Chapter Text
The sounds of cheer and laughter slowly start to fade into the night, as the celebrations of the Mid-Autumn festival come to a close for yet another year. Mu Qing doesn’t notice that someone has been calling him until he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“General Xuan Zhen…?”
He snaps his gaze upwards to find one of his own deputies, withdrawing his hand in a hurried fluster. A recently appointed one, Xiang Shu, if he remembers correctly.
“I, I apologise, General. You weren’t responding so I— “
“No it’s okay. What is it?”
He nods nervously, a slightly flushed expression on his face.
It must be the wine, Mu Qing thinks.
After all, almost everyone in attendance tonight has celebrated to their heart’s content. Special wines from regions across the mortal realm, food and jovial plays that no longer mock anyone in attendance. Overall, a night to let loose.
“I just wanted to ask if you had any other orders to give out for tonight? Everyone has already left the banquet so...”
Right. Looking to his side, Mu Qing sees that the chairs at the table are pretty much empty. All the deputies from his own palace have already left, with others in the process of doing so.
“No, it’s late. You may retire with the others. Have a good night.” He responds with a tone softer than usual, feeling a little guilty that this junior deputy had probably waited around for his orders.
His eyes go wide for a second, before he quickly finishes his greetings and turns around to leave. Mu Qing watches on in amusement for a few moments, as the young man stumbles a few steps before practically running away. What a strange character.
Many of the Gods hadn't actually attended. In fact, with every year that passes, more and more of the senior Gods seem to opt out of attending in person, sending senior officials instead. Including Xie Lian, who spends them with Crimson Rain in the privacy of their own world.
He closes his eyes, and his brows slightly pinch together at the thought. He is happy as ever for his friend of course but…they’re practically inseparable, those two. Always together at nearly every meeting or event. Smiles forever plastered to their faces. Never afraid or embarrassed in the least to embrace each other openly, every chance they get.
Mu Qing takes a deep breath and sighs in resignation. There’s no helping it, he supposes.
He knows that’s probably what it means to be utterly lost in love. And when you’re married, wanting to spend every moment together with your partner…well, reluctantly, he has to admit it only seems natural.
It’s not like Mu Qing is even remotely close to relating to any of that. And it’s not like he’s mad at them for the way they act, he should be used to this, and he is.
It’s just…recently, there’s this bubbling feeling that rises up in Mu Qing’s chest every time he sees them.
When he sees his friend tipping his face close to his husband, with a smile so saccharine. One that the Ghost King so easily returns, as they fall into yet another kiss. As if the world around them could go up in flames and they wouldn’t mind.
And the feeling is so subtly unpleasant that Mu Qing can’t help but feel irritated. And he hates it because he doesn’t know why it happens, it just…happens. There is no logic or source to it, which just makes it worse. And he is happy for them, he truly is.
So why.
He shakes himself out of his introspection before he falls into yet another mental battle with himself. One that often leaves him feeling even more tired and frustrated.
Not tonight. He would prefer to focus on the matter at hand.
He turns around in his seat, facing forward once again. As he brings his glass of wine to his lips—only his second for the night—his gaze settles once more on the sight he’s been drawn to the entire night.
He’s loud, as always.
The only source of noise as most have retired for the night, comes from the table directly opposite to the one where Mu Qing is seated. Shivering slightly as a gust of cool air blows through the night, he takes another sip. Trying to counter the chill with the warmth the wine fills him up with.
A loud laugh again, this time, joined by others gathered around him.
Of course, Feng Xin has a whole group of Gods and Deputies gathered around him. He’s always had a way of pulling others to him just by being his graceless, straightforward self. And when he wasn’t furrowing his eyebrows, scowling or glaring at you like he was ready to punch you any second, he was even more popular.
Like right now, clearly having drunk too much and grinning too wide. So wide that crinkles form around his eyes, currently closed shut. And Mu Qing knows, when he opens them, they will shine golden brown. Not for the first time that night, he feels a pang in his chest, equal parts pleasant and sharp.
It’s so stupid, he knows.
There is no reason to feel anything at all, when he looks at his former rival turned…acquaintance? colleague?
It’s been four years since the battle with Jun Wu ended and things have gotten relatively peaceful in the three realms. A balance starting to form as mortals slowly start to place their trust in Gods again. As for things between them…
So many things are different now, some days it’s unbelievable yet oddly comforting, even as he remembers everything that lies behind them.
—
They spent most of their immortal lives at each other’s throats. They fought because they were angry, they fought when they were hurt and they fought when they could do nothing else to leave a lasting impact on the other. And once the wounds healed, they would do it all over again. But it wasn’t just the bruises that they could see, and that was the consequence neither had ever stopped long enough to care about. Because when words dripping with bitterness and resentment were recklessly thrown around, they tended to stick. Like invisible thorns pricking at their hearts. Those kinds of wounds took longer to heal, and some probably never will. All they could do was carry them around like battle scars.
Mu Qing knew, somewhere deep in his heart, that it was probably because they were frightened. So afraid of meaning nothing to other—the only familiarity each one had left in the world—that a minute of violence was better than an eternity of indifference. As long as they were part of each other’s lives. All that mattered was to hurt and be hurt, because as long as it hurt, it meant they were alive. It meant they could still make each other feel something.
Before they found Xie Lian again, that was the routine. After they found him, Mu Qing had thought things would surely change, however naive of a wish that was. But it never happened. The months between when Xie Lian returned and Jun Wu was defeated, things only got worse. They hurt each other more viciously in the span of a few weeks than they ever had in over decades. Throwing harder punches than ever, as if truly meaning to injure and draw blood. And that realisation was more agonizing than the cuts and bruises.
Those few months were easily the worst Mu Qing had ever felt. It wasn’t Xie Lian’s fault, but it had quickly become clear that the friend they once knew, was no longer there. The regret and guilt were overwhelming for the two of them. And when the Crown Prince had proved that he indeed no longer needed them, it only drove Feng Xin and him further apart.
It was a gradual loss, the kind you feel happening slowly because while you lose, you still hope. The loss of trust and faith in each other, until it had felt like it was too late. Like 800 years of bitterness pouring into the cracks of their relationship, fracturing it to the point that even putting it back together, it would be never be the same.
Until that one day, when they were forced to the literal edge. The day that brought them all together, until they had no choice but to admit to the truths long buried, as they faced death a few inches away. Feelings that were abandoned and words left unsaid, bubbled up to the surface. And in a singular moment of courage, they allowed themselves to be openly vulnerable.
Some things had changed forever that day. And every day since, Mu Qing had come to learn to expect the unexpected.
—
He looks up at the night sky, at the lanterns casting a glow on the newly built Heavenly Capitol, and wonders yet again. Wonders why it frustrates Mu Qing to think about what they are now. And why, at times like this, it’s even mildly infuriating.
He watches the young women and men, seated around Feng Xin, moving to stand close by, as close as they can get. As if attracted to the singular source of warmth in the night that has grown increasingly cold. They watch and listen to him with admiration, as he comes up with what Mu Qing guesses to be one ridiculous joke after another.
He wishes he could hear him.
To make fun of him course. He’s absolutely certain none of the jokes make any sense, they never do. But they’re just far enough that he can only pick up the rounds of howling from the company around him. No doubt bursting into laughter just to indulge that idiot.
“Please General, just one more, for all of your supporters and admirers!”
“Yeah! The night is still young!”
Yeah right.
Mu Qing can’t help but roll his eyes. It’s past midnight, early morning at this point. He looks towards the two that the voices came from, loud enough to carry over the noise of the crowd. He knows these deputies, a young man and woman. The former from Feng Xin’s own palace and the latter from Pei Ming’s. And it irritates Mu Qing, how he can’t help but take note of their appearances.
They are both highly ranked within their own palaces, so it’s no surprise that they are dressed as such. Fine robes incorporate colors of their generals and a select few jewels gleam, adorning the limited armour they wear. The young man even has a similar ribbon to Feng Xin’s tied around his hair in a high ponytail, while the woman looks nothing short of elegant with an intricate hairstyle. Both of them charmingly beautiful without a doubt.
And with their well-spoken manners they stand out, almost glowing with an air of confidence. Yeah…they would definitely be Feng Xin’s type. Perfectly qualified.
They are sitting on either side of him. And although everyone for some unfathomable reason, decided to be drawn to Feng Xin’s drunken silliness tonight, these two seem different. He knows, because he’s been watching them all night. The expressions on their faces and their subtle movements, angling ever so slightly towards Feng Xin.
And especially, those smiles. The ones he’s seen far too often not to recognise. Smiles that accompany eyes that practically sparkle. It leaves little to imagination about what it could mean.
Mu Qing feels a lump forming in his throat as he arrives at his own conclusions. Leaving him with the same, mysterious unpleasantness that he feels when he watches Xie Lian and Hua Cheng.
Because what are they even looking at? It’s Feng Xin. Feng Xin.
He’s always been—he’s always this...it’s just him.
Mu Qing has seen him like that hundreds of times, maybe not this drunk, but still. It’s nothing new.
Getting increasingly exasperated and stubbornly refusing to question why, Mu Qing watches on. He sees Feng Xin take another sip from his glass, and from his movements, Mu Qing can tell that he’s way too drunk. A mixture of uneasiness and annoyance starts to settle in, making his fingers twitch.
That idiot.
He should really stop now.
Why is everyone around him encouraging him anyway? Can’t they see he’s had enough? And why did he have so much that he can’t control himself? That he can’t see it’s too late to linger around like this with deputies, and even some of them from other palaces?
That he doesn’t even notice— doesn’t even realise how— how everyone is looking at him and…
All of a sudden, Mu Qing’s train of thought comes to a racing stop.
Feng Xin is looking at him.
Their eyes lock on each other and Mu Qing can’t move or think.
Almost as if he’s afraid that if he does, Feng Xin will hear his every thought, his pounding heartbeat, and his baited breath. But there’s little time to react, so he does the only thing he knows best, the one thing they are both most familiar with— he turns it into a battle.
He looks back at him with a steady and resolute expression that betrays none of his inner turmoil. Feng Xin doesn’t break eye contact either as lifts his glass to his lips and takes an excruciatingly slow sip.
And of course he has to make it worse. Because as he sets the glass down, he smiles at Mu Qing. And it feels so different to the wide toothed grin he’s been giving freely to everyone else all night. It's surprisingly soft.
It feels…genuine.
And it’s enough to ignite something inside Mu Qing. This something that has been simmering throughout the night, humming quietly in his ears. Now, looking at Feng Xin, his resolve threatens to boil over. And he isn’t nearly drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol.
With his laid-back posture, a flushed expression and the burning gaze that hasn’t wavered for a second, Feng Xin looked…begrudgingly handsome.
He wouldn't admit it to him or anyone else in a million years, but Feng Xin has always been, maddeningly good-looking.
Mu Qing has thought that about Feng Xin even in the past, whether they were absorbed in battle or when they looked ready to rip each other’s hearts out with words. He thought Feng Xin looked good when he furrowed his eyebrows, eyes glowing in detest. And he looked especially striking, when he was roughed up after a fight, hair in disarray and clothes torn up. All the better if it was by Mu Qing’s hands.
He almost misses their reckless fights, which have now come down to just occasional sparring. Not that those don't leave Mu Qing feeling a little too hot, but they do leave him with fewer opportunities to see Feng Xin just a little feral. Something he has shamefully come to admit to himself, that he likes to see.
And it’s not like Mu Qing hasn’t noticed that tonight either. He was just too preoccupied in his own head and observing everyone else around him. But now, he takes it all in— he’s wearing his best colors, black and royal blue with accents of gold and he’s left out most of his heavy armour. His hair is styled up in his usual bun, with a few loose strands framing one side of his face almost too perfectly. The single earring gleams in the moonlight, as he tilts his head to the side.
Mu Qing can hardly stop looking at him. He knows he should, before Feng Xin’s gaze turns curious. Because then, he would have no answer. I'm looking because I want to. Because he’s the most attractive man he’s ever seen, but would sooner jump into hot lava than acknowledge it...than admit to it.
But Feng Xin hasn’t stopped looking at him either, and soon, he’s the one who can’t stand that stare anymore.
Luckily, he’s rescued by someone tapping on Feng Xin’s shoulder, whispering something into his ear. Taking the chance to look away, Mu Qing looks down into his empty glass.
Then, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he concludes that this is crazy. Utterly insane.
His face is aflame, and he can no longer feel a silver of the chill in the air.
He’s probably just sick. Yeah, the wine must have been too much after all, that’s it.
In the process of furiously running through all the possibilities in his mind, he hears something that catches his attention and he looks up.
“General Nan Yang are you leaving already?”
“One more round, for a prosperous farewell!”
Someone speaks out loud, and several voices join in unison, cheering at the suggestion.
There’s a second of stunned static that buzzes in Mu Qing’s ears, and then, before he’s aware of what he’s doing, he gets up. Some of the deputies look his way at the sudden movement. More heads turn slowly, shock replacing neutral expressions, because somehow Mu Qing has walked right up to their table, standing in front of Feng Xin.
He looks directly into his eyes again and speaks into the complete silence that has fallen around them, in a tone that Mu Qing himself doesn’t recognise.
“Let’s go.”
If before he thought the situation was crazy, now, Mu Qing knows.
That it’s him who’s crazy. That he has been, to sit here, just watching him the whole night. Not even making a proper effort to pretend he’s here to drink.
But for a moment, it’s as if he can’t hear his own thoughts or reason, he just knows two things: he doesn’t want Feng Xin to stay here any longer and he doesn’t want to sit at his own table watching him.
He also knows that he should probably still walk away now. But his feet don’t move and their gazes are still locked. Golden eyes blink up at him, almost as if transfixed by what they see.
But just as enough time passes that he’s about to apologise for the interruption and leave, Feng Xin speaks up.
“Okay.”