my one desire

by chosrilpussytalker

Summary:

“Of course,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Tell me, wise General. If I needed to dispose of this definitely real curse, how must I approach it?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Once that cherry has popped, the curse disappears! That’s the only way to get rid of it,” Pei Ming gives him a lecherous look. “And don’t worry, General Xuan Zhen, I know you have many options to choose from, so there’s no need to fret.”

Mu Qing scoffs, “Ridiculous.”

**

Or: Mu Qing gets cursed on his birthday. Whenever he touches someone, he can read the minds of others. Surely there's got to be a cure to fix him that definitely doesn't involve losing your virginity, right?

Chapter 1

It started with a birthday party. 

Mu Qing’s birthday was fast approaching, something he brushed aside the past few hundred years. After centuries of immortality, a birthday loses its excitement–what’s the point of celebrating one year when you’ve got an infinite number of years of life, anyways? 

Besides, Mu Qing is a god, a powerful one at that, and he’s got things to do; ghosts to kill, deputies to manage, temples to oversee. He’s a busy man. Busy men don’t have time for birthday parties. 

But Xie Lian had asked him so eagerly, making that face he would make back when he was still the fledgling, doe-eyed crown prince. Pleading hands clasped together and everything. At that moment, Mu Qing idly remembered how Feng Xin would fall for it every time when they were young, and for some reason that thought sat wrong in his stomach. 

But anyways. Mu Qing wasn't going to say no to Xie Lian.

Also, Crimson Rain had been standing a few inches behind Xie Lian, glowering at Mu Qing with a dark presence that seemed to dim the room. He was giving him a look. An ‘if you even consider saying no to Gege I’m going to fillet you like a fish and serve you for lunch’ kind of look. 

Seemed like “yes” was his only option.

“It’ll be so fun!” Xie Lian insisted, so overjoyed that Mu Qing agreed to a birthday party that he can see it radiate from his smile. “And it’ll be so nice to be together like old times. Doing things together.” 

“Right,” Mu Qing said. “And what things do you have in mind?” 

“Ah,” Xie Lian said, eloquently, as if he didn’t think he’d get this far. “Eating dinner, if you want. Uhm. And talking?” 

“We talk in the communication array almost every day,” Mu Qing points out. 

“This is different!” Xie Lian, again, insisted. “And you only talk to me there about work. Really, Mu Qing, you act as if celebrating your birthday is going to kill you. I promise, I’ll make it fun for you. I really want you to have a good time.” 

“Of course. And why are you so insistent on celebrating my birthday, all of a sudden?” 

“Oh, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian smiled, then, disgustingly genuine. “You’re worth celebrating.” 

Well. That’s how Mu Qing found himself scheduling down the date for the party, just a day before his birthday. 

 

**

 

The day of Mu Qing’s birthday party turns out to be absolute shit. 

Mu Qing spends most of the day buried in work. Not the fun work either, where he gets to slay ghosts and look cool. Boring, dull reports and telling deputies what to do. 

He then wakes up from an impromptu nap to the ringing cry of one of his deputies in the communication array. Something about a ghost going awry in his territory that they just can’t get rid of. Mu Qing couldn’t tell what she was saying, she was speaking so fast, her words tripping over themselves and turning to mush. But also, Mu Qing had just woken up and his brain was still foggy from sleep.

Because Mu Qing is a good person and not an asshole, he descends to the moral realm to assess the situation. He finds his deputy in a hidden part of a forest and, yikes, her leg should not be bent that way. On her lap is another one of his deputies, unconscious. 

“General,” she makes a rather pathetic attempt to bow. It’s hard, with the body on her lap. “General Xuan Zhen, I’m so sorry to bother you like this.” 

“Just tell me what happened. I’ll dispose of the ghost myself,” Mu Qing says, unsheathing his sabre. He wants to be over with it already. 

“My partner and I were investigating the territories here,” she recounts. “Villagers nearby were calling for help about it. We underestimated the ghost’s power. It’s a Wrath, at least.” 

Mu Qing nods, “Where did you last see it?” 

“Down south,” she points to the direction. “It’s a fast one, too. Likes to dash around.” 

“Right,” Mu Qing says. “Take you and your partner back to heal your wounds. Report this to Ling Wen, if you can.” 

Silently, she nods and does what she’s told. Mu Qing likes that about her. 

Immediately after she ascends back, however, Mu Qing hears a shrill cackle behind him. When he turns around, he only catches a dark blur whiff behind a tree to hide. He doesn’t bother running over to check; he doesn’t want to start a wild goose chase. His deputy was right, though, the bastard’s quick.

“Show yourself,” he says, his voice firm and loud and a commanding presence. 

Because the ghost is also an asshole, it doesn’t listen to him. It does speak to him, though.

“What’s this? A new challenger approaches? And a young one at that, probably has never left his mother’s house! You think you can beat me, pretty thing?”

“Yes.”

“I— wow okay.”

“What, afraid? Too cowardly to see me, aren’t you? Too weak to put up a fight.” 

“Alright fine I get it! Jeez. You’re so rude, you know that? I just met you and you’re literally being so rude.” 

“Show yourself.” Mu Qing takes a step forward, where the branches of a tall tree are quivering. 

“Not if you can’t catch me, which, by the way, you never will!” The ghost begins to dart around, a blur of motion swirling around Mu Qing like a tornado. “I’m far too quick for you!”

Shockingly, Mu Qing agrees with that statement. He doesn’t want to waste energy on this ghost, and running after it will certainly do that. Instead, he waits, readying his position, his sabre gripped tightly in his hands. With careful and steady precision, he waits. And he waits.

At the perfect moment, he catches the ghost’s figure appear right in front of a tree, within reach. Immediately Mu Qing lunges forth, puncturing the ghost right in its core. He overexerts a little too much power, because his sword pierces straight through the demon’s body like a skewer, ramming straight into the tree behind it.

And the ghost—the ghost—

It burps. Right onto Mu Qing’s face.

Mu Qing doesn’t have time to gloat at the dying, dissipating ghost. Instead he shrieks in shock, mixed with anger, swatting his hands in the air as if it’ll fix things. It doesn’t smell bad or get stuck on his skin, but Mu Qing is more affronted by the audacity of it. All the years of ghost hunting and slaying, he has never had one belch on his face like some barbaric imbecile.

“Fuck! Fuck you!” He yells, because he can. 

When Mu Qing eventually calms down, he realizes two things.

First, the ghost was dead, and had died shockingly fast. The only challenging thing about it was its speed, and even then Mu Qing didn’t have much of an issue with that. All it took was a little patience. So either his deputies are in serious need of training, or there’s more to the ghost than Mu Qing knows. 

Second, he’s late to his own birthday party.

 

**

 

“Ho ho? Late to his own birthday party?” Pei Ming grins at him. Mu Qing wants to strangle him. “How unprecedented of General Xuan Zhen!” 

Mu Qing honestly, truly, doesn’t know how Xie Lian came to the conclusion that Pei Ming’s presence would give him a fun birthday celebration. He just arrived and he already wants this whole thing to be over. 

He does give Xie Lian credit; he really tried decorating, lining the room with his favourite flowers and strewing the walls with his favourite colours. He thinks Xie Lian tried making some of his favourite foods, but he’s not going to try and see if that’s true. It’s all fine, really. Mu Qing can appreciate good effort when he sees it. 

It’s just that there’s so many people —people he doesn't care for and, worse, doesn’t like. Pei Ming is one of the rare types that’s situated in both categories. The former Wind Master is there, leaning his weight on a cane, a plate full of food and chatting with his highness like they’re chums. Crimson Rain, as per usual, is standing near Xie Lian and smiling, but is giving the former Wind Master a look Mu Qing can’t decipher. Quan Yizhen is there for some reason. 

But worst of all is Feng Xin. 

Granted, he’s not doing anything malicious or annoying. Actually he isn’t doing anything at all. He’s just standing there, hands placed firmly on his hips, guffawing at a particularly bad joke Xie Lian just told. His whole face scrunches up as he laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

The sound of his laughter sends something straight into Mu Qing’s gut, a pang of warmth. Like drinking a warm beverage on an empty stomach. It’s annoying. Feng Xin is annoying. Mu Qing can’t stand him. He really can’t. 

“So what caused General Xuan Zhen to be late to his own celebration, of all things?” Pei Ming asks, all too eager for details. “Don’t tell me, is there a special someone waiting for you to return?” 

“No.” Mu Qing replies flatly.

“Yeah, sure. No one at all,” Pei Ming chuckles, suddenly turning to look at Feng Xin in the distance.

“What.” 

“What.” 

“I—nevermind. I was hunting down a ghost my deputies needed assistance with,” Mu Qing says. “It was a Wrath, at least.” 

“Ho ho! Diligent as ever, General! And on your birthday too!” 

“Technically, my birthday is tomorrow.” 

Pei Ming completely ignores him. “It must’ve been a strong one to keep you so late from this party.” 

“I suppose,” Mu Qing purses his lips. “It died rather quickly. The only issue I had was catching it. It liked to dash around, making itself a difficult prey. And it had…bad manners.” 

“Ah!” Pei Ming’s eyebrows shoot up, familiarity striking him. “I think I know what you’re talking about. The vengeful ghost of Xin Yi!” 

“The what.” 

“Rumour says that long ago there was an ascetic woman, Xin Yi, who spent her entire sad, short, and miserable life studying random nonsense,” Pei Ming explains. “She had no time for friends, love, or manners. Everyday, she would frantically cram in information in her head, as if rushing for a deadline. Then one day, she worked so much, so quickly, that she died.” 

“Wh—from what? Starvation? Overexertion?”

“I dunno, she just died,” Pei Ming shrugged. “The more important thing is that she died alone, with no lover or family to remember her. And, whenever you encounter her ghost, she casts a curse on you. She specifically likes to target young-looking people.” 

“Of course.” Mu Qing distantly remembers the ghost mentioning him looking young. “So what’s this curse, then?” 

“On the day you turn 30 and if, and only if, you’re still a virgin, you get cursed.” 

“What.” 

“What?” 

Mu Qing pinches the bridge of his nose. “That is possibly the most moronic story I’ve ever heard in my life. You didn’t even tell me what the curse actually does.” 

“Come on! Rumours don’t tell you all the details,” Pei Ming says. “General, you should be more worried! What if the ghost you encountered was the real Xin Yi, and you get cursed on your birthday tomorrow?” 

“I am well over the age of 30.” 

“All the more reason to be worried!” Pei Ming insists, “Over 800 years of abstinence has got to effect the curse somehow. Maybe you will become cursed tenfold, like all those years catching up to you at once.” 

“Of course,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Tell me, wise General. If I needed to dispose of this definitely real curse, how must I approach it?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? Once that cherry has popped, the curse disappears! That’s the only way to get rid of it,” Pei Ming gives him a lecherous look. “And don’t worry, General Xuan Zhen, I know you have many options to choose from, so there’s no need to fret.” 

Mu Qing scoffs, “Ridiculous.” 

“No, really!” Pei Ming says. “It’s been over 800 years, why not celebrate your birthday in a truly special moment? Besides, there’s so many other cultivation methods, there’s no point in sticking to this one forever, especially when you’re missing out so much. And you’re such a catch, anyone would want to bed you!” 

Then Pei Ming does something truly horrible. He leans down and whispers in Mu Qing’s ear, eyes darting to an oblivious Feng Xin. “And we both know a certain general that’ll agree with me on that.” 

Mu Qing sputters, his face feels warm, so it’s definitely a tomato red right now. “What.”

“What.” 

“You…! Shameless! You wretched…wretched man!” 

Pei Ming has the audacity to laugh, “But you’re not disagreeing with me, I see—!”

Mu Qing promptly punches him in the gut, as hard as he can. Watching Pei Ming double over in pain and fall to the ground is very, very satisfying. 

“Well, it was lovely talking to you General Ming Guang, but I fear that I must be heading out soon,” Mu Qing says cooly, glancing down at Pei Ming, still writhing on the floor like an agonized worm. “Because I’ve wasted my time talking to you for so long, I have yet to greet myself to his highness.” 

He leaves Pei Ming by himself, on the ground. By the time he walks up Xie Lian, Feng Xin is belly-laughing again, loud and beautiful. Mu Qing, a foolish man, forgets everything about the curse then and there. 

 

**

 

Mu Qing wakes up the next day a year older and still a virgin. He’s not some deviant, dirty-minded pervert that’s going to waste 800 years of cultivation just for sex, thank you very much. 

As he expected, his birthday is like any other day. Nothing worth celebrating over. Just filing reports, managing his swarm of deputies, preparing for a general meeting with the other gods. Nothing special that would’ve differentiated today from last week, or the week before. 

As Mu Qing is walking to the meeting, the deputy he encountered yesterday approaches him. She looks much better than when he last saw her, and her leg looks perfectly fine. Her partner trails sheepishly behind her. 

“General Xuan Zhen,” she says. The two of them bow, deep and perfectly in-sync. Had they practiced this? “We thank you for helping us with that ghost from yesterday. Truly, we apologize for interrupting you and your duties.” 

“It was more of a hassle than anticipated, you were right to call me for help,” Mu Qing says. “I trust that the two of you are properly healed?” 

When the two of them nod, Mu Qing waves them off, and the two relax. Just a little. 

As Mu Qing is walking away, however, he accidentally brushes against one of their shoulders. The voice of his deputy rings in his head, like she’s talking through a shared communication array. 

Ahh, what a relief! I was worried General Xuan Zhen was going to be mad… 

“Why would I be mad?” Mu Qing asks, genuinely confused. Both deputies freeze, slowly turning to face him with equally surprised and puzzled faces. 

Mu Qing feels the need to explain, just to make them less worried-looking. “As I said before, the ghost’s power was severely underestimated. And you did the right thing contacting me. The situation has been handled.” 

“R-right,” one of his deputies pipes up, eyes shifting to him and her partner. “Thank you so much, General.” 

His deputies look even more confused and worried than before, which isn’t what Mu Qing wanted, but he doesn’t know what to say to reassure them. They both scramble off before he can say anything else. 

Odd, but he isn’t going to look too into it. He’s a busy god, after all, and has a meeting to attend. 

The entrance hall is a lot busier than he anticipated, with several people all shuffling into the room. And it's weirdly loud in the communication array, with various voices piling into his head. It’s never this noisy, even when there’s a particularly good rumour spreading around the heavens. 

Fuck me, this meeting is gonna take forever. Maybe I can make up an excuse to ditch. 

A-Zhang hasn’t been talking to me in weeks. Is he mad at me for sleeping with his father?  

I hope this meeting ends quickly, I have a date with that pretty mortal and I want to make myself look nice for her!

Mu Qing looks up and glances around to see who’re the bastards venting their complaints in his communication array, of all places. No one’s looking at him, though, just staring straight ahead or at their shoes. Mu Qing suddenly feels a little uneasy. 

He feels someone bump behind him, right against his backside. A voice he’s never heard of blasts in his head. 

Ugh, General Xuan Zhen in my way. At least he looks good today. He’s got a nice ass, legs that last for days. A shame he’s still following those cultivation vows, otherwise I’d —

“What did you just say about me?!” Mu Qing whips his head behind him to locate the source. He distantly hears a man get smacked in the face with his hair, but he doesn’t give a shit about that. Making eye contact with him is a literature god that barely reaches his shoulders, staring at him wide-eyed and shocked. 

“I-I’m sorry? I didn’t say anything to you.” 

“In the communication array, you told me that…you said that…” Mu Qing can’t even say it. 

A martial goddess he faintly recognizes jostles him, knocking him with her shoulder. It feels very intentional. Gods, Xuan Zhen is always causing a fucking scene. If only men could grow up. 

Why was he yammering about the communication array? A goddess to his right is giving him a judgemental look, her eyebrow cocked up. It’s been quiet up here all morning. Has he gone crazy? 

The worst part is that the voices don’t stop. It’s all unintelligible, clamouring garble filling his head the way a well fills with water. When most of the gods make their way inside to start the meeting, Mu Qing turns his heel and bolts out. When he’s finally alone, the noise has subsided, not a single voice to be heard. 

“What,” Mu Qing asks himself, out loud. “the actual fuck is going on.” 

He does some mental calculations in his head. Okay. So it’s not the communication array, based on what that goddess said—did she actually say it? Well, she thought of it, but she didn’t really say it, right? Either way, he definitely heard her. He’s the only one experiencing it, based on everyone else’s reactions, meaning whatever happened to cause this only affected him. 

Is this something to do with that curse Pei Ming talked about, at his birthday party? About that Xin Yi ghost curse? This all definitely feels like a curse. It feels too…connected for it to be just happenstance. 

The horrible realization of Pei Ming being right suddenly creeps into his mind. Mu Qing does a full body shiver at the mere thought of telling Pei Ming that he’s right. Or telling him about this at all. Or anyone, actually. He’s going to take this to the grave, or at least until he finds a cure. 

Wait, how is he even going to do that? Didn’t Pei Ming say that the curse only breaks once he loses his virginity? Is he really going to give up over 800 years of cultivation over this? There’s no way he’s going to do that. There has to be another way. 

He’s going to fix this. He’ll find another way and this’ll all just be a distant memory. He has to. 

“General Xuan Zhen!”

Right on cue, Pei Ming is walking up to Mu Qing, waving to him without a care in the world. Trailing right behind him, to Mu Qing’s horror, is Feng Xin. 

Mu Qing tries to keep himself calm and collected. “Hello. Generals.”

“Well, what brings you outside all by yourself, Xuan Zhen? Are you waiting for someone in particular?” Pei Ming keeps pumping his eyebrows up and down, up and down. It’s really starting to piss Mu Qing off. 

“I’m not waiting for anyone,” he insists, like some petulant child. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to leave.” 

“You are?” Feng Xin asks, furrowing his eyebrows. Pei Ming has his head cocked to the side, his grin feline. 

“That’s what I said.” Mu Qing snaps. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

“Where are you going?” Feng Xin asks, the nosy bastard. “You never told me any of this.” 

“I don’t have to. Since when do I have to tell you about every waking part of my life?”

“Oop! This is my cue to leave,” Pei Ming interrupts him. Mu Qing has never cared less about him in his life. He doesn’t even notice Pei Ming speed-walking away from the situation. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds, ah, I mean Generals, alone!” 

Mu Qing doesn’t want to start an argument with Feng Xin, he really doesn’t. Honestly, they’ve been getting along pretty decently since the whole Mount Tonglu thing. But more importantly, Mu Qing is too tired for a fight, and his mind is pretty dead set on trying to cure this curse as soon as possible. Without having sex, of course. 

“It’s nothing,” Mu Qing says. Usually he’s good at lying on the spot, but Feng Xin is staring at him so intensely it’s hard for him to think of a good excuse. “I just wanted. To check on some villagers in the mortal realm. And their prayers. They were praying. To me.”

“Oh,” Feng Xin replies dumbly. “That’s it? Can’t that wait until after the meeting?”

“It can’t, actually. It’s, uhm, it sounded really urgent.”

“I can help you, if it’s that urgent!” Feng Xin suddenly blurts. “If it’s the two of us, we can get the issue done a lot faster.” 

“No! I mean, no ,” Mu Qing clears his throat. “It’s not that urgent. I’ll return shortly. And I don’t need any help.” 

“Okay then…” Feng Xin purses his lips. “You know, you’ve been working a lot, lately.”

“And? I’m a god, that’s what I’m supposed to do.” 

“I just think you need a break sometimes, that’s all!” 

“My schedule is perfectly fine. Don’t patronize me!”

“You—!” Feng Xin opens his mouth, as if about to launch a verbal assault. He sighs instead, rubbing at his temple. “You get things so twisted in that head of yours, you know. I’m not patronizing you.” 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really! Oh my gods,” Feng Xin throws his hands up in defeat. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone if you want it so badly. Jeez.” 

“Good. Finally,” Mu Qing scoffs at him. But, suddenly, walking away from Feng Xin feels so much more difficult than he remembers. “About time.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Feng Xin grunts. Then, he steps a little closer to him, eyes suddenly even more intense than before. “Uhm. Mu Qing.” 

“What,” Mu Qing grumbles. He starts to get a little confused, then worried, when Feng Xin doesn’t respond immediately. “What.” 

“I just, uhm, I wanted to say happy birthday to you,” Feng Xin says. “Happy birthday, Mu Qing.” 

Oh. 

“Oh.” Mu Qing was expecting an insult, maybe a curse word or two. He does not expect that. His eyes widen a little, at a loss for words. “Thanks.”

“Yup.” 

“I’m going now.”

“Right.”

“Right.” 

As Mu Qing turns and walks away, he suddenly wonders to himself: what does Feng Xin think about on a daily basis? Mu Qing always calls him some variation of a muscle-brained idiot, but he’s collected a couple of brain cells over the centuries. Does he grumble to himself as he trudges his way to these meetings? When his eye catches the sight of a particularly pretty cultivator, are his thoughts as unthinkably salacious as that literature god’s from earlier? 

For some reason, Mu Qing really doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t want to peep into Feng Xin’s thoughts and hear him complain about Mu Qing, how he’s such a schemer and how much he hates him. 

He’s not sure why he’s suddenly so upset at the thought of hearing those opinions in Feng Xin’s voice, with his words. Usually, he’s good at handling the truth. Maybe it’s the curse’s fault again, turning him soft over something he should be used to. 

Chapter 2

Notes:

general warning that mid-point in the fic, Mu Qing tries hooking up with a random stranger. nothing happens between them, but just letting you know if that's not your preference!

Days pass, then weeks. The search for an alternative cure is growing more and more dim. Mu Qing is starting to get desperate. 

He’s desperate enough to ask his deputies for help, investigating villages and analyzing old scrolls for information. He doesn’t tell him that he’s the one who’s cursed, of course, because he’d rather die. Not much luck, though.

On the bright side (if you can even call it a bright side), he’s slowly started adjusting to the curse so it’s a little more bearable to live with. In other words, he’s been completely secluding himself, a hermit in his own palace, making sure not even a single hand could graze at his skin. 

Initially, he was a little more lax in his palace, roaming around the halls idly. But then, one day, he accidentally brushed hands with a fellow martial god who was handing him a scroll, and promptly got an earful of complaints about him.

Damn good-for-nothing Xuan Zhen, he thinks he’s so high and mighty. Making me come all the way to his palace for this, like some little—

Mu Qing hasn’t left his room since.

And he’s been especially avoiding Feng Xin, ignoring his pervasive questions in the communication array. Mu Qing makes sure there’s at least one of his deputies outside at the gates to shoo Feng Xin off, in case he ever tries to meddle in-person. Or smash a door down, knowing him. 

There’s no reason why he’s putting all this effort into avoiding Feng Xin. Nothing at all. 

It’s—it’s not personal. It really isn’t, Mu Qing swears. They’ve been getting along fine, even better than before since Jun Wu was defeated. They still fight, yes, but not physically as much anymore. Sure, they argue and bicker like it’s breathing, but that’s their thing. It’s not Feng Xin and Mu Qing if they don’t argue! 

It’s just. It’s just that the thought of listening to Feng Xin’s thoughts in particular feel unbearable. 

Mu Qing already knows what Feng Xin thinks of (when he does), besides sword fighting and exercising and being stupid or whatever. If he hears it in Feng Xin’s voice, though. How Mu Qing is cruel, a liar—manipulative and duplicitous enough to fit in an imperial harem. His worst enemy, his greatest rival. Something in his way. 

Well. He’s heard of all these before, and from Feng Xin no less. Mu Qing remembers pretty clearly; 800 years ago, after the fall of Xian Le, Feng Xin’s dirt-covered hands clenched into fists. He’s not sure why he’s so afraid of hearing it from him again. He’s not sure why he keeps thinking about it, again and again. It’s stupid and irrational and, if Mu Qing could, he’d stomp these inexplicable feelings away forever—an unmentionable stain at the bottom of his shoe. 

**

Ah…General Xuan Zhen, a voice that’s not his suddenly chimes in his head, like a small bell. It’s one of his deputies. She sounds uncharacteristically meek. I’m sorry to interrupt. Someone is waiting for you outside…

Apologizing isn’t going to make it any better. Mu Qing sighs. He rolls his eyes, even though there’s no one there to see it. I told you that Nan Yang is banned here, didn’t I? 

Well, yes, but what do I do if it’s General Ming Guang? 

Pei Ming? Unexpected, and definitely not welcome.

Of course he’s also banned from here. You should know better. Send him off.

Ah, I tried to earlier but…he’s very insistent. And flirty. Very, very flirty. 

Okay, that crosses a line. And definitely violates some personal ethics here. Pei Ming can act all high and mighty, but he’s not going to harass his poor deputy and get away with it.

Stay where you are, Mu Qing commands, unsheathing his sharpest blade. I’ll make sure he leaves. 

**

Mu Qing walks out to a scene: Pei Ming a looming shadow over his poor deputy who’s trying so hard to stand her ground. Her arms are firmly crossed, face darkened with a glare, but she can’t seem to make eye contact with Pei Ming without looking faintly nauseous. Inexplicably, her partner is also there, unconscious again. 

“General Ming Guang!” He calls out, pointing at Pei Ming with his sword. “Leave my deputies alone.” 

“Ho ho! Xuan Zhen, long time no see!” Pei Ming breaks out a big, warm smile, like he was just given a present instead of getting yelled at by Mu Qing. It’s enough of a distraction to rescue his deputies, at least; she makes a run for it, dragging her partner with her away into the palace, literally, by the ankles. She rushes past Mu Qing, her shoulder just barely grazing Mu Qing’s; her voice blares, frenzied, in his head, like an alarm:

EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW—  

It’s the loudest Mu Qing has ever heard her. He feels for her, the poor girl.

“To loiter on my property is one thing, but to harass my deputies?” Mu Qing glares, “You went too far, even by your standards. Leave, or I’ll cut your tongue out.”

Pei Ming doesn’t leave. He does the opposite, actually, strutting towards Mu Qing with a confidence that is both concerning and really annoying. 

Then, Pei Ming breaks out in a dash, faster than Mu Qing can react. Before Mu Qing can instinctively swing his sabre at him, Pei Ming lunges at him, like a bird of prey. 

He grabs Mu Qing’s wrist. Mu Qing shrieks.

“No—!”

You can hear this, can you, Xuan Zhen? 

It’s Pei Ming’s voice, low and booming in Mu Qing’s ears. Mu Qing is probably making some ridiculous wide-eyed face, based on Pei Ming’s increasingly amused reaction. So much for keeping a secret. Fuck. 

“Fuck,” Mu Qing says, out loud. 

Pei Ming grins, “I knew it! You are cursed! I was right all along. I’m so smart.”

“If you tell anyone, I swear to all the heavens, Ming Guang!” Mu Qing points his sabre so it’s grazing at Pei Ming’s chin just so. “If you tell anyone—” 

“Calm down, I won’t, I won’t! I promise. Stop pointing that at me,” Pei Ming raises his hands in surrender, and sighs audibly when Mu Qing lowers his sword. “Jeez. Feral.” 

“I hope you’re happy,” Mu Qing huffs. “You found out that I’m cursed. From that stupid Xin Yi ghost or whatever. Great job. So happy for you, by the way. Now leave me alone. Never show your face here again. And—and if I see you within ten feet of my deputies I’ll kill you.” 

“That’s a little excessive, no?” Pei Ming asks. “Well, whatever. This is a good thing, Xuan Zhen! Why are you so upset about this? Now you and Feng Xin can take your relationship to the next step.”

“The next step for our relationship? What does Feng Xin have to do with my curse?” 

“Well, since you guys are together and all—” 

Mu Qing chokes. “SINCE WE’RE WHAT .” 

Pei Ming blinks. “Together? You know, like a couple. Romantically. And, because of the curse, about to be sexually?” 

“No! We’re—No! No, no, we’re not a couple!” 

“Oh, so you’ve broken up, then?” Pei Ming looks more and more perplexed. “Because…of the Xin Yi ghost curse?” 

“We’ve never been a couple. I don’t like Feng Xin that way—I don’t even like Feng Xin!” Oh gods. Mu Qing’s face is on fire, burning with a confusing mixture of embarrassment and bewilderment and rage. 

There’s a long, painful pause between the two of them. Pei Ming’s mouth is hanging open, wide enough to catch a few flies. Speaking of flies, his eyes are bugging out like one, wide as dinner plates. He looks stupid. Mu Qing would laugh, if he were in a different situation. 

“What?! You’re not a couple?! Really?” 

“Yes, really!” 

“Oh shit. Oh man. Wow. Okay. Fuck, I owe Pei Xiu so much money.” 

“You’ve been betting on—you know what, that’s a different conversation for later.” Mu Qing rubs at his temples. He can feel a headache coming on. “Feng Xin and I are not and will never be a couple. When have I ever told you otherwise?” 

“I thought you were just keeping it a secret! You know, you’re so sneaky. You never tell me anything, I have to figure things out by myself. Also there’s your vows and everything…I assumed you didn’t want people asking questions.” 

“It’s because of those vows that I’m not in any romantic relationship, let alone with—with…” Mu Qing can’t even say it. It’s too mortifying. “And, if you thought Feng Xin and I were t-together, why did you tell me that I had many options to choose from?” 

“Huh? Oh, back at your birthday party. How are those two related?” 

Mu Qing isn’t going to press further. He takes a deep breath. Then another. One more, just to be safe. “Whatever. At least now you know, that…about that.” 

“Yeah,” Pei Ming nods, very slowly, like he’s still trying to wrap it around that stupid head of his. “And. You actually don’t like him. Not romantically. Or as friends.” 

“No.” Mu Qing swallows thickly. 

“Not even…a little?” 

Mu Qing thinks back to the last time he saw Feng Xin, who kept pestering and annoying him for more answers. How he said happy birthday to him, with such a genuine but constipated expression on his face. Like it took all his courage just to tell him. Mu Qing’s stomach does a funny flip, then several more, and a cartwheel for good measure. But that’s completely unrelated to friendship, let alone romance.

They’re…it’s a reaction to their rivalry, of course. Feng Xin can be so irritating when he wants to be, how else would Mu Qing react?

“Not even a little,” Mu Qing replies. “We’re not friends. It’s—it’s nothing. Stop asking.” 

“Damn, okay. Fine, I’ll stop,” Pei Ming says, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry I asked.” 

“You should be,” Mu Qing lifts his chin up a little. “You know how difficult it is to find a cure for this stupid curse? My deputies have searched probably the entire South by now! And you being here certainly doesn’t help.” 

“You’re still trying to find an alternative cure?” Pei Ming asks. “I told you, there’s no other solution except to fu—” 

“Alright, I get it!” Mu Qing crosses his arms. “Shut up! You have such a terrible way with words.” 

Pei Ming stops briefly, as if in contemplation, then he takes Mu Qing’s wrist again. Gentler this time, like he’s checking for a pulse. 

Yeah. Sorry. Look, it’s not a fun situation. If there really was another way out of this, I would’ve told you already. But it’s either that, or stay hidden in your palace until the end of time and be cursed forever. 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “I know. You don’t have to rub it in so much.” 

Pei Ming pauses, pursing his lips together, trying to form the words in his brain. Are you sure you’re…not saving yourself for anyone? 

Mu Qing kicks him. And punches him. Then punches him again, for good measure. 

OW! Fuck! I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that. Anyways. I won’t tell anyone. You have my word. Okay? 

Mu Qing suddenly has the strong urge to stare down at his shoes. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay!” Pei Ming smiles, letting go of his wrist. Finally. His hands were sticky. 

“OKAY!?”  cries Feng Xin, gaping at them a few feet away. 

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Mu Qing is horrified. Beyond horrified. Words can’t describe how horrified he is. He only gawks at Feng Xin, at a complete loss for words. How long has he been standing there, watching them? 

Pei Ming, on the other hand, looks up and gives Feng Xin a friendly wave. He flashes a charming smile at him, as if that’ll explain everything. “Hello there, Nan Yang! How are you doing?” 

“How am I—?! What the fuck? What the fuck?! What are you two doing? ” Feng Xin half-asks, half yells. “Were you…were you two holding hands?”  

“We were not holding hands,” Pei Ming explains, calmly. Mu Qing is about to sigh in relief, until he adds: “I was holding onto his wrist. We were just talking, you see, because Xuan Zhen is—”

Mu Qing steps on Pei Ming’s foot, shooting him the angriest glare he can muster. 

Pei Ming whips his head to stare at Mu Qing in shock. His thoughts immediately come rushing to Mu Qing’s head. You mean you haven’t even told Feng Xin?!

Of course I didn’t tell Feng Xin. I didn’t tell anyone. What makes you think he’s an exception? Mu Qing thinks to himself, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t want to bother explaining it to Pei Ming. He’s too simple-minded. 

Feng Xin, oblivious and nosy as ever, asks, “What? Because Mu Qing’s what? Pei Ming, what the fuck, man! Are you keeping secrets from me? ” 

“None of your business, Feng Xin!” Mu Qing says. “Drop it, already. This has nothing to do with you.”

Feng Xin frowns, affronted. “Nothing to do with me?” 

“That’s what I said, can’t you hear? Go away, Feng Xin. This isn’t your problem.”

“But—“

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Not your problem. Go. Away.” 

Pei Ming taps his shoe at Mu Qing’s heel. Very convincing, Xuan Zhen. 

Mu Qing pointedly ignores him. “Fuck off, Feng Xin. You don’t—you don’t have to waste your time here. Nothing here concerns you. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Can you go now?”

This only upsets Feng Xin more. He takes a few cautious steps towards Mu Qing, hand reaching out to him. “Mu Qing—” 

Mu Qing steps back and shouts, louder than expected, “Don’t touch me!” 

Everyone goes silent. It feels like a standpoint. Mu Qing could cut the tension with his sabre, if he wanted to. Even Pei Ming, who always enjoys cracking a few jokes to lighten the mood, has his lips sealed. 

Mu Qing knows he has a sharp tongue. He has said many cruel things to Feng Xin, many he regrets. And he knows, in the darkest times of his life, he has said far worse to Feng Xin, for far more petty reasons. With over 800 years worth of insults, sneering, and yelling matches, what Mu Qing just said shouldn’t affect Feng Xin in the slightest. Like a fly landing on his shoulder, or a pebble in his shoe. Nothing more than a fleeting irritation, gone and eventually forgotten.

And yet. Feng Xin flinches at Mu Qing’s words, violently, like he’s just been slapped across the face. He…he looks crushed. 

“Fuck,” Mu Qing mutters. He’s seen far worse than Feng Xin’s confused expression, done unspeakable things much worse than accidentally snapping at Feng Xin. He doesn’t know why this is bothering him so much. “Fuck.” 

Before Feng Xin can reply to him, before Pei Ming can mediate the situation, Mu Qing runs away. He hides in his palace, like a child that thinks all the problems he caused will go away on its own. Like a coward, afraid to clean up his own messes. 

**

Mu Qing is ending this stupid curse once and for all. Tonight. 

Had he been more patient, he would’ve preferred to wait a few extra days, maybe weeks, for another way out of it. But the curse has been nothing short of unbearable, and has made Mu Qing’s life been a living hell the past few weeks. 

If there’s only one way to get rid of the curse…well, at least it can be over quick. 

Mu Qing descends to the mortal realm in disguise, late at night. The face he wears is purposely crafted to be unexceptional, someone that would disappear in a crowd. In his robes (dusted with a light layer of dirt for good measure), a small pouch full of gold coins. 

He meets someone surprisingly fast, at a small but busy tavern. She’s nice; she swears a lot for a lady, but Mu Qing finds it oddly charming. She’s a lot shorter than him, and a little too pale, but her hair is a lovely shade of familiar dark brown, tied back into a tight knot. He doesn’t want to assume her age, but she looks to be in her late 20s, maybe even early 30s. She just divorced her no-good-sonofabitch-husband, and she’s out looking for a bit of fun to celebrate. Mu Qing nods along, but doesn’t say much.

While they’re talking amiably about nothing, she mentions offhandedly that she’s not a virgin. Less than a few minutes later, he’s following her to her room. Each step he takes feels like he’s walking with weighted, lead shoes. When he closes the door behind him, she sits on the center of the bed and smiles at him, showing a row of fine teeth. 

“How do you want me?” She asks, casually, as if she’s asking about the weather. 

“Uhm.” Mu Qing replies. There’s a pit in his stomach. 

“Nervous? I get it, I’d be nervous too, if I were bedding someone as beautiful as me,” she barks out a laugh and slaps her knee. “I’m joking, I’m joking. Come here, sit down with me.”

Mu Qing complies, but sits a good five feet away from her. He adjusts his robes tighter. “So.” 

“Mhm?”

“Before we do this, you should know something about me. About my body, specifically.”

Mu Qing tries his best to explain it to her, carefully and slowly. He only stutters every few words, and his hands won’t stop shaking. He hasn’t had to have this conversation since he was a teenager. Her expression doesn’t change the entire time, though. Just a small smile, which is certainly better than he expected. 

“Is it okay? Will it be a problem?” Mu Qing tests, bracing himself. 

“Not at all,” she grins, reassuringly. “Here, let's get you relaxed first. You’re all tense. We can start kissing, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I—sure? Okay.” 

She scoots up to Mu Qing until their thighs touch. The feel of her skin, dry but smooth, makes his breath grow shorter, shorter. Then, she leans in and kisses him, just at the corner of his mouth. It’s chaste; innocent, even. 

Mm, he’s still nervous. She thinks, I wonder how I can make him relax. Should I take off my robes? Or maybe I’ll—

Mu Qing pushes her away. Not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to send her toppling backward on the bed. 

“Gah! Hey!” She bolts upwards immediately, face scrunched up in annoyance. When she makes eye contact with Mu Qing, though, her expression immediately softens into something much more sympathetic. He’s freaking out. It’s definitely showing on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m…fuck. Shit,” Mu Qing is definitely hyperventilating right now. “I can’t do this. Fuck, I can’t d-do this.” 

“Oh, uhm. It’s fine. It’s fine, don’t worry.” She holds a hand out, as if she’s torn between rubbing his back reassuringly or giving him space. She opts for the latter, which Mu Qing is eternally grateful for. 

Mu Qing practically jumps out of the bed, “I-I’m leaving.” 

“Uh. Do you need any help?” 

“No! No, I’ll be—I’m fine.” He fumbles with his robes, looking for his coin pouch. He takes it out, then drops it. It takes him several tries to properly hold it and give it to her. “F-for you, take it. Please.” 

“Wh—I’m not a sex worker.” 

“Just…please.” Mu Qing feels so pathetic, begging a stranger to take his money, like some reverse beggar. But he feels so guilty involving her in this, and he’s completely panicking, and he doesn’t even know why. 

Wordlessly, she takes the coin pouch. She doesn’t open it. Mu Qing’s scrambling out the door before she can say anything, before he can see the confusion and worry on her face. 

**

The embarrassment finally hits Mu Qing after he sprinted out the bar, out into a secluded area of the woods, and ascended back to his palace. He was shaking off his robes, using some of his spiritual energy to burn it into ashes, just for good measure. That’s when Mu Qing processed the situation, the consequences of his actions. 

He throws a small tantrum, for the sake of it. He screams. He takes his fist, charges it with spiritual energy, and slams it onto the floor with all the strength he can muster, forming a large crater beneath him. 

That—that was humiliating. Never in his life has he ever done anything so…so impulsive and reckless and stupid. Not even as a prickly child, or sour teenager. But here he is—over 800 years old, not just a virgin, but a clueless one. He can’t even kiss, let alone talk, to a woman without freaking out over nothing.

Gods, what is wrong with him? This is the lowest he’s felt about himself in decades, centuries even. Nothing could make this worse. 

“Mu Qing?” 

Of course, he spoke too soon. 

“What do you want, Feng Xin.” Mu Qing’s so tired. If Feng Xin wants to fight, or start some fiery confrontation, he’s not getting it. 

“Well, I heard you yelling just now. That was you, wasn’t it? And—” he tilts his head, noticing the crater. “Is that a hole in the floor? 

Mu Qing looks away, “So what if it is?”

“Why is there a hole in the ground? Wait, was that you? Is that why there was a loud bang earlier? Did you…did you punch the ground?” 

Mu Qing’s silence speaks volumes. To his horror, Feng Xin doesn’t get mad, or question why he did it. Instead, he bows over and starts howling with laughter. 

“It’s—it’s not funny!” Mu Qing is so offended, he almost forgets about the whole ordeal from earlier. His cheeks are on fire. “Feng Xin! Stop laughing!” 

Feng Xin isn’t stopping. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just so unexpected of you! I thought it’d be Quan Yizhen being reckless, or whatever, but you? Prim and pretty ol’ Mu Qing?” 

“Shut up!” Mu Qing does not flush harder at Feng Xin calling him pretty, and his stomach does not do another cartwheel at the sound of Feng Xin’s bellowing laughter. He’s angry and embarrassed, that’s all. 

He does throw a pebble at Feng Xin’s head. It whacks him with a small, satisfying thump.  

“Oof, ack. Okay, okay. You play dirty,” Feng Xin is still chuckling to himself, but at least he’s stopped guffawing like some buffoon. “Wow. I can’t believe this. General Xuan Zhen, pillaging the heavens like some barbarian.” 

“I’ll kill you. Wipe that grin off your face.” 

“Of course, of course.” Feng Xin rubs at his mouth, as if that’ll literally wipe the grin off his face. What an imbecile. “Are you gonna tell me why you were causing such a scene?” 

“You’re getting nothing from me,” Mu Qing says. Then, more words escape his mouth, before he can catch them. “Feng Xin. About earlier.” 

Feng Xin doesn’t say anything. He just cocks up an eyebrow, waiting for a response. Gods, it’ll be so much easier if they just…fought it out. Verbally or physically, either works. At least it’s something Mu Qing’s familiar with. 

“Earlier today. I-I didn’t—” Mu Qing stumbles through his sentences. “It’s just. I yelled at you. And. I didn’t mean to. Yell at you, that is. Don’t get me wrong, you were annoying the shit out of me, and you were being invasive. You were trying to meddle in business that had nothing to do with you. But. I didn’t want to—t-to yell at you like that.” 

“Oh…” 

Then Feng Xin does the worst possible thing he could ever do to Mu Qing. He smiles at him, his expression softening into something that can only be described as fond . Mu Qing wants to punch another crater into the ground. Maybe even kick down a door, or two. 

“In your defence,” Feng Xin says, “You’re right.” 

“I am?” 

“I heard some squabbling, and when I checked it out, I saw Pei Ming grabbing at you all chummy. I thought Pei Ming was, like, assaulting you, or something. So I kinda lost my shit out there. Sorry.” 

“You thought I was being bullied by Pei Ming, of all people?”

“Yes, yes, I know. You can kick his ass easily. Anyways. It’s not my business, and I shouldn’t have tried to butt in.” Feng Xin scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly staring at his feet. “But, when you can, maybe tell me a bit about what’s going on? Please?” 

Mu Qing squints at him. “What for?”

“What for—I don’t want to be left in the dark! Come on, Mu Qing! Do you know how worried I was for you there? Seriously, you guys were so fucking shady back there!” 

Oh. Worried. Huh. Mu Qing doesn't know how to react to that. Feng Xin, his greatest enemy and rival, worried for him. Worried for his well-being, his safety. Cares for him, even. Like a—like a f-f-friend. 

“Okay,” Mu Qing agrees. “Fine. But only if you stop messing with my business immediately after. Otherwise, I’ll beat you up into a bloody pulp.” 

“Of course,” Feng Xin flashes him a toothy grin. He holds out a hand, “Truce?” 

“Truce.” And Mu Qing. Stupid, foolish, careless Mu Qing, shakes his hand without a moment’s hesitation. 

Time seems to slow. He doesn’t even register that he’s touching him until he feels Feng Xin’s hand, calloused but warm, wrap around his. Oh god, everything he’s been avoiding, everything he’s been so scared of, suddenly comes careening at him full force, all for some childish promise Feng Xin will probably forget the next day. Mu Qing swallows thickly, knowing it’s too late to let go, to escape. And—

Hahh, I’m so glad. 

…

…Huh? 

“I’ll be visiting his Highness tomorrow,” Feng Xin breaks the handshake. Mu Qing’s hand falls limply to the side. “Crimson Rain won’t be there, I hope. Am I gonna see you there?”

“Sure,” Mu Qing says, instinctually. 

“Cool.” Feng Xin nods. 

Then, without saying bye, turns and walks away from Mu Qing, leaving him standing outside of his palace. The night is quiet, unaware of the storm of confused thoughts exploding in Mu Qing’s mind. 

Chapter 3

Mu Qing’s world has been turned upside down, and it’s entirely Feng Xin’s fault. 

The entire time he’s been cursed, Mu Qing has been obsessively avoiding Feng Xin, so afraid of his thoughts. Of what he thinks of Mu Qing. How could he not be scared, when he and Feng Xin had hated each other for centuries?

But—but when Mu Qing had actually read Feng Xin’s thoughts, it was nothing Mu Qing had worried about for weeks. He expected grumbling at Mu Qing. He expected a lot of cursing. He expected that shitty Mu Qing bastard that fucking schemer, at the very least. But no, what Feng Xin thought that night was one of the last things Mu Qing would’ve expected him to think. 

Hahh, I’m so glad. 

Just three words, four if you include the hahh part. All Mu Qing got was that short, sweet sentence. Short, Mu Qing could understand. Feng Xin is the type of person that doesn’t think too much, otherwise it might hurt his brain. But sweet? Not upset, or annoyed, or even neutral. He was relieved. 

But why? What did Feng Xin mean by that? And where were the swear-filled insults Mu Qing was so familiar with? 

So many questions, and yet not a single answer. It’s driving Mu Qing up the wall, trying to figure out what it means. 

At first, Mu Qing theorized that Feng Xin was hiding thoughts from him. But Mu Qing can read everyone else’s thoughts, even the most perverted, salacious ones. Besides, Feng Xin is far too honest, blunt as a dull knife. He says everything that he means out loud, no matter how stupid it makes him look when he says it. There’s no way he’d be hiding his personal thoughts from Mu Qing. It’s far too uncharacteristic of him. And Mu Qing doesn’t even think that’s possible, so. 

Another hypothesis is that Feng Xin simply doesn’t think, which is a much more plausible option. Mu Qing is pretty sure this is it. It doesn’t explain the lack of insults and seething hatred for Mu Qing, but it’s better than nothing. 

“Ah, General Xuan Zhen? It’s me,” his deputy calls outside, knocking at his door. “I’ve brought the tea you asked for.” 

“Thank you,” Mu Qing says. Before he instructs her to leave it outside his door, he stops himself. “Can you bring it inside?” 

He hears a faint, confused huh from behind the door, which is fair. Since the curse, he’s been giving his deputies much more complicated instructions, just to prevent him from touching them by accident. Or vice versa. This is probably the first time he’s let someone in his room in weeks. 

But because he trains his deputies well, she listens to Mu Qing without asking any questions. She walks in slowly, carrying a large tray. Mu Qing holds out his arms towards her. “Here, give it to me. And be careful.” 

When she passes the tea tray to him, Mu Qing makes sure their fingers touch to catch her thoughts. He gets them instantaneously, her voice ringing clear and bright in his head. 

Okay, got General Xuan Zhen’s tea…what’s next, what’s next…oh! I have to give Ling Wen my report. And I should ask her if there’s any ghosts anywhere nearby I can get rid of. And I need to go to the mortal realm afterwards, I heard there’s some rebellious youth loitering at poor General’s temple! Maybe I’ll set up some protective talismans. Ahh, I don’t think I have enough time to meet up with Jiejie…but I promised to practice sparring with her yesterday. I hope she doesn’t get too mad. Oh, and—

Mu Qing sets the tray gently on his desk, thinking. His deputies all work hard, he recognizes that, of course. But Feng Xin should be much busier than them, with more challenging and demanding tasks. 

He’s General Nan Yang, after all! He’s a prominent god, with lots of statues and temples and, heh, poems to commemorate his successes. It’s strange that, when Feng Xin and Mu Qing touched hands, Mu Qing didn’t get an earful of anything else. With this deputy, however, it’s the exact opposite! 

Maybe he’s overworking his deputies? Or maybe his deputies in particular are constantly on the go? Maybe it’s just this deputy’s brain that runs a mile a minute. Maybe his deputies are completely normal and Feng Xin is the weirdo. Ugh, so many possibilities. His theories need more data, it seems. 

Perhaps he should ask Xie Lian for advice. 

“I will be ascending to the mortal realm shortly after this,” Mu Qing announces. “I will be visiting. Some people.” 

His deputy blinks, surprised by the suddenness of it. “Ah? Alright then. Thank you for notifying me, General.” 

Mu Qing waits, then sighs when she doesn’t get it. Really, his deputies should know better than this. “I’ll be down there doing other errands along the way. Checking temples. Because.” 

“Of course, General.” 

“So. You’re free to go. Take the day off.” 

She’s so shocked by this, she lets out this embarrassingly loud squeak, not too dissimilar from a rusty door opening. “A-Are you sure, General?! What prompted this?” 

He’s not sure what prompted this, actually. Maybe it’s the curse making him all soft. But he knows what it’s like, working to the bone only to be left unnoticed. He still remembers the frustration of it all, bitter and heavy in his throat. 

“The more you question me, the less I’m inclined to give this to you.” 

“Ah, yes, yes! Of course,” she bows so low her forehead almost touches her kneecaps. Mu Qing is a little impressed by this. “Thank you so much General Xuan Zhen, really.” 

“You’re dismissed. And don’t tell anyone else about this.” Next thing he knows, all his deputies are going to start asking for more and more time off. 

“O-okay! Yes! Of course, thank you General!” She practically skips away, a spring in her step. 

Mu Qing takes a sip of his tea, watching her leave the palace. Mm. She brewed it decently. 

 

**

 

“Ah! Mu Qing, you’re here early.” Xie Lian sounds surprised, but at least he’s smiling. To Mu Qing’s absolute displeasure, Crimson Rain is there, looking at him as if watching a pile of shit dry. “Come in, come in. I can prepare some tea, if you want.”

“It’s fine. I had some before,” Mu Qing doesn’t trust Xie Lian with water, let alone tea. “Is…is it just the two of you here?”

“Huh? Oh,” Xie Lian grins knowingly (about what, Mu Qing doesn’t know. Not one bit). “Feng Xin said he’d be here in an hour, maybe less. But don’t worry! Come, sit down. Make yourself at home.

Mu Qing sits down, but he doesn’t make himself at home. He’s too stressed to make himself home anywhere. 

Xie Lian clears his throat. “…So! Mu Qing, what brings you here so early? And by yourself, no less.”

Mu Qing notices there’s a smudge of dirt at the toe of his shoe. There’s a loose floorboard right in front of him, a lone ant skittering across it. He notices all this because he’s too embarrassed to look Xie Lian in the eye. He really, really doesn’t want to tell him anything, especially about some niche sex curse. It’s all so humiliating just to think about.

But at the same time, it’s confusing. What’s he going to do with his cultivation, or his vows? Throw it all away, after 800 years of hard work, for one shoddy, forgettable night? He’s—he doesn’t have a choice, yes, but…it’s hard to think about.

And then there’s the whole thing with Feng Xin and his stupid, stupid thoughts and—

“Ah…” Xie Lian furrows his eyebrows. “San Lang, what should we do? He’s so worried, he’s not even looking at us.”

“Let me help you, Gege.” Crimson Rain takes an orange and throws it squarely at Mu Qing’s head.

“Ow! Fuck!” Mu Qing jolts his head up. “Crimson Rain, you piece of shit!”

“I know right? I aimed for your face and only got the side of your head. I’m losing my touch.”

“Sorry, Mu Qing, but you were so distracted, you weren’t listening to anything,” Xie Lian says. “Is there something wrong? You can tell me anything, you know.”

Mu Qing glances at Crimson Rain. 

“I couldn’t give less of a shit,” Crimson Rain replies, the closest thing to reassurance Mu Qing can get.

“It’s really hard to explain, your highness.” Mu Qing says, “But—but I’m, uhm. A few weeks ago. There was this ghost. And…wait. I can just show you.”

Mu Qing walks up to Xie Lian. At first, he considers grabbing Xie Lian’s hand or wrist. But Crimson Rain would probably slice his hand off if he did that. Or throw another orange at his head. Mu Qing settles for tapping his foot against Xie Lian’s.

Ah, what is Mu Qing doing? He can never say what he means. Perhaps he’s hunting down a ghost, or he got cursed?

“It’s the latter,” Mu Qing confirms. “And—and it’s hard for me to talk about this, okay? I’m trying!”

What?

“What.”

Xie Lian looks down at their feet touching, then looks back up at Mu Qing. Ah. So you can hear what I’m…?

“That’s right. It happens whenever I t-touch someone. And the only way to break it is…” Mu Qing’s face flushes just thinking about it. “Uhm. I’d have to break our—my cultivation vows. And not by drinking alcohol.”

“I see,” Xie Lian rubs at his chin. “Well. That’s not so bad, is it?”

“Not bad?!” Mu Qing sputters.

“Ah, that sounded a little callous. But it really isn’t so awful. You could be dead.”

“Your highness, this is terrible! Y-you know how hard I worked to get here? How many years I spent dedicating myself to my vows? And because of this—this stupid curse…” He starts choking up a little. Ugh, that’s so embarrassing. “Everything I worked for goes to waste. And for what? For s-s-sex? It’s—it’s not fair.”

“Oh, Mu Qing.” Xie Lian looks at him beseechingly. He keeps a comfortable distance though, hands folded in his lap. “I’m so sorry. You’re right, it’s really unfair. And frustrating.”

Mu Qing grumbles under his breath. “I know already. I just said that.” 

Crimson Rain had since left the room, but immediately came back after hearing Mu Qing’s mumbling. “Watch yourself around Gege. I’m not above throwing another orange at you.”

“Now Sang Lang, there’s no need for that.” Mu Qing watches Xie Lian gesture for Crimson Rain to come over, watches Crimson Rain dutifully obey. He feels shameful just looking at them, like he shouldn’t be near anything so intimate. 

Xie Lian finally turns back to Mu Qing, “Anyways. I know it’s difficult, but I think you can get something good out of this.”

Mu Qing is downright offended. It definitely shows on his face, because Xie Lian immediately backtracks.

“N-Not to say that this is a good thing! Being cursed isn’t great! But honestly, I think a new cultivation path would be good for you.”

“Really? Even after 800 years of the same vows?”

“Just because you stuck to one thing for so long doesn’t mean you can’t change to something else.”

Mu Qing purses his lips. He’s right, sure. Whatever. It’s just…a lot to process.

“Besides, it’s been so long, there’s a lot more cultivation options now. You can pick one that suits you better. Gives you more freedom.” Xie Lian leans closer to Mu Qing, “Don’t tell Guoshi this, but I think our cultivation vows are pretty terrible.”

“Your highness?”

“Things have been going…aha, really great for me and Sang Lang since I broke those vows.” 

“Your highness!”

“I’m serious! How else were we supposed to know, when we first swore in our vows? It’s not like we knew what we were signing up for. It’s funny, really. So I’m glad you have a chance now!”

Mu Qing gawks at him. Xie Lian has the audacity to laugh. “This change will be good for you Mu Qing, it really will.”

“Y-Your highness, you have too much faith in me…”

“Of course I have faith in you! You’re very talented, Mu Qing, a new path won’t take you much time at all.” Xie Lian smiles, “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. Trust your heart!”

“O-okay…I’ll consider it. I just don’t want people gossiping about it. And I don’t want Feng Xin to know.”

“What? Why?”

Before Mu Qing can stutter out another explanation, there’s a loud crash coming from outside. Then, a bang. Then, Feng Xin comes in, slamming the door open.

“Your highness, I’m—Mu Qing?” He looks perplexed. “You’re here early.”

Feng Xin literally just arrived and Mu Qing is already sick of his shit. “Have you ever heard of knocking?!” 

“For once, I agree with Xuan Zhen,” Crimson Rain glares darkly at Feng Xin. “Trash these days has no manners, really, it’s sad to see.” 

“You—!” Veins appear on Feng Xin’s forehead, but he smartly chooses to not snap back at Crimson Rain. He takes a deep breath, then turns to Xie Lian instead, nodding. “Ah. Uh. Your highness. Sorry I arrived on such sudden notice. And I’m sorry I didn’t knock.” 

“Hah…Ah…it’s fine, Feng Xin.”

As Feng Xin idly chats with Xie Lian, Mu Qing thinks of an idea. All morning, he was stressing about Feng Xin and how confusing he was, especially when Mu Qing shook his hand. But all his theories were running off of assumptions, and only left Mu Qing questioning more. 

Well, what if he could collect more data? Maybe he’ll find an underlying reason why Feng Xin’s thoughts were so…not Feng Xin, instead of all swear-y and rude. Maybe he’ll actually get some normal I Hate Mu Qing thoughts when touching Feng Xin! If that’s the case, Mu Qing doesn’t have any reason to worry anymore. 

All Mu Qing needs to do is find some way to get him and Feng Xin to touch. The issue is that Mu Qing is sitting down several feet away from a standing Feng Xin, and it doesn’t look like Feng Xin is going to sit next to him anytime soon. Hm. 

He could just walk up to Feng Xin and touch his shoulder, like a reassuring pat. But that’s still pretty suspicious. Even before he was cursed, Mu Qing wasn’t a very physically affectionate person. He wasn’t affectionate at all, actually.

He could try his usual strategy of playing footsies, but knowing Feng Xin, he’ll just keep kicking Mu Qing’s feet away until he gets annoyed enough to actually kick Mu Qing. Also, isn’t that kind of awkward? To just walk up to him and tap at each other’s feet? That’s even more suspicious!

Either Xie Lian notices his brainstorming, or he’s a miracle worker, because he gestures for Mu Qing with a come-hither movement. “Mu Qing, ah, Mu Qing. There’s no need for you to be by yourself all the way here. Come here, join us.”

Feigning annoyance, Mu Qing approaches them, casually sliding closer and closer to Feng Xin. He manages to graze at Feng Xin’s hand, for barely a second, and only manages to catch the tail of a disappearing thought:

—touching me!

Oh, shit. Feng Xin caught on way quicker than Mu Qing expected! Has he always been this perceptive? Unsurprising, he supposes, Feng Xin is a decorated martial god. What is surprising, though, is that Feng Xin doesn’t outwardly react to Mu Qing touching him at all. He simply stares ahead, as if listening intently to Xie Lian. He doesn’t even think of ‘Ew Mu Qing mind your personal space!’ , let alone say it to his face. If Mu Qing couldn’t read thoughts, he would’ve easily assumed Feng Xin didn’t even notice Mu Qing’s hand brushing his.

Second time’s the charm, maybe? Mu Qing tries his tapping-his-foot-against-someone-else’s strategy. This time, he gets Feng Xin’s voice cutting cleanly in Mu Qing’s mind, like a sharp blade easing through cloth. 

It’s so good that I get to see him today. Ah, I shouldn’t be staring too much, though. I don’t want to raise suspicion. He’s so pretty, though, I don’t know what to do… 

It takes all of Mu Qing’s willpower not to choke on his own saliva. Is he…? Is Feng Xin in love?!

In the corner of Mu Qing’s eye, Feng Xin looks the same as usual; a slight furrow in his brow, arms tightly crossed, but nodding along intently to Xie Lian talking about his day. And yet, his tone sounds saccharine, even in Feng Xin standards, Mu Qing can’t describe it as anything except lovestruck. Mu Qing’s surprised Feng Xin doesn’t sigh wistfully like a teenage girl, or turn his eyes into red, bubbling hearts. Thoughts of irritation Mu Qing was expecting, anticipating even, but not…not Feng Xin harbouring some crush like a lovesick fool!

And—and to think Feng Xin is in love with Xie Lian, of all people! 

**

The next few minutes are a complete blur. Somehow, they’ve reconvened and are all now sitting in chairs. Xie Lian is all smiley as usual, holding a steaming cup in his hands (of what, Mu Qing isn’t sure). 

Feng Xin is sitting far too inappropriately, legs spread and taking up so much space. Usually Mu Qing would complain about Feng Xin, maybe smack him to get his senses, but now couldn’t care less about that. He’s still trying to process everything. 

Feng Xin is in love. It definitely explains why Feng Xin’s thoughts are so simple and happy. He’s literally stupid with love!

And Mu Qing is sure he’s in love with Xie Lian.

Who else would it be? They’ve known each other since they were children and everything—Xie Lian’s imperial bodyguard for years, a family and friend for even longer. He was the one that stuck by Xie Lian’s side at his worst moments, those 800 years ago, only leaving when ordered to. 

And Xie Lian is so easy to love. He’s kind and gentle, a smile that could melt with its soft warmth. He doesn’t speak to people with a glare and a snappy tone that scares them off, or turns them away with his nose in the air. It only makes sense that Feng Xin would develop feelings for him, right? Not like…not like—

Mu Qing finds himself grumbling, suddenly very irritated and upset. He curls up like a pill bug, makes himself smaller in his seat. He’s surrounded by stupid, lovestruck idiots, and he’s going to spend the rest of his stupid, immortal life third-wheeling these stupid, lovestruck idiots. 

Something dense smacks him on the head with a heavy thump. Mu Qing whips around, Crimson Rain is behind him like a shadow, scaring the ever-loving shit out of him. On the floor, an orange rolls across the floorboards, then bumps to a stop against the wall.

“Will you quit that?”

“Actually, I’m doing everyone a favour here. Your moodiness is ruining the vibe, you know.” 

Feng Xin, somehow, manages to take up even more space in the room, stretching out his legs. Mu Qing takes this as an opportunity to touch him again; the side of his shoe leaning against Feng Xin’s boot. 

His hair looks really soft and silky, it always does. I wonder if he uses those fancy products I see in the mortal realm—the ones that sell at a crazy price, Feng Xin thinks in Mu Qing’s head.

Mu Qing, subconsciously, tilts his head to the side in confusion. Huh, that thought’s a little out of the blue, especially thinking about Xie Lian of all people. Xie Lian is definitely not a vain person, a little more on the frugal side since the fall of Xian Le. He’d probably buy a hair product if it was a good deal, like a shampoo that also conditions your hair and washes your body and cleans your floors. But Mu Qing can only see him buying an expensive, fancy product if it would cure every disease for everyone in the world, or something equally ludicrous. 

“Ah, Mu Qing, are you okay?” asks Xie Lian. He pauses to take a sip of his drink. “You’ve been awfully quiet—also you’ve been glaring at my floor the past few minutes.”

Mu Qing is quick to respond with something he’s an expert in: complaining and bitching, especially at Feng Xin. 

He rolls his eyes. “I’d be feeling a lot better if Feng Xin wasn’t taking up the whole damn room with the way he’s sitting.”

“Wh—hey!” Feng Xin frowns. Pouts, even. Mu Qing is going insane. “What’s wrong with how I sit?”

“Everything. Literally everything. Have you seen yourself?”

“Come on! You’ve been quiet all day and the only time you open your mouth, it’s to bitch at me! What the fuck, Mu Qing.”

“Well maybe if you actually had manners—“

“Oh my gods, do you have to nitpick everything I do?!”

Xie Lian sighs, “You two, really…”

They both ignore him. This is good, actually. Bickering, Mu Qing is familiar with, comfortable with even. Then he doesn’t have to think about Feng Xin and his love life and how he’s in love with his married best friend, and why that pisses him off so much. Maybe Mu Qing will finally get to hear Feng Xin’s normal, negative thoughts once he touches him.

As if on cue, Feng Xin stands up, as if his anger made him shoot up straight from his seat. “Honestly I don’t even know why I bother! Mu Qing you can just fuck right off.”

He grabs at Mu Qing by his collar. Mu Qing retaliates by grabbing a fistful of Feng Xin’s hair and pulls. An image flashes into his mind, almost like a vivid flashback. It’s not the first time Mu Qing could read someone’s thoughts, obviously, but it’s the first time he sees it visually.

The setting is a little ambiguous, the surroundings dark and muddy. Right in front of Mu Qing’s vision, though, is the undeniable figure of himself. He’s scowling, face flushed with anger, clothes ruffled as if he just caught himself in a particularly good scuffle. 

Speaking of, Feng Xin is on top of him, his hands are pinning Mu Qing’s down. The Mu Qing of Feng Xin’s thoughts is struggling against his grip, but admittedly not very much. It’s mostly just him glaring at Feng Xin and wriggling. He looks very much like an undignified worm.

Mu Qing can’t help but roll his eyes at the scene; of course Feng Xin thinks about beating his ass. He was expecting this!

But then the scene shifts, like a flash of lightning. Fake Mu Qing is still red-faced, neck stained pink, except his expression reads dishevelled and embarrassed. Not angry at all. Feng Xin is still on top of him, one hand still holding him down, the other gripping at Mu Qing’s side particularly hard. 

Huh, okay. Interesting fighting strategy, a little weird. Maybe Feng Xin is mentally practicing for their next sparring session?

Suddenly, the image flickers. Fake Mu Qing’s rumpled clothes have been completely stripped away, his heaving chest as flushed as his cheeks. There’s—there’s want in his glossy, teary eyes. Sitting between his legs is fake Feng Xin, grinning madly, almost hungry. His hands are roaming everywhere, on the most unspeakable parts of Mu Qing’s bare body. Most surprising, thought-Feng Xin smiles at thought-Mu Qing with nothing but—but adoration. 

Then, he leans down and kisses thought-Mu Qing in the mouth. 

Real Mu Qing’s mind implodes.

“AHH! FUCK!” Mu Qing screams so loud Feng Xin practically drops him in shock. He stares at Feng Xin with bugged-out eyes and a mouth hanging open.

Feng Xin looks back in confusion, as if Mu Qing is the crazy one. “Woah, are you okay—?”

“I’M LEAVING NOW,” Mu Qing announces. He’s so freaked out he doesn’t notice Crimson Rain going “ugh, finally” in the corner. 

“Huh? What happened—“ 

“GOODBYE!” Mu Qing ascends without an explanation.

**

 

The second he reaches his palace, Mu Qing bolts straight to his room, and locks the door behind him. He buries his face in his hands. 

What the fuck. What the fuck? What the fuck! So—so all of those thoughts, the sappy ones and the ones Mu Qing just saw…they were all for him. Surely, there has to be another explanation for all this! He’s Feng Xin’s biggest rival! His greatest enemy! There’s no way Feng Xin wants him p-physically, and there’s absolutely no way he’s in love with him!

Sure, the thoughts he literally just saw say otherwise, but—b-but there’s just no way. All those sweet, sappy thoughts, the carnal desire…for him ? Not kind, gentle Xie Lian, or even some random village maiden with pretty eyes and soft hair. For Mu Qing. 

And worst of all—

Mu Qing’s entire body is scalding with heat, so much so his hands are shaking with tremors, as if unable to handle this sudden change in temperature. There’s a churning in his gut, a deep ache with something pulsating just a little below it. His pants are damp, with sweat and something unspeakable Mu Qing doesn’t want to admit. 

He shucks them off and throws them over a lone chair in the corner. To his horror, Mu Qing probably has to admit the unspeakable. His lower half is wet, not only moist with his own sweat, but the inside of his thighs and his p-parts are slippery and shiny with…with—

Mu Qing is celibate, has been for centuries, but he’s not stupid. He knows what this is; he’s displaying textbook symptoms of sexual arousal. But Mu Qing never knew that’s what it felt like, like a fire growing, something burning and hungry inside of him. This is awful. It feels insane but good, like a pleasurable electric shock. It’s terrible. 

And to think…these feelings are because of Feng Xin and his…disgusting, perverted thoughts!

Wha—What does Mu Qing do? He looks at himself, a pathetic and sweaty man with his veins running hot with arousal. Standing alone in his room, half-naked. He should…relieve himself, right? Just to get rid of the feeling, make it stop setting his body on fire.

He doesn’t know how, or what, to do though. As a pre-teen, when he first swore in his cultivation vows, Guoshi sat him down and told him to not even think about those thoughts. Sure, he’s not an idiot, but he’s still a little, admittedly, clueless when it comes to stuff like these. 

He takes his hand and tries rubbing it over himself, his palm just barely grazing over his pussy. It’s—it’s not good. It feels exactly like what he expected, nothing shockingly pleasurable. It feels like he’s trying to scratch a particularly bad itch without any fingernails. And now the palm of his hand is slippery and slick. Gross. 

This is…embarrassing. And bad. Embarrassing and bad. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and whatever he’s attempting to do feels significantly more awkward than it does good. Instead of craving more of his touch, he feels the strong urge to wash the grime and wetness off his hand. 

Humiliated, Mu Qing instead prepares for a bath. A cold one. When he sits in the tub, all the heat washes away, until just the warmth of embarrassment remains residing in his cheeks. 

**

 

“Feng Xin, maybe you’d like to talk to me about what you’re feeling?” Xie Lian pats his shoulder. 

“It’s just…” Feng Xin pauses, then sighs. “He’s been avoiding me for weeks, and I don’t know why. And now this shit? It looked like he just saw a fucking ghost—another ghost that he doesn’t know, not you, Crimson Rain.” 

“Helpful,” Crimson Rain notes. 

“I’m really worried about him, your highness,” Feng Xin admits. “I really thought we’ve been getting along better recently! And now he’s avoiding me like I’m some plague. What if it was something I said? Maybe being friends with me was so fucking horrible for him that he's running away from me.” 

“That’s a bit of an extreme jump, Feng Xin. I really don’t think that’s it,” Xie Lian reassures him. “I think the best thing you could try to do is talk to him. Listen to what he says.” 

“He never says what he means, though. He’ll probably tell me to fuck off or something.” 

“Well—Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Xie Lian pauses, rubbing his chin. “It doesn’t hurt to be honest with him, though. Just say what you want to tell him.” 

“Fuck,” Feng Xin pulls at his hair. “Fuck.” 

“Wow, you and Xuan Zhen are both idiots,” Crimson Rain says, once again entirely ignored. 

Notes:

[points at mu qing] HAHA YOU CANT JERK OFF

Chapter 4

Summary:

itsd a criptshemas meracle

Mu Qing quarantines himself in his room again.

This time, he makes no exceptions. He delegates all his work to his deputies, especially all the tasks he considers menial and easy enough for them not to fuck anything up too badly. He completely changes his communication array password, just so he doesn’t have to hear from anyone. 

Just to be safe, he bans the words “Feng Xin” and “Nan Yang” from his palace. Even “Ju Yang” is in forbidden territory, much to his own dismay. But if he even hears someone mention that man he’s going to have a heart attack.

Seriously, all of this is his fault. Him and his stupid thoughts and stupid feelings and stupid face.

What Mu Qing hates about this whole curse the most are the other Mu Qing-centric thoughts Feng Xin thinks about. The sweet, sappy ones. The ones doting on his soft, silky hair and pretty face. The ones where he worries and cares for Mu Qing. How happy he is just to see Mu Qing for the day. 

And—and Feng Xin’s thoughts of love are not reciprocated, by the way. Mu Qing swears it's unrequited love. He’s only blushing because it’s too embarrassing to handle!

It’s also not to say that it’s bad Feng Xin thinks Mu Qing is pretty—quite the contrary, actually. Mu Qing knows he’s got a good-looking face; Feng Xin is basically proving he has functioning eyes. 

It’s just that…it feels so sudden, unexpected, to Mu Qing, that somebody is in love with him, and Feng Xin of all people. His enemy over the centuries, his rival for even longer. Mu Qing knows it’s not easy to love him; he’s been called every insult under the sun, been told to his face about his unnecessarily sharp tongue. 

So, why Feng Xin? What caused all of this, and for how long? 

When Mu Qing thinks of their relationship over the centuries, he can only think of moments of heated arguments and violent fistfights. He remembers being Xie Lian’s servant, where he would practically feel Feng Xin’s scowl burning the back of Mu Qing’s head. He remembers the various petty arguments that quickly escalated to screaming matches. He remembers the fall of Xian Le, of Feng Xin’s look of betrayal and, worse, disgust when Mu Qing left. He remembers Jian Lan and Cuo Cuo.

Looking back throughout the centuries, Mu Qing can’t find a single reason as to why Feng Xin would love him. It just doesn’t make any logical sense. The best reason Mu Qing’s got is that Feng Xin, the buffoon, is too drunk with his crush and feelings with lust to really know what he wants. He’s looking at Mu Qing through rose-colored lenses, idolizing an image of Mu Qing so intensely that it’s not him anymore. 

When Feng Xin thinks about how much he likes Mu Qing, he’s not talking about eye-rolling, scheming Mu Qing, but rather some faceless person he can project his fantasies onto. Someone that doesn’t have Mu Qing’s cold personality. Someone more loveable. Someone not like Mu Qing. There’s really no other option. 

Also. The second worst part of the curse is that it’s made Mu Qing inexcusably horny.

When Mu Qing first saw Feng Xin’s sexual thoughts, he was mortified by his shamelessness. A part of him wanted to wash his head with soap and water. And yet, Mu Qing can’t stop thinking of him, especially about what he thought about in Xie Lian’s place. That obscene fantasy of Feng Xin’s head, of him pinning down Mu Qing with hardly any effort. Of him staring down at him, drooling, with the voracious urge to devour him like a piece of meat. It’s been occupying in his mind nonstop, even invading his dreams like some kind of disgusting, perverted parasite. Sometimes, early in the morning, he jolts himself awake, having just dreamed of a warm weight on top of him. 

Worst is that Mu Qing doesn’t know how to get rid of this burning feeling of arousal, as if he’s permanently stuck with it. The most relief he gets is when he crosses his legs together tightly as he’s sitting down, rocking his weight back and forth. Or when he’s kneeling, grinding down on the bottom of his heel. 

The best method he has to eliminate his arousal is taking an ice cold bath. But even then, sometimes the flame in his belly ignites again, right after he bathes. And taking over four baths a day is incredibly unproductive, and also a waste of resources.

He—he just feels so depraved. It’s as if suddenly 800 years of pent-up and hidden arousal has come crashing down on him all at once, in just the span of a few days. 

“Ah, General Xuan Zhen,” one of his deputies knocks at his door as Mu Qing is mid-grind. Great timing. “You, uhm, changed your array password and none of us know the new one. May I come in?”

Mu Qing takes a second to relax, so he doesn’t sound so breathless. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh. Uh. That’s okay,” there’s an awkward pause. “Is this because of General—“

“If you deign to mention that man in my palace, I’m going to demote you on the spot.”

“Right! I-I-I’m so sorry! Uhm, but could you tell us your new password, please?”

“Eventually.”

“B-but…”

“That’ll be all.” 

“…Alright.”

He listens to the sounds of footsteps pattering away, suddenly feeling too embarrassed to continue his previous work.

Perhaps he should consider that as a new strategy for himself, to stop feeling it all. 

**

Even after all the protocol he set up, Mu Qing still manages to bump into Feng Xin. 

Rather, Feng Xin comes barreling into his palace without his permission, as expected from someone as barbaric as he is. 

Mu Qing, at first, doesn’t notice anything wrong. But then he’s interrupted from a bit of light reading to the sound of heavy footsteps running down the hall. Then, some rather heated exchanges, several people yelling over each other. Mu Qing finally leaves his room to investigate the source when he hears a loud crash that sounds suspiciously like a vase breaking.

What he stumbles upon is so ridiculous, he would have laughed if he wasn’t in such a sour mood. Feng Xin is currently trying to wrestle four different deputies, all of them significantly shorter than him. One of them hangs off of Feng Xin’s arm, literally dangling off the ground. Two of them are wrangling at Feng Xin’s feet, trying to hold him down. Mu Qing recognizes the last one as his youngest deputy, who is, oddly enough, riding Feng Xin’s shoulders like she’s getting a piggyback from him. Even weirder is that she’s biting at his head—something that’s making Feng Xin really uncomfortable, for a variety of reasons. 

And they’ve made a mess of Mu Qing’s hallway. As he expected, they broke one of his porcelain vases. One of his favourite ones too, decorated with blooming magnolias. They’ve pulled down some of his curtains, leaving heaps of velvet on the ground. Feng Xin left a trail of muddy footsteps in his wake, the animal. 

“Hey!” one of his deputies shouts, “Quick, someone tackle him before he can get to General Xuan Zhen!”

“Good idea!” the other responds. He drops from Feng Xin’s arm and rams his head into Feng Xin’s side. It barely makes a dent, to Feng Xin that is. His deputy, on the other hand, isn’t faring well. “Ow, fuck! My head!”

“Dumbass, he said tackle not headbutt!”  

“Shut up, same difference! I’m—Meimei, why are you biting General Nan Yang?!”

“I’m sorry! I panicked! My punches aren’t strong enough!”

“Get down from his shoulders and stop biting him!”

“Please get down from my shoulders and stop biting me,” Feng Xin begs, a little pathetically.

“Yeah, kick him in the groin instead!”

“Yeah—wait no! Don’t kick me in the groin—!“

Mu Qing clears his throat, as loud as he can. Everyone looks up, their faces paling.

His deputies are having a hard time looking Mu Qing in the eyes. They awkwardly shuffle away from Feng Xin, looking at their shoes the entire time. Mu Qing crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at all of them, like a disappointed mother. He definitely feels like one.

“G-general…” one of them bows, and the rest follow suit. “We didn’t notice you.” 

“Can one of you tell me,” Mu Qing asks his deputies. “Why none of you bothered to report to me about a certain general in my palace? And instead decided to run amok and squabble in my halls like undisciplined beasts?” 

“Uhm,” replies Feng Xin, famously not his deputy. 

“We couldn’t report General Nan Yang to you because none of us know your new communication array password,” says one deputy. Mu Qing is going to pretend he didn’t notice the sass directed to him.  

“All of you are dismissed. Get out of my sight,” Mu Qing commands. “Especially you, General Nan Yang.”

His deputies all scamper away like rats. Feng Xin, on the other hand, has yet to budge. Mu Qing can already feel a headache coming on, all because of the stubborn man in front of him. 

“Mu Qing, please,” Feng Xin says. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mu Qing replies, walking away. 

“What the fuck, Mu Qing, get back here! Don’t try to run away from me, you asshole!” 

Feng Xin catches up to him, grabbing his arm. Mu Qing is horrified at the thoughts that might come. What perverted, sickening thoughts is Feng Xin thinking of this time? He’s also a little curious, even excited, but that’s something he’s going to ignore in the meantime.

Feng Xin’s familiar voice floods Mu Qing’s mind. He’s been ignoring me for weeks now. I really need him to tell me what’s going on. I’m starting to get really worried. If he tells me, I could help. I could—

Mu Qing’s face flushes, shaking Feng Xin’s grip away. “That’s enough! You can stop sticking your nose in my business and treating me like…like some helpless child!”

Feng Xin blinks. “When the fuck have I ever said that?”

“You don’t have to!” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, “I have my own life that you don’t need to—to bother yourself with. I don’t see why you care so much.”

“Why do I—Mu Qing—!”

“If you think I need any of your help for anything, then…then you don’t know me at all! So leave me alone now!”

Feng Xin doesn’t say anything, at a loss. “…Okay.”

“Okay…?” Mu Qing pauses, but then remembers he should be glad that Feng Xin finally agrees with him on something. “R-Right! I’m going!”

He storms back into his room before Feng Xin can say anything, just to get the last word in the conversation. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as he hopes—the opposite, actually. Mu Qing is just going to blame Feng Xin again, or the curse, for throwing his emotions haywire. A wrench in his perfectly stable mind, thank you very much.

Not long after, he changes his communication array password back to the original one.

**

According to Ling Wen, there’s a swarm of ghosts invading a local town, a big one with a lot of his worshippers. Pretty weak, nowhere near the levels Mu Qing is used to, but the quantity exceeds any power level at the moment. It’s like an infestation of ants, according to the sudden influx of prayers from his worshippers. Right now, they just need someone sharp and quick enough to cut through the hoards.

Mu Qing may be hiding from the world right now, but he’s not stupid enough to deny anything from his worshippers. He’s a powerful god for a reason.

He descends in his mortal disguise, dressed in cultivator robes. The townspeople are fidgety, but polite and give a decent amount of information. An old woman starts telling him boastful tales about their strong and dependable General Xuan Zhen who definitely sent a cultivator as powerful as you, like a proud grandmother. 

She takes Mu Qing’s hand, “We have faith in you. Thank you for the help.” 

Please, Xuan Zhen, don’t let this man die. He’s young, so much like my son, before he—

“Look, look!” a little boy with shaved hair points at Mu Qing as he’s walking to the origin of ghosts. He’s holding the hand of a thumb-sucking toddler in braids; in his other hand, a long stick. “He’s got a sword!” 

“Stop that! It’s rude to point,” his mother scolds him. “That man is a cultivator. He’s helping us with an infestation. Treat him with respect.” 

He stops pointing, but Mu Qing hears him whisper to his little sister: “He doesn’t look that strong. I bet I could beat him in a fight.” 

Mu Qing rolls his eyes once his face is out of sight. 

Infestation of ghosts and bratty kids holding sticks aside, this is a good thing. It’s something to distract Mu Qing with, from all the thoughts. And he’s a skilled fighter, he actually likes the feeling of swinging his sword around and slicing through ghosts. This will be fun, even. 

It even starts off fun. He starts breaking a light sweat, not too much to worry about being overexerted, but enough to get the adrenaline pumping in his veins. He’s on the move, unstoppable. It’s an exhilarating feeling, one he can never get tired of, even after 800 years of it.

Best of all, he’s distracted enough to stop thinking about Feng Xin! A miracle!

Maybe slicing ghosts down by the dozens was the perfect therapy Mu Qing needed all along. He’ll consider it for next time. 

He’s suddenly interrupted by a panicked voice in his communication array, from one of the deputies. “General, I checked with Ling Wen, things might go downhill fast. There’s more reports of ghosts in the area. I’m going to request for more help—” 

Hell no! That’s the last thing Mu Qing wants right now; he’s already had to deal with so much shit with people because of this stupid curse. What if he bumps into someone, gets an earful of their thoughts, and gets distracted? Worse, what if they send in Feng Xin?

Oh fuck. Does Feng Xin fantasize about him during battle? That’s something he doesn’t want to think about, let alone find out. He doesn’t need to pile more baggage onto him, emotionally and mentally, on the one thing he feels most confident in when doing alone.

Besides, what is he, a junior official? He’s Xuan Zhen, he can handle a few extra ghosts. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“What?! General Xuan Zhen!” Mu Qing can’t see his deputy through the array, but he hears her sputter in disbelief. Are his deputies underestimating him? “That’s…that’s…” 

“That’s what? A stupid idea? Call me stupid to my face, I dare you.” Mu Qing takes his sabre and pierces it through a ghost’s throat with a little more force than necessary. What he just said was a very mean thing to say, he knows, but Mu Qing is in a foul mood enough to feel particularly cruel. He’ll regret it later and then never talk about it again. It’s fine.

“General, that’s not what I meant!” 

“It better not be,” Mu Qing says darkly. He beheads another ghost with a swift strike. “Don’t send anyone down. I won’t say it again.” 

There’s a long pause on the other end, Mu Qing can practically hear his deputy’s internal conflict. But because he trains his deputies well, she ultimately listens to him.

“...Whatever you say, General Xuan Zhen.” 

“Good. You’re dismissed,” He says. 

Seriously, his deputies these days are starting to show some serious attitude problems to him. Mu Qing is still feisty with energy, and he would even say the ghosts are slowly disappearing!

This is good. This will turn out fine. 

 

**

 

It does not turn out fine. 

But because life hates him, things go downhill fast, exactly what his deputy told him. The ghost infestation worsens exponentially—for every ghost he kills, another three appear right behind him. He’s so busy just trying to cut down the horde of ghosts he doesn’t even have time to dwell in his thoughts, and momentarily forgets about the curse. He’s mildly grateful, but it’s getting to the point where he’s slowly depleting his stamina and spiritual energy and the amount of ghosts isn't diminishing. In fact, it seems to be multiplying. Before he knows it, the sky has darkened, the sun sinking away. 

That spurs him on more. He’s not going to be defeated by some stupid throng of malice ghosts!

The adrenaline boosted with pure spite helps him, actually. He manages to cut down a few extra beasts, the ground misty with the dissipating remains of their carcasses. But just as he’s about to slash through the last few ghost hordes, he hears a shrill cry from behind him. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees the young boy from earlier. He’s holding his stick out with two clenched fists, as if brandishing a sword. His scar-ridden knees are shaking, knocking on each other. He must’ve thought he could’ve helped, or even beat Mu Qing’s body count, motivated with a disgusting amount of overconfidence most children have. He definitely snuck away from his family, because he sees the familiar face of the mother, her face whiter than Crimson Rain’s, staring helplessly at her son. The only person who isn’t terrified is the little girl, asleep on her mother’s back and completely unaware of the current shitshow that’s happening. 

The boy and Mu Qing make eye contact, to which the child responds by immediately shrieking even louder and alerting all ghosts within a few feet away from him. 

For fucks sake, Mu Qing rolls his eyes, before bolting to the boy’s direction. 

With a sudden speed that shocks Mu Qing himself (really, he swears he was losing stamina less than five minutes ago), he slices through a ghost about to snatch the child with its long, spindly fingers. He swoops at the boy and tucks him under his arm, as if carrying an old sack of rice. Mu Qing trips a little, his armour shifting loose after the particularly rough tumble. 

Distantly, he notices that the kid is unnecessarily damp. Mu Qing looks down and sees the kid pissing himself. As he's holding him. Great. 

The boy’s thoughts are ringing in Mu Qing’s head, worsening the headache that’s fast approaching: AAAHHH HELP HELP MAMA I DON’T WANNA DIE MAMA HELP AUGHH. HELP HELP MAMA HELP HELP ME! AAAHHH HELP HELP MAMA HELP ME MAMA!

How the fuck is your mother going to help you in this situation? Mu Qing thinks to himself, and suddenly feels relieved that the curse doesn’t let other people read his own thoughts. 

He practically shoves the squirming, piss-stained child into his mother’s chest. He makes sure the boy serves a good shield between him and the woman, so he doesn’t have to hear her thoughts. 

“Run. Take immediate shelter,” Mu Qing commands. “Preferably to a place with protective talismans.” 

At least the mother is a good listener, because she wordlessly nods and sprints away in the other direction, carrying two children at once with seemingly practiced ease. Mu Qing is a little impressed by this. 

Mu Qing is immediately ambushed by more ghosts afterwards—significantly less more, luckily, since Mu Qing had eradicated the majority of them. But these ghosts in particular are putting up a tough fight, as if avenging their fallen kin. 

One ghost in the crowd is a lot faster than Mu Qing anticipated, because next thing he knows, that ghost strikes at him, its arm a blur of motion—it punctures Mu Qing’s side, into soft flesh. 

“Ow, fuck you!” Mu Qing swears, then whacks the ghost in the head with the blunt edge of his sabre. It succumbs, dissipating into nothingness before the body can completely fall to the ground. 

Mu Qing is heaving great, big gulps of air. When he realizes that he just killed the last ghost, he lets out a sigh that has him doubling over from its exertion. He takes a minute to breathe, absorb his surroundings without the anxiety of having to wield his sabre.

The sun is rising, painting the sky a warm pink. Below his feet, the ground is soaked a deep red. It’s spreading in little increments, like a puddle—

Shit.

Mu Qing pats his side and freezes when his hand comes back a bright, wet, and bloody red. He’s starting to feel dizzy, the pink sky blurring with the ground, as if realizing his injury suddenly spurred his body to make him feel worse than it was before. 

Fuck. The world is spinning so much. Fuck.

He—he needs to go back. 

**

Mu Qing doesn’t know how, or when he even ascended back, but he finds himself stumbling through elaborate palaces and decorated temples. Their lavishness and gold patterns meld in each other, turning into a kaleidoscope of luxury in Mu Qing’s eyes. 

It’s so much, all at once, Mu Qing leans on a nearby pillar (or what he thinks is a pillar), trying to catch his breath. And also trying not to throw up. 

He hopes he’s at his palace, because Mu Qing is pretty sure he can’t move anymore. He slumps down the pillar he was leaning against. Mu Qing feels awful, the world dimming into darkness before his eyes. When he blinks, he realizes that his vision is askew—the temples leaning horizontal. There’s a ringing in his ears, a deafening white noise. The ground meets his cheek, comfortably cool against his skin. 

Gods. He might be dying. He can’t believe he’s dying because of some stupid malice ghosts, covered in his stupid blood and that stupid boy’s piss. He’s going to die with this stupid curse. 

Mu Qing closes his eyes, content to just sleep his problems away. If he’s dead, at least, he doesn’t have to worry about that curse anymore. But then he’s jerked awake by the sound of a deep voice, blaring in his head like a siren. It’s repeating the same words like a mantra, again and again—

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 

“Fmmg huhhh?” He smartly asks. Mu Qing creaks his eyes open, before slamming them shut quickly after. It’s too bright, it feels like he’s staring directly into the sun. His palace has never been this loud before. What the fuck is going on. 

MU QING MU QING MU QING OH GODS DON’T DIE DON’T DIE PLEASE PLEASE OH GODS STAY WITH ME MU QING OH GODS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE BE OKAY

“Shut—shut up,” Mu Qing blindly throws his arm around, trying to feel for the source of the noise. “Stop screaming. So loud. Holy shit.” 

Whatever is projecting its thoughts in Mu Qing really likes doing the opposite of what Mu Qing says, because the thoughts become so loud, swirling together into an echoey mush, ricocheting in Mu Qing’s head like bouncing balls. He feels if someone were to poke into his ear, the thoughts would come spilling right out. 

Mu Qing suddenly feels weightless, the cool ground suddenly so far away from him, as if being lifted up into the sky. He feels his arm around again, and this time comes in contact with something solid and firm, practically radiating warmth like a comforting furnace. Something is poking at Mu Qing’s arms, like fingernails digging into skin.

It’s not painful, but it’s noticeable—a reminder of a presence, telling Mu Qing he’s not alone. 

**

 

 

When Mu Qing regains some of his senses, he’s so drenched in sweat (at least he hopes it’s sweat), he can feel it running down his temples to his neck. The world around him is fuzzy and smudged, like looking through a pane of frosted, translucent glass. He tries opening his eyes, but it makes him nauseous just looking at light. 

“Hey, are you awake?” A voice above asks him, low and whispered. The voice is followed with a cool, damp cloth dabbing at Mu Qing’s sweat-slicked forehead. 

“Holy shit,” Mu Qing murmurs, leaning into the cold touch. “That feels so good.” 

“Oh? Well. Glad to hear it.” A blanket is pulled up to Mu Qing’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?” 

“Bad,” Mu Qing replies. He coughs, his mouth suddenly drier than a drought. “Thirsty.” 

He’s propped up on a pillow and a cup is placed to his lips. He can feel the water slide down his throat. The same voice speaks again, but this time echoes in his mind. Talking in his spiritual communication array, probably? An odd choice, but Mu Qing’s too delirious to question any of this person’s motives, let alone care. 

Thank the gods he’s okay. Holy fucking shit. If he died, if something were to happen to him, I’d never forgive myself. I’d never—

“Mm, ‘m okay now,” Mu Qing nods deeply, dipping the tip of his nose into the cup of water. “Thank you.” 

“Woah,” the person sounds surprised a thank you coming from Mu Qing’s lips. Huh. If that’s the case, he should work on his own manners then. His mother taught him better. “You’re welcome, Mu Qing.”

Mu Qing doesn’t know how or why, but some of his hair ended up in his mouth while he was drinking. A hand, calloused and warm, brushes at his forehead, pushing away his bangs and tucking them behind his ears. 

I’m so glad he’s okay, at least. I should’ve been there with him then, I would’ve protected him with my life. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I was there by his side. To just be by his side would be enough. It’ll…

“Haha wow. Woww,” Mu Qing laughs, throaty and hoarse. He’s too tired to be embarrassed by the sound of it. “That’s all it’ll take? You must really like me then.” 

There’s a long, deafening silence. Mu Qing starts to worry a little—if he may have said the wrong thing or if the person had suddenly left his side. But his anxiety is interrupted by a warm and lovely chuckle.

“Yeah, uhm. I guess I really do.” 

“That’s good.” Mu Qing hums at this, feeling pleased. He didn’t know he attracted so many nice-sounding people before, who helped brush at his hair with careful fingers and gave him cups of water whenever he asked. This is nice. Really, really nice. He really enjoys this. 

“I’m going to sleep again now,” Mu Qing tells the person, just to be polite. He’s working on his manners, like he just said he would. 

“Okay, then. Good night, Mu Qing.”

“Mm,” Mu Qing smiles, feeling more relaxed than he’s felt in decades. “Good night.” 

**

On the other side of the palace, one of Feng Xin’s junior officials, carrying a hefty amount of scrolls, is strolling through General Nan Yang’s palace halls as he goes about his errands. He whistles to himself, enjoying the calm silence. 

Then, said silence is suddenly interrupted with a loud bang, as if someone just smashed a wall down with a battering ram. It shocks him so much the scrolls tumble out of his arms, rolling away like logs. 

He’s about to unsheathe his sword, anticipating a sudden invasion, when he suddenly sees General Nan Yang as he turns a corner. His fists are clenched so tightly the knuckles have turned bone white. A large crater cracked and dented at one of the General’s gold-patterned palace walls. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Nan Yang throws his head against the wall, smashing another, deeper crater into it.

“Ah—!?” his deputy gasps. “General Nan Yang?! Are you okay?! What happened?!”

“I’m going to fucking die,” Feng Xin replies, completely serious. “And it’s all Xuan Zhen’s fault.” 

“Oh, uh…” 

“Please don’t mind me.” 

“Okay.” 

Chapter 5

Summary:

mu qing should be a little stupid as a treat

When Mu Qing wakes up again, he’s surrounded by the most pillows he’s ever seen in his life.  

He’s also swathed in several different blankets, ranging in different colours and textures, as if someone threw an entire blanket store on him. Much to his horror, he’s half-naked; his entire torso bound together with thick layers of bandages. It’s a little excessive—he’s practically wearing a shirt made of gauze. 

Even more horrifying is that he realizes he’s not in his palace. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s currently in; there’s no way he would willingly decorate his room like this—so horribly drab and, somehow, simultaneously tacky and garish. It’s almost impressive. 

Mu Qing takes all of this in for a minute, trying to push his judgments on the interior design aside. Last thing he remembers, he was fighting off some ghosts loitering his territory. Then, he had to save some scrawny village brat who wandered into trouble…he ascended back shortly after, on the verge of collapse from a bleeding injury. Everything afterwards is a blur, a smudge in his memories. 

Then, in the corner of the room, Mu Qing notices a figure moving slightly in the back—the clear silhouette of a man. Propped up against a gilded chair (gilded, really?), nodding his head in restless sleep, neck bending at a truly uncomfortable-looking angle. His arms are crossed and he’s frowning deeply, even in his fitful state of sleep. He’s muttering under his breath, incomprehensible. 

Mu Qing knows who he is without even seeing his face clearly. It’s…it’s—

“F-Feng Xin?” Mu Qing croaks.

“Holy shit—Mu Qing!” The man in question jolts upon hearing his name, immediately alert, literally stumbling off the chair and towards Mu Qing’s bedside. He’s there in an instant, tripping through things—his dirty clothes strewn across the floor, a pile of abandoned scrolls, air. It’s hilarious to see the duality; one of the strongest martial gods Mu Qing knows, tumbling around his room like a clumsy toddler learning to walk.

Feng Xin takes his hand. Oh shit, is Mu Qing going to see perverted thoughts while he’s in bed rest? Or maybe say something objectifying and—

Good. Good, thank the fucking gods he looks better than last time. Thank fucking everything he’s alive and okay. He doesn’t look that tired anymore…when was the last time he’s had a proper rest? 

“—okay?” Feng Xin asks him, looking at Mu Qing with a concerned frown. Wow, it’s difficult juggling both Feng Xin’s thoughts and his asked questions. Feng Xin should shut up more, just for Mu Qing’s sake. 

“Okay,” Mu Qing replies instinctually. “What…what happened?” 

“You were fighting off some ghosts in your territory and got yourself hurt,” Feng Xin explains. “But you kept fighting, like an idiot, and you lost a shit ton of blood. One of my junior officials found you unconscious in front of my palace doors and called me over.” 

An image projects itself into Mu Qing’s head; he’s looking down at his body sprawled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The sound of frantic, panicked breathing and cursing. A pair of hands frantically grabbing at him, checking his wrist for a pulse, his chest for a sign of breath. The same pair of shaking, blood-stained hands lifting and carrying him like a bride.

Is—is Mu Qing looking at Feng Xin’s memories, through his eyes?

“You were out for a while, I’d say maybe a little over a day,” Feng Xin continues explaining.

Another memory enters Mu Qing’s head—Feng Xin’s hands wiping down Mu Qing’s sweat-slicked forehead with a damp cloth; changing his bloody bandages, his hands dirtying with Mu Qing’s disgusting bodily fluids; Feng Xin propping up a shivering Mu Qing on a myriad of pillows and blankets.

“Do you, uhm, remember anything?” Feng Xin asks, letting go of Mu Qing’s hand.

Mu Qing has half a mind to yell at him. Why did you let go now, of all times? He thinks, irritated that he no longer has access to some useful information (and that’s it. That’s all there is to it). What are you thinking of now, Feng Xin? 

“I don’t, am I supposed to?” Mu Qing raises a brow.

He’s internally panicking though. Fuck, what if he did or said something stupid and Feng Xin is going to tease him about it until the end of time—

Feng Xin only blinks at him. “No, just curious.”

Mu Qing narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything in response. Nothing important enough for Feng Xin to care about, he supposes. 

“Anyways,” Feng Xin says, before they have to sit in awkward silence together. “My deputies told me that you’re mostly recovered, since you’re a god and everything, but you should still rest here for an extra night or so. Just in case.”

“Okay,” Mu Qing says. He really wants to know what Feng Xin is thinking right now. Irritated that Mu Qing is taking up space in his palace, a burdened deadweight in his room? Pity that Mu Qing is injured over a group of malice ghosts, of all things, ready to treat Mu Qing like some helpless and weak child? 

Or worse, excited that Mu Qing is vulnerable and half-naked in bed, so he can sneak in at night while he’s asleep. Then he could sit in-between Mu Qing’s spread legs and jerk off on top of him, splattering come across Mu Qing’s bare chest and sleeping face and—

WOAH, okay! Mu Qing flushes at his own thoughts, cheeks burning. He can’t help but rub his thighs together, as subtle as he can, underneath the bed sheets. Feng Xin’s perverted mind is definitely corrupting him. Why did he even think of that?!

“Oh, fuck. You’re burning up!” Feng Xin’s eyes widen. He brings his hand up to Mu Qing’s forehead. “Shit. I think you have a fever, let me—“

“N-No! No, it’s fine. It’s fine!” Mu Qing leans away. The last thing he needs is to find out if Feng Xin is horny or not, proving what he was thinking earlier. Mu Qing doesn’t know what to do in that scenario. “It’s just. I’m really warm. There’s a lot of blankets here. No fever.”

“Oh,” Feng Xin purses his lips together. Then, wordlessly, takes a few blankets from Mu Qing and tosses them to the floor. No wonder the room is so messy; Feng Xin can be such a slob sometimes. 

“...Do you need anything else?” Feng Xin asks, coughing a little, as if intentionally making noise. He was never good with awkward silence, since he was an acne-covered teenage mess. Mu Qing can relate, at least. “I could get you some water. Maybe something to eat?” 

“I don’t need anything,” Mu Qing says. Then, blurts out, like an idiot, “Why are you doing this?” 

Feng Xin blinks. “What? Oh—the blankets? Well, you were shaking real bad in your sleep and I wanted to be careful. I got all my deputies to get whatever they could get their hands on, you know.”

“That’s not what I meant, you…” Mu Qing bites his tongue, to stop any insults from spilling out. “You could’ve sent me back to my own palace. I have deputies who are medically trained.”

This only makes Feng Xin frown harder. To Mu Qing’s horror and dismay, he looks upset at this perfectly normal and harmless question. Mu Qing feels the need to explain himself. It’s definitely because of the curse, or because he’s recovering from an injury, and not because he feels bad for this stupid moron. 

“It just, uhm, seems like you needed to do a lot for me,” Mu Qing says. “A lot of work. T-Taking care of me for no reason.”

“Mu Qing what the fuck are you talking about.”

Mu Qing has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. But he can’t stop talking. “It was a lot of work. Because I was injured. And that wasn’t necessary—I don’t want to waste your time. And what you did…”

“Okay, okay, wait,” Feng Xin holds his hands up. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that I found you on the steps of my palace. I nursed you back to health. I spent the entire night by your side to make sure you were okay. And all of that was a waste because you think I should’ve done something more important or whatever.”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“That’s because it is stupid! Seriously Mu Qing, what the fuck?” Feng Xin retaliates by rolling his eyes and, wow, no wonder everyone’s so pissed at Mu Qing when he does that. “You really think saving your life is a waste of time? That’s the dumbest fucking shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I just think…”

“Don’t think,” Feng Xin interrupts. “Saving you from the brink of death wasn’t a burden for me and definitely not a waste of my time. Why the the fuck would you even think otherwise?”

Then Feng Xin takes Mu Qing’s ear and pulls, like he’s some naughty child getting a particularly harsh scolding. “Let me make it very clear, so it can get through your stupid, shitty head.”

I’d shout it again and again just to make you understand how I feel, Feng Xin thinks. At least he’s not duplicitous—he’s always been an honest man. And loud; Mu Qing suddenly feels overwhelmed by the sheer volume of both Feng Xin’s thoughts and spoken words. 

“I care about you dumbass, I’d never leave you to die!” Feng Xin isn’t pulling at Mu Qing’s ear anymore, but he’s folded his hands on the bed, on top of Mu Qing’s lap.

You may not care about me, but I care about you, your everything. I couldn’t give less of a shit about anything else. I’d burn down all my own temples, just to keep you safe and alive. I could never forgive myself if you died. Never. Never. 

“I took care of you because I wanted to, not because of any fucking obligations or something. I wanted to help you,” Feng Xin continues.

If I could trade places, trade my life for yours, I would do it in a heartbeat. Looking after you was barely even the fucking minimum, I would do even more if I could. If you would let me.

“…and I know you might not think the same, because who the fuck knows what bullshit you’re thinking of half of the time,” Feng Xin flicks his forehead. “But I don’t hate you so much that I’d leave you bleeding and dying on the steps of my palace—I don’t hate you at all.”

I could never hate you. I will never hate you. How could I, when you mean everything to me? When I lo—

“Okay, okay I get it!” Mu Qing frantically slaps Feng Xin away. His face feels like it’s on fire; he’s has always had thin skin, he knows this, but he never knew that his face could feel this hot before. Holy fuck. This man is going to kill him. 

“Oh. Oops. Sorry if what I said was a little intense,” Feng Xin, at least, has the decency to look bashful at his sudden outburst. “But it’s the truth! The real, honest truth! So I hope you get it now.” 

“I do, I do get it, Feng Xin. Oh my gods,” Mu Qing waves his hands around, just to get him to shut up. Also, he can still feel his face practically steaming, and he needs to find some way to cool himself down. Look, he’s never had someone…berate him about how much they care for him, like getting the world’s weirdest lecture. And he’s certainly never heard someone confess their undying love to him through magically cursed mind reading.

It’s nothing personal—it’d be a lot to handle for anyone else!

“Oh, good!” Feng Xin finally calms down when he says this. He’s disturbingly easy to please; Mu Qing doesn’t know what to feel about that. “Otherwise, I’d probably have to smack some sense into you. And, y’know, I wouldn’t want to fight you when you’re injured. That’s not fair. Or nice.”

“Hm. Coward,” Mu Qing snorts.

“Wh—hey! I can’t believe this. I save your life and you call me a coward.”

“I have to keep General Nan Yang humble somehow,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but he smiles a little. He’s trying to make himself look less like an asshole. 

Luckily, his strategy works. Feng Xin starts laughing up a storm, like Mu Qing just told the funniest joke in the world. He really is disturbingly easy to please.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” Feng Xin playfully shoves him, but gentle enough to not hurt. 

—all I need, Mu Qing hears in his head. 

“Anyways,” Feng Xin stands up and brushes non-existent dirt off his pants. “I gotta descend to the mortal realm soon. My worshippers have some prayers that need answering. You stay here for the night. And I’ll get some deputies to watch over you, so no funny business or sneaking out!”

Mu Qing has half a mind to roll his eyes at Feng Xin, for treating him like some helpless imperial princess over a small wound. But he doesn’t want to get another lecture out of Feng Xin, and he doesn’t hate it, so…

“Whatever General Nan Yang wants,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes again, this time with a little sneer. For good measure! If he’s too nice and sweet it’ll be suspicious and weird. 

“Yeah, yeah, asshole. I’ll see you later—“

“Wait, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing blurts out, unexpectedly. It surprises Feng Xin, and Mu Qing himself. “You…saved my life.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“I got injured because…I got too—too cocky,” Mu Qing admits. “I didn’t think I needed help. Even though that fucked me over. So I told my deputies to fuck off—not actually though, I would never—“

“Mu Qing please get to the fucking point.”

Mu Qing looks down at his lap. He can’t look Feng Xin in the eyes when he says this. “I know that I said I didn't need any help, and that I didn't need to be treated like a child. But. When I’m finally out of this stupid bed and doing missions again, you can t-tag along with me. So something like this won't happen again. In case. Only…only if y-you want.” 

Oh gods, that was embarrassing to say; that was embarrassing to hear. Fuck, Mu Qing doesn’t know what Feng Xin is thinking of. Is he upset? Maybe Mu Qing should grab him to see. Actually, he’s got a better idea: someone should kill him now, or let him turn back time, or—

“That’s a great idea!” 

Mu Qing looks up and sees Feng Xin smiling wide and genuine, showing a row of white teeth. His eyes are practically shining. Fucking gods, it’s like staring directly into the sun.

“Really?” 

“Of course! That way there’d be less accidents and injuries like this,” Feng Xin says. “And we’re an unstoppable team! We’d get work done in no time! Mu Qing, you’re a genius. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? Oh, and—”

“Feng Xin, I get it. Please go do your job.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Feng Xin, even though he’s still stumbling through his dirty laundry and haphazard items in his room, is practically skipping out the door. “Mu Qing, we’ll talk about this as soon as I get back. I’m holding onto it!”

Then, Feng Xin is out the door before Mu Qing can even reply. Faintly distant, but still clear as day, Mu Qing can hear the sounds of familiar, cheerful humming echoing down Nan Yang’s palace hallways.

He’s glad Feng Xin left, though. That way, he can’t see Mu Qing’s face practically on fire.

**

 

It’s horrible. It’s terrible. The weeks go by quicker than Mu Qing can even comprehend, and it’s all awful and weird. 

First, even after weeks of persisting, the stupid curse is still there, plaguing Mu Qing’s brain, and he’s grown accustomed to it! Before, it was an anxiety-inducing pest that needed to be eradicated as soon as possible, only for it to become a humming, static-y white noise that Mu Qing barely pays attention to.

Now, whenever Mu Qing bumps into a stranger, he brushes their thoughts away without a care in the world! 

Sometimes, the curse is even helpful to Mu Qing. Whenever Mu Qing feels like someone is hiding secrets from him—maybe a ghost disguising themselves, or a village with a dark mystery—a simple tap or brush against them tells him shockingly helpful information. 

But even more terrible is that, after a short conversation, Mu Qing and Feng Xin end up teaming together for missions more and more frequently. It’s to a point where his deputies greet him with a we hope you and General Nan Yang had a successful mission today! They even say it when Feng Xin isn’t with him! 

The weirdest, most horrible, terrible part of it all is that Mu Qing is enjoying all of this. 

He initially proposed working together out of courtesy and the feeling of obligation to reimburse Feng Xin for saving his life, nothing more. But, as Feng Xin said before, with having each other’s backs, they make an upstanding team. Unsurprising, considering they’ve known each other and their fighting styles for centuries, but still. 

Fighting with Feng Xin is an exhilarating feeling. It’s a rush of exhilaration in his system, pumping his veins with energy and adrenaline. And yet it’s all so simple, they fight together with practiced ease, having known each other for so long.

It’s so much fun. Mu Qing doesn’t know what to do. 

He’s starting to notice something, too, because of all this. This odd feeling—

**

“Behind you!” Mu Qing calls Feng Xin’s back. 

Mu Qing slices the head off a ghost sneaking up on Feng Xin. The head dissipates before it can hit the ground, before Feng Xin can even turn around to see what’s behind him. 

“Be more careful next time, dumbass!” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. 

“Why should I, when I could rely on you instead?” Feng Xin grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Something warm starts simmering in Mu Qing’s gut at the sight.

**

Mu Qing is swarmed by a few menaces. Before he can even unsheathe his sabre, he hears a series of thwacks, and all the ghosts tumble to the ground, arrows poking out from their foreheads. 

Looking in the distance, Mu Qing sees the unmistakable shape of Feng Xin standing on a small hill, still holding up his bow. 

“Feng Xin?” Mu Qing calls, just to be sure.

“You’re welcome!” He replies, giving him a stupid thumbs up.

Mu Qing’s cheeks hurt from smiling—he’s not sure why he’s smiling. And they’re oddly warm?

**

Late at night, Mu Qing sits at his desk, his head in his hands. 

Images are flashing in his head: Feng Xin grinning at him, revealing the top half of his teeth and a very faint overbite; Feng Xin puncturing arrows into ghosts before they can even touch Mu Qing; Feng Xin using all the air in his gut and lungs to howl out laughter, the sound echoing in Mu Qing’s ears; the—the thoughts Feng Xin has of Mu Qing, the dirty fantasies and the ones of pure adoration, the ones devoted to Mu Qing as an ally and a friend. 

Mu Qing feels warm all over. Why does he feel warm all over? What the fuck is going on? Maybe it’s the curse, increasing tenfold and ready to finally end his miserable life. 

Then he thinks back to his birthday party, eons ago, to the simmer in Mu Qing’s belly at the sight of a happy, laughing Feng Xin. A familiar feeling.

Oh fuck, this feeling was there even before the curse, wasn’t it? 

Mu Qing might be dying. What is fuck happening to him. 

He needs…he needs help. 

**

 

“…So whenever I see or think of Feng Xin, my whole b-body feels hot and warm and weird,” Mu Qing explains. “And sometimes I smile without wanting to. My face hurts from it. Your highness, I think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Ah, uhm. Wow.” Xie Lian replies, eyes wide. Mu Qing is currently pursing his lips together, staring at his lap a little too intensely. He expected Xie Lian to at least be a little more sympathetic to him. 

“I never knew you were dumber than Feng Xin,” Crimson Rain adds, even though Mu Qing didn’t ask. “But here we are, wasting Gege’s time with your stupidity. Great wonders never cease.”

“Your highness, please. I’m at a genuine loss,” Mu Qing pointedly ignores their, frankly, incredibly rude reactions to his very real and very serious problem. “I really thought what I was feeling was a side effect of this curse. But I’ve been feeling it even before my birthday…so I don’t know what it could be. Do you think it’s another curse I wasn’t aware of?”

“Mu Qing, ah…” Xie Lian has that look in face, where he’s not sure whether to laugh or cry, which is typically not a very good sign. “I’m going to be frank, this is definitely not like any of the curses I’ve encountered during my banishment. But I can assure you, what you’re feeling isn’t some side-effect of some curse.” 

“But what else would it be?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes, starting to get a little impatient. “I’ve never felt this way before.” 

“Well, let’s think about it a little more,” Xie Lian suggests, talking to Mu Qing like he’s some clueless child. He certainly feels like one, a humiliated one. “This feeling only ever arises whenever there’s something Feng Xin-related and, based on what you told me, it doesn’t really perform like a curse. If anything, all you’ve been feeling is warm and giddy. That’s a rather nice feeling, no?” 

Soundlessly, Crimson Rain nods in agreement, looming behind Xie Lian like a bodyguard. 

“Then it’s a curse that just makes you feel involuntarily warm and nice,” Mu Qing counters. “It’s some—some manipulation curse! It’s taking control of my mind and feelings!” 

“Mu Qing, that’s not how curses work…” 

Crimson Rain nods again in agreement, this time with a little more contempt. 

“Wait, no, I got it!” Mu Qing snaps his fingers, epiphany striking him. “These are just feelings of hate. And it’s all Feng Xin’s fault. Of course it is! Everything only got worse once I was able to read his thoughts, like the one of…” 

His thoughts suddenly overtake him, reminding him of the last time Mu Qing read Feng Xin’s mind; at a local tavern, investigating a small village for clues on a ghost, their arms brushed accidentally. In Feng Xin’s mind, they were in some darkened tavern room, with a large bed meant to be shared. Mu Qing was completely nude, spread like a starfish at the center of the bed; the only thing covered was his genitals, but covered by—by Feng Xin’s m-mouth…

Mu Qing doesn’t even finish his sentence. He doesn’t even remember what he was about to say. His face is as red as Crimson Rain’s clothes. 

Xie Lian waves a hand in front of Mu Qing’s face. “Mu Qing? Hello? Are you okay?”

Crimson Rain laughs, “He broke himself. We didn’t even have to do anything.”

“H-He…” Mu Qing stammers. 

“Hm, okay. Sounds like there’s a lot going on in your head,” Xie Lian notes. “Mu Qing, let’s ignore Feng Xin’s thoughts for now. You said it yourself—you’ve been feeling strange about him before you could read minds.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” Mu Qing puts his head in his hands, “But I don’t know why. Gods, your highness, I think there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’ve just been broken and horrible the whole time.”

“Mu Qing, no. Don’t be like that,” Xie Lian sighs at him, sympathetic. “That’s absurd. What you’re feeling isn’t broken and horrible at all. Just because you don’t know the reason for your problems doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. Here, let’s process this together.”

He doesn’t want to process them. He just wants them gone and for things to be back to normal again. But Mu Qing isn’t going to say no to Xie Lian, especially with Crimson Rain in the background, so he nods solemnly. 

“Okay! So you’re feeling all sorts of strange things, like feeling flustered, for seemingly no reason—and it’s not a curse or punishment, trust me on this. But this only happens when Feng Xin is associated. Which means…” Xie Lian gestures at Mu Qing to finish the sentence.

“These feelings are because of Feng Xin, like I said!” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. He’s not a—he’s not an infant. 

“Yes, but it doesn’t make sense if it’s feelings of hatred,” Xie Lian continues slowly. “Because you’ve been at each other's throats for centuries, and it’s never felt like what you’re feeling right now, no?”

That…is true. Mu Qing nods along, following. 

“Right! So that means it’s because of something else that isn’t about hating him!” Xie Lian smiles at him, trying to put him at ease. “But enough of me talking, how about you tell me what you are seeing and thinking when you get this warm feeling in you? Maybe give me the most recent example.”

“This morning, before I came here, I bumped into Feng Xin and he—he said hi to me. And he waved and he smiled at me,” Mu Qing says, growing more and more affronted. Really, how dare Feng Xin. “Then that…feeling happened, again.” 

“Okay, that’s a good example.” Xie Lian says, “So then what were you thinking, when you get that feeling?” 

How ironic, having to read into his own thoughts when he’s cursed to hear everyone else’s. 

“I thought about how annoying Feng Xin was, all happy-looking,” Mu Qing mutters. “He’s such an oaf without even knowing it. He also smiles so brightly, it’s like staring into the fucking sun. And he was smiling at me…without his usual cussing and ugly frown and I felt like that…that…” 

That he doesn’t hate me, like I always thought he did before, goes unsaid. Xie Lian is looking at him like he knows this already, though. 

“Okay! This is good progress. And how do you feel when you think of this? Happy? Upset?” 

Mu Qing groans, frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s confusing and I want to stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah, because if you think too much, it’ll hurt yourself,” Crimson Rain says with faux sympathy. “You poor thing. You want Feng Xin to fuck you so bad it makes you stupid.”

Xie Lian laughs nervously. “San Lang, please, that might be a little too jarring for—” 

“EXCUSE ME?!” Mu Qing sputters. He can’t believe the audacity of this man. How dare he, all smarmy and irritating, mocking Mu Qing as if he knows all of his problems. Speaking about everything in asinine riddles and puzzles. 

“You heard me,” Crimson Rain rolls his eyes, just to make Mu Qing upset. It works; Mu Qing can feel several blood vessels burst. “Here, let me spell this out for you.” 

“Don’t.” 

“When I first met Gege,” Crimson Rain completely ignores Mu Qing. He starts speaking with over-emphasized eloquence, as if reciting a poem. “I thought I was looking at a god, even though he hadn't ascended yet. It was like a field of flowers in my chest suddenly bloomed.” 

“I don’t want to hear this.” 

“Every time I saw him smile, it was like the world was getting brighter each time. The sun couldn’t even compare to his light,” Crimson Rain continues. “I grew up in the slums, with no home or family, but Gege was the first person to ever make me feel warm.” 

Xie Lian rubs his thumb over Crimson Rain’s knuckles. “Aw, Sang Lang, that’s so sweet.”

“Anything for Gege,” Crimson Rain smiles, showing rows of incredibly sharp teeth. Then immediately glares at Mu Qing. “Do you get the hint, already?”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “Yes. Sure. Of course. Your sob story was a revelation to hear, thank you very much. All my problems have been lifted off my shoulders.” 

“Don’t call Gege a sob story, you rube.” Crimson Rain takes an orange from a bowl of fruit and lops it between Mu Qing’s eyes. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ow! Fuck!” Mu Qing stomps the orange with his heel, letting it spatter across the floor. “I’m leaving. You were no help at all! Why do I even bother asking for advice when all you’re going to do is mock me and make an embarrassment out of me!” 

“Oh, Mu Qing, wait,” Xie Lian calls, but Mu Qing is already out the door, stomping away. He can hear him grumbling, muttering about stupid Crimson Rain from afar. “San Lang, I think you teased him too much. Now he’s never going to figure it out.” 

Crimson Rain hooks his arm around Xie Lian’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gege. Your advice was very helpful. He’ll find out soon enough.” 

**

Mu Qing can’t sleep. 

Technically, he doesn’t need to, but he finds that sleeping passes the time quickly, and it keeps any eye-bags from appearing and ruining his perfect complexion. But tonight, he’s been spending hours rolling around in his sheets, the words of Xie Lian and Crimson Rain invading his mind and keeping him from his beauty sleep. 

It’s fine. He’ll just blame Feng Xin, the next time he sees him. All he’ll have to do is look away from him when he says good morning Mu Qing or beams sun rays at him with his broad smile. And stop going on missions, where he doesn’t have to deal with watching Feng Xin use his bow with centuries of practiced ease, his shoulder muscles flexing with every shot. 

Maybe Mu Qing, just out of spite, will shove him a little too hard to get some of his nonsensical thoughts of disgusting adoration and projecting very un-Mu Qing fantasies onto Mu Qing.

It’s okay, because he can just beat those thoughts out of Feng Xin’s head; put his knee directly onto Feng Xin’s ribs and press, hands pinning his shoulders onto the dirt. Because he can, he’ll crawl further on top and show him who’s boss!

His body is sweating just thinking about it, his cheeks warm and heady. Thinking of how Xie Lian so easily touches Crimson Rain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, the adoration in his eyes. Thinking of all of Feng Xin’s thoughts, where he has that similar look in his eyes, and how soft it made Mu Qing feel. How Crimson Rain talks about Xie Lian like he’s referring to the sun, and how Feng Xin’s smile shines bright in the morning. 

Thinking of Feng Xin on top of him, or beneath, panting hot and heavy like an animal. His hands holding a vice grip on Mu Qing, his hips, his waist, then travelling lower. Feng Xin’s mouth on Mu Qing everywhere it can reach.

All those thoughts Feng Xin had of Mu Qing naked that left Mu Qing, unmistakably, wet and wanting. 

Thinking of Feng Xin. Thinking of Feng Xin—

Mu Qing bolts up. 

“WAIT A FUCKING SECOND.”

**

 

Xie Lian stirs from sleep, someone shouting is in his head. He presses his fingers against his temple. 

“XIE LI—YOUR HIGHNESS,” the voice is frantic and panicked and revelation-struck. 

“Mm, Mu Qing. It’s very late. Is there something wrong?” Xie Lian rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. He tries to be quiet, so San Lang doesn’t have to wake up. 

“YOUR HIGHNESS I THINK I LIKE FENG XIN. LIKE, L-LIKE HIM. THE WAY YOU AND CRIMSON RAIN LIKE EACH OTHER.” 

“Oh, you found out already,” Xie Lian yawns again. “That’s good, that’s good. I was worried it’ll take you longer.” 

“I THINK I WANT TO HAVE S-SEX WITH HIM.” 

That, at least, wakes Xie Lian up a little more. “Ah! Ah, that’s. Good? You can finally break the curse then.”  

“OH I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THE CURSE FOR A SECOND.” 

“That’s okay, Mu Qing. You should probably talk to Feng Xin about this. I think it’ll help.” 

“ARE YOU SURE, YOUR HIGHNESS.” 

“I’m very sure, Mu Qing.”

“...OKAY. THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP, YOUR HIGHNESS.” 

“Of course, of course. Can you please stop shouting now? I don’t want to wake San Lang up, now that I'm awake.” 

Chapter 6

Summary:

we almsot done its a crhipstmas meracle

The realization is awakening, at least. 

Mu Qing feels like he just completed a particularly frustrating puzzle—there’s relief that he’s finally got a solution, some answer to his current dilemmas. It all makes sense too; the flushing, intense emotions, the…mutual sexual arousal…are all symptoms of attraction! 

It’s a bit obvious, now thinking about it. Mu Qing feels a little dumb in hindsight. 

Well, at least he figured it out now instead of, say, another 800 years later. He…he likes Feng Xin. He’s attracted to him, physically and emotionally; he makes a good ally and an even better partner. Mu Qing isn’t exactly sure how long he’s liked Feng Xin without his own knowledge, but he’s not going to look too deep into it. He doesn’t want another headache.

He tells Xie Lian about his revelations about his feelings again, more concisely and less loud, at a more reasonable hour. Mu Qing tries to give him as much context as possible, even stuttering through some of the more…salacious parts of the story. Though it takes him a considerable amount of time to spit it out those parts, and he stared furiously at the wall the entire time. 

Xie Lian nods the whole time patiently, like listening to a toddler ramble about his particularly exciting morning.

“Although you did scare me at first, messaging me so late at night,” Xie Lian begins. “I’m very glad you came to this conclusion, and almost all by yourself! I think this is the best possible outcome for you and Feng Xin.”

Mu Qing takes a sip of his tea (that he made himself, he insisted on this). “Your highness, you don’t seem that particularly surprised about my f-feelings. And, you know, Feng Xin’s.”

“Ah, well. Maybe it’s because I’ve known the two of you for a very long time, but…” Xie Lian turns to Crimson Rain.

Crimson Rain, helpfully, finishes Xie Lian’s sentence. “It was painfully, disgustingly obvious you two wanted to jump each other’s bones.”

Mu Qing chokes on his tea, it dribbles down his chin and splatters on his lap. “R-Really?!?”

“Uhm, it did strike some people as odd. I’ve had people ask me about you two before, actually. Including…” Xie Lian hesitates.

“Including whom.”

“Well, at one point, my mother and father once questioned me about it—“

“YOUR PARENTS THOUGHT FENG XIN AND I WERE TOGETHER?!"

“But, haha, let’s not dwell on the past for too long!” Xie Lian, to his credit, tries to be soothing about it. Mu Qing still wants to die a little, though. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Mu Qing buries his face into his knees, curling himself into his tea-soaked lap. “You should just kill me instead. And then bury my body where no one can ever see me and let me rot for the rats.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Crimson Rain says, completely serious. 

“Now, now you two,” Xie Lian smiles, though it’s a little strained. “That’s a little unnecessary, Mu Qing. You worked so hard to realize your feelings for Feng Xin, you shouldn’t be ignoring them now. And you shouldn’t be embarrassed by it.

It’s hard not to be embarrassed by it. Mu Qing’s easily embarrassed over a lot of things. He remembers growing up, an awkward teenager with a sweaty grip on a broom, carrying the burden of humiliation for just taking up space as a person.

Did Feng Xin like him then? Wanted to kiss him and hold him by the hips? Mu Qing genuinely doesn’t know, but he frankly doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Oh, speaking of Feng Xin!” Xie Lian folds his hands in his lap and smiles. “Have you told him about your feelings yet?”

“N-No, I’ve only told you, your highness.”

“You woke Gege up,” Crimson Rain says, deadpan. 

“It’s okay, San Lang. I’m not upset at all,” Xie Lian reaches to pet Crimson Rain reassuringly on the thigh. Mu Qing feels the need to look away again. “But still. Mu Qing, I really think you should tell Feng Xin about this. You told me that he, at least to some degree, reciprocates, no?” 

Mu Qing nods. A part of him knows that Xie Lian is aware of a lot more than just Mu Qing’s description of Feng Xin’s thoughts, but he’s not going to press it. 

“Well, that’s great!” Xie Lian clasps his hands together. “All you have to do is confess your feelings to Feng Xin, he reciprocates, and you two can finally be together. And hey! The curse is lifted, too. This is great, Mu Qing, I really think so. I’m rooting for you two, you know!” 

Mu Qing responds by bolting up from his chair and walking out the door.

Xie Lian’s eyes widen. “Ah, Mu Qing? Where are you going?” 

“Your highness, I’m sorry. I—I have to go,” Mu Qing leaves before he can hear an answer.

He does hear Crimson Rain mutter always barging in and out so dramatically, but he’s going to ignore it. Storming back in to yell at him would really ruin his cool-guy persona. 

**

Xie Lian’s words keep repeating in his head, again and again: 

All you have to do is confess your feelings to Feng Xin, he reciprocates, and you two can finally be together.

If only it were that simple, though. If it were, Mu Qing would’ve told Feng Xin everything ages ago, from the moment he realized he reciprocated those feelings of love and lust. The curse would’ve been gone immediately, too!

No, the issue is that it’s Mu Qing. 

He remembers, all those years ago, the constant yelling matches and spiteful arguments over nothing. How they got along like oil and water. With other people, he wears his icy mask, he rolls his eyes at other people, who react with an equal level of contempt. He remembers being a child, hiding behind the trees as the other village children played together. 

Mu Qing has never got along with other people, and never will. Even with Xie Lian, it took him centuries just to stutter out the friendship he always wanted, but never had. What makes Mu Qing worthy of having a lover, let alone friends? 

If Mu Qing and Feng Xin were to be together, it would only rip their relationship further asunder. Feng Xin would quickly realize that his fantasies brewing in his mind about Mu Qing were all just, for lack of a better word, fantasies. He’ll learn that he was looking at Mu Qing through rose-colored lenses, projecting his ideal type onto the nearest pretty thing. He’ll learn that Mu Qing isn’t sweet and…fitting for such thoughts of saccharine domesticity, after all. 

So, there’s no point in getting into a relationship with Feng Xin, unless they want to get their hearts crushed by each other. 

It hurts, of course. Mu Qing isn’t emotionless. Finding out his true feelings for this man, only to prevent himself from getting what he wants. 

But it’s better than to lead Feng Xin into inevitable disappointment. Mu Qing knows he likes Feng Xin enough to do this for him. 

As for the curse, well, Mu Qing is just going to have to deal with it. He’s handled a cursed shackle, years of poverty, and even more unimaginable things than a sex curse.

It’s fine. This doesn’t bother Mu Qing at all, whatsoever. It’s fine. 

**

Then it’s not fine, and it’s all Feng Xin’s fault. 

Mu Qing gets a couple of prayers and deputies hounding him about some new mission near one of his temples. Something about ghosts harassing any of his worshippers that pass by. Then, they suddenly disappear. Of course, Mu Qing isn’t going to let it slide. 

He’s heard that these ghosts are also planning to expand to Feng Xin’s side of the south. Naturally, Mu Qing tries messaging him in their shared communication array so they can team up against the problem together. It’ll end things faster and more efficiently and (Mu Qing finally admits) that he also really, really wants to see Feng Xin. 

Mu Qing presses two fingers to his head. Feng Xin, you’ve heard of the recent ghost rumours, no? We should take them down as soon as possible. I’ll meet you at our usual place. 

At first, he waits. Then waits some more. But Feng Xin doesn’t respond, even after five minutes of waiting. It definitely strikes as odd to Mu Qing; his replies are usually immediate. 

He tries again, Feng Xin did you hear what I messaged you? There’s a few ghosts near our temples and we need to exterminate them. 

No response. 

Feng Xin? Hello? Are you even listening to me?  

Mu Qing waits an hour for Feng Xin to reply to him, anticipating a long-winded apology from that asshole. Still, he gets nothing. Is Feng Xin…ignoring him? 

On one hand, Mu Qing thinks so, and understands where he’s coming from. Maybe Feng Xin finally caught onto reality; the Mu Qing in his thoughts are not the same as the real, smug and cruel Mu Qing, who isn’t fit for any lovey-dovey affections Feng Xin constantly thinks about. 

But on the other hand, it’s still a little uncharacteristic of Feng Xin to completely ignore him. Mu Qing expected maybe a gentle letdown, at least? Or a lot of yelling. To disappear silently, without leaving a trace, is very unlike Feng Xin. Unless Mu Qing is overthinking things, and Feng Xin really just wants to ignore him. Maybe he’s already done the mission and doesn’t need Mu Qing? 

I’m going to stop thinking too hard about it, Mu Qing thinks to himself. Feng Xin just needs time off. That’s all. And…and his life doesn’t revolve around me! I’m acting like some desperate, clingy maiden! I really should keep myself in check!

Mu Qing throws himself onto his bed and hides under the covers. He’s not above pouting, but he’s at least glad no one is here to see him in this sorry state.

For good measure, he messages Feng Xin again: If you don’t want to help me with this mission then just say so! You don’t have to ignore me, asshole! 

Feng Xin doesn’t respond again. This time, Mu Qing recognizes what he’s feeling. He’s hurt. Being ignored really, really hurts. 

**

Mu Qing’s about to descend to the mortal realm himself. He’s not going to…whine over some stupid boy, and he’s certainly not going to wait for him for this mission. Mu Qing doesn’t even need Feng Xin to come over, this is a mission he can do by himself easily. 

As he’s walking down the halls, he sees someone running up to him, a juvenile-looking man with braided hair. Mu Qing doesn’t recognize him, and immediately takes a stance. 

“Who are you and what are you doing in my palace?” Mu Qing glowers at the boy, who literally starts shaking. He can’t help but feel a little pleased at this. 

“I-I’m sorry!” He bows deeply, “I’m a deputy of General Nan Yang’s. I was going to ask you if you knew of his whereabouts, or if he’s ever contacted you recently.” 

Mu Qing blinks. “Is he not in his palace?” 

“He’s not. No one’s sure where he is,” the boy explains. “He left for a mission early in the morning and we haven’t seen him since. He’s not responding to any of our messages in the communication array. I, uh, I thought you would’ve known where he went, since we see you with him often.” 

“Fuck,” Mu Qing mutters. His anxiety is skyrocketing. “Where did you last see him? Where did he go?”

“He heard about some ghosts making his and your worshippers disappear and doing all sorts of horrible things, so he went to where he heard the sources—ah, General Xuan Zhen!” 

Mu Qing dashes off before the deputy can even finish his sentence. It’s fine, he knows enough. He’s sprinting down his halls to descend to the mortal realm. 

“Fuck,” Mu Qing hisses, runs faster. As fast as his legs can possibly carry him. “Fuck.”

 

**

Mu Qing practically stumbles to the mortal realm, to one of his temples, after frantically asking his local villagers for more information.

It’s definitely not a shrine he’s aware of; it’s grimy and covered with moss, also cracked and terribly ugly. Immediately stepping into its radius, Mu Qing is hit with an intense wave of dark spiritual energy. 

He kicks down the doors, literally smashing his foot through them. This temple of his is unmistakably abandoned, between the floorboards are long blades of grass and budding weeds. There’s a single statue of him—incredibly ugly, by the way—standing right at the centre; it looks ancient, about to crack open and fall apart at any moment. 

It looks unsuspecting, like any neglected temple, but Mu Qing feels the spiritual energy growing stronger with every step he takes inside the shrine. 

“H-Hello?” A voice appears from a corner. When Mu Qing peeks, he sees a dirt-ridden shrine priest, wearing traditional robes that cover his whole hands. “Are you…are you a cultivator?” 

“I am,” Mu Qing replies, chaste. “I’m also looking for someone. Have you seen a man around here, he’s—” 

“Sir, please! I need help, there’s been ghosts haunting this place and I can’t get out of here!” The priest is on his knees, forehead touching the dirt-ridden ground. “I-I think I’ve been cursed, I need help…I need…” 

“Right,” Mu Qing says. “What do you need help with?” 

“The ghosts grabbed onto me, that’s when they cursed me! Here, come closer and see,” the priest rolls up one of his sleeves, revealing a blackened arm, as if covered with coal dust. “See, look at my arm! It’s much worse up-close.” 

“I’m well-versed in healing and medicine,” Mu Qing walks up to the priest, hands raised up. “Allow me to examine you further.” 

“Yes…yes please,” the priest sits up a little higher. Mu catches a sight of his face, encased with shadow and darkened bruises. “Come closer.” 

Mu Qing comes closer, then grabs the priest by the throat and slams his head down on the ground. He overexerts his power a little too much on the priest, forming a little crater underneath him upon impact. 

“Fool,” Mu Qing grits out, teeth grinding against each other. “You think I’d fall for something so stupid? Don’t be absurd. Tell me where the man I’m looking for is.” 

“H-Honoured cultivator!” The priest lets out a loud, wet sob, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Ack—!” 

Luckily for Mu Qing, though, he’s still cursed. He promptly gets an earful after listening to the priest’s whines and cries. Fuck, fuck! He’s onto me, he’s onto me! Don’t tell him about the statue. Don’t tell him about the statue —

“Idiot,” Mu Qing spits. Then, wordlessly, conjures some spiritual energy from his hands and pushes it into the priest’s throat, bursting his head open, letting it spatter across the floor. Just as Mu Qing suspected, the priest’s form dissipates into translucent nothingness. Just a stupid ghost trying to get another meal. 

The statue, huh? Mu Qing turns to look at the hideous work of art. It looks…weirdly bloated? As if it’s about to burst open like a balloon, or a well-used sack. He takes the end of his sabre and, with all his strength, smacks it against the statue. 

Instantaneously, the statue crumbles into sand, falling to the ground like curtains. In its place, the shadow-encased shape of a man, who immediately comes tumbling down after, limp. 

“Feng Xin!” 

Mu Qing dashes forward, catches him in his arms and holds him tightly to his chest.

To his absolute horror, even as he clutches on Feng Xin with all his strength, he doesn’t hear anything from Feng Xin in his mind. Not even a single thought. The only thoughts Mu Qing hears are his own.

Suddenly, the world is so much quieter than he remembers. So much more empty. 

**

 

 

Mu Qing ascends to his own palace faster than his own heart can beat. 

He gets all his deputies the most adept in medicine, the lot of them crowding over Feng Xin, their hands and arms roaming all over him. Mu Qing is too scared shitless for Feng Xin’s health to feel any pangs of jealousy. 

“He’s completely okay, General Xuan Zhen!” one of his deputies smiles at him, trying to be reassuring. “He’s just unconscious, but everything else is stable.” 

Mu Qing sighs in relief. “Good, that’s good, thank you.”

“I’m going to send my other associates off, but I’ll stay here to check on him every so often.” 

Mu Qing lets her. He’ll let her do anything, just to keep Feng Xin okay.

He spends the entire time in the corner of the room, sitting cross-legged on a nearby chair, intently staring at Feng Xin for any signs of consciousness. His leg bounces in anticipation, shaking his seat. He fidgets with his fingers, picking at his nails. He just can’t seem to sit still. 

Is this what Feng Xin felt, when Mu Qing was recovering from his wounds before? Was he also this restless with anxiety, hopelessly praying for everything to be okay? Mu Qing doesn’t even know who to pray to, just silently begging to the silence for something. 

“Ah, don’t worry General Xuan Zhen,” his deputy keeps saying. “He’s fine, he really is! Everything is completely stable. I just want to be a little cautious, to be safe. But there’s no need to worry about him, really.” 

I can’t help it, Mu Qing thinks. I can’t not worry about him. 

“I’m not worried,” Mu Qing says instead, clearly very worried. 

“Mm, of course,” she nods, completely unconvinced. “But maybe you could—oh, he’s waking up! General Nan Yang, can you hear me right now? General Nan Yang?” 

Mu Qing runs up to Feng Xin’s side so fast it knocks over the chair he was sitting in. Just like his deputy said, Feng Xin’s eyes are slowly opening, adjusting to his unfamiliar surroundings in little increments. 

He’s blinking so slowly, Mu Qing thinks he’s about to fall asleep again. But then, Feng Xin, snaps awake and jolts up faster than a bullet.

“BWUH,” Feng Xin gasps. “WHERE AM I—oh, Mu Qing! Hi.”

Feng Xin smiles widely at him. Mu Qing doesn’t smile back.   

“General Xuan Zhen found you unconscious during one of your missions,” his deputy explains to Feng Xin, who is looking away from her as politely as he possibly can. Mu Qing’s glad she’s the one catching him up, because he can’t seem to speak at all. “Luckily, it seems that you were only unconscious for a few hours and nothing more. We couldn’t find anything debilitating or too serious.” 

Feng Xin nods. “That’s—good? That’s good!” 

“It is good! You were very lucky the ghosts didn’t actually harm you, and even more lucky that General Xuan Zhen was able to find you before anything else could happen.” 

“Of course, I’m not surprised at all,” Feng Xin smiles at Mu Qing again. “Thanks for saving my life and all, Mu Qing. I owe you one!” 

Mu Qing only stares back in response. He’s trying to process his emotions right now, something hammering in his head. It’s not the warm, sappy feelings of affection that’s been torturing him the past few weeks. It certainly isn’t anything arousing at all. Rather, it’s the opposite of all that; it’s a familiar, intense emotion that’s suddenly boiling in him like lava. He feels his entire body heating up, his face growing more and more red. 

Oh, he knows what he’s feeling, all too well. He’s pissed. 

“How dare you,” he hisses out. 

Feng Xin blinks at him. “Huh?”

“How dare you—you bitch!” Mu Qing spits at him. “Do you know how worried I was!?”

“What.” Feng Xin blinks, again. Probably still processing Mu Qing yelling at him. The imbecile.

“You weren’t responding to anyone. I thought you died! How did you even get yourself in such a stupid situation? You should know better as a martial god!” 

“Stop fucking yelling at me! I just woke up,” Feng Xin raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Jeez, so much for a warm welcome. I can’t believe you saved my life and you cuss me out immediately after. Make up your mind, Mu Qing.” 

“I didn’t even save your life!” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “You weren’t even hurt, you were just—just sleeping on the job!” 

“Hey, no I fucking wasn’t—” Feng Xin frowns. Good. Mu Qing wants him to get angry. 

“Yes you were! Not a single injury on you!” Mu Qing takes a pillow and smacks it across Feng Xin’s face, as hard as he possibly can. It’s what he deserves, anyways. “Not even a scratch!”

Feng Xin throws his arms over his head as a shield. “Ow, fuck! Stop it! Why are you attacking me!? Have mercy, Mu Qing, I just woke up!”

“Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was? Just for you to…to be napping?”

“Stop saying that I was sleeping! I wasn’t unconscious on purpose, I was knocked out!” Feng Xin protests. “It’s not my fault.” 

“Oh, congratulations! That’s so good of you to realize, Nan Yang! I’m so glad for you,” Mu Qing scoffs, eye twitching. “I thought you were fucking dead. I thought I lost you, and that you were gone for good. And then all my feelings and that stupid curse and those stupid talks with his highness were for nothing , and that—and that…” 

Mu Qing stops talking, suddenly at a complete loss for words. He sits back down (when did he even stand up?). The silence is deafening, thick enough to cut through with a sabre. Feng Xin puts his hands down, hiding them under the sheets, and cocks his head to the side in confusion and worry. Mu Qing glares at him, eyes moist and red-rimmed.  

In response, Feng Xin tugs at Mu Qing’s sleeve gently, like a child seeking for his mother’s attention. He even pokes at him. “Hey, you good?” 

Is he okay? Mu Qing hears in his head. Fuck. Was I too harsh, too reckless? Wait, what did he say again, something about his—

Then Mu Qing throws himself onto Feng Xin’s bed and bawls. 

“Wh—?!” Feng Xin is rendered completely speechless, staring at Mu Qing wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he’s crying like some helpless infant. Mu Qing must be weeping on Feng Xin’s lap, because he hears a steady, constant stream of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck ringing in his head. 

“Oh, I think this is my time to leave…” his deputy whispers, ushering herself out the door and scurrying away like a mouse. 

Later, he’s going to make her swear into secrecy; his junior officials can’t know that he’s capable of crying. He’s never cried in front of a deputy before, and he hasn’t cried in front of someone else in literal centuries. Even then, Mu Qing was only sniffling at the time, a few stray tears running down his cheeks and spattering onto the floor. It was intentionally noiseless, quiet enough to not draw any attention from unwanted by-passers. 

Whatever the fuck Mu Qing is doing now is the complete opposite. 

He keeps swatting at Feng Xin, like that’s going to make him stop crying. His nose is all plugged up from mucus, so he’s making these disgusting, noisy sniffles that sound terribly miserable. He’s furiously wiping away his tears with the backs of his sleeves, hard enough that his eyes feel raw and puffy; they’re definitely swollen now. 

Fuck. This is embarrassing. Feng Xin should’ve died during the mission, so he doesn’t have to see Mu Qing like this.

“Hey, Mu Qing, come on,” To Feng Xin’s credit, he’s trying very hard to sound placating, even with that constipated expression on his face. “Don’t cry.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Mu Qing hisses. 

“You should stop being so stubborn, first,” Feng Xin scolds him lightly, but there’s a worried tone to his voice. Then, he takes Mu Qing’s hair and brushes it behind his ears. “Look, you’re getting your hair everywhere."

Ah, Mu Qing. He thinks, How long have you been holding it in your feelings? Moron. Don’t you know that I’m always going to be there, here for you—

“I thought you were going to die and leave me alone forever,” Mu Qing admits, sniffling the last of his tears away. “You were so quiet then, I was so scared. I couldn’t hear anything from you and—and I was so sure that…” 

“Woah, breathe,” Feng Xin sits a little more upright, leaning his back against the wall. “Don’t worry, Mu Qing. I’m not going to leave you.”

“But you—” 

“I promise, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin takes his hands, sandwiching them. His hands are so much more tanned, more callous, than Mu Qing's. 

I promise, Mu Qing, he thinks. 

Mu Qing can’t help but blush a little. Such a blunt, honest man. 

“Okay,” he whispers, looking resolutely to the floor. He can feel Feng Xin beaming at him. “Thank you, Feng Xin.” 

It’s silent again. At first, Mu Qing is worried that he said something wrong. Or that Feng Xin died while he was looking away. Or both. When he makes eye contact with him, though, he sees Feng Xin’s steely face, a little scrunched up in contemplation. His mind, on the other hand, is blaring alarms in Mu Qing’s head. 

Tell him you, coward. Now or never. You have to tell him. Tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him—

Mu Qing tests the waters. He shakes Feng Xin’s hands off. “Feng Xin? Is there something you want to tell me?” 

Something flickers on Feng Xin’s face, “Before you spontaneously burst into tears—” 

“We don’t have to bring that up,” Mu Qing glowers. 

“Right, sorry. My bad. Anyways, before that, you said some things that stuck out to me,” Feng Xin says. “I have something I want to tell you. Something really important to me. But before we get to that, you promised to stop hiding things from me, remember? We were talking that night, a few weeks ago, and we shook hands.” 

“I do,” Mu Qing admits. How could he forget that night? 

Feng Xin purses his lips together. “I want you to tell me about what you mentioned earlier. About your…curse. As much as you can. Can you do that for me?” 

“Okay. I will,” Mu Qing takes a deep breath.

It’s about time Feng Xin gets caught up on this whole situation, anyways. 

Notes:

you'll get the porn next i promise

Chapter 7

Summary:

general note that afab terms are used for mu qing (clit, pussy, cunt, etc.)

Before Mu Qing even begins talking, Feng Xin starts to panic.

He’s looking at him with extreme caution and worry. Staring at him a little too intensely, leaning forward, as if physically preparing himself for what Mu Qing’s about to say. It’s a little endearing, but it’s subsumed by Mu Qing’s guilt; he didn’t want Feng Xin to freak out over this. 

“I-It’s not that bad,” Mu Qing tries to reassure him. “I didn’t want to tell you about it because it’s really e-embarrassing. And stupid.”

This only makes Feng Xin frown harder. “Mu Qing, being cursed isn’t embarrassing—“

“No, it really is an embarrassing curse,” Mu Qing massages his temples. His head hurts just thinking about it. “I was hunting down a ghost a while ago, before my birthday party, that’s why I was late. Apparently the ghost curses people so that, uhm, by the time you turn thirty years old—“

“You are well over the age of thirty,” Feng Xin scoffs. 

“That’s what I was thinking!” Mu Qing, at least, feels a little vindicated there. “Anyways, stop interrupting me! Do you want to hear about my curse or not?”

“Sorry,” Feng Xin pouts. It’s so uncharacteristically cute, Mu Qing is going to kill him. 

He ignores Feng Xin’s apology so he can finish his story. “The ghost cursed me because I’m older than thirty and I’m still a—ah, uhm…I’ve never—I’ve never s-slept with anyone before. Because of my cultivation vows.”

“Oh,” Feng Xin says, tilting his head. “Is this the curse of the Xin Yi ghost?”

“What the fuck,” Mu Qing gawks at him. “How do you know that?”

“Pei Ming told me,” Feng Xin explains. It helps Mu Qing make a mental note to kick Pei Ming’s ass later. “Mentioned it at your birthday party, actually. At first, I thought he was just fucking with me. But…I guess not?”

“I thought he was fucking with me too,” Mu Qing says. “It’s Pei Ming, you know? I forgot about it and didn’t think much about it. Until the next morning, I bumped into people, my deputies, other martial gods…anyone I touched I-I could—I could hear what they were thinking.”

“Oh? Oh,” Feng Xin blinks, unsure what to say. Mu Qing doesn’t hold it against him; he has no idea what to respond with, if he were in Feng Xin’s shoes.

Feng Xin cautiously touches Mu Qing’s index finger, approaching it so slowly as if it’s about to grow teeth and bite his hand off. 

Can you hear what I’m thinking? 

“I can,” Mu Qing confirms. 

What number am I thinking of right now? 

“You’re not thinking of a number at all.” 

Oh, uh, what colour am I thinking of right now?

“You’re not thinking of a colour—why are you asking these questions when you don’t even have an answer to them?”

“Holy shit, you can read my thoughts!” Feng Xin gapes at him, wide-eyed and unbelieving. “That’s…so fucking weird.”

“It’s awful,” Mu Qing laments. “I couldn’t go into big crowds or meetings because it was so noisy and—and it felt so violating for me to hear other people’s thoughts. A-And there was this one god behind me, one time, who was thinking about m-my…my legs and a-ass—“

“Who the fuck thought that.” Feng Xin is glaring at Mu Qing, face darkened into something predatory and murderous. 

“I-I don’t know. Some civil or literary god,” Mu Qing stammers. “That’s not important though! I don’t care about that guy!”

“It’s not important—?!”

“I was trying to avoid you so I couldn’t read your thoughts because I was s-scared,” Mu Qing admits. “I expected hearing…you know, you pissed off and thoughts about hating me and all that. But when I ended up touching you I found out that you…you…”

Feng Xin keeps staring at him, gaze searing into Mu Qing’s skin. The words are suddenly clogged in Mu Qing’s throat. He buries his face in his hands, so he doesn’t have to look at Feng Xin when he says this. 

“…That you l-liked me, the way Crimson Rain likes his highness,” Mu Qing whispers into his palms. He feels his cheeks flush, just saying it out loud. 

“Hey, don’t compare me to Crimson Rain.” 

“Shut up, stop interrupting me! The important part is that I heard you…you having f-feelings for me,” Mu Qing furiously stares at the floor. He should stop talking, otherwise his face is going to catch fire. “And, uhm, you think of—of things about me. You know.” 

“Oh…fuck.”

Feng Xin, to his credit, knows what Mu Qing’s talking about and has the decency to look horrified and embarrassed. His face colours into a dark shade of beet red, and he stares at Mu Qing in complete silence, at a loss for words.

“U-Uhm, it’s okay, though. It’s natural to have urges like these, especially after not having a partner for so long,” Mu Qing immediately tries to scramble for excuses, frantic. “It doesn’t mean anything, so—” 

“Woah, hey! Who the fuck says that I don’t mean it?” Feng Xin says. 

“H-Huh?” 

“Because I do!” Feng Xin declares, suddenly revitalized with adrenaline. “I meant every thought about you! I’m not like you, where I’m constantly saying, er, thinking what I don’t mean. Whatever thought you heard from me about you, it’s real.” 

Mu Qing swallows thickly. “Feng Xin…” 

“I do have feelings for you. I really like you!” Feng Xin starts rambling. “I-I know that this might be a bit jarring, and that’ll make you fucking hate me and you’ll kill me or cut my nuts off or whatever. But you deserve to know my real feelings, if we’re gonna spend time together helping each other on missions.” 

“No, Feng Xin. I’m not going to—I don’t hate you,” Mu Qing sighs. He could never. “It’s just…whatever you’re thinking of, you’re not thinking of me.”

Feng Xin blinks, genuinely confused. “I don’t? I’m pretty sure I think about you a lot.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mu Qing can’t help but roll his eyes. “I’m not the…same Mu Qing in your thoughts. I’m not any of the perfect fantasies you play in your head.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What, there’s other Mu Qing’s out there? Don’t be stupid! There’s only you, no one else.”

“There should be someone else,” Mu Qing says. He feels like he’s about to cry again. It’s all Feng Xin’s fault. “You think of me so…so sweetly all the damn time, but then you’ll realize that l-love’s made you stupid. And that I’m only going to disappoint you and let you down.”

“Mu Qing—“

Mu Qing bows his head in shame. “You d-deserve someone more fitting. Someone you can be so kind and soft with. Someone…someone…”

Someone that’s not like me, he thinks. He can’t bear to say it out loud. Fuck, is he really going to cry again? This is so embarrassing. He’s going to kill Feng Xin and then himself after this.

After what feels like a century, Mu Qing finally looks up at Feng Xin to see his reaction. He’s expecting anger, maybe frustration. Resentment and disappointment is likely too. A part of him thinks he’s about to pin Mu Qing down and fuck the curse out of him without any words—not that he minds that option.

Instead, Feng Xin places his hand on top of Mu Qing’s gently, like a warm blanket. 

“Take a deep breath, Mu Qing,” he says, soft but firm. 

Calm down, don’t stress yourself out, he thinks.

Mu Qing complies, without complaint; he didn’t even know he was holding in his breath until he exhales, a heft of air rushing out of his lungs. 

Feng Xin smiles at him. Proud. Mu Qing doesn’t know what to feel, seeing that. “Good, take one more deep breath—“

“What, again?”

“Yep. That’s how it works.”

“Fucking—” Mu Qing takes another deep breath, a little exasperated, then another. Eventually, he calms down, his head clearing from his muddling thoughts and anxieties. Feng Xin watches him the entire time, his gaze soft and patient. 

Finally, Feng Xin speaks again. “Feeling better?” 

“A little,” Mu Qing admits. 

“Good, that’s so good, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin smiles, gentle, radiating a glow that frames his face. 

Then, he immediately grabs a nearby pillow and smacks it, right across Mu Qing’s face. A few feathers fly out. 

Mu Qing shrieks indignantly, “Ow! Feng Xin! What the fuck?!” 

“You deserved that,” Feng Xin declares with his nose in the air. Mu Qing hates him. “Because what you just said earlier was the dumbest fucking bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life. What, you think I deserve someone more fitting? What the fuck are you even talking about, Mu Qing?”

“How many times do I have to explain this to you—” 

“You can say it a million fucking times and I will never get it, because it’s all bullshit!” Feng Xin smacks him with the pillow again, a little less rough this time. “Mu Qing, if who I deserve isn’t you, then I don’t want them. I couldn’t give less of a shit about the right fit for me or whatever the fuck you were blabbing about. I only want you.” 

“Stop it,” Mu Qing covers his face with his hands. To not look at Feng Xin, yes, but also to shield himself from that damn pillow he keeps slapping around. “Stop it!” 

“How else am I going to get it through that stupid, thick skull of yours?” Feng Xin snorts, but suddenly goes quiet, as if realizing a rare idea sprouting in his mind. “Wait, wait! Give me your hand, I got an idea.” 

“Never,” Mu Qing hisses. 

“It’s not anything dirty, I promise—!”

“Go away!”

“Mu Qing, please,” Feng Xin asks, hands clasped together and making puppy-dog eyes. 

Mu Qing gives him both his hands. He’s only a man, after all. 

**

Immediately, once Mu Qing’s hand makes contact with Feng Xin’s, he’s blasted with a vivid, bright image in his head. Mu Qing realizes he’s looking at another, different memory. It’s in Feng Xin’s perspective again, like the time he saw his memories of rescuing Mu Qing, except significantly less bloody and frantic. 

Memory-Feng Xin looks down at his hands, less calloused and large, revealing a wooden, makeshift bow and blunt-tipped arrows. After a few seconds, Mu Qing recognizes that he’s in a courtyard in the Xian Le palace, centuries ago. The space is lined with bullseye targets, perfectly aligned like soldiers. 

“Feng Xin, ah, Feng Xin!” calls a voice. When Feng Xin looks up, he sees Xie Lian, wearing flowing, gilded robes and a jewel-studded crown that probably costs a lot more than it seems. Contrasting this, his porcelain face is smeared with a generous layer of dirt. 

But all of it pales compares to the short, scrawny boy trailing behind him—seemingly against his own will, Xie Lian is pulling at his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. Mu Qing realizes it’s himself; he can barely recognize his own face. He’s probably 13, maybe 14 years old in the memory, with hollow cheeks and a thin layer of dust covering his plain, torn outfit. 

“This is Mu Qing!” Xie Lian introduces him, holding his hand up like a prize. “He’s gonna become a cultivator like me. You should’ve seen him earlier, Feng Xin, he’s clever and really strong! And—” 

And he’s…he’s so pretty, memory-Feng Xin thinks. His voice is still high-pitched and squeaky with adolescence. Mu Qing smiles on instinct, endeared. I didn’t even know boys could be this pretty. What was his name again? I should introduce myself—

Before Mu Qing can watch the events unfold, he’s transported to a different scene, the surroundings of Xian Le palace fading around him like a cloud of mist. This time, Mu Qing recognizes the setting immediately—he sees his own backside, walking away from the old dilapidated shack Feng Xin stayed in after the fall of Xian Le, alongside Xie Lian and his parents. 

He doesn’t see memory-Feng Xin’s expression when he watches memory-Mu Qing leave him, but he doesn’t want to, nor does he have to; Feng Xin’s vision is growing increasingly blurry with tears, his fists trembling at the sides. 

Please don’t leave, Feng Xin is thinking. It rings in Mu Qing’s head. Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you too. I can’t—

Another memory appears: he sees the Heavenly Capital, nearly unchanged. He sees himself in the far distance, freshly ascended, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. He looks regal, even. Mu Qing remembers this day very differently; his ascension was unexpected, leaving him frazzled. The crowds of people inspecting him, judging him, left him overstimulated. 

But…but it’s different, through Feng Xin’s eyes. It could be just Feng Xin idolizing Mu Qing, but there’s light shining behind Mu Qing, smothering him in golden rays and illuminating him with a heavenly (go figure) glow. 

How is it, Feng Xin thinks. That he still looks so beautiful, after all those years. After everything that he’s been through. He’s incredible, stronger than I could ever be—

The memory dissipates around Mu Qing, once more. This time, Mu Qing doesn’t recognize his surroundings at all. Memory-Mu Qing is sitting up against a tall, shady tree, head nodding off in sleep. Even unconsciously, Mu Qing’s arms are crossed tightly, like he’s defending his body from something. It’s weird, watching himself sleeping. 

Dumbass. You’re going to catch a cold if you sleep like that, memory-Feng Xin thinks. He takes his cloak and drapes it over Mu Qing, like a blanket. Memory-Mu Qing snuggles into it, cozying himself up like a child, and real Mu Qing can’t help but flush from the second-hand embarrassment. 

“I love you,” Feng Qing says, out loud, to the sleeping Mu Qing, clear and straightforward. He says it as easily as he breathes. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I love you. I love you. I love you—” 

**

 

Mu Qing snaps back to the present. It feels like whiplash, a hefty punch to the face. He literally tumbles backward, nearly collapsing to the floor. 

“Fuck, Mu Qing!” Feng Xin gasps. He starts to panic, arms flailing. “Fuck, I didn’t think—I’m sorry, are you okay?” 

“Shut up,” Mu Qing hisses. To his horror, his eyes feel wet again, burning with the threat of tears. He’s furiously rubbing at his eyelids before Feng Xin can notice, or comment. 

“Were they really all true?” Mu Qing asks.

Feng Xin balks. “What?” 

“Those memories, what you just showed me. Of—of me all those years. Did you mean it, what you were thinking then?” 

“Every single one of them,” Feng Xin says, determined. “Mu Qing, you know I would never lie to you about this.” 

“E-Even the last one? Where you told me you—you…” 

“Yes, yes. Of course, Mu Qing, of course.”

“Bullshit!” Mu Qing sobs. He has so many questions to ask. “W-What about all the centuries when we fought, when you said you hated me? And…and when we were always at each other’s throats?” 

“I was young and dumb,” Feng Xin explains. “I didn’t understand why I was feeling these things for you. And, I’m gonna be honest, you were pretty provoking. Always rolling your eyes. you really know how to piss me off. Just because I love you, doesn’t mean you’re a pain in the ass. You can be so annoying—”  

“What about Jian Lan?” Mu Qing starts scrambling for more excuses. 

“What about her? That was a different time, Mu Qing. I liked her for different reasons. She’s not you, or some replacement,” Feng Xin says. “But that’s in the past. Things have changed. We’ve moved on, and I haven’t seen her since.” 

“B-But…” 

“But what? Jian Lan is Jian Lan, and you’re you. Two completely different people! How hard is it for you to understand? I had my reasons for loving her, and I have different reasons for loving y—”

“Why?” Mu Qing asks, practically yelling. He’s going to need to put up a silencing talisman, so his deputies don’t try to learn and eavesdrop. “Why me? Why couldn’t you l-love some…some nice village maiden or civil goddess and not—not…” 

“Because it’s you!” Feng Xin says. “Fucking hell, Mu Qing, how many times do I have to say this? I get you in the end, and that’s all I could ever ask for! Just to be by your side is enough. Mu Qing, you’re worth it. You’re worth it.” 

The two of them are both completely silent for several painful, excruciating seconds.

Finally, Mu Qing stutters. “Y-You’re really serious?” 

Feng Xin lets out a deep sigh. “Yes. Fuck, believe me when I say all this, Mu Qing! I just spilled out my guts to you and you still think I’m lying?” 

Mu Qing takes Feng Xin’s hands. 

I’ve never been more serious about something in my life, he hears in his head. I don’t fucking care what anyone thinks. I’ll say it again and again, just so you can finally fucking get it. I love you. I love you. I love you—

“Say it,” Mu Qing says, suddenly feeling brave. “What you’re thinking right now. Say it out loud.” 

“I love you,” Feng Xin immediately replies. 

“Say it again,” he grips Feng Xin’s hands tighter, like a vice.

“I love you,” Feng Xin says with incredible gusto. “I love you, Mu Qing.” 

I love you. I love you, Mu Qing hears. I love you so much. I want to kiss you so bad. I—

“I-If you really mean it,” Mu Qing’s voice cracks, like he’s a teenager again. How embarrassing. “If you’re not a fucking coward, you’d do what you’re thinking of already. You’d—mmph!” 

Mu Qing can’t finish his own sentence before Feng Xin pulls him up to the bed, onto his lap, with seemingly no effort carrying his entire weight. He doesn’t even notice the warm and wet mouth over his; Feng Xin is kissing him. Really, finally kissing him. 

On instinct, Mu Qing’s entire face, his body, goes lax, practically melting, feeling Feng Xin’s mouth push into the kiss. Feng Xin’s…he’s good at kissing, moving his lips with practiced, calm ease. 

You’re so pretty, Feng Xin keeps thinking, even as he’s kissing Mu Qing. You’re everything I want, Mu Qing. I’ve thought about this all the time, for so long. 

“I know,” Mu Qing mutters into Feng Xin’s mouth. But as he says this, Mu Qing gets a visual beamed to his head; teenager Feng Xin watching Mu Qing from afar, idly staring at his lips; Feng Xin as Nan Feng, glancing at Fu Yao when he’s not looking. 

“Jeez. Smug asshole,” Feng Xin smiles against Mu Qing’s mouth.

“Show me how much you want me,” Mu Qing says, brave and, yeah, a little smug. “Without using your thoughts.” 

Immediately, Feng Xin rips them apart, breaking their kiss. Rude, Mu Qing thinks, but is suddenly hit with several sequences of images of himself in various positions: Mu Qing lying on his back; him on his knees, face planted on the mattress; sitting on Feng Xin’s lap, taking him by the inches.

“Are you sure?” Feng Xin wraps his hands around Mu Qing’s waist and squeezes. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Yes, yes I’m sure.”

“What about your cultivation vows—?”

“Ugh, who cares about my cultivation vows?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. He dealt with that crisis with Xie Lian ages ago. 

“O-Oh. So, you really want to…?”

“If you ask me again, I’ll kill you myself,” Mu Qing threatens. “And I’ll…I’ll go to Pei Ming to help me with this curse instead!”

Feng Xin’s glare darkens, “You wouldn’t.” 

“Then get on with it already,” Mu Qing grabs at Feng Xin’s collar and pulls him in for another heated kiss, with enough force that he can hear Feng Xin’s choked urk! under his breath. 

He severely underestimates his lack of experience though, because Mu Qing ends up pulling too hard and knocks his teeth against Feng Xin’s. He tries to save face, but ultimately has to pull away after a few intense, teeth-filled seconds. 

“Stop laughing!” Mu Qing hisses at Feng Xin, who does a terrible job at hiding his snickers behind his hand. “It’s not funny!” 

“Sorry, I’m sorry—” Feng Xin keeps chuckling. “You’re just so enthusiastic. It’s cute.” 

“That’s it. I’m done. I’m leaving,” Mu Qing makes a show of it, shuffling backwards, trying to escape Feng Xin’s lap.

Feng Xin, however, isn’t having any of that. He pulls Mu Qing closer, so that their noses are touching; Mu Qing can feel his breath, hot against his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Mu Qing, don’t leave. I didn’t mean to tease you like that,” Feng Xin says, digging circles into Mu Qing’s hips, massaging his sides. It’s very soothing. “How about I take the lead instead? I’ll show you the ropes.” 

“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m helpless,” Mu Qing mutters.

“You’re not helpless,” Feng Xin reassures him. “You’re just inexperienced. Here just—just relax, okay? We can stop any time you feel uncomfortable, I promise.” 

Mu Qing silently nods, agreeing. He closes his eyes, parts his lips open as Feng Xin starts kissing him again. He’s gentle, like Mu Qing is going to break apart if he pushes his tongue against him too hard. 

What’s worse, though, is that Feng Xin’s hands are everywhere, roaming Mu Qing’s body, touching wherever he can. He feels Feng Xin’s fingers, warm and bruising, trail to Mu Qing’s waist, his hips, then lower to grasp at his thighs and flank. 

Mu Qing tries to remain unaffected by his touches (they’re just touches!), but he realizes he’s subconsciously grinding onto Feng Xin’s lap, practically dry humping his leg like some depraved, old mutt. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Feng Xin pulls back to watch Mu Qing, eyes bright with awe. “So desperate, just from a few touches and some kissing.” 

“Shut up,” Mu Qing tries to sound stern, but his voice leaves him breathless and whiny. “This is all your fault.” 

“Aw. Poor baobei,” Feng Xin coos. Mu Qing’s face, down to his neck, flushes hot at the sudden nickname. Feng Xin tugs at Mu Qing’s sleeves. “Can I take this off?”

Mu Qing nods, biting back a whimper. Then Feng Xin…he—he pulls open Mu Qing’s robes, revealing his pale chest, and starts sucking at his left nipple, tongue lapping it with unbridled focus. Because Feng Xin is evil, he takes one of his hands and starts pinching the other, neglected one. 

“ Ah—Feng Xin,” Mu Qing gasps, throwing his head back. He starts grinding on Feng Xin’s thigh harder, a little desperate for it. 

Feng Xin pulls away from Mu Qing, admiring his work. Mu Qing’s nipples are red and swollen, shiny with spit. Mu Qing’s face is already burning hot to the touch, panting like a steam train. Mu Qing can’t make eye contact with him; his gaze is predatory and feral, like he wants to bite him. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Feng Xin suddenly asks, looking down at Mu Qing rolling his hips against his leg. “Given yourself a little relief?” 

“I-I’ve tried. When I could read your thoughts of me…I had to do s-something about it,” Mu Qing says. He refuses to mention the fact that his methods have only left him wet and unsatisfied, wanting more.

To his horror, Feng Xin responds by leaning back, hands on the mattress. Not touching him, the evil and horrible man. 

“Show me,” Feng Xin commands. 

“I am,” Mu Qing huffs, furiously rocking back and forth on Feng Xin’s leg. It’s not really helping him, though, he only feels more desperate. “This is…this is how I—but on my heels, or my chair, or—” 

Feng Xin sighs. “No wonder you’re so pent up. That’s not going to help you at all!” 

“Stop—stop m-making fun of me!” 

“I’m not! Honest!” Feng Xin laughs, “But it does make a lot of sense. It certainly explains why you’re so horny over a few kisses—“

“Feng Xin!”

“Kidding, kidding! Okay, maybe I’m being a little mean. I’m sorry, it’s just so easy to tease you,” He then tugs at Mu Qing’s waistband. “Here, how about I show you something different?”

“Don’t say it, just do it,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. But since he’s heaving and definitely blushing, it’s significantly less effective. 

“Bossy,” Feng Xin says, but gives Mu Qing a chaste kiss on the cheek.

He reaches a hand out, fingers dipping past Mu Qing’s waistband and into his pants. Feng Xin’s fingers are nosy, wandering Mu Qing’s lower half—dancing over his thighs, between his slick legs. 

“Ngh, Feng Xin, fuck—” Mu Qing whimpers, leaning his forehead on Feng Xin’s shoulder as he trembles through the sensations. He can’t show his face to him, or he’ll die of embarrassment. 

“Good?” Feng Xin asks, like he doesn’t know he’s driving Mu Qing fucking crazy over a few touches. Then, being the horrible man he is, Feng Xin drifts his hand lower so he’s stroking at—at Mu Qing’s cunt, drawing short, tight circles that barely graze at his clit. 

“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing keens. It’s never felt this intense before, like his whole body is shaking. He can hear the squelching sounds of his pussy as Feng Xin continues to rub at his clit, wet and loud. Even with Mu Qing’s panting and whining, he can hear the humiliatingly wet noises his body is making. 

They haven’t even done anything yet and he’s already so…

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Feng Xin breathes out, stating the obvious. Mu Qing doesn’t hear any of his thoughts in his head; so either Feng Xin is completely zeroed in on this, or Mu Qing’s already been fucked out of his senses. Could be both, honestly. 

“All—All your fault,” Mu Qing gasps, now grinding desperately onto Feng Xin’s fingers. It’s certainly a step-up from rutting at his leg. 

Before Mu Qing can say another insult, Feng Xin pushes him, gently, so that his back falls and hits the mattress. Feng Xin climbs on top of him, pinning Mu Qing to the bed with his weight. It reminds Mu Qing of some of Feng Xin’s fantasies that he glimpsed into. 

“I’m gonna…I need to see you,” Feng Xin says, determined. With his dry hand, he tugs at Mu Qing’s waistband, drags his pants down. His hands are shaking the entire time, face flushing brighter by the minute. 

The realization that he’s naked in front of Feng Xin—in real life, and not in some distant thought—suddenly hits Mu Qing like the blunt end of a sword. The fact that Feng Xin is still fully clothed doesn’t help with the abrupt embarrassment that’s rushing to Mu Qing’s head. He feels the urge to cover himself, to hide from the shame. 

“S-Stop staring!” Mu Qing snaps, closing his legs together. He takes a step further and covers his pussy with his hand, as if that’s going to make him less naked. It doesn’t take Feng Xin a lot of strength or effort to pry Mu Qing’s knees apart, to gently bat his hand away. 

“Sorry,” Feng Xin says, sounding completely unapologetic. “You’re just so—” 

Perfect, Mu Qing hears in his head. You’re so beautiful, Mu Qing. Wet and pliant, just for me. Better than I’ve ever imagined. 

Mu Qing covers his face with his hands. “You’re such a p-perverted sap.” 

“Can’t help it, when I have the man I love underneath me,” Feng Xin pries his hands away, pins it above Mu Qing’s head so he can’t hide from him anymore. 

He’s looking at Mu Qing’s pussy with obvious reverence, like it’s an unforgettable piece of art. Mu Qing doesn’t really understand the appeal; his clit is red and abused, poking out of the hood like a neglected shaft. And he doesn’t really shave, his vulva covered with wiry, black hair. Personally, he doesn’t consider it very attractive, but Feng Xin is staring at him with a look that can only be described as an insatiable hunger. 

“Can I eat you out, Mu Qing?” Feng Xin asks. 

Mu Qing balks for a second. He…doesn’t know what that is.

Luckily, Feng Xin and his thoughts are diligent. An image flashes in Mu Qing’s head, a familiar one, of Mu Qing naked and spread, with Feng Xin’s face and tongue buried in his p-pussy—

“Y-You really want to do that?” Mu Qing stammers, squirming at the thought. It’s—it’s obscene, just thinking of it. There’s no way his cunt tastes that good, and it’s pretty hairy. It all seems very…one-sided; Feng Xin probably won’t get much pleasure from this. 

Maybe it’s to get Mu Qing to relax a little more, so it’ll be easier to fuck him? That makes sense, he supposes. 

“If you want,” Mu Qing says, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“I want,” Feng Xin grins. He lets go of Mu Qing’s hands, settling himself between Mu Qing’s spread legs, breathing hot and heavy against Mu Qing’s clit. 

The worst part is that Feng Xin is agonizingly slow and gentle at first, peppering Mu Qing’s thighs with soft kisses. He—he even bites at Mu Qing, leaving a trail of dark, splotchy bruises in his inner legs. It doesn’t take long until Mu Qing is burning for it, wetter than ever and trembling under Feng Xin’s ministrations. 

Feng Xin holds Mu Qing’s hands, lacing their fingers together, and leans in to kiss at his cunt. Before Mu Qing can whine at how good it feels, Feng Xin dives in, throwing Mu Qing’s legs over his shoulders. 

Then he really begins to eat him out, then, tongue gentle and wet against Mu Qing’s pussy. 

“A-Ahh, oh god, oh fuck, aah!” Mu Qing sobs, hips involuntarily spasming. He grips Feng Xin’s hands tighter, like letting go would send him flying. 

Feng Xin only moans in response, as if there’s nowhere else he wants to be except buried nose-deep in his pussy. He laps at him with long, broad strokes, making horrifically loud slurping noises the entire time. Mu Qing’s too wracked with arousal to feel any sense of shame; he starts grinding at Feng Xin’s face, chasing as much pleasure he can, practically humping Feng Xin’s tongue. 

“Fuck—fuck,” Mu Qing squeezes Feng Xin’s head with his thighs. He hopes Feng Xin gets crushed, or suffocated. He deserves it. “O-Oh god, oh god, that’s…hnn—!” 

Feng Xin pulls his face back, abruptly. It’s the cruelest thing he’s ever done. He eases Mu Qing’s vice grip off his hands. When Mu Qing looks at him, he sees that Feng Xin’s face is shiny with spit and slick, his chin literally dripping with it. Humiliation and arousal simmers in Mu Qing’s gut . 

“Hngh, why did you fucking stop?” Mu Qing would smack him, if he wasn’t so dazed. 

Feng Xin pauses, eyes darkening when he looks at Mu Qing. He’s not sure what he looks like, but it’s certainly affecting Feng Xin. “Can I finger you?” 

“Yes, sure, whatever,” Mu Qing grinds his hips forwards, pushing his pussy into Feng Xin’s face. “Just—just get on with it already!”

“Impatient,” Feng Xin smirks. He teases first, circling his fingers over Mu Qing’s lips, purposely avoiding his clit. Never fully entering Mu Qing. That insufferable man.

Mu Qing is going insane. “W-Why can’t you just do it already?”

“Hm? But you get so wet when I tease you,” Feng Xin says. To prove his point, he drags his finger down Mu Qing’s labia. It comes out shiny, covered in a thick layer of translucent slick.

Mu Qing can’t argue with that. It’s hard when there’s physical proof. He opens his mouth, about to yell at Feng Xin, but he comes out wordless. 

“It’s okay, baobei,” Feng Xin laughs, rubbing his thumb against Mu Qing’s inner thigh. “It just means you’re feeling good, nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’d feel better if you stopped teasing me!” Mu Qing snaps.

“Okay, okay,” Feng Xin gives in, leaning his face further into Mu Qing’s cunt. “Anything you want, you little shit.”

Gently, he slides his forefinger into Mu Qing’s pussy, burying up to the knuckle. Mu Qing is, fortunately, wet enough to not feel any pain or discomfort—it’s practically frictionless. There’s a slight stretch when Feng Xin slips another finger in, but it’s not a bad feeling, nothing that doesn’t turn him off.

“Good?” Feng Xin asks, testing the waters.

“It’s fine,” Mu Qing admits. It’s certainly not as stimulating or intense as Feng Xin’s tongue, but it’s still pretty enjoyable. 

“Mm, good,” is all Feng Xin says before fucking Mu Qing with his fingers. 

Even though Mu Qing’s relaxed, as wet as he can be, he’s still tight. Feng Xin tries his best to be kind with it, giving Mu Qing time to adjust before curling his fingers, his pussy squelching noisily. 

Mu Qing groans at the sensation, legs shaking with it. But then everything increases tenfold when Feng Xin puts his mouth back on Mu Qing’s cunt, eating him out as he fingers him. 

He eats Mu Qing out like he’s making out with his pussy, sloppily running his tongue over Mu Qing’s folds, drooling over his clenching hole. Then, without warning, he kisses Mu Qing’s clit, layering it with spit, and wraps his mouth around it and suckles at it, face buried in his cunt. 

Mu Qing loses it. 

“Ahh! A-Ah—! Feng—ngh,” Mu Qing bucks his hips frantically, clenching hard on Feng Xin’s fingers.

Feng Xin takes this as a sign to increase his pace, sliding a third finger in Mu Qing’s hole, sucking at his clit with a new vigour.

Mu Qing thrashes against the mattress, sobbing. “Oh, oh— f-fuck, hnngh. T-Too much, too much!” 

Because Feng Xin is a horrible man, he pins Mu Qing’s hips into place as he continues, rougher this time, like he relishes in this. Mu Qing, in retaliation, grabs at Feng Xin’s hair and yanks at it in fistfuls. It doesn’t stop Feng Xin from fucking him with his fingers and tongue, but Mu Qing’s glad about that. He hopes his hair-pulling hurts a little, though.

Somehow, Feng Xin goes down on him harder. Mu Qing shrieks, frantic and a little desperate. There’s something building in Mu Qing’s gut, like he might burst, or something equally explosive.

And then…and then—

Mu Qing comes, legs shaking from the intensity of it.

“Nghh—!” Mu Qing crests, arching his back off the sheets. 

To Feng Xin’s credit, he waits for Mu Qing to finish trembling through his first orgasm. He kisses Mu Qing’s hair, keeps his fingers in his cunt for Mu Qing to clench onto. He keeps whispering praises like good, you’re so good to me Mu Qing into his ear. If he were a lesser man, Mu Qing would’ve burst into tears by now.

“How’s it?” Feng Xin asks, eventually, after a few seconds. 

“Whuh…?” Mu Qing answers smartly. His brain is still leaking out of his ears. 

“The curse,” Feng Xin clarifies. “Is it still there?”

Fucking—Mu Qing couldn’t give less of a shit about the curse right now! He just came for the first time in his life and this is what Feng Xin asks him? He doesn’t have the energy for this! 

But then he realizes. He grasps his hand around, scrambling for any part of Feng Xin to grab. He settles for smacking his hand over his face.

“Ow, what the fuck, Mu Qing—“ Feng Xin says, muffled behind Mu Qing’s palm.

“Feng Xin, it’s gone!” Mu Qing says, slapping lightly at Feng Xin’s cheek. Everything is quiet, except for the pat pat pat noises Mu Qing is making with his slaps. It seems that Feng Xin’s technique satisfied the requirements of the curse. “M-My curse isn’t there anymore, I’m cured!”

“Oh? Oh!” Feng Xin’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s great!”

“Ahh, what a relief,” Mu Qing sighs, relaxing on the bed, letting his arm fall. “I was stuck with that stupid curse for ages. Thought I was going to die with it, or something.”

“You’re welcome,” Feng Xin says, looking insufferably smug. In the corner of his eye, Mu Qing sees Feng Xin wiping his hand on the sheets—wet with Mu Qing, he realizes.

“Shut up,” Mu Qing scoffs, but leans in to kiss Feng Xin quickly on the corner of his lips. “A-And just because I’m not cursed anymore doesn’t mean you can stop now, Ju Yang.”

Just to be a little mean, he takes his hand and palms the front of Feng Xin’s pants, right over the bulge that’s practically straining through the fabric.

“Fuck,” Feng Xin groans, leaning into Mu Qing’s touch. It pleases Mu Qing, knowing that Feng Xin is, at least, affected by Mu Qing naked and coming. “If you think I’m only doing this for your curse, then you’re a fucking moron.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it,” Mu Qing says, pulling down at Feng Xin’s waistband. He’s tugging at any article of clothing Mu Qing can get his hands on, trying to yank them off. Look, he can’t be the only one naked in bed right now. 

“Jeez, okay,” Feng Xin laughs, tugging at his own robes. “Impatient, much?” 

Mu Qing watches Feng Xin strip with a perverted interest, furiously staring at him as he kicks off his pants and shrugs his robes off his shoulders. He knows Feng Xin’s well-built, he’s a renowned martial god, but his throat still feels dry looking at him. It pisses him off. 

Feng Xin is massive, from his chest to his arms to his—

“Ju Yang?!” Mu Qing chokes out, eyes bugging out of his head. Holy shit. 

“What? Are you really that surprised?” Feng Xin asks, sounding genuinely confused. Mu Qing is going to strangle him. “You make fun of me for it constantly. You memorized a whole poem about it!”

“I-I thought they were just…” Mu Qing stammers. “I didn’t think you actually had…Is that even going to fit? I don’t think that’s going to fit.”

“It will, don’t worry,” Feng Xin says, reassuring. “We can take as much time as you need, and I can always pull out if you need to. You just have to tell me if it hurts or something. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mu Qing says. “How do we…do this?”

“You mean position-wise? Here, just relax for me,” Feng Xin pushes Mu Qing gently, so that he’s laying flat on his back again. Mu Qing spreads his legs a little wider, just to be safe. “Yeah, like that. You’re doing perfect for me, Mu Qing.” 

“Stop talking and hurry up, ” Mu Qing flushes, embarrassed, even though Feng Xin had his face and fingers in Mu Qing’s cunt less than a few minutes ago. “W-Why can’t you just—ah!”  

Mu Qing immediately shuts up, feeling something thick and wet brush against his clit, quick as a kiss. Feng Xin is grabbing onto his cock, rubbing the blunt tip against Mu Qing’s cunt, brushing at his folds, circling around his hole. 

Above him, Mu Qing can hear Feng Xin panting. He feels a little better hearing this, that Feng Xin is just as aroused as he is. His cock is already slick just from rubbing at Mu Qing’s pussy, wet with their respective arousals. 

Then, the head of Feng Xin’s cock slips into Mu Qing’s hole, pushing into it gently. 

“Feng Xin—!” Mu Qing clenches his teeth, his hands, his hole. Anything. “A-Ah! Oh god, fuck-” 

It doesn’t hurt, luckily, Mu Qing’s wet enough for there to be little friction, the slide easy and slick. But it’s still a tight fit, Mu Qing feels so unfamiliarly stretched open, from his cunt to his open thighs. He feels like he’s being split apart, impossibly stuffed full already, like an overly ripe fruit, or a balloon about to burst. 

“Fuck,” Feng Xin breathes. “Are you okay, Mu Qing? Do you need me to pull out?” 

“No, no, please don’t,” Mu Qing is definitely not above begging right now. “Keep going, Feng Xin. Please—” 

“A-Xin,” Feng Xin orders. “Call me A-Xin.” 

“A-Xin,” Mu Qing parrots, obediently. He’s rewarded by another push from Feng Xin, his cock slipping further inside of him, inching deeper. Mu Qing throws his head back, panting. “A-Xin. Please. God, oh god—” 

“Fuck, fuck,” Feng Xin gasps, as if that nickname just increased his pleasure tenfold. He’s biting particularly hard at his bottom lip. “Mu Qing. Baobei. Qing-er. I’ve thought about this for so fucking long, so many times. You feel so good.”  

“I-Is it all the way in yet?” Mu Qing is panting frantically, chest heaving. 

“Almost. Maybe halfway,” Feng Xin, even when fucking Mu Qing stupid, sounds a little sheepish then. It’s impressive. “You’re doing so well for me, Qing-er. So good. Doing such a good job.” 

Mu Qing whines in response. He sounds needy, a tad hysterical. He can’t imagine taking more of Feng Xin’s cock in him. At this point, just surviving is Mu Qing’s only priority. He’s not even inside Mu Qing fully and he’s reduced Mu Qing to this—this whiny, wet puddle of goo.

Fuck this man, honestly. Fuck Feng Xin and his hot naked body and his stupid big dick. 

Then, hips stuttering, Feng Xin finally presses all the way in, groaning into Mu Qing’s neck. Mu Qing can feel his cock up to his stomach, his throat, feeling impossibly full. He’s not sure if he can even breathe properly anymore, it’s so much. 

"Ngh! A-Ah!" Mu Qing heaves. He can't believe he made it, honestly. 

“Baobei,” Feng Xin bites at Mu Qing’s neck, sinking his teeth into his sweaty skin. His hands are all over Mu Qing again, running through his chest, rubbing his thumbs over his sensitive nipples. “Feel so fucking good, Qing-er. Did so good for me.” 

Mu Qing only whimpers in response. Language is the least of his worries, right now. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” Feng Xin says. Maybe as a reminder? Or a warning? Helpful to Mu Qing, either way. 

“Move, p-please move,” Mu Qing sobs. He’s never felt so worn and used, never had his legs spread this much either. His entire body is shaking. 

But then Feng Xin starts to fuck Mu Qing then, thrusting into him properly this time. 

It’s so much, so unlike what Mu Qing was expecting. He feels boneless, the only motor control he has is to frantically grab onto anything within reach, holding on for dear life. All he can do is grip at the bedsheets, the mattress, Feng Xin’s arms, and pray he’ll live through this. For the sake of his dignity, Mu Qing seals his lips shut, biting the inside of his cheeks, so he doesn’t have to make any more embarrassing noises.

But because Feng Xin is an asshole, he fucks Mu Qing so hard that this plan immediately fails.

“Ahh! F-Fuck, ah, ah, A-Xin!” Mu Qing’s face feels wet and, oh, he’s definitely crying now. “Haah, ngh! Oh god, oh god, oh god—! Hngh—!”

“Doing so well,” Feng Xin croons, thrusting harder. How he still has the ability to talk amazes Mu Qing, and also really pisses him off. “You’re such a good boy for me.” 

“H-harder! A-Xin—” Mu Qing can only lie on the bed and take it, spread as much as his body lets him. He feels hot all over, like he’s literally steaming. “Haah. Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, ahh!” 

Each thrust Feng Xin pushes into him jolts him upwards, pushing him further up the sheets, the bed creaking from the movement. Mu Qing feels incoherent, completely dazed, and he’s perfectly okay with it. 

But then Feng Xin, that awful man, pulls out. 

Mu Qing looks down, still processing. He sees Feng Xin’s cock, hot hard against Mu Qing’s thigh; it’s shiny with Mu Qing’s arousal, pre-cum smearing and dripping onto his legs. The sight alone sends something fiery and hot in Mu Qing. He certainly would’ve preferred Feng Xin doing something, though, rather than just gaping at him like a dying fish. 

“Wh—why did you stop?!” Mu Qing has enough energy to kick at Feng Xin’s side, not enough to hurt though. “What is wrong with—ahn!” 

Before Mu Qing can realize what’s going on, Feng Xin grabs him by the hips and flips him over. The room spins at the movement, until Mu Qing finds himself lying on his stomach, Feng Xin’s hands tugging him to his knees. 

“Just like that,” Feng Xin says, pushing Mu Qing’s face into the mattress. “Good boy, Qing-er.” 

Feng Xin leans against his heels, further back, ogling Mu Qing in his new position: face down, ass and hips in the air. Somehow, he—he feels so more exposed than before, even though he’s the same level of naked he’s been for the past several minutes. Much to his own shame, he likes that a lot more than he should, clit throbbing at the thought. 

"A-Xin," Mu Qing whispers, sounding whiny and breathless. 

“Yeah, fuck, look so good like this,” Feng Xin breathes. Then, without warning, pushes his cock back into Mu Qing’s aching cunt, with barely any resistance. 

Mu Qing's knees buckle. "Fuck, oh fuck. Ah! Ahh!" 

Somehow, the angle feels like it’s reaching deeper. Mu Qing, subconsciously, sinks further into the arch, pushing his ass further out. He starts grinding back, matching Feng Xin’s thrusting.

But then, before he can do anything else, Feng Xin’s cock is suddenly hitting a spot inside him that makes him see stars. 

Mu Qing wails, sobbing into the sheets as Feng Xin keeps railing him without pause. He can’t do anything but take it, sniffling into the mattress and biting into a nearby pillow. At least, in this position, he can muffle himself, quiet down his moaning a little more than before. 

Underneath his moans, Mu Qing hears something above him; Feng Xin, frantically thrusting his hips into Mu Qing’s cunt, chanting mutters under his breath. At first, Mu Qing shrugs it off as Feng Xin grunting in exertion.

But then, he listens closer and really hears—

“Fuck, Qing-er, I love you,” Feng Xin says. “I love you, I love you so much, I love you, I love you. I love you so much, Qing-er.” 

“A-Xin,” Mu Qing, reaches his hand out behind him, fumbling to grab at Feng Xin’s hand. When he eventually finds it, he grasps at it tightly, locking their fingers together, like how Feng Xin held his hands when he was eating him out. “I…I l-love you too, A-Xin, I’m—” 

Then, Feng Xin immediately lets out a loud moan as if in response to Mu Qing’s confession, hips jerking erratically, before it stops to a low shudder. Mu Qing feels something hot spurt and shoot deep into his cunt. 

Did—did Feng Xin just come inside him? 

Answering his question, Feng Xin slides out of him, cock leaving his pussy soft and well-used. Immediately following, Mu Qing can feel his come dribble out of him, trailing down his thigh and onto the sheets. 

Oh, we’re done, Mu Qing thinks, then. Now that Feng Xin’s come, we could—

But then Mu Qing’s train of thought is suddenly halted when Feng Xin drags him closer, pulling him by the waist with seemingly no effort.

He flips him over again, throwing his legs over his shoulders, and gets his mouth on Mu Qing’s used cunt. 

“Oh, fuck!” Mu Qing practically shouts. He didn't expect another round. Feng Xin already did this!

He feels Feng Xin’s tongue literally slurping at his pussy, at his own come. Mu Qing knows he should be disgusted by this, disgusted for Feng Xin, but that’s all drowned out because Feng Xin keeps mouthing over his clit and lapping at his folds, again. Mu Qing’s surprised Feng Xin isn’t tired of this, or developed lockjaw. 

"N-Nghh, Feng—ah, A-Xin!" Mu Qing sniffles. "P-Please...please—" 

Things grow more intense, because Feng Xin then slips two fingers into Mu Qing’s hole, curling them up. The sounds Feng Xin’s fingers make as they bully into his cunt are obscene, the squelching noises are so loud, mixed with Mu Qing’s nonsensical babbling. 

Something is happening in Mu Qing, then. It’s building up, like his previous orgasm, but more sharp and intense. Fuck. Oh, fuck.

He should—he should stop, before something happens to him. Before he explodes into a million pieces. 

"W-Wait! Too—ngh," Mu Qing tries to warn Feng Xin. "C-Can't, can't—" 

“Almost there, Qing-er. You’re doing so well. Such a good boy for me,” Feng Xin croons, before circling his clit with his tongue, licking up his own come that’s been trickling out of Mu Qing. 

Oh god, it’s revolting, Mu Qing doesn’t want him to stop. 

Somehow, Feng Xin accomplishes a perfect combination, because he flicks at his clit just right and curls his fingers into him just so. Mu Qing starts sobbing, moaning as fat tears run down his cheeks, bucking his hips frantically. 

"A-Aah! Fuck! A-Xin!" Mu Qing sobs. He's never arched his back this much before.

Then he…then he—

Mu Qing comes, literally gushes, his pussy desperately clenching hard on Feng Xin’s fingers. Spurts of liquid spray out of his cunt, pelting onto the sheets, onto Feng Xin’s face. 

He literally wants to die, when he realizes what he’s done. He’s going to kill Feng Xin and then himself right after this so there’s no witnesses, but it feels so good and he can't stop—

Mu Qing flops onto the bed, body collapsing over. His entire body is burning, from both humiliation and simmering arousal, and he’s panting so hard he’s surprised he still has air in his lungs. Holy shit. Is this what he’s been missing for over 800 years? 

That, he thinks, makes the whole curse worth it, if it meant he could spend the most intimate moments of his life with Feng Xin, and Feng Xin only. 

**

Mu Qing must pass out briefly, because he blinks and finds Feng Xin spooning him, face buried in his hair. He’s not naked anymore, at least; instead, he’s wearing newer, clean robes, and is significantly less sweaty and drenched in their unmentionable fluids.

And he’s exhausted. He just wants to curl up and sleep for a week, maybe a month. 

“Hey,” Feng Xin says, stroking his thumb over Mu Qing’s hip. “Mu Qing. Qing-er. How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired,” Mu Qing admits. He turns over, so he can smash his face into Feng Xin’s chest. It’s very warm, and very recommended. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Briefly, only for about an hour. You could be feeling tired because of your cultivation,” Feng Xin explains. Oh. That does make a lot of sense. “But I like to think it’s because I fucked you really, really good.” 

“Both, then,” Mu Qing says. It’s a little muffled, given that he’s buried in Feng Xin’s tits. When he looks up, at Feng Xin’s dry face, he remembers his…accident before he passed out—

“Woah, baobei,” Feng Xin says. “You’re turning red. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Y-You’re not mad at me?” Mu Qing asks. Does he not remember? It wasn’t that long ago, though. Or maybe love has made him really, really stupid, as he suspected. 

Feng Xin blinks. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“Earlier, before I passed out. I…I accidentally…uhm,” Mu Qing’s face is burning. He can’t bear to say it, it’s too humiliating to even think about. “O-On your face—” 

“Oh, when you squirted. You’ve never squirted before?” Feng Xin asks, then pauses. “Wait, your cultivation. You were a virgin before all this, of course not.” 

“I thought I…uh, pissed on you,” Mu Qing admits. 

“You didn’t,” Feng Xin reassures him. “Your body was relaxed and you were feeling really good, is all. It’s normal, nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Mu Qing has his suspicions, but Feng Xin does have more experience, so he’s going to take his word for it.

He decides, smartly, to change the subject. “Thanks for cleaning up. You were the one that cleaned up, right?” 

“I did. I figured you didn’t want your deputies to see this,” Feng Xin barks out a laugh when he sees Mu Qing’s reaction to hearing about his junior officials. “Don’t worry, no one came in. Besides, I really liked cleaning you up.” 

“Really?” 

“You were so quiet, for once,” Feng Xin says. “All fucked out and sweet. I should do this more often, to make you shut up—oof!” 

Mu Qing smacks him on the face with a pillow. Then, remembering that his curse is broken, settles for slapping Feng Xin’s chest. Then, remembering that he loves Feng Xin, makes amends by kissing him on the cheek. 

“You’re the worst,” Mu Qing says. 

“I know,” Feng Xin hums. “You know, about your cultivation. I could lend you some spiritual energy. It won’t be that much, I’m not Crimson Rain, but it should be enough.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Mu Qing settles his ear against Feng Xin’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. “I was considering changing my vows, when I still had the curse. I talked about it with his highness.” 

“Oh! That’s good,” Feng Xin smiles. “It didn’t take you that long to ascend. I’m sure you’ll recultivate in no time.” 

“Ugh,” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “That’s what his highness said, too. Almost verbatim, actually. You people put too much faith in others.” 

“Well, I have an excuse for putting my faith in you, specifically. Because I know you’re capable of doing this, and because I love you.” 

“Mm, I know.” 

Feng Xin pouts. Ugh, it’s so cute. “Come on! I said it, now you have to say it back!” 

“Ugh, fine. You’re so demanding,” Mu Qing sighs. “I…l-love you too. Feng Xin. A-Xin.” 

Feng Xin grins, but it reads wicked. “Hm, we need to work on it. You still stutter a bit when you say it. You need to keep practicing, so you can—ow! Fuck, baobei, stop hitting me—!” 

 

**

“Mu Qing! Hello!” 

Mu Qing looks up from his practicing, wipes the sweat that’s dripping from his brow. He recognizes the familiar silhouette of Xie Lian, running up to him, carrying…an egregious amount of foul-smelling containers. 

“Your highness,” Mu Qing tries to sound neutral. “What brings you here?” 

“Ah, Feng Xin told me that you were practicing your new cultivation here,” Xie Lian hands him one container, its innards suspiciously purple. “So I wanted to offer my support. I made you some lunches, if you want.” 

“Huh. Thank you, your highness,” Mu Qing takes the container, then immediately drops it with a surprised yelp. It’s scalding, like grabbing a fistful of molten-hot coals. “I’ll, uh, get that later.” 

Xie Lian smiles at him. He’s just standing there, watching Mu Qing, hands behind his back and rocking back and forth. It’s a little suspicious. 

“…Your highness, do you need something from me?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” Xie Lian waves a hand at him. “It’s just nice to watch you practice. You’re so talented!” 

Mu Qing blushes. “Y-Your highness?!” 

“I’m proud, you know! Here you are, recultivating all by yourself, and doing so well! And…I presume the curse has been lifted,” Xie Lian leans forward. “Perhaps you were granted help by someone trustworthy? Someone familiar to you?” 

Mu Qing looks at the sky. It’s a sunny day out. “Perhaps.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Xie Lian tackles Mu Qing in a hug. He probably breaks a few ribs, too. “I’m so happy for you both! We should celebrate, one day, if you have time. Oh, and we could also meet up once you finish training for your cultivation! I promise Pei Ming won’t be there. I didn’t even invite him to your birthday party, y'know, he just showed up—” 

“So many celebrations,” Mu Qing says. “You’re in a festive mood.” 

“Of course I am! We’re friends, Mu Qing. I consider you and Feng Xin some of my favourite people,” Xie Lian grins. “Ah, don’t tell San Lang that.” 

“Okay,” Mu Qing says. He’s still reeling from what Xie Lian said to him. Friends. Favourite people. He has to bite down the dumb grin that’s threatening to spread. “Thanks, your highness.” 

“Can I sit and watch you?” Xie Lian asks, “I want to help in any way I can. I could offer tips, if you want!” 

“Yeah,” Mu Qing nods. Smiles. “You can.” 

 

**

 

A junior official sits outside, behind Xuan Zhen’s palace, his head in his hands.

“I caught the two of them yelling at each other again, as usual! There’s no way.” 

“So? Couples can argue, you know,” one of Xuan Zhen’s deputies rolls her eyes, copying her mentor. “Not everyone can be all lovey-dovey.” 

“Yeah, but they do it all the time. And they don’t stop, either. Those guys fucking hate each other, why else are they fighting all the time?” 

“No, no, that’s just their personalities,” another deputy of Xuan Zhen pipes up. “But they do love each other! Once, General Nan Yang was in trouble, and General Xuan Zhen was terribly worried.” 

“Oh really? When was this?” 

“I, uhm, can’t tell you,” the deputy flushes, tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “General Xuan Zhen had me swear I would never tell a soul what happened in that room.” 

Someone scoffs. “Yeah, bullshit. You’re obviously lying.” 

“I’m not! I’m really not!” 

“She isn’t lying!” Nan Yang’s junior official runs up next to her. “Something similar happened to Xuan Zhen once, and General Nan Yang was scared shitless for him the whole time!” 

“Okay, come on. That’s way too coincidental,” a junior official says. Then, turns to the young woman behind him. “Meimei, do you want to place a bet? Most of Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang’s deputies are on it.” 

“Oh, uh—” 

“Not now! Code red!” someone hisses, “General Xuan Zhen is coming!” 

“Huh?!” Everyone freezes.

The man in question approaches, arms crossed and wearing a glare that could cut stone. It’s less intimidating than usual, though, because Xuan Zhen’s hair is uncharacteristically messy, his robes askew. 

“Can one of you juniors explain why you’re all loitering behind my palace?” Xuan Zhen asks, eyebrows raised. 

“W-We’re sorry, Xuan Zhen! We were all just about to go!”

Xuan Zhen only glowers more. “I didn’t ask you to leave. I asked for an explanation.” 

“U-Uhm,” all the junior officials look away, suddenly interested in their surroundings. 

Except one of Xuan Zhen’s junior officials stands her ground. She looks directly at him and, with all her confidence, says: “We’re planning a surprise party for General Nan Yang’s birthday.” 

Xuan Zhen raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“What?” Everyone mutters, confused. 

“That’s right,” she says, chin raised. “Nan Yang’s deputies came up to us and asked us for advice on how to celebrate their beloved General. They want to surprise him and give him longevity peaches filled with lotus paste. We were only helping our compatriots, that's all.” 

One deputy, trembling in his boots, pipes up. “B-But we’re all very willing to move, if Xuan Zhen is uncomfortable with us loitering his palace!” 

General Xuan Zhen ignores that deputy in favour of staring down his own.

He walks up to her, tilting his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. What makes you think I’m going to believe what you just said? General Nan Yang despises surprise parties, especially when he’s the recipient. He prefers his longevity peaches to be filled with red bean paste, and his birthday is in over 8 months.” 

“We didn’t know that, which is why they were asking,” his deputy responds coolly. “General Xuan Zhen, forgive me for being so bold, but may I ask how you know those things about General Nan Yang so easily, when we spent all day merely guessing our answers?” 

There’s a long, heavy pause. No one other than Xuan Zhen and his deputy dares to breathe, let alone blink. Xuan Zhen opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He looks up at all the junior officials, less terrified of his presence and now more curious, anticipating a response from him. 

“Scram, all of you!” Xuan Zhen settles instead. 

Luckily, all of them listen to him obediently, scattering away from his palace like mice. His one deputy, though, simply walks away, her back turned to him. She’s going to get a very, very stern lecture when she returns, though. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Feng Xin pokes in, watching Mu Qing standing behind his palace and seething, the steam practically escaping his ears. “You practically sprinted out of your bedroom. I thought you could sense a ghost or something, is there one behind your palace?” 

“My deputies,” Mu Qing hisses. “Are all having serious attitude problems that are in desperate need of fixing right now.” 

Feng Xin laughs at that, “It’s not their fault. I think they’re just rubbing off on you.” 

“I am their superior! They should know better than to talk back to me like…like a rebellious teenager!” 

“There, there, Qing-er,” Feng Xin walks up to him, massaging his shoulders. “How about I get you a little more relaxed, less pent up. I have a great technique for this, you know.” 

“…If you insist,” Mu Qing says, nose in the air, trying not to sound too excited for it. “I’ll walk you back in.”

“Whatever you want,” Feng Xin grins, trailing behind. 

**

A junior official frantically puts his fingers on his temple, hastily summoning a personal communication array, Meimei holy shit! You wouldn’t believe what I heard after we all left! 

**

When Feng Xin wakes up, it’s the middle of the night. 

The moon is big and bright, like an eye looking down at him. He remembers his mother telling him stories about a beautiful woman on the moon, yearning for her estranged husband. Or was it a rabbit on the moon? Maybe both? That’s an excessive amount of things on the moon, though.

But more importantly. 

Sleepily tucked in his arms is Mu Qing, content to bury his face into Feng Xin’s bare chest, softly snoring. Who gives a shit about the moon, when the most beautiful thing is next to Feng Xin, asleep and relaxed next to him. 

Feng Xin plants a kiss into Mu Qing’s hair. Then kisses him again, because he can. 

“I love you,” Feng Xin whispers. 

“Mhgnh?” Mu Qing grumbles, half-asleep. “Fngshnn?” 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Feng Xin reassures him, pulling him closer. “Just telling you how much I love you.” 

“Mmkay,” Mu Qing replies. Then falls back asleep, the warmth of another lulling him back. 

Notes:

im donneeee yaaaaay. this chapter was a nightmare. i havent written porn since highschool.

anyways thanks for reading and for all your love and support!! you've all been so kind to me, and i really appreciate all your comments and kudos :)

here's to a good 2025 for all of you!

Notes:

this is my first fic ever! i hope people like it.

if you want, you can follow me on @chosril on twitter / X. sometimes i like to post art!