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Chapter Text

11 years before Ascension — South

The sun rises in the east; Mu Qing prefers sunsets. 

The sunsets of Xianle were easier to appreciate now. It would take time until Mu Qing grew bored of them. The pinks and golds that turned to bruised indigo as the stars fought to become light in a nighttime sky. It matched the mottled mess of his chin. Sore. Mu Qing kept pressing his palm against it, irritating the bruise further and further.

Mu Qing had seen the punch coming. He should have been faster to react against it. He just had to get the last word in. The last snide remark, which made the blossoming of pain irrelevant as his head snapped to the side, the momentum of which caused him to fall and get kicked by the lackeys that followed the boy, whom he had upset today. 

But it didn’t matter what they did. Mu Qing’s words had stuck and would continue to stick to the other like an extra robe they wouldn’t be able to take off. The wealthy were easy to pick apart like that. Their egos were immense as was their fear of it falling apart. They assumed Mu Qing wouldn’t know their tricks because he had grown up down below. However, Mu Qing had always been a quick learner, quicker yet to take advantage of any situation he came across. It made living in the palace tense, but if it kept unsavory characters from reaching back out to him, he could care less—he’d learn to do better at caring less. 

“Fucking hell, how’d you manage to get the way out here without bribing the guards? Did you pawn off some jewelry from His Highness?”

And just like that Mu Qing’s peace at witnessing the last golden sunset of spring withered into ash. The only person other than Xie Lian to not get the hint when Mu Qing wanted to be alone was the prince’s guard, Feng Xin.

“Go away.” 

Feng Xin ignored him as he was apt to do ever since Xie Lian graciously extended his hand out to Mu Qing and told him he was going to be living with him from now on. A servant to the crowned prince. What an honor his mother had said, hiding her tears behind a handkerchief as she handed him off. Mu Qing had no choice but to accept. Their family needed the money. Mu Qing had told her that he had always wondered what the inside of a palace might look like. He found he didn’t like it all that much. He kept that opinion stacked with the others he knew better not to voice. 

Feng Xin tucked his foot under his raised knee, looking outward. The cliff they were on was hardly raised, jutting just so above the pool of water that feigned the sunset in rippling waves.

“His Highness is worried,” Feng Xin said because his concerns only extended so far as they revolved around his prince. Mu Qing thought that was why he disliked Feng Xin. He was barely a person at all. No opinions of himself. It was infuriating to stand next to. People pleasers were always insufferable. 

“I have completed my duties for the night. He needn’t fret.” 

Feng Xin might have frowned if Mu Qing had given him the time of day to look at his face, but he had come out here to enjoy the weather and what would inevitably set. Not to discuss this and that with the prince’s loyal guard.

“He heard about what happened in the courtyard. They won’t get—

“I don’t need his help.” Mu Qing said. “I’ve already taken care of it.” 

“Is that why you have a bruise the size of the king’s fist on your chin and countless others under your clothes?”

“ You.” Mu Qing turned on him. He wanted to slap him. He wanted to punch Feng Xin in the face, too. Feng Xin didn’t have secrets, but he was no better than all the others, sneering at him from his lofty place in the castle as if he wasn’t in the exact same position as Mu Qing, their life and servitude to one person only. No matter how much they aged, that would always remain. 

Feng Xin soaked in the aggression, perfectly blank. Soon, Mu Qing would get that stature to crack. He would get through that armor, and when Mu Qing wanted to bite, Feng Xin would bite back tenfold. They were still strangers, however. Feng Xin had a bit of dignity, not wanting to upset his prince, and Mu Qing still carried a fear that if he attacked the wrong person, he’d be kicked right back down to where he was from. 

Would that be so bad?

Mu Qing had meant to go to his mother’s tonight once he escaped the palace. They had one free day a month, and he usually went then, but he had wanted to go tonight. He needed it so, so bad. But she would take one look at him and see, and no amount of lying and begging would get her to believe that Mu Qing was okay and fine with the way things were now. What kind of coward was he to not want to accept the elevation that came with a handout? This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. The opportunity for him to grow beyond what his birthright claimed and become someone in his own right. Even if that person only appeared in the margins of the crowned prince’s blessed journey. 

Had he gone to his mother, he would not have come back. 

“You shouldn’t have let them get to you,” Feng Xin continued, unaware of how precarious his position was at Mu Qing’s side. One wrong word and Mu Qing would shove with all his might and watch Feng Xin tumble into the water below. It wasn’t all that deep. He’d only hit his head on the bottom before sputtering up. 

“You have too much pride for a seamstress.” 

Mu Qing’s resolve snapped. Feng Xin was infuriatingly stronger than him. Bigger too. Mu Qing had been training with a sword every day since he got here with Xie Lian, and he had been getting bigger too—that and regular meals that he could eat every bit of without feeling obligated to save and share at a later point helped too.

However, despite Mu Qing hitting him, Feng Xin did not move. Not one centimeter out of place. He even mocked Mu Qing, rubbing his arm, but Feng Xin didn’t screw his face up in pain. He had been taking punches his whole life. Mu Qing, too, though not for the same reasons. 

“They got what was coming to them,” Mu Qing said. “When they get punished,” though Mu Qing highly doubted it, they had royal blood in them somewhere, no matter how distant that bloodline may be, “it’ll be their own fault.”

“But did you really have to tell them their dad was a whore, that you recognized Li Zhong’s name from one of the brothels his dad frequented?”

Mu Qing didn’t know Feng Xin a whole lot, but it took him great effort to get the sentence out. A weakness. The first of many Mu Qing would find himself privy to. 

“His dad is a whore. If he wants to discuss my upbringing, he should be ready to face his own.” 

Feng Xin seemed exasperated by that, falling away and sighing up at the clouds while his hands lay splayed behind him. 

He said, “You’re never going to make this work if you keep that attitude up. Keeping track of every slight, it’ll drive you insane one day.” 

Mu Qing didn’t particularly care. He was never a person people considered “well-liked” even back in his own neighborhood. The other children were weary of him. He had been taught to read where they had not. He wasn’t interested in pack loyalties when he could get just as much by himself without the vendor’s seeing, and he didn’t have to split his winnings with the others. His mother had demanded that he stop that, though, saying she would find a better way—sending him off to the palace it seemed—and Mu Qing was too scared to attempt anything like that here. Besides, even if Xie Lian didn’t seem overly fond of any of the jewelry or ornaments that decorated his chambers, which could feed a whole village for a year, end poverty right then and there in those same streets Mu Qing stole from, someone else would. Probably Feng Xin himself, considering how often he reminded Mu Qing he was watching him. 

“What does it matter to you? The first thing you said to me was that you wanted me gone.” 

“There you go again. That was, what, like eight months ago? It doesn’t matter. Just get over it already.” 

Mu Qing’s mother often said he had his father’s heart. She loved the man once, so it was a kind thing to say, but Mu Qing knew too it came from her exasperation in failing to understand him. A boy shouldn’t have been born angry to warrant him being upset all the time like he was, but he also couldn’t find it in himself to fall into naive peace when no such innocence had ever been afforded to him prior. His father dead. Mu Qing on the path of that dying, too. 

Perhaps if things were different, if he wasn’t born in the capitol but some kind village, or, when he was born, his mother hadn't clutched him to her chest, waiting for the moment his father walked back into their home to accept him, but had instead sent him away, either to rot in the streets or somehow to the palace where he was right now, all so she could get a cup of soup before bed. Maybe if he had been raised as Feng Xin was, within the palace’s walls, taught only one duty and one mindset, he would have been more like the prince’s guard and less like himself. It was nauseating to think that would be better. 

“I’m not running away,” Mu Qing said, “if that’s what you’re actually worried about in coming out here.” 

Feng Xin sighed again, more winded and exasperated than the last. 

“Now you’re just making things up. I didn’t say that at all!”

“Then why are you here?” 

“I already said,” Feng Xin trailed. He sat back up. He reached out to Mu Qing. Mu Qing had long learned how to hide his distrust by ever flinching away from something like that. “You didn’t eat dinner and that hit looked pretty bad. Let me see.” 

“His hand is going to hurt worse,” Mu Qing said. Feng Xin touched his jaw, angling his chin with the setting sun to see it better. Mu Qing let him, though he had only ever let his mother touch him. “He didn’t do it right when he hit me. He probably broke his thumb.” 

“He did break his thumb,” Feng Xin said. “He was crying so loudly, you could hear him throughout the west palace.” 

Mu Qing smiled even though it hurt to do so. 

Good, Mu Qing thought, it served him right. 

“His Highness is going to take the blame for it.” 

“He punched me .” 

“You provoked him.” 

“Like you would have sat idly if he said to you what he said about me.”

For all his gravitas, Mu Qing had witnessed Feng Xin lash out. Mostly, during training when he couldn’t master a move right and someone had the gall to point it out. Mu Qing was still too new with a sword to try any tactic like that, but he would one day. Then, Feng Xin wouldn’t be able to act so mighty beside him, masquerading as tending to his wound. 

“You’re right,” Feng Xin said, “but I wouldn’t have been caught. Had Li Zhong insinuated anything so vile to me, I would have messed him up so badly he wouldn’t have dared insult me again, let alone tell anyone about it.” 

Mu Qing pulled his head out of Feng Xin’s grasp, saying, “You’re not that cool.” 

“You hardly are either, even if your ego is engorged.” 

Mu Qing bit back the reply that he always wished he could say to anyone who mocked him. One day, people were going to respect Mu Qing. They were going to honor him even far outside the kingdom of Xianle. Not because he told the world Li Zhong’s dad was a scoundrel who cheated on his wife and impregnated countless women he chose to ignore, but because Mu Qing was somebody. As near reproachable as a god might be. 

But for now he had to accept that he hadn’t made it there yet. That he was out here, just outside the city’s walls, not because he wanted to be but because he had to, sitting next to a boy who wouldn’t even make it into the stories they told of him. Not if Mu Qing had anything to say about it. 

Feng Xin didn’t attempt to re-take his jaw or study any further what he had been doing when his hand was on him. He didn’t stay silent either. Mu Qing was pretty sure if Feng Xin had to stay quiet for more than five minutes, his head would explode. Anything to make sure his highness was properly taken care of and was feeling well since the last time Feng Xin asked him. It caused him to sound rather dumb, more often than not. 

He said, “If you need to hate someone, hate me.” 

“Excuse me?”

Someone before Mu Qing must have thrown Feng Xin into a pond and cracked his skull open on the limestone below. 

“If someone is pissing you off, just take all that resentment and put it on me instead. Otherwise, someone is gonna come around and stab you in the back one of these days and that will make His Highness sad.” 

“How do I know you’re not just going to stab me in the back one day?”

Mu Qing couldn’t believe he could be perceived as entertaining the idea. What sort of fool demanded someone hate them? Hate was not an emotion people coveted. 

What must have been true then was that past his attentiveness and seemingly peaceful approach, Feng Xin already despised him. Hated Mu Qing even. For doing nothing but take the attention of a boy who he used to have sole access to. A boy like Feng Xin had probably never felt something so viscerally in his life. Not, at least, so negative and without reason. Therefore, instead of struggling with the idea his feelings were unfounded, he was making it so that Mu Qing abhorred him too. He didn’t need to. Mu Qing was pretty sure another few months in his company would achieve the same results. 

The boy was annoying so far, that was all, but that could change. People had a way of always meeting Mu Qing’s expectations of them. Feng Xin would be no different. 

“Trust me if I want to kill you. I would do so right here, face to face, a sword through your chest. You just need to work harder to get me to that point.” 

Work harder. Like it was a game. Feng Xin was mocking him and that mockery did spark in his chest. Mu Qing could let it burn hotter. Make this foolish guard regret ever being the target of Mu Qing’s ire.

“I’ll kill you myself,” Mu Qing said. Good riddance. He would probably think right afterward. There was no room for Feng Xin in this story, even if he decided to be Mu Qing’s punching bag for the next several years. 

Feng Xin said, knowing that just as Mu Qing did, “Don’t think it’ll be that easy. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” 

Me neither. Mu Qing would say next and as with most things touched by time, the sincerity of the phrase would fade, and with it, the conversation, the warm compress to his face, tending to a bruise that would never reach the high peaks of pain Mu Qing bore, and the fact there was a time Feng Xin chased after him at all. 

Maybe only the sunset stood to test the limits on the capacity of his memories. 

Mu Qing preferred sunsets. 

They declared that the day was over, and he could forget about it. Why put all of his promises on a sunrise when it had been willing to lie to him the day prior about upcoming joys? Sunsets brought the sort of finality that godhood could not, proceeding the nighttime that Mu Qing enjoyed most. 

But there was no wonder in morning gray. Dawn was not quite yet ready to dispel night from it with the waking sun, hidden behind mountains. The only thing it was good for was the fact that when Mu Qing arrived to Heaven, there were no pompous idiots to greet him. The blood and dirt vanished from his clothes and sword the moment he stood atop the marble walkways. 

Feng Xin was proving himself an utterly useless companion god to keep. In the months after the capital had been rebuilt, Mu Qing had to fight countless monsters, ghosts, ghouls, and any other variations of curses that grew beyond the scope of his deputies in the southeast, on top of dealing with his own swaths of prayers and hardships that required his attention. Had it been their first year yoked to the same title, Mu Qing would have readily refused to step foot past the invisible line that separated east from west, letting monsters or whatever wreck havoc upon the lands as Feng Xin got up to whatever it was that kept him from answering his prayers.However, that sort of thinking was what got lesser gods expunged from the memories of humans. Mu Qing had already survived fearing for his life once. He would not let his grasp on life weaken because he ignored a couple of prayers that were beneath him, something Feng Xin had decided were, once life returned to normal again—as normal as it ever was. 

Mu Qing’s deputies were ready to greet him when he entered his palace, taking his sword and the armor he wore to be washed and polished before his next trip back down to Earth. They busied themselves further, running by him various minor necessities and wishes he had missed in his three-day excursion out, which he approved with little thought as long as they fell within their purview.

“Congratulations, General,” one of his higher-ranking deputies spoke, reading through a scroll, “the Palace of Ling Wen just got out the mid-year tally of devotees and you’ve reached 916,001.”

“And General Nan Yang?” 

Mu Qing planned to take a bath once his advisors were away. A deep warm soak as he willed the pieces of his body broken from his previous fight back together and then fully succumbed to rest and sleep the entirety of the morning away. He had a meeting with some plant god about an upcoming drought a so-called witch had predicted, and he wanted to be prepared in case it was really bad, but that wasn’t until early afternoon, meaning his morning was free to himself. 

“915,987.” 

Mu Qing stopped, thinking he misheard. 

“915,997?” 

For 800 years, he and Feng Xin had only ever been one or two, at a stretch, believers up or behind one another. Fourteen was another thing altogether. Four was already too big of a gap.

“915,987,” the deputy confirmed, and Mu Qing’s ears buzzed as he congratulated him again for achieving such a feat. Not many other gods could boast the number he did. Pei Ming and Shi Wudu, back when he was still alive, but not many others. As it was, the new milestone was supposed to be something he would gloat about when he saw Feng Xin next. Feng Xin was supposed to be at 916,000 to Mu Qing’s 916,001. That one that mattered. It meant Mu Qing was better. Fourteen, for some reason, didn’t feel as great. Didn’t make him well up with pride as much as it sat uneasily in his stomach as if he had been stabbed and there was a lingering poison there. 

“It’s about time General Nan Yang fell behind,” the deputy continued, “he’s been hogging and stealing your attention for years now.” 

Mu Qing didn’t hear him too busy calculating how this could be. The last time they counted the gap hadn’t been this big or showed signs of growing like this. But the last time was before Xie Lian ascended again. It was back in the before time of Heaven and not all those gods survived the transition. Many did not. But Feng Xin wasn’t some lesser god in the Middle Court. He was the Martial God of the Southeast. He wouldn’t let an issue like this compound and grow. Fourteen now, but how many more in the next six months and the months after that? 

Mu Qing should have been as excited as the one talking to him, planning a big celebration to send down to his temples to win more supporters for himself, but there was no joy in it, only a simple realization that he couldn’t remember the last time he saw Feng Xin. 

Early spring or was it still winter, but the season had been so mild that it might as well have been the former? Feng Xin was just off, taking care of his other duties. Mu Qing picked up the slack because it gave him leverage the next time they came to blows. They had gone longer without speaking to each other before. When Feng Xin first ascended, after the single conversation they had on the matter, they didn’t speak again for almost two decades, and when they did, they cracked a mountain in two in the resulting fistfight. It was a victory Mu Qing would sit on often whenever he was alone.

Feng Xin better be under a mountain right now. That was the only way he would get away with this, losing followers or failing to gain new ones. Who did he think he was? 

Mu Qing spun on his heel, marching right back out of his palace, failing to say another word to his deputies as he did so, but they were well-taught. Not a single one shouted after him in alarm at his abrupt departure. They only closed ranks and went about their tasks. Mu Qing had made it so his palace would remain operating smoothly no matter what—even when he was run out of Heaven on a charge that was not true, though many still whispered about when he was out of earshot. He blamed Feng Xin, again, for that. Not taking responsibility and setting the record straight—not that Feng Xin ever bothered to ask, but that was just as well. If Mu Qing admitted where he was when his son died now, Feng Xin would only assume the worst. 

However, it was good fuel to base Mu Qing’s anger on. That, and the realization that he had been taking up jobs and tasks without question from Feng Xin for the last several weeks, months , which meant Feng Xin would be prepared for his arrival, no matter how fiery and hot-tempered Mu Qing was. Feng Xin’s lesser deputies certainly shrank away from Mu Qing’s rampage as he approached, fleeing the courtyard as he entered. 

They had a mutual understanding not to involve others, but Mu Qing didn’t mind wielding fear just the same as he would a sword, attacking anyone bold enough to approach him with a withering gaze, thwarting their attempts to step ahead of him and block his way. 

Feng Xin’s palace was similar to his own, but it wasn’t a mirror. They had the same sensibilities because they grew up in the same era and held nostalgia for the same decor. The layouts being similar was a coincidence, and Mu Qing would never choose these colors, which were quite an eyesore. 

He veered off from entering right into Feng Xin’s bed chambers, the hour early enough for Feng Xin to be in his office at least, but the room was resultantly bare. Orderly in the way Mu Qing wouldn’t assume Feng Xin to be, meaning someone had been in here after him, sorting all his things and leaving a neat stack at his desk.

The cloak forgotten in the room was one lined with the warmest fur.

Mu Qing prepared his sensibilities and walked into Feng Xin’s bedroom. 

It was empty like the office was. The bed was made. Pillows set down invitingly, welcoming sleep in kind yellows and rich blues. Air sat heavy in the air. Stale and undisturbed.

Mu Qing came here looking for a fight an empty room couldn’t give him. His temper grew, paired with a headache that was part annoyance, part exhaustion. He could have been in bed by now. At least, blinking sleep out of his eyes while he soaked. Leave it to Feng Xin to ruin his morning plans. 

He put his fingers to his temple and closed his eyes while he frowned, tapping his foot, waiting, but an answer didn’t come. 

For one brief moment, quicker than an intake of breath, he thought Feng Xin dead. He tossed the thought away as quickly as that. Mu Qing would know. He was certain of that. The day Feng Xin ever blessed him with his death, he would feel it. It would be searing and painful like an iron bar red-hot from burning coals impaled through his chest, Feng Xin’s last gift upon him. 

Feng Xin wouldn’t simply vanish. They both were too good for that. 

Mu Qing grabbed the collar of the first person who wasn’t quick enough to scatter when General Xuan Zhen stormed back through a palace, not his, lifting the deputy off the ground with one hand.

“Where is General Nan Yang?” He demanded. 

The deputy had a bit of Feng Xin’s temper. He didn’t tremble while Mu Qing held him by the collar. Whatever fear his expression held was one not born of Mu Qing’s rage in having to be here, looking for this man’s god. It was an expression Mu Qing might even have had on his face had he not perfected himself nearly a millennia ago when godhood was still unobtainable and spending his life serving a palace was inevitable. 

“We don’t know,” the deputy said.

8  months after Ascension — Southwest

Feng Xin was gone. 

The King and Queen were gone. 

Xie Lian was gone. 

The cabin sat barren. The only warm breath from Mu Qing, where he stood in a fine layer of dust, barely permissible, but there nonetheless. It betrayed his scattered footsteps, going in and out of each room. He had searched each three times, convincing himself he wasn’t thorough, thinking he missed a sign. 

The last time Mu Qing was here, he had not left on the best note, but there had never been any permeance in anger between them. Between Feng Xin and himself? Yes. They had always hated each other. They always would. But Xie Lian was different. Mu Qing thought if he could just get him out of the house, he could explain himself better without all the stressors of this place. Xie Lian would remember himself, and they would be fine again. It was only a matter of time before Xie Lian ascended again, of course, but Mu Qing was uneasy to let this fester until then. 

He needed to talk to Xie Lian, but Xie Lian wasn’t there. 

Hadn’t been for a while, based on the state of things left. 

Mu Qing only allowed himself to drag his hands down his face once, gripping tightly to his hair before he dropped it, burying any scream of frustration and leaving the place altogether. 

The house, this place in the woods, was never a permanent solution. It was only a solution for a fraction of the time. A bandage, trying desperately to hold together an infected wound. They would eventually need to get another, and they couldn’t have gotten far, either. The king was sick, and Xie Lian wouldn’t leave him in this situation no matter their differences. He also wouldn’t further risk his father’s health by making his parents travel on uncertain paths toward uncertain lands.

However, a more imprudent thought led him through the nearby city on his first arrival. As a god, he wasn’t at the mercy of guards and their blockades. Even if they wanted to keep him out, they could not. Naive to him passing them as he walked into the jail. If the royal family had been captured recently, there would be signs of them here. Even not-so-recently, whatever guard managed to bring the royal family into chains, to then be delivered to the Yong’an capitol, would be celebrated for life. His picture hung high as if honoring him was the same as honoring this whole place. 

The cells were not silent. Bemoaning figures in dirty rags, who were not afforded the same generosity that the Yong’an rulers had promised so many others, sat. They were unrecognizable as humans. Pathetic. Weak. The type of people Mu Qing had learned to step over when he was a boy and someone had carelessly dropped a hard bun in the street. They’d sooner eat through his leg if he wasn’t fast enough than settle for actual food. There was nothing noteworthy about them, certainly no crown prince and his royal parents. Further snooping presented the same fate. Whatever came of Mu Qing’s old lieges, they hadn’t met their end by being captured here. Mu Qing wouldn’t dare say it was a silver lining, however. Not without knowing what happened to them.

Heaven would be no help on the matter. Mu Qing had run an errand for a more adventitious god, trying to curry more favor for himself, and he would begin to wonder about Mu Qing’s ability if he didn’t return soon. Further, Heaven made no secrets about how they viewed Xie Lian and his missives. They mocked and laughed at him. They would never knowingly provide aid and that was partially the reason Mu Qing had come here without anyone knowing. Just because Mu Qing was a god, it didn’t mean his situation wasn’t still precarious. It didn’t mean he couldn’t fall again.

Mu Qing set about roaming the streets. Looking for what, he could not say. Just. A way to blow off anxiety. Anxiety that could be perceived as weakness if he re-entered Heaven right now. One he didn’t need. He racked his brain, trying to remember if there were any places in this awful city they had frequented. Mu Qing hadn’t been here a lot. He had left his mother here and his siblings, but he did not consider it his home like he had back when they lived in the capitol. He avoided that part of the city altogether. 

Mu Qing would have to return to Heaven before he tried to find a way to the Yong’an capitol, hoping that he would find Xie Lian there. Considering how Xie Lian treated his help the last time they encountered one another, Mu Qing had no disillusionment over how that would go either. As if Xie Lian—and Feng Xin for that matter—would prefer to spend their immortality locked up in chains and then run through with a sword as Yong’an’s last show of strength rather than accept Mu Qing’s help.

Xie Lian might let him help for his parents’ sake, however. 

They could go back to hating him once they were back on the road. Mu Qing didn’t care. 

As feeble as a plan to storm the Yong’an capital was, it did release some tension in Mu Qing’s chest, however faulty that logic was. 

Truthfully, it would be a waste of time to attempt it. He already knew Xie Lian and the others hadn’t been caught by the guards here. While it didn’t mean that they weren't caught by guards elsewhere, more likely was that they had found a new cabin to sleep in, getting themselves new jobs to make do and working on their cultivation to ascend. It would be nearly pointless to try to find them without a single clue as to where to head now. 

Mu Qing would be better to forget them all. He had left first, and he did not regret it. He could achieve the exact thing he wanted, quicker and with less work, by standing still and waiting. They would come to him. 

However, Mu Qing’s patience had vanished the moment he had descended with Xie Lian and had to work to ascend again. Mu Qing would start spiraling soon, achieving the exact opposite thing he wanted as he hiked through the city streets, blurring faces and laughter surrounding him as he went. Mortals kept unaware of his presence, save a gloomy chill and atmosphere that took to the air after his departure, causing a few to mumble about returning home. 

It was during this short break of people as they parted that Mu Qing got his senses back. Not because he remembered his verses, but because when the crowd slipped open, he caught sight of something familiar. Xianle. In this town of relatively few of their people, at least, few of the capital variety, there stood a person Mu Qing knew. 

However, to say he knew Jian Lan was stretching the truth quite a bit. He didn’t even know what her parents did to warrant them coming to the palace back then, her tagging along and dancing during one of the feasts. He remembered her once with a yellow ribbon in her hair, head back, laughing as she spun, but he didn't remember anything else to make such a memory resurface now as he watched her haggle a vendor, pursing her lips, which drew attention to the lines on her face. She was no older than he, but it seemed the world was unkind to anyone steadfast to Xianle. She was beautiful, though. She garnered more stares than just from the god. 

Mu Qing had no destination, no thoughts of reason, as he fell into step behind her after she purchased her wares, checking over her shoulder and glaring at the one or two bold enough to make eye contact with her and whisper to their companions, making bets, before she ducked into the alleyway. A dangerous tactic for a woman hoping to avoid the instincts of less refined men. Mu Qing, himself, one of those men, slipping into the alleyway Jian Lan used to cut across town back to her home—or wherever she may be headed. 

Godhood slid off of him, adding echoes to his steps as he followed her on, reaching out to grab her arm. No thought to a disguise. No thought to just what it was he hoped to achieve here. 

Jian Lan struggled once, rearing back and spinning on her heel. She had good form, even if it faltered at the end, her raised fist going no further than halting in the air. Her eyes widened and her foot fell back. 

She asked, “Mu Qing?”

In their short scuffle, Mu Qing had dropped her arm, but the cloak she wore, tied tightly at her neck, had loosened, knocking against the basket at the crux of her arm, showcasing what was more obvious without the cover of the garment. 

“You’re pregnant.”

Far enough along to show but not far enough that it was nearing term. It explained the glow about her in the market. Wherever she was staying here, she wasn’t so mistreated as to go hungry. Perhaps he had been wrong to say this place had treated her unkind, and she had found the semblance of home not on the streets. A doting husband who vowed to protect her secrets—if he even knew of them—waiting for her to come back home to him. 

Mu Qing might be ashamed for grabbing and startling her like this if he wasn’t so desperate. 

Jian Lan asked, “Where’s Feng Xin,” looking over his shoulder as if the man would appear as suddenly as he did. 

Her question also doused whatever blinded Mu Qing and led him to show himself here. He backed up. This was a mistake. Had the opportunity to be a very bad mistake. 

“Forgive me,” Mu Qing mustered out, unsure how able he was at even providing people adequate apologies. “I must go.” 

He just needed to resort back to falling into mortal’s obliviousness.

“Wait!”

The command kept him from immediately disappearing. The alleyway was dark. As long as no one else entered, the only one who would see him was her. 

She said, “Feng Xin isn’t with you.” 

“No.”

Mu Qing was probably the last person Feng Xin ever wanted to see again. Mu Qing had upset his prince, had abandoned them for his own gains, had come back, and was made a fool of. 

Across from him, Jian Lan troubled over that realization, chewing her lip and turning her head away from him as she searched the cracks in the wall beside them. 

People getting Mu Qing after wishing for Feng Xin in his place was not a new phenomenon. They considered Mu Qing harsher during the war. He could level a whole battalion himself, but they gazed upon him as if he would choose to take his next attack on his platoon. When the war was still young and victory inevitable, Xie Lian would send either him or Feng Xin out to relay orders. He pictured that Feng Xin’s statements were more well-received, even when Mu Qing’s came from the same source. 

Feng Xin had never had to wonder about being well-liked. He just was. Liked. 

This city might not have been small, but for Feng Xin, finding a kindred spirit here was moth to flame. Mu Qing might even begin to remember who had caused Jian Lan to laugh so carefree at the palace of Xianle. 

“I’m looking for him too,” Mu Qing stated, hoping to gain that same mutual understanding Feng Xin would have already achieved. Jian Lan stopped fretting and turned back to him. 

“Is that why you followed me? What makes you think I know?”

There was an accusation in her words. There was also fear. Both of which made sense. If she had been in contact with Feng Xin or simply listened to idle rumors that sat everywhere when Mu Qing was still mortal, accompanying the royal family, Mu Qing was a wanted man. Any association with him risked imprisonment or death, and Jian Lan was pregnant. Good mothers put their children above all else to save them. 

“I’m just looking for information, that's all. I’ll leave as soon as that.” 

He did his absolute best to not reveal any desperation with his words, nothing that could be used and twisted for someone else’s benefit. But Jian Lan must have known how desperate he already was to pull her from the streets just to talk. Her hand lingered on her stomach. She wore no rings on that hand nor were there any bands around her wrists. She was otherwise dressed plainly. Dressed to be ignored, even if that hadn’t gone to plan. 

“He left three months ago. I haven’t seen him since.”

Three months was too much time. It was going to be all that harder to try and find any signs of where they went here now. 

“Where?”

“I—” Jian Lan frowned, pondering before changing her response. “Why should I tell you? You’re a god now, aren’t you? Find him yourself.”

Jian Lan should not have been able to tell that from simply looking at him, but she was too smart of a woman to not know what befell those who entered Heaven with Xie Lian. Feng Xin had talked to her then. Mu Qing had no misgivings about whether or not his words were kind. 

“If you know that, you know just as well that’s impossible.”

“You men and your excuses. Nothing is achievable unless you can believe it, no matter its costs in the interim until you see that light.” 

Mu Qing stepped forward, anger unfurling down his arm. “Watch your tone.” 

“Or what? I’m already a whore, General, how much further can you damn me?”

Mu Qing didn’t need to wonder about the choice of her words. No husband was waiting for Jian Lan at home. The leers she had received in the streets were because people knew they could get away with it. They may have wanted to follow her in the alley, but they didn’t want to risk being shaken down for cash at a later point for daring to lay hands on a brothel’s product. She was pregnant, but she could still work. Still, give men the pleasure of touching glass stars. 

“What do you want?”

Even a direction would put him on a better path. So what if he had to trade the information? If it was the only way, so be it. 

Jian Lan, however, wasn’t appeased by his question. Hackles still raised as if he would use his might to split the world open at her feet, sending her tumbling down a chasm of darkness. Mu Qing possessed no strength to do so, but even those who had once fought beside gods still revered them as more than what they were. Mu Qing hadn’t been any different from them a time ago. 

Jian Lan was scared, but she was also practical. That practicality won out in the end. 

“I trust you know what will come of this child once he is born.” 

In a brothel? He’d be lucky not to be tossed out with the trash. If Jian Lan was well-liked, one of the madams might take him in. If she was adored, they could leave him at the gates of an orphanage. A baby had the best chance of being picked, especially one unattached to any viewed imperfections. However, mothers tended to wail at the prospect of their children being stolen from their arms, even if it was what was best for all involved, and if Jian Lan wanted to keep a baby, she couldn’t do so and work as she was. 

“I want a guarantee that my son will be raised well and without harm.” Mu Qing could not promise that. He was a god born of battle. His blessings were the same. “That I will be the one to raise him and that we will be comfortable.” Jian Lan finished. Her eyes were dark, heavy with her glare. Mu Qing had been raised under harsher eyes. He stayed strong, working out a way to achieve her desires. 

“You have no love for this place.” 

“Of course not. I came here against my will. I was—” She didn’t have to finish that sentence. “It’s a place of misery. For me and Feng Xin both.” 

Mu Qing did not see the reason to bring up Feng Xin now. Perhaps just to remind Mu Qing why he was standing and talking to her. For Feng Xin? He could laugh. He would never go out of his way for that man. This was for Xie Lian and himself only. But Feng Xin was always predictable. Wherever he was, that was where Mu Qing would find Xie Lian. Feng Xin wouldn’t leave Xie Lian’s side. 

“I can get you money,” he said. 

“Your money means nothing to me once it’s gone.” 

Mu Qing pursed his lips, reining in any residual rage that threatened to overcome him. He was still a god. If word got to Heaven that he had been exhorted by a brothel whore, he’d never be allowed back in. Mu Qing would quicker kick himself out of Heaven, again. 

But Heaven did not know that which they dutifully ignored, and they had been ignoring him. They used him when it was beneficial but, otherwise, stayed away from him in the Middle Court. It suited his needs well right now. The only thing Jian Lan threatened to damage with her demands was his pride. Mu Qing was immortal. It would recover. 

“What do you want then? Speak frankly, or I’ll leave, and you can try your tactics, begging on your knees to your employers not to kill your son.” 

Jian Lan’s eyes flashed, but she knew not to test his patience any further by belittling him. They had a mutual understanding. She held what Mu Qing wanted, and he the same for her. 

“A house.” She said, “Far from here and where no one would think to go. I want protection, Mu Qing. I don’t want to be found again.” 

A house, and whatever met the lines of the latter half of her statement, could not be willed to existence. It would take time. By the looks of things, she had only five or so months before her child was due. She would need to be settled in by then. 

But it was something Mu Qing could reasonably do. He’d have to fudge some numbers here and there in his records, but the civil gods were already overworked. They would miss the slow expenses coming out of his accounts to buy a small acreage of land, near enough to a village that could help Jian Lan once she gave birth, but unassuming so that no one would think to pursue her there. 

“Deal. Now tell me where Feng Xin went.” 

Jian Lan laughed. There was a note of cruelty in it. “Not until I’m safe, General. Not a single moment before.” 

794 years after Ascension — Heaven

Pei Ming was not alone in his palace when Mu Qing entered. Ling Wen stood ahead of his desk, their conversation falling quiet at the sound of the door opening, announcing his arrival. Neither seemed that worried about his appearance. Ling Wen was ready to continue their conversation where it left off while Pei Ming stood and greeted him instead. 

“I heard you defeated the Lion of Red Moon. No small feat. While I would have rid the beast of its fur long ago, it is still an impressive display.” 

Mu Qing did not come here to banter with the northern god nor choose his words carefully in front of the head civil one. Pei Ming was supposedly a friend of sorts to Feng Xin. More so friends with him than Mu Qing was, certainly. 

“I’m looking for General Nan Yang. He’s not in his palace, and we have an important matter to discuss.” 

Pei Ming’s hand, which had been raised toward him to shake when he congratulated him, fell to his side. Not in despair, only confusion as he glanced at Ling Wen, who didn’t feign interest in the conversation, studying her nails and waiting for this intrusion to pass so she could continue with her work. 

“Last I heard the general was down dealing with a ghost who liked chopping heads like trees.”

“ That was three months ago,” Mu Qing said. “I had to go save him from getting his dick chopped off. Where then?”

“Find me when you’re done,” Ling Wen said to Pei Ming, stepping away from the desk and leaving. Pei Ming fell into his chair. He didn’t look as uneasy as Mu Qing felt. 

“It sounds like you were the last person to see him,” Pei Ming said. “If he didn’t say,” the man shrugged, awfully small in his regalia. 

Mu Qing wanted to push the limits of Pei Ming’s hospitality, shove everything off his desk, and throw every object that held weight against the walls. Why was it that whenever he talked to gods, it was like pulling teeth? Like any information he hoped to gain, was priceless and could only be bartered for by trading verbal blows. 

“No. We parted at the village with the agreement that we'd see each other soon. He was sent on another mission then.” 

“I don’t know what you want to hear, General Xuan Zhen. We have no keepers here. If he wanted to leave, you know just as well as I, he simply did. Besides, what is three months in our lifetimes? In a year we may start to fret, but he is most likely caught up in another matter in his realm that has taken precedence. Go home. Take a bath and relax. I’m sure we’ll see the general again in due time.” 

Mu Qing wanted to do just that. He wanted to fall into his bed and not wake up for a century since it seemed he had no amount of rest since Heaven fell from the sky. But he couldn’t. Too many people rested their futures on him, and Mu Qing would be loathed to let any of them down.

What pissed him off was that he knew Feng Xin was the same way. They had been fighting over rights to prayers and who bestowed the best gifts for centuries. If Feng Xin had been caught up on a mission, he wouldn’t have presumed that Mu Qing would take care of his duties in the interim. Mu Qing could just as well ignore them if he did. For all their petulance toward one another they had built up a system. One hastily built and always at the mercy of caving in, but a system nonetheless. 

Feng Xin would have said something to Mu Qing if he was anticipating leaving for any length of time. Mu Qing would hardly call the courtesy respect, but it would have been expected. Mu Qing would have done the same for him, even if he had to deal with Feng Xin droning on about how he might as well just come with Mu Qing to slay or investigate whatever beast Mu Qing thought was going to take an indiscernible amount of time. Feng Xin would be right in that killing it together was faster, but that wasn’t the point in all this. 

“Try talking to him.” Mu Qing said. “He didn’t respond to me in the communication array. Even if he was on a case that’s taken him that long, he would have.” 

Pei Ming didn’t annoy him further by refusing. He pressed his fingers to his temple and closed his eyes. He was at it for some time. Long enough for Mu Qing to think Pei Ming did get ahold of Feng Xin, and the southeastern god had been ignoring Mu Qing when he tried to get in contact with him earlier. Mu Qing would rip Feng Xin’s spine out of his back if that was the case, if not for Mu Qing’s sake, for Feng Xin’s deputies, who he had left without a word. If the only thing to come of it was people defecting from Feng Xin’s palace to work for Mu Qing, or anyone else’s, Mu Qing would take it as a win. He would resolutely not tell the other he had been worried for him. 

He wasn’t worried. 

He was annoyed. 

People tended to get annoyed when they had to take up the work meant for two. Feng Xin owed Mu Qing a vacation. Six months for his missing three. No less. Mu Qing could practically taste salt in the air and hear pleasant rolling waves when Pei Ming dropped his hand with a frown. 

“It seems you are correct,” Pei Ming said. Mu Qing didn’t like the feeling of that victory. Any thoughts of a peaceful summertime along the water’s shore vanished with it. “No one has been able to get in contact with him as of late.” 

Feng Xin really was gone. 

Mu Qing didn’t know why he suddenly felt crooked, standing still. Like his center had dropped to his feet, and if he took a step in any direction, the room would tip, spilling him onto the floor.

“Well?”

Pei Ming sighed. “It’s just the same either way. We are gods. Time escapes us regularly. He’ll be back, I’m sure. It’s not like you to be so worried.” Pei Ming’s attempt at a placating calm twitched, then, tilting his head as he looked at Mu Qing anew. “ Unless —”

“I’m not worried.” Mu Qing said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m mad. Furious. I want to find him, so I can shove his face into a wall.” 

The threat didn’t deter whatever the fuck Pei Ming’s expression was. Mu Qing thought it better he didn’t know, actually. A common trait of martial gods was their stupidity. Only Mu Qing was the outlier in that regard. He should have never picked up a sword and had instead fostered a cultivation method that less regularly worked with idiots and their whims. Certainly, the new Earth Master wasn’t that cemented into their role. He and Mu Qing could trade. 

If only matters such as these were so simple. Mu Qing would be a martial god until he passed on, and with the ways things were going on Feng Xin’s side, he’d soon have the whole of the South to rule instead of a measly half. What joy. 

“Of course,” Pei Ming said, “I expect nothing less. To appease your fury, I promise, I’ll have my best deputies look into the matter. He won’t escape your wrath.” 

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. There was a reason Pei Ming was Feng Xin’s friend. He was useless. But, Mu Qing did partially get what he wanted. Feng Xin couldn’t escape notice for long if everyone in Heaven knew to keep an eye out for him. 

Therefore, it didn’t make sense why anxiety still lingered as he uprooted himself and walked out of Pei Ming’s palace. There was a time too, when Jun Wu had asked them all to keep an eye out for Xie Lian, and the only reason they had ever found him was because Xie Lian ascended, not the other way around. 

If someone wanted to disappear, they could, and even those who didn’t necessarily want to, could just as well. Feng Xin could be suffocating in a mountain, and it didn’t matter how many gods were conscious to be aware of him. They wouldn’t find him. 

Then again, it wasn’t Mu Qing’s responsibility. He could go back to his palace, get ready for the day, deal with his own problems, and put the whole thing behind him. Pei Ming was right. Next year, he could worry about this then. 

Not worry. 

Mu Qing did not care what came of Feng Xin. 

He was angry. He had to remember. Enraged. 

Ling Wen was waiting when he left Pe Ming’s gates. He expected her to brush past him to resume her conversation with Pei Ming before Mu Qing interrupted, but she stepped ahead of him instead. 

“Ming Guang is right. You should let the matter rest.” 

“I wasn’t taking advice on the matter.” 

Mu Qing stepped around her. All gods had their vendettas and desires, Ling Wen wasn’t unique in that, but that didn’t mean Mu Qing had to blindly behave, trust, and listen to her. Heaven was already too much of a mess to hold grudges, but Mu Qing tended to be the outlier in that regard too. 

Nevertheless, Ling Wen was the head civil god and her resources were vast. If she stepped ahead of him, it was because she knew something. However, how useful that information was or how much she was willing to divulge on was uncertain. 

Mu Qing pressed his lips together, smartly keeping all other snide remarks at bay. Ling Wen could just as well smirk, walk past him herself, and not bother saying anything useful either way. Mu Qing figured she secretly—or not so secretly—got off on seeing martial gods squirm at her feet.

“I am busy,” he started. 

Ling Wen waved him off. “You’ve been in Heaven all morning, and all you’ve managed to do was worry about this useless thing.” 

Mu Qing couldn’t even argue against that. It was useless, worrying over Feng Xin as if Feng Xin needed that worry. Even if he wasn’t in Heaven, even if that time stretched outward past 100 days, it wasn’t as if he was actually in any danger. Feng Xin probably had just got caught up in some stupidity and lost track of time. The thought alone would have put Mu Qing’s mind to rest years ago. It was infuriating that he wasn’t able to do the same thing now. 

A side effect of sharing the same territory was that Mu Qing could always sort of sense the other god when they were in the South, and just as with the communication array, Mu Qing couldn’t pinpoint Feng Xin’s location. Sure, he only ever used this trick when he knew about the danger, but it was still odd to feel as though the god had vanished just like that. 

But again, that could be explained. Feng Xin might not have been in the South. He could have been in the ghost realm. He could be at the bottom of the ocean chained and screaming, unable to drown. 

Honestly, Mu Qing didn’t know why his brain kept wanting to take him down paths of desolation. 

Feng Xin could have just as easily been sipping tea at some small place he created and kept so no one would find him. None of their powers were that limitless. There were holes in their abilities that could allow others to disappear and find quiet peace for themselves. 

Of all the options, that annoyed Mu Qing off the most, though. Mu Qing would drop down to Earth and search every crevice, drag Feng Xin out by his ankles, and make him pay for causing so Mu Qing to now have misplaced concerned about him. Any generous thoughts he had about Feng Xin, were Feng Xin's fault for always sticking nearby and taking to his new role as Mu Qing's friend leaps and bounds, not at all as apprehensive as Mu Qing was about the whole thing, or at least, wanted to be about it anyway. 

“Do you have information or not?” 

“What can you do for me?”

“Considering he hasn’t been up here for months, his duties and paperwork getting done is more than enough.” 

Ling Wen pursed her lips, but Mu Qing knew she didn’t have much bargaining power, enlisting Mu Qing into her servitude would cause her tasks to take longer as people critiqued and worried over every little thing he did. And Mu Qing was always timely with his own paperwork. He didn’t have anything for her to hold over his head. 

“Fine.” She said, “He came to my palace at the start of spring, asking a question so ridiculous I put it from my mind. “

Feng Xin asked a lot of ridiculous things, he couldn’t blame Ling Wen for that. Mu Qing himself liked to forget half the things Feng Xin had ever said to him. 

“What? Was he trying to get mortals to stop worshiping his dick again?”

Ling Wen’s expression didn’t waver, leveling him a cold glare. Mu Qing responded in kind. Even if he did want to know where Feng Xin had run off to, apparently chasing whatever dumb thing he got stuck in his head, that didn’t mean he had to sit here and speak amicably with Ling Wen out on Pei Ming’s front lawn. 

Since Mu Qing annoyed her, Ling Wen simply straightened her shoulders and said with little inflection, “He asked about the likelihood of a god being able to descend and become a ghost.” 

“Why would he ask something as stupid as that?”

Mu Qing could laugh. He almost did, but he had already blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, and Ling Wen was not the patient type. All the more annoyed with his question as she was with Feng Xin’s original one. 

“Why would I know,” she asked. “Maybe he decided life would be easier as a ghost and was looking for a way to get it done.” 

Mu Qing didn’t immediately take that statement to heart. 

A god becoming a ghost? Dumb. 

Feng Xin becoming a ghost? It was absurd. Feng Xin was a top martial god. There was no reason to descend and make himself weaker when he had all that he could ever need right here in Heaven. 

Granted, Feng Xin wasn’t in Heaven, which meant whatever he had been after wasn’t found here. 

“But you did tell him something.”

It wasn’t like Feng Xin couldn’t think for himself and make his own decisions based on whatever reaction Ling Wen had to him being in her presence and possibly destroying her things. But he was one to jump on leads without sitting and thinking fully about the actions he needed to take next. If he had, Mu Qing would have run into him before he left Heaven again. Mu Qing could have given him his own opinion on the matter—incredulity over Feng Xin deciding to become a ghost all of a sudden. 

Ling Wen went to step past Mu Qing, sharing, "I told him to go to Ghost City. What matters do we care about ghosts? It’s my understanding he left right after.”

Exactly, as Mu Qing would have predicted. Feng Xin couldn’t even be sure a ghost would be willing to help listen and answer his problem, but he took it as a sure bet and went off on his own, and now who the hell knew where he was? Possibly a ghost, if Ling Wen’s words were anything to go by. This was exactly the type of reason Mu Qing had sworn off worrying and concerning himself with others. Others were idiots. 

However, if Feng Xin did want to become a ghost and saw it through, that would probably make Xie Lian sad. Silver linings, Feng Xin wouldn’t be dead (needing to be dead to be a ghost notwithstanding), but besides a certain ghost husband, it was still rather taboo for gods and ghosts to mingle openly, not to mention the fact that there was no guarantee Feng Xin’s ghost form would have the same personality as his current brash self.

It would certainly make for a mess, and Mu Qing had every right to ignore it. If Feng Xin couldn’t see how his actions had the consequence of hurting Xie Lian’s feelings, he wasn’t worth all that much to Mu Qing anyway. 

Nonetheless, Mu Qing found himself not heading to his palace to begin prepping a meeting with a god he knew would come and not dare brush him off—but descending out of the realm, hopefully, headed toward the one god that never hesitated to tell him off.

16 years after Ascension — East

Mu Qing watched the sunrise, kept at a cold distance that was unfitting for the region he found himself. It was a slow waking morning as if the world was not quite ready to turn over a new day. Mu Qing usually wouldn’t bother with such a thing, but he had little where else to go nor the energy to get any further.

Behind him, Feng Xin breathed as if he was engaged in a fierce battle. The battle was over. He had lost. His unconsciousness the proof of it. Mu Qing should have left him where he fell. Feng Xin had thrown Mu Qing against a mountain, causing it to split, which was actually why he could see the sunrise now. What was once a single mountain, was now two. Mu Qing had no reason to pull his punches in turn—he hadn’t—and further no reason to lift Feng Xin’s body over his shoulder and drag him out of the pit they had found themselves in once they had abandoned their spiritual devices, as the match became more reminiscent of their Xianle Days days, a time Mu Qing had been doing quite okay at forgetting until he was not. 

The fight had started because of it. Those shared memories of theirs, and their mutual inability to not let the other have the last word. Mu Qing got it today, but Feng Xin would push again tomorrow. The process would repeat. That was, of course, if Heaven let them back in. Feng Xin’s palace was certainly rubble by now, but there also had been a cavity down more than one of the main streets, amongst other fallen structures as they pummeled each other. The only reason Mu Qing was here now was because they had been forced out of the Heaven without pretense, uncaring as they fell and still battled on, settling somewhere in the East amongst a thick forest and a nearby mountain range. It only progressed from there. 

Mu Qing pressed on the bruise on his face, just to the left of his jaw. Feng Xin nearly dislocated it, but Mu Qing had braced himself just in time for the brunt of the hit. They had never fought like this before. They had never fought as full Martial Gods before. Heaven had joked about the strange animosity between them ever since Feng Xin ascended after Mu Qing, but they couldn’t rightfully say why nor did Mu Qing deem their faux interest worth adding to the rumors with his reasoning. As long as Feng Xin stayed far as hell away from him, everything was fine.

But Feng Xin had to ruin that peace. 

He had to find Mu Qing in his palace. 

He had to insinuate Mu Qing wasn’t doing a good enough job as a god. 

He had to remind Mu Qing that he wasn’t surprised by this, considering his many other mortal failures prior. 

Feng Xin deserved Mu Qing’s first punch to his face. He might have even deserved the next twenty blows as they went back and forth, but Mu Qing didn’t meet the first light of day with any joy that had once come with defeating Feng Xin in battle.

Back in Xianle, after Xie Lian, Feng Xin was always the person to beat. No one could beat Xie Lian, of course, but beating Feng Xin was always obtainable, mostly because Feng Xin was egotistical. Mu Qing had known what days of the week Feng Xin didn’t go so hard on his training, and the first time Mu Qing called him out to spar in front of all those other boys who idolized Feng Xin, it was on such a day. 

Mu Qing had lost, but Feng Xin had nearly lost too, and it might have put a target on Mu Qing’s back, but Mu Qing didn’t give up on chasing that goal. Feng Xin had stared down at Mu Qing from his lofty position as prince’s guard since the moment Mu Qing showed up, and Mu Qing wanted to sit on his back, shove his face in the dirt, and leer about the valiant protector of the prince, letting some servant get the best of him.

Which he did, and it was great. Greater more when he could emulate the process. Xie Lian always said he and Feng Xin were evenly matched, and nothing short of death would prove an actual winner between the two. But their fights weren’t about killing or even maiming, though Mu Qing thought about it once or twice, ruining Feng Xin’s face with a scar. Their fights were just heated moments. The outcome of unspoken emotions and endless taunts that ultimately imploded. 

Mu Qing didn’t know if Feng Xin would have left him for the ghosts and monsters that retook the forest once he left had their roles been reversed. Mu Qing hoped that he did. He hoped when Feng Xin woke up and saw that he was not where he had fallen but on an otherwise safe outcropping, outlooking the mountains and the distant sea, that he would remember that he wasn’t better than Mu Qing. Mu Qing had always been better than him. 

However, if Feng Xin realized such a thing, he didn’t say. His mouth was too busy groaning. Mu Qing didn’t turn back to regard him as he woke. He already knew everything that was wrong with Feng Xin. Everything Feng Xin couldn’t fix until he rested and meditated. 

They had gone too far in this fight. It had wrecked their spiritual energy reserves. Mu Qing had only enough right now to make one communication with Heaven, let alone heal himself of any of the more nasty injuries he got or return to Heaven outright. It was probably for the best. He didn’t need others judging him with open distaste, bold enough to ask him if he left Feng Xin for dead. 

He could have. 

He should have. 

Feng Xin was no one to him. 

Feng Xin never took the hint. 

After making a fool of himself, groaning in misery, Feng Xin dragged his body to where Mu Qing sat, looking out. Mu Qing didn’t regard him, even though he felt Feng Xin’s gaze on him, trying to catalog all the injuries Mu Qing had gotten in their spat without touching him to know each of them exactly. 

Feng Xin had a broken arm. A small fracture in his left wrist, though it didn’t matter really which one, considering Feng Xin’s chosen weapon was a bow. Mu Qing’s only care for it had been to leave it elevated on his chest. He had done nothing else. In turn, Mu Qing’s ankle was sprained. He hadn’t dared take it out of his boot to study it further and only compromised in sitting cross legged now rather than sitting how he would have preferred. 

There were other injuries besides them. Mu Qing’s bruised face. The shallow cut to the edge of Feng Xin’s ear. They were lucky there wasn’t anything worse. Neither of them would be in the best form if a ghost came upon them and decided to take advantage of two martial gods, clearly exhausted and wrung out from their previous fight. It wouldn’t even have to try that hard to defeat them. Never again would Mu Qing put his back against Feng Xin’s to take on the enemy together. He absolutely refused. 

Feng Xin settled on holding his left wrist against his chest. He said, “Did you really have to drop that boulder on my head? Was it really not enough to trip me up?”

Said boulder was a small piece of rubble. Feng Xin had been the first one to start throwing rocks at each other. Of course, he would be petulant about the fairness of their fight now that it was over. 

“Did you have to fist my hair so hard that you ripped a chunk of it out? When I get back to Heaven and find I have a bald spot, I’ll level your palace again before it’s rebuilt.” 

Feng Xin rolled his eyes. Well, Mu Qing believed he did. He still refused to look over. 

“Your hair is fine. Only a civil god would care about something as insignificant. It was a mistake letting you ascend as a martial god.” 

“Oh? So now you’re smarter than the emperor,” Mu Qing mocked, “Come on, let’s go again, this insignificant should-have-been-a-civil-god just beat your ass. I’ll do it again.” 

“Fuck, I forgot how grouchy you are,” Feng Xin said. “One of us would probably die if we fought again right now.” 

So?

Mu Qing bit off the word before it passed his lips. Even if their fight was mutual, returning to Heaven without Feng Xin due to Feng Xin succumbing to the battle was a sure way to get Mu Qing branded and cast out of Heaven. Despite his hatred of the man, Mu Qing wouldn’t risk his career over that, which was why he was more than fine with their current arrangement. 

Mu Qing took care of the southwest, Feng Xin the southeast. They did not interact. They did not speak. When all the martial gods were needed to convene, they sat the furthest away from one another. Mu Qing tuned out everything Feng Xin said in those meetings to not get angered by his stupidity, and Feng Xin, at every request by the others, denied ever coming along with Mu Qing on a mission. There was no reason for them to talk, and yet, Feng Xin had decided that today, or rather yesterday, was a reason to change all that. 

“You just know you’d lose,” Mu Qing said eventually, “Just like when we were in the army.”

“That was different, and you know it.” 

“Was it?”

Xie Lian had been furious when he found out the culmination of their bets and fights. He was already stretched thin, only to have his army bickering over which general they would rather serve under. It didn’t matter how many times Mu Qing proved he could out power Feng Xin, for most of those soldiers, if they had a choice, they’d go with Feng Xin instead. The fights were for other things, too, though. Like picks of the more promising battles, who won their legions the best choice of food, and who got the longer break between battles to visit home. Of course, none of that mattered in the end. Xianle was still lost. The same mortals that had tried to kill him once now worshiped him as a god full of strenuous might. They might worship Feng Xin, too. 

None of it mattered; the only worthwhile lesson Mu Qing was taught regarding the whole mess. 

Feng Xin did not agree, which was at least half of why Mu Qing couldn’t stand the idea of talking to him. It would be so much easier to forget it all, every terrible blunder and mistake, and move on, but even without speaking, Feng Xin served as a reminder. Just seeing him, put Mu Qing back in Xianle. Back as a servant, asking for scraps and forgiveness for a slight that wasn’t all that big but was made to be ginormous. Feng Xin was disgusted with him, and things he loathed, Feng Xin never stayed silent on. 

“Look, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me until we can go back,” Feng Xin said. “Did you scout this place yet? Is there a village or home nearby we can stay at?”

No. Mu Qing didn’t need to scout to know they were in the middle of nowhere and that they would be better off if they stayed where they were than risk coming upon nefarious creatures by traveling. Further, Mu Qing couldn’t walk any distance and didn’t want Feng Xin to know. Feng Xin didn’t need to know. 

His silence was enough of a response for Feng Xin to slide his hand down his face before remembering himself and wincing, broken wrist-ed dumb ass. 

“I’m trying to help us.” 

“I don’t need your help,” Mu Qing snapped, losing his resolve not to look at Feng Xin while he did so. 

Feng Xin’s hair was tacky with blood, sticking to the right side of his forehead. Mu Qing should have hit him harder than Mu Qing could have cultivated back the spiritual energy he needed in peace without the other's commentary. 

“And you’ve never accepted mine," he continued. "Don’t act all high and mighty now that you need something from me. Oh wait, you were never that mighty to begin with.” 

Feng Xin’s features twisted, scowling and reddening with ripe rage. 

“You never fucking change, only looking out for yourself.”

“At least I’m not a liar,” Mu Qing said. “At least I never pretended to be some loyal dog, only to shit on my master instead.”

“Says the dog that bit him.”

Mu Qing had enough. He should have left Feng Xin to rot where he fell. Who cared if he died due to exposure? Feng Xin wouldn’t have dragged Mu Qing here. He only ever saw the worst in Mu Qing, never anything else. He hated him. Mu Qing hated him, too. 

Mu Qing got up, but he misjudged how much weight he could put on his leg. It caused him to pitch forward, his leg going nearly numb with the force of the pain. He was only saved by ruining his ankle further and falling in an unnatural heap, by Feng Xin reaching out to grab him, which only caused the other to curse, once again forgetting his own injuries. Without the proper stabilization, Mu Qing more or less fell against Feng Xin. Lucky, only in the fact that he didn’t fall into Feng Xin’s lap or any other more compromising positions. Unlucky because he allowed Feng Xin to touch him, and now he knew about every scrape, bruise, or otherwise that Mu Qing had been keeping to himself. 

“Fuck, Mu Qing, you are hurt.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Mu Qing slid back to the ground, in no mood to attempt storming off part two. He didn’t know how he managed to drag Feng Xin’s body up this far. It must have been adrenaline and idiocy. Mu Qing only wrapped his hands around his ankle and squeezed it, as if that would make it better. Mu Qing could only spare the tiniest amount of spiritual power to ebb the overwhelming nature of the pain. 

Beside him, Feng Xin hovered over him. He had sat up on his knees and looked as if he was moments away from touching Mu Qing himself to provide aid, left debating the odds of Mu Qing biting him for his efforts. Mu Qing thought it was high. He didn’t need Feng Xin’s help. 

“I’m sorry,” Feng Xin said, which was worse than the silent press of his palm to his skin. 

“What the hell for? You’re hurt, too. It doesn’t matter. Cry your tears to someone else.”

Mu Qing must have hit Feng Xin in the head harder than he thought because despite Mu Qing rejecting Feng Xin’s poor excuse of an apology, Feng Xin got over his fear of touching Mu Qing, using his uninjured hand to wrap around Mu Qing’s ankle, just under where Mu Qing’s hands were, followed by the telltale sign that Feng Xin was using his spiritual energy by the added warmth that spread out from that point. 

“Despite what you might think, I don’t like seeing you unnecessarily hurt,” Feng Xin said. His eyes were closed when he said it. He was pointedly not seeing Mu Qing’s injuries, even if Mu Qing couldn’t deny what he was doing to help. “I should have held back.” 

Another apology.

Mu Qing really couldn’t stand Feng Xin sometimes. This was probably worse than all the others, too, since they hadn’t talked in years beforehand. Not since—Mu Qing made it his mission never to think about the night of Feng Xin’s ascension. It wasn’t his place to grieve, and he had told Feng Xin all he had ever needed to tell him back then, too. 

The fight had been a good reminder of where they stood. This aftermath was not. 

Mu Qing shouldn’t have stayed nearby. He could have dropped Feng Xin off his back when his knees buckled and then dragged his own body between the foliage to remain unseen. Feng Xin would have woken up, thinking Mu Qing abandoned him, and that would have been just as well. Better even. It fit the perfect narrative Feng Xin had of Mu Qing, which Mu Qing had long given up trying to change. He certainly wasn’t about to attempt to change it now, making Feng Xin think he appreciated him for this. 

Mu Qing whacked him on the shoulder when the pain completely subsided to keep him from attempting to heal any of his other wounds.

“You absolute idiot,” Mu Qing said, “Now how much spiritual energy do you have!? None! Don’t think I’m going to wait for you so we can go back to Heaven together.” 

Feng Xin leaned back, taking his warmth with him—the eastern sun really was useless that morning—and said, “You wouldn’t have waited for me either way. At least now you can walk.”

Mu Qing despised him. Leg dutifully healed, Mu Qing had nothing holding him back anymore to stand up and storm away, find his quiet alcove and start meditating to regain some strength, leave Feng Xin to his devices and not bother to listen to the idle chatter of Heaven that would greet him once he went back. 

However, Mu Qing stayed. He didn’t attempt to heal Feng Xin with his reserved power—no, Feng Xin’s choices were his own—nor did Mu Qing offer any thanks. Feng Xin didn’t need it anyway. He sat back down beside Mu Qing like nothing had changed, though their shoulders touched now, which was annoying. It reminded Mu Qing of how dirty the both of them were. How their clothes were ripped or burned in too many places, and that Mu Qing had sticks and leaves in his hair that he hadn’t bothered to pick out while he watched the sunrise. The ribbon Feng Xin sometimes wore was gone now, too. Mu Qing wondered if he’d miss it. 

“I went to Xianle,” Feng Xin started, and Mu Qing bristled beside him. One fight to the next, so it seemed. “Have you been back?”

Mu Qing shook his head. Their old home was a graveyard now. Mu Qing had done what he could before he ascended, but he did not look back. 

“It’s better if you just forget about it.” 

It was easier for Mu Qing to say that than for Feng Xin to believe it. Feng Xin grew up, wholly believing in the kingdom and what it stood for. Mu Qing, once upon a time, may have believed in their prince, but he did not have the same blind faith in their kingdom, that same kingdom, which could not help to brag about its excessive riches but could not offer to help its citizens from squalor. Mu Qing never did tell Feng Xin, or Xie Lian for that matter, that he sometimes recognized the boys he put his sword through. Just how many of those people stricken in poverty with no salvation from the blessed prince had found a way to sneak out of the capitol’s high walls to join a rebellion that condemned them all.

It would have only made them think worse about Mu Qing, no self-reflection for themselves. 

Xianle was destined to fall. Only fools thought they could thwart that fate. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Feng Xin agreed, which might have been the only time that Feng Xin had ever agreed out loud to any of Mu Qing’s statements. Mu Qing was ready to jeer at how easy he was to give Mu Qing that win when Feng Xin spoke further. “But I was thinking, I might be able to figure out where he went if I went back.”

Mu Qing had not seen Xie Lian since the first year of his ascension. He had heard about what happened when Xie Lian ascended a second time, but Mu Qing hadn’t seen it. He only had the stories that grew more outlandish as the years went on. 

(Better insanity and lies rather than no one speaking a word of it at all, no one remembering a word of it all.)

“It’d be better if you forgot him too.” 

Mu Qing had had all the pieces to find Xie Lian first. He had had all those pieces, and he failed. If Xie Lian attacked the emperor upon ascending for the second time and was subsequently banished for his crimes, it wasn’t worth trying to find him either. Mu Qing had the strong suspicion Xie Lian didn’t want to be found and any discovery of him before he was ready to show himself would only embarrass him further or cause him to lash out in such a way that was more brutal than the last. Mu Qing could take it fine, but Feng Xin, and his delicate sensibilities on the matter, unable, still, to accept his actions, would break apart. 

About time. He wished he could say. 

Mu Qing refused to acknowledge what grateful despair he felt whenever he caught sight of Feng Xin through a crowd. It had allowed him to build Feng Xin back up his head as the person he should have been instead of the person he was. At least this time when they reunited, Mu Qing hadn’t completely lost all senses with reality and was taken off guard when the words Feng Xin spoke best were those of cruelty. 

“I don’t know how you can say that at all. Don’t you have an ounce of humility? Of reverence? He saved you!”

“He took me from my mother and told me to sweep his floors.”

“You were his friend.”

“I was his servant,” Mu Qing spat. “Don’t act like you forgot.” 

If there was one thing Mu Qing hated more than Feng Xin, it was being made to feel like he wouldn’t have gotten where he was without Xie Lian’s kindness to get him started. Who was to say that had he simply not been in the market the day Xie Lian found him, off running errands in some other neighborhood, that Mu Qing wouldn’t have eventually found a way to circumvent his livelihood? War was already predetermined. Mu Qing could have made a name for himself then, after getting conscripted into the army. Or hell, he could have been one of those boys who abandoned Xianle for the rebel encampment and became a spy for the cause. It might not have put him on the track to be a god, but Mu Qing still could have proved himself great. He didn’t need Xie Lian, or Feng Xin, to speak it, and it be true. 

Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. This lowly servant was a god. He had snuck in on his own accord while Heaven’s beloved Crowned Prince had spit in their faces, threatened their emperor’s life, and descended to the fate of being forgotten. 

No, Mu Qing did not owe Xie Lian anything. Certainly not his rediscovery. Not Mu Qing’s useless apology when it was now clear to him that Xie Lian would have never accepted it. Would have quicker used the last sword he’d carry to skewer Mu Qing than accept his aid. Mu Qing wanted to hate him too. He did. However, whenever he could not, he turned to Feng Xin instead. Hating Feng Xin could be enough for both of them. 

“I don’t believe you,” Feng Xin said. 

Whatever. Mu Qing didn’t need Feng Xin’s belief. Mu Qing had thousands of believers already, a number that would grow. 

“You care just as much as I do about what happens to him,” Feng Xin finished. 

Any care Mu Qing might have had left him years ago. It didn’t matter. He had been proven time and time again that in any place where he tried to help, he only got punished for the process. No more. Mu Qing would make good on Feng Xin’s statement and only look out for himself and his followers. Nothing more. 

“I don’t see how this matters,” Mu Qing said. “You went to Xianle and didn’t find anything. I don’t care, so I’m not going to help you further. If you find him, good for you. If you don’t.” Mu Qing shrugged. It was the likely option for these sorts of things. People, though weak and easy to manipulate, were many. Feng Xin could waste all of his godhood looking and never find Xie Lian. The sooner he gave up, the better. It would be kinder for his sanity. 

Mu Qing didn’t care either way. Feng Xin could grumble all he wanted beside him, but that didn’t change anything.

“And what about the South?”

If Xie Lian was smart, he’d have already left the South. He would spend no time attempting to fix things in Yong’an or force himself to accept what came to be by intermingling with those same people who usurped him. The North might be cold, but Xie Lian would do better to stay anonymous there than the expanse of his once homeland. 

He told Feng Xin that in order to make him see why spending any time looking for Xie Lian was hopeless. He had enough to worry about in his territory. He did not need to be disrupting the other martial gods by gallivanting through theirs. 

“His Highness is going to have no one to return to if we’re both dead,” Feng Xin said. Mu Qing could point out that there was no reason Xie Lian would return to Heaven for them anyway. “Your head’s not so far up your ass that you don’t realize it either.”

Mu Qing was going to shove Feng Xin’s head up his ass if he knew what was good for him. 

“The Southwest is fine. If you’re struggling to manage your land, that’s no fault of mine.” 

“Is it though? Who’s idea was it to split the South?”

The emperor’s. Mu Qing only agreed first to the suggestion. Feng Xin, at the time, didn’t disagree either. 

“My point stands.” 

“It’s not,” Feng Xin said, “fine. How many monsters have you had to let go because they cross over some imaginary border, or how many ghosts have taken to simply jumping back and forth on either side, making fools of us because we won’t cross some arbitrary bullshit? We’re going to fade, Mu Qing. We won't have believers in the next century, let alone half-century.”

Killing ghosts, monsters, and every other form of creature that enjoyed feasting on human flesh, was an act Mu Qing was good at. It was an act he solely trusted himself in. He needed time to get stronger deputies, that was all. He needed more time to work on how to manage his prayer system and who to listen to, despite how much gold they could afford to pay. Mu Qing hadn’t been leaving the Southwest to squander over the last 15 years. The fact that Feng Xin would imply that—he scoffed and stood back up. 

Feng Xin had done a good job. His ankle didn’t hurt at all. 

“You can’t run away from this,” Feng Xin said. “We need to work together. We need to talk.” 

“You promised me when you got to Heaven that you would stay away from me. I didn’t think you’d break another one of your vows so soon.”

“Mu Qing, it’s not about us. Do you even hear yourself? Do you even want to be a god?”

Mu Qing laughed. It was all he could do but laugh. Mu Qing often thought that Xie Lian was stupid, rushing into accepting being a god so young in age, bringing along two subordinates, who couldn’t even stand one another and gifting them a taste of Heavenly splendor. Mu Qing could never know what would have come of his life had he not been discovered by Xie Lian, but he knew he would have still sacrificed everything in his power to save his mother. Everything. 

And now he was god because of it. Whatever the cost that godhood was. 

Mu Qing could not give it up. He would never give it up.

But Feng Xin didn’t need to know that. He lost the privilege of knowing Mu Qing’s desires if he had ever cared enough to know of them before. 

“We don’t work together.” 

“And that can’t change?”

“Not when it comes to us,” Mu Qing said, ready now to walk away and find that peaceful small sanctuary in this forest and come to terms with how low his spiritual energy was and how long it would take him to get it back before he could ascend and face Heaven’s punishments, again. 

Things weren’t as dire as Feng Xin was making it out to be. Sure, plenty of gods faded in and out throughout centuries, but they were often lesser gods in nature and not head martial gods. It took centuries for martial gods to lose bearing in their regions. They were still in their first mortal lives. Had they still been human, they wouldn’t have even begun to show the signs of aging. If things were rocky, it was only because they were still young, and while Mu Qing could detest it, and Feng Xin feared it, it wasn’t a punishment to be young. Not as it had been a punishment to be poor or loathed in trying to climb out of that poverty. Mu Qing had everything at his disposal now. If there was something that needed to be fixed, Mu Qing could fix it readily. He would not rely on any others to save him. 

“You’re a god,” Mu Qing said, “take care of things and act like one. Don’t blame me for the problems that stand in your way.” 

“And if my problem is you?”

Mu Qing’s lip curled. Feng Xin hadn’t stood like Mu Qing had stood, preparing to leave. He sat on his knees ahead of the sun, which took the opportunity to brighten a halo around his head. There was a reason Feng Xin was the southeastern god, and Mu Qing was not. It suited him, even in his ire. 

“Then it would be better if you forgot about me too. We can live our lives separately. It’s worked.” 

He decided that whatever Feng Xin would say next, wouldn’t be worth his time, so he started walking away. However, that didn’t stop Feng Xin. 

“No, we can’t,” he called after him. “I can’t. ”

Mu Qing wouldn’t have slowed or stopped at Feng Xin’s admittance, even when Feng Xin shouted after him, “Do you know why I became a god?”

Because Feng Xin had been allowed to believe when he was younger that he was destined for great things, and what greater thing than to become a god? It was a selfish ambition at its core, which had shattered whatever belief Mu Qing had in Feng Xin’s true loyalties. 

“You tell me to forget my home, forget my best friend, but I can’t forget you. Mu Qing, don’t go. Stay .” 

That sentiment too, didn’t get Mu Qing to stop, but rather Feng Xin’s dumb left hand, wrapping around his forearm, forcing him to halt. Mu Qing spun on him, pulling his hand out of Feng Xin’s grasp and raising his fist, ready to sock Feng Xin in stupid face, no matter their injuries. But Mu Qing had already disregarded Feng Xin’s injuries after Feng Xin had forgotten himself again, wincing when Mu Qing had thrown his hand off him. 

Where Mu Qing could stand and walk perfectly fine, Feng Xin’s wrist was still broken. A fine break, which was spidering further because neither of them had ever been gentle on each other or themselves. 

“Don’t ask me that. You have no right to demand that of me.” 

Feng Xin must have realized how serious he was based on tone and pitch alone. The only time Mu Qing had ever needed the words stay , he had been chased away. By his mother, who wanted better for him. From his prince, who only ever wanted blinded loyalty and not flawed human companions. From anyone who had ever mattered in Mu Qing’s life. Feng Xin had no claim to it now. 

“Fine,” Feng Xin agreed. 

He wore a stubborn frown while he said it. But he had to give up on appearing strong to hold his wrist again. The bruises that wrapped around it were getting worse by the moment. Deep and dark. If Feng Xin didn’t get over himself soon and let Mu Qing get on with his own prerogative, he would be at risk of seriously damaging his wrist, and no amount of divinity would ever heal it properly. 

The Mu Qing he sometimes wished he was could ignore that fact and spend the next how many years they had as gods, pleased whenever Feng Xin winced, feeling the echoes of this fight even centuries later. Mu Qing had all the capability to be that person now. Leave Feng Xin and focus on himself. Prove his own words true by walking away. Cement his sentiment that he would not listen to Feng Xin now when he told him to stay. 

It was too late for any meaningful change. 

Their lives might not have been that long, but they were too jagged and rough. Certainly not meant to be next to each other in any capacity, not without calamity befalling them. 

Mu Qing grabbed Feng Xin’s arm and tugged. He was not gentle and could not be mistaken as kind as he did so. Feng Xin stumbled forward with it, but he caught himself before he could fall against Mu Qing. Mu Qing did not do this nicely. He was not after Feng Xin’s gentle heat that soaked slowly into his muscles and tendons before coaxing them back together again. It was rushed. A searing jolt that would cause a mortal man to scream, though Feng Xin only bit his lip with the slightest furrow of his brows and the dotting of sweat on his forehead. Mu Qing threw his hand back toward him when he was done. He didn’t have to check his spiritual energy to know what he'd find as a result of this. 

“We’re the same now,” Mu Qing said. “You find your own way to get back to Heaven, and I’ll find mine.” 

Feng Xin studied his wrist, turning and flexing it, as the skin cleared. Clean breaks were easy to mend. They were lucky Mu Qing hadn’t decided earlier to take that rock he used to knock Feng Xin unconscious to his wrist and shatter the bones completely. That wouldn’t have been able to be healed by either of them. 

“Thank you.” 

Spoken true and without remark. Mu Qing put back the distance they needed to be rightfully at. Being close to Feng Xin always caused him problems. It made him notice things about the other he had no right to notice—how the wisps of Feng Xin’s hair, loose from its bun, sometimes seemed as though they were caught by fire, illuminated by the rising sun behind, or how his eyes, even though they faced away from that light and were shadowed, had, however minuscule, brightened when Mu Qing grabbed him and fixed what it was he had broken before.

Feng Xin was ridiculous. It made no sense to thank the person who had only hours before punched him in the face. It was a crime of both their choosing, which would come to ebb and flow. Some years better than others, some moments worse, awfully, indescribably worse. But it would be them, however shattered they were. 

“Just get back to Heaven,” Mu Qing said. “Don’t think I won’t take over the whole of the South if you don’t get back fast enough.” 

“That means the Southwest is fair game. I could use a few more temples in the region.”

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with the Southwest.” 

“Like you know anything about the Southeast.” 

“Can’t be hard, you’re doing it.” 

“Well, looks like we’ll just have to race to see who makes it back first,” Feng Xin wagered. “Whoever loses, gets free reign to the whole territory for the next ten years. No griping nor complaints.”

Mu Qing wasn’t dense. He could see through what Feng Xin was hoping to achieve. Feng Xin believed after all that they were struggling, destined to fade quickly. This little bet would put each other in each other’s territories, nullifying the boundary Mu Qing had grown to lean on whenever he needed to escape. 

“I look forward to heralding the Southeast. Your worshippers will leave you in droves once they realize they could be worshiping me.” 

Feng Xin only smirked, finally taking his step back, ready to return to the cliff edge and his sun. 

“We’ll see about that, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin said, taking another step back. “We’ll see.” 

794 years after Ascension — Ghost City

Ghost City was disgusting. Some gods found excitement in galavanting around in rushed disguises, thinking themselves brave when they entered this place perceived to be opposite of them in every way. But had anyone wanted to hurt them, they would not leave with their heads still attached. Gods were let into the realm just as any mortals were. If they had gold, or virtuous promises and skills, they could pay. They could be cheated and bribed and find themselves indebted to the very people they protected their sovereigns from. It was tricky business that smarter gods knew to avoid. 

Mu Qing, shorter and all the more unassuming, thoroughly disguised, had never been tempted to give in to the shortcuts found in places like this. Not even when trading ten years of his life—a god’s life—would have been quicker work than ascending on his own in an attempt to save his mother. One of his siblings had called him selfish for it, and considering he couldn’t remember their name, they must have been right. 

Mu Qing’s pride kept him away from here, however damaged and misplaced that pride was. 

In visiting Xie Lian, Mu Qing would request ground more neutral, even if it meant that Hua Cheng refused to part from them both, attempting to glare hard enough to set Mu Qing’s robes on fire. The feeling was mutual to say the least. 

Not seeing the Ghost King and knowing Feng Xin wouldn’t have wanted to go directly to him either was what kept Mu Qing between street vendors and stalls, looking for any signs that the shopkeepers and stores beyond them held the information Feng Xin sought. However, all that got him was meeting too many dull types with moss-covered teeth, itching to bite into flesh, as they raged over Mu Qing not buying anything and keeping away paying customers. Between the smells and this constant onslaught of bickering people, Mu Qing had a headache, and he hadn’t even been here a full afternoon of time. 

Honestly, who cared if Feng Xin wanted to become a ghost—if that was what he was after—it wasn’t as if Mu Qing would be saddled with anyone else in the future. Only people who ascended so close together that it could hardly be discerned within the centuries, and with such similar dispositions, ended up being rewarded with the same realm. Hell, one could even argue it was unnatural and that fate had a way of making sure only one ruler existed in one place. This was Mu Qing’s victory, goddamnit. He did not need to dirty himself by dragging Feng Xin back to Heaven.

If Feng Xin wanted to throw away his godly form to become an abomination that they had spent centuries fighting, fine. Mu Qing would run a his saber through the chest of Feng Xin’s stupid ghost body to get his revenge. 

Yet, he didn’t turn back around and find the exit. He didn’t go and find a village plagued by an evil spirit to fight nor visit one of his shrines to make sure things were still running as smoothly as possible, enjoying the celebrations in his honor. He didn’t go back home and rest because he deserved it.

He continued forward, passed a hoard of female ghosts, bickering about skincare and fighting over what suspiciously looked like a finger, which all three fought and used as lip gloss. 

It was passing them and trying not to wretch when he saw a vat of soup, a concoction of hair and eyes, being sold at the next shop over, that cold gnarled fingers wrapped around his palm. He nearly took the ghost’s arm with how fast he snatched his hand away from her. 

The woman was half his size as Fu Yao and terribly hunched at the shoulders. When she looked up, only one of her eyes blinked at him. The other stared him down in darkness. A hollow empty socket, with dry skin, flaked around it, letting Mu Qing’s imagination guess if he really could see inside her skull. That, and whether or not her missing eye somehow ended up in the soup they just passed. 

“Excuse me,” he said with no such remorse, having done anything wrong. She had grabbed him, and he held no sympathies to help the damned find their way home. Especially those who found themselves here. 

“No time to spare an old woman?”

“I have business to attend.”

She sneered at him, mouth twisting up, revealing a smattering of missing teeth as her face squished to accompany it.

Fuck Feng Xin and his stupid ideas. Mu Qing hoped when Feng Xin returned, he’d let him take him out back to his palace training grounds and lay waste to him for making him go through this journey. Certainly, passing curiosity over gods becoming ghosts was not worth Mu Qing’s stomach revolting from his body at such a heinous sight before him. 

“Young masters would do better to be respectful, lest they want a cruel fate cursed upon them.”

Mu Qing had to bite back the retort that if she wished to curse him, she was welcome to try. Her cultivation wasn’t nearly as strong as his nor were gods as weak as to begin to falter at every curse that came their way. The living had more sway over them than the dead. 

But lashing out at this ghost was bound to get the other patron’s attention around him, who so far had been apt to ignore them. The idea of being chased out of Ghost City was an unpleasant one. He didn’t need to owe Hua Cheng any favors in asking him to keep that story from spreading—not that Hua Cheng would help in such a matter, exasperating the issue more likely. 

“Apologies,” Mu Qing curtly. “I am looking for someone.” 

“It looks like you found someone,” the woman said. 

Mu Qing grounded his teeth. If he had to storm out of Ghost City, he’d save some face. 

The woman was unbothered by his attitude, saying, “Let me read your palm. It may prove beneficial in finding your way.” 

Mu Qing knew better than to present his hand to the dead. It usually came with trickery underfoot, but, again, there was nothing in her prowess that suggested she could overtake him. Hell, finding Feng Xin might even be easier with a ghost’s insights. It wasn’t as if he got much further with the way things were going now. 

“How long will it take?” 

“Quick,” she said, snatching his hand back into her bony claws of fingers, holding him in a much tighter grip than she had before. Since he had been considering it, he didn’t bother ripping his hand away for the second time, sensing her reaction would be worse than the first. Instead, he rolled his eyes, settling to just get this over with, so he could be on his way. The odds of her saying anything useful were non-existent, anyway. 

Not that the lady wasn’t one for unnecessary theatrics. Closing her eye while the black socket stayed trained on him, humming as she trailed a cracked fingertip across his open palm. Too slowly did he realize his folly with this experiment of hers. Fu Yao couldn’t have his future read. His future was non-existent. A fake, that would be made out as such if she had any credence to the profession. The realization caused him to jerk, ready to pull his hand away and get lost amongst the bodies around them, but her strength only grew, clutching him tightly before her eye snapped open again, pinning him where he stood. 

His body stayed taut, preparing for a fight when she screamed that he was an imposter. Mu Qing was a martial god, he could take her, and whoever else wanted to test their hand against him. However, the woman laughed. A high-strung cackle, which called the nearby crows to circle above. She closed his fingers against his palm, holding it between her two frigid hands, and said, “The person you think you are, draws to an end. You will find yourself no more in the upcoming future.”

Mu Qing did not shiver at those words. He only glowered and asked. 

“What does that mean?”

Maybe when he finally found Feng Xin, his angry spirit would be so antagonized by the sight of him he would rip him to shreds. 

Mu Qing was certainly feeling a way about becoming a ghost and haunting the southeastern god’s ass right about now. 

“I’ll answer that once you pay what’s owed for the reading.” She studied him a second more then said. “Your right hand will do.”

“Absolutely not.”

Her mouth stretched along her displeasure, splitting the skin open up her cheek. “To refuse to pay what’s due is one lifetime,” quicker than he could track, her hand snapped out, going for his chest. He only had time enough to back up and begin to call upon for his saber when a band caught around the woman’s feeble wrist, halting her attempt to get her dues, and earned about every eye in the place. Luckily, Mu Qing wasn’t the remarkable thing that gained the other ghost’s attention but rather Xie Lian and his suitor. 

Despite Xie Lian’s pleasing smile, Ruoye didn’t snap back to him once he had successfully gained the old woman’s attention. 

“What seems to be the problem here?”

Mu Qing knew there was a chance of running into Xie Lian and Hua Cheng when he came here. Just as he knew when Ling Wen sent him this way, she was sending him to Hua Cheng to talk to. But Xie Lian also went elsewhere, and wherever he went, the ghost went too. Mu Qing would have preferred to leave them out of this whole affair altogether. He didn’t want to owe Hua Cheng any more favors, and to worry Xie Lian over Feng Xin’s stupidity seemed wrong. 

“Chengzhu, esteemed greatuncle. This one refuses to pay for my services. A life is in order.” 

Hua Cheng seemed fine with that assessment, barely entertained by the spectacle ahead of him. 

“If he refused.” He waved Mu Qing off. “He has many lives. One won’t matter much. Gods know better than to make bets in my realm.” 

“I did no such things. She forced herself on me. If she wanted my hand, she should have said so at the start.” 

“How dire the straights of the gods, not being able to fight off even the weakest of ghosts,” Hua Cheng countered. 

Mu Qing turned to face him properly. Xie Lian’s partner or not, he would punch Hua Cheng in the teeth. 

“Is this true,” Xie Lian asked the woman, ignoring Mu Qing and Hua Cheng, “Did you not specify the costs before grabbing his hand?”

The woman’s features had returned to as pleasant as she could make them. She scowled, still, which helped little in making her appear less ugly than she was. 

“My memory is fleeting. I may have missed a few steps, but he still got his reading. Futures, or lack thereof , don’t come cheap.” 

Where Xie Lian frowned, Hua Cheng’s eyebrow raised, studying Mu Qing anew to which Mu Qing only scoffed in his direction. She was crazy. He wasn’t going to die. Not on his quest to stop Feng Xin from dying, possibly. Wherever the fuck that loser had gone to. 

“Perhaps we can work something else out,” Xie Lian said, returning Ruoye to his sleeve. Mu Qing half expected the old bat to turn on him with renewed vigor, wrapping her bony hands around his neck and throttling him. It wouldn’t serve Heaven well to know one of their officials had gone down to the Ghost City on a personal errand and killed a ghost, however—even in self-defense. 

Xie Lian pulled something from his sleeve. 

“How about this?”

This was a charm. Mu Qing had only ever seen the ones Xie Lian used to have back when he was freshly ascended in Xianle. He must have been feeling more chipper, making them again now. 

The old woman certainly was, snatching it out of Xie Lian’s hands and clutching it to her chest as if it were a flame that could warm her. She thanked the two men three times over, glared at Mu Qing and his rotten fate, and then hobbled back into the crowd. 

Mu Qing was about ready to follow her—the leaving that was—and either run out of Ghost City to dunk himself in the closest river or suck it up and continue on through this miserable place in the hope he’d find a somewhere that looked as though Feng Xin would stop at. A questionable fight club or a barn full of horse shit were likely bets. 

However, before Mu Qing got one foot in the direction of the hell out of here, Xie Lian asked, “Why didn’t you say you were coming? If there’s an issue regarding Heaven, we could have helped.” 

Hua Cheng looked as though that was very much not the case behind Xie Lian, which Mu Qing mutually agreed with. Minus this whole hiccup involving giving a ghost his hand, he had things perfectly under control. He could start threatening people for answers. That was always a decent trick, and once he was chased out, it wasn’t like he planned on coming back anytime soon. 

It also seemed like a tactic that Feng Xin would have followed too considering his patience in these types of places was relatively low. The thought of Feng Xin being chased out by a bunch of female ghosts made Mu Qing snicker. He’d need to find him just so he could make fun of him for that. 

“Gege, how many more times are your subordinates going to come to my realm? They stink.”

“I do not—”

Xie Lian lifted his hands, placating them both. “Why don’t you come with us to the manor, Mu Qing? We can discuss why you’re here there.” 

Mu Qing wanted to tell Xie Lian that he didn’t have time. He was already months behind as it was. But he couldn’t say no to him either. He did owe Xie Lian for stepping in, and the way Hua Cheng had just sneered at him suggested Mu Qing was on the right track, following Feng Xin to at least this point. Mu Qing’s petulance at not wanting to be in the company of the Ghost King was not worth refusing a possible lead. Besides, once Feng Xin was safe and sound back in Heaven Mu Qing could charge him for it. 

Therefore, Mu Qing followed the pair through the streets of Ghost City, keeping his attention forward when the more despicable came to pass. He didn’t know how Xie Lian could walk by and ignore it all. The smell alone could kill Mu Qing if he lingered at any place for longer than a moment. The calculating look over his shoulder told Mu Qing that this was on purpose. Hua Cheng didn’t want him here any more than Mu Qing wanted to be here, using this trip as a reason for Mu Qing to get the hint and leave. 

Unfortunately, for Crimson Rain Sought Flower—or Mu Qing, considering he would rather be anywhere else—he was stubborn on this matter. No amount of questionable liquids they walked over or obvious body parts being sold as carnival food would stop Mu Qing from marching forward. The sooner this conversation was had, the quicker Mu Qing could be on his way. 

When they arrived, Xie Lian sent Hua Cheng to go get tea, as if Mu Qing would eat or drink a single thing here, formalities be damned, and led Mu Qing to a small room to talk while they waited. 

The room was nearly as revolting as Feng Xin’s choice of design at his palace. Mu Qing would get a headache by sitting here for longer than 20 minutes, he was sure. But Xie Lian made himself at home, sitting on one of the cushions, and waited for Mu Qing to do the same. With great reluctance Mu Qing did sit, though he itched to pace back and forth. Besides the taboo of god’s mingling with ghosts, this whole place gave him hives, a sharpness somewhere behind his heart that he hadn’t been able to dispel and wouldn’t be able to until he could breathe clean air again. 

That had to be the only reason. 

Xie Lian asked, “Is this because of Feng Xin?”

Mu Qing snapped his eyes away from a gold statue, unable to not contemplate if it was supposed to be an approximation of Xie Lian at some point in time, to Xie Lian, ever calm. 

He hadn’t even mentioned Feng Xin’s name so far since he entered the city. Granted, Hua Cheng had never been coy with his spies in Heaven. Xie Lian using that information to lead this conversation, however, made Mu Qing indignant. He bit his tongue from snapping out of hand. 

He said instead, “I was told he came here. I’m collecting on my favors, that is all.”

“He was here.” 

“When? How long? Where is he now?”

Xie Lian leaned back in his seat and only his slightly parting mouth got Mu Qing to realize how quickly the words had tumbled from him, and, worse, how he had nearly launched himself at Xie Lian. There he was, on his hands and knees making demands of a once prince.

Mu Qing crawled back into place. A soft apology for scaring Xin Lian if he had. It wasn’t like Mu Qing to lose his composure so fast. Well, it was like him too, but not for anyone else, really—not toward Xie Lian, try as he might. 

Hua Cheng clicked his tongue, standing in the doorway. His annoyance was dampened, however, holding a tray with a pot and two cups. 

“They know no manners in Heaven. Gege, tell him to leave.”

Xie Lian accepted the cup Hua Cheng offered him after sitting beside him. Mu Qing couldn’t be sure, but the ghost let their brief touch linger far longer than necessary when handing someone a drink. Not that Xie Lian seemed to mind, staring at him in a way that could only be described as gooey. Hua Cheng didn’t lose eye contact with his partner, pouring himself the other cup of tea, not even attempting to offer Mu Qing any—the benevolent asshole. Xie Lian smiled around the mouth of the cup, taking a sip and sinking further into this cushion. 

As soon as Mu Qing was out of this place, he would contact Ling Wen and ask her to keep a tab for a bill. Feng Xin owed him 10,000 merits at least for being subjected to this. 

Xie Lian seemed to remember his guest, lowering the cup and his eyes from his husband to say, “It’s okay San Lang, he’s just worried about Feng Xin, that’s all.” 

“I am not worried about Feng Xin,” Mu Qing stated. “He could be sitting at the bottom of a mountain after tripping down the whole thing and spraining his ankle for all I care.” 

Hua Cheng lowered the cup to say simply, “Gege, I suggest you get new friends. The ones you have leave much to be desired.”

“Or get a new husband.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes flashed, and Mu Qing didn’t care if that was a look that could smite people. He hadn’t been in a good fight in ages. Plus, it would be good practice if Feng Xin tried to attack him as a ghost. 

“Whatever the case,” Xie Lian said, ignoring both of them in his effort to avoid confrontation.“You are here because of him.” 

“Yes,” Mu Qing agreed through gritted teeth. Mu Qing forced his blood pressure back to a reasonable level. He couldn’t be the first person to break the tentative line on the ground and start a fight. But if Hua Cheng attacked him, Mu Qing was only right to defend himself. He finished. “Ling Wen said he came here.”

“Good news, he’s not here. Leave now.”

Mu Qing took it back. What did it matter who attacked first? He’d take Hua Cheng’s other eye.

“But he was here,” Xie Lian amended before Mu Qing could stand and make true his internal threat. “He was here.” Xie Lian repeated when Mu Qing retook him. Slower this time and with more permanence in the phrase, making sure Mu Qing understood. 

They had already gotten this far. Mu Qing did well to sit on his heels properly this time and not attack Xie Lian needlessly with too many follow-up questions. 

“I was told he came at the beginning of Spring.”

Xie Lian nodded. “That sounds about right. He didn’t stay all that long.” 

“Where did he go?”

Xie Lian studied his cup and then studied the decorations around the room. Hua Cheng, meanwhile, leaned back, resting himself on his forearms, as he leisurely drank the rest of his tea, glaring at Mu Qing every so often, but otherwise staying out of this. 

When Xie Lian didn’t respond, Mu Qing continued with what he didn’t want to trouble His Highness with, but he needed to know where Feng Xin went, so he could stop him. 

Save him. 

Just for merits, though. 

Just because Mu Qing had been overworked, and Feng Xin wasn’t doing his fair share. 

Because he was a dick and thought he could get away with it. 

He would not. 

“Ling Wen stated he was looking for information. That he was asking something about gods becoming ghosts.”

Xie Lian set down his cup, but he didn’t frown. Xie Lian set down his cup, but he didn’t look troubled. He set down his cup and said, “He did say something like that.”

Had Hua Cheng been a proper host and given Mu Qing a cup, it would have cracked. Fissured in a fine line that leaked hot tea out onto his lap, burning him, but Mu Qing wouldn’t have leaped away from it, wouldn’t have noticed it all, too busy staring at Xie Lian because his non-reaction was enough of a cue on what he thought about all this, what he had done when Feng Xin told him. 

Had he been told beforehand, Mu Qing would have never believed that there would be a day when gods were jealous of ghosts and hoped to relinquish their immortal form for one less stable—one more apt to harm. 

“You told him he was a bigger idiot than normal and sent him on his way. Correct?” 

“If the idiot wants to die, it’s hardly Gege’s fault.” 

No. It most certainly would be Feng Xin’s, the idiot. But Feng Xin had always respected Xie Lian’s opinion, especially his opinion of him. Had Xie Lian told him it was a bad idea or simply implied in not so many words that it would be ridiculous to continue onward with that train of thought, Feng Xin would have ceased his journey. However, spring was nearing its end, and Feng Xin hadn’t returned to Heaven. 

“I reminded him not to be rash,” Xie Lian confirmed, “but it would be his choice, ultimately. He had to decide if it was worth it or not.” 

“What’s there to possibly debate? Obviously, it’s not worth it. Where is he? If you can’t tell him that, I will. Right now. I’ll beat it into his thick skull.”

Instead of responding, there was a certain mirth in Xie Lian’s expression that didn’t make sense given their conversation. It paired with Hua Cheng’s apparent disgust. If anyone should enjoy unfettered violence against Feng Xin, it should have been him. Of course, Hua Cheng probably hated Mu Qing more than Feng Xin, and, therefore, if the roles were reversed, he would more directly encourage this route of thinking. 

“He can’t die or become a ghost, or whatever, until I tell him to. He owes me that,” Mu Qing continued.

The statement alone, and all its bravado, reminded Mu Qing of the sallowness of his chest. The way it tightened with every breath. If he sat here much longer, it wouldn’t be long before it spread to his lungs, restricting his breathing and eyesight. He needed a distraction to not focus on it. This conversation had only made it worse. 

Not when Mu Qing first got to the palace in Xianle, but shortly thereafter, he couldn’t wait until he was rid of all the palace boys and could stand alone on his strength. Feng Xin was included among them. 

On a trip back from a cottage he knew better to forget about, picking rice out of his hair, Mu Qing thought rather staunchly that if he ever saw Feng Xin again, it would be too soon. Feng Xin was always treated more kindly. Always carried with him more goodwill. The one people were expecting first back to Heaven if it wasn’t Xie Lian right away. Their disappointment at seeing Mu Qing was barely hidden behind their disgust as he worked three times as hard as any deputy to carve out a place amongst those gods, fighting for an adequate piece of faith he could call his and grow a following around. 

To then be given that and told to share. Because Feng Xin had ended up following him to Heaven, too, whatever that had cost him, and in a bit of cruel irony, his fate had to be wound tightly with Mu Qing’s. 

In the aftermath of recent events, Mu Qing hadn’t allowed himself to wonder if that was what was best or if it was simply another game they had been forced to play. They were hardly the only pair of gods to rule over one region, but other gods had falling outs far more frequently. Where once a strong pair would turn to one singular god, with the other dissipating in forgotten memory, a place not even gods mourned. 

But not them. 

They might have been at each other’s throats more often than not. They might have encouraged unfair competition between their believers. They might have been ridiculed and mocked openly for their behavior. But they were together. Centuries combined into one. 

Mu Qing wasn’t sure what he would make of the southeast if he had complete control of it. He didn’t like sunrises. 

“I can tell you who he went to, but I can’t tell you where he went,” Xie Lian said. “I already broke one promise in telling him.” 

Mu Qing did his best to only sit straighter and not shock Xie Lian or earn Hua Cheng’s wrath by falling forward again, too obvious in needing to hear what came next. He nodded in agreement. One more clue, and he could be out of this dreadful place. He’d put all of Heaven to work on finding where he needed to go and be on his way again. 

Xie Lian picked at the edge of the cup before gifting that information to Mu Qing. 

“He went to Jian Lan’s,” Xie Lian said, continuing by saying, “Like I said, I can’t say where it is.” 

Mu Qing didn’t bother listening to the rest. He knew that the odds of putting Jian Lan and her child behind them were relatively non-existent. But to seek her so soon? Mu Qing had hoped he would have a little more time than that.

Worse or for the better, it gave Mu Qing his answer to Feng Xin’s quest. 

Feng Xin wanted to become a ghost for their sake. It was rather obvious laid out like this now. He was always the more responsible one. Mu Qing must have ignored all the signs that Feng Xin was worrying about this, too distracted by everything else going on than whether or not Feng Xin was okay with simply letting his chance at a perfect, happy family go. 

Feng Xin would have never become a god had he known what might have been in a mortal life. He would not have left them. It was nonsensical to think that it would be any different now. Feng Xin couldn’t be a god like Xie Lian and make it work with a ghost family. His godhood would crumble at his feet once it was widely known, and why tempt oneself into fleeing once it began, by simply dying, now, all at once? 

It might not have been the once obtainable perfection, but a piece of perfection was still just as grand. Make house in a secluded cottage where no harm would ever befall them within the strictest array. 

Mu Qing was probably already too late. He could leave it at this. 

Instead, “I know where it is.”

Xie Lian’s expression faltered there, furrowing confusion. Even Hua Cheng was intrigued by his statement, sitting up but not so much as to appear engrossed in their conversation. 

Before they could ask, Mu Qing said simply. “Before her death, she asked for a house and the strongest array I could make. The house may have since needed repairs, but that array wouldn’t have broken. It’s the only place she could have gone with her son.” 

“I thought you weren’t involved with them,” Hua Cheng said, “Why do all that work?”

What other motives did you have besides their deaths?

Jian Lan told him once that she was going to make him his favorite dessert when they were settled, and she learned how to bake. That was before more secrets were known about the state of her pregnancy, but even once it was revealed, Mu Qing thought he might return there. He learned some cooking from his mother. It might have been okay to share it then. 

Now, he had none of those recipes. He never bothered writing them down, thinking himself immune to the passages of time and forgetfulness. He barely recalled the color of his mom’s eyes. His own, a gift from his father. 

It wasn’t simpler back then. Arduous each day where now he was afforded the time for rest, but he might have been more gentle. More easily beckoned into kindness, no matter how flimsy the foundation was—after all, they had been each using each other back then. 

Jian Lan for her safety. 

He for his sanity. 

Whatever came of it could not be changed now, no matter the accusation in Hua Cheng’s tone and the trepidation in Xie Lian’s expression. 

Why ?

“ It doesn’t matter.” Mu Qing said. “I’m looking for Feng Xin, not them.” 

He stood, the other two racing to do so as well—or rather, Xie Lian jumped up, and Hua Cheng followed him. 

“We'll come with you.” 

I’m not going to hurt them, Mu Qing wanted to say but thought it would only serve to irritate himself further. He had shouted off mountains prior about how he hadn’t been the one to kill Jian Lan and her child but still people insisted he did. It fit what others thought of he might be. He always did hate Feng Xin, after all. It would have been all too easy to take advantage of his pregnant lover and slay them in cold blood. It was only a miracle yet that the rumor hadn’t circulated down from Heaven to the Mortal Realm to be added to their stories and retellings of their lives. 

It’s not that Mu Qing wasn’t a killer—he was a general of many battles—but he hadn’t killed them. Proximity and intent were not the same thing. 

Denying Xie Lian, however, would only paint him further as the bad guy. Before Jian Lan had left, deciding to run before even properly saying goodbye to Feng Xin, Mu Qing should have bartered with her and convinced her to admit that she had been wrong when she accused him of harming her. It had only further made this a mess, distracting him from his real goal. 

However, Mu Qing hadn’t forced the issue back then. He hadn’t cornered Feng Xin to make him understand. He had been okay with letting them go. 

But for who’s sake? Jian Lan’s, Feng Xin’s, or his own?

Chapter Text

10 months after Ascension — Heaven

Heaven was like Xianle with its gold. It was no wonder they had adored Xie Lian so much when he was a boy prince, unblemished by actual opinions held to himself. Such the same were both places, that even though Mu Qing was now alone here again, he could make do with the lessons he had learned as a mortal and correct the mistakes made by Xie Lian the first time. He didn’t have the reputation yet to be disrespectful of others, nor was his position so strong that he didn’t risk being kicked back out of Heaven every time he opened his mouth. He had gone mostly ignored by the upper echelon of gods as he curated favors from those who weren’t as powerful but liked flaunting their position all the same. 

Therefore, he was unprepared when a voice called out to him as he left one palace with the intention of going to his own chambers to change and then descend to recontact Jian Lan. However, now, he stood frozen in his spot, thinking his ears misheard or that there was somehow another god by his own name and that was who the person had called to. It wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility. If he had the title of His Highness, he could ignore almost every single call that came his way. But there was no mistaking this directive. Mu Qing straightened his already perfect posture and smiled warmly at the emperor who approached him. 

The sun could not be directly stared at and nor could Jun Wu. Grander then every single god combined and with the power to squash them all if he so wished. Mu Qing was lucky his hands were hidden by the hem of his robes, gripping them tightly at his side. The last time he had stood before Jun Wu, the man hadn’t looked at him, too busy admonishing Xie Lian for his failures in saving his country. Mu Qing had been exiled all the same. Jun Wu knowing his name was not a blessing as much as it was another potential curse, causing him grief down the line. 

Mu Qing kept all that well contained, though. He once held disparaging thoughts of the king, and he had never lost his head then. For better or worse, the Palace of Xianle had taught him well. Mu Qing could fit among rubbish nobles who made pleasantries on the street and ripped each other to shreds behind their heavy oak doors. Still, Jun Wu lauded more power over him than the king ever did. If he wanted to dispel Mu Qing from his courts again, there was little Mu Qing could do to stop it. 

It wasn’t Jun Wu’s intention. 

“My deputies have nothing but high praise for you General. They say you’re working harder than any Middle Court god in ages. I wouldn’t be surprised if your tribulations come all the faster too. We have needed strong martial blood in the Upper Court. I imagine you’d fit right in.” 

Whatever concern Mu Qing had been feeling at being called out, vanished just as fast at being recognized for his hard work. Truthfully, Mu Qing got the sense no one cared, and that just made him work three times as hard as anyone else in his rank. He knew best that godhood was fleeting. Before running into Jian Lan, he had nothing else to occupy his time with. If he wasn’t the best because of that, then it would really underscore the failures of his godhood. 

Still, to hear it from the emperor’s mouth was nice. It made some truths surrounding his ascension less bitter to swallow and some failures less harsh. 

“You are kind,” Mu Qing said, lowering his head, “Thank you.” 

Mu Qing would have his few disciples give extra merits to the god once he found time to pay his respect.

“It is not kind to recognize one’s greatness rather than simply stating the facts. I need you too, you know. Strong, loyal martial gods to keep peace in the mortal realm. If one man could do it all, he would have.” 

Mu Qing nodded. Jun Wu was very wise and busy with the dealings of leadership. It was an honor to be considered someone who helped him make that load easier to bear. And, if he was right, and Mu Qing did ascend to the Upper Court, it would be the fastest anyone had done so from the Middle Court. No one could say Mu Qing didn’t deserve it nor that he didn’t put forth the work for it. It would all but secure his place in Heaven. Mu Qing itched to ask Jun Wu what he needed to do to make it a certainty, but he knew better than to appear over-eager, especially when one was complimenting him. Further, Mu Qing had little inclination to believe the emperor had stopped him on the streets solely to compliment his work ethic.

He was proven true not two moments later. 

“Unfortunately, I’ve been dealing with a matter in the East for some time, and I was curious to know what became of your other two companions? Have you seen Xianle recently?”

Funny, how only the mention of a name could dissipate the whole of Mu Qing’s pride. Of course, the emperor wouldn’t seek him out for anything other than the other. Xie Lian had been the pride of Heaven, Mu Qing only his servant. Great by proximity, nothing more, whatever the case of his own abilities, which allowed him to ascend first when given a second chance. 

It didn’t matter much that he couldn’t ease Jun Wu’s apparent worry over the missing man. Mu Qing was still no closer to finding Xie Lian and Feng Xin than he was when he found the cabin empty. 

“It’s been several months now,” he said. “I can’t say that I know what’s become of them.” 

“Don’t lose heart,” Jun Wu said, reaching out and gripping him by the shoulder. “I trust you’ll let me know when you do encounter them next. It is unwise to remain blind to those with the capacity to do great as they have the biggest chance to do extreme harm.” 

Mu Qing didn’t know why Jun Wu’s hand felt so heavy where it rested on him. He didn’t squeeze or press down on his bicep, but it sat led all the same. 

“I’ve known them both most of my life. They are at no risk of doing such a thing.” 

Xie Lian might have been struggling when he last saw him, but he was good. Feng Xin was good too by proxy. No, not even to himself could Mu Qing discredit Feng Xin like that. His moral code would not waver even in the face of Xie Lian’s struggling path. Besides bitching at Mu Qing, and having somewhat of a short temper, he was inherently kind. There was no way the emperor’s words would come true. 

“I trust your judgment on the matter,” Jun Wu said, finally releasing Mu Qing’s arm. “Do tell me once you hear something. However minor it may seem. All of your futures have been of great importance to us.” 

Mu Qing wondered if there would be a time when his future wasn’t tied up in the other two. For a brief moment, he had thought he had escaped them when he went ahead and ascended alone, but here the emperor was, seeking out Mu Qing because he assumed it was the best way to get to Xie Lian and Feng Xin. Not that Mu Qing had done much for the cause himself, putting all of his free time to the effort of tracking them down. 

Due to the emperor’s words, Mu Qing almost did say he had a lead, but it would take time to produce any results. It was a shallow success at best and would only serve to remind Jun Wu of Mu Qing’s actual abilities as a god. Mu Qing wouldn’t say anything until he was certain Xie Lian and Feng Xin could be found. Not until he had Xie Lian agree to talk to him alone—Mu Qing still wasn’t sure what that would entail or if he wouldn’t succumb to the panic in his chest and forget the whole ordeal. It was a problem he would have to face in due time. He needed to find them first. 

“You have my word,” Mu Qing said to the emperor. While the rest of Heaven didn’t seem to care much for the future of their trio, Mu Qing would turn all of their attention upon them at the request of Jun Wu. Xie Lian and Feng Xin wouldn’t be able to disappear so easily after that. 

Mu Qing hung on to that future long after Jun Wu had bid him farewell and safe travels back down to Earth—how he knew Mu Qing was about to descend, Mu Qing chalked it up to being divine. That small string of hope, which let Mu Qing believe he would only be alone for a few months more, was so bright, that he barely considered the rest of the brothel as he walked through it, making his way to Jian Lan’s room. 

Jian Lan was well-liked, liked enough, at least, to have a chamber to herself. Mu Qing dropped the enchantment on himself, which kept him hidden from the characters beyond the door, once it was shut. 

Jian Lan was at her vanity, facing it and stroking a charm of sorts when Mu Qing entered. She was up out of her chair when he did. Approaching him with far too eager steps, holding out her hands. 

How Mu Qing ended up regularly paying a prostitute to supplement her income, Mu Qing could not say. The only salvation to his grace was that it was in exchange for no services, only her health, which Mu Qing needed to ensure he got the answers he wanted. 

“You’re late,” Jian Lan said, opening the pouch and counting the money inside. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” 

“If I wasn’t coming, I wouldn’t have come back the first time.” Mu Qing said, “I do have other duties outside of you. I was held up.”

Jian Lan finished counting the money. Happy enough with the amount that she didn’t try to swindle any more out of him. While she had been well-fed before, there was no mistaking that she was looking remarkably better now. Her face had lost any signs of weariness and stress, and he suspected she had begun to fill her wardrobes with infant clothes in anticipation of her child’s arrival. 

“I scouted a place, up near the north on the foot of the mountains. The village midwife is well respected. They say she has never lost a child. I think it will do fine.” 

Jian Lan hummed, placing the pouch down on the vanity. 

“Are there lots of them? Children?”

“I don’t recall.” 

Jian Lan smiled, rubbing her stomach. “It would do no good to raise my son without other children he can play with and learn from.”

“We don’t have a lot of time to be picky. It’s to the west. It’s been calm there for centuries. Unless you’re hoping to be another tragedy of war.”

Jian Lan’s eyes snapped to him. She said, “Watch your tone.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to be here. He could buy whatever piece of land fit Jian Lan’s rather broad requirements, set up his protection spell, and then come here and take her away. He understood this every single time he had been here since. They weren’t friends. He wouldn’t even consider them acquaintances. Yet, he still made the trip down. Once a week. For no reason at all. 

Jian Lan’s anger was brief. Her emotions never cemented. Her hands were still on her belly, hunching her shoulders in. 

She asked. “Have you thought any more about what I requested last time?”

It was another lofty bill, but human lives were fleeting. Taking care of Jian Lan would hardly count as a drop of gold in a pool once it was all said and done.

“It will be done,” he confirmed and then added, “Try lowering your worth a bit. I’m not made of money.” 

She scoffed, ignoring him outright. It was fine. Mu Qing didn’t particularly want to acknowledge having to buy a whore either. His conscience might relax under the pretense he was buying her freedom, not her body, but that was worth practically nothing compared to the act of it still being the same either way. He was certainly risking a lot on possibly finding Feng Xin. 

Even with her questions answered, and Mu Qing satisfied at seeing her health, it seemed neither of them were quick to part. What strange company he found himself keeping. Jian Lan kneeled on some pillows, requesting, “Come, let me braid your hair. The younger girls haven’t wanted to trouble me as of late.” 

Seeing no reason to deny her, Mu Qing acquiesced, settling on his knees ahead of her in a position reminiscent of how his mom might have done his hair years ago. Jian Lan was careful with her comb as she ran it from his scalp to its ends. The act of which Mu Qing had never done by another, even when he lived in the palace and was considered somewhat a person of importance. He was the one to do Xie Lian’s hair, not the other way around. 

“Did you go see your mother?” Jian Lan asked, “She lives here too, right?”

Mu Qing faced a large mirror that leaned against the wall. Jian Lan hadn’t looked up from his hair when she asked the question. In her mind, it must have been safe ground to tread over. He didn’t think about who might have given her insights on such things. He had to do enough just to remain impassive, only curling his hands together in his lap. 

His voice sounded much more sure than he thought it might. 

“No. It’s improper for gods to mingle with mortals.” Jian Lan nodded. She knew well enough not to bring up their strange relationship on the matter, but Mu Qing would fear she would press further on the issue. “Do you miss your parents?”

“My parents were cowards,” Jian Lan said. “I miss them only so much as it is expected for a child to miss the ones who raised them. It’s why I want to do better for my child’s sake. No one can ever say that I didn’t do what was best for him.” 

Jian Lan was too headstrong to be pushed around to accept her lot in life. She was conning a god for her son. With such dedication, her son’s future was safe. 

“And his father? People will say that whatever you do, won’t make up for their absence.” 

It was a topic of conversation he had to stand witness to many times, though he had never grown callous to it. 

“There’s nothing that man could have provided, that I can’t find myself.” 

Through her tone, Mu Qing suspected the remark was supposed to be scathing. It was harsh. If her child’s father was here, he would no doubt be ignited, grabbing Jian Lan by the collar of her robes and throwing her to the ground for speaking so lowly of him. Such were the wills of disrespected men who did nothing to earn that respect in abandoning women with the seeds of their unrestraint. 

However, the statement didn’t match the expression her face bore. The downcast nature of her eyes in an attempt to hide the anguish there, matching the trembling frown and the stutter in her fingers. 

Perhaps Jian Lan had been led as his mother had been, believing men true when they promised forever when all they aspired for was one night. 

“You don’t know who the father is,” Mu Qing tried. 

“Why? Because my profession suggests I wouldn’t? How do you think places like this work, General?”

Mu Qing had no clue. He didn’t think it could be that complicated, however. Whatever he would have said, was taken from him as Jian Lan pulled a tad too harshly at his hair.

“I know his father. He was the only one.”

It was like his mother, then. Mu Qing had to drop his own gaze from the mirror, unprepared for the pity he found in his expression, understanding but not knowing the words to console such a realization. 

“Do you want to talk about it,” he tried. He didn’t, but pent-up emotions were bad for expecting mothers, and Mu Qing was otherwise trapped at her mercy as she did his hair. 

Jian Lan was gentler with the next pull, saying, “You’re just like him.” 

Mi Qing’s stomach dropped. He was not like men who abandoned women and children to enjoy brighter things. Mu Qing would never risk getting anyone pregnant himself, he never longed for that type of intimacy the way others did, but if he ever did, he would accept the consequences as such. His job limited how much he could be involved, but he could do as he was now with Jian Lan, procuring a home and a comfortable lifestyle and visiting whenever he could. He would not be the type of man who was absent when his family needed him the most. 

(He was a proven liar in all of that, but it was a nice thought to still believe true.)

“Feng Xin,” Jian Lan quietly amended, keeping Mu Qing from spiraling further on being compared to a deadbeat father, only to have indignation flare up again. 

He was nothing like Feng Xin. 

He said as much. 

“Not any apparent way, no,” Jian Lan agreed. “But you have similar hearts and are afraid of similar things.” 

Mu Qing was not one to show his fears willingly. Jian Lan was crazy, thinking herself more perceptive because she was pregnant when she was not. The only thing he and Feng Xin ever had in common was that they both served Xie Lian. Otherwise, they were complete opposites in every way. As it was, Mu Qing had abandoned Xie Lian to chase his own desires. Feng Xin would never leave his side, not even when ordered to. 

“He talked about you,” Jian Lan continued as she worked through the braid. “Not very often. I think it made him sad.” Angry more like it. “He couldn’t understand half of what you did and even less of what you said, but it was clear he cared about you. I sometimes think that’s the only reason he sought me out. He had no one else to tell that he did.” 

She was lying. 

Or Feng Xin had when they spoke, making himself seem more noble by looking past Mu Qing’s many faults and accepting him. The only way Feng Xin had ever accepted Mu Qing was by throwing him to the floor and attempting to punch him into submission. Mu Qing matched his steadfastness. When they could not attack one another readily, he was always ready with thin barbs and petty jabs. Their relationship was not good. It was not anything people would think back on fondly. 

And yet, Mu Qing might have missed it, just barely. He was on this trail for Xie Lian, but it was getting harder to ignore day by day that he didn’t also anticipate reuniting with Feng Xin. Feng Xin would use harsher words than the last time they met, and Mu Qing would get ticked off at it in the end, but it was a similar type of hate. The kind Mu Qing had long grown accustomed to. 

“Did he come here often,” he asked. Only because it would be funny to bring up down the line. Because Feng Xin was terrified of girls, the idea of him stumbling through a brothel just to talk to Jian Lan painted quite a hilarious picture in his head. 

Feng Xin wasn’t at the mercy of godhood, granting him invisibility while he went to release his desires. He would have had to walk through the place, trying to keep his head held up high and a blush off his face while he made it to this room. 

An idiot. 

Who would do so much work just to share a conversation with a person?

“Nearly every day,” Jian Lan confirmed. “Sometimes twice if neither of us were busy.” 

It was an awful amount of trouble for the simple company until Mu Qing reassessed what this place was. He had been so disparaging toward Jian Lan’s child’s father for using the services provided here, but the same ridicule hadn’t immediately extended to Feng Xin. 

It made the pleasantries of the incense and flowers Jian Lan kept on her vanity burn his nose as his skin itched. This very room? Mu Qing would have preferred very much to never realize it at all. Feng Xin was a man. Of course, he was a man. 

Whatever the case, it must not have been all that remarkable if Jian Lan wanted to focus on the other aspects of their relationship—Mu Qing wondered if Feng Xin had found her like Mu Qing had, bartering with vendors and was struck by the way the sun touched her face, how she glowed as any beautiful woman should glow, and when they did speak, found relief in her temperance not being passive. Feng Xin probably knew her when he was still only a guard. He might have even been relieved at seeing her yell and being unharmed, only to be disgusted to know what came of her, though not disgusted enough not to pay. 

“He didn’t touch me,” Jian Lan said as if by pulling his hair together, her fingers sunk into his thoughts, plucking them out. “We talked, mostly. Had dinner here and there. It was nice. The normalcy of it. For an hour or so each day, I got to be a regular girl again with regular dreams and wishes. I like to think I helped him too, in a way.”

By giving him a friend. Feng Xin had many of those before. The king and queen would hardly stoop so low as to be friends with their son’s guard dog. Xie Lian was hardly in the right headspace to be a good friend, though he was one. Feng Xin’s at least. However, it was unlikely Feng Xin could rely on that old bond given how fragile things already were before Mu Qing headed out. But Feng Xin had more luck than Mu Qing did, and where Mu Qing found desolation weary company to keep, Feng Xin found a kindred spirit in Jian Lan, though he was forced to leave her once his party had to go again. 

It’s how Mu Qing knew Feng Xin was a better man than he. Feng Xin wasn’t born into a selfish heart. 

“I always knew him to be kind,” Jian Lan continued, “but I was still surprised by it each day he came back. I’m just a girl.” The vision of her was soft out of the corner of his eye across the way in the mirror, wearing a small private smile to herself and what could have been. “Girls get caught up in fantasy.” 

For one reason or another, Mu Qing’s focus traveled back down to her stomach, still somewhat hidden by the heaviness of her layers. His attention went next to her vanity and the forgotten charm there, and, though he sat kneeled on the ground, seeing only a partial reflection of it, he knew that design intimately. Knew which god—or not-god—it represented. 

Jian Lan knew the child’s father. She wouldn’t have cared to know who it was unless it was someone she held fondly in her heart.

“Feng Xin’s the father.”

Jian Lan froze. Right at the end of the braid, she was. Her smile froze with her. It didn’t crack, though it sat awkwardly there now as if attached to a face not hers. 

It was all the confirmation Mu Qing needed. 

Jian Lan said, “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Mu Qing wasn’t sure what got him to raise his voice or pull away from her to rise on his knees and then stand when he decided to face her and this indecision. 

“Of course, it matters. He is his son.”

Jian Lan lowered her hands to her lap. She lowered her eyes too, as a disciple might when they were getting ridiculed by their master. Yet it was Mu Qing’s eyes that burned, his chest that seized. 

“Tell me where he is,” Mu Qing said. “Tell me, and I will bring him back to you. What’s one more thing to trouble me with? He deserves to know.”

Feng Xin would hate to be indebted to Mu Qing. But if it meant keeping his family safe? Mu Qing was days away from purchasing land with a home attached. If Feng Xin wanted his own home, he could do so just as well, but it was a good start. A safe start and place to raise a baby. Mu Qing would never trouble them again. If they decided to leave after the first year, he did not care. It wasn’t for him to care. 

(Not caring was ignoring the idea of Feng Xin opening the door to his perfect life and plucking his son out of the air as he jumped to hug him, carrying him on one arm as he greeted his wife with a gentle kiss. In that home made for them no one else. A home Feng Xin had proved only he deserved.)

Jian Lan didn’t rise with him. She was a flame, doused, barely flickering light in the face of his own inferno. Mu Qing hadn’t known her long, but it was wrong. A fight already heeded to not even begin. 

Mu Qing had always been a lousy loser. He could never bear the sight of it. 

“ Please .”

Mu Qing had no preparations for what he might say to them, Xie Lian and Feng Xin. He hadn’t figured out yet how to make them understand—hadn’t forgiven them for their inability not to nor why he was never given the same grace as them when it came to mistakes—but he hoped one day he would be. He hoped that was all it'd take, walking up to them on a barren dusty path, holding nothing, being nothing, but himself, and they would understand it all then. He would stop being blamed for attempting to survive, and when he said Jian Lan was with child, Feng Xin’s first thought wouldn’t be to call him a liar, to call him much harsher names than that. 

Mu Qing would find a way. Even if they treated him as they did in the time past. If only to pass this message along with a promise he would never attempt to seek them out again. 

He understood. 

He did. 

“You love him don’t you?” Jian Lan asked. “You know that it’s only right that he must go. That I must let him go.”

Mu Qing did. 

Jian Lan labeled the emotion wrong, however. It wasn’t love that got Mu Qing to understand what Jian Lan feared. She was like his mother. Letting men go in hopes they would one day return themselves. Understanding that by trapping them to her, they would only grow to hate her more. 

“Do you really think so lowly of him?”

“Do you?”

There was no counter to it. Nothing Mu Qing could do to convince her. She might look the part of defeated, cowering in front of him on her knees, but she was headstrong. The type of woman Feng Xin liked. Opinionated and strong-willed. Mu Qing might have even respected such a choice if their lives remained mundane, if there was no war nor threat of war to contend with, and Mu Qing and Feng Xin never ascended and were only simple aides to a king of Xianle, not a god. 

But that future was lost, perhaps never meant to be, and Mu Qing stood now in the rubble of this life with only battered bandages to fix it, knowing it would never be enough to fully heal. 

Jian Lan looked back up to him. She had not cried, though her eyes swelled like she wanted to. 

She said, “It doesn’t mean forever. Once we’re safe,” her hand never left her stomach, though her arm might have tightened to hold it, “Once we’re safe, I may one day like for him to know, but I can’t do it now. Hate me if you must.” 

Mu Qing knew hate. Hate was what his father left him with when he came to their house full of fear. Hate was his siblings, standing across from him in a dimly lit room, demanding where he had been and why he was late now. No respect for a god. No respect for a man. Hate was his mother when she told him she loved him but sent him away, nonetheless. And hate was Feng Xin and Xie Lian when they insisted he was no one. Nothing to them at all. 

It was not an opinion he held for her. Jian Lan. 

How odd it was indeed, for him to find a companion here. 

“Okay.” He said. “I swear. Even when I meet them next, if you don’t say, I won’t.” 

She nodded, biting her lip to keep whatever else she wanted to say unsaid, averting her eyes away from him again to study her furniture. Mu Qing was exhausted, so he didn’t press on her uncertainty further. If she didn’t trust his words, fine. He would make them true. Feng Xin would never understand why he chose her over him and that was fine too. He had known long ago that any declaration Feng Xin had ever made to understand him, had only been wishful thinking. It could just be added to the already long list of grievances they had with one another. 

Still. 

It was Feng Xin’s child. 

Mu Qing might not like him all that much, but if Feng Xin couldn’t be here to take responsibility, Mu Qing could. Not as a father—a responsibility he never put any imagination to—but he could be a protector. A benefactor. He could just keep them safe. A small penance for a god to attempt. 

He dug into his sleeve, pulling out a small charm that matched the one Xie Lian had made, though this one may hold with it better luck. He bent again at the knees, reaching out toward Jian Lan, but he didn’t force her to reach back out to him. 

He said, in lieu of much else, “Take this. It’ll offer you protection, and if you’re ever in any danger, or need anything at all, pray to it, and I’ll come.” 

Jian Lan didn’t immediately accept it, studying it so. It wasn’t overly gorgeous. It wasn’t gaudy and overzealous as some gods made there’s out to be because beautiful things tended to be stolen even if it was a taboo and Mu Qing designed this to be used not worshiped. 

It was only a prototype. He had only been a god for so long. 

Jian Lan lifted her eyes to his again. She didn’t stay there long, accepting whatever she found before twisting her hand around the charm and taking it to her lap. She didn’t thank him. In her place, Mu Qing would have been beyond the space to do so, too. 

Instead, she said, “I prefer you like this,” she retook him. “Sometimes you come here, and it’s not like you were ever a man at all. Just a cold reproachable statue like how I thought you were back in Xianle, only here for our deal, nothing else. But other times,” she squeezed her hand, squeezed her gift. “I was wrong to accuse you of being anything other than a gracious god. A mother can only hope for a son as kind as you.” 

Mu Qing’s heart beat painfully, hoping that it was true. His mother had been proud before, but feelings changed with the seasons. He had torn her from so much just in his efforts to follow the royals, which had amounted to leaving them both in the end. 

“Sit,” Jian Lan instructed. “Let me finish your hair before you go back.” 

Mu Qing had spent too long here already. People would begin to notice his absence if he was gone for any longer without an excuse. But he was already kneeling. It was nothing more to sit and turn away from her once more. To let her brush out where his hair had fallen out due to his exclamation at discovering who the father was and start again. 

It was nice insofar as that Mu Qing might never have been allowed nice before.

8 years before Ascension — South  

Love. His mother taught him. 

She hummed it around their one-room home, her stomach round—Mu Qing’s third sibling, a boy, his mother predicted—though she still let him stand on her feet, leading him in a dance. The other two children watched from the bed. Their eyes were groggy from a long day but curious enough as Mu Qing twirled with her, laughing when she decided to lift him up too. 

Hate. She taught him that too. 

Not in her words as she laid all three of them to bed that night, a story of a hero with a sword and a kiss to each of their temples before the candles blew out, but in the way she didn’t return to bed with them when she was done, grabbing her shawl and waiting out on the porch for a man who would never come. 

Mu Qing had only seen his father once. When he was much younger than that. His mom had been pregnant then too but not with his child. Mu Qing was the only one to come from that man. He had shown up unannounced with Mu Qing’s dark hair and darker eyes, frowning at the child below him and then shoving cash into his mom’s hand as if to make up for his existence. Mu Qing couldn’t recall much about his features but that he had rings on almost every finger. The largest of them was square and gold. They sparkled as his parents fought. 

He did not return; a precedent set before Mu Qing was born. The type of men his mother loved. 

So while Mu Qing got out of bed, mindful not to jostle his younger siblings to wakefulness, following in his mother’s footsteps outside, only to find her nearly frozen solid herself, shuttering in her sleep on their front stoop, he decided he would never be led around by it like she was. 

Of the two, hate could be used. Love could not. 

That was why he stood outcast now. His mother would have loved a grand ball like this. Twinkling gold lights high in the ceiling with enough gold down below to make even the gods envious. He had lied to her when he said he had tried to get her invited. Mu Qing hadn’t wanted to see her so delighted by the simple pleasures found here. Just one of many gently aging women to be taken to one of the many desolate rooms to be debauched in the name of showing them a good time. 

She might not have fallen for it, though his mother fell often for easy smiles and kinder words. Her attention might have solely been on him, at the side of the crown prince, just behind the king and queen themselves. She so rarely got to see him work and only then from afar. This room might have been grand, but it was closer than that of the Xianle Capitol slums.

When he saw her next, he would wear the finery he was dressed in now. Careful with each step he made as he trekked down to not ruin any of it for her to see. He wouldn’t be able to tell her no when she ran her fingers along the fine fabric and the details in the embroidery, ignoring how her fingers were never truly clean. She wanted to sew like this when she was younger, she’d say. She was going to make the most beautiful clothes until Mu Qing came. She loved him more, she could only ever whisper. 

She wouldn’t understand what Mu Qing was doing now, looking on while the crowned prince was led around the floor, being asked to dance or laugh or sing or talk with splendid voices all around. Mu Qing much preferred this sidelined presence than see himself so readily a pariah on the ballroom floor, people avoiding him as they did those lucky ones who won a chance to be here tonight. 

However, with looking on came its own consequences and practices at cruelty. Where Xie Lian was being worshiped, a young man treated as a god, though he was not, Feng Xin had amassed his own hoard of endearing followers. Girls, mostly, but Mu Qing could spot the nervous boys on the periphery too. The one or two of them who always exclaimed twice as loud whenever Feng Xin knocked a bullseye or defeated his opponent in the fewest amount of moves. So obvious where they, it was nauseating to train around them.

But boys could not dance with other boys, not without mockery and scorn tonight, nor did Feng Xin’s attention ever leave the many girls within his sight. They were all doomed to be forgotten by Feng Xin; the boys that loved him. 

One of the girls, noble and proud by birth, had the ridiculous idea to tease Feng Xing by stealing the yellow ribbon that kept his hair neat. 

When His Highness had had others to get him ready for the celebration, Mu Qing had been asked to help Feng Xin for the evening instead. Mu Qing could not refuse a request from his prince. Feng Xin sat, begging him not to make him look stupid while Mu Qing gathered his hair, almost doing just that. But there were only so many ways to ruin one’s hair covertly, and Mu Qing didn’t have the time for that. Instead, he wound up the hair in its usual knot, neater perhaps than Feng Xin did so himself before fastening it, not with a yellow ribbon, that was only for show. 

Feng Xin nearly thanked him when he was done, until he remembered he hated him. Remembered they were forced to be cordial, biting their tongues around adults more powerful than them. 

The ribbon fluttered now, and Feng Xin balked, reaching for his head and finding his hair safe—Mu Qing did a good job—while the girl laughed around him. She fluttered the ribbon as she danced before lifting it to her own head and tying it around. It would be an honored badge when she left this place tonight. Proof that Feng Xin had bestowed her a dance and many more after that. 

Mu Qing tried picturing a person approaching him in that same way. Tentative at first, having discussed all safe options with their friends beforehand, until they grew brave, perhaps catching his eyes. They may bow, comment on his apparel, the ribbon in his own hair, and how it matched his clothes before asking if he too would like to dance. 

The problem with watching Feng Xin and his gaggle of girls all night, meant that the only person Mu Qing could picture in that role braving rejection, was Feng Xin himself. 

But Mu Qing was no beautiful woman, and he didn’t have the money to make this type of risqué disappear from people’s whispers.

He also didn’t like Feng Xin. If he asked, he’d refuse him. 

However, Mu Qing was not stone, though he was easily forgotten like statues were. The longer he stood under indoor stars and grand instruments, the more the atmosphere pressed into his skin, making him ill. 

When Xie Lian was close to the outer edge, he removed himself from his position, deciding that he would ask if he could retire, but even stopping to get a drink didn't stop people from wanting to be near Xie Lian. They would not move or make headway for the servant of the crown prince not dressed in sunlight. By the time Mu Qing reached where Xie Lian was, Xie Lian was already on his way to another part of the room, with his many happy followers, disappearing out of sight. 

For the first time in a long while, Mu Qing’s eyes burned at his inability to go after him. At his inability to make himself heard here, no matter that he had been living in the palace for years and had more right to the crowned prince than any of them. He should not have been made to be forgotten, so easily ignored. He was going to be great too, he was. 

Mu Qing didn’t bother trying to speak with anyone else. The palace held fire within, so he left its festering heat. He worked his way down less traveled paths, to the weakness in its fortitude, to the grass outside the walls and the accompanying wooded area. Mu Qing walked for a long time, keeping his focus on his feat and not tripping over the splendor of his robes. His only relief was in finding the sun, not yet succumbing to quiet night when he reached his secluded pond. The only place in all this grand capitol, Mu Qing thought it might be okay to cry. 

But he did not cry. He burned like he might, his throat constricting with each swallow, but he wasn’t brave enough to do so. Not out here in the woods. Not inside under the ceiling of his own room, where he could bury his head in too many pillows. Not in his actual home where the roof was beginning to leak, and his mother’s cough felt like it would never get better. He was a stranger in his own body, forced to contend with feelings he rather not have. 

Therefore, all he did was stare at an orange sun bisected by the pond and the distant trees beyond it, watching in real-time as it sank further and further down, giving way to night. The only reassurance that Mu Qing needed. 

“You do know that you can see the sunset from the palace, right? From His Highness’ very bedroom window even. He would let you stay if you ask.” 

Mu Qing’s carefully stacked and organized feelings, twisted at the words. Whatever fire existed in him on his way here, eagerly ate the new fuel as he turned to glare at his intruder.

“Why are you here? Go away.”

Feng Xin, the idiot, finished walking forward into the small clearing. They weren’t on the edge of the pond. If Mu Qing pushed him, it would only result in Mu Qing on the ground with him, and he really rather not get in trouble for tearing and dirtying his clothes. He was saving them for his mom, after all.

“Is this where you always run off too? Such a romantic, Qing’er, longing after sunsets.”

“I do not long.” Mu Qing said. 

People found peace in mundane occurrences every day. It wasn’t so strange that Mu Qing found this place comforting. It wasn’t as if he only came here to watch the horizon as the sun dipped. It was a place of calm tranquility, something Mu Qing was in desperate need of, having spent most of his days in the other’s company. 

“I’m not in the mood for your company. Go find someone else to bother.” 

“You’re never in the mood for my company, and I want to enjoy the sunset too.” 

“See it from the palace then, if it’s as grand.” 

“No.” 

He was trying to piss off Mu Qing, and Mu Qing’s fingers itched to turn on him, grab him by the collar, and strangle him.

“I don’t hoard beautiful things to myself,” Feng Xin stated. 

It must have been nice to say such a thing. Mu Qing owned no treasures that were just his own. Possibly his sword, but that was technically property of the Xie Lian’s. It wasn’t Mu Qing’s, then. 

“What will your wife think with an attitude like that?”

Whatever quick response Feng Xin was ready for, spluttered in the back of his throat. Even a hallowed victory against Feng Xin felt good. 

“What wife? I’m in no place to get married.” 

“Of course, not. You’re too married to your job for that.”

“Like you’re not.”

Mu Qing had to care about his job more than others. If others lost theirs, they could recover, choosing another career that were plentiful for them. Mu Qing had never been born with options. It made him resent Feng Xin a bit more. 

“It’s not as if you don’t have choices. The way you peacock-ed around, it’s no wonder everyone whispered about who you might take as a wife if His Highness is unavailable to them.”

“I did—what?”

Mu Qing turned his attention forward. They would be under darkness soon. The moon leisurely rose to replace the sun, and the stars were too distant to provide much light. Mu Qing could only guess what his trip back to the palace might be like if Feng Xin was still around. He would prefer to go alone. 

“It was a dance. I had to dance,” Feng Xin continued, “not all of us can get away with pouting on the sidelines.”

“I do not pout.” 

“You certainly do. In fact, you’re doing it right now.”

Mu Qing schooled his expression further, finding it just the same as it always was. Feng Xin was blind. A blind idiotic fool to suggest Mu Qing wasn’t anything other than properly impassive at most events. Where did he get off trying to read between the lines of Mu Qing’s features, looking for a sign that suggested Mu Qing wasn’t as dedicated to this job as him. A way to get him kicked out, so he could go back to being the sole person in Xie Lian’s stead. Feng Xin might as well marry the crowned prince if he truly did not care about all the girls that had frolicked around him with gushing blushes, trying to win his affection. 

Feng Xin still didn’t have his ribbon back in his hair. It was expensive too. Mu Qing had seen the embroidered edges when he tied it. Irreplaceable most likely, and Feng Xin had just let some girl steal it from him. If Mu Qing had done such a thing, Feng Xin would quicker throw him into a prison than act bashful at having it taken. 

Mu Qing squeezed his hands. The idea of not fighting grew more and more distant with the sudden urge to turn on his companion and strike him across the cheek. It might have been out of line, but Mu Qing didn’t care. Whenever they got in fights, the merits of which the fight began, always got overlooked when they were both punished in the end for causing such a disturbance. There were no onlookers out here. They could get away with a scuffle. 

Feng Xin moved, and Mu Qing was ready. He raised his hand to bat him away. Feng Xin was a fool to think he could catch him off guard. 

Only, there was nothing there for Mu Qing to hit. Feng Xin eyed Mu Qing’s raised arm, but instead of reacting in outrage—how Mu Qing would have reacted if the roles were reversed and how Mu Qing wanted him to react—Feng Xin’s left brow only rose in searing question, paired with a smile, much more aline with that of a smirk. 

Mu Qing gritted his teeth, unwilling to drop his arm now that he had been caught, attempting nothing. He hadn’t hit Feng Xin yet, no matter if he wanted to. Lowering it and holding it to his chest, only gave Feng Xin more opportunity to tease him. To mock him and tell the other boys about it later once they got back to the palace. Not only was Feng Xin the pride among them in attracting the most girls, but he had also managed a decisive blow to the moon’s shadow that stuck around with His Highness. 

“What’s this Qing’er? Do you need something?”

Mu Qing could still sock him in the face. 

“I see. Don’t worry. I understand,” Feng Xin said, finally raising his own hand. Mu Qing tensed, ready for a strike, but all Feng Xin did was wrap his hand around his wrist. There was no aggression in his hold, something that would be necessary for a fight, but Mu Qing didn’t drop his guard, giving Feng Xin the upper hand. However, Feng Xin’s touch could not be construed as anything other than what it was, wrapped carefully so. 

“One day, I’m going to perfect understanding you.” 

Mu Qing scoffed, pulling his wrist out of Feng Xin’s hold, but the other didn’t back down, changing tactics to instead wrap his hand around Mu Qing’s open palm, threading their fingers to do so.

“Let go of me.” 

“You need someone to teach you how to dance,” Feng Xin said. “You should have said something earlier. I would have helped.”

He stepped properly ahead of Mu Qing, their shoulders to the sun. He wasn’t much taller than Mu Qing anymore, but it was noticeable their height difference. The fact that this close Mu Qing had to look up, ever slightly to meet his eyes, how they were basins of the sky itself, heavenly blessed. 

“I know how to dance,” Mu Qing said, “I definitely don’t need your help to do so.” 

“Great. You can teach me then.” 

Feng Xin grabbed him by the waist, pulling them closer, and Mu Qing thought this must be some other type of way to fight him. There was a game in all of this. Mu Qing only needed to match it until either Feng Xin gave up or Mu Qing gained the upper hand. Therefore, he wasn’t shy when he gripped Feng Xin too, enjoying the quiet stutter that would have gone ignored had they not shared the same space. 

“We don’t have music.” 

Feng Xin swallowed, debating his words and settling on. “I can’t sing and learn to dance at the same time. You’re going to have to fix that.” 

“You want me to sing?”

“You’re the one upset about the lack of orchestras in forests.”

“And what if I can’t?” 

Feng Xin led their hands out to a more appropriate place to replicate dancing if that was what they were going to do. 

“You can,” he said. “You hum while you sweep.” 

If Mu Qing pinched his side for the comment, Feng Xin didn’t outwardly wince at the attack nor did he change tactics to grip and swing Mu Qing to the ground. 

“You should treat your suitors with the attention you give me if you noticed that. ”

Feng Xin started to move. Attached, Mu Qing went with him. “You’re awfully concerned about my future partner.” Feng Xin stepped forward, Mu Qing back. “Worried I’m going to give someone more attention than you.”

“I don’t care at all about that. Your loyalty is to His Highness.” 

“A man can have more than one loyalty.” 

No. If people could split their time between one importance and another, then what he was wouldn’t be true. He could have had a father, who could have been a long-invested merchant in the city and not the criminal he ended up being. His mother could be a royal seamstress and a mother of a bastard. Mu Qing could be helping his family and not be the hated one of his family for being able to get out. 

Life had an obtuse, harsh way of showing him that there would always be something people held in higher regard. Whatever that was, would never be Mu Qing, even if he dreamt of a world in which that wasn’t the case. A place where Mu Qing was someone’s first choice. Their last choice. Their every choice. 

That selfishness was a consequence of his birth. The chance encounter of two people coming together with little regard for what their future held, and thus placed it upon the chest of a baby, clinging for warmth. 

Feng Xin was warm. 

Every time they moved, he tried to inch closer to Mu Qing, but Mu Qing stayed vigilant toward his advances, watching their feet to make sure Feng Xin didn’t step on his toes as they lumbered along.

“Well?”

Mu Qing’s eyes flickered back up, regretting it right away. He did not care to have Feng Xin’s attention like this. It made Feng Xin soft where he was not. Mu Qing didn’t have a place to catalog this expression. What he needed to do to make sure he wasn’t played and came out the winner in this match. 

Feng Xin tilted his head, not losing that expression whatsoever as he asked, “Aren’t you going to sing?”

Mu Qing almost stepped on his foot. He would have passed it off on purpose if he did, but that wasn’t it. Their proximity was making him flustered. Feng Xin was too warm. Too tall. Too everything. It crowded against Mu Qing, making him lose his place in this space. Feng Xin kept ahold of his hand, not noting if it trembled. 

If Feng Xin wanted music, whatever. This wouldn’t be what caused Mu Qing to back down. 

It was just another fight. 

A strange arena, yes, but a fight nonetheless, and Mu Qing didn’t make a habit of losing their matches. 

“Close your eyes.”

Feng Xin didn’t immediately agree. A furrow slipped in between his brows. If he denied Mu Qing the request, Mu Qing could just then accuse him of not taking this seriously, no matter the reason why Mu Qing needed Feng Xin’s eyes closed. 

Mu Qing didn’t like the look Feng Xin was giving him all soft and aglow under limited sun. He wouldn’t be able to hum, or sing, with a glare like that upon him, and Mu Qing needed to be perfect. If he was going to sing to Feng Xin, sing for their stumbling dance, then it could be nothing less than that. Feng Xin wouldn’t be able to say shit about his voice once they were back. 

Feng Xin didn’t fight the request after several terse seconds. After a slow step right and back, he closed his eyes. He reaffirmed his hold on Mu Qing’s waist, using Mu Qing to guide them now. Mu Qing could spin him right off the ledge and into the water, and Feng Xin wouldn’t know until it was too late, spitting up murky pond water before screaming at Mu Qing for tricking him. 

Instead, Mu Qing sang. 

Quiet, to make sure it didn’t attract ears not their own. He only knew of a few songs from start to finish. All of which were lullabies sung by his mother to his siblings to get them to fall asleep. They didn't fit in the palace. They hardly fit between Mu Qing and Feng Xin now, soft things as they were, but Feng Xin smiled, neither crass nor snarky, but one for the release of joy, no matter how soft-spoken the cause of it was. Mu Qing almost tripped over his tongue when he saw it, misspoke over a commonplace rhyme, only barely catching himself from the blunder. If Feng Xin heard it, he didn’t say, his smile remained as it was. 

Mu Qing had to look away from it or else he’d be blinded too, but he could not tear himself away from Feng Xin’s face for long. It seemed whatever existed beyond them, be it the trees, maple and fair, or the pond, echoing them, echoing the sun, he was brought back to the person ahead of him, nothing else to compare. 

Feng Xin had freckles across his nose and up his cheeks. A smattering of clusters around the peaks of his forehead. They would only grow more bronze as the season progressed into true summer in the days ahead. Mu Qing didn’t know what he would do with that information. If there was anything to be done and used to warrant realizing it now like the strong bridge of his nose or the fact that his eyebrows weren’t perfectly symmetrical, though they were strong. This close, he could understand why the girls had fought each other earlier to be the one in his arms.

(Mu Qing knew that beforehand to this, he’d never admit).

Mu Qing could always deduce easily what he was feeling. His emotions were sharp and they were most often cruel. He wasn’t unloved as a child, but he didn’t love others. His mother was the only exception, and Xie Lian, one day, if Mu Qing was brave enough to do so—to be a number by then, one, among millions. 

It could have been fondness, then, what he felt in that moment. A ballooning bubble that would stay self-contained and not venture out passed this grove once their tempo came to an end. 

Mu Qing was not thinking beyond this, however. Not of the awkward walk that was bound to follow, nor the way Feng Xin would leave him, again, once they entered the palace, when he decided to go meet his actual friends in their chambers, nor how this might change the ferocity of their fights—it’d mellow two before they went right back to normal. 

All he could focus on was glee. Pride. Misplaced, but there. 

Mu Qing had watched Feng Xin dance with countless others, be led along by them, had his ribbons stolen by them, but where Feng Xin could have met any of them in the more sequester halls of the palace to exchange fated whispers and clandestine touches, Feng Xin was with him. Mu Qing might not know the intricacies of why Feng Xin chose him, be it the fight they had to drop during breakfast or a way to get more dirt on Mu Qing when they inevitably came to blows again, but it was a choice. Mu Qing was still just a number—one of tens instead of millions—but the only boy. He was certain of that, and the only one to sing to Feng Xin per his request. 

Mu Qing never wanted the sun to set. Never wanted the lyrics to the songs he knew to draw close. The waver in his voice to fade as he held out the last note. Feng Xin responded to it, tilting his head toward the noise, his eyes still dutifully closed as Mu Qing had asked and too few centimeters between their faces. Mu Qing couldn’t say when he mirrored the other nor why he did it, knowing the next step Feng Xin took would be their last. This dance and song over.

Mu Qing ridiculously flickered his eyes up to Feng Xin’s closed eyes before his attention fell back to Feng Xin’s mouth. The smile was still there, but it had mellowed out. Nice. The kind of smile befitting of a husband who always came back home after work to greet his gentle wife, who had waited for him all day. Mu Qing’s dreams had always been more advantageous than that. He wouldn’t change or shape his future on the ideals of anyone else but his own. But in those last seconds between falling silent and one last step, he pictured what it might be like to want such a simple thing. To stand in the doorway of his own home, be held exactly as he was held now, and share a greeting with no words but a kiss. It zapped through him so suddenly that he almost did just that, closed the last distance between their bodies, and sealed whatever this was with that. 

The passion fizzled out as soon as Feng Xin did stop them, the sun finally took its leave beyond them, and Mu Qing remembered who it was ahead of him. 

Feng Xin. 

Feng Xin. 

His enemy. His most arduous rival who had come here to trick him, to ridicule him, at least. 

However, Feng Xin’s expression still remained anything but, opening his eyes to greet him and squeezing their conjoined hands twice as if he still needed reassurance over what they had done. 

Mu Qing could handle no more of it. He took his hand back from him. He took his body away too, slipping out of Feng Xin’s grasp easily because it didn’t matter. Mu Qing had allowed his mother’s sensibilities to take over him, relishing in close comfort where Mu Qing needed none. 

“This doesn’t change anything,” Mu Qing said, losing the battle at keeping his voice feral. “I still hate you.”

Feng Xin didn’t burn quite as much as Mu Qing. That stupid smile of his only grew to match Mu Qing’s words, as if he was proud of the declaration and earning it this way. 

“I loathe you the most, Feng Xin.”

The statement only made the other laugh, caught with starlight in his hair. 

“I’m serious. I hate you. I will always hate you.”

Feng Xin turned back to the path they had come from, shrugging against his anger. 

“Always and forever are pretty lofty dreams, Qing’er.” 

Mu Qing’s anger grew as Feng Xin walked away, blowing him off. He wasn’t taking Mu Qing seriously. He never took him seriously. Whatever that had been, wasn’t important. Feng Xin had probably stolen dances and breaths from countless others. If Mu Qing recognized it as anything, Mu Qing was going to pay the price. Mu Qing was going to be made into a fool everyone already thought he was. Because Feng Xin had to go out of his way to chase him. He had to remind him how flimsy Mu Qing’s morals were and all it took was one dance and warm hands. 

“I hate you!”

Feng Xin regarded him over his shoulder, amber cooling under silverlight. It wasn’t enough of a look to appease Mu Qing nor were his words. 

He said, “I hate you too,” but his tone was wrong. It was spoken in the cadence of how those spoke when the opposite was true.

794 years after Ascension — West

When Mu Qing was 16, he accompanied Xie Lian down from the palace to spend the afternoon between storefronts, vendors, and people. It wasn’t the first time Mu Qing had ever been alone with His Highness—he tended to him, after all—but it was the first time that it was for any length of time, and without the pretense the Feng Xin would be catching up soon and intervene. Feng Xin was off visiting his parents, though he had tried every single way to get out of it. When Xie Lian woke that morning with a hankering for street food, no one dared to tell the prince he could not, or rather, Xie Lian had looped their arms and said he would be fine because Mu Qing was there with him. Mu Qing was not the prince’s guard or even an approximation of one, but he strapped his sword to his side and stayed diligent as they walked through the crowds. The last thing he needed was Xie Lian getting kidnapped and every finger pointing at him for not stepping in to save him. 

But Xie Lian was loved by Xianle. There were no nefarious actors among the crowds that parted for him, bowing their heads in reverence, and gushing whenever Xie Lian did fancy something, stopping and turning over the cheap treasures between his hands. Some things he put back. A great many he did not. Mu Qing was torn between chewing out the vendors for inflating their prices because it was the prince buying it and knowing that this one sale could be the thing that kept food on the table for the upcoming winter. 

It made the whole adventure rather tiring when Mu Qing had initially been excited to leave the palace and accompany Xie Lian to this place. He thought if his mother was out, they might run into her, and she’d be able to see what a good job he was doing, employed to the prince. 

He wouldn’t see his mother that day and maybe that was all the better. He had a hard time watching his mother gush around people, and she would be no better than the rest of the citizens in the street, revering Xie Lian. Too few took Mu Qing’s glare behind Xie Lian as the threat it was, scurrying only after Xie Lian passed and not before. 

The other headache that had joined them as they meandered was the fact that while they had entered the market alone—Xie Lian wouldn’t accept one of his father’s men to watch over them, claiming something about it dishonoring Feng Xin, or whatever—they were being followed. It wasn’t palace guards, nor was it Xie Lian’s annoying cousin who adored following him around, not at all hiding when he spit or kicked toward Mu Qing’s way. Qi Rong was the only mutual standing Mu Qing and Feng Xin had, and Mu Qing wasn’t afraid to take Qi Rong on if he had to, even if it was by himself.

Rather, the people following them, ducking behind carts and walls whenever they stopped, dark eyes wide and shining, were children. Little ones and somewhat bigger ones, though none as old as Mu Qing. He knew why they were following. He had even stuffed his pockets before he left the palace this morning, but he also couldn’t leave Xie Lian to go up to them. He tried with only a look and a shake of his head to get the oldest of them to get the hint and back off. However, by acknowledging they were there, only made them bolder, and at the last place Xie Lian stopped, pondering some jewelry and whether or not his mother would like a new pair of earrings, they didn’t attempt to hide, sticking together in an uneven pack of dirty faces and patchwork clothes. One of the smaller ones had grown impatient altogether, whining his name. None of the other children attempted to hush him, only looking upon him more earnestly.

Mu Qing turned away from the pitiful scene.

Xie Lian said, “It’s very rare for me to go somewhere and not be the most popular person there.” 

Mu Qing wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. He refused to look back toward the children, having now been caught recognizing them, again. 

Xie Lian smiled with a turquoise-colored earring in his hand. 

“Are they your friends?”

“No,” Mu Qing said, “They won’t bother us. Let’s just go.” 

Xie Lian weighed that response, putting the earring down, deciding not to purchase it after all. It was hard to see how much that action alone caused the woman on the other side of the stall to deflate. Her outward smile didn’t shrink, but her shoulders had fallen and her eyes dimmed. 

“The Queen would look nice in those,” Mu Qing said. The only apparel and jewelry Mu Qing ever commented on was Xie Lian’s and that was only ever to compliment him. It was weird and felt out of place in his mouth now, but Xie Lian’s expression brightened all the same. 

“Really?”

Mu Qing nodded, swallowing the unease and taking a step back as Xie Lian decided to make the purchase. He refused to acknowledge the relieved and appreciative glances from the vendor. 

While Xie Lian paid, Mu Qing retook the ghost children who followed them. They had inched closer since Mu Qing had dismissed them and Xie Lian acknowledged that they were there. They lingered at the stall just over, risking the shopkeep to begin chasing them off with a broom for standing in the way of paying customers. 

“Why don’t we say hi,” Xie Lian stated, appearing next to him with a small wrapped bundle. He started toward them and a wave of excitement went through the small group. They were not dangerous. They were not Mu Qing at that age, sneaking through crowds, hoping to “happen” across some loose change before his mother caught him or conning people with performances that got them to loosen their pockets all the same. The palace job, for all Mu Qing’s woes for it, was a blessing. It was reliable. Mu Qing could not afford to risk that reliability by reminding Xie Lian where he had come from. 

But Xie Lian was already walking away. A few of the children scurried when they saw him approach—mindful, at even a tender age, that royalty brought with it trouble—but several brave few held their hands, eyeing Xie Lian with uncertainty before finding Mu Qing behind him again. In their minds, any person with Mu Qing must have been safe, and at least someone like them. They couldn’t comprehend how different their circumstances were to a prince. Just how big of a gap existed between them in high royalty. As a result, they did not greet Xie Lian as they should. They held onto one another and stared, but they did not bow. It was only because Xie Lian was a gentle prince that they were not punished for it. 

“Hello,” Xie Lian greeted pleasantly. The greeting was chorused back to them, and Mu Qing had to uproot himself from his spot to put himself back at Xie Lian’s side. 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he tried to say. “There are places we still need to visit.” 

Meanwhile, the little boy who had called out to him earlier had unlatched himself from his elder sister and made his way to Mu Qing’s side, pawing at his waist, no more behaved than a well-trained dog. Mu Qing did not have a habit of smacking younger kids, especially those who were only hungry and couldn't afford the luxury of sweet things. He was annoyed, but he kept that to himself. 

When Mu Qing was their age, he did not get along with the other children. He hadn’t tried to, but there was something about seeing others younger than him, struggling in the same ways he had, that caused him to falter, if barely, on his morals that kept him apart. 

Mu Qing was not kind. He was not gentle and had no reservations about belittling others or throwing them to the ground when words no longer proved to be a fruitful deterrent and fists worked all the better. But he was guilty. For no fault of theirs, he had been plucked from his placed and shined up. They would not be. They would struggle and persevere, and a great many would end up dead in the streets where they lived while Mu Qing wasted his life behind palace doors. It was unfair, and it made coming back home all that harder to do. So he filled his pockets. He told himself, they were only for his mom, to share amongst his half-siblings and their bitter faces, but he always arrived home with a quarter of all he had gathered, the rest being handed over along the way. 

Mu Qing took out the satchel. It wasn’t the season for fresh fruit, even though the palace managed to have fresh fruit year-round. Therefore, he had chosen dried cherries and dates. They were still sweet. They still dazzled the children’s eyes. 

Xie Lian might have made a short noise at seeing it too, the bag brimming full, but Mu Qing had already put him from his mind. He had already given up on his restraint in ignoring them so, and even those children who had run off, scared of Xie Lian’s presence, had started to reappear as well. They grabbed one or two, never over-eager and overzealous were they, thanking him twice before running off. When they were done the bag was empty, which was good, he could transfer some of Xie Lian’s purchases into it.

He straightened, finding Xie Lian’s gaze fixed steadily on him. Neither spoke. 

Now, Xie Lian, under the protection of Hua Cheng, meandered similar street stalls, though the crowd was not nearly as dense as it was back then and no one gave a single look back at the presumed cultivator, as nondescript as he was. They might wonder about the red-cladded gentleman at his side, but they were busy folks, immersed in their own livelihood. They had no time to dawdle and wonder. 

Being in the West, the closest shrine of Mu Qing’s had been a day’s journey off, which they had used a distance-shortening array to travel to. Despite being out of his territory, the temple had been luscious and adequately prepared to host them, even though they went unseen and unencumbered by the other people there, resting in the back until Mu Qing caught the first sight of daylight and couldn’t handle staying put any longer. 

The quicker they got to Feng Xin, the quicker Mu Qing got to tell him off. He was excited for the prospective fight. It had nothing to do with how even breathing clean, mortal air had not filled his lungs or let his heart beat with any certainty for its rhythm. 

It made for a dreary day of travel. It was overcast and the road was busy enough that it slowed them down from time to time. They had finally arrived at their target village—a town now, not at all weakened by the passage of time—where their journey slowed even more to take in the wares. It seemed no matter how fast Mu Qing wanted to travel, Hua Cheng wanted to travel just that much slower. It was annoying, but if Mu Qing ran off on his own, he knew it would only paint him in a worse light than the scrutiny he was already under. 

Mu Qing assumed Xie Lian thought that Mu Qing was going to attack Jian Lan when he saw her. Attack her child for still being a demon ghost and finally attack Feng Xin for running away. Of the three, only Feng Xin deserved his scorn, but Mu Qing hadn’t made the best name for himself back then when had been accused of being a murderer with no evidence, only hearsay on his name.

Mu Qing didn’t bother adequately changing the opinion either. Not back when he could have after Jun Wu had died and Jian Lan and Cuocuo still meandered near the Heaven encampment, so Jian Lan could talk to Feng Xin—though, whatever they discussed, couldn’t have ended well, considering she had left without word or even a mustered goodbye. Therefore, it wasn’t Mu Qing’s fault he hadn’t brought the charges up again to be discussed by the surviving gods, but Jian Lan’s for running away. 

Still, he hadn’t corrected it. 

Feng Xin didn’t bring it up. 

He didn’t bring it up. 

He wondered, now, if Jian Lan had when it was clear to her that Feng Xin was choosing her and their son, throwing away his life and prospects for them. Willingly changing for her, after he hadn’t in the past. Feng Xin was a better person than Mu Qing. Growing and strengthening himself. There wasn’t a single thing on Earth Mu Qing would ever give up godhood for.

The point remained, however, Mu Qing had no idea what version of Jian Lan he would be arriving to once they got there. She had been so quick to spit on his name—and many others, though the damage to him was the only one that stuck, of course—and Mu Qing couldn’t dare to see an outcome in which Jian Lan spoke kindly about him to Feng Xin, changing her story from before to add more credentials to their time together. Just exactly why Mu Qing had been in that room to begin with none of which had to do with murder. 

Granted, Mu Qing had a hard time accepting that it wasn’t his fault. Perhaps the real reason he assumed he was better off forgetting and letting things go. He slowed when they reached the edge of the town. Jian Lan’s house was a matter of minutes away now. 

This didn’t need to happen. He didn’t need to go there. Feng Xin wanted to know about being a ghost. He had most likely found his answer in Ghost City and went off to Jian Lan’s to celebrate. There was nothing Mu Qing could do or say that changed that. Jian Lan loved Feng Xin. Feng Xin must have loved her too. 

Regardless, Mu Qing packed up the rest of his discomfort, placing it on a high shelf out of reach so as not to bother him anymore that day. He would get to Jian Lan’s. He would witness their domestic life reimagined in death. He would say his piece and leave. If Feng Xin was already a ghost, there was nothing Mu Qing could do. If he wasn’t, the same sentiment was still mostly true. 

In leaving the town, Xie Lian left his partner to catch up to him. It didn’t cause Hua Cheng to increase his leisurely pace, if anything he got slower, but Mu Qing didn’t comment on Xie Lian choosing to now walk with him either. 

Xie Lian said, “Did you come here often before?”

Mu Qing preferred, keeping his head down and marching forward on his own, leading the pair on, instead of having to make small talk with Xie Lian and his unspoken curiosities. 

“No.”

“Then what made you,” Xie Lian trailed, and Mu Qing resigned himself to deal with it. His anger and annoyance weren’t Xie Lian’s fault, even if Xie Lian could have helped the whole process if he had just told Feng Xin to his face he was being dumb and to not go through with whatever plan he had. Feng Xin may never have listened to Mu Qing, but he would have listened to Xie Lian. 

“It was far from war.” 

Succinct and with little inflection. 

Xie Lian found a reason to look deeper than he needed to. 

“I didn’t know you were close to Jian Lan, but I admit I missed a lot back then.”  

Xie Lian was mistaken. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Mu Qing said. It wasn’t like anything really. Jian Lan and Mu Qing used each other, and for that, they were punished.

“What was it like then?”

The previous night when Hua Cheng and Xie Lian reasoned they should rest first and travel in the morning, Mu Qing had spoken in torn pages ripped from his mouth about why he had known where Jian Lan would be and who built her house. He had not divulged anything more than that surface-level connection and why he had chosen the path he did. At that time, Xie Lian accepted it. Now, on the precipice of reencountering Jian Lan, he was searching for more answers instead of being patient enough to see if any of them would be answered by merely seeing Jian Lan and Mu Qing interact.

Mu Qing sighed. “Nothing. It was nothing.” 

“Not many people would consider—“ Xie Lian came to a stop. Mu Qing did too. Grateful that the distraction kept Xie Lian from inquiring more. Xie Lian’s attention was now behind them, staring at the empty space where Hua Cheng was not moments before. The path behind them stood empty.

“San Lang?”

Above them, the dreary day had taken a turn for the better. Gray skies broke apart to reveal blue and instances of golden light that warmed the last of the spring flowers in the grass beds around the path. 

“We entered the array,” Mu Qing said after Xie Lian called for Hua Cheng again, raising his voice this time to be louder. “He’s okay. It's just keeping him out.” 

Xie Lian found him again when he spoke. He didn’t seem panicked if only surprised by this development. Mu Qing still felt like he needed to clarify further. 

“Only certain people are allowed in.” 

“I see,” Xie Lian said, troubling his lip and looking down at his hands. Mu Qing could sit here and watch Xie Lian come up with ten new questions for him with that insight alone. 

It made Mu Qing’s words short. “Don’t think about it. I didn’t.”

Of course, he hadn’t. At the time, Mu Qing still thought it in his capacity to reunite with Xie Lian and Feng Xin. He was still optimistic that things would be okay in that confrontation and that they would then all go visit Jian Lan once she said that Mu Qing could bring them because he believed it inevitable that Jian Lan would call Feng Xin back to her. Feng Xin would have fallen over himself to have his son meet his former god/former prince and ask Xie Lian for his blessing, whatever good that blessing was. 

The array, shrouding the sky, trembled. It seemed Hua Cheng was not satisfied to wait for them outside. 

“Perhaps I should go back,” Xie Lian said, watching the rippling effect the sky took as it absorbed whatever attack Hua Cheng levied with it. 

“I would be honored if you stayed.” 

Mu Qing and Xie Lian both turned to the newcomer.

Jian Lan hadn’t changed since Mu Qing had last seen her, save her clothes, which matched the sensibilities of the town and not those required of a brothel. She looked the most like a mother Mu Qing had ever seen before. 

“Chengzhu can enter as well,” she said with a short bow. “I would prefer if my home wasn’t struck down.”

The attack on the array ceased, and Hua Cheng appeared not meters away, hands leisurely in his pockets as he assessed his husband for any injuries. In finding none, he scoffed in Mu Qing’s direction, turning his nose up at him. As if Mu Qing could have ever predicted that one day such a man would be here with them all. 

“Please forgive our intrusion,” Xie Lian requested, palm in his hand, as he bowed to reflect this to her. 

Jian Lan clicked her tongue, observing them all with a displeased turn of her lip before saying. “I expected you’d come next.” She turned on her heel. “Come along. I’ll make dinner.” 

Mu Qing took up the middle portion of their party, following Jian Lan as she marched down the hill while Hua Cheng and Xie Lian reunited from their brief time apart behind him. Her child was playing outside in the yard, more boy-shaped, but he could not be mistaken as one. His dark eyes followed them as they approached, chewing on his fist.

“His Highness, Chengzhu, would I trouble you to watch Cuocuo for a moment? I wish to speak to General Xuan Zhen alone.” 

Xie Lian looked to Mu Qing first before he agreed, though Mu Qing kept his expression carefully blank. Without words to say that Mu Qing did not desire this private conversation, Xie Lian agreed and crouched nearby to Cuocuo, extending his hand to the baby. Mu Qing thought it rather foolish, but if there was any danger to His Highness, Hua Cheng would step in before it came to that. They made a weird pair opposite a demon child.  Mu Qing hoped it wasn’t a prelude to what was to come next. Mu Qing needed to find Feng Xin just to survive the perils of that becoming reality. Someone had to be around to suffer with him.

He was grateful when Jian Lan led him inside. Her home was small. It was neat, as neat as a home could be with a toddler, a few toys littered here and there, and a blanket was left half-folded by the chair. She kept a vase of wildflowers on a table, which hid the smell of the dead. 

Notably, the place was missing the other Southern Martial God. Feng Xin would have met them where Jian Lan had had he been here, Mu Qing knew, but he had hoped that this was the end. Feng Xin would be here, ghost form or not, and Mu Qing could chew him out. There was no one for him to fight in a room of forgotten toys and a mother he knew he should never speak to again. 

Just as Mu Qing hadn’t forced her to face the court of the gods, she hadn’t made him bow and face their deliberations either. Neither were innocent, willing to pretend they could still be naive.

“You thought Feng Xin would be here.” 

“He likes to think himself an honorable man.” 

“He is a man.”

He was. Mu Qing had condemned him for it many times before, silently and not so silently. The person Mu Qing thought he knew, and the person Feng Xin usually showed that he was. 

Jian Lan left him stranded in the middle of the home to head toward the kitchen and the table that sat in the middle of it to prepare the meal she had offered Xie Lian. 

“I told him not to come, yet he came anyway,” Jian Lan continued, “attempting to make up for that time he actually had listened to me.”

Feng Xin was attempting more than simply showing up with flowers and a few toys. Had he learned what he sought in Ghost City, Feng Xin intended to stay with Jian Lan and their child now. But Feng Xin was not here. 

Mu Qing found himself stuck with that realization while he stood in Jian Lan’s home. 

“He would have come back back then too,” Mu Qing said, “had he known.” 

“Coming back for only a child and obligation.” She shook her head “Had your own father come back, he would have ended up hating you and your mother both. It’s not love.”

Ah. Mu Qing had forgotten this.

The only reason people discussed his parentage was so they could leer at him from their lofty positions of wealth. To mortals, in his mythos, his parents were inconsequential background characters. As far as it mattered to Mu Qing, he had no father. But Jian Lan knew. Knew more than Mu Qing had ever spoken to anyone else. 

Mu Qing wondered where that innocence in him had gone. Certainly, no one who knew him before that era or afterward would have considered him kind, but he had fostered a different sense of patience with Jian Lan.

“I’m not here to talk about him,” Mu Qing said. “Feng Xin isn’t my father.” 

“And I’m not your mother,” Jian Lan countered. She had gathered an assortment of vegetables at the table, and the knife came down hard where she chopped. 

Mu Qing had never mistaken Jian Lan for his mom, only that they might have shared sensibilities, but they were different in more ways than they were similar. Jian Lan had become the type of person who didn't get sick over waiting for her lover to return. Jian Lan had sent Feng Xin away first. She loved him, but she was strong enough to make that call to not disappoint herself further. 

“You longed for him once.” 

“I don’t anymore.” She sighed. “It’s incredible how many times I have to repeat myself to the lot of you. I’ve carried on just well on my own. And Feng Xin and I—It wasn’t a relationship, no matter how much I might have tricked myself into believing it was. I didn’t stay around because I resented that, or the person Feng Xin really sought after, I stayed because of the person I do love, my son. I want for nothing else in the world but for him.”

Jian Lan had suffered enough at the hands of being entangled in all of this. Not everyone was built to withstand centuries of fighting nor did she attempt to hide the weariness that sat around her eyes and mouth. She could have passed on by herself, but she couldn’t leave her son. A mother who was desperate not to. 

“Where did he go when you sent him away again?”

“You’d still trust a ghost, even though they lied to you the last time you asked?”

As with last time, Mu Qing didn’t have enough options to refuse an answer from her, even if it was the wrong one. He still found it likely that even if Jian Lan told Feng Xin to leave, Feng Xin would come back. No matter how many times Mu Qing had told him to get lost, Feng Xin always came back around. In this case, Feng Xin assumed Jian Lan didn’t believe his sincerity and was going to fulfill his end of the bargain. He would come back to her with that proof. His body no longer the build of a god’s body but the sickly color of those who were dead. 

“You don’t have a reason to lie to me today,” Mu Qing said. 

It earned a surprised laugh from Jian Lan, and she put down her knife.

“Do I not? I have every reason to hate you.” 

Mu Qing crossed his arms. 

Hate. Yes, Feng Xin’s once lover had all the reasons to hate him. She had more than enough reasons to lie to him and lead him on some quest that would take his time and sap his energy, leaving him miserable and alone, unable to truly succeed. It had happened before. Even if Mu Qing was mindful of it, it could happen again. Desperation was like that. It made logic and reasoning doubtful and bitter, and hope blinding as he went on forward. Mu Qing would have done anything back then to reunite with Xie Lian and Feng Xin. If he wasn’t careful, he would be on that path to doing anything to find Feng Xin again. 

He resolved himself to be better here. To balance Jian Lan’s actions and words and decide on what he had to do next. Jian Lan was the type of person to con a god. It didn’t matter that despite that, Mu Qing still wanted to trust her, wanted to remember what it was like to kneel on pillows and carefully close his eyes while his hair was combed through. 

Her weakness was the same now as it was back then. 

He said, “Feng Xin’s in danger.” 

“I should have every reason to hate him too.” 

If he wasn’t her weakness, she would have said plainly, I hate him, but she had always protected him back then, in concealing her child’s father, in keeping Mu Qing too busy to not follow him, in refusing even now to accept Feng Xin because if she accepted Feng Xin, Feng Xin would lose his status in Heaven. 

Jian Lan was a liar. But a liar Mu Qing knew. 

She claimed she held no love for Feng Xin, but she kept making the same mistakes. Feng Xin was dense, but he was not as foolish as Mu Qing always claimed he was. If he recognized her feelings as easily as Mu Qing did, then his resolve would only grow. He would set out on his mission to become a ghost to prove his heart to her and then give it to her freely. It had always been hers, even when they had been parted, it would continue on that way long after they passed on. 

Even if it contradicted every nuanced opinion Mu Qing had on the other god, Feng Xin was steadfast. He was boneheaded, but he was not easily led astray, and he could be loyal, as long as there wasn’t something better on the horizon for him to achieve. 

(An unfair assessment, given all Mu Qing knew now, but Mu Qing had built his life around being unfair. He would not be felled by his unjust emotions now.)

“He would have stayed.”

He wondered if Jian Lan heard how brittle those words were in Mu Qing’s mouth. He had believed in them ardently when he was young. He found himself returning back to them here now, refusing to speculate on all the damage that existed between then and now. The reason why Mu Qing continued to walk away, and why the moments he couldn’t, caused him to always lead with a raised fist. 

It shouldn’t be Mu Qing here. 

Mu Qing was Feng Xin’s enemy. His rival. 

Now that Xie Lian knew something was wrong, he would be willing to take Mu Qing’s place. Between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, they would manage to find themselves on the right path. They could be the ones to rescue Feng Xin, and if he was already beyond saving, welcome him into the land of the undead. 

Mu Qing’s stomach rolled. That insistent unseen wound in his heart flared up again. Had he not been a god of eons, he would have collapsed into one of the waiting chairs, unable to even lift his head to watch Jian Lan as she worked. 

But Jian Lan’s knifework had stalled. She had placed it down next to her assortment of skinned and diced vegetables. She sat where Mu Qing did not. 

She said, “I know.” 

If she knew this, then why send him away again? Even if her views aligned with Mu Qing’s and she thought Feng Xin’s words were ludicrous, she could have bargained with him, getting him to stay here longer. Feng Xin would have. He always tied up his desires in other people, pleasing them and getting fulfillment in that, rather than living for himself. But Jian Lan couldn’t see Feng Xin’s heart. She refused to after their last entanglement left her dying with a dead baby placed gently in her arms. 

Mu Qing would like to think he would be better than her. He would like to think if he was in the same situation—not with Feng Xin, of course, no—a situation where his lover came back, through whatever harrowing ordeal had kept them apart in the first place, that he would not be so eager to see them go. That he would not grow so comfortable in his solitude he could not fathom being parted from it. He would, for the first time in his life, take Feng Xin’s words at face value and agree with them, lingering on stay instead of go. 

Mu Qing would like to think he would be better, but he would not.

“What do you need,” Mu Qing asked. Because that was how this worked before, and if Mu Qing could rely on anything, it was the habits of ghosts, repeating actions of their living past. 

Jian Lan stared at the middle point of the table. 

“Nothing you can offer me.” 

Mu Qing kept himself upright. If Jian Lan didn’t want to talk to him, he would not make her miserable by keeping himself here. She had said she wanted to speak with him, but nothing of this conversation had proven itself fruitful. Mu Qing could have gained silently just as much as he had gained from conversing with her. Feng Xin was gone. Fine. Mu Qing would go outside, grab Xie Lian and his husband, and then leave. Let them carry out the story from here. Mu Qing was done. 

“I don’t know where he went,” Jian Lan said. She looked up from the wood grain. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

It was pointless to accuse her and say that if she hadn’t told Feng Xin to leave again, he’d be right where Mu Qing needed him to be, easy to find and make right. 

“What kind of danger is he in?”

Mu Qing refrained from looking outwardly bothered by the question. Just as he had been wary to tell Xie Lian about Feng Xin's status, the same could be true for Jian Lan. She didn’t need this worry that carved chests, but it wasn’t Mu Qing’s place to censor himself for her sake. She had the most reason to need to know what became of Feng Xin. 

“We have reason to believe he wants to become a ghost.”

Mu Qing’s inflection protected him. He sounded almost bored in telling her this. Like it was something that didn’t bother him.

He squared his shoulders and continued in frank speech. “He knows that you don’t want to risk his godhood, so he’s giving it up for you instead. He loves you.” 

Mu Qing nearly stumbled at the end, but he made it through. He did okay. Jian Lan knew now, and she could be overjoyed with the news. She could spend the next how many needed days waiting on her lawn, expecting him back to hold her in his arms. Only the living had fears about becoming ghosts, the already dead found new meaning in their life. 

But instead of smiling. Instead of relaxing further into her chair. Instead of telling Mu Qing that if this was true, it wasn’t his right to interject, her mouth turned stern, contemplative. 

“I don’t think that’s true.” She folded her hand on the table. She asked, “Do you know why Feng Xin became a god?”

Feng Xin became a god because—all Mu Qing’s usual sentiments about the matter felt hollow—because he was selfish. Jian Lan might not have it in her capacity to hate him for it, but Mu Qing did. She hadn’t seen his efforts followed to their conclusion. She wasn’t made to bear witness to it. 

“You don’t,” Jian Lan commented. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Mu Qing said. “He’s different now. He would give it up.”

“Not for me.” Jian Lan said. “He would not give it up for me.”

For Xie Lian, maybe. If he asked. 

However, Mu Qing had traversed that belief once before. Here he was, after telling himself he would be better, forgetting that which he had learned. Of course, Mu Qing didn’t know where Feng Xin went after this, and Mu Qing didn’t know Feng Xin. He was here speculating on things he didn’t understand, refusing to accept what Jian Lan was saying to him because the idea Mu Qing had of Feng Xin could never be rectified with the man he was. If Feng Xin wanted to become a ghost for Jian Lan, he would have done that first and then come here once it was done. 

Did that mean the root of the problem still Xie Lian? Feng Xin's devotion to him to seek a way to replicate Xie Lian’s beloved so that maybe Xie Lian would look upon Feng Xin with a tenth of the fervor Xie Lian stared upon Hua Cheng?

The idea alone soured whatever goodwill Mu Qing had for Feng Xin in coming this far. 

“He’s a fool.”

“Then why are you here?”

It was a fair question. Mu Qing rather it wasn’t so that he could ignore it and be done with it. 

Mu Qing would like to think he was here because Feng Xin would do the same for him, chase after him that was, but it was an action that made little sense in their relationship. Perhaps if they had been kinder. Perhaps if they had a hundred years of friendship instead of the measly one and some handful of months. Perhaps if Mu Qing was not himself  but something better. Someone kind and gentle, worthy of being regarded and chased. Mu Qing was none of those things, and he had long gotten over caring about what he wasn’t. 

Why was he chasing Feng Xin? 

Because he could. 

There were no hidden agendas in that. 

“If you can’t answer that, then I think you have no reason to bother him anymore,” Jian Lan said. “If what you say is true, and Feng Xin doesn’t want to be a god anymore, what right do you have to deny him his peace?”

Mu Qing didn’t have a rebuttal. He had no ground to stand ahead of Feng Xin and tell him to stop. He ached with it, but Feng Xin didn’t owe him his pain. 

“You should be forced to let him go too,” Jian Lan finished. 

Mu Qing would have countered that, no matter how desolate he felt. Throw her words back at her and say that Mu Qing had spent over 800 years of his life telling Feng Xin to get lost. The man never listened. Mu Qing should be grateful for this new change of pace. He should be excited to see Feng Xin truly gone.

“I don’t think that’s fair.” 

Mu Qing's shoulders rose to his ears at Xie Lian’s intrusion. He carefully turned to find Xie Lian at the door, holding Cuocuo, who must have gotten fussy, his eyes were red and swollen. Hua Cheng was beside him. His hand braced Xie Lian’s lower back. 

“Mu Qing and Feng Xin had known each other longer than anyone else, it’s only natural Mu Qing’s worried.”

Mu Qing frowned. Xie Lian couldn’t just sanitize their relationship to only time spent together and nothing else. It was true, but it was also wrong. It did not make Mu Qing’s worry correct, let alone justified. 

Bleakly he said, “I’m not worried.” 

It went ignored. 

“It’s not fair,” Jian Lan said louder.

It wasn’t.

Jian Lan stood, hands braced on the table, making herself larger than the rest of them. 

She turned back to Mu Qing. “The night you left, he came to me ruined.” Her hands were pale with how hard she pressed against the table. “Aching in his grief. I thought I could tend to his heart by giving him mine, and it might have intrigued him, but that charm was passing. This time, he came back to me the same way. So if anyone here must be asked, 'where is Feng Xin,' it should be you, General. What did you do to him this time?”

Mu Qing’s last memory of Feng Xin was of the snow. There was blood, droplets of it, in consistent circles, and an assumption left untested. It was Mu Qing waking up to the sunrise with nowhere else to go. 

“If I knew where he was, I wouldn’t have come here.” 

“You have always been blind to him.”

“Please, Jian Lan, if you have any insight, any information, we will hear you out.” Xie Lian said. “If Feng Xin is truly in danger, we just want to help.”

Jian Lan forced herself to regard Xie Lian instead of continuing to glare at Mu Qing.

“He said he had some matters to attend to the north but then he would be returning back home. That was weeks ago. I assumed he’d return back to Heaven by now.” 

The North was Pei Ming’s domain. Mu Qing had no tethers to it. It wouldn’t be as simple as finding Feng Xin in danger in the South. 

“San Lang, do you know of any ghosts in the North, any issues that arose recently.” 

Hua Cheng, upon being called by his husband, didn’t immediately turn to him. His brows pinched as he studied Mu Qing further, and said, “Nothing, gege.” 

Pei Ming wouldn’t know either. Had he, he would have told Mu Qing straight away when Mu Qing had asked, especially if it was in Pei Ming’s own backyard. 

Again, they were back to square one. Possibly, looking for Feng Xin before he became a ghost. Possibly not, considering Jian Lan’s own beliefs. 

“What else did he come here for,” Xie Lian asked Jian Lan. 

Jian Lan pressed her lips together, glancing at Mu Qing, and then back to the table. She had lost some of her ire, without reason to as well. They were still here bothering her. They still hadn’t left or dropped the subject. 

“He came to help,” Jian Lan said. “He planted the flowers around the house and cared for Cuocuo. It wasn’t very long.” 

“What else?”

Mu Qing was unsure what Xie Lian was after, demanding more from her like this. 

“What else do you think,” Jian Lan muttered, now looking at her lap. “He wanted to know the truth of what happened back then. He asked me how I died.” 

Xie Lian’s gaze could crush Mu Qing, the way it bore into the back of his head. The heaviness in the air sat like an invisible hand, set to wrap around Mu Qing and squeeze until he was nothing more than fading ash. 

It didn’t have to be inevitable that this came up. Mu Qing and Jian Lan up until this point seemed to have a mutual understanding not to talk about it ever. 

“What did you tell him?” Mu Qing was surprised by the strength of his own voice. 

“The truth.” 

If Feng Xin was a crueler man, or if Mu Qing and Feng Xin hadn’t come to rectify some things in the last few months, Mu Qing might have been led to believe that this was all some sort of elaborate trap. Feng Xin wasn’t in danger but the idea of him being so put Mu Qing into action. Put Xie Lian here to witness it and judge the outcome accordingly. Heaven had been doing a good job ignoring Jian Lan’s accusations. With it coming up again, Mu Qing didn’t think he’d be lucky to survive it twice. 

Xie Lian said, “You told him that your prior accusations were baseless, that Mu Qing didn’t kill you or your son.”

Cuocuo wiggled in Xie Lian’s arms, beady red eyes, looking down at Mu Qing with something akin to hunger. 

Jian Lan didn’t immediately answer. Like her son, she spared Mu Qing a look. For all her accusations before, it was strange to have her hesitating now. It could be construed as being fearful of Mu Qing taking her life a second time. 

Given everything thus far, Mu Qing had no doubt Jian Lan had told Feng Xin everything. The fact that Feng Xin didn’t immediately go back to Heaven was troubling and should be the focus here, but now everyone’s attention was on Mu Qing, on Jian Lan beside him, waiting. They could wait another 800 years for how much Mu Qing had ever prepared himself to face this again. 

“She didn’t,” Mu Qing said. “If she told Feng Xin the truth, she didn’t.”

“Mu Qing,” Jian Lan started to reach toward him. “I had misspoke.”

“You did not.” Mu Qing settled his heart, finding it much easier to do when it was his neck on the line rather than the hypothetical that said Feng Xin’s life was in danger. He retook Xie Lian and Hua Cheng, not taking either of their expressions to heart. 

“If it wasn’t for me, Cuocuo wouldn't have died.”

12 months after Ascension — Southwest

Mu Qing was enjoying tea, entertaining the aging Martial God of the West, when the first prayer came in. It was barely midday, and Mu Qing had used all of his limited charm to finally be seated in the same room as the martial god. It was said he would bestow complex tasks to his favorite deputies, and while Mu Qing was of the Middle Court, he had not been claimed by any Upper Court God like he once was when he ascended with Xie Lian. A complex task meant a lucrative reward. It put Mu Qing one step closer to ascending to the Upper Court. 

However, Mu Qing spilled his tea onto his hands at the crux of his thumb and pointer finger, earning him sideways glances from the two seated next to him—proper deputies of this palace—but it was thankfully missed by the Western God. Mu Qing was forced to set his cup down ahead of him lest he spill it again. His head throbbed in the resulting echo the prayer had left. 

Mu Qing didn’t have a lot of experience with prayers sent directly to him, not to this extent, at least, and it left Mu Qing staring as the tea dried on his hand, a reddening welt in its place. 

Only one person could pray directly to him, and the note in which his name had been spoken was not Jian Lan’s usual request for company. 

It’d be improper for him to leave now, especially with how many people he had to bribe just to be in the company of the great martial god, but every minute that stretched itself longer, allowed Mu Qing’s unease to grow. 

Jian Lan wasn’t one for wasting his time with pleasantries. She wouldn’t sound scared unless she had a reason to be. 

“General Xuan Zhen, what is your opinion on the matter?” 

Eyes not already on him turned his way with the grand martial god’s request. The god had nearly been in Heaven as long as the emperor himself and had won a merriment of battles before he ascended. He was comfortable in his position in Heaven, sending lesser gods to do his work while he drank and entertained women. He treated all the lesser gods fairly, but there was an unjust look in the depths of his eyes. A challenge for anyone to disrespect him. 

“Mu Qing!” 

Jian Lan’s voice had never sounded like it was in his head. It was less a call for his name and more a silent subconscious plea for it. A mosaic of fear, coalescing into one shout. He nearly shattered his wrist with how hard he squeezed it. 

Around him, the other gods were beginning to whisper amongst themselves. They were mostly in no higher position than himself, but there were a few other Upper Court Gods here as well. They judged him behind the rims of their glasses, deeming whether or not he would be worthy enough to be entertained in their palaces in the future. Meanwhile, the head of the table had grown stormy, outwardly unfeathered, but no one could make the mistake that the noble one was pleased. A servant not to respond to one of holier blood than he? Unheard of. Had they been still on Earth, Mu Qing would have been publicly disciplined for his gall. He still could. Mu Qing was but a pauper god with only a few shoddy temples to his name in comparison to the grand structures no doubt bestowed upon his greatness of the West. 

Jian Lan’s next message couldn’t even be translated in the form of his name, only grief as she bestowed him all her hurt, Mu Qing could not see what caused it but attempted to assuage the injuries by taking it upon himself instead. 

He stood. 

The Martial God of the West stood as well, followed by a few awkward others, unsure how this might go. There were rumors that the once general of Xianle was short-tempered and quick to a fight. 

“General Xuan Zhen, this disre—

“Excuse me,” Mu Qing only managed half a perfect bow before he was racing out of the palace. An indignant shout called out behind him, followed by the rise of more deputies, some with half the mind to chase after him, others attending to the great lord Mu Qing had offended. Whatever cacophony of shouts came next, Mu Qing couldn’t hear past the blood pumping through his ears and the sound of broken wails. 

The Grand Avenue of Heaven was bright, ripe in the afternoon sun. While others strolled leisurely, making pleasant conversation with one another, Mu Qing sped against them. He could not run in Heaven, not without causing more of a stir than he already had by leaving the banquet, but his pace was only kept short of that. In a small alcove, he caught his breath, closed his eyes, and tried his best to connect with Jian Lan directly. However, while all humans had the capacity to pray, only a few blessed ones had the ability to hear. Jian Lan was no such person. Mu Qing doubted even in sleep would be able to contact her, especially amongst the throws of panic. 

Mu Qing reopened his eyes and descended. 

He was barely off the main road when he landed, but it didn’t matter. Whatever patience had allowed him to make it through Heaven at an even pace, vanished as he took off running toward town. The brothel was near the center of the city, but Mu Qing was a god, and he had no reason to fret as he tore through the dusty streets, causing an unusual hefty breeze to take things off of tables and carts, but not much else. It was an afternoon that didn’t warrant the type of distress in Mu Qing’s heart nor the continued nonsensical prayers coming from Jian Lan in the interim. Mu Qing couldn’t be certain Jian Lan knew she was connected to him and was only shouting at the top of her lungs, hoping anyone would appear. 

He almost went off course to grab a midwife or find a doctor, certain that this agony was due to some problem with Jian Lan’s baby, but the brothel held doctors already on call to make sure their women could always work, and Mu Qing’s anxiety would not let him properly shake his normal form from his limbs to force himself into the uncomfortable skin of a double. 

The brothel was open as it always was, fragrant even half a block away with a few younger girls, milling about outside tending to the flowers as enticing treats for what may lay inside. It was not busy in the front lobby. The bulk of buyers, preferred this exchange once the sun disappeared, even if the time it took that sun to go was the longest this time of year. The few women that were around, lounged in their leisure, talking amongst themselves with little fret or regard. He passed a well-pleased client on the way up the stairs, his partner, calling after him at the top that he was always welcomed back. 

Normally, Mu Qing didn’t care either way what went on here between his visits or during visits, but the calm, lazy atmosphere did not match the feeble remarks and pain in his head. Further, as he reached Jian Lan’s hall, where there were about as many doors open there were closed, he could hear nothing. Not the sounds of pleasure that the building couldn’t adequately hide. Not the sounds of screaming, of those amidst immense pain. Mu Qing couldn’t even hear the sound of his own boots, marching along the wood. He could not hear the breath coming out of his chest in ragged pants. 

Those who could form a silencing array were rather few, but it was not an impossible trick for mortals to learn. Mu Qing had come here expecting the hall to already be full of people that he had to push through to get to Jian Lan and hopefully already find a doctor at her side, reassuring her that her baby was fine, that she would be fine, and that they only had a little scare, nothing severe. However, Mu Qing was not naive enough to be shocked if this instance was due to the savagery of men. Men who tore into women because they believed were beneath them. 

Perhaps, the brothel was in on it too, ridding Jian Lan of her pregnancy, so they could get her back to work. If that was the case, Mu Qing would leave with Jian Lan tonight. He had already bought the home and set the array up. The hesitation had been in finding adequate travel and the opportunity to buy Jian Lan out of the contract she had been sold into. But if the brothel sanctioned this, Mu Qing would give them nothing. Jian Lan’s next destination was so far removed from here as it was, they would never find her. Mu Qing would be sure of it. He would dictate it so. 

However, while Mu Qing called upon his dagger, a minor spiritual device that would be stronger than his mortal sword and make fighting easier in the narrowness of the hall as he reached the door, the door opened from the inside. Any thoughts Mu Qing had of gutting useless trash that terrorized pregnant women vanished at just that. The dagger, not quite formed, nearly slipped from his fingers. 

Ahead of him, in the doorway, was him. 

Mu Qing. 

Their attire was slightly different as Mu Qing had worn robes to commemorate being hosted to in finery, but what the other Mu Qing was wearing, was what he generally wore when he came down this way from Heaven. Even the swords strapped to their sides were identical. It was like staring into a mirror or better put, a murky pond that distorted the image slightly. The Mu Qing before him was covered in blood. It soaked both of his arms past his elbow, and there was a splattering of red across his chin and up the left side of his face, which the other Mu Qing licked away at the corner of his mouth before he smiled. It was uncanny how similar the expression was. One Mu Qing had caught in the reflection of enemies' swords just before he slew them. Mu Qing had to touch his own face to make sure he found no blood on it. 

The reaction amused the creature ahead of him, who tilted his head up and laughed. Cackled, so harrowing, Mu Qing took a step back, forgetting himself here in this hall and what his mission originally was. He couldn’t raise the weapon in his hand and point it to the ghost wearing his face and only came to a stop when he hit the wall behind him. The pillar was cold. It did nothing to center him there.

It was then that Jian Lan cried out. Not contained in Mu Qing’s head, but from behind the monster. It was hardly a loud wail, but the final scared moments before accepting death. 

“Enjoy, General Xuan Zhen,” the creature who wore his face and held his voice said. Mu Qing had no mind to apprehend him or call back up to Heaven for help as they passed each other in the doorway. The creature laughed behind him, and Mu Qing’s breath struggled to get out of his throat. 

Jian Lan’s room was a mess. The mirror on her vanity was shattered and the bottles and decorations she kept on it were smashed and left on the floor. Her dresser sat askew from the wall and a painting Mu Qing thought was rather hideous had fallen to the floor. Her bed was in dire straits. The canopy above it ripped and falling, as with the bed below, one of its legs torn off, causing the whole thing to pour out onto the floor in a heap of pillows and blankets. Jian Lan’s form was tangled amongst all of them, reaching out of the bed toward what Mu Qing mistakenly thought was a small pillow or towel but quickly realized what it actually was with one more step in. 

Jian Lan’s baby was warm when he picked him up. Blood covered him head to toe, smeared around his belly as if the person who had grabbed him before Mu Qing had yanked him out with two hands. He was so close to death that the only thing to stop it was Mu Qing’s energy, unsteady and encumbered as he brought the child to his chest, hoping to keep it warm. His other hand blindly felt around the rugs, searching for a blanket to tear in half to swaddle him. He paid no attention to the fact that his knees were now bruised nor how his vision was swimming when he got ahold of something, quickly wrapping the baby up. 

As such, he missed when Jian Lan dragged herself off the bed, dispelling the blankets that had tied her to the bed and launching herself at him. Mu Qing’s instincts reacted to the attack, not himself. He had only enough time to spin toward her, knocking her away by the shoulder, which sent her to the floor on her stomach. Jian Lan’s child didn’t cry at the disruption.

Jian Lan managed to push herself up as blood dripped from her mouth onto an already bloodstained floor. 

“What happened?”

Mu Qing reached for her again, but Jian Lan used her strength to roll onto her side and smack his hand away. In the middle of the room like this, she was more exposed. Her hair was matted in drying blood as were spots in her inner robes. Mu Qing couldn’t focus on the rest of her state as his eyes settled on her stomach, and she winced as she pressed her hand against it. It did little to stifle the injury. 

What happened was a stupid thing to ask. 

Still, Mu Qing reached out to her anyway, shuffling to get closer. It was difficult for him to manage his output. He couldn’t outrightly heal Jian Lan in one go because the influx of energy would kill the child in his arms, but Jian Lan needed more help than what he was providing the baby just to keep him breathing, nor could he shout for help, screaming until his voice turned raw. It would be too much to balance this and not betray himself as the god he was to the other mortals. Gods were not supposed to interfere in mortal lives. 

Mu Qing wondered if the monster was feasting off of the others’ flesh too or had only grown curious because it had seen Mu Qing enter here time after time, and Mu Qing had been too reckless to not consider adding any other spells on his form, thinking himself invisible just because humans could not see. 

“Get away from me,” Jian Lan said. Her teeth were red. Mu Qing couldn’t tell if it was because of the wound at her temple or something else. “Stay the hell away from me.” 

“Your son is okay,” Mu Qing said. He lifted him up, so she could see, but she didn’t turn her glare away from him. Perhaps because it was obvious her son was much too small to be here already and the only thing keeping him alive was Mu Qing. A god who didn’t have the time to hold onto him for the next two months to make sure he survived. Mu Qing didn’t want to think beyond their means right now. 

“You’ll be okay,” Mu Qing said instead. “I can help. Let me help.” 

“You useless god. You scum. How long have you known? How long have you planned this?”

Mu Qing could forgive Jian Lan for not realizing that the him from before he came and the him now ahead of her were two different people. Most gods couldn’t discern differences like this, let alone humans. 

“There was no plan,” Mu Qing said. “I only wanted to help.” 

“Who needs a poor servant's help?” 

Mu Qing was a god, he did not say. 

He had been present to blood births before, to uncrying babies as they were cut from the womb. He had watched his mother’s eyes grow distant and then unattached as the other people in the room fretted about, trying not to worry her or the other children Mu Qing was in charge of watching over in the meantime. It was not yet the expression on Jian Lan’s face, but Jian Lan wasn’t dying due to a bad childbirth. She had been attacked. Targeted and ripped apart. 

“I can help,” Mu Qing repeated. He would need to meditate. He would need to focus on both of his hands and control what was released in either one. As long as Jian Lan lived until she was stable, it would be fine. Then he could just focus his energy on the baby. They could still leave this place tonight. Even if the ghost hadn’t left the town yet and was watching from afar, once they got to the house, powerful or not, Mu Qing’s array would hold. Jian Lan would never be in danger again, least of all because of Mu Qing. 

Despite herself, Jian Lan cried. Clean trails down across the bridge of her nose to the floor under her head. Mu Qing risked letting her go to grab a pillow, decorated with small roses of blood and slid it under her head. She barely reacted at all to it. 

She said, “I always knew you were a snake. From the moment you arrived in the palace. We all knew. He who doomed Xianle. Who cursed our blessed prince. Who ruined Feng Xin.” 

Her voice broke at Feng Xin’s name. Cracked. It caused her shoulders to shake and the tears to stream faster down her face. 

“Does your hate know no bounds that you see him when you look at us? Are you so blinded by it that you couldn’t help but enact your revenge?”

Feng Xin was the last thing on Mu Qing’s mind right now. No matter that Mu Qing had only approached Jian Lan in the hopes she had information on Feng Xin, he continued helping her out of his own prerogative. Even if he disliked Feng Xin, he wouldn’t wish this upon the man. 

“I’ll bring him back,” Mu Qing said. “I will save your son. I will save you, and I will bring him back to you. Curse me all you want then, but nothing has been lost yet.” 

He shuffled closer to her, hesitating at touching her face and reprimanding himself for the hesitation. He wiped off her tears. 

“Tell me where Feng Xin is, and I will bring him back to you. I swear.” 

“Your promises mean nothing to me.” 

“Tell me.” 

Even if she didn’t believe him, he would be proven true. Despite the chaos, it wasn’t hard to keep it straight. 

Keep the baby warm to his chest. 

Keep him breathing by coaxing spiritual energy into him. 

Keep Jian Lan alive the same way. Fix her wounds and tend to her weakening energy.

Eventually, she will be strong enough again.

E ventually, she will be able to get help herself. 

Go and find a carriage and driver. The fastest and most reliable one. 

Go until they reach the Yong’an border. 

Go beyond that until dutifully safe in the West. 

Go and find Feng Xin and bring him back, drag him back if he had to. 

Reunite their family. 

No matter how this came to be, Mu Qing would honor it all. He would stand on the outskirts, with perhaps Xie Lian now at his side, and watch as Feng Xin cooed for his infant son and Jian Lan smiled in such a way Mu Qing had never been able to gain from her. They would turn from him then, entering the home and closing the door, and Mu Qing would try not to falter as he turned away too, unsure what it was he longed for. 

“I can’t,” Jian Lan said, followed by, “Mu Qing, is it you? Is it you ?”

She let go of her stomach as she spoke the repeated question, wrapping the bloody hand around the wrist that held her. 

“You acted differently each time. I thought—I am a fool to think.” 

Mu Qing pressed more firmly onto her cheek. “Save your strength. When you are better, I will fetch Feng Xin. Don’t worry about that now.” 

Jian Lan closed her eyes, but it did little to stop tears from leaking out. Mu Qing moved his hand down from her cheek to her chest. He debated rolling her onto her back. It was difficult to manage all of this with only one hand. He needed to stop the bleeding in her abdomen too, or else all of his actions would be for naught. 

“I lied.” Jian Lan spoke softly. 

“We are all liars,” Mu Qing said, “It doesn’t matter.” 

“No,” Jian Lan disagreed, “I lied . I don’t know where Feng Xin is. The last time I saw him, I told him to never come back. I never intended to help you find him. I can’t help you find him.” 

It was almost as if Mu Qing couldn’t hear her, refusing to abide by her words. 

“It wasn’t me who hurt you. It was someone, some thing , else. I will find it and take care of it,” I wouldn’t hurt you, “It wasn’t me.” 

“I understand,” she reopened her eyes, pinning Mu Qing to where he loomed over her. “The prince’s brooding servant is too silently kind to ever do something so wickedly cruel. No matter how much we all used to wish he was to justify our hate of him.”

He still didn’t hear her, grabbing her hand and bringing it up to her baby, so she may touch him and remember her vows to her son, that she was going to protect him no matter what. 

Feng Xin needed to be in the child’s life if he was to live a normal one. 

“You’re lying,” he said, “Jian Lan, tell me where Feng Xin is. I need to know where Feng Xin is.”

Jian Lan finally looked at her son, the tips of her fingers were cold and trembled as she brushed along the fat in his arm. The baby didn’t try to squirm away, his pinched face still closed and fragile. Mu Qing wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night to make sure he stayed alive. Mu Qing didn’t need sleep anyway. 

He turned back to Jian Lan, who said, to Mu Qing, to her son, maybe to both of them, “I’m sorry.”

Mu Qing understood then that she was honest. 

She didn’t know where Feng Xin was. 

There were signs of this deceit, moments Mu Qing purposefully ignored because it was better for him to be selfish than be kind. Jian Lan had a way of stumbling through some of her words, as if catching herself from speaking further on matters, or how she looked, oftentimes askance, biting her lip whenever Mu Qing did something that surprised her. Mu Qing hadn’t treated her with so much favor that one might mistake their relationship for something more cordial, but he wasn’t ruthless to her either. 

He had seen the signs. 

Jian Lan had never guaranteed that she knew where Feng Xin went. Mu Qing only assumed that she did because he presumed much about their relationship. A fact made more concrete when he found out the nature of the child’s father. 

Feng Xin wouldn’t abandon his family if he knew.

A fact so absolute it sat right next to the one in which Mu Qing abided by the most. 

Feng Xin wouldn’t abandon Xie Lian. 

To find the missing prince, he needed to find Feng Xin, and finding Feng Xin had been as easy as helping Jian Lan. 

But Jian Lan was telling him now, she didn’t know. She had never known and had merely used him for her own gain, conned him out of his hospitality and good faith. 

And what would he have done once she was safe? 

Her every action to him had been rooted in a lie. Mu Qing may have raised his fist in anger, but he would not have struck. Not at her and the baby sat snuggly in her arms. She had done this all to keep her son safe, all to make sure they stayed together and weren’t prematurely parted, and he emphasized with her for it. Had she seen this lie to fruition, he would have walked away. 

The same would still remain true. 

Mu Qing did not know where Xie Lian had gone. His former prince had left no clues for him to follow to track him down. He had made it so Mu Qing never could. He said it well last time. He didn’t want to see Mu Qing anymore. Mu Qing the betrayer. Mu Qing the liar. Mu Qing who wanted for all but ended up with nothing every time. 

The same feeling that unfurled in him when he had first entered the cabin months ago began to bloom. Then, he hadn’t allowed it to grow beyond the scope of his chest to consume him with its fear. Now, he had nothing to fight against it nor hold it back.

Mu Qing was alone. 

The only people he had ever been courteous toward and had been courteous toward him back in return (though he loathed to see it then) were gone. Lost to him. Mu Qing could spend every moment of every day, grabbing the shoulders of every person he passed to properly search their face, and he would never find them. The world was too vast for that. They might be immortal but that immortality did not save them from obscurity. It did not save Mu Qing this fate forced upon him. 

He was alone. 

He would find no solace in knowing that they were out there alive, carefree, and happy if he could not hope that one day they might extend their hands back to him, that they may one day wake up and understand all the things he could not say for fear of swift retribution and adore him anyway. Say in good faith that they knew all along and that was why they waited for him to come. But Mu Qing wouldn’t be coming. Never would he arrive to greet them. He was the lost one. The one kept apart and left. He was the one in which everyone always left, so it was better for him to have done the leaving first. It made the pain less true.

(Rupturing and splintering, it spread from his chest, outward, eviscerating all it came into contact with, leaving him a man on fire, a man no more.)

Mu Qing was born in solitude at night. He had no older siblings to learn from. He had his mother, but she was gone frequently, trusting him to be well-behaved in their home, and when she did return, she did not always return alone, finding company in others, always happy to host. There were men like his siblings’ fathers. There was her best friend, who, when she thought all the kids were asleep, asked his mom to run away with her, so they may start a better life somewhere else—Mu Qing was already conscripted at the time, he wouldn’t have been able to come with. His mother would have lived to be much older had she agreed. 

Mu Qing had been barred from training with the other cultivators when he first climbed Mount Taicang. The State Preceptor never gave Mu Qing his time, always sending one of the others to oversee him, and they were never proud enough to voice their pleasure or displeasure with him. It made the other disciples bolder when they taunted him. Never around Xie Lian, the only one who would command them to respect Mu Qing, but once in front of Feng Xin. Mu Qing hadn’t stayed around long enough to let Feng Xin join in on the ridicule. The man was wise not to bring it up in front of Xie Lian, and Mu Qing was smart to avoid all instances of being alone with Feng Xin for many months after to not reface the humiliation. 

In a battle, for Xianle, or for after when he was scouring the wreckage of the city for ghosts, he stood solitary among all the ruins. When Xie Lian fought for Xianle’s future, the people stood back in awe to watch him. Mu Qing stood there too, not with the others, just there, on the sidelines, trying to be known. But when Mu Qing panted, sword dripping, legs and body sore, but victorious, he’d looked up to find himself abandoned by his platoon, either already retreated or dead. It could be why he preferred hunting ghosts as he worked to ascend on his own. The quiet of a lone figure on a battlefield made much more sense then. 

And, despite how many hundreds, how many thousands, he could not find camaraderie in any of the other gods. Not in the Middle Court where they barely hid their disgust with him as he worked twice as hard as they did to make up for the slight that came with ascending with Xie Lian. Not the Upper Court, who saw him only as a means to be used. A way to avoid their own minor responsibilities by placing it onto the shoulders of someone else. What did it matter to them if they did? They still had thousands of worshippers. Mu Qing’s minimal few could not compete with that.

He was going to be a god that was respected one day. 

He was going to be a god of no one. 

Alone. 

He was alone. 

Xie Lian and Feng Xin hadn’t even liked him all that much. They were happy he was gone. 

Relieved.

Mu Qing so rarely allowed himself to cry that when he did, it shocked him from his stupor. Surprisingly hot were the tears that raced down his cheeks, under his chin and neck. It tore a shout, a heaving sob, from his chest, as his body tipped over, curling at the waist over Jian Lan’s prone form as it wracked him apart further. He had been stabbed, burned, and tortured, but never had he known desolation such as this. It made him forget himself, made him clutch at his chest as if he could mend whatever heartbreak existed there by ripping out his heart and chucking it away from him. Make himself into exactly the type of person people always assumed he was. 

However, when Mu Qing went to grab his heart, ready to twist it out, he was stopped. 

There was a baby at his chest. The one still clutched in his free arm, who hadn’t yet opened his eyes nor sounded his first cry. A baby dependent on his resolve to stay calm in the face of this disaster. A baby who was now still because he had not. 

Feng Xin’s child was dead. 

It didn’t matter that Mu Qing raced to sit back up on his knees, pressed his fingers to the child’s fragile neck, and poured as much as he could into him. The dead could not use spiritual energy. They could not be brought back to life without vengeance, no matter how much a god may beg and plead for it not to be so. 

Mu Qing turned back to Jian Lan, ready to shove her child into her arms and hope that by some miracle it could be what brought the child back. Mu Qing had stood in the face of miracles before. Of impossibilities that held no explanations. He could handle the sorrow of knowing he was not enough. 

Mu Qing rolled Jian Lan onto her back, maneuvering her arms into a cradle and placing the baby there. His mouth was dry as he spoke, reassurances coupled with apologies. 

Feng Xin’s beloved was nearing death too. 

She did not hear Mu Qing. Her eyes were still open, still flushed, but they were hazy. A film on top of them that preluded death, as with the slowing pulse at her neck, the paling color to her cheeks under all that smeared blood. 

Jian Lan said, “The east longs for the west, but the west never looks back.” 

Freed hands allowed Mu Qing to press a forgotten blanket to her stomach however slow the blood leaking from it had gotten. 

“What?” 

Jian Lan blinked slowly, looking at the ceiling now that she was on her back. 

“It’s something my mother used to say. That we are all doomed to unrequited love from the ones we cherish most, and if they ever were to realize it, it would only be after it was too late.” 

“Feng Xin loves you,” to which Mu Qing had no basis to say, only Feng Xin would not have had a relationship with her if he did not. “Jian Lan just hang, Feng Xin loves you. He does. He will come back. He will look back.”

Jian Lan smiled. Wistful. It almost tricked Mu Qing into thinking she was fine. She exhaled, and Mu Qing puzzled if there was supposed to be a response in that breath. An answer to that unspoken question when she did not inhale again. 

Mu Qing had stood vigil over death so many times in his life he had forgotten how it too could hurt when death came with it a voice he knew, a temper he knew, a life he knew. He almost pushed on in spite of it, pressing her stomach closed and pouring every last ounce of himself into her so that she may live even if it cost him his life in return. 

However, he had stood in fury too long in the pretense of a battle. The most expected emotion in facing death welcomed him into its pool of warmth. Anger.

It sparked so readily that Mu Qing had to let go of what he was doing unless he damaged Jian Lan’s body further. He had only enough forethought to put a blanket over her legs and chest, uncaring that this blood would now follow him too, as he got up and stormed away from them. 

Again, the door opened before he got to it. A girl, barely older than he had been when he left for the palace, stood on the other side of it, holding a tray of leftover sweets and a pot of tea. Jian Lan had been liked here. She had been admired by the others if they thought to bring her tea on her days off. The pot shattered when it hit the floor, scattering porcelain that would cut bare feet if it wasn’t properly cleaned up. The girl fell to her knees swiftly behind it and her scream shook the window behind Jian Lan’s bed. The stampede that rushed to heed the call meant that the silencing array had been broken. Mu Qing passed women in the hall as they went running to the girl's aid. Their own sorrows and grief, compounded on his own when they entered that room and wailed. 

It was but a brothel, so their chants to Heaven would go mostly ignored, but if they sang so loudly in their tears, Mu Qing might believe that they could be, u nknowing that their revenge was already at hand. 

His doppelgänger remained in the same street. Bored as he lounged against a building between two competing carts of fruits. He smiled when he saw Mu Qing as if the sight of Mu Qing’s anger was something to be overjoyed in. Mu Qing drew his sword and let its tip drag on the ground beside him.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“You’re dead.” 

The Mu Qing not him, laughed. He pushed himself off the wall and walked to meet Mu Qing in the middle of the street.

“Gods no better than to meddle in mortal affairs. It’s your mistake in thinking you were above that law.” 

Mu Qing didn’t listen to a ghost. He picked up his sword. The ghost had stopped ahead of him. A meter or so out of reach.

He appraised Mu Qing and said, “You’re not strong enough to kill me nor stupid enough to fight me here.” 

He struck out his hand and grabbed the head of a vendor, who squawked in surprise at the unseen force holding him back. It earned a few curious looks from those all around in this flushed market space, some even started his way. Others called out. All halted the moment the ghost applied just the right amount of pressure, resulting in an echoing “pop.”

The man fell dead. 

Chaos followed. Through it, the ghost could have used it to escape and take with him more bodies as he did so, but Mu Qing was faster. In the time it took for the body to fall, he struck the creature's chest, and the force of the energy in the attack sent the creature flying backward. Mu Qing followed it as it tumbled, and grabbed it by the back of its robes, so he could throw him over the town’s wall and far into the forest beyond it. Mu Qing jumped over the wall, landing in the grass and taking off through the trees. Behind him, the town was already locking the city up, screaming over a ghost that they would send cultivators out to kill it. 

Mu Qing would kill it. All the cultivators would find was its ashes. 

However, when they met again in the woods, the other Mu Qing was no more encumbered than he had been in the streets. Even Feng Xin would have looked at least peeved at being thrown meters out of a town. Mu Qing raised his sword ahead of him. Even if the other Mu Qing didn’t bother taking his sword out of its sheath. 

“What great anger you have,” the ghost said. “I can see why they made an exception for you, servant god.”

“You’re going to regret killing them.”

The ghost took a step forward. “The only one here who will regret them is you. I did nothing wrong.” Mu Qing matched the ghost’s steps, mindful of every movement the other made. “I did it for you, my tender young general. I did what you were too scared to do. Their blood might not have needed to fall, but I will admit they were a divine treat. Women and babies are equally sweet.” 

Mu Qing attacked first, sword above his head as he went to strike against his monster’s left forearm, which only made the other cackle in glee, sideswiping him, and striking him in the back. Mu Qing tumbled forward, but he righted himself, spinning and attacking toward the other man’s thigh, which narrowly grazed him before Mu Qing was getting punched in the face, sending him backward into the dirt. He found his sword quickly, snatching it up and getting back to his feet. 

“You can’t defeat me,” the ghost said. “Why try?” 

Mu Qing only attacked him again even when it became clear that the ghost was right. Mu Qing was outmatched, staring at an approximation of himself that Mu Qing may have one day achieved if he wasn’t destined to die here at the hands of this high-level vengeful spirit. But Mu Qing bore every punch and a swift kick. He countered where he needed to and struck when he could. His movements were not refined. They were brutish and thuggish, but they were swift. Had it been any other opponent, they would have fallen at Mu Qing’s sword. They would not have been able to snatch the blade as it swung toward them and shattered it with just their strength alone, causing Mu Qing to stumble back only holding half a sword. 

However, Mu Qing did not sheath the weapon to run away. He held it up. But the ghost had been toying with him before, mocking him with his moves.

Too fast for Mu Qing to think, the ghost was behind him, shoving the tip of his broken sword through Mu Qing's back shoulder. He ripped it out and shoved it into his lower back instead. He kicked Mu Qing’s legs in, and Mu Qing fell forward, only saved from falling onto his face, by digging his sword into the dirt, latching his arms around it as he breathed, spit and blood falling out of his mouth to stain the grass. 

The monster’s shadow loomed over him. 

“Utter trash,” he said. “You never deserved him.” 

Mu Qing blinked away the sweat and blood from his eyes, unfocused as the ghost’s shadow moved to stand ahead of him. For some reason, he understood who the creature was speaking of. 

“Xie Lian?” He gripped his hilt tighter, forcing himself to look up and attempt to get his body to stand. “What did you do to Xie Lian?”

It got an interesting look out of his face. A crooked brow and a sneer, almost. Pride engulfed his figure until it wasn’t Mu Qing, whom he was looking at, but Xie Lian. It nearly made Mu Qing fall to his knees in abject reverence. 

“What did you do to Xie Lian?” Xie Lian asked. “You are nothing. No one, and you thought you could become a god instead?”

Anger wasn’t unfamiliar on Xie Lian’s face, especially after all they had been through in the latter years of their life, but spitefulness was. It didn’t matter the intricacies. The face he saw ahead of him was similar to the one who had met him when Mu Qing had shown up unannounced, hoping to help. Pure and utter disgust, as if Xie Lian couldn’t be bothered with putting up the pretense anymore that he ever liked Mu Qing, proving once and for all that it had only ever been a lie. A charity case that got out of hand. 

Mu Qing refused to look at it any longer. He did not need to. He already suspected what Xie Lian would say to him if he ever saw him again. His mind was crueler than anything a ghost might say in Xie Lian’s stead. 

His silence amused the ghost, so he opted for a different voice instead. 

“You have not a single selfless bone in your body. His Highness was right to cast you out.”

Mu Qing was almost impressed with the ghost’s inflection. Feng Xin would certainly say something like that. Mu Qing didn’t even flinch when a hand closed around the back of his neck, shoving him into the dirt. It was almost nostalgic, as with the boot to his gut, flipping him onto his back. When he reopened his eyes, he was staring back up at himself again. 

This Mu Qing, covered in blood, with a murderous intent in his eyes, must have been what most Yong’an soldiers saw when he faced them and what his men saw when he turned back to them. It didn’t strike fear into him as much as they all made it seem. Perhaps Mu Qing was beyond knowing fear now. 

“Have you learned your lesson,” the ghost repeated. 

“No.” 

Throughout the whole war, Mu Qing found himself frustrated but not without empathy for Xie Lian’s plight. If Xie Lian had focused his attention on only one person, one family, then maybe he would have succeeded. Xie Lian’s goals always did seem loftier than his own. The grandeur befitting a child destined to Heaven, and Mu Qing respected that. Respected the sacrifices that came with helping others. Whatever came of him now, he would not regret attempting to help Jian Lan, even if he had been disallowed in truly saving her. 

The ghost stepped on his chest. He pressed down hard. However, Mu Qing’s heart had already bore so many grievances earlier, this physical pain hardly mattered to him. 

“You are pathetic. A god, who couldn’t even save a baby.”

“What’s a ghost who can’t even kill a lesser god? Are you only good for mockery, or are you actually going to do something?”

The ghost smiled, pressing down on his foot one moment more before scraping it off. He leered over Mu Qing’s body. His own hand wrapped around Mu Qing’s neck, ready to squeeze the life out of him, triumphant over its victory. Mu Qing let that pride grow. It was so easy to gauge when the darkness he saw in return was kept in his own eyes even as his vision spotted and the ghost made true on Mu Qing’s threat. 

However, Mu Qing might not have been a god of the Upper Court, but he wasn’t some sniveling useless thing either, ready to let this no-name calamity kill him. When his hand went to the creature's neck, mocking a feeble attempt to push him off, he called upon his dagger anew. It manifested in his tight grip, right through their neck. Mu Qing ripped it forward, tearing open tender skin and splattering his face in dark blood.

The anger he saw reflected in the other’s face was all too similar, but Mu Qing took advantage of the ghost’s surprise, throwing him off of him. The sword that he had abandoned beside him, he found again. Even broken it could impale, and Mu Qing shoved into the dying creature with all his might, holding it down in preparation for the ghost to struggle now that Mu Qing had the upper hand. But the ghost did no such thing. He did not try to hold his neck together or rip his palms open trying to remove the sword he had already proven he could shatter.

“Very good, Xuan Zhen,” the creature said, garbled and bloody from the wound on his neck. “Kill all of us who stand in your way. Leave no one behind. Stand alone.” 

Mu Qing's knees hit the grass as the ghost crumbled to ash. It lingered in the air with a sulfuric odor. Dead.

Again, he gripped the hilt of his sword, finding it increasingly burdensome to attempt to stand. There was blood in his mouth and his eyes were swollen and unnaturally dry. He counted how many breaths he could take, finding himself annoyed over breathing at all. He rested his head against his hands, attempting to find the energy that had led him to get this far, finding hollowness in its place. 

Jian Lan was dead. 

Her baby, dead. 

Their killer, dead. 

Mu Qing defeated, nonetheless. 

He had spent too long here in this town. If there had been a lead before now on where Xie Lian might have gone, it was certainly unobtainable now. The same sentiment he found in Jian Lan’s room, held true out here in the open. Not even a sinking sun on the horizon brought him any comfort. Not when he knew the same would hold true tomorrow. 

Mu Qing had been a god for a year and all the reasons he had become one were out of reach. It would have been better for all if he had not done so. It would have been better for himself if he had just died on the streets of Xianle and had been overlooked in miracle offerings that said they would save him. What used was being saved when he couldn’t save others in return? When he couldn’t even help when it was a god’s duty to help those who believed in him. 

Who knew how long Mu Qing would have wallowed in his own self-pity, as useless of a man he thought he was, had someone not entered into his communication array right then. 

A civil god, Mu Qing had only brief encounters with before. 

“You’re requested in the Heavenly Palace, General.”

Mu Qing acknowledged the request, forcing himself to stand, store away his dagger, and sheath his sword at his side, broken or not

Despite it all, he had a job to do. He had become a god because it was what he wanted from life, tragedy had just been a part of it. If he could not accept that responsibility, he should have just let the ghost kill him. 

The pathetic version of himself would have. The Mu Qing, who had refused to back down no matter how many people told him he couldn’t, had not. He had earned his place in Heaven. He deserved it still, no matter the cost.

He arrived in Heaven with the last of a dying sun. The gore and wounds that had ruined his skin and clothes vanished as soon as he appeared on the shining pathway. The bells from the many towers nearby sang in merry jubilation juxtaposed against the crying that still came up from Earth. Even if no god took an interest in what happened at the brothel, it would be hard to ignore the many prayers that came from a man being killed in the streets without a preamble. 

Once this matter at the Heavenly Palace was dealt with, he would report to the civil gods and tell them that he had caught word that there was a wraith causing trouble, and he had gone to dispatch it. It would anger the martial gods to no end that Mu Qing’s minor status had dealt with it on his own, but Mu Qing did not fear their retribution. The only thing they could hurt was Mu Qing himself, and Mu Qing found that wasn’t much of a deterrent to not act out on his own anymore. 

Mu Qing would focus on his work, on his tasks, and wait for his Heavenly Tribulation to come. Once finished, he would step atop any weakling god not befitting of the title and exalt his name past the limitation of their purview. His year had been bad, but his next thousand would be better. Mu Qing would forget about it all, made all the more easier now that he was rightfully by himself. 

Mu Qing marched on ahead, ready to leave his old soul behind, the one that could be conned by a whore and wallow over friendship not given. Mu Qing would be stronger now. He would be greater. A god above all the rest. 

(How quickly the foundation of that surety would crack once he realized what the ringing bells stood for.) 

There was a great ruckus in the Great Hall. It spilled out into the streets in front of the palace, as lesser gods struggled to get closer. It took only listening to a few of their words to make Mu Qing understand what all this commotion was for. 

A new god was ascending. 

When Mu Qing ascended, there were not many gods to greet him when he had appeared here. In fact, it seemed as though Mu Qing had caught Heaven off guard when he had arrived back then, earning him a few rushing fellows, curious to see who it was, only to be faced with their palpable disappointment when they realized they recognized his face. It hadn’t mattered much to him then, Mu Qing had descended back to Earth almost as soon as he could. 

The gods were not disappointed in whoever arrived now. Wine spilled from their raised cups as they cheered in anticipation. Fireworks started erupting outside to match their opulence and splendor. 

Mu Qing pushed through the crowd, curious to see who excited the whole of Heaven. In his heart, which was tempted to always betray him, hoped. In this reality that so often sought to test him, he did not wish. 

It would make the day easier to forget, however, if it was Xie Lian. Heaven’s Crown Jewel returned from the abyss, and while Mu Qing would not rush to greet him, he would find time eventually. Everything would be better if it was Xie Lian. 

Jun Wu stepped out at the head of the room. Curious that he was not already seated in his chair, waiting for the gods to come to him. The action could be mistaken as arriving late to this celebration, not that anyone would note that. It was well known that the other prominent martial gods had been lacking as of late, and, as a result, Jun Wu had been working twice as much. Mu Qing could help carry that load. He would ascend to the Upper Court soon. The fastest Middle Court Official to do so. 

As soon as Jun Wu sat, a great light blinded the hall, though that didn’t slow Mu Qing’s steps forward. It silenced a great many in the crowd. The god who ascended did so kneeling, which was a strange position to find oneself in Heaven—had it been Mu Qing who arrived kneeling, it would follow him the rest of time—but others didn’t share the same disposition as him, and Mu Qing’s curiosity all but waned and snapped, when the new god did stand. He might have even staggered back. 

Jun Wu greeted and congratulated the newborn god as he would with any other. The man bowed and thanked him, reverent to the emperor first before he slowly turned to take in the rest of the room filled in his honor. The cheers were defending. When the god descended the short flight of stairs, hands reached out to grasp him, attempting to entice him into joining their cliques, as if his new splendor would wipe off on them. 

Despite it all, the other didn’t seem to be seeing any of them. He was taller than most, though not all, the exact same height as Mu Qing, though Mu Qing always loathed to admit it, and that height aided him as he searched over everyone’s head, looking for someone amongst them all. 

Mu Qing knew the moment Feng Xin found him because it was the moment Feng Xin stopped. Where all others would find the steps natural, Mu Qing knew it was a weakness he would have acted upon in his younger years. It was Feng Xin scared and surprised, halting at a distance kept away from danger. 

However, if Feng Xin feared Mu Qing, his eyes bore into him like he did not. 

Feng Xin’s eyes were twice as vibrant as a god. Gods were made to be more beautiful, an enhancement from their prior mortal selves, but Feng Xin’s eyes had already been deep. Heaven’s inflection only enchanted them more, spearing Mu Qing where he stood even though Mu Qing knew nothing good would come from staying here now. 

Feng Xin took a step. The crowd moved with him. There were hands on his shoulder. On his arm. On his chest. They massaged his muscles because he had just come from battle, though he wore none of it now because Heaven washed away sins to make them easier to ignore once here. After all, what kind of Heaven would this be if it was soaked in blood constantly?

Feng Xin got nearly all the way to Mu Qing before it fully sank into Mu Qing who was here. 

Feng Xin was here. 

He ascended. 

He came to Heaven. 

Of course, Feng Xin would come. Of course. 

Mu Qing was the fool to think he wouldn’t. Mu Qing had thought it once before: The easiest way to find Xie Lian and Feng Xin was to stand perfectly still and wait for them here. They would come to him eventually. He had been proven true. 

But Mu Qing hadn’t waited. The thought hadn’t appeased him and due to that, and that alone…

He could feel the bruises around his neck. The burn his throat. The pain in his eyes as he had cried. 

Feng Xin took another step closer, reaching his hand out as if he was going to touch Mu Qing as if he couldn’t quite believe this too, that Mu Qing was here too. But where else would Mu Qing be, but Heaven? He had come here first, and just moments before, he had thought it meant it would keep him from ever seeing anyone from his old life again. 

However, before Feng Xin could succeed in touching Mu Qing’s face, as reverent as he seemed to be and as slow and gentle that hand was raised, Mu Qing stumbled back. It was strange watching a flicker of hurt pass through Feng Xin’s expression at that, as if Mu Qing had struck him, as if Mu Qing would have let him touch him. 

Before this ended up worse, Mu Qing left. 

He couldn’t run because that would be unsightly, but he didn’t do much better than when he had to rush out of Heaven to heed Jian Lan’s prayers. 

There were no prayers for him now. No dying worshippers, hoping he could spite fate and give them a chance anew. 

He got all the way across the bridge and then some, heading, he thought, for his chambers, held in the Middle Court.

“Mu Qing, wait!”

He got all the way across the bridge and then some before he halted, stopping at only a desperate command. He could not place Feng Xin’s fears, however. Why his call hadn’t been a demand but a plea.

When Mu Qing turned, he found Feng Xin at the apex of the bridge. No other gods in sight. Feng Xin’s ascension was an excuse to party. They didn’t need him there to do so. 

Feng Xin hadn’t expected him to stop. He gaped at him when he did, opening and closing his mouth and fumbling through unclear phrases. 

“I hoped you’d be here,” was what Feng Xin said once he could, walking down closer to Mu Qing’s side. Mu Qing didn’t falter backward even if he wanted to take a step back. 

Again, where else would Mu Qing be? Feng Xin knew he was a god. Had cursed him for it. 

“I know you probably won’t believe me, and that’s okay, but I was looking forward to seeing you again. There’s something I need to tell you, actually a lot of things I need to tell you, an apology the first one.” 

Feng Xin just didn’t stop walking. He just kept doing it. Mu Qing wanted Feng Xin to stop. He never needed Feng Xin to stop so much before. He couldn’t handle the way Feng Xin always seemed to follow him. How he never gave Mu Qing the chance to breathe. One year, to the day, was all the time Mu Qing had, and he had squandered it. Now Feng Xin was back, ahead of him, advancing, apologizing, and Mu Qing couldn’t hear a word of it.

Mu Qing did not want to be celebrating tonight. Despite his bravado only minutes before when he returned to Heaven, promising himself that he would be better and stronger and forget, it had not been enough time to do so yet. There was still the press of a scream in his chest, that which he had withheld when he was on Earth but that which might just break free of him now the more Feng Xin marched forward. 

Feng Xin was so close. Mu Qing could make out the scar he had on the edge of his nose from when Mu Qing caught him in the face when they were still disciples after Feng Xin had informed him his hand-to-hand form was wrong. They had gone past the proper etiquette for a spar, and Mu Qing had slapped him, not intending to draw blood, but it didn’t matter his intentions. He had hurt Feng Xin, nonetheless. 

“Are you okay?” Feng Xin took another step closer. His voice almost betrayed concern. Mu Qing could touch him now. Reach out his hand and prove under his own fingertips that Feng Xin really was here, now, with him in Heaven.  

“You look ill. Maybe we should sit down. You’re not actually that upset to see me? I already said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out like I did. You were only trying to help.” 

Trying to help. What a simple way to put it. It made Mu Qing’s actions quaint. Forgivable. If only Feng Xin knew what came of the people Mu Qing helped. 

A firework shattered above them, dazzling the sky in gold, coloring Feng Xin in the color more than he was already, and Mu Qing had the ridiculous thought of wondering if Feng Xin’s son would have looked like this too had he gotten older. If, when he opened his eyes, they weren’t Jian Lan’s, but Feng Xin’s amber. If he would have grown up to take after every aspect of his father and charm women with easy smiles and good looks. The type of attitude that didn’t end in other boys being jealous but made them rather want to be his friend. The type of person with a loyalty that was given away freely rather than fought to be earned. 

“Qing’er,” Feng Xin said as an unfurling midnight rose, “talk to me, please, say anything, even if you just want to curse me out. It’s been too long since I heard you last.” 

And that was just the thing. 

Mu Qing to open his mouth and say 

You had a son. 

I held him. 

The words rattled against the back of his teeth. 

You had a son. 

I killed him. 

He had to strangle himself just to not voice it. He nearly wrapped his own hands around his throat in his effort to keep them there. 

Instead, in a tone that didn’t betray how he felt and was as purposeful as any politician:  

“Where is His Highness? Where is Xie Lian?”

Feng Xin’s expression, which had been earnest, if not a little bit scared, shuttered at that. 

“He’s ascended with you, that’s why.” Mu Qing indicated the stars as more fireworks surpassed them. 

Mu Qing would have to go back if Xie Lian was there. Everything made sense if this was all just a prelude to Xie Lian’s arrival. The emperor always adored Xie Lian, and the other gods curried favor with him, so they would want to make sure they seemed just as excited as their lord. There was a risk that Xie Lian would see right through Mu Qing, Feng Xin had already pegged that he was sick, but Xie Lian would be too busy to deal with Mu Qing outright tonight. The sight of Xie Lian alone, would bring with it tempered relief, however misplaced it was. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” Mu Qing didn’t mask his question in other accusations. “Of course, you know. Even if he’s embarrassed and that’s why he couldn’t come first, the emperor is going to be ecstatic to see him back.” 

Feng Xin’s expression only shadowed, turning away from Mu Qing.  

“He didn’t ascend with me,” Feng Xin said. “I left him. I don’t know where he is.” 

“You,” Mu Qing wanted to mishear, wanted his words to be a lie, “left him?”

Feng Xin was loyal. Feng Xin wouldn’t leave Xie Lian. No matter what. He would stay. He would follow him through any hell. Through any ill-advised crisis. Xie Lian was his god even when he was a mortal. Feng Xin was too devout of a believer to ever abandon him. 

But Feng Xin was here. 

Xie Lian not. 

All those truths Mu Qing had believed, all those reassurances to himself that it was okay to test his morals as long as it put him back into contact with Feng Xin, were wrong. 

Mu Qing was wrong. 

Feng Xin had left Jian Lan. Not because he had to, but because he could. Because he wanted to be this, a god. He could have had a good, mortal life. He could have found a way to get Jian Lan her freedom, even if it wasn’t right away if he had to struggle to find work. He could have raised his son. He could have been there for his son. 

But Jian Lan had fallen in love with the type of person his mother would have fallen for. 

The type of man who thought only of himself and his own blessed achievements. 

The type of person Mu Qing hated most.

“You left him.”

This time, those words were not stated at a near stutter by Mu Qing who wanted to hear Feng Xin say anything else. They burned Mu Qing’s tongue. A sword in its own right. 

Feng Xin raised his own weapon to counter, aggravated.

“Don’t give me that. Who left us first?”

“I had to.” 

“Bullshit. You only thought of yourself, impatient with how slow His Highness was cultivating, so you took matters into your own hands. You abandoned us.” 

“I left him .” Mu Qing clarified, “You being there too hardly mattered. If I had stayed, it would have been for him too. Not you.”

Feng Xin was never all that good at hiding what he was feeling. It was probably why so many people liked him. They knew they were getting an authentic experience when they spoke. Mu Qing had cataloged all these familiar expressions already. 

Feng Xin’s relief at seeing Mu Qing had been misplaced, as was his awkwardness when he tried to forgive what he was clearly not over. It had since collapsed into anger, twisting Feng Xin’s features in such an ugly way, that Mu Qing might have been scared if he didn’t already know they were matched in every way. 

(However, for a brief moment what eclipsed that anger was pain. Distraught so all-encompassing that it overshadowed all else because of what Mu Qing had said.)

“You actually think I ever cared about you,” Mu Qing continued. 

This was easier to do. If he focused all of his attention on attacking Feng Xin, on pushing him toward anger, then he didn’t have to worry about all the rest. About how if he glanced down at his hands, he was certain he would still see blood and that no amount of scrubbing would ever allow him to believe that they would ever be clean again. That when he closed his eyes tonight, Jian Lan would return to him in his dreams or that ghost would come taunt him from some beyond, gleefully pointing out how terrible he actually was. Mu Qing needed to forget about it, but he could not forget about it when the crux of all his problems stood right here. 

“I only cared about His Highness, but even him, I could do without. I left to get away from you all. Why the hell do you think I’d be grateful to see you?

“I hate you.”

“You’re serious.” Feng Xin’s voice was a bit hollow as if stunned.

“I’ve always been serious.”

However, the resulting fight never came. Feng Xin stayed where he was. He stayed frowning, brows pinching, chewing on whatever else he wanted to say next. He was attempting not to fight. He was choosing silence. 

Insufferable. 

For all their time together in Xianle, in battle, and on the road afterward, Feng Xin had never bitten his tongue, but now that he was a god? Some moral beacon? He thought he got to stand opposite of Mu Qing and act like that old version of himself never existed? 

But Mu Qing remembered that he never knew Feng Xin. Feng Xin was supposed to be loyal, but he was obviously not. 

Perhaps conniving and working Mu Qing up to first contact was a way for Feng Xin to prove something to himself. That it wasn’t Feng Xin who was ever antagonistic, just Mu Qing. The sooner Mu Qing lashed out, the sooner Mu Qing would be reprimanded and sent away. Lost like Xie Lian was lost, or lost as mortals were lost, without immortality to lengthen them, to just die a beggar like he was supposed to if Xie Lian had not interfered with his fate—he could hate Xie Lian too, for doing that. For putting him here, where Xie Lian was not, to stand across from Feng Xin and be stuck seeing his child, seeing, who should have been his wife, know everything Mu Qing should not have known, and suffer for it, though he had always vowed not to give himself away to others like that.  

Mu Qing didn’t particularly care if this ended in a fistfight.

He said, “Get away from me. Stay the hell away from me.” 

He shoved him again, and maybe Feng Xin did stumble with the strength of it, or he was mocking Mu Qing again, moving back instead of actually getting hurt.

“Get out of my life!”

Feng Xin grabbed both of Mu Qing’s wrists. He always had a strong grip, but Mu Qing was ready to struggle. He was ready to brawl. 

Feng Xin was not. 

“Fine,” he said. He pushed Mu Qing’s arms away. “Heaven’s a big place. I don’t need to be close to you. I don’t want to be.” 

Good . 

That was better. 

That was exactly what Mu Qing needed. 

Feng Xin gone. 

There were too many Middle Court Gods, too many to keep track of anyways, Feng Xin would turn faceless amongst them all, and Mu Qing could continue his life in peace. Exactly how he always wanted it. 

“Then go. ” 

Feng Xin’s expression pinched once more, and Mu Qing thought maybe Feng Xin would attack, they were never good at ending things with just words, but Feng Xin only shook his head, dismissing him.

“One of these days, someone you actually care about is going to believe you when you say that. They’ll leave you behind and then what are you going to do, Mu Qing?”

“You don’t know me.” 

Feng Xin regarded him. Chose his words and agreed. 

“No, I do not.” 

Feng Xin turned away from him. He climbed back over that bridge and walked to the celebration made for his honor, made without Mu Qing, and he did not look back, which was fine, Mu Qing had already turned and marched away. He did not need to know what, if anything, Feng Xin ever regretted or longed for. 

Mu Qing did what he vowed to do. He focused on himself. His only cleanup came in the way of reporting to the civil gods and receiving his merits for defeating the ghost. When asked how he knew a ghost was there, Mu Qing said he had received a message in a prayer. There was no reason to look into what was obviously not a lie. Other than that, he did not return there. He did as he said he would do. He forgot about it. 

He went to work. He fought. He made headway with some gods and ignored the many more that he did not. He did not see golden ribbons in luxurious palaces nor in muddy forests. He did not care to. 

Feng Xin was wrong. Mu Qing didn’t need people. He didn’t need to worry about what may come of himself if no one ever came back to him. Feng Xin had, and just as well left, which was good. Great even. Mu Qing was happy to be the one who pushed Feng Xin away.

He pushed Xie Lian away. 

He pushed his mom away. 

He worked better alone. He always had. 

When his Heavenly Tribulation occurred in a frigid fall near the northwest, he did not falter on his sword. He did not become so seriously injured that he could not stand. He did not wallow in the hopelessness of it all. He simply fought. A singular goal in mind. For 3 days and 4 nights, until it was over. Until he could breathe. 

Ascending to the Upper Court did not spark the same joy that Mu Qing had felt when he had properly ascended before. He didn’t examine why. 

He arrived at Jun Wu’s Palace to accept his merits and to be given his new tasks to uptake. He hardly cared that Jun Wu already had company. He didn’t even look over to see who it was. 

“General Xuan Zhen, you bring Heaven great honor with your final ascension. We have all been expecting it to happen soon.” 

Mu Qing nodded. His worshippers had been growing. He’d send down a ceremony once he left. He’d start deciding where he was going to build his palace now that he was a proper god with real power to himself. He didn’t trust half the deputies he had worked alongside in the Middle Court and only considered one of them competent enough at fighting to stand beside, but he had been watching humans as of late. The few mortals that did impress him, who he knew had appropriate dispositions for the work he wished to complete once appointed. 

“I was just telling General Nan Yang that this much I had expected from Xianle’s peers.” 

Feng Xin’s shoulders were hunched where he stood on his knees ahead of Jun Wu’s desk. There was a spot open next to him for Mu Qing to sit as well. 

“I’m just here for my assignment, I’ll go right after,” Mu Qing said, in lieu of apologizing for interrupting a meeting. 

Only once had Jun Wu ever talked to Mu Qing privately when he was an official of the Middle Court. What did it matter that he took Feng Xin privately to hear his opinions on matters? Feng Xin’s opinions hardly mattered or were worthwhile at all. 

“Of course,” Jun Wu said. “As this is a matter that involves the two of you, it's pertinent we discuss it together.” 

Jun Wu planned to assign Feng Xin to be his deputy was Mu Qing’s immediate reaction. He was ready to fight it on all fronts. Until Mu Qing realized Feng Xin’s hair wasn’t as neat as he usually kept it, and he was holding himself slightly wrong as if wincing from an invisible pain. He was battle-weary, carrying the smell of it even. 

When Mu Qing was on the way here, he had heard people off-handedly mention a tribulation taking place. Mu Qing assumed incorrectly thinking they were discussing him. 

“Please, rest General. You deserve it.” 

“Will it take long?” 

“That depends on you two.” 

Mu Qing crossed his arms. “I prefer to stand.” 

Feng Xin had a rather obvious opinion on that, but he did well not to twist in his position and spit on Mu Qing’s boots for his refusal to sit next to him. What a good honorable man was he in front of those more powerful than him. What a joke. Feng Xin had hardly been here for half a year and was already an Upper Court God. Mu Qing should have been one year quicker. He was on the path to if he hadn’t gotten sidetracked by worrying about mortals who did not bother to worry about him. It stiffened Mu Qing’s breath, and he squeezed his hand tighter around his forearms where they were crossed. 

“Very well.” Jun Wu said. “An occasion like this has never happened in Heaven before, and while we have made some preparations in assuming one of you would leave the Middle Court soon, we did not take into account the possibility of you both.” 

This was Feng Xin’s fault. Feng Xin wasn’t even supposed to be in Heaven. He was supposed to be on Earth with Xie Lian, only Mu Qing got the title of abandoning betrayer. Feng Xin was supposed to stay by Xie Lian’s side no matter what and lead that perfectly dedicated mundane life. Yet, here Feng Xin was, ruining things for them. 

“As a result, there’s only one place in the court that would be suitable to your talents. It seems unfair to refuse one of you proper ascension, while the other one is forced to wait for another tribulation that may never come.” 

Mu Qing didn’t think it would be all that unfair. Feng Xin got here second. He could stand to wait all that long to become some higher god. But Jun Wu didn’t share the sentiment, already dismissing it. 

“There is a need for a new martial god in the south. The region is large enough that it can adequately be ruled by the both of you. The only question is whether or not you rule the whole region jointly as one strong pair, or we decide to split it up. One god to the southeast. The other to the southwest.” 

“I’ll take the west,” Mu Qing said, too fast to be respectful toward the emperor. He hadn’t even taken a breath after the statement, but Mu Qing didn’t apologize nor did he take it back. Sharing a region with Feng Xin? Mu Qing would rather drown with a sword in his chest. They just didn’t work together. Any points where they had inexplicably crossed had only ended in despair. 

Mu Qing wouldn’t risk the lives of anyone else because they were forced to worship two gods that despised one another with enough vitriol that could cause the Earth to quake. 

Jun Wu nodded. “I assumed such a thing was to be expected. General Nan Yang, do you have any objections? Would you be okay with the southeast?”

Feng Xin had all the authority to fight this. The west, even in the south, was arguably more stable than what had come of the east. There might have been more people too if Mu Qing thought diligently about his decision and hadn’t just made his choice on emotions alone, that which he would never allow anyone to know. 

No one ever looked for new horizons eastward. 

Feng Xin said, “I can take the southeast.” 

Kind was he. Stupid and insufferable and kind, but what did Mu Qing know about that? Feng Xin was a stranger. 

“I’ll enjoy the sunrise.” 

He was no one to Mu Qing. No one worth remembering when speaking Mu Qing’s name. 

“And I know General Xuan Zhen has always admired sunsets.”

Chapter Text

793 years after Ascension — North 

Eleven days after the disaster of Mount Tonglu had ended, Mu Qing got drunk. 

It wasn’t the first time he had ever been drunk, but it was the first time in over two hundred years. He couldn’t recall the exact reason why he agreed with Pei Ming and the other martial gods when they all sat around a roaring fire and shared drinks. Probably something sentimental. Probably something to do with Mu Qing’s newest vow to himself that maybe he would try to appease them all in good camaraderie. Maybe because Feng Xin wasn’t around and someone needed to step in for the South. 

Mu Qing had long retired from the group when their conversation led to things Mu Qing never cared about and would never care about, and he could acknowledge while he certainly could drink, he wasn’t about to drink himself into a stupor that left a lasting impact for days on end. He was already annoyed with himself for drinking as much as he did, because now he was in his tent, searching his trunks and haphazardly thrown together desk, which his deputies had collected and scavenged from his old palace, in an attempt to find the salve he was supposed to put on his legs each night before bed to aid in the healing process for the wounds on his legs. His doctors had been very clear that if he didn’t want everlasting scars, he needed to be diligent about the care. 

But Mu Qing couldn’t find it. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and the more he tore things apart, throwing around gaudy robes and eccentric keepsakes, the more frustrated he got. 

Never had he collected such an assortment of garbage, and he prided himself in always knowing exactly where his items were kept, even if he hadn’t needed such things for many many years. Everything had a purpose and frivolity stood as a distraction to one’s actual value. 

Mu Qing was at the point of deciding to tip over the latest trunk and shake it out to see if the small container would appear, even though he had put it specifically in a bag because it was small, and he hadn’t wanted it to fall to the bottom, and that bag had the been placed on top of all the other things, that very morning, so when he went to grab it tonight, it would readily be available, and he could snatch it, tear off the bandages on his legs, rub the ointment in, and then re-bandage them if necessary. After that, he'd collapse into his pallet and sleep the few remaining hours of night away before starting on Heaven’s growing list of tasks tomorrow.

“Mu Qing?”

Mu Qing had successfully dragged the trunk away from the wall. He was about to walk around to the other side of it and shove it over since it was too awkward and large to lift and shake out. He stopped at the question, looking up from the stupid things he had already littered over the rugs spread across the floor. 

Feng Xin stood at the entrance, having let the tent flap fall closed behind him. Feng Xin hadn’t been around all day. Mu Qing hardly expected to see him here now, of all places. 

“Why are you here?” Mu Qing turned back to his task. “I’m busy.” 

“Why are you here?” Feng Xin repeated, walking further inside, ignoring the hint to get lost. “Why are you destroying my stuff?”

Mu Qing blinked. He was certain he was not, but he had wondered about the quality of the robes he had discarded behind him, assuming his deputies had forgotten his taste due to the anxiety of nearly dying or whatever, though they could have at least remembered he would never, ever wear these colors at all. Too eccentric. They stood out and had no elegance to them whatsoever. There were also the smaller trinkets. The tossed-away nature of how the brushes and scrolls were kept, even though Mu Qing would keep those at his desk in perfect order. 

“I’m looking for my medicine,” he said, spinning on his right heel to take the rest of the tent in. It was similar to his own but also dissimilar to his own, though those instances of not being similar were few. Every piece of limited furniture was in the exact same place in his tent. That wasn’t Mu Qing's fault, however, tents like these were only so large and could only be styled in so many ways. 

“Well, you’re not going to find any medicine over there,” Feng Xin said, walking toward a small cabinet near the front of the tent. He bent down and started going through it. 

Mu Qing had been feeling warm for much of the night, which at first he had attributed to the fire, but now was beginning to think the alcohol had affected him more than he originally thought when he left the others. Mu Qing’s tent was far on the other side of the temporary encampment for Heaven. It was nowhere near Feng Xin’s. Not at all. But somehow he had confused himself into wondering this way and confused himself further when he entered. 

He had at least saved some face since he didn’t immediately strip himself of his outer robes and collapse into the enticing pile of blankets and pillows—Feng Xin always seemed to have too many of those—when he entered and had instead focused on his injuries first. He didn’t know what Feng Xin would have done if he had come back and found Mu Qing asleep in his bed. Probably drag him out by the ankles and leave him in the mud to finish sleeping off the rest of his hangover. 

“Sit down,” Feng Xin said once he had collected what he needed. “You’re going to fall on your ass.” 

“I’m not.” 

Mu Qing was. He had taken one step toward Feng Xin and the exit, with all the intentions of getting to his tent and starting this whole process over again, but he had stumbled. It was hardly noticeable. It hardly warranted the attention Feng Xin gave it. Who did he think he was to tell Mu Qing what to do?

“I can’t believe this,” Feng Xin muttered, taking another step in front of the door and effectively cutting off Mu Qing’s path of escape. “Who’s bright idea was it to get you drunk?”

Once Mu Qing was sober, he might blame Pei Ming. After all, the god had been so miserable as of late, and he had implied Mu Qing wasn’t a real martial god if he didn’t partake in the evening with them. He could have also challenged Mu Qing, but Mu Qing couldn’t remember. However, right now, Feng Xin was implying Mu Qing couldn’t make his own decisions or that his decisions were wrong somehow, like if Feng Xin had been there, he would have stopped Mu Qing from drinking so much, if anything at all. Mu Qing wasn’t Feng Xin’s anything, so Mu Qing didn’t see why it mattered to him. 

Mu Qing crossed his arms. “I can take care of myself, and I’m not that drunk.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Feng Xin dismissed. “You just willingly went to the wrong tent and started panicking when you couldn’t find what you were looking for, not taking in the fact that none of the things you were throwing around were your possessions, or how could I forget that you normally slur half your words?” 

“I’m not slurring,” Mu Qing paused, attempting to look down at his mouth. He actually couldn’t tell if he was or not. He didn’t want to speak more if it was. He didn't want to speak even if it wasn't. He pressed his lips together, glaring at Feng Xin instead. Feng Xin’s left brow only rose in response, challenging him. If Mu Qing didn’t do anything, that meant Feng Xin won, and Mu Qing hated whenever Feng Xin won their little spats. 

But he also couldn’t walk. He was certain if he tried walking toward the exit, a straight path, he’d step off line, or fall, and Feng Xin would have all the more ammunition to tease him once this night was over. Therefore, Mu Qing sat. The bed was right there. He even pulled his feet off the ground and crossed his legs. Once done, he stared up at Feng Xin, challenging him to demand anything else from him. Mu Qing wasn’t unreasonable. He could listen if he wanted to. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Feng Xin said, leaving the entrance to come to where Mu Qing sat. 

“I can look at you however I want.” 

Feng Xin didn’t verbally disagree, allowing Mu Qing to glare at him with as much vitriol as he could muster at the moment. Feng Xin knelt beside Mu Qing, pushing Mu Qing back at his shoulders until Mu Qing gave—once again, Mu Qing vowed to not say anything at all unless asked—and Mu Qing settled into that mountain of blankets and pillows. However, when Feng Xin settled between his legs and touched Mu Qing’s calf, Mu Qing’s renewed decree of silence shattered. 

He jerked his leg away. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of your wounds. Do you want to lose your legs?”

“I can do it myself,” Mu Qing said, followed quickly by, “You don’t have the right medicine anyway.” 

Feng Xin wiggled a jar in his face. “I had an extra batch made in case you ran out and the doctors were away and couldn’t make you more.” He dropped the jar next to Mu Qing. “And, no offense, I’m not convinced any more moving from you isn’t going to cause you to get sick. I really rather sleep in my bed tonight.”

Mu Qing nearly willed himself to vomit right there, but it would be gross, and Mu Qing’s coordination was off tonight, so he had a chance of getting sick on himself. He already saw what Feng Xin’s closet had to offer him in the interim of getting back to his tent. No thanks. 

“Fine,” Mu Qing said, cocking his head up, so he was appropriately looking down on Feng Xin. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’re such a brat,” Feng Xin said, which was not ass , which was what Feng Xin had taken to calling him for many many years, amongst other derogatory terms. Mu Qing couldn’t be bothered to think about any of it right now. After all, it wasn’t like Feng Xin had a lot of ground to stand on, insisting on helping Mu Qing, most likely only because it was something Feng Xin considered friends to did. 

Save people from untimely deaths at the hands of lava ghosts. 

Carry them on their back down a semi-active volcano. 

Gently take off their boots and roll their pant legs up far up their thigh. 

All normal friend things to do that Mu Qing should pay attention to if he wanted to be a good friend to Xie Lian since Xie Lian accepted Mu Qing's request. However, Mu Qing was rather pessimistic about the idea of changing himself thoroughly for others. Xie Lian—and by extension Feng Xin—should already know what they were getting into in agreeing to such a thing, even if they felt bad for him and didn’t want to embarrass him further and deny him. 

Feng Xin was nearly done unwrapping the bandages around both his calves when Mu Qing decided to refocus on his actions rather than his trailing thoughts. Feng Xin had stupid calloused hands that did not at all care for Mu Qing’s comfort as they gripped his legs this way and that to get the bandages off. Worse still was when Feng Xin’s actual hand touched the underside of his leg. Mu Qing nearly kicked him by default. When Feng Xin felt the tremor, he only held tighter to Mu Qing’s calf and sent an annoyed look his way before going back to his task. 

Feng Xin’s hands were also warm. Mu Qing didn’t know if he would have preferred them to be cold. They made his actions seem more gentle than they were, and Mu Qing’s stupid idle brain could start looking into it further than he needed to. Start wondering to himself when the last time, hike from the volcano notwithstanding, Feng Xin had ever touched Mu Qing in such a gentle way before. Certainly, not in recent memory. Not when it was purposeful like this and not just a lucky brush of contact. 

To distract himself further, he got Feng Xin to talk. He asked, “Where were you today? I waited for you well over an hour before I decided to travel to town on my own to get supplies.” 

Feng Xin might have slowed when unhooking the last of Mu Qing’s bandage around his left ankle. For what, Mu Qing wasn’t sure. 

“Is that longing in your voice? Did you miss me, General Xuan Zhen?”

Mu Qing scoffed. “We’ve been going every day since I got better, excuse me for sticking to a schedule.” 

Feng Xin picked up the jar he had abandoned to Mu Qing’s right. He unscrewed the lid. Mu Qing expected him to banter back some reason why Mu Qing was insane for sticking to rigidity or that if Mu Qing had cared so much, he could have easily hiked to Feng Xin’s tent, considering Mu Qing knew exactly where it was. 

He didn’t expect honesty without a fight. Feng Xin to answer Mu Qing’s question. 

“I went to meet with Jian Lan.” 

Feng Xin didn’t bother to look up at him as he said it. He simply stuck his hand in the jar, scooping out the ointment with two fingers, and then took Mu Qing’s right ankle with his free hand, tugging it straight toward him and applying the cream, starting just under Mu Qing’s knee, careful as he rubbed it in.

“And,” Mu Qing was bold enough to venture. 

Had Feng Xin been out with her this whole time? It was well past the reasonable hour of late. If Feng Xin had gone in the morning, even mid-morning, that meant many collapsing hours of them enjoying their time together. 

Mu Qing didn’t know what else he expected. Since Feng Xin found out he could have been a dad, he had been trying to reconnect with Jian Lan. Jian Lan had pushed and ran away each time, but after Feng Xin accepted their son, she had less ground to do so now. 

“There’s nothing more to it,” Feng Xin said. 

So very rarely a lying man, Feng Xin wasn’t good at it. Mu Qing, the good and decent friend, would recognize now it would be better for him to drop it. He would take Feng Xin’s stiff shoulders and clouded face as signs he wasn’t ready to speak and lay back and deal with however long it took Feng Xin to finish applying the medication and rewrap his legs. 

Mu Qing hadn’t appropriately grappled with their new arrangement just yet. This was a conversation Xie Lian and Feng Xin should be having, not Mu Qing. Mu Qing had spent too long reminding himself not to care about Feng Xin, so he didn’t think to attempt to mince words or wonder if it was the right thing to say at all, if he should even be intervening. 

“She loves you,” Mu Qing said. He had laid back in the blankets, staring up at the peaked center of the tent’s ceiling. “If she’s still diligent about it now, she’ll get over it, even a dumbass like you can get his happy ending.”

This time when Feng Xin stopped, he took his hand from Mu Qing’s leg. Mu Qing glanced back at him, finding Feng Xin’s eyes already on his face. There was no anger there, but he was still cloudy, calculating before he spoke. 

“I’d have to love her too if that were the case.” 

“Yeah, but,” Mu Qing chewed the inside of his lip. He didn’t do well with this. Talks of love. He was much more versed in aggression. He always had been. “You loved her once. You’ll love her again. You can leave Heaven if you want. Go far, far away. Far enough that I can’t bother you.” Mu Qing crooked his lip and rocked his left foot into Feng Xin’s side. “I bet you’d be ecstatic over that.” 

Mu Qing pictured it. Feng Xin saying goodbye to the other gods, the ones he cared the most about, and willingly leaving Heaven, or this approximation for Heaven if Jian Lan forgave him faster than she should. He wouldn’t have his immortality but gods and ghosts weren’t meant to stay in this realm forever and spending the last years of his life with the family that could have been, sounded a lot nicer than staying a lonesome god of a shared region. They could make a small home, set in the woods, with some water nearby, and enjoy the next stretch of peace that had now arrived. 

Mu Qing didn’t know why the thought of it caused Feng Xin’s features to blur ahead of him, blurring further the ceiling when Mu Qing dragged his attention away again. 

“You really think?”

Mu Qing nodded. He didn’t trust his voice because he was pretty sure his words were still slurred. He probably sounded like a mess. He no doubt reeked of alcohol. His legs were disgusting until they healed properly. He was disgusting. Drunk and near sobbing for a reason he couldn’t even name. 

“But what if that’s not what I want,” Feng Xin probed, moving onto Mu Qing’s other leg. 

Feng Xin was a fool not to want it. Sure, Mu Qing hadn’t spoken to Jian Lan, besides a few rushed conversations that felt more like begging, but he did remember her. She was tenacious back then. She was hopeful. She would have made a strong match next to Feng Xin. Even without her beauty, Mu Qing knew what it was that drew Feng Xin to her. If Feng Xin kept seeking her out, kept waiting for her to understand, they would fall in love again. It was just a matter of time. Just like Xie Lian waiting for Crimson Rain Sought Flower was a matter of when not if. 

Mu Qing could be happy for his friends. His friends. He had come this far. Now couldn’t be the time for him to wallow in self-contained misery. He doubted Feng Xin would even understand if he did. 

“Of course, you want it,” Mu Qing said. “I’ve seen you long after young couples and their children. I have been forced to drag you away whenever we had the misfortune of being in a town together, or how you’ve always been conscious about prayers regarding families. You’re not even a god of that, but you’ll take care of a few wandering ghosts near farmhouses and such, no matter how little merits it gets you to give them peace of mind. You might not have known you were a father until now, but I think your soul knew all this time. Of course, you want it.” 

Feng Xin didn’t move. Mu Qing tentatively bent his left leg, followed by his right. Feng Xin didn’t stop him. He didn’t tell Mu Qing that he wasn’t done. Mu Qing didn’t care if he was or was not. He wanted to curl in on himself and hide his face in Feng Xin’s bed. He thought his face must be bright red by now. He blamed the alcohol. Fuck Pei Ming for making him drink. 

“You noticed that.” 

Mu Qing rolled his eyes, glaring at the man. “I’d have to be more dense than you to not notice that.”

Feng Xin didn’t counter the jab, staring at Mu Qing with an expression Mu Qing hadn’t categorized before. It was like confusion, but it wasn’t that. Mu Qing knew well the twisted way Feng Xin’s brows got when he was confused. It was part wonderment, but Mu Qing couldn’t find any reason to believe Feng Xin would look at him in such wonder. It made him uncomfortable. Mu Qing didn’t want to be here anymore if he was going to be stared at like that. 

“What does it matter anyway,” Mu Qing said, “holding yourself back because you think you have a responsibility to uphold. I can take care of the South on my own. You can live happily ever after. His Highness can live happily ever after. Pei Ming can attempt to live happily ever after if he ever gets his foot out of his ass, and I can stay in Heaven where I belong. Alone.”

Feng Xin said, “I don’t want you to be alone.”

Mu Qing could laugh—or cry. He had no idea why he had to keep fighting back tears. 

“You’ve never cared about that before, and I like being alone. I thrive in it.” 

“No you don’t,” Feng Xin said. He got his wits enough about him to straighten out the leg Mu Qing had taken from him to finish applying the last of the ointment. He unraveled a roll of bandages next. “Whenever you’re lonely, you go down to one of your temples and sit and watch as people pray or celebrate. For a while, I thought it was just because you were a conceited prick or an over-controlling prick. But you never allow them to know you are there. You just sit, waiting to see if any of them will notice you, disappointed whenever they do not. But they are just mortals, so I know you do not hate them for this.” 

“You’ve been spying on me,” Mu Qing accused. 

Feng Xin leveled him a look. “Mu Qing, we’ve known each other for centuries. I’d have to be as dense as you think I am to not notice something like that.” 

Mu Qing had no arguments against him. They had lived the totality of what would have been their mortal lives, ten times over. They were bound to take in some facts about each other’s habits. Still, Mu Qing had perhaps believed that this wasn’t the case. He hadn’t wanted to know any more about Feng Xin than any other god he might have worked with. It was weird to sit here and realize that the same might not have been true for Feng Xin. That he willingly sought out information and kept it. 800 years of it. 

It made Mu Qing want to close his legs again and sit up, to ignore whatever embarrassment would ensue on his trek back to his tent, as long as he got out of this tent, right here and now. 

There was also the other part of the conversation too. The reason Feng Xin even admitted that he knew this much about Mu Qing. 

Feng Xin didn’t want Mu Qing to be alone. 

Feng Xin thought he was appropriate enough company to make sure Mu Qing wasn’t, and the thing was, Mu Qing didn’t recoil at the thought. It wasn’t so much about Feng Xin’s feelings on the matter, his want, but rather the truth of it that sat between them now as Feng Xin finished wrapping the rest of Mu Qing’s legs, pulling back down the hem of his pants, though he did not reach for Mu Qing’s boots, Feng Xin had denied Mu Qing his true solitary life centuries ago when he broke into Heaven, and he continued to do so every day afterward. At every tribulation, at every fight, at every instance where a sole victor could be named, there were always two. Always General Xuan Zhen and General Nan Yang. It had been going on for so long that Mu Qing had overcome his immediate annoyance with the fact. It just was. 

Mu Qing and Feng Xin. 

Gods, he was too drunk to be thinking such thoughts now. 

But because he might not have been thinking too fully, or was thinking too much and didn’t have the normal pretenses to keep it in, Mu Qing couldn’t be satisfied with it. He could not be happy at Feng Xin sacrificing his chance at happiness and life for Mu Qing’s sake, just because it made Feng Xin a bit sad, picturing Mu Qing seated in a grand temple to his name, unwillingly to break the glamor that kept him hidden from view, wishing anyway that someone would reach out, touch him, and say they really needed him too. 

“You shouldn’t throw away your prospects for me,” Mu Qing said. He found the strength to retake Feng Xin. He hadn’t moved from where he was when he was working on him, only leaning back to resting more properly on his heels. 

This time, when Mu Qing looked at him, Mu Qing felt the normal rise of indignation. Anger, though its fuel was not what it usually was. It allowed him to push forward. 

“Do you understand how lucky I’ve always thought you were? To watch you exist and be rewarded simply for that existence by having people love you. Everyone. You think I’d ever be satisfied in you staying, knowing that you could be loved completely and wholly? I hate it. I’d hate you for it. Tossing away what’s not so easily shared and given to others without merit.” 

Mu Qing did sit up, crossing his legs, not nearly as dizzy as he was when he was standing moments before. His legs might have protested the movement, but this softly bandaged, they did not ache for long. 

“You’re not a cowardly man, but if you hide from this now, avoid your responsibilities, so you can be a god, lying in saying it was for me because I can’t be alone, then I take back whatever I said before. I don’t want you as a friend. I don’t want you as anything.” 

“Mu Qing, you can’t force,” Feng Xin cut himself off. “I’m not lying. I’d rather stay.” 

Mu Qing thought that was irrevocably bullshit. 

“For what? What makes being a god so goddamn special that you won’t accept the family who have been waiting for you for centuries? Haven’t you been honored enough? Isn’t it enough to simply go willingly rather than wait for the inevitable to happen instead?” 

“They’re not my family.” Feng Xin pressed his mouth together, amending, “They are not my only family.”

Mu Qing frowned. “Yes, they are. You went to Jian Lan every day for months, to a brothel no less. What were you hoping to achieve doing that? Not to mention the gifts. The charms. You wanted something from her then, don’t lie to me about it now.” 

Feng Xin sighed. Mu Qing was getting closer to getting a rise out of him. They were always like that, even if one of them had no intentions of fighting, they would. Their minute of peace would end, and they would roll into each other, grappling and fighting on the floor, conversation lost. 

Feng Xin said, “My actions back then were misplaced. I had wanted something from Jian Lan, but not that—if I had known about." Feng Xin dragged his hand down his face. “I don’t know what I would have done, but it wouldn’t have been so easy.” 

Despite old, better-forgotten, memories resurfacing, Mu Qing had forgotten a quintessential essence in his anger toward Feng Xin. They had had so many spats since then that it had all somewhat faded back into the periphery, coalescing only as one thing, as opposed to the many parts that built it up. That, and the fact that Mu Qing had found he couldn’t breathe when he remembered that time too clearly. He criticized Feng Xin for being a coward, but it was Mu Qing who had never been brave enough to face it, and even now, he wasn’t. He couldn’t go after Jian Lan and drag her here to face tribunal because that put him against Feng Xin, and while they had always been at odds, they had never been that definitively enemies. 

Therefore, it surprised Mu Qing, sitting in that tent, on a bed not his, after receiving the care he could have done on his own, but the other was too stubborn to let him do it himself, that Feng Xin wasn’t solely selfless in his actions. Yes, Mu Qing had often criticized Feng Xin for his actions in leaving Xie Lian, which he had believed inherently selfish at his core, ready to fight whenever Feng Xin wanted to bring up Mu Qing’s faults, but that had only ever been when they were both equally stressed. Never wielded for any lesser costs. 

Mu Qing already knew Feng Xin chose a different path once when it came to Jian Lan. He knew a bit more about it now than he had back then, that it wasn’t as simple as walking out of her life, but rather, being demanded to, but if Feng Xin was desperate, Mu Qing always assumed Feng Xin would stay. 

However, once again, maybe that was where Mu Qing was wrong about Feng Xin. After all, if Feng Xin had ever been so desperate to stay, he would have fought to stay with Xie Lian where he hadn’t. He would have never come to Heaven to be a god nor would he have been around now, tending to Mu Qing’s needs. 

Feng Xin was selfish too. 

He took for himself and that made Mu Qing all the more frustrated at this now. 

Mu Qing never had a lot of options presented to him. Whenever he had tried to do the right thing, he had been punished for it, and whenever he made a mistake, gave in, and slighted someone, there was always a crowd, standing by to gawk at him, to hold it against him for the rest of time. However, if presented to him, if he had a choice, he would choose the option that gave him a family. All the ones he ever had in the past, had been too eager to let him leave, relieved to not have to tell him to go. So if Mu Qing knew that he could stay, that he would be accepted as he was to stay, he would trade every heavenly blessing he had ever achieved in the same breath they told him he was needed. He was loved. He would care for nothing else. 

But Feng Xin wasn’t like Mu Qing. Feng Xin had choices, and in that hierarchy of options, he placed being a god above the potential of loving Jian Lan. It broke Mu Qing’s heart. 

“If I could be loved,” Mu Qing said, “I wouldn’t treat it so lightly. Not everyone gets to experience it or knows how to handle it when they do.”

“ If,” Feng Xin stressed the question. He pulled himself forward. Mu Qing had already tucked himself back together, so Feng Xin couldn’t grab him anymore. Granted, Mu Qing had no reason to believe Feng Xin was going to grab him when he leaned closer to the bed, gripping the blankets in Mu Qing’s place. Feng Xin might only have wanted to sit up. “What are you talking about if, of course, you’re loved.”

Mu Qing didn’t back down due to a simple word choice. His point stood. It didn’t matter to him if Feng Xin couldn’t understand it. He would waste no further breath on it. 

But Feng Xin did.  

“You have thousands of followers, of course, you are loved.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. Feng Xin was missing the point of why he said it, focusing on Mu Qing to avoid his own hang-ups. 

Mu Qing said, “They love General Xuan Zhen. The warrior I imbue, but they don’t love me. They’re not supposed to.” 

Feng Xin wasn’t satisfied with it. 

“What about your friends?” Feng Xin realized his mistake as soon as he said it, screwing up his mouth before vomiting. “What about His Highness? Are you saying he doesn’t care about you?”

Mu Qing had forced himself to accept that Xie Lian did, and he had been working hard to not entertain the idea that it was a lie. Xie Lian wasn’t waiting for an opportunity to take it back. Maybe that would change once Hua Cheng returned and reminded Xie Lian of all the ways Mu Qing had disappointed him now and then, but for now Xie Lian did care.

However, there was a more pressing instinct to face here in this conversation with Feng Xin. One that reminded Mu Qing of his birthright long ago in his inability to accept things halfway. Saying he wasn’t loved was technically wrong. Fine. He could heed that. But if he placed other’s love of him on the same sliding scale Feng Xin had for his desires, Mu Qing knew he was never at the top of anyone's list, and for that, it was good enough to just accept he wasn’t loved at all. It was the selfish nature of his birth, he figured, to not be able to accept the kindness of others if they were unable to give all of themselves to him. 

It was a hell of a hard thing to explain to Feng Xin with stunted speech. 

He tried his best, anyway. 

“His Highness has others, many others. I am only one, and since I’m not the one, it hardly even matters.” 

Feng Xin’s face scrunched up again. “How can you say something like that? He’d be really hurt if he heard you.” 

“That’s why I’m telling you. His Highness isn’t here right now is he,” Mu Qing didn’t throw out his arm to indicate the room, though he wanted to, “and you’re not going to share it with him since I’m drunk.”

Normally, Mu Qing wouldn’t hold fast to that belief. Six months ago, if he let something like this slip, it would be a matter of jumping Feng Xin’s back to tackle him to stop him from running his mouth in front of Xie Lian. Mu Qing knew Xie Lian would be sad to hear Mu Qing say something like this, but that didn’t diminish the fact that that was how Mu Qing felt. Had felt it for years. People could appreciate his prowess. They could recognize his strength. But when it came down to it, he would never be anyone’s first choice, and it was fine almost every single day except right now for some reason. This night where Mu Qing was trying to force Feng Xin into reassessing his first choice, in accepting that he wanted to be with Jian Lan now that he could. 

But Mu Qing must have been feeling mighty sorry for himself because he didn’t leave it be. He didn’t wait for Feng Xin to collect himself and his words and attempt to take this conversation in another direction altogether. 

“If I could be loved,” Mu Qing said again, “my mother would have fought for me to stay instead of letting His Highness take me away.”

“Mu Qing.” 

Feng Xin climbed onto the edge of the bed. Mu Qing thought he was going to grab him this time, but Feng Xin kept himself taut there. Pained. 

Mu Qing remembered that he wanted to leave. If he hadn’t gotten confused when he left the bonfire earlier, if Pei Ming, or another one of those martial gods, hadn’t mentioned Feng Xin in passing, curious about where he had been, leading Mu Qing to follow the thread of that curiosity all the way here, planning on scolding him for leaving him alone, Mu Qing would have been asleep already in his bed. He would not have to face Feng Xin’s sympathy, however misplaced. 

But Mu Qing was not there, and Feng Xin was moments away from saying something stupid. Something like of course she loved you, she was your mother, or some other pacifying shit. 

Mu Qing knew love. He knew his mother’s love well. He watched her stand at every threshold after every goodbye, waiting for her beloveds to come back, and when they did not, when they didn’t even realize how important they were to her, they broke her heart. Time after time. Man after man. Mu Qing’s father wasn’t any special in that regard. Just the first person to give her a kid. 

The first day Mu Qing had been allowed to come down from the palace to visit, he had thought he’d see her waiting for him on those same steps too. He was going to be the one who came back, where all those other faceless men had failed, he would not. But she wasn’t waiting for him there, and while she had cried that first time, and the many after, Mu Qing could not get over the fact that she hadn’t waited for him. She wasn’t shuttering each time she saw him leave, unknowing when or if he’d come back. 

Until he didn’t. 

Until he was too late to. 

“Jian Lan was willing to do whatever she could to make sure she wasn’t separated from her child. My mother did not. She had too many of us to care. My worth to that family was my ability to bring them money, so they could live, and I did so proudly, but don’t tell me that her love for me was true. That it was the purest it could be.” 

Mu Qing had spent years telling people to get away from him. To get lost and not bother him, but he never had known someone to refuse his request. To say in light of those demands, come here, don’t go, stay. I need you here. He had stopped forever hoping anyone would. 

“You should fight for your loved ones. It should hurt when you’re a part. Hurt so bad you never want to be parted from them again and do everything in your power to make that the case,” Mu Qing said. “You should fight, Feng Xin. You should fight for them.”

He almost said please. The slight slip that turned him away from being respectable, as if he was a meager peasant, groveling to Feng Xin on his hands and knees, begging for him to choose what Mu Qing had never been offered. 

“I wish you weren’t drunk,” Feng Xin said. “Gods, I wish you were sober.” 

Mu Qing glowered. He was being serious. It wasn’t some drunken whim. It was probably the most number of back-to-back truths he had ever blessed Feng Xin with. He should appreciate his honesty. He shouldn’t be condemning him for drinking. Mu Qing had seen Feng Xin drunk 5,000 times more than this, and Feng Xin was not as adequately spoken, and once tried to sleep in a barn with pigs instead of the nice inn Mu Qing managed to find them. Mu Qing should have let him sleep with the swine and not dragged his heavy ass up the stairs to dump him in bed fully dressed. Feng Xin knew nothing of Mu Qing’s kindness, rare as it was bestowed. 

After pinching the bridge of his nose and dropping his hand to his lap, Feng Xin straightened back up. 

“I know this won’t matter much, you never remember anything when you wake up after drinking, but I need you to listen to what I say next. Can you do that for me, Qing’er? Can you listen?”

Mu Qing nodded. He could listen. 

“You are loved,” Feng Xin said. “You don’t know how much you are loved because you ignore it every chance you get, and I’m starting to understand now why that is, but just because you close a door, doesn't mean it can't be opened, or," Feng Xin's face screwed up, confounding himself before he carried on. "You’re not hard to love. You’re not difficult or unworthy of it because of your attitude. It’s just.” 

Feng Xin’s words were only conjecture. Again, he spoke with phrases that he thought Mu Qing might like to hear in his sorry state. They didn’t change Mu Qing’s opinion. There still wasn’t a person Feng Xin could point to and say there, there is the one when given any other option—given all the stars, every god and beautiful mortal, the whole universe of possibilities—chooses you, Mu Qing, every time. Mu Qing knew there would never be anyone like that. 

Feng Xin could read it on his face, even without Mu Qing voicing his disbelief.

“I need you to think, Mu Qing. Really think. There has been one person with you this whole time. One person who’s been following you around for centuries now. Do you honestly believe that they would if they didn’t love you?”

The only person Mu Qing could think of right then who fit into those constraints was Feng Xin ahead of him but that couldn’t be right. Feng Xin hated Mu Qing. They had hated each other for years and only as of late had they started to put their differences aside to become better friends. Hell, become friends. They never had that before, and it wasn’t for their own sake either. It was because they both cared about Xie Lian, Feng Xin’s probable true love, all things considered, and as unrequited as it was. 

Therefore, if Mu Qing was keeping things straight, Feng Xin’s list of his beloved desires probably went something like this: Godhood, Xie Lian, Jian Lan, and Cuocuo. Feng Xin had convinced himself there were other things on that list between Xie Lian and Jian Lan, but the point was that there were even more items to keep track of before Mu Qing’s name ever came up. A plethora of them and that was even if Mu Qing was there, and it wasn’t just pity care because Feng Xin felt as if he had to because they were friends now. 

However, when Mu Qing didn’t immediately jump up and realize whoever it was Feng Xin wanted him to know loved Mu Qing, Feng Xin got really sad. Crestfallen. Like he didn’t know what to do, and he would let the pain of all that consume him. 

It was an awfully silly thing for Mu Qing to be concerned with. It was awfully silly for Feng Xin to be so depressed over, Mu Qing misbelieving other people's feelings of him. But he could see tangentially that Feng Xin had only gotten to this point because he was trying to make Mu Qing feel better. Here Feng Xin was, entertaining Mu Qing, who had disturbed his nighttime peace, and Mu Qing hadn’t taken the time to even appreciate it. Feng Xin sacrificed his peace for Mu Qing’s sake. And now Feng Xin was sad, and Mu Qing didn’t have the skills necessary to make it not so. He couldn’t exactly punch someone in the face and tell them it was stupid for them to be near crying. 

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have options. He had been stunned before when he had Feng Xin’s hands on his legs, gentle with every touch as he cared for him. Feng Xin had no obvious injuries that Mu Qing could take care of. It wasn’t like he was bleeding and Mu Qing could staunch the blood, saying, there, there, over and over again until it stopped. But Mu Qing could touch Feng Xin. He didn’t technically need the preamble of injury to do so to make sure it was kind. He just could. 

Therefore, he did. 

Mu Qing could count on one hand all the hugs he had ever received since becoming a god. He didn’t even need his hand to count how many times he had initiated such an embrace. But it was just a hug. Mu Qing couldn’t mess it up, even if he smelled like wine, and he tackled Feng Xin at a speed almost too fast that made it hurt just a bit and caused the room to spin again, or how now he would pray for his memory to be taken by drunken slumber because fully recovered and awake Mu Qing would be mortified by this. Hugging Feng Xin to keep him from crying. 

Mu Qing wrapped his arms around Feng Xin’s shoulders, tucking himself into his neck, so he didn’t have to face Feng Xin and his disgust if that was how he felt. Feng Xin’s reaction to it was stilted. Mu Qing felt his breath stop when he grabbed Feng Xin. Felt when it restarted again, shaky in an exhale, and could picture Feng Xin’s confusion, fallen open mouth and raised brows, stupid in shock, but Mu Qing did not care. He did not pull back and eventually, Feng Xin’s hands settled on him too, wrapping around the small of his back, accepting this. 

If anyone else could see them now, they’d think it was an ode for more troubling times. Any number of apocalyptic catastrophes would take place before General Xuan Zhen and General Nan Yang ever hugged. Who would have thought it could ever be just one, one, and they were ready to see each other on fairer ground once again? 

“What’s this,” Feng Xin asked, though he didn’t break away from him. 

“You’re sad,” Mu Qing said. “You hug your friends when they’re sad.” 

Feng Xin’s grip on him might have warmed. He said, “I didn’t know you hugged your friends.” 

Mu Qing tightened his grip in turn. “You don’t know everything about me.” 

“You’re right,” Feng Xin said. His grip only grew tighter. “You’re right. I don’t.” 

It was nice. Hugging Feng Xin. Holding Feng Xin. Mu Qing tried to picture anyone else, but he didn’t think it would carry with it the same tender atmosphere. He assumed perhaps with Xie Lian and then decided as soon as he could walk straight, he’d march down to the home Xie Lian had made and hug him too. Xie Lian probably gave perfect hugs. The only ones to measure up to this. 

Mu Qing didn’t want it to end. He didn’t know how’d he ever ask for it again, and becoming an alcoholic god on the off chance it inebriated him enough to lower his guard to approach Feng Xin was not a proper goal to set out for himself. 

He couldn’t say that, however, when Feng Xin’s grip eventually did loosen, and he led Mu Qing down onto his back in the bed. Feng Xin held himself above Mu Qing for a moment, hands at either side of Mu Qing's head while he stared all over his face before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He pushed himself up off of Mu Qing, standing back out of the bed. 

“You can sleep here for the night.” 

He started walking away. 

“Where are you going?” Mu Qing didn’t intend for the rise in his voice. How it was just shy of tight panic. 

“To find somewhere to crash.”

Mu Qing didn’t know what hour it was, but it was certainly too late for Feng Xin to knock on any of his friends’ doors, asking for a place to stay. 

“Why don’t you stay here?” Mu Qing scooted over in the bed. It was plenty big enough for both of them. It just seemed smaller than it was because Feng Xin had a ridiculous number of pillows on it. They could sacrifice a few to the already messy floor to fit both of them. He patted the spot next to him when Feng Xin didn’t immediately move to it. 

“Are you sure? You’re not going to put your sword through me when you wake up tomorrow?”

Mu Qing shrugged. He might. Well, he would have, had this been Mu Qing who had no friends. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t now that he had them. Stabbing friends through the chest with his sword was not good friendship etiquette, he thought. He would have to iron out those details later. The other day, Feng Xin and he had brawled, but it was more like sparring with the juniors and less about inflicting pain. It had been fun. Mu Qing wondered if they would do it again soon. 

“Okay,” Feng Xin said. “But when you’re mortified in the morning, know I’m going to tell you it’s your own fault.” 

“I won’t believe you.”

“I know.” 

Feng Xin snapped and the lights in the tent went out, leaving Mu Qing to only feel the bed dip as Feng Xin got in beside him. He stayed perfectly still as Feng Xin got rid of pillows and rearranged the blankets, handing Mu Qing his own, so they didn’t have to share—how truly mortifying that would be—before settling a comfortable distance away from Mu Qing. 

In the dark, Mu Qing was ready to close his eyes and go straight to sleep, but instead, he found himself staring up, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness before rolling over and facing Feng Xin’s back. It was stiff. Taut like he was about to shoot his bow. Not at all fruitful for sleeping. 

“Feng Xin?” Mu Qing stopped himself from fully reaching out to him, catching his hand before it touched Feng Xin's back. “Can you not sleep?”

Feng Xin rolled over. Mu Qing snatched his arm back before it was crushed. 

“No one’s going to believe me when I tell them you’re a talkative drunk.”

Mu Qing frowned. Maybe he spoke more than he would have normally, but that was hardly an issue. They had been having a conversation before. A good civil conversation. They hadn’t punched each other once. 

“Close your eyes, Qing’er. Go to bed. We can talk in the morning.” 

Mu Qing knew that they wouldn’t. He knew he was going to wake up, see Feng Xin beside him, and scream. In horror, he was going to push forward with all his might until Feng Xin fell onto the ground. Since they were getting better now, he wouldn’t be loud enough to wake the whole camp, but it wasn’t going to be pretty that was for sure. It could have been why Feng Xin was so tense. He knew that too. That this was only a temporary respite, and that they had a lot further to go before they were truly okay. Mu Qing didn’t want to steal what remained of Feng Xin’s night, however, due to it. This anxiety for what came next. Not even gods were privy to that kind of foresight. 

Therefore, Mu Qing rolled onto his back too. He tried not to strain his eyes to see things that were not there. He said, “I could sing you a lullaby if you can’t sleep. My mom used to when I was younger.” 

Mu Qing predicted Feng Xin would tell him to shut up again. To remind Mu Qing that Feng Xin had just told him to be quiet, close his eyes, and sleep. Singing wouldn’t put Mu Qing to sleep. It may make him even crazier. There was already humming in Feng Xin’s tent. Mu Qing couldn’t help it. 

“Alright,” Feng Xin agreed. “I’ll be sure to keep my eyes shut as you do.” 

It was an odd specification. Of course, Feng Xin’s eyes would be closed. He was attempting to sleep. But Mu Qing didn’t waste the opportunity to pick apart Feng Xin’s words. He settled into the bed, into the pillows that somehow still smelled like Xianle, and the warmth that came with two bodies in a place usually kept only for one. 

Mu Qing might have fallen asleep before the first song was over, but he knew Feng Xin had fallen asleep first. That mattered. It meant he won. 

(A prize he did not know how to claim.)

794 years after Ascension — West 

The morning was cool. A fog sat over Jian Lan's cottage, hiding the opposite hill from view. Mu Qing had wandered out as soon as he woke, not at all caring for a stilted breakfast conversation between two ghosts and a god who found better company with them. 

Mu Qing, if cracked open, was hollowed out. Everything he was, had been scooped and wrung out of him the night before to be judged. Xie Lian stood in silent contemplation while Hua Cheng glared at him every so often to remind Mu Qing that this period in their life was the reason he hated Mu Qing most. Hua Cheng could get in line. Feng Xin’s hate of him, while it didn’t necessarily start here, probably was reinforced in those months as well. Feng Xin brought it up enough, even if he didn’t know the culmination of all Mu Qing’s struggles ending in blood red. 

The door behind him opened. Mu Qing didn’t stand to greet this newcomer, staring forward at a distance he could not see. For his strengths, Xie Lian did not say anything right away either, dirtying himself by meeting Mu Qing on the ground, crossing his legs, and breathing out. He was close enough for Mu Qing to feel him if he concentrated, but Xie Lian did not touch him. For the best, if Hua Cheng came out and saw Mu Qing so much as brushing past Xie Lian, he’d take his arm and give it to that old woman who wanted to turn him into a stew. Mu Qing sort of wanted to risk the Ghost King’s wrath, however. Never in so long had he felt that what he needed right now was a hug, free of any judgment or snide remark. 

He might have been getting sick, wanting to be held as if he were a child with no strength of his own. 

Xie Lian said, “I thought you would have left by now.” 

It wasn’t like Mu Qing had a lot of designations to go if he did. He would go back to his palace, he knew. It was the only option he had. Return to Heaven, return to work, pretend Feng Xin wasn’t still missing. Pretend that Mu Qing wasn’t still useless at finding him now. Nearly 800 years of a gap and countless experiences trailing and hunting down ghosts, yet Feng Xin was as illusive as ever. If he didn’t want Mu Qing to find him, he was doing a great job. 

It would probably be better if Xie Lian and Hua Cheng took on the investigation from here on. Xie Lian would if Mu Qing asked. He might do it even without Mu Qing voicing his request. Feng Xin and Xie Lian had always been close, even back then, and when Xie Lian first came back to Heaven, it was Feng Xin who ignored all their differences to attempt to make their relationship the same as it had always been. It had pissed Mu Qing off, watching Feng Xin service Xie Lian. Now it only exhausted him. Of course, Feng Xin was like that with Xie Lian. Xie Lian was arguably Feng Xin’s favorite person, ever. 

Too bad for Feng Xin that Xie Lian had someone other than him. 

Too bad for Mu Qing for being upset by that too. 

“If you want to talk about it,” Xie Lian offered when Mu Qing did not make any attempts to answer his first statement. 

Mu Qing had wanted to talk about it, once. Either to help him or to tell him that it was okay. He had done all he could. It didn’t matter now. It didn’t change what happened. It wasn’t right for Xie Lian to sit next to him softly, requesting more from him when all Mu Qing had hoped to achieve here was a direction, not all this. 

He had barely achieved that. If Xie Lian and Hua Cheng didn’t take over from here, Mu Qing would have to stand before all the other heavenly officials and convince them that they should be worried for Feng Xin too. They needed to work together to bring him back. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, they would sneer. They would ask him why he cared so much. They would say behind not even fully raised hands that they would never be driven to do such a thing for Mu Qing. They would say that they wished it was Mu Qing who had disappeared instead. 

At least Feng Xin was well-liked, whatever their distrust in Mu Qing, didn’t completely blemish him. They may just start looking at that alone. Again, Mu Qing didn’t need to be at the forefront of any great discovery. It was all that he could do to shoulder the responsibilities of the whole of the South on his own until Feng Xin returned. 

If Feng Xin returned. 

Mu Qing had spent much of his godhood awaiting the day he was awarded the bulk of the South, but now on the precipice of it, Mu Qing realized it was much too big of a region to lord over alone. The other martial gods could handle their lands by themselves, but not Mu Qing. He couldn’t do it.

“Seeking out Jian Lan wasn’t the only reason Feng Xin came to Ghost City,” Xie Lian tried for the third time. Mu Qing tore his gaze away from the fog to stare at his companion instead. Xie Lian’s attention was on his lap, on his hands, away from Mu Qing like he was ashamed. 

“Excuse me?”

Truly, Mu Qing was at a loss for what Feng Xin had wanted to achieve at the start of this trip. Ling Wen said he was curious about gods becoming ghosts. Xie Lian then confirmed that Feng Xin went to Jian Lan next, which only strengthened Mu Qing’s belief that that was what Feng Xin wanted: to become a ghost to be with his could-have-been wife and their shared child. But Feng Xin had left them after a few weeks. Jian Lan didn’t hide any inclination that she wanted him back after that. However, instead of returning to Heaven after his little expedition was over, finding no reason to follow through with that plan, Feng Xin had gone somewhere else. 

Mu Qing didn’t know the first place to look. 

“It’s not that it wasn’t as important as what he needed to find Jian Lan for, just, that I brushed it aside as soon as he started to bow and apologize.” Xie Lian’s smile was tight. Apologize for what, Mu Qing didn’t need to ask. He had seen Feng Xin enough times around Xie Lian since Heaven fell that he knew what the man looked like when he was biting his tongue. When he didn’t necessarily defend himself from all of Hua Cheng’s offhanded snide remarks like Mu Qing did. 

Honestly, Mu Qing had expected Feng Xin to attempt it sooner. It was a miracle he had survived as many months as he did without dropping to his knees and begging. It wasn’t Xie Lian’s fault for not mentioning it earlier. Mu Qing wouldn’t have cared to hear about it when he was more focused on following Feng Xin’s path than what he did at each stop. 

Mu Qing told Xie Lian as much, hoping it would appease any doubt within Xie Lian that told him needed to feel bad for keeping something like this to himself. They all had their secrets. Mu Qing would be remiss to think that just because they were friends did not mean that still wasn’t equally true. 

“That’s not why I brought it up,” Xie Lian said. “I don’t know how much I believed Feng Xin wanted to become a ghost to be with Jian Lan, but I do know I had ignored much back then, and your instincts can be right around these sorts of things.” 

Right about Feng Xin’s idiotic tendencies, Xie Lian didn’t clarify, though Mu Qing had been wrong. Case in point. 

However, Xie Lian wasn’t the type of person to rip apart someone for being wrong. He wasn’t Mu Qing. 

“So?”

“His actions with Jian Lan were similar to what he told me he was doing before he came to Ghost City.” 

Before Ghost City, Feng Xin was nearly getting his head chopped off. But that wasn’t quite right. Feng Xin did have a purpose for being where Mu Qing had found him, more of a purpose than Mu Qing had in following him there. In light of everything else, Mu Qing had pushed it out of his mind, but he could understand the next part of what Xie Lian had to say. 

“When people reach a certain period of their life, they tend to take the same actions, especially when it comes to those with a lot of guilt. This is a trip of atonement. In attempting to make right by those Feng Xin has thought he wronged.” 

It made sense. Feng Xin had been holding onto guilt for as long as Mu Qing had been, and where Mu Qing was content to let it die with him, Feng Xin had been struggling for years in his inability to find Xie Lian to apologize outright. This matter was made even worse when he found out about Jian Lan and Cuocuo. There was no telling where Feng Xin would go next, who Feng Xin thought he had offended and needed to rectify with next. Feng Xin didn’t have a whole lot of enemies, and it wasn’t as if Mu Qing and him had been chummy enough to share their deepest darkest regrets. 

“This might not be about finding Feng Xin,” Xie Lian said. Xie Lian broke their spaced distance, touching Mu Qing’s thigh. “It could be about letting him go.”

“What? Why?” 

Mu Qing racked his brain, trying to figure out any reason why Xie Lian would jump to such conclusions. Mu Qing expected, we just have to wait and see, something along the lines of Pei Ming’s reasoning. Feng Xin was gone now, but he would come back. It would be easier for everyone if they went on as normal rather than wasting resources trying to locate one man. It was ridiculous that it was Mu Qing of all people who wanted to sort through every person they came across all to find Feng Xin, nonetheless. He had assumed Xie Lian would be the same way. He was Feng Xin’s first friend. 

“Sometimes," Xie Lian hesitated, pressing his mouth together before releasing a slow breath and restarting "Sometimes people know when it’s time. Gods or ghosts, we aren’t supposed to live this long, just because we’re okay with still going forward, doesn’t mean others wouldn’t rather seek an opportunity to rest.” 

Mu Qing’s ears started ringing halfway through Xie Lian’s statement. He was up and on his feet before Xie Lian said the last word. 

“Shut up.” 

Xie Lian dropped his hand from where he had been touching Mu Qing, consoling Mu Qing. Mu Qing didn’t need it. Their roles should have been reversed. It should be Mu Qing understanding what it was that Feng Xin was after and comforting Xie Lian with the reality of what Feng Xin wanted to do. 

No. 

Mu Qing couldn’t even bear to think it. 

It was one thing to become for Feng Xin to become a ghost, trapped to this plane until his heart found peace, but it was another thing altogether to be granted that peace and simply go. Vanish completely. Kept only in the thoughts of the living that survived him but in no way else. 

“You’re wrong,” Mu Qing said. “That’s not right.” 

“I’m not saying I am,” Xie Lian said, “but consider it. What do you think is more likely: Feng Xin seeking information that allows him to become a ghost or finding a way to guarantee that he won’t become one?”

Even without Jian Lan, it had to be the first one. It had to be. Feng Xin had always been jealous of Hua Cheng. It had simply got to the point where he decided the limits placed on him by godhood were too much and attempting to one day become a calamity was all the more appealing. It was stupid. It was idiotic. It was Feng Xin still within reach once it was done. Even if Mu Qing and he never interacted again once it happened, it was enough to know he was still out there, somewhere being his same stupid self. 

But if it was the second one. 

If Feng Xin had watched the sunrise on the first day of spring and found no wonderment in melting snow, in surviving another battle, bored and tired of life, then Xie Lian was right. Feng Xin was preparing himself to die. Like a house cat, finding the quietest darkest nook to take their last nap so as not to disrupt anyone else.

Xie Lian didn’t think?

No, no, no, Mu Qing would know. He would know. 

“Mu Qing, when it comes to these things, it’s not right for us to interject. You’d be surprised how many people know when it’s their time. How much peace it brings them.” 

The words were rich coming from Xie Lian, but Mu Qing would rather fall on his sword than bring up that. Further, Xie Lian was more traveled than he was. Where Mu Qing was kept apart from humanity in his godhood status, Xie Lian had spent centuries with them, tending to them, caring for them, and learning from them. It stood to reason he had sat at plenty of restful bedsides, approaching eternal sleep. Mu Qing should appreciate his words. Thank him for his kindness. 

Mu Qing was not. 

“You wouldn’t say that if it was Hua Cheng.”

Xie Lian might have been taken aback. He said, “It’s not the same. San Lang and I, it’s different.”

“No,” Mu Qing said. “It’s the same. It is the same. You’re telling me to accept it, but I refuse. He’s been in my life for centuries, and I’m supposed to just ignore it. Let it happen? Wake up in a world where I know he’s not waking up too? I can’t. I won’t. I won’t allow it. He doesn’t get to decide that. Not until I say so first. He owes me that. Don’t you dare tell me it’s his own decision to make. Don’t you dare.”

Xie Lian lowered his head amidst Mu Qing’s outburst. 

He said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was an imprudent thing for me to say.” 

It wasn’t. 

Mu Qing only then realized he had been pacing, that he had been shouting based on the pain in the back of his throat, and that his temple throbbed where he had gripped his hair and pulled. It had earned him an audience outside of Xie Lian. Not in Jian Lan and Cuocuo, but he could feel the Ghost King’s eyes on him from the cottage. Could taste his ire in the air for yelling at Xie Lian when all Xie Lian was trying to do was offer Mu Qing peace of mind. It was only Hua Cheng’s respect for Xie Lian that kept him from stalking out of the house now and striking Mu Qing down. Mu Qing might have thanked him if he had. At least then it would stop him from spiraling. 

“I can’t lose him too,” Mu Qing said, slowing to a stop and falling to the ground with the weight of it. He was apart from Xie Lian, now. On his knees, ready to pray, though Mu Qing could think of no god that would answer him if he tried. 

But he could not raise his head to meet Xie Lian’s quiet gaze. Mu Qing was the imprudent one, demanding that someone put aside their wants for Mu Qing’s own. To put him above everything else. What a god was he. How quickly he would fade away if anyone knew. 

Xie Lian said, “If it is like that, then you are not wrong to fight it.” 

Mu Qing wasn’t so sure. What right did he have to Feng Xin’s life? What had he ever done to make it easier to live, to make it exciting, to make it joyful? A relationship was made of more than one person, but Mu Qing had always been the more antagonistic one. The one who always pushed where they were headed into more dire straits, refusing to acknowledge his actual feelings on the matter. 

The real reason Feng Xin was the first person he looked for in a room was not to avoid him, not to map out the trajectory of their next fight, to scorn him from his position, but to find solace. A commonplace. The only home Mu Qing had left and possibly the only bit of home he had ever wanted or needed. 

It didn’t solve his issues, however. 

It didn’t give him a miracle of clarity on where to go next. 

Just because Mu Qing needed Feng Xin in his life to stay afloat, did not mean the opposite was true. It did not mean Feng Xin left signs for him to decipher or a step-by-step guide for Mu Qing to follow to win Feng Xin back. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

The words were so foreign in Mu Qing's mouth, that he barely recognized his voice speaking. It had been so long since he had truly felt this lost. Not since his mother died, and he was left bruised in an alleyway far from her house as it began to rain, swelling the dirt in the streets, though no one stopped to ask him if he was okay, if he needed somewhere to stay. He had spent his first day of being a god, sleeping in the dirt. On the third day, he dragged himself back to Heaven to put himself to work. 

But it couldn’t be like that now. Mu Qing was a god of the South, and the South would always remind him of what he had lost if this whole ordeal came to fruition. It would take his steps. It would sap his strength. He would end up wallowing away, awaiting the moment either his prayers ceased entirely or a ghost got the upper hand. Mu Qing might welcome it and that scared him the most. 

Since he was young, much younger than most, Mu Qing swore to himself that he would not grow up to be his mother’s son. He loved her, and it would be honorable to be like her in nearly every other way, but he refused to be that type of person who vested so much of their worth in someone else’s desires. He would not be like Jian Lan, left abandoned to her fate. He would not need so desperately in another to survive. He would not love, though he ached to be loved back in return. 

Yet, here Mu Qing was, prostrated on the ground, grass sticking and staining his knees as he dug into the dirt. It caked underneath his fingernails. Desperate. It was always he, who stood at the threshold of a house, awaiting the daytime sun and hoping that morning would be different, grieving whenever it was not. 

“I think if it was that easy, he would have done it already,” Xie Lian said, softly, quietly as if Mu Qing was a woodland deer, spooked at any loud noise. Reassuring. He didn’t believe Feng Xin was already dead and that there was still hope he might change his mind and not bother with ever mentioning the whole thing. Even if Mu Qing wanted to hold onto his choking grief, Xie Lian’s words did lessen it somewhat. It made that sharpness, ever accompanying in his chest since he arrived in General Nan Yang’s palace and didn’t find Feng Xin there, wane. A bit of ice to swollen heat. 

“If you want to find him, then you’ll find him.” 

“How?” Mu Qing asked. He had already claimed that he did not know what to do next. 

Xie Lian sat up on his knees and came closer to him. Mu Qing feared he would wrap his arm around Mu Qing and hold, offering more encouraging remarks that it would come to them soon. Instead, Xie Lian tugged on Mu Qing's hand, turning it over to face him. He placed a blessing in it. One of yellow and gold and embellishing that made it hard to look at, let alone display. 

“Jian Lan asked me to give this to you. He gave it to her before he left.” Xie Lian said. “He traded it for yours.”

As obnoxious as it was, Mu Qing’s fingers curled around it, fooling himself into thinking that whatever warmth it held in it was somehow the god’s warmth himself and not residual heat from any of the others that had had it since. 

Mu Qing raised his head to search for Xie Lian ahead of him. He found no judgment in the other’s expression. No contempt or malice. Xie Lian was out here muddying his robes the same as Mu Qing, helping Mu Qing, in some regard to help Feng Xin, but also not. He was here helping Mu Qing, comforting him.

Not for the first time did Mu Qing wonder how many times he had denied himself this understanding years ago. Ignoring every instance of Xie Lian’s kindness to better fit his narrative that he was better off alone, that people did not do anything without ulterior motives. Xie Lian was too good of a person. Mu Qing would have never survived a life in his shoes nor did he want to. He might have aimed one day to be a god, but he had never sat solemnly, longing to be a prince. If he was jealous of Xie Lian now, it went only so far as the fact that the person eyeing their every movement from the shadows did so because he cared, because Xie Lian cared for him in return. But Mu Qing also didn’t want Xie Lian to ever long after him in that way either. He never did. He only ever wanted a friend. To be Xie Lian’s friend, and he would always be grateful that Xie Lian had said yes. 

However, with it came another question for Mu Qing to face. Was the feeling exclusive or was what he wanted out of Feng Xin the same? 

(was it different?)

He squeezed the blessing harder and felt it pulsate with residual energy bestowed in such gestures. 

It was an answer Mu Qing didn’t want to decide on until he saw Feng Xin next. He wanted Feng Xin to see it for himself.

“I can find him,” Mu Qing said, pushing himself back up. “I will find him.”

Xie Lian smiled. It came with the sun, clearing out the remnants of that morning fog. 

“Come to Puqi Shrine for dinner once you do. We’ll be waiting for you.” 

Mu Qing knew that Xie Lian would and that Hua Cheng would be too, whatever weird relationship they had with him now—Mu Qing couldn’t despise him so much, now. After all, he did let this whole outburst of Mu Qing’s see itself to a full conclusion. Besides Hua Cheng, while irritable every single day, was easy to bear when Mu Qing wasn’t standing by himself to witness him. 

“We will,” Mu Qing said.

We will.

Mu Qing walked out of the West with a purpose. He walked for some time before he entered one of his shrines, casting a tall shadow down the place, leading to the altar in the center. It was already late into the day, evening pulling a blanket across the sky, but the shrine was not empty. Mu Qing hadn't expected it to be. For as long as Mu Qing had temples dedicated to himself, he had people sleeping on the floors of them. Generally, it was busier in winter, but people needed shelter year-round, no matter the state of the weather. 

For the five or six sleeping travelers, Mu Qing’s altar was gluttonous. Not all had come from them, he was a popular martial god after all, but Mu Qing made sure to repay their kindness, enriching their possessions with larger fruits and a few more gold pieces than they had when they went to bed that night. Enough to know they were going to be comfortable and less stressed, though he was not allowed to alleviate all of the human struggles as a god, only help and hope it was enough. 

When Mu Qing was done, he sat ahead of his altar and closed his eyes. 

It had not been that long since he dedicated himself to listening quietly to prayers and sorting them out. Throughout spring, he had been listening for a certain type of prayer, letting his deputies decide and delegate those from wealthy donors and all others he missed. However, whenever Mu Qing did listen to prayers, he preferred doing it on Earth. He had a dedicated space back in his palace, but it had always felt distant to him that way. He had no distance now, organizing the loudest and most recent prayers that came from this region and those who prayed directly here, to get to his more distant followers. 

In his hand, he held Feng Xin’s blessing. If this did not work, he planned on finding a Nan Yang temple next. The chances of that working were even less, as he had no way of knowing if Feng Xin was actively listening to prayers during his exile, or if had simply given up all tasks of heavenly nature. After all, his deputies hadn’t known where he was. Mu Qing preferred to believe that even if that was the case, it didn’t mean Feng Xin wasn’t still in contact with them, if a threat that shook the stars came up, Feng Xin would abandon his solitude and help.

However, Mu Qing wasn’t at that crossroads yet. He had somewhat of a sense for Feng Xin, generally, even if it usually went ignored, he could find him whenever he was in any danger, tug harshly on that thread, and follow it to fruition. Feng Xin wasn’t in danger. Not the type that caused him to fight and his spiritual power to spike, leaving a glaring beacon in the South for Mu Qing follow. But he was a god still. A god holding a blessing made by Mu Qing. Its energy would be different than all the others, especially if it was held in prayer. 

Especially if Mu Qing was the one who prayed too. 

It was yellow when he found it. Small. A flickering thing. It came with no request. No wants or desires, but it was imbued with a feeling. Steadfast and so. 

And, just like that, Mu Qing knew. 

He opened his eyes, meeting the ones of his statue, cold and aloof, hands kept out of reach but undeniably there. Mu Qing had not done anything to lessen his believer's belief in him, so he did not abuse their support by doubting himself now. 

He rose from his position and left, ready for the journey ahead.

794 years after Ascension — Southeast 

The last time Mu Qing saw Feng Xin it had snowed—only remarkable in the fact that there had been relatively few storms that year, so it was something akin to a return to normal, even if the season was drawing close. Mu Qing hadn’t planned on enjoying the weather, going through reports and delegating upcoming tasks to his deputies with spring fast approaching when he was doused in a sense of foreboding. A feeling so stark and thick it put Mu Qing right back to where he was the last time he felt it, choking as ash as the Heavens burned and Feng Xin threatened to burn with it. 

At least this time, Heaven was not on fire, and the emperor had not just threatened Mu Qing’s life for doing the bare minimum of trying to be a good friend. 

Mu Qing wouldn’t call it a premonition. He was not gifted in the art of predicting what came next nor had he ever thought to become one—if he was, he’d damn time in all the ways it had tested him, scared of seeing all the ways it still could. But he had good reason to trust his gut and believe that something wrong was occurring somewhere in the South, no matter if it was east or west. He descended quickly after it. 

In a little over 800 years, only this last year, a mere smattering of months, would Mu Qing follow such hunches without being annoyed over the retribution that came next. He was always somewhat aware when things went awry, but if he had gone to the Southeast back then, it wasn’t to help but gain something in return. The same would be true had Feng Xin come to him in the Southwest, shooting a monster over Mu Qing’s shoulder that Mu Qing was mere moments away from killing himself, resulting in Mu Qing turning on Feng Xin instead. It was how they got their reputation. It was normal, expected. 

But things like normal did not exist anymore, and Mu Qing might have mastered not showcasing worry, but he didn’t try to lie and call it something else when his feet touched the snow. The last wisps of a retreating blizzard tousled his hair while he stood atop fresh blood and a buzzing energy to the air that suggested a fight had just run off from here.

They had come to an understanding to be friends—for Xie Lian’s sake, Mu Qing would declare. 

“For Xie Lian,” Feng Xin would echo. 

A true pair they were. 

But Xie Lian was the last thing on Mu Qing’s mind right then, cursing the ever-shifting snow that sought to cover up the red damage, interspersed with dark black gunk that suggested that the fight was even, so that no one else would come to know the horrors found here. When the ground became unreliable, slowing Mu Qing where he wanted to sprint freely, he could trust the arrows embedded into ancient trees, having been forced off course or how the bark had been ripped from them in clean cuts, sending a body through the forest to break many more. Mu Qing could taste the battle in the back of his throat, a sulfuric tang that reeked of desperation and eventually heard it too. The roar of a beast that must have been several heads tall for how deep it was, and the matching clamor of a man not yet felled by it.

Mu Qing was only slightly wrong by that assessment when he broke into the small alcove, with an unfrozen creek, bisecting the snow-covered clearing. Before it, knelt on one leg, though their sword was out, back empty of his usual weapon, was Feng Xin. Ahead of Feng Xin was not a beast, but a wraith. A man bloated in size from when he once had been a human, carrying an ax that was nearly as tall as Mu Qing if the head was placed on the ground. It was unlike Feng Xin to nearly lose to a man on battle wits alone, only the awkward way in which he held himself, betrayed why that was. What it was that first put Mu Qing toward this direction in the first place.

Gods, for whatever their immortality may be, still bled. The axehead might have been clean with how much they had fought, but it had caught Feng Xin at some point, caught him deep enough to need to keep pressure on the wound, and, that was why, had Mu Qing not appeared as he had, they would have found the Southeastern Martial God without a head. It left cooling in the snow. 

Feng Xin saw Mu Qing before the wraith sensed him. Mu Qing watched the blunder in Feng Xin’s expression as his eyes widened, ignoring the man raising his arms to the sky to lift his heavy weapon to kill him. Such attention put Mu Qing at risk. A wraith had it in them to recognize when their prey was distracted and turn their attention on the stronger of two enemies. Mu Qing had long experiences with fights, so he had no fear for himself, but drawing out the conflict would only risk Feng Xin’s life further. 

Feng Xin needed to be healed, so he didn’t die. Because if he died, Xie Lian would be sad, and he had only so recently started becoming happy again. 

That was all. 

With the ax raised high, leaving the wraith no room to counter and no time to reassess his surroundings for the more prudent enemy, Mu Qing unsheathed his saber. The sound of it tensed the creature's back, realizing his folly much too late before Mu Qing struck it at the crux of the wraith’s neck and shoulder down through to the opposite side’s last rib. The ax fell first, backwards in a thud before the pieces of the ghost slipped apart too. Cleaved in two, its body was brittle. The top half took to smoke before it hit the ground, the bottom half left only a darkened black patch in its wake. The ash got caught up in the breeze, disbursing the wraith further and putting it to rest. 

Feng Xin’s mouth sharpened, preluding a scathing remark before his body decided such things were not needed, pitching him forward. He would have face-planted into the snow had Mu Qing not concluded that he was to be this man’s friend, catching him by the shoulder before he could make a fool of himself like that. 

“For what does the Southwestern God fancy for him to travel to such a deplorable place like the Southeast,” Feng Xin tried anyway. The comment was dumb and easily disregarded. Mu Qing had followers no matter the cardinal direction, more so in the Southeast. Further, it wasn’t their friendship, whatever the state of that, that first caused Mu Qing to ignore the stringent borders. It would have been appalling if Mu Qing never came here then or now. 

However, it would have certainly saved Mu Qing the spiritual power as he found the wound across Feng Xin’s stomach, as deep as he feared it would be, and began sealing it in favor of ripping out Feng Xin’s intestines for being so stupid. 

“Were you trying to die today, general, or was this all for show,” he hissed as the wound slowly closed. The lighter nicks and bruises went with it too. It made Feng Xin a bit loopy. A bit crazed in the head. 

“How else am I supposed to get your attention, General Xuan Zhen? You’d never come any time else.” 

Indignant. Mu Qing almost pulled his hand away and let his comrade fall to the mud to freeze while he returned to Heaven to rid himself of Feng Xin’s blood and the sour taste of fear that still lingered in his mouth. 

Mu Qing said, “If you told me you were fighting a wraith, I would have come. How stupid are you to think you could have taken that monster on your own?”

“Not stupid. Just surprised,” Feng Xin argued. “It took me off guard. I didn’t know a wraith of that size was around here. I think he came from the east and traveled south. Blame Tai Hua for his incompetence, not me.” 

“I’ll blame you both,” Mu Qing said, deeming Feng Xin’s injury properly healed. He stood and grimaced at the blood on his hands before washing it away in the creek, mindful to keep any other colorful curses at bay at the temperature of the water. 

Beside him, Feng Xin tested his stomach as if Mu Qing wouldn’t do a good job at such things. He found it as scarless as when he woke up that morning. Feng Xin retired his loose uniform and stood too. Mu Qing didn’t care to have any more conversation with him, and he had left his tasks abandoned to save Feng Xin from dying in such an embarrassing way. He planned to go right back up to Heaven and restart them. 

Feng Xin had to ask a question, however, before Mu Qing could even get a few steps between them. 

“Not that I don’t adore your company," Feng Xin's sarcasm was dripping for a man who was about to die minutes before. "But why are you here?”

Mu Qing couldn’t just say that he had a sense something was wrong, so he came. No, that would imply too much on his feelings, and while they were better, they weren’t great. Feng Xin might come to him if he was concerned about Mu Qing’s welfare, but not Mu Qing. Not yet at least. 

(Ignoring, of course, that he had come and all the annoying things that implied). 

Feng Xin continued, probably still delirious from having his insides nearly wretched out of him only to be reattached by the warmth of his rival’s hand.

“I couldn’t connect to the communication array,” he rambled. “I think I was poisoned—am poisoned?—I probably should check for something like that. Like I said, I didn’t come here on a mission. I came here, well, that doesn’t matter. I still had to fight a ghost trying to take my head off with an ax, and yet you come here and just chop it in two without even an ounce of worry, which fuck off by the way, I weakened it, don’t think the next wraith you come across will be so easy without my help. But the point is, I couldn’t even ask my deputies for help, so why?”

Mu Qing feared he may be at the mercy of Feng Xin’s rambling for eternity with the way things were going. Mu Qing had done a cursory check of his whole system when he was healing him—this wasn’t the first time he had to stitch up a god in the cold—but maybe he had missed something because Feng Xin was acting weird. Weirder than normal. There wasn’t a bite in any of his words, and Mu Qing rather fight than sit and wait for Feng Xin to tire himself out. 

He said plainly, interrupting Feng Xin halfway through an unfinished thought, “I wanted to see the snow.”

There. A simple unhurried lie. Not overly elaborate nor could it be denied. 

Feng Xin came close, however. “In the Southeast?”

Mu Qing kicked at the snow underfoot. Imprudent.“That’s where it is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but,” Feng Xin thought better on whatever else his statement was going to be. 

Wanting to see the snow was a rather quaint thing to admit. Cutesy in all the ways Mu Qing had hardened himself not to be, but if Feng Xin was going to make fun of him for it, Mu Qing would shove his face into the nearest pile until he yielded. Besides, without Mu Qing's whims, lie or not, he wouldn’t have been here to save his life, so really, Feng Xin had no ground whatsoever to make fun of him. Mu Qing would just tell all of Heaven how the venerated General Nan Yang had let a ghost surprise him in a blizzard and had to be rescued from such a predicament. 

Mu Qing still just might. It wouldn’t be something to hold over Feng Xin forever, but he had a couple of annoying tasks to take care of in the future that would be more suited to Feng Xin’s sensibilities. Conning the other god into doing his work had never been beneath Mu Qing. 

Feng Xin must have sensed this because just as Mu Qing was about to taunt him over how his urge to see snow saved his life, said snow collided against Mu Qing’s chest in a flurry of white and slush before falling to the ground between his boots. Mu Qing’s mouth fell open before he could truly take in what had happened. When he did, he whipped his head up to glare at a rather gleeful god.

"Are you five," Mu Qing snarled, appalled Feng Xin had even thrown a snowball at him. 

Feng Xin ignored him to say, “Certainly, you wanted to do more than stand and admire winter’s beauty.”

Feng Xin not only called him out on the lie but was making fun of him. Mu Qing scooped his snowball and hurled it, which Feng Xin ducked out of the way, just in time to get smacked squarely on the cheek with Mu Qing’s second throw. Feng Xin spluttered before dropping down to begin digging out caverns ahead of him to make more balls to throw. Mu Qing already had him beat, landing one against the crown of Feng Xin’s head and another on his shoulder. 

By the time Feng Xin straightened, a hoard kept in his arm, Mu Qing was ready to dodge and run away, gathering his supplies in retaliation. However, while Feng Xin missed many, he had the aim of a centuries-long archer, and Mu Qing wasn’t so careful in his steps not to avoid them all, hastily as they were thrown and thrown back. Whatever remnants of a fight decidedly ended where scorched earth sat, was thoroughly cleansed with their footprints, each trying to gain the upper hand in the assault as the bounced back and forth between either side of the creek. 

One hundred years ago—one year ago—had Mu Qing knew his future involved getting into a snowball fight with Feng Xin for no apparent reason, Mu Qing would have absolved any worry about the implied enjoyment of his time with the thought that certainly when he bent down to collect snow he did so by also grabbing the sharpest rocks and thickest stones he could find, taking aim at Feng Xin across the small valley and throwing with all his might toward his head, hoping to knock him out with one solid hit. He would not have found himself, gleaming only the top layer of the softest snow to form into rather small, not even all that compact, balls before flinging them from his grasp. Happy when they hit but somewhat happy when they didn’t because Feng Xin still looked a bit like a fool dodging out of the way and trying to retaliate.

Mu Qing could assuage his younger self with the irrefutable knowledge he won the match. Even on top of the ice, Mu Qing had more speed than Feng Xin, and when they got too close to throw without risking hurting themselves, Mu Qing managed to pull open the back of Feng Xin’s collar before he could retreat to safer grounds and shoved all the snow he had balled up in his hand down his robes. 

Feng Xin swore, twisting out of his grasp and jumping around in an attempt to shake it out while Mu Qing smirked with pure victory at hand. Until, of course, things were never so simple with Feng Xin, and he abandoned their game to change tactics and fight, snowballs not included. 

Feng Xin caught Mu Qing at the waist and threw him to the ground, somewhat blanketed by the snow, somewhat blanketed by Feng Xin’s hand in Mu Qing's hair as they fell together before they grappled anew. 

This, Mu Qing could enjoy. While their scuffles had waned in the following months of Mu Qing’s near death and utter embarrassment at asking if he was allowed to be their friend, fighting like this had become more fun. It was less about needing to prove anything, or rehash wounds that never fully healed after centuries, and more about messing around and having fun. 

It was a weird thought to say he enjoyed it, throwing Feng Xin off his stomach, so he could gain the upper hand as his knee dug into the other’s bicep to keep him from struggling with that arm, but maybe Mu Qing did enjoy it, just for the sake of it. 

They rolled, switching places, earning twin bruises that would be healed within a few days, about three times before Mu Qing shoved Feng Xin’s face into the snow—muddy now with how they played fought—but Feng Xin didn’t swear this time with his defeat, two times over now, three if they counted his terrible take on fighting the axeman, which Mu Qing definitely should. Rather, when Mu Qing lifted his hand off of Feng Xin’s face, after earning the three raps to the ground, signaling Feng Xin’s defeat, Feng Xin was laughing. Laughing for some time based on how tears had collected around his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, ruddy from everything leading up to this point. 

“You have the gall to laugh at me after I beat you?”

Mu Qing could slam his face into the snow again to prove his point. He didn’t. 

“Laughing at you?” Came Feng Xin’s strained response with his raised hand, which Mu Qing didn’t attempt to push away, though it came to his face, poking him right in the cheek. “I’m laughing with you, you idiot.” 

And oh, Mu Qing was smiling, laughing even. He hadn’t even noticed, too absorbed in everything else going on to think about what may happen when his joy overtook his careful barriers and escaped. Laughter was not something he had a memory to recall back to. Not laughter without spite or malice accompanying it. 

Whatever the case, Feng Xin sobered quickly beneath him after his hand fell away from Mu Qing’s face, and Mu Qing accepted that this was done. He had his victory. It tasted sweet. He’d have more, he was certain, but now it was time for him to leave, return to his quiet palace, and pretend that everything Mu Qing and Feng Xin ever were, still held true, and whatever they were becoming was not a thing at all. It worked well so far. It didn’t need to be commented on further. 

It was only once they were standing, brushing off lingering snow, which had gathered in various clumps, soaking them both, a good distance away from one another so that they didn’t risk restarting any brawl, that Feng Xin said, “Come on. There’s a village nearby. We can find an inn.” He took several steps in that direction. “I’ll buy you dinner for saving my life.” 

“Your life must not be worth much to you if you think only dinner will cover it.” 

But, Mu Qing didn’t argue further. He followed Feng Xin to the village that would have been ransacked had the wraith not decided to go after larger prey in targeting Feng Xin. 

It used to make Mu Qing uncomfortable, just how many lives continued on unaware based solely on luck. Now, he merely accepted it as truth, knowing there was little to be done either way. Mortals marched on whether the gods intervene or not. 

Fu Yao was warmer than his skin. His clothes were dry and his hair neat so that the villagers didn’t question the state of two young cultivators when they entered. A soft flurry of snow had started swirling around them in the darkening sky. Nan Feng, chipper as ever despite his afternoon, procured them snacks from the first vendor they saw and directions from a father and daughter. The daughter had asked to touch the hilt of Mu Qing’s sword, which Mu Qing granted because he was not cruel, even if Feng Xin stated it was because he was after another believer. A young one at that. 

They bickered back and forth about this—Feng Xin accusing him that that was Mu Qing’s true goal in coming here unannounced, to oust some of his followers for his own. There was no real accusation there. They both knew that despite the harsh line carved across a map made centuries ago, they were southern gods first. Their worshippers spread equally across the span of it and were not held to one small side alone. 

The inn was rowdy when they entered, several travelers deciding to wait out the storm here on the promise of a sunny tomorrow rather than to attempt sleeping in the cold. Feng Xin requested their dinner be brought upstairs when it was ready. Mu Qing requested a bath in the meantime, parting from Feng Xin to what would be his room and what would be Feng Xin’s. Again, not so many things had changed inexplicably. 

He shed Fu Yao in his privacy, taking off his layers to lay them across the furniture that was spared to dry naturally as opposed to warming them all at once, and slipped behind a privacy screen and the luxury of a warm bath, having spent so long in the snow. There, he found himself mostly un-littered of new expected bruises. Feng Xin had pulled his punches. Mu Qing might be mad if he knew the same wasn’t true for himself as well. Instead, he held his breath and found it all the more interesting to submerge his head underwater rather than play this or that with himself. 

He was comfortable with the way things were now. Sure, he knew it inevitable that certain truths would come to light and that eventually, those stories would unwind themselves and not be kind when they did, but Mu Qing wasn’t as apprehensive about them as he might have been once long ago when all he wanted to do was hurt for the act of hurting himself. 

Again, it was strange, but not unwelcome. He got out of the bath when Feng Xin and the innkeeper entered with the food. Feng Xin thanked her doubly for the trouble, and while Mu Qing couldn’t see, he knew based on the voice of the woman, she was flustered by the perceived charm of this young man. Mu Qing rolled his eyes, drying his hair and pulling on his inner robes, successfully dried and warm as if kept by an open fire, only stepping out once he was certain the woman had left. It was exhausting to slip back and forth between different skins when he could just as easily stay the same. 

Feng Xin’s gaze lingered when Mu Qing stepped out. Mu Qing tied up his hair while the other waited crossed-legged at the small table, teeming with food. Feng Xin shuttered into himself too. Mu Qing had the wicked thought to call for the innkeeper back, just to see Feng Xin fluster around a devotee twice as smitten, knowing she was serving her lord. 

Feng Xin had braved enough losses for the day and was still rather good-natured. Mu Qing liked the mood too much to disrupt it.

“Will you drink with me, General Xuan Zhen? Only the finest water for your delicate disposition. Unless you want to try drinking again after last time.” 

Mu Qing made sure to roll his eyes extra hard at the small snark in Feng Xin’s tone when he didn’t take Feng Xin’s offered glass, choosing water and tea instead. While Feng Xin could probably drink the whole container that was brought at full strength and be fine come morning, Mu Qing didn't want to deal with the added headache

“So you still are embarrassed about that,” Feng Xin implored, a sneaking smile, stretching the left side of his face. 

“I am not.” 

Mu Qing nearly rose from his seat and stole the neck of the bottle from Feng Xin to drink from it as Feng Xin would no doubt do now that he was certain Mu Qing wouldn’t touch it. However, Mu Qing had more respect than that, and the water was refreshing and the tea well made as with the rest of the meal. 

Though Feng Xin could have teased him further about what happened the last time Mu Qing drank, he didn’t, mindful of how Mu Qing kept his attention on the food ahead of them rather than gripe about any tender arms kept dainty over stomachs. 

They fell into a comfortable silence at that. Xie Lian would be impressed if he was here to witness it. 

“Why were you here anyway,” Mu Qing asked after most of their dishes were cleared, and he had only candy nuts left to distract himself with, splitting them with his fingernail before eating the smaller remnants, “if not to fight that wraith?”

Feng Xin had long abandoned sitting properly, resting much of his weight on his forearm, his knee bent up, as he lounged. 

He said, “My parents originally fled here. Their ashes are at my palace now, but I like to come here when I have time at the end of winter to honor them.” 

Mu Qing didn’t have a list of what he was expecting the answer might be—an escapade with a mortal seemed all the more likely—but it stilted his movements. Made him a puppet approximating the notion of eating nuts and not a man doing it himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Why?” Feng Xin merely tilted his head with the question. “They’ve been gone centuries and didn’t even raise me most of my life. It’s hardly a thing to be sad about anymore.”

Mu Qing might have met Feng Xin’s parents once or twice back in Xianle, but he couldn’t remember now if he had. They had survived the fall of Xianle, and Feng Xin knew where they had gone, even though he was sworn not to go with them, and then Feng Xin was able to gather their ashes once their short lives were over, still thinking fondly of this random place. 

“Actually,” Feng Xin said, “I was hoping to ask you about your mother. I’d like to light some incense for her if you let me—I should’ve done it a long time ago, I know, but I was thinking since now we’re, I dunno. It seemed nice.” 

“You never even met my mother.” 

To himself, he knew the words rang hollow. A bit tinny. 

Feng Xin’s response was to the nature of the words, not their sound. 

“I certainly did meet your mother. More than once. You look just like her, besides the color of your hair.”

Mu Qing couldn’t even remember the nature of his mother’s smile, let alone the full shape of her face or the squinting of her eyes when she smiled. It was there, but it was murky. If only Mu Qing kept pushing through the fog, he would get somewhere with it, and the picture would finally clear. He suspected he wouldn’t find that absolution until he passed on himself, and even then, he wasn’t sure if his mother waited for him in any approximation of beyond. 

Meanwhile, Feng Xin took his rambling anew, talking further about Mu Qing’s mom. About how she had come up to the Xianle palace unannounced and that was how he met her the first time. Mu Qing did remember the anger of that morning when he recognized her voice, asking where he might be. Xie Lian had interrupted the guard who was no doubt about to throw the woman down the stairs for even thinking of approaching the palace. Xie Lian had told her right away that her son was with him, right there. She had been stunned by the Crown Prince of Xianle. Made smaller than she was, holding a wrapped package in her hand, she took in the prince before dropping to a bow. Xie Lian might have been gracious, but he was proud. He expected such a reaction from commoners. Mu Qing’s anger had only festered when Feng Xin approached his mother next, taking the package from her hands, asking what it was and what was to be done with it—Mu Qing had assumed then that Feng Xin thought it was something vile. A weapon or poison or whatever else Mu Qing might use to harm Xie Lian, as if Mu Qing would ever do such a thing. 

But it was only, “A dozen or so cookies. I swear I ate more than half right then,” Feng Xin reminisced. “The next time she came up, she baked twice as many and gave me my own to keep for myself. With the recipe included! I gave it to my mom, but I don’t know if she ever tried it herself nor do I think they would have been just as good. I’m certain I still have it. We should try making it sometime. Heaven knows, I cannot ask His Highness to attempt such a thing even if his husband can stomach whatever concoctions he makes.” 

Feng Xin’s face twisted only at the end, in talking about Hua Cheng, and only alleviated to say, as if a secret, “We can keep the real ones to ourselves, then,” but Mu Qing was far from that room and its honeyed scent. It was only an echoed piece of him that curled in his chest and thudded painfully. For Feng Xin to have a piece of his mother still, kept safe and without comment for years, while Mu Qing had…he had…

(It was not new to be jealous of Feng Xin if only he wished he could be jealous of anything other than the man’s nonchalance to his forgotten blood.) 

“Hey, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin called. “Mu Qing?” He reached across the table. His fingers only barely brushed Mu Qing’s hand before Mu Qing recognized the call of the other, moving his hand hastily to the left to down the rest of his cup, which might have taken a drop of alcohol but not enough to matter. It could not douse growing fire within him nor could it rectify the way tears might burn against his eyes if he wasn’t such a coward of a god. 

Mu Qing licked his lips. He said, “You can light incense for her if you want,” because it was a safe thing to allow a person he considered a friend to do. His throat constricted around the rest of the statement, never spoken out loud, but he pushed past his unease and got it out, “The box is empty, though, so I cannot guarantee she will hear it.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he knew Feng Xin understood. He had already taken his hand back after his first failed attempt at consoling Mu Qing, but he didn’t bother shielding his expression from Mu Qing. The guilt there. The apology Mu Qing had given him that he would try to give Mu Qing next. 

Once Mu Qing was given the title of Martial God of the Southwest, he decided he would no longer dwell. He pushed it down so far and so out of reach that the only place it ever threatened to take him under was in his sleep. He had no reason to tell Feng Xin this story of his. How pitiful he was for still being upset by it after all these years. And maybe during any other night at any other time, he would not. Either because blame was still sharp and could be pointed at his companion’s neck or because weaknesses, especially Mu Qing's weaknesses, could be spread out as ensnaring as a trap, taking his life with a wicked glint. He didn’t believe Feng Xin to be that man now, but he had also proven once that Mu Qing was never all that good of a judge of Feng Xin’s character. 

Still. It was that night. The last snowfall of the season after a remarkably warm winter that would inexplicably lead to a mild spring. A spring in which Mu Qing decided it was important for him to travel to all the small villages and hamlets of the southwest and most of the southeast because this trip reminded him that not all those in danger could afford the price it took to pray to gods. It would distract him for many months, between that and his normal prayers—Feng Xin’s normal prayers—making him naive to what came of Feng Xin after this night ended. 

But that was for tomorrow, and Mu Qing was still very much within tonight. 

“She was sick when we moved. Some people still stayed in the capital after it fell, but I thought maybe they would come after her if she did. That someone would think hey, that’s that general’s mom because my ego was so large to think that was ever a threat,” Mu Qing started. “My siblings agreed, but it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. I supplemented their income before the war, and they believed it in my capabilities to do so afterward too. That didn’t stop them from complaining whenever I sent word that we were moving again, but they always followed, and what I could spare, I would send to them instead.” 

You think this is enough, his sister had sneered more than once, even though Mu Qing knew it was not, knew he was in no place to ask for any more than he had. The Royal Family was already struggling and pride kept the prince from lowering his status further, as if they weren’t all just abandoned and reckless pigs in the mud. They all ignored Mu Qing at every turn because they believed they still had some class, holding onto the truth that they had been born in a palace where Mu Qing had not. That they were still above him in some way and could never begin to comprehend what morals were paid at the cost of survival. 

Feng Xin already knew why Mu Qing left. He never failed to mince his words when they tore through mountains, decimated their palaces, and at one time caused a typhoon. He was never gentle about it and that was fine. Mu Qing wasn’t gentle about Feng Xin’s departure from Xie Lian either. It would be ridiculous for him to hate on him now. 

“Daylight hadn’t even fully arrived after I ascended before I was back down in the last town I left them. They were still there, waiting, but I had let my mother wait too long; she was already gone.” 

Mu Qing’s right hand squeezed where it was in his lap. His attention focused solely on the empty cup ahead of him and nothing more. 

“They screamed at me, my siblings. They punched and kicked and cursed me. They called me selfish for not descending to some ghost city and trading my promised life for hers, that I had instead wasted time on becoming a god. A useless fucking god, just like my master, who couldn’t save anybody.”

“That’s not true,” Feng Xin interrupted. “That’s not true.”

Mu Qing might have smiled. Not the joyous smile from before, but one he was much more used to. The lying one. 

It had been true. Maybe not with Xie Lian, but it was true when it came to Mu Qing.

He had been proven time and time again. Was made to understand it a year after his mother’s death with another mother and son. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Mu Qing said. “They told me to never come back, and I listened. I don’t know where they ended up. I don’t know if she was left to rest in some town or if she was tossed away like trash. I’ll never know and I”—Mu Qing swallowed. He lowered his voice again. “I’ve gotten over it. 800 years, and I can’t even remember the color of her eyes, of course, I’ve gotten over it.” 

Mu Qing fell silent. His body perilous, wanting to tilt forward and languish under all of it, but his teachings were too strong, keeping him upright and unwavering. 

“Gray,” Feng Xin said when his silence remained permanent. “Your eyes are a more interesting color than hers, but they were fair.”

Mu Qing found Feng Xin again, still across from him, as steadfast as always.

Feng Xin nodded to himself, and added, “Your eyes are darker, but they shift depending on your mood. I think that’s why I noticed hers when I first met her. She had the same eye shape as you, though their color was gray. They were pretty. She was pretty. I think the noble women didn’t like her coming up because she outshone them all.” 

“Are you,” Mu Qing stumbled over his words, “telling me you thought my mom was hot?”

Feng Xin jerked away from the table, banging his knee on the underside of it, causing all the empty dishes to shake. “No!” He shook his head to accompany the shout. His face flushed down to his neck. “I would never.” 

Feng Xin’s anxiety did a lot to release the tension Mu Qing was holding in his back. He couldn’t help but say, “You were exactly her type too. Idiotic and good-looking.” 

It did the trick of wounding Feng Xin further. Their night wouldn’t survive much longer at this rate before Feng Xin had to retreat to save some of his pride. However, there was one point in Mu Qing’s statement that saved Feng Xin from further spiraling, dropping his hands that had covered his face to stare at Mu Qing with an air of disbelief. 

“You called me good-looking.”

“I called you an idiot.”

“Who cares about being an idiot when you’re handsome.” 

“Certainly not you.” 

Feng Xin’s smile was back, as wicked as before. Mu Qing regretted immediately ever accepting his offer for dinner. 

“This humble one accepts your compliment, especially coming from the most revered one in all of Heaven.”

Mu Qing crossed his arm. “This one doesn’t appreciate your tone.”

Feng Xin pushed himself up, collecting his knees loosely to his chest. “Whatever do you mean? I know your pride isn’t so small to not take it gleefully when they had to cancel the annual vote of which gods were the most handsome. The most beautiful. You won every time. It drove those civil gods mad with envy.”

Maybe Mu Qing was proud of that. He had to work harder than all the rest to not have himself dismissed as a simple servant with a pleasing face. He could be a god that took a punch to the face and also be a god that many mortals wished to emulate in their pursuit of being more touched by Heaven than they may be. It was always prudent that his statues and paintings were made by skilled artists, who created him always under the best light. 

But to have Feng Xin say it was not the same as hearing a mortal mistakenly asking him for clearer skin and more perfect hair. It also was not the way some now forgotten gods—or new gods if they were so bold—like to dismiss him out of hand for not looking the part they expected. Perhaps all gods were beautiful in some way, but to some, they would wield that beauty as a weapon that could be used to cleave. Mu Qing knew well how to parry those attacks. Yet he was mute to Feng Xin’s teases now because it was a lot less about Mu Qing being pretty, and, therefore his opinion could be disregarded, and more so Feng Xin commenting about what Mu Qing simply was. Beautiful—Feng Xin’s own words. 

“Don’t do that,” Feng Xin said, waving his hand above his knee. “It was a compliment. Don’t get it twisted around like you always do.” 

“I know.” Mu Qing said. If Feng Xin thought he was going to thank him, he was denser than that last cake Xie Lian tried to bake.

Where Feng Xin relaxed backward, Mu Qing leaned forward, resting his elbow between the cups and plates, dropping his head on his hand. Though it was a small amount, but a drop in his water, the wine had made him sleepy. Lethargic. He fought the urge to yawn and debated whether or not he wanted to have someone come in tonight to clear their dinner or leave it for the morning. Somewhere between it all, Feng Xin leaned forward too, dropped one of his knees down, and reached across the table. Mu Qing watched him, but he was still unprepared when Feng Xin’s hand didn’t stop over his cup, or the jug forgotten near the center—still partially full, Mu Qing thought—but rather caught itself on a bit of Mu Qing’s hair that had fallen loose since his bath, tucking it behind his ear. His fingers stayed, lingering there. 

Mu Qing held his breath. For what, he was not sure. Feng Xin’s expression was unreadable to him. He was looking at Mu Qing but also not looking at Mu Qing, as if he was entranced and couldn’t help but reach out and touch gently. He looked at Mu Qing, from his hair to his eyes to wherever else. Whatever it was, it was golden. Deep rich oranges that always reflected Feng Xin, but especially now that he was so close. Close enough for Mu Qing to begin to count the pale freckles smattered across his face, weak from winter, but would grow stronger as the weather warmed and Feng Xin found more excuses to be under the sun. It was soft. Mu Qing always knew Feng Xin had the capability to be soft. He had assumed the ability to note that didn’t extend to him. 

Another thing to add to their growing list of oddities. Feng Xin had never before touched his face with kindness, trailing his pointer finger from Mu Qing's ear downward along his jaw.

Mu Qing supposed he had it in him to be mad about it. Supposed he could slap Feng Xin’s wrist away and demand what the fuck was wrong with him for touching him so. Supposed there was another option that led him to do nothing and wait it out, whatever came over Feng Xin would pass, and Mu Qing and him could continue right where they left off. 

Where had they left off?

“Feng Xin?”

His voice was all that was needed to break Feng Xin’s enchantment, which was good, Mu Qing might have otherwise grown addicted to such a feeling, might have abandoned his hand to instead let himself rest in Feng Xin’s hand. Let him hold him, invite the rest of his body over the table and collide, to what end, Mu Qing wasn’t sure. He never imagined such a thing to be. 

Feng Xin tumbled back. Further than he had before when Mu Qing accused him of being enamored with his mother. He nearly hit the wall in his fright. Mu Qing sat back up, ready to question him, but Feng Xin was already up off the ground, shaking his head at whatever fantasy he saw when he looked at Mu Qing just then. Perhaps Mu Qing should have checked him for poison again before they ate. It was troubling to see Feng Xin so, odd. 

Before he could request such a thing or comment on the curious color of Feng Xin’s face, Feng Xin was already turning away from him, rushing toward the door.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Feng Xin said. Mu Qing had no words to say to Feng Xin. At least nothing preplanned. Maybe the confused call of his name again, asking him what the hell was wrong that made him so jumpy all of a sudden. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. It's time for me to go.” 

Again, Mu Qing was not predisposed to those words right then, but it did sound like something he would say or do. He could have hit Feng Xin for touching him. He could have cursed him out and screamed at him to get the hell out.

Only, Mu Qing didn’t particularly want to. Every trip or visit to Earth, they wasted so much money on always getting two rooms when they could have easily shared one—they had before, back then in Xianle, back before things truly broke. Feng Xin had already obtained his room, so it would be pointless to bring that fact up tonight. 

“It’s been a long day.” Feng Xin continued. “We should rest. I’ll tell the innkeepers not to bother you until morning.”

“And in the morning?” Mu Qing ventured. 

Feng Xin bowed his head, shadowed between the door, before turning slightly back his way. Mu Qing still couldn’t see his face that way. He was golden in candlelight but wore the shadows around him Mu Qing thought he usually did instead. 

“We’ll go back to Heaven, what else? I’m sure everyone can’t wait to hear how you saved my ass for the nth time this year.” 

Normal, but it did nothing for Mu Qing’s confused chest. 

“Okay. Goodnight.”

With that farewell, Feng Xin fled.  

Mu Qing stood himself, stretching his arms high above his head, and finding the room a bit dizzy but nothing he could not overcome with good rest. He snapped the candles out as he fell into a strange bed, but no stranger than any other, predicting sleep fast and unencumbered, finding it less so.

Mu Qing had a name for what he was feeling; however, he had no place for such disappointment. Disappointed in what? All in all, it was a pleasant meal, and it hadn’t ended with either party throwing food at one another, the table broken, or the windows shattered as they took their fight to the streets. It was pleasant, and not pleasant with caveats, but simply so. Mu Qing had a very short list of gods he would spend in good company with drinking and dining. The fact that Feng Xin was on that list, near the top no less, shouldn’t have been the realization that it was. 

Feng Xin, for all their differences, was his last memory of home. Sure, Xie Lian, and to some extent, Hua Cheng, could fill in the gaps of that memory, as additional characters, who used to flood the streets back in Xianle, but whenever he was homesick, his first thought had always been to find Feng Xin, either to get Feng Xin to beat it out of him or to simply look on, catching the brief sight of a past already long gone in how Feng Xin held himself, how he spoke. Mu Qing never wondered about why that was or what it meant. He had a tactful way to avoid any emotions that wouldn’t please him to recognize. 

In all his life, Feng Xin had been the true staple in it, and now they were no longer fighting. They were no longer at each other’s throats at every sentence. They did not try to commandeer each other’s time and police one another in how they interacted with Xie Lian. It made Mu Qing rather nostalgic, but for what? They had always been like that, so why now, when they were decidedly not, did it ring true as a home, in a time before, before?

Worst still. There was no anger in it. No rebuke to himself to be smarter. Be better. Be everything, not Feng Xin. 

Only curiosity. Not even fleeting. It ensnared him still. 

The disappointment came from what if and maybe it was only the brief bit of alcohol in him, the heavy memories made light again by jest, the promise of seeing Feng Xin again tomorrow, because he would see Feng Xin tomorrow, and every day after that for another millennium if they were blessed with it, that Mu Qing held the ridiculous notion that Feng Xin might have wanted to kiss him just now, and, had he, Mu Qing would have let him. 

Strange indeed their relationship had become. 

Mu Qing hugged a pillow to his chest, rolling to his side to shield his face from the rest of the judging room. He did not blush at the thought. He did not replay the occasion over and over to think what could have been if he hadn’t spoken Feng Xin’s name and let the atmosphere wash over him. 

All he held onto was the barest of truth. Feng Xin had always been there. Mu Qing’s one certainty. A certainty that put him to rest, and let him not dwell on any more of their future unknowns because they would be revealed with time, and if it took too long, hell, Mu Qing had made his own future plenty of times. 

Mu Qing woke with the sun. 

He rolled out of bed and got dressed in no hurry. He organized the dishes they had left the night before so that the staff that came in after him had it easier on themselves. He was ready to go back to Heaven to brag and watch as Feng Xin got flustered over the slightest things when Pei Ming and the other martial gods made fun of him with good humor at needing to be saved like some kind of hapless maiden. Feng Xin would take it well, because he was always good-natured, though he may curse and balk if it got too bad. They would part at the center of the grand avenue. Mu Qing to the west. Feng Xin east. But decidedly south. Their home had always been in the south. 

He wondered if Feng Xin wouldn’t mind getting breakfast here first if there were any vendors open for the hour. If he would humor Mu Qing for enjoying the snow by taking a walk instead of falling into a fight, though Mu Qing could admit to himself that if it divulged into another fight like the one yesterday, he wouldn’t be upset. He’d make the god pay by charging him another custom order of his clothes. 

Fu Yao crossed the short hall to Feng Xin’s room. He knocked twice, let his hand fall to his hip, and cocked a knowing brow, ready for when the door opened to berate Feng Xin for not being ready to go yet. 

The door did not open. 

“Sir?” A woman called to his left. The innkeeper. “The young master asked me to tell you that some matter came up, and he had to go urgently, but to not worry because the rooms were paid for, and that he would see you once he got back.” 

She spoke it all to the floor, thinking him as some important dignitary or a cultivator from some noble land. Fu Yao didn’t have the same air to him that Mu Qing's real self did, but it didn’t matter in this moment, now did it? At his lack of thanks, she bowed again, before scurrying off down the stairs to handle some other tasks. 

He had left. Feng Xin had left, and with such feeble excuse too. 

There Mu Qing was, alone in the hall, proving Feng Xin’s words true, doubly true. He was like his mother, after all. In looks, if Feng Xin had been so kind and correct, and in virtue, had his father’s words always stayed echoing in his ears. 

Still, Mu Qing had to open the door himself. He had to see a bed already made, not even slept in, not a single thing out of place. He had to be blinded by the open curtains, not shut for rest, by a sun that always taunted him from the east.

795 years after Ascension — South  

The ruins of Xianle were less noticeable had it been any other city left in a state of decay. As if it had been forcibly scrubbed from the Earth and replaced by the nature originally found in the region before it came to be. No village or other settlement to take root along the trade routes that still snaked by, ignoring the last stand of crumbling walls and what could have been a palace once upon a time. 

Mu Qing had not visited the remnants of the kingdom. He wondered if Xie Lian had, or would with his partner, or if he had thought better of re-etching old pain and moving on completely from his past self. Mu Qing knew Feng Xin had been here before. He knew whenever he got it in his head he was going to find Xie Lian again after centuries of not being able to find him, he always started here. Mu Qing never asked why, only watched from his palace windows, waiting for Feng Xin to return to Heaven, hoping but never too disappointed when he came back without company.

Mu Qing chose his path forward diligently over raised mud and spare tree roots. It was a more dreary day than the last, and it had taken Mu Qing far longer than he had wanted to get here, having to dispatch a minor ghost that was tricking travelers on the road and discovering an old road Mu Qing used to follow frequently was no longer there. It had been annoying but never did Mu Qing think to make his trip less arduous on himself. The reason for it, he could take either way. Mu Qing wasn’t nervous to find Feng Xin, but he wasn’t exactly confident about their reunion either. 

Just because Mu Qing had realized he couldn’t exist in a world without Feng Xin, did not mean Feng Xin felt the same way, and as much as he had told Xie Lian that leaving wasn’t Feng Xin’s choice—one he couldn’t make without him—Mu Qing knew he would let Feng Xin go if it came down to it. 

It was what he expected most to happen. Mu Qing wasn’t Xie Lian. He wasn’t Jian Lan. He wasn’t the countless other people Feng Xin had had affairs with over the years. He was just Mu Qing, and that didn’t account for a lot when it came to Feng Xin.

Mu Qing had always been a moon, set between two suns, only ever luminous when granted a piece of their divine light. Any lesser version of himself would have been drowned out completely between them. Not a story to share about the once servant to the Prince of Xianle, the sharp-tongued boy who attacked the prince’s guard at every corner. Mu Qing had grown beyond that. On his own, he had succeeded. He didn’t need anyone else to keep making sure that was true. 

But he wanted one. 

This desire of his. This wish. 

If Mu Qing didn’t have to be a moon, he wanted to be a star too. He wanted to be light, set closely beside another that didn’t overshadow him but sat there as his true compliment. 

He’d be embarrassed to admit such a thing out loud. He had stumbled over telling Xie Lian he wanted to be his friend. Perhaps coming here was only an ode to that. In proving to himself, and Feng Xin, that he could be a friend. A good friend.

It was all Mu Qing focused on instead of any other restless emotions when he saw the flicker of an array. He did not slow down when he stepped through it. He had the intention to keep marching forward, holding onto that determination, but was shocked into stillness by the color of the sky. 

The sky above Xianle had been overcast. It had been murky grays, preluding what Mu Qing would find once he got to Feng Xin’s place.

The sky within the array was not that. It was sunset, though Mu Qing was certain that had the clouds not been outside of it, it wouldn’t have been such a time yet. Further, the sun on the horizon was enlarged, a fiery orange that so rarely sat on most horizons, set against a vibrant sky of yellow, orange, and pink with streaks of purple and blue indigo as the stars clawed their way out to be seen.

It came with it, a memory. More stable when he found the familiar pond, still echoing what sat around it. He had come here often when he was a boy. Not a child, living with his mother, but the boy that served the prince. When the war broke out, the woods surrounding the place caught fire. Mu Qing refused to mourn anything as sentimental as his safe space. With everything else going on, he didn’t need to come back. Xianle was lost, he a fugitive among many. When he came to dispel the ghosts, it might have meant something to him to sit in the center of a charred bit of land, but not so much that he ever thought to return since. 

Mu Qing had stood and watched many things change throughout his lifetime. He had no reason to believe this place wouldn't falter under the steadfastness of time. Though, whatever scarring had met the Earth with that fire, had since been overcome, and the trees and the grass underfoot, interspersed with a variety of wildflowers, could have been the same as the ones centuries ago. 

Mu Qing didn’t know why he never came back. 

He would have found what waited for him sooner if he did. 

The grove was not completely unchanged. A house stood here now, facing the pond, and the sunset over top of it. It was weathered, a patchwork of different decades and design choices, expanding out from what must have been the original door, to an additional porch and other rooms. There was a garden beside it and a few fruit trees in the back. 

It was a home. 

Mu Qing would have assumed Feng Xin already had one, his palace up in Heaven. But a palace could only be supplemented in so many ways. It could prove to be colder more days out of the year than warm. Many gods longed after what Earth could still give them, even while hidden from the view of Earth’s inhabitants. 

The home did not sit silently alone. On the steps of the porch, Feng Xin sat, fiddling something between his hands, now slackened. Mu Qing thought it was a small knife that fell from his grasp. A thought, only, because he was too otherwise caught up in staring at Feng Xin now. 

Feng Xin’s hair was in a bun, but it was loose, causing strands of hair to pull out of it, catching on a breeze Mu Qing couldn’t feel between them. As with the fallen object between his feet, Feng Xin’s face had fallen too. It parted his mouth in quiet “o” and widened his eyes. He didn’t blink, and Mu Qing wondered if it was for the same reason Mu Qing didn’t. If in just a split moment of separation, it would dispel the mirage completely, and it wouldn’t be Feng Xin, sitting on a stoop— waiting, could Mu Qing call this waiting?—but instead an empty spot. A lonesome place for Mu Qing to sit, put his head in his hands, and break apart. 

However, the longer they sat there, staring at each other, the more this reality held.

Feng Xin was there. 

Mu Qing’s knees almost buckled under the weight of it. Relief. Feng Xin was there, he wasn’t unreachable yet. He hadn’t done anything truly daunting. He hadn’t left Mu Qing alone. He was there. 

Here. 

He was here. 

Feng Xin was the first to move. It started with him pushing himself up off the step to stand. Mu Qing respond, walking closer himself. He didn’t close those last few meters between them in giving into the heavy thrashing of his heart, angrily caged in his chest. 

Mu Qing asked, “Where have you been?” 

He held his hand against his chest as if that would alleviate the tension there. It left him grappling with the fabric of his clothes, fisting them under his hand and twisting it. 

His words sounded like grief. The tone mourners used in deep despair. There would be little hidden within them. Mu Qing was so exhausted that he didn't care. Not when Feng Xin was standing there, out of reach, yes, kept to just the threshold of the stairway, leading to his home. 

Mu Qing had a lot of demands after his first. He wanted to shout them all

What was so important about this place? 

Why had he run?

Was Xie Lian right? 

(If yes, could Mu Qing continue forcing himself to remain upright?)

It was that question that rattled him the most, especially when Feng Xin, while standing, hadn’t offered Mu Qing a response to his first question. 

The where was obvious.

Mu Qing stood where. Feng Xin had gone to Ghost City. He had gone to Jian Lan. He came here last. He had spent the most time here compared to the others, and Mu Qing had no idea what was so remarkable about it. There was a period in Mu Qing’s life when he came here nearly every day, but he had never discovered Feng Xin here first. The only times he could recall Feng Xin being here—fragmented as they were, colored the way sunsets were colored—was when Feng Xin followed him. But perhaps Mu Qing had just been too conceited then, and when Feng Xin showed up at his special place, he had always been annoyed at finding Mu Qing, alone, sitting at the edge of the pond, watching time pass.

They had always ended up sharing things, as unintended as it was, this shouldn’t have been all that surprising, nor could Mu Qing be hurt by it now, knowing while he had moved on—found other horizons just as pleasing to look at—Feng Xin had not. He kept it safe. Put an array around it like the one Mu Qing had made for Jian Lan back then, and somehow, he kept it so that Mu Qing could come back to it if he ever wanted. 

Mu Qing wondered if that’s what Feng Xin thought now, Mu Qing being here only because he wanted to sit on the small outcropping of rocks and watch the way the sun settled in the reflection of water. 

Mu Qing could lie behind that reasoning. It wouldn’t be hard to. They could also squabble. Bicker. Mu Qing hadn’t fought with anyone since Feng Xin left, not fighting like they had when they were younger, but fighting like they had in the snow. Mu Qing felt as if he needed it, too tightly wound. Any release of tension would be good for him. 

Feng Xin still hadn’t spoken, however. 

Mu Qing pictured himself stomping through the remaining distance between them and catching him swiftly across the jaw. It would bring them right back to normal. But not the normal of the last year or so after Jun Wu was defeated, but the straining animosity that had proliferated their existence for too many years. That thought exhausted Mu Qing, and Mu Qing was already tired. He didn’t come here for a fight, as inevitable as he thought it might be, he came here for himself. In Feng Xin’s name, yes, but ultimately to fulfill Mu Qing’s desires. Mu Qing did not want to fight Feng Xin today. 

Again, he thought of Xie Lian. He thought of Feng Xin, bowing at his god’s feet and asking for forgiveness. The specific temperance in Hua Cheng’s expression as he regarded it and Xie Lian begged him to stand. He thought of Feng Xin saying goodbye, accepting it as the final one, and moving on. He thought of Feng Xin repeating the same gesture with Jian Lan, Cuocuo clutched in her arms, babbling away as he chewed his fingers, unaware of what his father was saying while he spoke. Jian Lan had told Mu Qing that he needed to accept what he was getting into by coming here next, by interrupting Feng Xin from his solace. Mu Qing couldn’t say that he had. Only.  

He thought of Feng Xin in the inn, him standing in front of the door, ready to make his escape, promising Mu Qing that they would see each other tomorrow, but he had never actually said goodbye—to every other person, but not him. 

“Where you really just going to go,” Mu Qing demanded, “Just leave me without saying a word? Am I so unimportant to you that you would? Where have you been!”

Mu Qing knew his words were ludicrous. Out of all people, gods, or ghosts, Feng Xin owed Mu Qing the least. Not his honesty, not his loyalty, not his deference. They had never been friends. Mu Qing’s rattled nerves did not change that. Whatever importance he put on their relationship, did not automatically make it true. 

“Mu Qing.” Feng Xin finally spoke. A cloudy response to all Mu Qing had said. Part question, part statement, with an undercurrent of fascination Mu Qing could not place. 

“You asshole,” Mu Qing said in response. “You stupid man. Answer me.” 

Mu Qing still wouldn’t move from his spot. Not yet. He feared this conversation most. Feared the inevitable request to go. He balled up his fists. He reminded himself who he was. Who Feng Xin was. Mu Qing wouldn’t be scared of Feng Xin. If they fought, they fought. But Mu Qing wouldn’t leave until his answers were satisfied. 

“You’ve been looking for me?”

That much was obvious. Mu Qing wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t looking for Feng Xin.

Feng Xin realized it too, clarifying, “There’s a threat I need to handle. Some issue in the Southeast.” 

There had been threats, but if Feng Xin was needed to take care of it, Mu Qing had handled it just as well. If it had required another martial god, and Feng Xin stayed out of contact, Mu Qing would have just requested one of the others for help. Mu Qing didn’t come here for Feng Xin’s warrior might. 

“There’s no threat,” Mu Qing said. “Not anything your deputies can’t handle and mine can’t circumvent if needed.” 

“It’s Xie Lian then. Is he hurt?” Feng Xin stepped forward with the question this time, shrinking their carefully kept space. Panic overtook the color of his eyes, and Mu Qing bristled, tightening his fists more. 

“Xie Lian is fine.” 

Feng Xin came to a stop with that reveal, more confused as the seconds started to linger between them. Mu Qing often said it was pitiful to watch Feng Xin think, seeing him so stumped by these few answers was just as true, and still, Feng Xin had not answered a single one of Mu Qing’s questions. Here he was demanding Mu Qing totell him why he had come here, as if Mu Qing being the one here mattered at all, and not the issue at hand. The reason why Feng Xin had thought he needed to go in the first place. 

“Why did you go to Jian Lan’s,” Mu Qing asked, hoping Feng Xin could be honest with at least one of his requests. “Is that why you went to Ghost City first? To talk to Xie Lian and then go running off with her?”

“You,” Feng Xin cut himself off, frowning and turning away from Mu Qing. He asked the sun, not Mu Qing, this: “Why are you here, Mu Qing?”

Feng Xin was cruel. Adamant to discover all of Mu Qing’s answers in concealing his own. 

Mu Qing didn’t owe him his honesty, but he said, “Because it’s where you are,” and if Feng Xin still wouldn’t speak, so what? Mu Qing would tell him it all anyway.

“You left, and you didn’t say anything before you did it. You claimed we'd see each other tomorrow, but you weren’t there the next day. You left, so I didn’t wait for you because if you cared, you would have come back. You always come back. But you left, and I didn’t know if that was still true anymore.” 

Mu Qing found he didn’t like looking at Feng Xin all that much either. He didn’t care to see the moment Feng Xin turned from the western sun to his southwestern god. Mu Qing rather brave the sun himself. He rather stand before it, looking onward than face any grievances by turning back. 

“You’ve been gone for three months,” Mu Qing said. “What was I supposed to do? Wait? I’ve never been patient. You know that.”

“I’ve been gone longer before,” Feng Xin interrupted to say. 

It was true, and Mu Qing had hated those times too—he had worried during those times too—but he was unallowed anxiety when it came to Feng Xin, only relief whenever he came back. The precedent suggested he would come back just the same now, but Mu Qing had changed. He couldn’t wait for an eventuality that may without warning prove itself untrue. 

Feng Xin also said, “Hell, other gods have been gone longer than this. The Earth Master was absent for decades.” 

“That Earth Master is dead.” 

“A ghost would have to have a death sentence in attempting to replace me to only get stuck working with you.” 

Feng Xin was attempting to put them back on the right track, trying to remind Mu Qing that he wasn’t worried and that what he came here for couldn’t be boiled down to that. As if Mu Qing wouldn’t notice any variation in Feng Xin’s actions that got Mu Qing caught up in working with an imposter. His first interaction with a non-Feng Xin would leave the ghost dead and leave Mu Qing wondering whatever came of his friend. 

It was hardly an argument worth entertaining. 

“You would kill whatever ghost attacked you before they ever had a chance to impersonate you.” 

They were avoiding the issue. Mu Qing was never light with his tone, but he did not know how to phrase it, especially considering all the ways Feng Xin had ignored him thus far, choosing to pick apart Mu Qing’s words instead of owning up to any of his own. The simple answer to all of it, Mu Qing had already said. 

He was here because of Feng Xin. He only came because of Feng Xin. Feng Xin went somewhere, Mu Qing dedicated himself to follow. As embarrassing as it was, it was no more complicated than that. 

But Feng Xin’s feelings, the reason for his leaving, were complex, at least, out of reach of Mu Qing’s understanding. Mu Qing wanted to know. He wanted to try to piece it together and provide Feng Xin with an answer that satisfied him and kept him from deciding on dissipating and fading entirely. It might have only been a season, but the consequences had not compounded yet. Things could still be salvaged and saved. Feng Xin didn’t need to keep leaving whenever he couldn’t find the people he constantly searched for in any crowd. The people he cared for, cherished, and loved but hadn’t loved him enough in return to keep him from feeling like he needed to go. 

“If you need someone to love, love me,” Mu Qing said. It was quiet, but Mu Qing was proud of how strong he sounded. He was afraid his voice would tremble, that he would stutter, and make this whole thing sound less true. 

He resolved himself further. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his head. He didn’t shy away from Feng Xin’s gaze.

“If you look at someone else and they break your heart because they can’t love you in return, look at me. Love me.” 

Feng Xin said his name again. A softer cadence than the last, even when the last had probably been the most reverent he had ever said Mu Qing’s name before.

Mu Qing didn’t care. He stayed steadfast. “Xie Lian can’t love you the way you deserve because he loves Hua Cheng, and Jian Lan won’t love you now because she’s scared too. Because she loved you so much back then but you hadn’t enough in return—and I don’t know why that is, why someone would throw that all away, but I've tried to know you, and I think you need it anyway. Someone to tell you that they care, unconditionally care. So I will. Love me.”

Feng Xin did not stand strong where Mu Qing was. More conflicted, lost, by the second. Mu Qing refused to take it to heart. Feng Xin was unwilling to accept Mu Qing’s statement. Hell, if the roles were reversed, Mu Qing wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare allow himself to believe it, that was why Mu Qing had to be the one to say it. Mu Qing knew very well Feng Xin was capable of loving people fully and honestly, and Mu Qing thought that if it came to making sure Feng Xin stayed here, stayed here with him, Mu Qing could return that honesty. He could handle Feng Xin loving him if it gave him a reason to stay. If it made him happy.

“I can’t do that to you, Qing’er,” Feng Xin finally said. “I can’t love someone who doesn’t love me back.” 

Bullshit. 

Feng Xin had spent his whole life being in love with people who didn’t love him in return. It was why Mu Qing was here. Feng Xin was like his mom in that regard, waiting for her lover, anyone, to come back home. A love that was quiet and pleading which Mu Qing had always forced himself to not be. He couldn’t stand around waiting for anyone. He couldn’t be forced to be a smaller version of himself for anyone either. 

It pissed him off a bit to hear Feng Xin tell him no. As if Mu Qing couldn’t be the absolute best at bestowing love. 

“You’ve never been a coward, why the hell are you starting now?” Mu Qing stalked forward, catching himself before he was within grasping distance of Feng Xin. Feng Xin’s expression at being called out was complicated. The sunset darkened shadows on his face as he held himself back. Mu Qing only glowered in response.

"You don't love me," Feng Xin said, spoken like he was trying to remind himself that it was true and not meant for Mu Qing to hear. 

Distantly, Mu Qing could understand why Feng Xin would think that. Mu Qing believed it himself. The only reaction to Feng Xin he had only ever allowed himself to feel was hate, and for all that, it had still led him here, standing before Feng Xin, commanding Feng Xin to do what Mu Qing had been too petrified to acknowledge in himself for years. 

So he gave Feng Xin one more of his truths since he was after asking so much.

"I've loved you before I even knew I was capable of loving someone." 

Feng Xin didn't look like he believed him. Mu Qing pressed on. 

“Your favorite color is yellow. It’s gaudy and eccentric, and everywhere. I can’t walk around heaven without seeing it, which means, I can’t walk around heaven without thinking of you, and being on Earth is twice the hassle. You have a favorite arrow. Why? It is stupid. But I’ve had to stand and wait for you to go fetch the damn thing from probably 900 beasts and ghosts, fixing it up so it can take down another whenever we inevitably have to fight again. Summer is your favorite season, especially when it’s the hottest day of the year. You’re the only one who’s ever excited about it because you’re insane. An absolute fool of a man. I want to throttle you while you’re laughing under it while the rest of us are miserable, but I also sort of want to stop the sun from moving, just to keep it that way a moment longer, so you can have your fun before the season changes. 

“Do you need more?” Mu Qing advanced one step more, just within reach. Nothing more. “Don’t you dare imply I can’t, or I won’t. We’ve been together centuries, don’t think I can’t stand here another 100 more year to list off more for you to judge. You have a fondness for plum wine, though Pei Ming always opts to get you to drink something stronger. You cannot for the life of you color coordinate your outfits. It’s atrocious. I can’t believe I still stand next to you. You cried while watching the Mid-Autumn Festival play last year and then lied about it even though you didn’t even properly wipe off your cheek, and I didn’t say anything because, I don’t know, but I didn’t, so there. I can be nice and kind and whatever else you need in a lover.” He crossed his arms. “I can be your lover. Love me.” 

Of course, Mu Qing knew he couldn’t force these types of things, and between each statement, he was revealing more of his sensibilities than any of Feng Xin’s own. If Feng Xin was as cruel of a man as Mu Qing forced himself to think centuries, Mu Qing would be laughed out of Heaven. He would be belittled and dragged for admitting to realizing such things about the god ahead of him. Mu Qing simply settled into his stance, keeping his arms crossed ahead of him. 

“You shouldn’t pout,” Feng Xin said. “It’s unfair to ask me to think clearly while you pout.”

Mu Qing did nothing to fix his expression, whatever that may be. 

He said, “I do not pout.” 

“It’s ridiculous how often you do,” Feng Xin replied, “but maybe that’s just around me, hmm? How long have you been watching me, Qing’er? How long have you known?”

Feng Xin’s voice had a teasing lilt to it that Mu Qing did not appreciate. 

“It’s a little hard not to notice the bumbling idiot who follows me everywhere.” 

“But you missed me when I was gone.” 

Mu Qing ground his teeth. It was pointless to respond. 

“Yes.”

Feng Xin smiled at it. All gold and bright. Mu Qing liked sunsets before he had ever known Feng Xin, but Feng Xin’s eyes took the colors from them. Interesting and vibrant in such a shade Mu Qing struggled to turn away from it even when he knew he should. At least a setting sun was kinder to people who stared at it, not completely blinding them. However, Mu Qing refused to back away. 

Feng Xin took the final spare step between them. Where Mu Qing had plenty of reservations about breaking their distance, Feng Xin had none. He cupped Mu Qing’s cheek, and Mu Qing did not waver under that touch, even if his catalog of kind touches were brief. 

(If he remembered, he knew that of those gentle touches, Feng Xin’s touches were the most frequent. Had he allowed himself to remember). 

“Okay, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin said, “I’ll agree, but you have to agree to my demand first.”

Mu Qing didn’t bother nodding, considering Feng Xin was holding his face in his palm, and Mu Qing saw no reason to shake it off, even though Feng Xin’s hands were rough, calloused, a bit large, and awkward to properly cup Mu Qing’s cheek—if Mu Qing was in the mood to criticize. 

“Love me,” Feng Xin whispered, and Mu Qing almost shouted in his face that the whole reason for his impromptu speech was to prove that, but Feng Xin cut him off by brushing Mu Qing’s bottom lip with his thumb, tracing the pout there—Mu Qing did not pout—and shortly thereafter following it by the press of his lips. 

Mu Qing allowed it. He allowed Feng Xin adjusting his head, allowed his other hand to snake its way around Mu Qing’s waist to pull them closer together, bumping their knees, which may have hurt if Mu Qing wasn’t so caught up in the way their mouths moved together, the way Feng Xin’s hand never wavered in its place, or how Mu Qing responded by wrapping his arm over Feng Xin’s shoulder and around his neck, attempting to tug him closer, as if they could get any closer. Even when the kiss broke, and Mu Qing felt his name breathed out against the corner of his mouth. 

“You don’t have to tell me to love you,” Feng Xin said, “I already do. I have for centuries.” 

Mu Qing opened his eyes to the statement, seeing Feng Xin all too close, but he couldn’t mistake Feng Xin’s honesty for anything other than what it was, even if Mu Qing wanted to dismiss it. Say it couldn’t be true. 

“You do?”

Feng Xin smiled, again, fuller now with slightly swollen lips. He nodded. 

“I do. You’re not hard to love, Mu Qing. You’ve never been hard to love.” 

Again, for not the first time in days, since Mu Qing discovered Feng Xin gone, his eyes burned, pressing to be released with the choke sob in the back of his throat. 

“Then why did you leave?”

For all Mu Qing’s experiences with love—his observations of others, when he refused to ever accept someone might come to love him on their own—they always left. It was a rare occurrence when they came back. Mu Qing knew he couldn’t accept it if the same were true for them. Mu Qing couldn't accept being loved, while knowing he would be left again in the end, or told it would be better if he just went. For that reason, it had always been better for Mu Qing to leave first.

This time, he didn’t allow Feng Xin to respond, attempting to put off the wreckage that would follow once he did, by stumbling through what he knew. 

“Ling Wen said that you, you wanted to find out if gods can become ghosts, and I thought that meant you were giving up your godhood to be with Jian Lan, but when you weren’t there, and Xie Lian said it could be because you were trying to atone, and after you were done, you were going to, you were going to, die. ” 

Mu Qing managed to grasp an intake of breath. 

“You can’t. Who do you think will take care of the South if you go? I can’t do it alone, and I would never allow anyone to ever replace you. It would fall apart. I would fall apart. I need you, but you just left, like you didn’t need me.” 

Mu Qing was going to cry. He pushed against Feng Xin’s chest until the other loosened his grip, allowing him to escape, though that escape wasn’t far, merely a step back as Mu Qing turned away from Feng Xin, so he couldn’t see his face. How awful it must look like in his panic as he bent down at the waist. Feng Xin came forward to rub his back regardless. 

He asked, “What are you talking about? I don’t want to die.”

Mu Qing might have voiced a question at that. A why, or but, or what, but he didn’t hear much of it, anyway, too busy trying to find respite in Feng Xin’s answer. He wasn’t leaving Mu Qing. Not in a way that was that permanent. 

“Ling Wen knew I only asked that question because I was concerned about recently fallen gods becoming larger threats in the next couple of decades. I wanted to be prepared, not because I wanted to become a ghost. Despite what Crimson Rain thinks, being a ghost is not better than being a god. His husband can certainly attest.”

“You still left.” 

Feng Xin sighed. He settled on his knees beside him, calling attention to how bowed over Mu Qing was . Mu Qing followed him onto his knees as well, still lowering his face, but he did nothing to stop Feng Xin’s hand from rubbing his back. 

“I would have come back,” Feng Xin said. “If you hadn’t come here first, I would have been back within the week. I can’t stay away that long.” Feng Xin amended, “I can’t stay away from you that long. I’d say it’s a terrible affliction to have, but not really. I enjoy watching you smile whenever you see me again for the first time.”

Mu Qing questioned that. He was certain he never openly smiled at Feng Xin. He might now, might not be able to help it, but he would have known beforehand if he had. 

“Your eyes are very good at discerning your truths,” Feng Xin clarified. “You smile.”

If Mu Qing had known about that any time before, he would have started wearing a blindfold. Now, it just loosened his chest, letting him appreciate the warmth unfurling there. 

“What else?”

“What else?” 

After repeating it, Feng Xin stayed quiet for a decent period. So long, Mu Qing raised his head to study Feng Xin in the water. Mu Qing hadn’t noticed they had gotten so close to it. If they were younger, Mu Qing would throw Feng Xin in. He wouldn’t be fast enough to stop him. Now, he only used the pond to watch Feng Xin start and stop his various answers, keeping them from being heard out loud. Mu Qing might have been wrong when he stated he had no patience before, he was willing to wait for whatever came next in this. 

“You’re right, I did run,” Feng Xin finally spoke. “After that fight. After our talk, it wasn’t because of you. I guess I was struggling with accepting what might be true. It was easy to hold myself back whenever you said you hated me. I didn’t think I could be as disciplined if you continued to show that you tolerated me. I didn’t want to ruin our potential for friendship, so I left, but then I got mad at myself for leaving because it was the same thing I did before. The reason why Xie Lian took so long to come back, and why I only found out so recently that I had a son.”

Feng Xin’s reflection closed his eyes. His mouth tight in a frown. Mu Qing stayed perfectly still beside him. Feng Xin’s guilt surrounding Xie Lian was partially Mu Qing’s fault too. They had never been kind to each other. Mu Qing also thought himself culpable for Feng Xin’s feelings about Jian Lan as well. Mu Qing had protected that secret more than he had protected any other of his, but maybe if Feng Xin had known sooner, he could have healed from it faster or dealt with them as ghosts before the many crises that befell Heaven when Xie Lian did finally ascend for the third time. 

“But the idea of facing you again, when you knew all my faults and repeated mistakes, I knew you would never believe me if I told you the truth. You would never trust that I would hold myself accountable for it or that I wouldn’t repeat it. I needed to talk to Xie Lian, and I needed to talk to Jian Lan. I had put it off for too long that I needed it for myself too, and when I was done, I came here trying and failing to come up with all the ways I could tell you the truth, and I guess I was scared that after you heard it all, you would still tell me the same. To go. Leave. And I didn’t know how much longer I could survive hearing it.” 

“I’m grateful you stayed,” Mu Qing said. Feng Xin had never made his life easier, but it wasn’t as if Mu Qing being in Feng Xin’s life had ever been that easy for him either. They were a set of some sort, and while it had always despised him that his name couldn’t exist anywhere without Feng Xin’s name coming right after it, now the same sentiment brought him comfort. Mu Qing turned up from the pond to say it rightfully to Feng Xin's face. 

“I’m glad you never listened to me. I needed you to stay. I want you to stay. Please stay.” 

With me, was perhaps already understood, but Mu Qing reached out and grabbed Feng Xin’s hand where it had fallen from his back during Feng Xin’s confession. 

Mu Qing had spent centuries looking for someone, a person, who he refused to acknowledge he was looking for, not wanting to fall into the same heartbroken tragedies as his mother had, or Jian Lan had, unable to be completely immune from it either—his mother’s son, after all—and finding Feng Xin at the end of it all, anyway. All things considered, Feng Xin made the most sense. The only sense. Mu Qing would have never risked looking back for anyone else.

“I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to know.” 

Feng Xin squeezed their conjoined hands and kissed Mu Qing’s temple for good measure. Mu Qing could tell he wanted to tell Mu Qing that that wasn’t something he needed to apologize for, and, for all their differences, it was the last thing Feng Xin ever blamed Mu Qing for. He must have known Mu Qing wasn’t going to listen to him if he had. That they perhaps didn’t need something like vague nonsense rebuttals of apologies. Feng Xin didn’t hold it against him. Wouldn’t. 

“Just tell me every day for the next 800 years,” Feng Xin said. “I’ll tell you too. I love you.” 

Mu Qing couldn’t help the smile that came in response to hearing that. It sat sort of foolish on his face in the pond’s reflection, matching a certain warmth of his cheeks with a color more appropriate for the sky than Mu Qing’s skin, but he didn’t try to hide it, not when Feng Xin was next to him, watching him, with an expression that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than what it was. 

Feng Xin loved him. 

Mu Qing loved him . 

It was absurd. Ridiculous. 

Mu Qing wouldn’t dare have it any other way. 

Mu Qing surprised Feng Xin with their second kiss—the how many after were needless to count. They fell to the grass amongst them all in such a painfully familiar way that Mu Qing ached, but in a way too that was so new Mu Qing couldn’t get enough of it. Couldn’t begin to count the small joys that came from gentle exploring touches or the sounds of their laughter when joined. He was going to get drunk off it all. Going to catch himself stuck with a frozen smile on his face. He didn’t care. He wanted this. He had wanted this so desperately. 

When they were done, and their clothes were much more disheveled than Mu Qing would ever like his robes to be, haired dutifully mused and lips bruised, Mu Qing settled into the space Feng Xin had made for him within the crux of his arms, staring out. It was probably, finally, around the time, true sunset was meant to be, and while Mu Qing hadn’t asked, he could guess why Feng Xin kept it this way for all this time. The reason for this array and this skyline. It only made him softer. 

But he still asked, “Can you let the sun set?” 

He pushed himself up, one hand in the grass beside Feng Xin’s head, the other on Feng Xin's chest, as his hair pooled over his shoulder and he looked down at Feng Xin, finding him already dutifully looking up at him. Mu Qing finally had a name he could put to the look, embarrassingly aware that his expression mirrored his in the same way. 

He found he didn’t care. 

Found he was going to be kissing Feng Xin again in a matter of seconds once this was said, especially when Feng Xin smiled. 

Feng Xin didn’t need to know that, though. They still had opportunities to discover what remained of each other’s secrets, how few of them there were. 

“I can,” Feng Xin said, and though he did nothing outwardly, Mu Qing could feel the few stars that popped out and the sun behind him begin to lower as it always did on the eve of night. It made him a bit wistful. 

“Good,” Mu Qing said. He smoothed out the fabric under his palm, enjoyed the unsteady thump held under there, and said, “I’m looking forward to seeing the sunrise.”