Work Text:
Feng Xin should have known better.
He is not foolish enough to believe that his husband was accepted by the rest of their village. Tolerated, yes. But never accepted.
He didn't believe it was their fault. Their village was tight-knit, a place where their ancestors had all settled together at one point and had stayed there with their families for the generations to come. A village where everyone knew everyone, knew all the mothers, the fathers, the aunts and the uncles, and so forth.
It made sense then, that they would be wary towards strangers, towards outsiders. An unknown variable thrown into a familiar equation.
That was what Mu Qing was.
Mu Qing was the unknown variable, the anomaly Feng Xin had found half-drowned in a river near the base of the mountain. It had been in a stroke of luck that Feng Xin discovered his body while out on a hunt with a few men from his village.
The sight shocked him, his blood running cold as he rushed into the water, terrified that it was someone from their village.
Ignoring the chill of the river, Feng Xin had hauled the unconscious body onto the riverbank, hurriedly swiping the hair from their face. Though he dreaded it, he expected to see a face he recognized, perhaps the face of a neighbor or a farmer.
Instead, he saw the face of the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
Long eyelashes dotted with water droplets fluttered gently, a sign that the man was still alive. His skin was paler than snow, though Feng Xin believed it to be due to the fact he was just in a freezing river. Though tinged a worrying shade of blue, his lips looked soft and plush, like a flower petal in winter. His hair was long and black, a spill of ink staining the earth. He wore a simple black robe, tattered at the sleeves and the hem of the skirt.
The men he had been hunting with had rushed to his side, but he barely acknowledged them, eyes fixated on the man in his arms.
Then, the man opened his eyes.
His eyes were a dark grey, like the heavy rain clouds Feng Xin saw creeping in with the wind during autumn. Dominating the skies with their size, blocking the sun so all attention was on them.
The sign of a storm yet to come.
Those eyes narrowed slightly, observing him. Still in awe, Feng Xin only managed to utter dumbly, "Hi."
The man blinked at the greeting, elegant brows furrowing. His face quickly returned to its neutral expression.
"Hello," he responded back quietly. Ah, his voice, gentle and sweet like a songbird.
Feng Xin fell harder.
The man's eyes had fluttered shut again and Feng Xin finally snapped out of his stupor. He ordered his fellow hunters to go on ahead and alert the doctor, then picked up the man's body and hurried back to his village.
The next time the man opened his eyes he was lying in bed at the doctor’s, Feng Xin sitting on a stool beside him. The doctor leaned over, examining him. Questioning him.
“What is your name?”
“Mu Qing,” the man responded.
“How did you end up in the river?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Where did you come from?”
“The village on top of the mountain.”
“Do you live there?”
“I wish I didn’t.”
The doctor frowned. “Well, you seem alright. We can have someone help take you back up the mountain to your home.” Feng Xin jerked his head up in alarm.
Standing up from his seat quickly, he grabbed onto the doctor’s sleeve. “Shouldn’t we let him stay and rest before taking him all the way back home?” he asked. The doctor’s expression pinched and he shot a nervous glance towards the bed. Mu Qing was sitting up, expression blank as he watched them.
The doctor’s throat bobbed nervously. “Don’t you think it strange that he appeared out of nowhere?” he hissed to Feng Xin. “His answers are cryptic and vague, surely you have suspicions about him? It’s best to send him away as soon as possible.”
Feng Xin’s brow furrowed deeply. “Of course I think it’s strange. But he just had a foot in death’s door not too long ago. He’s probably scared.”
The two of them shot another look towards the bed. Mu Qing had not changed his position, posture straight and still as he stared at the two of them. He blinked.
The doctor snapped his gaze away immediately and Feng Xin could sense him faltering. He grabbed both of the doctor’s arms again. “Let him stay in my home then,” he said. “He can stay with me until he gets better, then I’ll personally take him back up the mountain. How does that sound?”
A moment passed, then the doctor nodded with a resigned sigh. “I’ll pack some medicine for you to take back with you,” he said. Shaking off Feng Xin’s grip, he went to the back of the building, leaving Feng Xin and Mu Qing alone.
Feng Xin turned his head, breath hitching when he met Mu Qing’s gaze. He walked over to the bed, crouching down so he was eye level with him.
“Hi,” he said again.
“Hello.” Mu Qing’s lip twitched in amusement.
“I’m Feng Xin. You’re going to stay with me for a little bit. Is that alright?”
Mu Qing tilted his head. “It’s alright, I guess.”
Feng Xin grinned widely.
So Mu Qing moved into Feng Xin’s home, a building surrounded by the homes of all the other villagers. He mostly stayed in bed while Feng Xin gave him medicine and attempted to cook meals for him.
He had been used to feeding himself and only himself for so long that he really had no idea what other people would think about his cooking. Though judging by the curl of Mu Qing’s lips and the wrinkle of his nose when he sipped the soup Feng Xin prepared, it was not a positive review.
“Sorry,” Feng Xin grimaced, taking the empty bowl from Mu Qing’s hands after he finished choking down Feng Xin’s disaster of a soup. “I’ll try and make something better tomorrow.” Mu Qing sniffed.
“Don’t. You’re a menace in the kitchen.” He smirked at Feng Xin. “I can handle the meals from now on. You just bring the ingredients.” Mu Qing got up from his seat and patted Feng Xin on the shoulder, humming as he made his way back to bed. Feng Xin’s heart did a flip as he clutched the empty bowl.
From now on. Wasn’t that a promise made by someone planning to stay?
And stay he did. The promise of taking Mu Qing back home up the mountain never fulfilled, because Mu Qing had found a new home in the walls of Feng Xin’s house, in the kitchen with the irony scent of blood from freshly killed meat, in the small and neglected garden Feng Xin had tried to cultivate that Mu Qing was now trying to salvage, and in the sheets of Feng Xin’s bed, tangled up in the other’s warm embrace.
There were whispers. There were criticisms. His neighbors, the ones who had seen him grow up, who he had grown up with would ask him Why haven’t you sent him away? He’s better now, isn’t he? Why does he remain in our village, in our house?
He stays because I want him to, Feng Xin said simply. He stays because I am in love with him.
The outcry was insurmountable. You should have sent him away as soon as you could, they cried at the village doctor. Now he has captured Feng Xin’s heart, and we will never be rid of him.
I know, I know, the village doctor said tiredly. But what can we do?
“I want to marry Mu Qing.”
It was a statement, vaguely disguised as a plea for permission. The village chief turned around, expression unreadable. Feng Xin and Mu Qing were kneeling on the floor, side by side.
“I would like your help choosing the best date for the ceremony,” Feng Xin continued. It is custom in their village for all to partake in the wedding ceremony, a joyous celebration shared by everyone.
Silence fell over the room. Then, “No.”
Fury flamed up in Feng Xin’s chest and he shot up. “No?” His voice was low, seething with anger.
“There are more pressing matters at hand right now. We haven’t had a good rain for months and this harvest is one of our worst. There is no time to plan a wedding.” The village chief turned his head, eyes narrowing at Mu Qing.
“But even despite all that, the people of our village will not willingly participate in a ceremony between you two. They will spit upon it, and wish you nothing but bad luck and tragedy.” The village chief looked at the two of them, his expression like stone. “That is the reality of it.”
Fingers curled into fists, nails biting deep into the flesh of his palm as Feng Xin shook with rage. Feng Xin’s face was dark, teeth-gritting. He opened his mouth, ready to let loose a string of curses, but stilled when he felt cool hands cover his fist. His mouth snapped shut immediately and he looked down.
Mu Qing was still kneeling by his side, expression cool and blank as if he wasn’t swayed at all by the village chief’s words. He rubbed circles over the back of Feng Xin’s hand, the rough pads of his fingers scratching gently over the flesh. When he spoke, his voice was soft.
“If they refuse to be part of our ceremony then forget them. I care very little about their approval on matters of this sort.” He got up from the floor, hands coaxing Feng Xin’s fist to uncurl. When Feng Xin’s hand relaxed, Mu Qing entwined their fingers together.
“If our union will be scorned regardless, then no need to waste time and choose a good date. Feng Xin and I will marry now. I only ask the village chief to be so kind as to be our witness.” The grip on Feng Xin’s hand tightened.
The village chief drew his lips into a thin line, eyes darting between the two men standing in front of him. His hand flexed and unflexed by his side.
“Alright,” he said.
And so Feng Xin and Mu Qing were married that night at the outskirts of the village, just by the edge of the woods, with the village chief standing by as witness and the moon and stars smiling down on them.
The news of their marriage spread quickly throughout the village, and true to prediction, was scorned and cursed upon regardless.
Feng Xin has always been optimistic. In hindsight it was wishful thinking, believing his village would come around to accept Mu Qing as one of their own. But he had always held out hope.
Those hopes were dashed when Mu Qing came home one day, black robes stained with the mush of vegetables and the sharp scent of rotting fruit. Feng Xin rushed to his side immediately.
“What happened? Who did this?” he demanded. Mu Qing looked up at him from under the fall of his bangs, eyes dark.
“Who do you think?”
He stepped around Feng Xin, undoing the sash around his waist and shrugging the soiled robes off to wash. Feng Xin remained where he was, frozen in both anger and disbelief.
“They called me a witch, did you know that? A witch. They think I cursed the harvest somehow as if I’m trying to bring on a famine.” He gestured to his clothes, covered in the remnants of failed crops. Mu Qing laughed, loud and hollow. “They’re empty-headed fools, the lowest scum I’ve ever had the curse of meeting.” He changed into clean robes, folding up the dirtied ones into a pile. He began walking out to do the laundry but stopped in his tracks, back turned to Feng Xin.
“I hate them, I really hate them.”
Such a sweet voice, but his words were cold as poison.
Feng Xin’s hands balled into fists. How dare they. How dare they.
“Fuck it. Let’s move. Move somewhere else. We can… we can build a new house, near the edge of the woods. Close enough to the village for supplies but far enough away so we won’t be bothered.” He exhaled, tension bleeding out of his body. “How about it?”
Mu Qing turned around to face him, surprise evident on his face. Then,
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
When Feng Xin had announced their departure to the village chief, the chief had been troubled.
“Your family has lived within our village for years,” he said, frowning deeply. “When your parents passed away, it was our village that raised you into the man you are today. And you are abandoning us?”
“Not abandoning,” Feng Xin said stiffly. “We’ll still be nearby. I’ll come into the village too, to say hello to everyone and such. I’m not...ungrateful for the things this village has done for me.” He raised his head, locking eyes with the chief. “But I have to protect my family, and that’s what Mu Qing is. I can’t protect him if we stay here.”
The village chief looked at him sadly. “I suppose you are right. Then go, Feng Xin. Visit often.”
Feng Xin bowed his head and left.
They built their new house in the same place they had gotten married, a little ways off in the woods and away from disapproving eyes. The location of their new home is a decent walk from the village, but certainly manageable.
“The chief wants me to drop by the main village whenever I have the chance,” Feng Xin said to Mu Qing. He was helping him do the laundry, passing the wet robes over for Mu Qing to put up.
Mu Qing paused in his movements. “You plan to go back?” he asked. His voice was cold.
Feng Xin looked away. “Only for a little bit, and only sometimes. They’re my village, Mu Qing.”
The wet robes unfolded with a sharp crack as Mu Qing shook out the excess water. He tossed it over the clothesline, the heavy movement causing the line to shudder. “Of course. They’re also the same village that cursed at me and tried to throw me out. Multiple times, in fact.” His movements were rougher now, more aggressive, and the constant jerking of the clothesline was proof.
Feng Xin winced internally. It was a heavy conflict for him, the warm childhood memories of growing up with the other boys in the village, of attending his neighbors’ weddings and of being cared for by the village mothers when his own parents couldn’t clashing with the memories of judgmental whispers being shared when people thought he wasn’t listening, with memories of dirtied robes, soiled from an assault fueled by anger and fear.
He was angry too, but his heart refused to let him cut ties off, just like that. He couldn’t tell if that was a marking of a coward or the marking of someone too loyal for their own good.
The laundry basket was yanked away from him. “Go back inside,” Mu Qing demanded. “I want to finish by myself.”
“You’re not putting me in a fair position, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing whipped around, eyes furious. “And what about me?” he snarled. “I’ve never been in a fair position in my entire life. The least I could do was choose the side I was on!” His chest heaved, the grip he had on the basket causing his knuckles to go white. Feng Xin swallowed, hands twitching by his side.
Finally, Mu Qing turned away. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” he asked coolly. Go back inside. I don’t want to see your face right now.”
Feng Xin obeyed.
That night, Feng Xin heard the bed creak as Mu Qing settled in on the opposite end. A moment passed, then Feng Xin felt those hands behind him curl into the fabric of his sleeves, tugging him back almost shyly. He huffed and rolled over, wrapping an arm around Mu Qing and pressing their bodies flush against each other. Mu Qing’s breath stilled, then resumed, warm puffs of air from his nostrils tickling Feng Xin’s neck.
How strange his husband was, always full of controlled and calculated anger in the day yet wanted nothing more to be held by the very person he was upset with at night. How strange, and how endearing.
He holds Mu Qing a little tighter that night, as he usually does whenever they have a bad fight, and lets the sound of Mu Qing’s breathing lull him to sleep.
When they wake up the next morning, limbs and sheets tangled together in a confusing knot, they snort and kick at each other playfully before managing to pull apart.
The fight, while not forgotten, is not addressed.
“Feng Xin, have you gotten skinnier since the last time we’ve seen you? Haven’t you been eating properly?” one of the village women chastised, pulling at Feng Xin’s cheek. Feng Xin winced and laughed.
“Auntie what are you saying? I’m the same as always.”
The women surrounding him humphed. “We rarely get to see you since you’ve moved out of the village. It’s normal for us women to be worried about you, hm?” There was a chorus of agreement, and more women shoved baskets of food into his arms. They were a lot thinner than the last time he had seen them, Feng Xin realized with a sinking heart. It really had been a poor harvest this year.
Feng Xin grunted, doing his best to adjust the number of things he was holding. “Well, I don’t like to leave Mu Qing by himself for too long. He won’t admit it, but he gets lonely when I’m not in the house with him.” He chuckled to himself, recalling Mu Qing’s poor attempt to hide his pout when he left to visit the village that morning.
Silence fell over the group, and Feng Xin looked around in surprise. At the mention of Mu Qing, they had fallen quiet, giving each other uneasy looks. Feng Xin mentally kicked himself in the foot. He should have known better to bring up Mu Qing, who was no doubt still a sore topic even months after they had moved out.
One of the women then piped up softly, “How is Mu Qing? Does he go out often?”
Relieved that the tension had broken, Feng Xin smiled again. “He’s doing well. He usually stays home, but he goes out on walks through the woods sometimes. Our wedding anniversary is coming up, so I’m figuring out what I should do.”
One of the women lit up excitedly. “Of course, your wedding anniversary!” She leaned in, almost conspiratorially. “If you’re looking for a gift idea, you should go hunt him something, something big so you two can have a grand meal. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach after all!” The rest of the women clamored their agreement.
“It’s almost winter, so it’s best to go hunting soon before all the animals make themselves scarce for the season,” another woman added helpfully.
Feng Xin mulled the idea over in his head. It certainly wasn’t a bad idea, and it wasn’t as if he had any other ideas to begin with. “That’s a wonderful idea, thank you Auntie,” he said. “I’ll ask him what he wants to eat and go hunt for it tomorrow morning, before the snow starts coming down more.”
“And speaking of winter…” Feng Xin pushed the baskets of food back towards the women. “You should be saving all these for yourselves. I’ll be fine, I promise.” The women protested vocally and after a moment of struggling Feng Xin finally settled on keeping only half the amount of baskets they were trying to push onto him.
He spared a look at the sun, a yellow orb slowly being hidden behind the mountains. “It’s getting dark. I better go back now.” He bid farewell to his village and hurried back home.
“What do I want to eat?” Mu Qing asked, puzzled. He was busy sorting through the baskets of food, scrunching his nose whenever he came across something he didn’t particularly like but putting it away all the same.
“Yes, for our wedding anniversary,” Feng Xin said, pillowing his head in his arms as he leaned on the table. “Anything you want, and I’ll hunt it down.”
“What I really want is for you to help me put away this food,” Mu Qing said drily as he finished emptying one of the baskets. Feng Xin scowled and grabbed a bun from a nearby basket, ripping a piece off and chucking it at Mu Qing. Mu Qing squawked indignantly and Feng XIn laughed, stuffing the rest of the bun in his mouth.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Mu Qing tilted his head back. “I guess… rabbit? We haven’t had rabbit in a while. I could make a stew for us.” He looked over at Feng Xin. “Can you do that?”
Feng Xin scoffed and got up from the table. “Who do you think I am? Of course, I can! I was the best archer in my entire village!” He made his way towards Mu Qing and wrapped his arms around his waist, receiving yet another indignant squawk. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Mu Qing’s neck. “I’ll hunt us the best fucking rabbit in the whole forest.”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Great. Now can you please help me go through all these baskets?”
The next morning, Feng Xin stocked his quiver with arrows, grabbed his bow, and met Mu Qing in front of their house. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “You better. Awfully rude to leave your husband alone on his wedding anniversary.” He tugged Feng Xin in by the lapels of his robe and tilted his head up. The kiss was gentle, sweet.
Feng Xin reluctantly drew away first. “I’ll be back soon,” he repeated again. Mu Qing waved his hand in goodbye, and Feng Xin headed into the woods.
Winter had been encroaching on them slowly, a beast stalking its prey silently, putting one foot in front of the other. The first snow had not yet fallen, but the air was chilled all the same. The leaves of the trees had collected into a blanket on the forest floor, crunching and crackling under Feng Xin’s boots as he made his way back home. Bow gripped in one hand, the bodies of two rabbits gripped in the other. He had been lucky enough to find two today, and fairly plump ones too.
He exhaled, clouds forming from his breath and swirling in the air. The house was in sight now, and he quickened his pace in excitement, ready to show off his lucky catch to Mu Qing.
But as he got closer, he began to notice.
The sun was setting soon, yet there were no candles lit inside the house to fend off the oncoming darkness of the night. There were no shadows of movement as there normally would be, when Mu Qing would flit around the house looking for things to fill the time because though he never admitted it to Feng Xin, he was easily restless.
The path that Feng Xin took from their house to the main village was more worn today, the soil splattered with the imprints of footsteps. Footsteps leading to the house, and footsteps leading back.
The door had been thrown wide open.
Feng Xin broke into a sprint.
He threw the prey down, the bodies hitting the dirt with a thump. He barged into his home, slamming a hand onto the door frame to keep himself from falling over when his feet stumbled and nearly gave out. Chest heaving, he looked around frantically.
The house was empty.
Feng Xin’s heart dropped like a stone.
“Mu Qing? MU QING? MU QING?”
His voice cracked and trembled as he called out his husband’s name over and over again, the sound reverberating through the walls of the empty house. Panic clutched at his heart, a fist squeezing him until he could barely breathe. As he scanned the house for any sign of Mu Qing, his gaze dropped to the floor, and he froze.
Raked along the floorboard were long, jagged lines where the wood had been scratched away. The lines made their way all the way to the threshold of the house, stained with blood in some areas.
Feng Xin shakily crouched down, running a hand over the jagged scratches in the wood.
Scratched away, like a bear raking its claws over the bark of a tree.
Scratched away, like a human clawing the ground in desperation, trying to get away.
Immediately, Feng Xin turned and looked outside. The village was visible in the distance. Yet despite the darkness from the setting sun, it was glowing with light.
The choking scent of ash hit Feng Xin, carried over by the bracing breeze.
No, not with light. With fire.
They called me a witch, did you know that?
His heart pounded frantically in his chest. Feng Xin stumbled back up to his feet and sprinted towards the village.
The heat from the fire drowned the entire village in warmth, the chill of winter swallowed by the flames. Feng Xin could feel the heat pressing against him relentlessly and he made his way towards the center of the village, shoving through the crowd of people gathered around the fire. Screams of Burn him, burn him! echoed through his skull, the sound only fueling his panic as he shoved another person out of his way. When he finally reached the front, his jaw dropped open in horror, eyes bulging at the sight.
Steady flames roared, eating away at the pile of wooden logs the villagers had gathered at the base of the stake. The embers crackled and spit, dotting the ground with tiny specks of light.
And there, tightly bound to the stake with thick rope, was his Mu Qing.
He was still dressed in the black robes Feng Xin had last seen him in. His hair, usually kept up in a neat ponytail at the top of his head, fell loose around his shoulders, strands sticking to his face. Though the tall flames obscured most of his body, the burns on his skin were evident, blooming across his flesh like patches. Feng Xin wants to believe he can make out tear tracks streaking down Mu Qing’s face, an irrational hope that the flames were not hot enough to have burnt away any signs of his pain.
But he knew how foolish that hope was when he looked at Mu Qing’s gaunt face, cheeks sunken in where the skin had shrunk and pinched.
The fire must have stripped his body of moisture a long time ago.
Feng Xin collapsed to his knees and screamed.
Impressive, it was, how despite the roar of the fire and the frenzied cheers of the villagers, the sound of his pain, raw and ragged, was the loudest sound that night.
His presence was finally acknowledged, and he felt strong arms looping under his armpits, holding him back, holding him down. A precaution in case he tried to hurt himself or hurt others he supposed. Or maybe, a precaution in case he tried to run towards the stake and grab Mu Qing? He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it.
How ridiculous, he thought almost crazily, that they thought there was enough Mu Qing left to grab.
There were people speaking to him, soothing him, trying to reassure him. But he paid them no attention. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the stake, from the corpse burning on that stake, because that was all Mu Qing was now, wasn’t he? A corpse.
A splintering crack resonated through the air and the stake finally gave way under the heat and fell down, taking Mu Qing with it as it was consumed by the fire.
The cheers from the villagers grew louder and Feng Xin sobbed even harder, screamed even harder. His throat was ripped raw, voice hoarse from the onslaught he put it through but he couldn't even find it in himself to care.
Mu Qing was dead.
Another crack as the wood splintered again, fueling the fire even higher, fueling the cheers even louder.
Mu Qing was killed.
A voice whispered into his ear, “It will be alright, Feng Xin. The evil is gone, you are free.” The village chief.
Mu Qing was murdered.
Feng Xin fell forward on all fours, hands gripping into the ground. The image of flames claiming his husband’s body was seared into his eyes like an iron pressing a brand to his skin.
His limbs finally gave out and he collapsed, head rolling to the side as darkness consumed him.
The screaming had stopped.
When he wakes, he is lying down on an unfamiliar bed in a vaguely familiar building. He is confused at first, then the memories of last night resurfaced, like rotting fish rising up to the surface of a lake.
The burning at the stake. Mu Qing’s charred body, trussed up like an animal before cooking. The glee of his village as the corpse succumbed to the flames.
His village had murdered his husband.
Feng Xin rolled over to the side of the bed and threw up.
In the midst of his vomiting, he heard a person enter the room and curse. Hands pulled the hair away from his face and rubbed soothing circles over his back. When all Feng Xin had left was dry heaving, a damp cloth rubbed over his face, cleaning away his distress.
He was laid back on the bed, hands pushing him down firmly. Feng Xin finally spared a glance at the person helping him. When he recognized the person’s face, Feng Xin’s expression darkened murderously.
“You.”
The village doctor stared back at him tiredly. “I’m so sorry, Feng Xin. I tried to stop them, I really did.”
Feng Xin’s body shook. “Were you there?” he whispered. “Did you go with them to grab him from our house?”
A nod.
Feng Xin swallowed and slowly sat upright. “What happened.”
“The village chief believed that Mu Qing was the reason behind all the bad luck the village had this year. In our years of living here, we haven’t had such a rough harvest until now. And the only thing that had changed was that you found Mu Qing and brought him into our village.” The doctor’s voice was nervous as he tried to hold onto Feng Xin’s gaze. “He, as well as many of the other villagers, planned to burn him. To burn away the evil. And then, our village will be blessed again.”
“So on the day you left to go hunt, I, as well as some other men, went to your house and took him.” His expression was pained. “I told them it wasn’t a good idea. I tried to stop them. But I couldn’t. I’m sor-”
A fist cracked against the doctor’s nose, drawing out a pained cry of surprise. He fell to the ground, grabbing at his now bleeding nose. A dark shadow fell over him and he frantically tried to scuttle away.
Feng Xin fisted the collar of the doctor’s robes and pulled him close. Over and over he swung his arm, pounding his knuckles into flesh and bone.
“You should have tried harder. You should have stopped them,” Feng Xin rasped, voice pained and trembling. Another crack of his fist caused a volley of blood to shoot from the doctor’s nose.
“You knew it was wrong. You were there. ”
Another punch. Another hit.
“You should have stopped them. You could have stopped them! WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING STOP THEM?”
His screams were raw, tearing out of his throat painfully. His knuckles were split at this point, covered in crimson that both did and didn’t belong to him. The doctor’s face was a mess of red and darkening bruises, rendering him almost unrecognizable. When he opened his mouth to speak, his white teeth were stained red and pink from saliva and blood.
“I’m...sorry…”
Feng Xin’s breath hitched and he let out a sob. He released his grip on the other man and buried his head into his hands.
“Why?” he whimpered. “Why did you have to kill him?” His body shuddered harder as more sobs poured out of him like an overflowing lake.
“Why? Why? WHY?”
Footsteps pounded against the floorboards as more people entered the building, crying out in shock when they took in the bloody scene. Feng Xin was still crying as hands pushed him back down on the bed. He felt a sharp prick on the side of his neck and slipped into darkness once again.
“Mu Qing?”
A grunt. “Hm?”
“Do you ever miss your home? Back on top of the mountain?”
The room was dark, only lit by a few melting candles. In the soft glow of the candlelight, Feng Xin would make out the way Mu Qing’s face quickly soured. He immediately regretted asking, wanting nothing more than to soothe those features back into an expression of peace.
“No,” he said shortly. “I don’t.”
“Why not?” While Feng Xin loved living with Mu Qing in their little house, he couldn’t deny that some part of him missed living in the main village, his first home.
Mu Qing closed his eyes. “They didn’t like me,” he replied softly. “My father wasn’t a good person. So they hated me too.” He let out a disdained scoff. “Idiots, honestly.”
It was a touchy topic, but Feng Xin tried his luck to push it even further. “Do you remember,” he asked cautiously, “how you ended up in the river when I first found you?”
A beat of silence. Mu Qing was so still that for a second Feng Xin wondered if he had fallen asleep. He considered giving up and blowing out the rest of the candles when suddenly, Mu Qing spoke.
“No. I honestly don’t remember. But if I were to guess, they probably knocked me out and left me to drown.” He cracked an eye open, staring straight at Feng Xin. “And I probably would have, if it weren’t for you.”
Feng Xin’s chest panged at the thought. If he hadn’t decided to go hunting that day in that area, would Mu Qing’s body had just laid there? Facedown, drowned in an unknown river? His troubled expression must have shown through, because Mu Qing pulled his arm out from under the sheets and cupped the side of Feng Xin’s face, thumb rubbing circles along his cheeks.
“It’s alright, Feng Xin,” he said, a little tiredly. “Let’s just go to sleep.” He began to remove his hand from Feng Xin’s face, but Feng Xin quickly grasped it with his own hand and held it back in place. Mu Qing huffed, the sound full of fond exasperation.
Eventually, Mu Qing’s breaths evened out, sleep capturing him. Though tired, Feng Xin did not close his eyes, choosing to watch Mu Qing. The way his nostrils flared slightly as he exhaled, the slightest twitch of his eyebrow as he dreamt.
He loved him.
I’ll protect him, he thought to himself, almost desperately. I’ll protect him.
He leaned over to blow out the candles, and the room fell to darkness.
The next time Feng Xin wakes up, he is back in his original house in the village. He must have been moved from the medical building, he realized. A dull pain in his hands caused him to look down. White bandages wrapped around his knuckles, spotted with dried blood.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Feng Xin turned towards the voice. The village chief was sitting at the edge of his bed, expression somber.
Fury and anger bubbled up in his chest, violent and clashing. He wanted to scream, to yell. But instead, all he could manage was a choked out, “Why?”
The chief sighed. “I know you must feel hurt. It is understandable. But you must realize those feelings aren’t real .”
The chief moved closer towards him, and Feng Xin recoiled back. He looked distraught at Feng Xin’s reaction. “How terrible it must be,” he cried, “that he had bewitched you so.”
“W-what-”
“He has made you fall so deeply for him that you couldn’t even see how much strife he was bringing to our village.” The chief grasped Feng Xin’s bandaged hands, gripping him tight. “Do not be ashamed, Feng Xin,” he said vehemently. “He took advantage of your heart, of your loyalty and kindness twisting it to his advantage. But he is gone and you are free. The witch is gone now, Feng Xin.” His voice was almost giddy with delight, his grip bordering on painful.
Shaking past his initial bewilderment, Feng Xin snarled, “Mu Qing was not a witch. He was just a human being. You killed a human being.”
The features on the chief’s face twisted, dark and thunderous. “He was not human,” he hissed. “Has Mu Qing ever told you about his life on top of the mountain? They beheaded his father for witchcraft, and to no surprise they found his son following in his footsteps! They caught him trying to sacrifice a baby, no doubt to further his own demonic powers!”
The chief was up in Feng Xin’s face, eyes wild. “ That is why they threw him off the mountain. You rescued him, from the kindness of your own heart and he returned that kindness by cursing our harvest, damning our village!”
Feng Xin swallowed hard, body trembling from frustration and disbelief. “You’re wrong,” he whispered. “Mu Qing wouldn’t do those things. He was just a human being. He was my husband .” His voice cracked precariously on the last word.
The village chief looked horrified. “Just what kind of spell did he put on you?” he asked, incredulous.
Feng Xin shook his head and got up from the bed, legs shaking and almost giving out. “You made a mistake,” he rasped. When he finally managed to reach the door, he could still smell the remnants of ash and burnt wood. It took all his willpower not to throw up again.
“I’m leaving,” he said, voice much calmer than he felt. “I’m not coming back.”
He did not spare a single glance back as he began his walk home.
When he returned to their little house at the edge of the woods, Feng Xin almost broke down again. The bodies of the rabbits he had hunted for their anniversary dinner were rotted, flies buzzing around the carcasses. The scratch marks in the wood left by Mu Qing’s fingernails stared back at him, a mocking reminder of his failure to protect.
The house was cold, so cold.
Feng Xin considered burning the entire house down. But despite it all, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The memories he had of Mu Qing lived in the walls of this house; Mu Qing sitting in the chair and mending the holes in their robes, Mu Qing playfully wrestling him on the ground as they laughed, Mu Qing cooking dinner in the kitchen while Feng Xin stood by as his confused assistant.
He didn’t want to lose those memories.
But he couldn’t live here alone, either.
So Feng Xin packed his things. Packed his robes, freshly washed from the last time they had done laundry together. Packed some leftover food, food that Mu Qing had prepared for them a while ago. Packed his bow, his arrows, and his quiver.
When he was finished, he spared one last look at the house that he and Mu Qing had built together. He took a moment to relish in those warm memories, in those happy feelings.
He then turned and walked away, the house fading into a dark spot on the horizon.
The first snow had begun to fall.