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It hardly matters if they aren’t found. Neither of them will die here.
Having survived wars, long before they achieved godhood. Having lived long in the hearts of their petitioners, a permanent weight. Beyond the fall of equally powerful Gods in similar stations to their own, they would not follow suit. It does not matter what came before, or what comes after. An adamant refusal to let go, if only because the hands that have bestowed this opportunity to him are not hands Mu Qing respects.
That’s assuming there is anyone out there he respects enough to deliver such a punishment. The mere thought is laughable.
They would not die here, because he’s ordained it as much. Staunch denial sets firm in the pull of his jaw as he tends to Feng Xin’s wounds, wrapping the torn sleeve of his robe around his arm while proper bandages hugged at his torso. A chorus of soft plats on the ground emanates from the cave entrance are his audience, small rolling trails of water making their way in.
He’s grateful for the elevated rocks he’s found, giving Mu Qing some place dry to work with. At the sight of Feng Xin’s slow breathing, he feels a touch at ease. It gives him something to focus on other than the quick twitches of his face when Mu Qing presses into the gashes at his side.
Troublesome, deeply troublesome.
Such injuries, they should be able to heal them, but the trouble with spirits is that there’s such a thing as being ill equipped. Martial deities in their own right, their strength is expansive, but there is a finite amount of it. Mu Qing isn’t one to linger on potentials when he has very little to go on. Instead, he opts for getting angry at feeling set up. The Palace of Ling Wen’s occasional incompetence is one thing but getting injured because of it is--
Unsteady hands linger a second too long, dip forward a bit too much against Feng Xin’s injuries. He groans softly in response, turning his head away. Thankfully, he doesn’t wake up. It gives Mu Qing time to bring himself back, adjusting the wrapping appropriately before sliding back down to the second step up the incline. Once he’s settled, an overwhelming exhaustion fills his core, mixing with the ache from his own wounds.
He doesn’t have the energy to bandage his leg yet, opting for hissing as he stretches it out as best he can before falling limp against the rocks. Mu Qing sighs, firm in his resolve as his gaze flits up to the ceiling. He remains unshaken, even as his eyes struggle to stay open.
They won’t die here, because he’s stubborn. Because if something so pathetic topples the pillars of their glory, then they were never worthy of them in the first place.
When consciousness graces Mu Qing again, the pattering of the rain beyond them has gotten significantly worse. Countering that, is how much lighter it's gotten outside from when they first arrived. He doesn’t have a good handle on the time, but Mu Qing peels himself off the rock regardless, climbing back up to where Feng Xin rests neatly.
Bleary eyes open when he gets closer, greeting him with a crinkled gaze. Feng Xin, despite the dark spaces under his eyes, looks relatively relaxed.
“Don’t say anything.” Mu Qing orders quickly, ignoring the unintended sharpness of his voice as he settles, perched at the edge. “Don’t waste your time moving either.”
Feng Xin’s eyebrows raise at that. When he speaks up, there’s a deep lethargy sewn into his words, like speaking alone leaves him winded. “Normal people as a guy if he’s okay first.”
“You’re talking, aren’t you? What’s the use in asking.” Mu Qing answers, swinging around.
A sharp pain jolts up his leg and it’s with carefully measured exhales that he’s able to reign it in, doing well to hide the nature of his own condition from Feng Xin for now. Always the protective type, he has enough problems to deal with without Feng Xin deciding that Mu Qing is somehow the priority. It’s nothing he hasn’t had to deal with before, and while Feng Xin has gotten better about it, it’s simpler to take unnecessary precautions than sit idle.
“So, where are we then? Since you seem to be calling the shots.” Feng Xin asks flatly as relief floods Mu Qing’s body.
He hasn’t noticed yet.
Mu Qing turns his attention toward the entry point of the cavern, where sigils line the entrance, dug deep into the earth to keep them from being washed away by the storm overhead. The barrier is nothing so powerful that it’d withstand something stronger than the one who put it down, but it’s enough to conceal their preference. That, and their seemingly stifled spiritual power prove to be their allies.
Turning his attention back toward Feng Xin, he scoots closer to check the bandages, despite the visible reluctance clouding Feng Xin’s features.
He doesn’t take the bait in the end. “Wrath level ghosts, rotten vermin.” Mu Qing mutters as he smooths out the wrinkles on the binding wrapping Feng Xin’s torso. “There was a miscalculation, and I’m sure you remember getting injured.”
Against Mu Qing’s wishes, Feng Xin starts trying to sit himself up. Muscles strain and his jaw goes tight, face partially obscured by loose hairs now framing bare shoulders. His fist curls into the cool stone as he leans into it for support.
Light finds little perch this far into the cave, instead highlighting spaces where dark reigns supreme. Feng Xin manages to wear it well, making a fine cut of himself against glistening rock. Intimidating, if only somewhat.
Golden eyes pierce through him, but Mu Qing hardly falters under them. He’s not that weak yet. “What I remember.” Feng Xin starts, voice rough with ache. “Is something coming out of nowhere. Normally, these bastards don’t come for me, guess I was caught off guard but--”
A purposeful pause, and Mu Qing lets himself appear distracted, eyes turned anywhere else to avoid looking at Feng Xin directly. All it does is let his ear catch the low reverberations of Feng Xin’s voice better. A shiver travels down his spine to the tips of his fingers, curling deep into his thigh before Feng Xin continues. “Then there’s you. If I was down for the count, why didn’t you take it on?”
Why didn’t he-- What a stupid question.
“Do you think me perfect?” He asks plainly, not once properly turning his way. “Wrath level spirits are meddlesome, we have other things to worry about.”
Feng Xin leans in a tad. “What I think you are is prideful.” A snarl dances in his words, and Mu Qing’s eyes close. “I think you wouldn’t let some bastard take you out, even if I got hurt--”
Mu Qing snaps his head toward him, leaning close. A battered hand supports him as he seethes, face no more than a breath away from Feng Xin’s. So close he can see the flecks of brown in his irises. “Would you rather I left you there, General Nan Yang? Better feed you to the wolves than let myself become a meal--”
Feng Xin, never one to control his temper, lashes out. “Just like always, you’re not fucking listening! How hard is it to say that there’s something wrong with your-- MHPH!”
Mu Qing quickly clamps his hand over his mouth.
He nearly blacks out from the pain alone, the sudden movements too much for his bruised body to handle, leaving heaving gasps in the wake of shooting pain. Feng Xin’s eyes widen and Mu Qing hisses low. Breathless, his words tumble. “You colossal idiot you’re going to get us killed.”
Feng Xin rips Mu Qing’s hand away. “It’s still alive? Mu Qing, what the fuck--”
Mu Qing promptly cuts him off. “It has a strange effect, something the Palace of Ling Wen neglected to mention. Something about it stifles spiritual power. I didn’t notice until after you got hurt, idiot.”
Feng Xin frowns, then focuses on the bandages covering a fair portion of his upper body. “You act like I haven’t been hurt before.”
“You would’ve healed by now.” He says, hoping that phrase alone has enough weight to it that it sticks the landing in Feng Xin’s thick skull. “Whatever. It has something special it can do that we don’t know about. Right now, it doesn’t know where we are, so don’t yell. We won’t be able to fight anything if we’re caught like this.”
Feng Xin stares at him, long enough for Mu Qing to see the anger clouding his eyes visibly dissipating. His breathing doesn’t even out much, but he says gently. “You also got hurt.”
“It hardly matters.”
“You keep saying that, when it does. Have you even looked at it?” He tosses back unflinchingly, pointing with his eyes.
Mu Qing sneers, but his words are honest ones. “Haven’t had the time.”
Just as he finishes his sentence, he reaches a hand up to push Feng Xin back down gently. He goes with little resistance. As his hair splays out against the solid surface underneath him, Mu Qing moves to touch the tattered robes he’s wrapped around his bicep. Blood marrs his fingers when he pulls them back, meeting the visage with a grimace.
“You’re not gonna show me, are you?” Feng Xin asks through grit teeth as he works to relax.
“I don’t have to show you anything. You just sit there and shut up.”
Pulling out small medicinal pouches he keeps tucked away in the folds of his clothes, Mu Qing works on shucking off the outer layer with his back partially turned to Feng Xin. It takes a bit of shimmying to remove it without moving his leg, but he manages to get it off, tossing it to the side before refastening his belt around white under robes.
There’s an unsettling cold that greets the exposed parts of his neck and chest, pointedly ignoring the dark red staining the now visible parts of his pant leg, too focused on tearing his outer robe into manageable strips.
Feng Xin’s eyes remain trained on him. “I can fucking smell it, you know.”
Once the new set of replacement bandages are ready, Mu Qing pulls off the set he’d hastily placed around Feng Xin’s arm who knows how long ago. His methods aren’t the cleanest, but even the smallest drip of spiritual power can burn away any infection. Less to worry about.
“Cover your nose, then.” He says as he places a smattering of medicinal power right on the open wound, with Feng Xin inhaling sharply as a result. Once he’s relaxed again, Mu Qing places the new wrapping down.
Hissing through his teeth, Feng Xin murmurs. “Can’t be a little more gentle, can you?”
Leaning in once he’s fastened the makeshift bandages to keep them from unraveling, Mu Qing hums low in his dissent. “For the likes of you? Never.”
“Get off on being a fucking liar?”
When Mu Qing refuses to dignify that with an answer, Feng Xin tsks, finally closing his eyes. Free from metaphorical constraints for the time being, Mu Qing has time to notice the uncomfortable feeling pooling in his right boot.
With Feng Xin placated for the time being, he slips back down to the second level. It takes a great deal of effort not to groan loudly when he hikes his right leg up just enough to slip his shoe off. Blood streaks freely down the exposed pale skin of his ankle, dressing the length of his foot in a deep red. Displeased, he reaches blindly for two of the strips he’s made. One to settle over the flayed skin of his calf, the other to wipe down the excess blood.
The pain is something he’s known before, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. Mu Qing bites fiercely into his bottom lip as he gingerly works around the extent of his own injuries, flopping back against the incline weakly only when he’s managed to slip his shoe back on.
Evidently still awake, Feng Xin pipes up, his voice slicing through the peace. “You never told me what your plan is.”
“Who knew the great General Ju Yang would be so willing to rely on such a lowly servant God.” He snips, though his words lack any ferocity.
Feng Xin puffs out what sounds like a chuckle. “If you don’t have a plan you can just say so instead of twisting my words.”
“Hmph.” Mu Qing stares up at the stalactites decorating the impromptu roof over their hands. Dingy hands lay neatly, further dirtying cream colored robes. The answer, he finds, is relatively simple.
“Recover, and then we destroy the bastard.”
“No shit.” Feng Xin sounds tickled by the admission, and though Mu Qing doesn’t bother to turn around, he can imagine the slight shake of his head. “Not exactly your brightest fucking plan, but I guess it works.”
It doesn’t matter--
“I don’t give a damn, it’s all we need.” Mu Qing replies sharply, lacing his fingers together. “I will not die under terms I have not agreed to.”
“Wasn’t aware you needed to agree to the terms of your own death.” The tone he uses is strange, twisted in some way. Not resentful or solemn, but Mu Qing lacks the capacity to properly give it any more reflection.
He decides to refocus. “Be quiet and focus on circulating your spiritual power instead of talking.”
“Fine.”
With peace of mind returning, Mu Qing feels he needs a moment of clarity, something the throbbing pain in his limbs won’t readily give him. Talking serves little purpose, his focus instead turns to the stuttering fluctuations of Feng Xin’s essence just behind him. Strong in their palpitations, understandably stronger than his own at the moment.
Opening his hand, he sets his hand out, collecting sparkling power at the heart of his palm. Predictably, the pulse is a lot more muted, cool as it swirls. Weak all the same. Far too weak for him to do much more than let the structure collapse in on itself.
Letting his eyes close again, he allows himself to drift into a partial meditative state with the intent of nursing his ailing body. The weight of his arms is too much to carry, and the drop drop of a steady downpour gives him something to count. Locked inside, at least, they don’t have to worry about being snuffed out. Yet, there’s a lingering anxiety that comes from not being able to pick up where the entity is.
No sense giving away their position by trying to reach out needlessly but…
What caused their ailment, he wonders, the inquiry dancing with the stead hum circulating in his mind.
When Feng Xin got injured, he should’ve bounced back rather easily. His power remained strong all throughout the morning. Something similar went for him, even if he wasn’t at full strength. The initial injuries Mu Qing had received trying to take the attention off of Feng Xin in anticipation for the back up that never came, even then he should’ve been fine. Snaggle tooth, gaping maw, perhaps something in the secretions lining the ends of razor sharp canines did it--
Ultimately he’s not sure why it did Feng Xin in, only that it did. Suddenly, there was a rather miserable mess to clean up. Gashes lining the side of his torso, aiming right where no armor lay. It’s a wonder that Mu Qing ended up able to make his escape. His leg paid a hefty price for the lack of foresight regardless.
He’s unsure how long he’s remained trapped in his thoughts when he comes back, only that Feng Xin’s energy is no longer radiating from behind him. When he turns around slowly, Feng Xin’s fat asleep again. A soft sigh leaves bruised lips, and Mu Qing grabs his saber from where he’s abandoned it, along with a small container.
Propping the scabbard against his leg, Mu Qing lurches off the rocks with it’s support. It’s painful work to limp to the cave's entrance. Once he’s there, however, he’s able to cling to the side wall, leaning up against it while reaching for the pouring rain. The sheer cold of the water brings about a sting to the still open cuts on his fingers, the chill seeping in, marked by a bone deep tremble.
All that matters is that the blood is gone from his hands and he’s able to uncap the clay bottle. Mu Qing would be a lot more picky about using rain water, but there’s little sense in trying to be now when they have few alternatives. Pleased when it’s full, he recaps it and drags himself back to their makeshift camp.
Climbing up the rocks without the use of his leg is a challenge, but once he’s up on Feng Xin’s level, he’s able to get a bit closer than before. Mu Qing sifts through the random assortment of crap he’s tossed around before settling on one pouch in particular.
Feng Xin startles slightly when Mu Qing comes closer, confusion immediately springing on his brow until he lands on the items Mu Qing’s holding. “What’re those?”
“Medicinal paste.” Mu Qing says plainly, setting the cup down as he scoots as close as possible. “Helps with the pain, might make it easier to move since we’re a bit short of time.”
“Think it’ll work?”
Mu Qing’s lips purse. “I don’t know.” He replies, letting the quiet moment go before continuing. “I’m going to lift your big fat head up so you can take this.”
Though Feng Xin grunts at the comment, he doesn’t say much else as Mu Qing eases him up. Despite the inherent knife-like quality to his words, his touch remains gentle, cradling Feng Xin against him. When he’s got him secure, Mu Qing slips two fingers into the pouch, scooping out a rather unseemly green paste.
When Feng Xin sees it, his expression twists considerably. “That looks like fucking snot.”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes, less than amused as he smooths the paste onto the tips of his fingers. “You’re an adult aren’t you? Act like it. Now, open up.”
With Feng Xin reluctantly parting his lips, Mu Qing pushes the concoction as best as he can onto his tongue. Feng Xin, because he can’t ever make things easy, closes his mouth around Mu Qing’s fingers. Biting back the hiss, Mu Qing reels back quickly, stifling the awkwardness threatening to bungle his movements.
“It tastes like shit.” Feng Xin finally says, coughing slightly.
Wiping spit off on his robes, Mu Qing picks up the bottle and holds it up for him. “Here, so you stop whining.”
“Damn, they let anyone work in medicine nowadays.”
Pressing the cup none-too-kindly to Feng Xin’s lips, Mu Qing scoffs while he washes down the acrid taste. “Why are you talking so much, are you that bored?”
When the cup is drawn away, Feng Xin shakes his head. “Just trying to make up for being trapped here with the biggest sore loser in the three realms.”
Mu Qing’s brow twitches in irritation, lips shaping some semblance of a pout. Except, now isn’t the time to get distracted. Somewhere out there lies danger, and he needs to prioritize the state of their well being if they’re going to formulate a strategy. Not that they often need to when things sort of fall together for them, usually.
Tucked deep in the man he’s holding lies a tumbling spiritual power, warm in nature, cool in color. He can feel it pulsing low where Mu Qing touches him, a flickering flame buried deep into his core. A power stronger than Mu Qing’s in this instance, not that it’s something he wants to admit. Still, that’s not saying much, neither of them is put together yet.
But he wonders if there might be a way to speed up the process.
“How is your spiritual power?” He asks abruptly, looking around.
“You don’t know?” It’s the start of an asshole remark, but Feng Xin sighs, going a little limp where he’s holding him. “It’s like you said, it’s there--but I don’t have access to all of it. Shit runs deep, apparently. Makes it hard to heal.”
Mu Qing nods slowly, watching Feng Xin rest against him, breathing weak. For as annoying as he’s been the entire time, a palpable fatigue settles across his brow. There’s no point wondering why, when he knows Feng Xin got hit the hardest.
There’s no point waiting too long to figure it out, when the weariness threatens to drown him too.
With him still cradled close, he manages to tip his head down, leaning forward against Feng Xin. There’s a look of surprise he can feel geared his way, but he elects to ignore it for now.
At the point where their foreheads touch, the energy he reaches out with is met with a soft resistance. There’s a stronger force pushing back.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The surprise has infiltrated his voice, along with something else, something coarse in nature.
Mu Qing remains unperturbed by it, words spoken gently. “You can return it back to me when you’re done with it.”
The palpable hesitation barring Mu Qing entrance eventually coils around him instead. Exhaling softly, he curls his spiritual power in. It serves more as an extension of himself as he establishes a connection between them, where he can further build Feng Xin’s healing capabilities.
There’s a quiet intimacy in feeling the damaged expanses of Feng Xin’s body, how it seeks to suffocate him. Something soft in how he can feel the slow simmering confusion, the knitting of gashes decorating Feng Xin’s skin. How Feng Xin twists against him in kind, drawing out a shudder where familiar energy seeks to discover what structures make him up.
Mu Qing’s acceptance comes easy, surprisingly, nothing but a deep inhale to mark it. Though, it’s to be expected when he knows him. How many times has this power been inside him. The occasional tap of hands, during the heat of battle, further powering each other when deemed necessary. Eons may pass, but there’s little Mu Qing recognizes with the same certainty as this.
Flowing throw meridians, dancing around one another. Clipped responses and the slightest measure of exhilaration when a fist just barely misses. This too, Mu Qing tucks away in the deepest part of his core along with everything else.
He knows he can’t stitch every wound, though. At the edge of his strength, Mu Qing reels back in time with Feng Xin, both of them staying tied around each other just a touch longer before letting go completely. When he meets Feng Xin’s eyes, they’re filled with something smoldering, crackling at the ends. For a weak moment, he wonders if he can convey something similar back.
There’s no real time for that, however.
Easing Feng Xin back down, Mu Qing shoves everything he’s scattered around carelessly out of the way to make getting back down to the second platform easier.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Feng Xin murmurs as he slides down.
He’s rolled slightly onto his side when Mu Qing angles his head to see him, indication that sharing energy has worked wonders. The fatigue settling deep in his limbs is more than worth it. “Think little of it, it’d make no sense to withhold something that might benefit us both.”
Feng Xin, uncharacteristically, says nothing to that. A brow raises, quizzical for a time, but in the end he does nothing more than lay back down. Mu Qing welcomes the given silence, lolling his head back around before relaxing against chill rock. The sharp pain in his leg has dulled to an uncomfortable throb, and though he can still feel some exposed muscle, it’s nothing he cares to label with greater importance.
Instead, he prioritizes circulating remaining spiritual energy, building up on what’s left, letting it fester until he has more to work with.
Someone like Mu Qing, however, often finds it impossible to sit still. When enough time has passed that he’s whittled down even the ache into something more manageable, he grabs his saber and stands himself back up.
There’s no point going further down the cave, given that he has no intention of leaving this place without taking down whatever it was that attacked them.
Hobbling as he goes, Mu Qing walks up to the opening of the cave again, standing just behind the carvings he’d made when they first arrived. The rain dousing the outside makes it hard to see, but with enough focus he’s able to pick up what feels like footsteps. Waiting cautiously, something makes its way beyond the grove of trees, shuddering under the weight of the rain.
Mu Qing doesn’t flinch when a hand touches his shoulder from behind, instead focused entirely on the lanky, burned corpse of a creature lurking just beyond their reach.
Gnarly teeth and a gaping maw become visible as it turns toward where they stand. What looks like a set of wide eyes peer at them, followed by the sound of chattering as it lurches on twisted legs. Mu Qing bares his teeth in silent retaliation.
Feng Xin orders in the quietest voice he’s ever heard him use. “It’s not onto us yet. I’ll go grab my bow, stay here by the sigils.”
“Mm.” Nodding in affirmation, Mu Qing waits until Feng Xin lets go to start adjusting his position.
His body cries under the strain but he hardly pays it any mind as he unsheathes his saber. There’s blackened splotches running along the normally pristine blade. Stained, but with no measure of success to go with it.
The acidic taste of failure burns his tongue, and he decides he will not falter this time. No matter how much his figure rattles, disregarding how he’s fracturing at the seams, Mu Qing’s pride will not allow this to end without swift victory by any means necessary.
There’s a voice in his head, in time with the ghost raising its bloated face in his direction. ‘Break the seal when you’re ready.'
Seeing no need to reply, Mu Qing’s hands steady their grip on the handle of his saber. The spirit slips closer, appearing taller the closer it gets. Crouched on all fours, its head slowly breaks through the wall of water fencing the entry point of the cave. The pitch black conceals him where he stands for the time being as he angles his saber over the markings.
The little ringlets that make up the eyes on its upside down face search, and Mu Qing--with the force granted by his remaining spiritual power--tears up the stone.
The seal broken, he’s promptly smashed into a nearby wall before the dust has a chance to settle, gasping as talons dig into his shoulder. A serpentine tongue seeps through just above his head, mocking. Mu Qing snarls at the incessant chatter, holding his saber tight when two bright lights smash into their opponent’s side.
An anguished cry rips out from the spirit, giving Mu Qing enough time to escape by jumping off to the side, completely indifferent to the agony crawling up his leg as he puts some distance between them. He can’t see Feng Xin, barely has the ability to sense him, but another set of arrows break through from the depths of the cave.
This time, an arrow smashes right into the ghoul’s eye, further angering it. Long limbs crash into rock as it rushes to charge, and Mu Qing in turn throws himself into its path, driving the length of his blade into its ankles. Any other time, he would’ve had the power to blow off its limbs with such a swipe, but he’s not so fortunate this time. His remaining power peters out just before it connects. Instead, Mu Qing is left without a weapon, sent careening off somewhere to the side where he can’t immediately see it.
He narrowly manages to twist in time to avoid being stomped, the power nestled in the center of his palm at its weakest.
“Che. Lucky.” He spits bitterly, crushing the flecks of energy he’s collected in his hand.
His enemy turns toward him, roaring in its displeasure. Mu Qing growls in return.
Those long legs lack nimble precision beyond the need to destroy, giving him ample opportunity to tumble roll out of the way of its next attack. Nothing else comes from the depths of the cave, and with so little spiritual power between them, he figures he needs to buy some kind of time--maybe.
If he can buy any time at all.
“Ugly!” It rumbles from above him, missing the next attempt to crush Mu Qing.
He huffs a laugh, lips shaping into a smirk. “I’ve been told this face is quite pretty. Jealousy is unbecoming. No wonder you’ve become so ugly.”
Outraged, presumably at his blatant disrespect, another swipe is sent in his direction. Mu Qing quickly hops out of the way, only to do it again. And again, and again. He’s stuck moving as quick as he can, working his brain for a plan. Without his weapon, with dwindling energy reserves, just what can he do?
Suddenly, he finds himself backed up against a wall, a wayward arm heading toward him. Gritting his teeth, he ducks underneath it. His foot catches on the newly made holes in the ground, sending him crashing into the ground less than gracefully.
“Ngh!” A grunt breaks free as he rolls to a stop, pain blooming anew in his still healing leg.
Once knit together gashes split clean open, and the sheer agony of it leaves him dizzy, vision blotting out temporarily as he works to gather his bearings. There’s not enough energy to deal with fresh wounds when Mu Qing hasn’t properly tended to old ones.
Ahead of him comes loud steps. When he looks up, it’s hovering its head just above him. The corners of its shattered mouth are curled into a smile, as if it knows he no longer has it in him to evade anymore. His eyes widen minutely.
They will not die here. This is not a fate he’s subscribed to. And even if it was handed to him by the heavens themselves, he’d never dare accept it!
Its mouth unhinges, opening up above him.
Swallowing his pride, Mu Qing calls.
“Feng Xin!”
Above his head, the creature stalls at the same time a yell greets his ears. The visage of his own blade jutting through the ghost’s center mass catches him off guard. But before it has a chance to retaliate, Feng Xin shoves the saber right through, pinning the creature to the cavern floor.
When he twists it, it screeches, writhing. The roar Feng Xin lets out as he twists it again can rival that of beasts.
Mu Qing comes back to himself when Feng Xin yells back. “Do it now!”
Taking what he’s got left, Mu Qing removes a small jar from the folds of his robes. Popping the lid off, he activates a seal, watching as the writhing spirit gets sucked in. It’s only when it disappears entirely into the bottle that he relaxes, content in their victory once the cork is in place.
Feng Xin’s breathing heavily, leaning on Mu Qing’s saber before finding the strength to get up. He pulls it out of the ground, walking the short distance where Mu Qing lays. Though he’s at his limit, he manages to stagger to his feet on his own. As he’s offered back his weapon, he swipes it.
Hands on his hips, Feng Xin straightens out, taking in deep breaths. “How long do you figure that fucking took?” Despite his own fatigue, Feng Xin looks filled with pride. Why? Mu Qing’s not exactly sure.
“Too fucking long. Just like it took you too fucking long to do something.” He mutters under his breath. Not that he really gives a shit about the time at this point.
As Mu Qing walks forward with bottle in hand, Feng Xin comes around and grabs him before he can topple over without wanting to. Mu Qing seethes his distaste at the gesture, but makes no effort to move away when Feng Xin hoists his arm over the tops of his shoulders. In the end, they walk together slowly toward the entrance of the cave.
Even with cloudy skies overhead, how bright the outside is in comparison to the dinginess of the cave makes Mu Qing’s eyes hurt. Not to mention that they’re immediately soaked to the bone. Despite the cold, as soon as they’re free, the weight he feels holding his power down lessons.
Feng Xin must feel it too, since he straightens out considerably.
He even looks ready to tell him something when Mu Qing inexplicably senses another energy signature manifest not too far from their location.
There’s nothing to worry about this time, at least, with Xie Lian approaching them in haste, a red umbrella propped up over his head. He even looks visibly elated to see them--despite injuries.
“Ah! You’re both okay!” He rings, before taking in the rest of their condition and amending. “Well, mostly.”
“What brought his highness out of his San Lang’s arms, I wonder.” Mu Qing drawls, second wind giving him the chance to walk on his own without Feng Xin’s support.
“Ah ha ha, Mu Qing mentioning that is unnecessary.” Xie Lian waves his hands, visibly embarrassed before clearing his throat. “The Palace of Ling Wen sent a message. You both were gone for some time, and everyone else was busy so…”
“Should’ve told her to fuck off, we had it under control.” Feng Xin grouses. “Sorry about getting you wrapped up in our mess, your highness.”
Xie Lian chuckles sheepishly. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Besides, I’m not a crown prince anymore, remember? You two should know that--”
“Let’s just say old habits die hard.” Mu Qing snaps, pushing the jar against Xie Lian’s chest. “But since you’re here. Get this back to the heavens and see what they want to do with it.”
He can practically see the question mark pop up above Xie Lian’s head when he examines the container, blinking. “Eh?”
Limping on ahead, Mu Qing snorts. “I’ll call my subordinates to come clean up the rest of this ill gotten mess later.”
From behind him, Feng Xin adds bluntly. “Tell Ling Wen Zhen Jun she’s becoming ineffective, too. Oh, and don’t let the son of a bitch out. It does weird shit.”
Xie Lian remains confused, but manages a smile anyway. “Ah? So it’s been handled, then?”
“Naturally.” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Who do these people take me for anyway? Calling me just because I’m in the area and acting like I wouldn’t be able to do my duties. How dare they.”
“Mu Qing. Taking things personally is bad for your health, it’s better if you just let it go since we know now how effective you are.” There’s a light thread of concern in Xie Lian’s words, so Mu Qing relaxes.
Just for a little while though.
“He’s just pissed because it was our honeymoon.” Feng Xin explains and Mu Qing wipes his head around to leer at him with the intent of popping his head with his gaze alone. “Oi, I didn’t say I fucking wasn’t pissed either so don’t look at me like that!”
Stifling a laugh, Xie Lian nods. “I see, I see. No need to explain any further, I’ll take care of the rest. Enjoy the rest of your day, Generals.”
Mu Qing doesn’t bother doing much more than hmph, with Feng Xin smiling bright enough for both of them. “Thanks, your highness. We’ll stop by your shrine later.”
“Take your time!” Xie Lian chimes pleasantly before heading further into the cave, tucking the jar into his sleeve.
Once Xie Lian is out of sight, Feng Xin quickly catches up to where Mu Qing stands waiting. His arms stay crossed, not sparing him a glance. Not even when he feels arms wrap around him from behind, with Feng Xin leaning over his shoulder to nuzzle against the side of his head.
“Gonna be a massive pain the ass the entire time now?” Feng Xin asks, a low hum draped over his tone.
Mu Qing growls in response, but within a few moments he’s turning his head, nuzzling back into Feng Xin in return. The rain doesn’t feel so cold like this, at least.
“Let’s just get out of here.”
Despite the aggression laced in his voice, Mu Qing welcomes the energized kiss he receives, melting into Feng Xin until he regrettably pulls away.
“Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here.”