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Feng Xin flicked his wrist, a swish of blood splattering onto the matted ground as he swung his sword viciously, flicking the ichor that clung to the silver blade. Sheathing Hong Jing, he turned to his companion, elegant robes ruffled and silver guan slightly tilted after the dregs of battle.
Silver eyes found Feng Xin’s, a cold, icy fury laced within them, still filled with the fervor of battle. A splatter of crimson marred an alabaster face, reminiscent of red blossoms strewn across a blanket of snow. Ebony tresses framed that austere face, a stray lock falling loose from the high ponytail Feng Xin’s companion normally kept it in. Silver armor glinted in the fading sunlight, while black and red robes rippled as the man made his way over to Feng Xin.
Feng Xin could feel those frosty eyes scrutinize him, scanning the dents in his armor, the tears in his robes, the slight stain of scarlet on his wheat colored skin.
“General,” Feng Xin greeted as he approached Mu Qing. “You look a little worse for wear.” Feng Xin reached over to straighten the guan atop his head.
Mu Qing scowled and swatted his hand away, vexed. “And you smell like shit.”
Feng Xin snorted. “You think you smell any better? After a day of scouring the mountain and fighting malevolent beasts? Trust me, we both are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Speak for yourself, General.” Mu Qing brushed past him, his disheveled ponytail swaying back and forth. His shadow streaked across the frozen earth, darkness claiming the mountainside as the sun descended in the west, flooding the sky with deep orange and lazy periwinkle that was quickly eaten by the encroaching bleakness of murky storm clouds. Feng Xin shivered, the chill of the oncoming snowstorm already beginning to fester in his bones.
Feng Xin had always hated the cold, preferring the warmth of summer and cozy heat of fires. Such preferences didn’t bode well for him being a military general of a northern nation. He’d spent too many seasons trekking through the harsh mountains or wading through desolate plains covered in snow. He’d endured his fair share of blizzards, hating how the chill burrowed deep into his muscles, his normally hot blood not standing a chance against the onslaught of nature.
“Fuck,” He cursed, scurrying after Mu Qing and grabbing his fur lined cloak he’d slung over a tree branch at the start of the battle. “Blizzards coming.”
“Then we better hurry back,” Mu Qing replied calmly as he fastened the snaps of his furs around his shoulders. Feng Xin glowered; of course the resident Ice General wouldn’t have any qualms mucking his way through a blizzard - Feng Xin was certain Mu Qing’s blood was made of frost, his bones saturated with a deep permafrost that turned his heart black.
Feng Xin said nothing, just adjusted the bow upon his back and hurriedly began the jaunt down the mountain. They hadn’t made it half way down the craggy mountain before the storm struck, blustery winds howling past them and ringing in their ears like the shrieks of banshees.
The snow hit soon after, icy shards pelting down in an unrelenting barrage until the frozen earth was covered in a dense layer of snow.
“Fuck,” Feng Xin grumbled as he squinted ahead into the gloom. Although Mu Qing was only a few paces ahead of him, Feng Xin could barely make him out. Cursing, Feng Xin darted forward and latched onto Mu Qing’s shoulder, bringing the other man to an abrupt stop.
“This is fucking insane!” Feng Xin shouted in an attempt to be heard over the wind. “We’ve barely moved and the storm’s only going to get worse!”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes, yet Feng Xin could see Mu Qing realized the severity of the storm. Night had descended and they were deep in mountain territory - even if they did make it to the base of this mountain, they’d still have to make it out of the northern range and then to the nearest town, all while the storm worsened.
“There isn’t any place nearby to take shelter,” Mu Qing replied. “We have to keep going.”
Feng Xin shook his head, recalling a tidbit of information from his youth. “No. If we can make it to the juncture between this mountain and the next, my uncle has a cabin there. It’s fortified. Protected and maintained with talismans.”
Mu Qing frowned, a protest upon his jaded lips, but before he could utter his grievances, a ululating wind assaulted them, nearly bowling both of them over as if they were measly blades of grass rather than hardened warriors.
“Fine!” Mu Qing hissed. “Will you be able to find it?”
While visibility was poor, Feng Xin had a sharp sense of direction. Not to mention he’d spent his youth in these mountains training with his cousins under his uncle's stern tutelage. The Feng Clan boasted a long lineage of warriors, using the auspicious grounds of the Yujun Mountain range to train each generation into brave and steadfast warriors. Feng Xin was certain he could navigate these mountains blindfolded.
Time to test that theory.
“Stay close,” Feng Xin said before he redirected, Mu Qing biting at his heels. While it was the barest of touches - Feng Xin felt the ginger tug on his fur-lined cloak, knew spindly fingers had wound their way through the thick material to keep them from being separated. Feng Xin made no comment, focused on escaping the clutches of this storm.
After what felt like hours, the soft glow of a lantern pierced through the darkness of night. It was magically enchanted, sparking to life to lead any wayward Feng to a safe refuge. Feng Xin’s eyes locked onto that target with the precision of an archer, leading both him and Mu Qing to safety.
By the time he kicked open the door, Feng Xin felt as if his flesh had morphed from something organic into a frozen icicle. He slammed the door behind Mu Qing, and sank against the wall, shivering violently.
“Hey,” Frigid hands ensnared his face, sending another shudder through his freezing body. “You’re ok, Feng Xin. You’re the one with fire in your veins. You can handle a little cold, you big baby.”
“F-fuck o-ff…” He stuttered, shivering like an autumn leaf in the midst of a tornado. “Easy f-for you t-to say, you icy b-bastard.”
Mu Qing chuckled, but a glimmer of worry flickered in his glacial eyes. “Are there heating talismans somewhere? Or a hearth…” It was then Mu Qing glanced around, his expression widening as he took in the cabin. Feng Xin already knew what the prickly asshole was going to say, so all he did was snort derisively when Mu Qing muttered, “You call this a cabin?”
It was a fair statement. The place was far from a quaint, little log cabin that made up many of the northern villages. It was still cozy and homey, but had enough opulence and exuberance that anyone could tell this belonged to a lord. Feng Xin’s uncle had never been known for his frugality.
“There’s an e-enclosed hot spring in the b-back room. It’s infused with s-spiritual energy so it will heal most physical ailments.” Feng Xin’s teeth chattered. Albeit he was out of the yowling wind, the chill had settled too deep - not even his fiery core could expel the aching cold that had infested him.
“Impressive,” Mu Qing mused as he crouched beside Feng Xin and slung Feng Xin’s arm over his shoulder. “Although I shouldn’t expect anything less from such a profligate clan as the Fengs.”
Mu Qing dragged Feng Xin to his feet and hastily made for the back room. Feng Xin dutifully hobbled along, his breath leaving him in puffy clouds laced with frost. Fuck - the fight against the demonic beasts must have drained him more than he thought, leaving his core vulnerable to the swarming snowstorm. He could normally put up a decent barrier against the cold, his fire sustaining him, but once the ice ensconced itself within his blood, there was almost no hope of fighting back. It slowly crept through him, expunging his fire and subsuming his heat.
He was the opposite of Mu Qing, who relished in the cold - granted even he had his limits of how much ice he could handle before it affected his mortal flesh. They weren’t gods. Even if their cultivation elevated them beyond most mortal means, they still bled red. Nature would one day feast upon their bones.
Sliding open the door to the hot spring, enchanted scones sprung to life, casting the room in dim light. The wooden floorboards spanned across the room, leaving a closed circle at the center where an oval body of water awaited. Upon the adjacent wall hung white robes, towels, and a shelf of jars containing various soaps and oils. Across from them, the wall was made up entirely of glass, revealing the white chaos that still raged outside.
Mu Qing roughly began to take off Feng Xin’s cloak and armor, treating the garments and metal much more kindly as he folded and neatly set them down on the floor. “Fucker,” Feng Xin hissed as Mu Qing tugged at his hair ribbon, yanking on a stand of hair in the process.
“Rather I just push you into the water?” Mu Qing arched a thin eyebrow.
“And have my uncle behead me?” Feng Xin inhaled the humid air, quivering like a taut bowstring as Mu Qing peeled away layer after layer of his robes. “He s-spent a fortune on this.”
“I can tell,” Mu Qing stated neutrally, continuing his task without another word until Feng Xin was clad in his undergarments: a thin navy robe with orange edging. “I believe you can handle the rest,” Mu Qing drolled, giving Feng Xin a little push towards the hot spring.
“Yeah, yeah,” Feng Xin muttered as he stumbled forward, the hot air helping chase away some of the surface level chill. He quickly shed his remaining clothes, letting them fall to the ground haphazardly. He sank into the water, sighing in relief as the liquid heat swallowed him.
“You!”
Feng Xin exhaled, sinking against the carved, polished stone as the water lapped at his chin. “It’s just clothes, Mu Qing.”
Mu Qing huffed, not appeased. “You sloppy mutt. Can’t even pick up after yourself. These are nice robes! You can’t just toss them aside like cheap linen.”
“Good thing I have you to keep me in line,” Feng Xin mumbled, too absorbed in the healing effects of the hot spring to care about the tantrum Mu Qing was about to unleash on him.
“I’m not your servant!” Mu Qing exclaimed. “The audacity you have, you impetuous, bumptious fool-”
“Qing-er,” Feng Xin sighed, cutting him off. “Will you shut the fuck up and join me?”
Mu Qing humphed indignantly, but he didn’t say another word. Feng Xin closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the water as he listened to Mu Qing undress, then the soft pad of his feet on the floorboards. He heard the soft clink of glass and swish of fabric as Mu Qing rummaged around the shelves on the opposite wall, likely appraising his uncle's collection of bathroom essentials.
Inhaling deeply, Feng Xin sank completely under the water, letting the nurturing springs enclose him in its supple warmth. He remembered sitting in this spring many times in his youth - by himself, with his uncle, or his cousins. After a long day of intense training he’d recover in this spring, only to go out the following day and batter his body all over.
He hadn’t been back in years, not since he’d joined the imperial army and achieved the rank of General. He’d been too consumed with the mendacious politics of court, waging battle, training fresh soldiers, and dealing with the headache of his noble heritage.
It felt nice to revisit this place, so far removed from everything else in the empire. Being a general, he rarely got a day off, and when he did he normally didn’t leave his estate, preferring to stay tangled in an oasis of silken sheets or lazing about his private gardens. Outside of the seclusion of his home, there were malicious nobles to deal with, a demanding emperor, rampant gossip, and the judgmental eyes of thousands… not that Feng Xin had ever given a fuck about other’s opinions. However his reputation could afford such callous regard. Mu Qing could not.
Feng Xin surfaced, gasping for air as he swiped wet hair from his face. By now, Mu Qing had joined him, his naked form gracefully slinking into the water. His expression was pinched as he sat on the carved bench, his body slowly adjusting to the drastic change in temperature.
“You ok?” Feng Xin asked as he swam over to Mu Qing, his hands reaching out to massage the tense muscles along Mu Qing’s shoulder.
“Fine,” Mu Qing answered. “Not all of us have the blood of the Phoenix in them and can handle blistering heat.”
Feng Xin snorted, dragging Mu Qing close to him so he was able to more thoroughly massage the kinks from the General’s tight muscles. “It’s not even that hot. Just give it a second for your ice-infused blood to warm up.”
Mu Qing hummed in response, gradually melting against Feng Xin as he worked, diligent in his task.
As the beautiful man leaned against Feng Xin, Feng Xin couldn’t help but admire him - admire the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the rosy hue flushing his typically jade white skin, the mane of obsidian hair piled atop his head in a hastily tied topknot. Feng Xin could feel Mu Qing’s toned and battle-hardened body pressed against his, all lean muscle and svelte lines.
He was the epitome of beauty.
So gorgeous he rivaled the pulchritude of the gods.
But he was still as deadly as the Dragon blood that ran in his veins - as lethal as the massive saber he hauled into battle.
Centuries ago, the northern lands had been ruled by the Dragon Clan, a ferocious and severe clan of cultivators that based their cultivation on ice. Eventually their kingdom had fallen to the pursuits of the Phoenix Clan, their lands usurped and their people enslaved. Not many with Dragon blood had survived to present day, and those that did were ostracized and would spend their lives as slaves or nomads - unwanted and reviled everywhere they went. Mu Qing had been no exception, looked down upon because of the frost in his veins, condemned to a life of servitude…
Until Feng Xin’s very own father gave Mu Qing a choice. And while Feng Xin’s father likely couldn’t foresee the repercussions his decision would lead to, Feng Xin was infinitely grateful.
Feng Xin’s father, a military General, had an inherent knack for sensing those with strong qi. He’d sensed it in Mu Qing and had petitioned for the slave boy to train under him - to let such talent go to waste because of his blood - Feng Xin’s father couldn’t stand for such ridiculous rhetoric.
And who was going to refuse General Feng? Phoenix blood ran strong within the Fengs, leading to generations of renowned warriors and cultivators - one did not easily oppose the Feng lineage, even the emperor.
Besides, no matter what his task, Mu Qing was still a slave - whether he mended torn clothes, swept palace floors, or defended borders made no difference to the nobility.
The issue arose when Mu Qing met Feng Xin and the disaster that followed.
“Husband,” Mu Qing muttered past peony pink lips.
“Hm?” Feng Xin dipped his head, nuzzling the crook between Mu Qing’s neck and shoulder. His hands languorously wrapped around Mu Qing’s torso, large palms spread over Mu Qing’s sternum - over the inky mark that had manifested there over a decade ago. “Feel better?”
Mu Qing’s lips quirked, eyes fluttering open lazily. He brought his hand up and placed it over Feng Xin’s, his nimble fingers much more slender than Feng Xin’s. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? As I recall, you were a stuttering ice-cube a few minutes ago.”
Feng Xin nudged Mu Qing playfully. “With you in my arms, how could I not be ok?” Mu Qing elbowed him in response, and Feng Xin kissed the side of Mu Qing’s neck, smiling fondly. The hot spring truly was miraculous, taming the cold that had infected Feng Xin in mere minutes. For all Feng Xin felt now was a resounding warmth percolating throughout his body.
Mu Qing sighed, drawing Feng Xin’s attention as he reached back to press his hand to the side of Feng Xin’s head, fingers light - gentle. “Your thoughts are so loud,” Mu Qing said, clearly noticing Feng Xin had been lost in thought prior. “For once.”
Feng Xin bit the soft skin at the base of Mu Qing’s neck, earning him a sharp jab to the ribs. Feng Xin chucked, mirth bubbling up his throat and tingling down his limbs, saturating him in a twinkling effervescence.
“You should speak more rapturously of your husband,” Feng Xin teasingly reprimanded, giddy and filled with light laughter. “Of your soulmate.” Feng Xin’s fingers curled over the mark on Mu Qing’s chest - the mark that matched the one on Feng Xin’s chest exactly - line for line.
Their Soul Mark.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes and turned around, his hands coming up to comb through Feng Xin’s wet locks. “Perhaps if my husband did anything noteworthy of praise, it would fall from my lips much easier.”
Feng Xin burst out into boisterous laughter, causing Mu Qing to scowl. He poked Feng Xin in the cheek, which did nothing to ebb the deep laughs spilling from Feng Xin’s mouth. “Don’t act like it’s such a rare event,” Mu Qing sulked, tone souring. “Turn around.”
Feng Xin complied, too consumed with laughter to put up a fuss. He folded his legs and sat with his back to Mu Qing, waiting patiently until the smell of lilacs and lavender wafted through the air. A moment later Mu Qing’s deft fingers began to slide against Feng Xin’s scalp, washing away the dirt and grime of battle. A soft, stuttered noise reverberated in Feng Xin’s throat at the sensation, his eyes closing as Mu Qing continued his ministrations.
“Such a ridiculous, unscrupulous man,” Mu Qing murmured, a playful lilt to his voice.
“Hm,” Feng Xin agreed. “I must be - I married you.”
A small splash sounded, followed by the barrage of a tiny wave that licked up Feng Xin’s throat and chin, a few droplets splattered onto his face.
“Hush, your voice is vexing,” Mu Qing chided, nails scraping against Feng Xin’s scalp.
All fight left Feng Xin as he felt Mu Qing’s fingers massage his hair, turning him into a pliant puddle as he sank deeper into the water, whisked away on floral scents and the sweet doting of his beloved.
Indeed - Feng Xin had been called unscrupulous - along with a litany of other phrases and curses when he’d declared that Mu Qing was his soulmate and he would take him as his husband.
The uproar had rattled the entire nation of Xianle, traveling beyond the capitol streets and infiltrating even the shoddiest of villages: Feng Xin - the General’s son and heir, blood of the Phoenix - had pledged himself wholeheartedly to a slave… not just a slave, but someone from the Dragon bloodline.
While plenty of people - his own family included - had tried to dissuade Feng Xin, he was adamant. Mu Qing was his soulmate. He would not betray that bond. And while hesitant at first, his mother and father had supported him.
It had started in his youth - his tumultuous relationship with Mu Qing. They had clashed like oil and water, bickering like troublesome urchins and far too quick to throw fists. Feng Xin’s father had his work cut out for him training the two of them. For as frequently as Feng Xin and Mu Qing collided in a cataclysmic fury, they were always seen together, as if stuck together like two melted pieces of caramel that had bubbled and oozed beneath the sweltering sun.
Looking back, Feng Xin was sure it was the Red String of Fate that had tied them so intricately and irrevocably together. While Mu Qing grated on Feng Xin’s nerves, he was drawn to the aloof boy, unable to break free, destined to orbit this salient moon.
Beyond that, they worked well together - even when lambasting the other with sharp tongues and foul words, they were an evenly matched team, synchronized and intrinsically knowing the other’s movements. Together they were nigh unstoppable, leaving others in the dust and exalting them to the highest reaches of the military. Even Mu Qing was able to leave behind the rank of a common soldier, climbing the ranks with his impressive skill… and the occasional word of recommendation from Feng Xin’s father.
Then, one night, everything changed - or perhaps it had gone the way it was always meant to go.
They were fresh out of the military academy, still young and eager to prove themselves. They’d stayed late at the training grounds, Mu Qing going over his sword-work while Feng Xin did target practice with his bow. Before long, they’d delved into another one of their arguments, the bitter words of the past segueing into something teasing. Somehow they still managed to come to physical blows, always so quick to get their hands on the other. Fists and kicks were exchanged until they were grappling on the ground.
It was then Feng Xin felt it - a sharp snap in his chest, like an arrow being released inside him, puncturing the feeble muscle of his heart until a bloom of red spread over his chest, weaving into thin lines until a beautiful mark blazed across his sternum, burning and freezing at the same time.
He’d known at once it was the Soul Mark reacting to the proximity of his soulmate. It was common knowledge that once an individual reached adulthood, there was a possibility of forming a Soul Mark when their soulmate was nearby. It happened quite regularly; many fortuitous pairings were between those of soulmates.
However, not once had Feng Xin anticipated the cantankerous asshole pinned beneath him would be his soulmate.
Yet as he gazed into lambent eyes, he was inexplicably aware of how right it felt. As if the answer had been before him for years and he only just noticed now, when he felt the throb in his chest confirm the magnetic pull his body had known from the start.
There was no other.
This was it for Feng Xin.
He kissed Mu Qing - or maybe Mu Qing kissed him - it was all a bit of a blur as sharp punches turned to grasping hands, as snappy kicks turned to legs coiled around a waist, and as disparaging words turned to devouring lips.
He pledged himself to Mu Qing that night.
Not once had he looked back.
Despite the condemnation, the vitriol, the scathing remarks. Despite all the offers he’d been given to sever his bond with Mu Qing. Despite all the threats and slander to his name.
He married Mu Qing regardless.
He didn’t give a fuck what everyone else thought.
Mu Qing was his. He belonged to Mu Qing. He could never reject such a sacred bond - forsake the trust the two of them had painstakingly built over the years.
So he ignored all the nobles, family, and friends who tried to sway him. Who spit Mu Qing’s name, accusing him of worming his way into a lord’s bed to integrate himself into the upper echelons.
Those nobles had learned quickly the extent of Feng Xin’s explosive anger. Eventually, Feng Xin had worked out a peaceful agreement with the Emperor, saving his family some face, and the scandal was quickly swept away, his family unable to bear such a stain on their immaculate reputation.
Personally, Feng Xin thought they could all go fuck themselves.
It never mattered to him that Mu Qing was of the Dragon Clan, nor that he had been a slave. Mu Qing had worked hard and proven himself twice over. He was a better warrior than most soldiers, a better general than most nobles.
“Lean your head back.” Mu Qing’s voice interrupted Feng Xin’s recollection.
Feng Xin did as instructed, humming in contentment as Mu Qing washed the shampoo from his hair, the warm water lapping at Feng Xin’s chiseled cheekbones. Nails soothingly raked over his skull, sending a delightful shiver down Feng Xin’s spine at his husband’s dedicated tending.
“A-Xin best be careful; too much thinking isn’t good for his constitution,” Mu Qing teased.
“Fuck off,” Feng Xin replied, but there was no bite to his words.
A pause. Then Mu Qing’s voice softened. “Does something trouble you?”
“Nah,” Feng Xin reassured. “Just thinking about when we got married.”
Mu Qing snorted. “You mean when we absconded in the middle of the night and eloped?”
“We had my parents’ blessing,” Feng Xin defended, “And your mother’s.”
“And an entire city’s worth of contempt and outrage,” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Hardly an auspicious start to a marriage.”
Feng Xin cracked his eyes open, grinning as he was greeted by the radiant visage of his husband, the firelight making his alabaster skin shimmer and the drops of water that slipped down his neck sparkled with a coruscating amber glow. “Yet here we are,” Feng Xin countered. “Almost a decade and a half later. Besides, no one else’s approval actually mattered.”
Mu Qing met his gaze, silver pools ensnaring Feng Xin. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors and Mu Qing had bewitched him - body, mind, soul. Yet they didn’t know that Feng Xin gave all of it willingly to Mu Qing - everything was his for the taking. Ice, dragon, slave - all of it paled in the fiery depths of Feng Xin’s ardent love. He’d burn away the ice with fire, tame the dragon on wings of flame, and crush shackles with the metal of his knuckles.
“You can sit back up,” Mu Qing finally spoke, breaking the trance Feng Xin was in. “I need to put oil in your hair.” Feng Xin obliged and sat up. Mu Qing’s fingers once more wove their way into Feng Xin’s locks, coating them in a light layer of oil. When finished he coiled Feng Xin’s hair up in a bun that he set carefully on the apex of Feng Xin’s head. “Leave it for a few minutes then you can wash it out.”
Feng Xin arched a brow, giving Mu Qing a coy smile. “My husband won’t do it for me?”
Mu Qing splashed him. “Don’t be obnoxious.” Sighing, Mu Qing gingerly trailed his fingers over Feng Xin’s shoulders, fingerpads tracing the multitude of scars on Feng Xin’s back. “I remember this one,” Mu Qing whispered, index finger running along a particularly gruesome scar that cut across Feng Xin’s right shoulder blade.
“Don’t you remember them all?” Feng Xin mused.
Mu Qing snorted, but his voice was soft when he replied, “The ones where you almost bled out leave a bigger imprint.”
Feng Xin turned, brows furrowed as he faced the swordsman, eyes raking over the nasty scar marring Mu Qing’s front, slicing from his shoulder to his hip. The scar had faded, but it was still there - a phantom that haunted Feng Xin on extra cold mornings and upon fields of red spider lilies.
“You don’t think it’s the same for me?” Feng Xin asked, his hand pressing against Mu Qing’s ribs, feeling the taut skin underneath, a blemish on his snowy flesh.
They stared at each other for a moment before Mu Qing walked away, going to the center of the spring. He took his hair out of its bun and let it fall down his back like an inky waterfall. “It’s our job as generals. No use getting sentimental over it.”
Feng Xin furrowed his brows, glaring a hole in the back of his husband’s head. Who the fuck was the one who brought it up to begin with? Fucker.
“You want help?” Feng Xin asked. “With your hair?”
Mu Qing scoffed. “I’d prefer not to have a rat’s nest on my head at the end.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Feng Xin glowered.
“Exactly that.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “You have all that hair and every day you slap it up in a messy topknot.”
“It’s not like I’m a fucking court lady that needs to look prim and proper everyday,” Feng Xin defended. “I’m a General. I don’t need to care about my hair.”
Mu Qing grimaced. “So you admit you’re a lurden.”
“When the fuck did I say that?” Feng Xin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just because I’m not as meticulous about my appearance as you are doesn’t mean I’m some uncouth heathen.”
“Could have fooled me,” came a barely muttered response.
“I heard that, asshole.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Feng Xin shook his head, but laughed lightly. They’d known each other for over two decades and not a day went by that they didn’t bicker and grate on each other’s nerves. It was a special talent the two of them had developed - able to push and prod the other like no one else.
Standing from his perch on the stone bench, Feng Xin joined his husband in the middle of the pool, reaching for his ebony tresses. The sudden sensation made Mu Qing recoil, but he quickly relaxed, letting Feng Xin take over combing through his long hair.
“You don’t have to,” Mu Qing replied haughtily. “I can manage myself.”
“I know,” Feng Xin replied, planting a chaste kiss on Mu Qing’s bare shoulder. “I want to. Qing-er takes such good care of me. Let me take care of him.”
The tension in Mu Qing’s shoulders ebbed at Feng Xin’s words, the hardened barrier he surrounded himself in slowly falling away under Feng Xin’s persistent affections. “Be gentle. Don’t manhandle my hair like you do yours.”
“Of course,” Feng Xin replied sweetly, kissing Mu Qing’s neck. “I cherish all of you.”
“Sap,” Mu Qing replied, the eye roll evident in the tone of his voice.
Feng Xin merely smiled, heart full and body feeling content as his aches and pains were eroded away within the healing springs. Diligently - reverently - he began to tend to his husband’s lovely hair, combing through it with gentle hands until the tangles had been absolved. He let Mu Qing wash his hair, but once it was rinsed, he gave Mu Qing’s hair the same treatment and lathered it in a thin sheen of oil.
When done, he leaned in to press a small kiss to the nape of Mu Qing’s neck. “See, I managed.”
“It was passable,” Mu Qing clipped, but there was a twinkle to his eyes.
“You fucking enjoyed it, you ass.” Feng Xin poked Mu Qing in the ribs and snickered at his answering scowl.
“I’m going to suffocate you in your sleep,” Mu Qing hissed.
“I’d love to see you try,” Feng Xin grinned.
Mu Qing arched a thin eyebrow. “Careful what you wish for, A-Xin.”
“It’s been how many years, Qing-er?” Feng Xin asked. “So many threats of suffocating me, but I’m still breathing.”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “I’m lulling you into a false sense of security.”
“Clearly.”
Once their injuries were fully healed, they washed the oil from their hair and applied a lighter, smoother liquid to their hair before leaving the spring.
Wrapped in plush cotton robes, they left the bathing room and meandered into the main part of the cabin. Feng Xin quickly started a fire in the hearth and Mu Qing busied himself in the kitchen. It wasn’t long before they had piping hot mugs of tea in front of them while a black pot sat over the fire. They’d changed out of the plain cotton robes and donned more comfortable silk ones.
Feng Xin sipped his tea - something light and citrusy. He wasn’t a connoisseur of tea like Mu Qing, so he couldn’t name all the flavors and undertones, but it was pleasant. Perhaps a little weak for Feng Xin’s tastes, but he could see it being something his uncle would drink.
“Come here,” Mu Qing gestured to Feng Xin. The lithe man was nestled in the crook of the couch, a blue silk robe on with silver trim. His damp black hair rolled over his shoulders and onto the arm of the couch, the ends spilling out like black tendrils.
Feng Xin gave him a puzzled look, but shuffled over to Mu Qing. “What?”
“Turn around,” Mu Qing instructed, his fingers already threading through Feng Xin’s hair. “I’m going to braid your hair before you ruin all my hard work.”
Feng Xin huffed. “I’m not sure how you think I’m going to mess my hair up by just leaving it be.”
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “You have a talent, A-Xin. A very unique talent.” His nails dragged across Feng Xin’s scalp and he couldn’t help but let out a low groan, a delightful shiver running down his spine.
“My hair is fucking fine,” Feng Xin husked out as he turned to putty in his husband’s knowing hands, able to draw out pain and pleasure with practiced ease.
Mu Qing hummed, sectioning his hair into three sections before he meticulously began to plait them together, his motions smooth and gentle, weaving Feng Xin’s hair together as if it was spider’s silk - liable to break at the slightest disturbance. As he worked, Mu Qing began to hum softly, a quaint melody that floated in the air, spiraling through the steam coming off of the tea and the faint smell of congee. Feng Xin felt so content he gradually leaned back, eyes closing until his back slumped against Mu Qing’s front, head laying on his husband’s shoulder.
Mu Qing continued to work, focused on his task. When he reached the end he tied it off with Feng Xin’s gold ribbon and slung the braid over Feng Xin’s torso. “Done,” He whispered into Feng Xin’s ear and placed a light kiss on Feng Xin’s cheekbone.
Feng Xin gave a perfunctory grunt, too tired and comfortable to give more of an acknowledgment. Mu Qing gave a pleased laugh, then moved onto his own hair, plaiting his gorgeous hair into a matching braid. Once done, he wrapped his arms around Feng Xin and held him close, the strength of a warrior in those arms, yet Feng Xin only felt a tender love in how reverently he held him.
Love for his husband thrummed in his veins, a tight pang in his heart that radiated outwards, burning through the mark on his chest. His body felt light and airy, as if he and Mu Qing existed in some liminal space, far away from the stressful nature of their job and the flippant judgment of scornful nobles. It felt nice to be away from it all, to just exist the two of them in this peaceful, transient abode.
This was why on rare days off they rarely left their estate, wishing to exist together without the condemnation of all those who didn’t understand what they had - who opposed their love. Feng Xin had no use for such opinions; all he wanted to do when he had a free day was to spend it loving his husband and being loved on by his husband.
Although the disdain and opposition had died down over the years.
“The congee will be done soon,” Mu Qing’s voice chimed, as lovely as a bell.
“Hm. Good,” Feng Xin muttered, only half awake.
Mu Qing snorted. “That means I’m going to have to get up to take it off the fire.”
Feng Xin groaned, nose scrunching up in consternation. “No,” He grumbled and rolled in Mu Qing’s arms to nuzzle deeper into the warmth of his husband, arms winding around his lean frame.
Mu Qing sighed, exasperated. “Don’t act childish, A-Xin. I’ll be right back.” He patted Feng Xin’s head, trying to placate him, but Feng Xin didn’t budge, arms tightening around Mu Qing as he refused to let go. He was too comfy to release him. Some sustenance would be nice, however if it meant moving or letting Mu Qing go, Feng Xin was fine forgoing it.
“It’s going to burn if I don’t take it off!” Mu Qing poked Feng Xin, trying to wiggle his way out of Feng Xin’s adamant grip. But Feng Xin was persistent, clutching this being of moonlight in a death vice, refusing to let go. “Feng Xin!” Mu Qing groused, elbowing Feng Xin in the ribs. “I’m serious!”
Feng Xin humphed at the bony elbow in his ribs, then bit into Mu Qing’s neck, a possessive urge flaring inside him. Mu Qing yelped in surprise and then the two of them were tussling on the couch, limbs flailing as Feng Xin tried to keep Mu Qing from leaving while Mu Qing tried to weasel his way out of Feng Xin’s grasp. Somewhere in the barrage of appendages the two of them rolled a little too close to the edge of the couch. They realized their precarious position a second too late before they tumbled off the couch, becoming an amorphous tangle of legs and arms.
Mu Qing scrambled out from underneath Feng Xin, kneeing Feng Xin in the chin as he did so.
“Fuck!” Feng Xin barked, reaching out to grab Mu Qing by the ankle, halting his escape. Mu Qing stumbled, hand hitting the table hard as he stabled himself. The teacups rattled at the force and tea sloshed over the sides.
“You idiot,” Mu Qing hissed and kicked his foot away before he bolted to the fire.
Feng Xin groaned, rubbing his stinging chin. “Fuck,” He said again, now fully awake.
“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Mu Qing catechized as he took the pot of congee off the fire and carried it into the kitchen.
“You’re the asshole that kneed me in the chin,” Feng Xin gritted out, shooting arrows with his golden eyes.
“And you’re the asshole that wanted to burn our dinner!” Mu Qing called without sparing Feng Xin another glance. “Clean up your mess while I finish preparing our meal.”
Feng Xin huffed, but wiped up the spilled tea before it stained the low wooden table. He’d rather not wreck his uncle’s place with their impromptu visit. Once the table was saved, Feng Xin crawled back onto the couch, nursing his sore chin while he grumbled under his breath.
Mu Qing returned a minute later, two bowls of congee in hand. The toppings were meager given his uncle only kept non-perishables in his cabin, however Feng Xin was too hungry to care. Now that the confines of sleep had been chased off, his body remembered how hungry it was, having trekked all across the bloody northern mountains for half the day only to fight a vicious beast directly after.
Mu Qing set the bowls down with a careless clank, the contents jostling perilously. Feng Xin scowled, having just cleaned the damn table. But before he could complain, he felt slender fingers on his jaw, pushing his chin up. Mu Qing’s eyes were on him, inspecting the injured area with the clinical observance of a healer.
“Good news,” Mu Qing deadpanned. “You won’t die.”
“No shit.” Feng Xin jerked his head away.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “It’s not even bruising. Just a little red.”
“Stings.” Feng Xin grabbed his congee, heat bleeding from the ceramic bowl into his hands.
“And whose fault is that?” Mu Qing remarked, unimpressed.
“Yours.” Feng Xin scooped up a steaming spoonful of congee and blew on it before tentatively testing how hot it was. When it didn’t burn his tongue, he shoved the entire dollop into his mouth.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Fine, next time I’ll feed you burnt mush.”
Feng Xin was too busy chewing to reply, the gnawing hunger abated as he swallowed the first mouthful. It wasn’t the best congee he’d ever had, yet he scarfed it down like it was a dish presented at the New Year’s feast, his belly grateful to have some sustenance in it.
“Fuck,” he muttered between bites. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“You’re welcome,” Mu Qing drawled.
Feng Xin leaned over and nudged the bellicose man he’d married. “Thanks, Qing-er.”
They continued to eat, silent as they finished their first bowl of congee, however idle chatter began to fall from their lips by the time they were on their second serving, their hunger appeased. They discussed the slew of reports that awaited them once they got home, as well as the next week’s training regime and the new recruits joining their division.
“Should we take bets this time on how many new soldiers are going to try and proposition you, A-Xin?” Mu Qing asked smugly, well aware Feng Xin hated this topic.
“For fuck’s sake,” Feng Xin groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve been married for fourteen fucking years. And it’s not like it was a quiet affair.”
Mu Qing snorted. “That doesn’t matter. The soldiers recruited from neighboring towns don’t realize you’re that Feng who disgraced his noble lineage by marrying a low-born commoner.”
It was true. Back when they’d first gotten married it was on everyone’s tongue. If someone didn’t know, the rampant gossip and loose lips would quickly fix that. Thus no one mistook Feng Xin for an eligible noble lord who still needed to find his soulmate… and if not a soulmate, then a doting wife who would take care of his estate while he was away at battle.
However, as the years progressed, the scandal that was their marriage quickly receded, replaced by other outlandish happenings - from a wife finding out about a husband’s mistress, to murderous feuds between clashing households. It was still well known throughout the kingdom that a Feng had married a descendant of the Dragon clan, however those who weren’t familiar with the Feng family or were new to the capital didn’t realize Feng Xin was that Feng. Nor did they realize Mu Qing was the Dragon clan descendant who used to be a lowly slave
It wasn’t as if they tried to hide it… however Feng Xin and Mu Qing definitely didn’t come across as doting spouses when they were commanding their soldiers. In fact, most who had joined the militia in the past few years thought Feng Xin and Mu Qing were rival generals, always at the other’s throat, throwing insults and disparaging glares. When they were required to work together, there was always a sense of tension in the air and they had come to blows on several occasions.
Some things never changed; they acted the same as they did in their youth - still challenging each other, still rife with a playful agitation that found a release in bodies clashing. A soulmate bond hadn’t changed that… although it certainly had offered more ways to express that bottled-up tension than the mere snap of a kick or swoosh of a punch.
Due to the widespread knowledge of his marriage, Feng Xin had thought himself safe - until two years ago when one of the new recruits had mentioned to Feng Xin he had a sister who would make a great wife. Feng Xin had brushed it aside, thinking nothing of it… until two weeks later when the soldier introduced Feng Xin to his younger sister and Feng Xin had to inform them that he was happily married.
He thought it was a one and done occurrence - a fluke. Yet in the following years, it never failed that a few new soldiers tried to match him with available family members. It didn’t help Feng Xin never mentioned his personal life with his soldiers, leaving many to assume he was untethered. And what young man wouldn’t jump at the opportunity of potentially tying their family to one of the most prestigious families in the nation?
“I’m telling them all on induction day I found my soulmate,” Feng Xin stated firmly. He hated having to deal with the awkward situations; even his thick skin couldn’t hack the embarrassment of it all.
For some reason, Mu Qing found the whole debacle entirely amusing.
Fucking asshole.
Mu Qing snickered. “And ruin some destitute soldiers' dream of potentially marrying into the Feng family? How cruel, A-Xin.”
“You’re an ass,” Feng Xin griped.
Mu Qing arched an eyebrow, a mischievous twinkle to his eyes. “Last time I checked, you loved my ass.”
Feng Xin chuckled under his breath and set his empty bowl down. “Yeah, yeah I do.”
Yawning, he laid down on the couch; belly now full, he felt the pull of sleep on his peripheral. “Come here.” He called to Mu Qing, reaching his arms out.
“Already want a piece of it?” Mu Qing snickered as he slid between Feng Xin’s legs, chest coming to rest on Feng Xin’s. Feng Xin felt the heat of Mu Qing’s body through the light silk robes they wore, along with the smell of vanilla and cherries.
“I’d rather have all of you,” Feng Xin said softly, arms snaking around Mu Qing’s svelte frame. The coil of muscle was evident along the planes of Mu Qing’s body - Feng Xin could feel every one as his hands ran over Mu Qing’s back, pulling him close, only a thin layer of silk separating them.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes, but he leaned in and kissed Feng Xin lightly on the chin, sending Feng Xin’s heart into a tizzy - as if he was some besotted fool… technically he was. Feng Xin adored his husband.
His soulmate.
“Does it still hurt?” Mu Qing whispered, sonorous voice caressing Feng Xin.
“Hm…” Feng Xin mused, squinting his eyes in mock consternation. “I think another kiss or two would make it good as new.”
Mu Qing smacked his cheek playfully, more a tap than anything, fingers lingering on his skin and gingerly trailing down his face. “You are ridiculous.” He responded quietly, but nevertheless leaned forward and kissed Feng Xin once more on his chin.
Grinning, Feng Xin said, “Yep, definitely needs another one.”
“Incorrigible.”
“But you love me.”
Mu Qing grimaced, then buried his head in Feng Xin’s shoulder. “Shut up,” was the muffled reply.
Feng Xin laughed merrily, content and happy. “If Qing-er won’t give his husband kisses, then I know something else that will suffice.” Inconspicuously, Feng Xin slid his arms down Mu Qing’s body until he was able to grab Mu Qing’s ass with both hands. He gave an indolent squeeze - enough to make Mu Qing squirm in his arms.
“You are insufferable,” Mu Qing mumbled, voice muffled by fabric and skin.
Smirking, Feng Xin leaned down and kissed the side of his husband’s head, then gave another resolute squeeze. “It’s a nice ass, Qing-er.”
Mu Qing snorted. “Gods, I can’t believe I married you.”
“Sometimes I can’t believe it either,” Feng Xin replied honestly, expression turning wistful as he pondered how his life had turned out. “I’m really glad it was you. That you were my soulmate, Mu Qing.”
Lifting his head, Mu Qing met Feng Xin’s gaze, searching them. Feng Xin stared back, unwavering. “What if it was someone else?” Mu Qing asked. “What if someone else was your soulmate? Wouldn’t you tell them the same cloying sentiments?”
“Nah,” Feng Xin leaned in to poke Mu Qing’s nose with his, earning him a scowl. “Just you.”
“Don’t try to placate me,” Mu Qing bit out, irate.
“I’m not,” Feng Xin immediately replied, frowning. “I’m serious Mu Qing, even if it wasn’t you, you’re the only one I see - the only one I’ve ever seen. The fact you happened to be my soulmate just made things a little easier.”
“Easier,” Mu Qing scoffed, eyes rolling.
“So it was a bit messy,” Feng Xin shrugged. “The soulmate bond is sacred, so many believe I was just honoring that tradition by marrying you. But it was really a means to an end. Imagine how much messier it would have been if I’d married you and you weren’t my soulmate.”
“You would do that?” Mu Qing asked. “Forsake it all for a lowly slave born of the Dragon clan?”
“In a heartbeat,” Feng Xin answered, gold eliding with silver, faces inches apart - drawn together by something magnetic and indelible within them. “For you. Always for you.”
Eyes closed and lips brushed as the air thrummed around them. Fingers caressed supple skin as their breaths merged - the fiery breath of phoenixes and the icy gales of dragons.
“Fool,” Mu Qing husked out before crushing his lips to Feng Xin’s.
Whatever space was left between them was crushed as they wove together, bodies merging. Mu Qing brought his hands up to caress Feng Xin’s cheeks while Feng Xin tangled his fingers in Mu Qing’s midnight locks, his other hand pressing into the small of Mu Qing’s back. His tongue darted out, ghosting over Mu Qing’s bottom lip, asking for more. Mu Qing moaned into the kiss, lips parting; it was all the invitation Feng Xin needed before he pushed his tongue into his husband’s mouth, movements soft - tender. The burning desire and ravenous hunger that typically accompanied such kisses was nowhere to be found, the rapacious need for more allayed by a feeling of tranquility.
Normally Feng Xin had no qualms about getting his hands on his husband and taking him apart bit by bit. Or succumbing to Mu Qing when the mood fancied him. But tonight this was enough - this felt right.
The lingering touches, the softness, the easy banter, the everlasting love that inundated them, always present, forever unfurling within them as they endured all their tomorrows together.
Feng Xin pulled back for a moment, lips still touching. In a raspy voice he muttered, “Yours.”
“Mine,” Mu Qing greedily echoed, kissing Feng Xin again… and again and again…
Lips swollen and slightly sore, they pulled away from each other and nestled together comfortably, limbs tangling and bodies pressed close. Feng Xin grabbed the fur blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over them, the extra warmth appreciated on this cold, stormy night.
They snuggled together, content and happiness permeated deep into Feng Xin’s bones. The crackle of the fire filled the room with a soothing ambiance, an organic lullaby that would lull Feng Xin into a fitful slumber. He could already feel sleep tugging at him; the weariness of their long day’s venture followed by the vicious battle and trudging through a blizzard had enervated him.
All he wanted to do was hold his Qing-er tight and fall asleep in this quiet abode - just them. Far away from the hubbub of the outside world, far away from it all - in a place where they could forget the stigmas and stipulations. All that mattered in this place - in this moment in time - was their love and dedication to each other. The fact they were from vastly different clans and complete opposites didn’t matter. Nothing mattered besides the emotion pulsing in Feng Xin’s blood and the way Mu Qing’s body fit perfectly against his.
As if they were made for each other.
Two halves a whole.
Soulmates.
Although he’d just told Mu Qing he would marry Mu Qing even without the soul bond - which was true - but the thing was, the only person who could be Feng Xin’s soulmate was Mu Qing.
It couldn’t be anyone else.
“Qing’er,” Feng Xin whispered, voice barely audible.
“Hm?” Mu Qing grunted, also on the cusp of sleep.
“I love you.”
Mu Qing nuzzled further into Feng Xin’s warmth, face almost obscured by the white furry blanket, leaving his mane of black hair visible. “Go to sleep,” He grumbled, obviously tired from the day’s events.
Feng Xin leaned up to kiss Mu Qing on the head, eyes closing as a mellifluous peace overcame him. He knew tomorrow they’d have to leave. The snowstorm would have passed by then and they’d have to trek down the mountain and back to the capitol where they’d report to the Emperor. They’d have to file a report about their mission and then the next task would begin, a constant cycle of action, always doing. They hardly ever got moments like this to enjoy for themselves.
Perhaps Feng Xin needed to change that. Maybe it was time they took some time away, traveled a little bit. They’d certainly earned it after years of indefatigable service. Somewhere warm, far away from the glacial cold.
“Love you too, A-Xin,” Mu Qing’s muffled voice echoed, catching Feng Xin’s attention. His voice was laced with sleep, likely only minutes away from passing out. It made Feng Xin smile; such words from Mu Qing always made him grin like a youth with his first crush. Even after years together, Mu Qing was still reticent when it came to such terms of endearment.
It never bothered Feng Xin. For actions always spoke louder than words and he knew Mu Qing loved him by the things he did. It was in the small gestures - the extra cup of tea brewed in the morning, steeped less so it wouldn’t be as bitter, the mended clothes that Mu Qing would stay up late sewing, the extra bottle of bow resin kept in a drawer in Mu Qing’s desk for when Feng Xin forgot to restock his own. It was in so many little, everyday things that Feng Xin didn’t need words.
Beyond that, the matching mark on both of their sternums was further proof, a bond that went deeper than blood, that went to the core of their very beings. Stronger than the bones of dragons. More enduring than the flames of phoenixes.
“Mine,” Feng Xin whispered into Mu Qing’s hair, eyes sliding closed as he hugged his beloved to him - a promise in his grip; a promise to never let go.
“Yours,” was the hushed breath of a response, barely audible, but Feng Xin still heard it - felt it.
He sank into that feeling - the feeling of Mu Qing pressed against him, the warmth flowing between them, the love woven in ink and flesh.
This was his.
His.
Forever. Always. Eternal.
His soulmate.