Work Text:
Everyone adored Xie Lian.
Everyone, girls and boys and all genders alike, swooned over the distinguished and eminent crown prince, singing flowery praises as he walked past.
It was safe to say pretty much the entire kingdom was in love with Xie Lian.
Mu Qing knew.
He knew, because it was shoved in his face everyday.
Of course, Qi Rong already could never shut up about his cousin, constantly shouting about how amazing his cousin the crown prince was, how cousin crown prince was the fucking best at literally everything and was gonna fucking ascend any time soon now, just you fuckers watch.
What Mu Qing wouldn't give to block out Qi Rong's annoyingly booming, grating voice.
Feng Xin wasn't any better. He was perpetually following Xie Lian around like a lost puppy, hero-worshipping the prince, almost like a second Qi Rong. (They were both loud, annoying morons, as far as Mu Qing was concerned.) It was nauseating.
But it wasn't just them.
Everyone clamored for the crown prince's attention. As Xie Lian's attendant, Mu Qing was forced to pause with him every time someone stopped to greet the crown prince. To say it was annoying was an understatement. Mu Qing just wanted to walk in peace in the Royal Holy Pavilion without halting every half a li to wait for Xie Lian to finish chatting with someone, for heaven's sake.
Even that creepy bandaged kid who Xie Lian saved was practically in love with him, his grubby hands refusing to let go of Xie Lian and even jumping at the chance to enlist in the army to fight for the prince, a couple of years later. As if joining the army at that age was such a great thing, as if throwing his young life away for Xie Lian was such a great honour.
Mu Qing hated it.
He positively despised the way the entire kingdom orbited around Xie Lian like as if the sun itself shone out of his royal ass.
So he ignored whatever the hell his chest did when Xie Lian praised him on his swordsmanship.
No matter how Xie Lian's smiles made his ribs feel tight, no matter how Xie Lian's arm around him made his skin burn, he ignored it, pushed it down, buried those feelings deep enough to ensure they would never see the light of day.
Because Xie Lian was His Highness The Crown Prince, born in the lap of luxury, and Mu Qing hated people like him, people whose feet everyone fell at just because their parents were loaded with gold.
Because Xie Lian was His Highness The Crown Prince, the arrogant darling of the kingdom who everyone worshipped, and Mu Qing had never wanted to be just another one of the planets orbiting around His Royal Highness.
Because Xie Lian was His Highness The Crown Prince, the only person on that accursed mountain who never looked down on him, instead treating him with nothing but kindness, extending a helping hand to him time and time again no matter how often Mu Qing snapped at him, and Mu Qing knew that he could never match up to someone like Xie Lian, not in a million years.
Of course, Mu Qing isn’t stupid.
He doesn’t miss the way Xie Lian’s entire face lights up when Hua Cheng enters a room, or the way the two of them gaze at each other, as if time stopped and they were the only two people left in the whole world.
He doesn’t miss the way during the twelve months that Xie Lian waited for Hua Cheng to come back, Xie Lian seemed to stare right through the people around him. He’d listen and nod and answer, of course, lips always curved in a gentle smile, but his brown eyes were a little vacant, a little dim, never quite exactly focused on whoever was in front of him.
And he didn’t miss the way Xie Lian had looked when Crimson Rain Sought Flower had dissipated into butterflies - frozen to the spot, arms still held open in an embrace, as if petrified into stone. As if when Hua Cheng faded away, he took Xie Lian’s fresh and pumping heart with him.
Nor did he miss the way Xie Lian practically almost had a panic attack when he thought something had happened to Hua Cheng, back in Tonglu, or the way Xie Lian had answered automatically without even thinking when Mu Qing had asked him, You really like him, huh? Mu Qing had swallowed hard then, and looked away, fingers tightening around his sabre, determinedly ignoring the way his chest felt like something had splintered in it.
Mu Qing isn’t stupid enough to miss any of this, and he isn’t stupid enough to feel something as base as jealousy, either. And if his expression gets complicated when Xie Lian talks about his good San Lang, that’s exactly no one's business.
On the day of the celebration of Puqi Shrine's rebuilding, Mu Qing and Feng Xin watch as Xie Lian and Hua Cheng leave the feast hand in hand, stealing away when they thought no one was looking, heads bowed close to one another's, whispering words only the two could hear.
Feng Xin huffs out a laugh. “Fucking hell, I still can’t believe it,” he muses, “that of all people, it’s that little bandaged rascal who ended up catching his eye, in the end! Who would have thought?" Feng Xin shakes his head. "He really does love the fucker, huh?”
Mu Qing doesn’t respond, trying not to zero in on the red knot of fate shimmering between Xie Lian’s and Hua Cheng’s tightly intertwined fingers.
Feng Xin turns to look at him, and stares for a moment. “What’s with that funny look on your face?” he asks.
“...”
“What’s with that look on yours," Mu Qing shoots back snidely. “Jealous of a ghost king?”
Feng Xin laughs, loud and hearty. “Maybe once,” Feng Xin says when he’s done laughing. “Eight hundred years ago. Not anymore, thank fuck.”
Mu Qing stares.
“What the fuck?” In a moment of weakness and pure shock, Feng Xin’s favourite expletive slips out of Mu Qing's mouth. “What the fuck, you?”
He knows Feng Xin has always acted like he was practically in love with Xie Lian, but… He didn't think it was literal. Feng Xin has always come off as the straightest of the three of them, after all.
So, Feng Xin isn't straight, either. Mu Qing raises an eyebrow to himself, internally. Huh.
“The fuck do you mean, ‘me’?" Feng Xin retorts. "Who didn’t have a crush on him? He’s taizi dianxia.”
Mu Qing grits his teeth at the reminder of Xie Lian’s status, the exact reason Mu Qing despised him. To say Mu Qing's feelings are complicated is an understatement.
“Wait,” Feng Xin starts, gawking at Mu Qing as realisation dawns on him. “Holy fuck, you too?" He turns fully to stare directly at Mu Qing. "What the actual holy fuck, you?”
Mu Qing’s temper flares. He hates being reminded of this weakness, that in the end he too was just another one of the idiots with a silly, pathetic crush on the darling crown prince.
“You’re one to talk,” he snaps at Feng Xin. “You, who fell for a ghost and had an ugly little demonic offspring?”
Instantly, Feng Xin’s face changes, and he shouts, “Shut the fuck up! Shut your fucking mouth, I didn’t fucking know - she, and it - he - they weren’t fucking ghosts back then!”
"Can't believe no one else was smart enough to realise you were the one who fathered that ugly little thing," Mu Qing snipes. "It looks just like you, after all."
"WHAT THE FUCK!" Feng Xin roars. He swings his arm, about to throw a punch, but Mu Qing jumps out of the way, dodging easily.
At the ruckus, a few of the other guests at the feast turn to look at them, before they realise it’s just Generals Xuan Zhen and Nang Yang back at their daily screaming sessions once again, and they promptly lose interest, turning back to their own conversations and meals.
Meanwhile, Feng Xin is still fuming at Mu Qing, fists clenched.
"It was just a joke, what are you so worked up for?" Mu Qing answers innocently, brushing some imaginary lint off his sleeve.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Feng Xin yells. "FUCK YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY!"
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, unimpressed by Feng Xin’s dull, recycled insults. "My family is already long dead, we're 800-years-old, remember. You really need to start coming up with better insults."
"Fuck your bitchy ass then!" Feng Xin corrects.
"Fuck it yourself if you dare, coward," Mu Qing snickers, holding Feng Xin's gaze, tilting his chin up in a challenge.
"What the fuck - WHO WANTS TO FUCK YOUR BITCHY ASS!!" Feng Xin hollers indignantly. His face has reddened somewhat, in rage or fluster, Mu Qing definitely isn’t curious to know.
"Didn't you just say it yourself?" Mu Qing smirks, crossing his arms. Feng Xin really is too easy to rile up, and Mu Qing isn't totally enjoying himself, what are you talking about. "Or - no, how could I forget, wasn't it actually Dianxia you wanted to - "
"Shut your fucking mouth!" Feng Xin glares at him, nostrils flaring. "Even if we're not his servants anymore, he's still our friend, so watch your tone!"
Mu Qing stiffens.
He and I were never friends the way you two were, he thinks and does not say.
They glare at each other for a moment, the past hanging between them thick as wildfire smoke, before Feng Xin looks away. He goes to refill his wine, still muttering indignantly under his breath. Mu Qing recrosses his arms and stares at a point on the floor.
When Feng Xin comes back, Mu Qing breaks the silence first.
Quietly, not looking at Feng Xin, he says, "When did you… realise?"
Feng Xin furrows his brows. "Realise what?"
Mu Qing rolls his eyes.
"When did you realise you…” He trails off, has to resist the urge to gag at the distasteful words he doesn't want to enunciate. “...You know... About Xie Lian," he finishes, opting to leave out those frankly disgusting words in the interest of not retching all over the shiny floor of the newly rebuilt Shrine. See, he is so considerate towards Xie Lian.
"Oh, that. You mean, when I realised I had f-f-feelings for our f-f-friend?” Feng Xin mocks, a big dumb grin on that annoyingly handsome face of his, and instantly, Mu Qing bristles.
“Shut your goddamn mouth!” he hisses, incensed. “Why the fuck am I even still talking to you two morons! One of these days I’m going to die of rage and you will both know who to blame!” he snaps.
He wishes the heavens would just send a bolt of lightning to strike him right now so he wouldn’t have to have this conversation. Damn Xie Lian, and damn Feng Xin, and damn every one of the imbeciles that Mu Qing is forced to put up with on a daily basis. What exactly he did in his past life to deserve this is, is utterly beyond him.
He only realises that he’s accidentally muttered all that out loud when Feng Xin throws his head back and straight-up howls with laughter - open and bright and unrestrained, tears coming out of his eyes, and Mu Qing’s eyes definitely do not fall on his tan, muscled neck, and Mu Qing’s chest definitely does not do something as ridiculous as jolt at the sound of that laugh.
Feng Xin is still doubled over as he straight up wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes, “Fucking hell, Mu Qing, you’re fucking hilarious, I haven’t laughed that hard in four centuries at least! In fact, the last time might have been when I heard Taizi Dianxia’s god-awful password.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes at the reminder. Why the strongest martial god in the heavens had such an appallingly lame sense of humour was beyond him. Not for the first time, Mu Qing questions what exactly he, and everyone else, saw in Xie Lian.
At the mention of Xie Lian, Feng Xin’s face finally grows serious as he reflects on Mu Qing’s question. “I didn’t realise at first,” he admits.
Feng Xin takes his time, swirling the wine in his cup, drawn back into the 800-year-old memories of their teenage years on Taicang Mountain.
Mu Qing waits.
“Because I’d always looked up to Dianxia,” Feng Xin continues at last, and Mu Qing snickers, interrupting.
“Really? I couldn’t tell."
“Shut up."
Feng Xin continues, “I lived with him since we were 14, which means I basically grew up with him, you know. He was…. Amazing. Fucking brave, best swordsmanship in the whole kingdom, strong and good-hearted at the same time. But then I realised, underneath that admiration, that loyalty, was…” Feng Xin shakes his head, takes another swig from his alcohol. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I saw how he was so focused on his cultivation books and his swords that he didn’t look at anyone twice. A few hopeful children of nobles would give him gifts, and he’d always smile and thank them, but he never saw anyone as anything other than a friend."
Mu Qing remembers it, the way Xie Lian had run around practising martial arts and focusing on cultivating, honing his skills, only caring about his goal of ascension to save the common people, blind to everything else. Blind to the way the people around him fell over themselves to win his favour.
“But you were close to him,” Mu Qing interjects. “You were his closest friend, back then.” He will never admit it even if you hold him at sword-point, would rather die than admit it, but he spent most of his youth secretly envious of how the other two were close to each other in a way they never were with him. Of course, that was before he got used to the fact that he will always be disliked by most people around him, regardless of what he did.
Feng Xin waves a hand, scoffing. “Pfft, we were never like that. We were more like… Brothers, probably. Or as much like brothers as we could be with our different positions. In any case, I met Jian Lan eventually. And you know the rest.”
Mu Qing does know. He won’t admit it if you asked, but he almost feels sorry for Feng Xin. As bad as Mu Qing thinks his luck is, he has to admit Feng Xin’s is pretty much worse. It makes him feel a little better about his own lot, but it also makes him feel a twinge of something akin to pity, for Feng Xin.
Mu Qing frowns at himself. Maybe living for this many centuries really has made him go soft.
After taking another chug of his wine, Feng Xin speaks up. “When was it for you?”
Mu Qing wants to play dumb, doesn't want to answer this question, but Feng Xin repeats it, thinking Mu Qing hasn’t heard. “When did you realise you felt something?”
Mu Qing’s face changes.
When was it?
Was it when Xie Lian first lied to cover up for him, when Mu Qing had picked up the gold foil? Or later when Xie Lian complimented his martial arts skills and Mu Qing had felt the corners of his traitorous mouth tugging up, despite being determined to despise the prince’s guts? Or when Xie Lian saved him from the trainees who were about to beat him to the ground, and gratitude and relief washed over Mu Qing, at the same time that resentment made bitter words spill out of his mouth?
Or was it instead when Xie Lian had yelled at 33 heavenly officials, Mu Qing isn’t like you all, he’s my friend, he would never help you! and Mu Qing had realised with the shameful, sobering force of a slap, that Xie Lian had never hated him, not for a moment, that in fact all along he’d had Xie Lian’s friendship, the very thing he had so pathetically yearned for?
In the end, Mu Qing crosses his arms and shakes his head. “It's not like it matters anymore, it’s all in the past.”
It was over the moment Hua Cheng waltzed into Xie Lian’s life, eight hundred years later. Neither of them stood a chance. Feng Xin and Mu Qing have known Xie Lian longer than anyone alive, and in eight hundred years, they have never seen Xie Lian look at anyone like this, like as if Hua Cheng hung up the moon and all of the stars in the damn sky.
And they all saw the way the newly-wed glow practically beams from Xie Lian’s skin. Xie Lian was always smiling, but after Hua Cheng came back, his smiles seemed a lot bigger, and much more radiant than before, as if any happiness he had previously experienced was only a shade of whatever his San Lang made him feel now.
In the end, Mu Qing knows, not a single one of them had ever stood a chance. As long as those two still exist in the world, they would never so much as spare a glance for anyone else.
And the thing is, Mu Qing isn't stupid. He isn't stupid enough, or selfish enough, to continue clinging onto someone after they have already found joy with someone else.
So, Mu Qing lets go.
He moves on.
After a pause, he speaks. “A crown prince whose type turns out to be a ghost king, and a wife who left you and ended up a ghost. Both of us really have terrible luck, huh?”
Feng Xin laughs. “We sure as fuck do.”
Feng Xin reaches for his cup again, about to finish the last of it, but before he can, Mu Qing grabs it, downing the last of Feng Xin’s wine.
Mu Qing has never quite liked alcohol, never enjoyed the way it burns down his throat, but this time, it feels strangely cathartic. Washing away the past or some sentimental drivel like that.
Besides, he has another motive.
Feng Xin yelps when he realises his hand closes over nothing. He’s leaping to his feet in an instant. “WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK! DID YOU JUST DRINK MY WINE??!!”
Mu Qing snickers, smug. “And what about it? What are you going to do to me? Shoot me with your arrows in front of everyone?”
As Feng Xin chases him around the shrine, roaring curses and fuming at how Mu Qing nimbly dodges his every lunge, Mu Qing realises that, despite himself, he’s laughing.
Distantly, he thinks, this may be the first genuine laugh he’s had in a pathetically long time.
Perhaps even centuries.
(And when, a few days later, Feng Xin and Mu Qing crash to the ground in a heap after one of their fights end disastrously, and Mu Qing can hear both of their heart rates quickening at the proximity, all he can think is, Oh. Fuck.
He really has to start getting rid of the ludicrous and masochistic habit of falling for people he shouldn't.)