Chapter Text
The Heavenly Capital was still half in ruins.
Marble pillars lay cracked like broken bones across the courtyards. Golden roof tiles glittered in the dust like fallen stars. The once‑pristine white walls were stained with soot and ash, and even weeks after the final battle, the air still carried the faint, stubborn scent of smoke. Everywhere Mu Qing looked, scaffolds climbed toward the heavens, cranes groaned under the weight of stone, and junior officials sprinted past with scrolls and ink‑stained sleeves, shouting over one another in a frantic attempt to restore order.
Heaven was rebuilding itself. Very slowly and with far more chaos than anyone dared admit.
Mu Qing stepped over a pile of shattered jade tiles and exhaled through his nose. “This place is a disaster.”
“Better than before,” Feng Xin said beside him, arms crossed.
Mu Qing waited.
“Well… at least it’s not on fire anymore,” Feng Xin added, unconvincingly.
Mu Qing didn’t dignify that with a response.
Ling Wen had summoned them earlier. She is newly reinstated and composed in the way only someone who’d slept three hours in three weeks could be. She’d handed them a scroll with their temporary assignment.
Shared residence. Southern Palace. East and West wings. One courtyard.
Mu Qing had stared at the words for a long moment, then looked up sharply.
“You’re joking.”
Ling Wen didn’t blink. “I’m afraid not. Housing is limited until reconstruction is complete. The two of you will share the Southern Palace for the time being.”
Feng Xin groaned. “We can’t just share. Ling Wen, we’ll kill each other.”
“Please don’t,” she said, rubbing her temples. “We don’t have the resources to rebuild another palace right now. Or to replace either of you.”
Mu Qing’s jaw tightened. “Is there truly no alternative.”
“None,” she said flatly. “And if you destroy even a single wall with your fighting, I will personally assign you both to paperwork duty for the next decade.”
Feng Xin paled. “You wouldn’t.”
Ling Wen gave him a look that suggested she absolutely would.
And that was how Mu Qing found himself standing in front of the Southern Palace, staring at the shared courtyard that split the building cleanly in two. The West Wing was his. The East Wing was Feng Xin’s. The courtyard in the middle was for their deputies to train in. Which meant constant proximity.
Exactly what he didn’t need.
“Well,” Feng Xin said, gaze flicking toward him and then away again, “at least it’s not the worst living arrangement we’ve ever had.”
"Speak for yourself."
They glared at each-other for a moment and split off.
Mu Qing stepped toward the West Wing and immediately stopped.
The courtyard was worse up close.
Tiles cracked. Roof sagging. A decorative pond that had become a mosquito‑infested swamp.
And across the courtyard, through a half‑broken screen door, he could already hear Feng Xin’s voice.
Loud. Warm. Infuriating.
Mu Qing closed his eyes. Counted to three. Considered turning around and living in the ruins outside instead.
A deputy hurried up beside him, breathless. “General! Good news! The bathhouse is still functional!”
Mu Qing stared at him. “Define functional.”
“It… has water.”
“Hot water?”
The deputy hesitated. “It… has water.”
From the east wing, Feng Xin shouted, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE BATHHOUSE IS COLD?!”
Mu Qing exhaled through his nose. “Of course.”
He stepped into the courtyard, posture straight, expression cool, every movement calculated to hide the ache in his side. The last thing he needed was Feng Xin noticing—
“Mu Qing!” Feng Xin burst out of the east wing like a storm given legs. “Did you know the bathhouse is freezing? And the roof leaks?”
Mu Qing looked at him, perfectly blank. “And this is my problem because…?”
Feng Xin blinked. “Because we live here now?”
A muscle in Mu Qing’s jaw twitched. “No. You live here. I endure.”
Feng Xin opened his mouth, ready to argue — of course he was — but a visiting minor god wandered into the courtyard, froze at the sight of them, and immediately backed out again.
Mu Qing pinched the bridge of his nose.
Heaven was in ruins. And apparently, so was his peace.
He finally escaped into the West Wing, shutting the door behind him with a calm, deliberate click.
Only then did he allow himself a quiet breath, hand pressed briefly to his leg where the burns still throbbed.
No one needed to know.
Especially not him.
Mu Qing woke early the next morning, intending to train alone before the deputies arrived. The courtyard was quiet, the sky still pale with dawn, the air cool and still.
He stepped outside.
Feng Xin was already there.
Shirt half‑off.
Warm‑ups in progress.
Muscles doing… whatever muscles did.
Mu Qing immediately turned around.
Feng Xin froze mid‑stretch. “…You’re up early.”
“So are you.”
“I can… move to the other side if you need the space.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
A beat of silence. Feng Xin nodded stiffly. “Then I’ll stay here.”
Mu Qing regretted every life choice that led him here.
Feng Xin resumed training with the tense, overly controlled movements of someone trying very hard not to hit anything too hard.
Mu Qing tried to slide his door shut.
It stuck halfway.
He tried again.
It stuck harder.
“Your door broken too?”
Mu Qing did not look at him. He shoved the door.
It screeched like a dying spirit.
Feng Xin winced.
Mu Qing shoved it again.
It screeched louder.
A deputy poked his head out of the east wing. “General Feng Xin, should I—”
Mu Qing snapped, “It is fine.”
The deputy vanished.
Feng Xin muttered, “Sure sounds fine.”
Mu Qing considered setting the door on fire.
The very same day, both of them called the heavens carpenters.
They arrived with additional furniture and to try to fix what could be salvaged.
Unfortunately, they arrived at the same time.
And used the same hallway.
Mu Qing stepped out of his wing just as Feng Xin stepped out of his. They froze. Behind them, carpenters carrying heavy furniture nearly collided.
“General Mu Qing, where should we place the meditation bench?”
“General Feng Xin, where should we put the training rack?”
Mu Qing pointed left.
Feng Xin pointed right.
The carpenters stared.
Mu Qing said, “That is the wrong direction.”
Feng Xin shot back, “No, that’s your wrong direction.”
“My direction is correct.”
“Your direction is always ‘correct.’”
“Because it is.”
Feng Xin’s jaw flexed. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
The carpenters quietly split up and fled.
Mu Qing resisted the urge to rub his temples.
Mu Qing entered the dining hall early, hoping to eat alone. He sat. He poured tea. He breathed.
Then Feng Xin walked in, hair damp from training, carrying a plate piled with food.
“Oh. Morning.”
Mu Qing stared at his tea.
“You’re up early,” Feng Xin tried.
“You’re loud.”
“That’s—” Feng Xin stopped himself. “Noted.”
Mu Qing stood with his tea.
“You don’t have to leave,” Feng Xin said, not quite meeting his eyes.
“I’m not leaving. I’m relocating.”
He relocated to the farthest possible table.
Mu Qing went to the bath late at night to avoid Feng Xin.
They met at the entrance. Of course they did.
Feng Xin stiffened. “Oh. You’re here.”
“I’ll come back later.”
“You don’t have to—” Mu Qing was already turning. “…Right.”
Both of them tried to avoid the bathhouse at the same time.
So naturally, they ran into each other in the courtyard at 2am.
Mu Qing was carrying a small jar of salve.
Feng Xin was carrying a towel.
They froze.
“You’re up late,” Feng Xin said.
“So are you.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“….”
“You too?”
“No.”
Mu Qing walked away.
In their shared hallway… Mu Qing opened his door at the exact moment Feng Xin opened his.
They nearly collided.
“Whoa— sorry.”
“Watch where you’re going.”
“You opened your door too.”
“I opened it correctly.”
“What does that even mean.”
Feng Xin trained with the deputies at dawn in the courtyard.
Mu Qing meditated in the unfinished garden.
But Feng Xin’s voice carried through the entire palace.
“Good job! Louder!”
Mu Qing’s eye twitched.
“I will kill him,” he muttered.
The shared receiving room needed a tea table.
A beautiful one was delivered. Carved from sandalwood.
Mu Qing inspected it. “It’s too large.”
Feng Xin sat on the floor beside it. “It’s perfect.”
“It blocks the walkway.”
“It’s a table, Mu Qing. That’s what tables do.”
“It’s inefficient.”
Feng Xin rubbed his forehead. “It’s a table.”
They moved it three times.
In the end, the table sat exactly where it started.
Mu Qing hated it.
Feng Xin loved it.
Mu Qing preferred dim lanterns.
Feng Xin preferred bright lanterns.
The hallway lanterns were spiritual fire.
Which meant the hallway became a battlefield.
Mu Qing lowered the flames to a cool, steady blue.
Feng Xin brightened them to a warm gold.
Mu Qing dimmed them.
Feng Xin warmed them.
A deputy walked by and whispered, “Are they… fighting through the lighting?”
The lanterns flickered violently between blue and gold until they exploded in a harmless shower of sparks.
Both generals stared at the empty lantern frames.
“That was your fault,” Mu Qing said.
“You’re impossible,” Feng Xin shot back.
“You’re loud.”
They stood in the dark, illuminated only by their own qi.
Feng Xin sighed. “If you can’t sleep, you could’ve just said so.”
Mu Qing stiffened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Mu Qing turned away sharply.
“Goodnight.”
Mu Qing was preparing tea with perfect precision.
Feng Xin sat nearby, pretending not to watch.
Some civil god entered. “Generals, I—”
Feng Xin stood to greet him.
Mu Qing turned with the teapot.
They collided.
Tea spilled everywhere.
On Feng Xin’s arm.
Mu Qing’s sleeve.
The civil god froze.
“Why are you standing so close to me,” Mu Qing snapped.
“Why are you turning without looking,” Feng Xin shot back.
“I assumed you would stay seated like a normal person.”
“I stood up, to great him. I was being fucking polite!”
“You could have warned me!”
“I didn’t think I needed to!”
A brittle silence.
The guest quietly backed out of the room.
During their forty‑seventh argument that week, a newly ascended goddess arrived with a request for assistance.
And she walked in on Mu Qing and Feng Xin mid‑argument.
“I’m telling you, the courtyard schedule is fine!” Feng Xin insisted.
“Your deputies are loud and undisciplined,” Mu Qing countered.
“They’re training!”
“They’re shouting!”
“That’s how training works!”
She stood frozen in the doorway.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin turned in perfect unison.
“We’re not fighting,” Mu Qing said.
“We’re discussing,” Feng Xin added.
The goddess nodded rapidly. “Of course. I’ll… come back later.”
She left.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin stared at each other. A long, brittle silence stretched between them.
Finally, Feng Xin exhaled. “We can’t keep doing this.”
Mu Qing stiffened. “Doing what?”
“This.” Feng Xin gestured vaguely between them. “Arguing about everything and snapping at each other. Pretending we’re not fighting when we are.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Feng Xin said quietly. “And so am I.”
“If we keep going like this,” he added, “we’ll destroy the palace anyway.”
Mu Qing looked away.
Feng Xin swallowed. “Let’s… try to be civil.”
Mu Qing didn’t answer.
But he didn’t walk away either.