Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dust swirled around Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s boots as they traversed the desolate plains. Their mission, bestowed upon them by a slightly exasperated Xie Lian, was simple: retrieve a runaway spirit lamp with a penchant for setting small villages ablaze. Naturally, the journey was proving anything but simple. They each wanted to complete the mission on their own (to gain new followers to light them lanterns for the Battle of the Lanterns coming up, obviously), but unfortunately, their paths had to cross.

“Honestly, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing sighed, adjusting the meticulously arranged contents of his qiankun pouch, “must you be so loud? You’re scaring away all the non -flammable wildlife.”

Feng Xin snorted. “And you’re being so stuffy you’re probably attracting all the flammable ones. Relax a little, Mu Qing. We’re not in the Heavenly Capital anymore. No one’s here to judge your impeccable posture and silent-but-deadly glares.”

Mu Qing’s lips thinned, rolling his eyes. “My posture is exemplary, thank you very much. And my glares are perfectly justified when dealing with… certain individuals.” He pointedly looked away, the “certain individual” being Feng Xin.

They continued in a strained silence for a while, the only sound being the crunch of their boots on the dry earth. Then, Feng Xin tripped over a gnarled root, sprawling forward with a yell.

“Graceful as ever, Feng Xin,” Mu Qing drawled with sarcasm, not bothering to conceal the smirk playing on his lips. He offered a hand, but with a distinct lack of urgency.

Feng Xin grumbled, accepting the offered hand. “Shut it, Mu Qing. It's not my fault the earth decided to attack me.”

“Perhaps it sensed your… unique charm,” Mu Qing retorted, pulling Feng Xin up a little too hard, causing him to stumble again.

“Oh, real mature, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin snapped, dusting himself off. “You know, for someone who claims to be so above it all, you’re awfully petty.”

“And you’re awfully… present,” Mu Qing countered, his voice dangerously low.

The argument escalated, as it usually did with these two. They traded insults, each barb sharper than the last. Finally, Feng Xin, in a moment of inspired (or perhaps ill-advised) provocation, said, “You know, for someone so critical of everyone else, you’re surprisingly… uptight.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Something in Mu Qing’s expression shifted. His usual cool demeanor cracked, replaced by a flicker of… something. He grabbed Feng Xin’s collar, pulling him close. Feng Xin braced for a punch, but it never came.

Instead, Mu Qing stared at him. Really stared. His eyes roamed over Feng Xin’s face, lingering on his… well, his features. Feng Xin, despite his anger, found himself oddly captivated by the intensity of Mu Qing’s gaze. He could feel his own heart beating faster.

Mu Qing’s mind raced. He’d intended to deliver a scathing retort, maybe even a well-deserved punch. But… he found himself momentarily distracted. He’d never really… looked at Feng Xin like this before. The lines of his face, usually contorted in anger or exasperation, seemed… different. More… defined. Dare he admit it, even to himself? Attractive.

The thought hit Mu Qing like a physical blow. He flushed crimson, a furious embarrassment washing over him. He abruptly shoved Feng Xin back, his hand clenching into a fist. The punch, originally intended as a simple act of aggression, now carried the weight of his confused emotions.

Feng Xin, caught off guard by the sudden shift, staggered back, a hand going to his jaw. “What was that for?!”

“You… you… infuriating idiot!” Mu Qing sputtered, his face still burning. He threw another punch, this time aimed at Feng Xin’s shoulder.

Feng Xin, finally understanding that a physical altercation was unavoidable, retaliated. They exchanged blows, a flurry of fists and feet. But beneath the surface of their angry exchange, a different kind of tension simmered. Mu Qing’s embarrassment had ignited something in him, a confusing mix of anger and… something else. And Feng Xin, despite his protests, couldn’t deny the strange flutter in his chest whenever Mu Qing’s gaze lingered a little too long.

As they grappled, neither noticed the spirit lamp, perched on a nearby rock, watching their fight with a flickering, mischievous light. It seemed this quest was going to be much more complicated than anyone anticipated.

Chapter Text

The ox-cart wheels creaked as Feng Xin and Mu Qing continued on their quest. They hadn’t noticed the spirit lamp during their brawl unfortunately, so it had time to escape to the faraway Mount Yueya. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, a beautiful backdrop to their… less than amicable journey.

“Honestly, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin grumbled, adjusting the uncomfortable straw hat he’d been forced to wear, “did you have to choose the slowest ox in the entire kingdom? We’ll be lucky to reach the foothills by next week.”

Mu Qing, perched elegantly on the edge of the cart, a scroll unfurled in his lap, didn’t even look up. “Patience, Feng Xin. A steady pace is preferable to a reckless one, especially when transporting a sacred artifact and a spirit lamp.”

Since Feng Xin and Mu Qing failed to retrieve the spirit lamp in the original location and had to search for it in the mountains, Ling Wen assigned yet another task for them: transport the Jade Tear from Mount Yueya.

“Reckless?” Feng Xin scoffed. “That stupid spirit lamp wouldn’t have escaped if you hadn’t started that fight with me. I’m not the one who’s reckless. I’m… efficient.”

“Efficiently getting us lost, perhaps?” Mu Qing drawled, rolling his eyes, finally lifting his gaze from the scroll. “If you recall, your ‘efficient’ navigation skills nearly led us into a demon’s den last time.”

Feng Xin flushed. “That was one time! And it wasn’t my fault, the map was misleading!”

Mu Qing raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Misleading, or simply beyond your comprehension?”

Feng Xin opened his mouth to retort, but then snapped it shut. Arguing with Mu Qing was like banging his head against a stone wall. He’d learned, after centuries of knowing him, that it was a pointless exercise. Mu Qing always had to have the last word.

“Just… try not to get us killed, alright?” Feng Xin sighed, slumping against a pile of sacks. “I’d like to retrieve the Jade Tear in one piece, if possible.”

“A commendable objective,” Mu Qing agreed, returning his attention to the scroll. “Though I have my doubts about your contribution to it.”

The first few days of their journey were punctuated by this kind of incessant, low-level bickering. They argued about everything: the route, the pace, the food, even the weather. Feng Xin found Mu Qing’s constant critiques irritating, but also, strangely… familiar. It was their way of interacting, through fists and insults. But beneath the barbs and insults, there was a strange sort of… camaraderie.

One evening, as they made camp by a small stream, Feng Xin watched Mu Qing meticulously clean his zhanmadao. The firelight danced on the polished saber, casting flickering shadows on his face. For a moment, Feng Xin saw a flicker of something other than his usual cool detachment. A hint of… sadness?

He hesitated, then decided to speak. “Mu Qing…”

Mu Qing looked up, his expression immediately returning to its usual neutrality. “What?”

“Nothing,” Feng Xin mumbled, looking away. “Just… be careful with that saber. Don’t want you accidentally slicing off a finger.”

Mu Qing’s lips twitched. “Concerned about me, Feng Xin?”

“Of course not,” Feng Xin retorted, a little too quickly. “Just… don’t want to deal with the paperwork if you get injured.”

Mu Qing chuckled. “Right. The paperwork.”

The next day, their bickering escalated. They disagreed about which path to take, and the argument quickly devolved into personal insults.

“You’re so stubborn, Mu Qing!” Feng Xin yelled, his face flushed with anger. “You always think you’re right!”

“And you’re so impulsive, Feng Xin!” Mu Qing retorted, his voice icy. “You never think things through!”

“At least I have a heart!” Feng Xin shouted, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Mu Qing’s face went pale. He turned away, his shoulders stiff.

The silence that followed was heavy and uncomfortable. Feng Xin knew he’d crossed a line. He’d touched on a raw nerve, a wound that had never fully healed.

Finally, Mu Qing spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Let’s… just continue.”

They traveled in silence for the rest of the day, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Feng Xin felt a pang of guilt. He knew Mu Qing was sensitive and insecure, ever since his comment on Mount Tonglu about wanting to be f-f-friends with Xie Lian, despite his outward stoicism. He knew that beneath the cool facade, there was a deep well of pain. But he never truly understood the depth of that pain.

That night, as they sat by the fire, Feng Xin decided to try and make amends.

“Mu Qing,” he began, his voice hesitant. “I… I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

Mu Qing didn’t look up. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Feng Xin insisted. “I didn’t mean it. I was just… angry.”

Mu Qing finally met his gaze, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions. “You’re right, though,” he said quietly. “About… about me not having a heart.”

Feng Xin’s heart clenched. “That’s not what I meant,” he protested. “I just… I don’t understand you, Mu Qing. You’re so closed off. You never let anyone in.”

Mu Qing looked away, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. “There are reasons for that.”

“What reasons though?” Feng Xin shouted. “What reasons could you possibly have to keep that act of a scheming concubine in the imperial court!”

“It’s not like any of you would believe me if I spoke my mind!” Mu Qing retorted, a hint of hurt in his voice. “Remember when people accused me of theft when I just wanted to bring my mother cherries? Or when you accused me of stealing His Highness’ red pearl earring? Which I spent a year searching for because of all that trauma! And I got arrested for being accused of your son’s murder even when I actually tried to help Jian Lan? Or what about everyone thinking I was working for Jun Wu and wanted to kill you when I just knocked you out so you wouldn’t do something stupid and die with the Heavenly Capital in flames!”

He turned away, his head lowered. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Feng Xin wanted to say more, but he couldn’t. What Mu Qing said… it was all true. Everyone accused him of things and never believed him even though he was innocent. And Feng Xin… he never apologized for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel sorry. It was just… He felt weird for wanting to comfort Mu Qing. It seemed out of place. For the rest of the day, they never continued that line of conversation.

- - -

The biting wind whipped at Feng Xin’s cloak as he trudged through the desolate mountain pass. Beside him, Mu Qing remained infuriatingly composed, his robes barely fluttering. 

“Must you always look so… unbothered?” Feng Xin grumbled, more to break the silence than anything. It seemed like things were back to normal, or so it seemed. Feng Xin couldn’t just forget about their conversation from earlier. 

Mu Qing’s lips twitched, rolling his eyes. “And must you always complain about everything? It’s a mountain, Feng Xin. It’s supposed to be cold.”

“It’s not just the cold,” Feng Xin muttered, kicking at a loose stone. “It’s… everything.”

Their quest to retrieve the lost spiritual artifact, the Jade Tear, had been going smoothly, if you discounted the constant bickering. But beneath the surface lied tension and unspoken feelings.

“Everything meaning… me?” Mu Qing’s voice was dangerously soft.

Feng Xin scowled. He couldn’t help but think of a retort for Mu Qing’s comment from yesterday. “You know what I mean. You want to know why no one believes you and thinks you’re untrustworthy? Aside from your coldness, sarcasm, and pettiness, you left His Highness.” The words were out before he could stop them.

Mu Qing stopped walking, his expression hardening. “And you didn’t?”

Feng Xin bristled. “That’s different! I had a duty—”

“A duty you abandoned just as quickly as I did,” Mu Qing interrupted, his voice laced with bitterness. “Don’t pretend you’re any better than me, Feng Xin. You left him too.”

The air crackled with unspoken accusations. Feng Xin clenched his fists. “What about how you treated His Highness when you became an official of the Lower Court? Did you just want to shove it in our faces, thinking you were better than us since we were still banished?”

“I was trying to help you guys!” Mu Qing yelled. “I didn’t want to be rude to Xie Lian, but if I didn’t put up an act for those other officials, they’d banish me. I even brought rice to help you two out, only for you guys to reject it and kick me out…” His voice trailed. “I would’ve stayed, but you clearly didn’t want me to. And don’t think you were any better than me just because you stayed longer. You left too.”

Feng Xin stayed silent before pouting. “I stayed as long as I could! I had to protect… others.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “Jian Lan.” The memory was still too raw.

Mu Qing scoffed. “You didn't protect them for long either.” He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. “You talk about loyalty, about duty, but when it mattered, we both failed him.”

Feng Xin looked away, the familiar guilt gnawing at him. 

“And did you not think that I had a duty as well?” Mu Qing countered. “I had to take care of my mother! She was ill and was on the verge of death! Of course I had to spend the limited time she had with her!”

Feng Xin faltered. “I… never knew about that.”

Mu Qing snorted, tone drumming with cold sarcasm. “You didn’t know? Or maybe you never cared to listen? Just ask Xie Lian. I did tell you. You just forgot or simply thought I was heartless.”

“I… I thought you were going to stay. I thought you would protect him.”

Mu Qing’s expression softened slightly. “And I thought you would. You were his most trusted bodyguard. I was… expendable.”

“Expendable?” Feng Xin scoffed. “You were the one who always had his ear, advising him, planning, doing what I could not. You were never expendable.”

A flicker of something — surprise? — crossed Mu Qing’s face. He looked away, a rare vulnerability in his posture. “You never… said that before.”

Feng Xin’s heart pounded in his chest. “I… I didn’t think I needed to.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You always act like you know everything, like you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Mu Qing chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “And you always act like a brute, all brawn and no brain. You never say what you mean, Feng Xin. You shout and you stomp and you… leave.”

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Feng Xin finally met Mu Qing’s gaze. “I… I regretted it. Leaving. Every single day.”

“So did I,” Mu Qing whispered. “I thought… I thought he would be better off without me. That I was… a burden.”

“A burden?” Feng Xin echoed, incredulous. “You were his strength! His strategist! He needed you.”

Mu Qing swallowed. “Then why? Why did you act like you wanted me gone?”

Feng Xin heaved a breath. “We never wanted you gone, I never wanted you gone. I thought… you were just being selfish and only cared about your own interests. I’m sorry. I misunderstood you all these years. That time… the fall of Xianle… was a very complicated and emotional time, so I said some… things I probably didn’t mean. But you… abandoned us… when we needed you the most.”

Mu Qing’s eyes glistened. “And you? Did you really need me?”

Feng Xin’s breath hitched. He looked at Mu Qing, really looked at him, at the vulnerability hidden beneath the cool facade. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I needed you. I still do.”

Mu Qing stayed silent for a while before sighing. “Even though we both ended up leaving him, you were more loyal than I was. I know it was difficult choosing between Xie Lian and your lover.” He swallowed. “Are you still in love with Jian Lan?”

Feng Xin sighed, shaking his head. “Even if I was, she doesn’t want to be involved with me anymore.”

Mu Qing nodded and lowered his head. “I’m sorry for not speaking my mind throughout all these years. It’s… difficult for me to show how I feel, knowing no one would believe me and think the worst of me.”

Feng Xin’s face softened. “I’m sorry too. For… always thinking the worst of you. You’re not a bad person, Mu Qing. You care about His Highness, but you just have… a different way of showing it. Just… stop acting so cold and reserved around everyone and they’ll stop looking at you that way.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “If you really think it’s that easy…”

Feng Xin turned his head away with a huff. “And if you just act a little less sarcastic and roll your eyes less, then maybe I won’t hate you as much.”

Despite what he said, Mu Qing couldn’t help but roll his eyes again, a hesitant smile touching his lips. “Humph. Maybe…”

Feng Xin snorted. “Don’t get any ideas, Mu Qing. I still think you’re an arrogant, self-righteous—”

“And you’re a loud, impulsive—” Mu Qing retorted, his smile widening.

They stood there, on the windswept mountain pass, continuing to argue about petty things, but instead of being laced with hurt from the past, it was laced with a gentle playfulness.

The quest for the Jade Tear continued, their banter still sharp, their jabs still pointed. No matter what, they were still Feng Xin and Mu Qing, and their antagonism wasn’t going away anytime soon, even as their feelings for each other slowly shifted into… something more.

Chapter Text

The chill of Ghost City seeped into Fu Yao’s bones, a dampness that clung even beneath his disguise. He adjusted the plain robes, the simple jade pin holding his hair back, trying to project the image of a low-ranking official from the Palace of Xuan Zhen. Beneath the facade, Mu Qing’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the bustling city. He was here for Jian Lan.

He didn’t want those ghosts or that damned Crimson Rain Sought Flower spreading rumors that General Xuan Zhen chased after Jian Lan in Ghost City for General Nan Yang, so of course, he disguised himself as Fu Yao. 

He’d tracked her for months, following whispers and rumors, clinging to the faintest trail of her ghost qi. Feng Xin would never admit he still thought of her, not after… everything. But Mu Qing knew. He saw the lingering pain in Feng Xin’s eyes, the way his gaze would drift to empty spaces, lost in memories. Someone had to do something.

And no, it wasn’t because he cared about him. Absolutely not. He just… found it annoying to see him moping all the time.

He couldn’t stand to see Feng Xin like that. It made it harder for Mu Qing to be angry and argue and fight with him.

He finally found her in a small, shabby house at the edge of Ghost City. It seemed that she really did hide herself from Feng Xin so well that even Mu Qing couldn’t find her so easily. A child’s giggle echoed through the air. Jian Lan, her face softer than he remembered, was chasing a fetus spirit with bulging eyes. Cuocuo. Fu Yao felt a pang, a sharp twist in his gut. That was Feng Xin’s son too.

He cleared his throat. “Jian Lan?”

She turned, her smile fading into polite curiosity. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I am Fu Yao, a junior official from the Palace of Xuan Zhen,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “I have… a message for you, from General Nan Yang.”

Jian Lan’s expression didn’t change. “Oh?”

“He… he thinks of you often,” Fu Yao stammered, the carefully rehearsed words feeling clumsy in his mouth. “He… he misses you.”

Cuocuo, oblivious to the tension, nibbled at Jian Lan’s sleeve.

Jian Lan ruffled his few strands of hair. She turned back to Fu Yao, her eyes cool. “General Nan Yang is a busy man. I’m surprised he has time to think of me.”

“He… he’s not happy,” Fu Yao blurted out, then cursed himself for his impulsiveness. “He’s… he’s still in love with you.”

Jian Lan’s lips curved into a sad smile. “Is he?” She gestured to the side. A tall, shadowy figure stood in the shadows, watching them with quiet intensity. “This is my husband.”

Fu Yao’s breath hitched. He hadn’t seen him arrive. He hadn’t even sensed his presence. He was a powerful ghost, that much was clear.

“I… I see,” Fu Yao managed, his voice tight.

“I’ve moved on, Fu-daozhang,” Jian Lan said gently. “I’m happy here. With my son, with my husband.”

Fu Yao felt a surge of anger, irrational and burning. “But… but Feng Xin…”

“A-Lan.” The shadowy figure — Jian Lan’s husband — appeared beside her with a smile. His skin was blanched white, with his firm ebony hair almost covering the entirety of his face, his eyes devoid of color. Cuocuo seemed to resemble him more than Feng Xin, his biological father. “What’s going on over here?”

Jian Lan turned to him with a smile Fu Yao had never seen on her face. Never before had she smiled like that around Feng Xin…

“It’s nothing,” she assured before turning back to Fu Yao, her gaze sharpening. “You seem very concerned about General Nan Yang’s feelings. More concerned than I am, perhaps.” She paused, her eyes searching his. “Fu-daozhang… please excuse my bluntness, but it seems like you’re the one in love with him, not me.”

This landed like a physical blow. Fu Yao recoiled, his face flushing crimson. “What?! Absolutely not! How dare you?” He sputtered, searching for a denial that sounded convincing. “I… I’m just a messenger. That’s all.”

Jian Lan raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Aren’t Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen rivals? Their constant fighting extends to even their junior officials. Why would a junior official of General Xuan Zhen care so much about General Nan Yang that he would come out of his way to Ghost City to find me? Are you really just a junior official of the Palace of Xuan Zhen?”

Fu Yao was speechless. How did she figure it out so quickly… 

Jian Lan sighed. “Either way, you’ve delivered your message. Please excuse us.”

Fu Yao wanted to argue, to plead, to tell her that she was making a mistake. But the words wouldn’t come. He met her gaze, saw the unwavering resolve in her eyes, and knew he was defeated. He turned and fled, the laughter of Cuocuo echoing behind him, a stark reminder of what Feng Xin had lost. 

Jian Lan was wrong. Mu Qing wasn’t in love with Feng Xin. He wasn’t. He just… cared. Too much, perhaps. He just wanted Feng Xin to be happy, even if that happiness wasn’t with him. The thought burned in his chest, a painful, unwelcome truth.

Chapter Text

Feng Xin strolled leisurely into the Palace of Xuan Zhen, standing before Mu Qing, his face a thundercloud. Ling Wen had, with her usual tact, informed him that “Fu Yao” had recently taken an unauthorized trip to Ghost City. The destination, combined with the timing, had sent a chill down Feng Xin’s spine.

“Mu Qing,” he began, his voice low and dangerous, “Care to explain why your junior official decided to take a stroll through Ghost City?”

Mu Qing shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Feng Xin’s gaze. “I… I was investigating reports of… spiritual disturbances,” he mumbled, the excuse sounding flimsy even to his own ears.

“Spiritual disturbances that just happened to coincide with Jian Lan’s location?” Feng Xin crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “Don’t lie to me, Mu Qing.”

Mu Qing sighed, the fight draining out of him. He knew he was cornered. “Fine,” he admitted, “I went to see her.”

Feng Xin’s eyes widened slightly. “You what? Why would you do that?”

“I thought…” Mu Qing hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I thought you still loved her. I thought if I talked to her, explained things, maybe… maybe she’d come back.”

Feng Xin stared at him, speechless for a moment. “You did what?” he finally managed, his voice incredulous. “You went to Ghost City, risked your neck, just… for me?”

Mu Qing flushed, heat creeping up his neck. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed. “I just wanted to… to tie up loose ends. It was getting annoying, the way you moped around.”

Feng Xin snorted. “I do not mope!”

“Oh, please,” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “You practically sigh every time her name is mentioned.”

Feng Xin’s expression softened slightly. “I… I felt guilty, alright? I left her. I know that. But… love her? No. Not anymore.”

A wave of relief washed over Mu Qing, so intense it almost made him weak. He quickly schooled his features, determined not to betray his reaction. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he said, trying for nonchalance. “Because she’s moved on. She has a husband. A ghost, apparently. Cuocuo seemed to really like him.”

Feng Xin’s eyebrows furrowed. “She has a husband? What those heavenly officials said were true?” He looked thoughtful for a moment and sighed. “Well… good for her, I guess. I hope he’s a better father for Cuocuo than me.”

“So, we’re clear?” Mu Qing asked, eager to change the subject. “No more mooning over Jian Lan?”

“Crystal,” Feng Xin replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Though I have to admit, Mu Qing, I never thought I’d see the day you played matchmaker.”

“I didn’t!” Mu Qing protested. “I was just… facilitating closure. For you. Not that you appreciate it.”

“Oh, I appreciate it,” Feng Xin said, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “I just… maybe next time, you could ask me before you go gallivanting off to Ghost City, risking life and limb for my non-existent love life.”

Mu Qing huffed. “Fine. But don’t expect me to rescue you from your ‘moping’ next time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Feng Xin chuckled. He clapped Mu Qing on the shoulder, a gesture that felt surprisingly warm. “The Mid-Autumn Festival Banquet is coming up. You know what that means, don’t you? The Battle of the Lanterns. Let’s see if you can beat me this time.”

Mu Qing smirked. “I beat you last year, didn’t I? Who’s to say I can’t do it again?”

Feng Xin scowled. “It was only by one lantern!”

“It still counts.”

Feng Xin marched out of the palace with a grumble before yelling back, “Just you wait. I’m going to beat you this year, Mu Qing!”

The corners of Mu Qing’s lips twitched upwards. Although he enjoyed seeing Feng Xin happy and hated seeing him depressed, he wasn’t in love with him. He just cared. And sometimes, that was enough. 

For now, at least.

Chapter Text

The lantern light painted the bustling city in a warm, golden glow. Nan Feng, disguised in simple traveling clothes, weaved through the crowds, a half-eaten candied hawthorn stick clutched in his hand. He’d come to the mortal realm for a bit of peace and quiet, a break from the heavenly bureaucracy. He certainly hadn’t expected to run into him .

Across the crowded square, Fu Yao, equally incognito, paused, a delicate porcelain mask held loosely in his hand. His eyes, sharp as ever, had locked onto Nan Feng’s. A sigh, barely audible, escaped his lips. Of all the nights…

They met in the middle of the square, the festive music swirling around them. “Fu Yao,” Nan Feng greeted, a hint of resignation in his voice.

“Nan Feng,” Fu Yao replied, his tone equally flat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Coincidence,” Nan Feng said, though neither of them believed it.

“Indeed,” Fu Yao agreed dryly. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“What, so I’m not allowed to enjoy myself in the mortal realm?”

Fu Yao rolled his eyes. “Just stay out of my path, okay?”

“Aren’t you here for the same reason?” Nan Feng countered.

Fu Yao stayed silent.

“That’s what I thought.” Nan Feng stretched out his arms. “Well, I suppose since we’re both here, we might as well make the best of it.” He surprised himself with his own suggestion. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. Perhaps the festive atmosphere had softened his usual animosity towards Fu Yao. Or perhaps, he was just tired of being alone.

Or, perhaps, it was because of the shift in their relationship. Feng Xin couldn’t tell whether they were truly f-f-friends, but their relationship definitely wasn’t as severe as before.

He liked the possibility that he and Mu Qing could actually be friends.

Fu Yao laughed in disbelief. “You want us to go together? No way in hell.”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to be f-f-friends with me?” Nan Feng mocked.

Fu Yao crossed his arms and turned away from him. “That was directed to Xie Lian, not you.”

“Uh huh.” Nan Feng didn’t believe him. Despite his insistence not to come, Fu Yao still followed Nan Feng.

They strolled through the market, the air thick with the scent of mooncakes and roasted chestnuts. Their banter, though still present, was noticeably less barbed.

“That mask looks ridiculous,” Nan Feng commented, gesturing to the one Fu Yao was holding.

“It’s traditional,” Fu Yao retorted, though he didn’t put it on. “Unlike your… fashion sense.” He gestured to Nan Feng’s somewhat mismatched attire.

“Hey, these clothes are comfortable,” Nan Feng protested.

They stopped at a small restaurant, the aroma of savory dishes wafting out. Inside, the tables were packed, but they managed to find a small corner. They ordered some mooncakes and tangyuan, which were sold for half-price due to the festival.

“Here is your food, daozhang!” the waitress handed the plates of sweets to their table. The white balls of tangyuan and its sweet aroma made Fu Yao sigh. He brought one to his mouth with his chopsticks.

“I haven’t eaten this in centuries,” he remarked. “Not since my mother made them for me.”

Nan Feng looked up at him. “Your mother… What was she like?”

Fu Yao smiled softly, a real, genuine one. “She was fiercely independent and stubborn. She refused to seek any help from others even though we were poor. Even since my father left us, she trusted no one but me to take care of her. Her food was always the best. Even this restaurant’s food couldn’t compare to hers. But it’s nice tasting this again after so long…”

Nan Feng noticed the nostalgia in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but give a small smile back. “You must miss her a lot.”

Fu Yao nodded. “I miss the times when I was young and stole sweets from her when she wasn’t looking. She kept getting angry and shouted, ‘Qing-er, get your hands off those sweets! It’s not for you to eat!’” He laughed at the memory.

Nan Feng couldn’t help but enjoy the rare softness of Fu Yao’s face. “Do you like being called that? Qing-er?” He couldn’t help but blurt out, “How about I call you that sometimes?”

Fu Yao startled, a light flush creeping across his face. “Wh-What? No, I d-don’t want you… calling me that.”

“Why not?” Nan Feng moved closer, his grin unfaltering. “How about I call you Qing-er in private? Hmm?”

Fu Yao didn’t like how close he was, so he unconsciously backed away, forgetting to refuse Nan Feng’s request.

As they spoke, a commotion erupted near the entrance. A clumsy waiter had tripped, sending a tray of dishes crashing to the floor. The owner, a harried-looking woman, sighed and grabbed a broom.

“Fu Yao, you might want to look away,” Nan Feng said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Fu Yao frowned, confused. Then he saw it. The broom. His face paled slightly. Before he could react, the owner thrust the broom into his hands. “You! Clean this mess up!”

Fu Yao froze, his past as Xie Lian’s servant flashing before his eyes. He gripped the broom handle tightly, his knuckles white.

Nan Feng watched him, his amusement fading. He knew about Fu Yao’s… sensitivity to brooms. He remembered the countless times he’d seen him flinch at the sight of one.

Without a word, Nan Feng grabbed another broom from beside the counter. He knelt down beside Fu Yao and started sweeping.

“Nan Feng, what are you doing?” Fu Yao asked, his voice strained.

“Helping,” Nan Feng replied simply, not looking up. He swept diligently, his movements mirroring Fu Yao’s.

A strange silence fell between them. Fu Yao stared at Nan Feng, his expression unreadable. He saw a different Nan Feng at that moment. Not the brash, loudmouthed general, but someone… considerate. Someone who understood.

Why was Feng Xin being so nice all of a sudden? It’s almost as if he became a different person entirely. Sometimes he wished Feng Xin wouldn’t be so considerate. At least it would be familiar.

This was uncharted territory. Mu Qing’s heart couldn’t take this, couldn’t take Feng Xin acting like this with him.

They cleaned the mess together, the rhythmic swish of the brooms filling the air. As they sweeped, Nan Feng locked eyes with Fu Yao, giving him a gentle smile. Fu Yao smiled back before turning away, blushing and clearing his throat. When they were finished, the owner thanked them profusely and offered them a complimentary plate of mooncakes.

They ate the mooncakes in comfortable silence. As they left the restaurant, the full moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the city.

“Thanks, Nan Feng,” Fu Yao said quietly, breaking the silence.

Nan Feng shrugged. “Don’t mention it, Fu Yao.”

They walked together through the lantern-lit streets, the distance between them feeling a little less vast. Nan Feng couldn’t help but sneak glances at Fu Yao sometimes. He… really was different from what he perceived him to be before. He was unlike the cold, petty person he had long associated him with. He was just… Mu Qing, an insecure and misunderstood person who missed his mother, who felt guilt like any other person.

They each lit a lantern and lifted it to the sky, letting it float above their heads.

“Wow, all these lanterns in the sky really do look pretty,” Fu Yao remarked, the light from the lanterns casting a soft, warm glow on his face.

Nan Feng couldn’t help but stare at Fu Yao’s face, the smile on his face as he gazed at the sky. Fu Yao — or rather, Mu Qing — really wasn’t that bad-looking. He could even be considered pretty like a literature god, as many have already mentioned. That was, when he wasn’t scowling and rolling his eyes all the time.

Perhaps, Nan Feng thought, this Mid-Autumn Festival wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps, even he and Mu Qing could find a moment of peace despite their complicated history. Perhaps, just perhaps, they could even call it… a truce.

Still, Feng Xin was definitely not going to let this get in the way of his goal of beating Mu Qing in the Battle of the Lanterns.

Chapter Text

Mu Qing slammed a stack of reports onto his desk, the force of it echoing through his usually meticulously organized palace. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a throbbing headache building behind his eyes. This was ridiculous. Utterly, unbelievably ridiculous. He was a martial god, for heaven’s sake, not some lovesick naive beauty. And yet…

His heart had been doing this infuriating flutter-kick thing lately. His face felt perpetually flushed, like he’d swallowed a furnace. And then there were the thoughts . Thoughts he absolutely refused to acknowledge, thoughts that revolved around a certain… someone . It had to be some kind of illness. A plague, perhaps. Something Feng Xin had inflicted upon him. Yes, that was it! Some sort of… emotional contagion .

He needed answers. Logical, rational answers. And he needed them now. And a good physician. Perhaps he’d been cursed.

His first stop was the Palace of Ling Wen — she must have some records of whatever illness he had. She should know a thing or two about… ailments. 

Dark circles appeared under Ling Wen’s eyes. She didn’t move her head even once away from her stacks of documents on her desk, but she still heard Mu Qing approach. “General Xuan Zhen. If you’re asking for another quest, you and General Nan Yang have already long cleaned the list of missions.”

“That’s… not why I’m here.” He hesitated slightly. “I have a… a medical query.”

Ling Wen finally glanced up at him with a curious expression. “Oh? Whatever for?”

“It’s…” Mu Qing huffed. “I’ve been feeling these… strange sensations lately. And only around this certain… person. It’s… very debilitating. I feel… feverish. My thoughts are… clouded. I even find myself… stumbling more often! It’s a most inconvenient affliction. My face heats up, my heart races, and I can’t think straight around them. They must’ve put some sort of curse on me. Do you know what kind of curse that could be? Is there a cure for it?”

Ling Wen blinked before frowning and shaking her head. “General, don’t tell me you interrupted my loads of work for this.”

“Wh-What are you talking about?” He fumed. “I’m cursed! Isn’t that serious?”

Ling Wen sighed and rolled up a scroll. “You’re not cursed, general. You’re simply in love.”

Mu Qing sputtered. “Love? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s clearly some kind of… miasma. A Feng Xin-induced affliction, most likely.” He crossed his arms, trying to project an air of nonchalance he was far from feeling. “I simply want to understand these… symptoms. And find a cure. Perhaps some potent spiritual cleansing?”

“I don’t have time for this, general,” Ling Wen stated, almost exasperated. “I know how someone acts when they’re in love. I have plenty of experience in the field. Remember Bai Jing?”

Of course. The Brocade Immortal. He was once obsessed with her so much so that he was even willing to sever his own limbs and kill himself for her. Did that even count as love?

“Thank you, Ling Wen, but I don’t think that’s the case.” Mu Qing bowed before taking his leave. “I’ll take my queries elsewhere.”

His next stop was his least favorite one: Pei Ming. That notorious womanizer would know a thing or two about… ailments . He definitely wouldn’t confuse them with love , since he had so much experience with that. Mu Qing found him lounging by a koi pond, a ridiculously ornate fan fluttering lazily in his hand. The sight of him, so relaxed and carefree, grated on Mu Qing’s nerves.

“Ming Guang,” Mu Qing began, his tone clipped, “I would like to… inquire about a medical issue.”

Pei Ming raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a slow, suggestive smile spreading across his face. “Oh? Trouble with your cultivation? Perhaps a rogue demon causing palpitations? Or… something more… personal ?”

“No,” Mu Qing snapped, “It’s… physiological. I’ve been experiencing… certain… reactions. I suspect… a curse.” He scowled. “My heart races. My face feels hot. I get… strange emotions… around a certain person. I think they’ve… infected me.”

Pei Ming’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “My dear Xuan Zhen,” he purred, “it sounds like you’re in love.”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Ling Wen said the same thing! That can’t possibly be the case. Love? Don’t be absurd. How could I be in love ? And with someone like them of all people. It’s clearly some sort of… disease they inflicted on me.” 

“And that disease you’re referring to is love,” Pei Ming said coyly before inching closer and whispering, “And the person you experience these symptoms around… is she… perhaps… a woman?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Someone who’s captured your heart? But I find that quite surprising. Who could possibly win the heart of the cold General Xuan Zhen? Especially with his strict cultivation? There aren’t many female gods in the Heavenly Capital. It couldn’t be Ling Wen, could it? Perhaps a beautiful maiden from the mortal realm?”

Mu Qing’s face burned. “Absolutely not!” he sputtered, the denial coming out far too quickly and vehemently. He felt a fresh wave of heat creeping up his neck. “It’s… no one. Just a hypothetical question. A hypothetical… curse .”

Pei Ming chuckled, clearly not believing a word. “Of course, of course. Hypothetical. Well, my friend, love… or curses… can be a tricky thing. It can manifest in… unexpected ways. Sometimes,” he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “it can even manifest as… animosity. A strong dislike, perhaps?”

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your… insightful medical opinion,” he said dryly, turning on his heel. “I’ll be sure to consult a proper physician next time.”

He then proceeded to ask Quan Yizhen, but he didn’t seem to be interested in these matters, especially matters not concerning his shixiong. 

“Just beat them up,” he suggested.

Mu Qing already fought with Feng Xin too many times to count. 

So he proceeded to ask Lang Qianqiu, who was still busy on his quest to find Qi Rong. 

“I don’t know,” he responded. “That truly sounds like a serious illness. I hope you get better soon, general.”

Finally, someone who agreed with him! Too bad he didn’t have any helpful advice.

He continued to ask around the Heavenly Capital, but they all gave him the same maddeningly simple answer: he was in love. They were clearly all delusional. Or perhaps they, too, had been infected by Feng Xin’s… emotional plague ! He was starting to feel like he was losing his mind.

Running out of people to ask, Mu Qing descended into the mortal realm to seek the former Wind Master.

“Hmm… that sounds a lot like His Highness and Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” Shi Qingxuan remarked with a grin. 

No. Not again. Mu Qing was getting tired of hearing this lie over and over again. “Don’t compare me with those two.” He gagged. “How many times do I have to say this? I’m not in love!”

Shi Qingxuan sighed, a hint of nostalgia appearing in his expression. “I envy His Highness and Crimson Rain Sought Flower sometimes, you know?”

Mu Qing blinked. “You’re jealous of them? Why? What does this have to do with me anyway?”

“I’ve felt something similar to what you’re feeling right now. I didn’t realize it at the time, until they were out of my life. They did something… seemingly unforgivable. Still, I miss them and our friendship. I doubt they feel the same way, but I’ve always hoped that some of our time together was genuine and not entirely fake. Our story was tragic and didn’t have a happy ending. That’s why I envy His Highness and Crimson Rain Sought Flower. Their story ended happily.”

Mu Qing was still confused about why Shi Qingxuan was telling him any of this. Shi Qingxuan felt these feelings for someone as well? Who?

“Although I don’t know the circumstances around your feelings, don’t let yours end like mine,” Shi Qingxuan told him, patting his shoulder. “Make it end happily. Like His Highness and Crimson Rain Sought Flower.”

As if Mu Qing couldn’t be angered even further. If he got another comparison to those two, he swore he’d…

Finally, in a fit of frustrated desperation, he found himself standing outside Puqi Shrine. He needed to talk to Xie Lian. If anyone could understand… this , it was him. He’d dealt with all sorts of strange curses.

Not because of Shi Qingxuan’s comment. Definitely not.

Xie Lian greeted him with a warm smile. “Mu Qing! What brings you here?”

Mu Qing sighed, slumping down on a chair and crossing his arms. He was tired of explaining over and over again, so he went right into it. “How… How did you find out that you were… in love with Crimson Rain Sought Flower?”

Xie Lian startled, but still gave him an answer. “I mean, it was… confusing at the beginning. I tried hard to understand my feelings for San Lang, but I was always in denial about the extent of my feelings. The racing heart, the constant thoughts… it was all very… disorienting. It felt… consuming. Like a… a sweet poison, almost.”

Mu Qing’s eyes widened slightly. “You… Did you also think you were… ill? Did you experience any… involuntary blushing? Uncontrollable urges to… to perform heroic deeds in someone’s presence?”

Xie Lian chuckled. “Indeed. Though I wouldn’t describe it as an illness. More like… a… revelation .” He stopped and looked at Mu Qing closely. “Is there someone you happen to feel this way for?”

Mu Qing hesitated and swallowed. Yes, there was… but not because he was in love with him. Feng Xin put a curse on him. That’s why Mu Qing was feeling this way.

Xie Lian continued when he noticed Mu Qing not willing to reply. “But ultimately, it was something I had to figure out for myself. No one could tell me how I truly felt. I suppose you could ask Feng Xin how he figured out his feelings for Jian Lan, although it is a touchy subject for him, but you have to look into your own heart, Mu Qing. Only you can decide what these feelings mean.”

Too bad Feng Xin was the last person he wanted to ask! Especially since he was the reason Mu Qing had been feeling this way in the first place!

Mu Qing left Puqi Shrine more confused than ever. He was angry. Angry at himself for feeling this way. Angry at Pei Ming for his smug knowingness. Angry at the other heavenly officials for their simplistic explanations. And most of all, he was angry at… Feng Xin . He scowled, his fists clenched. He was not in love. Absolutely not. He refused to be. He would find a cure for this… emotional plague . He would isolate himself. Yes, that was the plan. Isolate himself until this… curse … went away. It was a foolproof plan. Probably.

Too bad Feng Xin continued to pester Mu Qing and was unable to take the hint of staying away from him.

Chapter Text

The air in the Palace of Xuan Zhen crackled with tension, as it always did when Feng Xin visited. He lounged on one of Mu Qing’s impeccably arranged chairs, his boots propped up on a nearby table, much to Mu Qing’s barely contained annoyance.

“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing began, his voice tight, “must you make yourself so… comfortable?”

“Relax, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin drawled, taking a large bite out of a peach he’d “borrowed” from the heavenly orchards. “I’m just visiting an old friend.”

“Friend,” Mu Qing echoed, his lip curling. “That’s a generous term for someone who consistently disregards my hospitality and treats my palace like a stable.”

“Oh, come on, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin chuckled. “You know you love my company.”

Mu Qing’s eyes twitched. “Love is a strong word. I tolerate your presence, perhaps.”

“Tolerate? Ouch, Mu Qing, you wound me,” Feng Xin said, feigning hurt. 

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “Alright. Enough of this. I have something I need to ask you.” He hesitated, his voice strained. “How… did you find out… you were in love with Jian Lan?”

Feng Xin’s eyes widened, his mouth slackening. “Where’s this coming from? Well, I guess I sort of just… knew, you know? I found myself enjoying her company a lot, I grew excited whenever I visited her, I became protective over her… eventually, I found out I had feelings for her.”

Mu Qing lowered his head, nodding. “Ah, is that so…”

Feng Xin stared at him, eyes wide. “Why are you asking me this anyway, Mu Qing?”

Mu Qing shook his head. “I’m asking for… a friend.”

Feng Xin smirked. “A friend? You have friends other than His Highness and me? I find that hard to believe.” He tossed the peach pit carelessly, narrowly missing a priceless vase.

That was the last straw. With the mix of Feng Xin’s infuriating presence and Mu Qing’s own feelings, Mu Qing’s carefully constructed composure shattered. He stalked towards Feng Xin, his face flushed with anger. “You are insufferable, Feng Xin! Utterly, completely insufferable!” He grabbed Feng Xin’s collar, pulling him up so their faces were inches apart.

Feng Xin, despite the fury radiating from Mu Qing, found himself strangely captivated. Mu Qing’s eyes, usually cold and calculating, were blazing with emotion. He could see the rapid pulse beating in Mu Qing’s throat. A strange heat began to spread through him.

Mu Qing, staring at Feng Xin, felt his anger momentarily dissipate. He was acutely aware of the proximity between them, the warmth of Feng Xin’s breath on his skin. He’d intended to unleash a torrent of insults, to finally put this oaf in his place. But… he found himself unable to speak. He was too distracted. By… Feng Xin.

Before he could fully process what he was doing, Mu Qing leaned in and kissed Feng Xin. It was a quick, impulsive kiss, born of frustration, attraction, and a confusing mix of emotions he couldn’t quite decipher.

Feng Xin’s eyes widened in surprise. He froze for a moment, completely taken aback. Then, something inside him responded. He kissed Mu Qing back, his own confusion momentarily forgotten.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. Then, reality crashed back down. Feng Xin, realizing what he was doing, abruptly pulled away. He stared at Mu Qing, his expression a mixture of shock, confusion, and something darker.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck?!” he stammered, touching his lips. “What… what was that?”

Mu Qing, mortified, stepped back, his face burning. He couldn’t meet Feng Xin’s gaze. He wanted to disappear, to erase the last few moments.

Feng Xin, his heart pounding in his chest, felt a surge of anger, directed mostly at himself. He didn’t understand what had just happened. He didn’t understand the feelings that had surfaced within him. He lashed out, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“You… you think this is some kind of joke?” he snarled. “You think you can just… do that? You’re disgusting, Mu Qing. Absolutely disgusting.”

He turned and fled, leaving Mu Qing standing there, alone and hurt. The words echoed in the silence of the palace, sharper than any blade.

Mu Qing, his face pale, felt a pang of genuine pain. He’d expected anger, maybe even a fight. But he hadn’t expected… that. He sank onto a nearby chair, the image of Feng Xin’s hurt and angry face burning his mind. He knew, with a sinking heart, that things between them would never be the same.