It gets him to admit: “The temple.”

Those fingers freeze, and Hua Cheng forgets to put up the pretense of breathing. Xie Lian’s never brought this up before, with anyone, but he supposes it was only a matter of time for this nightmare to crawl out of the depths of his memory, considering they spend so much time in Thousand Lights Temple and they sleep on an altar converted into a bed.

“You were there with me that day,” Xie Lian says. It’s half a question, half a statement.

“I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Gege’s…apologizing? To me?” Hua Cheng asks, voice laced with confusion in the dark.

“Yes.”

For a moment, Hua Cheng says nothing. Then he rolls them over so that he hovers above Xie Lian. He kisses Xie Lian.

When the contact breaks, his fingers find the ties of Xie Lian’s inner robe, not how they usually do—with frenetic desire—but like Hua Cheng is handling an artifact that might crumble if he’s too rough.

Xie Lian’s robe parts, and Hua Cheng descends to press a kiss to his belly. At the touch, with his nightmare so fresh in his mind, Xie Lian flinches, his stomach quivering under Hua Cheng’s lips. His husband would never hurt him, he knows, but his skin is so sensitive, like it’s only freshly healed. He jumps again when Hua Cheng kisses his stomach a second time—jumps a little less over the third kiss—not at all for the fourth. When it’s clear his panic is abating, Hua Cheng moves to his heart, his throat, everywhere he was hurt, blessing his body with affection.

“You’re safe, Your Highness,” Hua Cheng promises against his skin.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

“I really am over it,” he insists, voice tight.

“Say something if it hurts.”

Tears well up in his eyes. “I’m fine.” A whisper. “I’m fine. I promise. I’m really fine.”

“Talk to me, gege.”

Those tears pour over. His breathing is shaky when Hua Cheng cups his cheek, kisses him, and smooths away his tears. One kiss. Two. Three.

“Okay,” he agrees, the word so quiet it’s practically silent.