guys in this convoluted love square so far, we have: fengqing, huaqing, and today i introduce you to mulian to spice things up a bit
"fifty-five."
the rhythmic 'slap' of the leather whip was all that mu qing could hear.
"fifty-six."
it was a burning sensation, one that made mu qing's entire body feel hot, as if on fire. the whip rose and fell heavily, a feeling that even mu qing could not get used to. his hands dug into the cloth of his pants as the strikes continued to come. he stared at his knuckles intensely, noticing the stark white they turned under the force he was exerting. if the circumstances were any different, he would've almost been worried he would've ripped his robes.
"fifty-seven."
the sweat dripped off of the servant boy's forehead as the numbers counted up. mu qing bit his tongue to stop him from crying out, yet even that was on the brink of failing. even the distinct taste of iron in mu qing's mouth wasn't strong enough to keep him from opening his mouth. he didn't even realize how many strikes had went by.
"sixty-eight."
weakly, mu qing made a desperate grab for air and opened his mouth. instead of feeling the cold oxygen come in his mouth, he could only feel the rush of blood coming out. a few drops of red dripped onto his clothes and splattered onto the ground, their pattern like that of a cursed constellation.
"sixty-nine."
a wetness that had persisted since the twenty second strike spread throughout mu qing's back with even more vigor until it had run down to his belt. it ran warm, thick, a feeling that mu qing was familiar with.
"seventy."
mu qing did not want to cry. there was nothing to cry about. even through the endless stinging, he did not cry. there was no reason in crying, no pragmatism. if he had done something wrong, there would be punishment. that was the rule of the world for as long as he had been born. no tears stained his cheeks, even as the rest of his body was stained with filthy blood.
"seventy-one."
but even if mu qing did not cry, he found it hard to ignore the pain the way he always had. it hurt. it hurt. it really did hurt. even if it was deserved, it still hurt. since when did it hurt this bad? there was no reason for mu qing to feel this way, but he couldn't help but wonder if there was a punishment that didn't hurt so much.
"seventy-two."
mu qing's unfocused consciousness was vaguely aware of the crowd gathering around the deck. it was a public punishment deck after all, though nobody ever really bothered to watch. even as he was half delirious, mu qing writhed in agony under the terrible attention.
"it's 'that ghost', isn't it?"
"what'd he do this time?"
mu qing liked to pretend that everything that happened to him actually happened to a different person. like when his dad beat him, after the fact, he just pretended he watched someone else get beat. it would always make him feel like an outsider, but it never really hurt. not as much anyways.
it was the same case with the "ghost." he loved to pretend that he was not the ghost and he did nothing wrong. he liked to think that the one the gods will punish is someone else. but nobody seemed to let him do that.
"seventy-nine."
mu qing bit his lips and squeezed his eyes shut. it was almost over. he had almost atoned for his sins. as soon as the whipped stopped, he would be allowed to leave. it would all be over, and they would go back to before. xie lian would continue to cultivate and probably ascend and mu qing will be delegated to find a new job. he would pick cherries in the morning, cultivate in the afternoon, and serve whichever noble he was lucky enough to serve at noon and night. it would all be over.
