Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bad shit happens all the time. Mu Qing knows this. (He knows this all too well.)

He’s seen the worst of humanity and the worst - he hopes - of divinity.

He maintains order and controls what he can, so that when more bad shit inevitably comes, it’s nothing he can’t handle.

But nothing could have prepared him for, well-- this.

+

The first time it happens, Mu Qing spits out his tea.

“Feeling lonely? Want to make a connection? For just ten merits a minute, a sexy person is waiting to talk to you. Call the Amorous Fantasy Array today and get the first five minutes completely free! Adult callers only. Additional fees may apply for long-distance calls from the mortal or ghost realms.”

The list of gods who have his private array password is short. The list of gods who dare to speak to him in such a manner is even shorter.

The sheer fucking audacity.

He’s fairly sure he doesn’t need deductive reasoning to know who the fuck would prank him like this.

He makes a quick note to bill Nan Yang Palace’s Accounts Payable department for the loss of one premium longjing tea, the loss of one bamboo scroll, and additional compensatory damages incurred for wasting his fucking time (per section 9.2.1 of the Rules of Heavenly Conduct).

Then he raises two fingers to his temple and prepares to unleash a retaliatory tirade through Feng Xin’s thick skull.

+

The second time it happens, Mu Qing freezes in the middle of an Upper Court meeting, then immediately whirls on Feng Xin with a murderous glare.

Conceited bastard! First, he vehemently denies any knowledge of the Amorous Fantasy Array. And now, he comes back with more fucking nonsense about some hot spring vacation package for couples?!

If that motherfucker thinks he can distract Mu Qing and make a fool of him in front of all the other gods, he will be sorely disappointed.

Mu Qing clenches his jaw and regains his composure, exerting immense effort to stop looking like he wants to commit deicide.

Feng Xin, however, catches the tail-end of this look and trails off on the proposal he was making.

He frowns a bit at Mu Qing. “What? You don’t agree with monthly border patrol rotations?”

Ever so slowly, Mu Qing turns back to look at him. And smiles pleasantly.

(If Feng Xin can pull off this masterful an acting job, then Mu Qing is going to prove himself a fucking world-class thespian.)

(The other gods in attendance suppress a shudder and suddenly find the scrolls in front of them incredibly fascinating, shuffling through them like the secret to world dominance is hidden somewhere within.)

“I never said anything of the sort, General Nan Yang,” Mu Qing says in a calm and dignified manner. (He’s already mentally crafting step two of his revenge plan.) “Monthly rotations are standard practice. I have no problem with it, so long as your men produce coherent, legible reports. For documentation purposes, of course.” He gestures airily towards Ling Wen, who narrows her eyes just a fraction at being pulled into whatever the fuck is going on here.

Feng Xin darts a quick glance at Ling Wen, before visibly tamping down on his rising temper. “Your agreement is duly noted, General Xuan Zhen,” he says through gritted teeth, then more loudly, “Moving on to the next agenda item for the Southeast territory…”

Mu Qing steeples his hands. Patience is a virtue. And no god in Heaven can out-virtue him. (Except possibly Xie Lian, but if he dwells too much on it, he’s going to give himself a conniption, so.)

Anyway, the point is: Feng Xin won’t even know what hit him.

+

Exactly one week later, Mu Qing and Feng Xin find themselves sitting in front of Ling Wen, whose icy demeanor has somehow reached subzero temperature.

“Do you know,” she asks with a dangerous glint in her eye, “how much work you both have created for me?”

Mu Qing glances over at the conspicuous pile of scrolls on the floor next to her desk that reach nearly halfway up to the ceiling. With the help of this highly-effective visual aid, he mentally calculates the workload she’s referring to and wisely says nothing.

Feng Xin, on the other hand, immediately launches into self-defense. “I had nothing to do with that. My palace is being sabotaged for no reason, and--”

“No reason?” Mu Qing interrupts, voice deceptively light. “None whatsoever? I find that hard to believe.”

“So you admit to being behind all of this?” Feng Xin nearly yells. “Whatever reason you made up in your twisted head doesn’t actually exist--”

“Generals,” Ling Wen snaps, the last thread of her patience lying somewhere beneath the pile of scrolls. “Whatever disagreements you have, work them out like the eight-hundred-year-old adults that you are. No more property damage. No more weapon theft. No more disruption of the peace of the Heavenly Realm. Enough is enough.”

Mu Qing’s lips press into a thin line. (What about his fucking peace?) “Is this a formal prosecution? Because I have yet to see any evidence presented--”

“We all know it’s you, Mu Qing!” Feng Xin shouts, throwing up his hands in frustration.

Ling Wen takes a moment to reevaluate every life decision that has led her to her current position as the foremost civil god, and subsequently to this very moment. She wonders where she made a wrong turn.

“At your request, General Xuan Zhen,” she says, her gaze boring a hole straight into Mu Qing’s core, “I can arrange a tribunal tomorrow, where everyone in the Upper Court can spend the next six to nine months sitting through court proceedings, reviewing every single piece of evidence - and I mean every - until the perpetrator is found.” Her gaze intensifies. “For judicial purposes, of course.”

Mu Qing isn’t a martial god for nothing. He knows that there are times when a tactical exit strategy needs to be deployed.

He takes a deep breath and tilts his chin up. “I agree to your terms--” (They’re not terms, Ling Wen’s slightly maniacal expression tells him) “--if General Nan Yang agrees to cease infiltrating my private array with prank messages.”

Feng Xin’s mouth falls open. “What--? I already told you that wasn’t me. Are you really so self-centered that--”

Ling Wen holds up an imperious hand. “Hold on,” she says, snapping her fingers twice to materialize out of thin air a bundle of tiny scrolls. She rifles through them quickly, her frown deepening, before looking up at Mu Qing. “Did you say prank messages?”

“Yes,” he says, crossing his arms, already unhappily coming to the conclusion that perhaps Feng Xin wasn’t lying after all.

She squints at him. “Were those messages of a solicitous nature?”

“They were of an inappropriate nature,” Mu Qing sniffs. “But yes, solicitous.”

Ling Wen pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “I thought this was only impacting civil gods, but it seems to have spread to martial gods as well.”

Feng Xin blinks. “We’re still talking about prank messages, right? I mean…I haven’t gotten any.” His brow furrows as he looks over at Mu Qing sternly. “You must’ve pissed someone off.”

“If I jumped to conclusions as often as you two do, I would’ve been fired centuries ago,” Ling Wen says, sounding aggrieved. “My deputies have been conducting a preliminary investigation, but so far there’s no rhyme or reason to these messages. They do not seem to bear any malicious or resentful intent, and recipients seem to be targeted at random.”

“So you don’t know who’s sending them? Or how they figured out our private array passwords?” Mu Qing says, immediately trying to think up a new password that is longer, more complex, and potentially involving a riddle.

Ling Wen shakes her head. “Normally, I wouldn’t even get involved in something so minor. But it’s starting to disrupt the order of things, and the list of reported messages--” She pauses as another tiny scroll falls from nowhere and lands on top of the scroll pile. “--keeps growing.”

“Look,” Feng Xin says impatiently, as he does with anything that doesn’t directly concern him. “I’m sorry this is happening to you all, but clearly I’m not the perpetrator, so am I done here?”

Ling Wen stares at him pointedly. “That depends. Are your deputies done filing incident reports on everything that happened to your palace within the past week?”

Feng Xin takes one more look at the precarious pile of scrolls on the floor, and even though none of this is his fault, he knows there’s only one acceptable answer. “Yes.”

“Good,” Ling Wen says brusquely. “General Xuan Zhen, once the total cost of damages is calculated and invoiced to you, I expect it to be paid promptly. In the meantime, unless both of you wish to be assigned to investigating this case--” She pokes the still-floating bundle of tiny scrolls. “I advise you to stick to sparring within the confines of your training grounds. You’re Upper Court officials. Set a good example for your deputies.” She waves a hand. “You are dismissed, Generals.”

Mu Qing waits until Feng Xin leaves first. “So should I be worried about information security?” he hazards with Ling Wen, figuring that he already did his part by not objecting to the invoice.

She shrugs, seemingly shedding a bit of formality in front of Mu Qing. He wonders if it’s because they both came from nothing, unlike most Heavenly officials.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll make a formal announcement soon, recommending that everyone change their password, but I have a feeling that it won’t solve the issue.” She taps the end of her calligraphy brush against her desk. “If you have concerns about sensitive mission-related matters, just avoid communicating those through any arrays for now, and relay them strictly through sealed scrolls.”

“Mm,” Mu Qing agrees reluctantly, not seeing any other way around it right now. “Did you already change your password?”

She lays her head down on the table. “Not yet,” she mutters. “Some of the other gods are in the middle of assigned missions and can’t be expected to memorize a new password on the fly, much less use it in case of emergency.”

Mu Qing isn’t prone to envy (certain historical events notwithstanding), but if he were, he would definitely envy Ling Wen the least.

Chapter Text

As per usual, following any formal announcement that Ling Wen makes, some gods listen and some gods don’t.

However, in this particular case, the sudden change (or no change) in private array passwords creates administrative chaos across the entirety of Heaven.

“Can I just slightly modify my old password? Or do I need to make a whole new one?”

“Did your boss change his password? Mine didn’t. At least, not yet. He wants to think on it some more.”

“I’ve been using the same password for two hundred years. Everyone knows it. It’s too much trouble to change it now, don’t you think?”

“Your new password involves singing? Good luck with that. I’m not singing shit.”

(Ling Wen, having already predicted this outcome, merely sits back and figures that sooner or later the Heavenly populace should learn how to deal with this kind of crap on their own. She’s practically holding up the Heavenly Realm by herself with the bureaucratic strength of her two bare hands. She’s going to let the other gods do some of their own problem-solving for once.)

Presently, Xie Lian is sitting down with both Feng Xin and Mu Qing, trying to convince them that he has no security problems whatsoever. (He is not succeeding.)

“Your Highness,” Feng Xin says emphatically for the third time, “it’s not just a matter of random solicitous messages. If there’s a way to breach your private array, Crimson Rain will definitely exploit it, and then who knows what he’ll do after that?”

Mu Qing remains silent, which he feels is more than generous when (ugh) expressing any modicum of agreement with Feng Xin (argh).

Xie Lian blinks at both of them. “Oh, but San Lang wouldn’t do that. I’m perfectly safe.” (Feng Xin emits a strangled noise, and Mu Qing attempts to make his own expression of disapproval even more disapproving.) “More tea, anyone?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mu Qing says immediately, if only to bask in the temporary pleasure of having royalty serve him for once.

Feng Xin barrels onward, undeterred by Xie Lian’s obvious distraction technique. (Xie Lian is humming as he takes his sweet time picking out which tea to brew next.)

“If you’re too busy with assigned missions,” Feng Xin says earnestly, “I can come up with a list of suitable suggestions for your new password—”

Mu Qing snorts.

“What?” Feng Xin snaps. “If you think you can do better, be my fucking guest.”

Mu Qing raises one elegant eyebrow, and tsks condescendingly. “Using such language in front of His Highness? How rude.”

Feng Xin reddens in embarrassment, while Xie Lian flaps his hands and laughs nervously.

“Oh it’s all right, I’ve heard worse. Really.” He busies himself by rinsing the tea leaves in the teapot, piping hot water flowing over the sides into the beautifully-carved drainage tray below.

Mu Qing curls his fingers into the fabric of his uniform. It’s unnerving to discover that there’s still a part of him that itches to take over even such a mundane task for Xie Lian, just so His Highness wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

He ruthlessly pushes that part of himself down.

“Well, Your Highness,” he says cooly, “if you feel that your password is secure enough, then there’s nothing further to discuss on this matter.”

Feng Xin shoots him a look of betrayal, but it’s not the first time Mu Qing has seen it and he tells himself that he is unmoved by it.

Xie Lian smiles as he pours into each of their teacups. “I really do appreciate your offer to help, both of you. I’m glad you’re here and that you have each other, too.”

Mu Qing stares somewhere over Xie Lian’s shoulder, deciding it isn’t worth his time to correct him.

Feng Xin opts to say nothing as well.

Xie Lian seems to take their mutual awkward silence in stride. “So—” he says, pausing to take a sip. “What exactly are these solicitous messages that everyone’s talking about?”

Feng Xin shrugs and gestures to Mu Qing. (The lucky bastard is still one of the few gods who haven’t received any yet.) Mu Qing grimaces, instantly rejecting the ridiculous possibility that Feng Xin has better password security than he does.

“Oh, are they that bad?” Xie Lian says with concern, misreading Mu Qing’s expression.

“You can see for yourself,” Mu Qing mutters, pulling out several tiny scrolls from his pocket. “I was going to drop these off at Ling Wen Palace later today.”

Xie Lian’s eyes light up with curiosity as he picks one at random and unfurls it.

It’s not a long message, but as he reads it, Xie Lian manages to go through three different facial expressions before quickly rolling it back up and setting it down.

“Ah,” he clears his throat weakly. “I see.”

Feng Xin immediately frowns and snatches it up, intensely reading it like it’s a war treatise.

Mu Qing has a pretty good idea of which message it contains.

“I mean—” Feng Xin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure this one’s a solicitous message? Not just an exceptionally strong prayer?”

“Excuse me?” Mu Qing nearly chokes on his tea.

Feng Xin huffs loudly through his nose. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never seen anything like this before. You’ve recited enough dick poems about me to know that sometimes the nature of prayers can change.” He catches Xie Lian’s wide-eyed frozen expression (shit, His Highness doesn’t know about that, does he?), then mumbles, “Sorry.”

Mu Qing completely ignores Xie Lian, his indignation working overtime at the mere implication of having anything to do with…gigantic masculinity.

“My followers have never and will never ask me for— for— that. It’s impossible!” He narrows his eyes, jabbing a finger into Feng Xin’s chest. “I keep a very close eye on my followers, unlike you. They’re refined, modest, and upstanding people. They would never. They know my cultivation path like the back of their hand!”

To Mu Qing’s horror, this seems to make Feng Xin laugh. “But they’re still human, aren’t they?”

Mu Qing bristles. “You just want me to suffer, don’t you? It’s not a prayer and I will not treat it as such! End of discussion!”

During this exchange, Xie Lian has helped himself to the remaining tiny scrolls and is looking intently back and forth between them, as if Jun Wu himself assigned him to solve this case.

“I don’t know if this is true for all solicitous messages,” Xie Lian murmurs, “but it looks like at least yours generally want money in exchange for goods or services or— well—” He reddens a bit, then continues, “Anyway, have you responded to any of them? Maybe you can put a tracking spell on your merits and see where they end up?”

Mu Qing shakes his head. “I tried already.” (That hot spring vacation package did seem like a good deal, but it turned out the hot spring had dried up ages ago and offered zero clues on who might be connected to it.) “Some sort of counterspell on the other end is strong enough to block it. Then the merits vanish.”

Feng Xin slams his hand down on the table, startling them and causing the teacups to rattle. “That’s it! Financial forensics.”

Mu Qing catches on immediately. “So all Ling Wen Palace needs to do is check each god’s merit account activity. Whoever is getting incoming merits that can’t be traced to legitimate prayers or missions, or peer-to-peer transactions could be a suspect.”

“Yes, exactly,” Feng Xin says, clapping a hand on Mu Qing’s shoulder while looking back down at the scrolls.

“Who said you could touch me,” Mu Qing says reflexively, without venom, before shrugging Feng Xin’s hand off. (If he noticed how warm it was, he doesn’t acknowledge it.)

Feng Xin rolls his eyes. “Whatever, like we haven’t punched each other a million times.”

“And yet not a single one has managed to improve your personality,” Mu Qing snipes, before turning towards Xie Lian. “Your Highness, I’ll inform Ling Wen of our discussion when I see her. But at the same time, in case the perpetrator becomes aware they’re being investigated, can you verify if the possibility of offshore accounts exist?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d be the best person to look into that,” Xie Lian says with a little frown. “I haven’t really dealt with money…much?”

Mu Qing squints at him for a while, until he finally gets it.

“Oh!” Xie Lian says, suddenly fiddling with the dice on the table. “By offshore, you mean the ghost realm.” He sighs. “San Lang has already helped me with so much already… but I suppose if financial crimes are happening in Heaven, Ghost City would be one of the few places that can hide evidence of those crimes. I’ll ask him.”

“I’ll go with you,” Feng Xin says immediately, his tone brooking no debate.

“If you want to come back covered in blood rain again,” Mu Qing mutters under his breath, inspecting his fingernails.

“Oh, oh, hang on, I think I’m finally getting one,” Xie Lian interrupts, tilting his head. He blinks rapidly as the message concludes. “Well, that’s slightly alarming.”

He recites the message out loud.

“This is your third and final warning from the Heavenly Internal Revenue Service. To avoid being arrested for tax evasion, you must pay a fine of five hundred merits immediately. Do you have payment information ready?”

A worried expression comes over Xie Lian’s face, as he nervously taps his index fingers together. “Ah… just double checking, but… we don’t have to pay taxes up here, do we?”

Chapter Text

Mu Qing should’ve known that the second any spam (coined by some civil gods as an abbreviation for ‘solicitous private array message,’ which he thinks is completely unnecessary but no-one bothered to ask his opinion) enters Xie Lian’s array, Crimson Rain would be all over it like a fly on honey.

(Assuming a fly could wreak absolute destruction across multiple realms, and strike fear into the hearts of all other flies, and— well, he thinks it’s more accurate to say Xie Lian is the honey in this situation— ugh, this metaphor is getting away from him. Whatever, he’s not the god of literary devices.)

Much to Mu Qing’s dismay, Crimson Rain - using his own closed-network system - actually sets up a three-way array call. With silkscreen imaging on. And a stupid passcode (“33andme”) that Mu Qing had to recite twice before he could enter.

“Can everyone hear me?” Crimson Rain starts off, his silky smooth voice gliding through the air. “Gege, we aren’t imposing on too much of your time, I hope?”

“Not at all,” Xie Lian says pleasantly. “I hope we aren’t imposing on too much of your time. So sorry to bother you with this, but - as Mu Qing can attest - spam calls are becoming quite the nuisance up here and we suspect whoever may be profiting off them wouldn’t likely keep those merits in any bank account under Heavenly authority.”

“Oh?” Crimson Rain says, sounding absurdly pleased about being asked by His Highness to vanquish the threat of spam. (Well, investigate more than vanquish, but those pretty much mean the same thing to him when it comes to his beloved gege.) “This one would be honored to look into any unusual account activity under my jurisdiction. Fear not, no spam will ever reach your divine ears again. You can be assured of this.”

(His ice-cold glare at Mu Qing makes it very clear that the ghost king hopes his divine ears get assaulted by spam for eternity. Which is totally uncalled for. It’s not like Mu Qing wants any of this to happen.)

“We are in your debt, San Lang,” Xie Lian says demurely.

No, we’re not! Mu Qing wants to shriek, but he’s not exactly going to say that aloud to someone who killed thirty-three of his colleagues without even breaking a sweat.

Anyway, after witnessing this entire nauseating exchange, Mu Qing is really not sure why he needs to be here at all. This could’ve been a scroll, honestly.

He fervently hopes these kinds of calls are not going to be a regular occurrence.

“Hello??” Feng Xin’s voice suddenly booms from nowhere. “Your Highness, can you hear me? Is this the right array?”

Mu Qing scowls, putting a hand up to his ear. “All three realms can hear you, you noisy buffoon.”

“Oh, San Lang,” Xie Lian says hastily. “I hope you don’t mind. I looped in Feng Xin too, as he has expressed interest in this case. Anything you share with me, you can share with both of them.”

Crimson Rain does not look like he’s going to share anything with the two generals at any point in the near (or distant) future.

“Look,” Feng Xin says hotly, “we all just want things to go back to normal, okay?” He levels a stony look at Crimson Rain. “Normal.”

“Of course, Feng Xin,” Xie Lian says, nodding while looking slightly confused.

“Of course, Nan Yang,” Crimson Rain parrots with a particular grin that tells Feng Xin that things are in fact not going back to normal, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Feng Xin clenches his jaw. “So when should we expect an update from you? Tomorrow? Next week?”

“Oh, my world doesn’t revolve around a schedule,” Crimson Rain says with an undercurrent of laughter. “You’ll hear from me when you hear from me.” He turns to lower his head to Xie Lian. “Your Highness.”

Without breaking eye contact with Xie Lian, Crimson Rain’s silkscreen image fades away.

“What the—?” Feng Xin says indignantly. “Is that seriously how he ends a meeti—”

All three of them are abruptly cut off from the array.

Mu Qing blinks as he refocuses his vision, the interior of his office coming back into view.

He slowly lies down on the floor to seriously contemplate whether a potential lifetime of spam is worth dropping this whole case and never having to interact with Crimson Rain ever again.

+

“Do you stay up at night wondering why you haven’t had any new temples lately? Is your annual lantern count getting you down? Fear not, with our expert spiritual coaches at WeWorship, you can unlock your full godly potential and achieve the following you deserve!”

“Fuck off!” Mu Qing screams into the quiet of the night.

A startled bird takes flight. The cicadas pause. And Xuan Zhen’s deputies sigh before resuming their duties.

+

As Ling Wen predicted, changing private array passwords does nothing to deter the influx of spam calls, which have now become so pervasive that the Heavenly Emperor himself decides to call a meeting.

He leans his cheek on one hand, staring regally (but with slightly unfocused eyes) at a presentation being given by the god of charts, who is expounding on the total number of spam calls reported to date and how he categorized them.

“—and as you can see here in this pie chart, spam calls that request payment by far constitute the majority at seventy-two percent, followed by spam calls that request personal information at eleven percent. Next slide. Now, this bar chart shows you at what times throughout the day gods tend to receive these calls—”

“Yes, thank you, that’ll be all,” Jun Wu says in a melodious voice.

“Of course, Emperor,” the god of charts says, bowing deeply before rising back up, looking a little forlorn at not getting to show the last few slides. (He invented a new chart recently - the bubble chart - and was hoping to awe the crowd with it.) “If anyone would like a copy of this presentation, please submit a request to the Information Requisition department. Thank you.”

Jun Wu nods and gestures towards Ling Wen to continue with the meeting agenda (given that he has no idea what’s on it).

She steps forward. “As this is an ongoing investigation, I do ask that all gods who are still receiving spam calls to please continue reporting them. I also strongly advise not transferring any merits to anyone you do not know, until we find the source of these calls. Any questions so far?”

She barely withholds a wince, as a flurry of questions get thrown her way.

“Do we have to worry about bank account security?”

“Are our merits insured?”

“Obviously, the culprit must be one of the ghost kings. Why don’t we arrest and interrogate all of them?”

“I changed my password three times already! Can’t we just build a whole new array system? How hard can it be?”

Serene though he is, Jun Wu has a vague look on his face that suggests he’d like to imbibe all the wine offerings from his temples. Simultaneously. Right now.

“That’s enough,” he says, commanding instant silence before deferring to Ling Wen again.

She takes a deep breath. (Whoever said gods don’t need air has clearly never attended an Upper Court meeting.) “There’s nothing to indicate that bank account security has been compromised. And no, merits are not insured.” She turns towards the Chief Executive Officers of the Bank of Heaven (BoH) and the Heavenly Services Banking Corporation (HSBC). “Correct?”

“Indeed, indeed,” one of them replies, stroking his beard. “However, we are currently working on implementing an additional layer of security, and will be rolling out that feature soon.”

“Good. We look forward to your update,” Ling Wen says. “Also, per our judicial laws, no arrests can be made before sufficient evidence has been gathered. And—” She narrows her eyes specifically at the god who suggested this. “—building a whole new array system is in fact quite complex and not currently feasible. In the meantime, as there is still a lot that is unknown about these spam calls, the Emperor has decided that the best way to proceed is—”

“Don’t say task force, don’t say task force,” Mu Qing mutters under his breath.

“—a task force.”

A collective groan echoes throughout the room.

“Led by His Highness Xianle.”

Xie Lian blinks as everyone’s focus turns towards him. “Um.” He smiles nervously at Jun Wu and Ling Wen. “Of course, this one would be honored.”

“The floor is yours,” Ling Wen says immediately, as if she has zero compunction over throwing Xie Lian into this surprise role.

“Ah,” Xie Lian says, clearing his throat. “Yes, a task force. Wonderful idea. I will get started on that. Right away.” He fluffs his sleeves for emphasis. “So…any volunteers?”

Mu Qing suppresses a groan. With Xie Lian’s popularity at an all-time low, he really should just assign the task force roles instead of asking for volunteers.

“I volunteer,” Feng Xin’s deep voice rings out confidently.

Mu Qing keeps his arms securely folded inside his sleeves. There’s no way he’s going to volunteer for more work—

“And so does General Xuan Zhen,” Feng Xin says with no remorse whatsoever.

Mu Qing’s neck nearly snaps with how fast he turns it. “General Xuan Zhen is right here, and—!”

He spots the shining, grateful look on Xie Lian’s beatific face. Motherfucker. Fuck everyone in this room. Goddamn it.

“—I volunteer as well,” he grits out, shooting Feng Xin a hateful look, promising death and destruction and so much fucking paperwork that Nan Yang Palace will be buried beneath it and never be found again.

Chapter Text

After the Emperor adjourns the meeting, Mu Qing storms off back to his palace, his bad mood sending his attendants scurrying away from his immediate vicinity.

He paces around his office with mounting irritation.

What is Feng Xin playing at? Does he seriously think that just because Xie Lian ascended again, they’re all back together as prince, bodyguard, and servant? Like all the shit that changed the entire course of their lives - of history - didn’t fucking happen? Fuck that. Xianle Kingdom is dead and gone. He isn’t at its beck and call anymore. He owes it nothing.

He squares his shoulders. That’s right. He’s going to remind that son of a bitch—

A heavy pounding against the door makes him snarl.

“What?” he snaps, as if he doesn’t know who’s on the other side.

The pounding resumes, causing the doorframe to shake.

“What have I ever done to deserve this,” Mu Qing hisses to himself, striding over to yank the door open.

Feng Xin pauses mid-knock. He does not look the least bit apologetic. So Mu Qing gets ready to slam the door in his face.

“Hey,” Feng Xin says, gripping the edge of the door. “Let me in. We need to talk.”

“No,” Mu Qing growls, pushing back with the intent of slamming and breaking Feng Xin’s fingers. “Get out.”

However, being of equal strength, they soon find themselves in a stalemate. (The poor door - having never undergone such stress and pressure before - creaks ominously.)

“Leave me alone,” Mu Qing seethes, swinging a foot around to kick haphazardly at Feng Xin’s shins. “I quit the task force. Go tell His Highness I’m too busy. And that I hate working with you. And that I hate work in general. Go, go, go.”

“No, you don’t,” Feng Xin says with a sigh, like he’s a bored spectator instead of a martial god utilizing his godly strength to not let Mu Qing close his own fucking door.

Of course, Feng Xin doesn’t bother clarifying which statement he’s referring to.

“Yes, I do,” Mu Qing spits out, just to be contrary. “And don’t ever speak for me again. Ever. Or I’ll kill you and take over the entire South.”

It’s the kind of threat he makes at least once a week. He means it every time though.

“You vastly overestimate my will to live,” Feng Xin says drily, which is— unusual. Enough that Mu Qing loosens his grip the tiniest bit in surprise, and Feng Xin seizes the opportunity to shoulder his way in.

“Do I?” Mu Qing says angrily, completely fed up with all of this. He unsheathes his saber and points it directly at Feng Xin’s throat. “Good. You die today.”

“In a minute,” Feng Xin says, gripping the blade with his hand and moving it out of the way. “We need to talk first.”

“About what?” Mu Qing says, making a face as he flicks Feng Xin’s blood off his saber. “You haven’t said enough at the meeting? I already told you. I quit. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I need you,” Feng Xin says bluntly, shocking Mu Qing into silence. “I need you with me on the task force.”

Mu Qing blinks, furrows his brow, then finds himself now being the one to say, “No, you don’t.”

Feng Xin stares at him balefully for a moment, before settling down beside Mu Qing’s desk and propping an elbow on it, like this is some communal battle tent instead of Mu Qing’s private (very private!) space.

“You don’t need me,” Mu Qing reiterates with annoyance. “You have deputies. Use them.”

Feng Xin’s gaze goes flinty. “Is that what you would do, where Crimson Rain is involved?”

“Then go recruit Pei Ming or Quan Yizhen,” Mu Qing fires back. “Whatever His Highness is getting up to with Crimson Rain, I want no part of it.”

“You know, despite what everyone thinks, we do work well together,” Feng Xin says. “When we want to, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mu Qing grits out. “I said no. I don’t serve His Highness anymore, and I certainly don’t serve you. So get out.”

Feng Xin looks taken aback for a brief moment, then leans forward with an upset expression. “Nobody said anything about serving. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Mu Qing laughs condescendingly. “What else would you call your incessant, dog-like trailing after His Highness?”

Feng Xin shoves back Mu Qing’s desk as he swiftly rises to his feet. “I call it caring. I care about what happens to him. Don’t you? After everything he’s done for you?”

Mu Qing feels a hot, prickly rage rising from the pit of his stomach. “I don’t owe him anything. I have paid my dues many times over. I’m done.”

“We cannot leave him alone, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin says, clenching his fists. “We are the only ones left who know him.”

“Do we really?” Mu Qing shoots back. “We don’t know what the hell he was up to all those centuries. We don’t know what the hell he’s doing with Crimson Rain. Can’t you see that we just don’t know him anymore?”

Feng Xin’s furrowed brow deepens. It’s not an unfamiliar sight. But this time, strangely, it makes him look older. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

“Of what?” Mu Qing says, but already he can feel the effect of Feng Xin’s words. He is tired. Tired of politics. Tired of fighting the same fights. Tired of holding onto his self-control like a lifeline. Tired of— fucking everything.

Feng Xin sighs. “I love Xie Lian.” At Mu Qing’s wide-eyed expression, he quickly adds, “Not like that! But— as a god, you think you have all the time in the world to find more people to love. And it’s just…not true. You try, but you end up losing them. Or worse—”

He stops abruptly, his mouth tightening in frustration, his gaze flitting around Mu Qing’s office.

Mu Qing has never seen him struggle so much to find the right words. It’s unsettling. He has no idea how to react to Feng Xin when he’s like this, so he remains uncharacteristically frozen and silent.

Eventually, Feng Xin regains his composure, and when he lifts his gaze, Mu Qing recognizes the same fire in his eyes as when he goes to battle.

“I don’t want to lose him again,” Feng Xin says, with an iron will behind his voice. “I won’t lose him again. And you’re the only one I trust to help me.”

Mu Qing feels like he’s caught in some sort of illusion. Or dreamscape. Or something that must explain why Feng Xin is saying this to him.

“I—” he starts, then realizes he has no idea what to say. And so he defaults back to closing his shell that Feng Xin seems so adamant on cracking open. “You have the wrong person.”

“No,” Feng Xin says, with such certainty that Mu Qing unconsciously takes a step back. “I meant it when I said I need you. It can only be you. Will you help me?”

Mu Qing stares at him. All his divine life, he’s done everything in his power to never feel helpless again, to never feel beholden again. But in just a few words, somehow, Feng Xin is forcing open the guarded door to his heart… and Mu Qing must be weak after all, because he finds himself helpless to say no.

+

Mu Qing prides himself on many things — his martial strength, his cultivation, his attentiveness to his followers, his organizational skills, even his penmanship.

But today, during the first official task force meeting, he’s rapidly learning that none of that matters when it comes to stopping his colleagues from inventing dumb fucking names for said task force.

“We don’t need a name. Not everything has to have a name,” he tries for the third time. (Gods, he’s so tired already.)

“Now, now, Xuan Zhen, you know very well that names can be a powerful thing,” Pei Ming says blithely. (Was Mu Qing really the one to suggest - however rashly - that Pei Ming should be recruited? Because that was obviously a mistake. A grave, huge-ass mistake.)

“Ming Guang,” Mu Qing says icily. “Stop being intentionally obtuse. This is a waste of time. We’re not drafting edicts or legislation. We’re not rallying support for some grand war. Nobody is even taking meeting minutes.”

Pei Ming leans his chin on his hand. “In the time it took for you to say that, we could’ve decided on a name already.”

Feng Xin levels a stony look at Pei Ming. “Be serious, Ming Guang. This spam problem concerns all of us, not just you.”

Xie Lian clears his throat. “While I agree with Mu Qing that we shouldn’t spend too much time on this, I do think having a name for the task force is necessary.” He sends a pleading look to Mu Qing. “For the meeting minutes, if nothing else.”

Pei Ming smiles like he’s in on a joke that nobody else is privy to. “Fine. Here’s my suggestion then: the Committee of Communally-Kept Security.”

Feng Xin squints at him. Xie Lian looks puzzled. Mu Qing feels his blood pressure rise astronomically.

“Get out, Ming Guang,” he hisses. “Leave. We’re not going to be members of COCKS.”

“Motherfu—” Feng Xin grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You know what?” Xie Lian says in a suspiciously bright tone. “Simple is best, isn’t it? Spam Task Force. That’ll be the name.”

Pei Ming continues like the arrogant fucker he is. “I’m also partial to the Department of Investigations Concerning Knavery.”

“Triple fuck you,” Feng Xin spits, clearly no longer concerned with cursing in front of His Highness.

“Or perhaps the Public Enablement—”

“Don’t even finish that!”

Needless to say, the very brief and hastily written meeting minutes that are later submitted to Ling Wen Palace bear in bold, angry characters at the top: Spam Task Force.

(‘Wow,’ Ling Wen thinks, completely underwhelmed. ‘It’s like they didn’t even try.’)

Chapter Text

In Mu Qing’s educated (and therefore correct) opinion, the good thing about having martial gods investigate a case is that they’re used to operating with unknown factors, and quickly adjusting their plans as they go along.

But, in Mu Qing’s reluctant (though still correct) opinion, the bad thing about having martial gods investigate a case is that they lack the infinite, bureaucratic patience of the paper-pushing civil gods. And therefore tend to steer things in the direction of a physical fight, hoping that the whole case can be resolved with a singular (ideally magnificent) battle.

Even when they have no fucking clue who the enemy is.

Exhibit A: Pei Ming repeatedly insisting to a cagey store owner in Ghost City that he should enter into an arm-wrestling competition with him, in which - if Pei Ming wins - the owner needs to hand over his account books. (“And what if I win?” the owner sneers, to which Pei Ming replies smugly, “Then I don’t raze your store to the ground.”)

It’s a very unassuming store. Mu Qing has no idea why Crimson Rain (who only bothers to provide updates to Xie Lian, and not the rest of them) thinks it might have anything to do with spam.

Xie Lian, for some reason, is preoccupied with admiring the store’s wares (instead of trying to discourage Pei Ming from causing a scene). But perhaps that’s because - deep down - they all secretly want to see who wins.

“These are quite nice. Very colorful,” Xie Lian says, peering closer at the merchandise.

“What’s colorful?” Feng Xin says, turning to face them after checking outside the doorway for any potential customers who could interrupt their investigation.

“These shells,” Mu Qing says flatly, gesturing around him. “Which are apparently the only thing this store sells.”

“What? Shells?” Feng Xin repeats, like a dumbass. “Why would anyone buy shells?”

Mu Qing lifts a hand sarcastically in the direction of a prominent poster on the wall, titled: ‘Ten Reasons Why Shells Make Great Gifts.’

“Oh,” Feng Xin says, squinting at it. “I’ve never heard of a shell company. But I suppose there’s a first for everything.”

He begins picking up random shells on display and looking underneath them, as if they might be hiding important clues.

Mu Qing feels like he’s the only one on the team who thinks that maybe - just maybe - Crimson Rain is fucking with them, for calamitous shits and calamitous giggles.

“Your Highness,” he grits politely through his teeth, “is there a possibility that this supposed lead is a deflection from any actual information that would lead us to the culprit?”

“Mmm,” Xie Lian says, pondering for all of two seconds. “Nope. San Lang is very good at knowing things. I trust him on this.”

Mu Qing is pretty sure that if this continues, he himself is soon going to become Exhibit B.

A sudden, loud crack startles them, and they whip around to see the sales counter splitting in half and crashing to the floor. They then look up to see Pei Ming and the shop owner still locked in their arm-wrestling duel, which is kind of amazing given that Pei Ming does possess considerable strength. (Mu Qing tries not to let his glee show too much. Honestly, if the shop owner wasn’t a suspect, Mu Qing would pay him just to keep putting that constipated look on Pei Ming’s face.)

“Hang on, what is that?” Xie Lian says, his sharp eyes spotting a mysterious locked box lying beneath the remains of the shop counter.

He makes his way towards it - gracefully dodging Pei Ming and the shop owner - and reaches out to grab it, except a burst of angry red sparks causes him to draw his hand back.

“Ohoho,” Pei Ming says with a glint in his eye to the shop owner. “Why don’t you tell us what sort of secrets you’re hiding, eh?”

“None of your fucking business,” the shop owner spits out, sweat streaming down his face.

“Good sir,” Xie Lian says, as if he’s sharing tea with the shop owner, instead of staring at the bulging veins in his neck. “We sincerely wish to avoid disrupting your business. However, we are tasked with investigating a grave and serious matter—” (Mu Qing suppresses a snort.) “And your cooperation would be most appreciated.”

“I think you better fucking pay for a new counter,” the shop owner growls as he brings up his other hand to pull Pei Ming’s arm down once and for all. (“The fuck?! That’s cheating!” Pei Ming screeches. “You never said it was one arm only, pretty boy,” the shop owner gloats. Pei Ming’s jaw drops at the blatant loophole, but his face reddens a bit at the compliment of his good looks.)

Xie Lian smiles a bit nervously, as he pulls out a scroll from nowhere. “If you fill out this Property Damage Compensation form, I’m sure we can get you settled with a nice new counter in no time.”

“Look, Master of Shells or whatever,” Mu Qing says, crossing his arms. “You live here, so you answer to City Master Hua, don’t you? Well, we’re conducting this investigation with his assistance, so I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that you did everything in your power to help us.”

The shop owner narrows his eyes. “I’m just a simple shopkeeper. I’m sure City Master Hua has more important things to do than look at my inventory list of shells.”

“Where do your shells come from, anyway?” Feng Xin says with a suspicious expression.

“The ocean, you idiot!” Mu Qing hisses into Feng Xin’s private array.

“I fucking know that!” Feng Xin retorts. “But maybe he mentioned the inventory list for a reason.”

“Well,” the shop owner says slowly, like they’re all children, “they come from a large body of salt water, and sometimes the tides—”

“Wait.” Mu Qing casts a side-glance at Feng Xin. “Do you think Black Water is involved?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Feng Xin frowns. “But running a spam enterprise and committing financial crimes doesn’t really sound like him. I mean… what would he need merits for? Doesn’t he just live on an island in the middle of nowhere?”

“Why does a Calamity do anything at all?” Mu Qing huffs. “There’s no point in speculating. Just grab the box and let’s go.”

“Ah yes, the box covered in red sparks, designed specifically to deter people from picking it up,” Feng Xin snarks. “Let me just get right on that.”

By the time they refocus their attention, Xie Lian already has the box in hand, neatly wrapped up using Ruoye.

“I promise, we’ll just borrow this for the investigation, and return it straight away,” Xie Lian says politely to the shop owner.

The shop owner clenches his teeth, but says nothing to stop him, as he nervously eyes a silver butterfly flapping its wings menacingly (somehow) behind Xie Lian’s shoulder.

“And when we come back,” Pei Ming adds with a sniff, “we’re going to have a rematch. A one-armed rematch!”

The shop owner watches balefully as they leave, then heads into the back of the shop to make a call.

“Yeah, it’s me. We have a problem. A big one.”

+

It’s hard to decipher Ling Wen’s stony expression, but Mu Qing thinks he sees a very slight hint of surprise in the corners of her eyes.

“Well, Spam Task Force members,” Ling Wen addresses them from behind her desk, “after the Evidence Department has thoroughly looked through its contents, I can say that the box you brought here did provide some significant clues. We are indeed making progress.”

It’s probably the highest compliment she’s ever given in the history of Heaven. (Too bad nobody else is around to hear it.)

“That is wonderful news,” Xie Lian says brightly. “What kind of clues were inside?”

“Fake invoices and transactions, all stemming from an offshore account in Ghost City,” Ling Wen replies. “However, the shop owner - including any aliases we could dig up - is not the account holder, so we are unable to charge him with any crimes. At least for now.”

“But he literally had the box in his shop,” Feng Xin says with a deep frown. “Couldn’t he be charged with being complicit?”

“Plausible deniability,” Ling Wen sighs. “One could argue that another person could’ve hidden the box in his shop without his knowledge or consent.”

“Come on, Noble Jie, of course he’s involved!” Pei Ming says, rolling his eyes. “If he’s the type to take advantage of an arm-wrestling loophole, then for sure he’s the type to—”

“What arm-wrestling?” Ling Wen interrupts, in a tone that strongly suggests that they do not go into any further details.

“Uh,” Pei Ming says intelligently. “Never mind. It’s nothing of importance.”

“You were saying?” Mu Qing says, gesturing elegantly for Ling Wen to continue.

“Yes,” Ling Wen says. “Anyway, we found inbound transactions that matched outgoing merit activity from some of the victims’ bank account statements. The dates, times, and merit amounts all line up, so I believe we are heading in the right direction. However, most of those merits flow back out of the offshore account to other untraceable accounts. That’s where we’ll need you to continue investigating.”

“So…” Xie Lian says contemplatively. “The account holder may not be the intended recipient of the merits? They could be falsifying all these documents to secretly spread and move the merits around, on behalf of the real culprit?”

“Yes,” Ling Wen replies. “Washing the merits, if you will.”

“Wash?” Feng Xin says. “Like laundry or something?”

“I see what you mean,” Pei Ming says, nodding towards Ling Wen. “Money laundering.”

“None of you know anything about laundry,” Mu Qing mutters under his breath.

“Okay, okay,” Feng Xin says, taking a deep breath. “So, let me get this straight. Gods who are conned by these spam messages send merits out of their bank accounts. Those merits are received by this….shell company or whoever holds the offshore account. Then the merits are….washed, laundered, whatever….and distributed to the real perpetrator.”

“That’s the working theory at the moment,” Ling Wen says.

“Great job, team,” Xie Lian says in an upbeat and optimistic tone. He gives them a little “yay” with two thumbs up, as if he hadn’t single-handedly (or dual-handedly, if you count Crimson Rain) made this progress happen.

Mu Qing feels zero joy. “What if it’s just infinite levels of untraceable accounts?” he says moodily.

Pei Ming stretches his arms. “Well, we do live forever, don’t we? It’s gotta end somewhere.”

The corner of Mu Qing’s mouth twitches. “Maybe it’ll end with my fist in your balls,” he says flatly.

“Now, now—” Xie Lian starts.

“Oh, but I thought your cultivation path doesn’t allow for such enjoyable activities,” Pei Ming says with a smirk.

“Hey,” Feng Xin snaps. “Don’t insult his cultivation. At least he has the willpower not to screw every damn woman in his path.”

“You really want to go there, Ju Yang?” Pei Ming grins meanly. “I can play this game all day.”

Mu Qing’s hackles rise. “Does everything have to be so damn perverted with you, Ming Guang? I swear—”

Ling Wen, who is already late for her next meeting, simply sighs and presses a golden button on her desk.

The roof opens to the sky, and all four martial gods are immediately ejected through it.

She watches as their screams rapidly fade away into the distance.

“Hm,” she says with satisfaction. “Good to know it works.”

Chapter Text

As with every god upon ascension, Mu Qing has ceased praying for quite a number of centuries now (on account of having a whole host of deputies to fulfill his every request).

However, in the past week alone, he has prayed many times for some sort of major event to befall the Southwest so that he has a legitimate excuse to quit the task force.

It’s not like he wants a natural disaster or anything that might actually kill his followers. But he thinks maybe a light plague and a bit of pestilence might do? Something that would prompt him to announce at the next Upper Court meeting that oh no, he has to deal with an emergency epidemic in his territory, his followers are really counting on him (look at all these incoming prayers), regrets all around but he must resign from the task force to deal with it.

But of course, nothing happens. The Southwest has never been more peaceful.

“Why can’t anything go my way?” Mu Qing complains as he buries his face in his sleeves.

He turns his head to blow his bangs out of his face, and props his cheek on his hand as his gaze falls on a little bronze replica of his Zhanmadao sitting on the corner of his desk.

It had been a gift from Feng Xin on his seven-hundredth birthday. Which was a complete shock, because they don’t do gifts. Never have. So naturally, Mu Qing thought this was just one more way Feng Xin was trying to upstage him, and the second Feng Xin’s seven-hundred-and-first birthday rolled around the following year, Mu Qing dropped a giant bronze replica of Fengshen into the middle of Nan Yang Palace’s gardens. (Literally. And as Feng Xin didn’t bother to move it, his beleaguered deputies just patted some dirt around the base, planted a few flower seeds, and called it a day.)

Despite waiting a full ninety-nine years for retribution to hit, Mu Qing watched his eight-hundredth birthday come and go with no fanfare and no surprise gift. He had told himself back then that that was exactly what he wanted.

But now - while he’s feeling oddly sentimental in the privacy of his office - he wonders what his life would’ve looked like if Feng Xin had never existed.

It would’ve been less noisy and less tumultuous, that’s for sure. But also less— exciting.

If he’s being brutally honest with himself, he’s not even sure he would’ve ascended as a martial god without him. While Xie Lian had done his best to protect Mu Qing after promoting him to personal attendant, he was often pulled away by princely duties, and - out of Xie Lian’s sight - nobody offered to train or practice martial techniques with him. Nobody except Feng Xin.

Mu Qing knew it was out of loyalty to Xie Lian and an ingrained habit to follow the prince’s every order, but he was still reluctantly grateful for every crumb of opportunity that was tossed his way.

Feng Xin could’ve chosen to teach him all the wrong methods. To overextend his knee when lunging forward. To use his shoulder instead of his waist when throwing a punch. To keep his back straight instead of slightly hunched to better defend an attack.

But he didn’t. And he had been right there next to Mu Qing, even through punishing drills like static wall-sitting for hours on end, their thighs screaming in protest.

Mu Qing emits a short laugh, despite himself. Civil gods all think their martial colleagues are a cocky and self-absorbed bunch, but what they don’t know is how much brutal fucking work went into honing their own bodies and abilities just for the mere hope of ascension.

So yes, if Mu Qing is arrogant about his martial skills, it’s because he damn well deserves to be.

His smirk fades as he thinks about how much of that he owes to Feng Xin.

Maybe he should stay on the task force after all, and consider the debt repaid once the case is solved. (Not that he would ever breathe a word of this to his rival. But Mu Qing considers himself an honorable man, even if no-one is there to see it. And he especially hates owing anyone anything.)

“I guess that’s that, then,” Mu Qing sighs, straightening his back. “He’d better fucking appreciate my continued participation.”

+

As it turns out, his continued participation leads all the way to Black Water’s domain.

“Wonderful,” Mu Qing deadpans under his breath. “We’re on a ship with one Calamity, off to interrogate another Calamity. This is exactly what I signed up for.”

“This is what we signed up for,” Feng Xin mutters back.

“Speak for yourself, asshole,” Mu Qing sniffs, out of Xie Lian’s hearing range. “You may not possess any sense of self-preservation, but I do.”

They both turn around, distracted, as Pei Ming stomps up to them.

“Have you seen this ship?” He gestures around him, offended. “It’s ridiculous. If you combine a luxury cruise with a gold mine, you still wouldn’t get a ship as ostentatious as this one. We look so stupid. What, is Crimson Rain’s battle ship undergoing repair? Is someone else using it? Are there any naval wars going on that we’re not aware of?”

Mu Qing grimaces. “Why bother asking questions only Crimson Rain can answer?”

They all turn to look at the ghost king, only to find him bringing out a silver tray laden with expensive-looking food, and setting it directly in front of Xie Lian.

“Oh this is much too kind,” they hear Xie Lian say. “I can’t possibly accept this, after you so generously lent us your ship.”

“Just one bite, Your Highness?” Crimson Rain cajoles. “For this lowly one’s sake?”

“Oh all right,” Xie Lian concedes with a soft smile, and takes a bite of fruit from Crimson Rain’s hand.

The rest of the team stares at them.

“I may be the god of love,” Pei Ming says with a raised eyebrow, “but this is…” His voice trails off.

“Gross?” Mu Qing offers.

Feng Xin grunts in affirmation, blinking rapidly as he tries to look at anywhere except Xie Lian.

“It’s something, that’s for sure,” Pei Ming says, clearing his throat. “Anyway, so we should go over the plan of what to do once we get to Black Water’s island.”

“There’s really not much to it,” Mu Qing says, crossing his arms. “First, we hope Black Water is on good enough terms with Crimson Rain not to sink us right away. Next, we ask him what he knows about the shell guy. One of his fish spies could’ve seen him and anybody else he may have been with.”

“Yeah, but witness testimony of a guy collecting shells doesn’t mean anything,” Pei Ming says. “We have to get into his lair. If there’s any evidence that Black Water is involved or at least knows something about it, it’s going to be hidden there.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Feng Xin says, shaking his head. “There’s no way Black Water is going to think this is a friendly visit. He’s going to have his guard up from the get-go.”

Pei Ming slants a look at Crimson Rain. “His Highness is going to have to do it. If things go wrong, at least Crimson Rain will defend him. He’s not going to lift a finger for any of us.”

“Hey,” Feng Xin snaps. “Don’t go risking His Highness’s life like that, all reckless and shit.”

Pei Ming raises an eyebrow. “But isn’t he already doing that on his own?”

They abruptly pause their discussion, watching warily as Crimson Rain casually strolls towards them, silver tray in hand.

“His Highness was wondering if you’d like to partake,” he says smoothly, with a glint in his eye.

None of them move to take anything.

“Not that I give a shit about any of you, seeing as you are all useless,” Crimson Rain continues, tilting his head. “But His Highness seems to think otherwise. And that is why your existence continues. So, one last time—” He leans forward menacingly. “Would you like to partake?”

Over Crimson Rain’s shoulder, they see Xie Lian giving them a fond smile and a thumbs-up, like he’s a parent watching his toddlers make friends for the first time.

They start stiffly reaching over, only for an errant wave to rock the ship, giving Crimson Rain the opportunity to ‘slip’ and ‘accidentally’ let the silver tray go overboard into the sea.

“Whoops,” he says with zero remorse, long hair whipping behind him as he heads straight back to Xie Lian’s side.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” they hear him say in a honey-sweet tone. “These waters can be quite turbulent. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable below deck. There’s a lounge area where you can rest…”

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Mu Qing huffs, shuddering exactly once before he makes his way toward the bow of the ship.

Feng Xin - it seems - concurs, as he quickly follows.

Mu Qing watches from the corner of his eye as Feng Xin grips the guardrail, hard enough to cause it to bend. His brow is deeply furrowed, and his gaze is stormy.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Mu Qing says bluntly.

“For now,” Feng Xin says, his jaw clenched.

“Face it,” Mu Qing sighs. “If Black Water decides to attack full force, we need Crimson Rain. Without him, there’s a very real chance His Highness may not make it back alive.”

“I won’t let him die,” Feng Xin says, as if sheer willpower is all it would take to survive a Calamity.

“None of us want him to die,” Mu Qing snarls. “But be real, Feng Xin. If you want to keep looking after him, you also have to stay alive. Gods, it’s like talking to a sentient rock.”

Feng Xin turns to look at him, but to Mu Qing’s surprise, there’s no anger or irritation in his eyes.

Instead, he looks… amused?

“You’re right,” he says eventually, then chuckles to himself as he goes to wander the deck.

Mu Qing’s mouth falls open as he stares after him, his mind unable to comprehend what Feng Xin just said.

Out of nowhere, Pei Ming pops into his range of view. “Well, that’s an interesting look on your face,” he says like the smarmy bastard he is.

“Shut up,” Mu Qing hisses. “I just had a very vivid hallucination is all.”

“Oh, thank heavens, you brought drugs,” Pei Ming says with relief. “Please share. I need the strongest one you’ve got.”

Chapter Text

Much to everyone’s surprise (except probably Crimson Rain), Black Water miraculously allows their ship to pass through the spiritual barrier surrounding his domain.

Mu Qing leans over the side of the ship and stares down into the water, where a long row of skeletal ghost fish with blinking bioluminescent lights acts as a runway, guiding the ship towards the hidden island.

Beside him, Feng Xin wrinkles his nose. “Creepy,” he mutters. “I wonder if those fish are, like, his deputies?”

“Huh,” Mu Qing replies in a thoughtful tone. “Deputies that are never late and don’t talk back. Now there’s an idea.”

Feng Xin gives him a perturbed look.

“I’m joking, obviously,” Mu Qing sighs, rolling his eyes. (Though in the back of his mind, he tries to estimate how much it would cost to completely retrofit his palace with a waterway system. He reluctantly concludes that while he may be rich, he’s not that rich.)

Feng Xin squints even harder.

“What?” Mu Qing snaps defensively. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not actually going to fire my deputies and replace them with undead aquatic vertebrates.”

“If you say so….” Feng Xin says slowly, clearly not putting it past him.

Mu Qing immediately starts compiling a mental list of the many, many examples of Feng Xin’s own questionable management decisions. But Xie Lian sidles up to them and derails that train of thought.

“I really hope this leads to a breakthrough,” he says with a sigh, absently running a hand over Ruoye. “We can’t keep relying on San Lang’s generosity forever.”

Mu Qing and Feng Xin exchange glances.

“Your Highness,” Feng Xin says with a pinched expression. “What exactly did he say about why we need to speak with Black Water?”

Xie Lian blinks at him. “Oh, well, all he said was that—”

“Gege,” Crimson Rain says, gently placing a hand on Xie Lian’s shoulder while narrowing his eyes at Feng Xin. “We’re almost there. I’ll need your help to make a formal introduction of your task force to He Xuan. Then I can take it from there.”

“Of course,” Xie Lian says, smiling up at him before turning back towards Mu Qing and Feng Xin. “Please don’t look so worried. Just follow our lead. Everything will be fine.”

Xie Lian and Crimson Rain glide off together.

“Is he planning to befriend all the Calamities or what?” Mu Qing scoffs.

Feng Xin frowns. “There aren’t that many of them. And besides, Green Lantern is technically his cousin, so…”

“Ugh, that little shithead,” Mu Qing groans. “It wasn’t bad enough that he made our lives miserable in Xianle. He then had the fucking audacity to turn into a Calamity so he can make our lives miserable indefinitely.”

He makes a face at Feng Xin, only to receive a warm laugh in response.

“What are you laughing at?” Mu Qing scowls, hackles rising.

Feng Xin puts up his hands, his shoulders still shaking with amusement. “No, sorry, it’s just—” He takes a deep breath. “You never used to swear. But now you do it all the time. I’m probably to blame, but I like it. It makes you more… I don’t know, approachable?”

“I— That’s—” Mu Qing stutters, before composing himself and punching Feng Xin in the chest. “It is your fault. Take responsibility!”

Feng Xin stumbles back then dusts off his uniform, still smiling. “I do take responsibility. It’s a bad habit, I know.”

Mu Qing is completely dumbfounded, what with Feng Xin’s recent decision to change his entire personality. What gives? What is he up to?

He opens his mouth to ask where the hell the real Feng Xin is, except the anchor has dropped and Pei Ming whistles for them to clamber down into the rowboat.

Mu Qing narrows his eyes at Feng Xin and makes an I’m watching you motion, before he turns with a ‘hmph’ to follow Pei Ming.

+

Black Water Sinking Ships, as it turns out, looks exactly how Mu Qing thought he would.

Pale, dour, tall, and clad in black. Aside from that, he looks like he’s never smiled a day in his life. (Or unlife? Mu Qing’s not entirely sure how the whole ghost thing works.)

Well, there’s probably not much to smile about when living in such a gloomy place. Mu Qing prefers dark colors, sure, but Black Water seems to reject having any color in his domain except black and gray.

Crimson Rain, on the other hand, cuts a bold figure in red and waves casually at Black Water.

Oh gods, are they friends? Mu Qing tenses up as he realizes he’s always assumed Calamities work alone, but fuck, if they actually ever decide to work together—

“Hua Cheng,” Black Water greets him sullenly, keeping his arms crossed. “You’d better have a damn good reason for bringing Heavenly officials here.”

“He Xuan,” Crimson Rain says, showing his teeth. “Have I ever let you down?”

Black Water’s gaze sweeps over them, eventually landing on Xie Lian. “Interesting choice in officials.”

Crimson Rain’s voice slices through the air as swiftly as E-Ming, and both their eyes fixate dangerously on Black Water. “Choice is an interesting notion, don’t you think?”

Black Water clenches his jaw but says nothing.

Xie Lian steps forward. “Lord of the South Sea and Nether Water Manor,” he says, addressing Black Water formally. “It is true that we are Heavenly officials, representing the will of Heaven and tasked to carry out an investigation that has led us here. The investigation concerns an ongoing problem that we are dealing with in our realm. And we are hoping that you are open to sharing any relevant insight or information.”

Black Water looks at Crimson Rain, who merely raises an eyebrow, then heaves a watery sigh before turning to lead them through the dark forest surrounding his manor.

+

Mu Qing stares in utter surprise the second Nether Water Manor comes into view.

To be honest, he was sort of expecting a damp algae-infested cave, or a glorified shack made of driftwood.

But the manor is actually a sophisticated structure that wouldn’t look out of place among the palaces in Heaven. Except for the fact that it’s made entirely of black volcanic rock and that it takes - in Mu Qing’s stylistic opinion - the aquatic theme a tad too far.

Ghost shark sentries languidly circle the exterior of the manor, while floating jellyfish lamps hover above them, illuminating their surroundings. (Mu Qing subtly scooches away whenever their tentacles get too close.)

Tapestries made of kelp and marine gemstones line the walls, and the floor is made entirely of iridescent mother-of-pearl.

Of course, Black Water’s massive chair in the main hall is made of bleached whale bones.

“So tell me why I should care about your problem,” he says bluntly after he settles into it.

Xie Lian recounts the entire spam fiasco, and finishes it off by saying, “And so, to preserve the balance between all three realms, this financial malfeasance must be stopped.”

Black Water stifles a yawn and glances dismissively at one of his pet fish who has intrepidly flopped up from one of the many waterways flowing through the manor and is presently nosing at Pei Ming’s boot with immense curiosity.

(If Mu Qing wasn’t so internally freaked out over his spiritual powers being blocked in Black Water’s domain, he’d find Pei Ming’s very valiant attempt to ignore the fish’s existence absolutely hilarious.)

Crimson Rain smirks at Black Water and adds, “Let me put it this way, He Xuan. The merits earned from the efforts of the hard-working commoners are being stolen and diverted. Surely such theft cannot continue. Justice must prevail, wouldn’t you agree?”

Black Water’s expression flattens even more, if that’s possible. “Really, Hua Cheng? So this is a matter of justice?”

“Precisely,” Crimson Rain says with aplomb.

Mu Qing furtively looks at Feng Xin and Pei Ming, just to check that he hasn’t gone crazy and isn’t the only one hearing two Calamities talk about justice.

Except Feng Xin is too busy staring at a tiny ghost crab that is seemingly inspecting Fengshen, while Pei Ming is exhibiting increasing confusion over why more and more pet fish are surrounding him like he’s some sort of fish whisperer.

What is happening right now? Mu Qing thinks with slight hysteria.

Meanwhile, Black Water looks at Crimson Rain with no small amount of consternation. “And if I did have information that would help ‘justice prevail,’ as you say, what would that be worth?”

Xie Lian pales a bit and sneaks a quick look at the task force’s budget scroll. (It’s a very small budget on a very small scroll. Practically non-existent.)

But Crimson Rain smiles softly at Xie Lian, gently pushing the scroll down, and gestures casually in the direction of the shore.

“You can have my ship, if you want,” he proposes to Black Water, as easily as if he was offering a cup of tea.

“And why would I want that?” Black Water huffs. “It may have slipped your mind, but my name pretty much explains that ships aren’t safe around me—”

“It has a kitchen below deck.”

Black Water leans forward, his interest piqued. “A full-size kitchen?”

“Mmhmm. Fully-stocked pantry, too.”

Pei Ming raises a hand to interrupt. “Not that I’m saying we don’t want the information, but - uh - the ship is how we got here, and presumably it’s also how we get back—”

Without turning around, Crimson Rain snaps his fingers and a bag of fish flakes materializes in Pei Ming’s hands. “They want treats, Ming Guang. It’s best you feed them before they devour you.”

“Devour—?” is all Pei Ming manages to say before all the fish start flopping around excitedly, some leaping straight into Pei Ming’s arms, causing him to yell and flail.

Mu Qing thinks briefly about helping him, but ultimately decides that he doesn’t know enough about feral fish to safely assist. He glances over at Feng Xin, who seems to have come to a similar conclusion.

“Anyway,” Crimson Rain continues, “so how about it?”

After a long moment, Black Water eventually acquiesces.

“Fine. You didn’t hear this from me—” Black Water pauses to eye the scroll that Xie Lian is scribbling meeting minutes on. (Xie Lian looks up abruptly, clearing his throat before slowly crossing out Black Water’s name.) “—but you’re going to want to investigate closer to home.”

The team balks for a brief moment, gathering into a huddle, then immediately starts whisper-shouting over each other.

“What does that mean? Like, the Middle Court or something?”

“No, I think he means that figuratively. Like, it must be someone that we all know. Right?”

“How close are we talking though? Because if it’s a past lover or something, I don’t think I can remain impartial—”

“Wow,” Black Water says with no change in facial expression. “You guys really don’t know anything that goes on in Heaven, do you?”

“Well, technically, I just got there not too long ago—” Xie Lian says, raising a hand demurely.

“Excuse you,” Pei Ming says, glaring at Black Water. “Do you know how much work is involved with having two full-time jobs? Three, if you count this task force. We are all extremely busy, unlike you just floating around this place by yourself—”

“Oh, I keep myself busy,” Black Water says, something sinister surfacing in his tone. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“So…” Mu Qing says carefully, trying to steer the conversation back to less turbulent (hah) waters. “Are you saying the shell guy is not involved?”

“I’m saying,” Black Water continues testily, “that he shouldn’t be the focus of your investigation. You’ve all been trying to chase offshore accounts when you should’ve been chasing people who have the know-how and the power to execute such a complex crime.”

Xie Lian stops scribbling and stares at him with an expression of dawning horror. “No.”

“No, what?” Feng Xin grits out.

“It can’t be,” Xie Lian gasps.

“If you’d like to enlighten us sometime this century, Your Highness…” Mu Qing says with extreme patience.

Xie Lian turns his wide eyes towards the rest of the team.

“The banks,” he says with a slight waver in his voice. “It’s the banks.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the team stares at Xie Lian in sheer disbelief.

“No way,” Pei Ming says, shaking his head emphatically. “Our banks are totally regulated. There’s a whole division of civil gods in charge of that. Like the god of lending limits, and the god of interest rates, and— um—” He thinks hard for a bit, then gestures animatedly at Mu Qing. “Help me out here.”

“The god of overdraft fees?” Mu Qing offers flatly.

Pei Ming makes a face. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I hate that guy. One time, I accidentally overdrafted by just one merit and was penalized with a fifteen-merit fee. Make it make sense—”

Feng Xin cuts him off to prevent another Pei Ming story hour, and crosses his arms. “I just don’t see why the banks would bother scamming us. Wouldn’t they just be stealing from themselves?”

Xie Lian furrows his brow and taps the bottom of his chin. “It might seem that way, but there’s no other institution in Heaven that has access to all our private array passwords. And we know that our merits aren’t insured, so the banks wouldn’t be expected to reimburse any stolen funds…”

Crimson Rain gazes at him with an absurd amount of pride, like Xie Lian has just discovered the solution to world peace.

Black Water, on the other hand, has had enough. “Yes, yes, your institutions are corrupt and unethical. How terrible. What a shock. Now that you got what you came for, you can all go now.”

While Mu Qing debates whether or not to thank Black Water (because on the one hand, he did save them time on this investigation… but on the other hand, Mu Qing really doesn’t want to set a precedent of thanking every Calamity he sees…), Pei Ming puts his hands on his hips and frowns at Crimson Rain.

“And how, pray tell, will we be getting back without a ship?”

Black Water looks up from studying his fingernails. “Oh, I don’t need the rowboat. You can keep that.”

Pei Ming draws himself up to his full height with a very offended look on his face. “I command the entire Northern territory, and am worshipped in all matters of the heart. I will not be crossing the whole damn sea in a flimsy rowboat!”

+

They end up crossing the whole damn sea in a flimsy rowboat.

(‘They’ being Pei Ming, Mu Qing, and Feng Xin, that is. Crimson Rain had smirked at them as he pulled a mildly-surprised Xie Lian into a portal he created out of nowhere, and then they vanished, leaving the rest of the team gaping in disbelief on the beach.)

Presently, it’s Pei Ming’s turn to row and it’s becoming abundantly clear that he does not possess the skillset required.

“No, fucking row with the wave, not against it!” Feng Xin yells at him.

“Do I look like an admiral to you?” Pei Ming seethes, yanking the oars back and forth haphazardly. “No, I’m a general! I bled and fought on dry fucking land—”

“Doesn’t your territory literally include the North Sea? Are you telling me that even as a mortal officer, you were never called upon to row a ship?”

“No! I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain the difference between army and navy to you?? Unless the South is so understaffed that—”

While their bickering continues, Mu Qing stares at the blisters on his own hands and mentally prepares for their impending watery demise. He wonders which gods exactly would be promoted in their place. Whoever succeeds him had better damn well appreciate his obsession with documentation—

“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin says urgently, shaking his shoulder. “You need to take over again. I don’t trust Ming Guang’s rowing skills for shit—”

“No,” Mu Qing says in a surly tone. “I’m going to face death alone and dignified, and definitely not while ferrying around you two dumbasses.”

“What are you talking about?” Pei Ming huffs, as if the rowboat isn’t teetering dangerously from side to side. “I mean, it’d be very inconvenient if we capsized, but we’re not going to drown. None of us need air. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, none of us breathe water either,” Mu Qing snipes. “You ever think about that, Ming Guang? Huh?”

Feng Xin now grips Mu Qing by both shoulders, his eyebrows drawing together in determination. “You won’t die. I won’t allow it.”

Mu Qing tenses with how close Feng Xin is to his face, and feels the beginnings of a flush rising up his neck. He scoffs and bats away Feng Xin’s hands. “You won’t allow it? Like I need your permission to die? I can die whenever I want! You have no say whatsoever—”

Feng Xin reaches out again to grasp Mu Qing’s hands, and the sincerity in his expression causes Mu Qing to freeze. “I won’t rule the South without you.”

Mu Qing is rapidly discovering that he can’t handle it when Feng Xin is like this. This is just too out of step for them. Too many emotions that he thought he’d buried deep enough to the point of forgetting—

“Stop it,” he commands, pulling his hands away without looking at Feng Xin. “Stop saying things like that. I won’t hear it.”

He looks up when he notices belatedly that the rowboat has stopped moving.

Instead of trying to propel them to land, Pei Ming has evidently decided to release the oars entirely and is staring curiously at the two of them, elbows propped on his knees.

Feng Xin whips around, his eyes widening like he forgot for a moment that Pei Ming exists. He clenches his fists and blusters, “Why’d you stop?!”

“Oh, well, this—” Pei Ming drawls, gesturing back and forth between them, “—is way more interesting than rowing. This is under my jurisdiction, you know. All you need to do is ask. Or pray. I wouldn’t be opposed to some nice offerings to speed up the processing time—”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing start shouting him down simultaneously.

“Nobody asked you!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s like you never know when to shut up—”

“No wonder everyone calls you a Tumor—”

Pei Ming rolls his eyes and scowls. “Calm down, children. By all means, if you both want to remain dense and bull-headed, that’s no skin off my back—”

But a sudden, abnormal wave interrupts them, rushing towards the side of their boat, and Mu Qing’s hand immediately flies to the hilt of his Zhanmadao, while Feng Xin rapidly nocks an arrow and aims it at whatever is coming at them.

Weirdly enough, Pei Ming seems completely unbothered, lifting his hand to give a lazy wave.

“Hey,” he says with relief. “About time, brother.”

The abnormal wave instantly swirls upward into a massive column, its vortex spinning like a tornado until it parts in half to reveal Water Master Shi Wudu.

Shi Wudu dramatically opens his fan and smirks at them over it. “Brother Pei,” he greets. “I have to say, this is a very amusing sight.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Pei Ming pouts. “Can you take us to shore now? Please?”

Shi Wudu casually waves his fan back and forth, like he’s enjoying a lovely spring day in a beautiful garden. “Well, you know… by the laws of Heaven, I shouldn’t interfere in other gods’ affairs. You understand, right?”

Pei Ming decides he is not above whining to get the fuck out of the South Sea. “Brother Shi, I beg you. Please, please, please interfere. I’ll deal with the paperwork, I promise. Look at my blisters. Look at them!”

Shi Wudu remains completely unmoved. “What if this is your next heavenly calamity? I can’t very well complete your challenge for you. It’d be utterly unfair to…” He frowns as he stares at Mu Qing and Feng Xin, clearly going through his mental rolodex. “Who are you two again?”

Mu Qing grits his teeth. “If anything, Water Master, this is my heavenly calamity. Have you ever been trapped for days in isolation with Ming Guang? Because I have. And at this point, I’d rather eat glass—”

Feng Xin slaps a hand over Mu Qing’s mouth, ignoring his indignant flailing. “Water Master Shi, we are friends of your younger brother, Wind Master Shi Qingxuan. You may recall that we go on missions with him from time to time…”

“Oh yes,” Shi Wudu says with a raised eyebrow. “So it is. Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Brother Shi, come on,” Pei Ming says, sounding very close to throwing a tantrum. “I’m exhausted. I’m drenched. And I smell like a seafood tower. If this is my next heavenly calamity, I don’t want it. I don’t need more power. I’m fine where I’m at. Climbing the corporate ladder is just not my thing—”

“All right, all right,” Shi Wudu sighs, making circular motions with his fan. The water around the rowboat coalesces into a single wave that pushes them quite rapidly towards land. “There. You can stop complaining now.”

Pei Ming staggers off the boat and immediately drops to his knees, planting his face right on the dirt. “Oh land, how I have missed you…” he says, voice muffled.

Mu Qing marches over to kick him in the ribs. “Hey, pervert, stop doing that to my land—”

“Many thanks, Water Master Shi. We are deeply grateful,” Feng Xin says, somehow the only one left with enough brain cells to properly acknowledge the favor another god bestowed upon them.

“Hm,” Shi Wudu says with a considering look. “Well, once you’re all cleaned up and situated, I do expect premium offerings to be sent from all three of you posthaste.” He closes his fan and taps it against his chest. “I can’t very well be seen not sinking a boat that didn’t pay the proper respects, you understand.”

Mu Qing pauses his fight with Pei Ming, belatedly remembering that Shi Wudu isn’t called the Water Tyrant for no reason.

“Water Master Shi,” he says with the best smile he can conjure up. “Your help will absolutely not be forgotten. Xuan Zhen Palace will have our most superior offerings ready on the morrow. I will deliver them myself.”

He ignores the weird look that Feng Xin is giving him. Shi Wudu looks mildly pleased, and that’s all Mu Qing cares about right now. He is not going to be in any kind of debt with the Water Tyrant, that’s for certain.

“Same here,” Feng Xin says through gritted teeth, looking all of a sudden less grateful than he was a minute ago.

Pei Ming yelps and presses a hand against his ear, wincing. “All right, guys. Time to ascend. Ling Wen just yelled at me, asking where the hell we were this whole time. I guess His Highness Xianle has just been hanging out in her office, fretting, and she definitely doesn’t appreciate that.”

They all shudder simultaneously and immediately ascend in a burst of spiritual power.

Shi Wudu blinks at the remnants of golden light dancing in the air before fading away. Then he promptly sits in the rowboat and takes himself out on a leisurely jaunt around the coast. No sense in wasting a perfectly nice day where he doesn’t have to be anywhere near Ling Wen’s wrath.

Chapter Text

“Let me get this straight,” Ling Wen says to them with the resigned, dead-eyed stare of a grizzled war veteran. “You’ve involved not one but two Calamities in this investigation. One of which has claimed our own banks are behind it all. And you came back in a rowboat with zero evidence to substantiate this.”

“Well,” Xie Lian ventures bravely, “as I shared in my meeting minutes, it’s a valid and logical hypothesis, which we brought to you because opening an internal investigation into the banks would fall under your purview—”

“The Calamities, Your Highness,” Ling Wen interrupts sternly. “You understand that their involvement undermines all the work we’ve accomplished thus far?”

“Really, though, Noble Jie,” Pei Ming says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Who else needs to know outside this room? I’m not saying that they’re our friends now or anything. But if they’re right about this…then think of all the time and resources we’ve saved.” He smiles brightly for good measure. “Efficiency is paramount, no?”

Mu Qing sits back in his seat, almost impressed at Pei Ming’s ability to speak the language of bureaucracy. (Almost.)

The corner of Ling Wen’s mouth twitches ever so slightly. “And I suppose the Calamities are just providing assistance out of the kindness of their hearts?”

“Well, technically, I don’t think they have hearts—” Pei Ming says with a shrug, while patently ignoring Xie Lian’s mildly-offended frown.

“It’s certainly not ideal,” Mu Qing says bluntly to Ling Wen. “But let’s just call it a mutual cooperation out of shared interests. I’m guessing the Calamities don’t want the banks to become too powerful and start encroaching on whatever underground businesses they’re running. If BoH and HSBC can launch an entire spam operation to steal merits, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

“Hm,” Ling Wen says, steepling her hands. “I’m not agreeing with you all just yet, but I will give it due consideration. In the meantime, do remember that everything we spoke of does not leave this office. You may go now.”

Mu Qing quickly leaves, eager to head back to his palace and finally enjoy the comforts of not being stuck in a rowboat.

“Hey, wait up.”

Upon hearing Feng Xin’s voice, Mu Qing throws a glare over his shoulder without breaking stride.

“No,” he says with a sniff. “Whatever it is can wait. I have urgent matters to attend to.”

“No, you don’t,” Feng Xin huffs behind him. “A bath is not that urgent.”

Mu Qing grits his teeth and whirls around. “If you need someone to listen to your inanity that badly, go find His Highness. I’m busy.”

But Feng Xin merely lifts an eyebrow. “You can either hear what I have to say in the privacy of your office now. Or hear it at the same time as everyone else tomorrow morning. Your choice.”

Mu Qing clenches his fists. Deep down, he knows Feng Xin is far from inane, but for him to wield his knowledge of Mu Qing’s penchant for knowing things before everyone else? What an underhanded tactic. How utterly detestable.

Mu Qing hates that it’s working.

He turns on his heel and continues marching onwards, which is as good an invitation as any.

Feng Xin suppresses a smile and follows ten paces behind without another word.

+

“Speak,” Mu Qing demands as soon as Feng Xin shuts his office door.

“You may want to sit down for this,” Feng Xin says, crossing his arms.

“I will not,” Mu Qing replies instantly. He’s tired, annoyed, and his skin feels tacky from being sprayed with salt water for days on end.

Feng Xin sighs, his expression turning sober. “If the banks are truly behind all the spam and actually scamming gods out of merits, then we have a much larger problem on our hands.” He pauses, casting his gaze around like he’s anticipating an ambush. Then he lifts a hand to cast a quick silencing spell.

“What—?” Mu Qing starts, incensed at the implication that the security of his own office is in doubt.

But Feng Xin steps closer, his voice dropping low. “It means that we can’t trust the administration here. That the authority of the Heavenly Realm is compromised.”

Mu Qing stares back at him, dread creeping up his spine. Intellectually, he knows that Feng Xin may be right. (On some level, the same suspicions had already begun sprouting in the back of his mind.) But in his heart, he doesn’t want to believe that everything he’s worked so hard for over the past eight-hundred-plus years was all for nothing. Even worse, all for a seemingly-venerable institution that’s actually rotten at the core.

He doesn’t want to believe that he would lose everything he has. Again.

Eventually, he replies scathingly, “Didn’t you hear Ling Wen? This is all under wraps for now. You shouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to announce tomorrow.” Feng Xin looks at him, exasperated yet unsurprised that Mu Qing would think he was that much of an idiot.

“Then what? Out with it.”

Something in Feng Xin’s eyes begins to burn like fire, banked but intense. “I’m going to formally propose the union of our territories. No more division between the Southeast and Southwest. We would jointly rule the South.”

For a brief blinding moment, Mu Qing thinks the absurd thought that he really should have sat down.

“Ridiculous,” Mu Qing tries to say with venom, but somehow it comes out subdued. “No one would believe you. We’ve been enemies for far too long.”

But with a sinking feeling, he knows the rationale behind Feng Xin’s proposal. If the worst comes to happen and the corruption in the Heavenly Realm is exposed, then it’s every god for himself. Chaos would reign. Power struggles would ignite. Even the Emperor wouldn’t be able to stop it.

To survive, they would need an unshakeable alliance. Feng Xin may grate on every last one of his nerves, but even Mu Qing can’t deny that he’s fierce and strong and loyal.

Everything anyone could want.

In an ally, that is.

Mu Qing turns his back towards Feng Xin to hide the rush of feelings that threaten to spill into his facial expression.

“It just won’t work,” he tries desperately, folding his arms to prevent his hands from shaking.

Feng Xin places a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, like he’s calming a spooked horse. “You still haven’t said no,” he says softly.

“Why are you doing this?” Mu Qing deflects, turning back around with an accusatory glare. “And I’m not talking about the proposal. You’re— you’re completely different now, and it’s just not who you are.” He steps back, and glimpses a flash of hurt in Feng Xin’s eyes. “I don’t recognize you.”

But Feng Xin has never backed down from any of Mu Qing’s attacks, verbal or otherwise.

“Maybe I don’t want to be enemies anymore,” he says, stepping closer.

“I know,” Mu Qing says testily. “I told you, I’m not talking about the proposal—”

“Neither am I,” Feng Xin says, slowly lifting a hand to brush aside Mu Qing’s bangs.

Mu Qing freezes and feels his heart stop.

What—?

No, it can’t be—

“Stop it,” he whispers, his mind flooding with every memory of Feng Xin’s sincerity and kindness towards him, no matter how hard he tries to block it. “This isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t meant to be,” Feng Xin says, lowering his hand and making a fist against his own chest. “I was telling the truth when I said I won’t rule the South without you. You must know what that means.”

Mu Qing feels cornered, trapped. His heart beats and rails against the walls he spent centuries building around it. To protect and shield the most fragile, unseen parts of himself.

The mere idea of those walls cracking and crumbling utterly terrifies him.

Even his near brushes with death have never struck in him such fear.

On the battlefield, he knows that he can trust Feng Xin with his life.

But can he trust him with his poor, battered heart? This thing inside him that has gone so long without light or care that it’s forgotten how to love?

“Why?” he whispers. “Why me?”

“There is no why.” Feng Xin smiles at him ruefully. “I just do.”

Chapter Text

The following morning, Mu Qing makes sure to arrive at the weekly Upper Court meeting looking exactly the same as he always does, down to the perpetually-displeased expression on his face.

Continuity is going to be important, especially in the wake of such a major announcement.

He and Feng Xin had wisely decided to give Ling Wen a heads-up through her communication array just as dawn broke, only to get an automated response saying, The office of Ling Wen appreciates your message, and will get back to you as soon as possible during business hours.

They had looked at each other in trepidation, debated whether or not to call her emergency line, and then eventually (hesitantly) decided that leaving a message was good enough for now.

(Later, they will find out it was not.)

When the meeting finally rolls around to the Southeast and Southwest agenda items, Feng Xin and Mu Qing stand up simultaneously (causing more than a few colleagues to instinctively gather up their folios and scrolls in case of yet another fight).

They make the announcement brief and concise, as previously agreed upon, and make it clear that any questions about it should be directed to their offices after the meeting.

But what Mu Qing and Feng Xin had temporarily forgotten - in what must have been an insane burst of optimism - was that following instructions and heeding common sense have never really been the forte of the gods.

The Upper Court erupts immediately.

”Holy shit, I never thought I’d live to see this.”

“I bet a thousand merits that this won’t even last the week.”

“Did they say ‘marital’ or ‘martial’? My hearing has gone a bit off since a firecracker exploded too close to my ear—”

“Technically, they said it’s a union of territories—”

“So… like a marriage?”

“I hope it’s not a destination wedding. I’ve already gone to way too many of those this century—”

“Wow, if anything, I would’ve thought they’d build a wall between their territories. Like, a great big one you can see from space.”

“I don’t think you can call it a marriage. There are two separate dictionary entries for ‘union’ and ‘marriage’—”

“Oh come on, I said like a marriage. It’s like you’re not really listening—”

“Since when are there co-rulers? Does this mean Pei Ming and Lang Qianqiu are going to be co-rulers too? Oof, that’s not going to be smooth sailing either, I’ll tell you that right now—”

“Where’s the god of maps? He’s going to have so much work to do—”

“Can you file a joint tax return in a union? Because if so, then the tax credits are obviously why they’re doing it—”

“I wish them luck on the logistics, honestly. Temple mergers and acquisitions are going to be such a headache—”

Mu Qing stares straight ahead, unable to look away from the rapidly unfolding disaster of a meeting. “I did not plan this well,” he says to himself in a blank tone. “Actually, I did not plan this at all.”

He turns slowly until the accusatory glint in his eye catches Feng Xin’s attention.

“What now, General Nan Yang?” he says through gritted teeth, mentally patting himself on the back for not completely losing his shit.

Feng Xin immediately surveys the meeting hall like it’s a battlefield, narrowing his eyes when his gaze lands on the ceiling.

“So,” Mu Qing says with a concerned frown, “what exactly are you—?”

But before he can even finish his sentence, Feng Xin draws Fengshen in a split second and releases a flaming spiritual arrow that punches straight through the vaulted ceiling. The ensuing booming and cracking sounds render total and immediate silence across the Upper Court.

Several pieces of marble break off and shatter onto the center of the floor.

The poor deputy tasked with taking meeting minutes has ceased writing entirely.

“Like we said,” Feng Xin says to his wide-eyed audience, as if continuing a casual conversation, “questions can be directed to our offices after the meeting.”

One brave god (probably the god of renovations, but Mu Qing isn’t a hundred-percent sure since his deputies always took care of whatever property damage he caused) raises a hand and points to the ceiling. “Ah, so… Nan Yang Palace is going to cover that, right?”

“This meeting is adjourned,” Feng Xin’s voice thunders out, as he strides out without a backward glance.

Mu Qing follows, ignoring the flurry of whispers behind him (“Since when can martial gods adjourn a meeting?” “They can’t. Totally against procedure. What a dick.” “He didn’t have to be that dramatic. Like, yeah, you have a giant bow. Big whoop.”).

He catches up to Feng Xin, who’s still sporting a furrowed brow.

“I’m not helping to pay for that, just so you know,” Mu Qing sniffs.

“I don’t expect you to,” Feng Xin replies tersely.

“And we may be uniting our territories, but we’re definitely not merging our accounts. My palace uses a very specific documentation system, not to mention the billing codes—”

He nearly runs into Feng Xin, who has stopped abruptly and turned around.

“You want this, right?” Feng Xin says with a serious expression. (But there’s something underneath it, something fraught.)

Mu Qing crosses his arms and reminds himself that there’s a larger purpose to their alliance, that there are bigger things at play than just their age-old rivalry. “If I didn’t want it, it wouldn’t be happening.”

Feng Xin looks at him, searching. (But for what, Mu Qing has no clue.) Eventually, he nods and looks away. “There will be a lot of talk about us, after this.”

Mu Qing huffs. “Well, that’s not new. Nothing we can’t handle.” He lowers his voice. “Besides, it’s exactly the distraction we need. Now is the time to begin investigating the banks. Discreetly, that is.”

Feng Xin frowns. “Are you suggesting that we interfere with Ling Wen’s—”

“Assisting,” Mu Qing clarifies with a tilt of his chin. “Not interfering.”

“Assisting without her knowledge,” Feng Xin retorts. “We’ve already done our part—”

Mu Qing impatiently tugs Feng Xin closer, hissing, “You’re an idiot if you think Crimson Rain hasn’t already placed eyes and ears in both banks. I’m not going to just wait around for him to update us, if he deigns to update us at all. We have to know what he knows, for all of our sakes.” He glares at Feng Xin with a fiery gaze. “Isn’t that why we have our alliance? To survive if shit really goes down?”

“Among other reasons,” Feng Xin says, emitting a barely-audible chuckle under his breath. But before Mu Qing can even process it, Feng Xin gives him a firm pat on the shoulder and steps back. “All right, then. Tell me the plan.”

Mu Qing does, and when he returns to his palace, he thinks about how a younger Feng Xin would’ve railed against the mere idea of planting spies. He would’ve called it disgraceful, ignoble, underhanded. Everything he used to call Mu Qing.

But this time, Feng Xin didn’t even fight him. Quite the opposite, really. Maybe age has finally whittled down his rigid idealism into something resembling practicality. Maybe even despite the honor he wears like a shield, Feng Xin has realized that sometimes - to protect the people he cares about - he must step away from the sun and into the shadows.

Mu Qing wonders if this is what it feels like to finally have someone on his side.

+

Later, as Mu Qing and Feng Xin are making their way to the Department of Maps, Geography, and Navigation (mainly to appease the very panicked god who single-handedly runs it), they bump into Xie Lian.

“Sorry I missed this morning’s meeting!” Xie Lian says apologetically, waving. “I hope I didn’t miss anything important. Did I?”

They both blink at him, realizing instantly that they had - among all the hubbub - actually forgotten to tell him the news.

“Um—”

“Nothing much, Your Highness.”

“Just a small update.”

“A union of the South, or whatever.”

“Oh, and I think there’s been a tax code change, but only if you itemize your deductions— something like that—“

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Xie Lian says, nodding.

“It is, I suppose. Though I never itemize my deductions anyway—“

“I meant the union.” Xie Lian smiles, genuine and sincere. “I’m really happy for you both.”

Mu Qing truly had no preconceived notions about Xie Lian’s reaction, but it still takes him by surprise. A blush threatens to rise above his neckline, and he has to fight it down.

Feng Xin, on the other hand, stands a little bit straighter. “You honor us, Your Highness.”

“Indeed, Your Highness,” Mu Qing echoes.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” Xie Lian says, clapping his hands together. “I can’t imagine how busy you must be. I know the spam case takes precedence, but we must find time to celebrate afterward, yes?”

“I mean, we can just consider this right here a celebration—” Mu Qing says quickly, hoping to nip the idea of any sort of party in the bud. “I feel celebrated already. Don’t you?” He subtly kicks Feng Xin.

“Well, a small gathering wouldn’t hurt—”

“Oh gosh, I really am running late,” Xie Lian gasps, looking at the position of the sun. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

Mu Qing breathes a silent sigh of relief, as he and Feng Xin incline their heads respectfully.

“Oh, and San Lang sends his best wishes!” Xie Lian drops on them casually before rushing off to wherever.

Mu Qing stiffens. “Crimson Rain is sending what now?”

“Best wishes,” Feng Xin repeats ominously.

“Fuck.”