Work Text:
They both stare at the bed like it has personally wronged them.
Mu Qing plops down on the edge, feeling absolutely defeated. “Seriously, Feng Xin? A single bed?”
Something bad always happens when Mu Qing is sent to accompany Feng Xin on a mission, but this might just be the worst situation they’ve ever dealt with.
It was only a simple mission, Mu Qing and Feng Xin had been told. But if Mu Qing had known it would end up like this, he wouldn't have agreed to go.
They had descended to the Mortal Realm earlier that day to deal with some vicious ghosts in the South that had been bothering their worshippers. Though it was supposed to only take a few hours at most, Mu Qing and Feng Xin found themselves unable to complete the mission within a day and ended up having to stay the night at a nearby inn to continue investigating in the morning. They’d changed their forms into Fu Yao and Nan Feng—bringing back memories from the time they’d spent with Xie Lian—before entering the inn.
They only turned back into their original forms once they were in the safety of the private chamber, far away from any unwanted guests or prying eyes. And everything would’ve been just fine, if not for…
“It’s hardly my fault there’s only one bed! You heard the innkeeper yourself, this is the last available room.”
Mu Qing scoffs. “I’m not gonna sleep on the floor.”
Feng Xin gives him a long, annoyed gaze. “Neither am I.”
The silence that follows stretches between them uncomfortably. Mu Qing makes the wise decision to stare at the floor while Feng Xin paces back and forth in the tiny room.
“We could just… sleep next to each other? In the bed?” Feng Xin suggests tentatively, his voice barely audible despite the silence in the room.
Mu Qing’s eyes widen and instantly snap to Feng Xin. “Are you out of your mind?!” Feng Xin must’ve gone insane. Does he really think they can sleep in one bed without attempting to murder each other?
Feng Xin flinches before quickly schooling his expression. “We only have to rest here for a few hours and then we can get going. Before long you’ll be back in your own beloved bed, General Xuan Zhen.”
It doesn’t escape Mu Qing’s attention that Feng Xin used the official title they only address each other with when they’re angry at each other, or in a meeting with other Heavenly Officials. How much more annoying can Feng Xin get? Mu Qing can hardly imagine himself properly relaxing in such close proximity to his rival. Who knows what he’s planning? There’s always a possibility that Mu Qing will wake up with an arrow sticking out of his chest.
He scoffs. “I truly can’t wait.”
Feng Xin ignores him and slowly sits down on the bed instead, making sure to keep a distance between Mu Qing and himself. “Do you really hate me so much that you refuse to sleep next to me for a single night?”
Truthfully, Mu Qing hasn’t hated Feng Xin for a very long time. Quite the opposite, actually. He would rather fling himself into lava than admit that out loud, though.
“Whatever, let’s do it,” he says quietly, hesitation creeping into his voice. “I’ll take the left side, and you take the right.”
It’s fine, Mu Qing tells himself. He’ll sleep in the same bed as Feng Xin for a single night, in the morning they’ll finish their mission, and he’ll never have to think about this again. Out of sight, out of mind.
Nothing bad can happen in one night, right? Even if Mu Qing is forced to spend it right next to Feng Xin. Even if there’s barely space for the two of them to fit in the bed. It’s just a mission, after all. One of many they’ve gone on together.
Mu Qing is pulled out of his thoughts by a steady hand on his arm, his body warm where Feng Xin is touching it.
“Hey, are you okay? You’ve been staring at the same spot on the floor for like five minutes,” Feng Xin asks, and if Mu Qing didn’t know better, he’d describe his tone as concerned.
“Don’t touch me,” he seethes, pulling away immediately. Since when does Feng Xin pretend to worry about him? Since when does Feng Xin touch him?
Mu Qing tells himself he doesn’t miss the warmth of Feng Xin’s touch as soon as it’s gone.
It’s not like he needs it, anyway. He isn’t some touch-starved maiden.
He turns around just in time to see the puzzled expression on Feng Xin’s face and his hand still hovering in the air between them. “Fuck, okay, calm down! I was just trying to check up on you.”
Mu Qing keeps his mouth firmly shut, eyes cast to the floor once again. His hands clench into fists so hard that his knuckles turn white.
He is not going to explain his reaction. How would he even express how he feels, anyway? What would he say? Whenever you touch me it feels like I’m burning, or like I’ve been struck by lightning? Please stop doing it because otherwise I might fall apart? It’s illogical and stupid, and it’s the very last thing he wants to admit to Feng Xin. It’s better and easier to just not speak at all.
He doesn’t really know why he keeps responding with frustration or ire every time Feng Xin so much as tries to be nice. Perhaps a part of him knows he doesn’t deserve it. Perhaps it’s easier to remain rivals than to face… whatever it is that Mu Qing feels for Feng Xin.
It’s not hatred, that much he’s sure of. And this fact scares him beyond belief—hating Feng Xin, or at least pretending to, is something Mu Qing is used to. It’s familiar, and it’s safe. It can’t lead to him getting hurt.
But what Mu Qing feels is something entirely different, something that he doesn’t really want to think about. If he gives it a name, then he’ll make it…real. Then he won’t be able to ignore his emotions anymore.
It’s not like any of that matters, anyway. He’s more accustomed to hiding his true feelings, emotions and intentions than he’d like to admit. This—whatever it is—is just another part of him that no one will ever find out about.
In the end they both lay down in the bed, trying to keep as much distance between their bodies as possible. Mu Qing is curled up on the left side with his back facing Feng Xin, hoping that being unable to see Feng Xin will help calm down the frantic beating of his stupid heart.
It doesn’t.
His body seems to know very well just what exactly he’s trying to hide, and he can barely do anything to conceal it. The signs are all there—the trembling of his hands. The pounding in his chest. The need to make himself as small as possible, in hopes of disappearing completely and getting out of this ridiculous situation.
Mu Qing can only hope that he’ll survive the night unscathed, and tomorrow he’ll be back in his own palace, far away from Feng Xin’s amber eyes and soft hair and muscular arms. Eventually he closes his eyes, the panic rising in his chest a stark contrast to the steady beating of Feng Xin’s heart.
The pillow… seems to have gotten warmer overnight. Mu Qing’s half-awake mind conjures up enough brainpower to realize there’s something unsettling about that. Pillows shouldn’t really rise and fall either, yet that’s exactly what this one seems to be doing. Just what kind of weird inn did they choose to stay at…?
Pure horror washes over Mu Qing once he realizes just what his head is resting on, and his first instinct is to recoil immediately. But it turns out that he cannot move, because there is a pair of strong arms wrapped around his body, pulling him even closer to the person’s chest. Feng Xin’s chest.
This is the worst nightmare Mu Qing has ever had. He’s been spending too much time with Feng Xin recently, thinking about him and staring every time Feng Xin turns away, and now even his half-conscious mind tries to conjure up the image of Feng Xin—surely, that’s the only logical explanation.
Mu Qing definitely didn’t just wake up with his face pressed against Feng Xin’s chest. He didn’t.
This is… a position reserved for lovers. Friends, maybe. Either way—people who care about each other, and that’s simply not what Feng Xin and him are.
Rivals don’t cuddle in their sleep. They don’t wrap their arms around each other at night. They shouldn’t even rest in the same bed to begin with. And yet… Mu Qing is currently enveloped in a warm embrace, and it feels like there’s a thousand tiny needles pressing into his skin where Feng Xin’s arms are wrapped around his torso, their bodies separated only by a thin layer of fabric.
Mu Qing is sure there must be some higher power—higher than a God, even—laughing at him from above right now, relishing in his utter misery.
It’s not like he’s never imagined finding himself in a similar position before—safe and sound in Feng Xin’s arms, feeling cherished and protected. But that’s all it’s ever been—just the wildest, unspoken desires of someone who’s so desperate for affection that he’s managed to fall in love with his rival.
If you can even call it love. Perhaps Mu Qing just hit his head super hard during one of his earlier missions and still hasn’t completely recovered. He’d prefer it that way, really.
On the other hand… he could get used to waking up in Feng Xin’s embrace, and that thought deeply unsettles him. He shouldn’t get used to this, because it’s never going to happen again. He shouldn’t even want this in the first place.
Mu Qing tries to focus on all the little details, to commit them to memory before they’re gone forever. The first sun rays illuminating the room through a crack in the curtains. Every rise and fall of Feng Xin’s chest. His brown hair spilling down onto his shoulders, his bun having come undone at some point of the night. If Mu Qing’s range of motion wasn’t so limited right now, maybe he could reach out, delicately touch one of the strands, twist it around his finger and—
He’s really getting ahead of himself.
Maybe in a different world Mu Qing could wake up by Feng Xin’s side without this gnawing ache in his heart, and allow himself to show any sort of affection—even the special kind reserved for lovers. Somewhere far away, but not here. Never here.
He might be the great Xuan Zhen, General of the South-East, but in the face of his own feelings, he’s utterly powerless.
Mu Qing slowly closes his eyes again, hoping that maybe he can go back to sleep, and once he wakes up, all of this will turn out to have only been a dream. A very realistic, unwanted, bizarre lucid dream.
But then Feng Xin moves below him, Mu Qing freezes, and the illusion of any sort of peace or intimacy between them shatters instantaneously. For a single second Mu Qing thinks that maybe everything can still be fine. Feng Xin will doze off, and his hold on Mu Qing’s body will gradually loosen, allowing Mu Qing to roll over to his side of the bed again. Feng Xin doesn’t have to find out about this, if he only—
Before Mu Qing can finish the thought, there’s a loud gasp right next to his ear, followed by an agitated “What the fuck are you doing?!”
“What are you doing? Get your hands off me!” Mu Qing retorts. His voice comes out as a squeak.
He attempts to free himself from Feng Xin’s embrace like a feral animal, causing both of them to roll off the bed and fall to the floor with a loud thud. Feng Xin groans loudly while Mu Qing moves as far away as possible, until his back is pressed against the wall, body trembling slightly from the shock and adrenaline.
It shouldn’t be this easy to fall right back into his usual ways. And yet… it’s so easy to resort to cutting remarks and sarcasm whenever he interacts with Feng Xin. If he doesn’t then… his only other option will be honesty, and that’s dangerous territory, given the nature of his true feelings towards Feng Xin.
“What in the ever-loving fuck was that about?” Feng Xin yells, eyes wide.
He’s looking at Mu Qing like he’s just seen a ghost; like it’s never occurred to him before that Mu Qing might crave intimacy and act on that craving while unconscious. If it had even been Mu Qing who started this shitshow to begin with—for all they know, it might’ve as well been Feng Xin with his innate need to hold and protect somebody. Even if that somebody is a person he clearly loathes.
“I woke up and you were hugging me like I’m some maiden,” Mu Qing seethes, trying to keep his tone as snide and accusatory as possible. He definitely wouldn’t enjoy it if Feng Xin were to… hold him like that more often.
“I… you… what the fuck,” Feng Xin runs a shaky hand through his hair, clearly attempting (and failing) to form a cohesive sentence in light of the situation.
They stare at each other with ire for an excruciatingly long moment, chests heaving with ragged breaths.
“We are never speaking of this again,” Feng Xin exclaims finally, leaving no room for arguing. Not like Mu Qing had been planning to argue about this.
Nothing happened between them. Mu Qing didn’t wake up with Feng Xin’s arms wrapped tightly around him. And he most definitely didn’t enjoy it.
Admittedly, it feels good to know that he isn’t the only embarrassed one here, so he decides to play along. “Speaking about what?”
Feng Xin nods approvingly. “Yeah. Good. Keep that up and let’s get out of here as soon as possible.”
At least they agree on something for once.
Over the next few weeks, Mu Qing makes sure to lock himself inside his palace as often as possible, working on reports, organizing his scrolls and assigning ever-new tasks to his deputies. And this does not mean he’s avoiding Feng Xin. He just… has more important things to do. Obviously.
But no matter how much work he takes on, he cannot stop thinking back to that morning spent in Feng Xin’s arms. The memories are still fresh in his mind—he can almost feel the warmth of Feng Xin’s body pressed against his own, the rising of his chest with every breath—and with each passing day Mu Qing misses Feng Xin’s touch more and more.
And with each passing day, he feels more and more like he’s going to be ripped apart by the intensity of his feelings, like he’s going to collapse and choke and there’ll be nothing he can do to save himself.
Unbelievable. Just fucking unbelievable. He really has started acting like a touch-starved maiden; the feelings he’s spent so long trying to deny are now clear as day, unavoidable, and Mu Qing fears the truth will spill from his lips the moment Feng Xin and him are left alone in the same chamber. It turns out there’s no running away from it, no matter how hard Mu Qing tries.
There’s only so much he can do to avoid Feng Xin. They’re both still Martial Gods and Heavenly Officials, after all, which means that even if they don’t interact privately, they’re still forced to see each other during official meetings, like the one Mu Qing is sitting in right now, his hands shaking nervously underneath the table.
Feng Xin is in the opposite corner of the room, his eyes trained on the ground as they listen to another Martial God summarize the results of his latest mission. Honestly, Mu Qing would rather be anywhere than here—even Ghost City or Hua Cheng’s Paradise Manor might be better than this. At least Feng Xin wouldn’t be there, invading Mu Qing’s space with his… his… existence.
They’d made sure to stand as far away from each other as possible before the meeting started, avoiding eye contact at all cost. And it had felt so wrong, because usually Feng Xin would make a remark, and Mu Qing would bite back, and before long they’d be trying to land a punch on each other’s loud mouth as the other Gods watched, disappointed but not surprised.
But it suddenly doesn’t seem right to fight with someone whose arms you’d woken up in before, even if it hadn’t been intentional. Even if it hadn’t been done out of love. So today they simply tried to ignore each other, and Mu Qing pretended his chest didn’t feel like an open, gaping wound with his broken heart fully on display.
Mu Qing wants nothing more than to leave this absolutely unnecessary meeting and return to his palace, to the familiarity of his deputies and cats and private chambers, where he’s safe from Feng Xin’s gaze. Where he can’t see those piercing amber eyes, or that golden ribbon, or those muscles flexing underneath his robes—
“General Xuan Zhen?” a gentle voice interrupts Mu Qing’s spiraling train of thought. He looks up, perplexed.
Ling Wen is staring right at him with a mixture of condemnation and worry, and Mu Qing realizes with horror that he must’ve been asked a question he didn’t even hear. He clears his throat, shame causing his hands to shake even more than before. “I’m sorry, could you please repeat?”
“I asked if you would be willing to join General Nan Yang on a mission in the South again, considering the success of the previous one.”
Absolutely not, Mu Qing thinks. He would rather get thrown into boiling lava or be chased by a thousand monsters than go anywhere alone with Feng Xin again. He had agreed to it one too many times, and look how that turned out for him.
“I unfortunately cannot accompany General Nan Yang on this mission,” Mu Qing begins, slowly, feeling all the eyes in the room shift to him.
“My palace is currently undergoing renovations, and I must oversee the work of my deputies. I apologize for the inconvenience,” he manages to finish, feeling like his throat might just close up before he gets the chance to say anything more. He hopes the others won’t see through his obvious lie—he could easily join Feng Xin, if only he wanted to. But that’s a mistake Mu Qing won’t make again.
He receives a simple nod in acknowledgement; the meeting moves on and the participants’ eyes flit elsewhere, leaving Mu Qing alone with his thoughts once more. He can only feel one person’s gaze on him for the remaining duration of the meeting, but he does not dare look up to meet it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away.
Mu Qing lets out a sigh of relief once the excruciatingly long meeting is finally over. He gets up from his seat almost immediately, fully intending to leave the chamber before any of the other Gods try to talk to him. He has the… palace renovations to take care of, after all. And the whirling mess inside of his head.
He’s roughly halfway to his palace when he realizes somebody is trailing behind him, their footsteps synchronized with his own. Mu Qing does not have to turn around to know who the person is—he would recognize those footsteps anywhere, anytime. His heart rate picks up immediately, his hands curling into fists.
“What do you want, General?” Mu Qing hisses and stops abruptly, turning to face Feng Xin.
He’s met with a slightly surprised expression on that way too familiar face—clearly, Feng Xin had not been expecting Mu Qing to acknowledge him now, in the middle of the Grand Avenue of Divine Might, with other Gods going about their business all around them. But the sooner Mu Qing can get rid of Feng Xin, the better. He doesn’t need the great Nan Yang following him around like a lost puppy, for whatever reason.
“I thought we could talk,” Feng Xin explains, and he must realize just how foolish it sounds the moment it leaves his mouth, because his brows furrow and his lips press into a thin line.
Since when have they talked about anything?
“I have nothing to talk with you about,” Mu Qing says dryly, hoping the tone of his voice will be enough to dissuade Feng Xin from bothering him.
Feng Xin’s brows furrow in confusion. “What about the meeting?”
Mu Qing’s heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. “What about it?”
“Don’t play dumb now! You were clearly ignoring me!” Mu Qing is mad now, really mad, because Feng Xin had also been ignoring him, like an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge each other’s existence again, or at least not for the foreseeable future. But suddenly it appears to be a problem, one big enough that Feng Xin felt the need to ask Mu Qing about it immediately, and Mu Qing isn’t entirely sure what to make of that.
“Are you afraid you aren’t skilled enough to complete the mission on your own, General? Perhaps some of the Ming Guang deputies would be willing to help you if you asked nicely,” Mu Qing sneeres, trying desperately to change the subject. Perhaps if he angers Feng Xin enough this can end in their usual public brawl, and Mu Qing will finally be left alone.
Feng Xin’s face twists into an unpleasant expression, contorted with rage. “You—! Fucking—!”
Mu Qing raises an eyebrow as Feng Xin comes closer, and he’s absolutely sure he’s crossed the line now; he braces himself for a fist being slammed into his stomach, or perhaps his face, or—
But the punch never comes.
Feng Xin looks… defeated, almost. Like he doesn’t quite know how to proceed from here, how to find his way towards the right words. And, Mu Qing realizes with a start, Feng Xin was never planning to hit him—he most likely just didn’t want the other Heavenly Officials to listen in on their argument.
His voice is quiet when he speaks again, and if Mu Qing didn’t know any better, he would think it’s laced with sorrow.
“You can’t deny that you’ve been avoiding me. You wouldn’t even let my deputies into your palace! And I don’t know why it makes me so angry and confused and—“
“It’s nothing you have to worry about, General Nan Yang,” and this time it’s the truth, because really, none of this is Feng Xin’s business. Mu Qing’s own feelings don’t matter. The motivations behind his actions don’t matter. Everything would be so much easier if Feng Xin could just let this matter go.
“Why can’t you just be honest with me?” Feng Xin asks, unwilling to back away now, and it causes something in Mu Qing to break, the strings in his heart snapping loose all at once.
“I don’t owe you honesty!” Mu Qing all but yells, feeling like he might just explode with anger any moment now. Feng Xin’s expression changes slightly, jaw tense and eyes blown wide. Mu Qing tries to keep his own expression carefully blank, desperate not to let any more emotions show.
Who does Feng Xin think he is? Since when do they sit down for a nice afternoon tea and a heartfelt conversation? They’ve hardly ever been sincere with each other in the 800 years that they’ve known each other, and Mu Qing fully intends to keep things this way. There is no other choice, no other option for them. This is how it has to be, Mu Qing tries to convince himself.
Feng Xin’s arms are tensely crossed over his chest now, and Mu Qing tries his very best not to openly stare at the muscles flexing underneath his robes. Feng Xin must be doing all of this on purpose. He wants Mu Qing dead.
He opens his mouth to speak. Looks into Mu Qing’s furious eyes. Closes it, seemingly trying to string the right words together.
“Take your time. I know thinking is hard for you,” Mu Qing can’t stop himself from saying. It’s easy to resort to sarcasm and snide remarks. It’s like a stable ground, one that Mu Qing knows all too well and feels safe on.
But this time, Feng Xin pretends not to hear Mu Qing at all, his expression turning more pained. Mu Qing tries to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest.
When Feng Xin finally speaks, his voice is no longer laced with fury, but something akin to resignation. “Can we just… talk calmly, for once? In my palace, away from the public eye? Please?”
Mu Qing has never heard Feng Xin plead for anything before.
It feels almost like a punch in the gut, like somebody has stolen all the air from Mu Qing’s lungs, leaving him shocked and breathless and so fucking confused. He hates the way his stomach has twisted into a tight knot, his heart still pounding in his chest.
After a few minutes of excruciating silence Mu Qing nods, albeit hesitantly. None of this is going according to plan. In an ideal scenario, Feng Xin wouldn’t even be talking to him right now, let alone be inviting him over to his palace. There is nothing to talk about, nothing Feng Xin needs to know, no matter how curious he is.
But Feng Xin is already turning around and beginning to walk towards his palace, his golden ribbon fluttering in the wind.
And so Mu Qing follows behind, with rage simmering beneath his skin and clouding his senses. Fuck Feng Xin. Fuck all of this, actually.
Their footsteps echo on the polished floors of the Nan Yang palace—Mu Qing’s uncertain and floaty ones contrasting with the confidence of Feng Xin’s walk. A deputy tries to come up to them, but Feng Xin only waves him off dismissively.
Mu Qing tries to ignore the curious gazes of the other deputies upon seeing the Xuan Zhen trailing behind their General. Feng Xin does not assign you enough tasks if you have time for this, he thinks. Nobody dares to ask why he’s there, at least not out loud.
Once they’ve made it to the private chamber, Feng Xin plops down on the bed with a resigned sigh, starting to fidget with the sleeves of his robes nervously. The chamber is a mess, with scrolls and reports scattered all over the floor, and it only makes Mu Qing feel even more uncomfortable and out of place.
He pretends not to notice Feng Xin’s discerning gaze as he motions to the spot next to him. “Don’t you want to sit down?”
Honestly, haven’t they had enough bad experiences with beds?
“No,” Mu Qing responds, making sure to keep a distance between Feng Xin and himself. He is not going to let Feng Xin control this conversation. He’ll say exactly what he needs to say—he isn’t avoiding Feng Xin, nothing is happening, stop worrying and take care of your own tasks—and then leave without having confessed anything. The sooner he leaves this place, the better.
“You wanted to talk, so talk,” Mu Qing sneers, hands curling into fists again.
Feng Xin’s piercing eyes meet Mu Qing’s own, and it takes everything in Mu Qing not to look away. “I want to know what I’ve done to make you avoid me.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “I’m not avoiding you. If you’d actually been paying attention during the meeting, you would know that my palace is undergoing renovations at the moment. I’ve been busy.”
Feng Xin lets out a small laugh, but there’s no sincerity behind it. “You and I both know that’s bullshit.”
So Feng Xin has already seen through Mu Qing’s lie. He almost curses under his breath, hands curled so tightly his fingernails are digging into his palms, knuckles ghostly white. If Feng Xin notices his distress—and Mu Qing is sure it’s obvious at this point—he does not comment on it.
It’s becoming increasingly clear that Feng Xin will not let Mu Qing go until he’s found out the truth—or at least an explanation that satisfies him.
“I simply—”, Mu Qing cuts himself off, embarrassed. He’s already made it clear that he doesn’t owe Feng Xin an explanation. Only a half-truth, at best.
Feng Xin raises an eyebrow questioningly, but does not pry.
Mu Qing shakes his head, his breath shivering in and out of his chest in irregular intervals. He cannot bring himself to say those words, to admit what the real reason for his unusual behavior is.
It used to be so much easier to pretend, both in front of Feng Xin and himself. He’s lived with these feelings for roughly 800 years, always pulling at the strings of his heart and making themselves known in the least convenient moments. And because he’s never known how to deal with his overwhelming emotions, he does the one thing that seems safe—hiding his true feelings, locking them away in the deepest, darkest chamber of his heart and throwing away the key.
If he pretends they don’t exist, maybe his emotions will disappear into thin air, dissolve until they’re nothing but dust. Then Mu Qing won’t have to feel so… vulnerable and weak anymore.
That’s certainly how he feels now. Stupid. Fragile. Defenseless. Everything that a Martial God shouldn’t be, everything he swore he would never become.
He doesn’t need any more problems to deal with, especially ones that concern Feng Xin of all people.
Feng Xin is Mu Qing’s rival. Enemy. Foe. More of a coworker than a friend, and it should always stay this way, no matter what Mu Qing’s true feelings are. No matter what he secretly hopes could happen, in another universe and time.
Mu Qing opens his mouth to speak but… not a single sound comes out. It’s like his vocal cords don’t work anymore, like his tongue is all twisted inside of his mouth. He can’t bring himself to say anything, and with each passing second the red alarm in his head blares louder and louder.
It’s not too late to turn back now, before everything is said and done. The line that Mu Qing has spent 800 years guarding has not been crossed; the barrier built around his heart is still intact. He doesn’t have to do this, he tells himself.
But then he looks into Feng Xin’s golden eyes and—
The words almost end up spilling out of his mouth, jumbled and raw and uncontrollable. Why have I been avoiding you? Because I like you, he almost says. I think I’ve liked you for the past 800 years.
Thankfully, Mu Qing manages to bite his tongue at the last moment. How foolish of him to even attempt such a heartfelt confession, to think he can say such idiotic things to Feng Xin’s face. It’s simply not that easy—nothing has ever been easy when it comes to Feng Xin and him.
If he confesses his feelings, he’ll have to brace himself for an immediate rejection; for the shock and disgust that’ll inevitably appear on Feng Xin’s face; for the screaming, fighting and—eventually—avoiding that will follow. And honestly, Mu Qing would rather keep his thoughts locked deep inside of his own mind if it means he can continue working alongside Feng Xin and keeping up this silly act of being rivals.
What Mu Qing does end up saying is a muttered “forget it", his eyes stubbornly cast to the floor. He refuses to look at Feng Xin’s face—it seems that being reminded of Feng Xin’s beauty always makes Mu Qing lose the ability to think, makes him want to do things he knows he’ll regret later.
Like almost telling his enemy that he’s thought about him every single day for the past 800 years.
“I can’t just forget it when I know there’s a reason why you’re acting this way,” Feng Xin says, getting up from his spot on the bed and taking a step towards Mu Qing. It takes all of Mu Qing’s strength not to recoil and run away.
Suddenly, all of this seems like an outright terrible idea. Flinging himself into a pool of lava definitely sounds better than… this. Talking. About feelings. With none other than Feng Xin.
“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand it either way,” Mu Qing mutters, his voice barely audible. He’s surprised the words even managed to slip out of his throat.
“I’m trying to,” Feng Xin answers, and there’s this kind of honesty in his voice that Mu Qing has never heard before. It makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. Feng Xin is clearly trying to be considerate and kind in a situation he can’t quite begin to understand, and it only makes everything harder for Mu Qing.
He really, really hates Feng Xin. He hates that he loves him.
“Look, is this about that bed at the inn?” Feng Xin asks at last, and suddenly time seems to stand still.
Mu Qing’s eyes widen in shock, and for a second he’s absolutely sure he must’ve misheard. His feelings aren’t that obvious to figure out, are they? When did Feng Xin even learn to read Mu Qing like an open book?
“I thought we were supposed to never mention that again,” he manages to choke out as a drop of sweat rolls down his back. A mix of emotions rises inside of him, clawing its way up his throat. Rage. Shame. Regret.
Feng Xin only steps closer, close enough that if he reached out, he could touch Mu Qing’s trembling shoulder. “Is it?”
The words are stuck in Mu Qing’s throat, threatening to spill out at any second now, and yet he refuses to admit the truth. Realizing that he does, regrettably, like Feng Xin is one thing, but actually admitting it in front of Feng Xin himself is… an entirely different challenge—one that Mu Qing isn’t ready for. He might never be.
Can Feng Xin see how distressed he is? Can he tell Mu Qing’s whole body is trembling, his heart beating rabbit-fast below his ribs? And if so, what conclusions is he coming to inside of his own head?
“I… I enjoyed it, you know? Sleeping together in the same bed. It wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be,” Mu Qing knows it’s Feng Xin’s voice that he’s hearing—the same one he’s heard over and over again for centuries—but it seems like it’s coming from miles away, from a whole different planet or galaxy. Mu Qing’s own mind is refusing to believe what he’s hearing, even if the calmer, more logical part of him knows better.
His world begins tilting on its axis. “You’re joking.”
“Do you really think I am? Mu Qing. Look at me,” Feng Xin’s voice trembles as he speaks, thick with unspoken emotions.
Mu Qing can feel Feng Xin’s eyes studying him, watching intently for his reaction. And once again, he does not dare to meet Feng Xin’s imploring gaze, not when his entire body is shaking, his mind begging him to get the fuck out of here. He almost sinks to the floor under the weight of the unbearable emotions threatening to tear him apart.
He takes a step back in the direction of the door, his body acting out of pure instinct and fear before his mind can fully catch up.
He doesn’t want this. He’s never wanted this. He is not going to let Feng Xin see him in such a weak and vulnerable state, he cannot allow that to happen—
Suddenly there's a steady, warm hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him away from the door and towards Feng Xin again. His fingertips feel just a little bit rough against Mu Qing’s skin from years of doing archery.
“Don’t go,” Feng Xin pleads, his eyes brimming with equal parts hope and desperation. He knows very well Mu Qing could just yank his arm away and march out of the room, and yet neither of them so much as move. Feng Xin’s hold on his wrist only tightens a little, but not enough to bruise.
It makes Mu Qing realize that Feng Xin is being—or at least trying to be—gentle with him. If he had been planning to fight, he would’ve slammed Mu Qing into the nearest wall a long time ago. And there’s something bizarre about this, because it’s a type of behavior that Mu Qing has barely observed in Feng Xin before, if ever.
The side of Feng Xin that Mu Qing knows best is the one which spits out harsh, cruel words and does not hesitate to fight back until they’re both throwing punches at each other, hitting where they know it hurts most.
They argue constantly. They fight, and scream, and leave more bruises on each other’s bodies than they can count. They don’t… have honest conversations or comfort each other. That’s just not something that rivals do.
Neither do they sleep in the same bed, a quiet voice at the back of Mu Qing’s head reminds.
So if they aren’t rivals, then… what exactly are they?
“Just leave me alone,” Mu Qing manages to choke out, finally attempting to free himself from Feng Xin’s grasp. Feng Xin’s hand only slides down to Mu Qing’s palm in response, beginning to tentatively rub circles into the smooth skin there. It helps calm Mu Qing down a little bit—another truth he would rather not admit.
A part of Mu Qing genuinely appreciates the gesture. Another part still desperately wants to run away.
“I meant what I’d said, Mu Qing. I… remember waking up in the middle of the night and realizing that you were resting on my chest,” Mu Qing really, really wishes that he could disappear right there upon hearing these words.
Feng Xin’s piercing eyes briefly meet Mu Qing’s own before he looks away sharply, his jaw tense. “But strangely, it didn’t feel wrong. All I wanted to do was to wrap my arms around you, to keep you safe and warm, and go right back to sleep. So… I guess that’s just what I did?”
He says this like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Like Mu Qing’s entire worldview isn’t caving in after finding out that not only had Feng Xin been aware of their late-night cuddling, but he’d also encouraged it.
“But why?” Mu Qing whispers, unable to meet Feng Xin’s eyes again. “Why are you doing this?”
Mu Qing has a huge, stupid crush on Feng Xin, one that is the cause of never-ending suffering, distress and reckless decisions—this is a truth he cannot deny. But Feng Xin does not like Mu Qing back, not in that way—this is also an undeniable truth, as far as Mu Qing is concerned. Trying to figure out his ulterior motives is only making Mu Qing’s head spin.
“I…” Feng Xin begins, his voice suddenly quiet and uncertain. “Just tell me something first. That night, back at the inn. When you woke up in my arms… did you like how it felt?”
Mu Qing opens his mouth, trying to say anything, to let any sound out. Closes it. Opens it again.
Of course he liked it. Loved it, even. Never before has he felt as good, calm and safe in Feng Xin’s presence. And he isn’t entirely sure whether he’s ready to admit this out loud—whether he’ll ever be—but if he doesn’t do it now, then… will he ever get the chance to again?
“I guess I did feel safe,” Mu Qing mutters. Safe, in the arms of his rival. It sounds ridiculous, no matter how he puts it. He’s surprised the words even managed to slip out of his mouth. “But when you woke up and my face was still pressed against your chest—I got scared. You reacted exactly how I thought you would,” he doesn’t mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does.
There’s only one way things can go when one wakes up with their arms wrapped around the person they loathe, after all, and Feng Xin has always been the impulsive type. It comes as no surprise that his instinctive reaction had been to scream and push Mu Qing off of him, as far away as possible within a tiny chamber.
“I was scared, too,” Feng Xin interrupts, causing Mu Qing’s eyes to snap back to his face, wide with shock. Feng Xin? Scared? Of what?
“It just… felt right to hold you close in the middle of the night. I wasn’t thinking clearly. But when I woke up later and I realized you were already awake, I knew I’d fucked up,” Feng Xin admits.
There’s something Mu Qing must be missing here, the last piece of a puzzle, but no matter how hard he tries, he cannot come to any logical conclusion. That night back at the inn meant more to Mu Qing than he’s willing to admit out loud—for the unfortunate reasons aforementioned—and he’s spent several hours revisiting his memories, trying to imagine how it could’ve gone differently. Perhaps if they had been lovers, then waking up in each other’s embrace wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary.
But they aren’t lovers, and they never will be, even if Mu Qing admits his feelings right now, for Feng Xin to hear loud and clear. Because Feng Xin does not like Mu Qing back. That much is absolutely clear.
(Mu Qing does not realize just how wrong he is.)
Feng Xin steps even closer, and his breath ghosting over Mu Qing’s skin makes Mu Qing shiver. They have… never stood this close before, not without fighting or attempting to claw each other’s eyes out.
But this time, it’s different. It almost feels like there’s this mutual understanding between them, the trust that the other won’t hurt them. This, whatever it is, isn’t the time or place for arguing—and being civil to each other is rarely the case when it comes to Mu Qing and Feng Xin.
Mu Qing sucks in a sharp breath, realizing just how small the gap between them has gotten. Their chests are almost touching, in a cruel imitation of that night back at the inn, the night that seems to have changed everything between them.
Despite that, Mu Qing does not pull away. He could absolutely pretend he’s just received an urgent request from his deputies, turn around and walk away. Strangely, he does not wish to do that. What he wishes to do, more and more with each passing second, is…
“I think I like you,” Mu Qing chokes out before he can change his mind again. His face is burning hot with shame.
Feng Xin stares at him like he’s just seen a ghost, eyes wide and body unmoving. For a few seconds, Mu Qing really, really regrets what he’s just said. They’re definitely going to fight about this now, and Feng Xin will definitely scream at Mu Qing for being so stupid, so inconsistent in his feelings. If he even believes Mu Qing’s words to be sincere.
After the initial shock of the confession, Mu Qing expects to see anger and disgust in Feng Xin’s eyes. Annoyance. Dismay.
But what he finds there is quite different. Judging by the expression on Feng Xin’s face, he isn’t angry. Rather, he seems… pleased. Mu Qing cannot wrap his head around why that is the case.
He was never planning to be this honest with Feng Xin in the first place. Even if Mu Qing has… feelings for the other General, that’s none of Feng Xin’s business. He’s used to shoving his emotions deep inside and pretending they don’t exist until they start eating at him so often it becomes almost unbearable. And even then, they’re his to deal with.
But not anymore, not in this case—now that Feng Xin knows, there’s no going back from this. If Feng Xin is going to ridicule him once he’s processed the confession in his head, then so be it. Mu Qing guesses he deserves it.
“Mu Qing. Look at me,” Feng Xin whispers, and only then does Mu Qing realize his eyes had shifted to the floor, shoulders hunching in a desperate attempt to make himself smaller. There’s a bright red blush on his face now, spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. Any attempts to hide his embarrassment are futile.
After a few excruciating seconds he does look up into Feng Xin’s eyes again, and the adoration he finds there makes his heart skip a beat. This can’t be right. Mu Qing must be hallucinating it all.
Feng Xin takes his hand, tentatively at first, like Mu Qing might just break and fall apart at the slightest of touches. He slowly laces their fingers together, watching Mu Qing’s face for any negative reaction. Mu Qing tries his best not to let his emotions show there, even as his heart jumps to his throat, beating at a speed that shouldn’t be possible even for a God.
Everything suddenly feels so overwhelming. Feng Xin’s hot breath on his skin. His sweaty palms resting against Feng Xin’s own. The slight trembling of his body. The inability to conjure up any more words to explain himself, explain what he really thinks. His tongue feels like it’s made of stone.
“Can I kiss you?” Feng Xin asks quietly, causing Mu Qing to freeze. Even if his heart managed not to jump out of his chest before, it definitely will now. His mind refuses to believe that he’d really just heard those words uttered into the silence, that they had been spoken by Feng Xin at all (carefully, like he’s still testing out the idea of kissing Mu Qing).
Does he want Feng Xin to kiss him? Does he want the bond between them to change irrevocably, to shape it into something foreign and new? Does he wish to take this final step, no matter how scary it seems?
He can feel Feng Xin pull away slightly, visibly nervous over the perplexed expression on Mu Qing’s face. If he doesn’t act now, then—
Feng Xin’s lips are still parted slightly when Mu Qing kisses him, softly and hesitantly at first, and more confidently, ferociously after a few seconds, as if to say I have waited 800 years for this and I will not hold back now. Feng Xin gasps into the kiss, his other hand coming up to rest on the back of Mu Qing’s neck.
It’s almost incomprehensible how naturally they both fall into a steady rhythm, how right it feels for Mu Qing to be pressing his lips to Feng Xin’s.
He may have imaged this exact moment many, many times before, but creating it within his imagination and actually experiencing it are two very different things, as it turns out. Mu Qing had never thought Feng Xin’s lips would be this soft and sweet, or that his hold on Mu Qing would be so delicate, like he’s still afraid Mu Qing will change his mind and run away.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” Feng Xin whispers into Mu Qing’s ear once they’ve pulled away to catch their breaths. The words may as well have been ripped out of Mu Qing’s own throat—the truth he’s still too embarrassed to admit. It’s the very last thing that he’d expected to hear from Feng Xin.
Before he can even think of a reply, he’s gently pulled into another kiss—one that’s much longer and oh so sweet , and only leaves Mu Qing craving more. It’s even softer this time, gentler. Like Feng Xin is trying to communicate all the feelings that he can’t articulate with words.
Feng Xin breaks the kiss off—Mu Qing has to stop himself from making a whining sound when he can no longer taste Feng Xin’s lips—and pulls away a little to gaze at Mu Qing, like he feels the burning need to take everything about this moment in, to commit every detail of Mu Qing’s face to memory. His piercing golden gaze feels like it’s setting Mu Qing’s body ablaze, like he’s going to collapse under its intensity.
His eyes trail over Mu Qing’s swollen lips, the blush that’s spread all the way from his cheeks to his ears, the drops of sweat covering his forehead. Mu Qing has never felt so seen before, raw and torn apart at the seams, unable to hide the feelings surging through him behind a mask of cold indifference.
For the first time, Feng Xin is seeing him, the real him, the man who’s spent his entire life yearning for affection and who doesn’t quite know how to act now that he’s finally received it.
It feels almost reassuring to know that Feng Xin, too, has been going through the excruciating pain of wanting to hold, touch and kiss the person you’re supposed to hate. Perhaps while Mu Qing laid awake at night, imagining how delightful it would feel to be on the receiving end of Feng Xin’s affection, Feng Xin was thinking the same about him. Perhaps he’s imagined what Mu Qing’s lips would taste like, or how he would react to a kiss, or how many seconds Feng Xin would have to escape before Mu Qing inevitably tried to kill him (not that he’s willing to do such a thing—though it’s the type of reaction Feng Xin would probably anticipate). It seems they have more in common than Mu Qing could’ve ever thought.
He wants to say something, to explain how difficult living with his feelings for Feng Xin has been, but the words are all jumbled in his mind, the mix of overwhelming emotions rendering him unable to utter even a single word. He simply stares at Feng Xin, mesmerized, and watches as the corners of his lips quirk upwards into a smug smile.
Nothing about this situation feels real, even now that they’ve kissed, that the feelings trapped within 800 years’ worth of ire and resentment have finally clawed their way up to the surface. Mu Qing had kissed Feng Xin, and Feng Xin had kissed him right back. Mu Qing distantly realizes that Feng Xin’s hand is even still resting on the back of his neck, stroking the skin gently as if to say you’re safe with me, everything is okay.
“I can practically hear your thoughts,” Feng Xin says, his words laced with the slightest hint of worry. Of course Feng Xin can tell there’s something bothering Mu Qing from his facial expression alone—the “benefit” of having learned how to read another like an open book through his mannerisms.
How can Mu Qing begin to explain that even now, he cannot allow himself to be truly happy? That it still feels like everything may fall apart within seconds, causing them to fall right back into their old ways, only to spend another 800 years scarring each other, both physically and mentally? How does he communicate the illogical, paralyzing fear that’s nestled in his chest?
A part of him just wants to kiss Feng Xin again and again and again, effectively forgetting about all of his fears and doubts. But he’s just Mu Qing after all, and he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t overthink the situation at hand or somehow convince himself Feng Xin is doing all of this to manipulate him and eventually use his weaknesses against him.
It sounds delirious, but… what if Feng Xin has long known about Mu Qing’s feelings for him? What if Mu Qing has always made it painfully obvious? What if this is all some kind of act, a wicked ploy to get Mu Qing to fully trust and confide in Feng Xin? It’s all just too good to be true.
And so he spirals.
A warm, gentle hand on his cheek slowly pulls him out of his whirling thoughts, and Mu Qing looks up with a quiet gasp, having somehow forgotten that Feng Xin is still here, right in front of him, watching him fall back into his own mind.
“Are you okay?” Feng Xin asks, and there’s so much sincere worry in his voice that it’s almost enough to dissipate Mu Qing’s doubts entirely. Feng Xin wouldn’t be concerned if he only wanted to use Mu Qing, right? He isn’t sure Feng Xin could even fake any of this, to be very honest.
A hesitant “are you serious about this?” escapes him before Mu Qing can think of approximately a thousand better things to reply with. But then again, he does want to know the answer.
If they’re really going to do this, to take this step into an unknown territory together, then Mu Qing must make sure Feng Xin isn’t going to back out once he realizes just what he’s gotten himself into. Mu Qing is still going to be Mu Qing, after all. The incomprehensible, annoying, inscrutable and bitter person that Feng Xin sees him as.
Feng Xin takes a deep breath, trying to string together the right words. His thumb brushes along Mu Qing’s cheek.
“I already told you I’d been wanting to do this for a very, very long time,” he begins, and Mu Qing can’t help but stare into his golden eyes filled with something that can only be described as desperation.
“I know I didn’t make any of this easy for you. And… I’m sorry for that. I had been a coward, hiding behind anger and indignation because I was so afraid you would ridicule me…,” he trails off, and something snaps in Mu Qing’s heart, because he knows that feeling all too well. He, too, had been absolutely terrified.
There’s no easy, stress-free way to admit you harbor romantic feelings for your so-called rival.
“But I want to make it up to you. I want to show you how I really feel about you, Mu Qing. Even if it isn’t always easy. Even if it takes us another 800 years,” Mu Qing can’t help but let out a small laugh at that. Feng Xin seems to relax a little, and even finds enough courage to take Mu Qing’s hand in his again.
It startles Mu Qing how good it feels to be touched and held by Feng Xin.
“So, to answer your question, I am serious about this. About us. I’ve never been so sure of anything before. I want to see what we can accomplish together, when we’re not fighting constantly. And I do care about you, more than I’ve been willing to admit.”
Feng Xin’s words are filled with so much sincerity that Mu Qing is really beginning to believe them, even while a part of him still screams that all of this is a trap, Feng Xin will never care, he’s doing this to hurt you.
He watches with careful anticipation as Feng Xin squeezes their tangled hands and lifts them to his lips, then presses a long, wet kiss to the back of Mu Qing’s hand. His heart almost starts doing backflips at the sensation, his entire body burning up with pure yearning.
At the moment, Mu Qing wants nothing more than to be kissed and held and cherished; every fiber of his being is begging Feng Xin to show him what it truly feels like to experience love.
Maybe all of this is okay. Maybe Mu Qing deserves this. Maybe he doesn’t have to worry about it falling apart.
However, he does not feel ready to admit everything he’s been thinking and feeling to Feng Xin yet, so he settles for pressing their foreheads together, irregular breaths ghosting over each other’s skin as they stay in the position for a few minutes, silent and unmoving, just taking each other in.
“Thank you,” Mu Qing says finally, and his voice comes out a little hoarse and damaged, like there’s still a lump nestled in his throat.
He thinks back to that night at the inn, and how far they’ve come since then. How they’ve gone from screaming at each other upon waking up in each other’s embrace to willingly holding hands and allowing displays of affection and softness, all in the span of just a few weeks. How the single bed they’d been forced to share served as a catalyst for finally, finally accepting repressed feelings. They had tried to run from them, but in the end, they couldn’t hide for long.
Mu Qing doesn’t even realize he had started crying until he feels Feng Xin wipe a tear away as he pulls away a little, seemingly trying to give Mu Qing some space. His face is contorted into a perplexed, worried expression, and it makes something unpleasant twist in the pit of Mu Qing’s stomach. He can’t go a day without ruining something, now can he? Feng Xin likes him back. Feng Xin is holding his hand. There’s really no reason for him to be crying!
And yet… he’s never felt this overwhelmed before. With surprise, adoration, gratitude… and desire. He can no longer withhold the feelings he’s spent so long shoving deep down; it’s like they’re burning through his heart, desperate to crawl out onto the surface and take control of his words, thoughts and behavior. The strings in his chest are starting to snap one by one.
When Mu Qing opens his mouth to speak—explain himself, apologize for the sudden breakdown, anything—only a broken sob comes out. Distantly, he feels Feng Xin detangle their fingers and tentatively wrap his arms around Mu Qing instead, bringing him close again until Mu Qing’s tear-stained face is resting in the crook of Feng Xin’s neck.
He begins drawing soothing circles on Mu Qing’s back in an attempt to help him calm down while Mu Qing tries his very best to at the very least stop quietly sobbing into Feng Xin’s shoulder. This is so embarrassing. He is embarrassing. If Feng Xin really had been serious about his feelings before, he might just change his mind now. He’s never witnessed Mu Qing cry before, after all. He probably didn’t even think Mu Qing was capable of crying, especially in the presence of another person.
Mu Qing has cried before, of course. He’s gone to sleep on a pillow soaked with tears more times than he can count. He’s left tear stains on his reports, forcing him to throw them away and start from scratch. He’s cried out of grief, and sadness, and helplessness.
But doing it in front of Feng Xin is something entirely different, and entirely new. He still half-expects Feng Xin to push him away with a scowl and scream at him for being so unreasonable and disgusting, even while Feng Xin is clearly trying to soothe him.
The steady hand on Mu Qing’s back grounds him in reality; it helps him remember that he’s still in Feng Xin’s damn palace and crying is the very last thing he should be doing. What if his deputies hear? What if—
“You’re okay. It’s okay,” a quiet, gentle voice pulls Mu Qing out of his once-again spiraling thoughts, and it only makes Mu Qing sob harder, because since when is Feng Xin so understanding? Has he always been like this towards other people? Has Mu Qing been missing out on all of this kindness for centuries?
Feng Xin slowly guides them towards the bed and lets go of Mu Qing’s trembling body so that his back can rest comfortably against the pillows. He reaches out to unwrap the top layer of Mu Qing’s robes and make it easier for him to breathe, but seems to change his mind, letting his hand hover in the space between them for a few seconds before awkwardly dropping it to his side.
Mu Qing misses Feng Xin’s touch as soon as it’s gone. Now that he finally knows what it’s like to be touched by Feng Xin in a way that’s affectionate rather than hateful, he seemingly can’t get enough of it. Deciding to give up the remains of his dignity, Mu Qing scoots a bit closer to Feng Xin and takes his hand, slowly interlacing their fingers once again. Feng Xin lets out a surprised little gasp at the contact, but seems to understand what Mu Qing needs even when no words have been spoken. Comfort. Security. For someone to be there with him as he gradually calms down.
Mu Qing knows it’s not sadness that he feels even when tears continue streaming down his face and his body trembles with every quiet sob. It’s more like… disbelief. Gratitude. An emotion buried so deep inside him that he cannot even begin to discern what it means, clawing its way up his throat with every ragged breath, eating away at the tissue of his lungs.
He has never been shown this kind of affection before, and he doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. How to accept that it’s his to keep and reciprocate. He’s never had the chance to get used to this.
Tentatively, Feng Xin brings their intertwined hands to his chest and places them right above his heart. “Try to follow the beating of my heart,” he orders. Mu Qing does his best to focus on the steady rhythm of it, to let the warmth seeping through Feng Xin’s chest further ground him in reality.
“In,” Mu Qing takes a deep, shaky breath, accompanied by Feng Xin’s soothing voice guiding him. “And out.”
They stay like this for a while, bodies pressed closely together, breaths slowly aligning until Mu Qing’s heart isn’t racing below his ribcage anymore. Feng Xin only pulls away a little once he’s sure that the worst has passed, and Mu Qing is going to be okay.
Mu Qing knows Feng Xin is watching him for any sort of reaction, and yet he can’t bring himself to meet Feng Xin’s gaze. He never thought he would one day end up confessing his feelings, let alone that he would start sobbing uncontrollably almost straight away. This doesn’t feel… right. This isn’t who General Xuan Zhen is, who he’s supposed to be seen as.
Martial Gods don’t cry because they were shown an ounce of affection by the person they like (love, Mu Qing’s mind corrects). It’s so unfair that Feng Xin can shatter Mu Qing’s composure with just a few simple touches and words.
Silence fills the room as Mu Qing wipes the last of his tears away, his other hand still intertwined with Feng Xin’s. He’s sure he must look like an idiot, his eyes all puffy and cheeks red. He wonders why Feng Xin hasn’t kicked him out of the chamber yet.
“My deputies get anxious sometimes, especially when they’re still new at the palace. I’ve learned how to help them through breakdowns or panic attacks over the past few centuries,” Feng Xin explains, even though he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t owe Mu Qing an explanation, but still… it feels nice to know that he cares. That he could recognize the panic surging through Mu Qing’s chest, and despite everything, his first reaction wasn’t to ridicule Mu Qing for it.
Mu Qing nods in acknowledgement, his eyes still flitting from the floor, to the bedsheets, then the nightstand, to anything else that isn’t Feng Xin. If he’s met with Feng Xin’s discerning, knowing gaze one more time, he might just start crying again (and that’s something he would never forgive himself for).
“Pretend that didn’t just happen,” Mu Qing mutters at last, embarrassed. If the other Heavenly Officials found out that the esteemed Xuan Zhen had just cried his eyes out in his “rival’s” private chamber, he would never hear the end of it. Or if they knew about his… romantic feelings. In that case, Mu Qing would abandon his palace, change his appearance and descend to the Mortal Realm to hide among the humans forever, godhood be damned.
“I’m sorry,” Feng Xin says quietly, and that’s what finally makes Mu Qing’s gaze shoot up, because how dare Feng Xin apologize for something that isn’t his fault at all?! It’s Mu Qing own twisted mind that had made him cry, and the situation had not been any easier for Feng Xin. Imagine having to comfort someone you’d normally just punch in the face or slam into a wall.
“Oh, just shut up,” Mu Qing retorts, trying his best to keep a straight face as he rolls his eyes. He won’t allow the old Mu Qing to be completely gone just because Feng Xin has shown him some affection. Besides, Feng Xin is still annoying. And Mu Qing still hates being in his presence. Obviously.
And so, for the second time that day, for lack of a better reaction, Mu Qing pulls Feng Xin in and kisses him. It’s more confident than before, now that he knows what Feng Xin’s lips taste like and how it feels to be kissing him in reality, rather than in a dream.
He lets his tongue slip into Feng Xin’s mouth, smiling into the kiss as Feng Xin jumps a little in surprise. They shift a little in the bed until Mu Qing is beneath Feng Xin, their lips still moving together as one. Mu Qing may have never been this intimate with anyone before, but something about the way Feng Xin is kissing him back, all passionate and fervent, makes Mu Qing think of him as a good kisser.
Mu Qing’s fingers tangle into Feng Xin’s robes to keep him close but then, suddenly, it’s Feng Xin who’s taking control, pressing Mu Qing down into the mattress and pins both of his arms above his head. The unforeseen change surprises Mu Qing and he lets out a quiet gasp, his heart skipping a beat when he feels the warmth of Feng Xin’s breath on his skin.
“Promise I’ll make you feel good,” Feng Xin murmurs, and for once in his life, Mu Qing simply believes him. He lets his body relax, to be guided by Feng Xin with careful touches and kisses, to melt completely beneath Feng Xin’s warmth.
This is okay. He deserves to feel good. They both do.
Finally, at last, Mu Qing allows himself to accept the love he’s given.
Fingers tangle into his hair, carefully taking off his guan and setting it aside. Feng Xin wraps a few stray strands around his fingers before pulling on them slightly, eliciting a quiet moan from Mu Qing. He startles a little, realizing what had just left his mouth; judging by the smirk on Feng Xin’s face, he’s absolutely enjoying this.
Mu Qing has never been touched by anyone before—not like this—and he can’t help but shiver as Feng Xin begins to trace the line of his jaw with his fingertips. He’s still being gentle, Mu Qing realizes, like he’s afraid that with any sudden movement he might scare Mu Qing off and ruin everything between them.
He does not know that Mu Qing would not dare run away right now, not when his wildest fantasies are coming true right in front of his own eyes.
Despite his cultivation, Mu Qing has imagined what it would feel like to… get intimate with Feng Xin plenty of times before. It’s a shameful truth, one that Mu Qing will not admit under any circumstances, but whenever he tried… pleasuring himself… he would always think of Feng Xin. Always.
Feng Xin’s fingernails digging into Mu Qing’s back, leaving red marks resembling those of a vicious beast. Feng Xin leaning down and kissing the insides of Mu Qing’s thighs. Spreading a special oil on his fingers before pushing them into—
Needless to say, Mu Qing has quite a rich imagination.
But there’s a limit to how far he’s willing to go right now, when everything that’s happening between them is still fresh—unsteady ground that they’re trying to navigate together, even if it takes them a very long time. And even if Mu Qing has let Feng Xin take control, that doesn’t mean he can’t take it back anytime he wants. For now, the kisses and careful touches are enough to turn Mu Qing into a blushing, whimpering mess—as much as he hates to admit it.
Afraid of his thoughts taking a dangerous turn again, Mu Qing decides to focus on Feng Xin’s face above him—his shining amber eyes and slightly parted lips, hair strands falling out of his bun and framing his face, the few drops of sweat covering his forehead.
With Feng Xin this close, everything still feels like a dream that Mu Qing may wake up from at any second, only to discover he’s lying in his own bed, cold and alone.
If he could, he would make this moment last forever, replay it over and over to commit every single detail to memory. The taste of Feng Xin’s lips, the warmth of his fingertips, his breath ghosting over Mu Qing’s sensitive skin. He would remember it at midnight and at dawn; during heavenly meetings and missions down in the Mortal Realm. A part of Feng Xin, always with him.
Feng Xin’s lips trail down Mu Qing’s neck now, sucking on the sensitive skin there every now and then, leaving purple marks behind. It’s a sensation unlike anything Mu Qing has ever felt before, and he can’t help but let out a small, surprised gasp.
His hands come up to rest on Feng Xin’s back, tangling into his robes or scratching every now and then. His body seems to automatically default to marking Feng Xin, even if it isn’t fully intentional. Mu Qing has to scratch or pull or dig into Feng Xin’s body to stop himself from moaning or whimpering out loud every few seconds, the pleasure he’s feeling taking over his senses and coherent thoughts.
Once Feng Xin’s lips reach the hem of Mu Qing’s robes he looks up questioningly, and Mu Qing doesn’t need words to understand he’s asking for permission. His permission, because Feng Xin will not go any further unless Mu Qing explicitly says that yes, he does want this, please go ahead, it’s perfectly okay, and something about that fact makes Mu Qing feel all warm inside.
Tentatively, Feng Xin pulls the fabric aside just a little, revealing the pale skin underneath. Mu Qing shivers at the sensation, the realization that Feng Xin is undressing him suddenly hitting him with full force.
Feng Xin has never really seen Mu Qing’s body before, and he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about the scars littering his skin, earned in countless battles and fights over centuries. Will Feng Xin find him ugly? Disgusting? Will he flinch once both the outer and inner robes are off, revealing Mu Qing's chest?
These thoughts are forgotten as quickly as they had appeared in Mu Qing’s mind once he feels Feng Xin’s hand on his bare back, tracing the line of his spine slowly. He unwittingly shivers underneath the touch again, a small gasp almost escaping his mouth.
The boundaries he once thought he’d had are long gone, replaced by the uncontrollable need to feel Feng Xin’s warm hands on his skin, to be kissed over and over again until there is nothing on his mind but Feng Xin’s lips.
It’s a good thing Gods can live for an eternity—if everything goes right, they may repeat this as many times as they wish, the passing years only a blur while they slowly map out each other’s bodies. Perhaps someday soon Mu Qing will get enough courage to let Feng Xin see all of him, naked. Perhaps he'll be able to undress Feng Xin, and turn him into a moaning mess.
Feng Xin’s hand moves to Mu Qing’s chest, his lips trailing down from his collarbone to his shoulder, where a particularly big scar marks the skin. A scar that Feng Xin had left on his body a very long time ago—the result of an argument that neither of them remember the cause of at this point. He brings his lips to the white, raised line and places a gentle kiss on it once, twice, as if to say “sorry for having done this to you".
Mu Qing thinks about the dichotomy between having your body treated with love and with hatred. Between “lover” and “rival”.
In a futile attempt to control his body’s natural reactions, he digs his fingernails into Feng Xin’s back so hard that they’ll definitely leave marks, but Feng Xin doesn’t seem to mind. He only looks up into Mu Qing’s eyes with amusement—a sign that he knows Mu Qing is trying to contain his reactions, and that he plans to turn him into even more of a whining, moaning mess anyway.
At some point, between Feng Xin kissing the scar and moving down, all the way to Mu Qing’s abdomen, he feels tears well up in his eyes again—a shameful reminder of what this is doing to him, of the sheer intensity of the emotions he’s experiencing.
And of course Feng Xin notices, because there is nothing about Mu Qing that isn’t at least somewhat familiar to him, nothing that Mu Qing can hide for very long.
“Don’t you dare start crying again,” Feng Xin says, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
Mu Qing almost punches him in that infuriatingly handsome face.
They stay like this for hours, Feng Xin caressing every part of Mu Qing’s body that Mu Qing will allow him access to, placing featherlight kisses on the skin like Mu Qing is something precious, something to be cherished. He can no longer tell where his body ends and Feng Xin’s begins, limbs entangled and quiet moans filling the air every once in a while.
Perhaps everything they’ve experienced over centuries has led to this moment—laying in Feng Xin’s bed, melting against the warmth of his body. Allowing Feng Xin to kiss him senseless, and giving him multiple kisses in return, too. Being held by the very person he used to think of as his enemy and rival.
800 years spent running from his feelings, only to end up in Feng Xin’s arms after all. Only to realize that they’re a team, a group, even though they’ve spent their entire existence pretending that they aren’t.
Nothing has ever felt as right as this.
Mu Qing only wakes up when the first sun rays stream into the chamber through a crack in the curtains. He looks around for a few seconds, bewildered, wondering why his surroundings look so unfamiliar. His cats couldn’t have possibly made this much of a mess overnight, scrolls and reports scattered everywhere—
And then he remembers. The argument with Feng Xin in the middle of the Heavenly Capital. Being pretty much forced to come to the Palace of Nan Yang. The internal turmoil in his head. Confessing his… feelings. Crying his eyes out and being comforted by Feng Xin (Mu Qing really wishes that part had been permanently erased from his memory). Everything else that followed suit.
Only now does Mu Qing realize that Feng Xin’s arms are tightly wrapped around him, the same way they had been back at the inn. However, this time he no longer has to be afraid of Feng Xin’s reaction, of being pushed away and screamed at.
He doesn’t know what Feng Xin will do once he, too, wakes up, but it’ll probably be something along the lines of… kisses. And cuddles. And even more kisses. And Mu Qing yelling at Feng Xin over his morning breath.
It’s still incomprehensible to Mu Qing that the very thing he has always shied away from—confessing his feelings, being vulnerable and honest—ended up not being quite so terrible after all. That he’s never been alone in his fear of intimacy, because Feng Xin has experienced those same doubts. They’ve both spent a very, very long time acting like fools, too petrified to admit their true feelings for each other. But none of that matters anymore—it’s all in the past, outshined by the endless possibilities of the future.
His deputies must’ve noticed his absence, and yet for some reason they didn’t go looking for him or try to contact him through the private communication array of the Xuan Zhen Palace. Their indifference doesn’t really make sense, unless… they’ve been informed of his visit in a particular Martial God’s palace by his own deputies.
At this point, it doesn’t matter much anymore. Mu Qing suspects the two palaces’ deputies have been communicating behind their Generals’ backs for quite some time, anyway.
He still has several tasks to assign to them, as well as reports to work on and prayers to answer. But all of these things can wait for later, when he’s back in his own private chamber.
For now, Mu Qing is safe and sound in Feng Xin’s arms, and for the first time in centuries his mind is quiet. No more repressed emotions. No more unrequited feelings.
It’s just Feng Xin and him, limbs entangled and chests rising in harmony under Feng Xin’s covers, away from the duties of a Martial God.
And once again, Mu Qing reminds himself that this is okay. He deserves to receive the affection he’s spent 800 years quietly yearning for. And there’s nothing wrong with calling himself Feng Xin’s lover.