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Chapter Text

It started during the Mid-Autumn festival, when Mu Qing sat at the feasting table as the lanterns lit up the sky like miniature suns. He watched the ascending lights with a numb sense of detachment, passively observing Hua Cheng's declaration of love for his God, overwhelming the lantern numbers of everyone else. For the fifth decade in a row, since the Calamity Ghost returned. 

“They should take Xie Lian out of the running,” Mu Qing heard himself say, gaze fixed on a single lantern, watching the softly glowing paper contraption float high above him. 

There was a short laugh beside him, a baritone chuckle rumbling in a broad chest. “And court Crimsons Rains ire? I think that none of us wants that. Maybe in a century if Dianxia XianLe outperforms us for that long. But why bother? It’s a beautiful display of devotion and love,” Pei Ming said, leaning back in his chair and drinking from his wine goblet. He tipped the tall, narrow cup towards the sky in a toast. 

Mu Qing scoffed. The Northern General had a point—the crimson brat would kick up a fuss if he was denied a chance to show off. But his other arguments? “Devotion? Yes, but I hesitate to call it love. It’s obsession; plain and simple.”

Pei Ming hummed. “It is not normal, I agree with you there, Xuan Zhen, but I wouldn’t deny it outright. Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t make it any less real.”

“That’s startling profound, coming from you, Ol’ Pei,” Ling Wen mused from her spot on the other side of Pei Ming. They were still at the feasting table, keeping their own company as the dances began on the floor below them.

The three of them were sitting together, and had been for the last couple of years. Mu Qing had heard whispers that he was the new ‘tumour’ to replace Shi Wudu, the deceased former Water Master, in the Three Tumours. It was distasteful, but not exactly wrong. Although he had cleared up many grievances with Xie Lian and Feng Xin, he still felt a little out of place with the other two. Yes, he visited Xie Lian regularly and vice versa, but there was lingering tension. Despite enjoying their company, Mu Qing couldn't fully relax with his former prince and coworker.

Not that he could with Ling Wen or Ming Guang, but it was…easier. There was less unsaid, bubbling just under the surface. 

Plus, the two remaining tumours enjoyed gossip as much as he did, hence why he had gravitated towards them. Besides, staying on Ling Wen's good side was a strategic play. Being timely with his reports certainly endeared him to her. 

“I am the pinnacle of intelligent thought, I thought you were aware of that, Noble Jie,” Pei Ming teased. 

The head Civil Goddess scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re being purposely obtuse. You are not known for your attachment to romance. You think with something a little further from your brain, when it should be the other way around.”

Mu Qing snorted, thankfully catching himself from spraying a mouthful of sweet juice on himself. Fighting giggles, he covers his twitching lips with the back of his hand. 

Ling Wen smugly lifted her wine glass and took a long sip.

She knew exactly what she did. Brat.

“That is hurtful and uncalled for,” Pei Ming lamented sorrowfully, despite it being clear that he wasn't offended in the slightest. 

“But not wrong,” Mu Qing said when he got his voice under control. “You think with your dick far too often. I'm surprised all of those curses to have it bitten off haven't succeeded with how often you stick it into places you shouldn't."

Ling Wen coughed, lifting a napkin to cover her mouth. She wasn't fooling anyone—the skin around her eyes was creased with mirth. 

Pei Ming shrugged, oozing personal satisfaction. “The women that I bed never had any complaints during our lovemaking. Those curses are from people who hate fun.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “‘Lovemaking’,” he repeated with a scoff. “Why call it that when you never stay with them?”

Pei Ming's expression shifted, the relaxed enjoyment turning a fraction more serious. “Love doesn't have to last to be real,” he objected in a softer tone. “Very few have the luxury of eternal devotion.”

Mu Qing glanced down the table to where Xie Lian and Hua Cheng were wrapped together in their own little world. Feng Xin sat not too far from them, staring into his wine cup. The Goddess sitting beside the Southeastern General said something, drawing his attention. 

Surprisingly, he didn't cower away from her. No, Feng Xin did something worse.

He laughed. 

Mu Qing's heart squeezed. 

“Aahh,” Pei Ming vocalized beside him. 

That sound was too knowing. Too Pei Ming.

“What?” Mu Qing growled, his hackles already rising defensively. He tore his eyes away from Feng Xin and the goddess. Turning back to the two beside him, his glare was glacial.

“Nothing, nothing,” Pei Ming said innocently. 

Mu Qing arched his brow, waiting.

Sure enough, Pei Ming continued, “Crimson Rain and Taizi Dianxia have loved each other for almost a millennium, haven't they? It's impressive because they're not even true soulmates. They bound themselves together.”

Mu Qing blinked, his eyes darting to and from Dianxia and Pei Ming, churning that sentence over in his mind.

“Wait…soulmates are a real thing?” he asked.

Pei Ming grinned. Ling Wen made a sound of annoyance and drank more of her wine. 

“Why, my dear Qing-mei, I thought you knew that,” Pei Ming teased.

“Don't call me Qing-mei,” he snapped reflexively, then registered what else he said. “Wait, why would I know that? How do you know?”

“God of Love, my dear,” Pei Ming answered flippantly. “It’s not something I can see all the time, to be fair. I have to enhance my eyes with qi, channelling the energy that I get from those kinds of prayers. The ones seeking love or advice about marriage. I don't do it often, but it's not hard. Almost everyone has a red string tied around their finger.”

Mu Qing bristled. “That's an invasion of privacy,” he hissed.

Pei Ming snorted. “God of Love,” he repeated carelessly and drank some more wine. “If I wasn't supposed to see the strings, I wouldn't have been given such a power. It's my duty.”

Mu Qing's lip curled. “No, it isn't. If it was, Nan Yang would be sticking his Yu Yang into every maiden and whore that begs for it, but he doesn't.”

That earned him two side eyes. 

“Know that for certain, do you?” Pei Ming drawled. 

Mu Qing jerked and then made a sound of revulsion. He hoped it would overshadow the distinctive warmth in his cheeks. “I’m not a creep!” he snarled. “It's Feng Xin. Can you seriously tell me he's lain with a woman since his first disaster?” 

Pei Ming opened his mouth to answer, but was quickly interrupted.

“Why are we even discussing this anyway—you mentioned that Dianxia and the Crimson Brat bound their own souls? It's not just a spell that Crimson Rain invented?” he asked quickly, obviously attempting to divert the conversation back to its original topic. 

“You were the one to bring him up,” Pei Ming pointed out, not even contemplating saving Xuan Zhen any face.

While he sputtered, making sounds that weren't even close to a human language, Ling Wen spoke over him, “You’ve never mentioned a forced connection before. Is it possible?” 

Pei Ming snorted. “Before seeing the clear string between those two? I wouldn't have said so. Upon meeting Taizi Dianxia? Well, he was unbound during the trial.”

Ling Wen hummed thoughtfully. 

Mu Qing made a noise of exasperated disgust. “It's that spell.”

Pei Ming arched a brow. “Oh?”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, one arm crossed over his chest while the other gave a dismissive wave. “While on Mount Tong’lu the first time, Hua Cheng used a spell that bound a red string around their fingers so they could find each other again if they separated.” 

Pei Ming hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that would have done it. The two of them had already been drawn to the other to an unnatural degree. That spell would have fortified a bond that had been attempting to form.”

“Ugh, never tell them that; Hua Cheng would be so smug. He’s already insufferable—don’t make him worse,” Mu Qing complained. 

Pei Ming laughed. “But doesn’t Dianxia deserve to know?” he teased.

Mu Qing’s nose scrunched, and his lip curled. “No. He's just as bad.”

The original two tumours burst out into laughter. Pei Ming didn’t even try to hide his braying guffaws while Ling Wen sniggered into her cup, letting the vessel muffle the sound slightly. He still heard it. 

Mu Qing huffed and bore their amusement with ill grace. He had gotten a lot better at recognizing when people were laughing with him instead of at him, but it still made his skin prick, and he had to force his hackles to lie flat. Neither Pei Ming nor Ling Wen was out to get him. Both of them were powerful enough with the large expanse of their domains. Pei Ming, with the wide, treacherous North, and Ling Wen were only just finishing up her century of community service for her actions during the civil war.

Not that it really could be considered a war, it had been closer to a series of battles and a period of unrest as they overthrew an undesirable monarch. An uprising, a coup.

Regardless, Ling Wen had been thankful for his help following the fall and the preceding gruelling task of returning Heaven to the skies and repairing all the damage. She's even said that his ability to crunch numbers accurately was passable for a Martial God.

High praise from the top Civil Goddess.

For Pei Ming, Mu Qing had always been on good terms with him. After Mu Qing’s ascension, he had also been a new general. After hearing the unsavoury rumours about the loose man, he hadn’t expected any kind of camaraderie—bracing for the exact opposite. Pei Ming had shocked him by respecting him and his vows, even if he didn’t understand them. Mu Qing only had to tell him once to stop any comments. Plus, the older man had never belittled him for his origins, having unsavoury roots himself. He hadn’t been a nobleborn, like Mu Qing assumed. He’d been the least favoured shu-son in a large family. He’d had to fight for his status as much as Mu Qing. 

After the upheaval, it had been easy to fall back into easy step with him as they worked to calm the unrest in the mortal plane.

“As for why I thought you knew about them…” Pei Ming said once he got his laughter under control, “can't you guess why?”

Mu Qing frowned. “No? Why would I know that? I'm celibate.”

Ling Wen eyed him. He didn't like the arch of her brow or the spark in her irises. It practically screamed, ‘I am seriously reconsidering your intelligence.’

He saw her wear that face often, very rarely directed at him. Normally, it was for new deputies or upper court officials who had just voiced a dumbass opinion. The few times it had been pointed at him, he had another stupid fight with Feng Xin.

“Being celibate doesn't forbid you from romance, just sexual pleasure,” Pei Ming pointed out dryly. His eyebrows were raised, and an odd, quirked smile tugged at his mouth. It gave Mu Qing the impression of a cat batting at a particularly stupid mouse. 

Mu Qing frowned. He did not like where this was going or the feeling that he was missing something obvious. “Well, no,” he agreed slowly, “but I'm not in any kind of relationship. I think I would know if I was.”

Ling Wen pursed her lips while Pei Ming raised his eyes to the starry sky in a prayer for patience.

“What?” Mu Qing barked, something uncomfortable burrowing under his skin. He was missing something and he hated it. He'd always been a few steps behind everyone else when it came to interpersonal relationships, which had been one of the reasons why he distanced himself from others for centuries. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Pei Ming placated, hands raised. 

Mu Qing's eye twitched. He didn't believe that for a second. 

He was proven right after a beat of silence. Pei Ming continued in a gentle probing voice, “You really can't think of anyone whom you might be tied to? Anyone who's been constantly by your side?”

Unwanted, Feng Xin's face popped into his head, his rival's normal frown firmly in place. Thick brows were scrunched low over melted caramel eyes, his gaze burning with loathing. His light brown hair was tied back as it always was with that yellow talisman ribbon, but had a lock or two escaping to frame his sharp cheekbones.

“No,” Mu Qing said shortly, hastily punting that thought away before it could fully form. There was just no way—it wasn't possible. 

“Well, that's funny,” Pei Ming said slowly, leaning towards him and resting his elbow on the table to prop his chin out with a hand, “not a single idea?”

“Pei Ming…” he warned. He didn't want the older god to say it. Then it would become real. He could pretend if only it had never been spoken of.

For once, the other General ignored his hissing, reaching out with his other hand to grasp something that Mu Qing couldn't see. His thicker, sword-callused fingers closed around something close to Mu Qing's left hand. 

He tugged gently, and Mu Qing felt it. It was an odd sensation, like someone had taken hold of the sinew in his heart and sent a vibration through. He choked on the feeling, even if it didn't hurt. The taste of lychee sat heavily on his tongue, the flavour blooming from nowhere. It made him think of another long-buried memory, of a rare civil moment between him and Feng Xin while they took the night watch during the year that Xie Lian travelled across XianLe.

Feng Xin had been given a basket full for his efforts in saving the villagers while their prince fought off the demon. It had come from a particularly red-faced maiden, a sweet smile on her face. Mu Qing remembered teasing Feng Xin for how stiffly he took them before basically running away. He hadn’t expected to get any, so he'd been surprised when Feng Xin placed it between them.

It had been a single moment of calmness in an otherwise frantic year of travel and night hunting.

Mu Qing had always associated the taste of lychee with Feng Xin after that.

“Why do you deny it?” Pei Ming asked softly, drawing his attention back to their conversation. “You know there's only been one person who can claim that spot.”

Without his conscious consent, Mu Qing glanced back towards Feng Xin.

Who was glaring at him. 

The goddess was still sitting beside him, a faint blush on her cheeks, but Feng Xin was no longer looking at her. Somehow, his attention had been pulled from everyone else and had settled on the Tumours.

Locking eyes with his counterpart, Mu Qing shivered. It was like looking at a raging forest fire, the golden brown hue of his eyes reflecting the lantern lights. Mu Qing was all too familiar with that inferno, having been burned frequently. Tearing his gaze away quickly, he gritted his teeth.

“No,” he denied hotly.

Ling Wen sighed while Pei Ming eased off, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“No,” Mu Qing snarled again, putting more force into the word. He slammed his hand on the table with enough force to rattle the dishware still on the table from their feast. “Someone cannot be tied to my soul—it’s not possible.”

“Wha…” Pei Ming blinked, leaning back as genuine shock blew his eyes wide. “Qingmei, why are you—”

“No! Enough of this farce!” Mu Qing spat, interrupting him. He couldn’t hear what Pei Ming was going to say. He couldn’t accept that he might be telling the truth. “I am not, and will never, be tied to someone. I can’t be.”

With that, he shoved away from the table, marching out of the banquet and into the dark of the Heavenly Capital at night. He heard the other two tumours call after him, but he ignored them, something tight and sharp coiling in his chest.

He’d never thought that Pei Ming would be able to speak such casual cruelty. It was just another thing that he was wrong about. 

But what if he was telling the truth? 

Mu Qing shoved that thought down, deep into the crevices of his chained heart. He kept it there, under lock and key, where it would never see the light of day. Right beside the love he had kept hidden and safe for almost a millennium.

Watching General Xuan Zhen, a peerless beauty among immortals, walk away in a huff, Pei Ming could admit that he hadn’t expected that.

“You’re losing your touch, Ol’ Pei,” Ling Wen stated. She sighed and sat back in her chair, and rubbed her temples. “You had to provoke him, didn’t you? This is going to be painful. If they destroy more infrastructure, I’m giving you half of the bill,” she added spitefully.

“Hey! That’s a bit drastic,” Pei Ming protested. At her look, he shrugged. “Those two would find something to fight about even if I hadn’t poked the sleeping dragon.”

“While that is true, you know that they are far worse when Mu Qing is antagonized; don’t pretend ignorance,” she scolded. She could already picture the damage that they would wreak.

Pei Ming opened his mouth, about to further protest his culpability for any future property damage, when another voice spoke over him.

“What the fuck did you say to him?”

In unison, Pei Ming and Ling Wen look up to see Nan Yang Jiangjun standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest. The downwards slant to his brows made his glower particularly dark. He was finely dressed as they all were, his burgundy robes shimmering in the warm lantern lights.

Oh ho, Pei Ming thought, inwardly smirking. 

Maybe hope for their Southern Gods wasn’t all lost.

Outside of the lantern-lit banquet hall, the Heavenly Capital was quiet, awash with the silver glow of moonlight. Mu Qing maintained a brisk pace down the smooth cobblestone until he turned off the Avenue of Divine Might, slowing when he was sure that no one was following him. 

He almost stopped at the entrance of the side street, a deeply buried hope that someone would chase after him stalling his steps. Resolutely, he pushed down the fanciful whim and continued on to his palace. 

He only relaxed within the familiar marble walls. The grand doors shutting behind him, Mu Qing sighed, slumping against the iron-enforced wooden gates. Shoulders hunching, he scrubbed a hand on his cheek, his palm slowly migrating upwards until he had covered his eyes. He allowed himself the single moment to grieve what he didn't have, before he shoved it down and back into the battered cage that was his heart—a weak, bleeding thing trapped within cold iron bars.

Inhaling deeply, he dropped his hand and pushed away, heading deeper into his palace. Coming to a juncture, he almost moved towards his study and to the reports that he had put off in favour of the festival. That duty almost won, submitting to the crutch that he was burying himself with work to avoid thinking too deeply about things that stung.

Yet, he found himself venturing the opposite way and out onto the flat stone path that wound its way through his personal garden. Warm, dim lanterns glowed on either side of the path, little stone structures housing the flames just bright enough to light the walkway. Although he could have traversed it easily without the aid. 

Soon, the stone path brought him to a small bridge, and he climbed the minute incline up onto the wooden pavilion, the structure resting in the middle of a large lotus pond. The flowers themselves glowed with an inner luminescence, looking like stylized stars trapped on the water’s surface. Marble coloured koi swam under the large leaves, their multicoloured scales flittering in and out of sight. 

A soft breeze drifted across the open water, rustling the nearby trees as well as the bamboo wind chime that was hanging from one of the pavilion’s awnings. 

The whole place was serene, a calm oasis from the daily chaos that came with being an Upper Court Cardinal Martial God. 

He stood at the edge of the pavilion, taking a deep breath. The smell of lotus and clean air filled his senses, clear and calming. He settled himself on the railing, half sitting on the treated wood. 

He had almost put the whole affair behind him when Pei Ming's voice echoed in his head.

"Why do you deny it?"

Mu Qing flinched at the memory, closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to block it out. "Shut up," he hissed, nails digging into his palms. "I don't need this. I don't need you."

The memory of the look on Pei Ming's face mocked him. The gentle understanding. The impish smirk which turned to pity. The man could never understand not being with someone, even if that moment was as fleeting as a sunset. 

Mu Qing opened his eyes, staring out at the moonlit pond. "I don't need anyone," he insisted, as if speaking aloud would make it true.

“Oi, why did you run off like that?”

Mu Qing jerked, looking up to see the last person he wanted to see climb up the short steps and join him under the pavilion’s roof. 

“Feng Xin. What are you doing here? How did you get in without my notice?” he demanded, shooting his rival—his other half—a glare. He quickly covered his startled reaction with his usual aloof mask, even if pulling it to the forefront felt so much harder with his emotions in disorder. Still, he made the effort to tilt his head hauntingly while giving in to the need to cross his arms over his chest. Thankfully, it was a normal way for him to stand, so it didn’t belie how he felt like broken poetry left across a stone floor. 

“You ran off,” Feng Xin answered his first question without hesitation, the look on his face implying that he was questioning Mu Qing’s mental faculties for even asking that. “And I’m not telling you shit. I know you have secret ways into my palace, too.”

Mu Qing’s eye twitched. Fuck he hated it when Feng Xin was right. Worse, when he also called Mu Qing out on his bullshit. 

He scoffed and looked back out to the calmness of his moonlit pond. "What do you want, General?”

“Don’t pull that shit, Mu Qing. You know why I’m here,” Feng Xin retorted, coming closer so he was standing a sword's length away from him. Well, a normal sword—not his Zhanmadao, which was longer than Mu Qing was tall. He mirrored Mu Qing’s pose, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wooden post. Even without his armour, instead clad in regal formal attire, his well-defined archer shoulders were broader than Mu Qing’s own slimmer build. 

He took all that in with a quick glance at his rival, eyes flicking up and down Feng Xin’s body before returning his gaze to the scenery and away from those warm, honey coloured eyes. 

“Do I? I wouldn’t say that. This is far away from the banquet, Ju Yang Jiang-jun. Don’t you have maidens to teach how to properly pleasure themselves?" Mu Qing teased, a smirk curling on his face. 

The glare he got in response was well worth it. Feng Xin’s cheeks had darkened and he looked like he wanted to cuss Mu Qing out. “How come you’re the vulgar one between us while also being the one with vows of abstinence?” he grumbled finally. 

Mu Qing shrugged, but frowned. Why hadn’t he blustered and yelled? The Feng Xin of the past would have blown up at him, yelling about shamelessness and storming off in a huff. Or throw a punch for the insult. 

He needed that reaction. He didn’t think he could weather Feng Xin’s company with his dignity intact if he stayed, not in the current mental state he was in. 

When Mu Qing didn’t answer, Feng Xin sighed. “What did Ming Guang say to you?”

Startled, Mu Qing turned his hand to fully look at him. “Why do you think Pei Ming said something?”

Feng Xin’s already furrowed brows lowered further. His lips pressed into a displeased line. “You use his birth name?”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “We use each other’s birth names, Feng Xin, it’s not that weird.”

“Yeah, because we knew each other by those names before.”

“That’s funny,” Mu Qing sneered before he could stop himself. “I thought my name then was ‘servant’ or ‘traitor’. You’ve had no trouble calling me those over the centuries.”

Feng Xin tensed, his back straightening from his relaxed slouch. His glare darkened, and he drew himself up so he was at attention. Mu Qing was abruptly reminded of the time his father, a General of the King’s army, had caught them goofing off in the training yard. It had been the first time he'd been thankful he hadn’t been born with the expectations that nobles were. Feng Xin hadn’t acted like he was talking to his baba—he was acting like he was being dressed down by a commanding soldier. 

“What the fuck, Mu Qing?” he growled low in his throat. 

Mu Qing curled his nails into the palm of his hand to contain the shiver that travelled down his spine at the gravel scraping against his nerves. Thankfully, he managed to keep his face smooth and unaffected. 

Unaware of his reason, Feng Xin continued, “Why do you have to twist every conversation we have? You’re the one who wants to be f-f-freinds, aren’t you? Why are you not putting any effort into being one?”

“Oh, like you’re so much better,” he snapped while Feng Xin’s words repeated in his head. 

“You’re the one that wants to be friends.”

You. Singular. 

“Nobody trusts you, Xuan Zhen.”

“Who would even want to be that man’s friend? He’s so cold, like a block of ice.”

“A fitting undesirable to replace the Water Tyrant as the Third Tumour.”

The nasty, slithering voices echoed in his ears, making his jaw clench. 

“You’re only talking to me because it makes Xie Lian happy,” he spat over the ghost of snide whispers. 

Feng Xin jerked out of his tense military alertness, shock opening up his whole body. 

Mu Qing wanted to punch that look off his face. How dare he look so disarmed at being caught. He hadn’t even been subtle. The jokes and judging comments when they were supposed to be getting along after the events of Mount Tong’lu.

Mu Qing had been hopeful after Feng Xin had saved him twice over, but…

Nothing had changed. He still felt like the third useless chariot wheel, one that was redundant and unneeded. Worse with Hua Cheng added to the mix. 

“Dianxia,” Feng Xin corrected sharply, like he always did.

Mu Qing blinked. He sneered. “My mistake—Taizi Dianxia.”

“No, that’s! Mu Qing, that’s not—”

“Shut up,” Mu Qing snarled, unwilling to put up with this farce for a moment longer. 

Pei Ming had been wrong. They might be tired together, but if their string was red and not a thick, heavy chain, it was the rusty hue of drying blood, old but with constant new appliances that kept it from turning a muddy brown. 

“You have made no effort to understand me, Feng Xin, let alone coexist in any manner that might be considered friendly,” he spat, fighting the urge to run away and instead using it to fuel the steps that took him forward and into his rival's space, leaning towards the source of all his heartache. If he couldn’t run, he would fight. 

He wanted a fight. Maybe that would calm the fire that was starting to burn under his skin. 

“That’s not true!” Feng Xin sputtered, his eyes wide. He stayed rooted in one place, even with Mu Qing well within punching distance. “On Mount Tong’lu—”

“You saved my life, yes,” Mu Qing cut in with a scoff and a wave of his hand. “You’ve brought that up multiple times, Nan Yang Jiang’jun, but tell me—would you have let Ling Wen fall if she had done the same?”

Feng Xin sputtered, completely baffled. “Wha—of course not! Mu Qing, what are you—”

“What about Pei Ming?”

“He can save himself,” Feng Xin pointed out sharply. He was glaring at Mu Qing, obviously displeased with the question. 

“Of course he could, but if he had been injured like I had been? Would you leave him to burn to ashes?” he pressed, sharply jabbing a finger against Feng Xin’s chest. He had crowded him so far against the post that their noses were a scant distance away from each other, eyes locked as if the world around them didn’t exist. 

Feng Xin’s teeth audibly ground together. “Of course not. He’s our comrade. Mu Qing—”

“Then it is hardly the proof of friendship you wield it as,” he cut him off again, unwilling to let him speak. He remembered all too well the berating tirades that he had been forced to endure while this man—boy at the time—had higher status than himself, unable to voice any true grievances. As the servant, it had been his duty to listen and correct his behaviour, not the other way around. 

Feng Xin opened and closed his mouth, brows furrowed low over his eyes. His head tilted slightly to the side, as if looking at Mu Qing from a different angle would make him understand. 

Mu Qing waited, eyes half lidded as he let Feng Xin try and figure out how to respond.

“That’s—it’s different,” he protested after a long moment.

Mu Qing was viciously disappointed. That’s what he came up with?

“How?” he snapped, throwing up his hands. “You’d save a squirrel if it were drowning! How is it different?” He wasn’t even being hyperbolic; he had actually witnessed this ridiculous man save woodland animals from a flash flood before. Mu Qing wouldn’t have. Everything died at some point, be it the days that a silkmoth would stagger through after emerging from the chrysalis or the centuries that Gods lived. 

They all fell just as easily—in the blink of an eye. 

“It’s different,” Feng Xin insisted, hands curling into fists. “You’re different.”

Mu Qing stared at him. His gaze was level and inscrutable. 

Feng Xin grimaced, obviously realizing he had said something wrong. Something lacking. 

Shaking his head, Mu Qing rocked back on his heels, pulling away. “So saving my life is somehow an outlier?” he asked. The rustling leaves made more sound than his question, his voice soft yet loud in the quiet of his private garden. 

 Feng Xin reached for him, but Mu Qing stepped out of reach. Sensing that was the wrong way to go about it, he let his arm fall. Sighing, he scrunched his nose like he had smelled something foul, and his mouth pulled to the side. Was it in disgust? Mu Qing couldn’t tell.

“...Yes?” he finally hesitantly said.

Inhaling deeply and slowly, Mu Qing closed his eyes. 

He couldn’t do this. 

He could deal with hovering on the outside of social gatherings—he wasn’t very social to begin with. He could deal with being everyone’s second or third choice—he’d never been chosen for who he was by a peer anyway. (Xie Lian lifting him out of the mud didn’t count. The prince picked him for his martial abilities, not for his company.)

He could not deal with Feng Xin trampling over his heart while it had already been torn open. Saving his life was somehow more extraordinary than saving anyone else. 

Because anyone would have saved them, not Mu Qing. 

“You saw yourself in, Nan Yang Jiang-jun, you can see yourself out,” Mu Qing said finally. His small voice loud in the quiet that had stagnated between them. 

Feng Xin’s eyes widened, his lips parting. “What? Mu Qing, what’s wrong?”

“I will not repeat myself, Jiang-jun,” was the monotone answer as Mu Qing retreated further. 

“Mu Qing, would you fucking wait!”

He would not. 

With quick, long strides, Mu Qing exited his pavilion and headed back into the expanse of his garden. Although the two of them were the same height, Mu Qing’s legs were longer, so he easily outpaced him. He knew he only had a short while before Feng Xin ran to catch up with him, so he activated an array token he kept on his person. Instantly, the scenery around him bent and twisted, giving the impression that there were paths where there weren't. For an outsider, his whole palace would be a confusing winding loop of never-ending paths and hallways. 

Having a Xuan Zhen Palace token in his possession, Mu Qing could easily see the proper way to go, the smooth jade Azalea allowing him to see through the maze array. He had gifted a personalized one to each of his deputies—choosing that flower so those who held it would always know that his Palace could be a home.

He had been within the walls of a besieged palace once before and had not cared for the experience. No one would be entering his home without his say-so. 

Never again would he allow his home to fall to invaders. 

He would build his walls high and covered in thorns if that’s what it took to protect himself and those that were his to protect.

Nan Yang Jiang-Jun was lost within the maze array for half a shichen before the Xuan Zhen Palace spat him out at the front gates.

“Well,” Nángōng Jīe, more commonly known as her title, Líng Wén Zhēn-Jūn, said slowly, looking at the backs of the two southern generals as they walked in opposite directions, “that didn’t go as you planned.” They had just finished the first meeting of the New Year, an important one where they go over their plans for the following Zodiac cycle. It only occurred in the twelfth year, every time Suìxīng (the Year Star) had returned to its original place in the sky and the Rat had returned to the mortals' calendar.

Xuan Zhen Jiang-Jun and Nan Yang Jiang-jun had been silent throughout the whole thing, when normally Mu Qing would have much to say about the state of the South and the borders surrounding his territory. Nan Yang wouldn’t be shy about snipping back.

This time, they had been silent, although Nan Yang had been shooting looks at Mu Qing, a crease between his brows and a pinched countenance to the rest of his face. 

Lao Pei, who was standing with his head against the nearest wall, groaned. “How are they this dumb?”

“Is water wet?” Nángōng Jīe inquired dryly.

“Shut up. You saw Nan Yang’s face as much as I did. He feels the string—they both do. I don’t understand how they are mixing up the blessing so poorly,” Pei Ming lamented with a great deal of dramatics.

Nángōng Jīe rolled her eyes at his tone. Any more strain and he would have been whining. “If eight hundred years of forced cohabitation didn’t spark something, why did you think that sending Nan Yang after Mu Qing once would do anything? You know what he’s like.”

Pei Ming sighed heavily and stood up straight. Nángōng Jīe saw the red mark on his brow where he had slammed it against the wall. She wasn’t going to tell him it was there. If he wanted to do stupid things in the name of pointless dramatics, he could suffer the consequences. 

“Because they have been gentler with each other since the Fall. I had hoped that it was enough to give Qing-mei a simple push,” Pei Ming admitted, his head turning in the direction of the Xuan Zhen Palace. “Their stirring is so frayed and tangled, Nobel Jie. I would prefer not to see it snap altogether.”

She arched a brow. “Is that possible?”

“I have seen it happen before,” he admitted, “But the effort to make that happen…I do not expect that to happen between our Southern Generals.”

No, nor would she, and not only because it would make working with them a great deal more painful. “What else is there to be done? You know what they are like just as well as I; they are not going to figure it out on their own. 

Pei Ming mulled that over with a thoughtful bit to his head. Objectively, she could see why he was able to seduce the amount of women that he has. The morning sun caught his normally brown eyes in such a way that it turned them auburn in the light. 

He was handsome…

A pity he couldn’t say no to any well-endowed woman he came across. 

Although it was funny to watch him turn into a stuttering mess every time the Rain Master came back to the Capitol.

“Perhaps…” her friend said after a long moment, tapping a finger to his lip, “something more drastic is needed…”

Nángōng Jīe smirked at the gleam in his gaze. This should be interesting. 

“You want us to do…what?” Mu Qing asked flatly. Beside him, Feng Xin made a noise of agreement. Despite standing so close to him, Mu Qing refused to look at his rival, still agitated by the information that Pei Ming had given him.

Even a month later.

Ling Wen, seated behind her desk, regarded him tiredly. “You heard me perfectly well, Xuan Zhen. I will not repeat myself.”

Mu Qing glared at her. She was well aware of what he meant; he knew. He didn’t want a repetition; he wanted an explanation. “Why are you sending two Upper Court Martial Gods to retrieve an artifact that any deputy could fetch? We have far more important things to do than to be sent out on simple retrieval quests.”

“That would be true if this were a simple task,” Ling Wen responded dryly.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. Even if this meeting in Ling Wen’s office was technically 'official business,’ he was comfortable enough with her to show some sass.

Her lips quirked in an amused half-smirk before her expression smoothed out again. “I do not jest, Xuan Zhen Jiang-jun; the artifact in question is guarded by a curse. One that would be severely problematic to any official below your skill level.”

Mu Qing paused. His shoulders loosened, and he uncrossed his arms. He would never admit it himself, but well-meaning flattery would often soften him to things he would otherwise rebuke immediately. 

“A curse?” Feng Xin prompted. “Of what nature?”

Mu QIng tensed again at the sound of his voice. While the mission was starting to sound less like a milk errand, he still didn’t understand why they were both going. 

“A sleep curse. A strong one,” she added when she caught both of their scowls. “Out of the three deputies I sent to investigate, only one returned awake, dragging the other two. They are yet to awaken.”

“And how long has it been?” Mu Qing inquired. 

“A fortnight.”

He hummed while Feng Xin whistled. That was a powerful curse, if it was able to keep middle court officials asleep for two weeks. 

“Alright,” he said after a moment of thought. “Why this artifact? What’s the lore surrounding it?”

Ling Wen’s eyes glinted, knowing she had won. They were duty-bound to follow her missions, since they came from the new High Council, but that didn’t mean he was interested in all of them. Since becoming friends with the top Civil Goddess, they had made a game of giving each other tasks that would amuse or challenge the other. So far, Ling Wen has been winning since she made being unimpressed with life her goal. 

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. She hadn’t won yet; she had no reason to be so smug.

“Roughly three centuries ago, there was a prince who commissioned a cultivator to create him an item that would help him find and keep something precious to him. The legends vary on what this item was exactly: a bell, a sword tassel, or any other small, common object. It matters not—the fact that it worked does.

“Soon after obtaining the object, the prince found what he was searching for. It is unclear what it was, but it led him to a commoner's hut. Inside was a beautiful young woman. After a short courtship, he married her, making her his future Queen.”

Mu Qing wrinkled his nose and scoffed loudly.

Feng Xin scowled, confused. “Why are you angry? Wouldn’t you be happy for her? She wouldn’t have had to worry about food or shelter anymore.”

Mu Qing sneered. “No, she would have had to worry about poison in her cup, instead.”

Feng Xin blinked, shifting back on his heels. “You don’t know that—”

“Ling Wen, was she chosen over any other women in the Palace Harem?” Mu Qing interrupted, his voice curt.

She nodded once.

“Then I do know,” Mu Qing snapped. “You might have ascended for your military might, but you are woefully lacking when it comes to the inner workings of a court and its harem’s politics."

Feng Xin’s brows furrowed. “But it’s better than starving.”

Mu Qing scoffed again and rolled his eyes. 

“You—”

“Generals,” Ling Wen interjected before any argument could break out. Attention returned to her; she tipped her head towards Mu QIng. “Xuan Zhen is correct, I’m afraid.”

Feng Xin scowled while Mu Qing smirked. It didn’t last when Ling Wen continued, his countenance turning sombre. 

“The nobles of the court were not happy that a peasant girl, with no noble blood—not even illegitimately—would be on the throne over the daughters of the gentry. The tales of how she fared within the palace walls were muddied by the smear campaigns, so we are unaware of how she acclimated to her new lifestyle, but the end result doesn’t change.”

“She was killed,” Mu QIng predicted in a flat voice.

Ling Wen’s chin dipped into a nod. “One of the King’s concubines accused her of slipping poison into her tea, one that would kill an unborn child. She had recently given birth to a stillborn son.”

Mu Qing clicked his tongue, unsurprised.

Feng Xin glared down at his boots.

“It is unclear if she did it, or even if the baby was poisoned or not. It didn’t matter to the King. Already displeased with his son, he ordered the execution of the peasant girl. Heartbroken, the prince attacked his father. They ended up killing each other.”

“Fuck,” Feng Xin muttered, closing his eyes in something close to pain.

“I remember this,” Mu Qing muttered. “I never heard the specifics, but didn’t the kingdom fall into ruin?”

Ling Wen nodded. “The only other male heir was a nine-year-old child. The regents fought over everything and were so preoccupied with their power grabs that they didn’t notice the neighbouring kingdom eyeing their lands and resources. It was an easy victory.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes again. The stupidity and greed of mortals would never change. 

Feng Xin, in contrast, looked disappointed. “And the artifact?” he asked, bringing the conversation back on task.

“One of the conquering generals found it, coincidentally, when a concubine was attempting to destroy it. Since it was made by a near-immortal, it was impossible for her, a mortal. Unaware of what he had picked up, the general took it with him. Soon after, he started acting odd, searching for something he couldn’t explain. It led to him declaring affections for the wife of a fellow general, demanding a due for her hand. He won, and he won his desired bride. He was overjoyed, declaring that they were fated and his triumph was ordained by Heaven.”

Mu Qing pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “She killed him, didn’t she?”

Ling Wen snorted without amusement. “In his sleep.”

Feng Xin scowled darkly. “Why didn’t she fight him herself? That would have been more honourable.”

Mu Qing shot him an incredulous look, his teeth bared in a sneer.

“What?” Feng Xin demanded. “You think she couldn’t have? The Rain Master could kick our asses if we did something so selfish and moronic.”

“The Rain Master doesn’t have a husband, you idiot. Do you even want to marry her?” Mu Qing demanded. 

“What? No, I’m just saying.”

“While that may be true—the Rain Master being able to avenge herself in battle,” Ling Wen said with amusement, “this Lady was not a fighter. Not in the way some of the more martially inclined goddesses are.”

Feng Xin didn’t look happy, but he conceded the point.

“The artifact would proceed to exchange many hands. Some tales were happy, while others followed the doomed path of those that came before. When word came to us about a century after its creation, it had already vanished. All we could determine was that the mother of the last known victim had ‘taken care of it’. We could not discern where she had taken it or what she did. However, last year, we found stories of a ‘female cultivator’ hiding something in the Hēi Xī valley that could help you find what you desire most.”

“Hēi Xī valley? Mu Qing echoed. “That’s in my territory. How did something from the North move so far south?”

Ling Wen shrugged, rolling up her scroll. “According to the stories, it changed hands many times."

That was fair.

“Why can’t we leave it where it is then?” Mu QIng asked. “If it hasn’t caused problems in over a century.”

“Because it is causing problems, or the curse is. The son of a magistrate was dared to enter the cave it is hidden in as a test of courage. He’s been asleep for a month. Your task is twofold: break the curse, which will wake all who suffer under it and bring back the artifact so it can’t hurt anyone else,” she ordered. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the Southern Gods said together. They saluted their farewell and left.

Chapter Text

“This is the place?” Feng Xin asked, scowling as he looked down at the gorge, where a fast-moving waterfall was flowing into. Far below was a narrow river that disappeared into the surrounding forest. 

“Yes.” Mu Qing scowled, eyeing the water with distaste. Somehow, he already knew that he would be getting wet. He had no logical reason to think that, but he knew it to be true. 

“Fuck. That’s not a creek, that’s a waterfall,” Feng Xin grumbled.

“Well spotted,” Mu Qing snarked, unable to help himself. “Are you going to declare the colour of the sky next?”

“Maybe, if the sky turns green or something,” Feng Xin shot back quickly. 

Mu Qing snapped his head back to see Feng Xin’s face. It was mostly guarded but open just enough to show the tentative hope and slight smile. Was that…relief in his eyes? For what?

Then he realized that was the most he’d said to Feng Xin outside of mission briefings since their argument. 

Mu Qing was abruptly reminded of the insinuation that no one else would attempt to save his life, that Feng Xin’s reckless dive down to the surface of an active lava pool was an outlier and not the rule. 

“I’m the only one you can trust to keep you safe, Xuan Zhen. No one else would believe you,” Jun Wu’s poisonous but smooth voice echoed in the back of his mind. 

Mu Qing cursed the memory out with foul gutter cant that he learned in the deep shadows of the Xianle Palace. 

He couldn’t think about it. 

“The cave is in the canyon,” he said, turning away from Feng Xin. He didn't want to see his face anymore. He heard an inhale as Feng Xin prepared to speak, but Mu Qing was already moving. He leapt from the cliff edge, his robes fluttering around him. 

“Fucking—” Feng Xin muttered behind him, but the rest of what he said was stolen by the rush of air as Mu Qing fell out of earshot. Manipulating his qi, his plummet slowed until he was as light as a feather drifting on the wind. He landed gently on one of the jagged rocks jutting out of the river. 

Feng Xin was right, ‘creek’ was a misnomer, probably christened centuries before, when that was all it had been. Since then, the amount of water had multiplied so much that it had turned into a small river. The water rushed past him, the speed due to the amount falling from the cliff four stories above. 

Febng Xin’s descent was far less graceful, the brute landing in the water with a splash. It came up to his thighs. Mu Qing flicked water off his sleeve, miffed that he had gotten wet. Normally, he would make a snide comment about brutes and discourteous behaviour. From the expectant look on Feng Xin’s face, he certainly thought he would say something. 

Well, Mu Qing would have to disappoint him. 

Face set in a smooth mask, he turned away from his rival and focused on the cascading water. The brief that Ling Wen gave them indicated that the cave was behind it, situated quite a bit above the ground. Likely, it had once been level with the shore, but erosion had eaten away at the stone, lowering the river deeper into the earth. 

Trusting that Feng Xin would follow him, he made his way over to the falls, using qi in a frivolous way to keep himself dry. Feng Xin sloshed after him, both easily leaping up into the elevated cave. 

Once again on solid, albeit damp, ground, Mu Qing glanced at Feng Xin and had to bite back a snicker. 

He looked like a drowned rat, hair wet and plastered to his brow from going under the waterfall without shielding himself. 

Catching his look, Feng Xin scowled, except it was closer to a pout. “Shut up,” he grumbled, shaking his head to make water fly everywhere like a dog. 

Mu Qing rolled his eyes and continued down the cave passageway. According to the villager’s account and Ling Wen’s deputy’s mission reports, they shouldn’t encounter the curse until they had been walking for a short time. As they made their way farther in, the small amount of light filtering through the waterfall faded to the point of near blackness. Without a word, Feng Xin lifted a hand and produced a palm torch, casting orange light on the cave walls. 

Mu Qing glanced back at him but said nothing. Walking further in, he recognized when they started getting closer to the source. Not because he felt the curse try to take hold of him. No, the piles of skeletons littered around, most curled around themselves, were a much bigger clue. Giving them a quick glance, Mu Qing determined that most of them were animalia, with one or two humans. 

After training himself to notice everything relevant to cases and gathering information, he noticed that one of the human’s legs was broken. 

Feng Xin exhaled, the sound distantly disappointed. A glance told Mu Qing that his rival had seen it too. “Poor bastard. He must have fallen in here, then couldn’t get back out. The curse must have been a relief. ”

Mu Qing silently agreed but didn’t bother responding. He walked ahead and past the remains, careful not to tread on anything. The moment the curse tried to latch onto them was obvious. Mu Qing would have noticed even if he hadn’t been on the lookout. It was subtle, a gentle prod at the back of his mind, trying to convince him that he was tired, that it would be nice to lie down and rest, just for a moment. Didn’t his eyes feel heavy? Why not rest them?

Behind him, Feng Xin yawned. 

Unable to help himself, Mu Qing scoffed. “Really? You’re letting a stupid little curse like this affect you?”

“Shut the fuck up, I haven’t slept in a week,” Feng Xin grumbled. 

Mu Qing blinked, momentarily forgetting he had been avoiding this idiot. “Why the fuck did you accept the mission if you haven’t slept?! You know, being tired makes you more susceptible to sleep curses!”

Feng Xin scowled and waved him off. “I’m not going to fall asleep, fuck. Why do you care anyway?” he demanded, irritated. 

Mu Qing withheld his flinch, but nonetheless, the comment succeeded in making him back off. Making a dismissive sound in his throat, Mu Qing turned away. 

“Gods dammit,” Feng Xin swore under his breath, then jogged to catch up with his fast march. “Mu Qing, I didn’t mean that; this curse is just making me crabby.”

Mu Qing didn’t listen. He stepped over the bones of other, smaller vertebrates that had long since rotted away to just bones and pieces of fresh and fur. Some looked to be intact, since any scavengers that entered the cave would suffer the same fate, but dried of any moisture and turned into husks of their former self. His steps on the stone echoed off the walls, bouncing quite far into the earth.

Just how deep does it go?

Suddenly, something else reached his ears, and he stopped. He tilted his head to the side to hear better.

“What is it?” Feng Xin asked quietly, stopping at his elbow. 

“Do you hear that?” Mu Qing inquired. 

“The snoring? Yeah, can’t really miss it.”

“The what? No. You’re hearing people snoring?” Mu Qing demanded, turning to look at him incredulously. 

Feng Xin shrugged. “Yeah. Like the guys back in XianLe's military barracks. I just figured it’s the curse playing tricks on us.”

Mu Qing stared at him. 

Feng Xin frowned. “What do you hear?”

Without answering, Mu Qing spun on his heels and continued, this time with a swiftness that was fueled by a simmering wrath.

No, he didn’t hear what Feng Xin did. Instead, it was the soft, lilting voice of a woman singing a lullaby. A voice he had forgotten. 

Or thought he had. 

His mother’s voice crooned, soft and gentle. He started to remember her cadence, while the words were still etched into his heart. He could still see her in his mind's eye, but only because he had commissioned someone to paint her portrait the moment that he’d felt the image of her visage slipping away, but he hadn’t been able to do anything for the sound of her voice. 

“You beautify the lovely flower of our soul/ today we grow under the sunlight/ tomorrow we will create a colourful world,” the imitation of his mother sang, inciting his rage further. 

How dare this curse use his mother’s voice like this? He may have forgotten the way she spoke, strangely eloquent for a slum dweller, but he cherished every memory he had of her. For it to be used against him like this…

He would revel in tearing this curse apart. 

Feng Xin scrambled to follow his increased speed, demanding to know what was wrong. 

Mu Qing didn’t answer him. 

Following the natural bend in the passageway, he led them into a larger chamber, one with a body laid out in the center. The body was placed in the center, each limb stretched in different directions by glowing red chains. They weren’t golden, so they weren’t Heavenly Shackles, but something was clearly powering them. At the back, the chains were also wrapped around a chest. 

It was clear that the man’s body was the focus of the curse and the lock to keep the chest shut. Inferring that, Mu Qing ignored the box and returned his attention to the center. 

Strangely, the man’s body hadn’t decomposed in the same way as those closer to the entrance had. Mu Qing was reminded of the funeral practices he’d heard about of the People of the Black Lands, embalming their dead with preservation fluids before wrapping them in linen. This man appeared like how he had pictured what the end result would have looked like. 

Sunken gray skin stretched over bones, appearing brittle and dry. His hair had been shorn close to his head, the cut pieces tossed around him carelessly. The clothes he was wearing were of good quality, but his brocade had been ripped open to show his chest. His ribs were clearly visible, the skin tight to each bone. Markings had been carved into his skin, writing in a script he didn’t recognize. His eyes were wide open in horror, and there was a terracotta figurine shoved into his mouth. 

Feng Xin’s whistle was loud in the small space, echoing off the stone walls. “This guy really pissed someone off.”

Mu Qing grunted in agreement, his teeth clenched tightly. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He wanted to summon Zhanmadao and shove it into the man’s empty chest cavity. 

Clearly, this bastard was the focus of the curse; the thing powering it. He couldn't just stab it and be done with it; there would likely be some kind of defences.

Hovering a hand over the markings on the chest, Mu Qing sent a pulse of qi into it. Nothing damaging, but it should tell him what kind of curse it was. 

In response, the writing glowed brighter. 

Mu Qing’s lip curled, and he sent out another blast. This one was offensive, and the man’s chest cavity caved in. 

The body lurched and screamed, writhing in its chains. The body wasn’t still alive; he knew this, but the soul was still very much there. Mu Qing had abruptly freed it from its cage, shattering the little figurine, and the chains dimmed and rusted in seconds. 

“Whoa, what the fuck! There are other ways to destroy the curse!” Feng Xin scolded, reaching out to grab his arm. 

Mu Qing roughly shook him off. “They would take too long, and I don’t think this man deserves such mercies,” he snarled, the lullaby cutting off with the scream. His heart lurched with the loss, and he wanted to cry. He wouldn’t. He hadn’t cried in centuries; he wasn’t going to start again now because he heard his mama’s voice. 

“How the hell do you know that?” Feng Xin demanded, crossing his arms disapprovingly over his chest. 

Mu Qing lifted his lip into a sneer. Before he could answer, the little ghost fire that had been trapped in the figurine lifted out of its shattered remains. 

“Oh, thank you, Young Masters! Thank you for saving me from that bitches curse!” The ghost fire's voice was that of a young man, arrogant and loud. 

Mu Qing tilted his head up and looked down his nose at it with utter loathing. 

Feng Xin saw his expression, his brows low over his eyes. Glancing at the little spirit, he asked, “Who did this to you?”

“My love's mother. She was crazy! Claiming that I had assaulted her daughter and married her unlawfully. I did no such thing! She belonged to me by the order of the Heavens! That woman had no reason to object.”

Feng Xin stared at it, not responding. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t pinpoint why, by the confused set to his face.

Mu Qing barked a mirthless laugh. “But you did defile someone you weren’t yet married to, didn’t you?”

“She was mine!” the ghost screamed, his fire flaring brightly. 

Mu Qing was unimpressed by the tantrum. In a split second, his hand snapped out and he caught the fire in a clawed grip, his bare hand clutching it tightly. Feng Xin jolted when smoke started to come off his skin, but Mu Qing spoke over any protests he voiced. 

“The woman who trapped him here left a message to whoever would break it. The curse was two-fold: a deterrent and a prison. As we assumed, the sleep curse was to stop anyone from reaching the artifact and an eternal sentence for this sick fuck. Trapped in his body, completely area as it rotted around him.”

“I didn’t deserve it!” the ghost cried, voice panicked as it squirmed in Mu Qing’s hold. 

“You raped a child!” Mu Qing roared. “She was twelve, you disgusting pile of chamber pot sludge! No ‘vision’ of a perceived Heavenly Ordained match justifies you taking advantage of a child. That woman was right to imprison you here,” Mu Qing declared, imperious and godly. By his tone, it was clear he was going to make everyone agree with him and flay those who disagreed. 

Feng Xin had heard enough. 

He moved without a world, bringing a sealing talisman out of his sleeve and slapped it onto the ghost fire. Instantly, the yellow paper wrapped around it into a tight ball, cutting off anything the soul was going to say. 

“Crimson Rain will have somewhere to put him,” he said, voice void of any inflection. 

He was livid.

Mu Qing hissed and tucked the now sealed soul into a pouch, unwilling to soil his hands with it for a moment longer. He was about to continue towards the chest when a hand caught his arm. 

“Let me go, Feng Xin,” Mu QIng said, voice quiet and soft.

“You’re hurt,” his rival stated. 

Mu Qing scoffed. “A ghost fire isn’t strong enough to hurt a God.”

“They are when you are pissed off and you squeeze one like you did,” he argued, gently turning over Mu Qing’s wrist so that his palm was turned upwards. 

Feng Xin was correct. The skin on Mu Qing’s palm was red and blistered, not unlike following the events of Mount Tong’lu

Mu Qing rolled his eyes and sent a burst of qi to the damaged area. Half of the reason that Mu Qing took so long to heal from those burns was that the cursed shackle had syphoned so much of his qi away, and he had none to heal himself with. Plus, the resentment from the lava monsters had been more concentrated and ancient compared to that pathetic soul. It wasn’t even comparable. 

He had long since returned to full power. 

The two of them watched as the skin on his palm lost the cherry red hue and the blisters faded to healthy paleness. He flexed his fingers once, showing the lack of pain.

“Happy now?” he snarled, yanking his hand free. 

“Estatic,” Feng Xin shot back. “Sorry about caring if you’re hurt or not.”

Mu Qing faltered for a moment, surprised, before he slammed his mask back into place. Making a dismissive sound, he stalked over to the chest he had ignored before. Closer to it now, he could see that it was made with thick wood, studs of iron keeping it together. Wrapped around it multiple times was the rusted remains of the chain. Kneeling, he broke it off easily, the metal disintegrating when he touched it. Brushing the flakes away, Mu Qing lifted the heavy lid. 

Sitting at the bottom, alone, was the artifact they were looking for. 

“A sword tassel?” Feng Xin asked, looking over his shoulder. 

Mu Qing made a sound of affirmation. “Ling Wen did say that was one of the options,” he said, taking a pair of long metal chopsticks out of his sleeve and gingerly picking the artifact up. 

Feng Xin leaned in closer as Mu Qing stood up, lifting his palm torch so that both of them could see it better. 

It did look like a sword tassel, a knotted length of looped cord with decorative beads, long flowing strands of thread at the bottom and a center piece that often acted as a counterweight to the sword it was tied to. However, instead of the normal jade or iron ring, there was a silver charity bell, tinkling softly in the quiet cavern. The cord itself seemed to be made out of red silk, with a faint shine to the fabric in the flickering firelight. 

“This is what ruined so many lives?” Feng Xin asked, skepticism dripping out of his mouth. “There’s nothing demonic about this thing.”

“Things do not have to be evil in nature for their actions to be unwittingly cruel,” Mu Qing responded in a cold tone. 

There was an uncomfortable silence that grew between them. The weight of centuries of hurled insults and biting remarks thick and heavy between them.

Feng Xin drew in a long breath. “Mu Qing, we cannot resolve anything if you keep running away.”

“What is there to resolve?” he shot back, sharp as a throwing knife and equally as piercing.

“Clearly, there’s something because you keep avoiding me,” he pointed out, crossing his free arm over his chest. He looked stupid, one arm held out to hold the light while the other was basically cradling his peck.

Mu Qing resolved to discard that thought the moment it came up. “If I recall, you were doing the same.”

“Because you locked me in your fucking maze array—again!” he barked. “You know how disorienting that thing is!”

“Good, that’s the point,” Mu Qing chirped smugly. 

Feng Xin glowered, looking like he wanted to punch him. 

Mu Qing stared him down, daring him to do it. 

Feng Xin gritted his teeth and visibly held himself back. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck I said to piss you off—” he started, straining against his anger.

“You opened your mouth,” Mu Qing interjected snidely.

“—but the fact that you think me saving your life somehow makes you less is so wrong. Very, very wrong. It makes me wonder just how twisted your mind really is. A normal person would get that it means your life is valuable,” Feng Xin continued, like he hadn’t even spoken, although he did get an irritated look for his remark.

Mu Qing stared at him, absorbing his words for a long moment. 

Was Feng Xin trying to say that he cared about Mu Qing? That it wasn’t just done out of duty?

No.

He said that Mu Qing had value, not that he, himself, cared about his rival. He probably just didn’t want to deal with the South by himself and was covering his ass. 

Mu Qing scoffed and sneered. “That just reiterates what you said before, asshole. That only you, the kind and loyal Nan Yang, would risk his own life to save the traitor Xuan Zhen. Only he, while everyone else would just watch him burn."

“Wha—WHAT THE FUCK!?” Feng Xin bellowed, his roar exploding out of him with the force of a barrel of blasting powder. “How the fuck—I did not fucking say that!”

“No? Then what does agreeing that saving me would be an outlier to all the other helpless bastards just waiting for you to swoop in and save them? The Mighty Ju Yang Jiang-Jun, so heroic, so—”

“Would you shut the hell up for one fucking second?” Feng Xin yelled, reaching out to fist the front of his robes. 

Mu Qing reacted instinctively, bringing a knee up to nail him in the stomach. Feng Xin grunted and responded in kind, punching him in the chest. It wasn’t enough to damage him, but it was strong enough to make him gasp and try to punch back. 

Except he was still holding the metal chopsticks with the artifact that brought them to this stupid cave in the first place. And they were headed directly towards Feng Xin’s face. 

Eyes widening, Feng Xin instantly brought his arm up to block at the same moment that Mu Qing tried to redirect the attack. What happened was that Feng Xin’s armguard hit Mu Qing’s wrist, disrupting his hold on the metal chopsticks and his grip on the artifact. 

It slipped from the tongs and started to fall. 

 Without thought, the two of them dove for it. If that thing broke, Ling Wen and the artificer gods would have their heads. 

They caught it at the same time, Mu Qing grabbing the cord while Feng Xin grasped the trailing tassel. 

Instantly, the whole thing began to glow. First red and steadily brightening to the point of white hot fire. A shockwave surged through their bodies where they were touching it, the sound of a loud bell echoing around them. As the pressure grew, it quickly became too much. 

Eyes rolling back, everything turned black before Mu Qing hit the ground. 

When Mu Qing crawled himself back to wakefulness, it was to a pounding headache and a weight across his chest. With effort, he opened his eyes. It was dark—not pitch dark, some bioluminescent plants and cave dwellers were giving off limited light—but there was nowhere near enough light to see by. Feng Xin’s palm torch must have gone out. 

Or he left you there, unconscious and unprotected. 

As soon as that thought invaded his mind, he discarded it. In all the centuries of animosity and thrown insults, Feng Xin had never purposely abandoned him in hostile territory. There had to be another explanation. 

Muttering a curse, he tried to get up, to figure out what happened, but his efforts were quickly halted by the weight pinning him down. On top of that, a stabbing pain behind his eyes the moment he lifted his head off the rocky ground was near debilitating. Hissing between his teeth, he slumped back and rode out the pain, eyes squeezed shut. He must have hit his head when he fell, rattling his brain. 

Frowning made his head hurt worse, so he gave up and just lay there, regaining his bearings. He went over what had caused this: their argument, the fight, then the artifact falling, and both of them catching it. 

Both of them. 

As far as he was aware, this reaction to the artifact had never happened before, same with two people grabbing it at the same time. While the fact that they were Gods and not mortals might be a factor, he didn’t think that was the case. Something made by a mortal cultivator couldn’t have a more severe reaction to its effects; it would be more likely to be the other way around, barely affecting them. 

“Fuck this mission,” he grumbled to himself, winching when the vibrations of his own voice echoed painfully through his skull. 

He lay there for a long time, pinned under the warm weight of something he couldn’t identify. He was surprised to realize that it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, the pressure was…good. It made his brain feel soft and mushy, not dissimilar to that one time he had accidentally drunk wine at a festival. He had realized before he had gotten too inebriated, but it had left him buzzed and musty-headed before it wore off. 

This was a dangerous state to be in while in a hostile environment like the Heavenly Court. And unfamiliar caves with who knows what.

Resolved to fix that immediately, Mu QIng needed to get the weight off him before it got worse. 

 Breathing deep, he closed his eyes to center himself. Falling into a near meditative state, he started to circle his qi through his meridians, both a physical check and to soothe the lingering pains. While doing so, he felt something odd attached to his right hand. It wasn’t malicious or malignant in nature, instead relatively neutral. 

A perfect balance of Ying and Yang. 

Under that, there was something else, something even stranger. 

His own qi didn’t treat it as a foreign entity to drive off; instead, brushing up against it with a familiarity he couldn’t place. 

Frowning, he mentally poked at it, inspecting the thing. 

He was still trying to figure it out when the weight on top of him shifted. There was a groan that Mu QIng could feel in his own chest, making his face heat and his hair stand on end. 

“Mother fucking,” Feng Xin’s voice cursed, coming back to awareness and pressing his face into the soft fabric under his cheek. 

Which were Mu Qing’s robes. 

That was on his chest. 

The same fabric that Feng Xin was now nuzzling like a cat. 

Feng Xin had been lying on his chest, compressing his ribs and making his head feel floaty, like he was drunk. 

Cheeks heating to the point of an inferno, Mu Qing reacted without thinking. 

He shoved him off.

Feng Xin yelped as he was sent flying. 

Normally, this would have been ideal, with Mu Qing dusting himself off with an air of superiority while Feng Xin was through a newly destroyed wall he had to climb out of. 

That did not happen. 

Instead, the moment Feng Xin had been thrown off him, Mu Qing felt a sharp yank on his wrist, and he found himself in the opposite position he had just been in. 

Now, Feng Xin was the one flat on his back, Mu Qing sprawled ungainly on his chest, their faces pressed together. With how dark it was, he only knew this because his nose was smushed into Feng Xin’s cheek, the skin slightly abrasive because his beard had grown in just enough for you to feel the small hairs if you touched it.

Which he was. With his nose. 

“Ow, what the fuck, Mu Qing?” Feng Xin hissed, the sound echoing in Mu Qing's head due to the proximity. While Mu Qing tried to comprehend the sensation, Feng Xin’s hands came up to grab his waist and remove him.

Except he encountered the same problem.

While trying to catch a wiggling Mu Qing, their heads knocked together and they jerked in opposite directions. 

Only for that sensation to occur again, and that time Feng Xin ended up in Mu Qing’s lap. Still flustered and feeling his rival's face within biting distance of his crotch, he kicked him off, only to be yanked onto Feng Xin’s chest again. 

“Stop, Mu Qing! Stop freaking out for one fucking second!” Feng Xin snarled, wrapping both arms around Mu QIng’s shoulders and pinning him against him. Due to whatever was causing this, Mu Qing’s arm was yanked up with them, tangled awkwardly against his cheek.

“Get off of me!” Mu Qing screamed, his face shoved into the front of Feng Xin’s robes, his clothing doing little to hide the definition of Feng Xin’s pectoral muscles. Which he was forcibly being held against. 

“Not until you calm the fuck down!” Feng Xin yelled back. “Something is yanking us around, and we need to figure it out. We can’t do that if you’re flopping around like a beached fish.”

“I’d like to see you react better!” Mu Qing snarled, something tight and hot curling in his chest. It was like he couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. 

“I am. I’m literally the one not freaking the fuck out, you idiot,” Feng Xin pointed out, exasperated. 

Mu Qing hated that he had a point. It ranked at his pride that Feng Xin was the calmer one. 

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Mu Qing fought to center himself. It was hard, really fucking hard, to do while pinned against Feng Xin’s chest, but he refused to let him win. 

Finally, when he had calmed down, Feng Xin eased his hold on him. The moment he could, Mu QIng propped himself up to glare at his rival. 

…which he couldn't do because it was still pitch dark. 

Again, Feng Xin seemed to read his mind and was already moving. He cast a quick light spell, an orb of light being tossed into the air to hover above them. The white blue light was harsh against their darkness-adjusted eyes, but they recovered quickly. Blinking the sunspots away, Mu Qing glanced down. 

Feng Xin was watching him, a deep frown on his face. Noticing his attention, he asked, “You good? Done being a fucking crazy shit?”

Mu QIng scowled at him. “Get your disgusting paws off me,” he snarled, his heartbeat beating heavily in his ears.

“Not until you agree not to freak out again.”

Mu Qing wanted to punch him. 

Feng Xin narrowed his eyes in response, arms tensing in preparation if he moved to attack. Mu Qing could feel the way his muscles flexed with the movement. 

“Let me up!” Mu Qing snarled, panic almost edging into his voice.

Feng Xin blinked, watching him before nodding. His arms fell away, and the two of them manoeuvred around until they were both sitting on the cave floor in the lotus position. 

Once off of Feng Xin and no longer touching him, Mu Qing felt like he could breathe. Felt like he could think. His heart was still racing in his chest, but he could feel it start to slow to its normal beat. 

That done, he decided he could confront whatever they had gotten themselves into this time. Lifting the hand that he had felt the unusual qi, Mu Qing was unsurprised to see the artifact as the culprit. 

Mu Qing scowled at it, grabbing the offending artifact with his other hand to yank at it. 

Feng Xin grunted and lurched forward at the small movement. “Would you stop that?” he yelled.

Mu Qing sneered, but let go of it. He further ignored the loud idiot, lifting his wrist to get a better look.

The artifact itself hadn’t changed; the red knotted cord attached to the bell and hanging tassel. What was different was that the cord was now attached to something, a red string. The tassel itself wasn’t wrapped around either of their wrists, but there was a string tied to each of their pinkies. It wasn’t very long, maybe a foot in length, preventing either of them from moving away. 

Glaring, Mu Qing wanted to burn the thing. It no longer mattered what it had done in the past; he wanted to destroy it with impunity from the simple fact that it had gotten them into this situation. 

Pulling out a knife from his belt, Mu Qing attacked it before Feng Xin could object. His dagger, which could cut a man’s head off with ease, caught on the string and halted midmovement. The string bent under the force of his attack, but didn’t cut. 

Feng Xin sighed, staring at the dagger. 

Mu QIng sneered, pulling back. The string wasn’t even frayed. He wanted to hurl his dagger away in his rage, but wasn’t willing to lose the knife. He forced himself to tuck it away, seething. 

Feng Xin glanced between his face and the artifact tying them together. “So…any ideas?” he asked. 

Mu Qing glared at him. 

Feng Xin held up his free hand, leaving him to it. They sat in tense silence for a moment, both of them thinking about their lot in life. 

“Is that…a Lovers' Knot?” Feng Xin finally asked, breaking the silence. 

Snapping his head up, Mu Qing stared at him flatly. “What.”

“The knotted design,” Feng Xin elaborated, lifting his own wrist—his left—to let the artifact hang between their faces. “The pattern it is tied in is identical to the Lover’s Knots that sweethearts exchange when they're courting.”

Mu Qing absorbed that with a blank face. While he was aware of the complicated courting rituals of mortals, there were way too many of them across the region for him to memorize all of them. 

He didn’t know why Feng Xin being aware of them was shocking. 

In fact, it made sense. 

“Are they sold in your temples, Ju Yang?” he teased, a smirk pulling at his lips. He had to say something snide to distract himself from the implications of that new information. 

That they were tired together with a Lover’s Knot. 

Feng Xin shot him a dark look. “That’s not important right now,” he tried to divert, turning his attention back to the artifact.

Mu Qing’s smirk grew. That was a yes, then. 

“So what if they are?” Feng Xin grumbled when he realized that Mu Qing had figured it out. “Ming Guang's temples sell them too.”

Mu Qing sat up sharply, staring at Feng Xin with an intensity similar to a stalking tiger. “What…did you just say?” he asked slowly, dangerously. 

Feng Xin frowned, eyeing his reaction with confusion. “Ming Guang sells them far more than mine do. He’s the God of Love, not me.”

Mu QIng stared at him, his eye beginning to twitch. “That fucking son of a bitch.”

Feng Xin jerked, his jaw falling open. While Mu Qing did swear, he hadn’t heard him curse with that degree of vehemence before. 

Face screwing up into a visage of wrath, Mu QIng continued, “That whore mongering wastrel. That burning sack of chicken shit. I’m going to flay him alive.”

“That’s a bit drastic,” Feng Xin said, more bemused than anything. 

“It’s too kind for him,” Mu Qing snarled, surging to his feet. 

Feng Xin yelped as he was dragged along. “What the fuck are you going?”

“I’m going to murder the God of Love!” Mu Qing roared.

As the sun was starting to set over the streets of the Heavenly Capital, two generals suddenly broke the peace that had blanketed the shining city. Nan Yang Jiang-jun and Xuan Zhen Jiang-jun returned to the Heavens with a flash of light, landing in the center courtyard. Without any moment to reorient themselves, Xuan Zhen was marching up the Avenue of Divine Might with a murderous glower on his face, Nan Yang stumbling behind like the other general was dragging him along. 

As was normal when the two of them were rampaging, the surrounding officials tried to scatter out of the splash zone while still being spectators. Very rarely did the generals attack anyone else; typically focused solely on each other. 

This time was different, however. 

Instead of fighting with Nan Yang, Xuan Zhen’s fierce, combative gaze was roving over the people who were loitering. 

“You!” he snarled at one of the Middle Court Officials dressed in Ming Guang's colours. “Where is your General?"

The young man jumped at the sudden aggressive attention, his eyes darting around. “Uh…Xuan Zhen Jiang-jun, I don’t think—”

“I highly doubt you were picked for your ability to think, going off how your fiend of a General passes his time,” Xuan Zhen snipped with bubbling poison. 

“Mu Qing—” Nan Yang started, one hand on his face. Drawing it down, he looked tired. 

“Shut up,” Xuan Zhen barked without looking at him. “You, where is your General? And don’t even think about lying. I will find out, and you will not like what happens.”

The Ming Guang Official had the face of a man who was not paid enough for this. “I last saw him headed towards Ling Wen’s Place,” he said in defeat. “Please don’t smite me if he’s wandered off.”

“I would never. That would be your General's fault,” Xuan Zhen promised darkly. “Thank you for your time,” he added before he was gone. Nan Yang dragged along behind him. 

People stared at their retreating backs, wondering what the hell happened.

Chapter Text

“Pei Ming!” Mu Qing roared the moment he and Feng Xin barged into Ling Wen’s office. It was the most likely place that they would be, it’s both where she took guests and did her work. 

As predicted, the two elder Gods were within, Ling Wen at her desk and Pei Ming sprawled on the daybed off to the side, clutter and scrolls littered the space. Which was fairly large itself, needing to contain the stacks of paperwork plus any gaggle of Officials that she brought within. 

The two looked up at the sound of the Southern Gods' violent entrance. Ling Wen glared while Pei Ming lifted his head from the book he was reading with a ‘who, me?’ look on his face. He caught sight of them, his eyes darting from their faces to the artifact. 

Recognition and realization dawned. Then he burst out laughing. 

Pei Ming threw his head back and guffawed, full-chested. The sound of his amusement was loud in the confined space. 

Mu Qing snarled and launched forward. His arm was drawn back, intent to bash his face in. Except two strong arms quickly caught him around the middle, effectively keeping him from breaking Pei Ming’s nose like he wanted to.

“Let me go!” Mu Qing yowled like an enraged wildcat. “This is his fucking fault! I’m going to kick his dick so far up his ass he’ll never be able to fuck anyone again!”

Pei Ming paused in his laughter, glancing up at them. Whatever he saw only increased his mirth, the Northern God cackling anew, so much so, he fell off the daybed and onto the floor. Rolling onto his back, he gasped for breath and kept laughing. 

“Welcome back, Generals,” Ling Wen commented, her lips twitching. “I see that the retrieval didn’t go…as smoothly as one would like.”

“That’s a pretty way of putting it,” Feng Xin grunted, struggling to contain the fury of his rival. Fed up, he lifted Mu Qing off the ground, letting his western counterpart flail mid-air all he wanted. He was kicking back at Feng Xin, trying to get him to release him. Feng Xin only grimaced and shook him. 

Mu Qing hissed and elbowed his shoulder harshly. 

Pei Ming rolled onto his side, cackling as he peeked at the two southern Gods. “What did you two do?” he wheezed between gasps of laughter. 

“You should know!” Mu Qing growled, giving up on his attacks on Feng Xin, to glare at Pei Ming. “You’re the one who made the fucking thing!”

The arms around him tensed, the warm, large hands tightening on his sides. “What? No, he didn’t. Ling Wen said that a mortal cultivator made it,” Feng Xin protested, glancing at the Goddess for her to back him up. 

She said nothing. 

Mu Qing seethed at a still snickering Pei Ming before looking down at Feng Xin. His rival's face was pressed against Mu Qing’s side and under his arm. He pushed down on his shoulders, digging his heel into the space between his armour and his neck, earning a hiss of pain. Feng Xin turned his attention back to Mu Qing, glaring up through his lashes. 

Mu Qing flushed, but elected to ignore the feeling squirming in his chest. “No, she didn’t.”

“Yes, she did, it’s in the mission brief.”

Mu Qing sneered. “Stop being a moron. She told us the legends, not the facts.”

Feng Xin frowned, confused. Mu Qing refused to think it was cute. 

“She said a cultivator made it, leaving them unidentified. They could be anyone. A nobody, a semi-well-known cultivator, or…” he said, turning his head to sneer at Pei Ming, “a Heavenly Official in disguise.”

Feng Xin made a sound of understanding. “No one could destroy it.”

Mu Qing nodded. “Even the last person who had it. Considering how wrathful the woman had been, it’s safe to assume that she tried to before locking it away. If a cultivator made it, she would have been powerful enough. But she didn’t, so she wasn’t. If a God made it…”

Finally getting his laughter under control, Pei Ming climbed to his feet, whipping away mirthful tears. 

“...only another God could break it,” Feng Xin finished, also turning to glare at the Northern Martial God. 

The one in question shrugged without care. “Good deduction, my dear. It’s a marvel that any of the younger civil gods claim that you ascended for your looks and not your brain. Although your beauty certainly did you favours.”

Ling Wen sighed, lowering her head into her palm and massaging her temples. 

The two southern gods stared at Pei Ming with varying levels of frustration. Without a word, Feng Xin dropped Mu Qing, releasing him from his restraining hold. For his part, Mu Qing landed on his feet like he had expected that course of action and stepped forward within the same motion. He lunged forward, punching Pei Ming squarely in the face, the sound of his nose breaking filling the quiet office. 

Ling Wen watched it all with a tired look on her face, contemplating their intelligence. 

Pei Ming’s head jerked back with the force of the hit, and he clutched at the injury, blood dripping through his fingers. 

“Did you have to hit my face?” he whined. 

“That was his left hand, asshole. It could have been a lot worse,” Feng Xin said, unsympathetic. 

“Only because my right is tied to yours. Also, I’m ambidextrous. It doesn’t make a difference,”  Mu Qing commented snidely. Objective accomplished, he stepped back and brushed off his robes, flipping his long ponytail back over his shoulder so it fell smoothly down his back in an inky waterfall. 

Feng Xin watched the movement before rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms as much as he could, then paused midmotion, grimacing when he inadvertently jerked their bindings so Mu Qing was yanked closer to him. Mu Qing stumbled against him, snarling. He shoved his shoulder in retaliation. 

Pei Ming looked at them over his fingers, shooting a look at Ling Wen. She returned it, appearing thoroughly done with them all. 

“Well,” he started, voice pinched by his damaged nose. “It’s not supposed to physically tie people together like this.”

“So your craftsmanship is as shoddy as your inability to control your dick? Good to know,” Mu Qing said, turning his nose up. 

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Pei Ming complained, still with that funny, strained voice. With a burst of qi, he fixed his nose, pulling it back into place. Withdrawing his hand, he showed that his visage was undamaged by his ordeal, handsome as ever.

Mu Qing wanted to punch him again and ruin it so he would suffer the consequences for longer. 

“Truthfully, the tassel was never supposed to bind souls together. It is merely a tool to lift the veil from one's eyes,” Pei Ming continued in his normal voice. 

Feng Xin lifted a brow. “Souls?” 

Pei Ming blinked, shooting a startled look towards Mu Qing, arching his brow. His unspoken question hung in the air: he doesn't know?

Mu Qing paled. While he was aware of what, exactly, was keeping them bound together, Feng Xin wasn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to him to inform his counterpart of the string's significance. Now that it was an issue, the irrational impulse to keep him in the dark made it hard to breathe. He shook his head minutely, face panicked. 

If Feng Xin knew, he would abide by it. He was so loyal and noble. Once he knew that they were soulbound, he would accept it and try to make everything work between them. 

Mu Qing didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be an obligation. Never that. 

It would kill him. 

Whatever expression was on his face must have conveyed what he couldn’t say. 

A crease appearing between his brows, Pei Ming exchanged another look with Ling Wen. 

“That’s how it works, yes,” Pei Ming said after their small exchange, addressing Feng Xin. “It’s an artifact that is supposed to manifest an ideal match with another person. The prince who first requested it was a lonely, romantic man. He wanted love.”

Dread pooled in Mu Qing’s stomach. He wanted to throttle him. He resolved to never trust the Northern God again. 

“Most people are,” Feng Xin said, startling Mu Qing out of his murderous thoughts. He blinked and twisted to stare at him. 

Was…was Feng Xin admitting to loneliness?

Feng Xin caught his eye and scowled. “What? Don’t give me that look, Mu Qing. Eight and a half hundred years is a long time. I get prayers like that a lot, too. Don’t you?”

“No,” he responded curtly. “My worshipers know better than to bother me with such things. I’m a Martial God, not a nursemaid." 

That was a lie. He did get prayers about loneliness and romantic pleas, but he never knew how to answer them. He did what he could, but how was he supposed to help them when he didn’t know how to deal with it himself?

Feng Xin sighed. “Anyways, if that’s its purpose, why did it do this?" He asked, lifting his left hand, dragging Mu Qing’s right with it. He fought the motion on principle, refusing to allow Feng Xin to pull him around. Feng Xin grunted as his arm was yanked back down. The glare he sent Mu Qing was incredulous. 

Mu Qing lifted his nose haughtily, turning away as much as he could. 

“Why don’t you walk us through what happened?” Ling Wen requested loudly, drawing both of their attention away from the brewing fight. 

They did so, recounting their mission from the start until appearing in the office, excluding the unnecessary parts, like their fight and Mu Qing’s first reaction to their situation. His cheeks still heated at the mere memory of his panic. 

Upon hearing what his creation had wrought, Pei Ming’s face hardened to a sharpness that was rare on his usually pleasant and open countenance. “Do you still have that soul?” he asked darkly. 

Mu Qing nodded. “We were going to give him to Crimson Rain.”

Pei Ming’s face pinched. He mulled that over for a moment before holding out his hand. “Give it to me. We’ll dissolve it. Slowly.”

A smirk pulling at his face, Mu Qing retrieved it and tossed the talisman ball to the Northern God. His face was still dark as he tucked it away. 

That done, he inquired further, “You both touched it at the same time?” When they nodded, he continued, “Then that’s why it’s bound you together. It’s supposed to show someone's ideal match, but you two must have confused it.”

Feng Xin sighed through his nose but nodded. His jaw was oddly tense. 

Mu Qing stared at Pei Ming, his shoulders falling in relief. Pei Ming caught his gaze and winked subtly, the barest twitch of his eye. 

He’d lied. For Mu Qing, he lied.

He didn’t know what to think about that. How often had someone not related to him protected Mu Qing or his interests? He couldn’t remember anyone aside from his deputies, and they didn’t count since he paid them. 

Mu Qing looked to the floor, an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. 

“And the physical bind?” Ling Wen asked, drawing their attention. Her elbows were on her desk with her chin resting on her laced fingers. 

“I’m actually not that sure,” Pei Ming said cheerfully.

“What,” Mu Qing and Feng Xin deadpanned at the same time. 

Pei Ming shrugged, his arms raised in a ‘what can you do’ motion. “It wasn’t made with that in mind. What if one person’s ‘ideal match’ is not the other person's? As much as I enjoy some action with ropes, that’s not everyone's preference. Some people just like to cuddle,” he added, giving Mu Qing a side eye.

“Ming Guang,” Feng Xin reproached, his voice dropping a couple of octaves, sending a shiver up Mu Qing’s spine. Twisting to look at him, Mu Qing caught the glare on the man’s face that made his already severe countenance darker. 

He didn’t understand why. “What does ropes have to do with cuddling?” he asked, looking between the two of them. 

Feng Xin choked and snapped his gaze towards Mu QIng, their eyes locking. His confusion grew as Feng Xin’s pupils dilated and his cheeks flushed. 

“Oh?” Pei Ming sounded gleeful. “Is little Qing-mei curious?”

“Oh. It’s sexual.” Mu Qing scoffed and rolled his eyes when he finally got the meaning. “No, not from you.”

“So you would from someone else?” Pei Ming needled.

Feng Xin made a strangled sound in his chest. “Back off, Ming Guang. He’s ascetic."

“Which is just another word for no fun,” Pei Ming pouted. Still, he struggled without care, letting it go easily.

Ling Wen cleared her throat pointedly. 

Pei Ming jerked. “Ah, yes, I’m getting to it, Nobel Jie,” he assured his old friend. “As events have shown, choosing to make it solely visual was the right call. Even if that didn’t stop mortals from abusing it.”

Mu Qing snorted, crossing his arms. He opened his mouth to say something, but got cut off when the action inadvertently tugged Feng Xin closer to him, knocking their shoulders together. 

“Watch it!” Mu Qing hissed, shoving him away. 

“How was that my fault? You tugged on me!” Feng Xin barked. 

“Generals,” Ling Wen said before their argument could escalate. The look she gave them was tired. 

Mu Qing clicked his tongue loudly and turned back to Pei Ming. “I really couldn’t give a fuck about why you made the blasted thing. Untie us. Now,” he ordered. 

“Yes, yes,” Pei Ming sighed like this was the greatest imposition. He moved over to them and lightly touched the tassel. Mu Qing watched him closely with both his eyes and his qi, trying to see what he was doing. He could feel Pei Ming’s qi brush up against him, warmth sliding against the chill of his own qi. 

A moment passed, and a concentrated frown formed on Pei Ming’s handsome face. “That’s odd,” he muttered, stepping back, one hand lifted to rub his chin. 

“Pei Ming,” Mu Qing growled warningly.

The northern god took another step back and out of his attack range. “Don’t punch me again, but I don’t think I can untie you,” he said hesitantly.

“You’re the one who made the fucking thing!” Mu Qing exploded, taking a threatening step forward. He probably would have crowded Pei Ming, but was held in back by Feng Xin not moving, even pulling him away a little. 

“Yes, but I do not control the thing that binds you. That duty belongs to someone greater than all of us. The tassel I made was only supposed to act like corrective glasses, to allow the owner to view something they would otherwise be blind to. I can tweak how it’s doing it, but I will not break it,” he said, giving Mu Qing a meaningful look.

Mu Qing swallowed thickly. He heard what Pei Ming wasn’t saying. While he was the ‘God of Love’ he didn’t actually control who people fell in love with. If there were Gods who did control the Red Strings of Fate, they were far older than any one of them. Older than Jun Wu and Mei Nianqing. 

Of course, Pei Ming didn’t have control over it. 

“So we’re stuck like this?” Feng Xin asked, strangely calm. When Mu Qing glanced at him, his rival's face was guarded but not upset. There was a small furrow between his eyes, but he had long since learned that was Feng Xin’s thinking face; he wasn’t actually angry. 

“Regreatably. I can tweak the attributes, but it's the two of you that will make the final difference,” Pei Ming said. 

“Explain,” Mu Qing demanded. 

“First, I need you to test something. Step as far away as possible from each other,” Pei Ming instructed. 

Mu Qing was complying before he finished speaking. He took one large step to the side and jerked to a halt, his arm yanking up. Looking down at it, the string was taut between them. 

It was also only a foot long. 

Mu Qing glared at the blasted thing. This was all its fault. 

“It’s fairly short right now—” Pei Ming pointed out in his lecturing voice. 

“That’s fucking obvious,” Feng Xin muttered.

“—but from what I could discern, that is determined by your compatibility and communication with each other,” Pei Ming continued if Feng Xin hadn’t said anything. 

Mu Qing stared at him in dismay, something uncomfortable squirming in his chest. He wanted to claw it out. 

“Just kill me now and be done with it,” he hissed. 

“Oi,” Feng Xin reprimanded, yanking on their bindings. “Stop being a dramatic fucker. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Mu Qing snarled, whirling on him. “We have duties, Feng Xin! We cannot be tired of each other like this. Fighting would be more dangerous to us than to our prey, and doing any kind of diplomatic work with you would be useless the moment you open your mouth! And that’s not even touching the fact that we cannot spend a quarter of a shichen together without fighting! Look at what got us into this mess! It wouldn’t have happened if you—” he cut himself off, turning his face away. 

“That’s not my fucking fault. You’re the one who freaks and lashes out like a feral cat,” Feng Xin snarled in response. “Are you even capable of having a normal conversation without running away?”

Mu Qing listened to Feng Xin’s beratement silently. He seethed internally. Why the fuck was Feng Xin blaming him? He was the one to imply that no one else cared about Mu QIng. That his death would not even be an inconvenience but a footnote, a—

“Enough,” a calm but steely voice cut through his spiralling thoughts, drawing both of their attention. Ling Wen sat behind her desk like she was on the jade throne, somehow looking down her nose at them despite being the only one seated. “We don’t need to be privy to your personal business, Generals. Especially when Xuan Zhen is correct, the two of you typically throw fist before words, and I would like my palace to remain intact.”

Mu Qing shot Feng Xin a smug look. See, he wasn’t the only one who thought this would be a disaster. 

Feng Xin exhaled heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Ming Guang,” he said after a long moment, “what do we need to do?”

Pei Ming looked up, arching a brow. “Are we done arguing?”

Mu Qing glared. He hated the little smile on the fuckers face.

Feng Xin sighed. “Ming Guang…”

“Alright, alright,” Pei Ming huffed. “But neither of you are going to like it.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes at the warning. He already didn’t like this. He despised it. 

“It’s magic that’s supposed to facilitate couples, Generals. It wants you to get along. It will lengthen and shorten depending on your understanding of each other.”

Feng Xin blinked as Mu Qing sputtered, heat warming his face from his ears to his chest. No doubt he was flushed crimson, and they could see that clearly. Curse his thin face. 

“Couples?” Feng Xin echoed, his voice strangled. “Us?”

Pei Ming shrugged. “Somehow, it decided to bind you two together. Who knows,” he added with a smirk Mu Qing wanted to punch, “it might sense something we don’t.”

“So you’re useless to us,” Mu Qing snarled, vicious. He whirled on the spot and tried to stalk away. 

“Hold it,” Feng Xin said, jerking on the string to tug him back. “What about those ‘attributes’ you mentioned?” he directed to Pei Ming, ignoring the hissing swat on his arm that Mu Qing gave him.

“Ah, yes,” Pei Ming nodded. “At the moment, it’s basically functioning as Heavenly shackles, excluding the effect of cutting off your spiritual energy. I can alter it so it’s more spiritual, allowing you to move more freely. Here, try to switch places.”

Sharing a confused glance, Mu Qing and Feng Xin stepped around each other, but their arms yanked across their bodies once their bound hands got too far from each other. 

Mu Qing spitefully yanked on the wrist with the binding. Feng Xin grunted and retaliated. Since Mu Qing was in front, he stumbled back, tripping against Feng Xin’s broad chest. Feng Xin caught him, arms wrapping around his middle. Again. 

Mu Qing froze, eyes wide. His cheeks burned, and he knew he was blushing brightly. He bit his lip and looked away, trying to hide. Inadvertently, he caught Pei Ming's gaze. The look the other god sent him was knowing, a slight smile on his face as he rubbed his chin. 

This fucking…

Without waning, Mu Qing spun and punched Feng Xin in the stomach. “I thought I said to keep your paws off me!”

“Ow, fuck!” Feng Xin staggered back a step. Once he recovered his footing, he glowered at Mu Qing. “What was I supposed to do? Let you fall and bring me down with you?”

“Yes!” Mu Qing said before he could think about what he was saying. 

“That’s stupid!”

“So is your face!”

“What does my face have to do with anything?”

“Generals,” Ling Wen cut in sharply, her irritated tone silencing them. When she knew she had their attention, she continued, “Perhaps it would be prudent to listen to what Ol’ Pei has to say?” With that, she waved a hand at Pei Ming, who was looking far too entertained. 

“Right, sorry,” Feng Xin said with genuine apology. Mu Qing only scowled, face still warm. 

“I believe the generals demonstrated why I brought this up,” Pei Ming commented with a grin. “While I cannot break your binds, I can make the whole experience more comfortable for the two of you. May I?”

“Get on with it,” Mu Qing snapped. 

Unaffected by his harsh tone, Pei Ming stepped forward and touched his creation for a second time. 

Mu Qing paid closer attention this time, observing how his qi interacted with what Pei Ming was doing. While he couldn’t pinpoint the exact manoeuvres, he did notice something about the artifact. When Mu Qing had poked it before, it hadn’t felt foreign to him, not exactly. More like a forgotten memory he couldn’t quite remember. 

While Pei Ming worked, he realized why. 

Because he had felt that qi before, once. 

At the Mid-Autumn Festival. 

Pei Ming had touched his Red String, making him aware of its existence. He hadn’t thought the qi any different than his own at the time, but looking back, it was warmer, similar to a summer's day. 

It was comfort, safety—something he had only ever associated with his mother. 

Love. 

While the love he felt for his mother was familial, this one was sharper. It cut into him like a dagger, flaying him open to see the vulnerability beneath all of the layers he hid behind. 

“What the fuck was that?” Feng Xin demanded, voice strangled. 

Mu Qing barely heard him, fighting the surge of emotions that sought to drown him.

“That’s the qi of the bindings,” Pei Ming’s voice floated above his head, barely audible. “What does it feel like?”

“Like the first breath of winter,” Feng Xin answered, hushed. “Like the snap of frost in the air, the smell of warm tea. Like—” he cut off. 

Mu Qing looked up, following the sound. Golden caramel eyes caught his, holding him in place. Mu Qing’s breath hitched in his throat. Something burned under his skin, something he couldn’t contain. 

Something that would consume him if he wasn’t careful. 

It scared him. 

“What did you do?” Mu Qing demanded, wrenching his gaze free of that honeyed trap. 

Pei Ming watched him with a knowing gleam in his eye. “You two still can’t move far from each other, but it shouldn’t inhibit you the same way anymore. Spin in place and you will see.”

Mu Qing did, feeling ridiculous. However, his point was made. The string passed through his body as if it wasn’t there, allowing them to move around each other. 

Feng Xin cleared his throat thickly. “Great. Good. Anything else?”

Pei Ming smirked. “It will pass through clothes now, so if you need to take anything off—”

“We’re done here!” Mu Qing declared loudly, bolting from the room without another word. It was rude, yes, but he couldn’t stay there a moment longer. Feng Xin swore and stumbled after him, but didn’t fight his flight. 

Left in Ling Wen's office, Pei Ming started to snigger the moment the door was slammed behind the two southern gods. 

“Did you mean for that to happen?” Ling Wen inquired, a hint of amusement in her voice. 

“No! That’s the best part!” Pei Ming chuckled, “I didn’t even think it could do that! The tassel obviously felt how strong their connection is and reacted accordingly. Plus, they really did confuse it by grabbing it at the same time. Did you see how red Mu Qing was? He looked like a cherry!”

Ling Wen sat back in her chair with a huff. A smile tugged at her lips, small and barely visible, but present. “He’s going to kill you when this is over.”

“I do believe he will be too preoccupied to do so,” Pei Ming snickered. 

“You think they will break his vows?”

Pei Ming thought that over. “That I’m unsure about, considering how long he has kept them. Some people are just not built to enjoy those kinds of pleasures.”

Ling Wen hummed in agreement. While she herself had used her body once or twice, it wasn’t her preferred activity either. Certainly nowhere close to her friends'. Besides, having to switch between genders for her duties as the Head Civil God, her libido was far too confused to even think about it. 

As she mulled that over, something else occurred to her. “Could you really not break the bindings? Mu Qing was adamant about his distaste for the situation.”

Pei Ming hummed. “What I said was true. I do not control who is tied to whom. The strings are spun at birth. I have no say in the matter. However, the tassel is one of my own creations. I could have forced it to let go of them.”

Ling Wen slid her gaze to his mirthful face. “Never let Mu Qing hear you say that. He really will kill you if he learns of it.”

“Ah, then I will rely on you to keep your tongue on this particular subject.”

Ling Wen smirked. “If it suits me.”

Pei Ming blanched. “What do you want?”

“Five bottles of the finest wine you can buy from the brewing Gods.”

“Deal.”

“Mu Qing, stop. Mu Qing, would you fucking wait for one moment!” Feng Xin tried, his voice tight with strain.

Mu Qing resolutely ignored him, doing his best to march against the drag of their bounds, putting more effort into moving his legs. He could tell that Feng Xin was fighting against the forward movement; it was like trying to lug heavy weights. They had just made it to a bridge that was on the street Pei Ming's palace was on, heading towards the Avenue of Divine Might, when Mu Qing was stopped dead in his tracks. 

“What?” Mu Qing snarled, whirling in place. What he saw made him bark a mean laugh. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting you to fucking stop,” Feng Xin grumbled, both arms latched around the pillar of the stone railing, keeping anyone from falling into the canal flowing below them. He looked ridiculous, having to bend awkwardly to grab it. 

“You look like a court jester,” Mu Qing jeered. “Are you going to dance and bark on demand, too?”

“What? Of fucking course not. Where the fuck did you come up with that?” Feng Xin yelled, his cheeks darkening with a blush. “No, Mu Qing, we need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? We’re tied together like a pair of criminals, bound to our dreaded fate. What more do you want?” Mu Qing snarled, throwing both hands up into the air.

“Like where the fuck are you going?” Feng Xin demanded flatly. 

That made Mu Qing pause. Where had he been going? He blinked, realizing that he had been marching away without any defined direction in mind. To cover his slip, he crossed his arms and huffed. “My palace. Where else would I be going?”

“Well, I need to go to mine and tell my deputies that I will be unable to help them with missions for the foreseeable future,” Feng Xin pointed out, finally letting go of the bridge railing and standing properly. 

Pity, he looked better being ridiculous. 

Shoving that thought away, Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “And that can’t be done over your in-palace array because…?”

Feng Xin’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t like doing that for important things like this. It’s hard to gauge everyone's reactions by just their voices. If there’s any discontent, it's easier to see on their faces. It solves problems in the long run.”

Mu Qing chewed on that. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. When he had enough forewarning, he did the same, but it was easy to forget that Feng Xin wasn’t just like the dumb brute he always called him. Feng Xin had ascended due to his Martial Might, meaning that he had to be an accomplished military strategist as well as a fighting General. 

During the war, he had been the one who had rallied the soldiers when their faith in Dianxia had dwindled. After that, they had fought for both Feng Xin and Mu Qing, who were the ones that they saw more frequently than their Prince. It was easy to say you would fight for King and Country, but in reality, you had other things to lay down your life in battle for. Love for family, love for home, were the main ones, but that still fell short if the battle commanders didn’t have the soldiers' trust and respect. 

Feng Xin had that in spades. He didn’t always remember everything about the men who fought for him, but he cared. He would make sure that they took necessary breaks, that they were properly clothed, equipped and fed.

Until he couldn’t anymore. 

But even then, he ascended after winning a military campaign, didn’t he? According to his mythos, after Feng Xin had split ways with Dianxia, he had been picked up by a General who didn’t care about his origins, instead enlisting him into the army of the Kingdom east of Yong’An. It was small, one that would only last for another century, but Feng Xin had climbed the ranks quickly, showing his superior knowledge when it came to warfare. 

He had saved many lives in the two years that he had fought with those men, ascending once their foe had successfully been driven back into the ocean. From what he could recall, hadn’t he brought some of those men with him?

Feng Xin had always been loyal. 

He cherished his battle brothers as if they were his own. 

“Fine,” Mu Qing found himself saying, voice softer than he meant to. “Then we need to go to mine and settle things with my deputies.”

Feng Xin nodded. “Fair enough.”

Mu Qing huffed and spun on his heels, his ponytail whipping around so fast that it hit Feng Xin in the face. His rival sputtered and complained, but was still dragged along as Mu Qing led them to their new destination.