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Falling in love for the first time was much like being out in a storm.
With Mu Qing, it was lightning strikes that caught one unaware. Silent and unnoticeable if you weren’t looking, but startlingly bright if you were watching. From the moment Xie Lian saw him at the Royal Temple, he felt want like he never had before. Life was good to him, wondrous and lacking nothing in its grandeur. He had it all. But he wanted something more.
The cloudy grays and blacks of palace politics, their boring, tedious drawl he had to listen to say in and day out. The loneliness of being caught out among torrents of rain as everyone else sought shelter— no person cared to befriend him without an ulterior motive. His family was even worse, always too busy, too proper, to bond the way Xie Lian longed for. Every meal was the same talk of fashion and politics, of lessons and reminders to do well for the sake of Xian Le. The affection of his youth, almost long gone now that he had to carry himself as a future king, rather than the young prince he still was.
He wanted something new. Something that wasn’t a part of his predetermined path to ascending to the throne. And when he saw Mu Qing, pouring tea of all mundane tasks to do, Xie Lian was enchanted. There was an elegance to Mu Qing’s fine hands and wrists, grace in his lofty steps as though gravity couldn’t hold him to the ground. And his beauty…
Xie Lian had never seen anyone, anything, so stunning. His gold paled and his jewels dulled, in comparison.
The desire to capture that sole light amidst the dreariness around him was overwhelming and, without thinking, he’d beckoned the boy over to kneel beside him so they could speak. He waved away his other servants and advisors— he didn’t want any third-party interference, didn’t want that odd bridge of speaking back and forth as though through a messenger.
Dark, silky hair fell forward, as the boy tilted his head in a bow. If it weren’t improper, Xie Lian would’ve liked very much to twist a lock around his finger, feel the softness of each strand.
“What is your name?,” Xie Lian asked.
“This one is Mu Qing, Taizi Dianxia,” the boy murmured. And gods above, even his voice was lovely, like music on a gentle breeze.
“Do you have any talents, Mu Qing?”
Xie Lian hoped desperately that the boy did. If he didn’t, Xie Lian would only get to have his company for a few weeks or, if he was lucky, months before the palace advisors and his parents urged him to find someone that would be more useful for the palace’s needs.
“Talents?” Mu Qing repeated, softly still, as though mulling over the taste of the word. “This one is capable in his duties, Taizi Dianxia.”
“And what are your duties?” Xie Lian asked, already feeling dreadful. With his luck, the boy would just be another one of his ‘charity cases’, as the other nobles liked to call them.
“Cleaning, serving tea.” One of the imperial eunuchs cleared their throats, and Mu Qing continued speaking as though having received a command. “This one can also cook and sew, Taizi Dianxia.”
Well, that would be useful, but Xie Lian wanted a companion, as well, not just another attendant.
“Anything else?” He could see Feng Xin staring at him, longsufferingly, from the corner of his eye. “Any skills in painting or poetry? Perhaps music?”
If Mu Qing could do any of that, had any potential in them, the palace would want to keep him. Such skills were sought after, taught to all nobility though few succeeded.
Mu Qing suddenly blushed, face a brighter pink than his delicate lips. “T-t-this one never learned painting or poetry…”
Xie Lian almost sighed, horribly disappointed. He was just about to dismiss the boy but Mu Qing wasn’t yet done.
“But this one can play the erhu a bit, and sing a bit, Taizi Dianxia.”
The young prince paused for just a moment, heart beating fast. “I would like to hear you. Come now, let us go to a private room. Someone bring an erhu.”
Xie Lian insisted on being alone— if Mu Qing couldn’t play or sing, it wouldn’t do to embarrass him. Heavens know how many people claimed talents where they had none just to gain favor. So Feng Xin stood outside the closed door while Xie Lian settled comfortably on the divan, Mu Qing sitting anxiously not too far in front of him on a low bench.
“This one apologizes, Taizi Dianxia, for he does not know many songs,” Mu Qing admitted in a whisper.
“Play for me what you know best,” Xie Lian said simply, nibbling on some snacks that had been left with them and paused, suddenly struck by a thought. For a wild, perverse moment, he imagined it was Mu Qing gently pressing the treats to Xie Lian's lips, laying close to him and letting his long hair shroud both of them behind a curtain of privacy, those dainty fingers currently resting on the strings and around the bow of the erhu instead brushing skin.
He took a deep, careful breath and reminded himself of his cultivation.
“This one was told that this song is an old folk song, from the days of clans and sects. This one hopes it pleases Taizi Dianxia,” Mu Qing explained softly, before beginning to play.
Xie Lian watched, entranced, at the practiced ease with which Mu Qing played, fingers dancing along the strings. After a few moments, he added his voice to the tune, building up and buoyed by the tune, until it was all Xie Lian could hear. His thoughts, always running rampant, finally silent.
Mu Qing’s eyes had slipped shut, long eyelashes brushing his cheeks, and Xie Lian wished the other boy was closer, enough so that he could count each lash.
“Play another,” he said, when the first song ended, the ghost of its warm melody fading.
The pink from earlier came back with a vengeance, blossoming across Mu Qing’s face like roses in spring.
“T-the only other one t-this one is very good at is a lo-love song, Taizi Dianxia,” he hugged the erhu tighter, as though to shield himself. Xie Lian bit back a teasing grin, but couldn’t help himself when he said:
“Ah, this Mu Qing intends to enchant me,” Xie Lian jested. Mu Qing’s blush stretched to his ears, down his neck, and disappeared beneath his robes. Xie Lian wondered idly how far it went— to delicate collarbones, to Mu Qing’s chest?
Mu Qing shook his head. “No, Taizi Dianxia, this one dare not be so bold.”
“Perhaps you should be,” Xie Lian murmured, leaning forward. “Play it for me.”
The other boy visibly swallowed, somehow shyer than he’d already been, but he played. Sang of longing to meet and meeting again, of walking an endless road and never parting.
And Xie Lian knew then, he never wanted Mu Qing to leave him.
————————
He thought he’d love Mu Qing as strongly as one could love when he brought the boy back as his personal attendant.
(It hadn’t been advised. Warned against, actually, for Mu Qing’s father had been a criminal, executed for his crimes, and the boy himself had a sharp tongue to match a wretched temper. But Xie Lian wanted him anyway.)
But he’d been wrong. Surely there was a limit for his love, but it was far out of his reach still.
Xie Lian wasn’t a heavy sleeper but neither was he the type to enjoy being awakened, something his previous servants quickly took note of. He didn’t mean to be but he was a bit irritable in the morning, too groggy and dazed to monitor his behavior. So when a soft voice called for him to wake, he turned on his side, pulling the covers closer.
“Taizi Dianxia, it’s time to get ready for the day,” the voice said, more persistent this time.
When Xie Lian just burrowed deeper, the folding doors leading outside were suddenly thrown open wide, the sunlight flooding into his face and searing into his eyes even through the closed lids.
He sat upright, annoyed, a reprimand on his tongue. But it got stuck just inside his lips.
Standing not too far from him, haloed by the early morning light, was Mu Qing, his hands in the sleeves of his robes. Xie Lian could see the nervous twitching of them beneath the fabric.
“My apologies, Taizi Dianxia, but it is getting late,” he said demurely. “This one has your clothes and meal ready for you.”
Xie Lian glanced to his sitting area where steaming tea and covered plates were waiting for him, and the irritation faded quickly.
He smiled gently and got out of bed, letting Mu Qing help him through his routine.
He didn’t have such an issue waking up after that, not if it meant seeing Mu Qing the way only he got to, bathed in sunshine that made the younger boy’s skin glow.
Angelic.
But it wasn’t just the morning light. He fell in love with the way darkness crowded around Mu Qing, melted into his hair, his pale face clear like the moon.
Like a beacon, calling Xie Lian back, calling him home.
“Taizi Dianxia?” Mu Qing murmured, leaning over Xie Lian. “Are you awake? Are you alright?”
Xie Lian’s heart was racing, the erratic thumping like a horse stampeding through his chest, the remnants of a nightmare hovering close and slipping away in turn as he struggled to get his bearings.
“Taizi Dianxia, it is alright. It was just a bad dream,” Mu Qing consoled. “You are alright.”
His obsidian eyes were piercing, the light from the candles dancing in them as if teasing somewhere deeper, a place beyond what could be seen.
Xie Lian wanted to sink in them.
He let Mu Qing fuss over him, wiping the sweat from his forehead and ushering him out of bed to fix the sheets and fluff the pillows. And he let himself be coaxed back into bed, blankets neatly tucked around him.
“Have you ever had nightmares?” Xie Lian asked, watching as Mu Qing freeze while preparing some tea.
He nodded, minutely. “Yes, Taizi Dianxia.”
“What do you do for them?”
The boy hummed, pressing the warm cup into Xie Lian’s hands. “Nothing, Your Highness. This one goes back to sleep or gets to work.”
“And when you were younger? Before you worked,” Xie Lian asked— neither of those things were options for him, not without falling back to more nightmares or drawing his parents’ concern.
Mu Qing smiled wryly. “This one has worked since he was young. But my mother or father used to sing to me at times.”
Xie Lian beamed eagerly. He hadn’t heard the boy play or sing for weeks now, too bogged down by work and lessons. “Would Mu Qing sing for me?”
The boy blushed— Xie Lian noticed he was rather prone to it, his pale skin doing him no favors in that regard— and nodded. Kneeling down by the bedside while Xie Lian laid back down, he began singing softly, a little ditty that had been passing through the palace.
“Sing that love song,” Xie Lian requested. Mu Qing paused for a second but acquiesced. Xie Lian smiled, letting his eyes slip close as Mu Qing’s voice chased the dredges of fire and screams out of his mind.
———————
“Your Highness really likes Mu Qing,” Feng Xin said, clearly bewildered, as he set the game of Go between them, when Mu Qing had left to bring them snacks and drinks.
Xie Lian knew his bodyguard didn’t care for his personal attendant and vice versa, but he couldn’t help but adore both of them, even if a little differently in manner. He’d be ashamed to admit, at times, he didn’t mind the heated arguments between Feng Xin and Mu Qing, enraptured as he was with Mu Qing’s strength and shrewd tongue, wielded as easily as he did a saber.
Mu Qing’s anger was like lightning. It set his eyes alight and drew his body up to its full height (taller now than he was when they first met) out of the rigid politeness he usually walked with. The way his hair would flip with the dismissive roll of his eyes that he kept out of anyone’s sight, though Xie Lian watched him too carefully not to notice, the ponytail snapping the way lightning would hit ground, fast and alluring for just that moment before it disappeared.
“He’s truly amazing, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian said, trying to hide the adoration he knew was in his voice.
“If His Highness says so,” Feng Xin muttered.
Mu Qing entered the room then, eyes locking on the game. Xie Lian, who’d been lost in his thoughts for most of the game— Mu Qing was oddly distracting, preoccupying much of Xie Lian’s thoughts whenever something pressing or particularly interesting wasn’t already on his mind—was losing to Feng Xin.
“Ah, Mu Qing! Have you ever played Go?” Xie Lian asked.
The younger boy shook his head. “This one has seen others play it, Taizi Dianxia, but that is all.”
“Oh? Hmm I was hoping perhaps you could help me,” Xie Lian laughed sheepishly. “I’m losing rather terribly.”
Mu Qing frowned slightly, placing the snacks and teapot on a nearby table before looking over the board. “What if Taizi Dianxia place a piece here?” He gestured to the board.
“Hey!” Feng Xin protested and Xie Lian cried out exuberantly. It was a perfect spot, cutting Feng Xin off and stealing back some of the area for himself.
“Come, come. You play, Mu Qing! I want to see how well you do,” Xie Lian urged, climbing up to his feet and guiding Mu Qing down onto the cushion instead.
“Taizi Dianxia, this one cannot— the chores—“
“They can wait for a few minutes. Play!”
Mu Qing did as bid, not winning the game but stealing back and saving Xie Lian from losing as horribly as he would’ve originally. Then, in the next game, he’d come to a tie with Feng Xin. But that was as far as Mu Qing would humor him, insisting he return to his work.
That became routine then, their rhythm, work and battles of intelligence, of skill. Sparring interspersed with lessons and chores. Missions and cultivation, palace events and palace problems. All dealt with beside each other. Their idle affections seemed to say nothing and everything all at once as they grew closer to each other, Xie Lian raising Mu Qing ever higher as he himself rose higher.
Together. He told himself. They would do it all together.
Until the war. And then Xie Lian’s descent from Heaven.
But Mu Qing (and Feng Xin) stayed beside him. Worked and toiled and struggled to make ends meet in a way Xie Lian never had to before. They didn’t complain.
Forever, he told himself. They were his to have, his friendship and his love, forever.
Their dynamics remained unchanged even as Xie Lian grew ever more distant in his anger and frustration. Mu Qing was still there to console him, to help Xie Lian pick up the shattered pieces and keep them together. Mu Qing didn’t complain.
And Xie Lian thought they were fine. They were together and they were surviving and, in the moments when he wasn’t chasing his former glory, trying to fulfill his parents’ desires, he wanted for nothing more. He had his love, his forever— a walked path with no separation.
But then Mu Qing left him. Suddenly. Upset. Unhappy with their lives, with being with Xie Lian. And Xie Lian let him go, wishing he’d never loved Mu Qing at all.
—————————
Falling in love with San Lang was like finally seeing the sun after a storm had raged on for days on end, trapping you in the confines of your shelter with nothing at all. He’d swept in with his alluring gaze, flocked by his butterflies and his devotion, his steadying stance and ferocity, ready to support Xie Lian and be there for every step.
Every fall, every disaster, San Lang had been there.
Every mistake, every shame, he’d seen and he’d loved Xie Lian through them all.
A walked path with no separation.
Every “gege” that passed San Lang’s lips, made Xie Lian’s heart beat a rhythm it never played, a song that felt like dancing or flying or fighting a winning battle.
Every touch of their skin to each other wasn't so electrifying as it was comforting, a draw that pulled and pulled at Xie Lian until he wanted nothing more than to be fully immersed. To be one, forever.
But then San Lang had gone, a mere year in the hundreds that Xie Lian lived, and Xie Lian knew heartbreak once more. By then he’d thought he’d experienced all the pain the world had to offer, tortured over and over as he was, but nothing could compare to this.
And still it was a walked path of no separation. Because he woke turned to where San Lang would lay facing him in bed, had the ghost king been laying with him. Xie Lian cooked and sought San Lang’s opinions. Xie Lian gardened, he cleaned, he fulfilled his duties wishing and picturing San Lang was by his side.
...And then Mu Qing came back.
After their fight on Mount Taicang, Xie Lian was forced to reevaluate all of their interactions. All the affections he thought they shared, the comforts and companionships— he’d fallen in love with someone who had barely liked him at the time, only wishing for friendship and to be seen as equal because Xie Lian, in his blinded love, had been blinded on how he treated his beloved.
To see his once-beloved swarmed by children, feeding them and doting on them— Xie Lian was instantly struck with nostalgia and longing. He’d seen that scene before, back in Xian Le when they went to visit Mu Qing’s mother and the children would clamber to and over Mu Qing, vying for treats and his attention in equal gusto.
How had he ever mistaken what Mu Qing bestowed onto him as anything near the adoration Mu Qing gave to people he truly cared for?
Xie Lian wanted it. Wanted that attention turned to him.
He wasn’t sure if anyone but those innocent children deserved it.
It was easy then, to ask forgiveness.
It was easy then, to find the will to work at it.
(To find the will was easy, but each conversation was a trial of patience. Patience to fight through their arguments and disagreements until they understood each other, hearing what each other truly meant rather than what their own personal thoughts swore the other was saying.
Each time Mu Qing stormed out, caught in his temper and unwilling to bend—
Each time Xie Lian felt his temper flare—
He wanted to give up.
He’d think of San Lang and think that he needed no one else. Once his beloved returned, he’d never need or want anything else.
But he’d go to sleep and know he was lying to himself.
To survive, to love as he loves, to contain it all to one person, it wasn’t possible for a person like him. As a prince, a king as he would’ve been, he would have been allowed to love as freely as he wanted.
As a god twice rejected…he’d have to take what he was allowed)
But afterwards...after they worked at things. Promised to keep working at things…
It was easy then, to fall back in love.
He knew Mu Qing would come back after every fight. Knew they could reach out and seek some comfort, as limited as it was. And it felt like...enough.
But Xie Lian knew better this time, that Mu Qing had never and likely would never feel the same way, too used to Xie Lian as a master than Xie Lian as a friend.
So when San Lang came back, Xie Lian let himself be swept away once again, loved unconditionally and irrevocably and desperately ignoring the sort of him that said he wasn’t complete without his first love.
And that worked. Gods above, for years, it worked.
But there were still mornings when he saw amber eyes and wished they were obsidian.
And Xie Lian wasn’t sure if he ever hated himself more.