Preparing Hua for Farewell

The rhythmic whisper of the broom's straw bristles against the stone floor of Xiuqin's courtyard was a calming mantra to Chengyu. His thoughts wandered to the evening meal, contemplating whether to stew the lotus root with pork ribs or stir-fry them with a touch of star anise. The late afternoon sun cast elongated shadows that played between the leaves of the apricot tree, creating patterns that Chengyu found oddly comforting.

"Chengyu!"

The exuberance in the voice preceded the man himself, as Hua, fleet as a startled deer, vaulted over the ornate courtyard gates with such grace that it belied the thundering surprise of his entrance. Chengyu's heart leaped to his throat, the tranquility shattered like a drop of water on a hot skillet. He watched, the broom now still in his hands, as Hua landed with barely a sound, a dancer's poise in his every move.

"By all that is sacred and holy, Hua! You nearly gave me a heart attack," Chengyu exclaimed, though a smile tugged at the edge of his lips despite the admonishment.

"Ah, but life is too short for slow entrances, my friend!" Hua beamed, brushing off invisible dust from his vibrant tunic. He extended his hand to reveal a scroll, tied neatly with a scarlet ribbon. The flourish with which he presented it was nothing less than theatrical.

Chengyu unfurled the parchment, his eyes tracing the delicate brushstrokes that depicted Hua mid-dance; the figure seemed to leap from the page, imbued with the same vitality that radiated from Hua himself.

"Look closely, Chengyu. As I prepare to bid farewell to my family, I wish to embark on a circuit," Hua said, his voice taking on a rare solemnity that demanded attention. "A journey through the village where I shall gather material to perform all the skills I've honed – a culmination of years under the tutelage of masters and the wisdom of our ancestors. To tell them farewell, I shall perform."

"Perform...?" Chengyu echoed, his mind picturing Hua's whirlwind of talent on display for all to see.

"Indeed," Hua continued, his eyes alight with fervor. "And I want you there, Chengyu. Your eyes are the ones I wish to impress most. To witness the spectacle of what I have become, and bridge the gap between the man I will soon become thanks to your unwavering support."

We just met, Chengyu sweat-dropped, wondering how a chance meeting at Yuehua's dinner led to this.

Chengyu felt an unspoken honor in Hua's request, a testament to their bond deeper than the ink upon the scroll. He heard his own heartbeat in his ears, a silent drum heralding the beginning of something momentous.

"Very well, Hua. I will watch," Chengyu affirmed, an inexplicable pride swelling within him, even as he wondered what this performance might unleash in their intertwined lives.

The sun hung like a heavy medallion in the sky, its rays casting a gilded hue over the courtyard. Shadows elongated, merging with the darkening corners where the evening's breath began to stir. Chengyu stood amidst this transition of day to dusk, the scroll in his hand a testament to the impending spectacle. He exhaled a long sigh, the weight of anticipation pressing against his ribs like ancient stones.

"Come now, we've much to do!" Hua's voice was a clarion call that sliced through Chengyu's reverie.

Before Chengyu could muster a single word of protest, he found himself in the whirlwind of Hua's impetuous energy. The very air seemed to shift around them as Hua led him away, his steps as light and determined as falling leaves caught in an autumnal gust.

They entered Hua's chamber, where silks of every conceivable color cascaded from shelves like waterfalls of woven light. "I need your eyes, Chengyu," Hua said, rifling through the garments with purpose. "An outfit that speaks of my journey, my transformation."

"Is this part of your farewell performance? A fashion parade?" Chengyu quipped, though the jest tugged at something deeper, a reluctance to sever the thread that bound them.

"Every detail is an extension of the dance," Hua replied, his hands pausing on a robe of midnight blue that shimmered with the promise of starlit skies.

"Help me with this, will you?" Hua held out the garment, and Chengyu stepped forward, fingers brushing against the fabric that seemed to pulse with Hua's vitality.

"I'm already regretting accepting the offer," Chengyu murmured, half under his breath, threading humor into the words to veil the tremor of sincerity.

Hua's reaction was swift and fierce. In one fluid motion, he pushed Chengyu back against the canvas wall. Warmed by the sun, warmth seeped through Chengyu's robes. His gaze was a stormy sea, deep and unrelenting.

"Regret?" he echoed, voice low and charged. "You have taken me from my family, Chengyu. You are mine. Through laughter and tears, triumphs and failures. I am here to stay."

Chengyu's breath hitched, heart stuttering like a caged bird against his ribs. The proximity of Hua's beauty, usually so familiar and comforting, now left him disoriented, the world tilting on its axis. The intensity in Hua's eyes spoke of more than just camaraderie; it hinted at an unspoken truth that lingered between them, as delicate and dangerous as a whisper.

"Then let us make your last dinner with them unforgettable," Chengyu managed, voice steadier than he felt, as he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from Hua's forehead. Hua was strange, emotional and moody in the way a child was. Chengyu could tell he was someone that needed to be treated with tenderness, lest he be caused a nervous breakdown of sorts.

The silence that followed Chengyu's touch was a fragile thing, shattered as Hua abruptly turned on his heel, the air around him seeming to crackle with unspent energy. His steps were deliberate, each footfall a punctuation in the quiet courtyard, carrying him swiftly towards the gate he'd so effortlessly vaulted over earlier.

Chengyu was no good at these things, especially not when another guy was involved. Something he had just realized was that Hua acted more like an upset girl in elementary when angered, and his emotions were as shifting as a lady on her monthly cycle. Not even Xiangcui was this bad.

"Where are you going?" Chengyu called out, the words barely escaping before Hua's form became a distant silhouette against the fading light.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hua's voice floated back, a teasing lilt beneath the edge of irritation. "To prepare for my performance. Alone."

Chengyu's feet moved of their own accord, propelling him forward as though tethered by an invisible string. There was no reasoning with Hua when he was like this—a tempest bound in flesh. The ground underfoot felt unusually solid, each step a reminder of the earth's enduring presence amidst the turmoil of human emotions.

"Wait!" Chengyu's plea echoed off the high walls, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Hua did not slow, but the lift of his shoulders spoke volumes; he knew Chengyu would follow, expected it—and relished in it.

"Running suits you," Hua tossed the words over his shoulder, a smirk audible in his tone. "Always chasing after something, aren't you?"

Chengyu's heart raced, a blend of exertion and exasperation setting his pulse to a frantic tempo. Was he always chasing? Perhaps he was—after lost dreams, fleeting moments of peace, the enigma that was Hua.

Hua's laughter trickled back to him, soft and knowing. It was a sound Chengyu had memorized over countless days and nights, one that could soothe the deepest of wounds or stir the calmest of seas. Yet now, it stirred something else within him—a longing so acute it bordered on pain.

His thoughts spun, tangling like the threads of destiny they said were woven by the fates. Why must Hua always push and pull at him so? With every storm-off, every sharp word, the space between them seemed to fill with a tumultuous sea of unsaid things, a vast ocean churning with currents of confusion and desire.

"Slow down, will you?" he gasped, half-jesting, half-desperate. But Hua merely glanced back, his eyes glinting with a challenge that sent shivers down Chengyu's spine. There was no slowing down—not for Hua at least. He always seemed to be in action in some way, as if it would kill him to sit still and think.

As he trailed after the retreating figure, the cool evening air caressed his heated cheeks. Beneath the sky's deepening hues, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable collision of two forces destined to be intertwined. And Chengyu, caught in the gravity of Hua's orbit, could do nothing but surrender to the chase.