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In all the years since their countless battles, life-and-death situations, and now vows exchanged, few things could shake Mu Qing’s confidence. But there were, of course, and Feng Xin’s opinion or approval of his appearance or strength was one of those.

He adjusted his reflection in the mirror, clad in delicate, flowing robes, but he couldn’t shake a strange feeling of apprehension. The mission called for him to pose as a demure Shi Mei alongside her Shi Di, which was no one else but Feng Xin, of course in his Nan Feng disguise. Though he’d used this feminine transformation before—mostly to tease Feng Xin— knowing how nervous women made him, today felt different.

They’d grown closer in every sense, and their relationship had evolved into something profound. Yet now, as he examined himself, he couldn’t help but wonder what Feng Xin would think. He looked beautiful; the mirror told him that much, his features slightly more delicate, the light makeup sharpening his features a bit more. But… would Feng Xin laugh? Would he think it was foolish or even unnecessary?

Just then, Feng Xin entered, his gaze softening as it traveled over Mu Qing’s appearance. A faint blush crept across his cheeks, but his expression was warm and admiring, catching Mu Qing off guard.

“You… look beautiful,” Feng Xin murmured, his voice full of quiet admiration.

Mu Qing cleared his throat, turning away to adjust the folds of his robes, a hint of warmth creeping into his own cheeks. “Focus, A-Xin. We’re here on a mission,” he muttered, hoping to hide his flustered state. But as they prepared to meet the young lord together, Mu Qing couldn’t ignore how Feng Xin’s gaze lingered. It reminded him that, regardless of shape or form, Feng Xin’s affection was real, something they both were still learning to express openly.

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They stepped into the young master’s palace, the polished floors gleaming underfoot as they walked through ornate hallways lined with curious attendants. Their eyes lingered on Mu Qing, some even pausing to admire his delicate features, and he felt the familiar discomfort of being scrutinized for his looks. He’d always known his appearance attracted attention, but it was strange to realize it happened in this form as well. Passing a polished bronze mirror on the wall, he caught a glimpse of himself and felt a pang of sadness. In this shape, his reflection bore a faint resemblance to his mother. He glanced away, quickly shaking out his sleeves and setting his expression into something stern.

“I trust you have all the information on the case at hand,” he said, voice cool and measured.

Feng Xin, in his disguise as his younger version as Nan Feng,  pulled a scroll from his belt, unfurling it. “Yes. Three of the young lord’s concubines have fallen gravely ill. Two have lost their pregnancies, and one remains in critical condition. They suspect it could be a vengeful spirit or perhaps a curse with personal motives.”

“Hm.” Mu Qing absorbed the information, nodding as he thought it over. He wasn’t unfamiliar with palace intrigue—his years in Xian Le had taught him just how common hidden conflicts were in wealthy households. This young lord was prosperous, with substantial influence, and a household like his would be the perfect target for those wishing to disrupt his lineage or eliminate rivals.

“Three concubines pregnant at the same time?” Mu Qing raised an eyebrow.

Feng Xin nodded. “Apparently, he also has two young children with other concubines.”

Mu Qing chuckled softly. “And here I thought the true god of fertility was here by my side.”

“Ugh, don’t start with that.” Feng Xin’s expression was immediately flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he avoided Mu Qing’s teasing smile.

“Oh? Has this young lord or his wives ever prayed to you before?” Mu Qing pressed, enjoying the way Feng Xin’s discomfort only deepened.

“How should I know? Maybe, maybe not—can we just get a move on?” Feng Xin muttered, visibly embarrassed.

Mu Qing couldn’t help but laugh softly, but then he turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

They arrived at the main pavilion, Mu Qing and Feng Xin paused before the entrance, adopting the reverent stance expected of cultivators in the presence of high-status patrons. They bowed deeply, playing their roles as esteemed specialists from a powerful sect. As Mu Qing straightened, he cast his gaze forward, noting the young lord seated at the head of the room. The man was dressed in opulent robes of black and gold, the brocade shimmering faintly in the lamplight, each accessory meticulously chosen to display wealth. He held a slender pipe between his fingers, the long plume of smoke curling around his face as he looked Mu Qing over with barely disguised interest.

"Esteemed cultivators," the lord greeted, his tone rich with the confidence of someone accustomed to authority. “I’m grateful you’ve answered my call. As you must know, my household is enduring... certain difficulties.”

“We understand,” Mu Qing replied, his voice smooth and polite. “If you could permit us to examine the patients?”

The Young lord nodded but held up a hand, as though struck by a thought. “In a moment, if I may. I was informed that you, esteemed Jie Jie, are the medicine specialist. Is that correct?”

Mu Qing stiffened only slightly, masking his irritation at the young lord’s too-familiar tone. “Yes,” he replied, his eyes sharpening as he studied the man.

The lord hesitated, shifting in his seat, an unmistakable flicker of unease crossing his face. “In that case,” he continued, sounding less self-assured, “I would... request a personal examination of my own meridians as well. I have concerns that this affliction may have... spread to me.”

Mu Qing exchanged a glance with Feng Xin, whose expression mirrored his thoughts exactly: this was likely an excuse. Still, it was their duty, and Mu Qing stepped forward, ascending the short stairs to where the young lord sat, extending a hand in a detached, clinical manner. Without further words, he took the lord’s wrist, feeling for his pulse with a practiced touch. His years in the heavens had seen him administer care to beings of all sorts; this lord’s smug posturing was hardly unique.

As his fingers settled on the young lord’s wrist, Mu Qing could feel the steady rhythm of his pulse, the smooth flow of energy, and the unlabored quality of his breathing, all signs of good health.

“Your meridians, pulse, and energy are perfectly balanced,” he announced, his tone almost bored. “You show no signs of an affliction, young lord.”

“Oh,” the man murmured, his gaze lingering far longer than necessary on Mu Qing’s face. “What a relief to hear that, my dear…” he trailed off, clearly searching for an appropriate title to convey his apparent admiration.

Mu Qing took a step back, hands folded neatly before him, his expression impassive. “Now, if I may, I would like to examine the patients.”

The young lord seemed almost reluctant to let him go but nodded quickly. “Yes, of course, jie jie, of course.”

Mu Qing could see at once what kind of lord they were dealing with; indulgent, self-centered, and more concerned with his own comfort than the well-being of those under his care. His affections seemed fickle as if his health were of greater importance than the three suffering concubines he had summoned them for. But the celestial system didn’t allow for such discrimination—prayers didn’t distinguish between the rich and the poor, only in their desperation.

Mu Qing caught Feng Xin’s eye across the room, and the smallest nod passed between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of their mutual thoughts.

They were led down the wide, gilded corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor, Mu Qing felt his focus settle. The palace was drenched in opulence—each vase, each delicate screen, was adorned with extravagant detail, a clear testament to the young lord’s wealth. But his attention was sharply pulled away by the sound of a voice calling from behind.

"Esteemed cultivator, forgive my rudeness, we haven’t been introduced. I am Yan Ling," the young lord said smoothly, a slight smile playing at his lips as he surveyed them. His gaze drifted pointedly to Mu Qing. “And you, Jie Jie?”

Mu Qing froze for a moment, his mind coming up blank. He hadn’t prepared a name for this guise, not anticipating any need for personal exchanges. Before he could stammer something out, Feng Xin stepped in effortlessly.

"Nan Feng, at your service," Feng Xin said with a bow. “And this is my Shi mei, Xue Yu.”

Mu Qing blinked in mild surprise, sparing a glance at Feng Xin, who seemed entirely unbothered. Where on earth had Feng Xin pulled that from?

“Ah, I see,” the young lord mused, his gaze still lingering on Mu Qing. “Xue Yu. Certainly, a beautiful name for such a beautiful lady—one as pure as jade.”

Mu Qing resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He would’ve loved to give the young lord a curt reply, but the mission demanded restraint, and striking Feng Xin for his quick improvisation would’ve only drawn more attention. Instead, he clutched his sleeve and gave a small, formal bow.

“If you’ll allow me, my lord,” he said coolly, “my priority is to examine the patients.”

Yan Ling only nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the distant tone, his gaze lingering a beat too long before he motioned for them to continue down the hall. Once they were out of earshot, Mu Qing muttered under his breath.

“Xue Yu? Where in the heavens did you get that name?”

Feng Xin shrugged, a smirk teasing his lips. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? Jade-like, icy… it describes you, doesn’t it?”

Mu Qing let out an exasperated sigh, feeling his patience wear thin. “Let’s focus on this task. This lord is somehow more insufferable than Pei Ming, which is saying quite a bit, wouldn’t you agree?”

Feng Xin gave a small hum of agreement, his expression a bit more serious than usual. Their playful banter fell silent as they drew closer to the pavilion where the concubines resided.

A heavy, chilling sensation settled over them as they walked, prickling at Mu Qing’s senses. The air grew dense, as though weighed down by an unseen force, and a faint, sour bitterness lingered, tainting the usually pleasant aroma of incense and jasmine.

Mu Qing’s eyes narrowed, instinctively reaching for the talisman he kept tucked in his sleeve. He exchanged a quick look with Feng Xin, who also seemed tense, his body language alert. Something was wrong. Whatever was afflicting these women, it wasn’t a simple illness—it felt darker, like a malicious presence hanging in the air, watching them, almost tasting their energies.

“Do you sense it?” Feng Xin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mu Qing nodded. “Yes. And it’s no ordinary energy—it’s malignant.”

The atmosphere was laden with sorrow and exhaustion, thick as the incense lingered in the air. Each woman lay on her bed, their complexions pale and drawn, their breaths shallow. Mu Qing’s sharp gaze assessed each one carefully; they were all victims of a strange, debilitating malady that seemed to leech away their life force.

They approached the first bed and Mu Qing wasted no time, reaching out to place a steady hand on the concubine’s wrist, closing his eyes to focus. Immediately, he sensed it—a near-absence of Yin energy, as if it had been systematically drained over time. Beside him, Feng Xin placed a hand over the woman’s abdomen, channeling his own Qi to stabilize her inner energy. Together, they worked in silence, their powers harmonizing as they carefully revived the delicate balance within her.

Feng Xin cast a sidelong glance at Mu Qing, his voice low. “Their Yin energy is nearly depleted… but it's more than that. Their life force is wavering. It’s as though something has been feeding on it.”

Mu Qing’s eyes flickered open, narrowing as he examined the woman’s face, taking in the faint bruising under her eyes and hollowed cheeks. 

“Whatever this is, it’s insidious,” he replied, his tone sharpened with purpose. “I’ll focus on replenishing their Yin energy and healing any organ damage, but you keep stabilizing their vitalities. If their bodies weaken further, they may never recover their fertility.”

The second concubine stirred slightly as Mu Qing moved to her bedside, pressing his fingers to her pulse. She murmured something under her breath, her brow furrowing.

Mu Qing leaned down. “What did you see?” he asked softly, hoping to coax more from her.

The woman shuddered, her voice barely above a whisper. “A shadow… each night, it hovers, watching. It feels like it’s… taking something from me.”

Feng Xin’s jaw tightened, his hand glowing faintly as he directed a surge of Qi toward the woman’s core, reinforcing her dwindling strength. “A shadow in their dreams? Every one of them?”

As they continued to work, each concubine began recounting similar stories, details that grew eerily consistent: a dark, faceless figure, descending on them in the middle of the night, leaving them weakened and drained by morning.

Once they finished with the last woman; who was close to delivering and fortunately, didn’t lose her pregnancy, Mu Qing exchanged a look with Feng Xin, his brows knitted. “It’s obvious that is not just an illness,” he muttered. “It’s an affliction targeting their Yin energies specifically. Whatever is affecting them is too specific.”

Feng Xin’s face darkened as he nodded. “I’ve seen symptoms like these before… prolonged depletion of energy. Qing- I mean Xuan Yu, look at their napes, I might be in the wrong but I need to clarify something,”

Mu Qing looked through the women’s heads and found a few darkened points. Indeed, it was acupuncture, which was done with ill intentions.

“But why use it on the concubines?” Mu Qing pondered aloud. “The purpose could be manipulating their energies, but for what gain?”

They glanced around the room, careful to keep their voices low. Mu Qing scanned the area, noting the servants milling about, some more attentive than others. Catching one’s gaze, he gestured them over with a polite nod.

“May I ask,” Mu Qing began, keeping his tone light but direct, “who has the most access to these quarters?,” Their symptoms would indicate close, frequent interaction with their caretaker.

The servant hesitated before replying, casting a wary glance down the hall. “The Aunt Li,” she said. “She… she tends to them every day. Only she stays in the concubines’ pavilion when needed.”

Feng Xin’s expression hardened as he shared a knowing look with Mu Qing. There was a sudden clarity, a dark understanding between them.

“So, only Aunt Li,” Mu Qing repeated, a faint frown on his lips as he mulled over the implication. “Feng Xin, I believe we’ve found our answer.” 

Feng Xin nodded, casting one last look over the concubines. “The lord may be oblivious, but someone close to him is not.”

“Can you please, tell us where ‘Aunt Li’ rests?” Mu Qing finally told to the servant. 

With that revelation and evidence, they made their way down the dimly lit corridor to the small, secluded quarters where “Aunt Li” resided. The air grew dense with a faint, oppressive energy, confirming Mu Qing’s suspicions. This was no ordinary woman; she possessed an aura tinged with darkness—a residual effect of wielding forbidden energy. Although her abilities were significant, they paled compared to what they, no average cultivators but Gods in disguise, could withstand.

They entered her modest room, with Aunt Li sitting in the middle, cross-legged on a woven mat, dressed in simple grey robes. The faint traces of Yin energy in the room felt corrupt and strained, evidence of the toll her dark arts had taken on her own body. Her face bore signs of age, with eyes sunken and hollow, yet there was a glint of defiance and something sinister lurking behind her frail facade. She looked up at them without a hint of surprise, as if she’d been expecting this visit.

Mu Qing took a step forward, his gaze steady. “Aunt Li,” he began, voice cold and unwavering. “We know what you've done to the concubines.”

Aunt Li’s expression remained unchanged, and she lifted her chin defiantly. “I’ve done nothing that wasn’t justified,” she replied, her voice low but laced with bitterness. “They—those foolish girls—know nothing of what it means to serve. They come, full of youth and charm, stealing away the affection of those they serve without a second thought. They don’t think of anything beyond that.”

Feng Xin’s hand twitched at his side, but he restrained himself. “You endangered their lives and caused them unimaginable suffering. All to cling to some twisted sense of… what? Position? Power?”

The elderly woman’s calm demeanor wavered for the first time, and a hint of rage flickered in her eyes. “I was once a favored concubine myself, long ago, to the young lord’s father. I bore the pain, and the duties, all without complaint. And when he died, I was discarded, cast aside as if I were nothing. Now these girls walk the same halls, and for what? To bear heirs they can’t possibly raise with any sense of loyalty or understanding.”

Mu Qing narrowed his eyes, sensing her tightly controlled energy falter, her resentment spilling over like a poisoned wellspring. “So, you drained them, hoping they’d be unable to have healthy pregnancies and no heirs?”

Aunt Li laughed bitterly, her face twisted with disdain. “I ensured they were too weak to bear any children, that they’d be drained of any life they sought to bring forth. That way, they’d remember who truly holds control in this household.”

Stepping forward, Feng Xin’s voice hardened. “And what about you? Did you really think you could control the lives of others through such methods without consequence!?”

Her expression darkened, and for a moment, Mu Qing saw a glimmer of fear. “I did what I had to. I gave my life to serve this family, and I won’t let them replace me so easily,” she spat, though her voice wavered as she continued. “I… I couldn’t stand to see them take everything from me. Not again.”

Mu Qing took a breath, steadying himself. “Aunt Li, you have corrupted the Yin energy within this household and broken sacred boundaries. Whatever your past, the path you’ve chosen now will only end in your ruin. Your bitterness does not give you the right to destroy lives.”

Realizing she had nowhere to turn, Aunt Li’s shoulders slumped, “Perhaps it is as you say,” she muttered, her gaze dropping to the floor. “But at least I reassured I would have left my mark, one way or another.”

With a nod, Mu Qing gestured for Feng Xin to begin the cleansing process, his steady presence beside him, both finally taking justice for the concubines who had suffered under this dark ambition. 

And, with a cold, resolute gaze Mu Qing looked at the elderly woman. “You have no escape now. For your crimes, you’ll be exorcised—and you know as well as I do what that entails,” he said, his voice sharp and unyielding.

Aunt Li’s lips curled in a bitter smirk, even as her face began to pale. “What do you know, you… child?” she sneered, casting a mocking glance over Mu Qing. “I was a favored concubine, trained to read men’s desires, to read their emotions. You think I can’t see through you as well?” She leaned in as if to whisper a terrible secret. “What does it feel like, to be a woman… and yet so infertile? You may be skilled, but there’s no sign of a fertile womb in you, is there? That young cultivator by your side—you think he’d stay if he knew? I’ve seen how you look at him”

Mu Qing felt his patience snap. He’d carefully crafted his female disguise to be as unassuming as possible, but hearing her venomous assumptions grated on him. His eyes narrowed, and he took a steady breath to silence his rising irritation. “Enough,” he said icily, “You’ve already caused enough harm to others with your twisted jealousy. You’ll pay for your sins.”

Aunt Li tilted her head back, defiant to the end. “Then go on! I’m ready. Show me what your so-called righteousness can do.”

With a swift motion, Mu Qing began to draw out the malevolent force within her, the dark energy coiling in a menacing aura as he carefully extracted it. The elderly woman’s face contorted in pain as the corrupted Yin was purged from her body. Her resistance faded, and with a final, agonized gasp, she slumped forward, collapsing onto the floor, her forehead touching the cold stone. Her hands were still clenched into fists, but her spirit had left and then her body slowly disintegrated.

Mu Qing exhaled, his voice barely a murmur. “It’s over.”

Feng Xin’s warm hand gently covered his own, steady and reassuring. “Yes, it’s over, Qing’er,” he said softly. They shared a quiet, understanding look before sealing the room with a protective barrier and placing talismans to purify any lingering malevolent energy.

The peace that had been disrupted in the Young Lord's house was slowly being restored. Mu Qing and Feng Xin left the quarters in the guise of “Xue Yu” and “Nan Feng,” they passed through a group of servants whispering excitedly.

“Such power! Did you see how that jie jie carried herself?”

“And her beauty—so elegant and cold! A true cultivator!”

“And the young cultivator, he even managed to help restore Concubine Yu’s pregnancy!” 

“They’re like heroes from a story.”

Mu Qing kept his eyes forward, maintaining a dignified composure, though Feng Xin smirked at the comments “This Shi Mei is definitely the best, or should I say Jie Jie?”

“Shut up,” Mu Qing whispered through clenched teeth “Next time you will be the one with female disguise”. The fight was relatively easy over, still, the elder woman’s words left him feeling uneasy for some reason. Together, they walked back to the main pavilion, where the young lord waited, gratitude and relief clear in his expression.

When they entered the main pavilion, Mu Qing was instantly met with a wave of formality and gratitude. The young lord stood surrounded by his attendants, his face full of respect and relief.

“Honored cultivators, I am deeply grateful for your help,” he began, bowing to them.

“It is our duty,” Feng Xin replied calmly, as both he and Mu Qing returned the gesture.

Mu Qing, nodding, added, “I’ve left medication and instructions with the attendants to monitor the concubines’ improvement. Observing their progress will be key.”

“Now that our work is done, we’ll be on our way,” Feng Xin concluded.

“Wait, please!” The young lord’s face filled with urgency. “Allow me to host a meal in your honor. It has already been prepared.”

Feng Xin started to decline, “Thank you, but we must be returning, as we traveled from quite a distance.”

“No need to worry! It will be a quick meal, and you both must be tired, especially you, Jie jie,” he said, directing his focus to Mu Qing. “I’ve heard how impressive your power is!”

Mu Qing clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and mutter something less than polite. Instead, he stayed silent, glancing at Feng Xin to take the lead.

Feng Xin hesitated, “I—”

“It’s settled, then. Please, come along!” the young lord insisted, leading them out to a lavish garden pavilion where an elaborate spread awaited them beneath a decorative pagoda.

They took their seats, Mu Qing couldn’t help but notice the opulent table setting; golden and silver dishes, pear wine, plum wine, and a variety of chilled drinks, along with both savory and sweet delicacies. Normally, he would have little appetite, but the constant use of his alternate form had drained his energy, and he found himself unusually thirsty.

The young lord eagerly poured a drink, lifting the bottle toward Mu Qing. “Please, jie jie, let me serve you a drink. You must be exhausted. I can hardly believe what Auntie Li was capable of. I never would have suspected… I’ve known her since I was born, after all.”

Mu Qing was growing weary of the man’s incessant “jie jie,” but he managed to keep his composure. Knowing he had to maintain his image as a demure cultivator, he gave a polite nod. “Thank you, but I am not permitted to drink. Some tea would suffice.” It wasn’t a competed lie, he didn’t use to drink too much, lately since he changed cultivation paths he surely could, but right now he just wanted to quench his thirst.

“Our esteemed Shi Mei takes a strict vow of celibacy to preserve her cultivation,” Feng Xin explained, and Mu Qing noticed a flicker of disappointment on the young lord’s face.

“Ah, I see! That must be difficult, isn’t, jie jie?” The young lord leaned closer, his gaze lingering. “If you ever change your mind… well, I mean, there’s always a place for you here…”

“Thank you for your consideration, but I am not interested,” Mu Qing replied curtly, shooting him a challenging look before sipping his tea.

Trying to recover from the awkward silence, the young lord asked, “So, which sect do you hail from, specifically?”

“From the southwest,” Mu Qing replied.

“Southeast,” Feng Xin said simultaneously.

“Ah?” The young lord’s eyes narrowed in confusion, glancing back and forth between them. Feng Xin coughed, hiding a chuckle behind his hand.

“It’s… a border region,” Feng Xin clarified quickly. “Our sect serves under the gods Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen.”

The young lord’s expression shifted, clearly fascinated by their supposed divine affiliations. “Ah, that explains it! I am a devoted follower of the god Nan Yang, He’s such a perfect figure of virility! and I believe it’s why I’ve been blessed with so many concubines and heirs.” He sighed, looking briefly troubled. “I was genuinely distressed when I thought I might lose my latest concubines. I’m forever in your debt. How do you handle the rivalry with Xuan Zhen’s followers? I hear it can be intense.”

Mu Qing nearly choked on his tea. He hadn’t expected to have to play into the act so deeply, but Feng Xin stepped in smoothly.

“In fact,” Feng Xin continued, “our esteemed Shi mei here is from a sect devoted to General Xuan Zhen. Her high Yin affinity is one reason for her ascetic path.”

Feng Xin’s eyes met Mu Qing’s with a hint of amusement and affection, but Mu Qing only barely managed a small nod in return, keeping up appearances.

The young lord, oblivious to the silent exchange, laughed. “I see. Well, I do prefer a bit more… flavor, myself.” He shot Mu Qing a look of pity, though it quickly turned dismissive. “I suppose that life isn’t for everyone, is it? Such a shame. You’d make a rather boring wife if you’re unacquainted with… certain arts. At least, for my tastes, haha!”

The jocking laughter from the idiotic young lord grated on Mu Qing’s nerves, his grip tightening around his teacup as anger bubbled within him. He could feel his face flush with frustration. Not only had he been ridiculed, but the mortal’s casual mockery of celibacy and piety stung in ways that surprised him. As he fumed, Feng Xin opened his mouth, likely to scold the man, but Mu Qing swiftly stood up to prevent any escalation.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, his voice strained. “But my Shi di and I must leave before night falls.”

“Jie Jie, forgive me if—”

“I’d ask that you refrain from calling me ‘Jie jie,’ as we won’t meet again,” Mu Qing interrupted, his tone icy. “Your concubines will enjoy good health and prosperity; there’s no need for further concern. Simply continue praying to God Nan Yang.”

Mu Qing turned and walked toward the garden’s exit, Feng Xin rising quickly to follow. The young lord looked taken aback, but Feng Xin merely offered a quick nod before hurrying to catch up with Mu Qing.

“Mu Qing, wait—”

“We’ll find a secluded area to ascend without being seen,” Mu Qing muttered, his jaw clenched in frustration. Between the elderly woman’s insidious taunts and the ignorant young lord’s prejudices, his patience was on the limit.

They walked in silence, Mu Qing’s thoughts drifted, and unwelcome insecurities began to surface. This absurd masquerade reminded him painfully of his mortal and early ascension years, when his worth had been so frequently questioned, especially as a god. His path to ascension had been carved out in sacrifice, loss, isolation, and self-discipline, values which now seemed almost… obsolete in the eyes of those they had just served. And beneath that frustration lay a much more personal fear, one that gnawed at him, especially as he glanced at Feng Xin, who seemed less unaffected by the mortal’s comments.

Was he, Mu Qing, truly a worthy partner for Feng Xin in matters of intimacy? He had spent centuries in asceticism, shunning carnal knowledge. It was only after their reconciliation that he began to explore these unfamiliar realms with Feng Xin, rediscovering desires he had long ignored. Their shared moments had become more frequent and fervent since their wedding, but he couldn’t shake the notion that he might somehow be… inadequate. He was prideful, but deep down he wanted nothing more than to be enough, enough for Feng Xin, but the nagging doubt lingered, heavy as a shadow.

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They arrived back at their shared palace in the heavens, the night had fallen deep, casting a quiet serenity around them. But Mu Qing’s mind was anything but serene; his thoughts churned as he replayed the day’s events, particularly those infuriating mortal’s comments. The notion of being “insufficient” gnawed at him, and as they walked through the silent, shadowed corridors, that singular worry settled deeper into his heart.

When they entered the private quarters, Mu Qing caught his reflection in a nearby mirror, still in his feminine guise. With a flick of his fingers, his true form returned, banishing any remnant of the “Esteemed Xue Yu Shi Mei” he'd adopted for the mission. The ornate robes, though beautiful, felt tight across his shoulders but strangely snug around his waist—a lingering reminder of the day’s ridiculous act.

Then he began unfastening the jade hairpins, his long hair fell loose around him. Feng Xin approached from behind, his strong arms slipping around Mu Qing’s waist, pulling him back against his solid chest. Mu Qing felt Feng Xin’s chin resting against his shoulder, a low, tired sigh leaving his lips. The past weeks felt particularly heavy, with patrols on the border region, meetings, and then this mission with that stupid believer. They were both tired and wanted to spend more time together alone.

"Qing'er," Feng Xin murmured, his breath hot against Mu Qing’s neck. "I swear, I wanted to punch that imbecile in the face today, but you held me back."

Mu Qing turned in Feng Xin’s arms, looking up at him, and rested his hands around his neck. "But… do you think that way too?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Feng Xin blinked, confused.

"About what?" Feng Xin replied, watching him closely.

Mu Qing’s gaze faltered, struggling against the vulnerability pressing at his pride. "About… me being a poor spouse. I know I’m not the most experienced, and I—”

He didn’t finish. Feng Xin leaned down, silencing him with a deep, grounding kiss. Feng Xin’s kiss was warm and relaxing. When they broke apart, Feng Xin’s hand cupped Mu Qing’s face, firm but gentle.

"I don’t care about what some fool thinks, Qing’er," Feng Xin said softly, his voice a reassuring rumble that Mu Qing could feel all the way down to his bones.

Yet, even with Feng Xin’s comforting words, Mu Qing’s insecurity lingered. Their encounters had always led him to surrender, letting Feng Xin take charge. But he wondered if Feng Xin ever wanted something different, something more. Pushing the hesitation aside, he tightened his hold around Feng Xin’s neck.

“Let me,” Mu Qing murmured. “Let me show you that I’m more capable than what anyone thinks.” His voice was firm, yet there was a slight plea beneath it, a need to prove himself.

Feng Xin paused, searching Mu Qing’s eyes with a touch of surprise and hesitation. “Qing’er, you don’t have to…”

“But I want to. Stand against the wall,” Mu Qing commanded, voice steady. Feng Xin’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, but he complied, stepping back until his broad frame rested against the wall.

“Don’t touch me,” Mu Qing said firmly, catching Feng Xin off guard. Feng Xin’s gaze softened with trust as he nodded, lips parting as if to say something but ultimately he remained silent.

Moving with quiet precision, Mu Qing approached him, his gaze never wavering. His fingers reached up, beginning to untie the layers of Feng Xin’s robes, slipping one layer after another until his chest was exposed. Feng Xin’s muscles tensed, and Mu Qing couldn’t help but let his eyes linger as he took in the familiar contours of Feng Xin’s torso, the strong lines that always seemed to draw him in.

Mu Qing lowered himself to his knees, his gaze trailing down as he freed Feng Xin from the last of his clothing, untying his pants and letting them fall, leaving him exposed. Feng Xin’s breath hitched as Mu Qing took his hardened length into his hand, the heated flesh—which he could barely wrap his hand aroun— twitching at his touch. Mu Qing felt a thrill of determination; this time, he was in control, and he would show Feng Xin all he could give.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against the tip. Feng Xin’s legs quivered slightly, his breaths shaky as Mu Qing ran his tongue along the length, savoring the way Feng Xin’s body reacted. Feng Xin’s head tilted back against the wall, his fingers clenching into fists as he struggled to hold still.

“Qing’er… ah, That’s—” Feng Xin’s voice broke into a rough whisper, his thighs trembling as Mu Qing took him deeper. 

Mu Qing felt his jaw stretch, focusing on his movements, savoring the heat, the thickness. Feeling Feng Xin’s pubic hair tickled on his nose, he could also be eloped by his husband’s scent. Feng Xin’s scent was the most familiar to Mu Qing. If you asked him, he could spot him blind, but now since they had this bond, Feng Xin’s scent was richer, he could savor his arouse, his sweat.  He looked at him directly in the eyes, wanting Feng Xin to feel every ounce of his devotion and skill. 

He was already quite familiar with the famous ‘JuYang’, yet every time he blew him, he had to adjust to the large size. He was still getting used to it. Feng Xin was always considerate of him knowing that. But no, Mu Qing wanted to prove that he could do more. 

Eventually, he found his rhythm, sliding down in slow, languid strokes before picking up the pace, encouraged by Feng Xin’s helpless sounds. He watched, captivated, as Feng Xin’s chest heaved, his breaths shallow and erratic.

Mu Qing sucked the tip with his tongue curling, he was running out of air, but he knew he could continue more, he could take more. After all, he was a god, so he kept sucking at the same time as Feng Xin moaned and let out some hoarse sounds, with his name each time “Fuck Qqing'er fuck fuck fuck it's— it’s too much.”

When he felt Feng Xin near his peak, Mu Qing paused. He decided to implement some of what he had read in some scandalous erotic books of which he may have read more than a couple of times anyway —just out of curiosity, of course.— He pulled back, ignoring his own gasps for air as he traced his tongue down, past Feng Xin’s shaft, letting his lips brush over his heated skin until he reached Feng Xin’s sac. It was curious, he himself had never known how sensitive to sexual acts that area could be until one day Feng Xin licked him there, bringing him to a direct orgasm.

 And he had been so shy that he had never returned the gesture. Now, he had the perfect excuse. Feng Xin shuddered violently, his hands instinctively reaching to steady himself against the wall.

“Qing’er… wait, I—” Feng Xin’s voice was raw, yet Mu Qing didn’t relent. He dragged his tongue across the sensitive skin, feeling his own arousal pulse in response to Feng Xin’s strained groan. With one last kiss to that sensitive spot, he returned to the tip of Feng Xin’s erection, taking him back into his mouth just as Feng Xin shuddered and released,  with a guttural cry.

Mu Qing swallowed, savoring the warmth as he continued to suck gently, drawing out every last tremor from Feng Xin’s body until he was spent. He finally pulled back, wiping his mouth as he looked up at Feng Xin’s flushed face, his desire pulsing heavily, achingly against his robes.

The sight of Feng Xin, eyes half-lidded, breaths ragged, filled Mu Qing with a sense of pride and satisfaction. This part of Feng Xin belonged to him alone, and tonight, he’d made sure to prove it beyond any shadow of a doubt.

Feng Xin lowered a hand to gently tangle his fingers in Mu Qing’s hair, guiding him with firm but patient pressure, silently assuring him that he didn’t need to force anything. Feng Xin’s palm was warm against his cheek, caressing him as he whispered his name softly:

“Qing’er… it’s alright. I told you, you don’t have to… prove anything to me.”

Mu Qing looked up, meeting Feng Xin’s intense gaze, his own hands trembled slightly, but without breaking eye contact, he pulled away with one last lingering touch, murmuring, “No… I still want to try.”

Feng Xin smiled with understanding. With gentle but certain movements, Mu Qing felt Feng Xin’s hand lifting him, taking him closer and sealing their lips in a deep, slow kiss. Mu Qing felt the control he had tried to keep slipping away, his own restraint melting as Feng Xin guided him back onto their now wider, shared bed, Feng Xin’s right hand sliding to support Mu Qing’s back with a possessive care that sent a shiver through him.

For a moment, all his doubts began to dissolve under Feng Xin’s slow, skillful touch. Yes, he still wanted to prove his worth, but he also began to accept that being cared for didn’t lessen his value. Feeling a mix of frustration and vulnerability, and as prideful as he was, he still tried to keep control, his breath hitching as he whispered:

“So… will you let me lead a bit, just this once?”

Feng Xin ran a gentle hand along Mu Qing’s cheek, nodding softly. “You’ve been guiding me through eight hundred years, even saved my life more than once, so of course, Qing’er. I’ll follow… wherever you want to take me.”

Feng Xin’s words stuck in his heart, tightening his chest, their now open and sincere approach to their feelings was something he had a hard time taking for granted, after all, it was a trip to life and death and almost the end of the world, for them to come to this stage on their shared immortality.  

Mu Qing took a steadying breath as he settled himself in Feng Xin's lap, his legs straddling him while his hands rested tentatively on Feng Xin's chest continuing his exploratory, passionate touches. The subtle friction of his body against Feng Xin's thighs sent an unexpected thrill up his spine, and he shifted a little closer, feeling the heat radiating between them. He still had the “Female cultivator” robes from the earlier mission. As he moved, Feng Xin's hands found their way beneath Mu Qing's outer robe, his fingers slowly tracing up the thighs in gentle circles, each touch making him shiver with anticipation.

Determined to maintain some control, Mu Qing reached up to begin loosening the robe’s layers, fingers deftly working each knot and fold. He slipped the outer robe off his shoulders, letting it pool around him, and then began to slide down the inner layer, taking his time with each motion as he undressed himself.

"So," Mu Qing said, raising an eyebrow with a small, amused smirk as he shrugged off the last of his robe. “Where did you come up with the name for this mission?”

Feng Xin’s lips curved into a smile, his eyes alight with mischief. “It just came to mind. The name suited you… something simple like ‘cold beauty, beautiful as jade.’ that is just your description, basically” He chuckled, his hand squeezing Mu Qing’s thigh gently.

Mu Qing snorted, but his expression softened, a faint warmth creeping up his cheeks. For a moment, the mood lifted, the two of them sharing a brief, light laugh. He felt his chest loosen, his earlier nerves easing as the lingering tension melted into something more familiar, more comfortable. Finally, he let the last layer of the inner robe slip away, baring himself fully to Feng Xin, his already hard arousal pressing against his stomach. Beneath him, he could feel Feng Xin’s erection growing firm again, pressing up against his butt cheeks in response.

Mu Qing bit his lower lip, a spark of impatience flickering in his eyes. They hadn’t had a moment like this together in weeks—between missions and endless responsibilities— there had hardly been any time. Normally, weeks or months might pass in the blink of an eye for someone with an immortal lifespan, but now that he had the taste and chance to share these moments with Feng Xin, he didn’t want to waste another minute, just as they did for hundreds of years already.

Sensing his eagerness, Feng Xin moved, reaching to the side table for the small vial of oil. Before he could prepare it, though, Mu Qing took the bottle from his hand, catching Feng Xin’s eye with a determined look.

“This time, let me,” he said, voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Just watch.”

Feng Xin’s gaze softened, a faint, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he let his hands rest on Mu Qing’s thighs, content to let Mu Qing take the lead.

Mu Qing poured a small amount of oil onto his fingers, glancing down as he spread it slowly, feeling the heat rise to his face. The sight of Feng Xin watching his every move, his hands firm on his thigh, expecting, made Mu Qing’s cheeks burn with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. He bit his lip, not daring to meet Feng Xin’s eyes as he brought his hand lower, guiding his fingers toward his entrance.

With a steady breath, he pressed a single finger inside, feeling the stretch as he began to prepare himself. Beneath him, Feng Xin’s arousal twitched, pressing harder against his butt. Feng Xin murmured, voice husky and raw, “Fuck, Qing’er… that view is….”

Hearing Feng Xin’s rough tone sent a thrill through Mu Qing, but he forced himself to keep his composure, focusing on the movements of his hand. He slid his finger in and out, working himself open gradually, before slipping in a second finger, his face flushing as he felt Feng Xin’s grip tighten on his thighs. His breaths came in shorter, his body adjusting as he began to stretch himself, all the while sensing Feng Xin’s gaze tracing every movement.

With a determined inhale, Mu Qing added a third finger, pushing deeper as he exhaled shakily, his breaths catching in his throat. He could feel the growing ache of his own desire, each motion igniting a fire in his core, and his body began to tremble with the effort. Still, he kept his focus, each stroke preparing him to take Feng Xin in fully, wanting to show him just how much he was capable of.

Mu Qing’s breath hitched as he continued to stretch himself, circling his fingers slowly to find that sensitive spot inside. The unfamiliar feeling of doing this on his own—no guiding hands, no whispers in his ear—was both exhilarating and deeply embarrassing, especially with Feng Xin watching his every move. Mu Qing wasn’t sure he was any good at it, yet he pushed through his self-consciousness, clinging to the thought that he alone could witness this side of Feng Xin: a god of fertility and virility who blushed at even the mention of poems written in his honor, now sitting breathless and captivated by this display.

Seeing Feng Xin’s eyes darken with raw need spurred him on, making him slowly open himself further, his fingers brushing against that tender spot again, sending sparks up his spine. His thighs shook slightly as he withdrew his fingers, chest rising and falling with anticipation. Carefully, he took some of the oil and spread it over Feng Xin’s length, his hand gliding in slow, steady motions that drew strained sounds from Feng Xin. A quiet, broken moan escaped him, and Mu Qing couldn’t help but watch as Feng Xin’s expression twisted in pleasure.

Finally, Mu Qing positioned himself, his hands steadying on Feng Xin’s shoulders as he lowered himself gradually, feeling the thickness stretching him inch by inch. His throat felt dry, anticipation and pleasure swirling as he adjusted to the fullness pressing inside him. Each time, It was overwhelming, the sensation of being completely filled by Feng Xin, but he could take it. He breathed out, steadying himself until he was seated completely, fully connected to Feng Xin.

He started moving slowly, lifting himself and lowering back down, each thrust deepening the connection between them. His voice wavered with each motion, his cheeks flushed as the sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room. And Feng Xin’s reactions—those quiet, desperate noises— the way his fingers gripped Mu Qing’s waist almost bruisingly tight, stoked Mu Qing’s desire higher, his breaths coming faster.

In a way, making love to his now-husband felt like a continuation of all their battles—fierce, passionate, intense but more vulnerable . Only now, he could surrender without restraint, give himself over in a way he never could before. He was safe here, free to let go of every wall he had so carefully constructed over centuries of pride and guarded silence.

He moved faster, feeling his own voice break into soft, breathless moans, “A-Xin,” he whispered, the name spilling outt, he couldn’t hold it back.

Mu Qing’s breaths quickened as he rode Feng Xin, each movement of his hips sinking him deeper, intensifying the pleasure that crackled through his body. He could feel Feng Xin’s hands gripping his thighs tightly, grounding him as he moved faster, pushing himself closer to that edge. Feng Xin's other hand slipped between them, wrapping around Mu Qing's hardness, stroking him in sync with their movements, making Mu Qing shiver and gasp as his composure threatened to shatter.

He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation, the sounds of their bodies meeting, the warmth and heady scent of Feng Xin filling his senses, enveloping him. His control began to slip with each rhythmic stroke, and as the pressure built, Mu Qing realized he was close—too close. He felt the surge of pleasure cresting, sweeping him up as he whispered, “A-Xin, I’m going to—I-”

He couldn’t hold on any longer; the pleasure was overwhelming, consuming him from the inside out as his release tore through him. His body trembled, and his voice broke, barely able to contain the cries of release as Feng Xin’s relentless thrusts continued, pushing him through his climax, holding him steady while he rode out each wave.

Just then, he felt Feng Xin move, shifting beneath him. Before he could fully catch his breath, Feng Xin sat up, keeping Mu Qing still connected, now cradled in his lap. The sensation of Feng Xin deeper inside him reignited sparks of pleasure, and he didn’t have time to adjust before Feng Xin captured his lips, kissing him with a fierce, consuming hunger.

Mu Qing met him with equal hunger, hands cupping his husband's face, savoring the warmth, brushing his fingers through Feng Xin’s hair to pull him even closer. The kiss was intoxicating, all the heat, all the need they had held back now spilling over. Mu Qing pushed against him, his body moving instinctively, riding through his climax as Feng Xin’s length filled him completely, grounding him.

Feeling Feng Xin still throbbing inside of him, the pleasure lingered. Mu Qing lost himself in the kiss, feeling the heat between them strengthen.

“I’ve missed this, you feel so good,” Feng Xin muttered. 

Panting and with Feng Xin’s words still echoing in his mind, Mu Qing closed his eyes, surrendering to the feeling of being guided, of letting himself go under his husband’s secure touch.

He turned his head slightly, voice soft and almost shy as he asked, “A-Xin did you… enjoy it, was it.. enough?”

Feng Xin’s fingers traced his cheek, his touch warm and grounding. “Qing’er,” he began, the intensity in his gaze leaving no room for doubt, “I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it for the next eight hundred years if that’s what it takes. Don’t ever think it’s not enough. You’re everything I want and need. Nothing else matters.”

Mu Qing’s mouth twisted into a small, reluctant smile. “Well, but what the young lord said… I wondered if you…” 

Feng Xin’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Who cares about what an ignorant jerk says about our intimacy?”

“He’s your believer,” he muttered, unable to hide a touch of insecurity.

Feng Xin shrugged. “He’s still an idiot with a peanut for a brain,”

Unable to hold back a laugh, Mu Qing relaxed further. “You know, you’re right about that I was so sick over his “Jie Jie bullshit.” He answered and Feng Xin laughed hard. His expression softened.

“I have the most beautiful, stubborn, and impossible wife in all three realms,” Feng Xin murmured, his thumb gently stroking Mu Qing’s cheek. “If only you could see yourself—see how incredible you look.”

A blush spread across Mu Qing’s cheeks, and his heart fluttered, raw and exposed. After a brief hesitation, he leaned in and kissed the center of Feng Xin’s palm, almost as if grounding himself. “You… don’t find me boring?”

Feng Xin’s brow creased, and he shook his head with an exasperated chuckle. “In nearly a thousand years, when have I ever kept my distance from you? I’ve been stuck with you, as far as I know” His eyes held a knowing gleam. “You’re anything but boring. When you fight, when you show your strength and power, but especially… in moments like this.”

The weight of Feng Xin’s words settled over him, filling Mu Qing with warmth that replaced the last traces of his doubt. Feeling a bit foolish for letting his insecurities show, he took a deep breath, nodding. “Fine, I believe you.”

“Let me reward you, my Wife,” Feng Xin replied, his voice low. In a swift motion, he shifted Mu Qing beneath him, head nestled against the soft cushions. Mu Qing’s heart skipped a beat—Feng Xin knew exactly what he needed without words. His body responded instinctively, his back arching slightly in anticipation, knowing that, in this position, he could surrender fully, letting Feng Xin guide every movement.

Feng Xin positioned himself, his hands firm on Mu Qing’s hips, and entered in a steady, deep thrust. Mu Qing’s breath caught, his entire body responding as Feng Xin filled him completely, each thrust deliberate, pushing him closer to the edge. Feng Xin’s grip on his hips grew stronger, holding him steady,  while his other hand tangled his hair, giving a gentle pull, a possessive gesture that made Mu Qing feel completely captured and, at the same time, incredibly safe. 

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through him, and the intensity left him shaking, his fingers clutching the sheets as he surrendered to the rhythm. He let himself drown in the sensations, the sound of Feng Xin’s breathless murmurs, the scent of him surrounding them, filling him in every sense. The friction, the depth—it was all-consuming.

Just when he thought he couldn’t handle it anymore, Feng Xin’s hand slipped around to his own length, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Mu Qing’s eyelids fluttered shut, surrendering to the dual sensations. “A-Xin, it's too much—” The words dissolved as he lost control, the stimulation overwhelming as he reached his second climax, his body trembling, his eyes teary.

Even though his second release, Feng Xin didn’t stop.

He leaned, pulling Mu Qing’s face to the side, and claimed his mouth with a kiss, deep and ravenous. Mu Qing responded, drinking him in, craving more of that familiar taste that intoxicated him, his fingers threading through Feng Xin’s hair, pulling him closer. Their kiss was fierce, unrestrained. 

Feng Xin’s pace quickened, each movement deeper than the last. He held Mu Qing by the waist, guiding him to take every thrust. 

 “Qing’er…” His breath was warm against Mu Qing’s neck as he filled him, and Mu Qing’s response was immediate—a sharp, helpless cry breaking from his lips, raw and uninhibited, it was liberating, as the sensation overtook him. The warmth of it all—the feel of Feng Xin, his strength, and his devotion—washed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless and dazed.

Feng Xin stayed close, his hand steady on Mu Qing’s hip, grounding him in the intimacy of the moment. He let his lips brush softly over Mu Qing’s shoulder, lingering, as they caught their breath.  Then, he shifted, pulling Mu Qing up against him so that they were face-to-face, and murmured with a sly smile, “Qing’er… the sight of you like that on top of me, your fingers… I’ll never be able to get it out of my mind. Ever.”

Mu Qing’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled, attempting to turn away. “Don’t say that.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” Feng Xin continued with a soft laugh, his hand sliding from Mu Qing’s hip to hold his face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. “And the way you—” He dropped his voice, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The way you had me pinned against the wall and fuck… how you sucked my ba—” 

Mu Qing groaned, burying his face into Feng Xin’s shoulder, flustered. “Stop it, Feng Xin! I don’t want to hear—” 

” I don’t think I’ll ever see that wall the same way again.”

“Agh— I just— Just forget it,” Mu Qing felt a sudden wave of shame, as his high and arousal left his system.

But Feng Xin only laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of Mu Qing’s head. “What? You don’t think I’ll remember all of that?” He chuckled, warm and rich, and his hand drifted down to trace gentle circles along Mu Qing’s back. “Well, tough. I’ll remember every detail of our intimacy for as long as we live.”

Mu Qing finally managed to laugh, despite his embarrassment, settling back enough to meet Feng Xin’s gaze. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s right,” Feng Xin replied, pressing his forehead to Mu Qing’s. “So don’t go overthinking anymore, alright? Eight hundred years, and I’d still pick you in every lifetime. Now and forever.”

Mu Qing softened, his insecurity completely disarmed as he whispered, “Forever…”