Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Memories of Xianle rise up and choke him sometimes. Some infuriating part of his mind refuses to move on.

And sometimes, in his worst moments, he finds himself hopelessly trapped in a younger body, legs swinging off a wooden platform, slender pale arms slung over his legs, an abandoned sweep by his side.

Mu Qing had always been tortured by dreams. As usual, his body always betrayed his will and refused to show itself to others.

No one ever knew, but Mu Qing had always been tortured by dreams.

When he was younger, it was dreams of the vindictive nobility circles, chasing him down, eyes frenzied like men on a hunt. Mu Qing would break off and run as far as his limbs could take him. He always hated to turn heels- in real life, he wouldn’t dare. But in his dreams, he ran and ran.

Anything to escape that horrifying moment they seized his ankle and threw them onto cold pavement, rough stones eating through his skin, strong arms seizing his shoulders to try to drag his cheek against the rough edge, climbing over him to knock the lights out of him however they could.

[ --Bastards, taking advantage of the weak.]

Dreams of a dark room, the candle pittering out, casting a ghostly hue on the walls of his home. A mother with a soft smile, but a hopeless disposition, losing herself to illness. Her energy seeped into the walls and emitted into the word, entropic. No matter what Mu Qing did, he grasped at smoke. His mother left him more with every day.

Gasping, ripping through the pain for a brief gasp. Any relief from the paralysis of his body.

Leaving him here.

His eyes snapped open as he soaked in the sight of gently blowing fronds of grass. Today Xianle was blessed with sunny skies. If Mu Qing would look up, he’d see clouds billowing across the light blue sky, indifferent to the moving cities underneath. If he cared to notice it, he’d feel a cool breeze against his skin.

The sensation of temperature. Looking at the clouds from below.

This wasn’t reality. This was a dream of the past.

It was always like this.

Mu Qing could look around, but at the end of the day, he was victim to his previous memories. At the end of the day, everything that occurred in these dreams could not be taken back or reversed. He was a prisoner in his own body, and his punishment was watching his mistakes.

Just sitting here, as though he was enjoying himself on a cool spring day, was suspicious in itself. Mu Qing never relaxed. Something was terribly wrong.

And then he heard a very familiar laugh and Mu Qing curled into himself, pushing further into himself. But “Mu Qing”- his previous self- had no such qualms. He indifferently cast his gaze to the two people approaching. At this point in his life, he’d lost the nervous demeanor of a newly appointed servant. Now, the noble gossip whispered, this servant has begun to be quite disrespectful. So, no, he didn’t scramble to his feet and create the façade of a servant hard at work.

“Mu Qing” swung his leg. It appeared he was in a darker mood at the moment. But Mu Qing, the Mu Qing with 800 years of memories and a shifting psyche taking root in his heart only looked at the scene in dismay.

It was him.

He was younger.

His side profile showed the edge of a strong jaw, his tan skin so sweetly complimenting the warm prickle of the sunlight. His grin flashed in the light- his whole body exuded confidence, a shameless ease that Mu Qing would always lack.

When he laughed, he shook with his entire body. One gloved hand was held to his mouth but it did nothing to stop his trembling. At least the nut wasn’t doubling over and making a hopeless fool of himself in front of the rest of the palace.

“Mu Qing” watched this all with disdain. Undoubtedly he thinking about what a ridiculous idiot Feng Xin was. But Mu Qing only watched miserably as the memory played before him.

These nightmares were a new development. And, logically, nightmares surfaced due to a dramatic subconscious shift in a person, when their emotional state became more unstable.

But to an outside observer, you wouldn’t be blamed for assuming things were going well in Mu Qing’s current life.

And they were.

Things were… certainly progressing.

These days, Mu Qing felt something strange. Like some lost part of his soul was seeping back into the cracks of a hundred-old deficit. For eight hundred years, he hadn’t known how dry he felt. He’d stood strong, he focused his entire efforts on building a Palace of silver, an iron-wrought reputation. He’d bitten back at the exploiters and schemers of the Heavenly Court, silently took the abuses others would never assume them to commit. He’d devoted all his energy to shoving everyone away, not allowing anyone to interfere with his goal of rising, of crafting a godly image of himself, because that is all he could aspire towards.

So when Feng Xin happened, it fucking sucked.

It caught him off guard, how quickly he happened.

After Mt. Tonglu, Mu Qing had let forth a fact he never really wanted to expose. It always felt like an insignificant wish, a mere indigo leaf that danced around the tall columns in his internal Palace. Sometimes it would fall, forgotten, on the cold floor. Sometimes the whisper of memories would carry it gently in the air, breathing life into an organism that should have shriveled and wilted Eight Hundred Years ago.

Mu Qing tried to neglect it. He turned away from that little leaf; he paid it no mind.

And yet, in the cold chamber of that Palace, he let it live. The threatening storms of winter – of dark thoughts, wishes of revenge, the sweet desire of corruption – all could not storm into his cold palace and whisk that little leaf away.

To think that one day that little leaf would fly away and land in his Prince’s outstretched palm.

Xie Lian, light of the earth, caught his little fluttering leaf of truth, and Mu Qing had to watch in horror as he decided what to do with it.

He gently coaxed the leaf down and smiled at it. An indescribable act of kindness. And, to Mu Qing’s great misfortune, someone else had seen it too.

A leaf, or, a wish of friendship. Xie Lian’s friendship.

What Mu Qing felt for Feng Xin was buried deep underneath that Palace of his. He didn’t know what roared underneath the floor, he didn’t dare open it up. Things like that, you simply cannot open- like the fire behind hell’s gates, there would be no returning from even peeking a glance.

Thank goodness for his chilled walls.

But Feng Xin found another way in.

Mu Qing was fine with Xie Lian’s method of caring for the leaf. He left it on his shelf, a nice reminder that Mu Qing had always, and will always, care for him. Seeing the leaf, Xie Lian cast more smiles at him, and they weren’t strained, they were secretive, as though he was trying to convey little messages. It reminded Mu Qing of the dark nights they spent in each other’s company- a Prince who was trying to tame a street cat, and a scorned person who was struggling to see through the blinding life of the person whose hair he combed. Xie Lian’s light was too intense- Mu Qing wanted that light, he wanted to catch a bit of his Prince’s glow, he wanted to walk away with grace, but it did the opposite, it only cast him into a deeper shadow, to the point he even started resenting that brilliant light. But despite its brilliance, Mu Qing always fought to look at it, to not turn away, even if his eyes stung from the effort.

Now, after Eight Hundred Years of dust and calm meditation, after Eight Hundred Years of being away from the public gaze and the endless shower of attention they rained on the Flower Crowned Prince…

Xie Lian’s light had stopped being so painfully bright. It had cooled to a warm glow, but it wasn’t made for Mu Qing.

And it really didn’t matter- well, no. It stung a bit. But just to have Mu Qing’s leaf on his shelf, a reminder that Mu Qing still meant something to him in the grand scheme of his life, that Mu Qing was welcome there, that his little brief wish would be protected on his shelf…

Watching that little leaf from afar, it was a comforting sight. So comforting. Still a little lonely, but comforting.

And then… Feng Xin.

He’d seen that little leaf, and something must have changed.

Some cog in the machine that filtered the world into a coherent picture in his brain must have coughed to life, and Mu Qing felt his gold eyes catching on him more often, but this time, without quite the harrowing stab of hatred.

Like a brief glimmer of light from a faraway coin.

And every time, he couldn’t help but pay notice to it.

And then Feng Xin came closer.

Feng Xin got ideas over what that wish for friendship meant and Mu Qing didn’t want to encourage whatever he formed in his head, he absolutely could not, and he tried his best to dodge and remove himself from those-

…

-those hands of his.

Tan, strong hands, wrapped around his slender wrists.

Why, why, why, why, why oh why oh why oh why and how?

Mu Qing was sure that he’d locked the door, how did he get in?

Hands firm, they didn’t impress upon Mu Qing the option to walk away. Warm hands, how the fuck were they so warm? He hated their warmth- it was so foreign. It did nothing except remind him of the fact that no one had touched him like that for Eight Hundred Years.

And yet, how could he shy away from that warmth? He hated himself for this one weakness.

Somehow he found his way into Mu Qing’s palace, and somehow, he forced him out of the door.

And what a wedding it had been.

Mu Qing had never seen such vibrant warmth of color. He’d seen hundreds of Heavenly Processions, thousands of festivals, and each one had mixed in with each other into a desaturated blur. Masks, treats, family, singing, dancing- what did it mean to a God like him, who would never do anything but stand on the sidelines? A God who was wholly convinced such festivities held nothing for him any longer?

What a momentous occasion it had been to watch the string, ribbon, and rice fall from the sky and scatter at Xie Lian’s feet. The wedding had passed too quickly, but in its whirling events, Mu Qing thought he caught a glimpse of color.

And by his side, infuriatingly unwavering, was a very specific warm presence.

It started to warm the side of his face.

And then it raced up his veins and turned his limbs into jelly; making their function useless.

Feng Xin couldn’t be stopped.

His presence raced into every aspect of Mu Qing’s life- every time Mu Qing descended, there he was, demanding to join, flashing his infuriating smile whenever Mu Qing asked why he would do such a thing, he practically made Mu Qing’s walls his home, devoted to finding new and creative ways to break into the Xuan Zhen Palace. His leaning silhouette, blocking the rays of Heavenly light from Mu Qing’s study room, somehow became a common sight.

The brute was trying to win Mu Qing over through sheer exposure.

And Mu Qing had been distracted, distracted by the alarming pools of golden heat that gathered on his Palaces walls. Would they stain, what would happen to his Palace, what would happen to him-

-and he tried his best to scoop up the flooding warmth, the alien presence, place it back where it lay. But this wasn’t the raging inferno that torrented underneath his Palace floor, this was a foreign substance, warm and alarming, and undoubtedly Feng Xin-

And like a beast barely tamed, that hell seemed to pause in a flicker, considering the gold seeping onto the Palace’s glossy floors.

It all broke apart when Feng Xin ripped the floor away from him.

Literally.

“Because I love you.”

What the fuck was Mu Qing supposed to do with that?

The floor slipped out from under him and he fell.

He expected the whisper of hell, fanfare of flames, a great, devout painful flood that could melt the mental Xuan Zhen Palace into nothing but warped silver.

But he fell, and fell, and the chasm was darker than he thought it’d be.

─ •✧• ─

All those empty rooms

We could have been anywhere, anywhere else.

Instead I made a bed with apathy

─ •✧• ─

Sparring. They came to this training ground to spar.

Mu Qing gingerly stepped away from his sitting, lurking younger self and stepped a little closer to get a better look at their faces.

As it was a memory, their voices were muddled and murky; despite how close he got to their figures, they still an underwater-like quality, just as it was the day “Mu Qing” formed this memory.

Then Mu Qing stepped in front of a very specific individual.

Mu Qing didn’t need to rely on the fuzzy recollection of this memory to see his face. He didn’t need anything to remember how this particular face scorned him.

Feng Xin’s face was just as it was, looking youthful at sixteen. His baby fat had nearly ebbed away, but it still made you want to pinch his cheeks and pull just to put an end to his deliriously disarming smile. He was laughing at one of Xie Lian’s jokes again, and his shoulders shook, and Mu Qing’s heart was stabbed.

Then he looked up, and for an instant, Mu Qing thought he looked at him.

His eyes were perfect. Wide, yet sharp, and striking amber.

Not cool, iridescent gold. Amber.

And then Mu Qing had to step back to allow them through. But he watched as they walked further, and Mu Qing didn’t miss the way that Feng Xin looked at His Prince.

It was nothing like the way Feng Xin looked at him. Mu Qing never earned this sort of expression from Feng Xin, this total hopeless expression, the soft curve of his eyebrows as his eyes just sparkled as they looked at Xie Lian and-

-and Mu Qing was just as he always was, caught, hating, berating, scorning, loving, mourning the brilliant shine of Xie Lian, even as he watched now, this younger version of Xie Lian was undeniably, hopelessly perfect and-

He cast a glance to the side of the sparring ground where “Mu Qing” stayed, watching them. A dark look overtook his features. Mu Qing wanted to laugh out loud.

Qing-er, you’re worried about the wrong man.

And it would have been easier if Mu Qing could stay the way he was, watching Feng Xin with bristling jealousy, totally ignorant of what was going on underneath the cool metal exterior he was building.

What hindsight does to you.

Mu Qing cast another look at the couple in the middle of the dusty battlefield. Feng Xin dropped into his warrior stance, his sword glinting proudly by his side, his eyes shining with unbridled excitement. Xie Lian withdrew his weapon, but Mu Qing didn’t have any eyes for him anymore.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away

From the way Feng Xin looked at him.

-

Mu Qing woke up, the taste of cold night air bitter on his tongue.

Or maybe that bitterness was from his dream.

He shoved it down, throwing his covers away to change into his regal wear. The frigid moonlight cast his bedroom in strange shadows, and despite the layers Mu Qing whisked onto his body, he couldn’t quite remove it. The cold just took him and seeped into his skin. It was one of those things that the more you tried to wipe it away, the further it would spread.

Which is why Mu Qing never touched heartaching wounds.

He sighed and swore he could see his breath in the air.

So frigid.

-

When Mu Qing stood up and tried to take a look around the chasm, he was met with an odd sight.

Where he was so sure flames used to rage, they had seemed to retract themselves, burying themselves deeper and deeper into the ground.

He was so afraid that the moment he was dumped here, they would scald him and leave him defenseless. But it appeared that it was he that they feared.

An empty chamber, with nothing notable. A sprig grew here and there, stubborn plants that were determined to sprout in this soil.

Mu Qing lowered and touched his index and middle to the ground just to touch. When he raised his hand for inspection, he realized that the soil wasn’t hopeless after all.

It was incredibly fertile, waiting for something.

Isn’t that a farming practice in some cultures? Mu Qing thought. He wasn’t one to pay that much mind to tasks such as mortal farming, but sometimes he’d happen across a random source of information and neatly file it away in the catacombs of his mind.

Because he was slowly growing insane, Mu Qing had descended himself in disguise to inquire about this stray thought. The farmer had looked him up and down, faintly confused why a strapping, affluent lad like him would inquire about what men like him had to do in the field. Thankfully, however, this man was quite obliging and decided to humor him. He gestured for Mu Qing to follow him, and Mu Qing did, absentmindedly taking note of the long and far fields of grain. The grain swayed as one current under the breeze and emitted a pleasant rustling sound. He’d never noticed such a sweet sound before. Other matters took precedence and often turned his head away from the opportunity to see the sweet pleasures of the world.

“See this land?” The farmer said gruffly. “Fire was used to clear up this land.”

“So fire is used to accelerate the clearing process. Once the area is cleared, you can begin farming. ” Mu Qing said. It made sense, except for one thing. “However, wouldn’t such mass destruction render the soil malnourished? What practices do you use to compensate for damage?”

“My boy!” The farmer said, a smile teasing its way out from under his superfluous whiskers. “That’s the trick! I know a lot of common folks that think like you- no offense, it’s a perfectly logical assumption. We common folk often fear the flames and see it as needless destruction. But that’s why Yinlan has the best rice, that’s nice!”

He seized Mu Qing’s shoulder, and Mu Qing’s immense hatred was withheld by a hair through the deathly glare on his face. But the farmer paid no attention to him, his hand was steady, and Mu Qing had enough self control to not cause a scene and shove the moral’s touch off of him.

“You see, lad,” the farmer said, “What those other men don’t realize is that fire actually fertilizes the soil! Any ol’ removal would leave the soil all torn up and no man is perfect! What if weed seeds stay in the soil! No point of removing all those plants by hand if they’ll just sprout up again!”

Mu Qing nodded. It did make sense to use fire to ensure utter destruction. What he didn’t understand was how something could survive after something so devastating.

“It gets rid of the underbrush, but fire also opens up the land to sunlight!” The man crowed. “I can’t tell you why, but it really does nourish the soil! No field gives us her treasure like one that felt the heat of the fire! That’s right, I see the astonishment on your face, but I swear on my good man’s word that it’s the truth. So long as the fire’s not too bad, things will only grow faster than they did before!” He clasped Mu Qing’s shoulder several time, boisterous laughter now rolling through his whole body. “That’s right, that’s right! You really chose the right farmer to tell you this, boy! No one gives it to you like the Yinlan farms!”

From then on, Mu Qing would often find himself down in that barren chamber, his heart beating faintly in his chest, his breath caught. It was terrifying- the idea that something could grow. Would he want such a thing? Could he care for something as precious as life?

He looked at the sprigs that wormed their way through the soil. Had they not grown here despite the terrible circumstances, or, had they held on with all of their strength, taking refuge in the great nutrients in the soil, despite the fact they hadn’t seen light for Eight Hundred Years? Were they something Mu Qing could nurture?

-It appeared, yes. They had stayed underground for all these years, survived blistering heat and shadow. To take responsibility for something as insignificant as this bit of light- it was terrifying, but Mu Qing found, to his surprise, that he actually wanted to do it.

He knelt down to look at the frond a little better, watching how its felt green form peeked above the dirt- and yet, he didn’t dare get close out of fear that it would wilt in his presence. Even in his own mind, he lamented, he was terrified of things running away.

A shocked gasp blew through his lips as he remembered the fact of his dear Xianle Prince.

Eyes darkened in shadow, his white clothes tainted by the dirt he was shoved on.

A slap to his hand, but it felt like a kick. A turned head, but it pushed a serrated knife deep into his abdomen.

It's too late to help.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

He didn’t want to think of this again.

Mu Qing.

There he was again.

He could see his lithe form out of the corner of his eye. He’s sweeping the room again, head low, thinking of the unfathomable.

Dark eyes only mean more things to hide. Who knew what fucked up things he thought about at night?

A pretty poor boy in the Palace, they called, leaning by the door frame.

Idiots whose lives were snuffed out 800 years prior.

But they were never forgotten.

No, he had never forgotten.

Pain.

That’s how Mu Qing would describe it, it’s pain.

Everything about him was painful.

And he wants to blame it on him but he can’t.

These fucking feelings-

He’d done so well

Covering it up, calling them lies-

These emotions aren’t anything but a momentary distraction.

Please let them be nothing but a momentary distraction.

Please call him crazy.

Please leave him alone.

Your gold gaze, please turn it away.

Don’t come any closer.

Don’t put your hand near mine.

Don’t let me feel you.

I wanted to love you,

An unfathomable idea but damn it was close,

Something so hot and heavy close by,

I could tilt my head into your palm and make you mine, I could cry and the tears could sting and fall between your fingers, you-

You gave me the words.

You gave them to me.

You-

-

A tear slipped down Mu Qing’s cheek, his breath puffing in the frigid air. His fingers felt frozen on the break line, his eyes wide in anguish at he stared at nothing but the normal activity of Heaven below.

Life was normal.

Hah, he wasn’t the normal one.

A strange strangled cry shuddered from his lips and he touched them. He was surprised, that’s all. The shock had left him feeling oddly hollow.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way when someone like him told him he loved you.

There’s probably a better way to wring through the emotions rather than letting them batter you like a mirror storm.

-

It started fine.

As fine as you could call a confession from Feng Xin fine.

The worst part? Mu Qing fucking knew it! He hadn’t wanted to hope- and honestly, the idea of Feng Xin trying to court him was a little sickening. At the end of the day, Mu Qing could tell- he wasn’t dense- but at the time, it hadn’t been a huge concern of his. Mu Qing was happy to ignore it as long as Feng Xin would let him.

He had forgotten that Feng Xin screws up every plan Mu Qing had since the day he met him.

He didn’t want to hear it. He’d gotten so used to the way they were.

But Feng Xin had straight up told him his affections and he was annoying but?!

Mu Qing couldn’t deny it.

No, he made a fool of himself and stood there where his annoying friend stood there and took in his increasingly red expression, his stare making an already particularly concerning case into a state of pure flame.

It was absolute agony.

He hadn’t realized he could even feel like this anymore.

All Mu Qing could remember from that day was a blistering, incoherent heat that raged through his veins, warming up his body to the point he couldn’t see clearly anymore. Feng Xin had been standing in front of him, but then he wasn’t; Junior officials had been marching towards him, and then they weren’t- he hadn’t been in such a state of confusion for so long; even the day he thought he lost Xie Lian forever, a bit of icy control had slipped over his heart, staying him from total annihilation. At that moment, he had to be cool, he’d made his bed as a promise to Heaven and he had to sleep in it. At least he had some self control.

Day was an anxious nightmare.

The dreams that followed weren’t better.

Mu Qing had found himself in a dark area.

Expansions, empty, filled with dark particles and slightly misty. He logically deduced that this was his mind’s final resort to rationalize what was happening to him.

He’d lost control of his emotions, he dimly realized. This space was very similar to the mental state he induced during his cultivation meditation. Then, as his mind’s eye adjusted, he saw the lanquid ribbons of gold that streamed through the consciousness.

He raised a hand helplessly to touch them. He knew which thoughts were plaguing his mind, he didn’t need to bring more attention to them by thinking about it.

The first day, he thought Feng Xin’s affection was comforting and even a little exciting.

But then…

Mu Qing had always been an overthinker.

-

The second day, he thought maybe seeing Feng Xin would help clear his head.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

-

Xie Lian.

Mu Qing’s mind had always paid too much attention to insignificant details.

Back then it was easier.

Back then he didn’t know.

Feng Xin’s mind was straightforward but Mu Qing’s was weak.

Mu Qing’s mind convolutes everything and gives him hell.

This time is no different, he knows,

Watching the eternal march to hell in his mind.

His mind is not something he can break out of,

Neglected for all these years.

Maybe once it was normal, as normal as a teenager’s could be,

A little bitter, but at the sight of a hwamei, he could look up and appreciate such mundane beauty and strength.

And his mind would be clear.

Mu Qing didn’t have the liberty of having a clear mind anymore.

Eight Hundred Years of neglect.

His mind couldn’t be clear so he froze it all so desperately-

-how else could he survive this hellhole of a world?

Feng Xin.

Fucking.

Broke it.

And now he can’t be saved.

─ •✧• ─

My heart knew the weight

Ten years worth of dust and neglect

We made our peace with weariness and let it be

─ •✧• ─

There’s the soft shuffle of feet.

And muffled laughter in the air.

Mu Qing’s arms are folding Xie Lian’s clothes calmly, but he’s irritated inside.

The room is dark and the atmosphere intimate, a candle lights a hearth in the gloom.

Prince Xie Lian’s room was wide and spacious, but still his bed took up so much room.

If he lifted his head he could see out of the corner of his eye-

A man that he wanted.

They both spark pain in him now.

He has a wide smile on his face and he’s leaning on his bed like there isn’t a care in the world.

His soft brown hair splays across the sheets, his arm is propped on his cheeks and he’s smiling.

He’s so coy in his room, when it’s just them.

Mu Qing would appreciate it more if the bodyguard wasn’t here.

Feng Xin, leaning by the bedrest with his head tilted up,

When he’s around his Prince his face lights up like the sun.

I wouldn’t dare wear such a pathetic expression.

But maybe it does something, because while Mu Qing is in the corner, slaving away in this godforsaken place, folding fabric that could buy his mother out of his illness-

The bodyguard sits by the Prince’s feet.

They’re laughing at something, and Mu Qing doesn’t want to hear it.

He doesn’t want to hear.

Okay.

And now they’re at a field, outside the city walls and in meadowlands,

Course grass scratches up their angles, Mu Qing holds their weapons,

And what a great blue sky it is,

Clouds marching their endless trek on glass-blue waters, heading home to a no-mans land.

Mortals can spend hours ruminating on their journey- the clouds go such a long way.

But they’re on the ground.

“Come at me!” Feng Xin hollers, his hand pounding on his chest. He always wore such a good smile. His attitude was much too carefree and ridiculous. You’d think a bodyguard would have to be more serious.

His hand is on a sword and Mu Qing’s eyes flick towards it.

He always spars his highness with a sword.

He always looked so much better with a bow. In especially petty moments, Mu Qing hated the look of that sword.

Sometimes he would be in the archery range, his gaze completely focused, his form lithe and taut. A slight furrow between his eyes, locking in on the red dot in the middle. Sometimes Mu Qing would lean on the column, dark eyes hiding unfathomable stream of thoughts.

Feng Xin ignored him. Mu Qing thought nothing of it.

How could you think nothing of it?

But then, how could he have done anything different?

Was there a world that Mu Qing could remove himself from that pole and discard everything? A world that he, alone, decided to end all of this and call a truce forever and ever? A world that, instead of turning away and letting his mind march to the next bitter course of tasks, he could walk down there, a slight smile on his lips, and touch a hand to Feng Xin’s locked arms?

How would Feng Xin react?

Would he be mad?

Or, Mu Qing thought, with 800 years of foresight, would you look at me with surprise?

What then? Would you have lowered your bow?

Would you have then offered an olive branch of your own?

A suspicion-laced inquiry into Mu Qing’s intentions in that archery court? How would have Mu Qing responded then?

Would he have dissolved everything with a snarky remark of indifference?

What if Mu Qing told him the truth?

“I thought you looked good with that bow,”

How would Feng Xin react then?

What if Xie Lian walked in?

Sling.

SNAP.

So fast Mu Qing didn’t have time to blink.

Bullseye again.

Feng Xin didn’t fight as well with a sword.

Mu Qing threw the weapons on the ground.

You’d think he’d be happy his rival disadvantaged himself.

-

And now Mu Qing found himself in the darkness again.

His heart is so tired but someone wants to come in. And he knows who it is.

His Palace doors are always open for his highness.

A bright light walks in. It’s not warm, heavy, and a little distracting like Feng Xin’s warm light.

Xie Lian is a little cold and very white. Refreshing, but hard to take comfort in. Very blinding, sometimes. If you look too long into it, it’ll leave spots in your eyes.

In this world, Xie Lian isn’t here, and Mu Qing knows that. The memories are real, but this space is wholly the creation of Mu Qing’s shitty imagination.

Xie Lian smiles cooly and sits down in front of Mu Qing, where they now both hold a meditative prose.

Mu Qing is the one who brought him here.

Something to say when you don’t have a chance to say it.

“Your Highness, I’m so sorry.”

Xie Lian’s eyes look warm but in the cold light of Mu Qing’s mind, they look a little distant. They’re looking at Mu Qing, but his head is tilted, as a mere other presence would be enough to move his attention away. Mu Qing wasn’t the type of person you could look at with all that much affection.

“I’m sullying your memories with my dark thoughts.”

It’s ironic how this man used to be the lucky beneficiary of Mu Qing’s pain. Sitting in front of him, Mu Qing feels a little silly. This man and Mu Qing weren’t even on the same plane.

Was he and Feng Xin on the same plane?

Yes. But who was Mu Qing to know where his eyes truly roamed to?

Everyone sets their gaze higher. And Mu Qing would never be as good of a person as Xie Lian.

“Dianxia, I…”

I’m so sorry.

-

Thoughts to emotions to dreams and thoughts eventually turned to words,

A single sentence that raged through Mu Qing’s mind whenever he looked at Feng Xin.

Why.

Why do you love me?

Feng Xin is sitting at the Heavenly round table, but he doesn’t sit straight and attentively like he used to. His two previous figures of authority had fallen in different circumstances- his external motivation became shot, and now he just sits there, his face slightly spaced out, his head leaning on his palm. It’s such a subtle posture, but like everything Feng Xin does, it never, ever escapes Mu Qing’s notice.

Why do you care?

They’re not sitting beside each other, but they haven’t exactly fallen out. While Mu Qing lost himself to his incessant mind at night, he kept a cool face during the day. He managed to continue to talk to Feng Xin without falling apart, but he just couldn’t… let himself go anymore. Since that day, he hadn’t allowed himself to banter with him. They haven’t even sparred. It was as though Feng Xin was waiting, but Mu Qing didn’t feel any pressure. In fact, Feng Xin hadn’t done anything at all during this last week that brought Mu Qing any additional pain. Feng Xin seemed to ground him. Even if Mu Qing couldn’t talk to him again, at least until he capped the raging, conflicting inferno that he struggled to contain, he was at least able to watch Feng Xin from afar.

Just like he used to.

Sometimes Feng Xin is simply walking to his Palace and Mu Qing catches sight of him as he’s going to Ling Wen’s Palace to discuss the logistics of his current following. And he turns and smiles.

It’s rough, and it’s a quirk of his mouth, but he smiles.

What is it about me? He’s conflicted. Do you…

That’s what it was, wasn’t it?

Can you love me like you loved Dianxia?

Puppy gaze, fumbling arms, doubling down and seizing with laughter.

The very sound if it used to stab Mu Qing’s heart. It infuriated him. It made him so mad, how Xie Lian could make Feng Xin laugh like that. Why am I never included? But he couldn’t be. This is the way he is, this is the bed he made.

It didn’t matter how he laughed back then.

Mu Qing laughed bitterly into his palm.

Why did he matter?

Something to say when you don’t have a chance to say it.

But he couldn’t project Feng Xin to sit with him.

-

One day, Mu Qing had a moment of insanity.

In the days he was seriously starting to question his sanity, this moment was particularly decrepit.

It was impulsive. (It was shameful).

If there was one thing that Mu Qing was not, and never would be, is impulsive.

But when your heart is leaking there's an indescribable need that no rush can fix and he-

He couldn’t help himself.

Looking at the mirror, he saw an unfamiliar face of disgust and hatred,

Silver hair tucked into a ponytail. Dark eyes.

He ran right into them.

Another disciple among the rest.

He knew that these Nan Yang Juniors didn’t fucking know eachother.

They had social groups, and could call those within them friends, and they surely knew the reputation of all the other social groups but-

-they weren’t particularly the brightest.

That one silver-haired lad flitting through the crowd like a butterfly, well. He was sort of suspicious looking, but who knew? He could just be a nervous, poor sort of man, a freak scholar among a crowd of guardians. Who took notice and did not know him looked upon him with sympathy or pity.

Those Nan Yang juniors… even if Hua Cheng breached their Palace, they would be none the wiser.

It’s his fault for never closing the doors. It was too easy.

After walking through the busiest compartments of the palace, Mu Qing found that he could breathe again.

The sun felt warmer in Nan Yang’s Palace. On some walls, stones were inlaid and they soaked the warmth extended by the great solar sphere. In these chance halls of quiet, Mu Qing placed his hand among the stones as he walked, savoring the sparks of temperature that seeped into his finger tips.

Gods weren’t affected by such things anymore, but Mu Qing found there were certain aspects of godhood you could suppress.

And man, he just needed this. This gentle warmth. It was so indulgent, but he just needed to get out of his Palace, out of his head. And if he couldn’t be around Feng Xin, he’d rather be in the place he created.

But now that Mu Qing was here, he couldn’t bear to leave. He walked through the hallways, but felt a little frightened by the fact he wasn’t occupying himself- what if someone found him, endlessly walking around? Wouldn’t that be incredibly suspicious?

He sidled near two Juniors who were having a conversation. They both stopped to look at him, shocked by his foreign presence. Usually, Nan Yang juniors were bursting and sociable, but this one slid in like a shadow. And his hair was silver.

When the two Juniors' attention fell upon him, Mu Qing cleared his throat. “Hello there. I’m new.”

“Hello,” one of the Juniors said, but his gaze was cautious. Mu Qing retracted internally a bit- even through his disguise, it seemed like Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang energies remained immiscible.

Mu Qing looked to the side. How does one talk casually? “I, uh… was wondering. About how heaven works. How does the Palace get cleaned? Who does the chores around here?”

One of the juniors nodded. “No, I understand. Getting used to this place takes a while.” He pointed in a nondescript direction, through the walls. It wasn’t even down a hallway. “In the largest common area, there’s a chart that describes who is on chore duty.”

The other junior quirked a semi-bitter smile. “I still can’t believe that. Like, man, we’ve ascended, and we’ve still got to fold our clothes? Aren’t there any divine monsters here to do our bidding?”

The other junior shook his head, glancing affection at the junior beside him. But then he turned to Mu Qing again. “Does that help you?”

“Yes. Very much.” Mu Qing said. “Thank you.”

And before they could ask him for his name, Mu Qing twirled around with his heart beating in his chest. If Nan Yang juniors were responsible for the upkeep of his palace, then surely….

He knocked on the great oak doors. When he heard no stirring, he gingerly opened the door. A great gust of wind blew through the open chambers, filling the room with warm bright light.

Mu Qing gently closed the door behind him and breathed.

There was no trace of silver or cold here. How was this place so warm?

But he couldn’t just stand there, soaking in the rays. Mu Qing immediately got to work.

Feng Xin was always so disorganized.

It used to annoy the hell out of him, but now it brought him a strange indescribable joy. He got to poke around at all of his belongings and berate him for his complete, adorable helplessness. Because even though he was in pain, he really did enjoy Feng Xin’s company.

Feng Xin’s friendship.

Mu Qing’s hand paused over a misplaced souvenir as his heart jumped. He immediately went back to tackling his task.

These thoughts were so much more pleasant.

Feng Xin’s friendship.

It’d been so good.

After Xie Lian’s and Hua Cheng’s wedding, Mu Qing was waiting for the inevitable punch line. Great, they were friends! Friends? As if! Soon, he knew, a careless word would be thrown and they would be at each other’s necks again, their promises of friendship and reconciliation yet again buried behind their dual inability to handle each other.

But Mu Qing hadn’t wanted that. No, he really didn’t. Honestly, in these moments where he clung to the truth so that he didn’t spiral any further, Mu Qing can now admit to himself, (temporarily), that Mu Qing really, actually, desperately wanted Feng Xin in his life. Because of this, he was oddly cautious. Cautious to not say the wrong word, cautious to ensure Feng Xin wouldn’t go back to indifferently hating him.

And sometimes- often- Feng Xin just happened to trip him enough to laugh or start throttling him for his audacity and density. And time and time again, Feng Xin just laughed along with him. Simultaneously angry, simultaneously overjoyed. Irritation- the emotion so often threaded in his past life- had curiously been weeded out of all of their interactions.

Mu Qing had been caught up and disarmed. Feng Xin wormed his way into his life, and despite his fear, they seemed to be holding together. They weren’t falling apart.

Oh Gods- they were actually friends.

And he didn’t want to feel pleased, he certainly didn’t let himself act pleased, but sometimes in rare moments like this Mu Qing could let this revelation ring its truth into him.

They were friends.

Friends.

A spark of joy lit up in him every time he thought that. He should probably meditate more. That revelation- was actually very helpful.

Thinking of their friendship was good, because he didn’t have to think about that.

But then, as Mu Qing orders his glimmering sword collection to be hung away on their respective racks, he can’t stop the cold from piercing his heart away.

Mu Qing grimaced as he lifted them above.

If irritation had faded, a hell of a lot of pain had bed its place.

After an hour or so, Mu Qing looked around the room and deemed himself to do a job well done.

And then felt incredibly foolish. What was satisfying about cleaning someone else’s bedchambers?! Shit? Was he really a housemaid?

Why- did this make him want to laugh?

Oh god, Feng Xin had really changed him. He let this understanding wash over him in all sorts of flavors and sizes- cool, anxious, nervous, mortified, amused, warm, cold, prickling, heated.

Standing in the room, he realized he’d overspent his time. But he really didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back there. He really didn’t. He’d rather stay here than go back to the hell that his mind created.

Really, he thought, standing at an impasse at the doors, how do I save myself?

Perhaps if he slept in the Nan Yang palace could the nightmares be dispersed. All he would have to do was learn the Nan Yang Palaces floor plan, break into his records to see where Juniors were supposed to sleep. But the idea of sleeping with the Juniors thoroughly disgusted him.

Mu Qing let his gaze pass over Nan Yang’s bedroom.

The only place he’d feel safe is here.

.

The sheets would probably be warm.

.

Mu Qing slowly walked to the bed, his eyes dark with desire.

An unbidden image of Feng Xin leaning on Xie Lian’s sheets rose in his mind.

He bunched the perfectly smooth covers in his fingers, imagining that scenario crumpling in his hand.

Gone.

Mu Qing smiled.

.

He sat on the bed, smoothing out the imperfection he caused.

.

The cloth felt slightly rough underneath his thumb pad.

.

If Mu Qing leaned in, he could probably smell traces of Feng Xin’s scent mixed in with cedar and pine. Feng Xin often spent time in the Mortal realm, and a lot of things clinged onto him. Whenever he was back, even before they were on friendly terms, Mu Qing would sometimes turn his head to grasp a sliver, his mind inevitably speeding towards the adventures Feng Xin must have had.

Feng Xin, underneath a mortal sky, not above it.

Feng Xin, rushing through the woodland, feet touching rough, uneven terrain, not the endlessly smooth glossy tiles of Heavenly Official Palaces.

Wild and free and restless. Those damn things, clinging onto Feng Xin’s clothing. Mu Qing rubbed the sheets with a finger.

He so desperately wanted to.

Maybe in another world, he’d be held by those strong arms and tilted into the bed.

Maybe in another world, he could completely relax his entire being, languid and limp.

Maybe in another world, his head would tip back and his forehead could kiss the bed so sweetly.

Feng Xin bending over his body, endlessly dependable, endlessly compassionate.

Feng Xin must be mistaken to love someone like him.

He can’t hope to have someone like him.

He must not know.