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“Again! Do exactly as you just did, but with more purpose!”
Xie Lian swung his sword in a graceful arc over the crest of the sunrise, a far more artful interpretation of Mu Qing’s move. “I know it isn’t a particularly realistic move, but we are putting on more of a play, after all. It’s supposed to be flashy.”
He frowned. “Though, do you think it would be too much? We wouldn’t want it to seem amateurish.”
“Your Highness, this is a performance for the masses,” Mu Qing said dryly. “Most people won’t even notice the technical errors, let alone care about authenticity.”
“But don’t the people deserve authenticity? Besides, we are the face of the cultivators of our generation, the best Mount Taicang has to offer.” Xie Lian paced up and down the training ground entrance steps as if battling through a great ethical dilemma.
Mu Qing hefted his saber from one hand to the other. “Do you want me to repeat the move or not?”
“Yes, yes! It will help me make up my mind.”
Mu Qing resumed his stance. He whirled around, beginning with his saber close to his chest and ending with his arm extended and aimed directly at Xie Lian’s throat. Xie Lian broke into a beaming grin.
“That’s good! That’s really good, Mu Qing, we should definitely keep it in.”
Mu Qing dropped his arms, feeling a bit ridiculous. They were putting on a silly play on a parade float for the people of Xianle to ogle at all day, not a serious martial arts competition or dramatic opera performance. If they incorporated too many elaborate moves they would end up exhausting themselves before midday.
But Xie Lian had flung his entire being into this project as soon as he learned of it, and it seemed no one else had the heart to question his vision.
Not like Mu Qing did either. Besides, when it came to martial arts, Xie Lian was an endless well of energy who chose to start practice before dawn, who often didn’t take breaks unless someone reminded him to, whom everyone complimented for his dedication and resilience. All Mu Qing could do was try to keep up.
“Alright, let’s do it from the top again.” Xie Lian scrambled over to the ladder that he’d propped up against the weaponry’s wall so he could get to the roof. From his vantage point, Mu Qing had to crane his neck and squint up at Xie Lian. He stood framed by the rising sun, feet planted firmly and confidently, poised to leap from the heavens and beat Mu Qing’s blasphemy into submission.
Mu Qing scowled and raised his saber, waiting for Xie Lian’s descent to strike.
-
Mu Qing didn’t know why Feng Xin had to be in the room while he took Xie Lian’s measurements. He was sitting in the corner with his elbows propped on his knees, tapping his foot. It put Mu Qing on edge up to his teeth.
Though admittedly some of that was Xie Lian’s fault as well. He kept fidgeting with his sleeves, rocking back on his feet, startling whenever Mu Qing brushed a ticklish spot—and he had a lot of those. Many times Mu Qing had to reach out to pin his hands down or hold him in place for a moment, resisting his squirming and bursts of giggles. Xie Lian didn’t seem to mind being jostled around in such a way, but every time it happened Mu Qing felt Feng Xin’s glare boring into the back of his head. As if His Highness was too expensive, too pure to be touched by a charity case from the slums.
Well, Xie Lian had specifically requested that Mu Qing take his measurements instead of the seamstress, so whose opinion really mattered here?
No one’s, Mu Qing reminded himself as he held out Xie Lian’s arm to measure it to the wrist. He had no need for the approval of some stuck-up, fawning bodyguard, and he certainly didn’t define his worth based on how many admiring smiles he got from the crown prince. Regardless of how they warmed his face or turned his stomach in on itself with their gentle light.
“Mu Qing, are you done with this arm?” Xie Lian asked. With the added height of the small pedestal he stood on, he appeared a whole head taller than Mu Qing. His gaze focused idly on the mirror in front of him.
He blinked, mentally shaking himself out of his wandering thoughts. “Yes,” he muttered. Xie Lian dropped his arm and raised the other. Over his shoulder, Feng Xin’s gaze tracked Mu Qing’s every movement.
-
Mu Qing was beginning to think that Xie Lian’s idea of quality time consisted of sparring in the training grounds for hours on end and only that. He summoned Mu Qing anywhere from before dawn to late in the evening to ask him if he would like to practice for the parade, all expectant grins and bouncing feet. He left Mu Qing no room to refuse him, but it was only Mu Qing’s fault for not being able to do so. There must be some sort of law against making the crown prince upset, for how could the country go on without his always-smiling eyes?
This time it was a warm evening, right after dinner. Curfew would be announced shortly via the tolling of the gong. Mu Qing was still in Xie Lian’s rooms, folding and putting away his many pristine white disciple robes, while Xie Lian paced the room like he would die if he stayed still.
It was only a matter of seconds before Xie Lian turned on his heel toward Mu Qing and asked, “Do you want to practice our routine for the parade?”
Mu Qing glanced down at the half-finished laundry before him, then out at the darkening sky. Then at Xie Lian’s hopeful gaze. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Obviously Xie Lian wouldn’t care about curfew. Who could stop him if they caught him out of his rooms after dark? He strode through the halls of the Royal Holy Pavilion with his head held high and his sword at his side, not even quickening his pace at the reverberating sound of the gong.
If Mu Qing were caught out past curfew, the list of unsavory things he could be accused of was twice as long as that of any other disciple. Though with Xie Lian by his side, no one would pay him a second glance. The crown prince and his attendant. The sun and the faithful, unassuming asteroid that orbited it.
They stopped by the armory to pick out a saber for Mu Qing, then, without much hurry, headed to the training grounds. While Xie Lian scrambled up onto the roof and arranged himself just how he liked, Mu Qing did a few warm-up rounds of fighting off imaginary demons.
“Ready?” Xie Lian called. Mu Qing raised his hand in assent.
Xie Lian leapt down in a flurry of white robes and dark hair. Mu Qing dodged his opening sword thrust before executing the move that ended with his blade at Xie Lian’s throat. Xie Lian paused for a moment, just enough to cast a smirk Mu Qing’s way. He easily ducked and knocked the weapon aside, and it all devolved from there.
Ostensibly, they were arranging the choreography for their parade performance. But they rarely got past the first few moves before it ended up a full-fledged sparring match, devoid of artistic or narrative significance.
Mu Qing swung at Xie Lian’s legs, forcing him back. Xie Lian flew up a set of stairs, blocking each of Mu Qing’s blows with his sword as they came. The defensive position was swapped from Xie Lian to Mu Qing with one well-placed feint. Mu Qing stumbled back, desperately parrying as Xie Lian drove him into a smaller and smaller corner of the training grounds. Finally, Mu Qing tripped over a crack in the ground that Xie Lian had definitely noticed before, and he tumbled onto his back, the breath knocked from his lungs. Xie Lian stuck his sword right next to Mu Qing’s head and grinned down at him, mere inches away.
“Sorry,” he said. “That got out of hand.”
In the light of the full moon on a perfectly clear night, Xie Lian’s white robes seemed to glow. His cheeks were tinged pink, but he was hardly winded. His eyes gleamed with exhilaration and triumph and just enough arrogance to be tantalizing rather than vexing. Mu Qing made a garbled noise in the back of his throat. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, even though he hadn’t really fallen that hard.
“Go again?” he finally managed to choke out.
Xie Lian grinned and clasped Mu Qing’s hand to drag him to his feet.
So they went on like that, quick-footed and light-handed, chasing each other across the training grounds until they were both out of breath and sore all over. Xie Lian clung to Mu Qing’s sleeve as he flopped onto the ground, dragging him down with him. They lay sprawled out on the cobblestones, the chill seeping through their robes and cooling their bodies.
When Mu Qing glanced over at Xie Lian beside him, he was startled to find him already watching him. A small smile played on his lips. “You know, Mu Qing,” he started—and if Mu Qing didn’t know any better he would say he sounded almost shy— “no one else that I fight with feels like a challenge. You’re the best of them all.”
Mu Qing’s throat was tight and his face was hot, like he was going to cry. His eyes were quite dry, though. “You’re the best. You always will be.”
Xie Lian’s laugh was high and clear, ringing through the courtyard.
-
On the day of the Shangyuan Festival, hours before the parade, Xie Lian’s rooms were filled with chaos before dawn even broke on the horizon. Layers of colorful silks and pieces of heavy gold jewelry littered every surface, a flagrant riot of wealth and finery. And Xie Lian sat in the center of it all, hair down and still dressed in his sleeping robes, with his hands sitting primly in his lap—the picture of nonchalance. Mu Qing was going to faint from stress.
Feng Xin stood over Xie Lian’s shoulder, hands shaking as they held up two red coral earrings. He stared at them as if they were instruments of torture. “Should we just— poke them right through?” he asked, voice wavering.
“Of course not, they’re not sharp enough,” Mu Qing snapped. “We’ll use this needle. And this pin cushion. Don’t worry, it’s all sanitized.”
Feng Xin swallowed thickly at the sight of the tiny sewing needle Mu Qing held up. “If you hurt His Highness…”
“Feng Xin, I’ll be fine,” Xie Lian piped up. He swept his hair over his shoulder to give Mu Qing better access. The motion also exposed the smooth, pale expanse of his throat.
Mu Qing pushed that image to the back of his mind. He knelt by Xie Lian’s side, placed the pin cushion against the back of his earlobe, angled the needle just so, and pierced it through. Xie Lian barely flinched. Mu Qing repeated the process with the other ear and the earrings were in place in a matter of seconds.
When he looked up, he was greeted with the sight of Feng Xin’s back pointedly turned to him. “It’s done,” he said dryly. “His Highness is all in one piece.”
Feng Xin muttered something under his breath that Mu Qing didn’t have the time or energy to pry out of him. He swept past Mu Qing to go about picking up the fabrics strewn around the room and hanging them up in order of base to outer layers. Mu Qing took to brushing and putting up Xie Lian’s hair, which was usually an affair that took a good incense stick’s time. As it was, they were on a tight schedule. The parade was in little over a shichen and yet they still had to dress the prince in all his layers of silk and jewels, Mu Qing had to return to his rooms to change into his own costume, report to the State Preceptors, and, if they had time, warm up for the day-long performance. He was starting to regret not pushing Xie Lian to develop anything more than a rudimentary outline for what their choreographed fight would look like.
“Mu Qing, don’t worry so much.” Xie Lian’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We’ll do great! The people will love it.”
Mu Qing wondered what about his behavior tipped Xie Lian off to his anxiety. Almost immediately, Xie Lian said by way of explanation, “You’ve been very quiet.”
Uncanny. He hadn’t thought he was being so obvious. “Keep your head forward,” Mu Qing chastised.
He applied the usual oils to Xie Lian’s hair and combed through the snarls until every strand cascaded down his back. He tied half of it up and arranged every hairpiece just like he had practiced a few times before. Xie Lian, to his credit, hardly fidgeted or spoke.
Afterward, Feng Xin stood behind Mu Qing and handed him each robe one after another to dress Xie Lian in. Xie Lian obediently held out his arms and stayed still the entire time, but it seemed he couldn’t help remarking every so often, “This feels ridiculous” or “Are you sure we can’t discard the first couple layers?”
Mu Qing humphed in response and tried not to let his hands linger on the soft fabrics and their intricate gold embroidery. He kept thoughts about how much just one sleeve would sell for, how many mouths it could feed, relatively at bay. He had learned to not look at things and immediately assign them prices in his mind—it was exhausting and infuriating and a complete waste of time.
What was more difficult to ignore was the faintly floral scent of Xie Lian’s hair thanks to the oils, the subtle tug of his hips as Mu Qing fastened the belts around his waist, the sight of thin, graceful wrists peeking out from his sleeves. Mu Qing knew how soft that skin was. He knew what kind of power lay beneath that lean build, what dedication and effort it took to develop that power.
The truly terrible thing about Xie Lian was that he deserved every good thing that came his way. It was just that he seemed to be the only one with such a blessed existence.
“Mu Qing? The outer robe?”
Xie Lian’s concerned voice cut through his thoughts once again. Mu Qing blinked and realized that he was holding the heavy white outer robe up and simply staring at the swirls of golden petals on the expansive sleeves. He muttered an apology and settled the final robe over Xie Lian’s shoulders, then turned his attention to the heavy belts and jewelry.
Later, when he descended from the sky with his sword drawn, hair and robes billowing, earrings glinting in the sun, Mu Qing didn’t think about Xie Lian’s bedhead or his snorting laughs, or the rare times he tripped over his own feet in his enthusiasm to get places. At that moment, he only saw the crown prince, radiant and completely assured in his ability. With every sword thrust and all his swift footwork, with his gilded mask and crown of blooming flowers, all he saw was a god. Just like everyone else.
When Xie Lian deviated from the parade procession to save that falling child, Mu Qing could only stop with his heart in his throat, head raised along with everyone else to watch the two bodies meet in the air like it was fate. But afterward, in the commotion of Guoshi’s outraged berating and Xie Lian’s unwavering convictions, all Mu Qing could think about was how he never got to deal the killing blow. He didn’t get the chance to take that final lunge at Xie Lian so that he could make absolutely certain that Xie Lian would block it.
Watching Xie Lian argue with his guoshi, holding the dirty child in his arms close, Mu Qing scowled. As if he weren’t bombarded by constant reminders of Xie Lian’s indestructibility since he started working at the palace. If the crown prince of Xianle ever did cross an enemy he could not defeat, it would certainly not be his servant masked as a demon. Or a demon masked as his servant, for that matter.
-
“His Highness has decided to move his departure up to this week,” Feng Xin announced as soon as he entered Xie Lian’s bedroom.
The outer robe Mu Qing had been meticulously folding slipped from his hands. “What?” he said, keeping his tone carefully even and low.
Feng Xin’s slanting lean against the doorframe implied nonchalance, but Mu Qing could feel his needle-sharp gaze pinning him down. He was searching Mu Qing’s reaction for any evidence of disloyalty to persecute him with, Mu Qing was sure of it.
So paranoid, nagged a voice that sounded too much like Xie Lian’s in the back of his head.
“We already changed the date a week ago,” Mu Qing said stiffly. “Is he really in such a hurry?”
Feng Xin's suspicious look morphed into an outright glare. "It's not our place to question what His Highness believes to be best." So predictable.
"Fine. What day?"
"Tomorrow. First thing in the morning."
It took every shard of the respectable mask he had honed over the years to not throw all his carefully folded laundry at the wall. "His Highness's traveling robes haven't even been properly hemmed yet. And the queen's parting gifts— And the carriage and the horses—do the stablehands know of this change?"
"I'm going to talk to them next," Feng Xin said. "You should probably get on with that hemming now."
Why did he have to say it like it was a poisoned word? It was just fucking work, just like any other servant's job. Any other servant could do it.
But no, only Mu Qing had the crown prince's measurements memorized, and Xie Lian had specifically requested that his sleeves be made more practical than what the seamstress had insisted upon.
The hemming of the two main pairs of robes alone would take the rest of the day. So much for being able to have one last meal with his mother before leaving with Xie Lian on his one-way trip to heaven.
By the time his vision had stopped swimming, Feng Xin no longer darkened his doorway.
-
They indeed left first thing in the morning. By the time Mu Qing had finished his work and trekked to and from his mother's house to leave a note profusely explaining and apologizing for everything, the horizon was turning gray. He hurriedly packed his own things and made his way to the stable.
Feng Xin and Xie Lian were already there when he arrived. Xie Lian was feeding his snow-white horse slices of apple one by one as Feng Xin made sure the few trunks they had packed were secured to the carriage.
Xie Lian's hair was swept up away from his face with a simple gold band, his newly-hemmed sleeves falling neatly to his unadorned wrists. Like this, he would pass for no more and no less than a wealthy lord's son. Despite the early hour, his skin glowed with an inner radiance.
"Mu Qing," he greeted warmly. "Did you sleep well?"
"Don't worry about me, Your Highness."
"He was just asking a question," Feng Xin said snippily.
"I'm sorry for the late notice," Xie Lian interjected before Mu Qing could respond. "I know we were arranging for a big send-off next week, but I simply couldn't go through with it. Mother would cry, Father would scold, guoshi would lecture, there'd be so much hovering. It's better that we not make a fuss about it, don't you think?"
"Your parents will worry even more now," Mu Qing said. Feng Xin shot him a look, but he knew it was true as well.
Xie Lian chewed on his bottom lip and rocked back on his heels; clearly Mu Qing had hit a sore spot. "I'll write them a letter as soon as possible. They know I can handle myself."
Do they? Mu Qing wondered. From the way the queen coddled her son, one would think he stopped aging at ten in her eyes.
"Is everything secured, Feng Xin?" Xie Lian asked. As soon as Feng Xin gave a hesitant nod, he clapped his hands together. "Right! No need to keep standing around here, then. Mu Qing, there's your horse. Feng Xin, take his bags, why don't you?"
Mu Qing didn't feel like poking for a better answer from him at the moment, so he shook off the last vestiges of his sleepless night and mounted.
-
Xie Lian was a natural at Daoist wandering. He seemed to have a knack for finding communities or individuals in distress just as much as he had a knack for vanquishing whatever ghosts or demons plagued them. Wherever they went, he was showered with praise, gifts, and a few marriage proposals, from wealthy families and peasants alike. Mu Qing couldn't blame them. The finest beads of sweat dotting Xie Lian's brow after a battle, the fitted travel robes that swished around his hips with every stride, the free grin he wore when entering a village knowing he'd be welcomed—well, they all suited him quite well.
He took well to travel itself, filling the silent woods or dales with chatter and song. Yes, he sang to himself when Feng Xin or Mu Qing weren't being conversational. He often didn't even seem to realize he was doing it. Sometimes, Mu Qing would play up his own exhaustion from whatever battle they'd had the other day just so Xie Lian would take to singing his old made-up lullabies that Feng Xin used to tease him for when they were much younger.
In the small and sometimes dingey inns of the tiny villages they passed through, Mu Qing became accustomed to sleeping in the same room as Xie Lian and Feng Xin. Even when there was the option for two rooms, one of which Feng Xin and Mu Qing should obviously share, Xie Lian insisted on having at least one of them stay with him instead. So Feng Xin and Mu Qing traded off every night. Feng Xin treated it like a bodyguard position—Mu Qing thought it was closer to the role of a comfort blanket. Xie Lian, after all, was not one who adapted well to change; any object of familiarity, he clung to. Although not literally, thankfully.
Mu Qing was ambivalent about sharing sleeping quarters with Xie Lian. Not the crown prince of Xianle, although that would of course always be a factor, but Xie Lian.
For one, he was a restless, yet deep, sleeper. He tossed and turned, and he snored oh-so-delicately when lying on his back. Mu Qing had half a mind to roll him over on his side whenever those gentle snores started up.
For another, waking up and seeing Xie Lian sprawled out in a patch of dawn light—dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, mouth parted in remembrance of a dream—was just too much. It was too much, and it was too early for so much.
However, it was the only time Mu Qing could watch him—truly look at him—without fear of being gazed back at.
He could never let it last very long, of course. Mu Qing still had morning chores—preparing Xie Lian's clothes for the day, calling for breakfast, looking over their notes from whatever quest they had last completed, readying the horses for the traveling day. Proving to Feng Xin that the crown prince had lived another night with only a servant to watch over him.
And when he returned to their room, Xie Lian would be finishing tying up his hair, and he would turn and smile at Mu Qing and thank him for bringing breakfast up. As if it wasn't his job. As if, outside the rigid roles of the palace, Mu Qing was just a friend.
-
"Mu Qing, would you please take this downstairs and have someone send it off to the palace?" Xie Lian asked, holding out a neatly-penned letter and a handful of coins.
"It's past midnight, Your Highness. No one will be down there at this hour."
Xie Lian blinked. "Is it? I must have gotten carried away while writing."
Mu Qing wouldn't exactly call it getting carried away; more like stalling and overthinking. It was weeks into their journey, and Xie Lian had only just now gotten around to writing that letter for his parents he had promised. If Mu Qing's mother had to wait that long for a letter, he would be welcomed home with a shoe to the head.
He did not say this aloud. He kept scrubbing away at a mud stain on Xie Lian's boot. "Oh, Mu Qing, stop that for tonight," Xie Lian said. "They'll just get muddied again tomorrow."
Mu Qing obediently put the boot and brush down. Xie Lian stood and moved to the adjoining room to start disrobing. Mu Qing glanced back down at his brush.
Ignoring the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Feng Xin, he said, "Your Highness, why did we leave the way we did? Your parents surely would have preferred to say goodbye properly.”
Xie Lian went silent. Mu Qing heard the shush of fabric as he continued to shuck his outer robes. He only looked up once Xie Lian had settled back at the table.
Xie Lian fiddled with the ends of his hair. “It’s like I said. Mother would have cried, Father and Guoshi would have chided. I needed to be away from them all.”
“Some would give anything to be fussed over by their parents,” Mu Qing remarked.
“Oh, I know. It doesn’t change how I feel.”
Mu Qing stood, walked around the table, and sat behind Xie Lian. He picked up the hairbrush he had unpacked when they first arrived at the inn and began brushing Xie Lian’s hair, starting at the worried ends.
“It’s different, when your father is the king, your king your father. I don’t think he knows how to talk to people as anything other than subjects.”
“All fathers are like that,” Mu Qing said.
“Are they? I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.” Xie Lian shifted to look at Mu Qing. Mu Qing rested the hairbrush in his lap. “I always thought fathers had more love for their sons when there wasn’t the expectation of inheriting an entire country.”
Mu Qing stayed silent. Of course, even fathers without a penny to their name could make their sons feel like they had impossibly large shoes to fill.
“I like this,” Xie Lian said after a moment. “Us all together like this, away from it all. It feels like… we can be something else here.”
Mu Qing let the hairbrush fall to his side. “What do you mean, Your Highness?”
Xie Lian shuffled around to face him. His hair was glossy, catching the moonlight and falling in waves down his shoulders. “You know… I think you feel it too. I like it when you’re not my servant.”
Mu Qing swallowed heavily. “I’m always your servant. Your Highness is always Your Highness.”
A cloudier look passed over Xie Lian’s open face. “Call me Xie Lian. Please?”
He hadn’t realized how close they were until he noticed that he could smell Xie Lian’s chrysanthemum soap. Xie Lian’s tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip. He’d been doing that a lot lately; it must be the changes in altitude and temperature they’d been experiencing on their travels.
Mu Qing opened his mouth, but Xie Lian’s name got caught in his throat.
Xie Lian didn’t wait. He leaned forward and pressed his lips, gently, against Mu Qing’s. Barely a kiss, just a touch, really. He pulled back just as quickly.
Mu Qing couldn’t breathe. Too much, too late for this. It’s too late. “Your Highness… Xie Lian—”
The tiny smile that spread across Xie Lian’s face, despite his attempts to stay its prematurity, filled Mu Qing with dread.
Even so—perhaps because so—he leaned back into Xie Lian’s space and returned the kiss.
Xie Lian’s mouth opened in surprise; Mu Qing took advantage of that. Xie Lian’s hand reached up to wind in Mu Qing’s hair, to steady himself against Mu Qing’s weight. Mu Qing braced himself on the table as he pressed against Xie Lian further. “Oh,” Xie Lian murmured. “Mm.”
They were curious sounds, exploratory. They frayed Mu Qing’s nerves to no end. He pushed more.
Xie Lian yelped quietly as he fell backward onto the floor, although he didn’t pull away. He let Mu Qing press him fully onto his back.
Mu Qing’s grip on the edge of the table was white-knuckled. The scent of chrysanthemum and clean earth was heady, Xie Lian’s lips as soft as they looked. Xie Lian sighed against his mouth again, and Mu Qing felt his tongue slip out.
The table slipped out from under him, scratching against the wood floor. The unmistakable crash of porcelain shattering startled them both.
Mu Qing would have pulled away, had it not been for Xie Lian’s hand still clasped in his hair. “Mu Qing,” Xie Lian murmured, half a question, half a command.
It worked—Mu Qing’s gaze focused back on Xie Lian below him. His hair splayed in a halo around his head, his lips glistened with an alluring sheen. The tension in his body slipped away.
Xie Lian pursed his lips and averted his gaze, suddenly retreating into himself. "I, um. I've never—" The laugh he let out was too harsh to be genuine. "This doesn't mean—"
The sound of the door bursting open made them both jump again. Mu Qing practically threw himself to the other side of the room, but there was no escaping the sight they must be—his own hair and clothes mussed, Xie Lian dazed and sprawled on the floor, the broken vase.
Feng Xin stood in the doorway, poised as if to take on a vicious intruder. When he took in the situation on the floor, though, he froze. It took a moment for his expression to morph from horror to true disgust, but it made that inevitable descent.
Mu Qing didn't have time to get on his feet; Feng Xin was on him faster than that. "You fucking leech," Feng Xin growled, and Mu Qing just barely missed the punch he threw. "What the fuck were you gonna do? Fucking hell did you think you could get away with!"
"Feng Xin!" Xie Lian's voice sounded very far away, although Mu Qing could see him just over Feng Xin's shoulder. "It's not what it looks like—"
Mu Qing wasn't going to wait for Feng Xin to catch him off guard again. He grabbed Feng Xin by the collar and bodily threw him off. His head hit the wall with a thud.
"You think you know fucking everything," Mu Qing spat. "As if you're so righteous— you're as petty and ugly as the rest of us."
Feng Xin grabbed his arm. His sneer contorted his entire face. "Are you comparing me to you? Like I would ever— I'd never take advantage of His Highness like that! I should've— You should be cast out in the streets— Their Majesties are so good to you, and as soon as someone's not watching your every move, this is what you do? You're fucking vile!"
A shrill yell made them both freeze. Mu Qing shoved Feng Xin away to look at Xie Lian, kneeling on the floor with his hands over his ears. Having gotten their attention, he pulled himself to his feet; suddenly he was towering over them, his eyes watery and furious. "Both of you— listen to yourselves! I'm not a prize to be fought over! At least not— not to you. Gods above, I thought you were my friends!"
Feng Xin paled. "Your Highness, I am! Mu Qing, he—"
"I don't care! You're not listening— no one is listening! Get out!"
There was a pause, a sickening silence before Xie Lian shouted, "Both of you!"
Mu Qing didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and hurried out the door in only his sleeping robe. He didn't know where he was going; he just knew he couldn't stay here. He didn't so much as breathe until he was outside, huddled under the inn's front awning in the brittle early-winter night. He slumped against the wall, and only then did he let out a dry, choked sob.
Feng Xin was right. He was going to get kicked out into the streets, and he would deserve it. If not for completely tearing down the divides between himself and the crown prince, then surely for being stupid enough to get caught. He'd have to make up some lie to his mother about why he was let go, then he'd still have to beg his superiors for a reference letter so he could be hired elsewhere. Not to mention his cultivation would be gone.
And all for a kiss.
It was disgusting, but not at all in the way Feng Xin thought. It was pathetic that Mu Qing should lose control like that. Like he was any common maiden that swooned at the attention of her suitor, no matter how improbable it was that that attention should lead to anything more. No matter how destructive that attention may be.
He started when he heard the door open next to him. Light trickled down the steps before retreating again as the person closed the door. Mu Qing stifled a sniffle and schooled his features, though he didn’t look up.
Feng Xin crouched down next to Mu Qing, hands fisted in a cloak.
“Fuck do you want,” Mu Qing muttered. His voice did not waver, and for that he could at least be proud.
Feng Xin ran a hand down his face, didn’t answer.
“I’m not some whore,” Mu Qing said, sneering at the word. “I didn’t force myself onto—”
“Does it fucking matter?” Feng Xin burst out. “You’re still a servant. You crossed a line. You… perverted a role given to you by the king himself. Seems to me like an obvious wrongdoing.”
“Ever get tired of all these goddamned roles? Bodyguard, servant, disciple, prince, king, god, subject— can’t find a shred of humanity in any of it. No one’s ever just a person.”
Feng Xin’s brow furrowed; clearly, this sort of talk was too philosophical for him. Mu Qing huffed and looked away, face half-buried in his shoulder to protect against the cold.
“He’s not a prize,” Feng Xin said, breaking the silence. “He’s not. Why would he say that?”
“Maybe because he’s been dolled up and paraded around to the public his entire life?” Mu Qing groused, in a tone that clearly said Could you be any slower?
Feng Xin released a frustrated sigh. “When’s heaven going to recognize him already? We need to get away from all this bullshit.”
Mu Qing had to resist a dry laugh. “Do you really think heaven’s going to be any different? Who do you think ascends to heaven—farmers? Paupers?”
Feng Xin bristled. “Whoever can make it there in the first place is the best of the best, the most brilliant examples of their generations. Staying in line isn’t such a top priority, when you can make the rules.”
“And I’m sure you speak from so much experience in the Heavenly Court.”
“Why are you always such a dick?”
This time, Mu Qing couldn’t hold back his laugh. How else was he supposed to answer that? My employer killed my father without ever seeing his face. My king’s son calls me his friend like the word means something. The crown prince kissed me like he had nothing to lose.
Everywhere I go, to everyone I know, I’m still just a servant and a tailor.
“Fucking hell, I don’t know what he sees in you,” Feng Xin said, proving every terrible thought Mu Qing had ever had. “You better be worth it.”
Under any other circumstance—if it weren’t well past midnight, if they weren’t halfway across the country in an inn in the middle of nowhere, if Mu Qing wasn't so overwhelmed with everything that had just flipped his perception of the world upside down—he might have tried to pick a fight over that. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed out into the dark woods and held his breath until Feng Xin got up to head back inside.
What he saw, indeed. Mu Qing had asked himself that question too many times already.
At this point, it almost didn’t matter what the answer to that question was. More important was the second question—that one, Mu Qing wouldn’t be able to shake until he realized its answer.
And if the answer wasn’t what he needed it to be, he didn’t know what he’d do from there.
-
When he finally couldn't take the cold anymore, Mu Qing dragged himself back upstairs and stood in front of the door to his and Xie Lian's room for far too long. He couldn't find a whole new room, and he couldn't imagine staying in the same vicinity as Feng Xin without strangling him in his sleep, but he also couldn't stomach the thought of facing Xie Lian after everything.
In the end, he couldn't even make the decision for himself. The door pulled back to reveal a weary, disheveled Xie Lian. He gestured for Mu Qing to enter; Mu Qing figured this was less of a friend's invitation and more of a prince's request.
Xie Lian led him to sit at the edge of the bed—it was a bed at least, not just a mat like some of the places they'd stayed in—and despite Mu Qing's nerves being entirely too frayed to let him do something as simple as share such a space with Xie Lian, he did not deny him.
Xie Lian sighed. "I won't apologize as a prince to his servant. As a friend, I hurt you. You… you mean too much to me for me to have used you like that."
Was that what it was? Had Mu Qing been used? "What am I," he mumbled.
"I'm sorry?"
"What am I to you? Your Highness, what the hell was this?"
Xie Lian flinched. "It wasn't supposed to— I'm sorry. I forgot myself. I thought I could… I don't know. Pretend we weren't who we are? That's impossible, though, I know that."
"It is," Mu Qing said slowly. "Your Highness should do well never to forget it. Or others in my position will take advantage of that."
Mu Qing watched Xie Lian's expression shutter closed, and immediately he knew he had said something wrong. "Mu Qing, do you think I'm so shallow as to do… that, with just anyone? I took my vow, as did you. It was a mistake that only could have happened in such a situation as we found ourselves in."
"You're speaking like a prince," Mu Qing breathed. It suited him, he did not say. He did not say, he could obey a voice like that for his entire life and never once step out of line again.
Xie Lian's eyes grew wide and watery. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know how to change this. You're my equal, Mu Qing, in every way. Nothing else matters."
Mu Qing couldn't look at him, when he looked like that. "Maybe that will be the case when you're king. Or a god. Whichever comes first."
"Yes, it will be! They'll all learn to see. I'll make sure of it, it will be my word against everyone else's."
But that's the problem. Mu Qing bit back the disastrous thought before he could voice it. That's the only reason I'm here, and not rotting in jail somewhere for picking cherries.
"You should sleep, Your Highness," he said. He rose from the bed to his own at the other end of the room.
He didn't glance back at Xie Lian for the rest of the night, but he listened for his sigh, the shuffling of the sheets as he settled into them, and the shuddering breaths he made for some time after. Only once they'd evened out into something approximating sleep did Mu Qing allow himself to fall into a fitful rest.
-
When Xie Lian ascended at the Yinian Bridge, Mu Qing and Feng Xin were off hunting down the demon's underlings in the surrounding forest. Later, in the Heavenly Court, they would overhear from other gossipping officials that the crown prince of Xianle had made the most delicate winter flower bloom in the bitter earth, in the place where he had slain the cruel demon. Nothing could explain it except the prince's endless compassion and grief for all living things. His ability to bring creatures to repentance even in death. The perfect bodhisattva.
Neither of them ever spoke of what had happened during their travels, how the space between them had blurred for just a moment. How could they? When Mu Qing looked at Xie Lian now, he saw what he had in those days before the parade—the boy standing on the edge of a roof haloed by a rising sun. All Mu Qing could do was crane his neck and squint.
He did not hem the prince's clothes anymore. He did not brush his hair, imbued as it was with a perpetual godly sheen. He did not stare at the prince's lips or wrists or hips, because that was a god's body now, and to stare would be to toe the line of sacrilege. He certainly did not seek to cross any lines.
To an outside observer it wouldn't appear that anything had changed. Xie Lian still clung too easily, Feng Xin still laughed too loud, Mu Qing still grumbled and picked too petty fights. But they saw the lines, and they did not mention that they saw them.
One day, observing the opening of yet another temple for the crown prince, Xie Lian turned to Mu Qing and asked, "Do you think it looks like me?" He waved an arm at the statue that had just been unveiled dramatically before the awed townspeople.
The statue was twice the size of a tall human, cast in gold and adorned in delicately soldered flowers. It gazed upon its worshippers with a serene expression that promised a far too simplistic sort of forgiveness.
"A version of you," Mu Qing said.
"That's not really an answer," Xie Lian said, a smile in his eyes.
Mu Qing pointed right at him. "There. It does look like you."
Xie Lian laughed, gesturing for Mu Qing to follow him out of the temple. "What version of me should they do next, then?"
Mu Qing thought about it, he really did. "The one with bedhead," he finally decided.
"Please, I don't even get those terrible snarls anymore! It wouldn't be fair to have that immortalized."
"All the more reason for it to be. For your own posterity, centuries after you've forgotten you ever used to get them. Gods should remember their own humanity."
Xie Lian seemed to sense there was a kernel of earnestness within the ridiculous notion. "Mu Qing, you and Feng Xin are my own reminders. I couldn't have gotten where I am without you both."
"You could have," Mu Qing asserted easily. "But if Your Highness insists."
"I do! Mu Qing, look at me." Xie Lian stopped walking, turning to his deputy. Mu Qing obeyed, although it hurt his eyes. "We're the best of our generation, all three of us. We made each other what we are. Now, tell me, who do you think we'd be without each other?"
"I don't know, Your Highness," Mu Qing said, and it was true. At least, for himself and Feng Xin. "You'd still be the best."
Xie Lian playfully batted him on the shoulder, as proud as he was bashful. "You know I'll have to live up to those expectations, so don't place them too high. Now let's go, Feng Xin says we have some prayers to catch up on."
And Mu Qing followed, because that was the voice he followed. This was the man he followed—all the versions of him.