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Mu Qing nervously entered the military compound, forcing her breaths to stay steady. Don’t let them know, don’t let them know.

There was a delicateness to her features that was undeniable, the softness to her body only hidden by the way she bounded her chest and covered herself in bulky armor that fit her shape wrong. “You’d think with how much I paid for this, it would fit better,” she complained under her breath. 

Really, her only saving grace was that her brother was so young, not yet old enough to grow the thick facial hair she was seeing on the men around her. Not yet old enough to take his illness to a battlefield and die with it. 

(He’d be more useful at home, able to work and take care of their family…Mu Qing’s only fate would’ve been to get married, if only she had a good heritage. At least, in this, she would earn more worth than her criminal father damned her to be without.)

Pei Ming peeked up at her from her bag tied to the saddle, her little beak opening to speak, “Good armor unfortunately costs more than what you spent, especially if you want it to fit properly.” She glanced her over. “And besides, it wasn’t really meant to be worn over curves.”

“You shouldn’t be talking!” Mu Qing hissed, refraining from the urge of strangling the disguised woman. “And why did you choose to be a mandarin duckling of all things? That’s so conspicuous!” 

“Because!” She quacked, flapping her wings a bit. “It’ll do you some good!”

“What the hell kind of good—” Mu Qing cut herself off as she got closer to the other soldiers, reluctantly moving to sign in. 

As they lined up to sign in, a man nudged her, face scrunched with irritation. “Did you hear who our general is? I heard it’s General Hua Cheng, son of the retired General Hua Zhiyuan. I heard he got the position because his father recommended him. Makes you wish you had a general for a father, huh?”

“Of course, he’s the son of the last general,” Mu Qing rolled her eyes. “Merit hardly means anything if you’ve got the lineage.”

“Do you doubt it?” A dry voice asked. 

The others around her stilled, their eyes dancing with both fear and amusement, and Mu Qing very, very reluctantly turned around. Behind her, a tall man stood staring down at her impassively, the glint of his dark amber eyes as ominous as the blade that hung by his side. Carelessly, he unstrapped it from his waist and tossed it aside. 

“Perhaps we should test your own merit.”

It took a few seconds for the general to knock her off her feet, harsh blows to weak points she didn’t even know she had, making the muscles tremble and ache to a point of near uselessness. Some of the other men began to snicker, but they didn’t get to laugh long. General Hua dealt with a silent, ruthless vigor, dancing between them almost imperceptibly, his movements only tracked by the falling bodies of the men he left behind. 

When he was finally done, General Hua surveyed them lazily, eyeing the gasping and groaning men at his feet with a cold disregard.

“Now,” he said, shrugging off his outer and inner robes, leaving him in only his pants. “Let’s work on making you meritable.” 

And then he started singing. 

Mu Qing blinked. And blinked again. But the man kept singing, picking up a polearm. 

“Oh hell, did he hit me that hard?” She muttered, rubbing her head. “Is this really happening?”

Glancing at the other men around her, yes. Yes it was. 

“Did they send me daughters, when I asked for sons?” General Hua sang demandingly, jabbing a few of them with the polearm, knocking the breath out of them.

She scrambled to her feet quickly to avoid the stick being stabbed against her, cursing under her breath. “Nope, definitely a man. I am definitely a man.” 

The general stared at her, his eyes narrowing. But he began running backwards, polearm whistling as he smacked the soldiers’ legs so they’d hurry and follow. Some of them fell with the force, squeaks and short cries of pain slipping out of their mouths before they clamped down on them, whimpering as they ran. 

Mu Qing thanked the gods she wasn’t as unfamiliar with running as some of the men straggling behind her, running a little faster to escape the general’s merciless attention in the form of multiple polearm thwacks, running herself breathless by the time they reached the training grounds. She panted, struggling to catch her breath as the other soldiers caught up. Hopefully by then the general would be done singing. 

But no, the general arrived soon and, with him, the song followed them throughout their training. 

That night, Mu Qing all but fell into her tent and bedding, not even bothering to undress. 

“I’m aching in places I didn’t know I could hurt,” Mu Qing wheezed hours later, laying flat on her back in her tent. “Gods above…”

She knew manual labor, knew what it was like to disguise herself as a boy to pull carts and run errands when her father wasn't around and her brothers were too young to do them. But this? Combat forms, exercising, her general and comrades beating her black and blue, that bloody polearm snapping out to lash her whenever she lagged behind or her posture wavered— made Mu Qing’s body feel like someone had put her into a mortar and ground her into grains of Mu-Qing-flavored spice. 

And it was only day one. 

Pei Ming tsks, shifting out of mandarin duck form to the unfairly regal general she once was. She finds some of the herbal remedies Mu Qing had snuck into her bag and starts applying them to the more obvious of the woman’s wounds. “It’ll take time. Keeping up isn’t enough— with how slender you are, you’re at a disadvantage. You’ll need to train more if you want to actually be able to survive.” 

Grumbling sourly, Mu Qing rolled over, trying to hide her face from Pei Ming. The woman let out a sound not unlike an indignant quack, grabbing Mu Qing and rolling her back over. 

“No, no—”

Mu Qing turned away again, almost whining. “Let me sleep.” 

“Fine,” Pei Ming huffed, shifting back to a duck and tucking herself in the spare clothes. She waited until Mu Qing let her head fall back, just very nearly fast asleep, before adding, “We’ll start training tomorrow.” 

Groaning miserably, Mu Qing curled up beneath her thin blanket and glared at the duck, but she didn’t argue. 

The song kept coming up. Mu Qing was almost positive at this point that it was the only song General Hua knew. It was a shame really. Mu Qing could teach him a dozen more that wouldn’t be so annoying. 

During archery, General Hua belted, “Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within. Once you find your center, you are sure to win!” 

Mu Qing bit back a yelp when she nearly shot someone with an arrow, apologizing awkwardly. “This is a confusing metaphor. Do we want to be a forest fire or do we want to put out the forest fire?” 

General Hua glared at her and, instead of answering, walked closer to grab her by the collar, still singing,  “You're a spineless pale pathetic lot—”

“You’re pretty pale yourself, General,” Mu Qing huffed in complaint, taking care to speak in her village dialect. She eyed General Hua’s musculature— critically, and not at all admiringly– watching the way he grew pink beneath the sun, skin glistening. Is this really how men were around each other? How shameless. “Even walking around half-dressed isn’t doing your tan any favors.” 

He stopped singing, snapping out. “What was that?” 

Mu Qing flushed. He spoke her village dialect. Oh no.  

“You have a smooth complexion!” Someone who sounded suspiciously like Pei Ming‘s male disguise shouted. “It would be attractive if you were a woman!” 

General Hua let her go, turning around to find who had the nerve to say that . 

“You know, he probably just burns then. Which, ow, okay. This is painful enough without the self-inflicted injury,” another man beside her whispered, as he lowered the bow and rolled his shoulders. He waved slightly. “Hi, I’m Shi Qingxuan!” 

Mu Qing returned the greeting, whispering a furtive, “Do you think he’s done singing now?” 

The man shrugged, beaming. “I’d think so!” 

Shi Qingxuan was wrong. 

The song followed them through days, weeks, of martial art practice, through horseback riding—

“And you haven't got a clue— why do you have a horse if you cannot ride it?” Her general asks, more than a little frustrated the second time Mu Qing fell off of her horse, her body hanging off the side like a limp puppet. 

It was the same question she asked Pei Ming when the woman had insisted that Mu Qing get a horse. “All soldiers have one,” the woman said, and Mu Qing sneered, internally mocking her ancestor’s foolishness and her own for believing the damned woman. No one in her village rode horses, there was no need, and most of the men here were just as poor as she was, all shabby armor and horse-less. 

“Is this funny to you?” General Hua demands. Over the past few weeks, Mu Qing has heard some version of the same phrase more times than she could be bothered into counting. But it stung all the same. Despite all the work she’s put in, almost every skill had her falling behind, lagging as everyone took longer strides. Even now, even though she’d managed to outrun and outfight most of her comrades, the other men were riding ahead to where the general wanted them to do their training, leaving her and the general behind. 

Mu Qing tries to fix her expression into something unreadable but it's difficult with all the blood rushing to her head. She tries to swing back upwards, tries using the reins to pull herself up, but something gives and the ground is suddenly very, very close–

There’s a hand fisted in her shirt, hoisting her up, and she sees General Hua had trotted his horse closer, catching her before her head slammed into the rockier terrain. 

“Kick your feet out of the saddle,” he orders and, when she does, he uses his hold to wrap his arm around her and, in a move more fluid than it had any right to be, he pulls her onto his horse in front of him. Mu Qing blushes fiercely, her back pressed against her general’s chest as he directs his horse forward, one hand holding the reins in front of them, the other looped in the reins of Mu Qing’s horse, urging it to follow along in a quick gallop. 

“Wait–” she gasps, suddenly dizzy and nauseous, her eyes seeming to cross themselves in her skull and roll around with the tumbling in her gut. Her feet aren’t in the stirrups and she feels like she’s bouncing around, lurching with the movements instead of easily going along with them. 

“What now?” General Hua complains and, had Mu Qing not been caught in her panic, she might’ve laughed at how put-out he sounded. “What is wrong with you?”

But she can’t manage to even breathe properly. “Oh gods–” 

She all but threw herself off the saddle, weaving through her comrades and pitching towards a small patch of grass, her stomach emptying itself of the little contents it had. 

“Oh gross,” she grumbled when her stomach finally settled, chancing a glance at her general. 

Well, shit. Even the horse looked disgusted. 

General Hua rolled his eyes upwards as though praying to all the gods above and his ancestors. “Somehow I'll make a man out of you.”

Men aren’t even that great, Mu Qing wanted to complain, almost tempted to tell him it was his singing that had her like this, but she staggered away to wash her mouth instead. She’d tried his patience enough. 

….she should’ve told him. Should’ve taken the risk. No one should be singing so carefreely while they were swimming through river rapids. Not that Mu Qing was swimming. She was pretty sure the way she flailed counted more as just spastic drowning. 

“‘Be as swift as a coursing river’ doesn’t mean drown and let the waves carry you,” General Hua said, pulling Mu Qing from the deep depths of the water. 

She sputtered, clinging onto him, water seeping into every layer of cloth and bandages she had on and wetting General Hua. He was actually wearing clothes this time, decent, fit-for-a-general clothes. Mu Qing almost felt bad. 

“Get off— what! Mu Tian!”

And Mu Qing nearly forgot she was going by her brother’s name, that she was acting in his place. She nearly turned and looked. 

But even if she needed him, he wasn’t there. 

Have pride, she mentally scolded herself. What kind of thick face must they think she has for such misbehavior? What kind of reputation was she leaving her brother with? She had to get down. Had to try again. 

Mu Qing glanced at the swift waves beneath her feet, speeding by and tumbling over each other roughly, knocking the other soldiers off the rocky path and into the river, dragging them along mercilessly until they managed to catch themselves and try again. She had to step down, had to try again. The water brushed her foot as if trying to grab her and, unwillingly, she clung to General Hua tighter, her legs joining her arms in wrapping around him. 

“Mu Tian— ” 

She dared not look at his face; that tone said enough. But as he made to wrangle himself out of her vice-like grip, the words blurted from her mouth shamelessly:

“I can’t swim!” 

Someone else had taken up singing in General Hua’s place and suddenly the other men joined, yelling discordantly, “Be a man—!!”

If being a man meant dying a stupid death, Mu Qing was very comfortable being a woman, thank you very much. 

With the most exasperated and exaggerated sigh Mu Qing had ever heard— seriously, such dramatics were unnecessary!— General Hua very slowly and very purposefully crossed the riverbank to the other side, singing through gritted teeth, “You're unsuited for the rage of war…”

Well, that was unfair. She was easily better than more than half the men there— even her archery skills had gotten better! General Hua finally made it back on the land, irritably picking her limbs off of him. Mu Qing yelped as she fell, nearly landing in the dirt. 

And then General Hua was leaning close, glare unforgiving. His torso was soaked, patches of water on his neck where Mu Qing’s hands must’ve touched when she tried to hold on better. “So pack up, go home, you're through.”

Her throat felt tight. Her family, already dishonored with her father’s crimes and execution, would not survive the shame of a son who could not fight for his kingdom, his emperor. “General—” 

But the man wouldn’t spare her a second glance. “Go.” 

“I can learn to swim, please General— I’m the best swordsman you have!” The words weren’t so much untrue as they weren’t ones she shouldn’t have said, but it made her general stop and look at her. Made him speak before she could backtrack, gaze sharp and unforgiving. 

“You’ll have to prove that.” 

—— 

Mu Qing had thought she’d have to prove herself against her other comrades— something she had no qualms with. Their forms were fine, but she knew from practice that they weren’t as skilled as she was, especially not with the extra training Pei Ming was forcing her through nightly. So she was prepared, calm even, until her general idly took hold of his scimitar, a wicked blade he called E-Ming, and stood across from her. 

“Personally, I believe I’m the best swordsman I have,” General Hua drawled, twirling E-Ming around like a toy rather than a deadly blade, able to even cut through cloth that’d only been gently draped over the sharpened edge effortlessly, forcelessly. “But since you think otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant!” She protested, moving to bow, but the tip of the blade ended up under her throat, keeping her upright.

“Either you prove me wrong or you take your shame with you as you leave,” General Hua said, voice low and dark. “And let your family know you were too useless to even give them a chance to have some pride.” 

And then he swung. 

Their blades met with a clang, Mu Qing hastily raising her own to block General Hua’s, even though that strike alone sent her stumbling backwards. Every step she took back, he gained, and Mu Qing gritted her teeth. She had to prove herself. 

They met each other blow for blow, trading blades for kicks and punches that were blocked and parried, pushed away, as their bodies danced through the grass and dirt, danced with each other in this unplanned choreography. A routine of push and pull that never stayed along the same path, but it often ended the same way no matter how many times Mu Qing had tested her skill against her general’s. 

Mu Qing’s body thudded against the ground, the residual heat from earlier pressing through the fabric of her robes where she didn’t hide her features away with thick bandages. General Hua Cheng stared down at her, taking a few slow breaths to steady himself. 

“You’ve improved,” he allowed. “But—”

She lashed out, hooking and swiping her leg around his ankle, too low for his scimitar to reach her in the moment’s time he had to react, and brought him crashing down. He was almost right beside her, his sword arm on the ground and closest to her. Launching her body up, Mu Qing threw herself at him, pinning his sword arm beneath her weight and pressing her blade against the soft hollow of his throat. 

If General Hua wanted, he could throw her off without much trouble, could carry his blade right through and behead her before she even saw the blade coming. At the thought, Mu Qing leaned more weight against his arm, and made sure there was no space between her blade and his flesh. No space between his head and the ground for him to escape. And still she worried he’d find a way out, a way to win and throw her from the military. 

But he didn’t. Instead General Hua looked at her for a long, silent moment and slowly relaxed, laying in faux defeat. 

“Let me stay,” she pleaded, even though her voice barely rose, not wanting to break the fragile quiet between them. 

It took a moment. Long enough for General Hua to flex his pinned arm and catch her wrist with his free arm, twisting them upwards and carrying Mu Qing’s body up and over him to land on the ground on the other side of his own body. He watched her, the way she swallowed back a groan and tried to push back onto her feet. If the fight wasn’t over, she’d keep going. And keep going. And keep going , until she’d earned her place. 

General Hua catches her wrist again, keeping her beside him. His dark amber eyes almost seemed impressed. “Fine.” 

——

War broke out not long after, dragging them away from the relative safety of the training fields into mayhem. And while Mu Qing had to get used to the screaming that wouldn’t leave her ears, the nightmares that played even when her eyes were open, she’d be damned if she didn’t try to get the blood off (even if she knew no amount of scrubbing would ever, ever make her feel clean again). 

She waited until the soldiers were tucked away in their tents before sneaking out, hugging her clean clothes to her chest. Pei Ming sat in duck form on her shoulder, playing lookout and peering around behind them. 

The riverbank was clear, as was the river, and Mu Qing breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s safe now,” she muttered. “ Finally –”

The water rippled suddenly, and Mu Qing went still. Dark hair broke through the surface followed by chiseled, pale skin. Neck, chest, stomach– oh god. Mu Qing hurried to avert her eyes, finding the dying cattails suddenly very interesting. 

“Safe from what?” General Hua drawled. Mu Qing could hear the water dripping from his hair back into the river like gentle rain and she inched a little further away. “Mu Tian?”

“From uh…” she was always a terrible liar, prone to denying everything vehemently before the guilt gave in and truth came spilling out. “From…water snakes. Yeah, um, I don’t see any so you’re safe, too.” 

General Hua stared at her, unimpressed. Then, “Aren’t you coming to bathe?” 

Bathe? Bathe? How could she bathe while he was here? Mu Qing shook her head hastily, taking a step back. “Oh no, no, I just came here to make sure you’re alright, General. Now that I know you are—”

“You’re covered in blood, come bathe,” he deadpanned. 

“Men don’t really bathe,” Mu Qing declared, shuffling back a few more steps and willing herself not to cringe. “It’s a sign of my merit—”

General Hua sighed, rubbing at his brow. “That’s disgusting. Come bathe.” 

Mu Qing gripped her clothes tighter. “No, that’s okay— why are you coming out of the river??!” 

“I won’t have my soldiers die from disease because they’re too idiotic for hygiene,” General Hua said. Mu Qing quickly looked upwards, fixing her gaze on the moon, and kept walking backwards. She felt the weight of Pei Ming jump off her shoulder, her angry quacking filling the air. And then it abruptly stopped. “Mu Tian…why do you have a mandarin duckling?” 

Mu Qing chanced a glance at the general, watching the way he held Pei Ming carefully despite fixing his fingers around her beak, silencing her. He wore the expression of a man who was very much done with the world. 

“I…she’s good luck?”

General Hua closed his eyes and, if Mu Qing thought the general were a more religious man, she’d almost think he was praying. “Just— go bathe.” 

He reached out with one hand and Mu Qing impulsively slapped it. Then she realized what she did. 

Panickedly, Mu Qing tried to apologize and explain. “General, I-I I’m a bit…deformed.” She went to glance down and then realized, with how close General Hua was to her, it would only cause her to see something else too. So she kept her eyes up. “It’s really embarrassing.” 

The man stopped, slapped hand still hovering between them, until he slowly pulled it back. “Well. That’s unfortunate. I’ll let you bathe— and you have to, that’s a fucking order, Mu Tian, don’t be disgusting— in private.” 

Pei Ming waited until the general set her down and got dressed, leaving them quickly, before speaking. “Damn, he’s good looking.” She waggled her nonexistent brows. “Should have caught a look while you could.” 

Mu Qing aimed a kick at her. “Shameless!” 

———

As the war raged on, Mu Qing found herself in the company of her general more often— going over battle strategies, practicing her sword fighting, even taking a few meals together. 

(They talk with an ease that makes her fluster, of things unrelated to the war, and it makes her wonder what her mother would think if she knew about the nights her daughter spent whittling time away with a young man, speaking of dreams and memories, debating values and beliefs until the late hour had them too groggy to will such effort into their conversation. 

She found herself reciting poems General Hua had whispered to her over tea, and heard him singing the songs she taught him a little off-key under his breath. 

….It was perhaps better if she did not think of her mother at all when the hour grew from dark to bright and she was still in her general’s company. 

It was, and Mu Qing willed her expression to remain passive even as her dark eyes met General Hua’s amber ones, rather shameless . 

He sneaks her smiles, something small and almost lazy with mischief even when his intentions weren’t, like a shared secret only between them and Mu Qing finds, no matter her expression of passivity, she cannot hide the way her skin flushed. Still, she smirks back, doing her best to be unbothered. 

By the way General Hua’s smile always grows, a huff of a laugh escaping him, she knows it doesn’t work. It doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.) 

But those moments of peace rarely lasted. 

It wasn’t too long until they were gone, torn from them by constant battle and travel, and soon they have to take refuge in a ravine, the rocky faces of the buff looming over them ominously. It screams trap even though they weren’t led there, drawn instead by the tides of the battle and their own tired forces. 

“We’d have more advantage up there,” she murmurs, staring up where the edges of the ravine seem to touch the sky. Her mind says, we’ll be safer up there. 

The thought is just barely complete before chaos strikes, the opposite end of the ravine suddenly swarmed by Wuyong forces. Behind them, another cohort of the enemy army appears, descending on them from nearby ruins and rock falls to surround them. And then the battling begins.

In the front, in her position as anti-cavalry, Mu Qing is slashing through as quickly as she can, and still it feels as though hours pass with unsteady stabbing and swiping, ducking and evading. Her comrades are pressed into the middle, fighting on each side, and their forces only grow smaller as the Wuyong battalion keeps pushing forward, keeping them trapped between them. 

Still, it was no way to win a war. They had to get out of the middle. 

We’d have more advantage up there . 

The thought strikes her again just as she dives, swinging her saber beneath the horse’s body and, as it fell, drew her blade up so that it leveled with the cavalryman’s neck, bringing it down sharply as he plummeted to the ground. Again and again, she raced forward, slipping between the thundering legs of the cavalry, bringing one down after the other until she was soaked with blood. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see General Hua was surrounded, swathes of the enemy, both fallen and those still fighting around him, but he didn’t falter, razing through them one by one, his blade just fast enough to keep them at bay even as more joined in the attack. 

It would be over if he died. 

Mu Qing swallowed roughly at the thought, forcing herself to refocus. Like this, their deaths were certain. They needed a way out. She had seen the calvary fighters, the way they leaned just so out of their saddles to slice their sabers through the enemies flocked below them. When the next one raced towards her, she moved until she would be almost pressed against the horse’s body, raising her blade upright, holding it in a single-handed grip, and letting the speed of the horse stampeding beside her force her saber through the arm of his rider, severing it from the shoulder. At the same time, she caught the reins with her free hand and, in one move to the next, jumped and swung her body onto the horse’s back, knocking the man to the ground. 

Quickly she steered the horse towards the other cavalry men, leaning her body as she’d seen and plowing through the Wuyong infantry as she went, her Zhan madao chopping through them with ease, before rising up to attack the cavalry. They fell in hordes as her comrades around her saw and followed, struggling to regain their footing by forcing themselves into stations they hadn’t much practice in. 

Higher above the others now, she sees how miserably outnumbered they are, a wave of the enemy filling the end of the ravine from one rocky surface to the other, a sea of weapons and horses threatening to drown them. 

There was no escape. 

General Hua, even from the ground, must’ve noticed too, but there is little he can do other than keep fighting. Other soldiers were standing beside him now, their weapons hurrying to cover his blindspots and keep up with his speed, but it was of little use. The Wuyong soldiers had found him, fixed their attention to him like archers to a target, and they would keep coming, keep dying and being replaced by another and another, until they had tired Mu Qing’s comrades to exhaustion. 

Would keep at it until they slaughtered General Hua. 

Mu Qing almost goes to join them, almost leading her horse right through the swarming masses to get to that center and pull General Hua from it…but then she would only die beside him. She couldn’t do that. No, she had to get him out of there. 

Changing direction, she urges the horse to go through the fighters, driving it to the carriages with their weapons. She slides off, stumbling to where they left the rockets, snatching three and tying them together, shoving the flint into the small pouch she kept at her side. Slinging the tied rockets over her shoulder and onto her back, she ties the loose ends of the rope together and pulls the rockets in front of her so her plan wouldn’t be found out too soon. Then she took off to one side of the ravine, digging her fingers into the mountain face and climbing upwards.  

“Where are you going?! Mu Tian!” Her general yells after her, his voice barely heard over the clanging of blades and stomping of hooves around them. “Get back here!” 

She hears him and she ignores him. Keeps going, keeps climbing. 

She wonders if it looks like betrayal. 

Just as she reaches a sizable ledge with just enough of a vantage point, a sharp pain radiates through her abdomen and Mu Qing curses her luck. It had been awhile since she had her last menstruation, stress taking its toll in a way she wasn’t sure she wanted to complain about, but now was not the time for her body to work against her. Breathing through it, she sets aim and waits.

Her general is still fighting, the enemy that had crowded them in from behind were now thinning out and her comrades are pulling back, being chased back by the larger frontal assault— she only needs the right opening. When her people are mostly to one side, the enemy still near but not in thick throes that they could not handle, she lets the rocket fly at the opposite cliff face, an edge where the rock was least supported. It shudders, spilling rocks from its surface like water from a pail with only a few small holes littered on the bottom. Boulders tumble into the battlefield, separating their two sides. 

More explosions go off, bursts of flame and smoke that seem to come from their side that send the Wuyong soldiers scattering. But it still wasn’t enough. The frontal assault was still strong and, though it wouldn't be easy, the climb over the divide she had provided wasn’t impossible. The battle could continue. 

So she set aim again, this time at a spot nearer to the enemy forces, right near the thick of it. 

This explosion draws their attention to her, makes them realize her intentions as the rocks fall, crushing them. A volley of arrows come towards her and Mu Qing is defenseless. She has to set off the last one, she has to protect herself, she has to do something but her hands fumble. In the end, all she can do is hunch over, bringing her arms up to cover her head and torso. 

An arrow buries into the meat of her arm and Mu Qing cries out, curling in a little more. If she could stand, she had a chance at defending herself, but a flurry of arrows would be impossible to stop. And it’d waste her time. She needed to launch the other rocket. 

Taking a breath, she tried steeling herself. If she could set it off correctly, even at risk of getting hit, it’d be worth it. Silver slashes in front of her just as she pushes herself up— 

“Set it off!” General Hua commands, blocking the arrows from her with his body, scimitar swiping and blocking the arrows with miraculous ease. “Hurry!” 

Mu Qing nearly weeps, but she doesn’t. Just sets and takes aim around him for the last time, and lets the rocket slam into the mountain surface again. Finally , with a grating, grinding noise, it avalanches down. 

And then it’s over. The rocks fill the space where the enemy had been, piled high and sparing few. 

She looks up at her general, meeting his gaze, and the urge to cry is suddenly a little stronger. He’s bleeding, a long carving wound going through his right eye and an arrow buried in a leg, though he doesn’t seem to notice any of it, too busy staring at her. 

“Is it— it’s over?” She gasps, searching and fumbling with her clothes to find a small piece of still-clean fabric to tear from it. 

The Wuyong’s general— a man who they only could describe as the White-Clothed General— had been among the ruins, surely he must’ve died? Surely they would have no more villages to scour for survivors and bury the dead? 

Surely they would finally be able to go home ? 

“You’re a little idiot, you know that?” He says eventually, pulling her onto her feet. 

She bristles at that, wants to tell him at least her plan worked, but Mu Qing slips a bit as she reaches to press the fabric to her general’s face. General Hua catches her, his hand pressing against her side and making the pain in her stomach suddenly noticeable again. She cries out, pain stringing through her until she’s left trembling and nauseous, her head falling to rest against her general’s chest. 

“You’ve been struck,” he said, eyes wide with worry, and she feels it now, understands it, the presence of something stabbed into her. His hand searches and she watches as his expression shifts from worry to rage. “Did you not notice the arrow sticking out of you?” 

“You’re one to talk,” Mu Qing thinks she says, trying to sound snide even though it comes out a touch too tired, and she blinks blearily even as she still goes to press the cloth to her general’s eye. Shot? She thought it was only a cramp. 

“What?” General Hua asks, but his voice sounds miles away, distorted and warbled. “A cramp? Why–?”

She passes out. 

The first thing Mu Qing sees when she wakes is the fabric of a tent above her. There’s a dull ache in her side and she turns to alleviate it, gripping the blanket close so it wouldn’t fall away from her chest. Pei Ming squawks, flapping her angry little wings. 

“Hey! I was comfortable!” she complained. “You’re soft without all the armor!” 

“Oh, shut up, I’m not,” Mu Qing snapped, swatting at her. 

“Your chest is!” Pei Ming leered, waddling closer. “Now if I can just go back where I was, I was enjoying my nap—”

Her chest. 

Mu Qing swears, trying to sit up even as pain shoots through her angrily, as if offended she thought it was only a cramp. There are other injuries beside where the arrow had stabbed her, a line of cloth wrapped around what might’ve been a slash from a sword or other blade, a large smattering of bruises that color her pale skin a mottled black and blue. 

The bandages binding her were clean, new, and not nearly as tightly or thickly wrapped as she usually wore them to hide her shape. The doctor must’ve changed them, the doctor must’ve seen— 

The tent flaps open, Pei Ming diving to hide among the clothes laying on the side of the tent, and suddenly General Hua is practically barrelling into the small space, his movements unsteady. He grips the tent, fighting to keep himself upright. “Mu Tian, how are you—“ 

He freezes, and Mu Qing has a moment to see the thick set of bandages wrapped about his face, covering his right eye. Her eyes drift where his outer robes are only on haphazardly, baring his torso, and she sees other bandages patching up injuries she hadn’t noticed earlier. By the time she drags her eyes back to his face, General Hua had not, his eye fixed below Mu Qing’s neck. And then he spins around, slapping a hand over his eyes, almost immediately letting out a sound of pain and shifting his hand so it only covers his uninjured eye. 

Mu Qing belatedly squeaks, the sound half a laugh that she can’t help after watching the General panic and clumsily injure himself, and covers herself again, her face so hot she thinks she could have lit the fuse of the rockets from it. 

As she fumbles for her words, searching for the right way to excuse herself and not something that would get her in more trouble, she stares at General Hua’s back, as if the answer might just appear on his outer robes. His hair is open, she notices, an anomaly when the sun hadn't set and they weren’t sitting in his tent, and messy, as if he’d run his fingers through it too many times to count. His rumpled appearance doesn’t end there– his clothes are wrinkled, stained with what had to be blood and healing salves, and almost ill-fitting, as if he’d lost some weight. Like he’d been stressing over an upcoming battle where the strategies and terrain eluded him. 

Her imminent death could happen in this very tent, this very moment, and Mu Qing finds that she doesn’t know what to say. 

“You’re a woman,” General Hua says after the silence had dragged on too long, voice low and tone…unreadable. 

For the first time, Mu Qing couldn't figure him out, couldn’t read the snark and sarcasm he sometimes levied against them, or the rage that made its occasional brutal appearance. The odd gentleness he saved for their private conversations was gone, too, not that she expected it but, with so much unfamiliarity, she feels… scared. 

“I-I can explain, please, General,” she stammers out. 

“Can you?” It’s so passive, so mild, like the surface of a river over riptides and Mu Qing finds herself inching backwards, blanket dragging with her. General Hua fixes the tent shut, pulling off his outer robe to toss backwards at Mu Qing and she catches it. “Put that on.” 

She did so quickly and not a moment too soon because, before she can gather herself, General Hua is kneeling in front of her, a hand on her knee keeping her in place and another pressing the unforgiving edge of his dagger into her throat. 

“You know the rules.” His hand stays steady, his voice careful, but something about him seems unsteady, falling at some torn seam that Mu Qing didn’t see. 

“I had to do it! I swear I had to! You have to believe me, General, I never meant to–” And really, it was all intentional, wasn’t it? She had meant to trick them and she had succeeded for over a year. “I…I did it for my family.”

He lets her explain everything from her sickly brother to the pragmatism of sacrificing a daughter if it meant saving a son, pulling the blade away from her throat when she’s done. 

“You really are a little idiot,” General Hua sighs, and it sounds fond . 

(Mu Qing kind of hates it— no insult should be so affectionate. It shouldn’t make her feel so warm.) 

Sitting back and crossing his legs, he props his head on his hand. “I already told the emperor of your contributions to the war effort. He wants to honor you.”

Mu Qing blinked. “So you’re not going to kill me?” 

He gives her a deadpan look, flicking her forehead. “Keep dressing as a man until then. I’ll make sure the physician says nothing.” 

It was risky. If it was found out that General Hua knew, he would be risking his own merit and respect, his position, if not face legal repercussions. Still, Mu Qing catches his wrist as he turns to leave, dipping her head in a bow. “Thank you, General.”

“To fight for your family like this, it’s foolish,” he says. Her hand tightens a bit, guilt and indignation fighting each other…but she knew the indignation only grew from her guilt, her embarrassment. So she said nothing, wanting but unable to ask for forgiveness even if she didn’t think she did something wrong, only because she was now wronging him. He glanced back at her, that secret smile pulling at his lips. “It’s foolish, but brave, Mu Qing.” 

Her breath hitches, and she averts her eyes quickly, rocket fuse blush flooding her face. 

“You should rest,” General Hua says gently, and she lets him go, a little reluctantly even as he helps ease her back down while she nags him to go back and rest too. He leaves with one last smile, and Mu Qing can hear him deterring Shi Qingxuan from entering, her comrade’s fading dramatics a clear sign of him being effectively herded away.

Mu Qing tucked her smile into her sleeve and fell back asleep. 

———

“How did this bastard survive?!” Mu Qing yelled, more complaint than outrage as she helped the prince’s bodyguard fend off the straggling remains of the enemy troops. 

It’d been going well, they’d done the parade, she’d gotten her medal. And then the White-Clothed General appeared, descending from the city towers like ash before a volcanic eruption. 

The attack was sudden, Wuyong soldiers storming the capital and chasing them into the palace. Somehow she’d gotten separated from the rest, her and the prince’s bodyguard getting the prince as far away from the fighting as they could. 

Mu Qing almost sighed, but gasped instead, nearly doubling over with pain. Her injuries had yet to heal, the injury feeling torn anew as she forced herself to stand straight again, one hand pressed to the wound while the other managed her saber. This was truly the height of inconvenience. 

“I don’t fucking know— you fucking said you defeated him! Just get His Highness out of here!” the bodyguard yells. 

Or perhaps the height of inconvenience was however tall that idiot was. Mu Qing glared at him. 

“And take him where?! We don’t know how many Wuyong soldiers are here! The whole palace— the whole capital could be unsafe!” 

“Nowhere,” the prince interrupts, smiling serenely even as he steps between them. He pulls a sword from seemingly midair, brandishing it with practiced ease, and takes down one enemy after another with the same frightening proficiency. She watches the bodies fall like discarded puppets and takes a moment to breathe, trying to not stare too openly at the still-clean, still-smiling crown prince. “Feng Xin, I appreciate the concern, but what kind of prince would I be if I didn’t protect my people?” 

It takes considerable, concerted effort not to say “A living one” to His Highness the Crown Prince, especially when the Wuyong foot soldiers were nothing but minor annoyances in comparison to their general, but somehow Mu Qing manages to hold her tongue. 

But only slightly because she still says, “But how would you know who to protect them from, Your Highness?” 

“Once you kill the White-Clothed General,” General Hua’s voice reaches them just before he swings through an open window, turning and blade drawn, bringing his scimitar clashing against the man’s who had followed him into the room. “They’ll scram.” 

The White-Clothed General laughed. “So confident. Are you sure it would be so easy?” 

“General!” Mu Qing protests. Of all the rooms for him to come crashing through—! “Your Highness, we have to go!” 

“You know, now that the war will soon be over—” General Hua starts while battling the White-Clothed General with more vigor and ferocity than his nonchalant tone implied, his movements nearly imperceptible in its speed. 

Mu Qing spluttered, cutting off his next words. “Aren’t you speaking too soon, General?!” 

“And you’re planning to retire, you should just call me Hua Cheng,” he continues, ignoring her question, as if everyone around them wasn’t balking at his arrogance. 

In lieu of answering, she goes to join him, urging His Highness to leave before more Wuyong reinforcements appear from beyond the grave. But he ignores her, he and his bodyguard slicing down the remainder of the forces that had pushed into the room, and joins the battle against the White-Clothed General. 

The man is quick, making quick work of discarding Feng Xin and Mu Qing, so she doesn’t quite see how it happens. One moment the general is battling General Hua and the prince, the next General Hua is pulling away in a feint just as the prince deals the final blow, stabbing through the White-Clothed General in a single strike. 

And then it’s really over. 

“What an unsatisfying end,” she muttered. 

Feng Xin groaned from beside her. “You’d expect something more dramatic— more, I don’t know, I fucking expected fireworks to go off or something.” 

“What battle or war ever ended like that?” Mu Qing wonders, climbing back to her feet and hauling Feng Xin up after her. 

He shrugs. “None but it’d be one that’d make my kid happy.” 

Other guards enter the room, announcing the deaths of other Wuyong soldiers before hauling the body of the White-Clothed General outside to show the people the war was over. 

They follow behind, their guard not yet down, and wait as the prince makes his announcement, proclaiming Xianle safe and wishing for the kingdom’s prosperity to last for another hundred years. As the people cheer, they bow to the prince and begin to take their leave. 

Mu Qing had barely murmured her wishes for the prince’s continued good fortune when he hugs her, making her let out a surprised squeak. 

“If only you didn’t wish to retire. Though I’m sure they’ll still tell tales of our battle together, of the woman—“ and he grins at her, as if amused that she thought he wouldn’t notice when she gasped at him in panic, “—that helped save our kingdom. You truly are a precious jade.” 

His Highness reluctantly let Mu Qing go among her stammering. Then he glanced at General Hua lingering at the bottom of the palace steps, smiling knowingly. “And I’m sure your general would agree.” 

Mu Qing blushed, hastily bowing once more as the prince insists she come visit sometime, and hurries down to where General Hua— no, where Hua Cheng, was not so discreetly waiting. 

“What did His Highness say?” Hua Cheng asks.

“That I can do better than some old general.” Mu Qing tilted her head up, walking ahead. When Hua Cheng follows at a more sedate pace, his expression conflicted, she snickers. “But he also said since I’m fine with a little idiot like you—“ Hua Cheng smirks at the use of the nickname he’d given her, and she turns away quickly, finishing with a prim declaration, “—then you are lucky to have me.”

The crowd begins to thin as they get closer to her home and, when they’re away from other eyes, Hua Cheng slips a hand in hers, drawing her closer to his side. 

He smiles, that secret smile now a secret told, and says it simply. “I am.”