Work Text:
Feng Xin thinks it must be on the cusp of autumn, because the sudden squall in Lang-Er Bay feels colder than ever.
With Fang Xin’s blackened blade in his grasp, the only thought that rings through the screaming miasma surrounding his mind is this fucking hurts . The force of an entire kingdom’s torment and suffering shakes him to his core and rends him apart, but it pales in comparison to the agony of watching Xie Lian's slow descent into madness. Through the bright, constant pain, he feels a strange sense of relief - at least it wasn't His Highness who was forced to bear this burden and become stained beyond saving, that he could always walk in light and pursue the third, righteous path that he sought.
When he sees Xie Lian’s face, eyes wide with shock and horror, some faraway part of himself thinks, His Highness must be cold, but it's too bad he isn't like Mu Qing, who could find him a thicker robe or luxurious mantle to wear.
He supposes it is no surprise that his last thought is of His Highness. Feng Xin always thought that he would one day die for him in battle, and there would be no greater honor. Xie Lian was as bright as the sun during their halcyon days in Xian Le, and war forged him into a pale moon that still served as Feng Xin’s guiding light.
Feng Xin falls.
-
Feng Xin leans against one dead tree, slick with blood and writhing, resentful energy eating at his core like maggots through rot. Some small part of him is thankful he chose to disguise himself with black robes. At least now he can't tell how much blood has soaked through his clothes.
He teeters between a slow, distant panic and a chilling calm. He's going to die, and he won't even reincarnate because his soul is too shattered. Even a martial god’s prowess can't handle the vengeful suffering of this many souls. He was a fool to think he could change anything by recklessly ascending and jumping down from the Heavens at the first opportunity.
The ghost fire nudges the laughing mask off his face, and its soft, green glow is the only thing he can make out in the dark.
He squints, then lets out a wheezing scoff that deepens the ache between his ribs. “What, you want to take a bite of me as well?”
You protected him. The ghost fire flickers.
“Did I, though?” Feng Xin asks. He doesn't know what happened after that. He can only hope His Highness did not suffer the same fate at the hands of that bastard Bai Wuxiang.
Let me protect him in your stead. Please.
Feng Xin doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. What could this little flame hope to accomplish that he could not? How could he hope to protect His Highness?
...Fuck, he's going to die anyway, so why the hell not?
His remaining spiritual power gathers brightly in his palm. “Fine. I’ll give you the last of this, then. Use it well.”
The ghost flame swells and roars. The dark swallows him.
-
When Feng Xin wakes, he wonders if he’s in Hell.
The meek ghost at his bedside darted out of the door once he was awake, leaving him alone in this room with ornate furniture and tapestries. The walls are red, and terribly gaudy. The opulence is a mockery of Xie Lian’s palace in the Heavenly Capital. The sheets are soft and fragrant and they remind him of the quiet nights he spent with Jian Lan.
The door opens as Feng Xin is reorienting himself, revealing a tall figure. It is a man in blazing scarlet robes, with deathly pale skin. He carries himself with an unnatural air and radiates pure malice, similar to the spirits trapped within Fang Xin.
He is a ghost, Feng Xin realizes.
“Where is he?” Feng Xin immediately growls. He doesn't have time to fuck around with ghosts when His Highness still needed him.
The man ignores him. “You know, putting your soul back together was a lot more trouble than it was worth. It was scattered to the winds after being torn apart, but something kept it resilient.”
Feng Xin is silent. He should have perished that day, after succumbing to his wounds. There should have been nothing left of him - not even enough to make a pitiful ghost fire. And yet this person claims to have preserved his consciousness and restored his soul. “Why save me?”
“I owed you a debt.” The man shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Tell me why you’re still here. And depending on your answer, I may decide to not let you shatter again.”
He does not hesitate. “I refuse to rest in peace,” Feng Xin spits. “Not until I know he’s safe.”
“Hm.” The man hums approvingly. The barest hint of a smile graces his lips. “A good answer.”
“Who are you?” Feng Xin asks, still on guard. The man is a demon clad in blood, certainly no one trustworthy.
“Does it matter? We share the same goal.”
Before he can ask how the fuck this dangerous ghost knows Xie Lian, to keep his name out of his filthy mouth, he turns and pierces Feng Xin with his sharp gaze. There is something familiar in the lone obsidian eye that fixes on him, but Feng Xin has little time to dwell on it.
In the next breath, the ghost says, “The Crown Prince of Xian Le still lives, and I intend to find him.”
-
Feng Xin learns the man is Crimson Rain Sought Flower, a powerful ghost who razed the temples of thirty-three heavenly officials after he awoke from the kiln of Mount Tonglu.
If he were still in the Heavenly Capital, Feng Xin would revile him for his unsavory methods and unchecked arrogance. But it seemed Crimson Rain was not prideful without good reason - he was the master of a city of ghosts, worshiped by many, and able to infiltrate the Heavens and disgrace the gods if he so chose. He plainly had the power to make good on his claims, and Feng Xin shudders to think what would have happened if he crossed him as a god.
Feng Xin has no idea where such a character came from, but he also learns it had been eight hundred years since his soul dispersed. Kingdoms and people changed without him, leaving him behind. The only consolation is knowing that Xie Lian yet lives, even though he had been banished from the Heavens a second time. Feng Xin wants to pray to Jun Wu just to call him out on his bullshit; this lofty fucking Heavenly Emperor who must have some kind of grudge against Xie Lian to do this twice. Then he wants to pray to Mu Qing to chew him out, too.
Crimson Rain allows Feng Xin to stay in Ghost City as a guest. Between acclimating to being dead and trying to find information about Xie Lian’s whereabouts, he does not make a point to associate with any of the ghosts, outside of the masked attendant that Crimson Rain uses to send for him. What would His Highness think, finding him this fallen? He is a proud servant of the Xian Le Royal Court, and intends to keep what meager dignity he has left.
He feels as though he is spending his days in idleness when Crimson Rain flits in and out of Paradise Manor when he pleases. He has numerous connections and raw power, and Feng Xin is at a disadvantage as a lowly spirit. Ghosts have no need for something as mundane as martial might. Feng Xin is sorely out of his element, and he can't exactly make trips across the realm now that he's dead.
“What are you doing?” Crimson Rain is silent when he approaches Feng Xin, who hid himself away in the forests outside of Ghost City. He watches unimpressed as Feng Xin’s arrow strikes another trunk.
“Practicing? I don't know.” Feng Xin managed to find a bow and quiver of arrows left by hunters and before he realized it, he was pulling back the worn bowstring. The familiarity of the motion calms him and distracts him from his fruitless endeavors. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he is still on Mount Taicang, with the excited chattering of Xie Lian in his periphery as he looses each arrow.
“Ghosts don't typically use bows and arrows to fight.” Crimson Rain points out.
“What else am I supposed to do? I want to look for His Highness, but where do I even start?” Feng Xin makes a frustrated noise, nocking another arrow. He misses this time. “Even before I was appointed as his guard, I was always by his side. Now I don't even know where he is.”
“You're like a loyal dog trying to find its master.” Crimson Rain remarks. Feng Xin cannot say he is wrong.
“Maybe I am.” But it's the only thing he has left.
Crimson Rain clicks his tongue. “Stop shooting holes in the trees. Come with me.”
-
In spring, they leave Ghost City behind.
Crimson Rain - or Hua Cheng, because constantly saying his title would be a mouthful and too obvious around mortals - is ruthless and cunning. In another life, Feng Xin would have despised working with such an arrogant ghost king, but he has little choice now that he was denied a place in the Heavens.
In all of his years serving in the Xian Le Royal Court and the Heavenly Capital’s Upper Court he has never come across someone so well-versed in both guile and combat. Most newly ascended gods became slovenly and self-absorbed, growing into complacency once they secured a seat among the Heavens. Instead of seeking the righteous path and aiding their believers, they succumbed to petty politics and the like to ingratiate themselves among the more influential gods. The only people he can think of who bothered to maintain a semblance of dignity were the martial gods of the Upper Court.
(He definitely does not mean Mu Qing.)
Feng Xin cannot fathom why Hua Cheng keeps him close as a traveling companion when he has little to offer in the way of spiritual powers, but he's determined to not be a burden. Feng Xin walks beside him on the dirt road, the pilfered bow and quiver strapped to his back. The only thing Hua Cheng carries is a bejeweled scimitar, but even that is often obscured when he assumes the form of a young lord.
They pass through villages pretending to be cultivators, sometimes fending off lesser ghosts and spiritual creatures that cause trouble for the residents. In return, they hear people gripe about the God of Misfortune, or mention a strange man dressed in white robes who eagerly took their trash. Feng Xin discovers that Hua Cheng's efforts yield similar results to his - that it was maddeningly difficult to glean anything about His Highness’ location with the passing of time and unpredictability of fate.
Strangely enough, they find shared ground when they come across weathered remnants of Xian Le. A faded scroll here, a chipped statuette there - even the stories and food of the people of the present carry the memory of his home, and Feng Xin can't help but feel they are strangers suspended in time.
They're no closer to finding Xie Lian on this particular excursion, but Feng Xin aches terribly with each reminder of the past. How Hua Cheng endured it for eight hundred years, he does not know.
Sometimes, when they secure shelter away from prying eyes, Feng Xin recalls stories about the forgotten kingdom and its Crown Prince. Hua Cheng merely listens, rapt, despite always seeming disinterested in most everything else.
Though the ghost king is shrouded in mystery, Feng Xin is privately comforted to know he is not the only one to be displaced by the centuries.
-
It was supposed to be an easy request - clear the mountain path of any wandering creatures that would bring harm to travelers in exchange for a room. But what they hadn’t anticipated was being surrounded by a fucking army of walking corpses. Feng Xin mentally vows that he's going to find the demonic cultivator who did this and personally toss him off the mountainside.
Feng Xin is running low on arrows, and it’s not like Hua Cheng can't handle himself. But Feng Xin lunges anyway on reflex, letting the ghoul’s teeth sink into his arm before it can reach the other.
Xie Lian chided him often for being reckless, but in the same breath praised him for the swiftness of his bow. Feng Xin never saw a reason to temper his hastiness - after all, one of them needed to be the first to react to any potential danger to His Highness, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Mu Qing and his oversized piece of metal.
Feng Xin notices that pain is different as a ghost. Instead of the familiar rend of flesh and sharpness of a wound, it feels like the ghoul bit his fucking soul in twine.
(Feng Xin supposes that's not entirely wrong. He is just a soul holding human form now.)
Hua Cheng’s scimitar flies towards the ghoul faster than an arrow, gutting it and butchering it to pieces. The glint of metal in his periphery is all Feng Xin can make out as the mountain suddenly falls silent.
“Are you an idiot?” Hua Cheng demands darkly once the scimitar returns to its sheath.
He can only answer with a hiss of pain. Feng Xin’s arm throbs with cursed magicks already eating away at his spirit. Fuck. He's really going to kill that demonic cultivator.
“Give me your arm.” Hua Cheng holds out an expectant hand.
Hua Cheng runs dexterous fingers over him and dispels the curse with sheer force. Then he begins channeling spiritual energy to Feng Xin, who minutely shivers at the sensation. He knew Hua Cheng was powerful, but to receive his spiritual energy was entirely different. Feng Xin feels unsteady yet invigorated as it flows through him.
“You broke this arm for him.” Hua Cheng suddenly says, not pausing from his ministrations.
“What?”
“Back in Xian Le, before he ascended.”
Ah, right. The whole Qi Rong beating the shit out of a child and running loose in the streets with his carriage thing. He's not sure how Hua Cheng knows about that, but then again, Feng Xin never paid much attention to the gossip in the capital.
“Who wouldn't?” Feng Xin barks a scoff. “I couldn't stand by and watch him be insulted by his cousin and father both. It was easier for everyone involved to blame it on an unruly servant.”
Hua Cheng says nothing, continuing to channel spiritual power to Feng Xin so he can adequately hold his form. The pain fades, and it's like he was never hurt in the first place.
“It doesn't matter what happens to me.” Feng Xin says. “As long as His Highness could ascend and achieve his dream, then an arm was an insignificant price to pay. I never liked that bastard Qi Rong anyway.”
(Xie Lian fussed over him for days after, even though the healers said he would be fine.
Should I feed you, Feng Xin? Xie Lian asked, mirth turning his eyes into amused crescents. Mu Qing made a gagging noise from across the table.
My arm is fine, Your Highness! Feng Xin nearly yelped, his ears turning warm.)
Hua Cheng stands, pulling Feng Xin up and out of his memories. “Let's go. We still have a lot of ground to cover.”
-
They continue their journey after that. Feng Xin never sees the demonic cultivator; he suspects Hua Cheng had a hand in it but doesn't remark on it. Feng Xin saw him slipping out of the inn room they were sharing once night fell, and the trip up the mountain the next morning was blessedly uneventful.
Hua Cheng does not say much else after that night and is brutally efficient as they interrogate the string of villages they pass through. Feng Xin gets the impression he does not work with other people often.
He’s fine with that. Hua Cheng isn't the most amicable conversation partner but they have a certain amount of understanding between them. Feng Xin knows that Hua Cheng is someone with the potential to be unbearable with how he wheedles and charms the teahouse aunties for a place to stay, yet he does not argue with Feng Xin to the extent that Mu Qing does. At the very least, they are in agreement that Xie Lian’s name should be given due respect in what remaining myths survived, even if Hua Cheng has to hold Feng Xin’s fist back on more than one occasion so he doesn't sock the storyteller recounting the events of the disgraceful fall of Xian Le.
Feng Xin has always been one to trust a man’s actions over his words, and so far Crimson Rain has stayed true to his grandiose declarations. There is no one else left for him to trust, besides.
When it begins to rain, they seek shelter in a small temple. Not that they actually need to, given they're ghosts - but it helps them appear mortal in the eyes of passing humans and breaks the monotony of traveling.
They keep their distance as much as possible, never too close despite the lack of space. Feng Xin feels strange having spent countless turns of the sun with the ghost king yet knowing nothing about him. The way Hua Cheng regards him is aloof and professional. It's nothing like taking his junior officials out on an errand when he was Xie Lian's deputy general. Hua Cheng doesn't treat him with reverence, but he doesn't treat him like a subordinate like his servants in Ghost City, either. Feng Xin does not hold any illusions that it means that he is afforded respect - Hua Cheng could easily overpower him when he's barely held together by the desire to find His Highness.
The temple’s name plate is missing and it has fallen into disrepair, making it little better than a shack on the side of the road. Part of Feng Xin is relieved to no longer exist under the gaze of the gods, to not be reminded of what he could no longer achieve. He sits against one wall of the temple, lightly dozing to the sound of rain.
Hua Cheng’s steps are light, but Feng Xin’s honed senses pick up on them as he drifts in and out of sleep. Hua Cheng moves across the temple several times, then unrolls a piece of parchment. The smooth glide of a brush on paper sits under the drizzle that surrounds them until that, too, ceases.
When Feng Xin wakes, he is surprised by the sight at the temple altar. A fresh flower sits in a small vase, presented alongside an illustration of the Crown Prince of Xian Le. Feng Xin’s breath catches at the sight.
“All the temples in the capital used to look like this.” Feng Xin absently notes. Perhaps Hua Cheng was one of the Crown Prince’s devout followers to be able to recreate the scene in such detail.
“Why do you want to find His Highness?” Feng Xin asks, turning towards the ghost king sloppily reclining in one corner of the temple. His voice is nearly smothered by the sound of raindrops outside.
Hua Cheng is quiet for a long moment. Feng Xin wonders if he’s asked something strange. Mu Qing always told him he had no tact whatsoever, but it never bothered him until now.
Hua Cheng’s reply lacks the cutting wit or dangerous edge that it usually has. Instead, he sounds distant and lost in thought. “He saved me, once. I want to thank him for that.”
Of course, Feng Xin thinks. Of course it was because of Xie Lian’s kind, heroic heart that beat and bled for his people. It's no wonder Hua Cheng was touched, because who wouldn't be?
“I think he would like that. It would… mean more to him than you know.” Feng Xin replies honestly, thinking of those miserable months living in exile and squalor. To know there is yet one person who believes in the good he’s done would surely raise his spirits. He offers Hua Cheng a small nod. “We’ll find him. I know we will.”
Feng Xin quickly retreats, feeling as though he's already overstepped some unspoken boundary trying to offer comfort to a ghost king. He feels Hua Cheng’s gaze on him as he lowers his head and prays before the altar.
The illustration on the altar depicts Xie Lian as the Crown Prince Who Pleased the Gods, with a sword in one hand and a flower in the other. Something tightens in Feng Xin’s chest at the memory of Xie Lian in those ornate robes, and how he danced through the air and around Mu Qing’s movements. In that moment, Feng Xin decided that he would help His Highness create the beautiful, prosperous Xian Le that he held in his mind’s eye, where the Crown Prince was the savior of even the most lowly commoner and forgotten ghost.
-
Time passes strangely without a body. Spring melts into summer without warning, and the cicadas sing loudly from the trees.
They find nothing, as expected. When they return to Ghost City, they resume their previous arrangement and keep out of each other's path. Feng Xin feels like something is missing, to be suddenly alone again. Yin Yu is not much company when he only delivers missives to Feng Xin.
“Spar with me.” Feng Xin says one day, standing before the desk in Hua Cheng’s study.
“Why?” Hua Cheng lazily asks, and the question is plain in his apathy. Why spar when it’s clear who’s stronger?
Feng Xin does not waver. They're both frustrated and impatient in the sticky summer heat, waiting on Hua Cheng’s next contact to deliver him news of the Crown Prince’s whereabouts. So what better way to relieve stress than to fight? That was how he and Mu Qing got on, anyway.
He can't prod and provoke the other like he does Mu Qing, but it shouldn't be strange to just ask for a round. If his guess is right, Hua Cheng must have been a soldier that died in service to Xian Le, given the way he carries himself and his skill with a weapon. Feng Xin can't deny he's a little curious.
“I need to know how you fight so I can better support you next time.” He reasons. Next time, like Hua Cheng was going to take him along with certainty.
Hua Cheng sizes him up like a predator idly watching a bird in the trees. “Fine.” Hua Cheng rises from his desk and strides into the maze-like halls of Paradise Manor without prelude. Feng Xin breaks into a half-jog to keep up.
He follows Hua Cheng to a part of Paradise Manor he’s never been to before, then outside to an expansive courtyard, revealing a lush garden with a large meadow at the center.
He is reminded of Mount Taicang again; there were numerous training grounds in the compound where His Highness studied, but sometimes, he slipped out to the wilderness for a change of pace. The Crown Prince and his two retainers would practice swordplay and martial arts among the long grass and summer sun, the sound of their laughter swallowed up by a vast, cloudless sky.
Hua Cheng tosses him a sword that he nearly drops. He experimentally swings it, testing its weight in one hand. Feng Xin notices the unique ornamentation on the hilt. If Xie Lian was here, he would surely know something about this sword. The only thing he can glean is that the quality is too exquisite for something so carelessly thrown at him.
All the more reason to not make a fool of himself. Feng Xin mentally recounts the forms he learned alongside Mu Qing, carefully watching Hua Cheng from across the meadow as they circle each other. He holds his breath. Exhales slowly.
He lunges forth.
The first time he watched Hua Cheng fight, he was too concerned with his pithy collection of arrows to gain a sense of his technique. But now, he finds an unexpected familiarity in his movements. Though Feng Xin never took up the scimitar, he can recognize the style as one unique to Xian Le. They dance around each other for a few beats, Feng Xin’s chest bursting with an unidentifiable emotion with each blow he parries.
He finds home in the way Hua Cheng fights. He thought everything had been lost to the war, but Hua Cheng’s movements keep Xian Le alive and vivid in Feng Xin’s memory.
It is over in an instant. Feng Xin is sent sprawling in the grass after a few valiant strikes. Archery was his preferred method of fighting, but he doesn't remember being this pathetic at swordplay. Hua Cheng was simply too strong.
Hua Cheng falls upon him, the edge of E-Ming at his throat. He casts a shadow over Feng Xin, eclipsing the sun overhead.
From where he is leaning over Feng Xin, Hua Cheng's hair forms a black curtain that tickles his cheek. They've never been this close before. Because he is an idiot, Feng Xin immediately notices that Hua Cheng’s features are striking and sharp, a face worthy of a martial god.
Feng Xin’s pulse is loud in his ears. He knows Hua Cheng won’t flick his wrist and send a spray of blood across the grass or shatter his spirit, yet he feels strangely vulnerable under Hua Cheng's hungry gaze. This must be the effect of a ghost king’s aura. Why else would he feel so lightheaded when pinned down by the other’s weight?
The moment lasts what could be an eternity. Hua Cheng removes E-Ming from his neck.
“This sword must have been defective. We should get you a proper spiritual weapon.” Hua Cheng finally says, pulling away. “I’ll see if there's one in the armory.”
Hua Cheng leaves the field and Feng Xin behind. Feng Xing is keenly aware of the way his hair has fallen out of his bun and quickly reaches up to fix it.
-
Feng Xin learns small things about Hua Cheng as he passes his days in Ghost City.
Ghost City’s personnel ran the city without the constant supervision of Hua Chengzhu, but he did like to grace the gambling hall and night market when it struck his fancy. Feng Xin finds the former distasteful, especially with how it attracts mortals and even the occasional junior official. He prefers frequenting the latter in small doses, if only because he can listen to the ghosts chatter about eras past and piece together the last eight hundred years.
In his spare time, Hua Cheng was well-read and a talented artist. On rare occasions, Feng Xin caught him absently carving intricate patterns into a block of wood or stone, yet he never saw the final result. Feng Xin was never talented at the arts or literature, so he offers Hua Cheng the only thing he knows.
“You're plenty skilled with that scimitar. Why pursue other arms?” Feng Xin asks as he corrects Hua Cheng’s stance. The ghost king lets himself be maneuvered without complaint.
They've settled into a routine where they spar, or where Feng Xin teaches the other Xian Le martial arts, swordplay, or archery.
It's not like he minds teaching the Hua Cheng techniques he learned; the other was a quick study and possessed an otherworldly elegance, even if his stance and form were wrong at first. But part of him thinks it's wasted on someone like Crimson Rain Sought Flower, who was already powerful beyond measure.
Hua Cheng shrugs. “When I was younger, I always wanted to be part of the royal guard.” It feels like another one of the ghost king’s half-truths, but Feng Xin can pick out the sincerity in the flippant reply.
He nods approvingly. “I'm sure His Highness would have taken you as a bodyguard, too.”
Hua Cheng’s eye flickers towards Feng Xin in minute surprise.
Feng Xin grins. “He's a fanatic about weapons and fighting. If he saw you in action with that scimitar, he would have asked for you in a heartbeat. Trust me.”
He claps Hua Cheng on the shoulder, then returns to his place across from him and mirrors his stance. “Now - on your guard!”
-
Feng Xin finds out why Yin Yu handled most of the paperwork when Hua Cheng draws him a map of their next destination.
“Your handwriting is horrible.” Feng Xin gripes. He can make out the various locations, but just barely.
Hua Cheng gives him an annoyed look with a raised brow. “You think you could do better?”
Feng Xin snorts. “Probably not. His Highness had to help me with my calligraphy sometimes. He was a really good teacher.”
Hua Cheng considers this. “You should show me how he did it for you.”
Feng Xin gives a small laugh as he stuffs the map into his pack. “Next time we come back, I’ll show you.”
-
When autumn takes the realm, the leaves are as red as Hua Cheng’s flashy robes.
In a city by the coast, they come across one of Xie Lian’s lost artifacts: a sword, kept snug in its ornate sheath, but Feng Xin recognizes the weathered sword tassel immediately.
He spent nearly a week tangling the silken threads between his fumbling fingers and in the end, he even begged Mu Qing for help. It was a paltry birthday present compared to the gifts that were usually offered to the Crown Prince, but Xie Lian’s face lit up all the same as he eagerly tied it to the sword on his hip.
Feng Xin’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he watches Hua Cheng buy the sword without even bothering to haggle its exorbitant price. The ghost king seems to be holding back a laugh when he drops the sword into Feng Xin’s hands.
-
Hua Cheng makes a clever jest while charming once of the teahouse waitresses.
Feng Xin nearly spits out his tea from laughing so hard, and can't remember the last time felt light enough to let mirth overtake him.
-
It is winter when Mu Qing visits.
Feng Xin found various statues of Mu Qing - no, general Xuan Zhen as they scoured the realm for signs of His Highness. Where the various gods in the Heavens had a colorful palette of interpretations, only Xuan Zhen’s visage remained constant across his temples. That vain bastard made his believers create accurate sculptures of his ugly face, as if to personally taunt Feng Xin.
He finds that same face at the gates of Ghost City, eyes wide with disbelief.
The visit is, of course, unpleasant, as all things pertaining to Mu Qing tend to be.
“You died, dumbass! You can't ascend now! How are we supposed to find His Highness if you've gone off and gotten yourself killed?!” Mu Qing’s voice cracks the barest amount, and Feng Xin desperately ignores it, trying to hold onto his fury.
“At least one of us stayed by his side and didn't abandon him!” He barks back.
“I ascended to the Upper Court and I’ve been searching my entire domain for him for years, what have you been doing?!”
They can't fight like they used to because Mu Qing's spiritual powers were liable to disperse Feng Xin, but it doesn't stop him from trying to throw a punch. Mu Qing handles him easily. He doesn't have a spiritual weapon at his side or any significant amount of spiritual power, and he's laid flat on his back in one movement.
Mu Qing looks just as shocked as Feng Xin feels. They were evenly matched as mortals, yet Mu Qing had gone ahead and became the stalwart Martial God of the South without him. Feng Xin spits a curse. Things could never be the same as they were centuries ago. The realization sets in like the chill of the snow beneath him.
Mu Qing pulls him up. The anger is gone from his features. He looks like he wants to say something, but Feng Xin speaks first.
“I've been looking for His Highness, too. You said it yourself: I’m dead, so the only thing I can do is look for him on earth.” His voice is as even as he can make it. He keeps his breaths steady. “I’ll leave it to you to search from the Heavens.”
He doesn't wait for Mu Qing’s reply before leaving.
“Is he unwelcome here?” Hua Cheng casually asks when Feng Xin returns to Paradise Manor. There is a promise in the sharp glint of his eye - if Feng Xin did not want Mu Qing to enter Ghost City, then he would never be able to again.
Under different circumstances, he would have cursed Mu Qing’s name to the Heavens. Now, he only curses his own weakness.
Feng Xin sighs. “Don't hurt him. He… he's an idiot, and fucking insufferable, but he cares about His Highness, too.”
Hua Cheng gives him a curious look, as if debating on smiting Mu Qing regardless, but doesn't press further.
-
In the spring, Hua Cheng lazily tosses another weapon at Feng Xin before they depart for a city across the mountains.
“If that General Xuan Zhen comes by again, you can shoot him full of holes with this.” He deadpans. Feng Xin knows that he is not entirely joking.
Feng Xin unravels the cloth holding the weapon. It is a bow as black as night and a bowstring made of shining silver. It looks like a weapon meant to be wielded by a Heavenly Official. Feng Xin can feel the unabashed power radiating off of it.
“Its name is Fengshen.” Hua Cheng says as Feng Xin continues to gawk at the bow, conflicted. “It uses spiritual power in place of arrows. That way you don't have to worry about running out.”
“I can't use something like this.” He immediately blurts.
Hua Cheng raises a brow.
“I don't…” Deserve it, Feng Xin wants to say. “I don't have enough spiritual power to wield it.”
“Then I'll lend you some spiritual power.”
The next moment Hua Cheng closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against Feng Xin’s.
Hua Cheng's spiritual energy circulates around him like a live current under his skin, sending his stomach fluttering. In some way, he's become used to taking the ghost king’s spiritual energy when it was a necessity during their travels. Hua Cheng’s spiritual energy is as potent as ever, nearly shaking him apart as it flows through him.
Hua Cheng’s lips are soft and Feng Xin doesn't remember what to do when kissing someone. He melts slightly, struggling to not drop Fengshen from his grasp . Feng Xin’s head is warm and dizzy, and the only thing he can think of is that he wants more of this - more of Hua Cheng around him, inside him, reminding him he's not alone even if the centuries abandoned them.
Hua Cheng breaks the kiss when he deems Feng Xin’s spiritual energy reserves sufficient.
What the fuck was that, Feng Xin wants to ask. He feels uncentered and giddy. Yet at the same time, it felt natural - good, even. He wouldn't mind it again.
“Come on, we're wasting time.” Hua Cheng says, snapping Feng Xin out of his stupor. He beckons towards him as he takes to the road.
Feng Xin quickly straps Fengshen to his back and follows.