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Fengqing 20: Reincarnation (for Fengqing Week 2022)

on AO3 as reflecting on us: then, now, and forever

“Watch it, you dumb fuck!”

Feng Xin watched in horror as his cup of coffee spilled all over the man in front of him, leaving a large brown stain on the front of his white shirt.

Fuck. He really wanted that latte. It had cost him ten fucking bucks.

The man furiously cursed as he tried to wipe the stains away with his slender hands. “Fucking shit, this will have to be dry cleaned,” he grumbled as he gave Feng Xin the most spiteful glare with piercing dark eyes.

Feng Xin took a step back. He felt a shiver going down his spine at the glower of those dark eyes, and swore that glare could cut glass. The offended man looked like Feng Xin had just murdered his cat.

What a fucking bitch. He pressed the cup lid down to stop his coffee from spilling more.

They were standing on the steps of the National Museum, where a weekend pop-up exhibition on rare artifacts and relics of ancient Chinese mythology took place, particularly about Feng Xin’s favorite subject, Gods and Ghosts.

He'd spent his teens and early twenties buried in Chinese mythology comics and television shows, even spending his first paycheck on Nendoroids of his favorite characters, General Nan Yang and the Crown Prince of Xianle. Fables of the two gods and their courageous deeds had consumed his childhood. But, as time passed, it remained a side passion that he never fully pursued because of academics and his career. Of course, it hadn’t helped that none of his friends were enthusiastic about the same thing.

Last week, his workplace offered him complimentary tickets to the sold-out exhibition, so he took the opportunity to learn more about his long-lost hobby, and he didn't have other plans for the day anyway.

“Fuck, fine. I’ll pay for your fucking dry cleaning.” Feng Xin scowled as he pulled out his leather wallet, ready to fork out some cash. “You don't have to be such a bitch about it,”

“I don’t need your pity,” the angry man snapped before Feng Xin could flip his wallet open, walking past him and into the museum.

“Fucking ass,” Feng Xin grumbled as he tossed the rest of his coffee into the bin and made his way to the designated ticket counter to collect his tickets.

To Feng Xin’s disbelief, the coffee-stained man with the foul mood was also queuing at the special ticket counters.

Well, fuck . What were the chances that they both scored complimentary tickets?

“I’m collecting the complimentary special admission tickets booked under Mu Qing,” the man said to the cheerful lady behind the counter.

Mu Qing. A bitchy name fit for a bitchy man , Feng Xin thought as he gave his name to the other lady at the next counter.

“Hah! Feng Xin! Appropriate.” Mu Qing scoffed as he walked towards the exhibit.

Feng Xin could only glare daggers at the back of Mu Qing’s skull as he followed behind.

_____________________________

Mu Qing sighed as he exited the washroom. After getting his ticket, he rushed to the gents by the first exhibit room and tried to wash the coffee stain off, but it lingered like a big brown blotch of baby crap on his chest.

It was his new designer shirt, which he'd gotten after nearly a year on the waiting list, and he'd only worn it once. And it was blatantly apparent that the man with thick brows had no clue what he had ruined.

Work had been brutal that week. After a long week of compiling and filtering through historical journals for a project with a team of archaeologists, he had been looking forward to enjoying the exhibition in solitude . His college alumni association had ties with the museum and had offered him a free pass with special admissions, which he had gladly accepted. But no, his start to the weekend was getting coffee spilled on his designer shirt by a dumb jock instead.

Books on ancient civilizations and myths had been his treasures since he was a child. His mother was a single mother juggling two blue-collared jobs to make ends meet, so while other kids spent their childhoods playing with new toys or learning to ride bicycles, Mu Qing had spent his time reading old and dusty history books on Heaven’s Officials. The set of heavy-bound leather books were the only books on his family's lone bookshelf, which had been in his family for generations. No one in his family knew where the books originated, but his curiosity had led him to his college major and a lifetime fascination with history and mythology.

“I made that coffee stain look like part of your shirt’s design, you know,” Mu Qing heard as he stepped in front of the first display.

Feng Xin appeared next to him. Mu Qing sighed again. He couldn’t help but think the gods were against him today.

“Says the person who wears cargo shorts into a museum,” Mu Qing sniped back, cocking a brow. He was not taking fashion advice from this fashion monstrosity. The guy looked like he had just walked out of a nineties fishing magazine. All he needed was a fishing hat and a pocket vest to complete the look.

“Well, they’re comfy, and they’re not stained with coffee,” Feng Xin replied as they made their way to the first display, earning an eye roll from Mu Qing.

The first exhibit was of two well-known objects – an old black shovel with an intricately carved top handle and a bamboo paper folding fan with three lines running across it. They were the famed Earth Master’s shovel and Wind Master’s fan, respectively, in pristine condition.

“Wind Master Shi Qingxuan, one of the Four Famous Tales,” Feng Xin read out the sign below the fan. “The young lord who poured wine,” he added casually.

Mu Qing furrowed his eyebrows. “Tsk, undeserving of his title,”

Every history major knew Shi Qingxuan did not ascend as a god on his own. Instead, the proclaimed Wind Master had spent most of his mortal time hiding from the Venerable of Empty Words, a parasitic ghost that fed on the negative thoughts of its host.

Many of its victims resorted to suicide from the extreme anxiety and depression. There were only two exceptions – prominent scholar He Xuan and the Crown Prince of Xianle.

As destiny foretold, Shi Qingxuan was fated to be one of its victims.

Until Shi Wudu intervened.

Shi Wudu, Shi Qingxuan's ascended older brother who bore the title Water Master or Water Tyrant, had seized scholar He Xuan's destiny as a god and bestowed it to Shi Qingxuan to protect his beloved younger brother. As a result, Shi Qingxuan ascended to become the Wind Master with minimal effort and lived the life of a god in luxury at the expense of He Xuan’s luck.

The wronged scholar had held on to his grudge for decades and fought thousands of ghosts and demons for twelve long years in Mount Tong’lu to become one of the most powerful beings of the three realms - a Supreme Ghost called Black Water Sinking Ships.

"Wind Master Shi Qingxuan was innocent," Feng Xin replied, looking at Mu Qing, who had folded his arms across his chest.

"He could have stood up for He Xuan," Mu Qing commented as he approached the display, carefully scrutinizing each elaborately carved root and tree on the shovel's handle, which supposedly belonged to the Earth Master. He Xuan, as a Supreme, had kidnapped Ming Yi, the genuine Earth Master, and used his identity to infiltrate the heavens to seek his revenge. "He Xuan's family and fiancee died in agony as a consequence of Shi Wudu’s selfishness,” he declared indifferently.

Feng Xin’s eyes widened, taken off guard by Mu Qing’s judgment, “Bro, Shi Wudu was trying to save his baby brother!”

“I am not your bro,” Mu Qing scoffed as he walked through a hallway displaying old chinaware into the following exhibition room.

“Shi Qingxuan had to choose between his brother and a friend he just learned was a Supreme impersonating the Earth Master,” Feng Xin loudly voiced as he followed behind. “They were best friends in heaven! Where’s your mercy?”

The next exhibit featured two human-sized stone sculptures. One depicted a woman holding a fan in front of her face, but her other arm and a leg were missing, while another showed a headless male. It was Shi Qingxuan in his female form and Shi Wudu. The brothers were often, if not always, worshipped as a male and female pair.

Like the Wind Master’s fan and Earth Master’s shovel, Mu Qing noticed that both statues seem to be in good shape, although missing a few limbs and a head. It appeared their collectors had been caring for them well.

“Are you listening to me?” Feng Xin asked, waving his hand in front of Mu Qing’s face.

“No.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes, wondering why Feng Xin was still around. There were plenty of other exhibits to explore, so he didn’t have to invade Mu Qing’s space. “Shi Wudu didn't deserve any mercy,” he added as he noticed the three lines on Shi Wudu’s statue’s fan, almost identical to Shi Qingxuan’s.

Though fate had been unkind to the two brothers at the start and end of their lives, it paled to the physical anguish and psychological torment He Xuan endured over hundreds of years. While Shi Wudu basked in splendor as the Water Tyrant and Shi Qingxuan frolicked in the mortal and heavenly realms, He Xuan had lost his fiancee and family to suicide, rape, murder, and hunger.

Mu Qing could only imagine the pain the Supreme had endured. Unlike the other gods and ghosts he knew, whose difficulties sprang from their own questionable choices, He Xuan was the only being to suffer as a result of the decisions of others.

Shi Wudu had been selfish in his way, and Shi Qingxuan was a coward in abetting his brother’s egoistic attitude, he told himself.

-- “Everyone, catch!” A scene of a woman dressed in traditional jade green and white garb throwing gold paper up in the air like confetti flashed through Mu Qing’s mind.

There was an uproar, then a stern, deep voice said, “Qingxuan, behave.”——

Mu Qing shook his head. What? The scene lasted only a moment, but it felt so real. He must be exhausted. It seemed to be a flashback from a television show about Shi Qingxuan he’d watched as a kid.

“Shi Qingxuan lost an arm and broke a leg after their battle with Black Boat,” Feng Xin interrupted his thoughts as he indicated the Wind Master sculpture. He then moved closer to Mu Qing, pointing at the headless statue, “He Xuan lopped off Shi Qingxuan’s brother’s head!”

“I don’t need a museum guide.” Mu Qing sighed. “And it’s Black Water Sinking Ships.”

"And, in the end, Black Boat never killed Shi Qingxuan anyway, so he must have had some affection towards him," Feng Xin continued, dismissing Mu Qing's remarks. “You don’t give up on a centuries-long grudge unless there were feelings involved,”

“Executed his brother, stripped him of his immortality, broke his arm and leg,” Mu Qing casually replied as he walked to the next exhibit. “Dumped him, a spoilt and formerly rich god, in the slums with no means to survive.

“You’re right. I guess there are some romantic elements to their tragedy,” Mu Qing conceded sarcastically. “I suppose Shi Qingxuan’s life as a crippled beggar in the slums was better than a quick death,”

“You are one sick fuck.” Feng Xin squinted as he pointed a finger at him.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes as he made his way to the next room. “I wasn’t the one who said they have feelings for each other.”

“Yeah, but not when you put it that way,” Feng Xin whined as he trailed behind. “You just ruined the whole thing!”

_____________________________

Feng Xin followed his new barbed-mouth companion to the next exhibit.

They hadn’t gotten off to a good start, but no matter how unpleasant Mu Qing was, it felt nice to finally have someone to talk to about myths and folklore. Unfortunately, as much as his friends tried, they had no interest, and it was hard to watch them pretend to enjoy his stories when it was evident they were bored to death.

It didn’t seem like Mu Qing was interested in talking to him, but he didn’t seem to mind Feng Xin doing the talking too much. And judging by his comments about Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan, it was clear that the snide stranger was at the very least knowledgeable about the fundamentals of Chinese mythology.

“Why are you following me?” Mu Qing asked as he walked towards a tall, elegant bronze statue of a god holding scrolls in his arms. The sculptured man had a composed expression that emanated scholarly intelligence and brilliance.

It was a statue of Ling Wen, the infamous literature god, in her male form. Ling Wen had gone by the name Nangong Jie during her mortal days and made a living making shoes.

The shoemaker was so gifted in writing that the top literature god, Jing Wen, ultimately chose Ling Wen to join his lower court officials, only to assign her menial tasks such as delivering gifts to other gods and wiping tables.

Frustrated with her role, Ling Wen developed contempt for Jing Wen and sped up his demise by burning some of his temples before ascending to become a full-fledged upper court official herself.

However, because many did not believe a woman could be a scholar, the literature god struggled to gain worshippers, a challenge she easily overcame by taking on a male form when facing the mortal realm.

Although it had been more than a millennium since the story of Ling Wen was first recorded, it was a problem she would still face in the modern world today, Feng Xin thought as he glanced at a faded watercolor painting of Ling Wen. The goddess was painted in her demure female form, hanging on the wall next to the statue.

“Hasn't your big brain noticed that the exhibition path is one-way? I can’t help it if we’re walking in the same direction,” Feng Xin replied as a shiny object caught his attention.

An antique long sword with cracks on its blade with the label 'Ming Guang' and the broken fragments of Shi Wudu's fan were displayed next to Ling Wen's statue.

"Oh, it's the Three Brain Cells!" Feng Xin's eyes gleamed with excitement. He pressed his face into the glass display with the long sword.

He’d always been a fan of weapons, especially ancient Chinese weapons, and seeing the legendary sword, Ming Guang, was almost like a dream come true. Its wielder, General Pei Ming, conquered vast lands before falling prey to his traitorous second-in-command, Rong Guang, in combat. Ironically, his defeat in the war resulted in his ascension, and he eventually became one of the most powerful gods in Chinese mythology. Third in martial might only to the Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu and the Crown Prince Of Xianle.

Feng Xin’s favorite weapon, however, was the bow. He had been an avid archer during his school days, representing his school in multiple state-level competitions.

No other sport could give him the sense of gratification archery did. Feeling the tension release as his fingers let go of the bowstring always gave him a swell of satisfaction, and the “thump” as his arrow hit the target was music to his ears. But, regrettably, it was another passion that never took off after he graduated high school.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes, “The Three Tumors,”

Feng Xin rolled his eyes back. “You know, one day you’re gonna roll your eyes so hard they’ll get stuck behind your head.”

In return, he received another savage eye roll, tempting him to press Mu Qing’s eyeballs deeper into their sockets.

“Hasn't happened yet,” Mu Qing muttered as he read the artifact description about the Three Tumors.

“The Three Tumors of the Heavenly Realm consisted of the literature god Ling Wen, General Ming Guang of the North, and the Water Tyrant Shi Wudu.”

The corners of Mu Qing’s mouth turned downwards as he continued reading the passage out loud, “They are known for their close camaraderie and friendship in the Heavens. It was known that Ling Wen kept silent upon learning about Shi Wudu’s crime regarding the stealing of He Xuan’s fate and swapping it with his brother.

A scene flashed through Feng Xin’s mind.

-- “Some wine, Noble Jie?” a deep sultry voice asked an elegant woman in traditional dark robes. They were seated at an elaborate banquet.

“Later, Ol’ Pei,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.

Another stern male voice chuckled, “Stop attempting to intoxicate our Noble Jie. We need her alert should General Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen start fighting about their lantern counts again,”--

Huh? What was that? Feng Xin blinked a few times as Mu Qing’s reading brought his mind back to reality. He then brushed it off, assuming it was an oddly intense daydream.

"Due to their arrogant, boisterous, and abrasive personalities, many heavenly officials were not fond of the Three Tumors but begrudgingly worked with them as the three had immense power and status in the heavens," Mu Qing added, his frown deepening with every word.

Feng Xin could sense Mu Qing’s disdain as he read about General Ming Guang’s conquest of thousands of women over the three realms and chuckled at his reaction. “They sound like a fun bunch,”

“They sound revolting,” Mu Qing retorted as he tore his eyes away from erotic drawings of General Ming Guang with three women; a human, a ghost, and a god.

"Yeah, but in a fun way," Feng Xin protested, his gaze drawn to a few ancient scrolls rumored to be from Ling Wen's palace. "You wouldn't recognize fun if it smacked you in the nuts," he added lightly with a teasing smirk.

“That doesn’t make any sen—“

“Hey, what’s that?” A bronze figure by the edge of the room caught Feng Xin’s attention.

A bronze ox statue and an antiquated farmer's hat stood side by side in the corner of the room. It was a statue of Rain Master Yushi Huang's loyal ox companion and her fabled Rain Master's hat, which the Crown Prince of Xianle had used in an attempt to stop the drought.

"It was believed that the avid adulterer, General Ming Guang, eventually gave up his philandering ways and settled down in Yushi Country with Rain Master Yushi Huang," Feng Xin read from one of the explanatory plaques. “She was the renowned princess who slit her throat due to General Ming Guang's conduct while their respective nations were at war.”

Mu Qing sneered at his words. “A prolific womanizer such as General Ming Guang didn’t deserve someone as revered as the Rain Master,”

“That’s what you said about Shi Wudu and Shi Qingxuan.” Feng Xin’s brows drew together as he glanced at the angry Mu Qing. “I’m starting to see a pattern here,”

Mu Qing raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What pattern?”

“The pattern is anti-joy. You are anti-joy.” Feng Xin laughed as Mu Qing gave him the meanest glare before walking ahead.

_____________________________

Mu Qing hurried to the next room, attempting to shrug off the pesky stranger tailing him, but failed as Feng Xin caught up with him with a few long strides. "Hey, you left me!"

Mu Qing sighed at his failure to deter the other man. “We’re not together.”

Perhaps he should have been more direct in his approach. He’d been rude and snide, hoping the other man would catch his meaning and leave him alone, but it seemed Feng Xin was either too polite or too dumb to notice.

“Nah, we are now. I like your doom and gloom commentaries.” Feng Xin smirked, waving his hands in amazement. “It adds depth to these fairy tales. You’re like Hans Christian fucking Andersen,”

Did the moron equate Chinese mythology to fucking mainstream fairy tales? Hans Christian Andersen? Mu Qing sighed again, probably the hundredth since he met Feng Xin today. Feng Xin was dumb, he concluded. That had to be it.

“Ugh.” Mu Qing ignored him in favor of checking out an odd pair of items featured in the room.

The main exhibit had a mannequin wearing a gunny sack encased in a glass display, and next to it, a clay mask of an angry demon’s face.

It was the infamous brocade immortal and the mask of a banished god who became a ghost.

The fallen god, Yin Yu, has used the brocade immortal in a fit of jealousy and anger to manipulate his Shi-di, the wild and naive but powerful Quan Yizhen, to cause a massacre in the heavens.

“So, I’m guessing you think Yin Yu didn’t deserve his fate of being banished from the heavens?” Feng Xin asked as he scrutinized the worn-out gunny sack. It looked no different from the gunny sacks he’d seen used to store rice grains in rural villages. “Quan Yizhen wasn’t exactly the easiest shi-di to handle,”

Mu Qing looked at the demon-faced mask with a displeased expression. “Yin Yu was weak. He shouldn't have ascended in the first place. “He wasn’t strong enough to control his emotions. Someone like him shouldn’t have made it past a middle court level god,” he added.

“The fuck? I’m not saying Quan Yizhen was wrong, but he was a handful!” Feng Xin argued as he walked around the display. “And Yin Yu was only human! His reaction was normal,”

“… Yin Yu was a god.”

“I know he’s a god. I meant it’s normal for someone to react the way he did,”

“It’s normal for humans to react the way he did. Yin Yu was a god ,” Mu Qing enunciated as they moved along the relics from Quan Yizhen’s palace, mostly stacks of gold bars of different designs. Although the untamed god was never known for his political standing or intelligence, he gained many followers solely on his martial strength. As a result, he was one of the wealthiest gods in the Heavenly Realm.

"Imagine dealing with someone like Quan Yizhen," Feng Xin hypothesized before pausing. "But I guess you're not nice enough to wind up with a shi-di like Quan Yizhen in the first place," he looked at Mu Qing with an accusing squint.

“Exactly,” Mu Qing crinkled his nose at the prospect of dealing with a wild child like Quan Yizhen. Yin Yu had been compassionate in adopting the wild boy as his shi-di, but that did not imply he was worthy of ascending. If history were to show anything, being merciful and compassionate was not a prerequisite to being a god. Pei Xiu, one of Pei Ming’s descendants, ascended by winning a war that massacred an entire city.

Yin Yu struck gold with his calamity and ascension, and that was it. His greatest fault was believing he could be pure of heart when he wasn’t.

If their conversations for the last hour were any indication, his argument was not getting across to Feng Xin. On the contrary, the man seemed to prefer vomiting unfounded hearsay rather than listening to Mu Qing’s facts.

-- A memory of armoured guardsmen, like the ones in the museum, holding down a young boy with wild curly hair fighting back with a confused expression. “Shi-Xiong!” the boy yelled out.

Was that Feng Xin among the crowd? --

The scene ended in seconds. Mu Qing shook his head again. Something didn’t feel right, and his chest tightened. Were they hallucinations? What was causing them? Was he sick?

But he pushed aside the pesky feeling in his chest to refute Feng Xin’s ill-informed facts.

"It doesn't really matter. Quan Yizhen died during the final battle with Jun Wu anyway," Feng Xin said as he gave Mu Qing a know-it-all look. The man was clearly impressed with his inaccurate information.

“Quan Yizhen did not die in that battle,” Mu Qing looked at Feng Xin with a dumbfounded expression. Where did this guy get his information? Black Boat? Three Brain Cells? Quan Yizhen dying?

Mu Qing eyed Feng Xin from head to toe as he wondered what someone like him was doing in a museum in the first place. He looked like a gym rat who had gotten lost and followed the wrong group. A hypothesis that didn't sound too far-fetched at this point.

Feng Xin scratched his head as he beamed at Mu Qing, “No, no, he did. I’m pretty good at this historical stuff. I saw a video on YouTube.”

“On YouTube?” He raised his eyebrow for what felt like the hundredth time today. Feng Xin was... bragging?

“Yeah, I enjoy the History Channel and YouTube videos on myths and all. And TikTok. Helps me de-stress after work,” Feng Xin replied casually. “Say, you’re pretty good at this too. How’d you get into it?”

“I majored in ancient civilizations for my undergraduate degree and wrote a thesis on Chinese myths and legends for postgrad,” Mu Qing replied casually.

“Oh, that’s pretty cool,” Feng Xin said before he stopped in his tracks. “Oh.”

Feng Xin wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, he looked to his off-the-rack navy blue Nike trainers as if they were the most exciting pair of shoes in the world, but Mu Qing could see his cheeks reddening from the side. It was almost cute. Almost .

“The next one looks interesting.” Mu Qing walked ahead. Feng Xin followed behind him quietly, and Mu Qing could only smirk in satisfaction. Finally, silence.

_____________________________

Feng Xin looked to the ground as he followed a few steps behind Mu Qing into the next room, languishing over the fact that he had boasted about his YouTube-educated ‘expertise’ in Chinese mythology to a history graduate. No wonder Mu Qing kept scoffing at his explanations.

If he could crawl under a rock and hide for a year, he would. It was so. fucking. embarrassing.

Fucking YouTube. Feng Xin wanted to die.

In contrast to the other exhibits they had explored, the current room was the largest. And unlike the previous ones, the entire room appeared dedicated to one god, the glorious former Crown Prince of Xianle.

He couldn't help but be impressed by the room's artworks and countless artifacts. It filled every corner of the room from left to right and top to bottom. On exhibit were everything from a modest set of white robes to the most exquisite swords and finely carved marble sculptures he'd ever seen.

In the center of the floor was a pile of gold-foil cards arranged neatly in the shape of a palace. A warm spotlight from the ceiling made it sparkle and glimmer from every angle as though it radiated a warm aura.

Mu Qing appeared preoccupied with the many clothes the Crown Prince had worn, particularly one exceedingly ornate garment of white and scarlet with gold accents and a gold mask.

It was the famed attire the Crown Prince donned during the Shangyuan Festival when he leaped from his parade wagon platform to save a boy who had jumped off the city walls, the performance that won him the affection of the common people.

Feng Xin decided to explore the other side of the room instead, away from Mu Qing, who evidently didn’t want him around. He neared the paintings of the crown prince, dressed in the same Shangyuan Festival costume and gold mask, wielding a sword in one hand and a dainty pink flower in the other, symbolizing “the power to end the world, but with a heart as gentle as a flower.”

According to the plaques, all displayed items were replicas rather than originals. Almost everything about The Crown Prince of Xianle, while he was a human and during his brief moment as a martial god, had been destroyed by worshippers who turned on him when he couldn't save them from the atrocious human face disease and the invasion of Yong’an.

The human face disease had spread like wildfire through the people while the drought intensified, leading to famine, and Yong'an’s army emerged victorious.

Xie Lian, The Crown Prince of Xianle, also known as the God-pleasing Crown Prince, eventually fell from the pinnacle of splendor as heaven's favorite saviour to a scrap-collector god who roamed the mortal realm and became the laughingstock of the three realms for 800 years.

He had ascended for the third time after nearly a millennium of wandering the mortal realm, befriended a formidable Supreme Ghost, and defeated Jun Wu, the Heavenly Emperor. The latter had been the mastermind behind multiple large-scale atrocities in all three realms for over a thousand years.

It was a tale for the ages.

The story of Xie Lian enthralled Feng Xin. He was sick and tired of hearing about heroes who never gave up, strived to be better people, and overcome bigger and tougher supervillains. Hollywood, Disney, and anime were all the same. It was time heroes were given realistic flaws.

Although a celebrated god, Xie Lian was still very much emotionally human, as he tried to explain to Mu Qing about Yin Yu earlier. Gods were not exempt from feelings like compassion, anguish, grief, frustration, and devastation simply because they ascended. In truth, Gods and humans were very much alike.

The Heavenly Emperor banished Xie Lian from the heavenly realm for intervening in mortal affairs, and almost all gods and worshippers shunned him. His two closest attendants left him, and his parents took their own lives because they believed their only son would be happier without the burden of caring for them.

Understandably, the former Crown Prince attempted suicide. It was a natural reaction, and it was human to do so. Even gods were limited by their human emotions. When humans ascend, they are still human; when they fall, they are still human.

Xie Lian failed.

He gave up. He wanted to die.

Being an immortal was the only thing that prevented the god from joining his parents in death. But, to Xie Lian’s disappointment, he couldn’t die no matter how hard he tried.

Feng Xin's favorite part of Xie Lian's narrative was not his high splendour, his plummet into banishment, or his resurrection as a powerful god. No, it was a small but pivotal event in his life that changed the course of his life.

It was a chance encounter with a stranger.

Death was not an option for Xie Lian, who had been mourning his life as a fallen god, the loss of his companions, and the life of his beloved parents. As a result, he almost became a calamity during his worst hour.

For days, Xie Lian lay motionless in a crater in the heart of a town, ignored or mocked by pedestrians. His heart filled with darkness and sorrow, and the broken god intended to spread the human face disease to the rest of the world. He wanted others, especially those who had forsaken him, to endure the same suffering.

Ironically, it was at this moment that his life path changed because of an unknown man who bestowed him with a hint of mercy. Not a friend, comrade, foe, or family, but a stranger he met for no more than a few minutes.

A mere stranger who showed him a moment of kindness. A man whose identity was unknown even to the person he helped. A man who did not know that the man before him was a fallen god from the heavens in the appearance of a filthy street beggar. Before leaving, all he did was offer Xie Lian a straw hat to protect him from the rain and wish him well.

A minute of kindness was all it took to stop a god from becoming a calamity.

It was Feng Xin’s favorite story of Xie Lian because it attested that any unexpected thing, stranger, or event in a person’s life could alter their entire destiny.

-- A thin man with tangled long brown hair curled up on a thin beaten-up mattress suddenly flickered through Feng Xin’s mind. The man was curled up, his back to him.

"My dear child, please eat," a small woman in simple robes sits on the side of the mattress, pleading with the man to take a spoonful from her bowl of purple stew.

"Go away," the guy snapped back, his voice familiar despite its hoarseness. At that moment, Feng Xin was overwhelmed with a sudden sadness. He wanted to reach out to the man. --

“Hey, dumbass,” Mu Qing’s mocking voice pulled him from his thoughts. With Mu Qing's voice, the feelings of grief vanished. “Come with me,” he gestured to join him up front.

Odd , Feng Xin thought. He’s always had a vivid imagination, but it's never been this intense. Being in the museum must have triggered some long-forgotten daydreams. He tried to shake off the lingering chills as he trails behind the other man.

Mu Qing led them behind a wall of black drapes that appeared to be hiding a small room. It was so subtle that most passersby, if not all, would have missed it.

Because there wasn't much space in the makeshift room, the two were standing shoulder to shoulder. A medium-sized artwork of a person lighted by a faint spotlight hung on a wall. Feng Xin approached it to check it out.

His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was seeing.

It was an oil painting of a bound and gagged Xie Lian in a decrepit old temple, with tears streaming down his agonized face as hundreds of swords pierced his chest. His garments were a dark crimson, saturated in blood and dripping on the floor to form a little river of red until the edge of its frame.

Feng Xin couldn’t recognize the scene, and the more he stared at it, the more it made him uneasy. The pain and desperation on Xie Lian’s anguished face looked so real that it was startling. He swore he could hear Xie Lian’s hoarse whispers for help.

"How did you find out about this room?" he asked, seeing that no one else was waiting to enter. The makeshift room was tucked away from the other exhibits.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes, “It’s on the fine print on the back of the special tickets. Didn't you read yours?”

Feng Xin gave him the most affronted look. “Who the fuck reads the back of tickets?” Like any regular person, he only read the date and time. Nobody reads the fine print. Mu Qing was starting to give him serial killer vibes.

“It's called understanding what you're receiving, you dumb fuck,” Mu Qing retorted with a scowl.

“Anyway, shut up. This narrative of Xie Lian isn't well-known since this is the sole artifact that recounts it," he added as they scrutinize the artwork. “Historians are still debating the authenticity of this piece.”

"What's the story?" Feng Xin asked Mu Qing, noticing their proximity in the little curtained room. From the side, he could see the light freckles sprinkled on Mu Qing's nose in the faint light. They look pretty, Feng Xin thought as he fixated on the little brown dots. He could draw constellations with those freckles.

Mu Qing turned to him with a complex gaze, pulling his focus away from the mesmerizing spread of freckles to dark eyes fanned by thick lashes instead. "According to older scrolls, Jun Wu presented Xie Lian as a sacrifice to a group of villagers trapped in the temple. Those who stabbed him would be immune to the human face disease.

"Being immortal, he could be stabbed repeatedly in non-vital parts of the body without dying," he explained slowly. “Almost all of them stabbed him willingly, ”

Feng Xin clenched his fists as his sympathy for the mythological god grew a hundredfold.

He knew that murder was the only way to protect against the human face disease. It was told in many stories about Xie Lian. But this was the first time he'd heard of Xie Lian stabbed endlessly by people who tortured a powerless god for their own needs.

The irony of it sickened him. To be mercilessly stabbed by the common people, the exact people he was attempting to save by gambling his life, the life of his companions and parents, and his immortality.

It epitomized human selfishness.

Xie Lian had done everything in his power to stop the human face disease, help Yong’an with the drought and famine, lead Xianle in a war, and at the same time, answer prayers from eight thousand temples. Everything he did was for the common people, yet they quickly turned their backs on him at Bai Wuxiang’s words.

Feeling a little brokenhearted over the tale, Feng Xin couldn’t express his jumbled thoughts immediately, but he wanted to know Mu Qing’s. “What do you think about Xie Lian?”

The stories of Xianle and Xie Lian had a special place in Feng Xin’s heart. He never knew why they profoundly affected him, as if he had lived through them or known the fallen crown prince. As though they were part of his life. Mu Qing couldn't begrudge Xie Lian for what he'd been through, could he?

“His actions were… understandable.” Mu Qing sighed, unexpectedly looking as dejected as he felt.

At Mu Qing’s reply, Feng Xin let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

For once, they both agreed.

_____________________________

The next room they visited had more statues and paintings of the Crown Prince of Xianle, in his splendid Shangyuan Festival outfit with a flower in one hand and a sword in the other, and of him in simple white robes. This time, however, the sculptures and paintings were accompanied by a taller man in red with an eyepatch.

Feng Xin was looking at the statue of the tall man with an apprehensive glare, and Mu Qing couldn't blame him. Hua Cheng, the mythical Supreme Ghost, gave him the chills.

“So, is it true that Hua Cheng followed Xie Lian everywhere from the start?” Feng Xin asked, looking unsettled.

“You’re asking me?” Mu Qing, caught off guard by the question, peered at Feng Xin, puzzled. “Thought you’d have watched a TikTok video on it,” he quipped sarcastically.

“You’re the professional history person!” Feng Xin retorted. Mu Qing could see his cheeks turning red again, and he couldn't help but smirk. Making Feng Xin fluster was pure entertainment.

“You’re right. I am.”

He read from the explanatory plaque while Feng Xin looked like he was going to combust with embarrassment, “Crimson Rain Sought Flower, also known as Hua Cheng, devoted his entire life to the Crown Prince Xie Lian.

“According to legends, the Crown Prince had unknowingly saved a young Hua Cheng, who tried to commit suicide by jumping off the city walls during the Shangyuan parade, where he was performing,” he continued.

"It is believed that Hua Cheng died as a soldier in the war for Xianle during their battle against Yong’an, but his soul remained in the mortal realm to stay alongside the Crown Prince."

As much as the Ghost King unnerved him, his devotion to the Xie Lian was admirable. Mu Qing had never dared to hope for someone to love him fiercely for a single minute, let alone for over a thousand years across lifetimes. He had spent most of his life alone.

He was always alone in everything he did and had long given up on the prospect of finding someone who could truly understand and accept him.

It wasn’t difficult to embrace loneliness when you had no other options.

And yet, it didn’t stop Mu Qing from occasionally wondering how it would be if he had someone by his side.

“It is also said that in his weaker ghost form, Hua Cheng helped Xie Lian in various ways,” he added as he tore his eyes from the bronze plaque.

“Do you know what he did as a ghost? To help Xie Lian? There’s so many different versions in books and TV,” Feng Xin asked. “I heard he bashed up Xie Lian’s cousin into pulp too.”

Mu Qing turned to find Feng Xin looking at him with sharp eyes boring into him and a serious expression. As though he needed to learn more about the ghost.

“He became a Menace-level ghost fireball that followed him right after the fall of Xianle,

“And when Xie Lian was stabbed in a temple? Being a tiny ghost, he couldn't do anything about it but watch his god suffer through stab after stab. It frustrated him to the point he evolved into a Savage ghost,” Mu Qing explained slowly with a long exhale.

“I wonder how these myths came about or who recorded them,” Feng Xin speculated. “The ones about Xie Lian, especially. They’re so… specific,”

“Apparently, it was Hua Cheng himself because he was so proud of Xie Lian. Legends say he sculpted almost all the sculptures and paintings you see here, even this one,” Mu Qing replied as they walked out of the covert room. “He wanted the world to know how strong his lover was.”

“He creeps me out,” Feng Xin said out of the blue. He tucked his hands inside his pockets as he scrunched his nose at a painting of the god and the ghost. “It’s cool that Hua Cheng would live and die for Xie Lian, and I respect him for that, but man, he just really gives me the creeps. Maybe it’s the fucking eyepatch,” he added, echoing Mu Qing’s thoughts.

“Mhm,” Mu Qing agreed with a slight nod, surprised by Feng Xin’s sentiments about Hua Cheng. Most people he knew adored Hua Cheng as if the ghost were the best person across all three realms.

He looked at the human-sized statues of Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, side by side. God and Ghost worshipped together. And at the same time, they were a fallen god with his most devoted believer. It was a perplexing, absurd combination, yet no two seemed to fit better together.

“So.. what do you think of Hua Cheng?” Feng Xin asked curiously as he approached behind him, stepping into his personal space again.

By now, Mu Qing had grown accustomed to Feng Xin’s hovering presence. He began to seem less like a bothersome mosquito and more like a pleasant annoyance. It was like scratching an itchy bug bite. Naturally, he'd rather not be around Feng Xin, but his presence was... tolerable.

“Ugh, must you ask about everything?” Mu Qing rolled his eyes.

“I’m making conversation!”

“Your conversation is unwanted—“

Suddenly, a raspy man’s voice came from behind them, “Mr. Feng, Mr. Mu, you must be our two guests with special admissions tickets.”

The two nodded in unison, surprised at the sudden appearance of the stranger who seemed to lack a presence of any sort.

The dull-looking man was wearing black from top to toe and a facemask, shrinking his already nonexistent presence.

“Would you like to have a look at another special collection?” the man asked, his pale face devoid of emotions. He left before the two could respond, as though knowing they would follow.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing looked at each other questioningly before trailing behind the man through an unmarked black door.

It was a large square room with four large paintings, each hanging on a wall. The paintings were large enough to cover almost the entire wall.

Mu Qing strained his eyes as he stood at the door, trying to make sense of the four oil paintings. They seemed peculiar, mostly beige with brown and black, with a touch of color speckles and some dark lines. His eyes widened, feeling a chill down his spine as he understood he was staring at interwoven limbs.

He took a step back, realizing they were erotic paintings of the infamous ghost and god in positions only non-humans could attain. With a blink, he quickly turned and left, leaving a still-squinting Feng Xin behind. As he stepped out, he heard a booming “WHAT THE FUCK!”

_____________________________

Shortly afterwards, Feng Xin bolted from the room, “My eyes are burning!” He couldn’t believe the scandalous figures he saw. They looked like abstract art initially, but as he worked out the humanoid forms, they could not be unseen. They seared deep into his brain, making him want to gouge his eyes.

“Oh my god, do you think that weird guy who brought us here is in charge of those—those—abominations? Is that why he looks like he has no soul?” He sobbed and blinked rapidly, attempting to get rid of the pornographic images in his mind.

He finally squatted, hands holding the side of his head, defeated by his mind. “Fucking hell. Did Hua Cheng paint those too? Fuck. I knew he was a fucking creep. I knew it.”

Mu Qing nodded and couldn’t agree more. Compared to the paintings, the erotic drawings of General Ming Guang and the three ladies from the three realms looked like illustrations from a children’s book.

As a history major, there were few art pieces he was unfamiliar with, mainly because they were items kept in private collections, away from the eager eyes of museum collectors and researchers. Yet, they were the collections that any history enthusiast would be honored to see.

He figured the four paintings had been one of those, kept in a private collection for decades until today. The obscene paintings of the God and Ghost were unheard of. He was sure of it, and their collectors did an excellent job keeping them out of the public eye. Erotic images of the Crown Prince of Xianle and the Supreme Ghost Crimson Rain Sought Flower would have made the front pages of National Geographic Magazine if the media caught wind of it.

Mu Qing sighed as he looked at the traumatised Feng Xin, still squatting on the floor with his face in his hands. The paintings should have remained a secret, he thought. Some things were just not meant for others to see.

They both silently agreed that Hua Cheng was a creepy pervert.

After a few minutes of recollecting themselves, they quickly made their way to the final room, eager to be as far as possible from the paintings.

_____________________________

The final room was dedicated to two Heavenly Martial Gods. It was smaller than the previous rooms, and to their relief, there were no more artifacts of Xie Lian or his Supreme Ghost partner.

In the middle of the room was a tall glass display showcasing a long wooden bow, with a few arrows in a leather quiver with delicate stitching. And next to it stood a domineering yet elegant long sabre with a solid black hilt.

They were the weapons of Xie Lian’s two most trusted attendants, General Nan Yang’s bow and arrows and the sabre of General Xuan Zhen.

The two generals were notorious for their hostility towards one another. Over centuries, countless books and stage plays have told the stories of the legendary animosity between them.

And yet, the two were such equals that neither could gain the upper hand in almost everything they did. They were rivals in every possible way. Their strength, number of worshippers, temples, and territories paralleled each other from the start of their lives as mortals to the end of their lives as martial gods.

General Nan Yang had been Xie Lian's bodyguard since they were both fourteen years old, and General Xuan Zhen, a servant of the same age, had joined them a few years later after Xie Lian recognized his talent for cultivation and invited him to be his attendant so he could cultivate at the same time.

When their Crown Prince soared into prominence, they rose with him into the Heavenly realm as lower court officials, and the two plunged alongside him as he was banished back into the mortal realm.

But as fate would have it, all three went their separate ways. Xie Lian vanished off Heaven’s radar, living a humble existence collecting scraps and performing street acts to survive for 800 years before he ascended again for the third time.

On the other hand, Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen eventually ascended as martial gods on their own and gained territories to protect. Oddly enough, their territories bordered each other, and like them, their worshippers spent much time at the border battling each other.

For 800 years, the two gods had caused near-catastrophic levels of damage to the Heavenly Palace with their explosive fights, usually caused by a snide comment or a rude gesture from either party. Some believed that rumbling thunderstorms in the Southern regions were caused by the two gods engaging in a fierce battle in the Heavens.

Feng Xin stood as close as possible to the wooden bow and quiver of arrows, admiring every single curve of its handle and the gleaming shine on the tip of the arrows.

“Amazing,” he whispered to himself. Although it was the first time he’d laid eyes on Nan Yang’s iconic weapons, he swore he could feel the texture of the bow in his hands, even from a distance. As if he’d held it to shoot a hundred thousand arrows. As if the bow was made for him and him alone.

He noticed Mu Qing stood beside him, enamored by Xuan Zhen’s sabre. Mu Qing’s dark eyes and thick lashes trailed the pointy tip of the saber’s polished blade down to its black handle. He was so enraptured by the saber that he didn’t notice when Feng Xin tapped lightly on his shoulder.

Feng Xin couldn't help but grin at the sight. Who would have thought that the bad-tempered, sarcastic, sharp-tongued prick would also be a weapon enthusiast? Mu Qing seemed like someone you’d see with a fancy cocktail drink at a swanky fine dining restaurant rather than a sword tournament or sporting game.

_______________________

“Hey, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin’s cheery voice interrupted Mu Qing’s suspicious thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel something was amiss. The sabre was exquisite, yes. But there was also a strange sensation of familiarity he couldn't place as his gaze lingered on it as if he’s seen the sabre before. It left a vexing feeling in his mind.

He turned to face a grinning Feng Xin, standing a bit too close for comfort, trapping him between the glass display and him. Mu Qing realized they were the same height, allowing him to look straight into Feng Xin’s smiling light brown eyes, which had a golden glint, and his heart skipped at that sight. As irksome as Feng Xin was, Mu Qing couldn't deny the man was attractive with his boyish charm and athletic physique.

“Why are you grinning like an idiot?” he lifted an eyebrow.

Feng Xin gushed, relishing in the light pink blush spreading across Mu Qing’s fair cheekbones under the sprinkle of freckles, “You like weapons, huh?”

“They’re… all right.”

“Just alright? Sure." Feng Xin's smile widened as he turned away and walked towards the clothing display, looking back at Mu Qing. "If you say so," he said, chuckling.

A line of mannequins in different outfits displayed the two generals’ outfits - from the simplest of robes to the most robust armors. Although the clothes of the two generals were not as striking and dazzling as the Crown Prince’s bright colors, they were no less grand and imposing in their simplicity.

“They look heavy as fuck.” Feng Xin held his chin as he scrutinized the animal carving on one of General Nan Yang’s bronze shoulder plates. “You think normal people could wear them to fight?”

“I doubt it,” Mu Qing said as he moved towards the set of silver armor displayed next to it. “No human would be able to move, let alone fight in these.”

“You think Gods exist?” Feng Xin asked. Feng Xin wasn’t a staunch believer in religion, but he’d always believed in a higher power. Life is too precious for it to be just that . At the very least, there had to be some kind of fate or destiny holding everything together. Themes of fate and destiny were what drew him to mythologies of gods and ghosts in the first place.

"Either gods exist, or these armors were built for aesthetic purposes and were misidentified as the work of gods through time." Mu Qing shrugged. Whether religion was real was not a conundrum he concerned himself with. The argument of the true or superior god had already caused enough damage to this world. Mu Qing had better things to do than contribute to a neverending, inconclusive debate that had plagued humanity since the start of organized religion. "Who knows, they're just myths anyway,"

"Hah, some historian you are." Feng Xin chuckled in response to Mu Qing's criticisms.

“Historical facts are not immune to fallacy,” Mu Qing commented as they passed by the line of armored mannequins. “So, Professor Feng Xin of YouTube University, what do you think of the two gods?”

“What! You…” Feng Xin fumbled for words as he tripped on his foot. “Who the fuck majors in history anyway?” he countered fiercely. As much as he loved history, he knew it was not a path he would have chosen in this lifetime or the next. It was too dry and dull a subject, requiring much reading and only reading. Too much reading and no life. It would have killed him.

He had majored in sports anatomy and physiology, a much more wholesome and exciting course. Only someone who did not like having fun, such as Mu Qing, could enjoy studying history. “Anyway, General Nan Yang is miles ahead of Xuan Zhen. Everyone knows that,”

“Ugh, of course someone like you would be a Ju Yang fan.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “General Xuan Zhen is obviously the superior one.”

“He only got that nickname because he was doing godly work saving people!” Feng Xin argued, appalled that his new friend would choose a cold and heartless god over the warm and kind General Nan Yang. “Xuan Zhen was so vain he probably just spent his time looking for flaws in his fucking statues.”

“I don't understand how you see that as an insult,” Mu Qing scoffed, unsurprised by Feng Xin’s reactions. From the start, it was evident that Feng Xin was a massive fan of Nan Yang. He appeared to be as stupid as his beloved god. “Have you noticed that none of Nan Yang’s statues look alike? Clearly , Nan Yang was incapable of noticing details. You would trust a god who doesn’t bother to check on the work of his worshippers?”

Feng Xin scowled in disbelief at Mu Qing’s reasoning. “Are you fucking kidding me?” People did not worship gods because they were good at nitpicking flaws. Gods were worshipped for their benevolence and generosity.

The two stood in front of the mythical Generals’ grand armors’ facing each other with defiance in their eyes.

“Nan Yang was a glorified bodyguard who never understood the realities of life. He was a naive rich boy who was as sheltered as Xie Lian,” Mu Qing retorted, challenging Feng Xin’s frown.

If the stories from Volume 4 of Xianle’s fabled history were genuine, then Nan Yang was partly responsible for Xie Lian’s state of misery after their banishment into the mortal realm.

The bodyguard had set his crown prince on an exceptionally high pedestal by wholeheartedly believing that Xie Lian would easily ascend for the second time. Consequently, Nan Yang refused to delegate Xie Lian any mundane jobs to encourage him to concentrate on cultivation without distractions. No chores, no cooking, no street performances, nothing . They were duties beneath a crown prince and were all borne by Nan Yang or Xuan Zhen. Occasionally, Xie Lian was allowed to do heavy labor, but it required much persuasion from the crown prince.

As a result, the banished god was only able to cultivate and nothing else.

Xie Lian was under immense pressure to cultivate his way back into the heavens for his honor, his parents, and his attendants. Yet, he was denied the gratification of accomplishing simple tasks.

Mu Qing couldn't even begin to fathom the suffocation Xie Lian must have felt with the burden of being the sole person who could save them. The crown prince likely felt like he was drowning.

It was basic psychology.

If Xie Lian felt he had contributed to the family, no matter how modest, it was a sense of achievement. He could have undertaken simple tasks like washing his clothes, cooking for his parents, or working alongside Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen.

It could have restored his confidence and given him a sense of belonging.

But no, he was given only the most significant, arduous, challenging responsibility of ascending again, and everyone expected him to succeed effortlessly.

They believed they were helping him by freeing him of menial duties, but in doing so, they had set him up for failure. Ultimately, it was no surprise that he spiraled into a sense of frustration and despair.

Therefore, Nan Yang played a pivotal role in Xie Lian’s downfall. If he had listened to the crown prince for a moment instead of pushing him to ascend as fast as possible, the path of Xianle's entire history might have been altered.

-- For a moment, Mu Qing thought he saw Feng Xin and a brown-haired man, both extremely furious, by the doors of a trodden-down house, hurling grains of rice at him. And with a blink, he was back in the museum, with Feng Xin yelling at him. --

“At least I have a fucking heart!” Feng Xin retaliated. “Xuan Zhen left! He abandoned Nan Yang and Xie Lian because they were no use to him anymore!” he continued to accuse.

It was common knowledge that General Xuan Zhen had been the first to leave them to aid his near-blind mother. It left a sour taste in General Nan Yang’s mouth, adding many layers to their already complex animosity.

And Feng Xin could empathise with Nan Yang’s resentment towards Xuan Zhen. Where was Xuan Zhen’s loyalty? Xuan Zhen was a servant before Xie Lian noticed him. As a servant, especially one with a criminal father who had been executed, it was nearly impossible to progress beyond the life of a cleaning lackey.

Xie Lian had saved Xuan Zhen from a life of bowing before others and sweeping floors. Everything Xuan Zhen achieved later in life was because of Xie Lian’s kindness.

And yet, Xuan Zhen had returned the crown prince’s deeds by walking away when they needed him most.

“How can you trust a god who would leave you during your most trying times?” Feng Xin demanded as he challenged Mu Qing’s defiant scowl.

-- A flash of Mu Qing in plain traditional robes flashed through Feng Xin’s mind. He could hear himself yelling, “Just admit you took one of His Highness’ earrings!” Mu Qing trembled and stared at the ground as though terrified of Feng Xin.

“I didn’t steal it,” Mu Qing said quietly. He was sure if Mu Qing had cat ears, they would have folded back. It made him uncomfortable, and he wanted to soothe the feistiness back into Mu Qing. --

Mu Qing’s voice pulled him out of his daydream, and he faced an angry-looking Mu Qing who looked anything but afraid.

“Xuan Zhen left because he couldn’t stand that Xie Lian refused to help himself!” Mu Qing argued back, infuriating Feng Xin again.

“How could he have stayed and watched his crown prince’s self-destruction?” Mu Qing spat as he prodded Feng Xin in the chest, causing the man to take a step back. “Xie Lian was beyond help. Neither Nan Yang nor Xuan Zhen could help him. What was the use of sticking the fuck around and enabling the crown prince in his self-fulfilling prophecy of self-destruction?”

“It’s called fucking loyalty! But what would a heartless person like you know about loyalty?” Feng Xin mocked.

“Blind loyalty gets you nowhere, you dumb oaf!”

Mu Qing didn't know why or how he could strongly empathise with Xuan Zhen’s feelings. These were not facts he read in books or journals, but he knew they were true. It was what drove General Xuan Zhen to leave his companions. He couldn't explain it, but he knew General Xuan Zhen couldn’t bear to watch his Crown Prince destroy himself.

“He joined the heavens so he could help Xie Lian and Feng Xin ascend,” he yelled at Feng Xin. Feng Xin? Did he say Feng Xin or Nan Yang? He could feel the heat rising from his cheeks. Feng Xin riled him up like no other, and he didn't know why. The other man did not appear to notice the mistake.

Feng Xin roared, not caring that some passersby were now looking at them, “Xuan Zhen left! He left his crown prince. He abandoned Nan Yang to bear the burden of caring for the crown prince alone.

“Did you know how fucking lonely he felt after you left? To care for the royal family? By himself?” Feng Xin felt his fists clenching as anger fueled him. His thick brows furrowed in anger, glowering at the man in front of him. “After all they had gone through together and all the pain Bai Wu Xiang had caused them, the one person he thought he could rely on was you !”

“Get off your fucking high horse, Feng Xin. Your beloved General Nan Yang left too,” Mu Qing huffed. “Xuan Zhen left to find help and a way to get the crown prince back into heaven.

“And what did Nan Yang do? He left his precious crown prince for a hooker,” he hissed, his red face grimacing. “He ran into the arms of a hooker and sired a ghost child with her!”

“Jian Lan was not a hooker!” Feng Xin snarled, stepping back into Mu Qing’s space. Mu Qing had no right to call Jian Lan in such a disrespectful way. Jian Lan was the only person who listened to Nan Yang while he cared for Xie Lian and the King and Queen alone.

After Xuan Zhen left, Nan Yang found Jian Lan, a former noblewoman who worked at a brothel after the fall of Xianle. He tried to rescue her with the bit of money he had, but all the bodyguard could afford was an hour of her time. He had poured out all of his frustrations and loneliness to her in that hour, and she had listened .

No one ever listened to him. Xuan Zhen had abandoned them, Xie Lian had his demons to face, and he couldn't expect the King and Queen to lend an ear to his problems. He had been so lonely that all it took for him to fall in love, or what he believed was love at the time, was for someone to listen to him talk.

And one night, Jian Lan initiated a physical relationship with him which he welcomed in his desperation for touch. The next day, she left him. It pained him considerably, but he knew Jian Lan deserved a better life than with someone who couldn't afford to buy her out of a brothel.

When the kingdom of Xianle had fallen, he felt cracks along his heart, and when Xuan Zhen left, he held on to his breaking heart with both arms as long as he could. By that point, all it took was a little nudge from Jian Lan to shatter it into pieces.

Eight hundred years after he had ascended, he discovered that she had died in childbirth with his child. Cuocuo never made it full term and lacked proper human features, resulting in the child’s deformed looks. The mother and child pair lingered on as ghosts in the mortal realm.

It crushed him.

“She was kind and nice, and she deserved better. She did the best she could,” Feng Xin whispered. A strong pang of sorrow surged through his chest as he imagined Jian Lan alone, as a ghost, looking for their deformed ghost child for centuries.

Loneliness was not a fate he would curse even on his worst enemy.

He understood the despair of loneliness when Xuan Zhen left.

“He wished Xuan Zhen stayed. I know he did,” he added as he looked into Mu Qing’s eyes with an unfocused gaze as if he were elsewhere instead of in a museum arguing with Mu Qing. “Nan Yang was so lonely after Xuan Zhen left.”

Feng Xin swore he could remember a gentle face so clearly. He didn’t know why, but he did, and it felt right. Their face sharp was fair, and their lips were thin and pink. It reminded him of Mu Qing, except the Mu Qing he remembered had his hair up, held together by a traditional hairpiece, a guan . The Mu Qing in his mind always looked melancholic.

Mu Qing could only blink as he was taken aback by Feng Xin’s sudden rage and gloom. The heavy tension Feng Xin emanated made him uncomfortable.

He blurted out the first thing that sprang to him, “At least Xuan Zhen could think of a better name than Nan Feng! So fucking inventive of him to combine Nan Yang and…” Feng Xin? Mu Qing paused at the thought. Why would he think it was Feng Xin?

Oblivious to Mu Qing’s dilemma, Feng Xin shouted back, “Nan Feng wasn't the one that ran back to the Heavenly Capital the moment he found out Hua Cheng was at Mount Yujun with Dianxia!”

“He was getting reinforcements! Did you expect two clones to defeat a Supreme Ghost?” Mu Qing resisted the urge to kick his opponent in the shins. Feng Xin was so. fucking. annoying.

“Hua Cheng wasn't the enemy!”

“No one knew at that time, genius!”

“Well, Xuan Zhen hit Nan Yang in the head and left him to die when the Heavenly Capital was burning down!” Feng Xin fumed, refusing to back down. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest.

“He was trying to save your sorry ass, you dumb fuck!” Mu Qing, infuriated, shoved Feng Xin, causing him to stumble back, almost crashing into the glass display behind him.

Once Feng Xin got his footing back, he lifted his fists, ready to throw a heavy punch onto Mu Qing’s smug face—

“Gentlemen,” a pleasant voice interrupted their argument. A tall man in a crimson shirt and a black monocle smiled at them, and small pointy fangs peered from his lips.

Feng Xin lowered his arms, and Mu Qing took a step back. They turned to the tall newcomer. The man’s arrogant gaze on them was unsettling.

Next to him was a shorter man with long light brown hair and a pleasant smile. The brown-haired man remained silent, allowing his partner to lead to conversation.

“Mr. Feng, Mr. Mu, we hope you’ve enjoyed our collections.” The tall man chuckled. The man spoke with an arrogant drawl. “Not many get to see our private pieces. The ones in designated private rooms are only for our special guests,”

“You're the collectors?" Mu Qing furrowed his eyebrows, surprised to learn that the collectors of such precious relics were two young men no older than him or Feng Xin.

Feng Xin pursed his lips and remained silent, not daring to disrupt a conversation between historians. He would never be again mention his YouTube expertise in a museum or other historical site. Or ever.

“You may call me Hua, and this is my partner, Xie,” the tall man wrapped his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders.

“Our collections... have been in the family for centuries,” Hua added with a bone-chilling smirk. “How about we show you the last piece from our private collections?

“It’s a rare piece you two might appreciate. Considering your heated discussions, you must be big fans of Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen,” he beamed. His companion smiled even wider next to him without saying a word, seemingly jumpy and excited for reasons neither Mu Qing nor Feng Xin could guess.

The four made their way towards another room hidden behind drapes.

On the wall hung one painting of two gods in red.

Mu Qing's eyes widened, and he held his breath at the sight, while Feng Xin could only stare with his jaw agape.

Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen were looking at each other in the oil painting, while hundreds of warm-colored lanterns floated in the night sky behind them. Nan Yang, in red robes with gold embroidery, smiled brilliantly at Xuan Zhen till his eyes squinted with joy. While Xuan Zhen had a soft gaze as if his said-to-be rival was the only thing in the world in his eyes.

Happiness was the only word fit to describe it.

“It’s a rare piece, a portrait of the two generals on their wedding day. You two are the first we’ve invited to view it,” Hua said in a friendly tone while his single eye scrutinised Feng Xin and Mu Qing. “If I may say, the resemblance between the two gods and you two gentlemen is uncanny,”

Feng Xin shifted uncomfortably at the remark and glanced at Mu Qing, whose usually pale expression now had a deep blush.

“It is said that as they lost their worshippers over time, they died together in each other’s arms,” the man chimed while his partner nodded solemnly at his commentary. “A natural phenomenon for gods. Their lives as immortals were only sustained by the beliefs of their worshippers.”

— Feng Xin felt deep anguish seeping through his body as he saw Mu Qing’s red and teary face looking down at him. It felt like a dream. He could feel Mu Qing cupping his face softly with two trembling hands. “Don’t be sad,” he heard himself whisper. “It’ll be fine.” —-

The monocled man’s commentary broke his dream, yet the feelings of sorrow in his chest remained. He turned to face Mu Qing, who appeared to be facing his internal battles. It was apparent that Mu Qing's eyes were brighter from holding back tears.

“General Nan Yang passed first in General Xuan Zhen’s arms. And General Xuan Zhen’s last believer died less than a shichen later, so he took his final breath with his lover’s warm body still embraced in his arms,” Hua added.

-- At those words, Mu Qing felt a sudden pang of sadness as he saw Feng Xin lying in his arms, eyes closed, and chest unmoving. “I’ll be joining you soon,” he heard his hoarse voice say with a forced smile. --

With a blink, Mu Qing could only hold back tears as the vision faded while the sadness lingered in his chest.

“Many believed that they reincarnated together as lovers again in their next life,” the tall man added with a smirk before walking out of the room hand in hand with his partner. “We’ll leave the two of you to enjoy this piece.”

Mu Qing stood in place and continued to fix his gaze on the painting of the two happy gods as a million thoughts raced through his mind, all related to Feng Xin and Nan Yang. He couldn't explain it, but he knew there was more to Feng Xin than met the eye. Had they met in the past? Was he an acquaintance that Mu Qing had forgotten over the years? Did Feng Xin lie? Had they been in college together studying history? Was that why he kept seeing Feng Xin as Nan Yang?

Before he could contemplate more, he heard footsteps approaching him, and Feng Xin softly spoke from behind him, "Mu Qing."

As Mu Qing turned to face him with a complex expression, Feng Xin couldn't fathom the emotions coursing through him. All the jumbled recollections, visions, or whatever they were were confusing. But he knew that, at this moment, he wanted Mu Qing, a haughty stranger he met today, to smile again. To not be sad anymore.

To let him know that he would always be with him.

Feng Xin didn't want Mu Qing to leave him again and didn't wish Mu Qing to lose him once more.

There had been enough pain.

He reached out to Mu Qing’s shoulder as he gazed into dark eyes with a smile, “I’m here.”

Mu Qing’s heart felt full at those simple words. It felt incredulous that a mere stranger could incite such intense emotions, but Feng Xin didn’t feel like a stranger. He never did. Feng Xin was no stranger to Mu Qing since the moment he spilled coffee on him. Feng Xin felt familiar .

“Let’s… get to know each other,” Feng Xin tightened his grip on Mu Qing’s shoulders, his heart beating faster in anticipation of Mu Qing’s reply.

Mu Qing, whose face was still red and overwhelmed with emotions, could only nod in agreement.

Feng Xin lowered his hand from Mu Qing’s shoulder to grasp his hand instead and led him out of the room.

_____________________________

The monocled Hua and the long-haired Xie greeted them with smiles as they exited the room. However, while Xie’s seemed genuine in his beaming expression, Hua’s arrogant smile held more arrogance than sincerity.

“Ah, by the way, gentlemen, did you enjoy my private paintings? Of course, the four big ones are my most prized possessions,” he drawled.

Mu Qing scowled at the reminder, and Feng Xin held back bile down his throat.

Xie finally spoke, with a pleasant voice, “Dear, which paintings are you talking about?” He looked at his partner with expressive eyes and so much affection it could not be mistaken as anything but love.

“Oh, just one of the usual Crown Prince’s paintings, Gege,” Hua replied while looking at the other two. “You know they’re all special to me.”

Feng Xin swore he saw a red glint through the monocle.

“Thank you for showing us your collection. We really appreciate it,” Mu Qing said, still holding on to Feng Xin’s hand. Then, finally, he pulled a smiling Feng Xin with him towards the exit without looking back, eager to leave their two new unconventional acquaintances.

“And Mr. Mu, that is a wonderful design on your shirt!” Hua yelled out while his partner waved enthusiastically. “Looks like Qi Rong’s crap,” he added once Mu Qing and Feng Xin were out of sight.

Xie asked his partner, “San Lang, do you think those two have realized it?”

“Gege, I doubt it. Those two are unbelievably stupid,” Hua Cheng replied. “But don't worry, if they don't soon, I’ll knock their heads together to make them kiss and remember.”

His partner laughed in response, full of glee in his eyes, “Who do you think we’ll get to see next?”

“Tsk, I think it’s Ming Guang, the God of Venereal Diseases, Gege.”

—end—

A/N:

This is my first ever work for a fandom event, and of course, it had to be for FENGQING WEEK 2022 (Thanks, Pammy!)

Big big thanks to Vera and Bae for beta-ing, Zeri for all the support, and everyone else in the FengQing server for the encouragement to keep writing <3

Seriously, I wouldn't have completed it if it wasn't for you guys!

#FQweek #fengqing #tian guan ci fu #mu qing #feng xin #heavens official blessing #天官赐福 #tgcf novel #mxtx fandom #mo xiang tong xiu

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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I’d stop the world and melt with you

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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A fengqing post-canon fic! Read on on AO3 as a reconstruction of our past

Read on Tumblr

Feedbacks are always welcomed <3<3<3

#feng xin #fengqing #mu qing #tian guan ci fu #heavens official blessing #天官赐福 #tgcf novel #mxtx fandom #mo xiang tong xiu

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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Fengqing 19: Amnesia

on AO3 as a reconstruction of our past

_____________________

The ground was shaking.

General Nan Yang and General Xuan Zhen were in battle again, a common occurrence for centuries that no one paid heed to unless they were betting for merits.

Heavenly officials within the vicinity of the fight hurried out of the area. Everyone knew that getting caught up in the fierce confrontations between the two gods could result in serious injury.

Quan Yi Zhen once tried to join the fighting and ended up with five broken ribs, while General Ming Guang once received a black eye from trying to stop them.

_____________________

“What the fuck did you say?”

“I said, Crimson Rain’s chicken scrawl handwriting is more legible than yours, you lumbering oaf,” Mu Qing sneered as he wiped the blood off the sides of his mouth.

“You,” It was too much for Feng Xin. "You fucking....," It was one thing to claim his writing was terrible; it was another to declare it was worse than Crimson Rain's. The ghost king may be one of the most powerful beings in all three realms, but his calligraphy abilities were those of a child who couldn't grasp a brush.

Feng Xin fumed at the thought. His mediocre calligraphy skills were at least a hundred times better than the scribbles on the walls of Gambler’s Den. It must be.

Outraged, he lunges forward and delivers a powerful punch to Mu Qing’s face.

A loud resounding crack could be heard on impact from the heavenly capital's main street, the next street, and the street beyond that.

Mu Qing took a step back; his cheeks flushed and swelled fast as he felt the scorching strike of the punch. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the god facing him.

And then, he fell face-first into the ground.

“Mu Qing?”

There was no response from the fallen god.

Still in his battle stance, Feng Xin rushed to the side of his immobile opponent, "Fuck."

He hoisted the unconscious god over his shoulder and carried him back to Xuan Zhen Palace.

_____________________

Ling Wen, Xie Lian, and Feng Xin had taken turns watching over Mu Qing in his bed chambers as they waited for him to wake up, and all three of them were by his side when he stirred from his sleep.

Feng Xin watches from the edge of Mu Qing's bed as the unconscious god slowly awakens, relieved to find that Mu Qing is seemingly fine, physically, at least. Despite his apparent disdain for him, he did not want to be responsible for his death.

He didn't hate him that much.

"General Xuan Zhen, how are you feeling?" Ling Wen asks politely.

Mu Qing tightened the strings of his robes as he sat up, looking somewhat disoriented and puzzled at the presence of the three intruders in his room. "My head hurts a little," he replies with a trace of annoyance in his voice.

"As it should. You've suffered a heavy blow to the head and been unconscious for almost two days," the literature god explained casually as she pulled out a scroll from her sleeve and glanced at it. "And caused 8,000,000,000 worth of damages in merits," she remarked as she sharply shifted her gaze to Feng Xin.

Feng Xin looks away and pretends not to notice. But between him and Mu Qing, he’s convinced their fights over the centuries have amassed near-catastrophic levels of damage to the Heavenly Palace, second only to Jun Wu’s onslaught on the heavens.

Mu Qing looked across at Xie Lian, seated beside his desk, "Your highness?" Confusion marred his usually stoic face.

"I'm glad you're awake now, Mu Qing. We were really worried,” the prince smiled, explaining that he came immediately after hearing about their battle and learning Mu Qing was unconscious.

Feng Xin averted his gaze, hoping Mu Qing wouldn't tell Xie Lian that the reason for their fistfight was because they were mocking each other’s and Xie Lian's husband's incorrigible handwriting. He couldn’t even recall how their argument started this time or when it escalated to Hua Cheng’s writing skills.

Mu Qing didn’t. Instead, he looks at Feng Xin disconcertingly and asks, "Who are you?"

Confused, Feng Xin's eyebrows furrowed in response, as did Ling Wen's and Xie Lian's.

"Don't fuck around, Mu Qing," Feng Xin snapped back at him. He leaned against the wooden post next to Mu Qing's bed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Bastard.”

A perplexed look crossed Mu Qing's face as he looked at the standing god.

The other gods waited in anticipation for his usual snide responses. General Xuan Zhen never gives General Nan Yang the final say. Everyone knew the two martial gods of the south thrived on their vicious cycles of squabbles. It was what landed them into this mess in the first place.

But Mu Qing remained silent, looking back at the three of them with cautious eyes as though afraid he would say the wrong thing.

"Something's not right," Xie Lian finally says.

_____________________

After an hour of checking Mu Qing’s qi and meridian points, the doctors couldn’t pinpoint anything out of the ordinary. Besides the physical injuries he’s received, there’s nothing wrong, except…

“It seems that General Xuan Zhen has lost all memories pertaining to General Nan Yang,” Ling Wen says.

Feng Xin’s stomach churned. Mu Qing could remember everyone except him.

He had punched himself out of Mu Qing’s memory!

_____________________

"General Nan Yang, according to the doctors, it's best to let him rest," Ling Wen tells him. "They say it's most likely a temporary affliction," she looks at him sympathetically before seeing herself out.

Her words made him uneasy.

'Most likely,' isn't the same as 'definitely,' Feng Xin thinks as he looks over at Mu Qing, whose hair is still uncombed and messy, a rare sight. A sight he hasn't seen since their worst years in Xianle. An appearance he knew Mu Qing would have never allowed anyone to see him in.

Xie Lian eventually bids Mu Qing and Feng Xin farewell and asks them to contact him in the communication array if there are any changes in Mu Qing's condition. He'll check with Hua Cheng if they can obtain any information on Mu Qing's affliction.

Feng Xin sits on a nearby wooden stool soon after Xie Lian leaves, processing the bizarre situation at hand before noticing Mu Qing staring at him, puzzled.

It was unsettling to witness Mu Qing bewildered so many times in such a short span of time. He was the one usually in need of Mu Qing’s unwanted clarifications.

"Why are you still here?" Mu Qing asks from his bed, his swollen purple jaw visible through strands of tangled hair. Feng Xin almost feels bad for causing that discoloration on that pale white face. Almost. He hasn't forgiven Mu Qing for his cruel words about his calligraphy skills. It was brutal.

“You… really don't know who I am?" he asks, looking at the disheveled god, silently hoping this was a big joke even though he knew Mu Qing never indulges in jokes or pranks. Mu Qing wasn’t the kind of god who enjoyed having fun; he reminds himself.

“No,"

"Uh," Feng Xin scratched his head, at a loss of what to do.

There was no bite, anger, scowl, or resentment to Mu Qing's reply. It was as if he was talking to any other person instead of Feng Xin. As if he were talking to Ling Wen's attendants or the invisible Yin Yu! He didn't even get an eye roll.

It made him uncomfortable, and Feng Xin didn't know to respond.

"Just.. just contact me if you need anything," he finally says before making his way out, leaving Mu Qing on his own.

_____________________

Over the next few days, the Heavenly Capital saw a noticeable shift. No commotion, no fights, no brawls, no disputes, and, to Ling Wen's joy, no damage or repair work required without General Xuan Zhen and General Nan Yang constantly poking barbs at each other.

It was peaceful.

But to Feng Xin, something didn't feel quite right. It was quiet. It was too quiet.

Mu Qing appeared to other officials to be the same person, cloaked in indifference and mild contempt throughout their extensive discussions in the communications array or the Great Martial Hall.

Unlike other heavenly officials, Feng Xin never had the pleasure of receiving such treatments from Mu Qing in their 800 years together. Instead, Mu Qing had constantly interrupted his reports with snide comments, a snarky Ju Yang reference, or at least an eye roll… until now.

Mu Qing didn't even glance at him as he walked past him today in the Grand Martial Hall. Feng Xin felt somewhat offended that he didn't even get a pesky eye roll.

After centuries of squabbling in the communications array, storming into each other's palaces for a fist fight, and snubbing each other on the streets of the Heavenly Capital, having to observe Mu Qing from afar as if they were total strangers didn't sit well with him.

In fact, it bothered him a lot.

And knowing he was the one who threw the blow that knocked himself out of Mu Qing’s memories bothered him much more!

As much as he wasn't a fan of the irritable god, it stands that there is a long history between them, a history that should be respected and acknowledged. They were two of the three remnants of Xianle, and they battled tooth and nail with their Crown Prince during the Yong'an famine and the human face disease outbreak.

They had fallen from the heavens together to live an arduous mortal life with their Crown Prince before ascending again, without him.

Their past was not pleasant, and he knew it, but it served as a reminder of the Xianle’s long-lost glory and their cherished Crown Prince Xie Lian. These priceless recollections should not be forgotten because of one stupid punch over Crimson Rain’s hideous handwriting.

After days of mulling over the lack of attention he received from the raven-haired god, Feng Xin decided.

Mu Qing needs to remember him.

For the sake of Xianle, he tells himself repeatedly.

____________________

Feng Xin ignored the fearful looks of Mu Qing's attendants squirreling away at Xuan Zhen Palace as he walked up to their general’s study. They knew not to stand in the way of General Xuan Zhen or Nan Yang when the two gods confronted each other. It was suicidal.

Mu Qing sat at his wooden desk tending to his piles of scrolls when Feng Xin entered, and as though anticipating him, he never took his gaze away from his reports, "General Nan Yang, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You don't have to call me General, Mu Qing. It's fucking weird," Feng Xin approaches him, keeping his tone as friendly as he could force it to be. “And I'm here to talk to you. Maybe it'll bring back some of your memories?”

Mu Qing glances up from his desk, seemingly unimpressed with the idea.

“Uh, we could talk about anything,” Feng Xin says. Mu Qing’s eyes never left him as he moved closer to the table full of scrolls. “We’ve been… we’ve gone through a lot together in 800 years, Mu Qing, as mortals and as gods,” he trails, a hint of nervousness seeping through his voice. “There must be something that could help you remember me? Us?”

"General Nan Yang, I appreciate your concern," Mu Qing replies, unsettling Feng Xin with his icy tone. "But from what I've read through scrolls from Ling Wen's Palace, our borders have been in dispute for generations, and our worshippers have spent a fair amount of resources in battles with one another,"

Feng Xin took a step back at Mu Qing's tone of voice, uneasiness creeping into his thoughts. This Mu Qing didn’t sound like Mu Qing.

"We were once attendants to the Crown Prince, and that was all there is to it," Mu Qing continues, his gaze sharp as he carefully puts the calligraphy brush down. "As far as I see it, General Nan Yang, we are not friends."

Agitated, Feng Xin gripped his hands into balls of fists, taken aback by the harsh words. He resisted the urge to shake the memories back into Mu Qing’s head.

He's never referred to Mu Qing as his friend, but he knew they were not not friends either. They were Feng Xin and Mu Qing, Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen, martial gods of the southern territories, attendants of the Crown Prince, generals of a fallen kingdom, and the cause of chaos in the Heavenly Capital.

They were them.

'Friend' would be too small a word to define their near millennia-long history.

Feng Xin understood the odds of Mu Qing agreeing to his help were slim; he anticipated it. He knew pre-amnesia Mu Qing would have done the same.

But the iciness and detachment? It was new to him.

This was not the Mu Qing he knew. Mu Qing had never addressed him in such an... indifferent manner.

Mu Qing was spirited, feisty, vicious, and full of life. His Mu Qing would have yelled at him for daring to step into Xuan Zhen Palace without an invitation, called him a big stupid idiot with chicken scribble handwriting, and hit him in the face until his jaw turned black and blue.

This Mu Qing was cold, and it made him feel powerless.

He left without a word.

_____________________

The next time they met was at the worn-out Puqi Shrine a few days later to meet up with Xie Lian.

Mu Qing was already in the ragged hut when Feng Xin arrived, and to his delight, Crimson Rain wasn't. He didn't need to see that vile Supreme defiling their Crown Prince every few minutes in front of them. Their lingering touches and pining gaze made him want to gouge his eyes.

But there was something different about Mu Qing, Feng Xin noticed. He looked drained. As if he hasn't slept in weeks. The dark circles under his eyes could challenge Ling Wen’s very own black rings of exhaustion, and the fiery defiance in his eyes that drove Feng Xin into pits of frustration for centuries was gone.

He felt a twist of worry in his chest.

Xie Lian, as usual, tidied up his virtually empty shrine while explaining his findings to the two gods of the south.

"San Lang said it's not an illness that can be healed with powers or potions," he starts while he gathers the fruits and vegetables from the altar and sets them in his kitchen two steps away. "It's likely that the reason you can't recall Feng Xin is that he was the last thing you saw before passing out,"

"It's a physical problem, and Mu Qing's memories of you are still there. So we just need to find a way to release them," Xie Lian adds as he folds his sleeves and steadies a burnt pot on his stove.

The former crown prince looks at Mu Qing with concern as he grabs a knife by the stove to chop vegetables, “Your mind is constantly trying to fill in the gaps right now, so you’ll probably be tired once in a while. It’s probably best to wait it out.”

That explained his weary look.

Mu Qing looked almost disappointed. Feng Xin swears he could see the fatigues in his eyes and his near-hunched shoulders that looked like they were carrying the weight of the world.

Feng Xin shifts closer to the door while Xie Lian slices the vegetables. Though Mu Qing’s expression revealed nothing, he notices Mu Qing doing the same, moving a step closer to the unusually sturdy door with every vegetable chop.

He smirked slightly at that sight, amused that at least Mu Qing remembered the atrocities and god-killing abilities of their Crown Prince’s lethal cooking.

"Thank you for your assistance, your highness," Mu Qing says politely with a nod as he makes his way out. "I'll be taking my leave now,"

"San Lang also said, in these instances, people tend to forget things they have strong emotional attachments to," Xie Lian explains with a cheery wave goodbye before slowly stirring the chopped vegetables into a thick dark green stew. “Feng Xin should be able to help you with that,” he quickly shouts to them as Mu Qing steps out of the shrine.

The former prince of Xianle appeared to be content with his new simple domesticated way of life.

Mu Qing looks at Feng Xin with a complicated expression before walking out the door of Puqi Shrine.

Feng Xin wasn't sure if his reaction was to Xie Lian’s words or his attempt at cooking.

____________________

"Mu Qing, wait!" Feng Xin calls to the other god as they depart the crumbling shrine. He sprints up, catching up to him further up the path.

“I want to try something,” he continues. “I think it’ll help you,”

“Nan Ya — Feng Xin, it's clear that we don't get along. Everyone knows it,” Mu Qing stated bluntly before Feng Xin had a chance to suggest his ideas. “We have literature, art, and plays based on our battles,” his worn expression disinterested.

“Mu Qing, please — “

“We are warriors,” Mu Qing cuts him off. “We fought. Injuries happen. It's fine. You don't have to fix it," he elaborated before turning to leave.

Feng Xin quickly clutches Mu Qing's grey sleeve, tugging it to keep him from leaving. "Mu Qing, it’s not that. Just listen to me," he pleads. But, receiving an edgy glare in response, he lets go of the sleeve.

Mu Qing stood in his place, his peeved expression unchanged, and Feng Xin took it as a sign to continue.

“We fight a lot. Fuck, half the scars on our bodies were from all our stupid fights,” he quickly says before Mu Qing could leave again. “But I don’t hate you. And I’m pretty fucking sure you don't hate me too,”

“We were, no, we are a big part of each other’s lives,” his fingers fidgeted as he stammered, and his mind was racing with memories of their long history together, anxious as he could not find the words to express their relationship. There was simply too much. It was impossible to describe their relationship through words.

“I want to show you something, please,” he begs Mu Qing for the first time, desperate for the other god to head his words.

___________________

Feng Xin draws a distance-shortening array and takes them to the decaying city of Yong’an, where the once-glorious kingdom of Xianle stood.

Time has not been kind to the remnants of Yong'an. Its city walls had crumbled, and the homes where families had formerly lived were in ruins. Feng Xin felt a sad tightness in his chest when he saw the town barren of life. For a moment, he wondered if Xie Lian and Lang Qian Qiu, former princes of the fallen kingdoms, felt it even more when they stepped foot into the now desolated city.

“Xianle,” Mu Qing says softly, nostalgic, as they walk through an abandoned courtyard void of any signs of human life. “I remember Xianle.”

Feng Xin walked before him, “But you don’t remember me in it.” He brings them to the desolate main street, overgrown with shrubs. Lines of stalls along the path where merchants sold various things from other kingdoms remained, broken and damaged and overrun with deep overgrowth. It gave him an uneasy sensation of both familiarity and unfamiliarity.

“No, I do not.” the other god agreed, his voice tone less callous than before, Feng Xin noticed.

“Do you remember this place?” he asks, observant as Mu Qing looks around. A slight nod was the only indication he heard Feng Xin’s question.

“Remember when Qi Rong barraged through the streets of Xianle with his new carriage?” he probed again, hoping for a better response.

Mu Qing answered calmly as his gaze continually wandered the abandoned street, “His Highness and I stopped him from dragging a kid with the carriage. We went to the palace after and.. to..,” he frowned as if mildly frustrated, unable to complete a pivotal scene of his past.

“There are gaps,” he sighs, eventually admitting.

Mu Qing was opening up, and Feng Xin couldn't help but feel compelled to reveal more about their shared past.

“We went to the palace, and His Majesty demanded I be punished for beating up that goddamned green savage,” Feng Xin stuck out his right arm, “I broke my arm for that,” He pointed to the spot where he broke his arm with a nervous smile.

He knew that witnessing him break his arm affected Mu Qing then. He remembered seeing the horror on young Mu Qing's face 800 years ago. It was hardly the best first impression the Xianle royal family could have on a new attendant, especially on someone as cautious as Mu Qing.

“That nasty Qi Rong whipped the both of us too,” Feng Xin grimaced at the memory. “I can't believe neither of us figured out he was Night Touring Green Lantern after dealing with his mess for centuries,” he spat. “Fucker never hid his identity either!”

“Feng Xin, in my memories, it was only His Highness and me.” Mu Qing’s eyebrows furrowed again as though frustrated with himself. “There was no you,” he adds with a pinch of displeasure in his voice.

Feng Xin felt a sting of disappointment at his words and shifted the subject, “Who would have thought that small kid turned out to be Crimson Rain Sought Flower, huh?”

Mu Qing raised an eyebrow at him, clearly sensing the change in their talk, and grumbled, "Only a person like His Highness could tolerate scum like Qi Rong and Crimson Rain."

It bothered Feng Xin that Mu Qing could recall the two calamities but not him, but he could only give a tiny smile in response to Mu Qing’s scowl. At least, it was a classic mean Mu Qing reply.

As they stood in the fragments of the fallen kingdom from their past, Feng Xin recalls other significant flashbacks of their time in Xianle, especially one moment that was more provoking than the others. But he couldn't bring himself to talk about the time Mu Qing left him and Xie Lian at their most trying times.

_________________

Next, he takes them to Mount Taicang.

They walked along with the mountains' deep green forests. The shades of green, orange, and crimson that once graced Mount Taicang this time of year 800 years ago were gone. Now, there were only shades of green.

“It’s so different now,” Feng Xin sighs as he plucks a green leaf from a nearby tree as they walk past. “Mu Qing, we used to train here with Xie Lian, remember?”

A passing breeze swept across Mu Qing's hair and grim face, giving him a forlorn appearance that was accentuated by his tired expression. His only response was a lengthy sigh.

"Guoshi used to scold us all the time,” Feng Xin said as he led them farther down the path into the woods until they reached the peak of Mount Taicang. He noticed that the Royal Holy Pavillion and other structures that were once a part of their mortal lives had all vanished throughout time. A continual reminder that nothing is everlasting.

They stood on the peak, each reminiscing where they had spent their younger years training and cultivating for their current lives as gods and deities, where two attendants of Xianle ascended with their Crown Prince and again on their own, within a short period of each other.

It was an accomplishment not many could achieve in ten lifetimes.

“It was always, ‘Feng Xin, watch your words,’ or ‘Mu Qing, do not forget your duties,’ or ‘stop fighting, you two,” he shares bits and pieces about their past at Mount Taicang as they slowly explored the lands of their old training grounds, hoping something would spark Mu Qing’s memory.

Nothing seemed to work.

He tried again, “You don’t remember this, obviously, but I accused you of stealing His Highness’ earrings,”

Mu Qing snarled in response as if his words were venomous, “You thought I would steal? From His Highness?” Sharp eyes immediately pinned on Feng Xin. His breaths labored as if each breath required tremendous effort to inhale. “Why?” he demanded, anger seeping in.

“Maybe we should rest for a while,” Feng Xin suggested quickly, partially to appease Mu Qing's sudden rage. And partially due to worry over the other god's apparent lethargy.

Mu Qing was bone tired, and Feng Xin could feel it.

But Mu Qing scowled in response, his eyes full of hurt, and Feng Xin could not steer the conversation away.

“Feng Xin, why?” he repeated, his voice harsh, almost desperate. “I would never…never..” he stammered, unable to finish his thoughts.

Feng Xin flinched at Mu Qing’s reaction, and it pained him, knowing he was the cause of the agitation in the other god’s voice.

“I don’t know,” he replies regretfully, trying to keep his voice calm. His hands fidgeted by his sleeves as he strained his mind for an answer, wanting to stop the pain in Mu Qing’s voice.

“His Highness was so fond of you, and I think it made me jealous,” he admits to Mu Qing and perhaps, himself. “I guess I was looking for faults where there weren’t any to make myself feel better.”

The two gods faced each other on the mountain peak of their cultivation grounds, one seething with rage and the other recoiling in a pool of guilt.

"I probably wrecked any possibility of us being friends because of that," Feng Xin muttered, his gaze fixed on the dry leaves on the ground, unwilling to look at Mu Qing’s pained expression. It was the first time he had said those words to anyone.

“You told me we were friends, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing sneered, angry eyes boring into him. “So are we, or are we not?”

“I… yes,” Feng Xin couldn’t explain more than that. “It’s complicated,” he finally sighs in defeat.

“Take me to the next place,” Mu Qing demanded, unsatisfied with Feng Xin’s reply.

___________________

The sun shone brightly as Feng Xin took a furious Mu Qing to the snowy peaks of Mount Tonglu.

“Uhh, we fought here for hours and triggered an avalanche that nearly killed Xie Lian and us,” Feng Xin says lightly with a grin as he scratches the back of his head.

“You keep saying that we fight, and yet you say we’re friends,” Mu Qing spat back as they walked through fresh snow, exhausted eyes looking up front as they treaded to the summit. “What were we fighting about?”

“Mn, probably stupid stuff,” Feng Xin replies casually. “You know, I have no idea. All I remember is we were yelling around here and then falling into that horrifying cave of webs with His Highness’ statues,”

"For someone whose memory is still intact, you don't seem to recall much," Mu Qing mocked as they approached Mount Tonglu's summit, crossing his arms across his chest as they looked over the lowlands from the mountain.

Standing on the peak, they could see some relics of the desolated Kingdom of Wuyong; a few old temple ruins spread throughout the land. Ironically, the older remnants of Wuyong outlasted the later-built temples and pagodas of Mount Taicang.

“God, Mu Qing, even the both of us couldn't keep Crimson Rain away from His Highness at that time.” Being gods, neither of them felt cold even when surrounded by icy snow and wind, but Feng Xin couldn't help but shudder at the memory of Crimson Rain’s painting in the Cave of a Thousand Gods. If there were one thing he wishes he could forget forever, that would be it. “And those fucking statues,” he shivers once more.

“I wouldn't mind forgetting that,” Mu Qing says, echoing his thoughts.

________________

In stillness, they watched the sun set beyond the horizon from the crest of Mount Tonglu, taking in the shifting colors of the sky, from reddish-orange to purplish-pink.

Feng Xin glances towards Mu Qing, noticing the sunset rays grant him an indefinable appearance, accentuating his ethereal god-like presence. But his immortality was tainted by a strained look, black rings beneath his eyes, and the haggardness on his face. Exhaustion was not a look he’d seen on Mu Qing often. Even during their days battling the draught and the human-face disease in Xianle, Mu Qing had never looked this.. defeated.

It bothered him.

“Are you sure you don't want to rest? We can head back to the Heavenly Capital,” Feng Xin finally suggests, breaking the silence between them. His voice was concerned, prepared to draw a distance-shortening array back to Xuan Zhen's palace.

“I’m fine,” Mu Qing insists, closing his eyes as he inhales the cold air deeply.

Understanding that the tired god wanted to continue their journey, Feng Xin pushes away any thoughts of hauling Mu Qing up his shoulders and back to his palace. He knew it was near impossible to change Mu Qing’s mind once he had made up his mind. It was a given that stubbornness and Mu Qing go hand in hand.

"You knocked me unconscious to save me when Jun Wu attacked the Heavenly Capital," Feng Xin recalls instead, smiling. “But it didn't go as you planned,” his smile widened into a grin.

"And I recognized your shadow, so I knew it was you," he continues. It angered him so much at the time, but now Feng Xin couldn't help but chuckle at the prospect of a panicked Mu Qing knocking him out and abandoning him in a blazing palace. It was such a Mu Qing thing to do, he thinks.

“Because I know you that fucking well,” he eventually adds.

"Explain," Mu Qing says, blinking his tired eyes open and furrowing his brows.

Feng Xin tells him about their involvement in subduing Jun Wu and the catastrophic incidents that led to the destruction of the Heavens, and as the sky gradually darkened, they made their way down the snowy mountain without haste.

“I didn’t believe you would save me at first because I figured you hated me,”

“And yet you keep insisting we’re friends,” Mu Qing interjects quickly before Feng Xin could finish retelling their moments during the downfall of the Heavenly Capital.

"As I said, we are." Feng Xin was adamant. "It just took us a long time to realize it since we can be as stupid as rocks sometimes."

Mu Qing gave him a puzzled look, evidently unimpressed by Feng Xin's depiction of them. “You are as dumb as rocks. I am merely suffering from a memory lapse problem,” he clarifies as they walk through the snowy path.

“Yeah, yeah. I think you tried to save Jian Lan and Cuo Cuo too.” Feng Xin laughs lightly, pleased that Mu Qing was bickering with him again. It felt like an accomplishment, and it almost felt like old times again.

“I did, but I can't remember why,” Mu Qing frowns again, pausing in his tracks and pressing his fingertips against his brow as if to relieve a headache.

"Because Jian Lan was my lover, and Cuo Cuo is my child, maybe," Feng Xin says as he moves a few paces forward, knowing Mu Qing will follow behind. “Who knows? Your mind is too twis.. uh, complex for a dumb rock like me to understand,”

Feng Xin came to a halt, noticing that Mu Qing did not follow him and had his eyes shut and lips pursed tightly, his face paler than before. “Hey, you —”

“Feng Xin —,”

Mu Qing collapses into the snow.

_______________

“Mu Qing!" In a panic, Feng Xin falls to his knees next to the unconscious god and clutches his face, lightly tapping his cheeks to wake him awake, "Wake up, you fucking asshole!"

Mu Qing's eyelids fluttered after a few small taps on his cheeks, much to his relief. He opened his eyes, looking into Feng Xin’s amber eyes that were full of worry, “I’m fine.”

Feng Xin suddenly noticed the proximity between them and held his breath. His hands were still on Mu Qing’s face, whose obsidian black hair contrasted with the white snow beneath him, making him appear sallower than usual, marred only by a light purple bruise at the bottom of his jaw where Feng Xin had hit him.

He resisted the urge to brush away the bits of snow off the bridge of Mu Qing’s pale nose and pulled his hands away from Mu Qing’s warm face.

“Fuck it, Mu Qing,” his voice strained as he drew Mu Qing into a sitting position. “You’re not fine. We’re going back now,” he starts to draw a distance-shortening array on the ground, but Mu Qing grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“Wait, Feng Xin!” he choked as he pulled himself up from the snow and brushed the white snow off his black hair and dark clothes, “Sometimes the gaps are too much. It happens when I force myself to remember… things.”

“When I force myself to remember you,” was unspoken, but the two gods could hear it loud and clear.

“I want to remember, please,” Mu Qing pleaded.

It was a first. Mu Qing never begged, ever, and Feng Xin didn't have the heart to refuse him. Not after seeing the desperation on Mu Qing’s face, knowing that it was him Mu Qing wanted to remember. He sighs and draws a distance-shortening array to the last place he could think of to assist Mu Qing in remembering him.

_________________

Feng Xin leads them to a little town in the middle of their territories. It was dark by the time they arrived, but there were still plenty of signs of life in the small settlement.

They strolled by bright taverns on the main streets, where they could hear yelling, shouting, and brawls from within the buildings. This time, Feng Xin keeps no more than two steps away from the black-haired god, fearful of another fainting episode at any moment.

“No fucking way, General Nan Yang is better than Xuan Zhen,” a rough voice from inside the taverns shouts. “Your wives should pray to Xuan Zhen to keep their house clean!”

Mu Qing’s face scowls in response. “Your worshippers have a way with words,” he rolls his eyes as they walk.

And for once, Feng Xin was glad to see it. It brought him one step closer to his Mu Qing. If it gets Mu Qing back his memories, he will welcome a thousand more of Mu Qing’s eye rolls every day. He will embrace those god-forsaken pesky eye rolls he had come to miss.

“Well, we know why your wife prays to General Nan Yang,” another brash voice replies. After then, there were more noises of punching and shattered glass. True to the nature of their gods, their worshippers were fighting again.

“I know it looks messy, and they’re always fucking fighting but come with me, and you’ll see,” Feng Xin sighs as he leads them away from the main streets and into a residential area. “There’s more to them than fighting,” he adds.

He leads them to a little house close to one of his temples. A man was perched outside the house cleaning his farming tools, and a woman, who appeared to be his wife, was peeling onions and cooking dinner for the family. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Look,” Feng Xin gestures at a large portrait of Xuan Zhen hanging on the wooden wall behind the man. The picture of Mu Qing was on coarse paper, and its black ink faded, but the image of him in his long black robes holding his saber nevertheless radiates an air of refined sophistication.

Mu Qing’s eyes followed the colors of the painting from top to bottom and noticed that below his portrait stood a small statue of Nan Yang, with its bow and arrow poised in battle stance. Aside from its posture, the figure bore little resemblance to the god who stood next to him. Feng Xin walked out of the modest wooden house before he could look any further.

“Almost every household in this area is a mixture of us.” Feng Xin says as he leads them to another place, a nearby training ground with a few disciples taking advantage of the quiet night to perfect their skills.

A young boy around ten was practicing his sword skills on the muddy training ground, with a dim lantern on the ground nearby as a light source. The youngster wore a yellow ribbon in his hair, a common trait of General Nan Yang’s worshippers who swore devotion to the martial god of the southeast. His novice movements were slow, with deliberate steps to accentuate every pose.

Feng Xin approaches the boy undetected by the folks around them. "Our followers reflect us," he walks around him, watching as the boy moves through his combat postures while wielding a long wooden saber. "Sure, they'll ruin a temple or two and maybe knock out some teeth now and then," he says lightly as his fingertips trace the boy’s saber, inscribed deeply with the characters ‘Xuan Zhen’. “But there’s never any intention to kill,” he finally adds after a pause.

Mu Qing's eyes widen as he takes in the scenes before him, unsure what to make of them. These interactions between Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen worshippers were not told in the scrolls of Ling Wen’s palace, nor were they acted out in beautiful stage plays for the world to witness.

Next, they strolled behind a Nan Yang temple, briefly watching as a young couple indulged in each other, partly shielded by trees and shadows. From a distance, Mu Qing could see shades of limbs moving around, and with the moonlight on them, he could tell the woman was wearing a Xuan Zhen talisman on her wrist, and the male was clad in Nan Yang colors of yellow and blue.

______________

Finally, they wandered into a nearby empty Xuan Zhen temple.

“I’ve often seen you at our territory borders,” Feng Xin began gently as he looked at the human-sized Mu Qing statue carved into near perfection, the only way the Xuan Zhen allows it.

“Mu Qing, you know this. I know you do,” the desperation in his voice heavier with every word. “The way you dedicate yourself to your worshippers, you must know,” he asserted.

“You wouldn't have allowed your worshippers to do as they do if you didn't,” he adds softly, turning his gaze to the real god instead. “You’d scare them off in their dreams if you didn't want them mingling with my worshippers.”

“I don't know, Feng Xin,” was the only reply Mu Qing could muster, lethargy finally seeping to the point he needed to sit on the ground.

At sight, Feng Xin finds an old straw mat for them, sets it on the ground, and sits next to him, knowing it was futile to convince Mu Qing to return to the heavens. And as far as they know, Mu Qing’s only ailment was exhaustion.

They sat in silence on the mat, looking at the regal bronze statue of Mu Qing before them.

“It feels like a big part of me is gone,” Mu Qing finally breaks the silence, almost in a whisper. “I’m always tired because it’s difficult to think about anything without that missing piece,” he adds as he props himself down on his back, gazing at the wooden timbers on the temple ceiling, noticing there was a small inconspicuous yellow Nan Yang ribbon tied to one of the wooden planks.

Feng Xin followed his gaze, not wanting to interrupt Mu Qing as he finally opened up more to him.

Mu Qing turns to Feng Xin, “That must mean you were a big part of my life.” His expression was vulnerable, as though he was unsure about many things.

“I can't think without you, Feng Xin,” he admits.

Those words tugged at Feng Xin’s heart.

“And I definitely wouldn't have allowed that if I truly hated you.” Mu Qing indicated toward the yellow ribbon above them.

Feng Xin surprised at Mu Qing’s admission to a fragility of any sort, could only look back with a reassuring smile.

“It’ll be fine,” he tells Mu Qing and himself. Unsure if he meant Mu Qing would regain his memories or if Mu Qing would be fine not remembering him. He hoped it wasn't the latter.

“If everything you’ve said and shown me is true, then I want to remember,” Mu Qing says softly, his eyes slowly closing. Eventually, his breaths even out.

Feng Xin gazed at the sleeping god for a moment, noticing the dark eyelashes fluttering for a second before coming into stillness. Strands of Mu Qing’s hair fall, covering his face.

“I really hope you’ll remember me,” he says quietly as he moves Mu Qing’s hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ears.

He lies down, facing the god next to him before joining him in slumber moments later.

_____________________

Feng Xin groaned as he woke up on the hard ground for the first time in centuries. Even gods were prone to occasional back pains.

There was an arm across his chest. He followed the arm back to its owner’s sleeping face, nestled against his shoulder.

In more than 800 years, he hasn’t seen Mu Qing look so at ease. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on the sleeping god. Mu Qing’s expression was serene. It was surreal.

Mu Qing had always been wary of everyone and the first to attack when he felt threatened, which was almost always. Even Xie Lian could not pierce through those high walls Mu Qing had set up for himself.

Eventually, his brows furrowed, and he stirred from sleep moments later. Dark eyelashes fluttered open, and obsidian eyes again met Feng Xin’s amber ones. He remained silent and expressionless as he bored his gaze into Feng Xin for what felt like years.

“Why didn't you mention the other stuff?” Mu Qing eventually says as he pulls himself up to sit. He tidies up his hair, messed up by sleeping the night on temple grounds, into a neat ponytail. No strand of his black hair was left untucked.

Feng Xin sat up, unsure what to make of the situation, “What do you mean?”

“Why didn't you mention the time I left you and His Highness?” Mu Qing looked at him, and his voice was raspy.

Feng Xin sat up straight. Mu Qing had regained his memories, “You remember?”

The other god ignored him, “The ch.. cherry tree incident at Mount Taicang?” Mu Qing stuttered as he approached closer, looking at him with an expression he could only identify as hopeful. “Or the time you carried me when I couldn't walk at Mount Tonglu?”

“I wanted to remind you of the good times,” Feng Xin murmured, startled by the intensity of Mu Qing’s voice. “I didn't want you to feel bad.”

In an instant, the hope in Mu Qing’s eyes was replaced with fury, “Are you saying I can't deal with shit?” He fumed before shoving Feng Xing away, causing him to fall back, and gave him an incredulous look.

“You were fucking fainting every five fucking minutes!” Feng Xin retaliated, brushing the snow off his robe as he got back up. “I thought you were fucking dying!”

“Shut up,”

Feng Xin frowns as he pulls his fist back in preparation for their impending fistfight, only to lower his arms seconds later.

“I don’t want you to forget —,”

Mu Qing punches Feng Xin hard in the stomach, causing him to clutch his midriff and double down in pain. He was kneeling on the ground before he knew it.

“For making me forget you,” Mu Qing says before dropping to his knees next to the fallen god and pulling him into a hard kiss.

Feng Xin pulls away in surprise, grasping Mu Qing’s face gently with both hands, looking into dark eyes filled with hope, defiance, fear, and anger all at once. Only Mu Qing could pull off such a look; he thinks as he smiles at the sight.

Only his Mu Qing could.

“Mmf, I think I should punch you senseless more often,” he says before pulling Mu Qing back into a soft kiss.

-end-

#fengqing #mu qing #tian guan ci fu #feng xin #heavens official blessing #天官赐福 #tgcf novel #mxtx fandom #mo xiang tong xiu

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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They won’t leave my head so

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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Fengqing 18: Restless

on AO3 (same title)

__________________

He couldn’t sleep. Feng Xin lay in bed in his palace in the dark, tossing and turning, waiting.

Mu Qing had gone on a mission in the southwest to eliminate some savage ghosts, leaving him alone in bed for the night.

It made him restless.

One would think that after more than 800 years of sleeping alone, a single night without his lover of less than a year wouldn't bother him, but it did.

Now, he couldn’t sleep without breathing in the scent of Mu Qing’s hair, inhaling the light smell of jasmine flowers. The light fragrance would calm him no matter how bad his day had been.

His hands were fidgety.

He’d spend evenings tracing Mu Qing’s toned and scarred back, memorizing each and every mark he’d inflicted during their violent brawls over centuries.

And with their frequent explosive fights and passionate lovemaking, he knows they’ll leave more scars on each other, establishing their claims. They thrived on it.

He wants to shower every scar on Mu Qing’s body with kisses tonight.

Feng Xin sighs as he listens to the sounds of nothingness.

It was too quiet. The sound of Mu Qing’s soft snoring lulling him into slumber every night was missing. After years of living in the noisy streets of the mortal world, sleeping in a quiet room was one of the first things he cherished once he ascended into godhood. But now…

He'd jump into the depths of Mount Tonglu to hear the sounds of Mu Qing's breathing every night.

But most of all, he misses the warmth of Mu Qing's body when he embraces him close, as if his life depended on it, as if wanting to make up for the 800 years he hadn't touched him. He wants to feel that warmth now.

Mu Qing was always warm. So warm, sometimes he thinks his lover is the sun in his life.

Who would have thought after 800 years of fighting, his greatest rival would be his grounding rock, his source of stability?

Sighing again for the hundredth time that night, he tosses and turns in bed.

As he finally saw the first rays of dawn streaking across the sky from his window, he heard footsteps entering his sleeping chambers.

Soon after, he felt the weight of someone else on the thin mattress next to him, and he felt arms pulling him from behind, wrapping their arms around his waist, fingertips pressing down on his flesh. It felt warm, comfortable, and safe. It felt like home.

He closed his eyes and smiled.

“Sleep, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing breathes down his neck, warm breaths sending sensations of pleasure down his spine. “I’m back now,” he adds softly.

“Yeah,”

He falls asleep listening to warm breaths by his ear.

-end-

#fengqing #mu qing #feng xin #tian guan ci fu #heavens official blessing #天官赐福 #tgcf novel #mxtx fandom #mo xiang tong xiu #drabbles

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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Fengqing 17: Focus

on AO3 as focus on your breathing

Yoga poses mentioned that you might want to search up before reading:

Forward fold

Warrior two

Half-moon

Dolphin

Headstand

Upward facing wide-angle pose

Mu Qing wiped the sweat from his brow as he rose from a forward fold at the front of his sweat-soaked yoga mat. He struggled to keep up with today’s vinyasa practice, and it was killing him.

Typically, a simple forty-five-minute vinyasa class would not exhaust him to this extent since he had been practicing religiously for almost a year. But work had taken its toll on him this week, and he'd been surviving on little sleep and too much caffeine, thanks to late nights and hours at his desk staring into his computer.

He was exhausted, and he was aware of it.

Nevertheless, he never skips yoga practice. Practicing yoga always helped him calm his mind. It gave him a sense of clarity. Deliberately moving his body in tune with his breath and challenging his strength and flexibility on the mat made him feel like he could dominate the world, no matter how tired, furious, or frustrated he felt. It was liberating.

And after the week he had at work, churning out endless reports and analyzing mountain-loads of data, he needed some goddamned mind-clearing movements to forget the tabs of excel sheets he had opened on his computer.

Feng Xin was next to him in class today, stumbling and grunting on his mat, unable to keep up with the rest of the class, as usual. After almost a year of practicing, though not as often as Mu Qing, he appeared to have lost more flexibility and gained even more clumsiness than a panda cub. As fit and muscular as he was, the lumbering oaf was incapable of balancing poses other than standing straight.

Mu Qing couldn’t understand why Feng Xin would continue practicing despite how awful he was at it. Watching him tumbling and groaning on the mat every day was agonizing. But he knows Feng Xin had never been much of a thinker in the first place, and it was none of his business.

They were not yoga buddies. No, they had no intention of going to the same yoga studio or class. Instead, Pei Ming had gotten them a free conditional one-year pass to the studio, so they were only allowed to attend classes at 7 p.m. If they wanted to continue training there without forking out a cent, they had no choice but to see each other in class almost every day.

Mu Qing watched Feng Xin from the corner of his eye as they moved into warrior two, front knee bent forward at ninety degrees, back leg straight, arms broad and as high as their shoulders. Feng Xin was sweating profusely through his shirt, which stuck to his back and shoulders, emphasizing every muscle, every well-defined muscle, and minute movement. Watching each bead of sweat slide down his tan neck was almost hypnotic.

Realizing he was staring, Mu Qing shook his head and closed his eyes, deciding to focus on his breathing instead, firming up his own warrior pose.

Next, they transitioned into a half-moon pose, balancing on their right leg while their left hand was straight up to the ceiling, left leg straight to the back, and right fingertips on the floor for support. Mu Qing didn’t need the help to balance; he held his right hand to his chest instead because he was that good.

Feng Xin, on the other hand, fell flat on his back because he attempted to support himself.

The loud thump from his fall distracted Mu Qing from his breathing. His eyes shifted to Feng Xin again, lying on his back, groaning, and his face twisted up in frustration. His toned chest heaved heavily beneath his drenched, almost see-through white t-shirt as he fought to regain his breath.

Mu Qing, still holding his pose, noticed Feng Xin's nipple was barely visible through the white fabric, and he watched it rise and fall with its owner's hard breathing. It was even more hypnotic than the beads of sweat on his neck.

His eyes couldn’t help but trail further down to the laying man’s loose black shorts until he saw a sizable outline of Feng Xin’s – he quickly pulled his attention back to his own mat before his eyes could venture further. He must be exhausted to keep losing focus.

Breathe, he thinks to himself.

Steadying himself back into a solid half-moon pose, he moved back into standing and took a giant gulp of water from his water bottle, quenching his thirst before they prepared for a headstand for the last few minutes of class.

They transitioned into dolphin pose, hands and elbows on the ground, legs straight, and butt jutting up into the air, preparing for the headstand. Mu Qing, despite his tiredness, smoothly piked his legs up into a headstand and held his pose with impeccable balance, eyes closed. He was good at it, and he knew it.

He calmed his breathing, focusing on the strength of his shoulders, core, and legs. Each inhalation was calmer and longer than the previous.

Next to him, Feng Xin hopped and hopped until he finally got his legs up - for a fraction of a second - and immediately fell sideways, crashing legs first into Mu Qing’s perfect headstand.

Mu Qing vaguely heard a "fuck," before he suddenly had to push his way through a mess of limbs and battled a blur of Feng Xin’s heavy legs and thighs as they fell together. Before he knew it, he was hoisted up and straddling Feng Xin at the hip, his hands flat on the hard chest below him for support, and Feng Xin’s sweaty face was looking up at him in surprise.

He could feel Feng Xin’s nipple under his fingertips and resisted the urge to pinch it. Instead, he quickly pulled his hands back to himself.

Feng Xin’s face was apologetic, “Sorry,” He held Mu Qing’s waist with one hand, steadying him. “Heh, didn’t mean to fall on you,” he adds with a small smile. It was sickeningly cute.

Mu Qing scowls in return. Leave it to Feng Xin to ruin his near-perfect headstand. “Whatever,” he leans back slightly to get up, only for Feng Xin to tighten his grip on Mu Qing’s waist in panic.

“Don’t. Mu Qing, wait!”

Mu Qing froze in place. He could feel the sizable outline he avoided earlier under him, which was… impressively sizable.

No amount of breathing would help him now.

He swiftly untangled himself from Feng Xin, who appeared to be fighting his own internal battles, and made his way to the showers. More specifically, a cold shower.

The next day Mu Qing, wearing only a pair of tight shorts, arrived a few minutes early to warm up and effortlessly got into a perfect upward-facing wide-angle pose as Feng Xin walked in, relishing in sheer satisfaction as the other guy’s jaw fell at sight displayed before him.

-end-

A/N: Mu Qing’s usual impenetrable guard is down because he’s tired, and Feng Xin is sexy.

#fengqing #feng xin #mu qing #tian guan ci fu #heavens official blessing #天官赐福 #tgcf novel #mxtx fandom #mo xiang tong xiu #yoga

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southernwindsarrow · 2 years ago

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Fengqing 16: Feather

on AO3 as of gods, feathers, and a helping hand

___________________

A ghost child was circling him… And there were chickens everywhere.

Feng Xin was at a loss for what to do. He wasn’t a fan of kids and he definitely wasn’t a fan of ghosts. He absolutely was not a big fan of children in the form of spirits.

He couldn’t even handle a living, breathing child sitting still, let alone a non-living, non-breathing ghost child racing around him in circles. He hadn’t even seen his own ghost fetus baby in months!

A few weeks ago, a surge of prayers pleading with him to stop some troublesome ghosts from pilfering a village in the southeast caught his interest. He didn’t need to attend to it, but he did to prevent Ling Wen from handing him more paperwork. He’d do anything to avoid the scholar god’s mountain of paperwork. Anything.

The moon hung high and bright in the night sky when he arrived at the remote southeastern village. All the villagers were asleep by this time. The martial god walked around the streets and neighborhood, trying to spot oddities or peculiarities in his surroundings. The village was old, and some huts were shabby, but it seemed peaceful… until he heard childish giggles from a distance.

A moment later, a boy appeared in front of him from behind a wooden cabin. He seemed to be five years old? Or six? Feng Xin couldn’t tell. Kids were not his forte.

He stopped in his tracks. A child wandering around in the dead of night should have worried him. Kids shouldn’t be out on their own this late, right? He was at least aware of that. Except this boy was different. He was translucent and staring directly at him, a martial god who ought to be invisible to the eyes of the average living person. This boy was definitely not of the living.

“Big Gege!” the see-through boy called out to him with an enthusiastic wave. “You can see me?” His big smile was missing a bottom front tooth. “Are you here to play with me?” he continued as he skipped over to Feng Xin. “I’m going to let the chickens out of ol’ Hu’s farm!”

It seemed that he’d found the source of the village’s annoyance, an innocent-looking ghost child only as tall as his waist. A child he was convinced Xie Lian could put to sleep by telling him bedtime stories about magical swords and mystical creatures. Xie Lian had always been good with kids. He was not.

Feng Xin responded with a smile, “You can call me Feng Xin.” He didn’t want to frighten the boy away. He may not be a living kid anymore, but he was still a kid. “What’s your name, big guy?”

The scruffy-haired boy looked at the tall martial god and answered with a toothy grin, “My name is Han.” He looked up to Feng Xin in excitement.

Other than stealing a handful of grains, knocking furniture around, and occasionally scaring a farm animal or two, he didn’t seem particularly dangerous.

Or so he thought until he was forced down to his knees by the small tiny ghost child.

“Come, Feng Xin gege.” Han’s voice chirped in the cool air as his small translucent hand pulled on Feng Xin’s hand to ol’ Hu’s little farm. His hands were cold, and he giggled softly as they made their way to the chicken coop.

He couldn’t kill a ghost child, could he? He’d never killed a child before, living or dead. A death sentence seemed a little extreme for something so harmless. The boy was nothing more than a mild nuisance. There had to be other ways to deal with a restless child spirit.

Feng Xin made a decision. He may not have been good with kids, but he was, after all, a general who commanded hundreds of middle court gods. And he’d led thousands of soldiers into battles as a general during his life as a human. So a firm, resolute, stern statement should do it, he thought.

“Han, you cannot let the chickens go,” he started with a gruff voice. It was not as rough as the normal tone he uses with his attendants, but it was close. “You need to stop terrorizing the villagers and the farm animals. It’s not nice,” he added sternly.

Han turned back to him with sharp eyes and whined in anger, “Big Gege’s not nice. You said you were gonna play with me.”

Before Feng Xin could reply, chickens were flying and clucking everywhere around him, blinding his vision with feathers. He couldn’t do anything but shield his face with his arms. Then, he felt a solid kick to his shin.

And that was how the great General Nan Yang was brought to his knees by a child, a small ghost child no taller than his waist, in his own territory.

Han circled him, trying to get more punches on the martial god. Feathers were stuck to the god’s face. Feng Xin wanted to cry.

And then, a pair of elegant black boots appeared on the ground before him.

Fuck.

As if the world wasn’t mocking him enough, Mu Qing appeared at that time, looking down at him on the ground with his hands crossed over his chest. The moonlight cast shadows on his face, giving him a mysterious ethereal glow.

“Tsk. The great General Nan Yang defeated in a vicious battle with chickens and children,” Mu Qing mocked. His expression was almost a smile, enjoying every bit of Feng Xin’s suffering.

“Fuck off Mu Qing,” Feng Xin snapped as he pulled himself back up, brushing off the dirt and feathers. “Why the fuck are you here anyway? Don’t you have Xuan Zhen statues in your land to destroy?” he fumed.

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “My worshippers know better than to carve inaccurate statues of me by now,” he replied coldly. “Unlike some, they learn fast,” he added, an apparent jab to Feng Xin while walking towards the ghost child who cowered behind the chicken coop at the sight of another god. “Ling Wen said you had an arduous mission and may need some assistance.”

Feng Xin sighed. He did tell Ling Wen he had a challenging mission. He really didn’t want to do more paperwork and he wished the perpetually tired and cranky goddess of books and scrolls would hire more attendants. Surely someone of Ling Wen’s calibre could afford it?

“Han, was it?” Mu Qing asked politely, kneeling down to match the translucent boy’s height. “Why did you beat up Stupid Gege?” his tone was pleasant as if he was praising Feng Xin instead of mocking him.

Feng Xin clenched his jaw. He was not going to start a fight with Mu Qing in front of a kid. He was not. It’s undignifying. He was nothing if not a dignified god, a representation of the heavens.

“Stupid Gege wouldn’t let me scare the chickens,” he cried to Mu Qing. “He said I’m mean,” he bounced closer to Mu Qing as he complained about Feng Xin.

“Don’t listen to him. Stupid Gege is stupid,” Mu Qing asserted, receiving a small giggle from the boy in return.

“Is Pretty Gege your friend?” Han asked Feng Xin.

Feng Xin groaned internally. Of course Han would like Mu Qing more than him. Mu Qing had always been good with kids. Feng Xin never understood why; the guy was cold, indifferent, and had the emotional capacity of a shellfish, but kids loved him anyway.

“His name is Mu Qing,” he answered casually. He would not comment any more than that. Mu Qing was not not pretty, but no one needed to know he thought that.

“Han, Stupid Gege wants to say sorry to you,” Mu Qing says. Feng Xin’s brow furrowed at his words. “He’d like to play with you again. He wants to scare the cows in the fields with you,” he continued.

“Mu Qing, what are—”

“Han, excuse me and Stupid Gege for a moment,” Mu Qing interrupted sharply. He gave Feng Xin a commanding look to leave the ghost’s hearing range. “I need to teach him to be courteous.” Han nodded and stood in his place as the two gods walked away towards the trees.

“What the fuck are you doing? We can’t let him run around destroying villages!” Feng Xin barked as they were out of hearing range. “Are you trying to cause trouble in the southeast? Is that what you’re trying to do?” His brows furrowed as he raged.

Mu Qing hissed in reply, “Observe the boy, you big idiot.” He glanced over to Han from where they stood. “How fucking dumb are you?”

Feng Xin’s anger faded, replaced by confusion. “What do you mean?”

“What were you going to do?” Mu Qing rolled his eyes again. “Did you really believe he’ll quit bothering villagers and farm animals because a nice big general told him to?”

“I…” Feng Xin faltered for a moment, hand reaching the back of his head in confusion. He still hadn’t decided what he was going to do with Han. His initial intention was to slay a menacing ghost. That was until he discovered the menacing ghost was only a child.

“He has no family.” Mu Qing stated bluntly, interrupting Feng Xin’s thoughts.

“How could you tell?” Feng Xin noticed Mu Qing’s gaze was soft as they observed the boy. Very un-Mu Qing-like of him.

“His clothes are full of holes,” Mu Qing’s eyes never left the boy. "Poor families would patch up their ripped clothes as much as they can to make them last longer,” he stated. “And look at how thin he is,”

Mu Qing would know. He hadn’t been homeless, but he had lived in poverty in the slums of Xianle with his mother before becoming the crown prince’s personal attendant.

“Oh.” Feng Xin was stumped. He really didn’t notice. He was never known to be observant of details like clothing, ornaments, and other detail-y things. Hell, he barely even noticed the colors on his own clothes. Fine points were not his thing. It was one of the reasons he hated doing reports. Mu Qing, on the other hand, had always been good at them.

Feng Xin noticed Han was just wearing a thin outer robe and pants too short for him. Both were ragged, hole-filled, and covered in filth. On top of that, his collarbones jutted out, and his arms were so thin they appeared brittle. He bet that, if the boy weren’t translucent, his skin would have been a sickly pale color too.

“He wants attention, Feng Xin. Causing a ruckus is the only way he’s getting attention from the villagers,” Mu Qing added solemnly. “The street urchins back in Xianle were like that too.”

Feng Xin wanted to kick himself for not noticing. Mu Qing was right, he was an idiot.

“Hey, Han! Let’s go to the fields and play with cows!” he shouted cheerfully, calling the little ghost over.

As they made their way to the fields in the dark, Feng Xin held Han’s hand and Mu Qing trailed behind them. The ghost cheerfully told his two god geges about his ghostly experiences terrifying villagers by knocking things down and banging doors and windows. Feng Xin listened and laughed along until Han told them about his life before becoming a ghost.

“They used to be able to see me. All of them. Ol’ Hu used to scold me all the time for breaking into his chicken cage and stealing eggs,“ Han quipped as he walked. "But I was always hungry,” he added, “and some people would offer me pieces of bread in return for an egg.”

Feng Xin’s heart sank as he heard those words. Everyone knew that eggs were more valuable than bread. He gripped the boy’s hand even tighter…

“I don’t know what happened. Then, one day I woke up, and no one could see me anymore.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing exchanged understanding glances. They both knew Han had died of starvation. During the dead of winter, it was not uncommon for the homeless to find shelter somewhere and end up dying peacefully in their sleep from the cold and hunger. They had come across many such events during their years living in poverty with Xie Lian following the collapse of Xianle. The fallen prince would often request their help to help bury the bodies.

“Stupid Gege, did someone curse me?”

“No—”

“Yes,” Mu Qing interrupted quickly, giving Feng Xin a look. “Stupid Gege and I will find the big bad sorcerer and kill them,” he added, glancing at Han with kind eyes, a look he only reserved for children.

“Have you ever ridden a cow before?” Mu Qing steered the conversation away from curses and sorcerers. “Let’s put you on that big one over there!“ he said, pointing to cows grazing contentedly in the pasture.

“Pretty Gege is so nice!” Han smiled brightly as he took Mu Qing’s hand.

Feng Xin watched as Mu Qing gently carried Han atop a cow while coaxing the child away from the topic of his life as a human. Mu Qing’s interaction with the boy was…. kind. It was a side of him rarely seen by others. Feng Xin had only seen it once when they were both humans. Street urchins in the poorer districts of Xianle flocked to their Mu Qing Gege, who always showered them with kindness and fruits and candy.

Feng Xin smiled at the sight of the elegant god and cheerful ghost in front of him.

They spent the rest of the night listening to Han and playing in the fields with him. Mu Qing hoisted him on his shoulders as they attempted to catch Feng Xin. Then, they played hide and seek, with Feng Xin searching behind every cow to find the other two. Eventually they collapsed on the grass and stared into the night sky, counting stars and identifying constellations.

Feng Xin knew the other gods in the Heavenly Capital would make fun of them for devoting so much effort to pleasing a tiny ghost child. It didn’t matter because he knew it was the proper thing to do. The giant smile on Han’s face as Mu Qing ran while hoisting the boy on his shoulders was worth it. And he knew Mu Qing thought the same too.

They played until the first rays of dawn arrived. Until suddenly, the extremities of Han’s translucent body began to fade into the cold air surrounding them.

“Pretty Gege, what’s happening?” Han asked Mu Qing as he looked at his disappearing self. His cheerful expression shifted to one of concern.

The two generals immediately understood. Han’s soul was moving on to his next life. They couldn’t do anything about it, which was for the best.

“You’re going to a better place,” Mu Qing knelt to the ground and held on to what he could of Han’s fading hand. “You’ll be alright,”

Han looked up to the two martial gods, his eyes wide and watery. “Will I get to see Stupid Gege and Pretty Gege again?” His voice stammered with uncertainty and possibly fear.

“Yeah, of course, you’ll see us,” Feng Xin assured him. He felt his throat tighten up. Of course, it was a lie, but he didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth—that his soul was leaving for good, and it was unlikely they would meet again. Feng Xin and Mu Qing were gods who handled the affairs of the mortal and ghost world. They have no way to find or locate spirits who have been sent back into the cycle of reincarnation.

“We’ll play hide and seek again when we meet,” Mu Qing promised, his voice cracking as the rest of Han’s torso began to fade. “And we’ll bring you candy too,”

As the sky turned pink, Han’s translucent body slowly dissipated into nothing. His big smile, missing a tooth, was the last to disappear.

Finally, only a soft whisper could be heard: “Thank you, Feng Xin Gege, Mu Qing Gege,”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing stood silently on the field, watching, as red and pink streaks filled the sky.

“He was a good boy,” Feng Xin started, breaking the silence between them. Mu Qing, standing next to him, nodded slowly in agreement. “And thanks for your help today. I don’t know what I would have done or said to him if you hadn’t shown up,” he added, glancing at Mu Qing, who turned to face him.

“You would have fucked it up is what you’d have done,” Mu Qing teased, his expression soft, still slightly solemn, but light and calm.

Feng Xin agreed, “Yeah.”

Mu Qing took a step closer and plucked a chicken feather from the top of Feng Xin’s hair.

“For you, Stupid Gege.” He handed the small, light feather to Feng Xin.

Feng Xin replied with a soft smile, “Thank you.” He carefully tucked the feather in his robe, treasuring it.

“Pretty Gege, let’s go back,” he suggested softly, feeling lethargy slowly taking over his body.

“Let’s.”

They made their way back to the Heavenly Capital in silence together.

-end-

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