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The war was long behind them, and so were the rigid habits that had defined the lives of many gods. In a place where routine reigned supreme, even the smallest deviation was enough to send ripples through Heaven. So when Mu Qing decided—without fanfare—to start wearing his hair down, it created a wave of attention that far exceeded anything he could have anticipated.
It wasn't a bold statement or a deliberated attempt to stand out. To Mu Qing, it was simple choice. Leaving his silver hair loose saved him time, and honestly, it felt comfortable. What he didn't account for was the way his unbound hair shimmered in the sunlight or how it framed his face in a way that made people look twice.
By mid-morning, the gossip had spread like wildfire.
Ling Wen, ever efficent, paused as she walked past the meeting hall to murmur to an aide, "Have you seen Mu Qing today? His hair surely looks different." The aide nodded enthusiastically, whispering something about how striking it looked.
Over by the lotus pond, Pei Ming leaned back lazily, a smirk playing on his lips. "Who would've thought?" he mused, addressing no one in particular. "Turn out the uptight Mu Qing has a sense of style. I'd almost be impressed."
Shi Qingxuan, of course, was far less subtle. Spotting Mu Qing from a distance, they nearly tripped over themselves rushing to Ling Wen's side. "Have you seen him?" they demanded, their fan snapping open with a flourish. "Doesn't he look so different? Oh, oh, do you think it's for someone special? What if he's finally courting someone?"
If the gossip anoyed Mu Qing, he gave no sign of it. He carried on as usual, completly unfazed. But not everyone was as composed.
Feng Xin, who had been standing near the meeting hall when Mu Qing walked in that morning hadn't been halfway through a sip of tea when he caugh a glimpse of Mu Qing's silver hair flowing freely, and the resulting choke sent tea spilling down his front.
For the rest of the day, Feng Xin tried—and failed—to act normal. Every time he crossed paths with Mu Qing, his gaze seemed magnetically drawn to him. Whether it was a soft glow of sunlight catching on those loose strands or the way the unbound hair swayed when Mu Qing moved, it was impossible to ignore. And the more Feng Xin noticed it, the more awkward he became.
By the time they were both assigned to help prepare a meal for a small dinner with friends, Feng Xin's nerves were frayed. He couldn't even focus on cutting vegetables without fumbling the knife.
"What's with you?" Mu Qing asked, his tone flat as he efficiently diced a pile of carrots.
"Nothing," Feng Xin snapped, too quickly. He adjusted his grip on the knife, refusing to meet Mu Qing's gaze.
Mu Qing arched an eyebrow but said nothing, returning to his task with the practiced ease of someone used to being unbothered. The silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic sound of chopping.
Feng Xin lastead all of five minutes before he dropped the knife again, cursing under his breath.
"You've been weird all day," Mu Qing said, finally turning to look at him. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong," Feng Xin insisted, his voice rising slightly. "Why would something be wrong?"
Mu Qing narrowed his eyes. "You're a terrible liar, you know."
Feng Xin opened his mouth to deny it, but the words stuck in his throat. He quickly ducked his head, focusing all his attention on the pile of uncut vegetables in front of him.
Mu Qing, not one to let a moment of weakness slide, tilted his head slightly. "You're quiet," he said, voice laced with mild curiosity. "Unusual for you. Don't tell me you're tired already."
“I’m fine,” Feng Xin muttered, his hands tightening around the knife handle. He focused on the carrot in front of him like it held the secrets to the universe, determined not to meet Mu Qing’s gaze.
“You’re not fine,” Mu Qing countered, his tone turning sharper. “You’ve dropped that knife twice today, and you’re cutting everything unevenly. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to cook.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Feng Xin shot back. He straightened up, scowling. “Why do you care, anyway? You’re always complaining when I help you.”
“That’s because you’re hopeless at it,” Mu Qing said, smirking faintly as he set down his perfectly diced vegetables. He brushed his hands together, almost smug. “You’ll end up embarrassing both of us if you bring those to the table.”
Feng Xin scoffed. “You’re impossible. Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”
“Not as tired as I get watching you fumble through simple tasks,” Mu Qing retorted smoothly.
Feng Xin gritted his teeth, determined not to rise to the bait. He set the knife down with deliberate care, exhaling through his nose. “You know what? Fine. If you’re so good at it, you can handle this yourself. I’ll set the table.”
“Gladly,” Mu Qing replied, arching an eyebrow as he took over Feng Xin’s chopping station without missing a beat.
As Feng Xin stepped back, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting toward Mu Qing again. It was infuriating how effortlessly Mu Qing moved, silver hair brushing against his shoulders as he worked. Feng Xin caught himself staring and immediately looked away, his face heating up again.
Mu Qing, of course, didn’t miss the shift in Feng Xin’s expression. He glanced over his shoulder, his smirk widening. “Something on your mind, General Feng?”
Feng Xin flinched, his shoulders stiffening. “Nothing,” he said, his tone too sharp to be casual.
Mu Qing didn’t press further, though the amusement in his eyes didn’t fade. “If you’re done sulking, go grab the plates. Unless that’s too complicated for you as well.”
Feng Xin huffed and turned away, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Arrogant bastard.”
The sound of Mu Qing’s quiet chuckle followed him as he left the room, and Feng Xin couldn’t decide if it was more irritating or mortifying.
--
Feng Xin returned with the plates, trying to avoid looking at Mu Qing too much as he set the table. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal—just dinner between friends. Normal. Casual. Except there was nothing normal about the way Mu Qing’s hair shimmered under the light, and Feng Xin felt his throat tighten again.
“Careful,” Mu Qing said as he slid the cutting board toward the pot, catching Feng Xin’s faltering hand before it toppled a stack of bowls. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”
“I’m fine,” Feng Xin snapped, jerking his hand away as if Mu Qing’s touch had burned him. He regretted it immediately when Mu Qing raised an eyebrow.
“Right,” Mu Qing said slowly. “Because this is how you always act.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re fidgety,” Mu Qing said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. The silver strands of his hair fell over one shoulder as he tilted his head, studying Feng Xin. “You’ve been fidgety all day. If something’s bothering you, just say it.”
Feng Xin looked away, heat creeping up his neck again. “Nothing’s bothering me. Why do you keep making a big deal out of it?”
“Because you’re acting weird,” Mu Qing shot back, his sharp tone undercut by the slightest hint of concern. “You’re usually just stupid, but now you’re being… different.”
“Different?” Feng Xin barked out a laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Mu Qing’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re the one acting different,” Feng Xin said, gesturing vaguely toward him. “All this… this hair thing.”
Mu Qing blinked, then frowned. “What about my hair?”
“You know what about your hair!” Feng Xin blurted, and immediately regretted it.
Mu Qing stared at him, confusion flickering across his face. Then, very slowly, his lips curved into a smirk. “Oh,” he said, a note of realization in his voice. “Is that what this is about?”
“No,” Feng Xin said too quickly, crossing his arms.
Mu Qing took a deliberate step closer, his smirk widening. “You’re not bothered by it?”
“I’m not!”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing!” Feng Xin snapped, his voice rising an octave.
Mu Qing gave him a long, calculating look before turning away, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was an unmistakable hint of amusement in his tone. “You’re hopeless.”
Feng Xin scowled at Mu Qing’s back, feeling both defensive and flustered. Hopeless? If anyone was hopeless, it was Mu Qing—with his ridiculous hair and his smug attitude and his ability to throw Feng Xin completely off balance without even trying.
Hopeless didn’t even begin to cover it.
Mu Qing went back to stirring the pot, humming softly under his breath. It wasn’t a tune Feng Xin recognized, but it was so out of character that he couldn’t help but stare.
“What?” Mu Qing said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” Feng Xin said quickly, busying himself with arranging the plates.
Mu Qing’s lips quirked. “You’re staring again.”
“I wasn’t staring,” Feng Xin grumbled, turning his back to Mu Qing.
“Right,” Mu Qing said, his voice full of mock seriousness. “You were just… observing. Very intensely.”
Feng Xin clenched his jaw, determined not to take the bait.
Mu Qing’s voice grew closer, and when Feng Xin turned, Mu Qing was leaning against the table, arms crossed and his expression smug. “If you’re this distracted, maybe you should sit down before you break something.”
“I’m not distracted!”
“Your face is red,” Mu Qing pointed out.
“It’s hot in here,” Feng Xin snapped. “And stop looking at my face!”
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Should I look somewhere else, then?”
Feng Xin froze, his brain short-circuiting at the unexpected line. His eyes widened as Mu Qing let out a soft snort, clearly amused by his reaction.
“You’re too easy,” Mu Qing said, shaking his head. “Honestly, how did you survive the war if you get flustered this easily?”
“By not being around you,” Feng Xin muttered under his breath.
Mu Qing blinked, and for a moment, his expression softened. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Feng Xin said, louder this time. He grabbed a pitcher of water and made for the door. “I’m setting the table outside.”
He didn’t wait for Mu Qing’s reply, stepping out into the cooler evening air and exhaling hard. His heart was racing, and he pressed a hand to his face, willing the heat to subside.
This is ridiculous.
He leaned against the doorframe, staring at the horizon. It had been years since the war ended, and he thought he’d grown used to Mu Qing’s sharp tongue and ever-present scowl. But this… this softer, teasing side of him? With his hair down, no less?
It was going to kill him.
Inside, Mu Qing watched the door close behind Feng Xin and frowned slightly, tapping the spoon against the edge of the pot. He wasn’t sure what to make of the way Feng Xin had been acting lately, but it was… odd.
Shaking off the thought, he turned back to the stew, muttering under his breath, “Hopeless idiot.”
Feng Xin was barely done setting the table when Ling Wen arrived, her neutral expression immediately softening as she surveyed the spread. “Impressive,” she commented, sliding into a seat.
“Mu Qing cooked,” Feng Xin muttered, not meeting her gaze.
Ling Wen’s eyebrow arched. “I see. A collaborative effort, then?”
Before Feng Xin could muster a reply, Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan sauntered in, deep in conversation.
“You’re missing the point,” Shi Qingxuan said, fanning themselves dramatically. “It’s not about how he looks in passing. It’s the proximity effect—get close enough, and it’s practically weaponized.”
“I’ve been close,” Pei Ming countered smugly. “I think you’re just—oh.” His eyes landed on Mu Qing, who had just stepped outside carrying the pot of stew. “See what I mean?” Shi Qingxuan said triumphantly, throwing their fan open with a snap.
“I have to admit,” Pei Ming said, his grin widening as he leaned against the table. “It’s even better up close. You’ve outdone yourself, Mu Qing.”
“Shut up,” Mu Qing said, glaring at him as he set the pot down.
“What?” Pei Ming said innocently. “I’m just being honest.”
Shi Qingxuan nodded enthusiastically. “I told you—it’s almost unfair. You look like you belong in a painting.”
“I hate all of you,” Mu Qing muttered, sitting down with far less grace than usual.
Feng Xin, meanwhile, was gripping his chopsticks like a lifeline, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
The sound of the door sliding open broke the tension, and Xie Lian stepped in with a warm smile. “Sorry I’m late. Hua Cheng sends his regards.”
“Didn’t want to come?” Ling Wen asked dryly.
“Oh, no,” Xie Lian said cheerfully, taking his seat. “He just said he wasn’t interested in Heaven’s theatrics.”
“That’s fair,” Ling Wen said, sipping her tea.
“Good choice,” Mu Qing muttered, only to freeze when Xie Lian turned his full attention on him.
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian said, his voice filled with genuine curiosity, “your hair looks beautiful.”
Mu Qing sighed, rubbing his temple. “Not you too.”
“It really does suit you,” Xie Lian continued, undeterred. “It gives you a softer air.”
Shi Qingxuan nodded vigorously. “That’s what I said!”
“Can we not talk about his hair?” Feng Xin snapped, his voice louder than intended.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“You okay there, General?” Pei Ming asked, his smirk almost predatory.
“I’m fine,” Feng Xin said, stabbing his chopsticks into his bowl.
“Hmm,” Xie Lian said thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between Feng Xin and Mu Qing.
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” Xie Lian said quickly, his lips twitching as though suppressing a smile.
“Can we just eat?” Feng Xin muttered, his ears noticeably red.
Shi Qingxuan exchanged a look with Pei Ming, their grins widening in unison.
--
The room finally quieted as everyone began to eat, though the air was thick with unsaid words and knowing glances. Shi Qingxuan was the first to break the silence, gesturing toward the spread. “This is fantastic. Mu Qing, Feng Xin, I didn’t know you two were such a culinary dream team.”
“We’re not a team,” Mu Qing said immediately, shooting a glance at Feng Xin.
“Absolutely not,” Feng Xin agreed, stuffing a piece of braised pork into his mouth like it was a defense mechanism.
Xie Lian chuckled softly. “Regardless, it’s impressive. I’ve missed meals like this—simple but warm.” His tone was so genuine that even Mu Qing softened for a moment.
Pei Ming leaned back, chopsticks twirling lazily between his fingers. “Warm, huh? Is that the food, or the company?”
“Shut it,” Feng Xin growled, glaring at him.
Pei Ming grinned. “Relax, General. I’m just saying—it’s nice to see you two getting along so well these days. It’s almost… domestic.”
Feng Xin choked on his tea, coughing violently as Shi Qingxuan patted him on the back, their expression a mix of concern and amusement.
“Domestic?” Mu Qing echoed, his tone flat but his narrowed eyes betraying his irritation. “You have the imagination of a drunk poet.”
“Drunk poets have written some of the greatest romances,” Shi Qingxuan quipped, earning a snicker from Pei Ming.
“Keep going,” Feng Xin muttered darkly, “and I’ll be the one writing poetry about how you’re buried under the peach trees.”
“That’s an odd way of admitting you’d miss me,” Pei Ming said with a wink.
“You’re insufferable,” Feng Xin snapped, though his ears were already burning red again.
Meanwhile, Xie Lian was watching the exchange with quiet amusement, his gaze flicking to Mu Qing. “So, Mu Qing,” he said, steering the conversation away from Pei Ming’s antics, “what inspired the new look? It really is striking.”
Mu Qing’s chopsticks paused midair, and he frowned slightly. “I wasn’t ‘inspired.’ I just felt like it.”
“Felt like it, huh?” Shi Qingxuan said, resting their chin on their hands. “Well, it’s working for you. Half of Heaven’s gossiping about it.”
Mu Qing sighed. “Of course they are. They’ve got nothing better to do.”
Pei Ming chuckled. “I mean, can you blame them? You’ve always had that whole ‘stoic and untouchable’ vibe, but now you’re just… well, stunning.”
“I’m eating,” Feng Xin hissed, slamming his bowl down a little too hard.
“Easy, General,” Pei Ming said, clearly enjoying himself. “No one’s accusing you of staring.”
Feng Xin glared at him, but before he could retort, Xie Lian spoke up again. “I think it’s a good change,” he said gently, his tone cutting through the tension. “It suits the person you’ve become.”
Mu Qing blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…Thanks.”
Feng Xin, still fuming, grumbled something under his breath.
“What was that, Feng Xin?” Shi Qingxuan asked, their grin wicked.
“I said, pass the vegetables,” he lied, stabbing his chopsticks toward the platter in front of Mu Qing.
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow but slid the dish over without comment. “Careful,” he said, his voice low enough for only Feng Xin to hear. “Your temper’s showing.”
Feng Xin shot him a look but said nothing, the flush on his face deepening.
Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan exchanged another amused glance, clearly reveling in the unspoken tension.
--
The conversation flowed easily around the table, but Feng Xin could hardly focus on anything besides the heat slowly rising to his face. His chopsticks hovered near his plate, but he wasn’t really hungry anymore—just trying to pretend his thoughts weren’t being pulled to the soft fall of Mu Qing’s hair, now cascading freely over his shoulders. The subtle movement, the slight shift when Mu Qing tilted his head or reached for something, made his heart race for reasons he couldn’t articulate.
“You’ve been quiet, General,” Mu Qing’s voice broke into his thoughts, and Feng Xin snapped his head up to find him watching closely. “Lost in thought?”
“No!” Feng Xin nearly shouted, then winced as everyone turned to look at him. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean, no. Just… thinking about the mission. Right. The one that needs to be handled soon.”
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Mm, sure.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” Feng Xin muttered, lowering his head to his plate and stabbing at a dumpling a little too forcefully.
Pei Ming was grinning widely, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “I have to say, it’s nice to see this side of you, General. So… bothered.”
“I’m not bothered,” Feng Xin growled. “Just… distracted.”
“By what?” Shi Qingxuan chimed in, poking the bear further. “Surely not Mu Qing’s new look.”
Feng Xin went absolutely still at that, staring hard at his plate. His silence was enough of an answer.
“That’s what I thought,” Shi Qingxuan teased.
Mu Qing smirked, clearly enjoying every second of this. He tilted his head slightly, letting his hair fall just a little more dramatically, watching as Feng Xin’s face flushed deeper.
At that moment, Ling Wen, who had been unusually quiet up until now, set down her chopsticks with a small clink and looked around the table. Her sharp gaze flicked from one person to the next, finally landing on Feng Xin, who was clearly doing his best to avoid her eyes.
“I’ve been listening to you all long enough,” Ling Wen said, her voice cutting through the banter like a blade. “And I think it’s time someone said it.”
Mu Qing, who had been content with watching the situation unfold, raised an eyebrow. “Said what?”
Ling Wen didn’t hesitate. “Feng Xin’s clearly in pain.”
Feng Xin choked on his drink. “I-I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” Ling Wen interrupted smoothly, “and don’t deny it. You’re absolutely flustered, and it’s because of that.” She gestured to Mu Qing’s hair. “How long are you going to pretend you’re not absolutely captivated by it?”
Feng Xin froze, the room falling into a tense silence. His heart pounded in his chest as every set of eyes in the room seemed to settle on him.
Mu Qing, ever the tease, smirked. “Well? What do you think, General? I told you, it’s not a big deal.”
“That’s… that’s not…” Feng Xin stammered, desperately trying to salvage any dignity. “I mean… It’s just—everyone is making such a big deal out of it, and I’m just… trying to focus on the meal. I’m not… It’s just hair.”
Mu Qing leaned back in his chair, amused. “Right. Just hair.”
“Can we… please talk about something else?” Feng Xin groaned, slumping forward dramatically onto the table.
Pei Ming burst out laughing. “You’re hopeless!”
Shi Qingxuan wasn’t much better, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s adorable. You should just admit it.”
But Ling Wen, with all her quiet confidence, was unfazed. “No need to admit it,” she said coolly, “everyone here already knows. Honestly, Feng Xin, just tell him already. It’s not that hard.”
Feng Xin blinked rapidly, his eyes wide. “Tell him what?”
“That you’re completely whipped,” Ling Wen said dryly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Feng Xin’s jaw went slack, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at her, stunned. “I… I’m not—!”
“Oh, stop,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “We’ve been through this before. Just because you’re pretending it’s not obvious doesn’t make it less obvious to everyone else.”
Mu Qing, who had been watching all of this with an ever-growing smirk, leaned forward slowly, the teasing in his gaze now something more… expectant. “Really, Feng Xin. I’d like to hear you say it.”
Feng Xin’s face was so red it might’ve matched the sunset. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Please don’t,” he finally whispered under his breath, voice barely audible, but there was a desperate edge to it.
“Don’t what?” Mu Qing asked innocently.
Feng Xin stared at him, blinking rapidly, trying to will his brain into working. “Don’t make me say it.”
Ling Wen leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “Oh, I think we’ve made quite a bit of progress here.”
The teasing didn’t stop there, but for the first time, Feng Xin didn’t mind it. At least he could blame all of them for being too observant.
It had been a week since the dinner with their friends, and while the teasing hadn’t ceased, things had settled into a rhythm. Feng Xin and Mu Qing had become more used to each other’s presence — maybe too used to it. The teasing continued, but now it was more of a background noise in their friendship.
This time, it was a training session that had brought them together. They’d been sparring lightly, testing their reflexes and strength, as they often did. But today, the atmosphere was different. Their movements were sharper, the tension between them more palpable. Maybe it was because of the way Mu Qing had pulled his hair back again, but this time it was messier, looser, and somehow… Feng Xin couldn’t stop looking at it.
Mu Qing noticed immediately.
“You’re really staring at my hair today, aren’t you?” Mu Qing teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he blocked Feng Xin’s latest strike. “Maybe you should try paying attention to the fight instead.”
Feng Xin’s cheeks flushed, but he quickly tried to cover it with a sneer. “I don’t know why you keep doing that,” he grumbled, clearly avoiding the topic. “Acting like a fool and making everything so… distracting.”
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow, catching the hint of something deeper in his tone. “Distracting?” He moved closer, their faces just inches apart. “You’re acting like it’s some kind of problem.”
Feng Xin’s breath hitched, and he quickly stepped back, trying to regain control. “I’m not the one with the problem,” he snapped, though his voice was a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “If you want to distract me, just get on with it already.”
“Ah,” Mu Qing mused, still grinning, but there was something else in his gaze now, a flicker of understanding. “Is that so? You really want me to?”
Before Feng Xin could answer, Mu Qing suddenly reached up to fix his hair — the gesture casual, but deliberately slow, making sure that every strand fell exactly in place, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Feng Xin couldn’t help but swallow hard, his eyes darting away, but his body was frozen, unable to break the magnetic pull of Mu Qing’s every move.
“Maybe I’ll just leave it like this,” Mu Qing murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Since you like it so much.”
Feng Xin finally managed to get his thoughts in order and forced himself to speak. “Just—” he cleared his throat. “Just get on with it. You know what I mean.”
Mu Qing’s smirk deepened. “You really are an idiot, you know that?” He took a step back, finally allowing Feng Xin a break from the intensity. But the tension lingered, thick and unspoken, like the still air before a storm.
Feng Xin let out a breath of relief, though it was tinged with frustration. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, turning away to catch his breath. “This whole thing is just… ridiculous.”
Mu Qing, unperturbed, simply shrugged. “Only because you’re so easy to fluster.”
Feng Xin shook his head, his heart still racing. “I’m not the one flustered here.”
“Sure,” Mu Qing said lightly, but his eyes betrayed a hint of softness. “Whatever you say.”
Just then, a voice interrupted them — Pei Ming’s unmistakable drawl ringing out from the entrance of the courtyard. “You two seem to be having a very interesting time,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Feng Xin’s immediate reaction was to freeze, his cheeks flaming. Mu Qing simply turned, giving Pei Ming an exasperated look.
“Why are you here?” Mu Qing asked, unamused.
“I’m just passing through,” Pei Ming replied with a grin. “But from the looks of it, I don’t need to ask what’s going on between you two.” He gave a dramatic pause. “Although it’s hard to miss how easily distracted our dear General Feng Xin is lately. Perhaps you’ve got a little more than just friendship on your mind?”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes, but Feng Xin could feel his ears burning, and it was only getting worse.
“Shut up,” Feng Xin muttered, but his voice was weak and uneven.
Mu Qing smirked and gave Feng Xin a sidelong glance. “Careful, Feng Xin,” he teased. “Someone might start to think you’re hiding something.”
Feng Xin, for once, didn’t have a snarky response, and he turned to leave, his hands gripping his sword tightly as if it could anchor him from the strange, fluttering feeling in his chest.
Mu Qing watched him go, his smirk fading slightly. He hadn’t expected it to hit this hard — and that was exactly why he wasn’t going to let it go.
“Take your time, General,” he called after him, unable to resist one last tease.
The morning had started off uneventfully, but Feng Xin had been running late for the meeting with Heaven’s council. He had been caught up in a minor incident with some patrol guards and had lost track of time. By the time he arrived at the grand hall, his usual pristine armor was slightly disheveled, his hair not quite as neatly tied back as it normally was. The smallest details made the biggest difference — today, there was a faint blush on his face from the brisk walk, and his breath was just a little uneven, like he’d been rushing.
Mu Qing, sitting at the table with the others, was the first to notice. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes followed Feng Xin as he entered the room, slightly disoriented, fumbling with his papers, and trying to smooth down his clothes. Mu Qing’s gaze lingered just a moment too long on the flushed cheeks, the slight disarray in his usual sharp appearance, and it took everything he had to not let his lips twitch.
“Finally decided to join us?” Pei Ming called out, his voice carrying a teasing edge as he saw Feng Xin’s slightly out-of-breath entrance.
Feng Xin grunted in response, too flustered to form a coherent reply. “I had a little… situation.”
Mu Qing, looking far too composed as always, tried his best to ignore the sudden flutter in his chest. Why is he like this today? he thought. The disheveled look only seemed to make him… more irresistible.
Mu Qing, who had long since perfected the art of controlling his emotions, found it extremely difficult not to let his eyes wander back to Feng Xin, noticing the flush on his cheeks and how his fingers were brushing through his hair — maybe a little too often. Get a grip, he silently scolded himself. It’s just Feng Xin. Just another meeting.
The other council members were too busy bickering to notice the subtle tension between the two, but Pei Ming, ever observant, noticed Mu Qing’s sudden discomfort and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Did the mighty Mu Qing finally find something that’s got him off guard?”
Mu Qing shot him a cold look, but it didn’t hide the heat rising to his face. He cleared his throat and avoided looking at Feng Xin for a few seconds. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, trying to sound indifferent, but his voice betrayed him just enough.
Feng Xin took a seat, still slightly winded. He didn’t notice the change in Mu Qing’s behavior, too focused on trying to compose himself after his rushed entrance. “Sorry for being late,” he mumbled. “Had some… patrol issues.”
Mu Qing gave a casual nod, but his mind was racing. Stop acting like this, he scolded himself again. It was him messing with Feng Xin, not the other way around!
But Feng Xin’s uncharacteristic messiness, the way his hair was slightly out of place, the flush on his cheeks, and the way he seemed too human today… It was enough to make Mu Qing’s heart race in a way he could never quite explain.
Pei Ming, sensing the atmosphere, smirked. “Are we finally going to admit something, or should I just keep enjoying this?”
Mu Qing, his cool facade slipping ever so slightly, turned sharply to Pei Ming. “Shut up,” he muttered, his voice slightly sharper than usual.
Feng Xin, oblivious to the silent battle going on, tried to compose himself, but every glance he caught of Mu Qing was like a dagger to his composure. Why did Mu Qing have to look so… unaffected by his presence, while he, Feng Xin, was falling apart?
Mu Qing sighed, trying to refocus on the meeting, but it was impossible to ignore the way his thoughts kept drifting back to Feng Xin. Just act normal, he told himself. You’re both fine. It’s just… him.
--
The meeting had finally concluded, and as the council members dispersed, Feng Xin found himself still slightly disoriented. His heart rate hadn’t quite returned to normal after his chaotic entrance, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a strange sense of discomfort in the air, a heaviness he couldn’t ignore.
Mu Qing, still pretending to be unaffected, was gathering his things slowly, his fingers deliberately brushing over his papers as if every motion was meticulously calculated. But even as his actions were cool and controlled, Feng Xin could swear he caught the faintest trace of tension in the way Mu Qing held himself.
“Done already?” Feng Xin asked, his voice a bit rougher than usual, still trying to make sense of the weird energy lingering between them. He was definitely not used to feeling like this around Mu Qing.
Mu Qing turned to him, his eyes briefly flicking over to Feng Xin. For a brief moment, he considered saying something teasing—just to regain control of the situation. But instead, he swallowed his words. “I’m fine,” he said curtly, but there was a tremor in his voice, just barely noticeable.
Feng Xin raised an eyebrow. “You’re acting strange. Usually, I’m the one who needs a drink after those things.”
Mu Qing’s lips twitched, and he scoffed, clearly trying to deflect. “I’m not the one who nearly missed the entire meeting because of patrol issues.” His words dripped with feigned indifference, but underneath it all, there was an undeniable hint of something else.
Feng Xin chuckled, a little too loud, trying to mask his own discomfort. “Hey, things happen.”
Mu Qing couldn’t help but smirk at the way Feng Xin was squirming. There it was again—the subtle panic bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to poke fun at it, to tease him as he always did. But today… something was different. The effect Feng Xin had on him was strangely intense, and Mu Qing couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.
He walked past Feng Xin, his shoulder brushing against his as if by accident. He knew Feng Xin would feel it—he always did—and he savored the slight shift in his posture. It was small, but enough to confirm that he had Feng Xin’s attention.
“Are you okay?” Feng Xin asked, his voice a bit quieter now. He was looking at Mu Qing with a strange mix of concern and something else, something that Mu Qing couldn’t place.
Mu Qing stopped in his tracks, his back turned to Feng Xin. Why is he asking that? The question caught him off guard, and for a moment, his chest tightened. It wasn’t as if he could admit it out loud. That would make everything… too real. Too complicated. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—show any weakness, especially not around Feng Xin.
“I’m fine,” he said again, more firmly this time. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Feng Xin hesitated for a split second before stepping a little closer, his presence oddly reassuring. “I just… I don’t know. You seem… different today.”
Mu Qing froze. Different?
He turned his head just enough to catch Feng Xin’s eye, trying to keep his expression neutral, even though his heart was pounding. “I’m not ‘different,’” he said, his voice a little too sharp for comfort. “It’s probably just your imagination.”
But even as he spoke, the words felt hollow. The truth was, everything felt different lately. Every time he looked at Feng Xin, it was like there was a storm brewing inside him, one that he couldn’t escape.
Feng Xin nodded slowly, but his gaze lingered a bit longer than necessary. Mu Qing couldn’t handle it. It was too much. So he quickly turned on his heel and started walking toward the exit. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t follow me.”
Feng Xin, of course, was too slow to react to the sudden change in direction. “Wait—what? I didn’t—”
Mu Qing was already out the door, leaving Feng Xin standing in the hallway, staring after him with confusion, and maybe a hint of disappointment. Why does it feel like we’re walking in circles?
--
Mu Qing wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he needed space. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but all of them seemed to come back to one thing: Feng Xin. Why did it feel like everything was different now? Why did his heart race whenever Feng Xin was near?
He walked aimlessly, his footsteps echoing through the silent hallways. He tried to focus on anything else—anything that wasn’t Feng Xin—but it wasn’t working. His mind kept wandering back to the way Feng Xin had looked earlier, flushed and disheveled. Why did that make him feel like this?
“Mu Qing, wait up!”
Feng Xin’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he stopped, unwillingly turning to face him. There he was, running to catch up, his breath slightly ragged, as if he hadn’t quite let go of the strange moment earlier.
“Look, I didn’t mean to… upset you,” Feng Xin started awkwardly. “I was just… trying to figure out what’s going on. You’ve been acting off since the meeting.”
Mu Qing exhaled sharply. “I’m not acting off,” he muttered, but even to his own ears, the words sounded weak.
Feng Xin wasn’t buying it. He stepped a little closer, too close for comfort, his concerned expression softening. “Then what’s going on, huh? You’re acting like I did something wrong.”
Mu Qing didn’t answer right away. The truth was, he didn’t know what was going on either. He just knew that whenever Feng Xin was around, the world felt a little too heavy, a little too bright, and he wasn’t sure how to carry that weight anymore.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Mu Qing finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Feng Xin blinked, confused. “Then why do you keep running off like this?”
Mu Qing opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he just shook his head, unwilling to give a more concrete answer.
Feng Xin gave a quiet sigh, his frustration giving way to something else—something more gentle. “You’re not alone, you know. If something’s bothering you, I’m here.”
For the first time in what felt like ages, Mu Qing couldn’t hide the vulnerability that flickered across his face. Why does it feel so easy to say these things to him? he wondered, though he wasn’t ready to find out.
He turned away before his thoughts could betray him. “I’ll be fine,” he said, but his voice was softer this time, less certain.
Feng Xin watched him go, his heart heavy. He wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but for the first time, he felt like he was getting closer to understanding something important.
Mu Qing had finally managed to escape the lingering tension from the meeting. He retreated to his personal space, hoping for some much-needed solitude. His mind was still racing from the strange interaction with Feng Xin. The warmth he felt every time Feng Xin came close… the way his heart seemed to race despite himself. Why am I like this?
He paced back and forth, trying to center himself, but it wasn’t working. He had been avoiding his feelings for centuries, and now everything felt… different. He needed time to think, but before he could gather his thoughts, there was a knock at the door.
“Mu Qing?” A voice called from the other side. It was Pei Ming, unmistakably.
Mu Qing froze. Of course, it’s him. He could already hear the teasing in his voice, even through the door. “What is it?” he asked, his tone neutral, though it came out more clipped than he intended.
“We need to talk about the meeting, and I need to see if your hair is holding up after that drama earlier.” The sound of footsteps told him that Pei Ming was already halfway through the door, followed by the unmistakable giggle of Shi Qingxuan.
Mu Qing groaned inwardly. Not them. Not now.
As soon as the door opened, Pei Ming waltzed in, all confident swagger, closely followed by Shi Qingxuan, who was already grinning mischievously.
“Mu Qing, don’t tell me you’re still brooding about the meeting!” Pei Ming teased, his eyes flicking over to Mu Qing’s still-rumpled appearance. “I thought you’d be more put together than this.”
“I’m fine,” Mu Qing muttered, avoiding their gaze as he turned away to sit down. He could already feel his pulse picking up again. The last thing he needed was for them to see how rattled he was.
“Oh, it’s definitely not the meeting that has you so disheveled,” Shi Qingxuan chimed in, winking at Mu Qing with that knowing look they always got when something interesting was going on.
Mu Qing shot them both a glare. “What are you talking about?” He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Not now, not here.
“Oh, nothing,” Pei Ming said casually, but there was a mischief in his grin that made Mu Qing’s stomach drop. “Just that… you seem different lately. More, let’s say, vibrant? A little flustered even.”
Mu Qing snapped his head up, looking at them both in disbelief. “What? I’m not—”
“Are you sure?” Shi Qingxuan interrupted with an exaggerated glance at Pei Ming. “Because you were practically glowing earlier, especially when Feng Xin—”
Mu Qing’s eyes widened. “No! Absolutely not!” He stood up abruptly, face flushed in embarrassment. “What do you mean glowing? Stop making things up!”
“Oh, come on,” Pei Ming teased. “We’ve been through this before, haven’t we? You’re clearly feeling something for him.”
Mu Qing opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Why are they so good at this?
Shi Qingxuan snickered. “You know, you don’t have to act so flustered. It’s okay to admit it. We can all see it—how you keep looking at him like he’s the most important person in the room.”
Mu Qing, mortified, threw his hands up in frustration. “I—I don’t! He’s… we’re—friends! That’s it!”
Pei Ming leaned against the wall, watching him with an amused expression. “Sure, sure. But even friends can feel… a little more than that.” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, come on, don’t you think you’re looking at him like he’s something… special?”
Mu Qing didn’t know how to respond. He just stared at them, his hands slightly shaking. He could feel the panic building, his usual calm demeanor slipping away under the weight of their teasing.
The worst part? It wasn’t even that they were wrong. Everything they said hit too close to home. It wasn’t just that he admired Feng Xin… No, it was more than that.
“I don’t need you two prying into my personal life,” Mu Qing finally grumbled, his voice quiet but sharp. He hated how defensive he sounded, how much it gave him away. “Go bother someone else.”
Shi Qingxuan winked at Pei Ming. “I think we’ve stirred up enough trouble for today.”
Pei Ming just smiled, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright, we’ll leave you to your thoughts.”
As the two of them left, Mu Qing slumped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. How do they always know? He shook his head in disbelief. This was getting ridiculous. Maybe he needed a new plan. Maybe… maybe he could learn to control himself around Feng Xin. But the thought of Feng Xin’s attention, the way he looked at him… Maybe it’s already too late.
He figured he wasn't just teasing Feng Xin back then of fun.
Outside, Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan exchanged a look.
--
Feng Xin was halfway through his patrol when he spotted Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan walking toward him, side by side. Something about the gleam in their eyes instantly put him on edge.
“What do you want?” Feng Xin asked warily, crossing his arms as they approached.
“Relax, General,” Pei Ming said, his smirk already insufferable. “We’re just here for a friendly chat. Isn’t that right, Qingxuan?”
Shi Qingxuan twirled their fan dramatically, their grin wide. “Absolutely. Nothing sinister. Just two concerned friends checking in on our dear Feng Xin.”
Feng Xin narrowed his eyes. “You’re never ‘just checking in.’ Spit it out.”
Pei Ming raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, fine. We wanted to ask about the… effect you’ve been having lately.”
“What effect?” Feng Xin frowned.
Shi Qingxuan gasped, pretending to be shocked. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? Truly, the humility of General Feng Xin knows no bounds.” They leaned closer, their fan partially obscuring their face but failing to hide their mischievous grin. “Tell me, Feng Xin, do you always walk into meetings looking like a half-dressed hero from a romance novel?”
Feng Xin blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Pei Ming chuckled. “I’m talking about how you stumbled into the council meeting this morning looking like you’d just rolled out of bed. Hair mussed, armor slightly askew, cheeks flushed…” He leaned in conspiratorially. “And let me tell you, it didn’t go unnoticed.”
Feng Xin scowled, his blush creeping up his neck. “I already justified! I was in a fight, I had to run. What was I supposed to do, show up even later because I stopped to fix my damn hair?”
“Oh no, it was perfect,” Shi Qingxuan said, their tone teasing. “Perfectly… disarming.”
“What does that mean?” Feng Xin snapped, though his voice wavered slightly.
Pei Ming’s grin widened. “It means you, my dear General, managed to leave quite the impression on a certain someone.”
Feng Xin froze. “…What someone?”
“Oh, come now,” Shi Qingxuan said, waving their fan. “Do we really have to spell it out? Silver hair? Sharp tongue? A little too composed for his own good?”
Feng Xin’s stomach dropped. “Mu Qing?”
“Ding ding ding!” Pei Ming crowed, clapping his hands.
Feng Xin’s brow furrowed, confusion and embarrassment warring on his face. “What does this have to do with him?”
Shi Qingxuan sighed, as if speaking to a particularly slow student. “Well, you see, when you walked into the meeting all disheveled and out of breath, someone couldn’t stop staring. And blushing. And, dare I say, panicking.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Feng Xin said quickly, his face burning. “Mu Qing doesn’t panic.”
“Oh, but he did,” Pei Ming said, his grin almost predatory. “And we saw it. Every single glorious second of it. Poor guy didn’t know where to look.”
Feng Xin opened his mouth to argue but promptly closed it again, his brain short-circuiting. “…You’re making this up.”
Shi Qingxuan snorted. “Please. Why would we waste our time lying about something so obvious? It was like watching a peach tree catch fire in the middle of winter. Truly a sight to behold.”
Feng Xin groaned, running a hand over his face. “You two are the worst.”
“We prefer to think of ourselves as concerned observers,” Pei Ming said smoothly. “And, as such, we thought you should know about the chaos you’ve been causing.”
“I didn’t cause anything!” Feng Xin shot back, his voice rising. “I was just late to a meeting!”
“And yet,” Shi Qingxuan said, grinning, “here we are.”
Feng Xin glared at them, his fists clenching at his sides. “This is why no one takes you two seriously.”
“Oh, we don’t need to be taken seriously,” Pei Ming said, smirking. “We just need to be right.”
Feng Xin turned on his heel, muttering under his breath as he stalked away.
“See you around, General!” Shi Qingxuan called after him, their voice laced with laughter.
Pei Ming chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s hopeless.”
“Completely,” Shi Qingxuan agreed. “But so is Mu Qing. They’re a perfect match.”
“Agreed,” Pei Ming said, his grin widening. “Now, how long do you think it’ll take for them to figure it out?”
Shi Qingxuan tapped their chin thoughtfully. “Oh, I’d give it… another decade.”
“Optimistic,” Pei Ming said with a laugh.
And with that, they walked off, already plotting their next round of meddling.
Feng Xin stomped through the palace halls, muttering angrily to himself. “They’re out of their minds. Making stuff up. Mu Qing doesn’t—he wouldn’t—” He cut himself off, the thought too absurd to finish.
Turning a corner, he came face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see at that moment: Mu Qing.
“Watch where you’re going,” Mu Qing snapped, stepping back to avoid collision. His silver hair shimmered in the soft light of the hallway, loose again and as infuriatingly perfect as ever.
Feng Xin froze, his mind still buzzing from Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan’s taunts. He forced himself to act normal—or as close to normal as he could manage. “You’re one to talk,” he grumbled.
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Feng Xin said too quickly, brushing past him.
Mu Qing’s gaze followed him, sharp and assessing. “You’re acting weird again.”
“I’m not acting weird!” Feng Xin barked, spinning around.
Mu Qing crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. “You’re stomping around like someone just stole your bow. If you’re mad, go yell at someone else.”
“I’m not mad!” Feng Xin snapped, though his clenched fists said otherwise.
Mu Qing sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.” He turned to leave, but Feng Xin’s next words stopped him in his tracks.
“Wait!”
Mu Qing glanced over his shoulder, frowning. “What now?”
Feng Xin hesitated, his brain scrambling for an excuse to keep him there. “Uh… your hair,” he blurted, instantly regretting it.
Mu Qing turned fully, his frown deepening. “What about it?”
“It’s… loose again,” Feng Xin said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Doesn’t it get in the way?”
Mu Qing blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things he’d expected Feng Xin to say, that wasn’t one of them. “…Not really. Why?”
“No reason,” Feng Xin mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. “Just… thought you’d want it tied back. Or something.”
Mu Qing stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Feng Xin’s horror, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Is it distracting you?” Mu Qing asked, his tone light but teasing.
Feng Xin’s face burned. “No!”
“Hmm,” Mu Qing said, tilting his head slightly so that a strand of silver hair fell over his shoulder. “You sure about that?”
Feng Xin clenched his jaw, torn between running away and arguing. “I said no!”
Mu Qing chuckled softly, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Whatever you say, General.”
Before Feng Xin could respond, Mu Qing turned and walked away, his hair swaying gently with each step.
Feng Xin stood frozen in the hallway, his heart pounding. “Hopeless,” he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he meant Mu Qing or himself.
The next time Feng Xin saw Mu Qing, it was in the courtyard, where Mu Qing was overseeing some junior soldiers practicing their formations. His silver hair was tied back in a loose knot this time, though a few strands escaped and framed his face in that same maddeningly distracting way.
Feng Xin approached with a new sense of determination. He wasn’t about to let Mu Qing keep the upper hand—not after everything Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan had said.
“Busy as usual,” Feng Xin called out, leaning casually against a nearby pillar.
Mu Qing glanced at him, his expression neutral. “Unlike you, I have responsibilities.”
Feng Xin snorted. “You sound like Ling Wen.”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes and turned back to the soldiers. “What do you want, Feng Xin?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Feng Xin said, pushing off the pillar and strolling closer. “Just thought I’d check if your hair’s still holding up after all that… attention.”
Mu Qing froze for a fraction of a second, his hand tightening slightly on the scroll he was holding. He didn’t turn around, but his voice was sharp when he said, “What are you talking about?”
Feng Xin smirked. “You know what I’m talking about. Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan were very… descriptive about how everyone’s been looking at you lately.”
Mu Qing turned then, his eyes narrowing. “Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan? Of course. And you believed them?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Feng Xin said, stepping closer, his tone deliberately casual. “They seemed pretty confident. Said you looked like a painting or something. You must’ve enjoyed all that flattery.”
Mu Qing scoffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Feng Xin echoed, his smirk widening. “Come on, Mu Qing. I’m just saying—it’s nice to know you’re capable of flustering people. Maybe you should wear your hair down more often.”
Mu Qing’s expression didn’t change, but Feng Xin caught the faintest twitch in his jaw. “You’re insufferable,” Mu Qing muttered, brushing past him.
Feng Xin turned, following him with an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “I mean, I get it,” he said, his voice light with mock seriousness. “It’s a lot to take in. All that attention, all those compliments… must be exhausting.”
Mu Qing stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to glare at him. “Are you done?”
Feng Xin grinned. “Not even close.”
Mu Qing stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, warning tone. “Careful, Feng Xin. You’re treading on thin ice.”
Feng Xin didn’t flinch, his grin never wavering. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little teasing?”
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension.
Then Mu Qing smirked, a sharp, dangerous curve of his lips. “If that’s the game you want to play, General Feng Xin, I hope you’re ready to lose.”
Feng Xin raised an eyebrow, his heart pounding despite himself. “We’ll see about that.”
--
From their spot behind a tree, Pei Ming and Shi Qingxuan exchanged a look.
“Are we witnessing a declaration of war?” Shi Qingxuan whispered, eyes wide with excitement.
“Looks like it,” Pei Ming said, grinning. “Finally. I was starting to think they’d never figure out how to flirt properly.”
“This is flirting?” Shi Qingxuan asked, fanning themselves. “I thought it was foreplay.”
Pei Ming chuckled. “Same thing in their case.”
Shi Qingxuan snorted, shaking their head. “They’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Pei Ming said, leaning against the tree with a satisfied smirk, “this is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
It started small.
The next time Mu Qing passed by Feng Xin in the palace corridors, he made a deliberate point of flicking his hair over his shoulder as he walked by. It was subtle—barely noticeable, really—but the satisfied smirk on his face when Feng Xin tripped over his own feet said everything.
“Careful, General,” Mu Qing called over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Feng Xin grit his teeth, his face red. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, already plotting his next move.
By the time they crossed paths again, Feng Xin was ready.
They were sparring in the training grounds, with an audience of curious onlookers gathered nearby. Mu Qing had just disarmed him with a well-placed strike when Feng Xin straightened, grinning despite the sword pointed at his chest.
“You’re good,” Feng Xin said, stepping closer instead of retreating. “Guess that’s why everyone’s been talking about you lately.”
Mu Qing frowned, lowering the blade slightly. “What are you talking about now?”
Feng Xin smirked. “Oh, you know. The hair. The presence. You’re practically a celebrity these days.” He leaned in just enough to make Mu Qing step back, his grin widening. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Mu Qing narrowed his eyes, but the faint pink in his cheeks didn’t escape Feng Xin’s notice. “I don’t have time for your nonsense,” Mu Qing said curtly, turning away.
But Feng Xin saw the small stumble in his step as he walked off. Victory.
--
Mu Qing was sparring with one of the junior soldiers, his movements sharp and precise as ever. He wasn’t expecting an audience, least of all Feng Xin, who strolled into the training grounds looking…
Mu Qing froze.
The soldier’s wooden sword missed him by an inch, but Mu Qing barely noticed. His eyes were glued to Feng Xin, who was casually leaning against a post, looking like he’d just run a mile—slightly out of breath, his hair tousled, his collar open just enough to reveal a hint of his collarbone.
“What are you doing here?” Mu Qing demanded, sharper than he intended.
Feng Xin smirked. “Just passing through. Don’t let me interrupt.”
Mu Qing blinked, his grip on his sword tightening. “You’re already interrupting.”
The junior soldier looked between them, clearly unsure whether to stay or flee.
“You can go,” Mu Qing said without looking at him. The soldier didn’t need to be told twice.
Feng Xin stepped closer, still wearing that infuriating smirk. “What’s the matter? You look distracted.”
“I’m not distracted,” Mu Qing snapped, though the faint pink in his cheeks suggested otherwise.
Feng Xin raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “You sure? Because you didn’t even see that last strike coming.”
Mu Qing glared at him. “What do you want, Feng Xin?”
“Oh, nothing,” Feng Xin said, circling him slowly. “Just wanted to check in. Make sure you weren’t too… overwhelmed after earlier.”
Mu Qing’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not overwhelmed.”
“Good,” Feng Xin said, stopping just a little too close. “Because you look a little… flustered.”
Mu Qing opened his mouth to retort, but the words stuck in his throat. Up close, Feng Xin looked even more infuriatingly perfect—his hair slightly damp, his skin glowing faintly in the sunlight. It was unfair, really.
“I’m not flustered,” Mu Qing finally managed, though his voice wavered.
“Your ears are red,” Feng Xin pointed out, his grin widening.
Mu Qing clenched his jaw, his hands tightening on the hilt of his sword. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re fun to mess with,” Feng Xin shot back, leaning just slightly closer.
Mu Qing stepped back, his heart pounding in a way he refused to acknowledge. “Go away, Feng Xin. Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Not really,” Feng Xin said, his grin softening into something more genuine. “This is pretty entertaining.”
Mu Qing glared at him for a long moment, his cheeks still faintly pink. “You’re going to regret this,” he muttered, brushing past him.
Feng Xin watched him go, his smirk returning. “Looking forward to it.”
The tension between Feng Xin and Mu Qing was almost palpable in the days that followed. Their banter grew sharper, their interactions filled with more teasing, but beneath it all was something deeper, something neither of them could quite name—or were willing to admit.