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The only sound in the forest clearing is Feng Xin's panting breath as he stares down at the beast he's just killed, waiting for it to show any signs of life so he can kill it again if need be. This thing has pissed him off enough that he'd welcome a second chance to end it.
The sound of an intermittent drip joins his heavy breathing, and he glances around to locate its source. Feng Xin curses under his breath when he finds it—two large and rather gruesome gashes from his shoulder to just below his elbow are steadily bleeding, the blood pooling in the bracer at his wrist and overflowing to drip onto the ground, where a puddle has gathered in the time it took him to catch his breath. The once-majestic wildcat at his feet, twisted by resentful energy after death into a monstrous, deadly yaoguai, had slashed its massive claws at him more than once during their fight; he hadn't realized the extent of the damage done until just now.
He closes his eyes and curses again. The pain is nothing, halfway masked by the adrenaline of the fight and already beginning to heal via the spiritual energy coursing bright and bold (if a bit depleted at the moment) through his meridians. No, it isn't the blood or the flesh wound that bothers him—it's the fact that those claws had torn straight through the sleeves of each layer of his robes to shred the skin beneath.
His favorite robes. The robes Mu Qing had given him.
He's certain that Mu Qing made them himself, but he hasn't been able to get a definitive answer thus far. Whether it's true or not, he nonetheless treats them as though Mu Qing had chosen the fabric and thread himself, constructed and sewed the garment with his own hands, and presented them to him as a gift.
The last part is certainly true. Feng Xin remembers vividly the pink that colored Mu Qing's cheeks as he handed him the carefully-wrapped package, the way Mu Qing bit his lip as he waited for Feng Xin to untie the silken cord, the pleased smile that mirrored his own grin when he lifted the robes in reverent hands to examine their beauty up close.
("Did you make these?" he'd asked, breathless with awe.
Mu Qing had rolled his eyes and blushed a deeper pink, all but confirming it in body language alone, and reminded Feng Xin that he was an Upper Court martial god who had better things to do with his time than sew robes for idiots.
But then he'd bitten his lip again and glanced away before asking if Feng Xin liked the gift, and the way he'd melted when Feng Xin had gathered him up in his arms to show him exactly how grateful he was—well, that was proof enough.)
He'd chosen these robes this morning after waking up quite literally on the wrong side of the bed, wrapped around the pillow that always smells faintly of Mu Qing's jasmine hair oil instead of the man himself, who'd been off on a mission for the last two days and nights. Grumpy and pouting, he'd reached for the comfort of his favorite robes.
No one but Feng Xin has to know that he'd done so to feel as though he had Mu Qing close by throughout the day. He's allowed to have his secrets, just as he's allowed to miss his beloved when he's gone.
Still a little irritable around mid-afternoon and finding it hard to focus on his work, he didn't need to be told twice about the ghost cat wreaking havoc in a small village in the Southeast. He was out the door of his palace and descending within an incense time.
And now here he stands, his own blood mixing with the ichor pooling beneath the yaoguai's body and his favorite robes shredded by its demon claws.
"Dammit," Feng Xin curses a third time, kicking the beast to emphasize his frustration.
It's not as satisfying as he'd hoped it would be.
🪡🧵
The deep gashes on his arm are most of the way healed by the time Feng Xin reascends, though he's still covered in a profuse amount of blood. He's looking forward to flopping into bed after removing every blood-soaked layer of clothing and taking a long, hot bath.
He doesn't encounter any of his deputies or junior officials as he makes his way through the palace hallways to his own chambers. Perhaps if he had, he might have known what to expect when he slides the door open with a sigh.
"Finally," comes a familiar voice, sounding playfully put-upon. "I thought I was going to have to sleep alone."
Feng Xin's heart leaps as he turns his head toward the sound. "Qing-er," he breathes, as his grin widens. "I missed you!"
Mu Qing huffs, but his pink cheeks and tiny smile say I missed you, too, no words needed.
They sound like a couple reunited after years of war. It might be a little bit pathetic, but Feng Xin really doesn't care. Mu Qing is here, in his candlelit chambers, wearing casual robes and drinking tea and waiting for him to return—Feng Xin needs to kiss him right his moment. He's halfway across the room when he sees Mu Qing's eyes widen.
Mu Qing hurriedly stands from the table. "What the hell happened to you? You look like sh—" he inhales sharply. "Your arm!"
Feng Xin looks down at the wounds. They barely hurt anymore, but he supposes they still look rather gruesome; nothing a good rest won't fix, though. He shrugs his non-injured shoulder and tries for humor. "Don't underestimate a wildcat demon. Those bastards have killer claws."
Mu Qing doesn't laugh. Instead, he presses gentle fingers to Feng Xin's shoulder and follows the bloody lines down, his warm, familiar spiritual energy helping the wounds close completely and knitting Feng Xin's skin together in their wake.
It sends a shiver down his spine, and he slowly closes his eyes. "Thanks, baobei," Feng Xin says softly. When Mu Qing's lips press against his, Feng Xin has to hold himself back from the instinct to wrap Mu Qing in his arms—he is, after all, still covered in blood and gore. He makes a little noise into the kiss and opens his eyes as he backs away. “I'm disgusting.”
“En, I see that.” Mu Qing traces the fraying edges of the torn sleeve with a look in his eyes that Feng Xin can't quite place.
He shakes his head ruefully. “I can't believe that thing ruined my favorite robes.”
“Your favorite, hmm?” Mu Qing's lips quirk in a little half-smile that makes Feng Xin's heart skip a beat.
He wonders for the thousandth time just what the hell he was doing for the past eight centuries and why, when he could've had this all along. They were so stupid. He was so stupid. He's trying his damnedest not to be stupid now.
The best way to do that, he's found, is to just be honest, even when the words feel silly to say out loud. His face isn't so thin that he can't speak plainly to the person he loves, after all.
“Of course,” he says, emphasizing the point with a quick kiss. “My favorite person gave them to me.”
Mu Qing blushes but leaves a beat of silence before asking, “Who? Xie Lian?”
No one believes him when Feng Xin talks about how funny Mu Qing is, but truly, his comedic timing is on point. Even if no one else appreciates it, at least Feng Xin does. He's laughed more in the past few years than he had in centuries. Volleying this kind of playful teasing back and forth with Mu Qing is so much more satisfying than fighting ever was.
“No,” Feng Xin deadpans, “he has terrible taste.”
Mu Qing snorts a laugh. “In fashion and in partners.”
Feng Xin's grimace makes Mu Qing laugh again. They've warmed up to their dear friend's husband, but only to the extent that they're glad Xie Lian is loved and cared for so deeply–they're never going to actually like the man.
"Ugh, I regret bringing him up." Mu Qing rolls his eyes as he reaches for the straps that secure Feng Xin's armor. "As much as I love talking shit about Crimson Rain, I don't really want to think about him while I'm undressing you."
Feng Xin hadn't realized that being undressed by his beloved was an option in this state. He raises his arms immediately and grins at Mu Qing, who has already released one shoulder pauldron and is currently unfastening his chest plate. "Crimson Rain who? I've already forgotten about him."
He delights in Mu Qing's continued laughter, letting it wash away the lingering annoyance of the day. He's still physically dirty and in dire need of a bath and a good sleep, but his heart began to settle as soon as he heard Mu Qing's voice here in the quiet of his private chambers. Now, he simply feels a sense of drowsy warmth—tired, loved, home.
"I need a bath."
Mu Qing nods. "You do."
He looks down at the hands carefully untying his belt, hands now covered in the grime left over from Feng Xin's earlier mission. "I can do this, baobei," he assures Mu Qing. "Don't get yourself all gross, too." He reaches for the ties of his outer robe but Mu Qing swats his hand away.
"It's fine. Just let me do this, A-Xin." Let me take care of you, his averted gaze and pink cheeks say instead. Truly, Mu Qing says so many things without speaking a word, and Feng Xin is amazed anew every time he realizes how much he was missing by not listening, not seeing.
Feng Xin drops his hands to his sides. His smile is more than a little helpless as emotion rises in his chest. "Okay," he says, barely more than a whisper, and lets Mu Qing remove his layers piece-by-piece, until he's left in only his zhongyi. Feng Xin looks from his exposed arm to the tattered remains of his favorite robes, held in a bundle in Mu Qing's hands. "I'm sorry, Qing-er. I hate that your gift was ruined."
Mu Qing is quiet for a moment before he shakes his head and smiles. "Nothing is ever so ruined that it can't be mended. Somehow, there's always a way."
Feng Xin blinks once, twice, but still doesn't understand, and right now he's too tired to dedicate enough thought to that to make it make sense. He's no fool, but he's well-aware that of the pair of them, Mu Qing is the thinker (and overthinker).
"If you wash the demon entrails out of your hair, I'll condition it for you."
That's a hell of an incentive. He loves when Mu Qing does his hair, whether washing or brushing or braiding it before bed. He loves it almost as much as he loves doing the same to Mu Qing's beautiful ink-black hair in return.
Feng Xin bows grandly to him, the effect made slightly more ridiculous by the flapping of his shredded sleeve and his cheeky grin. "As the general commands."
Mu Qing rolls his eyes and swats Feng Xin's ass playfully. "Go, and if you're lucky I'll join you."
He's still laughing as he heads to the bath.
And in the morning, when Feng Xin awakens with Mu Qing in his arms and the torn robes nowhere to be seen, he focuses solely on his beloved—everything else is forgotten.
🪡🧵
The wardrobe in Feng Xin's private chambers holds enough robes—inner, outer, and otherwise—that he doesn't think much about what he pulls out to wear on any given day. If it's comfortable and clean and fits properly, that's good enough for him. Once in a while, however, an event comes up that requires a little extra thought in terms of style—an event like the heavenly banquet to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Does he truly care about the games, the plays, the lanterns, or the food? To be perfectly honest, no. Feng Xin was happy enough to spend many holidays during his long life in the mortal realm, in some quiet Southeastern village, Nan Feng's face just another in the crowd. Who did he have to celebrate with, no matter where he was? After all, there can be no reunion when your family is centuries-gone.
He always thought the lantern-filled skies looked especially beautiful gazing toward heaven, anyway.
But then Dianxia returned, and suddenly the idea of choosing to spend a holiday meant for reunion anywhere but in his presence seemed unthinkable.
By the next year, there was...well, there was Mu Qing, and even though there had always been Mu Qing, it was different now. Of course he would go to the banquet—Mu Qing would be there, and they had to see who got the most lanterns between them. Whether he or Mu Qing won in their personal lantern battle, he'd get to see Mu Qing smile, making Feng Xin a winner no matter what.
The third year he'd had the honor of helping a tipsy Mu Qing back to the palace of Xuan Zhen and putting him to bed. That was an experience he'll never forget. It didn't matter that Mu Qing had beaten him by two lanterns; had it been a hundred, a thousand, a million more, Feng Xin would forever consider that night a victory.
Then came last year, when Feng Xin had arrived dressed in his very best to escort Mu Qing to the banquet and found himself struck utterly breathless right there in the entry hall of the palace of Xuan Zhen. Resplendent in robes of finest silk, with shining armor at his shoulders and a glimmering guan in his hair, Mu Qing had looked more beautiful than any painting that ever graced the walls of the royal palace.
But the best accessories he'd worn that night were the soft blush that stained his cheeks and the little smile that Feng Xin knew was just for him. Had he not already lost his heart to Mu Qing more than a year before, it would've been swept right out of his chest in that moment, and Feng Xin would've happily watched it go.
That was the first time they'd gone to the banquet together, as a couple. They'd sat side-by-side, Mu Qing's body a warm comfort next to his, and Feng Xin had poured first wine, then tea, for both of them. He'd chosen the most succulent pieces of meat for Mu Qing at dinner and peeled a pomelo for the two of them to share afterward. He'd never enjoyed a Mid-Autumn Festival more in his entire life.
Last year was also the first year in recent memory that he and Mu Qing had received the exact same number of lanterns from their devotees, and while Feng Xin wasn't a big believer in signs, as he'd pulled Mu Qing close in the softness of the bed later that night, it certainly felt like everything was falling into place just right.
Now he stands in front of his wardrobe in just his trousers and hopes that whatever he can find in there won't be an embarrassment to Mu Qing, who will no doubt look gorgeous in his own dress robes. Feng Xin sees what he expected to see: black, deep blue, more black, a few green, and several more black robes. What he doesn't expect to see hanging amongst the others is the wine-red silk of his previous favorite robes, the treasured gift from Mu Qing.
He's reaching for them before he can blink, pulling the familiar brocade into his hands and turning it to examine the once-ruined sleeve. Where there had been a jagged tear in the fabric he now finds a long panel of perfectly-matched silk not only mending the tear but enhancing it, expertly sewn to look as though it belonged there from the start. The skill behind this is evident, and Feng Xin knows without a doubt that Mu Qing's careful fingers sewed every stitch.
The true artistry, however, lies in the embroidery that decorates the fabric from shoulder to wrist in shimmering gold thread. Mighty cranes soar through wispy clouds above lotuses blooming bold and brilliant below, a tiger stalking unseen prey along the pond's shoreline. The serpentine tail of a fearsome dragon twists protectively around the body of a phoenix spreading its wings as if to take flight, as peony blossoms unfurl at their feet.
A veritable menagerie of flora and fauna march up and down the sleeve, symbols of power and protection and love. And beneath it all, thrumming under Feng Xin's fingers as he traces the meticulous stitching, is the buzz of Mu Qing's familiar spiritual energy, soft and strong in equal measure, a piece of himself sewn directly into the silk. Feng Xin had always been certain that Mu Qing had sewn the robes to begin with, even if the man himself never confirmed it, but this time, Mu Qing has left no doubt.
Aesthetically, so much embellishment might be ostentatious, over-the-top, gaudy. But somehow, it's perfect—perhaps due to the asymmetry of it, on one sleeve only. Mu Qing alone could create a masterpiece like this from shredded robes.
Nothing is so ruined that it can't be mended, Feng Xin thinks, as tears gather in his eyes. Eight hundred years lay torn and tattered behind them, and by some miracle, they'd found a way to cross that rift and join the two pieces of their lives together. The stitching isn't perfect, but the result is more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Even more amazing is that the tapestry they're creating grows every day, stitch by wonderful stitch.
When he blinks and the tears escape, he's careful not to let them fall on the silk of his new favorite robes, wiping them from his face with his bare arm instead.
Feng Xin dons his layers quickly but carefully, turning to admire the embroidered sleeve in the mirror when he's finished. "Ah, Mu Qing," he whispers, shaking his head with a still-watery smile.
Hair in his usual topknot and guan in place, he hurries from his chambers, ready to press his thanks to Mu Qing's lips as soon as he sees him.
He doesn't have to go far; before he can leave his own palace, he finds Mu Qing waiting in the hall by the door to his study. There's a familiar look of teasing impatience on his face that Feng Xin immediately wants to kiss right off, but it's nearly as satisfying to watch Mu Qing's eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink when he sees Feng Xin's choice of clothing for the evening.
"I see you found the—" Mu Qing starts, as Feng Xin sweeps him into his arms. The rest of the sentence is lost against Feng Xin's lips. It was rude to interrupt, though the way Mu Qing melts against him tells Feng Xin that he doesn't truly mind, even if he complains once they break apart for air.
Mu Qing's hands find their way around Feng Xin's waist, thumbs tucked into his belt like they belong there. He licks at the seam of Mu Qing's lips and breathes in the little gasp he receives in return. He's probably wrinkling Mu Qing's pristine robes, but that's a problem to worry about later, when kissing isn't involved.
His eyes remain closed when they separate with shuddering breaths, arms still wrapped around one another. Feng Xin presses his forehead to Mu Qing's and sighs happily. "I can't believe you, baobei. It's so beautiful, I..." he takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. Mu Qing's hands tighten at the small of his back.
The force of the emotion that rises like the tide in his chest makes his eyelids flutter open, and that's when he sees it: a glimmer of shining silver dancing along the lapel of Mu Qing's outermost robe, subtle but still clear against deep blue silk. Feng Xin leans back and blinks his eyes into focus. "Qing-er," he breathes, bringing his hand between them to trace the shimmering embroidery.
Crane and lotus, tiger and peony, dragon and phoenix, the same motif that lines Feng Xin's arm is embroidered down one side of Mu Qing's robe, the garments embellished in a perfect complement to one another.
I'm going to marry him, Feng Xin thinks to himself, and is grateful for the lump in his throat that keeps him from inadvertently saying it out loud.
"I love you," he finally croaks. "You know that, right?"
Mu Qing nods, his gaze whisper-soft. "Yeah, A-Xin. I do." He's quiet for a moment as he reaches up to wipe the tears from Feng Xin's eyelashes before adding, "It took me a long time to sew those robes for you, so try not to blubber all over them, okay?"
A grin so wide it hurts his cheeks lights Feng Xin's face, and Mu Qing's growing smile reflects it like sunrise on the water, soft and lovely. Mu Qing squawks when Feng Xin picks him up around his slender waist, but he laughs along with him as he spins them in place, their robes swishing around their legs when Feng Xin sets him down.
"You're a ridiculous man," Mu Qing informs him, which only serves to keep Feng Xin's joyful laughter going. Mu Qing shakes his head fondly and straightens the wrinkles in Feng Xin's robes. "Let's go, I want to get a good seat this year."
Feng Xin is still grinning as he bows deeply to Mu Qing. "Yes, General." He looks up at Mu Qing and winks. "After you, General."
"Again, ridiculous." Mu Qing rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand to Feng Xin, who takes it gladly. "Now move your ass, General."
Feng Xin laughs with delight. Cheeky Mu Qing is his favorite.
As they step through the doorway of his palace, the evening light glints warmly off his sleeve, making the embroidery come to life once more. Feng Xin glances down at it and nearly misses a step, but Mu Qing tuts at him and shifts their clasped hands to entwine their fingers.
Oh, his heart is so, so full.
Feng Xin smiles and thinks, I hope we tie in the lanterns again tonight.