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The stack of paperwork on his desk had reached the ceiling at some point in the last few days, but thankfully, Mu Qing had whittled it down to a reasonable height through intense, break-less working.
He stretched, bones and joints popping, and stood up. He entertained the idea of taking a stroll in his garden, before remembering that it was currently being completely renovated, from the roots of the grass to the sludge in the ponds. The memory of the statues sent a shiver down his spine. Seriously, the Ghost King had irreparably corrupted Dianxia.
Perhaps he could just walk into Feng Xin’s study and hurl a brick at his head so they could start punching each other into the ground, work out some of the tension in his system.
Before he could decide, Ling Wen’s voice rang through the communication array. General Xuan Zhen, General Nan Yang, there’s a slight emergency in the central south right along the border of your territories. A ghost has overtaken a deserted temple and is abducting people of the village Guiyuan, as in the fruit. It shouldn’t pose too much trouble for the two of you, but best to deal with it as quickly as possible.
Understood, Ling Wen zhen-jun.
Mu Qing’s nerves did that weird stuttering thing they always did when he heard Feng Xin’s voice.
Wow, he really needed a break from the paperwork. Romping around in the Mortal Realm and beating up ghosts sounded enticing.
Understood, Ling Wen zhen-jun.
Almost immediately, loud banging came from his front door. “Mu Qing!! Ready to go?! Hurry your slowpoke ass up!”
Had the guy been lurking outside his palace? Mu Qing chose to ignore the minor earthquake outside and redid his ponytail, adjusted his guan and his robes, and expended a tiny bit of spiritual power to erase the dark circles under his eyes, before he finally opened his door to confront Feng Xin.
“Why are you camped outside my palace?”
“Took you long enough! Let’s go.”
“Not until you tell me why you were camped outside my palace!” He ground his feet in place and crossed his arms.
Feng Xin scratched his ear and said indignantly, “I just happened to be passing by when I heard Ling Wen’s message, fucker! Not everything revolves around you!”
“What’s that?” He reached for a scrap of paper tucked in Feng Xin’s belt.
With a flick of Feng Xin’s finger, the paper sizzled and crumbled to the ground in black sprinkles. “I have no idea. Come on, let’s go.”
Mu Qing was slightly stung. He had assumed that after everything that had gone down at Mount Tonglu, they were more or less on friendly terms, and didn’t that entail not keeping secrets? But maybe it didn’t. He wouldn’t know. He didn’t know the first thing about friendship when it wasn’t with Dianxia, and Dianxia was exceptional in many aspects.
---
The distance-shortening array transported them to a copse of weeping willows. Peering through the swaying, silky leaves, one could see a village bustling with horse carriages and hollering merchants. Below, the pond water was clear and reflected green strands against a cloudless sky. Mu Qing inhaled deeply and felt his headache dissipate like mist under the sun.
They donned their disguises and ambled into the heart of the village. Today, Nan Feng and Fu Yao were two young untested cultivators from a wealthy clan, searching for tribulations to prove themselves.
They found a lively market to blend into. Vendors on either side of the street called out in beckoning voices, advertising wooden combs, floral embroidery, painted fans, crystallized sugary treats… A pleasant, fragrant aroma floated in the air, wafting from a stall selling honeyed yams. Children scampered through the streets dodging horses and shoppers as their frazzled parents yelled after them. Erhu and guzheng players were tucked in every corner, spicing the atmosphere with sweet music.
Guiyuan Village: named for the dried longan berry. Many vendors sat behind teetering mountains of the little brown berry.
It seemed ordinary and peaceful; nothing like a village terrorized by a flesh-eating ghost. However, in any population large enough, the disappearance of a few people took little effect, so Fu Yao and Nan Feng wandered lazily away from the market in search of someone who looked like a village official.
“It’s rather festive,” observed Nan Feng. “What’s going on? There haven’t been any holidays lately, have there? Could it be a local custom?”
Indeed, red banners and lanterns and garlands were strewn all over the city. Many of the signs sported double 喜s; well-wishes for a joyous marriage. “Some important person must have gotten hitched.”
“They must be pretty influential and wealthy if the whole town is celebrating with them. They could be the one who initiated all those prayers to beg Heaven for help with the ghost.”
Mu Qing internally seethed that Fu Yao was about half a chi shorter than Nan Feng. It was a horrible injustice as he and Feng Xin had been the exact same height for eight hundred years; truly his most devastating oversight, because this gave Feng Xin an advantage that he exploited mercilessly. Namely, by patting Fu Yao’s head whenever he could.
“Young masters, could I interest you in our high-quality calligraphy brushes?”
Nan Feng flashed the man a charming smile. “Sorry! My little shidi and I are in a hurry. Your brushes look beautiful!”
“My shixiong’s chicken-scratch handwriting doesn’t deserve your brushes!” added Fu Yao as he dragged Nan Feng away. He delivered a sharp kick to Nan Feng’s knee as soon as he had adequate room to. “Call me shidi again and I will torch your palace when we get back.”
“But you played along pretty damn well!” He reached out to pat his head again.
Fu Yao yanked on a loose chunk of Nan Feng’s hair with all his strength.
“OW, fuck, okay, wait, stop, let go! Don’t forget the fucking mission! We’re looking for a temple to exorcise, remember?”
“Look. Temple.”
A little ways away from the busiest part of the village, a multi-storied golden temple loomed menacingly.
“Ah,” said Nan Feng appreciatively. “Good eye.”
“No, you’re just fucking stupid.”
“Stop fucking swearing so much.”
An undeniable cloud of evil qi emanated from the temple grounds as they approached. Its title plaque was so worn that it was a completely smooth slab of wood. The halls and living quarters were deserted. Wind creaked through the aged wood and through ajar windows, as if crying mournfully. A thin haze of dust rose as they tentatively foraged their way in.
“It certainly is a deserted temple,” remarked Fu Yao, kicking a scrap of rusted metal from the ground. “I don’t think anyone’s been in here for a century at least. Has the ghost really only been causing trouble in recent months?”
“So close to such a vibrant town, too. You’d think that somebody would have the time and funds to properly tidy it up.”
“Who do you think they used to worship?”
“Are you cultivators?”
Nan Feng and Fu Yao whirled around to find a young monk, his eyes luminous but his demeanor pious and calm.
“Yes,” said Nan Feng. “We heard about a ghost terrorizing the temple here. Would Venerable Brother permit us to take a closer look?”
“Of course, of course!” said the monk. “We’ve been waiting for cultivators or some sort of intervention from Heaven for quite some time. Our whole village pooled our money together to light incense after the disappearance of the village head’s madam.” He bowed deeply. “This brother and all inhabitants of Guiyuan Village will be forever in your debt if you can manage to remove the scourge upon our land!”
“Which monastery are you from?” asked Nan Feng.
“In fact, this brother used to meditate in this very location, before the ghost took over our facilities!” He bowed again and pressed his palms flat together. “This ghost is known as Ascending Ghost for its lofty ambitions and ruthless nature. It traps its victims inside the top story of that golden temple”---he pointed up high, sleeve billowing down his arm---”where their desperate cries can be heard in all corners of the village every night.”
“The Ascending Ghost,” repeated Fu Yao dubiously. In their communication array, he wondered, Could it be a banished heavenly official? “We’ll do our best to get rid of it.”
“A thousand thanks from this brother!”
While the temple hummed with yin energy, there was nothing turbulent or violent at the moment. The top story pulsed with clusters of yang energy---prisoners, terrified but alive. The exterior of the golden temple was, in stark contrast to the rest of the temple yard, meticulously radiant, as if it was polished from the surrounding dust daily.
Mu Qing’s zhanmadao was glamoured as an ordinary sword tucked at Fu Yao’s side, and he discreetly gripped the handle as they neared the pagoda’s base. In front of him, Nan Feng had a hand on his disguised Fengshen as he pushed the door open without a creak.
The sunlight filtered in and exposed a stairwell, dim and muggy. Streaks of wood were peeling from the walls, but it was what one expected of an abandoned pagoda.
He poked Nan Feng. I sense the wicked qi all around us.
I can feel it too. I don’t think it’s coming from upstairs though, it feels more like---
The door snapped shut behind them, flinging them into oppressive gloom. Fu Yao widened his eyes as he tried to distinguish Nan Feng from the murky shapes in the dark.
Something heavy slammed into the back of his head. The crash echoed painfully, and his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the ground.
---
The most useful benefit of being a martial god was being sturdy as hell. When Fu Yao came to, the back of his head had stopped dripping warm blood down his collar, and his brain was mostly clear.
He scanned his surroundings. His arms were bound around a pillar behind his back with thick rope. In front of him, an array of candles formed an intimate sphere of orange light. Zhanmadao and Fengshen, still disguised as swords, laid in a discarded heap outside the candles. The rest of the room was barren.
Fu Yao heard terrified, hurried breathing next to him. Nan Feng kneeled in the same position, but his face was uncharacteristically ashen and his eyes darted left and right as cold sweat dripped down his forehead.
Fu Yao lifted his head and came in eye level with a monk’s orange robes.
The ghost had the same earnest, bright-eyed face as the monk from earlier, but its teeth poked out from its mouth like a wild boar’s, and stringy hair coursed down its shoulders. It--she--also had a large chest.
Ah. No wonder Nan Feng had been incapacitated so easily.
“Aww, you’re awake, young daozhang,” cooed the ghost as she ran her clawed hand over the crown of Fu Yao’s head. Why was everyone patting his head today??? “You have such silky hair. You must share your routine with me someday.”
“‘Daozhang?’”
“Are you not a cultivator?” The ghost sidled back a step and tilted her head, frowning.
“Oh, right. So you must be the infamous Ascending Ghost?”
She preened. “That is me. Are you boys here to chop off my head?”
“No,” said Fu Yao bluntly. “I wouldn’t want your head. Your hair looks greasy and disgusting.”
“You--you little brat--you can’t speak like that to a woman!!”
Fu Yao peeked at Nan Feng again, whose face had turned even paler when she’d started talking. He rolled his eyes.
“I finally caught some cultivators,” laughed the ghost, clicking her nails against a blunt, shiny butcher knife. “Hehe, hehe, heh. My trap worked. Of course you cultivators would never pass up an opportunity to play hero.” She pointed the knife at them. “Silly, naive, innocent youths. Very pretty, though.”
“What do you want with us,” asked Fu Yao warily.
“I’m going to cook and eat you.”
Cannibalistic ghosts were nothing foreign. The rope binding his hands was completely ordinary rope, the primitive stuff fishermen used to tether their sampans; perhaps enough to restrain a second-rate cultivator, but certainly not a god. He prepared to blast his way out.
“I read that eating the flesh of cultivators grants immortality.”
Fu Yao barked a laugh out of shock. “Where did you hear that?”
Ignoring him, she said, “I’m so glad there are two of you. I can eat one and save the other for fun.”
“No way. Are you called the Ascending Ghost because you think you can reach Heaven by eating cultivators?”
“You’re very lovely, of course, but you’re kind of mean and you look like you’d make a good roast…”
“Me?? I look edible?! What are your criteria?”
“Hmm… I think I like this face better, though.”
The ghost traced Nan Feng’s cheek with a long nail. His eyes spun like a spooked horse’s to follow the movement, while his body remained stone-still. She laughed and turned to Fu Yao. “Your friend is terrified of me! How cute!”
MU QING, SOS SOS SOS MU QING YOU MOTHERFUCKER DO SOMETHING
Heh, look who’s begging.
Fu Yao was slightly miffed that she found Nan Feng’s face more appealing than Fu Yao’s, but he couldn’t entirely disagree with her. A voice deep in his brain whispered, If she’s already so enamored by Nan Feng’s face, imagine if she sees Feng Xin’s actual face.
“We could get married and live happily ever after like those trolls up in heaven!”
“Who in heaven?” asked Fu Yao.
“You know. The wedding last week!”
“Dianxia and that crimson dick tied the knot years ago and they don’t live in heaven. Your information is outdated.”
The ghost huffed and stomped a foot. “That’s not who I’m referring to! Seriously! Do they teach you nothing in those cultivation clans? Your master is a failure. But regardless, I like this one. I wouldn’t mind spending an eternity with you.” She grabbed Nan Feng’s chin with two clawed fingers and squeezed as she tilted his head up. Again, panic filled Nan Feng’s eyes.
Alright, enough was enough. Mu Qing shed his junior official disguise. His restraints burned away with the flash of spiritual power. He rose to his full height, armor glinting under candlelight.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re never entering heaven,” said Mu Qing as he plucked the ghost from the ground by her neck. She shrieked and scratched viciously, kicking and squirming, before he crushed her windpipe and then her skull with his bare hands.
---
After leading the hungry and exhausted prisoners down from the highest floor of the pagoda, Nan Feng and Fu Yao were accosted by the village head and a horde of tearful villagers.
The mission was much more straightforward than Mu Qing had expected, hardly warranting two cardinal martial gods to descend.
As they sipped on tea as part of the village’s post-ghost celebrations, Fu Yao jabbed Nan Feng with his elbow. No wonder Ling Wen had to assign both of us. If you were alone, you would’ve fainted long before even seeing the prisoners.
He scowled. Shut the fuck up. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Thanks.
I can’t believe you, out of all people, are a father. No interest in another ghost wife?
Did you call me pretty back there in the pagoda?
“What are you talking about.”
Nan Feng smirked into his tea. “‘Imagine if she sees Feng Xin’s actual face?’”
Fuck. He’d said it into the communication array.
Mu Qing was going to murder whoever had set up the communication array. (Except it was Ling Wen, so maybe not, because that would collapse the heavens.)
His face blazed with embarrassment, and he snapped, “You heard wrong. I would never say something so obscenely incorrect.”
“The more you deny it, the guiltier you sound, you know.”
Before Fu Yao could strangle Nan Feng or something, a group of young children darted past them, squealing and cheering.
“It’s gone! The monster is gone! They can reopen the temple again!”
“I bet this time, it’ll be a Temple of Xuan Zhen!”
“But I think the Nan Yang worshippers have more money this time, so they’ll probably fund the temple.”
“Nan Yang statues look scary! I like the Xuan Zhen statues more!”
“Shallow and vain!”
“Children,” called Fu Yao. “Would you mind telling these poor, ignorant cultivators what’s going on?”
The child who’d accused his friend of being shallow had a crafty glint in his eye as the group approached the duo. From his pocket, he tugged out a handful of shelled berries. “Well, can you help us peel these longans while we talk?”
Nan Feng and Fu Yao were put to work while the kids excitedly hovered around waiting for their fruits.
“This temple used to be a temple of Xuan Zhen.”
“No, it wasn’t!”
“What do you know?”
“Before that, it was a temple of Nan Yang. Every few years, the worshippers get in a fight and tear it down and rebuild it.”
“I think they should just keep it as a temple of Xuan Zhen,” argued one little boy. “The statues look better.”
Fu Yao plopped a peeled, succulent longan into his hands. “Agreed.”
“Hah! Daozhang agrees with me!”
“That’s a silly way of thinking,” scolded the child who supplied the longans, who was slightly older than the rest of the crowd. He wagged his finger at both the little boy and Fu Yao. “Why does it matter whose temple it is, as long as a god is worshipped? Anyways, Nan Yang statues are cooler. They look like monsters.”
Feng Xin muttered, I don’t know if I should feel flattered.
“I agree,” said Fu Yao. “Nan Yang statues do look like horrifying demons. Absolutely atrocious.”
The child’s face twisted, perplexed. Half of the kids clamored eagerly, “Yeah! Take that!”
“But did you know, General Xuan Zhen destroys all the statues he deems unfit for his taste?” supplied Nan Feng, nudging their discarded longan shells into a neat little heap. “He’s very finicky and difficult to please.”
“Lavish and wasteful!” cried someone, and the other half of the kids shouted, “Yeah! Better off worshipping Nan Yang!”
The child stirring the pot stomped his foot. “You’re cultivators! You’re supposed to be mature and neutral! Here, more longans.” Out of nowhere, he produced a fresh pile of berries, and the kids squatted at Nan Feng and Fu Yao’s feet again to wait for the unpeeled fruits. “But anyways, it doesn’t matter now because I heard that they’re gonna build a joint temple here.”
“Where did you hear that?” asked a kid.
“From my dad. He says we have to respect the wishes of heaven, even if we don’t want to.”
“And you’re respecting the wishes of heaven by… worshipping them together?” asked Fu Yao. Weren’t he and Feng Xin infamous for blowing up the Heavenly Capital in their brawls and for instigating fights among their followers?
“Personally,” continued the kid, “I think it’s a wise decision. Then maybe the temple will stay standing for more than a few years.”
“You talk like you’re so much older than us!” complained some of the younger kids.
“It’s not my fault I’m so much smarter!”
“This is why nobody likes you!”
“Isn’t it so romantic?” sighed one little boy.
“What the fu-” Nan Feng’s expletive was cut short by Fu Yao’s violent stomp on his foot. He shot him a dirty look. “We must be missing some context here. Could you please elaborate?”
“Elaborate on what?”
“How is it…. romantic?”
The ringleader huffed and shook his head. “Are you really cultivators? You’re so uninformed! Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen are husbands, duh!”
Fu Yao crushed the longan in his hand, sweet juice spilling over his fingers.
There was a beat of awkward, expectant silence as the kids watched the two cultivators malfunction.
“They really had no idea,” whispered someone.
Mu Qing opened up the communication array to yell. Why didn’t you tell me we got married?!
I didn’t know we were married either???
“When did this happen?” asked Nan Feng.
“Like, recently?” The kid waved at the red banners and decorations all around them and the lively ambience in the square.
“This is entirely preposterous and absurd,” seethed Fu Yao. Him?? Marrying Feng Xin?? There was a higher chance of the Ghost Realm freezing over.
“Hey! You can’t insult the gods like that!” The kids jumped up and began to protest. “You know, sometimes the gods descend in mortal forms to walk among us! You never know who might be Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen themselves in disguise on this street!”
“Yeah, what if they hear your disrespect and decide to smite you to bits right here?”
“Are you guys really cultivators? I’ve never heard of such rude and uneducated cultivators!”
“Dou-er!”
A bullish woman, clad in an apron and waving a wooden spoon, rushed over and yanked the ringleader’s arm roughly. “What are you doing, getting strangers to peel fruit for you again?! Don’t you know that these are the cultivators who saved our village? Show some respect!” She shoved his head down. “Kowtow and apologize!”
“I’m sorry,” muttered Dou-er.
“Daozhang sirs, I’m truly sorry for all the trouble the kids have caused,” she told Nan Feng and Fu Yao. “Those little rascals. They have too much spare time on their hands, so they run around bothering all the passersby.” She whacked Dou-er's butt with her spoon. “Into the kitchen with me, all of you! You aren’t leaving until you finish scrubbing, and I better be able to see my face on every surface by the time you’re done!”
As she herded them away, Fu Yao and Nan Feng sat, dumbfounded, surrounded by brown longan shells and the shiny black pits.
---
They spent a few days at an inn in the Mortal Realm before re-ascending, just to scope out the scene and chat with some merchants who were probably a better source of information than the kids and the ghost.
The same thing was said everywhere. Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen had been married recently; the entire South, particularly the central area, was in celebration; and joint temples were springing up like wild dandelions.
When asked where they first heard the rumor, all the people referred to a mysterious painting.
Of course, there were many other paintings, and scrolls, and tapestries, and reliefs and statues and embroideries and carvings and poems and plays by now, so that was an impossible lead.
“Why,” griped Mu Qing for the millionth time, clutching his head. “Why, why, why, why. Why us? How does this happen? What a mess. I’m going to skin whoever made that first painting alive, from head to toe. I’m going to hang their ribs from the doors of a joint temple.”
“You’re such a fucking drama queen.” Feng Xin laughed. “Or should I call you dear husband?”
“Fuck you!” shrieked Mu Qing, and socked Feng Xin in the nose.
They rolled around in the grass, kicking and punching and scratching. The motions were familiar, having been repeated for nearly a millenia. Unlike the vicious fights in the first couple centuries however, they didn’t purposely aim to cripple the other anymore, instead opting for more of a sparring-style fight.
Mu Qing finally broke apart from Feng Xin and laid in the grass, staring up at the sky. Feng Xin sprawled next to him. Late afternoon was beginning to meld into twilight. The sky was boundless and azure, tinted pale violet at the very zenith, and a flock of crows noisily streaked across the corner of his vision.
They were in a small clearing of an uninhabited forest---perfect grounds for ascending without being seen by nosy mortals.
Mu Qing tried and failed not to peek at Feng Xin.
The waning golden sunlight set his eyes aglow like drops of amber, highlighted the tips of his lashes, and dotted out his freckles. (The ghost would have lost her mind.)
The lives of gods were full of contradictions, where nothing was constant and everything was constant at the same time. Mortals bloomed and withered like perennial flowers. Empires swelled and crumbled like sandcastles. And yet, from century to century, they measured the same sun and moon and stars, and responded to the same whims and desires of mortals.
And Mu Qing found himself lost in the same familiar molten amber eyes, year after year. He clung to Feng Xin like a lifeline, like a boulder, as the river of time rushed around them both.
Mu Qing flipped over and propped his head on a hand. Feng Xin watched him.
“You look happier,” noted Feng Xin.
He scoffed to cover the blood rushing to his face. “Shut your stupid mouth, idiot. What do you know?” He hesitated, then admitted, “It’s nice to be up and about. I’ve been cooped up in my palace for too long.”
Mu Qing closed his eyes. Nothing mattered. It was enough being side by side with Feng Xin, in the leisurely way normal friends did. All of their true animosity had evaporated in the aftermath of Mount Tonglu, and what was left was—what was it? A kind of tentative harmony, held together by sticks and twine and paste.
Of course, he could settle with that. He could live with that. There was nothing he feared more than that tentative harmony collapsing under the pressure of what he wanted.
The mortals were dangerously precise about what he wanted.
Something sweet-smelling and cold bumped into his cheek.
“Oops. Longan?” Feng Xin retracted his hand and started peeling the longan.
“Where’d you get that?”
“The kids left that pile of longan when the lady took them away, remember? I took a couple.”
“Oh.” He took the proffered fruit, a tiny glistening pearl passed between their hands. Its juice was pleasantly sweet, and he spat the pit into a patch of ferns some distance away.
Then it clicked in his mind.
“Fuck! Longans are served during weddings! That’s why there were so many!” He stormed to his feet and yanked Feng Xin to his feet too, spilling the remaining longans cupped in his hands. “Nan Yang, we are going back to the Heavenly Realm right this instant.”
“Hey, calm down,” said Feng Xin. “I’m sure it’ll blow over soon. It’s just one of those fads among mortals that won’t even really affect us. Remember Lords Wind and Water Masters? Some people worshipped them as a couple even though they were siblings.” He shrugged. “You can just visit a few dreams and tell them we’re not married, anyways.”
---
Spoiler alert, it wasn’t one of those “fads among mortals”.
Not even an incense time later, Mu Qing, in a fit of rage, yanked Feng Xin back down to the Mortal Realm.
They landed on a ridge overlooking a shallow canyon and its creek. Stubby pine trees jutted from the cliffside. Eagles, buoyed by the current of air rising from the canyon, soared and wheeled over their heads. Mu Qing had picked one of his favorite spots in his territory. He needed the sobering fog and the wind whipping his hair like crazy, keeping him from overheating from stress.
“I don’t get it. I just don’t understand. Why is the Heavenly Realm celebrating our nonexistent wedding too? Just what is going on?”
“Ling Wen’s mission must have been a diversion, then.”
Mu Qing threw him a furious glare and paced in circles with his head bent toward the ground, fuming quietly.
He didn’t look at Feng Xin. He didn’t think he could bear to see revulsion there, revulsion at being grouped together with Mu Qing, not after they’d made up and left everything from the past behind in Mount Tonglu. Not when they’d been making such good progress.
Feng Xin was so damn uncharacteristically laidback about this. Well, he didn’t want to see a blank expression any more than he wanted to see disgust.
“Fucking say something else!” snapped Mu Qing, whirling on him. “Say your vulgarities at theoretically marrying me so we can go back up and yell at everyone until they clean up and help us set the record straight!”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
“What? Did you hit your head? Not that it would do anything to that thick skull of yours.”
Feng Xin raised his chin.
“I never said I hated the idea of marrying you.”
Mu Qing blinked.
He tugged at his own hair frantically. “So did you set all this up?? Is this all one giant joke at my expense, or what?”
“No!” yelled Feng Xin, grabbing his wrists to rescue his hairline. “I have no idea why this is happening and I have nothing to do with it.”
“You’re hiding something,” accused Mu Qing. “ Fess up before I break your knees.”
“But, you know, that day of the mission, I was going to tell you--” He swallowed hard and stared defiantly into Mu Qing’s eyes. “I like you, Mu Qing. I like you a lot. We’ve always had our differences, but in spite of that, there’s nobody else in the world who even comes close to you for me.”
Mu Qing pulled free and staggered away. He hid his face in his sleeves. “Is this a joke? It’s not funny at all, by the way.”
“It-”
“Don’t toy with me like this! Get away from me!”
“Damn your paranoid ass, Mu Qing. Can’t you just reject me like a normal person?”
“I never rejected you!”
“Hello?! Then where is this conversation even going?”
Blood was flowing at a dysfunctional rate to Mu Qing’s face.
“Can’t we be honest for once?” asked Feng Xin.
The words congealed in Mu Qing’s throat as if he’d eaten something sticky and cloyingly sweet. Was this how cats felt before spitting up a hairball? He couldn’t tell if he was going to cough out his esophagus right along with a confession.
But since Tonglu, he’d learned. The only consequences that could come from eight hundred years of suppressing his words, of not communicating properly, were strife and anger. He owed it to Feng Xin to make a change and tell the truth.
The danger of immortality was that stagnancy was too easy. When every day heralded the same Heavenly Capital and the same fellow gods, it was too easy to slip into a mask and carry out his duties and forget that they had all once been humans. They had all once been subordinate to joy, and fear, and change.
Maybe he did want to feel human again. Eight hundred years was a long time to maintain a status quo.
“Mu Qing?” Feng Xin watched him with concern.
“I-I--” He couldn’t say it when he was free-falling into those eyes. He wrapped his arms around Feng Xin’s neck and buried his face into his shoulder. “I like you too. In that way. A lot. More than you would ever know.”
A quiet intake of breath, then Feng Xin’s arms came up around his back.
“So does that mean we don’t have to tell everyone that the rumors are false?”
“No! Yes! I mean, perhaps in a while. But it’s none of their business, to be honest.”
“I get it.”
“Do you really?”
“They shouldn’t get to assume for us before we’ve even sorted ourselves out and confirmed anything.”
Mu Qing drew back, mildly surprised. “That’s right.”
A moment passed.
“So now what?” asked Feng Xin. “Should we go back to heaven? And yell at them?”
"Screw that," groaned Mu Qing. "I don't want to see those dolts."
"What do you want to do, then?"
“Mm… I’d like to stay in the Mortal Realm a while longer and take a closer look at the festivities. If they’re going to celebrate us, I want to eat more of those longans.” He disentangled himself from Feng Xin.
Feng Xin grinned cheekily. “Whatever you say.”
“And we need to hunt down that bastard who’s responsible for starting this rumor, and make him fucking suffer.”
“Oh, another mission. How fun!”
Mu Qing swatted at his shoulder. Feng Xin caught his hand and interlaced their fingers together, and they descended the ridge side by side, pressed against one another.
BONUS (several days prior)
Xie Lian bounced on his toes as Hua Cheng walked into Puji Shrine. “San Lang, guess what Feng Xin just told me! He’s going to confess his feelings to Mu Qing! I’m so happy for them! And really relieved! They’ve been orbiting each other for way too long, you know.”
Hua Cheng grunted. “Those idiots.”
“Can I request your help, San Lang?”
“You know I would do anything for you, gege.”
“Could you paint them a wedding portrait? As a gift? I know it’s still early, but I just know it’ll come in useful soon.”
“Alright, gege, leave it to me.”
“San Lang, you are simply the best. Oh… make sure the ghosts in Ghost City don’t catch wind of this, though, because if they know, the whole world is going to know too.”