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Hua Cheng was not, by nature, a jealous man.
Possessive, yes. Intensely devoted, absolutely. Willing to tear apart heavens, hells, and any inconvenient moral structures for Xie Lian? Without hesitation.
But jealous? Jealousy implied insecurity. And Hua Cheng had never once doubted that Xie Lian loved him.
Which was why the situation currently unfolding before his eyes was, frankly, unforgivable. The penguin stood upright on the ice, chest puffed out, wings stiff at its sides. It was a sturdy Gentoo penguin—sleek black-and-white feathers, orange beak gleaming faintly in the Antarctic sun. In its flipper was a smooth, oval stone, polished by water and time.
It took three waddling steps forward. Hua Cheng watched, horror dawning. “No,” he muttered.
The penguin stopped in front of Xie Lian. And then gently, reverently it placed the stone at Xie Lian’s feet. Xie Lian gasped. “Oh,” he breathed. “This one’s beautiful.”
Hua Cheng saw red.
Xie Lian had always loved animals. This was not a surprise. It was, in fact, one of the many reasons Hua Cheng loved him. Xie Lian loved gently and widely—plants, people, broken things, living creatures that needed patience and care. He could spend hours observing insects, listening to birds, kneeling in the dirt to examine a single flower growing where it shouldn’t.
It was unbearable. Hua Cheng adored him. But it had not occurred to Hua Cheng that this love might extend to being proposed to by wildlife.
They were three months into a joint Antarctic research assignment. Xie Lian was a marine biologist specializing in polar ecosystems; Hua Cheng, technically, was there as a logistics coordinator and donor liaison—though everyone on the station knew he was mostly there because Xie Lian was.
The penguins had been a constant presence. They wandered freely around the research base, curious and unafraid, sometimes peering through windows or stealing unattended equipment. Hua Cheng tolerated them. Barely.
Xie Lian, on the other hand, greeted them every morning. “Good morning,” he would say cheerfully, crouching down to their level. “Did you sleep well?”
The penguins would stare. Sometimes one would waddle closer. Xie Lian would beam, like this was the highlight of his day.
Hua Cheng had accepted this as a fact of life. After all, Xie Lian greeted everyone that way. Researchers, interns, the cook, the weather technician, the guy who came once a month to check the generators. Even Hua Cheng himself, despite the fact that they shared a bed.
But this penguin gave the stone. Xie Lian picked it up carefully, turning it over in his gloved hands. “San Lang,” he called over his shoulder, voice bright. “Look at this! It’s perfectly smooth see? It must’ve taken years.”
Hua Cheng walked over slowly, hands clenched in his coat pockets. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Very impressive.”
The penguin watched them both, head tilting slightly, beady eyes sharp. Xie Lian smiled at it. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. The penguin puffed up even more. Hua Cheng felt something in his chest snap.
“Gege,” he said, low and dangerous.
“Yes?”
“Do you know what that means?”
Xie Lian blinked. “It means he likes shiny rocks?”
“It means,” Hua Cheng said through gritted teeth, “that penguin just proposed to you.”
Xie Lian froze. The wind howled faintly across the ice. “Oh.”
——————-
Penguins, it turned out, were romantics.
Xie Lian knew this. He had lectured on it. He had written papers about courtship rituals, mate bonding, shared nest building. He had even shown Hua Cheng videos back home—penguins carefully selecting stones, offering them with great solemnity to prospective mates.
Hua Cheng had not been paying attention. He regretted that deeply.
“I didn’t think.” Xie Lian began.
The penguin took another step forward. Hua Cheng stepped between them instantly “No,” he said sharply.
The penguin stopped. They stared at each other. Xie Lian opened his mouth. “San Lang, it’s not….”
“I am aware,” Hua Cheng said, without looking back, “that you are not actually going to leave me for a penguin.”
“That’s… good.”
“But,” Hua Cheng continued, “I do find it deeply offensive that a penguin has had the presence of mind to offer you a stone before I have.”
Xie Lian’s face went red.
“That’s not … San Lang!”
The penguin let out a short, indignant squawk. Hua Cheng pointed at it. “Do not raise your voice at him.”
Xie Lian buried his face in his gloves.
——————-
After that day, the penguin, Xie Lian had dubbed him Little Scholar became a problem.
Little Scholar followed Xie Lian everywhere.
He waited outside the lab. He waddled after him during observation walks. He even peered through the glass doors of the station cafeteria, watching Xie Lian eat with intense focus.
And he kept bringing stones. Flat stones. Round stones. Stones with faint striations. Stones in shades of gray, black, and pale blue. Each one carefully selected and deposited near Xie Lian’s boots. Xie Lian accepted them politely.
Hua Cheng counted every single one. “This is the seventh,” he said one evening, watching from the doorway as Little Scholar placed another stone down.
Xie Lian sighed. “San Lang…”
“The seventh,” Hua Cheng repeated. “In two days.”
“I can’t exactly tell him to stop,” Xie Lian said helplessly. “That would be rude.”
“To whom?”
“To him!”
Hua Cheng stared. “You are worried about being rude to a penguin.”
Xie Lian smiled weakly. “He’s very earnest.”
Little Scholar squawked, as if in agreement.
Hua Cheng turned slowly toward Xie Lian. “I have killed gods for you,” he said quietly. “I know,” Xie Lian said, reaching out instinctively to take his hand.
“And yet,” Hua Cheng continued, “this bird is outdoing me with rocks.”
Xie Lian squeezed his fingers. “You don’t have to compete.”
Hua Cheng looked down at their joined hands. “I already am.”
—————-
The research station staff noticed. They noticed Hua Cheng glaring at penguins.
They noticed Hua Cheng subtly positioning himself between Xie Lian and Little Scholar at all times. They noticed that when another penguin attempted to approach Xie Lian, Hua Cheng appeared at his side like an avenging spirit.
One intern whispered, “Is he… jealous?”
Another whispered back, “Of a penguin?”
“Yes.”
“Good for the penguin.”
Hua Cheng heard them. He did not care. That night, Xie Lian found Hua Cheng sitting on their bunk, staring at something in his palm.
“What’s that?” Xie Lian asked softly. Hua Cheng closed his fist.
“San Lang?”
Hua Cheng looked up at him, crimson eye burning with intensity. “I am going to fix this.”
Xie Lian sat beside him. “Fix what?”
“The imbalance.”
Xie Lian hesitated. “San Lang, you don’t need to”
Hua Cheng opened his hand. In his palm lay a stone. It was small, dark, and smooth almost identical to the ones Little Scholar had been bringing. Xie Lian blinked. “Did you steal that from a penguin?”
“I borrowed it,” Hua Cheng said coldly. “From the general vicinity.”
Xie Lian stared, then burst out laughing. “San Lang!”
Hua Cheng stiffened. “You’re laughing.”
“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just, you’re really competing with him.”
“Yes.”
“With a rock.”
“Yes.”
Xie Lian leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”
Hua Cheng’s ears turned faintly red.
“But,” Xie Lian added, smiling softly, “thank you.”
Hua Cheng’s grip tightened on the stone. “This is not enough,” he said.
—————-
The next day, Hua Cheng disappeared for several hours.
Xie Lian was busy cataloging samples when a commotion rose outside the station. Voices, laughter, startled exclamations.
He looked up.
Through the windows, he saw Hua Cheng approaching across the ice. Behind him trailed three researchers, a crate on a sled, and most alarmingly a cluster of curious penguins.
Hua Cheng stopped directly in front of Xie Lian. He knelt. Xie Lian’s breath caught. Hua Cheng opened the crate.
Inside was not a stone. Inside was an entire carefully constructed nest stones arranged in a perfect circle, each one chosen for symmetry, size, and color. In the center lay a single, polished piece of red jasper, gleaming like a heart.
Hua Cheng looked up at him. “I may not be a penguin,” he said, voice steady, “but I refuse to lose to one.”
The station went silent. Little Scholar waddled forward, staring at the nest. Xie Lian stared at Hua Cheng.
“San Lang,” he whispered. Hua Cheng reached into his coat and pulled out a ring. “Xie Lian,” he said, “will you marry me?”
Xie Lian dropped to his knees without hesitation
“Yes,” he said, laughing and crying all at once. “Yes!”
Cheers erupted.
Little Scholar let out a long, contemplative squawk. He looked at the nest. Looked at Xie Lian. Looked at Hua Cheng. Then, with great dignity, he turned and waddled away.
Hua Cheng wrapped Xie Lian in his arms, pressing his forehead to his. “I won,” he murmured. Xie Lian smiled. “You always had me.”
Hua Cheng glanced at the retreating penguin “Still.”
Xie Lian laughed, kissing him. And somewhere on the ice, a penguin accepted defeat with grace.