Chapter Text
The best-kept secret in the heavens is one that Feng Xin has been blessed enough to know intimately. It is the beauty of Mu Qing’s smile, something that most others would doubt exists, yet so precious that it leaves Feng Xin bereft to be without.
It is a gift, one that Feng Xin coaxed out with more and more ease through the practice of thousands of evenings spent together, breaking down the walls that had stood between them for centuries, building instead new foundations of a relationship Feng Xin had been sure—so painfully sure— would eventually culminate in an indestructible bond.
But they had broken anyway.
And so, he had thought he would be spending yet another holiday alone looking up at the full moon, wryly recalling other nights spent under it, sharing tea in the courtyard of one of their palaces.
Thus, when Mu Qing’s face lights up so brilliantly after he picks Yun’er up, Feng Xin is ever grateful that he didn’t miss it. Even if he never sees it again, he is thankful that he managed to talk Mu Qing through his reservations so that Yun’er can spark the joy that powers that smile.
For some reason, this little girl seems to have imprinted on Mu Qing very quickly. He smiles to himself, knowing intimately the compassionate heart that beats within Mu Qing’s chest, for all that he hides it behind a garden of thorns and a face like that of a stone guardian lion. Children really are more perceptive than adults give them credit for.
When Yun’er points, Feng Xin traces Mu Qing’s gaze and pivots smoothly around to look behind himself.
There is nothing but the crowd going about their business, enjoying the revelry. There is no one who immediately sticks out as mortal, and certainly no frantic father dashing around in search of his precious daughter.
Feng Xin steps over to Mu Qing’s side as they scan the sea of figures before them. He’s not quite sure who or what he should be looking for—he supposes that Yun’er’s clothes might offer some clues. Mu Qing would know better, but it looks like they are made of high-quality silk, with delicate embroidery that speaks of great craftsmanship. That means money, the kind that people who would come to Ghost City would not have.
The strange thing is that the fabrics she wears are of darker colours, which is unusual for young children. They match Mu Qing’s clothes and his own, at least the ones they wear when out of their armour. The only spot of colour comes from the ties holding her buns, the silk a bright yellow, also with what looks like embroidery, picked out in silver. A unique sense of style, then.
Is that enough information to verify the person they find as Yun’er’s father? And that’s supposing that they find someone at all. The girl is clutching the front of Mu Qing’s robes so thoughtlessly it makes Feng Xin wonder if she would do the same with another stranger.
Perhaps he’s worrying too much, compromised by how much he truly does care about the child. He reminds himself that the boat will straighten when it gets to the pier and focuses on the here and now.
Mu Qing is likely thinking the same as him. Catching the other’s eye, he asks, “Shall we go this way, then?”
A nod, and together they keep going down the street, their lantern leading the way.
As he absently takes a bite out of Mu Qing’s lamb skewer, he hears Mu Qing ask beside him in concern, “Yun’er, have you eaten?”
Strangely, Yun’er’s response is to whip her head around to face Feng Xin. Her eyes are slightly wide, as if she doesn’t know the right way to field the question when it should be a simple one by any means. Feng Xin tries to reassure her somehow, hoping that he’s not scowling instead.
It works? Because Yun’er quirks a grin at him and blinks twice exaggeratedly. If Feng Xin didn’t know any better, he would say it’s a conspiratorial gesture.
“Baba fed me before we came,” she recites obediently after turning back to Mu Qing.
Feng Xin has never seen Mu Qing’s eyes narrow so fast. He’s always felt like his southwestern counterpart has a sensitivity to dishonesty—or at least artifice—born of paranoia or mistrust. This time his suspicion is valid, though.
“Were you brought here hungry, Yun’er?” Mu Qing asks, his voice almost a growl for the danger in it. “What kind of a father—”
“Yun’er really did eat before coming!” she insists. Then, squirming a little, she admits, “It was sweets, though. Don’t be mad.”
Unbelievably, the girl places her little hand on Mu Qing’s cheek and pats it without being glared at or berated for it. “Baba just wanted to keep Yun’er happy. But, um, Yun’er is a little hungry now?”
That, Feng Xin notes amusedly, takes Mu Qing’s attention off whatever strangeness that was about and prompts him to ask what the girl would like to eat.
Yun’er, predictably, wants to try everything that Ghost City might offer. She says, bafflingly, that she’s heard a lot about the rarities the ghost community has to offer and has always wanted to try them all, pleaseeeeee?
Mu Qing doesn’t approve of letting her have anything too unusual, however, which is something Feng Xin can agree with.
They buy an assortment of potstickers, with Mu Qing making sure Yun’er gets some vegetables instead of just fillings of various meats. Yun’er pouts spectacularly at the one with pickled mustard greens, her expression turning so disgusted that Feng Xin wordlessly offers to finish it instead. Beaming, the child immediately shoves the remaining half into his mouth.
Feng Xin isn’t surprised when Mu Qing wordlessly speeds up, heading over to a stall selling tanghulu the instant he sees it. The other god has a razor-sharp mouth but a heart as soft as tofu, so it figures that he would spoil Yun’er despite everything.
He isn’t foolish enough to mention the unplanned purchase, though he would certainly have teased Mu Qing about it in the past. It’s enough to watch the way Yun’er stares at the round, bright red hawthorn berries coated in crystallised sugar. Sugar that strangely looks to have a purple sheen, which Feng Xin decides not to think too much about.
“Look, look!” Yun’er cries excitedly, releasing the hand holding onto Mu Qing and nearly jolting forwards to demand Feng Xin’s attention. “They’re so big!”
“Yun’er!” Mu Qing’s voice is stringent but has an edge of worry in it. “You’ll fall!”
A snort escapes Feng Xin before he can stop it. He returns Mu Qing’s glare, utterly remorseless. It’s ludicrous, anyway, to think that Yun’er might fall when Mu Qing is holding her so securely.
But Yun’er ducks her head sheepishly, mumbling almost too softly to hear, “Sorry.”
She holds out the stick of tanghulu before Mu Qing’s mouth, very clearly signalling that Mu Qing should have the first bite of her sweet treat.
Mu Qing only takes a small nibble before nudging Yun’er’s hand away.
Instead of digging in, though, Yun’er asks, “Is it good?” with round, watery eyes.
“Why don’t you try for yourself, little cloud?”
Abruptly, Feng Xin feels like he’s been transported back to the past. He’s standing, somewhat stricken, staring as children swarm Mu Qing from all directions. The calls of “Gege! Gege!” are loud, but it takes a second for Feng Xin to register that Mu Qing is the subject of those demands for attention. And for what, just a few pitiful-looking cherries?
Feng Xin had not understood it, not back then. He was surprised, but only because he never thought that Mu Qing would ever do anything nice for someone else, that he could in turn be someone others saw in a positive light. The implication that Mu Qing was kind enough, caring enough, to garner the love and respect of this horde of kids was considered then promptly discarded, not to be picked up again.
Until the next time Feng Xin had seen Mu Qing with a child, centuries later.
They had been doing this— whatever —for a while already, just about fifty years or so. Still, they’d never talked about what they had, never put a name to it or any of that shit. It’s different, to say the least. Had… had the war not happened, had Feng Xin been matched with a woman as expected, the milestones would have been clear. Matchmaking, marriage, children…
What the hell was supposed to be next with Mu Qing, even?
Now that Feng Xin thinks about it, they probably should have addressed all that. Fuck, Feng Xin is the fool here, for having never had the guts to bring it up himself, whatever resistance Mu Qing might put up.
Because looking at Mu Qing’s face now, the softness of his expression, it might very well murder Feng Xin. This isn’t like that last time he saw Mu Qing with a child. No, that Mu Qing might as well been reserved compared to what he’s seeing now. There’s open affection flowing from him in waves, and it washes so strongly against Feng Xin that he nearly stumbles.
He wants to see this side of Mu Qing again.
Yun’er bites into her tanghulu, and her eyes immediately go wide. “Yummy!” she cries, calling for Feng Xin again.
When indicated to, Feng Xin partakes in the sweet as well. He’s shocked at the flavour that bursts in his mouth. The tartness of the fruit is well-balanced by its sugary coating, but beyond that, there’s something else, likely the product of whatever made the candy coating purple. It reminds Feng Xin of… hope.
After making sure that Yun’er is well-fed, Mu Qing makes it Feng Xin’s task to carry Yun’er on his shoulders, lifting her above the crowd. They figure that she would be in plain sight that way and that Yun’er’s father would notice her and approach them. Or Yun’er would spot him and tell Feng Xin or Mu Qing about it.
By all means, it’s a good, subtle plan.
It’s too simple and subtle, perhaps, because it does not work in the least.
They do a decent job of taking care of Yun’er and making sure no harm befalls her as they traverse the sprawl of the city, however. After all, they are powerful martial gods in their own right, even if their influence is hobbled in the domain of Crimson Rain Sought Flower and their authority nonexistent.
Even so, it seems a bit ill-advised—foolish, even—when they allow themselves to let down their guard, distracted by Yun’er’s excited calls of “Look at this!” and “Wanna go there!” or by answering her inquisitive questions of “What’s that?” and “Do you think that’s real?”
Their dereliction of duty is excusable right up until they give in to Yun’er’s demand to play touhu.
It has to be said that Feng Xin and Mu Qing put up a good fight, though. They both hesitated, each taking a long moment to observe their surroundings and scan for threats before glancing at each other.
They took so long measuring the pros and cons that Yun’er whined, “Pleeeeeease? This is Yun’er’s first time here.” And who could say no to that, really?
After she’s set down, Yun’er drags both Feng Xin and Mu Qing over to the far side where the kids are. Touhu used to be a game for nobles and the upper class, but that’s the thing with time. Everything changes when enough of it has passed.
Feng Xin automatically starts coaching Yun’er on where to hold the arrows and how to aim. Yun’er insists on practising the flicking motion of the wrist and the amount of force to use, correcting herself based on how far she gets the arrows. It is amazing to Feng Xin that she didn’t immediately try to lob the projectiles anywhere near the pitcher. It’s an admirable show of restraint for a child her age.
When Yun’er is finally ready, she looks over at Feng Xin first, only moving on after he nods. It’s probably not weird since Feng Xin was acting as her teacher. But then she turns over to Mu Qing, her gaze sharpening. His attention must have strayed or something, because…
“Diedie, you have to watch!” she cries out sternly, putting her hands on her hips.
The shock that overtakes Mu Qing is on full display for Feng Xin to see. But he doesn’t have the time to ponder Yun’er’s obviously excessive attachment to Mu Qing, so strong that she’s mistaking him for her father, as Yun’er whips her head back around to glare at Feng Xin.
She announces, “Baba, you have to get Diedie to watch. Then you both have to play, too! Please? For Yun’er?”
Feng Xin’s brain stops working. His voice, however, seems to be functioning just fine regardless. Distantly, he hears himself stutter out, “A’Qing?” in the most pitiful and pleading tone he’s had the misfortune of hearing.
He’s aware of Mu Qing walking over, can feel himself being wrestled into position as Yun’er plants her feet outside the circle drawn around the pitcher.
“You heard her. Watch Yun’er play,” is hissed mercilessly in to his ear.
Even though he’s still reeling from the implications—the impossible implications—of what Yun’er said, there’s still space within himself, still love for this child who has so quickly wormed her way into his heart, to melt at the way she sticks her tongue out as she concentrates.
Yun’er holds the arrow steady in her small hand, flicks her wrist. Lands the arrow into the pitcher.
She jumps and squeals in excitement, rounding on Feng Xin and Mu Qing as she shouts, “Baba, Diedie, did you see that? Yun’er did it!” And then she proceeds to repeat her success four more times.
This time, when she leaps into the air, Feng Xin is there to catch her. He spins them both in giddy circles until he’s breathless from the effort and she’s breathless from giggling.
And, of course, Mu Qing is scolding them. Feng Xin, for whirling Yun’er around like a ragdoll and potentially making her dizzy. Yun’er, for not sharing her affection.
Once again, Mu Qing is smiling. He’s smiling so big and brightly and not even trying to hide it. Nothing is making sense, but Feng Xin is willing to throw himself into the thick of it if he can keep having this. With Mu Qing at his side, happy, and this little girl who calls them Baba and Diedie.
Feng Xin’s heart is so full it could burst.
The feeling doesn’t waver, not once, as Yun’er drags them over to where the adults are playing touhu. Feng Xin can’t help but show off, using all his skills honed over centuries to score in this petty game.
It’s worth it, though, what with Yun’er cheering him on and Mu Qing being competitive again, subtly egging him on with smug smirks and scathing jibes.
The fruits of their efforts come in the form of mooncakes and premium tea leaves.
“There were some tables over there. Yun’er can show the way!” the girl pipes up helpfully, already bounding away, nearly losing herself in the crowd.
“Yun’er, stay close to Baba!” Feng Xin calls out before Mu Qing can. He doesn’t why he says it, and he doesn’t want to question it. He can feel in his whole being that this is right, that it’s true, and he’s not going to let reality get in the way of it.
And if Mu Qing doesn’t want to play along, well, at least he will have another clue of what’s really going on.
But Mu Qing follows without even looking the slightest bit suspicious.
If this is a dream, Feng Xin doesn’t want to wake from it.
They ask for a teapot and some cups from a nearby vendor on the way to the tables Yun’er mentioned. There, they set up their modest spread. Mu Qing steeps the tea leaves as Feng Xin cuts the mooncakes into pieces, happy to find that they’re all different kinds.
When the tea is ready, Yun’er surprises them both when she balances on her wooden chair and picks up the teapot with small, careful palms wrapping around its handle.
She serves them both, placing a filled teacup in front of Feng Xin with a “Baba, drink tea” before doing the same with Mu Qing, “Diedie, drink tea,” her voice clear and melodious as bells.
It’s so polite, so respectful, there’s no doubt this child is one Mu Qing must have raised. It warms Feng Xin’s heart just thinking about it.
“Yun’er, which kind of mooncake would you like?” he asks, only flinching the slightest bit when he realises he doesn’t even know what kind of mooncakes his daughter prefers. But Yun’er doesn’t seem to be offended by this. She looks at the options and happily picks up a slice on her own.
Her eyes light up after she takes a bite, offering her piece to them excitedly. “Baba, Diedie, this is so good. You have to try it!”
Feng Xin gladly takes Yun’er’s offering, but when he moves to put it into his mouth, Yun’er abruptly changes her mind about letting him have it.
“No, wait!” She throws her hands out as she makes her demand. “Baba should feed it to Diedie!”
Heat floods Feng Xin’s face, but he’s determined to ignore it. He angles himself to look at Mu Qing—who must be blushing too, if Feng Xin knows him at all—and gets a soft, if stilted, smile and a nod.
Yun’er lets out an excited squeak when Feng Xin’s fingers reach Mu Qing’s lips, which Feng Xin agrees with wholeheartedly, considering how his heart is nearly beating out of his chest. He doesn’t know if he should feel thankful or disappointed that Mu Qing only nibbles at the half-slice of mooncake, leaving the rest for him.
“Baba, why don’t you give Diedie another piece?” Yun’er suggest cheekily.
What a sneaky girl she is; Feng Xin wonders who she got it from.
Mu Qing clears his throat, a lecture likely already on his lips. Feng Xin opens his mouth to stop him from scolding their daughter, but no words come out in the end, his voice supplanted by the panic that crawls up his throat.
Because when he turns back to look at her, Yun’er is gone.
Feng Xin looks around frantically, catches sight of Mu Qing doing the same, but they find no sign of Yun’er or where she could have gone. Everything else is the same: a pot and three teacups on the table, mooncakes in the middle of being consumed, their supposedly special lantern sitting by where Yun’er had sat.
Except the light of the lantern has gone out, its candle burned down into nothing.
“Yun’er?” Mu Qing calls. It’s tentative at first, but then it turns desperate as he shoots upright from his seat and starts shouting, his voice turning hoarse with it. “Yun’er!”
There is no response.
They had walked quite a ways from the festival, foraying into a quieter part of Ghost City left abandoned in pursuit of revelry elsewhere and commandeering a table at a closed outdoor noodle stall. Though the vicinity is somewhat lit by the usual lanterns, deep shadows lurk all around, eerie.
How Feng Xin wishes that Yun’er would jump out from some darkened corner, trying to scare them and giggling as she makes her attempt.
Mu Qing scowls at the shadows as he summons his zhanmadao. In solidarity, Feng Xin calls for Fengshen. But he’s hesitant to do anything even though he feels slightly safer with his preferred weapon in hand.
“You don’t really think someone’s taken her, do you?”
The ghosts—the people— here haven’t done anything untoward or given the tiniest reason to suspect them of violence or evil. On this night, at the very least, they’re all just living through traditions that would otherwise have been lost to them after death.
For all that ghosts gain power through killing, Feng Xin has learned that most just want to survive or move on as they can. He isn’t sure that he can fault them for that.
After a long pause, Mu Qing says grudgingly, “No. But it’s much easier having something— someone— to fight.”
His weapon is gone when Mu Qing turns back to pack up the things on the table. Nearly everything ends up thrown carelessly into a qiankun pouch, but the lantern they collected at the start of the night is handled gently and used to lead the way.
“Well, are you coming to help me find her?” he snaps.
They have no leads, no idea where Yun’er could have gone or what could have happened to her. From the looks of it, she had simply vanished as abruptly as she had appeared. But still…
“Of course. We said we’d protect her.”
Being martial gods in peak physical condition, Feng Xin and Mu Qing manage to return to the section of Ghost City where the Mid-Autumn celebrations are still in full swing. At some point on the way over, they had joined hands, and that’s how they make their way through the crowds, their heads whipping around in search for any trace of Yun’er.
They round a corner into another street. This one has more buskers than food stalls, with small crowds surrounding makeshift stages where performances ensnare the admiration of their audiences. But the music, cheers, and laughter all turn distorted in Feng Xin’s ears even as he prays for Yun’er to be hiding among the spectators.
Further down, Feng Xin sees a ghost using cleavers to massage another’s shoulders. Knife massages are nothing unusual, but the sight of the gleaming, sharp instruments makes Feng Xin’s heart leap into his throat.
The more ground they cover, the further hopelessness spreads within Feng Xin. Only the vise grip of Mu Qing’s hand keeps him from all-out despair.
Feng Xin is turning to Mu Qing to ask if they should try going through the festival again when the low, sonorous rumble of a gong rings out, capturing the attention of everyone in the city.
Looking in the direction of the source of the noise, Feng Xin realises that they’re not far from Qiandeng Temple, where they had begun their night.
The crimson bastard walks out—dressed even more ostentatiously than usual, jangling all over the place, with his arm possessively snaked around Dianxia’s waist—and addresses his fawning supplicants.
“Citizens of Ghost City, my beloved and I hope that you’ve had a delightful Mid-Autumn!”
Those in the crowd whistle and holler in answer. Yes, it seems that everyone is having a good time. Feng Xin and Mu Qing had been, too, Feng Xin is sure of it. Everything was perfect, idyllic, until a few moments ago.
“We want to thank you for your help in bringing everything together,” Hua Cheng continues. “I believe you’ve also experienced the gift I have granted in return as part of the festivities.”
Feng Xin glances over at Mu Qing and finds him wearing an annoyed expression as well. Neither of them want to listen to this drivel. They want to find Yun’er.
“At the start of the night, special lanterns were given out here at Qiandeng Temple. They were infused with a spell of my own design. Once the candle is lit, the spell weaves an illusion to bring the greatest desire of the one carrying the lantern to life. Your dream come true, so to speak. I believe everyone who got a lantern was able to indulge in this.”
Mu Qing’s expression crumbles right before Feng Xin’s eyes as understanding dawns upon both of them.
It was a lie. It was all a lie.
Yun’er was nothing but an illusion. A beautifully crafted one, but an illusion nonetheless.
“I wanted to share with you the bliss of a dream come true, just as mine had when I found my beloved Dianxia after eight centuries. Yes, it is perhaps cruel—” Feng Xin can see the wicked point of Hua Cheng’s smirk even from here, the bastard! “—to rip away from you all that you wanted, but fear not! We have another surprise for you!”
Beside Hua Cheng, Xie Lian opens his cupped hands and blows a breath across them. Thousands of wraith butterflies materialise from the ether and disperse across the crowd.
Mu Qing lets out a hiss of surprise, making Feng Xin start. The lantern he was holding is gone. In its place are two ribbons, yellow with silver embroidery.
Yun’er’s hair ribbons.
Immediately, Mu Qing’s fists clench around the fabric even tighter. When Feng Xin looks up in concern, he finds Mu Qing’s eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
“A’Qing,” he croaks. Feng Xin is surprised to find his voice rough with emotion. “Are you—?”
“No! I don’t want this!”
The hand holding the ribbons is up in the air in a split second, but even as it swings downwards, Feng Xin knows Mu Qing won’t dump the ribbons on the ground as he seems to be doing.
As expected, Mu Qing stops halfway through the motion, cradling the ribbons to his heart instead.
“Qing’er, please don’t be like this,” Feng Xin tries, a bit more sure this time as he moves closer to pull Mu Qing into his embrace as well. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking? We can work things out from there.”
Feng Xin is aware that what Mu Qing doesn’t want are not the ribbons, but rather something larger. Yet, he can’t begin to imagine what it encompasses instead.
At the same time, Feng Xin’s heart aches at the possibility that Mu Qing’s desires might echo his own, ready to break at the confirmation that Mu Qing really doesn’t want to be bound to him in such a way, even if it’s only through the manifestation of their desires, brought into existence by a meddling Ghost King.
But Mu Qing allows Feng Xin to hold him, and that must mean something.
Right?
Distantly, Feng Xin thinks that Hua Cheng is still saying something. Perhaps they’re remiss not to at least see and speak to Xie Lian personally tonight, but after what they went through, Feng Xin thinks Xie Lian might understand.
He leads Mu Qing away from the crowd of ghosts still milling around the vicinity of Qiandeng Temple. He’s not sure where he’s going, but someplace quiet would be good.
“The time we had together was short, but I really loved Yun’er,” Feng Xin comments idly, like it doesn’t matter a speck as much to him as it truly does. “It’s amazing to me that whatever spell Hua Cheng wrought presumed we could raise a brilliant child like that.”
Mu Qing lets out a strangled noise and bunches the silk at the front of Feng Xin’s robes in his free hand.
“You really believe she could have been ours?”
“In a sense?” Feng Xin hums an inquisitive sound. “We carried that lantern together. Well, at the beginning of the night, anyway. I don’t know how that spell works, but it must have taken both of our greatest desires and put them together.”
While he can’t say for sure, Feng Xin has an inkling of why Mu Qing is so plagued with doubts about it. He grimaces. Communication is a two-way street, and they’ve both been barricading the path that leads to the other’s heart, one that’s been open as often as it’s been closed, throughout variable periods of their lives.
“I never knew that you wanted a child,” comes Mu Qing’s response after a long while. “We never talked about it.”
Indeed, there were a lot of things they did not mention. For creatures as long-lived as them, the passage of time should be insignificant. But, back then, each day held the promise of something beautiful and worthy of being cherished, if only because they had each other.
They never gave a name to what they had before it was lost to them, breaking so much more easily than it had been built.
Feng Xin frowns. “I’m not sure that I really did. It was expected—you know what it is I’m talking about.” He makes the same grunt that he always has when talking to Mu Qing about the situation he used to be in as the son of a Xianle noble.
“With Jian Lan, it wasn’t planned.” Feng Xin licks his lips, his face burning. “And I wronged her, I wronged Cuocuo. It’s hard for me to accept that she never wanted me involved, whatever her reasons, but I’ve done that. I regret not doing better, but I couldn’t have done better.”
It had been such an arduous task, acceptance. Made more so because Mu Qing wasn’t around anymore to hold his hand through it, literally and metaphorically.
So no, Feng Xin truly has not quite wanted children. He’s not sure he wants them even now. Rather, it’s what children would represent that he wants. A stable relationship with the one he loves, so much so that they can provide a whole and loving home for a little one.
And the one he loves is Mu Qing.
There has not been any doubt about that, even as he and Mu Qing both worked so hard to tear each other back apart when Xie Lian ascended the third time. They had stayed away from each other, keeping secrets and intentionally doing what they could to hurt each other, but not because they suddenly didn’t care for each other anymore.
It was because they did care. They cared too much. And when all that they had buried was unearthed again, they faced it in the only way they knew how, forgetting that they had new options hidden within themselves, gained from what they had learned through each other.
This night has proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that they can have what they did before. For all that it has been filled with illusions and deceit, one thing was always true. There’s something that undeniably ties Feng Xin and Mu Qing together.
Yes, for a while, their excursion felt like a dream, otherworldly and untethered from reality, unhelped by the way Ghost City is literally in another realm. But what they had between them was not an illusion; it still has a heart that beat strongly, and it won’t be broken once they leave.
What they had is something they can have again.
But only if Feng Xin makes himself clear. This time, there’s not going to be words unsaid between them.
Feng Xin stops walking abruptly. He catches Mu Qing by his shoulders and turns him gently so that they face each other. With Mu Qing’s hands in his, Feng Xin gazes determinedly into those still-misty eyes.
“What are you doing, Feng Xin!” Mu Qing squawks in protest.
But Feng Xin doesn’t let go or let Mu Qing look away. They’re not running from this any longer. They’ve wasted enough time.
“Mu Qing, I love you.” Feng Xin doesn’t stop even as Mu Qing inhales sharply at the sudden confession. “I was wrong for never saying it out loud. I want you in my life, for as long as we can have this life.
“This may be the wrong interpretation, but I think I know why our illusion took the form of Yun’er. It’s not about her being our daughter, it’s about what she represents. The culmination of our love, the ultimate testimony of what we can accomplish together when we pour our care and determination into the same goal.”
“Who wants to have the same goal as you, Ju Yang?” comes the snarky retort, but there is no edge to it, and even Mu Qing’s face is softer than his words.
After a pause, Mu Qing composes himself. With his usual gravity, Mu Qing says, “I love you too.”
He interlaces his fingers with Feng Xin’s. “I thought I’d lost you forever. The things I did after Dianxia came back, I’m ashamed of them. But I didn’t know how to stop. Will you forgive me?”
“If you will forgive me.”
A smile blooms on Mu Qing’s face, and Feng Xin can feel himself mirroring it.
In a fit of impulsiveness, he surges forwards, capturing Mu Qing’s lips in a kiss that sends flames licking across his skin. When he moves away, his lips are tingling, wanting to chase that sensation again.
Instead, he asks, not wanting to keep his intentions or thoughts unknown again, “Is this okay?”
Mu Qing’s cultivation, how they would navigate a romantic relationship, what growth would look like for them. All things left unsaid the first time around. They would do better this time.
“Yes,” Mu Qing breathes. “I liked it. We… We can explore it some more.”
“Together.”
Before leaving Ghost City, Feng Xin makes his way to Qiandeng Temple again. With Mu Qing by his side, their hands on the same brush, they write a wish onto the fragile paper of a sky lantern.
They light its fire together before stepping back to watch the sky lantern float towards the moon high above.
The lantern is not dedicated to any god, but rather their love. It carries a message with it as it travels through the clouds, waiting to find them again one day, a reminder of what they promised each other that night.
