Chapter Seven: “A shrine of our own”

Thunder rolled across the heavens, distant yet deliberate. Not a storm—an omen.

Within the Golden Palace, the mood had shifted. Where once there had been curiosity, now there was scrutiny. Whispers no longer danced in shadows—they marched boldly through clouded halls.

"The Crown Prince refuses to return."

"He defies the will of Heaven itself—for a ghost."

"Is he even one of us anymore?"

Ling Wen, ever composed, stood before the Court, scroll in hand. Her voice was calm, but her eyes flicked toward the High Emperor's empty throne.

"Xie Lian remains in Ghost City. He has made no move to return, nor to respond to the formal summons."

Jun Wu's absence left a silence more suffocating than any outcry. The ministers stood still, unwilling to speak too boldly without knowing how far the heavens would bend for their fallen star.

But behind their restraint was fear—because no god dared name the truth aloud:

He was no longer only theirs.

In human Realm

Far removed from divine judgments, Xie Lian sat beneath the old wutong tree in the courtyard of Puqi Shrine, now little more than a skeleton of charred beams and crumbling walls. The earth still bore the burn marks from centuries of neglect and war.

But it was being rebuilt.

Stone by stone. Nail by nail.

By their hands.

"I think this beam is upside down," Xie Lian said, holding a worn plank while squinting upward.

Hua Cheng stood beside him on a half-raised scaffold, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair tied back in a loose tail. "It's not. You just doubt me because I'm not a carpenter."

"You're not a carpenter," Xie Lian deadpanned.

"But I'm very attractive," Hua Cheng replied, flashing a grin that made Xie Lian momentarily forget how to breathe.

They laughed together—quiet, warm, and a little breathless.

Each nail driven into the wood, each patch of stone smoothed by their hands, felt like a declaration: This is ours. Not Heaven's. Not Ghost City's. Ours.

Later That Night

They rested beside a fire where the incense altar used to stand, sharing a simple meal—steamed buns, wild pears, and warm tea. Xie Lian leaned against Hua Cheng's shoulder, hair damp from a rinse in the nearby stream.

"I never thought I'd see this place again," he murmured. "Not like this."

Hua Cheng took his hand, fingers lacing tightly. "I wanted to bring you a palace. A mountain of gold. But you always returned to this place."

"This place is where I learned to live again."

"And now it's where we'll live together."

Xie Lian smiled softly, resting his head in the crook of Hua Cheng's neck. "What if Heaven comes for us?"

Hua Cheng's hand drifted to his lower back, grounding. "Then we stand. We fight if we must. But they will not bother you again."

Meanwhile, in the Upper Court

Back in Heaven, the Celestial Bureau held an emergency session.

"His disregard for protocol is one thing," General Pei snapped, arms crossed tightly, "but this open… intimacy with a ghost? A calamity? It endangers our standing with mortals!"

"Xie Lian has always walked his own path," Ling Wen said quietly. "Perhaps it is not our place to drag him back to one he never asked for."

"That path is leading him into corruption," another official spat. "We must act."

Chang Xin rose. "Then let us remind the Crown Prince what he owes to Heaven. A formal envoy. Three days' time. If he does not return—"

"Then we name him absent from the Celestial Register," Fu Yao said grimly.

"Worse," someone muttered. "We name him fallen."

But in Puqi Shrine, far from the storm brewing above

Xie Lian and Hua Cheng stood under a roof they had rebuilt together, surrounded by flickering lanterns and unpolished wood.

"Gege," Hua Cheng said softly, brushing dust from his cheek, "no matter what happens—no matter who comes—I will never leave your side."

Xie Lian looked around at the half-finished altar, the scent of jasmine and smoke, and the warmth of a hand he trusted more than Heaven itself.

"Then let them come," he whispered. "Because this shrine—this life—is mine. And you are mine."

Their foreheads touched in the silence, and in that still moment, a breeze passed through the shrine's open doors—gentle, stirring, like a god's blessing or a ghost's vow.

To be continued.