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Feng Xin catches Mu Qing by the waist, trying to stand him back up. There’s so much blood. It stains Feng Xin’s armor and robes where their bodies touch. They didn’t have time to worry about the wound when they escaped.
“I can stand,” the bite in Mu Qing’s voice is softened by blood loss and he winces at how small he sounds. He can’t decide what’s more painful: his broken ribs, the large, bleeding gashes or how Feng Xin is looking at him.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Feng Xin says softly, but the words feel more like sand to Mu Qing; sand rubbing into his open wound, finding its way into his veins. Feng Xin creates a Distance Shortening Array, his work not as precise as Mu Qing’s but good enough, “We’ll go to one of your temples. It’s closer.”
Mu Qing does not argue, thinking that for once Feng Xin is willing to make the right decision.
Even stepping through the array proves to be a struggle for Mu Qing in his current state. The rush of spiritual powers coming from Feng Xin washes over him and he staggers, his knees buckling as they make it to the stone steps of his temple. As he starts to fall again, Feng Xin’s arm tightens around him and he lets out a gasp of pain.
“Shit, I’m sorry!” Feng Xin’s voice has an edge to it that Mu Qing hasn’t heard in a while. Not since the fall of Xian Le. It sounds desperate and angry and so, so fragile. He has been uncharacteristically quiet since they barely escaped from the ghost’s lair with their lives and to hear his usually brash and crude voice use such a gentle tone is off-putting for Mu Qing. Especially when the words are directed at him.
It should have been a straight forward mission; they would roll in, defeat the ghost and go their separate ways. Mu Qing even wondered why Feng Xin asked for his help. He wasn’t ready for when the cursed maw crushed through his armor. He wasn’t ready for the scream he heard after, from his mouth or Feng Xin’s, he still doesn’t know.
Feng Xin’s hand comes up to press on Mu Qing’s chest to hold him steady and he pulls his body away slightly; the blood between them oozes and creates a viscous connection. It breaks the second Feng Xin starts to walk him up the stone steps.
This temple is older but well tended. There are small offerings of fruit left at the altar and the musk of incense lingers in the air as though someone were here only a few minutes ago. As soon as they make it inside Mu Qing begins to feel better, though the wound does not start to heal as it should. He tries to divert his spiritual energy to it to no avail.
Feng Xin, noticing Mu Qing’s efforts, admonishes him, “Don’t waste your energy like that. Bai Hui cursed you. The wound needs more than your own spiritual powers.”
“Tell me what it needs then, since you’re suddenly a medical expert,” Mu Qing sneers.
Feng Xin huffs in response and lays Mu Qing down gently on the altar. He doesn’t say anything and goes to remove Mu Qing’s breastplate. His fingers close around one strap when Mu Qing jerks his shoulder away.
“What are you doing?” Mu Qing furrows his brow and he angles his torso away from Feng Xin. The question comes out like a bark, a declaration, a warning. “You’ve brought me here and done enough.”
Feng Xin ignores him and manhandles him back into place to remove his armor. When Mu Qing gasps in pain again there’s no second apology, “If you’d just let me fucking help you, it probably wouldn’t hurt as much.”
If there is a fondness in his voice, Mu Qing refuses to hear it.
Feng Xin makes quick work of Mu Qing’s armor, his fingers picking up the muscle memory from 800 years ago. Mu Qing wonders if this is what Xie Lian saw every time they helped him out of his armor: Feng Xin’s brow is furrowed slightly and his eyes dart from strap to buckle to plate to strap, his fingers are agile and well practiced. At one point his tongue darts out to lick his dry lips and stays sticking out for a moment when he struggles with one particular strap that won’t come free. He doesn’t look Mu Qing in the eye until his torso and arms are free of armor, each plate carefully laid out on the altar beside him.
Mu Qing can’t think of a time in his entire life when he allowed anyone to remove his armor for him like this, preferring to shed it on his own. It hadn’t occurred to him in all his years alive, how personal this process could be and how the intimacy could strike fear in his heart. Feng Xin is standing in between his thighs now, looking directly into his eyes.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Mu Qing spits out, not liking the searching look in the other god’s eyes.
“Why do you always have to be like this?” Feng Xin takes a step back out of Mu Qing’s space and raises his voice slightly.
“Why do you always have to decide how I should be reacting?” Mu Qing replies, making sure his voice is even louder. Without noticing he had thrown his body into the response, leaning forward on the altar in an attempt to stand. When he falters from the pain Feng Xin crowds his space again, catching him, holding him gently. Mu Qing fights through the pain and pushes him off, taking a step backwards into the altar and braces himself against it with one hand. When he looks up he sees his own image, carefully carved out of stone with beautiful garlands and talismans hanging all around it. The god is standing tall and triumphant, sabre in one hand while the other is empty reaching out; Mu Qing’s blood pools at its feet.
He looks over to where he pushed Feng Xin away and sees him staring right back, hurt undisguised in his face. Feng Xin’s arms fall to his sides and his fists clench and unclench a few times as though he’s trying to grab onto something; something that’s being held from him.
Feng Xin steps back into Mu Qing’s space again and takes hold of his jaw, “Can you behave for one moment?” The words are whispered this time but come to Mu Qing like a smack to the face.
“Are you telling me to behave in my own temple?” Mu Qing grits out but doesn’t move his head from Feng Xin’s grasp; there’s a wild look in the other god’s eyes now, like fire in a forest after a drought. Feng Xin guides Mu Qing back to where he was sitting on the altar, not taking his hand off Mu Qing’s jaw until he is back in place. Once Mu Qing is perched, Feng Xin’s hand trails down to rest on his neck and his thumb presses on Mu Qing’s pulse. Mu Qing grinds his teeth as he lets it all happen. His neck is bared and his wound is still bleeding.
He blames the spiritual nature of his injury for his compliance. He blames the blood loss for the way his skin burns underneath Feng Xin’s fingertips. He blames the broken bones for how his breath stutters when Feng Xin’s other hand comes up to unfasten his robes, peeling the layers of cotton away from his skin, delicately picking out pieces of his armor still lodged in his wound. He has nothing to blame for how his stomach flips when Feng Xin’s hand moves from his neck to brush some loose hair away from his face and tucks it behind his ear.
“I don’t need coddling,” Mu Qing says through clenched teeth, “Just get this over with.” He can’t bear seeing the fire in Feng Xin’s eyes morph into something else: something that he thinks he has seen before but actively fought. Something he doesn’t think he’s ready to know.
His body is already bare underneath the other’s god’s gaze; he sees no reason to bare his soul, too.
The look disappears as fast as it came and Feng Xin’s face shutters and the corners of his mouth turn down. “If you’d stop acting like a child, maybe this would be finished,” he sneers back.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”
“Just shut up.”
Mu Qing bares his teeth this time, readying a scathing response when Feng Xin abruptly kneels between his legs. His hands stay focused on Mu Qing’s wound. When Mu Qing looks down he sees the same concentration from before now directed at the gaping hole in his side. The edges of his flesh are blackened and sloughing off. It’s disgusting. But both men are warriors used to seeing the horrors of battle. Feng Xin applies some of his own spiritual energy to the wound while applying medicinal herbs. It’s soothing and Mu Qing’s breathing evens out.
Mu Qing is allowed another moment of peace when, yet again, Feng Xin surprises him. The kneeling god sends a silent prayer to him. Immediately it revitalizes Mu Qing and he can feel his cursed flesh start to knit together. They stay silent as Feng Xin prays, prostrated between Mu Qing’s legs.
‘I wish for this wound to heal. I wish for General Xuan Zhen to stand again on his own.’
The prayers come to Mu Qing like a high tide on the shore, rushing and powerful. Just like the tide, they push and pull over Mu Qing’s heart rearranging its natural topography, bit by bit. It causes the blood in his veins to surge and the tension in his muscles dissipates. From waves to the gentle bubbling of a hot spring; now he’s sinking.
‘I wish for him to be strong again. Strong and beautiful as always.’
Beautiful? Mu Qing can’t yet summon up the strength to respond. Watching Feng Xin’s lips move in silent prayer, Mu Qing feels heat pool in his gut and his legs open wider. The unbidden action causes a wave of disgust to roll through his body but it’s no match for the way the prayers wash over him like wine. He doesn’t drink but he knows there are more ways than one to be intoxicated.
These prayers have his head swimming.
Feng Xin stands up when Mu Qing’s wound is more or less healed, concluding his prayers, and tries to meet Mu Qing’s eyes. “Did it work?” he asks tentatively. Again, that fragile tone. Broken from his reverie, Mu Qing’s lip curls in response.
“What?” Mu Qing won’t be the one to give the prayers a name.
“...The prayers.” Finally Feng Xin is the one forced to look down and break their locked gaze. Now Mu Qing can look at him without fear of being scrutinized back; there is a light flush creeping up his neck and his ears are tinted red. His eyes, now pinned to the floor beneath them, dart around from tile to tile.
Mu Qing allows himself a moment to watch Feng Xin’s neck grow red and the line between his brows deepen. Seeing his handsome and open features contort under stress causes something inside Mu Qing to break.
“Was offering prayers to a god like me so hard that you’ve forgotten how to speak?” Mu Qing winces at the sound of his own voice, “I don’t need your prayers of pity.”
He deserves what comes next.
“You know what? Fuck you!” Feng Xin shouts and turns away from him, stomping a few feet away. His hands come up to cover his face and he lets out a garbled and unhinged noise. Pure frustration. When he turns back there is another fire in his eyes, but they’ve never looked colder to Mu Qing. He walks right back up to the altar and gets in Mu Qing’s face. “I’m not going to let you do this right now. I’m not going to fucking let you drive me up a wall after I fucking saved your ass.” His words are just above a whisper and Mu Qing has to fight the shiver that runs up his spine. “I’m not going to let you fucking pretend that you didn’t like it.”
Mu Qing didn’t notice that as Feng Xin got closer he angled his own neck to bare his throat again. His breath is uneven and he can only watch as Feng Xin’s eyes flicker down to his heaving chest. His gaze lingers for a few breaths and the heat in Mu Qing’s belly moves down to his groin.
“Why is it so hard for you to fathom that I might not like seeing you hurt?” Feng Xin says and his eyes come up to Mu Qing’s, all freezing fire.
Mu Qing can’t think of a situation where he’d be able to respond to that so he opts to look away.
“Now you have nothing to say?” Feng Xin’s eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw. He looks away and lets a heavy breath out through his nose. “You should be able to dress yourself now. When you’re ready, I’ll draw another array to get back home.” With that, he walks out of the temple leaving Mu Qing to stare at his back with wide eyes.
Mu Qing stands up from the altar, only a little woozy, and curses himself.
-
When they arrive back in the Heavenly Court they are paid both in merits and a veritable mountain of paperwork; somehow Mu Qing’s stack of paperwork is higher than Feng Xin’s but when brought up Ling Wen just shrugs her shoulders.
It takes him a week to really get through it all while still attending to his regular duties around court and in his territory. In that week, Mu Qing’s side develops a scar from the ghost’s curse; he hasn’t had a new scar in centuries. It’s ugly and crude, smarting underneath the weight of Mu Qing’s vanity. At least he doesn’t have to worry about anyone really seeing it.
Also, in that week, he sees Feng Xin only in passing. They don’t spar or speak that week. Feng Xin doesn't even look him in the eye, though Mu Qing can see energy crackling off his figure every time they get close.
They are in the same room only once in that week and only out of duty.
Yet another meeting was called to discuss the future of the Heavenly Court, and Mu Qing barely paid attention. Higher ranking officials were already plotting their ascension to Jun Wu’s now vacant position and it was all beyond him at this point.
He hadn’t seen Feng Xin enter the meeting and didn’t notice him from where he was sitting. He was generally seated next to Mu Qing in meetings like this due to the proximity of their territories, but must have asked for a seating adjustment. It’s no secret that their relationship was explosive by nature so the request must have been eagerly accepted. Mu Qing doesn’t know the god seated next to him now, but the unfamiliar presence settles in his head like a dull ache.
At the meeting’s conclusion, as everyone starts to disperse, his eyes lock with Feng Xin’s. It’s a look Mu Qing thinks he might have seen once or twice, but it usually falters under his own gaze. This time it is relentless. There’s a heat coming from Feng Xin’s expression that stops Mu Qing where he stands and he can’t do anything but stare back. They stand there for a moment and when it becomes clear that neither will move first, Feng Xin’s face falls into a wince and he lets out a sigh. Even without being next to him, Mu Qing knows what it sounds like. He remembers it clearer than he does the sound of his own mother’s laugh.
Before Mu Qing can respond, Feng Xin storms off and kicks at the door leaving Mu Qing the only one in the Great Martial Hall. He stays there for a moment before letting out a sigh of his own and running out of the hall. He sees Feng Xin heading straight for his own palace and chases after him, weaving through the other gods still milling about and chatting.
“Where are you going?” Mu Qing shouts across the promenade. No one pays him any mind as the two gods are usually shouting at each other, regardless of the time of day. His shouting is fruitless and Feng Xin continues to storm away from him.
Outraged, Mu Qing runs up behind him and grabs his arm. He knows his grip must be painful from the way Feng Xin gasps before shoving him away.
“What is the matter with you?” Feng Xin turns around and cradles the arm Mu Qing grabbed. His face is flushed and his eyes burn into Mu Qing’s.
“What’s the matter with me?” Every word out of Mu Qing’s mouth is soaked with incredulity, “You are the one with the problem!”
“Oh, I’ve got a problem?” Feng Xin sneers at him and it feels like ice water thrown in his face, “I’m not the one assaulting other people in broad daylight!”
“Assaulting?” Mu Qing, entirely at a loss for words, just shakes his head in disbelief with wide eyes, “I’m not-- Where have you been?”
Feng Xin’s mouth presses into a thin line and his eyes drift down slowly. Mu Qing watches the other man’s shoulders sag and he has to fight the impulse to snap at him for flailing under the question. He finds he doesn’t have to when all of the fire and lightning he’s used to returns in an instant. “You’re not my keeper,” the words are biting and Mu Qing can feel them strike his chest. In a softer tone, Feng Xin continues, “I’ve been dealing with matters in my own territory. It does not concern you.”
“You’re concerning me!” Mu Qing blurts out and immediately regrets it. He takes a step back and looks away from Feng Xin’s eyes. Have his eyes really been this intense for all these centuries?
“I didn’t know you were capable of feeling that way about someone other than yourself,” Feng Xin says and Mu Qing doesn’t have to look at him to see the look of disgust on his face. He knows it’s the same look from when he left the first time, eight hundred years ago.
Mu Qing knows he deserves it, deserves this revulsion and harsh tone. The knowledge doesn’t lessen the blow.
“I’m sorry,” Feng Xin seems to believe otherwise, “I-- I didn’t mean that.”
Mu Qing stays quiet.
“I’m going away for a while,” Feng Xin’s voice is quieter now, “Bai Hui is still terrorizing my followers.”
“Well, I might as well come with you,” Mu Qing declares, “We almost didn’t make it last time so you’ll need all the help--”
“I’m going alone,” Feng Xin’s voice is conclusive and commanding, like a clap of thunder, “You won’t see me for a few weeks.” Feng Xin turns and walks away without saying another word.
Despite seeing the plum blossoms wafting in a spring breeze over his head, Mu Qing can’t remember feeling this cold before.
-
True to his word, Feng Xin was gone.
One week bled into two, three. Mu Qing stopped counting.
Without Feng Xin, his days were quiet and steady. Dull and repetitious.
He’s sitting in his study, going over paperwork and he has read the same sentence six times now. It’s not fair.
In his head, he’s gone over this many times; he’s fought hard to be where he is today and sacrificed so much. There are those who complain and seek to disparage his image, but it’s meaningless in the face of the maintenance of his role. Mu Qing-- no, General Xuan Zhen looks after his believers and guards his own status fiercely, not afraid to fight tooth and nail for either. And he has fought tooth and nail and he does not regret the path he chose, never will. But when people talk, no matter how much one ignores it, one can still hear whispers through closed doors.
Traitor. Selfish. Scheming.
In 800 years, he learned how to keep his head high. He learned that war isn’t the only place he would find himself in a battle. He learned that sometimes just wanting something isn’t always enough.
Mu Qing scoffs at his sentimentality and steps away from his desk, pushing away his papers in a rush. When he looks around his study he feels neither pride nor satisfaction. The room is neatly arranged, littered with treasures and books full of ancient secrets, not overly sumptuous but with a definite air of refinement. It’s a room his mother always told him he would have one day. A room he deserved.
Deserved. His lip curls and he walks out of the room, suddenly hating the way the sunlight pours in, casting long shadows over the finery.
The stillness of his palace usually welcomes him in a cold and comforting embrace, but now it feels stagnant and sterile. The echoes of his lone footsteps ring hollow against his ears.
Mu Qing leaves his palace and walks until he finds himself in front of Ling Wen’s palace, already buzzing with activity. People rush in and out carrying tall piles of scrolls and pamphlets, carrying on bureaucratic conversations that go over Mu Qing’s head. Mu Qing walks in and lets the quiet cacophony of office work wash over him. He looks around for a moment before his eyes fall on the civil goddess working at her desk. As he walks up to her, she makes no immediate or grand gesture to welcome him save for a flick of her eyes and a nod of her head. He stands before her for a second, waiting for her to finish writing.
“General Xuan Zhen,” finally she stands up and salutes him, bowing deep, “What might I assist you with?”
Mu Qing returns the salute, “Ling Wen Zhen Jun, I was wondering if I could ask you about ongoing missions in neighboring territories.”
Ling Wen’s face is impassive as ever, “What would you like to know, General?”
“Um--” What did he want to know? Where is Feng Xin? Is he safe? Why couldn’t I go with him again? “Are… are there any open cases that need uh, assistance?”
The civil goddess sits back down at her desk and rifles through a hefty stack of scrolls. How she can possibly keep track of them all is a mystery. It takes her a minute or two to flip through the papers. “All major cases have been resolved in neighboring territories. Were you interested in looking into the minor prayers?” Ling Wen’s tired eyes shoot back up to Mu Qing’s, boring into him.
The question rankles Mu Qing a little bit. He knows condescension when he hears it, even when masked by a civil master like Ling Wen. “No, I do not,” his response is clipped, “Does that mean there are no heavenly officials working in those fields?”
“Correct,” Ling Wen gives the stack of papers before her another glance, “Is there something else you need to know, General? Did you have a more specific question?”
Mu Qing’s eyes narrow. Her question is valid, he just doesn’t have the emotional capacity to answer it at this time. “No. I’m sorry for taking up your time.” Mu Qing turns to leave when Ling Wen speaks up again.
“General, if you were wondering,” Ling Wen’s voice has taken on a tone that Mu Qing decides he doesn’t care for, “All heavenly officials responsible for your neighbor territories should currently be in the Heavenly Court. If you were looking for someone, chances are they might not want to be found.”
Mu Qing makes another decision that he’s had enough. Before he says something he’ll regret, turns his head to thank her one last time before storming out, nearly trampling several of Ling Wen’s attendants on his way.
“Did you hear?” The whispers float over to Mu Qing, “General Nan Yang has been in seclusion for weeks! He refuses to be seen, even by his followers.” Two lower ranking civil gods whispering loud enough for Mu Qing to hear stand by the door. He can tell they’re doing it on purpose.
“Seclusion?” The reply is sharp, “What of his territories? Surely he must be losing face to Xuan Zhen!”
“Of course!” Glee undisguised in their voice, “Nan Yang might even lose his territory altogether from this! I bet this is exactly what Xuan Zhen has been waiting for. A moment of weakness to reach for the top!”
Mu Qing’s shoulders go tense and a sharp pain shoots through his gut. He spins around to look them in the eye. “Mind your own affairs!” He snaps at them and the acidity of his tone sends them scurrying off for good. Their fear doesn’t bring him any satisfaction as charges out of the palace.
Once back out in the sunlight he takes a moment to breathe. It’s harder than he would like. He walks over to the training grounds, eyeing the plot where he and Feng Xin usually spar. It’s empty, of course. The memory of their last fight bubbles in the back of his mind, threatening to spill out of him. He clenches his fists.
“Still sore from last week?” Mu Qing yelled across the field. Feng Xin wiped a trail of blood away from his mouth where his lip split open.
“I should be asking you that question!” Feng Xin yells back and Mu Qing rolls his eyes, “Fuck, you! Don’t roll your eyes at me. I won last week!”
“I didn’t realize having to be helped off the field by me and two of your attendants counts as winning,” Mu Qing began to close the distance between them, watching the other god carefully.
“It does if you passed out right after dragging me and your carcass through the field gate!” Feng Xin laughs. He gets a growl in response from Mu Qing who darts across the field, fists ready. Feng Xin dodges quickly and readies a low, sweeping kick which Mu Qing jumps over with ease. It’s almost like a dance. They’ve rehearsed it so many times before, each one waiting for a new step.
A new step.
It was after that fight that Feng Xin proposed the last mission they went on together.
“I’ve received a prayer from the border of our territories,” Feng Xin sat on the ground opposite Mu Qing, breathing heavily, “You’ve probably received a similar plea. A Severe ghost on the verge of becoming Wrath ranked. They call it Bai Hui. Many people have been cursed. Most have died.”
Mu Qing nodded his head, unable to respond over his own heavy breathing.
“It… It would be best if we did it together,” Feng Xin looked away from Mu Qing as he spoke the last word, “Neither of us should take it lightly.”
“... Fine,” Mu Qing managed to say in between gasps.
That was new. In 800 years, Feng Xin and Mu Qing had always been shoved together by fate, a power even higher than heaven itself. This time, it was Feng Xin extending a hand.
Mu Qing couldn’t accept that-- any --hand before, shoving it away time and time again. If he took that hand, if he accepted that he wanted someone else to lift him up, what would his past mean? Better to be seen as angry and volatile than scared. Better to feel that way, too. Everything he’s achieved he did on his own. He didn’t need anyone else. He couldn’t allow himself to need or want anyone else.
Suddenly the thought doesn’t sit right with Mu Qing and anger wells up in his gut. Why had he been waiting for Feng Xin? Why was he waiting now? He snarls at himself, storming off for the second time that day.
The walk to Feng Xin’s palace is quick and easy, unlike anything else about their relationship. Mu Qing’s head is terrifyingly empty on the way there. Try as he might, he could not think of what he was going to say. He doesn’t even take a moment when he reaches the steps through the first wall, brushing passed an attendant calling out behind him.
“G-General Xuan Zhen!” The voice behind him has an urgent tone but Mu Qing has never bothered to care what Feng Xin’s people have to say, “General Nan Yang is not ready for visitors! General Xuan Zhen!”
Mu Qing continues his trek, bursting through the main doors of the palace. “Feng Xin!” he roars, “Nan Yang, where are you?”
He tramples through different rooms, yanking doors open and knocking over chairs and tables. He feels lightheaded and weak but simultaneously overcharged like his bones are threatening to burst out from his skin. Door after door, he rages through the palace. Unlike in his own palace, Feng Xin’s attendants are stationed throughout and most of them make themselves scarce when they see the martial god raging by.
Soon the only door left is to Feng Xin’s personal chambers and that makes Mu Qing pause for half a second before he bursts through that door as well. It’s empty. He stands in the doorway for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose and pinches his nose bridge. He’s in the middle of counting down from 1,000 when he hears a voice behind him.
“Are you done trashing my house, yet?”
Mu Qing whips around to see Feng Xin standing-- leaning -- on an attendant. His face is gaunt and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks… horrible.
“What happened to you?” Mu Qing’s eyes run over Feng Xin’s body. It looks like he’s lost weight. A lot of weight.
“Hello to you, too, asshole,” Feng Xin makes an attempt to stand up straight and winces, falling back on the attendant. Mu Qing takes half a step forward but is stopped by the unwelcome look Feng Xin gives him.
“What happened to you? Why can’t you stand up straight?” Mu Qing’s questions come out misshapen and loud. Accusations instead of inquiries.
“I’ll be fine,” Feng Xin looks down and somehow his shoulders slump even further, “No need to trouble yourself.”
“You’ll be fine?” Mu Qing sputters, “Says who? How long have you been like this?”
Feng Xin’s breathing is labored now, the strain of staying upright seemingly taking a larger toll than expected, “Not long… Just go, Mu Qing. You’re not needed.”
That phrase catches Mu Qing by the throat and pins him down.
Feng Xin whispers to his attendant and they walk around Mu Qing heading into the bedroom. “I won’t be back to the training grounds for a while. Don’t wait for me.” Feng Xin’s voice rings with finality. Mu Qing watches as the attendant helps Feng Xin onto his bed, touching him gingerly. He lingers in the doorway a moment longer before walking in.
“I wasn’t going to wait for you at the training grounds like some lovesick youth,” Mu Qing spits making his way to the side of the bed. The attendant looks alarmed but does not stop him.
“Oh, good,” Feng Xin’s voice is quieter now and his eyelids droop, “Well, you can get tons of your own shit done then…” His voice trails off.
“I don’t want to get my own--,” Mu Qing cuts himself off, “Tell me why you’re neglecting your station! Why haven’t you taken care of your territory for weeks?”
“Hmmm...” Feng Xin drifts off, his head falling limp on the pillow.
“General Xuan Zhen…” the attendant finally speaks up, “General Nan Yang is in need of rest. Please if you would let him.” Mu Qing finally looks at him. He’s a small man, delicate and meek, in a deep bow saluting Mu Qing. Mu Qing is honestly impressed that he was able to hold up so much of Feng Xin’s deadweight.
“I will stay until he’s ready to answer me,” Mu Qing declares.
The attendant rises from his salute and gives Feng Xin a sidelong glance before looking Mu Qing square in the eyes, “I cannot allow you to stay here after the General requested that you leave but I can let you know when he is ready to receive visitors.”
“Fine,” Mu Qing snarls. If that’s the best they’re offering, Mu Qing will accept it. He leaves the palace in a huff, not bothering to apologize for anything broken or any attendants terrified. The way back to his own palace is like walking upstream through a river; everything is pulling him back to Feng Xin’s bedside, but he knows it’s better to not linger when you’re not wanted. Feng Xin’s told him so many times over the centuries.
-
It is another two days before Mu Qing hears from Feng Xin’s palace.
General Nan Yang is well enough for visitors. You are welcome to stop by.
The invitation is too delicate to be Feng Xin’s handwriting but it does bear his seal. Mu Qing moves too quickly to feel shame and soon he’s rushing over, once again pushing past the attendants at the front gate.
Feng Xin is sitting on a divan by a large window, reading a scroll dressed only in his inner robes, when Mu Qing rushes by him. It takes Mu Qing a moment to realize and back track to the divan. Feng Xin doesn’t look up from the scroll in his hands.
“Since when do you read?” Mu Qing asks, legitimately surprised.
Feng Xin shoots him a withering look out the corner of his eye but doesn’t turn away from the scroll, “What do you want this time?”
“What do I want?” The question sends Mu Qing’s eyebrows directly into his hairline, “Didn’t you send for me?”
“No.”
Mu Qing sputters, “Whatever, I’m not getting into it with you. Why aren’t you dressed? Tell me, why are you reading? Don’t you have work to do?”
Feng Xin sighs as he puts the scroll down next to him. He takes a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose, rubbing small circles. “I’m still unwell. So, unless you had something important to tell me, you should probably leave.” Mu Qing sees that he’s right; Feng Xin is no better than he was two days ago and now his skin has taken on a pallid tone. He looks worse.
“Unwell?” Mu Qing’s eyes narrow, “What could possibly render a martial god so frail for so long?”
Some color returns to the back of Feng Xin’s neck and he sucks his teeth in reproach, “Mu Qing, will you drop it? I’ve told you already it’s not your problem.”
“Don’t make that decision for me!” Mu Qing’s voice gets louder, “What’s with all the secrecy? What, are you dying?”
Feng Xin’s lips tighten into a thin line as his eyes drift down to the floor.
“... No…” Mu Qing takes a step back and suddenly it feels like the floor is giving way beneath him, “That’s impossible!”
Feng Xin doesn’t respond.
“You’re a god!” Mu Qing’s voice is loud now and crashes down over the room, “Gods don’t get sick and die! You’re just trying to trick me!” Mu Qing knows that Feng Xin doesn’t lie.
“I’ve spoken with a… physician about this already,” Feng Xin speaks in a clipped tone, holding something back; something that Mu Qing wants to pry out of him and set free. “It’s a curse from the ghost I fought. There is no obtainable cure for me. I… I don’t know how much longer I have.”
“What physician?” Mu Qing’s voice is almost a roar at this point and the art on the walls shakes a bit underneath its force, “Does Jian Lan know about this?”
When her name comes up Feng Xin’s face crumples, “Yes.”
“She’s not doing anything about it?” Hysteria worms its way into Mu Qing’s voice, “What about your son? Have you told Xie Lian?”
That’s the last straw.
“Enough!” Feng Xin stands up and yells back at him, the simple action taking so much energy that his breath comes in rough gasps, “They all know and have done all they can. They’re not a part of my life anymore and I won’t involve them in my death!”
Mu Qing clenches his fists at his sides, his voice now just above a whisper, “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”
Again, the silence.
“You weren’t going to tell me.” This time it’s not a question.
“Mu Qing…” the words are obviously a struggle for Feng Xin. He’s lost so much weight at this point that his robes hang limply around him, “It’s not your problem…”
“Stop deciding what is and what isn’t my problem!” Mu Qing shouts and has the emotional capacity to feel bad when he sees Feng Xin flinch. Feng Xin has never flinched from Mu Qing. “Who was this physician you spoke to? What hack told you you’re dying?”
“Mu Qing, it won’t matter…”
“Shut up! Just tell me!” Mu Qing’s voice cracks.
“... Lao Wen,” Feng Xin coughs out, “Her name is Lao Wen.”
Mu Qing has heard the name; a powerful old crone, living alone in the mountains south of their territories. Neither ghost nor god, but an immortal all the same.
“Maybe I can talk some sense into her,” Mu Qing says, “You were never good at that anyway.”
He leaves before Feng Xin can respond properly, ignoring the shouts and coughs behind him.
-
Lao Wen lives in a beautiful grove on a mountainside, luscious and overgrown. There are birds he’s never seen before singing in the plum trees, underscored by the sound of a gurgling creek. Her house is small and devoid of extravagance, sparsely decorated with a lantern or two. It’s idyllic. Mu Qing’s voice doesn’t fit in.
He calls out at the front of her door, already forming a salute with his hands, “Xuan Zhen Jiang Jun requests an audience with the fabled and illustrious Lao Wen.”
A moment. Mu Qing hears a plum fall.
“I seek your guidance on an important matter,” he maintains his salute, “If you would humor me, I would greatly appreciate it.”
Another moment. Mu Qing holds his ground, still bent over in salute.
“An important matter?” A laughter filled voice floats over the glen, “Important to who?”
“The life of a god is at stake.” That’s all Mu Qing can think to say.
“So?” Mu Qing can hear footsteps inside the house now.
“His followers would be lost without him,” Mu Qing replies.
“Why does it matter to you where his followers would be?” She steps out of the door now, small and shriveled, proud and regal.
“...It matters that a Heavenly Official faces the same fate as a mortal being,” Mu Qing raises from his salute to look her in the eye. She’s smiling at him.
“Really, now?” She takes the steps down from her house one at a time. She carries a staff in one hand, the other held behind her back. “Would you have come here for another of your cohort?”
“Yes.” The lie comes out of Mu Qing’s lips like dead weight, falling onto the grass like an overripe fruit.
“You have a new scar, don’t you?” Lao Wen has completed her journey down the stairs of her house and walks right up to him. Her smile hasn’t faded and she might even be laughing at him.
“Yes…” he raises an eyebrow at her, “What does that matter?”
She walks away from him, over to one of her plum trees, a slow and sure process, pulling on a branch to bring it to her face. She inhales deeply, closing her eyes, savoring the smell. “I can see what curse touched you. I can see what healed you.”
“I am not here for myself.”
“Aren’t you?”
Mu Qing pauses, “I am here for… for a friend.” That word says enough.
“What does your--friend--need?” Lao Wen plucks a plum from the tree now and she speaks around eating it. Juice flows through the wrinkles in her face but she doesn’t seem to care.
“He needs to live!” Mu Qing says, louder than intended. It rings throughout the glen and a few birds leap from their perches to fly away from the sound.
“Hm… Hm…” Lao Wen says around her plum, “We all need to live. That’s why we’re put here, isn’t it?”
His thoughts are like a dust storm in his head, flying by too fast for him to catch, suffocating him. He doesn’t really understand their conversation, but he feels it. His head is starting to throb under the pressure.
“I see,” Lao Wen nods. She’s finished her plum with expertise and throws the pit deep into the underbrush. “Is there any particular reason he needs to stay?”
Mu Qing can’t answer her.
“The curse you had was quite severe, you know,” she’s walking closer to him now, eyeing him carefully, “Not many survive it.”
Again, Mu Qing doesn’t know what to say. He stares at a weed at his feet.
“There’s only one cure for a bite from Bai Hui.” Mu Qing snaps his head up at the ghost’s name. Now she stands before him. She’s very small, very old. “A god came to me, maybe a month or so ago, looking for a countercurse. He said he was preparing for a mission with someone dear to him and couldn’t risk his companion getting hurt.”
Mu Qing wonders what she looked like when she was young. He feels like she hasn’t been young in a long time; since before even he was young.
“He told me he needed to be prepared for whatever could happen to his companion,” she continues, “That his companion needed to live. Sounds a little familiar, don’t you think?”
“What did you tell him?” Mu Qing’s patience grows thin. Riddles, puzzles, parables. This wasn’t what Feng Xin needed.
“I told him to pray,” Lao Wen’s smile deepens, “I told him to pray for the one he cared about. For the one he loved.”
“What does love have to do with it?” Mu Qing spits out.
“Hah! What doesn’t it?” Lao Wen’s laugh is like a bark and it razes Mu Qing’s mind, “Love is what saved you, isn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?” Mu Qing’s voice raises again over the sound of water.
“Your curse!” Exasperation floods into Lao Wen’s tone, “Didn’t you know? That scar you bear is proof of love!”
Mu Qing’s hand raises up to his side. “I would ask that you speak plainly, witch!”
“Oh, done with niceties now?” One of her bushy eyebrows raises into her receding hairline, but her tone is light. Her smile is still as easy and gentle as it was at the beginning. “Do you know what happened to Bai Hui?”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, the game between them already stale. “No.”
“Oh, it’s a sad story,” Lao Wen shakes her head and affects a comical frown, “Bai Hui was always a bitter soul. A man of low birth, but high aspirations. He spent his life achieving all his goals, save one.”
Lao Wen pauses and looks at Mu Qing expectantly. He huffs and rubs at his temples as he grits out, “What couldn’t he achieve?”
“He couldn’t tell anyone how he felt!” Lao Wen laughs a bit, “It’s a little funny, don’t you think? He saved his kingdom from utter destruction but never found the strength to ask for his beloved’s hand. Well, when she died Bai Hui was so overcome he vowed to curse all those who failed the simplest of goals.”
“He cursed people for not courting?”
“No, no!” Lao Wen waves her hand at him, “It harms those surrounded by hidden feelings. It wouldn’t have affected you unless someone in your life was holding something back. And you wouldn’t have been healed if someone hadn’t offered their honest and good feelings to you in prayer.”
“That… That can’t be,” Mu Qing manages over the ache in his chest, “No one alive feels that way for me.”
“Enough with the pity party!” Lao Wen waves her hand and moves to walk over to the small garden she had beside her house. There’s a garden stool painted with butterflies and peonies that she unceremoniously flops onto. “I know when I see love and it’s all over you, boy.”
“I came here hoping you could give me counsel on a curse!” Mu Qing is yelling this point, uncaring about how it may seem. It’s not like anyone is here to see.
“And I’m here telling you about it!” This time, Lao Wen does laugh, deep and throaty. She slaps a hand on her knee a few times and wipes a tear away from her face. “You’re even more obtuse than he was! Ancestors help you both!”
Mu Qing’s eyes narrow, “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will. Maybe a competent doctor.”
“Of course!” Lao Wen’s laugh grows louder, but whereas Mu Qing’s loudness caused a rift in the glen, her boisterous behavior brings the birds back to their perches, “You’ll find a good doctor and then you’ll go back to living your normal life, right?”
Enough is enough for Mu Qing and he turns on his heel to leave the glen. Before he gets far Lao Wen calls out behind him, “It’s the same curse, you know!”
That stops Mu Qing in his tracks.
“He fought Bai Hui again, didn’t he?” Lao Wen chuckles, “He did it without you.”
Mu Qing turns back to look at her. Lao Wen is studying some dirt underneath her fingernails, seemingly giving it more attention than she’s giving him. “He needs to hear the prayers of someone who loves him. The curse won’t lift until then.”
“...And you’re saying, that’s also what healed me?” The words are a struggle to form and Mu Qing doesn’t even want to let them out, but he has to.
“Yes,” she looks up from her hand, “The same curse.”
It all fits into place. It’s all what Mu Qing’s feared this entire time. It makes him angry.
“Thank you,” Mu Qing gives Lao Wen one last salute before walking away again. She waves after him with her cane and her laughter rings in his head as he steps through an array.
-
The array brings Mu Qing directly into Feng Xin’s palace. Night has fallen over the Heavenly Court, like a silk sheet. It’s quiet save for the sound of Mu Qing stomping through the halls of the palace. An attendant tries to get his attention to no avail. Mu Qing isn’t sure why they try at this point.
“Feng Xin!” Maybe it’s too late to be yelling like this, but it’s also too late for Mu Qing to care. His voice echoes against the walls, an empty ring of sound finding its way back to him. He forges into Feng Xin’s bedroom to find one of his attendants bent over him, dabbing at his forehead with a damp cloth. Under the dim candlelight, his body is crumpled underneath a sheet.
“General Xuan Zhen!” The attendant stands up straight, almost dropping the cloth, “I was not notified of your visit!”
“No, you wouldn’t have been,” Mu Qing snaps at him, “Leave.”
The attendant’s eyes dart between Feng Xin’s unconscious form and Mu Qing’s stormy expression. “I cannot leave the General unattended…”
“I’ll be here with him,” Mu Qing steps into the attendant’s face to stare him down, “You can leave.” This seems to be enough to persuade the man and he scurries out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Once alone, Mu Qing really gets to look at Feng Xin. He’s had nearly a thousand years to memorize the hard line of his jaw and the curve of his lips, but right now he feels like he’s seeing it all for the first time. He raises a hand over Feng Xin’s body to brush his fingertips across his hands. They’re folded over his chest as though he’s dead already, freezing to the touch.
He takes a moment to look around the room, rummaging through drawers and cabinets, to procure a set of incense and a small burner. He uses spiritual powers to light the incense and places it in the burner on the ground, letting the smoke waft around their bodies. Mu Qing takes one last deep breath before kneeling down on the bed beside him, prostrating himself on the floor.
’Nan Yang Zhen Jun, I want you to live.' Mu Qing begins his prayer as a declaration. ’I want to fight with you again. I want to hear you yell again.’ He can feel tears well up in his eyes. ’I want to feel you touch me again, even if it’s only on the training grounds.’ From above his head, he can hear sheets rustling.
“Mu… Qing?” Feng Xin’s voice shakes over Mu Qing’s head. Mu Qing looks up to find Feng Xin sitting up in the bed, his face already starting to take on a healthy color. He’s looking down at Mu Qing with wide eyes and a furrowed brow covered in a light sheen of sweat. His mouth hangs slightly open as he draws in heavy breaths.
The color brought back to his tan skin causes Mu Qing’s breath to hitch and he bows his head back down.
'Tell me why you prayed for me. Live.'
Over Mu Qing’s head, Feng Xin’s breathing gets heavier and heavier and he lets out a groan.
’I want to hear you sigh again. I want--’
“M-Mu Qing stop!” Feng Xin’s voice cracks.
When Mu Qing looks up at him, his face is flushed and his eyes are glassy and wide. Feng Xin’s head is slightly swaying but his eyes never leave Mu Qing’s.
“What… what are you doing?” Feng Xin’s voice is breathy. The sound, coupled with the growing flush in his face, causes something big to stir in Mu Qing’s chest.
“I’m trying to save you, you idiot,” Mu Qing grouses and grinds his teeth for a second, “Let me finish my thoughts and stop getting in the way for once in your life.” He bows his head again.
“You… you don’t have to do it anymore!” Feng Xin puts a hand over Mu Qing’s clasped hands, “I’m already healing.”
Mu Qing tugs his hands away sharply, “Will you just-- Just let me do this one thing without fighting me!”
Whatever Feng Xin sees in Mu Qing’s face seems to be enough explanation and he takes his hand away. When Mu Qing bows his head he can still feel Feng Xin’s eyes.
’Live long enough so that I can say this all aloud to you. Nany Yang, I don’t want to see eternity without you.’
Feng Xin starts to gasp again and Mu Qing can hear him cut off another groan. His legs start to move underneath the sheets, slow and tense.
“D-did it feel like this for you?” Feng Xin’s voice peters out into a whine, forcing Mu Qing to look up again. Feng Xin is on his back again and his fists are bunched up in his sheets, legs bent at the knee and spread wide. In between Feng Xin’s breaths, Mu Qing notices that his body has filled out a bit more, bones no longer jutting out through his skin.
“What?” Mu Qing knows what he’s asking about.
“When I… prayed to you,” Feng Xin turns his head on his pillow to look at Mu Qing. Now it’s not only his brow that’s sweaty; a fine sheen rests on Feng Xin’s neck, highlighting the sharp edges and chords leading to his chest and jaw. “Did you feel this good?”
The words make Mu Qing’s face heat up, “I felt…” Right now his mouth feels full of ash, way too dry, and his throat like a cage, keeping the words trapped in his chest. He bows his head again and clasps his hands. 'I’ve never had prayers like that before. They were… special. I don’t think I’m going to get prayers like that ever again.'
Feng Xin moans this time and his back arches off the bed. “Mu Qing… Mu Qing, please…”
Mu Qing stops his prayers but keeps his head bowed low. His hands drop to his lap and he focuses on the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He can’t look up.
The bed creaks and Feng Xin’s legs swing over the edge of the bed, placing his bare feet in front of Mu Qing. “Mu Qing,” his voice is soft, “Mu Qing, look at me.”
Mu Qing stays still.
Feng Xin sucks his teeth, “Even now, you have to be difficult.” A hand comes down to grip Mu Qing’s jaw and tugs his face upwards.
Mu Qing wrenches his face away and snarls, “I saved you, that’s all you needed from me.”
“Yeah, you saved me!” Feng Xin exclaims, “That’s just it! You saved me. Mu Qing, that means you-- That means you lo--”
“Stop!” Mu Qing stands up from the floor and backs up a few steps before turning away, “You didn’t tell me when I was injured. You didn’t tell me what was really going on.”
“...I couldn’t.”
“Ashamed?” Mu Qing sneers and bites his lip to stop it from trembling. He squares his shoulders and looks straight ahead out of the window on the far wall. It’s too dark to make out much of anything except for the moonlight on leaves.
“What? No!” Mu Qing can hear Feng Xin walk towards him. When a hand clasps on his shoulder he jerks away from the touch. “Mu Qing! Will you just stop being--”
“Being myself?” Mu Qing yells and whirls around to look him in the eye now. Feng Xin looks completely healed. The old woman was right afterall.
“If you don’t shut up and listen--”
“What?” Mu Qing steps into Feng Xin’s space and bares his teeth, “You’re going to yell at me and disappear, again?”
“Augh!” Feng Xin lets out a guttural shout and braces an arm across Mu Qing’s collar bone, pinning him against the adjacent wall, “Calm down!”
“Get off me!” Mu Qing usually doesn’t have any problem fighting Feng Xin off, but somehow he can’t manage to lift himself off the wall. Feng Xin’s body seems firmer than usual, his shoulders wider.
“Not until you fucking listen to me!” Feng Xin growls and his other hand comes up to Mu Qing’s hip to keep him in place.
Mu Qing pants in frustration, lip curled and eyes wide. Feng Xin’s nostrils are flared and his skin is flushed but he makes no move to release Mu Qing. After a few breaths, it’s clear that Mu Qing isn’t fighting back anymore. Feng Xin stares into his eyes, brows knitting together, as his mouth hangs open. “Well?” Mu Qing can’t take it anymore, “Say something!”
“Nothing can be easy with you, can it?” Feng Xin mutters, “Give me another second.”
A second turns into a few. Mu Qing is about to yell at him again when Feng Xin blurts out, “At first, I didn’t think you would care.”
The breath dies in Mu Qing’s throat and his brow furrows.
“I went to see Lao Wen before we went off to fight Bai Hui because I wanted to make sure we would be ready for anything. I heard she was knowledgeable on curses strong enough to kill a god,” Feng Xin licks his lips before continuing, “She told me that as long as-- as long as I loved whoever I was trying to protect, it would be fine.”
Mu Qing can’t respond to that.
“When I prayed to you, I saw how your face just…” Feng Xin pauses and his eyes do something to Mu Qing. Something big and terrifying and new. “You looked so beautiful, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing turns his head away and tuts. He can feel heat gathering in his cheeks.
“You get this look in your eyes when you’re mad at me. I usually love it, but then it… it scared me,” the murmur feels almost like a soft hand on Mu Qing’s face, turning him back to look into Feng Xin’s eyes. Feng Xin’s eyes are welling up. “I’ve had so many people decide I was better off without them. I didn’t want you to push me away, too.”
“So you tried to push me away first.”
“I couldn’t handle it again!” Feng Xin tightens his grip on Mu Qing’s hip, hard enough to bruise, “Please, try to understand.”
“Understand?” Mu Qing can hardly breathe now and his voice raises, “Why should I try to understand your cowardice when you’ve never granted me the same privilege? Did you think I’d just watch as you wither and die?”
Feng Xin whispers, “I’m sorry.” His eyes are red now.
“No!” Mu Qing shouts and squirms underneath Feng Xin. This time Feng Xin lets him go, taking a step back out of Mu Qing’s space. “Tell me exactly what you meant by those prayers. I deserve the truth, Feng Xin!” He takes a step towards Feng Xin, closing the space between them again. “Can’t you just tell me the truth?”
Feng Xin’s eyes are wide and tears flow freely but he doesn’t respond. Mu Qing leans further into Feng Xin’s space and his hands come up to the belt on Feng Xin’s inner robes, trying to anchor himself in the moment. He brings his face to Feng Xin’s until their breaths occupy the same airspace and their noses touch lightly. “Feng Xin.” ’Nan Yang, tell me.’
In a second, Mu Qing’s back is pressed back up against the wall and Feng Xin’s hands are locked in a firm grip on his waist. Their foreheads are pressed together and for another second, their lips brush softly. “I didn’t think to pray for you to love me back,” Feng Xin’s voice is rough and low, “I didn’t even think to want it.”
’Nan Yang, I want to hear it.’
Feng Xin groans and shoves a leg in between Mu Qing’s, spreading them against the wall. His head tilts forward to rest against Mu Qing’s. Their chests are pressed together, rocking their bodies with each heavy breath. Everywhere they touch burns. Feng Xin angles his hips against Mu Qing to press his hard length against Mu Qing’s thigh. At the sensation, Mu Qing’s breath hitches and he hisses out, “Feng Xin!”
“I’m sorry-- Your prayers--” Feng Xin’s reply is punctuated with gasps, “I feel like I’m drowning.” He angles his head to rub his face into the expanse of Mu Qing’s neck and inhales deeply, his face still wet with tears. In the dim candlelight Mu Qing hadn’t noticed the stubble on Feng Xin’s chin, but it scratches against him now. “It feels so good.”
Mu Qing bites his lips to stifle a noise building in his throat, “You haven’t answered me yet, Nan Yang.”
Hearing his title spoken aloud, Feng Xin’s hips jerk forward, pushing his hardness deeper into Mu Qing’s leg. The moan he lets out is deep and guttural, releasing a rush of hot and wet air onto Mu Qing’s neck. The sensation has Mu Qing’s knees threatening to give out.
“Fuck,” Feng Xin whispers, “Mu Qing, the prayers worked because I love you.”
There it is.
Feng Xin pulls his head away from Mu Qing’s neck to look the other man in the eyes. Feng Xin’s eyes are dark and his eyelids droop low. He’s not crying anymore.
Mu Qing feels caught in a net. What did he think would happen when he heard it? Was it all supposed to fall magically into place? No, that’s not how it works, not how they work.
“Mu Qing?” A hint of panic edges into Feng Xin’s voice.
“You should have told me then,” Mu Qing’s voice is hoarse and his hands come up to rest on Feng Xin’s shoulders, allowing himself a soft touch. Something fragile and raw threatens to burst right out of his chest, tempted by the look Feng Xin is giving him, by the sound of Feng Xin’s voice. Mu Qing doesn’t think he can hold it back.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Feng Xin says, “Please. Forgive me.”
“No one has ever asked my forgiveness before,” Mu Qing says.
“No has one ever admitted they’d wronged you.”
It’s too much. Mu Qing pushes Feng Xin back and darts away from the wall, putting a few paces between them.
“You’ve healed now,” Mu Qing clears his throat and straightens out his robes, “You’ll need time to collect yourself.” He keeps his eyes trained on the floor. Feng Xin’s inner robe is slightly askew and his skin flushed. To look would condemn Mu Qing.
“Collect myself?” Feng Xin balks, “Mu Qing, you saved me. You said it yourself, I’m healed.”
“And now that you no longer have need of me, I’ll take my leave,” Mu Qing knows his words sound hard and sharp, but they’re familiar and practiced. As he makes his way to the door, Feng Xin crosses the distance between them.
“Unbelievable!” Feng Xin exclaims and grabs Mu Qing’s arm, “You’re going to do this now?”
“Do what?” Mu Qing says, a dark scowl on his face, “Let go of me!”
“No!” It seems like the side effects of the prayers are wearing off and Feng Xin’s eyes have a determined glint to them, “Didn’t you hear me? I said, I love you!”
Again.
“What good is that?” Mu Qing wrests his arm away from Feng Xin, “Are you going to just shack up with the conniving servant god? You’re going to add peasant upstart to your growing list of undesirable paramours?”
“Will you quit it?” Feng Xin says, “Who would even care?”
“Everyone would!” Mu Qing yells, “All they do is talk here!”
“Since when have I cared about that?” Feng Xin yells back, “I’m standing here, telling you I love you, and you’re worried about gossip?”
“Of course you would reduce it to gossip!” Mu Qing responds, “Not like you’ve ever had to really deal with it yourself.” He makes another attempt to leave the room and makes it only one step before Feng Xin’s hand is back on his arm, gripping tightly.
“Can’t you move past that?” Feng Xin asks, “Can’t you just be here with me, and not with everyone else’s thoughts?”
When Mu Qing looks back at Feng Xin’s face, he almost loses his composure entirely. Feng Xin looks wrenched open and gutted; his lips pressed into a thin line and the corners of his eyes are tight.
“Mu Qing, for once, just this once,” Feng Xin lets out a shaky breath before continuing, “Will you just believe me when I say that I’m not lying and that I’ve been waiting centuries for you to trust me?”
Mu Qing breaks. He turns his body to face Feng Xin and raises a hand hesitantly to brush against Feng Xin’s.
“I think you want to,” Feng Xin’s voice is soft and Mu Qing doesn’t hate it. Feng Xin gently tugs on his hand and Mu Qing feels like he’s floating over to him. When they collide, all of the earlier tension and acidity evaporates and Feng Xin’s hands come around Mu Qing’s waist. He lightly brushes his lips against Mu Qing’s cheeks, as though testing waters that were just fraught with centuries old riptides. It’s delicate and warm and Mu Qing doesn’t stop himself from leaning into the gesture, pressing Feng Xin’s lips firmly into his skin.
Emboldened by Mu Qing’s response, one of Feng Xin’s hands tighten on his waist and the other travels upward to cradle his ribcage, right over his new scar. He presses another kiss to the space between Mu Qing’s jawline and ear and says, “I’ll show you my scar, if you show me yours.”
The flush of warmth in Mu Qing’s face and gut is immediate and demanding and he lets out a shaky breath. “It is… ugly.”
Feng Xin sighs against his ear and it sends a shiver up Mu Qing’s spine. “Not a soul alive or dead could call anything about you ugly and be speaking the truth,” Feng Xin snorts, “Except maybe your attitude.” His hand drifts further downward from Mu Qing’s waist.
“Is this your normal method of seduction?” Mu Qing doesn’t stop the hand even as it comes to cup his backside, “Degradation?” There’s no resentment behind the word, all of that energy sucked from him by Feng Xin’s earnest declarations.
“No,” Feng Xin says and Mu Qing can hear the smile, feel it against his skin. Feng Xin presses a few kisses along the sweeping curve of Mu Qing’s neck, pausing with each shiver it produces in the swordsman. “Only you could inspire such a tactic in me.”
Mu Qing’s heart flips over and he traces a line of muscle up Feng Xin’s arm to lay a hand on the junction of his neck and shoulder. He pulls his head back to look Feng Xin in the eye, finding the other man’s pupils blown wide. His heart flips over again and the look overwhelms him, so he closes his own eyes. Maybe, in the distant future, he’ll be able to receive such softness and intimacy with ease, but tonight he’d exposed himself to enough. He waits for Feng Xin.
The wait is short and Feng Xin’s lips crash into his, wet and wanting. Mu Qing feels at a loss for a moment, not knowing what to do at first, but his body responds to Feng Xin on its own and his lips move with Feng Xin’s in waves that grow harsher with each movement. The hand on his behind squeezes briefly and Mu Qing’s mouth falls open and wide in response, giving Feng Xin the opportunity to dart his tongue in quickly. The action is furtive and Feng Xin tries to pull his head away, probably with some question of assurance on his tongue, but Mu Qing closes the gap between them swiftly as his hand moves up Feng Xin’s neck to grab at the hair on the nape of his neck. Their teeth clack at first but Feng Xin takes it in stride, responding by biting Mu Qing’s lower lip. Mu Qing lets out yet another gasp and Feng Xin slips his tongue in again.
Mu Qing thinks he could let Feng Xin’s tongue swirl inside him for hours, relishing the feeling of it raking across the roof of his mouth. Feng Xin uses the hand on his ass to pull Mu Qing’s hips into a grind against his own and he hisses into their kiss. Mu Qing feels his own cock swell at the action.
“Would it help if you saw mine first?” Feng Xin says into Mu Qing’s mouth.
In a haze of arousal Mu Qing asks, “What?”
Feng Xin’s lips curve slightly upwards, but he doesn’t stop layering Mu Qing’s with open mouth kisses. “My scar.”
Mu Qing thinks for two, three exhales and nods against Feng Xin’s face but he’s majorly disappointed when his response leads to Feng Xin pulling away from him, hands leaving his waist and ass. Mu Qing looks down and schools his face away from pouting, watching as those hands start to undo the tie around Feng Xin’s inner robes. In a moment of panic, Mu Qing’s hands clamp over Feng Xin’s before his robes are completely untied.
“You know, you can’t see skin through clothing,” Feng Xin says drily, “Unless you changed your mind?”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing snaps, “I-- I do want to. I just--”
“What?”
“Will you give me a moment?” Mu Qing snaps again. He lets go of Feng Xin’s hands and drops his arms to sides, willing himself not to fidget. “Okay. Go on.”
Feng Xin gives him a searching and long look before opening his robe entirely. His chest is immaculate, not a wound in sight amongst the sculpted musculature. Mu Qing is about to protest when Feng Xin pulls his trousers down slightly, revealing the start of a glaringly white and gnarled scar along the cut of his left hip. It trails further down below but Feng Xin doesn’t pull the pants down any further. “Do you want to see the whole thing?” An invitation, provocative and tentative.
“...Yes,” Mu Qing croaks out. He doesn’t think his cheeks can get any warmer at this point, so why stop now.
Feng Xin slips the trousers entirely off and drops them on the floor next to him. He’s naked save for the inner robe hanging off his arms, erection and scar both exposed. Mu Qing licks his lips and his eyes dart all over Feng Xin’s exposed body, not sure where he’s allowed to rest them. The scar is long and jagged, cutting across the vast expanse of Feng Xin’s thigh. It curves wickedly inwards, guiding Mu Qing’s eyes right to Feng Xin’s heavy cock, standing at half mast. Looking at it, he wonders if his fingers are long enough to completely encircle its girth.
“Mu Qing?” Mu Qing wrenches his eyes away from Feng Xin’s crotch to look the other man in the eye. For the first time that night, Feng Xin looks shy and his searching eyes are wide with doubt. “Do you want me to cover myself again? This must be a lot for you.”
“No!” The word comes out of Mu Qing’s mouth so fast he didn’t have time to ponder the question, “This is-- fine.”
“... Fine?”
“This is good,” Mu Qing corrects, his mind trying to work through the sticky feeling of arousal, “Very good.” Damn. Despite having all of his clothing on, he feels like he’s the one exposed.
“Very good?” The doubt drains immediately from Feng Xin’s eyes and he takes a step back into Mu Qing’s space, maintaining eye contact. Now, even Mu Qing’s eyes feel hot.
“Don’t act so smug. It’s acceptable,” Mu Qing snaps, trying to recorrect himself but the regained proximity and Feng Xin’s bare body has his voice and thoughts too raw to come across as believable.
“Well, if it’s acceptable, will you show me yours now?” Feng Xin’s voice takes on a harsh edge. Maybe two degrees away from begging. Mu Qing takes solace in not being the only one affected. He swallows and nods his head. When his arms come up to remove his armor, Feng Xin’s hand grips his wrist. “Will you let me do it? Again?”
The very idea of Feng Xin removing his armor again threatens to make Mu Qing overheat but somehow he rasps, “Yes.”
Feng Xin doesn’t waste any time from there on and guides Mu Qing back over to the bed and makes quick work of his armor. He isn’t as patient as he was, all those weeks ago in Mu Qing’s temple, but he still takes time to place each piece of armor gently on a chest at the foot of the bed. When Mu Qing is down to his own inner robe, Feng Xin’s hand hovers over the belt for a second before undoing it. The robe falls open slowly to reveal the hard, white flesh of Mu Qing’s abdomen. His scar cuts across his obliques to curve around his side, stopping at the small of his back. It’s knotted and visceral and Feng Xin’s hand pauses again over it.
“Can I?” When Feng Xin asks, his eyes are trained on Mu Qing’s. Something bright and wild flickers in them and Mu Qing is all too eager to fan it.
“Stop asking me questions and get on with it,” Mu Qing bares his teeth, “I’m not made of porcelain.”
When Feng Xin’s dark fingers trace over the scar Mu Qing hisses; the skin feels raw and sensitive despite having healed over. It didn’t feel like this when he touched it himself. Now it feels… good.
“Does it hurt?” Feng Xin withdraws his hand quickly.
“No--” Mu Qing grits out, “I just wasn’t ready.”
“Good?” Feng Xin raises an eyebrow, “Can I touch it again?”
“I told you to stop asking me, you insufferable buffoon,” Mu Qing snaps, “Just touch me!”
“Fine,” Feng Xin's voice is so quiet this time that Mu Qing isn’t ready for when he forcefully palms over the scar and crowds his space, pushing him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Feng Xin bends, looming over Mu Qing, keeping his hand in place and whispers in Mu Qing’s ear, “Is this what you want?”
Mu Qing stifles a moan in response. The hand on his scar burns through skin and his cock jumps in response. He’s never been this hard before, usually turning to meditation before letting his arousal carry him away. Feng Xin brings a knee between his thighs and gently pushes against his hardness. Mu Qing bites his lip to keep from moaning again.
“Mu Qing, am I touching you the way you want me to?” Feng Xin asks, this time hot and wet against his mouth. He starts to rub small circles into Mu Qing’s scar. Mu Qing can’t help but grind his cock against Feng Xin’s knee, moving his hips in time with the hand on his side.
“Mmph..” Mu Qing keeps his mouth shut, the effort of it all driving his teeth deeper into his lip to draw blood.
“I can’t believe you’re still trying to fight with me,” Feng Xin says, his tone a mixture of arousal and exasperation. He braces a hand on Mu Qing’s shoulder and pushes down, guiding him to lie on his back. Mu Qing’s legs still hang off the edge of the bed as Feng Xin climbs over him. He leaves his knee in between Mu Qing’s thighs and plants his hands firmly on Mu Qing’s chest. “Why don’t you just let go? For this?”
“Would you be-- ah -- enjoying yourself as much if I did?” Mu Qing gasps midway through the sentence, but knows he’s struck a chord of truth when Feng Xin groans in response. He’s rewarded when the hands on his chest move to pinch his nipples and his mouth opens in a silent moan. In his haze, Mu Qing brings a hand up to Feng Xin’s hair and yanks hard. The sounds Feng Xin makes goes straight to his cock and he grinds down hard against Feng Xin’s knee. Feng Xin keeps one hand teasing a nipple and slides the other to palm again at his scar. Mu Qing thinks he’s at his limit when Feng Xin clamps his mouth down on the unattended nipple; the sound that escapes from his lips is choked off and stunted and he starts to rut against Feng Xin’s leg.
When Feng Xin relents and pulls away he moves up to Mu Qing’s open mouth and plunges his tongue inside, groaning as the hand in his hair pulls tighter. The hum in Mu Qing’s mouth makes his cock throb again and he can hardly breathe.
“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing wrenches away from the kiss to gasp out the other man’s name, “Feng Xin, you have to touch me.”
“Now you’re barking orders?” Feng Xin’s voice sounds just as winded, which Mu Qing finds some solace in, “I am touching you.” Feng Xin punctuates his statement by pinching Mu Qing’s scar.
He lifts himself up slightly to reach down and digs his nails into Feng Xin’s scar, pulling on his hair again. “I want you to touch my cock, idiot.”
“Fuck--” Feng Xin’s hips stutter midair and Mu Qing digs his thumbnail into the other man’s scar scar again, drawing blood. Feng Xin buries his face into Mu Qing’s shoulder and bites down hard, moaning into the flesh. Mu Qing has never had anyone bite him like this, but he already knows it’s going to leave a mark.
Mu Qing isn’t quite past the point of shame but he can’t take much more of this without being touched. His cock is so hard it hurts a little, straining against his pants. He takes a moment to look down between them to see a wet spot on the crotch of his pants and Feng Xin’s cock hanging over it. It’s even bigger than before and Mu Qing knows for sure that he wouldn’t be able to get his hand around it. The sight of it wrenches a reedy sound out of him, as Feng Xin sucks at the bite mark on his shoulder.
Feng Xin squeezes his scar one last time before pulling away. “I can’t believe you thought I would find any part of your body ugly,” he says as he moves his hand to the waistband of Mu Qing’s pants, “Lift your hips up.” Mu Qing obeys and Feng Xin yanks his pants down and off his legs, exposing Mu Qing’s erection. He sucks in a breath at the sensation of the night air blowing in from the window. “Now move further onto the bed and lie down.” Mu Qing again obeys, growing more impatient by the second. Feng Xin finally shucks his inner robe off and gets into the bed next to him, propping himself on his elbow to look down at Mu Qing. His eyes are wide and he runs his free hand over Mu Qing’s torso again, lingering over the scar when he hears Mu Qing sigh. His hand travels further down and Mu Qing’s breath quickens in anticipation only to let out a grunt of surprise when it goes past his cock to grab at his balls.
“Should you even be doing this?” Feng Xin asks. He’s rolling Mu Qing’s balls in his large hand, punctuating his sentence with a light squeeze.
Mu Qing whips his head to look at Feng Xin, “What?”
“I mean, your cultivation,” Feng Xin licks his lips and his eyes dart down to Mu Qing’s groin, “I’m more than willing to keep going, but have you thought about it?”
Mu Qing has thought about it quite a bit, but Feng Xin doesn’t need to know that, “If His Highness can figure it out, then so can I.” He turns his head on the pillow again in an attempt to hide his face from Feng Xin, “Didn’t I tell you to stop asking questions?” He knows that turning his head away won’t hide the deepening flush in his cheeks.
Feng Xin rolls Mu Qing’s balls again and cranes his neck down to leave a string of open mouth kisses down Mu Qing’s neck and chest. He makes his way to Mu Qing’s scar, licking a line right over it, almost like he’s trying to taste the way Mu Qing shivers.
Mu Qing writhes on the bed and his hands grasp at the sheets, small sounds escaping his throat and Feng Xin’s mouth makes its way back to his already teased nipple. Abruptly, Feng Xin takes his hand away from Mu Qing’s crotch to yank on Mu Qing’s ponytail until silver hair falls loose over the pillow. “Should have done that earlier,” Feng Xin breathes out over Mu Qing’s indignant noise.
“You could have just asked me to take it down!”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be asking anymore questions,” Feng Xin says drily as he runs his fingers through Mu Qing’s hair. He brings a handful of it to his face and inhales deeply as his eyes flutter shut.
“Shut up,” Mu Qing grouses, “Stop playing with my hair and touch me.”
“Always looking to ruin the mood,” Feng Xin tuts but his hand finally wraps around Mu Qing’s length and gives it a quick tug, eliciting a gasp. He swipes his thumb over the tip, wiping up the precum dripping down. He slicks it over Mu Qing’s cock and the wet sensation causes Mu Qing’s hips to cant upwards into his hand. Mu Qing spreads his legs without thinking, giving Feng Xin more access. Mu Qing is lost in the feeling of Feng Xin’s hand when he feels his balls tighten and he arches his back, letting loose a keening noise. Feng Xin lowers his head to kiss Mu Qing, effectively swallowing the whine. Feng Xin kisses Mu Qing through his orgasm and sucks on his lower lip as his hips begin to stutter.
Mu Qing orgasm pulses through him and his mind goes blissfully blank, though for how long he isn’t sure. All he knows is Feng Xin’s lips on his face and a hand that pulls him through the intensity. He pants as he comes down, turning his head to look at Feng Xin. Feng Xin looks the way Mu Qing feels; face flushed and eyes wide, totally bare. His eyes have that same reverent look as they did before, but now the pupils are blown wide with dark need. Mu Qing shifts on the bed, feeling the come on his belly and trickling down his softening cock. He waits a bit before parting his lips in question when Feng Xin’s mouth is suddenly back on his, tongue delving deeper than before.
Mu Qing returns the kiss as best he can but feels entirely overpowered by it, his consciousness barely cobbled together post-orgasm. Feng Xin kisses him with an intent Mu Qing can feel and knows the name of. Feng Xin said it himself earlier. Mu Qing hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he hopes the way his lips move, the way he swats Feng Xin’s hand away from between their bodies before closing his hand over Feng Xin’s cock, says enough for now. He pumps his hand back and forth, twisting his hand trying to reach around Feng Xin’s girth.
“Mu Qing…” Feng Xin rasps out and reaches around to palm Mu Qing’s ass and rocks his body forward into the grip on his cock.
Mu Qing brings his other hand up to wrap around Feng Xin’s neck and squeezes lightly, using his grip to angle for another kiss. Feng Xin makes a choked noise into the kiss and his fingers squeeze even harder into Mu Qing’s flesh, hard enough to hurt. When Feng Xin pulls away from the kiss to hiss from the dry friction, Mu Qing spits in his own hand before resuming and the hand around Feng Xin’s neck tightens. The wetness draws a low moan out from Feng Xin that washes over Mu Qing’s ears. It’s like seeing the sea after having only known deserts; unrelenting and bottomless.
They both sink deeper.
Feng Xin growls and makes an abrupt move, pushing them from their sides to hover over Mu Qing. He plants one hand on the bed next to Mu Qing’s head and buries the other in the silver hair spread wildly over the pillow. He leans down to inhale again, giving a slight tug. Mu Qing’s hand continues to pump his cock as he yelps from the sudden action, but Feng Xin starts to fuck down and hard, pushing both hand and cock into Mu Qing’s stomach. Mu Qing takes his other hand away from Feng Xin’s neck to dig his nails into Feng Xin’s scar again. Feng Xin’s breath turns ragged as he thrusts and he bites down hard on Mu Qing’s throat.
It’s not long before the thrusts take on an irregular pattern and Feng Xin is spilling into Mu Qing’s hand and onto his stomach. He comes without a noise, just a breath against Mu Qing’s ear, before collapsing on top of him. Mu Qing allows the dead weight for a few moments before shoving Feng Xin off. Feng Xin doesn’t fight him and rolls over like a ragdoll.
“Ugh,” Mu Qing’s lip curls looking down at his body, sweat and come both drying on his skin, “Move, I want to get all this off me.”
Feng Xin sighs in response and makes no attempt to move.
“Get out of the way,” Mu Qing mutters as he climbs over Feng Xin to leave the bed.
“Love the pillow talk,” Feng Xin says without any bite.
Mu Qing searches the room for the second time that night, procuring a cloth and jug of water. He cleans himself methodically before handing the cloth to Feng Xin, who accepts it lazily. He’s in the process of putting his clothes back on when he catches Feng Xin staring at him from the bed. Feng Xin hasn’t sat up yet, watching Mu Qing as he absentmindedly drags the damp cloth over his own body. His face is completely unreadable to Mu Qing.
“Do you need something?” Mu Qing snaps.
Feng Xin rolls his eyes and props himself on one elbow, “Leaving already?”
“...Yes,” Mu Qing says with certainty.
“You can’t let yourself be happy, can you?” Feng Xin sighs and wipes a hand over his face.
Mu Qing doesn’t have an answer for that. He tugs his pants back on and throws his inner robe on haphazardly. His hair is still down and he brushes it out of his face in frustration. “Where did you throw my hair ribbon?”
“It’s still here in the bed,” Feng Xin says and he holds it up in his hand, beckoning to Mu Qing. When Mu Qing walks back over and reaches a hand to take it back, Feng Xin pulls it out of his reach, “Let me do it.”
“You want... to do my hair?” Mu Qing asks.
“Yes,” Feng Xin says, “Are you going to let me?”
Mu Qing presses his lips into a thin line. They’re sore and red from the harshness of Feng Xin’s kisses. He looks down at the ribbon in Feng Xin’s hand before meeting his eyes; they’re quiet now, no fire or lightning or tidal waves. Mu Qing huffs and sits on the floor beside the bed with his back turned to Feng Xin. “Make it quick.”
When a hand touches his scalp, Mu Qing can already feel that Feng Xin has no intentions of rushing. Calloused fingers card through gently, taking care to not snag on any knots. Feng Xin brushes against his ears, the nape of his neck; the pads of his fingers delicately dab at Mu Qing’s hairline, pulling back stray strands. Mu Qing’s eyes flutter shut and he sinks into it. His breathing slows down along with his heart. Over him, Feng Xin hums a song Mu Qing had forgotten.
Feng Xin’s hands are firm but not once does Mu Qing feel like his hair is being pulled on. It doesn’t feel like Feng Xin is putting his hair in its usual style, taking extra care with what feels like a few braids. As Mu Qing starts to wonder what Feng Xin’s plan is, he feels the ribbon brush against his cheek. Another moment of fussing, Mu Qing feels the zan push into his hair, stabilizing the arrangement.
“Are you finished?” Mu Qing grouses.
Fingers card through the unbraided sections again and Feng Xin sighs, “Yes.”
Mu Qing stands up quickly and brings a hand up to touch his hair. Two, three… there are six braids that trail from his temples into a rather high ponytail.
“You look beautiful,” Feng Xin says.
Mu Qing whips around to look at Feng Xin, his face burning, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“You never have,” Feng Xin says and raises an eyebrow, “Are you still leaving?”
Mu Qing huffs and puts the rest of his clothes back on, gathering his armor in his arms. He shrugs most of it back on, although improperly, and makes his way to leave. He pauses in the doorway. “Will I see you at the training grounds tomorrow?”
A pause.
“Is that all?” The reply sounds brittle.
“Yes or no, Feng Xin.”
Another sigh, “Yes.”
Mu Qing leaves without another word.
-
When Mu Qing walks onto the training grounds in the morning, Feng Xin smiles at the sight of his freshly braided hair.