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Mu Qing never slept well.
He would go to sleep long after the sun had set, and would rise before a single ray had shown itself over the horizon. His mother would still be asleep when he left, and she would be asleep by the time he got back; sometimes he would crawl in bed next to her and her presence would be enough to soothe him to sleep, but other times he’d lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling until he had to rise again. It was a vicious cycle that left deep bags under his eyes and a yawn in the back of his mouth, but it didn’t matter.
It would probably catch up with him eventually, but eventually wasn’t now, and now, he needed money.
And so, like every other day, he rose before the sun and stalked off to the royal palace, glancing at his mother’s sleeping form before he did so. She was laying on her side, facing away from him under a thin blanket, through which he could see the slow rise and fall of her chest. He wished he could wake her, at least to say goodbye, but it would be unfair. So he left without a word.
She was getting sicker, Mu Qing knew that. Her hands shook constantly, and she struggled to see him if he stood too far away, but she said she was fine - she insisted so - but he knew she was lying. Her face would go taut whenever she lied, and her left eyebrow would twitch - he recognised it from the day she told him his father would be home soon.
(He never came home. Nothing was ever the same after that.)
He arrived at the palace just as the sun was beginning to crest over the far distant hills. Despite it still being so early, and despite the city streets still being mostly asleep, the royal palace was already abuzz with activity; it was a place that never slept.
And neither did Mu Qing, not really. Neither did any servant who worked for the Xianle royal family, because work was best done when you could neither be seen nor heard: whilst the royal family slept. Unfortunately for Mu Qing, his work meant he was seen; being Xie Lian’s attendant meant that eyes were always on him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Eyes on him meant possible advancement, which meant more money for his mother; but eyes on him also meant scrutiny, more risk; one wrong move and he and his mother would suffer greatly for it. It was a lesson his father learnt the hard way, and a lesson he had no intention of learning, and so he kept his head down and did his work with little fuss.
Mu Qing darted through the palace halls, past other servants and guards taking their morning posts, towards the innermost rooms; heavily protected, closely guarded, the private chambers belonging to the royal family. They were lavishly decorated in a way that apparently felt ‘homely’ to the crown prince, but Mu Qing often found himself afraid to touch anything; the golden vessels, the ivory inlays of trinket chests, the decorative weapons that sat blunt and useless on the walls.
It wasn’t his home, it didn’t feel anything like his home, but Xie Lian insisted, and he was the one who lived there. To Mu Qing, home was more of a person, than a place.
His first point of call was the prince’s dressing room, an offshoot of the baths, with drawers and a closet full of Xie Lian’s clothes, opulent beyond belief and worth more than Mu Qing will ever earn in his lifetime. Despite that, as the son of a seamstress and as a budding seamster himself, Mu Qing could appreciate the smoothness of the silk between his fingers, the expensiveness of the gold thread, and the sheer brilliance of the embroidery.
He could remember his mother working on intricate pieces like the ones Xie Lian wears; nobles would purposefully seek her out, provide her with the most expensive fabrics and threads and tell her to make something for them. He wondered if she made any of the pieces in Xie Lian’s wardrobe.
It seemed unlikely; if she had the pieces would be old, and nothing really stuck around in Xie Lian’s wardrobe for long. Mu Qing had left his own little touches though, repairing a rip here and there, when Xie Lian was scared of what his parents would say.
Sometimes, Mu Qing wondered if this was the only mark he’d leave; small, minute stitches, unnoticeable to the unseeing eye. Perhaps it was presumptuous, ungrateful, for him to want to be something more than this, but he still wanted. He wanted to be more than white stitches on white cloth.
“Mu Qing.”
He spun around, and saw Feng Xin standing in the doorway. He was clad in his typical armour, hair tied back in its typical, painfully tight bun, and as per usual, he was looking at Mu Qing with a pained expression on his face, like he didn’t want him around.
Feng Xin had hated Mu Qing from day one. Sure, he hadn’t said it out loud, but the subtle side glances and the tone his voice took whenever they spoke told Mu Qing everything he needed to know. He had been Xie Lian’s personal guard more or less since birth, they’d practically been raised together - to Feng Xin, Mu Qing wasn't meant to be there, and he wasn’t meant to be Xie Lian’s friend.
Again, he’d never said it out loud, but Mu Qing could tell. He could read Feng Xin like a book.
“Feng Xin.” He said back.
They stared at each other in silence; the air around them was awkward, tense. Neither of them knew what to do, and Mu Qing wasn’t quite sure why Feng Xin spoke to him in the first place.
Feng Xin’s golden eyes scanned up and down him, pausing for a moment on his face. The hand that had been resting on the pommel of the sword at his hip clenched (Feng Xin was a better archer than he was a swordsman, Mu Qing never understood why he insisted on carrying around the damn thing).
“Your hair is messy.”
Mu Qing’s brows furrowed, and he could already feel the tension rising in his body. There was a curse on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a bronze jug sat on the vanity. His shoulder length hair was escaping its band, sticking up all over the place. He blushed.
“Oh,” He mumbled. “Thanks.”
Feng Xin nodded, standing still for another awkward second before stalking off in the direction of Xie Lian’s quarters, leaving Mu Qing to fix his hair in the shine of the jug. It was at an awkward length, much of it didn’t fit in his ponytail, but he did his best; there wasn’t anything else he could do.
The prince’s private rooms were elaborate; the bedroom alone was bigger than Mu Qing’s entire home. There was a window that looked out onto Xianle’s vast town square, with the snow-capped mountains encasing the city like a picture frame. It was beautiful, picturesque; Mu Qing’s house - the slums - were in the other direction.
When Mu Qing arrived, Feng Xin had pulled back the curtains surrounding Xie Lian’s bed, and the prince himself was laying at the centre, rubbing his eyes so hard he was probably seeing stars.
It was fair to say that the prince was not a morning person.
“Good morning, Your Highness.” Mu Qing said.
Xie Lian’s eyes blinked slowly, still half-asleep and only half-aware of his surroundings, but upon seeing Mu Qing, his face brightened and he grinned. The corners of Mu Qing’s mouth twitched; the prince’s happiness was infectious, he couldn’t help it.
“Mu Qing!” He exclaimed, sitting up in his bed. “Good morning! How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you, Your Highness.”
Xie Lian smiled, in a genuine way that only Xie Lian could. He was like the sun, bright and warm and all-encompassing. “That’s good to hear! You seemed tired last week.”
Feng Xin shot Mu Qing a blazing glance.
Mu Qing didn’t react. He simply nodded. “The maids ran you a bath, Your Highness. It should be the right temperature for you now. I hope the Orange Blossom scent will be to your taste.”
Xie Lian rose up out of bed and put on the plain robe that Feng Xin had handed to him. He patted his head, in an effort to tame his bedhead. “Well, lets go!”
Xie Lian walked out of the room first, with Feng Xin and Mu Qing following behind. He was chatting about the cultivation training he had recently begun, under the head priest, about how well it was going and how excited he was for his lesson later that day. Mu Qing nodded, listening to the echo of Xie Lian’s voice and his own footfalls, but he didn’t take much of it in. He wasn’t looking forward to the prince’s lessons, because his teacher, for some reason, disliked Mu Qing with a burning passion.
Mu Qing’s vision went fuzzy when they entered the bathroom; it was steamed to high-heaven and smelt strongly of Orange Blossom. There was a towel and soap set on a small table next to the bath, and another robe hanging delicately on a hook. It was atmospheric, calming.
Xie Lian got into the bath with a sigh, immediately relaxing into the warm water. Mu Qing and Feng Xin took their positions in the corners of the room. Mu Qing felt Feng Xin glance at him for a second, but he turned away before Mu Qing could catch him.
“Your mother, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian began, scrubbing his arms with the soap. “How is she? You mentioned she was sick the other week, I just wanted to check in.”
Mu Qing was silent for a moment, his eyes directed at the ground. He knew Xie Lian was watching his reflection in the mirror.
“She is well, Your Highness.” He said. “Her medicine is working. She will hopefully feel better soon.”
“That’s good to hear!” Xie Lian replied. “Perhaps we could send a little care package her way…”
Feng Xin looked at Mu Qing. The look on his face was unreadable.
Mu Qing was lying, and he could see it. His mother wasn’t getting better; in fact she was getting worse, but for some reason, Mu Qing found himself unable to tell Xie Lian. For some reason, it felt wrong, sacreligious. Xie Lian was always happy, almost naively so - he frolicked through life with ease, he smiled almost incessantly - Mu Qing didn’t want to ruin that. He didn’t want Xie Lian to be burdened with worry, because he would be. Of course he would be. He cared too much for his own good.
Mu Qing met Feng Xin’s eyes, unable to stand their heat, and turned away.
“Those children in the slum Mu Qing,” Xie Lian was running his hands through his long, dark hair. It looked smooth to the touch, and reached far down his back; Mu Qing’s hand went to the ends of his, resting just above his shoulders, and his chest ached. “Are they okay as well? You haven’t spoken about them in a while.”
“They are also well, Your Highness.” Mu Qing said, like a broken record. “Xiao Hua fell ill with fever last week, but he is okay now.”
“Was it the same illness your mother had?”
“No, Your Highness. It was just a regular fever. He felt unwell for a while, but there was no real danger.”
Xie Lian sighed, again looking at Mu Qing in the mirror. “Always so formal, Mu Qing. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Friends?
Mu Qing’s eyes met Xie Lian’s in the mirror. They stared at each other for only a moment, but it felt like forever.
“Of course we are, Your Highness.”
I could only dream.
Xie Lian’s smile was different this time. It was softer, less like staring directly at the sun, but instead seeing it through the clouds. It seemed more genuine this time, more real. “Good.” He said, voice as soft as his smile. “You’re my friend Mu Qing, I hope you know that.”
Mu Qing nodded, but didn’t trust himself to say anything.
“I hope I’m your friend as well, Your Highness.” Feng Xin said, pouting, and Mu Qing couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“Of course you are!” Xie Lian laughed. “We’re all friends!”
Mu Qing and Feng’s Xin’s eyes snapped to each other, and they shot each other an intense glare. They certainly weren’t friends, they bickered and fought too much for that, but for Xie Lian at least they’d pretend. And truly, when Feng Xin wasn’t being so damn annoying he was alright, but Mu Qing would never tell him that.
Soon enough, Xie Lian stepped out of the bath, and Mu Qing handed him a towel; he dried himself off, handed the towel back to Mu Qing, exchanging it for the robe that Feng Xin was holding in his hands. He tied it in a simple knot, and the three of them walked through the door into the dressing room.
“I hope you don’t mind the plain robes I picked for you today, Your Highness.” Mu Qing said, as he followed Xie Lian to the mirror, in front of which he sat down, and began to run his hands through his hair. Mu Qing sifted through the clutter on the vanity to find Xie Lian’s fine-toothed ivory comb. “I thought they’d be more practical.”
“Oh they’re fine, don’t worry Mu Qing.” Xie Lian waved away his concern, as Mu Qing slowly began to run the comb through his hair, starting from the ends and slowly making his way up. “I prefer them almost. Less of a hassle”
“I will keep that in mind.” Mu Qing whispered, almost to himself.
It was one of his duties, to brush Xie Lian’s hair. It was incredibly fine, and soft to the touch, slipping through his fingers like silk. There were never any knots or tangles, but Mu Qing would take his time to comb his hair anyway. Xie Lian’s eyes would close, his breathing would slow, and Mu Qing would occasionally have to adjust his head, like the motions of the comb were lulling him to sleep.
It was an intimate experience Mu Qing found himself unable to describe.
Mu Qing would often think about his own hair, cut to his shoulders and half pulled up for the sake of practicality. He wished he could have Xie Lian’s hair, beautiful and lucious and long almost to the point of impracticality. He told himself, day after day, that he was working to have hair like Xie Lian, he was working for the ability to grow his hair long.
He pulled back sections of Xie Lian’s hair and made sure they were of equal size, before tying them up together in a small, neat bun, and running his fingers through it all to rid it of any kinks. Then, he rested his hand on Xie Lian’s shoulder, and delicately shook him awake.
“Your Highness?” He said, waking him once again.
Xie Lian blinked, eyes bleary, before looking in the mirror and playing with the strands that came down to frame his face. The smile he wore was delicate, soft. “It’s perfect as always, thank you.”
He yawned and stood up, stretching like a sleepy cat in the midday sun, before leaving the room to dress. Mu Qing, in the meantime, tidied up the mess on the vanity, putting the things in their rightful places, ready for the routine to repeat itself tomorrow.
After Xie Lian was dressed and ready, they headed out of the dressing room and followed him to breakfast. There was a spread already waiting for him in the dining room when he got there; his parents must have already eaten, given that the prince was a late riser and that there were servants clearing the table as he sat down. They sent him a polite nod, greeting him with a quiet ‘Your Highness’ before quickly leaving.
Xie Lian sat down at the table and began slowly picking away at the food in front of him. The cook, an ageing woman from the same slum as Mu Qing, whom he had known since he was infant, always made sure that Xie Lian had a big breakfast, citing the reason that he was a ‘ Growing boy’ and that he ‘needed to eat his greens’ . Xie Lian would always make a show of protesting, but the cook wasn’t a woman you could refuse.
When Mu Qing looked up from the food he had been unknowingly staring at, he found Feng Xin staring at him, his face once again unreadable. His thick eyebrows were furrowed, and his shining eyes were scanning him, clouded over with an emotion Mu Qing couldn’t understand. Mu Qing glared back, because Feng Xin couldn’t be staring at him for any good or positive reason, and upon realising that he had been found out, Feng Xin looked away, wisps of hair escaping his tight bun as his head snapped to the side.
Mu Qing also considered Feng Xin for a moment, before turning his eyes back to Xie Lian. He’s so… weird.
Yeah, weird.
That’s the word.
Mu Qing didn’t understand Xie Lian very well, but he felt like he understood Feng Xin even less. He couldn’t recall any time in which he’d done something offended Feng Xin, at least on purpose, but Feng Xin always seemed to turn his nose up at him; he would stare so hard at Mu Qing sometimes, like he was trying to will him out of existence. Feng Xin usually didn’t have a problem with voicing his displeasure at anything Mu Qing said or did - in fact, he seemed to take great delight in it - but there would be times in which he’d just… stare , and Mu Qing didn’t understand it. He didn’t hate Feng Xin, not really, but he didn’t understand him.
Feng Xin seemed to hate him though; Mu Qing chalked it up to his low birth, and his father’s status as an executed criminal, because in the eyes of most people, those things made him no better than the dirt on their shoes.
‘In the eyes of most people’, because there was nothing in the world he could do to make Xie Lian hate him. Comforting? Perhaps. Naive? Most certainly.
Mu Qing was pulled out of his thoughts by the quiet clatter of utensils against the table. Xie Lian turned to one of the servants and nodded in thanks for the meal, before also telling them to give the cook his thanks. The servant nodded, and began clearing away the mess on the table.
“Come now, Your Highness.” Mu Qing said, gesturing to the doorway. “The head priest will be waiting.”
“I completely forgot!” Xie Lian jumped up and clapped his hands. “Oh I’m so excited Mu Qing! See, the other day he started to teach me this new thing-”
Mu Qing zoned out, and simply followed Xie Lian to the courtyard. He was not excited for Xie Lian’s lessons at all . The head priest had it out for him, and always looked about one second away from drop-kicking him off of the cliff; the only thing that seemed to stop him was Xie Lian’s apparent fondness for him. Xie Lian’s fondness for him seemed to shield him from a lot of things, and from a lot of people that didn’t like him.
Mu Qing wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“-Qing”
He blinked. Did someone say my name?
“Mu Qing!”
He turned and saw Feng Xin standing next to him. The look on his face was frustrated, he must’ve been trying to get his attention for some time.
“What?” Mu Qing whispered back, his tone short. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Xie Lian still happily walking ahead, almost with a spring in his step.
Feng Xin dug his hand into his pocket, and for a second Mu Qing thought he was going to pull something nefarious , but in the time it took him to blink, Feng Xin had grabbed ahold of his left hand and forced a small roll of bread into his hands. It was still warm, and Mu Qing could smell its freshness.
Mu Qing blinked in confusion.
“For you.” Feng Xin said, watching the expression on Mu Qing’s face. When Mu Qing didn’t say anything, he shook his head and walked away, mumbling ‘A thank you would be nice’ under his breath.
Mu Qing looked down at the bread, then at Feng Xin’s moving form, before looking back down to the bread. When he saw that no one was looking, Mu Qing took a great big bite out of the bread roll, savouring the tasty, warm bread on his tongue, before taking another big bite and running to catch up with Xie Lian. When he made eye contact with Feng Xin, he nodded; and Feng Xin nodded back.
They arrived in the courtyard a couple of minutes later, and the head priest was already waiting. A severe looking man, long hair pulled back tightly and robes impeccably clean - Mu Qing couldn’t tell how old he was, but there was a certain age to his eyes that made him feel aged beyond his looks.
His eyes turned sharp the moment he saw Mu Qing. Mu Qing didn’t respond, and simply took his customary position in the corner of the room.
“Your Highness.” The priest said, voice fine and level. “Are you ready to learn?”
“Of course Guoshi!” Xie Lian smiled, taking the sword from the priest’s hand. “I look forward to it!”
He nodded. “Then let’s begin.”
Xie Lian’s lessons, from Mu Qing’s perspective, were much the same. He’d stand in the corner of the room, sometimes next to Feng Xin, sometimes watching Feng Xin as he participated in the head priest’s demonstrations. Xie Lian would wave the sword in whatever direction and in whatever way the priest told him to, and the priest would either correct him, taking his arm by the elbow or adjusting his posture, but generally he appeared to do well. Mu Qing’s wouldn’t know of course; he didn’t know how to use a sword, only a knife, and really, wielding a knife against thieves who intended to mug him was nothing like wielding a well-crafted blade.
Mu Qing could fight bare-knuckle too, Feng Xin had discovered that the hard way one day, but it wasn’t exactly something he was proud of.
It was a couple of hours into Xie Lian’s lesson, when Mu Qing had given in to his desire to learn against the wall behind him, that Feng Xin came and stood beside him, sweat collecting on his brow and more hair free from his bun than before. He was out of breath, chest rising and falling quickly; he looked dishevelled. It was not distracting, it was not .
“His Highness has improved.” Feng Xin said, still breathless.
Mu Qing shrugged, arms folded across his chest. “I should hope so. He does the same thing for hours every day.”
“Hey!” He exclaimed, lightly swatting Mu Qing on the shoulder. “He’s learning how to cultivate! It’s about perseverance, dedication!”
“Well, His Highness is surely persevering.”
Feng Xin said nothing, used to Mu Qing’s manner of speech, and rolled his eyes. He too folded his arms across his chest, leant against the wall directly next to Mu Qing’s head, and sighed.
They locked eyes for a moment that felt like forever. Not blinking, just observing each other with uncharacteristic calm and silence. Then, after a while, they snapped out of it, eyes snapping back to Xie Lian, who was still swinging his sword around under the guidance of the priest, who had been ignoring them since the lesson began. Out of the corner of his eye Mu Qing could see the light dusting of pink on Feng Xin’s cheeks, and even without looking Mu Qing could feel the heat on his own.
He didn’t understand it.
“Feng Xin.” Mu Qing whispered.
“What?” Feng Xin said, refusing to look at him. It probably had something to do with the pink tinge to his cheeks, but Mu Qing didn’t want to assume.
“Thanks for the bread. It was… nice.”
“Don’t even think about it,” He mumbled. “It’s okay.”
Mu Qing knew he’d think about it. He’d think about it from now until he got home at the dead of night, because every day was mostly the same, his life functioned massively on routine and order, but today Feng Xin gave him a roll of bread,
and for the life of him, Mu Qing couldn’t understand why.