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"Are you absolutely sure I should show up at such a secluded place and join your —" he waved his wrist in the air, as though swatting away an irritating fly, "— date?"
Mu Qing curled his lips, as though the words had offended him.
However, his tone smoothly carried an undercurrent of distrust, clearly revealing his true feelings. And though much had been decided and discussed, eight hundred years of blind enmity and hatred, of unsaid words and poison, cannot be erased overnight — some things remain unchanged.
Even though they had dined together countless times, gone hunting together — the kind of hunting even a mid-ranked official could manage. They had often, in their mortal forms, walked among the stalls or simply observed the peaceful routine of human life.
Mu Qing had often been a guest in the Ghost City, passing through the streets toward Paradise Manor, even though he could have shortened the journey significantly.
The townspeople’s attitude toward him had long shifted from 'unwanted guest' to 'old acquaintance.' While reflecting, Mu Qing thought it was long past time to stop being the aloof cat, scratching at every hand offered. Especially now that their relationship had changed so much. Yet no one could simply cast aside years of low self-esteem and insecurity.
Hope had given rise to a nagging sense of unease in recent months. Though it was not the first time they were alone together, Mu Qing had mostly been called to join Feng Xin. But he seemed to have 'urgent matters', both today and on the designated day.
"If we wanted to spend time alone with each other, neither you nor Feng Xin would have received an invitation to join us,"
Hua Cheng crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back as if on an invisible chair. From that position, he looked at Mu Qing with an impassive expression, his voice calm, yet tinged with what seemed like offense. They had passed the stages of understanding and acceptance, but Mu Qing was still on edge.
"San Lang is right. We’re not forcing anything. And we’re not offering anything you can’t refuse,"
Xie Lian added evenly, offering a light smile. Hua Cheng gave a satisfied smirk in response to his words. They fell silent, allowing time for reflection.
The Puqi Shrine was gently bathed in the light of the setting sun, its hues awash in fiery tones. The wind softly swayed the young greenery and the leaves of the trees. In the distance, birds chirped, soon to fall silent until early morning.
Resting his cheek on the hand he had propped up, Mu Qing gazed out the window through his lashes, contemplating the proposal. From the outside, it was hard to tell that a bloody war raged within him. One part of him longed to flee, to go somewhere far enough that meeting them would be an impossible goal — to merge with the shadow of the tall pines and become strangers forever. The other side yearned to reach toward the sun like a sunflower, to be near at all times and bask in the warmth of their attention. This unresolved conflict had been burning inside him for years. With reason acting as the mediator, voiceless and powerless—left only with the futile hope that one side would prevail.
Xie Lian felt that the guest’s silence had stretched on too long. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on his husband’s hand under the table. Hua Cheng gently turned his palm upward, intertwining their fingers, silently offering his support. At this moment, Mu Qing held in his hands the fate of their relationship’s resolution.
Someone in their small group was often busy, burdened with duties and paperwork. As a result, there were times when the remaining two would spend time together, sometimes even just the two of them. In the early days of their long journey, Xie Lian had been the glue that held them together; no meeting had ever taken place without him.
Many years had to pass before the trio could coexist without his presence. They had shed the fear of offending the prince and had come to see each other as individuals — learning something more than just weaknesses and well-known facts.
But with the emergence of new, barely understood feelings, being near the couple again became harder, and watching their happiness burst forth like a fountain became unbearable. It was as if Mu Qing had stumbled a hundred steps back, only to have ascended fifty. Unknowingly, he had once again built a wall between them, one that had only recently fallen through their shared efforts.
Such a sharp shift couldn’t go unnoticed, and the couple decided it was time to address the problem head-on. Not knowing why his feelings had changed toward them, they could only hope for one thing: that by stepping forward now, they could tighten the weakening bond and unite them as one, binding each other with feelings stronger than mere friendship.
To preserve the closeness they had and push its boundaries—rather than drive it away. To keep those walls from rising again.
The Ruoye slithered with the grace of a serpent, sneaking right under Mu Qing's nose, carefully wrapping around his wrist. Then, with its very tip, it brushed against his cheek, pulling him from his trance.
Blinking a couple of times, he shifted his dazed gaze to the ribbon — which joyfully twirled, pressed against his cheek once more, and then returned to its owner. Mu Qing looked in the same direction, quickly coming to his senses. It seemed he had been staring out the window for a long time, motionless, and the realization made his face flush.
"…Yeah, I, um... Why not"
Mu Qing lowered his gaze, hiding his eyes behind his long lashes, afraid that the mixed feelings in his dark eyes would be too easy to read. He would rather feel the edge of a blade at his throat than reveal his true emotions.
The words worked like a spell. Both men relaxed, as if shedding an imperceptible weight from their shoulders. Only then did Hua Cheng realize that, despite not needing oxygen, his lungs had granted him the ability to exhale the lump that had lodged in his throat. Truly, this insufferable little general made him feel an entire spectrum of conflicting emotions.
The rest of the evening passed in pleasant ease. Conversations about everything and nothing melted away the tension, leaving only a faint echo of awkwardness behind.
Mu Qing felt the slow warmth seep into his veins, as if his fragile being was unraveling under the weight of their warm smiles and genuine laughter — both of them unaware of the upheaval their heartfelt kindness was causing within him.
❁ 🜼 𐀔
"You weren’t alone. You had your bodyguard, the Queen, and the King by your side. But she was alone, I was alone — why is it so strange that I chose my family? The only thing I had left!"
"I was still doing most of the work, while you kept turning your noses up at any opportunity to earn money, because that kind of work wasn’t good enough for you!"
"I wanted to help! But you threw me out before I even had the chance to explain myself!"
The past is important, but it must remain frozen in time. A happy present and future can only begin when past mistakes no longer serve as chains holding you back.
The days of their countless conversations would never fade into a fleeting spark in Mu Qing’s flawless memory —conversations that had passed through pain and screams, tears and curses, longing and anger. Words cut sharper than a blade, burned hotter than fire. They had all made mistakes, they were all to blame. Their voices poured out in torrents, washing over them like waves, dragging them deep into the past. Justifications, explanations, apologies. Many years had passed since that moment; they had endured so much. What was done was done. They could fix it, they could change everything. Time turned anger into understanding, tears into forgiveness. As the night faded, so did the lingering shadows, and the room filled with clear, warm light.
❁ 🜼 𐀔
Stepping lightly across the soft green carpet of the vast meadow, Mu Qing nodded to himself, lost in thought. After a brief scan of the area, he spotted the couple atop a hill, beneath the lone cherry blossom tree. Its thick, majestic branches spread wide, adorned with an abundance of delicate pink flowers, generously surrendering their petals to the mercy of the wind. The figures in white and red blended harmoniously against the backdrop of the tree, as if they were a single entity.
Mu Qing couldn't shake the feeling that he would be an unnecessary presence there, like a fifth wheel on a cart. He could have easily used his qinggong, but the idea of drawing out his approach seemed far more appealing. Upon noticing him, the two stirred, adjusting their positions — Hua Cheng leaned back against the tree, while Xie Lian settled at his right, subtly leaving the empty space on the left open, as if inviting the God of the Southwest to take his place.
"You came,"
Xie Lian said, his voice so gentle and his smile so warm that Mu Qing instinctively recoiled in surprise — just slightly, maintaining his cold expression.
"Of course. Didn’t I say I would…?"
Mu Qing lowered himself onto the blanket with careful deliberation.
"You looked like you were about to run away,"
Hua Cheng remarked offhandedly.
"San Lang," Xie Lian cast a deceptively calm look at his husband. A silent warning flickered in his eyes. It was an odd sight — seeing him without his usual serene smile and refined politeness. A wordless exchange passed between them. In the end, Xie Lian simply pulled on his usual radiant smile, while Hua Cheng obediently swallowed whatever sharp remark had been ready to leave his lips.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes and wisely held his tongue, deciding that the argument had been cut off before it could even begin. He was in no position to defend himself. Feeling out of place and unsure of what else to say, he chose instead to take a closer look at his surroundings. He observed the landscape from his new vantage point, listening as the wind rustled through the grass and sakura blossoms, trying to recreate a melody, filling the silence with nothing but its own whispering hum.
The grass gleamed gold where the sun graced it with its warm rays, peeking shyly from behind soft clouds. The field hummed with life, an endless chorus of birdsong filling the air. Somewhere behind him, a nimble stream rushed down the slopes of towering, mighty mountains. All it took was a single glance to realize how perfect of an idea this picnic had been. Their space was filled with quiet, broken only by nature’s song. No one was in a hurry to disrupt it with idle chatter, and Mu Qing, if he was being honest, was grateful for that.
Xie Lian, observing the view for a moment as though seeing it for the first time, turned his gaze toward the approaching Mu Qing. Mu Qing was wrapped so tightly in his clothes that it seemed as if they had melded with his skin, becoming one with him. Even the steel pauldrons, which made his imposing figure seem larger, seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders, mocking him – as if saying that they would not leave their post so easily. Xie Lian felt an overwhelming urge to carefully remove his armor and loosen his clothing, to give his body freedom, to let him feel the cool air and… his thoughts dangerously approached forbidden territory. It was too soon; he should have mentally recited the Dao De Jing a thousand times. Looking at his husband, he realized that the desire was mutual.
"Mu Qing, please, help yourself,"
Xie Lian said with a smooth, light gesture, indicating the enticingly fragrant dishes and snacks. Fortunately, they were not prepared by the prince’s gentle hand. Otherwise, Mu Qing couldn’t guarantee that this meeting wouldn’t end with the loss of one of the Martial Gods. He watched as the warm brew was poured into the bowls.
The scent of oolong filled his nostrils, flowing into his lungs — sweet and soft, easing the storm of thoughts raging within him. The aroma was exquisite. Mu Qing let out a blissful sigh, wrapping his long, pale fingers around the warm ceramic walls of the chabei. He loved tea very much.
The natural hum of the world was undoubtedly a delight for the ears, but the lingering silence made them focus not on the beauty of the outside world but on the heavy tension in the air. While the two gods pondered where to begin, gently clutching their teacups, the only demon calmly decided to take the reins:
"How did your recent mission go, General?"
Hua Cheng asked casually, as if unaware of the awkwardness slowly drifting through the air, lazily opening his eye.
Mu Qing decided it was best to play along. He spoke of a strange demon that twisted the truth, planting false beliefs and emotions in the minds of its victims. It made them believe they were completely powerless and weak in the face of its might, and then, once it had broken their spirits, devoured them. With such a power, the demon could start wars, or at least force people to offer sacrifices every hour. But the demon couldn’t manipulate groups of people.
According to witnesses, if a group went into the forest, they all returned unharmed. It was clear that the demon only attacked when the number of victims didn’t exceed two. Although Mu Qing had gone hunting alone, he wasn’t just some mortal. A few feeble attempts to manipulate him had only momentarily thrown him off balance — killing that demon had been easier than swatting a fly.
The general had hoped for a tougher, more thrilling battle, or at least some resistance. Because the moment the little demon realized its powers didn’t work and its hiding place was exposed, it trembled before Mu Qing like a reed in the wind.
Xie Lian noted that, had the demon been of a higher rank, they would have undoubtedly faced severe losses and consequences.
Xie Lian hesitated for a long time before finally voicing his suggestion, unsure of the general's reaction.
By the time most of the food had been consumed, leaving only memories and the lingering taste on their tongues, and the silk cover had shrunk by half, he finally made up his mind. Clearing his throat slightly into his fist, he said:
"Mu Qing, it’s been so long since I’ve heard you play, those magical sounds, I’ve almost forgotten how sweet they were. Don’t you want to…?"
Xie Lian slowly lifted his eyelids, as if burdened by the weight of his words, his golden eyes locking onto the surprised, stretched face before him. He immediately raised his arms in a protective gesture, as if to say, "I’m not insisting! I wouldn’t dare ask for more! Just…" The words that were about to follow hung on the tip of the former prince’s tongue, pressed into a thin line.
Hua Cheng lazily took up the role of a spectator.
The words, like sunbeams breaking through clouds, cleared the fog in his mind. Memories of clear, ringing melodies, flowing against the backdrop of the quiet breaths of two youths and the fluttering of young leaves, resurfaced from the depths of his memory. Engulfed in the duties of a servant, he had rarely played for the former prince — so rarely that he could count the times on one hand. The prince had often praised Mu Qing’s mastery of the erhu, but his skin, as white as fresh snow, now seemed to blush with a faint pink powder. There was something about the praise, spoken in the past and the present, that made Mu Qing think that the two carried different nuances.
From then on, Mu Qing seldom played musical instruments — unless it was on a mission where music became a weapon rather than an art. And 'seldom' was an understatement; many of his subordinates had never even heard their general play. Only a few had the honor of being his students in music, where Mu Qing took on the role of teacher.
But playing for someone personally, not to calm souls, resolve grievances, banish evil, or teach, but simply to soothe their ear, quiet their thoughts, or, conversely, to stir their hearts and set their blood on fire — he hadn’t done that in a long time. He had never been particularly proud of his musical skills; after all, he had learned not for himself. Yet even after his ascension, he could not entirely forget the light weight of the erhu resting against his hip or the bow lying between his slender fingers.
Xie Lian and Hua Cheng watched as Mu Qing stood frozen, as if carved from marble, carefully considering his next move. Despite the abilities possessed by the exalted General Xuan Zhen and the persona he projected in public, within him lay a heart full of feeling. Brush against its surface, and a crack might form.
Reaching into his qiankun pouch, Mu Qing pinched the head of the instrument and pulled it out unhurriedly, deliberately slow, as if still uncertain of his decision. Resting the body of the erhu against his thigh, his slender fingers carefully wrapped around its neck, not forgetting the strings, while his right hand reached for the bow, preparing for the task ahead. Tuning the instrument, its owner took a moment to tune himself as well. He cautiously lifted his lashes and gazed into the distance. Taking a deep breath in and out, he finally closed his eyes. With a mask of calm concentration on his face, he let the first note flow.
The rustling of grass and leaves, the songs of birds and wind, all seemed to quiet down for this moment, offering only the faintest accompaniment to the deft fingers skillfully plucking the delicate strings. The melody flowed like a stream, spilling into a sea, stretching into an ocean — gradually filling the space and compelling its listeners to hold their breath, lost in its purity. Unconsciously, Xie Lian leaned forward, while Hua Cheng could no longer lounge idly against the tree — his eye had already fixed itself on the figure beside him, absorbing every note.
The instrument, its sound guided by an external hand, wove a tale whispered to it by its skilled composer and master. The story began with deep, heavy notes, as if the erhu itself were confessing the burdens hidden within a heart aching in torment. Its timbre was steeped in sorrow and melancholy, emphasizing suffering and the scars of a past marred by grief.
Xie Lian and Hua Cheng watched as a faint smile touched those thin lips, captivating no less than the pure notes and breathtaking scenery.
The melodies wove together a blend of different stories, harmonizing joy and sorrow in a single performance.
Right on cue, the wind carried a few delicate petals from the slender branches, sweeping them past the strands of a long fringe and a high ponytail, never letting them catch.
The music had so completely drawn in its listeners that only when the final notes faded — soft as a whisper — did both companions seem to awaken from a dream.
Mu Qing slowly opened his eyes, carefully returning the instrument to where he had taken it from, then glanced at the frozen expressions before him. For some reason, a wave of awkwardness and embarrassment crashed over him, making not only his ears and cheeks flush but even his neck. And along with it came a surge of irritation that, somehow, forced its way into his mind. Turning his head away, he clenched his fists atop his bent knees, his brows drawing together.
Xie Lian, snapping out of his daze just in time, immediately showered him with gratitude, vividly painting his impressions:
"Ah, that was magnificent, Mu Qing! Your skill is beyond praise! It was so moving —you draw emotions from every note as if they have a life of their own! I’m certain that any master of the craft would call this the pinnacle of musical artistry! Your performance made my heart tremble and my soul journey through stories, as if I had lived through every moment myself!"
All the while, Xie Lian gestured animatedly, nearly bouncing in place. Hua Cheng gently touched his husband's knee. At that, Xie Lian blinked rapidly, then gave an awkward cough before finally falling silent.
Xie Lian’s words crashed over Mu Qing like a waterfall, drenching him in an overwhelming tide of awkward bewilderment. He had never imagined his playing would provoke such a reaction. The praise felt exaggerated — he had played casually, without much effort, like an amateur, never dedicating his life to the craft. Yet, Xie Lian’s words rang with sincerity. Of course, he was the prince of Xianle; he wouldn’t lie about something like this. Mu Qing had no idea how to respond to such an outpouring. He still wasn’t used to hearing kind words directed at him. Seeking escape, he cast a glance at the demon.
Hua Cheng believed his husband had been overly sentimental in his praise, but he couldn’t deny that Mu Qing’s performance had been captivating — intoxicating, even, enough to stir the hearts of even the most level-headed listeners. Sensing the gaze on him, Hua Cheng turned to the nervous culprit of the evening’s spectacle and smirked.
"The general knows how to surprise. I’ll admit — I’m impressed."
Mu Qing would have preferred anything —any words that might distract him from the awkwardness creeping up his spine — but the flush on his face only deepened, spreading to his ears. Still, no force in the heavens could make him admit that, with just a few simple remarks, the former prince and the Crimson Rain had managed to ease the weight pressing down on his shoulders, subtly brushing away the tension that had settled over him like a landslide after his performance.
It didn’t last long. The fatal blow came in the form of a pale hand, nails painted black, that gently plucked a stray pink petal from his hair. For some reason, the gesture felt unbearably intimate. The moment the hand retreated from his space, Mu Qing turned away, as if burned. His heart pounded, echoing in his ears.
Mu Qing didn’t even have the chance to snap back at the praise as he normally would — his voice abandoned him completely, along with the last shred of his composure. Only then did he begin to suspect that perhaps this was something more than just flattering words and a friendly gathering. But he refused to let the thought take root, crushing it before it could sprout.
Xie Lian’s fingers brushed gently over his husband's knee, a silent plea not to tease their companion any further. But at the very least, they understood — somewhere between the walls and the distance, they had managed to take a step closer.
A satisfied hum sounded beside him. Raising his gaze, Mu Qing met a playful squint and a wide smirk. Slowly, he bit the inside of his lip, lowering his eyes before he could notice the curious glances fixed on him.
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian called softly, urging him to look up. When he did, he was met with the prince’s gentle, understanding gaze — and for the second time that evening, he forgot how to breathe. No words were needed; the emotions reflected in those golden eyes spoke for themselves.
Before he could react, a cold hand settled on his shoulder—only to pull him sideways without warning. Mu Qing toppled over, his head landing against a firm shoulder, its coolness seeping through the fabric and soothing the heat burning his face.
A strong yet gentle hand rested on the back of his own, a thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. Mu Qing shifted his wrist slightly, just enough to intertwine their fingers. The moment he did, the crown prince squeezed his hand in return. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Mu Qing buried his face in the curve of the ghost’s neck. Let him endure it, since he was the one who let Mu Qing get this close — but all he heard in response was a quiet, low chuckle.
Well… it would take time to get used to. But he'd manage.
Ah, Feng Xin, that bastard, had played along.