Chapter Text
The candle snapped and so did Mu Qing, focusing back to attention. His hands bunched painfully in the bottom of his robes and slick, greasy bangs hung before his eyelashes. Mu Qing didn’t dare look up, he kept his eyes firmly on the wooden floor in front of him, his heart pounding. And then, he forced himself to tune into the conversation before him.
“….promise…” One of the adults whispered.
“Him? It’s not possible.”
“Talent can come from any branch of the tree,” another whispered. “Harder times can weather the rust off of gold.”
“We already have plenty of talent,” another harshly whispered back. “Our resources will be whittled thin.”
Mu Qing’s face burned. He- did they not care that he was sitting right there, listening in to everything they said?
But no, of course they wouldn’t care about anything he had to say, to think- he was probably nothing more than a runt dog to them, bedraggled and small and easy to kick around.
“My dear masters,” A new voice cut through the murmuring, young and clear and bold. “You might have misunderstood me- I don’t mean to burden your already filled capacity. I want to take this young man from your hands. I intend to promote him to be my personal attendant.”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but why?” One of the men said. “You already have such excellent staff, don’t you? Wouldn’t they fare so much better than this errand boy?”
“He's not befitting of your rank, Your Highness.” Another said. “It wouldn’t reflect well on us if we let you take on someone so low in poverty. While you’re here, Your Highness should dedicate his entire focus to cultivation. If you’re unsatisfied with your staff, we will not hesitate to change your accommodation to suit your needs.”
Yes, why? That is exactly what Mu Qing wanted to know. He risked a glance at the youth beside him. Bright and sinewy, the young prince was the image of a young deity. His soft brown hair cascaded over his shoulders and down his straight back, his posture opening like a flowering lotus. Mu Qing didn’t need any of this, he didn’t want to bring down the name of this royal family member. Talking to him was a mistake, Mu Qing thought, but he knew it was a necessity. Otherwise, his already terrible circumstances would take a turn for the worse, which wouldn’t be a problem except... his mother couldn’t afford that.
“Well, then I believe it’s settled,” The prince said warmly. “I desire to have this young man employed by my side without hesitation.”
Mu Qing lifted his eyes slightly to see the expressions of the three men that sat cross-legged in front of them. The three Deputy Guoshi.
Mu Qing had never been face-to-face with them like this. Only professionally trained, high quality attendants could cater to the Guoshi, the spiritual leaders of Taicang Mountain, and they usually only roamed the most esteemed Pavilions on the mountains. To Mu Qing, they were little more than strangers, and yet, throughout the entire conversation, it seemed they knew him. The side glances they gave him were unmistakably disgusted. Then, one turned to the prince and pleaded one last time, “You do know that this means he will be brought into the Temple as a recommendation of Royalty. It’s not something you should act upon from feelings of pity or sympathy, your highness. Such sentiments are often not reflected in the poor. ”
“I understand.” The prince said. Mu Qing gaped at the little smile on his face. Is this how it’s like to be Royal?, Mu Qing thought. To think that the prince could directly and charmingly challenge the authority of the Guoshi, to smile at them without a single strain of fear in his eyes... Whichever way the Xianle Philosophers rebranded control, abuse and greed as glory and strength, Mu Qing suddenly knew the truth. All of that was complete and utter bullshit. This was power.
From the look in their eyes, the Guoshi had given in. The prince had smiled once more, bowed, and lifted to his feet, soft and sweet as a cloud. Mu Qing’s constant, grating bow had started painfully biting into his joints- the pain had been somewhat refreshing. But it also meant that standing up felt like he was sending a mountain’s worth of sand tumbling down his shoulders.
The prince was quick and light. Mu Qing figured he belonged to him now, so he did his best to get out of that dark room and follow him.
Outside, Mount Taicang matched the coolness of dusk with the quiet of nature. Soft insects buzzed in the air, and metal chimes swung through the trees silently, reflecting the glaze of the new moon. The prince’s steps were soft and measured. Mu Qing had learned how to walk like this from watching the other fellow young cultivators, but none of them had the practiced ease of the prince. He watched, mesmerized, as the curtain of fawn swayed to and fro.
For a good minute, Mu Qing didn’t speak. But he simply couldn’t take it anymore. When the prince turned around, possibly to interject something of his own, Mu Qing couldn’t stop the terribly rude interruption from sprouting from his mouth-
“Why?”
That stopped the prince. He considered Mu Qing, but something was wrong with his eyes. His eyes didn’t hover over his plain clothing whose material had obviously been dyed and fashioned together with rice sachets. He didn’t shake his head disapprovingly at Mu Qing’s too-thin frame, or the nearly aggressive way his body tensed. The prince’s gaze was as floaty and curious as the rest of his demeanor, like he was looking at something amusing and interesting? Pins and needles sprouted and ran down his arms at that honestly flabbergasting insight.
“Is my judgement not enough?” The prince eventually says, and Mu Qing falters a little bit, because it’s such a royal thing to say. But then, he turns around, and says, “You have a potential that others sorely lack. I want to see you with a sword, one day. It’ll be fun to have someone around to talk about weapons with.”
“A-A sword, Your Majesty?” Mu Qing stammered. Your Majesty- the words felt strange around in his mouth, his tongue barely remembering to write the syllables to say it. Your Majesty- two words he never imagined he would ever utter. “Aren’t I- enlisted to be your personal servant?” He cursed himself internally for the stammering. The second he had some alone time, he would surely train it out of him.
“Ah, yes, that,” The prince said happily. “Of course, but who says we can’t have any fun in the meantime?”
Fun, Mu Qing thought warily. His body hurt and his eyes were tired from being awake from the brink of dawn to sweep the lower peak Temple’s floor. He had been running around all day, beckoned and sent back and forth by the fellow cultivators training in the area, sometimes balancing teacups between his hands, sometimes carefully cradling various talismans and spiritual items of the like, the events of the previous day weighing on his mind. The news of the prince’s stolen gold foil swept through the mountain, of course, and when Mu Qing heard about it, his entire body froze in fear, his mind swirling to the gold foil that he had found on the ground around the month that the prince had arrived. There was nothing to do, now, but accept his punishment before worse things could arrive. So long as his arms still worked, there would always be work somewhere else in the City, and he could always take on more, whatever his mother required. It was just... Mu Qing was just so stupid. He should have never touched anything on this mountain. Working here meant they would be served a meager peasant’s share of food alongside whatever currency they could gather, and it meant that his mother had one less meal to worry about.
Fun.
Mu Qing wanted to laugh, but at the same time, he didn’t want to anger the god that had placed his miracle upon him. Whatever this was, whatever this prince wanted to call it... at the end of the day, for a good-for-nothing kid like Mu Qing, this was mercy.
-
Even though his rank technically raised under the new shiny title of “The Prince’s Personal Attendant”, life hadn’t gotten much better for him. In fact, his workload doubled, and his stress increased thrice fold.
This was because, even though his duties should have been lax tasks, such as braiding the prince's hair, helping him clothe in the morning and taking care of all his vanity needs, the Royal cultivators strangely felt threatened by Mu Qing's new presence. Thus, on top of his Royal duties, Mu Qing was often seen taking the tasks that the basic Taicang staff did, such as carrying equipment and refreshments.
His life was worse than ever, but he really couldn’t afford angering the disciples of Taicang. Xie Lian- that was the prince’s name- had seemed somewhat genuine in his intention to promote Mu Qing. But disobeying Taicang disciples lead to infuriation which meant his reputation would be tainted, and whose side was Xie Lian more likely to take? His fellow disciples, or the barely qualified fourteen-year-old he took pity on?
Thus, he found himself on another squirrelly errand, darting between facilities, keeping to the shadows, trying to cradle the wooden training staffs in his arms with utmost care. He could not screw anything up. He couldn’t afford it.
Then, he turned the corner, and he paled at the sight of a group of four disciples. He would do all their stupid petty orders, but still nothing would alleviate the weird vendetta they had against him.
Maybe they didn’t see me, Mu Qing thought in vain, turning his head to hide his expression, if he just moves-
WHAM
A rough force slammed against Mu Qing’s shoulder, shocking all the staffs out of his hands; the staffs landed on the cobblestones with a loud clatter.
“Hey, hey, hey, errand boy, watch it!”
Laughter.
Mu Qing swallowed his humiliation and crouched, reaching out for the staffs with shaking hands, his face burning. He hated letting them see his red expression, his discomfort only deemed to encourage the little shits-
When Mu Qing reached out for the last staff, a very, very gentle foot rolled it away from his grasp. Mu Qing froze. He didn’t dare look up.
“Aw, look at him.” One disciple said, rolling the staff under his foot, delighted in the feeling of letting it arch, massaging the arch of his foot with the hard circle of the staff. “Is this the prince’s ‘widdle helper I’ve heard so much about?”
“What’s he doing scurrying around like a mouse?” Another laugh. Another kick, and all the staffs were scattered even further away. “Does little mousey like taking orders? Does little mousey love begging for attention? Hey, little mousey, the Prince won’t notice you even if you singlehandedly run this entire place. But hey, I will! I’ll love you if you get me some tea-“
“Oh, Wàngquè-Xiong, what flavor are you getting? I love peach tea, what do you think?”
Their voices were light and floaty, so that from a distance, no one would suspect from the noise level alone that harassment was taking place. Though they didn’t look at him, their feet blocked Mu Qing’s view, caging his way, refusing his ability to continue.
-- Bastards
These lowlife, ignorant bastards.
Mu Qing couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t afford it. But it only made him howl with rage over the injustices of this world-
Because all. His. Life. He’d lived on the unwanted scraps of the royals above, been forced to take on multiple jobs that no child should have, his body straining underneath the weight of a sinner’s debt and a failing mother.
Children in the streets, kicking at his mother. Merchants, throwing furniture at the people who had friends and mothers, trying to drive them away from the warmth of their shops, calling them useless dogs; his family, his loved ones, on the worst nights, weak and stomachs gnawing for a bite to eat.
Beaten. Down. Unwanted. Useless. Useless. Useless.
Sometimes Mu Qing would watch the merchants on the streets from the safety of a box’s shadow, see their good fortune with hunger. He thought, maybe they were right. Maybe his community was eternally doomed to remain as the waste of Xianle because they deserved to be there. Mu Qing’s father was beheaded for sin, and the blood in his veins carried that sin. Mu Qing’s mother had dared to fall in love with a sinner, and she paid it for her lifestyle. The pain, the hunger, the soreness, the waiting- Mu Qing had lived with it, for a while.
Then his mother’s eyesight had gotten worse, and Mu Qing decided that this world was vehemently evil. His mother was kind. She loved cherries. She loved carding a hand through his hair and telling him stories of when she was a little girl, how beautiful she was, silly stories of how two men had fallen over her, asking for her hand. A village girl, with nothing to her name except her innate beauty. If Mu Qing was beautiful, it was all because of her.
But he didn’t want his mother’s lifestyle- he knew that she deserved better than what life damned them to. Mu Qing had started sneaking out to the speeches that the Royal Family of Xianle would give to the townsfolk; their very presence served as a beacon of hope. Mu Qing sought that hope, he yearned for it.
Their words were kind, and compassionate. They said that one day, all citizens of Xianle would tap into the light of their glowing nation and reap the rewards. Here were the people, Mu Qing knew, that were blessed in their lives. He wanted their blessings to bolster the nation and swim down to the outer dredges so that everyone he knew could be relieved of their pain.
In their eyes and words, he saw compassion. This is how people want us to be, he realized, because he wanted to be like that too. All his life Xianle had damned his community, and to him, it had never been fair. They were hardworking people, doing the best that they could- it was their fault that they couldn’t see past their selfish lives to extend a little human sympathy.
But in that moment, Mu Qing realized the truth. His people had no power, their needs didn’t change the fruit that was available in the market, their favorite songs weren’t the ones that echoed through the streets, it wasn’t them that healed diseases, or lifted people with a word. They were people that gave up on hope just to maintain the will to survive.
But the royals... with a single word, they could shape the nation. It was the truly ambitious, the truly righteous, that rose in the ranks. From that day onward, Mu Qing resolved to never steal. He would never succumb to the worst of his community’s habits, even if it killed him. He, unlike they, would rise.
Bullshit. All of it, utter bullshit. The pipe dream of a naive child that didn’t know better.
These hypocrites.
He didn’t understand these royals.
Unlike the disciples of the lower peaks, these towering individuals, who held their heads high and their hairdos higher, were completely unfathomable to a person like him. In their eyes he saw nothing but toxicity and stupidity, eyes that had seen nothing but privilege their entire lives. Where his old group looked at him like he was unwanted filth, these disciples looked at him as though he were a hated toy, something to poke at, humiliate, tear apart for amusement. It didn’t matter how they acted, because their position enabled them to be bitches, where his community was reduced to nearly nothing just to survive. They’re the scorn of society?! What a fucking joke!
Seeing that he wasn’t going to get up, the disciples turned around, still joking amongst themselves. One even had his arms cushioning the back of his head, chatting away like nothing had happened. Mu Qing stood up; his eyes shadowed by his bangs. He looked at the staffs with hatred.
He did something very impulsive. Black anger rushed to his head, and he straight up turned around and marched back to where he came from.
That disciple who asked for equipment? Yeah, let them find their own damn sticks.
Mu Qing knows he’s asking for it, and he isn’t surprised when the disciples turn around and actually jump him this time.
-
After he’s left as a dull, stinging mess on the ground, Mu Qing stares up at the indifferent blue sky above him. His heart teeters a little bit at the sight Heaven must see, and he thinks, why.
Why is this happening to him.
He knows now that life isn’t fair, that the hot trash Jains try to spoon-feed to the population- karma- was false, that life was a shitty card game just like the ones that the Guoshi were so damn obsessed with. He came up with a theory, in those long days where he ached for eight hours trying to pick up after the messes of “enlightened-in-training".
Every life cycle, every soul is given a random hand, and you play, just like you play a card game. Some trashy souls get an impeccable deck, and they end up as disciples on Taicang. Some beautiful souls end up caught in the washboards of Xianle. Whatever cards you’re dealt, you play.
Mu Qing closed his eyes and thought of his prince. What was he playing at?
Whatever this attendant deal was, it wasn’t normal. It felt almost calculated. Mu Qing, on the surface, was the perfect image of a personal attendant. He always came on time, he made sure Xie Lian was ready for the day, and he always provided his lowly opinion when asked, which was, strangely, too often. Amidst it all, however, there was an underlying, unspoken current. Sometimes, during a quiet moment when Mu Qing was allowed to sit in the corner and read some scrolls to pass the time, Xie Lian would make these excited, mischievous faces in his direction, as though he was proud of something. Those moments made Mu Qing ponder things from Xie Lian’s perspective. He honestly couldn’t think of what a prince would stand to gain from promoting someone like him. Xie Lian was faced with nothing but secretive ridicule and pity since he took Mu Qing under his wing, and Mu Qing wasn’t even all that competent at his job. He had to learn from watching the other attendants secretly how to fold clothing. His seamstress work was patched together from random “good days”, when his mother would grab his small hand and guide him through the sewing motions. He had to agree with the Guoshi- he really was just a useless pity case.
If Xie Lian wanted to make his life easier, he might as well never have promoted him in the first place.
Mu Qing is so torn up and lost in thought that when he listlessly walks into his room, he fails to notice the other soul occupying it. When he notices, it’s too late. Xie Lian brightens, and then freezes when he looks at Mu Qing. Mu Qing suddenly feels the horrible sensation of self-consciousness.
(Under Xie Lian’s stipulation and watch, Mu Qing’s outer appearance had greatly improved since he met him. Before, where his dark clothing split at the seams due to the coarse, unyielding material, Mu Qing had been fitted with dark, malleable robes. The color choice had only worsened the temple’s opinion of him. Xie Lian was the ultimate ‘shining star’, a talented martial artist projected towards the top, a young man that strode around the temple cloaked in white, gold and red. Mu Qing, in contrast, was a dark and gloomy shadow, and, to the temple’s dismay, tethered to Xie Lian’s hip.
However, it wasn’t just the quality of clothes that improved. Mu Qing’s complexion was all-together much better. He was receiving proper portions now, which meant his figure had fattened up quite a bit, though he’d never be able to reach the satiety that others have. Color returned to his cheeks, and to Mu Qing’s horror, quite often, especially when he was feeling angry or humiliated. His hair looked less ragged; where before it would clump together, it now shifted and shimmered in normal layers. To Mu Qing, he decided to maintain his hair to not corrode the image of the prince. Whether he liked it or not, Mu Qing’s actions now reflected on him. But there was a different story underlining it all. Because all his life, Mu Qing hated his hair. They said that hair was a sign of respect for your parents? Pah, he sliced it, again and again, imagining his father was watching it all. He doomed them to this fate. He destroyed their lives, and for what? No sin was worth this hell.
One last time, he thought as he fixed up its unevenness with a servant’s scissors and a corroded mirror. When he was done, he set the scissors softly on a nightstand and felt the edges with a thumb, and soft sorrow touched him. All these years, he had abused his hair, when he could have been loving it instead.
It wasn’t standard procedure to recognize a woman as the dominant figure in a household. But now, he saw his hair strictly as though his mother had gifted it to him. Ironically, it had been when he attributed the honor of his hair to his mother that he finally disowned his father from his mind. Trying to cut him away hadn’t given him any peace. It had only ruined his image to the point Mu Qing couldn’t stand to look at himself.
I’m sorry, mother, he had thought. I’ve wasted all these years not owing it all to you.)
But right now, his hair was wretched. He didn’t want to think about the bruises that were surely developing on his face now. None of this escaped Xie Lian’s attention, and suddenly his caramel eyes were rapt on Mu Qing’s expression.
“Did something happen?”
“I was delivering some equipment.” Mu Qing said dryly. “I tripped and dropped the staffs I was carrying. Some rebounded and hit me in the face,” It was technically the truth. Mu Qing had used this same strategy- toeing around the truth- many times around his mother. Most of the time, whether it was because his mother didn’t want to burden Mu Qing with her worry, or maybe because she just didn’t know- Mu Qing got away with it.
Xie Lian was not his mother.
His mouth tightens as he looks at Mu Qing, and a bit of fear tinges Mu Qing’s heart. This wasn’t a mother whose eyesight was failing, this was a trained prince, already adept at fighting at the age of fourteen. If not anyone else, he would know how the bruise of a staff’s brunt force looked like. Mu Qing stood there, frozen, wondering, for a second, if it was already too late, if he’d been exposed, if he should just say the truth of the matter.
But Xie Lian wasn’t saying anything. And, when Mu Qing thought about it, it wasn’t like Xie Lian could do anything about the situation. Whatever he did- would it be extra protection, another promotion, it would surely trouble the prince further, and subsequently, intentionally or not, it would make Mu Qing’s life worse. So instead, Mu Qing said dully,
“Thank you for your concern.” He looked at the prince and formed his expression into something mildly inquisitive. “Your Highness, was there something you needed from me? I was just about to head over.”
Shocked from his reverie, Xie Lian suddenly squirmed. “As a matter of fact, yes…. I’m going to visit my parents tomorrow. I was wondering if you could help me pick out an outfit.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Mu Qing said, opening a door and using his hand to coax the prince from sitting on the measly bed he slept in. “Let’s get you to your room.”
The dress-up was ritual. The materials Xie Lian had brought from home were impossibly vast, as always. As Mu Qing rummaged around his closet, looking for kohl and red powder to experiment with, he grasped at some fine white powder, a skin-lightening powder made for women. Mu Qing considered it, for a moment, before putting it away. Tomorrow, while Xie Lian was off in the Palace, he’d have to go and purchase some of his own.
-
The first time Mu Qing met the prince’s bodyguard, he was sweeping the floor. Specifically, the floor in Xie Lian’s quarters. It was an activity he actually didn’t mind. It was repetitive, and mind-numbing, but it was productive, and in this specific room, it became one of the few moments of the day that Mu Qing could let his guard down. He would lean down to the floor, coaxing stubborn dust bunnies from beneath Xie Lian’s bed. Dirt was always sneaking in from the entrance, so Mu Qing would sweep that up to, removing the thin layer of dark particles from the warm bamboo flooring. Lost in this single-minded focus, sometimes he would hum to himself, broken little melodies that his mother used to sing to him. There were plenty of folk songs that he knew, and sometimes they would reach the edge of his consciousness, but nothing mattered like the soft, slightly jagged edge of his mother’s voice. Her voice was deeper than most women, and it rang from her throat in a steady baritone. It was precisely when he was daydreaming about pressing his ear to her chest that he could sense something in his peripheral vision.
Wrongness struck him. It was not Xie Lian’s silhouette.
Panicked, the broom slipped from Mu Qing’s hand and bounced and rolled on the floor with a loud clatter. Absolutely and totally humiliated, Mu Qing’s ears burned as he retrieved the sweep as quickly as he could without literally launching himself, all while the thought, Who is it? Who is it? Who Is it? rang in his hears, loud and frantic and annoying.
When his fingers curled around the handle and he couldn’t ignore the presence anymore, he whirled to look at the person in the doorway, and then balked. The person looked an awful lot like he was his age, but also, totally unfamiliar.
It was a boy, bordering on a young man, with clothes worthy of the royal family. In his arms he cradled a singular large sword that was cloaked in a bind, and it appeared he was struggling to look past the thing, lest he knock his head. The boy’s skin was tanned, probably from overexposure to sunlight due to training, and his long hair was tied in the classic Shufa hairstyle, nearly mimicking an adults’; his long hair was let to hang down his back, with a little bun at the top. The boy blinked at him, and Mu Qing caught a bit of his eye color. Amber.
The intruder looked at him in confusion. When Mu Qing drew up and faced him, his looked at his hand on the broom and the broom in his hand. Then: “What the fuck are you doing?”
What?!
Humiliation burned Mu Qing up and he tightened his grasp. Who the hell was this? Instead, what fell out of his mouth was, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Isn't this, like, something servants do?” the brunette said. “What is someone like you doing carrying that thing around?” Mu Qing blanked.
“Who the hell are you?” Mu Qing asked. Every fellow cultivator on Mount Taicang knew Mu Qing. Even if they never met him face to face, they undoubtedly dragged his name through their social circles.
“Who am I?” The brunette bristled. “What the fuck do you mean, who am I?”
How does he not know about the prince’s “new shiny” personal attendant? Mu Qing glared at him. Is he after Xie Lian’s riches?!
“You don’t belong here,” Mu Qing said darkly, spinning the head of the broom to point menacingly at Feng Xin’s chest. The brunette’s face darkened, but he didn’t bat the broom away, only to clench his hands and shout angrily. “Are you fucking serious?! I’m the prince’s bodyguard?”
“A baby like you?” Mu Qing snorted. He really was around his age, he thought, a kid like him had no business pretending to be a guard. “Right, and I'm a god.”
“A baby?!” The brunette’s face was ugly black with anger. “What, do you want to go? Let’s fucking go, then!”
The intruder slipped a sword from the sheath on his hip and Mu Qing raised the broom to meet him, his expression tight in a snarl. They had only traded two blows when the door burst open again.
“Feng Xin! Did you deliver it okay?” He cried excitedly. “I got Shisha’s prized meat buns, I…”
He blinked at the two figures currently on top of each other. Sense snapped back into Mu Qing, and his face burned with a new emotion. He rolled deftly away from underneath Feng Xin, leaving the man in a strange cow pose, and meekly sat into a kneeling position by his side. Feng Xin slowly sat up from where he towered and looked at Mu Qing and Xie Lian in confusion, his hands still brushing the hilt of his sword.
“Your Highness…” Mu Qing said carefully, “Do you know this intruder?”
“Ah, I-“ Xie Lian paused, and then placed a hand at the back of his neck. “My apologies! I must have forgotten to introduce you, huh? Ha ha! I see there must have been a misunderstanding.”
“If there was a misunderstanding, it was this asshole's fault,” The annoying brunette shot, aiming a dirty glance at Mu Qing. Mu Qing bristled silently. He’d make him pay for making Mu Qing look bad later.
“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian chided, and Feng Xin’s expression turned to white. Mu Qing shot him a secret gloating look as Feng Xin lowered himself into the same position as Mu Qing, and he glared back at him.
Xie Lian sent two pleading looks between them, his hands clasped together.
“I can’t let my two attendants fight each other like this!” Xie Lian lamented. “But, well, I’ll admit it was my fault. Feng Xin, this is Mu Qing, my new personal attendant. Mu Qing, this is Feng Xin, my personal bodyguard.”
Feng Xin glared at Mu Qing, a retort barely on the edge of his tongue. Mu Qing, for the first time, felt a strange, twisted sort of satisfaction from a glare- his glare. For the first time, instead of cowering and turning the other cheek, Mu Qing turned his own up against him. For the first time on this damned mountain, among these disciples, in a sentence that both wrote his hell and his survival, instead of feeling a sense of doom and anxiety, Mu Qing felt empowered. Exhilarated. Victorious. Mu Qing internally crowed.That’s right. Stay mad.
But Xie Lian had failed to notice this- or, at least, tried to ignore it in the name of future piece. Instead, he beamed, and raised a sack of what probably held meat buns. “I hope we can all get along with each other!”
-
Slowly, Mu Qing became aware of himself again. His fingers. His breathing. The steady thump of his heart. He opened his eyes languidly and curled his fingers in content satisfaction, relishing in the way the side of his fingers scraped against rough paper, the way they prickled slightly underneath the sun’s rays.
Then Mu Qing’s pulse picked up. He was just asleep, surely. It had been a deep one too, he wasn’t even conscious of himself within it. And then- he never slept on the job before? He never slept in front of someone else before, and yet here he was, totally knocked out on top of stacks of official documents, by Feng Xin’s side as though it was a casual ordeal.
But it was just Feng Xin. There weren’t any disciples to chase him down anymore.
And so, he willed his heartbeat to slow down, staring at Feng Xin while he did. Little details cropped up in Mu Qing’s mind. Baby- baby indeed. Fourteen-year-old Feng Xin had a high voice and too much energy for an almost-teenager who could barely overcome a feisty servant armed with a broom. The person that sat by his side was a completely changed man, except for the little wrinkle that appeared between his eyebrows when he was stressed or angry. Mu Qing smiled. Those papers must be giving him a headache.
When Feng Xin saw Mu Qing staring, he startled. “What is it?”
Mu Qing hummed, still caught in the delirious after-effect sleep brought upon him. “You were a really annoying kid, weren’t you?”
Feng Xin gaped at him. It appeared he was trying to find something nice to say. “Look who’s talking!” He finally burst.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes and smiled. This only made Feng Xin the more confused, his entire face was a wrinkle now. Mu Qing enjoyed looking at it. He never knew, before, how much he liked looking at his face.
After another heartbeat, he said, “Thank you.”
“For being annoying?” He was shocked.
“For being annoying,” Mu Qing agreed, “and for judging me for who I was.”
“As someone annoying?” Feng Xin didn’t get it, which wasn’t entirely unexpected, but still, Mu Qing was in a good mood.
“For being someone annoying,” Mu Qing agreed. And not a poor nobody.
Because when everyone else disliked him based on the surrounding stigma of his origins, Feng Xin had disliked Mu Qing simply for his actions.
After re-living the memory a second time, Mu Qing noticed something that his past self didn’t, and that was that Feng Xin hadn’t been surprised to see Mu Qing in Xie Lian’s room. He hadn’t even been asking for answers. He must have known who Mu Qing was, then. Probably, Feng Xin had seen him practicing in the training grounds in the off chance that he thought no one was nearby. Perhaps, he had seen Mu Qing flitting from building to building by Xie Lian’s side, during the laughably short period they didn’t know each other. It wasn’t so unbelievable now. Mu Qing, too, had found himself looking unconsciously, at Feng Xin a lot when he was younger. It was as their soul’s compasses were pointed at each other, but their mind’s engine was geared somewhere else.
The fact was, Feng Xin met him, when he knew where Mu Qing came from. And yet, he had looked at the broom as though it didn’t belong in his hands.
And maybe Feng Xin had judged wrongly, sometimes, but he always made judgements on what he saw. At the time, Mu Qing thought he unjustly disliked him for who he was. He knew now that it wasn’t like that at all. They... really were just horribly incompatible.
At that final thought, Mu Qing smiled, and Feng Xin sent him another incredulous look. Feeling a little bit happy, Mu Qing extended his hand slyly, palm faced towards the ceiling. Without hesitation, without even looking at it, Feng Xin took it, his large, tan coarse hand enveloping Mu Qing’s own. Mu Qing dropped it so that their arms hung below the table, connecting them.
Truly.
There really was no one better.