Chapter Text
Mu Qing wasn’t sure when he had started to piece these things together. Somewhere between Dianxia’s ascension and how he gracelessly catapulted himself right back into their lives, there were some unsettling details beginning to align in the back of Mu Qing’s mind. None of them were comforting at all, in fact quite the opposite.
Centuries old guilt and repressed emotions sat nestled deep into his gut, the familiar ache of what could have been and what should have been was nothing new. Mu Qing pretended that he couldn’t feel his fingers shake as he took the dirtied bandage from Ling Wen, her gray eyes piercing as she analyzed gods knows what in his expression. Feng Xin’s silence was telling, his form stiffened beside him.
“Is there no way to track a god? I mean, really there must be some sort of… something..” the Wind Master’s nervous chuckle was by no means an effective deflection for their desperate undertone.
Ling Wen’s cool gaze seemed frustrated, even to Mu Qing. For a civil goddess, even she had limits to the amount of information she had access to. Perhaps Xie Lian had charmed more gods in his short time in heaven than he had previously thought. Leave it to Dianxia to somehow keep his charm intact despite the eight hundred years of hardships.
The gathered group’s collective heaviness was broken by the entrance of a harried looking young woman, her face barely visible due to the pile of scrolls she held- by the looks of it she must be one of Ling Wen’s deputy gods. She scurried up to said civil god, still clutching the scrolls that were now listing dangerously to the side as she murmured urgently into Ling Wen’s ear. Ling Wen’s eyes widened so fast that in any other situation it may have been amusing to see on her usually stoic face.
As her deputy hurried away Ling Wen cleared her throat before addressing the group, “I am not sure how this had slipped my notice, however it has come to my attention there was a report of unusual disturbances in the north during the last time we convened.” She paused, her gray eyes hardening, “Nothing was determined as to who would deal with it, nor how.”
Mu Qing felt the harsh breath Feng Xin let out beside him, no doubt that he had come to the same conclusion Mu Qing just had. Subtly shifting away from Feng Xin, he stepped forward to examine the scroll Ling Wen had produced. He scanned it quickly, tuning out the rest of the discussion going on around him. He briefly recalled the mention of the work of what seemed to be at least a wrath level spirit disturbing the northern cities. Despite it apparently being bad enough to warrant offering to catch Heaven’s attention, nothing had been solved and it had been largely dismissed for the moment.
He tuned back into the conversation to the sound of arguing. Feng Xin was insisting something in that usual pig-headed way of his. Mu Qing was loath to admit it, but in a situation like this he would actually be willing to work with that brute. The ridiculous levels of loyalty he seemed to maintain may very well pair nicely with Dianxia needing potential rescue.
“Nan Yang and I will deal with this, the rest of you are not needed.” His clipped words effectively silenced the clamoring of the gods gathered. That is of course, until his words sunk in and they all started yelling again. It was almost hysterical to see the Wind Master shift between forms to see whose attention they could grab in order to be listened to.
Mu Qing could feel his eye literally beginning to twitch before a warm hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged a bit. Instinctively going to yank away, his heart rabbit quick, he turned to meet golden eyes clearly trying to convey a message to him. He sighed and entered their private communication array.
Let’s go, they’re busy trying to convince Ling Wen to let them go. By the time they do that we could already be there.
He hated to agree but for once Feng Xin was correct. And judging by the way Ling Wen met their eyes over the heads of a disgruntled Ming Yi being shaken by the Wind Master, she must agree as well. He gave a jerky nod of assent before they both slipped out of the palace of Ling Wen to find the nearest available area to scrawl their distance shortening array.
The silence hung between them awkwardly, now alone as he made one of the worst arrays he ever had and Feng Xin hovered anxiously at his shoulder. He thought about snapping at the general to back up, but one glance at his tense posture and faraway look made him relent. They both wanted to find Dianxia and get this whole debacle over with.
Finishing silently, they stepped through the array and into a fairly modest village, quieting as the afternoon bled into evening. They agreed on a plan to poke around a local tea shop, donning the personas of Fu Yao and Nan Feng. Both uncharacteristically docile, an unspoken truce seemed to have settled into place in order to reach their common goal. They just needed to find Dianxia.
Approaching an older looking mortal balancing a tray of tea in his arms, he let Feng Xin take the lead. The way today was going he wasn’t sure he could play nice with mortals right now. As much as the brunette was a notorious hothead, he tended to be easier on innocent mortals. Having gathered enough information from the locals, they determined that the north eastern woods were most likely the area of the demon’s domain. Anyone who had ventured near were never seen again, plus the awful noises and reports of strange auras in the distance. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to cause about twenty or some odd casualties.
They thanked the teashop server and hurried through the village, both subconsciously scanning for a glimpse of a weathered bamboo hat or shabby white robes to no avail. They had left the main road and were entering the woods when Feng Xin broke the tense quiet, his voice coming out lower than usual.
“His shackles bind his luck.”
Mu Qing scowled, he wasn’t an idiot he was already aware of that. Why else would Dianxia be living the way he has? Surely not by choice. But the brute didn’t have to say it outloud. It’s not like they did anything about it, or could even do anything now.
Despite the lack of a response Feng Xin continues on, “He wouldn’t really have.. Without…” trailing off doesn’t mean he isn’t understood. And while Feng Xin is clearly in denial about his highness’s brand of self sacrifice showing itself again, Mu Qing is decidedly not. This kind of thing is exactly something Xie Lian would do. Just the thought of him setting out by himself and taking on this unknown demon for the sake of a few more mortals is enough to make Mu Qing’s skin itch uncomfortably. He could have at least said something.
But then again, when was the last time they had regarded him as anything more than a cut tie? The God of Trash Collecting, nothing more than someone they used to serve. Not only had they been his servants, but they had left him to his fate. It was no wonder they didn’t dare approach, it wasn’t like he would actually have forgiven them like he claims to in public. No, there was no way he regarded them as anything more than disloyal servants who went and left him to ascend themselves.
The sudden silence around them is what jars Mu Qing from his current spiral. The trees around them are eerily still, the pleasant hum of insects and chatter of animals unsettlingly absent. He turns to point this out to Feng Xin, and finds the space beside him is empty. That idiot. Who did he think he was, ditching him like this? Eight hundred years later and he was still trying to make sure to curry more favor with Dianxia than Mu Qing could. Fine. He could do this himself, and Feng Xin could traipse off by himself all he wanted. See if he cared.
Continuing into the stillness, he encountered a fog that grew denser and denser the more he walked. Before he could stop and regain his bearings he realized it covered everything, so much so that when he stretched his arm out in front of him he couldn't even see his own hand. This kind of thing could be attributed to a wrath level ghost at least.
He paused to gather his thoughts, one hand going to grip his saber before realizing it was gone from his belt. Panicking, he looked down to find his fine silk robes had been replaced with rags exactly like those he had worn in his mortal youth. Cursing, he pulled at the offending fabric before realizing he had to wear them. That is, unless he was fine without any garments at all. The thought of that alone made his chest constrict and he angrily shook himself. Whatever this fog was doing was clearly messing with his head. He needed to find Dianxia and the bastard Feng Xin and get the hell out of here.
Distant voices drew his attention to his left, and one hesitant step towards them took him flying forwards, a rundown building materializing suddenly in front of him. The sight of the familiar entrance opened a pit in his stomach, and he stood staring at the place that had haunted him for hundreds of years. He isn’t sure how long he stood frozen before he’s addressed.
“Are you coming in or not, boy.” The flat, abrasive voice belongs to a sunken face drawn into a permanent seeming sneer. The owner of this vile establishment he supposes.
Mu Qing tries to open his mouth, twist his lips into a harsh sneer to mask the pounding of his heart and shaking of his hands but he can’t get his body to move. That is, until his feet bring him forwards in halting, shaky steps and he is struck with the realization of what is happening.
Whatever this is, he knows this isn’t actually happening right now. He knows this because he has already done this a few hundred years ago. What he is doing right now is reliving a memory. And he doesn’t know how to escape.
He is a stranger in his own body as he allows himself to be led into one of the many rooms, the singular furnishing inside an oversized bed. He already knows what is about to occur, he already knows what will happen after he sits himself on the edge of the bed with his heart in his throat and best intentions rooted in his mind. It doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to bear than it was the first few times.
He remembers clinging to the miserable pile of dirtied coins as he left, numb to both the pain in his body and the pain in his heart.
_ _ _
Immediately when he realizes he has been separated from Mu Qing, Feng Xin curses. He knows that the other will undoubtedly assume the worst of him. It’s not like he meant to get separated, while they are both martial gods of their own right, they are both so far out of their respective territories they are weakened considerably. That and the fact that they don’t have a solid idea of what they are dealing with yet. Feng Xin’s not an idiot, of course he’d rather fight alongside Mu Qing. He’s wanted that for almost eight hundred years.
Ruminating over that painfully familiar train of thought would do them no good right now. Inhaling sharply, Feng Xin stills himself and counts to ten. When he opens his eyes again he is startled by new surroundings. Instead of the eerie woods he had just been lost in, he finds a run down building he faintly recognized. He wasn’t sure how, or why but the dusty path he found himself standing on, presumably somewhere in the border of Xianle and Yong’an made his chest ache once more.
Just as Feng Xin drew breath to call out to whoever was near to demand directions, an oh so familiar black ponytail swished as it passed him. Except, instead of being the lithe, silk clad marital god he was today, Mu Qing was clothed in rags and bore nothing but a gauntness that came with going hungry. With a pang through his chest, Feng Xin stared after the young Mu Qing as he approached the building almost hesitantly.
Whatever gods are laughing at them should have known this was too cruel. Mu Qing hesitated in front of him, and Feng Xin reached out to take hold of his bony shoulder- only to have his hand pass through. Feng Xin barely hears the sneering tone when Mu Qing is invited in, all he can hear is the chiding voice that suspiciously sounded like the very bastard he’s attempting to catch the attention of. Something about being an idiot who charges into situations without assessment rings in his ears as he realizes he’s been left alone in the front of the shack.
A tugging sensation in his core only confirms his need to press forward. Whatever curse has been cast on Mu Qing won’t shake itself off he supposes. Brute force be damned, Feng Xin can think for once (maybe he can power through using pure spite). He follows Mu Qing through the door and is quickly hit with a sickly sweet scent blanketing the air inside, something that Feng Xin immediately thinks of the horror Jian Lian went through. Fists forming of his own accord, he wonders what spirit has this much of a sadistic streak to conjure this up just for him.
When he watches a younger Mu Qing perch on the side of an oversized bed, his pale face drawn, Feng Xin can’t help the way he reaches for him to try to reassure him. Idiot, he thinks when he garners no response. This isn’t real. He wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway. Feng Xin needs to try a new tactic, before this gets anywhere worse than it is.
As Mu Qing toys nervously with the incense lighter, Feng Xin focuses his meridians into snaking energies out to feel along this illusion. Any hint of a spell or illusion magic he should be able to parse out. After a moment of doing this his concentration is broken by a sharp rapping on the door. His eyes flying open, Feng Xin wants to shout and scream as a young woman with a painted face and low resting silks enters with arms full of paints and perfumes.
Heart in his throat, he watches helplessly as Mu Qing’s elegant face is highlighted and painted delicately. His rags are replaced with cheap silks designed to leave ‘just enough to the imagination honey.’ He watches as the ravenette is left alone, once again to sit alone and wait. To wait for something Feng Xin wouldn’t be able to watch.
Swearing sharply, Feng Xin kicks the wall beside him only for his foot to pass right through the rotting wood. If this isn’t your run of the mill illusion, then what in the three realms is it? Just as he scrubs a hand over his face, mind running faster than he can keep up with- Mu Qing mutters something that sends a cold feeling down his spine in an instant.
“... better wash off well enough before I get back. Their majesties wouldn’t have any idea but Feng Xin and Dianxia..” Mu Qing's dark hair falls over his face as he mutters into his lap, hands trembling visibly.
There’s no way that… Chilled sweat slides down Feng Xin’s back as he tries out every explanation for why this would be anything but a memory. Not an illusion, carefully crafted to be his own personal hell, but a memory- no, not his, but someone else’s. And that someone else…
Feng Xin heaves, his lungs refusing to draw breath as he screams silently, needing his legs to move as they stay rooted to the spot. He remains in the same damned spot as the door opens once again, and instead of the girl from before, a man with beady eyes and gray around the temples enters. The way he sizes up the young ravenette, already pliant and resigned on the bed makes his blood run cold.
He can’t watch this. This isn’t something that- there’s no way Mu Qing, he- he left. Mu Qing left us, He left Feng Xin. He left them without ever actually trying to help.
…Right?
He realizes numbly that his knees have hit the ground, and hot tears are sliding down his cheeks but he doesn’t care. He can’t give a shit when - Mu Qing, fucking Mu Qing and his ascetic cultuvation, and his elegant frame and young eyes is on that bed and he’s silently crying as the man leaves, and the tears make a track through the caked on makeup. Feng Xin can’t fathom, how come the bastard let him slight the other, for eight hundred years, he accused the other of leaving. Of not even trying, and how could Feng Xin not connect- those dusty coins that would appear everytime they were reaching the end of their rope again… The pattern being too purposeful but no trace of their origins left they had no choice to accept them gratefully.
The scene changes, the jingle of a coin pouch being filled makes Feng Xin sick. And under nothing but the moon’s light is Mu Qing, washing the paint from his face in a freezing river. Red rimmed eyes stare blankly into the water for so long, too long before he seems to pull a mask back over his face and his features go cold. When he turns up the path towards the house they had squatted in, Feng Xin cries. He knows what happens. What Mu Qing goes back to. The eyes that saw him as someone else to blame, someone else to take his hurt out on. And Feng Xin, never would have, and now he knows that-
He never even knew.
---
Feng Xin is thrown at the ground, his shoulder slamming into the wall of the cave as he tumbles. His eyes snap open- Mu Qing where is he-
White robes blind his vision as a sword slashes, and oh, Dianxia. A tidal wave of relief threatens to topple him again for a second time, before he frantically takes stock, thoughts returning to-
“Mu Qing.” Dianxia’s voice breaks, his face wet as he turns from the demon behind him, his sword still impaling it. Did his highness, did he also see it? Feng Xin turns, feeling as if he were underwater to find Mu Qing, back to the wall and fists clenched white.
His silky hair parting over his bent head obscures his expression until slowly, so slowly he lifts his head and his eyes, they say it all.