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After the mess with the weird statues was wrapped up, Mu Qing follows him with a mulish expression on his face.
Normally, Feng Xin would interpret Mu Qing’s pissy expression as him somehow blaming Feng Xin for this mess (Feng Xin would like to point out that he has never had much luck in influencing His Highness). Feng Xin would comment on Mu Qing looking like something foul had appeared, Mu Qing would probably make some kind of cutting statement, and then Feng Xin probably wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to punch Mu Qing in his pretty-boy face, and they’d end up brawling as per usual. However, ever since Mu Qing had admitted (over a pit of molten magma, but still) that he really wanted to be f-f-friends with His Highness, he has tried to have a more generous outlook on Mu Qing’s motives.
“...do you need something?” Feng Xin finally asks when they are at the steps of his temple and Mu Qing doesn’t seem inclined to either stop following him or start talking on his own.
“I need to stay here tonight,” Mu Qing bites out.
Feng Xin goggles at him, “Don’t you have a perfectly good temple of your own?” he asks, looking over and checking that the Xuanzhen Temple was indeed not on fire.
“I can’t sleep there with the statues like—that,” Mu Qing says stiffly.
Feng Xin shudders a bit. His Highness hadn’t let any of them see the two statues after Crimson Rain had tossed down one of his own, but what Feng Xin had managed to glance over Xie Lian’s shoulder was getting tossed into the pile of memories Feng Xin sincerely wishes to forget.
“...okay, fine. One night until Crimson Rain moves the statues. Where did that statue of His Highness even come from?” Feng Xin wonders, entering his temple and holding the door open a bit to let Mu Qing inside.
Mu Qing shoots him a look as he walks in, “Don’t you remember those statues in Tonglu Mountain?”
“The stalker shrine? Who could forget that?” Feng Xin asks, grabbing some bottles of alcohol from a shelf (he thinks they both deserve some after all that—but Mu Qing can’t drink so he’ll get some tea instead). “It was like every scene from His Highness’ life that Crimson Rain was somehow always there to witness.”
“And he was apparently there for the Land of Tender mess,” Mu Qing grimaces as he snatches the cup of tea from Feng Xin.
Feng Xin goggles at him, “All the way back then ? Fuck—wait, that kid. The one that was helping His Highness fight off those demons—that was Crimson Rain ?”
“Obviously,” Mu Qing says snootily while taking a swig.
“He couldn’t have been more than what—ten or twelve back then? His stalker tendencies developed so fucking early,” Feng Qing says mournfully, manfully ignoring Mu Qing’s condescension.
“And now his perverted statues are desecrating my temple,” Mu Qing says darkly, hand clenched around the cup.
“I still don’t get why His Highness had that much spiritual energy,” Feng Xin muses, taking a swig himself from his own bottle. “To have enough pouring off of him to power up all those statues, he must have gained a ton of new worshippers or something.”
“Or his ‘most devoted worshipper’ lent him some energy,” Mu Qing says, his eyes glinting maliciously.
Feng Xin considers this for a second before wanting to claw the mental image out of his brain, “No! In his temple? His Highness’ cultivation path is supposed to support abstinence! It’s the same as yours!”
“I think that crimson brat has been making up for the loss, and why are we still talking about this ?” Mu Qing hisses, glaring at Feng Xin.
“You’re the one who brought it up!” Feng Xin retorts
“Because you’re too dumb to figure it out on your own!” Mu Qing argues back.
Feng Xin takes a deep breath (don’t punch his pretty face in, don’t punch his pretty face in), “I’m not going to punch you just because I know that you really want to be my f-f-friend.”
“Will you never stop repeating that? Do you want to fight?” Mu Qing demands with a red face.
“You really think it’s a good idea to fight the person who’s giving you a place to spend the night?” Feng Xin points out.
“I’ll sleep somewhere else!”
“Really? Where?” Feng Xin asks with genuine curiosity.
(As long as he has known Mu Qing, the other man has never seemed all that close to anyone besides His Highness and himself.
Back when they were still junior gods, freshly separated from His Highness, Mu Qing had hung around a few of the other junior martial gods, but even he could tell that that had been more out of necessity than any real sense of friendship.
And besides later on, all of them had had their temples burned down by Crimson Rain anyway.
Not that it was easy to tell that Mu Qing liked anyone given that it had taken nearly 800 years for him to figure out that Mu Qing actually did consider His Highness a friend and not just a stepping stone to higher things.
For all he knows, Mu Qing could have another friend like that.)
“I’ll—I’ll figure something out!” Mu Qing blusters, setting down the jug and standing up.
(It’s pretty unlikely though.)
Feng Xin waves a hand, “It’s late, you really want to wake another person up right now? Just take one of the spare rooms around here.”
Mu Qing glares at him, halfway across the room already.
“You really want to explain to someone else about why you can’t stay in your own temple right now?” Feng Xin adds.
Mu Qing makes a face at that and reluctantly makes his way slowly back.
“Are you going to force me to take a storage closet or something?” he sneers.
Feng Xin is sorely tempted to roll his eyes like Mu Qing is always doing. “You can take any unoccupied room,” he says through gritted teeth.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes and starts walking out of the main chamber. Feng Xin follows behind, just to make sure Mu Qing doesn’t wake up any of his disciples and start a brawl in the middle of the night.
Of course, Mu Qing is a pain in the ass and has an unerring ability to press on all of Feng Xin’s weakpoints, so it really shouldn’t be any surprise that he stops in front of a door that is slightly newer than the rest and opens it up before Feng Xin can grab him.
It’s a nice room, decorated in the bright colors that Feng Xin recalls Jian Lan liking back then, and with all the little fancy frou-frou decoration things that his disciples had said that girls liked (all he had managed back then to buy her was her time and a few protective charms that had never helped her in the end). There’s a crib in the corner that is nice and sturdy, even if he’s not sure if his demon fetus son really even needs to sleep.
Mu Qing takes this all in wordlessly as Feng Xin reaches over and slams the door shut.
“Not that one,” he says harshly.
Mu Qing regards him for a while, an unreadable expression on his face (not that there are many of Mu Qing’s expressions that Feng Xin can decipher all that well).
The silence though is awful because Feng Xin can imagine what Mu Qing is thinking.
(It can’t be much worse than what he himself thinks.
He knows—that it’s too late, that he didn’t do enough for Jian Lan when she was alive and failed both her and their son, but he—still wants to try and make up for it now, no matter how hopeless and pathetic the whole thing is.)
“If you’re going to say something, then just say it,” he blusters.
“You—you’re still —in love with her?” Mu Qing asks haltingly.
(That question he didn’t expect coming from Mu Qing of all people.
What did Mu Qing care about that?)
Feng Xin shrugs, “We—it’s been a long time. I—really did love her back then. I would have married her in a heartbeat if—everything had worked out better than it did. It’s—not the same now since—I think we’re very different now. We’re—not who we used to be.”
(If he could go back in time, he’d smack his optimistic, hopeful, empty-headed past-self who didn’t know to appreciate and cherish what he had when he had it.
He’d probably also instruct his past-self to try and be much more understanding and pay closer attention to His Highness after his fall, and to not ascribe the worst possible motivations to Mu Qing every single time.
He’d still tell him to go punch Mu Qing in the face after he said he wanted to leave though.)
“That’s more insight than I expected from a muscle-head like you,” Mu Qing comments, the bite in his words belied a bit by the oddly soft expression on his face.
“I’ve had time to think through it,” Feng Xin says stoutly. “But anyway—there’s still a room for her since we did have a son together—”
“A son you’ve never acknowledged,” Mu Qing points out.
(He can’t even tell sometimes if Mu Qing says the worst possible thing on purpose half of the time.
Because on one hand, Mu Qing is very smart, Feng Xin is well-aware of that.
On the other, he also has as bad of a temper as Feng Xin’s and just tends to go for verbal knives as soon as he feels threatened.
Although why Mu Qing would feel threatened at all in this case, Feng Xin isn’t sure.)
“I’d acknowledge him if either of them would let me!” Feng Xin flares up, “But she—I don’t know. His highness said that—she thought she would be a burden to me. That my affections for her would eventually run out with the trial of being a martial god while having two hungry ghosts under my protection.”
(Even if it’s true that they’re no longer the besotted teenagers they had been, Feng Xin still feels a bit hurt at that.
Hadn’t he already risked his entire reputation for both of them?
So what if they were troublesome—His Highness was troublesome too, and he had still tried to faithfully serve him these past 800 years, even if His Highness had also doubted him and driven him away.
He thought that Jian Lan had at least known him better than that.)
“Then she was an idiot,” Mu Qing suddenly says.
Feng Xin blinks in surprise at him. “Are you—actually saying something nice about me?” he asks doubtfully.
Mu Qing flushes, “I mean—she was an idiot for taking up with you in the first place, but for her to think that you would find things hard and just give up? You never give up.”
(It really is the nicest thing Mu Qing has ever said about him.
It’s—kind of weird really he guesses, that for all he and Mu Qing fight, they’re probably the ones who know each other the best after His Highness.
And it still really says something that for all of that, Mu Qing’s thoughts and motivations are still mostly a mystery to him.)
“But I did give up on her for a while,” Feng Xin points out. “Moved on, wasn’t faithful—”
“You thought she was dead, and it’s not like she was faithful to you,” Mu Qing says harshly before suddenly frowning. “You—since when did you get over your fear of women to take up with another one?”
“No, she was the only woman,” Feng Xin says, shifting a bit uncomfortably.
(He doesn’t make a particularly regular practice of it, but sometimes after a fight, and almost always after a fight with Mu Qing, he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with excess energy, and finding another guy to relieve it with is as good a way as any.
He wonders what Mu Qing does after those fights, considering his cultivation path.
Probably bind up his wounds and angrily sew something in secret.)
Mu Qing considers the implications and then turns red, “You—ugh. I don’t need to know about that!”
“You asked!” Feng Xin protests.
“You didn’t have to tell me!” Mu Qing says angrily, whirling around and walking down the hall, opening random doors.
“Those are mostly weapons and equipment storage rooms,” Feng Xin points out, walking after him, “Besides—are you flustered?”
“Flustered my ass,” Mu Qing sneers, his cheeks still red, “Why the hell were you about to stuff your mistress and bastard in a hallway of storage rooms?”
“It was the only place to make a big guest room!” Feng Xin says, “It’s also quieter than the rest of the temple—but anyway, it’s here if they want it. Do you want me to show you where the nice guest rooms actually are?”
“The ones where you stuff your conquests in? I’ll pass,” Mu Qing says darkly, glaring at him over his shoulder.
Feng Xin wants to pull his hair out. “Since when did you have a problem with that ? You’ve always known my cultivation path isn’t the same as yours—”
“I don’t know why I ever thought Ju Yang could keep it in his pants,” Mu Qing says in a poisonous tone, still slamming open door after door.
Feng Xin grits his teeth, “Don’t fucking call me that—and I’m not Pei Ming, it’s just—occasional stress relief.”
Mu Qing stops, still with a constipated expression on his face, “And Jian Lan?” he suddenly asks.
Feng Xin stares at him, baffled (where is Mu Qing going with all this?), “I just said that I was in love with her—”
“How did it even start? How were you not terrified of her like all other women?” Mu Qing demands, weirdly intense.
“I mean—I had known her for awhile already. She was always hanging around, trying to get His Highness’ attention,” Feng Xin says, taken aback.
(Was Mu Qing—
Interested in Jian Lan or something?
He’s—not entirely sure how he feels about that idea.
Like, he kind of feels—mad about it for some reason, but that’s dumb because Jian Lan has never belonged to him.
Still—he doesn’t think they’d suit each other very well. They’re both smart, but they’ve both got surprisingly sharp tongues and not exactly the best tempers.
But had that been back then or now?)
“And so you just what—took pity on her since she was never going to get anywhere with His Highness?” Mu Qing asks, an unreadable expression on his face.
“It wasn’t like that—she was nice to me. She listened,” Feng Xin says, remembering their late night talks and the soft smile on Jian Lan’s face back then.
(He misses that.)
“That’s all it takes? Being nice and listening?” Mu Qing asks incredulously, something odd flashing in his eyes.
“What? What more could you want?” Feng Xin asks, confused.
Mu Qing opens his mouth, closes it again, and shakes his head before finally opening the door to an empty guest room.
He steps inside before looking over his shoulder at Feng Xin, “…good night. And—thank you for letting me stay.”
“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you thank me,” Feng Xin says seriously to him.
Mu Qing glares at him before slamming the door shut.
(Well—Feng Xin wouldn’t exactly say that the whole thing had gone well given the weird questions and expressions Mu Qing had kept making, but this was the first time in awhile that they had met on their own and not ended up in an all out brawl against each other, so—it probably counted as progress.
His Highness would be so pleased.)
--
His Highness’ birthday was coming up, and it had been a long time since any of them had celebrated it together, and really the first time they would ever have celebrated it as gods since probably the less said about His Highness’ previous two ascensions the better.
That would already warrant a grand birthday gift, but there was also Crimson Rain to think about. The likelihood of the Ghost King showering His Highness with treasures and all sorts of fabulous weapons was unfortunately high, and Feng Xin was having a hard time coming up with some kind of weapon that wasn’t already in the Supreme’s vault.
“Aphrodisiacs,” Pei Ming declares loudly, “Or lubricant—they probably need a lot of that—”
“I’m not giving His Highness any of that!” Feng Xin yells, wanting to claw out the images in his head.
“Well, it’s not like there’s that many heavenly weapons lying around as gifts,” Pei Ming notes. “And I feel like Crimson Rain wouldn’t like it if you gave him a replica of Ju Yang’s—”
“Fuck no! What the fuck ?” Feng Xin demands, busily trying to erase the last few seconds of his memory. “That’s disgusting! Why are you even giving me advice? I didn’t even ask you!”
“Well, Xie Lian was so troubled over the idea of a birthday gift last time for Crimson Rain that I thought I’d be generous and just offer my advice ahead of time,” Pei Ming says smoothly. “So what you should do is—”
“Stop talking or—or I’ll go find Rain Master and make her sit next to you during the next banquet,” Feng Xin threatens.
(Really, Feng Xin has no idea why Rain Master makes Pei Ming uncomfortable. The Rain Master is quiet, nice, and seems to care more about taking care of her farmers and vegetables than any power plays in the heavenly courts.
Also of course he remembers how she was kind enough to lend His Highness her hat to bring the rains to Xian Le, even if it didn’t end up helping in the end.
But whatever, anything to just get Pei Ming to stop offering terrible advice. )
Pei Ming pales, drawing back a bit. “Well—there’s no need to go that far. I’m just trying to help after all.”
“I don’t need any help, I can definitely get His Highness a better birthday gift than Mu Qing can,” Feng Xin says bluntly.
Pei Ming nods sagely, “Ah, I see. Some competition to add some spice.”
Feng Xin frowns, “Spice in what?”
Pei Ming raises an eyebrow, “In bed of course.”
Feng Xin chokes, sputtering, “ What? That’s not—we aren’t—Mu Qing’s cultivation path relies on abstinence and chastity! ”
“So does Xie Lian’s, doesn’t it? Doesn’t seem to stop him and Crimson Rain,” Pei Ming says languidly. “You don’t have as much spiritual power as Crimson Rain, but I’m sure you have enough to spare to top off Xuan Zhen after you guys—”
“We don’t do any of that!” Feng Xin protests, his face hot enough that he’s probably in danger of death by heat stroke if not embarrassment. “That’s not—we would never —”
Pei Ming raises his eyebrows, “You mean you’ve never with him? Really? I thought all that fighting was just foreplay—”
“We fight because he’s an ass who can never say what he’s thinking and has more schemes than a member of an imperial harem,” Feng Xin snaps, scrubbing at his face with a hand.
“And you’ve never even thought of it? He’s not bad-looking,” Pei Ming says with a considering expression on his face. “And possibly a virgin—”
“If you feel like dying, you’ll tell Mu Qing that yourself,” Feng Xin snaps before turning and leaving.
(Has he thought about it before?
Well—he does tend to get pretty worked up after fights with him, so maybe, maybe he’s pictured someone slightly different in his arms when he pins down some guy to work out some stress relief with, and he even knows what Mu Qing looks like, sprawled across the floor, hair askew, cheeks an angry flush, and mouth parted—
But like, that’s a physical reaction, right? Mu Qing is awfully pretty and isn’t too bad to look at across the firepit after having fought side-by-side for a day.
Of course then he’ll open his mouth and ruin it, but even then, there’s some appeal to the angry sneer of his mouth and the glittering eyes that he’s rolling.
It’s much better when it’s not directed at him, but even then, it’s—Feng Xin has always found it hard to pay attention to other people when Mu Qing is around, and sometimes he just wants to mess up the other martial god whatever way he can.
But—Mu Qing has disliked him since the very first day they met, and he won’t go where he’s not welcome, so he’s held back.
And like hell Pei Ming should be eyeing him. Pei Ming isn’t serious about anyone, and Mu Qing—is as serious as the grave.
Besides that, he just—doesn’t like the idea.
Even if Mu Qing is as annoying as hell, he still deserves—someone who would at least take him seriously for the first time, in Feng Xin’s opinion.
Not that it really matters since Mu Qing would probably tear Pei Ming from limb to limb if the martial god of the North was ever dumb enough to say any of that to Mu Qing’s face.)
“General!” one of his disciples calls out, running up to him.
Feng Xin quickly shakes his head to dislodge any weird and inappropriate (and hopeless) thoughts about Mu Qing’s intimate affairs and looks at his disciple, “Yes?”
His disciple puts his hands together and quickly bows, “General, you told us to be on the lookout for any interesting weapons that might appear on the market, and we have received some excellent news!”
“You managed to find something Crimson Rain doesn’t already have stored in his vault?” Feng Xin asks, hope rising in his chest.
“Better than that, General! The Immortal Craftswoman Lin Jingyun has once again taken up residence in her forge!”
Feng Xin’s mouth drops, “ Really? The Immortal Craftswoman who has never made a single artifact that didn’t turn out to be a legendary item? I thought she was missing! No one’s seen her in—I’m not even sure how long!”
“Yes, I’ve heard that she’s spent the past few centuries in the ocean palaces of the dragon kings, learning more about their craft,” his disciple nods. “But now she’s back!”
“Good job, Ou Qihang!” Feng Xin says, slapping him on the back happily.
(Even if Crimson Rain had some of The Immortal Craftswoman’s artifacts in his vault already, surely a brand new weapon forged by her would be an even better gift?
And to make things even better, The Immortal Craftswoman notoriously disliked ghosts, so it wasn’t like Crimson Rain could borrow her services either.)
Ou Qihang beams at him before furrowing his brow, “You should hurry though, General. When I got the news, some of Xuan Zhen’s disciples were also hanging around.”
“Fuck, we can’t let Mu Qing get to her first!” Feng Xin curses, rushing back in the direction of his temple to grab his bow. “Still—good work, Ou Qihang! You can be taken off the duty roster for a week if you would like!”
--
Of course, he arrives at Iron Mountain at the exact same time that Mu Qing does.
They glare at each other.
“So—you’re also here to commission a gift for His Highness,” Mu Qing says.
Feng Xin lifts his chin, “That’s right.”
“The Immortal Craftswoman is known to be somewhat—capricious,” Mu Qing continues, narrowing his eyes, “She only makes things for the joy of making them, so she may not want to create two different legendary weapons as gifts for the same person.”
“Well, then. I got here first,” Feng Xin says, crossing his arms.
“Like hell you did,” Mu Qing spits out, narrowing his eyes. “Clearly, I got here first!”
“You did not! You stepped onto the mountain a step behind me!”
Mu Qing scoffs, “You weren’t on the mountain, you were at the side.”
“Which is still the mountain.”
“Not officially part of Iron Mountain.”
Feng Xin throws up his hands (gods, was there anyone more annoying than Mu Qing in all the Heavens and Hells?), “We’ll see what the Immortal Craftswoman thinks about it!”
“Fine, I’m sure she knows exactly where the boundaries of her mountain are!” Mu Qing snaps.
“Actually, given all the rockfalls and the way the waterfall moves, it’s changed a bit in the past century,” a cheerful female voice notes.
They both whirl around to see a tall woman standing there, wearing pale blue robes, an apron, and with soot stains on her gnarled and weathered hands.
She beams at both of them.
“You guys seem fun!” she says, swinging a hammer onto her shoulder. “Are you here to commission something?”
“Yes!” they both shout and then glare at each other.
“Stop copying all of my ideas—”
“ Your idea? I had this idea all on my own! You’re the one who’s copying me!”
“As if you could come up with a good idea for His Highness’ gift on your own—”
“Oh, it’s a gift? Is it a birthday gift?” the woman asks eagerly and then claps her hands together when both of them nod. “How nice! And the two of you both want to give your friend something made by me—hm. But I only have a certain amount of materials. It’s not enough for two completely separate and unique weapons I think. Let me think about this…”
“Immortal Craftswoman, if you’re trying to decide who to create the gift for, it should obviously be me,” Mu Qing interjects arrogantly. “I am the Martial God of the Southwest Xuan Zhen while this idiot is just the Martial God of the Southeast Ju Yang—”
“Nan Yang Zhen Jun, and who won the lantern competition last year?” Feng Xin corrects and cuts in.
“His Highness,” Mu Qing says mulishly.
“Not the overall competition, our competition!” Feng Xin says, waving a hand. “It was me last year!”
“And it was me the year before!”
“Still, since I won this year, obviously I should be the one that the Immortal Craftswoman creates a weapon for—”
“You only won because you went out and showed off to all your followers right before the competition!”
“Just because you still think showing off a bit is beneath you—”
“We’re gods, and you also used to think that! You didn’t even want to do those street performances with His Highness back then—”
“But I still did in the end! You could really stand to just loosen up a bit—”
“I have the perfect solution!” the woman says, interrupting their fight. “What if I made you guys a pair of swords, and then you could both present it to your friend? I definitely have enough materials for that—in fact, I have a pair I just made—and I’m sure your friend would like it! Who is it for anyway, another martial god?”
“Yes, but—why can’t you just give the pair of swords to one of us?” Mu Qing asks with a frown.
“Well you two are such good friends, I’d hate to be another source of conflict,” the woman says blithely.
Feng Xin just stares at her before gesturing between him and Mu Qing, “We’re fighting and you think we’re friends? ”
(He’s been trying, and he does—kind of consider Mu Qing a very annoying friend, but—
It’s always been so hard with Mu Qing.
He doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him sometimes to shut him up.)
“You know each other so well,” the woman shrugs. “So much history together too. And the fighting—I mean the Immortal Alchemist really drives me up a wall sometimes, but she’s still my favorite person.”
“Well, I’m so glad that’s clear,” Mu Qing says in a brittle voice, sending a glare in Feng Xin’s direction (oh no, what has gotten Mu Qing into a snit now?). “Then—will you give us the swords?”
“Play a game for them, and yes!” the Immortal Craftswoman smiles at them.
“A game?” Feng Xin asks dubiously. “Why?”
“Because it’s more fun that way,” the Immortal Craftswoman says as she turns to go back into her mountain.
“More importantly, what kind of game?” Mu Qing asks, following her.
The Immortal Craftswoman taps her fingers against her mouth, “Hmmm, well, chess would be traditional wouldn’t it? But I’m a terrible chess player. I suppose cards or dice games would work as well, but this isn’t a gambling hall. So—oh, have you heard of the game where there’s a host and two guests, and the host will ask a question to one of the guests, and the other guest has to write down what they think the guest being questioned will say?”
(It sounds a bit like a nightmare, especially since Feng Xin has never prided himself on being able to read Mu Qing.
Mu Qing however would probably be really good at it.)
Feng Xin stares at her and replies bluntly, “No.”
“Where did you get an idea like that?” Mu Qing demands, his face screwed up in distaste.
“I saw some mortals playing it a few times at some festivals. The audience seemed to really love it,” The Immortal Craftswoman explains, leading them into a cavernous chamber.
“You want us to guess what the other person will say? But—Mu Qing never says what he thinks! How am I supposed to know what’s going to come out of his mouth?” Feng Xin asks, wanting to tug his hair out.
“Well—I do have a truth potion. If both of you took it, do you think you could be better at the game?” The Immortal Craftswoman asks.
Feng Xin nods (if Mu Qing got forced to tell the truth, Feng Xin thinks he could have a fair shot at it—they have known each other for nearly a millennia after all), “Yes—”
“ No ,” Mu Qing says at the exact same time, glaring daggers at both Feng Xin and the Immortal Craftswoman. “Why would I—I’m not taking any truth potions!”
“Not even for this lovely set of swords that I painstakingly crafted out of pearl and deep sea steel?” the Immortal Craftswoman coaxes, suddenly bringing out a pair of swords that gleam in the light, looking as sharp as a beam of light and with glittering embellishments that do nothing to take away from the lightness and lethality of the blades.
Mu Qing’s eyes are wide, and Feng Xin knows that he too is admiring the Immortal Craftswoman’s handiwork.
(His Highness would adore a set of blades like that.
Sadly the only way to get them seems to be to play along with the Immortal Craftwoman’s strange game with Mu Qing, but Feng Xin doesn’t mind too much. It’s not like he doesn’t usually say what he thinks regardless, and Mu Qing has always been very good at predicting what Feng Xin will do or say, most of the time to Feng Xin’s chagrin.
And he kind of wants to see Mu Qing under a truth potion—maybe he could finally get a few straight answers out of him.
Well—there’s always one way to goad Mu Qing into doing anything.)
“What, are you scared, Mu Qing?” Feng Xin asks in a mock-solicitous tone. “I can see why you might tremble in fear at the idea of finally having to tell the truth like a normal person—”
“Who’s scared here?” Mu Qing snaps, squaring up his shoulders and glaring at Feng Xin. “I’m just worried what you might say under a truth potion—”
“ I always say what I mean, unlike some gods I could name—”
“Well, if you’re both ready to play, here’s the potion, and let me go get some boards and writing utensils for the rest of the game!” the Immortal Craftswoman interrupts, pushing a clear, sparkling potion into Feng Xin’s hands before bustling off into the rest of the cave.
Feng Xin uncorks the potion, takes a sniff (doesn’t smell like anything), shrugs, and then takes a swig before offering the bottle to Mu Qing.
Mu Qing takes the bottle and stares at him, “Is one gulp enough?”
“Probably?” Feng Xin offers.
“Why did you end up abandoning His Highness?” Mu Qing immediately asks.
“He told me to go,” Feng Xin’s mouth opens and says before he can stop it. “I shouldn’t have listened to him, but he told me to go, and I—I was shocked that he was acting the way he was. Cursing at people, robbing houses of money—he wasn’t anything like he was before. To see him like that—it makes complete sense now, but—he told me to go, and part of me was relieved.”
(He had never told anyone that.
He had never even told His Highness that, even though he’s fairly certain His Highness knows.
Crimson Rain probably also knows, to his shame, and now Mu Qing as well.
Will—he sneer and point out how hypocritical it was for Feng Xin to have scolded and cursed him for leaving when he did?)
Mu Qing just stares at him, brow furrowed, but not saying a word.
(The silence is almost worse than anything he imagined Mu Qing saying.)
“...aren’t you surprised?” Feng Xin finally goads, not able to stand Mu Qing’s silent look any longer. “I was so faithful and loyal, but in the end, even I—”
“You’ve always been a judgmental prick, but—you didn’t leave until he told you to go. You were loyal to the end,” Mu Qing interrupts, an odd expression on his face as he sweeps his hair back and looks at the potion. “So—this works.”
“You better drink it too. And I get to ask you a question after so we can make sure it works on you too,” Feng Xin adds.
Mu Qing gives him a sour look, but downs the potion and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Why did you think His Highness would drop you on that bridge in Mount Tonglu?” Feng Xin asks, genuinely curious.
(He had never been able to figure that out.
Mu Qing knows His Highness nearly as well as Feng Xin does, how could he ever think that His Highness wouldn’t save him?)
Mu Qing’s face spasms, and his hand flies towards his mouth, “That piece of spiritual land—the one that I helped the other heavenly officials chase him from—he begged me to tell him that I knew he wasn’t lying about not robbing anyone. The same way—I was begging him on that bridge to believe that I didn’t have any ill intentions towards any of you.”
(He remembers the rage he had been in when he had heard what Mu Qing had done.
It had somehow hurt worse that Mu Qing had just been strangely nice, bringing over medicine and food with none of his usual snide biting comments or insults. He had even briefly smiled at Feng Xin, and Feng Xin had thought that it was probably for the best that Mu Qing didn’t genuinely smile that often since it was terrible for Feng Xin’s heart.
And it turned out, it hadn’t been because Mu Qing was finally warming up to him—all of them in general really, it had all been because he had felt guilty for betraying His Highness.
Still, even if at the time he had been far too angry to listen to any of Mu Qing’s excuses, with 800 years spent in the heavenly courts now—he somewhat understands.
Mu Qing has always been ambitious and at the time, it really would have become very difficult for him if he had opposed those heavenly officials.
And really, was Feng Xin any better?
He had also chastised His Highness for the attempted robbery and still left His Highness at his lowest state.
No wonder Crimson Rain hates the two of them so much.)
Mu Qing is staring at him with wide eyes, the muscles in his jaw tense and his fists clenched at his side.
Feng Xin sighs, “...well, you know His Highness is not one to hold a grudge, thankfully for both of us.”
Mu Qing narrows his eyes at him, “That’s it?”
“You want me to yell at you again about it?”
“Of course not, but—?” Mu Qing snaps, biting his lip, “You were the one who was so suspicious of me that time—”
“Because you hit me over the head and knocked me out! What was I supposed to think?”
“Not that I wanted to kill you! I’d never want you dead!” Mu Qing cries before turning as red as Feng Xin has ever seen him.
(Really?
That’s—pretty unexpected given how many times Mu Qing has yelled at him to drop dead and fought with him.
But it has to be the truth because he just took the potion.
It feels—kind of nice to know that Mu Qing actually kind of cares about him?)
Feng Xin quickly wipes what he is pretty sure is a dopey smile off of his face, “…oh—well, same. Anyway, now we know it works on you too.”
“Glad to hear it!” the Immortal Craftswoman says, bustling back in. “I think I’ve figured out the questions to the game too!”
“We never asked: how do you win this game?” Mu Qing asks, turning towards the Immortal Craftswoman.
“Hm, well obviously if you can’t predict any of the answers, then you’ll both lose, and I won’t give you the swords.”
“What if one side gets them all wrong?” Mu Qing presses on.
“ Or if one side gets more right than the other?” Feng Xin cuts in.
“Hmmm I guess in that case, I will say that the one that gets the most answers right will get to present the right hand sword,” the Immortal Craftswoman answers, gesturing with the sword that suddenly appears in her right hand. Unlike its mate, the embellishments around the handle are wrought out of gold instead of silver.
Mu Qing also stares fixedly at the sword before turning back to Feng Xin, “Prepare to lose,” he declares.
Feng Xin scoffs, “In your dreams!”
“Well, here you go,” the Immortal Craftswoman says, handing them both boards and writing utensils. “And I have some common questions that your followers have gathered together from files that Ling Wen- jie was so generous to supply me with after I promised her a magical filing cabinet. So—the person who took the truth potion first can answer questions out loud first while I will tell the other person the questions now so they can write down what they think you will say.”
Mu Qing looks smug about not having to answer questions first as the Immortal Craftswoman whispers questions into his ear, but actually this set-up is fine with Feng Xin.
(It’ll give him more time to see how Mu Qing acts under the truth potion so he can figure out how Mu Qing will answer.)
Mu Qing finishes scribbling all his answers down after frowning at the board and pausing a few times, and gives a nod to the Immortal Craftswoman.
“Alright then, let’s start with something easy,” she says, pointing at Feng Xin. “What are your hobbies?”
“Fighting, archery, good food,” Feng Xin says immediately, then scratches his head a bit. “And I guess—fighting again?”
Mu Qing turns one of the boards around to reveal the words: Fighting, Archery, Stuffing his face, and more Fighting.
The Immortal Craftswoman beams and hits a gong that has appeared out of nowhere.
“Correct! Off to a great start! Next question then, a bit harder: there’s been some talk about you having a ghost wife and child. What would you like to say about those rumors?”
Feng Xin doesn’t pause (he’s only ever had one answer to this question ever since he had found out the truth), “They’re true. I mean—I loved someone a long time ago, and we—had a child together. Things—didn’t work out the way either of us wanted though, and—I only recently found out they turned into ghosts together. But—I’m not ashamed of them. I would like to acknowledge them if they would let me.”
He isn’t sure that Mu Qing will know the answer to that question despite their talk the other day, but the board that Mu Qing turns around says: The rumors are true, and he isn’t ashamed of them at all and would actually like to acknowledge them except they ran away and won’t let him.
The gong sounds again, and the Immortal Craftswoman claps.
“You guys are doing so well! Now—let’s see…let’s go with, is there anyone special in your life? Anyone you have your eye on?”
He instinctively wants to say no, but instead his mouth opens and spills out with, “Yes—kind of. I—it’s hard to pay attention to anyone else when he’s around. He’s—a very good fighter. And very pretty.”
(Oh gods, could he be any more obvious?
He guesses he should just be happy the truth potion didn’t just force him to blurt out Mu Qing’s name, but Mu Qing’s pretty smart, he’s going to know.
He’s going to know, and then he’s going to punch Feng Xin in the face, and then they’re going to start brawling, and they’re never going to get those swords for His Highness’ birthday.)
He can’t help but peek over at Mu Qing to try and gauge his reaction.
Mu Qing’s face is as dark as if he had insulted his mother or something.
(Oh no.
Well—he had always known his feelings weren’t exactly welcome, that’s why he’s never acted on them after all, but it’s one thing to suspect that and another to see Mu Qing glaring at him as though he’s some kind of bug.)
“General Xuanzhen, if you will please?” the Immortal Cultivator prompts, apparently oblivious to any hateful anger Mu Qing is radiating.
Mu Qing angrily flips the board around to reveal: No one. He and his ghost wife have drifted apart, and he just has a bunch of random flings sometimes.
(Well, that was written before Mu Qing heard his answer after all.
If he could write it now, he’d probably break the board across his knees like he looks like he wants to.
Still—it looked like Mu Qing wasn’t about to fight him right now at least.)
The Immortal Cultivator hits some kind of button that makes an unpleasant buzzing sound. “Wrong! But no worries, there’s still one more question left!”
Feng Xin squares his shoulders (at least they should play this game through and get the swords for His Highness), “I’m ready.”
“Alright. What do you think of General Xuanzhen?” the Immortal Cultivator asks, gesturing at the general in question who is glaring at his board as though he can set it on fire with his eyes.
“He’s the most annoying person I know. He never says what he means, he’d fit right into an imperial harem because he schemes that much, and if he rolls his eyes anymore, they’re going to fall out of his head,” Feng Xin says promptly before taking a deep breath. “He’s also—he’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever met. He’s really smart, he works really hard, and—it’s good when he’s on your side.”
(That’s—that might offset a little of what he said before?
Maybe Mu Qing will be a little less pissed off?)
He glances at Mu Qing, and Mu Qing is just staring at him, eyes wide and confused.
(That’s—
Not exactly what he’d been expecting.
Surely Mu Qing knows that even if Feng Xin finds him annoying, he can’t really imagine life without him either?)
The Immortal Cultivator leans over and gently turns the last board in Mu Qing’s slack hands around to reveal: He thinks I’m the most annoying person ever, that I never say what I mean, that I scheme too much and roll my eyes too much.
“Hm, I think that’s worth half a point,” the Immortal Cultivator says, marking down something on a piece of parchment. “So General Xuan Zhen’s final score is 2.5 points! Now it’s your turn, General Nan Yang!”
“R—right,” Feng Xin says, glancing at Mu Qing who is just frowning into space with his arms crossed.
(What—what’s with that reaction?
First he’s pissed to learn that Feng Xin kind of has a crush on him, and then he’s somehow surprised that Feng Xin would say anything nice about him?
Even when Mu Qing is dosed with a truth potion, Feng Xin can’t understand him.)
“General Nan Yang?” the Immortal Craftswoman prompts, leading him to the side and giving him some boards and writing utensils, “I’m going to reveal the questions to you now?”
“Y—yes. Ready,” Feng Xin says, taking up the brush and shoving his thoughts to the side.
(All he has to do is understand Mu Qing a little better than Mu Qing understands him to get the right-handed sword.
Surely he can get more than 2.5 questions right?)
“Alright, so the questions are somewhat similar to the ones asked of you, for fairness sake,” the Immortal Craftswoman says, consulting another piece of parchment. “First, what are General Xuan Zhen’s hobbies? Second, has he really kept his vow of chastity and abstinence his whole life? Third, is there anyone special that he has his eye on? And fourth, what does he think of you?”
Feng Xin easily scrawls his answers across the board.
(It’s pretty straight-forward, right?
Mu Qing likes fighting, good tea, reading, and sewing.
He really has kept that vow of chastity and abstinence his whole life.
There’s no one special Mu Qing has ever looked twice at—Feng Xin would have noticed that.
He had had that weird suspicion about Jian Lan, but after mulling it over more for the past few weeks, he doesn’t think there’s any romantic interest there.
Mu Qing had very obviously just wanted to clear up his own reputation back then, not reacting at all to Jian Lan.
In fact, he only acted weird about her around Feng Xin.
And as for the last question—well he doesn’t need to think twice about that, especially after the last round with his confession.
Mu Qing thinks he’s a dumb musclehead with no brains who is just obsessed with shooting arrows and never can figure out anything. He wants to be f-f-friends with him, he guesses, but probably only out of necessity, and right now probably not at all.)
“Done,” he announces, setting the boards to one side.
“Then let’s start this round!” the Immortal Craftswoman cheers as she turns to Mu Qing. “Well then, General Xuan Zhen, we’ll start as easy as before. What are your hobbies?”
“Fighting, drinking good tea, and reading,” Mu Qing says easily, then tries to shut his mouth, but is forced to spit out, “And—sewing.”
Feng Xin turns his board around, and the Immortal Craftswoman grins and rings the gong.
“Correct! Off to a great start! Next question—have you really kept your vow of abstinence and chastity your entire life?”
“Of course I have!” Mu Qing sputters, his hands clenching at his sides, “Who asked that?”
The Immortal Craftswoman shrugs, “A lot of your followers. General Nan Yang, your answer?”
Feng Xin smugly turns his board around, and Mu Qing sniffs, “It’s a dumb question—look, even he answered it right.”
(Loathe as he is to agree with Mu Qing, he also thinks it’s a stupid question.
No one has ever lived up to Mu Qing’s standards.
He’s watched him all this time, and not once had he seen Mu Qing even tempted.
He’s—not always sure how that makes him feel.
He’d probably have to go break something if he ever saw Mu Qing with someone, but on the other hand, that would imply that Mu Qing could be moved that way.)
“You’re the one with stupid followers who actually still asked that question,” Feng Xin pointed out. “Afraid I’m going to win?”
“Ha, don’t make me laugh. As if you know me better than I know you,” Mu Qing sneers before frowning at his own words.
(Mu Qing really thinks he knows Feng Xin better than Feng Xin knows him?
He doubts it.
If Mu Qing really knew him, he probably wouldn’t want to fight him as much as they do given how worked up Feng Xin inevitably gets.)
“Well, let’s see if that’s true,” the Immortal Craftswoman says. “Same question I asked General Nan Yang: anyone special though? Anyone caught your eye?”
Feng Xin waits for Mu Qing to say no, but instead, Mu Qing clenches his jaw, presses his lips together, moves unsteadily in place for awhile before finally bursting out with, “…yes.”
( What? )
“Yes, I’ve—liked someone for a long time. A—very long time. But they don’t like me. I don’t think they ever have,” Mu Qing continues, every word looking as though it’s being scraped out of him, with a bitter expression on his face, eyes flicking over to Feng Xin. “They—hate me I think. Despise me.”
(Who the fuck is it?
Who the fuck managed to grab Mu Qing’s attention when Feng Xin has been watching and trying to figure him out all this time—
But no, just because Feng Xin has wanted, that doesn’t mean that he has any sort of claim over Mu Qing, as he has always well known.
Mu Qing has always done exactly what he wanted to do, be it abandoning him and His Highness, currying favor with heavenly officials who weren’t even fit to lick his boots, or deciding that Feng Xin was too stupid to reason with.)
“General Nan Yang?” the Immortal Craftswoman prompts, and Feng Xin hurriedly turns the board with his answer on it over.
Mu Qing’s lips twist into a strange expression as the Immortal Craftswoman hits the buzzer.
“Wrong, sorry! But you still have one last question to see if you can win! General Xuan Zhen, what do you think of General Nan Yang?”
“He’s a pig-headed, stubborn, fight-obsessed, archery-obsessed god with more muscles than brains,” Mu Qing says immediately. “He can never figure anything out, and he never notices things, but—he’s loyal. Loyal and kind to those who are lucky enough to be his friends.”
Feng Xin can’t stop himself from gaping at Mu Qing, and he is sure he has a really dumb expression on his face, but—gods, who could blame him?
(He—Feng Xin had been teasing him this entire time about wanting to be f-f-friends with them, but he had always assumed that Mu Qing wanted to be friends with him now just to please His Highness.
After all, hasn’t Mu Qing always disliked him?
Hadn’t their first conversation together ended in a fight and most conversations after that for the past 800 years as well?
And yet—Mu Qing thinks it’s lucky to be his friend?)
Mu Qing’s face turns red as he snaps, “Well? What did you write down?”
Feng Xin numbly turns his board over, and the Immortal Craftswoman clicks her tongue.
“Hmm, well, I think that can only count as half a point so—the two of you are tied at 2.5 points each! Congratulations!” she says, handing each of them a sword, “You understand each other about the same—and hopefully after this, you’ll understand each other better as well!”
Mu Qing stares suspiciously at her, “…did His Highness put you up to this?”
“Where would I have ever met your Highness?” the Immortal Craftswoman asks, innocently blinking at them.
“His Highness has wandered around nearly everywhere at this point. And—you had all those questions prepared really quickly,” Mu Qing points out, his eyes narrowing.
“Perhaps your reputations preceded you!” the Immortal Craftswoman says, ushering them out of her cave, “Now, enjoy the swords, you can decide yourselves who will present the right-hand one, and if you will please excuse me, there’s a lot of tidying up in this forge I have to do.”
The entrance to the cave suddenly swings shut, and both him and Mu Qing are left standing at the side of the mountain, each with an exquisitely forged sword in hand.
“…we can just show up at his birthday banquet and give him the swords then,” Mu Qing says finally, glancing at Feng Xin. “I’ll take the right-hand sword, and we don’t have to prepare anything ahead of time—”
“You can take the right-hand sword as long as you answer a question,” Feng Xin says (who cares about which sword they get right now?), “Is it Jian Lan?”
(He—really doesn’t think it is but—
There’s only so many people that Mu Qing is familiar with, and he won’t be able to stop thinking about it if he doesn’t try to get some answers.
Plus, as far as he knows, they’re both still under the effects of the truth potion, so this may be the only time he can get a straight answer out of Mu Qing.)
Mu Qing frowns, “What? What does your ghost wife have anything to do with—”
“The person that—you said there was someone that you’ve liked for a really long time who you think hates you,” Feng Xin says, his hand clenched at his side. “Is it Jian Lan?”
“ No !” Mu Qing practically screeches, looking disgusted at the very idea (rude, Jian Lan had been—was still in a different way, very pretty). “No, that’s not—I’m not you. How did you even come up with that idea?”
“It’s not His Highness, unless you want more reasons for Crimson Rain to want to murder you,” Feng Xin continues, ignoring Mu Qing’s jibe.
Mu Qing wrinkles his nose, “My feelings towards His Highness are entirely platonic, and please don’t suggest otherwise or else Crimson Rain will probably try to kill both you and me.”
“Is it one of your subordinates?” Feng Xin reaches.
Mu Qing sneers, “I’m so glad you think so little of me that you think I would actually take advantage of—”
“Because I can’t think of anyone you’ve known for a long time besides me!” Feng Xin yells, throwing up his hands in frustration. “And that’s—”
He stops, seeing the odd look on Mu Qing’s face, the way he is keeping his lips pressed together, the strain in his jaw, and the way his hands are clenched.
(He had expected Mu Qing to immediately start shouting denials and sneering insults about how that idea was even worse than all the others that he had come up with, but instead—
Mu Qing isn’t denying anything.
Is it because—he literally can’t right now?
Because it’s the truth?)
“…it’s me ?” he asks, staring at Mu Qing.
Mu Qing looks away, red crawling up his neck, and lets out a short, bitter laugh, “Well—I suppose I underestimated you. I never thought you would figure it out.”
“But that’s not—you hate me,” Feng Xin says, his head spinning while something like hope flutters to life in his chest (it was completely disorienting, but—in a good way?). “When we first met, you were always insulting me—”
“You weren’t being particularly welcoming either, if I recall,” Mu Qing snaps back, crossing his arms.
(That’s—true, Feng Xin had been a little bit caught off-guard by this pretty new guy who fought really well who His Highness had dragged in.
He had perhaps been a little bit territorial about his role as His Highness’ best friend, and in retrospect, that probably hadn’t helped.
Although he would still maintain that he hadn’t meant any insult when he had asked Mu Qing what chores he was going to do around the temple.)
“I was a little shit, but you were too,” Feng Xin decides. “But—since when? You—left both me and His Highness—”
“Since—since I don’t know when! And I left because His Highness was a mess that didn’t seem to be getting any better, and you had Jian Lan! What else was left for me?” Mu Qing yells, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“You knew about Jian Lan back then?” Feng Xin asks in surprise.
“I knew you had some woman you were obsessed with,” Mu Qing says succinctly, looking down at the ground. “And now you have someone else too—well, you can just go laugh about all this with him, can’t you? Mu Qing, the broom-sweeping general, actually hopelessly in love with you and pining after you all these years—you’re disgusted, aren’t you?”
“No I’m not,” Feng Xin says seriously, drawing closer to him. “And—what someone else?”
Mu Qing’s head jerks up as he stares at him, “That—that person you said you can’t take your eyes off of! The pretty guy who fights well!”
(Oh.
Oh, Mu Qing thought he was talking about someone else.
So he had been mad because he was—jealous?)
“Mu Qing—I thought you were really smart,” Feng Xin says helplessly.
Mu Qing glares at him, “What the hell does that mean.”
“I was describing you. ”
This the first time Feng Xin has ever seen Mu Qing ever look so gobsmacked, mouth gaping open like a fish on land. It’s—pretty hilarious actually, he wants to somehow embed it into his memory for posterity.
(Was it that surprising?
Feng Xin had never been called subtle before.)
“You—you’ve gone crazy,” Mu Qing finally says decidedly, frowning at him. “All those fumes in the cave or that potion have made you gone loopy—”
“Is it so hard to believe?” Feng Xin demands (nothing with Mu Qing is ever easy, is it?)
“ Yes ,” Mu Qing hisses, glaring at him. “You hate me, remember? You never trust me, you think I’d fit into an imperial harem with all my scheming, you look down on me—”
“I don’t look down on you! ”Feng Xin interrupts, ready to rip his hair out. “Didn’t you listen to what I said earlier? Yes, I didn’t trust you before—but I think I get you now. Kind of. Enough to know you’re not going to stab me or His Highness in the back anymore.”
“So glad that it only took you 800 years to trust me,” Mu Qing says through gritted teeth.
Feng Xin shakes his head, “You’re annoying as hell—you’re possibly the most annoying person I’ve ever met, but—you’re also one of the best fighters I’ve ever witnessed, there’s almost nothing you can’t accomplish once you set your mind to it, and—and I’ve also really liked you for a long time.”
“You had Jian Lan!”
“Well, it didn’t look like you were going to give me the time of day anytime soon,” Feng Xin shoots back.
Mu Qing paces in place, looking lost and then looks him in the eye, “I—I’m not nice.”
Feng Xin arches an eyebrow, “I am fucking well aware.”
Mu Qing lets out a frustrated breath, “No, it’s—you said that you fell in love with Jian Lan because she—she was nice to you and listened to you. I—am not that.”
Feng Xin blinks (oh, that’s why he had acted so squirrely that night?), “Jian Lan was Jian Lan, and you are you,” he says calmly. “Besides—she was tough. Was surprisingly mean to people she didn’t like either…What—I can’t fall in love with different people at different times for different reasons?”
“I wouldn’t know. For me, it’s only ever been you,” Mu Qing says angrily before looking horrified at what had just slipped out of his mouth.
(Oh that’s—
He can’t deny the warm possessive feeling that curls around his heart at the idea that he is Mu Qing’s one and only.)
Feng Xin’s smile widens, and Mu Qing looks like he wants to pull his sword out and cut him.
“Just—just forget I said that, will you?” he snaps. “After all—it’s not like you’ve been sitting around just pining away. You’re always going off with some man after we fight—”
“I’m usually still thinking about you when I’m with them,” Feng Xin confesses, scratching the back of his neck. “I imagine they’re you a lot.”
Mu Qing chokes, “ What? You—so shameless! You can’t just say things like that!”
“It’s the truth,” Feng Xin shrugs before carefully looking over Mu Qing’s red face and nervous eyes (he hasn’t seen Mu Qing like this before—he kind of likes it). “You don’t think about me after we fight?”
Mu Qing’s eyes flicker, his hands grabbing at his sleeves, and his flush rolls down to his neck as he forces out, “…I do.”
“What do you imagine us doing?” Feng Xin murmurs, letting his hand carefully stroke down the side of Mu Qing’s arm.
Mu Qing tenses, looking down at Feng Xin’s hand before looking back up at his face. “…lots of things. What—what are you—what are you doing?”
“Do you want to try any of what you imagined?” Feng Xin asks, staring intently into Mu Qing’s eyes.
Mu Qing frowns, pulling his arm away, “Is this how your flings usually go?” he asks sharply. “You just—work it out of your system—”
“Is it so hard to believe that I want to try something real with you?” Feng Xin interrupts before Mu Qing can really get going.
“Yes!” Mu Qing yells, drawing a hand through his hair, “Why—now? You’ve never given any indication that you even liked me—”
“Neither did you. I don’t try stuff with people who don’t welcome my intentions,” Feng Xin points out.
“And now you want to ‘try stuff’ with me?” Mu Qing sneers.
Feng Xin takes a deep breath (the truth potion is probably wearing off now, and—he’s got to not blow his one chance with Mu Qing here just by saying the wrong thing), “I don’t want—Look, I just want to try and—be together with you. Like seriously. We—obviously we’re both idiots who have been in love with each other for a long time, and—can’t we just try? And—whether that means you don’t want to be touched or you’re fine with that—I don’t care. I only want to do whatever makes you comfortable. But—can you please at least give us a chance here?”
Mu Qing stares at him, looking at a loss for words, fiddling with both his sleeves. “…you know that even if we were together—I still probably won’t say what I mean, and I’ll probably still scheme—I won’t change, right?” he asks in a very small voice.
“When did I ask for you to change?” Feng Xin asks in a bewildered tone. “I mean—yes, I would like it if you would just say what you mean, but—I fell for you regardless of all that. Plus—now that I know your true feelings—I think I understand you better now.”
“You still tied with me in the competition,” Mu Qing reminds him haughtily.
“And you still haven’t given me an answer,” Feng Xin reminds him. “I didn’t think that this would actually be the thing that scared you—”
“Who’s scared?” Mu Qing growls, grabbing Feng Xin by the ties of his cape, pulling him forward, and smashing their mouths together.
(It can’t be called a great kiss.
Their teeth clack together, their noses smush, and it is very obviously Mu Qing’s first ever kiss, but—
Feng Xin is so happy he could fly both him and Mu Qing up right now if that wouldn’t mean he had to stop kissing him.)
Feng Xin places his hands against Mu Qing’s face and gentles the kiss a bit, nipping at Mu Qing’s lips before Mu Qing is leaning into his touch, and he licks at the seam of Mu Qing’s lips, asking for permission to enter. Mu Qing hesitates for a bit before parting his lips and letting Feng Xin’s tongue explore his mouth.
They stay entwined like that for awhile, Mu Qing’s hands tangling into Feng Xin’s hair, and Feng Xin’s hands gripping Mu Qing’s waist (it really is as slender as he had imagined) before they finally have to separate for air.
“How was that for an answer?” Mu Qing pants, his mouth red and looking both smug and wrecked and happy and more attractive than Feng Xin has ever seen him in his life.
(It’s a good look on Mu Qing.
Feng Xin should make sure it happens more often)
“You know—I’m kind of dumb. We should head back, and you can explain it more at either your temple or mine,” Feng Xin says, pinning Mu Qing with a heated glance.
“Mine,” Mu Qing says immediately.
“Do you have any supplies? We may need some depending on what you want to do,” Feng Xin asks, draping himself across Mu Qing’s back and reveling in the fact that Mu Qing doesn’t immediately shrug him off.
“I—some,” Mu Qing admits with a blush.
“You do ?” Feng Xin looks at him in surprise. “Doesn’t that count against your chastity vow—”
“It’s not the same when you do it to yourself, as you know!” Mu Qing retorts, tugging Feng Xin’s hair sharply.
(Ohhhh that’s a nice thought.
He can nearly picture it—and he may be getting a personal demonstration soon too.)
“You won’t mind finally breaking your vow with me?” he checks.
Mu Qing ducks his head and bites his lip before softly confessing, “...you’re the only one I would want to break it with.”
(Oh that’s—
That makes Feng Xin burn even hotter than before.)
Mu Qing lifts his chin and looks him square in the eye with a dusting of pink still on his cheeks, “So—so you better make it worth my while!”
“Oh baby, I’m going to make you feel so good ,” Feng Xin promises as he bites his earlobe and whispers into Mu Qing’s ear, “Did you use those supplies on yourself after all those fights with me? How did you like using them—”
“You can find out when we get there, Ju Yang,” Mu Qing snaps, grabbing him by the hand and stealing another small kiss before pulling him onto a cloud to fly away.
(For once, he doesn’t mind being called that name.
He can’t wait to replenish any spiritual energy Mu Qing might lose tonight.)
--
Extra:
“San Lang, I can’t believe it, how did you make the two of them finally get along?” Xie Lian asks, staring at Feng Xin and Mu Qing who are actually sitting together at his birthday banquet table, peacefully chatting and even smiling at each other.
“Does Gege really want to know?” Hua Cheng asks with a mysterious smile, pouring some more tea for Xie Lian.
“Definitely! It’s been so many years, but I’ve never seen them getting along so well,” Xie Lian says, leaning forward.
Hua Cheng smiles at him, ducking his head, “It was nothing much. It’s just that the Immortal Alchemist enjoys betting in my halls and ran up quite a tab. I heard that her friend, the Immortal Craftswoman, made a pair of swords your Highness would love, and that she enjoys games to force fighting couples to get along. I simply asked her to get her friend to come out of seclusion and make the temples of Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang aware that these swords existed.”
“How smart San Lang!” Xie Lian praises. “Although—they’re not a couple?”
“Well, they are now,” Hua Cheng shrugs, gesturing over at where Feng Xin actually has an arm around Mu Qing’s shoulder and is whispering something into his ear that is making the other general turn red.
Xie Lian’s eyebrows rise before he laughs happily, scooting around so that he can set his head against Hua Cheng’s shoulder.
“I’m glad they’re happy,” he says simply, raising his hand where the red string is tied.
Hua Cheng takes his hand with his own that also has the red string tied and kisses it, “Not as happy as us,” he insists. “They will probably still fight sometimes, sorry Gege.”
“Oh, they wouldn’t be Mu Qing or Feng Xin if they didn’t,” Xie Lian reassures him. “No, but I’m glad. This is really the best gift you could give me.”
“Happy Birthday, your highness,” Hua Cheng says before capturing his mouth with his own.