Sometimes, when change is gradual and creeping, people fail to notice anything changing at all. Like the patient growth of rice plants, like the drying of swarthy calligraphy ink, too gradual to notice in its process.
But Hua Cheng isn't people. Over the course of a month or so, he notices every new strand of grey in Xie Lian's divine hair, every millimeter that his crows feet gains, because it is Hua Cheng's purpose to see his Xie Lian.
By the end of the month, Hua Cheng is practically tearing his hair out trying to find the source of the curse without worrying Xie Lian about his affliction. The affliction that Xie Lian is somehow unaware about.
"Ge- Gege?" Hua Cheng had startled at the doorframe, effectively shredding apart the usual blanket of peace that Sundays at Puqi had to them.
"San Lang, please." Xie Lian reprimanded affectionately. But instead of his usual afternoon gardening, where he was usually ten fingers deep into rich soil and hunched over tending to his precious floret children, Xie Lian was sat down. Resting. Holding some new tome on gardening, as though reading about it was the most he could muster with his energy. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" At least his San Lang form had two eyes to bulge with surprise at the time.
That had been the start of it, the bare beginnings. Now, Hua Cheng was tearing his hair out with another added layer of conflict.
His God, his beautiful Dianxia, Crowned Prince of-- Fuck, he looked so good recently.
Not that he didn't usually, of course. His Highness' beauty was irrefutable--it's just that Hua Cheng has never seen Xie Lian in any other stage of his life, has never seen him in a different form and for everything holy, Hua Cheng was unbelievably enamoured. Charmed. Obsessed, even.
Xie Lian's hair is now undeniably salt and pepper, silver at the temples. His sweet, youthful cheeks have chisled out some, and the most incredible laugh lines decorate his eyes like priceless jewels. His beautiful martial God now fills into his robes with more definition, more weight around the waist for Hua Cheng to hold onto possessively in the night.
It isn't just that though; Xie Lian himself has changed. The way he stands with a more sophisticated air, the exasperated breathy laughs now have an added richness to them, the mirth in his eyes with a more authoritative gleam than before. When he gives villagers words of wisdom, they finally begin to take his experience seriously and all of it drives Hua Cheng crazy.
So crazy that Hua Cheng is now more often San Lang.
"My San Lang." Xie Lian murmurs affectionately with that new timbre of his voice. It makes Hua Cheng shudder. His San Lang.
It creeps into two months and things around Puqi Shrine have changed. A lot. Both to accomodate Xie Lian's rapid shift in energy levels, but also Hua Cheng's endless vacuum of desire for this new Xie Lian. Thankfully the curse seems to have ebbed and lulled to a standstill, keeping Xie Lian at about two and a half decades older than where he'd been.
They go into town less and less, the trek being just a bit too arduous now. When they occasionally do, he is stood beside his maturing God, Xie Lian's hand hovering over the expanse of his lower back possessively. San Lang's vulpine smile of satisfaction make the villagers question their relationship more than ever.
