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Mu Qing had things under control. 

In general, of course, but also right in the moment: he was slightly surrounded by ghosts, that’s true, but his saber struck them down with ease. His gaze flicked around the clearing as he sliced through them one by one. They dispersed with little struggle, and soon, the field looked clear. 

Behind him, a rustle in the grass prickled his senses. Mu Qing turned around.

An arrow thwacked into a final ghost, and it toppled into Mu Qing before it dispersed, ramming him to the ground.

“Watch yourself.” Feng Xin’s familiar frown loomed over him. He offered a hand. Mu Qing looked up at him, meeting his bright, gold gaze. They really were a lovely colour. 

Stop it. They’re dumb. He snapped his eyes away quickly and swatted Feng Xin’s arm away. “I was handling it,” wheezed Mu Qing, scowling.

“Whatever you say.” Feng Xin turned to leave. “Would it kill you to trust me to have your back?”

Probably. Mu Qing hurled a pebble at him, eyes narrowed. “Why are you acting like this?”

“What the fuck was that for?” sputtered Feng Xin. 

“You keep… helping me,” said Mu Qing, pushing himself off the ground. “As if I need help. There’s no way you don’t have some ulterior motive.”

“Not everyone’s full of schemes like you are.”

“I’m not full of— you really think I wouldn’t notice that you’re treating me differently? Not too long ago, you would’ve let that ghost get in a good hit.”

Feng Xin raised an eyebrow. “It still knocked you on your ass, didn’t it?”

“Shut up, idiot, that’s not what I mean.”

“Well, maybe I won’t do anything next time, since you’re so ungrateful.”

Mu Qing crossed his arms. “Fine! See if I come on another mission with you.”

“Fine! Fuck you too!” Feng Xin stormed off, leaving Mu Qing and his grassy rear alone in the clearing. Mu Qing pressed his fists into his cheeks, mind catching up to the last few moments. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He and Feng Xin were sent to clear up a ghost problem near the shared border of their territories. That’s fine, that’s typical, martial gods have to do martial things. Although, the ghosts here were arguably not something that called for divine intervention—there had only been a few lower-level ghosts. The prayers seemed to have exaggerated a little bit. The real divine intervention that was required, as painful as it was for Mu Qing to admit, was from Ling Wen. 

So maybe Mu Qing had asked the overworked civil god to pair him with someone for a mission. And maybe Mu Qing might have messed up his latest attempt at reconciling. It wasn’t his fault that certain people always triggered his defense mechanisms at the drop of a hat. This is what he got for wanting to try again. For wanting more than rivalry. For wanting.

Ling Wen had dispatched them to the south, near the shared border of their territories. Whispers and prayers told of a haunting full of lament, but other than that, not much detail was given. Since the events at Mount Tonglu, there were a lot of those mysterious stories all around the realm. That would make it a very believable excuse to go together, if for some reason it were an excuse. Unfortunately, Feng Xin’s attitude ruined any ulterior motives that may or may not have existed on Mu Qing’s part.

Either way, it was over. Mu Qing decided that he would wait a little while before ascending, just in case F-anyone was loitering around in the heavens. 

Eight hundred years. He shook his head.

The trees shivered in the gentle breeze as he wandered. It was fairly pleasant for the season among the budding leaves and along the eager trickle of the creek. His footsteps softly crunched on twigs and debris, finally uncovered now that the snow was gone. Mu Qing followed the water’s flow in the direction of the village they’d come from earlier. The scent of flowers filled the air. 

He narrowed his eyes. Flowers? The snow had only just melted. Nothing was in bloom yet. Mu Qing leapt over the creek, following the scent into the woods. 

Weaving between the plantlife, the scent seemed to grow stronger and fade at the same time. Was it running away from him? That wouldn’t do. He quickened his pace, and soon enough, his eyes began to water as the smell got clearer. Head on a swivel, he spotted the source: a strange, mostly shapeless wisp of a ghost, unlike any he’d seen before. 

“What are you?” he asked.

The ghost’s head, if one could call it that, turned to face him. “Oh, you have great soil, don’t you?” The voice reminded him of a wind chime. It floated toward him. 

What does that mean? Mu Qing wondered. He thought about investigating more. However, it had been a long day, and he was getting pretty sick of ghosts. With a slash of his saber, it dispersed into the air. Its cloying perfume clung to Mu Qing’s lungs. 

Well, that was it, then. One more ghost down. With that, Mu Qing ascended back to the Heavenly Realm.

🏹⚔

Weeks floated by. Mu Qing had things well under control. Why wouldn’t he? 

Work kept him busy. Between overseeing the last few details of his new palace, tidying up stray spirits in the Mortal Realm, or finishing the paperwork tied to all of those tasks, he didn’t have much of a chance to see anyone. And maybe he was a little glad. He wasn’t very inclined to seek anyone out—he’d developed a bit of a cough. Maybe it was the stress finally unloading itself after the unending series of headaches that followed Xie Lian’s third ascension. But a martial god, ill? That wouldn’t give him much face. 

The water for his tea finally boiled. As Mu Qing poured a cup and stirred in some honey, he heard voices down the hallway. 

“The General is busy right now, you can’t–”

“Whatever that Xuan Zhen is doing can wait. I have important business.”

Taizi Dianxia’s luck must be rubbing off on me. Mu Qing took a deep breath, then had another sip of his tea.

Sure enough, Feng Xin rounded the corner, followed by a junior official who looked like he wanted to throw himself out a window. Mu Qing nodded at the junior, and watched him dash off like a child given permission to leave a tense dinner table.

“What is it, Nan Yang?” he sighed, looking down at his papers.

Feng Xin crossed his arms. “You’re ignoring me in the array.”

“So what if I am? I have things to do. Don’t you?”

“That’s why I need to talk to you, fucking idiot.” 

Mu Qing spared him a glance. “Well, talk then.”

“I’m going to visit Mount Taicang in a week.”

A silence. Mu Qing looked up again, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged. So what?

Feng Xin rolled his eyes. “Come with me.”

“That’s all you came here to say? You barge into my new palace, interrupt me, just to–”

“How else was I going to see what you did with the place?”

Mu Qing scoffed. “Why do you care how my palace looks?”

“Had to make sure you didn’t make it look absolutely terrible,” grinned Feng Xin. “Anyway. I’ll come find you when I’m leaving.”

As fast as he entered, Feng Xin turned to leave. 

“You’re just too afraid to turn down Dianxia’s cooking on your own, aren’t you?” called Mu Qing. 

“Fuck off,” said Feng Xin over his shoulder.

And then it was just Mu Qing, his tea still steaming in his hands. Shaking his head, wiping off the shadow of a smile, he raised it to his lips, ready to take a sip—

Hot water sloshed over his hands, his lap, his floor as coughs wracked his body. He coughed as if something was trying to escape from within him. When they subsided and his eyes opened again, his brow furrowed. 

Sitting in the empty teacup was a small pink petal. 

🏹⚔

Mu Qing always had things under control.

Still, his mind lingered for days. It’s not like he could just stand Feng Xin up. He’d be standing up Xie Lian, too, and he didn’t have the heart to do that while he was already feeling down. So Mu Qing fixed his ponytail, grimaced, and spat out the fifth petal of the day. This one was yellow, and the edge looked jagged, almost tooth-like. Chest heaving, he swore he could smell a sickly sweet floral scent for a moment, but it vanished as soon as he noticed it. 

Hands on the table, Mu Qing focused his breathing. Feng Xin would be there any minute, ready for their descent to Mount Taicang. Whatever this affliction was, he would surely make fun of it, and Mu Qing didn’t want to deal with his snipes. Not when his throat burned from hacking up another gods-damned petal. 

Soon, the other martial god showed up, hair in that same bun he always wore. It frustrated Mu Qing yet again how well it suited him, but he held his tongue. 

“Are you ready?” asked Feng Xin.

“As long as you’re ready to be civil.”

“When the hell am I not civil?”

Mu Qing levelled him with a stare. 

“Fine.”

The two arrived at Xie Lian’s shrine as the sun crested in the sky. 

“Oh, it’s you two!” smiled Xie Lian, standing from where he’d been elbow-deep in his garden. “What a lovely surprise.”

He beckoned them inside, and they gathered around a small table. Xie Lian had made a lot of progress over the last six months. Mu Qing wondered how much more would pop up on the mountain before that Crimson Rain returned, if he ever did. 

“How have you been since we last visited?” asked Feng Xin. 

Xie Lian shrugged. “The first blooms are coming in nicely.”

“Is the workload too heavy? I’m sure if you need, Mu Qing can—”

“Mu Qing can do what?” glared the man in question. 

“Ah.. Mu Qing and I can help you with something,” finished Feng Xin.

“What, is spending time with me so bad that you would nominate me for all the work? Oh wait, you always—”

“You’re so sensitive,” griped Feng Xin.

“And you should be used to it by now.”

“I—”

“I don’t think I need any help, but thank you,” interjected Xie Lian. “How is it going in the Heavenly Capital, though?”

Mu Qing and Feng Xin snapped back out of their argument, remembering where they were. Both of their faces flushed with a hint of red. Not even two minutes in, and they’d already blown through their agreement. He glanced at Feng Xin, accidentally meeting his eye. A sharp scratch poked up through his throat, and he looked away, coughing once. Not now. 

Eventually, conversation picked up, tidbits of nothing and everything hovering in the air. Mu Qing kept his contributions short as the itch grew. It was fairly easy to respond to Feng Xin with scowls or noncommittal grunts. He felt a little guilty doing it to Xie Lian, but he only had so many options.

Feng Xin laughed at something that Xie Lian said. It reminded Mu Qing of dawn. 

He frowned. Who did he think he was, letting his thoughts drift like that? After enduring eight hundred years of this, he ought to have gained a little focus. Sure, he felt that way, but he didn’t think about it out in the open!

The itch seized up again, and Mu Qing tried to stifle his cough. Unfortunately for him, martial gods notice noises very easily. Two faces looked at him inquisitively.

“Is something the matter, Mu Qing?” asked Xie Lian.

“He’s given up on listening to you mention that Crimson Rain of yours. You’ve finally done one of us in,” said Feng Xin dryly.

Xie Lian frowned. “I haven’t brought him up for a little while, it can’t be that.”

Mu Qing straightened. “It’s nothing. I just… breathed in some dust.”

The other two exchanged a look, and Mu Qing internally winced. Dust? This place was practically spotless. 

After a moment of watching him, Xie Lian rose. “You’ve been here for a while, it must be about time I made a meal.”

Two pairs of eyes widened in horror.

Feng Xin shot up from where he sat. “No need for that, Dianxia, we’re just fine!” 

“Mu Qing looks like he needs something fresh and warm. I’ll prepare it.”

He walked out the back of the house, Feng Xin hot on his tail. Mu Qing narrowed his eyes, unsure of how to interpret that, when the coughs returned. Alone, he fell to the floor as something forced its way out of his lungs. It plopped out onto the ground in front of his mouth.

A whole blossom. Light pink, five-petaled, sitting peacefully on the boards. That’s new. This thing, goodness knows what it was, sure grew fast. Pain spiked in his chest, and he forced down bile. At least the coolness of the ground gave him some relief.

Honestly, what was this disease? He’d never heard of something like this in mortals, much less gods. With his finger, he gingerly prodded the flower before him. Its only response was the gentle scent it somehow still emitted, quite the opposite of how Mu Qing felt. The smell was almost familiar, but he couldn’t place it. 

He rested on his back for a moment, the tail end of his fit rattling its way out, when Xie Lian walked back inside. 

“He kicked me out of the fire pit—are you alright?”

Mu Qing opened his eyes and bolted upright. He scooped up the blossom and scanned for a good place to hide it, but Xie Lian had already spotted it.

“That’s a lovely flower. Is it a peach blossom?” wondered Xie Lian. “Where did you get it from? I haven’t seen any peach trees on this mountain.”

“I… found it in my pocket.” Apparently, today was Mu Qing’s own Day of Terrible Excuses. 

“If something’s wrong, you can tell me, you know? I know I mostly remain here, but I would—”

“You shouldn’t worry, Dianxia,” he said. “Nothing’s the matter.” Thankfully, his body behaved enough so as to not disprove him right there.

Xie Lian didn’t get the chance to question him any further, because Feng Xin strode through the doorway, robe looking slightly singed.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Mu Qing.

“I…” Feng Xin considered his words. “I stopped his cooking from leaping up into the trees.” He sighed. “All this time on his own, one would think the chance for improvement might have found him.”

Mu Qing blinked, imagining the scene that may have occurred. “I’m sure it was a grand battle.”

To his surprise, Feng Xin laughed. Mu Qing felt warm. 

“Are you both sure you don’t want a meal?” asked Xie Lian.

A chorus of “we’re sure, we’re fine, have a good day” met him immediately.

🏹⚔

He had things under control. He swore it.

It’s just that, as the months slowly slipped by, and the spring blooms gave way to fruit, his own flowers kept coming. Peach blossoms tore up his trachea on the daily, and the yellow carnations were larger almost every day. He knew it for a fact: since the flowers didn’t want to wilt, he could compare how they’d grown. He stuffed them in a large vase in his room and threw a sheet over it. Not suspicious at all. 

Sometimes Feng Xin swung by on his way to visit Mount Taicang, or with a problem to ever-so-kindly share, or, most baffling to Mu Qing, for no reason at all. Feng Xin himself didn’t always seem to know why he was there. Could he smell the floral scent of weakness? Was he coming to watch Mu Qing suffer? That couldn’t be it. Mu Qing was trying his best to play nice, but it was getting harder and harder to act normal. Especially when every visit seemed to make it worse. He would’ve loved to blame Feng Xin for this curse, but it wasn’t in his style. Feng Xin didn’t curse people. He hoped. 

He spent time roaming the southwest. Maybe he needed fresh air and movement to get this out of his system. He wandered between villages cradled by the trees and mountains, down isolated trails, past temples both honoured and forgotten by time. (He may have roughed up a deserted Jun Wu temple on his way.) Ghosts crossed his path to find themselves dispersed in the winds. Cherry trees rustled outside his window as he rested one night, and in the morning, his hands were stained with juice. He watched as he left trails of petals in his wake, as if they were trying to lead him back where he’d already been. But what would going backward do for him? It wouldn’t get this gods-damned problem off his chest. Out of his chest. Whatever.

Eventually he returned to his palace. There was always more work to do, after all, and he couldn’t just leave it. As embarrassing as it was to admit, he started hiding some of the times that Feng Xin came by. The commotion would start at the entrance of the palace, so he would slip out the back and into the landscape until he was certain that Feng Xin was gone. The visits became more sparse. He hoped it wasn’t causing offense.

Hua Cheng came back. Xie Lian mostly moved off of his mountaintop, and Mu Qing helped him bring some of his things back to Puqi Shrine. (If he wanted to take any of it to Ghost City, though, he was on his own.) For being the ‘God of Misfortune’, Xie Lian still got very lucky. It only took him a year for his love to return. As distasteful as Mu Qing found the ghost king, his heart still squeezed in an unfamiliar pattern. He wondered whether anyone would wait for him like that. He wondered if he was already the one doing the waiting. For nothing.

His lungs burned. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” said Xie Lian, as the two stood in front of the shrine. 

“It wasn’t too much to move in the end,” said Mu Qing.

“I should really get to fixing the garden here. It’s been a while since it’s been upkept.” 

“En. I think the shrubs need a trim.”

Mu Qing looked at the sun’s position: low. That ghost king would probably be back from catching up on Ghost City business soon, and he didn’t feel like sticking around to talk to him. He adjusted his ponytail.

“Thank you for doing this. It’s a pity Feng Xin couldn’t make it down.”

“A pity,” mumbled Mu Qing. The itch in his chest spiked. He winced.

And of course Xie Lian noticed. When wouldn’t he? “Are you alright?”

He opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, when a clump of pink and yellow flower petals forced their way out. They floated gracefully to the ground, surrounding Mu Qing’s feet as they struggled to keep him standing. He clamped both hands to his mouth.

Xie Lian’s eyes widened. Without a second word, Mu Qing bolted. He ran away from the shrine, away from the village, away from anyone and everyone. Maybe he heard Xie Lian call after him, and again through the communication array. Before he blocked him out entirely, he threw across three words: Don’t tell anyone. 

Fuck.

🏹⚔

He hadn’t left his palace in days. 

If word got out, how would he appear strong to his followers? Maybe Xie Lian would be kind to him. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all and just pretend with him. Although, if there was one thing that Xie Lian did, it was to end up learning everything about people’s personal troubles. And that probably included what he felt about F—er, what he definitely didn’t feel about that Nan Yang in the southeast. But maybe he would never hear from anyone about this affliction.

Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m busy,” said Mu Qing.

The voice of a junior official filtered through the door. “It’s the Flower Crowned Martial God. He wishes to speak with you.”

Mu Qing rubbed his temple. 

“Should I tell him to leave, General?”

“No, no, let him in.” He straightened his robes.

Soon, Xie Lian entered the chamber. He smiled, but his eyes were furrowed. “I believe you know why I’m visiting, don’t you?”

Mu Qing nodded once. He focused on his even breaths.

“How long has it been happening?” he asked. 

“Months.” Seven months, two weeks, and three days since the first flower petal. But he didn’t need to share that.

Xie Lian hmmed. “And do you have an idea of what caused it?”

He shook his head. 

“I did some research, and I spoke to San Lang, and he thinks—”

“You told Crimson Rain?” spluttered Mu Qing. “Why would you— he’s going to—”

“He promised to me that he wouldn’t tell anyone. Besides, if it’s a curse, which I would guess that it is, he’s the one to ask.” He was met with a scowl. “Do you want to know what he thinks?”

No. “Fine.” Mu Qing looked away, staring at the tapestry on his wall.

“There aren’t many records of people coughing up flowers like this, but he did hear of a handful of incidents around the Mortal Realm. He said that once, there was a woman who deeply loved another woman from her village, but she was too afraid to tell her. She watched her live her life from down the street, wishing and yearning to be with her. 

“One day, her love got married to someone else, a lovely man who would treat her well. The woman couldn’t bear to see her leave, so she threw herself from a mountain. Flowers grew from the soil where she landed. According to the stories, she became a ghost feeding on people whose love had nowhere to go, unexpressed or unrequited. She would settle in the cavity of their chest and slowly sap their energy until they died, and then move on to the next victim.”

Mu Qing’s gaze slowly moved back to Xie Lian as he spoke, becoming more distressed after each word. Unrequited. Chest cavity. That last ghost, so long ago, from the mission with Feng Xin. “And how did she sap their energy?”

“Flowers take root in the lungs, and they will slowly make the victim rot from the inside out as they drain the body of nutrients and qi. Eventually, the flowers burst out, and she emerges stronger than before.”

“Ah.” He did his best to keep his face neutral as he glanced away again. 

“Mu Qing.” 

“Dianxia.”

“Who is it?”

A pause. Should he play dumb? “What do you mean, ‘who is it?’”

Xie Lian eyed him, that stupid knowing look glimmering on his face. 

Mu Qing fused his mouth shut, shaking his head. His chest ached.

“It’s Feng Xin, isn’t it.”

…well.

He sighed. “Dianxia would notice many things.” What point was there in denial? It hurt either way.

Xie Lian half-smiled. “So, will you tell him?” 

“Tell him?” scoffed Mu Qing. “What, and throw my reputation out of the heavens? Become a joke to him? I couldn’t do that. He never takes things like this seriously. Have you seen him run from a woman?”

“You know you aren’t a woman, right?” inquired Xie Lian. “He might not shut you down like that.”

“What does it matter? All these years, I’ve watched him look at Jian Lan, I’ve watched him look at you, and not once has he looked at me that way. Nothing good can come of it.”

Xie Lian paused. “You watched him look at me?”

“Back when we were training in Xianle.” Mu Qing sighed. “There were days I swear I could see hearts floating from his eyes.”

“So you’ve felt this way about him for a while, then,” said Xie Lian. “If you’ve paid that close attention.”

“Why— how— is that what you’re pulling from this?”

“But really, you have to do something.” Xie Lian’s brow wrinkled with worry. “You won’t just let it eat you alive.”

Silence. Mu Qing fixed his gaze on the floor.

“Mu Qing.”

“Thank you for the visit, Dianxia.”

“Mu Qing, we won’t let you—”

He stood abruptly. “Get out.”

Eyes wide, Xie Lian turned to leave. He glanced over his shoulder to see his friend staring out the window, fists clenched. He got out.

And Mu Qing felt like shit.

He didn’t need help. At all. But after Xie Lian came all that way to offer it, he just kicked him out like it was nothing? 

Maybe Mu Qing could pretend nothing happened. That’s what usually happened, anyway. Things got swept away. No one paid attention. Besides, there had to be something else he could do to get rid of it than to bank on Feng Xin’s feelings. He just had to figure out what.

🏹⚔

The doors to the palace of Ming Guang were not ones that Mu Qing passed under often. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. The wind bristled around him, whispering of the persistent cold. If that general didn’t answer his door soon, Mu Qing was going to turn—

“Why, if it isn’t Xuan Zhen himself! Haven’t seen you around in a little while!”

“General,” greeted Mu Qing. Gods. Now he had to explain why he was there. He set his jaw.

“So, what can I do for you?” asked Pei Ming. “I doubt you’ve come by for no reason.”

Mu Qing opened his mouth, but glimpsed an official walking down the road. “Let’s talk inside.”

Pei Ming nodded. The two walked in silence to a sitting room and found themselves futons, where they settled in the same heavy silence.

“You’ve built up quite the mystery here, Mu Qing,” said Pei Ming.

Mu Qing opened his mouth again, but no noise came out. It felt like a different, non-flower-related lump stifled his voice. And unlike the flowers, it didn’t move when he coughed. He balled his hands into fists. Stop stalling. You’re here now. Nothing. He squeezed his lips shut.

A small crease formed in Pei Ming’s brow, and he scanned the room. His face brightened when he spotted a spare scroll of paper, and he scooped it up along with some ink and a brush. 

“Here,” he said. “If it’s easier.”

With a tilt of his head, Mu Qing accepted the tools. He chose his words carefully as he wrote. There is a ghost inhabiting me because I have too many feelings. I need you to get rid of them. Eventually, he got down most of what Xie Lian told him, as much as the memory screwed his insides up. He left the type of feeling unspecified, although it had to be pretty obvious. The final stroke of the brush blotted ink all over the page, bleeding over where he’d written help. It felt fitting. He handed it to Pei Ming. 

After a moment, Pei Ming looked up from the paper. “You want me to… take away your feelings?” Mu Qing nodded. “Why?”

He retrieved the paper. You’re the God of Love, aren’t you? 

“Ah.” Pei Ming’s gaze wandered away. “You want me to get rid of your love? I’d call that a blasphemous request!” He frowned at Mu Qing.

A flicker of panic flashed on Mu Qing’s face, followed by a grimace of pain as he spat out a yellow petal.

Pei Ming sighed. “My friend, I want to help you, but this is a big deal. I don’t know how exactly I would do that, and there’s no telling how it might affect all your other emotions or relationships going forward. Are you sure you—”

Paper shook in front of his face, cutting him off. One word. Please.

He cursed under his breath. “I’ll need to think about it.”

The brush flew across the page. I can’t live this way anymore. It hurt enough before the flowers were here. He handed the paper to Pei Ming, looking elsewhere.

“Before the flowers? How long have you… ah." He leaned back. "Of course, it's Feng Xin. You know, he’s also been—”

“Fuck—” Mu Qing flew at him, snatching the page from his hands and shooting him the most withering glare he could manage.

Pei Ming's mouth quirked. “Well, that got a word from you, didn’t it?”

Mu Qing sighed. “Don’t.” He tore the paper to shreds, stuffing the scraps in his pocket. “Just…” He cleared his throat. And again. And again, until a pink blossom sat on his tongue.

“You should rest, you know.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that.

🏹⚔

Over the next few days, Mu Qing paced up and down his palace, as out of sight as he could be. Would he ever hear back from that Pei Ming? Was he going to blab about the situation to someone else? Would he just stare, stony-faced, and refuse to do anything helpful? 

He tried to think about something else. Anything but the flowers, anything but Feng Xin, but nothing occupied his thoughts better than him. Heaven knew that hadn’t changed over the last eight hundred years. Maybe he should try to sleep. Then he wouldn’t have to think.

But of course that wasn’t something he could do, not when the issue in question showed up at his doorstep again. And somehow got almost all the way to Mu Qing’s bedroom, where it was making a lot of noise.

Bang, bang, bang. “Let me in.”

“I don’t want to talk, Nan Yang.” He leaned on the inside of the door, blocking Feng Xin out. 

“You never want to talk! It’s getting old, Mu Qing.” Three more bangs on the door. “What, did you give up on being ‘f-f-friends’? Did you chicken out?”

“S-shut up about that! And I never chicken out, you moron.”

He could almost hear Feng Xin’s eyes roll through the door. “Oh, is that so, General Runs-Away-And-Hides-At-Every-Opportunity?”

“I am not hiding, Ju Yang.” His fist hit the door as he whirled around.

“Then fucking face me like you normally would!”

Mu Qing flung open the door. Before him stood Feng Xin, hands hovering where they’d rested on the wood. His face flickered through a couple emotions, too quickly for Mu Qing to get a read on any of them.

“You look—”

“Don’t even start.”

“Gods forbid someone would want to check on their friend for once. I haven’t heard from you in ages! I’ve had to spar with Pei Ming.”

“What, do you miss fighting me or something?” He laughed once.

“Maybe I do!” yelled Feng Xin. 

“Well, then let’s fight,” said Mu Qing. “Get your bow. Go to my courtyard. I’ll meet you there.”

Feng Xin blinked. “Fine! I will!” He turned and marched off toward the courtyard.

After he disappeared down the hall, Mu Qing braced himself on the doorframe. The petals he’d been holding back spilled from his mouth. Why did he just say that? Was he trying to get found out? 

Mu Qing quietly shut himself in his room, grabbing the only basket that was still empty of those undying flowers. Kneeling over it, he slammed his fist into his chest, hoping to dislodge anything that he could. His shoulders shook as he forced himself to cough, and sure enough, flowers fell from his lips into the waiting basket below. When no more would leave his body, he stood. He didn’t notice the drops of blood upon the last petal.

Soon, the two martial gods arrived in the courtyard. Heaven hadn’t had snow in the past, but since they rebuilt it, the seasons changed with the Mortal Realm. A thick layer covered the grass now, outlining their traces and clinging to the fabric of their clothing. Mu Qing held his zhanmadao, and Feng Xin nocked an arrow. They circled each other with slow, analytical paces, until Feng Xin lifted his bow and they fell into that old, familiar dance. 

An arrow flew. Mu Qing gracefully stepped aside. Metal flashed, and robes narrowly floated out of reach. A slice split an arrow midair. Feng Xin leapt onto a rock. He toed just beyond the edge of the blade. 

Darting from side to side, a quick draw, a parry, each step followed the other in time. Every strike of the sword and twang of the bowstring echoed the other in a song they knew too well. A twist brought them closer, a dodge drew them apart. 

“Isn’t this better?” said Feng Xin, a half-smirk on his lips. Mu Qing responded with a swift blow to his drawing hand.

Feng Xin tossed his bow away, shaking out his hand. Mu Qing cast his saber aside as well, chest twinging. He surged forward, but his bearing was off. The other god slipped easily out of the way. 

“You’re getting sloppy, Mu Qing,” prodded Feng Xin. He struck forward, Mu Qing blocking at the last moment. 

He grunted. Lunging, he tried to knock Feng Xin’s footing out, but ended up flat on his own back. Feng Xin loomed over him, pinning him to the grass. 

“Yield?” he asked. His head tilted, something unknown mixed into his usually smug face.

Mu Qing’s vision spun. He was too close. Those golden eyes peered down at him through the fog. The ache was back with a vengeance. 

“I said, do you yield?” repeated Feng Xin, arm pressed across Mu Qing's chest.

He opened his mouth to reply and promptly closed it again. An irritation prickled up his throat. No. 

Feng Xin finally noticed the lack of focus that glazed over his eyes. “Mu Qing?”

The coughs escaped him at last. A flurry of pink and yellow blossoms scraped their way out and flew up into Feng Xin’s face, who recoiled at the sight. Damp, red spots painted their petals in fine patterns. Not without a strong effort, Mu Qing rolled away from him and scrambled to his hands and knees. Of course this would happen. What did he expect? The easy way out? That had never been his lot.

“Hold on a second—what the fuck?” said Feng Xin. Mu Qing glanced back to see him pick up a flower, carefully feeling the petals. The blood smeared onto his fingers. Their eyes met. “Are you alright?”

Instead of answering, Mu Qing stumbled to his feet, heading for the nearest door. Feng Xin dashed up and caught him by the arm. “What’s the matter with you?”

Mu Qing’s shoulders slumped. “It’s you. It’s always been you.” He stared hopelessly at Feng Xin.

“I—why do you have to be so vague?” he said. He mumbled something along the lines of hate it when he does this shit, pain in my ass. “What are you blaming me for when I haven’t done any—hey!” 

With a sharp twist, Mu Qing wrenched himself out of his grip. Bracing himself on the doorway, he almost turned to face him. “It’s alright. I’ll stop bothering you.” His breaths were shallow, his stance shaky. “Go home.”

He didn’t wait for Feng Xin to reply before staggering down the hall as fast as he could. Each step was a blur on the way to his room. As he barred the door, he felt petals and blood lurching at the back of his throat. He didn’t fight them. The blossoms and their cloying scent spilled out through their well-worn path, his head growing heavy. Vases and baskets toppled over as he tried and failed to find his balance.

Just before his vision blacked out, he saw one more flower rake out of his mouth: a clean, white chrysanthemum.

And then nothing.

🏹⚔

“...Qing, Mu Qing, get up, get up, fucking shit, Qing-er, you have to wake up.”

Something thudded beside him. He couldn’t turn his head to look, and his eyelids felt like lead weights. Through the haze and darkness, he thought something lifted him up to a less flat position. 

“Fucking reeks of flowers in here, gods. You idiot, why wouldn’t you say that you needed help, I would have—”

A hand grasped his own, warm and steady. 

“...he said that you’d been sick for months, and you didn’t fucking tell me. I swear, if you die, I’ll- I’ll track down your ghost and kill you again!” The voice got quieter. “How am I supposed to keep doing this without you?”

His chest barely rose or fell. He managed to wiggle the fingers on his free hand. Good. That’s a start. A cool drop of water landed on his cheek. 

“Please, Qing-er. You can’t leave me like this. Not when I haven’t gotten to tell you yet.”

“Tell me… what?” he rasped, eyes struggling to open.

“You’re awake, shit, okay, fuck.” Feng Xin hovered over him, eyes wide, bun falling apart. “How can- what should—”

“Feng Xin.” Mu Qing was lying in that man’s lap, wasn’t he. He ignored how his brain malfunctioned at the thought. “Tell me what?” He wheezed, and a white petal came out. They winced.

Taking a deep breath, Feng Xin glanced away for a moment. “That I…” He said something so quickly that Mu Qing didn’t catch a word. 

“What?”

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth. “I’ve wanted you for centuries and maybe I felt like there was something there but you keep fucking pushing me away. Okay? Terrible fucking timing. I know.”

Mu Qing’s eyes opened all the way. “You… like me?”

“I love you, Mu Qing.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. Mu Qing heard a muffled shit. “Ah, listen, I don’t expect—”

“I love you, too.”

He reached up a hand to wipe a tear track from Feng Xin’s cheek, and Feng Xin caught it. Eyes met. 

Then Mu Qing folded in on himself, hacking and coughing once more. Feng Xin tentatively braced his shoulders. 

Finally, out of his mouth came a misty, misshapen, disgruntled cloud, and his breath found him again. The two gods gaped at the sight before them.

“I guess something better grew in there,” sighed the cloud. “There isn’t any room for our melancholy.”

“You’re that spirit,” said Mu Qing. Feng Xin moved for his bow on the floor, but Mu Qing barred him with an arm. 

“I never thought it would happen.” The spirit drifted from side to side, the floral perfume slowly fading. “She took all those hopes and futures with her. But you still found one where you are together.”

“I didn’t expect it either,” admitted Mu Qing. “I’m sorry about your love.”

She smiled, but her eyes dimmed. “At least someone has their own now. It was… nice to watch.”

Turning to the window, she closed her eyes and vanished. When he looked back around the room, not a single flower petal remained.

Feng Xin stood, dumbfounded. “Who was that?”

“Someone who died the way I… it’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” He looked back. “Um, so…” He blinked at Feng Xin. “You came back.”

“Of course I came back, stupid. I was fucking worried.” He crossed his arms. “Pei Ming told me to come see you earlier today, and his tone made me wonder if something was wrong. Then you ran away after we fought and I called Dianxia over the array and he said you’d been ill or cursed or something, and then you weren’t breathing.”

“General Pei sent you here?” asked Mu Qing, eyebrows raised. Of course that man would meddle.

He nodded. “Did he know something?”

“I asked him for help,” replied Mu Qing. 

A frown appeared on Feng Xin’s face. “You went to him for help before you would come to me?”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been friendly!” argued Mu Qing. “Talking to you never worked. I always screwed it up. So I needed other solutions.” He glanced away, ears turning red. The more that I wanted it to happen, the worse I got at saying it. Mu Qing started to look back, but his gaze landed on the door to his room… lying on the floor?

Feng Xin reached forward. “I can explain—”

“What the fuck did you do to my door?” He gestured hopelessly at the split wood and the broken bar at his feet. 

“Would you rather I’d have stayed out and left you to die? The first rule of choking is to not run off on your own.”

“Well- you’d better fix my door! I happened to like it!”

“Fine! As long as you don’t get upset by me being in your bedroom.”

“Is Ju Yang afraid of a bedroom now?”

“Oh, fuck you.” There was no venom in his voice. 

Just as Feng Xin started toward the doorframe, Mu Qing grabbed his arm. “Wait. Your hair.”

He undid what was left of the bun and gently re-fastened it in place. As he finished fussing with it, his hands lingered. Their eyes met, golden and brown glimmering into each other, and then they were kissing, warm and solid and real. And Mu Qing knew it would be spring again soon.

And maybe things were under control.