Work Text:
“Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down?” Mu Qin asks, thick with sarcasm, leaned up against the doorway.
The interior of the new palace of Nan Yang is dreary in the late afternoon light, none of the candles yet lit.
“What are you so cheery about?” Feng Xin wants to know. “His Highness is down there with that monster, who even knows what they're doing?”
Mu Qing stays quiet, because he has a pretty good idea of what they're doing.
Feng Xin appears annoyed by his silence, as if he expects the two of them to bond over their mutual dislike of Crimson Rain Soaked Flower. “Don’t you remember those paintings? All those obscene renderings of His Highness, and all the disgusting things the ghost king was doing to him…”
“I don’t think his highness would agree,” Mu Qing mutters.
“What was that!?”
Mu Qing sighs, and sits down on a nearby sofa, uninvited. “I said, I don’t think His Highness would find those things disgusting.”
Feng Xin looks like he wants to break something, but he owns everything in this room, so he just barks orders at a servant to bring wine and food. Then he sits down on the other side of the couch, as far from Mu Qing as he can get.
He leaps up again after only a moment. “What does His Highness even know?” He walks back and forth in agitation, hands twisting at the edges of his sleeves in a way Mu Qing hasn’t seen him do in hundreds of years. “He might be a martial arts genius and an all-powerful-cultivator, but when it comes to relations between men and women, he’s staggeringly naive!”
Mu Qin’s eyebrows go up. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower isn’t a woman.”
Feng Xin spins on his heel. “You know what I mean!”
“You’re saying you think His Highness is sexually ignorant.”
Feng Xin goes decidedly red in the face. “ You know I’m right!”
Mu Qing shrugs. “Just because His Highness has remained abstinent, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know things. You can read about a mountain range without ever going to see it, and then describe it accurately when asked.”
“So you’re saying you think His Highness has read THOSE sorts of books?”
“Um, yeah. I’m sure he has,” Mu Qing says. “Because His Highness reads everything. Crimson Rain Soaked Flower doesn’t plan to hurt him. He’s far too besotted. You’ve seen them together.”
Feng Xin makes a disgusted noise. “But His Highness has nothing to compare him to! That ghost king is going to teach him to perform all sorts of hideous acts and tell him they’re completely normal!”
Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “His Highness is a grown man. He can do what he wants.”
“You seem staggeringly okay with this!”
Mu Qing shrugs. “I’m not, really. But we aren’t His Highness’s keepers. We’re barely his friends. If he wants to give up his spiritual power in exchange for…all that, well—.”
“Well what?”
“Well, he’s suffered a lot. He deserves some happiness.”
“And you think Crimson Rain Sought Flower is going to make him happy?”
Mu Qing thinks for a few seconds. He knows Feng Xin hates when he does this, when he takes deliberate time to consider a question that Feng Xin has just tossed out in anger. “It depends on what you mean by ‘happy’.”
“What do YOU mean by happy?”
“Content, pleased.” Mu Qing’s face heats just the slightest bit. “Satisfied.”
Feng Xin opens his mouth to yell again, but just then the servant finally returns with the wine, and so he’s forced to keep quiet until she leaves. Then he abruptly pours them both a cup and flops down beside the table.
“Come on, I’m not fucking drinking by myself.” He drains his cup.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mu Qing sits down with him. Spending an evening in Feng Xin's presence is nothing new, but with Xie Lian’s return their lives have been thrown into chaos, as if the clocks have been turned back and they’re no longer quite sure what to make of each other.
Feng Xin drinks another cup, viciously dragging the back of his hand across his lips. “Do you really think he can?”
“Can what?”
Feng Xin’s face twists. “Satisfy him!”
Mu Qing chokes before he can even get the wine in his mouth. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“What else would we talk about?”
“I don’t know, anything besides this?”
Feng Xin’s smile turns decidedly nasty. “Right, right. You do the same sort of cultivation, so you’re just as naive as he is.”
Mu Qin’s face burns. “You say that as if you’re a great seducer! The only woman you’ve ever been able to stand being close to doesn’t want anything to do with you!”
Feng Xin looks liable to smash the wine jug, so Mu Qing grabs it and holds it above his head. Technically, he shouldn’t be drinking, but one night isn’t going to do much to his spiritual powers. Not all of them can be like the Crown Prince of Xianle, paragon of saintly virtue. Until recently, at least.
“I don’t think you need to worry about His Highness,” he says again, and pours himself more wine. “It’s not like it was centuries ago, he’s in the Upper Court again, he’s respected.” And, from the glowing skin and shining eyes, the irrepressible happiness bubbling up from everything he says, very well taken care of.
“What does he see in that bastard, anyway?” Feng Xin muses. “I mean, it’s obvious what the ghost king sees in His Highness. He’s elegant.”
Mu Qing reaches for the wine jug. “Refined.”
“Powerful.”
“Talented.”
“Beautiful.”
“Kindhearted.”
Feng Xin looks at him like he knows he’s being made fun of. It’s true, Mu Qing is teasing him, but he’s also teasing himself. The two of them disdain the ghost king for his years of obsession, but did Mu Qing and Feng Xin not follow His Highness to ruin? And even when they left his side, did they not send out clones and underlings to covertly confirm his well-being?
But if he brings this up, he’ll just get yelled at.
“I don’t know what he sees in him,” Feng Xin says again, giving up on his cup and just pouring wine directly into his mouth.
Mu Qing grabs the jug before it’s all gone. “You sound like a scorned lover. Don’t be obtuse. His Highness is a god, like us. Imagine how hard it would be to say no to a believer like that. Who has dedicated their whole existence the worship of you. Think of—of the Blessings Lanterns!” He doesn’t drink often; his words are wine blurry. “Those thousand statues are creepy, sure, but it’s not like His Highness isn’t used to statues of himself. If that’s not enough, beyond the obvious reason—.”
“What obvious reason?”
Mu Qing snorts. “The ghost king is handsome, idiot. Anyone can see that.”
Feng Xin shoves a handful of nuts into his mouth. “If you say so.”
“Don’t give me that.” At this point in their lives starting an argument is second nature, even if there isn’t particularly anything to fight about. “Don’t pretend you’re one of those men who claims he can’t differentiate a handsome man from an ugly one, you just said His Highness is beautiful!”
Feng Xin’s ears go pink. “That’s different!”
“In what way? Or are you simply so prideful that you can’t admit anyone else’s charms?”
Feng Xin is drunk enough that he stumbles on his way to his feet. Mu Qing isn’t sure why he’s getting up. Maybe so he can yell from the diaphragm.
“Keep your fucking opinions to yourself! If you’re so enamored of the ghost king’s charms, why don’t you go join them! I’m sure Crimson Rain Sought Flower would be only too happy to relieve you of your spiritual powers, just like he did the Crown Prince!”
Mu Qing follows him to his feet. “Maybe you should watch your mouth! Just because he’s not longer celibate, you think it gives you the right to talk about him like he’s some brothel girl? You’re nasty.”
Anger blazes inside Mu Qing, clean and hot and simple. “Who are you calling nasty! You’re just a—.”
Mu Qing’s punch catches him in the jaw.
Feng Xin spits blood and hits him back.
Pain explodes into a red haze as Mu Qing throws himself into the fight. They both know the steps to this dance, they could dance it in their sleep. If anyone were to asks the martial gods of the southeast and southwest if they were friends, they would, of course, reply with disdain, perhaps even spitting on the ground or cursing the one who had asked. But the fact remains, there isn’t anyone anywhere in the three realms who know them the way they know each other. They are facts of reality. The earth exists, the heavens exist, Feng Xin and Mu Qing exist.
The fights are more explosive and last longer now that they are gods, but not much else has changed. Except they’re usually not so drunk. Or recovering from their former master’s recent marriage to the most powerful demonic being in the world.
The two of them trade blows until they’re both bleeding and bruised. Then they lie down on the carpet and drink more wine.
Feng Xin pushes sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Do you think he fucks him?”
Mu Qing considers pretending he doesn’t know who he means. He sighs out a breath. “Yes.”
Feng Xin’s eyes are on the ceiling. “Do you think it’s…good?”
Mu Qing squeezes his eyes shut. “If it wasn’t good, people wouldn’t do it.”
Feng Xing makes a noise of disgust. But when Mu Qing opens his eyes, it’s to discover that Feng Xin is much closer to him than he’d been a second ago, looking at him with drunken softness.
“What the fu—.”
Feng Xin’s mouth is sweet from the wine and his tongue is slippery. It’s easily the worst kiss of Mu Qing’s life. Hot fingers press against the back of his neck, slipping through his hair, snagging on the roots. Feng Xin pulls back a little, like he’s waiting for Mu Qing’s explosion.
“If you think I’m going to slap you like a maiden, you should try another tactic.”
Feng Xin’s fingers tug at his hair, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Mu Qing wonders if he’s imagining Xie Lian kissing his ghost king. And now HE is imagining Xie Lian kissing his ghost king, the times they’ve seen Hua Cheng sweep him up in his arms, hands at the small of his back, Xie Lian standing on his toes, face turned up, cheeks pink, eyes closed—
Mu Qing makes a snarling, half-mad noise, shoving at Feng Xin’s arms. Feng Xin rolls onto his back, but he brings Mu Qing with him, sprawled on top. “Like this,” he mutters, and Mu Qing has no idea what he’s referring to. He feels spit roll down his chin.
“I doubt His Highness would put up with drool all over his face,” he says.
Feng Xin just pulls his hair harder, until it hurts and he digs his nails into Feng Xin’s neck to make him stop. “M’not kissing His Highness.”
“But you want to,” Mu Qing says “That’s why you’re so mad.”
“That’s why YOU'RE so mad,” Feng Xin ricochets back at him.
“Shut up,” Mu Qing groans, and bites down again, tasting blood. He does it again, and Feng Xin makes a whimpering noise that hits him somewhere low in the gut.
No, this isn’t supposed to be happening, they shouldn’t be—
Mu Qing rolls off of Feng Xin and, with a colossal effort, picks himself up off the ground.
Feng Xin blinks up at him, jerking like he’s been splashed with cold water. His hair is everywhere and his lip is oozing blood. Mu Qing can’t keep looking at him. It’s going to drive him insane.
With sharp, precise motions, he readjusts his robes, smoothes down his hair, and drains the dregs from the wine jar. “His Highness will be fine,” he says aloud, for what feels like the twentieth time.
“Mu Qing!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
“That’s not--.” Feng Xin makes a grab for him. Mu Qing yanks out of his grasp.
“We can talk about it later.” Then, with heated skin and a pounding heart, he flees.