[...]

This is an ugly place, sharp in its contrast to the golden pavilions and blooming gardens of the Heavenly Realm. The scent is foul too—spice, mud, incense smoke unlike anything that burns in a Xuan Zhen or Nan Yang temple. Something metallic lurks beneath it all, a current of blood and evil.

“What do all of these ghosts need to buy, anyway?” Feng Xin protests next to Mu Qing’s ear, as they fall into step behind a solemn procession of spirits. He at least has the sense not to raise his voice too high and to lean in when he says it, but Mu Qing still shoots him a warning glance before turning to look at the nearest shop stall.

It’s been a while since he’s taken a good look at Feng Xin. He avoids him in the capital on the unfortunate occasions when Feng Xin is present, and he doesn’t think it counts when he sees him through the blood-red haze during their fights. Maybe it’s the simplicity of his disguise that emphasizes it, but he really hasn’t changed much since back then; his hair has grown out and looks more elegant now where it frames his face, but it’s the same dark eyes and strong brows, the masculine line of his jaw, and that tautness in his posture that makes him seem ready to snap like an overdrawn bowstring.

Mu Qing refocuses his gaze on the market stall. Something fluttering like paper is draped on stands and hanging from hooks on the awning; a second later, he regrets looking closer. It isn’t paper.

“Skin,” he answers Feng Xin’s question, wrinkling his nose.

[...]

Putting Out Fires | M, 4.2k | AO3 | originally written for @fengqingzine!