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Mu Qing should be grateful.
After his parents died, he had been taken in by the royal family of Xianle, the King and Queen themselves. He was able to live a luxurious life the likes of which he could never have even imagined before, clothed in expensive silks and brocades, eating delicacies that not only tasted superb but were also delicately presented.
Beyond that, Mu Qing was given an education. He finally learned to read and write, to do complicated sums, and how to think further than the boundaries of the world immediately around him. He gained mastery with a paintbrush, trained with musical instruments, and sharpened his skills with an embroidery needle. He was stimulated and challenged.
The other things shouldn’t matter.
Like how all this came at a price. His parents had not simply died, after all. Their deaths had been caused by nobles, the very same ones they had served in life. The King’s brother had a penchant for married women, you see, and more so ones who were “beneath him.” Mu Qing’s father, who had taken issue to his wife being harassed, had tried to do something about it.
And, of course, there was the matter of how he was to become Crown Prince Xie Lian’s concubine.
There was also the fact that he was not yet the prince’s concubine, and thus effectively still the son of mere servants. Though he was treated with respect to his face, he was also thought of with derision. No one but the royal family pitied him, but everyone resented him.
But why should that make him feel bad about himself? He had enough burdens to bear. His current position was not something he had earned, but it was still one he deserved.
Thus, every afternoon, he strolled the palace gardens with his head held high.
Most knew better than to stray too close to where the Queen’s nephew, Qi Rong, was playing. The nine-year-old boy was spoiled rotten and prone to tantrums, besides. It would be far too easy to attract his wrath and be punished for it.
Mu Qing, however, knew better than to let anyone cow him into doing anything he did not want. That way led to further contempt, and he would not lose his tenuous control like that.
So Mu Qing didn’t react when Qi Rong yelled, “Hey, you! Make me a kite!” No; Mu Qing kept walking. He spared not a glance at Qi Rong at all.
“Hey, I was talking to you!”
Still no reaction.
This, of course, was enough to spark Qi Rong’s temper. He ran over to Mu Qing and pointed at his face. “I was talking to you!” he cried.
And again, Mu Qing ignored him, not even tilting his head to acknowledge that finger.
Mu Qing stepped around the child, who was tall despite being four years younger, and kept walking. He was headed for the pavilion further in the garden, where he could have tea and watch the carps.
Before he was more than ten paces away, Qi Rong caught up to him again.
“Mu Qing-gege,” he said this time, at a normal volume, if all too sullenly. “Could you please make me a kite? I heard you’re very good with them.”
At this, Mu Qing smiled and held out his hand to Qi Rong. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you just say so before?”
This was not the first time such an incident had happened, but it was the first time Qi Rong had relented so quickly. It boded well, because it meant that Qi Rong was finally learning.
“I did!” Qi Rong insisted.
But Mu Qing shook his head. “You didn’t,” he pointed out. “You called for someone to make you a kite, but you did not specify who or make your request politely, as one should when one wants something. That is what people do, isn’t that right? We communicate effectively.”
Politely. But that would be too much to ask of Qi Rong to internalise.
“Yes, Mu Qing-gege.”
“Good. Let’s go find the materials for your kite.”
###
Mu Qing should be grateful.
Though he was as a man marked for execution, his executioner paid him no mind at all. Crown Prince Xie Lian was an idealistic sort; with his mind always set on the Heavenly Realm, he didn’t have the time for such base things as the concubine awaiting his taking.
Xie Lian spent much of his days neglecting his princely duties, of which included being at the palace and learning how a kingdom was run, but also cultivating a relationship with those who lived at the palace.
Yet, it did not stop them from trying.
Qi Rong was but a child still. All he wanted was attention and affection, but it seemed that no one would give any to him. It did not injure his heart—his soul was another matter—and so he kept trying to reach out.
While pushing aways those he thought mattered less because they already cared.
A servant, one of Qi Rong’s minders even though he should not need one anymore, rushed through to Mu Qing’s inner chambers to fall to her knees. It is a problem he has not found a satisfactory resolution to even after three years. He was not someone whose privacy could be invaded like this, for anything.
“Qing-fei,” she addressed him, even though he was not officially bound to Xie Lian in any way as yet, “Lord Qi Rong is having another episode. He is wrecking everything in his rooms and throwing things at servants. Please help.”
At that, Mu Qing made a hasty exit and headed for Qi Rong’s chambers.
The situation was as the servant had said, with servants cowering in a corner and the floor around Qi Rong covered in the sparkling detritus of destroyed valuables. The boy was in a frenzy, too clouded by the devastation of being rejected (again and again and again), to see Mu Qing. He only knew that someone had invaded his space.
An antique vase came hurtling at Mu Qing, and it took everything in him not to flinch as he ducked.
Heart thundering, he demands, “How long will you indulge your impulses? Until your cousin finally comes to see you? Or until you run out of things to break?” Mu Qing spied a book nearby and snatched it off the shelf. “Let me help you with this, then. Maybe that way you’ll sooner see that you won’t be getting what you want.”
Mu Qing flung the book at Qi Rong, but it fell short of the boy as intended.
Qi Rong paused at this. It was not Mu Qing’s words that made him falter—it was difficult to ascertain whether he had heard them at all—but likely Mu Qing’s participation in his campaign of savagery that achieved it.
And so Mu Qing kept throwing things as well, perhaps even getting more swept up in it than he should have. It was a great release of tension, Mu Qing had to admit, even if he was attempting to end it.
Thankfully, Mu Qing could stop before he became too caught up in his own travails, for Qi Rong had put down his latest ammunition and crumpled to the floor. His body quaked with the force of his sobs, his chest heaving so much that Mu Qing was tempted to call for a royal physician.
Loud. Qi Rong did everything so loudly, shattering the peace wherever he went. Mu Qing would tsk at him, but judgement would help nothing at this point.
Instead, Mu Qing picked his way through the carnage and got on the floor himself. He gathered Qi Rong into his arms and let the boy cry into his robes, with Qi Rong’s fists crumpling the rich fabric.
Becoming Qi Rong’s guardian had never been Mu Qing’s intention, but the neglect of Qi Rong’s closest family left Mu Qing with no choice but to fill that gap. It hurt all the more to be reminded that Mu Qing was not kin, was not blood, and would be passed over in a heartbeat whenever Xie Lian was close.
Even so, Mu Qing would be there for Qi Rong when he needed it. Though, at times, he wished he could do more.
Mu Qing had fantasised about it. Marching up to the Crown Prince and demanding that he have some consideration for his younger cousin. Seeking a private audience with the Queen and having an open discussion with her about how she must treat her nephew as a person, not a pet.
Mu Qing knew his place, however. And so he kept his peace, played his role, did what he could.
In time, perhaps Qi Rong would be able to rise above this himself and not need Mu Qing’s stewardship any longer.
###
Mu Qing should be grateful.
Tonight, he would finally fulfil his purpose and repay the clemency that has been shown to him over the years.
He was left unattended in his chambers to prepare for surrender to the Crown Prince as he saw fit. Even as a concubine, he was entitled to more than this. At the very least, he should have servants helping him with his clothes, his hair, his makeup. Whatever the servants thought of him, after tonight, he would be officially a member of the royal household, so his requests could no longer be denied for frivolous reasons.
Of course, he would only be a concubine. There would be no wedding ceremony, no bows. The most he would have to formalise the sanctified bond between himself and the prince was exchanged wine and a veil, if he would have that much at all.
Yes, perhaps it was better that Mu Qing took charge of his raiment and presentation himself. It had been a long time coming, nothing special; it was a done deal already, and nothing new would come of it. Mu Qing sneered. It was not as if he could give the prince a child and potentially raise his standing. In any case, he was used to performing the tasks of his personal upkeep himself.
Mu Qing was nothing if not effective, so it did not take long for him to complete his preparations. It was the dining hour, but he did not move to obtain food. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed and settled in to wait.
Mu Qing had lulled himself into an almost meditative state when Qi Rong blew into his inner chambers like a storm.
“Qing-gege,” he called, softer than Mu Qing had ever heard his voice. “Qing-gege, please don’t do this.” The boy knelt down before Mu Qing and reached up towards him, but Mu Qing only unfolded his hands and shifted them from his lap to his sides.
It was funny how Qi Rong thought Mu Qing had a choice in the matter, but he obviously did. Mu Qing could not see Qi Rong’s face, but he could sense his wrath.
“He will never love you!” Qi Rong screamed. “He will use you and leave you! He’ll go back to that mountain of his and one day ascend to become a god. Where will you be then, Qing-gege?”
Qi Rong was not known to be a smart or far-sighted person, although he had a royal education. Shamefully, even Mu Qing was surprised that he could think ahead to that point. Qi Rong had unique motivation, Mu Qing supposed, because if he could come here at this point, it had to be for something.
Mu Qing did not respond or otherwise react, and it pitched Qi Rong into a greater frenzy. He grabbed Mu Qing’s needle-roughened hands and tugged them such that Mu Qing nearly hunched towards him.
“I will beg my aunt and uncle to call this off. You can be my consort instead, Qing-gege. It makes more sense. We can be happy together—You can be happy with me! Biaoge doesn’t even need a consort or a concubine. He’s going to be a god!”
Caring for Qi Rong, Mu Qing had sometimes had instances where he wavered on what to do with the younger boy. This was one of those times. It might prove to be true that they could be happy, but Mu Qing knew that such an arrangement would not work.
Despite being slated to be Xie Lian’s concubine all this while, Mu Qing was still the son of dead servants. It was honour enough to be awarded this great opportunity of being the Crown Prince’s concubine. But the official consort of the Queen’s nephew? It was absurd. It was impossible.
It would do neither of them any favours. Too much would be called into question. Mu Qing’s motivations for taking Qi Rong under his wing, whether Mu Qing was using Qi Rong and what for, if Mu Qing was turning Qi Rong against his family. Qi Rong’s loyalties.
“Rong’er, you are young,” Mu Qing started. “You are yet ignorant to the ways of the world. Everyone knows of my background, and so much you. Becoming your cousin’s concubine is my best chance of living a life unfettered. That would not be true were we to wed.”
Not a true word had left Mu Qing’s mouth since he started speaking, but no one would be able to tell. And he wouldn’t start giving voice to the truth now. Not under these circumstances.
“Besides, my heart lies with the Crown Prince. Do not humiliate yourself anymore, Rong’er. And do not sully my honour.”
Qi Rong’s fists tightened with Mu Qing’s hands still in his grasp.
“Are you saying you don’t love me? That you never loved me?” he asked, voice brimming with rage, yes, but also despair. “Not even as a little brother?”
“I am asking you to leave. It is better for the both of us.”
It seemed that destruction always followed in Qi Rong’s wake, and this time it is no different. He slammed the doors as he left, shouted at the first servant he saw in the corridors, but no one came to check on Mu Qing or enquire as to what had angered the Queen’s nephew so.
The night was supposed to be an auspicious one, and no member of the serving staff was so foolish as to interfere in what could be a royal mess of a romantic web. Not without more proof, at least.
That was not surprising.
What was surprising was that, in his weakness, Mu Qing did speak some truth tonight after all.
But was it a mercy? Mu Qing didn’t know.
###
Mu Qing should be grateful.
He did not need to sleep with a man he was not interested in—and who had no interest in him, either. Not that either truth would have mattered.
On the evening Xie Lian was supposed to have claimed what was his, he claimed another birthright instead. After slaying a demon, he had ascended to godhood, leaving the realm of mortals and all its problems behind for good.
Mu Qing was the one who has to remain and deal with the fallout.
He lived in a state of limbo now, unable to be released into freedom yet unable to be shackled into another advantageous marriage. The King and Queen had no imperative to seek for him a decent match—they were not his parents, though he had been their ward for long enough. His standing gave no leverage, and it was not helped by his previous identity as the Crown Prince’s concubine-to-be. At most, he would be a prize to whoever wanted him; it would be the best way to rid themselves of dead weight.
Qi Rong would not see him or talk to him. He had not even tried to reassert his attempt at having Mu Qing be engaged to him instead.
Mu Qing had never before sought Qi Rong out of his own accord, not unless it was a time of crisis. He wished it was something he did, though, even if it were for plain and boring companionship, which Qi Rong would not have appreciated. It was better than watching the boy, who was shooting up so quickly now, turning tail with a strangled grunt whenever he saw Mu Qing at the other end of a corridor.
Cut off from most of the kingdom due to his circumstances, Mu Qing lost any purpose of living when he was brought into the palace. Any purpose that he might feel fulfilled by, that was. Caring for Qi Rong… It had been something real.
Without it, Mu Qing wanted to lose himself in the malaise that threatened to drown him.
Perhaps that was why, when the altercations with the people of Yong An broke out, Mu Qing was so ready to head into the warzone despite being trained in no self-defence at all. He simply packed some things and left the palace.
Mu Qing may not have been allowed to learn to fight, but he had been allowed to shadow the royal physicians in their work when he had run out of things to do. Life in a gilded cage was expectably empty, but he was surprised by how easy it had been to step out of it.
In fact, barely anyone knew who he was. He had walked past both Xie Lian and his personal bodyguard—now deputy official—without either of them stopping him to ask what he was doing here.
Thus, Mu Qing could serve in the infirmary tents, fighting a disease that was more like a curse with no reprieve, all the while wondering when he would succumb to it himself. It was more toil than he was used to now, having gotten soft in his years as what approximated to a noble. But Mu Qing had never shied away from hard work, and he got into the swing of things easily, letting the bone-deep fatigue sweep him into dreamless sleep every night.
It was a peaceful existence, in a way. Enough so that he wasn’t at all tempted to go back to what he had. Not even when whispers started drifting over that Qi Rong was tearing the royal capital of Xianle apart looking for the Crown Prince’s lost concubine.
At least, that was what he told himself.
It didn’t matter, anyway, because all too soon the war was lost and Xianle abandoned by the Crown Prince who had dared to say he would save it.
###
Mu Qing should be grateful.
Unlike many of the Xianle people, he had not died during the kingdom’s fall. Quite the contrary, he had ascended to godhood.
It was a dream so wild it had never been considered even as a flight of fancy. Although, now that he thought about it, the mere concept of it could have been poisoned by the one person he knew who had aspired to it so desperately.
Standing between the invading horde of Yong’an and the helpless crowd of Xianle denizens, he had pleaded for amnesty, for mercy, for there to be no more bloodshed as power was taken and the new order of the kingdom established. Mu Qing did not know if it would have done any good. For the act that had earned him ascension also took him away from working for any sort of resolution of the matter.
However, it was just as likely that he would have been struck down for his courage.
His new role was… acceptable. Not many prayed to the Thunder Master, for he was a deity looked upon with fear rather than reverence. Yet, there was never the risk of losing his divinity from a lack of merits, for his purview was the governance of justice and retribution, and there was always a need for that.
It meant that even the heavenly officials themselves viewed him with equal parts respect and wariness, which suited Mu Qing just fine.
He was not required attend to prayers, though he was present whenever a mortal invoke his domain in an oath, swearing to do something or other or be struck by thunder and lightning. He did not have to work much with martial gods, only to take custody of those the cocky generals detained. He did not have to answer to civil gods, only to provide records of his verdicts and how they were carried out.
Mu Qing’s life as a god was an acceptable one, by all means.
The Crown Prince he had been pledged to was not a god anymore, and thus not someone he had to be concerned with. He could perish in his banishment for all Mu Qing cared.
The Crown Prince’s bodyguard, who had himself ascended a few years after Mu Qing, hounded him at every turn, but Mu Qing had more spiritual power than Feng Xin had martial might, so their fights were as decisive as they were destructive. It was just a matter of when Feng Xin would heal and come to badger him again, raging about how Mu Qing had abandoned his prince when said prince was no more Mu Qing’s than his. Besides, it was always vindicating to remind Feng Xin that he had been left behind when he and Xie Lian had evacuated the King and Queen.
And Qi Rong, as well. They had left Qi Rong to Xianle’s conquerors.
So, yes, Mu Qing would welcome his next battle with Feng Xin. He would win each handily until which time Feng Xin gathered enough power through his faithful.
It was as good a thing to look forward to as any.
###
Mu Qing was centuries old, and the weight of the years seemed to become heavier rather than lighter with each passing one. Much stayed the same, though the details varied. It was tedious enough to drive anyone to distraction.
That day, Mu Qing was presiding alongside Jun Wu on the case of yet another subdued ghost. He was hardly a Savage but had caused so much trouble for the martial god whose job it was to neutralise him.
Uncouth, they said he was. Irreverent. He killed without rhyme or reason and desecrated the dead besides. He was despicable in the worst way, casually partaking in cannibalism and dressing himself up in gore for no discernible reason than to offend as many around him as possible.
All this meant that it should be an easy sentencing for Mu Qing. In fact, he was surprised the ghost hadn’t been dealt with already. What was the point, after all, of hauling a mere Menace all the way to the Palace of Divine Might?
The ghost was unruly, chomping with sharpened teeth at any bit of flesh crossing his sight that was careless enough to be left near his mouth. His body was limp as it was dragged across the carpeted floor to be presented before Jun Wu and his court. Alternating between wailing and laughing hysterically, the ghost did himself no favours as the charges against him were read.
“What do you think, Leishi Qing? What punishment will this self-appointed Night-Touring Green Lantern be awarded?” Jun Wu asked, tone almost intrigued.
“Qing?” The ghost in bloodied and tattered robes pronounced inquisitively, finally giving up on his endless tantrum. “I knew someone named Qing! I loved him!” And then he cackled again.
Mu Qing’s heart beat loudly in his chest, echoing in his ears like the beat of wardrum. His posture had gone rigid, and it was all he could do not to lean forward to assess the ghost more closely. He wanted so badly to go up to that emaciated figure and check if it could possibly be who his memory held so dearly.
Instead, he addressed the ghost and interrogated, “You, ghost, you once knew love?”
Between bouts of laughter, the ghost wheezed out, “Infatuation, obsession, love. What does it matter how it is described. He never loved me. He was always chasing after him! My Qing-gege…”
Silence reigned for long moments after that lament echoed through the gilded hall. Mu Qing’s thundering heart chilled, frozen by the implications of Qi Rong’s ghosthood and now impending incarceration. What was he to do? How could he protect his Qi Rong from his fate?
Jun Wu cleared his throat and addressed Mu Qing once again. “My Thunder Master, what is your judgement?”
“Rehabilitation, my lord,” Mu Qing said, risking his damnation as well as Qi Rong’s.
It seemed as though everyone in the hall had turned to gawk at Mu Qing after he said the words. They were all held in thrall once Jun Wu broke through his shock to ask, “Are you sure? This has never been done before. The ghost will be under your sole responsibility. You do not need me to tell you how drastic the consequences will be if you fail.”
It has always been as such. But that was a statement Mu Qing could never speak to life. “I understand, my lord,” he replied instead. “I accept this undertaking with great caution and honour.”
“Let it be done,” Jun Wu announced.
And thus, the fates of Mu Qing and Qi Rong had been decided.
Upon reflection, Mu Qing thought that he had lived a decent life. Surely, it could have been better, but it was just as true that it could have been worse. It was a waste of his living years, perhaps, that he never had something to work towards, seeing as his life had already been laid out for him by people who hardly bothered to know him.
There had only ever been one constant, this one space he had carved out for himself through necessity and the neglect of other people. Qi Rong had always been his, to be annoyed by, to nurture, to love.
Now, after so, so long, Qi Rong would be his again.
And for that, Mu Qing was grateful.