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Mu Qing knocks away the fifth half-hearted arrow at him in an hour and lowers his saber.
“If you’re going to fight so half-assedly, I don’t know why you’re here at all,” he says acidicly to a despondent looking Feng Xin. “Do you want to get beaten up that badly?”
Feng Xin’s head snaps up, his brow furrowing, “In your dreams,” he sneers, readying his bow. “Let’s keep going.”
“I’m not sparring with you anymore if you’re just going to stand around and shoot arrows at me while moping,” Mu Qing warns, wavering between sheathing his saber or not.
“I’m not moping!” Feng Xin denies, color growing on his tanned cheeks. “I’m just—I’m just thinking about things.”
“Wow, yeah, I can see how that might be difficult for you,” Mu Qing snorts, sheathing his saber.
(It doesn’t seem like he has Feng Xin’s full attention even during a fight and that’s—
That’s the only time he can usually have Feng Xin’s full attention, so even if he hates himself for it, he also secretly looks forward to their sparring sessions.
He needs to find out what’s bothering Feng Xin so much so at the very least he can focus on fighting him.)
Feng Xin glares at him, “Oh, fuck you. It’s not like you know what it’s like to miss someone.”
(Feng Xin is wrong, but when isn’t he wrong about Mu Qing?
Of course he knows what it’s like to miss someone—he was the one who made his choices and left first, but he still had weirdly enough found himself listening for Feng Xin’s loud footsteps and His Highness’ calming words even when he was building his own following.
He doesn’t know why—while His Highness may have missed him, he is fairly certain Feng Xin never thought of him except to maybe curse him up until he also ascended into the Heavens.
But anyway—if Feng Xin was missing someone, it was probably that ghost wife and son of his that he just could not seem to find.
Mu Qing—doesn’t really want to talk about them, but—
But a miserable Feng Xin wasn’t helping anyone.)
“Your ghost wife and son?” he asks, attempting to keep his voice even. “You still haven’t found them?”
Feng Xin’s glare just intensifies (he can never say the right things around Feng Xin either), “You don’t have to rub it in—I’ve been looking everywhere, it’s just…”
“They don’t want to be found,” Mu Qing finishes, tapping his hand against the hilt of his sword.
(He had heard His Highness tell Feng Xin Jian Lan’s desire to not drag him down, but he still thinks—
Of course he understands how important reputation is for godhood; he had spent centuries burnishing his after all.
But—Feng Xin has never been like Mu Qing. He came from a noble background and never had to scrabble up his way, kowtowing to middle officials, and just generally trying to fit in.
His reputation could easily afford a ghost wife and child, and given his title of Ju Yang, it might even be enhanced by it.
Besides—he can’t imagine what it would be like to actually have Feng Xin’s affections and regard and then just toss them all away.)
Feng Xin scowls at him, “I will find them!” he insists.
“Please do so you can actually focus on fighting me,” Mu Qing snaps, an idea forming in his head.
(Feng Xin still hasn’t found them yet because Jian Lan is probably using every ghostly trick she knows and then some to avoid him and his disciples.
On the other hand—she would have no idea if Mu Qing started looking for her, and after all, he had managed to find them once before.
And if Mu Qing managed to find her—maybe he could convince her to come back and set Feng Xin’s mind at ease.
Feng Xin would be at ease and in love with someone else again…
It’s fine, it’s not the first time he’s lost to her.
Actually—that wasn’t even the right way to put it. It had never even been a competition—Feng Xin had never looked at him with a modicum of friendliness much less—
Well anyway, at least with his ghost wife and child back, Feng Xin wouldn’t be so distracted and—Mu Qing could at least have his fights back.
It’s not like he has ever had anything else from Feng Xin anyway.)
Feng Xin snorts, kicking Mu Qing out of his swirl of thoughts, “Like you’re focusing right now,” he says, readying his bow. “One more round.”
“Later,” Mu Qing says, walking away (the sooner he starts the search, the sooner this will all be over with), “Maybe tomorrow you’ll actually hit something.”
Feng Xin frowns at him, “…you seriously don’t want to fight?”
“I’m too busy to deal with your inattention right now,” Mu Qing snaps, a thread of honesty leaking in.
“…fine,” Feng Xin mutters, placing his bow on his back, “Then let’s go see how His Highness is doing—”
“His Highness is off being disgustingly lovey-dovey with Crimson Rain, and I have paperwork for Ling Wen to do,” Mu Qing says, using the one excuse that is bound to get Feng Xin off his back.
Sure enough, Feng Xin blanches. “Well—I’ll leave you to it, I guess. Maybe you’ll actually be able to hit me tomorrow.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes in response as he walks off.
(It’d probably be some days before he could return, but it’s not like Feng Xin would miss him anyway.)
--
It took several weeks and trawling through more seedy places than Mu Qing would like (including many brothels that definitely would have sent Feng Xin shrieking away), but he finally managed to track down Jian Lan in an area in the West.
He had to fight off Feng Xin’s demon child before he could finally manage to restrain her to talk to her, but a win was still a win.
Jian Lan snarls and struggles in her bindings before finally giving up and glaring up at him. “Fine, you caught me. I can’t believe that you have been reducing to beating up a defenseless woman.”
“When did I beat you up?” Mu Qing asks incredulously, checking the seals that were binding the demon child in place.
“I assume that’s what you caught me for. I’m not sorry for saying you were Cuocuo’s father—I wasn’t about to throw Feng Xin into trouble,” Jian Lan sniffs.
“Then why can’t you just go see him again?” he demands.
Jian Lan’s expression shifts, “You—it’s for the best—I already told His Highness all this.”
“Yes, and he told Feng Xin and me, but I still don’t understand,” Mu Qing says. “If you still love him, why not stay with him? Feng Xin’s reputation can endure a ghost wife and child.”
“You don’t know that. And—coming from you, his rival general, that’s very suspect,” Jian Lan says, narrowing her eyes. “Besides—even if I came back, it’s not like I’m in love with him anymore.”
Mu Qing stares at her, “You’re—you’re not ?”
(How is that even possible ?
Gods know how hard he has tried over the years to bury his useless, unwanted feelings for the man, thinking that maybe that had finally subsided, only to feel them spring up again to no avail as soon as he saw Feng Xin laugh or joke or fire a bow again.
Sometimes in the dead of night, plagued by impossible fantasies, his bed as empty and cold as ever, he’d thought that he’d rip out his own traitorous heart if he thought it would do any good.
Instead, he has silently suffered all the pangs and humiliations of unrequited love for 800 years now—and this woman is telling him that she had actually somehow fallen out of love with Feng Xin when all her feelings were returned, and she could have him back at any time?)
Jian Lan shrugs, “It’s been a very long time—centuries really. We’ve moved onto different paths, and we’re not the same people we used to be. I was in love with him then, and for his sake, I will not bring dishonor or disgrace upon him now, but—he’s changed, and so have I.”
“However you have changed, Feng Xin hasn’t,” Mu Qing says bluntly. “He’s still—loyal to a fault. He’s as dumb as a bag of rocks, and he can never figure anything out or notice anything, but you fell in love with that, so you can’t fault him there. He likes to fight too much, but he’s also—so kind. Kind and loyal to all those who are lucky enough to be in his affections.”
(And he has never been all that lucky in the end.)
Jian Lan’s eyes widen as she stares at him.
“What?” he snaps.
“…I am no longer in love with him, but I think you are,” Jian Lan says finally.
Mu Qing freezes.
(Shit.
Shit, fuck, he had said too much.
Even before she had turned into a ghost, Jian Lan had been hand-picked and raised to be a future member of His Highness’ imperial harem, and now after so many years of reading men’s preferences for a living—
He should have never underestimated her.)
“I—I am not! That’s completely ridiculous!” he sputters, crossing his arms. “You—obviously you’ve gone delusional while you’ve been on the run—”
“I can’t say I ever expected that—I never saw the two of you together without it devolving into a fight. How long have you been in love with him?” Jian Lan asks, raising a well-plucked eyebrow.
(As long as he has known him basically.
Despite Feng Xin’s unwelcome looks and harsh words, the boy back then had been the most gifted archer of the kingdom, and he had a brash, full, joyful laugh that had always lifted his spirits when he had heard it, and he had always been there to tell off Qi Rong and defend the smaller disciples against the bigger ones.
But—Feng Xin hadn’t like him butting into his friendship with His Highness, and Mu Qing has somehow always known the exact worst thing to say to Feng Xin, so—
And even if he hadn’t fallen in love with Jian Lan, Feng Xin has never forgiven Mu Qing for abandoning him and His Highness.
And—that’s fine, Mu Qing made his bed, and now he will lie in it, and it’s not like he can even bring himself to forgive himself for that.)
“Never,” Mu Qing lies caustically, stuffing down his swirl of emotions. “We’re rival gods, and we’ve always fought—as you’ve said before. He hates me, and I hate him. And I’m sure Feng Xin has badmouthed me to you enough times that you are very clear how he feels about me.”
Jian Lan tilts her head, “Of course he’s complained about you, but most of the time we had better things to do than talk about you.”
(Why should that hurt?
Isn’t it better than thinking of the two of them together sneering and mocking him?
And yet—
Mu Qing has never thought that he could have Feng Xin’s affections, but at the very least, he thought he could have his attention.
He is well-aware of how pathetic that thought is.)
“Although he did say that out of all of us, you definitely were the best equipped to deal with our fallen state,” Jian Lan sighs.
“So happy that even with his paramour he had time to look down on my lowly origins,” Mu Qing can’t help but snap.
Jian Lan chuckles, “And he said that you would take that compliment the wrong way.”
Mu Qing flushes and clicks his tongue, “Be that as it may—Feng Xin misses you and your son. He wants—he wants to at least get to know you two again. Go see him.”
“For someone who claims to be his rival, you do keep his best interests close at heart,” Jian Lan muses.
“If he’s moping around he’s not fighting me properly, and that’s boring,” Mu Qing says coldly. “There’s no use in sparring him while he’s distracted, so you need to take your son and go see him.”
“Still—if he’s that distracted, wouldn’t that be the best time for you to take advantage of the situation and expand your worshippers?” Jian Lan asks. “You could make it so that your worship completely eclipses that of Feng Xin’s—”
“Why would I do that?” Mu Qing demands hotly. “I’m not—I will become the ascendant martial god without having to resort to such base tricks as that.”
(No matter how scheming Feng Xin may think he is, Mu Qing has never plotted against him.
Other martial gods who deserved it, sure, but never against Feng Xin who is as honest and open as the day is long.
Firstly, it’d be like kicking a puppy, and second—
Second, he doesn’t want to see Feng Xin diminished in any way.)
“You better not give any ideas to any other martial gods,” he threatens.
Jian Lan just looks at him with a bemused expression on her face, “…you hate him so much and yet you still look out for him this much?”
“It—it would look bad if he got taken down by any other martial god besides me!” Mu Qing says hastily (that is far from the only thing Mu Qing has done for Feng Xin). “And—you’re the one who said she was so worried about his reputation. If he keeps sulking, his reputation will gradually go straight into the chamber pot as well.”
At that, Jian Lan’s mirthful face does grow more serious. She turns to look at her demon son in contemplation, and the boy shrieks and waves his abnormally long tongue around some more.
“Besides—the boy will never develop if he just stays here in the ghostly realms,” Mu Qing points out.
“It’s not like ghosts can ascend,” Jian Lan shoots back.
“Crimson Rain did,” Mu Qing replies, his mouth going into a flat line.
(Although in that case, Mu Qing is pretty sure that the crimson brat had only ascended to better stalk His Highness, and then promptly jumped back down as soon as he had realized that His Highness hadn’t been in the Heavens at the time.)
Jian Lan chuckles as the demon child rolls around, “ Chengzhu is very different from us all. However—I suppose you have a point. It’s true that Cuocuo needs someone to watch over him when I can’t.”
“So you’ll go see him?” Mu Qing asks, temporarily disabling her restraints.
“I’ll go see him, under one condition,” Jian Lan says, holding up a finger. “You have to help Feng Xin watch over our son.”
Mu Qing makes a face (he can’t imagine anything he’d rather less do), “What? Why?”
“Has Feng Xin ever taken care of a child before?” Jian Lan asks dryly.
“And you think I have?”
“I seem to recall Feng Xin mentioning you had younger siblings. You must have more experience than him anyway,” Jian Lan shrugs, scooping up her demon child who immediately licks the side of her face affectionately. “Take it or leave it.”
(Who is this woman who thinks she can still order him around as if she was still a high noble’s daughter and he was just a street rat with some good cultivation talent and fighting skills—
But she isn’t wrong that Feng Xin despite his desire to get to know his son probably has zero ideas of what to do with a kid.
Although in this case, the kid was a demon ghost, so it wasn’t like Feng Xin could actually kill the kid—he thinks.
Still, Feng Xin would probably be upset if he did accidentally harm his own child, so maybe it was better to keep an eye on them.
Worst comes to worst, if Feng Xin foists his demon child onto him to go spend some private time reconciling with Jian Lan—
Well, he can probably corral the kid somewhere and then take out his frustrations on some training dummies.
Hells, he could probably even dump him with His Highness and Crimson Rain. Crimson Rain may try to murder him for interrupting their private time, but that might be fun, to fight against him. After all, His Highness being there would guarantee that Crimson Rain couldn’t actually murder him.)
“Fine,” he finally snaps, gripping the hilt of his sword tight. “And—you’ll talk to Feng Xin, not just dump the kid and go.”
“Alright. We have a few things to discuss after all,” she replies, giving him a considering look.
“Don’t tell him I found you,” he quickly says (he doesn’t like the look on her face at all). “He’ll—he’ll get the wrong idea. Think that you’re part of some plot I hatched against him.”
“Would he?” Jian Lan murmurs as she pats her son’s back to lull him to sleep, “Somehow I’m not so sure now.”
“Your reunion will go smoother if you don’t mention me,” Mu Qing says, his mouth twisting a bit.
(After all—
She was the love of Feng Xin’s life, wasn’t she?
Feng Xin has been terrified of every single other woman he’s met, and while he’s had flings with some men—which might or might not have had Mu Qing nearly sick with envy over them—he had only ever loved her, hadn’t he?
And it was the perfect story wasn’t it, the lost love of his youth reuniting with him, perhaps somewhat worn from the years, but all the same, a romantic happy ending.
Feng Xin could be happy with the love he deserved, and Mu Qing—
Mu Qing will go on as he always had, making do with the godhood that he had sacrificed everything for.
It’s not like he wasn’t used to this humiliating, gnawing desire of his for even crumbs of Feng Xin’s regard.
Why should anything change after all?)
Jian Lan shrugs, “If you think so. I’ll come by in a week or two if I feel like it, I have some business to attend to.”
“Make sure your demon child doesn’t possess anyone else,” Mu Qing warns.
Jian Lan sniffs, hiking the kid higher, “That only happened last time because Chengzhu ’s mansion caught on fire and I lost track of him.”
“Don’t lose sight of him this time, if he goes out and possesses someone now, it’s not going to reflect well on Feng Xin either,” he reminds her.
“I’d say I liked you better when you were at each other’s throats, but no, you’ve always been bitchy,” Jian Lan comments. “We’ll arrive when we arrive, you go prepare to take care of a kid for a week.”
--
When he arrives back at his palace, his disciples and attendants immediately swarm around him.
“General!”
“General Xuanzhen!”
“General, we’re so happy you’re back!”
“Yes, yes,” he says, striding over to his office (the amount of paperwork that has piled up is probably obscene—he never knew why martial gods still had so much paperwork to do), “Any trouble while I was away?”
“General Nan Yang kept coming by! But don’t worry General! We managed to drive him away—eventually!”
Mu Qing stops and turns around.
“Feng Xin kept coming by? Why?”
“He said you hadn’t come to spar with him, and he wanted to know where you were!”
(Typical.
Feng Xin probably thought he was off scheming somewhere.)
“And did you tell him?” he demanded.
“We didn’t know where you were, General! But we told him it wasn’t his business anyway!”
“Good job,” he praises them (he doesn’t recruit dumb disciples after all), “Well, was there any other business—”
The door slams open, and Feng Xin strides in, Mu Qing’s disciples scattering aside in his wake.
“There you are,” Feng Xin says, his eyes sweeping over him, “Where were you?”
“None of your business,” he immediately snaps, crossing his arms. “Why are you here?”
Feng Xin angrily runs a hand through his hair, “Well—you definitely look okay, and you sound as per usual. You’ve missed our sparring matches for the past two weeks.”
“I was busy,” Mu Qing says, turning around and continuing into his study, “What—don’t tell me that you kept coming in here just because all those other martial gods you hang around with were too busy or something.”
(He tells himself that he’s not jealous, that he knows that all of those men are meaningless flings—
But what if one eventually isn’t?
And why has Feng Xin never propositioned him?
Not—not that he wants him to of course—if he did, he’d probably punch him in the face—
But if it’s as close as he could get to what he really wants—
He’s not sure, it’s probably for the best for Mu Qing’s self-respect that Feng Xin has never asked.)
“Even His Highness didn’t know where you were—Crimson Rain probably did, but I wasn’t desperate enough to ask him yet—”
“Why were you desperate at all?” Mu Qing demands, “Were you worried I was up to something?”
Feng Xin throws up his hands, a vein in his temple throbbing, “I was worried that you had gotten hurt!” he snaps.
“Oh,” Mu Qing says, taken aback. “You were—worried about me?”
(Since when did Feng Xin ever worry about him?)
Feng Xin turns a bit red for some reason. “Well—you were the one who wanted to be f-f-friends, and—friends worry about each other.”
(Of course he’s just making fun of him.)
“When will you ever stop mentioning that!” Mu Qing glowers, sitting down at his desk.
“Never,” Feng Xin says with some relish. “Maybe when you finally learn how to actually be one—and even then, probably not.”
Mu Qing just gives him a sour look, “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Where were you?” Feng Xin asks again.
“Doing things,” Mu Qing replies, not looking up from his paperwork.
“Like?” Feng Xin prompts.
“Business in the Southwest,” Mu Qing says.
(Technically, it’s not a lie.
Jian Lan had been hiding out in the Southwest—probably since that was the last place Feng Xin would ever look or go.)
“Oh. And it’s all good now?”
“Obviously,” Mu Qing says, looking back up at him. “Are you done trying to pretend to be friends with me now?”
Feng Xin breathes through his nose and looks like he’s contemplating throwing something at him, “Why are you always like this?”
Mu Qing sneers (he’s used to hiding his hurt, although he doesn’t know why it always stings so much every time), “We can’t all be noble idiots who only care about fighting.”
“If I only cared about fighting, life would be much easier,” Feng Xin mutters under his breath.
(Well, soon even that problem would be resolved for Feng Xin, and he can just live his happy godly life the way he always should have, and Mu Qing can—
He can manage and make do as he always had.
He should be used to it.)
“Does the great Ju Yang not have prayers to listen and answer?” Mu Qing adds sweetly, knowing exactly what to say to drive him away.
And indeed, Feng Xin’s fists clench, “Don’t call me that—and fine. Be that way. See if I ever worry about you again!” he says in a huff, calling out over his shoulder as he strides out of the room.
(…maybe he had it wrong.
Had Feng Xin really been worried?
Maybe he should ask His Highness—but if he asks, then His Highness will get that stupid knowing expression on his face, and if he talks to that crimson brat about it, Mu Qing really will be duty bound to attempt to throttle him, even if His Highness probably cannot be beaten, and even if he could be, that crimson brat would murder him.
It doesn’t matter either ways—Jian Lan will be here soon, and then—
At least Feng Xin would be happy.)
--
It takes two weeks before Jian Lan actually shows up, and Mu Qing is actually contemplating hunting her down again (would Feng Xin notice his absence this time too?) when one of his disciples comes running up.
“General Xuan Zhen sir! News from General Nan Feng’s palace! It seems that that ghost lady who caused you so much trouble in the past has appeared there!”
“Was it just her?” Mu Qing asks.
“I—I think Ou Qihang said that weird fetus spirit was also there—not that I associate with disciples of General Nan Feng of course!” his disciple says hastily.
Mu Qing squashes the urge to roll his eyes (he’s quite well aware which of his disciples are close to those of Feng Xin’s, and he is also aware they all share information when they’re not brawling), “Good,” he says simply, going back to sharpening his sword.
His disciple goggles at him, “…shouldn’t we go investigate a bit, General?” he prompts.
“Chen Huaizhi, you’ll never get anywhere if you stick your nose everywhere,” Mu Qing says sternly.
Chen Huaizhi bows his head, “Sorry, General. It’s just—you’re not worried?”
“What is there to be worried about? The rumors about me and her have been completely resolved, and surely you don’t think Feng Xin has anything to worry about from her?” Mu Qing asks, raising an eyebrow.
Chen Huaizhi shifts in place, “No, it’s just—well, she just caused so much trouble last time, perhaps it would be best for you to go over and make sure the situation is under control?”
“Let them have their reunion first. I’ll drop by later,” Mu Qing says in what he thinks is a very even tone given the circumstances.
(He had promised Jian Lan to look after Cuocuo, so he’ll stop by to see if the reunited couple needs a baby-sitter and then leave.
It’ll be probably all he can stand to watch anyway.)
Eventually he does slowly make his way over there, steeling himself for the lovey-dovey scene he’ll probably encounter.
(He remembers the dopey expression on Feng Xin’s face back when Xian Le had first fallen, and how he had burned with jealousy over whoever had managed to put such an expression on Feng Xin’s face.
The only expressions he’s ever managed to get from Feng Xin are various degrees of angry, annoyed, exasperated, and at the very best, a slight hint of grudging respect and even awkward friendliness.
He’ll just have to get used to it again.
It’s fine, he can just—go off on more missions or something.
There were probably still demons that needed to be rounded up somewhere.)
However, before he can even enter the temple, Feng Xin comes rushing out, Cuocuo in his arms and screaming.
“Mu Qing! Oh thank the gods you’re here—Cuocuo won’t stop crying!”
“Where’s Jian Lan?” Mu Qing demands.
“She left—I invited her to stay a bit, but she says she’d rather not—she isn’t very comfortable in the heavens apparently,” Feng Xin says, attempting to rock Cuocuo back and forth but only succeeding in making him bite him, “Ow! Godsdamnit—”
“Give him here,” Mu Qing snaps, reaching out and taking Cuocuo from him and then holding him in his arms the way that never failed to get his siblings to stop crying. “You’re holding him all wrong—he’s probably upset his mother isn’t here—”
(Why had Jian Lan just dumped the kid here and run off?
Even if she said she wasn’t in love with Feng Xin anymore, how could she see Feng Xin again and not fall for him again—
Unless of course, Feng Xin, the idiot, said something wrong as per usual.)
“You’re amazing,” Feng Xin, staring at the calmed down Cuocuo in awe. “How did you do that?”
“You need to support the butt and support the chest, and rock him back and forth, and he’ll calm down,” Mu Qing says, holding Cuocuo out so that Feng Xin could see the hold better. “What did you say to Jian Lan?”
Feng Xin’s brow furrows, “…that I was glad to see her? And that if she needed any help or a place to stay, I’d always be willing to provide? And that I wanted to get to know Cuocuo better?”
(So that was the problem—Feng Xin, that muscle-head, didn’t declare his love for her then and there.
Mu Qing has never even been in any relationships, and he knows that probably pissed her off.
At least, he knows, that would have pissed him off.)
“Let me try,” Feng Xin says, holding out his hands.
Mu Qing is all too happy to pass a drooling Cuocuo back over to Feng Xin (babies drooled so much, how did anyone find them cute), “You didn’t—tell her how you feel?”
Cuocuo starts squalling in Feng Xin’s grasp, while Feng Xin stares at Mu Qing, “Oh no—come on, Cuocuo it’s okay—and, what do you mean? That was what I feel.”
“You’re still holding him wrong—support him here,” Mu Qing says, sticking a hand out and forcing Feng Xin’s hand up (and pointedly ignoring the feeling of his calloused fingers against his palm), “There. Now—no, I mean—didn’t you want to win her back?”
Feng Xin rocks a calmer Cuocuo while his eyebrows twist together, “You mean like—romantically? Uh, no.”
Mu Qing stares at him, his eyes wide, “…what do you mean, no ?”
“You thought I was trying to find her because I wanted to rekindle my relationship with her?” Feng Xin asks, looking surprised. “That’s not why—I know we’re both very different people now than we were before, but I still owe her for everything we went through together, and—I did want to get to know my son.”
(He doesn’t understand.
It’s—perhaps Jian Lan has changed, she does seem a far cry from the nobleman’s daughter that she had been, but Feng Xin has stayed solidly the same over the years, and if anyone could fall out of love with that, shouldn’t it be Mu Qing who has tried so hard over the years?
And—if Feng Xin’s feelings could change that much for someone he had once loved enough to marry, why does Mu Qing ever think they can at least be friends?
He hates his stupid heart and Feng Xin’s stupid face and muscles and goddamned loyalty—
He’s pathetic.)
“By the way,” Feng Xin continues blithely on, as though he hasn’t completely shifted Mu Qing’s view of his relationship with Jian Lan, “Jian Lan mentioned she was over in Yunan. Isn’t that one of your cities?”
(Curse that Jian Lan.
Hadn’t she promised not to tell?
Well, he supposes technically she didn’t, but—
All ghosts are tricky and are not to be trusted.)
He shrugs, “She must have known that was the last place you would go look,” he says truthfully in an acidic tone.
“True, some of your worshippers have some really weird statues of me,” Feng Xin says with a small shudder. “But—did you know she was there?”
“I don’t keep track of every single person or ghost that goes through my domain,” Mu Qing snaps. “Do you?”
“No, but—did you say something to her?” Feng Xin asks directly.
“What? Why would you think that?” Mu Qing says quickly, his mind racing.
(He should have disguised himself—he should have never shown himself to Jian Lan.
Now Feng Xin will make fun of him and hold it over him until they die, and—
Everyone else’s contempt and mockery he could meet with cold glares and sneers, but with Feng Xin—
He’s never been able to react gracefully to provocation from him.
It hurts too deeply, and he has to vent it out somehow.)
“You said you went to do some business in the Southwest, and then a couple of weeks later, Jian Lan finally shows up from there and decides to give me a chance to get to know Cuocuo,” Feng Xin says, looking at him carefully. “And I know—you’re an asshole a lot of the times Mu Qing, but you do sometimes do nice things for people. You just never admit to them. And—you weren’t surprised at all to see me with Cuocuo.”
(Gods damn him to hell, since when did Feng Xin grow some new brain cells to rub together with?
He—maybe he can still salvage this somehow.)
“I was too busy judging how badly you were holding him,” Mu Qing says, reaching out to prop up Cuocuo’s lolling head a bit more. “Even if he is a ghost, he needs proper support of his head.”
“Are you sure, his tongue definitely doesn’t follow natural laws, so his neck probably doesn’t either,” Feng Xin points out but carefully shifts Cuocuo the way Mu Qing had directed him to.
“It can’t hurt,” Mu Qing argues as Cuocuo opens his eyes and yawns, stretching out his long tongue until it slithers down to the ground.
“Stop that,” Feng Xin scolds, bouncing Cuocuo, “Who knows who’s stepped on that.”
“You should give him something to chew on,” Mu Qing advises, “Maybe that’s why he keeps licking things.”
“It’s better than him attempting to chew my arms off,” Feng Xin grumbles as he snaps one of his arrows and dangles the feathered part over his son’s head.
“ That’s all you have as a toy?” Mu Qing asks disdainfully as Cuocuo tries to grab the feather with his tongue (truly his father’s son after all).
“What, I’m a martial god, not a god of toymakers. You have anything better?” Feng Xin asks, shifting Cuocuo up.
“…maybe I can find something,” Mu Qing says, shifting in place.
(He can probably stitch something up quickly—it’s not hard to make a small plushie toy for a kid to drool on.
The key is making sure that Feng Xin never finds out he made it.)
“Thanks,” Feng Xin says sincerely. “In the meantime, do you think that you can—”
“I’m not baby-sitting your own kid for you,” Mu Qing snaps, hands on his hips. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get to know him?”
“That’s not what I was going to ask,” Feng Xin says, letting out a breath. “You think you could—I don’t know, I know you have stuff to do, but—could you spend the night?”
“ What? ” Mu Qing demands, his voice cracking in disbelief.
(No, that’s—
He must have heard wrong.
There’s not—there’s no way in all the hells that Feng Xin is asking what he thinks he is—no matter how much he may or may not have wished for this question for so many years.)
“Not that way!” Feng Xin clarifies, his cheeks red.
“Of course not,” Mu Qing bites out, despising the part of him that sinks into quiet, familiar misery at the rebuttal (look, he’s even embarrassed to think about him that way). “I would hope you would know better.”
Feng Xin’s eyes take on an odd look, “Oh, that I do,” he mutters. “No—just, I don’t really know how babies work, but I think they’re supposed to cry a lot at night, right? And he’s a ghost, so I don’t know, maybe he’ll try possessing and/or haunting people more at night…it’d be good to have someone on hand who is both a martial god and knows how to deal with kids.”
“Are you—you’re actually asking me for help?” Mu Qing asks, his eyes widening.
Feng Xin shrugs, “Unlike some people, I do know when I’m in over my head,” he says, giving him a pointed look.
“…fine,” Mu Qing says, carefully keeping his voice even and not allowing a modicum of happiness to leak through (so what if Feng Xin needs his help—he never wants him around any other time). “I’ll just—get some things.”
He heads back to his temple and grabs a few pieces of felt and stuffing to stitch together a plush toy (Cuocuo had seemed to like the feather of the arrow Feng Xin had dangled over him, so maybe a bird? Like an owl? Owls were round, brave, and wise birds, it seemed appropriate) and gather up some spare clothes and some toiletries before heading over.
When he got there, Feng Xin had already apparently cleared out a guest room for him and was currently trying to get Cuocuo down from the ceiling.
“Cuocuo, get down!” he yells, waving the broken arrow around. “Don’t you want this?”
“Who wants that, let me do you one better,” Mu Qing says, pushing him to the side and holding the plush owl up. “Isn’t this nice?”
Cuocuo’s manic eyes gleam, and he slithers down from the ceiling to wrap his prehensile tongue around the owl, cooing as he does so.
“Well—that’s good,” Feng Xin says, setting the broken arrow down. “Where’d you get that from?”
Mu Qing shrugs, “Chen Huaizhi had one for some reason,” he lies.
Feng Xin snorts, “Ou Qihang probably gave it to him, that sap. Kind of mean for you to steal it from him.”
“As if I would steal anything from my subordinates!” Mu Qing snaps. “It’s—he sewed it.”
(He could have—all of his subordinates can sew or else their robes would be in tatters.
He knows that Feng Xin’s temple sends their stuff off to the god of tailors and their temple, but why pay the merits when they can all learn to do it perfectly well themselves.)
“He sewed a plushie?” Feng Xin asks, disbelievingly glancing at the plush owl that his son was now chewing on. “Why? Weird gift to give to Ou Qihang—or did you ask him to make it for Cuocuo—”
“My subordinates all have better things to do than to sew for your son!” Mu Qing says as haughtily as he can manage.
“Just seems weird for you to have a kid’s toy in your temple,” Feng Xin says lightly, his eyes pinned on Mu Qing. “And why an owl?”
(When had Feng Xin suddenly gotten observant, and why did it have to be right now?
Why had he even bothered to make a toy—he should have just instructed one of his followers to descend for a bit and purchase one instead.
But—
He’s fairly sure that Jian Lan, no matter her current circumstances, probably still couldn’t sew very well. Embroider, sure, that was a high noble lady skill, but sew? That was for people like him who had never had any servants to serve him in the past, and still didn’t really know what to do with any now.
And a handmade toy—maybe it’ll bring a little luck to the child who had so far seemed to have pretty terrible luck.)
“Owls are wise, and as your son, he needs all the help he can get,” Mu Qing says instead.
“I suppose so,” Feng Xin admits, not even blinking an eye at the insult. “Hey, you think if I asked nicely, Ling Wen might be willing to give him lessons—”
“You want her mad at you? Have you lost your last brain cell? No way, if she doesn’t bury you in paperwork for the rest of your life, she’s sure to find other ways of making your life miserable,” Mu Qing says, crossing his arms. “Find someone else to teach your son how to read and write.”
“I feel like Crimson Rain will murder me if I take His Highness away from their ‘calligraphy lessons,’” Feng Xin muses, bouncing Cuocuo. “High priest would be great if he wasn’t you know—”
“Baby-sitting a monster? Yeah, not sure you want your son hanging around him,” Mu Qing says as Cuocuo throws the plush owl up in the air and catches it again with his tongue. “Maybe I could—”
He catches himself, but it’s already too late; Feng Xin is looking at him with a look he can’t describe in his eyes.
“You would do that for me?” he asks quietly.
“It’s not for you!” Mu Qing immediately denies (he’s such a liar—when had he ever volunteered to teach a small child in his life before just now), “It’s just—if you’re going to be keeping a ghost child in the heavens, you need someone to teach him properly! And your temple will do a horrible job of it, and His Highness isn’t always here, so—I suppose I must—”
“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin interrupts, his voice steady. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, for once.”
Mu Qing sneers, tucking his trembling hands in his sleeves. “When am I not honest with you?”
“When are you?” Feng Xin demands before sighing and running a hand through his hair. “You—look, I’ve been misjudging you for—a really long time, so—I’m trying not to now, but it really doesn’t help when you never say what you actually mean .”
“Maybe if you had more than two braincells, you’d be able to catch what I mean,” Mu Qing retorts almost immediately.
(What does he mean he’s trying now?
Why would he have changed his mind?)
Feng Xin takes a deep breath, “Mu Qing—did you go find Jian Lan for me?”
“…you keep asking that question as if you expect my answer to change,” Mu Qing dodges carefully.
“Because you’re still not answering,” Feng Xin points out. “And—I’ve thought about it a lot, and it’s the only thing that makes sense about the whole situation.”
“Why would I go find her for you?” Mu Qing demands.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Feng Xin says, still looking at him.
(This is a disaster.
He has to salvage this somehow or—
Or Feng Xin is going to know and possibly lord it over him for the rest of their immortal lives—)
“I didn’t go find her for you,” Mu Qing insists, tilting his head up and shifting in place. “I have no idea why you would think that.”
“Did you know Mu Qing, that when you just flat-out lie, your hands get a bit twitchy, and your cheeks flush just a tiny bit?” Feng Xin asks steadily. “It’s not really something most people would notice, but then again, I’ve known you since we were fifteen.”
Mu Qing’s hands fly to his face, “I don’t—I’m not lying!”
“You are, and I’m going to try and put Cuocuo to bed before we really get into it,” Feng Xin says, turning around with a sleepy Cuocuo still holding the owl plushy before looking at him again over his shoulder, “Don’t run away, or I swear to all the gods Mu Qing, I’ll go find His Highness to track you down.”
“I have never run away from you in my life!” Mu Qing yells before he realizes that he’s been sidetracked, and all he can do is pace around while worrying his lip.
(Damn Feng Xin for telling him not to run, he could have been halfway across the world right now if it wouldn’t hurt his pride and if he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Feng Xin would follow through and brave that crimson brat’s wrath to really drag in a disappointed His Highness to track him down.
And then they’d both probably be dead because the crimson brat absolutely hated anyone wasting His Highness’ time.
But—
What in all the hells is he supposed to do now?
What did Feng Xin even want to talk about? Did he just want to gloat ?
But—Feng Xin’s face hadn’t looked smug. He had looked—somewhat confused but weirdly, slightly pleased?
Pleased about what?
Pleased that he finally had something over Mu Qing?)
“Okay, I think I got him to sleep,” Feng Xin’s voice sounds behind his shoulder as he enters, “Did you know Ou Qihang actually likes kids?”
Mu Qing rushes towards the door, “Then that sounds like you no longer need my help—”
Feng Xin’s hand slams against the side of the door, his arm now blocking Mu Qing’s way.
“Are you really trying to run away right now?” he demands incredulously.
Mu Qing doesn’t back away, drawing himself up as tall as he can while glaring at Feng Xin (why is he so stupidly handsome), “Who the hell is running away, I’m just—you called me over here to keep watch over your ghost son, and now you already have someone, so I am going to go sleep in my temple—”
“Mu Qing, just because you’re too chickenshit to admit to doing something nice for me for once—”
“For once ?” Mu Qing flares up (the nerve of this man—). “Who’s made sure all your paperwork is actually finished on time and turned in so Ling Wen doesn’t murder you? Who makes sure that none of my temple’s disciples talk shit about your ghost wife and child? Who made sure your ghost son is even here—”
“You did all that for me?” Feng Xin interrupts, his eyes wide and his mouth completely slack.
(Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, fucking hell shit.
Why did he let Feng Xin rile him up so, his mouth always runs too freely when he gets angry—)
“Hey,” Feng Xin says, hovering near him, “Don’t—are you panicking?”
“Shut up ,” Mu Qing hisses through gritted teeth (he hates him almost as much as he loves him right now, and he despises himself even more so). “Shut up, shut up, shut up— can you just stop mocking me for one second of my life—”
“I’m not mocking you!” Feng Xin yells. “I’m not! I think—you’re really admirable, Mu Qing! You’re really smart, you know how to handle kids, you work so hard, you fight like a storm, you scheme like no one’s business—”
“And you hate all that,” Mu Qing snarls out. “You despise me for everything that I am—”
“ I do not! ” Feng Xin roars, “I—stop putting words into my mouth! They’re not even the right ones! We’ve known each other this long, and you think I despise you?”
“You wouldn’t even look at me the first century you ascended,” Mu Qing hisses out, not quite keep the hurt from leaking into his voice.
“I—yeah, okay, I was mad at you back then for abandoning us—and I was mad at myself for everything that ended up happening with both His Highness and Jian Lan—so yeah, that was shitty of me, but I don’t hate you, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin says desperately. “You’re—you’re the person I like fighting with and against the most, I can’t imagine life without you, you’re stupidly pretty—”
“ What? ” Mu Qing does not shriek (what the fuck is happening—it’s all he can do to not turn completely red). “You—no, this time you are making fun of me—”
“Mu Qing, I am not making fun of you,” Feng Xin says, pointing a finger at him and breathing heavily through his nose, “Can you stop thinking that? Do you think I’d let someone I hated or not respect watch over my son ?”
Mu Qing pauses, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I—okay, but—I don’t understand .”
Feng Xin sighs, just looking at him, “Mu Qing—look, don’t freak out or lose your shit at me okay, but I’m going to tell you something.”
Mu Qing narrows his eyes at him, “What?”
(It wasn’t like there was much about Feng Xin he didn’t already know—unless he was about to confess something about one of his flings or Jian Lan—)
Feng Xin shifts in place, his mouth tight, and his hands clenched at his side, “I—I like you a lot. As in—romantically.”
(… what?
WHAT?
This can’t—is he dreaming? But no—Feng Xin looks too angry and uncomfortable for this to be one of his dreams, but then—
Has Feng Xin gone mad?
He seems normal—is this some kind of cruel prank?
But Feng Xin has never been one for cruelty—
So that only leaves—
He—he can’t quite believe it, but—
Oh, he so badly wants to.)
Feng Xin sees the expression on his face and hurriedly says, “I know you don’t feel the same way—”
“You’re so stupid Feng Xin,” Mu Qing interrupts, his tone murderous.
“Really?” Feng Xin demands, “You’re going with that—”
“You’ve never noticed that I’ve been in love with you for eight hundred years !” Mu Qing yells.
(It—
It is both terrifying and exhilarating to finally admit it out loud.
But—if this is real—if this is really happening—
Then he’s not about to let Feng Xin walk away because he somehow thinks Mu Qing isn’t the one who’s been trying to repress his feelings this entire time.)
Feng Xin is gaping at him, completely gobsmacked. “… what? ”
“Yes, this entire time!” Mu Qing barrels on (now that he’s finally started talking about it, he can’t stop). “I’ve tried—I’ve tried not to, I was pretty sure it was hopeless—”
“It wasn’t,” Feng Xin says shakily, drawing close, his hand hovering right at Mu Qing’s cheek, “I’ve—I’ve loved you since we first fought—even if I wasn’t clear on it then.”
It was Mu Qing’s turn to just stare at Feng Xin, “You had Jian Lan then—”
“You barely seemed to tolerate me, and I loved her too—just in a different way,” Feng Xin says, his eyes moving down to Mu Qing’s lips.
“And now?” Mu Qing finds himself asking. “What about all those men—”
“I imagined they were you, a lot,” Feng Xin confesses.
Mu Qing can feel his entire face heat up, “ What? ”
“I mean—after sparring with you—it gets me kind of worked up,” Feng Xin coughs, looking down. “I know your cultivation path and—but I could transfer you spiritual energy after—I really want to kiss you.”
(This is everything he has ever wanted, and he still can’t quite believe this is actually happening.)
Mu Qing takes a deep breath then looks Feng Xin in the eye, “Why don’t you try it?”
Feng Xin surges up to him, his heated mouth meeting his own, and—
(Mu Qing has never been kissed before so he has no points of comparison, but he suddenly realizes why His Highness would violate his cultivation path for this.)
They’ve stumbled into the bed by the time Feng Xin finally draws away, mouth completely red, hair mussed, lovebites on his neck ( Mu Qing did that), panting and looking down at him, “Is this—we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do—”
“You’ve kept me waiting long enough,” Mu Qing snarls as he pulls him down onto the bed with him and meets his mouth with his own again. “Show me what I have been missing this entire time, Ju Yang. ”
And that goad still works as awfully well as ever, with Feng Xin letting out a noise that nearly sounds like a growl , fisting his hand through Mu Qing’s hair (and it stings so well) while pining him down with his bulk and once again plundering his mouth.
(If this is a dream, may he never wake up.)
--
“Well, Cuocuo seems well,” Jian Lan says, cooing at Cuocuo before looking back at Feng Xin and Mu Qing. “And you two seem—closer.”
Mu Qing flushes, very aware of how close Feng Xin is standing next to him, brushing their hands together. “We—we’re good,” he manages to get out.
“Very good,” Feng Xin says smugly, plying Cuocuo with more plushies that Mu Qing had made. “And Cuocuo finally learned to use his hands!”
“Because he’ll need them with how many toys you got him,” Jian Lan says dryly, sticking the extra plushies in a bag. “Well—I’m glad for you two. I’ll be back in a month with him again since it seems you can survive him, and give my regards to His Highness and Chengzhu.”
“What does that mean?” Mu Qing asks, suddenly suspicious.
Jian Lan shrugs, “Just that whenever you see them, please let them know that I expect better Ghost City privileges now.”
(Did—
Did that crimson brat have anything to do with why Jian Lan had suddenly decided to finally show up?)
“You’re too suspicious,” Feng Xin says after Mu Qing relays his suspicions to him.
Mu Qing scowls at him, “And you’re not nearly suspicious enough!”
“That’s what I have you for. Besides—I’m not even mad,” Feng Xin says easily, wrapping his arms around Mu Qing’s waist. “After all—we’re finally together now, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but—but I don’t like the idea of owing that crimson brat anything!” Mu Qing spits out, snuggling closer to Feng Xin.
“Well—yeah, he’ll probably show up at the worst possible time and make us do something for him that he can’t be bothered to do but—you know what, whatever he wants is worth it,” Feng Xin says, burying his face into the side of Mu Qing’s neck. “You’re worth it.”
Mu Qing gently touches Feng Xin’s hands clasped around his waist and mumbles very quietly, “…you are too.”
He can feel Feng Xin smile into his neck as he kisses him there. “Finally got you to tell me the honest truth.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing grumbles, half-heartedly squirming a bit away.
Feng Xin pulls him more firmly into his arms, “Make me,” he says, his eyes glittering with the challenge.
And as always, Mu Qing cannot help but rise up to Feng Xin’s challenge.