Chapter Text
There's a little shrine in the deepest part of Mount Taicang's woods and Xie Lian wonders why he’s never noticed it before.
The bright red pillars and glazed blue tiles give it a striking appearance, but it’s the familiar bickering inside that stops him in his tracks.
Mu Qing is grumbling about something. “You got the crumbly ones – with nuts!”
“Yeah, so?”
“I told you specifically to buy the ones with lotus paste.”
“They’re boring.”
“You’re boring.”
“Says the one who eats the same ones every year,” Feng Xin retorts. “But have you ever wanted to try the new mooncakes, like the pretty purple ones with taro inside?”
“What’s wrong with the lotus paste ones? They’re big and filling and not too sweet. I like them. They make me happy. Why do we have to try something else?”
“All right, all right, I hear you.” Feng Xin’s voice rings out clearly from inside the shrine, but it’s soft in a way Xie Lian has never heard before. “I like them too. I’ve always liked them, you know? And I don’t think I can ever like anything else.”
Xie Lian frowns at the wooden doors that separate him from the baffling scene inside. What he would give to know what they were talking about, but he doesn't feel good about eavesdropping and he can't quite barge in and demand to know if they’re really fighting over mooncakes.
Sighing, Xie Lian makes a move to leave, but his (bad) luck causes him to step on a twig and the resulting crack is so loud that every critter on Mount Taicang must have heard it and jumped.
“Your highness?”
When Xie Lian turns around, both of them are standing at the door. Mu Qing is leaning against the frame with his arms crossed in front of him and Feng Xin is already making his way over.
Xie Lian gives them a sheepish greeting and an awkward wave. “I was just passing by and I thought I heard voices. I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”
Feng Xin takes his arm and leads him towards the entrance of the shrine. “Of course not. Come in,” he insists while guiding him over the threshold. “We were just about to get you.”
“And would have long ago if this idiot hadn’t spent the whole afternoon buying the wrong pastries.”
Feng Xin glares. “What did you call me?” he asks, in a dangerously low voice that reminds Xie Lian more of his usual self.
“I called you an i-di-ot,” Mu Qing says, enunciating each of his words like they’re at court, “because you were an idiot when you decided to buy the – mmpf!”
Folding his arms, Feng Xin smirks as an indignant Mu Qing is forced to eat his words - while trying not to choke on the mooncake stuffed inside his mouth.
“Lotus paste - mooncakes ,” Mu Qing sputters, with a mouth all full of it. “Oh god, it’s so good.”
“Happy now?" Feng Xin smirks. "Because I can think of a hundred other ways to fucking shut you up.”
“You – shut up.” Mu Qing swallows the last of the pastry and looks around the room for something to toss at Feng Xin’s head, which prompts Xie Lian to insert himself between the two.
“Where are we?” Xie Lian asks, going for the distraction, even though he’s now genuinely curious about the paintings on the walls and glazed pottery sitting on shelves that are crafted in the elegance of a bygone era.
But Feng Xin and Mu Qing are already walking inside.
Xie Lian follows them inside and admires the rosewood shelves with birds and flowers carved on them, slowing down to run his fingers over the spines of ancient books, before his footsteps grind to a halt in front of a wall covered with swords from floor to ceiling – and not your regular ones too.
“These swords…”
Feng Xin squeezes his arm. “They’re yours.”
“We never found Bei Xing (悲星) and Can Yue (残月),” Mu Qing informs him regretfully. “Hen Xing (狠硎), Ba Dao (霸刀) were also destroyed during the siege of Yong An, but these should be the rest.”
Xie Lian blinks back the pressure gathering behind his eyes. He never thought he’d see his precious swords again. And as much as he pretended not to have cared back then, parting with each one had felt like he was giving away a part of himself.
“It must have been a lot of work - looking for them,” Xie Lian remarks quietly as he recalls how these prized swords had been sold to serious collectors, many of whom were the nobles and dignitaries of faraway kingdoms halfway across the world.
“It took a while,” Mu Qing admits. “But it’s not like we were actively looking. They just kept turning up in our search for –” He breaks off abruptly when his eyes fall on Xie Lian. “For whatever it was that we were trying to find – so we picked them up and kept them here.”
Nodding, Xie Lian turns his head to the other side and pretends to study the embossing of a helmet, but as he traces over the intricate flowers and leaves, he recognises it as one of eight pieces in a ceremonial set for his first ascension.
“Do you want to put it on?” Mu Qing asks casually when Xie Lian picks up one of the shoulder pauldrons.
“No,” Xie Lian laughs. It’s probably the last thing he wants to do. He might have ascended as a heavenly official for the third time, but the armour already feels like it belongs to someone else.
“All right then,” Feng Xin says, as he exchanges a look with Mu Qing. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll just be outside,” he adds, before turning to follow Mu Qing out.
🏮🏮🏮
Xie Lian doesn’t know how long he spends inside. Time slows to a crawl as he takes his time with the swords and tries to recall which ones had been his first, the most deadly, his most cherished, reliving the joys and sorrows as the hazy memories associated with every sword in his vast collection wash over him in waves.
It gets too much after a while, so he takes a break by looking at the paintings depicting Xianle’s eminence and gets nostalgic and teary-eyed about their markets and teahouses, where citizens would gather to exchange gossip under the pretext of watching a play or listening to music.
In search of something more light-hearted, Xie Lian picks up several books on the shelves that interest him and makes himself comfortable on one of the rosewood chairs as he loses (and finds) himself in the legends and folktales that had once inspired him as a youth.
When he finally emerges from the shrine, his eyes are weary and his heart is heavy at the reminder of all that he’s lost, but the glorious view of the thick maple forests raise his spirits.
The tall trees have long traded their coats of green for new ones in red and gold and bathed in the last of the sun’s rays, the whole mountain is ablaze with some of its former glory – back when it had been home to more than three thousand disciples.
Xie Lian remembers this place now. He hadn’t recognised it at first because it had only been a dilapidated shack for storing firewood back then. Who knew that it would one day be transformed into a secret museum housing all that remained of Xianle’s treasures?
While this particular summit had always offered some of the best views of the mountain’s forests, it was fairly deserted back then, so the three of them often gathered here to celebrate festivals and birthdays away from the other disciples.
And tonight is the night of the harvest moon, where families reunite to admire the moon and pray for blessings. It’s always been one of Xie Lian’s favourite celebrations, but if he hadn't run into his friends tonight, he would probably have forgotten about it.
Xie Lian, however, would never forget the circular stone table and its four stone seats. It’s where the three of them would gorge themselves on the mooncakes that Feng Xin went down the mountain to buy and under the flickering lanterns that Mu Qing painted himself, they would sip tea and play games through the night.
How many evenings did they spend this way, laughing away the hours till sunrise?
“Not enough,” Mu Qing decides, echoing Xie Lian’s thoughts, even though he hasn’t quite noticed Xie Lian yet, not with Feng Xin hovering over him as he leans against the trunk of a tree with brightly-lit lanterns hanging from its low branches.
“It’s a full moon night,” Feng Xin says, one hand beside Mu Qing’s face while the other reaches to cup his jaw. “You know I can see you well enough.”
“Since when was it ever about that?” Mu Qing sighs and rolls his whole head back in a show of extreme exasperation. “These are auspicious lanterns. They’re the beacons lighting our paths to prosperity and happiness and all our desires!”
“Xuan Zhen,” Feng Xin says, dragging his words, leaning so close to Mu Qing their noses have to be touching. “Are you, by any chance, praying for something tremendous tonight?”
“Go away!” Mu Qing says and pushes lightly against Feng Xin’s chest, but Feng Xin only holds on to his hand and brings it to his mouth – and bites.
“Fuck! That hurts!” Mu Qing yells, as he roughly shoves Feng Xin aside to soothe his knuckles.
Feng Xin is still laughing when Mu Qing charges at him with so much force they crash violently into an adjacent tree. One of the lanterns falls onto a clump of dry leaves, sending sparks flying around them. Still, neither of them takes their eyes, or their arms, off each other.
A sudden burst of brightness around them offers Xie Lian some illuminating insights. One - they’re not fighting. Two - they stopped fighting a long time ago. Three - what looks like a wrestling hold is only moments away from a loving embrace, but Feng Xin soon says something to rile Mu Qing up, and it prompts the martial god to extinguish the fire with a wave of his arm.
And they’re back to sparring again.
Glowing with divine aura, they resemble a pair of fireflies dancing around each other against the darkening sky. Centuries of spiritual cultivation have made them increasingly formidable, but they’re just as evenly matched as they had been 800 years ago.
Any advantage one gains over the other is brief and fleeting. “Yield!” Mu Qing yells as he sits on top of Feng Xin, who’s lying on the grass to catch his breath.
Feng Xin raises his hand, as if to surrender, but it’s a feint, and he only reverses their positions to flip Mu Qing onto his back. “Never!” he yells.
Those who don’t know Feng Xin and Mu Qing that well often think of them as polar opposites, but Xie Lian prefers to think of them as opposite sides of the same coin – molten in the same furnace and cast in the same set of unique circumstances that make them stubbornly loyal and completely inseparable – from each other.
Xie Lian is pretty oblivious when it comes to affairs of the heart, or so he’s been told, but even someone like him can see that there is so much more to this insane rivalry that’s lasted more than 800 years.
How is it that they haven't noticed it themselves?
The only thing they do notice some time later is Xie Lian standing there – watching their antics fondly with a bemused smile. And in the blink of an eye, they pull apart like tufts of dragon beard candy.
Feng Xin clears his throat loudly and informs them he’s going to light the rest of the lanterns (which was what Mu Qing was telling him to do in the first place) while a visibly-flustered Mu Qing mumbles something about fetching water for tea.
Xie Lian almost offers to go in Mu Qing’s place to give them more time together, but he now recognises a truth that their worshippers acknowledged the day they began to build their temples side by side – Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang were always together, so this might be his only chance to talk to Feng Xin alone.
While waiting impatiently for Mu Qing to disappear into the forest, Xie Lian listens with fond amusement to the obnoxiously cheerful melody that Feng Xin whistles until he can stand it no more. “Feng Xin.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think that Mu Qing is happier these days?”
“Is he?” Feng Xin asks absently, preoccupied with lighting one of the lanterns with his palm torch.
“He smiles a lot more now and…” Xie Lian steals a quick glance. “He’s very pretty when he smiles, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
Xie Lian blinks. “Do you really think so?”
“Do I really think – what?” Feng Xin asks, with a blank look on his face.
“That Mu Qing is pretty?”
“Sure,” he answers easily, but stops what he’s doing and narrows his eyes when he catches sight of Xie Lian’s smile. “What is this all about?”
Xie Lian takes a deep breath. “Feng Xin, we’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?”
“Yes?”
“Then, tell me the truth – have you ever thought of asking Mu Qing out?”
Feng Xin does a funny thing with his face. “Have I ever thought of asking Mu Qing out?” he repeats, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he’s just heard.
“Yes.”
Xie Lian was prepared for a flustered denial, maybe even a violent response, but Feng Xin defies all of his expectations when he throws his head back and barks, howling raucously as he rolls around on the soft grass.
During his long years of isolation, Xie Lian had really missed the sound of Feng Xin's laughter and after 800 years, it hasn’t changed. It’s still loud and carefree and so infectious that it doesn’t take very long before Xie Lian is laughing along.
“Of course, you don’t have to. It’s just a suggestion,” he manages to say when he gets a bit of a break.
Feng Xin doesn’t stop, but he sputters out a few words between what feels like neverending laughing fits. “Forgive me, your highness. I just – humour me please – suppose I ask Mu Qing out, and he says yes, what exactly do you imagine us doing together?”
Xie Lian pauses to think. “You can go on boat rides, or long hikes, visit the country fairs? I don’t think it really matters, although with someone as shy as Mu Qing is, it’s probably best to take things slow.”
Feng Xin heaves himself into a sitting position, but he’s still clutching his sides, which must be cramping by now. “Mu Qing? Shy? Your highness, do you even know him at all – hahaha – I’m just – hahahaha – this is hilarious – I haven’t laughed so much in years!”
Xie Lian wonders how he’s somehow managed to misread the situation so badly. He’s always prided himself on being a fairly good judge of character and these were his oldest friends for heaven’s sake!
When Mu Qing returns with fresh spring water in a wooden pail, Feng Xin is still heaving on grass, and clumps of dry leaves are stuck to his robes.
“What’s that idiot laughing about now?” Mu Qing asks as he tops up the water in a small kettle that’s been brewing over a fire.
“Uh – ” Xie Lian hesitates. “It’s nothing.”
Feng Xin somehow pulls himself to his feet, but he’s still doubled over in laughter. “Mu Qing – His highness – hahaha – his highness thinks – I should ask you out. Hahahahahahaha!”
Mu Qing doesn’t join in the hysterics, but the hand over his mouth barely conceals the amused smile spreading across his face.
“Is it that funny?” Xie Lian wonders.
“Yes!” they chorus.
Xie Lian lets out a soft sigh. Even old married couples didn’t share this kind of connection. Why were they still in denial?
“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian says, trying his luck with the other man this time. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like Feng Xin.”
Mu Qing lifts his head and squarely meets Xie Lian’s gaze. “I don’t like Feng Xin,” he says without missing a beat.
Feng Xin stops laughing. “Hey! That’s not what you said in bed last night when you – and I – never mind,” he trails off as two spots of pink appear on his cheeks.
Xie Lian’s brain screeches to a halt. “In bed? Last night? Are you both – ”
“Sleeping together,” Mu Qing deadpans.
“But then – you still fight?”
“Of course, we still fight,” Mu Qing says proudly. “It’s what we do best.”
“And how else will we get to have makeup sex?” Feng Xin adds. “Which is the best kind of sex – not that sex with you is ever bad – but uh – makeup sex is something else.”
Mu Qing shoots Feng Xin a look that is somehow exasperated and fond at the same time. “Why did I ever agree to marry you?”
“Married,” Xie Lian says breathlessly, and reaches out for Mu Qing’s arm.
“Huh?”
“You’re married.”
“Unfortunately,” Mu Qing grumbles as Feng Xin nods enthusiastically beside him.
“And neither of you thought it was important to mention it – to me?” Xie Lian asks, feeling like the fool who’s had the rug pulled from under his feet.
Feng Xin shrugs. “We thought you might have already figured it out – since you knew about Nan Feng and Fu Yao.”
Xie Lian hides his embarrassment in his hands. And here he was trying to set them up with each other, when they’ve been married for god knows how long. “When?”
“Four – or five centuries ago?” Feng Xin guesses and turns to Mu Qing to back him up.
“672 years, 8 months and 25 days.”
“Holy shit,” Feng Xin whispers. “Has it been that long?”
“Yes.”
Feng Xin cups his hands around Mu Qing’s small face and gently runs his thumbs across his high cheekbones. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“And you,” Mu Qing says, with a teasing smile, “haven’t grown up at all.”
A deep ache blooms in Xie Lian’s chest. “I missed your wedding,” he mumbles, and doesn’t even bother to hide the pain in his voice.
Feng Xin’s arm feels warm around his shoulder. “Your Highness, it’s okay. Don’t be upset. We’ll just get divorced and married all over again.”
Mu Qing makes a sound like he’s dying. “We will do no such thing.”
Feng Xin laughs. “We had the wedding right here, you know?” he says, and reaches for Xie Lian’s hand to take him back inside the shrine. “And this is where he kept me waiting for one shichen, because the one event Mu Qing decides to be late to is our wedding.”
Xie Lian turns back to look at Mu Qing, who’s walking towards them with some refreshments in his hand. “The hairpiece wouldn't go on right.”
“Who cares about the hairpiece?”
“You did – you said it was the prettiest hairpiece you’ve ever seen.”
“Because it was on your head!”
“I also had to sew one of the beads that fell off my robes”
“His wedding robes – that he made himself,” Feng Xin tells Xie Lian, as his eyes take on a faraway look. “So beautiful,” he adds dreamily.
“Watch where you’re going,” Mu Qing teases, “or you’re going to trip – again.”
“I did trip,” Feng Xin informs Xie Lian as he points out the spot to him. “Right here – and pretended to hurt my leg so Mu Qing would carry me inside the prayer hall, where we did the bows and said our vows.”
“Which you forgot.”
“Which I forgot,” Feng Xin admits. “But I still made you cry,” he teases, peering closely at Mu Qing’s face. “Wait, are you - ”
“No,” Mu Qing sniffs and walks so far ahead of them they cannot see his face.
Xie Lian sighs heavily. “It sounds like a beautiful wedding.”
“It was the best wedding,” Feng Xin confirms.
“And the only one we’re going to have,” Mu Qing yells over his shoulder.
“All right, all right,” Feng Xin says ruefully. “There is just one small thing we didn’t get to do, you know? We never really had a tea ceremony.”
The tea ceremony is when newlyweds would serve tea to their seniors – grandparents, parents, elder siblings, who would welcome them with blessings and gifts, but long before they married, both of their families had already passed on.
“Come,” Feng Xin tells Xie Lian as he gently takes his arm and guides him towards the rosewood chairs at the back of the shrine, where he’d just been leafing through the ancient books not too long ago.
“My best friends are married,” Xie Lian says quietly, letting the words sink in as he sits back down on the same chair. Overwhelmed by emotion, he watches absently as Mu Qing pours tea into little cups.
“Yes,” Feng Xin says.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“What do you think we’re doing right now?” Mu Qing softly asks.
“Mu Qing! What are you doing?” he exclaims and would have jumped out of the chair to help the kneeling man up had it not been for Feng Xin holding him back.
“Serving you tea.” And he really is – holding a cup of tea cradled in his hands, but it’s not like any of the other times he’d done that before.
“Feng Xin,” he gasps, when Feng Xin picks up the other cup and takes his place beside his – his husband.
“But this – it’s for family…”
“Yes,” they tell him quietly and are looking at him with so much sincerity and raw emotion that it’s impossible to speak around the lump that’s growing in his throat.
Xie Lian can barely see the cup of tea through the hot tears that blur his vision, but he accepts the drink from Mu Qing and gulps it all down before he can ruin the moment.
His hands are still shaking when he takes the other cup from Feng Xin, but this time, he’s calm enough to sip it more slowly, tasting the longan, red dates and lotus seeds meant to bless this long-lived marriage with sweetness and harmony.
Xie Lian dabs his eyes with the corner of a sleeve. “I should give you something,” he mumbles, looking around the room for the ceremonial armour he was admiring not too long ago.
It’s not quite jewellery, but neither of them are brides, and Xie Lian doesn’t think there can be any gift more fitting for this pair of hardened warriors who somehow managed to find love in the middle of war.
Xie Lian tries to reach for it but Mu Qing’s arms have found their way around him, making it impossible to move. “Your highness,” he says, as he hugs him tightly. “I promise – we have everything that we need.”
Xie Lian’s breath hitches in a chest that feels unbearably tight and it feels like Mu Qing’s embrace is the only thing that’s keeping him from falling apart. Then, there’s Feng Xin, who somehow manages to take both of them into his extremely long arms and they’re soon on the floor together – laughing and crying at the same time.
🍵🍵🍵
By the time they leave the shrine, the sky is dark and the stars shine a clear path for the rising moon. The lanterns hanging from the trees are still burning brightly and there’s a magical glow around the little clearing.
Together, they unwrap all the food and the drab stone table is soon covered with trays of beautifully-decorated mooncakes and platters of fruit. Over tea and all their snacks, they chat and laugh together, as moonlight beams on their happy faces, just like when they were young boys. And when the moon’s reflection appears in their teacups, they look up into the sky and agree it’s the biggest and brightest one they’ve seen in centuries.
Watching Feng Xin feeding Mu Qing some pomelo from his hand, Xie Lian cannot help but wonder aloud. “How does everyone else not know about you two?”
“That’s easy,” Feng Xin says. “Every time someone gets close to finding out our secret, we just punch a few pillars and break a wall – or two.”
“Isn’t that a huge bother, not to mention very expensive? Why not just tell them?”
“Well, back then, we couldn’t. There were rules against having a relationship with a heavenly official, so we had to keep everyone in the dark,” Feng Xin reminds him.
“But right now?” Xie Lian presses, turning to Mu Qing this time.
“Of course, it’s not forbidden anymore. Otherwise, we’d have to banish more than half of us,” Mu Qing remarks. “But I guess some habits are hard to change. It's not like we're that different behind closed doors. Besides, we didn't want anyone else finding out before our very best friend.”
Xie Lian's breath hitches in his throat and he feels like crying all over again, but he takes a deep breath and a couple of moments to take this all in. “Does no one else know?”
Feng Xin shrugs. “Crimson Rain, maybe. He has a way of knowing things – ow!” he yelps, when Mu Qing smacks his arm, but goes on talking anyway. “Your highness, Crimson Rain is a whole bunch of things I will not say out of respect for you, but he’s not a liar. If he says he’ll be back, then he will.”
“And till then, we’ll be here – sharing in your joys and woes,” Mu Qing promises, as he casually pinches the mooncake on Feng Xin’s plate.
“Mu Qing!” Feng Xin yells. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Sharing!” Mu Qing yells, but he’s already running off.
“Give that back!” Feng Xin yells as he chases him behind a tree. “I was saving it. It is the very last one with lotus paste!”
“Serves you right for not buying more!” Mu Qing retorts, right before he pops it into his mouth.
“You’re unbelievable,” Feng Xin grumbles, shaking his head as he watches Mu Qing swallow his ill-gotten snack with great longing in his eyes.
Mu Qing laughs at his sorrowful expression, but decides to show him some charity. “There’s still some, if you hurry,” he informs him, as he points at his mouth and licks his lips.
In a heartbeat, Feng Xin tackles the other man to the ground and goes for the kiss.
A gust of wind sends the maple leaves dancing and a large one, especially vibrant, lands on his open palm. Gently, Xie Lian closes his palm around it. Some days, it feels like he’s missing a huge chunk of his heart. On other days, it feels like a deep ache that seeps into his bones.
Xie Lian gazes at the mooncake Mu Qing had earlier placed on his dish and gently runs his fingers over the message embossed on it – 花好月圆. Lovely flowers, round moon. Everything is wonderful. All is well. It’s a wish so simple, but beautiful, that Xie Lian is reluctant to take a bite, for fear of inviting misfortune.
Xie Lian reasons that it won’t be safe for long anyway, not with Feng Xin and Mu Qing around, so he picks it up and takes a small bite, appreciating the chewy texture and savouring the somewhat familiar sweetness that rolls down his tongue and brings tears to his eyes.
Even when he was living on his own, Xie Lian always made it a point to have a mooncake to mark the festival. Depending on what year it was and where he found himself, the mooncakes had always tasted different.
Some were sweet while others were savoury. Some were flaky while others were chewy. They were filled with lotus paste and beans and nuts. But none of them had ever tasted quite like the one he’s clutching tightly in his hands.
It tastes like family.
It tastes of home.
🥮🥮🥮
The End