Work Text:
"This is pointless."
Feng Xin clenches his jaw; this marks the third time Mu Qing has said the same thing, in more or less words, in the last half of a shi. And of course, he doesn't stop there.
"Who complains about a chore doing itself?"
"I'm sure it's unsettling," Feng Xin grits out, fists clenching at his sides.
Scoffing, Mu Qing squints at the small village coming into view. The sun is still below the horizon, day not quite broken; Mu Qing's vambraces gleam in the weak, burgeoning light.
"A world full of demons and ill-intent, and this village is praying for a god's intervention because of what? Oh heavens save us all, someone is filling their buckets with well water before they wake up every morning—"
"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" Feng Xin roars, patience snapping. "Fuck, just… I didn't ask for your help! If this is beneath you, turn your ass around and GO BACK!"
Feng Xin is used to Mu Qing's scowls, so the look Mu Qing levels at him doesn't even stutter his step. He speeds up, uninterested in whatever response Mu Qing might throw at him.
Surprisingly, Mu Qing allows it; by the time Feng Xin slows to his original pace, he's several bu ahead. When Feng Xin darts a furtive glance over his shoulder, he catches the shift of deeper shadow against the trees, the glint of Mu Qing's saber.
So he's just going to follow? Feng Xin cannot, for the life of him, figure out why Mu Qing is tagging along. And this is hardly the first time, either. It seems Mu Qing joins him on his trips to the human realm more often than not, recently.
Of course, Feng Xin would be a liar if he said it wasn't helpful. While there is little in their believers' prayers they can't handle on their own, with the both of them, they always make short work of things. It leaves them time to catch a meal in the various places they end up, Mu Qing bitching comfortably at Feng Xin over shrimp and pollack soup—or noodles, or dumplings, or sometimes even things they pick up at street stalls—while Feng Xin ignores him and stuffs his face.
Xie Lian would probably tell Feng Xin this is Mu Qing's attempt at building a friendship. And hell, he'd likely be right; Mu Qing, while still infuriating, does genuinely seem to be trying. They get in far fewer fist-fights nowadays, at least. Seriously though, if he is going to do nothing but complain—
"Do you hear that?" Mu Qing asks under his breath, from right next to Feng Xin, and Feng Xin startles so hard his feet leave the ground.
"Gods above, Mu—"
"Shhh," Mu Qing says, lifting his chin at the stream visible through the trees. "Listen."
Feng Xin's heart is pounding as if it will leap from his chest. All he can hear is the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Still, Mu Qing is—though Feng Xin will never speak it aloud—a capable cultivator and reliable ally. When he drifts to a stop, head tilted, Feng Xin posts up beside him, listening.
"Someone is singing," Mu Qing leans in and whispers, bottom lip brushing Feng Xin's earlobe. As goosebumps erupt across Feng Xin's skin, Mu Qing continues, oblivious. "But it isn't quite right. It has an echo to it, somehow."
Mu Qing's breath is hot, humid, leaving damp warmth where it caresses Feng Xin's ear and filters over his neck. Once again, blood rushes in Feng Xin's head, but there's nothing about this surge of adrenaline that startles Feng Xin. Not anymore.
It had been a shock the first time, certainly. The first time Mu Qing leaned into him, shoulders bumping, so they could share a quiet laugh. The first time Mu Qing grabbed his wrist to drag him from the tanghulu to a vendor selling fabrics. The first time Mu Qing genuinely smiled at him, wide and open, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed from his one tiny cup of wine.
Feng Xin is not a fool; while he has found Mu Qing physically attractive since they both reached manhood, he can feel the difference now, can recognize what is happening in his heart. A heady tenderness. A bloom slowly unfurling, petal by petal.
With a soft sigh, Feng Xin carefully follows Mu Qing, who has given up on Feng Xin hearing the song and is instead creeping through the foliage on the riverbank. Without Mu Qing's… proximity, Feng Xin finds it far easier to concentrate. A man is singing, some sort of working song perhaps, but as Mu Qing said, it has a strange hollowness. A reverberation that puts Feng Xin in mind of standing at one end of a canyon and listening to someone shouting from the other side.
Mu Qing's hand comes up; Feng Xin halts at his signal. From here, they can see a man kneeling at the water's edge. A small pile of laundry sits at his side, and, as they watch, the garment in his grasp swings and slaps against a rock. Silently.
'Ghost,' Mu Qing mouths to Feng Xin, and Feng Xin nods, but it feels less straightforward in his mind. They can hear his singing, but not his—
'The laundry is an apparition,' Mu Qing's voice says in Feng Xin's spiritual array. 'But he seems to be powerful enough to manifest himself fully in the world, if not his clothes.'
Frowning, Feng Xin considers what ties are strong enough to weather death. Wonders about the brownish red stains on those ghostly garments.
'Who comes back from the dead to scrub their trousers?'
Mu Qing's shoulder lifts in a barely perceptible shrug. 'I suppose we'll have to ask him.'
Internally, Feng Xin groans. Neither of them are particularly adept at socializing, so even their conversations with living humans can be awkward, at times. Still, Mu Qing is right; it's possible this man has something to do with the well water, and, even if not, leaving a ghost wandering around to make mischief is a bad idea.
Their eyes meet. Feng Xin nods, and they head toward the shore. They're within speaking distance before the man looks up, and his song peters out. "Hello," he says warily, eyeing their garments and weapons.
It is a strange way for someone to greet them. Even if people do not know they are gods, they can generally tell Feng Xin and Mu Qing are cultivators of some importance. Rather than deference or nervousness, this man almost seems confused.
"Hello," Mu Qing responds, quickly dipping his head. The sun takes that moment to peek above the forested hills around them, bathing Mu Qing in a velvety peach warmth.
Feng Xin's heart thumps painfully in his chest.
Turning away, Feng Xin directs a smile to the man still crouched at the river's edge. "Good morning. We were wondering if you could tell us the name of the village just over that hill?"
The man glances over his shoulder, then back to them, blinking. "I'm afraid I don't remember."
"Is it not your home?" Mu Qing asks, and while it's a reasonable question, Mu Qing's tone makes it sound like an accusation. The man's eyes narrow slightly.
"I don't know."
Fuck, he's gonna clam up. The ghost has dropped his laundry, arms closing over his chest.
"Of course, we apologize," Feng Xin rushes out, and tries his most beaming grin. "We're not from around here, but we'd been told the mushroom noodle soup in Yuanjing village is worth the trip."
Suspiciously, the man stares Feng Xin down. Feng Xin can feel his smile growing tight at the corners. "That sounds about right," the man mutters at last. "Yeah, something about that sounds right."
Eyebrow raising, Feng Xin darts a glance to Mu Qing.
'Amnesia?' Mu Qing asks in the array. It's certainly possible; ghosts do not always retain clear memories of their life other than whatever obsession has kept them tethered to the world.
"So," the man says, interrupting Feng Xin's train of thought. "You two. Are you dead, like me?"
Ah. So the man at least knows that much. That will help.
"Why would you think that?" Mu Qing replies, and this time, his voice is gentler.
"You know, folks can't…" Gesturing to his body, the ghost sighs. "It seems most people can't see me unless I'm working really hard at it." With a grimace, he barks out a laugh. "And when they do, it doesn't go well."
Nodding, Mu Qing turns slightly, gazing over the stream. "No, we are not dead, but we are not the same as the rest of the villagers, either." He cocks an eyebrow, lip curling in challenge. "Does that bother you?" When the man rolls his eyes, Feng Xin has to stifle his amusement.
"Why the hell would I care? I can't even remember my own name. You kids have nothing to do with me, dead or undead or anything else."
Kids. Feng Xin can't help his smile. Mu Qing huffs, and Feng Xin swears it is a laugh. "Very well," Mu Qing says. "It seems you are struggling a bit with your memory, but despite that, I would prefer to be honest with you. My companion and I are here for reasons other than the noodle soup." He faces the man fully. "We could use your help."
Apparently, the man has come to a decision about them; he relaxes, flopping cross-legged to the gravel. "What's in it for me?"
"Right," Feng Xin says, and follows suit, tucking his legs and having a seat. "Here's the deal. You wouldn't still be here, as a ghost, unless there was something you really wanted to do."
"An obsession," Mu Qing adds, kneeling primly at Feng Xin's side.
"And it just so happens that we can help you with that, so you can move on." Feng Xin feels himself smile, and this time it isn't forced. "Does that interest you at all?"
Scowling, the man's lips purse. "I don't even know how I died. How can I be of any help? Can't remember my name, my home, anything." His hand swings toward the pile of clothes at his side. "Don't even know why I'm doing this."
The stains are definitely blood, now that Feng Xin is closer. There are rips and gashes in the fabric as well. Giving the man a quick once-over, Feng Xin determines the garments are an exact copy of the clean, untorn clothing the man is wearing.
Mu Qing clears his throat, leaning forward. "Perhaps we can help answer some of those questions for you. If I may ask, is there anything else you find yourself doing without understanding why?"
They watch the man with interest, and he seems to be giving it some thought. In the silence, Feng Xin becomes abruptly aware of a stone digging into his tailbone. He shifts, inconspicuous, but it doesn't help. Maybe if he…
After a couple more tries, Mu Qing darts him a look, obviously annoyed by his fidgeting. Well, there isn't a rock digging a hole through Mu Qing's ass, is there?
Fuck this. Patience has never been one of Feng Xin's virtues, so he gives up and leans in, catching the man's attention. Mu Qing sighs, long-suffering. Feng Xin ignores him.
"Like maybe something to do with filling the villagers' buckets with well water every morning?"
Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing startle when the man rears back, eyes wild. "I would never do that! What kind of monster do you think I—" Cutting himself off, his face blanks. He pulls in a couple of slow breaths. It must be comforting, even if the man doesn't actually need them.
"I bring the buckets to the river," he finally mutters.
'What the hell,' Feng Xin sends in the array.
'At least we know we're on the right path,' Mu Qing responds. "I see," he says aloud. "It is perfectly fine if you do not know, but is there a reason you do not fill them from the well?"
Once again, the man has a stark, visceral reaction; his shoulders lift, jaw clenching. "Don't go near that well." It's not an answer exactly, but it is helpful all the same.
"Okay," Feng Xin assures him. "We understand. Listen, we're going to head into the village for a bit, see what we can learn. Where should we look for you, when we return?"
While the man considers, Feng Xin and Mu Qing stand, straightening their robes. Mu Qing, of course, appears pristine; not a speck of dust nor a wrinkle to be found. Petulant, Feng Xin brushes roughly at his own ass.
"I stay in a hunting blind over there," the man says. They follow his pointing finger, and sure enough, there's a dilapidated wooden platform in a tree on the other side of the stream. "I'll just wait for you there." Agreement reached, Feng Xin and Mu Qing clamber back through the foliage to the road, heading toward Yuanjing village.
"Why do I have the distinct feeling we are about to find that guy's corpse at the bottom of the well?" Feng Xin sighs, cracking his back.
"Indeed," Mu Qing clips out. "Which means our assignment is no longer 'eradicate the ghost'. You saw his clothing. A fall into a well could not have done that." His eyes meet Feng Xin's, steely. "We're looking for a murderer."
"Give me eradicating ghosts any day," Feng Xin grumbles, and they plod onward.
*
The townsfolk are all eager to talk once they explain they are cultivators; Mu Qing whips up some story about coming to help when they 'heard of some trouble in the village downriver'. In a commendable act of restraint, Mu Qing restricts himself to one muted huff when they start loudly exclaiming praises to their 'venerable general Nan Yang'.
"He must have sent you to us," one elderly woman nearly sobs. Feng Xin is not a stone; he can't help preening a bit. Mu Qing calls him a dumbass under his breath, but it does not dampen his mood.
Feng Xin tries his best to be patient as they recount the facts he already knows. Someone has been filling their water buckets each morning, and no one knows why. No one has seen anyone doing it, despite a few of the braver souls camping out to keep watch. Feng Xin can't help wondering to himself if the bucket somehow disappears when the ghost touches it. It's far more likely that these people, if they did see what appeared to be a bucket floating in thin air, would discount it as a trick of the eye and think no further about it.
"Every single home has its pail mysteriously filled each morning?" Mu Qing asks, chin perched on his hand. His other hand toys with the cup of tea they'd offered him. Feng Xin doesn't have to ask; neither of them will be consuming any water in this place until they know what happened.
"Not exactly, daozhang," the village head explains. "There are a couple of houses that haven't noticed any disturbances at all."
Feng Xin locks eyes with Mu Qing. Now they are starting to get somewhere. "And these homes are…?" Feng Xin trails off, doing his best to look no more than curious. He and Mu Qing still don't know for sure what has happened. Alarming these people without reason is an amateur mistake Feng Xin does not wish to make while under the watchful stare of Mu Qing.
The village head scans the teahouse, where seemingly every single human in the town has gathered. "Ah, here." He gestures to a woman near the back, and she comes forward. Feng Xin immediately notes she is outfitted in mourning garb.
A man steps to her side and approaches the table with her. He would be imposing, Feng Xin thinks, if Feng Xin were not a god.
'He's built like a bear,' Mu Qing muses in the array. Feng Xin coughs to cover his laugh.
"This is Chen Bo, and this is Chu Siyu, or Song-furen." Glancing back to Feng Xin and Mu Qing, the village head's expression falls. "Song-furen just lost her husband a few days ago."
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Feng Xin responds, lowering his head. 'Think it's him?'
'Most likely,' Mu Qing says, then addresses the others. "So, do I have this correct? All homes in the village, except for yours, are experiencing these daily hauntings?"
"Yes, daozhang," she replies, head down. The man beside her grunts in what Feng Xin assumes to be agreement. Feng Xin resists the urge to remark on it in the array; Mu Qing has that glint in his eye that means he is fully focused on the problem at hand, and would not appreciate Feng Xin pointing out that the man even sounds like a bear.
Of course, that focus also means Mu Qing barreled over their most natural opportunity to learn more about her husband. Feng Xin stifles a sigh. No matter; they can speak with the village head later.
"So," Feng Xin says, smiling and standing from the table. He cringes internally; both he and Mu Qing's cups are full, and it is glaringly obvious compared to the empty cups nearby. "Perhaps you could show us around? The homes where the incidents occur, the homes where they do not, the well, things of that nature?"
He catches Mu Qing's eyeroll, but only because he knows to look. The others miss it.
'Subtle, general Nan Yang.'
'Oh fuck off,' Feng Xin says. 'It's a natural course of action in response to their concerns.'
Despite Mu Qing's bitching, he clearly seems to agree, rising to his feet. The village head bows and gestures for them to follow, and they leave the teahouse—and the rest of the villagers—behind.
*
Of course, there is nothing to see, at any of the little homes they visit. They do some poking around at Chen Bo and Chu Siyu's homes, but are left just as clueless as before. 'I guess it wouldn't be as easy as finding a knife and a pool of blood,' Feng Xin grumps in the array, and Mu Qing snorts, flashing him a smirk.
Nevertheless, their visit to the well goes exactly as they expect. With their heightened senses, they can tell even upon approach. Without speaking, Mu Qing and Feng Xin both draw to a stop, turning to the village head.
"If you wouldn't mind," Mu Qing says, voice soft. "Could you tell us a bit about Song-furen's husband?"
Concerned, the village head glances to the well, still a ways in the distance. When neither Feng Xin nor Mu Qing offer to explain, he clears his throat and speaks. "He was a good man, Song Guo. He went out in the woods to collect his traps like usual, and just never came home." His face crinkles in sadness. "We looked for him for two days straight, but didn't find anything."
He shakes his head, shoulders lifting in a frustrated shrug. "Lived here his whole life, just like his father and grandfather before him. Took over the family business, you know. The Songs have been butchers here since before I was born." A sigh gusts from his chest. "Not anymore, I guess."
"No children?"
"I'm afraid not," the village head says. "God knows they tried."
Abruptly feeling awkward, Feng Xin tries to recall if he'd ever received any prayers from Chu Siyu regarding conceiving. He probably has, but—
"She prayed to general Ju Ya—" Feng Xin stiffens as the man coughs. "To general Nan Yang about it many times, but." He shrugs, apologetic. "She told me he appeared to her in a dream and explained she was not capable."
Mu Qing is staring at Feng Xin, eyes squinted thoughtfully. Feng Xin is just glad he responded to her; he'd truly have felt like a horse's ass if not.
As it stands, he is certain he will be receiving no small amount of teasing on the way home about 'Ju Yang'.
"That is a shame. I'm sure it was very difficult for her," Mu Qing says when he notices Feng Xin's woolgathering; Feng Xin is quietly grateful. "If you would be so kind as to allow us to inspect the well ourselves, we would appreciate it. I am already sensing traces of spiritual energy nearby, and wouldn't want to inadvertently place you in danger."
"Of course, daozhang," the man says, taking his leave. Feng Xin meets Mu Qing's guarded expression with a grimace.
"So, how are we going to determine who put him down there?"
Mu Qing shakes his head slowly, hands smoothing at his garments. Feng Xin traces their path with his eyes, imagining the solid feel of Mu Qing's body beneath them.
Focus, Feng Xin. He can't let himself be distracted by every little thing. The gesture is nothing, merely a habit Mu Qing displays often when he's lost in thought. So Feng Xin waits, growing more and more impatient. And distracted.
Oh for god's sake, say something!
"Surely it has something to do with the bear guy, right? Song Guo isn't bringing him fresh water."
"Perhaps, but why also his own wife? That's what I cannot understand." Mu Qing glares over his shoulder at the homes still visible. "As you said, it would be ridiculous to expect to find an obvious crime scene, but it sure as hell would have helped."
While Mu Qing glowers, arms folded across his chest, Feng Xin paces. Movement has always suited him better than standing still, and he hopes it shakes something loose in his mind. Eventually, he makes his way to the well. It can't hurt to take a look inside; perhaps their culprit threw the weapon down there alongside the body.
After centuries of living—wars and demon-slaying and heaven only knows what else—there's nothing about a dead body that unsettles Feng Xin anymore. Still, it is not a pleasant sight.
'Are you trying to tell me that no one has come to this well since the man died?' Feng Xin directs to Mu Qing. 'The body is only just beginning to decay, but surely even regular humans could smell it if they got up close.'
'I suppose Song Guo has been doing his best to make sure they don't.'
Feng Xin, finding nothing more at the well, trudges back toward Mu Qing. At some point Mu Qing has turned away, allowing Feng Xin to drink him in without fear of being discovered.
'That doesn't feel right either, does it,' he says, eyes on the broad span of Mu Qing's shoulders, the inky fall of his hair. 'If that were the case, how do we explain his wife's home being—'
Both Feng Xin and Mu Qing whirl to face the vegetation at the side of the path, Mu Qing's hand on the hilt of his blade. A child bursts from a low bush, sticks in her hair, and stares up at them with wide eyes.
Feng Xin shoots a glance back to the village; who is this kid, and where did she come from?
"Gege," she says, taking a timid step toward Mu Qing. "Can Xiao Fen tell gege a secret?"
Feng Xin's heart slams into his throat as Mu Qing's face softens, his mouth curving up. He gets down to one knee, beckoning her closer. "This gege would be happy to hear your secret."
Feng Xin feels his ears heat. Mu Qing referring to himself as gege does things to Feng Xin. Not that he has ever dreamt of calling him in such a—
"Xiao Fen ran away from home," she says. "I was mad at mama."
A bit flustered, Feng Xin settles his hands to his hips and takes a breath, trying to calm down. It will not kill them to humor this child, and he knows how Mu Qing is with kids. He'd probably kneel here all day listening, just to make her happy.
"I see," Mu Qing murmurs, nodding.
"I hid from mama in the woodshed."
Huh. The village has a single communal woodshed as far as Feng Xin had noticed, located behind—
"I saw something scary," the child whispers.
'The woodshed is directly behind the butcher shop!' Feng Xin shouts into the array, Mu Qing flinching at the volume. 'Ask her what she saw!'
"Oh my," Mu Qing responds, warm, and leans closer. "Tell gege what Xiao Fen saw." The little girl is obviously struggling; Feng Xin feels like an ass for being impatient with her. Thank heavens Mu Qing is here.
When she shakes her head, Mu Qing reaches out, grabbing her tiny hands and squeezing. "Xiao Fen is being very brave. Can you tell this gege what you saw?" The child seems to gather her courage and lifts her head, meeting his gaze with determination.
"Blood," she says. Feng Xin's teeth grit. "There was lots of hollering, and blood, and Song-shushu was on the ground melting."
How fucking heart-breaking. Feng Xin balls his fists in his robes when Mu Qing looks back at him, clearly stricken.
'I know this is terrible, but you need to ask her if anyone else was there.'
'Melting?! God, that is probably what it would look like to a child.'
'Do you need me to talk to her?'
Shaking his head, Mu Qing turns back to her. "Xiao Fen, that sounds terribly frightening. Gege is glad you told him." She sniffles, and Mu Qing brushes a tear from her cheek. "Who else was there besides Song-shushu?"
She scuffs her straw shoe on the ground, curling in on herself. "Chen-shushu," she says.
Well. They had expected as much.
"And Chu-ayi."
A breath shakes from Feng Xin's chest. That one is a surprise.
"I saw them take Song-shushu to the well," she finally says. "I ran before they could see me." She lifts her face, glancing between Feng Xin and Mu Qing. "These geges will help Song-shushu get out of the well?"
'Ask her who else she's told. She could be in danger.'
"Of course we will," Mu Qing says, smiling. "Did Xiao Fen tell anyone else her secret?"
"Only mama."
Feng Xin's jaw clenches. So there was, presumably, an adult in that teahouse that knew what was going on, and still said nothing? Feng Xin is instantly furious, and judging by the sharpness in Mu Qing's eyes, he's not the only one.
"Let's get you home," Mu Qing sighs, standing, still gripping her little hand. Feng Xin rants in the array the entire way, pointing out that this tiny child had worked up the courage to say something, while her mother cowered and kept silent.
After that, things go quickly; they notify the village head of what they've learned so he can send a message to the regional governor, and they help apprehend and detain the suspected culprits. Along with most of the able-bodied men, Feng Xin retrieves Song Guo's body while Mu Qing sets up a talisman array to cleanse the well. At some point, Feng Xin stretches, wiping the sweat from his brow, and catches their ghost standing within the treeline, watching.
With a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one is paying attention, Feng Xin makes his way over, masking his presence from the others once he reaches the trees. "You're here," he says.
"I remember now," the man—Song Guo—replies. "I lived my whole life here. Every one of these people is like family to me. I couldn't stand the thought of them getting sick from that water."
Feng Xin, unsure of what to say, just nods.
"I guess I did what I set out to do."
"Are you ready to move on?"
"You better believe it. I'm sick of doing laundry and lugging water all over the damned place." With a laugh, he faces Feng Xin, shoulders straightening. "You two are gods, right?" When Feng Xin nods again, the man seems to relax. "Is there a trick to it? Passing on, I mean?"
"No tricks," Feng Xin says. "It would happen naturally over the next week or two. But if you don't feel like waiting around, I can help you along." They turn, watching the people finishing up at the well. "Is there anyone you would like to speak with, or say goodbye to?"
Shaking his head, Song Guo sighs. "These folks have had enough upset. Seeing a ghost isn't going to make things any easier." He faces Feng Xin, determined. "Let's do this." They wish each other well, and Feng Xin murmurs an incantation, sending him on his way.
A fairly satisfying conclusion, in Feng Xin's opinion, though he and Mu Qing can't help speculating on the motivations for the murder on their walk home. Their walk home. Feng Xin knows exactly why he isn't suggesting they draw an array to hurry them back to the heavens, but Mu Qing's reasoning is, as always, opaque to him.
"I know it's not our place to interfere in human law," Feng Xin mutters, "but I can't help being curious about how things will settle out."
Mu Qing hums, and Feng Xin continues to grumble to himself. "If she was so unhappy in her marriage, she could have just left. Humans can be so cruel."
"I wanted mushroom noodle soup," Mu Qing suddenly states.
Halting on the path, Feng Xin frowns at Mu Qing's back until he also stops and turns around.
"You wanted corpse-water soup?"
"We don't know that it—"
"You wanted to take your chances on corpse-water soup?" Feng Xin rephrases, and at Mu Qing's scowl, he can't help laughing. "Come on, man. I wasn't the only one that left my tea untouched!"
"Annoying," Mu Qing spits, spinning on his heel and darting ahead. Feng Xin catches up immediately, and it sends a shiver of warmth down his spine; if Mu Qing really wanted to get away, Feng Xin would have had to work his ass off to catch him.
The sun is setting. It throws deep reds and oranges over the trees, stretching their shadows along the path, tracing Mu Qing in gold. Breathless, Feng Xin steps closer. When their shoulders press together, Mu Qing does not pull away.
"I'm glad you came," Feng Xin hears himself say. It is probably one of the most honest things he's ever said to Mu Qing, and his stomach drops. He prepares for a punch, or a firestorm of sharp words.
"Of course you are," Mu Qing says instead, scoffing, but even out of the corner of his eye, Feng Xin can see the curl at the corner of Mu Qing's mouth. He is… pleased? The thought nearly knocks Feng Xin over.
Mu Qing enjoys my kindness.
Holy shit. While it is not a complete answer to the depth of feeling blossoming within Feng Xin, it lights a stubborn flame of hope in his chest anyhow. He's not ready to go home. He's not ready to part from Mu Qing.
"Should we head somewhere else? Get some dinner?"
Lips pursing, Mu Qing nods. "Do you recall that street vendor on the outskirts of Puqi village? The one with the chili-scallion pancakes?"
"Oh god," Feng Xin groans, and, feeling brave, throws his arm around Mu Qing's shoulders. "Those were so fucking good."
"The only problem is—"
"We have to get in and out before His Highness notices we're there," Feng Xin chuckles.
"Indeed. Disguises?"
"Hell yes," Feng Xin agrees. "What should we do?"
"I dare you to don that mess you wore when we were trying to subdue the weaver spirits."
Incensed, Feng Xin lobs a fist at Mu Qing's shoulder hard enough to unbalance him. "Fuck you! I told you I would kill you if you ever brought that up again!"
Mu Qing catches Feng Xin's next three punches in his hands. And he is guffawing. "But you looked so lovely!" he manages between gasps, blocking Feng Xin's kick with his forearm. "A beautiful, untainted maiden!"
"GO TO HELL, MU QING!"
Breathless with laughter, Mu Qing races ahead, Feng Xin hot on his heels. "Come on, Feng Xin, it'll be fun."
"You're insufferable," Feng Xin growls, driving his elbow into Mu Qing's kidney. "I fucking hate you."
"I may not understand much at all about you," Mu Qing lilts, "but I know you do not eat meals with people you hate." His face scrunches. "Well, unless we are forced to eat with Hua Cheng."
"Ugh," Feng Xin grunts, falling into step beside Mu Qing once more. "That guy." He takes in Mu Qing's bright grin, and his heart lurches.
"Fine. I'll do it, but you have to disguise yourself as a woman, too."
Eyebrows raised, Mu Qing meets his gaze. "And why is that?"
"Otherwise it will look like we're on a date."
"So?" Mu Qing asks, like a complete asshole. He has no idea what he is doing to Feng Xin's heart. His pulse races; his breath is coming far too fast. Mu Qing looks like a goddamned painting, like a dream, fiery in the oranges and blacks of dimming sunset. He is exquisite.
It makes Feng Xin reckless.
He loops his elbow in Mu Qing's, meeting his eyes, and has to breathe through his surprise when Mu Qing does not immediately yank himself away. "I suppose I'm game if you are, gege," Feng Xin says, pressing himself to Mu Qing's side. It is mortifying, but well worth it when Mu Qing flushes from his forehead all the way down his neck.
"Feng Xin, you…"
Mu Qing sputters before shoving Feng Xin away, and now it is Feng Xin's turn to laugh. "Your face!" he howls, deflecting the elbow aiming for his chin. "Oh hell. That was priceless."
"Forget dinner," Mu Qing snaps, leaping to the treetops, jumping from branch to branch while Feng Xin snickers and attempts to catch his breath below. "I don't even want to see you."
"Awww," Feng Xin croons, cheeks stretching with his smile. "General Xuan Zhen! Won't you take me out on the town? Show me a good time?"
Mu Qing fumbles a landing, nearly falling from the tree. Jerking to a stop, Feng Xin wonders if he pushed too far. Why isn't Mu Qing saying anything? Nervous, Feng Xin waits, throat tight.
"Feng Xin," Mu Qing sighs at last, and if Feng Xin were not a god, he wouldn't have heard him. Something about his voice makes Feng Xin's chest hitch.
Which is probably a good thing, as it prevents him from gasping when Mu Qing launches himself from the tree, landing in front of him. Eyes sparking hotly, brows furrowed, Mu Qing slowly leans in until Feng Xin can feel his breath on his chin.
"I," Mu Qing rumbles, pausing for what Feng Xin knows is deliberate dramatic effect, "have been 'taking you out on the town' and 'showing you a good time' for months now." Feng Xin's jaw goes slack, and Mu Qing's gaze drops to his parted lips. "And yet."
"Mu Qing, are you—"
"Figure it out yourself, Ju Yang."
With that, Mu Qing pulls a talisman from his sleeve, and before Feng Xin can shake himself from his shock, Mu Qing vanishes.
"That fucking bastard," Feng Xin breathes, awed.
Crickets chirp. He stands, silent, letting the soft warmth in his gut spread throughout him.
Pull yourself together. He's getting a head start.
Feng Xin scans the ground for something he can use to draw a distance-shortening array, grumbling the entire time. "Unbelievable. And he ran away. After dropping that in my lap." Feng Xin has only seen a talisman like that a few times in his long life; it takes a staggering amount of qi to use. Had Mu Qing been planning this the entire time? Confess, then escape?
"What an asshole," Feng Xin says, but he knows he's smiling, quickly dragging a stick through the dirt and infusing his array with energy. For the first time in a while, he is eager to return to the heavens; he is going to march straight to Xuan Zhen palace.
And he has a feeling Mu Qing will be waiting for him.