Chapter Text
There’s a simple beauty in sheets of frost and snow, an icy sheen of blankness, of possibility, of covering the differences underneath. Untouched, unbroken, blank potential.
Feng Xin is none of that.
He is the ugly and scarred, snow yellow or grey or stomped into puddles, the shattered crunch of a crushed icicle underfoot, the old hurts of a memory lost in time but forever lingering in mind. He is the remembered and the hated, the mess of footprints marring clean snow, a complicated mess that is at first glance a simpleton, and at second a nightmare. And quite frankly, Mu Qing thinks he’d rather choke than refer to Feng Xin as a beauty of any kind.
But it’s not like the same can’t be said about him, so in the end, they’re still both just bitter old men complaining and complaining about a past that cannot be changed, ignorant to the present.
Today, on the eve of the New Year, Mu Qing notes how the banquet for the holiday is different from the last, to no one’s surprise. Jun Wu is not here to preside over everything with his usual endless grace, the unfinished heavens still being rebuilt are not as magnificent as they were before, and there are so many gods gone, gods new, gods who know only of the events of this past year only in gossip and whispers.
So in the end, nothing has changed even if everything has.
One thing that certainly hasn’t changed is the utter arrogance of the still existing gods, all done up in their best clothing and accessories like they haven’t rebuilt these tables that they sit at barely a month ago, or so Feng Xin has grumbled far too many times so far. Mu Qing doesn’t bother pointing out that he’s also wearing splendid silks, even going as far as to put on decorated earrings, he’ll just be wasting his breath. Clearly being able to hear Feng Xin without straining is a downside of sitting slightly closer to him than he would’ve done last year, but in Mu Qing’s defense, the number of gods that would’ve sat between them are lesser this year, gone.
The one who dares to sit closest to the seat Jun Wu once occupied is Ling Wen, who has accidentally become the de facto leader as the only one competent enough to keep the heavens running, and was unwittingly pushed into the position of host. In her male form, she is the one who honours their usual traditions, trying to provide a similar structure as before with Pei Ming sitting by her side, their group noticeably less excitable missing a person. Xie Lian declined to appear, though it’s not particularly like his presence is missed, the heavens easily falling back into their old self-important dynamics without him to disturb it. There are more varieties of wine but fewer deities and less cheer, neither Feng Xin nor Mu Qing win their lantern contest with a tie instead, the plays put on during Drummed Flower Passing go on and on about Jun Wu to such an extent that it’s unpleasant, so by the time the end of the party rolls about with early day, Mu Qing’s had quite enough of the whole affair.
In fact, he almost looks forward to visiting Xie Lian in the morning, even with the knowledge that he might be making their food, which is truly the best indicator of how undesirable this banquet had been. And yet, when the banquet ends, he doesn’t head back to his barely rebuilt palace with his juniors to rest before more festivities.
Instead, he wanders aimlessly, moving among clouds as still as snow, mountaintops as slight as ant hills, above iced-over mirror-like great ponds.
Mu Qing stops at a river in the human realm, where there’s another quite familiar figure already by its banks, also just arrived from the banquet, though he seemed to have stopped by his palace first for a heavy cloak, surprisingly thoughtful. Feng Xin walks along the shore, the bottom of his robes dragging along the ground but remaining undirtied, not disturbing the light ground he treads on, making no prints and leaving clean snow in his wake. In fact, snow is still coming down, brushed on him like a tragic figure in a story, remaining still on his head and shoulders, unmelted only by the force of his will. It’s so picturesque that Mu Qing stifles a snort by rolling his eyes, and then, in part due to curiosity, descends to join him.
Feng Xin makes no outward reaction towards Mu Qing’s sudden presence by his side, only moving slightly further from the river to allow him some space to walk. There is no talk of argument, none of their usual bickering, no familiar dynamic to fall into, only this unusual silence. Mu Qing feels no need to start an issue if there is none, and keeps quiet as well. So, they just walk among the snow, and wait.
“It’s a new year.” Feng Xin breaks the silence first, and Mu Qing rolls his eyes on instinct. Of course it’s a new year, they all sat there and chattered as it arrived.
But for the sake of their delicate unspoken truce, he nods. “A lot of things are new.”
Feng Xin opens his mouth, no doubt to shoot back a retort at the uncreative response, but he shuts it just as quickly, recognising the way Mu Qing honours this momentary ceasefire on such a holiday, waiting for him to break it. Mu Qing also sourly acknowledges how Feng Xin is the only one who can read him so easily and be read just as easily. And so they continue to walk, moving silently on.
Their location is distant enough that the only light comes from the stars, barely shining down onto the fluttering snow, light and soft as they fall, white and peacefully silent. Through peeks in the clouds, the stars flash, blending into the stars around them, as if intending to take their place but unable to. Standing relatively high on a mountainous hill, a bright yellow warmth in the distance is just visible, implying a celebrating town with the barely audible pops of firecrackers going off, though they are heard with his cultivation and would no doubt be ear-shattering up close. Mu Qing pauses before he knows it while watching the town, and Feng Xin does as well, both of them stopping before Mu Qing has even realised his steps had unconsciously halted.
At least Feng Xin is smart enough to know not to ask why they stopped, the two of them just standing there like idiots, unable to go forward but unable to turn back.
So instead, Mu Qing turns to him, looks him straight in the eye in a way they haven’t done in a long time, at least not properly, and says words that say nothing, still searching for the ones with meaning. “You’re such a pompous git, yet you act so much like an uncultured swine.”
“Says the fucking peacock with a personality worse than the remains of a battlefield.” Feng Xin retorts, crossing his arms and not holding back now that Mu Qing was perceived to violate their brief moment of civility.
“It’s a wonder how his highness still lets you hang around.”
“And you two are now the best of f-f-friends, right?”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, knowing fully well the extent of their conversation heading off track and yet with no way to bring it back on. “We’re never going to change the past, so-”
“Don’t bother saying shit that makes no sense coming out of your mouth.”
There’s no need for additional discussion as the two of them glare at each other, not wanting to make the first move to break the tension, their conversation going nowhere and leaving them at a stalemate of unconveyed words. They could’ve stood there forever, Mu Qing was certainly willing to, if not for a gentle cracking behind him, coming from the river. Mu Qing turns around, pulling out his sword at the same time Feng Xin draws his bow, only to find nothing, just the ice on the river cracking because of a force underneath.
Feng Xin lets the arrow fly, and spears nothing, instead breaking the ice for running water to spurt out, crashing over the broken chunks and reducing the rest to shards. In an instance, the river flows, roaring and fierce, but after a few moments, it calms to such an extent that Mu Qing thinks it’ll ice over again before morning.
Mu Qing sighs, relaxing and sliding his sword back into its highly decorative sheath as Feng Xin hangs his bow over his shoulder again. But at least the tension’s broken, and they stare at each other with the same agreement to never let anyone know of that moment. Feng Xin starts moving again, and Mu Qing walks step in step with him, the silence hanging over them much more companionate, even if it hangs with the most important tension there’s been in a while.
“This year is a new year.” Feng Xin finally breaks the silence again, employing his brilliant ability to pretend they haven’t just been squabbling, pushing down the feelings and marking down the wrongs.
“Yes.” Mu Qing agrees, both to the statement and the wish he expresses, also easily demonstrating the same ability, cultivated together with years of experience as their conversation finally gets to the point they’ve been dancing around. It seems that in the end, Mu Qing will have to be the one to say it first. “If you can keep up not being a complete jerk, I might be able to forget.”
Feng Xin glares at him almost incredulously, like the issue lies with him here. “You might be able to forget? I’m the one who you should beg to turn a blind eye, seeing your trash personality would drive away everyone.”
“Strange then, how you haven’t left, stubborn piece of mud clinging to my boots.”
“You’re the one who fucking followed me here.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, the two of them back onto familiar footing. But this time, their insults are less scathing and more casual, almost friendly, and Mu Qing shudders at the thought of ever being friends with Feng Xin of all people.
Feng Xin tsks, almost as if he reads the exact thoughts from Mu Qing’s mind. But he immediately ruins that illusion with his next words. “What’s the point of coming here without an outer layer if you’re just going to freeze?”
Mu Qing stares at Feng Xin, wondering once again if he really doesn’t have brain damage, a centuries-old (dis)agreement discussed in seconds with uncertain terms and then discarded for petty squabbling. How typical. “We’re gods, unless your body is so weak it can’t suffer a light snow.”
“You’re the one shivering.” Feng Xin retorts, then unclasps the buckle at his throat, pulling off his heavy cloak to sweep it around and drape it around Mu Qing.
Mu Qing snorts as Feng Xin fastens the cloak around him, not resisting the action. “And I’m now a swooning maiden you need to protect from the weather? What a great track record in that case then.”
“If you get sick it’s going to be more work for me.” Feng Xin spews nonsense with a straight face, because first of all, he’s a god who can’t get sick, and even if he did, it wasn’t like Feng Xin was going to be picking up the slack.
Mu Qing doesn’t refuse the offering, being that the cloak holds warmth extremely well, and even if he’d kill before admitting it, Mu Qing has been getting slightly cold with all the snow falling onto him. He doesn’t mentions the strange shift of the mood in the air, the charged tension slipping from something hostile to something else, something delicate that he’s never touched before, enough sense to know that this is the one issue he won’t push, can’t push with Feng Xin, no matter how much his temper would overtake his reason. Feng Xin knows the same, would always pull back if necessary if they ever reached this point before, this one issue that they’ve never touched before. But, staring into Feng Xin’s eyes - lined with makeup, Mu Qing realises with a start - there’s no indication of him even considering backing down now.
...He did say that it’s a new year.
Then, instead of Feng Xin dropping his hands back to his sides where they belong, one of them comes up to Mu Qing’s face, cupping his cheek as his face draws closer.
“Hold still.” Feng Xin says, the puff of his breath close enough to overlap Mu Qing’s.
“For what?” Mu Qing demands, though feeling placated and curious enough to not actually do anything, ready for their relationship to shift in another life-altering way. It’s not like this bond could ever be broken, they’ve been trying for 800 fruitless years.
Slowly, carefully, his thumb comes up to wipe at Mu Qing’s eye, tender and light as it brushes over his eyelashes.
“You have a snowflake stuck.” Feng Xin whispers, close enough that Mu Qing hears it like he’s saying it instead, before drawing back.
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, not bothering to thank him for such an useless action. Instead, as they stand here staring at each other for various reasons, he takes the opportunity to look Feng Xin over without the heavy outer coat, all dressed up for once, and not in armour. He wears heavy and very clearly complex robes, red with gold stitching depicting scenes of grandeur, worn with darker contrast pieces that look closer to his normal wear. Instead of his standard bun, his hair is braided instead, a complex loop over an even more complicated gold and dark blue crown with some hair left down, making up a style that would be more usually seen on a lady, his garnet earrings brushing tantalisingly against his neck with the wisps of his hair. And yet it all looks surprisingly good, suiting him in a way that would look awkward on anyone else. If Mu Qing wore his hair like that, he would no doubt be called too feminine.
What a stupidly complicated person that he is, standing in front of Mu Qing. And as the silence lingers, Mu Qing realises Feng Xin could kiss him in this moment. It would be so easy, to just tilt his head slightly forwards, and their lips would meet. Feng Xin could kiss him right now, and if he did, Mu Qing would undoubtedly kiss back.
But it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? There was not a moment that Mu Qing wouldn’t have kissed back, and even if Feng Xin’s feelings are unclear, there’s a familiarity to the look in his eyes that indicates he feels the same, and yet they just stand and stare and never kiss anyone. There’s too much history for kissing, because Mu Qing knows him more intimately than a lover, and that is the worst possible spot to stand regarding him in a relationship.
Perhaps this new year would move them forwards into a different one.
So Feng Xin doesn’t kiss him and Mu Qing doesn’t kiss back. But Mu Qing wears his cloak and Feng Xin has so transparently dressed up like he wants to show off for a suitor, and things are different right now in a way they weren’t last year, or the year before, or any year before that.
Feng Xin’s stomach growls, and Mu Qing sighs. “Really? We just left a banquet.”
“Shut up. You know the only one who ever ate at one of those was Ming Yi.” Feng Xin blusters, cheeks growing red with a slight blush. He does not say the implied “and that guy turned out to be a ghost king,” or that it seems like they have never eaten properly at a banquet before, not before they ascended, and most certainly not after.
Mu Qing pulls out two mandarins from his sleeves, and passes one over. Feng Xin does not thank him, just takes it with the familiarity they really should not have, considering it’s been nearly 800 years since the last time they did that, and they eat in silence.
“May all your wishes be fulfilled.”[1] Mu Qing greets once they’re finally done with the oranges, standing on the cusp of a new year, a new possibility.
“Yeah.” Feng Xin nods. “May your happiness be without limit.”[2]
Feng Xin is muddled snow, broken ice, marked and already ruined possibilities. But it will continue to snow, and eventually there will be enough to start over once more, clearing away the old and bringing in the new. After all, it’s going to be a happy new year.