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It all starts when Mu Qing returns to the Heavenly Realm with an injury.

It’s nothing serious, really—just a large cut on his arm from a fight with an annoying ghost that had been causing chaos in Mu Qing’s territory and disrupting the lives of his worshippers. 

He pays the cut no mind at all as he quickly walks through the Heavenly Realm, desperate to get back to the Palace of Xuan Zhen as soon as possible. He still has to write a mission report, then check if his deputies have completed all of their assigned tasks (and make sure the Palace is intact), feed the cats in his private chambers, answer some prayers and—

“Mu Qing?”

A familiar voice interrupts him, causing Mu Qing to quickly look up, perplexed. 

Oh. Of course, he had to meet the very last person he wants to see right now.

Feng Xin is standing right in front of him with an expression that vaguely resembles that of a lost puppy. Mu Qing is pretty sure there’s not a single thought behind these eyes. 

Whatever Feng Xin wants from him, Mu Qing has neither the time nor the energy for it. 

“What is it, Feng Xin? If there’s a pressing matter in the South, you can come to my Palace later to discuss it,” Mu Qing says, trying to remain calm and get this over with quickly. 

“I…you…I just…” Feng Xin stumbles over his words pathetically. 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Just spit it out already, I don’t have time for this.”

“You’re hurt,” Feng Xin states finally, visibly nervous now that the words have been dragged from his throat. 

Mu Qing just stares at him for a while before remembering that he did, in fact, get injured earlier. He looks over at his arm to discover that there’s blood all over the sleeve of his robes, steadily seeping from the wound. 

Hm. It wasn’t this bad the last time he checked. 

Still, why does Feng Xin even care? Why does this matter to him? Mu Qing is a god, he can heal himself almost instantly. 

“Congratulations, Feng Xin, your eyes work perfectly fine,” he says, his voice laced with venom. 

Feng Xin must be doing this just to ridicule Mu Qing, to point out that he had been careless enough to allow himself to get hurt, even though Mu Qing is obviously aware of his own injury. How…how despicable! 

Feng Xin looks almost pained. Mu Qing does not understand why.

He shouldn’t even care in the first place—what does it matter if Mu Qing had been careless enough to allow himself to get injured? That’s his own business, and his own concern; it has nothing to do with Feng Xin, which makes it even more puzzling that Feng Xin is trying to make it into a big deal. 

“How do you feel? Do you need to lay down?” he asks, taking a tentative step towards Mu Qing.

Mu Qing immediately recoils as if he’d been burned.

“I’m fine! You’re the one who’s making me feel worse, not the injury,” he says snidely.

Perhaps it’s a little bit meaner that he had meant, judging by the frown that appears on Feng Xin’s face and the way his eyebrows furrow. 

“Can you just stop being so…so…”

“So what?” Mu Qing prompts, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He has to bite back the whimper of pain that threatens to escape his lips when his other arm brushes against the injury. 

“So fucking difficult,” Feng Xin groans, exasperated. 

“You’re the one who came over just to bother me,” Mu Qing points out.

What even is Feng Xin’s deal? Mu Qing is hurt and tired and the very last thing he wants is to argue with Feng Xin right now. Just the sight of him is making Mu Qing feel sick. 

“Yes, because you’re injured!” Feng Xin all but yells, his hands curling into fists.

“And you want to beat me up some more? What’s your problem, Feng Xin?” 

He considers pushing Feng Xin away and attempting to leave, but that would probably quickly escalate into a full-blown fight, and Mu Qing really doesn’t have the energy to defend himself from more vicious blows right now. 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Feng Xin exclaims. “I saw blood on your robes and I wanted to help, that’s all,” he adds, his voice suddenly growing quieter.

“Thanks, but I don’t need your pity,” Mu Qing says through gritted teeth. 

He decides to steal a glance at Feng Xin’s face, and he knows it’s a mistake as soon as he notices the trace of something akin to sadness in Feng Xin’s eyes. His lips are pressed together, his jaw clenched.  

Mu Qing cannot bear to look at Feng Xin and bicker with him any longer. 

He tries to quickly turn around and leave, fully expecting Feng Xin to follow him or grab his arm, but to his surprise, no such thing happens. Feng Xin seems to be frozen in his spot, probably looking at Mu Qing as he walks away in the direction of his Palace.

Mu Qing does not turn around to check if Feng Xin is still there. 

It’s almost scary how easy it is for Feng Xin to do this—to get Mu Qing all riled up and agitated until he no longer wants to deal with Feng Xin’s bullshit, to ruin his entire day with a single interaction and a few words. 

Feng Xin always seems to find his way back to Mu Qing, and Mu Qing never asks for it. 

When he returns to the Palace of Xuan Zhen, he heads straight to his private chamber and applies ointment to the wound. He’s a god, after all—he doesn’t need anyone else to treat his injuries for him. Especially not Feng Xin. 

Feng Xin’s already seen him at his absolute worst—so terribly hurt and weak—once, and that’s more than enough for Mu Qing. He doesn’t need to be…made to feel vulnerable for the sake of appeasing Feng Xin’s conscience. 

His weakness would only be used to ridicule him later, to make him feel like he’s less worthy of his status and everything he has achieved. To have someone know him so intimately so as to see his wounds and flaws would make Mu Qing feel like he’s being stripped naked and revealing the darkest, most hidden chambers of his heart. 

Still, he can’t help but think about what if…what if he didn’t always want to fight with Feng Xin? What if he allowed Feng Xin to help him once more, after Mount Tonglu? What if he became Feng Xin’s…friend, rather than a foe? 

It’s just a stupid injury. It’s just Feng Xin’s stupid words messing with Mu Qing’s head and making him feel things he doesn’t quite understand.

Soon enough, Mu Qing manages to forget about the strange encounter with Feng Xin—neither of them mention it afterwards, and when they’re forced to interact, they act like they always used to (though it’s not exactly normal, because wanting to punch someone in the face the moment you see them definitely isn’t normal). 

However, forgetting about his feelings turns out to be much harder for Mu Qing. His heart rate speeds up whenever he sees Feng Xin, and his cheeks turn a faint shade of red when Feng Xin stands too closely to him and their hands brush for a second. 

It’s embarrassing. It’s going to be the death of Mu Qing. 

Feng Xin is his rival, after all! He’s loud, impulsive and annoying, and he’s the very last person Mu Qing would ever want to get closer to. Or so he’s always thought. 

On the other hand, he’s also the person who saved Mu Qing from falling into lava and succumbing to his injuries. He’s the person who always came to Mu Qing’s tent afterwards to check up on him, even when Mu Qing yelled at him to get out. 

But Feng Xin does not care about him, that much Mu Qing is sure of. If he’s pretending to, it’s only because he has some hidden, wicked plan that he’s trying to carry out to harm and insult Mu Qing in front of the other Heavenly Officials—"oh, look, General Xuan Zhen has gotten injured during a mission again! He’s so weak and incompetent!” 

So he chooses to hide his feelings and ignore them, like he always does. It’s natural for him at this point. 

The esteemed General Xuan Zhen does not care about anyone, save for Xie Lian and his own deputies. General Xuan Zhen does not yearn for affection from people who will never give it to him.

Mu Qing gets a strange sense of deja-vu as he staggers towards his Palace. He’s injured again, of course he is, because his movements are just too slow and his reactions too delayed—

He’s limping this time, his right leg having been stabbed repeatedly. He thinks he’s managed to stop most of the bleeding, but the blood on his robes gives away the truth anyway. The passing Heavenly Officials look at him with a mix of amusement, confusion and concern, but Mu Qing does not pay them any mind. He just needs to return to his Palace so that he can wrap his leg up and finally rest.

He even allows himself to believe that this time he won’t be interrupted, when suddenly he hears familiar footsteps coming from behind. 

Mu Qing curses under this breath. Not him, please not him, anyone but him—

“Don’t tell me you’re injured again,” Feng Xin says. 

Mu Qing is pretty sure he can hear a trace of ridicule in his tone. 

Why does Feng Xin always have to see Mu Qing at his worst? Is this some kind of curse that Mu Qing has been afflicted with? 

He sharply turns around, causing a low, pained moan to escape his lips. What a great first impression, he thinks bitterly. 

Feng Xin is right next to him immediately, reaching out to help Mu Qing keep his balance.

Mu Qing stumbles back before Feng Xin can actually touch him.

“Don’t come closer,” he seethes, his body beginning to tremble slightly from how difficult it is to keep himself upright and standing perfectly straight.

A flash of guilt flickers across Feng Xin’s face.

“Okay, okay, just calm down! Don’t overexert yourself,” he orders, making sure to keep a distance between Mu Qing and himself. It does not make Mu Qing feel any more comfortable at all.

Besides, what is Feng Xin even trying to say? Does he think Mu Qing cannot return to his Palace on his own, that he needs assistance? Does he think Mu Qing cannot take care of himself? 

Well, he’s going to prove Feng Xin wrong once and for all. 

“I’m fine,” he hisses. “Do you need something from me or are you just here to bother me?”

“I’m here because you’re leaving a trail of blood behind,” Feng Xin points out, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s a quiet fury in his eyes, like he’s accepted an unspoken challenge from Mu Qing and he won’t back away now. 

Mu Qing quickly turns around and sure enough, there’s drops of blood on the ground he’d just walked on, staining the tiles of the heavenly pavement. 

He pretends his head isn’t spinning when he turns to face Feng Xin again. 

“What point are you trying to make, General Nan Yang?” Mu Qing asks. “As you can clearly see, I’m trying to return to my Palace uninterrupted,” he empathizes the last word, hoping Feng Xin will understand that Mu Qing badly wants him to fuck off and leave him alone. 

“I thought I could…” Feng Xin starts and then cuts himself off, suddenly embarrassed. 

Mu Qing raises an eyebrow. “You thought you could…? 

He thinks his eyes are deceiving him, because there appears to be a faint blush on Feng Xin’s cheeks. Weird.

“I thought I could carry you to your Palace,” Feng Xin chokes out, his face now turning bright red—meaning Mu Qing wasn’t hallucinating after all. 

Mu Qing stares at him in silence for a minute or two, trying to comprehend what Feng Xin just said. He wants to…carry Mu Qing?! Does he think Mu Qing doesn’t know the way to his own Palace?!

Feng Xin refuses to meet Mu Qing’s piercing gaze; his eyes are focused on the pavement like it’s the most interesting thing in the entire Heavenly Realm.

“Have you lost your mind?” Mu Qing utters finally, attempting (and failing) to keep his voice level. 

Rage surges through his veins, and if Feng Xin doesn’t get out of his sight very soon, Mu Qing might just lose his cool completely. 

Feng Xin still isn’t looking at Mu Qing as he replies quietly, his voice weirdly weak. “Nevermind, forget I said anything. I was just…worried about you.”

Mu Qing’s eyes widen. Feng Xin was—is—worried about him? That’s never happened before. He isn’t exactly sure what to do with that information. 

He shifts his weight to his other leg and immediately bites back a pained groan. He really needs to get out of here and return to his Palace to take care of his wounds. And yet…something is bothering him, something he needs to find out the truth about or otherwise he won’t be able to stop thinking about it. 

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks.

The blood continues to seep from his injuries and stain his robes.

Feng Xin gives Mu Qing a confused look. “Doing what?” 

“Pretending that you want to help me,” Mu Qing whispers. 

It’s getting difficult to stand still now; his body is trembling more and more with each passing second, using all of its leftover energy to stop itself from collapsing. 

Feng Xin’s eyes widen in shock. “I…you…what the fuck?!”

He takes a deep breath to compose himself. 

Just get this over with and let me return to my Palace, Mu Qing thinks. 

“Have you suddenly forgotten how to speak?” he spits out scathingly.

“You think I’m pretending to care about you?!” Feng Xin asks incredulously. He takes a step towards Mu Qing; Mu Qing finds it too physically exhausting to draw away.

Of course Feng Xin is pretending, playing a sick game that only he knows the rules of, where Mu Qing is barely a pawn. 

They have always been enemies, and in the over eight hundred years that they’ve known each other, they’ve tolerated each other at best. Feng Xin has never cared about Mu Qing’s wellbeing; quite the opposite, actually—he’s injured Mu Qing on numerous occasions, and he’s never once worried about the outcome. Why should that change now? Why should anything ever change between them?

“I know you are,” Mu Qing scoffs. “And I may not have figured out what your goal is, but I kindly suggest you drop the act and mind your own business, General Nan Yang.” 

His words are dripping with venom, intending to cut Feng Xin where it hurts most. 

“Maybe you think that you can easily manipulate me, that you have me wrapped around your finger because you kind of saved my life one time, but that’s very far away from the truth. I don’t owe you anything,” Mu Qing adds. He has to pause between every few words to take a long, shaky breath. 

An uncomfortable silence fills the air between them.

Mu Qing half-expects Feng Xin to punch him in the face for what he just said. That would certainly be more ordinary than Feng Xin claiming to care about Mu Qing and igniting a flame of hope inside of him. 

When Feng Xin speaks again, his voice is affronted and bitter. “You are the most twisted person I know,” he says through clenched teeth, and something about the words makes Mu Qing’s stomach twist unpleasantly.

The tone of his voice sends shivers down Mu Qing’s spine. 

Why is he the twisted one when it’s Feng Xin who’s shamelessly putting on an act for incomprehensible reasons? 

He’s just about to start arguing again when Feng Xin turns around and begins walking away, without sparing Mu Qing another glance. 

A shaky breath escapes Mu Qing’s lips. There are dark spots covering his vision now, and he feels extremely lightheaded. 

He should return to his Palace immediately, he really should. But there’s something about Feng Xin’s receding silhouette that causes a sudden wave of sadness to wash over Mu Qing. 

Why does it hurt that Feng Xin is leaving? It shouldn’t hurt. Mu Qing does not care after all—at least that’s what he tells himself. 

What a blatant lie that is. 

Still, he feels the tension in his body begin to ease as Feng Xin walks away. He won’t have to waste any more of his energy on arguing with someone who refuses to tell him the truth, who keeps bothering him with the sole intention of annoying him. 

Mu Qing finally tears his eyes away from Feng Xin’s silhouette, intending to quickly make his way back to the Palace when suddenly his legs buckle beneath him and he sinks to his knees, letting out a pained groan. 

He’s grateful Feng Xin can’t see him right now, panting frantically, unable to stand back up. 

It seems his body has used up the last bits of energy on his conversation with Feng Xin, on trying to appear strong and fine, and now that Feng Xin is gone, Mu Qing is falling apart. 

He manages to send a last, distressed message to his deputies through their private communication array before darkness fully takes over his senses.

“You’re such an idiot,” Mu Qing hears someone say. 

Since when are his deputies allowed to talk to him like this?! He’s their General, the great Xuan Zhen, the Martial God of the Southwest, and he demands respect from them. Calling him an idiot when he’s supposed to be unconscious is unforgivable!

“But I knew you were injured,” the person continues. “So I never should’ve left. I guess I was an idiot too.” 

Wait, what? 

Mu Qing only called for help from his deputies when he was mere seconds away from passing out, so how could they have known about his poor state before? They have nothing to blame themselves for. 

It still feels like his mind is floating in a void when he slowly opens his eyes. He scans his surroundings to find out that he’s laying on the bed in his private chamber. At least he made it to the Palace of Xuan Zhen in the end, though with far less dignity left. 

He doesn’t like anyone seeing him weak or injured, especially when it’s his deputies. Or Feng Xin. The latter is somehow even worse and more embarrassing.

Speaking of Feng Xin…Mu Qing sucks in a breath when his eyes finally land on the familiar bun and golden ribbon, and he immediately wishes he could lose consciousness again. There is absolutely no way that Feng Xin is sitting next to his bed, lips tightly pressed together. 

What is Feng Xin even doing here?! Hadn’t he left before Mu Qing collapsed?!

A drop of sweat trails down Mu Qing’s back as he frantically tries to think of the best way to kick Feng Xin out of the Palace. 

This day is just getting worse and worse, and it seems there’s nothing under the Sun that Mu Qing can do to change that. First Feng Xin saw him bleeding in public (again), then he pissed Mu Qing off, and now he’s inside of Mu Qing’s bedchamber to continue attempting to manipulate him. What a twisted, despicable individual. 

Feng Xin lets out a small gasp, having evidently realized that Mu Qing is awake. 

“Mu Qing? How are you feeling?”

Mu Qing stubbornly closes his eyes and pretends to be unconscious again. Maybe his acting will be good enough to convince Feng Xin and earn Mu Qing at least a few more minutes of peace. 

“Hey, open your eyes! I know you’re awake!” Feng Xin groans. 

Well, at least Mu Qing tried. 

He reluctantly drops the act and gives Feng Xin the most angry, intimidating glare he can manage. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Nan Yang?” he asks, hating how weak his voice still sounds despite having already rested for a couple…minutes? Hours? He’s unsure how much time has passed since his argument with Feng Xin in the middle of the Grand Avenue of Divine Might, which makes him realize that he also doesn’t know how long Feng Xin has been in his bedchamber, just…staring at Mu Qing as he sleeps. 

“I heard you collapse,” Feng Xin says oh so very helpfully. 

“Thanks, now I understand everything,” Mu Qing spits out sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

Feng Xin rakes a hand through his hair. Mu Qing notices it’s trembling slightly. 

“I was quite far away already, but then I heard a groan and the sound of your body hitting the ground, so I went back to check up on you,” he stops to take a deep breath. “You were already unconscious by the time I reached you, so obviously I couldn’t leave you alone and I decided to carry you to your Palace.” 

Mu Qing gasps. “You carried me?! In front of everyone?! Are you out of your mind?!”

He tries getting up just to punch Feng Xin in the face, because the idiot absolutely deserves it! Bothering Mu Qing whenever he’s bleeding on his way back to his Palace is one thing, but actually carrying him there when he’s unable to object is a whole another matter! 

Feng Xin knew Mu Qing didn’t want to be helped or carried, and yet he still did whatever he wanted, completely ignoring Mu Qing’s wishes. 

Mu Qing is never going to forgive him for this. What will the other Heavenly Officials think when they find out? Oh, the incompetent General Xuan Zhen needed to be carried by his rival like a damsel in distress! He can’t complete a simple mission without getting gravely injured! Does he even deserve the title of a Martial God? 

“You were seriously hurt! Was I supposed to just leave you there?” Feng Xin retorts. 

“Yes! My deputies were coming to help anyway.”

Mu Qing’s back hits the pillows again before his fist can reach Feng Xin’s face. It turns out his spiritual power isn’t fully restored yet, and any sudden movement requires more energy than he can afford to lose right now. 

The ire he felt just seconds ago seems to leave him all at once, replaced by a strange emptiness, a sudden exhaustion that overshadows his senses. He lets his body sink into the bed slightly, not caring anymore if Feng Xin will see him in his weakest, most tired form. It’s too late to take it all back anyway. 

There’s a fire blazing in Feng Xin’s eyes that Mu Qing is all too familiar with—the kind of look Feng Xin always gives him in the middle of a heated argument, when he’s extremely passionate about something and won’t back down, no matter what. Mu Qing hates that look. 

“You’re the one who’s out of your mind,” Feng Xin says sternly. “I couldn’t just leave you lying in a pool of your own blood and pretend I never saw anything.”

His brows are furrowed in anger, hands curled into fists so tightly that his knuckles have turned ghostly white. He speaks like he’s explaining something painfully obvious to a child. It makes Mu Qing feel like an idiot, and he absolutely loathes being made to feel this way. 

“...Why?” he asks finally, suddenly afraid to meet Feng Xin’s gaze. He pretends to be deeply intrigued by the pattern woven into his bedsheets. 

Why did you refuse to leave me to my own devices? Why are you still here now that I’m awake? What is it that you want from me so badly?

These are the questions he refuses to ask out loud, but he hopes Feng Xin will recognize them in the simple “why”. 

Feng Xin seems to become even more agitated by Mu Qing’s reaction, though, and he suddenly stands up so fast he knocks down the chair he’d been sitting on. Mu Qing flinches when it hits the floor with a thud. His eyes involuntarily flit back to Feng Xin.

“Because I care about you Mu Qing, for fuck’s sake! Because I hate seeing you injured and I hate seeing you pretending to be fine when you’re clearly not!”

Feng Xin’s cheeks are red now, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. He isn’t looking at Mu Qing anymore—instead, his eyes are trained on the door, like he’s contemplating just walking out of the chamber and never returning. Mu Qing wishes he would. 

“I still don’t understand why,” Mu Qing whispers. “Why do you care about me? Why do my injuries matter to you? We’re both Martial Gods, Feng Xin, we get harmed all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal when you collapse in the middle of the Heavenly Capital,” Feng Xin replies through gritted teeth. 

He starts pacing around the chamber anxiously, his hands still curled into fists.

Something sinks in the pit of Mu Qing’s stomach at the sight of Feng Xin being so mad, so unlike his usual self. It’s different when they fight and annoy the hell out of each other with snide words and cruel remarks. This…this is just Feng Xin being angry and Mu Qing having no energy to fight. It’s one-sided, strange and unsettling, and Mu Qing doesn’t really know how to react to it.

“I… just don’t want to experience that again,” Feng Xin says suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s still facing the door, and Mu Qing has to focus to hear everything he’s saying. 

Upon realizing that Mu Qing isn’t going to say anything, Feng Xin continues speaking:“When you were milliseconds away from falling into that pit of lava and dying back at Mount Tonglu…I didn’t know what to do. I thought that I wouldn’t be able to make it in time and save you, that I would lose you right then and there.”

Mu Qing takes a sharp breath. His chest squeezes painfully. 

“You have no idea how relieved I was when I managed to rescue you. Nothing else mattered in that moment, just that you were safe,” Feng Xin turns to face Mu Qing, and there’s nothing but sincerity filling his gaze, his piercing amber eyes focusing solely on Mu Qing. 

It’s impossible to look away when Feng Xin is staring at him like that—like Mu Qing means something to him, like he’s a precious treasure that needs to be cherished and protected. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Mu Qing chokes out, unable to wrap his head around the meaning of Feng Xin’s words. 

Did this all start because of what happened back at Mount Tonglu? Did Feng Xin begin caring about Mu Qing back then?

He doesn’t realize he had asked these questions out loud until Feng Xin’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly in apparent surprise. 

“Do you honestly think I didn’t care about you before?” he asks quietly, hesitantly. 

“You obviously didn’t,” Mu Qing scoffs. “You never liked me back in the Kingdom of Xianle, or when we met again as Heavenly Officials. You don’t even like me much now.”

Feng Xin lets out an unintelligible sound. 

“I’ve already said this before, but you really are the most twisted person I know,” he says in an accusatory tone. “As well as the dumbest, most stubborn and dense Martial God—” 

Feng Xin takes a few steps towards Mu Qing so that he’s standing right next to his bed, and for a few seconds Mu Qing is absolutely certain that Feng Xin is going to kill him now, that no one will come to save him and he’ll die inside of his own Palace, at the hands of his lifelong rival. 

He attempts to get up again, and a pained whimper escapes his lips.

“You idiot, don’t move! You’ll agitate the wounds!”

Feng Xin rushes to hold him down immediately; he guides Mu Qing to lay back down and keeps his hands on Mu Qing’s body far longer than necessary. Mu Qing’s heart races inside of his chest. 

“Stop acting like a nurse,” he hisses. 

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself even more in an attempt to prove how strong and mighty you are,” Feng Xin retorts.

Of course he’s decided to ridicule Mu Qing again. It’s what he does best, after all. 

Mu Qing shuts his eyes tightly, desperately wishing Feng Xin would just finally leave him alone. Despite being back at his Palace, he’s still weak and tired, and it doesn’t help that he has a ton of tasks to complete (or that Feng Xin is still there, bothering him). 

“Just…shut up for once in your life,” he groans. If he had enough energy, he would definitely scream at Feng Xin and tell him just how annoying he’s being. 

Feng Xin lets out a small laugh, but there’s no happiness in it, just barely-contained fury.

“Is it annoying you that I helped you return to your Palace and took care of your injuries? That I care about you enough to stay here and make sure you’re okay? That I’ve cared about you all this time, and you’ve never noticed?” 

The volume of his voice rises with each word until he’s practically screaming, the atmosphere in the chamber heavy with his fury. 

Mu Qing keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see the disdain that must be written all over Feng Xin’s face. 

“There’s nothing you can say to make me believe you,” Mu Qing whispers with a trace of sadness in his voice.

He wishes Feng Xin was telling the truth. Perhaps he even wishes he was someone dear and special to Feng Xin, though he’ll never admit this out loud. 

Feng Xin exhales sharply. “You still don’t believe me after everything I’ve done?! What else do you need?! This is fucking unbelievable, fucking—”

“I need you to leave!” Mu Qing yells all of a sudden, the irritation getting the best of him. 

It’s always been so easy, too easy, for Feng Xin to get Mu Qing riled up until they’re both screaming at each other, their eyes filled with ire and jaws tight.

That’s why they can never be friends. That’s why Mu Qing refuses to believe that Feng Xin cares about him, no matter what the latter claims. 

Feng Xin stares at him in silence for what feels like an eternity. There’s something akin to disappointment in his gaze, and it makes Mu Qing’s skin crawl. 

“You’ve done this too many times. You can’t make me leave, not now,” he says finally, causing Mu Qing’s heart to skip a beat. 

What is that supposed to mean?! Does Feng Xin plan to never leave?! Is he abandoning his Palace and moving into Mu Qing’s?! His behavior is simply bizarre.

“I’m tired of this, Mu Qing,” he adds after a while. Mu Qing stares at him in silence. “I’m tired of you always trying to run away from me, always pushing me away like I’m a piece of garbage that you desperately want to dispose of. You act like I’m trying to kill you or something,” he says with a deep sigh.

Mu Qing would find it weird if Feng Xin didn’t want to kill him. The thought must’ve at least crossed his mind a couple times. 

“I still don’t understand why this is so important to you,” Mu Qing mumbles. A drop of sweat trails down his back. 

Feng Xin looks like he’s about to start screaming again. “I’ve already explained everything!”

“Well, but I still don’t get it!” Mu Qing responds, rolling his eyes. Feng Xin seems to be forgetting that Mu Qing got seriously injured roughly a few hours ago, and he’s still not in the best shape. This certainly isn’t the right time to be having honest, vulnerable conversations. Feng Xin has seen more than enough of Mu Qing’s vulnerability already. 

Not like there’s ever a proper time for this kind of confessions between the two of them. If it was up to Mu Qing, he would never talk to Feng Xin again unless it concerned matters in their mutual territory or in the Heavenly Realm. He definitely wouldn’t miss Feng Xin and his stupid jokes. Definitely not. 

Feng Xin frowns, brows furrowing angrily. “Why is it so goddamn hard for you?! Are you really that dense?! Do you genuinely not realize that I care about you, that I fucking love you?!”

Time seems to stand still.

Feng Xin looks at Mu Qing with pure horror in his eyes. His hand shoots up to cover his mouth, like he can’t believe the words had really just escaped his lips. Meanwhile Mu Qing’s entire world tilts on its axis.

“You l-l-love me…?” he chokes out through the lump that’s formed in his throat.

He has never seen an expression as pathetically terrified as the one on Feng Xin’s face right now. “No! I mean yes! I mean—what the fuck?!”

“What the fuck indeed,” Mu Qing whispers.

Maybe all of this is some kind of cruel dream that his unconscious mind is subjecting him to? Maybe he never made it back to Heaven, and he’s just bleeding out in the Mortal Realm? Feng Xin simply cannot be…in love with him. Even if a million parallel universes existed, that would not be possible in any of them. 

Feng Xin takes a few deep breaths, clearly attempting (and failing) to calm himself down. 

“Okay, listen…” he starts, evidently nervous. Mu Qing notices that his entire body is shaking. “Maybe I do love you. There, the secret is out. Laugh at me all you want.”

Laugh? Mu Qing doesn’t really feel like laughing. Rather, he wants to cry. 

“Is that why you’ve been following me and helping me?” he asks as everything slowly starts making sense in his mind now that the last missing piece of the puzzle has been revealed.

“I haven’t been following you, idiot! We just always happen to cross paths when you’re injured and then I can’t move on until I know you’re okay! I’ve always cared about your well-being, even if I didn’t show it, I swear!”

The words sound so foreign on Feng Xin’s tongue. 

He starts pacing around the chamber again, and Mu Qing almost tells him to calm down and just stand still for a few seconds so that he can focus on the implications of everything Feng Xin had just said. It’s difficult to even think when Feng Xin is being so nervous, when he keeps saying things that make Mu Qing’s head spin. 

He would absolutely love to walk up to Feng Xin and punch him in the face for the emotional turmoil he’s currently putting Mu Qing through. 

“I’m not going to laugh at you,” Mu Qing says, his voice tense. “But this is just…flabbergasting. I don’t know what to say.”

“You could start by thanking me for taking care of your wounds,” Feng Xin sneers.

Oh. Only now does Mu Qing realize that he can feel a layer of bandage wrapped around the worst injuries on his leg, as well as the cuts on his arms, chest and back. Judging by the empty containers on the bedside table, Feng Xin must’ve also applied ointment to the wounds.

Which means…Feng Xin had undressed Mu Qing to reach the injuries?!

“And before you accuse me of something,” Feng Xin starts, as if able to read Mu Qing’s mind. “I had to take your dirty, bloody robes off and dress you in new ones. Your deputy brought me a clean set of robes. But I didn’t…look or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he explains, his voice suddenly much softer than before. 

Mu Qing lets out a deep breath. At least that makes the entire situation a little bit less embarrassing. Just a little bit. He still wishes he could disappear off the face of the Earth, though. 

To be completely honest… Mu Qing really is grateful that Feng Xin decided to help him. Who knows how long he would’ve waited for his deputies to arrive at the scene, just laying in a pool of his own blood, vulnerable to the eyes of the passing Heavenly Officials. Being carried by Feng Xin while unconscious might not have made for a much better scene, but it was probably swift and over with as soon as possible. Feng Xin definitely didn’t want to be seen with an injured General Xuan Zhen in his arms as much as Mu Qing didn’t want to be carried by General Nan Yang. 

“Thank you,” he whispers all of a sudden, and it completely catches Feng Xin off guard, judging by his wide eyes and lips parted in surprise. 

“Hey, are you actually thanking me? Maybe you hit your head as well while fighting earlier?” 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Shut up or I’ll take everything back.”

Feng Xin simply gives him a small smile in response—it’s the first time he’s smiled today, and Mu Qing hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing that kind of happiness on Feng Xin’s face until now. 

He bites his tongue to keep himself from smiling back.

“Really, thank you,” he reiterates, tearing his eyes away from Feng Xin. “I’m glad you didn’t actually want to ridicule me for getting injured. You didn’t have to go out of your way to help me, especially when I repeatedly ordered you to leave me alone, but you’re a stubborn idiot, so of course you did it anyway. But I’m not angry. I’m…grateful.” 

Feng Xin finally stops pacing around the room; after a few seconds of careful consideration, he sits down on the edge of Mu Qing’s bed, making sure to keep some distance between their bodies. 

Surprisingly, Mu Qing doesn’t feel the need to yell at him to get up. 

“I helped you because I wanted to. I wouldn’t have treated your injuries and neither would I be here right now if I didn’t care about you. There was never any hidden agenda, so get that thought out of your head,” Feng Xin says quietly.

“Okay,” Mu Qing responds simply. “All of this is just a lot to take in.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t be extremely difficult to believe that Feng Xin cares about him and his well-being, but there’s a huge gap between caring and loving. Mu Qing cannot wrap his head around the fact that Feng Xin loves him out of all the people he’s ever met. It’s impossible. It’s illogical. 

He was just beginning to accept his feelings for Feng Xin without really understanding them, and now his entire worldview has fundamentally and, irrevocably changed over the course of a single day. 

Feng Xin places his hand on top of Mu Qing’s bedsheets. “I know. I’m not expecting you to repay me in any way or say you love me back. I just…couldn’t keep it in any longer. I’m sorry.”

The apology startles Mu Qing; Feng Xin has never apologized to him before. Not whenever he injured Mu Qing during a sparring session, and definitely not when he spat out cruel, hurtful words. 

Mu Qing doesn’t really know what to do with the apology. At the end of the day, he doesn’t think Feng Xin even has anything to apologize for this time.

Still, he nods slowly. He can feel his cheeks turning embarrassingly red, and he quickly turns his head away before Feng Xin can see. 

When Feng Xin scoots a bit closer, for some incomprehensible reason Mu Qing doesn’t pull back. He lets Feng Xin sit there in silence for a few minutes, both of them just contemplating everything that’s happened. 

If Mu Qing’s feelings came in slow waves before, then they’re a full-blown storm now. 

It could be so simple to trust Feng Xin the way he has trusted Mu Qing; to admit the truth out loud, to speak these terrifying words into the air. I’m starting to realize I like you too. Perhaps I even love you. 

It could be so simple if only Mu Qing was somebody else—less of a coward and a fool. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring himself to be honest with Feng Xin. It feels too early for such profound vulnerability, for a confession that would just further alter the trajectory of Mu Qing’s life. His mind is a jumbled mess, and at this point he doesn’t even know what he’s truly feeling.

He likes Feng Xin. He hates Feng Xin. He wants to be with Feng Xin. He wishes Feng Xin would go away. 

An invisible string ties Mu Qing to the safety of his hidden, repressed emotions, but that string is threatening to snap, and when it finally does—the deepest parts of Mu Qing will spill out onto the surface, raw and uncontrollable. 

Besides, he’s simply too tired to spend another few hours talking (or rather, arguing) with Feng Xin. His injuries are still fresh, his body tired and aching, and he simply needs some time for himself. 

Feng Xin seems to know as much, because he suddenly gets up from the bed, fixing his robes.

“I should probably get going,” he says, more to himself than to Mu Qing. 

Strangely, a part of Mu Qing really wants Feng Xin to stay. He doesn’t say that out loud, though, instead choosing to stare at Feng Xin’s back, at the golden ribbon he’s seen almost every day for the past eight hundred years. 

A sudden need to say something overwhelms Mu Qing as he watches Feng Xin walk towards the door, but the words are stuck in his throat, refusing to make it past his lips. 

“Thank you” is not enough. “Stay” is way too much. 

He remembers what Feng Xin had said earlier, about being so afraid that Mu Qing would fall into the pit of lava back at Mount Tonglu; about needing to make sure that he was okay, no matter what. 

His heart swells at the memory.

“About Mount Tonglu,” he starts shyly, regretting it almost immediately. “That won’t ever happen again, so you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I can take care of myself.”

Mu Qing needs that assurance as much as Feng Xin does. 

Feng Xin stops dead in his tracks, evidently surprised that Mu Qing decided to say something in the end. He turns around to face Mu Qing, his lips quivering. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies half-jokingly, with no actual venom behind the words. It still pisses Mu Qing off a little that Feng Xin clearly doesn’t believe in his ability to come back from a mission unscathed or take care of his injuries, though. 

Who does Feng Xin think he is, Mu Qing’s personal bodyguard? That definitely wouldn’t be a promotion from the title of a Martial God. 

“You should rest now,” he adds after a few seconds, and then he’s gone before Mu Qing can even respond, closing the door softly. 

Does Feng Xin genuinely believe Mu Qing will be able to sleep after being confessed to? What a cruel joke. Of course he wants to rest, but at this point it’s impossible. 

He will likely stay up all night rethinking every single word that was said, replaying it all in his head over and over again until he feels physically sick. His cats will come to lay down with him at some point and he’ll start petting them in a futile attempt at relaxing, but he won’t be able to stop thinking about Feng Xin for even a single second. His entire mind, entire being will be consumed by the sound of Feng Xin’s voice, the intensity of his gaze, the tenderness in his actions. 

It may take him another eight hundred  years to understand why Feng Xin loves him. 

Will Mu Qing’s heart start racing the next time he sees Feng Xin? Will he keep stuttering, barely able to form coherent sentences? Will he be avoiding Feng Xin’s amber eyes, too afraid of the emotions he might find in them? 

He eventually gets up from the bed with shaky legs; it turns out to be quite easy without Feng Xin immediately pushing him back down and yelling at him not to move. He can already feel his injuries healing, and within a few days there will be no trace of them left on his skin. There was really no need for Feng Xin to make a fuss about them. 

One of his deputies comes by at some point to check up on him. Mu Qing orders him to focus on his work and stop wasting time, but the entire time it feels like he’s somewhere far away, like the person speaking is somebody else. He cannot force himself to focus when there’s absolutely nothing on his mind besides Feng Xin.

How annoying it is that even when Feng Xin isn’t near, he still manages to make everything so difficult for Mu Qing. 

It’s already the early hours of the morning when Mu Qing finally feels a fresh wave of exhaustion wash over him. He decides to lay back down and at least attempt to sleep, if only for a little bit. It may just help him clear his head and make sense of his feelings. 

When he closes his eyes, the only thing he sees is Feng Xin’s face—his infuriatingly furrowed eyebrows, his beautiful golden eyes, his slightly crooked nose (from getting punched in the face by Mu Qing one time) and the mole on his right cheek. 

Only now does Mu Qing realize that he’s managed to memorize every little detail of Feng Xin’s appearance. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot erase the image from his mind now. 

He hates Feng Xin. He loves Feng Xin. Most of all, he loathes his feelings for being real and incomprehensible and so damn complicated. 

Slowly, after what feels like hours, he drifts off to sleep, accompanied by memories of Feng Xin. 

“General Xuan Zhen?”

He hears distant, repeated knocks on the door; the sound immediately gives him a headache. He refuses to open his eyes, hoping he’ll be able to fall back asleep. At least then he won’t have to think so much about everything.

“General Xuan Zhen…General Nan Yang is waiting for you outside of the Palace.”

Mu Qing’s eyes snap open.

What is Feng Xin doing here again?  Does he have no basic human decency? 

“Tell him I’ll meet him when I’m ready,” he orders, attempting to keep his voice level.

He’s on his feet within seconds; his head still spins slightly as he changes into fresh robes and re-ties his hair into his signature ponytail as fast as possible. He puts his guan on with trembling hands.

Not a single part of Mu Qing is ready to speak to Feng Xin so soon. He needs at least a week to recover from the yesterday’s events and start thinking clearly. Or maybe even a month. Or a year. 

Seeing Feng Xin is just going to make everything harder. 

However, Mu Qing supposes he has no other choice. Feng Xin is already waiting outside, and knowing how stubborn he is, he’ll simply refuse to leave until Mu Qing steps out. 

He slowly opens the door and exits his chamber. His stomach twists more and more with every step he takes, and at this point his entire body is shaking. 

A few deputies pass by him along the way, but they know better than to bother him right now. Everyone must’ve already heard that General Nan Yang is visiting again , and by noon they’ll have come up with plenty of theories about the cause of his visit. There is nothing Mu Qing can do to stop that.

He almost prays to a power even higher than a god that when he opens the front door, Feng Xin will be gone, having given up and left. He knows very well it’s foolish, though. 

There is nothing he wants more than to turn back and lock himself in his chamber, then proceed to ban Feng Xin from entering the premises of his Palace ever again. But even then, Feng Xin would probably find a way to contact Mu Qing—he would use the communication array, or send his deputies, or maybe train a cat to carry a letter. There is no escaping him, no escaping the consequences of that confession.

Just three more steps before Mu Qing reaches the door. Two. One.

He closes his eyes and slowly counts to ten. Then he opens the door and finally steps outside.

Feng Xin is standing with his back facing Mu Qing, his golden ribbon fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze.  

Mu Qing’s breath stops in his throat.

He’s going to do this nicely, he tells himself. He will be kind instead of rude or sarcastic, and he won’t even roll his eyes too much. He’ll gently ask Feng Xin to leave again, and he won’t scream or—

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you going to come here every day now?”

The words escape his lips before he can fully realize what he’s saying, and by the time he regrets them, it’s already too late. 

Well, that’s probably not the best start if he intends to do this without fighting Feng Xin again.

Feng Xin turns around, his mouth agape in surprise. Perhaps a part of him thought Mu Qing wouldn’t come at all. 

He scoffs. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

And Mu Qing just wanted to think about his feelings for a few days and talk with Feng Xin once he’s ready, but Feng Xin’s already taken that possibility away from him. 

“I’m fine, General Nan Yang,” he says, anger creeping into his voice. “I told you to stop worrying about me.” 

“Am I not allowed to come here and check up on you?”

No, Mu Qing thinks. If you had any common sense in that brain of yours you’d realize that you shouldn’t be coming here when I don’t want to see you. 

“I don’t need checking up on. Perhaps a new mission would keep you busy enough to leave me alone? 

A dark, bitter feeling starts growing in his chest, climbing up to the surface like vines. He bites down on his lip so hard he draws a little bit of blood, just to stop himself from spitting out way more hurtful things. 

A familiar spark ignites in Feng Xin’s gaze just for a few seconds, but then it disappears, replaced by a strange sadness that Mu Qing has rarely seen on Feng Xin’s face, if ever.

Did he hurt Feng Xin with his remarks? He wants to say he didn’t mean to, that he’s just so very confused and lost—

But it’s much harder than it seems, especially because he’s Mu Qing, and admitting the truth has never been easy for him. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again,” Feng Xin says bitterly. “I thought maybe you would change, but I guess that’s impossible.” 

It’s not supposed to be a challenge, but that’s what it feels like to Mu Qing—that Feng Xin is betting against him, telling Mu Qing he’ll never be able to change his ways, that he’ll always hide his true feelings behind a wall built of sarcasm and snide remarks. 

I can change, Mu Qing wants to say. Just give me time. 

After all, to be loved is to be changed, and Feng Xin’s feelings for Mu Qing feel like a soft blanket being wrapped around him; a blanket unlike anything he’s ever seen before, a softness he’s not used to. 

“I just don’t want to do this here,” Mu Qing whispers. 

Being honest with Feng Xin in the comfort of his private chamber is already hard, but doing it in public is nearly impossible. 

Thankfully, Feng Xin seems to understand what Mu Qing means; he takes a few steps closer, and it takes everything in Mu Qing not to turn away and quickly slam the Palace door in Feng Xin’s face.

“We can talk inside if you let me in.”

There is a fine line between letting Feng Xin into the Palace and letting him into Mu Qing’s own heart.

Still, after everything, Mu Qing thinks he’s willing to try. 

He steps aside to make way for Feng Xin, trying to stop his body from trembling as Feng Xin walks past him. The golden ribbon almost smacks Mu Qing in the face. 

Mu Qing isn’t ready to admit his own feelings, and he may never be, but he’s tired of running away from them. 

They find themselves in Mu Qing’s bedchamber again, the scene eerily similar to the one from yesterday—Feng Xin is pacing around the chamber anxiously, meanwhile Mu Qing sits down on the bed, thankful that he had remembered to make it earlier. For some reason it’s important to him that Feng Xin sees his private space in an impeccable state. 

“I really just wanted to check up on you,” Feng Xin says, breaking the awkward silence between them. “There was no need to be rude,” he adds.

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Only an idiot would wait for me outside my own Palace where every deputy and Heavenly Official could see him. You’re lucky I even came out to meet you.”

“Would you rather I snuck in through the gardens and stood above your bed in the middle of the night?”

“I’d rather you tried contacting me first through the communication array like normal people. ”

Feng Xin groans. “But there was no time for that! I had to make sure you were okay as soon as the sun rose. I couldn’t sleep all night just—”

Mu Qing’s heart rate speeds up. “You didn’t sleep at all? Because of me?”

For a few seconds Feng Xin looks like he would rather be anywhere else right now, like a deputy caught doing something prohibited. Slowly, he nods, “I was worried about you. I hoped you managed to get some rest.” 

Mu Qing doesn’t really know what to say to that.

His hands tangle into the sheets in an attempt to keep himself grounded. The sound of his erratic heartbeat echoes in his ears.

“I could barely sleep as well,” he starts shyly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you had told me.”

Feng Xin raises an eyebrow. “And did you come to any conclusions?”

Does he think it’s funny to toy with Mu Qing like this? Even if there are some conclusions, Mu Qing isn’t willing to admit that out loud. Not to Feng Xin. 

“I’ve already told you that I’m grateful for the help. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“The truth.” 

Mu Qing’s eyes widen.

How much has Feng Xin already figured out all on his own? What lies did he convince himself of? And what right does he have to be forcing confessions out of Mu Qing?

Mu Qing gets up from the bed and walks up to Feng Xin. “Okay. I hate you, I want nothing to do with you and I wish you would leave my Palace once and for all. Are you happy now?”

They stare at each other for a few seconds; Feng Xin studies Mu Qing’s face as if his feelings were written all over it, as if he could read something from the furrow of Mu Qing’s eyebrows or the slight flush of his cheeks. 

He scoots even closer, so that their faces are mere inches apart. It takes everything in Mu Qing not to step back—but that would feel like losing, like letting Feng Xin win this irrational, senseless game they’re playing. 

“I thought you were a better liar,” Feng Xin says, amused. 

“And I thought you would one day stop pissing me off, but clearly that’s impossible,” Mu Qing replies snidely, and he really does mean it. Feng Xin is annoying him beyond belief with his cryptid words and his incomprehensible actions. 

“What I believe,” Feng Xin says, “is that you refuse to tell me how you really feel. Otherwise you would’ve kicked me out for real a long time ago.”

Mu Qing swallows hard, his chest squeezing painfully. 

“You have no right to know how I feel. We’re barely colleagues, and you literally spent the last centuries acting like you hated me.”

A trace of irritation appears on Feng Xin’s face. “The pot is calling the kettle black,” he mutters. 

A sudden realization seems to hit him, though, and he quickly schools his expression back into careful nonchalance.  

“I didn’t come here to argue, so if there’s nothing else that you want to say to me, then I should probably leave.”

Silence fills the air between them as Mu Qing slowly considers Feng Xin’s words.

Once again, a part of him truly wants Feng Xin to leave, but another part—louder, more earnest and desperate—wants him to stay. 

He tries his best to string the right words together, repeating them in his head a few times to make sure they sound good enough. 

“I don’t mind if you stay,” Mu Qing whispers, tearing his eyes away from Feng Xin’s face. He decides to stare at the window behind Feng Xin, at the golden sun that reminds Mu Qing of the color of Feng Xin’s eyes. 

Since when does he see a trace of Feng Xin everywhere around him? 

He can almost feel the tension between them begin to lift, and his shoulders relax slightly. 

“But do you want me to stay?” Feng Xin presses, and he’s really pushing his luck right now, because Mu Qing might just decide he’s had enough at any moment and simply punch Feng Xin in the gut for being so goddamn annoying and nosey. 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who knows?”

He can tell Feng Xin is smiling stupidly even without seeing his infuriating face. 

“So what you’re saying is you like me and you want to spend time with me?” Feng Xin asks, amusement evident in his voice. 

Mu Qing’s face burns. “I said no such thing!”

Feng Xin laughs softly at Mu Qing’s embarrassment, and the sound is like music to Mu Qing’s ears. He rarely hears it—if ever—and he wants nothing more than to save the sound in his heart and replay it once he’s all alone again.

“Could it be the case that General Xuan Zhen actually likes being cared for?” Feng Xin places a tentative hand on Mu Qing’s arm. “That he likes affectionate gestures, even if he refuses to admit it. He likes some people much more than he lets in on.”

Mu Qing lets out an intelligible sound. 

It’s unbelievable how easy it seems to be for Feng Xin to read him like an open book, as if Mu Qing hasn’t kept his true emotions carefully hidden for the past centuries. 

“I think all of that is true because you haven’t shaken my hand off yet,” Feng Xin adds, a certain kind of satisfaction slipping into his tone. 

Mu Qing really wishes he could punch Feng Xin without destroying the bridge that is steadily being built between them.

“Don’t act like you’re so clever and observant,” Mu Qing murmurs, but he can’t help the deep red blush still dusting his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. It’s too late to push Feng Xin’s hand away now. Besides…he’s actually enjoying the touch, and that realization startles him. 

Feng Xin moves his hand from Mu Qing’s arm to his waist, like he’s testing how far he can go before Mu Qing genuinely gets angry. 

Mu Qing hopes Feng Xin can’t hear the frantic beating of his heart or feel the drops of sweat trailing down his back. 

He finds enough courage in himself to glance at Feng Xin’s face again, and the adoration he finds there is so surprising it makes him suck in a sharp breath. 

Feng Xin has never looked at him like this before. It’s the best thing in the world. It’s unbearable. 

“I’m going to say it again, in case I didn’t make it clear enough yesterday,” Feng Xin starts, and Mu Qing already knows what he’s planning to admit before the words even leave his mouth. He stares at Feng Xin in nervous anticipation. 

“I care about you because I love you.”

The sound of these words on Feng Xin’s tongue is intoxicating. Mu Qing thinks he could get used to hearing them, that he could one day really believe that they’re meant for him and only for him. 

“I came here today because I love you, and I wanted to talk again now that you’re in a better condition.”

Mu Qing swallows down the lump that’s formed in his throat. His lips feel dry. 

Suddenly, Feng Xin’s expression grows more serious. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way towards me, though. It’s not going to change my feelings.” 

The problem isn’t that Feng Xin’s love is unrequited; it’s that Mu Qing, unfortunately, does love him back, but he would rather swallow hot coals than admit it out loud. Realizing his feelings should’ve been the hardest part, but it’s incomparable to being confronted with them, to being seconds away from saying them out loud.

If Mu Qing tells Feng Xin he does love him, there will be no turning back. His life will be changed forever, even more than it already has been, and Mu Qing is afraid he will no longer be able to recognize himself—that he will become an entirely different person; one that is no longer a fool, one that knows what it feels like to love and be loved in return.

And perhaps that’s not such a scary thing after all. 

Will there ever be a better time to face the truth, if not now? Will he ever dare? 

Mu Qing takes a deep breath before placing his hand on Feng Xin’s cheek. The skin is smooth beneath the touch, warm against the coldness of Mu Qing’s hand. 

Surprise flickers across Feng Xin’s features. 

Clearly, he had not been expecting Mu Qing to actually do something. Mu Qing is shocking himself, too, unsure what he’s doing even as he traces his thumb over Feng Xin’s cheek.

“I never said I didn’t feel the same way,” he whispers. It’s like the words are being dragged from his chest. 

Feng Xin gasps softly, his eyes widening. “Are you saying that—“

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, though, because suddenly Mu Qing decides now is as good a time as any to do what he’s secretly been dreaming about for many years, what he’s always been afraid of. 

Mu Qing pulls Feng Xin into a searing kiss, closing his eyes when his lips meet Feng Xin’s. 

Only now does he realize how much he’s missed out on by not having kissed Feng Xin sooner, and oh, how much he regrets having been such a coward. 

He bites down on Feng Xin’s lower lip, and apparently Feng Xin enjoys that, because he lets out a low moan. His hold on Mu Qing’s waist tightens, his fingernails digging into the skin. 

It’s the first time Mu Qing has been touched like this in his over eight hundred years of existence—like he’s someone special, someone worth wanting, someone that can be desired. 

He’s never kissed anyone before, either, but strangely it doesn’t even feel awkward despite his lack of experience. It’s like his body automatically knows the right way, and as long as he allows himself to feel the longing, it’ll all be fine. 

He yearns for Feng Xin’s lips, for his touch.

Feng Xin breaks off their kiss to take a deep breath before pulling Mu Qing in again, his lips pressing insistently against Mu Qing’s own. The kiss is fueled by equal parts desire and urgency, like both of them are desperately trying to make up for lost time. 

Mu Qing distantly realizes that Feng Xin smells like a mix of honey and cedarwood. The scent fills the air all around him, encapsulating him. He wants to breathe it in over and over again, to commit it to memory like every other detail about the kiss. 

How intimate it is, knowing what another person smells like. 

He cannot even begin to describe the feeling that surges through him when Feng Xin tugs on his ponytail, making his long hair spill over his shoulders. It doesn’t matter that he’s ruined Mu Qing’s carefully tied ponytail, or that his guan has fallen to the floor in the process.

All that matters is Feng Xin—his hands on Mu Qing’s body, pulling him impossibly close, his tongue slipping into Mu Qing’s mouth.

Mu Qing wants this. He’s never wanted anything more. He doesn’t know why it’s taken him so long to accept this.

They kiss over and over again, only pulling apart to take a few breaths before their lips meet again. 

Mu Qing would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined this before—kissing Feng Xin, touching him and being touched in return. It’s always seemed like a distant dream, though, like something that would forever remain in Mu Qing’s own mind; a twisted, incomprehensible desire.

He even whines quietly when Feng Xin breaks off their final kiss. He looks at Feng Xin accusingly, wishing they could just stay like this forever—bodies pressed together, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. 

“I can’t believe you kissed me first,” Feng Xin says with a teasing smirk. His hand is still on Mu Qing’s waist; Mu Qing’s entire body is hot with yearning.

“I would never let you steal that opportunity from me,” Mu Qing replies. He may not have been the first one to confess his feelings, but the first kiss was initiated by him. Feng Xin can’t take that away, and now Mu Qing can bring it up whenever he wants just to watch Feng Xin get all flustered. 

“Well, did you enjoy it?” Feng Xin asks, pressing his wet lips to Mu Qing’s neck.

It takes everything in Mu Qing not to let out a moan. 

“Maybe I would’ve enjoyed it if you weren’t such a terrible kisser.” 

They both know it’s a lie.

“You’re so annoying,” Feng Xin whispers into the crook of Mu Qing’s neck. His breath is hot on Mu Qing’s skin. 

“And you’re so clingy—you returned to my Palace after just a few hours cause you missed me so much,” Mu Qing teases, playing with a loose strand of Feng Xin’s hair. He tucks it behind Feng Xin’s ear gently. 

“But you love me anyway, don’t you?”

Mu Qing’s smile falters. Somehow, it was easier to kiss Feng Xin than to admit his feelings using actual words. He’s not quite sure an “I love you back” would make it past his lips, even now. 

Why is it so difficult to say something he’s—unfortunately—sure of? Why does the thought of doing it seem so embarrassing to Mu Qing?

Feng Xin seems to sense the sudden shift in the mood and he pulls away to look at Mu Qing’s face. 

Mu Qing tries to keep his expression blank, choosing to look down to his feet. He can feel Feng Xin’s eyes studying him.

“What’s wrong? Do you regret kissing me or something?” Feng Xin asks, worry seeping into his voice. 

Quite the opposite, actually—Mu Qing would love to kiss Feng Xin over and over again; a hundred times, a million. 

He hates himself for ruining the mood so quickly with his ridiculous fear.

When Mu Qing remains silent, Feng Xin adds quietly, “You don’t have to pretend to like me.”

Mu Qing’s eyes snack back to Feng Xin, wide. “I’m not pretending, you idiot!”

Does Feng Xin honestly think that Mu Qing would kiss him just to appease his desires ? That the very choice to kiss Feng Xin first didn’t already confirm Mu Qing’s feelings? 

“Then what’s the problem? Did I do something wrong?”

Mu Qing wants to scream. Of course Feng Xin thinks the fault is his, when it’s just Mu Qing’s own mind making it impossible for him to do what’s been a long time coming—admit his feelings for Feng Xin, clearly and plainly; say the three words he’s so deathly afraid of, though they drive his very actions. 

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says dryly, and really, that should be enough honesty for one day, but he simply cannot leave anything up to Feng Xin’s interpretation. It would just lead to more misunderstandings. 

Feng Xin stares at him, confusion evident on his face. Mu Qing rolls his eyes. The last thing he wants is to explain his entire way of thinking to Feng Xin, just to make him understand what kind of internal turmoil Mu Qing’s experiencing right now. 

“I just,” he starts, and then cuts himself off, embarrassed. He takes a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “I just find it hard to…admit everything out loud. I mean, my feelings. It might be simple and easy for you, but that’s not the case for me.” 

“Oh,” Feng Xin says, very intelligently. 

Mu Qing loves this fool. He knows he has to tell him— wants to tell him—even if he needs to drag the words out from his chest and past the lump in his throat. 

His hands curl into fists. “But you know what I want to say anyway, so I’m not sure why it’s still such a big deal.” 

He’s going to lose Feng Xin’s love and affection if he keeps being so irrational, he knows that. No one would ever want to date a person that can’t even say a plain “I love you too” .

Suddenly, a spark appears in Feng Xin’s eyes, like he just thought of something that might aid Mu Qing.

“Would it help if,” he steps closer, placing both hands on the sides of Mu Qing’s face, “I kissed you again?”

Mu Qing’s breath stops in his throat.

Even if it doesn’t help, he will enjoy every second of it anyway.

He nods, and before he knows it their lips are already moving together. Mu Qing’s mouth is burning against Feng Xin’s. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this.

Feng Xin proceeds to leave little kisses on the corners of Mu Qing’s mouth; then he presses his lips to Mu Qing’s forehead, nose and eyelids. Each kiss is followed by an “I love you” whispered into the air between them, sweet and gentle. 

Mu Qing feels like he’s going to melt. 

It appears to be so easy for Feng Xin to say “I love you,” and yet each time it’s just as powerful, leaving no room for doubt or denial. There is no need to overcomplicate this so much, Mu Qing supposes. 

He leans in so that his lips are skimming the shell of Feng Xin’s ear. 

“I love you too,” he says quietly, afraid that his voice will crack if he speaks any louder. He loves the sound of these three special words. 

For a few seconds he half-expects Feng Xin to reveal that everything leading up to this point has only been a cruel joke, a ploy to force Mu Qing into revealing his deepest secret. 

It’s a completely unfounded fear, and Mu Qing is starting to think that his life would be much easier if he ignored his irrational doubts more often. 

Feng Xin lets out a small, surprised gasp before laughing softly. “I knew you would do it eventually,” he says.

A smile threatens at the corners of Mu Qing’s lips. 

Finally, it’s done—Mu Qing has spoken the words out loud, allowed them to leave the space between his heart and his ribs, where they’ve been nestled for the past centuries. 

The world is still turning. The Heavenly Capital is still standing. Nothing has changed, except Mu Qing and Feng Xin now know that they love each other. 

When Mu Qing looks at Feng Xin’s face again, he’s met with a shit-eating grin. 

“Don’t be so smug. One wrong word and I’ll go right back to hating you,” he murmurs.

Feng Xin raises an eyebrow, amused. “Careful, Xuan Zhen, or I might actually end up believing you.” 

Then he wraps his arms around Mu Qing and pulls him into yet another kiss, desperate and fervent. It makes Mu Qing feel like he’s falling into the depths of pleasure, and he’s pretty certain there’s nothing in the world that’s better than this.

He loves Feng Xin. It’s a terrifying realization, but also a freeing one. Nobody else needs to know, as long as Feng Xin does. Their feelings can be their mutual secret—sweet words exchanged when no one’s listening, gentle touches when no one’s watching. 

For the first time in a while, Mu Qing allows himself to believe that everything will be okay. 

Feng Xin will be waiting for him whenever he returns from a mission, because he’s always worrying about Mu Qing’s well-being, and Mu Qing finally understands why. He will be willing to wrap up Mu Qing’s injuries—if there are any—and Mu Qing will let him. He will kiss Mu Qing’s lips, and Mu Qing will feel like the luckiest person alive.

It may have taken them over eight hundred years to admit their feelings for each other, but that’s not important now. What matters is that they have close to an eternity to make up for lost time—to love each other unconditionally, to call each other lovers. 

Mu Qing loves Feng Xin, and he’s beyond glad he’s finally told him. 

He guides their bodies to the bed, letting his back hit the mattress. Feng Xin is on top of him now, pressing him into the bed, his body burning up against Mu Qing’s despite the layers of robes separating skin from skin. 

Mu Qing pulls away a little to gaze at Feng Xin’s; his eyes study the drops of sweat on Feng Xin’s forehead, the length of his eyelashes, the red dusting his cheeks, the swelling of his lips. He loves every part of Feng Xin. 

He supposes everything they’ve been through together—losing the life they once knew, ascending to Heaven, sharing a territory in the South, endlessly fighting and bickering—has led them to where they are now, tangled in each other’s embrace. 

“I love you,” Mu Qing says, because it seems important to repeat the words over and over again.

It sounds like an oath, like the most important promise of Mu Qing’s life.