Chapter Text
51.266% was the number that Mu Qing calculated. 51.266%.
As of that evening, Feng Xin had officially hit a win rate of 51.266% for their recent spars.
In the past week alone, Feng Xin had won four out of five of their spars. For months, Feng Xin had been beating Mu Qing ever so slightly more often, and it was driving Mu Qing mad with concern.
Could it be that the Palace of Xuan Zhen was becoming weaker? Worried, Mu Qing had checked with his deputies, his temples, and his domain, and had found nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, he was proud to say that he had even more followers than before the losing streak began.
This left one option: Mu Qing hadn’t gotten weaker, Feng Xin had gotten stronger.
His suspicions were confirmed when Feng Xin had pinned him to the ground in their latest fight, and Mu Qing had latched onto his arm to push him off. After 800 years of fighting and observation, it was easy for Mu Qing to feel that it was stronger and more muscular than usual. When Mu Qing barged into the Palace of Nan Yang and caught Feng Xin shooting targets shirtless, his mouth ran dry.
When had Feng Xin become so toned? Feng Xin had always been more bulky than Mu Qing was (much to Mu Qing’s endless annoyance), but now the difference in their builds was becoming unignorable.
The only question was, why?
“Well, ah, I have an idea of why he might be a bit more powerful recently,” Xie Lian was saying.
“Out with it, then,” Mu Qing replied without malice.
“When San Lang and I got married, it sort of acted as a bridge between the Heavens and Ghost City, right? Well, recently the ghosts in the city have rediscovered Feng Xin’s… other title, ah, ‘Ju Yang’? They’ve begun offering prayers to him in the pleasure districts and such…”
Normally, Mu Qing would have had a field day knowing the worship of Ju Yang had reached even the Ghost Realm. Right now though, he couldn’t even bring himself to smirk. “So he’s this much stronger because his territory has expanded into the ghost world? Why would anyone there want to pray to him?”
Although he said this, it made a lot of sense that Feng Xin was the one the ghosts would pray to. After all, everyone knew by now that he also had a link to the Ghost City in Jian Lan. A couple years ago, the two of them had finally exchanged apologies and reconciled, but Jian Lan had made it more than clear that she wanted nothing more to do with Feng Xin romantically. Feng Xin had been discontent with this resolution, but Xie Lian and Mu Qing had convinced him to follow Jian Lan’s wishes if he really cared for her happiness.
Jian Lan had wanted to distance herself from Feng Xin to protect his reputation, but Feng Xin never cared about things like that. In the end, he’d still acknowledged Cuo Cuo’s existence and owned his past romance. He assured those who asked that there was nothing between the two of them now, but he would always help them if they ever needed it. Such was the loyalty of a guard dog, Mu Qing supposed.
No doubt the Ghost City residents had heard of that link and latched onto Feng Xin as a god worthy of worship. If he was being supplied more spiritual power from the Ghost City’s offerings (offerings made to Ju Yang, especially), that would explain why he now looked so tough. Why he could now hold Mu Qing down with slightly less effort than usual.
Mu Qing wanted to rage.
Xie Lian seemed to have noticed Mu Qing’s turmoil. “Don’t worry too much about it! I’m sure Feng Xin is aware of this already and has it under control. Plus, aren’t you happy that his reputation as Ju Yang is still going strong?”
“Who said I was worried?” Mu Qing snapped.
But he was worried—not for Feng Xin’s reputation, but for his newfound strength and the implications thereof.
It wasn’t fair. Feng Xin and Mu Qing had been an equally matched pair for 800 years, and now it seemed Feng Xin was attempting to leave him in the dust. Mu Qing felt the anger bubbling. How dare Feng Xin try to get ahead so sneakily? How dare he expand his domain right under Mu Qing’s nose?
Mu Qing knew, then, that he had to do something.
“Xie Lian, I also want to expand my worship into the Ghost City,” Mu Qing announced firmly. It wasn’t exactly a request for help, but he knew Xie Lian would understand it as one.
“That would be difficult,” Xie Lian confessed. “The Ghost City does not need martial protection, and even if they did, I would be the first they’d pray to.”
Mu Qing knew this, of course, but the immediate shutdown still stung.
Xie Lian hadn’t given up. “It’s alright, though! We’ll just have to find something else for you to be worshipped for!”
Mu Qing looked at Xie Lian quizzically. “Something else?”
“Just like how Feng Xin became the God of Pleasure by a misunderstanding, you could also find a secondary domain of worship! Something that ghosts need or want…”
“Like what?”
That stumped the conversation. The two sat in silence for a moment, thinking, but it just made Mu Qing annoyed. Mu Qing prided himself on being skilled in many disciplines; cooking, cleaning, martial prowess, sewing, healing, and even academics… but none of these held any value to ghosts. Mu Qing had seen for himself the level of sanitation deemed acceptable in the Ghost Realm, and it wasn’t as though ghosts needed to become scholars, either. Not even Mu Qing’s knowledge of medicine made any sense to worship in a city of the dead.
Mu Qing rolled his eyes to himself, purely from frustration, but caught Xie Lian with a strange look on his face.
“You thought of something?” Mu Qing asked.
“I did… but I’m not sure if…”
“If I can do it?”
“No, that’s not the problem. Just… don’t be mad, okay?”
“Now that you’ve said that, I’m seriously going to be mad either way. Just spit it out.”
Xie Lian straightened up and cleared his throat before he announced lightly, “How about becoming a God of Style?”
Mu Qing stared at Xie Lian, face painfully blank. “How do you always manage to say the worst thing possible? ‘Don’t be mad’, you say, then you say something that seems perfectly designed to tick me off!”
“It’s really not like that! I don’t mean you should parade yourself as a tailor or something!” Xie Lian’s arms waved in defense. “It’s just… you’re always well dressed, and you’re skilled at making clothing that flatters. You have a keen eye for detail and love to criticize things you find ugly. Your worshippers know this well by now. If you were to present yourself as a God of Fashion or Style, who could possibly compete?”
Xie Lian knew Mu Qing well enough by now that he knew exactly how to appeal to Mu Qing’s ego. By littering his suggestion with words that made Mu Qing feel accomplished or skilled, Mu Qing would surely consider the idea. This went double if the end goal concerned one-upping Feng Xin.
Sure enough, Mu Qing turned his head slightly and let out a hmph. “It’s not… a terrible suggestion. I suppose. How would I even begin to expand my domain in such a way? I can’t exactly pull a ‘Ju Yang’ and change my title…”
Xie Lian smiled nervously. “Actually, I have another suggestion…”
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
“This is ridiculous,” Mu Qing complained.
“You think I’m having fun here? Because I’m not!” Jian Lan raged as she violently pat Mu Qing’s face with powder. “Seriously, both of you! Why does it have to be me?”
Xie Lian tried to diffuse the situation. “You’re the only ghost General Xuan Zhen could possibly ask!”
In order for Mu Qing to properly promote himself as a god of tasteful clothing in the Ghost City, Mu Qing had to first learn the fashion trends of the Ghost City. To do this, Jian Lan had been recruited (or rather, kidnapped off the street) to help them. The trio had done a small amount of shopping before settling into a room in Paradise Manor to get to work.
“Quit your complaining,” Mu Qing snapped—even though he had also been complaining not even a minute prior. “You still owe me for the incident with Cuo Cuo.”
Jian Lan scowled. “I told you I was sorry already! Why are you so petty?!”
“‘Petty’?! You nearly wasted 800 years worth of effort all because you wouldn’t just tell the truth!”
“Ahh,” Xie Lian interrupted, “stop fighting, you two! We’re all friends now, right?” Xie Lian couldn’t help but smile at the two’s bickering. It was almost as if Jian Lan was a second Feng Xin, with just as much of a temper.
Jian Lan and Mu Qing both shot him a withering look, and Xie Lian took back his words. Jian Lan was much more like a second Mu Qing than anything.
Despite his fussing, it had been Mu Qing’s suggestion to go to Jian Lan in the first place. Feng Xin often compared Mu Qing’s mind to a scheming concubine, and that was a pretty good assessment. Jian Lan and Mu Qing weren’t close, but they shared a mutual understanding of the need for self-preservation. When Jian Lan was alive, she’d been a prospective member of Xie Lian’s future harem, and gained the skills to survive in such an environment, much like Mu Qing did when he became Xie Lian’s servant and was forced to live among the fickle nobles. In situations like that, one did whatever they needed to to stay afloat.
Feng Xin would call them schemers, but Mu Qing would call them pragmatic. They survived.
In any case, Jian Lan read people’s preferences for a living and had been doing so since she’d been alive. If anyone could play the turbulent field that was the Ghost City, it was her.
Jian Lan pulled some lip colouring from the small bag of make-up the trio had purchased earlier that day, and Mu Qing raised a brow. “Are you trying to make me look like a woman?”
Jian Lan shot back, “Who else would pray to a god of fashion but the women? You need to convince them you know what you’re talking about.”
Mu Qing was silent, but discomfort was clear on his face. Jian Lan sighed heavily.
“Fine, we’ll start without, but don't expect to get through this with no crossdressing. Work on swallowing your pride, won't you? Remember, you said you’d listen to me! Your make-up’s done. Where did His Highness the Crown Prince run off to?”
Hearing that, Mu Qing grabbed a nearby hand mirror and examined himself.
If Mu Qing were being honest, Jian Lan’s makeup skills were quite impressive. He had expected her to pad his face with the thick layer of makeup she herself usually wore, but it seemed she had held back. Instead, the look was faint and natural, and his skin seemed to glow a bit more than usual.
“Not bad,” Mu Qing offered as praise. At least he could tell he was still himself up close.
Just then, Xie Lian stumbled through the door, holding a comically large bundle of fabric. He tossed them all on the bed.
“What's all this? Did you buy out the entire market…?” Mu Qing asked, awestruck at the amount of brightly-coloured fabrics.
Xie Lian laughed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “When I did my part of the shopping, I didn’t really know what Jian Lan meant by ‘in trend’, so I just grabbed things that were displayed in the storefronts.”
As Xie Lian spoke, Jian Lan was already rapidly appraising his selection, scrutinizing it loudly. “Why would you even think to get this? It’s so gaudy. What an eyesore! If a woman was caught wearing this, she’d end up repelling all the men in the area! Hm, I guess that in itself can be useful…”
It seemed that Jian Lan had forgotten her standing, having found herself caught in her role as lead director of this plan. Typically, Jian Lan treated Xie Lian with the same reverence as she would Hua Cheng, but now she ran her mouth, flaming Xie Lian’s fashion sense to hell and back.
Xie Lian had no clue about things like “attracting men” or “trendiness”—his experiences with both were mostly unintentional on his part. His sense of beauty was stuck 800 years in the past, so he could only nod solemnly as he accepted each critique. Mu Qing covered his mouth to suppress a snicker, finding himself wanting to join in on the fun. It wasn’t often that Mu Qing could criticize Xie Lian’s lack of talent in earnest, after all.
He lifted a purple robe from the pile, before he immediately dropped it again, face growing dark.
“Xie Lian. What is this?”
Jian Lan picked it up, lifting it for all to see with a flourish. With sheer sleeves and a low-cut neckline, it was a dress in the same, immodest style of the dancers at Paradise Manor!
Mu Qing turned to Xie Lian, eyes blazing. “Why would you buy—?”
“Aaahhhh!” Xie Lian cried, head spinning in embarrassment. “The merchant said it was in trend, so what could I do but buy it? If he was right and I neglected to buy it, wouldn’t you be equally mad? Let’s just forget about this!”
“No, His Highness is right,” Jian Lan cut in, inspecting the gown a bit more. “This style is very in trend at the moment.”
Mu Qing gawked. “You think the relevance of the outfit is the problem?! I’m not wearing that!”
Jian Lan laughed, “No one is telling you to wear it. Start slow, yeah?” She grinned cheekily, tossing the dress to Mu Qing, who dodged as if it were a ball of flame. He glared at the offending garment on the floor, but couldn’t stand the mess and picked it up, placing it on the bed once more.
Xie Lian, at least, looked genuinely ashamed at his mistake. “I’m sorry, Mu Qing. Don’t be mad!”
In the end, Mu Qing was adorned in clothing that could only be described as “exquisitely humble”. The outer robe was black and had long, flowing sleeves. It was nothing special at first glance, but in the light the black fabric shimmered like shards of obsidian—much like the dark shine of Mu Qing’s eyes. When Mu Qing moved, a brilliant blue could be seen on the underside of the black layer, which matched the blue of the inner robes. The colour was extremely eye-catching, and although Mu Qing preferred to wear red, he couldn’t deny the appeal. Settled over the entire outfit was a translucent blue cloak embedded with silver filaments that looked like shooting stars when they caught the light.
It was an outfit meant to catch the eye more than once. While it didn’t look anything special, every movement led to a graceful shimmer, making the gaze linger.
Mu Qing’s hair was half tied up, pulled back low on the nape of his neck by a simple silver hair clip. From the clip stemmed a blue ribbon that trailed alongside his hair. Jian Lan had thought to put his hair into a more elaborate updo but had changed her mind partway through, for whatever reason.
Overall, Mu Qing was rather pleased with the outfit. It almost felt like something he’d genuinely wear, except for…
“Jian Lan. Why is there a hole in the shirt?” Mu Qing asked with poorly masked annoyance.
Under the layers of black and blue was a tight white undershirt with a high collar. In the shirt, there was a diamond cutout, exposing a portion of Mu Qing’s upper chest and collarbone. Mu Qing could not figure out for the life of him what purpose it served.
“If you don’t want to dress like a woman, you need to attract the women,” Jian Lan stated plainly as she continued to fidget with the draping of Mu Qing’s cape. She stepped back to admire her work, looking pleased. “Everyone already knows you have a pretty face. What we need is for them to see you in a new light! No more prim and proper Xuan Zhen! We’re going lavish! We’re going sexy! Ahahaha!”
“S-sexy…?” Mu Qing gaped. In all his 800 years of life, Mu Qing could count on one hand the number of times anyone had referred to him so crudely—and all of them had been in jest or mocking, so they didn’t even count. It was no secret that General Xuan Zhen practiced a life of abstinence, so most people wrote him off as unobtainable and wouldn’t dare to consider him an object of attraction, surely.
Yet now, Jian Lan dared to say such a thing straight to his face!
With a red face, Mu Qing summoned his zhanmadao. “You’re so insolent!” Mu Qing said darkly. “Stand still. I’ll disperse you right here—!”
“Stop! Mu Qing, Jian Lan isn’t Feng Xin, so you can’t fight her when she runs her mouth. She’ll seriously die again. Plus, it’s a compliment in the end, right? Let’s all get along!”
Xie Lian had worried that the mention of Feng Xin to his two greatest semi-adversaries would kill the good mood between them. Instead, he watched as both their faces twisted up into the same looks of vague disgust and laughed, wishing Feng Xin were there to see it.
By the time Jian Lan convinced Mu Qing that going out with a chest window would not, in fact, break his vow of abstinence, it was evening out. Mu Qing had left the majority of the planning to Jian Lan—sticking to his promise to trust her judgment—yet still felt slightly uncomfortable when faced with the unknown.
Luckily, Jian Lan didn’t seem to want to make a spectacle of him, instead simply walking with him around Ghost City. Of course, the two caught the attention of many people, from ladies of pleasure to drunken men. Jian Lan preened at their attentions, but whenever any of them so much as tried to touch either of the two Jian Lan would snap at them.
“Back the fuck off!” she had shouted at a man who had reached to touch Mu Qing’s hair. She’d grabbed the man's wrist in a death grip impressive for a woman of her stature and had thrown the arm away. Then she had turned to Mu Qing, annoyed. “Fight back yourself, won’t you?”
“You’re the one who told me to stay quiet. Aren’t I trying to be ‘pleasant’? You can’t have it both ways.”
“‘Pleasant’ doesn’t mean ‘complacent’. You’re a Martial God, so people will understand. When a man annoys you, you ought to punch him in the face!”
Mu Qing’s mind immediately went to Feng Xin’s face from two days before, swollen and bruised from where Mu Qing had whacked him. “Believe me,” Mu Qing huffed, “I know how to deal with annoying men.” He dealt with one every day in the Upper Court, after all.
When Jian Lan dismissed Mu Qing, it was already turning dawn. Ghost City ran nocturnally, so the two of them had been busy socializing all night. Despite this, Mu Qing didn’t feel accomplished. Hadn’t he just dressed up and walked around? He didn’t even announce his presence in the city. When Mu Qing voiced these concerns, Jian Lan shushed him.
“Trust me, General, I know what I’m doing.” Then she walked away.
Aggravated, Mu Qing finally ascended back to the Heavens. All the talking had rendered him exhausted, and Ghost City always made his skin feel grimy. He needed a bath.
Walking up the stairs to his palace’s gates, Mu Qing stopped dead in his tracks. Feng Xin was sitting against the gates, gently being illuminated by the east-rising sun. The man’s head was hanging in a position that was surely uncomfortable, and Mu Qing wondered how long he’d been sleeping there—not to mention why.
‘What a nuisance,’ Mu Qing bemoaned. Mu Qing hadn’t changed back into his usual attire, and couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward walking around in his current outfit. He knew he didn’t look bad, but he did have a very solid and predictable reputation in the Heavens. People would judge if they saw him wearing anything but what they expected him to wear—Feng Xin most of all. He’d have to avoid the front gates for now.
Mu Qing was considering how best to sneak into his palace when he heard Feng Xin mumbling something, sounding remarkably like Mu Qing’s name.
Who knows how long Feng Xin had been sitting there. If someone caught him at Mu Qing’s door mumbling his name in his sleep, wouldn’t Feng Xin just look like a dejected lover? Couldn’t Feng Xin care a little more about his appearance?!
“Hey, Ju Yang,” Mu Qing called, stepping closer and nudging Feng Xin’s leg with his foot. Feng Xin shifted but didn’t respond.
Rolling his eyes, Mu Qing crouched down to Feng Xin’s level. Feng Xin was indeed dozing away, lips parted slightly as he snored gently. Asleep, Feng Xin lost the ever-present furrow in his brow and wasn’t hurling any insults. Another person might describe the sight as cute, but Mu Qing preferred the term “annoying”.
Mu Qing couldn’t help but notice the fading bruise on Feng Xin’s cheek from their spar, and allowed a mischievous grin to slip onto his face. There was no one here to see, in any case.
“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing taunted, “wake up, sunshine.” He poked Feng Xin’s face, right on the heart of the bruise.
Feng Xin’s eyes shot open as he jolted away with a shout, more surprised than pained.
“Mmm… M’ Qing…? What the fuck?” he slurred, still completely disoriented.
“‘What the fuck’ is right.” Mu Qing’s smirk dropped as he fell into their familiar routine. “What is the Great General Ju Yang doing napping in front of my palace like a beggar? Get lost.”
Feng Xin yawned and rubbed his eyes, frowning as he blinked the sleep away. “What are you being a brat for…? You didn’t show up to our sparring match.”
Mu Qing quirked a brow. “What sparring match?”
“The one we always have!”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“We fight every three days, no?” Feng Xin craned his neck, eyes still shut tight. “It’s routine; you’ve never missed it before!”
Mu Qing thought back to their past fights and realized that Feng Xin was right. They really had been following this routine, with very little exception. It seems, subconsciously, a pattern had developed—one that Mu Qing hadn’t realized.
“When did we set this schedule? I never agreed to this. If you’re disappointed I didn’t show up, that’s your fault.”
“I was worried about you, asshole! Your deputies wouldn’t let me in and wouldn’t let me talk to you— and you changed your array password. Again! How can I keep up—” Feng Xin cut himself off, a puzzled look falling over his face as he looked at Mu Qing clearly for the first time that night. “The fuck are you wearing?”
Mu Qing had nearly forgotten the reason he hadn’t wanted to wake Feng Xin up in the first place. Feng Xin’s eyes seemed torn between looking at Mu Qing’s eyes and chest, and Mu Qing felt vulnerable. He pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders. It didn’t help. It was translucent, after all.
“Ignore it,” Mu Qing dismissed. “Go back to your palace. You’re ruining the scenery with your drooling. If you want to spar with someone, find a different partner. I’ll be busy.” Mu Qing stood and activated the array on his palace gates, moving to slip inside.
Feng Xin wiped his mouth before he spoke again—never mind that he hadn’t actually drooled. “Busy?” Feng Xin stood, inviting himself past the gates and trailing after Mu Qing. “Busy with what? For how long? Is that why you’re all dressed up?”
Mu Qing quickened his pace. “None of your business. Go away!”
“Who were you with last night and yesterday? Why’d you only come back now?” Feng Xin continued to push.
“I was with Xie Lian yesterday, so stop your whining,” Mu Qing hissed. “We were just chatting. Ask him if you’re so suspicious of me.”
“What ‘chat’ needs you to be dressed all fancy?”
“We were talking about fashion.” Not a lie.
“Fashion? Since when does His Highness care about stuff like that?”
Eye roll. “Since he got a husband he wants to dress up for?” Mu Qing was shooting in the dark, now. He had no clue if marriage made people want to dress up better or worse. He was certain, though, that Xie Lian could wear a cardboard box and Hua Cheng would still sculpt several statues in honour of Xie Lian’s beauty.
“Even then, why does that mean you had to dress up? And was it really more important than our spar? I’ve been waiting here all evening!”
Why did Feng Xin have to be so curious now of all times? Mu Qing’s eye twitched and he suddenly recalled Jian Lan’s words from hours ago: “When a man annoys you, you ought to punch him in the face”!
The moment Mu Qing reached the door to his palace, he swiveled and decked Feng Xin (lightly, he’d say) in the face, sending him stumbling back. Before Feng Xin could react, Mu Qing slipped between the doors, locking them tightly behind him.
“There’s your sparring session! No one told you to wait for me! I’m seriously busy, okay? Don’t ask after me, and don't bother my deputies or I’ll yell at you,” Mu Qing threatened past the door.
“Haven’t you already yelled at me for hundreds of years?!” Feng Xin retorted, bewildered. Mu Qing pretended he didn’t hear it as he stormed away.
Walking through the palace halls, Mu Qing pressed a hand to his head. Why did Feng Xin always appear when Mu Qing didn’t want to see him?
Of course Feng Xin wanted to keep sparring when he was on a winning streak, but Mu Qing couldn’t afford to let Feng Xin win anymore and widen the gap in their competition. There was no choice. Mu Qing would have to avoid Feng Xin until he finished establishing his new title. It’d be troublesome, but it’d be worth it.
That night, Mu Qing vowed to himself that the next time he fought Feng Xin, he’d win no matter what.