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Mu Qing has spent so long being Jun Wu's plaything that he doesn't even remember what it felt like to have his own spiritual power coursing through his veins, not just what the heavenly emperor has given to him in exchange for warming his bed. He remembers the soft touch on his cheek that turns to a bruising grip on the back of his neck. He remembers how Jun Wu will pull him into his lap and skim his hand down his back, resting it against the small of it. He remembers how Jun Wu's kiss would always taste like ash. He remembers how he would hike Mu Qing's leg up so that he could fuck him at a better angle, even though it was more painful for Mu Qing this way.
But Jun Wu was the Heavenly Emperor and Mu Qing is merely a martial god, a fancy title such as General Xuan Zhen and the control of the entire southwest notwithstanding. Mu Qing cannot do anything against Jun Wu because Jun Wu is far too powerful. Mu Qing knows that the only thing he can do is please the Emperor when he tells him to get on his knees, accept his spiritual powers because he is no longer a virgin, and focus on doing what he can for the people who pray to him.
And Mu Qing knows that this is duty, this is how he can repay the debt that he owns Jun Wu, who took him in as an official when he left Xie Lian to return home to a mother who he found rotting in a bed. He strived to be the best that he could be, succeed in that, and then Jun Wu was so impressed by his prowess that he insisted that Mu Qing share his bed. How could he say no?
(Truly, he wants to know. How could he have said no?)
Mu Qing thought that no one would ever realize what went on, and yet-
And yet Jun Wu is Bai Wuxiang and Mu Qing's life comes down like a house of cards.
*
When you have no spiritual powers, and you're actively trying to hide that fact, it can make life extremely difficult, Mu Qing thinks bitterly as he stabs his fingers by accident again while trying to sew a blanket for CuoCuo that he will give to Feng Xin, of course not telling him that it's actually from Mu Qing. Because if he tells him it's actually from Mu Qing, then Feng Xin won't want the blanket because he'll think that Mu Qing poisoned it or some shit like that when Mu Qing doesn't even know how it's possible to poison a blanket.
But it's fine. Whatever. He thinks that he and Feng Xin are in a better place after they helped Xie Lian and Crimson Rain defeat Jun Wu, at the very least Feng Xin is willing to consider him a friend now, but Mu Qing is still worried that Feng Xin will change his mind. He'll realize that Mu Qing is a terrible friend, because he tries hard but considering every attempt he makes at friendship ends up with no friends at all, he just has to accept that it's him, not anyone else. He doesn't know what he'll do to make Feng Xin think this, but he's sure it will be something.
Probably related to not having any spiritual powers.
And not having any spiritual powers makes it so that he can feel every little sewing stab, and watch the pinpricks of blood well up, fear thumping in his heart as he ranks his brain for what to do again and nothing comes up. He doesn't know how to get out of this alive, and he refuses to let the tears welling up in his eyes fall, but he can feel that they are there, simply waiting until he's weak enough to let them come pouring out. He shakes as he continues to sew, trying not to think about the consequences about not having any spiritual powers, and simply focuses on sewing for CuoCuo.
Even as the light in heaven grows dim and his eyes don't adjust for the difference.
*
When he closes his eyes to sleep, much more now that he used to do with his spiritual powers sapped from his body, he dreams about Jun Wu. He has eight hundred years of memories to pull from, eight hundreds to think about in one night.
Jun Wu has him on his hands and knees, fucking him so roughly that his knees are scrapping in the dirt, his cheeks streaming with tears and his face pressed into grass. He's pulling it up in soft tufts as he tries to go away to some place in his mind that's warm and comforting.
The place does not exist. He does not have any place that makes him feel safe in his head, because each and every time he finds a new safe place, it's taken away from him. Perhaps with Xie Lian and Feng Xin, but even then. . . .
Even then, he was just a servant. He was valued and held in high esteem, but he has only ever been a servant. He was someone that took care of Xie Lian and Feng Xin to make sure that they never had to suffer the indignity of taking care of their own laundry. He made sure that they could focus on cultivation or weaponry without having to worry about such mundane things, even as he was struggling to learn cultivation himself. He knew that he was valued, but the wrong word, the wrong act, and he would be thrown to the side in sacrifice. He would never be valued as Mu Qing first and foremost. He would always be valued as a servant.
He had thought, when he had seen Xie Lian dirty and thin, when he was a newly reinstated heavenly official, that perhaps their relationship could change. He could help because he wanted to help and because he could help, not because it was his job. He had thought that he could prove that he was a good person.
But Xie Lian and Feng Xin had shown him that they didn't truly think he was, and he doesn't know why it hurt so much when he realized that fact.
It's ridiculous how much it hurt.
Jun Wu finishes inside him, and Mu Qing wipes his eyes, pretends that he wasn't just crying over old "friends'' that don't matter anymore. He knows that he fails miserably at his pretending when the only thing Jun Wu does is laugh when he sees his face, sticks his fingers into Mu Qing's mouth and shoves them down his throat until he's choking on them, drool covering his chin as he wishes that he really did have a safe place.
Jun Wu gives him spiritual energy, like he always does, and Mu Qing feels it out in his mind. He didn't give him much this time, only about five months worth, ensuring that in that amount of time, Mu Qing is going to be right where he is, on his knees, in the dirt, ready for his body to be used so that his entire life didn't mean nothing.
Mu Qing doesn't actually know where that memory took place. It could have been five years ago or seven hundred. He blends together, all the nights and all the bruises and all the pain, a constant that Mu Qing has had for centuries. It's strange, to realize how much a part of your life you can make pain until you don't feel it anymore. Or really, until it is replaced by a new pain.
He is still immortal, he knows that from when he pissed Jun Wu off once. He had made it clear that Mu Qing couldn't count on old age and death to save him, that he would stay a pretty doll for centuries, but without powers, something to fuck, no other use unless he wanted to get to his hands and knees and scrub. Mu Qing had been smart enough to bite back the words that he wouldn't mind scrubbing if it meant that he didn't have to be fucked anymore, but Jun Wu must have seen something on his face because Mu Qing had been cut off from his spiritual powers for two weeks while Jun Wu beat him and fucked him bloody, forced to heal slowly and painfully while the rest of heaven was told that he was on a mission.
He always made sure his face was pleasant enough after that time.
That way, Jun Wu would have no cause to complain about who he is or what he's doing. He cannot act like Mu Qing doesn't care about his feelings when he tries so hard to make sure that Jun Wu never doubts his feelings of loyalty. He twists himself into shapes so that Jun Wu will leave him alone and just fuck him until he's sated.
It's nice, in some ways, to no longer be expected to be fucked whenever Jun Wu feels like it. It's nice, in some ways, to feel like he has control over his own body again. But it's also hard. It's so much harder than Mu Qing thought it would be, and he avoided thinking about it for centuries so that he wouldn't cry because he could never see having it again. And he doesn't even have full control back. His spiritual powers are still gone, taken so long ago because Jun Wu thought he had a pretty face and needed to learn how to get on his knees.
He's just glad it doesn't come up. There's absolutely no need for it too. He can fake it until he figures out a way to fix it.
So of course, because nothing in his life can be easy and go how he needs it to, he cannot.
*
"What the fuck?" Feng Xin yells as he pushes him against the wall, getting into his face and the familiar fear of big-man-strong-man-can-hurt-you-and-you-can't-hurt-him arises, and he clenches his fist, ready to start another fight, but he realizes that he doesn't have any spiritual powers, that Feng Xin will be able to put him on his ass with ease. Xie Lian stands behind him, twisting his hands, but a shade of hurt in his eyes because Mu Qing didn't help him, didn't come to his rescue (because he couldn't). "What the fuck were you thinking? He could have died and you stood there and did fucking nothing ."
Rage burns in his heart because how dare Feng Xin presume his life, but he chokes it down because he knows that for once, Feng Xin is right. He stood there and did nothing, because the saber wasn't enough and he wasn't enough and he knows it was ridiculous to think that he could actually hide this if he went on nighthunts and tried to help mortals. Tears are burning in his eyes as the emptiness fills him. He raises his hand, palm out, and lays it on Feng Xin's shoulder.
He waits for the confusion to set in, for him to realize that Mu Qing has no spiritual power. He can't bring himself to say words, but the tears are falling out of his eyes quicker, sobs trying to escape his chest. If he opens his mouth, they will fall out, and he will have to tell him the entire story. He needs more time. Just a little more time.
He doesn't have it. He knows that. He's never going to have it because he can't fucking have anything. There's no way for him to have this pain for himself. He can only control the narrative of it. He closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see their faces when they realize the truth. "Jun Wu took it."
Xie Lian gasps, horror filling him because he cultivates the same path. Or he did. But the man who took his virginity loves him. Adores him. Literally worships him. Mu Qing did not have that. Feng Xin makes a noise of confusion, and then another of similar horror, hands dropping from where they pin Mu Qing as he slides to the floor, sobs erupting out of him as he wraps his arms around his legs, rocking like he's a child again, desperate for his mother's comfort.
They don't ask questions. He is grateful, because he cannot answer them. There is just slow shuffling, and then an arm looped around his shoulders. It's Xie Lian, pulling him close to him so that he can curl up into his side and let his tears keep flowing. On the other side of him, Feng Xin sits down, not touching him, but close enough that he can feel his body heat and Mu Qing doesn't allow himself to think before he reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it tightly.
A hand brushes his hair away from his face, the tears off his cheeks. Xie Lian's careful voice whispers to him, "You are here. He isn't."
It is not much. Mu Qing is here, suffering. So is Jun Wu, deep underneath Mount Tonglu. Mu Qing has his friends, even if not his powers.
But the silent slide of spiritual powers from both sides of him tells him that he might have both.
It makes him cry harder, pressing his face in Xie Lian's robes, gripping Feng Xin's hand, refusing to let them go as his emotions run through him.
He is here. Jun Wu is not.
He is free. Jun Wu is not.
He can't tear up again, but he wants to.
*
He wakes up to the sound of something cooking and a strong hand in his hair. Judging by the fact that the food smells edible and the hand isn't pulling, he knows that Feng Xin is cooking and Xie Lian is the one comforting him. He blinks his eyes open, his eyes sticking because of the dried tears. He doesn't move right away, enjoying the warmth as he lays sprawled across Xie Lian and he hears Feng Xin's unconscious humming. It's peaceful. Calm. He assumes he's at Puqi Shrine, as there's only one place that feels so comforting.
He doesn't know what tips Xie Lian off, but there must be something, because the hands suddenly stutter, and then go through their former path as he whispers, "How are you feeling?"
Mu Qing doesn't want to respond, but he nods all the same. He then realizes that's not quite an answer, and takes a deep breath. "Okay," he whispers. He shrugs. "I lived through it. I'm still alive."
"True," Xie Lian muses. "But it still hurts." A hand on his cheek, wiping off his dried tear marks. "You're allowed to feel the pain."
Mu Qing blinks away the tears that suddenly spring to his eyes, unsure how he possibly still has more inside him. "I don't want to talk about it," he whispers, shame clenching his gut over him running away from his problems, but he can't face it. At least not right now.
And somehow, Xie Lian understands. "Of course," he murmurs. "It's useless to start a fight when you're not prepared for it." He takes a deep breath, and for the first time, his voice takes a strange waiver, wet Mu Qing would say. "But let me know when you're ready to begin it. I want to be there by your side."
"Yeah," he hears across the room, before he can respond to Xie Lian. Feng Xin is standing there, awkwardly, holding a bowl of congee and trying his best to look at Mu Qing and not quite managing it. Mu Qing appreciates the effort. "If you want to talk, or want to go to Mount Tonglu and just kick the shit out of him, let me know and I'll . . . I'll be there." He holds the bowl of congee out in front of him, his eyes flashing as he almost dares Mu Qing to take it. "You're my f-f-friend," his lips twisting in humor, "and I want to be there for you."
Mu Qing scowls as he sits up. "Can I ever live that down?"
Feng Xin tilts his head. "Do you want to?"
He looks down at the congee, his cheeks heating up. "Shut up," he mumbles. Xie Lian laughs next to him as he places a hand on Mu Qing's back.
The congee's good. The company is better.
Jun Wu once told him that no one ever cared about him.
It's nice to realize that he was wrong.