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The day starts like any other. Mu Qing wakes in his personal quarters, the dim morning light and the sound of birds rousing him before anyone else. It’s always been like this for him; no matter how late he’s stayed up the previous night, whether he was completing some chores he didn’t get to during the day or reading through some cultivation manual, he always wakes when the sun rises.
Luckily, he had managed to get to bed at a decent hour the night before, so he wakes up feeling refreshed instead of exhausted. Spring is gradually fading into summer, so the sun rises long before the palace staff begins to stir. He gets out of bed and stretches, pulling at his taut muscles in hopes that they will relax. Training has been brutal on him lately— he can barely balance training with the saber and his chores at the same time. And still Feng Xin has the gall to taunt him whenever he wins during their spars; if Feng Xin had to sweep and mop and tend to the Crown Prince too, Mu Qing surely would have won against him.
(Partially, though, he is glad that he can hold his own against him for as long as he can— if anything, it is evident that he is growing stronger.)
Now that the Crown Prince is twenty he has been aching to go out and try to cultivate to ascension. Guoshi had warned him that it would be wise to wait a few years before making a true attempt: it would be a good idea to go on smaller missions with only his two closest attendants following him.
They were about to set off on a trip to settle a ghost, reported to have killed at least three people since it manifested a year ago. Guoshi had told Xie Lian that something small like this would be good practice for when he was to work himself up to something greater and more dangerous, something that would make him worthy of ascension.
Considering this upcoming trip, Xie Lian granted Mu Qing seven days to visit with his mother before they left, having no idea how long they would be gone. He had come back mid-afternoon yesterday, and he would have liked to rest on his day off if only Feng Xin hadn’t roped him into a sudden sparring session.
Sighing, he works out the knots in his muscles, looking at his form in the floor-length mirror as he does so. He is twenty now. So much had changed since he first became a servant. He used to be the shortest out of the three of them, his height always a little stunted from his childhood, but it turns out all it took was proper food and nutrition before he started sprouting up like a seed planted in fertile soil. He now stood equal to Feng Xin in height.
Not to mention he was now taller than Xie Lian as well.
It feels strange to look down at the Crown Prince rather than up. It’s dizzying.
He looks out the window again. The sun hasn’t risen past the walls of the city yet. Normally the Crown Prince would rise a little bit after the sun peaked over the wall, so he resigned himself to sitting back on the bed, picking up where he left off in the cultivation manual.
As of late the thought of seeing him makes him nervous, jumpy, like he wants to get closer and run away at the same time.
✦
He is already standing in front of the ornate mirror when Mu Qing enters the room. He is wearing nothing but a thin undershirt and trousers. Mu Qing quickly averts his eyes. He hadn’t been jittery until recent— before, he had been able to get through this whole ordeal without even thinking. Dressing him was like clockwork, finishing it without hesitation.
It’s different now.
He finally turns from the mirror to look at Mu Qing, lighting up with a smile so large his cheeks dimple. “Good morning, Mu Qing,” he says, voice melodic.
Mu Qing’s heart skips a beat. “Good morning, your Highness. What kind of garb today?”
“Casual,” Xie Lian answers. He sounds unusually happy. “I’m free today. I was thinking of going into the city and having a nice day before we set off in a few days.”
Mu Qing nods, walking to the wardrobe. “I see. What color would you like to wear?”
“The usual. White,” Xie Lian says. He pauses. “Mu Qing, how would you feel if we bought you some nice clothes?”
Mu Qing pauses for a moment, his hand lingering on soft silk fabric. “Why?”
“I see how you look at my clothes,” Xie Lian says. “Would you like to wear something like that?”
Mu Qing hesitates for a moment, holding his tongue before he answers. “I don’t think I could feasibly wear something this nice without getting stared at,” Mu Qing says, trying not to let any disappointment show through in his voice. Absentmindedly, he lets his hand wander over the silk. “I am a servant.”
“Who cares if they look?” Xie Lian says. “Everybody deserves to have nice things sometimes. I could get something tailored for you.”
Mu Qing thinks about it for a moment. In reality, he does love clothing and fashion, but he can hardly imagine any of those nice things on himself. Growing up he had worn hemp tunics and rough materials, but he had always admired the silks and satins of the upper class. “I’ll think about it,” he lies.
Dressing Xie Lian has been a twice-a-day occurrence for years. But now his fingers tremble whenever he ties the sash around his waist, jerks his hand back if it accidentally brushes against his collarbone. He prays Xie Lian doesn’t notice.
Mu Qing steps away when he is finished, checking that his clothes were secured properly. He likes how the fabric drapes against the angles of his body. He looks like something from a painting.
“Does it look nice?”
Mu Qing draws his eyes away quickly. “Y-yes,” he stutters, cursing himself. Blood is already rising to his cheeks; his pale complexion is his enemy.
“You’ve dressed me well. Thank you.”
Mu Qing moves to his hair next, undoing the messy bun that had been put up by unskilled hands. Completely loose, it falls around his head like a curtain, obscuring his face and getting in the way of his eyes. Xie Lian sits down in front of the mirror, and in its reflection Mu Qing can see him smiling still even beneath the hair.
Mu Qing has always admired Xie Lian’s hair. It’s long and soft and well-kept, a shade of brown that lights up with strands of gold in the sunlight, and while it isn’t quite as silky as Mu Qing’s own hair it’s still admirable and— dare he even say— fun to style. It’s probably his favorite part of dressing him every day.
He’s in the middle of brushing it out when he hears his name. “Mu Qing.”
“I notice how hard you’ve been working lately,” he says. “I came to the realization yesterday that I don’t thank you enough. So, um, thank you.”
Mu Qing lifts an eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you today?”
Mu Qing peers at his face in the mirror. His hair is still in the way and he can’t see his expression.
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s just that ever since you were gone, I had to take care of my own hair and clothes for a bit, and in the process I came to appreciate how much thought goes into every action.”
“Why didn’t you have some other servant do it? You didn’t have to do these things yourself.”
“I wanted to see something for myself,” Xie Lian answers. “I really am thankful, Mu Qing. Thank you.”
Mu Qing does not know how to respond to this, so he remains silent instead.
He notices something new in Xie Lian as well— a slight shiver, a tremor when his fingers brush the back of Xie Lian’s neck as he separates the strands, pleased when he sees his fingers don’t catch on any knots.
“It’s not only in servanthood that I’ve noticed you work hard,” Xie Lian continues. “I’ve noticed how you manage to balance your work and training together. I don’t think even Feng Xin has that level of drive.”
The flush on Mu Qing’s face deepens still. “What is your motive for saying these things?”
“I have no motive but to tell the truth, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing’s hands shake as he gathers some hair from the front, sweeping it back to tie up in a bun. He reaches out and grabs his hairpiece.
“A-another thing I’ve noticed while you… while you were gone,” Xie Lian continues, and now that his face is no longer covered by hair Mu Qing can see he’s flushed an equally deep shade of red. “While you were gone I realized how much I missed you.”
Mu Qing drops the hairpiece. It clatters loudly to the ground.
“M-Mu Qing? Mu Qing?” Xie Lian turns his head abruptly to look at him. Mu Qing lets go before he accidentally yanks his hair, bun falling loose once again. “Did I— did I say something wrong?”
“N-no—“ Mu Qing backs up quickly, pulling himself away. This is entirely out of his realm of expertise. He cannot remember the last time he had a heart-to-heart with anyone. He missed him? Missed him? Was he being set up or something? He starts backing up, making like he’s about to sprint for the door.
Xie Lian gets up from his seat. “Mu Qing, where are you going?” He reaches out for him as if he could even stop him if he wanted to run.
Unfortunately, Mu Qing never gets the chance to bolt. He stumbles— over his own feet, humiliating— and starts careening backward. In his momentary panic he had forgotten that one of the tiles in the floor had been slightly misplaced, barely enough to trip over. Yet Mu Qing had somehow still managed to do it.
His elbow shoots back to catch the brunt of his fall.
Then he has no need to worry, because Xie Lian’s shot up to catch him, hands falling firm on his waist with his feet planted sturdy into the ground.
Though Mu Qing may be skilled with the saber, Xie Lian will always win with just pure strength alone. He had always been able to put on muscle easier than Mu Qing, regardless of how hard he tried. For once Mu Qing feels grateful instead of envious, because if he hadn’t been so strong they both would have fallen to the floor, making things infinitely more awkward.
But it was incredibly awkward right now, Xie Lian holding him up with his hands gripping his sides, looking into his eyes with a bewildered expression.
“Y-Your Highness?!”
Xie Lian rights himself, pulling Mu Qing up straight. “I’m sorry,” Xie Lian says. “That was, um, a weird thing for me to say. I apologize.”
Mu Qing is completely silent. He controls his expression, keeping it blank, but the redness on his face must give him away.
He stares Xie Lian down. He would do this with Feng Xin all the time when their fights fizzled out: blankly stare straight into his eyes, and when Feng Xin inevitably looked away he would take it as a sign that he won. But this was no fight, and Xie Lian’s gaze did not waver either, his brows furrowed with determination.
But then Xie Lian starts leaning in, and for a moment Mu Qing thinks he’s caught onto the little staring contest he’s started, but no, it was one-sided all along because Xie Lian puts a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him down into a kiss.
Mu Qing can’t think.
He’s completely still when Xie Lian presses his mouth to his, the foreign feeling of someone's lips on his own. He still doesn’t move even when he pulls back, staring at Xie Lian with wide eyes.
He can’t think.
“M-Mu- Mu Qing?!”
Mu Qing straightens up. “I… I need to go, your Highness.” He gestures to the ground, his whole arm shaking. “Your hairpiece is right there. Goodbye.”
Mu Qing stumbles out of the room and closes the door behind him, and this time Xie Lian does not protest. His own footsteps are so quiet in the halls, barely making a sound, ears buzzing in the silence.
He stops for a moment and brings his hand up to his lips, ghosting along where Xie Lian had kissed him. He exhales, letting it mist against his fingertips.
His whole body begins to tremble. Xie Lian… he?
So much for the plan of having a nice day out in the capital. Mu Qing returns to his quarters.
Feng Xin comes knocking eventually. He hollers at him for a few minutes, telling him to come out already, and when Mu Qing doesn’t even respond with a biting remark his shouts turn desperate.
“Please, Mu Qing!” He hears him bang on the door a few more times before something thuds and slides downwards. His back? “Mu Qing, you gotta come out! His Highness is distraught and I don’t know what to do!”
Mu Qing is sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his clasped hands.
The moment they kissed, it was like something was brought to the surface from the murky waters of his subconscious. He liked Xie Lian, he really did. He couldn’t deny the way his heart fluttered whenever he smiled at him.
But he was better than Mu Qing in every single way— flawless, charismatic, beloved by everyone who met him. Mu Qing was the exact opposite: he was flawed, quiet, and withdrawn, constantly accused of stealing and lying by his peers.
It baffled him like nothing else.
“Mu Qing, come out. His Highness wants to talk to you. I don’t know what you did, but you better report to him now!”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. He gives in. “Fine. Leave first.”
A loud knock on the door. His head, slamming backwards. “Fucking fine,” he says, the door creaking as he takes his weight off of it. “His Highness is in his dressing room still. He’s been in there for a whole hour.”
Mu Qing waits until Feng Xin's footsteps fade before he finally unlatches the door, slipping out and hoping to go unnoticed.
He does not go unnoticed. There are a few other servants in the corridor, all looking at him with wide eyes. They must have all witnessed Feng Xin’s little meltdown at his door. It was unbefitting for the Prince’s bodyguard to behave in such an undignified manner.
He glares at the lesser servants. “What are you looking at?”
They all avert their eyes. Mu Qing shakes his head and sets off in the direction of the dressing room, angry wasps buzzing in his stomach.
When he gets there, Xie Lian’s hair is still down, the hairpiece set aside.
He stands by the door and waits for Xie Lian to make a move.
What he isn’t expecting, however, is for Xie Lian to get up out of his chair and bow his head in apology. “Mu Qing, I’m so sorry,”
This also bewilders Mu Qing. From an outsider’s perspective this must look equal parts disrespectful and ridiculous: a prince apologizing profusely to his servant. Why did everything have to become so confusing?
Xie Lian can’t meet his eyes, instead looking off to the side. “I shouldn’t have… done that… so suddenly. It was wrong of me. I apologize.”
Mu Qing stares.
“L-let’s just go back to normal, alright? I don’t want this to get in the way of our friendship, so let’s just…forget this happened.”
Xie Lian’s face is beet red. Mu Qing stares.
“I’ll forget, your Highness. Don’t worry.”
Xie Lian looks and sees that Mu Qing seems to not be angry with him. He sighs in relief. “Okay. Thank you, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing looks at the hairpiece that was left on the table. He picks it up. He gestures for Xie Lian to sit, then continues to do his hair in silence.
✦
It turns out that kissing someone makes it hard for things to go back to normal.
They manage to get along fine, as they had before, but Mu Qing feels the gap between them widen even further. Whereas Mu Qing already had his complicated feelings towards Xie Lian and their difference in status, he now had to deal with the unfamiliar, acute feeling of nervousness whenever Xie Lian was around. It wasn’t a normal kind of nervousness either; wholly unfamiliar, a kind of tug in his chest whenever he came near.
Now they barely interact outside of when it’s required. Oftentimes Feng Xin would have to act as a mediator between them just to rope them into a conversation.
(Poor Feng Xin— he is baffled by this strangeness, but he doesn’t pry.
“You don’t want to know what happened?” Mu Qing asks one day, crossing his arms. Normally Feng Xin is the first to get in on the information whenever palace drama happens.
“No. Frankly, I don’t want to know,” Feng Xin responds.)
It all changes when they finally set off from the palace and stop at an inn.
Xie Lian in is disguise, though it barely counts as one, dressed down like a common cultivator. Mu Qing prays that nobody recognizes him, but Xianle had no known enemies so an assassination attempt was unlikely.
“I’m sorry sir,” the innkeeper says, looking at the three of them. “There are only two rooms left, one bed in each.”
Mu Qing shudders. He looks at Feng Xin, and Feng Xin must have had the exact same idea because their eyes meet, dread between them.
The innkeeper notices this and laughs nervously. “Don’t fear! There are some bamboo mats we keep for instances just like these. We can roll it out on the floor for you.”
Mu Qing and Feng Xin share a collective sigh of relief. Xie Lian turns to face them both. “Mu Qing and Feng Xin, will you two share a room?”
“I kindly object to that, your Highness,” Feng Xin says.
Xie Lian blinks. “Why?”
Feng Xin crosses his arms and takes a deep breath. “First of all, if Mu Qing and I share a room, then we will fight over who gets the bed. This could end in violence. Second of all, Mu Qing, you are his Highness’ attendant, so it only makes sense that you should room with him, okay?” Feng Xin gives Mu Qing a pointed look, and even without him saying it aloud Mu Qing can hear his third point: Maybe you’ll work out whatever’s going on between you two.
He’s angry about it, but Feng Xin is making points. It just makes sense that Mu Qing should sleep on the mat if he were to room with His Highness; if it were he and Feng Xin together all hell would break loose.
“Good point,” Xie Lian says, turning to Mu Qing. “Mu Qing, are you… are you alright with this?”
Mu Qing gives a quick nod. “I am.”
Xie Lian claps his hands together, drawing away from their huddle. “Good! Please bring the bamboo mat to my room, please.”
The innkeeper had been watching them argue quietly amongst themselves, awkward. “Alright… I will. Thank you.”
Xie Lian slaps the silver money down on the table. “Thank you, ma’am!”
Mu Qing is going to die.
✦
The day ends without much else to say. The woven mat is set down on the floor, and sits idly while Xie Lian takes off his outer layers and hairpiece. The traveling that day wasn’t too hard, so there was no need to have a bath drawn. Mu Qing thanks the Heavens for this; he wouldn’t have survived otherwise.
Then it is quiet and dark, and Mu Qing soon discovers that he has grown soft in his years as an attendant. He tosses and turns, unable to grow comfortable on the mat. He looks up at Xie Lian, sleeping on the bed, and notes the gentle rising and falling of his chest. He’s asleep already.
Being so close to him makes him dizzy.
Finally he falls into a very fitful, light sleep, praying just before he slips unconscious that he will sleep till morning.
He doesn’t.
✦
“Mu Qing, Mu Qing!”
He is writhing, pushing away at whatever is clutching at him. He blindly throws a punch, but his fist is blocked by a strong hand gripping his forearm.
He gasps awake.
“Mu Qing, what’s going on?”
His ears are ringing. His breaths come fast and ragged, trembling all over, broken out in a cold sweat. He’s twisted in the sheets, lying diagonal to where he had been.
A nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” Mu Qing mumbles, his voice thin and raw.
Xie Lian is kneeling next to him, and in the darkness Mu Qing can vaguely make out the silhouette of blankets spilling off the bed.
“You looked like you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?”
Mu Qing’s entire back aches from the stiff position he had been sleeping in. “It’s nothing,” he says, and in his half-asleep state he mumbles a complaint, “I’m not used to sleeping on the floor like this.”
Xie Lian hesitates for a moment. “Do you want to switch places?”
Mu Qing immediately sits up, his back creaking with effort. “No, your Highness.”
“Well, it’s obvious you can’t sleep down here! My back can handle the floor for one night.”
“No, your Highness, you can’t.” There was a chance that they would be facing the hungry ghost tomorrow, and Xie Lian was expected to do most of the work in order for him to grow stronger; having aches and pains could make it end for him disastrously.
“Fine then.” Xie Lian gets up, and for a moment Mu Qing thinks he has finally left him alone; until he slides back up into the bed and pats it. “Come up here.”
Mu Qing immediately reels away, carrying the sheets with him. “No, your Highness. I can’t.”
“Mu Qing,” he cries, “Mu Qing! Please just tell me what’s wrong!” He can hear all his pent up frustration coming out through his pleas. “Please, can we just go back to how things were before! It’s making me feel sick in my stomach Mu Qing. Please.”
Mu Qing knows exactly the kind of feeling he’s talking about.
“Please, Mu Qing, you’re one of my dearest friends. I can’t lose you.”
His friend?
“X-Xie Lian,” he murmurs. The name is unfamiliar on his tongue.
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing tosses his sheets to the side and approaches the bed, walking on his knees. With each step he thinks; he is a servant and Xie Lian is the Crown Prince. They would never be seen as equals by the outside world.
But, in a way, didn’t that little slip-up show that Xie Lian considered them equals? If that was the case, what did it matter to the outside world?
Mu Qing grits his teeth and grabs the collar of Xie Lian’s nightshirt as soon as he reaches the bedside. Xie Lian stutters out a quick “M-Mu Qing, what-“ before he hauls him forward, pressing their lips together. It’s impulsive and he’s still shivering with the remnants of his nightmare, but he can’t really bring himself to care in the moment.
It’s painfully obvious that neither of them know how to kiss, but Xie Lian melts into it almost immediately. The rhythm is off and their noses bump together, but it’s worth it when Mu Qing can see the dark flush on Xie Lian’s face as he pulls away even in darkness.
Xie Lian breathes heavily for a moment. “R-really?”
“Yes, really,” Mu Qing says. “Here, let me in.”
He climbs into the bed beside Xie Lian, his limbs still trembling a little from the nightmare he’d just had. Xie Lian, tentatively, like he was trying to pet a feral cat, wraps his arm around his midsection, pulling him in close. Mu Qing lets his forehead rest in the crook of Xie Lian’s neck and shoulder. The warmth of him being this close feels nice in a way he can't quite describe. Secure. Sheltered. Safe.
“What are we now?” Xie Lian mumbles.
“Something,” Mu Qing says. It was best not to think this late in the night. “Maybe morning will define us.”
All he knows is that he feels safe, like he can let his barriers down for once.
“Mu Qing, what were you dreaming about?”
Mu Qing closes his eyes. “My father.”
Xie Lian’s hand runs through his hair, petting the back of his head. He exhales. “I’m so sorry.”
Mu Qing looks down. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is my father’s fault for putting such harsh punishment.”
Mu Qing shuts his eyes hard. His father had killed someone in the process of thieving a jeweler. To this day Mu Qing doesn’t understand why he tried to do that. The moment the news broke it was like his father had become an entirely different person to him. It all crumbled and shattered before his eyes. But he could not understand how someone who had bounced him on his lap and played with him could turn and take the life of an innocent.
Was the killing an accident? Was it on purpose? Was he stealing to feed their family, or was it out of greed? He would never know. His mother refused to talk about it.
He didn’t want to know. He wanted to forget.
But the sound of Xie Lian’s heartbeat calms him, the beat to the music of his breathing. He relaxes. “Enough of that. Let’s stay like this.”
Xie Lian is brighter than him, more splendid in every possible way. Mu Qing could never hope to compare despite his wishes. A servant and a prince. They were like the sun and the moon— all Mu Qing’s achievements, all his accomplishments were what the palace had allotted to him, all his light only a reflection of Xie Lian’s.
He had not yet told him that he planned to strike out on his own soon and make a name apart from his. Maybe he would not become the sun, but he would surely become a star, capable of shining alongside him with his own light.
He does not tell him. Rather he slots himself against Xie Lian, their legs twined together, unsure of how the morning light will define them.