Fengqing 20: Reincarnation (for Fengqing Week 2022)
on AO3 as reflecting on us: then, now, and forever
“Watch it, you dumb fuck!”
Feng Xin watched in horror as his cup of coffee spilled all over the man in front of him, leaving a large brown stain on the front of his white shirt.
Fuck. He really wanted that latte. It had cost him ten fucking bucks.
The man furiously cursed as he tried to wipe the stains away with his slender hands. “Fucking shit, this will have to be dry cleaned,” he grumbled as he gave Feng Xin the most spiteful glare with piercing dark eyes.
Feng Xin took a step back. He felt a shiver going down his spine at the glower of those dark eyes, and swore that glare could cut glass. The offended man looked like Feng Xin had just murdered his cat.
What a fucking bitch. He pressed the cup lid down to stop his coffee from spilling more.
They were standing on the steps of the National Museum, where a weekend pop-up exhibition on rare artifacts and relics of ancient Chinese mythology took place, particularly about Feng Xin’s favorite subject, Gods and Ghosts.
He'd spent his teens and early twenties buried in Chinese mythology comics and television shows, even spending his first paycheck on Nendoroids of his favorite characters, General Nan Yang and the Crown Prince of Xianle. Fables of the two gods and their courageous deeds had consumed his childhood. But, as time passed, it remained a side passion that he never fully pursued because of academics and his career. Of course, it hadn’t helped that none of his friends were enthusiastic about the same thing.
Last week, his workplace offered him complimentary tickets to the sold-out exhibition, so he took the opportunity to learn more about his long-lost hobby, and he didn't have other plans for the day anyway.
“Fuck, fine. I’ll pay for your fucking dry cleaning.” Feng Xin scowled as he pulled out his leather wallet, ready to fork out some cash. “You don't have to be such a bitch about it,”
“I don’t need your pity,” the angry man snapped before Feng Xin could flip his wallet open, walking past him and into the museum.
“Fucking ass,” Feng Xin grumbled as he tossed the rest of his coffee into the bin and made his way to the designated ticket counter to collect his tickets.
To Feng Xin’s disbelief, the coffee-stained man with the foul mood was also queuing at the special ticket counters.
Well, fuck . What were the chances that they both scored complimentary tickets?
“I’m collecting the complimentary special admission tickets booked under Mu Qing,” the man said to the cheerful lady behind the counter.
Mu Qing. A bitchy name fit for a bitchy man , Feng Xin thought as he gave his name to the other lady at the next counter.
“Hah! Feng Xin! Appropriate.” Mu Qing scoffed as he walked towards the exhibit.
Feng Xin could only glare daggers at the back of Mu Qing’s skull as he followed behind.
_____________________________
Mu Qing sighed as he exited the washroom. After getting his ticket, he rushed to the gents by the first exhibit room and tried to wash the coffee stain off, but it lingered like a big brown blotch of baby crap on his chest.
It was his new designer shirt, which he'd gotten after nearly a year on the waiting list, and he'd only worn it once. And it was blatantly apparent that the man with thick brows had no clue what he had ruined.
Work had been brutal that week. After a long week of compiling and filtering through historical journals for a project with a team of archaeologists, he had been looking forward to enjoying the exhibition in solitude . His college alumni association had ties with the museum and had offered him a free pass with special admissions, which he had gladly accepted. But no, his start to the weekend was getting coffee spilled on his designer shirt by a dumb jock instead.
Books on ancient civilizations and myths had been his treasures since he was a child. His mother was a single mother juggling two blue-collared jobs to make ends meet, so while other kids spent their childhoods playing with new toys or learning to ride bicycles, Mu Qing had spent his time reading old and dusty history books on Heaven’s Officials. The set of heavy-bound leather books were the only books on his family's lone bookshelf, which had been in his family for generations. No one in his family knew where the books originated, but his curiosity had led him to his college major and a lifetime fascination with history and mythology.
“I made that coffee stain look like part of your shirt’s design, you know,” Mu Qing heard as he stepped in front of the first display.
Feng Xin appeared next to him. Mu Qing sighed again. He couldn’t help but think the gods were against him today.
“Says the person who wears cargo shorts into a museum,” Mu Qing sniped back, cocking a brow. He was not taking fashion advice from this fashion monstrosity. The guy looked like he had just walked out of a nineties fishing magazine. All he needed was a fishing hat and a pocket vest to complete the look.
“Well, they’re comfy, and they’re not stained with coffee,” Feng Xin replied as they made their way to the first display, earning an eye roll from Mu Qing.
The first exhibit was of two well-known objects – an old black shovel with an intricately carved top handle and a bamboo paper folding fan with three lines running across it. They were the famed Earth Master’s shovel and Wind Master’s fan, respectively, in pristine condition.
“Wind Master Shi Qingxuan, one of the Four Famous Tales,” Feng Xin read out the sign below the fan. “The young lord who poured wine,” he added casually.
Mu Qing furrowed his eyebrows. “Tsk, undeserving of his title,”
Every history major knew Shi Qingxuan did not ascend as a god on his own. Instead, the proclaimed Wind Master had spent most of his mortal time hiding from the Venerable of Empty Words, a parasitic ghost that fed on the negative thoughts of its host.
Many of its victims resorted to suicide from the extreme anxiety and depression. There were only two exceptions – prominent scholar He Xuan and the Crown Prince of Xianle.
As destiny foretold, Shi Qingxuan was fated to be one of its victims.
Until Shi Wudu intervened.
Shi Wudu, Shi Qingxuan's ascended older brother who bore the title Water Master or Water Tyrant, had seized scholar He Xuan's destiny as a god and bestowed it to Shi Qingxuan to protect his beloved younger brother. As a result, Shi Qingxuan ascended to become the Wind Master with minimal effort and lived the life of a god in luxury at the expense of He Xuan’s luck.
The wronged scholar had held on to his grudge for decades and fought thousands of ghosts and demons for twelve long years in Mount Tong’lu to become one of the most powerful beings of the three realms - a Supreme Ghost called Black Water Sinking Ships.
"Wind Master Shi Qingxuan was innocent," Feng Xin replied, looking at Mu Qing, who had folded his arms across his chest.
"He could have stood up for He Xuan," Mu Qing commented as he approached the display, carefully scrutinizing each elaborately carved root and tree on the shovel's handle, which supposedly belonged to the Earth Master. He Xuan, as a Supreme, had kidnapped Ming Yi, the genuine Earth Master, and used his identity to infiltrate the heavens to seek his revenge. "He Xuan's family and fiancee died in agony as a consequence of Shi Wudu’s selfishness,” he declared indifferently.
Feng Xin’s eyes widened, taken off guard by Mu Qing’s judgment, “Bro, Shi Wudu was trying to save his baby brother!”
“I am not your bro,” Mu Qing scoffed as he walked through a hallway displaying old chinaware into the following exhibition room.
“Shi Qingxuan had to choose between his brother and a friend he just learned was a Supreme impersonating the Earth Master,” Feng Xin loudly voiced as he followed behind. “They were best friends in heaven! Where’s your mercy?”
The next exhibit featured two human-sized stone sculptures. One depicted a woman holding a fan in front of her face, but her other arm and a leg were missing, while another showed a headless male. It was Shi Qingxuan in his female form and Shi Wudu. The brothers were often, if not always, worshipped as a male and female pair.
Like the Wind Master’s fan and Earth Master’s shovel, Mu Qing noticed that both statues seem to be in good shape, although missing a few limbs and a head. It appeared their collectors had been caring for them well.
“Are you listening to me?” Feng Xin asked, waving his hand in front of Mu Qing’s face.
“No.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes, wondering why Feng Xin was still around. There were plenty of other exhibits to explore, so he didn’t have to invade Mu Qing’s space. “Shi Wudu didn't deserve any mercy,” he added as he noticed the three lines on Shi Wudu’s statue’s fan, almost identical to Shi Qingxuan’s.
Though fate had been unkind to the two brothers at the start and end of their lives, it paled to the physical anguish and psychological torment He Xuan endured over hundreds of years. While Shi Wudu basked in splendor as the Water Tyrant and Shi Qingxuan frolicked in the mortal and heavenly realms, He Xuan had lost his fiancee and family to suicide, rape, murder, and hunger.
Mu Qing could only imagine the pain the Supreme had endured. Unlike the other gods and ghosts he knew, whose difficulties sprang from their own questionable choices, He Xuan was the only being to suffer as a result of the decisions of others.
Shi Wudu had been selfish in his way, and Shi Qingxuan was a coward in abetting his brother’s egoistic attitude, he told himself.
-- “Everyone, catch!” A scene of a woman dressed in traditional jade green and white garb throwing gold paper up in the air like confetti flashed through Mu Qing’s mind.
There was an uproar, then a stern, deep voice said, “Qingxuan, behave.”——
Mu Qing shook his head. What? The scene lasted only a moment, but it felt so real. He must be exhausted. It seemed to be a flashback from a television show about Shi Qingxuan he’d watched as a kid.
“Shi Qingxuan lost an arm and broke a leg after their battle with Black Boat,” Feng Xin interrupted his thoughts as he indicated the Wind Master sculpture. He then moved closer to Mu Qing, pointing at the headless statue, “He Xuan lopped off Shi Qingxuan’s brother’s head!”
“I don’t need a museum guide.” Mu Qing sighed. “And it’s Black Water Sinking Ships.”
"And, in the end, Black Boat never killed Shi Qingxuan anyway, so he must have had some affection towards him," Feng Xin continued, dismissing Mu Qing's remarks. “You don’t give up on a centuries-long grudge unless there were feelings involved,”
“Executed his brother, stripped him of his immortality, broke his arm and leg,” Mu Qing casually replied as he walked to the next exhibit. “Dumped him, a spoilt and formerly rich god, in the slums with no means to survive.
“You’re right. I guess there are some romantic elements to their tragedy,” Mu Qing conceded sarcastically. “I suppose Shi Qingxuan’s life as a crippled beggar in the slums was better than a quick death,”
“You are one sick fuck.” Feng Xin squinted as he pointed a finger at him.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes as he made his way to the next room. “I wasn’t the one who said they have feelings for each other.”
“Yeah, but not when you put it that way,” Feng Xin whined as he trailed behind. “You just ruined the whole thing!”
_____________________________
Feng Xin followed his new barbed-mouth companion to the next exhibit.
They hadn’t gotten off to a good start, but no matter how unpleasant Mu Qing was, it felt nice to finally have someone to talk to about myths and folklore. Unfortunately, as much as his friends tried, they had no interest, and it was hard to watch them pretend to enjoy his stories when it was evident they were bored to death.
It didn’t seem like Mu Qing was interested in talking to him, but he didn’t seem to mind Feng Xin doing the talking too much. And judging by his comments about Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan, it was clear that the snide stranger was at the very least knowledgeable about the fundamentals of Chinese mythology.
“Why are you following me?” Mu Qing asked as he walked towards a tall, elegant bronze statue of a god holding scrolls in his arms. The sculptured man had a composed expression that emanated scholarly intelligence and brilliance.
It was a statue of Ling Wen, the infamous literature god, in her male form. Ling Wen had gone by the name Nangong Jie during her mortal days and made a living making shoes.
The shoemaker was so gifted in writing that the top literature god, Jing Wen, ultimately chose Ling Wen to join his lower court officials, only to assign her menial tasks such as delivering gifts to other gods and wiping tables.
Frustrated with her role, Ling Wen developed contempt for Jing Wen and sped up his demise by burning some of his temples before ascending to become a full-fledged upper court official herself.
However, because many did not believe a woman could be a scholar, the literature god struggled to gain worshippers, a challenge she easily overcame by taking on a male form when facing the mortal realm.
Although it had been more than a millennium since the story of Ling Wen was first recorded, it was a problem she would still face in the modern world today, Feng Xin thought as he glanced at a faded watercolor painting of Ling Wen. The goddess was painted in her demure female form, hanging on the wall next to the statue.
“Hasn't your big brain noticed that the exhibition path is one-way? I can’t help it if we’re walking in the same direction,” Feng Xin replied as a shiny object caught his attention.
An antique long sword with cracks on its blade with the label 'Ming Guang' and the broken fragments of Shi Wudu's fan were displayed next to Ling Wen's statue.
"Oh, it's the Three Brain Cells!" Feng Xin's eyes gleamed with excitement. He pressed his face into the glass display with the long sword.
He’d always been a fan of weapons, especially ancient Chinese weapons, and seeing the legendary sword, Ming Guang, was almost like a dream come true. Its wielder, General Pei Ming, conquered vast lands before falling prey to his traitorous second-in-command, Rong Guang, in combat. Ironically, his defeat in the war resulted in his ascension, and he eventually became one of the most powerful gods in Chinese mythology. Third in martial might only to the Heavenly Emperor Jun Wu and the Crown Prince Of Xianle.
Feng Xin’s favorite weapon, however, was the bow. He had been an avid archer during his school days, representing his school in multiple state-level competitions.
No other sport could give him the sense of gratification archery did. Feeling the tension release as his fingers let go of the bowstring always gave him a swell of satisfaction, and the “thump” as his arrow hit the target was music to his ears. But, regrettably, it was another passion that never took off after he graduated high school.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes, “The Three Tumors,”
Feng Xin rolled his eyes back. “You know, one day you’re gonna roll your eyes so hard they’ll get stuck behind your head.”
In return, he received another savage eye roll, tempting him to press Mu Qing’s eyeballs deeper into their sockets.
“Hasn't happened yet,” Mu Qing muttered as he read the artifact description about the Three Tumors.
“The Three Tumors of the Heavenly Realm consisted of the literature god Ling Wen, General Ming Guang of the North, and the Water Tyrant Shi Wudu.”
The corners of Mu Qing’s mouth turned downwards as he continued reading the passage out loud, “They are known for their close camaraderie and friendship in the Heavens. It was known that Ling Wen kept silent upon learning about Shi Wudu’s crime regarding the stealing of He Xuan’s fate and swapping it with his brother.
A scene flashed through Feng Xin’s mind.
-- “Some wine, Noble Jie?” a deep sultry voice asked an elegant woman in traditional dark robes. They were seated at an elaborate banquet.
“Later, Ol’ Pei,” she replied with a hint of annoyance.
Another stern male voice chuckled, “Stop attempting to intoxicate our Noble Jie. We need her alert should General Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen start fighting about their lantern counts again,”--
Huh? What was that? Feng Xin blinked a few times as Mu Qing’s reading brought his mind back to reality. He then brushed it off, assuming it was an oddly intense daydream.
"Due to their arrogant, boisterous, and abrasive personalities, many heavenly officials were not fond of the Three Tumors but begrudgingly worked with them as the three had immense power and status in the heavens," Mu Qing added, his frown deepening with every word.
Feng Xin could sense Mu Qing’s disdain as he read about General Ming Guang’s conquest of thousands of women over the three realms and chuckled at his reaction. “They sound like a fun bunch,”
“They sound revolting,” Mu Qing retorted as he tore his eyes away from erotic drawings of General Ming Guang with three women; a human, a ghost, and a god.
"Yeah, but in a fun way," Feng Xin protested, his gaze drawn to a few ancient scrolls rumored to be from Ling Wen's palace. "You wouldn't recognize fun if it smacked you in the nuts," he added lightly with a teasing smirk.
“That doesn’t make any sen—“
“Hey, what’s that?” A bronze figure by the edge of the room caught Feng Xin’s attention.
A bronze ox statue and an antiquated farmer's hat stood side by side in the corner of the room. It was a statue of Rain Master Yushi Huang's loyal ox companion and her fabled Rain Master's hat, which the Crown Prince of Xianle had used in an attempt to stop the drought.
"It was believed that the avid adulterer, General Ming Guang, eventually gave up his philandering ways and settled down in Yushi Country with Rain Master Yushi Huang," Feng Xin read from one of the explanatory plaques. “She was the renowned princess who slit her throat due to General Ming Guang's conduct while their respective nations were at war.”
Mu Qing sneered at his words. “A prolific womanizer such as General Ming Guang didn’t deserve someone as revered as the Rain Master,”
“That’s what you said about Shi Wudu and Shi Qingxuan.” Feng Xin’s brows drew together as he glanced at the angry Mu Qing. “I’m starting to see a pattern here,”
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What pattern?”
“The pattern is anti-joy. You are anti-joy.” Feng Xin laughed as Mu Qing gave him the meanest glare before walking ahead.
_____________________________
Mu Qing hurried to the next room, attempting to shrug off the pesky stranger tailing him, but failed as Feng Xin caught up with him with a few long strides. "Hey, you left me!"
Mu Qing sighed at his failure to deter the other man. “We’re not together.”
Perhaps he should have been more direct in his approach. He’d been rude and snide, hoping the other man would catch his meaning and leave him alone, but it seemed Feng Xin was either too polite or too dumb to notice.
“Nah, we are now. I like your doom and gloom commentaries.” Feng Xin smirked, waving his hands in amazement. “It adds depth to these fairy tales. You’re like Hans Christian fucking Andersen,”
Did the moron equate Chinese mythology to fucking mainstream fairy tales? Hans Christian Andersen? Mu Qing sighed again, probably the hundredth since he met Feng Xin today. Feng Xin was dumb, he concluded. That had to be it.
“Ugh.” Mu Qing ignored him in favor of checking out an odd pair of items featured in the room.
The main exhibit had a mannequin wearing a gunny sack encased in a glass display, and next to it, a clay mask of an angry demon’s face.
It was the infamous brocade immortal and the mask of a banished god who became a ghost.
The fallen god, Yin Yu, has used the brocade immortal in a fit of jealousy and anger to manipulate his Shi-di, the wild and naive but powerful Quan Yizhen, to cause a massacre in the heavens.
“So, I’m guessing you think Yin Yu didn’t deserve his fate of being banished from the heavens?” Feng Xin asked as he scrutinized the worn-out gunny sack. It looked no different from the gunny sacks he’d seen used to store rice grains in rural villages. “Quan Yizhen wasn’t exactly the easiest shi-di to handle,”
Mu Qing looked at the demon-faced mask with a displeased expression. “Yin Yu was weak. He shouldn't have ascended in the first place. “He wasn’t strong enough to control his emotions. Someone like him shouldn’t have made it past a middle court level god,” he added.
“The fuck? I’m not saying Quan Yizhen was wrong, but he was a handful!” Feng Xin argued as he walked around the display. “And Yin Yu was only human! His reaction was normal,”
“I know he’s a god. I meant it’s normal for someone to react the way he did,”
“It’s normal for humans to react the way he did. Yin Yu was a god ,” Mu Qing enunciated as they moved along the relics from Quan Yizhen’s palace, mostly stacks of gold bars of different designs. Although the untamed god was never known for his political standing or intelligence, he gained many followers solely on his martial strength. As a result, he was one of the wealthiest gods in the Heavenly Realm.
"Imagine dealing with someone like Quan Yizhen," Feng Xin hypothesized before pausing. "But I guess you're not nice enough to wind up with a shi-di like Quan Yizhen in the first place," he looked at Mu Qing with an accusing squint.
“Exactly,” Mu Qing crinkled his nose at the prospect of dealing with a wild child like Quan Yizhen. Yin Yu had been compassionate in adopting the wild boy as his shi-di, but that did not imply he was worthy of ascending. If history were to show anything, being merciful and compassionate was not a prerequisite to being a god. Pei Xiu, one of Pei Ming’s descendants, ascended by winning a war that massacred an entire city.
Yin Yu struck gold with his calamity and ascension, and that was it. His greatest fault was believing he could be pure of heart when he wasn’t.
If their conversations for the last hour were any indication, his argument was not getting across to Feng Xin. On the contrary, the man seemed to prefer vomiting unfounded hearsay rather than listening to Mu Qing’s facts.
-- A memory of armoured guardsmen, like the ones in the museum, holding down a young boy with wild curly hair fighting back with a confused expression. “Shi-Xiong!” the boy yelled out.
Was that Feng Xin among the crowd? --
The scene ended in seconds. Mu Qing shook his head again. Something didn’t feel right, and his chest tightened. Were they hallucinations? What was causing them? Was he sick?
But he pushed aside the pesky feeling in his chest to refute Feng Xin’s ill-informed facts.
"It doesn't really matter. Quan Yizhen died during the final battle with Jun Wu anyway," Feng Xin said as he gave Mu Qing a know-it-all look. The man was clearly impressed with his inaccurate information.
“Quan Yizhen did not die in that battle,” Mu Qing looked at Feng Xin with a dumbfounded expression. Where did this guy get his information? Black Boat? Three Brain Cells? Quan Yizhen dying?
Mu Qing eyed Feng Xin from head to toe as he wondered what someone like him was doing in a museum in the first place. He looked like a gym rat who had gotten lost and followed the wrong group. A hypothesis that didn't sound too far-fetched at this point.
Feng Xin scratched his head as he beamed at Mu Qing, “No, no, he did. I’m pretty good at this historical stuff. I saw a video on YouTube.”
“On YouTube?” He raised his eyebrow for what felt like the hundredth time today. Feng Xin was... bragging?
“Yeah, I enjoy the History Channel and YouTube videos on myths and all. And TikTok. Helps me de-stress after work,” Feng Xin replied casually. “Say, you’re pretty good at this too. How’d you get into it?”
“I majored in ancient civilizations for my undergraduate degree and wrote a thesis on Chinese myths and legends for postgrad,” Mu Qing replied casually.
“Oh, that’s pretty cool,” Feng Xin said before he stopped in his tracks. “Oh.”
Feng Xin wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, he looked to his off-the-rack navy blue Nike trainers as if they were the most exciting pair of shoes in the world, but Mu Qing could see his cheeks reddening from the side. It was almost cute. Almost .
“The next one looks interesting.” Mu Qing walked ahead. Feng Xin followed behind him quietly, and Mu Qing could only smirk in satisfaction. Finally, silence.
_____________________________
Feng Xin looked to the ground as he followed a few steps behind Mu Qing into the next room, languishing over the fact that he had boasted about his YouTube-educated ‘expertise’ in Chinese mythology to a history graduate. No wonder Mu Qing kept scoffing at his explanations.
If he could crawl under a rock and hide for a year, he would. It was so. fucking. embarrassing.
Fucking YouTube. Feng Xin wanted to die.
In contrast to the other exhibits they had explored, the current room was the largest. And unlike the previous ones, the entire room appeared dedicated to one god, the glorious former Crown Prince of Xianle.
He couldn't help but be impressed by the room's artworks and countless artifacts. It filled every corner of the room from left to right and top to bottom. On exhibit were everything from a modest set of white robes to the most exquisite swords and finely carved marble sculptures he'd ever seen.
In the center of the floor was a pile of gold-foil cards arranged neatly in the shape of a palace. A warm spotlight from the ceiling made it sparkle and glimmer from every angle as though it radiated a warm aura.
Mu Qing appeared preoccupied with the many clothes the Crown Prince had worn, particularly one exceedingly ornate garment of white and scarlet with gold accents and a gold mask.
It was the famed attire the Crown Prince donned during the Shangyuan Festival when he leaped from his parade wagon platform to save a boy who had jumped off the city walls, the performance that won him the affection of the common people.
Feng Xin decided to explore the other side of the room instead, away from Mu Qing, who evidently didn’t want him around. He neared the paintings of the crown prince, dressed in the same Shangyuan Festival costume and gold mask, wielding a sword in one hand and a dainty pink flower in the other, symbolizing “the power to end the world, but with a heart as gentle as a flower.”
According to the plaques, all displayed items were replicas rather than originals. Almost everything about The Crown Prince of Xianle, while he was a human and during his brief moment as a martial god, had been destroyed by worshippers who turned on him when he couldn't save them from the atrocious human face disease and the invasion of Yong’an.
The human face disease had spread like wildfire through the people while the drought intensified, leading to famine, and Yong'an’s army emerged victorious.
Xie Lian, The Crown Prince of Xianle, also known as the God-pleasing Crown Prince, eventually fell from the pinnacle of splendor as heaven's favorite saviour to a scrap-collector god who roamed the mortal realm and became the laughingstock of the three realms for 800 years.
He had ascended for the third time after nearly a millennium of wandering the mortal realm, befriended a formidable Supreme Ghost, and defeated Jun Wu, the Heavenly Emperor. The latter had been the mastermind behind multiple large-scale atrocities in all three realms for over a thousand years.
It was a tale for the ages.
The story of Xie Lian enthralled Feng Xin. He was sick and tired of hearing about heroes who never gave up, strived to be better people, and overcome bigger and tougher supervillains. Hollywood, Disney, and anime were all the same. It was time heroes were given realistic flaws.
Although a celebrated god, Xie Lian was still very much emotionally human, as he tried to explain to Mu Qing about Yin Yu earlier. Gods were not exempt from feelings like compassion, anguish, grief, frustration, and devastation simply because they ascended. In truth, Gods and humans were very much alike.
The Heavenly Emperor banished Xie Lian from the heavenly realm for intervening in mortal affairs, and almost all gods and worshippers shunned him. His two closest attendants left him, and his parents took their own lives because they believed their only son would be happier without the burden of caring for them.
Understandably, the former Crown Prince attempted suicide. It was a natural reaction, and it was human to do so. Even gods were limited by their human emotions. When humans ascend, they are still human; when they fall, they are still human.
He gave up. He wanted to die.
Being an immortal was the only thing that prevented the god from joining his parents in death. But, to Xie Lian’s disappointment, he couldn’t die no matter how hard he tried.
Feng Xin's favorite part of Xie Lian's narrative was not his high splendour, his plummet into banishment, or his resurrection as a powerful god. No, it was a small but pivotal event in his life that changed the course of his life.
It was a chance encounter with a stranger.
Death was not an option for Xie Lian, who had been mourning his life as a fallen god, the loss of his companions, and the life of his beloved parents. As a result, he almost became a calamity during his worst hour.
For days, Xie Lian lay motionless in a crater in the heart of a town, ignored or mocked by pedestrians. His heart filled with darkness and sorrow, and the broken god intended to spread the human face disease to the rest of the world. He wanted others, especially those who had forsaken him, to endure the same suffering.
Ironically, it was at this moment that his life path changed because of an unknown man who bestowed him with a hint of mercy. Not a friend, comrade, foe, or family, but a stranger he met for no more than a few minutes.
A mere stranger who showed him a moment of kindness. A man whose identity was unknown even to the person he helped. A man who did not know that the man before him was a fallen god from the heavens in the appearance of a filthy street beggar. Before leaving, all he did was offer Xie Lian a straw hat to protect him from the rain and wish him well.
A minute of kindness was all it took to stop a god from becoming a calamity.
It was Feng Xin’s favorite story of Xie Lian because it attested that any unexpected thing, stranger, or event in a person’s life could alter their entire destiny.
-- A thin man with tangled long brown hair curled up on a thin beaten-up mattress suddenly flickered through Feng Xin’s mind. The man was curled up, his back to him.
"My dear child, please eat," a small woman in simple robes sits on the side of the mattress, pleading with the man to take a spoonful from her bowl of purple stew.
"Go away," the guy snapped back, his voice familiar despite its hoarseness. At that moment, Feng Xin was overwhelmed with a sudden sadness. He wanted to reach out to the man. --
“Hey, dumbass,” Mu Qing’s mocking voice pulled him from his thoughts. With Mu Qing's voice, the feelings of grief vanished. “Come with me,” he gestured to join him up front.
Odd , Feng Xin thought. He’s always had a vivid imagination, but it's never been this intense. Being in the museum must have triggered some long-forgotten daydreams. He tried to shake off the lingering chills as he trails behind the other man.
Mu Qing led them behind a wall of black drapes that appeared to be hiding a small room. It was so subtle that most passersby, if not all, would have missed it.
Because there wasn't much space in the makeshift room, the two were standing shoulder to shoulder. A medium-sized artwork of a person lighted by a faint spotlight hung on a wall. Feng Xin approached it to check it out.
His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he was seeing.
It was an oil painting of a bound and gagged Xie Lian in a decrepit old temple, with tears streaming down his agonized face as hundreds of swords pierced his chest. His garments were a dark crimson, saturated in blood and dripping on the floor to form a little river of red until the edge of its frame.
Feng Xin couldn’t recognize the scene, and the more he stared at it, the more it made him uneasy. The pain and desperation on Xie Lian’s anguished face looked so real that it was startling. He swore he could hear Xie Lian’s hoarse whispers for help.
"How did you find out about this room?" he asked, seeing that no one else was waiting to enter. The makeshift room was tucked away from the other exhibits.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes, “It’s on the fine print on the back of the special tickets. Didn't you read yours?”
Feng Xin gave him the most affronted look. “Who the fuck reads the back of tickets?” Like any regular person, he only read the date and time. Nobody reads the fine print. Mu Qing was starting to give him serial killer vibes.
“It's called understanding what you're receiving, you dumb fuck,” Mu Qing retorted with a scowl.
“Anyway, shut up. This narrative of Xie Lian isn't well-known since this is the sole artifact that recounts it," he added as they scrutinize the artwork. “Historians are still debating the authenticity of this piece.”
"What's the story?" Feng Xin asked Mu Qing, noticing their proximity in the little curtained room. From the side, he could see the light freckles sprinkled on Mu Qing's nose in the faint light. They look pretty, Feng Xin thought as he fixated on the little brown dots. He could draw constellations with those freckles.
Mu Qing turned to him with a complex gaze, pulling his focus away from the mesmerizing spread of freckles to dark eyes fanned by thick lashes instead. "According to older scrolls, Jun Wu presented Xie Lian as a sacrifice to a group of villagers trapped in the temple. Those who stabbed him would be immune to the human face disease.
"Being immortal, he could be stabbed repeatedly in non-vital parts of the body without dying," he explained slowly. “Almost all of them stabbed him willingly, ”
Feng Xin clenched his fists as his sympathy for the mythological god grew a hundredfold.
He knew that murder was the only way to protect against the human face disease. It was told in many stories about Xie Lian. But this was the first time he'd heard of Xie Lian stabbed endlessly by people who tortured a powerless god for their own needs.
The irony of it sickened him. To be mercilessly stabbed by the common people, the exact people he was attempting to save by gambling his life, the life of his companions and parents, and his immortality.
It epitomized human selfishness.
Xie Lian had done everything in his power to stop the human face disease, help Yong’an with the drought and famine, lead Xianle in a war, and at the same time, answer prayers from eight thousand temples. Everything he did was for the common people, yet they quickly turned their backs on him at Bai Wuxiang’s words.
Feeling a little brokenhearted over the tale, Feng Xin couldn’t express his jumbled thoughts immediately, but he wanted to know Mu Qing’s. “What do you think about Xie Lian?”
The stories of Xianle and Xie Lian had a special place in Feng Xin’s heart. He never knew why they profoundly affected him, as if he had lived through them or known the fallen crown prince. As though they were part of his life. Mu Qing couldn't begrudge Xie Lian for what he'd been through, could he?
“His actions were… understandable.” Mu Qing sighed, unexpectedly looking as dejected as he felt.
At Mu Qing’s reply, Feng Xin let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.
For once, they both agreed.
_____________________________
The next room they visited had more statues and paintings of the Crown Prince of Xianle, in his splendid Shangyuan Festival outfit with a flower in one hand and a sword in the other, and of him in simple white robes. This time, however, the sculptures and paintings were accompanied by a taller man in red with an eyepatch.
Feng Xin was looking at the statue of the tall man with an apprehensive glare, and Mu Qing couldn't blame him. Hua Cheng, the mythical Supreme Ghost, gave him the chills.
“So, is it true that Hua Cheng followed Xie Lian everywhere from the start?” Feng Xin asked, looking unsettled.
“You’re asking me?” Mu Qing, caught off guard by the question, peered at Feng Xin, puzzled. “Thought you’d have watched a TikTok video on it,” he quipped sarcastically.
“You’re the professional history person!” Feng Xin retorted. Mu Qing could see his cheeks turning red again, and he couldn't help but smirk. Making Feng Xin fluster was pure entertainment.
He read from the explanatory plaque while Feng Xin looked like he was going to combust with embarrassment, “Crimson Rain Sought Flower, also known as Hua Cheng, devoted his entire life to the Crown Prince Xie Lian.
“According to legends, the Crown Prince had unknowingly saved a young Hua Cheng, who tried to commit suicide by jumping off the city walls during the Shangyuan parade, where he was performing,” he continued.
"It is believed that Hua Cheng died as a soldier in the war for Xianle during their battle against Yong’an, but his soul remained in the mortal realm to stay alongside the Crown Prince."
As much as the Ghost King unnerved him, his devotion to the Xie Lian was admirable. Mu Qing had never dared to hope for someone to love him fiercely for a single minute, let alone for over a thousand years across lifetimes. He had spent most of his life alone.
He was always alone in everything he did and had long given up on the prospect of finding someone who could truly understand and accept him.
It wasn’t difficult to embrace loneliness when you had no other options.
And yet, it didn’t stop Mu Qing from occasionally wondering how it would be if he had someone by his side.
“It is also said that in his weaker ghost form, Hua Cheng helped Xie Lian in various ways,” he added as he tore his eyes from the bronze plaque.
“Do you know what he did as a ghost? To help Xie Lian? There’s so many different versions in books and TV,” Feng Xin asked. “I heard he bashed up Xie Lian’s cousin into pulp too.”
Mu Qing turned to find Feng Xin looking at him with sharp eyes boring into him and a serious expression. As though he needed to learn more about the ghost.
“He became a Menace-level ghost fireball that followed him right after the fall of Xianle,
“And when Xie Lian was stabbed in a temple? Being a tiny ghost, he couldn't do anything about it but watch his god suffer through stab after stab. It frustrated him to the point he evolved into a Savage ghost,” Mu Qing explained slowly with a long exhale.
“I wonder how these myths came about or who recorded them,” Feng Xin speculated. “The ones about Xie Lian, especially. They’re so… specific,”
“Apparently, it was Hua Cheng himself because he was so proud of Xie Lian. Legends say he sculpted almost all the sculptures and paintings you see here, even this one,” Mu Qing replied as they walked out of the covert room. “He wanted the world to know how strong his lover was.”
“He creeps me out,” Feng Xin said out of the blue. He tucked his hands inside his pockets as he scrunched his nose at a painting of the god and the ghost. “It’s cool that Hua Cheng would live and die for Xie Lian, and I respect him for that, but man, he just really gives me the creeps. Maybe it’s the fucking eyepatch,” he added, echoing Mu Qing’s thoughts.
“Mhm,” Mu Qing agreed with a slight nod, surprised by Feng Xin’s sentiments about Hua Cheng. Most people he knew adored Hua Cheng as if the ghost were the best person across all three realms.
He looked at the human-sized statues of Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, side by side. God and Ghost worshipped together. And at the same time, they were a fallen god with his most devoted believer. It was a perplexing, absurd combination, yet no two seemed to fit better together.
“So.. what do you think of Hua Cheng?” Feng Xin asked curiously as he approached behind him, stepping into his personal space again.
By now, Mu Qing had grown accustomed to Feng Xin’s hovering presence. He began to seem less like a bothersome mosquito and more like a pleasant annoyance. It was like scratching an itchy bug bite. Naturally, he'd rather not be around Feng Xin, but his presence was... tolerable.
“Ugh, must you ask about everything?” Mu Qing rolled his eyes.
“I’m making conversation!”
“Your conversation is unwanted—“
Suddenly, a raspy man’s voice came from behind them, “Mr. Feng, Mr. Mu, you must be our two guests with special admissions tickets.”
The two nodded in unison, surprised at the sudden appearance of the stranger who seemed to lack a presence of any sort.
The dull-looking man was wearing black from top to toe and a facemask, shrinking his already nonexistent presence.
“Would you like to have a look at another special collection?” the man asked, his pale face devoid of emotions. He left before the two could respond, as though knowing they would follow.
Feng Xin and Mu Qing looked at each other questioningly before trailing behind the man through an unmarked black door.
It was a large square room with four large paintings, each hanging on a wall. The paintings were large enough to cover almost the entire wall.
Mu Qing strained his eyes as he stood at the door, trying to make sense of the four oil paintings. They seemed peculiar, mostly beige with brown and black, with a touch of color speckles and some dark lines. His eyes widened, feeling a chill down his spine as he understood he was staring at interwoven limbs.
He took a step back, realizing they were erotic paintings of the infamous ghost and god in positions only non-humans could attain. With a blink, he quickly turned and left, leaving a still-squinting Feng Xin behind. As he stepped out, he heard a booming “WHAT THE FUCK!”
_____________________________
Shortly afterwards, Feng Xin bolted from the room, “My eyes are burning!” He couldn’t believe the scandalous figures he saw. They looked like abstract art initially, but as he worked out the humanoid forms, they could not be unseen. They seared deep into his brain, making him want to gouge his eyes.
“Oh my god, do you think that weird guy who brought us here is in charge of those—those—abominations? Is that why he looks like he has no soul?” He sobbed and blinked rapidly, attempting to get rid of the pornographic images in his mind.
He finally squatted, hands holding the side of his head, defeated by his mind. “Fucking hell. Did Hua Cheng paint those too? Fuck. I knew he was a fucking creep. I knew it.”
Mu Qing nodded and couldn’t agree more. Compared to the paintings, the erotic drawings of General Ming Guang and the three ladies from the three realms looked like illustrations from a children’s book.
As a history major, there were few art pieces he was unfamiliar with, mainly because they were items kept in private collections, away from the eager eyes of museum collectors and researchers. Yet, they were the collections that any history enthusiast would be honored to see.
He figured the four paintings had been one of those, kept in a private collection for decades until today. The obscene paintings of the God and Ghost were unheard of. He was sure of it, and their collectors did an excellent job keeping them out of the public eye. Erotic images of the Crown Prince of Xianle and the Supreme Ghost Crimson Rain Sought Flower would have made the front pages of National Geographic Magazine if the media caught wind of it.
Mu Qing sighed as he looked at the traumatised Feng Xin, still squatting on the floor with his face in his hands. The paintings should have remained a secret, he thought. Some things were just not meant for others to see.
They both silently agreed that Hua Cheng was a creepy pervert.
After a few minutes of recollecting themselves, they quickly made their way to the final room, eager to be as far as possible from the paintings.
_____________________________
The final room was dedicated to two Heavenly Martial Gods. It was smaller than the previous rooms, and to their relief, there were no more artifacts of Xie Lian or his Supreme Ghost partner.
In the middle of the room was a tall glass display showcasing a long wooden bow, with a few arrows in a leather quiver with delicate stitching. And next to it stood a domineering yet elegant long sabre with a solid black hilt.
They were the weapons of Xie Lian’s two most trusted attendants, General Nan Yang’s bow and arrows and the sabre of General Xuan Zhen.
The two generals were notorious for their hostility towards one another. Over centuries, countless books and stage plays have told the stories of the legendary animosity between them.
And yet, the two were such equals that neither could gain the upper hand in almost everything they did. They were rivals in every possible way. Their strength, number of worshippers, temples, and territories paralleled each other from the start of their lives as mortals to the end of their lives as martial gods.
General Nan Yang had been Xie Lian's bodyguard since they were both fourteen years old, and General Xuan Zhen, a servant of the same age, had joined them a few years later after Xie Lian recognized his talent for cultivation and invited him to be his attendant so he could cultivate at the same time.
When their Crown Prince soared into prominence, they rose with him into the Heavenly realm as lower court officials, and the two plunged alongside him as he was banished back into the mortal realm.
But as fate would have it, all three went their separate ways. Xie Lian vanished off Heaven’s radar, living a humble existence collecting scraps and performing street acts to survive for 800 years before he ascended again for the third time.
On the other hand, Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen eventually ascended as martial gods on their own and gained territories to protect. Oddly enough, their territories bordered each other, and like them, their worshippers spent much time at the border battling each other.
For 800 years, the two gods had caused near-catastrophic levels of damage to the Heavenly Palace with their explosive fights, usually caused by a snide comment or a rude gesture from either party. Some believed that rumbling thunderstorms in the Southern regions were caused by the two gods engaging in a fierce battle in the Heavens.
Feng Xin stood as close as possible to the wooden bow and quiver of arrows, admiring every single curve of its handle and the gleaming shine on the tip of the arrows.
“Amazing,” he whispered to himself. Although it was the first time he’d laid eyes on Nan Yang’s iconic weapons, he swore he could feel the texture of the bow in his hands, even from a distance. As if he’d held it to shoot a hundred thousand arrows. As if the bow was made for him and him alone.
He noticed Mu Qing stood beside him, enamored by Xuan Zhen’s sabre. Mu Qing’s dark eyes and thick lashes trailed the pointy tip of the saber’s polished blade down to its black handle. He was so enraptured by the saber that he didn’t notice when Feng Xin tapped lightly on his shoulder.
Feng Xin couldn't help but grin at the sight. Who would have thought that the bad-tempered, sarcastic, sharp-tongued prick would also be a weapon enthusiast? Mu Qing seemed like someone you’d see with a fancy cocktail drink at a swanky fine dining restaurant rather than a sword tournament or sporting game.
“Hey, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin’s cheery voice interrupted Mu Qing’s suspicious thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel something was amiss. The sabre was exquisite, yes. But there was also a strange sensation of familiarity he couldn't place as his gaze lingered on it as if he’s seen the sabre before. It left a vexing feeling in his mind.
He turned to face a grinning Feng Xin, standing a bit too close for comfort, trapping him between the glass display and him. Mu Qing realized they were the same height, allowing him to look straight into Feng Xin’s smiling light brown eyes, which had a golden glint, and his heart skipped at that sight. As irksome as Feng Xin was, Mu Qing couldn't deny the man was attractive with his boyish charm and athletic physique.
“Why are you grinning like an idiot?” he lifted an eyebrow.
Feng Xin gushed, relishing in the light pink blush spreading across Mu Qing’s fair cheekbones under the sprinkle of freckles, “You like weapons, huh?”
“Just alright? Sure." Feng Xin's smile widened as he turned away and walked towards the clothing display, looking back at Mu Qing. "If you say so," he said, chuckling.
A line of mannequins in different outfits displayed the two generals’ outfits - from the simplest of robes to the most robust armors. Although the clothes of the two generals were not as striking and dazzling as the Crown Prince’s bright colors, they were no less grand and imposing in their simplicity.
“They look heavy as fuck.” Feng Xin held his chin as he scrutinized the animal carving on one of General Nan Yang’s bronze shoulder plates. “You think normal people could wear them to fight?”
“I doubt it,” Mu Qing said as he moved towards the set of silver armor displayed next to it. “No human would be able to move, let alone fight in these.”
“You think Gods exist?” Feng Xin asked. Feng Xin wasn’t a staunch believer in religion, but he’d always believed in a higher power. Life is too precious for it to be just that . At the very least, there had to be some kind of fate or destiny holding everything together. Themes of fate and destiny were what drew him to mythologies of gods and ghosts in the first place.
"Either gods exist, or these armors were built for aesthetic purposes and were misidentified as the work of gods through time." Mu Qing shrugged. Whether religion was real was not a conundrum he concerned himself with. The argument of the true or superior god had already caused enough damage to this world. Mu Qing had better things to do than contribute to a neverending, inconclusive debate that had plagued humanity since the start of organized religion. "Who knows, they're just myths anyway,"
"Hah, some historian you are." Feng Xin chuckled in response to Mu Qing's criticisms.
“Historical facts are not immune to fallacy,” Mu Qing commented as they passed by the line of armored mannequins. “So, Professor Feng Xin of YouTube University, what do you think of the two gods?”
“What! You…” Feng Xin fumbled for words as he tripped on his foot. “Who the fuck majors in history anyway?” he countered fiercely. As much as he loved history, he knew it was not a path he would have chosen in this lifetime or the next. It was too dry and dull a subject, requiring much reading and only reading. Too much reading and no life. It would have killed him.
He had majored in sports anatomy and physiology, a much more wholesome and exciting course. Only someone who did not like having fun, such as Mu Qing, could enjoy studying history. “Anyway, General Nan Yang is miles ahead of Xuan Zhen. Everyone knows that,”
“Ugh, of course someone like you would be a Ju Yang fan.” Mu Qing rolled his eyes. “General Xuan Zhen is obviously the superior one.”
“He only got that nickname because he was doing godly work saving people!” Feng Xin argued, appalled that his new friend would choose a cold and heartless god over the warm and kind General Nan Yang. “Xuan Zhen was so vain he probably just spent his time looking for flaws in his fucking statues.”
“I don't understand how you see that as an insult,” Mu Qing scoffed, unsurprised by Feng Xin’s reactions. From the start, it was evident that Feng Xin was a massive fan of Nan Yang. He appeared to be as stupid as his beloved god. “Have you noticed that none of Nan Yang’s statues look alike? Clearly , Nan Yang was incapable of noticing details. You would trust a god who doesn’t bother to check on the work of his worshippers?”
Feng Xin scowled in disbelief at Mu Qing’s reasoning. “Are you fucking kidding me?” People did not worship gods because they were good at nitpicking flaws. Gods were worshipped for their benevolence and generosity.
The two stood in front of the mythical Generals’ grand armors’ facing each other with defiance in their eyes.
“Nan Yang was a glorified bodyguard who never understood the realities of life. He was a naive rich boy who was as sheltered as Xie Lian,” Mu Qing retorted, challenging Feng Xin’s frown.
If the stories from Volume 4 of Xianle’s fabled history were genuine, then Nan Yang was partly responsible for Xie Lian’s state of misery after their banishment into the mortal realm.
The bodyguard had set his crown prince on an exceptionally high pedestal by wholeheartedly believing that Xie Lian would easily ascend for the second time. Consequently, Nan Yang refused to delegate Xie Lian any mundane jobs to encourage him to concentrate on cultivation without distractions. No chores, no cooking, no street performances, nothing . They were duties beneath a crown prince and were all borne by Nan Yang or Xuan Zhen. Occasionally, Xie Lian was allowed to do heavy labor, but it required much persuasion from the crown prince.
As a result, the banished god was only able to cultivate and nothing else.
Xie Lian was under immense pressure to cultivate his way back into the heavens for his honor, his parents, and his attendants. Yet, he was denied the gratification of accomplishing simple tasks.
Mu Qing couldn't even begin to fathom the suffocation Xie Lian must have felt with the burden of being the sole person who could save them. The crown prince likely felt like he was drowning.
If Xie Lian felt he had contributed to the family, no matter how modest, it was a sense of achievement. He could have undertaken simple tasks like washing his clothes, cooking for his parents, or working alongside Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen.
It could have restored his confidence and given him a sense of belonging.
But no, he was given only the most significant, arduous, challenging responsibility of ascending again, and everyone expected him to succeed effortlessly.
They believed they were helping him by freeing him of menial duties, but in doing so, they had set him up for failure. Ultimately, it was no surprise that he spiraled into a sense of frustration and despair.
Therefore, Nan Yang played a pivotal role in Xie Lian’s downfall. If he had listened to the crown prince for a moment instead of pushing him to ascend as fast as possible, the path of Xianle's entire history might have been altered.
-- For a moment, Mu Qing thought he saw Feng Xin and a brown-haired man, both extremely furious, by the doors of a trodden-down house, hurling grains of rice at him. And with a blink, he was back in the museum, with Feng Xin yelling at him. --
“At least I have a fucking heart!” Feng Xin retaliated. “Xuan Zhen left! He abandoned Nan Yang and Xie Lian because they were no use to him anymore!” he continued to accuse.
It was common knowledge that General Xuan Zhen had been the first to leave them to aid his near-blind mother. It left a sour taste in General Nan Yang’s mouth, adding many layers to their already complex animosity.
And Feng Xin could empathise with Nan Yang’s resentment towards Xuan Zhen. Where was Xuan Zhen’s loyalty? Xuan Zhen was a servant before Xie Lian noticed him. As a servant, especially one with a criminal father who had been executed, it was nearly impossible to progress beyond the life of a cleaning lackey.
Xie Lian had saved Xuan Zhen from a life of bowing before others and sweeping floors. Everything Xuan Zhen achieved later in life was because of Xie Lian’s kindness.
And yet, Xuan Zhen had returned the crown prince’s deeds by walking away when they needed him most.
“How can you trust a god who would leave you during your most trying times?” Feng Xin demanded as he challenged Mu Qing’s defiant scowl.
-- A flash of Mu Qing in plain traditional robes flashed through Feng Xin’s mind. He could hear himself yelling, “Just admit you took one of His Highness’ earrings!” Mu Qing trembled and stared at the ground as though terrified of Feng Xin.
“I didn’t steal it,” Mu Qing said quietly. He was sure if Mu Qing had cat ears, they would have folded back. It made him uncomfortable, and he wanted to soothe the feistiness back into Mu Qing. --
Mu Qing’s voice pulled him out of his daydream, and he faced an angry-looking Mu Qing who looked anything but afraid.
“Xuan Zhen left because he couldn’t stand that Xie Lian refused to help himself!” Mu Qing argued back, infuriating Feng Xin again.
“How could he have stayed and watched his crown prince’s self-destruction?” Mu Qing spat as he prodded Feng Xin in the chest, causing the man to take a step back. “Xie Lian was beyond help. Neither Nan Yang nor Xuan Zhen could help him. What was the use of sticking the fuck around and enabling the crown prince in his self-fulfilling prophecy of self-destruction?”
“It’s called fucking loyalty! But what would a heartless person like you know about loyalty?” Feng Xin mocked.
“Blind loyalty gets you nowhere, you dumb oaf!”
Mu Qing didn't know why or how he could strongly empathise with Xuan Zhen’s feelings. These were not facts he read in books or journals, but he knew they were true. It was what drove General Xuan Zhen to leave his companions. He couldn't explain it, but he knew General Xuan Zhen couldn’t bear to watch his Crown Prince destroy himself.
“He joined the heavens so he could help Xie Lian and Feng Xin ascend,” he yelled at Feng Xin. Feng Xin? Did he say Feng Xin or Nan Yang? He could feel the heat rising from his cheeks. Feng Xin riled him up like no other, and he didn't know why. The other man did not appear to notice the mistake.
Feng Xin roared, not caring that some passersby were now looking at them, “Xuan Zhen left! He left his crown prince. He abandoned Nan Yang to bear the burden of caring for the crown prince alone.
“Did you know how fucking lonely he felt after you left? To care for the royal family? By himself?” Feng Xin felt his fists clenching as anger fueled him. His thick brows furrowed in anger, glowering at the man in front of him. “After all they had gone through together and all the pain Bai Wu Xiang had caused them, the one person he thought he could rely on was you !”
“Get off your fucking high horse, Feng Xin. Your beloved General Nan Yang left too,” Mu Qing huffed. “Xuan Zhen left to find help and a way to get the crown prince back into heaven.
“And what did Nan Yang do? He left his precious crown prince for a hooker,” he hissed, his red face grimacing. “He ran into the arms of a hooker and sired a ghost child with her!”
“Jian Lan was not a hooker!” Feng Xin snarled, stepping back into Mu Qing’s space. Mu Qing had no right to call Jian Lan in such a disrespectful way. Jian Lan was the only person who listened to Nan Yang while he cared for Xie Lian and the King and Queen alone.
After Xuan Zhen left, Nan Yang found Jian Lan, a former noblewoman who worked at a brothel after the fall of Xianle. He tried to rescue her with the bit of money he had, but all the bodyguard could afford was an hour of her time. He had poured out all of his frustrations and loneliness to her in that hour, and she had listened .
No one ever listened to him. Xuan Zhen had abandoned them, Xie Lian had his demons to face, and he couldn't expect the King and Queen to lend an ear to his problems. He had been so lonely that all it took for him to fall in love, or what he believed was love at the time, was for someone to listen to him talk.
And one night, Jian Lan initiated a physical relationship with him which he welcomed in his desperation for touch. The next day, she left him. It pained him considerably, but he knew Jian Lan deserved a better life than with someone who couldn't afford to buy her out of a brothel.
When the kingdom of Xianle had fallen, he felt cracks along his heart, and when Xuan Zhen left, he held on to his breaking heart with both arms as long as he could. By that point, all it took was a little nudge from Jian Lan to shatter it into pieces.
Eight hundred years after he had ascended, he discovered that she had died in childbirth with his child. Cuocuo never made it full term and lacked proper human features, resulting in the child’s deformed looks. The mother and child pair lingered on as ghosts in the mortal realm.
“She was kind and nice, and she deserved better. She did the best she could,” Feng Xin whispered. A strong pang of sorrow surged through his chest as he imagined Jian Lan alone, as a ghost, looking for their deformed ghost child for centuries.
Loneliness was not a fate he would curse even on his worst enemy.
He understood the despair of loneliness when Xuan Zhen left.
“He wished Xuan Zhen stayed. I know he did,” he added as he looked into Mu Qing’s eyes with an unfocused gaze as if he were elsewhere instead of in a museum arguing with Mu Qing. “Nan Yang was so lonely after Xuan Zhen left.”
Feng Xin swore he could remember a gentle face so clearly. He didn’t know why, but he did, and it felt right. Their face sharp was fair, and their lips were thin and pink. It reminded him of Mu Qing, except the Mu Qing he remembered had his hair up, held together by a traditional hairpiece, a guan . The Mu Qing in his mind always looked melancholic.
Mu Qing could only blink as he was taken aback by Feng Xin’s sudden rage and gloom. The heavy tension Feng Xin emanated made him uncomfortable.
He blurted out the first thing that sprang to him, “At least Xuan Zhen could think of a better name than Nan Feng! So fucking inventive of him to combine Nan Yang and…” Feng Xin? Mu Qing paused at the thought. Why would he think it was Feng Xin?
Oblivious to Mu Qing’s dilemma, Feng Xin shouted back, “Nan Feng wasn't the one that ran back to the Heavenly Capital the moment he found out Hua Cheng was at Mount Yujun with Dianxia!”
“He was getting reinforcements! Did you expect two clones to defeat a Supreme Ghost?” Mu Qing resisted the urge to kick his opponent in the shins. Feng Xin was so. fucking. annoying.
“Hua Cheng wasn't the enemy!”
“No one knew at that time, genius!”
“Well, Xuan Zhen hit Nan Yang in the head and left him to die when the Heavenly Capital was burning down!” Feng Xin fumed, refusing to back down. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest.
“He was trying to save your sorry ass, you dumb fuck!” Mu Qing, infuriated, shoved Feng Xin, causing him to stumble back, almost crashing into the glass display behind him.
Once Feng Xin got his footing back, he lifted his fists, ready to throw a heavy punch onto Mu Qing’s smug face—
“Gentlemen,” a pleasant voice interrupted their argument. A tall man in a crimson shirt and a black monocle smiled at them, and small pointy fangs peered from his lips.
Feng Xin lowered his arms, and Mu Qing took a step back. They turned to the tall newcomer. The man’s arrogant gaze on them was unsettling.
Next to him was a shorter man with long light brown hair and a pleasant smile. The brown-haired man remained silent, allowing his partner to lead to conversation.
“Mr. Feng, Mr. Mu, we hope you’ve enjoyed our collections.” The tall man chuckled. The man spoke with an arrogant drawl. “Not many get to see our private pieces. The ones in designated private rooms are only for our special guests,”
“You're the collectors?" Mu Qing furrowed his eyebrows, surprised to learn that the collectors of such precious relics were two young men no older than him or Feng Xin.
Feng Xin pursed his lips and remained silent, not daring to disrupt a conversation between historians. He would never be again mention his YouTube expertise in a museum or other historical site. Or ever.
“You may call me Hua, and this is my partner, Xie,” the tall man wrapped his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders.
“Our collections... have been in the family for centuries,” Hua added with a bone-chilling smirk. “How about we show you the last piece from our private collections?
“It’s a rare piece you two might appreciate. Considering your heated discussions, you must be big fans of Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen,” he beamed. His companion smiled even wider next to him without saying a word, seemingly jumpy and excited for reasons neither Mu Qing nor Feng Xin could guess.
The four made their way towards another room hidden behind drapes.
On the wall hung one painting of two gods in red.
Mu Qing's eyes widened, and he held his breath at the sight, while Feng Xin could only stare with his jaw agape.
Generals Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen were looking at each other in the oil painting, while hundreds of warm-colored lanterns floated in the night sky behind them. Nan Yang, in red robes with gold embroidery, smiled brilliantly at Xuan Zhen till his eyes squinted with joy. While Xuan Zhen had a soft gaze as if his said-to-be rival was the only thing in the world in his eyes.
Happiness was the only word fit to describe it.
“It’s a rare piece, a portrait of the two generals on their wedding day. You two are the first we’ve invited to view it,” Hua said in a friendly tone while his single eye scrutinised Feng Xin and Mu Qing. “If I may say, the resemblance between the two gods and you two gentlemen is uncanny,”
Feng Xin shifted uncomfortably at the remark and glanced at Mu Qing, whose usually pale expression now had a deep blush.
“It is said that as they lost their worshippers over time, they died together in each other’s arms,” the man chimed while his partner nodded solemnly at his commentary. “A natural phenomenon for gods. Their lives as immortals were only sustained by the beliefs of their worshippers.”
— Feng Xin felt deep anguish seeping through his body as he saw Mu Qing’s red and teary face looking down at him. It felt like a dream. He could feel Mu Qing cupping his face softly with two trembling hands. “Don’t be sad,” he heard himself whisper. “It’ll be fine.” —-
The monocled man’s commentary broke his dream, yet the feelings of sorrow in his chest remained. He turned to face Mu Qing, who appeared to be facing his internal battles. It was apparent that Mu Qing's eyes were brighter from holding back tears.
“General Nan Yang passed first in General Xuan Zhen’s arms. And General Xuan Zhen’s last believer died less than a shichen later, so he took his final breath with his lover’s warm body still embraced in his arms,” Hua added.
-- At those words, Mu Qing felt a sudden pang of sadness as he saw Feng Xin lying in his arms, eyes closed, and chest unmoving. “I’ll be joining you soon,” he heard his hoarse voice say with a forced smile. --
With a blink, Mu Qing could only hold back tears as the vision faded while the sadness lingered in his chest.
“Many believed that they reincarnated together as lovers again in their next life,” the tall man added with a smirk before walking out of the room hand in hand with his partner. “We’ll leave the two of you to enjoy this piece.”
Mu Qing stood in place and continued to fix his gaze on the painting of the two happy gods as a million thoughts raced through his mind, all related to Feng Xin and Nan Yang. He couldn't explain it, but he knew there was more to Feng Xin than met the eye. Had they met in the past? Was he an acquaintance that Mu Qing had forgotten over the years? Did Feng Xin lie? Had they been in college together studying history? Was that why he kept seeing Feng Xin as Nan Yang?
Before he could contemplate more, he heard footsteps approaching him, and Feng Xin softly spoke from behind him, "Mu Qing."
As Mu Qing turned to face him with a complex expression, Feng Xin couldn't fathom the emotions coursing through him. All the jumbled recollections, visions, or whatever they were were confusing. But he knew that, at this moment, he wanted Mu Qing, a haughty stranger he met today, to smile again. To not be sad anymore.
To let him know that he would always be with him.
Feng Xin didn't want Mu Qing to leave him again and didn't wish Mu Qing to lose him once more.
There had been enough pain.
He reached out to Mu Qing’s shoulder as he gazed into dark eyes with a smile, “I’m here.”
Mu Qing’s heart felt full at those simple words. It felt incredulous that a mere stranger could incite such intense emotions, but Feng Xin didn’t feel like a stranger. He never did. Feng Xin was no stranger to Mu Qing since the moment he spilled coffee on him. Feng Xin felt familiar .
“Let’s… get to know each other,” Feng Xin tightened his grip on Mu Qing’s shoulders, his heart beating faster in anticipation of Mu Qing’s reply.
Mu Qing, whose face was still red and overwhelmed with emotions, could only nod in agreement.
Feng Xin lowered his hand from Mu Qing’s shoulder to grasp his hand instead and led him out of the room.
_____________________________
The monocled Hua and the long-haired Xie greeted them with smiles as they exited the room. However, while Xie’s seemed genuine in his beaming expression, Hua’s arrogant smile held more arrogance than sincerity.
“Ah, by the way, gentlemen, did you enjoy my private paintings? Of course, the four big ones are my most prized possessions,” he drawled.
Mu Qing scowled at the reminder, and Feng Xin held back bile down his throat.
Xie finally spoke, with a pleasant voice, “Dear, which paintings are you talking about?” He looked at his partner with expressive eyes and so much affection it could not be mistaken as anything but love.
“Oh, just one of the usual Crown Prince’s paintings, Gege,” Hua replied while looking at the other two. “You know they’re all special to me.”
Feng Xin swore he saw a red glint through the monocle.
“Thank you for showing us your collection. We really appreciate it,” Mu Qing said, still holding on to Feng Xin’s hand. Then, finally, he pulled a smiling Feng Xin with him towards the exit without looking back, eager to leave their two new unconventional acquaintances.
“And Mr. Mu, that is a wonderful design on your shirt!” Hua yelled out while his partner waved enthusiastically. “Looks like Qi Rong’s crap,” he added once Mu Qing and Feng Xin were out of sight.
Xie asked his partner, “San Lang, do you think those two have realized it?”
“Gege, I doubt it. Those two are unbelievably stupid,” Hua Cheng replied. “But don't worry, if they don't soon, I’ll knock their heads together to make them kiss and remember.”
His partner laughed in response, full of glee in his eyes, “Who do you think we’ll get to see next?”
“Tsk, I think it’s Ming Guang, the God of Venereal Diseases, Gege.”
This is my first ever work for a fandom event, and of course, it had to be for FENGQING WEEK 2022 (Thanks, Pammy!)
Big big thanks to Vera and Bae for beta-ing, Zeri for all the support, and everyone else in the FengQing server for the encouragement to keep writing <3
Seriously, I wouldn't have completed it if it wasn't for you guys!
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
jbbartram-illu
germansingergirl
