Chapter Text
He is a shooting star in the night sky, luminous and fierce. He is a grand oak tree, his roots deeply tangled in rich soil. But he is also a single cherry, the last one to be plucked.
He is here and he is there. He is everywhere.
The boy who quietly swept broken glass into his palm. The god who still weeps for his mother.
Usually, Mu Qing is able to bury such feelings, tuck them deep into his heart next to the memory of his kingdom, his youth. When each day promised to be long and golden.
But as he slowly opens his eyes, he is left distinctly unsettled. His mouth tastes funny, his bones are stiff, his skin hot. Though that is nothing compared to the milky fog that swims in his ears.
Have his bedsheets always been such a startling and frankly hideous shade of red? Where is the morning sun that casts prisms of light onto every surface? And– and why is his spine so sore?
All of those thoughts float away like clouds when he notices the figure beside him sprawled in sleep. And he screams.
It’s– it’s–
Crimson Fucking Rain?!
Mu Qing flails out of bed just as Hua Cheng jolts upright, his hair falling down his back like spilled ink. His silken top is practically falling off his shoulders and Mu Qing suddenly wants to backflip out of the window.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice sounding horrifically gentle.
Mu Qing’s mouth has always been faster than his brain and sometimes he thinks that he was born without one. “What the fuck is going on? Why am I here? What wicked schemes do you have planned?”
Hua Cheng’s brows shoot up into his hairline. He moves deliberately, as though confronting a caged animal.
“Gege–”
“Don’t address me like that! I demand to leave this instant,” Mu Qing sputters, feeling lost and wild and maybe a little scared. As he speaks, he backpedals right past a large, crystal mirror.
And he takes a long, devastated look. And then he screams for a second time.
He’s– he’s–
Your Highness the Crowned Prince?!
OH GREAT HEAVENS!!!
He rips his fingers through his hair, drags his nails down his face. He meets dumb doe eyes staring right back at him and rosy cheeks more suited for a young maiden. Something small and tight lodges itself into his ribs.
At once, he feels steady arms encircle him and he tries and fails to scramble away.
“Your Highness, please calm down. I don’t know what is happening,” Hua Cheng softly says, his breath a whisper on his neck. What Mu Qing would give to peel off this false skin and run for the hills.
He spins him around and Mu Qing is forced to look into eyes far too kind for his liking. Where is the Demon Lord who spits hellfire at him?
Mu Qing finally finds his voice, shaky as it is. “I am not him.”
Hua Cheng looks truly concerned now. “What do you mean? Not who?”
“I. Am. Not. Him. I’m stuck in his body and I can only assume he’s stuck in mine.”
He’s distantly aware of low rumbles of thunder and what sounds like buckets of rainwater pounding the roof. Hua Cheng’s fingers are like vises clamped around his shoulders.
“...Then who are you?”
For one dangerous moment, Mu Qing is afraid Hua Cheng will slice him in half should he reveal himself. But he also knows that for all his evil, Hua Cheng would never harm one stupid hair on Xie Lian’s stupid head.
So he raises his chin and says with as much dignity as one could possibly muster given the situation. “I am the Martial God of the Southwest, General Xuan Zhen.”
But, of course, he may as well be speaking to a brick wall.
Hua Cheng releases him and takes a generous step back. He flatly says, “Then where is he?"