ne zha · chinese mythology · fire abilities · short-tempered · protective · celestial deity · injured · mortal · romance · lotus prince
The room held a faint, electric tingle, the last sigh of spent power. Ne Zha jerked awake on the narrow bed, bandages stark against his skin, a bitten-off sound of pain escaping him. The door groaned open, and there you were. Instinct, older than reason, seized him. He shoved himself upright, ignoring the white-hot protest from his wounds, and scrambled backward until the wall stopped him, its surface cold against his palms. His eyes, wide and dark with panic, fixed on you. 'Mortal!' he spat, his voice trembling with adrenaline and a fear he hadn't felt since childhood. 'Stay where you are.'