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Golden wisps of spiritual energy flew from his fingertips and dispersed. 

This was all Feng Xin’s fault. 

Every single thing wrong in Mu Qing’s life was Feng Xin’s fault. If he repeated it enough, if he could manifest it into reality, then maybe he’d have a valid reason to hate him. He could go back to convincing himself he hated the archer. He could forget all about the reconciliation that happened on Mt Tonglu. It wouldn’t take much to convince himself that Feng Xin hated him. His trust was fickle that way. And if Feng Xin hated him (and always had), he might as well hate him back. 

But this wasn’t really Feng Xin’s fault, was it? 

It wasn’t even Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s fault either, though he’d also love to blame the pair. Hindsight told him he should have taken Xie Lian’s offer to visit “anytime” a bit more cautiously, but he’d been so blinded by their newly formed (ie: rebuilt) friendship, he forgot one key detail: 

Hua Cheng was a menace. 

He existed to ruin anything and everyone. And he especially loved to get under Mu Qing’s skin. It had been almost a century since the ghost king married His Highness, and while Mu Qing no longer feared for his life whenever the Calamity was around, he also didn’t exactly enjoy his company either. Anytime Hua Cheng accompanied His Highness, Mu Qing would keep his visits brief, making a mental note to make up for it the next time he and Xie Lian would get together to embroider badly. 

(Xie Lian, that is — Mu Qing’s embroidery was always perfect.) 

Mu Qing could not recall why he hurried down to Puqi Shrine for a visit with His Highness. He probably wanted to share some news or perhaps invite him on a particularly interesting prayer, but none of that mattered for long. 

The Puqi Shrine that now stood was a far cry from the tiny, dilapidated shack it used to be. Despite the ostentatious architecture courtesy of the occupants of the nearby village, the interior had been decorated to suit its most frequent (and most important) occupant, creating an inviting atmosphere for any passing worshippers to pray or rest. Xie Lian’s personal quarters were set up at the rear of the building behind a secure divider at his husband’s insistence, separating him from potential strangers coming and going at all hours. The bed chambers were furnished as humbly as the Scrap Immortal himself. The only furniture taking up space in the room were the necessities — a bed, altar, and a basin for baths. Usually, Mu Qing would find Xie Lian meditating or reading on that very bed. 

Mu Qing never expected to walk in and witness the act of his former Crown Prince being fucked within an inch of his life by his ghost husband. 

Being alive for almost 900 years, Mu Qing thought himself beyond embarrassment. He bore witness to many more lewd acts than he’d like to admit. Too many shameless ghosts existed for him not to be rather immune to such sights. Even before he ascended, he took his cultivation training on Mt Taicang very seriously. While Xie Lian excelled at expelling all heart demons far easier than Mu Qing, he liked to think he eventually caught up in matters of purity. 

Upon finding Jian Lan at the brothel surrounded by many other prostitutes as a mere deputy official, he remained wholly unaffected despite their lascivious attempts to distract and seduce. 

Walking in on His Highness on his knees, ass in the air, with his face in the pillow while his husband went to town had been a sight Mu Qing never ever wanted to see, but it should have been fine. Embarrassing, sure, but fine. A subject Mu Qing would never want to speak about again, certainly, but still fine. 

Yet, Mu Qing could not get the image out of his head. 

After a spluttered apology as he fled Puqi Shrine, Mu Qing immediately returned to his stone garden in the Heavens to meditate the image away. He’d not been worried then. Rather he wanted to rid himself of the cringe-worthy disgust before he could consider facing Xie Lian again. But then he’d been sitting there, in silence, surrounded by the soothing sounds of nature, when an unbidden thought entered his head: 

If given the chance, would Feng Xin fuck him like that too? 

Panicked eyes flew open, ripping him from the failed meditation. He attempted to ignore his racing heart and return to his meditative mindset, but the damage was done. 

In all his centuries, he witnessed men laying with women in all different sorts of ways. He saw snippets of dreams he would rather not; he heard prayers drunkards sent to him instead of General Ju Yang (clearly out of inebriated confusion and stupidity); and he opened books he wished he hadn’t containing porn worthy of General Ming Guang’s library. 

But never had he seen or even thought what cut-sleeve sex would look like. 

Sound like. 

Smell like. 

One instant of walking into Puqi Shrine at the wrong moment and Mu Qing now possessed way more information than he ever had before — and he hated it. 

“Stop it,” he cursed his brain. 

He focused on his breathing techniques and recited the Taoist teachings. He started to fall back into deep meditation when the image popped into his head again, but this time it was him face down with Feng Xin behind him. 

Why!? he wanted to scream. Why!? This is not you!

But his mind no longer belonged to him. The more stubborn his resolve grew, attempting to clear his mind — or, at the very least, think of something else — the more invasive the thoughts became. The more frequent. What would it feel like? Would Feng Xin be rough like Hua Cheng was with Xie Lian? Or would he be gentle? Which would Mu Qing prefer? Would Feng Xin pull his hair? Would he pet it? Would Mu Qing be embarrassed by all of it or too caught in the throes of passion to care? 

Mu Qing stared down at his lap where his robes pooled between his crossed legs, but he could feel the embarrassing situation growing in his groin. Heat pulsated from a part of his body he hadn’t felt wake up like this in centuries. It was so foreign it took him a full minute to understand what was happening — and then he was angry all over again.

Feng Xin’s fault. 

It was all Feng Xin’s fault. 

His skin itched uncomfortably as he rose to his feet. He hated the way his robes felt against him as he walked inside toward the baths. Deputies moved about the palace, and a few paused to ask him questions. He dismissed every single one, trying very hard not to make it look like he was panicking over the state of his body. Anytime he thought (hoped) the lapse in self-control passed, another invasive thought would appear. An image. A desire that Mu Qing didn’t even realize he had. 

(Would Feng Xin bite him? Would he push him up against a wall? Would he be aggressive with him like when they fought?) 

A few minutes later, Mu Qing sunk into his bath, alone. The little problem between his legs remained untouched and ignored as he dunked his hair into the perfumed water. The bath was supposed to calm him down, wash away the dirty thoughts, but every nerve ending along his body burned. He leaned back against the stone rim of the tub and took a deep breath. 

This was fine. 

He was fine. 

He was very turned on. 

Hands ran down milky white thighs of their own accord. He gripped at muscle, trying to steady himself, but as his eyes slid shut, it was so easy — so stupidly easy — to pretend these hands belonged to Feng Xin. 

Hundreds of years ago, when both Feng Xin and Mu Qing served under the Prince of Xianle, the three of them went on a year-long journey. They fought demons, ghosts, worked on their various cultivation, and it ended with Xie Lian ascending. The trip vacillated between remarkable and unremarkable, with the majority of the journey falling squarely in the latter category. 

But there had been one night, a single spar between Feng Xin and Mu Qing, that always stuck with him. After traveling aimlessly for a full week, they needed to blow off some steam while His Highness rested. No weapons, they decided. Hand-to-hand. 

It had been brutal. Blood and fists flew every which way. 

Then Feng Xin pinned Mu Qing beneath him, face in the dirt, with his body weight laid out across him to hold him down. Mu Qing’s cheek pressed into the ground with an arm twisted behind his back and no obvious means of escape. Something about Feng Xin being fully on top of him like that felt— 

Mu Qing squeezed his thighs. 

Yes, it felt like this. 

The throbbing between his legs got worse. 

Don’t, a voice in the back of his head warned. 

What if he had kissed me? another wondered. 

Feng Xin froze back then. At the time, Mu Qing hadn’t understood why. He could have declared victory with Mu Qing fully at his mercy like that, but Feng Xin got so weird afterward. Flustered. He acted flustered. There had been something pressing into the back of Mu Qing’s thigh during the pin. It hadn’t hurt, but it made Mu Qing wonder if Feng Xin carried a second weapon on him. Had it been—?

Mu Qing’s eyes flew open. His breathing came out in shallow pants, and the pulsing between his legs begged for attention. But there was something else. Something far less pleasant throbbed in his chest. He pulled his hand out of the water and watched as golden wisps flew from his fingertips. 

That wasn’t good. 

He pressed two fingers to the pressure point on his wrist, checking his meridians, and cursed under his breath as he felt the fluctuating tides of his spiritual energy. A single boner and the golden core he built and grew through absolute abstinence was freaking out. This was all Feng Xin’s fault. The thrumming in his chest sent unpleasant waves through his body, leaving him light-headed and nauseous. He brought his knees up to his chest and sat in his bath until the water chilled and his hard-on grew soft. He checked his meridians once more, feeling things were mostly back on track, before he got out of the tub. 

He would give himself a few days, and then he’d visit Xie Lian again to apologize. Right now, though, he felt strangely exhausted. He loosely braided his hair and fell into bed, passing out quickly. Maybe he could forget about all of this by the morning. 

—

Feng Xin’s lips pressed into his own, and Mu Qing allowed himself to be lowered down. His entire body vibrated with want. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t remember how he got here, but he knew he needed more. He needed — something. His hands clung desperately to Feng Xin’s robes, his nails catching on the archer’s shoulder armor, as his weight settled on top of him. 

“Feng Xin,” he gasped. 

“What is it, Qing-er?” Feng Xin rasped in a sexy growl Mu Qing swore he never heard before, but it did things to him immediately. 

“I need… I need…” 

“I know,” Feng Xin said. 

Mu Qing had no idea what he was trying to ask for, but he believed Feng Xin did. The layers of clothing between them disappeared as they kissed more, and Mu Qing felt Feng Xin rut against him. Doing something. Feeling something. It was all so overwhelming. Feng Xin wiped tears Mu Qing hadn’t even realized he was crying away. 

“Shhh,” he shushed. He didn’t sound overly affected by what was happening between them, but Mu Qing had never felt more affected in his life. He thought he might explode. Feng Xin wrapped his arms around him. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Qing-er. I’ve got you.” 

Mu Qing didn’t understand what he was being coached through, but he clung back all the same. The rocking got more intense. Moans of pleasure bubbled up past Mu Qing’s lips as the intensity reached an all-time high. He wanted to stop. Something terrifying was about to happen, but Feng Xin — as if able to read his mind — leaned down to whisper into his ear. 

“Just let go.” 

So, Mu Qing did. 

With a spasm, something snapped, and Mu Qing gasped awake. His body was still trembling as wetness spread out between his legs. He made some sort of gods awful sound, but it — along with the intense waves of pleasure — eventually subsided. His chest heaved as he sucked in shallow breaths, staring up into the canopy of his bed, covered in sweat and… something else. Slight illumination filtered through the window into the pitch black room from the nightly ambiance of the Heavenly Capital, and the silence made his harsh breathing sound even more dramatic. 

A faint glow broke through the darkness. Mu Qing lifted his hand and saw more wispy golden tendrils escaping from his fingertips. His spiritual energy was leaking again. He knew he should take the time to repair the damage again with some meditation, but his muscles trembled still. 

He knew what happened. He would like to pretend he didn’t, but he visited enough dreams belonging to his followers to know how intense sex dreams could be. How real. His cultivation would have a hard time knowing the difference between a dream and the real thing. He dreaded even checking to see how damaged his core was this time — and he was far too tired to do anything about it at the moment. 

He also felt… warm and tingly all over. 

Sure, the nauseous and pain in his chest had returned, but the post-orgasm high made it difficult to care too much about any of that. But later? Later, he would panic. A lot. 

Mu Qing brought two fingers to his temple and recited the password to enter Feng Xin’s spiritual array. 

“I hate you.” 

He knew it wasn’t guaranteed that Feng Xin was currently asleep. Not all gods slept, after all, but he hoped he was. He hoped he was sleeping soundly and that his message just ruined whatever nice, calm dream he was having. He hoped it ruined his whole night. Just like Feng Xin ruined his. 

A moment later, a groggy response came through the array: 

“Mu Qing, did you just contact me in the communication array?” 

Mu Qing rolled his eyes, aggravated Feng Xin hadn’t even heard his message. Whatever. It wasn’t important for Feng Xin to know this was all his fault. Mu Qing knew the truth. He would just focus on the sick satisfaction he got from knowing he disturbed his slumber.

“No. Go to sleep. You’re hallucinating.” 

“...Fucker.” 

No further commentary followed, letting Mu Qing know he probably drifted back off. He dropped his hand and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t care. He ignored the gaping sadness clenching in his chest. He didn’t wish Feng Xin pushed further or asked more questions — why would he? That wasn’t Feng Xin. That had never been Feng Xin. So why would that blundering buffoon suddenly show any curiosity or concern for him now? 

He wasn’t the figment from his dreams. 

Maybe, if he were lucky, now that he dreamed it — no matter how vague it was — he could just move on with his life. He sighed and moved to sit up, mildly annoyed as his head spun. But first— 

He grimaced as he looked down at himself. He needed to clean up. 

— 

The Palace of Nan Yang ran drills every Sunday. Nine hundred years ago, when Feng Xin first ascended, he chose the plot right next to the newly built Palace of Xuan Zhen. Mu Qing remembered the flutter of excitement followed by dread when he learned who his new neighbor would be. Mu Qing had not seen Feng Xin since he left him and Xie Lian in a shower of rice and curses. The moment their eyes met again had been monumental. 

Then very violent. 

For centuries, Mu Qing hated having Feng Xin as his neighbor but especially on Sundays. Now, he found himself standing on his second-level balcony as he peered over the hedges separating the two properties to watch as Feng Xin led his deputies through their drills. All of Feng Xin’s deputies were little wannabe martial gods-in-training. Feng Xin didn’t even have a proper attendant among the lot of them, but they could all put up a pretty decent fight from what Mu Qing had seen. Which of those meatheads possessed any skills to organize all the prayers the Palace of Nan Yang received was anybody’s guess, and Mu Qing never bothered to ask. 

After all, it was not any of his business. 

In complete contrast, Mu Qing’s own deputies were mostly made up of scholars, ascetic cultivators, priests, and priestesses (most often from his own temples). The requirements of the Palace of Xuan Zhen included chastity — either a deputy already took their vow or had shown the willingness to do so before acceptance into Mu Qing’s ranks. They were intelligent and efficient. The Palace of Xuan Zhen ran like a well-oiled machine while the Palace of Nan Yang ran like…

Well, if they weren’t shooting something, Mu Qing was pretty sure most of them were completely lost as to what they were supposed to do with themselves. That being said — they could shoot. Very well. 

“Again!” Feng Xin shouted, and a volley of arrows flew across the courtyard toward the spinning targets at the end of the shooting range. 

Mu Qing’s angle didn’t allow him to see if the volley of arrows aimed true, but Feng Xin practically glowed at the results, telling him everything he needed to know. The sun shining over the Heavenly Capital caught his hair in just the right way making it appear to shine as he clapped his Head Deputy on the shoulder. Even from his spot on the second floor of his palace, Mu Qing could see the shimmer of sweat glinting off his forehead and shoulders. He hadn’t fully donned his armor for once, opting for just his inner robes as he instructed his deputies under the unforgiving heat of the summer sun. 

Feng Xin said something Mu Qing couldn’t catch to his deputies before he turned away from them to pick up Fengshen, his spiritual bow. 

Mu Qing didn’t know why he was watching this. When he woke up, his entire body felt heavy and his head spun when he stood. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed he was coming down with a cold, except gods couldn’t be afflicted with mortal illnesses. He thought some fresh air might help. With every step, he could tell something was off, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the time to check on his golden core. 

(It would fix itself if he ignored it.)

After cleaning up the night before, he laid in bed for far too long without sleeping. He made no headway on what he was going to do to fix the heart demon he contracted. Instead, his head swam with a brand new emotion he hadn’t let himself feel in eons: shame. Deep down, even if he didn’t want to accept it or admit it aloud, he knew everything about this — these thoughts, the slow destruction of his golden core — was all his fault. He was the weak one. 

The failure. 

He was the one who hadn’t been able to take an immature, fleeting crush and bury it into oblivion.

Feng Xin shrugged off his tunic, and Mu Qing felt his mouth go dry as the garment fell away to reveal the other man’s naked torso. He had seen Feng Xin shirtless many times. Hell, he had even seen him naked, but he never felt like this upon seeing him before. 

Had he? 

Doubt settled in his heart as he watched Feng Xin hold up his free hand. He was giving some specific instructions that Mu Qing could not hear. He observed as his fellow martial god summoned three arrows made of pure spiritual energy into his hand. He nocked the glowing arrows onto Fengshen. His mouth moved as he continued his unheard instruction, but Mu Qing focused on the way the muscles along his back and shoulders flexed with every movement. 

Mu Qing always had a certain… obsession with Feng Xin’s body. It was comical. Something to poke at. A thing to make him feel insecure about. A focal point for stupid poems he slipped to his followers as a joke when Feng Xin had been too thick-headed to realize his temples were being desecrated with the wrong name. It had never been like… this. 

Maybe it was just easier to mock Feng Xin when he thought he hated him rather than admire him now that he knew he didn’t. 

The spiritual arrows flew through the air and hit three separate targets. Mu Qing didn’t even have to check to know they hit their marks perfectly, especially when Feng Xin’s deputies all radiated awe. Some of them had been serving Feng Xin for centuries, and yet they still acted like the sun shone out of his ass. Ridiculous. 

(Not that Mu Qing’s deputies were all that different. He only accepted the most devoted, after all. What was the point of having a deputy if they were going to turn around and leave him? 

He knew all too well how easily that could happen.) 

Feng Xin tossed Fengshen aside, and the spiritual bow disappeared before it hit the ground. He made a hand gesture, and all the deputies raised a hand to summon their own arrows made of spiritual energy. Feng Xin looked like he was about to give the order for them to nock the arrows before he turned at just the right angle. His eyes met Mu Qing’s. 

He seemed… surprised to see him standing there watching. Mu Qing didn’t react. He wasn’t sure how to react, so he stared blankly back. After a confused moment, Feng Xin raised a hand to wave. 

Mu Qing immediately turned on his heel to march back into his palace, his heart hammering in his chest. It knocked against his unstable golden core, echoing against his ribs uncomfortably, and continued to ignore all of it. 

—

The leak was getting worse. 

Mu Qing had been stubbornly ignoring it for a week. He meditated once a day, as had always been his habit before, but he was only successful about half the time. His mind refused to remain clear. The pain beneath his diaphragm grew more intense every day. The golden wisps were a constant presence, but they remained only noticeable for those looking for it or in extreme darkness. 

Most days, Mu Qing could nearly convince himself that his golden core would repair itself. However, every so often, as if to prove that delusion wrong, an errant thought would enter his head accompanied by the painful twinge of his core deteriorating within his body. It got worse any time Mu Qing found himself in Feng Xin’s presence, so he just… avoided him. 

Like the plague. 

Mu Qing walked alone through the Heavenly Capital, headed toward the teleportation array with a prayer in hand. Usually, he would give a prayer of this nature over to one of his deputies, but handling it personally gave him a valid reason not to be anywhere that Feng Xin would be. After all, the General of the Southeast had absolutely no reason to be in Mu Qing’s territory, so it was perfect. 

Until Pei Ming fell into step with him. 

“General Xuan Zhen,” he greeted with a head nod. 

Mu Qing’s entire body tensed. Pei Ming was not the type to randomly decide to greet him for no reason; he always had an ulterior motive. He continued to stride forward, head held high. “General Ming Guang.” 

“How have you been?” he asked. 

Now, he knew something was up. He side-eyed the General of the North, but he refused to slow his pace to entertain this conversation. “Fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Pei Ming inquired, and for some inexplicable reason, he actually sounded concerned. “You seem quite pale lately, General.” 

Mu Qing almost faltered, but he managed to recover before his body could react outwardly. His jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” Pei Ming asked. “Then perhaps it would behoove you to pay General Nan Yang a visit. He seems to think you are avoiding him. I assured him that couldn’t possibly be the case. Perhaps you just weren’t feeling well—?”

Mu Qing stepped into the teleportation array and locked a glare onto the Martial God of the North. “I would be grateful if you would keep your nose out of my business.” 

With that, Mu Qing descended to the mortal realm. 

Perhaps it had been a little harsh (very harsh), but General Ming Guang wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety. Mu Qing wondered who else Pei Ming talked to. He didn’t think he looked pale recently, and even if he had, he knew he looked presentable every morning. He wouldn’t bother to show his face if he didn’t. But did that mean one of his own deputies had been talking? 

He thought back to the other day when he nearly collapsed upon standing from another failed meditation; he caught himself on a nearby stone bench, and it had been fine. Had someone seen? Most of his meals lately tasted like sandpaper, so he naturally ate less. Were some of his cooks gossiping about his returned meals? And his thoughts often did not feel like his own, distracting him from what was going on around him. Just this morning, his Head Deputy needed to call his name several times to get his attention before he could even report on the prayer he clutched so tightly now. 

If any of them had been talking… 

Stupid, he thought angrily as he landed. Traitors. Unfaithful. Jerks.

He turned and punched a nearby Cathaya tree. The  trunk splintered from the impact, the canopy exploding with fleeing flocks of birds, but it did not fall. Mu Qing stared up at the swaying branches, still shivering from the impact, in surprise. A month ago, a tree — even as magnificent as this one — would have easily collapsed under his strength. Now, the birds calling the tree home barely even seemed concerned as they quickly returned to their nests. 

Mu Qing looked down at the offending, ineffectual hand as he flexed his fingers. The broken skin was already mending itself back together but not as quickly as he was accustomed to. He watched as several golden wisps escaped from his wounds, like his entire body had become a sieve for all of his spiritual energy. 

He could ask for help. Logically, he knew that. Xie Lian would help. He might even have some advice as to what he should do, but then he would need to explain what started all of this in the first place. Mei Ninqiang might be able to help, but last Mu Qing heard, he still was acting as Jun Wu’s prison guard and only company even after all these years. Plus, he never liked Mu Qing to begin with. The healers up in Heaven had probably seen something like this before, but they talked. 

They all talked. 

It was fine. He tucked his throbbing fist into his sleeve and turned to start trekking toward the town to the east. He would make do with what little spiritual power he had left. 

—

The yao beast laid dead at Mu Qing’s feet. Zhanmadao dripped with the blackened blood of the demon, but Mu Qing didn’t feel triumphant. His free hand clutched at his side where the beast’s claws managed to dig deep into his abdomen. While not immediately fatal, the fact that a river of blood steadily soaked into his pants and pooled around his feet was a little concerning. He felt woozy, and he had to quickly let go of his wound to catch himself on a nearby tree before he hit the ground. 

Zhamadao felt heavy in his other hand. A formidable blade, Zhanmadao could be wielded by no other. The weight of his spiritual weapon increased exponentially anytime it felt the presence of someone other than its owner. More than once, Mu Qing’s prized blade had been called temperamental — not too unlike the wielder. Yet, right now, Mu Qing could feel the strain of his muscles as he worked to keep it suspended in the air so as not to sully the infused steel with the filthy ground. 

His wrist screamed from the weight, and he closed his eyes to dismiss the weapon before he lost his grip. He tried not to panic even as his heart pounded in his chest. This was… fine. 

He was fine. 

The wound on his side would heal; he was just tired from the fight with the demon. These sorts of things happened. 

The fact that he knew — logically — any other day he could have taken down that yao beast without so much as breaking a sweat was ignored. He couldn’t handle the truth of the matter at the moment. He wandered toward the sound of rushing water and dropped to his knees on the embankment to wash away the blood staining his hands. He knew that the blood of a god would nourish all the foliage along this river for years to come, but he justified the action by convincing himself that his followers would believe the change was just an intended blessing for the region. 

Mu Qing watched, frozen, as more golden wisps washed downstream amongst the bloody water. 

He made quite the glorious image — General Xuan Zhen, Martial God of the Southwest, bestowing his constituents with the gift of his spiritual essence, his very blood. 

Blessings for all! 

Pathetic.

Is this what it feels like as a god dies? Mu Qing thought almost hysterically as he lifted his hands from the water, staring at his now clean palms in horror. He almost started to laugh at the absurdity of it. 

Since his youth, he always knew Feng Xin was going to be his downfall. He would get him in trouble with his guoshi, ruin his relationship with His Highness, get him thrown out of Heaven, or simply do something to destroy him. Then, he’d laugh as he watched Mu Qing fall from grace, because why wouldn’t he? And now — now that he was outright losing the power connected to his spiritual energy — what he’d always known was finally coming to pass. Feng Xin was the entire reason Mu Qing’s body was no longer healing as it had for centuries, instead leaving the once powerful Xuan Zhen kneeling in a pool of his own blood. 

It was, literally, all Feng Xin’s fault. 

“Mu Qing, where are you?” a voice in his communication array interrupted his panicked spiral. 

Mu Qing didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, he thought the voice in his head was simply a figment of his imagination. He had been thinking so deeply of the other god he manifested his vibrato. Then he brought two slightly damp fingers up to his temple. 

“What?” he snapped back. 

Mu Qing didn’t allow a single sliver of his physical state slip into his spiritual communication. He didn’t want Feng Xin to be able to hear how badly he was shaking or how dry his mouth felt. He didn’t want him to know he was still trying to work up the strength to get back to his feet. He didn’t want him to hear his weakness . So, instead, all that came across in the array was pure disdain. As always. 

“I asked where the hell are you,” Feng Xin repeated. “Ling Wen said that she gave you a prayer about a damn yao beast. I’ve been getting a shitload of prayers about it, too. Where the fuck are you? I’ll come help you with it.” 

Mu Qing felt his anger rise, and the hand still braced on the shoreline dug into the muddied sand. “I don’t need your help.” 

“I didn’t fucking say you did,” Feng Xin growled, sounding annoyed. Good. “The yao beast has been terrorizing my followers, so it’s my fucking problem, too.” 

Part of Mu Qing wondered if that was even true. He wasn’t anywhere near the border of Nan Yang’s territory. Could the yao beast have been traveling that far to terrorize people? Possibly. But it was also just as possible that followers of Nan Yang simply moved west. After all, the last fifty years had been… peaceful between the two territories. Just as the gods found a way to work together, so had their constituents. 

Mu Qing remembered the strange satisfaction he felt upon seeing the first combined Temple of Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang along their border. The temple had been a sign of the brokered peace between the two territories — and also a sign of the peace between the two gods. The Heavens and the mortal realm mirroring each other in a rather beautiful way. And in Mu Qing’s eyes, it acted as a sign that the dynamic between him and Feng Xin had truly changed. 

Now, part of him kind of wanted to go find that temple and burn it down. 

“Mu Qing? Hello?” Feng Xin snapped, and Mu Qing startled as he realized he zoned out for longer than he intended. “Are you still fucking there?” 

“It’s already dead,” Mu Qing answered, quieter — smaller — than he meant to relay in his answer. 

He didn’t want to sound upset or vulnerable. He was trying not to let any of that show. Anytime he let himself be vulnerable, it never ended well for him. Even if, in the moment, it seemed like it was okay, it always — always — eventually blew up in his face. 

“The fuck?” Feng Xin blurted out. 

Mu Qing felt his hackles rise. “What?” he snapped back. “You don’t think I can handle a single yao beast? Screw you!” 

“I didn’t fucking say that!” Feng Xin protested. “I just thought— Never mind. Look, good for you. Where are you? We’ll go fucking celebrate, then you can announce it to your followers in their dreams.” 

For a fleeting moment, Mu Qing wanted to respond. He even felt the smallest desire to accept the invitation to celebrate, even if Feng Xin’s idea of celebrating probably meant going to grab food somewhere in the Mortal Realm in disguise. 

He could envision the exact kind of town Feng Xin would choose. It would have a place he’d grown fond of, a shop (or stall) selling some sort of mystery meat on a stick. And since they were celebrating, he’d badger Mu Qing to try the skewer. Eventually he’d give in, only because he’d also get the promise of candied hawthorn afterward. Feng Xin would laugh obnoxiously loud at the face Mu Qing was sure to pull after tasting the meat. And Mu Qing would end their celebration warring internally with himself between being annoyed or stupidly enamored with his stupid face. 

The pain in his side and chest exploded, pulling him from the scenario he crafted in his imagination. Mu Qing’s fingers fell away from his temple as he doubled over. He wasn’t sure how long the wave of intense pain and angry roaring of his golden core lasted before he finally blacked out. 

— 

Feng Xin’s hands were rough with callouses from hard work and manipulating the horse hair of his bow. Unlike most other noble boys, his hands had never known a day of being fresh and clean. Even Xie Lian, who grew up obsessed with weapons from the time he could hold a sword, possessed hands that were smooth and lotioned every morning and evening. But Feng Xin — who had been born and bred to be a weapon of the Xianle royal family, who had been rumored to be the son of one of the king’s concubines (and therefore possibly a half-brother to His Highness himself) — always had hands that knew hard work. 

The first time Mu Qing met Feng Xin, he had been grabbed by those very hands. Feng Xin thought Mu Qing was just another lowly servant sneaking around His Highness’s quarters. He’d been (in Mu Qing’s mind) unnecessarily rough as he pulled him out of Xie Lian’s room and threw him to the ground. So used to being tossed aside like trash, Mu Qing just took it quietly and without fighting back, all while burning with fury within. 

And while Feng Xin apologized the second Xie Lian ran up to clear the confusion, Mu Qing always felt the apology sounded fake and forced. There had been something wrong about his tone from the second he spoke to him. His hands, though… 

They left an impression that followed Mu Qing into his dreams sometimes. For nine hundred years, those dreams had been innocent. Hand-holding at the worst of it, but now… 

The same hands that broke bones and caused such pain now held him down. One was securely around his throat while the other held onto his wrists. Mu Qing knew he should feel terrified in this predicament, but he only knew bliss as Feng Xin panted heavily in his ear. That overwhelming, vague pleasure was coursing through his veins again. Their bodies rocked with the waves of hot, white heat surging between them. 

Mu Qing couldn’t stop himself from whining and mewling at the sensations. They raced toward — something again. Something Mu Qing knew he recognized, had even felt before, but was too overwhelmed to grasp the concept. He could only think of the here and now as he felt Feng Xin’s body weight settling on top of him once more. Mu Qing’s breath caught, and his entire body shuddered from pure lust. 

“I can’t… I can’t…” he whined. 

Feng Xin opened his mouth to respond, but it wasn’t his voice that gave the sharp order of, “Wake up.” 

Mu Qing’s eyes flew open. 

His body felt shaky and sweaty but still wound tight like a rope about to snap. He found himself laying amongst silks in a room almost completely decorated in red. Dread filled him as he took in all the shades of crimson before he finally noticed the figure standing over him. Hua Cheng, Ghost King of Ghost City, Crimson Rain Sought Flower, stood by the bed he laid in. One leg rested on the mattress with his boot propped against Mu Qing’s calf. A steady stream of donated spiritual power poured from the sole of his boot. The god quickly pulled his leg away as shame — deep-seated humiliation — began to burn beneath his skin. 

Did… did the Ghost King somehow know what he had been dreaming? 

The expression Hua Cheng wore was as difficult to read as always, bordering on the edge of something slightly murderous. Mu Qing looked around the room for Xie Lian, but he didn’t see his friend anywhere at first glance. He tried to remember what happened, but the last thing he could recall was…? 

“Where am I?” Mu Qing asked. 

“Paradise Manor, against my better judgment,” Hua Cheng said, as he pulled his boot off of the bed. 

Mu Qing’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” 

“For reasons I can’t fully comprehend, Gege cares about you,” Hua Cheng answered as he adjusted his vambraces. “So, as long as your death would sadden my husband, I will not allow anything to happen to you.” 

That explained nothing. Mu Qing peered around the room again as he moved to sit up. His limbs shook with the effort, and a sweat broke out on his brow. Hua Cheng watched without offering him any help, which Mu Qing appreciated. He wasn’t sure how he would react if even Crimson Rain began to show him sympathy. 

“Why?” Mu Qing repeated, his teeth gritting with growing annoyance. “Why am I here? How did you even know where I was? Where’s His Highness?” 

“Like I said, it’s my purpose to ensure that Gege never knows suffering again, so that means I have to keep an eye on his incompetent friends,” Hua Cheng said, as he held out a hand. 

Movement out of the corner of Mu Qing’s eye made him jump as a silver butterfly flitted from his hair, flying to reconnect with Hua Cheng’s silver vambrace. Mu Qing reached up, feeling itchy all over suddenly, as he quickly ran a hand through his hair, looking for more errant butterflies.  

“You’ve been spying on me!?” he spluttered, horrified. 

Hua Cheng clicked his tongue, like the mere idea was offensive. “As if I’d waste my time on you ,” he said. “I merely keep tabs on you for Gege’s sake. It gives him peace of mind. The butterflies tag along with you and the other idiot so that when you inevitably do something stupid, as you did today, we can easily come find and save you. You’re welcome.” 

“Tag along…?” Mu Qing repeated, still feeling confused even as his fingers continued to comb through his hair, not totally reassured despite Hua Cheng’s words. 

“It seems you stopped responding to Idiot Number Two without warning, so he reached out to Gege for help, because he was worried something might have happened,” Hua Cheng explained. He moved over to a nearby chair, sinking down into the cushioned fabric without taking his eyes off of Mu Qing. “And it seems something did. Gege and I found you unconscious and bleeding, so we brought you back here so that I could lend you some spiritual energy to heal. Gege is making you some food.” 

Hua Cheng smirked while Mu Qing’s stomach churned at the idea of Xie Lian’s cooking, but that (for once) was the least of his worries. He found himself unable to meet Hua Cheng’s eye anymore.  Did the fact that he needed a donation of spiritual energy mean he ran completely out while at the river? Did he dare ask? He looked down at his body. He still wore the same robes he descended from the Heavens in. The front of his robes were torn open, covered in dry blood, but he could see the stitched together flesh beneath. He didn’t want to know how much Hua Cheng knew; he definitely didn’t want to know how much Xie Lian knew. 

“As far as Gege knows, you simply overdid it,” Hua Cheng continued, answering Mu Qing’s unasked question. “I will leave the rest for you to tell him.” 

“Tell him what?” Mu Qing asked, trying to sound nonchalant even as his fingers mindlessly began to braid his hair for something to do while panic began to build in his throat. 

“That you’re dying,” Hua Cheng said. 

Mu Qing froze. His eyes widened. For a moment, there wasn’t a single sound in the room — not even Mu Qing’s breathing as he forgot how to do that. 

Hua Cheng raised an eyebrow. “You didn't know,” he realized slowly. “You’re deep in the throes of a qi deviation, and you had no idea. The Heavens really are completely useless not to have diagnosed you yet. Unless — you haven’t told anyone, have you?” 

Mu Qing’s hands fell limply into his lap. 

A fire crackled in the corner and two ghostly braziers bathed every corner in an orange glow — and yet, Mu Qing could still somehow see the golden wisps floating off of his fingertips. The leak had turned into a full stream. He could feel the spiritual energy circulating through his body, but he realized the cold residue it left behind in his veins was because it wasn’t his . Almost all of the circulating energy belonged to the Ghost King as it tried to keep his golden core from completely shutting down. 

Mu Qing swung his legs off the side of the bed so he could stand. The room spun. His vision blurred. Hua Cheng made no move to get up even as he wobbled, but Mu Qing didn’t completely miss the way his body tensed, as if ready for action. All of this was far too complicated for Mu Qing to process at the moment. He was done. He was done with Hua Cheng, Feng Xin, Paradise Manor, all of it. He just wanted to leave. 

“Thank you,” he forced out stiffly. “Tell His Highness thank you for the food, but I needed to get back to the Heavens to report on the yao beast.” 

Hua Cheng rose to his feet. “General,” he stated plainly, “I told you. I have no intention of letting Gege know the suffering of loss again if I can help it.” 

“Are you saying I can’t leave?” Mu Qing asked, lifting his chin defiantly. 

Hua Cheng’s lips curled into something close to a sneer. “Don’t tempt me.” The threat hung in the air for a moment before Xie Lian’s husband continued, “What I’m saying, General , is that Gege thinks very highly of you. He seems to think you’re quite… intelligent, even if I cannot comprehend why. Do not prove him wrong by allowing yourself to die because you’re too much of an idiot to do something about it.” 

Mu Qing’s hands balled into fists. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The Ghost King pulled out a pair of dice from his pocket. He threw them up in the air and caught them swiftly. Mu Qing didn’t bother to look to see what he rolled and neither did the ghost. He walked to the door and opened it. Mu Qing managed not to react with surprise when he saw the Palace of Xuan Zhen on the other side. 

“Address your issues, General,” Hua Cheng said with a hint of a warning, “or I will address them for you.” 

Mu Qing didn’t know what he meant, but he didn’t stick around to find out. He whipped his robes behind him before he marched through the doorway and stepped into his palace. Maybe if Mu Qing were in a clearer headspace, he’d be a bit more concerned that Crimson Rain Sought Flower opened a teleportation array directly into the Heavens, but he filed that away for another day’s problem. 

Night fell over the Heavens, and Mu Qing could see his spiritual energy, bright golden flickers, emanating from him like some sort of fucked up qi deviating firefly. His head felt heavy as he walked through his halls, and he nearly barreled right into his Head Deputy. The young man, who had been with him for almost a full century, dodged the god before quickly falling into a bow. 

“General!” he said. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t expecting you back so quickly. Are you—?” He looked up at him and froze, taking in the sight of Mu Qing. “...Are you okay, General?” 

No! he wanted to scream. What kind of idiotic question is that!?

But, instead, he inclined his head. “I’m fine. I’ll be meditating in the garden. I want no interruptions. Understood?” 

The Head Deputy looked him up and down, clearly wanting to say more, but the deputies of the Palace of Xuan Zhen were not known for talking back to their god. Everybody else? Sure. The sass was practically infectious, after all. But they knew better than to try to get smart with Mu Qing, so as expected, the Head Deputy took a step back and bowed once more. 

“Understood, sir.” 

Mu Qing brushed past him as he moved further into the palace. He told the deputy his planned destination was the gardens, but his feet carried him upstairs toward his bedchamber. His limbs felt heavy, and his head screamed as the pounding grew louder and louder. He knew several treatments for qi deviation off the top of his head, and he was pretty sure that trying to “ sleep it off ” was no longer a viable option if it was as bad as Hua Cheng made it sound. Logically, Mu Qing knew he should be seeking out healers. He should be getting treatment or going into a deep meditation at the very least to try to repair the damage himself. It wasn’t like Mu Qing wanted to die, but he just… 

He was tired. 

He just needed to rest for a moment. That was all. 

He fell face first into his bed, still fully dressed in his robes, hair piece still in place, and passed out. 

—

“Mu Qing! Goddamnit, Mu Qing, wake up! I swear, if you don’t wake up, I’ll—!” 

“You’ll what?” Mu Qing mumbled back without thinking or peeling his eyes open.

He didn’t know what was going on, but he could feel his body being jostled around. His hair spilled around him, and miraculously, his head pounded a little less — he must have lost his hair piece at some point.  Mu Qing laid on his back now, and though his skin felt feverish and hot, it wasn’t because of the clothing he fell asleep in. He knew he should be concerned by some of these realizations, but what was the point? 

Feng Xin was speaking to him, holding him, shaking him — because Mu Qing was dreaming again. And though Mu Qing would never admit this while awake, he rather liked these dreams.

“Thank fuck!” Feng Xin snapped, giving Mu Qing another shake. “Now, open your eyes for me, Mu Qing. C’mon.” 

Everything felt heavy around him, not too unlike the other dreams. His limbs moved through mud, and every breath came out labored. Except — that was a bit different, wasn’t it? He remembered being out of breath in the other dreams, but this didn’t feel like that. This felt… a little painful. His face screwed up in discomfort. Feng Xin cupped his cheek. Those calloused fingers felt cool against his burning face, and he leaned into the touch with a little moan. Feng Xin froze. 

“Mu Qing,” he began a bit more hesitantly before he tapped the god’s cheek a few times. “Hey, c’mon. This isn’t funny. Open your fucking eyes.” 

It had only been a week since the dreams started, but Mu Qing grew used to the sexy little purrs of his dream Feng Xin. This slightly panicked and annoyed commentary was something entirely new, but the touches felt so much more intense. Mu Qing didn’t mind it. What he did mind was most of the dreams seemed to start in the midst of… stuff. It was the part Mu Qing hated, and yet, simultaneously, it was the part he craved. 

With a bit more effort than he remembered it ever taking prior, Mu Qing wrapped his arms blindly around Feng Xin’s neck. The man above him gave a surprised sound before Mu Qing hauled himself up to bring their lips together. 

Dream Feng Xin kissed Mu Qing a lot. 

But this was the first time Mu Qing realized he never initiated the dream kisses, nor did he remember them in detail. It was probably because Mu Qing had never kissed anyone before in real life. He never sat and thought about the logistics of it either. Why would he? He had every intention of remaining celibate for eternity, but in his dreams, he always knew exactly what to do, mimicking the sights and sounds he witnessed many times before. But as Mu Qing’s lips pressed against Feng Xin’s cool, dry and slightly cracked ones, he didn’t know what to do next. 

Whatever, he thought as he took Feng Xin’s bottom lip between his teeth. It didn’t matter if he knew how to kiss or not; it was just a dream. All he knew was that he wanted to be closer to Feng Xin, to taste, to kiss, to— 

“Ah!” Feng Xin cursed as he pushed Mu Qing back down. A hand came up to press against his bruised lip as he stared down at Mu Qing with wide eyes. “What the fuck! What is wrong with you!?” 

Mu Qing blinked slowly up at Feng Xin, confused. 

He could not remember needing to think so hard about what to say or do next in any of the other dreams. Everything felt so far out of his control; he was just along for the ride. Yet Feng Xin wasn’t touching him or kissing him back. Mu Qing’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he tried to understand why . Was he supposed to do or say something to get the scenario to move forward? 

“Shut up,” he decided. 

He grabbed the front of Feng Xin’s robes to pull him back down for another kiss. Feng Xin made a hilarious yelp-adjacent sound Mu Qing hoped he would remember when he woke up. It would give him laughter fuel for years to come. His legs spread so Feng Xin could slot in better, get closer, and he moved to hitch one of his legs over the back of Feng Xin’s knees—

“Stop!” Feng Xin ordered, ripping away from him once more. His entire face was flushed, his eyes wide with panic. He sat up, forcing Mu Qing to let go of his robes, but his leg remained entangled. “Mu Qing, what the fuck! I came to check on you because you went dead silent on me. Then, His Highness said that something had fucking happened, that you were unconscious when they found you, and that you just fucking left while he was out of the room. And when I fucking find you, you’re glowing like a goddamn oil lamp — and not breathing. Do you know how fucking scared I was!? And now you’re trying to kiss me! WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

Any other day, Mu Qing would have happily focused on the absolute audacity of this man yelling in his face. But something else caught his attention. An understanding. His heart leapt into his throat. 

“...I’m not dreaming,” Mu Qing murmured. 

“What!? No!” Feng Xin said. 

His lips were still slightly glossy from Mu Qing’s saliva. His bottom lip was swollen from the bite. He stared at Mu Qing with a hard to read but definitely weirded out expression. Panic flooded his system, and — even though his body still felt weak, his head pounded anew, and he could feel blood trapped in his chest — he immediately began to flail.

“Hey, hey!” Feng Xin tried to cry out. 

But Mu Qing didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to see him. A knee rammed into Feng Xin’s side. He threw his hands out, a fist catching Feng Xin’s jaw and nails catching his neck. 

“GO AWAY!” Mu Qing shrieked. 

The humiliation was too much. Mu Qing felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t breathe. He kissed Feng Xin — kissed him in real life. This was way worse than anything he ever imagined. Lit only by one low burning sconce along the far wall, his darkened bed chamber seemed far brighter than it should be. Mu Qing couldn’t find it in him to calm down enough to realize that he was the source of the light. All he knew was that Feng Xin was here, and that he’d seen his shame. 

Now, he needed to leave before Mu Qing killed one of them. 

“Stop! Godsdamnit, Mu Qing! Just stop!” Feng Xin cried. 

He clearly had the upper hand given his martial strength still backed by a functioning golden core, but Mu Qing thrashed so much he couldn’t find an opening. Finally, growling in frustration, he caught one hand — then the other — before pinning them both over Mu Qing’s head. He remained slotted between Mu Qing’s legs, embarrassingly close. Feng Xin hadn’t moved far enough away for Mu Qing to recover any dignity, and this position just made it all so much worse. 

“Just. Stop.” 

“Fuck you!” Mu Qing snapped back. 

Tears clung to his eyelashes, and the humiliation cut so deep he couldn’t feel anything else. Not even his own distress. Not even the way his heart stuttered in his own chest. But Feng Xin could see the way the golden energy pouring out of the God of the Southwest fluctuated. He could feel the power and heat behind the light as it passed through him. It left Xuan Zhen’s bedchamber feeling sweltering compared to the perfectly clement temperature of the rest of the Heavens. 

“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin said, keeping his voice low in an effort to cut through the irrational panic the other god was experiencing, “what is happening?” 

Mu Qing let out a humorless laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“Yes!” Feng Xin responded, exasperated. “That’s why I fucking asked, dumbass!” 

“Who are you calling a dumbass!?” Mu Qing growled. 

He started to wriggle again, trying to escape from Feng Xin’s hold with a renewed vigor, but Feng Xin held his hands firmly in place. The weight of his body kept him from escaping. And Mu Qing realized, with another wave of mortification, that he was hard again. He turned his face to the side, certain he was going to vomit up buckets of blood at this rate. He only prayed Feng Xin hadn’t noticed his predicament, though how could he not have? Even if he didn’t, his secret was already out. 

“You!” Feng Xin groused. He took a steadying breath. “What is going on with you? What is happening to your spiritual power? Talk to me.” 

“Now who’s being the dumbass?” Mu Qing bit back. “Haven’t you ever seen a qi deviation before!?” 

Feng Xin froze. He moved so that he could hold both of Mu Qing’s wrists in one hand, and Mu Qing’s humiliation rose with the realization he still couldn’t get free. He kept up with Feng Xin in strength for nearly 900 years, and now was when he fell short. With his free hand, Feng Xin pressed two fingers to the pressure point on Mu Qing’s neck, pushing in a little spiritual energy to check on his core. Mu Qing didn’t know what Feng Xin felt in that moment, but the look on his face told him that it was nothing good. Mu Qing closed his eyes, already accepting his fate. 

“Just go away,” he muttered. 

Feng Xin ignored him. “Why?” he asked instead. 

“Why what?” Mu Qing repeated, incredulous. He looked back up at the man on top of him. “Because I want you to! Isn’t that enough?” 

“No,” Feng Xin said, sounding pained. “Why are you qi deviating? What happened? Who did it? What… what did you do?” 

“Fuck you!” Mu Qing screeched, immediately defensive. “I didn’t do anything! It’s all your fault! YOUR FAULT! GET OFF OF ME!” 

Feng Xin winced at the sudden screaming in his ear, but he did not move. “My fault!?” he spluttered. “What the fuck did I do!?” 

“Everything!” Mu Qing spat out, and he felt a sick sort of satisfaction when Feng Xin actually flinched from the spittle spewing from his mouth. “You did everything!” 

“That explains fucking nothing,” Feng Xin growled. 

“It’s not my fault you’re obtuse,” Mu Qing taunted. “Now get off me!” 

“No!” 

And, to prove his point, Feng Xin held Mu Qing’s wrists tighter. Mu Qing wished he could close his legs — especially when for some stupid fucking reason , the strength of the hold made the problem down south so much worse. The look on Feng Xin’s face grew intense, and Mu Qing could practically see the gears turning in his head. Mu Qing’s cheeks tinted red, and he had to look away from the stare, feeling the heat behind the look too overwhelming to handle. 

“You’re qi deviating,” Feng Xin repeated quietly. 

Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “No, duh. Well done, idiot.” 

Feng Xin, once again, ignored him. (Asshole.) “Your golden core is damaged… badly. That’s probably what is causing the qi deviation.” 

“Wow, did it take both of your brain cells to come to that conclusion?” Mu Qing mocked. 

Feng Xin did not rise to the bait. Or he was too distracted by his own thoughts to have heard him. In other words, ignoring Mu Qing. Again . (Double asshole.) “To damage your core, it would take either an outside source or the breaking of your vows…” 

Oh, no. 

That was too close to the truth. Mu Qing tried to think of something snarky to say in response, but it suddenly felt impossible to breathe. 

“And you said it was my fault…” 

Mu Qing squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to stop the tears from falling. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. But suffering this humiliation, this rejection, of having his heart split open for Feng Xin, of all godsdamn people, to see and spit on was too much. He felt fragile. Any second, Feng Xin was going to speak and shatter him irrevocably for good. 

When Feng Xin next spoke, he was so close that Mu Qing could feel his hot breath wafting over his cheek, “What can I do to help?” 

In spite of himself, Mu Qing felt his breath catch. A shudder ran down his spine. His cock jumped in his pants. And dear gods, he hoped Feng Xin hadn’t felt that. Their bodies laid so close together now, it would take a miracle for him to remain unaware. A tear escaped out the corner of his eye and ran down the side of his face into his hair. His hands remained trapped in Feng Xin’s grip, so he couldn’t even try to brush it away before the other god noticed. 

“N-nothing,” Mu Qing muttered. “It’s too far gone. You felt it.” 

“I’m not going to just sit by while you are fucking torn apart by a qi deviation,” Feng Xin growled right in his ear. 

Mu Qing bit his bottom lip to keep from groaning in response. He was doing it on purpose, right? He had to be. He was torturing him. He thought this was hilarious. He wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines because he was going to add to his misery until he finally perished. 

“What if…?” Feng Xin started, before trailing off, almost self-consciously. Mu Qing didn’t buy it, though. He knew his diabolical plan. “What if you broke your cultivation vows? Would that help?” 

Mu Qing’s eyes flew open. Feng Xin’s face was red, but he looked determined as he stared down at him. The rapid movement made Mu Qing’s head spin — or maybe it was just the implication of what Feng Xin just said. He meant it how Mu Qing took it, right? But how could Mu Qing even dare to voice anything to assure they were on the same page? He couldn’t talk about any of this—! 

“Would it?” Feng Xin prompted. 

Mu Qing knew his qi deviation had reached the advanced stage at this point, but he was still — mostly — cognizant. Yet, he couldn’t find his voice to respond. He kept opening and closing his mouth, unable to even begin to voice how he felt about anything Feng Xin was saying. As if being able to sense his distress, Feng Xin used his free hand to begin to run his trembling fingertips down Mu Qing’s side. Even through his robes, the touch felt like fire, and he gasped, his back arching into the touch. Feng Xin’s expression darkened. 

“Would it?” he repeated, lowering his head until his face was hovering right over Mu Qing’s. Their lips ghosted in touch, and it took all of Mu Qing’s self-control not to close that distance. “C’mon, Mu Qing. I need to hear you say it.” 

Mu Qing swallowed thickly. “Y-yes…” 

That was all it took before Feng Xin pressed his lips into Mu Qing’s. This kiss was different from all the previous ones — the real ones and those crafted in his fantasies. It was slow, sensual. Mu Qing moaned as Feng Xin’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and he felt like he was drowning from this act alone. Then, he realized that it felt like that because he wasn’t breathing. He pulled away to gasp for air, but Feng Xin kept kissing around his mouth and down to his neck. He let go of his hands, but Mu Qing barely even registered the freedom. The mere act of Feng Xin kissing his skin was so overwhelming; everything felt heady. 

“F-Feng Xin…” he moaned. 

“I know, Qing-er,” Feng Xin said softly. “I know, it’s getting worse. We don’t have a lot of time.” 

That was not what Mu Qing was going to say. Then again, maybe it was exactly what he needed to say. Perhaps part of the strange, floaty feeling wasn’t because everything was too much. Everything was beginning to blend together in a swamp of overwhelming feelings. The pain, the pleasure. The newness, the dreams. He covered his face with an arm as his body began to tremble, and he could not even begin to decipher the cause at this point. 

“I don’t really know how to do this,” Feng Xin began awkwardly as he sat up on his knees. Mu Qing missed his weight immediately. “But I think we need oil. Do you have any?” 

Mu Qing had no idea what the oil would be for. The cotton in his brain would not allow him to form coherent thoughts. So, instead of questioning it, he just nodded and moved to sit up. His arm shook with the effort to lift himself up, and Feng Xin caught him around the shoulders to gently lay him back down. 

“Hey, hey,” Feng Xin said, a frown of concern on his brow. “I’ll go get it. Where is it?” 

Where else would you keep your oil? Mu Qing wanted to ask, but Feng Xin’s question seemed earnest. He pointed toward the washroom where he left the coconut oil within reaching distance for when he bathed — for his hair. Feng Xin moved to follow his direction, but Mu Qing finally managed to find his voice. 

“Don’t,” he croaked out. 

Feng Xin froze. He turned to look back. “Don’t… go get the oil?” 

Mu Qing would have thrown a pillow at him if he had the strength. “Don’t… do this… just to be a good guy and save someone’s life. I don’t need your pity. Just… just go.” 

Feng Xin’s expression changed instantaneously. Confusion melted into anger, and Mu Qing sighed in contentment — because this? This he recognized. This he understood. Feng Xin would say something offensive without thinking, storm out, and things could go back to the way they had always been between the two of them. At least, for however long Mu Qing had until he inevitably perished, as seemed to be his fate. 

Feng Xin marched back over to the bed and caught Mu Qing’s face in his hands. He stared down at him, refusing to let the weaker man look away. “First of all, fuck you,” Feng Xin began, and Mu Qing blinked at the bluntness of it. His words were a bit over the top, but okay. Deserved. Whatever. “Second of all, when you said it was all my fault, I assumed… that… it was because you, you felt that way… about me. That I had… you know…” 

Mu Qing’s cheeks went pink. He wished he could look away, but Feng Xin’s hold on his face remained unyielding. “So what? This isn’t about me!” He meant to sound loud and angry, but his voice came out feeble, no more than a hoarse whisper. 

Feng Xin’s shoulders sagged. “You are the only dumbass here, Mu Qing. You are dying , and it’s not about you? Fuck that. It’s not just you that has feelings, you know? I fucking want to do this, and not because I’m a good guy who wants to save your life, but because I’ve been daydreaming about it for centuries now.” 

Mu Qing’s soul left his body. 

His eyes widened, his entire body froze, and he forgot what it meant to breathe. 

“W-what…?"

“You heard me,” Feng Xin continued with a bit more confidence. “I want this. I want you. I’m going to take care of you, and godsdamnit, I am not going to let you die. If that means you’re going to hate me in the morning, so be it, but I… Fuck, I love you, okay?”

In none of the fantasies had Mu Qing dared to crack open his heart and be this vulnerable. The words were almost too real. Too good to be true. Yet the strength and fire behind them felt hotter than that of his qi deviation.

“I fucking love you. It’s been you and me for the last nine hundred years, and I plan on it being you and me for the next nine hundred, so you can’t give up on me now, Qing. I’m going to go get the oil, and, fuck it, we’re doing this.” 

He let go of Mu Qing’s face as he stormed off toward the washroom. 

Mu Qing laid in his bed, staring up toward the canopy, wondering if he hallucinated the confession. He must have, right? Feng Xin hadn’t just declared his… l-love… for him. That was ludicrous. All of this was ridiculous. 

A moment later, Feng Xin returned with the brown ceramic jar of coconut oil. He placed the jar on the bedside table as he sat on the edge of the bed, gaze and attention turning back to Mu Qing laid out for him on the bed. Feng Xin’s fingers brushed against his skin gently as he began to carefully undress him.

Mu Qing wondered if he should stop him, but he found himself too mesmerized by the methodical and tender way Feng Xin’s calloused hands treated him. It made him feel like something precious — something to be cared for and protected. He had only the singular, vaguest memory of his mother taking care of him when he had been sick as a child, but most of his memories were the opposite with Mu Qing as the caregiver.

He carefully looked after his ailing mother as her sight failed, shouldering the responsibilities of parent and nurse.

He protected and provided for the neighborhood children, feeding and keeping an eye on them as an older brother or mentor might.

He saw to all of Xie Lian’s needs, leaving the wayward prince to worry for naught when Mu Qing was around. He was dutiful, loyal, detail-oriented, and rose to any task given to him.

Even after Xianle fell, Mu Qing continued to tend to the King and Queen, despite no longer earning a living, despite the fact he did not owe them anything, despite the fact he still had his own mother who needed him.

Then he ascended, and Mu Qing was given the responsibility of taking care of his followers, saving them, giving them something to believe in, and feeling the weight of their needs, expectations, and prayers.

“Feng Xin,” he murmured quietly. 

Feng Xin’s hand froze in the midst of undoing the sash of his inner robe. He clearly thought Mu Qing’s words were a statement of protest. “Yeah?” 

“I’m not going to be around for nine hundred years if we do this,” Mu Qing continued. He knew his voice came out weak and quiet, but he pushed with all the effort he had left to get his message across. “Without my core, I can’t answer prayers. I’m going to fade.” 

Feng Xin’s face twisted in fury. “Fuck off,” he growled, and he tugged Mu Qing’s inner robe off a bit rougher than he had the rest. Mu Qing found he didn’t mind. “His Highness makes it work with Crimson Rain. I’ll make it work with you.” 

Mu Qing wanted to point out that it wasn’t quite the same, but then again, did it matter? The mere thought of Feng Xin going out of his way to make sure he didn’t die or fade — he didn’t know how to react. He wanted to curl into Feng Xin’s arms and stay in this moment for as long as possible before he awoke. Maybe this was a dream, after all. Nothing about this felt like real life. 

“Hey, no!” Feng Xin snapped. “Eyes open!” 

Mu Qing hadn’t even realized his eyes had fallen shut. He sucked in a breath that took more effort than he knew it should as he forced his eyes open. “I’m awake.” 

“Okay, shit, okay,” Feng Xin breathed. 

He stepped off of the bed and began to disrobe. Mu Qing turned his head, allowing it to list to the side so he could watch the show. His breath hitched as more and more skin was revealed. Feng Xin wasn’t trying to make a show of it, clearly fumbling in his haste, but everything seemed to be moving so slowly in Mu Qing’s mind. He could count every abdominal muscle as his inner robe dropped to the ground. He felt the heat swirl low in his belly as the archer stepped out of his pants, revealing his fully nude form including— 

Mu Qing looked away with a blush. “Absolutely not.” 

“What?” Feng Xin asked as he crawled back onto the bed. He reached for the hem of Mu Qing’s pants, and Mu Qing slapped his hand away. “ What? ” 

“What exactly do you think you’re going to do with that?” Mu Qing asked, pointing at Ju Yang. 

Ju Yang, which was already half-hard, and already looked far more intimidating than it had any right to be. 

Feng Xin went red. “Shut up!” 

Mu Qing wished he had the energy or desire to point out how intelligent that comeback sounded, but he merely grunted in response. He didn’t bat away Feng Xin’s hands again when he reached for his pants, letting the other god fully undress him until they were both sitting there, nude, in Mu Qing’s bed. 

Feng Xin stared down at him, doing nothing. 

Mu Qing glared. “What are you staring at, you heathen!?” 

Feng Xin didn’t even look insulted. “I’m… thinking.” 

“Thinking about what?” Mu Qing asked, feeling offended. 

Here they were, naked, and Feng Xin’s mind was wandering? What the fuck? 

“How exactly to… do this,” Feng Xin mumbled. He shifted, clearly embarrassed. “It’s not like I’ve ever done this with a man before.”

Oh. 

The staring may have made more sense, but it didn’t make it any less mortifying. Mu Qing wished for the delirium of his qi deviation to come back so he didn’t have to feel the heat of his gaze. His cock, fully hard, betrayed how affected he was by the other god. He was laid bare, literally, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Making a decision, Feng Xin reached for one of Mu Qing’s pillows. 

“Roll over,” he said. 

“Who said I wanted you to fuck me?” Mu Qing shot back, refusing to admit that was exactly what he had in mind. 

“You can’t even sit up,” Feng Xin pointed out. “Do you have any other ideas?” 

“Asshole,” Mu Qing muttered, trying to sound annoyed, when he felt more embarrassed and nervous than anything else. He rolled over with some gentle assistance, and Feng Xin tucked the pillow underneath his hips. It left him in a strange position that felt too exposed for his liking, but at least he could hide his face from Feng Xin. He could almost pretend this wasn’t as mortifying as it truly felt like this. 

Feng Xin gathered his long dark hair and pushed it off to the side before leaning over him to grab the ceramic jar. The movement allowed Ju Yang to press into the back of Mu Qing’s thigh, and he shivered at the thickness.

Ah, so it was his cock, he thought deliriously, thinking back to that day 900 years ago when he sparred with the archer. He thought he wouldn’t recognize the feeling of the stiffness after all this time, but it was very unique. He could remember every detail. The smell of the grass and sweat that wafted down from Feng Xin’s form looming over him. The sound of their heavy breathing. The flush that crossed Feng Xin’s cheeks and traveled down his neck after he scrambled off him. 

Mu Qing groaned as his body curled in on itself, the pain in his gut growing intense. 

“Qing!?” Feng Xin cried. 

“What are you waiting for!?” Mu Qing gritted out between clenched teeth. 

This wave of pain lasted longer than usual. His body shook with the endeavor of keeping it together, and beads of sweat ran down his neck from the effort to breathe through it. 

“I have to — fuck — you know…” Feng Xin began awkwardly. “Stretch you or whatever, or it’ll hurt!” 

“I’m already in pain, what fucking difference does it make?” Mu Qing growled out. “Just do it already!” 

“I don’t want to hurt you, asshole!” Feng Xin snapped back. 

“Then hurry up!” 

Mu Qing should have known his snipping would result in Feng Xin shoving his finger in a little rougher than he would have otherwise. Still, a finger was more than anything that had ever been in that place before, and Mu Qing groaned. The pain of the stretch hit him instantly, but it was nothing compared to what swirled beneath his sternum. He let out a small whimper of pain at the foreign feeling, but Feng Xin must have realized he could handle more — or maybe he knew he needed to hurry — because it only took a few probing seconds before a second finger joined the first. 

The scent of coconut filled the room. Mu Qing pressed his face into his pillow — trying to smother himself — to hide from the discomfort caused by the scissoring motion of Feng Xin’s fingers. Fireworks exploded in his chest. Everything hurt at this point, so he couldn’t differentiate one pain from another. One hand balled into a fist, pressing into his diaphragm with bruising strength, while his other hand grasped desperately at the sheets, his nails ripping threads. 

“Qing-er, I’m sorry,” Feng Xin said, his voice shaking. “If it’s too much, you need to tell me, and I’ll stop.” 

His fingers brushed against something, and a moan ripped out of Mu Qing’s throat before he could stop it. His hips jerked back toward it, seeking out the feeling again. He turned his head to the side just enough so that he could breathe and choke out a, “D-don’t stop. Do that again.” 

“What?” Feng Xin repeated, sounding stupid, and Mu Qing wanted to kick him. He moved his fingers within his body a bit more, completely missing whatever it was he found before, until— 

Mu Qing moaned again. “Th-that, damnit!” 

“This?” Feng Xin asked, and this time he hit the spot again immediately. 

Mu Qing refused to dignify that with a response, but his body didn’t seem to have such qualms. His hips rocked back into his fingers. Despite the addition of a third finger, accompanied by a distinct burn, Mu Qing found himself lost in chasing more of his own pleasure. Alarm bells screamed in his head. The growing feeling of dread tried to tell him if he continued down this path, bad things were going to happen. He ignored it. He found purchase on his knees, and he lifted his hips off the pillow. 

“Fuck, Qing,” Feng Xin growled low in his throat — and oh. It was that voice. The one from Mu Qing’s dreams. He sounded wrecked already, and they had just gotten started. Mu Qing almost wanted to laugh. Which one of them was the 900-year-old virgin again? “You sound so pretty like this.” 

“Sh-shut up,” Mu Qing moaned. 

Anxiety built as that feeling of dread grew louder, but so too did his impatience. Feng Xin added a fourth finger, and he shook his head back and forth, his hair splaying out around him with the movement. 

“Just fucking do it already,” he ordered. 

“I don’t want to hurt you—!” 

“Are we doing this or not!?” Mu Qing snapped. 

Nothing was said for a moment, and Mu Qing turned to look back over his shoulder. He must have really been glowing at this point, as Feng Xin’s entire face was awash with golden light. Mu Qing felt grateful he couldn’t really see himself. Feng Xin caught his eye, and the other god gave a nod. The feeling of the fingers being removed made Mu Qing drop his head back to the pillow. It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling to have the burning stretch suddenly disappear, but the emptiness left behind didn’t feel good either. 

And it also meant what was coming next— 

The point of no return. 

Feng Xin placed a hand on Mu Qing’s back between his shoulder blades. Fingers massaged the skin there, in an almost reassuring motion, just as Mu Qing felt something larger pressing at his entrance. Much larger. So much larger. Mu Qing wanted to abort right away as he felt his body experiencing what he could only describe as being split in two. He pressed his face further into his pillow until he couldn’t breathe. The hand on his back slid down toward his lower back, massaging at his hips. 

“Alright, you’re alright,” Feng Xin murmured, and Mu Qing could only barely hear him over the roar in his ears. “Is it too much? I can stop. Just tell me to stop, and I will.” 

Mu Qing shook his head no, but he still didn’t breathe. He couldn’t. He just wanted this part over with, and then — then surely it would be fine. Easier. But Feng Xin, in his desire to be as gentle and hurt him as little as possible, took his godsdamn sweet ass time. It was excruciating. Every inch felt like it took a lifetime. Feng Xin grunted a few times, like he was struggling. Mu Qing wanted to snap at him, inquire if he wanted to switch places so that he could be the one having to endure it instead. 

Then, Feng Xin bottomed out. 

He laid his body over Mu Qing’s, and Mu Qing felt the other man breathing, his chest rising and falling, against him. After a few breaths, Mu Qing finally allowed himself to join him. They breathed in tandem a few times before he turned his head to the side and uttered out, “M-move.”

Feng Xin reached down to brush Mu Qing’s hair out of his face, gathering it to the other side. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

Godsdamnit. He was going to kill him at this rate. 

“Yes,” he choked out. “Just move already!”

The first slide out moved like a glide, aided by the coconut oil, and then he pushed back in. Mu Qing groaned, not sure if he enjoyed the feeling or not, but knowing this was already far better than just sitting there. He nodded in encouragement, and Feng Xin pulled out again. He found a rhythm, and as the tension slowly ebbed out of Mu Qing’s muscles, he could feel the pleasure he had been chasing before bubbling back up again — just out of reach. He huffed, frustrated, and moved his hips to try to adjust the angle just a bit. 

White, hot pleasure exploded in his vision. He moaned. Feng Xin’s rhythm stuttered, surprised by the sudden tightening around his cock caused by the pleasure spasm, before he picked up his pace again. Now, he was hitting that spot repeatedly. 

Too much, Mu Qing thought as his body shuddered once more. 

He tried to wriggle his hips again to get him off the spot, but Feng Xin acted like a dog with a bone. He grabbed Mu Qing’s hips, holding him in place, as he began to fuck into him in earnest. Mu Qing tried to swallow down the moans, but it felt impossible. This must have been what an out-of-body experience felt like. Mu Qing’s pleasure continued to climb. He clawed at the bedspread, his rim tightening around Feng Xin’s cock as his body grew overstimulated by the constant abuse. 

“Ah, gods,” Mu Qing cried, louder than he meant to. “Ah gods! I can’t…!” 

“Can’t what, Qing-er? You’re okay,” Feng Xin said, his voice laced with a growl that did not help Mu Qing get control of himself at all. 

“It’s too much. I can’t—” Mu Qing reached behind him, trying to push Feng Xin off him. “A-Xin, it’s too much. Stop.” 

“Stop?” Feng Xin repeated, and his rhythm faltered just shy of hitting the spot again. 

Mu Qing sobbed. “Don’t! Gods, don’t stop.” 

Feng Xin laughed. Mu Qing had the urge to kick him right off the bed, but he was too busy moaning. He started to bury his face back into his pillow, but Feng Xin’s arms slotted around his torso. Feng Xin held Mu Qing in an embrace, as he lifted him upright. 

The new angle sent the waves of pleasure straight up his spine. Mu Qing was liquid, as he could do nothing but melt back against him. With the shift of their position, Feng Xin’s hands, covered in calluses and so used to hard work, crept lower and wrapped around Mu Qing’s weeping cock to pump it. Sweat and tears ran down Mu Qing’s face. His hands weakly grasped at Feng Xin’s biceps as his lover’s hand jerked him off in rhythm with his thrusts. 

“Call me A-Xin again,” Feng Xin said in his ear. 

Again? When had Mu Qing called him that the first time? He couldn’t even remember doing it, his mind was a mess of fog and lust. He could think of nothing except the feeling of Feng Xin’s hands on him, one on his cock, the other now tweaking a nipple. Then there was Ju Yang moving within his body. Oil and fluids ran down the back of his thighs, and any other day, he would have found the whole idea disgusting beyond belief. But right now, he just wanted… he just wanted… 

What did he want?

“A-Xin,” he begged, unaware of what he was begging for. 

Relief from the pain perhaps. Relief from the pleasure. 

“Cum, Qing. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Feng Xin promised lowly. “I won’t let you fade.”

Mu Qing’s entire body shuddered as he cried out from his orgasm. The blistering heat of Mu Qing’s spiritual energy gushed out of him and into Feng Xin’s hand as the General of the Southwest gave himself and his golden core wholly over to his new lover. The pain in his diaphragm instantly came to a stop. The room grew darker as the qi deviation finally quelled, the golden wisps disappearing into the ether. Feng Xin continued to pump him until he was spent. Only then did he let Mu Qing fall forward — helping him to lay out comfortably onto his pillows once more — before adjusting his hips so he could fuck into Mu Qing, chasing his own orgasm. Mu Qing groaned every time he felt Ju Yang drag across his oversensitive nerves, his toes curling. 

“Qing,” Feng Xin panted, “I’m gonna–” 

“It’s fine,” Mu Qing moaned, his arms crossed beneath his head as he let his body be used. 

Feng Xin’s hips snapped into Mu Qing’s, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the chambers, until he couldn’t keep up with it anymore. His rhythm faltered a mere breath before he buried his face into Mu Qing’s hair. “Oh fuck,” he groaned as warmth spilled inside of him. 

At first, Mu Qing thought it was only Feng Xin’s seed. Then he felt the warmth continue from his hips and up toward his stomach, circulating through his system. He was too tired to check, but a small smile of irony touched his lips as Feng Xin filled him with a healthy helping of spiritual energy. 

Sap, he thought to himself. 

Feng Xin continued to rock into Mu Qing’s body until he was empty, then he collapsed on top of him. Mu Qing grunted from the weight and turned to glare over his shoulder. 

“Get off me, you sweaty oaf,” he complained. 

“No,” Feng Xin said, and his arms snaked under Mu Qing’s torso to hold him even closer. “Not yet. Let me hold you.” 

“Too mushy,” Mu Qing complained, but he made no further movement to try to get away. He would absolutely not sleep in all of these fluids, but he guessed he could put up with it for a few minutes if being able to exist in Feng Xin’s arms for a while ended up his reward. 

Feng Xin pressed a kiss to Mu Qing’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Mu Qing shot back instantly. But he knew that was not what Feng Xin was looking for or what he was checking in about. Not completely at least. “...Better.” Then, with a roll of the eyes, he added, “Thanks for the deposit.” 

He lifted his hand to create a small palm flame. Feng Xin chuckled on top of him, and his entire body shook with laughter, sending the vibrations right into Mu Qing from where they were still joined. 

“Anytime,” Feng Xin said, pressing a kiss to the back of Mu Qing’s head. Then, quieter, with a sincerity that cut straight to Mu Qing’s heart, “I mean it. We’re in this together. You’re not fucking getting rid of me.” 

Mu Qing felt tension he hadn’t even realized still existed in his body fade. He let out a long sigh, sinking deep into the sheets beneath him. He couldn’t remember the last time he relied on someone so openly, trusting them to take care of him — he hadn’t had to — but for some reason, he wasn’t scared. Maybe he’d get there in the morning. But, for tonight, maybe he could just let himself enjoy this moment. 

“You know, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin began, mischief in his voice that immediately put Mu Qing on guard, “if you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was fucking ask. Going through a qi deviation to make it happen seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” 

Or maybe not.